10882	----	[Illustration: "Margaret"] THE EAGLE'S SHADOW By JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1904 To Martha Louise Branch _In trust that the enterprise may be judged less by the merits of its factor than by those of its patron_ CONTENTS CHAPTER I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. THE CHARACTERS Colonel Thomas Hugonin, formerly in the service of Her Majesty the Empress of India, Margaret Hugonin's father. Frederick R. Woods, the founder of Selwoode, Margaret's uncle by marriage. Billy Woods, his nephew, Margaret's quondam fiancé. Hugh Van Orden, a rather young young man, Margaret's adorer. Martin Jeal, M.D., of Fairhaven, Margaret's family physician. Cock-Eye Flinks, a gentleman of leisure, Margaret's chance acquaintance. Petheridge Jukesbury, president of the Society for the Suppression of Nicotine and the Nude, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause of education and temperance. Felix Kennaston, a minor poet, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause of literature and art. Sarah Ellen Haggage, Madame President of the Ladies' League for the Edification of the Impecunious, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause of charity and philanthropy. Kathleen Eppes Saumarez, a lecturer before women's clubs, Margaret's almoner in furthering the cause of theosophy, nature study, and rational dress. Adèle Haggage, Mrs. Haggage's daughter, Margaret's rival with Hugh Van Orden. And Margaret Hugonin. The other participants in the story are Wilkins, Célestine, The Spring Moon and The Eagle. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "Margaret" "'Altogether,' says Colonel Hugonin, 'they strike me as being the most ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noah landed on Ararat'" "Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, and Billy ... thought it vastly becoming" "Billy Woods" "Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growing in his countenance" "'My lady,' he asked, very softly, 'haven't you any good news for me on this wonderful morning?'" "Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't, be such a grandfather,' she suggested helpfully." "Regarded them with alert eyes" THE EAGLE'S SHADOW I This is the story of Margaret Hugonin and of the Eagle. And with your permission, we will for the present defer all consideration of the bird, and devote our unqualified attention to Margaret. I have always esteemed Margaret the obvious, sensible, most appropriate name that can be bestowed upon a girl-child, for it is a name that fits a woman--any woman--as neatly as her proper size in gloves. Yes, the first point I wish to make is that a woman-child, once baptised Margaret, is thereby insured of a suitable name. Be she grave or gay in after-life, wanton or pious or sullen, comely or otherwise, there will be no possible chance of incongruity; whether she develop a taste for winter-gardens or the higher mathematics, whether she take to golf or clinging organdies, the event is provided for. One has only to consider for a moment, and if among a choice of Madge, Marjorie, Meta, Maggie, Margherita, Peggy, and Gretchen, and countless others--if among all these he cannot find a name that suits her to a T--why, then, the case is indeed desperate and he may permissibly fall back upon Madam or--if the cat jump propitiously, and at his own peril--on Darling or Sweetheart. The second proof that this name must be the best of all possible names is that Margaret Hugonin bore it. And so the murder is out. You may suspect what you choose. I warn you in advance that I have no part whatever in her story; and if my admiration for her given name appear somewhat excessive, I can only protest that in this dissentient world every one has a right to his own taste. I knew Margaret. I admired her. And if in some unguarded moment I may have carried my admiration to the point of indiscretion, her husband most assuredly knows all about it, by this, and he and I are still the best of friends. So you perceive that if I ever did so far forget myself it could scarcely have amounted to a hanging matter. I am doubly sure that Margaret Hugonin was beautiful, for the reason that I have never found a woman under forty-five who shared my opinion. If you clap a Testament into my hand, I cannot affirm that women are eager to recognise beauty in one another; at the utmost they concede that this or that particular feature is well enough. But when a woman is clean-eyed and straight-limbed, and has a cheery heart, she really cannot help being beautiful; and when Nature accords her a sufficiency of dimples and an infectious laugh, I protest she is well-nigh irresistible. And all these Margaret Hugonin had. And surely that is enough. I shall not endeavour, then, to picture her features to you in any nicely picked words. Her chief charm was that she was Margaret. And besides that, mere carnal vanities are trivial things; a gray eye or so is not in the least to the purpose. Yet since it is the immemorial custom of writer-folk to inventory such possessions of their heroines, here you have a catalogue of her personal attractions. Launce's method will serve our turn. Imprimis, there was not very much of her--five feet three, at the most; and hers was the well-groomed modern type that implies a grandfather or two and is in every respect the antithesis of that hulking Venus of the Louvre whom people pretend to admire. Item, she had blue eyes; and when she talked with you, her head drooped forward a little. The frank, intent gaze of these eyes was very flattering and, in its ultimate effect, perilous, since it led you fatuously to believe that she had forgotten there were any other trousered beings extant. Later on you found this a decided error. Item, she had a quite incredible amount of yellow hair, that was not in the least like gold or copper or bronze--I scorn the hackneyed similes of metallurgical poets--but a straightforward yellow, darkening at the roots; and she wore it low down on her neck in great coils that were held in place by a multitude of little golden hair-pins and divers corpulent tortoise-shell ones. Item, her nose was a tiny miracle of perfection; and this was noteworthy, for you will observe that Nature, who is an adept at eyes and hair and mouths, very rarely achieves a creditable nose. Item, she had a mouth; and if you are a Gradgrindian with a taste for hairsplitting, I cannot swear that it was a particularly small mouth. The lips were rather full than otherwise; one saw in them potentialities of heroic passion, and tenderness, and generosity, and, if you will, temper. No, her mouth was not in the least like the pink shoe-button of romance and sugared portraiture; it was manifestly designed less for simpering out of a gilt frame or the dribbling of stock phrases over three hundred pages than for gibes and laughter and cheery gossip and honest, unromantic eating, as well as another purpose, which, as a highly dangerous topic, I decline even to mention. There you have the best description of Margaret Hugonin that I am capable of giving you. No one realises its glaring inadequacy more acutely than I. Furthermore, I stipulate that if in the progress of our comedy she appear to act with an utter lack of reason or even common-sense--as every woman worth the winning must do once or twice in a lifetime--that I be permitted to record the fact, to set it down in all its ugliness, nay, even to exaggerate it a little--all to the end that I may eventually exasperate you and goad you into crying out, "Come, come, you are not treating the girl with common justice!" For, if such a thing were possible, I should desire you to rival even me in a liking for Margaret Hugonin. And speaking for myself, I can assure you that I have come long ago to regard her faults with the same leniency that I accord my own. II We begin on a fine May morning in Colonel Hugonin's rooms at Selwoode, which is, as you may or may not know, the Hugonins' country-place. And there we discover the Colonel dawdling over his breakfast, in an intermediate stage of that careful toilet which enables him later in the day to pass casual inspection as turning forty-nine. At present the old gentleman is discussing the members of his daughter's house-party. We will omit, by your leave, a number of picturesque descriptive passages--for the Colonel is, on occasion, a man of unfettered speech--and come hastily to the conclusion, to the summing-up of the whole matter. "Altogether," says Colonel Hugonin, "they strike me as being the most ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noah landed on Ararat." Now, I am sorry that veracity compels me to present the Colonel in this particular state of mind, for ordinarily he was as pleasant-spoken a gentleman as you will be apt to meet on the longest summer day. [Illustration: "'Altogether,' says Colonel Hugonin, 'they strike me as being the most ungodly menagerie ever gotten together under one roof since Noah landed on Ararat.'"] You must make allowances for the fact that, on this especial morning, he was still suffering from a recent twinge of the gout, and that his toast was somewhat dryer than he liked it; and, most potent of all, that the foreign mail, just in, had caused him to rebel anew against the proprieties and his daughter's inclinations, which chained him to Selwoode, in the height of the full London season, to preside over a house-party every member of which he cordially disliked. Therefore, the Colonel having glanced through the well-known names of those at Lady Pevensey's last cotillion, groaned and glared at his daughter, who sat opposite him, and reviled his daughter's friends with point and fluency, and characterised them as above, for the reason that he was hungered at heart for the shady side of Pall Mall, and that their presence at Selwoode prevented his attaining this Elysium. For, I am sorry to say that the Colonel loathed all things American, saving his daughter, whom he worshipped. And, I think, no one who could have seen her preparing his second cup of tea would have disputed that in making this exception he acted with a show of reason. For Margaret Hugonin--but, as you know, she is our heroine, and, as I fear you have already learned, words are very paltry makeshifts when it comes to describing her. Let us simply say, then, that Margaret, his daughter, began to make him a cup of tea, and add that she laughed. Not unkindly; no, for at bottom she adored her father--a comely Englishman of some sixty-odd, who had run through his wife's fortune and his own, in the most gallant fashion--and she accorded his opinions a conscientious, but at times, a sorely taxed, tolerance. That very month she had reached twenty-three, the age of omniscience, when the fallacies and general obtuseness of older people become dishearteningly apparent. "It's nonsense," pursued the old gentleman, "utter, bedlamite nonsense, filling Selwoode up with writing people! Never heard of such a thing. Gad, I do remember, as a young man, meeting Thackeray at a garden-party at Orleans House--gentlemanly fellow with a broken nose-- and Browning went about a bit, too, now I think of it. People had 'em one at a time to lend flavour to a dinner--like an olive; we didn't dine on olives, though. You have 'em for breakfast, luncheon, dinner, and everything! I'm sick of olives, I tell you, Margaret!" Margaret pouted. "They ain't even good olives. I looked into one of that fellow Charteris's books the other day--that chap you had here last week. It was bally rot--proverbs standing on their heads and grinning like dwarfs in a condemned street-fair! Who wants to be told that impropriety is the spice of life and that a roving eye gathers remorse? _You_ may call that sort of thing cleverness, if you like; I call it damn' foolishness." And the emphasis with which he said this left no doubt that the Colonel spoke his honest opinion. "Attractive," said his daughter patiently, "Mr. Charteris is very, very clever. Mr. Kennaston says literature suffered a considerable loss when he began to write for the magazines." And now that Margaret has spoken, permit me to call your attention to her voice. Mellow and suave and of astonishing volume was Margaret's voice; it came not from the back of her throat, as most of our women's voices do, but from her chest; and I protest it had the timbre of a violin. Men, hearing her voice for the first time, were wont to stare at her a little and afterward to close their hands slowly, for always its modulations had the tonic sadness of distant music, and it thrilled you to much the same magnanimity and yearning, cloudily conceived; and yet you could not but smile in spite of yourself at the quaint emphasis fluttering through her speech and pouncing for the most part on the unlikeliest word in the whole sentence. But I fancy the Colonel must have been tone-deaf. "Don't you make phrases for me!" he snorted; "you keep 'em for your menagerie Think! By gad, the world never thinks. I believe the world deliberately reads the six bestselling books in order to incapacitate itself for thinking." Then, his wrath gathering emphasis as he went on: "The longer I live the plainer I see Shakespeare was right--what fools these mortals be, and all that. There's that Haggage woman--speech-making through the country like a hiatused politician. It may be philanthropic, but it ain't ladylike--no, begad! What has she got to do with Juvenile Courts and child-labour in the South, I'd like to know? Why ain't she at home attending to that crippled boy of hers--poor little beggar!--instead of flaunting through America meddling with other folk's children?" Miss Hugonin put another lump of sugar into his cup and deigned no reply. "By gad," cried the Colonel fervently, "if you're so anxious to spend that money of yours in charity, why don't you found a Day Nursery for the Children of Philanthropists--a place where advanced men and women can leave their offspring in capable hands when they're busied with Mothers' Meetings and Educational Conferences? It would do a thousand times more good, I can tell you, than that fresh kindergarten scheme of yours for teaching the children of the labouring classes to make a new sort of mud-pie." "You don't understand these things, attractive," Margaret gently pointed out. "You aren't in harmony with the trend of modern thought." "No, thank God!" said the Colonel, heartily. Ensued a silence during which he chipped at his egg-shell in an absent-minded fashion. "That fellow Kennaston said anything to you yet?" he presently queried. "I--I don't understand," she protested--oh, perfectly unconvincingly. The tea-making, too, engrossed her at this point to an utterly improbable extent. Thus it shortly befell that the Colonel, still regarding her under intent brows, cleared his throat and made bold to question her generosity in the matter of sugar; five lumps being, as he suggested, a rather unusual allowance for one cup. Then, "Mr. Kennaston and I are very good friends," said she, with dignity. And having spoiled the first cup in the making, she began on another. "Glad to hear it," growled the old gentleman. "I hope you value his friendship sufficiently not to marry him. The man's a fraud--a flimsy, sickening fraud, like his poetry, begad, and that's made up of botany and wide margins and indecency in about equal proportions. It ain't fit for a woman to read--in fact, a woman ought not to read anything; a comprehension of the Decalogue and the cookery-book is enough learning for the best of 'em. Your mother never--never--" Colonel Hugonin paused and stared at the open window for a little. He seemed to be interested in something a great way off. "We used to read Ouida's books together," he said, somewhat wistfully. "Lord, Lord, how she revelled in Chandos and Bertie Cecil and those dashing Life Guardsmen! And she used to toss that little head of hers and say I was a finer figure of a man than any of 'em--thirty years ago, good Lord! And I was then, but I ain't now. I'm only a broken-down, cantankerous old fool," declared the Colonel, blowing his nose violently, "and that's why I'm quarrelling with the dearest, foolishest daughter man ever had. Ah, my dear, don't mind me--run your menagerie as you like, and I'll stand it." Margaret adopted her usual tactics; she perched herself on the arm of his chair and began to stroke his cheek very gently. She often wondered as to what dear sort of a woman that tender-eyed, pink-cheeked mother of the old miniature had been--the mother who had died when she was two years old. She loved the idea of her, vague as it was. And, just now, somehow, the notion of two grown people reading Ouida did not strike her as being especially ridiculous. "Was she very beautiful?" she asked, softly. "My dear," said her father, "you are the picture of her." "You dangerous old man!" said she, laughing and rubbing her cheek against his in a manner that must have been highly agreeable. "Dear, do you know that is the nicest little compliment I've had for a long time?" Thereupon the Colonel chuckled. "Pay me for it, then," said he, "by driving the dog-cart over to meet Billy's train to-day. Eh?" "I--I can't," said Miss Hugonin, promptly. "Why?" demanded her father. "Because----" said Miss Hugonin; and after giving this really excellent reason, reflected for a moment and strengthened it by adding, "Because----" "See here," her father questioned, "what did you two quarrel about, anyway?" "I--I really don't remember," said she, reflectively; then continued, with hauteur and some inconsistency, "I am not aware that Mr. Woods and I have ever quarrelled." "By gad, then," said the Colonel, "you may as well prepare to, for I intend to marry you to Billy some day. Dear, dear, child," he interpolated, with malice aforethought, "have you a fever?--your cheek's like a coal. Billy's a man, I tell you--worth a dozen of your Kennastons and Charterises. I like Billy. And besides, it's only right he should have Selwoode--wasn't he brought up to expect it? It ain't right he should lose it simply because he had a quarrel with Frederick, for, by gad--not to speak unkindly of the dead, my dear--Frederick quarrelled with every one he ever knew, from the woman who nursed him to the doctor who gave him his last pill. He may have gotten his genius for money-making from Heaven, but he certainly got his temper from the devil. I really believe," said the Colonel, reflectively, "it was worse than mine. Yes, not a doubt of it--I'm a lamb in comparison. But he had his way, after all; and even now poor Billy can't get Selwoode without taking you with it," and he caught his daughter's face between his hands and turned it toward his for a moment. "I wonder now," said he, in meditative wise, "if Billy will consider that a drawback?" It seemed very improbable. Any number of marriageable males would have sworn it was unthinkable. However, "Of course," Margaret began, in a crisp voice, "if you advise Mr. Woods to marry me as a good speculation--" But her father caught her up, with a whistle. "Eh?" said he. "Love in a cottage?--is it thus the poet turns his lay? That's damn' nonsense! I tell you, even in a cottage the plumber's bill has to be paid, and the grocer's little account settled every month. Yes, by gad, and even if you elect to live on bread and cheese and kisses, you'll find Camembert a bit more to your taste than Sweitzer." "But I don't want to marry anybody, you ridiculous old dear," said Margaret. "Oh, very well," said the old gentleman; "don't. Be an old maid, and lecture before the Mothers' Club, if you like. I don't care. Anyhow, you meet Billy to-day at twelve-forty-five. You will?--that's a good child. Now run along and tell the menagerie I'll be down-stairs as soon as I've finished dressing." And the Colonel rang for his man and proceeded to finish his toilet. He seemed a thought absent-minded this morning. "I say, Wilkins," he questioned, after a little. "Ever read any of Ouida's books?" "Ho, yes, sir," said Wilkins; "Miss 'Enderson--Mrs. 'Aggage's maid, that his, sir--was reading haloud hout hof 'Hunder Two Flags' honly last hevening, sir." "H'm--Wilkins--if you can run across one of them in the servants' quarters--you might leave it--by my bed--to-night." "Yes, sir." "And--h'm, Wilkins--you can put it under that book of Herbert Spencer's my daughter gave me yesterday. _Under_ it, Wilkins--and, h'm, Wilkins--you needn't mention it to anybody. Ouida ain't cultured, Wilkins, but she's damn' good reading. I suppose that's why she ain't cultured, Wilkins." III And now let us go back a little. In a word, let us utilise the next twenty minutes--during which Miss Hugonin drives to the neighbouring railway station, in, if you press me, not the most pleasant state of mind conceivable--by explaining a thought more fully the posture of affairs at Selwoode on the May morning that starts our story. And to do this I must commence with the nature of the man who founded Selwoode. It was when the nineteenth century was still a hearty octogenarian that Frederick R. Woods caused Selwoode to be builded. I give you the name by which he was known on "the Street." A mythology has grown about the name since, and strange legends of its owner are still narrated where brokers congregate. But with the lambs he sheared, and the bulls he dragged to earth, and the bears he gored to financial death, we have nothing to do; suffice it, that he performed these operations with almost uniform success and in an unimpeachably respectable manner. And if, in his time, he added materially to the lists of inmates in various asylums and almshouses, it must be acknowledged that he bore his victims no malice, and that on every Sunday morning he confessed himself to be a miserable sinner, in a voice that was perfectly audible three pews off. At bottom, I think he considered his relations with Heaven on a purely business basis; he kept a species of running account with Providence; and if on occasions he overdrew it somewhat, he saw no incongruity in evening matters with a cheque for the church fund. So that at his death it was said of him that he had, in his day, sent more men into bankruptcy and more missionaries into Africa than any other man in the country. In his sixty-fifth year, he caught Alfred Van Orden short in Lard, erected a memorial window to his wife and became a country gentleman. He never set foot in Wall Street again. He builded Selwoode--a handsome Tudor manor which stands some seven miles from the village of Fairhaven--where he dwelt in state, by turns affable and domineering to the neighbouring farmers, and evincing a grave interest in the condition of their crops. He no longer turned to the financial reports in the papers; and the pedigree of the Woodses hung in the living-hall for all men to see, beginning gloriously with Woden, the Scandinavian god, and attaining a respectable culmination in the names of Frederick R. Woods and of William, his brother. It is not to be supposed that he omitted to supply himself with a coat-of-arms. Frederick R. Woods evinced an almost childlike pride in his heraldic blazonings. "The Woods arms," he would inform you, with a relishing gusto, "are vert, an eagle displayed, barry argent and gules. And the crest is out of a ducal coronet, or, a demi-eagle proper. We have no motto, sir--none of your ancient coats have mottoes." The Woods Eagle he gloried in. The bird was perched in every available nook at Selwoode; it was carved in the woodwork, was set in the mosaics, was chased in the tableware, was woven in the napery, was glazed in the very china. Turn where you would, an eagle or two confronted you; and Hunston Wyke, who is accounted something of a wit, swore that Frederick R. Woods at Selwoode reminded him of "a sore-headed bear who had taken up permanent quarters in an aviary." There was one, however, who found the bear no very untractable monster. This was the son of his brother, dead now, who dwelt at Selwoode as heir presumptive. Frederick R. Woods's wife had died long ago, leaving him childless. His brother's boy was an orphan; and so, for a time, he and the grim old man lived together peaceably enough. Indeed, Billy Woods was in those days as fine a lad as you would wish to see, with the eyes of an inquisitive cherub and a big tow-head, which Frederick R. Woods fell into the habit of cuffing heartily, in order to conceal the fact that he would have burned Selwoode to the ground rather than allow any one else to injure a hair of it. In the consummation of time, Billy, having attained the ripe age of eighteen, announced to his uncle that he intended to become a famous painter. Frederick R. Woods exhorted him not to be a fool, and packed him off to college. Billy Woods returned on his first vacation with a fragmentary mustache and any quantity of paint-tubes, canvases, palettes, mahl-sticks, and such-like paraphernalia. Frederick R. Woods passed over the mustache, and had the painters' trappings burned by the second footman. Billy promptly purchased another lot. His uncle came upon them one morning, rubbed his chin meditatively for a moment, and laughed for the first time, so far as known, in his lifetime; then he tiptoed to his own apartments, lest Billy--the lazy young rascal was still abed in the next room--should awaken and discover his knowledge of this act of flat rebellion. I dare say the old gentleman was so completely accustomed to having his own way that this unlooked-for opposition tickled him by its novelty; or perhaps he recognised in Billy an obstinacy akin to his own; or perhaps it was merely that he loved the boy. In any event, he never again alluded to the subject; and it is a fact that when Billy sent for carpenters to convert an upper room into an atelier, Frederick R. Woods spent two long and dreary weeks in Boston in order to remain in ignorance of the entire affair. Billy scrambled through college, somehow, in the allotted four years. At the end of that time, he returned to find new inmates installed at Selwoode. For the wife of Frederick R. Woods had been before her marriage one of the beautiful Anstruther sisters, who, as certain New Yorkers still remember--those grizzled, portly, rosy-gilled fellows who prattle on provocation of Jenny Lind and Castle Garden, and remember everything--created a pronounced furor at their début in the days of crinoline and the Grecian bend; and Margaret Anstruther, as they will tell you, was married to Thomas Hugonin, then a gallant cavalry officer in the service of Her Majesty, the Empress of India. And she must have been the nicer of the two, because everybody who knew her says that Margaret Hugonin is exactly like her. So it came about naturally enough, that Billy Woods, now an _Artium Baccalaureus_, if you please, and not a little proud of it, found the Colonel and his daughter, then on a visit to this country, installed at Selwoode as guests and quasi-relatives. And Billy was twenty-two, and Margaret was nineteen. * * * * * Precisely what happened I am unable to tell you. Billy Woods claims it is none of my business; and Margaret says that it was a long, long time ago and she really can't remember. But I fancy we can all form a very fair notion of what is most likely to occur when two sensible, normal, healthy young people are thrown together in this intimate fashion at a country-house where the remaining company consists of two elderly gentlemen. Billy was forced to be polite to his uncle's guest; and Margaret couldn't well be discourteous to her host's nephew, could she? Of course not: so it befell in the course of time that Frederick R. Woods and the Colonel--who had quickly become a great favourite, by virtue of his implicit faith in the Eagle and in Woden and Sir Percival de Wode of Hastings, and such-like flights of heraldic fancy, and had augmented his popularity by his really brilliant suggestion of Wynkyn de Worde, the famous sixteenth-century printer, as a probable collateral relation of the family--it came to pass, I say, that the two gentlemen nodded over their port and chuckled, and winked at one another and agreed that the thing would do. This was all very well; but they failed to make allowances for the inevitable quarrel and the subsequent spectacle of the gentleman contemplating suicide and the lady looking wistfully toward a nunnery. In this case it arose, I believe, over Teddy Anstruther, who for a cousin was undeniably very attentive to Margaret; and in the natural course of events they would have made it up before the week was out had not Frederick R. Woods selected this very moment to interfere in the matter. Ah, _si vieillesse savait!_ The blundering old man summoned Billy into his study and ordered him to marry Margaret Hugonin, precisely as the Colonel might have ordered a private to go on sentry-duty. Ten days earlier Billy would have jumped at the chance; ten days later he would probably have suggested it himself; but at that exact moment he would have as willingly contemplated matrimony with Alecto or Medusa or any of the Furies. Accordingly, he declined. Frederick R. Woods flew into a pyrotechnical display of temper, and gave him his choice between obeying his commands and leaving his house forever--the choice, in fact, which he had been according Billy at very brief intervals ever since the boy had had the measles, fifteen years before, and had refused to take the proper medicines. It was merely his usual manner of expressing a request or a suggestion. But this time, to his utter horror and amaze, the boy took him at his word and left Selwoode within the hour. Billy's life, you see, was irrevocably blighted. It mattered very little what became of him; personally, he didn't care in the least. But as for that fair, false, fickle woman--perish the thought! Sooner a thousand deaths! No, he would go to Paris and become a painter of worldwide reputation; the money his father had left him would easily suffice for his simple wants. And some day, the observed of all observers in some bright hall of gaiety, he would pass her coldly by, with a cynical smile upon his lips, and she would grow pale and totter and fall into the arms of the bloated Silenus, for whose title she had bartered her purely superficial charms. Yes, upon mature deliberation, that was precisely what Billy decided to do. Followed dark days at Selwoode. Frederick R. Woods told Margaret of what had occurred; and he added the information that, as his wife's nearest relative, he intended to make her his heir. Then Margaret did what I would scarcely have expected of Margaret. She turned upon him like a virago and informed Frederick R. Woods precisely what she thought of him; she acquainted him with the fact that he was a sordid, low-minded, grasping beast, and a miser, and a tyrant, and (I think) a parricide; she notified him that he was thoroughly unworthy to wipe the dust off his nephew's shoes--an office toward which, to do him justice, he had never shown any marked aspirations--and that Billy had acted throughout in a most noble and sensible manner; and that, personally, she wouldn't marry Billy Woods if he were the last man on earth, for she had always despised him; and she added the information that she expected to die shortly, and she hoped they would both be sorry _then_; and subsequently she clapped the climax by throwing her arms about his neck and bursting into tears and telling him he was the dearest old man in the world and that she was thoroughly ashamed of herself. So they kissed and made it up. And after a little the Colonel and Margaret went away from Selwoode, and Frederick R. Woods was left alone to nourish his anger and indignation, if he could, and to hunger for his boy, whether he would or not. He was too proud to seek him out; indeed, he never thought of that; and so he waited alone in his fine house, sick at heart, impotent, hoping against hope that the boy would come back. The boy never came. No, the boy never came, because he was what the old man had made him--headstrong, and wilful, and obstinate. Billy had been thoroughly spoiled. The old man had nurtured his pride, had applauded it as a mark of proper spirit; and now it was this same pride that had robbed him of the one thing he loved in all the world. So, at last, the weak point in the armour of this sturdy old Pharisee was found, and Fate had pierced it gaily. It was retribution, if you will; and I think that none of his victims in "the Street," none of the countless widows and orphans that he had made, suffered more bitterly than he in those last days. It was almost two years after Billy's departure from Selwoode that his body-servant, coming to rouse Frederick R. Woods one June morning, found him dead in his rooms. He had been ailing for some time. It was his heart, the doctors said; and I think that it was, though not precisely in the sense which they meant. The man found him seated before his great carved desk, on which his head and shoulders had fallen forward; they rested on a sheet of legal-cap paper half-covered with a calculation in his crabbed old hand as to the value of certain properties--the calculation which he never finished; and underneath was a mass of miscellaneous papers, among them his will, dated the day after Billy left Selwoode, in which Frederick R. Woods bequeathed his millions unconditionally to Margaret Hugonin when she should come of age. Her twenty-first birthday had fallen in the preceding month. So Margaret was one of the richest women in America; and you may depend upon it, that if many men had loved her before, they worshipped her now--or, at least, said they did, and, after all, their protestations were the only means she had of judging. She might have been a countess--and it must be owned that the old Colonel, who had an honest Anglo-Saxon reverence for a title, saw this chance lost wistfully--and she might have married any number of grammarless gentlemen, personally unknown to her, whose fervent proposals almost every mail brought in; and besides these, there were many others, more orthodox in their wooing, some of whom were genuinely in love with Margaret Hugonin, and some--I grieve to admit it--who were genuinely in love with her money; and she would have none of them. She refused them all with the utmost civility, as I happen to know. How I learned it is no affair of yours. For Miss Hugonin had remarkably keen eyes, which she used to advantage. In the world about her they discovered very little that she could admire. She was none the happier for her wealth; the piled-up millions overshadowed her personality; and it was not long before she knew that most people regarded her simply as the heiress of the Woods fortune--an unavoidable encumbrance attached to the property, which divers thrifty-minded gentlemen were willing to put up with. To put up with!--at the thought, her pride rose in a hot blush, and, it must be confessed, she sought consolation in the looking-glass. She was an humble-minded young woman, as the sex goes, and she saw no great reason there why a man should go mad over Margaret Hugonin. This decision, I grant you, was preposterous, for there were any number of reasons. Her final conclusion, however, was for the future to regard all men as fortune-hunters and to do her hair differently. She carried out both resolutions. When a gentleman grew pressing in his attentions, she more than suspected his motives; and when she eventually declined him it was done with perfect, courtesy, but the glow of her eyes was at such times accentuated to a marked degree. Meanwhile, the Eagle brooded undisturbed at Selwoode. Miss Hugonin would allow nothing to be altered. "The place doesn't belong to me, attractive," she would tell her father. "I belong to the place. Yes, I do--I'm exactly like a little cow thrown in with a little farm when they sell it, and _all_ my little suitors think so, and they are very willing to take me on those terms, too. But they shan't, attractive. I hate every single solitary man in the whole wide world but you, beautiful, and I particularly hate that horrid old Eagle; but we'll keep him because he's a constant reminder to me that Solomon or Moses, or whoever it was that said all men were liars, was a person of _very_ great intelligence." So that I think we may fairly say the money did her no good. If it benefited no one else, it was not Margaret's fault. She had a high sense of her responsibilities, and therefore, at various times, endeavoured to further the spread of philanthropy and literature and theosophy and art and temperance and education and other laudable causes. Mr. Kennaston, in his laughing manner, was wont to jest at her varied enterprises and term her Lady Bountiful; but, then, Mr. Kennaston had no real conception of the proper uses of money. In fact, he never thought of money. He admitted this to Margaret with a whimsical sigh. Margaret grew very fond of Mr. Kennaston because he was not mercenary. Mr. Kennaston was much at Selwoode. Many people came there now--masculine women and muscleless men, for the most part. They had, every one of them, some scheme for bettering the universe; and if among them Margaret seemed somewhat out of place--a butterfly among earnest-minded ants--her heart was in every plan they advocated, and they found her purse-strings infinitely elastic. The girl was pitiably anxious to be of some use in the world. So at Selwoode they gossiped of great causes and furthered the millenium. And above them the Eagle brooded in silence. And Billy? All this time Billy was junketing abroad, where every year he painted masterpieces for the Salon, which--on account of a nefarious conspiracy among certain artists, jealous of his superior merits--were invariably refused. Now Billy is back again in America, and the Colonel has insisted that he come to Selwoode, and Margaret is waiting for him in the dog-cart. The glow of her eyes is very, very bright. Her father's careless words this morning, coupled with certain speeches of Mr. Kennaston's last night, have given her food for reflection. "He wouldn't dare," says Margaret, to no one in particular. "Oh, no, he wouldn't dare after what happened four years ago." And, Margaret-like, she has quite forgotten that what happened four years ago was all caused by her having flirted outrageously with Teddy Anstruther, in order to see what Billy would do. IV The twelve forty-five, for a wonder, was on time; and there descended from it a big, blond young man, who did not look in the least like a fortune-hunter. Miss Hugonin resented this. Manifestly, he looked clean and honest for the deliberate purpose of deceiving her. Very well! She'd show him! He was quite unembarrassed. He shook hands cordially; then he shook hands with the groom, who, you may believe it, was grinning in a most unprofessional manner because Master Billy was back again at Selwoode. Subsequently, in his old decisive way, he announced they would walk to the house, as his legs needed stretching. The insolence of it!--quite as if he had something to say to Margaret in private and couldn't wait a minute. Beyond doubt, this was a young man who must be taken down a peg or two, and that at once. Of course, she wasn't going to walk back with him!--a pretty figure they'd cut strolling through the fields, like a house-girl and the milkman on a Sunday afternoon! She would simply say she was too tired to walk, and that would end the matter. So she said she thought the exercise would do them both good. They came presently with desultory chat to a meadow bravely decked in all the gauds of Spring. About them the day was clear, the air bland. Spring had revamped her ageless fripperies of tender leaves and bird-cries and sweet, warm odours for the adornment of this meadow; above it she had set a turkis sky splashed here and there with little clouds that were like whipped cream; and upon it she had scattered largesse, a Danaë's shower of buttercups. Altogether, she had made of it a particularly dangerous meadow for a man and a maid to frequent. Yet there Mr. Woods paused under a burgeoning maple--paused resolutely, with the lures of Spring thick about him, compassed with every snare of scent and sound and colour that the witch is mistress of. Margaret hoped he had a pleasant passage over. Her father, thank you, was in the pink of condition. Oh, yes, she was quite well. She hoped Mr. Woods would not find America-- "Well, Peggy," said Mr. Woods, "then, we'll have it out right here." His insolence was so surprising that--in order to recover herself--Margaret actually sat down under the maple-tree. Peggy, indeed! Why, she hadn't been called Peggy for--no, not for four whole years! "Because I intend to be friends, you know," said Mr. Woods. And about them the maple-leaves made a little island of sombre green, around which more vivid grasses rippled and dimpled under the fitful spring breezes. And everywhere leaves lisped to one another, and birds shrilled insistently. It was a perilous locality. I fancy Billy Woods was out of his head when he suggested being friends in such a place. Friends, indeed!--you would have thought from the airy confidence with which he spoke that Margaret had come safely to forty year and wore steel-rimmed spectacles! But Miss Hugonin merely cast down her eyes and was aware of no reason why they shouldn't be. She was sure he must be hungry, and she thought luncheon must be ready by now. In his soul, Mr. Woods observed that her lashes were long--long beyond all reason. Lacking the numbers that Petrarch flowed in, he did not venture, even to himself, to characterise them further. But oh, how queer it was they should be pure gold at the roots!--she must have dipped them in the ink-pot. And oh, the strong, sudden, bewildering curve of 'em! He could not recall at the present moment ever noticing quite such lashes anywhere else. No, it was highly improbable that there were such lashes anywhere else. Perhaps a few of the superior angels might have such lashes. He resolved for the future to attend church more regularly. Aloud, Mr. Woods observed that in that case they had better shake hands. It would have been ridiculous to contest the point. The dignified course was to shake hands, since he insisted on it, and then to return at once to Selwoode. Margaret Hugonin had a pretty hand, and Mr. Woods, as an artist, could not well fail to admire it. Still, he needn't have looked at it as though he had never before seen anything quite like it; he needn't have neglected to return it; and when Miss Hugonin reclaimed it, after a decent interval, he needn't have laughed in a manner that compelled her to laugh, too. These things were unnecessary and annoying, as they caused Margaret to forget that she despised him. [Illustration: "Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, and Billy ... thought it vastly becoming"] For the time being--will you believe it?--she actually thought he was rather nice. "I acted like an ass," said Mr. Woods, tragically. "Oh, yes, I did, you know. But if you'll forgive me for having been an ass I'll forgive you for throwing me over for Teddy Anstruther, and at the wedding I'll dance through any number of pairs of patent-leathers you choose to mention." So that was the way he looked at it. Teddy Anstruther, indeed! Why, Teddy was a dark little man with brown eyes--just the sort of man she most objected to. How could any one ever possibly fancy a brown-eyed man? Then, for no apparent reason, Margaret flushed, and Billy, who had stretched his great length of limb on the grass beside her, noted it with a pair of the bluest eyes in the world and thought it vastly becoming. "Billy," said she, impulsively--and the name having slipped out once by accident, it would have been absurd to call him anything else afterward--"it was horrid of you to refuse to take any of that money." "But I didn't want it," he protested. "Good Lord, I'd only have done something foolish with it. It was awfully square of you, Peggy, to offer to divide, but I didn't want it, you see. I don't want to be a millionaire, and give up the rest of my life to founding libraries and explaining to people that if they never spend any money on amusements they'll have a great deal by the time they're too old to enjoy it. I'd rather paint pictures." So that I think Margaret must have endeavoured at some time to make him accept part of Frederick R. Woods's money. "You make me feel--and look--like a thief," she reproved him. Then Billy laughed a little. "You don't look in the least like one," he reassured her. "You look like an uncommonly honest, straightforward young woman," Mr. Woods added, handsomely, "and I don't believe you'd purloin under the severest temptation." She thanked him for his testimonial, with all three dimples in evidence. This was unsettling. He hedged. "Except, perhaps--" said he. "Yes?" queried Margaret, after a pause. However, she questioned him with her head drooped forward, her brows raised; and as this gave him the full effect of her eyes, Mr. Woods became quite certain that there was, at least, one thing she might be expected to rob him of, and wisely declined to mention it. Margaret did not insist on knowing what it was. Perhaps she heard it thumping under his waistcoat, where it was behaving very queerly. So they sat in silence for a while. Then Margaret fell a-humming to herself; and the air--will you believe it?--chanced by the purest accident to be that foolish, senseless old song they used to sing together four years ago. Billy chuckled. "Let's!" he obscurely pleaded. Spring prompted her. "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy?" queried Margaret's wonderful contralto, "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?" She sang it in a low, hushed voice, just over her breath. Not looking at him, however. And oh, what a voice! thought Billy Woods. A voice that was honey and gold and velvet and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world! Find me another voice like that, you _prime donne!_ Find me a simile for it, you uninventive poets! Indeed, I'd like to see you do it. But he chimed in, nevertheless, with his pleasant throaty baritone, and lilted his own part quite creditably. "I've been to seek a wife, She's the joy of my life; She's a young thing, and cannot leave her mother"-- Only Billy sang it "father," just as they used to do. And then they sang it through, did Margaret and Billy--sang of the dimple in her chin and the ringlets in her hair, and of the cherry pies she achieved with such celerity--sang as they sat in the spring-decked meadow every word of that inane old song that is so utterly senseless and so utterly unforgettable. It was a quite idiotic performance. I set it down to the snares of Spring--to her insidious, delightful snares of scent and sound and colour that--for the moment, at least--had trapped these young people into loving life infinitely. But I wonder who is responsible for that tatter of rhyme and melody that had come to them from nowhere in particular? Mr. Woods, as he sat up at the conclusion of the singing vigorously to applaud, would have shared his last possession, his ultimate crust, with that unknown benefactor of mankind. Indeed, though, the heart of Mr. Woods just now was full of loving kindness and capable of any freakish magnanimity. For--will it be believed?--Mr. Woods, who four years ago had thrown over a fortune and exiled himself from his native land, rather than propose marriage to Margaret Hugonin, had no sooner come again into her presence and looked once into her perfectly fathomless eyes than he could no more have left her of his own accord than a moth can turn his back to a lighted candle. He had fancied himself entirely cured of that boy-and-girl nonsense; his broken heart, after the first few months, had not interfered in the least with a naturally healthy appetite; and, behold, here was the old malady raging again in his veins and with renewed fervour. And all because the girl had a pretty face! I think you will agree with me that in the conversation I have recorded Margaret had not displayed any great wisdom or learning or tenderness or wit, nor, in fine, any of the qualities a man might naturally look for in a helpmate. Yet at the precise moment he handed his baggage-check to the groom, Mr. Woods had made up his mind to marry her. In an instant he had fallen head over ears in love; or to whittle accuracy to a point, he had discovered that he had never fallen out of love; and if you had offered him an empress or fetched Helen of Troy from the grave for his delectation he would have laughed you to scorn. In his defense, I can only plead that Margaret was an unusually beautiful woman. It is all very well to flourish a death's-head at the feast, and bid my lady go paint herself an inch thick, for to this favour she must come; and it is quite true that the reddest lips in the universe may give vent to slander and lies, and the brightest eyes be set in the dullest head, and the most roseate of complexions be purchased at the corner drug-store; but, say what you will, a pretty woman is a pretty woman, and while she continue so no amount of common-sense or experience will prevent a man, on provocation, from alluring, coaxing, even entreating her to make a fool of him. We like it. And I think they like it, too. So Mr. Woods lost his heart on a fine spring morning and was unreasonably elated over the fact. And Margaret? Margaret was content. V They talked for a matter of a half-hour in the fashion aforetime recorded--not very wise nor witty talk, if you will, but very pleasant to make. There were many pauses. There was much laughter over nothing in particular. There were any number of sentences ambitiously begun that ended nowhere. Altogether, it was just the sort of talk for a man and a maid. Yet some twenty minutes later, Mr. Woods, preparing for luncheon in the privacy of his chamber, gave a sudden exclamation. Then he sat down and rumpled his hair thoroughly. "Good Lord!" he groaned; "I'd forgotten all about that damned money! Oh, you ass!--you abject ass! Why, she's one of the richest women in America, and you're only a fifth-rate painter with a paltry thousand or so a year! _You_ marry her!--why, I dare say she's refused a hundred better men than you! She'd think you were mad! Why, she'd think you were after her money! She--oh, she'd only think you a precious cheeky ass, she would, and she'd be quite right. You _are_ an ass, Billy Woods! You ought to be locked up in some nice quiet stable, where your heehawing wouldn't disturb people. You need a keeper, you do!" He sat for some ten minutes, aghast. Afterward he rose and threw back his shoulders and drew a deep breath. "No, we aren't an ass," he addressed his reflection in the mirror, as he carefully knotted his tie. "We're only a poor chuckle-headed moth who's been looking at a star too long. It's a bright star, Billy, but it isn't for you. So we're going to be sensible now. We're going to get a telegram to-morrow that will call us away from Selwoode. We aren't coming back any more, either. We're simply going to continue painting fifth-rate pictures, and hoping that some day she'll find the right man and be very, very happy." Nevertheless, he decided that a blue tie would look better, and was very particular in arranging it. At the same moment Margaret stood before her mirror and tidied her hair for luncheon and assured her image in the glass that she was a weak-minded fool. She pointed out to herself the undeniable fact that Billy, having formerly refused to marry her--oh, ignominy!--seemed pleasant-spoken enough, now that she had become an heiress. His refusal to accept part of her fortune was a very flimsy device; it simply meant he hoped to get all of it. Oh, he did, did he! Margaret powdered her nose viciously. _She_ saw through him! His honest bearing she very plainly perceived to be the result of consummate hypocrisy. In his laughter her keen ear detected a hollow ring; and his courteous manner she found, at bottom, mere servility. And finally she demonstrated--to her own satisfaction, at least--that his charm of manner was of exactly the, same sort that had been possessed by many other eminently distinguished criminals. How did she do this? My dear sir, you had best inquire of your mother or your sister or your wife, or any other lady that your fancy dictates. They know. I am sure I don't. And after it all-- "Oh, dear, dear!" said Margaret; "I _do_ wish he didn't have such nice eyes!" VI On the way to luncheon Mr. Woods came upon Adèle Haggage and Hugh Van Orden, both of whom he knew, very much engrossed in one another, in a nook under the stairway. To Billy it seemed just now quite proper that every one should be in love; wasn't it--after all--the most pleasant condition in the world? So he greeted them with a semi-paternal smile that caused Adèle to flush a little. For she was--let us say, interested--in Mr. Van Orden. That was tolerably well known. In fact, Margaret--prompted by Mrs. Haggage, it must be confessed--had invited him to Selwoode for the especial purpose of entertaining Miss Adèle Haggage; for he was a good match, and Mrs. Haggage, as an experienced chaperon, knew the value of country houses. Very unexpectedly, however, the boy had developed a disconcerting tendency to fall in love with Margaret, who snubbed him promptly and unmercifully. He had accordingly fallen back on Adèle, and Mrs. Haggage had regained both her trust in Providence and her temper. In the breakfast-room, where luncheon was laid out, the Colonel greeted Mr. Woods with the enthusiasm a sailor shipwrecked on a desert island might conceivably display toward the boat-crew come to rescue him. The Colonel liked Billy; and furthermore, the poor Colonel's position at Selwoode just now was not utterly unlike that of the suppositious mariner; were I minded to venture into metaphor, I should picture him as clinging desperately to the rock of an old fogeyism and surrounded by weltering seas of advanced thought. Colonel Hugonin himself was not advanced in his ideas. Also, he had forceful opinions as to the ultimate destination of those who were. Then Billy was presented to the men of the party--Mr. Felix Kennaston and Mr. Petheridge Jukesbury. Mrs. Haggage he knew slightly; and Kathleen Saumarez he had known very well indeed, some six years previously, before she had ever heard of Miguel Saumarez, and when Billy was still an undergraduate. She was a widow now, and not well-to-do; and Mr. Woods's first thought on seeing her was that a man was a fool to write verses, and that she looked like just the sort of woman to preserve them. His second was that he had verged on imbecility when he fancied he admired that slender, dark-haired type. A woman's hair ought to be an enormous coronal of sunlight; a woman ought to have very large, candid eyes of a colour between that of sapphires and that of the spring heavens, only infinitely more beautiful than either; and all petticoated persons differing from this description were manifestly quite unworthy of any serious consideration. So his eyes turned to Margaret, who had no eyes for him. She had forgotten his existence, with an utterness that verged on ostentation; and if it had been any one else Billy would have surmised she was in a temper. But that angel in a temper!--nonsense! And, oh, what eyes she had! and what lashes! and what hair!--and altogether, how adorable she was, and what a wonder the admiring gods hadn't snatched her up to Olympus long ago! Thus far Mr. Woods. But if Miss Hugonin was somewhat taciturn, her counsellors in divers schemes for benefiting the universe were in opulent vein. Billy heard them silently. "I have spent the entire morning by the lake," Mr. Kennaston informed the party at large, "in company with a mocking-bird who was practising a new aria. It was a wonderful place; the trees were lisping verses to themselves, and the sky overhead was like a robin's egg in colour, and a faint wind was making tucks and ruches and pleats all over the water, quite as if the breezes had set up in business as mantua-makers. I fancy they thought they were working on a great sheet of blue silk, for it was very like that. And every once in a while a fish would leap and leave a splurge of bubble and foam behind that you would have sworn was an inserted lace medallion." Mr. Kennaston, as you are doubtless aware, is the author of "The King's Quest" and other volumes of verse. He is a full-bodied young man, with hair of no particular shade; and if his green eyes are a little aged, his manner is very youthful. His voice in speaking is wonderfully pleasing, and he has a habit of cocking his head on one side, in a bird-like fashion. "Indeed," Mr. Petheridge Jukesbury observed, "it is very true that God made the country and man made the town. A little more wine, please." Mr. Jukesbury is a prominent worker in the cause of philanthropy and temperance. He is ponderous and bland; and for the rest, he is president of the Society for the Suppression of Nicotine and the Nude, vice-president of the Anti-Inebriation League, secretary of the Incorporated Brotherhood of Benevolence, and the bearer of divers similar honours. "I am never really happy in the country," Mrs. Saumarez dissented; "it reminds me so constantly of our rural drama. I am always afraid the quartette may come on and sing something." Kathleen Eppes Saumarez, as I hope you do not need to be told, is the well-known lecturer before women's clubs, and the author of many sympathetic stories of Nature and animal life of the kind that have had such a vogue of late. There was always an indefinable air of pathos about her; as Hunston Wyke put it, one felt, somehow, that her mother had been of a domineering disposition, and that she took after her father. "Ah, dear lady," Mr. Kennaston cried, playfully, "you, like many of us, have become an alien to Nature in your quest of a mere Earthly Paradox. Epigrams are all very well, but I fancy there is more happiness to be derived from a single impulse from a vernal wood than from a whole problem-play of smart sayings. So few of us are natural," Mr. Kennaston complained, with a dulcet sigh; "we are too sophisticated. Our very speech lacks the tang of outdoor life. Why should we not love Nature--the great mother, who is, I grant you, the necessity of various useful inventions, in her angry moods, but who, in her kindly moments--" He paused, with a wry face. "I beg your pardon," said he, "but I believe I've caught rheumatism lying by that confounded pond." Mrs. Saumarez rallied the poet, with a pale smile. "That comes of communing with Nature," she reminded him; "and it serves you rightly, for natural communications corrupt good epigrams. I prefer Nature with wide margins and uncut leaves," she spoke, in her best platform manner. "Art should be an expurgated edition of Nature, with all the unpleasant parts left out. And I am sure," Mrs. Saumarez added, handsomely, and clinching her argument, "that Mr. Kennaston gives us much better sunsets in his poems than I have ever seen in the west." He acknowledged this with a bow. "Not sherry--claret, if you please," said Mr. Jukesbury. "Art should be an expurgated edition of Nature," he repeated, with a suave chuckle. "Do you know, I consider that admirably put, Mrs. Saumarez--admirably, upon my word. Ah, if our latter-day writers would only take that saying to heart! We do not need to be told of the vice and corruption prevalent, I am sorry to say, among the very best people; what we really need is continually to be reminded of the fact that pure hearts and homes and happy faces are to be found to-day alike in the palatial residences of the wealthy and in the humbler homes of those less abundantly favoured by Fortune, and yet dwelling together in harmony and Christian resignation and--er--comparatively moderate circumstances." "Surely," Mrs. Saumarez protested, "art has nothing to do with morality. Art is a process. You see a thing in a certain way; you make your reader see it in the same way--or try to. If you succeed, the result is art. If you fail, it may be the book of the year." "Enduring immortality and--ah--the patronage of the reading public," Mr. Jukesbury placidly insisted, "will be awarded, in the end, only to those who dwell upon the true, the beautiful, and the--er --respectable. Art must cheer; it must be optimistic and edifying and--ah--suitable for young persons; it must have an uplift, a leaven of righteousness, a--er--a sort of moral baking-powder. It must utterly eschew the--ah--unpleasant and repugnant details of life. It is, if I may so express myself, not at home in the ménage à trois or--er--the representation of the nude. Yes, another glass of claret, if you please." "I quite agree with you," said Mrs. Haggage, in her deep voice. Sarah Ellen Haggage is, of course, the well-known author of "Child-Labour in the South," and "The Down-Trodden Afro-American," and other notable contributions to literature. She is, also, the "Madame President" both of the Society for the Betterment of Civic Government and Sewerage, and of the Ladies' League for the Edification of the Impecunious. "And I am glad to see," Mrs. Haggage presently went on, "that the literature of the day is so largely beginning to chronicle the sayings and doings of the labouring classes. The virtues of the humble must be admitted in spite of their dissolute and unhygienic tendencies. Yes," Mrs. Haggage added, meditatively, "our literature is undoubtedly acquiring a more elevated tone; at last we are shaking off the scintillant and unwholesome influence of the French." "Ah, the French!" sighed Mr. Kennaston; "a people who think depravity the soul of wit! Their art is mere artfulness. They care nothing for Nature." "No," Mrs. Haggage assented; "they prefer nastiness. _All_ French books are immoral. I ran across one the other day that was simply hideously indecent--unfit for a modest woman to read. And I can assure you that none of its author's other books are any better. I purchased the entire set at once and read them carefully, in order to make sure that I was perfectly justified in warning my working-girls' classes against them. I wish to misjudge no man--not even a member of a nation notoriously devoted to absinthe and illicit relations." She breathed heavily, and looked at Mr. Woods as if, somehow, he was responsible. Then she gave the name of the book to Petheridge Jukesbury. He wished to have it placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ of the Brotherhood of Benevolence, he said. "Dear, dear," Felix Kennaston sighed, as Mr. Jukesbury made a note of it; "you are all so practical. You perceive an evil and proceed at once, in your common-sense way, to crush it, to stamp it out. Now, I can merely lament certain unfortunate tendencies of the age; I am quite unable to contend against them. Do you know," Mr. Kenneston continued gaily, as he trifled with a bunch of grapes, "I feel horribly out-of-place among you? Here is Mrs. Saumarez creating an epidemic of useful and improving knowledge throughout the country, by means of her charming lectures. Here is Mrs. Haggage, the mainspring, if I may say so, of any number of educational and philanthropic alarm clocks which will some day rouse the sleeping public from its lethargy. And here is my friend Jukesbury, whose eloquent pleas for a higher life have turned so many workmen from gin and improvidence, and which in a printed form are disseminated even in such remote regions as Africa, where I am told they have produced the most satisfactory results upon the unsophisticated but polygamous monarchs of that continent. And here, above all, is Miss Hugonin, utilising the vast power of money--which I am credibly informed is a very good thing to have, though I cannot pretend to speak from experience--and casting whole bakeryfuls of bread upon the waters of charity. And here am I, the idle singer of an empty day--a mere drone in this hive of philanthropic bees! Dear, dear," said Mr. Kennaston, enviously, "what a thing it is to be practical!" And he laughed toward Margaret, in his whimsical way. Miss Hugonin had been strangely silent; but she returned Mr. Kennaston's smile, and began to take part in the conversation. "You're only an ignorant child," she rebuked him, "and a very naughty child, too, to make fun of us in this fashion." "Yes," Mr. Kennaston assented, "I am wilfully ignorant. The world adores ignorance; and where ignorance is kissed it is folly to be wise. To-morrow I shall read you a chapter from my 'Defense of Ignorance,' which my confiding publisher is going to bring out in the autumn." So the table-talk went on, and now Margaret bore a part therein. * * * * * However, I do not think we need record it further. Mr. Woods listened in a sort of a daze. Adèle Haggage and Hugh Van Orden were conversing in low tones at one end of the table; the Colonel was eating his luncheon, silently and with a certain air of resignation; and so Billy Woods was left alone to attend and marvel. The ideas they advanced seemed to him, for the most part, sensible. What puzzled him was the uniform gravity which they accorded equally--as it appeared to him--to the discussion of the most pompous platitudes and of the most arrant nonsense. They were always serious; and the general tone of infallibility, Billy thought, could be warranted only by a vast fund of inexperience. But, in the main, they advocated theories he had always held--excellent theories, he considered. And he was seized with an unreasonable desire to repudiate every one of them. For it seemed to him that every one of them was aimed at Margaret's approval. It did not matter to whom a remark was ostensibly addressed--always at its conclusion the speaker glanced more or less openly toward Miss Hugonin. She was the audience to which they zealously played, thought Billy; and he wondered. I think I have said that, owing to the smallness of the house-party, luncheon was served in the breakfast-room. The dining-room at Selwoode is very rarely used, because Margaret declares its size makes a meal there equivalent to eating out-of-doors. And I must confess that the breakfast-room is far cosier. The room, in the first place, is of reasonable dimensions; it is hung with Flemish tapestries from designs by Van Eyck representing the Four Seasons, but the walls and ceiling are panelled in oak, and over the mantel carved in bas-relief the inevitable Eagle is displayed. The mantel stood behind Margaret's chair; and over her golden head, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, with his wings outstretched to the uttermost, the Eagle brooded as he had once brooded over Frederick R. Woods. The old man sat contentedly beneath that symbol of what he had achieved in life. He had started (as the phrase runs) from nothing; he had made himself a power. To him, the Eagle meant that crude, incalculable power of wealth he gloried in. And to Billy Woods, the Eagle meant identically the same thing, and--I am sorry to say--he began to suspect that the Eagle was really the audience to whom Miss Hugonin's friends so zealously played. Perhaps the misanthropy of Mr. Woods was not wholly unconnected with the fact that Margaret never looked at him. _She'd_ show him!--the fortune-hunter! So her eyes never strayed toward him; and her attention never left him. At the end of luncheon she could have enumerated for you every morsel he had eaten, every glare he had directed toward Kennaston, every beseeching look he had turned to her. Of course, he had taken sherry--dry sherry. Hadn't he told her four years ago--it was the first day she had ever worn the white organdie dotted with purple sprigs, and they sat by the lake so late that afternoon that Frederick R. Woods finally sent for them to come to dinner--hadn't he told her then that only women and children cared for sweet wines? Of course he had--the villain! [Illustration: "Billy Woods"] Billy, too, had his emotions. To hear that paragon, that queen among women, descant of work done in the slums and of the mysteries of sweat-shops; to hear her state off-hand that there were seventeen hundred and fifty thousand children between the ages of ten and fifteen years employed in the mines and factories of the United States; to hear her discourse of foreign missions as glibly as though she had been born and nurtured in Zambesi Land: all these things filled him with an odd sense of alienation. He wasn't worthy of her, and that was a fact. He was only a dumb idiot, and half the words that were falling thick and fast from philanthropic lips about him might as well have been hailstones, for all the benefit he was deriving from them. He couldn't understand half she said. In consequence, he very cordially detested the people who could--especially that grimacing ass, Kennaston. Altogether, neither Mr. Woods nor Miss Hugonin got much comfort from their luncheon. VII After luncheon Billy had a quiet half-hour with the Colonel in the smoking-room. Said Billy, between puffs of a cigar: "Peggy's changed a bit." The Colonel grunted. Perhaps he dared not trust to words. "Seems to have made some new friends." A more vigorous grunt. "Cultured lot, they seem?" said Mr. Woods. "Anxious to do good in the world, too--philanthropic set, eh?" A snort this time. "Eh?" said Mr. Woods. There was dawning suspicion in his tone. The Colonel looked about him. "My boy," said he, "you thank your stars you didn't get that money; and, depend upon it, there never was a gold-ship yet that wasn't followed." "Pirates?" Billy Woods suggested, helpfully. "Pirates are human beings," said Colonel Hugonin, with dignity. "Sharks, my boy; sharks!" VIII That evening, after proper deliberation, "Célestine," Miss Hugonin commanded, "get out that little yellow dress with the little red bandanna handkerchiefs on it; and for heaven's sake, stop pulling my hair out by the roots, unless you want a _raving_ maniac on your hands, Célestine!" Whereby she had landed me in a quandary. For how, pray, is it possible for me, a simple-minded male, fittingly to depict for you the clothes of Margaret?--the innumerable vanities, the quaint devices, the pleasing conceits with which she delighted to enhance her comeliness? The thing is beyond me. Let us keep discreetly out of her wardrobe, you and I. Otherwise, I should have to prattle of an infinity of mysteries--of her scarfs, feathers, laces, gloves, girdles, knots, hats, shoes, fans, and slippers--of her embroideries, rings, pins, pendants, ribbons, spangles, bracelets, and chains--in fine, there would be no end to the list of gewgaws that went to make Margaret Hugonin even more adorable than Nature had fashioned her. For when you come to think of it, it takes the craft and skill and life-work of a thousand men to dress one girl properly; and in Margaret's case, I protest that every one of them, could he have beheld the result of their united labours, would have so gloried in his own part therein that there would have been no putting up with any of the lot. Yet when I think of the tiny shoes she affected--patent-leather ones mostly, with a seam running straight up the middle (and you may guess the exact date of our comedy by knowing in what year these shoes were modish); the string of fat pearls she so often wore about her round, full throat; the white frock, say, with arabesques of blue all over it, that Felix Kennaston said reminded him of Ruskin's tombstone; or that other white-and-blue one--_décolleté_, that was--which I swear seraphic mantua-makers had woven out of mists and the skies of June: when I remember these things, I repeat, almost am I tempted to become a boot-maker and a lapidary and a milliner and, in fine, an adept in all the other arts and trades and sciences that go to make a well-groomed American girl what she is--the incredible fruit of grafted centuries, the period after the list of Time's achievements--just that I might describe Margaret to you properly. But the thing is beyond me. I leave such considerations, then, to Célestine, and resolve for the future rigorously to eschew all such gauds. Meanwhile, if an untutored masculine description will content you-- Margaret, I have on reliable feminine authority, was one of the very few blondes whose complexions can carry off reds and yellows. This particular gown--I remember it perfectly--was of a dim, dull yellow--flounciful (if I may coin a word), diaphanous, expansive. I have not the least notion what fabric composed it; but scattered about it, in unexpected places, were diamond-shaped red things that I am credibly informed are called medallions. The general effect of it may be briefly characterised as grateful to the eye and dangerous to the heart, and to a rational train of thought quite fatal. For it was cut low in the neck; and Margaret's neck and shoulders would have drawn madrigals from a bench of bishops. And in consequence, Billy Woods ate absolutely no dinner that evening. IX It was an hour or two later when the moon, drifting tardily up from the south, found Miss Hugonin and Mr. Kennaston chatting amicably together in the court at Selwoode. They were discussing the deplorable tendencies of the modern drama. The court at Selwoode lies in the angle of the building, the ground plan of which is L-shaped. Its two outer sides are formed by covered cloisters leading to the palm-garden, and by moonlight--the night bland and sweet with the odour of growing things, vocal with plashing fountains, spangled with fire-flies that flicker indolently among a glimmering concourse of nymphs and fauns eternally postured in flight or in pursuit--by moonlight, I say, the court at Selwoode is perhaps as satisfactory a spot for a _tête-à-tête_ as this transitory world affords. Mr. Kennaston was in vein to-night; he scintillated; he was also a little nervous. This was probably owing to the fact that Margaret, leaning against the back of the stone bench on which they both sat, her chin propped by her hand, was gazing at him in that peculiar, intent fashion of hers which--as I think I have mentioned--caused you fatuously to believe she had forgotten there were any other trousered beings extant. Mr. Kennaston, however, stuck to apt phrases and nice distinctions. The moon found it edifying, but rather dull. After a little Mr. Kennaston paused in his boyish, ebullient speech, and they sat in silence. The lisping of the fountains was very audible. In the heavens, the moon climbed a little further and registered a manifestly impossible hour on the sun-dial. It also brightened. It was a companionable sort of a moon. It invited talk of a confidential nature. "Bless my soul," it was signalling to any number of gentlemen at that moment, "there's only you and I and the girl here. Speak out, man! She'll have you now, if she ever will. You'll never have a chance like this again, I can tell you. Come, now, my dear boy, I'm shining full in your face, and you've no idea how becoming it is. I'm not like that garish, blundering sun, who doesn't know any better than to let her see how red and fidgetty you get when you're excited; I'm an old hand at such matters. I've presided over these little affairs since Babylon was a paltry village. _I'll_ never tell. And--and if anything should happen, I'm always ready to go behind a cloud, you know. So, speak out!--speak out, man, if you've the heart of a mouse!" Thus far the conscienceless spring moon. Mr. Kennaston sighed. The moon took this as a promising sign and brightened over it perceptibly, and thereby afforded him an excellent gambit. "Yes?" said Margaret. "What is it, beautiful?" That, in privacy, was her fantastic name for him. The poet laughed a little. "Beautiful child," said he--and that, under similar circumstances, was his perfectly reasonable name for her--"I have been discourteous. To be frank, I have been sulking as irrationally as a baby who clamours for the moon yonder." "You aren't really anything but a baby, you know." Indeed, Margaret almost thought of him as such. He was so delightfully naïf. He bent toward her. A faint tremor woke in his speech. "And so," said he, softly, "I cry for the moon--the unattainable, exquisite moon. It is very ridiculous, is it not?" But he did not look at the moon. He looked toward Margaret--past Margaret, toward the gleaming windows of Selwoode, where the Eagle brooded: "Oh, I really can't say," Margaret cried, in haste. "She was kind to Endymion, you know. We will hope for the best. I think we'd better go into the house now." "You bid me hope?" said he. "Beautiful, if you really want the moon, I don't see the _least_ objection to your continuing to hope. They make so many little airships and things nowadays, you know, and you'll probably find it only green cheese, after all. What _is_ green cheese, I wonder?--it sounds horribly indigestible and unattractive, doesn't it?" Miss Hugonin babbled, in a tumult of fear and disappointment. He was about to spoil their friendship now; men were so utterly inconsiderate. "I'm a little cold," said she, mendaciously, "I really must go in." He detained her. "Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted to tell you--" "I haven't the _least_ idea," she protested, promptly. "You can tell me all about it in the morning. I have some accounts to cast up to-night. Besides, I'm not a good person to tell secrets to. You--you'd much better not tell me. Oh, really, Mr. Kennaston," she cried, earnestly, "you'd much better not tell me!" "Ah, Margaret, Margaret," he pleaded, "I am not adamant. I am only a man, with a man's heart that hungers for you, cries for you, clamours for you day by day! I love you, beautiful child--love you with a poet's love that is alien to these sordid days, with a love that is half worship. I love you as Leander loved his Hero, as Pyramus loved Thisbe. Ah, child, child, how beautiful you are! You are fairest of created women, child--fair as those long-dead queens for whose smiles old cities burned and kingdoms were lightly lost. I am mad for love of you! Ah, have pity upon me, Margaret, for I love you very tenderly!" He delivered these observations with appropriate fervour. "Mr. Kennaston," said she, "I am sorry. We got along so nicely before, and I was _so_ proud of your friendship. We've had such good times together, you and I, and I've liked your verses so, and I've liked you--Oh, please, _please_, let's keep on being just friends!" Margaret wailed, piteously. "Friends!" he cried, and gave a bitter laugh. "I was never friends with you, Margaret. Why, even as I read my verses to you--those pallid, ineffectual verses that praised you timorously under varied names--even then there pulsed in my veins the riotous pæan of love, the great mad song of love that shamed my paltry rhymes. I cannot be friends with you, child! I must have all or nothing. Bid me hope or go!" Miss Hugonin meditated for a moment and did neither. "Beautiful," she presently queried, "would you be very, very much shocked if I descended to slang?" "I think," said he, with an uncertain smile, "that I could endure it." "Why, then--cut it out, beautiful! Cut it out! I don't believe a word you've said, in the first place; and, anyhow, it annoys me to have you talk to me like that. I don't like it, and it simply makes me awfully, awfully tired." With which characteristic speech, Miss Hugonin leaned back and sat up very rigidly and smiled at him like a cherub. Kennaston groaned. "It shall be as you will," he assured her, with a little quaver in his speech that was decidedly effective. "And in any event, I am not sorry that I have loved you, beautiful child. You have always been a power for good in my life. You have gladdened me with the vision of a beauty that is more than human, you have heartened me for this petty business of living, you have praised my verses, you have even accorded me certain pecuniary assistance as to their publication--though I must admit that to accept it of you was very distasteful to me. Ah!" Felix Kennaston cried, with a quick lift of speech, "impractical child that I am, I had not thought of that! My love had caused me to forget the great barrier that stands between us." He gasped and took a short turn about the court. "Pardon me, Miss Hugonin," he entreated, when his emotions were under a little better control, "for having spoken as I did. I had forgotten. Think of me, if you will, as no better than the others--think of me as a mere fortune-hunter. My presumption will be justly punished." "Oh, no, no, it isn't that," she cried; "it isn't that, is it? You--you would care just as much about me if I were poor, wouldn't you, beautiful? I don't want you to care for me, of course," Margaret added, with haste. "I want to go on being friends. Oh, that money, that _nasty_ money!" she cried, in a sudden gust of petulance. "It makes me so distrustful, and I can't help it!" He smiled at her wistfully. "My dear," said he, "are there no mirrors at Selwoode to remove your doubts?" "I--yes, I do believe in you," she said, at length. "But I don't want to marry you. You see, I'm not a bit in love with you," Margaret explained, candidly. Ensued a silence. Mr. Kennaston bowed his head. "You bid me go?" said he. "No--not exactly," said she. He indicated a movement toward her. "Now, you needn't attempt to take any liberties with me," Miss Hugonin announced, decisively, "because if you do I'll never speak to you again. You must let me go now. You--you must let me think." Then Felix Kennaston acted very wisely. He rose and stood aside, with a little bow. "I can wait, child," he said, sadly. "I have already waited a long time." Miss Hugonin escaped into the house without further delay. It was very flattering, of course; he had spoken beautifully, she thought, and nobly and poetically and considerately, and altogether there was absolutely no excuse for her being in a temper. Still, she was. The moon, however, considered the affair as arranged. For she had been no whit more resolute in her refusal, you see, than becomes any self-respecting maid. In fact, she had not refused him; and the experienced moon had seen the hopes of many a wooer thrive, chameleon-like, on answers far less encouraging than that which Margaret had given Felix Kennaston. Margaret was very fond of him. All women like a man who can do a picturesque thing without bothering to consider whether or not he be making himself ridiculous; and more than once in thinking of him she had wondered if--perhaps--possibly--some day--? And always these vague flights of fancy had ended at this precise point--incinerated, if you will grant me the simile, by the sudden flaming of her cheeks. The thing is common enough. You may remember that Romeo was not the only gentleman that Juliet noticed at her début: there was the young Petruchio; and the son and heir of old Tiberio; and I do not question that she had a kind glance or so for County Paris. Beyond doubt, there were many with whom my lady had danced; with whom she had laughed a little; with whom she had exchanged a few perfectly affable words and looks--when of a sudden her heart speaks: "Who's he that would not dance? If he be married, my grave is like to prove my marriage-bed." In any event, Paris and Petruchio and Tiberio's young hopeful can go hang; Romeo has come. Romeo is seldom the first. Pray you, what was there to prevent Juliet from admiring So-and-so's dancing? or from observing that Signor Such-an-one had remarkably expressive eyes? or from thinking of Tybalt as a dear, reckless fellow whom it was the duty of some good woman to rescue from perdition? If no one blames the young Montague for sending Rosaline to the right-about--Rosaline for whom he was weeping and rhyming an hour before--why, pray, should not Signorina Capulet have had a few previous _affaires du coeur_? Depend upon it, she had; for was she not already past thirteen? In like manner, I dare say that a deal passed between Desdemona and Cassio that the honest Moor never knew of; and that Lucrece was probably very pleasant and agreeable to Tarquin, as a well-bred hostess should be; and that Helen had that little affair with Theseus before she ever thought of Paris; and that if Cleopatra died for love of Antony it was not until she had previously lived a great while with Cæsar. So Felix Kennaston had his hour. Now Margaret has gone into Selwoode, flame-faced and quite unconscious that she is humming under her breath the words of a certain inane old song: "Oh, she sat for me a chair; She has ringlets in her hair; She's a young thing and cannot leave her mother"-- Only she sang it "father." And afterward, she suddenly frowned and stamped her foot, did Margaret. "I _hate_ him!" said she; but she looked very guilty. X In the living-hall of Selwoode Miss Hugonin paused. Undeniably there were the accounts of the Ladies' League for the Edification of the Impecunious to be put in order; her monthly report as treasurer was due in a few days, and Margaret was in such matters a careful, painstaking body, and not wholly dependent upon her secretary; but she was entirely too much out of temper to attend to that now. It was really all Mr. Kennaston's fault, she assured a pricking conscience, as she went out on the terrace before Selwoode. He had bothered her dreadfully. There she found Petheridge Jukesbury smoking placidly in the effulgence of the moonlight; and the rotund, pasty countenance he turned toward her was ludicrously like the moon's counterfeit in muddy water. I am sorry to admit it, but Mr. Jukesbury had dined somewhat injudiciously. You are not to stretch the phrase; he was merely prepared to accord the universe his approval, to pat Destiny upon the head, and his thoughts ran clear enough, but with Aprilian counter-changes of the jovial and the lachrymose. "Ah, Miss Hugonin," he greeted her, with a genial smile, "I am indeed fortunate. You find me deep in meditation, and also, I am sorry to say, in the practise of a most pernicious habit. You do not object? Ah, that is so like you. You are always kind, Miss Hugonin. Your kindness, which falls, if I may so express myself, as the gentle rain from Heaven upon all deserving charitable institutions, and daily comforts the destitute with good advice and consoles the sorrowing with blankets, would now induce you to tolerate an odour which I am sure is personally distasteful to you." "But _really_ I don't mind," was Margaret's protest. "I cannot permit it," Mr. Jukesbury insisted, and waved a pudgy hand in the moonlight. "No, really, I cannot permit it. We will throw it away, if you please, and say no more about it," and his glance followed the glowing flight of his cigar-end somewhat wistfully. "Your father's cigars are such as it is seldom my privilege to encounter; but, then, my personal habits are not luxurious, nor my private income precisely what my childish imaginings had pictured it at this comparatively advanced period of life. Ah, youth, youth!--as the poet admirably says, Miss Hugonin, the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts, but its visions of existence are rose-tinged and free from care, and its conception of the responsibilities of manhood--such as taxes and the water-rate--I may safely characterise as extremely sketchy. But pray be seated, Miss Hugonin," Petheridge Jukesbury blandly urged. Common courtesy forced her to comply. So Margaret seated herself on a little red rustic bench. In the moonlight--but I think I have mentioned how Margaret looked in the moonlight; and above her golden head the Eagle, sculptured over the door-way, stretched his wings to the uttermost, half-protectingly, half-threateningly, and seemed to view Mr. Jukesbury with a certain air of expectation. "A beautiful evening," Petheridge Jukesbury suggested, after a little cogitation. She conceded that this was undeniable. "Where Nature smiles, and only the conduct of man is vile and altogether what it ought not to be," he continued, with unction--"ah, how true that is and how consoling! It is a good thing to meditate upon our own vileness, Miss Hugonin--to reflect that we are but worms with naturally the most vicious inclinations. It is most salutary. Even I am but a worm, Miss Hugonin, though the press has been pleased to speak most kindly of me. Even you--ah, no!" cried Mr. Jukesbury, kissing his finger-tips, with gallantry; "let us say a worm who has burst its cocoon and become a butterfly--a butterfly with a charming face and a most charitable disposition and considerable property!" Margaret thanked him with a smile, and began to think wistfully of the Ladies' League accounts. Still, he was a good man; and she endeavoured to persuade herself that she considered his goodness to atone for his flabbiness and his fleshiness and his interminable verbosity--which she didn't. Mr. Jukesbury sighed. "A naughty world," said he, with pathos--"a very naughty world, which really does not deserve the honour of including you in its census reports. Yet I dare say it has the effrontery to put you down in the tax-lists; it even puts me down--me, an humble worker in the vineyard, with both hands set to the plough. And if I don't pay up it sells me out. A very naughty world, indeed! I dare say," Mr. Jukesbury observed, raising his eyes--not toward heaven, but toward the Eagle, "that its conduct, as the poet says, creates considerable distress among the angels. I don't know. I am not acquainted with many angels. My wife was an angel, but she is now a lifeless form. She has been for five years. I erected a tomb to her at considerable personal expense, but I don't begrudge it--no, I don't begrudge it, Miss Hugonin. She was very hard to live with. But she was an angel, and angels are rare. Miss Hugonin," said Petheridge Jukesbury, with emphasis, "_you_ are an angel." "Oh, dear, _dear!_" said Margaret, to herself; "I do wish I'd gone to bed directly after dinner!" Above them the Eagle brooded. "Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted to tell you--" "No," said Margaret, "and I don't want to know, please. You make me awfully tired, and I don't care for you in the _least_. Now, you let go my hand--let go at once!" He detained her. "You are an angel," he insisted--"an angel with a large property. I love you, Margaret! Be mine!--be my blushing bride, I entreat you! Your property is far too large for an angel to look after. You need a man of affairs. I am a man of affairs. I am forty-five, and have no bad habits. My press-notices are, as a rule, favourable, my eloquence is accounted considerable, and my dearest aspiration is that you will comfort my declining years. I might add that I adore you, but I think I mentioned that before. Margaret, will you be my blushing bride?" "No!" said Miss Hugonin emphatically. "No, you tipsy old beast--no!" There was a rustle of skirts. The door slammed, and the philanthropist was left alone on the terrace. XI In the living-hall Margaret came upon Hugh Van Orden, who was searching in one of the alcoves for a piece of music that Adèle Haggage wanted and had misplaced. The boy greeted her miserably. "Miss Hugonin," he lamented, "you're awfully hard on me." "I am sorry," said Margaret, "that you consider me discourteous to a guest in my own house." Oh, I grant you Margaret was in a temper now. "It isn't that," he protested; "but I never see you alone. And I've had something to tell you." "Yes?" said she, coldly. He drew near to her. "Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have long wanted to tell you--" "Yes, I should think I _did!_" said Margaret, "and if you dare tell me a word of it I'll never speak to you again. It's getting a little monotonous. Good-night, Mr. Van Orden." Half way up the stairs she paused and ran lightly back. "Oh, Hugh, Hugh!" she said, contritely, "I was unpardonably rude. I'm sorry, dear, but it's quite impossible. You are a dear, cute little boy, and I love you--but not that way. So let's shake hands, Hugh, and be friends! And then you can go and play with Adèle." He raised her hand to his lips. He really was a nice boy. "But, oh, dear!" said Margaret, when he had gone; "what horrid creatures men are, and what a temper I'm in, and what a vexatious place the world is! I wish I were a pauper! I wish I had never been born! And I wish--and I wish I had those League papers fixed! I'll do it to-night! I'm sure I need something tranquillising, like assessments and decimal places and unpaid dues, to keep me from _screaming_. I hate them all--all three of them--as badly as I do _him!_" Thereupon she blushed, for no apparent reason, and went to her own rooms in a frame of mind that was inexcusable, but very becoming. Her cheeks burned, her eyes flashed with a brighter glow that was gem-like and a little cruel, and her chin tilted up defiantly. Margaret had a resolute chin, a masculine chin. I fancy that it was only at the last moment that Nature found it a thought too boyish and modified it with a dimple--a very creditable dimple, by the way, that she must have been really proud of. That ridiculous little dint saved it, feminised it. Altogether, then, she swept down upon the papers of the Ladies' League for the Edification of the Impecunious with very much the look of a diminutive Valkyrie--a Valkyrie of unusual personal attractions, you understand--_en route_ for the battle-field and a little, a very little eager and expectant of the strife. Subsequently, "Oh, dear, _dear!_" said she, amid a feverish rustling of papers; "the whole world is out of sorts to-night! I never _did_ know how much seven times eight is, and I hate everybody, and I've left that list of unpaid dues in Uncle Fred's room, and I've got to go after it, and I don't want to! Bother those little suitors of mine!" Miss Hugonin rose, and went out from her own rooms, carrying a bunch of keys, across the hallway to the room in which Frederick R. Woods had died. It was his study, you may remember. It had been little used since his death, but Margaret kept her less important papers there--the overflow, the flotsam of her vast philanthropic and educational correspondence. And there she found Billy Woods. XII His back was turned to the door as she entered. He was staring at a picture beside the mantel--a portrait of Frederick R. Woods--and his eyes when he wheeled about were wistful. Then, on a sudden, they lighted up as if they had caught fire from hers, and his adoration flaunted crimson banners in his cheeks, and his heart, I dare say, was a great blaze of happiness. He loved her, you see; when she entered a room it really made a difference to this absurd young man. He saw a great many lights, for instance, and heard music. And accordingly, he laughed now in a very contented fashion. "I wasn't burglarising," said he--"that is, not exactly. I ought to have asked your permission, I suppose, before coming here, but I couldn't find you, and--and it was rather important. You see," Mr. Woods continued, pointing to the great carved desk. "I happened to speak of this desk to the Colonel to-night. We--we were talking of Uncle Fred's death, and I found out, quite by accident, that it hadn't been searched since then--that is, not thoroughly. There are secret drawers, you see; one here," and he touched the spring that threw it open, "and the other on this side. There is--there is nothing of importance in them; only receipted bills and such. The other drawer is inside that centre compartment, which is locked. The Colonel wouldn't come. He said it was all foolishness, and that he had a book he wanted to read. So he sent me after what he called my mare's nest. It isn't, you see--no, not quite, not quite," Mr. Woods murmured, with an odd smile, and then laughed and added, lamely: "I--I suppose I'm the only person who knew about it." Mr. Woods's manner was a thought strange. He stammered a little in speaking; he laughed unnecessarily; and Margaret could see that his hands trembled. Taking him all in all, you would have sworn he was repressing some vital emotion. But he did not seem unhappy--no, not exactly unhappy. He was with Margaret, you see. "Oh, you beauty!" his meditations ran. He had some excuse. In the soft, rosy twilight of the room--the study at Selwoode is panelled in very dark oak, and the doors and windows are screened with crimson hangings--her parti-coloured red-and-yellow gown might have been a scrap of afterglow left over from an unusually fine sunset. In a word, Miss Hugonin was a very quaint and colourful and delectable figure as she came a little further into the room. Her eyes shone like blue stars, and her hair shone--there must be pounds of it, Billy thought--and her very shoulders, plump, flawless, ineffable, shone with the glow of an errant cloud-tatter that is just past the track of dawn, and is therefore neither pink nor white, but manages somehow to combine the best points of both colours. "Ah, indeed?" said Miss Hugonin. Her tone imparted a surprising degree of chilliness to this simple remark. "No," she went on, very formally, "this is not a private room; you owe me no apology for being here. Indeed, I am rather obliged to you, Mr. Woods, for none of us knew of these secret drawers. Here is the key to the central compartment, if you will be kind enough to point out the other one. Dear, dear!" Margaret concluded, languidly, "all this is quite like a third-rate melodrama. I haven't the least doubt you will discover a will in there in your favour, and be reinstated as the long-lost heir and all that sort of thing. How tiresome that will be for me, though." She was in a mood to be cruel to-night. She held out the keys to him, in a disinterested fashion, and dropped them daintily into his outstretched palm, just as she might have given a coin to an unusually grimy mendicant. But the tips of her fingers grazed his hand. That did the mischief. Her least touch was enough to set every nerve in his body a-tingle. "Peggy!" he said hoarsely, as the keys jangled to the floor. Then Mr. Woods drew a little nearer to her and said "Peggy, Peggy!" in a voice that trembled curiously, and appeared to have no intention of saying anything further. Indeed, words would have seemed mere tautology to any one who could have seen his eyes. Margaret looked into them for a minute, and her own eyes fell before their blaze, and her heart--very foolishly--stood still for a breathing-space. Subsequently she recalled the fact that he was a fortune-hunter, and that she despised him, and also observed--to her surprise and indignation--that he was holding her hand and had apparently been doing so for some time. You may believe it, that she withdrew that pink-and-white trifle angrily enough. "Pray don't be absurd, Mr. Woods," said she. Billy caught up the word. "Absurd!" he echoed--"yes, that describes what I've been pretty well, doesn't it, Peggy? I _was_ absurd when I let you send me to the right-about four years ago. I realised that to-day the moment I saw you. I should have held on like the very grimmest death; I should have bullied you into marrying me, if necessary, and in spite of fifty Anstruthers. Oh, yes, I know that now. But I was only a boy then, Peggy, and so I let a boy's pride come between us. I know now there isn't any question of pride where you are concerned--not any question of pride nor of any silly misunderstandings, nor of any uncle's wishes, nor of anything but just you, Peggy. It's just you that I care for now--just you." "Ah!" Margaret cried, with a swift intake of the breath that was almost a sob. He had dared, after all; oh, it was shameless, sordid! And yet (she thought dimly), how dear that little quiver in his voice had been were it unplanned!--and how she could have loved this big, eager boy were he not the hypocrite she knew him! _She'd_ show him! But somehow--though it was manifestly what he deserved--she found she couldn't look him in the face while she did it. So she dropped her eyes to the floor and waited for a moment of tense silence. Then, "Am I to consider this a proposal, Mr. Woods?" she asked, in muffled tones. Billy stared. "Yes," said he, very gravely, after an interval. "You see," she explained, still in the same dull voice, "you phrased it so vaguely I couldn't well be certain. You don't propose very well, Mr. Woods. I--I've had opportunities to become an authority on such matters, you see, since I've been rich. That makes a difference, doesn't it? A great many men are willing to marry me now who wouldn't have thought of such a thing, say--say, four years ago. So I've had some experience. Oh, yes, three--three _persons_ have offered to marry me for my money earlier in this very evening--before you did, Mr. Woods. And, really, I can't compliment you on your methods, Mr. Woods; they are a little vague, a little abrupt, a little transparent, don't you think?" "Peggy!" he cried, in a frightened whisper. He could not believe, you see, that it was the woman he loved who was speaking. And for my part, I admit frankly that at this very point, if ever in her life, Margaret deserved a thorough shaking. "Dear me," she airily observed, "I'm sure I've said nothing out of the way. I think it speaks very well for you that you're so fond of your old home--so anxious to regain it at _any_ cost. It's quite touching, Mr. Woods." She raised her eyes toward his. I dare say she was suffering as much as he. But women consider it a point of honour to smile when they stab; Margaret smiled with an innocence that would have seemed overdone in an angel. Then, in an instant, she had the grace to be abjectly ashamed of herself. Billy's face had gone white. His mouth was set, mask-like, and his breathing was a little perfunctory. It stung her, though, that he was not angry. He was sorry. "I--I see," he said, very carefully. "You think I--want the money. Yes--I see." "And why not?" she queried, pleasantly. "Dear me, money's a very sensible thing to want, I'm sure. It makes a great difference, you know." He looked down into her face for a moment. One might have sworn this detected fortune-hunter pitied her. "Yes," he assented, slowly, "it makes a difference--not a difference for the better, I'm afraid, Peggy." Ensued a silence. Then Margaret tossed her head. She was fast losing her composure. She would have given the world to retract what she had said, and accordingly she resolved to brazen it out. "You needn't look at me as if I were a convicted criminal," she said, sharply. "I won't marry you, and there's an end of it." "It isn't that I'm thinking of," said Mr. Woods, with a grave smile. "You see, it takes me a little time to realise your honest opinion of me. I believe I understand now. You think me a very hopeless cad--that's about your real opinion, isn't it, Peggy? I didn't know that, you see. I thought you knew me better than that. You did once, Peggy--once, a long time ago, and--and I hoped you hadn't quite forgotten that time." The allusion was ill chosen. "Oh, oh, _oh!_" she cried, gasping. "_You_ to remind me of that time!--you of all men. Haven't you a vestige of shame? Haven't you a rag of honour left? Oh, I didn't know there were such men in the world! And to think--to think--" Margaret's glorious voice broke, and she wrung her hands helplessly. Then, after a little, she raised her eyes to his, and spoke without a trace of emotion. "To think," she said, and her voice was toneless now, "to think that I loved you! It's that that hurts, you know. For I loved you very dearly, Billy Woods--yes, I think I loved you quite as much as any woman can ever love a man. You were the first, you see, and girls--girls are very foolish about such things. I thought you were brave, and strong, and clean, and honest, and beautiful, and dear--oh, quite the best and dearest man in the world, I thought you, Billy Woods! That--that was queer, wasn't it?" she asked, with a listless little shiver. "Yes, it was very queer. You didn't think of me in quite that way, did you? No, you--you thought I was well enough to amuse you for a while. I was well enough for a summer flirtation, wasn't I, Billy? But marriage--ah, no, you never thought of marriage then. You ran away when Uncle Fred suggested that. You refused point-blank--refused in this very room--didn't you, Billy? Ah, that--that hurt," Margaret ended, with a faint smile. "Yes, it--hurt." Billy Woods raised a protesting hand, as though to speak, but afterward he drew a deep, tremulous breath and bit his lip and was silent. She had spoken very quietly, very simply, very like a tired child; now her voice lifted. "But you've hurt me more to-night," she said, equably--"to-night, when you've come cringing back to me--to me, whom you'd have none of when I was poor. I'm rich now, though. That makes a difference, doesn't it, Billy? You're willing to whistle back the girl's love you flung away once--yes, quite willing. But can't you understand how much it must hurt me to think I ever loved you?" Margaret asked, very gently. She wanted him to understand. She wanted him to be ashamed. She prayed God that he might be just a little, little bit ashamed, so that she might be able to forgive him. But he stood silent, bending puzzled brows toward her. "Can't you understand, Billy?" she pleaded, softly. "I can't help seeing what a cur you are. I must hate you, Billy--of course, I must," she insisted, very gently, as though arguing the matter with herself; then suddenly she sobbed and wrung her hands in anguish. "Oh, I can't, I can't!" she wailed. "God help me, I can't hate you, even though I know you for what you are!" His arms lifted a little; and in a flash Margaret knew that what she most wanted in all the world was to have them close about her, and then to lay her head upon his shoulder and cry contentedly. Oh, she did want to forgive him! If he had lost all sense of shame, why could he not lie to her? Surely, he could at least lie? And, oh, how gladly she would believe!--only the tiniest, the flimsiest fiction, her eyes craved of him. But he merely said "I see--I see," very slowly, and then smiled. "We'll put the money aside just now," he said. "Perhaps, after a little, we--we'll came back to that. I think you've forgotten, though, that when--when Uncle Fred and I had our difference you had just thrown me over--had just ordered me never to speak to you again? I couldn't very well ask you to marry me, could I, under those circumstances?" "I spoke in a moment of irritation," a very dignified Margaret pointed out; "you would have paid no attention whatever to it if you had really--cared." Billy laughed, rather sadly. "Oh, I cared right enough," he said. "I still care. The question is--do you?" "No," said Margaret, with decision, "I don't--not in the _least_." "Peggy," Mr. Woods commanded, "look at me!" "You have had your answer, I think," Miss Hugonin indifferently observed. Billy caught her chin in his hand and turned her face to his. "Peggy, do you--care?" he asked, softly. And Margaret looked into his honest-seeming eyes and, in a panic, knew that her traitor lips were forming "yes." "That would be rather unfortunate, wouldn't it?" she asked, with a smile. "You see, it was only an hour ago I promised to marry Mr. Kennaston." "Kennaston!" Billy gasped. "You--you don't mean that you care for _him_, Peggy?" "I really can't see why it should concern you," said Margaret, sweetly, "but since you ask--I do. You couldn't expect me to remain inconsolable forever, you know." Then the room blurred before her eyes. She stood rigid, defiant. She was dimly aware that Billy was speaking, speaking from a great distance, it seemed, and then after a century or two his face came back to her out of the whirl of things. And, though she did not know it, they were smiling bravely at one another. "--and so," Mr. Woods was stating, "I've been an even greater ass than usual, and I hope you'll be very, very happy." [Illustration: "Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growing in his countenance."] "Thank you," she returned, mechanically, "I--I hope so." After an interval, "Good-night, Peggy," said Mr. Woods. "Oh--? Good-night," said she, with a start. He turned to go. Then, "By Jove!" said he, grimly, "I've been so busy making an ass of myself I'd forgotten all about more--more important things." Mr. Woods picked up the keys and, going to the desk, unlocked the centre compartment with a jerk. Afterward he gave a sharp exclamation. He had found a paper in the secret drawer at the back which appeared to startle him. Billy unfolded it slowly, with a puzzled look growing in his countenance. Then for a moment Margaret's golden head drew close to his yellow curls and they read it through together. And in the most melodramatic and improbable fashion in the world they found it to be the last will and testament of Frederick R. Woods. "But--but I don't understand," was Miss Hugonin's awed comment. "It's exactly like the other will, only--why, it's dated the seventeenth of June, the day before he died! And it's witnessed by Hodges and Burton--the butler and the first footman, you know--and they've never said anything about such a paper. And, then, why should he have made another will just like the first?" Billy pondered. By and bye, "I think I can explain that," he said, in a rather peculiar voice. "You see, Hodges and Burton witnessed all his papers, half the time without knowing what they were about. They would hardly have thought of this particular one after his death. And it isn't quite the same will as the other; it leaves you practically everything, but it doesn't appoint any trustees, as the other did, because this will was drawn up after you were of age. Moreover, it contains these four bequests to colleges, to establish a Woods chair of ethnology, which the other will didn't provide for. Of course, it would have been simpler merely to add a codicil to the first will, but Uncle Fred was always very methodical. I--I think he was probably going through the desk the night he died, destroying various papers. He must have taken the other will out to destroy it just--just before he died. Perhaps--perhaps--" Billy paused for a little and then laughed, unmirthfully. "It scarcely matters," said he. "Here is the will. It is undoubtedly genuine and undoubtedly the last he made. You'll have to have it probated, Peggy, and settle with the colleges. It--it won't make much of a hole in the Woods millions." There was a half-humorous bitterness in his voice that Margaret noted silently. So (she thought) he had hoped for a moment that at the last Frederick R. Woods had relented toward him. It grieved her, in a dull fashion, to see him so mercenary. It grieved her--though she would have denied it emphatically--to see him so disappointed. Since he wanted the money so much, she would have liked for him to have had it, worthless as he was, for the sake of the boy he had been. "Thank you," she said, coldly, as she took the paper; "I will give it to my father. He will do what is necessary. Good-night, Mr. Woods." Then she locked up the desk in a businesslike fashion and turned to him, and held out her hand. "Good-night, Billy," said this perfectly inconsistent young woman. "For a moment I thought Uncle Fred had altered his will in your favour. I almost wish he had." Billy smiled a little. "That would never have done," he said, gravely, as he shook hands; "you forget what a sordid, and heartless, and generally good-for-nothing chap I am, Peggy. It's much better as it is." Only the tiniest, the flimsiest fiction, her eyes craved of him. Even now, at the eleventh hour, lie to me, Billy Woods, and, oh, how gladly I will believe! But he merely said "Good-night, Peggy," and went out of the room. His broad shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. Margaret was glad. Of course, she was glad. At last, she had told him exactly what she thought of him. Why shouldn't she be glad? She was delighted. So, by way of expressing this delight, she sat down at the desk and began to cry very softly. XIII Having duly considered the emptiness of existence, the unworthiness of men, the dreary future that awaited her--though this did not trouble her greatly, as she confidently expected to die soon--and many other such dolorous topics, Miss Hugonin decided to retire for the night. She rose, filled with speculations as to the paltriness of life and the probability of her eyes being red in the morning. "It will be all his fault if they are," she consoled herself. "Doubtless he'll be very much pleased. After robbing me of all faith in humanity, I dare say the one thing needed to complete his happiness is to make me look like a fright. I hate him! After making me miserable, now, I suppose he'll go off and make some other woman miserable. Oh, of course, he'll make love to the first woman he meets who has any money. I'm sure she's welcome to him. I only pity any woman who has to put up with _him_. No, I don't," Margaret decided, after reflection; "I hate her, too!" Miss Hugonin went to the door leading to the hallway and paused. Then--I grieve to relate it--she shook a little pink-tipped fist in the air. "I detest you!" she commented, between her teeth; "oh, how _dare_ you make me feel so ashamed of the way I've treated you!" The query--as possibly you may have divined--was addressed to Mr. Woods. He was standing by the fireplace in the hallway, and his tall figure was outlined sharply against the flame of the gas-logs that burned there. His shoulders had a pathetic droop, a listlessness. Billy was reading a paper of some kind by the firelight, and the black outline of his face smiled grimly over it. Then he laughed and threw it into the fire. "Billy!" a voice observed--a voice that was honey and gold and velvet and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world. Mr. Woods was aware of a light step, a swishing, sibilant, delightful rustling--the caress of sound is the rustling of a well-groomed woman's skirts--and of an afterthought of violets, of a mere reminiscence of orris, all of which came toward him through the dimness of the hall. He started, noticeably. "Billy," Miss Hugonin stated, "I'm sorry for what I said to you. I'm not sure it isn't true, you know, but I'm sorry I said it." "Bless your heart!" said Billy; "don't you worry over that, Peggy. That's all right. Incidentally, the things you've said to me and about me aren't true, of course, but we won't discuss that just now. I--I fancy we're both feeling a bit fagged. Go to bed, Peggy! We'll both go to bed, and the night will bring counsel, and we'll sleep off all unkindliness. Go to bed, little sister!--get all the beauty-sleep you aren't in the least in need of, and dream of how happy you're going to be with the man you love. And--and in the morning I may have something to say to you. Good-night, dear." And this time he really went. And when he had come to the bend in the stairs his eyes turned back to hers, slowly and irresistibly, drawn toward them, as it seemed, just as the sunflower is drawn toward the sun, or the needle toward the pole, or, in fine, as the eyes of young gentlemen ordinarily are drawn toward the eyes of the one woman in the world. Then he disappeared. The mummery of it vexed Margaret. There was no excuse for his looking at her in that way. It irritated her. She was almost as angry with him for doing it as she would have been for not doing it. Therefore, she bent an angry face toward the fire, her mouth pouting in a rather inviting fashion. Then it rounded slowly into a sanguine O, which of itself suggested osculation, but in reality stood for "observe!" For the paper Billy had thrown into the fire had fallen under the gas-logs, and she remembered his guilty start. "After all," said Margaret, "it's none of my business." So she eyed it wistfully. "It may be important," she considerately remembered. "It ought not to be left there." So she fished it out with a big paper-cutter. "But it can't be very important," she dissented afterward, "or he wouldn't have thrown it away." So she looked at the superscripture on the back of it. Then she gave a little gasp and tore it open and read it by the firelight. Miss Hugonin subsequently took credit to herself for not going into hysterics. And I think she had some reason to; for she found the paper a duplicate of the one Billy had taken out of the secret drawer, with his name set in the place of hers. At the last Frederick R. Woods had relented toward his nephew. Margaret laughed a little; then she cried a little; then she did both together. Afterward she sat in the firelight, very puzzled and very excited and very penitent and very beautiful, and was happier than she had ever been in her life. "He had it in his pocket," her dear voice quavered; "he had it in his pocket, my brave, strong, beautiful Billy did, when he asked me to marry him. It was King Cophetua wooing the beggar-maid--and the beggar was an impudent, ungrateful, idiotic little _piece!_" Margaret hissed, in her most shrewish manner. "She ought to be spanked. She ought to go down on her knees to him in sackcloth, and tears, and ashes, and all sorts of penitential things. She will, too. Oh, it's such a beautiful world--_such_ a beautiful world! Billy loves me--really! Billy's a millionaire, and I'm a pauper. Oh, I'm glad, glad, _glad!_" She caressed the paper that had rendered the world such a goodly place to live in--caressed it tenderly and rubbed her check against it. That was Margaret's way of showing affection, you know; and I protest it must have been very pleasant for the paper. The only wonder was that the ink it was written in didn't turn red with delight. Then she read it through again, for sheer enjoyment of those beautiful, incomprehensible words that disinherited her. How _lovely_ of Uncle Fred! she thought. Of course, he'd forgiven Billy; who wouldn't? What beautiful language Uncle Fred used! quite prayer-booky, she termed it. Then she gasped. The will in Billy's favour was dated a week earlier than the one they had found in the secret drawer. It was worthless, mere waste paper. At the last Frederick R. Woods's pride had conquered his love. "Oh, the horrid old man!" Margaret wailed; "he's left me everything he had! How _dare_ he disinherit Billy! I call it rank impertinence in him. Oh, boy dear, dear, _dear_ boy!" Miss Hugonin crooned, in an ecstacy of tenderness and woe. "He found this first will in one of the other drawers, and thought _he_ was the rich one, and came in a great whirl of joy to ask me to marry him, and I was horrid to him! Oh, what a mess I've made of it! I've called him a fortune-hunter, and I've told him I love another man, and he'll never, never ask me to marry him now. And I love him, I worship him, I adore him! And if only I were poor--" Ensued a silence. Margaret lifted the two wills, scrutinised them closely, and then looked at the fire, interrogatively. "It's penal servitude for quite a number of years," she said. "But, then, he really _couldn't_ tell any one, you know. No gentleman would allow a lady to be locked up in jail. And if he knew--if he knew I didn't and couldn't consider him a fortune-hunter, I really believe he would--" Whatever she believed he would do, the probability of his doing it seemed highly agreeable to Miss Hugonin. She smiled at the fire in the most friendly fashion, and held out one of the folded papers to it. "Yes," said Margaret, "I'm quite sure he will." There I think we may leave her. For I have dredged the dictionary, and I confess I have found no fitting words wherewith to picture this inconsistent, impulsive, adorable young woman, dreaming brave dreams in the firelight of her lover and of their united future. I should only bungle it. You must imagine it for yourself. It is a pretty picture, is it not?--with its laughable side, perhaps; under the circumstances, whimsical, if you will; but very, very sacred. For she loved him with a clean heart, loved him infinitely. Let us smile at it--tenderly--and pass on. But upon my word, when I think of how unreasonably, how outrageously Margaret had behaved during the entire evening, I am tempted to depose her as our heroine. I begin to regret I had not selected Adèle Haggage. She would have done admirably. For, depend upon it, she, too, had her trepidations, her white nights, her occult battles over Hugh Van Orden. Also, she was a pretty girl--if you care for brunettes--and accomplished. She was versed in I forget how many foreign languages, both Continental and dead, and could discourse sensibly in any one of them. She was perfectly reasonable, perfectly consistent, perfectly unimpulsive, and never expressed an opinion that was not countenanced by at least two competent authorities. I don't know a man living, prepared to dispute that Miss Haggage excelled Miss Hugonin in all these desirable qualities. Yet with pleasing unanimity they went mad for Margaret and had the greatest possible respect for Adèle. And, my dear Mrs. Grundy, I grant you cheerfully that this was all wrong. A sensible man, as you very justly observe, will seek in a woman something more enduring than mere personal attractions; he will value her for some sensible reason--say, for her wit, or her learning, or her skill in cookery, or her proficiency in Greek. A sensible man will look for a sensible woman; he will not concern his sensible head over such trumperies as a pair of bright eyes, or a red lip or so, or a satisfactory suit of hair. These are fleeting vanities. However-- You have doubtless heard ere this, my dear madam, that had Cleopatra's nose been an inch shorter the destiny of the world would have been changed; had she been the woman you describe--perfectly reasonable, perfectly consistent, perfectly sensible in all she said and did--confess, dear lady, wouldn't Antony have taken to his heels and have fled from such a monster? XIV I regret to admit that Mr. Woods did not toss feverishly about his bed all through the silent watches of the night. He was very miserable, but he was also twenty-six. That is an age when the blind bow-god deals no fatal wounds. It is an age to suffer poignantly, if you will; an age wherein to aspire to the dearest woman on earth, to write her halting verses, to lose her, to affect the _clichés_ of cynicism, to hear the chimes at midnight--and after it all, to sleep like a top. So Billy slept. And kind Hypnos loosed a dream through the gates of ivory that lifted him to a delectable land where Peggy was nineteen, and had never heard of Kennaston, and was unbelievably sweet and dear and beautiful. But presently they and the Colonel put forth to sea--on a great carved writing-desk--fishing for sharks, which the Colonel said were very plentiful in those waters; and Frederick R. Woods climbed up out of the sea, and said Billy was a fool and must go to college; and Peggy said that was impossible, as seventeen hundred and fifty thousand children had to be given an education apiece, and they couldn't spare one for Billy; and a missionary from Zambesi Land came out of one of the secret drawers and said Billy must give him both of his feet as he needed them for his working-girls' classes; and thereupon the sharks poked their heads out of the water and began, in a deafening chorus, to cry, "Feet, feet, feet!" And Billy then woke with a start, and found it was only the birds chattering in the dawn outside. Then he was miserable. He tossed, and groaned, and dozed, and smoked cigarettes until he could stand it no longer. He got up and dressed, in sheer desperation, and went for a walk in the gardens. The day was clear as a new-minted coin. It was not yet wholly aired, not wholly free from the damp savour of night, but low in the east the sun was taking heart. A mile-long shadow footed it with Billy Woods in his pacings through the amber-chequered gardens. Actaeon-like, he surprised the world at its toilet, and its fleeting grace somewhat fortified his spirits. But his thoughts pestered him like gnats. The things he said to the roses it is not necessary to set down. XV After a vituperative half-hour or so Mr. Woods was hungry. He came back toward Selwoode; and upon the terrace in front of the house he found Kathleen Saumarez. During the warm weather, one corner of the terrace had been converted, by means of gay red-and-white awnings, into a sort of living-room. There were chairs, tables, sofa-cushions, bowls of roses, and any number of bright-coloured rugs. Altogether, it was a cosy place, and the glowing hues of its furnishings were very becoming to Mrs. Saumarez, who sat there writing industriously. It was a thought embarrassing. They had avoided one another yesterday--rather obviously--both striving to put off a necessarily awkward meeting. Now it had come. And now, somehow, their eyes met for a moment, and they laughed frankly, and the awkwardness was gone. "Kathleen," said Mr. Woods, with conviction, "you're a dear." "You broke my heart," said she, demurely, "but I'm going to forgive you." Mrs. Saumarez was not striving to be clever now. And, heavens (thought Billy), how much nicer she was like this! It wasn't the same woman: her thin cheeks flushed arbutus-like, and her rather metallic voice was grown low and gentle. Billy brought memories with him, you see; and for the moment, she was Kathleen Eppes again--Kathleen Eppes in the first flush of youth, eager, trustful, and joyous-hearted, as he had known her long ago. Since then, the poor woman had eaten of the bread of dependence and had found it salt enough; she had paid for it daily, enduring a thousand petty slights, a thousand petty insults, and smiling under them as only women can. But she had forgotten now that shrewd Kathleen Saumarez who must earn her livelihood as best she might. She smiled frankly--a purely unprofessional smile. "I was sorry when I heard you were coming," she said, irrelevantly, "but I'm glad now." Mr. Woods--I grieve to relate--was still holding her hand in his. There stirred in his pulses the thrill Kathleen Eppes had always wakened--a thrill of memory now, a mere wraith of emotion. He was thinking of a certain pink-cheeked girl with crinkly black-brown hair and eyes that he had likened to chrysoberyls--and he wondered whimsically what had become of her. This was not she. This was assuredly not Kathleen, for this woman had a large mouth--a humorous and kindly mouth it was true, but undeniably a large one--whereas, Kathleen's mouth had been quite perfect and rather diminutive than otherwise. Hadn't he rhymed of it often enough to know? They stood gazing at one another for a long time; and in the back of Billy's brain lines of his old verses sang themselves to a sad little tune--the verses that reproved the idiocy of all other poets, who had very foolishly written their sonnets to other women: and yet, as the jingle pointed out, Had these poets ever strayed In thy path, they had not made Random rhymes of Arabella, Songs of Dolly, hymns of Stella, Lays of Lalage or Chloris-- Not of Daphne nor of Doris, Florimel nor Amaryllis, Nor of Phyllida nor Phyllis, Were their wanton melodies: But all of these-- All their melodies had been Of thee, Kathleen. Would they have been? Billy thought it improbable. The verses were very silly; and, recalling the big, blundering boy who had written them, Billy began to wonder--somewhat forlornly--whither he, too, had vanished. He and the girl he had gone mad for both seemed rather mythical--legendary as King Pepin. "Yes," said Mrs. Saumarez--and oh, she startled him; "I fancy they're both quite dead by now. Billy," she cried, earnestly, "don't laugh at them!--don't laugh at those dear, foolish children! I--somehow, I couldn't bear that, Billy." "Kathleen," said Mr. Woods, in admiration, "you're a witch. I wasn't laughing, though, my dear. I was developing quite a twilight mood over them--a plaintive, old-lettery sort of mood, you know." She sighed a little. "Yes--I know." Then her eyelids flickered in a parody of Kathleen's glance that Billy noted with a queer tenderness. "Come and talk to me, Billy," she commanded. "I'm an early bird this morning, and entitled to the very biggest and best-looking worm I can find. You're only a worm, you know--we're all worms. Mr. Jukesbury told me so last night, making an exception in my favour, for it appears I'm an angel. He was amorously inclined last night, the tipsy old fraud! It's shameless, Billy, the amount of money he gets out of Miss Hugonin--for the deserving poor. Do you know, I rather fancy he classes himself under that head? And I grant you he's poor enough--but deserving!" Mrs. Saumarez snapped her fingers eloquently. "Eh? Shark, eh?" queried Mr. Woods, in some discomfort. She nodded. "He is as bad as Sarah Haggage," she informed him, "and everybody knows what a bloodsucker she is. The Haggage is a disease, Billy, that all rich women are exposed to--'more easily caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad.' Depend upon it, Billy, those two will have every penny they can get out of your uncle's money." "Peggy's so generous," he pleaded. "She wants to make everybody happy--bring about a general millenium, you know." "She pays dearly enough for her fancies," said Mrs. Saumarez, in a hard voice. Then, after a little, she cried, suddenly: "Oh, Billy, Billy, it shames me to think of how we lie to her, and toady to her, and lead her on from one mad scheme to another!--all for the sake of the money we can pilfer incidentally! We're all arrant hypocrites, you know; I'm no better than the others, Billy--not a bit better. But my husband left me so poor, and I had always been accustomed to the pretty things of life, and I couldn't--I couldn't give them up, Billy. I love them too dearly. So I lie, and toady, and write drivelling talks about things I don't understand, for drivelling women to listen to, and I still have the creature comforts of life. I pawn my self-respect for them--that's all. Such a little price to pay, isn't it, Billy?" She spoke in a sort of frenzy. I dare say that at the outset she wanted Mr. Woods to know the worst of her, knowing he could not fail to discover it in time. Billy brought memories with him, you see; and this shrewd, hard woman wanted, somehow, more than anything else in the world, that he should think well of her. So she babbled out the whole pitiful story, waiting in a kind of terror to see contempt and disgust awaken in his eyes. But he merely said "I see--I see," very slowly, and his eyes were kindly. He couldn't be angry with her, somehow; that pink-cheeked, crinkly haired girl stood between them and shielded her. He was only very, very sorry. "And Kennaston?" he asked, after a little. Mrs. Saumarez flushed. "Mr. Kennaston is a man of great genius," she said, quickly. "Of course, Miss Hugonin is glad to assist him in publishing his books--it's an honour to her that he permits it. They have to be published privately, you know, as the general public isn't capable of appreciating such dainty little masterpieces. Oh, don't make any mistake, Billy--Mr. Kennaston is a very wonderful and very admirable man." "H'm, yes; he struck me as being an unusually nice chap," said Mr. Woods, untruthfully. "I dare say they'll be very happy." "Who?" Mrs. Saumarez demanded. "Why--er--I don't suppose they'll make any secret of it," Billy stammered, in tardy repentance of his hasty speaking. "Peggy told me last night she had accepted him." Mrs. Saumarez turned to rearrange a bowl of roses. She seemed to have some difficulty over it. "Billy," she spoke, inconsequently, and with averted head, "an honest man is the noblest work of God--and the rarest." Billy groaned. "Do you know," said he, "I've just been telling the roses in the gardens yonder the same thing about women? I'm a misogynist this morning. I've decided no woman is worthy of being loved." "That is quite true," she assented, "but, on the other hand, no man is worthy of loving." Billy smiled. "I've likewise come to the conclusion," said he, "that a man's love is like his hat, in that any peg will do to hang it on; also, in that the proper and best place for it is on his own head. Oh, I assure you, I vented any number of cheap cynicisms on the helpless roses! And yet--will you believe it, Kathleen?--it doesn't seem to make me feel a bit better--no, not a bit." "It's very like his hat," she declared, "in that he has a new one every year." Then she rested her hand on his, in a half-maternal fashion. "What's the matter, boy?" she asked, softly. "You're always so fresh and wholesome. I don't like to see you like this. Better leave phrase-making to us phrase-mongers." Her voice rang true--true, and compassionate, and tender, and all that a woman's voice should be. Billy could not but trust her. "I've been an ass," said he, rather tragically. "Oh, not an unusual ass, Kathleen--just the sort men are always making of themselves. You see, before I went to France, there was a girl I--cared for. And I let a quarrel come between us--a foolish, trifling, idle little quarrel, Kathleen, that we might have made up in a half-hour. But I was too proud, you see. No, I wasn't proud, either," Mr. Woods amended, bitterly; "I was simply pig-headed and mulish. So I went away. And yesterday I saw her again and realised that I--still cared. That's all, Kathleen. It isn't an unusual story." And Mr. Woods laughed, mirthlessly, and took a turn on the terrace. Mrs. Saumarez was regarding him intently. Her cheeks were of a deeper, more attractive pink, and her breath came and went quickly. "I--I don't understand," she said, in a rather queer voice. "Oh, it's simple enough," Billy assured her. "You see, she--well, I think she would have married me once. Yes, she cared for me once. And I quarreled with her--I, conceited young ass that I was, actually presumed to dictate to the dearest, sweetest, most lovable woman on earth, and tell her what she must do and what she mustn't. I!--good Lord, I, who wasn't worthy to sweep a crossing clean for her!--who wasn't worthy to breathe the same air with her!--who wasn't worthy to exist in the same world she honoured by living in! Oh, I _was_ an ass! But I've paid for it!--oh, yes, Kathleen, I've paid dearly for it, and I'll pay more dearly yet before I've done. I tried to avoid her yesterday--you must have seen that. And I couldn't--I give you my word, I could no more have kept away from her than I could have spread a pair of wings and flown away. She doesn't care a bit for me now; but I can no more give up loving her than I can give up eating my dinner. That isn't a pretty simile, Kathleen, but it expresses the way I feel toward her. It isn't merely that I want her; it's more than that--oh, far more than that. I simply can't do without her. Don't you understand, Kathleen?" he asked, desperately. "Yes--I think I understand," she said, when he had ended. "I--oh, Billy, I am almost sorry. It's dear of you--dear of you, Billy, to care for me still, but--but I'm almost sorry you care so much. I'm not worth it, boy dear. And I--I really don't know what to say. You must let me think." Mr. Woods gave an inarticulate sound. The face she turned to him was perplexed, half-sad, fond, a little pleased, and strangely compassionate. It was Kathleen Eppes who sat beside him; the six years were as utterly forgotten as the name of Magdalen's first lover. She was a girl again, listening--with a heart that fluttered, I dare say--to the wild talk, the mad dithyrambics of a big, blundering boy. The ludicrous horror of it stunned Mr. Woods. He could no more have told her of her mistake than he could have struck her in the face. "Kathleen--!" said he, vaguely. "Let me think!--ah, let me think, Billy!" she pleaded, in a flutter of joy and amazement. "Go away, boy dear!--Go away for a little and let me think! I'm not an emotional woman, but I'm on the verge of hysterics now, for--for several reasons. Go in to breakfast, Billy! I--I want to be alone. You've made me very proud and--and sorry, I think, and glad, and--and--oh, I don't know, boy dear. But please go now--please!" Billy went. In the living-hall he paused to inspect a picture with peculiar interest. Since Kathleen cared for him (he thought, rather forlornly), he must perjure himself in as plausible a manner as might be possible; please God, having done what he had done, he would lie to her like a gentleman and try to make her happy. A vision in incredible violet ruffles, coming down to breakfast, saw him, and paused on the stairway, and flushed and laughed deliciously. Poor Billy stared at her; and his heart gave a great bound and then appeared to stop for an indefinite time. "Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods, in his soul. "And I thought I was an ass last night! Why, last night, in comparison, I displayed intelligence that was almost human! Oh, Peggy, Peggy! if I only dared tell you what I think of you, I believe I would gladly die afterward--yes, I'm sure I would. You really haven't any right to be so beautiful!--it isn't fair to us, Peggy!" But the vision was peeping over the bannisters at him, and the vision's eyes were sparkling with a lucent mischief and a wonderful, half-hushed contralto was demanding of him: "Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?" And Billy's baritone answered her: "I've been to seek a wife--" and broke off in a groan. "Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods. It was a ludicrous business, if you will. Indeed, it was vastly humorous--was it not?--this woman's thinking a man's love might by any chance endure through six whole years. But their love endures, you see; and the silly creatures have a superstition among them that love is a sacred thing, stronger than time, victorious over death itself. Let us laugh, then, at Kathleen Saumarez--those of us who have learned that love is only a tinkling cymbal and faith a sounding brass and fidelity an obsolete affectation: but for my part, I honour and think better of the woman who through all her struggles with the world--through all those sordid, grim, merciless, secret battles where the vanquished may not even cry for succour--I honour her, I say, for that she had yet cherished the memory of that first love which is the best and purest and most unselfish and most excellent thing in life. XVI Breakfast Margaret enjoyed hugely. I regret to confess that the fact that every one of her guests was more or less miserable moved this hard-hearted young woman to untimely and excessive mirth. Only Mrs. Saumarez puzzled her, for she could think of no reason for that lady's manifest agitation when Kathleen eventually joined the others. But for the rest, the hopeless glances that Hugh Van Orden cast toward her caused Adèle to flush, and Mrs. Haggage to become despondent and speechless and astonishingly rigid; and Petheridge Jukesbury's vaguely apologetic attitude toward the world struck Miss Hugonin as infinitely diverting. Kennaston she pitied a little; but his bearing toward her ranged ludicrously from that of proprietorship to that of supplication, and, moreover, she was furious with him for having hinted at various times that Billy was a fortune-hunter. Margaret was quite confident by this that she had never believed him--"not really, you know"--having argued the point out at some length the night before, and reaching her conclusion by a course of reasoning peculiar to herself. Mr. Woods, as you may readily conceive, was sunk in the Slough of Despond deeper than ever plummet sounded. Margaret thought this very nice of him; it was a delicate tribute to her that he ate nothing; and the fact that Hugh Van Orden and Petheridge Jukesbury--as she believed--acted in precisely the same way for precisely the same reason, merely demonstrated, of course, their overwhelming conceit and presumption. So sitting in the great Eagle's shadow, she ate a quantity of marmalade--she was wont to begin the day in this ungodly English fashion--and gossiped like a brook trotting over sunlit pebbles. She had planned a pulverising surprise for the house-party; and in due time, she intended to explode it, and subsequently Billy was to apologise for his conduct, and then they were to live happily ever afterward. She had not yet decided what he was to apologise for; that was his affair. His conscience ought to have told him, by this, wherein he had offended; and if his conscience hadn't, why then, of course, he would have to apologise for his lack of proper sensibility. After breakfast she went, according to her usual custom, to her father's rooms, for, as I think I have told you, the old gentleman was never visible until noon. She had astonishing news for him. What time she divulged it, the others sat on the terrace, and Mr. Kennaston read to them, as he had promised, from his "Defense of Ignorance." It proved a welcome diversion to more than one of the party. Mr. Woods, especially, esteemed it a godsend; it staved off misfortune for at least a little; so he sat at Kathleen's side in silence, trying desperately to be happy, trying desperately not to see the tiny wrinkles, the faint crow's feet Time had sketched in her face as a memorandum of the work he meant to do shortly. Billy consoled himself with the reflection that he was very fond of her; but, oh (he thought), what worship, what adoration he could accord this woman if she would only decline--positively--to have anything whatever to do with him! I think we ought not to miss hearing Mr. Kennaston's discourse. It is generally conceded that his style is wonderfully clever; and I have no doubt that his detractors--who complain that his style is mere word-twisting, a mere inversion of the most ancient truisms--are actuated by the very basest jealousy. Let us listen, then, and be duly edified as he reads in a low, sweet voice, and the birds twitter about him in the clear morning. "It has been for many years," Mr. Kennaston began, "the custom of patriotic gentlemen in quest of office to point with pride to the fact that the schoolmaster is abroad in the land, in whose defense they stand pledged to draw their salaries and fight to the last gasp for reelection. These lofty platitudes, while trying to the lungs, doubtless appeal to a certain class of minds. But, indeed, the schoolmaster is not abroad; he is domesticated in every village in America, where each hamlet has its would-be Shakespeare, and each would-be Shakespeare has his 'Hamlet' by heart. Learning is rampant in the land, and valuable information is pasted up in the streetcars so that he who rides may read. "And Ignorance--beautiful, divine Ignorance--is forsaken by a generation that clamours for the truth. And what value, pray, has this Truth that we should lust after it?" He glanced up, in an inquiring fashion. Mr. Jukesbury, meeting his eye, smiled and shook his head and said "Fie, fie!" very placidly. To do him justice, he had not the least idea what Kennaston was talking about. "I am aware," the poet continued, with an air of generosity, "that many pleasant things have been said of it. In fact, our decade has turned its back relentlessly upon the decayed, and we no longer read the lament over the lost art of lying issued many magazines ago by a once prominent British author. Still, without advancing any Wilde theories, one may fairly claim that truth is a jewel--a jewel with many facets, differing in appearance from each point of view. "And while 'Tell the truth and shame the Devil' is a very pretty sentiment, it need not necessarily mean anything. The Devil, if there be a personal devil--and it has been pointed out, with some show of reason, that an impersonal one could scarcely carry out such enormous contracts--would, in all probability, rather approve than otherwise of indiscriminate truth-telling. Irritation is the root of all evil; and there is nothing more irritating than to hear the truth about one's self. It is bad enough, in all conscience, to be insulted, but the truth of an insult is the barb that prevents its retraction. 'Truth hurts' has all the pathos of understatement. It not only hurts, but infuriates. It has no more right to go naked in public than any one else. Indeed, it has less right; for truth-telling is natural to mankind--as is shown by its prevalence among the younger sort, such as children and cynics--and, as Shakespeare long ago forgot to tell us, a touch of nature makes the whole world embarrassed." At this point Mrs. Haggage sniffed. She considered he was growing improper. She distrusted Nature. "Truth-telling, then, may safely be regarded as an unamiable indiscretion. In art, the bare truth must, in common gallantry, be awarded a print petticoat or one of canvas, as the case may be, to hide her nakedness; and in life, it is a disastrous virtue that we have united to commend and avoid. Nor is the decision an unwise one; for man is a gregarious animal, knowing that friendship is, at best, but a feeble passion and therefore to be treated with the care due an invalid. It is impossible to be quite candid in conversation with a man; and with a woman it is absolutely necessary that your speech should be candied. "Truth, then, is the least desirable of acquaintances. "But even if one wished to know the truth, the desire could scarcely be fulfilled. Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam, a prominent lawyer of Elizabeth's time, who would have written Shakespeare's plays had his other occupations not prevented it, quotes Pilate as inquiring, 'What is Truth?'--and then not staying for an answer. Pilate deserves all the praise he has never received. Nothing is quite true. Even Truth lies at the bottom of a well and not infrequently in other places. No assertion is one whit truer than its opposite." A mild buzz of protest rose about him. Kennaston smiled and cocked his head on one side. "We have, for example," he pointed out, "a large number of proverbs, the small coin of conversation, received everywhere, whose value no one disputes. They are rapped forth, like an oath, with an air of settling the question once and forever. Well! there is safety in quotations. But even the Devil can cite Shakespeare for his purpose. 'Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day' agrees ill with 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof'; and it is somewhat difficult to reconcile 'Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves' with the equally familiar 'Penny-wise, pound-foolish.' Yet the sayings are equally untrue; any maxim is, perforce, a general statement, and therefore fallacious, and therefore universally accepted. Art is long, and life is short, but the platitudes concerning them are both insufferable and eternal. We must remember that a general statement is merely a snap-shot at flying truth, an instantaneous photograph of a moving body. It may be the way that a thing is; but it is never the way in which any one ever saw that thing, or ever will. This is, of course, a general statement. "As to present events, then, it may be assumed that no one is either capable or desirous of speaking the truth; why, then, make such a pother about it as to the past? There we have carried the investigation of truth to such an extreme that nowadays very few of us dare believe anything. Opinions are difficult to secure when a quarter of an hour in the library will prove either side of any question. Formerly, people had a few opinions, which, if erroneous, were at least universal. Nero was not considered an immaculate man. The Flood was currently believed to have caused the death of quite a number of persons. And George Washington, it was widely stated, once cut down a cherry-tree. But now all these comfortable illusions have been destroyed by 'the least little men who spend their time and lose their wits in chasing nimble and retiring truth, to the extreme perturbation and drying up of the moistures.'" Kennaston looked up for a moment, and Billy Woods, who had counted seven wrinkles and was dropping into a forlorn doze, started violently. His interest then became abnormal. "There are," Mr. Kennaston complained, rather reproachfully, "too many inquiries, doubts, investigations, discoveries, and apologies. There are palliations of Tiberius, eulogies of Henry VIII., rehabilitations of Aaron Burr. Lucretia Borgia, it appears, was a grievously misunderstood woman, and Heliogabalus a most exemplary monarch; even the dog in the manger may have been a nervous animal in search of rest and quiet. As for Shakespeare, he was an atheist, a syndicate, a lawyer's clerk, an inferior writer, a Puritan, a scholar, a _nom de plume_, a doctor of medicine, a fool, a poacher, and another man of the same name. Information of this sort crops up on every side. Even the newspapers are infected; truth lurks in the patent-medicine advertisements, and sometimes creeps stealthily into the very editorials. We must all learn the true facts of history, whether we will or no; eventually, the writers of historical romance will not escape. "So the sad tale goes. Ignorance--beautiful, divine Ignorance--is forsaken by a generation that clamours for the truth. The earnest-minded person has plucked Zeus out of Heaven, and driven the Maenad from the wood, and dragged Poseidon out of his deep-sea palace. The conclaves of Olympus, it appears, are merely nature-myths; the stately legends clustering about them turn out to be a rather elaborate method of expressing the fact that it occasionally rains. The heroes who endured their angers and jests and tragic loves are delicately veiled allusions to the sun--surely, a very harmless topic of conversation, even in Greece; and the monsters, 'Gorgons and Hydras and Chimæras dire,' their grisly offspring, their futile opponents, are but personified frosts. Mythology--the poet's necessity, the fertile mother of his inventions--has become a series of atmospheric phenomena, and the labours of Hercules prove to be a dozen weather bulletins. "Is it any cause for wonder, that under this cheerless influence our poetry is either silent or unsold? The true poet must be ignorant, for information is the thief of rhyme. And it is only in dealing with--" Kennaston paused. Margaret had appeared in the vestibule, and behind her stood her father, looking very grave. "We have made a most interesting discovery," Miss Hugonin airily announced to the world at large. "It appears that Uncle Fred left all his property to Mr. Woods here. We found the will only last night. I'm sure you'll all be interested to learn I'm a pauper now, and intend to support myself by plain sewing. Any work of this nature you may choose to favour me with, ladies and gentlemen, will receive my most _earnest_ attention." She dropped a courtesy. The scene appealed to her taste for the dramatic. Billy came toward her quickly. "Peggy," he demanded of her, in the semi-privacy of the vestibule, "will you kindly elucidate the meaning of this da--this idiotic foolishness?" "Why, this," she explained, easily, and exhibited a folded paper. "I found it in the grate last night." He inspected it with large eyes. "That's absurd," he said, at length. "You know perfectly well this will isn't worth the paper it's written on." "My dear sir," she informed him, coldly, "you are vastly mistaken. You see, I've burned the other one." She pushed by him. "Mr. Kennaston, are you ready for our walk? We'll finish the paper some other time. Wasn't it the strangest thing in the world--?" Her dear, deep, mellow voice died away as she and Kennaston disappeared in the gardens. Billy gasped. But meanwhile, Colonel Hugonin had given the members of his daughter's house-party some inkling as to the present posture of affairs. They were gazing at Billy Woods rather curiously. He stood in the vestibule of Selwoode, staring after Margaret Hugonin; but they stared at him, and over his curly head, sculptured above the door-way, they saw the Eagle--the symbol of the crude, incalculable power of wealth. Mr. Woods stood in the vestibule of his own house. XVII "By gad!" said Colonel Hugonin, very grimly, "anybody would think you'd just lost a fortune instead of inheriting one! Wish you joy of it, Billy. I ain't saying, you know, we shan't miss it, my daughter and I--no, begad, for it's a nice pot of money, and we'll miss it damnably. But since somebody had to have it, I'd much rather it was you, my boy, than a set of infernal, hypocritical, philanthropic sharks, and I'm damn' glad Frederick has done the square thing by you--yes, begad!" The old gentleman was standing beside Mr. Woods in the vestibule of Selwoode, some distance from the other members of the house-party, and was speaking in confidence. He was sincere; I don't say that the thought of facing the world at sixty-five with practically no resources save his half-pay--I think I have told you that the Colonel's diversions had drunk up his wife's fortune and his own like a glass of water--I don't say that this thought moved him to hilarity. Over it, indeed, he pulled a frankly grave face. But he cared a deal for Billy; and even now there was balm--soothing, priceless balm--to be had of the reflection that this change in his prospects affected materially the prospects of those cultured, broad-minded, philanthropic persons who had aforetime set his daughter to requiring of him a perusal of Herbert Spencer. Billy was pretty well aware how monetary matters stood with the old wastrel; and the sincerity of the man affected him far more than the most disinterested sentiments would have done. Mr. Woods accordingly shook hands, with entirely unnecessary violence. "You're a trump, that's what you are!" he declared; "oh, yes, you are, Colonel! You're an incorrigible, incurable old ace of trumps--the very best there is in the pack--and it's entirely useless for you to attempt to conceal it." "Gad----!" said the Colonel. "And don't you worry about that will," Mr. Woods advised. "I--I can't explain things just now, but it's all right. You just wait--just wait till I've seen Peggy," Billy urged, in desperation, "and I'll explain everything." "By gad----!" said the Colonel. But Mr. Woods was half-way out of the vestibule. Mr. Woods was in an unenviable state of perturbation. He could not quite believe that Peggy had destroyed the will; the thing out-Heroded Herod, out-Margareted Margaret. But if she had, it struck him as a high-handed proceeding, entailing certain vague penalties made and provided by the law to cover just such cases--penalties of whose nature he was entirely ignorant and didn't care to think. Heavens! for all he knew, that angel might have let herself in for a jail sentence. Billy pictured that queen among women! that paragon! with her glorious hair cropped and her pink-tipped little hands set to beating hemp--he had a shadowy notion that the lives of all female convicts were devoted to this pursuit--and groaned in horror. "In the name of Heaven!" Mr. Woods demanded of his soul, "what _possible_ reason could she have had for this new insanity? And in the name of Heaven, why couldn't she have put off her _tête-à-tête_ with Kennaston long enough to explain? And in the name of Heaven, what does she see to admire in that putty-faced, grimacing ass, any way! And in the name of Heaven, what am I to say to this poor, old man here? I can't explain that his daughter isn't in any danger of being poor, but merely of being locked up in jail! And in the name of Heaven, how long does that outrageous angel expect me to remain in this state of suspense!" Billy groaned again and paced the vestibule. Then he retraced his steps, shook hands with Colonel Hugonin once more, and, Kennaston or no Kennaston, set out to find her. XVIII But when he came out upon the terrace, Sarah Ellen Haggage stopped him--stopped him with a queer blending of diffidence and resolve in her manner. The others, by this, had disappeared in various directions, puzzled and exceedingly uncertain what to do. Indeed, to congratulate Billy in the Colonel's presence would have been tactless; and, on the other hand, to condole with the Colonel without seeming to affront the wealthy Mr. Woods was almost impossible. So they temporised and fled--all save Mrs. Haggage. She, alone, remained to view Mr. Woods with newly opened eyes; for as he paused impatiently--the sculptured Eagle above his head--she perceived that he was a remarkably handsome and intelligent young man. Her motherly heart opened toward this lonely, wealthy orphan. "My dear Billy," she cooed, with asthmatic gentleness, "as an old, old friend of your mother's, aren't you going to let me tell you how rejoiced Adèle and I are over your good fortune? It isn't polite, you naughty boy, for you to run away from your friends as soon as they've heard this wonderful news. Ah, such news it was--such a manifest intervention of Providence! My heart has been fluttering, fluttering like a little bird, Billy, ever since I heard it." In testimony to this fact, Mrs. Haggage clasped a stodgy hand to an exceedingly capacious bosom, and exhibited the whites of her eyes freely. Her smile, however, remained unchanged and ample. "Er--ah--oh, yes! Very kind of you, I'm sure!" said Mr. Woods. "I never in my life saw Adèle so deeply affected by _anything_," Mrs. Haggage continued, with a certain large archness. "The sweet child was always so fond of you, you know, Billy. Ah, I remember distinctly hearing her speak of you many and many a time when you were in that dear, delightful, wicked Paris, and wonder when you would come back to your friends--not very grand and influential friends, Billy, but sincere, I trust, for all that." Mr. Woods said he had no doubt of it. "So many people," she informed him, confidentially, "will pursue you with adulation now that you are wealthy. Oh, yes, you will find that wealth makes a great difference, Billy. But not with Adèle and me--no, dear boy, despise us if you will, but my child and I are not mercenary. Money makes no difference with us; we shall be the same to you that we always were--sincerely interested in your true welfare, overjoyed at your present good fortune, prayerful as to your brilliant future, and delighted to have you drop in any evening to dinner. We do not consider money the chief blessing of life; no, don't tell me that most people are different, Billy, for I know it very well, and many is the tear that thought has cost me. We live in a very mercenary world, my dear boy; but _our_ thoughts, at least, are set on higher things, and I trust we can afford to despise the merely temporal blessings of life, and I entreat you to remember that our humble dwelling is always open to the son of my old, old friend, and that there is always a jug of good whiskey in the cupboard." Thus in the shadow of the Eagle babbled the woman whom--for all her absurdities--Margaret had loved as a mother. Billy thanked her with an angry heart. "And this"--I give you the gist of his meditations--"this is Peggy's dearest friend! Oh, Philanthropy, are thy protestations, then, all void and empty, and are thy noblest sentiments--every one of 'em--so full of sound and rhetoric, so specious, so delectable--are these, then, but dicers' oaths!" Aloud, "I'm rather surprised, you know," he said, slowly, "that you take it just this way, Mrs. Haggage. I should have thought you'd have been sorry on--on Miss Hugonin's account. It's awfully jolly of you, of course--oh, awfully jolly, and I appreciate it at its true worth, I assure you. But it's a bit awkward, isn't it, that the poor girl will be practically penniless? I really don't know whom she'll turn to now." Then Billy, the diplomatist, received a surprise. "She'll come with me, of course," said Mrs. Haggage. Mr. Woods made an--unfortunately--inaudible observation. "I beg your pardon?" she queried. Then, obtaining no response, she continued, with perfect simplicity: "Margaret's quite like a daughter to me, you know. Of course, she and the Colonel will come with us--at least, until affairs are a bit more settled. Even afterward--well, we have a large house, Billy, and I don't see that they'd be any better off anywhere else." Billy's emotions were complex. "You big-hearted old parasite," his own heart was singing. "If you could only keep that ring of truth that's in your voice for your platform utterances--why, in less than no time you could afford to feed your Afro-Americans on nightingales' tongues and clothe every working-girl in the land in cloth of gold! You've been pilfering from Peggy for years--pilfering right and left with both hands! But you've loved her all the time, God bless you; and now the moment she's in trouble you're ready to take both her and the Colonel--whom, by the way, you must very cordially detest--and share your pitiful, pilfered little crusts with 'em and--having two more mouths to feed--probably pilfer a little more outrageously in the future! You're a sanctimonious old hypocrite, you are, and a pious fraud, and a delusion, and a snare, and you and Adèle have nefarious designs on me at this very moment, but I think I'd like to kiss you!" Indeed, I believe Mr. Woods came very near doing so. She loved Peggy, you see; and he loved every one who loved her. But he compromised by shaking hands energetically, for a matter of five minutes, and entreating to be allowed to subscribe to some of her deserving charitable enterprises--any one she might mention--and so left the old lady a little bewildered, but very much pleased. She decided that for the future Adèle must not see so much of Mr. Van Orden. She began to fear that gentleman's views of life were not sufficiently serious. XIX Billy went into the gardens in pursuit of Margaret. He was almost happy now and felt vaguely ashamed of himself. Then he came upon Kathleen Saumarez, who, indeed, was waiting for him there; and his heart went down into his boots. He realised on a sudden that he was one of the richest men in America. It was a staggering thought. Also, Mr. Woods's views, at this moment, as to the advantages of wealth, might have been interesting. Kathleen stood silent for an instant, eyes downcast, face flushed. She was trembling. Then, "Billy," she asked, almost inaudibly, "do--do you still want--your answer?" The birds sang about them. Spring triumphed in the gardens. She looked very womanly and very pretty. To all appearances, it might easily have been a lover and his lass met in the springtide, shamefaced after last night's kissing. But Billy, somehow, lacked much of the elation and the perfect content and the disposition to burst into melody that is currently supposed to seize upon rustic swains at such moments. He merely wanted to know if at any time in the remote future his heart would be likely to resume the discharge of its proper functions. It was standing still now. However, "Can you ask--dear?" His words, at least, lied gallantly. The poor woman looked up into Billy's face. After years of battling with the world, here for the asking was peace and luxury and wealth incalculable, and--as Kathleen thought--a love that had endured since they were boy and girl together. Yet she shrunk from him a little and clinched her hands before she spoke. "Yes," Kathleen faltered, and afterward she shuddered. And here, if for the moment I may prefigure the Eagle as a sentient being, I can imagine his chuckle. "Please God," thought poor Billy, "I will make her happy. Yes, please God, I can at least do that, since she cares for me." Then he kissed her. "My dear," said he, aloud, "I'll try to make you happy. And--and you don't mind, do you, if I leave you now?" queried this ardent lover. "You see, it's absolutely necessary I should see--see Miss Hugonin about this will business. You don't mind very much, do you--darling?" Mr. Woods inquired of her, the last word being rather obviously an afterthought. "No," said she. "Not if you must--dear." Billy went away, lugging a heart of lead in his breast. Kathleen stared after him and gave a hard, wringing motion of her hands. She had done what many women do daily; the thing is common and sensible and universally commended; but in her own eyes, the draggled trollop of the pavements was neither better nor worse than she. At the entrance of the next walkway Billy encountered Felix Kennaston--alone and in the most ebulliently mirthful of humours. XX But we had left Mr. Kennaston, I think, in company with Miss Hugonin, at the precise moment she inquired of him whether it were not the strangest thing in the world--referring thereby to the sudden manner in which she had been disinherited. The poet laughed and assented. Afterward, turning north from the front court, they descended past the shield-bearing griffins--and you may depend upon it that each shield is adorned with a bas-relief of the Eagle--that guard the broad stairway leading to the formal gardens of Selwoode. The gardens stretch northward to the confines of Peter Blagden's estate of Gridlington; and for my part--unless it were that primitive garden that Adam lost--I can imagine no goodlier place. On this particular forenoon, however, neither Miss Hugonin nor Felix Kennaston had eyes for its comeliness; silently they braved the griffins, and in silence they skirted the fish-pond--silver-crinkling in the May morning--and passed through cloistral ilex-shadowed walks, and amphitheatres of green velvet, and terraces ample and mellow in the sunlight, silently. The trees pelted them with blossoms; pedestaled in leafy recesses, Satyrs grinned at them apishly, and the arrows of divers pot-bellied Cupids threatened them, and Fauns piped for them ditties of no tone; the birds were about shrill avocations overhead, and everywhere the heatless, odourful air was a caress; but for all this, Miss Hugonin and Mr. Kennaston were silent and very fidgetty. Margaret was hatless--and the glory of the eminently sensible spring sun appeared to centre in her hair--and violet-clad; and the gown, like most of her gowns, was all tiny tucks and frills and flounces, diapered with semi-transparencies--unsubstantial, foam-like, mere violet froth. As she came starry-eyed through the gardens, the impudent wind trifling with her hair, I protest she might have been some lady of Oberon's court stolen out of Elfland to bedevil us poor mortals, with only a moonbeam for the changeable heart of her, and for raiment a violet shadow spirited from the under side of some big, fleecy cloud. They came presently through a trim, yew-hedged walkway to a summer-house covered with vines, into which Margaret peeped and declined to enter, on the ground that it was entirely too chilly and gloomy and _exactly_ like a mausoleum; but nearby they found a semi-circular marble bench about which a group of elm-trees made a pleasant shadow splashed at just the proper intervals with sunlight. On this Margaret seated herself; and then pensively moved to the other end of the bench, because a slanting sunbeam fell there. Since it was absolutely necessary to blast Mr. Kennaston's dearest hopes, she thoughtfully endeavoured to distract his attention from his own miseries--as far as might be possible--by showing him how exactly like an aureole her hair was in the sunlight. Margaret always had a kind heart. Kennaston stood before her, smiling a little. He was the sort of man to appreciate the manoeuver. "My lady," he asked, very softly, "haven't you any good news for me on this wonderful morning?" "Excellent news," Margaret assented, with a cheerfulness that was not utterly free from trepidation. "I've decided not to marry you, beautiful, and I trust you're properly grateful. You see, you're very nice, of course, but I'm going to marry somebody else, and bigamy is a crime, you know; and, anyhow, I'm only a pauper, and you'd never be able to put up with my temper--now, beautiful, I'm quite sure you couldn't, so there's not a bit of use in arguing it. Some day you'd end by strangling me, which would be horribly disagreeable for me, and then they'd hang you for it, you know, and that would be equally disagreeable for you. Fancy, though, what a good advertisement it would be for your poems!" [Illustration: "'My lady,' he asked, very softly, 'haven't you any good news for me on this wonderful morning?'"] She was not looking at him now--oh, no, Margaret was far too busily employed getting the will (which she had carried all this time) into an absurd little silver chain-bag hanging at her waist. She had no time to look at Felix Kennaston. There was such scant room in the bag; her purse took up so much space there was scarcely any left for the folded paper; the affair really required her closest, undivided attention. Besides, she had not the least desire to look at Kennaston just now. "Beautiful child," he pleaded, "look at me!" But she didn't. She felt that at that moment she could have looked at a gorgon, say, or a cockatrice, or any other trifle of that nature with infinitely greater composure. The pause that followed Margaret accordingly devoted to a scrutiny of his shoes and sincere regret that their owner was not a mercenary man who would be glad to be rid of her. "Beautiful child," spoke the poet's voice, sadly, "you aren't--surely, you aren't saying this in mistaken kindness to me? Surely, you aren't saying this because of what has happened in regard to your money affairs? Believe me, my dear, that makes no difference to me. It is you I love--you, the woman of my heart--and not a certain, and doubtless desirable, amount of metal disks and dirty paper." "Now I suppose you're going to be very noble and very nasty about it," observed Miss Hugonin, resentfully. "That's my main objection to you, you know, that you haven't any faults I can recognise and feel familiar and friendly with." "My dear," he protested, "I assure you I am not intentionally disagreeable." At that, she raised velvet eyes to his--with a visible effort, though--and smiled. "I know you far too well to think that," she said, wistfully. "I know I'm not worthy of you. I'm tremendously fond of you, beautiful, but--but, you see, I love somebody else," Margaret concluded, with admirable candour. "Ah!" said he, in a rather curious voice. "The painter chap, eh?" Then Margaret's face flamed in a wonderful glow of shame and happiness and pride that must have made the surrounding roses very hopelessly jealous. A quaint mothering look, sacred, divine, Madonna-like, woke in her great eyes as she thought--remorsefully--of how unhappy Billy must be at that very moment and of how big he was and of his general niceness; and she desired, very heartily, that this fleshy young man would make his scene and have done with it. Who was he, forsooth, to keep her from Billy? She wished she had never heard of Felix Kennaston. _Souvent femme varie_, my brothers. However, "Yes," said Margaret.. "You are a dear," said Mr. Kennaston, with conviction in his voice. I dare say Margaret was surprised. But the poet had taken her hand and had kissed it reverently, and then sat down beside her, twisting one foot under him in a fashion he had. He was frankly grateful to her for refusing him; and, the mask of affectation slipped, she saw in him another man. "I am an out-and-out fraud," he confessed, with the gayest of smiles. "I am not in love with you, and I am inexpressibly glad that you are not in love with me. Oh, Margaret, Margaret--you don't mind if I call you that, do you? I shall have to, in any event, because I like you so tremendously now that we are not going to be married--you have no idea what a night I spent." "I consider it most peculiar and unsympathetic of my hair not to have turned gray. I thought you were going to have me, you see." Margaret was far to much astonished to be angry. "But last night!" she presently echoed, in candid surprise. "Why, last night you didn't know I was poor!" He wagged a protesting forefinger. "That made no earthly difference," he assured her. "Of course, it was the money--and in some degree the moon--that induced me to make love to you. I acted on the impulse of the moment; just for an instant, the novelty of doing a perfectly sensible thing--and marrying money is universally conceded to come under that head--appealed to me. So I did it. But all the time I was in love with Kathleen Saumarez. Why, the moment I left you, I began to realise that not even you--and you are quite the most fascinating and generally adorable woman I ever knew, Margaret--I began to realise, I say, that not even you could ever make me forget that fact. And I was very properly miserable. It is extremely queer," Mr. Kennaston continued, after an interval of meditation, "but falling in love appears to be the one utterly inexplicable, utterly reasonless thing one ever does in one's life. You can usually think of some more or less plausible palliation for embezzlement, say, or for robbing a cathedral or even for committing suicide--but no man can ever explain how he happened to fall in love. He simply did it." Margaret nodded sagely. She knew. "Now you," Mr. Kennaston was pleased to say, "are infinitely more beautiful, younger, more clever, and in every way more attractive than Kathleen. I recognise these things clearly, but it does not appear, somehow, to alter the fact that I am in love with her. I think I have been in love with her all my life. We were boy and girl together, Margaret, and--and I give you my word," Kennaston cried, with his boyish flush, "I worship her! I simply cannot explain the perfectly unreasonable way in which I worship her!" He was sincere. He loved Kathleen Saumarez as much as he was capable of loving any one--almost as much as he loved to dilate on his own peculiarities and emotions. Margaret's gaze was intent upon him. "Yet," she marvelled, "you made love to me very tropically." With unconcealed pride, Mr. Kennaston assented. "Didn't I?" he said. "I was in rather good form last night, I thought." "And you were actually prepared to marry me?" she asked--"even after you knew I was poor?" "I couldn't very well back out," he submitted, and then cocked his head on one side. "You see," he added, whimsically, "I was sufficiently a conceited ass to fancy you cared a little for me. So, of course, I was going to marry you and try to make you happy. But how dear--oh, how unutterably dear it was of you, Margaret, to decline to be made happy in any such fashion!" And Mr. Kennaston paused to chuckle and to regard her with genuine esteem and affection. But still her candid eyes weighed him, and transparently found him wanting. "You are thinking, perhaps, what an unutterable cad I have been?" he suggested. "Yes--you are rather by way of being a cad, beautiful. But I can't help liking you, somehow. I dare say it's because you're honest with me. Nobody--nobody," Miss Hugonin lamented, a forlorn little quiver in her voice, "_ever_ seemed to be honest with me except you, and now I know you weren't. Oh, beautiful, aren't I ever to have any real friends?" she pleaded, wistfully. Kennaston had meant a deal to her, you see; he had been the one man she trusted. She had gloried in his fustian rhetoric, his glib artlessness, his airy scorn of money; and now all this proved mere pinchbeck. On a sudden, too, there woke in some bycorner of her heart a queasy realisation of how near she had come to loving Kennaston. The thought nauseated her. "My dear," he answered, kindly, "you will have any number of friends now that you are poor. It was merely your money that kept you from having any. You see," Mr. Kennaston went on, with somewhat the air of one climbing upon his favourite hobby, "money is the only thing that counts nowadays. In America, the rich are necessarily our only aristocracy. It is quite natural. One cannot hope for an aristocracy of intellect, if only for the reason that not one person in a thousand has any; and birth does not count for much. Of course, it is quite true that all of our remote ancestors came over with William the Conqueror--I have sometimes thought that the number of steerage passengers his ships would accommodate must have been little short of marvellous--but it is equally true that the grandfathers of most of our leisure class were either deserving or dishonest persons--who either started life on a farm, and studied Euclid by the firelight and did all the other priggish things they thought would look well in a biography, or else met with marked success in embezzlement. So money, after all, is our only standard; and when a woman is as rich as you were yesterday she cannot hope for friends any more than the Queen of England can. You could have plenty of flatterers, toadies, sycophants--anything, in fine, but friends." "I don't believe it," said Margaret, half angrily--"not a word of it. There _must_ be some honest people in the world who don't consider that money is everything. You know there must be, beautiful!" The poet laughed. "That," said he, affably, "is poppycock. You are repeating the sort of thing I said to you yesterday. I am honest now. The best of us, Margaret, cannot help being impressed by the power of money. It is the greatest power in the world, and we cannot--cannot possibly--look upon rich people as being quite like us. We must toady to them a bit, Margaret, whether we want to or not. The Eagle intimidates us all." "I _hate_ him!" Miss Hugonin announced, with vehemence. Kennaston searched his pockets. After a moment he produced a dollar bill and showed her the Eagle on it. "There," he said, gravely, "is the original of the Woods Eagle--the Eagle that intimidates us all. Do you remember what Shakespeare--one always harks back to Shakespeare to clinch an argument, because not even our foremost actors have been able to conceal the fact that he was, as somebody in Dickens acutely points out, 'a dayvilish clever fellow'--do you remember. I say, what Shakespeare observes as to this very Eagle?" Miss Hugonin shook her little head till it glittered in the sunlight like a topaz. She cared no more for Shakespeare than the average woman does, and she was never quite comfortable when he was alluded to. "He says," Mr. Kennaston quoted, solemnly: "The Eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing He can at pleasure still their melody." "That's nonsense," said Margaret, calmly. "I haven't the _least_ idea what you're talking about, and I don't believe you have either." He waved the dollar bill with a heroical gesture. "Here," he asserted, "is the Eagle. And by the little birds, I have not a doubt he meant charity and independence and kindliness and truth and the rest of the standard virtues. That is quite as plausible as the interpretation of the average commentator. The presence of money chills these little birds--ah, it is lamentable, no doubt, but it is true." "I don't believe it," said Margaret--quite as if that settled the question. But now his hobby, rowelled by opposition, was spurred to loftier flights. "Ah, the power of these great fortunes America has bred is monstrous," he suddenly cried. "And always they work for evil. If I were ever to write a melodrama, Margaret, I could wish for no more thorough-paced villain than a large fortune." Kennaston paused and laughed grimly. "We cringe to the Eagle!" said he. "Eh, well, why not? The Eagle is very powerful and very cruel. In the South yonder, the Eagle has penned over a million children in his factories, where day by day he drains the youth and health and very life out of their tired bodies; in sweat-shops, men and women are toiling for the Eagle, giving their lives for the pittance that he grudges them; in countless mines and mills, the Eagle is trading human lives for coal and flour; in Wall Street yonder, the Eagle is juggling as he will with life's necessities--thieving from the farmer, thieving from the consumer, thieving from the poor fools who try to play the Eagle's game, and driving them at will to despair and ruin and death: look whither you may, men die that the Eagle may grow fat. So the Eagle thrives, and daily the rich grow richer and the poor grow poorer, and the end----" Kennaston paused, staring into vacancy. "Eh, well," said he, with a smile and a snap of his fingers, "the end rests upon the knees of the gods. But there must need be an end some day. And meanwhile, you cannot blame us if we cringe to the Eagle that is master of the world. It is human nature to cringe to its master; and while human nature is not always an admirable thing, it is, I believe, rather widely distributed." Margaret did not return the smile. Like any sensible woman, she never tolerated opinions that differed from her own. So she waved his preachment aside. "You're trying to be eloquent," was her observation, "and you've only succeeded in being very silly and tiresome. Go away, beautiful. You make me awfully tired, and I don't care for you in the least. Go and talk to Kathleen. I shall be here--on this very spot," Margaret added, with commendable precision and an unaccountable increase of colour, "if--if any one should happen to ask." Then Kennaston rose and laughed merrily. "You are quite delicious," he commented. "It will always be a grief and a puzzle to me that I am not mad for love of you. It is unreasonable of me," he complained, sadly, and shook his head, "but I prefer Kathleen. And I am quite certain that somebody will ask where you are. I shall describe to him the exact spot--" Mr. Kennaston paused, with a slight air of apology. "If I were you," he suggested, pleasantly, "I would move a little--just a little--to the left. That will enable you to obtain to a fuller extent the benefit of the sunbeam which is falling--quite by accident, of course--upon your hair. You are perfectly right, Margaret, in selecting that hedge as a background. Its sombre green sets you off to perfection." He went away chuckling. He felt that Margaret must think him a devil of a fellow. She didn't, though. "The _idea_ of his suspecting me of such unconscionable vanity!" she said, properly offended. Then, "Anyhow, a man has no business to know about such things," she continued, with rising indignation. "I believe Felix Kennaston is as good a judge of chiffons as any woman. That's effeminate, I think, and catty and absurd. I don't believe I ever liked him--not really, that is. Now, what would Billy care about sunbeams and backgrounds, I'd like to know! He'd never even notice them. Billy is a _man_. Why, that's just what father said yesterday!" Margaret cried, and afterward laughed happily. "I suppose old people are right sometimes--but, dear, dear, they're terribly unreasonable at others!" Having thus uttered the ancient, undying plaint of youth, Miss Hugonin moved a matter of two inches to the left, and smiled, and waited contentedly. It was barely possible some one might come that way; and it is always a comfort to know that one is not exactly repulsive in appearance. Also, there was the spring about her; and, chief of all, there was a queer fluttering in her heart that was yet not unpleasant. In fine, she was unreasonably happy for no reason at all. I believe the foolish poets call this feeling love and swear it is divine; however, they will say anything for the sake of an ear-tickling jingle. And while it is true that scientists have any number of plausible and interesting explanations for this same feeling, I am sorry to say I have forgotten them. I am compelled, then, to fall back upon those same unreliable, irresponsible rhymesters, and to insist with them that a maid waiting in the springtide for the man she loves is necessarily happy and very rarely puzzles her head over the scientific reason for it. XXI But ten minutes later she saw Mr. Woods in the distance striding across the sunlit terraces, and was seized with a conviction that their interview was likely to prove a stormy one. There was an ominous stiffness in his gait. "Oh, dear, dear!" Miss Hugonin wailed; "he's in a temper now, and he'll probably be just as disagreeable as it's possible for any one to be. I do wish men weren't so unreasonable! He looks exactly like a big, blue-eyed thunder-cloud just now--just now, when I'm sure he has every cause in the _world_ to be very much pleased--after all I've done for him. He makes me awfully tired. I think he's _very ungrateful_. I--I think I'm rather afraid." In fact, she was. Now that the meeting she had anticipated these twelve hours past was actually at hand, there woke in her breast an unreasoning panic. Miss Hugonin considered, and caught up her skirts, and whisked into the summer-house, and there sat down in the darkest corner and devoutly wished Mr. Woods in Crim Tartary, or Jericho, or, in a word, any region other than the gardens of Selwoode. Billy came presently to the opening in the hedge and stared at the deserted bench. He was undeniably in a temper. But, then, how becoming it was! thought someone. "Miss Hugonin!" he said, coldly. Evidently (thought someone) he intends to be just as nasty as possible. "Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, after a little. Perhaps (thought someone) he won't be _very_ nasty. "Dear Peggy!" said Mr. Woods, in his most conciliatory tone. Someone rearranged her hair complacently. But there was no answer, save the irresponsible chattering of the birds, and with a sigh Billy turned upon his heel. Then, by the oddest chance in the world, Margaret coughed. I dare say it was damp in the summer-house; or perhaps it was caused by some passing bronchial irritation; or perhaps, incredible as it may seem, she coughed to show him where she was. But I scarcely think so, because Margaret insisted afterward--very positively, too--that she didn't cough at all. XXII "Well!" Mr. Woods observed, lengthening the word somewhat. In the intimate half-light of the summer-house, he loomed prodigiously big. He was gazing downward in careful consideration of three fat tortoise-shell pins and a surprising quantity of gold hair, which was practically all that he could see of Miss Hugonin's person; for that young lady had suddenly become a limp mass of abashed violet ruffles, and had discovered new and irresistible attractions in the mosaics about her feet. Billy's arms were crossed on his breast and his right hand caressed his chin meditatively. By and bye, "I wonder, now," he reflected, aloud, "if you can give any reason--any possible reason--why you shouldn't be locked up in the nearest sanatorium?" "You needn't be rude, you know," a voice observed from the neighbourhood of the ruffles, "because there isn't anything you can do about it." Mr. Woods ventured a series of inarticulate observations. "But why?" he concluded, desperately. "But why, Peggy?--in Heaven's name, what's the meaning of all this?" She looked up. Billy was aware of two large blue stars; his heart leapt; and then he recalled a pair of gray-green eyes that had regarded him in much the same fashion not long ago, and he groaned. "I was unfair to you last night," she said, and the ring of her odd, deep voice, and the richness and sweetness of it, moved him to faint longing, to a sick heart-hunger. It was tremulous, too, and very tender. "Yes, I was unutterably unfair, Billy. You asked me to marry you when you thought I was a beggar, and--and Uncle Fred _ought_ to have left you the money. It was on account of me that he didn't, you know. I really owed it to you. And after the way I talked to you--so long as I had the money--I--and, anyhow, its very disagreeable and eccentric and _horrid_ of you to object to being rich!" Margaret concluded, somewhat incoherently. She had not thought it would be like this. He seemed so stern. But, "Isn't that exactly like her?" Mr. Woods was demanding of his soul. "She thinks she has been unfair to me--to me, whom she doesn't care a button for, mind you. So she hands over a fortune to make up for it, simply because that's the first means that comes to hand! Now, isn't that perfectly unreasonable, and fantastic, and magnificent, and incredible?--in short, isn't that Peggy all over? Why, God bless her, her heart's bigger than a barn-door! Oh, it's no wonder that fellow Kennaston was grinning just now when he sent me to her! He can afford to grin." Aloud, he stated, "You're an angel, Peggy that's what you are. I've always suspected it, and I'm glad to know it now for a fact. But in this prosaic world not even angels are allowed to burn up wills for recreation. Why, bless my soul, child, you--why, there's no telling what trouble you might have gotten into!" Miss Hugonin pouted. "You needn't be such a grandfather," she suggested, helpfully. "But it's a serious business," he insisted. At this point Billy began to object to her pouting as distracting one's mind from the subject under discussion. "It--why, it's----" "It's what?" she pouted, even more rebelliously. "Crimson," said Mr. Woods, considering--"oh, the very deepest, duskiest crimson such as you can't get in tubes. It's a colour was never mixed on any palette. It's--eh? Oh, I beg your pardon." "I think you ought to," said Margaret, primly. Nevertheless, she had brightened considerably. "Of course," Mr. Woods continued with a fine colour, "I can't take the money. That's absurd." "Is it?" she queried, idly. "Now, I wonder how you're going to help yourself?" "Simplest thing in the world," he assured her. "You see this match, don't you, Peggy? Well, now you're going to give me that paper I see in that bag-thing at your waist, and I'm going to burn it till it's all nice, soft, feathery ashes that can't ever be probated. And then the first will, which is practically the same as the last, will be allowed to stand, and I'll tell your father all about the affair, because he ought to know, and you'll have to settle with those colleges. And in that way," Mr. Woods submitted, "Uncle Fred's last wishes will be carried out just as he expressed them, and there needn't be any trouble--none at all. So give me the will, Peggy?" It is curious what a trivial matter love makes of felony. Margaret's heart sank. However, "Yes?" said she, encouragingly; "and what do you intend doing afterward?--" "I--I shall probably live abroad," said Billy. "Cheaper, you know." [Illustration: "Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't be such a grandfather,' she suggested, helpfully"] And here (he thought) was an excellent, an undreamed-of opportunity to inform her of his engagement. He had much better tell her now and have done. Mr. Woods opened his mouth and looked at Margaret, and closed it. Again she was pouting in a fashion that distracted one's mind. "That would be most unattractive," said Miss Hugonin, calmly. "You're very stupid, Billy, to think of living abroad. Billy, I think you're almost as stupid as I am. I've been very stupid, Billy. I thought I liked Mr. Kennaston. I don't, Billy--not that way. I've just told him so. I'm not--I'm not engaged to anybody now, Billy. But wasn't it stupid of me to make such a mistake, Billy?" That was a very interesting mosaic there in the summer-house. "I don't understand," said Mr. Woods. His voice shook, and his hands lifted a little toward her and trembled. Poor Billy dared not understand. Her eyes downcast, her foot tapping the floor gently, Margaret was all one blush. She, too, was trembling a little, and she was a little afraid and quite unutterably happy; and outwardly she was very much the tiny lady of Oberon's court, very much the coquette quintessentialised. It is pitiable that our proud Margaret should come to such a pass. Ah, the men that you have flouted and scorned and bedeviled and mocked at, Margaret--could they see you now, I think the basest of them could not but pity and worship you. This man is bound in honour to another woman; yet a little, and his lips will open--very dry, parched lips they are now--and he will tell you, and your pride will drive you mad, and your heart come near to breaking. "Don't you understand--oh, you silly Billy!" She was peeping at him meltingly from under her lashes. "I--I'm imagining vain things," said Mr. Woods. "I--oh, Peggy, Peggy, I think I must be going mad!" He stared hungrily at the pink, startled face that lifted toward his. Ah, no, no, it could not be possible, this thing he had imagined for a moment. He had misunderstood. And now just for a little (thought poor Billy) let my eyes drink in those dear felicities of colour and curve, and meet just for a little the splendour of those eyes that have the April in them, and rest just for a little upon that sanguine, close-grained, petulant mouth; and then I will tell her, and then I think that I must die. "Peggy----" he began, in a flattish voice. "They have evidently gone," said the voice of Mr. Kennaston; "yes, those beautiful, happy young people have foolishly deserted the very prettiest spot in the gardens. Let us sit here, Kathleen." "But I'm not an eavesdropper," Mr. Woods protested, half angrily. I fear Margaret was not properly impressed. "Please, Billy," she pleaded, in a shrill whisper, "please let's listen. He's going to propose to her now, and you've no idea how funny he is when he proposes. Oh, don't be so pokey, Billy--do let's listen!" But Mr. Woods had risen with a strange celerity and was about to leave the summer-house. Margaret pouted. Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston were seated not twenty feet from the summer-house, on the bench which Miss Hugonin had just left. And when that unprincipled young woman finally rose to her feet, it must be confessed that it was with a toss of the head and with the reflection that while to listen wasn't honourable, it would at least be very amusing. I grieve to admit it, but with Billy's scruples she hadn't the slightest sympathy. Then Kennaston cried, suddenly: "Why, you're mad, Kathleen! Woods wants to marry _you!_ Why, he's heels over head in love with Miss Hugonin!" Miss Hugonin turned to Mr. Woods with a little intake of the breath. No, I shall not attempt to tell you what Billy saw in her countenance. Timanthes-like, I drape before it the vines of the summer-house. For a brief space I think we had best betake ourselves outside, leaving Margaret in a very pitiable state of anger, and shame, and humiliation, and heartbreak--leaving poor Billy with a heart that ached, seeing the horror of him in her face. XXIII Mrs. Saumarez laughed bitterly. "No," she said, "Billy cared for me, you know, a long time ago. And this morning he told me he still cared. Billy doesn't pretend to be a clever man, you see, and so he can afford to practice some of the brute virtues, such as constancy and fidelity." There was a challenging flame in her eyes, but Kennaston let the stab pass unnoticed. To do him justice, he was thinking less of himself, just now, than of how this news would affect Margaret; and his face was very grave and strangely tender, for in his own fashion he loved Margaret. "It's nasty, very nasty," he said, at length, in a voice that was puzzled. "Yet I could have sworn yesterday----" Kennaston paused and laughed lightly. "She was an heiress yesterday, and to-day she is nobody. And Mr. Woods, being wealthy, can afford to gratify the virtues you commend so highly and, with a fidelity that is most edifying, return again to his old love. And she welcomes him--and the Woods millions--with open arms. It is quite affecting, is it not, Kathleen?" "You needn't be disagreeable," she observed. "My dear Kathleen, I assure you I am not angry. I am merely a little sorry for human nature. I could have sworn Woods was honest. But rogues all, rogues all, Kathleen! Money rules us in the end; and now the parable is fulfilled, and Love the prodigal returns to make merry over the calf of gold. Confess," Mr. Kennaston queried, with a smile, "is it not strange an all-wise Creator should have been at pains to fashion this brave world about us for little men and women such as we to lie and pilfer in? Was it worth while, think you, to arch the firmament above our rogueries, and light the ageless stars as candles to display our antics? Let us be frank, Kathleen, and confess that life is but a trivial farce ignobly played in a very stately temple." And Mr. Kennaston laughed again. "Let us be frank!" Kathleen cried, with a little catch in her voice. "Why, it isn't in you to be frank, Felix Kennaston! Your life is nothing but a succession of poses--shallow, foolish poses meant to hoodwink the world and at times yourself. For you do hoodwink yourself, don't you, Felix?" she asked, eagerly, and gave him no time to answer. She feared, you see, lest his answer might dilapidate the one fortress she had been able to build about his honour. "And now," she went on, quickly, "you're trying to make me think you a devil of a fellow, aren't you? And you're hinting that I've accepted Billy because of his money, aren't you? Well, it is true that I wouldn't marry him if he were poor. But he's very far from being poor. And he cares for me. And I am fond of him. And so I shall marry him and make him as good a wife as I can. So there!" Mrs. Saumarez faced him with an uneasy defiance. He was smiling oddly. "I have heard it rumoured in many foolish tales and jingling verses," said Kennaston, after a little, "that a thing called love exists in the world. And I have also heard, Kathleen, that it sometimes enters into the question of marriage. It appears that I was misinformed." "No," she answered, slowly, "there is a thing called love. I think women are none the better for knowing it. To a woman, it means to take some man--some utterly commonplace man, perhaps--perhaps, only an idle _poseur_ such as you are, Felix--and to set him up on a pedestal, and to bow down and worship him; and to protest loudly, both to the world and to herself, that in spite of all appearances her idol really hasn't feet of clay, or that, at any rate, it is the very nicest clay in the world. For a time she deceives herself, Felix. Then the idol topples from the pedestal and is broken, and she sees that it is all clay, Felix--clay through and through--and her heart breaks with it." Kennaston bowed his head. "It is true," said he; "that is the love of women." "To a man," she went on, dully, "it means to take some woman--the nearest woman who isn't actually deformed--and to make pretty speeches to her and to make her love him. And after a while--" Kathleen shrugged her shoulders drearily. "Why, after a while," said she, "he grows tired and looks for some other woman." "It is true," said Kennaston--"yes, very true that some men love in that fashion." There ensued a silence. It was a long silence, and under the tension of it Kathleen's composure snapped like a cord that has been stretched to the breaking point. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cried, suddenly; "that is how I have loved you and that is how you've loved me, Felix Kennaston! Ah, Billy told me what happened last night! And that--that was why I--" Mrs. Saumarez paused and regarded him curiously. "You don't make a very noble figure, just now, do you?" she asked, with careful deliberation. "You were ready to sell yourself for Miss Hugonin's money, weren't you? And now you must take her without the money. Poor Felix! Ah, you poor, petty liar, who've over-reached yourself so utterly!" And again Kathleen began to laugh, but somewhat shrilly, somewhat hysterically. "You are wrong," he said, with a flush. "It is true that I asked Miss Hugonin to marry me. But she--very wisely, I dare say--declined." "Ah!" Kathleen said, slowly. Then--and it will not do to inquire too closely into her logic--she spoke with considerable sharpness: "She's a conceited little cat! I never in all my life knew a girl to be quite so conceited as she is. Positively, I don't believe she thinks there's a man breathing who's good enough for her!" Kennaston grinned. "Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" he said; "you are simply delicious." And Mrs. Saumarez coloured prettily and tried to look severe and could not, for the simple reason that, while she knew Kennaston to be flippant and weak and unstable as water and generally worthless, yet for some occult cause she loved him as tenderly as though he had been a paragon of all the manly virtues. And I dare say that for many of us it is by a very kindly provision of Nature that all women are created capable of doing this illogical thing and that most of them do it daily. "It is true," the poet said, at length, "that I have played no heroic part. And I don't question, Kathleen, that I am all you think me. Yet, such as I am, I love you. And such as I am, you love me, and it is I that you are going to marry, and not that Woods person." "He's worth ten of you!" she cried, scornfully. "Twenty of me, perhaps," Mr. Kennaston assented, "but that isn't the question. You don't love him, Kathleen. You are about to marry him for his money. You are about to do what I thought to do yesterday. But you won't, Kathleen. You know that I need you, my dear, and--unreasonably enough, God knows--you love me." Mrs. Saumarez regarded him intently for a considerable space, and during that space the Eagle warred in her heart with the one foe he can never conquer. Love had a worthless ally; but Love fought staunchly. By and bye, "Yes," she said, and her voice was almost sullen; "I love you. I ought to love Billy, but I don't. I shall ask him to release me from my engagement. And yes, I will marry you if you like." He raised her hand to his lips. "You are an angel," Mr. Kennaston was pleased to say. "No," Mrs. Saumarez dissented, rather forlornly; "I'm simply a fool. Otherwise, I wouldn't be about to marry you, knowing you as I do for what you are--knowing that I haven't one chance in a hundred of any happiness." "My dear," he said, and his voice was earnest, "you know at least that what there is of good in me is at its best with you." "Yes, yes!" Kathleen cried, quickly. "That is so, isn't it, Felix? And you do care for me, don't you? Felix, are you sure you care for me--quite sure? And are you quite certain, Felix, that you never cared so much for any one else?" Mr. Kennaston was quite certain. He proceeded to explain his feelings toward her at some length. Kathleen listened with downcast eyes and almost cheated herself into the belief that the man she loved was all that he should be. But at the bottom of her heart she knew he wasn't. I think we may fairly pity her. Kennaston and Mrs. Saumarez chatted very amicably for some ten minutes. At the end of that period, the twelve forty-five express bellowing faintly in the distance recalled the fact that the morning mail was in, and thereupon, in the very best of humours, they set out for the house. I grieve to admit it, but Kathleen had utterly forgotten Billy by this, and was no more thinking of him than she was of the Man in the Iron Mask. She was with Kennaston, you see; and her thoughts, and glances, and lips, and adoration were all given to his pleasuring, just as her life would have been if its loss could have saved him from a toothache. He strutted a little, and was a little grateful to her, and--to do him justice--received the tribute she accorded him with perfect satisfaction and equanimity. XXIV Margaret came out of the summer-house, Billy Woods followed her, in a very moist state of perturbation. "Peggy----" said Mr. Woods. But Miss Hugonin was laughing. Clear as a bird-call, she poured forth her rippling mimicry of mirth. They train women well in these matters. To Margaret, just now, her heart seemed dead within her. Her lover was proved unworthy. Her pride was shattered. She had loved this clumsy liar yonder, had given up a fortune for him, dared all for him, had (as the phrase runs) flung herself at his head. The shame of it was a physical sickness, a nausea. But now, in this jumble of miseries, in this breaking-up of the earth and the void heavens that surged about her and would not be mastered, the girl laughed; and her laughter was care-free and half-languid like that of a child who is thinking of something else. Ah, yes, they train women well in these matters. At length Margaret said, in high, crisp accents: "Pardon me, but I can't help being amused, Mr. Woods, by the way in which hard luck dogs your footsteps. I think Fate must have some grudge against you, Mr. Woods." "Peggy----" said Mr. Woods. "Pardon me," she interrupted him, her masculine little chin high in the air, "but I wish you wouldn't call me that. It was well enough when we were boy and girl together, Mr. Woods. But you've developed since--ah, yes, you've developed into such a splendid actor, such a consummate liar, such a clever scoundrel, Mr. Woods, that I scarcely recognise you now." And there was not a spark of anger in the very darkest corner of Billy's big, brave heart, but only pity--pity all through and through, that sent little icy ticklings up and down his spine and turned his breathing to great sobs. For she had turned full face to him and he could see the look in her eyes. I think he has never forgotten it. Years after the memory of it would come upon him suddenly and set hot drenching waves of shame and remorse surging about his body--remorse unutterable that he ever hurt his Peggy so deeply. For they were tragic eyes. Beneath them her twitching mouth smiled bravely, but the mirth of her eyes was monstrous. It was the mirth of a beaten woman, of a woman who has known the last extreme of shame and misery and has learned to laugh at it. Even now Billy Woods cannot quite forget. "Peggy," said he, brokenly, "ah, dear, dear Peggy, listen to me!" "Why, have you thought of a plausible lie so soon?" she queried, sweetly. "Dear me, Mr. Woods, what is the use of explaining things? It is very simple. You wanted to marry me last night because I was rich. And when I declined the honour, you went back to your old love. Oh, it's very simple, Mr. Woods! It's a pity, though--isn't it?--that all your promptness went for nothing. Why, dear me, you actually managed to propose before breakfast, didn't you? I should have thought that such eagerness would have made an impression on Kathleen--oh, a most favourable impression. Too bad it hasn't!" "Listen!" said Billy. "Ah, you're forcing me to talk like a cad, Peggy, but I can't see you suffer--I can't! Kathleen misunderstood what I said to her. I--I didn't mean to propose to her, Peggy. It was a mistake, I tell you. It's you I love--just you. And when I asked you to marry me last night--why, I thought the money was mine, Peggy. I'd never have asked you if I hadn't thought that. I--ah, you don't believe me, you don't believe me, Peggy, and before God, I'm telling you the simple truth! Why, I hadn't ever seen that last will, Peggy! It was locked up in that centre place in the desk, you remember. Why--why, you yourself had the keys to it, Peggy. Surely, you remember, dear?" And Billy's voice shook and skipped whole octaves as he pleaded with her, for he knew she did not believe him and he could not endure the horror of her eyes. But Margaret shook her head; and as aforetime the twitching lips continued to laugh beneath those tragic eyes. Ah, poor little lady of Elfland! poor little Undine, with a soul wakened to suffering! "Clumsy, very clumsy!" she rebuked him. "I see that you are accustomed to prepare your lies in advance, Mr. Woods. As an extemporaneous liar you are very clumsy. Men don't propose by mistake except in farces. And while we are speaking of farces, don't you think it time to drop that one of your not knowing about that last will?" "The farce!" Billy stammered. "You--why, you saw me when I found it!" "Ah, yes, I saw you when you pretended to find it. I saw you when you pretended to unlock that centre place. But now, of course, I know it never was locked. I'm very careless about locking things, Mr. Woods. Ah, yes, that gave you a beautiful opportunity, didn't it? So, when you were rummaging through my desk--without my permission, by the way, but that's a detail--you found both wills and concocted your little comedy? That was very clever. Oh, you think you're awfully smooth, don't you, Billy Woods? But if you had been a bit more daring, don't you see, you could have suppressed the last one and taken the money without being encumbered by me? That was rather clumsy of you, wasn't it?" Suave, gentle, sweet as honey was the speech of Margaret as she lifted her face to his, but her eyes were tragedies. "Ah!" said Billy. "Ah--yes--you think--that." He was very careful in articulating his words, was Billy, and afterward he nodded his head gravely. The universe had somehow suffered an airy dissolution like that of Prospero's masque--Selwoode and its gardens, the great globe itself, "the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples" were all as vanished wraiths. There was only Peggy left-- Peggy with that unimaginable misery in her eyes that he must drive away somehow. If that was what she thought, there was no way for him to prove it wasn't so. "Why, dear me, Mr. Woods," she retorted, carelessly, "what else could I think?" Here Mr. Woods blundered. "Ah, think what you will, Peggy!" he cried, his big voice cracking and sobbing and resonant with pain. "Ah, my dear, think what you will, but don't grieve for it, Peggy! Why, if I'm all you say I am, that's no reason you should suffer for it! Ah, don't, Peggy! In God's name, don't! I can't bear it, dear," he pleaded with her, helplessly. Billy was suffering, too. But her sorrow was the chief of his, and what stung him now to impotent anger was that she must suffer and he be unable to help her--for, ah, how willingly, how gladly, he would have borne all poor Peggy's woes upon his own broad shoulders. But none the less, he had lost an invaluable opportunity to hold his tongue. "Suffer! I suffer!" she mocked him, languidly; and then, like a banjo-string, the tension snapped, and she gave a long, angry gasp, and her wrath flamed. "Upon my word, you're the most conceited man I ever knew in my life! You think I'm in love with you! With you! Billy Woods, I wouldn't wipe my feet on you if you were the last man left on earth! I hate you, I loathe you, I detest you, I despise you! Do you hear me?--I hate you. What do I care if you _are_ a snob, and a cad, and a fortune-hunter, and a forger, and--well, I don't care! Perhaps you haven't ever forged anything yet, but I'm quite sure you would if you ever got an opportunity. You'd be delighted to do it. Yes, you would--you're just the sort of man who _revels_ in crime. I love you! Why, that's the best joke I've heard for a long time. I'm only sorry for you, Billy Woods--_sorry_ because Kathleen has thrown you over--sorry, do you understand? Yes, since you're so fond of skinny women, I think it's a great pity she wouldn't have you. Don't talk to me!--she _is_ skinny. I guess I know. She's as skinny as a beanpole. She's skinnier than I ever imagined it possible for anybody--_anybody_--to be. And she pads and rouges till I think it's disgusting, and not half--not _one-half_--of her hair belongs to her, and that half is dyed. But, of course, if you like that sort of thing, there's no accounting for tastes, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for you, even though personally I _don't_ care for skinny women. I hate 'em! And I hate you, too, Billy Woods!" She stamped her foot, did Margaret. You must bear with her, for her heart is breaking now, and if she has become a termagant it is because her shamed pride has driven her mad. Bear with her, then, a little longer. Billy tried to bear with her, for in part he understood. "Peggy," said he, very gently, "you're wrong." "Yes, I dare say!" she snapped at him. "We won't discuss Kathleen, if you please. But you're wrong about the will. I've told you the whole truth about that, but I don't blame you for not believing me, Peggy--ah, no, not I. There seems to be a curse upon Uncle Fred's money. It brings out the worst of all of us. It has changed even you, Peggy--and not for the better, Peggy. You've become distrustful. You--ah, well, we won't discuss that now. Give me the will, my dear, and I'll burn it before your eyes. That ought to show you, Peggy, that you're wrong." Billy was very white-lipped as he ended, for the Woods temper is a short one. But she had an arrow left for him. "Give it to you! And do you think I'd trust you with it, Billy Woods?" "Peggy!--ah, Peggy, I hadn't deserved that. Be just, at least, to me," poor Billy begged of her. Which was an absurd thing to ask of an angry woman. "Yes, I _do_ know what you'd do with it! You'd take it right off and have it probated or executed or whatever it is they do to wills, and turn me straight out in the gutter. That's just what you're _longing_ to do this very moment. Oh, I know, Billy Woods--I know what a temper you've got, and I know you're keeping quiet now simply because you know that's the most exasperating thing you can possibly do. I wouldn't have such a disposition as you've got for the world. You've absolutely _no_ control over your temper--not a bit of it. You're _vile_, Billy Woods! Oh, I _hate_ you! Yes, you've made me cry, and I suppose you're very proud of yourself. _Aren't_ you proud? Don't stand staring at me like a stuck pig, but answer me when I talk to you! Aren't you _proud_ of making me cry? Aren't you? Ah, don't talk to me--don't talk to _me_, I tell you! I don't wish to hear a word you've got to say. I _hate_ you. And you shan't have the money, that's flat." "I don't want it," said Billy. "I've been trying to tell you for the last, half-hour I don't want it. In God's name, why can't you talk like a sensible woman, Peggy?" I am afraid that Mr. Woods, too, was beginning to lose his temper. "That's right--swear at me! It only needed that. You do want the money, and when you say you don't you're lying--lying--_lying_, do you understand? You all want my money. Oh, dear, _dear!_" Margaret wailed, and her great voice was shaken to its depths and its sobbing was the long, hopeless sobbing of a violin, as she flung back her tear-stained face, and clenched her little hands tight at her sides; "why _can't_ you let me alone? You're all after my money--you, and Mr. Kennaston, and Mr. Jukesbury, and all of you! Why _can't_ you let me alone? Ever since I've had it you've hunted me as if I'd been a wild beast. God help me, I haven't had a moment's peace, a moment's rest, a, moment's quiet, since Uncle Fred died. They all want my money--everybody wants my money! Oh, Billy, Billy, why _can't_ they let me alone?" "Peggy----" said he. But she interrupted him. "Don't talk to _me_, Billy Woods! Don't you _dare_ talk to me. I told you I didn't wish to hear a word you had to say, didn't I? Yes, you all want my money. And you shan't have it. It's mine. Uncle Fred left it to me. It's mine, I tell you. I've got the greatest thing in the world--money! And I'll keep it. Ah, I hate you all--every one of you--but I'll make you cringe to me. I'll make you _all_ cringe, do you hear, because I've got the money you're ready to sell your paltry souls for! Oh, I'll make you cringe most of all, Billy Woods! I'm rich, do you hear?--rich--_rich_! Wouldn't you be glad to marry the rich Margaret Hugonin, Billy? Ah, haven't you schemed hard for that? You'd be glad to do it, wouldn't you? You'd give your dirty little soul for that, wouldn't you, Billy? Ah, what a cur you are! Well, some day perhaps I'll buy you just as I would any other cur. Wouldn't you be glad if I did, Billy? Beg for it, Billy! Beg, sir! Beg!" And Margaret flung back her head again, and laughed shrilly, and held up her hand before him as one holds a lump of sugar before a pug-dog. In Selwoode I can fancy how the Eagle screamed his triumph. But Billy's face was ashen. "Before God!" he said, between his teeth, "loving you as I do, I wouldn't marry you now for all the wealth in the world! The money has ruined you--ruined you, Peggy." For a little she stared at him. By and bye, "I dare say it has," she said, in a strangely sober tone. "I've been scolding like a fishwife. I beg your pardon, Mr. Woods--not for what I've said, because I meant every _word_ of it, but I beg your pardon for saying it. Don't come with me, please." Blindly she turned from him. Her shoulders had the droop of an old woman's. Margaret was wearied now, weary with the weariness of death. For a while Mr. Woods stared after the tired little figure that trudged straight onward in the sunlight, stumbling as she went. Then a pleached walk swallowed her, and Mr. Woods groaned. "Oh, Peggy, Peggy!" he said, in bottomless compassion; "oh, my poor little Peggy! How changed you are!" Afterward Mr. Woods sank down upon the bench and buried his face in his hands. He sat there for a long time. I don't believe he thought of anything very clearly. His mind was a turgid chaos of misery; and about him the birds shrilled and quavered and carolled till the air was vibrant with their trilling. One might have thought they choired in honour of the Eagle's triumph, in mockery of poor Billy. Then Mr. Woods raised his head with a queer, alert look. Surely he had heard a voice--the dearest of all voices. "Billy!" it wailed; "oh, Billy, _Billy_!" XXV For at the height of this particularly mischancy posture of affairs the meddlesome Fates had elected to dispatch Cock-eye Flinks to serve as our _deus ex machina_. And just as in the comedy the police turn up in the nick of time to fetch Tartuffe to prison, or in the tragedy Friar John manages to be detained on his journey to Mantua and thus bring about that lamentable business in the tomb of the Capulets, so Mr. Flinks now happens inopportunely to arrive upon our lesser stage. Faithfully to narrate how Cock-eye Flinks chanced to be at Selwoode were a task of magnitude. That gentleman travelled very quietly; and for the most part, he journeyed incognito under a variety of aliases suggested partly by a fertile imagination and in part by prudential motives. For his notions of proprietary rights were deplorably vague, and his acquaintance with the police, in consequence, extensive. And finally, that he was now at Selwoode was not in the least his fault, but all the doing of an N. & O. brakesman, who had in uncultured argument, reinforced by a coupling-pin, persuaded Mr. Flinks to disembark from the northern freight on the night previous. Mr. Flinks, then, sat leaning against a tree in the gardens of Selwoode, some thirty feet from the wall that stands between Selwoode and Gridlington, and nursed his pride and foot, both injured in that high debate of last evening, and with a jackknife rounded off the top of a substantial staff designed to alleviate his present lameness. Meanwhile, he tempered his solitude with music, whistling melodiously the air of a song that pertained to the sacredness of home and of a white-haired mother. Subsequently to Cock-eye Flinks (as the playbill has it), enter a vision in violet ruffles. Wide-eyed, she came upon him in her misery, steadily trudging toward an unknown goal. I think he startled her a bit. Indeed, it must be admitted that Mr. Flinks, while a man of undoubted talent in his particular line of business, was, like many of your great geniuses, in outward aspect unprepossessing and misleading; for whereas he looked like a very shiftless and very dirty tramp, he was as a matter of fact as vile a rascal as ever pawned a swinish soul for whiskey. "What are you doing here?" said Margaret, sharply. "Don't you know this is private property?" To his feet rose Cock-eye Flinks. "Lady," said he, with humbleness, "you wouldn't be hard on a poor workingman, would you? It ain't my fault I'm here, lady--at least, it ain't rightly my fault. I just climbed over the wall to rest a minute--just a minute, lady, in the shade of these beautiful trees. I ain't a-hurting nobody by that, lady, I hope." "Well, you had no business to do it," Miss Hugonin pointed out, "and you can just climb right back." Then she regarded him more intently, and her face softened somewhat. "What's the matter with your foot?" she demanded. "Brakesman," said Mr. Flinks, briefly. "Threw me off a train. He struck me cruel hard, he did, and me a poor workingman trying to make my way to New York, lady, where my poor old mother's dying, lady, and me out of a job. Ah, it's a hard, hard world, lady--and me her only son--and he struck me cruel, cruel hard, he did, but I forgive him for it, lady. Ah, lady, you're so beautiful I know you're got a kind, good heart, lady. Can't you do something for a poor workingman, lady, with a poor dying mother--and a poor, sick wife," Mr. Flinks added as a dolorous afterthought; and drew nearer to her and held out one hand appealingly. Petheridge Jukesbury had at divers times pointed out to her the evils of promiscuous charity, and these dicta Margaret parroted glibly enough, to do her justice, so long as there was no immediate question of dispensing alms. But for all that the next whining beggar would move her tender heart, his glib inventions playing upon it like a fiddle, and she would give as recklessly as though there were no such things in the whole wide world as soup-kitchens and organised charities and common-sense. "Because, you know," she would afterward salve her conscience, "I _couldn't_ be sure he didn't need it, whereas I was _quite_ sure I didn't." Now she wavered for a moment. "You didn't say you had a wife before," she suggested. "An invalid," sighed Mr. Flinks--"a helpless invalid, lady. And six small children probably crying for bread at this very moment. Ah, lady, think what my feelings must be to hear 'em cry in vain--think what I must suffer to know that I summoned them cherubs out of Heaven into this here hard, hard world, lady, and now can't do by 'em properly!" And Cock-eye Flinks brushed away a tear which I, for one, am inclined to regard as a particularly ambitious flight of his imagination. Promptly Margaret opened the bag at her waist and took out her purse. "Don't!" she pleaded. "Please don't! I--I'm upset already. Take this, and please--oh, _please_, don't spend it in getting drunk or gambling or anything horrid," Miss Hugonin implored him. "You all do, and it's so selfish of you and so discouraging." Mr. Flinks eyed the purse hungrily. Such a fat purse! thought Cock-eye Plinks. And there ain't nobody within a mile of here, neither. You are not to imagine that Mr. Flinks was totally abandoned; his vices were parochial, restrained for the most part by a lively apprehension of the law. But now the spell of the Eagle was strong upon him. "Lady," said Mr. Flinks, twisting in his grimy hand the bill she had given him--and there, too, the Eagle flaunted in his vigour and heartened him, "lady, that ain't much for you to give. Can't you do a little better than that by a poor workingman, lady?" A very unpleasant-looking person, Mr. Cock-eye Flinks. Oh, a peculiarly unpleasant-looking person to be a model son and a loving husband and a tender father. Margaret was filled with a vague alarm. But she was brave, was Margaret. "No," said she, very decidedly, "I shan't give you another cent. So you climb right over that wall and go straight back where you belong." The methods of Mr. Flinks, I regret to say, were somewhat more crude than those of Mesdames Haggage and Saumarez and Messieurs Kennaston and Jukesbury. "Cheese it!" said Mr. Flinks, and flung away his staff and drew very near to her. "Gimme that money, do you hear!" "Don't you dare touch me!" she panted; "ah, don't you _dare_!" "Aw, hell!" said Mr. Flinks, disgustedly, and his dirty hands were upon her, and his foul breath reeked in her face. In her hour of need Margaret's heart spoke. "Billy!" she wailed; "oh, Billy, _Billy_!" * * * * * He came to her--just as he would have scaled Heaven to come to her, just as he would have come to her in the nethermost pit of Hell if she had called. Ah, yes, Billy Woods came to her now in her peril, and I don't think that Mr. Flinks particularly relished the look upon Billy's face as he ran through the gardens, for Billy was furiously moved. Cock-eye Flinks glanced back at the wall behind him. Ten feet high, and the fellow ain't far off. Cock-eye Flinks caught up his staff, and as Billy closed upon him, struck him full on the head. Again and again he struck him. It was a sickening business. Billy had stopped short. For an instant he stood swaying on his feet, a puzzled face showing under the trickling blood. Then he flung out his hands a little, and they flapped loosely at the wrists, like wet clothes hung in the wind to dry, and Billy seemed to crumple up suddenly, and slid down upon the grass in an untidy heap. "Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Flinks. He drew back and stared stupidly at that sprawling flesh which just now had been a man, and was seized with uncontrollable shuddering. "Ah-h-h!" said Mr. Flinks, very quietly. And Margaret went mad. The earth and the sky dissolved in many floating specks and then went red--red like that heap yonder. The veneer of civilisation peeled, fell from her like snow from a shaken garment. The primal beast woke and flicked aside the centuries' work. She was the Cave-woman who had seen the death of her mate--the brute who had been robbed of her mate. "Damn you! _Damn_ you!" she screamed, her voice high, flat, quite unhuman; "ah, God in Heaven damn you!" With inarticulate bestial cries she fell upon the man who had killed Billy, and her violet fripperies fluttered, her impotent little hands beat at him, tore at him. She was fearless, shameless, insane. She only knew that Billy was dead. With an oath the man flung her from him and turned on his heel. She fell to coaxing the heap in the grass to tell her that he forgave her--to open his eyes--to stop bloodying her dress--to come to luncheon... A fly settled on Billy's face and came in his zig-zag course to the red stream trickling from his nostrils, and stopped short. She brushed the carrion thing away, but it crawled back drunkenly. She touched it with her finger, and the fly would not move. On a sudden, every nerve in her body began to shake and jerk like a flag snapping in the wind. XXVI Some ten minutes afterward, as the members of the house-party sat chatting on the terrace before Selwoode, there came among them a mad woman in violet trappings that were splotched with blood. "Did you know that Billy was dead?" she queried, smilingly. "Oh, yes, a man killed Billy just now. Wasn't it too bad? Billy was such a nice boy, you know. I--I think it's very sad. I think it's the saddest thing I ever knew of in my life." Kathleen Saumarez was the first to reach her. But she drew back quickly. "No, ah, no!" she said, with a little shudder. "You didn't love Billy. He loved you, and you didn't love him. Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen, how _could_ you help loving Billy? He was such a nice boy. I--I'm rather sorry he's dead." Then she stood silent, picking at her dress thoughtfully and still smiling. Afterward, for the first and only time in history, Miss Hugonin fainted--fainted with an anxious smile. Petheridge Jukesbury caught her as she fell, and began to blubber like a whipped schoolboy as he stood there holding her in his arms. XXVII But Billy was not dead. There was still a feeble, jerky fluttering in his big chest when Colonel Hugonin found him. His heart still moved, but under the Colonel's hand its stirrings were vague and aimless as those of a captive butterfly. The Colonel had seen dead men and dying men before this; and as he bent over the boy he loved he gave a convulsive sob, and afterward buried his face in his hands. Then--of all unlikely persons in the world--it was Petheridge Jukesbury who rose to meet the occasion. His suavity and blandness forgotten in the presence of death, he mounted with confident alacrity to heights of greatness. Masterfully, he overrode them all. He poured brandy between Billy's teeth. Then he ordered the ladies off to bed, and recommended to Mr. Kennaston--when that gentleman spoke of a clergyman--a far more startling destination. For, "It is far from my intention," said Mr. Jukesbury, "to appear lacking in respect to the cloth, but--er--just at present I am inclined to think we are in somewhat greater need of a mattress and a doctor and--ah--the exercise of a little common-sense. The gentleman is--er--let us hope, in no immediate danger." "How dare you suggest such a thing, sir?" thundered Petheridge Jukesbury. "Didn't you see that poor girl's face? I tell you I'll be damned if he dies, sir!" And I fancy the recording angel heard him, and against a list of wordy cheats registered that oath to his credit. It was Petheridge Jukesbury, then, who stalked into Mrs. Haggage's apartments and appropriated her mattress as the first at hand, and afterward waddled through the gardens bearing it on his fat shoulders, and still later lifted Billy upon it as gently as a woman could have. But it was the hatless Colonel on his favourite Black Bess ("Damn your motor-cars!" the Colonel was wont to say; "I consider my appearance sufficiently unprepossessing already, sir, without my arriving in Heaven in fragments and stinking of gasoline!") who in Fairhaven town, some quarter of an hour afterward, leaped Dr. Jeal's garden fence, and subsequently bundled the doctor into his gig; and again yet later it was the Colonel who stood fuming upon the terrace with Dr. Jeal on his way to Selwoode indeed, but still some four miles from the mansion toward which he was urging his staid horse at its liveliest gait. Kennaston tried to soothe him. But the Colonel clamoured to the heavens. Kennaston he qualified in various ways. And as for Dr. Jeal, he would hold him responsible--"personally, sir"--for the consequences of his dawdling in this fashion--"Damme, sir, like a damn' snail with a wooden leg!" "I am afraid," said Kennaston, gravely, "that the doctor will be of very little use when he does arrive." There was that in his face which made the Colonel pause in his objurgations. "Sir," said the Colonel, "what--do--you--mean?" He found articulation somewhat difficult. "In your absence," Kennaston answered, "Mr. Jukesbury, who it appears knows something of medicine, has subjected Mr. Woods to an examination. It--it would be unkind to deceive you----" "Come to the point, sir," the Colonel interrupted him. "What--do you--mean?" "I mean," said Felix Kennaston, sadly, "that--he is afraid--Mr. Woods will never recover consciousness." Colonel Hugonin stared at him. The skin of his flabby, wrinkled old throat was working convulsively. Then, "You're wrong, sir," the Colonel said. "Billy _shan't_ die. Damn Jukesbury! Damn all doctors, too, sir! I put my trust in my God, sir, and not in a box of damn' sugar-pills, sir. And I tell you, sir, _that boy is not going to die_." Afterward he turned and went into Selwoode defiantly. XXVIII In the living-hall the Colonel found Margaret, white as paper, with purple lips that timidly smiled at him. "Why ain't you in bed?" the old gentleman demanded, with as great an affectation of sternness as he could muster. To say the truth, it was not much; for Colonel Hugonin, for all his blustering optimism, was sadly shaken now. "Attractive," said Margaret, "I was, but I couldn't stay there. My--my brain won't stop working, you see," she complained, wearily. "There's a thin little whisper in the back of it that keeps telling me about Billy, and what a liar he is, and what nice eyes he has, and how poor Billy is dead. It keeps telling me that, over and over again, attractive. It's such a tiresome, silly little whisper. But he is dead, isn't he? Didn't Mr. Kennaston tell me just now that he was dead?--or was it the whisper, attractive?" The Colonel coughed. "Kennaston--er--Kennaston's a fool," he declared, helplessly. "Always said he was a fool. We'll have Jeal in presently." "No--I remember now--Mr. Kennaston said Billy would die very soon. You don't like people to disagree with you, do you, attractive? Of course, he will die, for the man hit him very, _very_ hard. I'm sorry Billy is going to die, though, even if he is such a liar!" "Don't!" said the Colonel, hoarsely; "don't, daughter! I don't know what there is between you and Billy, but you're wrong. Oh, you're very hopelessly wrong! Billy's the finest boy I know." Margaret shook her head in dissent. "No, he's a very contemptible liar," she said, disinterestedly, "and that is what makes it so queer that I should care for him more than I do for anything else in the world. Yes, it's very queer." Then Margaret went into the room opening into the living-hall, where Billy Woods lay unconscious, pallid, breathing stertorously. And the Colonel stared after her. "Oh, my God, my God!" groaned the poor Colonel; "why couldn't it have been I? Why couldn't it have been I that ain't wanted any longer? She'd never have grieved like that for me!" And indeed, I don't think she would have. For to Margaret there had come, as, God willing, there comes to every clean-souled woman, the time to put away all childish things, and all childish memories, and all childish ties, if need be, to follow one man only, and cleave to him, and know his life and hers to be knit up together, past severance, in a love that death itself may not affright nor slay. XXIX She sat silent in one corner of the darkened room. It was the bedroom that Frederick R. Woods formerly occupied--on the ground floor of Selwoode, opening into the living-hall--to which they had carried Billy. Jukesbury had done what he could. In the bed lay Billy Woods, swathed in hot blankets, with bottles of hot water set to his feet. Jukesbury had washed his face clean of that awful red, and had wrapped bandages of cracked ice about his head and propped it high with pillows. It was little short of marvellous to see the pursy old hypocrite going cat-footed about the room on his stealthy ministrations, replenishing the bandages, forcing spirits of ammonia between Billy's teeth, fighting deftly and confidently with death. Billy still breathed. The Colonel came and went uneasily. The clock on the mantel ticked. Margaret brooded in a silence that was only accentuated by that horrible wheezing, gurgling, tremulous breathing in the bed yonder. Would the doctor never come! She was curiously conscious of her absolute lack of emotion. But always the interminable thin whispering in the back of her head went on and on. "Oh, if he had only died four years ago! Oh, if he had only died the dear, clean-minded, honest boy I used to know! When that noise stops he will be dead. And then, perhaps, I shall be able to cry. Oh, if he had only died four years ago!" And then _da capo_. On and on ran the interminable thin whispering as Margaret waited for death to come to Billy. Billy looked so old now, under his many bandages. Surely he must be very, very near death. Suddenly, as Jukesbury wrapped new bandages about his forehead, Billy opened his eyes and, without further movement, smiled placidly up at him. "Hello, Jukesbury," said Billy Woods, "where's my armour?" Jukesbury, too, smiled. "The man is bringing it downstairs now," he answered, quietly. "Because," Billy went on, fretfully, "I don't propose to miss the Trojan war. The princes orgulous with high blood chafed, you know, are all going to be there, and I don't propose to miss it." Behind his fat back, Petheridge Jukesbury waved a cautioning hand at Margaret, who had risen from her chair. "But it is very absurd," Billy murmured, in the mere ghost of a voice, "because men don't propose by mistake except in farces. Somebody told me that, but I can't remember who, because I am a misogynist. That is a Greek word, and I would explain it to Peggy, if she would only give me a chance, but she can't because she has those seventeen hundred and fifty thousand children to look after. There must be some way to explain to her, though, because where there's a will there is always a way, and there were three wills. Uncle Fred should not have left so many wills--who would have thought the old man had so much ink in him? But I will be a very great painter, Uncle Fred, and make her sorry for the way she has treated me, and _then_ Kathleen will understand I was talking about Peggy." His voice died away, and Margaret sat with wide eyes listening for it again. Would the doctor never come! Billy was smiling and picking at the sheets. "But Peggy is so rich," the faint voice presently complained--"so beastly rich! There is gold in her hair, and if you will look very closely you will see that her lashes were pure gold until she dipped them in the ink-pot. Besides, she expects me to sit up and beg for lumps of sugar, and I _never_ take sugar in my coffee. And Peggy doesn't drink coffee at all, so I think it is very unfair, especially as Teddy Anstruther drinks like a fish and she is going to marry him. Peggy, why won't you marry me? You know I've always loved you, Peggy, and now I can tell you so because Uncle Fred has left me all his money. You think a great deal about money, Peggy. You said it was the greatest thing in the world. And it must be, because it is the only thing--the _only_ thing, Peggy--that has been strong enough to keep us apart. A part is never greater than the whole, Peggy, but I will explain about that when you open that desk. There are sharks in it. Aren't there, Peggy?--_aren't_ there?" His voice had risen to a querulous tone. Gently the fat old man restrained him. "Yes," said Petheridge Jukesbury; "dear me, yes. Why, dear me, of course." But his warning hand held Margaret back--Margaret, who stood with big tears trickling down her cheeks. "Dearer than life itself," Billy assented, wearily, "but before God, loving you as I do, I wouldn't marry you now for all the wealth in the world. I forget why, but all the world is a stage, you know, and they don't use stages now, but only railroads. Is that why you rail at me so, Peggy? That is a joke. You ought to laugh at my jokes, because I love you, but I can't ever, ever tell you so because you are rich. A rich man cannot pass through a needle's eye. Oh, Peggy, Peggy, I love your eyes, but they're so _big_, Peggy!" So Billy Woods lay still and babbled ceaselessly. But through all his irrelevant talk, as you may see a tributary stream pulse unsullied in a muddied river, ran the thought of Peggy--of Peggy, and of her cruelty, and of her beauty, and of the money that stood between them. And Margaret, who could never have believed him in his senses, listened and knew that in his delirium, the rudder of his thoughts snapped, he could not but speak truth. As she crouched in the corner of the room, her face buried in an arm-chair, her gold hair half loosened, her shoulders monotonously heaving, she wept gently, inaudibly, almost happily. Almost happily. Billy was dying, but she knew now, past any doubting, that he loved her. The dear, clean-minded, honest boy had come back to her, and she could love him now without shame, and there was only herself to be loathed. [Illustration: "Regarded them with alert eyes."] Then the door opened. Then, with Colonel Hugonin, came Martin Jeal--a wisp of a man like a November leaf--and regarded them from under his shaggy white hair with alert eyes. "Hey, what's this?" said Dr. Jeal. "Eh, yes! Eh--yes!" he meditated, slowly. "Most irregular. You must let us have the room, Miss Hugonin." In the hall she waited. Hope! ah, of course, there was no hope! the thin little whisper told her. By and bye, though--after centuries of waiting--the three men came into the hall. "Miss Hugonin," said Dr. Jeal, with a strange kindness in his voice, "I don't think we shall need you again. I am happy to tell you, though, that the patient is doing nicely--very nicely indeed." Margaret clutched his arm. "You--you mean----" "I mean," said Dr. Jeal, "that there is no fracture. A slight concussion of the brain, madam, and--so far as I can see--no signs of inflammation. Barring accidents, I think we'll have that young man out of bed in a week. Thanks," he added, "to Mr.--er--Jukesbury here whose prompt action was, under Heaven, undoubtedly the means of staving off meningitis and probably--indeed, more than probably--the means of saving Mr. Woods's life. It was splendid, sir, splendid! No doctor--why, God bless my soul!" For Miss Hugonin had thrown her arms about Petheridge Jukesbury's neck and had kissed him vigorously. "You beautiful child!" said Miss Hugonin. "Er--Jukesbury," said the Colonel, mysteriously, "there's a little cognac in the cellar that--er--" The Colonel jerked his thumb across the hallway with the air of a conspirator. "Eh?" said the Colonel. "Why--er--yes," said Mr. Jukesbury. "Why--ah--yes, I think I might." They went across the hall together. The Colonel's hand rested fraternally on Petheridge Jukesbury's shoulder. XXX The next day there was a general exodus from Selwoode, and Margaret's satellites dispersed upon their divers ways. Selwoode, as they understood it, was no longer hers; and they knew Billy Woods well enough to recognise that from Selwoode's new master there were no desirable pickings to be had such as the philanthropic crew had fattened on these four years past. So there came to them, one and all, urgent telegrams or insistent letters or some equally unanswerable demand for their presence elsewhere, such as are usually prevalent among our guests in very dull or very troublous times. Miss Hugonin smiled a little bitterly. She considered that the scales had fallen from her eyes, and flattered herself that she was by way of becoming a bit of a misanthrope; also, I believe, there was a note concerning the hollowness of life and the worthlessness of society in general. In a word, Margaret fell back upon the extreme cynicism and world-weariness of twenty-three, and assured herself that she despised everybody, whereas, as a matter of fact, she never in her life succeeded in disliking anything except mice and piano-practice, and, for a very little while, Billy Woods; and this for the very excellent reason that the gods had fashioned her solely to the end that she might love all mankind, and in return be loved by humanity in general and adored by that portion of it which inhabits trousers. But, "The rats always desert a sinking ship," said Miss Hugonin, with the air of one delivering a particularly original sentiment. "They make me awfully tired, and I don't care for them in the least. But Petheridge Jukesbury is a _dear_, and I may be poor now, but I _did_ try to do good with the money when I had it, and _anyhow_, Billy is going to get well." And, after all, that was the one thing that really mattered, though of course Billy would always despise her. He would be quite right, too, the girl thought humbly. But the conventionalities of life are more powerful than even youthful cynicism and youthful heart-break. Prior to devoting herself to a loveless life and the commonplaces of the stoic's tub, Miss Hugonin was compelled by the barest decency to bid her guests Godspeed. And Adèle Haggage kissed her for the first time in her life. She had been a little awed by Miss Hugonin, the famous heiress--a little jealous of her, I dare say, on account of Hugh Van Orden--but now she kissed her very heartily in farewell, and said, "Don't forget you are to come to us as soon as _possible_," and was beyond any question perfectly sincere in saying it. And Hugh Van Orden almost dragged Margaret under the main stairway, and, far from showing any marked abhorrence to her in her present state of destitution, implored her with tears in his eyes to marry him at once, and to bring the Colonel to live with them for the rest of his natural existence. For, "It's damned impertinent of me, of course," Mr. Van Orden readily conceded, "and I suppose I ought to beg your pardon for mentioning it, but I _do_ love you to a perfectly unlimited extent. It's playing the very deuce with my polo, Miss Hugonin, and as for my appetite--why, if you won't have me," cried Hugh, in desperation, "I--I really, you know, I don't believe I'll _ever_ be able to eat anything!" When Margaret refused him--for the sixth time, I think--I won't swear that she didn't kiss him under the dark stairway. And if she did, he was a nice boy, and he deserved it. And as for Sarah Ellen Haggage, that unreverend old parasite brought her a blank cheque signed with her name, and mentioned quite a goodly sum as the extent to which Margaret might go for necessary expenses. "For you'll need it," she said, and rubbed her nose reflectively. "Moving is the very deuce for wasting money, because so many little things keep cropping up. Now, remember, a quarter is quite enough to give _any_ man for moving a trunk. And there's no earthly sense in your taking a cab, Margaret--the street-car will bring you within a block of our door. These little trifles count, dear. And don't let Célestine pack your things, because she's abominably careless. Let Marie do it--and don't tip her. Give her an old hat. And if I were you, I would certainly consult a lawyer about the legality of that idiotic will. I remember distinctly hearing that Mr. Woods was very eccentric in his last days, and I haven't a doubt he was raving mad when, he left all his money to a great, strapping, long-legged young fellow, who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Getting better, is he? Well, I suppose I'm glad to hear it, but he'd much better have stayed in Paris--where, I remember distinctly hearing, he led the most dissipated and immoral life, my dear--instead of coming over here and upsetting everything." And again Mrs. Haggage rubbed her nose--indignantly. "He _didn't_!" said Margaret. "And I _can't_ take your money, beautiful! And I don't see how we can possibly come to stay with you." "Don't you argue with me!" Mrs. Haggage exhorted her. "I'm not in any temper to be argued with. I've spent the morning sewing bias stripes in a bias skirt--something which from a moral-ruining and resolution-overthrowing standpoint simply knocks the spots off Job. You'll take that money, and you'll come to me as soon as you can, and--God bless you, my dear!" And again Margaret was kissed. Altogether, it was a very osculatory morning for Miss Hugonin. Mr. Jukesbury's adieus, however, were more formal; and--I am sorry to say it--the old fellow went away wondering if the rich Mr. Woods might not conceivably be very grateful to the man who had saved his life and evince his gratitude in some agreeable and substantial form. Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston, also, were somewhat unenthusiastic in their parting. Kennaston could not feel quite at ease with Margaret, brazen it as he might with devil-may-carish flippancy; and Kathleen had by this an inkling as to how matters stood between Margaret and Billy, and was somewhat puzzled thereat, and loved the former in consequence no more than any Christian female is compelled to love the woman who, either unconsciously or with deliberation, purloins her ancient lover. A woman rarely forgives the man who has ceased to care for her; and rarelier still can she pardon the woman who has dared succeed her in his affections. And besides, they were utterly engrossed with one another, and utterly happy, and utterly selfish with the immemorial selfishness of lovers, who cannot for a moment conceive that the whole world is not somehow benefited by their happiness and does not await with breathless interest the outcome of their bickerings with the blind bow-god, and from this providential delusion derive a meritorious and comfortable glow. So Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston parted from Margaret with kindness, it is true, but not without awkwardness. And that was the man that almost she had loved! thought Margaret, as she gazed on the whirl of dust left by their carriage-wheels. Gone with a few perfunctory words of sympathy! And for my part, I think that the base Indian who threw a pearl away worth more than all his tribe was, in comparison with Felix Kennaston, a shrewd and long-headed man. If you had given _me_ his chances, Margaret ... but this, however, is highly digressive. The Colonel, standing beside her, used language that was unrefined. His aspirations as to the future of Mr. Kennaston and Mr. Jukesbury, it appeared, were both lurid and unfriendly. "But why, attractive?" queried his daughter. "May they be qualified with such and such adjectives!" desired the Colonel, fervently. "They tried to lend me money--wouldn't hear of my not taking it! In case of necessity.' Bah!" said the Colonel, and shook his fist after the retreating carriages. "May they be qualified with such and such adjectives!" How happily she laughed! "And you're swearing at them!" she pouted. "Oh, my dear, my dear, how hard you are on all my little friends!" "Of course I am," said the Colonel, stoutly. "They've deprived me of the pleasure of despising 'em. It was worth double the money, I tell you! I never objected to any men quite so much. And now they've gone and behaved decently with the deliberate purpose of annoying me! Oh!" cried the Colonel, and shook an immaculate, withered old hand toward the spring sky, "may they be qualified with such and such adjectives!" And that, so far as we are concerned, was the end of Margaret's satellites. My dear Mrs. Grundy, may one point the somewhat obvious moral? I thank you, madam, for your long-suffering kindness. Permit me, then, to vault toward my moral over the shoulders of a greater man. Among the papers left by one Charles Dickens--a novelist who is obsolete now because he "wallows naked in the pathetic" and was frequently guilty of a very vulgar sort of humour that actually made people laugh, which, as we now know, is not the purpose of humour--a novelist who incessantly "caricatured Nature" and by these inartistic and underhand methods created characters that are more real to us than the folk we jostle in the street and (God knows!) far more vital and worthy of attention than the folk who "cannot read Dickens"--you will find, I say, a note of an idea which he never afterward developed, running to this effect: "Full length portrait of his lordship, surrounded by worshippers. Sensible men enough, agreeable men enough, independent men enough in a certain way; but the moment they begin to circle round my lord, and to shine with a borrowed light from his lordship, heaven and earth, how mean and subservient! What a competition and outbidding of each other in servility!" And this, with "my lord" and "his lordship" erased to make way for the word "money," is my moral. The folk who have just left Selwoode were honest enough as honesty goes nowadays; kindly as any of us dare be who have our own way to make among very stalwart and determined rivals; generous as any man may venture to be in a world where the first of every month finds the butcher and the baker and the candlestick-maker rapping at the door with their little bills: but they cringed to money. It was very wrong of them, my dear lady, and in extenuation I can only plead that they could no more help cringing to money than you or I can help it. This is very crude and very cynical, but unfortunately it is true. We always cringe to money; which is humiliating. And the sun always rises at an hour when sensible people are abed and have not the least need for its services; which is foolish. And what you and I, my dear madam, are to do about rectifying either one of these vexatious circumstances, I am sure I don't know. We can, at least, be honest. Let us, then, console ourselves at will with moral observations concerning the number of pockets in a shroud and the difficulty of a rich man's entering into the kingdom of Heaven; but with an humble and reverent heart, let us admit that, in the world we know, money rules. Its presence awes us. And if we are quite candid we must concede that we very unfeignedly envy and admire the rich; we must grant that money confers a certain distinction on a man, be he the veriest ass that ever heehawed a platitude, and that we cannot but treat him accordingly, you and I. You are friendly, of course, with your poor cousins; you are delighted to have them drop in to dinner, and liberal enough with the claret when they do; but when the magnate comes, there is a magnum of champagne, and an extra lamp in the drawing-room, and--I blush to write it--a far more agreeable hostess at the head of the table. Dives is such good company, you see. And speaking for my own sex, I defy any honest fellow to lay his hand upon his waistcoat and swear that it doesn't give him a distinct thrill of pleasure to be seen in public with a millionaire. Daily we truckle in the Eagle's shadow--the shadow that lay so heavily across Selwoode. With the Eagle himself and with the Eagle's work in the world--the grim, implacable, ruthless work that hourly he goes about--our little comedy has naught to do; Schlemihl-like, we deal but in shadows. Even the shadow of the Eagle is a terrible thing--a shadow that, as Felix Kennaston has told you, chills faith, and charity, and independence, and kindliness, and truth, and--alas--even common honesty. But this is both cynical and digressive. XXXI Dr. Jeal, better than his word, had Billy Woods out of bed in five days. To Billy they were very long and very dreary days, and to Margaret very long and penitential ones. But Colonel Hugonin enjoyed them thoroughly; for, as he feelingly and frequently observed, it is an immense consolation to any man to reflect that his home no longer contains "more damn' foolishness to the square inch than any other house in the United States." On all sides they sought for Cock-eye Flinks. But they never found him, and to this day they have never found him. The Fates having played their pawn, swept it from the board, and Cock-eye Flinks disappeared in Clotho's capacious pocket. All this time the young people saw nothing of one another. On this point Jeal was adamantean. "In a sick-room," he vehemently declared, "a woman is well enough, but _the_ woman is the devil and all. I've told that young man plainly, sir, that he doesn't see your daughter till he gets well--and, by George, sir, he'll get well now just in order to see her. Nature is the only doctor who ever cures anybody, Colonel; we humans, for all our pill-boxes and lancets, can only prompt her--and devilish demoralising advice we generally give her, too," he added, with a chuckle. "Peggy!" This was the first observation of Mr. Woods when he came to his senses. He swore feebly when Peggy was denied to him. He pleaded. He scolded. He even threatened, as a last resort, to get out of bed and go in immediate search of her; and in return, Jeal told him very affably that it was far less difficult to manage a patient in a straight-jacket than one out of it, and that personally nothing would please him so much as a plausible pretext for clapping Mr. Woods into one of 'em. Jeal had his own methods in dealing with the fractious. Then Billy clamoured for Colonel Hugonin, and subsequently the Colonel came in some bewilderment to his daughter's rooms. "Billy says that will ain't to be probated," he informed her, testily. "I'm to make sure it ain't probated till he gets well. You're to give me your word you'll do nothing further in the matter till Billy gets well. That's his message, and I'd like to know what the devil this infernal nonsense means. I ain't a Fenian nor yet a Guy Fawkes, daughter, and in consequence I'm free to confess I don't care for all this damn mystery and shilly-shallying. But that's the message." Miss Hugonin debated with herself. "That I will do nothing further in the matter till Billy gets well," she repeated, reflectively. "Yes, I suppose I'll have to promise it, but you can tell him for me that I consider he is _horrid_, and just as obstinate and selfish as he can _possibly_ be. Can you remember that, attractive?" "Yes, thank you," said the Colonel. "I can remember it, but I ain't going to. Nice sort of message to send a sick man, ain't it? I don't know what's gotten into you, Margaret--no, begad, I don't! I think you're possessed of seventeen devils. And now," the old gentleman demanded, after an awkward pause, "are you or are you not going to tell me what all this mystery is about?" "I can't," Miss Hugonin protested. "It--it's a secret, attractive." "It ain't," said the Colonel, flatly--"it's some more damn foolishness." And he went away in a fret and using language. XXXII Left to herself, Miss Hugonin meditated. Miss Hugonin was in her kimono. And oh, Madame Chrysastheme! oh, Madame Butterfly! Oh, Mimosa San, and Pitti Sing, and Yum Yum, and all ye vaunted beauties of Japan! if you could have seen her in that garb! Poor little ladies of the Orient, how hopelessly you would have wrung your henna-stained fingers! Poor little Ichabods of the East, whose glory departed irretrievably when she adopted this garment, I tremble to think of the heart-burnings and palpitations and hari-karis that would have ensued. It was pink--the pink of her cheeks to a shade. And scattered about it were birds, and butterflies, and snaky, emaciated dragons, with backs like saw-teeth, and prodigious fangs, and claws, and very curly tails, such as they breed in Nankeen plates and used to breed on packages of fire-crackers--all done in gold, the gold of her hair. Moreover, one might catch a glimpse of her neck--which was a manifest favour of the gods--and about it mysterious, lacy white things intermingling with divers tiny blue ribbons. I saw her in it once--by accident. And now I fancy, as she stood rigid with indignation, her cheeks flushed, it must have been a heady spectacle to note how their shell-pink repeated the pink of her fantastic garment like a chromatic echo; and how her sunny hair, a thought loosened, a shade dishevelled, clung heavily about her face, a golden snare for eye and heart; and how her own eyes, enormous, cerulean--twin sapphires such as in the old days might have ransomed a brace of emperors--grew wistful like a child's who has been punished and does not know exactly why; and how her petulant mouth quivered and the long black lashes, golden at the roots, quivered, too--ah, yes, it must have been a heady spectacle. "_Now_," she announced, "I see plainly what he intends doing. He is going to destroy that will, and burden me once more with a large and influential fortune. I don't want it, and I won't take it, and he might just as well understand that in the very beginning. I don't care if Uncle Fred did leave it to me--I didn't ask him to, did I? Besides, he was a very foolish old man--if he had left the money to Billy _everything_ would have been all right. That's always the way--my dolls are invariably stuffed with sawdust, and I _never_ have a dear gazelle to glad me with his dappled hide, but when he comes to know me well he falls upon the buttered side--or something to that effect. I hate poetry, anyhow--it's so mushy!" And this from the Miss Hugonin who a week ago was interested in the French _decadents_ and partial to folk-songs from the Romaic! I think we may fairly deduce that the reign of Felix Kennaston is over. The king is dead; and Margaret's thoughts and affections and her very dreams have fallen loyally to crying, Long live the king--his Majesty Billy the First. "Oh!" said Margaret, with an indignant gasp, what time her eyebrows gesticulated, "I think Billy Woods is a meddlesome _piece_!--that's what I think! Does he suppose that after waiting all this time for the only man in the world who can keep me interested for four hours on a stretch and send my pulse up to a hundred and make me feel those thrilly thrills I've always longed for--does he suppose that now I'm going to pay any attention to his silly notions about wills and things? He's abominably selfish! I shan't!" Margaret moved across the room, shimmering, rustling, glittering like a fairy in a pantomime. Then, to consider matters at greater ease, she curled up on a divan in much the attitude of a tiny Cleopatra riding at anchor on a carpeted Cydnus. "Billy thinks I want the money--bless his boots! He thinks I'm a stuck-up, grasping, purse-proud little pig, and he has every right to think so after the way I talked to him, though he ought to have realised I was in a temper about Kathleen Saumarez and have paid no attention to what I said. And he actually attempted to reason with me! If he'd had _any_ consideration for my feelings, he'd have simply smacked me and made me behave--however, he's a man, and all men are selfish, and _she's_ a skinny old thing, and I _never_ had any use for her. Bother her lectures! I never understood a word of them, and I don't believe she does, either. Women's clubs are _all_ silly, and I think the women who belong to them are _all_ bold-faced jigs! If they had any sense, they'd stay at home and take care of the babies, instead of messing with philanthropy, and education, and theosophy, and anything else that they can't make head or tail of. And they call that being cultured! Culture!--I hate the word! I don't want to be cultured--I want to be happy." This, you will observe, was, in effect, a sweeping recantation of every ideal Margaret had ever boasted. But Love is a canny pedagogue, and of late he had instructed Miss Hugonin in a variety of matters. "Before God, loving you as I do, I wouldn't marry you for all the wealth in the world," she repeated, with a little shiver. "Even in his delirium he said that. But I _know_ now that he loves me. And I know that I adore him. And if this were a sensible world, I'd walk right in there and explain things and ask him to marry me, and then it wouldn't matter in the least who had the money. But I can't, because it wouldn't be proper. Bother propriety!--but bothering it doesn't do any good. As long as I have the money, Billy will never come near me, because of the idiotic way I talked to him. And he's bent on my taking the money simply because it happens to belong to me. I consider that a very silly reason. I'll _make_ Billy Woods take the money, and I'll make him see that I'm _not_ a little pig, and that I trust him implicitly. And I think I'm quite justified in using a little--we'll call it diplomacy--because otherwise he'd go back to France or some other objectionable place, and we'd both be _very_ unhappy." Margaret began to laugh softly. "I've given him my word that I'll do nothing further in the matter till he gets well. And I won't. _But_----" Miss Hugonin rose from the divan with a gesture of sweeping back her hair. And then--oh, treachery of tortoise-shell! oh, the villainy of those little gold hair-pins!--the fat twisted coils tumbled loose and slowly unravelled themselves, and her pink-and-white face, half-eclipsed, showed a delectable wedge between big, odourful, crinkly, ponderous masses of hair. It clung about her, a heavy cloak, all shimmering gold like the path of sunset over the June sea. And Margaret, looking at herself in the mirror, laughed, and appeared perfectly content with what she saw there. "But," said she, "if the Fates are kind to me--and I sometimes think I _have_ a pull with the gods--I'll make you happy, Billy Woods, in spite of yourself." The mirror flashed back a smile. Margaret was strangely interested in the mirror. "She has ringlets in her hair," sang Margaret happily--a low, half-hushed little song. She held up a strand of it to demonstrate this fact. "There's a dimple in her chin"--and, indeed, there was. And a dimple in either cheek, too. For a long time afterward she continued to smile at the mirror. I am afraid Kathleen Saumarez was right. She was a vain little cat, was Margaret. But, barring a rearrangement of the cosmic scheme, I dare say maids will continue to delight in their own comeliness so long as mirrors speak truth. Let us, then, leave Miss Hugonin to this innocent diversion. The staidest of us are conscious of a brisk elation at sight of a pretty face; and surely no considerate person will deny its owner a portion of the pleasure that daily she accords the beggar at the street-corner. XXXIII We are credibly informed that Time travels in divers paces with divers persons--the statement being made by a lady who may be considered to speak with some authority, having triumphantly withstood the ravages of Chronos for a matter of three centuries. But I doubt if even the insolent sweet wit of Rosalind could have devised a fitting simile for Time's gait at Selwoode those five days that Billy lay abed. Margaret could not but marvel at the flourishing proportion attained by the hours in those sunlit spring days; and at dinner, say, her thoughts harking back to luncheon, recalled it by a vigorous effort as an affair of the dim yester-years--a mere blurred memory, faint and vague as a Druidical tenet or a Merovingian squabble. But the time passed for all that; and eventually--it was just before dusk--she came, with Martin Jeal's permission, into the room where Billy was. And beside the big open fireplace, where a wood fire chattered companionably, sat a very pallid Billy, a rather thin Billy, with a great many bandages about his head. You may depend upon it, Margaret was not looking her worst that afternoon. By actual count, Célestine had done her hair six times before reaching an acceptable result. And, "Yes, Célestine, you may get out that pale yellow dress. No, beautiful, the one with the black satin stripes on the bodice--because I don't want my hair cast completely in the shade, do I? Now, let me see--black feather, gloves, large pompadour, _and_ a sweet smile. No, I don't want a fan--that's a Lydia Languish trade-mark. And _two_ silk skirts rustling like the deadest leaves imaginable. Yes, I think that will do. And if you can't hook up my dress without pecking and pecking at me like that, I'll probably go stark, _staring_ crazy, Célestine, and then you'll be sorry. No, it isn't a bit tight--are you perfectly certain there's no powder behind my ears, Célestine? Now, _please_ try to fasten the collar without pulling all my hair down. Ye-es, I think that will do, Célestine. Well, it's very nice of you to say so, but I don't believe I much fancy myself in yellow, after all." Equipped and armed for conquest, then, she came into the room with a very tolerable affectation of unconcern. Altogether, it was a quite effective entrance. "I've been for a little drive, Billy," she mendaciously informed him. "That's how you happen to have the opportunity of seeing me in all my nice new store-clothes. Aren't you pleased, Billy? No, don't you dare get up!" Margaret stood across the room, peeling off her gloves and regarding him on the whole with disapproval. "They've been starving you," she pensively reflected. "As soon as that Jeal person goes away, I shall have six little beefsteaks cooked and see to it personally that you eat every one of them. And I'll cook a cherry pie--quick as a cat can wink her eye--won't I, Billy? That Jeal person is a decided nuisance," said Miss Hugonin, as she stabbed her hat rather viciously with two hat-pins and then laid it aside on a table. Billy Woods was looking up at her forlornly. It hurt her to see the love and sorrow in his face. But oh, how avidly his soul drank in the modulations of that longed-for voice--a voice that was honey and gold and velvet and all that is most sweet and rich and soft in the world. "Peggy," said he, plunging at the heart of things, "where's that will?" Miss Hugonin kicked forward a little foot-stool to the other side of the fire, and sat down and complacently smoothed out her skirts. "I knew it!" said she. "I never saw such a one-idea'd person in my life. I knew that would be the very first thing you would ask for, Billy Woods, because you're such an obstinate, stiffnecked _donkey_. Very well!"--and Margaret tossed her head--"here's Uncle Fred's will, then, and you can do _exactly_ as you like with it, and _now_ I hope you're satisfied!" And Margaret handed him the long envelope which lay in her lap. Mr. Woods promptly opened it. "That," Miss Hugonin commented, "is what I term very unladylike behaviour on your part." "You evidently don't trust me, Billy Woods. Very well! I don't care! Read it carefully--very carefully, and make quite sure I haven't been dabbling in forgery of late--besides, it's so good for your eyes, you know, after being hit over the head," Margaret suggested, cheerfully. Billy chuckled. "That's true," said he, "but I know Uncle Fred's fist well enough without having to read it all. Candidly, Peggy, I _had_ to look at it, because I--well, I didn't quite trust you, Peggy. And now we're going to burn this interesting paper, you and I." "Wait!" Margaret cried. "Ah, wait, just a moment, Billy!" He glanced up at her in surprise, the paper still poised in his hand. She sat with head drooped forward, her masculine little chin thrust out eagerly, her candid eyes transparently appraising him. "Why are you going to burn it, Billy?" "Why?" Mr. Woods, repeated, thoughtfully. "Well, for a variety of reasons. First is, that Uncle Fred really did leave his money to you, and burning this is the only way of making sure you get it. Why, I thought you wanted me to burn it! Last time I saw you--" "I was in a temper," said Margaret, haughtily. "You ought to have seen that." "Yes, I--er--noticed it," Mr. Woods admitted, with some dryness; "but it wasn't only temper. You've grown accustomed to the money. You'd miss it now--miss the pleasure it gives you, miss the power it gives you. You'd never be content to go back to the old life now. Why, Peggy, you yourself told me you thought money the greatest thing in the world! It has changed you, Peggy, this--ah, well!" said Billy, "we won't talk about that. I'm going to burn it because that's the only honourable thing to do. Ready, Peggy?" "It may be honourable, but it's _extremely_ silly," Margaret temporised, "and for my part, I'm very, very glad God had run out of a sense of honour when He created the woman." "Phrases don't alter matters. Ready, Peggy?" "Ah, no, phrases don't alter matters!" she assented, with a quick lift of speech. "You're going to destroy that will, Billy Woods, simply because you think I'm a horrid, mercenary, selfish _pig_. You think I couldn't give up the money--you think I couldn't be happy without it. Well, you have every right to think so, after the way I've behaved. But why not tell me that is the real reason?" Billy raised his hand in protest. "I--I think you might miss it," he conceded. "Yes, I think you would miss it." "Listen!" said Margaret, quickly. "The money is yours now--by my act. You say you--care for me. If I am the sort of woman you think me--I don't say I am, and I don't say I'm not--but thinking me that sort of woman, don't you think I'd--I'd marry you for the asking if you kept the money? Don't you think you're losing every chance of me by burning that will? Oh, I'm not standing on conventionalities now! Don't you think that, Billy?" She was tempting him to the uttermost; and her heart was sick with fear lest he might yield. This was the Eagle's last battle; and recreant Love fought with the Eagle against poor Billy, who had only his honour to help him. Margaret's face was pale as she bent toward him, her lips parted a little, her eyes glinting eerily in the firelight. The room was dark now save in the small radius of its amber glow; beyond that was darkness where panels and brasses blinked. "Yes," said Billy, gravely--"forgive me if I'm wrong, dear, but--I do think that. But you see you don't care for me, Peggy. In the summer-house I thought for a moment--ah, well, you've shown in a hundred ways that you don't care--and I wouldn't have you come to me, not caring. So I'm going to burn the paper, dear." Margaret bowed her head. Had she ever known happiness before? "It is not very flattering to me," she said, "but it shows that you--care--a great deal. You care enough to--let me go. Ah--yes. You may burn it now, Billy." And promptly he tossed it into the flames. For a moment it lay unharmed; then the edges caught and crackled and blazed, and their heads drew near together as they watched it burn. There (thought Billy) is the end! Ah, ropes, daggers, and poisons! there is the end! Oh, Peggy. Peggy, if you could only have loved me! if only this accursed money hadn't spoiled you so utterly! Billy was quite properly miserable over it. But he raised his head with a smile. "And now," said he--and not without a little, little bitterness; "if I have any right to advise you, Peggy, I--I think I'd be more careful in the future as to how I used the money. You've tried to do good with it, I know. But every good cause has its parasites. Don't trust entirely to the Haggages and Jukesburys, Peggy, and--and don't desert the good ship Philanthropy because there are a few barnacles on it, dear." "You make me awfully tired," Miss Hugonin observed, as she rose to her feet. "How do you suppose I'm going to do anything for Philanthropy or any other cause when I haven't a penny in the world? You see, you've just burned the last will Uncle Fred ever made--the one that left everything to me. The one in your favour was probated or proved or whatever they call it a week ago." I think Billy was surprised. She stood over him, sharply outlined against the darkness, clasping her hands tightly just under her chin, ludicrously suggestive of a pre-Raphaelitish saint. In the firelight her hair was an aureole; and her gown, yellow with multitudinous tiny arabesques of black velvet, echoed the glow of her hair to a shade. The dancing flames made of her a flickering little yellow wraith. And oh, the quaint tenderness of her eyes!--oh, the hint of faint, nameless perfume she diffused! thus ran the meditations of Billy's dizzied brain. "Listen! I told you I burned the other will. I started to burn it. But I was afraid to, because I didn't know what they could do to me if I did. So I put it away in my little handkerchief-box--and if you'd had a _grain_ of sense you'd have noticed the orris on it. And you made me promise not to take any steps in the matter till you got well. I knew you would. So I had already sent that second will--sent it before I promised you--to Hunston Wyke--he's my lawyer now, you know--and I've heard from him, and he has probated it." Billy was making various irrelevant sounds. "And I brought that other will to you, and if you didn't choose to examine it more carefully I'm sure it wasn't my fault. I kept my word like a perfect gentleman and took no step _whatever_ in the matter. I didn't say a word when before my eyes you stripped me of my entire worldly possessions--you know I didn't. You burned it up yourself, Billy Woods--of your own free will and accord--and now Selwoode and all that detestable money belongs to _you_, and I'm sure I'd like to know what you are going to do about it. So _there_!" Margaret faced him defiantly. Billy was in a state of considerable perturbation. "Why have you done this?" he asked, slowly. But a lucent something--half fear, half gladness--was wakening in Billy's eyes. And her eyes answered him. But her tongue was far less veracious. "Because you thought I was a _pig_! Because you couldn't make allowances for a girl who for four years has seen nothing but money and money-worshippers and the power of money! Because I wanted your--your respect, Billy. And you thought I couldn't give it up! Very well!" Miss Hugonin waved her hand airily toward the hearth. "Now I hope you know better. _Don't you dare get up, Billy Woods!_" But I think nothing short of brute force could have kept Mr. Woods from her. "Peggy," he babbled--"ah, forgive me if I'm a presumptuous ass--but was it because you knew I couldn't ask you to marry me so long as you had the money?" She dallied with her bliss. Margaret was on the other side of the table. "Why--why, of course it wasn't!" she panted. "What nonsense!" "Look at me, Peggy!" "I don't want to! You look like a fright with your head all tied up." "Peggy ... this exercise is bad for an invalid." "I--oh, please sit down! _Please_, Billy! It is bad for you." "Not until you tell me----" "But I _don't!_... Oh, you make me _awfully_ tired." "Peggy, don't you dare stamp your foot at me!... Peggy!" "_Please_ sit down! Now ... well, there's my hand, stupid, if you _will_ be silly. Now sit down here--so, with your head leaned back on this nice little cushion because it's good for your poor head--and I'll sit on this nice little footstool and be quite, quite honest. No, you must lean back--I don't care if you can't see me, I'd much rather you couldn't. Well, the truth is--no, you _must_ lean back--the truth is--I've loved you all my life, Billy Woods, and--no, not _yet_, Billy--and if you hadn't been the stupidest beautiful in the universe you'd have seen it long ago. You--you needn't--lean back--any longer, Billy ... Oh, Billy, why _didn't_ you shave?" "She _is_ skinny, isn't she, Billy?" "Now, Peggy, you mustn't abuse Kathleen. She's a friend of mine." "Well, I know she's a friend of yours, but that doesn't prevent her being skinny, does it?" "Now, Peggy--" "Please, Billy! _Please_ say she's skinny!" "Er--well, she's a bit thin, perhaps." "You angel!" "And you're quite sure you've forgiven me for doubting you?" "And you've forgiven _me?_" "Bless you, Peggy, I never doubted you! I've been too busy loving you." "It seems to me as if it had been--_always_." "Why, didn't we love one another in Carthage, Peggy?" "I think it was in Babylon, Billy." "And will love one another----?" "Forever and ever, dear. You've been to seek a wife, Billy boy." "And oh, the dimple in her chin..." * * * * * Ah, well! There was a deal of foolish prattle there in the firelight--delectable prattle, irresponsible as the chattering of birds after a storm. And I fancy that the Eagle's shadow is lifted from Selwoode, now that Love has taken up his abode there. THE END 
14245	----	THE FALL OF THE GRAND SARRASIN BEING A CHRONICLE OF SIR _NIGEL DE BESSIN_, KNIGHT, OF THINGS THAT HAPPED IN _GUERNSEY_ ISLAND, IN THE _NORMAN SEAS_, IN AND ABOUT THE YEAR ONE THOUSAND AND FIFTY-SEVEN. BY WILLIAM JOHN FERRAR. ILLUSTRATED BY HAROLD PIFFARD. PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE GENERAL LITERATURE COMMITTEE. LONDON: SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.; 43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C. BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET. NEW YORK: E.S. GORHAM. PREFACE. Some people bring home a bundle of sketches from their summer holiday--water-colour memories of cliff, of sea, ruined castle, and ancient abbey. I brought back from the Channel Islands these pages here printed, as a kind of bundle of sketches in black and white, put together day by day as a holiday-task, and forming a string, as it were, on which the memories of ramble after ramble were threaded,--rambles from end to end of Guernsey, and rambles, too, among the treasures of the Guille-Allés Library. I enjoyed my holiday all the better, as I peopled the cliffs and glens with the shadows of eight hundred years ago, and I hope that others may find some reality and some pleasure in the result as it is given here. If any inquire into the real historical foundations for the story, I refer them to the few notes at the end of the book, which will reveal without much doubt where fiction begins and fact ends. I hope I may be allowed a little license in the treatment of facts. There is--is there not?--a logic of fiction, as well as a logic of facts. At least there seemed to be as I wrote the story, and I hope no one who reads it will be inclined to quarrel with any part of it because its only basis is--imagination. Anyway, I will shelter myself under the great words of a great man, in the preface of one of the great books of the world: "For herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. Do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and _renommée_. And for to pass the time this book shall be pleasant to read in, but for to give faith and belief that all is true that is contained herein, ye be at your liberty: but all is written for our doctrine, and for to beware that we fall not to vice nor sin, but to exercise and follow virtue by the which we may come and attain to good fame and renown in this life, and after this short and transitory life to come unto everlasting bliss in heaven" (Preface of William Caxton to "The Book of King Arthur"). W.J. FERRAR. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Of how I, _Nigel de Bessin_, was brought up by the monks of _the Vale_ in _Guernsey Island_, and how on a certain day the abbot gave me choice of two lives, and which I chose. 5 CHAPTER II. Of _Vale Castle_ hard by the Abbey, and how I was sent with a letter to _Archbishop Maugher_, and by the way first saw the Sarrasin pirates at work. 12 CHAPTER III. Of my _Lord Maugher_ and his _Familiar Demon_. How he received the abbot's letter, and how I was courteously entertained at his house of _Blanchelande_. 18 CHAPTER IV. Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their château--Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in God, and how I rang the alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_. 28 CHAPTER V. Of what befell the abbot's envoys to _Duke William_, our liege lord, and more particularly _Brother Ralf_, and how we were hemmed in by our foes. 34 CHAPTER VI. Of our passing from cloister to castle, and of the burning of _Vale Abbey_--Of the siege of the castle, and the exploits of _Brother Hugo_. 40 CHAPTER VII. Of _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of the renewed attack upon _Vale Castle_--Of my first deeds of arms, and how the _Moors_ were beaten back. 47 CHAPTER VIII. How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek protection of _Duke William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates. 54 CHAPTER IX. Of our battle on the rocks of _Jersey Isle_, and how _Simon_ gave up his life, and how I was taken captive and brought back. 61 CHAPTER X. How I was brought before _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of his magnificence--How I saw _Folly_ in his chamber, and was lodged in a cavern under earth. 65 CHAPTER XI. By what means I was delivered from _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and how I found shelter with the priest of _St. Apolline's_. 72 CHAPTER XII. Of my second setting-forth for _Normandy_, and in what guise I took passage. 80 CHAPTER XIII. How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St. Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road. 85 CHAPTER XIV. How, being given letters to _Duke William_ by the Abbots of _St. Michael_ and of _Bec_, I set out for _Coulances_, and of what befell me on my way. 93 CHAPTER XV. How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how at my uncle's house of _St. Sauveur_ I heard tell of my father--And of what happed on our getting forth for _Valognes_. 99 CHAPTER XVI. How, at length I was brought before _William, Conquestor Invictissimus_, of all soldiers the greatest, and most invincible of dukes--Of the manner he received my mission, and of the expedition of _Samson d'Anville_. 106 CHAPTER XVII. Of the journey of our ships to relieve the Brethren of the Vale, and how we fought a great battle with the _Moors_ outside the _Bay of L'Ancresse_. 113 CHAPTER XVIII. The story of the relief of _Vale Castle_. 122 CHAPTER XIX. How we set forth to attack _Le Château du Grand Sarrasin_--Of the _Normans'_ valour, and of the flight of our foes. 128 CHAPTER XX. Of the sore slaughter in the glen of _Moulin Huet_, and on the shore, and how _Le Grand Sarrasin_ was slain, and of his secret. 135 CHAPTER XXI. Conclusion. How, the above matters being finished, I was made known to my father. 143 HISTORICAL NOTES. PAGE A. Archbishop Maugher 147 B. Vale Abbey 148 C. Vale Castle 148 D. Visit of Duke Robert 149 E. The Sarrazins in Guernsey 150 F. The Expedition of Samson d'Anville 150 CHAPTER I. Of how I, _Nigel de Bessin_, was brought up by the monks of _the Vale_ in _Guernsey Island_, and how on a certain day the abbot gave me choice of two lives, and which I chose. This is the chronicle of me, Nigel de Bessin, of good Norman stock, being a cadet of the great house, whose elder branch is even to-day settled at St. Sauveur, in the Cotentin. And I write it for two reasons. First, for the sake of these grandchildren, Geoffrey, Guy, and William, who gather round me in the hall here at Newton, asking for the story of great deeds of old days, such as were the deeds of Tancred and Duke Rollo, and him I loved and fought for--loved, though stern he was and rude--William, who by his mighty conquest gave us our place in this fair realm. And second, since the winter days are long, and I go no more out to hunt or to fight as of old, to recall all this and more will have much sweetness, and delight my old heart with gentle memories, like the smell of lavender laid between robes or napery in the oak press yonder, as one takes this or that from the store. And first, how came I to write it in such clerkly wise? Ay, that was through the foresight of my uncle, the Vicomte de Bessin, since I knew not then my father, and the good care of the monks of the Vale, and chiefly of Brother Bernard, a ripe scholar and a good, with whom I progressed so well in learning, that at fifteen I was more like to have put this grissled head under a cowl than under a soldier's helm. A fair place was L'Ancresse in the days of Abbot Michael, false Maugher, and the Grand Sarrasin. And a good school of manners and of learning of books and piety, that may aid men in their earthly life, was the Vale Cloister. I see it now--the quiet, sober place, with its great round arches, and its seats of stone, pleasant and cool in summer, bitter cold in winter, when the wind came in sharp from the Eastern sea, so that we wrapt our Norway furs about us, and shivered as we sat, till Brother Bernard said, "Up, lads; catch who catch can up to the Viking's tomb!" or "Haste ye now, and run to meet the pirates in Bordeaux Bay, and bring them to me to shrive, ere ye do them to death, as Normans should!" The blood ran free and warm then, and the limbs grew straight and strong, and the muscles of arms and legs like whipcord, and brown we were as the brown rocks of L'Ancresse Bay, as we played at war on those salt-breathed plains--Guy, Rainauld, Gwalkelyn. Alas! they are all passed to their account! There were no aches or pains of back or shoulder; there were no mean jealousies, no bitter hatreds, no discourtesies, no words that suit not the sons of good knights or lords, but wrestle or tussle and mock battle, and tourney, and race by land or water in summer, when our bodies gleamed white beneath the calm waves as we played like young dolphins in the bay. And ever and anon would Brother Hugo be amongst us, his cowl thrown back, and his keen eagle face furrowed into merriment as he sped on some knightly play--for he himself was a nobleman, and had been a good knight, and a famous name lay hid under that long Benedictine robe. Thus, wondrous peacefully and happily had I been reared with other right princely youths and some of humble lineage in that fair place. And but one unhappiness ever disturbed my joyous spirit. It was that while all had fathers and mothers that loved them, and took pride in their increase in learning year by year, or else had dear memories of those that were their parents, I had been told naught of my parents save their name, and asking of them was bidden not to ask further. This at times was a grief to my spirit, but amid so many joys it weighed not on me heavily. Now it was before the coming of the Grand Sarrasin and his troop of the wild off-scouring of every sea, that settled in the midst of the isle and defied lord and squire, abbot and prior--it was before those days with which my chronicle has most to do--that to me, Nigel, sitting conning an old book of knightly exploits, which for a reward Brother Hugo let us read on summer days, came a summons to go and see no less a one than the abbot himself. Now, the abbot was a great man of holy and blameless life, that sat in his own chamber towards the west, and had much traffic in matters of State and Church with the duke, and messengers went often to and fro from him to Caen, Rouen, and Paris, and in that year, the year one thousand and fifty-seventh since the birth of the Saviour of men, ever adorable and blessed, there was much afoot, for William, with the young blood still in him, gaining to himself by force of will chief power upon the mainland, was already spreading his wings like a young falcon for another more terrible flight. And lately Maugher, his uncle, and his bitterest foe though out of his own household, he had banished, archbishop though he was, from Rouen, to our small Isle of Guernsey, where there was scarce footing for the tread of so great and dark a schemer in high matters. And already the Conqueror had himself appeared at Edward's Court in England, and prepared his way thither. I was near sixteen years old, and I stood tall for my years, some five foot and a half, and for a lad I was well made, if yet lacking my full strength and girth round the chest, such a lad as in two years more Geoffrey my grandson will grow to, if God will. Fair I should have been if I were not burnt black with the hot sun pouring through the salt air, and my fair hair clustered crisp and neat round my temples and neck. So stood I, no doubt a fair and honourable youth, at the entering in of the abbot's inner chamber. And the abbot, sitting in his carven chair amid his rolls of parchment and instruments of writing, raised me swiftly as I stooped to kiss his hand. Dark-eyed, hawk-nosed, with black hair not yet flecked with snow, there was an awe and stateliness in him whether he spoke to gentle or to simple. He was a Norman, and being such feared none, and had his will, and when it was possible mixed a rare gentleness with his acts and words. "Son," said he, "thou hast been happy here?" The keen eyes were fixed upon me, and I could not but answer the truth, even had I wished to lie. "Yes, holy father," I answered. "And thou wouldst stay here ever?" The eyes were still upon me, and they searched my soul as a bright flush, I knew, rose to my cheek, and I hesitated how to answer. Then suddenly, as I stood in doubt, they seemed to change, and it was as if sunlight gleamed over a landscape that before lay dark and grim, for the abbot smiled upon me with the kindest of all smiles. "Thou feelest no calling to the cloister and the cowl, the book and the pen, the priesthood, and the life of prayer?" "Ah, no, holy Father." I had gained my tongue, and spoke boldly, if reverently. "Books and prayer are good; but I am young, and there is a world beyond these grey walls, and my kinsmen fight and do rather than pray or read." "The eaglet beats his wings against his cage already," said the abbot, kindly; "it is indeed a shapely bird. Thou art right, lad. There is a world outside, where men strive and fight and do--how blindly and how wildly thou knowest not. But the battle is not to the strong or the race to the swift, though so it seem. Go, then, out into the world boldly but warily, and be thou a good soldier, as thou art a good scholar. Thine uncle shall know of these words between us." I knelt again and kissed his hand, and left his broad and pleasant chamber. And outside I strolled upon the green, dim vague thoughts surging up swift into my mind, as I went striding on swifter than I knew. Ere long I reached the extreme limit of the land, the high-piled rocks of L'Ancresse. I looked out upon the sea to where Auremen lay flat and wide against the sky, and I thought I could descry the Norman shores and La Hague Cape stretching towards me; and, though I knew no home but the Vale Cloister, another voice of home seemed calling me over thither. A voice in which battlecries and trumpet-blasts were strangely mingled; and I seemed to see men fighting and striving, and banners and pennons flying; and a voice seemed to spring up from my soul, bidding me go forth, and fight and strive with them, and gain something--I knew not what. I knew not then; but I know now, what that voice was, that yearning, that discontent with the past. It was the Norman blood rising within me, the blood of force, and battle, and achievement. Surely there is something in us Normans--a hidden fire, which sends us forth and onwards, and makes us claim what we will for our own! And having claimed it, we fight for it, and fighting we win it. So with Tancred of Hauteville, so with Rou, so with William. Will of iron, heart of fire! A grand thing it is to be born a Norman. CHAPTER II. Of _Vale Castle_, hard by the Abbey, and how I was sent with a letter to _Archbishop Maugher_, and by the way first saw the Sarrasin pirates at work. Now, men were busy in the Vale. I have yet said no word of Vale Castle, built a mile away from the cloister, of hewn stone, goodly and strong. It lay upon the left horn of St. Sampson's Harbour, near where that holy man landed with the good news of God in days of old, and its stout bastions rested on the bare rock, and its walls seemed one with the rock below, so thick and stout they were, built as Normans alone can build, to last as long as the rocks, as long as the earth. And in Vale Castle no lord or baron ruled. It was the Castle and outward defence of the Vale Cloister, and its lord was the Abbot of the Vale. And within its ramparts there was room (as we found ere long), in times of danger from pirate or strange foes, for all the brethren and children of the Cloister, and for many more besides, so that when the watch-tower fire sprang into life upon the beacon, and the alarm-bell rang out by night or day, the folk of the dale came flocking in with their babes and their most prized goods for shelter beneath the abbot's wing. Vale Castle feared no pirate-band, and in a short space all our most precious things could be secured behind those walls snug and safe enough, until the evil men who had come to alarm our peace steered their long ships away again, sore dissatisfied with the plunder of our isle. So well guarded we were, and so strong were our three castles, within whose walls all who listed could find safety. As, indeed, it proved in the attack of the great Moor, of which this chronicle will chiefly tell. Now, the Castle had been built some forty years before, by none other than the great Cherbourg himself, Duke Robert's engineer. For it chanced that Duke Robert was royally entertained years ago by Abbot Magloirios, when he was forced by foul weather to put into L'Ancresse Bay, who, on his departure, left Cherbourg and other skilled men to build three castles for their safety against pirates. So it was through Duke Robert's stay at the Vale that our Castle was made so strong. Thus God brought here, as ever, good out of evil. And among the lay brothers were good soldiers, who could man the Castle. And once, in bygone days, they say a whole company of knights (all resting now in Abraham's bosom, and their bodies in the Vale churchyard) came together, and sought to be made quit of the world and its strife in our peaceful cloister. These, though they left the world behind, were able to teach for safety's sake something of warlike matters to the brethren; and thus it chanced that our brothers were ready to be men of war when peace was impossible, and men said of them, in rhyming fashion-- "White cowl and white cloak, Chain-mail and hard stroke." Now, about this Castle of late men had been more than ever busy. Sundry instruments of besieged men of a new and deadly fashion lay in the armoury, and were at times by Brother Hugo brought out and practised by the brethren that formed, as he said, his _corps d'armes_. Then were they soldiers indeed, not monks at all, as, cassock and cowl thrown aside, they drew the bows, or aimed with their great engines the balls of stone and iron. Now, it was in those days that the abbot sent me on matters more heavy than I knew to that archbishop of whom I have already made mention, who, his state laid aside, lay in exile as a poor humble man, though Duke William's uncle, in a small moat-house, by name Blanchelande, with little land attached beyond the forest of St. Pierre, and hard by the bay of the Saints of God. Though I would fain haste to our meeting, yet must I first tell what manner of man he was reckoned by the folk of our island and by ourselves. Abbot Michael had expressly charged us, on his first coming, we should believe nothing of aught we heard of him. Yet tales went round, and gathered force as they went, ill tales that took scant time to travel; and we lads, innocent of mind, were full of shame for what was common talk, and we were ready to believe that here was no common sinner. We knew there were witch women whom men justly burn for sin. And of Archbishop Maugher men said a spirit of evil ever went with him, or was at his hand. Now, when abbot Michael gave me the missive into my hand, there was a look in his face that seemed to ask if I feared the journey; but I took it readily and heartily, and turned to go. "Stay," said the abbot, as I went. "Bring me word how my Lord Archbishop takes my letter, what he says, how he looks. Bring me his slightest word, his least look. Thou art quick and clever. Do my bidding as a good lad should. Thou hast naught to fear of such as he." So I went forth boldly, leaving the Vale behind me, and within an hour had entered among the trees that part it from the forest land. Now, in due course of travel I reached that high point of the isle whence through the trees one can look down on all sides save the south, and see the blue waves and the distant islands, and there lay, I knew, the earthworks of an ancient fort, that the first tenants of the isle used for defence in days long past--yea, and their wall of stone circled the space this way and that, and the roofless walls of some building--a temple perhaps--stood near, wherein they worshipped the false god of the sky or the hearth; here awhile I rested, and after brake again into the path, and made for the Bay of the Saints, where Maugher dwelt. Now, I was not far upon my road when I heard a faint whistle through the trees, and, running back a few yards, I saw the old ruins I had left, not empty, as I had left them, but--strange sight--tenanted, I could see, by men, and, as I thought, men of evil aspect. Now, I knew that they had seen me, and thought me well upon my road, so I dared not return; and, indeed, I feared in my heart, for I had little doubt they were pirates, if not spirits of the men of old of whom I had been dreaming. Therefore I went swiftly on my path, and covered quite a mile ere I brake into the forest again, and made my way back to another side of that old ruined fort. Now, as I crept up, I saw little that was strange--only two men walking to and fro in earnest conversation, and from where I lay--for nearer I durst not approach--I could hear nothing of their talk. They were men of light and supple build, bearded, and of dark swarthy skin, as of those who know no shelter but the decking of a ship, and their hands were seldom absent, as they paced it side by side, from the hilts of the brace of daggers swinging from their waists. I guessed that they were pirates, and my heart fell as I remembered what manner of men they were--haters of all--their God, their king, their fellow-men--and how, in consequence, the hand of man was against their hand, as their hand was against man's. Where were the other men I had seen? In a moment I guessed the truth, for I caught the dull sound of digging and delving in the earth below--thud, thud, thud--as of many spades and picks, and beyond the angle of the wall I saw the earthwork piled with new earth in many places. So my young eyes peered curiously and cautiously out through the leaves, and a flood of feelings struggled in my heart, and the digging went on--thud, thud, thud--beneath my very feet, and the two strange men trod ever up and down, staying at times upon their way to point to this side or that, to tap the wall, or draw figures with their swords amid the fallen leafage. I stood a long time fixed to the ground, and then with a great effort I stole noiselessly away, and, once on the beaten track, I hasted on to the moat-house. With a heart that I could hear beating, I turned my back on the bay, and, crossing the little drawbridge, craved of a warder at the gate--half fisher, half ecclesiastic, in a frayed frock and seamen's shoes--an audience of my Lord the Archbishop for the delivery of a missive from the Abbot of the Vale, that must be delivered into his hand alone. CHAPTER III. Of my _Lord Maugher_ and his _Familiar Demon_. How he received the abbot's letter, and how I was courteously entertained at his house of _Blanchelande_. And my lord was not difficult of access. He sat in a deep chair in the hall, and round him were all manner of strange things whose shape and name I knew not, but little was there save old rolls of parchment to betoken a Churchman's dwelling. A great table held bottles of many shapes of glass and earthenware, and optic glasses and tools lay intermingled. I caught the gleam of much bright steel on settle and shelf--chain-mail, targe, dagger, helmet, and sword. A great warrior's complete equipment, tunic and hose of mail, shield, and helm, hung before me as I entered. Three huge hounds, with heavy chaps hanging loose from their jaws, lay about the hearth, but only noted my entrance with a drowsy gaze, then dropped back upon their paws; but a strange ugly creature, like an ill-shaped child, that was so vile to look on that I thought him the very Devil himself, crouching on the table by the archbishop's side, set up a chattering and a muttering, with now and then a kind of mocking laughter like a madman's meaningless merriment. Nor would he cease until my lord clouted him twice or thrice rudely on his ill-favoured crown with a "Hist, folly, stay thy devil's clatter." Now, this beast it was, one, I suppose, of those apes that King Solomon trafficked in, that gave rise to the saying that a familiar from Hell housed with my lord in Guernsey. But being of a bold spirit, and expecting even worse than I yet saw from the ill-fame of my lord, and the tales of monk and churl, I stood firm, and with something of a courtier's air placed in his hand the letter I bore, with a simple, "Greeting, your grace, from my lord the Abbot of the Vale;" and as I gave the letter, I set my gaze on him for the first time square and straight, and met eyes as keen and straight as mine own. Now, this surprised me, for I had heard evil men could not look straight into men's faces. He was far above the common height, and his body and face were very fat; like a great bull of the stall he lay in his chair. His face was full and red, and I noted he had little hair, save a mass, half grey, half red, that clung about his ears and neck. Of his passions I was soon to see evidence, for having gazed at me a moment, he took the letter from my hand, tore away the seal, and unrolled the scroll. As he did so I saw another little scroll roll out, which fell upon the ground before my feet. Then I knelt and handed this to him likewise. Can I ere forget his look as he took it from me, or wrung it rather from my fingers? "Whence hast thou this? Whence came it?" he shrieked, with a rabble of ill words; and for a moment it seemed he would have crushed me in his great sinewy clenched hands as I stood there before him. His face was scarlet that before was only red. Great black veins started up upon his forehead, and his round blue eyes were straining out of the flesh in which they were enclosed. I stood firm before him, and humbly showed him that the second scroll fell out of the first. Then he turned suddenly upon his heel and went towards the window, and looking forth upon the bay below in a few moments calmed himself, read what was writ on the first scroll, and with an air of unconcern tossed them to a corner of the table. "Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?" he said at length. "Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither." "And thou didst well to do that," he said, "for here is a matter dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger. Your good abbot hath done well to send me this letter by thee." I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to know what could be in the second scroll to move him so. "May I return with your grace's greeting or other message to my lord?" I said. "Ay, and by word of mouth," he said. "We exiled men well-nigh forget to write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk. Tell the abbot the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this paper--this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses thus to strike the fallen. Canst thou carry that." I said I could, but I thought that there was an ill lie behind his words. "Hist, good lad, what is thy name?" said he. "Nigel de Bessin, nephew of the Vicomte of St. Sauveur," I answered. He pondered and gazed at me curiously. "Ay, well I knew thy grandsire, the old vicomte," said he. "And thine uncle has had of me other gifts than shriving." Now it came into my heart to ask him of my father, since he knew my grandsire and my uncle; so I said boldly-- "And didst thou know my father?" "Ay, I knew him--I knew him," said he; "but what do they tell thee of him?" "Nothing, in sooth, my lord," I answered; "and bid me wait till my pupilage is over." "Then I may tell thee naught more than thou knowest, save that we were good friends. Thou wilt not long be bearing missives for your abbot, if thou art like thy sires. Thou art soon for Normandy?" I wished not to unfold my purpose to this man, so I simply bowed, and prepared to go with due courtesy. Now, as I knelt upon one knee, he laid his hand upon my shoulder wondrous kindly, and raised me up by the arm, and led me to a seat so gently that for the moment I forgot that I distrusted him. Then he spoke of studies, and brought down some great tomes, excellently well writ and pictured in French scriptoria, and turning from them to his table he showed me a wondrous box, which looking through, as I held it up, I saw as it were the far off bay draw near to mine eyes, so that I could see men walk clear where I saw but shapes before. And with surprise I well-nigh dropped it from my hands. He took it from me, and told me I had seen what none had seen in the earth before but he alone. And the thought entering into my mind that here was something more than human, he seemed to guess it, and said with a smile that was hard and keen-- "Nor is there wizardry therein, save the wizardry of a lonely man, that devises new solace for his loneliness." A pasty was ere long set before us and a flask of wine, whereof we both partook. "Say not," said he, "that my lord of Rouen sends his guests hungry away." So we ate together. And after eating, as the sun was already stealing down the western sky, he bade me farewell, and pressed a little ring upon my finger as I left him, bidding me not forget to see him again ere I left for the wars, and at any time he said he would stand my friend, with a greater air of power, it struck me, than one could show who knew no other future than more long years of exile, such as he now lived in our small isle. Now, as I turned from the drawbridge at the moat-house of Blanchelande to go homewards the remembrance came to me of those men that I guessed were pirates digging their storehouse in mother earth in the midst of the wood. And thinking on it, though I feared them not, I had no taste to return to the vale that way. So, instead, I followed the path rugged and uneven as it was, along the side of the cliff to the northward. First along the gorge of the Bay of Saints I went by the side of the stream that ran singing from Blanchelande, and then I cut straight up the cliff amid the heather, and so came into sight of Moulin Huet, where an ugly craft, that I liked not the sight of lay at anchor, right under the nose of Jerbourg Castle, wherein our abbot had a small corps of men, even as at the Vale. I stood a moment looking down on her riding deep in the sky-blue water, and presently I saw a boat put out from shore with men on board that rowed towards her. I could not tell if they were the same I saw up by the château, but I guessed they were, as I saw them climb into the bark. And then I journeyed on, clinging here and there to the cliff or the green stuff that grew thereon, like a very cat of the woods, past Fermain Bay, and through the little township of St. Pierre Port, and I wondered, since the pirate bark was so near at hand, that naught was stirring in the street or on the jetty. Now, St. Pierre Port was a pleasant place to me. A little world of its own, for every man of St. Pierre Port was a soldier, and could draw bow and slash with his broadsword, and pirates meddled not much with St. Pierre Port, for its men were tough and stern and loved their homes right well. I stayed not to chatter with fishermen or priest to-day; but hasted on, and at length the little tower of St. Sampson arose before me, and ere long I was at the abbot's lodging. The abbot paced up and down his orchard and garden of flowers. "Thou art late, my son," said he. "Did my lord detain you?" "My lord," I said, "was very kind and gentle, far beyond that I dreamed possible, and kept me with good entertainment and choice converse far into the day." "And my lord was pleasing to thy taste?" said Abbot Michael, with a strange smile, not like his own, that I knew not. "How may I, holy Father," answered I, "speak aught but well of him, who did me no ill, but good only? And, indeed, my lord spake to me out of his store of knowledge, as to one not ignorant and young; but, indeed, like himself in age and state. And yet, in good faith, he pleased me not at first." "And how was that?" "There seemed indeed, Father, somewhat that I distrusted, and then his passion at the opening of thy scroll was terrible to see." "Ay, was he moved? And what said he when he perceived that inner scroll?" inquired the abbot. "Moved, Father! I thought he might have done some deadly deed. But he calmed himself at length." "And what sent he in return?" "Nothing in writing," I answered, "but this by my mouth--that the inner scroll was the writing of some foe of other days, who thus strikes at a fallen man." The abbot mused in silence at this reply, and took a pace or two beside his lily border. Then he gazed seriously at me for a moment, and bade me walk by his side. "Thou hast seen to-day, son, one of the world's schemers, and thou hadst been, as was natural, deceived by him. With ill men first impressions are the true ones. Thou hadst been more than a stripling of the cloister, and we had taught thee over well for thy years, had he, whose power has lain in such arts, not made thee love him in spite of thyself. Son, dost thou know why this Maugher lies here in exile?" "Ay, Father, was he not like St. John of old, who said, 'Thou shalt not have her:' to King Herod?" answered I, as I thought aptly. "Indeed, my son, they said so, and strong were the archbishop's words when Duke William wedded against God's law. But thou wilt learn, that words and censures of Holy Church are too oft like daggers and knives in the hands of evil men in high places of the Church--and such was this censure of the marriage of Matilda in the hand of Maugher. He would have cut his way with it--dost thou know whither, son?" "Whither, Father?" "My son, to the dukedom itself, Churchman though he was." I listened in astonishment, and an air of doubt must have shone out from my innocent eyes, that never knew to hide the thought within. "Wouldst thou have proof of this that I say, and know how even to-day this serpent in our island-grass bites at the heel of princely authority?" the abbot asked. "Indeed, Father, I would. His words to me so frank, his description of great men so just--his----" I was about to be fervent indeed in the praise of my new-found friend. Abbot Michael drew a scroll from his breast, and held it before my eyes with firm fingers, watching me intently the while. It was like the scroll I had taken to Blanchelande within the other. It was the same scroll, or a cunning copy, for there lay two great hasty blots upon it in one corner, and its signature ran up the page like a ladder against a wall. "Read here, and here," said he, "and understand how this cursed man would incite milder men to shed Duke William's blood!" CHAPTER IV. Of the coming of the Sarrasins in force, and of the building of their château. Of _Brother Hugo's_ confidence in God, and how I rang the alarm-bell at _St. Pierre Port_. Through that journey to Blanchelande I was able to give the first warning to the abbot, and Brother Hugo, our _tête d'armée_, of the presence of new pirates in the very midst of the isle, through the ugly sight I had seen on my way by what men called the château. And, indeed, all looked grave at my account, and Hugo shook his head, and he and the abbot and Martin and Richard had long and anxious converse in the Castle, and already we were bid to move very many of our holy things that bedecked the Church, or were used in God's service, within the Castle wall, and the builders had set up among the ramparts long sheds of wood, wherein began to be stored all manner of com, brought in from all the granaries around. For the abbot had received from St. Michael's Mount and other places on the Breton coast most portentous accounts of a gathering together of the pirates of the sea and marauders of the land, and that some devil's bond had been forged between them, and that the wildest and most daring of these villains of every race and land had elected as their chief captain one whom they named "the Grand Sarrasin," one born of that black race, the deadliest enemy of Christendom. Others called him "Le Grand Geoffroy" as though they would save him at least from the black stamp of Paynim birth; but for us he was ever the Grand Sarrasin, and still the Grand Sarrasin, cursed a hundred times a day by every tongue in our cloister and island. Now, as I saw Brother Hugo on the ramparts and knew, though full of matters now, he grudged not a word to us lads whom he loved full well, I spake to him thus-- "What news to-day, brother, of 'Le Grand Sarrasin'?" I spake half in jest indeed, for long ere this, this very brother had made great sport of pirates and their dark deeds, and especially, ere this name I spake had risen to such a sound of evil omen, had he delighted to tease the children of the cloister therewith. As on some dangerous path he would whisper, "Go not that way for fear of Le Grand Sarrasin!" or out in the fishing-smack, he would point to some cosy, full-bottomed trading ship with a "Hist, lads, the great Geoffroy there astern!" But now Brother Hugo liked not the jest, but looked sternly at me from beneath his great brows. "Le Grand Sarrasin!" said he, "if so thou lovest to call the vilest foam of filth on these Norman seas, this day last week rode into St. Brieuc by night with eighteen ships, climbed into the fort, none letting him, slit the throat of a sentinel and warder, barred the garrison into its own quarters, and poured like a midnight pestilence through the streets, bidding his Paynim hounds of slaughter, without pity and without fear, enter where they listed, and that they did. And there by night in St. Brieuc, good men and good wives, who never harmed man or beast were knifed as they lay, the young maids led captive, and the babes flung like useless baggage through windows into the gutter, and that is the last I have heard of Le Grand Sarrasin!" said Brother Hugo, sadly enough. I stood beside him silently, and the salt tears burst painfully under my eyelids as I heard the fate of that poor town by the Breton coast. "Ay, weep, lad, weep!" he said. "And God give strength to our arms to show him better than tears, if he come our way, this fiend that fears not God nor man." "But the monks, brother, are they not safe? The worst pirates ofttimes fear to touch holy men and holy places," I interposed. "The monks of St Brieuc," he said solemnly and sadly, "holy men and servants of the poor, lie cold and still in their dormitories, brother by brother, saint by saint. And the sun looks in on them and sees their faces agonized in death, and the blind eyes staring with horror at the fate that woke them but for death. In such wise the Sarrasin's devils fear holy men and holy places." I saw Brother Hugo as he looked far out to sea in his turn dash the drops of salt from his eyes, and strive to master his sorrow. "Should they come our way?" I asked, in bitter questioning. "Surely, ere long!" he answered, "and we shall be prepared. I pray to God, and--smile not at it, lad--some sort of vision in a dream has come to me that the downfall of 'the Grand Sarrasin' shall be through us, brethren of the Vale, and perhaps through me." A kind of holy look floated into his face as he said this and looked seaward; an upward look as of seraphs close to God, not seraphs frail and delicate, but full of lusty strength and goodly spirit of war, such as went forth with Michael, when there was war in Heaven. "Be strong, and of good courage!" he murmured to himself; and, pausing awhile, strode with me across the fort, showing me this or that, that was fresh provided for safety, and the goodly stores of food, and the watchmen even now out on the towers, and the alarms all ready to call in the defenceless. Indeed all was there that a great captain could devise for safety in time of border warfare. "Thou knowest," he said presently, pointing towards the château, "that it is forbid to travel thither. Nigel, it is a very castle they are building, and beside it this fortress of ours is weak and small." "It will be then," I said, "maybe a strife of castle with castle," said I. "Ay, so it will," he said, "and that ere long." "Then, Brother Hugo, I need not voyage to Normandy to taste battle under Duke William." "The battle," said Hugo, "will be hot enough before these very walls. Therefore thou shalt be my esquire and learn to taste blood under my command." Indeed I had no higher desire than this, and so I said. * * * * * Now, it was not many days after these words, one afternoon about evensong, a summons came to Hugo from the watchman on the wall at Vale Castle. He called me to go with him. We swiftly reached the rampart, the watchman saying nothing, simply pointed to the northward, and then we saw a very fleet of ships--pirate ships, we felt sure--bearing steadily towards Grand Havre. And one that seemed longer and heavier than the rest ran far ahead. "They are making for their anchorage in Moulin Huet," said Hugo, "and it were well for our islanders to be prepared this night. Light the beacon, honest Bertrand, let it carry its bright word from Vale to Ivy Castle, from Ivy to St. Pierre, from St. Pierre to Jerbourg, though they lie at anchor below, to Torteval and far Lihou, and thou, son, shalt take a kindly message to the men of St. Pierre." In a few moments the bright flame burst out on the rampart tower, like a red tongue of fire telling forth a deadly message. And lo! I saw, as I went, other tongues leap forth along the coast from tower and castle, all singing out in direful glee the same word "War." And once within the market-place I ran as I was bid to the Church of St. Pierre, and great man I felt myself, as I pushed open the church door and took the bell-rope in my hand. "Ding-dong!" rang out the alarm bell from the tower hasty and quick, and ere twenty pulls at the rope, the townsmen were all around, and I was drawn into the market-place, and there at the head of the Rue des Vaches I sang out lustily-- "Good men, good citizens and sons of St Pierre, make fast your defences, and man your walls this night; the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin is anchored in Moulin Huet." CHAPTER V. Of what befell the abbot's envoys to _Duke William_, our liege lord, and more particularly _Brother Ralf_, and how we were hemmed in by our foes. There was no attack of the pirates upon St. Pierre that night, and no assault on our castles or cloister. And those who had taken refuge within our walls, ladies and children for the most part, whose lords were at the wars, spake as though they would return home having nought to fear. But this our abbot did prevent, except the very nearest living souls. Others from afar, as Dame Maude de Torteval, and the Lady Marie de la Mahie with those that they brought with them he sternly bade to stay in their safe haven. Now, the pirates touched nor harmed naught in Guernsey through those first days, save some few beasts they drave up to their château with its high bastions amidst the trees, and its great flagstaff bearing a green flag with a white curve like a sickle moon broidered on it. And it would seem that the fleet that lay in Moulin Huet had chiefly come to disencumber itself of all manner of goods for the furnishing and defence of the castle up yonder. For some four days the train of rough-bearded men in long seamen's boots toiled to and fro from bay to castle, from castle to bay, with horse and ass, waggon and cart, till men said all the spoil of Brittany and Spain, with all manner of treasures of Moorish lands were stored in the deep caverns under the château. And it was even said that since Le Grand Sarrasin would be lord of Guernsey, he would treat well and justly them that dwelt therein, and that if the islanders touched not him he would smite not them, and so forth. But we of the cloister knew our abbot was no man to close his eyes, when ill was afoot around him, and that though the pirate-swarm had none other hand thrust into their comb, his at least would go there, or send others that were mightier. And messengers to Normandy had been sent week by week, but none had of late returned. Day by day our hearts grew more anxious as we saw the number of Moorish ships in our waters, and we began to fear that they and their letters had fallen into those evil hands. And then our worst fears were realized. It was late one evening, I stood at the cloister gate, and on the white road that led to the château I saw a figure I seemed to know; but kind heavens, what a figure I It was good Brother Ralf indeed! But his white skirts were slit in rags, his ankles bleeding with sore wounds; he stooped and tottered as he walked, and, horror! that women's sons should do such deeds, his ears had been hacked and hewn away, and his head hung bloody on his breast whereon a strip of parchment said-- The envoy of Michael to William returns from Geoffroy to Michael. More such will follow, and Geoffroy himself ere long cometh to do unto Michael likewise for his courtesies. Salut. In a horror I summoned up the brothers, as they trooped out from compline-prayer, and two of the stoutest bore Ralf gently to the refectory. There, drugs and good care brought the life back to his eyes, and he smiled on us as though half in fear that we were foes. We would have had him speak; but he spake not. And the abbot came, calm and unmoved yet, but a glitter of keen light kept glancing lightning-like from his eyes, and he said, as he stood by the settle whereon he lay-- "Speak, dear son--speak to us thy brethren." Ralf struggled, and raised his heavy hand, and but babbled without meaning. A quick burst of colour rushed into the abbot's face. Calm, stately, still, with a very blaze of anger hidden in his eyes, that we trembled again, he stood with that red glow in his cheeks. "He speaks not--for he is distraught," he said. "What shall God do to men that rob their brothers of His noblest gift--the gift of reason?" For a moment he stood in prayer, and then raised his shapely hand and blessed him thrice, and then bid us bear him to the sick-house, where sisters nursed him tenderly to life, and won him back much of strength and health--but never the gift, the abbot called God's noblest gift--for he had left that for ever behind in the château on the hill. Now, this Brother Ralf had set out three weeks before in a trader's bark that sailed for Granville Harbour in Normandy. And he had borne most urgent missives from our abbot to Duke William. In them was writ how that a castle of ill-fame was already built, in them that the arch-foe himself, that so harried St. Brieuc with a very fleet of ships, either lay in the harbour, or in the new château. But thus three things we knew. First, that as yet Duke William had had no word of the evil presumption of this foul settler in the isle, and could therefore send none to destroy him, and that therefore we had for the time naught but our own hands and walls to succour us. And next, we understood, that there was indeed between Le Grand Geoffroy and ourselves war that none could stay with prayer or supplication to men or to God. For whereas he knew we had sent to the duke, the sternest sweeper from land or sea of robber and marauder, to deliver us--so we knew, as we thought of Ralf, that life and life's joy would have for us neither sweetness nor endurance, if he went free, who had been to our brother without mercy and without pity. And, lastly, it was clear that Geoffroy's Moors were yet more deadly than we thought, and more numerous. They were stationed, we dreaded to believe, off every point, at all four quarters. They ringed the Norman Sea with their cursed hulks. They lay like a moving line of forts 'twixt us and William. I longed in my heart to break through that encircling line and reach Duke William; but how could I go? The attack might at any hour come, the brethren were armed beneath their robes, all goodly things were already stored in the Castle, and we were ready to pass thither when commanded. Hugo had his watchmen on the seaward wall, and had enrolled in martial wise all the lay brethren, many gentlemen, and sundry stout herdmen, shepherds, and merchants of the island. None slept, though some lay down to sleep; two days passed without attack, but at the dawning of the third day we saw some twenty ships sweep from St. Martin's northward, and as the wind permitted, draw nearer, until they were as close as they dared come, and we saw the boats trailing astern of every ship. Then we knew we were surrounded both on land and by sea. Yet that sheer cliff was hard to mount, running straight up to our wall from the very sea. So in God and our own walls we had confidence still, and the prayers of men in danger went up from the Abbey choir. No prayers were said in those walls, after that day for ever. The day after, church, cloister, hall, refectory, guesthouse and abbot's dwelling were flaming up to heaven, or charred and ruined amid their fallen roofs and stones. CHAPTER VI. Of our passing from cloister to castle, and of the burning of the _Vale Abbey_. Of their siege of the castle, and the exploits of _Brother Hugo_. Now, on the next day it was close upon the hour of Lauds, when the scouts that were set in sight of the château among the thick brushwood and gorse, came with great haste and told us that the Moors were even now on their way to us, hoping to catch us unsuspecting at our prayers. Now we had our orders of Brother Hugo in such a case, and we simply did what we had done already at his bidding, many times for practice of safety in an hour of danger. First the great heavy doors of the monastery were closed, and the bolts drawn, and the bars of iron swung into place to stay their passage. Then we swiftly gathered up whatever still was left that was precious or useful--books, vestments, relics, and sacred vessels had gone already--and by the ringing of a little bell gathering together all that were now housed with us--a goodly company indeed it was of old and young--with all due confidence of heart and mind we proceeded in long line to the Church, which lay from east to west, forming with high thick walls the northern defence of our cloister. And as we passed two and two up the choir that morning, the monks raised with slow and solemn voice their last Miserere in that holy place, the home of many of them from their boyhood. But what did the convent at its prayers, as the Moorish host drew near? This was made clear ere long. For we were to see, we lads, what ne'er had met our eyes before, the very earth open to save us, and this by no miracle save man's skill given by God to devise wise and cunning shifts for those in peril. Lo! the abbot stood, _in medio chori_, noble and calm, and the sad strains of Miserere rolled down the aisle. He stood by a stool of oak that rested there for prayer withal, and ever so lightly touched a little point of brass, that lay but a speck in the midst of the stone floor. And as he pressed with his kid shoe a moment, the stone sank slowly some two fathoms, leaving disclosed a stairway, and a passage arched overhead with bricks, with a cool and pleasant air therein, that, rushing up, refreshed our souls. Then we passed downwards, old and young, and so along the brick passage, that ran straight eastward, as I guessed to the Vale Castle. And the abbot stayed till we had all passed through. Then, as he pressed upon the stone, it slowly rose again to its right level, and looking round I saw him in like manner cause sundry other stones to drop behind him as he came. Then letting loose a trap--lo! a very shower of granite blocks came falling down closing the path behind us with great heaps high as a man's shoulders. So, heartening one another with cheery words as we went, we passed through a little chamber that led straight through the Keep--and so we were met by Hugo and Bernard, and dispersed each to his right place, as was meet in such a perilous time. Now, by favour of Brother Hugo, I stood near and succoured him, and though in my stormy life I have had fighting and besieging in Normandy, Brittany, Touraine, and here in England, never have I seen such prowess and such strength as I saw in Brother Hugo. Thus, by his favour, I was ere long on the south bastion that overlooked the gate of the Castle. There was but one gate by Cherbourg's design, and that a small one for so great a place, and yet, what need of greater? The larger hole surely that a rat's home hath the easier to find the rat, and rabbiting were easier were the burrow a yard in circuit. So Cherbourg built Vale gate not for state but for use, to pass men through, not foes but friends, and it was clamped with well-hammered iron, and secured by ponderous bars and bolts. From the rampart we looked southward, and saw away by the cloister gates the black swarm of the Sarrasin. We saw them nearer by-and-by. But now they stood before the gate, and seemed as they would hold parley with those that they thought to be within. But they heard naught, and saw naught through trap or grating. Then must they have thought the brethren were in hiding, or maybe stayed in the church to meet death at prayer, as good monks have chosen to do ere this, preferring so with calm hope to pass to God than in a useless struggle, for which He framed them not. For a young tree was rooted up, and with its full weight, rammed by a troop of knaves against the gate. And though it stood the charge not once, nor twice, nor thrice indeed, at length with the rush and weight of many men behind it, it charged with such a force that the great gate fell with a sound that we could hear in the still morning, and in a moment the barbarous swarms were over it, and ready to work their will in cloister and house of prayer. It was a sore moment, and one to make the strongest set their teeth hard together, when we saw through the trees a little curl of smoke wreathe itself up in the calm air, and then smoke more dense, and still more dense to follow, and then the bright red tongues of flame leaping and dancing as though in ungrateful glee o'er the ruin of the home of men who did no harm, but only good. "They will soon be here, lad," said Hugo, beside me on the wall. "Let us say, 'Sursum corda.'" "Ay, 'ad Dominum,'" I answered bravely. Now, these were our sign and countersign for our holy war that day. And just then word came from the north-east bastion that the Moors were already in their boats, and rowing to the Castle, with ladder and rope on board, a round hundred or so of the knaves, hoping to catch us asleep in the rear, while we met the foe in front, and order was given that at once we be prepared to discharge plenty of stones, and to shoot our ignited darts down on them from the height. There was no sign yet of the foe in front, so we went to the seaward wall, whither the boats drew near. Now, Hugo himself sent forth the first stones, but the boats were yet too far, and the balls but struck the waves, and made them spurt up fountains of foam. Yet the rogues seemed surprised and scared at our being so ready with defence, and they stayed a moment ere they came within range of our armoury. Then at a signal of command they all rowed straight forward. They hoped out of so many some would get through. See! A very hail of stones and rocky fragments, and a very shower of fiery arrows, each one a deadly comet as it falls! They descend on the swift-rowed boats. They fall as they will without mercy on man or thwart. The devils shriek out and drop their oars, and writhe horribly when they are hit. And some with bold hands sweep them out of their craft. In one boat some three fire-darts fell, and while the rogues struggled among themselves to escape burning, a worse thing happened, for the dry wood within sprang into flame, and no dowsing of the water could put the fire out, till the waves rushed in and swamped her in a moment, and the crew of some ten souls were struggling in the water. None of the rest essayed to save them; they were already overburdened, and had their own work to escape damage. I know not whether they retired, or whether, landing hard by, they swelled the main attack, which as I write had already begun. For Hugo had left me to speed the manage of the balls, and when he called me again I saw a new sight in front of the great southwestern bastion. The Moors were gathered in force indeed, and an evil crew, evil equipped, and in evil order they were. Each within a little his own general as we first viewed them, each his own envoy to shoot forth to us on the walls foul and blasphemous words, that shamed us to hear: "Come forth, ye foul rats of the cloister; come and be spitted here on the ground." "Spear or fire, greasy monks, which choose ye, or a spit to roast your fat carcases by the flame." "Good Michael, send us, prithee, thine envoy hither; see us deck him with fair traps for thine entertainment" In such wise they ranted and railed before us, but naught was said in answer, nor, as they doubtless hoped, did they draw us to think of leaving our fastness for the open. No word was spoken. No arrow was shot. Nor was a ball thrown yet. But the number of the villains! Stretching back across the common, well-nigh to the cloister, and seeming even still to be pouring down from the woods. Ah me! What a black hell of sin lay 'neath those faces, like an ugly, stormy sea below us, and what a motley of lost souls of every race. Dark Moors were there in plenty, with rich dress and shining mail; black Africans with blubber lips and mats of furzy hair; sleek Jews slithering in and out the groups, inciting to devil's work; figures of nobles and gentlemen of France or Espagne, dishonoured and merged in the depth of the lowest scum there present; great Saxon churls and Danes, standing stern and resolute, but barbarous, as lions in the ranks of jackals and wolves! CHAPTER VII. Of _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of the renewed attack upon _Vale Castle_. Of my first deeds of arms, and how the _Moors_ were beaten back. What they waited for we guessed not, till a great black horse came cantering over the plain, and a whisper went through the ramparts: "The Grand Sarrasin himself!" And he it was. He had his visor down. For none, so men said, had ever seen his face; and with excellent management of the steed of Araby, whereon he sat, drew up straight in front of the long rank of villains that he led. A great figure he sat on his horse, but swift and ready in his movements, though stout and heavy, and exceedingly knightly, as he rested with one hand on the beast's haunch. The ranks were no more in disorder, and the sounds ceased. Side by side they stood, erect and deadly. Each eye on him. Each head steady. It was a disciplined host. It was a band of music that he ruled with the sweep of his hand. We understood how the pirates of the Norman seas were all at one. They had found their master, and knew naught but his will. Soon we saw the army break into three, and come forth to assault us at different points. Of the southeastern bastion, where I was stationed, I can only tell. What happened otherwhere I only know by hearsay. There we had some forty of our complement of men to relieve one another with the stones, and shoot their arrows, and be prepared for service with the broadsword should need come. And great prongs we had very swiftly to dislodge the ladders, which with sore effort they strove to thrust into the thick cement 'twixt stone and stone. And once or twice when the ladder held, there was quick work pouring hot pitch on their heads. Hour by hour they strove on, caring not for defeat, for when men fell wounded and hurt, others more like devil-cats took their place; but we thought, for our part, the attack was slacker, when sudden, from the northern rampart, that was steeper than the rest, and therefore less defended, rang deadly, heartrending shrieks and clamour for aid, and we knew that at that post the Moors had gained a footing, and "Haste ye, left rank with me," said Brother Hugo; "you, Bertram, and you, Alain, keep up the defence here." So by Brother Hugo's side I rushed to the northern rampart, and saw him, with his bright blade sweeping like lightning through the air, deal death amid that Sarrasin crowd, that in face of pitch and stones had worked their way up the well-nigh upright wall. There were with us at that moment some twenty on the rampart, and this was well-nigh enough, had there been no surprise in the attack. For the Sarrasins could but come up slowly, and one, discomfited at the summit, would roll back and carry with him many that were clambering up below him. But already some thirty were on the rampart, or in preparation to spring. And our men had been affrighted and fled, had not Hugo, with his "Rou! Rou!" loud upraised, relighted their failing courage. And, indeed, who would not follow bravely such a one, in such peril fearless, and himself tackling already a knot of five or six of the foe with his invincible sword that was named "Roland"? The white blade swept down sharp and swift, and in a moment two Sarrasins lay helpless, for they were surprised by the swift onset. Up the blade rose again, and met ready parry and defence from a tall, sinewy fellow, that bore in his address the signs of nobility. And then began a sharp tussle 'twixt the twain, sword against sword with ready guard of shield, that I saw not, for a passion that I knew not possessed me--the fever of war, a sad thing, but a glad thing yet when it doth sweep into a youth's heart in his first assay of arms. This new thing in me, raging like a fire, bore me to bar the way of two that rushed to clear the path that ran down beside me to the open lawn within, and so to shun the onset of our men who were driving back with good success already those that were in act to spring over the wall. 'Gainst one I struck, and he, despising my stroke, or but half seeing 'neath the stairway, parried but carelessly, and my blade slipped through, and wounded his sword-arm at the wrist, that it fell slack, and the blade dropped clattering on the paving-stones. Then the other knave pinned me against the bastion, and I for five good minutes stuck at sword-play with him, he waxing each moment more wild and fierce, I striving to remember and show forth in act all that I had learned of defence. "Play not longer with the lad, Guilbert," quoth one behind, "or he will breathe thee." And at this cry shame stung him, and he waxed more dreadful fierce, and I within me seemed to hear a voice say "Keep cool, and all is well!" So, wonderful to tell, the more he raged the more cool was I, and little strange was it that he, sweeping the air with wild thrust and parry, met ere long in his heart the clean stroke of my sword, and I, quivering and half appalled as I drew it reeking forth, was forced in a moment to be on guard again, for another rogue was at me. Yet, with a wild gladness, I saw the villain roll moaning at my feet, and the new rogue found himself involved at once in a battle with two--myself and a stout farmer, who, seeing me in danger, had rushed in to my defence. He, with sheer strength, beat down his sword, and sore wounded him, catching himself a scar meanwhile, and so I had time to glance and see how the battle went. Still Hugo stood like a king of swordsmen, and around him lay those that he or others mustering to his defence had slain--some five or six--and now he was engaged with one that seemed the captain of that storming party--as I believe, an Englishman, cold and resolute, and thereby the more dangerous. And I dreaded, for I saw Hugo grow wilder in his stroke, and moreover weaker and weary withal with his great prowess. And I seemed almost to see with my eyes what I dreaded--that the Englishman should tire him out, and then take him where he would; so, careless of rule, I ran and struck forth at him on the left, and for a moment he kept us both in play. And then Hugo, gathering himself now as for a final stroke, struck him below the tunic, and he too fell among the slain or wounded. Then we looked round. "It was done warily and bravely, lad," he said. "Maybe thine arm saved my life. But see! No longer they leap our wall, and but few are left to slay." "See, see!" I cried in exultation, "they rush back! We have them now in the rear." And so we had in faith, for the scant dozen that were yet unharmed were easy prey as they fled, choosing to risk their bones as they dropped, or clung with a bare chance of life, to be cut to pieces by us; for it was clear that Le Grand Sarrasin had called off the attack at that quarter. Two or three got off scot-free; but, thank Heaven, these gave such an account of us as monk-devils and witch-men, that all hope was given up of taking us by storm--by day at least. It was now towards evening. No better success had been won by the Sarrasin at any point in the attack. It but remained for him to sweep his forces back again to the château. Our hearts leapt up to see them turn their faces towards the forest-land. And before long, with a flag of truce, they were collecting the wounded and the bodies of the dead. Those of the storming party we handed down the wall, or, if living still, led them through the gate. Now we reckoned that the Moors that day, by sea, arrow, stone, and ball, and in storming, had lost at least a hundred men, while our loss was only nine men killed and twenty-six in hospital. So nobly and well we faced that day of my first fighting. "Now, look you," said Hugo, "we shall have no more storming, unless they find greater forces." "What then?" said I. "Next will they come like Brother Mole," he said, "with his long tunnel under earth. And then, if that fail--as God grant it may--they will trust to a surer _aide-de-camp_ that I fear the most. His step is heard already--" "And who is he--this friend who will aid them best?" "Hush! Whisper it not, Nigel, abroad to dishearten any; but we have but three weeks' provisions here for so many mouths, or a month's at the most, if we be wary in giving rations." "Then their friend is----" "Famine!" said Hugo, grimly. CHAPTER VIII. How I was sent forth by my lord abbot to seek the protection of _Duke William_, and of what befell me by the way of the pirates. That night there was restless sleeping in Vale Castle and but rough quarters, but no assault nor alarm. Next morning there was singing of "Non nobis" and "Te Deum" to boot by the brethren assembled in martial conclave on the open lawn. Their church was destroyed and its beauty perished; but said Abbot Michael-- "Lo, brethren, here be your choir these days, here your House of God. See, its pillars are the Lord's, and they fear no sacrilegious hand; see, its arch is the heaven, and its roof the sunlit sky, and for music to our chant hear the lapping of the waves that God hath set in their bed below." So, with comforting words, did he restore our courage, as we thought sadly of the ruined cloister, whose smoke yet went up pitifully to the sky. And shortly after these solemn offices I was taken by Hugo to the abbot's presence, in the little chamber he had on the seaward wall. Very strange and careworn he was. "Son," he said, greeting me with a sweet dignity, "thou hast done well already in the profession thou hast chosen, as I hear by good report of all, and indeed so comes out in thee the prowess of a noble race. Thou seest what straits the brethren are in by this blockade and siege?" He pointed seaward and landward. "And that, should help come not, a deadlier enemy than the Sarrasin himself will strive with us--the famine with the sword. Thou knowest all this?" Now, as he spake, I guessed why he spake thus, and so right boldly I replied, with a straight look in his eyes-- "Ay, my lord, right well I know. Send me, therefore, now, whither thou thinkest well, for succour in this day of extremity!" His eye brightened at my words, and he and Hugo looked gladly at one another, and Hugo said, with low voice, proudly-- "Our Father, the abbot, hath chosen thee, my esquire, and a proud mission it is, being assured of thy strength and truth of heart, to be his messenger to our sovereign lord the duke, and to inform him of the dangers of his faithful bedesmen here, and of the arrogance of their foes and his own. To-night thou wilt start on a noble and knightly enterprise." "It is, my son," said the abbot, "a path full of danger. But also, as our brother saith, an enterprise both noble and knightly, for the saving of these men of God, and the feeble ones that are sheltered in our fold, not alone from death, but from rude insult and sharp pain." I told my lord that I was indeed willing to accept it, though I loved life full dearly. And he, assuring me that all matters of my setting forth that night were in Brother Hugo's hands, bent over me, and pressing his hands, that trembled the while, on my young head, committed me to God's care. And I went forth calm and steady with his holy words yet in my ears and a great glory of gladness in my heart, that I, still a lad, was thus chosen for a knight's work. I was to set out, Hugo told me, at nightfall from a little cove named Bordeaux Bay that lay hard by the Castle. Old Simon Renouf, a wary pilot amid the dangerous rocks and shallows of our seas, was, with one other, to be my comrade, and I was to be clad in the rough dress of the fisher folk in case of capture. We were that night to make for the Isle of Jersey, and craftily to lie hid in a quiet opening in the rocks for the day, and then next day, if the wind were good, to sail to the port of Granville in Normandy. Now, it was arranged I was to bear no written message to my lord the duke, only a ring of gold hung in a little bag about my neck, that our abbot said would stand me in better stead with William, recalling past services and duties, and would be thought, were I taken by the pirates, but some harmless relic or valued heirloom. Now, the ring had on it but the letter "A," and the motto inscribed around "_Loyal devoir_." And so at nightfall we went forth from the back side of the Castle, down the steep and rugged path that led at length to the shore of Bordeaux Bay, Brother Hugo, as we went, giving me words of good counsel as to my behaviour before Duke William, impressing on him the insult of these knaves to his high fame as duke, and how I should keep a still tongue if I fell into the hands of the Grand Sarrasin. We found Simon Renouf and Jacques de la Mare waiting for us in their small fishing-smack which I knew so well, having so often sailed with them as boy and lad, and well they loved me, as did all the fishers of Grande Havre and St. Sampson. But now, as Jacques took the tiller, old Simon bade me handle the sail, as though I were indeed that which I appeared, a raw hand learning seaman's craft. Right manfully I took up my task, and in a moment the dark sail ran up the mast, Simon undid the fastening and pushed off, and with Jacques cunningly guiding us from the rocks, the boat stole noiselessly from the bay, coasting northward for a space to get away from the Moorish ships that still lay outside, and then, aided by a dim white mist that lay upon the face of the waters and a chill night-breeze, we bore away to the south of Herm and Jethou, whose craggy sides loomed black and terrible as we sailed by. Presently the wind fell, and we lay well-nigh becalmed, and the moon came out, and we could see now the high walls of Sark and the steep side of Brecquou, and slowly we approached thither. So we ran straight to Jersey. The moon set presently, and we made little way, and with the light of breaking dawn we entered a small creek, wherein the water lay calm and still. When the boat was in safety we clambered upon the rocks, and among them Simon showed a little cave overhung with green streaming plants that indeed was a pleasant place, with all manner of coloured sea-plants clinging to the wall, that the light as it entered played upon. Here we ate of the good store that lay in the boat's locker, and a rare draught of wine washed down the food and refreshed our spirits, and then Simon bade me lie down and rest, and as the sun began to climb up and make all the sea glisten along its crest, I lay down and slept, and awaked not till he had climbed far up into the sky. But when I awoke old Simon Renouf still sat by the cave-mouth, gazing out to sea from under his looming brows, and I thought he sat there like some great eagle by its eyrie keeping watch over its young. And such indeed he was, an eagle soaring high in fidelity, and my guardian to the death, as in the end it appeared. Now, as evening drew near, Simon showed us that with an early start that night, with good weather as the wind lay, we would make the Norman coast ere morning, and creep along as we might to Port Granville by daylight. But alas! that night we had but just shot out of our hermitage amid the rocks, and were giving great heed to the perilous passage withal, when, as we rounded a sudden shelve of rock, we met almost face to face a great ship that was making across our course. And I feared that the worst would hap, for she was of the same build as the fleet of Le Grand Sarrasin. Did they see us lying in now close by the rock? We could not tell for a moment, but then there was no doubt. A shout rang out, and a voice bidding us come aside. What could men so bidden do? To sail forth were hopeless. This great craft would overhaul us of an instant. To coast along the shore were perilous and must end in capture. For a moment Simon hesitated, and then ran our boat into the creek again. "See, lads," he said, "here we must stand. The land is more friendly than the water. Yet I have prayed oft to die on the sea, when my time came." We climbed on to the rocks, and he handed us a cutlass apiece and a knife such as seamen use, and he pointed to a square ledge of rock, that but one could enter upon at a time, since a thick jagged wall protected half the front. "Stay, Simon," said I, "art sure she is a pirate?" "Ay, lad, sure," he said; "none but a pirate so hails peaceable fisher craft" "Simon," I said, "why not give in? Why should you and the lad die for me?" The old man laid his rugged hand upon me, and the sun lit up with a rich light his red beard as he spoke. "Have not the Brethren taught thee a word called 'Duty,' lad?" he slowly said, "a word for me, that was born a poor fisherman in the calling of the Lord's Apostles, as well as for thee born of a great house." "Then it is thy duty thus to do?" I said, perceiving that naught could move him, and that indeed a noble strain within him forbade him to be moved. "Ay, lad," said he, "and may we all, thou, Jacques, and I, old though I be, do our duty right well this morn!" CHAPTER IX. Of our battle on the rocks of _Jersey Isle_, and how _Simon_ gave up his life, and how I was taken captive and brought back. The pirates had put off in two long-boats, and in a short space of time entered the creek, and climbed across our boat to shore--if shore it could be called, where the rocks stood broken into such strange and rude shapes, and where the footing amid them was so rough. I had no doubt of their errand, for each man had a great ugly naked weapon in his hand, such as we bore ourselves, only heavier. Up the cliff they clambered, and soon spied us in our fastness. "Come out, ye spies," they shouted; "come out, cursed rats, or we will come and slay you where you stand." Our hearts panted to answer, but we said naught. Then they in a moment changed their tone, and two approaching more civilly, spoke with us almost at the entry of our fast place. Fair words they used, saying that their captain had business of great import with certain stalwart seamen of Jersey that day, and begged us for our own advantage to come down aboard their ship. "And who is your captain?" curiously asked Renouf. The rogue dissembled not. "Our captain is Le Grand Geoffroy, Lord of Guernsey, and his _aide-de-camp_, Mahmud le Terrible, is even now on board of yonder craft." "Then, hark you, Sarrasin dog!" said Simon. "Sooner will we three die on this rock as good men and true to the law of God and man, than have parley further in anywise with you and your men of blood." Our civil visitors saw that fair words were of no avail to save fighting, and so they ran back to their fellows, and with a few minutes' chatter among themselves, half of them climbed up amid the rocks, to drop on us, as we guessed from above, where they might find foothold among the crevices, and the others with determined aspect ran up to us in single line, taking the narrow ledge for their road to our stronghold. Then began the fray. It was no hard matter for Jacques de la Mare and me at first to stay their attack, for the first comer and the next, struck ere they strove to pass us, fell down helpless among the rocks below. But the third, running in quickly, closed with Jacques, and forcing him back, left room for another to close with me, and by this a shout above our heads warned us that the rest would be upon us as it were from the sky. I dimly saw Jacques locked arm to arm and breast to breast with a villain, his equal in strength and stature; and then, as I had seen wrestlers in peaceful times, so each now on that narrow spot, grasping cutlasses the while, strove with all manner of feint and twist and turn to throw his adversary. Close to the side they were, when I saw the thickset pirate swing as easy as a child across Jacques' back. The two clung together for a moment. Jacques struggled to get loose. But the villain clung too well. And so they both fell together into the deep well below. Creux de la Mort the islanders call it to this day. I sought rather with sword play to strike the villain in my path, and old Simon by my side saw soon his place to strike in, and gave him a deadly stroke. But as he did so the first two rogues dropped from above, and the little narrow ledge of rock, with its far outlook over the waves, and pleasant vision of white surf running over the rocks, and still gulls seated thereon, was soon like hell itself, full of dark and evil faces. Now Simon was attacked at back and front, as he stumbled back over the bodies; a great knife was thrust into his back, even as he faced a rogue before his face, and I saw the old faithful soul fall forward, and making a kind of stagger with his arms up, ere he fell, drop into the pool below. So, according to his prayer, he died in the sea, and nobly, as any knight of great fame, was true to death. Now, what of myself. The villains would not kill me, though this they could have done many times. Yet like a young lion I fought fiercely with my back against the rock, and I know not how many I slashed and cut with my weapon, till, with a swift stroke, one struck it out of my hand, and I seemed at their mercy. But my great knife was in my hand in its place, and with that I hastened another of these evil men to his last account. And then two, rushing at me from either side, pinioned me as I stood with a rope, and I, seeing no hope in struggling longer, like a naughty child, let myself be led or carried to their boat, and so taken on board the dark ship, whither they bore me. And once on board they took little heed of me. Only they bound me more securely with cords that cut my ankles, and threw me in a corner of their craft amid some baggage. One that I judged to be Mahmud the Terrible came and gazed on me with a dark smile, but said no word. Now, after two hours or more, I heard a voice say from the tiller, "Straight for St. Martin's Point!" and in a short time we came to anchor in a certain harbour. I know not of a surety, for mine eyes were blinded, but I guess it was Moulin Huet. And presently I was partly unbound, set upon my feet, and made to walk. So, blindfolded and miserable, I entered again that dear island, that I had left for Normandy but two nights before. CHAPTER X. How I was brought before _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and of his magnificence. How I saw _Folly_ in his chamber, and was lodged in a cavern under earth. It is long years ago since I was borne up the Castle Hill, the prisoner of the Moors, but I stand not upon any high hill even to-day to look down without remembering how I felt on that day, when the bandage was torn from my eyes, and I looked round, dazzled at first by the daylight. But there was that in me, in that I was young, and had all my boyhood been taught true faith in Heaven, which even now rose up and persuaded me that come what might a man could bear it, and that no evil man could by any means force out of a true man's lips that which he would fain not say. Before me rose a bright pavilion of green and gold, and two great sentries in rich raiment with pikes stood either side of the entrance, letting none pass without a countersign. Then as my captor drew me rudely onwards towards the entrance, I guessed, as they stood speaking with the sentries ere we entered, that this was the Pavilion of Le Grand Sarrasin. We entered, and found ourselves in a rich antechamber, spread with carpets of Turkey, whereon men in glossy cloaks trod to and fro in converse or lay at ease. A fair curtain of blue silk was drawn across an inner entrance, guarded by two negro lads in scarlet. Awhile we waited, but at length a page came through the curtain, and with a low obeisance to Mahmud called us to follow him, and we went into a second chamber, wherein was no daylight, but only great lighted lamps of silver, that swung melancholy in the gloom. As mine eyes used themselves to the dim light, I saw it was indeed Geoffrey's presence chamber that I, poor Nigel, stood in, with the great foe of our cloister seated before me. Stout and thick-set as I saw him on his Arabian steed, he sat in his golden chair, clad in black velvet, with buttons of glittering jewels. I looked up through the dim light to see his face, but lo! I saw naught, for a little veil of black gauze was stretched round from a small gold cap upon his head. And I remembered how it was current talk that no man had ever seen Le Grand Geoffroy's face in war or peace, and that a terrible mystery lay beneath this veil of gauze, through which he gazed on his men. Upon my entrance, he stooped and spoke to one at his side, who it seemed was to act as interpreter between us; and he coming forward bade Mahmud speak, which he did in a strange tongue, pointing to me at times as though recounting my efforts to resist at Jersey. Upon his ceasing, the interpreter presently approached, and bade me tell my name, and whither I went in that boat, and what my business. Now, I was determined to answer nothing, lest ill be done to the good cause of my friends, so I said not a word. Then at a word from the Sarrasin, Mahmud said-- "Silence avails not, Nigel of Vale Abbey; we know thee and thy business, and have power to know more!" At this I forgot caution, and replied hotly--"My name thou knowest, and it is not a name that a man need be ashamed of; more shalt thou fail to learn, for all thy craft." This I hurled madly at Le Grand Geoffroy on his throne, but he stirred not. "Thou wilt tell us," proceeded the black-bearded ruffian, "how many there be shut up in Vale, what thou knowest of their treasuries, what store of food they have, and the disposition of their sentinels at nightfall." My answer was a gaze of angry scorn. The Grand Sarrasin bent down to the interpreter, and when he had spoken, he came forward like a herald, and spake thus-- "Thy lord, and the lord of these isles, would have thee know that he loves thy courage, Nigel de Bessin, but fears for thy folly in this matter. He would have thee answer to all questions asked thee, and so in good season enter his service as a brave man." I smiled defiance at the cunning monster. "Yea! yea!" I said, "thou wouldst have me add to my other woes the woe of treachery! Geoffroy, if that be thy name, know thou my friends' matters are safe in my own keeping." Again the Sarrasin bent and conversed with Mahmud, and the little bag they had robbed from my neck was taken to him, the which he opened, and curiously handled the ring that lay therein, with its motto, "_Loyal devoir_," and the letter "A." Presently the interpreter again came forth, and bade them in his lord's name remove me to safe keeping, as other matters were at hand to occupy him. Then, with all due state, we passed out of the chamber on one side, and I was, by a straight passage, led downward to those very caverns under earth which the pirates had dug for their treasuries. Now, as we passed out, I saw others in a throng enter the Sarrasin's presence chamber, but I could scarce see them clearly, and beside this throng of visitors leapt, I thought, that very impish ugly devil, the ape that men called the familiar of the Lord of Rouen, that he named Folly, the which I had set eyes on at the house at Blanchelande. Yea, it ran chattering with many a mow and grimace, and though I saw not those that entered, I was well assured that my Lord of Rouen had free entry to Le Grand Sarrasin, full lot in his friendship and unholy fortunes; nay, as it struck me at once, was working through this Moorish devil evil to our abbot, whom he now hated, and danger to a greater than he. Now, these thoughts ran through my mind when I saw Folly, the archbishop's ape, so lively in the Sarrasin's presence chamber, and I exceedingly dreaded this evil union of evil men, yet remembered I my "_Quare fremuerunt_," and had good faith that One more powerful than man would save me and my good friends the Brethren from false Maugher and cruel Geoffroy. To a sad dungeon beneath the ground was I led, exceeding dark, for the only light entered through a narrow slit in the rocky roof; and I saw that the walls and roof were rugged and rough, half cavern and half cell. Alas! alas! sad moment indeed it was when I was thrust therein, with my arms bound to my back and my wounds still undrest, my body stiff and full of pain, and my head dizzy and heavy after so great excitement. Helplessly enough I crawled around the rocky walls, and found a barrier that seemed framed of wood across the entry. I felt, and found that it hung like a great gate on a bar of iron that ran through holes cut in the solid rock. I looked in despair up to the narrow slip above. In agony of spirit I even for a short space threw myself as I might against the door, against the rock. At length I knew it was hopeless, and I crawled to a heap of plundered goods, and lay on them passive for a season. Perchance I slept, and at least a little space forgot my troubles, but not heavily, for a very gentle moving of the door appalled me, and in a moment I was half on my feet. There was no need for such alarm, for he that entered came softly in and whispered that he was a friend. A moment I thought here was a wile of my foes to catch me, but I looked long and sternly at my visitor, and decided he had not come to work deceit. A man he was of noble and knightly aspect, easy in his bearing, frank in his gaze, exceeding handsome, so far as by the dim light I could judge. He came close and stood by me, and spoke softly. "Hush, lad," he said, "fear me not, for I come hither as a friend! And if thou art to be saved from torture and death, thou must trust me as the saint trusts his God. Wilt thou do this?" I murmured beneath my breath that I did not doubt him, and bade him for the sake of God not to delay. "Thou dost not know me, Nigel de Bessin," he said, "but I know thee already, and with many another stood this day in yonder antechamber and heard thy words to Geoffroy. Now, those words I loved to hear, and I have been in a struggle since I heard thee, the one part of me saying, 'Save this lad,' and the other part counselling me to let thee die. But I am here to save thee." "Yea! yea!" I broke in; "but how may it be done?" "Trust me," he said, "and in an hour's space, for it is even now evening, the château will be at rest, and our sentinels are slack of watch. Meanwhile, refresh thyself, and prepare even now for what may be thy hardest battle." He laid before me some eatables and a little flask of wine, and with a slash of his poniard cut the cord from my arms, which for long hung cramped and aching, so tight had they been bound. With that he vanished out of the cell, and hope again sprang up in my heart, and I thanked Heaven for sending me such aid in my woes, even here in the womb of the earth. CHAPTER XI. By what means I was delivered from _Le Grand Sarrasin_, and how I found shelter with the priest of _St. Apolline's_. The cell had been dark before. Now it was black as night, and having eaten my friend's goodly parcel of food, I was refreshed, and eagerly awaited his return. Presently he was with me, and softly rolling the great door on its hinge, let me swiftly through into the long earthy passage that led upward. We traversed many yards, and I know not what treasures I saw heaped hastily on this side or on that, and I saw at the end, where the path passed forth, the form of the sentinel at his post. Now all our hope lay in what that moment chanced. He lolled easily against the rock, gazing forth, as I thought dreamily, into the open. My companion drew me along on tiptoe till we were even a pace behind him. We were so close that I think I heard him breathe. Then rapidly the man felt a scarf round his mouth and wiry fingers at his throat, so that he could make no sound. "Strike, Nigel!" said my comrade. "There is little time for mercy!" So I drew my companion's dagger from his waist and used it swiftly, though it went sore against my nature thus to strike a sentinel at his post by surprise. He fell heavily backward. I drew forth the dagger, and we ran swiftly for the cover of the side of a building. Along the wall we crept warily and without sound, and the next moment I saw my deliverer swing himself upon a bough that hung within his reach. In his train I followed, as he caught wondrous craftily in the darkness now at this branch, now at that, and more than once passed like an ape or squirrel of the woodland from tree to tree. At last I looked down and saw the wall loom from below, and the branch whereon I clung spread across the wall into the open. There we dropped down right nimbly as I remember a full ten feet, and the branch swung back from our hands noiselessly, and without sound we passed swiftly on hands and knees for a space under the near shelter of the forest brushwood. Nothing was said till we were a round two hundred yards within, and then my friend pointed to a little path, for the moon was risen. "Yonder, dear lad," he said, "lies thy way to the Vale, and I must now be for a space a dead man in the woods, outcast even of the pirates." "Nay, friend," said I, "I go not back to the Vale till I come with force to release them from their woes." "What!" said he. "Thou still art minded to journey to Normandy? Oh, dear and knightly lad!" "Yea," I said, "thither must lie my road, and I pray thee to help me on my way, for indeed I fear to fall into Geoffrey's jaws again; and now three days are lost that should have brought me nearer to William." "If it be indeed thy will," he said, "and indeed thou couldst not will better, since, as the case is, yonder castle could not many weeks withstand the Sarrasin, thou must come with me, and on the road to my good friend, to whom I journey for safety, I will ponder over this matter, and concert a scheme, whereby the wish of thy heart may be carried out. Meanwhile, trust me, good child, as so far thou hast nobly done." "One thing, good friend," I said, as we swung along southward, "what is thy name, that I may know whom I may thank for this wonderful deliverance." My comrade laughed strangely at my words, and answered hastily-- "For names, lad, we are not over-ready with them in the château yonder. Ofttimes their sound, compared with their ring in other days, bringeth more pain than joy. You may call me, if thou wilt, Des Bois, for indeed I love the woodland. And for thanks, lad, thank me with a kind word and trustful look, and a good stroke of the sword, if that be needful ever for mine honour." So we strode on, and as the moonlight made silvery passages amid the trees, I watched him as he knitted his brows in thought, whether on my account or his own I knew not. I thought I saw in him all that I dreamed of knightly spirit, and I guessed that in Des Bois lay hidden one like Brother Hugo, who for some reason masked a great and noble name in this poor, paltry disguise. Ay, but it was a visage that not long rested serious. A smile broke over its furrows, making it like a field that smiled in the sunlight, and he said right gaily in my ear-- "Ay, good lad, we will weave thee a rope to Normandy both strong and subtle, and witty withal, and thou shalt hear its texture when we arrive yonder; but as the night wears on, we must ride faster, or trot ourselves, since steed are lacking, so let us not lose time." With that indeed he broke into a nimble run, and I followed. And ere half a mile was passed, we were out of the forest and by the shore of the sea, hard by Cobo Bay, and keeping still close to cover, lest danger should arise--for the pirates had their sentinels in huts in every small harbour of the isle--we ere long were by La Perelle Bay, and I could see on Lihou the dim outline of the monastery. Soon Des Bois turned sharply to the left, and we were soon in a trim wood that ran up almost from the shore. The blind, thick wall of a small building lay in our path, and by its side a little low-roofed hut of daub and wattle. "The chapel of good St. Apolline!" I said in surprise, for I knew well that little shrine by the coast, where the fisher-people made supplication for good weather and success in their craft, and hung up their poor offerings for the holy saint's honour. "Ay, that it is," said Des Bois. "Now will we find its guardian at his vigils." He oped with ease the latch of the lowly door of the hut, and we found, indeed, no saint at matins or prime, but only the priest of St. Apolline, curled on his wood settle in honest slumber, and snoring lustily withal. Des Bois gazed at him with a merry smile, and presently tweaked him merrily by the ear, crying out-- "Up, good hog! up, griskin-knave! up, lubber! and provide meet entertainment for honest men." "Ralf! Ralf!" sang out the priest in alarm, as he leapt from his poor couch. "What make you here at this hour of night?" "Often hast thou," answered Des Bois, "with sage reproof bid me turn to an honest and a sober life, and now I have turned to the side of the holy saints. Lo! I have cut my ropes this night, and am free again. Free, that is to say, if thou wilt hide me for a season, and do thy good offices for Nigel here, who indeed hath saved me, as I him." The good priest grasped his hand, and I thought he wept, as though Des Bois' words conveyed more than I could understand. The two men drew aside together and whispered seriously for a time. But I was glad, before they ceased, to wash away the blood from my wounds, and all the dust and sweat of my capture and escape. And after much washing in the brook, I felt well-nigh a new man; and sitting down at the priest's rough board, we next refreshed ourselves with such store as the good man had. And after we had eaten, Des Bois, whose name I now knew was Ralf, began to explain the plan by means of which I was still to journey safely to Normandy. "Hark you, good Nigel," said Ralf. "I have discovered a rare likeness betwixt you and our Father, this dear Augustine. Indeed, saving for the marks of time, ye might be brothers of one birth. Now, it likes me not to cast away prodigally such rare aid given by Mother Nature to our designs. So, look you, you shall journey to Normandy as Father Augustine, priest of St. Apolline's in Guernsey, while Father Augustine and I, dear yoke-fellows of old, shall betake ourselves, as once or twice before, to the nether-world for a season." Father Augustine smiled his assent to the scheme, as I asked hastily-- "But, even so, how will the knaves yonder let me pass?" Ralf smiled as he replied, "Ay, they will not molest thee. Augustine hath a gift of walking warily, so that all men count him their friend, and, earnest man, he hath full oft his own good designs, that carry him to and fro across the seas. Thou hast but to stride with his smart step boldly by yon château gate, and so to Pierre Port, and none will forbid thy passage on any vessel that thou pleasest, if thou but give good word to all thou meetest, Moor and islander alike, good man and good dame. Pat, too, the little innocents on the head with a paternal blessing. Answer not save in words of hearty jest. Keep a front unconcerned and free, though thy heart rap hard against thy chest-bones, and, in good faith, within a sennight or twain thou wilt be back in the isle, with Duke William at thy tail." "And it is well for thee, good lad," said Augustine, "that thou art better suited than this rogue to figure harmlessly as a priest that men trust. But surely it will aid thee much in carrying through this scheme that thou wast bred amid monks, and churchmen, and art used to their ways of act and speech. Yea, lad, with a bold step and an easy manner thou wilt be safer beneath my cloak in the open than if by secret paths thou essayedst never so warily to cheat the Sarrasin's sentinels." What could I do but thank them, and yield myself with all despatch into their hands, to be turned by means of razor and paint, of cunning dye, still nearer like the priest of St. Apolline? In the end, as I drew the good father's cowl around my pate, and essayed to imitate his careless stride and easy gait, they both swore that the good saint himself, were he to escape from the skies and visit his earthly shrine, would be hard put to it to know which was his own priest and which the counterfeit. But ere this the sun was up, and there were sounds of fishermen already moving in the bay below. We knew that by this time our escape must be discovered, and so with hurried counsel my friends betook themselves away--at least, they were with me at one moment, and then of a sudden, like dreams, were lost to my sight. And I, as it were to try the strength of my disguise, went down for a short space among the huts of the fisher-people. There goodman and goodwife alike gave me friendly greeting, and I cheerily told them they must spare me for one sennight, if that might be; whereupon the children, running up, stayed further question, and in a moment I, in my long, sober cloak, was a war-horse, or a crazy bull at the least, that went ramping among their blue-eyed chivalry, carrying little affright, but rather earning peals of merry laughter. CHAPTER XII. Of my second setting forth for _Normandy_, and in what guise I took passage. I next prepared to start on my journey to St. Pierre Port; and, before I went, I tarried for awhile in the rude chapel of St Apolline, to say a prayer for myself and those good men whom it was in my heart to succour. But, my prayers ended, I must fare forth. And lo! even as I turned to leave the chapel, I heard the sound of hasty steps and voices, and already three of the pirates were in the yard, singing out-- "Come forth, master priest, and help us find our quarry!" How my heart rapped as I made myself seen of them at the gate, and, with a gay face, fetched out a merry inquiry-- "What seek you, early birds, so soon afield?" Never face and attitude surely so belied the man within; for, indeed, I doubted if my legs would bear me, and my poor heart, as I spoke, went rap, rap! "Now, hast thou seen two runaways by thy gate this morning, master priest--one a stalwart, dangerous fellow, the other a measly, monkish lad? And, prithee, see thou speak the truth." I assured them lightly none had passed save the fishers to their boats, and they seemed satisfied, till one, looking more keenly than the rest, came near to me, and, with a suspicious gesture, cried out-- "And thou hast not got them hidden up thy wide sleeve, good priestling? Come, we will search with a good will thy parsonage." My heart leapt again. But I managed to ring out a laugh that sounded careless-- "Oh yes," said I, "gentlemen galore, and heaps of little beardless monks lie stacked in my poor house yonder. Bring them forth, good sir, and leave more room for me." He led the way to search, but the others seemed unwilling, having good trust in him that I counterfeited, and all that might afford a hiding-place in the hut was opened and turned about--nay, the very holy rest of the chapel was disturbed as search was made, walls and wainscot rapped, cupboards forced, and stones prised up, the while I stood at ease peeling a light cane that I had cut from the wood. "Now, good brothers," said I, lightly, as they stood at fault in the midst of the chapel, "are you satisfied I am no concealer of other men's property or persons hereabout?" "Yea, we will press on," said one of them. "They have taken to the caves like enough, and we shall have a week's 'rabbiting.'" "Then I wish you good morn," said I, "with a word of thanks for turning out in your zeal much old stuff of mine that I thought was lost and gone." Glad was I indeed to see my three guests break into the forest opposite. So, with a thick staff for my luggage, I took the path that led straight to St. Pierre Port, six miles away. Without let or hindrance I passed on, imitating as I could the easy gait of Father Augustine, and taking care to greet all I met, of all conditions, who were about on their business that autumn morning, with such jests or merry speeches as I could muster. Now, I have said already that Le Grand Sarrasin, save for his enmity to Abbot Michael, had as yet showed no unfriendly disposition to our islanders, except where they thwarted or marred his designs. Therefore no ill had happed to St Pierre Port, its fishing, or its carriage of necessary things, or of persons. And though that heathen fortress could be seen towering up there miles away upon the hill, the good burghers of St. Pierre, finding their daily business not interrupted, made but little grievance of Le Grand Sarrasin's presence. Wary of running into trouble, they jogged an easy way. Their boats came in and out. Their bales were landed and embarked. Nay, I have heard that it was their wont to hush the voices in their states council that were for craving succour of the duke, regarding one ruler, so long as he whipped not their backs too hard, as equal to another. So I went into St. Pierre as into no besieged town, and without hindrance of any made my way through the winding streets to the harbour, where I hoped to hear of passage to Normandy. And the good father had told me of one Le Patourel, that would assist me to embark. This was a man not too well known to him, for too close acquaintance in this case were dangerous to me, but one doubtless ready to serve the priest if need be. So I sought out this Le Patourel, as it appeared an honest trader, who took me without doubt for that I seemed. To my joy I found that a vessel, but just finished lading, would start in a short space for St. Malo, and the skipper was willing for certain silver pieces to take me for his passenger. These I paid down out of a sufficient purse Des Bois had pressed upon me, and with a light and joyous heart tarried on the quay. Thither came by presently a bluff priest of the town church that was like to give me a fall. "What, Augustine!" he shouted, so that all on the jetty heard. "Whither art thou journeying?" "And that thou wilt come near I will tell thee," I replied, not knowing for the world his name. "Whither art thou bound?" said he. "To Coutances," said I. "My lord archbishop, you remember." "My lord archbishop," said he, "thou shouldst know is far from Coutances at this season--for his health." Here I was troubled, for I had told many that my lord had sent for me on a certain business. "Ah, yes," said I in haste, "before he went my lord left letters for me that I alone can fetch. But I must go aboard." "Stay," said he, "a moment! What didst thou in that matter of Sir Hubert? There is a like case of conscience here in St Pierre." I hurriedly told him that it was not proper for me to disclose so nice a case of conscience, even to my dear friend himself. Whereat he looked strangely at me, I thought, and soon went on his way, wishing me shortly a good voyage to Normandy. By three o'clock we sailed away. And glad I was to see this second time the highland of the isle grow dim and faint as we sped away with the wind behind us. CHAPTER XIII. How I arrived at _St. Malo_, and, proceeding to the Abbey of _St. Michael de Tombelaine_, found friends to set me on my road. With a straight course that naught delayed we ran to St. Malo, that ancient town hard by the holy Mount of St Michael, the mother-house of our Vale Abbey, where I had good hope that I should quickly thence be sped upon my way. So when we had come to port, bidding the captain farewell, I chartered a good horse to reach the holy place where, as men say, the blessed Michael came down to bid St. Aubert build him a brave house on that lonely rock. It was the hour of vespers when I attained the hostel of the mount, but I had been aware the last few miles of the sound of a trot behind me, whose pace was marvellous like mine own. If I stayed a moment, the rider behind likewise stayed; if I went at a gallop, he galloped also. It gave me some concern to be followed by a caitiff, watching for my purse, as I had only a sheath-knife with which to defend myself. However, seeing the abbey lights gleam kindly through its narrow windows, I urged my beast on, though in sooth she was weary; and as I clattered at last into the yard, saw, as I waited for a space by the gateway, my follower walk his steed quietly by, peering the while as he passed. Now, I strove as soon as was convenient to gain audience of my lord abbot. And this was not easy at that time for a simple secular priest, such as I appeared, for there was ever strife and common contempt 'twixt monk and parish priest, even as it is to-day. "Audience of the holy father--and to-night?" repeated the seneschal, with proud disdain. "Good son, it is impossible, the abbot is engaged with knight and bishop; keep thou thy little matters till thou canst catch his rein, as he rides forth to-morrow." "It is no little matter, good brother," I pleaded, "It is of life and death to many holy men." "If it concerned a kingdom," returned he, "I could not send thee to the abbot now--with the little matters of thy parish to plague him withal," the fellow muttered under his breath. As we debated thus, a most reverend monk passed through the corridor, of a strangely lofty and noble air and of a winning sweetness, who stayed his journey as he saw my evident distress. "What ails thee, O my son?" said he. "I bear grave and sad news to my lord abbot," I said, "and news that he should know without delay." "What is thy name?" he said, and searched me kindly with his eyes. I could not lie to him, so I said simply, "Nigel," as I would fain say no more. "Then, good Father Nigel," said he, seeing my reluctance, "I will go whisper in my lord's ear, if thou wilt tell me more clearly of thy business." "Tell him," said I, "that Abbot Michael, his good brother, has sent me with sad news of the miseries of Vale Abbey." "So, my son," said the monk, gently, and disappeared through the stairway, whence he presently returned, and led me with him. He led me to a certain fair chamber, wherein sat many great lords around my lord abbot. "Who is this, brought by our brother of Bec?" said one, as I entered by the side of that great scholar, Lanfranc, the Abbot of Bec. "This," said the abbot, an Italian also, "is an envoy from the isle of Guernsey, who comes with greeting from our brother yonder, bearing a sad tale with him, or I am mistaken." I knelt to my lord, as he sat in his rich-broidered cloak, with his plump legs cross-gartered, as befits great nobles, and, kissing his hand, begged that I might speak on. "Nay; first, sir priest," he said, "tell us thy name, and then thy story." "Indeed, father," I replied, "I am not that I seem; no priest am I, though bred in Vale cloister in Guernsey." "Then how darest thou," said he, hotly, "to come hither in this habit?" "If thou but knewest the greatness of the perils of our brethren, how they are near being murdered by savage men, thou wouldst forgive me, father. But I bear a name none need fear to own--I am Nigel de Bessin, and mine uncle its vicomte, would vouch for me, were he here----" "As indeed he is," put in a pleasant voice of a gentleman that in scarlet cloak sat by my lord's right hand. "And thou art my nephew?" said he, as I moved forward to do him courtesy. When we were made known he bade me proceed, assuring me that all my wishes should be fulfilled. "My lords," said I, "the good brothers of St. Michael of the Vale in Guernsey are besieged and shut in this four weeks, nay, stormed and murdered by a most pestilent villain and an innumerable horde of Moorish devils that are settled in the isle. Men call him Le Grand Sarrasin, and as ye have doubtless heard, he is a caitiff without mercy, that wars on women as on men, on monks and husbandmen. This is he that calls himself the Lord of the Norman seas, in clear treachery to our lord the duke, and so cunning he is that he hath watchmen and spies at every harbour, that he may establish himself more stoutly ere help come." "And didst thou escape his hands?" said mine uncle, pondering, head upon hand. "Nay; he caught me and shut me in the womb of the earth, but by God's grace I escaped him--but this matters not. Give me your good aid to the duke, that in all haste I may return with a great host to save the brethren." "How old art thou, my son?" asked Lanfranc. "Father, but sixteen years," said I, as though I feared they might smile at me. "And thou," said he, in admiration, "hast come through these terrors in such a spirit of courage, wisdom, and love. Verily, my lords, ye see here a child that God has led marvellously on an undoubted work of charity." While their eyes rested on me with a wonder I loved not--for, indeed, what had I done above what any knightly youth should do for those he loves?--I spake on, telling them how few days' food remained at Vale, and how strait they were shut in, and begging them to see that I passed on to William swiftly. "The duke is far north now," said the abbot, "gathering strength for the dangers that are looming from France. It is a sore ill time to beseech him. Yet matters will not wait. In this case," he said strangely, "thou wilt be thine own best advocate with him, for well he loves a brave and knightly deed. With all haste fit letters shall be written to win thee a ready entrance to his presence--to his heart thou must win thine own way, as thou hast with us." "Teach him not, then," said Lanfranc, "too piteously of the sorrows of our brethren, for a few monks more or less matter not to him, but represent the arrogance of this Sarrasin, and how clearly he claims the title of Lord of the Seas. That will touch best our sovereign lord." "Is not my Lord Maugher still in Guernsey?" asked the abbot, pondering. "Yea, he is," I said. "And how acts he in this trouble? Is he besieged with the brethren, or goes he free?" "My lords," said I, "as I was led captive through the Sarrasin's castle, I saw the same evil beast that my lord calls Folly, but men his familiar demon. I saw it in the very presence of Geoffroy; therefore I think these evil men are hand and glove together." "Nay--wilt thou swear this?" said Lanfranc. "Ay, that I will," I said. "Then this also must be made known the duke," said Lanfranc, darkly. "Now, my dear son," said the abbot, "retire to our chamberlain. Cast off these poor weeds, and take from him aught in his presses that befits thy dignity, and then return to us, that we may see our vicomte's nephew in his bravery." With a courtly bow I left them. Now, the abbot's chamberlain found me a fair good suit, more courtly than I had ever worn, and I scarce knew myself in the glory of its rich, dyed cloth. Fair linen next my skin, fit for an abbot's wear, a long blue tunic broidered with gold, and a trim girdle, a grand surcoat of damask, and a gay red cloak over all, with an emerald brooch on my right shoulder. With bright stockings and a little ribboned hat I was no longer Nigel the scholar of the Vale, but Nigel de Bessin, gentleman and courtly soldier. So drest and refreshed with food, I returned to my lord's chamber, where at mine uncle's footstool I heard these noble lords and churchmen speak of the circle of events from England to Italy, and through all their words the one great name of William seemed to be present as the centre of their surmisings. So deep had this son of Rollo stamped himself in the life of those rare days. "Strange news from England, this," said one, "now that the Atheling is dead. We can guess of a truth whom the royal priest will light upon, as he grows near his end." "He loves not Godwin's brood," said another. "Then the prophecy that set Henry of France afire will yet be true in another way. William shall reign in London, not in Paris," said Lanfranc. "And thou at Canterbury, good brother," said the abbot. And, indeed, ere many years this came to pass. CHAPTER XIV. How, being given letters to _Duke William_ by the Abbots of _St. Michael_ and of _Bec_, I set out for _Coutances_, and of what befell me on my way. "Sit down and take thy pen, good Nigel," said the abbot next morning; "this Lanfranc shall dictate thee thine epistle." I sat down by the abbot's writing-horn, and wrote somewhat as follows, while the two great men put their wise heads together. After customary salutation, the letter ran-- "We send the bearer with news of grave moment to thee and thy rule. A Sarrasin pirate even now lords it in Guernsey, and kills very many of thy lieges. Moreover, his force grows daily to a greater height. There hath joined him Maugher, once archbishop. "Thou wilt know how best to protect thine honour. The bearer hath for his years done wondrous chivalrously in this enterprise. Delay not, duke, to hear him." Such was the letter that I bore, signed with the names of the two abbots. Now I had great joy in having the great Lanfranc's countenance, for all men knew William loved him, since, after his first disgrace for his sharp rebuke of William's marriage, he met him fearlessly, and with cool laughter and wise words brought him into still closer union than ever he had been before. So I knew my letter would have weight. Now it was decided I was to ride with all speed to Coutances, near fifty miles away, and there to inquire more certainly about William's whereabouts. My uncle chose for me a fresh horse from the abbot's stable, that he swore would bear me nobly, and seeing me suitably equipped, led me once more to the abbot, who blessed me ere I went forth. "Child," said he, having given me his blessing, "thou hast by thy spirit made clearer to me the legend of this holy house. A fair child, men say, went with Aubert of old to lay these foundations in the rock, and wherever he trod,--that child of olden days,--the hard rock crumbled for the great bases to be laid. So, beneath thy tread, young though thou art in years, doth difficulty crumble to nothing, for it is the work of God--the saving of our brethren--thou art called to, and wilt perform!" "What have I done, holy father," I replied, "that any knightly youth would not be proud to do?" With all fit instructions as to where I was to go at Coutances, and the priests that would there send me onwards to the duke, I jumped upon my steed, and in all fair array, as befitted a youth of high rank, alone I left St Michael de Tombelaine, and leaving Pontorson behind me, and having the blue water all the way on my left, reached Avranches by noon. Now, though my horse showed signs of weariness, I hoped to get forward another good stage before evening. Therefore after a short rest I pressed forward, and I soon came into a country that was well tilled, and the land was divided by hedges like our lanes in England. I was ill pleased indeed, when well forward on these desolate roads, to hear the same trot behind me that I heard before on my road from St. Malo. It made me press on my tired steed to a canter, and the steed behind me cantered too. I thought, "I will stay, and let the knave pass," but as I stayed in the way, the horseman that followed stayed as well. We had ridden some hour and a half like this, and the road ran now through a wood that seemed dark and cheerless to the sight, yet I was forced to press on. I had not progressed far, when I heard a whistle behind me, and lo! I saw, as it were, in answer two great knights come spurring towards me from the trees ahead. Then I feared greatly, and I knew there was an evil trap set to catch me on my way, and I ground my teeth to think that here seemed fresh delays to the work I had in hand. The three came at me now with drawn swords. I drew my little poniard, since I knew I must fight. "Yield thyself up!" said one great villain. "It is useless to resist!" My answer was an attempt to drive my horse forward, but the frightened brute refused my urging. I lunged at the first with my blade, but with a sweep of his own he drave it out of my hand. "How now, sir page," said he, "must we teach you manners?" I was nigh weeping for shame that he should so best me, yet I had no other weapon, and they were three men, and I but a lad. They dismounted, and pulled me from my horse, and holding me flat on the ground with his knee, one of them began to rifle me. "The abbot's letter," I thought, and in a moment I gave tongue. "Look you, good sirs," I said, "take my money. You are welcome to it, but let me go forward on my road." "Wherefore such haste?" said one. "Thy money we will take, and thy sorrel hack, but there is a letter still on thee we require to be found yet!" It was plain they were no highwaymen, but in some sort the Sarrasin's men, even here in Normandy, and a great terror took me of his power. In a frenzy I escaped from them a moment, and stood clutching madly my breast, where the letter lay hid. They made a rush for me together, and though like a young tiger I struggled with scratch and bite and kick, they had me down again. "Alas!" I thought, "die then of famine, poor brethren of the Vale." One of them thrust his hand under my riding-tunic, and had the parchment in his very palm. And all seemed over with me and my mission, when suddenly I heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming nearer, and I shrieked out "Help!" My enemy stuffed his cap into my throat to stop my cries. But they had been heard, and they came closer at a gallop. "More villains," I thought, "to make certain of my capture." But it was no villain's voice that rang out next. It was my uncle's, and with him were men-at-arms. And as he shouted my assailants left me, and, jumping into their saddles, fled into the wood. So I was free, and my letter safe, and my uncle raised me up, and most tenderly handled me to find my injuries. "Curse the day," he said, "that I sent thee forth alone! How did I not suspect ill!" "But how camest thou in such good hour?" I asked, still trembling. "My heart smote me," said he, "to send thee thus alone. And, indeed, I felt a presage of ill. So I got my men-at-arms, and swore that I would be thy convoy to the duke himself." "Uncle," said I, "these were no highwaymen." "What then, lad?" "They were searching me for the abbot's letter, my passport to William," I said. "Then traitors grow like mulberries down yonder," he said, pointing back to the Marvel. "But now, if we press on, we shall reach ere nightfall the house of a good knight, where we shall lie safe till morning." So we trotted forward, and in two hours' time we were at the gateway of the castle of the Sieur de la Haye, who received my uncle with all courtesy, and refreshed us and our steeds; and next morning we rode to Coutances. CHAPTER XV. How I saw an evil face at a casement, and how, at my uncle's house of _St. Sauveur_, I heard tell of my father. And of what happed on our setting forth for _Valognes_. Now, as we rode into Coutances that day, I saw a sight that made me again fearful. The street was full narrow, and the houses leaned forward from either side, so as to leave but scant vision of the blue sky above, and there were plenty of windows in each story. Now, as I rode by, I was level with the first story of the houses. And, suddenly, before one window, my eyes were held captive, and I could not turn them away. A man in a fisher's tunic was gazing out on us, and I had not even to ask myself where I had seen his face before, for I knew that it was Maugher. My eyes fell before his, and I blushed and trembled at his sight. "Uncle, uncle! my lord vicomte!" I said when we were passed, "dost know who stood at yon window in a sailor's dress?" "What meanest thou?" said he, as he saw me tremble. "It was my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, the Sarrasin's accomplice," I whispered in his ear. We reined in our horses and looked back, but the man was gone. "It was a fancy, child," said the vicomte; "there was no man there." I said naught; but I knew it was no fancy, and I guessed whence these villains that lately attacked me got their commission. Now, at Coutances we learned of the canon, that knew the duke's whereabouts, that he was near Barfleur, seeing both to his navy of ships in the harbour there, and having care also to the exercise of archers on the land. "As I think," said the canon, "you will find my lord duke either in the shipyard of Barfleur, or the shooting-ground of archers at Valognes hard by." It was then to Valognes, beyond the river Douve, that we were next to ride, and we would pass on the way my uncle's castle of St Sauveur, where mine ancestors had been settled since they were lords of the Bessin. And the whole distance to Valognes was near fifty miles. It was then mine uncle's wish that we should rest again at his house, and prepare to approach Duke William with due state on the morrow; and this, though I was unwilling to delay, I was forced to agree to. So before evening we came in sight of St. Sauveur, a high and fair castle, round whose walls the Douve makes a circuit. Across a bridge raised on pillars over the moat we rode, and through the wide-open gate we came into the courtyard, where there was great greeting of my lord vicomte by my cousins, from whom he had been some weeks absent. "And here," said he, to young Alain and Rainauld, his sons, "is Nigel, your cousin, a good scholar of Guernsey, that bids fair to be a better soldier still." So with fair greetings was I led in to the chamber of my lady the vicomtesse, where with plenty demure damsels she plied her needle. Much surprised was she to see me, and heard with a grave face my story. "And thou art but sixteen," she said, "and art about so noble an enterprise? My Alain has barely left his governor. Indeed, thy good monks know how to teach chivalry." Then I asked her the meaning of this fair tapestry that, stretched on a long frame, she and her maidens toiled at round the chamber, for it caught my eyes as showing, I thought, great exploits of arms. And she told me that it was the exploits of Duke Rollo that she wrought there in many colours, and that the Lady Matilda herself, who loved such needlework, had made choice of the panels. In one I saw the ships being made in far Norway; in another, in a goodly company they rode upon the sea; in another, Rollo ate and drank with his fellows; and some pictures told of battles, wherein I saw them in their close hauberks and narrow shields, waving swords and driving their deadly spears. "And in every picture," she said, "I love to work in one like my dear lord in figure and knightly person, and to work the name of this great family above." "Ay, good aunt," cried I; "in sooth thou art like myself in pride of the Norman race, that even now, in the glory of William, is worthy of its forbears." She smiled kindly as mine eyes sparkled, and said I was indeed a knightly youth. Then, as we were left alone by the vicomte, she dropped her voice, and gazing at me most tenderly, inquired if I had ever seen my father. "Nay, dear lady," said I, sadly but proudly, "I know not, from aught that has been told me by any, whether he be alive or dead. Save that he is my lord vicomte's brother, I know naught." "Poor lad!" she murmured tenderly, "'tis time thou shouldst know more. Yet it is a sad story. Know, then, thy father was a wild and untameable youth, that was courteous and brave withal, but brooked not government overmuch. He was, too, of a wondrous merry disposition, that loved a jest at men in great places, and this made him not beloved. Against his father's command he stole away thy mother, who perished in a raid of her kinsmen upon his house, and in the minority of the duke he was found on the side of violent men--and then he disappeared. Thou in thy baby innocence wert the only charge he left us, and as soon as times were fit thou wert sent to the Abbey of the Vale, which is indeed a good school of gentle manners and sound learning." I had listened sadly enough to the story of my father's fall, and its recital grieved me. "And has my lord vicomte seen my father since? Has he inquired of me?" I asked. "Nay, I must tell thee no more," she said. "Maybe I have told thee too much already." "At least, tell me of my mother," said I. "Poor child," said she, "thou hast never known mother's love! Thy mother was most fair and gentle, and indeed thine eyes and smile are hers." "Of what race came she, lady?" "Child," said she, sadly, "I will not tell thee that to-day. Know only her name was of the noblest." Thus, in the chamber of the vicomtesse, that afternoon I learned something of the secrets that I had wondered over in my boyhood. Sadly I kissed her hand, when I knew she would tell me no more, and thanked her courteously for her tender words. "Indeed," said she, "I long to number thee soon among mine own sons, when thou leavest the monks thy tutors." "And I," said I, right gallantly, "will strive to be worthy of honours so high, of a race so noble." Now, next morning we rode forth gaily, on our last stage, as we hoped, to Valognes, and a company of grooms and men-at-arms rode with us, such as beseemed my uncle's rank. And for many miles we rode along the western bank of the river Douve, that runs by my uncle's castle, but at length the stream took a great bend to the west, and we had to cross within some twelve miles of Valognes. Here was a stout timber bridge on four piers, over which our road ran; and it was on the west side of the bridge that my lord stayed, it being a convenient place to send fit messengers to my lord duke to tell of our approach. Therefore a courtly gentleman of my lord's retinue--by name De Norrey--with a groom were sent forward in advance. Their horses' hoofs clattered on the wooden way as they sped forth. But lo! great was our wonder and terror to see a sore disaster befall them there in the midst of the passage over the stream. We saw suddenly the road give way beneath them, as though it were clean sawn asunder, and both horsemen in a moment cast down suddenly into the stream below. Then, too, we heard a loud thunder of the beams falling, and there was a great mass of woodwork in the river, that dammed up for a while the flood. The gentleman, the vicomte's envoy, was alas! killed, thrown headlong by his horse against a pier ere he struck the water. The groom that rode with him marvellously escaped death, but was sore wounded by his fall. "What villain hath done this?" cried the vicomte, in hot anger. "With my men will I scour the land till I track him." "Ah, my lord vicomte," I said, "this is the work of Maugher, that I saw lurking in Coutances. And I grieve that thy good Sieur de Norrey should thus die by a stroke that was aimed at me." "If it be as thou sayest," said my uncle, "this venomous man, kinsman though he be of the duke himself, shall no longer trouble men." Then, with all sadness, the body of De Norrey was recovered and borne back to St Sauveur, and we, riding down the stream a mile or more to where there was a safe ford, crossed safely, and riding sorrowfully and warily, though we were so near to the duke's presence, came presently in sight of Valognes. CHAPTER XVI. How at length I was brought before _William, Conquestor Invictissimus_, of all soldiers the greatest, and most invincible of dukes. Of the manner he received my mission, and of the expedition of _Samson d'Anville_. And now, children of my house here in England, I bid you con eagerly what I write in these next leaves, for, if God will, I will record how I first met, in that land of the Cotentin, him who was my star of glory while he lived, being indeed the greatest prince of our day, and, as I think, as great a soldier as any that ever lived of our race or of any other. And, following his conquering arms, we came to this haven in our own fair country, as ye know. My uncle had with great ease overcome, as a high noble may, all obstacles in our path; and assuring all who questioned, that indeed we came on business that could not wait, he won his way in an hour where I alone might have wasted days, such walls of state there are around the great ones of the earth. But with a smile and a good word to one, a meaning whisper of secret import to another, a high hand and a proud look to a third, he passed through all barriers with me at his heels; and at length we were led by a high noble through sundry gates into a broad level mead, all green and close-shaven by the scythe, where many targets stood, and amid a bevy of noble gentlemen Duke William himself saw to the training of his archers. Now it was easy, even in that noble throng, to see who was the duke and master of the company, not by rich apparel or device of royalty, but by simple glory of manhood. He stood well above the tallest there, gentle or simple. His great bulk had not yet hid his fair proportions, though in girth and weight he outstripped the rest. On a strong neck like a broad column his full round head rested, and frank and straight his wide-open eyes gazed forth on men, masterful and proud. Here was a man that hid not his passion or his feeling--one that could hide naught. Afterwards the very force of mastery and passion left their impress on William's face, but when I first saw him there, in the full glory of a man's honour and strength, I gave him my boyhood's worship, for that I knew he was a king of men. He was busy with his archers, and minded not our approach. "Blind dolt!" he cried. "Such a flight would harm none! See here!" He drew the great wooden bow he carried right back to the breast, and the arrow sped sharp and clean from the twanging cord, and hit the mark plain in the middle with a mighty force. "Now--hard and straight!" he said, as the archer essayed his shot again. Then seeing us approach, "Vicomte, good morrow." "My lord duke," said mine uncle, "with pain I disturb thee; but thou wilt agree that our matter would not wait." "Then tell it quickly," said William. "My lord of Bee sends forth my nephew with this letter," said the Vicomte. "Then let him ope and read it." With a great awe I read Lanfranc's sage words to the duke. Careless and moody he stood when I began with his high titles, but he let me read. But he awoke as he heard of the Sarrasin, and hot anger filled his face. I read on steady and slow till I came to the name of Maugher, and at that there was a very storm in his eyes. "Give me the letter!" said he; and he snatched it, gazed an instant on it, and ground it the next moment into the sod with his iron heel. He raged up and down in a passion, heedless of us and of his archers. Then he recovered himself. "And the monks are shut in by the Moors?" he said to me. "My lord duke," I said, "they and all thy loyal people of Guernsey are near starving, and this vile Moor calls himself lord and master of the Norman seas." "Does he?" said William. "Tell me more of Maugher." "He speeds on the treachery. His devils are seen in the Sarrasin's castle. He hath twice sought my life on my way to thee. I have seen by our abbot's grace treacherous letters of his to King Henry, that your highness wots of. And yesterday I saw him at Coutances in disguise." "At Coutances?" said the duke, near as I feared another blast of anger. And then, turning to a burly lord hard by, that I guessed soon, not from his bearing, but from Duke William's words, was his brother and councillor, Odo of Bayeux, he said, "Here, my lord, what thinkest thou of these letters?" He gave him to read the parchment that I picked up from the turf. Odo read it slowly. "It would seem," said he, "that this Sarrasin is grander than we thought." "At this juncture he is dangerous," said William. "Maugher is the danger," said Odo. "Shall we strike at once?" said William. "'Tis but a week's work," said Odo, "and it would seem by one stroke you will clear the seas for years." He turned to me and inquired very exactly all that I knew of the strength of the pirates by sea and land, of the building and position of the Château du Grand Sarrasin, of the Vale Castle, and the defence of it by the monks and islanders. He learned (for how could I keep back even my own doings, so peremptory he was?) of my being taken captive, and bursting into a huge laughter at the tale of my escape, swore I was a wondrous fellow for my years. Then, as he had a map in his mind of all that I knew, he turned and said to the Vicomte-- "'Tis a brave boy, this thy nephew. Tell me, whose son is he?" At this the Vicomte hesitated a moment, and I coloured and looked down. "He is the son," he said at length, "of my younger brother, who this fourteen years has been reckoned unworthy of his place among knights." The duke looked on me again, and I met his gaze. "See, then, lad," said he, "that thou redeem thy father's good name! And now for thy mission hither. It is my will to do all that thou askest up to thy desires--yea, and beyond thy desires. This pirate-swarm have massed themselves together, and lo! I will sever their many heads at one blow, and they shall know rightly who is lord and master of the Norman seas and isles. I will bring all my ships----" He was proceeding, when Odo plucked him by the arm, and, whispering in his ear, as I thought, dissuaded him from coming in person. He frowned and chafed, but at last gave way, and after further words, called to him a little man of wondrous heavy build, yet muscular withal, that stood among the greatest of his lords. "Hither, Samson d'Anville," said he; "here is brave work for thee, that I was near taking for mine own. Thou shalt be admiral and captain of an expedition that I send with all speed to sweep out with all force the pirates that infest our Norman seas. In great pride they are gathered in Guernsey to defy my power. Take men, take ships, all that thou wilt need, and delay not thy journey, for certain monks and islanders are hard set with famine. See me again to-morrow. Vicomte, good youth, farewell." So Duke William returned to his archers. * * * * * We had but just left the duke's presence, and were even considering whether I should return with mine uncle to St. Sauveur or tarry there at Valognes, if I could find a lodging, when none other than Samson d'Anville, that had been placed in command of the expedition, came after us, and would have me to be his guest until, all preparations having been made in a week's time, we should sail from Barfleur. "Come now, little soldier," said he, "and we on this expedition will be true brothers-in-arms." With that he wound his arm into mine, and I noted that, though he called me "little soldier," I was almost a head taller than he. So at his bidding, for he would take no denial, I took a hearty and reverent leave of the vicomte, who assured me that when this matter were over he would welcome me in his retinue for the French war, and linked arm-in-arm with Samson, returned to the camp. Now I had time to see more closely what manner of man this d'Anville was. I have said he was short and stout, but I should have said that in so small a frame one seldom saw such activity and strength. Like some pollard oak, he seemed all knotted with muscle and vigour. He went bearded and wore his hair unshaven, and thus amid those Norman lords, shorn back and front, he looked wild and unkempt. But the merry easy smile that lived in his black eyes was enough to show me that, though a great warrior, and terrible in battle, he would be a sweet comrade in time of peace. This was that Samson d'Anville that so swiftly broke down the arrogance of Geoffroy, and for this and other noble deeds was given that estate hard by the Vale, which his sons hold yet. And so it came to pass that within a week of my arriving, by great good luck and marvellous dispatch in preparation, the order was given that we should sail for Guernsey. CHAPTER XVII. Of the journey of our ships to relieve the Brethren of the Vale, and how we fought a great battle with the _Moors_ outside the _Bay of L'Ancresse_. As I remember, children, our armament made an exceeding fair show as we sailed with a fair wind out of Barfleur Harbour, and great joy I had that such good fortune had attended my embassage to our great governor. And indeed, though I remember not exactly after these many years the number of the ships, I think there were at least five score, and in each ship close on five-and-thirty men-at-arms, besides the sailors who had the management of the sailing. Duke William, when thus aroused, did not things by halves. And as we rounded Pointe de Barfleur, and saw on the one side Cape de la Hague looming through the morning air, our fleet rode in a fair line forward, making a semicircle as they sat gaily on the sparkling waves. And in the ship that was at the northern horn of this great bow was Samson, and I by his favour with him, and the man on the look-out in this great ship, that was called _Le Saint Michel_, saw more clearly than any other of the mariners of what lay ahead. Now, _Le Saint Michel_ was the ship Duke William loved, and indeed it was both stout and strong, and made for swiftness rather than great burthen. And being the favourite ship of the duke, it was gloriously dight with gold and colour, so that it looked right noble as the sun glinted on its golden vanes, and lit up the splendour of its close-woven sails of crimson, whereon two lions were curiously blazoned. And before upon the prow, as it cleaved the waves, sat St. Michael with wings outspread, white as the gulls that circled around our fleet, as though he were indeed bearing us forward with good hope upon our journey. "Look you!" said Samson, shading his eyes with his hand as he leant with his arm on the gunwale; "we take our track neatly betwixt Auremen and the Hague, and in so fair a day as this have no fear to run close by yonder cursed Casquettes, where many a good ship hath met its doom. Dost thou see them yet?" "Yea," I said. "There, like a rough, jagged set of teeth, they spring yonder from the calm waves and a long track they make where thou seest the foam on either side." "Then we will have no risk of our good men," said Samson, presently. "Port helm, man, and keep a clear mile from yonder hungry rocks." Soon the north coast of Guernsey hove in sight, and earnestly I gazed forth for signs of any pirate ships that might intend to do battle with us on the sea. And, indeed, it was well to look, for around from the Grand Havre as we approached swept a great straight column of their low-decked, lean, swift-sailing vessels, and we seemed to see another such column lying-to behind. "See you them?" I hastily cried to Samson. "Ay, it means battle," said he. But this good soldier, well used to fighting by sea, as well as by land, was even now as cool and undismayed as though he but went about his proper work. Samson gave his orders with words sharp and few. And indeed it seemed that all was arranged for us to meet such a defence of the coast by our foes. For, like living beings, our great ships sailed swiftly into two lines, strong and steady, with our vessel at the end of the second rank. And all this was done without disorder or confusion, as men-at-arms will form square on parade, and still we rode on the while, and Samson stood watching the pirates' fleet that lay now in a long line in front of L'Ancresse Bay awaiting our attack, as was meet for them to do. The wind sprang up now, I remember, from the east, and I heard Samson say in a glad tone---- "Thank Heaven for this breeze! It will prove the very messenger of victory from God." "Ay, in good truth," I said. "See, even now before we attack them, they drift, though they would stay steady." We were now well past Les Casquettes, and I could see clear the great rocky headland of the Guet, and others as high and deadly, that I remember not the names of, loom sharp and clear behind the pirates' fleet. The good breeze bore us on, and it was evident that, without feint or device of any kind, we should face our foes fairly, and do battle hand-to-hand with the pirates chiefly by boarding their craft. And I was glad at this, for I had no fear of the result of the day's fight if William's trained men-at-arms, suppled by a hundred battles, met their foes face to face on a few square feet of wood. The pirates, in their self-deceiving folly, that led them to a swift doom, had the like thought of their own prowess, and indeed they had need be proud of their wild fighting, being men who so fought as caring not for life or escape. The ships of our front rank sailed swiftly down on their foe, and each crashed heavily into a pirate vessel. And with the loud crack of wood against wood, and shattered prows, and rocking masts, uprose over the clear water the hideous din of battle. High above all the cry of "Rou," and the shouting "Dieu aide," "God and St. Michael," "Duke William and St. George." Then the wild diabolic cries from the Moors in their harsh ugly tongue, "Le Grand Sarrasin," or "Le Grand Geoffroy," echoing among their uncouth war-cries. I cannot tell what happened that first part of the fight; but I saw a confused sight of our men with a strong rush of might, their bright swords gleaming o'er their heads, leaping into this vessel or that, and blazing with the onrush of their attack upon the Moors, that met them with mad ferocity. There was a scene on each deck in which I could distinguish not which way the matter went, except that the war-cries of our men sounded ever more triumphant. Two vessels at the least were so disabled by the shock that they drifted away southward on the jagged rocks with their crews still in them. I know not whether the rogues in them were saved or lost. The men of _La Belle Mathilde_, straight in front of us, had good success, for already, ere we came into action, they had cleared the deck of the vessel they had attacked, and leaving it to drift away were about to run down its neighbour, into whose side some of the crew had climbed, having leapt into the water from the battle with the Normans. We cast our eyes along the fighting-line and saw the like going on; and then came up their second line, in two curves, east and west, to their friends' assistance. Now, this was our signal to ride forward and engage them. So we swept round to keep them off on either side, and ere I knew what was afoot there ran a great tremble through the ship, and a crack like thunder sent my heart into my mouth, and in a moment I saw the Moors hacking eagerly at the wrists of our soldiers, that clung lustily to the rigging of their craft, that was called _La Reine d'enfer_. With a shout that rang like a great trumpet, our little Samson had his foot in a moment on the gunwale. "Stick on lads, tight!" he cried, as with half a score of whom I was one, he landed on the pirate's deck. Three of them rushed at each of us, and well it was we had good hauberks and good blades, for "slash, slash" came down on us the strokes from either hand. But swift in our tail came a score more of our Normans, some of the readiest and stoutest of Samson's own men that followed his standard, and like lions zealous for his honour, and eagles careful for his life, they fought their way to their little leader's side, who was well-nigh bested, contending with three or more, who knew his place and station and attacked him at all points. But the rush of the boarding party swept all our foes before us, and in a short space the remnant of them, now far below our numbers, collected by the stern of the ship in a thick mass. It was no light matter to dislodge them, thrice we essayed it, and thrice from their sharp blades we recoiled. And, indeed, I could not but honour these men now engaged so hopelessly in their last conflict, and never crying out for quarter--nay, even stricken down on the deck still crawling with bent and broken sword, to slash once more at us, if it were but at our hose of mail. In the hot fray we recked not of our moorings, and we saw already we had lost hold of _Le Saint Michel_ and drifted some yards astern, and a great shock of the ship showed us we were broadside on with another of their ships, _L'Aiglon_. Now we were soon involved in sore danger, for the pirates on board this latter, lost no time in coming up to their friends' assistance, and like a crew of black kites they swept over the side, with curved cutlasses brandished in their hands. I know not how it would have chanced had not _La Blanche Nef_ boarded their ship, and attacking them in the rear, swept through them to our relief. So they were between two attacks, and enough of us were left to engage in our last deadly hand-to-hand struggle with the pirates in the stern. I followed a great Norman soldier that led this last attack, and closing with a sinewy Moor that strove cunningly to slap my sword from my grasp with an upsweep, we were ere long rolling on the deck amid the dead and the slippery streams of blood, each guarding the other's sword-hand from his breast; and since the Moor was a strong villain of full man's strength, I was in evil case. For with me, thus striving on the deck, the swing and rush of my youthful strength availed me naught against his tempered muscles, that seemed pressing my arms back with a grasp of iron. Yea, I was as near cold steel in my heart as ever in my life, when suddenly I felt his grasp tighten and then grow loose, and a sharp blade that had already been run through his back, came out below the breast-bone, and gave my arm a graze that drew blood. "God, save you, good lad!" rang out Samson's voice, and I knew that he had found time in his control of the whole battle to think of me--and in good season, for I have small doubt that, though the point of his sword grazed my arm, yet it saved my life. When I arose up, the ships that were named _L'Aiglon_ and _La Reine d'enfer_ were both cleared of the Moors, and our men were steering the shattered vessel as well as could be done towards _Le Saint Michel_, which we presently boarded, letting the pirate ship with a hole in its bottom run away towards La Jaonneuse, a rock on the north-west that broke her up. Now I saw that the victory in this sharp sea-battle was already won. For to right and left the second line, or those vessels that still remained, had retired, and were bearing away southward. Some five or six of the first line, that we afterwards overhauled had run aground for safety in L'Ancresse Bay; and the remnant, about twenty ships in all, drifted with shattered and broken masts and rigging on to the rocks, on which some lay foundered already. So it was with a cheery voice I sang out to Samson d'Anville-- "Lo! the way lies open to the Vale." And he pointing to the stiff dead bodies floating in the water, and wiping his sword-blade carefully, cried back-- "So die all pirates, and enemies of the duke in the Norman Seas!" CHAPTER XVIII. The story of the relief of _Vale Castle_. Now, by the ending of our battle before L'Ancresse Bay, the sun was setting, and for fear of some attack on us as we disembarked, Samson d'Anville thought it better that, though well in sight of Vale Castle, that already had lit beacons of joy upon its towers, we should drop anchor for the night in L'Ancresse Bay. This we did, and there was much business in our fleet in the repairing of the damage of the fight. When the tale was made up, but forty men-at-arms had been lost with some sixty more who had sore damage, and two of our ships were so disabled that we left them to float upon the rocks. From the prow, where I lay down to sleep, I thought of the joy in the hearts of our brethren and the abbot, and "Oh, Brother Hugo!" I thought, "now, by God's grace, have I well-nigh fulfilled the task thou gavest me;" and then sleep drew my eyelids tight, and with no alarm of sea or enemy, I slept until the morning. Now, the day that followed has ever been the brightest and the gladdest of my memories as I have trodden the path of my life. For on that day by Samson's side I entered Vale gate in very sooth the deliverer of my friends. I remember not in what manner that goodly army was disembarked, but well I know, through the long space it took, my heart burned to be away. But all was done in the due order of war, for Samson greatly feared an ambush of the Sarrasins in rocky spaces betwixt us and the Castle. And good companies of men were left in a little camp, hastily thrown up by the shore, lest there should be a mishap upon our march. But at length the men-at-arms were drawn up in order of march, and every man sent forward gave word that no sign of Sarrasin could be seen in the Vale. So, steadily, with the great standard of the two lions unrolled, we marched across the common, and soon the great mass of Vale Castle, on its seat of rock, towered up before us, and along the rampart we saw gathered the defenders, like saints of heaven, welcoming us as we came. And the women, so long pent up with anxious minds therein, waved their light kerchiefs, and wept for very joy at the sound of the soldier's tramp shaking the plain. And along the wall, as at a set signal, when we passed the black ruin of the old cloister and church, uprose the deep sound of men's singing, and we heard the goodly round Latin tongue roll its heavy cadence o'er our heads--"Magnificat anima mea Dominum"--ay, magnificat of praise and glory, as greeting this deliverance wrought by the most Holy One, and the downfall of Satan's power. And ever, when they sing that hymn of blessed Mary, I seem again to be a-marching with all the triumph of a noble lad in the successful doings of his first great enterprise over the wind-swept grass of the Vale up to the Castle gate--marching with a great army, that knows naught of sin and guile, full-stedfast and full-faithful through all its sunny ranks. Then, without let or hindrance, we stood before the gate, and once more the great bolts shot back, the mighty bars clanged as they moved, and the huge gate swung heavily on its massy hinges, and the advance guard sweeping on one side, left the way free for Samson and myself to enter. Could I enter in such stately wise with trumpet-blare and step of dignity into that place on that day as a young prince or saviour from afar? Nay, here were the very stones I had played upon through all my boyhood, and around me stood the good nurses and governors of my early years. It was no place for me to enter in this pomp. Nor were these simple monks the men for me to come back to so ceremoniously. I stood for a moment by Samson's side in hesitation. Then, seeing Hugo and the abbot, I forgot the army and Samson and my place, and ran straight forward, like a babe to his mother, and in a moment had mine arms around the neck of my father-in-arms, Brother Hugo of the Vale. Then, when he stayed me, and unclasped my hands, that were like to choke him, so joyously they hugged, down went I on one knee and kissed the hand of Abbot Michael, that stood by his side. He, courteously raising me, said simply-- "Thou hast done well, good child. And glad are we that our woes are over. But who is yonder gentleman?" Then I led up Samson to him, and made them known, and a fair scene of courtesy it was to see Samson in his chain-mail kneel and take the abbot's hand so thin and delicate in his own rough palm. "Ye come like angels from above, good gentlemen," said Michael; "for, with all sparing and restraint, our cruse is now full low, our store consumed, and, with diminished strength, there was small hope to rebut the next attack." "No angels, holy Father," answered Samson, smiling; "but stalwart fellows in plenty, with a strong stroke and a high spirit. Normans, in brief, that know well how to carry through a matter such as this. But how oft have they attempted an attack?" "Our general shall inform thee best," said the abbot, "this good brother, whose clear head and strong courage have saved us not once nor twice; and, indeed, most good it is that two such men as thou and he should meet." With that he led Brother Hugo to Samson, and the two brave warriors did embrace with all due show of courtesy. "Thrice, now, have they engaged to storm our wall," said Hugo, "and, while strength remained, we feared not to throw back to their sore damage such attacks. But three nights back we were in extremer case, for the rogues entered by a cunning mine the citadel itself, and but for swift action on our part they had got through in force, and overpowered the garrison. But, by God's favour, we were aroused in time, and with a great scuffle drave them back, and with small loss to ourselves slew a score or more, and so at morn destroyed and blocked the mine; and even this night we feared a like attack, had you not brought this great army from my lord the duke to destroy for ever the Sarrasin's arrogance." Then they took counsel of the resources of their arms; and, indeed, with the islanders that were with us already, and that now came flocking, being afeared to come before (as there are such in every cause), we mustered an exceeding great host, and after the ravages the Sarrasin had made, we had even now fear of famine till corn could come in by sea. And the Normans, since the Castle was too strait for all already, lay encamped in a fair camp by the waterside by St. Sampson's Bay, till their leader should ordain the order of attack. Now all was changed in Vale and hill country, for the Moors that so long had roamed at will, setting their watches and their sentinels on every headland and navigable inlet, and claiming to be of right the liege lords of all from Blanchelande to Torteval, from Torteval to Vale, were now shut up in their great château, and their fleets lying in Grand Havre and Moulin Huet Bay. No longer able to be besiegers, they had become besieged, and indeed, if they knew all, were already in extreme case. We saw none of their vile faces in lane or forest-path. The narrow street of St. Pierre Port was cleared of the swaggerers, with their clanking metal and heady brawls; while our Normans lay by St. Sampson's shrine waiting the order to attack, they sat quiet and sullen in their hold. And in this sullen calm there was much to fear. CHAPTER XIX. How we set forth to attack _Le Château du Grand Sarrasin_. Of the _Normans_' valour, and of the flight of our foes. Now, for the next two days Samson had under review our islanders, and the brethren, who in martial accoutrements, and restored moreover already by good store of food, would fain take part in the great matter of executing Heaven's vengeance on Le Grand Sarrasin and his troop. These were bound together in a second regiment auxiliary to the men-at-arms, and set by Samson of his deep wisdom under Hugo's leading. Now, all this time the Sarrasin sat still awaiting our assault, like a sick lion in his cave, and the only sign of life up at his castle was the green flag on the pole that fluttered in the wind. And on the third day all was in preparation for the attack. And Samson had it in mind that he and his Normans would bear the brunt of the assault, and have our contingent in reserve to fight on the level when entrance had been made. Now he determined not to attack the Castle on the side towards Vale, but from the south, where the height was not great, and there was good cover of brushwood to hide our strength, and to protect from arrows and balls. We, in a close body, were to lie quiet to the east within a run, and we were told to await his signal to enter in the breach to do our share, or, if need were, to swoop on the pirate swarms unexpectedly, if they essayed to escape to their ships. And thus once more I found myself by Hugo's side, prepared for sharp fighting. "See, Nigel," whispered he, as he stood fuming and craving to be himself in the thick of the fighting that soon must chance. "Yonder tree shoots up clean and straight, and, as I fancy, there is clear vision downward to the Castle, and an easy drop and scamper hither again at the signal." "Let us mount," I said. So, careless of rules of war and obedience, like two school-lads we swarmed up the smooth trunk, and sat soon in the joinings of the branches. Thence could we see, so far as leaves allowed, the Sarrasin camp within the walls of the château. They were not to be taken by surprise. For a great array--far greater, I thought, than came down to the Vale Castle--was collected on the green, and being divided into companies, had charge of the engines of defence, or tried the temper of their blades. And I saw others on the wall ready to roll stones and hot pitch upon their assailants, as is the manner of defending castles. And amid the companies stalked heavily the Grand Geoffroy himself in full armour. Could any mistake that great form, and not feel his presence amid those wild men of so many nations, that his spirit alone united into one. "Heigho!" thought I. "Ill knight that seest without being seen; now without being seen we see thy camp and thee." As I thought that, his great helm turned our way, and a strange shudder took my limbs, as he seemed to look upward to our roost, and know us to be there. "He sees us," I said to Hugo. "That were not possible with mortal eyes," said Hugo; "but even evil beasts are oft aware of the near presence of their foes." But he had soon to turn his eyes elsewhere, for the Norman assault came sharp and swift, like the rush of great wild creatures through the forest. Indeed it was a rare sight--that sweeping mass of chivalry that seemed to reck naught of the walls, or the arrows, or the balls, or the pitch that a hundred hands rained down on them. Over the wall they went, and through the gate that withstood not their charge. O Heaven! they were not men those Normans, they were storms and floods, they were fire and mad waves of ocean, that scorn with wild gleefulness the granite rock and scarped boulder! I have seen the sea, swept in by a fierce north wind, so triumph over man's poor defences. I have seen the mad fire catch hold of mart and dwelling in a blazing town that met Duke William's anger. I saw in the north the great eygre rush through Lindis' bed, and swamp the peaceful plain with doom and ruin. Not less resistless, not less vehement was the first assault of Samson's Normans. And I knew now, as I looked, how, by fire and spirit more than by numbers, William won the famous day of Val-ès-dunes, and I might have guessed, had I known what was to hap ere ten years had run away, what would come to pass below Hastings in England on the crown of Senlac. They recked not of death or wounds--where one line fell, another took its place. Like a river that ceaselessly flows, they swarmed into the Castle, and closed with the Moors. So it seemed that, overcome by the ferocity of the onslaught, the Moors soon gave up all effort to defend the wall, but reinforced the troop that held the crest of the hill, that contended in a mighty struggle with the invading Normans. This way and that way the battle surged. Now it seemed they would drive them back after all, now they themselves were carried backward. Norman and pirate were mixed strangely together in this fierce conflict. We expected each moment that the signal for us to join the fray would ring out, but it came not. It seemed to us that Samson, greedy of honour for his men, desired to claim the total glory of the victory. But we knew not his great sagacity, nor what a strength we were to him lying there in ambush. But what of Le Grand Geoffroy? We saw him bear the first brunt of the onset. He rushed then like a flame from line to line. And where he was, the Moors seemed to rush on to victory. Once Samson and he had met, but supported by two smart swordsmen, the Sarrasin had retired and left Samson to them. And now we espied him not, and hoped some hand had struck him that we saw not. Meanwhile, the Normans made great way, and drave the enemy back step by step, killing as they went. Le Grand Geoffroy was neither wounded nor dead! With a great shout he came forth from the very womb of the earth with another swarm of warriors at his heels, and we saw that this last reserve had been kept back to surprise us in the rear. Then, as the great monster rushed in upon the Normans, while still they poured into the Castle, rang out the signal on the trumpet, and from our ward of trees we lusty islanders and zealous monks sprang in to do our share. Here was Hugo, and I his esquire, in the front rank of them all; here was poor distraught Ralf clutching his hilt like a man frenzied. Monk, gentleman, farmer, miller, serf--we all rushed with gladness, that the time at last had come for us to join the battle, in a great wave of fury on the contingent of relief that was headed by Geoffroy himself. And well we did our part. For we, who knew so well the cruelties of the man we fought with, were lifted up by a great spirit of vengeance that seemed not our own, but Heaven's. His men reeled at our charge, and left their attack to face us. We charged, recoiled, and charged again. And this time Hugo and I together swung grandly face to face with the great monster Geoffroy; and Hugo slashed nobly at him, and for the space of full four minutes there was sharp sword-play between them, and I hoped each moment that Hugo would best him. But the duel was not fought out, for (as I heard after) so well had the Normans fought, and so many pirates lay in heaps on the green, that a great panic at this moment fell upon the pirates, and already, like kine affrighted by a wild beast, they were rushing headlong through the northern gate, that some one had unfastened, and pouring down full-tilt to the Grand Havre, where their ships were, and the Normans were after them like hounds on the scent, slaying as they went. Now, this Geoffroy saw, and rushing in strove manfully to stay the flight. But they were too frantic to hear him or obey. In a moment he made up his mind. "Follow my lead, then," I heard him cry to his own reserve; "we will not stay to be cut down here. To the sea! To the sea!" He jumped into the saddle of his steed, that stood ready caparisoned, and was through the southern gate with the pirates on his heels, and we on theirs, before we were well aware what had happed. Le Grand Sarrasin was making for his other fleet in Moulin Huet. And of the Normans and of many of us the pirates had the advantage, for they wore not much armour. With the wings of desperation they fled before us seaward over mile on mile of forest and lane. And like a terrible storm we sped behind. Never again may such a storm rage in Guernsey lanes and hills. Some that were ill runners were smitten down by us as they lagged behind; some that had been wounded before, and were weak from loss of blood, dropped heavily into the brake on this side or on that; the more part, as they neared the sea, pressed on faster, cheered now and again by the voice of their leader far ahead on his horse, as he shouted, "To the ships! to the ships!" CHAPTER XX. Of the sore slaughter in the glen of _Moulin Huet_ and on the shore; and how _Le Grand Sarrasin_ was slain, and of his secret. At last we reached the head of the glen, and far down below us we saw the blue water of the bay, enclosed on either side with its great rocky bulwarks. And a great portion of the Sarrasin ships were there at anchor as near shore as they might safely lie. And there were many little boats pulling in to take the runaways aboard. Helter-skelter they went down the rugged, winding path, jostling their fellows with knee and shoulder, hand and heel, as they slammed on their way. Le Grand Sarrasin we saw not, and guessed for the moment that he was already aboard. But when we came in sight of the bay, not long we stood in hesitation, but with a shout and a cry that rang terribly as it echoed from rock to rock, we rushed madly after, spreading our force along the side of the cliff as our fellows pressed on us behind. We too were carried on like a mad torrent that could not stay itself, and in the front we cut furiously with our swords at the tail of their long line whenever chance was afforded. Not many so we slew, but a number tripped over in the rush were trampled underfoot, or threw themselves in the streamlet's bed, wherein afterwards they were speedily slain. But an end came at last to that mad descent, and all-quivering and furious, we landed on the shore. We stayed a moment till a great troop was round us, every moment swelling as the laggards came up, thirsting to have a lot in so great a matter, and then with a mighty charge, that our foes scarce essayed to meet, we drove them before us into the sea. Ay! in that deadly rush, with swinging steel and echoing cry like angels of great Heaven's power, we swept them like some unclean stuff off our island's face into the water. There was great slaughter all along the bay. Some climbing into boats were knifed behind; some half-drowned in the water we cut to pieces; some, but poor swimmers, never reached their ships; and more than one boat capsized, being overfull of raging and infuriated men. A little remnant speedily entrenched themselves amid the rugged boulders, and smarting as they were with wild and bitter rage, we left them in their fortress, till one of the ships espying them, a boat was sent amid the rocks that they climbed towards and entered safely without hindrance from us. These and the few that swam, and the few that escaped in boats, and some that hid themselves in cave or brake, and afterwards escaped, were the scanty sum of that bodyguard of Le Grand Geoffroy that got to their ships. The rest lay on the road, or in the water-way, or here where the shore met the white roll of the surf, in great heaps that the waves played with, as they rolled up and ran back dyed with blood. So we islanders of Guernsey and Brethren of the Vale dealt with one-half of the pirates' force, while good Samson d'Anville did likewise with the other half as they fled to the Grand Havre. It was when we at last rested from this sad work of slaughter that I looked up to the clear sky, since earth and sea seemed all defiled with blood, and lo! there on the spur of land that divideth the Bay of Moulin Huet from the Bay of All Saints, high up on the top, with his form outlined against the sky, sat Le Grand Sarrasin on his Arabian steed. I showed him in a moment to Hugo. "Fools that we be," cried he, "that stain our hands in this foul work upon these paltry runaways, while he, the chief cause of these men's offending, still goes free!" "See," I said, "the monster gazes down on the downfall of his lieges, and sees them die without a care!" "Ay, for he knows," said Hugo, "there is plenty of evil men in the world for him still to lead." With that Hugo picked out some twenty of his most trusted men and bade us follow him. So we started up the cliff side by a little path that wound upward amid the gorse. And still all the time as we toiled with foot and hand at climbing, upon the summit sat the Sarrasin, as though with a proud air deriding our attack. "Whom seek you, good gentlemen?" he cried to us as we climbed below. "A vile knave and caitiff!" Hugo cried back. "He hath not passed this way," shouted the Sarrasin, "so lose not your labour, good sirs, at this boys' play of climbing." "It is not boys' play down yonder!" returned Hugo. "Oh, villain, cursed villain, we will mete you the same measure!" "Then you must rival my Pearl of Seville!" he cried, just galloping lightly away as we landed on the summit. So he had got away to some secret place, of which there were so many on the coast, had he not met full-tilt a strong band of the Normans that were even now on the road, being sent down by Samson to see that we were not worsted. These he met tramping to Moulin Huet Bay, and, wheeling hastily at the sight of them, found us behind him. Like a spent hare that runs into a hole, he spurred to the house at Blanchelande that lay at the head of All Saints' Bay, and we that followed at a run heard his beast clatter over the drawbridge of the moat. We rolled a great stone on to the bridge that none could draw it up, and, with the Normans following behind, pursued him into his cover. The good steed stood riderless before the gate. With all our weight we burst the door, and ran in a great body into the hall wherein I had visited my Lord of Rouen. No man was to be seen therein, and for a while we stood at fault, Normans and islanders alike, and then went through the house, battering with lusty strokes, that echoed again, every part of wall or wainscot that might afford concealment. Had all our struggle been for naught, and would the arch-villain escape us thus? We came back to the great hall, and stood therein while our followers ran riot in the house. I took up, as we stood by my lord's table, that very curious box or optic-glass, wherein he showed me far things brought close, and curiously raised it to my eyes, and gazed down upon the bay. It was brought wondrous clear, and the waves seemed dancing before mine eyes. Suddenly I saw what made me drop the glass, and hastily drag Hugo with me out of the house. The glass showed me the Sarrasin stealing along the shadows of the glen downwards to where a little boat lay moored by the rocks. We tracked him like a quarry; and ere long he knew we were behind him, and hasted, sore hindered with his great bulky body, to the shore. There we overtook him, and at once he faced us, and made with his sword a great lunge at Hugo that well-nigh took his life. But even so, Hugo was quick with his parry, and kept him at fence. "This is no fair fight 'twixt man and man, false monk!" cried the Sarrasin, as I had a stroke at his undefended side, so hot was I for his blood. "Stand off, good Nigel," sang out Hugo. "None shall say I beat him by foul means." With this, after sundry passes that came to naught, he drove his good sword straight into his enemy's side; for, indeed, Geoffroy was wild in his swordplay, and left openings clear to a cool man. Le Grand Sarrasin rolled heavily on the sand, and we knew that never again would the pirates gather head to harm our island. "Had I but gained the ship," he howled, "I would have been duke yet." Now this was the last he said, for a great spurt of blood coming from his side, he raised himself a moment on his arm, and then fell back upon the sand. We knew not what face of horror we should gaze upon as we essayed to pull the helm from the head of Le Grand Sarrasin, that never showed his face to men. The helm came off in our hands. It was no hideous countenance that it had masked, nor did we fear to gaze on it in death. It was the face of my Lord Archbishop of Rouen, whom I had visited in his house hard by, and whom I had seen disguised in Normandy, that I now plainly saw. Where, then, was Le Grand Sarrasin? Le Grand Sarrasin had been none other than this exiled man, that among the most evil of mankind had sought to raise a power that might one day overthrow William himself. And in this ruin of his glory, achieved by grace of Heaven through our hands, Le Grand Sarrasin was brought to naught. "Thou knowest who this was?" said Hugo, calmly. "Ay, well I know," I said. "Thou and I alone know this dark thing," he said. "Is it well that it should enter into men's mouths and minds?" "Thou knowest best, Hugo," I said. "Then," said he, "I say it were well for the Church of God, and for men's love of honour, and for truth and righteousness, that none know but ourselves this dead man's secret. Let him die Le Grand Sarrasin, a heathen Moor and no baptized Norman." "But Maugher will be missed," I said. "Yea; and a meeter tale than this will serve," said Hugo. "A false step, a squall at sea--anything but _this_." He pointed to the body. "Wilt thou keep silence?" "If it be thy will," I said. "Assist me, then," said Hugo. So we dragged the body of the exile a short way over some rocks, whose black bases the deep water washed upon, and weighting it with some great stones, pushed it into the dark deeps. Thence none would raise him again to discover what manner of face wore Le Grand Sarrasin; and none would guess it was no dark visage of the south, but the face of an evil traitor, so much the more evil that he was called by the two high names Norman and Christian. There shall he lie till the great blare of Heaven's trump call good and ill to judgment. CHAPTER XXI. Conclusion. How, the above matters being finished, I was made known to my father. Thus fell Le Grand Sarrasin, and I would fain finish this chronicle here, for all matters at the Vale most quickly returned to their old order, the next year being chiefly occupied with the rebuilding of the cloister and the planning of that great church that took so many years to build, which at last is so magnifical, that the old church wherein we used to sing with our boyish trebles seems in our memories but a poor place. To the laying of these noble stones much of the stores of treasure found in the caverns at the château was justly devoted, and the holy things of many a plundered House of God are to be found in the stately church of the cloister. And in my time, at least, no pirates ever landed on that island. Like a rock of doom they shun the place, for indeed many hundred of them perished there, as I have told, and they lost in one day the gathered treasure of years of crime. And their captain being destroyed, their spirit seemed fled out of them, to the joy of all good and honest men. But I must close up this chronicle of his fall with an event that concerned myself, which, as it were, flowed straight out of it. For if I had not journeyed to Normandy, and been caught on my way first by Le Grand Sarrasin, I suppose I should never have been made known unto my father. And it is of my father, Ralf de Bessin, that I must therefore tell. Now, the next day after, when we had rested ourselves of our great toils in the battle and pursuit, I and Brother Hugo purposed to go to the Chapel of St Apolline to offer our thanks to the priest and him that had saved me from all the unknown horrors of the prison in which I was pent. Or at least we would hear whether yet they had appeared again. The fall of the Moor had brought them back to earth, and they sat together in the small hut beside the fishers' chapel, whence I had set out on my second journey. All the time they had lived in a cave hard by, fed daily by some fisher folk that knew their hiding-place; and indeed they looked as men that had fared exceeding roughly, and all the plumpness of the good Father had fled away. I told them my story as I have told it to you in these leaves, and he whom I knew as Des Bois inquired again and again of all my dealings with the vicomte. Then, when I had finished, he said-- "Full bravely done. I regret not that I saved thee as I did, for thou hast some great deeds yet to do. And now, wouldst thou know, Nigel de Bessin, why I was led to save thee?" I looked straight at him tenderly, for I guessed the truth. "It was because thou wast indeed my son." He clasped both my hands in his, and looked down into my eyes. And I said "Father" for the first time thus, knowing that this was he of whom the vicomtesse told me. "Thy father indeed," he said, "but ruined these many years by follies more than by crimes, as this Augustine, mine old schoolfellow, will tell." "Father," said I, "Duke William and the vicomte will feel kindly to thee for thy lot in this matter." "It matters not," he answered; "I have long ago done with courts, and now I have done with fighting. A quiet resting-place is all I want. And in those solitary days Augustine and I have made our determination. Have many brethren died in the siege?" he asked of Hugo, who nodded sadly. "Then here is one to fill an empty hood," said my father. And I knew that the priest of St. Apolline's had persuaded him to become a monk. "Thou wilt go forth," he said to me, "to wars, and courts, and princes, and may God shield thee still from all evil, as He hath so marvellously done these perilous days. From Vale Cloister will I look out on thee in pride of thy knightly fame, if such a small taint of earth as pride in thee be there permitted." In such a manner were we made known to one another, the son and the father, and ere long Ralf de Bessin became Brother Francis of the Vale. But I, ere that, had left my pupilage behind, and was numbered in the retinue of my uncle the vicomte as he followed the ever-conquering banner of William. THE END. HISTORICAL NOTES. The chief authorities for the history and antiquities of Guernsey are:-- Du Moulin: "History of Normandy." [1631]. Thomas Dicey: "Historical Account of Guernsey." William Berry: "History of the Island of Guernsey." F.B. Tupper: "History of Guernsey." Extracts bearing on the foregoing pages are quoted in these notes from the above, but Du Moulin seems to be the writer on whom the later authors have depended. NOTE A. _Archbishop Maugher_.--"William succeeded Robert A.D. 1035. One of his most powerful opponents was his uncle Maugher, Archbishop of Rouen, who, after William was settled in his Duchy of Normandy, excommunicated him on pretence that his wife Matilda was too nearly related. William, in 1055, deposed and banished Maugher in consequence to the Isle of Guernsey.... Insular tradition has fixed his residence near Saints Bay. "Du Moulin says: 'Maugher, thus justly deposed, was banished to the island of Guernsey, near Coutances, where, says Walsingham, he fell into a state of madness, and had a miserable end. Others affirm that during his exile he gave his mind to the black arts (_sciences noires_) and that he had a familiar spirit, which warned him of his death, while he was taking his recreation in a boat, on which he said to the boatman: "Let us land, for a certainty one of us two will be drownèd to-day," which happened, for as they embarked at the port of Winchant he fell into the sea and was drowned, and his body being found a few days afterwards was interred in the church of Cherbourg'" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey," p. 40). NOTE B. _Vale Abbey_.--"The Abbey of Mont St. Michael was reduced in its revenues by Duke Richard of Normandy. The number of Benedictines was reduced in proportion to the reduction of the revenue, and those who were driven from thence, retiring to Guernsey, founded in the year 962 an abbey in that part of the island now called the Close of the Vale. This they called the Abbey of St. Michael" (Wm. Berry, "History of Guernsey," p. 52). NOTE C. _Vale Castle_.--"Towards the end of the tenth century the Danes, or other piratical nations of Scandinavia, who had long been quiet, commenced their depredations. They did not attempt to attack Normandy, but the new settlement of the Benedictines in Guernsey did not escape their cruelty, but was greatly injured by them. They frequently visited the island, and, according to the insular MSS., plundered the defenceless inhabitants, carrying off their corn and cattle. In order to shelter them, a fair and stately castle was built on an eminence in the vale, calculated to receive, even three centuries later, not only the inhabitants of the island but also their cattle and effects. It was called St. Michael's Castle" (_Ibid._, p. 56). NOTE D. _Visit of Duke Robert_.--"In 1028 Robert Duke of Normandy espoused the cause of his two cousins Alfred and Edward, claiming the throne of England. On Canute's refusal to make restitution, Robert fitted out a powerful armament, and embarked at the head of a numerous army, intending to land on the coast of Sussex. A great storm arose the day after leaving Fécamp, his whole fleet was dispersed, and many ships totally lost. Robert's vessel and about twenty others were forced down the channel as far as Guernsey, and would have been dashed to pieces on the rocky coast of the island had not the fishermen, seeing them in distress, ventured out in boats to their assistance, and piloted them into a bay on the north side of the Vale, where they rode in safety. The Duke was brought ashore and lodged at the Abbey of St. Michael.... To reward the Abbot for his hospitality and attention, he gave them all the lands within the Close of the Vale in fee to him and his successors, Abbots of St. Michael, by the title of Fief or Manor of St. Michael, with leave to extend the same without the Close of the Vale towards the north-west.... And to recompense the islanders for saving him and his fleet, upon their representing to him how they had been plundered by pirates, he determined to leave behind him two of his most able engineers with a sufficient number of skilled workmen under them, who had embarked with him for the intended descent upon England, to finish the Castle of St. Michael in the Vale, and to build such other fortresses as might be found necessary for protecting the inhabitants. The Duke left a fortnight after his arrival, and the place where his fleet lay has been ever since called L'Ancresse" (Wm. Berry, "History of Guernsey," p. 58). NOTE E. _The Sarrazins in Guernsey_.--"According to tradition the northern freebooters, who were termed by the old French historians Sarrazins, Anglicé Saracens, established themselves in Guernsey, where they erected a stronghold, which was named, probably after their leader, _Le Chastel du Grand Jeffroi,_ and it appears also to have borne the name of the Chastel of the Grand Sarrazin. This castle was situated on an eminence nearly in the centre of the island, and commanded an extensive view of the ocean, and of many of the landing-places as well as of the coast of Normandy" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey," p. 21). NOTE F. _The Expedition of Samson d'Anville_.--"[Guernsey], in the year 1061, is stated to have been attacked by a new race of pirates, who, according to Berry (p. 63), issued from the southern ports of France bordering on the Bay of Biscay. Duke William was at Valognes when he received information of this attack, and he immediately sent troops under the command of his squire, Sampson d'Anville, who landed at the harbour of St. Samson. Being joined by the islanders who had sought refuge at the Castle of the Vale and other retreats, he defeated the invaders with much slaughter. Duke William is also said to have made large concessions of land in Guernsey to d'Anville" (F.B. Tupper, "History of Guernsey," p. 41). PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. 
17973	----	Transcribed from the 1906 J. Thomson edition by David Price, ccx074@coventry.ac.uk THE WORLD OF ROMANCE _BEING CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE_ OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE MAGAZINE, 1856 _By_ WILLIAM MORRIS LONDON: _Published by_ J. THOMSON _at_ 10, CRAVEN GARDENS, WIMBLEDON, S. W. MCMVI _In the tales . . . the world is one of pure romance. Mediaeval customs, mediaeval buildings, the mediaeval Catholic religion, the general social framework of the thirteenth or fourteenth century, are assumed throughout, but it would be idle to attempt to place them in any known age or country. . . Their author in later years thought, or seemed to think, lightly of them, calling them crude (as they are) and very young (as they are). But they are nevertheless comparable in quality to Keats's 'Endymion' as rich in imagination, as irregularly gorgeous in language, as full in every vein and fibre of the sweet juices and ferment of the spring_.--J. W. MACKAIL In his last year at Oxford, Morris established, assuming the entire financial responsibility, the 'Oxford and Cambridge Magazine,' written almost entirely by himself and his college friends, but also numbering Rossetti among its contributors. Like most college ventures, its career was short, ending with its twelfth issue in December, 1856. In this magazine Morris first found his strength as a writer, and though his subsequent literary achievements made him indifferent to this earlier work, its virility and wealth of romantic imagination justify its rescue from oblivion. The article on Amiens, intended originally as the first of a series, is included in this volume as an illustration of Morris's power to clothe things actual with the glamour of Romance. THE STORY OF THE UNKNOWN CHURCH I was the master-mason of a church that was built more than six hundred years ago; it is now two hundred years since that church vanished from the face of the earth; it was destroyed utterly,--no fragment of it was left; not even the great pillars that bore up the tower at the cross, where the choir used to join the nave. No one knows now even where it stood, only in this very autumn-tide, if you knew the place, you would see the heaps made by the earth-covered ruins heaving the yellow corn into glorious waves, so that the place where my church used to be is as beautiful now as when it stood in all its splendour. I do not remember very much about the land where my church was; I have quite forgotten the name of it, but I know it was very beautiful, and even now, while I am thinking of it, comes a flood of old memories, and I almost seem to see it again,--that old beautiful land! only dimly do I see it in spring and summer and winter, but I see it in autumn-tide clearly now; yes, clearer, clearer, oh! so bright and glorious! yet it was beautiful too in spring, when the brown earth began to grow green: beautiful in summer, when the blue sky looked so much bluer, if you could hem a piece of it in between the new white carving; beautiful in the solemn starry nights, so solemn that it almost reached agony--the awe and joy one had in their great beauty. But of all these beautiful times, I remember the whole only of autumn-tide; the others come in bits to me; I can think only of parts of them, but all of autumn; and of all days and nights in autumn, I remember one more particularly. That autumn day the church was nearly finished and the monks, for whom we were building the church, and the people, who lived in the town hard by, crowded round us oftentimes to watch us carving. Now the great Church, and the buildings of the Abbey where the monks lived, were about three miles from the town, and the town stood on a hill overlooking the rich autumn country: it was girt about with great walls that had overhanging battlements, and towers at certain places all along the walls, and often we could see from the churchyard or the Abbey garden, the flash of helmets and spears, and the dim shadowy waving of banners, as the knights and lords and men-at-arms passed to and fro along the battlements; and we could see too in the town the three spires of the three churches; and the spire of the Cathedral, which was the tallest of the three, was gilt all over with gold, and always at night-time a great lamp shone from it that hung in the spire midway between the roof of the church and the cross at the top of the spire. The Abbey where we built the Church was not girt by stone walls, but by a circle of poplar trees, and whenever a wind passed over them, were it ever so little a breath, it set them all a-ripple; and when the wind was high, they bowed and swayed very low, and the wind, as it lifted the leaves, and showed their silvery white sides, or as again in the lulls of it, it let them drop, kept on changing the trees from green to white, and white to green; moreover, through the boughs and trunks of the poplars, we caught glimpses of the great golden corn sea, waving, waving, waving for leagues and leagues; and among the corn grew burning scarlet poppies, and blue corn-flowers; and the corn-flowers were so blue, that they gleamed, and seemed to burn with a steady light, as they grew beside the poppies among the gold of the wheat. Through the corn sea ran a blue river, and always green meadows and lines of tall poplars followed its windings. The old Church had been burned, and that was the reason why the monks caused me to build the new one; the buildings of the Abbey were built at the same time as the burned-down Church, more than a hundred years before I was born, and they were on the north side of the Church, and joined to it by a cloister of round arches, and in the midst of the cloister was a lawn, and in the midst of that lawn, a fountain of marble, carved round about with flowers and strange beasts, and at the edge of the lawn, near the round arches, were a great many sun-flowers that were all in blossom on that autumn day, and up many of the pillars of the cloister crept passion-flowers and roses. Then farther from the Church, and past the cloister and its buildings, were many detached buildings, and a great garden round them, all within the circle of the poplar trees; in the garden were trellises covered over with roses, and convolvolus, and the great-leaved fiery nasturium; and specially all along by the poplar trees were there trellises, but on these grew nothing but deep crimson roses; the hollyhocks too were all out in blossom at that time, great spires of pink, and orange, and red, and white, with their soft, downy leaves. I said that nothing grew on the trellises by the poplars but crimson roses, but I was not quite right, for in many places the wild flowers had crept into the garden from without; lush green briony, with green-white blossoms, that grows so fast, one could almost think that we see it grow, and deadly nightshade, La bella donna, O! so beautiful; red berry, and purple, yellow-spiked flower, and deadly, cruel-looking, dark green leaf, all growing together in the glorious days of early autumn. And in the midst of the great garden was a conduit, with its sides carved with histories from the Bible, and there was on it too, as on the fountain in the cloister, much carving of flowers and strange beasts. Now the Church itself was surrounded on every side but the north by the cemetery, and there were many graves there, both of monks and of laymen, and often the friends of those, whose bodies lay there, had planted flowers about the graves of those they loved. I remember one such particularly, for at the head of it was a cross of carved wood, and at the foot of it, facing the cross, three tall sun-flowers; then in the midst of the cemetery was a cross of stone, carved on one side with the Crucifixion of our Lord Jesus Christ, and on the other with our Lady holding the Divine Child. So that day, that I specially remember, in autumn-tide, when the Church was nearly finished, I was carving in the central porch of the west front; (for I carved all those bas-reliefs in the west front with my own hand;) beneath me my sister Margaret was carving at the flower-work, and the little quatrefoils that carry the signs of the zodiac and emblems of the months: now my sister Margaret was rather more than twenty years old at that time, and she was very beautiful, with dark brown hair and deep calm violet eyes. I had lived with her all my life, lived with her almost alone latterly, for our father and mother died when she was quite young, and I loved her very much, though I was not thinking of her just then, as she stood beneath me carving. Now the central porch was carved with a bas-relief of the Last Judgment, and it was divided into three parts by horizontal bands of deep flower-work. In the lowest division, just over the doors, was carved The Rising of the Dead; above were angels blowing long trumpets, and Michael the Archangel weighing the souls, and the blessed led into heaven by angels, and the lost into hell by the devil; and in the topmost division was the Judge of the world. All the figures in the porch were finished except one, and I remember when I woke that morning my exultation at the thought of my Church being so nearly finished; I remember, too, how a kind of misgiving mingled with the exultation, which, try all I could, I was unable to shake off; I thought then it was a rebuke for my pride, well, perhaps it was. The figure I had to carve was Abraham, sitting with a blossoming tree on each side of him, holding in his two hands the corners of his great robe, so that it made a mighty fold, wherein, with their hands crossed over their breasts, were the souls of the faithful, of whom he was called Father: I stood on the scaffolding for some time, while Margaret's chisel worked on bravely down below. I took mine in my hand, and stood so, listening to the noise of the masons inside, and two monks of the Abbey came and stood below me, and a knight, holding his little daughter by the hand, who every now and then looked up at him, and asked him strange questions. I did not think of these long, but began to think of Abraham, yet I could not think of him sitting there, quiet and solemn, while the Judgment-Trumpet was being blown; I rather thought of him as he looked when he chased those kings so far; riding far ahead of any of his company, with his mail-hood off his head, and lying in grim folds down his back, with the strong west wind blowing his wild black hair far out behind him, with the wind rippling the long scarlet pennon of his lance; riding there amid the rocks and the sands alone; with the last gleam of the armour of the beaten kings disappearing behind the winding of the pass; with his company a long, long way behind, quite out of sight, though their trumpets sounded faintly among the clefts of the rocks; and so I thought I saw him, till in his fierce chase he lept, horse and man, into a deep river, quiet, swift, and smooth; and there was something in the moving of the water-lilies as the breast of the horse swept them aside, that suddenly took away the thought of Abraham and brought a strange dream of lands I had never seen; and the first was of a place where I was quite alone, standing by the side of a river, and there was the sound of singing a very long way off, but no living thing of any kind could be seen, and the land was quite flat, quite without hills, and quite without trees too, and the river wound very much, making all kinds of quaint curves, and on the side where I stood there grew nothing but long grass, but on the other side grew, quite on to the horizon, a great sea of red corn-poppies, only paths of white lilies wound all among them, with here and there a great golden sun-flower. So I looked down at the river by my feet, and saw how blue it was, and how, as the stream went swiftly by, it swayed to and fro the long green weeds, and I stood and looked at the river for long, till at last I felt some one touch me on the shoulder, and, looking round, I saw standing by me my friend Amyot, whom I love better than any one else in the world, but I thought in my dream that I was frightened when I saw him, for his face had changed so, it was so bright and almost transparent, and his eyes gleamed and shone as I had never seen them do before. Oh! he was so wondrously beautiful, so fearfully beautiful! and as I looked at him the distant music swelled, and seemed to come close up to me, and then swept by us, and fainted away, at last died off entirely; and then I felt sick at heart, and faint, and parched, and I stooped to drink of the water of the river, and as soon as the water touched my lips, lo! the river vanished, and the flat country with its poppies and lilies, and I dreamed that I was in a boat by myself again, floating in an almost land-locked bay of the northern sea, under a cliff of dark basalt. I was lying on my back in the boat, looking up at the intensely blue sky, and a long low swell from the outer sea lifted the boat up and let it fall again and carried it gradually nearer and nearer towards the dark cliff; and as I moved on, I saw at last, on the top of the cliff, a castle, with many towers, and on the highest tower of the castle there was a great white banner floating, with a red chevron on it, and three golden stars on the chevron; presently I saw too on one of the towers, growing in a cranny of the worn stones, a great bunch of golden and blood-red wall-flowers, and I watched the wall-flowers and banner for long; when suddenly I heard a trumpet blow from the castle, and saw a rush of armed men on to the battlements, and there was a fierce fight, till at last it was ended, and one went to the banner and pulled it down, and cast it over the cliff in to the sea, and it came down in long sweeps, with the wind making little ripples in it;--slowly, slowly it came, till at last it fell over me and covered me from my feet till over my breast, and I let it stay there and looked again at the castle, and then I saw that there was an amber-coloured banner floating over the castle in place of the red chevron, and it was much larger than the other: also now, a man stood on the battlements, looking towards me; he had a tilting helmet on, with the visor down, and an amber-coloured surcoat over his armour: his right hand was ungauntletted, and he held it high above his head, and in his hand was the bunch of wallflowers that I had seen growing on the wall; and his hand was white and small like a woman's, for in my dream I could see even very far-off things much clearer than we see real material things on the earth: presently he threw the wallflowers over the cliff, and they fell in the boat just behind my head, and then I saw, looking down from the battlements of the castle, Amyot. He looked down towards me very sorrowfully, I thought, but, even as in the other dream, said nothing; so I thought in my dream that I wept for very pity, and for love of him, for he looked as a man just risen from a long illness, and who will carry till he dies a dull pain about with him. He was very thin, and his long black hair drooped all about his face, as he leaned over the battlements looking at me: he was quite pale, and his cheeks were hollow, but his eyes large, and soft, and sad. So I reached out my arms to him, and suddenly I was walking with him in a lovely garden, and we said nothing, for the music which I had heard at first was sounding close to us now, and there were many birds in the boughs of the trees: oh, such birds! gold and ruby, and emerald, but they sung not at all, but were quite silent, as though they too were listening to the music. Now all this time Amyot and I had been looking at each other, but just then I turned my head away from him, and as soon as I did so, the music ended with a long wail, and when I turned again Amyot was gone; then I felt even more sad and sick at heart than I had before when I was by the river, and I leaned against a tree, and put my hands before my eyes. When I looked again the garden was gone, and I knew not where I was, and presently all my dreams were gone. The chips were flying bravely from the stone under my chisel at last, and all my thoughts now were in my carving, when I heard my name, "Walter," called, and when I looked down I saw one standing below me, whom I had seen in my dreams just before--Amyot. I had no hopes of seeing him for a long time, perhaps I might never see him again, I thought, for he was away (as I thought) fighting in the holy wars, and it made me almost beside myself to see him standing close by me in the flesh. I got down from my scaffolding as soon as I could, and all thoughts else were soon drowned in the joy of having him by me; Margaret, too, how glad she must have been, for she had been betrothed to him for some time before he went to the wars, and he had been five years away; five years! and how we had thought of him through those many weary days! how often his face had come before me! his brave, honest face, the most beautiful among all the faces of men and women I have ever seen. Yes, I remember how five years ago I held his hand as we came together out of the cathedral of that great, far-off city, whose name I forget now; and then I remember the stamping of the horses' feet; I remember how his hand left mine at last, and then, some one looking back at me earnestly as they all rode on together--looking back, with his hand on the saddle behind him, while the trumpets sang in long solemn peals as they all rode on together, with the glimmer of arms and the fluttering of banners, and the clinking of the rings of the mail, that sounded like the falling of many drops of water into the deep, still waters of some pool that the rocks nearly meet over; and the gleam and flash of the swords, and the glimmer of the lance-heads and the flutter of the rippled banners that streamed out from them, swept past me, and were gone, and they seemed like a pageant in a dream, whose meaning we know not; and those sounds too, the trumpets, and the clink of the mail, and the thunder of the horse-hoofs, they seemed dream-like too--and it was all like a dream that he should leave me, for we had said that we should always be together; but he went away, and now he is come back again. We were by his bed-side, Margaret and I; I stood and leaned over him, and my hair fell sideways over my face and touched his face; Margaret kneeled beside me, quivering in every limb, not with pain, I think, but rather shaken by a passion of earnest prayer. After some time (I know not how long), I looked up from his face to the window underneath which he lay; I do not know what time of the day it was, but I know that it was a glorious autumn day, a day soft with melting, golden haze: a vine and a rose grew together, and trailed half across the window, so that I could not see much of the beautiful blue sky, and nothing of town or country beyond; the vine leaves were touched with red here and there, and three over-blown roses, light pink roses, hung amongst them. I remember dwelling on the strange lines the autumn had made in red on one of the gold-green vine leaves, and watching one leaf of one of the over-blown roses, expecting it to fall every minute; but as I gazed, and felt disappointed that the rose leaf had not fallen yet, I felt my pain suddenly shoot through me, and I remembered what I had lost; and then came bitter, bitter dreams,--dreams which had once made me happy,--dreams of the things I had hoped would be, of the things that would never be now; they came between the fair vine leaves and rose blossoms, and that which lay before the window; they came as before, perfect in colour and form, sweet sounds and shapes. But now in every one was something unutterably miserable; they would not go away, they put out the steady glow of the golden haze, the sweet light of the sun through the vine leaves, the soft leaning of the full blown roses. I wandered in them for a long time; at last I felt a hand put me aside gently, for I was standing at the head of--of the bed; then some one kissed my forehead, and words were spoken--I know not what words. The bitter dreams left me for the bitterer reality at last; for I had found him that morning lying dead, only the morning after I had seen him when he had come back from his long absence--I had found him lying dead, with his hands crossed downwards, with his eyes closed, as though the angels had done that for him; and now when I looked at him he still lay there, and Margaret knelt by him with her face touching his: she was not quivering now, her lips moved not at all as they had done just before; and so, suddenly those words came to my mind which she had spoken when she kissed me, and which at the time I had only heard with my outward hearing, for she had said, "Walter, farewell, and Christ keep you; but for me, I must be with him, for so I promised him last night that I would never leave him any more, and God will let me go." And verily Margaret and Amyot did go, and left me very lonely and sad. It was just beneath the westernmost arch of the nave, there I carved their tomb: I was a long time carving it; I did not think I should be so long at first, and I said, "I shall die when I have finished carving it," thinking that would be a very short time. But so it happened after I had carved those two whom I loved, lying with clasped hands like husband and wife above their tomb, that I could not yet leave carving it; and so that I might be near them I became a monk, and used to sit in the choir and sing, thinking of the time when we should all be together again. And as I had time I used to go to the westernmost arch of the nave and work at the tomb that was there under the great, sweeping arch; and in process of time I raised a marble canopy that reached quite up to the top of the arch, and I painted it too as fair as I could, and carved it all about with many flowers and histories, and in them I carved the faces of those I had known on earth (for I was not as one on earth now, but seemed quite away out of the world). And as I carved, sometimes the monks and other people too would come and gaze, and watch how the flowers grew; and sometimes too as they gazed, they would weep for pity, knowing how all had been. So my life passed, and I lived in that Abbey for twenty years after he died, till one morning, quite early, when they came into the church for matins, they found me lying dead, with my chisel in my hand, underneath the last lily of the tomb. LINDENBORG POOL. {21} I read once in lazy humour Thorpe's _Northern Mythology_ on a cold May night when the north wind was blowing; in lazy humour, but when I came to the tale that is here amplified there was something in it that fixed my attention and made me think of it; and whether I would or no, my thoughts ran in this way, as here follows. So I felt obliged to write, and wrote accordingly, and by the time I had done the grey light filled all my room; so I put out my candles, and went to bed, not without fear and trembling, for the morning twilight is so strange and lonely. This is what I wrote. * * * * * Yes, on that dark night, with that wild unsteady north wind howling, though it was May time, it was doubtless dismal enough in the forest, where the boughs clashed eerily, and where, as the wanderer in that place hurried along, strange forms half showed themselves to him, the more fearful because half seen in that way: dismal enough doubtless on wide moors where the great wind had it all its own way: dismal on the rivers creeping on and on between the marsh-lands, creeping through the willows, the water trickling through the locks, sounding faintly in the gusts of the wind. Yet surely nowhere so dismal as by the side of that still pool. I threw myself down on the ground there, utterly exhausted with my struggle against the wind, and with bearing the fathoms and fathoms of the heavily-leaded plumb-line that lay beside me. Fierce as the rain was, it could not raise the leaden waters of that fearful pool, defended as they were by the steep banks of dripping yellow clay, striped horribly here and there with ghastly uncertain green and blue. They said no man could fathom it; and yet all round the edges of it grew a rank crop of dreary reeds and segs, some round, some flat, but none ever flowering as other things flowered, never dying and being renewed, but always the same stiff array of unbroken reeds and segs, some round, some flat. Hard by me were two trees leafless and ugly, made, it seemed, only for the wind to go through with a wild sough on such nights as these; and for a mile from that place were no other trees. True, I could not see all this at that time, then, in the dark night, but I knew well that it was all there; for much had I studied this pool in the day-time, trying to learn the secret of it; many hours I had spent there, happy with a kind of happiness, because forgetful of the past. And even now, could I not hear the wind going through those trees, as it never went through any trees before or since? could I not see gleams of the dismal moor? could I not hear those reeds just taken by the wind, knocking against each other, the flat ones scraping all along the round ones? Could I not hear, moreover, the slow trickling of the land-springs through the clay banks? The cold, chill horror of the place was too much for me; I had never been there by night before, nobody had for quite a long time, and now to come on such a night! If there had been any moon, the place would have looked more as it did by day; besides, the moon shining on water is always so beautiful, on any water even: if it had been starlight, one could have looked at the stars and thought of the time when those fields were fertile and beautiful (for such a time was, I am sure), when the cowslips grew among the grass, and when there was promise of yellow-waving corn stained with poppies; that time which the stars had seen, but which we had never seen, which even they would never see again--past time! Ah! what was that which touched my shoulder?--Yes, I see, only a dead leaf.--Yes, to be here on this eighth of May too of all nights in the year, the night of that awful day when ten years ago I slew him, not undeservedly, God knows, yet how dreadful it was!--Another leaf! and another!--Strange, those trees have been dead this hundred years, I should think. How sharp the wind is too, just as if I were moving along and meeting it;--why, I _am_ moving! what then, I am not there after all; where am I then? there are the trees; no, they are freshly-planted oak saplings, the very ones that those withered last-year's leaves were blown on me from. I have been dreaming then, and am on my road to the lake: but what a young wood! I must have lost my way; I never saw all this before. Well--I will walk on stoutly. May the Lord help my senses! I am _riding_!--on a mule; a bell tinkles somewhere on him; the wind blows something about with a flapping sound: something? in heaven's name, what? _My_ long black robes.--Why--when I left my house I was clad in serviceable broadcloth of the nineteenth century. I shall go mad--I am mad--I am gone to the devil--I have lost my identity; who knows in what place, in what age of the world I am living now? Yet I will be calm; I have seen all these things before, in pictures surely, or something like them. I am resigned, since it is no worse than that. I am a priest then, in the dim, far-off thirteenth century, riding, about midnight I should say, to carry the blessed Sacrament to some dying man. Soon I found that I was not alone; a man was riding close to me on a horse; he was fantastically dressed, more so than usual for that time, being striped all over in vertical stripes of yellow and green, with quaint birds like exaggerated storks in different attitudes counter-changed on the stripes; all this I saw by the lantern he carried, in the light of which his debauched black eyes quite flashed. On he went, unsteadily rolling, very drunk, though it was the thirteenth century, but being plainly used to that, he sat his horse fairly well. I watched him in my proper nineteenth-century character, with insatiable curiosity and intense amusement; but as a quiet priest of a long-past age, with contempt and disgust enough, not unmixed with fear and anxiety. He roared out snatches of doggrel verse as he went along, drinking songs, hunting songs, robbing songs, lust songs, in a voice that sounded far and far above the roaring of the wind, though that was high, and rolled along the dark road that his lantern cast spikes of light along ever so far, making the devils grin: and meanwhile I, the priest, glanced from him wrathfully every now and then to That which I carried very reverently in my hand, and my blood curdled with shame and indignation; but being a shrewd priest, I knew well enough that a sermon would be utterly thrown away on a man who was drunk every day in the year, and, more especially, very drunk then. So I held my peace, saying only under my breath: "Dixit incipiens in corde suo, Non est Deus. Corrupti sunt et abominables facti sunt in studiis suis; non est qui faciat bonum, non est usque ad unum: sepulchrum patens est guttur eorum; linguis suis dolose agebunt, venenum aspidum sub labiis eorum. Dominum non invocaverunt; illic trepid-averunt timore, ubi non erat timor. Quis dabit ex Sion salutare Israel?" and so I went on, thinking too at times about the man who was dying and whom I was soon to see: he had been a bold bad plundering baron, but was said lately to have altered his way of life, having seen a miracle or some such thing; he had departed to keep a tournament near his castle lately, but had been brought back sore wounded, so this drunken servant, with some difficulty and much unseasonable merriment, had made me understand, and now lay at the point of death, brought about by unskilful tending and such like. Then I thought of his face--a bad face, very bad, retreating forehead, small twinkling eyes, projecting lower jaw; and such a voice, too, he had! like the grunt of a bear mostly. Now don't you think it strange that this face should be the same, actually the same as the face of my enemy, slain that very day ten years ago? I did not hate him, either that man or the baron, but I wanted to see as little of him as possible, and I hoped that the ceremony would soon be over, and that I should be at liberty again. And so with these thoughts and many others, but all thought strangely double, we went along, the varlet being too drunk to take much notice of me, only once, as he was singing some doggrel, like this, I think, making allowances for change of language and so forth: The Duke went to Treves On the first of November; His wife stay'd at Bonn-- Let me see, I remember; When the Duke came back To look for his wife, We came from Cologne, And took the Duke's life; We hung him mid high Between spire and pavement, From their mouths dropp'd the cabbage Of the carles in amazement. "Boo--hoo! Church rat! Church mouse! Hilloa, Priest! have you brought the pyx, eh?" From some cause or other he seemed to think this an excellent joke, for he almost shrieked with laughter as we went along; but by this time we had reached the castle. Challenge, and counter-challenge, and we passed the outermost gate and began to go through some of the courts, in which stood lime trees here and there, growing green tenderly with that Maytime, though the north wind bit so keenly. How strange again! as I went farther, there seemed no doubt of it; here in the aftertime came that pool, how I knew not; but in the few moments that we were riding from the outer gate to the castle-porch I thought so intensely over the probable cause for the existence of that pool, that (how strange!) I could almost have thought I was back again listening to the oozing of the land-springs through the high clay banks there. I was wakened from that before it grew too strong, by the glare of many torches, and, dismounting, found myself in the midst of some twenty attendants, with flushed faces and wildly sparkling eyes, which they were vainly trying to soften to due solemnity; mock solemnity I had almost said, for they did not seem to think it necessary to appear really solemn, and had difficulty enough apparently in not prolonging indefinitely the shout of laughter with which they had at first greeted me. "Take the holy Father to my Lord," said one at last, "and we will go with him." So they led me up the stairs into the gorgeously-furnished chamber; the light from the heavy waxen candles was pleasant to my eyes after the glare and twisted red smoke of the pine-torches; but all the essences scattered about the chamber were not enough to conquer the fiery breath of those about me. I put on the alb and stole they brought me, and, before I went up to the sick man, looked round on those that were in the rooms; for the rooms opened one into the other by many doors, across some of which hung gorgeous tapestry; all the rooms seemed to have many people, for some stood at these doors, and some passed to and fro, swinging aside the heavy hangings; once several people at once, seemingly quite by accident, drew aside almost all the veils from the doors, and showed an endless perspective of gorgeousness. And at these things my heart fainted for horror. "Had not the Jews of late," thought I, the priest, "been very much in the habit of crucifying children in mockery of the Holiest, holding gorgeous feasts while they beheld the poor innocents die? These men are Atheists, you are in a trap, yet quit yourself like a man." "Ah, sharp one," thought I, the author, "where are you at last? try to pray as a test.--Well, well, these things are strangely like devils.--O man, you have talked about bravery often, now is your time to practise it: once for all trust in God, or I fear you are lost." Moreover it increased my horror that there was no appearance of a woman in all these rooms; and yet was there not? there, those things--I looked more intently; yes, no doubt they were women, but all dressed like men;--what a ghastly place! "O man! do your duty," my angel said; then in spite of the bloodshot eyes of man and woman there, in spite of their bold looks, they quailed before me. I stepped up to the bed-side, where under the velvet coverlid lay the dying man, his small sparkling eyes only (but dulled now by coming death) showing above the swathings. I was about to kneel down by the bed-side to confess him, when one of those--things--called out (now they had just been whispering and sniggering together, but the priest in his righteous, brave scorn would not look at them; the humbled author, half fearful, half trustful, dared not) so one called out: "Sir Priest, for three days our master has spoken no articulate word; you must pass over all particulars; ask for a sign only." Such a strange ghastly suspicion flashed across me just then; but I choked it, and asked the dying man if he repented of his sins, and if he believed all that was necessary to salvation, and, if so, to make a sign, if he were able: the man moved a little and groaned; so I took it for a sign, as he was clearly incapable either of speaking or moving, and accordingly began the service for the administration of the sacraments; and as I began, those behind me and through all the rooms (I know it was through all of them) began to move about, in a bewildering dance-like motion, mazy and intricate; yes, and presently music struck up through all those rooms, music and singing, lively and gay; many of the tunes I had heard before (in the nineteenth century) I could have sworn to half a dozen of the polkas. The rooms grew fuller and fuller of people; they passed thick and fast between the rooms, and the hangings were continually rustling; one fat old man with a big belly crept under the bed where I was, and wheezed and chuckled there, laughing and talking to one who stooped down and lifted up the hangings to look at him. Still more and more people talking and singing and laughing and twirling about, till my brain went round and round, and I scarce knew what I did; yet, somehow, I could not leave off; I dared not even look over my shoulder, fearing lest I should see something so horrible as to make me die. So I got on with the service, and at last took the pyx, and took thereout the sacred wafer, whereupon was a deep silence through all those rooms, which troubled me, I think, more than all which had gone before, for I knew well it did not mean reverence. I held It up, that which I counted so holy, when lo! great laughter, echoing like thunder-claps through all the rooms, not dulled by the veiling hangings, for they were all raised up together, and, with a slow upheaval of the rich clothes among which he lay, with a sound that was half snarl, half grunt, with a helpless body swathed in bedclothes, a huge _swine_ that I had been shriving tore from me the Holy Thing, deeply scoring my hand as he did so with tusk and tooth, so that the red blood ran quick on to the floor. Therewithall he rolled down on to the floor, and lay there helplessly, only able to roll to and fro, because of the swathings. Then right madly skirled the intolerable laughter, rising to shrieks that were fearfuller than any scream of agony I ever heard; the hundreds of people through all those grand rooms danced and wheeled about me, shrieking, hemming me in with interlaced arms, the women loosing their long hair and thrusting forward their horribly-grinning unsexed faces toward me till I felt their hot breath. Oh! how I hated them all! almost hated all mankind for their sakes; how I longed to get right quit of all men; among whom, as it seemed, all sacredest things even were made a mock of. I looked about me fiercely, I sprang forward, and clutched a sword from the gilded belt of one of those who stood near me; with savage blows that threw the blood about the gilded walls and their hangings right over the heads of those--things--I cleared myself from them, and tore down the great stairs madly, yet could not, as in a dream, go fast enough, because of my passion. I was out in the courtyard, among the lime trees soon, the north wind blowing freshly on my heated forehead in that dawn. The outer gate was locked and bolted; I stooped and raised a great stone and sent it at the lock with all my strength, and I was stronger than ten men then; iron and oak gave way before it, and through the ragged splinters I tore in reckless fury, like a wild horse through a hazel hedge. And no one had pursued me. I knelt down on the dear green turf outside, and thanked God with streaming eyes for my deliverance, praying him forgiveness for my unwilling share in that night's mockery. Then I arose and turned to go, but even as I did so I heard a roar as if the world were coming in two, and looking toward the castle, saw, not a castle, but a great cloud of white lime-dust swaying this way and that in the gusts of the wind. Then while the east grew bright there arose a hissing, gurgling noise, that swelled into the roar and wash of many waters, and by then the sun had risen a deep black lake lay before my feet. * * * * * And this is how I tried to fathom the Lindenborg Pool. * * * * * _No memory labours longer, from the deep_ _Gold mines of thought to lift the hidden ore_ _That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep_ _To gather and tell o'er_ _Each little sound and sight_. A DREAM. I dreamed once, that four men sat by the winter fire talking and telling tales, in a house that the wind howled round. And one of them, the eldest, said: "When I was a boy, before you came to this land, that bar of red sand rock, which makes a fall in our river, had only just been formed; for it used to stand above the river in a great cliff, tunnelled by a cave about midway between the green-growing grass and the green-flowing river; and it fell one night, when you had not yet come to this land, no, nor your fathers. "Now, concerning this cliff, or pike rather (for it was a tall slip of rock and not part of a range), many strange tales were told; and my father used to say, that in his time many would have explored that cave, either from covetousness (expecting to find gold therein ), or from that love of wonders which most young men have, but fear kept them back. Within the memory of man, however, some had entered, and, so men said, were never seen on earth again; but my father said that the tales told concerning such, very far from deterring him (then quite a youth) from the quest of this cavern, made him all the more earnestly long to go; so that one day in his fear, my grandfather, to prevent him, stabbed him in the shoulder, so that he was obliged to keep his bed for long; and somehow he never went, and died at last without ever having seen the inside of the cavern. "My father told me many wondrous tales about the place, whereof for a long time I have been able to remember nothing; yet, by some means or another, a certain story has grown up in my heart, which I will tell you something of; a story which no living creature ever told me, though I do not remember the time when I knew it not. Yes, I will tell you some of it, not all perhaps, but as much as I am allowed to tell." The man stopped and pondered awhile, leaning over the fire where the flames slept under the caked coal: he was an old man, and his hair was quite white. He spoke again presently. "And I have fancied sometimes, that in some way, how I know not, I am mixed up with the strange story I am going to tell you." Again he ceased, and gazed at the fire, bending his head down till his beard touched his knees; then, rousing himself, said in a changed voice (for he had been speaking dreamily hitherto): "That strange-looking old house that you all know, with the limes and yew- trees before it, and the double line of very old yew-trees leading up from the gateway-tower to the porch--you know how no one will live there now because it is so eerie, and how even that bold bad lord that would come there, with his turbulent followers, was driven out in shame and disgrace by invisible agency. Well, in times past there dwelt in that house an old grey man, who was lord of that estate, his only daughter, and a young man, a kind of distant cousin of the house, whom the lord had brought up from a boy, as he was the orphan of a kinsman who had fallen in combat in his quarrel. Now, as the young knight and the young lady were both beautiful and brave, and loved beauty and good things ardently, it was natural enough that they should discover as they grew up that they were in love with one another; and afterwards, as they went on loving one another, it was, alas! not unnatural that they should sometimes have half- quarrels, very few and far between indeed, and slight to lookers-on, even while they lasted, but nevertheless intensely bitter and unhappy to the principal parties thereto. I suppose their love then, whatever it has grown to since, was not so all-absorbing as to merge all differences of opinion and feeling, for again there were such differences then. So, upon a time it happened, just when a great war had arisen, and Lawrence (for that was the knight's name) was sitting, and thinking of war, and his departure from home; sitting there in a very grave, almost a stern mood, that Ella, his betrothed, came in, gay and sprightly, in a humour that Lawrence often enough could little understand, and this time liked less than ever, yet the bare sight of her made him yearn for her full heart, which he was not to have yet; so he caught her by the hand, and tried to draw her down to him, but she let her hand lie loose in his, and did not answer the pressure in which his heart flowed to hers; then he arose and stood before her, face to face, but she drew back a little, yet he kissed her on the mouth and said, though a rising in his throat almost choked his voice, 'Ella, are you sorry I am going?' 'Yea,' she said, 'and nay, for you will shout my name among the sword flashes, and you will fight for me.' 'Yes,' he said, 'for love and duty, dearest.' 'For duty? ah! I think, Lawrence, if it were not for me, you would stay at home and watch the clouds, or sit under the linden trees singing dismal love ditties of your own making, dear knight: truly, if you turn out a great warrior, I too shall live in fame, for I am certainly the making of your desire to fight.' He let drop his hands from her shoulders, where he had laid them, and said, with a faint flush over his face, 'You wrong me, Ella, for, though I have never wished to fight for the mere love of fighting, and though,' (and here again he flushed a little) 'and though I am not, I well know, so free of the fear of death as a good man would be, yet for this duty's sake, which is really a higher love, Ella, love of God, I trust I would risk life, nay honour, even if not willingly, yet cheerfully at least.' 'Still duty, duty,' she said; 'you lay, Lawrence, as many people do, most stress on the point where you are weakest; moreover, those knights who in time past have done wild, mad things merely at their ladies' word, scarcely did so for duty; for they owed their lives to their country surely, to the cause of good, and should not have risked them for a whim, and yet you praised them the other day.' 'Did I?' said Lawrence; 'well, in a way they were much to be praised, for even blind love and obedience is well; but reasonable love, reasonable obedience is so far better as to be almost a different thing; yet, I think, if the knights did well partly, the ladies did altogether ill: for if they had faith in their lovers, and did this merely from a mad longing to see them do 'noble' deeds, then they had but little faith in God, Who can, and at His good pleasure does give time and opportunity to every man, if he will but watch for it, to serve Him with reasonable service, and gain love and all noble things in greater measure thereby: but if these ladies did as they did, that they might prove their knights, then surely did they lack faith both in God and man. I do not think that two friends even could live together on such terms, but for lovers,--ah! Ella, Ella, why do you look so at me? on this day, almost the last, we shall be together for long; Ella, your face is changed, your eyes--O Christ! help her and me, help her, good Lord.' 'Lawrence,' she said, speaking quickly and in jerks, 'dare you, for my sake, sleep this night in the cavern of the red pike? for I say to you that, faithful or not, I doubt your courage.' But she was startled when she saw him, and how the fiery blood rushed up to his forehead, then sank to his heart again, and his face became as pale as the face of a dead man; he looked at her and said, 'Yes, Ella, I will go now; for what matter where I go?' He turned and moved toward the door; he was almost gone, when that evil spirit left her, and she cried out aloud, passionately, eagerly: 'Lawrence, Lawrence, come back once more, if only to strike me dead with your knightly sword.' He hesitated, wavered, turned, and in another moment she was lying in his arms weeping into his hair. "'And yet, Ella, the spoken word, the thought of our hearts cannot be recalled, I must go, and go this night too, only promise one thing.' 'Dearest, what? you are always right!' 'Love, you must promise that if I come not again by to-morrow at moonrise, you will go to the red pike, and, having entered the cavern, go where God leads you, and seek me, and never leave that quest, even if it end not but with death.' 'Lawrence, how your heart beats! poor heart! are you afraid that I shall hesitate to promise to perform that which is the only thing I could do? I know I am not worthy to be with you, yet I must be with you in body or soul, or body and soul will die.' They sat silent, and the birds sang in the garden of lilies beyond; then said Ella again: 'Moreover, let us pray God to give us longer life, so that if our natural lives are short for the accomplishment of this quest, we may have more, yea, even many more lives.' 'He will, my Ella,' said Lawrence, 'and I think, nay, am sure that our wish will be granted; and I, too, will add a prayer, but will ask it very humbly, namely, that he will give me another chance or more to fight in His cause, another life to live instead of this failure.' 'Let us pray too that we may meet, however long the time be before our meeting,' she said; so they knelt down and prayed, hand fast locked in hand meantime; and afterwards they sat in that chamber facing the east, hard by the garden of lilies; and the sun fell from his noontide light gradually, lengthening the shadows, and when he sank below the sky-line all the sky was faint, tender, crimson on a ground of blue; the crimson faded too, and the moon began to rise, but when her golden rim first showed over the wooded hills, Lawrence arose; they kissed one long trembling kiss, and then he went and armed himself; and their lips did not meet again after that, for such a long, long time, so many weary years; for he had said: 'Ella, watch me from the porch, but touch me not again at this time; only, when the moon shows level with the lily-heads, go into the porch and watch me from thence.' "And he was gone;--you might have heard her heart beating while the moon very slowly rose, till it shone through the rose-covered trellises, level with the lily-heads; then she went to the porch and stood there,-- "And she saw him walking down toward the gateway-tower, clad in his mail- coat, with a bright, crestless helmet on his head, and his trenchant sword newly grinded, girt to his side; and she watched him going between the yew-trees, which began to throw shadows from the shining of the harvest moon. She stood there in the porch, and round by the corners of the eaves of it looked down towards her and the inside of the porch two serpent-dragons, carved in stone; and on their scales, and about their leering eyes, grew the yellow lichen; she shuddered as she saw them stare at her, and drew closer toward the half-open door; she, standing there, clothed in white from her throat till over her feet, altogether ungirdled; and her long yellow hair, without plait or band, fell down behind and lay along her shoulders, quietly, because the night was without wind, and she too was now standing scarcely moving a muscle. "She gazed down the line of the yew-trees, and watched how, as he went for the most part with a firm step, he yet shrank somewhat from the shadows of the yews; his long brown hair flowing downward, swayed with him as he walked; and the golden threads interwoven with it, as the fashion was with the warriors in those days, sparkled out from among it now and then; and the faint, far-off moonlight lit up the waves of his mail-coat; he walked fast, and was disappearing in the shadows of the trees near the moat, but turned before he was quite lost in them, and waved his ungauntletted hand; then she heard the challenge of the warder, the falling of the drawbridge, the swing of the heavy wicket-gate on its hinges; and, into the brightening lights, and deepening shadows of the moonlight he went from her sight; and she left the porch and went to the chapel, all that night praying earnestly there. "But he came not back again all the next day, and Ella wandered about that house pale, and fretting her heart away; so when night came and the moon, she arrayed herself in that same raiment that she had worn on the night before, and went toward the river and the red pike. "The broad moon shone right over it by the time she came to the river; the pike rose up from the other side, and she thought at first that she would have to go back again, cross over the bridge, and so get to it; but, glancing down on the river just as she turned, she saw a little boat fairly gilt and painted, and with a long slender paddle in it, lying on the water, stretching out its silken painter as the stream drew it downwards, she entered it, and taking the paddle made for the other side; the moon meanwhile turning the eddies to silver over the dark green water: she landed beneath the shadow of that great pile of sandstone, where the grass grew green, and the flowers sprung fair right up to the foot of the bare barren rock; it was cut in many steps till it reached the cave, which was overhung by creepers and matted grass; the stream swept the boat downwards, and Ella, her heart beating so as almost to stop her breath, mounted the steps slowly, slowly. She reached at last the platform below the cave, and turning, gave a long gaze at the moonlit country; 'her last,' she said; then she moved, and the cave hid her as the water of the warm seas close over the pearl-diver. "Just so the night before had it hidden Lawrence. And they never came back, they two:--never, the people say. I wonder what their love has grown to now; ah! they love, I know, but cannot find each other yet, I wonder also if they ever will." So spoke Hugh the white-haired. But he who sat over against him, a soldier as it seemed, black-bearded, with wild grey eyes that his great brows hung over far; he, while the others sat still, awed by some vague sense of spirits being very near them; this man, Giles, cried out--"Never? old Hugh, it is not so.--Speak! I cannot tell you how it happened, but I know it was not so, not so:--speak quick, Hugh! tell us all, all!" "Wait a little, my son, wait," said Hugh; "the people indeed said they never came back again at all, but I, but I--Ah! the time is long past over." So he was silent, and sank his head on his breast, though his old thin lips moved, as if he talked softly to himself, and the light of past days flickered in his eyes. Meanwhile Giles sat with his hands clasped finger over finger, tightly, "till the knuckles whitened;" his lips were pressed firmly together; his breast heaved as though it would burst, as though it must be rid of its secret. Suddenly he sprang up, and in a voice that was a solemn chant, began: "In full daylight, long ago, on a slumberously-wrathful, thunderous afternoon of summer;"--then across his chant ran the old man's shrill voice: "On an October day, packed close with heavy-lying mist, which was more than mere autumn-mist:"--the solemn stately chanting dropped, the shrill voice went on; Giles sank down again, and Hugh standing there, swaying to and fro to the measured ringing of his own shrill voice, his long beard moving with him, said:-- "On such a day, warm, and stifling so that one could scarcely breathe even down by the sea-shore, I went from bed to bed in the hospital of the pest-laden city with my soothing draughts and medicines. And there went with me a holy woman, her face pale with much watching; yet I think even without those same desolate lonely watchings her face would still have been pale. She was not beautiful, her face being somewhat peevish-looking; apt, she seemed, to be made angry by trifles, and, even on her errand of mercy, she spoke roughly to those she tended:--no, she was not beautiful, yet I could not help gazing at her, for her eyes were very beautiful and looked out from her ugly face as a fair maiden might look from a grim prison between the window-bars of it. "So, going through that hospital, I came to a bed at last, whereon lay one who had not been struck down by fever or plague, but had been smitten through the body with a sword by certain robbers, so that he had narrowly escaped death. Huge of frame, with stern suffering face he lay there; and I came to him, and asked him of his hurt, and how he fared, while the day grew slowly toward even, in that pest-chamber looking toward the west; the sister came to him soon and knelt down by his bed-side to tend him. "O Christ! As the sun went down on that dim misty day, the clouds and the thickly-packed mist cleared off, to let him shine on us, on that chamber of woes and bitter unpurifying tears; and the sunlight wrapped those two, the sick man and the ministering woman, shone on them--changed, changed utterly. Good Lord! How was I struck dumb, nay, almost blinded by that change; for there--yes there, while no man but I wondered; there, instead of the unloving nurse, knelt a wonderfully beautiful maiden, clothed all in white, and with long golden hair down her back. Tenderly she gazed at the wounded man, as her hands were put about his head, lifting it up from the pillow but a very little; and he no longer the grim, strong wounded man, but fair, and in the first bloom of youth; a bright polished helmet crowned his head, a mail-coat flowed over his breast, and his hair streamed down long from his head, while from among it here and there shone out threads of gold. "So they spake thus in a quiet tone: 'Body and soul together again, Ella, love; how long will it be now before the last time of all?' 'Long,' she said, 'but the years pass; talk no more, dearest, but let us think only, for the time is short, and our bodies call up memories, change love to better even than it was in the old time.' "Silence so, while you might count a hundred, then with a great sigh: 'Farewell, Ella, for long,'--'Farewell, Lawrence,' and the sun sank, all was as before. "But I stood at the foot of the bed pondering, till the sister coming to me, said: 'Master Physician, this is no time for dreaming; act--the patients are waiting, the fell sickness grows worse in this hot close air; feel'--(and she swung open the casement), 'the outer air is no fresher than the air inside; the wind blows dead toward the west, coming from the stagnant marshes; the sea is like a stagnant pool too, you can scarce hear the sound of the long, low surge breaking.' I turned from her and went up to the sick man, and said: 'Sir Knight, in spite of all the sickness about you, you yourself better strangely, and another month will see you with your sword girt to your side again.' 'Thanks, kind master Hugh,' he said, but impatiently, as if his mind were on other things, and he turned in his bed away from me restlessly. "And till late that night I ministered to the sick in that hospital; but when I went away, I walked down to the sea, and paced there to and fro over the hard sand: and the moon showed bloody with the hot mist, which the sea would not take on its bosom, though the dull east wind blew it onward continually. I walked there pondering till a noise from over the sea made me turn and look that way; what was that coming over the sea? Laus Deo! the WEST WIND: Hurrah! I feel the joy I felt then over again now, in all its intensity. How came it over the sea? first, far out to sea, so that it was only just visible under the red-gleaming moonlight, far out to sea, while the mists above grew troubled, and wavered, a long level bar of white; it grew nearer quickly, it gathered form, strange, misty, intricate form--the ravelled foam of the green sea; then oh! hurrah! I was wrapped in it,--the cold salt spray--drenched with it, blinded by it, and when I could see again, I saw the great green waves rising, nodding and breaking, all coming on together; and over them from wave to wave leaped the joyous WEST WIND; and the mist and the plague clouds were sweeping back eastward in wild swirls; and right away were they swept at last, till they brooded over the face of the dismal stagnant meres, many miles away from our fair city, and there they pondered wrathfully on their defeat. "But somehow my life changed from the time when I beheld the two lovers, and I grew old quickly." He ceased; then after a short silence said again: "And that was long ago, very long ago, I know not when it happened." So he sank back again, and for a while no one spoke; till Giles said at last: "Once in full daylight I saw a vision, while I was waking, while the eyes of men were upon me; long ago on the afternoon of a thunderous summer day, I sat alone in my fair garden near the city; for on that day a mighty reward was to be given to the brave man who had saved us all, leading us so mightily in that battle a few days back; now the very queen, the lady of the land, whom all men reverenced almost as the Virgin Mother, so kind and good and beautiful she was, was to crown him with flowers and gird a sword about him; after the 'Te Deum' had been sung for the victory, and almost all the city were at that time either in the Church, or hard by it, or else were by the hill that was near the river where the crowning was to be: but I sat alone in the garden of my house as I said; sat grieving for the loss of my brave brother, who was slain by my side in that same fight. I sat beneath an elm tree; and as I sat and pondered on that still, windless day, I heard suddenly a breath of air rustle through the boughs of the elm. I looked up, and my heart almost stopped beating, I knew not why, as I watched the path of that breeze over the bowing lilies and the rushes by the fountain; but when I looked to the place whence the breeze had come, I became all at once aware of an appearance that told me why my heart stopped beating. Ah! there they were, those two whom before I had but seen in dreams by night, now before my waking eyes in broad daylight. One, a knight (for so he seemed), with long hair mingled with golden threads, flowing over his mail-coat, and a bright crestless helmet on his head, his face sad-looking, but calm; and by his side, but not touching him, walked a wondrously fair maiden, clad in white, her eyelids just shadowing her blue eyes: her arms and hands seeming to float along with her as she moved on quickly, yet very softly; great rest on them both, though sorrow gleamed through it. "When they came opposite to where I stood, these two stopped for a while, being in nowise shadowy, as I have heard men say ghosts are, but clear and distinct. They stopped close by me, as I stood motionless, unable to pray; they turned to each other, face to face, and the maiden said, 'Love, for this our last true meeting before the end of all, we need a witness; let this man, softened by sorrow, even as we are, go with us.' "I never heard such music as her words were; though I used to wonder when I was young whether the angels in heaven sung better than the choiresters sang in our church, and though, even then the sound of the triumphant hymn came up to me in a breath of wind, and floated round me, making dreams, in that moment of awe and great dread, of the old long-past days in that old church, of her who lay under the pavement of it; whose sweet voice once, once long ago, once only to me--yet I shall see her again." He became silent as he said this, and no man cared to break in upon his thoughts, seeing the choking movement in his throat, the fierce clenching of hand and foot, the stiffening of the muscles all over him; but soon, with an upward jerk of his head, he threw back the long elf locks that had fallen over his eyes while his head was bent down, and went on as before: "The knight passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some mist that had gathered there, and said, in a deep murmurous voice, 'Why the last time, dearest, why the last time? Know you not how long a time remains yet? the old man came last night to the ivory house and told me it would be a hundred years, ay, more, before the happy end.' 'So long,' she said; 'so long: ah! love, what things words are; yet this is the last time; alas! alas! for the weary years! my words, my sin!' 'O love, it is very terrible,' he said; 'I could almost weep, old though I am, and grown cold with dwelling in the ivory house: O, Ella, if you only knew how cold it is there, in the starry nights when the north wind is stirring; and there is no fair colour there, nought but the white ivory, with one narrow line of gleaming gold over every window, and a fathom's-breadth of burnished gold behind the throne. Ella, it was scarce well done of you to send me to the ivory house.' 'Is it so cold, love?' she said, 'I knew it not; forgive me! but as to the matter of a witness, some one we must have, and why not this man?' 'Rather old Hugh,' he said, 'or Cuthbert, his father; they have both been witnesses before.' 'Cuthbert,' said the maiden, solemnly, 'has been dead twenty years; Hugh died last night.'" (Now, as Giles said these words, carelessly, as though not heeding them particularly, a cold sickening shudder ran through the other two men, but he noted it not and went on.) "'This man then be it,' said the knight, and therewith they turned again, and moved on side by side as before; nor said they any word to me, and yet I could not help following them, and we three moved on together, and soon I saw that my nature was changed, and that I was invisible for the time; for, though the sun was high, I cast no shadow, neither did any man that we past notice us, as we made toward the hill by the riverside. "And by the time we came there the queen was sitting at the top of it, under a throne of purple and gold, with a great band of knights gloriously armed on either side of her; and their many banners floated over them. Then I felt that those two had left me, and that my own right visible nature was returned; yet still did I feel strange, and as if I belonged not wholly to this earth. And I heard one say, in a low voice to his fellow, 'See, sir Giles is here after all; yet, how came he here, and why is he not in armour among the noble knights yonder, he who fought so well? how wild he looks too!' 'Poor knight,' said the other, 'he is distraught with the loss of his brother; let him be; and see, here comes the noble stranger knight, our deliverer.' As he spoke, we heard a great sound of trumpets, and therewithall a long line of knights on foot wound up the hill towards the throne, and the queen rose up, and the people shouted; and, at the end of all the procession went slowly and majestically the stranger knight; a man of noble presence he was, calm, and graceful to look on; grandly he went amid the gleaming of their golden armour; himself clad in the rent mail and tattered surcoat he had worn on the battle-day; bareheaded, too; for, in that fierce fight, in the thickest of it, just where he rallied our men, one smote off his helmet, and another, coming from behind, would have slain him, but that my lance bit into his breast. "So, when they had come within some twenty paces of the throne, the rest halted, and he went up by himself toward the queen; and she, taking the golden hilted sword in her left hand, with her right caught him by the wrist, when he would have knelt to her, and held him so, tremblingly, and cried out, 'No, no, thou noblest of all knights, kneel not to me; have we not heard of thee even before thou camest hither? how many widows bless thee, how many orphans pray for thee, how many happy ones that would be widows and orphans but for thee, sing to their children, sing to their sisters, of thy flashing sword, and the heart that guides it! And now, O noble one! thou hast done the very noblest deed of all, for thou hast kept grown men from weeping shameful tears! O truly, the greatest I can do for thee is very little; yet, see this sword, golden-hilted, and the stones flash out from it,' (then she hung it round him), 'and see this wreath of lilies and roses for thy head; lilies no whiter than thy pure heart, roses no tenderer than thy true love; and here, before all these my subjects, I fold thee, noblest, in my arms, so, so.' Ay, truly it was strange enough! those two were together again; not the queen and the stranger knight, but the young-seeming knight and the maiden I had seen in the garden. To my eyes they clung together there; though they say, that to the eyes of all else, it was but for a moment that the queen held both his hands in hers; to me also, amid the shouting of the multitude, came an under current of happy song: 'Oh! truly, very truly, my noblest, a hundred years will not be long after this.' 'Hush, Ella, dearest, for talking makes the time speed; think only.' "Pressed close to each other, as I saw it, their bosoms heaved--but I looked away--alas! when I looked again, I saw nought but the stately stranger knight, descending, hand in hand, with the queen, flushed with joy and triumph, and the people scattering flowers before them. "And that was long ago, very long ago." So he ceased; then Osric, one of the two younger men, who had been sitting in awe-struck silence all this time, said, with eyes that dared not meet Giles's, in a terrified half whisper, as though he meant not to speak, "How long?" Giles turned round and looked him full in the face, till he dragged his eyes up to his own, then said, "More than a hundred years ago." So they all sat silent, listening to the roar of the south-west wind; and it blew the windows so, that they rocked in their frames. Then suddenly, as they sat thus, came a knock at the door of the house; so Hugh bowed his head to Osric, to signify that he should go and open the door; so he arose, trembling, and went. And as he opened the door the wind blew hard against him, and blew something white against his face, then blew it away again, and his face was blanched, even to his lips; but he plucking up heart of grace, looked out, and there he saw, standing with her face upturned in speech to him, a wonderfully beautiful woman, clothed from her throat till over her feet in long white raiment, ungirt, unbroidered, and with a veil, that was thrown off from her face, and hung from her head, streaming out in the blast of the wind: which veil was what had struck against his face: beneath her veil her golden hair streamed out too, and with the veil, so that it touched his face now and then. She was very fair, but she did not look young either, because of her statue-like features. She spoke to him slowly and queenly; "I pray you give me shelter in your house for an hour, that I may rest, and so go on my journey again." He was too much terrified to answer in words, and so only bowed his head: and she swept past him in stately wise to the room where the others sat, and he followed her, trembling. A cold shiver ran through the other men when she entered and bowed low to them, and they turned deadly pale, but dared not move; and there she sat while they gazed at her, sitting there and wondering at her beauty, which seemed to grow every minute; though she was plainly not young, oh no, but rather very, very old, who could say how old? there she sat, and her long, long hair swept down in one curve from her head and just touched the floor. Her face had the tokens of a deep sorrow on it, ah! a mighty sorrow, yet not so mighty as that it might mar her ineffable loveliness; that sorrow-mark seemed to gather too, and at last the gloriously-slow music of her words flowed from her lips: "Friends, has one with the appearance of a youth come here lately; one with long brown hair, interwoven with threads of gold, flowing down from out his polished steel helmet; with dark blue eyes and high white forehead, and mail-coat over his breast, where the light and shadow lie in waves as he moves; have you seen such an one, very beautiful?" Then withall as they shook their heads fearfully in answer, a great sigh rose up from her heart, and she said: "Then must I go away again presently, and yet I thought it was the last night of all." And so she sat awhile with her head resting on her hand; after, she arose as if about to go, and turned her glorious head round to thank the master of the house; and they, strangely enough, though they were terrified at her presence, were yet grieved when they saw that she was going. Just then the wind rose higher than ever before, yet through the roar of it they could all hear plainly a knocking at the door again; so the lady stopped when she heard it, and, turning, looked full in the face of Herman the youngest, who thereupon, being constrained by that look, rose and went to the door; and as before with Osric, so now the wind blew strong against him; and it blew into his face, so as to blind him, tresses of soft brown hair mingled with glittering threads of gold; and blinded so, he heard some one ask him musically, solemnly, if a lady with golden hair and white raiment was in that house; so Herman, not answering in words, because of his awe and fear, merely bowed his head; then he was 'ware of some one in bright armour passing him, for the gleam of it was all about him, for as yet he could not see clearly, being blinded by the hair that had floated about him. But presently he followed him into the room, and there stood such an one as the lady had described; the wavering flame of the light gleamed from his polished helmet, touched the golden threads that mingled with his hair, ran along the rings of his mail. They stood opposite to each other for a little, he and the lady, as if they were somewhat shy of each other after their parting of a hundred years, in spite of the love which they had for each other: at last he made one step, and took off his gleaming helmet, laid it down softly, then spread abroad his arms, and she came to him, and they were clasped together, her head lying over his shoulder; and the four men gazed, quite awe-struck. And as they gazed, the bells of the church began to ring, for it was New- Year's-eve; and still they clung together, and the bells rang on, and the old year died. And there beneath the eyes of those four men the lovers slowly faded away into a heap of snow-white ashes. Then the four men kneeled down and prayed, and the next day they went to the priest, and told him all that had happened. So the people took those ashes and buried them in their church, in a marble tomb, and above it they caused to be carved their figures lying with clasped hands; and on the sides of it the history of the cave in the red pike. And in my dream I saw the moon shining on the tomb, throwing fair colours on it from the painted glass; till a sound of music rose, deepened, and fainted; then I woke. GOLDEN WINGS Lyf lythes to nee, Twa wordes or three, Of one who was fair and free, And fele in his fight. --_Sir Percival_. I suppose my birth was somewhat after the birth of Sir Percival of Galles, for I never saw my father, and my mother brought me up quaintly; not like a poor man's son, though, indeed, we had little money, and lived in a lone place: it was on a bit of waste land near a river; moist, and without trees; on the drier parts of it folks had built cottages--see, I can count them on my fingers--six cottages, of which ours was one. Likewise, there was a little chapel, with a yew tree and graves in the church-yard--graves--yes, a great many graves, more than in the yards of many Minsters I have seen, because people fought a battle once near us, and buried many bodies in deep pits, to the east of the chapel; but this was before I was born. I have talked to old knights since who fought in that battle, and who told me that it was all about a lady that they fought; indeed, this lady, who was a queen, was afterwards, by her own wish, buried in the aforesaid chapel in a most fair tomb; her image was of latoun gilt, and with a colour on it; her hands and face were of silver, and her hair, gilded and most curiously wrought, flowed down from her head over the marble. It was a strange sight to see that gold and brass and marble inside that rough chapel which stood on the marshy common, near the river. Now, every St. Peter's day, when the sun was at its hottest, in the mid- summer noontide, my mother (though at other times she only wore such clothes as the folk about us) would dress herself most richly, and shut the shutters against all the windows, and light great candles, and sit as though she were a queen, till the evening: sitting and working at a frame, and singing as she worked. And what she worked at was two wings, wrought in gold, on a blue ground. And as for what she sung, I could never understand it, though I know now it was not in Latin. And she used to charge me straightly never to let any man into the house on St. Peter's day; therefore, I and our dog, which was a great old bloodhound, always kept the door together. But one St. Peter's day, when I was nearly twenty, I sat in the house watching the door with the bloodhound, and I was sleepy, because of the shut-up heat and my mother's singing, so I began to nod, and at last, though the dog often shook me by the hair to keep me awake, went fast asleep, and began to dream a foolish dream without hearing, as men sometimes do: for I thought that my mother and I were walking to mass through the snow on a Christmas day, but my mother carried a live goose in her hand, holding it by the neck, instead of her rosary, and that I went along by her side, not walking, but turning somersaults like a mountebank, my head never touching the ground; when we got to the chapel door, the old priest met us, and said to my mother, 'Why dame alive, your head is turned green! Ah! never mind, I will go and say mass, but don't let little Mary there go,' and he pointed to the goose, and went. Then mass begun, but in the midst of it, the priest said out aloud, 'Oh I forgot,' and turning round to us began to wag his grey head and white beard, throwing his head right back, and sinking his chin on his breast alternately; and when we saw him do this, we presently began also to knock our heads against the wall, keeping time with him and with each other, till the priest said, 'Peter! it's dragon-time now,' whereat the roof flew off, and a great yellow dragon came down on the chapel-floor with a flop, and danced about clumsily, wriggling his fat tail, and saying to a sort of tune, 'O the Devil, the Devil, the Devil, O the Devil,' so I went up to him, and put my hand on his breast, meaning to slay him, and so awoke, and found myself standing up with my hand on the breast of an armed knight; the door lay flat on the ground, and under it lay Hector, our dog, whining and dying. For eight hours I had been asleep; on awaking, the blood rushed up into my face, I heard my mother's low mysterious song behind me, and knew not what harm might happen to her and me, if that knight's coming made her cease in it; so I struck him with my left hand, where his face was bare under his mail-coif, and getting my sword in my light hand, drove its point under his hawberk, so that it came out behind, and he fell, turned over on his face, and died. Then, because my mother still went on working and singing, I said no word, but let him lie there, and put the door up again, and found Hector dead. I then sat down again and polished my sword with a piece of leather after I had wiped the blood from it; and in an hour my mother arose from her work, and raising me from where I was sitting, kissed my brow, saying, 'Well done, Lionel, you have slain our greatest foe, and now the people will know you for what you are before you die--Ah God! though not before _I_ die.' So I said, 'Who is he, mother? he seems to be some Lord; am I a Lord then?' 'A King, if the people will but know it,' she said. Then she knelt down by the dead body, turned it round again, so that it lay face uppermost, as before, then said: 'And so it has all come to this, has it? To think that you should run on my son's sword-point at last, after all the wrong you have done me and mine; now must I work carefully, least when you are dead you should still do me harm, for that you are a King--Lionel!' 'Yea, Mother.' 'Come here and see; this is what I have wrought these many Peter's days by day, and often other times by night.' 'It is a surcoat, Mother; for me?' 'Yea, but take a spade, and come into the wood.' So we went, and my mother gazed about her for a while as if she were looking for something, but then suddenly went forward with her eyes on the ground, and she said to me: 'Is it not strange, that I who know the very place I am going to take you to, as well as our own garden, should have a sudden fear come over me that I should not find it after all; though for these nineteen years I have watched the trees change and change all about it--ah! here, stop now.' We stopped before a great oak; a beech tree was behind us--she said, 'Dig, Lionel, hereabouts.' So I dug and for an hour found nothing but beech roots, while my mother seemed as if she were going mad, sometimes running about muttering to herself, sometimes stooping into the hole and howling, sometimes throwing herself on the grass and twisting her hands together above her head; she went once down the hill to a pool that had filled an old gravel pit, and came back dripping and with wild eyes; 'I am too hot,' she said, 'far too hot this St. Peter's day.' Clink just then from my spade against iron; my mother screamed, and I dug with all my might for another hour, and then beheld a chest of heavy wood bound with iron ready to be heaved out of the hole; 'Now Lionel weigh it out--hard for your life!' And with some trouble I got the chest out; she gave me a key, I unlocked the chest, and took out another wrapped in lead, which also I unlocked with a silver key that my mother gave me, and behold therein lay armour--mail for the whole body, made of very small rings wrought most wonderfully, for every ring was fashioned like a serpent, and though they were so small yet could you see their scales and their eyes, and of some even the forked tongue was on it, and lay on the rivet, and the rings were gilded here and there into patterns and flowers so that the gleam of it was most glorious.--And the mail coif was all gilded and had red and blue stones at the rivets; and the tilting helms (inside which the mail lay when I saw it first) was gilded also, and had flowers pricked out on it; and the chain of it was silver, and the crest was two gold wings. And there was a shield of blue set with red stones, which had two gold wings for a cognizance; and the hilt of the sword was gold, with angels wrought in green and blue all up it, and the eyes in their wings were of pearls and red stones, and the sheath was of silver with green flowers on it. Now when I saw this armour and understood that my mother would have me put it on, and ride out without fear, leaving her alone, I cast myself down on the grass so that I might not see its beauty (for it made me mad), and strove to think; but what thoughts soever came to me were only of the things that would be, glory in the midst of ladies, battle-joy among knights, honour from all kings and princes and people--these things. But my mother wept softly above me, till I arose with a great shudder of delight and drew the edges of the hawberk over my cheek, I liked so to feel the rings slipping, slipping, till they fell off altogether; then I said: 'O Lord God that made the world, if I might only die in this armour!' Then my mother helped me to put it on, and I felt strange and new in it, and yet I had neither lance nor horse. So when we reached the cottage again she said: 'See now, Lionel, you must take this knight's horse and his lance, and ride away, or else the people will come here to kill another king; and when you are gone, you will never see me any more in life.' I wept thereat, but she said: 'Nay, but see here.' And taking the dead knight's lance from among the garden lilies, she rent from it the pennon (which had a sword on a red ground for bearing), and cast it carelessly on the ground, then she bound about it a pennon with my bearing, gold wings on a blue ground; she bid me bear the Knight's body, all armed as he was, to put on him his helm and lay him on the floor at her bed's foot, also to break his sword and cast it on our hearth-stone; all which things I did. Afterwards she put the surcoat on me, and then lying down in her gorgeous raiment on her bed, she spread her arms out in the form of a cross, shut her eyes, and said: 'Kiss me, Lionel, for I am tired.' And after I had kissed her she died. And I mounted my dead foe's horse and rode away; neither did I ever know what wrong that was which he had done me, not while I was in the body at least. And do not blame me for not burying my mother; I left her there because, though she did not say so to me, yet I knew the thoughts of her heart, and that the thing she had wished so earnestly for these years, and years, and years, had been but to lie dead with him lying dead close to her. So I rode all that night for I could not stop, because of the thoughts that were in me, and, stopping at this place and that, in three days came to the city. And there the King held his court with great pomp. And so I went to the palace, and asked to see the King; whereupon they brought me into the great hall where he was with all his knights, and my heart swelled within me to think that I too was a King. So I prayed him to make me a knight, and he spake graciously and asked me my name; so when I had told it him, and said that I was a king's son, he pondered, not knowing what to do, for I could not tell him whose son I was. Whereupon one of the knights came near me and shaded his eyes with his hand as one does in a bright sun, meaning to mock at me for my shining armour, and he drew nearer and nearer till his long stiff beard just touched me, and then I smote him on the face, and he fell on the floor. So the king being in a rage, roared out from the door, 'Slay him!' but I put my shield before me and drew my sword, and the women drew together aside and whispered fearfully, and while some of the knights took spears and stood about me, others got their armour on. And as we stood thus we heard a horn blow, and then an armed knight came into the hall and drew near to the King; and one of the maidens behind me, came and laid her hand on my shoulder; so I turned and saw that she was very fair, and then I was glad, but she whispered to me: 'Sir Squire for a love I have for your face and gold armour, I will give you good counsel; go presently to the King and say to him: "In the name of Alys des roses and Sir Guy le bon amant I pray you three boons,"--do this, and you will be alive, and a knight by to-morrow, otherwise I think hardly the one or the other.' 'The Lord reward you damoyzel,' I said. Then I saw that the King had left talking with that knight and was just going to stand up and say something out loud, so I went quickly and called out with a loud voice: 'O King Gilbert of the rose-land, I, Lionel of the golden wings, pray of you three boons in the name of Alys des roses and Sir Guy le bon amant.' Then the King gnashed his teeth because he had promised if ever his daughter Alys des roses came back safe again, he would on that day grant any three boons to the first man who asked them, even if he were his greatest foe. He said, 'Well, then, take them, what are they?' 'First, my life; then, that you should make me a knight; and thirdly, that you should take me into your service.' He said, 'I will do this, and moreover, I forgive you freely if you will be my true man.' Then we heard shouting arise through all the city because they were bringing the Lady Alys from the ship up to the palace, and the people came to the windows, and the houses were hung with cloths and banners of silk and gold, that swung down right from the eaves to the ground; likewise the bells all rang: and within a while they entered the palace, and the trumpets rang and men shouted, so that my head whirled; and they entered the hall, and the King went down from the dais to meet them. Now a band of knights and of damoyzels went before and behind, and in the midst Sir Guy led the Lady Alys by the hand, and he was a most stately knight, strong and fair. And I indeed noted the first band of knights and damoyzels well, and wondered at the noble presence of the knights, and was filled with joy when I beheld the maids, because of their great beauty; the second band I did not see, for when they passed I was leaning back against the wall, wishing to die with my hands before my face. But when I could see, she was hanging about her father's neck, weeping, and she never left him all that night, but held his hand in feast and dance, and even when I was made knight, while the king with his right hand laid his sword over my shoulder, she held his left hand and was close to me. And the next day they held a grand tourney, that I might be proven; and I had never fought with knights before, yet I did not doubt. And Alys sat under a green canopy, that she might give the degree to the best knight, and by her sat the good knight Sir Guy, in a long robe, for he did not mean to joust that day; and indeed at first none but young knights jousted, for they thought that I should not do much. But I, looking up to the green canopy, overthrew so many of them, that the elder knights began to arm, and I grew most joyful as I met them, and no man unhorsed me; and always I broke my spear fairly, or else overthrew my adversary. Now that maiden who counselled me in the hall, told me afterwards that as I fought, the Lady Alys held fast to the rail before her, and leaned forward and was most pale, never answering any word that any one might say to her, till the Knight Guy said to her in anger: 'Alys! what ails you? you would have been glad enough to speak to me when King Wadrayns carried you off shrieking, or that other time when the chain went round about you, and the faggots began to smoke in the Brown City: do you not love me any longer? O Alys, Alys! just think a little, and do not break your faith with me; God hates nothing so much as this. Sweet, try to love me, even for your own sake! See, am I not kind to you?' That maiden said that she turned round to him wonderingly, as if she had not caught his meaning, and that just for one second, then stretched out over the lists again. Now till about this time I had made no cry as I jousted. But there came against me a very tall knight, on a great horse, and when we met our spears both shivered, and he howled with vexation, for he wished to slay me, being the brother of that knight I had struck down in the hall the day before. And they say that when Alys heard his howl sounding faintly through the bars of his great helm, she trembled; but I know not, for I was stronger than that knight, and when we fought with swords, I struck him right out of his saddle, and near slew him with that stroke. Whereupon I shouted 'Alys' out loud, and she blushed red for pleasure, and Sir Guy took note of it, and rose up in a rage and ran down and armed. Then presently I saw a great knight come riding in with three black chevrons on a gold shield: and so he began to ride at me, and at first we only broke both our spears, but then he drew his sword, and fought quite in another way to what the other knights had, so that I saw at once that I had no chance against him: nevertheless, for a long time he availed nothing, though he wounded me here and there, but at last drove his sword right through mine, through my shield and my helm, and I fell, and lay like one dead. And thereat the King cried out to cease, and the degree was given to Sir Guy, because I had overthrown forty knights and he had overthrown me. Then they told me, I was carried out of the lists and laid in a hostelry near the palace, and Guy went up to the pavilion where Alys was and she crowned him, both of them being very pale, for she doubted if I were slain, and he knew that she did not love him, thinking before that she did; for he was good and true, and had saved her life and honour, and she (poor maid!) wished to please her father, and strove to think that all was right. But I was by no means slain, for the sword had only cleft my helm, and when I came to myself again I felt despair of all things, because I knew not that she loved me, for how should she, knowing nothing of me? likewise dust had been cast on my gold wings, and she saw it done. Then I heard a great crying in the street, that sounded strangely in the quiet night, so I sent to ask what it might be: and there came presently into my chamber a man in gilded armour; he was an old man, and his hair and beard were gray, and behind him came six men armed, who carried a dead body of a young man between them, and I said, 'What is it? who is he?' Then the old man, whose head was heavy for grief, said: 'Oh, sir! this is my son; for as we went yesterday with our merchandize some twenty miles from this fair town, we passed by a certain hold, and therefrom came a knight and men at arms, who when my son would have fought with them, overthrew him and bound him, and me and all our men they said they would slay if we did ought; so then they cut out my son's eyes, and cut off his hands, and then said, "The Knight of High Gard takes these for tribute." Therewithal they departed, taking with them my son's eyes and his hands on a platter; and when they were gone I would have followed them, and slain some of them at least, but my own people would not suffer me, and for grief and pain my son's heart burst, and he died, and behold I am here.' Then I thought I could win glory, and I was much rejoiced thereat, and said to the old man, 'Would you love to be revenged?' But he set his teeth, and pulled at the skirt of his surcoat, as hardly for his passion he said, 'Yes.' 'Then,' I said, 'I will go and try to slay this knight, if you will show me the way to La Haute Garde.' And he, taking my hand, said, 'O glorious knight, let us go now!' And he did not ask who I was, or whether I was a good knight, but began to go down the stairs at once, so I put on my armour and followed him. And we two set forth alone to La Haute Garde, for no man else dared follow us, and I rejoiced in thinking that while Guy was sitting at the King's table feasting, I was riding out to slay the King's enemies, for it never once seemed possible to me that I should be worsted. It was getting light again by then we came in sight of High Gard; we wound up the hill on foot, for it was very steep; I blew at the gates a great blast which was even as though the stag should blow his own mort, or like the blast that Balen heard. For in a very short while the gates opened and a great band of armed men, more than thirty I think, and a knight on horseback among them, who was armed in red, stood before us, and on one side of him was a serving man with a silver dish, on the other, one with a butcher's cleaver, a knife, and pincers. So when the knight saw us he said, 'What, are you come to pay tribute in person, old man, and is this another fair son? Good sir, how is your lady?' So I said grimly, being in a rage, 'I have a will to slay you.' But I could scarce say so before the old merchant rushed at the red knight with a yell, who without moving slew his horse with an axe, and then the men at arms speared the old man, slaying him as one would an otter or a rat. Afterwards they were going to set on me, but the red knight held them back, saying: 'Nay, I am enough,' and we spurred on our horses. As we met, I felt just as if some one had thrown a dull brown cloth over my eyes, and I felt the wretched spear-point slip off his helm; then I felt a great pain somewhere, that did not seem to be in my body, but in the world, or the sky, or something of that sort. And I know not how long that pain seemed to last now, but I think years, though really I grew well and sane again in a few weeks. And when I woke, scarce knowing whether I was in the world or heaven or hell, I heard some one singing. I tried to listen but could not, because I did not know where I was, and was thinking of that; I missed verse after verse of the song, this song, till at last I saw I must be in the King's palace. There was a window by my bed, I looked out at it, and saw that I was high up; down in the street the people were going to and fro, and there was a knot of folks gathered about a minstrel, who sat on the edge of a fountain, with his head laid sideways on his shoulder, and nursing one leg on the other; he was singing only, having no instrument, and he sang the song I had tried to listen to, I heard some of it now: 'He was fair and free, At every tourney He wan the degree, Sir Guy the good knight. 'He wan Alys the fair, The King's own daughtere, With all her gold hair, That shone well bright. 'He saved a good Knight, Who also was wight, And had winges bright On a blue shield. 'And he slew the Knight Of the High Gard in fight, In red weed that was dight In the open field.' I fell back in my bed and wept, for I was weak with my illness; to think of this! truly this man was a perfect knight, and deserved to win Alys. Ah! well! but was this the glory I was to have, and no one believed that I was a King's son. And so I passed days and nights, thinking of my dishonour and misery, and my utter loneliness; no one cared for me; verily, I think, if any one had spoken to me lovingly, I should have fallen on his neck and died, while I was so weak. But I grew strong at last, and began to walk about, and in the Palace Pleasaunce, one day, I met Sir Guy walking by himself. So I told him how that I thanked him with all my heart for my life, but he said it was only what a good knight ought to do; for that hearing the mad enterprise I had ridden on, he had followed me swiftly with a few knights, and so saved me. He looked stately and grand as he spoke, yet I did not love him, nay, rather hated him, though I tried hard not to do so, for there was some air of pitiless triumph and coldness of heart in him that froze me; so scornfully, too, he said that about 'my mad enterprise,' as though I _must_ be wrong in everything I did. Yet afterwards, as I came to know more, I pitied him instead of hating; but at that time I thought his life was without a shadow, for I did not know that the Lady Alys loved him not. And now I turned from him, and walked slowly up and down the garden-paths, not exactly thinking, but with some ghosts of former thoughts passing through my mind. The day, too, was most lovely, as it grew towards evening, and I had all the joy of a man lately sick in the flowers and all things; if any bells at that time had begun to chime, I think I should have lain down on the grass and wept; but now there was but the noise of the bees in the yellow musk, and that had not music enough to bring me sorrow. And as I walked I stooped and picked a great orange lily, and held it in my hand, and lo! down the garden walk, the same fair damozel that had before this given me good counsel in the hall. Thereat I was very glad, and walked to meet her smiling, but she was very grave, and said: 'Fair sir, the Lady Alys des roses wishes to see you in her chamber.' I could not answer a word, but turned, and went with her while she walked slowly beside me, thinking deeply, and picking a rose to pieces as she went; and I, too, thought much, what could she want me for? surely, but for one thing; and yet--and yet. But when we came to the lady's chamber, behold! before the door, stood a tall knight, fair and strong, and in armour, save his head, who seemed to be guarding the door, though not so as to seem so to all men. He kissed the damozel eagerly, and then she said to me, 'This is Sir William de la Fosse, my true knight;' so the knight took my hand and seemed to have such joy of me, that all the blood came up to my face for pure delight. But then the damozel Blanche opened the door and bade me go in while she abode still without; so I entered, when I had put aside the heavy silken hangings that filled the doorway. And there sat Alys; she arose when she saw me, and stood pale, and with her lips apart, and her hands hanging loose by her side. And then all doubt and sorrow went quite away from me; I did not even feel drunk with joy, but rather felt that I could take it all in, lose no least fragment of it; then at once I felt that I was beautiful, and brave and true; I had no doubt as to what I should do now. I went up to her, and first kissed her on the forehead, and then on the feet, and then drew her to me, and with my arms round about her, and her arms hanging loose, and her lips dropped, we held our lips together so long that my eyes failed me, and I could not see her, till I looked at her green raiment. And she had never spoken to me yet; she seemed just then as if she were going to, for she lifted her eyes to mine, and opened her mouth; but she only said, 'Dear Lionel,' and fell forward as though she were faint; and again I held her, and kissed her all over; and then she loosed her hair that it fell to her feet, and when I clipped her next, she threw it over me, that it fell all over my scarlet robes like trickling of some golden well in Paradise. Then, within a while, we called in the Lady Blanche and Sir William de la Fosse, and while they talked about what we should do, we sat together and kissed; and what they said, I know not. But I remember, that that night, quite late, Alys and I rode out side by side from the good city in the midst of a great band of knights and men- at-arms, and other bands drew to us as we went, and in three days we reached Sir William's castle which was called 'La Garde des Chevaliers.' And straightway he caused toll the great bell, and to hang out from the highest tower a great banner of red and gold, cut into so many points that it seemed as if it were tattered; for this was the custom of his house when they wanted their vassals together. And Alys and I stood up in the tower by the great bell as they tolled it; I remember now that I had passed my hand underneath her hair, so that the fingers of it folded over and just lay on her cheek; she gazed down on the bell, and at every deafening stroke she drew in her breath and opened her eyes to a wide stare downwards. But on the very day that we came, they arrayed her in gold and flowers (and there were angels and knights and ladies wrought on her gold raiment), and I waited for an hour in the chapel till she came, listening to the swallows outside, and gazing with parted lips at the pictures on the golden walls; but when she came, I knelt down before the altar, and she knelt down and kissed my lips; and then the priest came in, and the singers and the censer-boys; and that chapel was soon confusedly full of golden raiment, and incense, and ladies and singing; in the midst of which I wedded Alys. And men came into Knights' Gard till we had two thousand men in it, and great store of munitions of war and provisions. But Alys and I lived happily together in the painted hall and in the fair water-meadows, and as yet no one came against us. And still her talk was, of deeds of arms, and she was never tired of letting the serpent rings of my mail slip off her wrist and long hand, and she would kiss my shield and helm and the gold wings on my surcoat, my mother's work, and would talk of the ineffable joy that would be when we had fought through all the evil that was coming on us. Also she would take my sword and lay it on her knees and talk to it, telling it how much she loved me. Yea in all things, O Lord God, Thou knowest that my love was a very child, like thy angels. Oh! my wise soft-handed love! endless passion! endless longing always satisfied! Think you that the shouting curses of the trumpet broke off our love, or in any ways lessened it? no, most certainly, but from the time the siege began, her cheeks grew thinner, and her passionate face seemed more and more a part of me; now too, whenever I happened to see her between the grim fighting she would do nothing but kiss me all the time, or wring my hands, or take my head on her breast, being so eagerly passionate that sometimes a pang shot through me that she might die. Till one day they made a breach in the wall, and when I heard of it for the first time, I sickened, and could not call on God; but Alys cut me a tress of her yellow hair and tied it in my helm, and armed me, and saying no word, led me down to the breach by the hand, and then went back most ghastly pale. So there on the one side of the breach were the spears of William de la Fosse and Lionel of the gold wings, and on the other the spears of King Gilbert and Sir Guy le bon amant, but the King himself was not there; Sir Guy was. Well,--what would you have? in this world never yet could two thousand men stand against twenty thousand; we were almost pushed back with their spear-points, they were so close together:--slay six of them and the spears were as thick as ever; but if two of our men fell there was straightway a hole. Yet just at the end of this we drove them back in one charge two yards beyond the breach, and behold in the front rank, Sir Guy, utterly fearless, cool, and collected; nevertheless, with one stroke I broke his helm, and he fell to the ground before the two armies, even as I fell that day in the lists; and we drove them twenty feet farther, yet they saved Sir Guy. Well, again,--what would you have? They drove us back again, and they drove us into our inner castle walls. And I was the last to go in, and just as I was entering, the boldest and nearest of the enemy clutched at my love's hair in my helm, shouting out quite loud, 'Whore's hair for John the goldsmith!' At the hearing of which blasphemy the Lord gave me such strength, that I turned and caught him by the ribs with my left hand, and with my right, by sheer strength, I tore off his helm and part of his nose with it, and then swinging him round about, dashed his brains out against the castle- walls. Yet thereby was I nearly slain, for they surrounded me, only Sir William and the others charged out and rescued me, but hardly. May the Lord help all true men! In an hour we were all fighting pell mell on the walls of the castle itself, and some were slain outright, and some were wounded, and some yielded themselves and received mercy; but I had scarce the heart to fight any more, because I thought of Alys lying with her face upon the floor and her agonised hands outspread, trying to clutch something, trying to hold to the cracks of the boarding. So when I had seen William de la Fosse slain by many men, I cast my shield and helm over the battlements, and gazed about for a second, and lo! on one of the flanking towers, my gold wings still floated by the side of William's white lion, and in the other one I knew my poor Love, whom they had left quite alone, was lying. So then I turned into a dark passage and ran till I reached the tower stairs, up that too I sprang as though a ghost were after me, I did so long to kiss her again before I died, to soothe her too, so that she should not feel this day, when in the aftertimes she thought of it, as wholly miserable to her. For I knew they would neither slay her nor treat her cruelly, for in sooth all loved her, only they would make her marry Sir Guy le bon amant. In the topmost room I found her, alas! alas! lying on the floor, as I said; I came to her and kissed her head as she lay, then raised her up; and I took all my armour off and broke my sword over my knee. And then I led her to the window away from the fighting, from whence we only saw the quiet country, and kissed her lips till she wept and looked no longer sad and wretched; then I said to her: 'Now, O Love, we must part for a little, it is time for me to go and die.' 'Why should you go away?' she said, 'they will come here quick enough, no doubt, and I shall have you longer with me if you stay; I do not turn sick at the sight of blood.' 'O my poor Love!' And I could not go because of her praying face; surely God would grant anything to such a face as that. 'Oh!' she said, 'you will let me have you yet a little longer, I see; also let me kiss your feet.' She threw herself down and kissed them, and then did not get up again at once, but lay there holding my feet. And while she lay there, behold a sudden tramping that she did not hear, and over the green hangings the gleam of helmets that she did not see, and then one pushed aside the hangings with his spear, and there stood the armed men. 'Will not somebody weep for my darling?' She sprang up from my feet with a low, bitter moan, most terrible to hear, she kissed me once on the lips, and then stood aside, with her dear head thrown back, and holding her lovely loose hair strained over her outspread arms, as though she were wearied of all things that had been or that might be. Then one thrust me through the breast with a spear, and another with his sword, which was three inches broad, gave me a stroke across the thighs that hit to the bone; and as I fell forward one cleft me to the teeth with his axe. And then I heard my darling shriek. SVEND AND HIS BRETHREN A king in the olden time ruled over a mighty nation: a proud man he must have been, any man who was king of that nation: hundreds of lords, each a prince over many people, sat about him in the council chamber, under the dim vault, that was blue like the vault of heaven, and shone with innumerable glistenings of golden stars. North, south, east, and west spread that land of his, the sea did not stop it; his empire clomb the high mountains, and spread abroad its arms over the valleys of them; all along the sea-line shore cities set with their crowns of towers in the midst of broad bays, each fit, it seemed, to be a harbour for the navies of all the world. Inland the pastures and cornlands lay, chequered much with climbing, over- tumbling grape vines, under the sun that crumbled their clods, and drew up the young wheat in the spring-time, under the rain that made the long grass soft and fine, under all fair fertilising influences: the streams leapt down from the mountain tops, or cleft their way through the ridged ravines; they grew great rivers, like seas each one. The mountains were cloven, and gave forth from their scarred sides wealth of ore and splendour of marble; all things this people that King Valdemar ruled over could do; they levelled mountains, that over the smooth roads the wains might go, laden with silk and spices from the sea: they drained lakes, that the land might yield more and more, as year by year the serfs, driven like cattle, but worse fed, worse housed, died slowly, scarce knowing that they had souls; they builded them huge ships, and said that they were masters of the sea too; only, I trow the sea was an unruly subject, and often sent them back their ships cut into more pieces than the pines of them were, when the adze first fell upon them; they raised towers, and bridges, and marble palaces with endless corridors rose-scented, and cooled with welling fountains. They sent great armies and fleets to all the points of heaven that the wind blows from, who took and burned many happy cities, wasted many fields and valleys, blotted out from the memory of men the names of nations, made their men's lives a hopeless shame and misery to them, their women's lives disgrace, and then came home to have flowers thrown on them in showers, to be feasted and called heroes. Should not then their king be proud of them? Moreover they could fashion stone and brass into the shapes of men; they could write books; they knew the names of the stars, and their number; they knew what moved the passions of men in the hearts of them, and could draw you up cunningly, catalogues of virtues and vices; their wise men could prove to you that any lie was true, that any truth was false, till your head grew dizzy, and your heart sick, and you almost doubted if there were a God. Should not then their king be proud of them? Their men were strong in body, and moved about gracefully--like dancers; and the purple-black, scented hair of their gold-clothed knights seemed to shoot out rays under the blaze of light that shone like many suns in the king's halls. Their women's faces were very fair in red and white, their skins fair and half- transparent like the marble of their mountains, and their voices sounded like the rising of soft music from step to step of their own white palaces. Should not then their king be proud of such a people, who seemed to help so in carrying on the world to its consummate perfection, which they even hoped their grandchildren would see? Alas! alas! they were slaves--king and priest, noble and burgher, just as much as the meanest tasked serf, perhaps more even than he, for they were so willingly, but he unwillingly enough. They could do everything but justice, and truth, and mercy; therefore God's judgments hung over their heads, not fallen yet, but surely to fall one time or other. For ages past they had warred against one people only, whom they could not utterly subdue; a feeble people in numbers, dwelling in the very midst of them, among the mountains; yet now they were pressing them close; acre after acre, with seas of blood to purchase each acre, had been wrested from the free people, and their end seemed drawing near; and this time the king, Valdemar, had marched to their land with a great army, to make war on them, he boasted to himself, almost for the last time. A walled town in the free land; in that town, a house built of rough, splintery stones; and in a great low-browed room of that house, a grey- haired man pacing to and fro impatiently: 'Will she never come?' he says, 'it is two hours since the sun set; news, too, of the enemy's being in the land; how dreadful if she is taken!' His great broad face is marked with many furrows made by the fierce restless energy of the man; but there is a wearied look on it, the look of a man who, having done his best, is yet beaten; he seemed to long to be gone and be at peace: he, the fighter in many battles, who often had seemed with his single arm to roll back the whole tide of fight, felt despairing enough now; this last invasion, he thought, must surely quite settle the matter; wave after wave, wave after wave, had broken on that dear land and been rolled back from it, and still the hungry sea pressed on; they must be finally drowned in that sea; how fearfully they had been tried for their sins. Back again to his anxiety concerning Cissela, his daughter, go his thoughts, and he still paces up and down wearily, stopping now and then to gaze intently on things which he has seen a hundred times; and the night has altogether come on. At last the blast of a horn from outside, challenge and counter-challenge, and the wicket to the court-yard is swung open; for this house, being in a part of the city where the walls are somewhat weak, is a little fortress in itself, and is very carefully guarded. The old man's face brightened at the sound of the new comers, and he went toward the entrance of the house where he was met by two young knights fully armed, and a maiden. 'Thank God you are come,' he says; but stops when he sees her face, which is quite pale, almost wild with some sorrow. 'The saints! Cissela, what is it?' he says. 'Father, Eric will tell you.' Then suddenly a clang, for Eric has thrown on the ground a richly- jewelled sword, sheathed, and sets his foot on it, crunching the pearls on the sheath; then says, flinging up his head,--'There, father, the enemy is in the land; may that happen to every one of them! but for my part I have accounted for two already.' 'Son Eric, son Eric, you talk for ever about yourself; quick, tell me about Cissela instead: if you go on boasting and talking always about yourself, you will come to no good end, son, after all.' But as he says this, he smiles nevertheless, and his eye glistens. 'Well, father, listen--such a strange thing she tells us, not to be believed, if she did not tell us herself; the enemy has suddenly got generous, one of them at least, which is something of a disappointment to me--ah! pardon, about my self again; and that is about myself too. Well, father, what am I to do?--But Cissela, she wandered some way from her maidens, when--ah! but I never could tell a story properly, let her tell it herself; here, Cissela!--well, well, I see she is better employed, talking namely, how should I know what! with Siur in the window-seat yonder--but she told us that, as she wandered almost by herself, she presently heard shouts and saw many of the enemy's knights riding quickly towards her; whereat she knelt only and prayed to God, who was very gracious to her; for when, as she thought, something dreadful was about to happen, the chief of the knights (a very noble-looking man, she said) rescued her, and, after he had gazed earnestly into her face, told her she might go back again to her own home, and her maids with her, if only she would tell him where she dwelt and her name; and withal he sent three knights to escort her some way toward the city; then he turned and rode away with all his knights but those three, who, when they knew that he had quite gone, she says, began to talk horribly, saying things whereof in her terror she understood the import only: then, before worse came to pass came I and slew two, as I said, and the other ran away 'lustily with a good courage'; and that is the sword of one of the slain knights, or, as one might rather call them, rascally caitiffs.' The old man's thoughts seemed to have gone wandering after his son had finished; for he said nothing for some time, but at last spoke dejectedly: 'Eric, brave son, when I was your age I too hoped, and my hopes are come to this at last; you are blind in your hopeful youth, Eric, and do not see that this king (for the king it certainly was) will crush us, and not the less surely because he is plainly not ungenerous, but rather a good, courteous knight. Alas! poor old Gunnar, broken down now and ready to die, as your country is! How often, in the olden time, thou used'st to say to thyself, as thou didst ride at the head of our glorious house, 'this charge may finish this matter, this battle must.' They passed away, those gallant fights, and still the foe pressed on, and hope, too, slowly ebbed away, as the boundaries of our land grew less and less: behold this is the last wave but one or two, and then for a sad farewell to name and freedom. Yet, surely the end of the world must come when we are swept off the face of the earth. God waits long, they say, before He avenges his own.' As he was speaking, Siur and Cissela came nearer to him, and Cissela, all traces of her late terror gone from her face now, raising her lips to his bended forehead, kissed him fondly, and said, with glowing face, 'Father, how can I help our people? Do they want deaths? I will die. Do they want happiness? I will live miserably through years and years, nor ever pray for death.' Some hope or other seemed growing up in his heart, and showing through his face; and he spoke again, putting back the hair from off her face, and clasping it about with both his hands, while he stooped to kiss her. 'God remember your mother, Cissela! Then it was no dream after all, but true perhaps, as indeed it seemed at the time; but it must come quickly, that woman's deliverance, or not at all. When was it that I heard that old tale, that sounded even then true to my ears? for we have not been punished for nought, my son; that is not God's way. It comes across my memory somehow, mingled in a wonderful manner with the purple of the pines on the hillside, with the fragrance of them borne from far towards me; for know, my children, that in times past, long, long past now, we did an evil deed, for our forefathers, who have been dead now, and forgiven so long ago, once mad with rage at some defeat from their enemies, fired a church, and burned therein many women who had fled thither for refuge; and from that time a curse cleaves to us. Only they say, that at the last we may be saved from utter destruction by a woman; I know not. God grant it may be so.' Then she said, 'Father, brother, and you, Siur, come with me to the chapel; I wish you to witness me make an oath.' Her face was pale, her lips were pale, her golden hair was pale; but not pale, it seemed, from any sinking of blood, but from gathering of intensest light from somewhere, her eyes perhaps, for they appeared to burn inwardly. They followed the sweeping of her purple robe in silence through the low heavy-beamed passages: they entered the little chapel, dimly lighted by the moon that night, as it shone through one of the three arrow-slits of windows at the east end. There was little wealth of marble there, I trow; little time had those fighting men for stone-smoothing. Albeit, one noted many semblances of flowers even in the dim half-light, and here and there the faces of BRAVE men, roughly cut enough, but grand, because the hand of the carver had followed his loving heart. Neither was there gold wanting to the altar and its canopy; and above the low pillars of the nave hung banners, taken from the foe by the men of that house, gallant with gold and jewels. She walked up to the altar and took the blessed book of the Gospels from the left side of it, then knelt in prayer for a moment or two, while the three men stood behind her reverently. When she rose she made a sign to them, and from their scabbards gleamed three swords in the moonlight; then, while they held them aloft, and pointed toward the altar, she opened the book at the page whereon was painted Christ the Lord dying on the cross, pale against the gleaming gold: she said, in a firm voice, 'Christ God, who diedst for all men, so help me, as I refuse not life, happiness, even honour, for this people whom I love.' Then she kissed the face so pale against the gold, and knelt again. But when she had risen, and before she could leave the space by the altar, Siur had stepped up to her, and seized her hurriedly, folding both his arms about her; she let herself be held there, her bosom against his; then he held her away from him a little space, holding her by the arms near the shoulder; then he took her hands and laid them across his shoulders, so that now she held him. And they said nothing; what could they say? Do you know any word for what they meant? And the father and brother stood by, looking quite awe-struck, more so they seemed than by her solemn oath. Till Siur, raising his head from where it lay, cried out aloud: 'May God forgive me as I am true to her! hear you, father and brother?' Then said Cissela: 'May God help me in my need, as I am true to Siur.' And the others went, and they two were left standing there alone, with no little awe over them, strange and shy as they had never yet been to each other. Cissela shuddered, and said in a quick whisper: 'Siur, on your knees! and pray that these oaths may never clash.' 'Can they, Cissela?' he said. 'O love,' she cried, 'you have loosed my hand; take it again, or I shall die, Siur!' He took both her hands, he held them fast to his lips, to his forehead; he said: 'No, God does not allow such things: truth does not lie; you are truth; this need not be prayed for.' She said: 'Oh, forgive me! yet--yet this old chapel is damp and cold even in the burning summer weather. O knight Siur, something strikes through me; I pray you kneel and pray.' He looked steadily at her for a long time without answering, as if he were trying once for all to become indeed one with her; then said: 'Yes, it is possible; in no other way could you give up everything.' Then he took from off his finger a thin golden ring, and broke it in two, and gave her the one half, saying: 'When will they come together?' Then within a while they left the chapel, and walked as in a dream between the dazzling lights of the hall, where the knights sat now, and between those lights sat down together, dreaming still the same dream each of them; while all the knights shouted for Siur and Cissela. Even if a man had spent all his life looking for sorrowful things, even if he sought for them with all his heart and soul, and even though he had grown grey in that quest, yet would he have found nothing in all the world, or perhaps in all the stars either, so sorrowful as Cissela. They had accepted her sacrifice after long deliberation, they had arrayed her in purple and scarlet, they had crowned her with gold wrought about with jewels, they had spread abroad the veil of her golden hair; yet now, as they led her forth in the midst of the band of knights, her brother Eric holding fast her hand, each man felt like a murderer when he beheld her face, whereon was no tear, wherein was no writhing of muscle, twitching of nerve, wherein was no sorrow-mark of her own, but only the sorrow-mark which God sent her, and which she _must_ perforce wear. Yet they had not caught eagerly at her offer, they had said at first almost to a man: 'Nay, this thing shall not be, let us die altogether rather than this.' Yet as they sat, and said this, to each man of the council came floating dim memories of that curse of the burned women, and its remedy; to many it ran rhythmically, an old song better known by the music than the words, heard once and again, long ago, when the gusty wind overmastered the chesnut-boughs and strewed the smooth sward with their star-leaves. Withal came thoughts to each man, partly selfish, partly wise and just, concerning his own wife and children, concerning children yet unborn; thoughts too of the glory of the old name; all that had been suffered and done that the glorious free land might yet be a nation. And the spirit of hope, never dead but sleeping only, woke up within their hearts: 'We may yet be a people,' they said to themselves, 'if we can but get breathing time.' And as they thought these things, and doubted, Siur rose up in the midst of them and said: 'You are right in what you think, countrymen, and she is right; she is altogether good and noble; send her forth.' Then, with one look of utter despair at her as she stood statue-like, he left the council, lest he should fall down and die in the midst of them, he said; yet he died not then, but lived for many years afterwards. But they rose from their seats, and when they were armed, and she royally arrayed, they went with her, leading her through the dear streets, whence you always saw the great pine-shadowed mountains; she went away from all that was dear to her, to go and sit a crowned queen in the dreary marble palace, whose outer walls rose right up from the weary-hearted sea. She could not think, she durst not; she feared, if she did, that she would curse her beauty, almost curse the name of love, curse Siur, though she knew he was right, for not slaying her; she feared that she might curse God. So she thought not at all, steeping her senses utterly in forgetfulness of the happy past, destroying all anticipation of the future: yet, as they left the city amid the tears of women, and fixed sorrowful gaze of men, she turned round once, and stretched her arms out involuntarily, like a dumb senseless thing, towards the place where she was born, and where her life grew happier day by day, and where his arms first crept round about her. She turned away and thought, but in a cold speculative manner, how it was possible that she was bearing this sorrow; as she often before had wondered, when slight things vexed her overmuch, how people had such sorrows and lived, and almost doubted if the pain was so much greater in great sorrows than in small troubles, or whether the nobleness only was greater, the pain not sharper, but more lingering. Halfway toward the camp the king's people met her; and over the trampled ground, where they had fought so fiercely but a little time before, they spread breadth of golden cloth, that her feet might not touch the arms of her dead countrymen, or their brave bodies. And so they came at last with many trumpet-blasts to the king's tent, who stood at the door of it, to welcome his bride that was to be: a noble man truly to look on, kindly, and genial-eyed; the red blood sprang up over his face when she came near; and she looked back no more, but bowed before him almost to the ground, and would have knelt, but that he caught her in his arms and kissed her; she was pale no more now; and the king, as he gazed delightedly at her, did not notice that sorrow-mark, which was plain enough to her own people. So the trumpets sounded again one long peal that seemed to make all the air reel and quiver, and the soldiers and lords shouted: 'Hurrah for the Peace-Queen, Cissela.' * * * * * 'Come, Harald,' said a beautiful golden-haired boy to one who was plainly his younger brother, 'Come, and let us leave Robert here by the forge, and show our lady-mother this beautiful thing. Sweet master armourer, farewell.' 'Are you going to the queen then?' said the armourer. 'Yea,' said the boy, looking wonderingly at the strong craftsman's eager face. 'But, nay; let me look at you awhile longer, you remind me so much of one I loved long ago in my own land. Stay awhile till your other brother goes with you.' 'Well, I will stay, and think of what you have been telling me; I do not feel as it I should ever think of anything else for long together, as long as I live.' So he sat down again on an old battered anvil, and seemed with his bright eyes to be beholding something in the land of dreams. A gallant dream it was he dreamed; for he saw himself with his brothers and friends about him, seated on a throne, the justest king in all the earth, his people the lovingest of all people: he saw the ambassadors of the restored nation, that had been unjustly dealt with long ago; everywhere love, and peace if possible, justice and truth at all events. Alas! he knew not that vengeance, so long delayed, must fall at last in his life-time; he knew not that it takes longer to restore that whose growth has been through age and age, than the few years of a life-time; yet was the reality good, if not as good as the dream. Presently his twin-brother Robert woke him from that dream, calling out: 'Now, brother Svend, are we really ready; see here! but stop, kneel first; there, now am I the Bishop.' And he pulled his brother down on to his knees, and put on his head, where it fitted loosely enough now, hanging down from left to right, an iron crown fantastically wrought, which he himself, having just finished it, had taken out of the water, cool and dripping. Robert and Harald laughed loud when they saw the crown hanging all askew, and the great drops rolling from it into Svend's eyes and down his cheeks, looking like tears: not so Svend; he rose, holding the crown level on his head, holding it back, so that it pressed against his brow hard, and, first dashing the drops to right and left, caught his brother by the hand, and said: 'May I keep it, Robert? I shall wear it some day.' 'Yea,' said the other; 'but it is a poor thing; better let Siur put it in the furnace again and make it into sword hilts.' Thereupon they began to go, Svend holding the crown in his hand: but as they were going, Siur called out: 'Yet will I sell my dagger at a price, Prince Svend, even as you wished at first, rather than give it you for nothing.' 'Well, for what?' said Svend, somewhat shortly, for he thought Siur was going back from his promise, which was ugly to him. 'Nay, be not angry, prince,' said the armourer, 'only I pray you to satisfy this whim of mine; it is the first favour I have asked of you: will you ask the fair, noble lady, your mother, from Siur the smith, if she is happy now?' 'Willingly, sweet master Siur, if it pleases you; farewell.' And with happy young faces they went away; and when they were gone, Siur from a secret place drew out various weapons and armour, and began to work at them, having first drawn bolt and bar of his workshop carefully. Svend, with Harald and Robert his two brethren, went their ways to the queen, and found her sitting alone in a fair court of the palace full of flowers, with a marble cloister round about it; and when she saw them coming, she rose up to meet them, her three fair sons. Truly as that right royal woman bent over them lovingly, there seemed little need of Siur's question. So Svend showed her his dagger, but not the crown; and she asked many questions concerning Siur the smith, about his way of talking and his face, the colour of his hair even, till the boys wondered, she questioned them so closely, with beaming eyes and glowing cheeks, so that Svend thought he had never before seen his mother look so beautiful. Then Svend said: 'And, mother, don't be angry with Siur, will you? because he sent a message to you by me.' 'Angry!' and straightway her soul was wandering where her body could not come, and for a moment or two she was living as before, with him close by her, in the old mountain land. 'Well, mother, he wanted me to ask you if you were happy now.' 'Did he, Svend, this man with brown hair, grizzled as you say it is now? Is his hair soft then, this Siur, going down on to his shoulders in waves? and his eyes, do they glow steadily, as if lighted up from his heart? and how does he speak? Did you not tell me that his words led you, whether you would or no, into dreamland? Ah well! tell him I am happy, but not so happy as we shall be, as we were. And so you, son Robert, are getting to be quite a cunning smith; but do you think you will ever beat Siur?' 'Ah, mother, no,' he said, 'there is something with him that makes him seem quite infinitely beyond all other workmen I ever heard of.' Some memory coming from that dreamland smote upon her heart more than the others; she blushed like a young girl, and said hesitatingly: 'Does he work with his left hand, son Robert; for I have heard that some men do so?' But in her heart she remembered how once, long ago in the old mountain country, in her father's house, some one had said that only men who were born so, could do cunningly with the left hand; and how Siur, then quite a boy, had said, 'Well, I will try': and how, in a month or two, he had come to her with an armlet of silver, very curiously wrought, which he had done with his own left hand. So Robert said: 'Yea, mother, he works with his left hand almost as much as with his right, and sometimes I have seen him change the hammer suddenly from his right hand to his left, with a kind of half smile, as one who would say, 'Cannot I then?' and this more when he does smith's work in metal than when he works in marble; and once I heard him say when he did so, 'I wonder where my first left hand work is; ah! I bide my time.' I wonder also, mother, what he meant by that.' She answered no word, but shook her arm free from its broad sleeve, and something glittered on it, near her wrist, something wrought out of silver set with quaint and uncouthly-cut stones of little value. * * * * * In the council-chamber, among the lords, sat Svend with his six brethren; he chief of all in the wielding of sword or axe, in the government of people, in drawing the love of men and women to him; perfect in face and body, in wisdom and strength was Svend: next to him sat Robert, cunning in working of marble, or wood, or brass; all things could he make to look as if they lived, from the sweep of an angel's wings down to the slipping of a little field-mouse from under the sheaves in the harvest-time. Then there was Harald, who knew concerning all the stars of heaven and flowers of earth: Richard, who drew men's hearts from their bodies, with the words that swung to and fro in his glorious rhymes: William, to whom the air of heaven seemed a servant when the harp-strings quivered underneath his fingers: there were the two sailor-brothers, who the year before, young though they were, had come back from a long, perilous voyage, with news of an island they had found long and long away to the west, larger than any that this people knew of, but very fair and good, though uninhabited. But now over all this noble brotherhood, with its various gifts hung one cloud of sorrow; their mother, the Peace-Queen Cissela was dead, she who had taught them truth and nobleness so well; she was never to see the beginning of the end that they would work; truly it seemed sad. There sat the seven brothers in the council chamber, waiting for the king, speaking no word, only thinking drearily; and under the pavement of the great church Cissela lay, and by the side of her tomb stood two men, old men both, Valdemar the king, and Siur. So the king, after that he had gazed awhile on the carven face of her he had loved well, said at last: 'And now, Sir Carver, must you carve me also to lie there.' And he pointed to the vacant space by the side of the fair alabaster figure. 'O king,' said Siur, 'except for a very few strokes on steel, I have done work now, having carved the queen there; I cannot do this thing for you.' What was it sent a sharp pang of bitterest suspicion through the very heart of the poor old man? he looked steadfastly at him for a moment or two, as if he would know all secrets; he could not, he had not strength of life enough to get to the bottom of things; doubt vanished soon from his heart and his face under Siur's pitying gaze; he said, 'Then perhaps I shall be my own statue,' and therewithal he sat down on the edge of the low marble tomb, and laid his right arm across her breast; he fixed his eyes on the eastern belt of windows, and sat quite motionless and silent; and he never knew that she loved him not. But Siur, when he had gazed at him for awhile, stole away quietly, as we do when we fear to waken a sleeper; and the king never turned his head, but still sat there, never moving, scarce breathing, it seemed. Siur stood in his own great hall (for his house was large), he stood before the dais, and saw a fair sight, the work of his own hands. For, fronting him, against the wall were seven thrones, and behind them a cloth of samite of purple wrought with golden stars, and barred across from right to left with long bars of silver and crimson, and edged below with melancholy, fading green, like a September sunset; and opposite each throne was a glittering suit of armour wrought wonderfully in bright steel, except that on the breast of each suit was a face worked marvellously in enamel, the face of Cissela in a glory of golden hair; and the glory of that gold spread away from the breast on all sides, and ran cunningly along with the steel rings, in such a way as it is hard even to imagine: moreover, on the crest of each helm was wrought the phoenix, the never-dying bird, the only creature that knows the sun; and by each suit lay a gleaming sword terrible to look at, steel from pommel to point, but wrought along the blade in burnished gold that outflashed the gleam of the steel, was written in fantastic letters the word 'Westward.' So Siur gazed till he heard footsteps coming; then he turned to meet them. And Svend and his brethren sat silent in the council chamber, till they heard a great noise and clamour of the people arise through all the streets; and then they rose to see what it might be. Meanwhile on the low marble tomb, under the dim sweeping vault sat, or rather lay, the king; for, though his right arm still lay over her breast, his head had fallen forward, and rested now on the shoulder of the marble queen. There he lay, with strange confusion of his scarlet, gold-wrought robes; silent, motionless, and dead. The seven brethren stood together on a marble terrace of the royal palace, that was dotted about on the baluster of it with white statues: they were helmetted, and armed to the teeth, only over their armour great black cloaks were thrown. Now the whole great terrace was a-sway with the crowd of nobles and princes, and others that were neither nobles or princes, but true men only; and these were helmetted and wrapped in black cloaks even as the princes were, only the crests of the princes' helms were wrought wonderfully with that bird, the phoenix, all flaming with new power, dying because its old body is not strong enough for its new-found power: and those on that terrace who were unarmed had anxious faces, some fearful, some stormy with Devil's rage at disappointment; but among the faces of those helmed ones, though here and there you might see a pale face, there was no fear or rage, scarcely even any anxiety, but calm, brave joy seemed to be on all. Above the heads of all men on that terrace shone out Svend's brave face, the golden hair flowing from out of his helmet: a smile of quiet confidence overflowing from his mighty heart, in the depths of which it was dwelling, just showed a very little on his eyes and lips. While all the vast square, and all the windows and roofs even of the houses over against the palace, were alive with an innumerable sea of troubled raging faces, showing white, upturned from the under-sea of their many-coloured raiment; the murmur from them was like the sough of the first tempest-wind among the pines, and the gleam of spears here and there like the last few gleams of the sun through the woods when the black thunder-clouds come up over all, soon to be shone through, those woods, by the gleam of the deep lightning. Also sometimes the murmur would swell, and from the heart of it would come a fierce, hoarse, tearing, shattering roar, strangely discordant, of 'War! War! give us war, O king!' Then Svend stepping forward, his arms hidden under his long cloak as they hung down quietly, the smile on his face broadening somewhat, sent from his chest a mighty, effortless voice over all the raging: 'Hear, O ye people! War with all that is ugly and base; peace with all that is fair and good.--NO WAR with my brother's people.' Just then one of those unhelmetted, creeping round about stealthily to the place where Svend stood, lifted his arm and smote at him with a dagger; whereupon Svend clearing his right arm from his cloak with his left, lifted up his glittering right hand, and the traitor fell to the earth groaning with a broken jaw, for Svend had smitten him on the mouth a backward blow with his open hand. One shouted from the crowd, 'Ay, murderer Svend, slay our good nobles, as you poisoned the king your father, that you and your false brethren might oppress us with the memory of that Devil's witch, your mother!' The smile left Svend's face and heart now, he looked very stern as he said: 'Hear, O ye people! In years past when I was a boy my dream of dreams was ever this, how I should make you good, and because good, happy, when I should become king over you; but as year by year passed I saw my dream flitting; the deep colours of it changed, faded, grew grey in the light of coming manhood; nevertheless, God be my witness, that I have ever striven to make you just and true, hoping against hope continually; and I had even determined to bear everything and stay with you, even though you should remain unjust and liars, for the sake of the few who really love me; but now, seeing that God has made you mad, and that his vengeance will speedily fall, take heed how you cast out from you all that is good and true-hearted! Once more--which choose you--Peace or War?' Between the good and the base, in the midst of the passionate faces and changing colours stood the great terrace, cold, and calm, and white, with its changeless statues; and for a while there was silence. Broken through at last by a yell, and the sharp whirr of arrows, and the cling, clang, from the armour of the terrace as Prince Harald staggered through unhurt, struck by the broad point on the helmet. 'What, War?' shouted Svend wrathfully, and his voice sounded like a clap of thunder following the lightning flash when a tower is struck. 'What! war? swords for Svend! round about the king, good men and true! Sons of the golden-haired, show these men WAR.' As he spoke he let his black cloak fall, and up from their sheaths sprang seven swords, steel from pommel to point only; on the blades of them in fantastic letters of gold, shone the word WESTWARD. Then all the terrace gleamed with steel, and amid the hurtling of stones and whizz of arrows they began to go westward. * * * * * The streets ran with blood, the air was filled with groans and curses, the low waves nearest the granite pier were edged with blood, because they first caught the drippings of the blood. Then those of the people who durst stay on the pier saw the ships of Svend's little fleet leaving one by one; for he had taken aboard those ten ships whosoever had prayed to go, even at the last moment, wounded, or dying even; better so, for in their last moments came thoughts of good things to many of them, and it was good to be among the true. But those haughty ones left behind, sullen and untamed, but with a horrible indefinable dread on them that was worse than death, or mere pain, howsoever fierce--these saw all the ships go out of the harbour merrily with swelling sail and dashing oar, and with joyous singing of those aboard; and Svend's was the last of all. Whom they saw kneel down on the deck unhelmed, then all sheathed their swords that were about him; and the Prince Robert took from Svend's hand an iron crown fantastically wrought, and placed it on his head as he knelt; then he continued kneeling still, till, as the ship drew further and further away from the harbour, all things aboard of her became indistinct. And they never saw Svend and his brethren again. * * * * * Here ends what William the Englishman wrote; but afterwards (in the night- time) he found the book of a certain chronicler which saith: 'In the spring-time, in May, the 550_th_ year from the death of Svend the wonderful king, the good knights, sailing due eastward, came to a harbour of a land they knew not: wherein they saw many goodly ships, but of a strange fashion like the ships of the ancients, and destitute of any mariners: besides they saw no beacons for the guidance of seamen, nor was there any sound of bells or singing, though the city was vast, with many goodly towers and palaces. So when they landed they found that which is hardly to be believed but which is nevertheless true: for about the quays and about the streets lay many people dead, or stood, but quite without motion, and they were all white or about the colour of new-hewn freestone, yet were they not statues but real men, for they had, some of them, ghastly wounds which showed their entrails, and the structure of their flesh, and veins, and bones. 'Moreover the streets were red and wet with blood, and the harbour waves were red with it, because it dipped in great drops slowly from the quays. 'Then when the good knights saw this, they doubted not but that it was a fearful punishment on this people for sins of theirs; thereupon they entered into a church of that city and prayed God to pardon them; afterwards, going back to their ships, sailed away marvelling. 'And I John who wrote this history saw all this with mine own eyes.' THE CHURCHES OF NORTH FRANCE I--SHADOWS OF AMIENS Not long ago I saw for the first time some of the churches of North France; still more recently I saw them for the second time; and, remembering the love I have for them and the longing that was in me to see them, during the time that came between the first and second visit, I thought I should like to tell people of some of those things I felt when I was there;--there among those mighty tombs of the long-dead ages. And I thought that even if I could say nothing else about these grand churches, I could at least tell men how much I loved them; so that though they might laugh at me for my foolish and confused words, they might yet be moved to see what there was that made me speak my love, though I could give no reason for it. For I will say here that I think those same churches of North France the grandest, the most beautiful, the kindest and most loving of all the buildings that the earth has ever borne; and, thinking of their past-away builders, can I see through them, very faintly, dimly, some little of the mediaeval times, else dead, and gone from me for ever--voiceless for ever. And those same builders, still surely living, still real men, and capable of receiving love, I love no less than the great men, poets and painters and such like, who are on earth now, no less than my breathing friends whom I can see looking kindly on me now. Ah! do I not love them with just cause, who certainly loved me, thinking of me sometimes between the strokes of their chisels; and for this love of all men that they had, and moreover for the great love of God, which they certainly had too; for this, and for this work of theirs, the upraising of the great cathedral front with its beating heart of the thoughts of men, wrought into the leaves and flowers of the fair earth; wrought into the faces of good men and true, fighters against the wrong, of angels who upheld them, of God who rules all things; wrought through the lapse of years, and years, and years, by the dint of chisel, and stroke of hammer, into stories of life and death, the second life, the second death, stories of God's dealing in love and wrath with the nations of the earth, stories of the faith and love of man that dies not: for their love, and the deeds through which it worked, I think they will not lose their reward. So I will say what I can of their works, and I have to speak of Amiens first, and how it seemed to me in the hot August weather. I know how wonderful it would look, if you were to mount one of the steeples of the town, or were even to mount up to the roof of one of the houses westward of the cathedral; for it rises up from the ground, grey from the paving of the street, the cavernous porches of the west front opening wide, and marvellous with the shadows of the carving you can only guess at; and above stand the kings, and above that you would see the twined mystery of the great flamboyant rose window with its thousand openings, and the shadows of the flower-work carved round it, then the grey towers and gable, grey against the blue of the August sky, and behind them all, rising high into the quivering air, the tall spire over the crossing. But from the hot Place Royale here with its stunted pollard acacias, and statue of some one, I know not whom, but some citizen of Amiens I suppose, you can see nothing but the graceful spire; it is of wood covered over with lead, and was built quite at the end of the flamboyant times. Once it was gilt all over, and used to shine out there, getting duller and duller, as the bad years grew worse and worse; but the gold is all gone now; when it finally disappeared I know not, but perhaps it was in 1771, when the chapter got them the inside of their cathedral whitewashed from vaulting to pavement. The spire has two octagonal stages above the roof, formed of trefoiled arches, and slim buttresses capped by leaded figures; from these stages the sloping spire springs with crocketted ribs at the angles, the lead being arranged in a quaint herring-bone pattern; at the base of the spire too is a crown of open-work and figures, making a third stage; finally, near the top of the spire the crockets swell, till you come to the rose that holds the great spire-cross of metal-work, such metal-work as the French alone knew how to make; it is all beautiful, though so late. From one of the streets leading out of the Place Royale you can see the cathedral, and as you come nearer you see that it is clear enough of houses or such like things; the great apse rises over you, with its belt of eastern chapels; first the long slim windows of these chapels, which are each of them little apses, the Lady Chapel projecting a good way beyond the rest, and then, running under the cornice of the chapels and outer aisles all round the church, a cornice of great noble leaves; then the parapets in changing flamboyant patterns, then the conical roofs of the chapels hiding the exterior tracery of the triforium, then the great clerestory windows, very long, of four lights, and stilted, the tracery beginning a long way below the springing of their arches; and the buttresses are so thick, and their arms spread so here, that each of the clerestory windows looks down its own space between them, as if between walls: above the windows rise their canopies running through the parapet, and above all the great mountainous roof, and all below it, and around the windows and walls of the choir and apse, stand the mighty army of the buttresses, holding up the weight of the stone roof within with their strong arms for ever. We go round under their shadows, past the sacristies, past the southern transept, only glancing just now at the sculpture there, past the chapels of the nave, and enter the church by the small door hard by the west front, with that figure of huge St. Christopher quite close over our heads; thereby we enter the church, as I said, and are in its western bay. I think I felt inclined to shout when I first entered Amiens cathedral; it is so free and vast and noble, I did not feel in the least awe-struck, or humbled by its size and grandeur. I have not often felt thus when looking on architecture, but have felt, at all events, at first, intense exultation at the beauty of it; that, and a certain kind of satisfaction in looking on the geometrical tracery of the windows, on the sweeping of the huge arches, were, I think, my first feelings in Amiens Cathedral. We go down the nave, glancing the while at the traceried windows of the chapels, which are later than the windows above them; we come to the transepts, and from either side the stained glass, in their huge windows, burns out on us; and, then, first we begin to appreciate somewhat the scale of the church, by looking up, along the ropes hanging from the vaulting to the pavement, for the tolling of the bells in the spire. There is a hideous renaissance screen, of solid stone or marble, between choir and nave, with more hideous iron gates to it, through which, however, we, walking up the choir steps, can look and see the gorgeous carving of the canopied stalls; and then, alas! 'the concentration of flattened sacks, rising forty feet above the altar;' but, above that, the belt of the apse windows, rich with sweet mellowed stained glass, under the dome-like roof. The stalls in the choir are very rich, as people know, carved in wood, in the early sixteenth century, with high twisted canopies, and histories, from the Old Testament mostly, wrought about them. The history of Joseph I remember best among these. Some of the scenes in it I thought very delightful; the story told in such a gloriously quaint, straightforward manner. Pharaoh's dream, how splendid that was! the king lying asleep on his elbow, and the kine coming up to him in two companies. I think the lean kine was about the best bit of wood-carving I have seen yet. There they were, a writhing heap, crushing and crowding one another, drooping heads and starting eyes, and strange angular bodies; altogether the most wonderful symbol of famine ever conceived. I never fairly understood Pharaoh's dream till I saw the stalls at Amiens. There is nothing else to see in the choir; all the rest of the fittings being as bad as possible. So we will go out again, and walk round the choir-aisles. The screen round the choir is solid, the upper part of it carved (in the flamboyant times), with the history of St. John the Baptist, on the north side; with that of St. Firmin on the south. I remember very little of the sculptures relative to St. John, but I know that I did not like them much. Those about St. Firmin, who evangelised Picardy, I remember much better, and some of them especially I thought very beautiful; they are painted too, and at any rate one cannot help looking at them. I do not remember, in the least, the order in which they come, but some of them are fixed well enough in my memory; and, principally, a bishop, (St. Firmin), preaching, rising out of a pulpit from the midst of the crowd, in his jewelled cope and mitre, and with a beautiful sweet face. Then another, the baptising of the king and his lords, was very quaint and lifelike. I remember, too, something about the finding of St. Firmin's relics, and the translation of the same relics when found; the many bishops, with their earnest faces, in the first, and the priests, bearing the reliquaries, in the second; with their long vestments girded at the waist and falling over their feet, painted too, in light colours, with golden flowers on them. I wish I remembered these carvings better, I liked them so much. Just about this place, in the lower part of the screen, I remember the tomb of a priest, very gorgeous, with gold and colours; he lay in a deep niche, under a broad segmental arch, which is painted with angels; and, outside this niche, angels were drawing back painted curtains, I am sorry to say. But the priest lay there in cope and alb, and the gentle colour lay over him, as his calm face gazed ever at the angels painted in his resting place. I have dim recollection of seeing, when I was at Amiens before, not this last time, a tomb, which I liked much, a bishop, I think it was, lying under a small round arch, but I forget the figure now. This was in a chapel on the other side of the choir. It is very hard to describe the interior of a great church like this, especially since the whitewash (applied, as I said, on this scale in 1771) lies on everything so; before that time, some book says, the church was painted from end to end with patterns of flowers and stars, and histories: think--I might have been able to say something about it then, with that solemn glow of colour all about me, as I walked there from sunrise to sunset; and yet, perhaps, it would have filled my heart too full for speaking, all that beauty; I know not. Up into the triforium, and other galleries, sometimes in the church, sometimes in narrow passages of close-fitting stone, sometimes out in the open air; up into the forest of beams between the slates and the real stone roof: one can look down through a hole in the vaulting and see the people walking and praying on the pavement below, looking very small from that height, and strangely foreshortened. A strange sense of oppression came over me at that time, when, as we were in one of the galleries of the west front, we looked into the church, and found the vaulting but a foot or two (or it seemed so) above our heads; also, while I was in the galleries, now out of the church, now in it, the canons had begun to sing complines, and the sound of their singing floated dimly up the winding stair-cases and half-shut doors. The sun was setting when we were in the roof, and a beam of it, striking through the small window up in the gable, fell in blood-red spots on the beams of the great dim roof. We came out from the roof on to the parapet in the blaze of the sun, and then going to the crossing, mounted as high as we could into the spire, and stood there a while looking down on the beautiful country, with its many water-meadows, and feathering trees. And here let me say something about the way in which I have taken this description upon me; for I did not write it at Amiens; moreover, if I had described it from the bare reminiscences of the church, I should have been able to say little enough about the most interesting part of all, the sculptures, namely; so, though remembering well enough the general effect of the whole, and, very distinctly, statues and faces, nay, leaves and flower-knots, here and there; yet, the external sculpture I am describing as well as I can from such photographs as I have; and these, as everybody knows, though very distinct and faithful, when they show anything at all, yet, in some places, where the shadows are deep, show simply nothing. They tell me, too, nothing whatever of the colour of the building; in fact, their brown and yellow is as unlike as possible to the grey of Amiens. So, for the facts of form, I have to look at my photographs; for facts of colour I have to try and remember the day or two I spent at Amiens, and the reference to the former has considerably dulled my memory of the latter. I have something else to say, too; it will seem considerably ridiculous, no doubt, to many people who are well acquainted with the iconography of the French churches, when I talk about the stories of some of the carvings; both from my want of knowledge as to their meaning, and also from my telling people things which everybody may be supposed to know; for which I pray forgiveness, and so go on to speak of the carvings about the south transept door. It is divided in the midst by a pillar, whereon stands the Virgin, holding our Lord. She is crowned, and has a smile upon her face now for ever; and in the canopy above her head are three angels, bearing up the aureole there; and about these angels, and the aureole and head of the Virgin, there is still some gold and vermilion left. The Holy Child, held in His mother's left arm, is draped from His throat to His feet, and between His hands He holds the orb of the world. About on a level with the Virgin, along the sides of the doorway, are four figures on each side, the innermost one on either side being an angel holding a censer; the others are ecclesiastics, and (some book says) benefactors to the church. They have solemn faces, stern, with firm close-set lips, and eyes deep-set under their brows, almost frowning, and all but one or two are beardless, though evidently not young; the square door valves are carved with deep-twined leaf-mouldings, and the capitals of the door-shafts are carved with varying knots of leaves and flowers. Above the Virgin, up in the tympanum of the doorway, are carved the Twelve Apostles, divided into two bands of six, by the canopy over the Virgin's head. They are standing in groups of two, but I do not know for certain which they are, except, I think, two, St. James and St. John; the two first in the eastern division. James has the pilgrim's hat and staff, and John is the only beardless one among them; his face is rather sad, and exceedingly lovely, as, indeed are all those faces, being somewhat alike; and all, in some degree like the type of face received as the likeness of Christ himself. They have all long hair falling in rippled bands on each side of their faces, on to their shoulders. Their drapery, too, is lovely; they are very beautiful and solemn. Above their heads runs a cornice of trefoiled arches, one arch over the head of each apostle; from out of the deep shade of the trefoils flashes a grand leaf cornice, one leaf again to each apostle; and so we come to the next compartment, which contains three scenes from the life of St. Honore, an early French bishop. The first scene is, I think, the election of a bishop, the monks or priests talking the matter over in chapter first, then going to tell the bishop-elect. Gloriously-draped figures the monks are, with genial faces full of good wisdom, drawn into quaint expressions by the joy of argument. This one old, and has seen much of the world; he is trying, I think, to get his objections answered by the young man there, who is talking to him so earnestly; he is listening, with a half- smile on his face, as if he had made up his mind, after all. These other two, one very energetic indeed, with his head and shoulders swung back a little, and his right arm forward, and the other listening to him, and but half-convinced yet. Then the two next, turning to go with him who is bearing to the new-chosen bishop the book of the Gospels and pastoral staff; they look satisfied and happy. Then comes he with the pastoral staff and Gospels; then, finally, the man who is announcing the news to the bishop himself, the most beautiful figure in the whole scene, perhaps, in the whole doorway; he is stooping down, lovingly, to the man they have chosen, with his left hand laid on his arm, and his long robe falls to his feet from his shoulder all along his left side, moulded a little to the shape of his body, but falling heavily and with scarce a fold in it, to the ground: the chosen one sitting there, with his book held between his two hands, looks up to him with his brave face, and he will be bishop, and rule well, I think. So, by the next scene he is bishop, I suppose, and is sitting there ordering the building of a church; for he is sitting under a trefoiled canopy, with his mitre on his head, his right hand on a reading-desk by his side. His book is lying open, his head turned toward what is going forwards. It is a splendid head and face. In the photograph I have of this subject, the mitre, short and simple, is in full light but for a little touch of shade on one side; the face is shaded, but the crown of short crisp curls hanging over it, about half in light, half in shade. Beyond the trefoil canopy comes a wood of quaint conventional trees, full of stone, with a man working at it with a long pick: I cannot see his face, as it is altogether in shade, the light falling on his head however. He is dressed in a long robe, quite down to his feet, not a very convenient dress, one would think, for working in. I like the trees here very much; they are meant for hawthorns and oaks. There are a very few leaves on each tree, but at the top they are all twisted about, and are thicker, as if the wind were blowing them. The little capitals of the canopy, under which the bishop is sitting, are very delightful, and are common enough in larger work of this time (thirteenth century) in France. Four bunches of leaves spring from long stiff stalks, and support the square abacus, one under each corner. The next scene, in the division above, is some miracle or other, which took place at mass, it seems. The bishop is saying mass before an altar; behind him are four assistants; and, as the bishop stands there with his hand raised, a hand coming from somewhere by the altar, holds down towards him the consecrated wafer. The thing is gloriously carved, whatever it is. The assistant immediately behind the bishop, holding in his hands a candle-stick, somewhat slantwise towards the altar, is, especially in the drapery, one of the most beautiful in the upper part of this tympanum; his head is a little bent, and the line made from the back of it over the heavy hair, down along the heavy-swinging robe, is very beautiful. The next scene is the shrine of some Saint. This same bishop, I suppose, dead now, after all his building and ruling, and hard fighting, possibly, with the powers that be; often to be fought with righteously in those times. Over the shrine sits the effigy of the bishop, with his hand raised to bless. On the western side are two worshippers; on the eastern, a blind and a deaf man are being healed, by the touch of the dead bishop's robe. The deaf man is leaning forward, and the servant of the shrine holds to his ear the bishop's robe. The deaf man has a very deaf face, not very anxious though; not even showing very much hope, but faithful only. The blind one is coming up behind him with a crutch in his right hand, and led by a dog; the face was either in its first estate, very ugly and crabbed, or by the action of the weather or some such thing, has been changed so. So the bishop being dead and miracles being wrought at his tomb, in the division above comes the translation of his remains; a long procession taking up the whole of the division, which is shorter than the others, however, being higher up towards the top of the arch. An acolyte bearing a cross, heads the procession, then two choristers; then priests bearing relics and books; long vestments they have, and stoles crossed underneath their girdles; then comes the reliquary borne by one at each end, the two finest figures in this division, the first especially; his head raised and his body leaning forward to the weight of the reliquary, as people nearly always do walk when they carry burdens and are going slowly; which this procession certainly is doing, for some of the figures are even turning round. Three men are kneeling or bending down beneath the shrine as it passes; cripples, they are, all three have beautiful faces, the one who is apparently the worst cripple of the three, (his legs and feet are horribly twisted), has especially a wonderfully delicate face, timid and shrinking, though faithful: behind the shrine come the people, walking slowly together with reverent faces; a woman with a little child holding her hand are the last figures in this history of St. Honore: they both have their faces turned full south, the woman has not a beautiful face, but a happy good-natured genial one. The cornice below this division is of plain round-headed trefoils very wide, and the spandrel of each arch is pierced with a small round trefoil, very sharply cut, looking, in fact, as if it were cut with a punch: this cornice, simple though it is, I think, very beautiful, and in my photograph the broad trefoils of it throw sharp black shadows on the stone behind the worshipping figures, and square-cut altars. In the triangular space at the top of the arch is a representation of our Lord on the cross; St. Mary and St. John standing on either side of him, and, kneeling on one knee under the sloping sides of the arch, two angels, one on each side. I very much wish I could say something more about this piece of carving than I can do, because it seems to me that the French thirteenth century sculptors failed less in their representations of the crucifixion than almost any set of artists; though it was certainly an easier thing to do in stone than on canvas, especially in such a case as this where the representation is so highly abstract; nevertheless, I wish I could say something more about it; failing which, I will say something about my photograph of it. I cannot see the Virgin's face at all, it is in the shade so much; St. John's I cannot see very well; I do not think it is a remarkable face, though there is sweet expression in it; our Lord's face is very grand and solemn, as fine as I remember seeing it anywhere in sculpture. The shadow of the body hanging on the cross there, falls strangely and weirdly on the stone behind--both the kneeling angels (who, by the way, are holding censers), are beautiful. Did I say above that one of the faces of the twelve Apostles was the most beautiful in the tympanum? if I did, I retract that saying, certainly, looking on the westernmost of these two angels. I keep using the word beautiful so often that I feel half inclined to apologise for it; but I cannot help it, though it is often quite inadequate to express the loveliness of some of the figures carved here; and so it happens surely with the face of this angel. The face is not of a man, I should think; it is rather like a very fair woman's face; but fairer than any woman's face I ever saw or thought of: it is in profile and easy to be seen in the photograph, though somewhat in the shade. I am utterly at a loss how to describe it, or to give any idea of the exquisite lines of the cheek and the rippled hair sweeping back from it, just faintly touched by the light from the south-east. I cannot say more about it. So I have gone through the carvings in the lower part of this doorway, and those of the tympanum. Now, besides these, all the arching-over of the door is filled with figures under canopies, about which I can say little, partly from want of adequate photographs, partly from ignorance of their import. But the first of the cavettos wherein these figures are, is at any rate filled with figures of angels, some swinging censers, some bearing crowns, and other things which I cannot distinguish. Most of the niches in the next cavetto seem to hold subjects; but the square camera of the photographer clips some, many others are in shadow, in fact the niches throw heavy shadows over the faces of nearly all; and without the photograph I remember nothing but much fretted grey stone above the line of the capitals of the doorway shafts; grey stone with something carved in it, and the swallows flying in and out of it. Yet now there are three niches I can say something about at all events. A stately figure with a king's crown on his head, and hair falling in three waves over his shoulders, a very kingly face looking straight onward; a great jewelled collar falling heavily to his elbows: his right hand holding a heavy sceptre formed of many budding flowers, and his left just touching in front the folds of his raiment that falls heavily, very heavily to the ground over his feet. Saul, King of Israel.--A bending figure with covered head, pouring, with his right hand, oil on the head of a youth, not a child plainly, but dwarfed to a young child's stature before the bending of the solemn figure with the covered head. Samuel anointing David.--A king again, with face hidden in deep shade, holding a naked sword in his right hand, and a living infant in the other; and two women before him, one with a mocking smile on her face, the other with her head turned up in passionate entreaty, grown women they are plainly, but dwarfed to the stature of young girls before the hidden face of the King. The judgment of Solomon.--An old man with drawn sword in right hand, with left hand on a fair youth dwarfed, though no child, to the stature of a child; the old man's head is turned somewhat towards the presence of an angel behind him, who points downward to something unseen. Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac.--Noah too, working diligently that the ark may be finished before the flood comes.--Adam tilling the ground, and clothed in the skins of beasts.--There is Jacob's stolen blessing, that was yet in some sort to be a blessing though it was stolen.--There is old Jacob whose pilgrimage is just finished now, after all his doings and sufferings, all those deceits inflicted upon him, that made him remember, perforce, the lie he said and acted long ago,--old Jacob blessing the sons of Joseph. And many more which I remember not, know not, mingled too with other things which I dimly see have to do with the daily occupations of the men who lived in the dim, far-off thirteenth century. I remember as I came out by the north door of the west front, how tremendous the porches seemed to me, which impression of greatness and solemnity, the photographs, square-cut and brown-coloured do not keep at all; still however I can recall whenever I please the wonder I felt before that great triple porch; I remember best in this way the porch into which I first entered, namely the northernmost, probably because I saw most of it, coming in and out often by it, yet perhaps the fact that I have seen no photograph of this doorway somewhat assists the impression. Yet I do not remember even of this anything more than the fact that the tympanum represented the life and death of some early French bishop; it seemed very interesting. I remember, too, that in the door-jambs were standing figures of bishops in two long rows, their mitred heads bowed forward solemnly, and I remember nothing further. Concerning the southernmost porch of the west front.--The doorway of this porch also has on the centre pillar of it a statue of the Virgin standing, holding the Divine Child in her arms. Both the faces of the Virgin Mother and of her Son, are very beautiful; I like them much better than those in the south transept already spoken of; indeed I think them the grandest of all the faces of the Madonna and Child that I have seen carved by the French architects. I have seen many, the faces of which I do not like, though the drapery is always beautiful; their faces I do not like at all events, as faces of the Virgin and Child, though as faces of other people even if not beautiful they would be interesting. The Child is, as in the transept, draped down to the feet; draped too, how exquisitely I know not how to say. His right arm and hand is stretched out across His mother's breast, His left hangs down so that His wrist as His hand is a little curved upwards, rests upon His knee; His mother holds Him slightly with her left arm, with her right she holds a fold of her robe on which His feet rest. His figure is not by any means that of an infant, for it is slim and slender, too slender for even a young boy, yet too soft, too much rounded for a youth, and the head also is too large; I suppose some people would object to this way of carving One who is supposed to be an infant; yet I have no doubt that the old sculptors were right in doing so, and to my help in this matter comes the remembrance of Ruskin's answer to what Lord Lindsay says concerning the inability of Giotto and his school to paint young children: for he says that it might very well happen that Giotto could paint children, but yet did not choose to in this instance, (the Presentation of the Virgin), for the sake of the much greater dignity to be obtained by using the more fully developed figure and face; {156} and surely, whatever could be said about Giotto's paintings, no one who was at all acquainted with Early French sculpture could doubt that the carvers of this figure here, _could_ have carved an infant if they had thought fit so to do, men who again and again grasped eagerly common everyday things when in any way they would tell their story. To return to the statues themselves. The face of the young Christ is of the same character as His figure, such a face as Elizabeth Browning tells of, the face of One 'who never sinned or smiled'; at least if the sculptor fell below his ideal somewhat, yet for all that, through that face which he failed in a little, we can see when we look, that his ideal was such an one. The Virgin's face is calm and very sweet, full of rest,--indeed the two figures are very full of rest; everything about them expresses it from the broad forehead of the Virgin, to the resting of the feet of the Child (who is almost self-balanced) in the fold of the robe that she holds gently, to the falling of the quiet lines of her robe over her feet, to the resting of its folds between them. The square heads of the door-valves, and a flat moulding above them which runs up also into the first division of the tympanum, is covered with faintly cut diaper-work of four-leaved flowers. Along the jambs of the doorway on the north side stand six kings, all bearded men but one, who is young apparently; I do not know who these are, but think they must be French kings; one, the farthest toward the outside of the porch, has taken his crown off, and holds it in his hand: the figures on the other side of the door-jambs are invisible in the photograph except one, the nearest to the door, young, sad, and earnest to look at--I know not who he is. Five figures outside the porch, and on the angles of the door-jambs, are I suppose prophets, perhaps those who have prophesied of the birth of our Lord, as this door is apportioned to the Virgin. The first division of the tympanum has six sitting figures in it; on each side of the canopy over the Virgin's head, Moses and Aaron; Moses with the tables of the law, and Aaron with great blossomed staff: with them again, two on either side, sit the four greater prophets, their heads veiled, and a scroll lying along between them, over their knees; old they look, very old, old and passionate and fierce, sitting there for so long. The next division has in it the death and burial of the Virgin,--the twelve Apostles clustering round the deathbed of the Virgin. I wish my photograph were on a larger scale, for this indeed seems to me one of the most beautiful pieces of carving about this church, those earnest faces expressing so many things mingled with their regret that she will be no more with them; and she, the Virgin-Mother, in whom all those prophecies were fulfilled, lying so quiet there, with her hands crossed downwards, dead at last. Ah! and where will she go now? whose face will she see always? Oh! that we might be there too! Oh! those faces so full of all tender regret, which even They must feel for Her; full of all yearning, and longing that they too might finish the long fight, that they might be with the happy dead: there is a wonder on their faces too, when they see what the mighty power of Death is. The foremost is bending down, with his left hand laid upon her breast, and he is gazing there so long, so very long; one looking there too, over his shoulder, rests his hand on him; there is one at the head, one at the foot of the bed; and he at the head is turning round his head, that he may see her face, while he holds in his hands the long vestment on which her head rests. In my photograph the shadow is so thick that I cannot see much of the burial of the Virgin, can see scarce anything of the faces, only just the forms, of the Virgin lying quiet and still there, of the bending angels, and their great wings that shadow everything there. So also of the third and last division filling the top of the arch. I only know that it represents the Virgin sitting glorified with Christ, crowned by angels, and with angels all about her. The first row in the vaulting of the porch I has angels in it, holding censers and candlesticks; the next has in it the kings who sprung from Jesse, with a flowing bough twisted all among them; the third and last is hidden by a projecting moulding. All the three porches of the west front have a fringe of cusps ending in flowers, hanging to their outermost arch, and above this a band of flower- work, consisting of a rose and three rose-leaves alternating with each other. Concerning the central porch of the west front.--The pillar which divides the valves of the central porch carries a statue of Our Lord; his right hand raised to bless, his left hand holding the Book; along the jambs of the porch are the Apostles, but not the Apostles alone, I should think; those that are in the side that I can see have their distinctive emblems with them, some of them at least. Their faces vary very much here, as also their figures and dress; the one I like best among them is one who I think is meant for St. James the Less, with a long club in his hands; but they are all grand faces, stern and indignant, for they have come to judgment. For there above in the tympanum, in the midst over the head of Christ, stand three angels, and the midmost of them bears scales in his hands, wherein are the souls being weighed against the accusations of the Accuser, and on either side of him stands another angel, blowing a long trumpet, held downwards, and their long, long raiment, tight across the breast, falls down over their feet, heavy, vast, ungirt; and at the corners of this same division stand two other angels, and they also are blowing long trumpets held downwards, so that their blast goes round the world and through it; and the dead are rising between the robes of the angels with their hands many of them lifted to heaven; and above them and below them are deep bands of wrought flowers; and in the vaulting of the porch are eight bands of niches with many, many figures carved therein; and in the first row in the lowest niche Abraham stands with the saved souls in the folds of his raiment. In the next row and in the rest of the niches are angels with their hands folded in prayer; and in the next row angels again, bearing the souls over, of which they had charge in life; and this is, I think, the most gloriously carved of all those in the vaulting. Then martyrs come bearing their palm-boughs; then priests with the chalice, each of them; and others there are which I know not of. But above the resurrection from the dead, in the tympanum, is the reward of the good, and the punishment of the bad. Peter standing there at the gate, and the long line of the blessed entering one by one; each one crowned as he enters by an angel waiting there; and above their heads a cornice takes the shape of many angels stooping down to them to crown them. But on the inferno side the devil drives before him the wicked, all naked, presses them on toward hell-mouth, that gapes for them, and above their heads the devil-cornice hangs and weighs on them. And above these the Judge showing the wounds that were made for the salvation of the world; and St. Mary and St. John kneeling on either side of Him, they who stood so once at the Crucifixion; two angels carrying cross and spear and nails; two others kneeling, and, above, other angels, with their wings spread, and singing. Something like this is carved in the central porch at Amiens. Once more forgive me, I pray, for the poor way in which I have done even that which I have attempted to do; and forgive me also for that which I have left undone. And now, farewell to the church that I love, to the carved temple-mountain that rises so high above the water-meadows of the Somme, above the grey roofs of the good town. Farewell to the sweep of the arches, up from the bronze bishops lying at the west end, up to the belt of solemn windows, where, through the painted glass, the light comes solemnly. Farewell to the cavernous porches of the west front, so grey under the fading August sun, grey with the wind-storms, grey with the rain-storms, grey with the beat of many days' sun, from sunrise to sunset; showing white sometimes, too, when the sun strikes it strongly; snowy-white, sometimes, when the moon is on it, and the shadows growing blacker; but grey now, fretted into black by the mitres of the bishops, by the solemn covered heads of the prophets, by the company of the risen, and the long robes of the judgment-angels, by hell-mouth and its flames gaping there, and the devils that feed it; by the saved souls and the crowning angels; by the presence of the Judge, and by the roses growing above them all for ever. Farewell to the spire, gilt all over with gold once, and shining out there, very gloriously; dull and grey now, alas; but still it catches, through its interlacement of arches, the intensest blue of the blue summer sky; and, sometimes at night you may see the stars shining through it. It is fair still, though the gold is gone, the spire that seems to rock, when across it, in the wild February nights, the clouds go westward. Footnotes: {21} See Thorpe's _Northern Mythology_, vol. ii, p. 214. {156} In the explanatory remarks accompanying the engravings from Giotto's frescoes in the Arena Chapel, published by the Arundel Society. I regret not being able to give the reference to the passage, not having the work by me. _Printed at_ THE AVON PRESS, _London_ 
19468	----	http://www.archive.org/details/mediaevalsocial00jarruoft MEDIAEVAL SOCIALISM by BEDE JARRETT, O.P., M.A. [Illustration: Logo] London: T. C. & E. C. Jack 67 Long Acre, W.C., and Edinburgh New York: Dodge Publishing Co. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. INTRODUCTION 5 II. SOCIAL CONDITIONS 17 III. THE COMMUNISTS 29 IV. THE SCHOOLMEN 41 V. THE LAWYERS 55 VI. THE SOCIAL REFORMERS 68 VII. THE THEORY OF ALMS-GIVING 80 BIBLIOGRAPHY 91 INDEX 93 MEDIAEVAL SOCIALISM CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION The title of this book may not unnaturally provoke suspicion. After all, howsoever we define it, socialism is a modern thing, and dependent almost wholly on modern conditions. It is an economic theory which has been evolved under pressure of circumstances which are admittedly of no very long standing. How then, it may be asked, is it possible to find any real correspondence between theories of old time and those which have grown out of present-day conditions of life? Surely whatever analogy may be drawn between them must be based on likenesses which cannot be more than superficial. The point of view implied in this question is being increasingly adopted by all scientific students of social and political opinions, and is most certainly correct. Speculation that is purely philosophic may indeed turn round upon itself. The views of Grecian metaphysicians may continue for ever to find enthusiastic adherents; though even here, in the realm of purely abstract reasoning, the progressive development of science, of psychology, and kindred branches of knowledge cannot fail by its influence to modify the form and arrangement of thought. But in those purely positive sciences (if indeed sciences they can properly be called) which deal with the life of man and its organisation, the very principles and postulates will be found to need continual readjustment. For with man's life, social, political, economic, we are in contact with forces which are of necessity always in a state of flux. For example, the predominance of agriculture, or of manufacture, or of commerce in the life of the social group must materially alter the attitude of the statesman who is responsible for its fortunes; and the progress of the nation from one to another stage of her development often entails (by altering from one class to another the dominant position of power) the complete reversal of her traditional maxims of government. Human life is not static, but dynamic. Hence the theories weaved round it must themselves be subject to the law of continuous development. It is obvious that this argument cannot be gainsaid; and yet at the same time we may not be in any way illogical in venturing on an inquiry as to whether, in centuries not wholly dissimilar from our own, the mind of man worked itself out along lines parallel in some degree to contemporary systems of thought. Man's life differs, yet are the categories which mould his ideas eternally the same. But before we go on to consider some early aspects of socialism, we must first ascertain what socialism itself essentially implies. Already within the lifetime of the present generation the word has greatly enlarged the scope of its significance. Many who ten years ago would have objected to it as a name of ill-omen see in it now nothing which may not be harmonised with the most ordinary of political and social doctrines. It is hardly any longer the badge of a school. Yet it does retain at any rate the bias of a tendency. It suggests chiefly the transference of ownership in land and capital from private hands into their possession in some form or other by the society. The means of this transference, and the manner in which this social possession is to be maintained, are very widely debated, and need not here be determined; it is sufficient for the matter of this book to have it granted that in this lies the germ of the socialistic theory of the State. Once more it must be admitted that the meaning of "private ownership" and "social possession" will vary exceedingly in each age. When private dominion has become exceedingly individual and practically absolute, the opposition between the two terms will necessarily be very sharp. But in those earlier stages of national and social evolution, when the community was still regarded as composed, not of persons, but of groups, the antagonism might be, in point of theory, extremely limited; and in concrete cases it might possibly be difficult to determine where one ended and the other began. Yet it is undeniable that socialism in itself need mean no more than the central principle of State-ownership of capital and land. Such a conception is consistent with much private property in other forms than land and capital, and will be worked out in detail differently by different minds. But it is the principle, the essence of it, which justifies any claims made to the use of the name. We may therefore fairly call those theories socialistic which are covered by this central doctrine, and disregard, as irrelevant to the nature of the term, all added peculiarities contributed by individuals who have joined their forces to the movement. By socialistic theories of the Middle Ages, therefore, we mean no more than those theories which from time to time came to the surface of political and social speculation in the form of communism, or of some other way of bringing about the transference which we have just indicated. But before plunging into the tanglement of these rather complicated problems, it will make for clearness if we consider quite briefly the philosophic heritage of social teaching to which the Middle Ages succeeded. The Fathers of the Church had found themselves confronted with difficulties of no mean subtlety. On the one hand, the teaching of the Scriptures forced upon them the religious truth of the essential equality of all human nature. Christianity was a standing protest against the exclusiveness of the Jewish faith, and demanded through the attendance at one altar the recognition of an absolute oneness of all its members. The Epistles of St. Paul, which were the most scientific defence of Christian doctrine, were continually insisting on the fact that for the new faith there was no real division between Greek or barbarian, bond or free. Yet, on the other hand, there were equally unequivocal expressions concerning the reverence and respect due to authority and governance. St. Peter had taught that honour should be paid to Caesar, when Caesar was no other than Nero. St. Paul had as clearly preached subjection to the higher powers. Yet at the same time we know that the Christian truth of the essential equality of the whole human race was by some so construed as to be incompatible with the notion of civil authority. How, then, was this paradox to be explained? If all were equal, what justification would there be for civil authority? If civil authority was to be upheld, wherein lay the meaning of St. Paul's many boasts of the new levelling spirit of the Christian religion? The paradox was further complicated by two other problems. The question of the authority of the Imperial Government was found to be cognate with the questions of the institution of slavery and of private property. Here were three concrete facts on which the Empire seemed to be based. What was to be the Christian attitude towards them? After many attempted explanations, which were largely personal, and, therefore, may be neglected here, a general agreement was come to by the leading Christian teachers of East and West. This was based on a theological distinction between human nature as it existed on its first creation, and then as it became in the state to which it was reduced after the fall of Adam. Created in original justice, as the phrase ran, the powers of man's soul were in perfect harmony. His sensitive nature, _i.e._ his passions, were in subjection to his will, his will to his reason, his reason to God. Had man continued in this state of innocence, government, slavery, and private property would never have been required. But Adam fell, and in his fall, said these Christian doctors, the whole conditions of his being were disturbed. The passions broke loose, and by their violence not unfrequently subjected the will to their dictatorship; together with the will they obscured and prejudiced the reason, which under their compulsion was no longer content to follow the Divine Reason or the Eternal Law of God. In a word, where order had previously reigned, a state of lawlessness now set in. Greed, lust for power, the spirit of insubordination, weakness of will, feebleness of mind, ignorance, all swarmed into the soul of man, and disturbed not merely the internal economy of his being, but his relations also to his fellows. The sin of Cain is the social result of this personal upheaval. Society then felt the evils which attended this new condition of things, and it was driven, according to this patristic idea, to search about for remedies in order to restrain the anarchy which threatened to overwhelm the very existence of the race. Hence was introduced first of all the notion of a civil authority. It was found that without it, to use a phrase which Hobbes indeed has immortalised, but which can be easily paralleled from the writings of St. Ambrose or St. Augustine, "life was nasty, brutish, and short." To this idea of authority, there was quickly added the kindred ideas of private property and slavery. These two were found equally necessary for the well-being of human society. For the family became a determined group in which the patriarch wielded absolute power; his authority could be effective only when it could be employed not only over his own household, but also against other households, and thus in defence of his own. Hence the family must have the exclusive right to certain things. If others objected, the sole arbitrament was an appeal to force, and then the vanquished not only relinquished their claims to the objects in dispute, but became the slaves of those to whom they had previously stood in the position of equality and rivalry. Thus do the Fathers of the Church justify these three institutions. They are all the result of the Fall, and result from sin. Incidentally it may be added that much of the language in which Hildebrand and others spoke of the civil power as "from the devil" is traceable to this theological concept of the history of its origin, and much of their hard language means no more than this. Private property, therefore, is due to the Fall, and becomes a necessity because of the presence of sin in the world. But it is not only from the Fathers of the Church that the mediaeval tradition drew its force. For parallel with this patristic explanation came another, which was inherited from the imperial legalists. It was based upon a curious fact in the evolution of Roman law, which must now be shortly described. For the administration of justice in Rome two officials were chosen, who between them disposed of all the cases in dispute. One, the _Praetor Urbanus_, concerned himself in all litigation between Roman citizens; the other, the _Praetor Peregrinus_, had his power limited to those matters only in which foreigners were involved; for the growth of the Roman _Imperium_ had meant the inclusion of many under its suzerainty who could not boast technical citizenship. The _Praetor Urbanus_ was guided in his decisions by the codified law of Rome; but the _Praetor Peregrinus_ was in a very different position. He was left almost entirely to his own resources. Hence it was customary for him, on his assumption of office, to publish a list of the principles by which he intended to settle all the disputes between foreigners that were brought to his court. But on what foundation could his declaratory act be based? He was supposed to have previously consulted the particular laws of as many foreign nations as was possible, and to have selected from among them those which were found to be held in common by a number of tribes. The fact of this consensus to certain laws on the part of different races was supposed to imply that these were fragments of some larger whole, which came eventually to be called indifferently the Law of Nature, or the Law of Nations. For at almost the very date when this Law of Nations was beginning thus to be built up, the Greek notion of one supreme law, which governed the whole race and dated from the lost Golden Age, came to the knowledge of the lawyers of Rome. They proceeded to identify the two really different concepts, and evolved for themselves the final notion of a fundamental rule, essential to all moral action. In time, therefore, this supposed Natural Law, from its venerable antiquity and universal acceptance, acquired an added sanction and actually began to be held in greater respect than even the declared law of Rome. The very name of Nature seemed to bring with it greater dignity. But at the same time it was carefully explained that this _Lex Naturae_ was not absolutely inviolable, for its more accurate description was _Lex_ or _Jus Gentium_. That is to say, it was not to be considered as a primitive law which lay embedded like first principles in human nature; but that it was what the nations had derived from primitive principles, not by any force of logic, but by the simple evolution of life. The human race had found by experience that the observance of the natural law entailed as a direct consequence the establishment of certain institutions. The authority, therefore, which these could boast was due to nothing more than the simple struggle for existence. Among these institutions were those same three (civil authority, slavery, private property), which the Fathers had come to justify by so different a method of argument. Thus, by the late Roman lawyers private property was upheld on the grounds that it had been found necessary by the human race in its advance along the road of life. To our modern ways of thinking it seems as though they had almost stumbled upon the theory of evolution, the gradual unfolding of social and moral perfection due to the constant pressure of circumstances, and the ultimate survival of what was most fit to survive. It was almost by a principle of natural selection that mankind was supposed to have determined the necessity of civil authority, slavery, private property, and the rest. The pragmatic test of life had been applied and had proved their need. A third powerful influence in the development of Christian social teaching must be added to the others in order the better to grasp the mental attitude of the mediaeval thinkers. This was the rise and growth of monasticism. Its early history has been obscured by much legendary detail; but there is sufficient evidence to trace it back far into the beginnings of Christianity. Later there had come the stampede into the Thebaid, where both hermit life and the gathering together of many into a community seem to have been equally allowed as methods of asceticism. But by the fifth century, in the East and the West the movement had been effectively organised. First there was the canonical theory of life, introduced by St. Augustine. Then St. Basil and St. Benedict composed their Rules of Life, though St. Benedict disclaimed any idea of being original or of having begun something new. Yet, as a matter of fact, he, even more efficiently than St. Basil, had really introduced a new force into Christendom, and thereby became the undoubted father of Western monasticism. Now this monasticism had for its primary intention the contemplation of God. In order to attain this object more perfectly, certain subsidiary observances were considered necessary. Their declared purpose was only to make contemplation easier; and they were never looked upon as essential to the monastic profession, but only as helps to its better working. Among these safeguards of monastic peace was included the removal of all anxieties concerning material well-being. Personal poverty--that is, the surrender of all personal claim to things the care of which might break in upon the fixed contemplation of God--was regarded as equally important for this purpose as obedience, chastity, and the continued residence in a certain spot. It had indeed been preached as a counsel of perfection by Christ Himself in His advice to the rich young man, and its significance was now very powerfully set forth by the Benedictine and other monastic establishments. It is obvious that the existence of institutions of this kind was bound to exercise an influence upon Christian thought. It could not but be noticed that certain individual characters, many of whom claimed the respect of their generation, treated material possessions as hindrances to spiritual perfection. Through their example private property was forsworn, and community of possession became prominently put forward as being more in accordance with the spirit of Christ, who had lived with His Apostles, it was declared, out of the proceeds of a common purse. The result, from the point of view of the social theorists of the day, was to confirm the impression that private property was not a thing of much sanctity. Already, as we have seen, the Fathers had been brought to look at it as something sinful in its origin, in that the need of it was due entirely to the fall of our first parents. Then the legalists of Rome had brought to this the further consideration that mere expedience, universal indeed, but of no moral sanction, had dictated its institution as the only way to avoid continual strife among neighbours. And now the whole force of the religious ideals of the time was thrown in the same balance. Eastern and Western monasticism seemed to teach the same lesson, that private property was not in any sense a sacred thing. Rather it seemed to be an obstacle to the perfect devotion of man's being to God; and community of possession and life began to boast itself to be the more excellent following of Christ. Finally it may be asserted that the social concept of feudalism lent itself to the teaching of the same lesson. For by it society was organised upon a system of land tenure whereby each held what was his of one higher than he, and was himself responsible for those beneath him in the social scale. Landowners, therefore, in the modern sense of the term, had no existence--there were only landholders. The idea of absolute dominion without condition and without definite duties could have occurred to none. Each lord held his estate in feud, and with a definite arrangement for participating in the administration of justice, in the deliberative assembly, and in the war bands of his chief, who in turn owed the same duties to the lord above him. Even the king, who stood at the apex of this pyramid, was supposed to be merely holding his power and his territorial domain as representing the nation. At his coronation he bound himself to observe certain duties as the condition of his royalty, and he had to proclaim his own acceptance of these conditions before he could be anointed and crowned as king. Did he break through his coronation-oath, then the pledge of loyalty made by the people was considered to be in consequence without any binding force, and his subjects were released from their obedience. In this way, then, also private property was not likely to be deemed equivalent to absolute possession. It was held conditionally, and was not unfrequently forfeited for offences against the feudal code. It carried with it burdens which made its holding irksome, especially for all those who stood at the bottom of the scale, and found that the terms of their possession were rigorously enforced against them. The death of the tenant and the inheriting of his effects by his eldest son was made the occasion for exactions by the superior lord; for to him belonged certain of the dead man's military accoutrements as pledges, open and manifest, of the continued supremacy to be exercised over the successor. Thus the extremely individual ideas as regards the holding of land which are to-day so prevalent would then have been hardly understood. Every external authority, the whole trend of public opinion, the teaching of the Christian Fathers, the example of religious bodies, the inherited views that had come down to the later legalists from the digests of the imperial era, the basis of social order, all deflected the scale against the predominance of any view of land tenure or holding which made it an absolute and unrestricted possession. Yet at the same time, and for the same cause, the modern revolt against all individual possession would have been for the mediaeval theorists equally hard to understand. Absolute communism, or the idea of a State which under the magic of that abstract title could interfere with the whole social order, was too utterly foreign to their ways of thinking to have found a defender. The king they knew, and the people, and the Church; but the State (which the modern socialist invokes) would have been an unimaginable thing. In that age, therefore, we must not expect to find any fully-fledged Socialism. We must be content to notice theories which are socialistic rather than socialist. CHAPTER II SOCIAL CONDITIONS So long as a man is in perfect health, the movements of his life-organs are hardly perceptible to him. He becomes conscious of their existence only when something has happened to obstruct their free play. So, again, is it with the body politic, for just so long as things move easily and without friction, hardly are anyone's thoughts stimulated in the direction of social reform. But directly distress or disturbance begin to be felt, public attention is awakened, and directed to the consideration of actual conditions. Schemes are suggested, new ideas broached. Hence, that there were at all in the Middle Ages men with remedies to be applied to "the open sores of the world," makes us realise that there must have been in mediaeval life much matter for discontent. Perhaps not altogether unfortunately, the seeds of unrest never need much care in sowing, for the human heart would else advance but little towards "the perfect day." The rebels of history have been as necessary as the theorists and the statesmen; indeed, but for the rebels, the statesmen would probably have remained mere politicians. Upon the ruins of the late Empire the Germanic races built up their State. Out of the fragments of the older _villa_ they erected the _manor_. No doubt this new social unit contained the strata of many civilisations; but it will suffice here to recognise that, while it is perhaps impossible to apportion out to each its own particular contribution to the whole result, the manor must have been affected quite considerably by Roman, Celt, and Teuton. The chief difference which we notice between this older system and the conditions of modern agricultural life--for the manor was pre-eminently a rural organism--lies in the enormous part then played in the organisation of society by the idea of Tenure. For, through all Western civilisation, from the seventh century to the fourteenth, the personal equation was largely merged in the territorial. One and all, master and man, lord and tenant, were "tied to the soil." Within the manor there was first the land held in demesne, the "in-land"--this was the perquisite of the lord himself; it was farmed by him directly. Only when modern methods began to push out the old feudal concepts do we find this portion of the estate regularly let out to tenants, though there are evidences of its occasionally having been done even in the twelfth century. But besides what belonged thus exclusively to the lord of the manor, there was a great deal more that was legally described as held in villeinage. That is to say, it was in the hands of others, who had conditional use of it. In England these tenants were chiefly of three kinds--the villeins, the cottiers, the serfs. The first held a house and yard in the village street, and had in the great arable fields that surrounded them strips of land amounting sometimes to thirty acres. To their lord they owed work for three days each week; they also provided oxen for the plough. But more than half of their time could be devoted to the farming of their property. Then next in order came the cottiers, whose holding probably ran to not more than five acres. They had no plough-work, and did more of the manual labour of the farm, such as hedging, nut-collecting, &c. A much greater portion of their time than was the case with the villeins was at the disposal of their master, nor indeed, owing to the lesser extent of their property, did they need so much opportunity for working their own land. Lowest in the scale of all (according to the Domesday Book of William I, the first great land-value survey of all England, they numbered not more than sixteen per cent. of the whole population) came the slaves or serfs. These had almost exclusively the live stock to look after, being engaged as foresters, shepherds, swineherds, and servants of the household. They either lived under the lord's own roof, or might even have their cottage in the village with its strip of land about it, sufficient, with the provisions and cloth provided them, to eke out a scanty livelihood. Distinct from these three classes and their officials (bailiffs, seneschals, reeves, &c.) were the free tenants, who did no regular work for the manor, but could not leave or part with their land. Their services were requisitioned at certain periods like harvest-time, when there came a demand for more than the ordinary number of hands. This sort of labour was known as boon-work. It is clear at once that, theoretically at least, there was no room in such a community for the modern landless labourer. Where all the workers were paid by their tenancy of land, where, in other words, fixity and stability of possession were the very basis of social life, the fluidity of labour was impossible. Men could not wander from place to place offering to employers the hire of their toil. Yet we feel sure that, in actual fact, wherever the population increased, there must have grown up in the process of time a number of persons who could find neither work nor maintenance on their father's property. Younger sons, or more remote descendants, must gradually have found that there was no scope for them, unless, like an artisan class, they worked for wages. Exactly at what date began the rise of this agricultural and industrial class of fee labourers we cannot very clearly tell. But in England--and probably the same holds good elsewhere--between 1200 and 1350 there are traces of its great development. There is evidence, which each year becomes more ample and more definite, that during that period there was an increasingly large number of people pressing on the means of subsistence. Though the land itself might be capable of supporting a far greater number of inhabitants, the part under cultivation could only just have been enough to keep the actually existing population from the margin of destitution. The statutes in English law which protest against a wholesale occupation of the common-land by individuals were not directed merely against the practices of a landlord class, for the makers of the law were themselves landlords. It is far more likely that this invasion of village rights was due to the action of these "landless men," who could not otherwise be accommodated. The superfluous population was endeavouring to find for itself local maintenance. Precisely at this time, too, in England--where the steps in the evolution from mediaeval to modern conditions have been more clearly worked out than elsewhere--increase of trade helped to further the same development. Money, species, in greater abundance was coming into circulation. The traders were beginning to take their place in the national life. The Guilds were springing into power, and endeavouring to capture the machinery of municipal government. As a result of all this commercial activity money payments became more frequent. The villein was able to pay his lord instead of working for him, and by the sale of the produce from his own yard-land was put in a position to hire helpers for himself, and to develop his own agricultural resources. Nor was it the tenant alone who stood to gain by this arrangement. The lord, too, was glad of being possessed of money. He, too, needed it as a substitute for his duty of military service to the king, for scutage (the payment of a tax graduated according to the number of knights, which each baron had to lead personally in time of war as a condition of holding land at all) had taken the place of the old feudal levy. Moreover, he was probably glad to obtain hired labour in exchange for the forced labour which the system of tenure made general; just as later the abolition of slavery was due largely to the fact that, in the long run, it did not pay to have the plantations worked by men whose every advantage it was to shirk as much toil as possible. But in most cases, as far as can be judged now, the lord was methodical in releasing services due to him. The week-work was first and freely commuted, for regular hired labour was easy to obtain; but the boon-work--the work, that is, which was required for unusual circumstances of a purely temporary character (such as harvesting, &c.)--was, owing to the obvious difficulty of its being otherwise supplied, only arranged for in the last resort. Thus, by one of the many paradoxes of history, the freest of all tenants were the last to achieve freedom. When the serfs had been set at liberty by manumission, the socage-tenants or free-tenants, as they were called, were still bound by their fixed agreements of tenure. It is evident, however, that such emancipation as did take place was conditioned by the supply of free labour, primarily, that is, by the rising surplus of population. Not until he was certain of being able to hire other labourers would a landholder let his own tenants slip off the burdens of their service. But this process, by which labour was rendered less stationary, was immeasurably hastened by the advent of a terrible catastrophe. In 1347 the Black Death arrived from the East. Across Europe it moved, striking fear by the inevitableness of its coming. It travelled at a steady rate, so that its arrival could be easily foretold. Then, too, the unmistakable nature of its symptoms and the suddenness of the death it caused also added to the horror of its approach. On August 15, 1349, it got to Bristol, and by Michaelmas had reached London. For a year or more it ravaged the countryside, so that whole villages were left without inhabitants. Seeing England so stunned by the blow, the Scots prepared to attack, thinking the moment propitious for paying off old scores; but their army, too, was smitten by the pestilence, and their forces broke up. Into every glen of Wales it worked its havoc; in Ireland only the English were affected--the "wild Irish" were immune. But in 1357 even these began to suffer. Curiously enough, Geoffrey Baker in his Chronicle (which, written in his own hand, after six hundred years yet remains in the Bodleian at Oxford) tells us that none fell till they were afraid of it. Still more curiously, Chaucer, Langland, and Wycliff, who all witnessed it, hardly mention it at all. There could not be any more eloquent tribute to the nameless horror that it caused than this hushed silence on the part of three of England's greatest writers. Henry Knighton of Leicester Abbey, canon and chronicler, tells us some of the consequences following on the plague, and shows us very clearly the social upheaval it effected. The population had now so much diminished that prices of live stock went down, an ox costing 4_s._, a cow 12_d._, and a sheep 3_d._ But for the same reason wages went up, for labour had suddenly grown scarce. For want of hands to bring in the harvest, whole crops rotted in the fields. Many a manor had lost a third of its inhabitants, and it was difficult, under the fixed services of land tenure, to see what remedy could be applied. In despair the feudal system was set aside, and lord competed with lord to obtain landless labourers, or to entice within their jurisdiction those whose own masters ill-treated them in any way. The villeins themselves sought to procure enfranchisement, and the right to hire themselves out to their lords, or to any master they might choose. Commutation was not particularly in evidence as the legal method of redress; though it too was no doubt here and there arranged for. But for the most part the villein took the law into his own hands, left his manor, and openly sold his labour to the highest bidder. But at once the governing class took fright. In their eyes it seemed as though their tenants were taking an unfair advantage of the disorganisation of the national life. Even before Parliament could meet, in 1349 an ordnance was issued by the King (Edward III), which compelled all servants, whether bond or free, to take up again the customary services, and forced work on all who had no income in land, or were not otherwise engaged. The lord on whose manor the tenant had heretofore dwelt had preferential claim to his labour, and could threaten with imprisonment every refractory villein. Within two years a statute had been enacted by Parliament which was far more detailed in its operation, fixing wages at the rate they had been in the twentieth year of the King's reign (_i.e._ at a period before the plague, when labour was plentiful), and also with all appearance of justice determining the prices of agricultural produce. It was the first of a very long series of Acts of Parliament that, with every right intention, but with a really obvious futility, endeavoured to reduce everything to what it had been in the past, to put back the hands of the clock, and keep them back. But one strange fact is noticeable. Whether unconsciously or not, the framers of these statutes were themselves striking the hardest blow at the old system of tenure. From 1351 the masters' preferential claim to the villeins of their own manor disappears, or is greatly limited. Henceforth the labourers are to appear in the market place with their tools, and (reminiscent of scriptural conditions) wait till some man hired them. The State, not the lord, is now regulating labour. Labour itself has passed from being "tied to the soil," and has become fluid. It is no longer a personal obligation, but a commodity. Even Parliament recognised that in many respects at least the old order had passed away. The statute of 1351 allows "men of the counties of Stafford, Lancaster, Derby, the borders of Wales and Scotland, &c., to come in August time to labour in other counties, and to return in safety, as they were heretofore wont to do." It is the legalisation of what had been looked at, up till then, askance. The long, silent revolution had become conscious. But the lords were, as we have said, not altogether sorry for the turn things had taken. Groaning under pressure from the King's heavy war taxation, and under the demands which the advance of new standards of comfort (especially between 1370 and 1400) entailed, they let off on lease even the demesne land, and became to a very great extent mere rent-collectors. Commutation proceeded steadily, with much haggling so as to obtain the highest price from the eager tenant. Wages rose slowly, it is true, but rose all the same; and rent, though still high, was becoming, on the whole, less intolerable. But the drain of the French war, and the peculation in public funds brought about the final upheaval which completed what the Black Death had begun. The capricious and unfairly graduated poll-tax of 1381 came as a climax, and roused the Great Revolt of that year, a revolt carefully engineered and cleverly organised, which yet for the demands it made is a striking testimony to the moderation, the good sense, and also the oppressed state of the English peasant. The fourfold petition presented to the King by the rebels was: (1) The abolition of serfdom. (2) The reduction of rent to 4_d._ per acre. (3) The liberty to buy and sell in market. (4) A free pardon. Compare the studiously restrained tone of these articles with the terrible atrocities and vengeance wreaked by the Jacquerie in France, and the no less awful mob violence perpetrated in Florence by the Ciompi. While it shows no doubt in a kindly light the more equitable rule of the English landholder, it remains a monument, also, of the fair-mindedness of the English worker. In the towns much the same sort of struggle had been going on; for the towns themselves, more often than not, sprang up on the demesne of some lord, whether king, Church, or baron. But here the difficulties were complicated still further by the interference of the Guilds, which in the various trades regulated the hours of labour, the quality of the work, and the rate of remuneration. Yet, on the other hand, it is undoubted that, once the squalor of the earlier stages of urban life had been removed or at least improved, the social condition of the poor, from the fourteenth century onwards, was immeasurably superior in the towns to what it was in the country districts. The quickening influence of trade was making itself felt everywhere. In 1331 the cloth trade was introduced at Bristol, and settled down then definitely in the west of England. In the north we notice the beginnings of the coal trade. Licence was given to the burgesses of Newcastle to dig for coal in 1351; and in 1368 two merchants of the same city had applied for and obtained royal permission to send that precious commodity "to any part of the kingdom, either by land or water." Even vast speculations were opening up for English commercial enterprise, when, by cornering the wool and bribing the King, a ring of merchants were able to break the Italian banking houses, and disorganise the European money market, for on the Continent all this energy in trade was already old. The house of Anjou, for example, had made the kingdom of Naples a great trading centre. Its corn and cattle were famous the world over. But in Naples it was the sovereigns (like Edward III and Edward IV in England) who patronised the commercial instincts of their people. By the indefatigable genius of the royal house, industry was stimulated, and private enterprise encouraged. By wise legislation the interests of the merchants were safeguarded; and by the personal supervision of Government, fiscal duties were moderated, the currency kept pure and stable, weights and measures reduced to uniformity, the ease and security of communications secured. No doubt trade not seldom, even in that age, led to much evil. Parliament in England raised its voice against the trickery and deceit practised by the greater merchants towards the small shopkeepers, and complained bitterly of the growing custom of the King to farm out to the wealthier among them the subsidies and port-duties of the kingdom. For the whole force of the break-up of feudal conditions was to turn the direction of power into the hands of a small, but moneyed class. Under Edward III there is a distinct appearance of a set of _nouveaux riches_, who rise to great prominence and take their places beside the old landed nobility. De la Pole, the man who did most to establish the prosperity of Hull, is an excellent example of what is often thought to be a decidedly modern type. He introduced bricks from the Low Countries, and apparently by this means and some curious banking speculations of very doubtful honesty achieved a great fortune. The King paid a visit to his country house, and made him Chief Baron of the Exchequer, in which office he was strongly suspected of not always passing to the right quarter some of the royal moneys. His son became Earl of Suffolk and Lord Chancellor; and a marriage with royalty made descendants of the family on more than one occasion heirs-at-law of the Crown. Even the peasant was beginning to feel the amelioration of his lot, found life easy, and work something to be shirked. In his food, he was starting to be delicate. Says Langland in his "Vision of Piers Plowman": "Then labourers landless that lived by their hands, Would deign not to dine upon worts a day old. No penny-ale pleased them, no piece of good bacon, Only fresh flesh or fish, well-fried or well-baked, Ever hot and still hotter to heat well their maw." And he speaks elsewhere of their laziness: "Bewailing his lot as a workman to live, He grumbles against God and grieves without reason, And curses the king and his council after Who licence the laws that the labourers grieve." That the poor could thus become fastidious was a good sign of the rising standard of comfort. But for all that life was hard, and much at the mercy of the weather, and of the assaults of man's own fellows. The houses of the better folk were of brick and stone, and glass windows were just becoming known, whereas the substitute of oiled paper had been neither cheerful nor of very much protection. But the huts of the poor were of plastered mud; and even the walls of a quite respectable man's abode, we know from one court summons to have been pierced by arrows shot at him by a pugnacious neighbour. The plaintiff offered to take judge and jury then and there and show them these "horrid weapons" still sticking to the exterior. In the larger houses the hall had branched off, by the fourteenth century, into withdrawing-rooms, and parlours, and bedrooms, such as the Paston Letters describe with much curious wealth of detail. Lady Milicent Falstolf, we are told, was the only one in her father's household who had a ewer and washing-basin. Yet with all the lack of the modern necessities of life, human nature was still much the same. The antagonism between rich and poor, which the collapse of feudal relations had strained to breaking-point, was not perhaps normally so intense as it is to-day; yet there was certainly much oppression and unnecessary hardships to be suffered by the weak, even in that age. The Ancren Riwle, that quaint form of life for ankeresses drawn up by a Dominican in the thirteenth century, shows that even then, despite the distance of years and the passing of so many generations, the manners and ways and mental attitudes of people depended very much as to whether they were among those who had, or who had not; the pious author in one passage of homely wit compares certain of the sisters to "those artful children of rich parents who purposely tear their clothes that they may have new ones." There have always been wanton waste and destitution side by side; and on the prophecy of the One to whom all things were revealed, we know that the poor shall be always with us. Yet we must honour those who, like their Master, strive to smooth away the anxious wrinkles of the world. CHAPTER III THE COMMUNISTS There have always been religious teachers for whom all material creation was a thing of evil. Through the whole of the Middle Ages, under the various names of Manicheans, Albigensians, Vaudois, &c., they became exceedingly vigorous, though their importance was only fitful. For them property was essentially unclean, something to be avoided as carrying with it the in-dwelling of the spirit of evil. Etienne de Bourbon, a Dominican preacher of the thirteenth century, who got into communication with one of these strange religionists, has left us a record, exceedingly unprejudiced, of their beliefs. And amongst their other tenets, he mentions this, that they condemned all who held landed property. It will be here noticed that as regards these Vaudois (or Poor Men of Lyons, as he informs us they were called), there could have been no question of communism at all, for a common holding of property would have been as objectionable as private property. To hold material things either in community or severalty was in either case to bind oneself to the evil principle. Yet Etienne tells us that there was a sect among them which did sanction communism; they were called, in fact, the _Communati_ (_Tractatus de Diversis Materiis Predicabilibus_, Paris, 1877, p. 281). How they were able to reconcile this social state with their beliefs it is quite impossible to say; but the presumption is that the example of the early Christians was cited as of sufficient authority by some of these teachers. Certain it is that a sect still lingered on into the thirteenth century, called the _Apostolici_, who clung to the system which had been in vogue among the Apostles. St. Thomas Aquinas (_Summa Theologica_, 2_a_, 2_ae_, 66, 2) mentions them, and quotes St. Augustine as one who had already refuted them. But these were seemingly a Christian body, whereas the Albigensians could hardly make any such claim, since they repudiated any belief in Christ's humanity, for it conflicted with their most central dogma. Still it is clear that there were in existence certain obscure bodies which clung to communism. The published records of the Inquisition refer incessantly to preachers of this kind who denied private property, asserted that no rich man could get to heaven, and attacked the practice of almsgiving as something utterly immoral. The relation between these teachers and the Orders of friars has never been adequately investigated. We know that the Dominicans and Franciscans were from their earliest institution sent against them, and must therefore have been well acquainted with their errors. And, as a fact, we find rising among the friars a party which seemed no little infected with the "spiritual" tendency of these very Vaudois. The Franciscan reverence for poverty, which the Poor Man of Assisi had so strenuously advocated, had in fact become almost a superstition. Instead of being, as the saint had intended it to be, merely a means to an end, it had in process of time become looked upon as the essential of religion. When, therefore, the excessive adoption of it made religious life an almost impossible thing, an influential party among the Franciscans endeavoured to have certain modifications made which should limit it within reasonable bounds. But opposed to them was a determined, resolute minority, which vigorously refused to have any part in such "relaxations." The dispute between these two branches of the Order became at last so tempestuous that it was carried to the Pope, who appointed a commission of cardinals and theologians to adjudicate on the rival theories. Their award was naturally in favour of those who, by their reasonable interpretation of the meaning of poverty, were fighting for the efficiency of their Order. But this drove the extreme party into still further extremes. They rejected at once all papal right to interfere with the constitutions of the friars, and declared that only St. Francis could undo what St. Francis himself had bound up. Nor was this all, for in the pursuance of their zeal for poverty they passed quickly from denunciations of the Pope and the wealthy clergy (in which their rhetoric found very effective matter for argument) into abstract reasoning on the whole question of the private possession of property. The treatises which they have left in crabbed Latin and involved methods of argument make wearisome and irritating reading. Most are exceedingly prolix. After pages of profound disquisitions, the conclusions reached seem to have advanced the problem no further. Yet the gist of the whole is certainly an attempt to deny to any Christian the right to temporal possessions. Michael of Cesena, the most logical and most effective of the whole group, who eventually became the Minister-General of this portion of the Order, does not hesitate to affirm the incompatibility of Christianity and private property. From being a question as to the teaching of St. Francis, the matter had grown to one as to the teaching of Christ; and in order to prove satisfactorily that the practice of poverty as inculcated by St. Francis was absolute and inviolable, it was found necessary to hold that it was equally the declared doctrine of Christ. Even Ockham, a brilliant Oxford Franciscan, who, together with Michael, defended the Emperor, Louis of Bavaria, in his struggle against Pope John XXII, let fall in the heat of controversy some sayings which must have puzzled his august patron; for Louis would have been the very last person for whom communism had any charms. Closely allied in spirit with these "Spiritual Franciscans," as they were called, or Fraticelli, were those curious mediaeval bodies of Beguins and Beghards. Hopelessly pantheistic in their notion of the Divine Being, and following most peculiar methods of reaching on earth the Beatific Vision, they took up with the same doctrine of the religious duty of the communistic life. They declared the practice of holding private property to be contrary to the Divine Law. Another preacher of communism, and one whose name is well known for the active propaganda of his opinions, and for his share in the English Peasant Revolt of 1381, was John Ball, known to history as "The Mad Priest of Kent." There is some difficulty in finding out what his real theories were, for his chroniclers were his enemies, who took no very elaborate steps to ascertain the exact truth about him. Of course there is the famous couplet which is said to have been the text of all his sermons: "Whaune Adam dalf and Eve span, Who was thane a gentilman?"[1] at least, so it is reported of him in the _Chronicon Angliae_, the work of an unknown monk of St. Albans (Roll Series, 1874, London, p. 321). Froissart, that picturesque journalist, who naturally, as a friend of the Court, detested the levelling doctrines of this political rebel, gives what he calls one of John Ball's customary sermons. He is evidently not attempting to report any actual sermon, but rather to give a general summary of what was supposed to be Ball's opinions. As such, it is worth quoting in full. "My good friends, things cannot go on well in England, nor ever will until everything shall be in common; when there shall be neither vassal nor lord, and all distinctions levelled; when lords shall be no more masters than ourselves. How ill have they used us! and for what reason do they thus hold us in bondage? Are we not all descended from the same parents--Adam and Eve? And what can they show, and what reason give, why they should be more the masters than ourselves? Except, perhaps, in making us labour and work for them to spend." Froissart goes on to say that for speeches of this nature the Archbishop of Canterbury put Ball in prison, and adds that for himself he considers that "it would have been better if he had been confined there all his life, or had been put to death." However, the Archbishop "set him at liberty, for he could not for conscience sake have put him to death" (Froissart's _Chronicle_, 1848, London, book ii. cap. 73, pp. 652-653). From this extract all that can be gathered with certainty is the popular idea of the opinions John Ball held; and it is instructive to find that in the Primate's eyes there was nothing in the doctrine to warrant the extreme penalty of the law. But in reality we have no certainty as to what Ball actually taught, for in another account we find that, preaching on Corpus Christi Day, June 13, 1381, during the last days of the revolt, far fiercer words are ascribed to him. He is made to appeal to the people to destroy the evil lords and unjust judges, who lurked like tares among the wheat. "For when the great ones have been rooted up and cast away, all will enjoy equal freedom--all will have common nobility, rank, and power." Of course it may be that the war-fever of the revolt had affected his language; but the sudden change of tone imputed in the later speeches makes the reader somewhat suspicious of the authenticity. The same difficulty which is experienced in discovering the real mind of Ball is encountered when dealing with Wat Tyler and Jack Straw, who were, with him, the leaders of the revolt. The confession of Jack Straw quoted in the _Chronicon Angliae_, like nearly all mediaeval "confessions," cannot be taken seriously. His accusers and judges readily supplied what they considered he should have himself admitted. Without any better evidence we cannot with safety say along what lines he pushed his theories, or whether, indeed, he had any theories at all. Again, Wat Tyler is reported to have spoken threateningly to the King on the morning of his murder by Lord Mayor Walworth; but the evidence is once more entirely one-sided, contributed by those who were only too anxious to produce information which should blacken the rebels in the minds of the educated classes. As a matter of fact, the purely official documents, in which we can probably put much more reliance (such as the petitions that poured in from all parts of the country on behalf of the peasants, and the proclamations issued by Richard II, in which all their demands were granted on condition of their immediate withdrawal from the capital), do not leave the impression that the people really advocated any communistic doctrines; oppression is complained of, the lawyers execrated, the labour laws are denounced, and that is practically all. It may be, indeed, that the traditional view of Ball and his followers, which makes them one with the contemporaneous revolts of the Jacquerie in France, the Ciompi in Florence, &c., has some basis in fact. But at present we have no means of gauging the precise amount of truth it contains. But even better known than John Ball is one who is commonly connected with the Peasant Revolt, and whose social opinions are often grouped under the same heading as that of the "Mad Priest of Kent,"--John Wycliff, Master of Balliol, and parson of Lutterworth. This Oxford professor has left us a number of works from which to quarry materials to build up afresh the edifice he intended to erect. His chief contribution is contained in his _De Civili Dominio_, but its composition extended over a long period of years, during which time his views were evidently changing; so that the precise meaning of his famous theory on the Dominion of Grace is therefore difficult to ascertain. But in the opening of his treatise he lays down the two main "truths" upon which his whole system rests: I. No one in mortal sin has any right to the gifts of God; II. Whoever is in a state of grace has a right, not indeed to possess the good things of God, but to use them. He seems to look upon the whole question from a feudal point of view. Sin is treason, involving therefore the forfeiture of all that is held of God. Grace, on the other hand, makes us the liegemen of God, and gives us the only possible right to all His good gifts. But, he would seem to argue, it is incontestable that property and power are from God, for so Scripture plainly assures us. Therefore, he concludes, by grace, and grace alone, are we put in dominion over all things; once we are in loyal subjection to God, we own all things, and hold them by the only sure title. "Dominion by grace" is thus made to lead direct to communism. His conclusion is quite clear: _Omnia debent esse communia_. In one of his sermons (Oxford, 1869, vol. i. p. 260), when he has proved this point with much complacent argumentation, he poses himself with the obvious difficulty that in point of fact this is not true; for many who are apparently in mortal sin do possess property and have dominion. What, then, is to be done, for "they be commonly mighty, and no man dare take from them"? His answer is not very cheerful, for he has to console his questioner with the barren scholastic comfort that "nevertheless, he hath them not, but occupieth things that be not his." Emboldened by the virtue of this dry logic, he breaks out into his gospel of plain assertion that "the saints have now all things that they would have." His whole argument, accordingly, does not get very far, for he is still speaking really (though he does not at times very clearly distinguish between the two) much more about the right to a thing than its actual possession. He does not really defend the despoiling of the evil rich at all--in his own graphic phrase, "God must serve the Devil"; and all that the blameless poor can do is to say to themselves that though the rich "possess" or "occupy," the poor "have." It seems a strange sort of "having"; but he is careful to note that, "as philosophers say, 'having is in many manners.'" Wycliff himself, perhaps, had not definitely made up his mind as to the real significance of his teaching; for the system which he sketches does not seem to have been clearly thought out. His words certainly appear to bear a communistic sense; but it is quite plain that this was not the intention of the writer. He defends Plato at some length against the criticism of Aristotle, but only on the ground that the disciple misunderstood the master: "for I do not think Socrates to have so intended, but only to have had the true catholic idea that each should have the use of what belongs to his brother" (_De Civili Dominio_, London, 1884-1904, vol. i. p. 99). And just a few lines farther on he adds, "But whether Socrates understood this or not, I shall not further question. This only I know, that by the law of charity every Christian ought to have the just use of what belongs to his neighbour." What else is this really but the teaching of Aristotle that there should be "private property and common use"? It is, in fact, the very antithesis of communism. Some have thought that he was fettered in his language by his academic position; but no Oxford don has ever said such hard things about his Alma Mater as did this master of Balliol. "Universities," says he, "houses of study, colleges, as well as degrees and masterships in them, are vanities introduced by the heathen, and profit the Church as little and as much as does Satan himself." Surely it were impossible to accuse such a man of economy of language, and of being cowed by any University fetish. His words, we have noted above, certainly can bear the interpretation of a very levelling philosophy. Even in his own generation he was accused through his followers of having had a hand in instigating the revolt. His reply was an angry expostulation (Trevelyan's _England in the Age of Wycliff_, 1909, London, p. 201). Indeed, considering that John of Gaunt was his best friend and protector, it would be foolish to connect Wycliff with the Peasant Rising. The insurgents, in their hatred of Gaunt, whom they looked upon as the cause of their oppression, made all whom they met swear to have no king named John (_Chronicon Angliae_, p. 286). And John Ball, whom the author of the _Fasciculi Zizaniorum_ (p. 273, Roll Series, 1856, London) calls the "darling follower" of Wycliff, can only be considered as such in his doctrinal teaching on the dogma of the Real Presence. It must be remembered that to contemporary England Wycliff's fame came from two of his opinions, viz. his denial of a real objective Presence in the Mass (for Christ was there only by "ghostly wit"), and his advice to King and Parliament to confiscate Church lands. But whenever Ball or anyone else is accused of being a follower of Wycliff, nothing else is probably referred to than the professor's well-known opinion on the sacrament of the Eucharist. Hence it is that the _Chronicon Angliae_ speaks of John Ball as having been imprisoned earlier in life for his Wycliffite errors, which it calls simply _perversa dogmata_. The "Morning Star of the Reformation" being therefore declared innocent of complicity with the Peasant Revolt, it is interesting to note to whom it is that he ascribes the whole force of the rebellion. For him the head and front of all offending was the hated friars. Against this imputation the four Orders of friars (the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelites) issued a protest. Fortunately in their spirited reply they give the reasons on account of which they are supposed to have shared in the rising. These were principally negative. Thus it was stated that their influence with the people was so great that had they ventured to oppose the spirit of revolt their words would have been listened to (_Fasciculi Zizaniorum_, p. 293). The chronicler of St. Albans is equally convinced of their weakness in not preventing it, and declares that the flattery which they used alike on rich and poor had also no mean share in producing the social unrest (_Chronicon Angliae_, p. 312). Langland also, in his "Vision of Piers Plowman," goes out of his way to denounce them for their levelling doctrines: "Envy heard this and bade friars go to school, And learn logic and law and eke contemplation, And preach men of Plato and prove it by Seneca That all things under Heaven ought to be in common, And yet he lieth, as I live, and to the lewd so preacheth For God made to men a law and Moses it taught-- _Non concupisces rem proximi tui_" (Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's goods). Here then it is distinctly asserted that the spread of communistic doctrines was due to the friars. Moreover, the same popular opinion is reflected in the fabricated confession of Jack Straw, for he is made to declare that had the rebels been successful, all the monastic orders, as well as the secular clergy, would have been put to death, and only the friars would have been allowed to continue. Their numbers would have sufficed for the spiritual needs of the whole kingdom (_Chronicon Angliae_, p. 309). Moreover, it has been noticed that not a few of them actually took part in the revolt, heading some of the bands of countrymen who marched on London. It will have been seen, therefore, that Communism was a favourite rallying-cry throughout the Middle Ages for all those on whom the oppression of the feudal yoke bore heavily. It was partly also a religious ideal for some of the strange gnostic sects which flourished at that era. Moreover, it was an efficient weapon when used as an accusation, for Wycliff and the friars alike both dreaded its imputation. Perhaps of all that period, John Ball alone held it consistently and without shame. Eloquent in the way of popular appeal, he manifestly endeavoured to force it as a social reform on the peasantry, who were suffering under the intolerable grievance of the Statutes of Labourers. But though he roused the countryside to his following, and made the people for the first time a thing of dread to nobles and King, it does not appear that his ideas spread much beyond his immediate lieutenants. Just as in their petitions the rebels made no doctrinal statements against Church teaching, nor any capital out of heretical attacks (except, singularly enough, to accuse the Primate, whom they subsequently put to death, of overmuch leniency to Lollards), so, too, they made no reference to the central idea of Ball's social theories. In fact, little abstract matter could well have appealed to them. Concrete oppression was all they knew, and were this done away with, it is evident that they would have been well content. The case of the friars is curious. For though their superiors made many attempts to prove their hostility to the rebels, it is evident that their actual teaching was suspected by those in high places. It is the exact reversal of the case of Wycliff. His views, which sounded so favourable to communism, are found on examination to be really nothing but a plea to leave things alone, "for the saints have now all they would have"; while on the other hand the theories of the friars, in themselves so logical and consistent, and in appearance obviously conservative to the fullest extent, turn out to contain the germ of revolution. Said Lord Acton with his sober wit: "Not the devil, but St. Thomas Aquinas, was the first Whig." FOOTNOTE: [1] This rhyme is of course much older than John Ball; _cf._ Richard Rolle (1300-1349), i. 73, London, 1895. CHAPTER IV THE SCHOOLMEN The schoolmen in their adventurous quest after a complete harmony of all philosophic learning could not neglect the great outstanding problems of social and economic life. They flourished at the very period of European history when commerce and manufacture were coming back to the West, and their rise synchronises with the origin of the great houses of the Italian and Jewish bankers. Yet there was very little in the past learning of Christian teachers to guide them in these matters, for the patristic theories, which we have already described, and a few isolated passages cited in the Decretals of Gratian, formed as yet almost the only contribution to the study of these sciences. However, this absence of any organised body of knowledge was for them but one more stimulus towards the elaboration of a thorough synthesis of the moral aspect of wealth. A few of the earlier masters made reference, detached and personal, to the subject of dispute, but it was rather in the form of a disorderly comment than the definite statement of a theory. Then came the translation of Aristotle's _Politics_, with the keen criticism they contain of the views Plato had advocated. Here at once the intellect of Europe found an exact exposition of principles, and began immediately to debate their excellence and their defect. St. Thomas Aquinas set to work on a literal commentary, and at his express desire an accurate translation was made direct from the Greek by his fellow-Dominican, William of Moerbeke. Later on, when all this had had time to settle and find its place, St. Thomas worked out his own theory of private property in two short articles in his famous _Summa Theologica_. In his treatise on Justice, which occupies a large proportion of the _Secund Secundae_ of the _Summa_, he found himself forced to discuss the moral evil of theft; and to do this adequately he had first to explain what he meant by private possessions. Without these, of course, there could be no theft at all. He began, therefore, by a preliminary article on the actual state of created things--that is, the material, so to say, out of which private property is evolved. Here he notes that the nature of things, their constituent essence, is in the hands of God, not man. The worker can change the form, and, in consequence, the value of a thing, but the substance which lies beneath all the outward show is too subtle for him to affect it in any way. To the Supreme Being alone can belong the power of creation, annihilation, and absolute mutation. But besides this tremendous force which God holds incommunicably, there is another which He has given to man, namely, the use of created things. For when man was made, he was endowed with the lordship of the earth. This lordship is obviously one without which he could not live. The air, and the forces of nature, the beasts of the field, the birds and fishes, the vegetation in fruit and root, and the stretches of corn are necessary for man's continued existence on the earth. Over them, therefore, he has this limited dominion. Moreover, St. Thomas goes on, man has not merely the present moment to consider. He is a being possessed of intelligence and will, powers which demand and necessitate their own constant activity. Instinct, the gift of brute creation, ensures the preservation of life by its blind preparation for the morrow. Man has no such ready-made and spontaneous faculty. His powers depend for their effectiveness on their deliberative and strenuous exertions. And because life is a sacred thing, a lamp of which the once extinguished light cannot be here re-enkindled, it carries with it, when it is intelligent and volitional, the duty of self-preservation. Accordingly the human animal is bound by the law of his own being to provide against the necessities of the future. He has, therefore, the right to acquire not merely what will suffice for the instant, but to look forward and arrange against the time when his power of work shall have lessened, or the objects which suffice for his personal needs become scarcer or more difficult of attainment. Property, therefore, of some kind or other, says Aquinas, is required by the very nature of man. Individual possessions are not a mere adventitious luxury which time has accustomed him to imagine as something he can hardly do without, nor are they the result of civilised culture, which by the law of its own development creates fresh needs for each fresh demand supplied; but in some form or other they are an absolute and dire necessity, without which life could not be lived at all. Not simply for his "well-being," but for his very existence, man finds them to be a sacred need. Thus as they follow directly from the nature of creation, we can term them "natural." St. Thomas then proceeds in his second article to enter into the question of the rights of private property. The logical result of his previous argument is only to affirm the need man has of some property; the practice of actually dividing goods among individuals requires further elaboration if it is to be reasonably defended. Man must have the use of the fruits of the earth, but why these rather than those should belong to him is an entirely different problem. It is the problem of Socialism. For every socialist must demand for each member of the human race the right to some possessions, food and other such necessities. But why he should have this particular thing, and why that other thing should belong to someone else, is the question which lies at the basis of all attempts to preserve or destroy the present fabric of society. Now, the argument which we have so far cited from St. Thomas is simply based on the indefeasible right of the individual to the maintenance of his life. Personality implies the right of the individual to whatever is needful to him in achieving his earthly purpose, but does not in itself justify the right to private property. "Two offices pertain to man with regard to exterior things" (thus he continues). "The first is the power of procuring and dispensing, and in respect to this, it is lawful for man to hold things as his own." Here it is well to note that St. Thomas in this single sentence teaches that private property, or the individual occupation of actual land or capital or instruments of wealth, is not contrary to the moral law. Consequently he would repudiate the famous epigram, "_La Propriété c'est le vol_." Man may hold and dispose of what belongs to him, may have private property, and in no way offend against the principles of justice, whether natural or divine. But in the rest of the article St. Thomas goes farther still. Not merely does he hold the moral proposition that private property is lawful, but he adds to it the social proposition that private property is necessary. "It is even necessary," says he, "for human life, and that for three reasons. Firstly, because everyone is more solicitous about procuring what belongs to himself alone than that which is common to all or many, since each shunning labour leaves to another what is the common burden of all, as happens with a multitude of servants. Secondly, because human affairs are conducted in a more orderly fashion if each has his own duty of procuring a certain thing, while there would be confusion if each should procure things haphazard. Thirdly, because in this way the peace of men is better preserved, for each is content with his own. Whence we see that strife more frequently arises among those who hold a thing in common and individually. The other office which is man's concerning exterior things, is the use of them; and with regard to this a man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out to others readily in time of need." (The translation is taken from _New Things and Old_, by H. C. O'Neill, 1909, London, pp. 253-4.) The wording and argument of this will bear, and is well worth, careful analysis. For St. Thomas was a man, as Huxley witnesses, of unique intellectual power, and, moreover, his theories on private property were immediately accepted by all the schoolmen. Each succeeding writer did little else than make more clear and defined the outlines of the reasoning here elaborated. We shall, therefore, make no further apology for an attempt to set out the lines of thought sketched by Aquinas. It will be noticed at once that the principles on which private property are here based are of an entirely different nature from those by which the need of property itself was defended. For the latter we were led back to the very nature of man himself and confronted with his right and duty to preserve his own life. From this necessity of procuring supply against the needs of the morrow, and the needs of the actual hour, was deduced immediately the conclusion that property of some kind (_i.e._ the possession of some material things) was demanded by the law of man's nature. It was intended as an absolute justification of a sacred right. But in this second article a completely different process is observed. We are no longer considering man's essential nature in the abstract, but are becoming involved in arguments of concrete experience. The first was declared to be a sacred right, as it followed from a law of nature; the second is merely conditioned by the reasons brought forward to support it. To repeat the whole problem as it is put in the _Summa_, we can epitomise the reasoning of St. Thomas in this easier way. The question of property implies two main propositions: (_a_) the right to property, _i.e._ to the use of material creation; (_b_) the right to private property, _i.e._ to the actual division of material things among the determined individuals of a social group. The former is a sacred, inalienable right, which can never be destroyed, for it springs from the roots of man's nature. If man exists, and is responsible for his existence, then he must necessarily have the right to the means without which his existence is made impossible. But the second proposition must be determined quite differently. The kind of property here spoken of is simply a matter not of right, but of experienced necessity, and is to be argued for on the distinct grounds that without it worse things would follow: "it is even necessary for human life, and that for three reasons." This is a purely conditional necessity, and depends entirely on the practical effect of the three reasons cited. Were a state of society to exist in which the three reasons could no longer be urged seriously, then the necessity which they occasioned would also cease to hold. In point of fact, St. Thomas was perfectly familiar with a social group in which these conditions did not exist, and the law of individual possession did not therefore hold, namely, the religious orders. As a Dominican, he had defended his own Order against the attacks of those who would have suppressed it altogether; and in his reply to William of St. Amour he had been driven to uphold the right to common life, and consequently to deny that private property was inalienable. Of course it was perfectly obvious that for St. Thomas himself the idea of the Commune or the State owning all the land and capital, and allowing to the individual citizens simply the use of these common commodities, was no doubt impracticable; and the three reasons which he gives are his sincere justification of the need of individual ownership. Without this division of property, he considered that national life would become even more full of contention than it was already. Accordingly, it was for its effectiveness in preventing a great number of quarrels that he defended the individual ownership of property. Besides this article, there are many other expressions and broken phrases in which Aquinas uses the same phrase, asserting that the actual division of property was due to human nature. "Each field considered in itself cannot be looked upon as naturally belonging to one rather than to another" (2, 2, 57, 3); "distinction of property is not inculcated by nature" (1_a_, 2_ae_, 94, 5); but again he is equally clear in insisting on the other proposition, that there is no moral law which forbids the possession of land in severalty. "The common claim upon things is traceable to the natural law, not because the natural law dictates that all things should be held in common, and nothing as belonging to any individual person, but because according to the natural law there is no distinction of possessions which comes by human convention" (2_a_, 2_ae_, 66, 2_ad_ 1_m_.). To apprehend the full significance of this last remark, reference must be made to the theories of the Roman legal writers, which have been already explained. The law of nature was looked upon as some primitive determination of universal acceptance, and of venerable sanction, which sprang from the roots of man's being. This in its absolute form could never be altered or changed; but there was besides another law which had no such compelling power, but which rested simply on the experience of the human race. This was reversible, for it depended on specific conditions and stages of development. Thus nature dictated no division of property, though it implied the necessity of some property; the need of the division was only discovered when men set to work to live in social intercourse. Then it was found that unless divisions were made, existence was intolerable; and so by human convention, as St. Thomas sometimes says, or by the law of nature, as he elsewhere expresses it, the division into private property was agreed upon and took place. This elaborate statement of St. Thomas was widely accepted through all the Middle Ages. Wycliff alone, and a few like him, ventured to oppose it; but otherwise this extremely logical and moderate defence of existing institutions received general adhesion. Even Scotus, like Ockham, a brilliant Oxford scholar whose hidden tomb at Cologne finds such few pilgrims kneeling in its shade, so hardy in his thought and so eager to find a flaw in the arguments of Aquinas, has no alternative to offer. Franciscan though he was, and therefore, perhaps, more likely to favour communistic teaching, his own theory is but a repetition of what his rival had already propounded. Thus, for example, he writes in a typical passage: "Even supposing it as a principle of positive law that 'life must be lived peaceably in a state of polity,' it does not straightway follow 'Therefore everyone must have separate possessions.' For peace could be observed even if all things were in common. Nor even if we presuppose the wickedness of those who live together is it a necessary consequence. Still a distinction of property is decidedly in accord with a peaceful social life. For the wicked rather take care of their private possessions, and rather seek to appropriate to themselves than to the community common goods. Whence come strife and contention. Hence we find it (division of property) admitted in almost every positive law. And although there is a fundamental principle from which all other laws and rights spring, still from that fundamental principle positive human laws do not follow absolutely or immediately. Rather it is as declarations or explanations in detail of that general principle that they come into being, and must be considered as evidently in accord with the universal law of nature." (_Super Sententias Quaestiones_, Bk. 4, Dist. 15, q. 2. Venice, 1580.) Here again, then, are the same salient points we have already noticed in the _Summa_. There is the idea clearly insisted on that the division of property is not a first principle nor an immediate deduction from a first principle, that in itself it is not dictated by the natural law which leaves all things in common, that it is, however, not contrary to natural law, but evidently in accord with it, that its necessity and its introduction were due entirely to the actual experience of the race. Again, to follow the theory chronologically still farther forward, St. Antonino, whose charitable institutions in Florence have stamped deeply with his personality that scene of his life's labours, does little more than repeat the words of St. Thomas, though the actual phrase in which he here compresses many pages of argument is reproduced from a work by the famous Franciscan moralist John de Ripa. "It is by no means right that here upon earth fallen humanity should have all things in common, for the world would be turned into a desert, the way to fraud and all manner of evils would be opened, and the good would have always the worse, and the bad always the better, and the most effective means of destroying all peace would be established" (_Summa Moralis_, 3, 3, 2, 1). Hence he concludes that "such a community of goods never could benefit the State." These are none other arguments than those already advanced by St. Thomas. His articles, already quoted, are indeed the _Locus Classicus_ for all mediaeval theorists, and, though references in every mediaeval work on social and economic questions are freely made to Aristotle's _Politics_, it is evident that it is really Aquinas who is intended. Distinction of property, therefore, though declared so necessary for peaceable social life, does not, for these thinkers, rest on natural law, nor a divine law, but on positive human law under the guidance of prudence and authority. Communism is not something evil, but rather an ideal too lofty to be ever here realised. It implied so much generosity, and such a vigour of public spirit, as to be utterly beyond the reach of fallen nature. The Apostles alone could venture to live so high a life, "for their state transcended that of every other mode of living" (Ptolomeo of Lucca, _De Regimine Principio_, book iv., cap. 4, Parma, 1864, p. 273). However, that form of communism which entailed an absolutely even division of all wealth among all members of the group, though it had come to them on the authority of Phileas and Lycurgus, was indeed to be reprobated, for it contradicted the prime feature of all creation. God made all things in their proper number, weight, and measure. Yet in spite of all this it must be insisted on at the risk of repetition that the socialist theory of State ownership is never considered unjust, never in itself contrary to the moral law. Albertus Magnus, the master of Aquinas, and the leader in commenting on Aristotle's _Politics_, freely asserts that community of goods "is not impossible, especially among those who are well disciplined by the virtue of philanthropy--that is, the common love of all; for love, of its own nature, is generous." But to arrange it, the power of the State must be called into play; it cannot rest on any private authority. "This is the proper task of the legislator, for it is the duty of the legislator to arrange everything for the best advantage of the citizens" (_In Politicis_, ii. 2, p. 70, Lyons, 1651). Such, too, is the teaching of St. Antonino, who even goes so far as to assert that "just as the division of property at the beginning of historic time was made by the authority of the State, it is evident that the same authority is equally competent to reverse its decision and return to its earlier social organisation" (_Summa Moralis_, ii. 3, 2, Verona, 1740, p. 182). He lays down, indeed, a principle so broad that it is difficult to understand where it could well end: "That can be justly determined by the prince which is necessary for the peaceful intercourse of the citizens." And in defence he points triumphantly to the fact that the prince can set aside a just claim to property, and transfer it to another who happens to hold it by prescription, on the ground of the numerous disputes which might otherwise be occasioned. That is to say, that the law of his time already admitted that in certain circumstances the State could take what belonged to one and give it to another, without there being any fault on the part of the previous owner to justify its forfeiture; and he defends this proceeding on the axiom just cited (_ibid._, pp. 182-3), namely, its necessity "for the peaceful intercourse of the citizens." The Schoolmen can therefore be regarded as a consistent and logical school. They had an extreme dislike to any broad generalisation, and preferred rather, whenever the occasion could be discovered, to distinguish rather than to concede or deny. Hence, confronted by the communistic theory of State ownership which had been advanced by Plato, and by a curious group of strange, heterodox teachers, and which had, moreover, the actual support of many patristic sayings, and the strong bias of monastic life, they set out joyfully to resolve it into the simplest and most unassailable series of propositions. They began, therefore, by admitting that nature made no division of property, and in that sense held all things in common; that in the early stages of human history, when man, as yet unfallen, was conceived as living in the Garden of Eden in perfect innocency, common property amply satisfied his sinless and unselfish moral character; that by the Fall lust and greed overthrew this idyllic state, and led to a continued condition of internecine strife, and the supremacy of might; that experience gradually brought men to realise that their only hope towards peaceful intercourse lay in the actual division of property, and the establishment of a system of private ownership; that this could only be set aside by men who were themselves perfect, or had vowed themselves to pursue perfection, namely, Our Lord, His Apostles, and the members of religious orders. To this list of what they held to be historic events they added another which contained the moral deductions to be made from these facts. This began by the assertion that private property in itself was not in any sense contrary to the virtue of justice; that it was entirely lawful; that it was even necessary on account of certain evil conditions which otherwise would prevail; that the State, however, had the right in extreme cases and for a just cause to transfer private property from one to another; that it could, when the needs of its citizens so demanded, reverse its primitive decision, and re-establish its earlier form of common ownership; that this last system, however possible, and however much it might be regretted as a vanished and lost ideal, was decidedly now a violent and impracticable proceeding. These theories, it is evident, though they furnish the only arguments which are still in use among us to support the present social organisation, are also patent of an interpretation which might equally lead to the very opposite conclusion. In his fear of any general contradiction to communism which should be open to dispute, and in his ever-constant memory of his own religious life as a Dominican friar, Aquinas had to mark with precision to what extent and in what sense private property could be justified. But at the same time he was forced by the honesty of his logical training to concede what he could in favour of the other side. He took up in this question, as in every other, a middle course, in which neither extreme was admitted, but both declared to contain an element of truth. It is clear, too, that his scholastic followers, even to our own date, in their elaborate commentaries can find no escape from the relentless logic of his conclusions. Down the channel that he dug flowed the whole torrent of mediaeval and modern scholasticism.[2] But for those whose minds were practical rather than abstract, one or other proposition he advanced, isolated from the context of his thought, could be quoted as of moment, and backed by the greatness of his name. His assertion of the absolute impracticable nature of socialistic organisation, as he knew it in his own age, was too good a weapon to be neglected by those who sought about for means of defence for their own individualistic theories; whereas others, like the friars of whom Wycliff and Langland spoke, and who headed bands of luckless peasants in the revolt of 1381 against the oppression of an over-legalised feudalism, were blind to this remarkable expression of Aquinas' opinion, and quoted him only when he declared that "by nature all things were in common," and when he protested that the socialist theory of itself contained nothing contrary to the teaching of the gospel or the doctrines of the Church. Truth is blinding in its brilliance. Half-truths are easy to see, and still easier to explain. Hence the full and detailed theory elaborated by the Schoolmen has been tortured to fit first one and then another scheme of political reform. Yet all the while its perfect adjustment of every step in the argument remains a wonderful monument of the intellectual delicacy and hardihood of the Schoolmen. FOOTNOTE: [2] _Cf._ Coutenson, _Theologia Mentis et Cordis_, iii. 388-389, Paris, 1875; and Billnart, _De Justitia_, i. 123-124, Liège, 1746. CHAPTER V THE LAWYERS Besides the Schoolmen, by whom the problems of life were viewed in the refracted light of theology and philosophy, there was another important class in mediaeval times which exercised itself over the same social questions, but visaged them from an entirely different angle. This was the great brotherhood of the law, which, whether as civil or canonical, had its own theories of the rights of private ownership. It must be remembered, too, that just as the theologians supported their views by an appeal to what were considered historic facts in the origin of property, so, too, the legalists depended for the material of their judgment on circumstances which the common opinion of the time admitted as authentic. When the West drifted out from the clouds of barbaric invasion, and had come into calm waters, society was found to be organised on a basis of what has been called feudalism. That is to say, the natural and universal result of an era of conquest by a wandering people is that the new settlers hold their possessions from the conqueror on terms essentially contractual. The actual agreements have varied constantly in detail, but the main principle has always been one of reciprocal rights and duties. So at the early dawn of the Middle Ages, after the period picturesquely styled the Wanderings of the Nations, we find the subjugating races have encamped in Europe, and hold it by a series of fiefs. The action, for example, of William the Norman, as plainly shown in Domesday Book, is typical of what had for some three or four centuries been happening here and on the Continent. Large tracts of land were parcelled out among the invading host, and handed over to individual barons to hold from the King on definite terms of furnishing him with men in times of war, of administering justice within their domains, and of assisting at his Council Board when he should stand in need of their advice. The barons, to suit their own convenience, divided up these territories among their own retainers on terms similar to those by which they held their own. And thus the whole organisation of the country was graduated from the King through the greater barons to tenants who held their possessions, whether a castle, or a farm, or a single hut, from another to whom they owed suit and service. This roughly (constantly varying, and never actually quite so absolutely carried out) is the leading principle of feudalism. It is clearly based upon a contract between each man and his immediate lord; but, and this is of importance in the consideration of the feudal theory of private property, whatever rights and duties held good were not public, but private. There was not at the first, and in the days of what we may call "pure feudalism," any concept of a national law or natural right, but only a bundle of individual rights. Appeal from injustice was not made at a supreme law-court, but only to the courts of the barons to whom both litigants owed allegiance. The action of the King was quite naturally always directed towards breaking open this enclosed sphere of influence, and endeavouring to multiply the occasions on which his officials might interfere in the courts of his subjects. Thus the idea gradually grew up (and its growth is perhaps the most important matter of remark in mediaeval history), by which the King's law and the King's rights were looked upon as dominating those of individuals or groups. The courts baron and customary, and the sokes of privileged townships were steadily emptied of their more serious cases, and shorn of their primitive powers. This, too, was undoubtedly the reason for the royal interference in the courts Christian (the feudal name for the clerical criminal court). The King looked on the Church, as he looked on his barons and his exempted townships, as outside his royal supremacy, and, in consequence, quarrelled over investiture and criminous clerks, and every other point in which he had not as yet secured that his writs and judgments should prevail. There was a whole series of courts of law which were absolutely independent of his officers and his decision. His restless energy throughout this period had, therefore, no other aim than to bring all these into a line with his own, and either to capture them for himself, or to reduce them to sheer impotence. But at the beginning there was little notion of a royal judge who should have power to determine cases in which barons not immediately holding their fiefs of the King were implicated. The concern of each was only with the lord next above him. And the whole conception of legal rights was, therefore, considered simply as private rights. The growth of royal power consequently acted most curiously on contemporary thinkers. It meant centralisation, the setting up of a definite force which should control the whole kingdom. It resulted in absolutism increasing, with an ever-widening sphere of royal control. It culminated in the Reformation, which added religion to the other departments of State in which royal interference held predominance. Till then the Papacy, as in some sort "a foreign power," world-wide and many-weaponed, could treat on more than equal terms with any European monarch, and secure independence for the clergy. With the lopping off of the national churches from the parent stem, this energising force from a distant centre of life ceased. Each separate clerical organisation could now depend only on its own intrinsic efficiency. For most this meant absolute surrender. The civil law therefore which supplanted feudalism entailed two seemingly contradicting principles which are of importance in considering the ownership of land. On the one hand, the supremacy of the King was assured. The people became more and more heavily taxed, their lands were subjected to closer inspection, their criminal actions were viewed less as offences against individuals than as against the peace of the King. It is an era in which, therefore, as we have already stated, the power of the individual sinks gradually more and more into insignificance in comparison with the rising force of the King's dominion. Private rights are superseded by public rights. Yet, on the other hand, and by the development of identically the same principles, the individual gains. His tenure of land becomes far less a matter of contract. He himself escapes from his feudal chief, and his inferior tenants slip also from his control. He is no longer one in a pyramid of grouped social organisation, but stands now as an individual answerable only to the head of the State. He has duties still; but no longer a personal relationship to his lord. It is the King and that vague abstraction called the State which now claim him as a subject; and by so doing are obliged to recognise his individual status. This new and startling prominence of the individual disturbed the whole concept of ownership. Originally under the influence of that pure feudalism which nowhere existed in its absolute form, the two great forces in the life of each member of the social group were his own and that of his immediate lord. These fitted together into an almost indissoluble union; and therefore absolute ownership of the soil was theoretically impossible. Now, however, the individual was emancipated from his lord. He was still, it is true, subject to the King, whose power might be a great deal more oppressive than the barons' had been. But the King was far off, whereas the baron had been near, and nearly always in full evidence. Hence the result was the emphasis of the individual's absolute dominion. Not, indeed, as though it excluded the dominion of the King, but precisely because the royal predominance could only be recognised by the effective shutting out of the interference of the lord. To exclude the "middle-man," the King was driven to recognise the absolute dominion of the individual over his own possessions. This is brought out in English law by Bracton and his school. Favourers as they were of the royal prerogative, they were driven to take up the paradoxical ground that the King was not the sole owner of property. To defend the King they were obliged to dispossess him. To put his control on its most effective basis, they had no other alternative left them than to admit the fullest rights of the individual against the King. For only if the individual had complete ownership, could there be no interference on the part of the lord; only if the possessions of the tenants were his own, were they prevented from falling under the baronial jurisdiction. Therefore by apparently denying the royal prerogative the civil lawyers were in effect, as they perfectly well recognised, really extending it and enabling it to find its way into cases and courts where it could not else well have entered. Seemingly, therefore, all idea of socialism or nationalisation of land (at that date the great means of production) was now excluded. The individualistic theory of property had suddenly appeared; and simultaneously the old group forms, which implied collectivism in some shape or other, ceased any longer to be recognised as systems of tenure. Yet, at the same time, by a paradox as evident as that by which the civilians exalted the royal prerogative apparently at its own expense, or as that by which Wycliff's communism is found to be in reality a justification of the policy of leaving things as they are, while St. Thomas's theory of property is discovered as far less oppressive and more adaptable to progressive developments of national wealth, it is noticed that, from the point of view of the socialist, monarchical absolutism is the most favourable form of a State's constitution. For wherever a very strictly centralised system of government exists, it is clear that a machinery, which needs little to turn it to the advantage of the absolute rule of a rebellious minority, has been already constructed. In a country where, on the other hand, local government has been enormously encouraged, it is obviously far more difficult for socialism to force an entrance into each little group. There are all sorts of local conditions to be squared, vagaries of law and administration to be reduced to order, connecting bridges to be thrown from one portion of the nation to the next, so as to form of it one single whole. Were the socialists of to-day to seize on the machinery of government in Germany and Russia, they could attain their purposes easily and smoothly, and little difference in constitutional forms would be observed in these countries, for already the theory of State ownership and State interference actually obtains. They would only have to substitute a _bloc_ for a man. But in France and England, where the centralisation is far less complete, the success of the socialistic party and its achievement of supreme power would mean an almost entire subversal of all established methods of administration, for all the threads would have first to be gathered into a single hand. Consequently feudalism, which turned the landowners into petty sovereigns and insisted on local courts, &c., though seemingly communistic or socialistic, was really, from its intense local colouring, far less easy of capture by those who favoured State interference. It was individualistic, based on private rights. But the new royal prerogative led the way to the consideration of the evident ease by which, once the machine was possessed, the rest of the system could without difficulty be brought into harmony with the new theories. To make use of comparison, it was Cardinal Wolsey's assumption of full legatine power by permission of the Pope which first suggested to Henry VIII that he could dispense with His Holiness altogether. He saw that the Cardinal wielded both spiritual and temporal jurisdiction. He coveted his minister's position, and eventually achieved it by ousting both Clement and Wolsey, who had unwittingly shown him in which way more power lay. So, similarly, the royal despotism itself, by centralising all power into the hands of a single prince, accustomed men to the idea of the absolute supremacy of national law, drove out of the field every defender of the rights of minorities, and thus paved the way for the substitution of the people for itself. The French Revolution was the logical conclusion to be drawn from the theories of Louis XIV. It needed only the fire of Rousseau to burn out the adventitious ornamentation which in the shape of that monarch's personal glorification still prevented the naked structure from being seen in all its clearness. _L'Etat c'est moi_ can be as aptly the watchword of a despotic oligarchy, or a levelling socialism, as of a kingly tyranny, according as it passes from the lips of the one to the few or the many. It is true that the last phase was not completed till long after the Middle Ages had closed, but the tendency towards it is evident in the teachings of the civil lawyers. Thus, for example, State absolutism is visible in the various suggestions made by men like Pierre du Bois and Wycliff (who, in the expression of their thoughts, are both rather lawyers than schoolmen) to dispossess the clergy of their temporalities. The principles urged, for instance, by these two in justification of this spoliation could be applied equally well to the estates of laymen. For the same principles put into the King's hand the undetermined power of doing what was necessary for the well-being of the State. It is true that Pierre du Bois (_De Recuperatione Terre Sancte_, pp. 39-41, 115-8) asserted that the royal authority was limited to deal in this way with Church lands, and could not touch what belonged to others. But this proviso was obviously inserted so arbitrarily that its logical force could not have had any effect. Political necessity alone prevented it from being used against the nobility and gentry. Ockham, however, the clever Oxford Franciscan, who formed one of the group of pamphleteers that defended Louis of Bavaria against Pope John XXII, quite clearly enlarged the grounds for Church disendowment so as to include the taking over by the State of all individual property. He was a thinker whose theories were strangely compounded of absolutism and democracy. The Emperor was to be supported because his autocracy came from the people. Hence, when Ockham is arguing about ecclesiastical wealth, and the way in which it could be quite fairly confiscated by the Government, he enters into a discussion about the origin of the imperial dignity. This, he declares, was deliberately handed over by the people to the Emperor. To escape making the Pope the original donor of the imperial title, Ockham concedes that privilege to the people. It was they, the people, who had handed over to the Caesars of the Holy Roman Empire all their own rights and powers. Hence Louis was a monarch whose absolutism rested on a popular basis. Then he proceeds in his argument to say that the human positive law by which private property was introduced was made by the people themselves, and that the right or power by which this was done was transferred by them to the Emperor along with the imperial dignity. Louis, therefore, had the same right to undo what they had done, for in him all their powers now resided. This, of course, formed an excellent principle from which to argue to his right to dispossess the Church of its superfluous wealth--indeed of all its wealth. But it could prove equally effectual against the holding by the individual of any property whatever. It made, in effect, private ownership rest on the will of the prince. Curiously, too, in quite another direction the same form of argument had been already worked out by Nicole Oresme, a famous Bishop of Lisieux, who first translated into French the _Politics_ of Aristotle, and who helped so largely in the reforms of Charles V of France. His great work was in connection with the revision of the coinage, on which he composed a celebrated treatise. He held that the change of the value of money, either by its deliberate depreciation, or by its being brought back to its earlier standard of face value, carried such widespread consequences that the people should most certainly be consulted on it. It was not fair to them to take such a step without their willing co-operation. Yet he admits fully that, though this is the wiser and juster way of acting, there was no absolute need for so doing, since all possession and all property sprang from the King. And this last conclusion was advocated by his rival, Philip de Meziers, whose advice Charles ultimately followed. Philip taught that the king was sole judge of whatever was for public use. But there was a further point in the same question which afforded matter for an interesting discussion among the lawyers. Pope Innocent IV, who had first been famous as a canonist, and retained as Pontiff his old love for disputations of this kind, developed a theory of his own on the relation between the right of the individual to possess and the right of the State over that possession. He distinguished carefully between two entirely different concepts, namely, the right and its exercise. The first he admitted to be sacred and inviolable, because it sprang from the very nature of man. It could not be disturbed or in any way molested; the State had therefore no power to interfere with the right. But he suggested that the exercise of that right, or, to use his actual phrase, the "actions in accord with that right," rested on the basis of civil, positive law, and could therefore be controlled by legal decisions. The right was sacred, its exercise was purely conventional. Thus every man has a right to property; he can never by any possible means divest himself of it, for it is rooted in the depths of his being, and supported by his human nature. But this right appears especially to be something internal, intrinsic. For him to exercise it--that is to say, to hold this land or that, or indeed any land at all--the State's intervention must be secured. At least the State can control his action in buying, selling, or otherwise obtaining it. His right cannot be denied, but for reasons of social importance its exercise well may be. Nor did this then appear as a merely unmeaning distinction; he would not admit that a right which could not be exercised was hardly worth consideration. And, in point of fact, the Pope's private theory found very many supporters. There were others, however, who judged it altogether too fantastical. The most interesting of his opponents was a certain Antonio Roselli, a very judiciously-minded civil lawyer, who goes very thoroughly into the point at issue. He gives Innocent's views, and quotes what authority he can find for them in the Digest and Decretals. But for himself he would prefer to admit that the right to private property is not at all sacred or natural in the sense of being inviolable. He willingly concedes to the State the right to judge all claims of possession. This is the more startling since ordinarily his views are extremely moderate, and throughout the controversy between Pope and Emperor he succeeded in steering a very careful, delicate course. To him, however, all rights to property were purely civil and arguable only on principles of positive law. There was no need, therefore, to discriminate between the right and its exercise, for both equally could be controlled by the State. There are evidences to show that he admitted the right of each man to the support of his own life, and, therefore, to private property in the form of actual food, &c., necessary for the immediate moment; but he distinctly asserts as his own personal idea that "the prince could take away my right to a thing, and any exercise of that right," adding only that for this there must be some cause. The prince cannot arbitrarily confiscate property; he must have some reasonable motive of sufficient gravity to outweigh the social inconveniences which confiscation would necessarily produce. Not every cause is a sufficient one, but those only which concern "public liberty or utility." Hence he decides that the Pope cannot alienate Church lands without some justifying reason, nor hand them over to the prince unless there happens to be an urgent need, springing from national circumstances. It does not follow, however, that he wishes to make over to the State absolute right to individual property under normal conditions. The individual has the sole dominion over his own possessions; that dominion reverts to the State only in some extreme instance. His treatise, therefore (Goldast, _De Monarchia_, 1611-1614, Hanover, p. 462, &c.), may be looked upon as summing up the controversy as it then stood. The legal distinction suggested by Innocent IV had been given up by the lawyers as insufficient. The theories of Du Bois, Wycliff, Ockham, and the others had ceased to have much significance, because they gave the royal power far too absolute a jurisdiction over the possessions of its subjects. The feudal contractual system, which these suggested reforms had intended to drive out, had failed for entirely different reasons, and could evidently be brought back only at the price of a complete and probably unsuccessful disturbance of the social and economic organisation. The centralisation which had risen on the ruins of the older local sovereignties and immunities, had brought with it an emphasised recognition of the public rights and duties of all subjects, and had at the same time confirmed the individual in the ownership of his little property, and given him at the last not a conditional, but an absolute possession. To safeguard this, and to prevent it from becoming a block in public life, a factor of discontent, the lawyers were engaged in framing an additional clause which should give to the State an ultimate jurisdiction, and would enable it to overrule any objections on the part of the individual to a national policy or law. The suggested distinction that the word "right" should be emptied of its deeper meaning, by refusing it the further significance of "exercise," was too subtle and too legal to obtain much public support. So that the lawyers were driven to admit that for a just cause the very right itself could be set aside, and every private possession (when public utility and liberty demanded it) confiscated or transferred to another. Even the right to compensation for such confiscation was with equal cleverness explained away. For it was held that, when an individual had lost his property through State action, and without his having done anything to deserve it as a punishment, compensation could be claimed. But whenever a whole people or nation was dispossessed by the State, there was no such right at all to any indemnity. Thus was the wholesale adoption of land-nationalism to be justified. Thus could the State capture all private possessions without any fear of being guilty of robbery. It was considered that it was only the oppression of the individual and class spoliation which really contravened the moral law. The legal theories, therefore, which supplanted the old feudal concepts were based on the extension of royal authority, and the establishment of public rights. Individualistic possession was emphasised; yet the simultaneous setting up of the absolute monarchies of the sixteenth century really made their ultimate capture by the Socialist party more possible. CHAPTER VI THE SOCIAL REFORMERS It may seem strange to class social reforms under the wider heading of Socialistic Theories, and the only justification for doing so is that which we have already put forward in defence of the whole book; namely, that the term "socialistic" has come to bear so broad an interpretation as to include a great deal that does not strictly belong to it. And it is only on the ground of their advocating State interference in the furtherance of their reforms that the reformers here mentioned can be spoken of as socialistic. Of course there have been reformers in every age who came to bring to society their own personal measures of relief. But in the Middle Ages hardly a writer took pen in hand who did not note in the body politic some illness, and suggest some remedy. Howsoever abstruse might be the subject of the volume, there was almost sure to be a reference to economic or social life. It was not an epoch of specialists such as is ours. Each author composed treatises in almost every branch of learning. The same professor, according to mediaeval notions, might lecture to-day on Scripture, to-morrow on theology or philosophy, and the day after on natural science. For them a university was a place where each student learnt, and each professor taught, universal knowledge. Still from time to time men came to the front with some definite social message to be delivered to their own generation. Some were poets like Langland, some strike-leaders like John Ball, some religious enthusiasts like John Wycliff, some royal officials like Pierre du Bois. This latter in his famous work addressed to King Edward I of England (_De Recuperatione Sancte Terre_), has several most interesting and refreshing chapters on the education of women. His bias is always against religious orders, and, consequently, he favours the suppression of almost every conventual establishment. Still, as these were at his own date the only places where education could be considered to exist at all, he had to elaborate for himself a plan for the proper instruction of girls. First, of course, the nunneries must be confiscated by Government. For him this was no act of injustice, since he regarded the possessions of the whole clerical body as something outside the ordinary laws of property. But having in this way cleared the ground of all rivals, and captured some magnificent buildings, he can now go forward in his scheme of education. He insists on having only lay-mistresses, and prescribes the course of study which these are to teach. There should be, he held, many lectures on literature, and music, and poetry, and the arts and crafts of home life. Embroidery and home-management are necessities for the woman's work in after years, so they must be acquired in these schools. But education cannot limit itself to these branches of useful knowledge. It must take the woman's intelligence and develop that as skilfully as it does the man's. She is not inferior to him in power of reason, but only in her want of its right cultivation. Hence the new schools are to train her to equal man in all the arts of peace. Such is the main point in his programme, which even now sounds too progressive for the majority of our educational critics. He appeals for State interference that the colleges may be endowed out of the revenues of the religious houses, and that they may be supported in such a fashion as would always keep them abreast of the growing science of the times. And when, after a schooling of such a kind as this, the girls go out into their life-work as wives and mothers, he would wish them a more complete equality with their men-folk than custom then allowed. The spirit of freedom which is felt working through all his papers makes him the apostle of what would now be called the "new woman." After him, there comes a lull in reforming ideas. But half a century later occurs a very curious and sudden outburst of rebellion all over Europe. From about the middle of the fourteenth century to the early fifteenth there seemed to be an epidemic of severe social unrest. There were at Paris, which has always been the nursery of revolutions, four separate risings. Etienne Marcel, who, however, was rather a tribune of the people than a revolutionary leader, came into prominence in 1355; he was followed by the Jacquerie in 1358, by the Maillotins in 1382, and the Cabochiens in 1411. In Rome we know of Rienzi in 1347, who eventually became hardly more than a popular demagogue; in Florence there was the outbreak of Ciompi in 1378; in Bohemia the excesses of Taborites in 1409; in England the Peasant Revolt of 1381. It is perfectly obvious that a series of social disturbances of this nature could not leave the economic literature of the succeeding period quite as placid as it had found it. We notice now that, putting away questions of mere academic character, the thinkers and writers concern themselves with the actual state of the people. Parliament has its answer to the problem in a long list of statutes intended to muzzle the turbulent and restless revolutionaries. But this could not satisfy men who set their thought to study the lives and circumstances of their fellow-citizens. Consequently, as a result, we can notice the rise of a school of writers who interest themselves above all things in the economic conditions of labour. Of this school the easiest exponent to describe is Antonino of Florence, Archbishop and canonised saint. His four great volumes on the exposition of the moral law are fascinating as much for the quotations of other moralists which they contain, as for the actual theories of the saint himself. For the Archbishop cites on almost every page contemporary after contemporary who had had his say on the same problems. He openly asserts that he has read widely, taken notes of all his reading, has deliberately formed his opinions on the judgments, reasoned or merely expressed, of his authors. To read his books, then, is to realise that Antonino is summing up the whole experience of his generation. Indeed he was particularly well placed for one who wished for information. Florence, then at the height of its renown under the brilliant despotism of Cosimo dei Medici, was the scene where the great events of the life of Antonino took place. There he had seen within the city walls, three Popes, a Patriarch of Constantinople, the Emperors of East and West, and the most eminent men of both civilisations. He had taken part in a General Council of the Church, and knew thinkers as widely divergent as Giovanni Dominici and �neas Sylvius Piccolomini. He was, therefore, more likely than most to have heard whatever theories were proposed by the various great political statesmen of Europe, whether they were churchmen or lawyers. Consequently, his schemes, as we might well expect, are startlingly advanced. He begins by attacking the growing spirit of usury, and the resulting idleness. Men were finding out that under the new conditions which governed the money market it was possible to make a fortune without having done a day's work. The sons of the aristocracy of Florence, which was built up of merchant princes, and which had amassed its own fortunes in honest trading, had been tempted by the bankers to put their wealth out to interest, and to live on the surplus profit. The ease and security with which this could be done made it a popular investment, especially among the young men of fashion who came in, simply by inheritance, for large sums of money. As a consequence Florence found itself, for the first time in its history, beginning to possess a wealthy class of men who had never themselves engaged in any profession. The old reverence, therefore, which had always existed in the city for the man who laboured in his art or guild, began to slacken. No longer was there the same eagerness noticeable which used to boast openly that its rewards consisted in the consciousness of work well done. Instead, idleness became the badge of gentility, and trade a slur upon a man's reputation. No city can long survive so listless and languid an ideal. The Archbishop, therefore, denounced this new method of usurious traffic, and hinted further that to it was due the fierce rebellion which had for a while plunged Florence into the horrors of the Jacquerie. Wealth, he taught, should not of itself breed wealth, but only through the toil of honest labour, and that labour should be the labour of oneself, not of another. Then he proceeded to argue that as upon the husband lies the labour of trade, the greater portion of his day must necessarily be passed outside the circle of family life. The breadwinner can attend neither to works of piety nor of charity in the way he should, and, consequently, to his wife it must be left to supply for his defects. She must take his place in the church, and amid the slums of the poor; she must for him and his lift her hands in prayer, and dispense his superfluous wealth in succouring the poverty-stricken. For the Archbishop will have none of the soothing doctrine which the millionaire preaches to the mob. He asserts that poverty is not a good thing; in itself it is an evil, and can be considered to lead only accidentally to any good. When, therefore, it assumes the form of destitution, every effort must be made to banish it from the State. For if it were to become at all prevalent in a nation, then would that people be on the pathway to its ruin. The politicians should therefore make it the end of their endeavours--though this, it may be, is an ideal which can never be fully brought to realisation--to leave each man in a state of sufficiency. No one, for whatever reason, should be allowed to become destitute. Even should it be by his own fault that he were brought low, he must be provided for by the State, which has, however, in these circumstances, at the same time, the duty of punishing him. But he remarks that the cause of poverty is more often the unjust rate of wages. The competition even of those days made men beat each other down in clamouring for work to be given them, and afforded to the employers an opportunity of taking workers who willingly accepted an inadequate scale of remuneration. This state of things he considered to be unjustifiable and unjust. No one had any right to make profit out of the wretchedness of the poor. Each human being had the duty of supporting his own life, and this he could not do except by the hiring of his own labour to another. That other, therefore, by the immutable laws of justice, when he used the powers of his fellow-man, was obliged in conscience to see that those powers could be fittingly sustained by the commodity which he exchanged for them. That is, the employer was bound to take note that his employees received such return for their labour as should compensate them for his use of it. The payment promised and given should be, in other words, what we would now speak of as a "living wage." But further, above this mere margin, additional rewards should be added according to the skill of the workman, or the dangerous nature of his employment, or the number of his children. The wages also should be paid promptly, without delay. But it may sometimes happen that the labour which a man can contribute is not of such a kind as will enable him to receive the fair remuneration that should suffice for his bodily comfort. The saint is thinking of boy-labour, and the case of those too enfeebled by age or illness to work adequately, or perhaps at all. What is to be done for them? Let the State look to it, is his reply. The community must, by the law of its own existence, support all its members, and out of its superfluous wealth must provide for its weaker citizens. Those, therefore, who can labour harder than they need, or who already possess more riches than suffice for them, are obliged by the natural law of charity to give to those less favourably circumstanced than themselves. St. Antonino does not, therefore, pretend to advocate any system of rigid equality among men. There is bound to be, in his opinion, variety among them, and from this variety comes indeed the harmony of the universe. For some are born to rule, and others, by the feebleness of their understanding or of their will, are fitted only to obey. The workman and servant must faithfully discharge the duties of their trade or service, be quick to receive a command, and reverent in their obedience. And the masters, in their turn, must be forbearing in their language, generous in their remuneration, and temperate in their commands. It is their business to study the powers of each of those whom they employ, and to measure out the work to each one according to the capacity which is discoverable in him. When a faithful labourer has become ill, the employer must himself tend and care for him, and be in no hurry to send him to a hospital. About the hospitals themselves he has his own ideas, or at least he has picked out the sanest that he can find in the books and conversation of people whom he has come across. He insists strongly that women should, as matrons and nurses, manage those institutions which are solely for the benefit of women; and even in those where men also are received, he can see no incompatibility in their being administered by these same capable directors. He much commends the custom of chemists in Florence on Sundays, feast-days, and holidays of opening their dispensaries in turn. So that even should all the other shops be closed, there would always be one place open where medicines and drugs could be obtained in an emergency. The education of the citizens, too, is another work which the State must consider. It is not something merely optional which is to be left to the judgment of the parent. The Archbishop holds that its proper organisation is the duty of the prince. Education, in his eyes, means that the children must be taught the knowledge of God, of letters, and of the arts and crafts they are to pursue in after life. Again, he has thought out the theory of taxation. He admits its necessity. The State is obliged to perform certain duties for the community. It is obliged, for example, to make its roads fit for travelling, and so render them passable for the transfer of merchandise. It is bound to clear away all brigandage, highway robbery, and the like, for were this not done, no merchant would venture out through that State's territory, and its people would accordingly suffer. Hence, again, he deduces the need for some sort of army, so that the goods of the citizens may be secured against the invader, for without this security there would be no stimulus to trade. Bridges must be built, and fords kept in repair. Since, therefore, the State is obliged to incur expenses in order to attain these objects, the State has the right, and indeed the duty, to order it so that the community shall pay for the benefits which it is to receive. Hence follows taxation. But he sees at once that this power of demanding forced contributions from wealthy members of society needs safeguarding against abuse. Thus he is careful to insist that taxation can be valid only when it is levied by public authority, else it becomes sheer brigandage. No less is it to be reprobated when ordered indeed by public authority, but not used for public benefit. Thus, should it happen that a prince or other ruler of a State extorted money from his subjects on pretence of keeping the roads in good order, or similar works for the advantage of the community, and yet neglected to put the contributions of his people to this use, he would be defrauding the public, and guilty of treason against his country. So, too, to lay heavier burdens on his subjects than they could bear, or to graduate the scale in such a fashion as to weigh more heavily on one class than another, would be, in the ruler, an aggravated form of theft. Taxation must therefore be decreed by public authority, and be arranged according to some reasonable measure, and rest on the motive of benefiting the social organisation. The citizens therefore who are elected to settle the incidence of taxation must be careful to take account of the income of each man, and so manage that on no one should the burden be too oppressive. He suggests himself the percentage of one pound per hundred. Nor, again, must there be any deliberate attempt to penalise political opponents, or to make use of taxation in order to avenge class-oppression. Were this to be done, the citizens so acting would be bound to make restitution to the persons whom they had thus injured. Then St. Antonino takes the case of those who make a false declaration of their income. These, too, he convicts of injustice, and requires of them that they also should make restitution, but to the State. An exception to this, however, he allows. For if it happens to be the custom for each to make a declaration of income which is obviously below the real amount, then simply because all do it and all are known to do it, there is no obligation for the individual to act differently from his neighbours. It is not injustice, for the law evidently recognises the practice. And were he, on the other hand, to announce his full yearly wage of earnings, he would allow himself to be taxed beyond the proper measure of value. But to refuse to pay, or to elude by some subterfuge the just contribution which a man owes of his wealth to the easing of the public burdens, is in the eyes of the Archbishop a crime against the State. It would be an act of injustice, of theft, all the more heinous in that, as he declares with a flash of the energy of Rousseau, the "common good is something almost divine." We have dwelt rather at length on the schemes of this one economist, and may seem, therefore, to have overlooked the writings of others equally full of interest. But the reason has been because this Florentine moralist does stand so perfectly for a whole school. He has read omnivorously, and has but selected most of his thoughts. He compares himself, indeed, in one passage of these volumes, to the laborious ant, "that tiny insect which wanders here and there, and gathers together what it thinks to be of use to its community." He represents a whole school, and represents it at its best, for there is no extreme dogmatism in him, no arguing from grounds that are purely arbitrary, or from _a priori_ principles. It is his knowledge of the people among whom he had laboured so long which fits him to speak of the real sufferings of the poor. But experience requires for its being effectually put to the best advantage, that it should be wielded by one whose judgment is sober and careful. Now, St. Antonino was known in his own day as Antonino the Counsellor; and his justly-balanced decision, his delicately-poised advice, the straightness of his insight, are noticeable in the masterly way in which he sums up all the best that earlier and contemporary writers had devised in the domain of social economics. There is, just at the close of the period with which this book deals, a rising school of reformers who can be grouped round More's _Utopia_. Some foreshadowed him, and others continued his speculations. Men like Harrington in his _Oceana_, and Milton in his _Areopagitica_, really belong to the same band; but life for them had changed very greatly, and already become something far more complex than the earlier writers had had to consider. There seemed no possibility of reforming it by the simple justice which St. Antonino and his fellows judged to be sufficient to set things back again as they had been in the Golden Age. The new writers are rather political than social. For them, as for the Greeks, it is the constitution which must be repaired. Whereas the mediaeval socialists thought, as St. Thomas indeed never wearied of repeating, that unrest and discontent would continue under any form of government whatever. The more each city changed its constitution, the more it remained the same. Florence, whether under a republic or a despotism, was equally happy and equally sad. For it was the spirit of government alone which, in the eyes of the scholastic social writers, made the State what it happened to be. In this the modern sociologist of to-day finds himself more akin with the mediaeval thinkers than with the idealists of the parliamentary era in England, or of the Revolution in France. These fixed their hopes on definite organisations of government, and on the exact balance of executive and legislative powers. But for Scotus, and Wycliff, and St. Antonino, the cause of the evil is far deeper and more personal. Not in any form of the constitution, nor in any division of ruling authority, nor in its union under a firm despot, nor in the divine right of kings, or nobles, or people, was security to be found, or the well-ordering of the nation. But peace and rest from faction could be achieved with certainty only on the conditions of strict justice between man and man, on the observance of God's commandments. CHAPTER VII THE THEORY OF ALMSGIVING Any description of mediaeval socialistic ideals which contained no reference to mediaeval notions of almsgiving would not be complete. Almsgiving was for them a necessary corollary to their theories of private possession. In the passage already quoted from St. Thomas Aquinas (p. 45), wherein he sets forth the theological aspect of property, he makes use of a broad distinction between what he calls "the power of procuring and dispensing" exterior things and "the use of them." We have already at some length tried to show what economists then meant by this first "power." Now we must establish the significance of what they intended by the second. And to do this the more clearly it will be as well to repeat the words in which St. Thomas briefly notes it: "The other office which is man's concerning exterior things is the use of them; and with regard to this a man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out readily to others in time of need." In this sentence is summed up the whole mediaeval concept of the law of almsdeeds. Private property is allowed--is, in fact, necessary for human life--but on certain conditions. These imply that the possession of property belongs to the individual, but also that the use of it is not limited to him. The property is private, the use should be common. Indeed, it is only this common enjoyment which at all justifies private possession. It was as obvious then as now that there were inequalities in life, that one man was born to ease or wealth, or a great name, whereas another came into existence without any of these advantages, perhaps even hampered by positive disadvantages. Henry of Langenstein (1325-1397) in his famous _Tractatus de Contractibus_ (published among the works of Gerson at Cologne, 1484, tom. iv. fol. 188), draws out this variety of fortune and misfortune in a very detailed fashion, and puts before his reader example after example of what they were then likely to have seen. But all the while he has his reason for so doing. He acknowledges the fact, and proceeds from it to build up his own explanation of it. The world is filled with all these men in their differing circumstances. Now, to make life possible for them, he asserts that private property is necessary. He is very energetic in his insistence upon that point. Without private property he thinks that there will be continual strife in which might, and not right, will have the greater probability of success. But simultaneously, and as a corrective to the evils which private property of itself would cause there should be added to it the condition of common use. That is to say, that although I own what is mine, yet I should put no obstacle in the way of its reasonable use by others. This is, of course, really the ideal of Aristotle in his book of _Politics_, when he makes his reply to Plato's communism. In Plato's judgment, the republic should be governed in the reverse way, _Common property and private use_; he would really make this, which is a feature of monastic life, compulsory on all. But Aristotle, looking out on the world, an observer of human nature, a student of the human heart, sets up as more feasible, more practical, the phrase which the Middle Ages repeat, _Private property and common use_. The economics of a religious house are hardly of such a kind, thought the mediaevalists, as to suit the ways and fancies of this workaday world. But the Middle Ages do not simply repeat, they Christianise Aristotle. They are dominated by his categories of thought, but they perfect them in the light of the New Dispensation. Faith is added to politics, love of the brotherhood is made to extend the mere brutality of the economists' teaching. In "common use" they find the philosophic name for "almsdeeds." "A man ought not to hold exterior things as his own, but as common to all, that he may portion them out readily to others in time of need." This sentence, an almost literal translation from the _Book of Politics_, takes on a fuller meaning and is softened by the unselfishness of Christ when it is found in the _Summa Theologica_ of Aquinas. Let us take boldly the passage from St. Thomas in which he lays down the law of almsgiving. (2_a_, 2_ae_, 32, 5.) "Since love of one's neighbour is commanded us, it follows that everything without which that love cannot be preserved, is also commanded us. But it is essential to the love of one's neighbour, not merely to wish him well, but to act well towards him; as says St. John (1 Ep. 3), 'Let us not love in word nor in tongue, but in deed and in truth.' But to wish and to act well towards anyone implies that we should succour him when he is in need, and this is done by almsgiving. Hence almsgiving is a matter of precept. But because precepts are given in things that concern virtuous living, the almsgiving here referred to must be of such a kind as shall promote virtuous living. That is to say, it must be consonant with right reason; and this in turn implies a twofold consideration, namely, from the point of view of the giver, and from that of the receiver. As regards the giver, it must be noted that what is given should not be necessary to him, as says St. Luke 'That which is superfluous, give in alms.' And by 'not necessary' I mean not only to himself (_i.e._ what is over and above his individual needs), but to those who depend on him. For a man must first provide for himself and those of whom he has the care, and can then succour such of the rest as are necessitous--that is, such as are without what their personal needs entail. For so, too, nature provides that nutrition should be communicated first to the body, and only secondly to that which is to be begotten of it. As regards the receiver, it is required that he should really be in need, else there is no reason for alms being given him. But since it is impossible for one man to succour all who are in need, he is only under obligation to help such as cannot otherwise be provided for. For in this case the words of Ambrose become applicable: 'Feed them that are dying of starvation, else shall you be held their murderer.' Hence it is a matter of precept to give alms to whosoever is in extreme necessity. But in other cases (namely, where the necessity is not extreme) almsgiving is simply a counsel, and not a command." (_Ad_ 2_m._) "Temporal goods which are given a man by God are his as regards their possession, but as regards their use, if they should be superfluous to him, they belong also to others who may be provided for out of them. Hence St. Basil says: 'If you admit that God gave these temporal goods to you, is God unjust in thus unequally distributing His favours? Why should you abound, and another be forced to beg, unless it is intended thereby that you should merit by your generosity, and he by his patience? For it is the bread of the starving that you cling to; it is the clothes of the naked that hang locked in your wardrobe; it is the shoes of the barefooted that are ranged in your room; it is the silver of the needy that you hoard. For you are injuring whoever is in want.' And Ambrose repeats the same thing." Here it will be noticed that we find the real meaning of those words about a man's duty of portioning out readily to another's use what belongs to himself. It is the correlative to the right to private property. But a second quotation must be made from another passage closely following on the preceding: "There is a time when to withhold alms is to commit mortal sin. Namely, when on the part of the receiver there is evident and urgent necessity, and he does not seem likely to be provided for otherwise, and when on the part of the giver he has superfluities of which he has not any probable immediate need. Nor should the future be in question, for this would be looking to the morrow, which the Master has forbidden (Matt. 6)." (_Ibid._, 32, 6.) "But 'superfluous' and 'necessity' are to be interpreted according to their most probable and generally accepted meaning. 'Necessary' has two meanings. First, it implies something without which a thing cannot exist. Interpreted in this sense, a man has no business to give alms out of what is necessary to him; for example, if a man has only enough wherewith to feed himself and his sons or others dependent on him. For to give alms out of this would be to deprive himself and his of very life, unless it were indeed for the sake of prolonging the life of someone of extreme importance to Church and State. In that case it might be praiseworthy to expose his life and the lives of others to grave risk, for the common good is to be preferred to our own private interests. Secondly, 'necessary' may mean that without which a person cannot be considered to uphold becomingly his proper station, and that of those dependent on him. The exact measure of this necessity cannot be very precisely determined, as to how far things added may be beyond the necessity of his station, or things taken away be below it. To give alms, therefore, out of these is a matter not of precept, but of counsel. For it would not be right to give alms out of these, so as to help others, and thereby be rendered unable to fulfil the obligations of his state of life. For no one should live unbecomingly. Three exceptions, however, should be made. First, when a man wishes to change his state of life. Thus it would be an act of perfect virtue if a man, for the purpose of entering a religious order, distributed to the poor for Christ's sake all that he possessed. Secondly, when a man gives alms out of what is necessary for his state of life, and yet does so knowing that they can very easily be supplied to him again without much personal inconvenience. Thirdly, when some private person, still more when the State itself, is in the gravest need. In these cases it would be most praiseworthy for a man to give what seemingly was required for the upkeep of his station in life in order to provide against some far greater need." From these passages it will be possible to construct the theory in vogue during the whole of the Middle Ages. The landholder was considered to possess his property on a system of feudal tenure, and to be obliged thereby to certain acts of suit and service to his immediate lord, or eventually to the King. But besides these burdens which the responsibility of possession entailed, there were others incumbent on him, because of his brotherhood with all Christian folk. He owed a debt, not merely to his superiors, but also to his equals. Such was the interpretation of Christ's commandment which the mediaeval theologians adopted. With one voice they declare that to give away to the needy what is superfluous is no act of charity, but of justice. St. Jerome's words were often quoted: "If thou hast more than is necessary for thy food and clothing, give that away, and consider that in thus acting thou art but paying a debt" (Epist. 50 ad Edilia q. i.); and those others of St. Augustine, "When superfluities are retained, it is the property of others which is retained" (in Psalm 147). These and like sayings of the Fathers constitute the texts on which the moral economic doctrine of what is called the Scholastic School is based. Albertus Magnus (vol. iv. in Sent. 4, 14, p. 277, Lyons, 1651) puts to himself the question whether to give alms is a matter of justice or of charity, and the answer which he makes is compressed finally into this sentence: "For a man to give out of his superfluities is a mere act of justice, because he is rather the steward of them for the poor than the owner." St. Thomas Aquinas is equally explicit, as another short sentence shall show (2_a_, 2_ae_, 66, 2, _ad_ 3_m_): "When Ambrose says 'Let no one call his own that which is common property,' he is referring to the use of property. Hence he adds: 'Whatever a man possesses above what is necessary for his sufficient comfort, he holds by violence.'" And the same view could be backed by quotations from Henry of Ghent, Duns Scotus, St. Bonaventure, the sermons of Wycliff, and almost every writer of any consequence in that age. Perhaps to us this decided tone may appear remarkable, and even ill-considered. But it is evident that the whole trouble lies in the precise meaning to be attached to the expressions "superfluous" and "needy." And here, where we feel most of all the need of guidance, it must be confessed that few authors venture to speak with much definiteness. The instance, indeed, of a man placed in extreme necessity, all quote and explain in nearly identical language. Should anyone be reduced to these last circumstances, so as to be without means of subsistence or sufficient wealth to acquire them, he may, in fact must, take from anywhere whatever suffices for his immediate requirements. If he begs for the necessities of life, they cannot be withheld from him. Nor is the expression "necessities of life" to be interpreted too nicely. Says Albertus Magnus: "I mean by necessary not that without which he cannot live, but that also without which he cannot maintain his household, or exercise the duties proper to his condition" (_loc. cit._, art. 16, p. 280). This is a very generous interpretation of the phrase, but it is the one pretty generally given by all the chief writers of that period. Of course they saw at once that there were practical difficulties in the way of such a manner of acting. How was it possible to determine whether such a one was in real need or not? And the only answer given was that, if it was evident that a man was so placed, there could be no option about giving; almsdeeds then became of precept. But that, if there were no convincing signs of absolute need, then the obligation ceased, and almsgiving, from a command, became a counsel. In an instance of this extreme nature it is not difficult to decide, but the matter becomes perilously complicated when an attempt is made to gauge the relative importance of "need" and "superfluity" in concrete cases. How much "need" must first be endured before a man has a just claim on another's superfluity? By what standard are "superfluities" themselves to be judged? For it is obvious that when the need among a whole population is general, things possessed by the richer classes, which in normal circumstances might not have been considered luxuries, instantly become such. However then the words are taken, however strictly or laxly interpreted, it must always be remembered that the terms used by the Scholastics do not really solve the problem. They suggest standards, but do not define them, give names, but cannot tell us their precise meaning. Should we say, then, that in this way they had failed? It is not in place in a book of this kind to sit in judgment on the various theories quoted, and test them to see how far they hold good, or to what extent they should be disregarded, for it is the bare recital of mere historic views which can be here considered. The object has been simply to tell what systems were thought out and held, without attempting to apprize them or measure their value, or point out how far they are applicable to modern times. But in this affair of almsdeeds it is perhaps well to note that the Scholastics could make this much defence of their vagueness. In cases of this kind, they might say, we are face to face with human nature, not as an abstract thing, but in its concrete personal existence. The circumstances must therefore differ in each single instance. General laws can be laid down, but only on the distinct understanding that they are mere principles of direction--in other words, that they are nothing more than general laws. The Scholastics, the mediaeval writers of every school, except a few of that Manichean brood of sects, admitted the necessity of almsgiving. They looked on it from a moral point of view as a high virtue, and from an economic standpoint as a correlative to their individualistic ideas on private property. The one without the other would be unjust. Alone, they would be unworkable; together, mutually independent, they would make the State a fair and perfect thing. But to fix the exact proportion between the two terms, they held to be the duty of the individual in each case that came to his notice. To give out of a man's superfluities to the needy was, they held, undoubtedly a bounden duty. But they could make no attempt to apprize in definite language what in the receiver was meant by need, and in the giver by superfluity. They made no pretence to do this, and thereby showed their wisdom, for obviously the thing cannot be done. Yet we must note, last of all, that they drew up a list of principles which shall here be set down, because they sum up in a few sentences the wit of mediaeval economists, their spirit of orderly arrangement, and their unanimous opinion on man's moral obligations. (I) A man is obliged to help another in his extreme need, even at the risk of grave inconvenience to himself. (II) A man is obliged to help another who, though not in extreme need, is yet in considerable distress, but not at the risk of grave inconvenience to himself. (III) A man is not obliged to help another whose necessity is slight, even though the risk to himself should be quite trifling. In other words, the need of his fellow must be adjusted against the inconvenience to himself. Where the need of the one is great, the inconvenience to the other must at least be as great, if it is to excuse him from the just debt of his alms. His possession of superfluities does not compel him to part with them unless there is some real want which they can be expected to supply. In fine, the mediaevalists would contend that almsgiving, to be necessary, implies two conditions, both concomitant:-- (_a_) That the giver should possess superfluities. (_b_) That the receiver should be in need. Where both these suppositions are fulfilled, the duty of almsgiving becomes a matter not of charity, but of justice. BIBLIOGRAPHY Among the original works by mediaeval writers on economic subjects, which can be found in most of the greater libraries in England, we would place the following: _De Recuperatione Terre Sancte_, by Pierre du Bois. Edited by C. V. Langlois in Paris. 1891. _Commentarium in Politicos Aristotelis_, by Albertus Magnus. Vol. iv. Lyons. 1651. _Summa Theologica_, of St. Thomas Aquinas. This is being translated by the English Dominicans, published by Washborne. London. 1911. But the parts that deal with Aquinas' theories of property, &c., have not yet been published. _De Regimine Principio_, probably by Ptolomeo de Lucca. It will be found printed among the works of St. Thomas Aquinas, who wrote the first chapters. The portion here to be consulted is in book iv. _Tractatus de Civili Dominio_, by Wycliff, published in four vols. in London. 1885-1904. _Unprinted Works of John Wycliff_, edited at Oxford in three vols. 1869-1871. _Fasciculus Zizaniorum_ and the _Chronicon Angliae_, both edited in the Roll Series, help in elucidating the exact meaning of Wycliff, and his relation to the insurgents of 1381. _Monarchia_, edited by Goldast of Hanover in 1611, gives a collection of fifteenth-century writers, including Ockham, Cesena, Roselli, &c. _Summa Moralis_, by St. Antonino of Florence, contains a great deal of economic moralising. But the whole four volumes (Verona, 1740) must be searched for it. Among modern books which can be consulted with profit are:-- _Illustrations of the Mediaeval Thought_, by Reginald Lane Poole. 1884. London. _Political Theories of the Middle Ages_, by F. W. Maitland. 1900. Cambridge. _History of Mediaeval Political Thought_, by A. J. Carlyle. 1903. &c. Oxford (unfinished). _History of English Law_, by Pollock and Maitland. 1898. Cambridge. _Introduction to English Economic History_, by W. J. Ashley. 1892. London. _Economie Politique au Moyen Age_, by V. Brandts. 1895. Louvain. _La Propriété après St. Thomas_, by Mgr. Deploige, Revue Neo-Scholastique. 1895, 1896. Louvain. _History of Socialism_, by Thomas Kirkup. 1909. London. _Great Revolt of 1381_, by C. W. C. Oman. 1906. Oxford. _Lollardy and the Reformation_, by Gairdner. 1908-1911 (three vols.) London. _England in the Age of Wycliff_, by G. M. Trevelyan. 1909. London. _Leaders of the People_, by J. Clayton. 1910. London. A sympathetic account of Ball, Cade, &c. _Social Organisation_, by G. Unwin. 1906. Oxford. _Outlines of Economic History of England_, by H. O. Meredith. 1908. London. _Mutual Aid in a Mediaeval City_, by Prince Kropotkin (Nineteenth Century Review. Vol. xxxvi. p. 198). INDEX Albertus Magnus, 51, 86, 87 Albigensians, 29 Almsgiving, 80 Ambrose, St., 10, 87 Antonino, St., 50, 52, 71, 80 Aquinas, St. Thomas, 30, 42, 51, 60, 79, 80, 83 Aristotle, 35, 42, 51, 64, 82 Augustine, St., 10, 86 Authority, 8, 10 Ball, John, 32, 38 Bavaria, Louis of, 32, 63 Beghards, 32 Beguins, 32 Benedict, St., 13 Black Death, 22 Bois, Pierre du, 62, 69 Bonaventure, St., 87 Bourbon, Etienne de, 29 Bracton, 59 Cabochiens, 71 Cesena, Michael de, 32 Ciompi, 25, 71 Communism, 29 Destitution, 71 Dominicans, 30, 39, 47 Education, 76 Fall, 9 Fathers of Church, 8 Feudalism, 15, 56 Francis, St., 31 Franciscans, 30, 31, 39 Friars, 39 Froissart, 33 Ghent, Henry of, 87 Harrington, 79 Hildebrand, 10 Hospitals, 75 Innocent IV, 64 Jacquerie, 25, 71 Jerome, St., 86 John XXII, 32, 63 King, 15, 56 Labourers, landless, 19, 27 Langenstein, Henry of, 81 Langland, 27, 39 Law of Nations, 11 Law of Nature, 11 Lawyers, 55 Legalists, 11 Lucca, Ptolomeo de, 51 Maillotins, 71 Manicheans, 29 Manor, 71 Marcel, Etienne, 71 Meziers, Philip de, 64 Milton, 79 Moerbeke, 42 Monasticism, 13 More, Sir Thomas, 79 Necessities, 83 Ockham, 32, 49, 63 Oresme, Nichole, 64 Parliament, 43 Peasant Revolt, 25, 32, 71 Plato, 35, 52, 82 _Praetor Peregrinus_, 11 _Praetor Urbanus_, 11 Property, 10, 12, 29, 41, 80 Rienzi, 71 Ripa, John de, 50 Roselli, Antonio, 65 Schoolmen, 41, 88 Scotus, Duns, 49, 80, 87 Slavery, 10 Socialism, 6, 16, 60 Straw, Jack, 34, 39 Superfluities, 83 Taborites, 71 Taxation, 76 Tyler, Wat, 34 Vaudois, 29 Wages, 23, 25, 74 Women, 70, 73 Wycliff, 35, 49, 60, 62, 80, 87 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London ADVERTISEMENTS THE PEOPLE'S BOOKS THE FIRST HUNDRED VOLUMES The volumes issued (Spring 1913) are marked with an asterisk SCIENCE *1. The Foundations of Science By W. C. D. Whetham, F.R.S. *2. Embryology--The Beginnings By Prof. Gerald Leighton, M.D. of Life 3. Biology--The Science of Life By Prof. W. D. Henderson, M.A. *4. Zoology: The Study of Animal By Prof. E. W. MacBride, F.R.S. Life *5. Botany; The Modern Study of By M. C. Stopes, D.Sc., Ph.D. Plants 6. Bacteriology By W. E. Carnegie Dickson, M.D. *7. The Structure of the Earth By the Rev. T. G. Bonney, F.R.S. *8. Evolution By E. S. Goodrich, M.A., F.R.S. 9. Darwin By Prof. W. Garstang, M.A., D.Sc. *10. Heredity By J. A. S. Watson, B.Sc. *11. Inorganic Chemistry By Prof. E. C. C. Baly, F.R.S. *12. Organic Chemistry By Prof. J. B. Cohen, B.Sc., F.R.S. *13. The Principles of Electricity By Norman R. Campbell, M.A. *14. Radiation By P. Phillips, D.Sc. *15. The Science of the Stars By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S. *16. The Science of Light By P. Phillips, D.Sc. *17. Weather-Science By R. G. K. Lempfert, M.A. *18. Hypnotism By Alice Hutchison, M.D. *19. The Baby: A Mother's Book By a University Woman. *20. Youth and Sex--Dangers and {By Mary Scharlieb, M.D., M.S., Safeguards for Boys and Girls {and G. E. C. Pritchard, M.A., M.D. *21. Motherhood--A Wife's Handbook By H. S. Davidson, F.R.C.S.E. *22. Lord Kelvin By A. Russell, M.A., D.Sc. *23. Huxley By Professor G. Leighton, M.D. 24. Sir W. Huggins and {By E. W. Maunder, F.R.A.S., of the Spectroscopic Astronomy {Royal Observatory, Greenwich. *62. Practical Astronomy By H. Macpherson, Jr., F.R.A.S. *63. Aviation By Sydney F. Walker, R.N., M.I.E.E. *64. Navigation By W. Hall, R.N., B.A. *65. Pond Life By E. C. Ash, M.R.A.C. *66. Dietetics By Alex. Bryce, M.D., D.P.H. *94. The Nature of Mathematics By P. G. B. Jourdain, M.A. 95. Applications of Electricity By Alex. Ogilvie, B.Sc. *96. Gardening By A. Cecil Bartlett. 97. The Care of the Teeth By J. A. Young, L.D.S. *98. Atlas of the World By J. Bartholomew, F.R.G.S. *110. British Birds By F. B. Kirkman, B.A. PHILOSOPHY AND RELIGION 25. The Meaning of Philosophy By T. Loveday, M.A. *26. Henri Bergson By H. Wildon Carr. *27. Psychology By H. J. Watt, M.A., Ph.D. *28. Ethics By Canon Rashdall, D. Litt., F.B.A. 29. Kant's Philosophy By A. D. Lindsay, M.A. 30. The Teaching of Plato By A. D. Lindsay, M.A. *67. Aristotle By Prof. A. E. Taylor, M.A., F.B.A. *68. Nietzsche By M. A. Mügge, Ph.D. *69. Eucken By A. J. Jones, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D. 70. The Experimental Psychology By C. W. Valentine, B.A. of Beauty *71. The Problem of Truth By H. Wildon Carr. 99. George Berkeley: the By G. Dawes Hicks, Litt.D. Philosophy of Idealism 31. Buddhism By Prof. T. W. Rhys Davids, F.B.A. *32. Roman Catholicism By H. B. Coxon. *33. The Oxford Movement By Wilfrid P. Ward. *34. The Bible in the Light of the {By Rev. W. F. Adeney, M.A., and Higher Criticism {Rev. Prof. W. H. Bennett, Litt.D. 35. Cardinal Newman By Wilfrid Meynell. *72. The Church of England By Rev. Canon Masterman. 73. Anglo-Catholicism By A. E. Manning Foster. *74. The Free Churches By Rev. Edward Shillito, M.A. *75. Judaism By Ephraim Levine, B.A. *76. Theosophy By Annie Besant. HISTORY *36. The Growth of Freedom By H. W. Nevinson. 37. Bismarck By Prof. F. M. Powicke, M.A. *38. Oliver Cromwell By Hilda Johnstone, M.A. *39. Mary Queen of Scots By E. O'Neill, M.A. *40. Cecil Rhodes By Ian Colvin. *41. Julius Cæsar By Hilary Hardinge. History of England-- 42. England in the Making By Prof. F. J. C. Hearnshaw, LL.D. *43. England in the Middle Ages By E. O'Neill, M.A. 44. The Monarchy and the People By W. T. Waugh, M.A. 45. The Industrial Revolution By A. Jones, M.A. 46. Empire and Democracy By G. S. Veitch, M.A. *61. Home Rule By L. G. Redmond Howard. 77. Nelson By H. W. Wilson. *78. Wellington and Waterloo By Major G. W. Redway. 100. A History of Greece By E. Fearenside, B.A. 101. Luther and the Reformation By L. D. Agate, M.A. 102. The Discovery of the By F. B. Kirkman, B.A. New World *103. Turkey and the Eastern By John Macdonald. Question 104. A History of Architecture By Mrs. Arthur Bell. SOCIAL AND ECONOMIC *47. Women's Suffrage By M. G. Fawcett, LL.D. 48. The Working of the British By Prof. Ramsay Muir, M.A. System of Government to-day 49. An Introduction to Economic By Prof. H. O. Meredith, M.A. Science 50. Socialism By F. B. Kirkman, B.A. *79. Mediaeval Socialism By Rev. B. Jarrett, O.P., M.A. *80. Syndicalism By J. H. Harley, M.A. 81. Labour and Wages By H. M. Hallsworth, M.A., B.Sc. *82. Co-operation By Joseph Clayton. *83. Insurance as Investment By W. A. Robertson, F.F.A. *92. The Training of the Child By G. Spiller. *105. Trade Unions By Joseph Clayton. *106. Everyday Law By J. J. Adams. LETTERS *51. Shakespeare By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D. *52. Wordsworth By Rosaline Masson. *53. Pure Gold--A Choice of By H. C. O'Neill. Lyrics and Sonnets *54. Francis Bacon By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A. *55. The Brontës By Flora Masson. *56. Carlyle By the Rev. L. MacLean Watt. *57. Dante By A. G. Ferrers Howell. 58. Ruskin By A. Blyth Webster, M.A. 59. Common Faults in Writing By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A. English *60. A Dictionary of Synonyms. By Austin K. Gray, B.A. 84. Classical Dictionary By A. E. Stirling. *85. History of English By A. Compton-Rickett. Literature 86. Browning By Prof. A. R. Skemp, M.A. *87. Charles Lamb By Flora Masson. 88. Goethe By Prof. C. H. Herford, Litt.D. 89. Balzac By Frank Harris. 90. Rousseau By H. Sacher. 91. Ibsen By Hilary Hardinge. *93. Tennyson By Aaron Watson. 107. R. L. Stevenson By Rosaline Masson. *108. Shelley By Sydney Waterlow, M.A. 109. William Morris By A. Blyth Webster, M.A. London and Edinburgh: T. C. & E. C. Jack New York: Dodge Publishing Co. 
11752	----	CHIVALRY JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1921 TO ANNE BRANCH CABELL "AINSI A VOUS, MADAME, A MA TRÈS HAULTE ET TRÈS NOBLE DAME, A QUI J'AYME A DEVOIR ATTACHEMENT ET OBÉISSANCE, J'ENVOYE CE LIVRET." Introduction Few of the more astute critics who have appraised the work of James Branch Cabell have failed to call attention to that extraordinary cohesion which makes his very latest novel a further flowering of the seed of his very earliest literary work. Especially among his later books does the scheme of each seem to dovetail into the scheme of the other and the whole of his writing take on the character of an uninterrupted discourse. To this phenomenon, which is at once a fact and an illusion of continuity, Mr. Cabell himself has consciously contributed, not only by a subtly elaborate use of conjunctions, by repetition, and by reintroducing characters from his other books, but by actually setting his expertness in genealogy to the genial task of devising a family tree for his figures of fiction. If this were an actual continuity, more tangible than that fluid abstraction we call the life force; if it were merely a tireless reiteration and recasting of characters, Mr. Cabell's work would have an unbearable monotony. But at bottom this apparent continuity has no more material existence than has the thread of lineal descent. To insist upon its importance is to obscure, as has been obscured, the epic range of Mr. Cabell's creative genius. It is to fail to observe that he has treated in his many books every mainspring of human action and that his themes have been the cardinal dreams and impulses which have in them heroic qualities. Each separate volume has a unity and harmony of a complete and separate life, for the excellent reason that with the consummate skill of an artist he is concerned exclusively in each book with one definite heroic impulse and its frustrations. It is true, of course, that like the fruit of the tree of life, Mr. Cabell's artistic progeny sprang from a first conceptual germ--"In the beginning was the Word." That animating idea is the assumption that if life may be said to have an aim it must be an aim to terminate in success and splendor. It postulates the high, fine importance of excess, the choice or discovery of an overwhelming impulse in life and a conscientious dedication to its fullest realization. It is the quality and intensity of the dream only which raises men above the biological norm; and it is fidelity to the dream which differentiates the exceptional figure, the man of heroic stature, from the muddling, aimless mediocrities about him. What the dream is, matters not at all--it may be a dream of sainthood, kingship, love, art, asceticism or sensual pleasure--so long as it is fully expressed with all the resources of self. It is this sort of completion which Mr. Cabell has elected to depict in all his work: the complete sensualist in Demetrios, the complete phrase-maker in Felix Kennaston, the complete poet in Marlowe, the complete lover in Perion. In each he has shown that this complete self-expression is achieved at the expense of all other possible selves, and that herein lies the tragedy of the ideal. Perfection is a costly flower and is cultured only by an uncompromising, strict husbandry. All this is, we see, the ideational gonfalon under which surge the romanticists; but from the evidence at hand it is the banner to which life also bears allegiance. It is in humanity's records that it has reserved its honors for its romantic figures. It remembers its Caesars, its saints, its sinners. It applauds, with a complete suspension of moral judgment, its heroines and its heroes who achieve the greatest self-realization. And from the splendid triumphs and tragic defeats of humanity's individual strivings have come our heritage of wisdom and of poetry. Once we understand the fundamentals of Mr. Cabell's artistic aims, it is not easy to escape the fact that in _Figures of Earth_ he undertook the staggering and almost unsuspected task of rewriting humanity's sacred books, just as in _Jurgen_ he gave us a stupendous analogue of the ceaseless quest for beauty. For we must accept the truth that Mr. Cabell is not a novelist at all in the common acceptance of the term, but a historian of the human soul. His books are neither documentary nor representational; his characters are symbols of human desires and motives. By the not at all simple process of recording faithfully the projections of his rich and varied imagination, he has written thirteen books, which he accurately terms biography, wherein is the bitter-sweet truth about human life. II Among the scant certainties vouchsafed us is that every age lives by its special catchwords. Whether from rebellion against the irking monotony of its inherited creeds or from compulsions generated by its own complexities, each age develops its code of convenient illusions which minimize cerebration in dilemmas of conduct by postulating an unequivocal cleavage between the current right and the current wrong. It works until men tire of it or challenge the cleavage, or until conditions render the code obsolete. It has in it, happily, a certain poetic merit always; it presents an ideal to be lived up to; it gives direction to the uncertain, stray impulses of life. The Chivalric code is no worse than most and certainly it is prettier than some. It is a code peculiar to an age, or at least it flourishes best in an age wherein sentiment and the stuff of dreams are easily translatable into action. Its requirements are less of the intellect than of the heart. It puts God, honor, and mistress above all else, and stipulates that a knight shall serve these three without any reservation. It requires of its secular practitioners the holy virtues of an active piety, a modified chastity, and an unqualified obedience, at all events, to the categorical imperative. The obligation of poverty it omits, for the code arose at a time when the spiritual snobbery of the meek and lowly was not pressing the simile about the camel and the eye of the needle. It leads to charming manners and to delicate amenities. It is the opposite of the code of Gallantry, for while the code of Chivalry takes everything with a becoming seriousness, the code of Gallantry takes everything with a wink. If one should stoop to pick flaws with the Chivalric ideal, it would be to point out a certain priggishness and intolerance. For, while it is all very well for one to cherish the delusion that he is God's vicar on earth and to go about his Father's business armed with a shining rectitude, yet the unhallowed may be moved to deprecate the enterprise when they recall, with discomfort, the zealous vicarship of, say, the late Anthony J. Comstock. But here I blunder into Mr. Cabell's province. For he has joined many graceful words in delectable and poignant proof of just that lamentable tendency of man to make a mess of even his most immaculate conceivings. When he wrote _Chivalry_, Mr. Cabell was yet young enough to view the code less with the appraising eye of a pawnbroker than with the ardent eye of an amateur. He knew its value, but he did not know its price. So he made of it the thesis for a dizain of beautiful happenings that are almost flawless in their verbal beauty. III It is perhaps of historical interest here to record the esteem in which Mark Twain held the genius of Mr. Cabell as it was manifested as early as a dozen years ago. Mr. Cabell wrote _The Soul of Melicent_, or, as it was rechristened on revision, _Domnei_, at the great humorist's request, and during the long days and nights of his last illness it was Mr. Cabell's books which gave Mark Twain his greatest joy. This knowledge mitigates the pleasure, no doubt, of those who still, after his fifteen years of writing, encounter him intermittently with a feeling of having made a great literary discovery. The truth is that Mr. Cabell has been discovered over and over with each succeeding book from that first fine enthusiasm with which Percival Pollard reviewed _The Eagle's Shadow_ to that generous acknowledgment by Hugh Walpole that no one in England, save perhaps Conrad and Hardy, was so sure of literary permanence as James Branch Cabell. With _The Cream of the Jest, Beyond Life_, and _Figures of Earth_ before him, it is not easy for the perceptive critic to doubt this permanence. One might as sensibly deny a future to Ecclesiastes, _The Golden Ass, Gulliver's Travels_, and the works of Rabelais as to predict oblivion for such a thesaurus of ironic wit and fine fantasy, mellow wisdom and strange beauty as _Jurgen_. But to appreciate the tales of _Chivalry_ is, it seems, a gift more frequently reserved for the general reader than for the professional literary evaluator. Certainly years before discussion of Cabell was artificially augmented by the suppression of _Jurgen_ there were many genuine lovers of romance who had read these tales with pure enjoyment. That they did not analyse and articulate their enjoyment for the edification of others does not lessen the quality of their appreciation. Even in those years they found in Cabell's early tales what we find who have since been directed to them by the curiosity engendered by his later work, namely, a superb craftsmanship in recreating a vanished age, an atmosphere in keeping with the themes, a fluid, graceful, personal style, a poetic ecstasy, a fine sense of drama, and a unity and symmetry which are the hall-marks of literary genius. BURTON RASCOE. New York City, September, 1921. Contents PRECAUTIONAL THE PROLOGUE I THE STORY OF THE SESTINA II THE STORY OF THE TENSON III THE STORY OF THE RAT-TRAP IV THE STORY OF THE CHOICES V THE STORY OF THE HOUSEWIFE VI THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS VII THE STORY OF THE HERITAGE VIII THE STORY OF THE SCABBARD IX THE STORY OF THE NAVARRESE X THE STORY OF THE FOX-BRUSH THE EPILOGUE Precautional Imprimis, as concerns the authenticity of these tales perhaps the less debate may be the higher wisdom, if only because this Nicolas de Caen, by common report, was never a Gradgrindian. And in this volume in particular, writing it (as Nicolas is supposed to have done) in 1470, as a dependant on the Duke of Burgundy, it were but human nature should he, in dealing with the putative descendants of Dom Manuel and Alianora of Provence, be niggardly in his ascription of praiseworthy traits to any member of the house of Lancaster or of Valois. Rather must one in common reason accept old Nicolas as confessedly a partisan writer, who upon occasion will recolor an event with such nuances as will be least inconvenient to a Yorkist and Burgundian bias. The reteller of these stories needs in addition to plead guilty of having abridged the tales with a free hand. Item, these tales have been a trifle pulled about, most notably in "The Story of the Satraps," where it seemed advantageous, on reflection, to put into Gloucester's mouth a history which in the original version was related _ab ovo_, and as a sort of bungling prologue to the story proper. Item, the re-teller of these stories desires hereby to tender appropriate acknowledgment to Mr. R.E. Townsend for his assistance in making an English version of the lyrics included hereinafter; and to avoid discussion as to how freely, in these lyrics, Nicolas has plagiarized from Raimbaut de Vaqueiras and other elder poets.[1] And--"sixth and lastly"--should confession be made that in the present rendering a purely arbitrary title has been assigned this little book; chiefly for commercial reasons, since the word "dizain" has been adjudged both untranslatable and, in its pristine form, repellantly _outré_. 2 You are to give my titular makeshift, then, a wide interpretation; and are always to remember that in the bleak, florid age these tales commemorate this Chivalry was much the rarelier significant of any personal trait than of a world-wide code in consonance with which all estimable people lived and died. Its root was the assumption (uncontested then) that a gentleman will always serve his God, his honor and his lady without any reservation; nor did the many emanating by-laws ever deal with special cases as concerns this triple, fixed, and fundamental homage. Such is the trinity served hereinafter. Now about lady-service, or _domnei_, I have written elsewhere. Elsewhere also I find it recorded that "the cornerstone of Chivalry is the idea of vicarship: for the chivalrous person is, in his own eyes at least, the child of God, and goes about this world as his Father's representative in an alien country." I believe the definition holds: it certainly tends to explain the otherwise puzzling pertinacity with which the characters in these tales talk about God and act upon an assured knowledge as to Heaven's private intentions and preferences. These people are the members of one family engrossed, as all of us are apt to be when in the society of our kin, by family matters and traditions and by-words. It is not merely that they are all large children consciously dependent in all things upon a not foolishly indulgent Father, Who keeps an interested eye upon the least of their doings, and punishes at need,--not merely that they know themselves to act under surveillance and to speak within ear-shot of a divine eavesdropper. The point is, rather, that they know this observation to be as tender, the punishment to be as unwilling, as that which they themselves extend to their own children's pranks and misdemeanors. The point is that to them Heaven is a place as actual and tangible as we consider Alaska or Algiers to be, and that their living is a conscious journeying toward this actual place. The point is that the Father is a real father, and not a word spelt with capital letters in the Church Service; not an abstraction, not a sort of a something vaguely describable as "the Life Force," but a very famous kinsman, of whom one is naïvely proud, and whom one is on the way to visit.... The point, in brief, is that His honor and yours are inextricably blended, and are both implicated in your behavior on the journey. We nowadays can just cloudily imagine this viewing of life as a sort of boarding-school from which one eventually goes home, with an official report as to progress and deportment: and in retaliation for being debarred from the comforts of this view, the psychoanalysts have no doubt invented for it some opprobrious explanation. At all events, this Chivalry was a pragmatic hypothesis: it "worked," and served society for a long while, not faultlessly of course, but by creating, like all the other codes of human conduct which men have yet tried, a tragi-comic mêlée wherein contended "courtesy and humanity, friendliness, hardihood, love and friendship, and murder, hate, and virtue, and sin." 3 For the rest, since good wine needs no bush, and an inferior beverage is not likely to be bettered by arboreal adornment, I elect to piece out my exordium (however lamely) with "The Printer's Preface." And it runs in this fashion: "Here begins the volume called and entitled the Dizain of Queens, composed and extracted from divers chronicles and other sources of information, by that extremely venerable person and worshipful man, Messire Nicolas de Caen, priest and chaplain to the right noble, glorious and mighty prince in his time, Philippe, Duke of Burgundy, of Brabant, etc., in the year of the Incarnation of our Lord God a thousand four hundred and seventy: and imprinted by me, Colard Mansion, at Bruges, in the year of our said Lord God a thousand four hundred and seventy-one; at the commandment of the right high, mighty and virtuous Princess, my redoubted Lady, Isabella of Portugal, by the grace of God Duchess of Burgundy and Lotharingia, of Brabant and Limbourg, of Luxembourg and of Gueldres, Countess of Flanders, of Artois, and of Burgundy, Palatine of Hainault, of Holland, of Zealand and of Namur, Marquesse of the Holy Empire, and Lady of Frisia, of Salins and of Mechlin; whom I beseech Almighty God less to increase than to continue in her virtuous disposition in this world, and after our poor fleet existence to receive eternally. Amen." THE PROLOGUE "_Afin que les entreprises honorables et les nobles aventures et faicts d'armes soyent noblement enregistrés et conservés, je vais traiter et raconter et inventer ung galimatias_." THE DIZAIN OF QUEENS OF THAT NOBLE MAKER IN THE FRENCH TONGUE, MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN, DEDICATED TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS ISABELLA OF PORTUGAL, OF THE HOUSE OF THE INDOMITABLE ALFONSO HENRIQUES, AND DUCHESS DOWAGER OF BURGUNDY. HERE BEGINS IN AUSPICIOUS WISE THE PROLOGUE. The Prologue A Sa Dame Inasmuch as it was by your command, illustrious and exalted lady, that I have gathered together these stories to form the present little book, you should the less readily suppose I have presumed to dedicate to your Serenity this trivial offering because of my esteeming it to be not undeserving of your acceptance. The truth is otherwise: your postulant approaches not spurred toward you by vainglory, but rather by equity, and equity's plain need to acknowledge that he who seeks to write of noble ladies must necessarily implore at outset the patronage of her who is the light and mainstay of our age. I humbly bring my book to you as Phidyle approached another and less sacred shrine, _farre pio et saliente mica_, and lay before you this my valueless mean tribute not as appropriate to you but as the best I have to offer. It is a little book wherein I treat of divers queens and of their love-business; and with necessitated candor I concede my chosen field to have been harvested, and scrupulously gleaned, by many writers of innumerable conditions. Since Dares Phrygius wrote of Queen Heleine, and Virgil (that shrewd necromancer) of Queen Dido, a preponderating mass of clerks, in casting about for high and serious matter, have chosen, as though it were by common instinct, to dilate upon the amours of royal women. Even in romance we scribblers must contrive it so that the fair Nicolete shall be discovered in the end to be no less than the King's daughter of Carthage, and that Sir Doön of Mayence shall never sink in his love affairs beneath the degree of a Saracen princess; and we are backed in this old procedure not only by the authority of Aristotle but, oddly enough, by that of reason. Kings have their policies and wars wherewith to drug each human appetite. But their consorts are denied these makeshifts; and love may rationally be defined as the pivot of each normal woman's life, and in consequence as the arbiter of that ensuing life which is eternal. Because--as anciently Propertius demanded, though not, to speak the truth, of any woman-- Quo fugis? ah demens! nulla est fuga, tu licet usque Ad Tanaim fugias, usque sequetur amor. And a dairymaid, let us say, may love whom she will, and nobody else be a penny the worse for her mistaking of the preferable nail whereon to hang her affections; whereas with a queen this choice is more portentous. She plays the game of life upon a loftier table, ruthlessly illuminated, she stakes by her least movement a tall pile of counters, some of which are, of necessity, the lives and happiness of persons whom she knows not, unless it be by vague report. Grandeur sells itself at this hard price, and at no other. A queen must always play, in fine, as the vicar of destiny, free to choose but very certainly compelled in the ensuing action to justify that choice: as is strikingly manifested by the authentic histories of Brunhalt, and of Guenevere, and of swart Cleopatra, and of many others that were born to the barbaric queenhoods of extinct and dusty times. All royal persons are (I take it) the immediate and the responsible stewards of Heaven; and since the nature of each man is like a troubled stream, now muddied and now clear, their prayer must ever be, _Defenda me, Dios, de me_! Yes, of exalted people, and even of their near associates, life, because it aims more high than the aforementioned Aristotle, demands upon occasion a more great catharsis, which would purge any audience of unmanliness, through pity and through terror, because, by a quaint paradox, the players have been purged of humanity. For a moment Destiny has thrust her scepter into the hands of a human being and Chance has exalted a human being to decide the issue of many human lives. These two--with what immortal chucklings one may facilely imagine--have left the weakling thus enthroned, free to direct the heavy outcome, free to choose, and free to evoke much happiness or age-long weeping, but with no intermediate course unbarred. _Now prove thyself_! saith Destiny; and Chance appends: _Now prove thyself to be at bottom a god or else a beast, and now eternally abide that choice. And now_ (O crowning irony!) _we may not tell thee clearly by which choice thou mayst prove either_. In this little book about the women who intermarried, not very enviably, with an unhuman race (a race predestinate to the red ending which I have chronicled elsewhere, in _The Red Cuckold_), it is of ten such moments that I treat. You alone, I think, of all persons living, have learned, as you have settled by so many instances, to rise above mortality in such a testing, and unfailingly to merit by your conduct the plaudits and the adoration of our otherwise dissentient world. You have often spoken in the stead of Destiny, with nations to abide your verdict; and in so doing have both graced and hallowed your high vicarship. If I forbear to speak of this at greater length, it is because I dare not couple your well-known perfection with any imperfect encomium. Upon no plea, however, can any one forbear to acknowledge that he who seeks to write of noble ladies must necessarily implore at outset the patronage of her who is the light and mainstay of our age. _Therefore to you, madame--most excellent and noble lady, to whom I love to owe both loyalty and love--I dedicate this little book._ I _THE STORY OF THE SESTINA_ "Armatz de fust e de fer e d'acier, Mos ostal seran bosc, fregz, e semdier, E mas cansos sestinas e descortz, E mantenrai los frevols contra 'ls fortz." THE FIRST NOVEL.--ALIANORA OF PROVENCE, COMING IN DISGUISE AND IN ADVERSITY TO A CERTAIN CLERK, IS BY HIM CONDUCTED ACROSS A HOSTILE COUNTRY; AND IN THAT TROUBLED JOURNEY ARE MADE MANIFEST TO EACH THE SNARES WHICH HAD BEGUILED THEM AFORETIME. The Story of the Sestina In this place we have to do with the opening tale of the Dizain of Queens. I abridge, as afterward, at discretion; and an initial account of the Barons' War, among other superfluities, I amputate as more remarkable for veracity than interest. The result, we will agree at outset, is that to the Norman cleric appertains whatever these tales may have of merit, whereas what you find distasteful in them you must impute to my delinquencies in skill rather than in volition. Within the half hour after de Giars' death (here one overtakes Nicolas mid-course in narrative) Dame Alianora thus stood alone in the corridor of a strange house. Beyond the arras the steward and his lord were at irritable converse. First, "If the woman be hungry," spoke a high and peevish voice, "feed her. If she need money, give it to her. But do not annoy me." "This woman demands to see the master of the house," the steward then retorted. "O incredible Boeotian, inform her that the master of the house has no time to waste upon vagabonds who select the middle of the night as an eligible time to pop out of nowhere. Why did you not do so in the beginning, you dolt?" The speaker got for answer only a deferential cough, and very shortly continued: "This is remarkably vexatious. _Vox et praeterea nihil_--which signifies, Yeck, that to converse with women is always delightful. Admit her." This was done, and Dame Alianora came into an apartment littered with papers, where a neat and shriveled gentleman of fifty-odd sat at a desk and scowled. He presently said, "You may go, Yeck." He had risen, the magisterial attitude with which he had awaited her entrance cast aside. "Oh, God!" he said; "you, madame!" His thin hands, scholarly hands, were plucking at the air. Dame Alianora had paused, greatly astonished, and there was an interval before she said, "I do not recognize you, messire." "And yet, madame, I recall very clearly that some thirty years ago the King-Count Raymond Bérenger, then reigning in Provence, had about his court four daughters, each one of whom was afterward wedded to a king. First, Meregrett, the eldest, now regnant in France; then Alianora, the second and most beautiful of these daughters, whom troubadours hymned as the Unattainable Princess. She was married a long while ago, madame, to the King of England, Lord Henry, third of that name to reign in these islands." Dame Alianora's eyes were narrowing. "There is something in your voice," she said, "which I recall." He answered: "Madame and Queen, that is very likely, for it is a voice which sang a deal in Provence when both of us were younger. I concede with the Roman that I have somewhat deteriorated since the reign of Cynara. Yet have you quite forgotten the Englishman who made so many songs of you? They called him Osmund Heleigh." "He made the Sestina of Spring which won the violet crown at my betrothal," the Queen said; and then, with eagerness: "Messire, can it be that you are Osmund Heleigh?" He shrugged assent. She looked at him for a long time, rather sadly, and demanded if he were the King's man or of the barons' party. The nervous hands were raised in deprecation. "I have no politics," Messire Heleigh began, and altered it, gallantly enough, to, "I am the Queen's man, madame." "Then aid me, Osmund," she said. He answered with a gravity which singularly became him, "You have reason to understand that to my fullest power I will aid you." "You know that at Lewes these swine overcame us." He nodded assent. "Now they hold the King, my husband, captive at Kenilworth. I am content that he remain there, for he is of all the King's enemies the most dangerous. But, at Wallingford, Leicester has imprisoned my son, Prince Edward. The Prince must be freed, my Osmund. Warren de Basingbourne commands what is left of the royal army, now entrenched at Bristol, and it is he who must liberate my son. Get me to Bristol, then. Afterward we will take Wallingford." The Queen issued these orders in cheery, practical fashion, and did not admit opposition into the account, for she was a capable woman. "But you, madame?" he stammered. "You came alone?" "I come from France, where I have been entreating--and vainly entreating--succor from yet another monkish king, the holy Lewis of that realm. Eh, what is God about when He enthrones these whining pieties! Were I a king, were I even a man, I would drive these smug English out of their foggy isle in three days' space! I would leave alive not one of these curs that dare yelp at me! I would--" She paused, anger veering into amusement. "See how I enrage myself when I think of what your people have made me suffer," the Queen said, and shrugged her shoulders. "In effect, I skulked back in disguise to this detestable island, accompanied by Avenel de Giars and Hubert Fitz-Herveis. To-night some half-dozen fellows--robbers, thorough knaves, like all you English,--attacked us on the common yonder and slew the men of our party. While they were cutting de Giars' throat I slipped away in the dark and tumbled through many ditches till I spied your light. There you have my story. Now get me an escort to Bristol." It was a long while before Messire Heleigh spoke. Then, "These men," he said--"this de Giars and this Fitz-Herveis--they gave their lives for yours, as I understand it,--_pro caris amicis_. And yet you do not grieve for them." "I shall regret de Giars," the Queen acknowledged, "for he made excellent songs. But Fitz-Herveis?--foh! the man had a face like a horse." Again her mood changed. "Many persons have died for me, my friend. At first I wept for them, but now I am dry of tears." He shook his head. "Cato very wisely says, 'If thou hast need of help, ask it of thy friends.' But the sweet friend that I remember was a clean eyed girl, joyous and exceedingly beautiful. Now you appear to me one of those ladies of remoter times--Faustina, or Jael, or Artemis, the King's wife of Tauris,--they that slew men, laughing. I am somewhat afraid of you, madame." She was angry at first; then her face softened. "You English!" she said, only half mirthful. "Eh, my God! you remember me when I was a high hearted young sorceress. Now the powers of the Apsarasas have departed from me, and time has thrust that Alianora, who was once the Unattainable Princess, chin deep in misery. Yet even now I am your Queen, messire, and it is not yours to pass judgment upon me." "I do not judge you," he returned. "Rather I cry with him of old, _Omnia incerta ratione!_ and I cry with Salomon that he who meddles with the strife of another man is like to him that takes a hound by the ears. Yet listen, madame and Queen. I cannot afford you an escort to Bristol. This house, of which I am in temporary charge, is Longaville, my brother's manor. Lord Brudenel, as you doubtless know, is of the barons' party and--scant cause for grief!--is with Leicester at this moment. I can trust none of my brother's people, for I believe them to be of much the same opinion as those Londoners who not long ago stoned you and would have sunk your barge in Thames River. Oh, let us not blink the fact that you are not overbeloved in England. So an escort is out of the question. Yet I, madame, if you so elect, will see you safe to Bristol." "You? Singly?" the Queen demanded. "My plan is this: Singing folk alone travel whither they will. We will go as jongleurs, then. I can yet manage a song to the viol, I dare affirm. And you must pass as my wife." He said this with simplicity. The plan seemed unreasonable, and at first Dame Alianora waved it aside. Out of the question! But reflection suggested nothing better; it was impossible to remain at Longaville, and the man spoke sober truth when he declared any escort other than himself to be unprocurable. Besides, the lunar madness of the scheme was its strength; that the Queen would venture to cross half England unprotected--and Messire Heleigh on the face of him was a paste-board buckler--was an event which Leicester would neither anticipate nor on report credit. There you were! these English had no imagination. The Queen snapped her fingers and said: "Very willingly will I be your wife, my Osmund. But how do I know that I can trust you? Leicester would give a deal for me; he would pay any price for the pious joy of burning the Sorceress of Provence. And you are not wealthy, I suspect." "You may trust me, mon bel esper,"--his eyes here were those of a beaten child--"because my memory is better than yours." Messire Osmund Heleigh gathered his papers into a neat pile. "This room is mine. To-night I keep guard in the corridor, madame. We will start at dawn." When he had gone, Dame Alianora laughed contentedly. "Mon bel esper! my fairest hope! The man called me that in his verses--thirty years ago! Yes, I may trust you, my poor Osmund." So they set out at cockcrow. He had procured for himself a viol and a long falchion, and had somewhere got suitable clothes for the Queen; and in their aging but decent garb the two approached near enough to the appearance of what they desired to be thought. In the courtyard a knot of servants gaped, nudged one another, but openly said nothing. Messire Heleigh, as they interpreted it, was brazening out an affair of gallantry before the countryside; and they esteemed his casual observation that they would find a couple of dead men on the common exceedingly diverting. When the Queen asked him the same morning, "And what will you sing, my Osmund? Shall we begin the practise of our new profession with the Sestina of Spring?"--old Osmund Heleigh grunted out: "I have forgotten that rubbish long ago. _Omnis amans, amens_, saith the satirist of Rome town, and with reason." Followed silence. One sees them thus trudging the brown, naked plains under a sky of steel. In a pageant the woman, full-veined and comely, her russet gown girded up like a harvester's might not inaptly have prefigured October; and for less comfortable November you could nowhere have found a symbol more precise than her lank companion, humorously peevish under his white thatch of hair, and constantly fretted by the sword tapping at his ankles. They made Hurlburt prosperously and found it vacant, for the news of Falmouth's advance had driven the villagers hillward. There was in this place a child, a naked boy of some two years, lying on a doorstep, overlooked in his elders' gross terror. As the Queen with a sob lifted this boy the child died. "Starved!" said Osmund Heleigh; "and within a stone's throw of my snug home!" The Queen laid down the tiny corpse, and, stooping, lightly caressed its sparse flaxen hair. She answered nothing, though her lips moved. Past Vachel, scene of a recent skirmish, with many dead in the gutters, they were overtaken by Falmouth himself, and stood at the roadside to afford his troop passage. The Marquess, as he went by, flung the Queen a coin, with a jest sufficiently high flavored. She knew the man her inveterate enemy, knew that on recognition he would have killed her as he would a wolf; she smiled at him and dropped a curtsey. "This is remarkable," Messire Heleigh observed. "I was hideously afraid, and am yet shaking. But you, madame, laughed." The Queen replied: "I laughed because I know that some day I shall have Lord Falmouth's head. It will be very sweet to see it roll in the dust, my Osmund." Messire Heleigh somewhat dryly observed that tastes differed. At Jessop Minor befell a more threatening adventure. Seeking food at the _Cat and Hautbois_ in that village, they blundered upon the same troop at dinner in the square about the inn. Falmouth and his lieutenants were somewhere inside the house. The men greeted the supposed purveyors of amusement with a shout; and one of these soldiers--a swarthy rascal with his head tied in a napkin--demanded that the jongleurs grace their meal with a song. Osmund tried to put him off with a tale of a broken viol. But, "Haro!" the fellow blustered; "by blood and by nails! you will sing more sweetly with a broken viol than with a broken head. I would have you understand, you hedge thief, that we gentlemen of the sword are not partial to wordy argument." Messire Heleigh fluttered inefficient hands as the men-at-arms gathered about them, scenting some genial piece of cruelty. "Oh, you rabbit!" the trooper jeered, and caught at Osmund's throat, shaking him. In the act this rascal tore open Messire Heleigh's tunic, disclosing a thin chain about his neck and a handsome locket, which the fellow wrested from its fastening. "Ahoi!" he continued. "Ahoi, my comrades, what sort of minstrel is this, who goes about England all hung with gold like a Cathedral Virgin! He and his sweetheart"--the actual word was grosser--"will be none the worse for an interview with the Marquess." The situation smacked of awkwardness, because Lord Falmouth was familiar with the Queen, and to be brought specifically to his attention meant death for two detected masqueraders. Hastily Osmund Heleigh said: "Messire, the locket contains the portrait of a lady whom in my youth I loved very greatly. Save to me, it is valueless. I pray you, do not rob me of it." But the trooper shook his head with drunken solemnity. "I do not like the looks of this. Yet I will sell it to you, as the saying is, for a song." "It shall be the king of songs," said Osmund,--"the song that Arnaut Daniel first made. I will sing for you a Sestina, messieurs,--a Sestina in salutation of Spring." The men disposed themselves about the dying grass, and presently he sang. Sang Messire Heleigh: "Awaken! for the servitors of Spring Proclaim his triumph! ah, make haste to see With what tempestuous pageantry they bring The victor homeward! haste, for this is he That cast out Winter and all woes that cling To Winter's garments, and bade April be! "And now that Spring is master, let us be Content, and laugh, as anciently in spring The battle-wearied Tristan laughed, when he Was come again Tintagel-ward, to bring Glad news of Arthur's victory--and see Ysoude, with parted lips, that waver and cling. "Not yet in Brittany must Tristan cling To this or that sad memory, and be Alone, as she in Cornwall; for in spring Love sows against far harvestings,--and he Is blind, and scatters baleful seed that bring Such fruitage as blind Love lacks eyes to see!" Osmund paused here for an appreciable interval, staring at the Queen. You saw his flabby throat a-quiver, his eyes melting, saw his cheeks kindle, and youth seeping into the lean man like water over a crumbling dam. His voice was now big and desirous. Sang Messire Heleigh: "Love sows, but lovers reap; and ye will see The loved eyes lighten, feel the loved lips cling, Never again when in the grave ye be Incurious of your happiness in spring, And get no grace of Love there, whither he That bartered life for love no love may bring. "No braggart Heracles avails to bring Alcestis hence; nor here may Roland see The eyes of Aude; nor here the wakening spring Vex any man with memories: for there be No memories that cling as cerements cling, No force that baffles Death, more strong than he. "Us hath he noted, and for us hath he An hour appointed; and that hour will bring Oblivion.--Then, laugh! Laugh, dear, and see The tyrant mocked, while yet our bosoms cling, While yet our lips obey us, and we be Untrammeled in our little hour of spring! "Thus in the spring we jeer at Death, though he Will see our children perish and will briny Asunder all that cling while love may be." Then Osmund put the viol aside and sat quite silent. The soldiery judged, and with cordial frankness stated, that the difficulty of his rhyming scheme did not atone for his lack of indecency, but when the Queen of England went among them with Messire Heleigh's faded green hat she found them liberal. Even the fellow with the broken head admitted that a bargain was proverbially a bargain, and returned the locket with the addition of a coin. So for the present these two went safe, and quitted the _Cat and Hautbois_ fed and unmolested. "My Osmund," Dame Alianora said, presently, "your memory is better than I had thought." "I remembered a boy and a girl," he returned. "And I grieved that they were dead." Afterward they plodded on toward Bowater, and the ensuing night rested in Chantrell Wood. They had the good fortune there to encounter dry and windless weather and a sufficiency of brushwood, with which Osmund constructed an agreeable fire. In its glow these two sat, eating bread and cheese. But talk languished at the outset. The Queen had complained of an ague, and Messire Heleigh was sedately suggesting three spiders hung about the neck as an infallible corrective for this ailment, when Dame Alianora rose to her feet. "Eh, my God!" she said; "I am wearied of such ungracious aid! Not an inch of the way but you have been thinking of your filthy books and longing to be back at them! No; I except the moments when you were frightened into forgetfulness--first by Falmouth, then by the trooper. O Eternal Father! afraid of a single dirty soldier!" "Indeed, I was very much afraid," said Messire Heleigh, with perfect simplicity; "_timidus perire, madame._" "You have not even the grace to be ashamed! Yet I am shamed, messire, that Osmund Heleigh should have become the book-muddled pedant you are. For I loved young Osmund Heleigh." He also had risen in the firelight, and now its convulsive shadows marred two dogged faces. "I think it best not to recall that boy and girl who are so long dead. And, frankly, madame and Queen, the merit of the business I have in hand is questionable. It is you who have set all England by the ears, and I am guiding you toward opportunities for further mischief. I must serve you. Understand, madame, that ancient folly in Provence yonder has nothing to do with the affair. Count Manuel left you: and between his evasion and your marriage you were pleased to amuse yourself with me--" "You were more civil then, my Osmund--" "I am not uncivil, I merely point out that this old folly constitutes no overwhelming obligation, either way. I cry _nihil ad Andromachen!_ For the rest, I must serve you because you are a woman and helpless; yet I cannot forget that he who spares the wolf is the sheep's murderer. It would be better for all England if you were dead. Hey, your gorgeous follies, madame! Silver peacocks set with sapphires! Cloth of fine gold--" "Would you have me go unclothed?" Dame Alianora demanded, pettishly. "Not so," Osmund retorted; "again I say to you with Tertullian, 'Let women paint their eyes with the tints of chastity, insert into their ears the Word of God, tie the yoke of Christ about their necks, and adorn their whole person with the silk of sanctity and the damask of devotion.' I say to you that the boy you wish to rescue from Wallingford, and make King of England, is freely rumored to be not verily the son of Sire Henry but the child of tall Manuel of Poictesme. I say to you that from the first you have made mischief in England. And I say to you--" But Dame Alianora was yawning quite frankly. "You will say to me that I brought foreigners into England, that I misguided the King, that I stirred up strife between the King and his barons. Eh, my God! I am sufficiently familiar with the harangue. Yet listen, my Osmund: They sold me like a bullock to a man I had never seen. I found him a man of wax, and I remoulded him. They asked of me an heir for England: I provided that heir. They gave me England as a toy; I played with it. I was the Queen, the source of honor, the source of wealth--the trough, in effect, about which swine gathered. Never since I came into England, Osmund, has any man or woman loved me; never in all my English life have I loved man or woman. Do you understand, my Osmund?--the Queen has many flatterers, but no friends. Not a friend in the world, my Osmund! And so the Queen made the best of it and amused herself." Somewhat he seemed to understand, for he answered without asperity: "Mon bel esper, I do not find it anywhere in Holy Writ that God requires it of us to amuse ourselves; but upon many occasions we have been commanded to live righteously. We are tempted in divers and insidious ways. And we cry with the Psalmist, 'My strength is dried up like a potsherd.' But God intends this, since, until we have here demonstrated our valor upon Satan, we are manifestly unworthy to be enregistered in God's army. The great Captain must be served by proven soldiers. We may be tempted, but we may not yield. O daughter of the South! we must not yield!" "Again you preach," Dame Alianora said. "That is a venerable truism." "Ho, madame," he returned, "is it on that account the less true?" Pensively the Queen considered this. "You are a good man, my Osmund," she said, at last, "though you are very droll. Ohimé! it is a pity that I was born a princess! Had it been possible for me to be your wife, I would have been a better woman. I shall sleep now and dream of that good and stupid and contented woman I might have been." So presently these two slept in Chantrell Wood. Followed four days of journeying. As Messer Dante had not yet surveyed Malebolge, Osmund Heleigh and Dame Alianora lacked a parallel for that which they encountered; their traverse discovered England razed, charred, and depopulate--picked bones of an island, a vast and absolute ruin about which passion-wasted men skulked like rats. Messire Heleigh and the Queen traveled without molestation; malice and death had journeyed before them on this road, and had swept it clear. At every trace of these hideous precessors Osmund Heleigh would say, "By a day's ride I might have prevented this." Or, "By a day's ride I might have saved this woman." Or, "By two days' riding I might have fed this child." The Queen kept Spartan silence, but daily you saw the fine woman age. In their slow advance every inch of misery was thrust before her for inspection; meticulously she observed and evaluated her handiwork. Enthroned, she had appraised from a distance the righteous wars she set afoot; trudging thus among the débris of these wars, she found they had unsuspected aspects. Bastling the royal army had recently sacked. There remained of this village the skeletons of two houses, and for the rest a jumble of bricks, rafters half-burned, many calcined fragments of humanity, and ashes. At Bastling, Messire Heleigh turned to the Queen toiling behind. "Oh, madame!" he said, in a dry whisper, "this was the home of so many men!" "I burned it," Dame Alianora replied. "That man we passed just now I killed. Those other men and women--my folly slew them all. And little children, my Osmund! The hair like flax, blood-dabbled!" "Oh, madame!" he wailed, in the extremity of his pity. For she stood with eyes shut, all gray. The Queen demanded: "Why have they not slain me? Was there no man in England to strangle the proud wanton? Are you all cowards here?" He said: "I detect only one coward in the affair. Your men and Leicester's men also ride about the world, and draw sword and slay and die for the right as they see it. And you and Leicester contend for the right as ye see it. But I, madame! I! I, who sat snug at home spilling ink and trimming rose-bushes! God's world, madame, and I in it afraid to speak a word for Him! God's world, and a curmudgeon in it grudging God the life He gave!" The man flung out his soft hands and snarled: _"We are tempted in divers and insidious ways._ But I, who rebuked you! behold, now, with how gross a snare was I entrapped!" "I do not understand, my Osmund." "I was afraid, madame," he returned, dully. "Everywhere men fight, and I am afraid to die." So they stood silent in the ruins of Bastling. "Of a piece with our lives," Dame Alianora said at last. "All ruin, my Osmund." But Messire Heleigh threw back his head and laughed, new color in his face. "Presently men will build here, my Queen. Presently, as in legend was re-born the Arabian bird, arises from these ashes a lordlier and more spacious town." They went forward. The next day chance loosed upon them Gui Camoys, lord of Bozon, Foliot, and Thwenge, who, riding alone through Poges Copse, found there a man and a woman over their limited supper. The woman had thrown back her hood, and Camoys drew rein to stare at her. Lispingly he spoke the true court dialect. "Ma belle," said this Camoys, in friendly condescension, "n'estez vous pas jongleurs?" Dame Alianora smiled up at him. "Ouais, messire; mon mary faict les chançons--" She paused, with dilatory caution, for Camoys had leaped from his horse, giving a great laugh. "A prize! ho, an imperial prize!" Camoys shouted. "A peasant woman with the Queen's face, who speaks French! And who, madame, is this? Have you by any chance brought pious Lewis from oversea? Have I bagged a brace of monarchs?" Here was imminent danger, for Camoys had known the Queen some fifteen years. Messire Heleigh rose, his five days' beard glinting like hoar-frost as his mouth twitched. "I am Osmund Heleigh, messire, younger brother to the Earl of Brudenel." "I have heard of you, I believe--the fellow who spoils parchment. This is odd company, however, Messire Osmund, for Brudenel's brother." "A gentleman must serve his Queen, messire. As Cicero very justly observes--" "I am inclined to think that his political opinions are scarcely to our immediate purpose. This is a high matter, Messire Heleigh. To let the sorceress pass is, of course, out of the question; upon the other hand, I observe that you lack weapons of defence. Yet if you will have the kindness to assist me in unarming, your courtesy will place our commerce on more equal footing." Osmund had turned very white. "I am no swordsman, messire--" "Now, this is not handsome of you," Camoys began. "I warn you that people will speak harshly of us if we lose this opportunity of gaining honor. And besides, the woman will be burned at the stake. Plainly, you owe it to all three of us to fight." "--But I refer my cause to God. I am quite at your service." "No, my Osmund!" Dame Alianora then cried. "It means your death." He spread out his hands. "That is God's affair, madame." "Are you not afraid?" she breathed. "Of course I am afraid," said Messire Heleigh, irritably. After that he unarmed Camoys, and presently they faced each other in their tunics. So for the first time in the journey Osmund's long falchion saw daylight. He had thrown away his dagger, as Camoys had none. The combat was sufficiently curious. Camoys raised his left hand. "So help me God and His saints, I have upon me neither bone, stone, nor witchcraft wherethrough the power and the word of God might be diminished or the devil's power increased." Osmund made similar oath. "Judge Thou this woman's cause!" he cried, likewise. Then Gui Camoys shouted, as a herald might have done, "Laissez les aller, laissez les aller, laissez les aller, les bons combatants!" and warily each moved toward the other. On a sudden Osmund attacked, desperately apprehensive of his own cowardice. Camoys lightly eluded him and slashed at Osmund's undefended thigh, drawing much blood. Osmund gasped. He flung away his sword, and in the instant catching Camoys under the arms, threw him to the ground. Messire Heleigh fell with his opponent, who in stumbling had lost his sword, and thus the two struggled unarmed, Osmund atop. But Camoys was the younger man, and Osmund's strength was ebbing rapidly by reason of his wound. Now Camoys' tethered horse, rearing with nervousness, tumbled his master's flat-topped helmet into the road. Osmund caught up this helmet and with it battered Camoys in the face, dealing severe blows. "God!" Camoys cried, his face all blood. "Do you acknowledge my quarrel just?" said Osmund, between horrid sobs. "What choice have I?" said Gui Camoys, very sensibly. So Osmund rose, blind with tears and shivering. The Queen bound up their wounds as best she might, but Camoys was much dissatisfied. "For private purposes of His own, madame," he observed, "and doubtless for sufficient reasons, God has singularly favored your cause. I am neither a fool nor a pagan to question His decision, and you two may go your way unhampered. But I have had my head broken with my own helmet, and this I consider to be a proceeding very little conducive toward enhancing my reputation. Of your courtesy, messire, I must entreat another meeting." Osmund shrank as if from a blow. Then, with a short laugh, he conceded that this was Camoys' right, and they fixed upon the following Saturday, with Poges Copse as the rendezvous. "I would suggest that the combat be to the death," Gui Camoys said, "in consideration of the fact it was my own helmet. You must undoubtedly be aware, Messire Osmund, that such an affront is practically without any parallel." This, too, was agreed upon. Then, after asking if they needed money, which was courteously declined, Gui Camoys rode away, and sang as he went. Osmund Heleigh remained motionless. He raised quivering hands to the sky. "Thou hast judged!" he cried. "Thou hast judged, O puissant Emperor of Heaven! Now pardon! Pardon us twain! Pardon for unjust stewards of Thy gifts! Thou hast loaned this woman dominion over England, with all instruments to aid Thy cause, and this trust she has abused. Thou hast loaned me life and manhood, agility and wit and strength, all instruments to aid Thy cause. Talents in a napkin, O God! Repentant we cry to Thee. Pardon for unjust stewards! Pardon for the ungirt loin, for the service shirked, for all good deeds undone! Pardon and grace, O King of kings!" Thus he prayed, while Gui Camoys sang, riding deeper into the tattered, yellowing forest. By an odd chance Camoys had lighted on that song made by Thibaut of Champagne, beginning _Signor, saciez, ki or ne s'en ira_, which denounces all half-hearted servitors of Heaven; and this he sang with a lilt gayer than his matter countenanced. Faintly there now came to Osmund and the Queen the sound of Camoys' singing, and they found it, in the circumstances, ominously apt. Sang Camoys: "Et vos, par qui je n'ci onques aïe, Descendez luit en infer le parfont." Dame Alianora shivered. But she was a capable woman, and so she said: "I may have made mistakes. But I am sure I never meant any harm, and I am sure, too, that God will be more sensible about it than are you poets." They slept that night in Ousley Meadow, and the next afternoon came safely to Bristol. You may learn elsewhere with what rejoicing the royal army welcomed the Queen's arrival, how courage quickened at sight of the generous virago. In the ebullition Messire Heleigh was submerged, and Dame Alianora saw nothing more of him that day. Friday there were counsels, requisitions, orders signed, a memorial despatched to Pope Urban, chief of all a letter (this in the Queen's hand throughout) privily conveyed to the Lady Maude de Mortemer, who shortly afterward contrived Prince Edward's escape from her husband's gaolership. There was much sowing of a seed, in fine, that eventually flowered victory. There was, however, no sign of Osmund Heleigh, though by Dame Alianora's order he was sought. On Saturday at seven in the morning he came to her lodging, in complete armor. From the open helmet his wrinkled face, showing like a wizened nut in a shell, smiled upon her questionings. "I go to fight Gui Camoys, madame and Queen." Dame Alianora wrung her hands. "You go to your death." He answered: "That is true. Therefore I am come to bid you farewell." The Queen stared at him for a while; on a sudden she broke into a curious fit of deep but tearless sobbing, which bordered upon laughter, too. "Mon bel esper," said Osmund Heleigh, gently, "what is there in all this worthy of your sorrow? The man will kill me; granted, for he is my junior by some fifteen years, and is in addition a skilled swordsman. I fail to see that this is lamentable. Back to Longaville I cannot go after recent happenings; there a rope's end awaits me. Here I must in any event shortly take to the sword, since a beleaguered army has very little need of ink-pots; and shortly I must be slain in some skirmish, dug under the ribs perhaps by a greasy fellow I have never seen. I prefer a clean death at a gentleman's hands." "It is I who bring about your death!" she said. "You gave me gallant service, and I have requited you with death, and it is a great pity." "Indeed the debt is on the other side. The trivial services I rendered you were such as any gentleman must render a woman in distress. Naught else have I afforded you, madame, save very anciently a Sestina. Ho, a Sestina! And in return you have given me a Sestina of fairer make,--a Sestina of days, six days of manly common living." His eyes were fervent. She kissed him on either cheek. "Farewell, my champion!" "Ay, your champion. In the twilight of life old Osmund Heleigh rides forth to defend the quarrel of Alianora of Provence. Reign wisely, my Queen, so that hereafter men may not say I was slain in an evil cause. Do not, I pray you, shame my maiden venture at a man's work." "I will not shame you," the Queen proudly said; and then, with a change of voice: "O my Osmund! My Osmund, you have a folly that is divine, and I lack it." He caught her by each wrist, and stood crushing both her hands to his lips, with fierce staring. "Wife of my King! wife of my King!" he babbled; and then put her from him, crying, "I have not failed you! Praise God, I have not failed you!" From her window she saw him ride away, a rich flush of glitter and color. In new armor with a smart emblazoned surcoat the lean pedant sat conspicuously erect; and as he went he sang defiantly, taunting the weakness of his flesh. Sang Osmund Heleigh: "Love sows, but lovers reap; and ye will see The loved eyes lighten, feel the loved lips cling Never again when in the grave ye be Incurious of your happiness in spring, And get no grace of Love, there, whither he That bartered life for love no love may bring." So he rode away and thus out of our history. But in the evening Gui Camoys came into Bristol under a flag of truce, and behind him heaved a litter wherein lay Osmund Heleigh's body. "For this man was frank and courteous," Camoys said to the Queen, "and in the matter of the reparation he owed me acted very handsomely. It is fitting that he should have honorable interment." "That he shall not lack," the Queen said, and gently unclasped from Osmund's wrinkled neck the thin gold chain, now locketless. "There was a portrait here," she said; "the portrait of a woman whom he loved in his youth, Messire Camoys. And all his life it lay above his heart." Camoys answered stiffly: "I imagine this same locket to have been the object which Messire Heleigh flung into the river, shortly before we began our combat. I do not rob the dead, madame." "Well," the Queen said, "he always did queer things, and so, I shall always wonder what sort of lady he picked out to love, but it is none of my affair." Afterward she set to work on requisitions in the King's name. But Osmund Heleigh she had interred at Ambresbury, commanding it to be written on his tomb that he died in the Queen's cause. How the same cause prospered (Nicolas concludes), how presently Dame Alianora reigned again in England and with what wisdom, and how in the end this great Queen died a nun at Ambresbury and all England wept therefor--this you may learn elsewhere. I have chosen to record six days of a long and eventful life; and (as Messire Heleigh might have done) I say modestly with him of old, _Majores majora sonent._ Nevertheless, I assert that many a forest was once a pocketful of acorns. THE END OF THE FIRST NOVEL II THE STORY OF THE TENSON "Plagues à Dieu ja la nueitz non falhis, Ni'l mieus amicx lone de mi nos partis, Ni la gayta jorn ni alba ne vis. Oy Dieus! oy Dieus! de l'alba tan tost we!" THE SECOND NOVEL.--ELLINOR OF CASTILE, BEING ENAMORED OF A HANDSOME PERSON, IS IN HER FLIGHT FROM MARITAL OBLIGATIONS ASSISTED BY HER HUSBAND, AND IS IN THE END BY HIM CONVINCED OF THE RATIONALITY OF ALL ATTENDANT CIRCUMSTANCES. _The Story of the Tenson_ In the year of grace 1265 (Nicolas begins), about the festival of Saint Peter _ad Vincula_, the Prince de Gâtinais came to Burgos. Before this he had lodged for three months in the district of Ponthieu; and the object of his southern journey was to assure the tenth Alphonso, then ruling in Castile, that the latter's sister Ellinor, now resident at Entréchat, was beyond any reasonable doubt the transcendent lady whose existence old romancers had anticipated, however cloudily, when they fabled in remote time concerning Queen Heleine of Sparta. There was a postscript to this news. The world knew that the King of Leon and Castile desired to be King of Germany as well, and that at present a single vote in the Diet would decide between his claims and those of his competitor, Earl Richard of Cornwall. De Gâtinais chaffered fairly; he had a vote, Alphonso had a sister. So that, in effect--ohé, in effect, he made no question that his Majesty understood! The Astronomer twitched his beard and demanded if the fact that Ellinor had been a married woman these ten years past was not an obstacle to the plan which his fair cousin had proposed? Here the Prince was accoutred cap-à-pie, and hauled out a paper. Dating from Viterbo, Clement, Bishop of Rome, servant to the servants of God, desirous of all health and apostolical blessing for his well-beloved son in Christ, stated that a compact between a boy of fifteen and a girl of ten was an affair of no particular moment; and that in consideration of the covenantors never having clapped eyes upon each other since the wedding-day,--even had not the precontract of marriage between the groom's father and the bride's mother rendered a consummation of the childish oath an obvious and a most heinous enormity,--why, that, in a sentence, and for all his coy verbosity, the new pontiff was perfectly amenable to reason. So in a month it was settled. Alphonso would give his sister to de Gâtinais, and in exchange get the latter's vote to make Alphonso King of Germany; and Gui Foulques of Sabionetta--now Clement, fourth Pope to assume that name--would annul the previous marriage, and in exchange get an armament to serve him against Manfred, the late and troublesome tyrant of Sicily and Apulia. The scheme promised to each one of them that which he in particular desired, and messengers were presently sent into Ponthieu. It is now time we put aside these Castilian matters and speak of other things. In England, Prince Edward had fought, and won, a shrewd battle at Evesham. People said, of course, that such behavior was less in the manner of his nominal father, King Henry, than reminiscent of Count Manuel of Poictesme, whose portraits certainly the Prince resembled to an embarrassing extent. Either way, the barons' power was demolished, there would be no more internecine war; and spurred by the unaccustomed idleness, Prince Edward began to think of the foreign girl he had not seen since the day he wedded her. She would be a woman by this, and it was befitting that he claim his wife. He rode with Hawise Bulmer and her baby to Ambresbury, and at the gate of the nunnery they parted, with what agonies are immaterial to this history's progression; the tale merely tells that, having thus decorously rid himself of his mistress, the Prince went into Lower Picardy alone, riding at adventure as he loved to do, and thus came to Entréchat, where his wife resided with her mother, the Countess Johane. In a wood near the castle he approached a company of Spaniards, four in number, their horses tethered while these men (Oviedans, as they told him) drank about a great stone which served them for a table. Being thirsty, he asked and was readily accorded hospitality, and these five fell into amicable discourse. One fellow asked his name and business in those parts, and the Prince gave each without hesitancy as he reached for the bottle, and afterward dropped it just in time to catch, cannily, with his naked left hand, the knife-blade with which the rascal had dug at the unguarded ribs. The Prince was astounded, but he was never a subtle man: here were four knaves who, for reasons unexplained--but to them of undoubted cogency--desired his death: manifestly there was here an actionable difference of opinion; so he had his sword out and killed the four of them. Presently came to him an apple-cheeked boy, habited as a page, who, riding jauntily through the forest, lighted upon the Prince, now in bottomless vexation. The lad drew rein, and his lips outlined a whistle. At his feet were several dead men in various conditions of dismemberment. And seated among them, as if throned upon this boulder, was a gigantic and florid person, so tall that the heads of few men reached to his shoulder; a person of handsome exterior, high-featured and blond, having a narrow, small head, and vivid light blue eyes, and the chest of a stallion; a person whose left eyebrow had an odd oblique droop, so that the stupendous man appeared to be winking the information that he was in jest. "Fair friend," said the page. "God give you joy! and why have you converted this forest into a shambles?" The Prince told him as much of the half-hour's action as has been narrated. "I have perhaps been rather hasty," he considered, by way of peroration, "and it vexes me that I did not spare, say, one of these lank Spaniards, if only long enough to ascertain why, in the name of Termagaunt, they should have desired my destruction." But midway in his tale the boy had dismounted with a gasp, and he was now inspecting the features of one carcass. "Felons, my Prince! You have slain some eight yards of felony which might have cheated the gallows had they got the Princess Ellinor safe to Burgos. Only two days ago this chalk-eyed fellow conveyed to her a letter." Prince Edward said, "You appear, lad, to be somewhat overheels in the confidence of my wife." Now the boy arose and defiantly flung back his head in shrill laughter. "Your wife! Oh, God have mercy! Your wife, and for ten years left to her own devices! Why, look you, to-day you and your wife would not know each other were you two brought face to face." Prince Edward said, "That is very near the truth." But, indeed, it was the absolute truth, and as it concerned him was already attested. "Sire Edward," the boy then said, "your wife has wearied of this long waiting till you chose to whistle for her. Last summer the young Prince de Gâtinais came a-wooing--and he is a handsome man." The page made known all which de Gâtinais and King Alphonso planned, the words jostling as they came in torrents, but so that one might understand. "I am her page, my lord. I was to follow her. These fellows were to be my escort, were to ward off possible pursuit. Cry haro, beau sire! Cry haro, and shout it lustily, for your wife in company with six other knaves is at large between here and Burgos,--that unreasonable wife who grew dissatisfied after a mere ten years of neglect." "I have been remiss," the Prince said, and one huge hand strained at his chin; "yes, perhaps I have been remiss. Yet it had appeared to me--But as it is, I bid you mount, my lad!" The boy demanded, "And to what end?" "Oy Dieus, messire! have I not slain your escort? Why, in common reason, equity demands that I afford you my protection so far as Burgos, messire, just as plainly as equity demands I slay de Gâtinais and fetch back my wife to England." The page wrung exquisite hands with a gesture which was but partially tinged with anguish, and presently began to laugh. Afterward these two rode southerly, in the direction of Castile. For it appeared to the intriguing little woman a diverting jest that in this fashion her husband should be the promoter of her evasion. It appeared to her more diverting when in two days' space she had become fond of him. She found him rather slow of comprehension, and she was humiliated by the discovery that not an eyelash of the man was irritated by his wife's decampment; he considered, to all appearances, that some property of his had been stolen, and he intended, quite without passion, to repossess himself of it, after, of course, punishing the thief. This troubled the Princess somewhat; and often, riding by her stolid husband's side, the girl's heart raged at memory of the decade so newly overpast which had kept her always dependent on the charity of this or that ungracious patron--on any one who would take charge of her while the truant husband fought out his endless squabbles in England. Slights enough she had borne during the period, and squalor, and physical hunger also she had known, who was the child of a king and a saint.[2] But now she rode toward the dear southland; and presently she would be rid of this big man, when he had served her purpose; and afterward she meant to wheedle Alphonso, just as she had always wheedled him, and later still, she and Etienne would be very happy: in fine, to-morrow was to be a new day. So these two rode southward, and always Prince Edward found this new page of his--this Miguel de Rueda,--a jolly lad, who whistled and sang inapposite snatches of balladry, without any formal ending or beginning, descanting always with the delicate irrelevancy of a bird-trill. Sang Miguel de Rueda: "Man's Love, that leads me day by day Through many a screened and scented way, Finds to assuage my thirst. "No love that may the old love slay, None sweeter than the first. "Fond heart of mine, that beats so fast As this or that fair maid trips past, Once, and with lesser stir We viewed the grace of love, at last, And turned idolater. "Lad's Love it was, that in the spring When all things woke to blossoming Was as a child that came Laughing, and filled with wondering, Nor knowing his own name--" "And still I would prefer to think," the big man interrupted, heavily, "that Sicily is not the only allure. I would prefer to think my wife so beautiful.--And yet, as I remember her, she was nothing extraordinary." The page a little tartly said that people might forget a deal within a decade. The Prince continued his unriddling of the scheme hatched in Castile. "When Manfred is driven out of Sicily they will give the throne to de Gâtinais. He intends to get both a kingdom and a handsome wife by this neat affair. And in reason, England must support my Uncle Richard's claim to the German crown, against El Sabio--Why, my lad, I ride southward to prevent a war that would devastate half Europe." "You ride southward in the attempt to rob a miserable woman of her sole chance of happiness," Miguel de Rueda estimated. "That is undeniable, if she loves this thrifty Prince, as indeed I do not question my wife does. Yet our happiness here is a trivial matter, whereas war is a great disaster. You have not seen--as I, my little Miguel, have often seen--a man viewing his death-wound with a face of stupid wonder, a bewildered wretch in point to die in his lord's quarrel and understanding never a word of it. Or a woman, say--a woman's twisted and naked body, the breasts yet horribly heaving, in the red ashes of some village, or the already dripping hoofs which will presently crush this body. Well, it is to prevent many such ugly spectacles hereabout that I ride southward." Miguel de Rueda shuddered. But, "She has her right to happiness," the page stubbornly said. "She has only one right," the Prince retorted; "because it has pleased the Emperor of Heaven to appoint us twain to lofty stations, to entrust to us the five talents of the parable; whence is our debt to Him, being fivefold, so much the greater than that of common persons. Therefore the more is it our sole right, being fivefold, to serve God without faltering, and therefore is our happiness, or our unhappiness, the more an inconsiderable matter. For, as I have read in the Annals of the Romans--" He launched upon the story of King Pompey and his daughter, whom a certain duke regarded with impure and improper emotions. "My little Miguel, that ancient king is our Heavenly Father, that only daughter is the rational soul of us, which is here delivered for protection to five soldiers--that is, to the five senses,--to preserve it from the devil, the world, and the flesh. But, alas! the too-credulous soul, desirous of gazing upon the gaudy vapors of this world--" "You whine like a canting friar," the page complained; "and I can assure you that the Lady Ellinor was prompted rather than hindered by her God-given faculties of sight and hearing and so on when she fell in love with de Gâtinais. Of you two, he is, beyond any question, the handsomer and the more intelligent man, and it was God who bestowed on her sufficient wit to perceive the superiority of de Gâtinais. And what am I to deduce from this?" The Prince reflected. At last he said: "I have also read in these same Gestes how Seneca mentions that in poisoned bodies, on account of the malignancy and the coldness of the poison, no worm will engender; but if the body be smitten by lightning, in a few days the carcass will abound with vermin. My little Miguel, both men and women are at birth empoisoned by sin, and then they produce no worm--that is, no virtue. But once they are struck with lightning--that is, by the grace of God,--they are astonishingly fruitful in good works." The page began to laugh. "You are hopelessly absurd, my Prince, though you will never know it,--and I hate you a little,--and I envy you a great deal." "Ah, but," Prince Edward said, in misapprehension, for the man was never quick-witted,--"but it is not for my own happiness that I ride southward." The page then said, "What is her name?" Prince Edward answered, very fondly, "Hawise." "I hate her, too," said Miguel de Rueda; "and I think that the holy angels alone know how profoundly I envy her." In the afternoon of the same day they neared Ruffec, and at the ford found three brigands ready, two of whom the Prince slew, and the other fled. Next night they supped at Manneville, and sat afterward in the little square, tree-chequered, that lay before their inn. Miguel had procured a lute from the innkeeper, and he strummed idly as these two debated together of great matters; about them was an immeasurable twilight, moonless, but tempered by many stars, and everywhere they could hear an agreeable whispering of leaves. "Listen, my Prince," the boy said: "here is one view of the affair." And he began to chant, without rhyming, without raising his voice above the pitch of talk, while the lute monotonously accompanied his chanting. Sang Miguel: "Passeth a little while, and Irus the beggar and Menephtah the high king are at sorry unison, and Guenevere is a skull. Multitudinously we tread toward oblivion, as ants hasten toward sugar, and presently Time cometh with his broom. Multitudinously we tread a dusty road toward oblivion; but yonder the sun shines upon a grass-plot, converting it into an emerald; and I am aweary of the trodden path. "Vine-crowned is the fair peril that guards the grasses yonder, and her breasts are naked. 'Vanity of Vanities!' saith the beloved. But she whom I love seems very far away to-night, though I might be with her if I would. And she may not aid me now, for not even love is all-powerful. She is most dear of created women, and very wise, but she may never understand that at any time one grows aweary of the trodden path. "At sight of my beloved, love closes over my heart like a flood. For the sake of my beloved I have striven, with a good endeavor, to my tiny uttermost. Pardie, I am not Priam at the head of his army! A little while and I will repent; to-night I cannot but remember that there are women whose lips are of a livelier tint, that life is short at best, that wine evokes in me some admiration for myself, and that I am aweary of the trodden path. "She is very far from me to-night. Yonder in the Hörselberg they exult and make sweet songs, songs which are sweeter, immeasurably sweeter, than this song of mine, but in the trodden path I falter, for I am tired, tired in every fibre of me, and I am aweary of the trodden path" Followed a silence. "Ignorance spoke there," the Prince said. "It is the song of a woman, or else of a boy who is very young. Give me the lute, my little Miguel." And presently the Prince, too, sang. Sang the Prince: "I was in a path, and I trod toward the citadel of the land's Seigneur, and on either side were pleasant and forbidden meadows, having various names. And one trod with me who babbled of the brooding mountains and of the low-lying and adjacent clouds; of the west wind and of the budding fruit-trees. He debated the significance of these things, and he went astray to gather violets, while I walked in the trodden path." "He babbled of genial wine and of the alert lips of women, of swinging censers and of the serene countenances of priests, and of the clear, lovely colors of bread and butter, and his heart was troubled by a world profuse in beauty. And he leaped a stile to share his allotted provision with a dying dog, and afterward, being hungry, a wall to pilfer apples, while I walked in the trodden path. "He babbled of Autumn's bankruptcy and of the age-long lying promises of Spring; and of his own desire to be at rest; and of running waters and of decaying leaves. He babbled of the far-off stars; and he debated whether they were the eyes of God or gases which burned, and he demonstrated, with logic, that neither existed. At times he stumbled as he stared about him and munched his apples, so that he was all bemired, but I walked in the trodden path. "And the path led to the gateway of a citadel, and through the gateway. 'Let us not enter,' he said, 'for the citadel is vacant, and, moreover, I am in profound terror, and, besides, I have not as yet eaten all my apples.' And he wept aloud, but I was not afraid, for I had walked in the trodden path." Again there was a silence. "You paint a dreary world, my Prince." "My little Miguel, I paint the world as the Eternal Father made it. The laws of the place are written large, so that all may read them; and we know that every road, whether it be my trodden path or some byway through your gayer meadows, yet leads in the end to God. We have our choice,--or to come to Him as a laborer comes at evening for the day's wages fairly earned, or to come as a roisterer haled before the magistrate." "I consider you to be in the right," the boy said, after a lengthy interval, "although I decline--and decline emphatically--to believe you." The Prince laughed. "There spoke Youth," he said, and he sighed as though he were a patriarch. "But we have sung, we two, the Eternal Tenson of God's will and of man's desires. And I claim the prize, my Little Miguel." Suddenly the page kissed one huge hand. "You have conquered, my very dull and very glorious Prince. Concerning that Hawise--" But Miguel de Rueda choked. "Oh, I do not understand! and yet in part I understand!" the boy wailed in the darkness. And the Prince laid one hand upon his page's hair, and smiled in the darkness to note how soft was this hair, since the man was less a fool than at first view you might have taken him to be; and he said: "One must play the game out fairly, my lad. We are no little people, she and I, the children of many kings, of God's regents here on earth; and it was never reasonable, my Miguel, that gentlefolk should cheat at their dicing." The same night Miguel de Rueda repeated the prayer which Saint Theophilus made long ago to the Mother of God: "Dame, je n'ose, Flors d'aiglentier et lis et rose, En qui li filz Diex se repose," and so on. Or, in other wording: "Hearken, O gracious Lady! thou that art more fair than any flower of the eglantine, more comely than the blossoming of the rose or of the lily! thou to whom was confided the very Son of God! Harken, for I am afraid! afford counsel to me that am ensnared by Satan and know not what to do! Never will I make an end of praying. O Virgin débonnaire! O honored Lady! Thou that wast once a woman--!" So he prayed, and upon the next day as these two rode southward, he sang half as if in defiance. Sang Miguel: "And still,--whatever years impend To witness Time a fickle friend, And Youth a dwindling fire,-- I must adore till all years end My first love, Heart's Desire. "I may not hear men speak of her Unmoved, and vagrant pulses stir To greet her passing-by, And I, in all her worshipper Must serve her till I die. "For I remember: this is she That reigns in one man's memory Immune to age and fret, And stays the maid I may not see Nor win to, nor forget." It was on the following day, near Bazas, that these two encountered Adam de Gourdon, a Provençal knight, with whom the Prince fought for a long while, without either contestant giving way; in consequence a rendezvous was fixed for the November of that year, and afterward the Prince and de Gourdon parted, highly pleased with each other. Thus the Prince and his attendant came, in late September, to Mauléon, on the Castilian frontier, and dined there at the _Fir Cone._ Three or four lackeys were about--some exalted person's retinue? Prince Edward hazarded to the swart little landlord, as the Prince and Miguel lingered over the remnants of their meal. Yes, the fellow informed them: the Prince de Gâtinais had lodged there for a whole week, watching the north road, as circumspect of all passage as a cat over a mouse-hole. Eh, monseigneur expected some one, doubtless--a lady, it might be,--the gentlefolk had their escapades like every one else. The innkeeper babbled vaguely, for on a sudden he was very much afraid of his gigantic patron. "You will show me to his room," Prince Edward said, with a politeness that was ingratiating. The host shuddered and obeyed. Miguel de Rueda, left alone, sat quite silent, his finger-tips drumming upon the table. He rose suddenly and flung back his shoulders, all resolution. On the stairway he passed the black little landlord, who was now in a sad twitter, foreseeing bloodshed. But Miguel de Rueda went on to the room above. The door was ajar. He paused there. De Gâtinais had risen from his dinner and stood facing the door. He, too, was a blond man and the comeliest of his day. And at sight of him awoke in the woman's heart all the old tenderness; handsome and brave and witty she knew him to be, as indeed the whole world knew him to be distinguished by every namable grace; and the innate weakness of de Gâtinais, which she alone suspected, made him now seem doubly dear. Fiercely she wanted to shield him, less from bodily hurt than from that self-degradation which she cloudily apprehended to be at hand; the test was come, and Etienne would fail. Thus much she knew with a sick, illimitable surety, and she loved de Gâtinais with a passion which dwarfed comprehension. "O Madame the Virgin!" prayed Miguel de Rueda, "thou that wast once a woman, even as I am now a woman! grant that the man may slay him quickly! grant that he may slay Etienne very quickly, honored Lady, so that my Etienne may die unshamed!" "I must question, messire," de Gâtinais was saying, "whether you have been well inspired. Yes, quite frankly, I do await the arrival of her who is your nominal wife; and your intervention at this late stage, I take it, can have no outcome save to render you absurd. So, come now! be advised by me, messire--" Prince Edward said, "I am not here to talk." "--For, messire, I grant you that in ordinary disputation the cutting of one gentleman's throat by another gentleman is well enough, since the argument is unanswerable. Yet in this case we have each of us too much to live for; you to govern your reconquered England, and I--you perceive that I am candid--to achieve in turn the kingship of another realm. Now to secure this realm, possession of the Lady Ellinor is to me essential; to you she is nothing." "She is a woman whom I have deeply wronged," Prince Edward said, "and to whom, God willing, I mean to make atonement. Ten years ago they wedded us, willy-nilly, to avert the impending war between Spain and England; to-day El Sabio intends to purchase Germany with her body as the price; you to get Sicily as her husband. Mort de Dieu! is a woman thus to be bought and sold like hog's flesh! We have other and cleaner customs, we of England." "Eh, and who purchased the woman first?" de Gâtinais spat at him, viciously, for the Frenchman now saw his air-castle shaken to the corner-stone. "They wedded me to the child in order that a great war might be averted. I acquiesced, since it appeared preferable that two people suffer inconvenience rather than many thousands be slain. And still this is my view of the matter. Yet afterward I failed her. Love had no clause in our agreement; but I owed her more protection than I have afforded. England has long been no place for women. I thought she would comprehend that much. But I know very little of women. Battle and death are more wholesome companions, I now perceive, than such folk as you and Alphonso. Woman is the weaker vessel--the negligence was mine--I may not blame her." The big and simple man was in an agony of repentance. On a sudden he strode forward, his sword now shifted to his left hand and his right hand outstretched. "One and all, we are weaklings in the net of circumstance. Shall one herring, then, blame his fellow if his fellow jostle him? We walk as in a mist of error, and Belial is fertile in allurements; yet always it is granted us to behold that sin is sin. I have perhaps sinned through anger, Messire de Gâtinais, more deeply than you have planned to sin through luxury and through ambition. Let us then cry quits, Messire de Gâtinais, and afterward part in peace, and in common repentance." "And yield you Ellinor?" de Gâtinais said. "Oh no, messire, I reply to you with Arnaud de Marveil, that marvellous singer of eld, 'They may bear her from my presence, but they can never untie the knot which unites my heart to her; for that heart, so tender and so constant, God alone divides with my lady, and the portion which God possesses He holds but as a part of her domain, and as her vassal.'" "This is blasphemy," Prince Edward now retorted, "and for such observations alone you merit death. Will you always talk and talk and talk? I perceive that the devil is far more subtle than you, messire, and leads you, like a pig with a ring in his nose, toward gross iniquity. Messire, I tell you that for your soul's health I doubly mean to kill you now. So let us make an end of this." De Gâtinais turned and took up his sword. "Since you will have it," he rather regretfully said; "yet I reiterate that you play an absurd part. Your wife has deserted you, has fled in abhorrence of you. For three weeks she has been tramping God knows whither or in what company--" He was here interrupted. "What the Lady Ellinor has done," Prince Edward crisply said, "was at my request. We were wedded at Burgos; it was natural that we should desire our reunion to take place at Burgos; and she came to Burgos with an escort which I provided." De Gâtinais sneered. "So that is the tale you will deliver to the world?" "After I have slain you," the Prince said, "yes." "The reservation is wise. For if I were dead, Messire Edward, there would be none to know that you risk all for a drained goblet, for an orange already squeezed--quite dry, messire." "Face of God!" the Prince said. But de Gâtinais flung back both arms in a great gesture, so that he knocked a flask of claret from the table at his rear. "I am candid, my Prince. I would not see any brave gentleman slain in a cause so foolish. In consequence I kiss and tell. In effect, I was eloquent, I was magnificent, so that in the end her reserve was shattered like the wooden flask yonder at our feet. Is it worth while, think you, that our blood flow like this flagon's contents?" "Liar!" Prince Edward said, very softly. "O hideous liar! Already your eyes shift!" He drew near and struck the Frenchman. "Talk and talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world with a thing as base as you." De Gâtinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak, his head striking one leg of the table. "A candle!" de Gâtinais cried, and he panted now--"a hundred candles to the Virgin of Beaujolais!" He shortened his sword to stab the Prince of England. The eavesdropper came through the doorway, and flung herself between Prince Edward and the descending sword. The sword dug deep into her shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound. Then she rose, ashen. "Liar!" she said. "Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a thing as base as you!" In silence de Gâtinais regarded her. There was a long interval before he said, "Ellinor!" and then again, "Ellinor!" like a man bewildered. "_I was eloquent, I was magnificent_" she said, "_so that in the end her reserve was shattered!_ Certainly, messire, it is not your death which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for you--I know not what I desire for you!" the girl wailed. "You desire that I should endure this present moment," de Gâtinais replied; "for as God reigns, I love you, of whom I have spoken infamy, and my shame is very bitter." She said: "And I, too, loved you. It is strange to think of that." "I was afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid before to-day. But I was afraid of this terrible and fair and righteous man. I saw all hope of you vanish, all hope of Sicily--in effect, I lied as a cornered beast spits out his venom." "I know," she answered. "Give me water, Etienne." She washed and bound the Prince's head with a vinegar-soaked napkin. Ellinor sat upon the floor, the big man's head upon her knee. "He will not die of this, for he is of strong person. Look you, Messire de Gâtinais, you and I are not strong. We are so fashioned that we can enjoy only the pleasant things of life. But this man can enjoy--enjoy, mark you--the commission of any act, however distasteful, if he think it to be his duty. There is the difference. I cannot fathom him. But it is now necessary that I become all which he loves--since he loves it,--and that I be in thought and deed all which he desires. For I have heard the Tenson through." "You love him!" said de Gâtinais. She glanced upward with a pitiable smile. "No, it is you whom I love, my Etienne. You cannot understand how at this very moment every fibre of me--heart, soul, and body--may be longing just to comfort you, and to give you all which you desire, my Etienne, and to make you happy, my handsome Etienne, at however dear a cost. No; you will never understand that. And since you may not understand, I merely bid you go and leave me with my husband." And then there fell between these two an infinite silence. "Listen," de Gâtinais said; "grant me some little credit for what I do. You are alone; the man is powerless. My fellows are within call. A word secures the Prince's death; a word gets me you and Sicily. And I do not speak that word, for you are my lady as well as his, and your will is my one law." But there was no mercy in the girl, no more for him than for herself. The big head lay upon her breast; she caressed the gross hair of it ever so lightly. "These are tinsel oaths," she crooned, as if rapt with incurious content; "these are the old empty protestations of all you strutting poets. A word gets you what you desire! Then why do you not speak that word? Why do you not speak many words, and become again as eloquent and as magnificent as you were when you contrived that adultery about which you were just now telling my husband?" De Gâtinais raised clenched hands. "I am shamed," he said; and then he said, "It is just." He left the room and presently rode away with his men. I say that, here at last, he had done a knightly deed, but she thought little of it, never raised her head as the troop clattered from Mauléon, with a lessening beat which lapsed now into the blunders of an aging fly who doddered about the window yonder. She stayed thus, motionless, her meditations adrift in the future; and that which she foreread left her not all sorry nor profoundly glad, for living seemed by this, though scarcely the merry and colorful business which she had esteemed it, yet immeasurably the more worth while. THE END OF THE SECOND NOVEL III THE STORY OF THE RAT-TRAP "Leixant a part le stil dels trobados, Dos grans dezigs ban combatut ma pensa, Mas lo voler vers un seguir dispensa: Yo l'vos publich, amar dretament vos." THE THIRD NOVEL.--MEREGRETT OF FRANCE, THINKING TO PRESERVE A HOODWINKED GENTLEMAN, ANNOYS A SPIDER; AND BY THE GRACE OF DESTINY THE WEB OF THAT CUNNING INSECT ENTRAPS A BUTTERFLY, A WASP, AND THEN A GOD; WHO SHATTERS IT. _The Story of the Rat-Trap_ In the year of grace 1298, a little before Candlemas (thus Nicolas begins), came letters to the first King Edward of England from his kinsman and ambassador to France, Earl Edmund of Lancaster. It was perfectly apparent, the Earl wrote, that the French King meant to surrender to the Earl's lord and brother neither the duchy of Guienne nor the Lady Blanch. This lady, I must tell you, was now affianced to King Edward, whose first wife, Dame Ellinor, had died eight years before this time. The courier found Sire Edward at Ipswich, midway in celebration of his daughter's marriage to the Count of Holland. The King read the letters through and began to laugh; and presently broke into a rage such as was possible (men whispered) only to the demon-tainted blood of Oriander's descendants. Next day the keeper of the privy purse entered upon the house-hold-books a considerable sum "to make good a large ruby and an emerald lost out of his coronet when the King's Grace was pleased to throw it into the fire"; and upon the same day the King recalled Lancaster. The King then despatched yet another embassy into France to treat about Sire Edward's marriage. This last embassy was headed by the Earl of Aquitaine: his lieutenant was Lord Pevensey, the King's natural son by Hawise Bulmer. The Earl got audience of the French King at Mezelais. Walking alone came this Earl of Aquitaine, with a large retinue, into the hall where the barons of France stood according to their rank; in unadorned russet were the big Earl and his attendants, but upon the scarlets and purples of the French lords many jewels shone: it was as though through a corridor of gayly painted sunlit glass that the grave Earl came to the dais where sat King Philippe. The King had risen at close sight of the new envoy, and had gulped once or twice, and without speaking, had hurriedly waved his lords out of ear-shot. The King's perturbation was very extraordinary. "Fair cousin," the Earl now said, without any prelude, "four years ago I was affianced to your sister, Dame Blanch. You stipulated that Gascony be given up to you in guaranty, as a settlement on any children I might have by that incomparable lady. I assented, and yielded you the province, upon the understanding, sworn to according to the faith of loyal kings, that within forty days you assign to me its seignory as your vassal. And I have had of you since then neither my province nor my betrothed wife, but only excuses, Sire Philippe." With eloquence the Frenchman touched upon the emergencies to which the public weal so often drives men of high station, and upon his private grief over the necessity--unavoidable, alas!--of returning a hard answer before the council; and became so voluble that Sire Edward merely laughed in that big-lunged and disconcerting way of his, and afterward lodged for a week at Mezelais, nominally passing by his minor title of Earl of Aquitaine, and as his own ambassador. Negotiations became more swift of foot, since a man serves himself with zeal. In addition, the French lords could make nothing of a politician so thick-witted that he replied to every consideration of expediency with a parrot-like reiteration of the circumstance that already the bargain was signed and sworn to: in consequence, while daily they fumed over his stupidity, daily he gained his point. During this period he was, upon one pretext or another, very often in the company of his affianced wife, Dame Blanch. This lady, I must tell you, was the handsomest of her day; there could nowhere be found a creature more agreeable to every sense; and she compelled the adoring regard of men, it is recorded, not gently but in an imperious fashion. Sire Edward, who, till this, had loved her merely by report, and, in accordance with the high custom of old, through many perusals of her portrait, now appeared besotted. He was an aging man, near sixty, huge and fair, with a crisp beard, and the bright unequal eyes of Manuel of Poictesme. The better-read at Mezelais began to liken this so candidly enamored monarch and his Princess to Sieur Hercules at the feet of Queen Omphale. The court hunted and slew a stag of ten in the woods of Ermenoueïl, which stand thick about the château; and at the hunt's end, these two had dined at Rigon the forester's hut, in company with Dame Meregrett, the French King's younger sister. She sat a little apart from the betrothed, and stared through the hut's one window. We know, nowadays, it was not merely the trees she was considering. Dame Blanch seemed undisposed to mirth. "We have slain the stag, beau sire," she said, "and have made of his death a brave diversion. To-day we have had our sport of death,--and presently the gay years wind past us, as our cavalcade came toward the stag, and God's incurious angel slays us, much as we slew the stag. And we shall not understand, and we shall wonder, as the stag did, in helpless wonder. And Death will have his sport of us, as if in atonement." Her big eyes shone, as when the sun glints upon a sand-bottomed pool. "Ohé, I have known such happiness of late, beau sire, that I am hideously afraid to die." The King answered, "I too have been very happy of late." "But it is profitless to talk about death thus drearily. Let us flout him, instead, with some gay song." And thereupon she handed Sire Edward a lute. The King accepted it. "Death is not reasonably mocked by any person," Sire Edward said, "since in the end he conquers, and of the lips that gibed at him remains but a little dust. Rather should I, who already stand beneath a lifted sword, make for my destined and inescapable conqueror a Sirvente, which is the Song of Service." Sang Sire Edward:[3] "I sing of Death, that comes unto the king, And lightly plucks him from the cushioned throne; And drowns his glory and his warfaring In unrecorded dim oblivion; And girds another with the sword thereof; And sets another in his stead to reign; And ousts the remnant, nakedly to gain Styx' formless shore and nakedly complain Midst twittering ghosts lamenting life and love. "For Death is merciless: a crack-brained king He raises in the place of Prester John, Smites Priam, and mid-course in conquering Bids Caesar pause; the wit of Salomon, The wealth of Nero and the pride thereof, And battle-prowess--or of Tamburlaine Darius, Jeshua, or Charlemaigne,-- Wheedle and bribe and surfeit Death in vain, And get no grace of him nor any love. "Incuriously he smites the armored king And tricks his counsellors--" "True, O God!" murmured the tiny woman, who sat beside the window yonder. With that, Dame Meregrett rose, and passed from the room. The two lovers started, and laughed, and afterward paid little heed to her outgoing. Sire Edward had put aside the lute and sat now regarding the Princess. His big left hand propped the bearded chin; his grave countenance was flushed, and his intent eyes shone under their shaggy brows, very steadily, although the left eye was now so nearly shut as to reveal the merest spark. Irresolutely, Dame Blanch plucked at her gown; then rearranged a fold of it, and with composure awaited the ensuing action, afraid at bottom, but not at all ill-pleased; and she looked downward. The King said: "Never before were we two alone, madame. Fate is very gracious to me this morning." "Fate," the lady considered, "has never denied much to the Hammer of the Scots." "She has denied me nothing," he sadly said, "save the one thing that makes this business of living seem a rational proceeding. Fame and power and wealth fate has accorded me, no doubt, but never the common joys of life. And, look you, my Princess, I am of aging person now. During some thirty years I have ruled England according to my interpretation of God's will as it was anciently made manifest by the holy Evangelists; and during that period I have ruled England not without odd by-ends of commendation: yet behold, to-day I forget the world-applauded, excellent King Edward, and remember only Edward Plantagenet--hot-blooded and desirous man!--of whom that much-commended king has made a prisoner all these years." "It is the duty of exalted persons," Blanch unsteadily said, "to put aside such private inclinations as their breasts may harbor--" He said, "I have done what I might for the happiness of every Englishman within my realm saving only Edward Plantagenet; and now I think his turn to be at hand." Then the man kept silence; and his hot appraisal daunted her. "Lord," she presently faltered, "lord, you know that we are already betrothed, and, in sober verity, Love cannot extend his laws between husband and wife, since the gifts of love are voluntary, and husband and wife are but the slaves of duty--" "Troubadourish nonsense!" Sire Edward said; "yet it is true that the gifts of love are voluntary. And therefore--Ha, most beautiful, what have you and I to do with all this chaffering over Guienne?" The two stood very close to each other now. Blanch said, "It is a high matter--" Then on a sudden the full-veined girl was aglow. "It is a trivial matter." He took her in his arms, since already her cheeks flared in scarlet anticipation of the event. Thus holding her, he wooed the girl tempestuously. Here, indeed, was Sieur Hercules enslaved, burned by a fiercer fire than that of Nessus, and the huge bulk of the unconquerable visibly shaken by his adoration. In a disordered tapestry of verbiage, aflap in winds of passion, she presently beheld herself prefigured by Balkis, the Judean's lure, and by that Princess of Cyprus who reigned in Aristotle's time, and by Nicolete, the King's daughter of Carthage,--since the first flush of morning was as a rush-light before her resplendency, the man swore; and in conclusion, he likened her to a modern Countess of Tripolis, for love of whom he, like Rudel, had cleft the seas, and losing whom he must inevitably die as did Rudel. Sire Edward snapped his fingers now over any consideration of Guienne. He would conquer for her all Muscovy and all Cataia, too, if she desired mere acreage. Meanwhile he wanted her, and his hard and savage passion beat down opposition as if with a bludgeon. "Heart's emperor," the trembling girl replied, "I think that you were cast in some larger mould than we of France. Oh, none of us may dare resist you! and I know that nothing matters, nothing in all the world, save that you love me. Then take me, since you will it,--and take me not as King, since you will otherwise, but as Edward Plantagenet. For listen! by good luck you have this afternoon despatched Rigon for Chevrieul, where to-morrow we were to hunt the great boar. So to-night this hut will be unoccupied." The man was silent. He had a gift that way when occasion served. "Here, then, beau sire! here, then, at nine, you are to meet me with my chaplain. Behold, he marries us, as glibly as though we two were peasants. Poor king and princess!" cried Dame Blanch, and in a voice which thrilled him, "shall ye not, then, dare to be but man and woman?" "Ha!" the King said. "So the chaplain makes a third! Well, the King is pleased to loose his prisoner, that long-imprisoned Edward Plantagenet: and I will do it." So he came that night, without any retinue, and habited as a forester, with a horn swung about his neck, into the unlighted hut of Rigon the forester, and he found a woman there, though not the woman whom he had expected. "Treachery, beau sire! Horrible treachery!" she wailed. "I have encountered it before this," the big man said. "Presently will come to you not Blanch but Philippe, with many men to back him. And presently they will slay you. You have been trapped, beau sire. Ah, for the love of God, go! Go, while there is yet time!" Sire Edward reflected. Undoubtedly, to light on Edward Longshanks alone in a forest would appear to King Philippe, if properly attended, a tempting chance to settle divers difficulties, once for all; and Sire Edward knew the conscience of his old opponent to be invulnerable. The act would violate the core of hospitality and knighthood, no doubt, but its outcome would be a very definite gain to France, and for the rest, merely a dead body in a ditch. Not a monarch in Christendom, Sire Edward reflected, but feared and in consequence hated the Hammer of the Scots, and in further consequence would not lift a finger to avenge him; and not a being in the universe would rejoice more heartily at the success of Philippe's treachery than would Sire Edward's son and immediate successor, the young Prince Edward of Caernarvon. Taking matters by and large, Philippe had all the powers of common-sense to back him in contriving an assassination. What Sire Edward said was, "Dame Blanch, then, knew of this?" But Meregrett's pitiful eyes had already answered him, and he laughed a little. "In that event, I have to-night enregistered my name among the goodly company of Love's Lunatics,--as yokefellow with Dan Merlin in his thornbush, and with wise Salomon when he capered upon the high places of Chemosh, and with Duke Ares sheepishly agrin in the net of Mulciber. Rogues all, madame! fools all! yet always the flesh trammels us, and allures the soul to such sensual delights as bar its passage toward the eternal life wherein alone lies the empire and the heritage of the soul. And why does this carnal prison so impede the soul? Because Satan once ranked among the sons of God, and the Eternal Father, as I take it, has not yet forgotten the antique relationship,--and hence it is permitted even in our late time that always the flesh rebel against the spirit, and that always these so tiny and so thin-voiced tricksters, these highly tinted miracles of iniquity, so gracious in demeanor and so starry-eyed--" Then he turned and pointed, no longer the orotund zealot but the expectant captain now. "Look, my Princess!" In the pathway from which he had recently emerged stood a man in full armor like a sentinel. "Mort de Dieu, we can but try to get out of this," Sire Edward said. "You should have tried without talking so much," replied Meregrett. She followed him. And presently, in a big splash of moonlight, the armed man's falchion glittered across their way. "Back," he bade them, "for by the King's orders, I can let no man pass." "It would be very easy now to strangle this herring," Sire Edward reflected. "But it is not easy to strangle a whole school of herring," the fellow retorted. "Hoh, Messire d'Aquitaine, the bushes of Ermenoueîl are alive with my associates. The hut yonder, in effect, is girdled by them,--and we have our orders to let no man pass." "Have you any orders concerning women?" the King said. The man deliberated. Sire Edward handed him three gold pieces. "There was assuredly no specific mention of petticoats," the soldier now recollected, "and in consequence I dare to pass the Princess, against whom certainly nothing can be planned." "Why, in that event," Sire Edward said, "we two had as well bid each other adieu." But Meregrett only said, "You bid me go?" He waved his hand. "Since there is no choice. For that which you have done--however tardily--I thank you. Meantime I return to Rigon's hut to rearrange my toga as King Caesar did when the assassins fell upon him, and to encounter with due decorum whatever Dame Luck may prefer." She said, "You go to your death." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "In the end we necessarily die." Dame Meregrett turned, and without faltering passed back into the hut. When he had lighted the inefficient lamp which he found there, Sire Edward wheeled upon her in half-humorous vexation. "Presently come your brother and his tattling lords. To be discovered here with me at night, alone, means trouble for you. If Philippe chances to fall into one of his Capetian rages it means death." She answered, as though she were thinking about other matters, "Yes." Now, for the first time, Sire Edward regarded her with profound consideration. To the finger-tips this so-little lady showed a descendant of the holy Lewis whom he had known and loved in old years. Small and thinnish she was, with soft and profuse hair that, for all its blackness, gleamed in the lamplight with stray ripples of brilliancy, as you may see sparks shudder to extinction over burning charcoal. She had the Valois nose, long and delicate in form, and overhanging a short upper-lip; yet the lips were glorious in tint, and the whiteness of her skin would have matched the Hyperborean snows tidily enough. As for her eyes, the customary similes of the court poets were gigantic onyxes or ebony highly polished and wet with May dew. These eyes were too big for her little face: they made of her a tiny and desirous wraith which nervously endured each incident of life, like a foreigner uneasily acquiescent to the custom of the country. Sire Edward moved one step toward this tiny lady and paused. "Madame, I do not understand." Dame Meregrett looked up into his face unflinchingly. "It means that I love you, sire. I may speak without shame now, for presently you die. Die bravely, sire! Die in such fashion as may hearten me to live." The little Princess spoke the truth, for always since his coming to Mezelais she had viewed the great conqueror as through an aweful haze of forerunning rumor, twin to that golden vapor which enswathes a god and transmutes whatever in corporeal man would have been a defect into some divine and hitherto unguessed-at excellence. I must tell you in this place, since no other occasion offers, that even until the end of her life it was so. For to her what in other persons would have seemed flagrant dulness showed somehow, in Sire Edward, as the majestic deliberation of one that knows his verdict to be decisive, and therefore appraises cautiously; and if sometimes his big, irregular calm eyes betrayed no apprehension of the jest at which her lips were laughing, and of which her brain approved, always within the instant her heart convinced her that a god is not lightly moved to mirth. And now it was a god--_O deus certè!_--who had taken a woman's paltry face between his hands, half roughly. "And the maid is a Capet!" Sire Edward mused. "Blanch has never desired you any ill, beau sire. But she loves the Archduke of Austria. And once you were dead, she might marry him. One cannot blame her," Meregrett considered, "since he wishes to marry her, and she, of course, wishes to make him happy." "And not herself, save in some secondary way!" the big King said. "In part I comprehend, madame. Now I too hanker after this same happiness, and my admiration for the cantankerous despoiler whom I praised this morning is somewhat abated. There was a Tenson once--Lord, Lord, how long ago! I learn too late that truth may possibly have been upon the losing side--" Thus talking incoherencies, he took up Rigon's lute. Sang Sire Edward: "Incuriously he smites the armored king And tricks his counsellors-- "yes, the jingle ran thus. Now listen, madame--listen, the while that I have my singing out, whatever any little cut-throats may be planning in corners." Sang Sire Edward: "As, later on, Death will, half-idly, still our pleasuring, And change for fevered laughter in the sun Sleep such as Merlin's,--and excess thereof,-- Whence we, divorceless Death our Viviaine Implacable, may never more regain The unforgotten rapture, and the pain And grief and ecstasy of life and love. "For, presently, as quiet as the king Sleeps now that planned the keeps of Ilion, We, too, will sleep, whilst overhead the spring Rules, and young lovers laugh--as we have done,-- And kiss--as we, that take no heed thereof, But slumber very soundly, and disdain The world-wide heralding of winter's wane And swift sweet ripple of the April rain Running about the world to waken love. "We shall have done with Love, and Death be king And turn our nimble bodies carrion, Our red lips dusty;--yet our live lips cling Despite that age-long severance and are one Despite the grave and the vain grief thereof,-- Which we will baffle, if in Death's domain Fond memories may enter, and we twain May dream a little, and rehearse again In that unending sleep our present love. "Speed forth to her in halting unison, My rhymes: and say no hindrance may restrain Love from his aim when Love is bent thereon; And that were love at my disposal lain-- All mine to take!--and Death had said, 'Refrain, Lest I, even I, exact the cost thereof,' I know that even as the weather-vane Follows the wind so would I follow Love." Sire Edward put aside the lute. "Thus ends the Song of Service," he said, "which was made not by the King of England but by Edward Plantagenet--hot-blooded and desirous man!--in honor of the one woman who within more years than I care to think of has at all considered Edward Plantagenet." "I do not comprehend," she said. And, indeed, she dared not. But now he held both tiny hands in his. "At best, your poet is an egotist. I must die presently. Meantime I crave largesse, madame, and a great almsgiving, so that in his unending sleep your poet may rehearse our present love." And even in Rigon's dim light he found her kindling eyes not niggardly. Sire Edward strode to the window and raised big hands toward the spear-points of the aloof stars. "Master of us all!" he cried; "O Father of us all! the Hammer of the Scots am I! the Scourge of France, the conqueror of Llewellyn and of Leicester, and the flail of the accursed race that slew Thine only Son! the King of England am I, who have made of England an imperial nation, and have given to Thy Englishmen new laws! And to-night I crave my hire. Never, O my Father, have I had of any person aught save reverence or hatred! never in my life has any person loved me! And I am old, my Father--I am old, and presently I die. As I have served Thee--as Jacob wrestled with Thee at the ford of Jabbok--at the place of Peniel--" Against the tremulous blue and silver of the forest the Princess saw how horribly the big man was shaken. "My hire! my hire!" he hoarsely said. "Forty long years, my Father! And now I will not let Thee go except Thou hear me, and grant me life and this woman's love." He turned, stark and black in the rearward splendor of the moon. _"As a prince hast thou power with God,"_ he calmly said, _"and thou hast prevailed._ For the King of kings was never obdurate, my dear, to them that have deserved well of Him. So He will attend to my request, and will get us out of this pickle somehow." Even as he said this, Philippe the Handsome came into the room, and at the heels of the French King were seven lords, armed cap-à-pie. The French King was an odd man. Subtly smiling, he came forward through the twilight, with soft, long strides, and he made no outcry at recognition of his sister. "Take the woman away, Victor," he said, disinterestedly, to de Montespan. Afterward he sat down beside the table and remained silent for a while, intently regarding Sire Edward and the tiny woman who clung to Sire Edward's arm; and in the flickering gloom of the hut Philippe smiled as an artist may smile who gazes on the perfected work and knows it to be adroit. "You prefer to remain, my sister?" he said presently. "Hé bien! it happens that to-night I am in a mood for granting almost any favor. A little later and I will attend to your merits." The fleet disorder of his visage had lapsed again into the meditative smile which was that of Lucifer watching a toasted soul. "And so it ends," he said, "and England loses to-night the heir that Manuel the Redeemer provided. Conqueror of Scotland, Scourge of France! O unconquerable king! and will the worms of Ermenoueïl, then, pause to-morrow to consider through what a glorious turmoil their dinner came to them?" "Do you design to murder me?" Sire Edward said. The French King shrugged. "I design that within this moment my lords shall slay you while I sit here and do not move a finger. Is it not good to be a king, my cousin, and to sit quite still, and to see your bitterest enemy hacked and slain,--and all the while to sit quite still, quite unruffled, as a king should always be? Eh, eh! I never lived until to-night!" "Now, by Heaven," said Sire Edward, "I am your kinsman and your guest, I am unarmed--" Philippe bowed his head. "Undoubtedly," he assented, "the deed is foul. But I desire Gascony very earnestly, and so long as you live you will never permit me to retain Gascony. Hence it is quite necessary, you conceive, that I murder you. What!" he presently said, "will you not beg for mercy? I had hoped," the French King added, somewhat wistfully, "that you might be afraid to die, O huge and righteous man! and would entreat me to spare you. To spurn the weeping conqueror of Llewellyn, say ... But these sins which damn one's soul are in actual performance very tedious affairs; and I begin to grow aweary of the game. Hé bien! now kill this man for me, messieurs." The English King strode forward. "Shallow trickster!" Sire Edward thundered. _"Am I not afraid?_ You grimacing baby, do you think to ensnare a lion with such a flimsy rat-trap? Wise persons do not hunt lions with these contraptions: for it is the nature of a rat-trap, fair cousin, to ensnare not the beast which imperiously desires and takes in daylight, but the tinier and the filthier beast that covets meanly and attacks under the cover of darkness--as do you and your seven skulkers!" The man was rather terrible; not a Frenchman within the hut but had drawn back a little. "Listen!" Sire Edward said, and he came yet farther toward the King of France and shook at him one forefinger; "when you were in your cradle I was leading armies. When you were yet unbreeched I was lord of half Europe. For thirty years I have driven kings before me as did Fierabras. Am I, then, a person to be hoodwinked by the first big-bosomed huzzy that elects to waggle her fat shoulders and to grant an assignation in a forest expressly designed for stabbings? You baby, is the Hammer of the Scots the man to trust for one half moment a Capet? Ill-mannered infant," the King said, with bitter laughter, "it is now necessary that I summon my attendants and remove you to a nursery which I have prepared in England." He set the horn to his lips and blew three blasts. There came many armed warriors into the hut, bearing ropes. Here was the entire retinue of the Earl of Aquitaine. Cursing, Sire Philippe sprang upon the English King, and with a dagger smote at the impassive big man's heart. The blade broke against the mail armor under the tunic. "Have I not told you," Sire Edward wearily said, "that one may never trust a Capet? Now, messieurs, bind these carrion and convey them whither I have directed you. Nay, but, Roger--" He conversed apart with his son, the Earl of Pevensey, and what Sire Edward commanded was done. The French King and seven lords of France went from that hut trussed like chickens ready for the oven. And now Sire Edward turned toward Meregrett and chafed his big hands gleefully. "At every tree-bole a tethered horse awaits us; and a ship awaits our party at Fécamp. To-morrow we sleep in England--and, Mort de Dieu! do you not think, madame, that once within my very persuasive Tower of London, your brother and I may come to some agreement over Guienne?" She had shrunk from him. "Then the trap was yours? It was you that lured my brother to this infamy!" "In effect, I planned it many months ago at Ipswich yonder," Sire Edward gayly said. "Faith of a gentleman! your brother has cheated me of Guienne, and was I to waste eternity in begging him to give me back my province? Oh, no, for I have many spies in France, and have for some two years known your brother and your sister to the bottom. Granted that I came hither incognito, to forecast your kinfolk's immediate endeavors was none too difficult; and I wanted Guienne--and, in consequence, the person of your brother. Hah, death of my life! does not the seasoned hunter adapt his snare to the qualities of his prey, and take the elephant through his curiosity, as the snake through his notorious treachery?" Now the King of England blustered. But the little Princess wrung her hands. "I am this night most hideously shamed. Beau sire, I came hither to aid a brave man infamously trapped, and instead I find an alert spider, snug in his cunning web, and patiently waiting until the gnats of France fly near enough. Eh, the greater fool was I to waste my labor on the shrewd and evil thing which has no more need of me than I of it! And now let me go hence, sire, unmolested, for the sake of chivalry. Could I have come to the brave man I had dreamed of, I would have come cheerily through the murkiest lane of hell; as the more artful knave, as the more judicious trickster"--and here she thrust him from her--"I spit upon you. Now let me go hence." He took her in his brawny arms. "Fit mate for me," he said. "Little vixen, had you done otherwise I would have devoted you to the devil." Still grasping her, and victoriously lifting Dame Meregrett, so that her feet swung clear of the floor, Sire Edward said, again with that queer touch of fanatic gravity: "My dear, you are perfectly right. I was tempted, I grant you. But it was never reasonable that gentlefolk should cheat at their dicing. Therefore I whispered Roger Bulmer my final decision; and he is now loosing all my captives in the courtyard of Mezelais, after birching the tails of every one of them as soundly as these infants' pranks to-night have merited. So you perceive that I do not profit by my trick; and that I lose Guienne, after all, in order to come to you with hands--well! not intolerably soiled." "Oh, now I love you!" she cried, a-thrill with disappointment to find him so unthriftily high-minded. "Yet you have done wrong, for Guienne is a king's ransom." He smiled whimsically, and presently one arm swept beneath her knees, so that presently he held her as one dandles a baby; and presently his stiff and graying beard caressed her burning cheek. Masterfully he said: "Then let Guienne serve as such and ransom for a king his glad and common manhood. Now it appears expedient that I leave France without any unwholesome delay, because these children may resent being spanked. More lately--hé, already I have in my pocket the Pope's dispensation permitting me to marry, in spite of our cousinship, the sister of the King of France." Very shyly Dame Meregrett lifted her little mouth. She said nothing because talk was not necessary. In consequence, after a deal of political tergiversation (Nicolas concludes), in the year of grace 1299, on the day of our Lady's nativity, and in the twenty-seventh year of King Edward's reign, came to the British realm, and landed at Dover, not Dame Blanch, as would have been in consonance with seasoned expectation, but Dame Meregrett, the other daughter of King Philippe the Bold; and upon the following day proceeded to Canterbury, whither on the next Thursday after came Edward, King of England, into the Church of the Trinity at Canterbury, and therein espoused the aforesaid Dame Meregrett. THE END OF THE THIRD NOVEL IV THE STORY OF THE CHOICES "Sest fable es en aquest mon Semblans al homes que i son; Que el mager sen qu'om pot aver So es amar Dieu et sa mer, E gardar sos comendamens." THE FOURTH NOVEL.--YSABEAU OF FRANCE, DESIROUS OF DISTRACTION, LOOKS FOR RECREATION IN THE TORMENT OF A CERTAIN KNIGHT, WHOM SHE PROVES TO BE NO MORE THAN HUMAN; BUT IN THE OUTCOME OF HER HOLIDAY HE CONFOUNDS THIS QUEEN BY THE WIT OF HIS REPLY. The Story of the Choices In the year of grace 1327 (thus Nicolas begins) you could have found in all England no couple more ardent in affection or in despair more affluent than Rosamund Eastney and Sir Gregory Darrell. She was Lord Berners' only daughter, a brown beauty, of extensive repute, thanks to a retinue of lovers who were practitioners of the Gay Science, and who had scattered broadcast innumerable Canzons in her honor; and Lord Berners was a man to accept the world as he found it. "Dompnedex!" the Earl was wont to say; "in sincerity I am fond of Gregory Darrell, and if he chooses to make love to my daughter that is none of my affair. The eyes and the brain preserve a proverbial warfare, which is the source of all amenity, for without lady-service there would be no songs and tourneys, no measure and no good breeding; and a man delinquent in domnei is no more to be valued than an ear of corn without the grain. No, I am so profoundly an admirer of Love that I can never willingly behold him slain, of a surfeit, by Matrimony; besides, this rapscallion Gregory could not to advantage exchange purses with Lazarus in the parable; and, moreover, Rosamund is to marry the Earl of Sarum a little after All Saints' day." "Sarum!" people echoed. "Why, the old goat has had four wives already!" And the Earl would spread his hands. "These redundancies are permissible to one of the wealthiest persons in England," he was used to submit. Thus it fell out that Sir Gregory came and went at his own discretion as concerned Lord Berners' fief of Ordish, all through those choppy times of warfare between Sire Edward and Queen Ysabeau. Lord Berners, for one, vexed himself not inordinately over the outcome, since he protested the King's armament to consist of fools and the Queen's of rascals; and had with entire serenity declined to back either Dick or the devil. But at last the Queen got resistless aid from Count William of Hainault (in a way to be told about hereafter), and the King was captured by her forces, and was imprisoned in Berkeley Castle. There they held the second Edward to reign in England, who was the unworthy son of Dame Ellinor and of that first squinting King Edward about whom I have told you in the two tales preceding this tale. It was in the September of this year, a little before Michaelmas, that they brought Sir Gregory Darrell to be judged by the Queen; notoriously the knight had been her husband's adherent. "Death!" croaked Adam Orleton, who sat to the right hand, and, "Young de Spencer's death!" amended the Earl of March, with wild laughter; but Ysabeau leaned back in her great chair--a handsome woman, stoutening now from gluttony and from too much wine,--and regarded her prisoner with lazy amiability. "And what was your errand in Figgis Wood?" she demanded--"or are you mad, then, Gregory Darrell, that you dare ride past my gates alone?" He curtly said, "I rode for Ordish." Followed silence. "Roger," the Queen ordered, "give me the paper which I would not sign." The Earl of March had drawn an audible breath. The Bishop of London somewhat wrinkled his shaggy brows, like a person in shrewd and epicurean amusement, while the Queen subscribed the parchment, with a great scrawling flourish. "Take, in the devil's name, the hire of your dexterities," said Ysabeau. She pushed this document with her wet pen-point toward March. "So! get it over with, that necessary business with my husband at Berkeley. And do the rest of you withdraw, saving only my prisoner." Followed another silence. Queen Ysabeau lolled in her carven chair, considering the comely gentleman who stood before her, fettered, at the point of shameful death. There was in the room a little dog which had come to the Queen, and now licked the palm of her left hand, and the soft lapping of its tongue was the only sound you heard. "So at peril of your life you rode for Ordish, then, messire?" The tense man had flushed. "You have harried us of the King's party out of England,--and in reason I might not leave England without seeing the desire of my heart." "My friend," said Ysabeau, as if half in sorrow, "I would have pardoned anything save that." She rose. Her face was dark and hot. "By God and all His saints! you shall indeed leave England to-morrow and the world also! but not without a final glimpse of this same Rosamund. Yet listen: I, too, must ride with you to Ordish--as your sister, say--Gregory, did I not hang, last April, the husband of your sister? Yes, Ralph de Belomys, a thin man with eager eyes, the Earl of Farrington he was. As his widow I will ride with you to Ordish, upon condition you disclose to none at Ordish, saving only, if you will, this quite immaculate Rosamund, any hint of our merry carnival. And to-morrow (you will swear according to the nicest obligations of honor) you must ride back with me to encounter--that which I may devise. For I dare to trust your naked word in this, and, moreover, I shall take with me a sufficiency of retainers to leave you no choice." Darrell knelt before her. "I can do no homage to Queen Ysabeau; yet the prodigal hands of her who knows that I must die to-morrow and cunningly contrives, for old time's sake, to hearten me with a sight of Rosamund, I cannot but kiss." This much he did. "And I swear in all things to obey your will." "O comely fool!" the Queen said, not ungently, "I contrive, it may be, but to demonstrate that many tyrants of antiquity were only bunglers. And, besides, I must have other thoughts than those which I have known too long: I must this night take holiday from thinking them, lest I go mad." Thus did the Queen arrange her holiday. "Either I mean to torture you to-morrow," Dame Ysabeau said, presently, to Darrell, as these two rode side by side, "or else I mean to free you. In sober verity I do not know. I am in a holiday humor, and it is as the whim may take me. But do you indeed love this Rosamund Eastney? And of course she worships you?" "It is my belief, madame, that when I see her I tremble visibly, and my weakness is such that a child has more intelligence than I,--and toward such misery any lady must in common reason be a little compassionate." Her hands had twitched so that the astonished palfrey reared. "I design torture," the Queen said; "ah, I perfect exquisite torture, for you have proven recreant, you have forgotten the maid Ysabeau,--Le Desir du Cuer, was it not, my Gregory, that you were wont to call her, as nowadays this Rosamund is the desire of your heart. You lack inventiveness." His palms clutched at heaven. "That Ysabeau is dead! and all true joy is destroyed, and the world lies under a blight from which God has averted an unfriendly face in displeasure! yet of all wretched persons existent I am he who endures the most grievous anguish, for daily I partake of life without any relish, and I would in truth deem him austerely kind who slew me now that the maiden Ysabeau is dead." She shrugged wearily. "I scent the raw stuff of a Planh," the Queen observed; "_benedicite!_ it was ever your way, my friend, to love a woman chiefly for the verses she inspired." And she began to sing, as they rode through Baverstock Thicket. Sang Ysabeau: "Man's love hath many prompters, But a woman's love hath none; And he may woo a nimble wit Or hair that shames the sun, Whilst she must pick of all one man And ever brood thereon-- And for no reason, And not rightly,-- "Save that the plan was foreordained (More old than Chalcedon, Or any tower of Tarshish Or of gleaming Babylon), That she must love unwillingly And love till life be done,--. He for a season, And more lightly." So to Ordish in that twilight came the Countess of Farrington, with a retinue of twenty men-at-arms, and her brother Sir Gregory Darrell. Lord Berners received the party with boisterous hospitality. "Age has not blinded Father to the fact that your sister is a very handsome woman," was Rosamund Eastney's comment. The period appears to have been after supper, and the girl sat with Gregory Darrell in not the most brilliant corner of the main hall. The wretched man leaned forward, bit his nether-lip, and then with a tumbling rush of speech told of the sorry masquerade. "The she-devil designs some horrible and obscure mischief, she plans I know not what." "Yet I--" said Rosamund. The girl had risen, and she continued with an odd inconsequence: "You have told me you were Pembroke's squire when long ago he sailed for France to fetch this woman into England--" "--Which you never heard!" Lord Berners shouted at this point. "Jasper, a lute!" And then he halloaed, "Gregory, Madame de Farrington demands that racy song you made against Queen Ysabeau during your last visit." Thus did the Queen begin her holiday. It was a handsome couple which came forward, with hand quitting hand tardily, and with blinking eyes yet rapt: these two were not overpleased at being disturbed, and the man was troubled, as in reason he well might be, by the task assigned him. "Is it, indeed, your will, my sister," he said, "that I should sing--this song?" "It is my will," the Countess said. And the knight flung back his comely head and laughed. "A truth, once spoken, may not be disowned in any company. It is not, look you, of my own choice that I sing, my sister. Yet if Queen Ysabeau herself were to bid me sing this song, I could not refuse, for, Christ aid me! the song is true." Sang Sir Gregory: "Dame Ysabeau, la prophécie Que li sage dit ne ment mie, Que la royne sut ceus grever Qui tantost laquais sot aymer--"[4] and so on. It was a lengthy ditty, and in its wording not oversqueamish; the Queen's career in England was detailed without any stuttering, and you would have found the catalogue unhandsome. Yet Sir Gregory delivered it with an incisive gusto, desperately countersigning his own death warrant. Her treacheries, her adulteries and her assassinations were rendered in glowing terms whose vigor seemed, even now, to please their contriver. Yet the minstrel added a new peroration. Sang Sir Gregory: "Ma voix mocque, mon cuer gémit-- Peu pense à ce que la voix dit, Car me membre du temps jadis Et d'ung garson, d'amour surpris, Et d'une fille--et la vois si-- Et grandement suis esbahi." And when Darrell had ended, the Countess of Farrington, without speaking, swept her left hand toward her cheek and by pure chance caught between thumb and forefinger the autumn-numbed fly that had annoyed her. She drew the little dagger from her girdle and meditatively cut the buzzing thing in two. She cast the fragments from her, and resting the dagger's point upon the arm of her chair, one forefinger upon the summit of the hilt, considerately twirled the brilliant weapon. "This song does not err upon the side of clemency," she said at last, "nor by ordinary does Queen Ysabeau." "That she-wolf!" said Lord Berners, comfortably. "Hoo, Madame Gertrude! since the Prophet Moses wrung healing waters from a rock there has been no such miracle recorded." "We read, Messire de Berners, that when the she-wolf once acknowledges a master she will follow him as faithfully as any dog. My brother, I do not question your sincerity, yet everybody knows you sing with the voice of an unhonored courtier. Suppose Queen Ysabeau had heard your song all through as I have heard it, and then had said--for she is not as the run of women--'Messire, I had thought until this that there was no thorough man in England save tall Roger Mortimer. I find him tawdry now, and--I remember. Come you, then, and rule the England that you love as you may love no woman, and rule me, messire, since I find even in your cruelty--For we are no pygmies, you and I! Yonder is squabbling Europe and all the ancient gold of Africa, ready for our taking! and past that lies Asia, too, and its painted houses hung with bells, and cloud-wrapt Tartary, where we two may yet erect our equal thrones, upon which to receive the tributary emperors! For we are no pygmies, you and I." She paused. She shrugged. "Suppose Queen Ysabeau, who is not as the run of women, had said this much, my brother?" Darrell was more pallid (as the phrase is) than a sheet, and the lute had dropped unheeded, and his hands were clenched. "I would answer, my sister, that as she has found in England but one man, I have found in England but one woman--the rose of all the world." His eyes were turned at this toward Rosamund Eastney. "And yet," the man stammered, "because I, too, remember--" "Hah, in God's name! I am answered," the Countess said. She rose, in dignity almost a queen. "We have ridden far to-day, and to-morrow we must travel a deal farther--eh, my brother? I am going to bed, Messire de Berners." So the men and women parted. Madame de Farrington kissed her brother at leaving him, as was natural; and under her caress his stalwart person shuddered, but not in repugnance; and the Queen went away singing hushedly. Sang Ysabeau: "Were the All-Mother wise, life (shaped anotherwise) Would be all high and true; Could I be otherwise I had been otherwise Simply because of you, ... With whom I have naught to do, And who are no longer you! "Life with its pay to be bade us essay to be What we became,--I believe Were there a way to be what it was play to be I would not greatly grieve ... Hearts are not worn on the sleeve. Let us neither laugh nor grieve!" Ysabeau would have slept that night within the chamber of Rosamund Eastney had either slept. As concerns the older I say nothing. The girl, though soon aware of frequent rustlings near at hand, lay quiet, half-forgetful of the poisonous woman yonder. The girl was now fulfilled with a great blaze of exultation: to-morrow Gregory must die, and then perhaps she might find time for tears; meanwhile, before her eyes, the man had flung away a kingdom and life itself for love of her, and the least nook of her heart ached to be a shade more worthy of the sacrifice. After it might have been an hour of this excruciate ecstasy the Countess came to Rosamund's bed. "Ay," the woman began, "it is indisputable that his hair is like spun gold and that his eyes resemble sun-drenched waters in June. It is certain that when this Gregory laughs God is more happy. Girl, I was familiar with the routine of your meditations before you were born." Rosamund said, quite simply: "You have known him always. I envy the circumstance, Madame Gertrude--you alone of all women in the world I envy, since you, his sister, being so much older, must have known him always." "I know him to the core, my girl," the Countess answered. For a while she sat silent, one bare foot jogging restlessly. "Yet I am two years his junior--Did you hear nothing, Rosamund?" "No, Madame Gertrude, I heard nothing." "Strange!" the Countess said; "let us have lights, since I can no longer endure this overpopulous twilight." She kindled, with twitching fingers, three lamps. "It is as yet dark yonder, where the shadows quiver very oddly, as though they would rise from the floor--do they not, my girl?--and protest vain things. But, Rosamund, it has been done; in the moment of death men's souls have travelled farther and have been visible; it has been done, I tell you. And he would stand before me, with pleading eyes, and would reproach me in a voice too faint to reach my ears--but I would see him--and his groping hands would clutch at my hands as though a dropped veil had touched me, and with the contact I would go mad!" "Madame Gertrude!" the girl stammered, in communicated terror. "Poor innocent fool!" the woman said, "I am Ysabeau of France." And when Rosamund made as though to rise, in alarm, Queen Ysabeau caught her by the shoulder. "Bear witness when he comes that I never hated him. Yet for my quiet it was necessary that it suffer so cruelly, the scented, pampered body, and no mark be left upon it! Eia! even now he suffers! No, I have lied. I hate the man, and in such fashion as you will comprehend when you are Sarum's wife." "Madame and Queen!" the girl said, "you will not murder me!" "I am tempted!" the Queen answered. "O little slip of girlhood, I am tempted, for it is not reasonable you should possess everything that I have lost. Innocence you have, and youth, and untroubled eyes, and quiet dreams, and the fond graveness of a child, and Gregory Darrell's love--" Now Ysabeau sat down upon the bed and caught up the girl's face between two fevered hands. "Rosamund, this Darrell perceives within the moment, as I do, that the love he bears for you is but what he remembers of the love he bore a certain maid long dead. Eh, you might have been her sister, Rosamund, for you are very like her. And she, poor wench--why, I could see her now, I think, were my eyes not blurred, somehow, almost as though Queen Ysabeau might weep! But she was handsomer than you, since your complexion is not overclear, praise God!" Woman against woman they were. "He has told me of his intercourse with you," the girl said, and this was a lie flatfooted. "Nay, kill me if you will, madame, since you are the stronger, yet, with my dying breath, I protest that Gregory has loved no woman truly in all his life except me." The Queen laughed bitterly. "Do I not know men? He told you nothing. And to-night he hesitated, and to-morrow, at the lifting of my finger, he will supplicate. Since boyhood Gregory Darrell has loved me, O white, palsied innocence! and he is mine at a whistle. And in that time to come he will desert you, Rosamund--bidding farewell with a pleasing Canzon,--and they will give you to the gross Earl of Sarum, as they gave me to the painted man who was of late our King! and in that time to come you will know your body to be your husband's makeshift when he lacks leisure to seek out other recreation! and in that time to come you will long for death, and presently your heart will be a flame within you, my Rosamund, an insatiable flame! and you will hate your God because He made you, and hate Satan because in some desperate hour he tricked you, and hate all men because, poor fools, they scurry to obey your whims! and chiefly you will hate yourself because you are so pitiable! and devastation only will you love in that strange time which is to come. It is adjacent, my Rosamund." The girl kept silence. She sat erect in the tumbled bed, her hands clasping her knees, and she appeared to deliberate what Dame Ysabeau had said. Plentiful brown hair fell about this Rosamund's face, which was white and shrewd. "A part of what you say, madame, I understand. I know that Gregory Darrell loves me, yet I have long ago acknowledged he loves me as one pets a child, or, let us say, a spaniel which reveres and amuses one. I lack his wit, you comprehend, and so he never speaks to me all that he thinks. Yet a part of it he tells me, and he loves me, and with this I am content. Assuredly, if they give me to Sarum I shall hate Sarum even more than I detest him now. And then, I think, Heaven help me! that I would not greatly grieve--Oh, you are all evil!" Rosamund said; "and you thrust into my mind thoughts which I may not understand!" "You will comprehend them," the Queen said, "when you know yourself a chattel, bought and paid for." The Queen laughed. She rose, and her hands strained toward heaven. "You are omnipotent, yet have You let me become that into which I am transmuted," she said, very low. She began to speak as though a statue spoke through lips that seemed motionless. "Men have long urged me, Rosamund, to a deed which by one stroke would make me mistress of these islands. To-day I looked on Gregory Darrell, and knew that I was wise in love--and I had but to crush a lewd soft worm to come to him. Eh, and I was tempted--!" The girl said: "Let us grant that Gregory loves you very greatly, and me just when his leisure serves. You may offer him a cushioned infamy, a colorful and brief delirium, and afterward demolishment of soul and body; I offer him contentment and a level life, made up of small events, it may be, and lacking both in abysses and in skyey heights. Yet is love a flame wherein the lover's soul must be purified; it is a flame which assays high queens just as it does their servants: and thus, madame, to judge between us I dare summon you." "Child, child!" the Queen said, tenderly, and with a smile, "you are brave; and in your fashion you are wise; yet you will never comprehend. But once I was in heart and soul and body all that you are to-day; and now I am Queen Ysabeau--Did you in truth hear nothing, Rosamund?" "Why, nothing save the wind." "Strange!" said the Queen; "since all the while that I have talked with you I have been seriously annoyed by shrieks and imprecations! But I, too, grow cowardly, it may be--Nay, I know," she said, and in a resonant voice, "that by this I am mistress of broad England, until my son--my own son, born of my body, and in glad anguish, Rosamund--knows me for what I am. For I have heard--Coward! O beautiful sleek coward!" the Queen said; "I would have died without lamentation and I was but your plaything!" "Madame Ysabeau--!" the girl answered vaguely, for she was puzzled and was almost frightened by the other's strange talk. "To bed!" said Ysabeau; "and put out the lights lest he come presently. Or perhaps he fears me now too much to come to-night. Yet the night approaches, none the less, when I must lift some arras and find him there, chalk-white, with painted cheeks, and rigid, and smiling very terribly, or look into some mirror and behold there not myself but him,--and in that instant I shall die. Meantime I rule, until my son attains his manhood. Eh, Rosamund, my only son was once so tiny, and so helpless, and his little crimson mouth groped toward me, helplessly, and save in Bethlehem, I thought, there was never any child more fair--But I must forget all that, for even now he plots. Hey, God orders matters very shrewdly, my Rosamund." Timidly the girl touched Ysabeau's shoulder. "In part, I understand, madame and Queen." "You understand nothing," said Ysabeau; "how should you understand whose breasts are yet so tiny? So let us put out the light! though I dread darkness, Rosamund--For they say that hell is poorly lighted--and they say--" Then Queen Ysabeau shrugged. Pensively she blew out each lamp. "We know this Gregory Darrell," the Queen said in the darkness, "ah, to the marrow we know him, however steadfastly we blink, and we know the present turmoil of his soul; and in common-sense what chance have you of victory?" "None in common-sense, madame, and yet you go too fast. For man is a being of mingled nature, we are told by those in holy orders, and his life here is one unending warfare between that which is divine in him and that which is bestial, while impartial Heaven attends as arbiter of the tourney. Always a man's judgment misleads him and his faculties allure him to a truce, however brief, with iniquity. His senses raise a mist about his goings, and there is not an endowment of the man but in the end plays traitor to his interest, as of God's wisdom God intends; so that when the man is overthrown, the Eternal Father may, in reason, be neither vexed nor grieved if only the man takes heart to rise again. And when, betrayed and impotent, the man elects to fight out the allotted battle, defiant of common-sense and of the counsellors which God Himself accorded, I think that the Saints hold festival in heaven." "A very pretty sermon," said the Queen. "Yet I do not think that our Gregory could very long endure a wife given over to such high-minded talking. He prefers to hear himself do the fine talking." Followed a silence, vexed only on the purposeless September winds; but I believe that neither of these two slept with profundity. About dawn one of the Queen's attendants roused Sir Gregory Darrell and conducted him into the hedged garden of Ordish, where Ysabeau walked in tranquil converse with Lord Berners. The old man was in high good-humor. "My lad," said he, and clapped Sir Gregory upon the shoulder, "you have, I do protest, the very phoenix of sisters. I was never happier." And he went away chuckling. The Queen said in a toneless voice, "We ride for Blackfriars now." Darrell responded, "I am content, and ask but leave to speak, briefly, with Dame Rosamund before I die." Then the woman came more near to him. "I am not used to beg, but within this hour you encounter death, and I have loved no man in all my life saving only you, Sir Gregory Darrell. Nor have you loved any person as you loved me once in France. Oh, to-day, I may speak freely, for with you the doings of that boy and girl are matters overpast. Yet were it otherwise--eh, weigh the matter carefully! for I am mistress of England now, and England would I give you, and such love as that slim, white innocence has never dreamed of would I give you, Gregory Darrell--No, no! ah, Mother of God, not you!" The Queen clapped one hand upon his lips. "Listen," she quickly said; "I spoke to tempt you. But you saw, and you saw clearly, that it was the sickly whim of a wanton, and you never dreamed of yielding, for you love this Rosamund Eastney, and you know me to be vile. Then have a care of me! The strange woman am I, of whom we read that her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death. Hoh, many strong men have been slain by me, and in the gray time to come will many others be slain by me, it may be; but never you among them, my Gregory, who are more wary, and more merciful, and who know that I have need to lay aside at least one comfortable thought against eternity." "I concede you to have been unwise--" he hoarsely began. About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the air of this new day seemed raw and chill. Then Rosamund came through the opening in the hedge. "Now, choose," she said; "the woman offers life and high place and wealth, and it may be, a greater love than I am capable of giving you. I offer a dishonorable death within the moment." And again, with that peculiar and imperious gesture, the man flung back his head, and he laughed. Said Gregory Darrell: "I am I! and I will so to live that I may face without shame not only God, but also my own scrutiny." He wheeled upon the Queen and spoke henceforward very leisurely. "I love you; all my life long I have loved you, Ysabeau, and even now I love you: and you, too, dear Rosamund, I love, though with a difference. And every fibre of my being lusts for the power that you would give me, Ysabeau, and for the good which I would do with it in the England which I or blustering Roger Mortimer must rule; as every fibre of my being lusts for the man that I would be could I choose death without debate. And I think also of the man that you would make of me, my Rosamund. "The man! And what is this man, this Gregory Darrell, that his welfare should be considered?--an ape who chatters to himself of kinship with the archangels while filthily he digs for groundnuts! This much I know, at bottom. "Yet more clearly do I perceive that this same man, like all his fellows, is a maimed god who walks the world dependent upon many wise and evil counsellors. He must measure, to a hair's-breadth, every content of the world by means of a bloodied sponge, tucked somewhere in his skull, a sponge which is ungeared by the first cup of wine and ruined by the touch of his own finger. He must appraise all that he judges with no better instruments than two bits of colored jelly, with a bungling makeshift so maladroit that the nearest horologer's apprentice could have devised a more accurate device. In fine, each man is under penalty condemned to compute eternity with false weights, to estimate infinity with a yard-stick: and he very often does it, and chooses his own death without debate. For though, 'If then I do that which I would not I consent unto the law,' saith even an Apostle; yet a braver Pagan answers him, 'Perceive at last that thou hast in thee something better and more divine than the things which cause the various effects and, as it were, pull thee by the strings.' "There lies the choice which every man must face,--whether rationally, as his reason goes, to accept his own limitations and make the best of his allotted prison-yard? or stupendously to play the fool and swear even to himself (while his own judgment shrieks and proves a flat denial), that he is at will omnipotent? You have chosen long ago, my poor proud Ysabeau; and I choose now, and differently: for poltroon that I am! being now in a cold drench of terror, I steadfastly protest I am not very much afraid, and I choose death without any more debate." It was toward Rosamund that the Queen looked, and smiled a little pitifully. "Should Queen Ysabeau be angry or vexed or very cruel now, my Rosamund? for at bottom she is glad." And the Queen said also: "I give you back your plighted word. I ride homeward to my husks, but you remain. Or rather, the Countess of Farrington departs for the convent of Ambresbury, disconsolate in her widowhood and desirous to have done with worldly affairs. It is most natural she should relinquish to her beloved and only brother all her dower-lands--or so at least Messire de Berners acknowledges. Here, then, is the grant, my Gregory, that conveys to you those lands of Ralph de Belomys which last year I confiscated. And this tedious Messire de Berners is willing now--he is eager to have you for a son-in-law." About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the air of this new day seemed raw and chill, while, very calmly, Dame Ysabeau took Sir Gregory's hand and laid it upon the hand of Rosamund Eastney. "Our paladin is, in the outcome, a mortal man, and therefore I do not altogether envy you. Yet he has his moments, and you are capable. Serve, then, not only his desires but mine also, dear Rosamund." There was a silence. The girl spoke as though it was a sacrament. "I will, madame and Queen." Thus did the Queen end her holiday. A little later the Countess of Farrington rode from Ordish with all her train save one; and riding from that place, where love was, she sang very softly. Sang Ysabeau: "As with her dupes dealt Circe Life deals with hers, for she Reshapes them without mercy, And shapes them swinishly, To wallow swinishly, And for eternity; "Though, harder than the witch was, Life, changing not the whole, Transmutes the body, which was Proud garment of the soul, And briefly drugs the soul, Whose ruin is her goal; "And means by this thereafter A subtler mirth to get, And mock with bitterer laughter Her helpless dupes' regret, Their swinish dull regret For what they half forget." And within the hour came Hubert Frayne to Ordish, on a foam-specked horse, as he rode to announce to the King's men the King's barbaric murder overnight, at Berkeley Castle, by Queen Ysabeau's order. "Ride southward," said Lord Berners, and panted as they buckled on his disused armor; "but harkee, Frayne! if you pass the Countess of Farrington's company, speak no syllable of your news, since it is not convenient that a lady so thoroughly and so praise-worthily--Lord, Lord, how I have fattened!--so intent on holy things, in fine, should have her meditations disturbed by any such unsettling tidings. Hey, son-in-law?" Sir Gregory Darrell laughed, very bitterly. "He that is without blemish among you--" he said. Then they armed completely, and went forth to battle against the murderous harlot. THE END OF THE FOURTH NOVEL FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: For this perplexing matter the curious may consult Paul Verville's _Notice sur la vie de Nicolas de Caen, p. 93 et seq_. The indebtedness to Antoine Riczi is, of course, conceded by Nicolas in his "EPILOGUE."] [Footnote 2: She was the daughter of King Ferdinand of Leon and Castile, whose conversion to sainthood the inquisitive may find recorded elsewhere.] [Footnote 3: Not without indulgence in anachronism. But Nicolas, be it repeated, was no Gradgrindian.] [Footnote 4: Nicolas gives this ballad in full, but, for obvious reasons, his translator would prefer to do otherwise.] V THE STORY OF THE HOUSEWIFE "Selh que m blasma vostr' amor ni m defen Non podon far en re mon cor mellor, Ni'l dous dezir qu'ieu ai de vos major, Ni l'enveya' ni'l dezir, ni'l talen." THE FIFTH NOVEL.--PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT DARES TO LOVE UNTHRIFTILY, AND WITH THE PRODIGALITY OF HER AFFECTION SHAMES TREACHERY, AND COMMON-SENSE, AND HIGH ROMANCE, QUITE STOLIDLY; BUT, AS LOVING GOES, IS OVERTOPPED BY HER MORE STOLID SQUIRE. _The Story of the Housewife_ In the year of grace 1326, upon Walburga's Eve, some three hours after sunset (thus Nicolas begins), had you visited a certain garden on the outskirts of Valenciennes, you might there have stumbled upon a big, handsome boy, prone on the turf, where by turns he groaned and vented himself in sullen curses. His profanity had its palliation. Heir to England though he was, you must know that this boy's father in the flesh had hounded him from England, as more recently had the lad's uncle Charles the Handsome driven him from France. Now had this boy and his mother (the same Queen Ysabeau about whom I have told you in the preceding tale) come as suppliants to the court of that stalwart nobleman Sire William (Count of Hainault, Holland, and Zealand, and Lord of Friesland), where their arrival had evoked the suggestion that they depart at their earliest convenience. To-morrow, then, these footsore royalties, the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales, would be thrust out-of-doors to resume the weary beggarship, to knock again upon the obdurate gates of this unsympathizing king or that deaf emperor. Accordingly the boy aspersed his destiny. At hand a nightingale carolled as though an exiled prince were the blithest spectacle the moon knew. There came through the garden a tall girl, running, stumbling in her haste. "Hail, King of England!" she said. "Do not mock me, Philippa!" the boy half-sobbed. Sulkily he rose to his feet. "No mockery here, my fair sweet friend. No, I have told my father all which happened yesterday. I pleaded for you. He questioned me very closely. And when I had ended, he stroked his beard, and presently struck one hand upon the table. 'Out of the mouth of babes!' he said. Then he said: 'My dear, I believe for certain that this lady and her son have been driven from their kingdom wrongfully. If it be for the good of God to comfort the afflicted, how much more is it commendable to help and succor one who is the daughter of a king, descended from royal lineage, and to whose blood we ourselves are related!' And accordingly he and your mother have their heads together yonder, planning an invasion of England, no less, and the dethronement of your wicked father, my Edward. And accordingly--hail, King of England!" The girl clapped her hands gleefully. The nightingale sang. But the boy kept momentary silence. Not even in youth were the men of his race handicapped by excessively tender hearts; yesterday in the shrubbery the boy had kissed this daughter of Count William, in part because she was a healthy and handsome person, and partly because great benefit might come of an alliance with her father. Well! the Prince had found chance-taking not unfortunate. With the episode as foundation, Count William had already builded up the future queenship of England. The strong Count could do--and, as it seemed, was now in train to do--indomitable deeds to serve his son-in-law; and now the beggar of five minutes since foresaw himself, with this girl's love as ladder, mounting to the high habitations of the King of England, the Lord of Ireland, and the Duke of Aquitaine. Thus they would herald him. So he embraced the girl. "Hail, Queen of England!" said the Prince; and then, "If I forget--" His voice broke awkwardly. "My dear, if ever I forget--!" Their lips met now. The nightingale discoursed as if on a wager. Presently was mingled with the bird's descant another kind of singing. Beyond the yew-hedge as these two stood silent, breast to breast, passed young Jehan Kuypelant, one of the pages, fitting to the accompaniment of a lute his paraphrase of the song which Archilochus of Sicyon very anciently made in honor of Venus Melaenis, the tender Venus of the Dark. At a gap in the hedge the young Brabanter paused. His singing ended, gulped. These two, who stood heart hammering against heart, saw for an instant Jehan Kuypelant's lean face silvered by the moonlight, his mouth a tiny abyss. Followed the beat of lessening footfalls, while the nightingale improvised an envoi. But earlier Jehan Kuypelant also had sung, as though in rivalry with the bird. Sang Jehan Kuypelant: "Hearken and heed, Melaenis! For all that the litany ceased When Time had pilfered the victim, And flouted thy pale-lipped priest, And set astir in the temple Where burned the fires of thy shrine The owls and wolves of the desert-- Yet hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine! "For I have followed, nor faltered-- Adrift in a land of dreams Where laughter and pity and terror Commingle as confluent streams, I have seen and adored the Sidonian, Implacable, fair and divine-- And bending low, have implored thee To hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!" It is time, however, that we quit this subject and speak of other matters. Just twenty years later, on one August day in the year of grace 1346, Master John Copeland--as men now called Jehan Kuypelant, now secretary to the Queen of England,--brought his mistress the unhandsome tidings that David Bruce had invaded her realm with forty thousand Scots to back him. The Brabanter found plump Queen Philippa with the kingdom's arbitress--Dame Catherine de Salisbury, whom King Edward, third of that name to reign in Britain, and now warring in France, very notoriously adored and obeyed. This king, indeed, had been despatched into France chiefly, they narrate, to release the Countess' husband, William de Montacute, from the French prison of the Châtelet. You may appraise her dominion by this fact: chaste and shrewd, she had denied all to King Edward, and in consequence he could deny her nothing; so she sent him to fetch back her husband, whom she almost loved. That armament had sailed from Southampton on Saint George's day. These two women, then, shared the Brabanter's execrable news. Already Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham were the broken meats of King David. The Countess presently exclaimed: "Let them weep for this that must! My place is not here." Philippa said, half hopefully, "Do you forsake Sire Edward, Catherine?" "Madame and Queen," the Countess answered, "in this world every man must scratch his own back. My lord has entrusted to me his castle of Wark, his fiefs in Northumberland. These, I hear, are being laid waste. Were there a thousand men-at-arms left in England I would say fight. As it is, our men are yonder in France and the island is defenceless. Accordingly I ride for the north to make what terms I may with the King of Scots." Now you might have seen the Queen's eye brighten. "Undoubtedly," said she, "in her lord's absence it is the wife's part to defend his belongings. And my lord's fief is England. I bid you God-speed, Catherine." And when the Countess was gone, Philippa turned, her round face somewhat dazed and flushed. "She betrays him! she compounds with the Scot! Mother of Christ, let me not fail!" "A ship must be despatched to bid Sire Edward return," said the secretary. "Otherwise all England is lost." "Not so, John Copeland! We must let Sire Edward complete his overrunning of France, if such be the Trinity's will. You know perfectly well that he has always had a fancy to conquer France; and if I bade him return now he would be vexed." "The disappointment of the King," John Copeland considered, "is a smaller evil than allowing all of us to be butchered." "Not to me, John Copeland," the Queen said. Now came many lords into the chamber, seeking Madame Philippa. "We must make peace with the Scottish rascal!--England is lost!--A ship must be sent entreating succor of Sire Edward!" So they shouted. "Messieurs," said Queen Philippa, "who commands here? Am I, then, some woman of the town?" Ensued a sudden silence. John Copeland, standing by the seaward window, had picked up a lute and was fingering the instrument half-idly. Now the Marquess of Hastings stepped from the throng. "Pardon, Highness. But the occasion is urgent." "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented, deep in meditation. John Copeland flung back his head and without prelude began to carol lustily. Sang John Copeland: "There are taller lads than Atys, And many are wiser than he,-- How should I heed them?--whose fate is Ever to serve and to be Ever the lover of Atys, And die that Atys may dine, Live if he need me--Then heed me, And speed me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine! "Fair is the form unbeholden, And golden the glory of thee Whose voice is the voice of a vision Whose face is the foam of the sea, And the fall of whose feet is the flutter Of breezes in birches and pine, When thou drawest near me, to hear me, And cheer me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!" I must tell you that the Queen shivered, as if with extreme cold. She gazed toward John Copeland wonderingly. The secretary was fretting at his lutestrings, with his head downcast. Then in a while the Queen turned to Hastings. "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented. "Therefore it is my will that to-morrow one and all your men be mustered at Blackheath. We will take the field without delay against the King of Scots." The riot began anew. "Madness!" they shouted; "lunar madness! We can do nothing until our King returns with our army!" "In his absence," the Queen said, "I command here." "You are not Regent," the Marquess answered. Then he cried, "This is the Regent's affair!" "Let the Regent be fetched," Dame Philippa said, very quietly. They brought in her son, Messire Lionel, now a boy of eight years, and, in the King's absence, Regent of England. Both the Queen and the Marquess held papers. "Highness," Lord Hastings began, "for reasons of state which I lack time to explain, this document requires your signature. It is an order that a ship be despatched to ask the King's return. Your Highness may remember the pony you admired yesterday?" The Marquess smiled ingratiatingly. "Just here, your Highness--a crossmark." "The dappled one?" said the Regent; "and all for making a little mark?" The boy jumped for the pen. "Lionel," said the Queen, "you are Regent of England, but you are also my son. If you sign that paper you will beyond doubt get the pony, but you will not, I think, care to ride him. You will not care to sit down at all, Lionel." The Regent considered. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said in the ultimate, "but I do not like ponies any more. Do I sign here, Mother?" Philippa handed the Marquess a subscribed order to muster the English forces at Blackheath; then another, closing the English ports. "My lords," the Queen said, "this boy is the King's vicar. In defying him, you defy the King. Yes, Lionel, you have fairly earned a pot of jam for supper." Then Hastings went away without speaking. That night assembled at his lodgings, by appointment, Viscount Heringaud, Adam Frere, the Marquess of Orme, Lord Stourton, the Earls of Neville and Gage, and Sir Thomas Rokeby. These seven found a long table there littered with pens and parchment; to the rear of it, with a lackey behind him, sat the Marquess of Hastings, meditative over a cup of Bordeaux. Presently Hastings said: "My friends, in creating our womankind the Maker of us all was beyond doubt actuated by laudable and cogent reasons; so that I can merely lament my inability to fathom these reasons. I shall obey the Queen faithfully, since if I did otherwise Sire Edward would have my head off within a day of his return. In consequence, I do not consider it convenient to oppose his vicar. To-morrow I shall assemble the tatters of troops which remain to us, and to-morrow we march northward to inevitable defeat. To-night I am sending a courier into Northumberland. He is an obliging person, and would convey--to cite an instance--eight letters quite as blithely as one." Each man glanced furtively about. England was in a panic by this, and knew itself to lie before the Bruce defenceless. The all-powerful Countess of Salisbury had compounded with King David; now Hastings, too, their generalissimo, compounded. What the devil! loyalty was a sonorous word, and so was patriotism, but, after all, one had estates in the north. The seven wrote in silence. I must tell you that when they had ended, Hastings gathered the letters into a heap, and without glancing at the superscriptures, handed all these letters to the attendant lackey. "For the courier," he said. The fellow left the apartment. Presently you heard a departing clatter of hoofs, and Hastings rose. He was a gaunt, terrible old man, gray-bearded, and having high eyebrows that twitched and jerked. "We have saved our precious skins," said he. "Hey, you fidgeters, you ferments of sour offal! I commend your common-sense, messieurs, and I request you to withdraw. Even a damned rogue such as I has need of a cleaner atmosphere in order to breathe comfortably." The seven went away without further speech. They narrate that next day the troops marched for Durham, where the Queen took up her quarters. The Bruce had pillaged and burned his way to a place called Beaurepair, within three miles of the city. He sent word to the Queen that if her men were willing to come forth from the town he would abide and give them battle. She replied that she accepted his offer, and that the barons would gladly risk their lives for the realm of their lord the King. The Bruce grinned and kept silence, since he had in his pocket letters from most of them protesting they would do nothing of the sort. Here is comedy. On one side you have a horde of half-naked savages, a shrewd master holding them in leash till the moment be auspicious; on the other, a housewife at the head of a tiny force lieutenanted by perjurers, by men already purchased. God knows what dreams she had of miraculous victories, while her barons trafficked in secret with the Bruce. It is recorded that, on the Saturday before Michaelmas, when the opposing armies marshalled in the Bishop's Park, at Auckland, not a captain on either side believed the day to be pregnant with battle. There would be a decent counterfeit of resistance; afterward the little English army would vanish pell-mell, and the Bruce would be master of the island. The farce was prearranged, the actors therein were letter-perfect. That morning at daybreak John Copeland came to the Queen's tent, and informed her quite explicitly how matters stood. He had been drinking overnight with Adam Frere and the Earl of Gage, and after the third bottle had found them candid. "Madame and Queen, we are betrayed. The Marquess of Hastings, our commander, is inexplicably smitten with a fever. He will not fight to-day. Not one of your lords will fight to-day." Master Copeland laid bare such part of the scheme as yesterday's conviviality had made familiar. "Therefore I counsel retreat. Let the King be summoned out of France." Queen Philippa shook her head, as she cut up squares of toast and dipped them in milk for the Regent's breakfast. "Sire Edward would be vexed. He has always wanted to conquer France. I shall visit the Marquess as soon as Lionel is fed,--do you know, John Copeland, I am anxious about Lionel; he is irritable and coughed five times during the night,--and then I will attend to this affair." She found the Marquess in bed, groaning, the coverlet pulled up to his chin. "Pardon, Highness," said Lord Hastings, "but I am an ill man. I cannot rise from this couch." "I do not question the gravity of your disorder," the Queen retorted, "since it is well known that the same illness brought about the death of Iscariot. Nevertheless, I bid you get up and lead our troops against the Scot." Now the hand of the Marquess veiled his countenance. "I am an ill man," he muttered, doggedly. "I cannot rise from this couch." There was a silence. "My lord," the Queen presently began, "without is an army prepared--yes, and quite able--to defend our England. The one requirement of this army is a leader. Afford them that, my lord--ah, I know that our peers are sold to the Bruce, yet our yeomen at least are honest. Give them, then, a leader, and they cannot but conquer, since God also is honest and incorruptible. Pardieu! a woman might lead these men, and lead them to victory!" Hastings answered: "I am ill. I cannot rise from this couch." "There is no man left in England," said the Queen, "since Sire Edward went into France. Praise God, I am his wife!" She went away without flurry. Through the tent-flap Hastings beheld all that which followed. The English force was marshalled in four divisions, each commanded by a bishop and a baron. You could see the men fidgeting, puzzled by the delay; as a wind goes about a corn-field, vague rumors were going about those wavering spears. Toward them rode Philippa, upon a white palfrey, alone and perfectly tranquil. Her eight lieutenants were now gathered about her in voluble protestation, and she heard them out. Afterward she spoke, without any particular violence, as one might order a strange cur from his room. Then the Queen rode on, as though these eight declaiming persons had ceased to be of interest. She reined up before her standard-bearer, and took the standard in her hand. She began again to speak, and immediately the army was in an uproar; the barons were clustering behind her, in stealthy groups of two or three whisperers each; all were in the greatest amazement and knew not what to do; but the army was shouting the Queen's name. "Now is England shamed," said Hastings, "since a woman alone dares to encounter the Scot. She will lead them into battle--and by God! there is no braver person under heaven than yonder Dutch Frau! Friend David, I perceive that your venture is lost, for those men would follow her to storm hell if she desired it." He meditated, and shrugged. "And so would I," said Hastings. A little afterward a gaunt and haggard old man, bareheaded and very hastily dressed, reined his horse by the Queen's side. "Madame and Queen," said Hastings, "I rejoice that my recent illness is departed. I shall, by God's grace, on this day drive the Bruce from England." Philippa was not given to verbiage. Doubtless she had her emotions, but none was visible upon the honest face. She rested one plump hand upon the big-veined hand of Hastings. That was all. "I welcome back the gallant gentleman of yesterday. I was about to lead your army, my friend, since there was no one else to do it, but I was hideously afraid. At bottom every woman is a coward." "You were afraid to do it," said the Marquess, "but you were going to do it, because there was no one else to do it! Ho, madame! had I an army of such cowards I would drive the Scot not past the Border but beyond the Orkneys." The Queen then said, "But you are unarmed." "Highness," he replied, "it is surely apparent that I, who have played the traitor to two monarchs within the same day, cannot with either decency or comfort survive that day." He turned upon the lords and bishops twittering about his horse's tail. "You merchandise, get back to your stations, and if there was ever an honest woman in any of your families, the which I doubt, contrive to get yourselves killed this day, as I mean to do, in the cause of the honestest and bravest woman our time has known." Immediately the English forces marched toward Merrington. Philippa returned to her pavilion and inquired for John Copeland. She was informed that he had ridden off, armed, in company with five of her immediate retainers. She considered this strange, but made no comment. You picture her, perhaps, as spending the morning in prayer, in beatings upon her breast, and in lamentations. Philippa did nothing of the sort. She considered her cause to be so clamantly just that to expatiate to the Holy Father upon its merits would be an impertinence; it was not conceivable that He would fail her; and in any event, she had in hand a deal of sewing which required immediate attention. Accordingly she settled down to her needlework, while the Regent of England leaned his head against her knee, and his mother told him that ageless tale of Lord Huon, who in a wood near Babylon encountered the King of Faëry, and subsequently bereaved an atrocious Emir of his beard and daughter. All this the industrious woman narrated in a low and pleasant voice, while the wide-eyed Regent attended and at the proper intervals gulped his cough-mixture. You must know that about noon Master John Copeland came into the tent. "We have conquered," he said. "Now, by the Face!"--thus, scoffingly, he used her husband's favorite oath,--"now, by the Face! there was never a victory more complete! The Scottish army is fled, it is as utterly dispersed from man's seeing as are the sands which dried the letters King Ahasuerus gave the admirable Esther!" "I rejoice," the Queen said, looking up from her sewing, "that we have conquered, though in nature I expected nothing else--Oh, horrible!" She sprang to her feet with a cry of anguish. Here in little you have the entire woman; the victory of her armament was to her a thing of course, since her cause was just, whereas the loss of two front teeth by John Copeland was a calamity. He drew her toward the tent-flap, which he opened. Without was a mounted knight, in full panoply, his arms bound behind him, surrounded by the Queen's five retainers. "In the rout I took him," said John Copeland; "though, as my mouth witnesses, I did not find this David Bruce a tractable prisoner." "Is that, then, the King of Scots?" Philippa demanded, as she mixed salt and water for a mouthwash. "Sire Edward should be pleased, I think. Will he not love me a little now, John Copeland?" John Copeland lifted both plump hands toward his lips. "He could not choose," John Copeland said; "madame, he could no more choose but love you than I could choose." Philippa sighed. Afterward she bade John Copeland rinse his gums and then take his prisoner to Hastings. He told her the Marquess was dead, slain by the Knight of Liddesdale. "That is a pity," the Queen said. She reflected a while, reached her decision. "There is left alive in England but one man to whom I dare entrust the keeping of the King of Scots. My barons are sold to him; if I retain Messire David by me, one or another lord will engineer his escape within the week, and Sire Edward will be vexed. Yet listen, John--" She unfolded her plan. "I have long known," he said, when she had done, "that in all the world there was no lady more lovable. Twenty years I have loved you, my Queen, and yet it is only to-day I perceive that in all the world there is no lady more wise than you." Philippa touched his cheek, maternally. "Foolish boy! You tell me the King of Scots has an arrow-wound in his nose? I think a bread poultice would be best." She told him how to make this poultice, and gave other instructions. Then John Copeland left the tent and presently rode away with his company. Philippa saw that the Regent had his dinner, and afterward mounted her white palfrey and set out for the battle-field. There the Earl of Neville, as second in command, received her with great courtesy. God had shown to her Majesty's servants most singular favor: despite the calculations of reasonable men,--to which, she might remember, he had that morning taken the liberty to assent,--some fifteen thousand Scots were slain. True, her gallant general was no longer extant, though this was scarcely astounding when one considered the fact that he had voluntarily entered the mêlée quite unarmed. A touch of age, perhaps; Hastings was always an eccentric man: in any event, as epilogue, this Neville congratulated the Queen that--by blind luck, he was forced to concede,--her worthy secretary had made a prisoner of the Scottish King. Doubtless, Master Copeland was an estimable scribe, and yet--Ah, yes, Lord Neville quite followed her Majesty--beyond doubt, the wardage of a king was an honor not lightly to be conferred. Oh, yes, he understood; her Majesty desired that the office should be given some person of rank. And pardie! her Majesty was in the right. Eh? said the Earl of Neville. Intently gazing into the man's shallow eyes, Philippa assented. Master Copeland had acted unwarrantably in riding off with his captive. Let him be sought at once. She dictated to Neville's secretary a letter, which informed John Copeland that he had done what was not agreeable in purloining her prisoner. Let him without delay deliver the King to her good friend the Earl of Neville. To Neville this was satisfactory, since he intended that once in his possession David Bruce should escape forthwith. The letter, I repeat, suited this smirking gentleman in its tiniest syllable, and the single difficulty was to convey it to John Copeland, for as to his whereabouts neither Neville nor any one else had the least notion. This was immaterial, however, for they narrate that next day a letter signed with John Copeland's name was found pinned to the front of Neville's tent. I cite a passage therefrom: "I will not give up my royal prisoner to a woman or a child, but only to my own lord, Sire Edward, for to him I have sworn allegiance, and not to any woman. Yet you may tell the Queen she may depend on my taking excellent care of King David. I have poulticed his nose, as she directed." Here was a nonplus, not without its comical side. Two great realms had met in battle, and the king of one of them had vanished like a soap-bubble. Philippa was in a rage,--you could see that both by her demeanor and by the indignant letters she dictated; true, none of these letters could be delivered, since they were all addressed to John Copeland. Meanwhile, Scotland was in despair, whereas the traitor English barons were in a frenzy, because they did not know what had become of their fatal letters to the Bruce, or of him either. The circumstances were unique, and they remained unchanged for three feverish weeks. We will now return to affairs in France, where on the day of the Nativity, as night gathered about Calais, John Copeland came unheralded to the quarters of King Edward, then besieging that city. Master Copeland entreated audience, and got it readily enough, since there was no man alive whom Sire Edward more cordially desired to lay his fingers upon. A page brought Master Copeland to the King, that stupendous, blond and incredibly big person. With Sire Edward were that careful Italian, Almerigo di Pavia, who afterward betrayed Sire Edward, and a lean soldier whom Master Copeland recognized as John Chandos. These three were drawing up an account of the recent victory at Créçi, to be forwarded to all mayors and sheriffs in England, with a cogent postscript as to the King's incidental and immediate need of money. Now King Edward sat leaning far back in his chair, a hand on either hip, and with his eyes narrowing as he regarded Master Copeland. Had the Brabanter flinched, the King would probably have hanged him within the next ten minutes; finding his gaze unwavering, the King was pleased. Here was a novelty; most people blinked quite honestly under the scrutiny of those fierce big eyes, which were blue and cold and of an astounding lustre. The lid of the left eye drooped a little: this was Count Manuel's legacy, they whispered. The King rose with a jerk and took John Copeland's hand. "Ha!" he grunted, "I welcome the squire who by his valor has captured the King of Scots. And now, my man, what have you done with Davie?" John Copeland answered: "Highness, you may find him at your convenience safely locked in Bamborough Castle. Meanwhile, I entreat you, sire, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender King David to the orders of my lady Queen, for I hold my lands of you, and not of her, and my oath is to you, and not to her, unless indeed by choice." "John," the King sternly replied, "the loyal service you have done us is considerable, whereas your excuse for kidnapping Davie is a farce. Hey, Almerigo, do you and Chandos avoid the chamber! I have something in private with this fellow." When they had gone, the King sat down and composedly said, "Now tell me the truth, John Copeland." "Sire," Copeland began, "it is necessary you first understand I bear a letter from Madame Philippa--" "Then read it," said the King. "Heart of God! have I an eternity to waste on you slow-dealing Brabanters!" John Copeland read aloud, while the King trifled with a pen, half negligent, and in part attendant. Read John Copeland: "My DEAR LORD,--_recommend me to your lordship with soul and body and all my poor might, and with all this I thank you, as my dear lord, dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords I protest to me, and thank you, my dear lord, with all this as I say before. Your comfortable letter came to me on Saint Gregory's day, and I was never so glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough in Ponthieu by the grace of God for to keep you from your enemies. Among them I estimate Madame Catherine de Salisbury, who would have betrayed you to the Scot. And, dear lord, if it be pleasing to your high lordship that as soon as ye may that I might hear of your gracious speed, which may God Almighty continue and increase, I shall be glad, and also if ye do continue each night to chafe your feet with a rag of woollen stuff, as your physician directed. And, my dear lord, if it like you for to know of my fare, John Copeland will acquaint you concerning the Bruce his capture, and the syrup he brings for our son Lord Edward's cough, and the great malice-workers in these shires which would have so despitefully wrought to you, and of the manner of taking it after each meal. I am lately informed that Madame Catherine is now at Stirling with Robert Stewart and has lost all her good looks through a fever. God is invariably gracious to His servants. Farewell, my dear lord, and may the Holy Trinity keep you from your adversaries and ever send me comfortable tidings of you. Written at York, in the Castle, on Saint Gregory's day last past, by your own poor_ "PHILIPPA. _"To my true lord."_ "H'm!" said the King; "and now give me the entire story." John Copeland obeyed. I must tell you that early in the narrative King Edward arose and strode toward a window. "Catherine!" he said. He remained motionless while Master Copeland went on without any manifest emotion. When he had ended, King Edward said, "And where is Madame de Salisbury now?" At this the Brabanter went mad. As a leopard springs he leaped upon the King, and grasping him by each shoulder, shook that monarch as one punishing a child. "Now by the splendor of God--!" King Edward began, very terrible in his wrath. He saw that John Copeland held a dagger to his breast, and he shrugged. "Well, my man, you perceive I am defenceless." "First you will hear me out," John Copeland said. "It would appear," the King retorted, "that I have little choice." At this time John Copeland began: "Sire, you are the mightiest monarch your race has known. England is yours, France is yours, conquered Scotland lies prostrate at your feet. To-day there is no other man in all the world who possesses a tithe of your glory; yet twenty years ago Madame Philippa first beheld you and loved you, an outcast, an exiled, empty-pocketed prince. Twenty years ago the love of Madame Philippa, great Count William's daughter, got for you the armament with which England was regained. Twenty years ago but for Madame Philippa you had died naked in some ditch." "Go on," the King said presently. "Afterward you took a fancy to reign in France. You learned then that we Brabanters are a frugal people: Madame Philippa was wealthy when she married you, and twenty years had quadrupled her private fortune. She gave you every penny of it that you might fit out this expedition; now her very crown is in pawn at Ghent. In fine, the love of Madame Philippa gave you France as lightly as one might bestow a toy upon a child who whined for it." The King fiercely said, "Go on." "Eh, sire, I intend to. You left England undefended that you might posture a little in the eyes of Europe. And meanwhile a woman preserves England, a woman gives you Scotland as a gift, and in return asks nothing--God have mercy on us!--save that you nightly chafe your feet with a bit of woollen. You hear of it--and inquire, '_Where is Madame de Salisbury?_' Here beyond doubt is the cock of Aesop's fable," snarled John Copeland, "who unearthed a gem and grumbled that his diamond was not a grain of corn." "You shall be hanged at dawn," the King replied. "Meanwhile spit out your venom." "I say to you, then," John Copeland continued, "that to-day you are master of Europe. I say to you that, but for this woman whom for twenty years you have neglected, you would to-day be mouldering in some pauper's grave. Eh, without question, you most magnanimously loved that shrew of Salisbury! because you fancied the color of her eyes, Sire Edward, and admired the angle between her nose and her forehead. Minstrels unborn will sing of this great love of yours. Meantime I say to you"--now the man's rage was monstrous--"I say to you, go home to your too-tedious wife, the source of all your glory! sit at her feet! and let her teach you what love is!" He flung away the dagger. "There you have the truth. Now summon your attendants, my très beau sire, and have me hanged." The King made no movement. "You have been bold--" he said at last. "But you have been far bolder, sire. For twenty years you have dared to flout that love which is God's noblest heritage to His children." King Edward sat in meditation for a long while. The squinting of his left eye was now very noticeable. "I consider my wife's clerk," he drily said, "to discourse of love in somewhat too much the tone of a lover." And a flush was his reward. But when this Copeland spoke he was like one transfigured. His voice was grave and very tender, and he said: "As the fish have their life in the waters, so I have and always shall have mine in love. Love made me choose and dare to emulate a lady, long ago, through whom I live contented, without expecting any other good. Her purity is so inestimable that I cannot say whether I derive more pride or sorrow from its preeminence. She does not love me, and she will never love me. She would condemn me to be hewed in fragments sooner than permit her husband's finger to be injured. Yet she surpasses all others so utterly that I would rather hunger in her presence than enjoy from another all which a lover can devise." Sire Edward stroked the table through this while, with an inverted pen. He cleared his throat. He said, half-fretfully: "Now, by the Face! it is not given every man to love precisely in this troubadourish fashion. Even the most generous person cannot render to love any more than that person happens to possess. I have read in an old tale how the devil sat upon a cathedral spire and white doves flew about him. Monks came and told him to begone. 'Do not the spires show you, O son of darkness' they clamored, 'that the place is holy?' And Satan (in this old tale) replied that these spires were capable of various interpretations. I speak of symbols, John. Yet I also have loved, in my own fashion,--and, it would seem, I win the same reward as you." The King said more lately: "And so she is at Stirling now? hobnob with my armed enemies, and cajoling that red lecher Robert Stewart?" He laughed, not overpleasantly. "Eh, yes, it needed a bold person to bring all your tidings! But you Brabanters are a very thorough-going people." The King rose and flung back his high head. "John, the loyal service you have done us and our esteem for your valor are so great that they may well serve you as an excuse. May shame fall on those who bear you any ill-will! You will now return home, and take your prisoner, the King of Scotland, and deliver him to my wife, to do with as she may elect. You will convey to her my entreaty--not my orders, John,--that she come to me here at Calais. As remuneration for this evening's insolence, I assign lands as near your house as you can choose them to the value of £500 a year for you and for your heirs." You must know that John Copeland fell upon his knees before King Edward. "Sire--" he stammered. But the King raised him. "No, no," he said, "you are the better man. Were there any equity in fate, John Copeland, your lady had loved you, not me. As it is, I must strive to prove not altogether unworthy of my fortune. But I make no large promises," he added, squinting horribly, "because the most generous person cannot render to love any more than that person happens to possess. So be off with you, John Copeland,--go, my squire, and bring me back my Queen!" Presently he heard John Copeland singing without. And through that instant, they say, his youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and all the scents and shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on that ancient night when a tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in her haste to bring him kingship. "She waddles now," he thought forlornly. "Still, I am blessed." But Copeland sang, and the Brabanter's heart was big with joy. Sang John Copeland: "Long I besought thee, nor vainly, Daughter of Water and Air-- Charis! Idalia! Hortensis! Hast thou not heard the prayer, When the blood stood still with loving, And the blood in me leapt like wine, And I cried on thy name, Melaenis?-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine! "Falsely they tell of thy dying, Thou that art older than Death, And never the Hörselberg hid thee, Whatever the slanderer saith, For the stars are as heralds forerunning, When laughter and love combine At twilight, in thy light, Melaenis-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!" THE END OF THE FIFTH NOVEL VI THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS "Je suis voix au désert criant Que chascun soyt rectifiant La voye de Sauveur; non suis, Et accomplir je ne le puis." THE SIXTH NOVEL.--ANNE OF BOHEMIA HAS ONE SOLE FRIEND, AND BY HIM PLAYS THE FRIEND'S PART; AND IN DOING SO ACHIEVES THEIR COMMON ANGUISH, AS WELL AS THE CONFUSION OF STATECRAFT AND THE POULTICING OF A GREAT DISEASE. _The Story of the Satraps_ In the year of grace 1381 (Nicolas begins) was Dame Anne magnificently fetched from remote Bohemia, and at Westminster married to Sire Richard, the second monarch of that name to reign in England. This king, I must tell you, had succeeded while he was yet an infant, to the throne of his grandfather, the third King Edward, about whom I have told you in the story preceding this. Queen Anne had presently noted a certain priest who went forbiddingly about her court, where he was accorded a provisional courtesy, and who went also into many hovels, where pitiable wrecks of humankind received his alms and ministrations. Queen Anne made inquiries. This young cleric was amanuensis to the Duke of Gloucester, she learned, and was notoriously a by-blow of the Duke's brother, dead Lionel of Clarence. She sent for this Edward Maudelain. When he came her first perception was, "How wonderful is his likeness to the King!" while the thought's commentary ran, unacknowledged, "Yes, as an eagle resembles a falcon!" For here, to the observant eye, was a more zealous person, already passion-wasted, and a far more dictatorial and stiff-necked person than the lazy and amiable King; also, this Maudelain's face and nose were somewhat too long and high: the priest was, in a word, the less comely of the pair by a very little, and to an immeasurable extent the more kinglike. "You are my cousin now, messire," the Queen told him, and innocently offered to his lips her own. He never moved; but their glances crossed, and for that instant she saw the face of a man who has just stepped into a quicksand. She grew red, without knowing why. Then he spoke, composedly, of trivial matters. Thus began the Queen's acquaintance with Edward Maudelain. She was by this time the loneliest woman in the island. Her husband granted her a bright and fresh perfection of form and color, but desiderated any appetizing tang, and lamented, in his phrase, a certain kinship to the impeccable loveliness of some female saint in a jaunty tapestry; bright as ice in sunshine, just so her beauty chilled you, he complained: moreover, this daughter of the Caesars had been fetched into England, chiefly, to breed him children, and this she had never done. Undoubtedly he had made a bad bargain,--he was too easy-going, people presumed upon it. His barons snatched their cue and esteemed Dame Anne to be negligible; whereas the clergy, finding that she obstinately read the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue, under the irrelevant plea of not comprehending Latin, began to denounce her from their pulpits as a heretic and as the evil woman prophesied by Ezekiel. It was the nature of this desolate child to crave affection, as a necessary, and pitifully she tried to purchase it through almsgiving. In the attempt she could have found no coadjutor more ready than Edward Maudelain. Giving was with these two a sort of obsession, though always he gave in a half scorn of his fellow creatures which was not more than half concealed. This bastard was charitable and pious because he knew his soul, conceived in double sin, to be doubly evil, and therefore doubly in need of redemption through good works. Now in and about the Queen's lonely rooms the woman and the priest met daily to discuss now this or that point of theology, or now (to cite a single instance) Gammer Tudway's obstinate sciatica. Considerate persons found something of the pathetic in their preoccupation by these matters while, so clamantly, the dissension between the young King and his uncles gathered to a head. The King's uncles meant to continue governing England, with the King as their ward, as long as they could; he meant to relieve himself of this guardianship, and them of their heads, as soon as he was able. War seemed inevitable, the air was thick with portents; and was this, then, an appropriate time, the judicious demanded of high Heaven, for the Queen of imperilled England to concern herself about a peasant's toothache? Long afterward was Edward Maudelain to remember this quiet and amiable period of his life, and to wonder over the man that he had been through this queer while. Embittered and suspicious she had found him, noted for the carping tongue he lacked both power and inclination to bridle; and she had, against his nature, made Maudelain see that every person is at bottom lovable, and that human vices are but the stains of a traveller midway in a dusty journey; and had incited the priest no longer to do good for his soul's health, but simply for his fellow's benefit. In place of that monstrous passion which had at first view of her possessed the priest, now, like a sheltered taper, glowed an adoration which made him yearn, in defiance of common-sense, to suffer somehow for this beautiful and gracious comrade; though very often pity for her loneliness and knowledge that she dared trust no one save him would throttle Maudelain like two assassins, and would move the hot-blooded young man to a rapture of self-contempt and exultation. Now Maudelain made excellent songs, it was a matter of common report. Yet but once in their close friendship did the Queen command him to make a song for her. This had been at Dover, about vespers, in the starved and tiny garden overlooking the English Channel, upon which her apartments faced; and the priest had fingered his lute for an appreciable while before he sang, more harshly than was his custom. Sang Maudelain: "Ave Maria! now cry we so That see night wake and daylight go. "Mother and Maid, in nothing incomplete, This night that gathers is more light and fleet Than twilight trod alway with stumbling feet, Agentes semper uno animo. "Ever we touch the prize we dare not take! Ever we know that thirst we dare not slake! Yet ever to a dreamed-of goal we make-- Est tui coeli in palatio! "Long, long the road, and set with many a snare; And to how small sure knowledge are we heir That blindly tread, with twilight everywhere! Volo in toto; sed non valeo! "Long, long the road, and very frail are we That may not lightly curb mortality, Nor lightly tread together steadfastly, Et parvum carmen unum facio: "Mater, ora filium, Ut post hoc exilium Nobis donet gaudium Beatorum omnium!" Dame Anne had risen. She said nothing. She stayed in this posture for a lengthy while, one hand yet clasping each breast. Then she laughed, and began to speak of Long Simon's recent fever. Was there no method of establishing him in another cottage? No, the priest said, the peasants, like the cattle, were always deeded with the land, and Simon could not lawfully be taken away from his owner. One day, about the hour of prime, in that season of the year when fields smell of young grass, the Duke of Gloucester sent for Edward Maudelain. The court was then at Windsor. The priest came quickly to his patron. He found the Duke in company with the King's other uncle Edmund of York and bland Harry of Derby, who was John of Gaunt's oldest son, and in consequence the King's cousin. Each was a proud and handsome man: Derby alone (who was afterward King of England) had inherited the squint that distinguished this family. To-day Gloucester was gnawing at his finger nails, big York seemed half-asleep, and the Earl of Derby appeared patiently to await something as yet ineffably remote. "Sit down!" snarled Gloucester. His lean and evil countenance was that of a tired devil. The priest obeyed, wondering that so high an honor should be accorded him in the view of three great noblemen. Then Gloucester said, in his sharp way: "Edward, you know, as England knows, the King's intention toward us three and our adherents. It has come to our demolishment or his. I confess a preference in the matter. I have consulted with the Pope concerning the advisability of taking the crown into my own hands. Edmund here does not want it, and my brother John is already achieving one in Spain. Eh, in imagination I was already King of England, and I had dreamed--Well! to-day the prosaic courier arrived. Urban--the Neapolitan swine!--dares give me no assistance. It is decreed I shall never reign in these islands. And I had dreamed--Meanwhile, de Vere and de la Pole are at the King day and night, urging revolt. As matters go, within a week or two, the three heads before you will be embellishing Temple Bar. You, of course, they will only hang." "We must avoid England, then, my noble patron," the priest considered. Angrily the Duke struck a clenched fist upon the table. "By the Cross! we remain in England, you and I and all of us. Others avoid. The Pope and the Emperor will have none of me. They plead for the Black Prince's heir, for the legitimate heir. Dompnedex! they shall have him!" Maudelain recoiled, for he thought this twitching man insane. "Besides, the King intends to take from me my fief at Sudbury," said the Duke of York, "in order to give it to de Vere. That is both absurd and monstrous and abominable." Openly Gloucester sneered. "Listen!" he rapped out toward Maudelain; "when they were drawing up the Great Peace at Brétigny, it happened, as is notorious, that the Black Prince, my brother, wooed in this town the Demoiselle Alixe Riczi, whom in the outcome he abducted. It is not so generally known, however, that, finding this sister of the Vicomte de Montbrison a girl of obdurate virtue, my brother had prefaced the action by marriage." "And what have I to do with all this?" said Edward Maudelain. Gloucester retorted: "More than you think. For this Alixe was conveyed to Chertsey, here in England, where at the year's end she died in childbirth. A little before this time had Sir Thomas Holland seen his last day,--the husband of that Joane of Kent whom throughout life my brother loved most marvellously. The disposition of the late Queen-Mother is tolerably well known. I make no comment save that to her moulding my brother was as so much wax. In fine, the two lovers were presently married, and their son reigns to-day in England. The abandoned son of Alixe Riczi was reared by the Cistercians at Chertsey, where some years ago I found you." He spoke with a stifled voice, wrenching forth each sentence; and now with a stiff forefinger flipped a paper across the table. "_In extremis_ my brother did more than confess. He signed,--your Majesty," said Gloucester. The Duke on a sudden flung out his hands, like a wizard whose necromancy fails, and the palms were bloodied where his nails had cut the flesh. "Moreover, my daughter was born at Sudbury," said the Duke of York. And of Maudelain's face I cannot tell you. He made pretence to read the paper carefully, but his eyes roved, and he knew that he stood among wolves. The room was oddly shaped, with eight equal sides: the ceiling was of a light and brilliant blue, powdered with many golden stars, and the walls were hung with smart tapestries which commemorated the exploits of Theseus. "Then I am King," this Maudelain said aloud, "of France and England, and Lord of Ireland, and Duke of Aquitaine! I perceive that Heaven loves a jest." He wheeled upon Gloucester and spoke with singular irrelevance, "And what is to be done with the present Queen?" Again the Duke shrugged. "I had not thought of the dumb wench. We have many convents." Now Maudelain twisted the paper between his long, wet fingers and appeared to meditate. "It would be advisable, your Grace," observed the Earl of Derby, suavely, and breaking his silence for the first time, "that you yourself should wed Dame Anne, once the Apostolic See has granted the necessary dispensation. Treading too close upon the fighting requisite to bring about the dethronement and death of our nominal lord the so-called King, a war with Bohemia, which would be only too apt to follow this noble lady's assassination, would be highly inconvenient, and, lacking that, we would have to pay back her dowry." Then these three princes rose and knelt before the priest; they were clad in long bright garments, and they glittered with gold and many jewels. He standing among them shuddered in his sombre robe. "Hail, King of England!" cried these three. "Hail, ye that are my kinsmen!" he answered; "hail, ye that spring of an accursed race, as I! And woe to England for that hour wherein Manuel of Poictesme held traffic with the Sorceress of Provence, and the devil's son begot an heir for England! Of ice and of lust and of hell-fire are all we sprung; old records attest it; and fickle and cold and ravenous and without shame are all our race until the end. Of your brother's dishonor ye make merchandise to-day, and to-day fratricide whispers me, and leers, and, Heaven help me! I attend. O God of Gods! wilt Thou dare bid a man live stainless, having aforetime filled his veins with such a venom? Then haro, will I cry from Thy deepest hell.... Oh, now let the adulterous Redeemer of Poictesme rejoice in his tall fires, to note that his descendants know of what wood to make a crutch! You are very wise, my kinsmen. Take your measures, messieurs who are my kinsmen! Though were I of any other race, with what expedition would I now kill you, I that recognize within me the strength to do it! Then would I slay you! without any animosity, would I slay you then, just as I would kill as many splendid snakes!" He went away, laughing horribly. Gloucester drummed upon the table, his brows contracted. But the lean Duke said nothing; big York seemed to drowse; and Henry of Derby smiled as he sounded a gong for that scribe who would draw up the necessary letters. The Earl's time was not yet come, but it was nearing. In the antechamber the priest encountered two men-at-arms dragging a dead body from the castle. The Duke of Kent, Maudelain was informed, had taken a fancy to a peasant girl, and in remonstrance her misguided father had actually tugged at his Grace's sleeve. Maudelain went into the park of Windsor, where he walked for a long while alone. It was a fine day in the middle spring; and now he seemed to understand for the first time how fair was his England. For all England was his fief, held in vassalage to God and to no man alive, his heart now sang; allwhither his empire spread, opulent in grain and metal and every revenue of the earth, and in stalwart men (his chattels), and in strong orderly cities, where the windows would be adorned with scarlet hangings, and women (with golden hair and red lax lips) would presently admire as King Edward rode slowly by at the head of a resplendent retinue. And always the King would bow, graciously and without haste, to his shouting people.... He laughed to find himself already at rehearsal of the gesture. It was strange, though, that in this glorious fief of his so many persons should, as yet, live day by day as cattle live, suspicious of all other moving things (with reason), and roused from their incurious and filthy apathy only when some glittering baron, like a resistless eagle, swept uncomfortably near as he passed on some by-errand of the more bright and windy upper-world. East and north they had gone yearly, for so many centuries, these dumb peasants, to fight out their master's uncomprehended quarrel, and to manure with their carcasses the soil of France and of Scotland. Give these serfs a king, now, who (being absolute), might dare to deal in perfect equity with rich and poor, who with his advent would bring Peace into England as his bride, as Trygaeus did very anciently in Athens--"And then," the priest paraphrased, "may England recover all the blessings she has lost, and everywhere the glitter of active steel will cease." For everywhere men would crack a rustic jest or two, unhurriedly. Virid fields would heave brownly under their ploughs; they would find that with practice it was almost as easy to chuckle as it was to cringe. Meanwhile on every side the nobles tyrannized in their degree, well clothed and nourished, but at bottom equally comfortless in condition. As illuminate by lightning Maudelain saw the many factions of his barons squabbling for gross pleasures, like wolves over a corpse, and blindly dealing death to one another to secure at least one more delicious gulp before that inevitable mangling by the teeth of some burlier colleague. The complete misery of England showed before Maudelain like a winter landscape. The thing was questionless. He must tread henceforward without fear among frenzied beasts, and to their ultimate welfare. On a sudden Maudelain knew himself to be invincible and fine, and hesitancy ebbed. True, Richard, poor fool, must die. Squarely the priest faced that stark and hideous circumstance; to spare Richard was beyond his power, and the boy was his brother; yes, this oncoming King Edward would be a fratricide, and after death would be irrevocably damned. To burn, and eternally to burn, and, worst of all, to know that the torment was eternal! ay, it would be hard; but, at the cost of Richard's ignoble life and of Edward's inconsiderable soul, to win so many men to manhood was not a bargain to be refused. The tale tells that Maudelain went toward the little garden which adjoined Dame Anne's apartments. He found the Queen there, alone, as nowadays she was for the most part, and he paused to wonder at her bright and singular beauty. How vaguely odd was this beauty, he reflected, too; how alien in its effect to that of any other woman in sturdy England, and how associable it was, somehow, with every wild and gracious denizen of the woods which blossomed yonder. In this place the world was all sunlight, temperate but undiluted. They had met in a wide, unshaded plot of grass, too short to ripple, which everywhere glowed steadily, like a gem. Right and left, birds sang as if in a contest. The sky was cloudless, a faint and radiant blue throughout, save where the sun stayed as yet in the zenith, so that the Queen's brows cast honey-colored shadows upon either cheek. The priest was greatly troubled by the proud and heatless brilliancies, the shrill joys, of every object within the radius of his senses. She was splendidly clothed, in a kirtle of very bright green, tinted like the verdancy of young ferns in sunlight, and wore over all a gown of white, cut open on each side as far as the hips. This garment was embroidered with golden leopards and was trimmed with ermine. About her yellow hair was a chaplet of gold, wherein emeralds glowed. Her blue eyes were as large and shining and changeable (he thought) as two oceans in midsummer; and Maudelain stood motionless and seemed to himself but to revere, as the Earl Ixion did, some bright unstable wisp of cloud, while somehow all elation departed from him as water does from a wetted sponge compressed. He laughed discordantly. "Wait--! O my only friend--!" said Maudelain. Then in a level voice he told her all, unhurriedly and without any apparent emotion. She had breathed once, with a deep inhalation. She had screened her countenance from his gaze the while you might have counted fifty. Presently she said: "This means more war, for de Vere and Tressilian and de la Pole and Bramber and others of the barons know that the King's fall signifies their ruin. Many thousands die to-morrow." He answered, "It means a war which will make me King of England, and will make you my wife." "In that war the nobles will ride abroad with banners and gay surcoats, and will kill and ravish in the pauses of their songs; while daily in that war the naked peasants will kill the one the other, without knowing why." His thought had forerun hers. "Yes, some must die, so that in the end I may be King, and the general happiness may rest at my disposal. The adventure of this world is wonderful, and it goes otherwise than under the strict tutelage of reason." "It would not be yours, but Gloucester's and his barons'. Friend, they would set you on the throne to be their puppet and to move only as they pulled the strings. Thwart them in their maraudings and they will fling you aside, as the barons have pulled down every king that dared oppose them. No, they desire to live pleasantly, to have fish on Fridays, and white bread and the finest wine the whole year through, and there is not enough for all, say they. Can you alone contend against them? and conquer them? for not unless you can do this may I dare bid you reign." The sun had grown too bright, too merciless, but as always she drew the truth from him. "I could not venture to oppose in anything the barons who supported my cause: for if I did, I would not endure a fortnight. Heaven help us, nor you nor I nor any one may transform through any personal force this bitter world, this piercing, cruel place of frost and sun. Charity and Truth are excommunicate, and a king is only an adorned and fearful person who leads wolves toward their quarry, lest, lacking it, they turn and devour him. Everywhere the powerful labor to put one another out of worship, and each to stand the higher with the other's corpse as his pedestal; and Lechery and Greed and Hatred sway these proud and inconsiderate fools as winds blow at will the gay leaves of autumn. We walk among shining vapors, we aspire to overpass a mountain of unstable sparkling sand! We two alone in all the scuffling world! Oh, it is horrible, and I think that Satan plans the jest! We dream for a while of refashioning this bright desolation, and know that we alone can do it! we are as demigods, you and I, in those gallant dreams! and at the end we can but poultice some dirty rascal!" The Queen answered sadly: "Once and only once did God tread this tangible world, for a very little while, and, look you, to what trivial matters He devoted that brief space! Only to chat with fishermen, and to talk with light women, and to consort with rascals, and at last to die between two cutpurses, ignominiously! If Christ Himself achieved so little that seemed great and admirable, how should we two hope to do any more?" He answered: "It is true. Of anise and of cumin the Master gets His tithe--" Maudelain broke off with a yapping laugh. "Puf! Heaven is wiser than we. I am King of England. It is my heritage." "It means war. Many will die, thousands will die, and to no betterment of affairs." "I am King of England. I am Heaven's satrap here, and answerable to Heaven alone. It is my heritage." And now his large and cruel eyes were aflame as he regarded her. And visibly beneath their glare the woman changed. "My friend, must I not love you any longer? You would be content with happiness? Then I am jealous of that happiness! for you are the one friend that I have had, and so dear to me--Look you!" she said, with a light, wistful laugh, "there have been times when I was afraid of everything you touched, and I hated everything you looked at. I would not have you stained; I desired to pass my whole life between the four walls of some dingy and eternal gaol, forever alone with you, lest you become like other men. I would in that period have been the very bread you eat, the least perfume which delights you, the clod you touch in crushing it, and I have often loathed some pleasure I derived from life because I might not transfer it to you undiminished. For I wanted somehow to make you happy to my own anguish.... It was wicked, I suppose, for the imagining of it made me happy, too." Now while he listened to this dear and tranquil speaking, Edward Maudelain's raised hands had fallen like so much lead, and remembering his own nature, he longed for annihilation, before she had appraised his vileness. He said: "With reason Augustine crieth out against the lust of the eyes. 'For pleasure seeketh objects beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savory, and soft; but this disease those contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering annoyance, but out of the lust of making trial of them!' Ah! ah! too curiously I planned my own damnation, too presumptuously I had esteemed my soul a worthy scapegoat, and I had gilded my enormity with many lies. Yet indeed, indeed, I had believed brave things, I had planned a not ignoble bargain--! Ey, say, is it not laughable, madame?--as my birth-right Heaven accords me a penny, and with that only penny I must presently be seeking to bribe Heaven." Then he said: "Yet are we indeed God's satraps, as but now I cried in my vainglory, and we hold within our palms the destiny of many peoples. Depardieux! God is wiser than we are. Still, Satan offers no unhandsome bribes--bribes that are tangible and sure. For Satan, too, is wiser than we are." They stood like effigies, lit by the broad, unsparing splendor of the morning, but again their kindling eyes had met, and again the man shuddered. "Decide! oh, decide very quickly, my only friend!" he said, "for throughout I am all filth!" Closer she drew to him, and laid one hand upon each shoulder. "O my only friend!" she breathed, with red lax lips which were very near to his, "through these six years I have ranked your friendship as the chief of all my honors! and I pray God with an entire heart that I may die so soon as I have done what I must do to-day!" Now Maudelain was trying to smile, but he could not quite manage it. "God save King Richard!" said the priest. "For by the cowardice and greed and ignorance of little men is Salomon himself confounded, and by them is Hercules lightly unhorsed. Were I Leviathan, whose bones were long ago picked clean by pismires, I could perform nothing against the will of many human pismires. Therefore do you pronounce my doom." "O King," then said Dame Anne, "I bid you go forever from the court and live forever a landless man, friendless, and without even any name. Otherwise, you can in no way escape being made an instrument to bring about the misery and death of many thousands. This doom I dare adjudge and to pronounce, because we are royal and God's satraps, you and I." Twice or thrice his dry lips moved before he spoke. He was aware of innumerable birds that carolled with a piercing and intolerable sweetness. "O Queen!" he hoarsely said, "O fellow satrap! Heaven has many fiefs. A fair province is wasted and accords to Heaven no revenue. So wastes beauty, and a shrewd wit, and an illimitable charity, which of their pride go in fetters and achieve no increase. To-day the young King junkets with his flatterers, and but rarely thinks of England. You have that beauty by which men are lightly conquered, and the mere sight of which may well cause a man's voice to tremble as my voice trembles now, and through desire of which--But I tread afield! Of that beauty you have made no profit. O daughter of the Caesars, I bid you now gird either loin for an unlovely traffic. Old Legion must be fought with fire. True that the age is sick, true that we may not cure, we can but salve the hurt--" His hand had torn open his sombre gown, and the man's bared breast shone in the sunlight, and on his breast heaved sleek and glittering beads of sweat. Twice he cried the Queen's name. In a while he said: "I bid you weave incessantly such snares of brain and body as may lure King Richard to be swayed by you, until against his will you daily guide this shallow-hearted fool to some commendable action. I bid you live as other folk do hereabouts. Coax! beg! cheat! wheedle! lie!" he barked like a teased dog, "and play the prostitute for him that wears my crown, till you achieve in part the task which is denied me. This doom I dare adjudge and to pronounce, because we are royal and God's satraps, you and I." She answered with a tiny, wordless sound. But presently, "I take my doom," the Queen proudly said. "I shall be lonely now, my only friend, and yet--it does not matter," the Queen said, with a little shiver. "No, nothing will ever greatly matter now, I think, now that I may not ever see you any more, my dearest." Her eyes had filled with tears; she was unhappy, and, as always, this knowledge roused in Maudelain a sort of frenzied pity and a hatred, quite illogical, of all other things existent. She was unhappy, that only he comprehended: and for her to be made unhappy was unjust. So he stood thus for an appreciable silence, staying motionless save that behind his back his fingers were bruising one another. Everywhere was this or that bright color and an incessant melody. It was unbearable. Then it was over; the ordered progress of all happenings was apparent, simple, and natural; and contentment came into his heart like a flight of linnets over level fields at dawn. He left her, and as he went he sang. Sang Maudelain: "Christ save us all, as well He can, A solis ortus cardine! For He is both God and man, Qui natus est de virgine, And we but part of His wide plan That sing, and heartily sing we, 'Gloria Tibi, Domine!' "Between a heifer and an ass Enixa est puerpera; In ragged woollen clad He was Qui régnât super aethera, And patiently may we then pass That sing, and heartily sing we, 'Gloria Tibi, Domine!'" The Queen shivered in the glad sunlight. "I am, it must be, pitiably weak," she said at last, "because I cannot sing as he does. And, since I am not very wise, were he to return even now--But he will not return. He will never return," the Queen repeated, carefully. "It is strange I cannot comprehend that he will never return! Ah, Mother of God!" she cried, with a steadier voice, "grant that I may weep! nay, of thy infinite mercy let me presently find the heart to weep!" And about the Queen of England many birds sang joyously. She sent for the King that evening, after supper, and they may well have talked of many matters, for he did not return to his own apartments that night. Next day the English barons held a council, and in the midst of it King Richard demanded to be told his age. "Your Grace is in your twenty-second year," said the uneasy Gloucester, who was now with reason troubled, since he had been vainly seeking everywhere for the evanished Maudelain. "Then I have been under tutors and governors longer than any other ward in my dominion. My lords, I thank you for your past services, but I need them no more." They had no check handy, and Gloucester in particular foreread his death-warrant, but of necessity he shouted with the others, "Hail, King of England!" That afternoon the King's assumption of all royal responsibility was commemorated by a tournament, over which Dame Anne presided. Sixty of her ladies led as many knights by silver chains into the tilting-grounds at Smithfield, and it was remarked that the Queen appeared unusually mirthful. The King was in high good humor, a pattern of conjugal devotion; and the royal pair retired at dusk to the Bishop of London's palace at Saint Paul's, where was held a merry banquet, with dancing both before and after supper. THE END OF THE SIXTH NOVEL VII THE STORY OF THE HERITAGE "Pour vous je suis en prison mise, En ceste chambre à voulte grise, Et traineray ma triste vie Sans que jamais mon cueur varie, Car toujours seray vostre amye." THE SEVENTH NOVEL.--ISABEL OF VALOIS, BEING FORSAKEN BY ALL OTHERS, IS BEFRIENDED BY A PRIEST, WHO IN CHIEF THROUGH A CHILD'S INNOCENCE, CONTRIVES AND EXECUTES A LAUDABLE IMPOSTURE, AND WINS THEREBY TO DEATH. _The Story of the Heritage_ In the year of grace 1399 (Nicolas begins) dwelt in a hut near Caer Dathyl in Arvon, as he had dwelt for some five years, a gaunt hermit, notoriously consecrate, whom neighboring Welshmen revered as the Blessed Evrawc. There had been a time when people called him Edward Maudelain, but this period he dared not often remember. For though in macerations of the flesh, in fasting, and in hour-long prayers he spent his days, this holy man was much troubled by devils. He got little rest because of them. Sometimes would come into his hut Belphegor in the likeness of a butler, and whisper, "Sire, had you been King, as was your right, you had drunk to-day not water but the wines of Spain and Hungary." Or Asmodeus saying, "Sire, had you been King, as was your right, you had lain now not upon the bare earth but on cushions of silk." One day in early spring, they say, the spirit called Orvendile sent the likeness of a fair woman with yellow hair and large blue eyes. She wore a massive crown which seemed too heavy for her frailness to sustain. Soft tranquil eyes had lifted from her book. "You are my cousin now, messire," this phantom had appeared to say. That was the worst, and Maudelain began to fear he was a little mad because even this he had resisted with many aves. There came also to his hut, through a sullen snowstorm, upon the afternoon of All Soul's day, a horseman in a long cloak of black. He tethered his black horse and he came noiselessly through the doorway of the hut, and upon his breast and shoulders the snow was white as the bleached bones of those women that died in Merlin's youth. "Greetings in God's name, Messire Edward Maudelain," the stranger said. Since the new-comer spoke intrepidly of holy things a cheerier Maudelain knew that this at least was no demon. "Greetings!" he answered. "But I am Evrawc. You name a man long dead." "But it is from a certain Bohemian woman I come. What matter, then, if the dead receive me?" And thus speaking, the stranger dropped his cloak. He was clad, as you now saw, in flame-colored satin, which shimmered with each movement like a high flame. He had the appearance of a tall, lean youngster, with crisp, curling, very dark red hair. He now regarded Maudelain. He displayed peculiarly wide-set brown eyes; and their gaze was tender, and the tears somehow had come to Maudelain's eyes because of his great love for this tall stranger. "Eh, from the dead to the dead I travel, as ever," said the new-comer, "with a message and a token. My message runs, _Time is, O fellow satrap!_ and my token is this." In this packet, wrapped with white parchment and tied with a golden cord, was only a lock of hair. It lay like a little yellow serpent in Maudelain's palm. "And yet five years ago," he mused, "this hair was turned to dust. God keep us all!" Then he saw the tall lean emissary puffed out like a candle-flame; and upon the floor he saw the huddled cloak waver and spread like ink, and he saw the white parchment slowly dwindle, as snow melts under the open sun. But in his hand remained the lock of yellow hair. "O my only friend," said Maudelain, "I may not comprehend, but I know that by no unhallowed art have you won back to me." Hair by hair he scattered upon the floor that which he held. "_Time is!_ and I have not need of any token to spur my memory." He prized up a corner of the hearthstone, took out a small leather bag, and that day purchased a horse and a sword. At dawn the Blessed Evrawc rode eastward in secular apparel. Two weeks later he came to Sunninghill; and it happened that the same morning the Earl of Salisbury, who had excellent reason to consider ... _Follows a lacuna of fourteen pages. Maudelain's successful imposture of his half-brother, Richard the Second, so strangely favored by their physical resemblance, and the subsequent fiasco at Circencester, are now, however, tolerably well known to students of history._ _In one way or another, Maudelain contrived to take the place of his now dethroned brother, and therewith also the punishment designed for Richard. It would seem evident, from the Argument of the story in hand, that Nicolas de Caen attributes a large part of this mysterious business to the co-operancy of Isabel of Valois, King Richard's eleven year old wife. And (should one have a taste for the deductive) the foregoing name of Orvendile, when compared with "THE STORY OF THE SCABBARD," would certainly hint that Owain Glyndwyr had a finger in the affair._ _It is impossible to divine by what method, according to Nicolas, this Edward Maudelain was substituted for his younger brother. Nicolas, if you are to believe his "EPILOGUE," had the best of reasons for knowing that the prisoner locked up in Pontefract Castle in the February of 1400, after Harry of Derby had seized the crown of England, was not Richard Plantagenet: as is attested, also, by the remaining fragment of this same_ "STORY OF THE HERITAGE." ... and eight men-at-arms followed him. Quickly Maudelain rose from the table, pushing his tall chair aside, and as he did this, one of the soldiers closed the door securely. "Nay, eat your fill, Sire Richard," said Piers Exton, "since you will not ever eat again." "Is it so?" the trapped man answered quietly. "Then indeed you come in a good hour." Once only he smote upon his breast. "_Mea culpa!_ O Eternal Father, do Thou shrive me very quickly of all those sins I have committed, both in thought and deed, for now the time is very short." And Exton spat upon the dusty floor. "Foh, they had told me I would find a king here. I discover only a cat that whines." "Then 'ware his claws!" As a viper leaps Maudelain sprang upon the nearest fellow and wrested away his halberd. "Then 'ware his claws, my men! For I come of an accursed race. And now let some of you lament that hour wherein the devil's son begot an heir for England! For of ice and of lust and of hell-fire are all we sprung; old records attest it; and fickle and cold and ravenous and without fear are all our race until the end. Hah, until the end! O God of Gods!" this Maudelain cried, with a great voice, "wilt Thou dare bid a man die patiently, having aforetime filled his veins with such a venom? For I lack the grace to die as all Thy saints have died, without one carnal blow struck in my own defence. I lack the grace, my Father, for even at the last the devil's blood You gave me is not quelled. I dare atone for that old sin done by my father in the flesh, but yet I must atone as befits the race of Oriander!" Then it was he and not they who pressed to the attack. Their meeting was a bloody business, for in that dark and crowded room Maudelain raged among his nine antagonists like an angered lion among wolves. They struck at random and cursed shrilly, for they were now half-afraid of this prey they had entrapped; so that presently he was all hacked and bleeding, though as yet he had no mortal wound. Four of these men he had killed by this time, and Piers Exton also lay at his feet. Then the other four drew back a little. "Are ye tired so soon?" said Maudelain, and he laughed terribly. "What, even you! Why, look ye, my bold veterans, I never killed before to-day, and I am not breathed as yet." Thus he boasted, exultant in his strength. But the other men saw that behind him Piers Exton had crawled into the chair from which (they thought) King Richard had just risen, and they saw Exton standing erect in this chair, with both arms raised. They saw this Exton strike the King with his pole-axe, from behind, once only, and they knew no more was needed. "By God!" said one of them in the ensuing stillness, and it was he who bled the most, "that was a felon's blow." But the dying man who lay before them made as though to smile. "I charge you all to witness," he faintly said, "how willingly I render to Caesar's daughter that which was ever hers." Then Exton fretted, as if with a little trace of shame: "Who would have thought the rascal had remembered that first wife of his so long? Caesar's daughter, saith he! and dares in extremis to pervert Holy Scripture like any Wycliffite! Well, he is as dead as that first Caesar now, and our gracious King, I think, will sleep the better for it. And yet--God only knows! for they are an odd race, even as he said--these men that have old Manuel's blood in them." THE END OF THE SEVENTH NOVEL VIII THE STORY OF THE SCABBARD "Ainsi il avait trouvé sa mie Si belle qu'on put souhaiter. N'avoit cure d'ailleurs plaider, Fors qu'avec lui manoir et estre. Bien est Amour puissant et maistre." THE EIGHTH NOVEL.--BRANWEN OF WALES GETS A KING'S LOVE UNWITTINGLY, AND IN ALL INNOCENCE CONVINCES HIM OF THE LITTLENESS OF HIS KINGDOM; SO THAT HE BESIEGES AND IN DUE COURSE OCCUPIES ANOTHER REALM AS YET UNMAPPED. _The Story of the Scabbard_ In the year of grace 1400 (Nicolas begins) King Richard, the second monarch of that name to rule in England, wrenched his own existence, and nothing more, from the close wiles of his cousin, Harry of Derby, who was now sometimes called Henry of Lancaster, and sometimes Bolingbroke. The circumstances of this evasion having been recorded in the preceding tale, it suffices here to record that this Henry was presently crowned King of England in Richard's place. All persons, saving only Owain Glyndwyr and Henry of Lancaster, believed King Richard dead at that period when Richard attended his own funeral, as a proceeding taking to the fancy, and, among many others, saw the body of Edward Maudelain interred with every regal ceremony in the chapel at Langley Bower. Then alone Sire Richard crossed the seas, and at thirty-three set out to inspect a transformed and gratefully untrammelling world wherein not a foot of land belonged to him. Holland was the surname he assumed, the name of his half-brothers; and to detail his Asian wanderings would be tedious and unprofitable. But at the end of each four months would come to him a certain messenger from Glyndwyr, supposed by Richard to be the imp Orvendile, who notoriously ran every day around the world upon the Welshman's business. It was in the Isle of Taprobane, where the pismires are as great as hounds, and mine and store the gold of which the inhabitants afterward rob them through a very cunning device, that this emissary brought the letter which read simply, "Now is England fit pasture for the White Hart." Presently Richard Holland was in Wales, and then he rode to Sycharth. There, after salutation, Glyndwyr gave an account of his long stewardship. It was a puzzling record of obscure and tireless machinations with which we have no immediate concern: in brief, the barons who had ousted King Log had been the very first to find their squinting King Stork intolerable; and Northumberland, Worcester, Douglas, Mortimer, and so on, were already pledged and in open revolt. "By the God I do not altogether serve," Owain ended, "you have but to declare yourself, sire, and within the moment England is yours." Richard spoke with narrowed eyes. "You forget that while Henry of Lancaster lives no other man can ever hope to reign tranquilly in these islands. Come then! the hour strikes; and we will coax the devil for once in a way to serve God." "Oh, but there is a boundary appointed," Glyndwyr moodily returned. "You, too, forget that in cold blood this Henry stabbed my best-loved son. But I do not forget this, and I have tried divers methods which we need not speak of,--I who can at will corrupt the air, and cause sickness and storms, raise heavy mists, and create plagues and fires and shipwrecks; yet the life itself I cannot take. For there is a boundary appointed, sire, and beyond that frontier the Master of our Sabbaths cannot serve us even though he would." Richard crossed himself. "You horribly mistake my meaning. Your practices are your own affair, and in them I decline to dabble. I merely design to trap a tiger with his appropriate bait. For you have a fief at Caer Idion, I think?--Very well! I intend to herd your sheep there, for a week or two, after the honorable example of Apollo. It is your part to see that Henry knows I am living disguised and defenceless at Caer Idion." The gaunt Welshman chuckled. "Yes, squinting Henry of Lancaster would cross the world, much less the Severn, to make quite sure of Richard's death. He would come in his own person with at most some twenty trustworthy followers. I will have a hundred there; and certain aging scores will then be settled in that place." Glyndwyr meditated afterward, very evilly. "Sire," he said without prelude, "I do not recognize Richard of Bordeaux. You have garnered much in travelling!" "Why, look you," Richard returned, "I have garnered so much that I do not greatly care whether this scheme succeed or no. With age I begin to contend even more indomitably that a wise man will consider nothing very seriously. You barons here believe it an affair of importance who may chance to be the King of England, say, this time next year; you take sides between Henry and me. I tell you frankly that neither of us, that no man in the world, by reason of innate limitations, can ever rule otherwise than abominably, or, ruling, can create anything save discord. Nor can I see how this matters either, since the discomfort of an ant-village is not, after all, a planet-wrecking disaster. No, Owain, if the planets do indeed sing together, it is, depend upon it, to the burden of _Fools All_. For I am as liberally endowed as most people; and when I consider my abilities, my performances, my instincts, and so on, quite aloofly, as I would appraise those of another person, I can only shrug: and to conceive that common-sense, much less Omnipotence, would ever concern itself about the actions of a creature so entirely futile is, to me at least, impossible." "I have known the thought," said Owain,--"though rarely since I found the Englishwoman that was afterward my wife, and never since my son, my Gruffyd, was murdered by a jesting man. He was more like me than the others, people said.... You are as yet the empty scabbard, powerless alike for help or hurt. Ey, hate or love must be the sword, sire, that informs us here, and then, if only for a little while, we are as gods." "Pardie! I have loved as often as Salomon, and in fourteen kingdoms." "We of Cymry have a saying, sire, that when a man loves par amours the second time he may safely assume that he has never been in love at all." "--And I hate Henry of Lancaster as I do the devil." "I greatly fear," said Owain with a sigh, "lest it may be your irreparable malady to hate nothing, not even that which you dislike. No, you consider things with both eyes open, with an unmanly rationality: whereas Sire Henry views all matters with that heroic squint which came into your family from Poictesme." "Be off with your dusty scandals!" said Richard, laughing. So then Glyndwyr rode south to besiege and burn the town of Caerdyf, while at Caer Idion Richard Holland abode tranquilly for some three weeks. There was in this place only Caradawc (the former shepherd), his wife Alundyne, and their sole daughter Branwen. They gladly perceived Sire Richard was no more a peasant than he was a curmudgeon; as Caradawc observed: "It is perfectly apparent that the robe of Padarn Beisrudd, which refuses to adjust itself to any save highborn persons, would fit him as a glove does the hand; but we will ask no questions, since it is not wholesome to dispute the orderings of Owain Glyndwyr." Now day by day would Richard Holland drive the flocks to pasture near the Severn, and loll there in the shade, and make songs to his lute. He grew to love this leisured life of bright and open spaces; and its long solitudes, grateful with the warm odors of growing things and with poignant bird-noises; and the tranquillity of these meadows, that were always void of hurry, bedrugged the man through many fruitless and contented hours. Each day at noon Branwen would bring his dinner, and she would sometimes chat with him while he ate. After supper he would discourse to Branwen of remote kingdoms, through which, as aimlessly as a wind veers, he had ridden at adventure, among sedate and alien peoples who adjudged him a madman; and she, in turn, would tell him curious tales from the _Red Book of Hergest_,--telling of Gwalchmai, and Peredur, and Geraint, in each one of which fine heroes she had presently discerned an inadequate forerunnership of Richard's existence. This Branwen was a fair wench, slender and hardy. She had the bold demeanor of a child who is ignorant of evil and in consequence of suspicion. Happily, though, had she been named for that unhappy lady of old, the wife of King Matholwch, for this Branwen, too, had a white, thin, wistful face, like that of an empress on a silver coin which is a little worn. Her eyes were large and brilliant, colored like clear emeralds, and her abundant hair was so much cornfloss, only it was more brightly yellow and was of immeasurably finer texture. In full sunlight her cheeks were frosted like the surface of a peach, but the underlying cool pink of them was rather that of a cloud just after sunset, Richard decided. In all, a taking morsel! though her shapely hands were hard with labor, and she rarely laughed; for, as if in recompense, her heart was tender, and she rarely ceased to smile as though she were thinking of some peculiar and wonderful secret which she intended, in due time, to share with you and with nobody else. Branwen had many lovers, and preferred among them young Gwyllem ap Llyr, a portly lad, who was handsome enough, though he had tiny and piggish eyes, and who sang divinely. One day this Gwyllem came to Richard with two quarter-staves. "Saxon," he said, "you appear a stout man. Take your pick of these, then, and have at you." "Such are not the weapons I would have named," Richard answered: "yet in reason, Messire Gwyllem, I can deny you nothing that means nothing to me." With that they laid aside their coats and fell to exercise. In these unaccustomed bouts Richard was soundly drubbed, as he had anticipated, but he found himself the stronger man of the two, and he managed somehow to avoid an absolute overthrow. By what method he contrived this he never ascertained. "I have forgotten what we are fighting about," he observed, after ten minutes of heroic thumps and hangings; "or, to be perfectly exact, I never knew. But we will fight no more in this place. Come and go with me to Welshpool, Messire Gwyllem, and there we will fight to a conclusion over good sack and claret." "Content!" cried Gwyllem; "but only if you yield me Branwen." "Have we indeed wasted a whole half-hour in squabbling over a woman?" Richard demanded; "like two children in a worldwide toyshop over any one particular toy? Then devil take me if I am not heartily ashamed of my folly! Though, look you, Gwyllem, I would speak naught save commendation of these delicate and livelily-tinted creatures so long as one is able to approach them in a becoming spirit of levity: it is only their not infrequent misuse which I would condemn; and in my opinion the person who elects to build a shrine for any one of them has only himself to blame if his chosen goddess will accept no burnt-offering except his honor and happiness. Yet since time's youth have many fine men been addicted to this insane practice, as, for example, were Hercules and Merlin to their illimitable sorrow; and, indeed, the more I reconsider the old gallantries of Salomon, and of other venerable and sagacious potentates, the more profoundly am I ashamed of my sex." Gwyllem said: "This lazy gabbling of yours is all very fine. Perhaps it is also reasonable. Only when you love you do not reason." "I was endeavoring to prove that," said Richard gently. Then they went to Welshpool, ride and tie on Gwyllem's horse. Tongue loosened by the claret, Gwyllem raved aloud of Branwen, like a babbling faun, while to each rapture Richard affably assented. In his heart he likened the boy to Dionysos at Naxos, and could find no blame for Ariadne. Moreover, the room was comfortably dark and cool, for thick vines hung about the windows, rustling and tapping pleasantly, and Richard was content. "She does not love me?" Gwyllem cried. "It is well enough. I do not come to her as one merchant to another, since love was never bartered. Listen, Saxon!" He caught up Richard's lute. The strings shrieked beneath Gwyllem's fingers as he fashioned his rude song. Sang Gwyllem: "Love me or love me not, it is enough That I have loved you, seeing my whole life is Uplifted and made glad by the glory of Love,-- My life that was a scroll bescrawled and blurred With tavern-catches, which that pity of his Erased, and wrote instead one lonely word, O Branwen! "I have accorded you incessant praise And song and service, dear, because of this; And always I have dreamed incessantly Who always dreamed, when in oncoming days This man or that shall love you, and at last This man or that shall win you, it must be That, loving him, you will have pity on me When happiness engenders memory And long thoughts, nor unkindly, of the past, O Branwen! "Of this I know not surely, who am sure That I shall always love you while I live, And that, when I am dead, with naught to give Of song or service, Love will yet endure, And yet retain his last prerogative, When I lie still, and sleep out centuries, With dreams of you and the exceeding love I bore you, and am glad dreaming thereof, And give God thanks for all, and so find peace, O Branwen!" "Now, were I to get as tipsy as that," Richard enviously thought, midway in a return to his stolid sheep, "I would simply go to sleep and wake up with a headache. And were I to fall as many fathoms deep in love as this Gwyllem ventures, or, rather, as he hurls himself with a splurge, I would perform--I wonder, now, what miracle?" For he was, though vaguely, discontent. This Gwyllem was so young, so earnest over every trifle, and above all, was so untroubled by forethought: each least desire controlled him, as varying winds sport with a fallen leaf, whose frank submission to superior vagaries the boy appeared to emulate. Richard saw that in a fashion Gwyllem was superb. "And heigho!" said Richard, "I am attestedly a greater fool than he, but I begin to weary of a folly so thin-blooded." The next morning came a ragged man, riding upon a mule. He declared himself a tinker. He chatted out an hour with Richard, who perfectly recognized him as Sir Walter Blount; and then this tinker crossed over into England. Richard whistled. "Now my cousin will be quite sure, and now my anxious cousin will come to speak with Richard of Bordeaux. And now, by every saint in the calendar! I am as good as King of England." He sat down beneath a young oak and twisted four or five blades of grass between his fingers while he meditated. Undoubtedly he would kill this squinting Henry of Lancaster with a clear conscience and even with a certain relish, much as one crushes the uglier sort of vermin, but, hand upon heart, Richard was unable to avow any particularly ardent desire for the scoundrel's death. Thus crudely to demolish the knave's adroit and year-long schemings savored actually of grossness. The spider was venomous, and his destruction laudable; granted, but in crushing him you ruined his web, a miracle of patient machination, which, despite yourself, compelled hearty admiring and envy. True, the process would recrown a certain Richard, but then, as Richard recalled it, being King was rather tedious. Richard was not now quite sure that he wanted to be King, and, in consequence, be daily plagued by a host of vexatious and ever-squabbling barons. "I shall miss the little huzzy, too," he thought. "Heigho!" said Richard, "I shall console myself with purchasing all beautiful things that can be touched and handled. Life is a flimsy vapor which passes and is not any more: presently Branwen will be married to this Gwyllem and will be grown fat and old, and I shall be remarried to little Dame Isabel, and shall be King of England: and a trifle later all four of us shall be dead. Pending this deplorable consummation a wise man will endeavor to amuse himself." Next day he despatched Caradawc to Owain Glyndwyr to bid the latter send the promised implements to Caer Idion. Richard, returning to the hut the same evening, found Alundyne there, alone, and grovelling at the threshold. Her forehead was bloodied when she raised it and through tearless sobs told of what had happened. A half-hour earlier, while she and Branwen were intent upon their milking, Gwyllem had ridden up, somewhat the worse for liquor. Branwen had called him sot, had bidden him go home. "That I will do," said Gwyllem and suddenly caught up the girl. Alundyne sprang for him, and with clenched fist Gwyllem struck her twice full in the face, and laughing, rode away with Branwen. Richard made no observation. In silence he fetched his horse, and did not pause to saddle it. Quickly he rode to Gwyllem's house, and broke in the door. Against the farther wall stood lithe Branwen fighting silently: her breasts and shoulders were naked, where Gwyllem had torn away her garments. He wheedled, laughed, swore, and hiccoughed, turn by turn, but she was silent. "On guard!" Richard barked. Gwyllem wheeled. His head twisted toward his left shoulder, and one corner of his mouth convulsively snapped upward, so that his teeth were bared. There was a knife at Richard's girdle, which he now unsheathed and flung away. He stepped eagerly toward the snarling Welshman, and with both hands seized the thick and hairy throat. What followed was brutal. For many minutes Branwen stood with averted face, shuddering. She very dimly heard the sound of Gwyllem's impotent fists as they beat against the countenance and body of Richard, and heard the thin splitting vicious noise of torn cloth as Gwyllem clutched at Richard's tunic and tore it many times. Richard did not utter any articulate word, and Gwyllem could not. There was entire silence for a heart-beat, and the thudding fall of something ponderous and limp. "Come!" Richard said then. Through the hut's twilight he came, as glorious in her eyes as Michael fresh from that primal battle with old Satan. Tall Richard came to her, his face all blood, and lifted her in his arms lest Branwen's skirt be soiled by the demolished thing which sprawled across their path. She never spoke. She could not speak. In his arms she rode homeward, passive, and content. The horse trod with deliberation. In the east the young moon was taking heart as the darkness thickened, and innumerable stars awoke. Branwen noted these things incuriously. Richard was horribly afraid. He it had been, in sober verity it had been Richard of Bordeaux, that some monstrous force had seized, and had lifted, and had curtly utilized as its handiest implement. He had been, and in the moment had known himself to be, the thrown spear as yet in air, about to kill and quite powerless to refrain from killing. It was a full three minutes before he had got the better of his bewilderment and laughed, very softly, lest he disturb this Branwen, who was so near his heart.... Next day she came to him at noon, bearing as always the little basket. It contained to-day a napkin, some garlic, a ham, and a small soft cheese; some shalots, salt, nuts, wild apples, lettuce, onions, and mushrooms. "Behold a feast!" said Richard. He noted then that she carried also a blue pitcher filled with thin wine, and two cups of oak-bark. She thanked him for last night's performance, and drank a mouthful of wine to his health. "Decidedly, I shall be sorry to have done with shepherding," said Richard as he ate. Branwen answered, "I too shall be sorry, lord, when the masquerade is ended." And it seemed to Richard that she sighed, and he was the happier. But he only shrugged. "I am the wisest person unhanged, since I comprehend my own folly. Yet I grant you that he was wise, too, the minstrel of old time that sang: 'Over wild lands and tumbling seas flits Love, at will, and maddens the heart and beguiles the senses of all whom he attacks, whether his quarry be some monster of the ocean or some fierce denizen of the forest, or man; for thine, O Love, thine alone is the power to make playthings of us all.'" "Your bard was wise, no doubt, yet it was not in such terms that Gwyllem sang of this passion. Lord," she demanded shyly, "how would you sing of love?" Richard was replete and contented with the world. He took up the lute, in full consciousness that his compliance was in large part cenatory. "In courtesy, thus--" Sang Richard: "The gods in honor of fair Branwen's worth Bore gifts to her:--and Jove, Olympus' lord, Co-rule of Earth and Heaven did accord, And Hermes brought that lyre he framed at birth, And Venus her famed girdle (to engirth A fairer beauty now), and Mars his sword, And wrinkled Plutus half the secret hoard And immemorial treasure of mid-earth;-- "And while the careful gods were pondering Which of these goodly gifts the goodliest was, Young Cupid came among them carolling And proffered unto her a looking-glass, Wherein she gazed, and saw the goodliest thing That Earth had borne, and Heaven might not surpass." "Three sounds are rarely heard," said Branwen; "and these are the song of the birds of Rhiannon, an invitation to feast with a miser, and a speech of wisdom from the mouth of a Saxon. The song you have made of courtesy is tinsel. Sing now in verity." Richard laughed, though he was sensibly nettled and perhaps a shade abashed. Presently he sang again. Sang Richard: "Catullus might have made of words that seek With rippling sound, in soft recurrent ways, The perfect song, or in remoter days Theocritus have hymned you in glad Greek; But I am not as they,--and dare not speak Of you unworthily, and dare not praise Perfection with imperfect roundelays, And desecrate the prize I dare to seek. "I do not woo you, then, by fashioning Vext analogues 'twixt you and Guenevere, Nor do I come with agile lips that bring The sugared periods of a sonneteer, And bring no more--but just with, lips that cling To yours, in murmuring, 'I love you, dear!'" Richard had resolved that Branwen should believe him. Tinsel, indeed! then here was yet more tinsel which she must receive as gold. He was very angry, because his vanity was hurt, and the pin-prick spurred him to a counterfeit so specious that consciously he gloried in it. He was superb, and she believed him now; there was no questioning the fact, he saw it plainly, and with exultant cruelty; then curt as lightning came the knowledge that what Branwen believed was the truth. Richard had taken just two strides toward this fair girl. Branwen stayed motionless, her lips a little parted. The affairs of earth and heaven were motionless throughout the moment, attendant, it seemed to him; and to him his whole life was like a wave that trembled now at full height, and he was aware of a new world all made of beauty and of pity. Then the lute fell from his spread out hands, and Richard sighed, and shrugged. "There is a task set me," he said--"it is God's work, I think. But I do not know--I only know that you are very beautiful, Branwen," he said, and in the name he found a new and piercing loveliness. And he said also: "Go! For I have loved many women, and, God help me! I know that I have but to wheedle you and you, too, will yield! Yonder is God's work to be done, and within me rages a commonwealth of devils. Child! child!" he cried, "I am, and ever was, a coward, too timid to face life without reserve, and always I laughed because I was afraid to concede that anything is serious!" For a long while Richard lay at his ease in the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. "I love her. She thinks me an elderly imbecile with a flat and reedy singing-voice, and she is perfectly right. She has never even entertained the notion of loving me. That is well, for to-morrow, or, it may be, the day after, we must part forever. I would not have the parting make her sorrowful--or not, at least, too unalterably sorrowful. It is very well that Branwen does not love me. "Why should she? I am almost twice her age, an aging fellow now, battered and selfish and too indolent to love her--say, as Gwyllem loved her. I did well to kill that Gwyllem. I am profoundly glad I killed him, and I thoroughly enjoyed doing it; but, after all, the man loved her in his fashion, and to the uttermost reach of his gross nature. I love her in a rather more decorous and acceptable fashion, it is true, but only a half of me loves her. The other half of me remembers that I am aging, that Caradawc's hut is leaky, that, in fine, bodily comfort is the single luxury of which one never tires. I am a very contemptible creature, the empty scabbard of a man, precisely as Owain said." This settled, Richard whistled to his dog. The sun had set. There were no shadows anywhere as Richard and his sheep went homeward, but on every side the colors of the world were more sombre. Twice his flock roused a covey of partridges which had settled for the night. The screech-owl had come out of his hole, and bats were already blundering about, and the air was cooling. There was as yet but one star in the green and cloudless heaven, and this was very large, like a beacon: it appeared to him symbolical that he trudged away from this star. Next morning the Welshmen came, and now the trap was ready for Henry of Lancaster. It befell just two days later, about noon, that while Richard idly talked with Branwen a party of soldiers, some fifteen in number, rode down the river's bank from the ford above. Their leader paused, then gave an order. The men drew rein. He cantered forward. "God give you joy, fair sir," said Richard, when the cavalier was near him. The new-comer raised his visor. "God give you eternal joy, my fair cousin," he said, "and very soon. Now send away this woman before that happens which must happen." "Do you plan," said Richard, "to disfigure the stage of our quiet pastorals with murder?" "I design my own preservation," King Henry answered, "for while you live my rule is insecure." "I am sorry," Richard said, "that in part my blood is yours." Twice he sounded his horn, and everywhere from rustling underwoods arose the half-naked Welshmen. Said Richard: "You should read history more carefully, Cousin Henry. You might have profited, as I have done, by considering the trick which our grandfather, old Edward Longshanks, played on the French King at Mezelais. As matters stand, your men are one to ten. You are impotent. Now, now we balance our accounts! These persons here will first deal with your followers. Then they will conduct you to Glyndwyr, who has long desired to deal with you himself, in privacy, since that Whit-Monday when you murdered his son." The King began, "In mercy, sire--!" and Richard laughed a little, saying: "That virtue is not overabundant among us of Oriander's blood, as we both know. No, cousin, Fate and Time are merry jesters. See, now, their latest mockery! You the King of England ride to Sycharth to your death, and I the tender of sheep depart into London, without any hindrance, to reign henceforward over these islands. To-morrow you are worm's-meat, Cousin Henry: to-morrow, as yesterday, I am King of England." Then Branwen gave one sharp, brief cry, and Richard forgot all things saving this girl, and strode to her. He had caught up her hard, lithe hands; against his lips he strained them close and very close. "Branwen--!" he said. His eyes devoured her. "Yes, King," she answered. "O King of England! O fool that I have been to think you less!" In a while Richard said: "Well, I at least am not fool enough to think of making you a king's whore. So I must choose between a peasant wench and England. Now I choose, and how gladly! Branwen, help me to be more than King of England!" Low and very low he spoke, and long and very long he gazed at her, and neither seemed to breathe. Of what she thought I cannot tell you; but in Richard there was no power of thought, only a great wonderment. Why, between this woman's love and aught else there was no choice for him, he knew upon a sudden. Perhaps he would thus worship her always, he reflected: and then again, perhaps he would be tired of her before long, just as all other persons seemed to abate in these infatuations: meanwhile it was certain that he was very happy. No, he could not go back to the throne and to the little French girl who was in law his wife. And, as if from an immense distance, came to Richard the dogged voice of Henry of Lancaster. "It is of common report in these islands that I have a better right to the throne than you. As much was told our grandfather, King Edward of happy memory, when he educated you and had you acknowledged heir to the crown, but his love was so strong for his son the Prince of Wales that nothing could alter his purpose. And indeed if you had followed even the example of the Black Prince you might still have been our King; but you have always acted so contrarily to his admirable precedents as to occasion the rumor to be generally believed throughout England that you were not, after all, his son--" Richard had turned impatiently. "For the love of Heaven, truncate your abominable periods. Be off with you. Yonder across that river is the throne of England, which you appear, through some lunacy, to consider a desirable possession. Take it, then; for, praise God! the sword has found its sheath." The King answered: "I do not ask you to reconsider your dismissal, assuredly--Richard," he cried, a little shaken, "I perceive that until your death you will win contempt and love from every person." "Yes, yes, for many years I have been the playmate of the world," said Richard; "but to-day I wash my hands, and set about another and more laudable business. I had dreamed certain dreams, indeed--but what had I to do with all this strife between the devil and the tiger? No, Glyndwyr will set up Mortimer against you now, and you two must fight it out. I am no more his tool, and no more your enemy, my cousin--Henry," he said with quickening voice, "there was a time when we were boys and played together, and there was no hatred between us, and I regret that time!" "As God lives, I too regret that time!" the bluff, squinting King replied. He stared at Richard for a while wherein each understood. "Dear fool," Sire Henry said, "there is no man in all the world but hates me saving only you." Then the proud King clapped spurs to his proud horse and rode away. More lately Richard dismissed his wondering marauders. Now he and Branwen were alone and a little troubled, since each was afraid of that oncoming moment when their eyes must meet. So Richard laughed. "Praise God!" he wildly cried, "I am the greatest fool unhanged!" She answered: "I am the happier for your folly. I am the happiest of God's creatures." And Richard meditated. "Faith of a gentleman!" he declared; "but you are nothing of the sort, and of this fact I happen to be quite certain." Their lips met then and afterward their eyes; and each of these ragged peasants was too glad for laughter. THE END OF THE EIGHTH NOVEL IX THE STORY OF THE NAVARRESE "J'ay en mon cueur joyeusement Escript, afin que ne l'oublie, Ce refrain qu'ayme chierement, C'estes vous de qui suis amye." THE NINTH NOVEL.--JEHANE OF NAVARRE, AFTER A WITHSTANDING OF ALL OTHER ASSAULTS, IS IN A LONG DUEL, WHEREIN TIME AND COMMON-SENSE ARE FLOUTED, AND KINGDOMS ARE SHAKEN, DETHRONED AND RECOMPENSED BY AN ENDURING LUNACY. _The Story of the Navarrese_ In the year of grace 1386, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew (thus Nicolas begins), came to the Spanish coast Messire Peyre de Lesnerac, in a war-ship sumptuously furnished and manned by many persons of dignity and wealth, in order suitably to escort the Princess Jehane into Brittany, where she was to marry the Duke of that province. There were now rejoicings throughout Navarre, in which the Princess took but a nominal part and young Antoine Riczi none at all. This Antoine Riczi came to Jehane that August twilight in the hedged garden. "King's daughter!" he sadly greeted her. "Duchess of Brittany! Countess of Rougemont! Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of Rais and of Toufon and Guerche!" She answered, "No, my dearest,--I am that Jehane, whose only title is the Constant Lover." And in the green twilight, lit as yet by one low-hanging star alone, their lips and desperate young bodies clung, now, it might be, for the last time. Presently the girl spoke. Her soft mouth was lax and tremulous, and her gray eyes were more brilliant than the star yonder. The boy's arms were about her, so that neither could be quite unhappy, yet. "Friend," said Jehane, "I have no choice. I must wed with this de Montfort. I think I shall die presently. I have prayed God that I may die before they bring me to the dotard's bed." Young Riczi held her now in an embrace more brutal. "Mine! mine!" he snarled toward the obscuring heavens. "Yet it may be I must live. Friend, the man is very old. Is it wicked to think of that? For I cannot but think of his great age." Then Riczi answered: "My desires--may God forgive me!--have clutched like starving persons at that sorry sustenance. Friend! ah, fair, sweet friend! the man is human and must die, but love, we read, is immortal. I am wishful to kill myself, Jehane. But, oh, Jehane! dare you to bid me live?" "Friend, as you love me, I entreat you to live. Friend, I crave of the Eternal Father that if I falter in my love for you I may be denied even the one bleak night of ease which Judas knows." The girl did not weep; dry-eyed she winged a perfectly sincere prayer toward incorruptible saints. Riczi was to remember the fact, and through long years of severance. For even now, as Riczi went away from Jehane, a shrill singing-girl was rehearsing, yonder behind the yew-hedge, the song which she was to sing at Jehane's bridal feast. Sang this joculatrix: "When the Morning broke before us Came the wayward Three astraying, Chattering in babbling chorus, (Obloquies of Aether saying),-- Hoidens that, at pegtop playing, Flung their Top where yet it whirls Through the coil of clouds unstaying, For the Fates are captious girls!" And upon the next day de Lesnerac bore young Jehane from Pampeluna and presently to Saillé, where old Jehan the Brave took her to wife. She lived as a queen, but she was a woman of infrequent laughter. She had Duke Jehan's adoration, and his barons' obeisancy, and his villagers applauded her passage with stentorian shouts. She passed interminable days amid bright curious arrasses and trod listlessly over pavements strewn with flowers. She had fiery-hearted jewels, and shimmering purple cloths, and much furniture adroitly carven, and many tapestries of Samarcand and Baldach upon which were embroidered, by brown fingers that time had turned long ago to Asian dust, innumerable asps and deer and phoenixes and dragons and all the motley inhabitants of air and of the thicket; but her memories, too, she had, and for a dreary while she got no comfort because of them. Then ambition quickened. Young Antoine Riczi likewise nursed his wound as best he might; but at the end of the second year after Jehane's wedding his uncle, the Vicomte de Montbrison--a gaunt man, with preoccupied and troubled eyes--had summoned Antoine into Lyonnois and, after appropriate salutation, had informed the lad that, as the Vicomte's heir, he was to marry the Demoiselle Gerberge de Nérac upon the ensuing Michaelmas. "That I may not do," said Riczi; and since a chronicler that would tempt fortune should never stretch the fabric of his wares too thin (unlike Sir Hengist), I merely tell you these two dwelt together at Montbrison for a decade: and the Vicomte swore at his nephew and predicted this or that disastrous destination as often as Antoine declined to marry the latest of his uncle's candidates,--in whom the Vicomte was of an astonishing fertility. In the year of grace 1401 came the belated news that Duke Jehan had closed his final day. "You will be leaving me!" the Vicomte growled; "now, in my decrepitude, you will be leaving me! It is abominable, and I shall in all likelihood disinherit you this very night." "Yet it is necessary," Riczi answered; and, filled with no unhallowed joy, he rode for Vannes, in Brittany, where the Duchess-Regent held her court. Dame Jehane had within that fortnight put aside her mourning. She sat beneath a green canopy, gold-fringed and powdered with many golden stars, when Riczi came again to her, and the rising saps of spring were exercising their august and formidable influence. She sat alone, by prearrangement, to one end of the high-ceiled and radiant apartment; midway in the hall her lords and divers ladies were gathered about a saltatrice and a jongleur, who were diverting the courtiers, to the mincing accompaniment of a lute; but Jehane sat apart from these, frail, and splendid with many jewels, and a little sad. And Antoine Riczi found no power of speech within him at the first. Silent he stood before her, still as an effigy, while meltingly the jongleur sang. "Jehane!" said Antoine Riczi, in a while, "have you, then, forgotten, O Jehane?" The resplendent woman had not moved at all. It was as though she were some tinted and lavishly adorned statue of barbaric heathenry, and he her postulant; and her large eyes appeared to judge an immeasurable path, beyond him. Now her lips fluttered somewhat. "I am the Duchess of Brittany," she said, in the phantom of a voice. "I am the Countess of Rougemont. The Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of Rais and of Toufon and Guerche!... Jehane is dead." The man had drawn one audible breath. "You are that Jehane, whose only title is the Constant Lover!" "Friend, the world smirches us," she said half-pleadingly, "I have tasted too deep of wealth and power. I am drunk with a deadly wine, and ever I thirst--I thirst--" "Jehane, do you remember that May morning in Pampeluna when first I kissed you, and about us sang many birds? Then as now you wore a gown of green, Jehane." "Friend, I have swayed kingdoms since." "Jehane, do you remember that August twilight in Pampeluna when last I kissed you? Then as now you wore a gown of green, Jehane." "But I wore no such chain as this about my neck," the woman answered, and lifted a huge golden collar garnished with emeralds and sapphires and with many pearls. "Friend, the chain is heavy, yet I lack the will to cast it off. I lack the will, Antoine." And now with a sudden shout of mirth her courtiers applauded the evolutions of the saltatrice. "King's daughter!" said Riczi then; "O perilous merchandise! a god came to me and a sword had pierced his breast. He touched the gold hilt of it and said, 'Take back your weapon.' I answered, 'I do not know you.' 'I am Youth' he said; 'take back your weapon.'" "It is true," she responded, "it is lamentably true that after to-night we are as different persons, you and I." He said: "Jehane, do you not love me any longer? Remember old years and do not break your oath with me, Jehane, since God abhors nothing so much as unfaith. For your own sake, Jehane,--ah, no, not for your sake nor for mine, but for the sake of that blithe Jehane, whom, so you tell me, time has slain!" Once or twice she blinked, as if dazzled by a light of intolerable splendor, but otherwise she stayed rigid. "You have dared, messire, to confront me with the golden-hearted, clean-eyed Navarrese that once was I! and I requite." The austere woman rose. "Messire, you swore to me, long since, eternal service. I claim my right in domnei. Yonder--gray-bearded, the man in black and silver--is the Earl of Worcester, the King of England's ambassador, in common with whom the wealthy dowager of Brittany has signed a certain contract. Go you, then, with Worcester into England, as my proxy, and in that island, as my proxy, become the wife of the King of England. Messire, your audience is done." Riczi said this: "Can you hurt me any more, Jehane?--no, even in hell they cannot hurt me now. Yet I, at least, keep faith, and in your face I fling faith like a glove--old-fashioned, it may be, but clean,--and I will go, Jehane." Her heart raged. "Poor, glorious fool!" she thought; "had you but the wit even now to use me brutally, even now to drag me from this daïs--!" Instead he went away from her smilingly, treading through the hall with many affable salutations, while the jongleur sang. Sang the jongleur: "There is a land those hereabout Ignore ... Its gates are barred By Titan twins, named Fear and Doubt. These mercifully guard That land we seek--the land so fair!-- And all the fields thereof, Where daffodils flaunt everywhere And ouzels chant of love,-- Lest we attain the Middle-Land, Whence clouded well-springs rise, And vipers from a slimy strand Lift glittering cold eyes. "Now, the parable all may understand, And surely you know the name of the land! Ah, never a guide or ever a chart May safely lead you about this land,-- The Land of the Human Heart!" And the following morning, being duly empowered, Antoine Riczi sailed for England in company with the Earl of Worcester; and upon Saint Richard's day the next ensuing was, at Eltham, as proxy of Jehane, married in his own person to the bloat King Henry, the fourth of that name to reign. This king was that same squinting Harry of Derby (called also Henry of Lancaster and Bolingbroke) who stole his cousin's crown, and about whom I have told you in the preceding story. First Sire Henry placed the ring on Riczi's finger, and then spoke Antoine Riczi, very loud and clear: "I, Antoine Riczi,--in the name of my worshipful lady, Dame Jehane, the daughter of Messire Charles until lately King of Navarre, the Duchess of Brittany and the Countess of Rougemont,--do take you, Sire Henry of Lancaster, King of England and in title of France, and Lord of Ireland, to be my husband; and thereto I, Antoine Riczi, in the spirit of my said lady"--the speaker paused here to regard the gross hulk of masculinity before him, and then smiled very sadly--"in precisely the spirit of my said lady, I plight you my troth." Afterward the King made him presents of some rich garments of scarlet trimmed with costly furs, and of four silk belts studded with silver and gold, and with valuable clasps, of which the owner might well be proud, and Riczi returned to Lyonnois. "Depardieux!" his uncle said; "so you return alone!" "I return as did Prince Troilus," said Riczi--"to boast to you of liberal entertainment in the tent of Diomede." "You are certainly an inveterate fool," the Vicomte considered after a prolonged appraisal of his face, "since there is always a deal of other pink-and-white flesh as yet unmortgaged--Boy with my brother's eyes!" the Vicomte said, in another voice; "I have heard of the task put upon you: and I would that I were God to punish as is fitting! But you are welcome home, my lad." So these two abode together at Montbrison for a long time, and in the purlieus of that place hunted and hawked, and made sonnets once in a while, and read aloud from old romances some five days out of the seven. The verses of Riczi were in the year of grace 1410 made public, not without acclamation; and thereafter the stripling Comte de Charolais, future heir to all Burgundy and a zealous patron of rhyme, was much at Montbrison, and there conceived for Antoine Riczi such admiration as was possible to a very young man only. In the year of grace 1412 the Vicomte, being then bedridden, died without any disease and of no malady save the inherencies of his age. "I entreat of you, my nephew," he said at last, "that always you use as touchstone the brave deed you did at Eltham. It is necessary for a gentleman to serve his lady according to her commandments, but you performed the most absurd and the most cruel task which any woman ever imposed upon her lover and servitor in domnei. I laugh at you, and I envy you." Thus he died, about Martinmas. Now was Antoine Riczi a powerful baron, but he got no comfort of his lordship, because that old incendiary, the King of Darkness, daily added fuel to a smouldering sorrow until grief quickened into vaulting flames of wrath and of disgust. "What now avail my riches?" said the Vicomte. "How much wealthier was I when I was loved, and was myself an eager lover! I relish no other pleasures than those of love. I am Love's sot, drunk with a deadly wine, poor fool, and ever I thirst. All my chattels and my acres appear to me to be bright vapors, and the more my dominion and my power increase, the more rancorously does my heart sustain its bitterness over having been robbed of that fair merchandise which is the King of England's. To hate her is scant comfort and to despise her none at all, since it follows that I who am unable to forget the wanton am even more to be despised than she. I will go into England and execute what mischief I may against her." The new Vicomte de Montbrison set forth for Paris, first to do homage for his fief, and secondly to be accredited for some plausible mission into England. But in Paris he got disquieting news. Jehane's husband was dead, and her stepson Henry, the fifth monarch of that name to reign in Britain, had invaded France to support preposterous claims which the man advanced to the crown of that latter kingdom; and as the earth is altered by the advent of winter, so was the appearance of France transformed by King Henry's coming, and everywhere the nobles were stirred up to arms, the castles were closed, the huddled cities were fortified, and on every side arose entrenchments. Thus through this sudden turn was the new Vicomte, the dreamer and the recluse, caught up by the career of events, as a straw is borne away by a torrent, when the French lords marched with their vassals to Harfleur, where they were soundly drubbed by the King of England; as afterward at Agincourt. But in the year of grace 1417 there was a breathing space for discredited France, and presently the Vicomte de Montbrison was sent into England, as ambassador. He got in London a fruitless audience of King Henry, whose demands were such as rendered a renewal of the war inevitable; and afterward got, in the month of April, about the day of Palm Sunday, at the Queen's dower-palace of Havering-Bower, an interview with Queen Jehane.[*] [*Nicolas unaccountably omits to mention that during the French wars she had ruled England as Regent with signal capacity,--although this fact, as you will see more lately, is the pivot of his chronicle.] A curled pert page took the Vicomte to where she sat alone, by prearrangement, in a chamber with painted walls, profusely lighted by the sun, and made pretence to weave a tapestry. When the page had gone she rose and cast aside the shuttle, and then with a glad and wordless cry stumbled toward the Vicomte. "Madame and Queen--!" he coldly said. His judgment found in her a quite ordinary, frightened woman, aging now, but still very handsome in these black and shimmering gold robes; but all his other faculties found her desirable: and with a contained hatred he had perceived, as if by the terse illumination of a thunderbolt, that he could never love any woman save the woman whom he most despised. She said: "I had forgotten. I had remembered only you, Antoine, and Navarre, and the clean-eyed Navarrese--" Now for a little, Jehane paced the gleaming and sun-drenched apartment as a bright leopardess might tread her cage. Then she wheeled. "Friend, I think that God Himself has deigned to avenge you. All misery my reign has been. First Hotspur, then prim Worcester harried us. Came Glyndwyr afterward to prick us with his devils' horns. Followed the dreary years that linked me to the rotting corpse which God's leprosy devoured while the poor furtive thing yet moved, and endured its share in the punishment of Manuel's poisonous blood. All misery, Antoine! And now I live beneath a sword." "You have earned no more," he said. "You have earned no more, O Jehane! whose only title is the Constant Lover!" He spat it out. She came uncertainly toward him, as though he had been some not implacable knave with a bludgeon. "For the King hates me," she plaintively said, "and I live beneath a sword. The big, fierce-eyed boy has hated me from the first, for all his lip-courtesy. And now he lacks the money to pay his troops, and I am the wealthiest person within his realm. I am a woman and alone in a foreign land. So I must wait, and wait, and wait, Antoine, till he devises some trumped-up accusation. Friend, I live as did Saint Damoclus, beneath a sword. Antoine!" she wailed--for now the pride of Queen Jehane was shattered utterly--"I am held as a prisoner for all that my chains are of gold." "Yet it was not until of late," he observed, "that you disliked the metal which is the substance of all crowns." And now the woman lifted toward him her massive golden necklace, garnished with emeralds and sapphires and with many pearls, and in the sunlight the gems were tawdry things. "Friend, the chain is heavy, and I lack the power to cast it off. The Navarrese we know of wore no such perilous fetters. Ah, you should have mastered me at Vannes. You could have done so, very easily. But you only talked--oh, Mary pity us! you only talked!--and I could find only a servant where I had sore need to find a master. Let all women pity me!" But now came many armed soldiers into the apartment. With spirit Queen Jehane turned to meet them, and you saw that she was of royal blood, for now the pride of many emperors blazed and informed her body as light occupies a lantern. "At last you come for me, messieurs?" "Whereas," the leader of these soldiers read from a parchment--"whereas the King's stepmother, Queen Jehane, is accused by certain persons of an act of witch-craft that with diabolical and subtile methods wrought privily to destroy the King, the said Dame Jehane is by the King committed (all her attendants being removed) to the custody of Sir John Pelham, who will, at the King's pleasure, confine her within Pevensey Castle, there to be kept under Sir John's control: the lands and other properties of the said Dame Jehane being hereby forfeit to the King, whom God preserve!" "Harry of Monmouth!" said Jehane,--"ah, my tall stepson, could I but come to you, very quietly, with a knife--!" She shrugged her shoulders, and the gold about her person glittered in the sunlight. "Witchcraft! ohimé, one never disproves that. Friend, now are you avenged the more abundantly." "Young Riczi is avenged," the Vicomte said; "and I came hither desiring vengeance." She wheeled, a lithe flame (he thought) of splendid fury. "And in the gutter Jehane dares say what Queen Jehane upon the throne might never say. Had I reigned all these years as mistress not of England but of Europe,--had nations wheedled me in the place of barons,--young Riczi had been none the less avenged. Bah! what do these so-little persons matter? Take now your petty vengeance! drink deep of it! and know that always within my heart the Navarrese has lived to shame me! Know that to-day you despise Jehane, the purchased woman! and that Jehane loves you! and that the love of proud Jehane creeps like a beaten cur toward your feet, in the sight of common men! and know that Riczi is avenged,--you milliner!" "Into England I came desiring vengeance--Apples of Sodom! O bitter fruit!" the Vicomte thought; "O fitting harvest of a fool's assiduous husbandry!" They took her from him: and that afternoon, after long meditation, the Vicomte de Montbrison entreated a second private audience of King Henry, and readily obtained it. "Unhardy is unseely," the Vicomte said at this interview's conclusion. The tale tells that the Vicomte returned to France and within this realm assembled all such lords as the abuses of the Queen-Regent Isabeau had more notoriously dissatisfied. The Vicomte had upon occasion an invaluable power of speech; and now, so great was the devotion of love's dupe, so heartily, so hastily, did he design to remove the discomforts of Queen Jehane, that now his eloquence was twin to Belial's insidious talking when that fiend tempts us to some proud iniquity. Then presently these lords had sided with King Henry, as did the Vicomte de Montbrison, in open field. Next, as luck would have it, Jehan Sans-Peur was slain at Montereau; and a little later the new Duke of Burgundy, who loved the Vicomte as he loved no other man, had shifted his coat, forsaking France. These treacheries brought down the wavering scales of warfare, suddenly, with an aweful clangor; and now in France clean-hearted persons spoke of the Vicomte de Montbrison as they would speak of Ganelon or of Iscariot, and in every market-place was King Henry proclaimed as governor of the realm. Meantime Queen Jehane had been conveyed to prison and lodged therein. She had the liberty of a tiny garden, high-walled, and of two scantily furnished chambers. The brace of hard-featured females whom Pelham had provided for the Queen's attendance might speak to her of nothing that occurred without the gates of Pevensey, and she saw no other persons save her confessor, a triple-chinned Dominican; had men already lain Jehane within the massive and gilded coffin of a queen the outer world would have made as great a turbulence in her ears. But in the year of grace 1422, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew, and about vespers--for thus it wonderfully fell out,--one of those grim attendants brought to her the first man, save the fat confessor, whom the Queen had seen within five years. The proud, frail woman looked and what she saw was the inhabitant of all her dreams. Said Jehane: "This is ill done. Time has avenged you. Be contented with that knowledge, and, for Heaven's sake, do not endeavor to moralize over the ruin which Heaven has made, and justly made, of Queen Jehane, as I perceive you mean to do." She leaned backward in the chair, very coarsely clad in brown, but knowing that her coloring was excellent, that she had miraculously preserved her figure, and that she did not look her real age by a good ten years. Such reflections beget spiritual comfort even in a prison. "Friend," the lean-faced man now said, "I do not come with such intent, as my mission will readily attest, nor to any ruin, as your mirror will attest. Instead, madame, I come as the emissary of King Henry, now dying at Vincennes, and with letters to the lords and bishops of his council. Dying, the man restores to you your liberty and your dower-lands, your bed and all your movables, and six gowns of such fashion and such color as you may elect." Then with hurried speech he told her of five years' events: of how within that period King Henry had conquered France, and had married the French King's daughter, and had begotten a boy who would presently inherit the united realms of France and England, since in the supreme hour of triumph King Henry had been stricken with a mortal sickness, and now lay dying, or perhaps already dead, at Vincennes; and of how with his penultimate breath the prostrate conqueror had restored to Queen Jehane all properties and all honors which she formerly enjoyed. "I shall once more be Regent," the woman said when the Vicomte had made an end; "Antoine, I shall presently be Regent both of France and of England, since Dame Katharine is but a child." Jehane stood motionless save for the fine hands that plucked the air. "Mistress of Europe! absolute mistress, and with an infant ward! now, may God have mercy on my unfriends, for they will soon perceive great need of it!" "Yet was mercy ever the prerogative of royal persons," the Vicomte suavely said, "and the Navarrese we know of was both royal and very merciful, O Constant Lover." The speech was as a whip-lash. Abruptly suspicion kindled in her shrewd gray eyes. "Harry of Monmouth feared neither man nor God. It needed more than any death-bed repentance to frighten him into restoring my liberty." There was a silence. "You, a Frenchman, come as the emissary of King Henry who has devastated France! are there no English lords, then, left alive of his, army?" The Vicomte de Montbrison said; "There is at all events no person better fitted to patch up this dishonorable business of your captivity, in which no clean man would care to meddle." She appraised this, and said with entire irrelevance: "The world has smirched you, somehow. At last you have done something save consider how badly I treated you. I praise God, Antoine, for it brings you nearer." He told her all. King Henry, it appeared, had dealt with him at Havering in perfect frankness. The King needed money for his wars in France, and failing the seizure of Jehane's enormous wealth, had exhausted every resource. "And France I mean to have," the King said. "Now the world knows you enjoy the favor of the Comte de Charolais; so get me an alliance with Burgundy against my imbecile brother of France, and Dame Jehane shall repossess her liberty. There you have my price." "And this price I paid," the Vicomte sternly said, "for 'Unhardy is unseely,' Satan whispered, and I knew that Duke Philippe trusted me. Yea, all Burgundy I marshalled under your stepson's banner, and for three years I fought beneath his loathed banner, until at Troyes we had trapped and slain the last loyal Frenchman. And to-day in France my lands are confiscate, and there is not an honest Frenchman but spits upon my name. All infamy I come to you for this last time, Jehane! as a man already dead I come to you, Jehane, for in France they thirst to murder me, and England has no further need of Montbrison, her blunted and her filthy instrument!" The woman nodded here. "You have set my thankless service above your life, above your honor. I find the rhymester glorious and very vile." "All vile," he answered; "and outworn! King's daughter, I swore to you, long since, eternal service. Of love I freely gave you yonder in Navarre, as yonder at Eltham I crucified my innermost heart for your delectation. Yet I, at least, keep faith, and in your face I fling faith like a glove--outworn, it may be, and God knows, unclean! Yet I, at least, keep faith! Lands and wealth have I given, up for you, O king's daughter, and life itself have I given you, and lifelong service have I given you, and all that I had save honor; and at the last I give you honor, too. Now let the naked fool depart, Jehane, for he has nothing more to give." While the Vicomte de Montbrison spoke thus, she had leaned upon the sill of an open casement. "Indeed, it had been better," she said, still with her face averted, and gazing downward at the tree-tops beneath, "it had been far better had we never met. For this love of ours has proven a tyrannous and evil lord. I have had everything, and upon each feast of will and sense the world afforded me this love has swept down, like a harpy--was it not a harpy you called the bird in that old poem of yours?--to rob me of delight. And you have had nothing, for he has pilfered you of life, giving only dreams in exchange, my poor Antoine, and he has led you at the last to infamy. We are as God made us, and--I may not understand why He permits this despotism." Thereafter, somewhere below, a peasant sang as he passed supperward through the green twilight, lit as yet by one low-hanging star alone. Sang the peasant: "King Jesus hung upon the Cross, 'And have ye sinned?' quo' He,--. 'Nay, Dysmas, 'tis no honest loss When Satan cogs the dice ye toss, And thou shall sup with Me,-- Sedebis apud angelos, Quia amavisti!' "At Heaven's Gate was Heaven's Queen, 'And have ye sinned?' quo' She,-- 'And would I hold him worth a bean That durst not seek, because unclean, My cleansing charity?-- Speak thou that wast the Magdalene, Quia amavisti!'" "It may be that in some sort the jingle answers me!" then said Jehane; and she began with an odd breathlessness, "Friend, when King Henry dies--and even now he dies--shall I not as Regent possess such power as no woman has ever wielded in Europe? can aught prevent this?" "It is true," he answered. "You leave this prison to rule over England again, and over conquered France as well, and naught can prevent it." "Unless, friend, I were wedded to a Frenchman. Then would the stern English lords never permit that I have any finger in the government." She came to him with conspicuous deliberation and rested her hands upon his breast. "Friend, I am weary of these tinsel splendors. What are this England and this France to me, who crave the real kingdom?" Her mouth was tremulous and lax, and her gray eyes were more brilliant than the star yonder. The man's arms were about her, and of the man's face I cannot tell you. "King's daughter! mistress of half Europe! I am a beggar, an outcast, as a leper among honorable persons." But it was as though he had not spoken. "Friend, it was for this I have outlived these garish, fevered years, it was this which made me glad when I was a child and laughed without knowing why. That I might to-day give up this so-great power for love of you, my all-incapable and soiled Antoine, was, as I now know, the end to which the Eternal Father created me. For, look you," she pleaded, "to surrender absolute dominion over half Europe is a sacrifice. Assure me that it is a sacrifice, Antoine! O glorious fool, delude me into the belief that I surrender much in choosing you! Nay, I know it is as nothing beside what you have given up for me, but it is all I have--it is all I have, Antoine!" He drew a deep and big-lunged breath that seemed to inform his being with an indomitable vigor; and grief and doubtfulness went quite away from him. "Love leads us," he said, "and through the sunlight of the world Love leads us, and through the filth of it Love leads us, but always in the end, if we but follow without swerving, Love leads upward. Yet, O God upon the Cross! Thou that in the article of death didst pardon Dysmas! as what maimed warriors of life, as what bemired travellers in muddied byways, must we presently come to Thee!" "Ah, but we will come hand in hand," she answered; "and He will comprehend." THE END OF THE NINTH NOVEL X THE STORY OF THE FOX-BRUSH "Dame serez de mon cueur, sans debat, Entierement, jusques mort me consume. Laurier souëf qui pour mon droit combat, Olivier franc, m'ostant toute amertume." THE TENTH NOVEL.--KATHARINE OF VALOIS IS LOVED BY A HUNTSMAN, AND LOVES HIM GREATLY; THEN FINDS HIM, TO HER HORROR, AN IMPOSTOR; AND FOR A SUFFICIENT REASON CONSENTS TO MARRY QUITE ANOTHER PERSON, NOT ALL UNWILLINGLY. _The Story of the Fox-Brush_ In the year of grace 1417, about Martinmas (thus Nicolas begins), Queen Isabeau fled with her daughter the Lady Katharine to Chartres. There the Queen was met by the Duke of Burgundy, and these two laid their heads together to such good effect that presently they got back into Paris, and in its public places massacred some three thousand Armagnacs. That, however, is a matter which touches history; the root of our concernment is that, when the Queen and the Duke rode off to attend to this butcher's business, the Lady Katharine was left behind in the Convent of Saint Scholastica, which then stood upon the outskirts of Chartres, in the bend of the Eure just south of that city. She dwelt for a year in this well-ordered place. There one finds her upon the day of the decollation of Saint John the Baptist, the fine August morning that starts the tale. Katharine the Fair, men called her, with considerable show of reason. She was very tall, and slim as a rush. Her eyes were large and black, having an extreme lustre, like the gleam of undried ink,--a lustre at some times uncanny. Her abundant hair, too, was black, and to-day seemed doubly sombre by contrast with the gold netting which confined it. Her mouth was scarlet, all curves, and her complexion was famous for its brilliancy; only a precisian would have objected that she possessed the Valois nose, long and thin and somewhat unduly overhanging the mouth. To-day as she came through the orchard, crimson garbed, she paused with lifted eyebrows. Beyond the orchard wall there was a hodgepodge of noises, among which a nice ear might distinguish the clatter of hoofs, a yelping and scurrying, and a contention of soft bodies, and above all a man's voice commanding the turmoil. She was seventeen, so she climbed into the crotch of an apple-tree and peered over the wall. He was in rusty brown and not unshabby; but her regard swept over this to his face, and there noted how his eyes shone like blue winter stars under the tumbled yellow hair, and noted the flash of his big teeth as he swore between them. He held a dead fox by the brush, which he was cutting off; two hounds, lank and wolfish, were scaling his huge body in frantic attempts to get at the carrion. A horse grazed close at hand. So for a heart-beat she saw him. Then he flung the tailless body to the hounds, and in the act spied two black eyes peeping through the apple-leaves. He laughed, all mirth to the heels of him. "Mademoiselle, I fear we have disturbed your devotions. But I had not heard that it was a Benedictine custom to rehearse aves in tree-tops." Then, as she leaned forward, both elbows resting more comfortably upon the wall, and thereby disclosing her slim body among the foliage like a crimson flower green-calyxed, he said, "You are not a nun--Blood of God! you are the Princess Katharine!" The nuns, her present guardians, would have declared the ensuing action horrific, for Katharine smiled frankly at him and asked how could he thus recognise her at one glance. He answered slowly: "I have seen your portrait. Hah, your portrait!" he jeered, head flung back and big teeth glinting in the sunlight. "There is a painter who merits crucifixion." She considered this indicative of a cruel disposition, but also of a fine taste in the liberal arts. Aloud she stated: "You are not a Frenchman, messire. I do not understand how you can have seen my portrait." The man stood for a moment twiddling the fox-brush. "I am a harper, my Princess. I have visited the courts of many kings, though never that of France. I perceive I have been woefully unwise." This trenched upon insolence--the look of his eyes, indeed, carried it well past the frontier,--but she found the statement interesting. Straightway she touched the kernel of those fear-blurred legends whispered about Dom Manuel's reputed descendants. "You have, then, seen the King of England?" "Yes, Highness." "Is it true that in him, the devil blood of Oriander has gone mad, and that he eats children--like Agrapard and Angoulaffre of the Broken Teeth?" His gaze widened. "I have heard a deal of scandal concerning the man. But certainly I never heard that." Katharine settled back, luxuriously, in the crotch of the apple-tree. "Tell me about him." Composedly he sat down upon the grass and began to acquaint her with his knowledge and opinions concerning Henry, the fifth of that name to reign in England, and the son of that squinting Harry of Derby about whom I have told you so much before. Katharine punctuated the harper's discourse with eager questionings, which are not absolutely to our purpose. In the main, this harper thought the man now buffeting France a just king, and he had heard, when the crown was laid aside, Sire Henry was sufficiently jovial, and even prankish. The harper educed anecdotes. He considered that the King would manifestly take Rouen, which the insatiable man was now besieging. Was the King in treaty for the hand of the Infanta of Aragon? Yes, he undoubtedly was. Katharine sighed her pity for this ill-starred woman. "And now tell me about yourself." He was, it appeared, Alain Maquedonnieux, a harper by vocation, and by birth a native of Ireland. Beyond the fact that it was a savage kingdom adjoining Cataia, Katharine knew nothing of Ireland. The harper assured her that in this she was misinformed, since the kings of England claimed Ireland as an appanage, though the Irish themselves were of two minds as to the justice of these pretensions; all in all, he considered that Ireland belonged to Saint Patrick, and that the holy man had never accredited a vicar. "Doubtless, by the advice of God," Alain said: "for I have read in Master Roger de Wendover's Chronicles of how at the dread day of judgment all the Irish are to muster before the high and pious Patrick, as their liege lord and father in the spirit, and by him be conducted into the presence of God; and of how, by virtue of Saint Patrick's request, all the Irish will die seven years to an hour before the second coming of Christ, in order to give the blessed saint sufficient time to marshal his company, which is considerable." Katharine admitted the convenience of this arrangement, as well as the neglect of her education. Alain gazed up at her for a long while, as if in reflection, and presently said: "Doubtless the Lady Heleine of Argos also was thus starry-eyed and found in books less diverting reading than in the faces of men." It flooded Katharine's cheeks with a livelier hue, but did not vex her irretrievably; if she chose to read this man's face, the meaning was plain enough. I give you the gist of their talk, and that in all conscience is trivial. But it was a day when one entered love's wardship with a plunge, not in more modern fashion venturing forward bit by bit, as though love were so much cold water. So they talked for a long while, with laughter mutually provoked and shared, with divers eloquent and dangerous pauses. The harper squatted upon the ground, the Princess leaned over the wall; but to all intent they sat together upon the loftiest turret of Paradise, and it was a full two hours before Katharine hinted at departure. Alain rose, approaching the wall. "To-morrow I ride for Milan to take service with Duke Filippo. I had broken my journey these three days past at Châteauneuf yonder, where this fox has been harrying my host's chickens. To-day I went out to slay him, and he led me, his murderer, to the fairest lady earth may boast. Do you not think that, in returning good for evil, this fox was a true Christian, my Princess?" Katharine said: "I lament his destruction. Farewell, Messire Alain! And since chance brought you hither--" "Destiny brought me hither," Alain affirmed, a mastering hunger in his eyes. "Destiny has been kind; I shall make a prayer to her that she continue so." But when Katharine demanded what this prayer would be, Alain shook his tawny head. "Presently you shall know, Highness, but not now. I return to Châteauneuf on certain necessary businesses; to-morrow I set out at cockcrow for Milan and the Visconti's livery. Farewell!" He mounted and rode away in the golden August sunlight, the hounds frisking about him. The fox-brush was fastened in his hat. Thus Tristran de Léonois may have ridden a-hawking in drowned Cornwall, thus statelily and composedly, Katharine thought, gazing after him. She went to her apartments, singing an inane song about the amorous and joyful time of spring when everything and everybody is happy,-- "El tems amoreus plein de joie, El tems où tote riens s'esgaie,--" and burst into a sudden passion of tears. There were born every day, she reflected, such hosts of women-children, who were not princesses, and therefore compelled to marry detestable kings. Dawn found her in the orchard. She was to remember that it was a cloudy morning, and that mist-tatters trailed from the more distant trees. In the slaty twilight the garden's verdure was lustreless, the grass and foliage were uniformly sombre save where dewdrops showed like beryls. Nowhere in the orchard was there absolute shadow, nowhere a vista unblurred; in the east, half-way between horizon and zenith, two belts of coppery light flared against the gray sky like embers swaddled by ashes. The birds were waking; there were occasional scurryings in tree-tops and outbursts of peevish twittering to attest as much; and presently came a singing, less musical than that of many a bird perhaps, but far more grateful to the girl who heard it, heart in mouth. A lute accompanied the song demurely. Sang Alain: "O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, Be not too obdurate to us who pray That this our transient grant of youth be spent In laughter as befits a holiday, From which the evening summons us away, From which to-morrow wakens us to strife And toil and grief and wisdom,--and to-day Grudge us not life! "O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, Why need our elders trouble us at play? We know that very soon we shall repent The idle follies of our holiday, And being old, shall be as wise as they: But now we are not wise, and lute and fife Plead sweetlier than axioms,--so to-day Grudge us not life! "O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, You have given us youth--and must we cast away The cup undrained and our one coin unspent Because our elders' beards and hearts are gray? They have forgotten that if we delay Death claps us on the shoulder, and with knife Or cord or fever flouts the prayer we pray-- 'Grudge us not life!' "Madam, recall that in the sun we play But for an hour, then have the worm for wife, The tomb for habitation--and to-day Grudge us not life!" Candor in these matters is best. Katharine scrambled into the crotch of the apple-tree. The dew pattered sharply about her, but the Princess was not in a mood to appraise discomfort. "You came!" this harper said, transfigured; and then again, "You came!" She breathed, "Yes." So for a long time they stood looking at each other. She found adoration in his eyes and quailed before it; and in the man's mind not a grimy and mean incident of the past but marshalled to leer at his unworthiness: yet in that primitive garden the first man and woman, meeting, knew no sweeter terror. It was by the minstrel that a familiar earth and the grating speech of earth were earlier regained. "The affair is of the suddenest," Alain observed, and he now swung the lute behind him. He indicated no intention of touching her, though he might easily have done so as he sat there exalted by the height of his horse. "A meteor arrives with more prelude. But Love is an arbitrary lord; desiring my heart, he has seized it, and accordingly I would now brave hell to come to you, and finding you there, would esteem hell a pleasure-garden. I have already made my prayer to Destiny that she concede me love. Now of God, our Father and Master, I entreat quick death if I am not to win you. For, God willing, I shall come to you again, even if in order to do this I have to split the world like a rotten orange." "Madness! Oh, brave, sweet madness!" Katharine said. "You are a minstrel and I am a king's daughter." "Is it madness? Why, then, I think sane persons are to be commiserated. And indeed I spy in all this some design. Across half the earth I came to you, led by a fox. Hey, God's face!" Alain swore; "the foxes which Samson, that old sinewy captain, loosed among the corn of heathenry kindled no disputation such as this fox has set afoot. That was an affair of standing corn and olives spoilt, a bushel or so of disaster; now poised kingdoms topple on the brink of ruin. There will be martial argument shortly if you bid me come again." "I bid you come," said Katharine; and after they had stared at each other for a long while, he rode away in silence. It was through a dank and tear-flawed world that she stumbled conventward, while out of the east the sun came bathed in mists, a watery sun no brighter than a silver coin. And for a month the world seemed no less dreary, but about Michaelmas the Queen-Regent sent for her. At the Hôtel de Saint-Pol matters were much the same. Katharine found her mother in foul-mouthed rage over the failure of a third attempt to poison the Dauphin of Vienne, as Queen Isabeau had previously poisoned her two elder sons; I might here trace out a curious similitude between the Valois and that dragon-spawned race which Jason very anciently slew at Colchis, since the world was never at peace so long as any two of them existed. But King Charles greeted his daughter with ampler deference, esteeming her to be the wife of Presbyter John, the tyrant of Aethiopia. However, ingenuity had just suggested card-playing for King Charles' amusement, and he paid little attention nowadays to any one save his opponent at this new game. So the French King chirped his senile jests over the card-table, while the King of England was besieging the French city of Rouen sedulously and without mercy. In late autumn an armament from Ireland joined Henry's forces. The Irish fought naked, it was said, with long knives. Katharine heard discreditable tales of these Irish, and reflected how gross are the exaggerations of rumor. In the year of grace 1419, in January, the burgesses of Rouen, having consumed their horses, and finding frogs and rats unpalatable, yielded the town. It was the Queen-Regent who brought the news to Katharine. "God is asleep," the Queen said; "and while He nods, the Butcher of Agincourt has stolen our good city of Rouen." She sat down and breathed heavily. "Never was any poor woman so pestered as I! The puddings to-day were quite uneatable, as you saw for yourself, and on Sunday the Englishman entered Rouen in great splendor, attended by his chief nobles; but the Butcher rode alone, and before him went a page carrying a fox-brush on the point of his lance. I put it to you, is that the contrivance of a sane man? Euh! euh!" Dame Isabeau squealed on a sudden; "you are bruising me." Katharine had gripped her by the shoulder. "The King of England--a tall, fair man? with big teeth? a tiny wen upon his neck--here--and with his left cheek scarred? with blue eyes, very bright, bright as tapers?" She poured out her questions in a torrent, and awaited the answer, seeming not to breathe at all. "I believe so," the Queen said, "and they say, too, that he has the damned squint of old Manuel the Redeemer." "O God!" said Katharine. "Ay, our only hope now. And may God show him no more mercy than has this misbegotten English butcher shown us!" the good lady desired, with fervor. "The hog, having won our Normandy, is now advancing on Paris itself. He repudiated the Aragonish alliance last August; and until last August he was content with Normandy, they tell us, but now he swears to win all France. The man is a madman, and Scythian Tamburlaine was more lenient. And I do not believe that in all France there is a cook who understands his business." She went away whimpering, and proceeded to get tipsy. The Princess remained quite still, as Dame Isabeau had left her; you may see a hare crouch so at sight of the hounds. Finally the girl spoke aloud. "Until last August!" Katharine said. "Until last August! _Poised kingdoms topple on the brink of ruin, now that you bid me come to you again_. And I bade this devil's grandson come to me, as my lover!" Presently she went into her oratory and began to pray. In the midst of her invocation she wailed: "Fool, fool! How could I have thought him less than a king!" You are to imagine her breast thus adrum with remorse and hatred of herself, the while that town by town fell before the invader like card-houses. Every rumor of defeat--and the news of some fresh defeat came daily--was her arraignment; impotently she cowered at God's knees, knowing herself a murderess, whose infamy was still afoot, outpacing her prayers, whose victims were battalions. Tarpeia and Pisidicé and Rahab were her sisters; she hungered in her abasement for Judith's nobler guilt. In May he came to her. A truce was patched up, and French and English met amicably in a great plain near Meulan. A square space was staked out and on three sides boarded in, the fourth side being the river Seine. This enclosure the Queen-Regent, Jehan of Burgundy, and Katharine entered from the French side. Simultaneously the English King appeared, accompanied by his brothers the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, and followed by the Earl of Warwick. Katharine raised her eyes with I know not what lingering hope; but it was he, a young Zeus now, triumphant and uneager. In his helmet in place of a plume he wore a fox-brush spangled with jewels. These six entered the tent pitched for the conference--the hanging of blue velvet embroidered with fleurs-de-lys of gold blurred before the girl's eyes,--and there the Earl of Warwick embarked upon a sea of rhetoric. His French was indifferent, his periods were interminable, and his demands exorbitant; in brief, the King of England wanted Katharine and most of France, with a reversion at the French King's death of the entire kingdom. Meanwhile Sire Henry sat in silence, his eyes glowing. "I have come," he said, under cover of Warwick's oratory--"I have come again, my lady." Katharine's gaze flickered over him. "Liar!" she said, very softly. "Has God no thunders remaining in His armory that this vile thief still goes unblasted? Would you steal love as well as kingdoms?" His ruddy face was now white. "I love you, Katharine." "Yes," she answered, "for I am your pretext. I can well believe, messire, that you love your pretext for theft and murder." Neither spoke after this, and presently the Earl of Warwick having come to his peroration, the matter was adjourned till the next day. The party separated. It was not long before Katharine had informed her mother that, God willing, she would never again look upon the King of England's face uncoffined. Isabeau found her a madwoman. The girl swept opposition before her with gusts of demoniacal fury, wept, shrieked, tore at her hair, and eventually fell into a sort of epileptic seizure; between rage and terror she became a horrid, frenzied beast. I do not dwell upon this, for it is not a condition in which the comeliest maid shows to advantage. But, for the Valois, insanity always lurked at the next corner, and they knew it; to save the girl's reason the Queen was forced to break off all discussion of the match. Accordingly, the Duke of Burgundy went next day to the conference alone. Jehan began with "ifs," and over these flimsy barriers Henry, already fretted by Katharine's scorn, presently vaulted to a towering fury. "Fair cousin," the King said, after a deal of vehement bickering, "we wish you to know that we will have the daughter of your King, and that we will drive both him and you out of this kingdom." The Duke answered, not without spirit, "Sire, you are pleased to say so; but before you have succeeded in ousting my lord and me from this realm, I am of the opinion that you will be very heartily tired." At this the King turned on his heel; over his shoulder he flung: "I am tireless; also, I am agile as a fox in the pursuit of my desires. Say that to your Princess." Then he went away in a rage. It had seemed an approvable business to win love incognito, according to the example of many ancient emperors, but in practice he had tripped over an ugly outgrowth from the legendary custom. The girl hated him, there was no doubt about it; and it was equally certain he loved her. Particularly caustic was the reflection that a twitch of his finger would get him Katharine as his wife, for before long the Queen-Regent was again attempting secret negotiations to bring this about. Yes, he could get the girl's body by a couple of pen-strokes, and had he been older that might have contented him: as it was, what he wanted was to rouse the look her eyes had borne in Chartres orchard that tranquil morning, and this one could not readily secure by fiddling with seals and parchments. You see his position: this high-spirited young man now loved the Princess too utterly to take her on lip-consent, and this marriage was now his one possible excuse for ceasing from victorious warfare. So he blustered, and the fighting recommenced; and he slew in a despairing rage, knowing that by every movement of his arm he became to her so much the more detestable. Then the Vicomte de Montbrison, as you have heard, betrayed France, and King Henry began to strip the French realm of provinces as you peel the layers from an onion. By the May of the year of grace 1420 France was, and knew herself to be, not beaten but demolished. Only a fag-end of the French army lay entrenched at Troyes, where King Charles and his court awaited Henry's decision as to the morrow's action. If he chose to destroy them root and branch, he could; and they knew such mercy as was in the man to be quite untarnished by previous using. Sire Henry drew up a small force before the city and made no overtures toward either peace or throat-cutting. This was the posture of affairs on the evening of the Sunday after Ascension day, when Katharine sat at cards with her father in his apartments at the Hôtel de Ville. The King was pursing his lips over an alternative play, when somebody began singing below in the courtyard. Sang the voice: "I can find no meaning in life, That have weighed the world,--and it was Abundant with folly, and rife With sorrows brittle as glass, And with joys that flicker and pass Like dreams through a fevered head; And like the dripping of rain In gardens naked and dead Is the obdurate thin refrain Of our youth which is presently dead. "And she whom alone I have loved Looks ever with loathing on me, As one she hath seen disproved And stained with such smirches as be Not ever cleansed utterly; And is both to remember the days When Destiny fixed her name As the theme and the goal of my praise; And my love engenders shame, And I stain what I strive for and praise. "O love, most perfect of all, Just to have known you is well! And it heartens me now to recall That just to have known you is well, And naught else is desirable Save only to do as you willed And to love you my whole life long;-- But this heart in me is filled With hunger cruel and strong, And with hunger unfulfilled. "Fond heart, though thy hunger be As a flame that wanders unstilled, There is none more perfect than she!" Malise now came into the room, and, without speaking, laid a fox-brush before the Princess. Katharine twirled it in her hand, staring at the card-littered table. "So you are in his pay, Malise? I am sorry. But you know that your employer is master here. Who am I to forbid him entrance?" The girl went away silently, abashed, and the Princess sat quite still, tapping the brush against the table. "They do not want me to sign another treaty, do they?" her father asked timidly. "It appears to me they are always signing treaties, and I cannot see that any good comes of it. And I would have won the last game, Katharine, if Malise had not interrupted us. You know I would have won." "Yes, Father, you would have won. Oh, he must not see you!" Katharine cried, a great tide of love mounting in her breast, the love that draws a mother fiercely to shield her backward boy. "Father, will you not go into your chamber? I have a new book for you, Father--all pictures, dear. Come--" She was coaxing him when Sire Henry appeared in the doorway. "But I do not wish to look at pictures," Charles said, peevishly; "I wish to play cards. You are an ungrateful daughter, Katharine. You are never willing to amuse me." He sat down with a whimper and began to pluck at his dribbling lips. Katharine had moved a little toward the door. Her face was white. "Now welcome, sire!" she said. "Welcome, O great conqueror, who in your hour of triumph can find no nobler recreation than to shame a maid with her past folly! It was valorously done, sire. See, Father; here is the King of England come to observe how low we sit that yesterday were lords of France." "The King of England!" echoed Charles, and he rose now to his feet. "I thought we were at war with him. But my memory is treacherous. You perceive, brother of England, I am planning a new mouse-trap, and my mind is somewhat preëmpted. I recall now that you are in treaty for my daughter's hand. Katharine is a good girl, a fine upstanding girl, but I suppose--" He paused, as if to regard and hear some invisible counsellor, and then briskly resumed: "Yes, I suppose policy demands that she should marry you. We trammelled kings can never go free of policy--ey, my compère of England? No; it was through policy I wedded her mother; and we have been very unhappy, Isabeau and I. A word in your ear, son-in-law: Madame Isabeau's soul formerly inhabited a sow, as Pythagoras teaches, and when our Saviour cast it out at Gadara, the influence of the moon drew it hither." Henry did not say anything. Steadily his calm blue eyes appraised Dame Katharine. And King Charles went on, very knowingly: "Oho, these Latinists cannot hoodwink me, you observe, though by ordinary it chimes with my humor to appear content. Policy again, son-in-law: for once roused, I am terrible. To-day in the great hall-window, under the bleeding feet of Lazarus, I slew ten flies-- very black they were, the black shrivelled souls of parricides,--and afterward I wept for it. I often weep; the Mediterranean hath its sources in my eyes, for my daughter cheats at cards. Cheats, sir!--and I her father!" The incessant peering, the stealthy cunning with which Charles whispered this, the confidence with which he clung to his destroyer's hand, was that of a conspiring child. "Come, Father," Katharine said. "Come away to bed, dear." "Hideous basilisk!" he spat at her; "dare you rebel against me? Am I not King of France, and is it not blasphemy for a King of France to be mocked? Frail moths that flutter about my splendor," he shrieked, in an unheralded frenzy, "beware of me, beware! for I am omnipotent! I am King of France, Heaven's regent. At my command the winds go about the earth, and nightly the stars are kindled for my recreation. Perhaps I am mightier than God, but I do not remember now. The reason is written down and lies somewhere under a bench. Now I sail for England. Eia! eia! I go to ravage England, terrible and merciless. But I must have my mouse-traps, Goodman Devil, for in England the cats of the middle-sea wait unfed." He went out of the room, giggling, and in the corridor began to sing: "A hundred thousand times good-bye! I go to seek the Evangelist, For here all persons cheat and lie ..." All this while Henry remained immovable, his eyes fixed upon Katharine. Thus (she meditated) he stood among Frenchmen; he was the boulder, and they the waters that babbled and fretted about him. But she turned and met his gaze squarely. She noted now for the first time how oddly his left eyebrow drooped. Katharine said: "And that is the king whom you have conquered! Is it not a notable conquest to overcome so wise a king? to pilfer renown from an idiot? There are cut-throats in Troyes, rogues doubly damned, who would scorn the action. Now shall I fetch my mother, sire? the commander of that great army which you overcame? As the hour is late, she is by this time tipsy, but she will come. Or perhaps she is with some paid lover, but if this conqueror, this second Alexander, wills it she will come. O God!" the girl wailed, on a sudden; "O just and all-seeing God! are not we of Valois so contemptible that in conquering us it is the victor who is shamed?" "Flower of the marsh!" he said, and his voice pulsed with tender cadences--"flower of the marsh! it is not the King of England who now comes to you, but Alain the harper. Henry Plantagenet God has led hither by the hand to punish the sins of this realm, and to reign in it like a true king. Henry Plantagenet will cast out the Valois from the throne they have defiled, as Darius cast out Belshazzar, for such is the desire and the intent of God. But to you comes Alain the harper, not as a conqueror but as a suppliant,--Alain who has loved you whole-heartedly these two years past, and who now kneels before you entreating grace." Katharine looked down into his countenance, for to his speech he had fitted action. Suddenly and for the first time she understood that he believed France to be his by Divine favor and Heaven's peculiar intervention. He thought himself God's factor, not His rebel. He was rather stupid, this huge, handsome, squinting boy; and as she comprehended this, her hand went to his shoulder, half maternally. "It is nobly done, sire. But I understand. You must marry me in order to uphold your claim to France. You sell, and I with my body purchase, peace for France. There is no need of a lover's posture when hucksters meet." "So changed!" he said, and he was silent for an interval, still kneeling. Then he began: "You force me to point out that I do not need any pretext for holding France. France lies before me prostrate. By God's singular grace I reign in this fair kingdom, mine by right of conquest, and an alliance with the house of Valois will neither make nor mar me." She was unable to deny this, unpalatable as was the fact. "But I love you, and therefore as man wooes woman I sue to you. Do you not understand that there can be between us no question of expediency? Katharine, in Chartres orchard there met a man and a maid we know of; now in Troyes they meet again,--not as princess and king, but as man and maid, the wooer and the wooed. Once I touched your heart, I think. And now in all the world there is one thing I covet--to gain for the poor king some portion of that love you would have squandered on the harper." His hand closed upon her hand. At his touch the girl's composure vanished. "My lord, you woo too timidly for one who comes with many loud-voiced advocates. I am daughter to the King of France, and next to my soul's salvation I esteem the welfare of France. Can I, then, fail to love the King of England, who chooses the blood of my countrymen as a judicious garb to come a-wooing in? How else, since you have ravaged my native land, since you have besmirched the name I bear, since yonder afield every wound in my dead and yet unburied Frenchmen is to me a mouth which shrieks your infamy?" He rose. "And yet, for all that, you love me." She could not at the first effort find words with which to answer him, but presently she said, quite simply, "To see you lying in your coffin I would willingly give up my hope of heaven, for heaven can afford no sight more desirable." "You loved Alain." "I loved the husk of a man. You can never comprehend how utterly I loved him." "You are stubborn. I shall have trouble with you. But this notion of yours is plainly a mistaken notion. That you love me is indisputable, and this I propose to demonstrate. You will observe that I am quite unarmed except for this dagger, which I now throw out of the window--" with the word it jangled in the courtyard below. "I am in Troyes alone among some thousand Frenchmen, any one of whom would willingly give his life for the privilege of taking mine. You have but to sound the gong beside you, and in a few moments I shall be a dead man. Strike, then! For with me dies the English power in France. Strike, Katharine! If you see in me but the King of England." She was rigid; and his heart leapt when he saw it was because of terror. "You came alone! You dared!" He answered, with a wonderful smile, "Proud spirit! How else might I conquer you?" "You have not conquered!" Katharine lifted the baton beside the gong, poising it. God had granted her prayer--to save France. Now the past and the ignominy of the past might be merged in Judith's nobler guilt. But I must tell you that in the supreme hour, Destiny at her beck, her main desire was to slap the man for his childishness. Oh, he had no right thus to besot himself with adoration! This dejection at her feet of his high destiny awed her, and pricked her, too, with her inability to understand him. Angrily she flung away the baton. "Go! Ah, go!" she cried, like one strangling. "There has been enough of bloodshed, and I must spare you, loathing you as I do, for I cannot with my own hand murder you." But the King was a kindly tyrant, crushing independence from his associates as lesser folk squeeze water from a sponge. "I cannot go thus. Acknowledge me to be Alain, the man you love, or else strike upon the gong." "You are cruel!" she wailed, in her torture. "Yes, I am cruel." Katharine raised straining arms above her head in a hard gesture of despair. "You have conquered. You know that I love you. Oh, if I could find words to voice my shame, to shriek it in your face, I could better endure it! For I love you. With all my body and heart and soul I love you. Mine is the agony, for I love you! and presently I shall stand quite still and see little Frenchmen scramble about you as hounds leap about a stag, and afterward kill you. And after that I shall live! I preserve France, but after I have slain you, Henry, I must live. Mine is the agony, the enduring agony." She stayed motionless for an interval. "God, God! Let me not fail!" Katharine breathed; and then: "O fair sweet friend, I am about to commit a vile action, but it is for the sake of the France that I love next to God. As Judith gave her body to Holofernes, I crucify my heart for the preservation of France." Very calmly she struck upon the gong. If she could have found any reproach in his eyes during the ensuing silence, she could have borne it; but there was only love. And with all that, he smiled like one who knew the upshot of this matter. A man-at-arms came into the room. "Germain--" said Katharine, and then again, "Germain--" She gave a swallowing motion and was silent. When she spoke it was with crisp distinctness. "Germain, fetch a harp. Messire Alain here is about to play for me." At the man's departure she said: "I am very pitiably weak. Need you have dragged my soul, too, in the dust? God heard my prayer, and you have forced me to deny His favor, as Peter denied Christ. My dear, be very kind to me, for I come to you naked of honor." She fell at the King's feet, embracing his knees. "My master, be very kind to me, for there remains only your love." He raised her to his breast. "Love is enough," he said. She was conscious, as he held her thus, of the chain mail under his jerkin. He had come armed; he had his soldiers no doubt in the corridor; he had tricked her, it might be from the first. But that did not matter now. "Love is enough," she told her master docilely. Next day the English entered Troyes and in the cathedral church these two were betrothed. Henry was there magnificent in a curious suit of burnished armor; in place of his helmet-plume he wore a fox-brush ornamented with jewels, which unusual ornament afforded great matter of remark among the busybodies of both armies. THE END OF THE TENTH NOVEL THE EPILOGUE "Et je fais sçavoir à tous lecteurs de ce Livret que les choses que je dis avoir vues et sues sont enregistrés icy, afin que vous pouviez les regarder selon vostre bon sens, s'il vous plaist." HERE IS APPENDED THE EPILOGUE THAT MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN AFFIXED TO THE BOOK WHICH HE HAD MADE ACCORDING TO THE BEST OF HIS ABILITY; AND WHICH (IN CONSEQUENCE) HE DARED NOT APPRAISE. _The Epilogue_ _A Son Livret_ Intrepidly depart, my little book, into the presence of that most illustrious lady who bade me compile you. Bow down before her judgment. And if her sentence be that of a fiery death, I counsel you not to grieve at what cannot be avoided. But, if by any miracle that glorious, strong fortress of the weak consider it advisable that you remain unburned, pass thence, my little book, to every man who may desire to purchase you, and live out your little hour among these very credulous persons; and at your appointed season perish and be forgotten. Thus may you share your betters' fate, and be at one with those famed comedies of Greek Menander and all the poignant songs of Sappho. _Et quid Pandoniae_--thus, little book, I charge you to poultice your more-merited oblivion--_quid Pandoniae restat nisi nomen Athenae?_ Yet even in your brief existence you may chance to meet with those who will affirm that the stories you narrate are not true and protest assertions which are only fables. To these you will reply that I, your maker, was in my youth the quite unworthy servant of the most high and noble lady, Dame Jehane, and in this period, at and about her house of Havering-Bower, conversed in my own person with Dame Katharine, then happily remarried to a private gentleman of Wales; and so obtained the matter of the ninth story and of the tenth authentically. You will say also that Messire de Montbrison afforded me the main matter of the sixth and seventh stories, and many of the songs which this book contains; and that, moreover, I once journeyed to Caer Idion and talked for some two hours with Richard Holland (whom I found a very old and garrulous and cheery person), and got of him the matter of the eighth tale in this dizain, together with much information as concerns the sixth and the seventh. And you will add that the matter of the fourth and fifth tales was in every detail related to me by my most illustrious mistress, Madame Isabella of Portugal, who had this information from her mother, an equally veracious and immaculate lady, and one that was in youth Dame Philippa's most dear associate. For the rest you must admit, unwillingly, the first three stories in this book to be a thought less solidly confirmed; although (as you will say) even in these histories I have not ever deviated from what was at odd times narrated to me by the aforementioned persons, and have always endeavored honestly to piece together that which they told me. I have pieced together these tales about the women who intermarried, not very enviably, with the demon-tainted blood of Edward Longshanks, because it seems to me that these tales, when they are rightly considered, compose the initial portion of a troubling history. Whether (as some declare) the taint came from Manuel of Poictesme, or whether (as yet others say) this poison was inherited from the demon wife whom Foulques Plantagenet fetched out of hell, the blood in these men was not all human. These men might not tread equally with human beings: their wives suffered therefor, just as they that had inherited this blood suffered therefor, and all England suffered therefor. And the upshot of it I have narrated elsewhere, in the book called and entitled _The Red Cuckold_, which composes the final portion of this history, and tells of the last spilling and of the extinction of this blood. Also, my little book, you will encounter more malignant people who will jeer at you, and will say that you and I have cheated them of your purchase-money. To these you will reply, with Plutarch, _Non mi aurum posco, nec mi pretium_. Secondly you will say that, of necessity, the tailor cuts the coat according to his cloth; and that he cannot undertake to robe an Ephialtes or a towering Orion suitably when the resources of his shop amount to only a few yards of cambric. Indeed had I the power to make you better, my little book, I would have exercised that power to the utmost. A good conscience is a continual feast, and I summon high Heaven to be my witness that had I been Homer you had awed the world, another Iliad. I lament your inability to do this, as heartily as any person living; yet Heaven willed it; and it is in consequence to Heaven these aforementioned cavillers should rightfully complain. So to such impious people do you make no answer at all, unless indeed you should elect to answer them by repetition of this song which I now make for you, my little book, at your departure from me. And the song runs in this fashion: Depart, depart, my book! and live and die Dependent on the idle fantasy Of men who cannot view you, quite, as I. For I am fond, and willingly mistake My book to be the book I meant to make, And cannot judge you, for that phantom's sake. Yet pardon me if I have wrought too ill In making you, that never spared the will To shape you perfectly, and lacked the skill. Ah, had I but the power, my book, then I Had wrought in you some wizardry so high That no man but had listened ... They pass by, And shrug--as we, who know that unto us It has been granted never to fare thus, And never to be strong and glorious. Is it denied me to perpetuate What so much loving labor did create?-- I hear Oblivion tap upon the gate, And acquiesce, not all disconsolate. For I have got such recompense Of that high-hearted excellence Which the contented craftsman knows, Alone, that to loved labor goes, And daily does the work he chose, And counts all else impertinence! EXPLICIT DECAS REGINARUM 
22463	----	[Illustration: Cover art] [Frontispiece: "'I SING OF DEATH'" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] [Illustration: Title page] Chivalry By James Branch Cabell "_And I, according to my copy, and after the simple cunning that God hath sent to me, have down set this in print, to the intent that noble men may see and learn the noble acts of chivalry._" Illustrated New York and London Harper & Brothers Publishers 1909 Copyright, 1909, by HARPER & BROTHERS. _All rights reserved._ Published October, 1909. TO Anne Branch Cabell "AINSI A VOUS, MADAME, A MA TRES HAULTE ET TRES NOBLE DAME, A QUI J'AYME A DEVOIR ATTACHEMENT ET OBEISSANCE, J'ENVOYE CE LIVRET." Precautional _Imprimis, as concerns the authenticity of these tales perhaps the less debate may be the higher wisdom, if only because this Nicolas de Caen, by common report, was never a Gradgrindian. And in this volume in particular, writing it (as Nicolas is supposed to have done) in _1470_, as a dependant on the Duke of Burgundy, it were but human nature should our author be a little niggardly in his ascription of praiseworthy traits to any member of the house of Lancaster or of Valois. Rather must one in common reason accept him as confessedly a partisan writer, who upon occasion will recolor an event with such nuances as will be least inconvenient to a Yorkist and Burgundian bias._ _The reteller of these stories needs in addition to plead guilty of having abridged the tales with a free hand. Item, these tales have been a trifle pulled about, most notably in _"THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS,_" where it seemed advantageous, on rejection, to put into Gloucester's mouth a history which in the original version was related ab ovo, and as a sort of bungling prologue to the story proper. Item, some passages have been restored in book-form--pre-eminently to _"THE STORY OF THE HOUSEWIFE"_--that in an anterior publication had been unavoidably deleted through consideration of space._ _And--"sixth and lastly"--should confession be made that in the present rendering a purely arbitrary title has been assigned this little book; and chiefly for commercial reasons, since the word "dizain" has been adjudged both untranslatable and, in its pristine form, repellantly outre._ _You are to give my makeshift, then, a wide interpretation; and are always to remember that in the bleak, florid age these tales commemorate this chivalry was much the rarelier significant of any personal trait than of a world-wide code in consonance with which all estimable people lived and died. Its root was the assumption (uncontested then) that a gentleman will always serve his God, his honor and his lady without any reservation; nor did the many emanating by-laws ever deal with special cases as concerns this triple, fixed, and fundamental homage._ _So here you have a chance to peer at our world's youth when chivalry was regnant, and common-sense and cowardice were still at nurse. And, questionless, these same conditions were the source of an age-long melee--such as this week is, happily, impossible in any of our parishes--wherein contended "courtesy, and humanity, friendliness, hardihood, love and friendship, and murder, hate, and virtue, and sin." So that I can only counsel you to do after the excellencies and leave the iniquity._ _And for the rest, since good wine needs no hush, and an inferior beverage is not likely to be bettered by arboreal adornment, the reteller of these tales prefers to piece out his exordium (however lamely) with_ "THE PRINTER'S PREFACE." _And it runs in this fashion:_ _"Here begins the volume called and entitled the Dizain of Queens, composed and extracted from divers chronicles and other sources of information, by that extremely venerable person and worshipful man, Messire Nicolas de Caen, priest and chaplain to the right noble, glorious and mighty prince in his time, Philippe, Duke of Burgundy, of Brabant, etc., in the year of the Incarnation of our Lord God a thousand four hundred and seventy; and imprinted by me, Colard Mansion, at Bruges, in the year of our said Lord God a thousand four hundred and seventy-one; at the commandment of the right high, mighty and virtuous Princess, my redoubted Lady, Isabella of Portugal, by the grace of God Duchess of Burgundy and Lotharingia, of Brabant and Limbourg, of Luxembourg and of Gueldres, Countess of Flanders, of Artois, and of Burgundy, Palatine of Hainault, of Holland, of Zealand and of Namur, Marquesse of the Holy Empire, and Lady of Frisia, of Salins and of Mechlin; whom I beseech Almighty God less to increase than to continue in her virtuous disposition in this world, and after our poor fleet existence to receive eternally. Amen."_ Contents CHAP. PRECAUTIONAL THE PROLOGUE I. THE STORY OF THE SESTINA II. THE STORY OF THE TENSON III. THE STORY OF THE RAT-TRAP IV. THE STORY OF THE CHOICES V. THE STORY OF THE HOUSEWIFE VI. THE STORY OF THE SATRAPS VII. THE STORY OF THE HERITAGE VIII. THE STORY OF THE SCABBARD IX. THE STORY OF THE NAVARRESE X. THE STORY OF THE FOX-BRUSH THE EPILOGUE Illustrations "'I SING OF DEATH'" . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ "THEY WERE OVERTAKEN BY FALMOUTH HIMSELF" "IN AN INSTANT THE PLACE RESOUNDED LIKE A SMITHY" "SHE HAD VIEWED THE GREAT CONQUEROR" "'MY PRISONER!' SHE SAID" "'DO YOU FORSAKE SIRE EDWARD, CATHERINE?'" "'HAIL YE THAT ARE MY KINSMEN!'" "IN THE LIKENESS OF A FAIR WOMAN" "'YOU DESIGN MURDER?' RICHARD ASKED" "'TAKE NOW YOUR PETTY VENGEANCE!'" "SO FOR A HEART-BEAT SHE SAW HIM" "NICOLAS: A SON LIVRET" The Prologue "_Afin que les entreprises honorables et les nobles aventures et faicts d'armes soyent noblement enregistres et conserves, je vais traiter et raconter et inventer ung galimatias._" THE DIZAIN OF QUEENS OF THAT NOBLE MAKER IN THE FRENCH TONGUE, MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN, DEDICATED TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS ISABELLA OF PORTUGAL, OF THE HOUSE OF THE INDOMITABLE ALFONSO HENRIQUES, AND DUCHESS DOWAGER OF BURGUNDY. HERE BEGINS IN AUSPICIOUS WISE THE PROLOGUE. Chivalry The Prologue _A sa Dame_ Inasmuch as it was by your command, illustrious and exalted lady, that I have gathered together these stories to form the present little book, you should the less readily suppose I have presumed to dedicate to your Serenity this trivial offering because of my esteeming it to be not undeserving of your acceptance. The truth is otherwise; and your postulant now approaches as one not spurred toward you by vainglory but rather by plain equity, and simply in acknowledgment of the fact that he who seeks to write of noble ladies must necessarily implore at outset the patronage of her who is the light and mainstay of our age. In fine, I humbly bring my book to you as Phidyle approached another and less sacred shrine, _farre pio et salente mica_, and lay before you this my valueless mean tribute not as appropriate to you but as the best I have to offer. It is a little book wherein I treat of divers queens and of their love-business; and with necessitated candor I concede my chosen field to have been harvested, and even scrupulously gleaned, by many writers of innumerable conditions. Since Dares Phrygius wrote of Queen Heleine and Virgil (that shrewd necromancer) of Queen Dido, a preponderating mass of clerks, in casting about for high and serious matter, have chosen, as though it were by common instinct, to dilate upon the amours of royal women. Even in romance we scribblers must contrive it so that the fair Nicolette shall be discovered in the end to be no less than the King's daughter of Carthage, and that Sir Doon of Mayence shall never sink in his love-affairs beneath the degree of a Saracen princess; and we are backed in this old procedure not only by the authority of Aristotle but, oddly enough, by that of reason as well. Kings have their policies and wars wherewith to drug each appetite. But their consorts are denied these makeshifts; and love may rationally be defined as the pivot of each normal woman's life, and in consequence as the arbiter of that ensuing life which is eternal. Because--as of old Horatius Flaccus demanded, though not, to speak the truth, of any woman,-- _Quo fugis? ah demons! nulla est fuga, tu licet usque_ _Ad Tanaim fugias, usque sequetur amor._ And a dairymaid, let us say, may love whom she will, and nobody else be a penny the worse for her mistaking of the preferable nail whereon to hang her affections; whereas with a queen this choice is more portentous. She plays the game of life upon a loftier table, ruthlessly illuminated, and stakes by her least movement a tall pile of counters, some of which are, of necessity, the lives and happiness of persons whom she knows not, unless it be by vague report. Grandeur sells itself at this hard price, and at no other. A queen must always play, in fine, as the vicar of destiny, free to choose but very certainly compelled to justify that choice in the ensuing action; as is strikingly manifested by the authentic histories of Brunhalt, and of Guenevere, and of swart Cleopatra, and of many others that were born to the barbaric queenhoods of a now extinct and dusty time. For royal persons are (I take it) the immediate and the responsible stewards of Heaven; and since the nature of each man is like a troubled stream, now muddied and now clear, their prayer must ever be, _Defenda me, Dios, de me_! Yes, of exalted people, and even of their near associates, life, because it aims more high than the aforementioned Aristotle, demands upon occasion a more great catharsis which would purge any audience of unmanliness, through pity and through terror, because, by a quaint paradox, the players have been purged of all humanity. For in that aweful moment would Destiny have thrust her sceptre into the hands of a human being and Chance would have exalted a human being into usurpal of her chair. These two--with what immortal chucklings one may facilely imagine--would then have left the weakling thus enthroned, free to direct the pregnant outcome, free to choose, and free to steer the conjuration either in the fashion of Friar Bacon or of his man, but with no intermediate course unbarred. _Now prove thyself!_ saith Destiny; and Chance appends: _Now prove thyself to be at bottom a god or else a beast, and now eternally abide that choice. And now_ (O crowning irony!) _we may not tell thee clearly by which choice thou mayst prove either_. It is of ten such moments that I treat within this little book. You alone, I think, of all persons living have learned, as you have settled by so many instances, to rise above mortality in such a testing, and unfailingly to merit by your conduct the plaudits and the adoration of our otherwise dissentient world. You have sat often in this same high chair of Chance; and in so doing have both graced and hallowed it. Yet I forbear to speak of this, simply because I dare not seem to couple your well-known perfection with any imperfect encomium. _Therefore to you, madame--most excellent and noble lady,_ _to whom I love to owe both loyalty and love--_ _I dedicate this little book._ I The Story of the Sestina "_Armatz de fust e de fer e d'acier, Mos ostal seran bosc, fregz, e semdier, E mas cansos sestinas e descortz, E mantenrai los frevols contra 'ls fortz._" THE FIRST NOVEL.--ALIANORA OF PROVENCE, COMING IN DISGUISE AND IN ADVERSITY TO A CERTAIN CLERK, IS BY HIM CONDUCTED ACROSS A HOSTILE COUNTRY; AND IN THAT TROUBLED JOURNEY ARE MADE MANIFEST TO EITHER THE SNARES WHICH HAD BEGUILED THEM AFORETIME. The Story of the Sestina In this place we have to do with the opening tale of the Dizain of Queens. I abridge, as afterward, at discretion; and an initial account of the Barons' War, among other superfluities, I amputate as more remarkable for veracity than interest. The result, we will agree at outset, is that to the Norman cleric appertains whatever these tales may have of merit, whereas what you find distasteful in them you must impute to my delinquencies in skill rather than in volition. Within the half-hour after de Giars' death (here one overtakes Nicolas mid-course in narrative) Dame Alianora thus stood alone in the corridor of a strange house. Beyond the arras the steward and his lord were at irritable converse. First, "If the woman be hungry," spoke a high and peevish voice, "feed her. If she need money, give it to her. But do not annoy me." "This woman demands to see the master of the house," the steward then retorted. "O incredible Boeotian, inform her that the master of the house has no time to waste upon vagabonds who select the middle of the night as an eligible time to pop out of nowhere. Why did you not do so in the beginning, you dolt?" He got for answer only a deferential cough, and very shortly continued: "This is remarkably vexatious. _Vox et praeterea nihil_,--which signifies, Yeck, that to converse with women is always delightful. Admit her." This was done, and Dame Alianora came into an apartment littered with papers, where a neat and shrivelled gentleman of fifty-odd sat at a desk and scowled. He presently said, "You may go, Yeck." He had risen, the magisterial attitude with which he had awaited her advent cast aside. "O God!" he said; "you, madame!" His thin hands, scholarly hands, were plucking at the air. Dame Alianora had paused, greatly astonished, and there was an interval before she said, "I do not recognize you, messire." "And yet, madame, I recall very clearly that some thirty years ago Count Berenger, then reigning in Provence, had about his court four daughters, each one of whom was afterward wedded to a king. First, Margaret, the eldest, now regnant in France; then Alianora, the second and most beautiful of these daughters, whom troubadours hymned as La Belle. She was married a long while ago, madame, to the King of England, Lord Henry, third of that name to reign in these islands." Dame Alianora's eyes were narrowing. "There is something in your voice," she said, "which I recall." He answered: "Madame and Queen, that is very likely, for it is a voice which sang a deal in Provence when both of us were younger. I concede with the Roman that I have somewhat deteriorated since the reign of good Cynara. Yet have you quite forgotten the Englishman who made so many songs of you? They called him Osmund Heleigh." "He made the Sestina of Spring which my father envied," the Queen said; and then, with a new eagerness: "Messire, can it be that you are Osmund Heleigh?" He shrugged assent. She looked at him for a long time, rather sadly, and afterward demanded if he were the King's man or of the barons' party. The nervous hands were raised in deprecation. "I have no politics," he began, and altered it, gallantly enough, to, "I am the Queen's man, madame." "Then aid me, Osmund," she said; and he answered with a gravity which singularly became him: "You have reason to understand that to my fullest power I will aid you." "You know that at Lewes these swine overcame us." He nodded assent. "And now they hold the King my husband captive at Kenilworth. I am content that he remain there, for he is of all the King's enemies the most dangerous. But, at Wallingford, Leicester has imprisoned my son, Prince Edward. The Prince must be freed, my Osmund. Warren de Basingbourne commands what is left of the royal army, now entrenched at Bristol, and it is he who must liberate him. Get me to Bristol, then. Afterward we will take Wallingford." The Queen issued these orders in cheery, practical fashion, and did not admit opposition into the account, for she was a capable woman. "But you, madame?" he stammered. "You came alone?" "I come from France, where I have been entreating--and vainly entreating--succor from yet another monkish king, the pious Lewis of that realm. Eh, what is God about when He enthrones these cowards, Osmund? Were I a king, were I even a man, I would drive these smug English out of their foggy isle in three days' space! I would leave alive not one of these curs that dare yelp at me! I would--" She paused, the sudden anger veering into amusement. "See how I enrage myself when I think of what your people have made me suffer," the Queen said, and shrugged her shoulders. "In effect, I skulked back to this detestable island in disguise, accompanied by Avenel de Giars and Hubert Fitz-Herveis. To-night some half-dozen fellows--robbers, thorough knaves, like all you English,--suddenly attacked us on the common yonder and slew the men of our party. While they were cutting de Giars' throat I slipped away in the dark and tumbled through many ditches till I spied your light. There you have my story. Now get me an escort to Bristol." It was a long while before Messire Heleigh spoke. Then, "These men," he said--"this de Giars and this Fitz-Herveis--they gave their lives for yours, as I understand it,--_pro caris amicis_. And yet you do not grieve for them." "I shall regret de Giars," the Queen said, "for he made excellent songs. But Fitz-Herveis?--foh! the man had a face like a horse." Then again her mood changed. "Many men have died for me, my friend. At first I wept for them, but now I am dry of tears." He shook his head. "Cato very wisely says, 'If thou hast need of help, ask it of thy friends.' But the sweet friend that I remember was a clean-eyed girl, joyous and exceedingly beautiful. Now you appear to me one of those ladies of remoter times--Faustina, or Jael, or Artemis, the King's wife of Tauris,--they that slew men, laughing. I am somewhat afraid of you, madame." She was angry at first; then her face softened. "You English!" she said, only half mirthful. "Eh, my God! you remember me when I was happy. Now you behold me in my misery. Yet even now I am your Queen, messire, and it is not yours to pass judgment upon me." "I do not judge you," he hastily returned. "Rather I cry with him of old, _Omnia incerta ratione_! and I cry with Salomon that he who meddles with the strife of another man is like to him that takes a hound by the ears. Yet listen, madame and Queen. I cannot afford you an escort to Bristol. This house, of which I am in temporary charge, is Longaville, my brother's manor. And Lord Brudenel, as you doubtless know, is of the barons' party and--scant cause for grief!--with Leicester at this moment. I can trust none of my brother's people, for I believe them to be of much the same opinion as those Londoners who not long ago stoned you and would have sunk your barge in Thames River. Oh, let us not blink the fact that you are not overbeloved in England. So an escort is out of the question. Yet I, madame, if you so elect, will see you safe to Bristol." "You? singly?" the Queen demanded. "My plan is this: Singing folk alone travel whither they will. We will go as jongleurs, then. I can yet manage a song to the viol, I dare affirm. And you must pass as my wife." He said this with a very curious simplicity. The plan seemed unreasonable, and at first Dame Alianora waved it aside. Out of the question! But reflection suggested nothing better; it was impossible to remain at Longaville, and the man spoke sober truth when he declared any escort other than himself to be unprocurable. Besides, the lunar madness of the scheme was its strength; that the Queen would venture to cross half England unprotected--and Messire Heleigh on the face of him was a paste-board buckler,--was an event which Leicester would neither anticipate nor on report credit. There you were! these English had no imagination. The Queen snapped her fingers and said: "Very willingly will I be your wife, my Osmund. But how do I know that I can trust you? Leicester would give a deal for me,--any price in reason for the Sorceress of Provence. And you are not wealthy, I suspect." "You may trust me, mon bel esper"--his eyes here were those of a beaten child,--"since my memory is better than yours." Messire Osmund Heleigh gathered his papers into a neat pile. "This room is mine. To-night I keep guard in the corridor, madame. We will start at dawn." When he had gone, Dame Alianora laughed contentedly. "Mon bel esper! my fairest hope! The man called me that in his verses--thirty years ago! Yes, I may trust you, my poor Osmund." So they set out at cockcrow. He had procured a viol and a long falchion for himself, and had somewhere got suitable clothes for the Queen; and in their aging but decent garb the two approached near enough to the similitude of what they desired to be esteemed. In the courtyard a knot of servants gaped, nudged one another, but openly said nothing. Messire Heleigh, as they interpreted it, was brazening out an affair of gallantry before the countryside; and they appeared to consider his casual observation that they would find a couple of dead men on the common exceedingly diverting. When the Queen asked him the same morning: "And what will you sing, my Osmund? Shall we begin with the Sestina of Spring"? Osmund Heleigh grunted. "I have forgotten that rubbish long ago. _Omnis amans, amens_, saith the satirist of Rome town, and with some show of reason." Followed silence. One sees them thus trudging the brown, naked plains under a sky of steel. In a pageant the woman, full-veined and comely, her russet gown girded up like a harvester's, might not inaptly have prefigured October; and for less comfortable November you could nowhere have found a symbol more precise than her lank companion, humorously peevish under his white thatch of hair, and so constantly fretted by the sword tapping at his ankles. They made Hurlburt prosperously and found it vacant, for the news of Falmouth's advance had driven the villagers hillward. There was in this place a child, a naked boy of some two years, lying on a doorstep, overlooked in their gross terror. As the Queen with a sob lifted this boy the child died. "Starved!" said Osmund Heleigh; "and within a stone's-throw of my snug home!" The Queen laid down the tiny corpse, and, stooping, lightly caressed its sparse flaxen hair. She answered nothing, though her lips moved. Past Vachel, scene of a recent skirmish, with many dead in the gutters, they were overtaken by Falmouth himself, and stood at the roadside to afford his troop passage. The Marquess, as he went by, flung the Queen a coin, with a jest sufficiently high-flavored. She knew the man her inveterate enemy, knew that on recognition he would have killed her as he would a wolf; she smiled at him and dropped a curtsey. [Illustration: "THEY WERE OVERTAKEN BY FALMOUTH HIMSELF" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] "That is very remarkable," Messire Heleigh observed. "I was hideously afraid, and am yet shaking. But you, madame, laughed." The Queen replied: "I laughed because I know that some day I shall have Lord Falmouth's head. It will be very sweet to see it roll in the dust, my Osmund." Messire Heleigh somewhat dryly observed that tastes differed. At Jessop Minor a more threatening adventure befell. Seeking food at the _Cat and Hautbois_ in that village, they blundered upon the same troop at dinner in the square about the inn. Falmouth and his lieutenants were somewhere inside the house. The men greeted the supposed purveyors of amusement with a shout; and one among them--a swarthy rascal with his head tied in a napkin--demanded that the jongleurs grace their meal with a song. At first Osmund put him off with a tale of a broken viol. But, "Haro!" the fellow blustered; "by blood and by nails! you will sing more sweetly with a broken viol than with a broken head. I would have you understand, you hedge-thief, that we gentlemen of the sword are not partial to wordy argument." Messire Heleigh fluttered inefficient hands as the men-at-arms gathered about them, scenting some genial piece of cruelty. "Oh, you rabbit!" the trooper jeered, and caught him by the throat, shaking him. In the act this rascal tore open Messire Heleigh's tunic, disclosing a thin chain about his neck and a small locket, which the fellow wrested from its fastening. "Ahoi!" he continued. "Ahoi, my comrades, what species of minstrel is this, who goes about England all hung with gold like a Cathedral Virgin! He and his sweetheart"--the actual word was grosser--"will be none the worse for an interview with the Marquess." The situation smacked of awkwardness, for Lord Falmouth was familiar with the Queen, and to be brought specifically to his attention meant death for two detected masqueraders. Hastily Osmund Heleigh said: "Messire, the locket contains the portrait of a lady whom in youth I loved very greatly. Save to me, it is valueless. I pray you, do not rob me of it." But the trooper shook his head with drunken solemnity. "I do not like the looks of this. Yet I will sell it to you, as the saying is, for a song." "It shall be the king of songs," said Osmund--"the song that Arnaut Daniel first made. I will sing for you a Sestina, messieurs--a Sestina in salutation of Spring." The men disposed themselves about the dying grass, and presently he sang. Sang Messire Heleigh: "_Awaken! for the servitors of Spring Marshal his triumph! ah, make haste to see With what tempestuous pageantry they bring Mirth back to earth! hasten, for this is he That cast out Winter and the woes that cling To Winter's garments, and bade April be!_ "_And now that Spring is master, let us be Content, and laugh as anciently in Spring The battle-wearied Tristan laughed, when he Was come again Tintagel-ward--to bring Glad news of Arthur's victory and see Ysoude, with parted lips, that waver and cling._ "_Anon in Brittany must Tristan cling To this or that sad memory, and be Alone, as she in Cornwall, for in Spring Love sows, and lovers reap anon--and he Is blind, and scatters baleful seed that bring Such fruitage as blind Love lacks eyes to see!_" Osmund paused here for an appreciable interval, staring at the Queen. You saw his flabby throat a-quiver, his eyes melting, saw his cheeks kindle, and youth ebb back into the lean man like water over a crumbling dam. His voice was now big and desirous. Sang Messire Heleigh: "_Love sows, and lovers reap; and ye will see The loved eyes lighten, feel the loved lips cling Never again when in the grave ye be Incurious of your happiness in Spring, And get no grace of Love there, whither he That bartered life for love no love may bring._ "_Here Death is;--and no Heracles may bring Alcestis hence, nor here may Roland see The eyes of Aude, nor here the wakening spring Vex any man with memory, for there be No memories that cling as cerements cling, No Love that baffles Death, more strong than he._ "_Us hath he noted, and for us hath he An how appointed, and that hour will bring Oblivion.--Then, laugh! Laugh, love, and see The tyrant mocked, what time our bosoms cling, What time our lips are red, what time we be Exultant in our little hour of spring!_ "_Thus in the spring we mock at Death, though he Will see our children perish and will bring Asunder all that cling while love may be._" Then Osmund put the viol aside and sat quite silent. The soldiery judged, and with cordial frankness stated, that the difficulty of his rhyming scheme did not atone for his lack of indecency, but when the Queen of England went among them with Messire Heleigh's hat she found them liberal. Even the fellow with the broken head admitted that a bargain was proverbially a bargain, and returned the locket with the addition of a coin. So for the present these two went safe, and quitted the _Cat and Hautbois_ both fed and unmolested. "My Osmund," Dame Alianora said, presently, "your memory is better than I had thought." "I remembered a boy and a girl," he returned. "And I grieved that they were dead." Afterward they plodded on toward Bowater, and the ensuing night rested in Chantrell Wood. They had the good-fortune there to encounter dry and windless weather and a sufficiency of brushwood, with which Osmund constructed an agreeable fire. In its glow these two sat, eating bread and cheese. But talk languished at the outset. The Queen had complained of an ague, and Messire Heleigh was sedately suggesting three spiders hung about the neck as an infallible corrective for this ailment, when Dame Alianora rose to her feet. "Eh, my God!" she said; "I am wearied of such ungracious aid! Not an inch of the way but you have been thinking of your filthy books and longing to be back at them! No; I except the moments when you were frightened into forgetfulness--first by Falmouth, then by the trooper. O Eternal Father! fraid of a single dirty soldier!" "Indeed, I was very much afraid," said Messire Heleigh, with perfect simplicity; "_timidus perire_, madame." "You have not even the grace to be ashamed! Yet I am shamed, messire, that Osmund Heleigh should have become the book-muddled pedant you are. For I loved him--do you understand?--I loved young Osmund Heleigh." He also had risen in the firelight, and now its convulsive shadows marred two dogged faces. "I think it best not to recall that boy and girl who are so long dead. And, frankly, madame and Queen, the merit of the business I have in hand is questionable. It is you who have set all England by the ears, and I am guiding you toward opportunities for further mischief. I must serve you. Understand, madame, that ancient folly in Provence yonder has nothing to do with the affair. Remember that I cry _nihil ad Andromachen_! I must serve you because you are a woman and helpless; yet I cannot forget that he who spares the wolf is the sheep's murderer. It would be better for all England if you were dead. Hey, your gorgeous follies, madame! Silver peacocks set with sapphires! Cloth of fine gold--" "Would you have me go unclothed?" Dame Alianora demanded, pettishly. "Not so," Osmund retorted; "again I say to you with Tertullian, 'Let women paint their eyes with the tints of chastity, insert into their ears the Word of God, tie the yoke of Christ about their necks, and adorn their whole person with the silk of sanctity and the damask of devotion.' And I say to you--" But Dame Alianora was yawning quite frankly. "You will say to me that I brought foreigners into England, that I misguided the King, that I stirred up strife between the King and his barons. Eh, my God! I am sufficiently familiar with the harangue. Yet listen, my Osmund: They sold me like a bullock to a man I had never seen. I found him a man of wax, and I remoulded him. They gave me England as a toy; I played with it. I was the Queen, the source of honor, the source of wealth--the trough, in effect, about which swine gathered. Never in all my English life, Osmund, has man or woman loved me; never in all my English life have I loved man or woman. Do you understand, my Osmund?--the Queen has many flatterers, but no friends. Not a friend in the world, my Osmund! And so the Queen makes the best of it and amuses herself." Somewhat he seemed to understand, for he answered without asperity: "Mon bel esper, I do not find it anywhere in Holy Writ that God requires it of us to amuse ourselves; but upon many occasions we have been commanded to live righteously. We are tempted in divers and insidious ways. And we cry with the Psalmist, 'My strength is dried up like a potsherd.' But God intends this, since, until we have here demonstrated our valor upon Satan, we are manifestly unworthy to be enregistered in His army. The great Captain must be served by proven soldiers. We may be tempted, but we may not yield, O daughter of the South! we may not yield!" he cried, with an unheralded, odd wildness. "Again you preach," Dame Alianora said. "That is a venerable truism." "Ho, madame," he returned, "is it on that account the less true?" Pensively the Queen considered this. "You are a good man, my Osmund," she said at last, with a fine irrelevance, "though you are very droll. Ohime! it is a pity that I was born a princess! Had it been possible for me to be your wife, I would have been a better woman. I shall sleep now and dream of that good and stupid and contented woman I might have been." So presently these two slept in Chantrell Wood. Followed four days of journeying. As Messer Dante had not yet surveyed Malebolge, they lacked a parallel for that which they encountered; their traverse discovered England razed, charred, and depopulate--picked bones of an island, a vast and absolute ruin about which passion-wasted men skulked like rats. They went without molestation; malice and death had journeyed on their road aforetime, as heralds, and had swept it clear. At every trace of these hideous precessors Osmund Heleigh would say, "By a day's ride I might have prevented this." Or, "By a day's ride I might have saved this woman." Or, "By two days' riding I might have fed this child." The Queen kept Spartan silence, but daily you saw the fine woman age. In their slow advance every inch of misery was thrust before her as for inspection; meticulously she observed and appraised her handiwork. Bastling the royal army had recently sacked. There remained of this village the skeletons of two houses, and for the rest a jumble of bricks, rafters half-burned, many calcined fragments of humanity, and ashes. At Bastling, Messire Heleigh turned to the Queen toiling behind. "Oh, madame!" he said, in a dry whisper, "this was the home of so many men!" "I burned it," Dame Alianora replied. "That man we passed just now I killed. Those other men and women--my folly killed them all. And little children, my Osmund! The hair like corn-floss, blood-dabbled!" "Oh, madame!" he wailed, in the extremity of his pity. For she stood with eyes shut, all gray. The Queen demanded: "Why have they not slain me? Was there no man in England to strangle the proud wanton? Are you all cowards here?" "Not cowards!" he cried. "Your men and Leicester's ride about the world, and draw sword and slay and die for the right as they see it. And you for the right as ye see it. But I, madame! I! I, who sat snug at home spilling ink and trimming rose-bushes! God's world, madame, and I in it afraid to speak a word for Him! God's world, and a curmudgeon in it grudging God the life He gave!" The man flung out his soft hands and snarled: "We are tempted in divers and insidious ways. But I, who rebuked you! behold, now, with how gross a snare was I entrapped!" "I do not understand, my Osmund." "I was afraid, madame," he returned, dully. "Everywhere men fight and I am afraid to die." So they stood silent in the ruins of Bastling. "Of a piece with our lives," Dame Alianora said at last. "All ruin, my Osmund." But Messire Heleigh threw back his head and laughed, new color in his face. "Presently men will build here, my Queen. Presently, as in legend the Arabian bird, arises from these ashes a lordlier and more spacious town." Then they went forward. The next day Fate loosed upon them Gui Camoys, lord of Bozon, Foliot, and Thwenge, who, riding alone through Poges Copse, found there a man and a woman over their limited supper. The woman had thrown back her hood, and Camoys drew rein to stare at her. Lispingly he spoke the true court dialect. "Ma belle," said this Camoys, in friendly condescension, "n'estez vous pas jongleurs?" Dame Alianora smiled up at him. "Ouais, messire; mon mary faict les chancons--" Here she paused, with dilatory caution, for Camoys had leaped from his horse, giving a great laugh. "A prize! ho, an imperial prize!" Camoys shouted. "A peasant woman with the Queen's face, who speaks French! And who, madame, is this? Have you by any chance brought pious Lewis from oversea? Have I bagged a brace of monarchs?" Here was imminent danger, for Camoys had known the Queen some fifteen years. Messire Heleigh rose to his feet, his five days' beard glinting like hoar-frost as his mouth twitched. "I am Osmund Heleigh, messire, younger brother to the Earl of Brudenel." "I have heard of you, I believe--the fellow who spoils parchment. This is odd company, however, Messire Osmund, for Brudenel's brother." "A gentleman must serve his Queen, messire. As Cicero very justly observes--" "I am inclined to think that his political opinions are scarcely to our immediate purpose. This is a high matter, Messire Heleigh. To let the sorceress pass is, of course, out of the question; upon the other hand, I observe that you lack weapons of defence. Yet if you will have the kindness to assist me in unarming, your courtesy will place our commerce on more equal footing." Osmund had gone very white. "I am no swordsman, messire--" "Now, this is not handsome of you," Camoys began. "I warn you that people will speak harshly of us if we lose this opportunity of gaining honor. And besides, the woman will be burned. Plainly, you owe it to all three of us to fight." "--but I refer my cause to God. I am quite at your service." "No, my Osmund!" Dame Alianora then cried. "It means your death." He spread out his hands. "That is God's affair, madame." "Are you not afraid?" she breathed. "Of course I am afraid," said Messire Heleigh, irritably. After that he unarmed Camoys, and presently they faced each other in their tunics. So for the first time in the journey Osmund's long falchion saw daylight. He had thrown away his dagger, as Camoys had none. The combat was sufficiently curious. Camoys raised his left hand. "So help me God and His saints, I have upon me neither bone, stone, nor witchcraft wherethrough the power and the word of God might be diminished or the devil's power increased." Osmund made similar oath. "Judge Thou this woman's cause!" he cried, likewise. Then Gui Camoys shouted, as a herald might have done, "Laissez les aller, laissez les aller, laissez les aller, les bons combatants!" and warily each moved toward the other. On a sudden Osmund attacked, desperately apprehensive of his own cowardice. Camoys lightly eluded him and slashed his undefended thigh, drawing much blood. Osmund gasped. He flung away his sword, and in the instant catching Camoys under the arms, threw him to the ground. Messire Heleigh fell with his opponent, who in stumbling had lost his sword, and thus the two struggled unarmed, Osmund atop. But Camoys was the younger man, and Osmund's strength was ebbing rapidly by reason of his wound. Now Camoys' tethered horse, rearing with nervousness, tumbled his master's flat-topped helmet into the road. Osmund caught it up and with it battered Camoys in the face, dealing severe blows. "God!" Camoys cried, his face all blood. "Do you acknowledge my quarrel just?" said Osmund, between horrid sobs. "What choice have I?" said Gui Camoys, very sensibly. So Osmund rose, blind with tears and shivering. The Queen bound up their wounds as best she might, but Camoys was much dissatisfied. "For reasons of His own, madame," he observed, "and doubtless for sufficient ones, God has singularly favored your cause. I am neither a fool nor a pagan to question His decision, and you two may go your way unhampered. But I have had my head broken with my own helmet, and this I consider to be a proceeding very little conducive toward enhancing my reputation. Of your courtesy, messire, I must entreat another meeting." Osmund shrank as from a blow. Then, with a short laugh, he conceded that this was Camoys' right, and they fixed upon the following Saturday, with Poges Copse as the rendezvous. "I would suggest that the combat be a outrance," Gui Camoys said, "in consideration of the fact it was my own helmet. You must undoubtedly be aware, Messire Osmund, that such an affront is practically without any parallel." This, too, was agreed upon, and they bade one another farewell. Then, after asking if they needed money, which was courteously declined, Gui Camoys rode away, and sang as he went. Osmund Heleigh remained motionless. He raised quivering hands to the sky. "Thou hast judged!" he cried. "Thou hast judged, O puissant Emperor of Heaven! Now pardon! Pardon us twain! Pardon for unjust stewards of Thy gifts! Thou hast loaned this woman dominion over England, all instruments to aid Thy cause, and this trust she has abused. Thou hast loaned me life and manhood, agility and wit and strength, all instruments to aid Thy cause. Talents in a napkin, O God! Repentant we cry to Thee. Pardon for unjust stewards! Pardon for the ungirt loin, for the service shirked, for all good deeds undone! Pardon and grace, O King of kings!" Thus he prayed, while Gui Camoys sang, riding deeper into the tattered, yellowing forest. By an odd chance Camoys had lighted on that song made by Thibaut of Champagne, beginning _Signor, saciez, ki or ne s'en ira_, and this he sang with a lilt gayer than the matter of it countenanced. Faintly there now came to them the sound of his singing, and they found it, in the circumstances, ominously adapt. Sang Camoys: "_Et vos, par qui je n'oi onques aie, Descendez tuit en infer le par font._" Dame Alianora shivered. "No, no!" she cried. "Is He less pitiful than we?" They slept that night in Ousley Meadow, and the next afternoon came safely to Bristol. You may learn elsewhere with what rejoicing the royal army welcomed the Queen's arrival, how courage quickened at sight of the generous virago. In the ebullition Messire Heleigh was submerged, and Dame Alianora saw nothing more of him that day. Friday there were counsels, requisitions, orders signed, a memorial despatched to Pope Urban, chief of all a letter (this in the Queen's hand throughout) privily conveyed to the Lady Maude de Mortemer--much sowing of a seed, in fine, that eventually flowered victory. There was, however, no sign of Osmund Heleigh, though by Dame Alianora's order he was sought. On Saturday at seven in the morning he came to her lodging in complete armor. From the open helmet his wrinkled face, showing like a wizened nut in a shell, smiled upon her questionings. "I go to fight Gui Camoys, madame and Queen." Dame Alianora wrung her hands. "You go to your death." He answered: "That is very likely. Therefore I am come to bid you farewell." The Queen stared at him for a while; on a sudden she broke into a curious fit of deep but tearless sobbing. "Mon bel esper," said Osmund Heleigh, very gently, "what is there in all this worthy of your sorrow? The man will kill me; granted, for he is my junior by some fifteen years, and in addition a skilled swordsman. I fail to see that this is lamentable. Back to Longaville I cannot go after recent happenings; there a rope's end awaits me. Here I must in any event shortly take to the sword, since a beleaguered army has very little need of ink-pots; and shortly I must be slain in some skirmish, dug under the ribs perhaps by a greasy fellow I have never seen. I prefer a clean death at a gentleman's hands." "It is I who bring about your death!" she wailed. "You gave me gallant service, and I have requited you with death!" "Indeed the debt is on the other side. The trivial services I rendered you were such as any gentleman must render a woman in distress. Naught else have I afforded you, madame, save very anciently a Sestina. Ho, a Sestina! And in return you have given me a Sestina of fairer make--a Sestina of days, six days of life." His eyes were fervent now. She kissed him on either cheek. "Farewell, my champion!" "Ay, your champion. In the twilight of life old Osmund Heleigh rides forth to defend the quarrel of Alianora of Provence. Reign wisely, my Queen, that hereafter men may not say I was slain in an evil cause. Do not shame my maiden venture." "I will not shame you," the Queen proudly said; and then, with a change of voice: "O my Osmund! My Osmund!" He caught her by each wrist. "Hush!" he bade her, roughly; and stood crushing both her hands to his lips, with fierce staring. "Wife of my King! wife of my King!" he babbled; and then flung her from him, crying, with a great lift of speech: "I have not failed you! Praise God, I have not failed you!" From her window she saw him ride away, a rich flush of glitter and color. In new armor with a smart emblazoned surcoat the lean pedant sat conspicuously erect, though by this the fear of death had gripped him to the marrow; and as he went he sang defiantly, taunting the weakness of his flesh. Sang Osmund Heleigh: "_Love sows, and lovers reap; and ye will see The loved eyes lighten, feel the loved lips cling Never again when in the grave ye be Incurious of your happiness in spring, And get no grace of Love there, whither he That bartered life for love no love may bring._" So he rode away and thus out of our history. But in the evening Gui Camoys came into Bristol under a flag of truce, and behind him heaved a litter wherein lay Osmund Heleigh's body. "For the man was a brave one," Camoys said to the Queen, "and in the matter of the reparation he owed me acted very handsomely. It is fitting that he should have honorable interment." "That he shall not lack," the Queen said, and gently unclasped from Osmund's neck the thin gold chain, now locketless. "There was a portrait here," she said; "the portrait of a woman whom he loved in his youth, Messire Camoys. And all his life it lay above his heart." Camoys answered stiffly: "I imagine this same locket to have been the object which Messire Heleigh flung into the river, shortly before we began our combat. I do not rob the dead, madame." "The act was very like him," the Queen said. "Messire Camoys, I think that this day is a festival in heaven." Afterward she set to work on requisitions in the King's name. But Osmund Heleigh she had interred at Ambresbury, commanding it to be written on his tomb that he died in the Queen's cause. How the same cause prospered (Nicolas concludes), how presently Dame Alianora reigned again in England and with what wisdom, and how in the end this great Queen died a nun at Ambresbury and all England wept therefor--this you may learn elsewhere. I have chosen to record six days of a long and eventful life; and (as Messire Heleigh might have done) I say modestly with him of old, _Majores majora sonent_. Nevertheless, I assert that many a forest was once a pocketful of acorns. THE END OF THE FIRST NOVEL II The Story of the Tenson "_Plagues a Dieu ja la nueitz non falhis, Ni 'l mieus amicx lonc de mi no s partis, Ni la gayta jorn ni alba ne vis. Oy Dieus! oy Dieus! de l' alba tan tost ve!_" THE SECOND NOVEL.--ELLINOR OF CASTILE, BEING ENAMORED OF A HANDSOME PERSON, IS IN HER FLIGHT FROM MARITAL OBLIGATIONS ASSISTED BY HER HUSBAND, AND IS IN THE END BY HIM CONVINCED OF THE RATIONALITY OF ALL ATTENDANT CIRCUMSTANCES. The Story of the Tenson In the year of grace 1265 (Nicolas begins), about the festival of Saint Peter _ad Vincula_, the Prince de Gatinais came to Burgos. Before this he had lodged for three months in the district of Ponthieu; and the object of his southern journey was to assure the tenth Alphonso, then ruling in Castile, that the latter's sister Ellinor, now resident at Entrechat, was beyond any reasonable doubt the transcendent lady whose existence old romancers had anticipated, however cloudily, when they fabled in remote time concerning Queen Heleine of Sparta. There was a postscript to his news, and a pregnant one. The world knew that the King of Leon and Castile desired to be King of Germany as well, and that at present a single vote in the Diet would decide between his claims and those of his competitor, Earl Richard of Cornwall. De Gatinais chaffered fairly; he had a vote, Alphonso had a sister. So that, in effect--ohe, in effect, he made no question that his Majesty understood! The Astronomer twitched his beard and demanded if the fact that Ellinor had been a married woman these ten years past was not an obstacle to the plan which his fair cousin had proposed? Here the Prince was accoutred cap-a-pie, and in consequence hauled out a paper. Dating from Viterbo, Clement, Bishop of Rome, servant to the servants of God, desirous of all health and apostolical blessing for his well-beloved son in Christ, stated that a compact between a boy of fifteen and a girl of ten was an affair of no particular moment; and that in consideration of the covenanters never having clapped eyes upon each other since the wedding-day--even had not the precontract of marriage between the groom's father and the bride's mother rendered a consummation of the childish oath an obvious and a most heinous enormity--why, that, in a sentence, and for all his coy verbosity, the new pontiff was perfectly amenable to reason. So in a month it was settled. Alphonso would give his sister to de Gatinais, and in exchange get the latter's vote; and Gui Foulques of Sabionetta--now Clement, fourth Pope to assume that name--would annul the previous marriage, they planned, and in exchange get an armament to serve him against Manfred, the late and troublesome tyrant of Sicily and Apulia. The scheme promised to each one of them that which he in particular desired, and messengers were presently sent into Ponthieu. It is now time we put aside these Castilian matters and speak of other things. In England, Prince Edward had fought, and won, a shrewd battle at Evesham; the barons' power was demolished, there would be no more internecine war; and spurred by the unaccustomed idleness, he began to think of the foreign girl he had not seen since the day he wedded her. She would be a woman by this, and it was befitting that he claim his wife. He rode with Hawise d'Ebernoe to Ambresbury, and at the gate of the nunnery they parted, with what agonies are immaterial to this history's progression; the tale merely tells that latterly the Prince went into Lower Picardy alone, riding at adventure as he loved to do, and thus came to Entrechat, where his wife resided with her mother, the Countess Johane. In a wood near the castle he approached a company of Spaniards, four in number, their horses tethered while these men (Oviedans, as they told him) drank about a great stone which served them for a table. Being thirsty, he asked and was readily accorded hospitality, so that within the instant these five fell into an amicable discourse. One fellow asked his name and business in those parts, and the Prince gave each without hesitancy as he reached for the bottle, and afterward dropped it just in time to catch, cannily, with his naked left hand, the knife-blade with which the rascal had dug at the unguarded ribs. The Prince was astounded, but he was never a subtle man: here were four knaves who, for reasons unexplained--but to them of undoubted cogency--desired the death of Sire Edward, the King of England's son: and manifestly there was here an actionable difference of opinion; so he had his sword out and presently killed the four of them. Anon there came to him an apple-cheeked boy, habited as a page, who, riding jauntily through the forest, lighted upon the Prince, now in bottomless vexation. The lad drew rein, and his lips outlined a whistle. At his feet were several dead men in a very untidy condition. And seated among them, as throned upon the boulder, was a gigantic and florid person, so tall that the heads of few people reached to his shoulder; a person of handsome exterior, blond, and chested like a stallion, whose left eyebrow drooped so oddly that even in anger the stupendous man appeared to assure you, quite confidentially, that the dilapidation he threatened was an excellent jest. "Fair friend," said the page. "God give you joy! and why have you converted this forest into a shambles?" The Prince told him of the half-hour's action as has been narrated. "I have perhaps been rather hasty," he considered by way of peroration, "and it vexes me that I did not spare, say, one of these lank Spaniards, if only long enough to ascertain why, in the name of Termagaunt, they should have desired my destruction." But midway in his talc the boy had dismounted with a gasp, and he was now inspecting the features of one carcass. "Felons, my Prince! You have slain some eight yards of felony which might have cheated the gallows had they got the Princess Ellinor safe to Burgos. Only two days ago this chalk-eyed fellow conveyed to her a letter." Prince Edward said, "You appear, lad, to be somewhat over heels in the confidence of my wife." Now the boy arose and defiantly flung back his head in shrill laughter. "Your wife! Oh, God ha' mercy! Your wife, and for ten years left to her own devices! Why, look you, to-day you and your wife would not know each other were you twain brought face to face." Prince Edward said, "That is very near the truth." But, indeed, it was the absolute truth, and as concerned himself already attested. "Sire Edward," the boy then said, "your wife has wearied of this long waiting till you chose to whistle for her. Last summer the young Prince de Gatinais came a-wooing--and he is a handsome man." The page made known all which de Gatinais and King Alphonso planned, the words jostling as they came in torrents, but so that one might understand. "I am her page, my lord. I was to follow her. These fellows were to be my escort, were to ward off possible pursuit. Cry haro, beau sire! Cry haro, and lustily, for your wife in company with six other knaves is at large between here and Burgos--that unreasonable wife who grew dissatisfied after a mere ten years of neglect." "I have been remiss," the Prince said, and one huge hand strained at his chin; "yes, perhaps I have been remiss. Yet it had appeared to me-- But as it is, I bid you mount, my lad!" he cried, in a new voice. The boy demanded, "And to what end?" "Oy Dieus, messire! have I not slain your escort? Why, in common reason, equity demands that I afford you my protection so far as Burgos, messire, just as equity demands I on arrival slay de Gatinais and fetch back my wife to England." The page wrung exquisite hands with a gesture which was but partially tinged with anguish and presently began to laugh. Afterward these two rode southerly, in the direction of Castile. For it appeared to the intriguing little woman a diverting jest that in this fashion her husband should be the promoter of her evasion. It appeared to her more diverting when in two days' space she had become genuinely fond of him. She found him rather slow of comprehension, and was namelessly humiliated by the discovery that not an eyelash of the man was irritated by his wife's decampment; he considered, to all appearances, that some property of his had been stolen, and he intended, quite without passion, to repossess himself of it, after, of course, punishing the thief. This troubled the Princess somewhat; and often, riding by his more stolid side, the girl's heart raged at memory of the decade so newly overpast which had kept her always dependent on the charity of this or that ungracious patron--on any one who would take charge of her while the truant husband fought out his endless squabbles in England. Slights enough she had borne during the period, and squalor, and hunger even. But now at last she rode toward the dear southland; and presently she would be rid of this big man, when he had served her purpose; and afterward she meant to wheedle Alphonso, just as she had always done, and later still she and Etienne would be very happy; and, in fine, to-morrow was to be a new day. So these two rode ever southward, and always Prince Edward found this new page of his--this Miguel de Rueda--a jolly lad, who whistled and sang inapposite snatches of balladry, without any formal ending or beginning, descanting always with the delicate irrelevancy of a bird-trill. Sang Miguel de Rueda: "_Lord Love, that leads me day by day Through many a screened and scented way, Finds to assuage my thirst No love that may the old love slay, None sweeter than the first._ "_Ah, heart of mine, that beats so fast As this or that fair maid trips past, Once and with lesser stir We spied the heart's-desire, at last, And turned, and followed her._ "_For Love had come that in the spring When all things woke to blossoming Was as a child that came Laughing, and filled with wondering, Nor knowing his own name--_" "And still I would prefer to think," the big man interrupted, heavily, "that Sicily is not the only allure. I would prefer to think my wife so beautiful-- And yet, as I remember her, she was nothing extraordinary." The page a little tartly said that people might forget a deal within a decade. For the Prince had quickly fathomed the meaning of the scheme hatched in Castile. "When Manfred is driven out of Sicily they will give the throne to de Gatinais. He intends to get both a kingdom and a handsome wife by this neat affair. And in reason England must support my uncle against El Sabio. Why, my lad, I ride southward to prevent a war that would convulse half Europe." "You ride southward in the attempt to rob a miserable woman of her sole chance of happiness," Miguel de Rueda estimated. "That is undeniable, if she loves this thrifty Prince, as indeed I do not question my wife does. Yet is our happiness here a trivial matter, whereas war is a great disaster. You have not seen--as I have done, my little Miguel--a man viewing his death-wound with a face of stupid wonder?--a man about to die in his lord's quarrel and understanding never a word of it? Or a woman, say--a woman's twisted and naked body, the breasts yet horribly heaving, in the red ashes of some village? or the already dripping hoofs which will presently crush this body? Well, it is to prevent a many such spectacles hereabout that I ride southward." Miguel de Rueda shuddered. But, "She has her right to happiness," the page stubbornly said. "Not so," the Prince retorted; "since it hath pleased the Emperor of Heaven to appoint us twain to lofty stations, to intrust to us the five talents of the parable; whence is our debt to Him, being fivefold, so much the greater than that of common persons. And therefore the more is it our sole right, being fivefold, to serve God without faltering, and therefore is our happiness, or our unhappiness, the more an inconsiderable matter. For as I have read in the Annals of the Romans--" He launched upon the story of King Pompey and his daughter, whom a certain duke regarded with impure and improper emotions. "My little Miguel, that ancient king is our Heavenly Father, that only daughter is the rational soul of us, which is here delivered for protection to five soldiers--that is, to the five senses--to preserve it from the devil, the world, and the flesh. But, alas! the too-credulous soul, desirous of gazing upon the gaudy vapors of this world--" "You whine like a canting friar," the page complained; "and I can assure you that the Lady Ellinor was prompted rather than hindered by her God-given faculties of sight and hearing and so on when she fell in love with de Gatinais. Of you two, he is, beyond any question, the handsomer and the more intelligent man, and it was God who bestowed on her sufficient wit to perceive the fact. And what am I to deduce from this?" The Prince reflected. At last he said: "I have also read in these same Gestes how Seneca mentions that in poisoned bodies, on account of the malignancy and the coldness of the poison, no worm will engender; but if the body be smitten by lightning, in a few days the carcass will abound with vermin. My little Miguel, both men and women are at birth empoisoned by sin, and then they produce no worm--that is, no virtue; but struck with lightning--that is, by the grace of God--they are astonishingly fruitful in good works." The page began to laugh. "You are hopelessly absurd, my Prince, though you will never know it--and I hate you a little--and I envy you a great deal." "Nay," Prince Edward said, in misapprehension, for the man was never quick-witted--"nay, it is not for my own happiness that I ride southward." The page then said. "What is her name?" And Prince Edward answered, very fondly, "Hawise." "Her, too, I hate," said Miguel de Rueda; "and I think that the holy angels alone know how profoundly I envy her." In the afternoon of the same day they neared Ruffec, and at the ford found three brigands ready, two of whom the Prince slew, and the other fled. Next night they supped at Manneville, and sat afterward in the little square, tree-chequered, that lay before their inn. Miguel had procured a lute from the innkeeper, and strummed idly as these two debated together of great matters; about them was an immeasurable twilight, moonless, but tempered by many stars, and everywhere an agreeable conference of leaves. "Listen, my Prince," the boy said more lately: "here is one view of the affair." And he began to chant, without rhyming, without raising his voice above the pitch of talk, what time the lute monotonously sobbed beneath his fingers. Sang Miguel: "_A little while and Irus and Menephtah are at sorry unison, and Guenevere is but a skull. Multitudinously we tread toward oblivion, as ants hasten toward sugar, and presently Time cometh with his broom. Multitudinously we tread a dusty road toward oblivion; but yonder the sun shines upon a grass-plot, converting it into an emerald; and I am aweary of the trodden path._ "_Vine-crowned is she that guards the grasses yonder, and her breasts are naked. 'Vanity of Vanities!' saith the beloved. But she whom I love seems very far away to-night, though I might be with her if I would. And she may not aid me now, for not even love is all-powerful. She is fairest of created women, and very wise, but she may never understand that at any time one grows aweary of the trodden path._ "_Yet though she cannot understand, this woman who has known me to the marrow, I must obey her laudable behests and serve her blindly. At sight of her my love closes over my heart like a flood, so that I am speechless and glory in my impotence, as one who stands at last before the kindly face of God. For her sake I have striven, with a good endeavor, to my tiny uttermost. Pardie, I am not Priam at the head of his army! A little while and I will repent; to-night I cannot but remember that there are women whose lips are of a livelier tint, that life is short at best, that wine is a goodly thing, and that I am aweary of the trodden path._ "_She is very far from me to-night. Yonder in the Horselberg they exult and make sweet songs, songs which are sweeter, immeasurably sweeter, than this song of mine, but in the trodden path I falter, for I am tired, tired in every fibre o' me, and I am aweary of the trodden path._" Followed a silence. "Ignorance spoke there," the Prince said. "It is the song of a woman, or else of a boy who is very young. Give me the lute, my little Miguel." And presently he, too, sang. Sang the Prince: "_I was in a path, and I trod toward the citadel of the land's Seigneur, and on either side were pleasant and forbidden meadows, having various names. And one trod with me who babbled of the brooding mountains and of the low-lying and adjacent clouds; of the west wind and of the budding fruit-trees; and he debated the significance of these things, and he went astray to gather violets, while I walked in the trodden path._ "_He babbled of genial wine and of the alert lips of women, of swinging censers and of pale-mouthed priests, and his heart was troubled by a world profuse in beauty. And he leaped a stile to share his allotted provision with a dying dog, and afterward, being hungry, a wall to pilfer apples, what while I walked in the trodden path._ "_He babbled of Autumn's bankruptcy and of the age-long lying promises of Spring; and of his own desire to be at rest; and of running waters and of decaying leaves. He babbled of the far-off stars; and he debated whether they were the eyes of God or gases which burned, and he demonstrated, very clearly, that neither existed; and at times he stumbled as he stared about him and munched his apples, so that he was all bemired, but I walked in the trodden path._ "_And the path led to the gateway of a citadel, and through the gateway. 'Let us not enter,' he said, 'for the citadel is vacant, and, moreover, I am in profound terror, and, besides, as yet I have not eaten all my apples.' And he wept aloud, but I was not afraid, for I had walked in the trodden path._" Again there was a silence. "You paint a dreary world, my Prince." "Nay, my little Miguel, I do but paint the world as the Eternal Father made it. The laws of the place are written large, so that all may read them; and we know that every path, whether it be my trodden one or some byway through your gayer meadows, yet leads in the end to God. We have our choice--or to come to Him as a laborer comes at evening for the day's wages fairly earned, or to come as some roisterer haled before the magistrate." "I consider you to be in the right," the boy said, after a lengthy interval, "although I decline--and emphatically--to believe you." The Prince laughed. "There spoke Youth," he said, and he sighed as though he were a patriarch; "but we have sung, we two, the Eternal Tenson of God's will and of man's desires. And I claim the prize, my little Miguel." Suddenly the page kissed one huge hand. "You have conquered, my very dull and very glorious Prince. Concerning that Hawise--" but Miguel de Rueda choked. "Oh, I understand! in part I understand!" the page wailed, and now it was Prince Edward who comforted Miguel de Rueda. For the Prince laid one hand upon his page's hair, and smiled in the darkness to note how soft it was, since the man was less a fool than at first view you might have taken him to be, and said: "One must play the game, my lad. We are no little people, she and I, the children of many kings, of God's regents here on earth; and it was never reasonable, my Miguel, that gentlefolk should cog at dice." The same night Miguel de Rueda sobbed through the prayer which Saint Theophilus made long ago to the Mother of God: "_Dame, je n'ose, Flors d'aiglentier et lis et rose, En qui li filz Diex se repose,_" and so on. Or, in other wording: "Hearken, O gracious Lady! thou that art more fair than any flower of the eglantine, more comely than the blossoming of the rose or of the lily! thou to whom was confided the very Son of God! Hearken, for I am afraid! afford counsel to me that am ensnared by Satan and know not what to do! Never will I make an end of praying. O Virgin debonnaire! O honored Lady! Thou that wast once a woman--!" You would have said the boy was dying; and in sober verity a deal of Miguel de Rueda died upon this night of clearer vision. Yet he sang the next day as these two rode southward, although half as in defiance. Sang Miguel: "_And still, whate'er the years may send-- Though Time be proven a fickle friend, And Love be shown a liar-- I must adore until the end That primal heart's desire._ "_I may not 'hear men speak of her Unmoved, and vagrant pulses stir Whene'er she passes by, And I again her worshipper Must serve her till I die._ "_Not she that is doth pass, but she That Time hath riven away from me And in the darkness set-- The maid that I may never see, Or gain, or e'er forget._" It was on the following day, near Bazas, these two encountered Adam de Gourdon, a Provencal knight, with whom the Prince fought for a long while, without either contestant giving way; and in consequence a rendezvous was fixed for the November of that year, and afterward the Prince and de Gourdon parted, highly pleased with each other. Thus the Prince and his attendant came, in late September, to Mauleon, on the Castilian frontier, and dined there at the _Fir Cone_. Three or four lackeys were about--some exalted person's retinue? Prince Edward hazarded to the swart little landlord as the Prince and Miguel lingered over the remnants of their meal. Yes, the fellow informed them: the Prince de Gatinais had lodged there for a whole week, watching the north road, as circumspect of all passage as a cat over a mouse-hole. Eh, monseigneur expected some one, doubtless--a lady, it might be--the gentlefolk had their escapades like every one else. The innkeeper babbled vaguely, for on a sudden he was very much afraid of his gigantic patron. "You will show me to his room," Prince Edward said, with a politeness that was ingratiating. The host shuddered and obeyed. Miguel de Rueda, left alone, sat quite silent, his fingertips drumming upon the table. He rose suddenly and flung back his shoulders, all resolution to the tiny heels. On the stairway he passed the black little landlord. "I think," the little landlord considered, "that Saint Michael must have been of similar appearance when he went to meet the Evil One. Ho, messire, will there be bloodshed?" But Miguel de Rueda had passed to the room above. The door was ajar. He paused there. De Gatinais had risen from his dinner and stood facing the door. He, too, was a blond man and the comeliest of his day. And at sight of him awoke in the woman's heart all of the old tenderness; handsome and brave and witty she knew him to be, past reason, as indeed the whole world knew him to be distinguished by every namable grace; and the innate weakness of de Gatinais, which she alone suspected, made him now seem doubly dear. Fiercely she wanted to shield him, less from carnal injury than from that self-degradation she cloudily apprehended to be at hand; the test was come, and Etienne would fail. Thus much she knew with a sick, illimitable surety, and she loved de Gatinais with a passion which dwarfed comprehension. "O Madame the Virgin!" prayed Miguel de Rueda, "thou that wast once a woman, even as I am now a woman! grant that the man may slay him quickly! grant that he may slay Etienne very quickly, honored Lady, so that my Etienne may die unshamed!" "I must question, messire," de Gatinais was saying, "whether you have been well inspired. Yes, quite frankly, I do await the arrival of her who is your nominal wife; and your intervention at this late stage, I take it, can have no outcome save to render you absurd. Nay, rather be advised by me, messire--" Prince Edward said, "I am not here to talk." "For, messire, I grant you that in ordinary disputation the cutting of one gentleman's throat by another gentleman is well enough, since the argument is unanswerable. Yet in this case we have each of us too much to live for; you to govern your reconquered England, and I--you perceive that I am candid--to achieve in turn the kingship of another realm. And to secure this, possession of the Lady Ellinor is to me essential; to you she is nothing." "She is a woman whom I have deeply wronged," Prince Edward said, "and to whom, God willing, I mean to make atonement. Ten years ago they wedded us, willy-nilly, to avert the impending war 'twixt Spain and England; to-day El Sabio intends to purchase all Germany, with her body as the price, you to get Sicily as her husband. Mort de Dieu! is a woman thus to be bought and sold like hog's-flesh! We have other and cleaner customs, we of England." "Eh, and who purchased the woman first?" de Gatinais spat at him, and viciously, for the Frenchman now saw his air-castle shaken to the corner-stone. "They wedded me to the child in order a great war might be averted. I acquiesced, since it appeared preferable that two people suffer inconvenience rather than many thousands be slain. And still this is my view of the matter. Yet afterward I failed her. Love had no clause in our agreement; but I owed her more protection than I have afforded. England has long been no place for women. I thought she would comprehend that much. But I know very little of women. Battle and death are more wholesome companions, I now perceive, than such folk as you and Alphonso. Woman is the weaker vessel--the negligence was mine--I may not blame her." The big and simple man was in an agony of repentance. On a sudden he strode forward, his sword now shifted to his left hand and his right hand outstretched. "One and all, we are but weaklings in the net of circumstance. Shall one herring, then, blame his fellow if his fellow jostle him? We walk as in a mist of error, and Belial is fertile in allurements; yet always it is granted us to behold that sin is sin. I have perhaps sinned through anger, Messire de Gatinais, more deeply than you have planned to sin through luxury and through ambition. Let us then cry quits, Messire de Gatinais, and afterward part in peace, and in common repentance, if you so elect." "And yield you Ellinor?" de Gatinais said. "Nay, messire, I reply to you with Arnaud de Marveil, that marvellous singer of eld, 'They may bear her from my presence, but they can never untie the knot which unites my heart to her; for that heart, so tender and so constant, God alone divides with my lady, and the portion which God possesses He holds but as a part of her domain, and as her vassal.'" "This is blasphemy," Prince Edward now retorted, "and for such observations alone you merit death. Will you always talk and talk and talk? I perceive that the devil is far more subtle than you, messire, and leads you like a pig with a ring in his nose toward gross iniquity. Messire, I tell you that for your soul's health I doubly mean to kill you now. So let us make an end of this." De Gatinais turned and took up his sword. "Since you will have it," he rather regretfully said; "yet I reiterate that you play an absurd part. Your wife has deserted you, has fled in abhorrence of you. For three weeks she has been tramping God knows whither or in what company--" He was here interrupted. "What the Lady Ellinor has done," Prince Edward crisply said, "was at my request. We were wedded at Burgos; it was most natural that we should desire our reunion to take place at Burgos; and she came to Burgos with an escort which I provided." De Gatinais sneered. "So that is the tale you will deliver to the world?" "When I have slain you," the Prince said, "yes. Yes, since she is a woman, and woman is the weaker vessel." "The reservation is wise. For once I am dead, Messire Edward, there will be none to know that you risk all for a drained goblet, for an orange already squeezed--quite dry, messire." "Face of God!" the Prince said. But de Gatinais flung back both arms in a great gesture, so that he knocked a flask of claret from the table at his rear. "I am candid, my Prince. I would not see any brave gentleman slain in a cause so foolish. And in consequence I kiss and tell. In effect, I was eloquent, I was magnificent--so that in the end her reserve was shattered like the wooden flask yonder at our feet. Is it worth while, think you, that our blood flow like this flagon's contents?" "Liar!" Prince Edward said, very softly. "O hideous liar! Already your eyes shift!" He drew near and struck the Frenchman. "Talk and talk and talk! and lying talk! I am ashamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you." De Gatinais hurled upon him, cursing, sobbing in an abandoned fury. In an instant the place resounded like a smithy, for there were no better swordsmen living than these two. The eavesdropper could see nothing clearly. Round and round they veered in a whirl of turmoil. Presently Prince Edward trod upon the broken flask, smashing it. His foot slipped in the spilth of wine, and the huge body went down like an oak, the head of it striking one leg of the table. [Illustration: "IN AN INSTANT THE PLACE RESOUNDED LIKE A SMITHY" _Painting by William Hurd Lawrence_] "A candle!" de Gatinais cried, and he panted now--"a hundred candles to the Virgin of Beaujolais!" He shortened his sword to stab the Prince of England. And now the eavesdropper understood. She flung open the door and fell upon Prince Edward, embracing him. The sword dug deep into her shoulder, so that she shrieked once with the cold pain of this wound. Then she rose, all ashen. "Liar!" she said. "Oh, I am shamed while I share the world with a thing so base as you!" In silence de Gatinais regarded her. There was a long interval before he said, "Ellinor!" and then again, "Ellinor!" like a man bewildered. "_I was eloquent, I was magnificent,_" she said, "_so that in the end her reserve was shattered!_ Certainly, messire, it is not your death which I desire, since a man dies so very, very quickly. I desire for you--I know not what I desire for you!" the girl wailed. "You desire that I should endure this present moment," de Gatinais said; "for as God reigns, I love you, and now am I shamed past death." She said: "And I, too, loved you. It is strange to think of that." "I was afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid before. But I was afraid of this terrible and fair and righteous man. I saw all hope of you vanish, all hope of Sicily--in effect, I lied as a cornered beast spits out his venom," de Gatinais said. "I know," she answered. "Give me water, Etienne." She washed and bound the Prince's head with a vinegar-soaked napkin. Ellinor sat upon the floor, the big man's head upon her knee. "He will not die of this, for he is of strong person. Look you, Messire de Gatinais, you and I are not. We are so fashioned that we can enjoy only the pleasant things of life. But this man can enjoy--enjoy, mark you--the commission of any act, however distasteful, if he think it to be his duty. There is the difference. I cannot fathom him. But it is now necessary that I become all which he loves--since he loves it--and that I be in thought and deed all which he desires. For I have heard the Tenson through." "You love him!" said de Gatinais. She glanced upward with a pitiable smile. "Nay, it is you that I love, my Etienne. You cannot understand--can you?--how at this very moment every fibre of me--heart, soul, and body--may be longing just to comfort you and to give you all which you desire, my Etienne, and to make you happy, my handsome Etienne, at however dear a cost. No; you will never understand that. And since you may not understand, I merely bid you go and leave me with my husband." And then there fell between these two an infinite silence. "Listen," de Gatinais said; "grant me some little credit for what I do. You are alone; the man is powerless. My fellows are within call. A word secures the Prince's death; a word gets me you and Sicily. And I do not speak that word, for you are my lady as well as his." But there was no mercy in the girl, no more for him than for herself. The big head lay upon her breast what time she caressed the gross hair of it ever so lightly. "These are tinsel oaths," she crooned, as rapt with incurious content; "these are but the protestations of a jongleur. A word get you my body? A word get you, in effect, all which you are capable of desiring? Then why do you not speak that word?" De Gatinais raised clenched hands. "I am shamed," he said; and more lately, "It is just." He left the room and presently rode away with his men. I say that he had done a knightly deed, but she thought little of it, never raised her head as the troop clattered from Mauleon, with a lessening beat which lapsed now into the blunders of an aging fly who doddered about the pane yonder. She sat thus for a long period, her meditations adrift in the future; and that which she foreread left her nor all sorry nor profoundly glad, for living seemed by this, though scarcely the merry and colorful business which she had esteemed it, yet immeasurably the more worth while. THE END OF THE SECOND NOVEL III The Story of the Rat-Trap "_Leixant a part le stil dels trobados, Dos grans dezigs han combatut ma pensa, Mas lo voler vers un seguir dispensa; Yo l'vos publich, amar dretament vos._" THE THIRD NOVEL.--MEREGRETT OF FRANCE, THINKING TO PRESERVE A HOODWINKED GENTLEMAN, ANNOYS A SPIDER; AND BY THE GRACE OF DESTINY THE WEB OF THAT CUNNING INSECT ENTRAPS A BUTTERFLY, A WASP, AND THEN A GOD; WHO SHATTERS IT. The Story of the Rat-Trap In the year of grace 1298, a little before Candlemas (thus Nicolas begins), came letters to the first King Edward of England from his kinsman and ambassador to France, Earl Edmund of Lancaster. It was perfectly apparent, the Earl wrote, that the French King meant to surrender to the Earl's lord and brother neither the duchy of Guienne nor the Lady Blanch. The courier found Sire Edward at Ipswich, midway in celebration of his daughter's marriage to the Count of Holland. The King read the letters through and began to laugh; and presently broke into a rage such as was possible to the demon-tainted blood of Anjou. So that next day the keeper of the privy purse entered upon the household-books a considerable sum "to make good a large ruby and an emerald lost out of his coronet when the King's Grace was pleased to throw it into the fire"; and upon the same day the King recalled Lancaster, and more lately despatched yet another embassy into France to treat about Sire Edward's second marriage. This last embassy was headed by the Earl of Aquitaine. The Earl got audience of the French King at Mezelais. Walking alone came this Earl of Aquitaine, with a large retinue, into the hall where the barons of France stood according to their rank; in russet were the big Earl and his attendants, but upon the scarlets and purples of the French lords many jewels shone; as through a corridor of gayly painted sunlit glass came the grave Earl to the dais where sat King Philippe. The King had risen at close sight of the new envoy, and had gulped once or twice, and without speaking, hurriedly waved his lords out of ear-shot. His perturbation was very extraordinary. "Fair cousin," the Earl now said, without any prelude, "four years ago I was affianced to your sister, Dame Blanch. You stipulated that Gascony be given up to you in guaranty, as a settlement on any children I might have by that incomparable lady. I assented, and yielded you the province, upon the understanding, sworn to according to the faith of loyal kings, that within forty days you assign to me its seignory as your vassal. And I have had of you since then neither the enfeoffment nor the lady, but only excuses, Sire Philippe." With eloquence the Frenchman touched upon the emergencies to which the public weal so often drives men of high station, and upon his private grief over the necessity--unavoidable, alas!--of returning a hard answer before the council; and become so voluble that Sire Edward merely laughed, in that big-lunged and disconcerting way of his, and afterward lodged for a week at Mezelais, nominally passing by his lesser title of Earl of Aquitaine, and as his own ambassador. And negotiations became more swift of foot, since a man serves himself with zeal. In addition, the French lords could make nothing of a politician so thick-witted that he replied to every consideration of expediency with a parrot-like reiteration of the trivial circumstance that already the bargain was signed and sworn to; and, in consequence, while daily they fumed over his stupidity, daily he gained his point. During this period he was, upon one pretext or another, very largely in the company of his affianced wife, Dame Blanch. This lady, I must tell you, was the handsomest of her day; there could nowhere be found a creature more agreeable to every sense; and she compelled the eye, it is recorded, not gently but in a superb fashion. And Sire Edward, who, till this, had loved her merely by report, and, in accordance with the high custom of old, through many perusals of her portrait, now appeared besotted. He was an aging man, near sixty; huge and fair he was, with a crisp beard, and stalwart as a tower; and the better-read at Mezelais likened the couple to Sieur Hercules at the feet of Queen Omphale when they saw the two so much together. The ensuing Wednesday the court hunted and slew a stag of ten in the woods of Ermenoueil, which stand thick about the chateau; and upon that day these two had dined at Rigon the forester's hut, in company with Dame Meregrett, the French King's younger sister. She sat a little apart from the betrothed, and stared through the hut's one window. We know nowadays it was not merely the trees she considered. Dame Blanch, it seemed, was undisposed to mirth. "For we have slain the stag, beau sire," she said, "and have made of his death a brave diversion. To-day we have had our sport of death,--and presently the gay years wind past us, as our cavalcade came toward the stag, and God's incurious angel slays us, much as we slew the stag. And we will not understand, and we will wonder, as the stag did, in helpless wonder. And Death will have his sport of us, as in atonement." Here her big eyes shone, as the sun glints upon a sand-bottomed pool. "Ohe, I have known such happiness of late, beau sire, that I am hideously afraid to die." And again the heavily fringed eyelids lifted, and within the moment sank contentedly. For the King had murmured "Happiness!" and his glance was rapacious. "But I am discourteous," Blanch said, "to prate of death thus drearily. Let us flout him, then, with some gay song." And toward Sire Edward she handed Rigon's lute. The King accepted it. "Death is not reasonably mocked," Sire Edward said, "since in the end he conquers, and of the very lips that gibed at him remains but a little dust. Nay, rather should I who already stand beneath a lifted sword make for my immediate conqueror a Sirvente, which is the Song of Service." Sang Sire Edward: "_I sing of Death, that cometh to the king, And lightly plucks him from the cushioned throne, And drowns his glory and his warfaring In unrecorded dim oblivion, And girds another with the sword thereof, And sets another in his stead to reign, What time the monarch nakedly must gain Styx' hither shore and nakedly complain 'Midst twittering ghosts lamenting life and love._ "_For Death is merciless: a crack-brained king He raises in the place of Prester John, Smites Priam, and mid-course in conquering Bids Caesar pause; the wit of Salomon, The wealth of Nero and the pride thereof, And prowess of great captains--of Gawayne, Darius, Jeshua, and Charlemaigne-- Wheedle and bribe and surfeit Death in vain And get no grace of him nor any love._ "_Incuriously he smites the armored king And tricks his wisest counsellor--_" "True, O God!" murmured the tiny woman, who sat beside the window yonder. And Dame Meregrett rose and in silence passed from the room. The two started, and laughed in common, and afterward paid little heed to her outgoing. For Sire Edward had put aside the lute and sat now regarding the Princess. His big left hand propped the bearded chin; his grave countenance was flushed, and his intent eyes shone under their shaggy brows, very steadily, like the tapers before an altar. And, irresolutely, Dame Blanch plucked at her gown; then rearranged a fold of it, and with composure awaited the ensuing action, afraid at bottom, but not at all ill-pleased; and always she looked downward. The King said: "Never before were we two alone, madame. Fate is very gracious to me this morning." "Fate," the lady considered, "has never denied much to the Hammer of the Scots." "She has denied me nothing," he sadly said, "save the one thing that makes this business of living seem a rational proceeding. Fame and power and wealth she has accorded me, no doubt, but never the common joys of life. And, look you, my Princess, I am of aging person now. During some thirty years I have ruled England according to my interpretation of God's will as it was anciently made manifest by the holy Evangelists; and during that period I have ruled England not without odd by-ends of commendation: yet behold, to-day I forget the world-applauded, excellent King Edward, and remember only Edward Plantagenet--hot-blooded and desirous man!--of whom that much-commended king has made a prisoner all these years." "It is the duty of exalted persons," Blanch unsteadily said, "to put aside such private inclinations as their breasts may harbor--" He said, "I have done what I might for the happiness of every Englishman within my realm saving only Edward Plantagenet; and now I think his turn to be at hand." Then the man kept silence; and his hot appraisal daunted her. "Lord," she presently faltered, "lord, in sober verity Love cannot extend his laws between husband and wife, since the gifts of love are voluntary, and husband and wife are but the slaves of duty--" "Troubadourish nonsense!" Sire Edward said; "yet it is true that the gifts of love are voluntary. And therefore-- Ha, most beautiful, what have you and I to do with all this chaffering over Guienne?" The two stood very close to each other now. Blanch said, "It is a high matter--" Then on a sudden the full-veined girl was aglow with passion. "It is a trivial matter." He took her in his arms, since already her cheeks flared in scarlet anticipation of the event. And thus holding her, he wooed the girl tempestuously. Here, indeed, was Sieur Hercules enslaved, burned by a fiercer fire than that of Nessus, and the huge bulk of the unconquerable visibly shaken by his adoration. In the disordered tapestry of verbiage, passion-flapped as a flag is by the wind, she presently beheld herself prefigured by Balkis, the Judean's lure, and by the Princess of Cyprus (in Aristotle's time), and by Nicolette, the King's daughter of Carthage--since the first flush of morning was as a rush-light before her resplendency, the man swore; and in conclusion, by the Countess of Tripolis, for love of whom he had cleft the seas, and losing whom he must inevitably die as Rudel did. He snapped his fingers now over any consideration of Guienne. He would conquer for her all Muscovy and all Cataia, too, if she desired mere acreage. Meanwhile he wanted her, and his hard and savage passion beat down opposition as with a bludgeon. "Heart's emperor," the trembling girl more lately said, "I think that you were cast in some larger mould than we of France. Oh, none of us may dare resist you! and I know that nothing matters, nothing in all the world, save that you love me. Then take me, since you will it--and not as King, since you will otherwise, but as Edward Plantagenet. For listen! by good luck you have this afternoon despatched Rigon for Chevrieul, where tomorrow we hunt the great boar. And in consequence to-night this hut will be unoccupied." The man was silent. He had a gift that way when occasion served. "Here, then, beau sire! here, then, at nine, you are to meet me with my chaplain. Behold, he marries us, as glibly as though we two were peasants. Poor king and princess!" cried Dame Blanch, and in a voice which thrilled him, "shall ye not, then, dare to be but man and woman?" "Ha!" the King said. He laughed. "The King is pleased to loose his prisoner; and I will do it." He fiercely said this, for the girl was very beautiful. So he came that night, without any retinue, and habited as a forester, a horn swung about his neck, into the unlighted hut of Rigon the forester, and found a woman there, though not the woman whom he had perhaps expected. "Treachery, beau sire! Horrible treachery!" she wailed. "I have encountered it ere this," the big man said. "Presently comes not Blanch but Philippe, with many men to back him. And presently they will slay you. You have been trapped, beau sire. Ah, for the love of God, go! Go, while there is yet time!" Sire Edward reflected. Undoubtedly, to light on Edward Longshanks alone in a forest would appear to King Philippe, if properly attended, a tempting chance to settle divers disputations, once for all; and Sire Edward knew the conscience of his old opponent to be invulnerable. The act would violate all laws of hospitality and knighthood--oh, granted! but its outcome would be a very definite gain to France, and for the rest, merely a dead body in a ditch. Not a monarch in Christendom, Sire Edward reflected, but feared and in consequence hated the Hammer of the Scots, and in further consequence would not lift a finger to avenge him; and not a being in the universe would rejoice at Philippe's achievement one-half so heartily as would Sire Edward's son and immediate successor, the young Prince Edward of Caernarvon. So that, all in all, ohime! Philippe had planned the affair with forethought. What Sire Edward said was, "Dame Blanch, then, knew of this?" But Meregrett's pitiful eyes had already answered him, and he laughed a little. "In that event I have to-night enregistered my name among the goodly company of Love's Lunatics-- "_Sots amoureux, sots privez, sots sauvages, Sots vieux, nouveaux, et sots de tous ages,_" thus he scornfully declaimed, "and as yokefellow with Dan Merlin in his thorn-bush, and with wise Salomon when he capered upon the high places of Chemosh, and with Duke Ares sheepishly agrin within the net of Mulciber. Rogues all, madame! fools all! yet always the flesh trammels us, and allures the soul to such sensual delights as bar its passage toward the eternal life wherein alone lies the empire and the heritage of the soul. And why does this carnal prison so impede the soul? Because Satan once ranked among the sons of God, and the Eternal Father, as I take it, has not yet forgotten the antique relationship--and hence it is permitted even in our late time that always the flesh rebel against the spirit, and always these so tiny and so thin-voiced tricksters, these highly tinted miracles of iniquity, so gracious in demeanor and so starry-eyed--" Then he turned and pointed, no longer the zealot but the expectant captain now. "Look, my Princess!" For in the pathway from which he had recently emerged stood a man in full armor like a sentinel. "Mort de Dieu, we can but try," Sire Edward said. "Too late," said Meregrett; and yet she followed him. And presently, in a big splash of moonlight, the armed man's falchion glittered across their way. "Back," he bade them, "for by the King's orders no man passes." "It were very easy now to strangle this herring," Sire Edward reflected. "But scarcely a whole school of herring," the fellow retorted. "Nay, Messire d'Aquitaine, the bushes of Ermenoueil are alive with my associates. The hut yonder, in effect, is girdled by them--and we have our orders." "Concerning women?" the King said. The man deliberated. Then Sire Edward handed him three gold pieces. "There was assuredly no specific mention of petticoats," the soldier now reflected, "and in consequence I dare to pass the Princess." "And in that event," Sire Edward said, "we twain had as well bid each other adieu." But Meregrett only said, "You bid me go?" He waved his hand. "Since there is no choice. For that which you have done--however tardily--I thank you. Meantime I can but return to Rigon's hut to rearrange my toga as King Caesar did when the assassins fell upon him, and to encounter whatever Dame Luck may send with due decorum." "To die!" she said. He shrugged his broad shoulders. "In the end we necessarily die." Dame Meregrett turned and passed back into the hut without faltering. And when he had lighted the inefficient lamp which he found there, Sire Edward wheeled upon her in half-humorous vexation. "Presently come your brother and his tattling lords. To be discovered here with me at night, alone, means infamy. If Philippe chance to fall into one of his Capetian rages it means death." "Nay, lord, it means far worse than death." And she laughed, though not merrily. And now, for the first time, Sire Edward regarded her with profound consideration, as may we. To the fingertips this so-little lady showed a descendant of the holy Lewis he had known and loved in old years. Small and thinnish she was, with soft and profuse hair that, for all its blackness, gleamed in the lamplight with stray ripples of brilliancy, as you may see a spark shudder to extinction over burning charcoal. The Valois nose she had, long and delicate in form, and overhanging a short upper-lip; yet the lips were glorious in tint, and her skin the very Hyperborean snow in tint. As for her eyes, say, gigantic onyxes--or ebony highly polished and wet with May dew. They were too big for her little face; and they made of her a tiny and desirous wraith which nervously endured each incident of life--invariably acquiescent, as a foreigner must necessarily be, to the custom of the country. In fine, this Meregrett was strange and brightly colored; and she seemed always thrilled with some subtle mirth, like that of a Siren who notes how the sailor pauses at the bulwark and laughs a little (knowing the outcome), and does not greatly care. Yet now Dame Meregrett's countenance was rapt. And Sire Edward moved one step toward this tiny lady and paused. "Madame, I do not understand." Dame Meregrett looked up into his face unflinchingly. "It means that I love you, sire. I may speak without shame now, for presently you die. Die bravely, sire! Die in such fashion as may hearten me to live." The little Princess spoke the truth, for always since his coming to Mezelais she had viewed the great conqueror as through an aweful haze of forerunning rumor, twin to that golden vapor which enswathes a god and transmutes whatever in corporeal man had been a defect into some divine and hitherto unguessed-at excellence. I must tell you in this place, since no other occasion offers, that even until the end of her life it was so. For to her what in other persons would have seemed but flagrant dulness showed, somehow, in Sire Edward, as the majestic deliberation of one that knows his verdict to be decisive, and hence appraises cautiously; and if sometimes his big, calm eyes betrayed no apprehension of the jest at which her lips were laughing, and of which her brain very cordially approved, always within the instant her heart convinced her that a god is not lightly moved to mirth. [Illustration: "SHE HAD VIEWED THE GREAT CONQUEROR" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] And now it was a god--_O deus certe!_--who had taken a woman's paltry face between his hands, half roughly. "And the maid is a Capet!" Sire Edward mused. "Never has Blanch desired you any ill, beau sire. But it is the Archduke of Austria that she loves, beau sire. And once you were dead, she might marry him. One cannot blame her," Meregrett considered, "since he wishes to marry her, and she, of course, wishes to make him happy." "And not herself, save in some secondary way!" the big King said. "In part I comprehend, madame. And I, too, long for this same happiness, impotently now, and much as a fevered man might long for water. And my admiration for the Death whom I praised this morning is somewhat abated. There was a Tenson once--Lord, Lord, how long ago! I learn too late that truth may possibly have been upon the losing side--" He took up Rigon's lute. Sang Sire Edward: "_Incuriously he smites the armored king And tricks his wisest counsellor--_ ay, the song ran thus. Now listen, madame--listen, while for me Death waits without, and for you ignominy." Sang Sire Edward: "_Anon Will Death not bid us cease from pleasuring, And change for idle laughter i' the sun The grave's long silence and the peace thereof,-- Where we entranced. Death our Viviaine Implacable, may never more regain The unforgotten passion, and the pain And grief and ecstasy of life and love?_ "_Yea, presently, as quiet as the king Sleeps now that laid the walls of Ilion, We, too, will sleep, and overhead the spring Laugh, and young lovers laugh--as we have done-- And kiss--as we, that take no heed thereof, But slumber very soundly, and disdain The world-wide heralding of winter's wane And swift sweet ripple of the April rain Running about the world to waken love._ "_We shall have done with Love, and Death be king And turn our nimble bodies carrion, Our red lips dusty;--yet our live lips cling Spite of that age-long severance and are one Spite of the grave and the vain grief thereof We mean to baffle, if in Death's domain Old memories may enter, and we twain May dream a little, and rehearse again In that unending sleep our present love._ "_Speed forth to her in sorry unison, My rhymes: and say Death mocks us, and is slain Lightly by Love, that lightly thinks thereon; And that were love at my disposal lain-- All mine to take!--and Death had said, 'Refrain, Lest I demand the bitter cost thereof,' I know that even as the weather-vane Follows the wind so would I follow Love._" Sire Edward put aside the lute. "Thus ends the Song of Service," he said, "which was made not by the King of England but by Edward Plantagenet--hot-blooded and desirous man!--in honor of the one woman who within more years than I care to think of has attempted to serve but Edward Plantagenet." "I do not comprehend," she said. And, indeed, she dared not. But now he held both tiny hands in his. "At best, your poet is an egotist. I must die presently. Meantime I crave largesse, madame! ay, a great largesse, so that in his unending sleep your poet may rehearse our present love." And even in Rigon's dim light he found her kindling eyes not niggardly. So that more lately Sire Edward strode to the window and raised big hands toward the spear-points of the aloof stars. "Master of us all!" he cried; "O Father of us all! the Hammer of the Scots am I! the Scourge of France, the conqueror of Llewellyn and of Leicester, and the flail of the accursed race that slew Thine only Son! the King of England am I who have made of England an imperial nation and have given to Thy Englishmen new laws! And to-night I crave my hire. Never, O my Father, have I had of any person aught save reverence or hatred! never in my life has any person loved me! And I am old, my Father--I am old, and presently I die. As I have served Thee--as Jacob wrestled with Thee at the ford of Jabbok--at the place of Peniel--" Against the tremulous blue and silver of the forest she saw in terror how horribly the big man was shaken. "My hire! my hire!" he hoarsely said. "Forty long years, my Father! And now I will not let Thee go except Thou hear me." And presently he turned, stark and black in the rearward splendor of the moon. "_As a prince hast thou power with God,_" he calmly said, "_and thou hast prevailed_. For the King of kings was never obdurate, m'amye. "Child! O brave, brave child!" he said to her a little later, "I was never afraid to die, and yet to-night I would that I might live a trifle longer than in common reason I may ever hope to live!" And their lips met. Neither stirred when Philippe the Handsome came into the room. At his heels were seven lords, armed cap-a-pie, but the entrance of eight cockchafers had meant as much to these transfigured two. The French King was an odd man, no more sane, perhaps, than might reasonably be expected of a Valois. Subtly smiling, he came forward through the twilight, with soft, long strides, and made no outcry at recognition of his sister. "Take the woman away; Victor," he said, disinterestedly, to de Montespan. Afterward he sat down beside the table and remained silent for a while, intently regarding Sire Edward and the tiny woman who clung to Sire Edward's arm; and always in the flickering gloom of the hut Philippe smiled as an artist might do who gazes on the perfected work and knows it to be adroit. "You prefer to remain, my sister?" he presently said. "He bien! it happens that to-night I am in a mood for granting almost any favor. A little later and I will attend to you." The fleet disorder of his visage had lapsed again into the meditative smile which was that of Lucifer watching a toasted soul. "And so it ends," he said. "Conqueror of Scotland, Scourge of France! O unconquerable king! and will the worms of Ermenoueil, then, pause to-morrow to consider through what a glorious turmoil their dinner came to them?" "You design murder, fair cousin?" Sire Edward said. The French King shrugged. "I design that within this moment my lords shall slay you while I sit here and do not move a finger. Is it not good to be a king, my cousin, and to sit quite still, and to see your bitterest enemy hacked and slain--and all the while to sit quite still, quite unruffled, as a king should always be? Eh, eh! I never lived until to-night!" "Now, by Heaven," said Sire Edward, "I am your kinsman and your guest, I am unarmed--" And Philippe bowed his head. "Undoubtedly," he assented, "the deed is a foul one. But I desire Gascony very earnestly, and so long as you live you will never permit me to retain Gascony. Hence it is quite necessary, you conceive, that I murder you. What!" he presently said, "will you not beg for mercy? I had so hoped," the French King added, somewhat wistfully, "that you might be afraid to die, O huge and righteous man! and would entreat me to spare you. To spurn the weeping conqueror of Llewellyn, say ... But these sins which damn one's soul are in actual performance very tedious affairs; and I begin to grow aweary of the game. He bien! now kill this man for me, messieurs." The English King strode forward. "O shallow trickster!" Sire Edward thundered. "_Am I not afraid?_ You baby, would you ensnare a lion with a flimsy rat-trap? Not so; for it is the nature of a rat-trap, fair cousin, to ensnare not the beast which imperiously desires and takes in daylight, but the tinier and the filthier beast that covets and under darkness pilfers--as you and your seven skulkers!" The man was rather terrible; not a Frenchman within the hut but had drawn back a little. "Listen!" Sire Edward said, and came yet farther toward the King of France and shook at him one forefinger; "when you were in your cradle I was leading armies. When you were yet unbreeched I was lord of half Europe. For thirty years I have driven kings before me as Fierabras did. Am I, then, a person to be hoodwinked by the first big-bosomed huzzy that elects to waggle her fat shoulders and to grant an assignation in a forest expressively designed for stabbings? You baby, is the Hammer of the Scots the man to trust a Capet? Ill-mannered infant," the King said, with bitter laughter, "it is now necessary that I summon my attendants and remove you to a nursery which I have prepared in England." He set the horn to his lips and blew three blasts. There came many armed warriors into the hut, bearing ropes. Here was the entire retinue of the Earl of Aquitaine; and, cursing, Sire Philippe sprang upon the English King, and with a dagger smote at the impassive big man's heart. The blade broke against the mail armor under the tunic. "Have I not told you," Sire Edward wearily said, "that one may never trust a Capet? Now, messieurs, bind these carrion and convey them whither I have directed you. Nay, but, Roger--" He conversed apart with his lieutenant, and what Sire Edward commanded was done. The French King and seven lords of France went from that hut trussed like chickens. And now Sire Edward turned toward Meregrett and chafed his big hands gleefully. "At every tree-bole a tethered horse awaits us; and a ship awaits our party at Fecamp. To-morrow we sleep in England--and, Mort de Dieu! do you not think, madame, that within the Tower your brother and I may more quickly come to some agreement over Guienne?" She had shrunk from him. "Then the trap was yours? It was you that lured my brother to this infamy!" "I am vile!" was the man's thought. And, "In effect, I planned it many months ago at Ipswich yonder," Sire Edward gayly said. "Faith of a gentleman! your brother has cheated me of Guienne, and was I to waste an eternity in begging him to restore it? Nay, for I have a many spies in France, and have for some two years known your brother and your sister to the bottom. Granted that I came hither incognito, to forecast your kinfolk's immediate endeavors was none too difficult; and I wanted Guienne--and, in consequence, the person of your brother. Mort de ma vie! Shall not the seasoned hunter adapt his snare aforetime to the qualities of his prey, and take the elephant through his curiosity, as the snake through his notorious treachery?" Now the King of England blustered. But the little Princess wrung her hands. "I am this night most hideously shamed. Beau sire, I came hither to aid a brave man infamously trapped, and instead I find an alert spider, snug in his cunning web, and patiently waiting until the gnats of France fly near enough. Eh, the greater fool was I to waste my labor on the shrewd and evil thing which has no more need of me than I of it! And now let me go hence, sire, and unmolested, for the sake of chivalry. Could I have come to you but as to the brave man I had dreamed of, I had come through the murkiest lane of hell; as the more artful knave, as the more judicious trickster"--and here she thrust him from her--"I spit upon you. Now let me go hence." He took her in his brawny arms. "Fit mate for me," he said. "Little vixen, had you done otherwise I had devoted you to the devil." Anon, still grasping her, and victoriously lifting Dame Meregrett, so that her feet swung quite clear of the floor, Sire Edward said: "Look you, in my time I have played against Fate for considerable stakes--for fortresses, and towns, and strong citadels, and for kingdoms even. And it was only to-night I perceived that the one stake worth playing for is love. It were easy enough to get you for my wife; but I want more than that.... Pschutt! I know well enough how women have these notions: and carefully I weighed the issue--Meregrett and Guienne to boot? or Meregrett and Meregrett's love to boot?--and thus the final destination of my captives was but the courtyard of Mezelais, in order I might come to you with hands--well! not intolerably soiled." "Oh, now I love you!" she cried, a-thrill with disappointment. "Yet you have done wrong, for Guienne is a king's ransom." He smiled whimsically, and presently one arm swept beneath her knees, so that presently he held her as one dandles a baby; and presently his stiff and yellow beard caressed her burning cheek. Masterfully he said: "Then let it serve as such and ransom for a king his glad and common manhood. Ah, m'amye, I am both very wise and abominably selfish. And in either capacity it appears expedient that I leave France without any unwholesome delay. More lately--he, already I have within my pocket the Pope's dispensation permitting me to marry the sister of the King of France, so that I dare to hope." Very shyly Dame Meregrett lifted her little mouth toward his hot and bearded lips. "Patience," she said, "is a virtue; and daring is a virtue; and hope, too, is a virtue: and otherwise, beau sire, I would not live." And in consequence, after a deal of political tergiversation (Nicolas concludes), in the year of grace 1299, on the day of our Lady's nativity, and in the twenty-seventh year of King Edward's reign, came to the British realm, and landed at Dover, not Dame Blanch, as would have been in consonance with seasoned expectation, but Dame Meregrett, the other daughter of King Philippe the Bold; and upon the following day proceeded to Canterbury, whither on the next Thursday after came Edward, King of England, into the Church of the Trinity at Canterbury, and therein espoused the aforesaid Dame Meregrett. THE END OF THE THIRD NOVEL IV The Story of the Choices "Sest fable es en aquest mon Semblans al homes que i son; Que el mager sen qu'om pot aver So es amar Dieu et sa mer, E gardar sos comendamens." THE FOURTH NOVEL.--YSABEAU OF FRANCE, DESIROUS OF DISTRACTION, LOOKS FOR RECREATION IN THE TORMENT OF A CERTAIN KNIGHT, WHOM SHE PROVES TO BE NO MORE THAN HUMAN; BUT IN THE OUTCOME OF HER HOLIDAY HE CONFOUNDS THIS QUEEN BY THE WIT OF HIS REPLY. The Story of the Choices In the year of grace 1327 (thus Nicolas begins) you could have found in all England no lovers more ardent in affection or in despair more affluent than Rosamund Eastney and Sir Gregory Darrell. She was Lord Berners' only daughter, a brown beauty, and of extensive repute, thanks to such among her retinue of lovers as were practitioners of the Gay Science and had scattered broadcast innumerable Canzons in her honor; and Lord Berners was a man who accepted the world as he found it. "Dompnedex!" the Earl was wont to say; "in sincerity I am fond of Gregory Darrell, and if he chooses to make love to my daughter that is none of my affair. The eyes and the brain preserve a proverbial warfare, which is the source of all amenity, for without lady-service there would be no songs and tourneys, no measure and no good breeding; and, in a phrase, a man delinquent in it is no more to be valued than an ear of corn without the grain. Nay, I am so profoundly an admirer of Love that I can never willingly behold him slain, of a surfeit, by Matrimony; and besides, the rapscallion could not to advantage exchange purses with Lazarus; and, moreover, Rosamund is to marry the Earl of Sarum a little after All Saints' day." "Sarum!" people echoed. "Why, the old goat has had two wives already!" And the Earl would spread his hands. "One of the wealthiest persons in England," he was used to submit. Thus it fell out that Sir Gregory came and went at his own discretion as concerned Lord Berners' fief of Ordish, all through those gusty times of warfare between Sire Edward and Queen Ysabeau, until at last the Queen had conquered. Lord Berners, for one, vexed himself not inordinately over the outcome of events, since he protested the King's armament to consist of fools and the Queen's of rascals; and had with entire serenity declined to back either Dick or the devil. It was in the September of this year, a little before Michaelmas, that they brought Sir Gregory Darrell to be judged by the Queen, for notoriously the knight had been Sire Edward's adherent. "Death!" croaked Adam Orleton, who sat to the right hand, and, "Young de Spencer's death!" amended the Earl of March, with wild laughter; but Ysabeau leaned back in her great chair--a handsome woman, stoutening now from gluttony and from too much wine--and regarded her prisoner with lazy amiability, and devoted the silence to consideration of how scantily the man had changed. "And what was your errand in Figgis Wood?" she demanded in the ultimate--"or are you mad, then, Gregory Darrell, that you dare ride past my gates alone?" He curtly said, "I rode for Ordish." Followed silence. "Roger," the Queen ordered, sharply, "give me the paper which I would not sign." The Earl of March had drawn an audible breath. The Bishop of London somewhat wrinkled his shaggy brows, as a person in shrewd and epicurean amusement, what while she subscribed the parchment within the moment, with a great scrawling flourish. "Take, in the devil's name, the hire of your dexterities," said Ysabeau, and pushed this document with her wet pen-point toward March, "and ride for Berkeley now upon that necessary business we know of. And do the rest of you withdraw, saving only my prisoner--my prisoner!" she said, and laughed not very pleasantly. [Illustration: "'MY PRISONER!' SHE SAID" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] Followed another silence. Queen Ysabeau lolled in her carven chair, considering the comely gentleman who stood before her, fettered, at the point of shameful death. There was a little dog in the room which had come to the Queen, and now licked the palm of her left hand, and the soft lapping of its tongue was the only sound you heard. "So at peril of your life you rode for Ordish, then, messire?" The tense man had flushed. "You have harried us of the King's party out of England--and in reason I might not leave England without seeing her." "My friend," said Ysabeau, as half in sorrow, "I would have pardoned anything save that." She rose. Her face was dark and hot. "By God and all His saints! you shall indeed leave England to-morrow and the world as well! but not without a final glimpse of this same Rosamund. Yet listen: I, too, must ride with you to Ordish--as your sister, say--Gregory, did I not hang last April the husband of your sister? Yes, Ralph de Belomys, a thin man with eager eyes, the Earl of Farrington he was. As his widow will I ride with you to Ordish, upon condition you disclose to none at Ordish, saving only, if you will, this quite immaculate Rosamund, even a hint of our merry carnival. And to-morrow (you will swear according to the nicest obligations of honor) you must ride back with me to encounter--that which I may devise. For I dare to trust your naked word in this, and, moreover, I shall take with me a sufficiency of retainers to leave you no choice." Darrell knelt before her. "I can do no homage to Queen Ysabeau; yet the prodigal hands of her who knows that I must die to-morrow and cunningly contrives, for old time's sake, to hearten me with a sight of Rosamund, I cannot but kiss." This much he did. "And I swear in all things to obey her will." "O comely fool!" the Queen said, not ungently, "I contrive, it may be, but to demonstrate that many tyrants of antiquity were only bunglers. And, besides, I must have other thoughts than that which now occupies my heart: I must this night take holiday, lest I go mad." Thus did the Queen arrange her holiday. "Either I mean to torture you to-morrow," Dame Ysabeau said, presently, to Darrell, as these two rode side by side, "or else I mean to free you. In sober verity I do not know. I am in a holiday humor, and it is as the whim may take me. But you indeed do love this Rosamund Eastney? And of course she worships you?" "It is my belief, madame, that when I see her I tremble visibly, and my weakness is such that a child has more intelligence than I--and toward such misery any lady must in common reason be a little compassionate." Her hands had twitched so that the astonished palfrey reared. "I design torture," the Queen said; "ah, I perfect exquisite torture, for you have proven recreant, you have forgotten the maid Ysabeau--Le Desir du Cuer, was it not, my Gregory?" His palms clutched at heaven. "That Ysabeau is dead! and all true joy is destroyed, and the world lies under a blight wherefrom God has averted an unfriendly face in displeasure! yet of all wretched persons existent I am he who endures the most grievous anguish, for daily I partake of life without any relish, and I would in truth deem him austerely kind who slew me now that the maiden Ysabeau is dead." She shrugged, although but wearily. "I scent the raw stuff of a Planh," the Queen observed; "_benedicite!_ it was ever your way, my friend, to love a woman chiefly for the verses she inspired." And she began to sing, as they rode through Baverstock Thicket. Sang Ysabeau: "_Man's love hath many prompters, But a woman's love hath none; And he may woo a nimble wit Or hair that shames the sun, Whilst she must pick of all one man And ever brood thereon-- And for no reason, And not rightly,--_ "_Save that the plan was foreordained (More old than Chalcedon, Or any tower of Tarshish Or of gleaming Babylon), That she must love unwillingly And love till life be done, He for a season, And more lightly._" So to Ordish in that twilight came the Countess of Farrington, with a retinue of twenty men-at-arms, and her brother Sir Gregory Darrell. Lord Berners received the party with boisterous hospitality. "And the more for that your sister is a very handsome woman," was Rosamund Eastney's comment. The period appears to have been after supper, and she sat with Gregory Darrell in not the most brilliant corner of the main hall. The wretched man leaned forward, bit his nether-lip, and then with a sudden splurge of speech informed her of the sorry masquerade. "The she-devil designs some horrible and obscure mischief, she plans I know not what." "Yet I--" said Rosamund. The girl had risen, and she continued with an odd inconsequence. "You have told me you were Pembroke's squire when long ago he sailed for France to fetch this woman into England--" "Which you never heard!" Lord Berners shouted at this point. "Jasper, a lute!" And then he halloaed, more lately, "Gregory, Madame de Farrington demands that racy song you made against Queen Ysabeau during your last visit." Thus did the Queen begin her holiday. It was a handsome couple which came forward, hand quitting hand a shade too tardily, and the blinking eyes yet rapt; but these two were not overpleased at being disturbed, and the man in particular was troubled, as in reason he well might be, by the task assigned him. "Is it, indeed, your will, my sister," he said, "that I should sing--this song?" "It is my will," the Countess said. And the knight flung back his comely head and laughed. "What I have written I shall not disown in any company. It is not, look you, of my own choice that I sing, my sister. Yet if she bade me would I sing this song as willingly before Queen Ysabeau, for, Christ aid me! the song is true." Sang Sir Gregory: "_Dame Ysabeau, la prophecie Que li sage dit ne ment mie, Que la royne sut ceus grever Qui tantost laquais sot aymer--_" and so on. It was a lengthy ditty and in its wording not oversqueamish; the Queen's career in England was detailed without any stuttering, and you would have found the catalogue unhandsome. Yet Sir Gregory sang it with an incisive gusto, though it seemed to him to countersign his death-warrant; and with the vigor that a mangled snake summons for its last hideous stroke, it seemed to Ysabeau regretful of an ancient spring. _Nicolas gives this ballad in full, but, and for obvious reasons, his translator would prefer to do otherwise._ Only the minstrel added, though Lord Berners did not notice it, a fire-new peroration. Sang Sir Gregory: "_Ma voix mocque, mon cuer gemit-- Peu pense a ce que la voix dit, Car me membre du temps jadis Et d'ung garson, d'amour surpris, Et d'une fille--et la vois si-- Et grandement suis esbahi._" And when Darrell had ended, the Countess of Farrington, without speaking, swept her left hand toward her cheek and by pure chance caught between thumb and forefinger the autumn-numbed fly that had annoyed her. She drew the little dagger from her girdle and meditatively cut the buzzing thing in two. Then she flung the fragments from her, and resting the dagger's point upon the arm of her chair, one forefinger upon the summit of the hilt, considerately twirled the brilliant weapon. "This song does not err upon the side of clemency," she said at last, "nor by ordinary does Queen Ysabeau." "That she-wolf!" said Lord Berners, comfortably. "Hoo, Madame Gertrude! since the Prophet Moses wrung healing waters from a rock there has been no such miracle recorded." "We read, Messire de Berners, that when the she-wolf once acknowledges a master she will follow him as faithfully as any dog. Nay, my brother, I do not question your sincerity, yet you sing with the voice of an unhonored courtier. Suppose Queen Ysabeau had heard your song all through and then had said--for she is not as the run of women--'Messire, I had thought till this there was no thorough man in England saving Roger Mortimer. I find him tawdry now, and--I remember. Come you, then, and rule the England that you love as you may love no woman, and rule me, messire, for I find even in your cruelty--England! bah, we are no pygmies, you and I!'" the Countess said with a great voice; "'yonder is squabbling Europe and all the ancient gold of Africa, ready for our taking! and past that lies Asia, too, and its painted houses hung with bells, and cloud-wrapt Tartary, wherein we twain may yet erect our equal thrones, whereon to receive the tributary emperors! For we are no pygmies, you and I.'" She paused and more lately shrugged. "Suppose Queen Ysabeau had said this much, my brother?" Darrell was more pallid, as the phrase is, than a sheet, and the lute had dropped unheeded, and his hands were clenched. "I would answer, my sister, that as she has found in England but one man, I have found in England but one woman--the rose of all the world." His eyes were turned at this toward Rosamund Eastney. "And yet," the man stammered, "for that I, too, remember--" "Nay, in God's name! I am answered," the Countess said. She rose, in dignity almost a queen. "We have ridden far to-day, and to-morrow we must travel a deal farther--eh, my brother? I am a trifle overspent, Messire de Berners." And her face had now the weary beauty of an idol's. So the men and women parted. Madame de Farrington kissed her brother in leaving him, as was natural; and under her caress his stalwart person shuddered, but not in repugnance; and the Queen went bedward regretful of an ancient spring and singing hushedly. Sang Ysabeau: "_Were the All-Mother wise, life (shaped anotherwise) Would be all high and true; Could I be otherwise I had been otherwise Simply because of you, Who are no longer you._ "_Life with its pay to be bade us essay to be What we became,--I believe Were there a way to be what it was play to be I would not greatly grieve... And I neither laugh nor grieve!_" Ysabeau would have slept that night within the chamber of Rosamund Eastney had either slept at all. As concerns the older I say nothing. The girl, though soon aware of frequent rustlings near at hand, lay quiet, half-forgetful of the poisonous woman yonder. The girl was now fulfilled with a great blaze of exultation; to-morrow Gregory must die, and then perhaps she might find time for tears; but meanwhile, before her eyes, the man had flung away a kingdom and life itself for love of her, and the least nook of her heart ached to be a shade more worthy of the sacrifice. After it might have been an hour of this excruciate ecstasy the Countess came to Rosamund's bed. "Ay," the woman hollowly began, "it is indisputable that his hair is like spun gold and that his eyes resemble sun-drenched waters in June. And that when this Gregory laughs God is more happy. Ma belle, I was familiar with the routine of your meditations ere you were born." Rosamund said, quite simply: "You have known him always. I envy the circumstance, Madame Gertrude--you alone of all women in the world I envy, since you, his sister, being so much older, must have known him always." "I know him to the core, my girl," the Countess answered, and afterward sat silent, one bare foot jogging restlessly; "yet am I two years the junior-- Did you hear nothing, Rosamund?" "Nay, Madame Gertrude, I heard nothing." "Strange!" the Countess said; "let us have lights, since I can no longer endure the overpopulous darkness." She kindled, with twitching fingers, three lamps and looked in vain for more. "It is as yet dark yonder, where the shadows quiver very oddly, as though they would rise from the floor--do they not, my girl?--and protest vain things. Nay, Rosamund, it has been done; in the moment of death men's souls have travelled farther and have been visible; it has been done, I tell you. And he would stand before me, with pleading eyes, and reproach me in a voice too faint to reach my ears--but I would see him--and his groping hands would clutch at my hands as though a dropped veil had touched me, and with the contact I would go mad!" "Madame Gertrude!" the girl now stammered, in communicated terror. "Poor innocent dastard!" the woman said, "I am Ysabeau of France." And when Rosamund made as though to rise, in alarm, Queen Ysabeau caught her by the shoulder. "Bear witness when he comes I never hated him. Yet for my quiet it was necessary that it suffer so cruelly, the scented, pampered body, and no mark be left upon it! Eia! even now he suffers! Nay, I have lied. I hate the man, and in such fashion as you will comprehend only when you are Sarum's wife." "Madame and Queen!" the girl said, "you will not murder me!" "I am tempted!" the Queen hissed. "O little slip of girlhood, I am tempted, for it is not reasonable you should possess everything that I have lost. Innocence you have, and youth, and untroubled eyes, and quiet dreams, and the glad beauty of the devil, and Gregory Darrell's love--" Now Ysabeau sat down upon the bed and caught up the girl's face between two fevered hands. "Rosamund, this Darrell perceives within the moment, as I do, that the love he bears for you is but what he remembers of the love he bore a certain maid long dead. Eh, you might have been her sister, Rosamund, for you are very like her. And she, poor wench--why, I could see her now, I think, were my eyes not blurred, somehow, almost as though Queen Ysabeau might weep! But she was handsomer than you, since your complexion is not overclear, praise God!" Woman against woman they were. "He has told me of his intercourse with you," the girl said, and this was a lie flatfooted. "Nay, kill me if you will, madame, since you are the stronger, yet, with my dying breath, Gregory has loved but me." "Ma belle," the Queen answered, and laughed bitterly, "do I not know men? He told you nothing. And to-night he hesitated, and to-morrow, at the lifting of my finger, he will supplicate. Throughout his life has Gregory Darrell loved me, O white, palsied innocence! and he is mine at a whistle. And in that time to come he will desert you, Rosamund--though with a pleasing Canzon--and they will give you to the gross Earl of Sarum, as they gave me to the painted man who was of late our King! and in that time to come you will know your body to be your husband's makeshift when he lacks leisure to seek out other recreation! and in that time to come you will long at first for death, and presently your heart will be a flame within you, my Rosamund, an insatiable flame! and you will hate your God because He made you, and hate Satan because in some desperate hour he tricked you, and hate all masculinity because, poor fools, they scurry to obey your whim! and chiefly hate yourself because you are so pitiable! and devastation only will you love in that strange time which is to come. It is adjacent, my Rosamund." The girl kept silence. She sat erect in the tumbled bed, her hands clasping her knees, and appeared to deliberate what Dame Ysabeau had said. The plentiful brown hair fell about this Rosamund's face, which was white and shrewd. "A part of what you say, madame, I understand. I know that Gregory Darrell loves me, yet I have long ago acknowledged he loves me but as one pets a child, or, let us say, a spaniel which reveres and amuses one. I lack his wit, you comprehend, and so he never speaks to me all that he thinks. Yet a part of it he tells me, and he loves me, and with this I am content. Assuredly, if they give me to Sarum I shall hate Sarum even more than I detest him now. And then, I think, Heaven help me! that I would not greatly grieve-- Oh, you are all evil!" Rosamund said; "and you thrust thoughts into my mind I may not grapple with!" "You will comprehend them," the Queen said, "when you know yourself a chattel, bought and paid for." The Queen laughed. She rose, and either hand strained toward heaven. "You are omnipotent, yet have You let me become that into which I am transmuted," she said, very low. Anon she began, as though a statue spoke through motionless and pallid lips. "They have long urged me, Rosamund, to a deed which by one stroke would make me mistress of these islands. To-day I looked on Gregory Darrell, and knew that I was wise in love--and I had but to crush a filthy worm to come to him. Eh, and I was tempted--!" The fearless girl said: "Let us grant that Gregory loves you very greatly, and me just when his leisure serves. You may offer him a cushioned infamy, a colorful and brief delirium, and afterward demolishment of soul and body; I offer him contentment and a level life, made up of tiny happenings, it may be, and lacking both in abysses and in skyey heights. Yet is love a flame wherein must the lover's soul be purified, as an ore by fire, even to its own discredit; and thus, madame, to judge between us I dare summon you." "Child, child!" the Queen said, tenderly, and with a smile, "you are brave; and in your fashion you are wise; yet you will never comprehend. But once I was in heart and soul and body all that you are to-day; and now I am Queen Ysabeau. Assuredly, it would be hard to yield my single chance of happiness; it would be hard to know that Gregory Darrell must presently dwindle into an ox well-pastured, and garner of life no more than any ox; but to say, 'Let this girl become as I, and garner that which I have garnered--!' Did you in truth hear nothing, Rosamund?" "Why, nothing save the wind." "Strange!" said the Queen; "since all the while that I have talked with you I have been seriously annoyed by shrieks and various imprecations! But I, too, grow cowardly, it maybe-- Nay, I know," she said, and in a resonant voice, "that I am by this mistress of broad England, until my son--my own son, born of my body, and in glad anguish, Rosamund--knows me for what I am. For I have heard-- Coward! O beautiful sleek coward!" the Queen said; "I would have died without lamentation and I was but your plaything!" "Madame Ysabeau--!" the girl stammered, and ran toward her, for the girl had risen, and she was terrified. "To bed!" said Ysabeau; "and put out the lights lest he come presently. Or perhaps he fears me now too much to come to-night. Yet the night approaches, none the less, when I must lift some arras and find him there, chalk-white, with painted cheeks, and rigid, and smiling very terribly, or look into some mirror and behold there not myself but him--and in that instant I will die. Meantime I rule, until my son attains his manhood. Eh, Rosamund, my only son was once so tiny, and so helpless, and his little crimson mouth groped toward me, helplessly, and save in Bethlehem, I thought, there was never any child more fair-- But I must forget all that, for even now he plots. Hey, God orders matters very shrewdly, my Rosamund." And timidly the girl touched one shoulder. "In part, I understand, madame and Queen." "You understand nothing," said Ysabeau; "how should you understand whose breasts are yet so tiny? Nay, put out the light! though I dread the darkness, Rosamund--For they say that hell is poorly lighted--and they say--" Then Queen Ysabeau shrugged. Herself blew out each lamp. "We know this Gregory Darrell," the Queen said in the darkness, and aloud, "ay, to the marrow we know him, however steadfastly we blink, and we know the present turmoil of his soul; and in common-sense what chance have you of victory?" "None in common-sense, madame, and yet you go too fast. For man is a being of mingled nature, we are told by those in holy orders, and his life here but one unending warfare between that which is divine in him and that which is bestial, while impartial Heaven attends as arbiter of the cruel tourney. Always his judgment misleads the man, and his faculties allure him to a truce, however brief, with iniquity. His senses raise a mist about his goings, and there is not an endowment of the man but in the end plays traitor to his interest, as of His wisdom God intends; so that when the man is overthrown, God the Eternal Father may, in reason, be neither vexed nor grieved if only he takes heart to rise again. And when, betrayed and impotent, the man elects to fight out the allotted battle, defiant of common-sense and of the counsellors which God Himself accorded, I think that they hold festival in heaven." "A very pretty sermon," said the Queen, and with premeditation yawned. Followed a silence, vexed only on the purposeless September winds; but I believe that neither of these two slept with an inappropriate profundity. About dawn one of the Queen's attendants roused Sir Gregory Darrell and presently conducted him into the hedged garden of Ordish, where Ysabeau walked in tranquil converse with Lord Berners. The old man was in high good-humor. "My lad," said he, and clapped Sir Gregory upon the shoulder, "you have, I do protest, the very phoenix of sisters. I was never happier." And he went away chuckling. The Queen said in a toneless voice, "We ride for Blackfriars now." Darrell responded, "I am content, and ask but leave to speak, and briefly, with Dame Rosamund before I die." Then the woman came more near to him. "I am not used to beg, but within this hour you die, and I have loved no man in all my life saving only you, Sir Gregory Darrell. Nor have you loved any person as you loved me once in France. Nay, to-day, I may speak freely, for with you the doings of that boy and girl are matters overpast. Yet were it otherwise--eh, weigh the matter carefully! for absolute mistress of England am I now, and entire England would I give you, and such love as that slim, white innocence has never dreamed of would I give you, Gregory Darrell--No, no! ah, Mother of God, not you!" The Queen clapped one hand upon his lips. "Listen," she quickly said, as a person in the crisis of panic; "I spoke to tempt you. But you saw, and clearly, that it was the sickly whim of a wanton, and you never dreamed of yielding, for you love this Rosamund Eastney, and you know me to be vile. Then have a care of me! The strange woman am I of whom we read that her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death. Yea, many strong men have been slain by me, and futurely will many others be slain, it may be; but never you among them, my Gregory, who are more wary, and more merciful, and know that I have need to lay aside at least one comfortable thought against eternity." "I concede you to have been unwise--" he hoarsely said. About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the air of this new day seemed raw and chill. Then Rosamund came through the opening in the hedge. "Nay, choose," she wearily said; "the woman offers life and empery and wealth, and it may be, even a greater love than I am capable of giving you. I offer a dishonorable death within the moment." And again, with that peculiar and imperious gesture, the man flung back his head, and he laughed. "I am I! and I will so to live that I may face without shame not only God, but even my own scrutiny." He wheeled upon the Queen and spoke henceforward very leisurely. "I love you; all my life long I have loved you, Ysabeau, and even now I love you: and you, too, dear Rosamund, I love, though with a difference. And every fibre of my being lusts for the power that you would give me, Ysabeau, and for the good which I would do with it in the England I or Roger Mortimer must rule; as every fibre of my being lusts for the man that I would be could I choose death without debate, and for the man which you would make of me, my Rosamund. "The man! And what is this man, this Gregory Darrell, that his welfare be considered?--an ape who chatters to himself of kinship with the archangels while filthily he digs for groundnuts! This much I know, at bottom, durst I but be honest. "Yet more clearly do I perceive that this same man, like all his fellows, is a maimed god who walks the world dependent upon many wise and evil counsellors. He must measure, and to a hair's-breadth, every content of the world by means of a bloodied sponge, tucked somewhere in his skull, which is ungeared by the first cup of wine and ruined by the touch of his own finger. He must appraise all that he judges with no better instruments than two bits of colored jelly, with a bungling makeshift so maladroit that the nearest horologer's apprentice could have devised a more accurate device. In fine, he is under penalty condemned to compute eternity with false weights and to estimate infinity with a yardstick: and he very often does it. For though, 'If then I do that which I would not I consent unto the law,' saith even the Apostle; yet the braver Pagan answers him, 'Perceive at last that thou hast in thee something better and more divine than the things which cause the various effects and, as it were, pull thee by the strings.' "There lies the choice which every man must make--or rationally, as his reason goes, to accept his own limitations and make the best of his allotted prison-yard? or stupendously to play the fool and swear even to himself (while his own judgment shrieks and proves a flat denial), that he is at will omnipotent? You have chosen long ago, my poor proud Ysabeau; and I choose now, and differently: for poltroon that I am! being now in a cold drench of terror, I steadfastly protest I am not much afraid, and I choose death, madame." It was toward Rosamund that the Queen looked, and smiled a little pitifully. "Should Queen Ysabeau be angry or vexed or very cruel now, my Rosamund? for at bottom she is glad." More lately the Queen said: "I give you back your plighted word. I ride homeward to my husks, but you remain. Or rather, the Countess of Farrington departs for the convent of Ambresbury, disconsolate in her widowhood and desirous to have done with worldly affairs. It is most natural she should relinquish to her beloved and only brother all her dower-lands--or so at least Messire de Berners acknowledges. Here, then, is the grant, my Gregory, that conveys to you those lands of Ralph de Belomys which last year I confiscated. And this tedious Messire de Berners is willing now--nay, desirous--to have you for a son-in-law." About them fell the dying leaves, of many glorious colors, but the air of this new day seemed raw and chill, what while, very calmly, Dame Ysabeau took Sir Gregory's hand and laid it upon the hand of Rosamund Eastney. "Our paladin is, in the outcome, a mortal man, and therefore I do not altogether envy you. Yet he has his moments, and you are capable. Serve, then, not only his desires but mine also, dear Rosamund." There was a silence. The girl spoke as though it was a sacrament. "I will, madame and Queen." Thus did the Queen end her holiday. A little later the Countess of Farrington rode from Ordish with all her train save one; and riding from that place, where love was, she sang very softly, and as to herself. Sang Ysabeau: "_As with her dupes dealt Circe Life deals with hers, pardie! Reshaping without mercy, And shaping swinishly, To wallow swinishly, And for eternity--_ "_Though, harder than the witch was, Life, changing ne'er the whole, Transmutes the body, which was Proud garment of the soul, And briefly drugs the soul, Whose ruin is her goal--_ "_And means by this thereafter A subtler mirth to get, And mock with bitterer laughter Her helpless dupes' regret, Their swinish dull regret For what they half forget._" And within the hour came Hubert Frayne to Ordish, on a foam-specked horse, as he rode to announce to the King's men the King's barbaric murder overnight, at Berkeley Castle, by Queen Ysabeau's order. "Ride southward," said Lord Berners, and panted as they buckled on his disused armor; "but harkee, Frayne! if you pass the Countess of Farrington's company, speak no syllable of your news, since it is not convenient that a lady so thoroughly and so praiseworthily--Lord, Lord, how I have fattened!--so intent on holy things, in fine, should have her meditations disturbed by any such unsettling tidings. Hey, son-in-law?" Sir Gregory Darrell laughed, and very bitterly. "He that is without blemish among you--" he said. Then they armed completely. THE END OF THE FOURTH NOVEL V The Story of the Housewife "_Selh que m blasma vostr' amor ni m defen Non podon far en re mon cor mellor, Ni'l dous dezir qu'ieu ai de vos major, Ni l'enveya' ni'l dezir, ni'l talen._" THE FIFTH NOVEL.--PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT DARES TO LOVE UNTHRIFTILY, AND BY THE PRODIGALITY OF HER AFFECTION SHAMES TREACHERY, AND COMMON-SENSE, AND HIGH ROMANCE, QUITE STOLIDLY; BUT, AS LOVING GOES, IS OVERTOPPED BY HER MORE STOLID SQUIRE. The Story of the Housewife In the year of grace 1326, upon Walburga's Eve, some three hours after sunset (thus Nicolas begins), had you visited a certain garden on the outskirts of Valenciennes, you might there have stumbled upon a big, handsome boy, prone on the turf, where by turns he groaned and vented himself in sullen curses. The profanity had its poor palliation. Heir to England though he was, you must know that his father in the flesh had hounded him from England, as more recently his uncle Charles the Handsome had driven him from France. Now had this boy's mother and he come as suppliants to the court of that stalwart nobleman Sire William (Count of Hainault, Holland, and Zealand, and Lord of Friesland), where their arrival had evoked the suggestion that they depart at their earliest convenience. To-morrow, then, these footsore royalties, the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales, would be thrust out-o'-doors to resume the weary beggarship, to knock again upon the obdurate gates of this unsympathizing king or that deaf emperor. Accordingly the boy aspersed his destiny. At hand a nightingale carolled as though an exiled prince were the blithest spectacle the moon knew. There came through the garden a tall girl, running, stumbling in her haste. "Hail, King of England!" she panted. "Do not mock me, Philippa!" the boy half-sobbed. Sulkily he rose to his feet. "No mockery here, my fair sweet friend. Nay, I have told my father all which happened yesterday. I pleaded for you. He questioned me very closely. And when I had ended, he stroked his beard, and presently struck one hand upon the table. 'Out of the mouth of babes!' he said. Then he said: 'My dear, I believe for certain that this lady and her son have been driven from their kingdom wrongfully. If it be for the good of God to comfort the afflicted, how much more is it commendable to help and succor one who is the daughter of a king, descended from royal lineage, and to whose blood we ourselves are related!' And accordingly he and your mother have their heads together yonder, planning an invasion of England, no less, and the dethronement of your wicked father, my Edward. And accordingly--hail, King of England!" The girl clapped her hands gleefully, what time the nightingale sang on. But the boy kept momentary silence. Even in youth the Plantagenets were never handicapped by excessively tender hearts; yesterday in the shrubbery the boy had kissed this daughter of Count William, in part because she was a healthy and handsome person, and partly, and with consciousness of the fact, as a necessitated hazard of futurity. Well! he had found chance-taking not unfortunate. With the episode as foundation, Count William had already builded up the future queenship of England. A wealthy count could do--and, as it seemed, was now in train to do--indomitable deeds to serve his son-in-law; and now the beggar of five minutes since foresaw himself, with this girl's love as ladder, mounting to the high habitations of the King of England, the Lord of Ireland, and the Duke of Aquitaine. Thus they would herald him. So he embraced the girl. "Hail, Queen of England!" said the Prince; and then, "If I forget--" His voice broke awkwardly. "My dear, if ever I forget--!" Their lips met now, what time the nightingale discoursed as on a wager. Presently was mingled with the bird's descant low singing of another kind. Beyond the yew-hedge as these two stood silent, breast to breast, passed young Jehan Kuypelant, the Brabant page, fitting to the accompaniment of a lute his paraphrase of the song which Archilochus of Sicyon very anciently made in honor of Venus Melaenis, the tender Venus of the Dark. At a gap in the hedge the Brabanter paused. His melody was hastily gulped. You saw, while these two stood heart hammering against heart, his lean face silvered by the moonlight, his mouth a tiny abyss. Followed the beat of lessening footsteps, while the nightingale improvised his envoi. But earlier Jehan Kuypelant also had sung, as though in rivalry with the bird. Sang Jehan Kuypelant: "_Hearken and heed, Melaenis! For all that the litany ceased When Time had taken the victim, And flouted thy pale-lipped priest, And set astir in the temple Where burned the fire of thy shrine The owls and wolves of the desert-- Yet hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_ "_For I have followed, nor faltered-- Adrift in a land of dreams Where laughter and loving and wonder Contend as a clamor of streams, I have seen and adored the Sidonian, Implacable, fair and divine-- And bending low, have implored thee To hearken, (the issue is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_" It is time, however, that we quit this subject and speak of other matters. Just twenty years later, on one August day in the year of grace 1346, Master John Copeland--as men now called the Brabant page, now secretary to the Queen of England--brought his mistress the unhandsome tidings that David Bruce had invaded her realm with forty thousand Scots to back him. The Brabanter found the Queen in company with the kingdom's arbitress--Dame Catherine de Salisbury, whom King Edward, third of that name to reign in Britain, and now warring in France, very notoriously adored and obeyed. This king, indeed, had been despatched into France chiefly, they narrate, to release the Countess' husband, William de Montacute, from the French prison of the Chatelet. You may appraise her dominion by this fact: chaste and shrewd, she had denied all to King Edward, and in consequence he could deny her nothing; so she sent him to fetch back her husband, whom she almost loved. That armament had sailed from Southampton on Saint George's day. These two women, then, shared the Brabanter's execrable news. Already Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham were the broken meats of King David. The Countess presently exclaimed: "Let me pass, sir! My place is not here." Philippa said, half hopefully, "Do you forsake Sire Edward, Catherine?" [Illustration: "DO YOU FORSAKE SIRE EDWARD, CATHERINE?" _Painting by William Hurd Lawrence_] "Madame and Queen," the Countess answered, "in this world every man must scratch his own back. My lord has entrusted to me his castle of Wark, his fiefs in Northumberland. These, I hear, are being laid waste. Were there a thousand men-at-arms left in England I would say fight. As it is, our men are yonder in France and the island is defenceless. Accordingly I ride for the north to make what terms I may with the King of Scots." Now you might have seen the Queen's eyes flame. "Undoubtedly," said she, "in her lord's absence it is the wife's part to defend his belongings. And my lord's fief is England. I bid you God-speed, Catherine." And when the Countess was gone, Philippa turned, her round face all flushed. "She betrays him! she compounds with the Scot! Mother of Christ, let me not fail!" "A ship must be despatched to bid Sire Edward return," said the secretary. "Otherwise all England is lost." "Not so, John Copeland! Let Sire Edward conquer in France, if such be the Trinity's will. Always he has dreamed of that, and if I bade him return now he would be vexed." "The disappointment of the King," John Copeland considered, "is a lesser evil than allowing all of us to be butchered." "Not to me, John Copeland," the Queen said. Now came many lords into the chamber, seeking Madame Philippa. "We must make peace with the Scottish rascal!--England is lost!--A ship must be sent entreating succor of Sire Edward!" So they shouted. "Messieurs," said Queen Philippa, "who commands here? Am I, then, some woman of the town?" Ensued a sudden silence. John Copeland, standing by the seaward window, had picked up a lute and was fingering the instrument half-idly. Now the Marquess of Hastings stepped from the throng. "Pardon, Highness. But the occasion is urgent." "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented, deep in meditation. John Copeland flung back his head and without prelude began to carol lustily. Sang John Copeland: "_There are fairer men than Atys, And many are wiser than he-- How should I heed them?--whose fate is Ever to serve and to be Ever the lover of Atys, And die that Atys may dine, Live if he need me--Then heed me, And speed me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_ "_Fair is the form unbeholden, And golden the glory of thee Whose voice is the voice of a vision, Whose face is the foam of the sea, And the fall of whose feet is the flutter Of breezes in birches and pine, When thou drawest near me, to hear me, And cheer me, (the moment is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_" I must tell you that the Queen shivered, as with extreme cold. She gazed toward John Copeland wonderingly. The secretary was as of stone, fretting at his lute-strings, head downcast. Then in a while the Queen turned to Hastings. "The occasion is very urgent, my lord," the Queen assented. "Therefore it is my will that to-morrow one and all your men be mustered at Blackheath. We will take the field without delay against the King of Scots." The riot began anew. "Madness!" they shouted; "lunar madness! We can do nothing until the King return with our army!" "In his absence," the Queen said, "I command here." "You are not Regent," the Marquess said. Then he cried, "This is the Regent's affair!" "Let the Regent be fetched," Dame Philippa said, very quietly. Presently they brought in her son, Messire Lionel, now a boy of eight years, and Regent, in name at least, of England. Both the Queen and the Marquess held papers. "Highness," Lord Hastings began, "for reasons of state, which I need not here explain, this document requires your signature. It is an order that a ship be despatched in pursuit of the King. Your Highness may remember the pony you admired yesterday?" The Marquess smiled ingratiatingly. "Just here, your Highness--a cross-mark." "The dappled one?" said the Regent; "and all for making a little mark?" The boy jumped for the pen. "Lionel," said the Queen, "you are Regent of England, but you are also my son. If you sign that paper you will beyond doubt get the pony, but you will not, I think, care to ride him. You will not care to sit down at all, Lionel." The Regent considered. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said in the ultimate, "but I do not like ponies any more. Do I sign here, mother?" Philippa handed the Marquess a subscribed order to muster the English forces at Blackheath; then another, closing the English ports. "My lords," the Queen said, "this boy is the King's vicar. In defying him, you defy the King. Yes, Lionel, you have fairly earned a pot of jam for supper." Then Hastings went away without speaking. That night assembled at his lodgings, by appointment, Viscount Heringaud, Adam Frere, the Marquess of Orme, Lord Stourton, the Earls of Neville and Gage, and Sir Thomas Rokeby. These seven found a long table there littered with pens and parchment; to the rear of it, a lackey behind him, sat the Marquess of Hastings, meditative over a cup of Bordeaux. Presently Hastings said: "My friends, in creating our womankind the Maker of us all was beyond doubt actuated by laudable and cogent reasons; so that I can merely lament my inability to fathom these reasons. I shall obey the Queen faithfully, since if I did otherwise Sire Edward would have my head off within a day of his return. In consequence, I do not consider it convenient to oppose his vicar. To-morrow I shall assemble the tatters of troops which remain to us, and to-morrow we march northward to inevitable defeat. To-night I am sending a courier into Northumberland. He is an obliging person, and would convey--to cite an instance--eight letters quite as blithely as one." Each man glanced furtively about him. England was in a panic by this, and knew itself to lie before the Bruce defenceless. The all-powerful Countess of Salisbury had compounded with King David; now Hastings too, their generalissimo, compounded. What the devil! loyalty was a sonorous word, and so was patriotism, but, after all, one had estates in the north. The seven wrote in silence. When they had ended, I must tell you that Hastings gathered the letters into a heap, and without glancing at the superscriptures, handed all these letters to the attendant lackey. "For the courier," he said. The fellow left the apartment. Presently there was a clatter of hoofs without, and Hastings rose. He was a gaunt, terrible old man, gray-bearded, and having high eyebrows that twitched and jerked. "We have saved our precious skins," said he. "Hey, you Iscariots! I commend your common-sense, messieurs, and I request you to withdraw. Even a damned rogue such as I has need of a cleaner atmosphere when he would breathe." The seven went away without further speech. They narrate that next day the troops marched for Durham, where the Queen took up her quarters. The Bruce had pillaged and burned his way to a place called Beaurepair, within three miles of the city. He sent word to the Queen that if her men were willing to come forth from the town he would abide and give them battle. She replied that she accepted his offer, and that the barons would gladly risk their lives for the realm of their lord the King. The Bruce grinned and kept silence, since he had in his pocket letters from nine-tenths of them protesting they would do nothing of the sort. There is comedy here. On one side you have a horde of half-naked savages, a shrewd master holding them in leash till the moment be auspicious; on the other, a housewife at the head of a tiny force lieutenanted by perjurers, by men already purchased. God knows the dreams she had of miraculous victories, what time her barons trafficked in secret with the Bruce. On the Saturday before Michaelmas, when the opposing armies marshalled in the Bishop's Park, at Auckland, it is recorded that not a captain on either side believed the day to be pregnant with battle. There would be a decent counterfeit of resistance; afterward the little English army would vanish pell-mell, and the Bruce would be master of the island. The farce was prearranged, the actors therein were letter-perfect. That morning at daybreak John Copeland came to the Queen's tent, and informed her quite explicitly how matters stood. He had been drinking overnight with Adam Frere and the Earl of Gage, and after the third bottle had found them candid. "Madame and Queen, we are betrayed. The Marquess of Hastings, our commander, is inexplicably smitten with a fever. He will not fight to-day. Not one of your lords will fight to-day." Master Copeland laid bare such part of the scheme as yesterday's conviviality had made familiar. "Therefore I counsel retreat. Let the King be summoned out of France." But Queen Philippa shook her head, as she cut up squares of toast and dipped them in milk for the Regent's breakfast. "Sire Edward would be vexed. He has always intended to conquer France. I shall visit the Marquess as soon as Lionel is fed--do you know, John Copeland, I am anxious about Lionel; he is irritable and coughed five times during the night--and then I will attend to this affair." She found the Marquess in bed, groaning, the coverlet pulled up to his chin. "Pardon, Highness," said Lord Hastings, "but I am an ill man. I cannot rise from this couch." "I do not question the gravity of your disorder," the Queen retorted, "since it is well known that the same illness brought about the death of Iscariot. Nevertheless, I bid you get up and lead our troops against the Scot." Now the hand of the Marquess veiled his countenance. But, "I am an ill man," he muttered, doggedly. "I cannot rise from this couch." There was a silence. "My lord," the Queen presently began, "without is an army prepared--ay, and quite able--to defend our England. The one requirement of this army is a leader. Afford them that, my lord--ah, I know that our peers are sold to the Bruce, yet our yeomen at least are honest. Give them, then, a leader, and they cannot but conquer, since God also is honest and incorruptible. Pardieu! a woman might lead these men, and lead them to victory!" Hastings answered: "I am an ill man. I cannot rise from this couch." You saw that Philippa was not beautiful. You perceived that to the contrary she was superb, saw the soul of the woman aglow, gilding the mediocrities of color and curve as a conflagration does a hovel. "There is no man left in England," said the Queen, "since Sire Edward went into France. Praise God, I am his wife!" And she was gone without flurry. Through the tent-flap Hastings beheld all that which followed. The English force was marshalled in four divisions, each commanded by a bishop and a baron. You could see the men fidgeting, puzzled by the delay; as a wind goes about a corn-field, vague rumors were going about those wavering spears. Toward them rode Philippa, upon a white palfrey, alone and perfectly tranquil. Her eight lieutenants were now gathered about her in voluble protestation, and she heard them out. Afterward she spoke, without any particular violence, as one might order a strange cur from his room. Then the Queen rode on, as though these eight declaiming persons had ceased to be of interest, and reined up before her standard-bearer, and took the standard in her hand. She began again to speak, and immediately the army was in an uproar; the barons were clustering behind her, in stealthy groups of two or three whisperers each; all were in the greatest amazement and knew not what to do; but the army was shouting the Queen's name. "Now is England shamed," said Hastings, "since a woman alone dares to encounter the Scot. She will lead them into battle--and by God! there is no braver person under heaven than yonder Dutch Frau! Friend David, I perceive that your venture is lost, for those men would within the moment follow her to storm hell if she desired it." He meditated and more lately shrugged. "And so would I," said Hastings. A little afterward a gaunt and haggard old man, bare-headed and very hastily dressed, reined his horse by the Queen's side. "Madame and Queen," said Hastings, "I rejoice that my recent illness is departed. I shall, by God's grace, on this day drive the Bruce from England." Philippa was not given to verbiage. Doubtless she had her emotions, but none was visible upon the honest face; yet one plump hand had fallen into the big-veined hand of Hastings. "I welcome back the gallant gentleman of yesterday. I was about to lead your army, my friend, since there was no one else to do it, but I was hideously afraid. At bottom every woman is a coward." "You were afraid to do it," said the Marquess, "but you were going to do it, because there was no one else to do it! Ho, madame! had I an army of such cowards I would drive the Scot not past the Border but beyond the Orkneys." The Queen then said, "But you are unarmed." "Highness," he replied, "it is surely apparent that I, who have played the traitor to two monarchs within the same day, cannot with either decency or comfort survive that day." He turned upon the lords and bishops twittering about his horse's tail. "You merchandise, get back to your stations, and if there was ever an honest woman in any of your families, the which I doubt, contrive to get yourselves killed this day, as I mean to do, in the cause of the honestest and bravest woman our time has known." Immediately the English forces marched toward Merrington. Philippa returned to her pavilion and inquired for John Copeland. He had ridden off, she was informed, armed, in company with five of her immediate retainers. She considered this strange, but made no comment. You picture her, perhaps, as spending the morning in prayer, in beatings upon her breast, and in lamentations. Philippa did nothing of the sort. As you have heard, she considered her cause to be so clamantly just that to expatiate to the Holy Father upon its merits were an impertinence; it was not conceivable that He would fail her; and in any event, she had in hand a deal of sewing which required immediate attention. Accordingly she settled down to her needlework, while the Regent of England leaned his head against her knee, and his mother told him that ageless tale of Lord Huon, who in a wood near Babylon encountered the King of Faery, and subsequently stripped the atrocious Emir of both beard and daughter. All this the industrious woman narrated in a low and pleasant voice, while the wide-eyed Regent attended and at the proper intervals gulped his cough-mixture. You must know that about noon Master John Copeland came into the tent. "We have conquered," he said. "Now, by the Face!"--thus, scoffingly, he used her husband's favorite oath--"now, by the Face! there was never a victory more complete! The Scottish army is as those sands which dried the letters King Ahasuerus gave the admirable Esther!" "I rejoice," the Queen said, looking up from her sewing, "that we have conquered, though in nature I expected nothing else-- Oh, horrible!" She sprang to her feet with a cry of anguish: and here in little you have the entire woman; the victory of her armament was to her a thing of course, since her cause was just, whereas the loss of two front teeth by John Copeland was a genuine calamity. He drew her toward the tent-flap, which he opened. Without was a mounted knight, in full panoply, his arms bound behind him, surrounded by the Queen's five retainers. "In the rout I took him," said John Copeland; "though, as my mouth witnesses, I did not find this David Bruce a tractable prisoner." "Is that, then, the King of Scots?" Philippa demanded, as she mixed salt and water for a mouth-wash; and presently: "Sire Edward should be pleased, I think. Will he not love me a little now, John Copeland?" John Copeland lifted either plump hand toward his lips. "He could not choose," John Copeland said; "madame, he could no more choose but love you than I could choose." Philippa sighed. Afterward she bade John Copeland rinse his gums and then take his prisoner to Hastings. He told her the Marquess was dead, slain by the Knight of Liddesdale. "That is a pity," the Queen said; and more lately: "There is left alive in England but one man to whom I dare entrust the keeping of the King of Scots. My barons are sold to him; if I retain Messire David by me, one or another lord will engineer his escape within the week, and Sire Edward will be vexed. Yet listen, John--" She unfolded her plan. "I have long known," he said, when she had done, "that in all the world there was no lady more lovable. Twenty years I have loved you, my Queen, and yet it is but to-day I perceive that in all the world there is no lady more wise than you." Philippa touched his cheek, maternally. "Foolish boy! You tell me the King of Scots has an arrow-wound in his nose? I think a bread poultice would be best." ... So then John Copeland left the tent and presently rode away with his company. Philippa saw that the Regent had his dinner, and afterward mounted her white palfrey and set out for the battle-field. There the Earl of Neville, as second in command, received her with great courtesy. God had shown to her Majesty's servants most singular favor despite the calculations of reasonable men--to which, she might remember, he had that morning taken the liberty to assent--some fifteen thousand Scots were slain. True, her gallant general was no longer extant, though this was scarcely astounding when one considered the fact that he had voluntarily entered the melee quite unarmed. A touch of age, perhaps; Hastings was always an eccentric man; and in any event, as epilogue, this Neville congratulated the Queen that--by blind luck, he was forced to concede--her worthy secretary had made a prisoner of the Scottish King. Doubtless, Master Copeland was an estimable scribe, and yet-- Ah, yes, he quite followed her Majesty--beyond doubt, the wardage of a king was an honor not lightly to be conferred. Oh yes, he understood; her Majesty desired that the office should be given some person of rank. And pardie! her Majesty was in the right. Eh? said the Earl of Neville. Intently gazing into the man's shallow eyes, Philippa assented. Master Copeland had acted unwarrantably in riding off with his captive. Let him be sought at once. She dictated a letter to Neville's secretary, which informed John Copeland that he had done what was not agreeable in purloining her prisoner without leave. Let him sans delay deliver the King to her good friend the Earl of Neville. To Neville this was satisfactory, since he intended that once in his possession David Bruce should escape forthwith. The letter, I repeat, suited this smirking gentleman in its tiniest syllable, and the single difficulty was to convey it to John Copeland, for as to his whereabouts neither Neville nor any one else had the least notion. This was immaterial, however, for they narrate that next day a letter signed with John Copeland's name was found pinned to the front of Neville's tent. I cite a passage therefrom: "I will not give up my royal prisoner to a woman or a child, but only to my own lord, Sire Edward, for to him I have sworn allegiance, and not to any woman. Yet you may tell the Queen she may depend on my taking excellent care of King David. I have poulticed his nose, as she directed." Here was a nonplus, not perhaps without its comical side. Two great realms had met in battle, and the king of one of them had vanished like a soap-bubble. Philippa was in a rage--you could see that both by her demeanor and by the indignant letters she dictated; true, they could not be delivered, since they were all addressed to John Copeland. Meanwhile, Scotland was in despair, whereas the English barons were in a frenzy, because, however willing you may be, you cannot well betray your liege-lord to an unlocatable enemy. The circumstances were unique, and they remained unchanged for three feverish weeks. We will now return to affairs in France, where on the day of the Nativity, as night gathered about Calais, John Copeland came unheralded to the quarters of King Edward, then besieging that city. Master Copeland entreated audience, and got it readily enough, since there was no man alive whom Sire Edward more cordially desired to lay his fingers upon. A page brought Master Copeland to the King, a stupendous person, blond and incredibly big. With him were a careful Italian, that Almerigo di Pavia who afterward betrayed Sire Edward, and a lean soldier whom Master Copeland recognized as John Chandos. These three were drawing up an account of the recent victory at Cregi, to be forwarded to all mayors and sheriffs in England, with a cogent postscript as to the King's incidental and immediate need of money. Now King Edward sat leaning far back in his chair, a hand on either hip, and his eyes narrowing as he regarded Master Copeland. Had the Brabanter flinched, the King would probably have hanged him within the next ten minutes; finding his gaze unwavering, the King was pleased. Here was a novelty; most people blinked quite genuinely under the scrutiny of those fierce big eyes, which were blue and cold and of an astounding lustre, gemlike as the March sea. The King rose with a jerk and took John Copeland's hand. "Ha!" he grunted, "I welcome the squire who by his valor has captured the King of Scots. And now, my man, what have you done with Davie?" John Copeland answered: "Highness, you may find him at your convenience safely locked in Bamborough Castle. Meanwhile, I entreat you, sire, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender King David to the orders of my lady Queen, for I hold my lands of you, and not of her, and my oath is to you, and not to her, unless indeed by choice." "John," the King sternly replied, "the loyal service you have done us is considerable, whereas your excuse for kidnapping Davie is a farce. Hey, Almerigo, do you and Chandos avoid the chamber! I have something in private with this fellow." When they had gone, the King sat down and composedly said, "Now tell me the truth, John Copeland." "Sire," he began, "it is necessary you first understand I bear a letter from Madame Philippa--" "Then read it," said the King. "Heart of God! have I an eternity to waste on you Brabanters!" John Copeland read aloud, while the King trifled with a pen, half negligent, and in part attendant. Read John Copeland: "My DEAR LORD,--_I recommend me to your lordship with soul and body and all my poor might, and with all this I thank you, as my dear lord, dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords I protest to me, and thank you, my dear lord, with all this as I say before. Your comfortable letter came to me on Saint Gregory's day, and I was never so glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough in Ponthieu by the grace of God for to keep you from your enemies. Among them I estimate Madame Catherine de Salisbury, who would have betrayed you to the Scot. And, dear lord, if it be pleasing to your high lordship that as soon as ye may that I might hear of your gracious speed, which may God Almighty continue and increase, I shall be glad, and also if ye do each night chafe your feet with a rag of woollen stuff. And, my dear lord, if it like you for to know of my fare, John Copeland will acquaint you concerning the Bruce his capture, and the syrup he brings for our son Lord Edward's cough, and the great malice-workers in these shires which would have so despitefully wrought to you, and of the manner of taking it after each meal. I am lately informed that Madame Catherine is now at Stirling with Robert Stewart and has lost all her good looks through a fever. God is invariably gracious to His servants. Farewell, my dear lord, and may the Holy Trinity keep you from your adversaries and ever send me comfortable tidings of you. Written at York, in the Castle, on Saint Gregory's day last past, by your own poor_ "_PHILIPPA._ "_To my true lord._" "H'm!" said the King; "and now give me the entire story." John Copeland obeyed. I must tell you that early in the narrative King Edward arose and, with a sob, strode toward a window. "Catherine!" he said. He remained motionless what time Master Copeland went on without any manifest emotion. When he had ended, King Edward said, "And where is Madame de Salisbury now?" At this the Brabanter went mad. As a leopard springs he leaped upon the King, and grasping him by either shoulder, shook that monarch as one punishing a child. "Now by the splendor of God--!" King Edward began, very terrible in his wrath. He saw that John Copeland held a dagger to his breast, and shrugged. "Well, my man, you perceive I am defenceless. Therefore make an end, you dog." "First you will hear me out," John Copeland said. "It would appear," the King retorted, "that I have little choice." At this time John Copeland began: "Sire, you are the greatest monarch our race has known. England is yours, France is yours, conquered Scotland lies prostrate at your feet. To-day there is no other man in all the world who possesses a tithe of your glory; yet twenty years ago Madame Philippa first beheld you and loved you, an outcast, an exiled, empty-pocketed prince. Twenty years ago the love of Madame Philippa, great Count William's daughter, got for you the armament wherewith England was regained. Twenty years ago but for Madame Philippa you had died naked in some ditch." "Go on," the King said presently. "And afterward you took a fancy to reign in France. You learned then that we Brabanters are a frugal people: Madame Philippa was wealthy when she married you, and twenty years had but quadrupled her fortune. She gave you every penny of it that you might fit out this expedition; now her very crown is in pawn at Ghent. In fine, the love of Madame Philippa gave you France as lightly as one might bestow a toy upon a child who whined for it." The King fiercely said, "Go on." "Eh, sire, I intend to. You left England undefended that you might posture a little in the eyes of Europe. And meanwhile a woman preserves England, a woman gives you all Scotland as a gift, and in return demands nothing--God ha' mercy on us!--save that you nightly chafe your feet with a bit of woollen. You hear of it--and ask, '_Where is Madame de Salisbury?_' Here beyond doubt is the cock of AEsop's fable," snarled John Copeland, "who unearthed a gem and grumbled that his diamond was not a grain of corn." "You will be hanged ere dawn," the King replied, and yet by this one hand had screened his face. "Meanwhile spit out your venom." "I say to you, then," John Copeland continued, "that to-day you are master of Europe. That but for this woman whom for twenty years you have neglected you would to-day be mouldering in some pauper's grave. Eh, without question, you most magnanimously loved that shrew of Salisbury! because you fancied the color of her eyes, Sire Edward, and admired the angle between her nose and her forehead. Minstrels unborn will sing of this great love of yours. Meantime I say to you"--now the man's rage was monstrous--"I say to you, go home to your too-tedious wife, the source of all your glory! sit at her feet! and let her teach you what love is!" He flung away the dagger. "There you have the truth. Now summon your attendants, my tres beau sire, and have me hanged." The King gave no movement. "You have been bold--" he said at last. "But you have been far bolder, sire. For twenty years you have dared to flout that love which is God made manifest as His main heritage to His children." King Edward sat in meditation for a long while. "I consider my wife's clerk," he drily said, "to discourse of love in somewhat too much the tone of a lover." And a flush was his reward. But when this Copeland spoke he was as one transfigured. His voice was grave and very tender. "As the fish have their life in the waters, so I have and always shall have mine in love. Love made me choose and dare to emulate a lady, long ago, through whom I live contented, without expecting any other good. Her purity is so inestimable that I cannot say whether I derive more pride or sorrow from its pre-eminence. She does not love me, and she never will. She would condemn me to be hewed in fragments sooner than permit her husband's little finger to be injured. Yet she surpasses all others so utterly that I would rather hunger in her presence than enjoy from another all which a lover can devise." Sire Edward stroked the table through this while, with an inverted pen. He cleared his throat. He said, half-fretfully: "Now, by the Face! it is not given every man to love precisely in this troubadourish fashion. Even the most generous person cannot render to love any more than that person happens to possess. I had a vision once: The devil sat upon a cathedral spire and white doves flew about him. Monks came and told him to begone. 'Do not the spires show you, O son of darkness,' they clamored, 'that the place is holy?' And Satan (in my vision) said these spires were capable of various interpretations. I speak of symbols, John. Yet I also have loved, in my own fashion--and, it would seem, I win the same reward as you." He said more lately: "And so she is at Stirling now? with Robert Stewart?" He laughed, not overpleasantly. "Eh, yes, it needed a bold person to bring all your tidings! But you Brabanters are a very thorough-going people." The King rose and flung back his big head as a lion might. "John, the loyal service you have done us and our esteem for your valor are so great that they may well serve you as an excuse. May shame fall on those who bear you any ill-will! You will now return home, and take your prisoner, the King of Scotland, and deliver him to my wife, to do with as she may elect. You will convey to her my entreaty--not my orders, John--that she come to me here at Calais. As remuneration for this evening's insolence, I assign lands as near your house as you can choose them to the value of L500 a year for you and for your heirs." You must know that John Copeland fell upon his knees before King Edward. "Sire--" he stammered. But the King raised him. "Nay," he said, "you are the better man. Were there any equity in Fate, John Copeland, your lady had loved you, not me. As it is, I shall strive to prove not altogether unworthy of my fortune. Go, then, John Copeland--go, my squire, and bring me back my Queen." Presently he heard John Copeland singing without. And through that instant was youth returned to Edward Plantagenet, and all the scents and shadows and faint sounds of Valenciennes on that ancient night when a tall girl came to him, running, stumbling in her haste to bring him kingship. Now at last he understood the heart of Philippa. "Let me live!" the King prayed; "O Eternal Father, let me live a little while that I may make atonement!" And meantime John Copeland sang without and the Brabanter's heart was big with joy. Sang John Copeland: "_Long I besought thee, nor vainly, Daughter of water and air-- Charis! Idalia! Hortensis! Hast thou not heard the prayer, When the blood stood still with loving, And the blood in me leapt like wine, And I murmured thy name, Melaenis?-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_ "_Falsely they tell of thy dying, Thou that art older than Death, And never the Hoerselberg hid thee, Whatever the slanderer saith, For the stars are as heralds forerunning, When laughter and love combine At twilight, in thy light, Melaenis-- That heard me, (the glory is thine!) And let the heart of Atys, At last, at last, be mine!_" THE END OF THE FIFTH NOVEL VI The Story of the Satraps "_Je suis voix au desert criant Que chascun soyt rectifiant La voye de Sauveur; non suis, Et accomplir je ne le puis._" THE SIXTH NOVEL.--ANNE OF BOHEMIA HAS ONE ONLY FRIEND, AND BY HIM PLAYS THE FRIEND'S PART; AND ACHIEVES IN DOING SO THEIR COMMON ANGUISH, AS WELL AS THE CONFUSION OF STATECRAFT AND THE POULTICING OF A GREAT DISEASE. The Story of the Satraps In the year of grace 1381 (Nicolas begins) was Dame Anne magnificently fetched from remote Bohemia, and at Westminster married to Sire Richard, the second monarch of that name to reign in England. The Queen had presently noted a certain priest who went forbiddingly about her court, where he was accorded a provisional courtesy, and more forbiddingly into many hovels, where day by day a pitiful wreckage of humanity both blessed and hoodwinked him, as he morosely knew, and adored him, as he never knew at all. Queen Anne made inquiries. This young cleric was amanuensis to the Duke of Gloucester, she was informed, and notoriously a by-blow of the Duke's brother, the dead Lionel of Clarence. She sent for this Edward Maudelain. When he came her first perception was, "How wonderful his likeness to the King!" while the thought's commentary ran, unacknowledged, "Ay, as an eagle resembles a falcon!" For here, to the observant eye, was a more zealous person, already passion-wasted, and ineffably a more dictatorial and stiff-necked being than the lazy and amiable King; also, this Maudelain's face and nose were somewhat too long and high; and the priest was, in a word, the less comely of the pair by a very little, and by an infinity the more kinglike. "You are my cousin now, messire," she told him, and innocently offered to his lips her own. He never moved; but their glances crossed, and for that instant she saw the face of a man who has just stepped into a quicksand. She trembled, without knowing why. Then he spoke, composedly, and of trivial matters. Thus began the Queen's acquaintance with Edward Maudelain. She was by this time the loneliest woman in the island. Her husband granted her a bright and fresh perfection of form and color, but desiderated any appetizing tang, and lamented, in his phrase, a certain kinship to the impeccable loveliness of some female saint in a jaunty tapestry; bright as ice in sunshine, just so her beauty chilled you, he complained: and moreover, this daughter of the Caesars had been fetched into England, chiefly, to breed him children, and this she had never done. Undoubtedly he had made a bad bargain--he was too easy-going, people presumed upon it. His barons snatched their cue and esteemed Dame Anne to be negligible; whereas the clergy, finding that she obstinately read the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue, under the irrelevant plea of not comprehending Latin, denounced her from their pulpits as a heretic and as the evil woman prophesied by Ezekiel. It was the nature of this desolate child to crave affection, as a necessity almost, and pitifully she tried to purchase it through almsgiving. In the attempt she could have found no coadjutor more ready than Edward Maudelain. Giving was with these downright two a sort of obsession, though always he gave in a half scorn but half concealed; and presently they could have marshalled an army of adherents, all in rags, who would cheerfully have been hacked to pieces for either of the twain, and have praised God at the final gasp for the privilege. It was perhaps the tragedy of the man's life that he never suspected this. Now in and about the Queen's unfrequented rooms the lonely woman and the priest met daily to discuss now this or that comminuted point of theology, or now (to cite a single instance) Gammer Tudway's obstinate sciatica. Considerate persons found something of the pathetic in their preoccupation by these trifles while, so clamantly, the dissension between the young King and his uncles gathered to a head: the air was thick with portents; and was this, then, an appropriate time, the judicious demanded of high Heaven, for the Queen of fearful England to concern herself about a peasant's toothache? Long afterward was Edward Maudelain to remember this brief and tranquil period of his life, and to wonder over the man that he had been through this short while. Embittered and suspicious she had found him, noted for the carping tongue he lacked both power and inclination to bridle; and she had, against his nature, made Maudelain see that every person is at bottom lovable, and all vices but the stains of a traveller midway in a dusty journey; and had led the priest no longer to do good for his soul's health, but simply for his fellow's benefit. And in place of that monstrous passion which had at first view of her possessed the priest, now, like a sheltered taper, glowed an adoration which yearned, in mockery of common-sense, to suffer somehow for this beautiful and gracious comrade; though very often a sudden pity for her loneliness and the knowledge that she dared trust no one save himself would throttle him like two assassins and move the hot-blooded young man to an exquisite agony of self-contempt and exultation. Now Maudelain made excellent songs, it was a matter of common report. Yet but once in their close friendship had the Queen commanded him to make a song for her. This had been at Dover, about vespers, in the starved and tiny garden overlooking the English Channel, upon which her apartments faced; and the priest had fingered his lute for an appreciable while before he sang, a thought more harshly than was his custom. Sang Maudelain; "_Ave Maria! now cry we so That see night wake and daylight go._ "_Mother and Maid, in nothing incomplete, This night that gathers is more light and fleet Than twilight trod alway with stumbling feet, Agentes uno animo._ "_Ever we touch the prize we dare not take! Ever we know that thirst we dare not slake! And ever to a dreamed-of goal we make-- Est caeli in palatio!_ "_Yet long the road, and very frail are we That may not lightly curb mortality, Nor lightly tread together silently, Et carmen unum facio:_ "_Mater, ora filium, Ut post hoc exilium Nobis donet gaudium Beatorum omnium!_" Dame Anne had risen. She said nothing. She stayed in this posture for a lengthy while, reeling, one hand yet clasping either breast. More lately she laughed, and began to speak of Long Simon's recent fever. Was there no method of establishing him in another cottage? No, the priest said, the villiens, like the cattle, were by ordinary deeded with the land. One day, about the hour of prime, in that season of the year when fields smell of young grass, the Duke of Gloucester sent for Edward Maudelain. The court was then at Windsor. The priest came quickly to his patron. He found the Duke in company with Edmund of York and bland Harry of Derby, John of Gaunt's oldest son. Each was a proud and handsome man. To-day Gloucester was gnawing at his finger nails, big York seemed half-asleep, and the Earl of Derby patiently to await something as yet ineffably remote. "Sit down!" snarled Gloucester. His lean and evil countenance was that of a tired devil. The priest obeyed, wondering so high an honor should be accorded him in the view of three great noblemen. Then Gloucester said, in his sharp way: "Edward, you know, as England knows, the King's intention toward us three and our adherents. It has come to our demolishment or his. I confess a preference in the matter. I have consulted with the Pope concerning the advisability of taking the crown into my own hands. Edmund here does not want it, and John is already achieving one in Spain. Eh, in imagination I was already King of England, and I had dreamed-- Well! to-day the prosaic courier arrived. Urban--the Neapolitan swine!--dares give me no assistance. It is decreed I shall never reign in these islands. And I had dreamed-- Meanwhile, de Vere and de la Pole are at the King day and night, urging revolt. Within the week the three heads of us will embellish Temple Bar. You, of course, they will only hang." "We must avoid England, then, my noble patron," the priest considered. Angrily the Duke struck a clenched fist upon the table. "By the Cross! we remain in England, you and I and all of us. Others avoid. The Pope and the Emperor will have none of me. They plead for the Black Prince's heir, for the legitimate heir. Dompnedex! they shall have him!" Maudelain recoiled, for he thought this twitching man insane. "Besides, the King intends to take from me my fief at Sudbury," said the Duke of York, "in order he may give it to de Vere. That is both absurd and monstrous and abominable." Openly Gloucester sneered. "Listen!" he rapped out toward Maudelain; "when they were drawing up the Great Peace at Bretigny, it happened, as is notorious, that the Black Prince, my brother, wooed in this town the Demoiselle Alixe Riczi, whom in the outcome he abducted. It is not as generally known, however, that, finding this sister of the Vicomte do Montbrison a girl of obdurate virtue, he had prefaced the action by marriage." "And what have I to do with all this?" said Edward Maudelain. Gloucester retorted: "More than you think. For she was conveyed to Chertsey, here in England, where at the year's end she died in childbirth. A little before this time had Sir Thomas Holland seen his last day--the husband of that Joane of Kent whom throughout life my brother loved most marvellously. The disposition of the late Queen-Mother is tolerably well-known. I make no comment save that to her moulding my brother was as so much wax. In fine, the two lovers were presently married, and their son reigns to-day in England. The abandoned son of Alixe Riczi was reared by the Cistercians at Chertsey, where some years ago I found you--sire." He spoke with a stifled voice, and wrenching forth each sentence; and now with a stiff forefinger flipped a paper across the table. "_In extremis_ my brother did far more than confess. He signed--your Grace," said Gloucester. The Duke on a sudden flung out his hands, like a wizard whose necromancy fails, and the palms were bloodied where his nails had cut the flesh. "Moreover, my daughter was born at Sudbury," said the Duke of York. And of Maudelain's face I cannot tell you. He made pretence to read the paper carefully, but ever his eyes roved, and he knew that he stood among wolves. The room was oddly shaped, with eight equal sides; the ceiling was of a light and brilliant blue, powdered with many golden stars, and the walls were hung with smart tapestries which commemorated the exploits of Theseus. "King," this Maudelain said aloud, "of France and England, and Lord of Ireland, and Duke of Aquitaine! I perceive that Heaven loves a jest." He wheeled upon Gloucester and spoke with singular irrelevance: "And the titular Queen?" Again the Duke shrugged. "I had not thought of the dumb wench. We have many convents." And now Maudelain twisted the paper between his long, wet fingers and appeared to meditate. "It would be advisable, your Grace," observed the Earl of Derby, suavely, and breaking his silence for the first time, "that yourself should wed Dame Anne, once the Apostolic See has granted the necessary dispensation. Treading too close upon the impendent death of our nominal lord the so-called King, the foreign war perhaps necessitated by her exile would be highly inconvenient." Then these three princes rose and knelt before the priest; in long bright garments they were clad, and they glittered with gold and many jewels, what while he standing among them shuddered in his sombre robe. "Hail, King of England!" cried these three. "Hail, ye that are my kinsmen!" he answered; "hail, ye that spring of an accursed race, as I! And woe to England for that fearful hour wherein Foulques the Querulous held traffic with a devil and on her begot the first of us Plantagenets! Of ice and of lust and of hell-fire are all we sprung; old records attest it; and fickle and cold and ravenous and without shame are we Plantagenets until the end. Of your brother's dishonor ye make merchandise to-day, and to-day fratricide whispers me, and leers, and, Heaven help me! I attend. O God of Gods! wilt Thou dare bid a man live stainless, having aforetime filled his veins with such a venom? Then haro, will I cry from Thy deepest hell... Nay, now let Lucifer rejoice for that his descendants know of what wood to make a crutch! You are very wise, my kinsmen. Take your measures, messieurs who are my kinsmen! Though were I any other than a Plantagenet, with what expedition would I now kill you that recognize the strength to do it! then would I slay you! without any animosity, would I slay you then, and just as I would kill as many splendid snakes!" [Illustration: "'HAIL YE THAT ARE MY KINSMEN!'" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] He went away, laughing horribly. Gloucester drummed upon the table, his brows contracted. But the lean Duke said nothing; big York seemed to drowse; and Henry of Derby smiled as he sounded a gong for that scribe who would draw up the necessary letters. The Earl's time was not yet come, but it was nearing. In the antechamber the priest encountered two men-at-arms dragging a dead body from the castle. The Duke of Kent, Maudelain was informed, had taken a fancy to a peasant girl, and in remonstrance her misguided father had actually tugged at his Grace's sleeve. Maudelain went first into the park of Windsor, where he walked for a long while alone. It was a fine day in the middle spring; and now he seemed to understand for the first time how fair his England was. For entire England was his splendid fief, held in vassalage to God and to no man alive, his heart now sang; allwhither his empire spread, opulent in grain and metal and every revenue of the earth, and in stalwart men (his chattels), and in strong orderly cities, where the windows would be adorned with scarlet hangings, and women (with golden hair and red lax lips) would presently admire as King Edward rode slowly by at the head of a resplendent retinue. And always the King would bow, graciously and without haste, to his shouting people.... He laughed to find himself already at rehearsal of the gesture. It was strange, though, that in this glorious fief of his so many persons should, as yet, live day by day as cattle live, suspicious of all other moving things (with reason), and roused from their incurious and filthy apathy only when some glittering baron, like a resistless eagle, swept uncomfortably near on some by-errand of the more bright and windy upper-world. East and north they had gone yearly, for so many centuries, these dumb peasants, like herded sheep, so that in the outcome their carcasses might manure the soil of France yonder or of more barren Scotland. Give these serfs a king, now, who (being absolute), might dare to deal in perfect equity with rich and poor, who with his advent would bring Peace into England as his bride, as Trygaeus did very anciently in Athens--"And then," the priest paraphrased, "may England recover all the blessings she has lost, and everywhere the glitter of active steel will cease." For everywhere men would crack a rustic jest or two, unhurriedly. The vivid fields would blacken under their sluggish ploughs, and they would find that with practice it was almost as easy to chuckle as it was to cringe. Meanwhile on every side the nobles tyrannized in their degree, well clothed and nourished, but at bottom equally comfortless in condition. As illuminate by lightning Maudelain saw the many factions of his barons squabbling for gross pleasures, like wolves over a corpse, and blindly dealing death to one another to secure at least one more delicious gulp before that inevitable mangling by the teeth of some burlier colleague. The complete misery of England showed before him like a winter landscape. The thing was questionless. He must tread henceforward without fear among frenzied beasts, and to their ultimate welfare. On a sudden Maudelain knew himself to be strong and admirable throughout, and hesitancy ebbed. True, Richard, poor fool, must die. Squarely the priest faced that stark and hideous circumstance; to spare Richard was beyond his power, and the boy was his brother; yes, this oncoming king would be in effect a fratricide, and after death irrevocably damned. To burn, and eternally to burn, and, worst of all, to know that the torment was eternal! ay, it would be hard; but, at the cost of one ignoble life and one inconsiderable soul, to win so many men to manhood bedazzled his every faculty, in anticipation of the exploit. The tale tells that Maudelain went toward the little garden he knew so well which adjoined Dame Anne's apartments. He found the Queen there, alone, as nowadays she was for the most part, and he paused to wonder at her bright and singular beauty. How vaguely odd it was, he reflected, too, how alien in its effect to that of any other woman in sturdy England, and how associable it was, somehow, with every wild and gracious denizen of the woods which blossomed yonder. In this place the world was all sunlight, temperate but undiluted. They had met in a wide, unshaded plot of grass, too short to ripple, which everywhere glowed steadily, like a gem. Right and left birds sang as in a contest. The sky was cloudless, a faint and radiant blue throughout, save where the sun stayed as yet in the zenith, so that the Queen's brows cast honey-colored shadows upon either cheek. The priest was greatly troubled by the proud and heatless brilliancies, the shrill joys, of every object within the radius of his senses. She was splendidly clothed, in a kirtle of very bright green, tinted like the verdancy of young ferns in sunlight, and over all a gown of white, cut open on either side as far as the hips. This garment was embroidered with golden leopards and trimmed with ermine. About her yellow hair was a chaplet of gold, wherein emeralds glowed. Her blue eyes were as large and bright and changeable (he thought) as two oceans in midsummer; and Maudelain stood motionless and seemed to himself but to revere, as the Earl Ixion did, some bright and never stable wisp of cloud, while somehow all elation departed from him as water does from a wetted sponge compressed. He laughed discordantly; but within the moment his sun-lit face was still and glorious, like that of an image. "Wait--! O my only friend--!" said Maudelain. Then in a level voice he told her all, unhurriedly and without any sensible emotion. She had breathed once, with an aweful inhalation. She had screened her countenance from his gaze what while you might have counted fifty. More lately the lithe body of Dame Anne was alert, as one suddenly aroused from dreaming. "This means more war, for de Vere and Tressilian and de la Pole and Bramber and others of the barons know that the King's fall signifies their ruin. Many thousands die to-morrow." He answered, "It means a brief and cruel war." "In that war the nobles will ride abroad with banners and gay surcoats, and kill and ravish in the pauses of their songs; while daily in that war the naked peasants will kill the one the other, without knowing why." His thought had forerun hers. "Many would die, but in the end I would be King, and the general happiness would rest at my disposal. The adventure of this world is wonderful, and it goes otherwise than under the strict tutelage of reason." "Not yours, but Gloucester's and his barons'. Friend, they would set you on the throne to be their puppet and to move only as they pulled the strings. Thwart them and they will fling you aside, as the barons have dealt aforetime with every king that dared oppose them. Nay, they desire to live pleasantly, to have fish o' Fridays, and white bread and the finest wine the whole year through, and there is not enough for all, say they. Can you alone contend against them? and conquer them? then only do I bid you reign." The sun had grown too bright, too merciless, but as always she drew the truth from him, even to his agony. "I cannot. I would not endure a fortnight. Heaven help us, nor you nor I nor any one may transform of any personal force this bitter time, this piercing, cruel day of frost and sun. Charity and Truth are excommunicate, and the King is only an adorned and fearful person who leads wolves toward their quarry, lest, lacking it, they turn and devour him. Everywhere the powerful labor to put one another out of worship, and each to stand the higher with the other's corpse as his pedestal; and always Lechery and Hatred sway these proud and inconsiderate fools as winds blow at will the gay leaves of autumn. We but fight with gaudy shadows, we but aspire to overpass a mountain of unstable sand! We two alone of all the scuffling world! Oh, it is horrible, and I think that Satan plans the jest! We dream a while of refashioning this bleak universe, and we know that we alone can do it! and we are as demigods, you and I, in those gallant dreams! and at the end we can but poultice some dirty rascal!" The Queen answered sadly: "Once did God tread the tangible world, for a very little while, and, look you, to what trivial matters He devoted that brief space! Only to chat with fishermen, and to reason with lost women, and habitually to consort with rascals, till at last He might die between two cutpurses, ignominiously! Were the considerate persons of His day moved at all by the death of this fanatic? I bid you now enumerate through what long halls did the sleek heralds proclaim His crucifixion! and the armament of great-jowled emperors that were distraught by it?" He answered: "It is true. Of anise even and of cumin the Master estimates His tithe--" Maudelain broke off with a yapping laugh. "Puf! He is wiser than we. I am King of England. It is my heritage." "It means war. Many will die, many thousands will die, and to no betterment of affairs." "I am King of England. I am Heaven's satrap here, and answerable to Heaven alone. It is my heritage." And now his large and cruel eyes flamed as he regarded her. And visibly beneath their glare the woman changed. "My friend, must I not love you any longer? You would be content with happiness? I am jealous of that happiness! for you are the one friend that I have had, and so dear to me-- Look you!" she said, with a light, wistful laugh, "there have been times when I was afraid of everything you touched, and I hated everything you looked at. I would not have you stained; I desired but to pass my whole life between the four walls of some dingy and eternal gaol, forever alone with you, lest you become as other men. I would in that period have been the very bread you eat, the least perfume which delights you, the clod you touch in crushing it, and often I have loathed some pleasure I derived from life because I might not transfer it to you undiminished. For I wanted somehow to make you happy to my own anguish.... It was wicked, I suppose, for the imagining of it made me happy, too." Throughout she spoke as simply as a child. And beside him Maudelain's hands had fallen like so much lead, and remembering his own nature, he longed for annihilation only, before she had appraised his vileness. In consequence he said: "With reason Augustine crieth out against the lust of the eyes. 'For pleasure seeketh objects beautiful, melodious, fragrant, savory, and soft; but this disease those contrary as well, not for the sake of suffering annoyance, but out of the lust of making trial of them!' Ah! ah! too curiously I planned my own damnation, too presumptuously I had esteemed my soul a worthy scapegoat, and I had gilded my enormity with many lies. Yet indeed, indeed, I had believed brave things, I had planned a not ignoble bargain--! Ey, say, is it not laughable, madame?--as my birthright Heaven accords me a penny, and with that only penny I must anon be seeking to bribe Heaven." Presently he said: "Yet are we indeed God's satraps, as but now I cried in my vainglory, and we hold within our palms the destiny of many peoples. Depardieux! He is wiser than we are, it may be! And as always Satan offers no unhandsome bribes--bribes that are tangible and sure." They stood like effigies, lit by the broad, unsparing splendor of the morning, but again their kindling eyes had met, and again the man shuddered visibly, convulsed by a monstrous and repulsive joy. "Decide! oh, decide very quickly, my only friend!" he wailed, "for throughout I am all filth!" Closer she drew to him and without hesitancy laid one hand on either shoulder. "O my only friend!" she breathed, with red lax lips which were very near to his, "throughout so many years I have ranked your friendship as the chief of all my honors! and I pray God with an entire heart that I may die so soon as I have done what I must do to-day!" Almost did Edward Maudelain smile, but now his stiffening mouth could not complete the brave attempt. "God save King Richard!" said the priest. "For by the cowardice and greed and ignorance of little men were Salomon himself confounded, and by them is Hercules lightly unhorsed. Were I Leviathan, whose bones were long ago picked clean by pismires, I could perform nothing. Therefore do you pronounce my doom." "O King," then said Dame Anne, "I bid you go forever from the court and live forever a landless man, and friendless, and without even name. I bid you dare to cast aside all happiness and wealth and comfort and each common tie that even a pickpocket may boast, like tawdry and unworthy garments. In fine, I bid you dare be King and absolute, yet not of England--but of your own being, alike in motion and in thought and even in wish. This doom I dare adjudge and to pronounce, since we are royal and God's satraps, you and I." Twice or thrice his dry lips moved before he spoke. He was aware of innumerable birds that carolled with a piercing and intolerable sweetness. "O Queen!" he hoarsely said, "O fellow satrap! Heaven has many fiefs. A fair province is wasted and accords no revenue. Therein waste beauty and a shrewd wit and an illimitable charity which of their pride go in fetters and achieve no increase. To-day the young King junkets with his flatterers, and but rarely thinks of England. You have that beauty in desire of which many and many a man would blithely enter hell, and the mere sight of which may well cause a man's voice to tremble as my voice trembles now, and in desire of which-- But I tread afield! Of that beauty you have made no profit. O daughter of the Caesars, I bid you now gird either loin for an unlovely traffic. Old Legion must be fought with fire. True that the age is sick, that we may not cure, we can but salve the hurt--" Now had his hand torn open his sombre gown, and the man's bared breast shone in the sunlight, and everywhere heaved on it sleek and glittering beads of sweat. Twice he cried the Queen's name aloud, without prefix. In a while he said: "I bid you weave incessantly such snares of brain and body as may lure King Richard to be swayed by you, until against his will you daily guide this shallow-hearted fool to some commendable action. I bid you live as other folk do hereabouts. Coax! beg! cheat! wheedle! lie!" he barked like a teased dog, "till you achieve in part the task which is denied me. This doom I dare adjudge and to pronounce, since we are royal and God's satraps, you and I." She answered with a tiny, wordless sound. He prayed for even horror as he appraised his handiwork. But presently, "I take my doom," the Queen proudly said. "I shall be lonely now, my only friend, and yet--it does not matter," the Queen said, with a little shiver. "No, nothing will ever greatly matter now, I think." Her eyes had filled with tears; she was unhappy, and as always this knowledge roused in Maudelain a sort of frenzied pity and a hatred, quite illogical, of all other things existent. She was unhappy, that only he realized; and half way he had strained a soft and groping hand toward his lips when he relinquished it. "Nay, not even that," said Edward Maudelain, very proudly, too, and now at last he smiled; "since we are God's satraps, you and I." Afterward he stood thus for an appreciable silence, with ravenous eyes, motionless save that behind his back his fingers were bruising one another. Everywhere was this or that bright color and an incessant melody. It was unbearable. Then it was over; the ordered progress of all happenings was apparent, simple, and natural; and contentment came into his heart like a flight of linnets over level fields at dawn. He left her, and as he went he sang. Sang Maudelain: "_Christ save us all, as well He can, A solis ortus cardine! For He is both God and man, Qui natus est de virgine, And we but part of His wide plan That sing, and heartily sing we, 'Gloria Tibi, Domine!'_ "_Between a heifer and an ass Enixa est puerpera; In ragged woollen clad He was Qui regnat super aethera, And patiently may we then pass That sing, and heartily sing we, 'Gloria Tibi, Domine!_" The Queen shivered in the glad sunlight. "I am, it must be, pitiably weak," she said at last, "because I cannot sing as he does. And, since I am not very wise, were he to return even now-- But he will not return. He will never return," the Queen repeated, carefully, and over and over again. "It is strange I cannot comprehend that he will never return! Ah, Mother of God!" she cried, with a steadier voice, "grant that I may weep! nay, of thy infinite mercy let me presently find the heart to weep!" And about the Queen of England many birds sang joyously. Next day the English barons held a council, and in the midst of it King Richard demanded to be told his age. "Your Grace is in your twenty-second year," said the uneasy Gloucester, and now with reason troubled, since he had been seeking all night long for the evanished Maudelain. "Then I have been under tutors and governors longer than any other ward in my dominion. My lords, I thank you for your past services, but I need them no more." They had no check handy, and Gloucester in particular foreread his death-warrant, but of necessity he shouted with the others, "Hail, King of England!" That afternoon the King's assumption of all royal responsibility was commemorated by a tournament, over which Dame Anne presided. Sixty of her ladies led as many knights by silver chains into the tilting-grounds at Smithfield, and it was remarked that the Queen appeared unusually mirthful. The King was in high good humor, already a pattern of conjugal devotion; and the royal pair retired at dusk to the Bishop of London's palace at Saint Paul's, where was held a merry banquet, with dancing both before and after supper. THE END OF THE SIXTH NOVEL VII The Story of the Heritage "_Pour vous je suis en prison mise, En ceste chambre a voulte grise, Et traineray ma triste vie Sans que jamais mon cueur varie, Car toujours seray vostre amye._" THE SEVENTH NOVEL.--ISABEL OF VALOIS, BEING FORSAKEN BY ALL OTHERS, IS BEFRIENDED BY A PRIEST, WHO, IN CHIEF THROUGH A CHILD'S INNOCENCE, CONTRIVES AND EXECUTES A LAUDABLE IMPOSTURE, AND WINS TO DEATH THEREBY. The Story of the Heritage In the year of grace 1399 (Nicolas begins) dwelt in a hut near Caer Dathyl in Arvon, as he had done for some five years, a gaunt hermit, notoriously consecrate, whom neighboring Welshmen revered as the Blessed Evrawc. There had been a time when people called him Edward Maudelain, but this period he dared not often remember. For though in macerations of the flesh, in fasting, and in hour-long prayers he spent his days, this holy man was much troubled by devils. He got little rest because of them. Sometimes would come into his hut Belphegor in the likeness of a butler, and whisper, "Sire, had you been King, as was your right, you had drunk to-day not water but the wines of Spain and Hungary." Or Asmodeus saying, "Sire, had you been King, as was your right, you had lain now on cushions of silk." One day in early spring came a more cunning devil, named Bembo, in the likeness of a fair woman with yellow hair and large blue eyes. She wore a massive crown which seemed too heavy for her frailness to sustain. Soft tranquil eyes had lifted from her book. "You are my cousin now, messire," this phantom had appeared to say. [Illustration: "IN THE LIKENESS OF A FAIR WOMAN" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] That was the worst, and Maudelain began to fear he was a little mad because even this he had resisted with many aves. There came also to his hut, through a sullen snowstorm, upon the afternoon of All Soul's day, a horseman in a long cloak of black. He tethered his black horse without and strode softly through the door, and upon his breast and shoulders the snow was white as the bleached bones of those women that died in Merlin's youth. "Greetings in God's name, Messire Edward Maudelain," the stranger said. Since the new-comer spoke intrepidly of holy things a cheerier Maudelain knew that this at least was no demon. "Greetings!" he answered. "But I am Evrawc. You name a man long dead." "But it is from a certain Bohemian woman I come. What matter, then, if the dead receive me?" And thus speaking, the stranger dropped his cloak. In flame-colored satin he was clad, which shimmered with each movement like a high flame, and his countenance had throughout the color and the glow of amber. His eyes were dark and very tender, and the tears somehow had come to Maudelain's eyes because of a sudden and great love for this tall stranger. "Eh, from the dead to the dead I travel, as ever, with a message and a token. My message runs, _Time is, O fellow satrap!_ and my token is this." And in this packet, wrapped with white parchment and tied with a golden cord, was only a lock of hair. It lay like a little yellow serpent in Maudelain's palm. "And yet five years ago," he mused, "this hair was turned to dust. God keep us all!" Then he saw the tall lean emissary puffed out like a candle-flame; and upon the floor he saw the huddled cloak waver and spread like ink, and the white parchment slowly dwindle, as snow melts under the open sun. But in his hand remained the lock of yellow hair. "O my only friend," said Maudelain, "I may not comprehend, but I know that by no unhallowed art have you won back to me." Hair by hair he scattered what he held upon the floor. "_Time is!_ and I have not need of any token wherewith to spur my memory." He prized up a corner of the hearthstone, took out a small leather bag, and that day purchased a horse and a sword. At dawn the Blessed Evrawc rode eastward in this novel guise. It was two weeks later when he came to Sunninghill; and it happened that the same morning the Earl of Salisbury, who had excellent reason to consider... _Follows a lacuna of fourteen pages. Maudelain's successful imposture of Richard the Second, so strangely favored by their physical resemblance, and the subsequent fiasco at Circencester, are now, however, tolerably notorious. It would seem evident, from the Argument of the story in hand, that Nicolas attributes a large part of this mysterious business to the co-operancy of Isabel of Valois, King Richard's infant wife. And (should one have a taste for the deductive) the foregoing mention of Bembo, when compared with_ "THE STORY OF THE SCABBARD," _would certainly hint that Owain Glyndwyr had a finger in the affair_. _It is impossible to divine by what method, according to Nicolas, this Edward Maudelain was eventually substituted for his younger brother. Nicolas, if you are to believe his_ "EPILOGUE," _had the best of reasons for knowing that the prisoner locked up in Pontefract Castle in the February of_ 1400 _was not Richard Plantagenet: and this contention is strikingly attested, also, by the remaining fragment of this same_ "STORY OF THE HERITAGE." ... and eight men-at-arms followed him. Quickly Maudelain rose from the table, pushing his tall chair aside, and in the act one fellow closed the door securely. "Nay, eat your fill, Sire Richard," said Piers Exton, "since you will not ever eat again." "Is it so?" the trapped man answered quietly. "Then indeed you come in a good hour." Once only he smote upon his breast. "_Mea culpa!_ O Eternal Father, do Thou shrive me very quickly of all those sins I have committed, both in thought and deed, for now the time is very short." And Exton spat upon the dusty floor. "Foh, they had told me I would find a king here. I discover only a cat that whines." "Then 'ware his claws!" As a viper leaps Maudelain sprang upon the nearest fellow and wrested away his halberd. "Then 'ware his claws, my men! For I come of an accursed race. And now let some of you lament that fearful hour wherein Foulques the Querulous held traffic with a demon and on her begot the first of us Plantagenets! For of ice and of lust and of hell-fire are all we sprung; old records attest it; and fickle and cold and ravenous and without fear are all we Plantagenets until the end. Ay, until the end! O God of Gods!" this Maudelain cried, with a great voice, "wilt Thou dare bid a man die patiently, having aforetime filled his veins with such a venom! Nay, I lack the grace to die as all Thy saints, without one carnal blow struck in my own defence. I lack the grace, my Father, for even at the last the devil's blood You gave me is not quelled. I dare atone for that old sin done by my father in the flesh, but yet I must atone as a Plantagenet!" Then it was he and not they who pressed to the attack. Their meeting was a bloody business, for in that dark and crowded room Maudelain raged among his nine antagonists as an angered lion among wolves. They struck at random and cursed shrilly, for they were now half-afraid of this prey they had entrapped; so that presently he was all hacked and bleeding, though as yet he had no mortal wound. Four of these men he had killed by this, and Piers Exton also lay at his feet. Then the other four drew back a little. "Are ye tired so soon?" said Maudelain, and he laughed terribly. "What, even you! Why, look ye, my bold veterans, I never killed before to-day, and I am not breathed as yet." Thus he boasted, exultant in his strength. But the other men saw that behind him Piers Exton had crawled into the chair from which (they thought) King Richard had just risen, and stood erect upon the cushions of it. They saw this Exton strike the King with his pole-axe, from behind, and once only, and they knew no more was needed. "By God!" said one of them in the ensuing stillness, and it was he who bled the most, "that was a felon's blow." But the dying man who lay before them made as though to smile. "I charge you all to witness," he faintly said, "how willingly I render to Caesar's daughter that which was ever hers." Then Exton fretted, as with a little trace of shame: "Who would have thought the rascal had remembered that first wife of his so long? Caesar's daughter, saith he! and dares _in extremis_ to pervert Holy Scripture like any Wycliffite! Well, he is as dead as that first Caesar now, and our gracious King, I think, will sleep the better for it. And yet--God only knows! for they are an odd race, even as he said--these Plantagenets." THE END OF THE SEVENTH NOVEL VIII The Story of the Scabbard "_Ainsi il avoit trouve sa mie Si belle qu'on put souhaiter. N'avoit cure d'ailleurs plaider, Fors qu'avec lui manoir et estre. Bien est Amour puissant et maistre._" THE EIGHTH NOVEL.--BRANWEN OF WALES GETS A KING'S LOVE UNWITTINGLY, AND IN ALL INNOCENCE CONVINCES HIM OF THE LITTLENESS OF HIS KINGDOM; SO THAT HE BESIEGES AND IN DUE COURSE TRIUMPHANTLY OCCUPIES ANOTHER REALM AS YET UNMAPPED. The Story of the Scabbard In the year of grace 1400 (Nicolas begins) King Richard, the second monarch of that name to rule in England, wrenched his own existence, and nothing more, from the close wiles of Bolingbroke. The circumstances have been recorded otherwhere. All persons, saving only Owain Glyndwyr and Henry of Lancaster, believed King Richard dead at that period when Richard attended his own funeral, as a proceeding taking to the fancy, and, among many others, saw the body of Edward Maudelain interred with every regal ceremony in the chapel at Langley Bower. Then alone Sire Richard crossed the seas, and at thirty-three set out to inspect a transformed and gratefully untrammelling world wherein not a foot of land belonged to him. Holland was the surname he assumed, the name of his half-brothers; and to detail his Asian wanderings were both tedious and unprofitable. But at the end of each four months would come to him a certain messenger from Glyndwyr, whom Richard supposed to be the devil Bembo, who notoriously ran every day around the world upon the Welshman's business. It was in the Isle of Taprobane, where the pismires are as great as hounds, and mine and store the gold the inhabitants afterward rob them of through a very cunning device, that this emissary brought the letter which read simply, "Now is England fit pasture for the White Hart." Presently was Richard Holland in Wales, and then he rode to Sycharth. There, after salutation, Glyndwyr gave an account of his long stewardship. It was a puzzling record of obscure and tireless machinations with which we have no immediate concern: in brief, the very barons who had ousted King Log had been the first to find King Stork intolerable; and Northumberland, Worcester, Douglas, Mortimer, and so on, were already pledged and in open revolt. "By the God I do not altogether serve," Owain ended, "you have but to declare yourself, sire, and within the moment England is yours." More lately Richard spoke with narrowed eyes. "You forget that while Henry of Lancaster lives no other man will ever reign out a tranquil week in these islands. Come then! the hour strikes; and we will coax the devil for once in a way to serve God." "Oh, but there is a boundary appointed," Glyndwyr moodily returned. "You, too, forget that in cold blood this Henry stabbed my best-loved son. But I do not forget this, and I have tried divers methods which we need not speak of--I who can at will corrupt the air, and cause sickness and storms, raise heavy mists, and create plagues and fires and shipwrecks; yet the life itself I cannot take. For there is a boundary appointed, sire, and in the end the Master of our Sabbaths cannot serve us even though he would." And Richard crossed himself. "You horribly mistake my meaning. Your practices are your own affair, and in them I decline to dabble. I design but to trap a tiger with his appropriate bait. For you have a fief at Caer Idion, I think?--Very well! I intend to herd your sheep there, for a week or two, after the honorable example of Apollo. It is your part merely to see that Henry knows I live alone and in disguise at Caer Idion." The gaunt Welshman chuckled. "Yes, Bolingbroke would cross the world, much less the Severn, to make quite sure of Richard's death. He would come in his own person with at most some twenty followers. I will have a hundred there; and certain aging scores will then be settled in that place." Glyndwyr meditated afterward, very evilly. "Sire," he said without prelude, "I do not recognize Richard of Bordeaux. You have garnered much in travelling!" "Why, look you," Richard returned, "I have garnered so much that I do not greatly care whether this scheme succeed or no. With age I begin to contend even more indomitably that a wise man will consider nothing very seriously. You barons here believe it an affair of importance who may chance to be the King of England, say, this time next year; you take sides between Henry and myself. I tell you frankly that neither of us, that no man in the world, by reason of innate limitations, can ever rule otherwise than abominably, or, ruling, create anything save discord. Nor can I see how this matters either, since the discomfort of an ant-village is not, after all, a planet-wrecking disaster. Nay, if the planets do indeed sing together, it is, depend upon it, to the burden of _Fools All_. For I am as liberally endowed as most people; and when I consider my abilities, performances, instincts, and so on, quite aloofly, as I would those of another person, I can only shrug: and to conceive that common-sense, much less Omnipotence, would ever concern itself about the actions of a creature so entirely futile is, to me at least, impossible." "I have known the thought," said Owain--"though rarely since I found the Englishwoman that was afterward my wife, and never since my son, my Grunyd, was murdered by a jesting man. He was more like me than the others, people said.... You are as yet the empty scabbard, powerless alike for help or hurt. Ey, hate or love must be the sword, sire, that informs us here, and then, if only for a little while, we are as gods." "Pardie! I have loved as often as Salomon, and in fourteen kingdoms." "We of Cymry have a saying, sire, that when a man loves par amours the second time he may safely assume that he has never been in love at all." "And I hate Henry of Lancaster as I do the devil." "I greatly fear," said Owain with a sigh, "lest it may be your irreparable malady to hate nothing, not even that which you dislike." So then Glyndwyr rode south to besiege and burn the town of Caerdyf, while at Caer Idion Richard Holland tranquilly abode for some three weeks. There was in this place only Caradawc (the former shepherd), his wife Alundyne, and their sole daughter Branwen. They gladly perceived Sire Richard was no more a peasant than he was a curmudgeon; as Caradawc observed: "It is perfectly apparent that the robe of Padarn Beisrudd would fit him as a glove does the hand, but we will ask no questions, since it is not wholesome to dispute the orderings of Owain Glyndwyr." They did not; and later day by day would Richard Holland drive the flocks to pasture near the Severn, and loll there in the shade, and make songs to his lute. He grew to love this leisured life of bright and open spaces; and its long solitudes, grateful with the warm odors of growing things and with poignant bird-noises, and the tranquillity of these meadows, that were always void of hurry, bedrugged the man through many fruitless and incurious hours. Each day at noon would Branwen bring his dinner, and sometimes chat with him while he ate. After supper he would discourse to Branwen of remote kingdoms, wherethrough he had ridden at adventure, as the wind veers, among sedate and alien peoples who adjudged him a madman; and she, in turn, would tell him many curious tales from the _Red Book of Hergest_--as of Gwalchmai, and Peredur, and Geraint, in each one of whom she had presently discerned an inadequate forerunnership of Richard's existence. This Branwen was a fair wench, slender as a wand, and, in a harmless way, of a bold demeanor twin to that of a child who is ignorant of evil and in consequence of suspicion. Happily, though, had she been named for that unhappy lady of old, the wife of King Matholwch, for this Branwen, too, had a white, thin, wistful face, like that of an empress on a silver coin which is a little worn. Her eyes were large and brilliant, colored like clear emeralds, and her abundant hair was so much cornfloss, only more brightly yellow and of immeasurably finer texture. In full sunlight her cheeks were frosted like the surface of a peach, but the underlying cool pink of them was rather that of a cloud, Richard decided. In all, a taking morsel! though her shapely hands were hard with labor, and she rarely laughed; for, as in recompense, her heart was tender and ignorant of discontent, and she rarely ceased to smile as over some peculiar and wonderful secret which she intended, in due time, to share with you alone. Branwen had many lovers, and preferred among them young Gwyllem ap Llyr, a portly lad, who was handsome enough, for all his tiny and piggish eyes, and sang divinely. Presently this Gwyllem came to Richard with two quarter-staves. "Saxon," he said, "you appear a stout man. Take your pick of these, then, and have at you." "Such are not the weapons I would have named," Richard answered, "yet in reason, messire, I may not deny you." With that they laid aside their coats and fell to exercise. In these unaccustomed bouts Richard was soundly drubbed, as he had anticipated, but throughout he found himself the stronger man, and he managed somehow to avoid an absolute overthrow. By what method he never ascertained. "I have forgotten what we are fighting about," he observed, after a half-hour of this; "or, to be perfectly exact, I never knew. But we will fight no more in this place. Come and go with me to Welshpool, Messire Gwyllem, and there we will fight to a conclusion over good sack and claret." "Content!" cried Gwyllem; "but only if you yield me Branwen." "Have we indeed wasted a whole half-hour in squabbling over a woman?" Richard demanded; "like two children in a worldwide toyshop over any one particular toy? Then devil take me if I am not heartily ashamed of my folly! Though, look you, Gwyllem, I would speak naught save commendation of these delicate and livelily-tinted creatures so long as one is able to approach them in a proper spirit of levity: it is only their not infrequent misuse which I would condemn; and in my opinion the person who elects to build a shrine for any one of them has only himself to blame if his divinity will ascend no pedestal save the carcass of his happiness. Yet have many men since time was young been addicted to the practice, as were Hercules and Merlin to their illimitable sorrow; and, indeed, the more I reconsider the old gallantries of Salomon, and of other venerable and sagacious potentates, the more profoundly am I ashamed of my sex." Gwyllem said: "That is all very fine. Perhaps it is also reasonable. Only when you love you do not reason." "I was endeavoring to prove that," said Richard gently. Then they went to Welshpool, ride and tie on Gwyllem's horse. Tongue loosened by the claret, Gwyllem raved aloud of Branwen, like a babbling faun, while to each rapture Richard affably assented. In his heart he likened the boy to Dionysos at Naxos, and could find no blame for Ariadne. Moreover, the room was comfortably dark and cool, for thick vines hung about either window, rustling and tapping pleasantly, and Richard was content. "She does not love me?" Gwyllem cried. "It is well enough. I do not come to her as one merchant to another, since love was never bartered. Listen, Saxon!" He caught up Richard's lute. The strings shrieked beneath Gwyllem's fingers as he fashioned his rude song. Sang Gwyllem: "_Love me or love me not, it is enough That I have loved you, seeing my whole life is Uplifted and made glad by the glory of Love-- My life that was a scroll all marred and blurred With tavern-catches, which that pity of his Erased, and writ instead one perfect word, O Branwen!_ "_I have accorded you incessant praise And song and service long, O Love, for this, And always I have dreamed incessantly Who always dreamed, 'When in oncoming days This man or that shall love you, and at last This man or that shall win you, it must be That loving him you will have pity on me When happiness engenders memory And long thoughts, nor unkindly, of the past, O Branwen!'_ "_I know not!--ah, I know not, who am sure That I shall always love you while I live! And being dead, and with no more to give Of song or service?--Love shall yet endure, And yet retain his last prerogative, When I lie still, through many centuries, And dream of you and the exceeding love I bore you, and am glad dreaming thereof, And give God thanks therefor, and so find peace, O Branwen!_" "Now, were I to get as tipsy as that," Richard enviously thought, midway in a return to his stolid sheep, "I would simply go to sleep and wake up with a headache. And were I to fall as many fathoms deep in love as this Gwyllem has blundered without any astonishment I would perform--I wonder, now, what miracle?" For he was, though vaguely, discontent. This Gwyllem was so young, so earnest over every trifle, and above all so unvexed by any rational afterthought; and each desire controlled him as varying winds sport with a fallen leaf, whose frank submission to superior vagaries the boy appeared to emulate. Richard saw that in a fashion Gwyllem was superb. "And heigho!" said Richard, "I am attestedly a greater fool than he, but I begin to weary of a folly so thin-blooded.". The next morning came a ragged man, riding upon a mule. He claimed to be a tinker. He chatted out an hour with Richard, who perfectly recognized him as Sir Walter Blount; and then this tinker crossed over into England. And Richard whistled. "Now will my cousin be quite sure, and now will my anxious cousin come to speak with Richard of Bordeaux. And now, by every saint in the calendar! I am as good as King of England." He sat down beneath a young oak and twisted four or five blades of grass between his fingers what while he meditated. Undoubtedly he would kill Henry of Lancaster with a clear conscience and even with a certain relish, much as one crushes the uglier sort of vermin, but, hand upon heart, he was unable to protest any particularly ardent desire for the scoundrel's death. Thus crudely to demolish the knave's adroit and year-long schemings savored of a tyranny a shade too gross. The spider was venomous, and his destruction laudable; granted, but in crushing him you ruined his web, a miracle of patient malevolence, which, despite yourself, compelled both admiration and envy. True, the process would recrown a certain Richard, but then, as he recalled it, being King was rather tedious. Richard was not now quite sure that he wanted to be King, and in consequence be daily plagued by a host of vexatious and ever-squabbling barons. "I shall miss the little huzzy, too," he thought. "Heigho!" said Richard, "I shall console myself with purchasing all beautiful things that can be touched and handled. Life is a flimsy vapor which passes and is not any more: presently is Branwen married to this Gwyllem and grown fat and old, and I am remarried to Dame Isabel of France, and am King of England: and a trifle later all four of us will be dead. Pending this deplorable consummation a wise man will endeavor to amuse himself." Next day he despatched Caradawc to Owain Glyndwyr to bid the latter send the promised implements to Caer Idion. Richard, returning to the hut the same evening, found Alundyne there, alone, and grovelling at the threshold. Her forehead was bloodied when she raised it and through tearless sobs told of the day's happenings. A half-hour since, while she and Branwen were intent upon their milking, Gwyllem had ridden up, somewhat the worse for liquor. Branwen had called him sot, had bidden him go home. "That will I do," said Gwyllem and suddenly caught up the girl. Alundyne sprang for him, and with clenched fist Gwyllem struck her twice full in the face, and laughing, rode away with Branwen. Richard made no observation. In silence he fetched his horse, and did not pause to saddle it. Quickly he rode to Gwyllem's house, and broke in the door. Against the farther wall stood lithe Branwen fighting silently in a hideous conflict; her breasts and shoulders were naked, where Gwyllem had torn away her garments. He wheedled, laughed, swore, and hiccoughed, turn by turn, but she was silent. "On guard!" Richard barked. Gwyllem wheeled. His head twisted toward his left shoulder, and one corner of his mouth convulsively snapped upward, so that his teeth were bared. There was a knife at Richard's girdle, which he now unsheathed and flung away. He stepped eagerly toward the snarling Welshman, and with either hand seized the thick and hairy throat. What followed was brutal. For many minutes Branwen stood with averted face, shuddering. She very dimly heard the sound of Gwyllem's impotent great fists as they beat against the countenance and body of Richard, and the thin splitting vicious noise of torn cloth as Gwyllem clutched at Richard's tunic and tore it many times. Richard uttered no articulate word, and Gwyllem could not. There was entire silence for a heart-beat, and then the fall of something ponderous and limp. "Come!" Richard said. Through the hut's twilight, glorious in her eyes as Michael fresh from that primal battle, Richard came to her, his face all blood, and lifted her in his arms lest Branwen's skirt be soiled by the demolished thing which sprawled across their path. She never spoke. She could not. In his arms she rode presently, passive, and incuriously content. The horse trod with deliberation. In the east the young moon was taking heart as the darkness thickened about them, and innumerable stars awoke. Richard was horribly afraid. He it had been, in sober verity it had been Richard of Bordeaux, that some monstrous force had seized, and had lifted, and had curtly utilized as its handiest implement. He had been, and in the moment had known himself to be, the thrown spear as yet in air, about to kill and quite powerless to refrain therefrom. It was a full three minutes before he got the better of his bewilderment and laughed, very softly, lest he disturb this Branwen, who was so near his heart.... Next day she came to him at noon, bearing as always the little basket. It contained to-day a napkin, some garlic, a ham, and a small soft cheese; some shalots, salt, nuts, wild apples, lettuce, onions, and mushrooms. "Behold a feast!" said Richard. He noted then that she carried also a blue pitcher filled with thin wine and two cups of oak-bark. She thanked him for last night's performance, and drank a mouthful of wine to his health. "Decidedly, I shall be sorry to have done with shepherding," said Richard as he ate. Branwen answered, "I too shall be sorry, lord, when the masquerade is ended." And it seemed to Richard that she sighed, and he was the happier. But he only shrugged. "I am the wisest person unhanged, since I comprehend my own folly. And so, I think, was once the minstrel of old time that sang: 'Over wild lands and tumbling seas flits Love, at will, and maddens the heart and beguiles the senses of all whom he attacks, whether his quarry be some monster of the ocean or some wild denizen of the forest, or man; for thine, O Love, thine alone is the power to make playthings of us all.'" "Your bard was wise, no doubt, yet it was not in similar terms that Gwyllem sang of this passion. Lord," she demanded shyly, "how would you sing of love?" Richard was replete and quite contented with the world. He took up the lute, in full consciousness that his compliance was in large part cenatory. "In courtesy, thus--" Sang Richard: "_The gods in honor of fair Branwen's worth Bore gifts to her--and Jove, Olympus' lord, Co-rule of Earth and Heaven did accord, And Venus gave her slender body's girth, And Mercury the lyre he framed at birth, And Mars his jewelled and resistless sword, And wrinkled Plutus all the secret hoard And immemorial treasure of mid-earth,--_ "_And while the puzzled gods were pondering Which of these goodly gifts the goodliest was, Dan Cupid came among them carolling And proffered unto her a looking-glass, Wherein she gazed and saw the goodliest thing That Earth had borne, and Heaven might not surpass._" "Three sounds are rarely heard," said Branwen; "and these are the song of the birds of Rhiannon, an invitation to feast with a miser, and a speech of wisdom from the mouth of a Saxon. The song you have made of courtesy is tinsel. Sing now in verity." Richard laughed, though he was sensibly nettled and perhaps a shade abashed; and presently he sang again. Sang Richard: "_Catullus might have made of words that seek With rippling sound, in soft recurrent ways, The perfect song, or in the old dead days Theocritus have hymned you in glad Greek; But I am not as they--and dare not speak Of you unworthily, and dare not praise Perfection with imperfect roundelays, And desecrate the prize I dare to seek._ "_I do not woo you, then, by fashioning Vext similes of you and Guenevere, And durst not come with agile lips that bring The sugared periods of a sonneteer, And bring no more--but just with lips that cling To yours, and murmur against them, 'I love you, dear!'_" For Richard had resolved that Branwen should believe him. Tinsel, indeed! then here was yet more tinsel which she must and should receive as gold. He was very angry, because his vanity was hurt, and the pin-prick spurred him to a counterfeit so specious that consciously he gloried in it. He was superb, and she believed him now; there was no questioning the fact, he saw it plainly, and with exultant cruelty; and curt as lightning came the knowledge that she believed the absolute truth. Richard had taken just two strides, and toward this fair girl. Branwen stayed motionless, her lips a little parted. The affairs of earth and heaven were motionless throughout the moment, attendant, it seemed to him; and his whole life was like a wave, to him, that trembled now at full height, and he was aware of a new world all made of beauty and of pity. Then the lute snapped between his fingers, and Richard shuddered, and his countenance was the face of a man only. "There is a task," he said, hoarsely--"it is God's work, I think. But I do not know--I only know that you are very beautiful, Branwen," he said, and in the name he found a new and piercing loveliness. More lately he said: "Go! For I have loved so many women, and, God help me! I know that I have but to wheedle you and you, too, will yield! Yonder is God's work to be done, and within me rages a commonwealth of devils. Child! child!" he cried in agony, "I am, and ever was, a coward, too timid to face life without reserve, and always I laughed because I was afraid to concede that anything is serious!" For a long while Richard lay at his ease in the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. "I love her. She thinks me an elderly imbecile with a flat and reedy singing-voice, and she is perfectly right. She has never even entertained the notion of loving me. That is well, for to-morrow, or, it may be, the day after, we must part forever. I would not have the parting make her sorrowful--or not, at least, too unalterably sorrowful. It is very well that Branwen does not love me. "How should she? I am almost twice her age, an old fellow now, battered and selfish and too indolent to love her--say, as Gwyllem did. I did well to kill that Gwyllem. I am profoundly glad I killed him, and I thoroughly enjoyed doing it; but, after all, the man loved her in his fashion, and to the uttermost reach of his gross nature. I love her in a rather more decorous and acceptable fashion, it is true, but only a half of me loves her; and the other half of me remembers that I am aging, that Caradawc's hut is leaky, that, in fine, bodily comfort is the single luxury of which one never tires. I am a very contemptible creature, the handsome scabbard of a man, precisely as Owain said." This settled, Richard whistled to his dog. The sun had set, but it was not more than dusk. There were no shadows anywhere as Richard and his sheep went homeward, but on every side the colors of the world were more sombre. Twice his flock roused a covey of partridges which had settled for the night. The screech-owl had come out of his hole, and bats were already blundering about, and the air was more cool. There was as yet but one star in the green and cloudless heaven, and this was very large, like a beacon, and it appeared to him symbolical that he trudged away from it. Next day the Welshmen came, and now the trap was ready for Henry of Lancaster. It befell just two days later, about noon, that while Richard idly talked with Branwen a party of soldiers, some fifteen in number, rode down the river's bank from the ford above. Their leader paused, then gave an order. The men drew rein. He cantered forward. "God give you joy, fair sir," said Richard, when the cavalier was at his elbow. The new-comer raised his visor. "God give you eternal joy, my fair cousin," he said, "and very soon. Now send away this woman before that happens which must happen." "You design murder?" Richard said. [Illustration: "YOU DESIGN MURDER? RICHARD ASKED" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] "I design my own preservation," King Henry answered, "for while you live my rule is insecure." "I am sorry," Richard said, "because in part my blood is yours." Twice he sounded his horn, and everywhere from rustling underwoods arose the half-naked Welshmen. "Your men are one to ten. You are impotent. Now, now we balance our accounts!" cried Richard. "These persons here will first deal with your followers. Then will they conduct you to Glyndwyr, who has long desired to deal with you himself, in privacy, since that WhitMonday when you stabbed his son." The King began: "In mercy, sire--!" and Richard laughed a little. "That virtue is not overabundant among us Plantagenets, as both we know. Nay, Fate and Time are merry jesters. See, now, their latest mockery! You the King of England ride to Sycharth to your death, and I the tender of sheep depart into London, without any hindrance, to reign henceforward over all these islands. To-morrow you are worm's-meat; and to-morrow, as aforetime, I am King of England." Then Branwen gave one sharp, brief cry, and Richard forgot all things saving this girl, and strode to her. He had caught up either of her hard, lithe hands; against his lips he strained them close and very close. "Branwen--!" he said. His eyes devoured her. "Yes, King," she answered. "O King of England! O fool that I had been to think you less!" In a while Richard said: "Now I choose between a peasant wench and England. Now I choose, and, ah, how gladly! O Branwen, help me to be more than King of England!" Low and very low he spoke, and long and very long he gazed at her and neither seemed to breathe. Of what she thought I cannot tell you; but in Richard there was no power of thought, only a great wonderment. Why, between this woman and aught else there was no choice for him, he knew upon a sudden, and could never be! He was very glad. He loved the tiniest content of the world. Meanwhile, as from an immense distance, came to this Richard the dogged voice of Henry of Lancaster. "It is of common report in these islands that I have a better right to the throne than you. As much was told our grandfather, King Edward of happy memory, when he educated you and had you acknowledged heir to the crown, but his love was so strong for his son the Prince of Wales that nothing could alter his purpose. And indeed if you had followed even the example of the Black Prince you might still have been our King; but you have always acted so contrarily to his admirable precedents as to occasion the rumor to be generally believed throughout England that you were not, after all, his son--" Richard had turned impatiently. "For the love of Heaven, truncate your abominable periods. Be off with you. Yonder across that river is the throne of England, which you appear, through some hallucination, to consider a desirable possession. Take it, then; for, praise God! the sword has found its sheath." The King answered: "I do not ask you to reconsider your dismissal, assuredly--Richard," he cried, a little shaken, "I perceive that until your death you will win contempt and love from every person." "Ay, for many years I have been the playmate of the world," said Richard; "but to-day I wash my hands, and set about another and more laudable business. I had dreamed certain dreams, indeed--but what had I to do with all this strife between the devil and the tiger? Nay, Glyndwyr will set up Mortimer against you now, and you two must fight it out. I am no more his tool, and no more your enemy, my cousin--Henry," he said with quickening voice, "there was a time when we were boys and played together, and there was no hatred between us, and I regret that time!" "As God lives, I too regret that time!" the bluff King said. He stared at Richard for a while wherein each understood. "Dear fool," he said, "there is no man in all the world but hates me saving only you." Then the proud King clapped spurs to his proud horse and rode away. More lately Richard dismissed his wondering marauders. Now were only he and Branwen left, alone and yet a little troubled, since either was afraid of that oncoming moment when their eyes must meet. So Richard laughed. "Praise God!" he wildly cried, "I am the greatest fool unhanged!" She answered: "I am the happier. I am the happiest of God's creatures," Branwen said. And Richard meditated. "Faith of a gentleman!" he declared; "but you are nothing of the sort, and of this fact I happen to be quite certain." Their lips met then and afterward their eyes; and either was too glad for laughter. THE END OF THE EIGHTH NOVEL IX The Story of the Navarrese "_J'ay en mon cueur joyeusement Escript, afin que ne l'oublie, Ce refrain qu'ayme chierement, C'estes vous de qui suis amye._" THE NINTH NOVEL.--JEHANE OF NAVARRE, AFTER A SHREWD WITHSTANDING OF ALL OTHER ASSAULTS, IS IN A LONG DUEL WHEREIN TIME AND COMMON-SENSE ARE FLOUTED, AND TWO KINGDOMS SHAKEN, ALIKE DETHRONED AND RECOMPENSED BY AN ENDURING LUNACY. The Story of the Navarrese In the year of grace 1386, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew (thus Nicolas begins), came to the Spanish coast Messire Peyre de Lesnerac, in a war-ship sumptuously furnished and manned by many persons of dignity and wealth, in order they might suitably escort the Princess Jehane into Brittany, where she was to marry the Duke of that province. There were now rejoicings throughout Navarre, in which the Princess took but a nominal part and young Antoine Riczi none at all. This Antoine Riczi came to Jehane that August twilight in the hedged garden. "King's daughter!" he sadly greeted her. "Duchess of Brittany! Countess of Rougemont! Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of Rais and of Toufon and Guerche!" "Nay," she answered, "Jehane, whose only title is the Constant Lover." And in the green twilight, lit as yet by one low-hanging star alone, their lips met, as aforetime. Presently the girl spoke. Her soft mouth was lax and tremulous, and her gray eyes were more brilliant than the star yonder. The boy's arms were about her, so that neither could be quite unhappy; and besides, a sorrow too noble for any bitterness had mastered them, and a vast desire whose aim they could not word, or even apprehend save cloudily. "Friend," said Jehane, "I have no choice. I must wed with this de Montfort. I think I shall die presently. I have prayed God that I may die before they bring me to the dotard's bed." Young Riczi held her now in an embrace more brutal. "Mine! mine!" he snarled toward the obscuring heavens. "Yet it may be I must live. Friend, the man is very old. Is it wicked to think of that? For I cannot but think of his great age." Then Riczi answered: "My desires--may God forgive me!--have clutched like starving persons at that sorry sustenance. Friend! ah, fair, sweet friend! the man is human and must die, but love, we read, is immortal. I am fain to die, Jehane. But, oh, Jehane! dare you to bid me live?" "Friend, as you love me, I entreat you live. Friend, I crave of the Eternal Father that if I falter in my love for you I may be denied even the bleak night of ease which Judas knows." The girl did not weep; dry-eyed she winged a perfectly sincere prayer toward incorruptible saints. He was to remember the fact, and through long years. For even as Riczi left her, yonder behind the yew-hedge a shrill joculatrix sang, in rehearsal for Jehane's bridal feast. Sang the joculatrix: "_When the morning broke before us Came the wayward Three astraying, Chattering a trivial chorus-- Hoidens that at handball playing (When they wearied of their playing), Cast the Ball where now it whirls Through the coil of clouds unstaying, For the Fates are merry girls!_" And upon the next day de Lesnerac bore young Jehane from Pampeluna and presently to Saille, where old Jehan the Brave took her to wife. She lived as a queen, but she was a woman of infrequent laughter. She had Duke Jehan's adoration, and his barons' obeisancy, and his villagers applauded her passage with stentorian shouts. She passed interminable days amid bright curious arrasses and trod listlessly over pavements strewn with flowers. Fiery-hearted jewels she had, and shimmering purple cloths, and much furniture adroitly carven, and many tapestries of Samarcand and Baldach upon which were embroidered, by brown fingers time turned long ago to Asian dust, innumerable asps and deer and phoenixes and dragons and all the motley inhabitants of air and of the thicket: but her memories, too, she had, and for a dreary while she got no comfort because of them. Then ambition quickened. Young Antoine Riczi likewise nursed his wound as best he might; but about the end of the second year his uncle, the Vicomte de Montbrison--a gaunt man, with preoccupied and troubled eyes--had summoned Antoine into Lyonnois and, after appropriate salutation, had informed the lad that, as the Vicomte's heir, he was to marry the Demoiselle Gerberge de Nerac upon the ensuing Michaelmas. "That I may not do," said Riczi; and since a chronicler that would tempt fortune should never stretch the fabric of his wares too thin, unlike Sir Hengist, I merely tell you these two dwelt together at Montbrison for a decade, and always the Vicomte swore at his nephew and predicted this or that disastrous destination so often as Antoine declined to marry the latest of his uncle's candidates--in whom the Vicomte was of an astonishing fertility. In the year of grace 1401 came the belated news that Duke Jehan had closed his final day. "You will be leaving me!" the Vicomte growled; "now, in my decrepitude, you will be leaving me! It is abominable, and I shall in all likelihood disinherit you this very night." "Yet it is necessary," Riczi answered; and, filled with no unhallowed joy, rode not long afterward for Vannes, in Brittany, where the Duchess-Regent held her court. Dame Jehane had within that fortnight put aside her mourning, and sat beneath a green canopy, gold-fringed and powdered with many golden stars, upon the night when he first came to her, and the rising saps of spring were exercising their august and formidable influence. She sat alone, by prearrangement, to one end of the high-ceiled and radiant apartment; midway in the hall her lords and divers ladies were gathered about a saltatrice and a jongleur, who diverted them to the mincing accompaniment of a lute; but Jehane sat apart from these, frail, and splendid with many jewels, and a little sad, and, as ever (he thought), was hers a beauty clarified of its mere substance--the beauty, say, of a moonbeam which penetrates full-grown leaves. And Antoine Riczi found no power of speech within him at the first. Silent he stood before her for an obvious interval, still as an effigy, while meltingly the jongleur sang. "Jehane!" said Antoine Riczi, "have you, then, forgotten, O Jehane?" Nor had the resplendent woman moved at all. It was as though she were some tinted and lavishly adorned statue of barbaric heathenry, and he her postulant; and her large eyes appeared to judge an immeasurable path, beyond him. Now her lips had fluttered somewhat. "The Duchess of Brittany am I," she said, and in the phantom of a voice. "The Countess of Rougemont am I. The Lady of Nantes and of Guerrand! of Rais and of Toufon and Guerche! ... Jehane is dead." The man had drawn one audible breath. "You are Jehane, whose only title is the Constant Lover!" "Friend, the world smirches us," she said half-pleadingly. "I have tasted too deep of wealth and power. Drunk with a deadly wine am I, and ever I thirst--I thirst--" "Jehane, do you remember that May morning in Pampeluna when first I kissed you, and about us sang many birds? Then as now you wore a gown of green, Jehane." "Friend, I have swayed kingdoms since." "Jehane, do you remember that August twilight in Pampeluna when last I kissed you? Then as now you wore a gown of green, Jehane." "But no such chain as this about my neck," the woman answered, and lifted a huge golden collar garnished with emeralds and sapphires and with many pearls. "Friend, the chain is heavy, yet I lack the will to cast it off. I lack the will, Antoine." And with a sudden roar of mirth her courtiers applauded the evolutions of the saltatrice. "King's daughter!" said Riczi then; "O perilous merchandise! a god came to me and a sword had pierced his breast. He touched the gold hilt of it and said, 'Take back your weapon.' I answered, 'I do not know you.' 'I am Youth,' he said; 'take back your weapon.'" "It is true," she responded, "it is lamentably true that after to-night we are as different persons, you and I." He said: "Jehane, do you not love me any longer? Remember old years and do not break your oath with me, Jehane, since God abhors nothing so much as perfidy. For your own sake, Jehane--ah, no, not for your sake nor for mine, but for the sake of that blithe Jehane, whom, so you tell me, time has slain!" Once or twice she blinked, as dazzled by a light of intolerable splendor, but otherwise sat rigid. "You have dared, messire, to confront me with the golden-hearted, clean-eyed Navarrese that once was I! and I requite." The austere woman rose. "Messire, you swore to me, long since, an eternal service. I claim my bond. Yonder prim man--gray-bearded, the man in black and silver--is the Earl of Worcester, the King of England's ambassador, in common with whom the wealthy dowager of Brittany has signed a certain contract. Go you, then, with Worcester into England, as my proxy, and in that island, as my proxy, wed the King of England. Messire, your audience is done." Latterly Riczi said this: "Can you hurt me any more, Jehane?--nay, even in hell they cannot hurt me now. Yet I, at least, keep faith, and in your face I fling faith like a glove--old-fashioned, it may be, but clean--and I will go, Jehane." Her heart raged. "Poor, glorious fool!" she thought; "had you but the wit even now to use me brutally, even now to drag me from this dais--!" Instead he went from her smilingly, treading through the hall with many affable salutations, while always the jongleur sang. Sang the jongleur: "_There is a land the rabble rout Knows not, whose gates are barred By Titan twins, named Fear and Doubt, That mercifully guard The land we seek--the land so fair!-- And all the fields thereof,_ "_Where daffodils grow everywhere About the Fields of Love-- Knowing that in the Middle-Land A tiny pool there lies And serpents from the slimy strand Lift glittering cold eyes._ "_Now, the parable all may understand, And surely you know the name o' the land! Ah, never a guide or ever a chart May safely lead you about this land,-- The Land of the Human Heart!_" And the following morning, being duly empowered, Antoine Riczi sailed for England in company with the Earl of Worcester, and upon Saint Richard's day the next ensuing was, at Eltham, as proxy of Jehane, married in his own person to the bloat King of England. First had Sire Henry placed the ring on Riczi's finger, and then spoke Antoine Riczi, very loud and clear: "I, Antoine Riczi--in the name of my worshipful lady, Dame Jehane, the daughter of Messire Charles until lately King of Navarre, the Duchess of Brittany and the Countess of Rougemont--do take you, Sire Henry of Lancaster, King of England and in title of France, and Lord of Ireland, to be my husband; and thereto I, Antoine Riczi, in the spirit of my said lady"--he paused here to regard the gross hulk of masculinity before him, and then smiled very sadly--"in precisely the spirit of my said lady, I plight you my troth." Afterward the King made him presents of some rich garments of scarlet trimmed with costly furs, and of four silk belts studded with silver and gold, and with valuable clasps, whereof the recipient might well be proud, and Riczi returned to Lyonnois. "Depardieux!" his uncle said; "so you return alone!" "As Prince Troilus did," said Riczi--"to boast to you of liberal entertainment in the tent of Diomede." "You are certainly an inveterate fool," the Vicomte considered after a prolonged appraisal of his face, "since there is always a deal of other pink-and-white flesh as yet unmortgaged-- Boy with my brother's eyes!" the Vicomte said, and in another voice; "I would that I were God to punish as is fitting! Nay, come home, my lad!--come home!" So these two abode together at Montbrison for a long time, and in the purlieus of that place hunted and hawked, and made sonnets once in a while, and read aloud from old romances some five days out of the seven. The verses of Riczi were in the year of grace 1410 made public, and not without acclamation; and thereafter the stripling Comte de Charolais, future heir to all Burgundy and a zealous patron of rhyme, was much at Montbrison, and there conceived for Antoine Riczi such admiration as was possible to a very young man only. In the year of grace 1412 the Vicomte, being then bedridden, died without any disease and of no malady save the inherencies of his age. "I entreat of you, my nephew," he said at last, "that always you use as touchstone the brave deed you did at Eltham. It is necessary a man serve his lady according to her commandments, but you have performed the most absurd and the cruelest task which any woman ever imposed upon her servitor. I laugh at you, and I envy you." Thus he died, about Martinmas. Now was Antoine Riczi a powerful baron, and got no comfort of his lordship, since in his meditations the King of Darkness, that old incendiary, had added a daily fuel until the ancient sorrow quickened into vaulting flames of wrath and of disgust. "What now avail my riches?" said the Vicomte. "Nay, how much wealthier was I when I was loved, and was myself an eager lover! I relish no other pleasures than those of love. Love's sot am I, drunk with a deadly wine, poor fool, and ever I thirst. As vapor are all my chattels and my acres, and the more my dominion and my power increase, the more rancorously does my heart sustain its misery, being robbed of that fair merchandise which is the King of England's. To hate her is scant comfort and to despise her none at all, since it follows that I who am unable to forget the wanton am even more to be despised than she. I will go into England and execute what mischief I may against her." The new Vicomte de Montbrison set forth for Paris, first to do homage for his fief, and secondly to be accredited for some plausible mission into England. But in Paris he got disquieting news. Jehane's husband was dead, and her stepson Henry, the fifth monarch of that name to reign in Britain, had invaded France to support preposterous claims which the man advanced to the very crown of that latter kingdom; and as the earth is altered by the advent of winter was the appearance of France transformed by his coming, and everywhere the nobles were stirred up to arms, the castles were closed, the huddled cities were fortified, and on either hand arose intrenchments. Thus through this sudden turn was the new Vicomte, the dreamer and the recluse, caught up by the career of events, as a straw is by a torrent, when the French lords marched with their vassals to Harfleur, where they were soundly drubbed by the King of England; as afterward at Agincourt. But in the year of grace 1417 there was a breathing space for discredited France, and presently the Vicomte de Montbrison was sent into England, as ambassador. He got in London a fruitless audience of King Henry, whose demands were such as rendered a renewal of the war inevitable; and afterward, in the month of April, about the day of Palm Sunday, and within her dower-palace of Havering-Bower, an interview with Queen Jehane. _Nicolas omits, and unaccountably, to mention that during the French wars she had ruled England as Regent, and with marvellous capacity--although this fact, as you will see more lately, is the pivot of his chronicle._ A solitary page ushered the Vicomte whither she sat alone, by prearrangement, in a chamber with painted walls, profusely lighted by the sun, and making pretence to weave a tapestry. When the page had gone she rose and cast aside the shuttle, and then with a glad and wordless cry stumbled toward the Vicomte. "Madame and Queen--!" he coldly said. A frightened woman, half-distraught, aging now but rather handsome, his judgment saw in her, and no more; all black and shimmering gold his senses found her, and supple like some dangerous and lovely serpent; and with a contained hatred he had discovered, as by the terse illumination of a thunderbolt, that he could never love any woman save the woman whom he most despised. She said: "I had forgotten. I had remembered only you, Antoine, and Navarre, and the clean-eyed Navarrese--" Now for a little, Jehane paced the gleaming and sun-drenched apartment as a bright leopardess might tread her cage. Then she wheeled. "Friend, I think that God Himself has deigned to avenge you. All misery my reign has been. First Hotspur, then prim Worcester harried us. Came Glyndwyr afterward to prick us with his devil's horns. Followed the dreary years that linked me to the rotting corpse God's leprosy devoured while the poor furtive thing yet moved. All misery, Antoine! And now I live beneath a sword." "You have earned no more," he said. "You have earned no more, O Jehane! whose only title is the Constant Lover!" He spat it out. She came uncertainly toward him, as though he had been some not implacable knave with a bludgeon. "For the King hates me," she plaintively said, "and I live beneath a sword. Ever the big fierce-eyed man has hated me, for all his lip-courtesy. And now he lacks the money to pay his troops, and I am the wealthiest person within his realm. I am a woman and alone in a foreign land. So I must wait, and wait, and wait, Antoine, till he devise some trumped-up accusation. Friend, I live as did Saint Damoclus, beneath a sword. Antoine!" she wailed--for now was the pride of Queen Jehane shattered utterly--"within the island am I a prisoner for all that my chains are of gold." "Yet it was not until o' late," he observed, "that you disliked the metal which is the substance of all crowns." And now the woman lifted to him a huge golden collar garnished with emeralds and sapphires and with many pearls, and in the sunlight the gems were tawdry things. "Friend, the chain is heavy, and I lack the power to cast it off. The Navarrese we know of wore no such perilous fetters about her neck. Ah, you should have mastered me at Vannes. You could have done so, and very easily. But you only talked--oh, Mary pity us! you only talked!--and I could find only a servant where I had sore need to find a master. Then pity me." But now came many armed soldiers into the apartment. With spirit Queen Jehane turned to meet them, and you saw that she was of royal blood, for the pride of ill-starred emperors blazed and informed her body as light occupies a lantern. "At last you come for me, messieurs?" "Whereas," their leader read in answer from a parchment--"whereas the King's stepmother, Queen Jehane, is accused by certain persons of an act of witchcraft that with diabolical and subtile methods wrought privily to destroy the King, the said Dame Jehane is by the King committed (all her attendants being removed), to the custody of Sir John Pelham, who will, at the King's pleasure, confine her within Pevensey Castle, there to be kept under Sir John's control: the lands and other properties of the said Dame Jehane being hereby forfeit to the King, whom God preserve!" "Harry of Monmouth!" said Jehane--"oh, Harry of Monmouth, could I but come to you, very quietly, and with a knife--!" She shrugged her shoulders, and the gold about her person glittered in the sunlight. "Witchcraft! ohime, one never disproves that. Friend, now are you avenged the more abundantly." "Young Riczi is avenged," the Vicomte said; "and I came hither desiring vengeance." She wheeled, a lithe flame (he thought) of splendid fury. "And in the gutter Jehane dares say what Queen Jehane upon the throne might never say. Had I reigned all these years as mistress not of England but of Europe--had nations wheedled me in the place of barons--young Riczi had been avenged, no less. Bah! what do these so-little persons matter? Take now your petty vengeance! drink deep of it! and know that always within my heart the Navarrese has lived to shame me! Know that to-day you despise Jehane, the purchased woman! and that Jehane loves you! and that the love of proud Jehane creeps like a beaten cur toward your feet, and in the sight of common men! and know that Riczi is avenged,--you milliner!" [Illustration: "'TAKE NOW YOUR PETTY VENGEANCE!'" _Painting by Elisabeth Shippen Green_] "Into England I came desiring vengeance--Apples of Sodom! O bitter fruit!" the Vicomte thought; "O fitting harvest of a fool's assiduous husbandry!" They took her from him: and that afternoon, after long meditation, the Vicomte de Montbrison entreated a fresh and private audience of King Henry, and readily obtained it. "Unhardy is unseely," the Vicomte said at its conclusion. Then the tale tells that the Vicomte returned to France and within this realm assembled all such lords as the abuses of the Queen-Regent Isabeau had more notoriously dissatified. The Vicomte had upon occasion an invaluable power of speech; and now, so great was the devotion of love's dupe, so heartily, so hastily, did he design to remove the discomforts of Queen Jehane, that now his eloquence was twin to Belial's. Then presently these lords had sided with King Henry, as had the Vicomte de Montbrison, in open field. Latterly Jehan Sans-Peur was slain at Montereau; and a little later the new Duke of Burgundy, who loved the Vicomte as he loved no other man, had shifted his coat. Afterward fell the poised scale of circumstance, and with an aweful clangor; and now in France clean-hearted persons spoke of the Vicomte de Montbrison as they would of Ganelon or of Iscariot, and in every market-place was King Henry proclaimed as governor of the realm. Meantime was Queen Jehane conveyed to prison and lodged therein for five years' space. She had the liberty of a tiny garden, high-walled, and of two scantily furnished chambers. The brace of hard-featured females Pelham had provided for the Queen's attendance might speak to her of nothing that occurred without the gates of Pevensey, and she saw no other persons save her confessor, a triple-chinned Dominican; and in fine, had they already lain Jehane within the massive and gilded coffin of a queen the outer world would have made as great a turbulence in her ears. But in the year of grace 1422, upon the feast of Saint Bartholomew, and about vespers--for thus it wonderfully fell out--one of those grim attendants brought to her the first man, save the fat confessor, whom the Queen had seen within five years. The proud, frail woman looked and what she saw was the common inhabitant of all her dreams. Said Jehane: "This is ill done. The years have avenged you. Be contented with that knowledge, and, for Heaven's sake, do not endeavor to moralize over the ruin Heaven has made, and justly made, of Queen Jehane, as I perceive you mean to do." She leaned backward in the chair, very coarsely clad in brown, but knowing her countenance to be that of the anemone which naughtily dances above wet earth. "Friend," the lean-faced man now said, "I do not come with such intent, as my mission will readily attest, nor to any ruin, as your mirror will attest. Nay, madame, I come as the emissary of King Henry, now dying at Vincennes, and with letters to the lords and bishops of his council. Dying, the man restores to you your liberty and your dower-lands, your bed and all your movables, and six gowns of such fashion and such color as you may elect." Then with hurried speech he told her of five years' events: how within that period King Henry had conquered entire France, and had married the French King's daughter, and had begotten a boy who would presently inherit the united realms of France and England, since in the supreme hour of triumph King Henry had been stricken with a mortal sickness, and now lay dying or perhaps already dead, at Vincennes; and how with his penultimate breath the prostrate conqueror had restored to Queen Jehane all properties and all honors which she formerly enjoyed. "I shall once more be Regent," the woman said when he had made an end; "Antoine, I shall presently be Regent both of France and of England, since Dame Katharine is but a child." Jehane stood motionless save for the fine hands that plucked the air. "Mistress of Europe! absolute mistress, and with an infant ward! now, may God have mercy on my unfriends, for they will soon perceive great need of it!" "Yet was mercy ever the prerogative of royal persons," the Vicomte suavely said, "and the Navarrese we know of was both royal and very merciful, O Constant Lover." The speech was as a whip-lash. Abruptly suspicion kindled in her eyes, as a flame leaps from stick to stick. "Harry of Monmouth feared neither man nor God. It needed more than any death-bed repentance to frighten him into restoral of my liberty." There was a silence. "You, a Frenchman, come as the emissary of King Henry who has devastated France! are there no English lords, then, left alive of all his army?" The Vicomte de Montbrison said: "There is perhaps no person better fitted to patch up this dishonorable business of your captivity, wherein a clean man might scarcely dare to meddle." She appraised this, and more lately said with entire irrelevance: "The world has smirched you, somehow. At last you have done something save consider your ill-treatment. I praise God, Antoine, for it brings you nearer." He told her all. King Henry, it appeared, had dealt with him at Havering in perfect frankness. The King needed money for his wars in France, and failing the seizure of Jehane's enormous wealth, had exhausted every resource. "And France I mean to have," the King said. "Yet the world knows you enjoy the favor of the Comte de Charolais; so get me an alliance with Burgundy against my imbecile brother of France, and Dame Jehane shall repossess her liberty. There you have my price." "And this price I paid," the Vicomte sternly said, "for 'Unhardy is unseely,' Satan whispered, and I knew that Duke Philippe trusted me. Yea, all Burgundy I marshalled under your stepson's banner, and for three years I fought beneath his loathed banner, until in Troyes we had trapped and slain the last loyal Frenchman. And to-day in France my lands are confiscate, and there is not an honest Frenchman but spits upon my name. All infamy I come to you for this last time, Jehane! as a man already dead I come to you, Jehane, for in France they thirst to murder me, and England has no further need of Montbrison, her blunted and her filthy instrument!" The woman shuddered. "You have set my thankless service above your life, above your honor even. I find the rhymester glorious and very vile." "All vile," he answered; "and outworn! King's daughter, I swore to you, long since, eternal service. Of love I freely gave you yonder in Navarre, as yonder at Eltham I crucified my innermost heart for your delectation. Yet I, at least, keep faith, and in your face I fling faith like a glove--outworn, it may be, and, God knows, unclean! Yet I, at least, keep faith! Lands and wealth have I given up for you, O king's daughter, and life itself have I given you, and lifelong service have I given you, and all that I had save honor; and at the last I give you honor, too. Now let the naked fool depart, Jehane, for he has nothing more to give." She had leaned, while thus he spoke, upon the sill of an open casement. "Indeed, it had been far better," she said, and with averted face, "had we never met. For this love of ours has proven a tyrannous and evil lord. I have had everything, and upon each feast of will and sense the world afforded me this love has swept down, like a harpy--was it not a harpy you called the bird in that old poem of yours?--to rob me of delight. And you have had nothing, for of life he has pilfered you, and he has given you in exchange but dreams, my poor Antoine, and he has led you at the last to infamy. We are as God made us, and--I may not understand why He permits this despotism." Thereafter, somewhere below, a peasant sang as he passed supperward through the green twilight, lit as yet by one low-hanging star alone. Sang the peasant: "_King Jesus hung upon the Cross, 'And have ye sinned?' quo' He,-- 'Nay, Dysmas, 'tis no honest loss When Satan cogs the dice ye toss, And thou shall sup with Me,-- Sedebis apud angelos, Quia amavisti!'_ "_At Heaven's Gate was Heaven's Queen, 'And have ye sinned?' quo' She,-- 'And would I hold him worth a bean That durst not seek, because unclean, My cleansing charity?-- Speak thou that wast the Magdalene, Quia amavisti!'_" "It may be that in some sort the jingle answers me!" then said Jehane; and she began with an odd breathlessness: "Friend, when King Henry dies--and even now he dies--shall I not as Regent possess such power as no woman has ever wielded in Europe? can aught prevent this?" "Naught," he answered. "Unless, friend, I were wedded to a Frenchman. Then would the stern English lords never permit that I have any finger in the government." She came to him with conspicuous deliberation and laid one delicate hand upon either shoulder. "Friend, I am aweary of these tinsel splendors. I crave the real kingdom." Her mouth was tremulous and lax, and her gray eyes were more brilliant than the star yonder. The man's arms were about her, and an ecstasy too noble for any common mirth had mastered them, and a vast desire whose aim they could not word, or even apprehend save cloudily. And of the man's face I cannot tell you. "King's daughter! mistress of half Europe! I am a beggar, an outcast, as a leper among honorable persons." But it was as though he had not spoken. "Friend, it was for this I have outlived these garish, fevered years, it was this which made me glad when I was a child and laughed without knowing why. That I might to-day give up this so-great power for love of you, my all-incapable and soiled Antoine, was, as I now know, the end to which the Eternal Father created me. For, look you," she pleaded, "to surrender absolute dominion over half Europe is a sacrifice. Assure me that it is a sacrifice, Antoine! O glorious fool, delude me into the belief that I deny myself in choosing you! Nay, I know it is as nothing beside what you have given up for me, but it is all I have--it is all I have, Antoine!" she wailed in pitiful distress. He drew a deep and big-lunged breath that seemed to inform his being with an indomitable vigor, and doubt and sorrow went quite away from him. "Love leads us," he said, "and through the sunlight of the world he leads us, and through the filth of it Love leads us, but always in the end, if we but follow without swerving, he leads upward. Yet, O God upon the Cross! Thou that in the article of death didst pardon Dysmas! as what maimed warriors of life, as what bemired travellers in muddied byways, must we presently come to Thee!" "But hand in hand," she answered; "and He will comprehend." THE END OF THE NINTH NOVEL X The Story of the Fox-Brush "_Dame serez de mon cueur, sans debat, Entierement, jusques mort me consume. Laurier souef qui pour mon droit combat, Olivier franc, m'ostant toute amertume._" THE TENTH NOVEL.--KATHARINE OF VALOIS IS WON BY A HUNTSMAN, AND LOVES HIM GREATLY; THEN FINDS HIM, TO HER HORROR, AN IMPOSTOR; AND FOR A SUFFICIENT REASON CONSENTS TO MARRY QUITE ANOTHER PERSON, AND NOT ALL UNWILLINGLY. The Story of the Fox-Brush In the year of grace 1417, about Martinmas (thus Nicolas begins), Queen Isabeau fled with her daughter the Lady Katharine to Chartres. There the Queen was met by the Duke of Burgundy, and these two laid their heads together to such good effect that presently they got back into Paris, and in its public places massacred some three thousand Armagnacs. This, however, is a matter which touches history; the root of our concernment is that when the Queen and the Duke rode off to attend to this butcher's business, the Lady Katharine was left behind in the Convent of Saint Scholastica, which then stood upon the outskirts of Chartres, in the bend of the Eure just south of that city. She dwelt a year in this well-ordered place. There one finds her upon the day of the decollation of Saint John the Baptist, the fine August morning that starts the tale. Katharine the Fair, men called her, with some show of reason. She was very tall, and slim as a rush. Her eyes were large and black, having an extreme lustre, like the gleam of undried ink--a lustre at odd times uncanny. Her abundant hair, too, was black, and to-day doubly sombre by contrast with the gold netting which confined it. Her mouth was scarlet, all curves, and her complexion famous for its brilliancy; only a precisian would have objected that she possessed the Valois nose, long and thin and somewhat unduly overhanging the mouth. To-day as she came through the orchard, crimson-garbed, she paused with lifted eyebrows. Beyond the orchard wall there was a hodgepodge of noises, among which a nice ear might distinguish the clatter of hoofs, a yelping and scurrying, and a contention of soft bodies, and above all a man's voice commanding the turmoil. She was seventeen, so she climbed into the crotch of an apple-tree and peered over the wall. He was in rusty brown and not unshabby; but her regard swept over this to his face, and there noted how his eyes were blue winter stars under the tumbled yellow hair, and the flash of his big teeth as he swore between them. He held a dead fox by the brush, which he was cutting off; two hounds, lank and wolfish, were scaling his huge body in frantic attempts to get at the carrion. A horse grazed close at hand. So for a heart-beat she saw him. Then he flung the tailless body to the hounds, and in the act spied two black eyes peeping through the apple-leaves. He laughed, all mirth to the heels of him. "Mademoiselle, I fear we have disturbed your devotions. But I had not heard that it was a Benedictine custom to rehearse aves in tree-tops." Then, as she leaned forward, both elbows resting more comfortably upon the wall, and thereby disclosing her slim body among the foliage like a crimson flower green-calyxed: "You are not a nun--Blood of God! you are the Princess Katharine!" [Illustration: "SO FOR A HEARTBEAT SHE SAW HIM" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] The nuns, her present guardians, would have declared the ensuing action horrific, for Katharine smiled frankly at him and demanded how he could be certain of this. He answered slowly: "I have seen your portrait. Hah, your portrait!" he jeered, head flung back and big teeth glinting in the sunlight. "There is a painter who merits crucifixion." She considered this indicative of a cruel disposition, but also of a fine taste in the liberal arts. Aloud she stated: "You are not a Frenchman, messire. I do not understand how you can have seen my portrait." The man stood for a moment twiddling the fox-brush. "I am a harper, my Princess. I have visited the courts of many kings, though never that of France. I perceive I have been woefully unwise." This trenched upon insolence--the look of his eyes, indeed, carried it well past the frontier--but she found the statement interesting. Straightway she touched the kernel of those fear-blurred legends whispered about her cradle and now clamant. "You have, then, seen the King of England?" "Yes, Highness." "Is it true that he is an ogre--like Agrapard and Angoulaffre of the Broken Teeth?" His gaze widened. "I have heard a deal of scandal concerning the man. But never that." Katharine settled back, luxuriously, in the crotch of the apple-tree. "Tell me about him." Composedly he sat down upon the grass and began to acquaint her with his knowledge and opinions concerning Henry, the fifth of that name to reign in England. Katharine punctuated his discourse with eager questionings, which are not absolutely to our purpose. In the main this harper thought the man now buffeting France a just king, and, the crown laid aside, he had heard Sire Henry to be sufficiently jovial and even prankish. The harper educed anecdotes. He considered that the King would manifestly take Rouen, which the insatiable man was now besieging. Was the King in treaty for the hand of the Infanta of Aragon? Yes, he undoubtedly was. Katharine sighed her pity for this ill-starred woman. "And now tell me about yourself." He was, it appeared, Alain Maquedonnieux, a harper by vocation, and by birth a native of Ireland. Beyond the fact that it was a savage kingdom adjoining Cataia, Katharine knew nothing of Ireland. The harper assured her of anterior misinformation, since the kings of England claimed Ireland as an appanage, though the Irish themselves were of two minds as to the justice of these pretensions; all in all, he considered that Ireland belonged to Saint Patrick, and that the holy man had never accredited a vicar. "Doubtless, by the advice of God," Alain said: "for I have read in Master Roger de Wendover's Chronicles of how at the dread day of judgment all the Irish are to muster before the high and pious Patrick, as their liege lord and father in the spirit, and by him be conducted into the presence of God; and of how, by virtue of Saint Patrick's request, all the Irish will die seven years to an hour before the second coming of Christ, in order to give the blessed saint sufficient time to marshal his company, which is considerable." Katharine admitted the convenience of this arrangement, as well as the neglect of her education. Alain gazed up at her for a long while, as in reflection, and presently said: "Doubtless the Lady Heleine of Argos also was thus starry-eyed and found in books less diverting reading than in the faces of men." It flooded Katharine's cheeks with a livelier hue, but did not vex her irretrievably; yet, had she chosen to read this man's face, the meaning was plain enough. I give you the gist of their talk, and that in all conscience is trivial. But it was a day when one entered love's wardship with a splurge, not in more modern fashion venturing forward bit by bit, as though love were so much cold water. So they talked for a long while, with laughter mutually provoked and shared, with divers eloquent and dangerous pauses. The harper squatted upon the ground, the Princess leaned over the wall; but to all intent they sat together upon the loftiest turret of Paradise, and it was a full two hours before Katharine hinted at departure. Alain rose, approaching the wall. "To-morrow I ride for Milan to take service with Duke Filippo. I had broken my journey these three days past at Chateauneuf yonder, where this fox has been harrying my host's chickens. To-day I went out to slay him, and he led me, his murderer, to the fairest lady earth may boast. Do you not think this fox was a true Christian, my Princess?" Katharine said: "I lament his destruction. Farewell, Messire Alain! And since chance brought you hither--" "Destiny brought me hither," Alain affirmed, a mastering hunger in his eyes. "Destiny has been kind; I shall make a prayer to her that she continue so." But when Katharine demanded what this prayer would be, Alain shook his tawny head. "Presently you shall know, Highness, but not now. I return to Chateauneuf on certain necessary businesses; to-morrow I set out at cockcrow for Milan and the Visconti's livery. Farewell!" He mounted and rode away in the golden August sunlight, the hounds frisking about him. The fox-brush was fastened in his hat. Thus Tristran de Leonois may have ridden a-hawking in drowned Cornwall, thus statelily and composedly, Katharine thought, gazing after him. She went to her apartments, singing, "_El tems amoreus plein de joie, El tems ou tote riens s'esgaie,--_" and burst into a sudden passion of tears. There were hosts of women-children born every day, she reflected, who were not princesses and therefore compelled to marry ogres; and some of them were beautiful. And minstrels made such an ado over beauty. Dawn found her in the orchard. She was to remember that it was a cloudy morning, and that mist-tatters trailed from the more distant trees. In the slaty twilight the garden's verdure was lustreless, grass and foliage uniformly sombre save where dewdrops showed like beryls. Nowhere in the orchard was there absolute shadow, nowhere a vista unblurred; but in the east, half-way between horizon and zenith, two belts of coppery light flared against the gray sky like embers swaddled by their ashes. The birds were waking; there were occasional scurryings in tree-tops and outbursts of peevish twittering to attest as much; and presently came a singing, less meritorious than that of many a bird perhaps, but far more grateful to the girl who heard it, heart in mouth. A lute accompanied the song demurely. Sang Alain: "_O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, Be not too obdurate the while we pray That this the fleet, sweet time of youth be spent In laughter as befits a holiday, From which the evening summons us away, From which to-morrow wakens us to strife And toil and grief and wisdom--and to-day Grudge us not life!_ "_O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, Why need our elders trouble us at play? We know that very soon we shall repent The idle follies of our holiday, And being old, shall be as wise as they, But now we are not wise, and lute and fife Seem sweeter far than wisdom--so to-day Grudge us not life!_ "_O Madam Destiny, omnipotent, You have given us youth--and must we cast away The cup undrained and our one coin unspent Because our elders' beards and hearts are gray? They have forgotten that if we delay Death claps us on the shoulder, and with knife Or cord or fever mocks the prayer we pray-- 'Grudge us not life!'_ "_Madam, recall that in the sun we play But for an hour, then have the worm for wife, The tomb for habitation--and to-day Grudge us not life!_" Candor in these matters is best. Katharine scrambled into the crotch of the apple-tree. The dew pattered sharply about her, but the Princess was not in a mood to appraise discomfort. "You came!" this harper said, transfigured; and then again, "You came!" She breathed, "Yes." So for a long time they stood looking at each other. She found adoration in his eyes and quailed before it; and in the man's mind not a grimy and mean incident of the past but marshalled to leer at his unworthiness: yet in that primitive garden the first man and woman, meeting, knew no sweeter terror. It was by the minstrel a familiar earth and the grating speech of earth were earlier regained. "The affair is of the suddenest," Alain observed, and he now swung the lute behind him. He indicated no intention of touching her, though he might easily have done so as he sat there exalted by the height of his horse. "A meteor arrives with more prelude. But Love is an arbitrary lord; desiring my heart, he has seized it, and accordingly I would now brave hell to come to you, and finding you there, esteem hell a pleasure-garden. I have already made my prayer to Destiny that she concede me love, and now of God, our Father and Master, I entreat quick death if I am not to win you. For, God willing, I shall come to you again, though in doing so it were necessary that I split the world like a rotten orange." "Madness! Oh, brave, sweet madness!" Katharine said. "I am a king's daughter, and you a minstrel." "Is it madness? Why, then, I think all sensible men are to be commiserated. And indeed I spy in all this some design. Across half the earth I came to you, led by a fox. Heh, God's face!" Alain swore; "the foxes Samson, that old sinewy captain, loosed among the corn of heathenry kindled no disputation such as this fox has set afoot. That was an affair of standing corn and olives spoilt, a bushel or so of disaster; now poised kingdoms topple on the brink of ruin. There will be martial argument shortly if you bid me come again." "I bid you come," said Katharine; and after they had stared at each other for a long while, he rode away in silence. It was through a dank, tear-flawed world that she stumbled conventward, while out of the east the sun came bathed in mists, a watery sun no brighter than a silver coin. And for a month the world seemed no less dreary, but about Michaelmas the Queen-Regent sent for her. At the Hotel de Saint-Pol matters were much the same. Her mother Katharine found in foul-mouthed rage over the failure of a third attempt to poison the Dauphin of Vienne, as Isabeau had previously poisoned her two elder sons; I might here trace out a curious similitude between the Valois and that dragon-spawned race which Jason very anciently slew at Colchis, since the world was never at peace so long as any two of them existed: but King Charles greeted his daughter with ampler deference, esteeming her Presbyter John's wife, the tyrant of Ethiopia. However, ingenuity had just suggested card-playing for his amusement, and he paid little attention nowadays to any one save his opponent. So the French King chirped his senile jests over the card-table, while the King of England was besieging the French city of Rouen sedulously and without mercy. In late autumn an armament from Ireland joined Henry's forces. The Irish fought naked, it was said, with long knives. Katharine heard discreditable tales of these Irish, and reflected how gross are the exaggerations of rumor. In the year of grace 1419, in January, the burgesses of Rouen, having consumed their horses, and finding frogs and rats unpalatable, yielded the town. It was the Queen-Regent who brought the news to Katharine. "God is asleep," the Queen said; "and while He nods, the Butcher of Agincourt has stolen our good city of Rouen." She sat down and breathed heavily. "Never was poor woman so pestered as I! The puddings to-day were quite uneatable, and on Sunday the Englishman entered Rouen in great splendor, attended by his chief nobles; but the Butcher rode alone, and before him went a page carrying a fox-brush on the point of his lance. I put it to you, is that the contrivance of a sane man? Euh! euh!" Dame Isabeau squealed on a sudden; "you are bruising me." Katharine had gripped her by the shoulder. "The King of England--a tall, fair man? with big teeth? a tiny wen upon his neck--here--and with his left cheek scarred? with blue eyes, very bright, bright as tapers?" She poured out her questions in a torrent, and awaited the answer, seeming not to breathe at all. "I believe so," the Queen said. "O God!" said Katharine. "Ay, our only hope now. And may God show him no more mercy than he has shown us!" the good lady desired, with fervor. "The hog, having won our Normandy, is now advancing on Paris itself. He repudiated the Aragonish alliance last August; and until last August he was content with Normandy, they tell us, but now he swears to win all France. The man is a madman, and Scythian Tamburlaine was more lenient. And I do not believe that in all France there is a cook who understands his business." She went away whimpering and proceeded to get tipsy. The Princess remained quite still, as Dame Isabeau had left her; you may see a hare crouch so at sight of the hounds. Finally the girl spoke aloud. "Until last August!" Katharine said. "Until last August! _Poised kingdoms topple on the brink of ruin, now that you bid me come to you again_. And I bade him come!" Presently she went into her oratory and began to pray. In the midst of her invocation she wailed: "Fool, fool! How could I have thought him less than a king!" You are to imagine her breast thus adrum with remorse and hatred of herself, what time town by town fell before the invader like card-houses. Every rumor of defeat--and they were many--was her arraignment; impotently she cowered at God's knees, knowing herself a murderess, whose infamy was still afoot, outpacing her prayers, whose victims were battalions. Tarpeia and Pisidice and Rahab were her sisters; she hungered in her abasement for Judith's nobler guilt. In May he came to her. A truce was patched up and French and English met amicably in a great plain near Meulan. A square space was staked out and on three sides boarded in, the fourth side being the river Seine. This enclosure the Queen-Regent, Jehan of Burgundy, and Katharine entered from the French side. Simultaneously the English King appeared, accompanied by his brothers the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, and followed by the Earl of Warwick. Katharine raised her eyes with I know not what lingering hope; it was he, a young Zeus now, triumphant and uneager. In his helmet in place of a plume he wore a fox-brush spangled with jewels. These six entered the tent pitched for the conference--the hanging of blue velvet embroidered with fleurs-de-lys of gold blurred before the girl's eyes, and till death the device sickened her--and there the Earl of Warwick embarked upon a sea of rhetoric. His French was indifferent, his periods interminable, and his demands exorbitant; in brief, the King of England wanted Katharine and most of France, with a reversion at the French King's death of the entire kingdom. Meanwhile Sire Henry sat in silence, his eyes glowing. "I have come," he said, under cover of Warwick's oratory--"I have come again, my lady." Katharine's gaze flickered over him. "Liar!" she said, very softly. "Has God no thunder in His armory that this vile thief should go unblasted? Would you filch love as well as kingdoms?" His ruddy face went white. "I love you, Katharine." "Yes," she answered, "for I am your pretext. I can well believe, messire, that you love your pretext for theft and murder." Neither spoke after this, and presently the Earl of Warwick having come to his peroration, the matter was adjourned till the next day. The party separated. It was not long before Katharine had informed her mother that, God willing, she would never again look upon the King of England's face uncoffined. Isabeau found her a madwoman. The girl swept opposition before her with gusts of demoniacal fury, wept, shrieked, tore at her hair, and eventually fell into a sort of epileptic seizure; between rage and terror she became a horrid, frenzied beast. I do not dwell upon this, for it is not a condition in which the comeliest maid shows to advantage. But, for the Valois, insanity always lurked at the next corner, expectant, and they knew it; to save the girl's reason the Queen was forced to break off all discussion of the match. Accordingly, the Duke of Burgundy went next day to the conference alone. Jehan began with "ifs," and over these flimsy barriers Henry, already maddened by Katharine's scorn, presently vaulted to a towering fury. "Fair cousin," the King said, after a deal of vehement bickering, "we wish you to know that we will have the daughter of your King, and that we will drive both him and you out of this kingdom." The Duke answered, not without spirit: "Sire, you are pleased to say so; but before you have succeeded in ousting my lord and me from this realm, I am of the opinion that you will be very heartily tired." At this the King turned on his heel; over his shoulder he flung: "I am tireless; also, I am agile as a fox in the pursuit of my desires. Say that to your Princess." Then he went away in a rage. It had seemed an approvable business to win love incognito, according to the example of many ancient emperors, but in practice he had tripped over an ugly outgrowth from the legendary custom. The girl hated him, there was no doubt about it; and it was equally certain he loved her. Particularly caustic was the reflection that a twitch of his finger would get him Katharine as his wife, for in secret negotiation the Queen-Regent was soon trying to bring this about; yes, he could get the girl's body by a couple of pen-strokes; but, God's face! what he wanted was to rouse the look her eyes had borne in Chartres orchard that tranquil morning, and this one could not readily secure by fiddling with seals and parchments. You see his position: he loved the Princess too utterly to take her on lip-consent, and this marriage was now his one possible excuse for ceasing from victorious warfare. So he blustered, and the fighting recommenced; and he slew in a despairing rage, knowing that by every movement of his arm he became to her so much the more detestable. He stripped the realm of provinces as you peel the layers from an onion. By the May of the year of grace 1420 France was, and knew herself to be, not beaten but demolished. Only a fag-end of the French army lay entrenched at Troyes, where the court awaited Henry's decision as to the morrow's action. If he chose to destroy them root and branch, he could; and they knew such mercy as was in the man to be quite untarnished by previous usage. He drew up a small force before the city and made no overtures toward either peace or throat-cutting. This was the posture of affairs on the evening of the Sunday after Ascension day, when Katharine sat at cards with her father in his apartments at the Hotel de Ville. The King was pursing his lips over an alternative play, when there came the voice of one singing below in the courtyard. Sang the voice: "_I get no joy of my life That have weighed the world--and it was Abundant with folly, and rife With sorrows brittle as glass, And with joys that flicker and pass As dreams through a fevered head, And like the dripping of rain In gardens naked and dead Is the obdurate thin refrain Of our youth which is presently dead._ "_And she whom alone I have loved Looks ever with loathing on me, As one she hath seen disproved And stained with such smirches as be Not ever cleansed utterly, And is loth to remember the days When Destiny fixed her name As the theme and the goal of my praise, And my love engenders shame, And I stain what I strive for and praise._ "_O love, most perfect of all, Just to have known you is well! And it heartens me now to recall That just to have known you is well, And naught else is desirable Save only to do as you willed And to love you my whole life long-- But this heart in me is filled With hunger cruel and strong, And with hunger unfulfilled._ "_O Love, that art stronger than we, Albeit not lightly stilled, Thou art less cruel than she._" Malise came hastily into the room, and, without speaking, laid a fox-brush before the Princess. Katharine twirled it in her hand, staring at the card-littered table. "So you are in his pay, Malise? I am sorry. But you know that your employer is master here. Who am I to forbid him entrance?" The girl went away silently, abashed, and the Princess sat quite still, tapping the brush against the table. "They do not want me to sign another treaty, do they?" her father asked timidly. "It appears to me they are always signing treaties, and I cannot see that any good comes of it. And I would have won the last game, Katharine, if Malise had not interrupted us. You know I would have won." "Yes, father, you would have won. Oh, he must not see you!" Katharine cried, a great tide of love mounting in her breast, the love that draws a mother fiercely to shield her backward boy. "Father, will you not go into your chamber? I have a new book for you, father--all pictures, dear. Come--" She was coaxing him when Henry appeared in the doorway. "But I do not wish to look at pictures," Charles said, peevishly; "I wish to play cards. You are an ungrateful daughter, Katharine. You are never willing to amuse me." He sat down with a whimper and began to pinch at his dribbling lips. Katharine had moved a little toward the door. Her face was white. "Now welcome, sire!" she said. "Welcome, O great conqueror, who in your hour of triumph can find no nobler recreation than to shame a maid with her past folly! It was valorously done, sire. See, father; here is the King of England come to observe how low we sit that yesterday were lords of France." "The King of England!" echoed Charles, and rose now to his feet. "I thought we were at war with him. But my memory is treacherous. You perceive, brother of England, I am planning a new mouse-trap, and my mind is somewhat preempted. I recall now you are in treaty for my daughter's hand. Katharine is a good girl, messire, but I suppose--" He paused, as if to regard and hear some insensible counsellor, and then briskly resumed: "Yes, I suppose policy demands that she should marry you. We trammelled kings can never go free of policy--ey, my compere of England? No; it was through policy I wedded her mother; and we have been very unhappy, Isabeau and I. A word in your ear, son-in-law: Madame Isabeau's soul formerly inhabited a sow, as Pythagoras teaches, and when our Saviour cast it out at Gadara, the influence of the moon drew it hither." Henry did not say anything. Always his calm blue eyes appraised Dame Katharine. "Oho, these Latinists cannot hoodwink me, you observe, though by ordinary it chimes with my humor to appear content. Policy again, messire: for once roused, I am terrible. To-day in the great hall-window, under the bleeding feet of Lazarus, I slew ten flies--very black they were, the black shrivelled souls of parricides--and afterward I wept for it. I often weep; the Mediterranean hath its sources in my eyes, for my daughter cheats at cards. Cheats, sir!--and I her father!" The incessant peering, the stealthy cunning with which Charles whispered this, the confidence with which he clung to his destroyer's hand, was that of a conspiring child. "Come, father," Katharine said. "Come away to bed, dear." "Hideous basilisk!" he spat at her; "dare you rebel against me? Am I not King of France, and is it not blasphemy a King of France should be thus mocked? Frail moths that flutter about my splendor." He shrieked, in an unheralded frenzy, "beware of me, beware! for I am omnipotent! I am King of France, God's regent. At my command the winds go about the earth, and nightly the stars are kindled for my recreation. Perhaps I am mightier than God, but I do not remember now. The reason is written down and lies somewhere under a bench. Now I sail for England. Eia! eia! I go to ravage England, terrible and merciless. But I must have my mouse-traps, Goodman Devil, for in England the cats o' the middle-sea wait unfed." He went out of the room, giggling, and in the corridor began to sing: "_Adieu de fois plus de cent mile! Aillors vois oir l'Evangile, Car chi fors mentir on ne sait...._" All this while Henry remained immovable, his eyes fixed upon Katharine. Thus (she meditated) he stood among Frenchmen; he was the boulder, and they the waters that babbled and fretted about him. But she turned and met his gaze squarely. "And that," she said, "is the king whom you have conquered! Is it not a notable conquest to overcome so sapient a king? to pilfer renown from an idiot? There are pickpockets in Troyes, rogues doubly damned, who would scorn the action. Now shall I fetch my mother, sire? the commander of that great army which you overcame? As the hour is late she is by this tipsy, but she will come. Or perhaps she is with some paid lover, but if this conqueror, this second Alexander, wills it she will come. O God!" the girl wailed, on a sudden; "O just and all-seeing God! are not we of Valois so contemptible that in conquering us it is the victor who is shamed?" "Flower o' the marsh!" he said, and his big voice pulsed with many tender cadences--"flower o' the marsh! it is not the King of England who now comes to you, but Alain the harper. Henry Plantagenet God has led hither by the hand to punish the sins of this realm and to reign in it like a true king. Henry Plantagenet will cast out the Valois from the throne they have defiled, as Darius Belshazzar, for such is the desire and the intent of God. But to you comes Alain the harper, not as a conqueror but as a suppliant--Alain who has loved you whole-heartedly these two years past and who now kneels before you entreating grace." Katharine looked down into his countenance, for to his speech he had fitted action. Suddenly and for the first time she understood that he believed France his by a divine favor and Heaven's peculiar intervention. He thought himself God's factor, not His rebel. He was rather stupid, this huge handsome boy; and realizing it, her hand went to his shoulder, half maternally. "It is nobly done, sire. I know that you must wed me to uphold your claim to France, for otherwise in the world's eyes you are shamed. You sell, and I with my body purchase, peace for France. There is no need of a lover's posture when hucksters meet." "So changed!" he said, and he was silent for an interval, still kneeling. Then he began: "You force me to point out that I no longer need a pretext to hold France. France lies before me prostrate. By God's singular grace I reign in this fair kingdom, mine by right of conquest, and an alliance with the house of Valois will neither make nor mar me." She was unable to deny this, unpalatable as was the fact. "But I love you, and therefore as man wooes woman I sue to you. Do you not understand that there can be between us no question of expediency? Katharine, in Chartres orchard there met a man and a maid we know of; now in Troyes they meet again--not as princess and king, but as man and maid, the wooer and the wooed. Once I touched your heart, I think. And now in all the world there is one thing I covet--to gain for the poor king some portion of that love you would have squandered on the harper." His hand closed upon hers. At his touch the girl's composure vanished. "My lord, you woo too timidly for one who comes with many loud-voiced advocates. I am daughter to the King of France, and next to my soul's salvation I esteem France's welfare. Can I, then, fail to love the King of England, who chooses the blood of my countrymen as a judicious garb to come a-wooing in? How else, since you have ravaged my native land, since you have besmirched the name I bear, since yonder afield every wound in my dead and yet unburied Frenchmen is to me a mouth which shrieks your infamy?" He rose. "And yet, for all that, you love me." She could not find words with which to answer him at the first effort, but presently she said, quite simply, "To see you lying in your coffin I would willingly give up my hope of heaven, for heaven can afford no sight more desirable." "You loved Alain." "I loved the husk of a man. You can never comprehend how utterly I loved him." Now I have to record of this great king a piece of magnanimity which bears the impress of more ancient times. "That you love me is indisputable," he said, "and this I propose to demonstrate. You will observe that I am quite unarmed save for this dagger, which I now throw out of the window--" with the word it jangled in the courtyard below. "I am in Troyes alone among some thousand Frenchmen, any one of whom would willingly give his life for the privilege of taking mine. You have but to sound the gong beside you, and in a few moments I shall be a dead man. Strike, then! for with me dies the English power in France. Strike, Katharine! if you see in me but the King of England." She was rigid; and his heart leapt when he saw it was because of terror. "You came alone! You dared!" He answered, with a wonderful smile, "Proud spirit! how else might I conquer you?" "You have not conquered!" Katharine lifted the baton beside the gong, poising it. God had granted her prayer--to save France. Now might the past and the ignominy of the past be merged in Judith's nobler guilt. But I must tell you that in the supreme hour, Destiny at her beck, her main desire was to slap the man for his childishness. Oh, he had no right thus to besot himself with adoration! This dejection at her feet of his high destiny awed her, and pricked her, too, with her inability to understand him. Angrily she flung away the baton. "Go! ah, go!" she cried, as one strangling. "There has been enough of bloodshed, and I must spare you, loathing you as I do, for I cannot with my own hand murder you." But the King was a kindly tyrant, crushing independence from his associates as lesser folk squeeze water from a sponge. "I cannot go thus. Acknowledge me to be Alain, the man you love, or else strike upon the gong." "You are cruel!" she wailed, in her torture. "Yes, I am cruel." Katharine raised straining arms above her head in a hard gesture of despair. "You have conquered. You know that I love you. Oh, if I could find words to voice my shame, to shriek it in your face, I could better endure it! For I love you. Body and heart and soul I am your slave. Mine is the agony, for I love you! and presently I shall stand quite still and see little Frenchmen scramble about you as hounds leap about a stag, and afterward kill you. And after that I shall live! I preserve France, but after I have slain you, Henry, I must live. Mine is the agony, the enduring agony." She stayed motionless for an interval. "God, God! let me not fail!" Katharine breathed; and then: "O fair sweet friend, I am about to commit a vile action, but it is for the sake of France that I love next to God. As Judith gave her body to Holofernes, I crucify my heart for France's welfare." Very calmly she struck upon the gong. If she could have found any reproach in his eyes during the ensuing silence, she could have borne it; but there was only love. And with all that, he smiled as one knowing the upshot of the matter. A man-at-arms came into the room. "Germain--" Katharine said, and then again, "Germain--" She gave a swallowing motion and was silent. When she spoke it was with crisp distinctness. "Germain, fetch a harp. Messire Alain here is about to play for me." At the man's departure she said: "I am very pitiably weak. Need you have dragged my soul, too, in the dust? God heard my prayer, and you have forced me to deny His favor, as Peter denied Christ. My dear, be very kind to me, for I come to you naked of honor." She fell at the King's feet, embracing his knees. "My master, be very kind to me, for there remains only your love." He raised her to his breast. "Love is enough," he said. Next day the English entered Troyes and in the cathedral church these two were betrothed. Henry was there magnificent in a curious suit of burnished armor; in place of his helmet-plume he wore a fox-brush ornamented with jewels, which unusual ornament afforded great matter of remark among the busy bodies of both armies. THE END OF THE TENTH NOVEL The Epilogue "_Et je fais scavoir a tous lecteurs de ce Livret que les chases que je dis avoir vues et sues sont enregistres icy, afin que vous pouviez les regarder selon vostre ban sens, s'il vous plaist._" HERE IS APPENDED THE EPILOGUE THAT MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN MADE FOR THE BOOK WHICH CONTAINED THE SOUL OF HIM; AND WHICH (IN CONSEQUENCE) HE MIGHT NOT VIEW AS HE DID ANYTHING THAT CONVEYED ABOUT THIS WORLD MERE FLESH AND BLOOD AND THE SOUL OF ANOTHER PERSON. The Epilogue _A son Livret_ Intrepidly depart, my little book, into the presence of that most illustrious lady who bade me compile you. Bow down before her judgment patiently. And if her sentence be that of death I counsel you to grieve not at what cannot be avoided. But, if by any miracle that glorious, strong fortress of the weak consider it advisable, pass thence to every man who may desire to purchase you, and live out your little hour among these very credulous persons; and at your appointed season die and be forgotten. For thus only may you share your betters' fate, and be at one with those famed comedies of Greek Menander and all the poignant songs of Sappho. _Et quid Pandoniae_--thus, little book, I charge you poultice your more-merited oblivion--_quid Pandoniae restat nisi nomen Athenae_? Yet even in your brief existence you may chance to meet with those who will affirm that the stories you narrate are not verily true and erroneously protest too many assertions which are only fables. To these you will reply that I, your maker, was in my youth the quite unworthy servant of the most high and noble lady, Dame Jehane, and in this period, at and about her house of Havering-Bower, conversed in my own person with Dame Katharine, then happily remarried to a private gentleman of Wales; and so obtained the matter of the ninth story and of the tenth authentically. You will say also that Messire de Montbrison afforded me the main matter of the sixth and seventh stories; and that, moreover, I once journeyed to Caer Idion and talked for some two hours with Richard Holland (whom I found a very old and garrulous and cheery person), and got of him the matter of the eighth tale in this dizain, together with much information as concerns the sixth and the seventh. And you will add that the matter of the fourth and fifth tales was in every detail related to me by my most illustrious mistress, Madame Isabella of Portugal, who had it from her mother, an equally veracious and immaculate lady, and one that was in youth Dame Philippa's most dear associate. For the rest you must admit, unwillingly, the first three stories in this book to be a thought less solidly confirmed; although (as you will say) even in these I have not ever deviated from what was at odd times narrated to me by the aforementioned persons, and have always endeavored honestly to piece together that which they told me. [Illustration: "NICOLAS: A SON LIVRET" _Painting by Howard Pyle_] Also, my little book, you will encounter more malignant people who will jeer at you, and say that you and I have cheated them of your purchase-money. To these you will reply, with Plutarch, _Non mi aurum posco, nec mi pretium_. Secondly you will say that, of necessity, the tailor cuts the coat according to his cloth; and that he cannot undertake to robe an Ephialtes or a towering Orion suitably when the resources of his shop amount at most to three scant yards of cambric. Indeed had I the power to make you better, my little book, I would have done it. A good conscience is a continual feast, and I summon all heaven to be my witness that had I been Homer you had awed the world, another Iliad. I lament the improbability of your doing this as heartily as any person living; yet Heaven willed it; and it is in consequence to Heaven these same cavillers should now complain if they insist upon considering themselves to be aggrieved. So to such impious people do you make no answer at all, unless indeed you should elect to answer them by repetition of this trivial song which I now make for you, my little book, at your departure from me. And the song runs in this fashion: _Depart, depart, my book! and live and die Dependent on the idle fantasy Of men who cannot view you, quite, as I._ _For I am fond, and willingly mistake My book to be the book I meant to make, And cannot judge you, for that phantom's sake._ _Yet pardon me if I have wrought too ill In making you, that never spared the will To shape you perfectly, and lacked the skill._ _Ah, had I but the power, my book, then I Had wrought in you some wizardry so high That no man but had listened...!_ _They pass by, And shrug--as we, who know that unto us It has been granted never to fare thus, And never to be strong and glorious._ _Is it denied me to perpetuate What so much loving labor did create?-- I hear Oblivion tap upon the gate, And acquiesce, not all disconsolate._ _For I have got such recompense Of that high-hearted excellence Which the contented craftsman knows, Alone, that to loved labor goes, And daily doth the work he chose, And counts all else impertinence!_ EXPLICIT DECAS REGINARUM 
40371	----	BRITAIN IN THE MIDDLE AGES A HISTORY FOR BEGINNERS CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS C. F. CLAY, Manager LONDON: FETTER LANE, E. C. 4 NEW YORK: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS BOMBAY } CALCUTTA } MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. MADRAS } TORONTO: J. M. DENT AND SONS, LTD. TOKYO: MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA All Rights Reserved [Illustration: THE ARMING OF A KNIGHT] BRITAIN IN THE MIDDLE AGES A HISTORY FOR BEGINNERS BY FLORENCE L. BOWMAN, M.Ed. FINAL HONOUR SCHOOL OF MODERN HISTORY, OXFORD LECTURER IN EDUCATION, HOMERTON COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE CAMBRIDGE AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 1920 _First Edition_ 1919 _Second Edition_ 1920 PREFACE Since, in the early stages of school work, it is more important to present, as vividly as possible, some of the fundamental historic ideas than to give any outline of events, it is hoped that this collection of stories, told from the chronicles, may provoke readers to discussion and further inquiry. Questions have been included in the appendix, some suggesting handwork, both as a means of presentation in lessons and for illustrative purposes. Considerable use has been made of literature as historic evidence. Stories like those of the Knights of the Round Table often leave us with a clearer impression of the spirit of the times than any historic record. Many books of the kind are now easily accessible and could be read side by side with the text. Collections of pictures, such as the Bayeux Tapestry, published by the Victoria and Albert Museum, and Foucquet's _Chroniques de France_, offer valuable opportunities for some research on the child's part. F. L. BOWMAN. HOMERTON COLLEGE _December_, 1918 CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. BEFORE THE COMING OF THE ROMANS 1 II. THE ROMANS 3 III. THE SAXONS 6 IV. THE SAXON VILLAGE 9 V. THE COMING OF CHRISTIANITY 15 VI. ALFRED AND THE DANES 20 VII. THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS 27 VIII. NORMAN KINGS 31 IX. NORMAN BARONS 34 X. NORMAN PRELATES 39 XI. NORMAN BUILDERS 44 XII. KNIGHTHOOD 47 XIII. THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE 52 XIV. THE CONQUEST OF IRELAND 57 XV. THE COMING OF THE FRIARS 61 XVI. THE THIRD CRUSADE 64 XVII. THE LOSS OF NORMANDY. THE SIGNING OF THE GREAT CHARTER 69 XVIII. THE FIRST PARLIAMENT 71 XIX. THE CONQUEST OF WALES 74 XX. THE WAR WITH SCOTLAND 76 XXI. THE WAR WITH FRANCE 79 XXII. THE WAR WITH FRANCE (_continued_) 83 XXIII. THE BLACK DEATH AND THE PEASANTS' REVOLT 85 XXIV. THE WAR WITH FRANCE (_continued_) 89 XXV. NEW WORLDS 95 SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 100 BIBLIOGRAPHY 102 DATES 103 TIME CHART 104 ILLUSTRATIONS THE ARMING OF A KNIGHT FRONTISPIECE From John Duke of Bedford's _Book of Hours_ (15th century). In the British Museum TO FACE PAGE THE ABBEY OF CITEAUX 18 From Viollet-le-duc, D_ictionnaire raisonné de l'architecture française_ A SERVICE IN THE CHAPEL 19 From the _Miracles de Notre Dame_, collected by Miélot, Canon of S. Peter's at Lille, and finished on 10 April, 1456. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris By arrangement with MM. Catala Frères, Paris HAROLD DEFEATS AND KILLS TOSTIG AND THE KING OF NORWAY AT STAMFORD BRIDGE 30 From the _Life of Edward the Confessor_ (about 1260). In the University Library, Cambridge A BATTLE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 31 By Jean Foucquet, from the _Grandes chroniques de France_ (middle of the 15th century). In the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris By arrangement with MM. Catala Frères, Paris ARCHITECT AND BUILDERS 44 From a Bible written at Lille, about 1270. In the library of Mr S. C. Cockerell BUILDING A CHURCH IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 44 By Jean Foucquet, from the _Grandes chroniques de France_ (middle of the 15th century). In the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris By arrangement with MM. Catala Frères, Paris THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE OF JERUSALEM 45 From the _Antiquités Judaïques_, by Jean Foucquet (middle of the 15th century) By kind permission of MM. Plon-Nourrit et Cie, Paris A SIEGE 46 From Viollet-le-duc, _Dictionnaire raisonné de l'architecture française_ GATEWAY AND DRAWBRIDGE 47 From Viollet-le-duc, _Dictionnaire raisonné de l'architecture française_ A COURT OF JUSTICE, 1458. DUKE OF ALENÇON CONDEMNED FOR TREASON BY CHARLES VII, KING OF FRANCE 72 By Jean Foucquet. From _Le Boccace de Munich_. In the Royal Library at Munich. The King is seated on his throne, and below him the princes, and on his right the Chancellor of France with bands of gold on his shoulder. Sentence is being read by one of the officers of the law. On the King's left the lords of the Church are seated and below are the chief officers of the realm. Outside the barrier is the royal guard THE PARLIAMENT OF EDWARD I 73 The Archbishops of Canterbury and York are seated just below Alexander King of Scotland, and Llewelyn Prince of Wales. The two behind are supposed to be the Pope's ambassadors. There are 19 mitred Abbots, 8 Bishops and 20 Peers present. The Chancellor and Judges are seated on the woolsacks. From Pinkerton, _Iconographia Scotica_. Probably drawn in the 16th century PREPARING THE FEAST 88 From the _Luttrell Psalter_ (14th century). In the British Museum THE FEAST 89 From the _Luttrell Psalter_ (14th century). In the British Museum A CHRISTIAN OF CONSTANTINOPLE BORROWING MONEY FROM A JEW AND PLEDGING HIS CRUCIFIX 96 From the _Miracles de Notre Dame_, collected by Jean Miélot, and finished on 10 April, 1456. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris By arrangement with MM. Catala Frères, Paris MIÉLOT IN HIS STUDY 97 From the _Miracles de Notre Dame_, collected by Jean Miélot, and finished on 10 April, 1456. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris By arrangement with MM. Catala Frères, Paris A PRINTING PRESS 97 A mark of Josse Badius Ascensius. From _De Sacramentis_ of Thomas Waldensis, 1521. In the University Library, Cambridge THE TWELVE MONTHS AT END From _Les très riches heures de Jean de France, Duc le Berry_, chiefly the work of Pol de Limbourg, painted between 1412 and 1416 and now in the Musée Condé, Chantilly By kind permission of MM. Plon-Nourrit et Cie, Paris CHAPTER I BEFORE THE COMING OF THE ROMANS The world is very old, and it has taken a long time to discover much of the ancient story of Britain. Scholars have found out many things because they are able now to read the signs on the rocks and under the soil. From the tools left behind, from the remains of dwellings and from treasures found in graves, we have learned about the ways of men in times before history was written down. Once, it seems, Britain was a hot land. Great forests grew up everywhere. Strange wild creatures roamed about, and there were monsters in the waters. Once, too, it was a very cold land, and the snow lay in the valleys and ice-glaciers came sliding down the mountains, making great river beds as they passed. As it grew warmer, the ice melted and disappeared. The ice fields left pools of water behind them, the lakes that you find in the country still. The rivers, too, brimming over, flowed swiftly to the sea. Mighty rivers they must have been, broader and deeper than they are now. When men came, they made their homes in the caves and in underground dwellings, and later they built mud huts. They hunted for their food, learned to weave clothes from the grasses, to make weapons from stone and to strike fire from the rocks. This is a very long story and we know little about it. Of the Britons who dwelt here, we know something from those who had heard of them and wrote about them. Round about their villages, they made wattle-fences to keep away their enemies and the wild beasts that came out of the forests in winter nights. They were shepherds and had many herds of sheep and cattle, and they grew a little corn. Sometimes, travellers from far-off lands came to visit them, to exchange their eastern coins for grain and skins. The Britons loved beautiful things. They made cunning designs on their shields and helmets and with dainty tracings they ornamented their pots and jugs. They wove linen in fine patterns and knew how to make dyes. They were fond of music and told stories to one another of dragons and heroes and the great dreams of men. When their chief died, they raised a mound over his grave; sometimes, too, great pillars of stone. They carried presents of corn and meat and fruit to put upon the grave, because they thought he might need them on his long journey. In some parts of the country, there are pillars of stone set up in circles. It is thought that perhaps the Britons used these as temples, praying and making their offerings under the sky, in sunshine and starshine. The Romans said that the Britons loved riding wild horses, which they had tamed, and they were so skilful that however fast they galloped, the rider could make the horse stand quite still at any moment. They sometimes rode in chariots and drove furiously. When they went into battle they armed their chariots with sharp knives and cut the enemy down on both sides. But they did not use their chariots often, for they would rather tend flocks in the fields than go to war. CHAPTER II THE ROMANS The best soldiers in the world were the Romans, who came from the great city of Rome, far away in Italy. Everybody had heard of their mighty deeds, for they had conquered nearly every land except Britain, and to them Britain seemed to be in the farthest corner of the world, just on the edge, a land, no doubt, of dragons and strange wild people. Now the Romans had heard that there was meat and corn in plenty in the land, that there were tin mines, and tin was very useful for mixing with copper to make armour. So they invaded Britain. The great Roman army moved very slowly through the land, for there were few roads. Sometimes the soldiers had to cut down trees to make their way through the forests, sometimes they had to cross the dismal fenlands, sometimes to make a bridge over a flooded river, or to wade knee-deep through the swamps. As they marched, they had to fight with the Britons. The Scots had heard of their coming and were safely hiding in their fastnesses when the Romans reached the Borderland. Then the Romans built a great wall from sea to sea between the two countries, Scotland and Britain, a wall that must have taken several years to build even if they had thousands of men to build it. It was made of the finest stone, which they seem to have carried many miles across the country. It was nine feet wide and eighteen feet high and the turrets were placed so near together that the sentinels could call to one another and so send a message quickly. Below the wall, on the enemy's side, they dug a deep ditch, often having to make it through the hard limestone rock. Every mile, they built a spacious fort for the soldiers to rest in, well defended and quite close to the wall. Every four miles, there was a station, sometimes a small town, surrounded by a wide wall, too, where perhaps the chief officers lived. From station to station, from east to west, ran the great road, for the traffic of the army. Up to the gates of the stations, too, came the new Roman roads from the south, for the army sometimes had to call for help from other places and needed food and many things from the south. It must have been a stern duty to keep watch in the bleak winter months, and the soldiers seem to have had few comforts. The remains of this great wall still lie from Wallsend to the west coast. At the cross-roads, by the great rivers, the Romans built their towns and camps all over Britain, just like those they had known in Italy. Every town was surrounded by a great wall, whence the soldiers could keep a look-out for the enemy, and nobody could enter the place except through the gates between sunrise and sunset. Outside the town, they sometimes built an amphitheatre, where games and wild beast fights were held on holidays. The houses of the chief officers were built like those in sunny Italy. The most interesting room in the house was the bath-room, with a large tank, like a swimming bath, in the floor and a furnace to keep a good supply of hot water. The floor was paved with beautiful coloured tiles and scenes were painted on the walls. This room was very important, because the Roman often received his guests there and sometimes invited them to share in the ceremony of the bath. The garden was often lovely, there were orchards and smooth lawns and closely clipped hedges of box and yew, sometimes cut into fantastic shapes like birds and beasts. There were brightly coloured flowers, which had been brought from Italy--geraniums, roses and orchids. Then, there was the summer house, whose walls were made of tall trees growing close together, and inside were couches and rugs and sometimes even a little lake in the centre, where jellies and fruits were to be seen floating in beautiful dishes, to keep them cool and fresh, as though the summer in Britain were very hot. There was much work to be done. The Roman officer had to visit the camps, driving in his chariot or carried in his litter by his slaves. He had to see that the road-making went on well, for the Romans made fine roads through Britain from north to south, to the east and to the west. He had to look after the building of the factories, where the wool was made into cloth and dyed in the famous purple dye, and if he lived in the south west, the tin mines in Cornwall had to be supervised. Sometimes, he had even to take the long and difficult journey to Rome. The Britons looked on at this new life with great fear and wonder, and soon they learned to make better houses, to raise better crops and to live in the towns. When, three hundred years later, all the Romans were called to their own land to protect it against a strong enemy, the Britons were worse off than ever they had been before. Not only did the Scots come over the wall to burn and steal, but a new and a stronger enemy came over the seas from Denmark and Germany to seize the treasure that the Romans had left unguarded. CHAPTER III THE SAXONS These sea robbers were the Angles and the Saxons, and Britain became Angleland or England. They were fine men, tall and strong, with long fair hair and blue eyes. The Britons gazed in wonder as boat after boat glided into the bays. Graceful, brightly coloured boats they were, with forty oars on each side and a magnificent sail, sometimes made of silk, embroidered with a dragon or a serpent, the gift of a great prince may be. Every sailor, as he stepped ashore, became a soldier, armed himself with his shield which he took from the vessel's side, and a sword, the best in the world, dearer to him than all other treasures, made by the chief, or by a famous blacksmith. The Britons marked the chief long before he landed, for he stood at the prow or gave orders. His corselet was of beaten gold or bronze, his helmet too. If indeed he were a great champion, he carried on his helmet a pair of eagle's wings, or a cock's comb, as the reward of his bravery and skill in battle. All these men had been soldiers since they were twelve years old. They had learned "to run, to ride, to swim, to wrestle and to leap," so it is no wonder that the Britons fled before them in terror. Some fell into the hands of these stern warriors and became their servants, but those who lived in peace in the mountains of the west were called "Welsh," i.e. "foreigners," by all who heard of them afterwards. The Scots vanished into their fastnesses and the Saxons became lords of Britain. The Saxons loved fighting and hunting, but when the hunt and the fight were over they came back to their spacious halls, where they hung up their swords and trophies and gathered round the banquet table or sat by the fire, making rhymes and listening to the tales and songs of the gleemen. While the mead cup was being passed round, they heard the songs about the gods and the great heroes of old, and sometimes they liked to think that Odin took a seat amongst them and told his tale. Odin, the one-eyed father of all the gods, crept in with a scarlet cloak wrapped round him, feasted with them, and, at dawn, the doors of the hall opened mysteriously, a great wind blew, and he was gone. They had many stories about the gods and Valhalla, the home of the spirits, whither every good soldier hoped to journey at the end of his life. Thor was the great god of thunder; you could see his red beard, when the Northern light shone in the winter sky. Sometimes he drove by in his chariot with the sound of a storm, the lightning was the flash of his eye, and the thunder his mighty hammer striking the rocks as he passed. The most beloved of the gods of the northmen was Baldur, the god of Spring. Once, he had a dream that a great cloud passed over him, and his mother, in sorrow, summoned all the things upon the earth to promise never to hurt her son. Everything promised, the mountains and the trees and the rocks and the rivers, everything except the little mistletoe, which grew at the palace gate and was so small that nobody thought it could do any harm. But Loki, the god of mischief, Baldur's brother, guided the hand of blind Hödur and so killed Baldur with an arrow made from the mistletoe. Odin was very angry when he heard the news and mounted his war horse to ride to Valhalla, to fetch Baldur from the home of the spirits. But the old witch, who sat at the gates, would not let Baldur return to the earth until she heard that everything on the earth was weeping for him. Everything did weep, except Loki and the little mistletoe. So the witch allows Baldur to come back for three months every year, and then the earth puts on her freshest green, the flowers blossom, the corn ripens, and gods and men rejoice. Thus, the Saxons showed how much they loved the sunshine and the warmth and the south winds that come in the summer time. When a hero died, the Saxons sent him on his journey to Valhalla, with food enough to last a week and with all his treasures, his sword and helmet, his hunting trophies and his most loved things. They liked best of all to send him on his boat across the unknown seas. They towed it to the harbour mouth, set fire to it, when the sun was going down, shouting as they watched it drift away, "Odin, receive thy Champion." They fancied Odin sat in the far North with all the gods waiting to welcome a brave man and to give him a seat of honour in his hall. For the Saxons thought a brave soldier the noblest of all men. CHAPTER IV THE SAXON VILLAGE Though the Saxons loved fighting, they soon learned to love peace and to rule their kingdoms well. They divided the spoil amongst themselves and the chiefs rewarded their soldiers with lands. They built their villages as near the streams as they could, so that they might get water easily. They built them near the woods, if possible, so that they could get timber to build their houses and fuel for the winter; but not so near that an enemy could spring on them suddenly without a warning, or the packs of hungry wolves come prowling round in the long, dark nights. Any stranger who came in sight of the village must blow his horn three times loudly, else the Saxons killed him, for they feared anyone they did not know. The soldiers who settled in the village were freemen, and they shared in the harvest of the soil. Only half the land was ploughed for seed and the other half was left fallow or idle for a year. In the ploughed land, they planted wheat or rye one year and barley next time, after a year's rest. Sometimes they divided the land and planted wheat in one half in October and barley in the other in March. When the ploughing was done, they were all very careful to throw up a little heap of earth to make a ridge between the strips in each field, so that each freeman might know his own strip in the wheat field and in the barley field too. He made bread from the wheat or rye and a drink from the barley, and if there were any to spare he would exchange it for some of the things he wanted very much, honey perhaps, for everybody needed that when there was no sugar. Beyond the ploughed lands, there was a piece of common ground, where all the freemen turned out their geese and cows and sheep and pigs, though the pigs liked the woods better, for there they could find acorns and hazel nuts. There was a hayfield, too, and, when spring came, a fence was put all round it and it was carefully divided into strips, so that everyone had a share of the hay. The "hayward" was a busy man, for it was his duty to keep the woods, corn and meadows. In haytime, he looked after the mowers. In August, he was to be seen, rod in hand, in the cornfields, watching early and late, so that no beasts strayed and trampled down the corn. When Lammastide came, all the freemen kept holiday for joy that harvest time had come. Now, there was sure to be one man who had more treasure than the others, and oxen perhaps for the plough. It was very hard work trying to plough the fields with less than eight, so the other freemen were glad to borrow the oxen sometimes. But the chief, the rich man, made a bargain, that those who borrowed his oxen should pay him by doing three days' work a week for him in his fields, for they had no money. So, in time, he became lord over them. Then he made a mill where all the corn should be ground into flour and every man who brought a sackful must pay so many handfuls of flour to the miller for his trouble. Not every village had a mill, so it sometimes happened that men travelled far to make a bargain with the miller, for they found it slow work to grind their own corn between the grindstones at home. From an old writing[1] that we have still, we can find out many things about the peasants, for they tell how they spend their time. The ploughman says: "I work hard. I go out at daybreak driving the oxen to the field and I yoke them to the plough. Be it never so stark winter I dare not linger at home for awe of my lord, but having yoked my oxen and fastened share and coulter, every day I must plough a full acre or more. I have a boy driving the oxen with a goad-iron, who is hoarse with cold and shouting. And I do more also. I have to fill the bins of the oxen with hay, and water them and take out their litter. Mighty hard work it is, for I am not free." The shepherd says: "In the first morning I drive my sheep to their pasture and stand over them in heat and in cold, with my dogs, lest the wolves swallow them up; and I lead them back to their folds and milk them twice a day, and their folds I move, and I make cheese and butter and I am true to my lord." [1] Ælfric's _Dialogues_. The oxherd says: "When the ploughman unyokes the oxen, I lead them to pasture and all night I stand over them waking against thieves; and then again in the early morning I betake them, well-filled and watered, to the ploughman." The King's hunter says: "I braid me nets and set them in fit places and set my hounds to follow up the wild game, till they come unsuspecting to the net and are caught therein, and I slay them in the net. With swift hounds I hunt down wild game. I take harts and boars and bucks and roes and sometimes wild hares. I give the King what I take because I am his hunter. He clothes me well and feeds me and sometimes gives me a horse or an arm-ring that I may pursue my craft merrily." The fisherman says: "I go on board my boat and cast my net into the river and cast my angle and baits and what they catch I take. I cast the unclean fish away and take the clean for meat. The citizens buy my fish. I cannot catch as many as I could sell, eels and pike, minnows and trout and lampreys. Sometimes I fish in the sea, but seldom, for it is a far row for me to the sea. I catch there herring and salmon, porpoises and sturgeon and crabs, mussels, periwinkles, sea-cockles, plaice and fluke and lobsters and many of the like. It is a perilous thing to catch a whale. It is pleasanter for me to go to the river with my boat than to go with many boats whale-hunting." The fowler says: "In many ways I trick the birds--sometimes with nets, with snares, with lime, with whistling, with a hawk, with traps. My hawks feed themselves and me in winter, and in Lent I let them fly off to the woods and I catch me young birds in harvest and tame them. But many feed the tamed ones the summer over, that they have them ready again." The merchant says: "I go aboard my ships with my goods, and go over sea and sell my things and buy precious things which are not produced in this country and bring them hither to you, brocade and silk, precious gems and gold, various raiment and dye-stuffs, wine and oil, ivory, and brass and bronze, copper and tin, sulphur and glass and the like. And I wish to sell them dearer here than I buy them there, that I may get some profit wherewith I may feed myself and my wife and my sons." While all the village people were busy at their work in the fields, they must have peace and order in the land. Every week, the lord and the freemen met together under the great oak tree to talk about business. If they heard of any evil deed done near their village, the lord rode out at the head of all the men who could ride or run, to find the evil doer, and they searched for miles, shouting "Hi! Hi!" and if they passed through any village, they summoned every freeman to follow in the chase. When the thief was found, he was brought back to his own village, and if he could not find any who would stand by him as "oath helpers," then none would listen to his tale. They said that only the great god could judge, so they prayed that Odin would send a sign. Sometimes, they bound the prisoner hand and foot and threw him into the village pond; if he floated they said, "He is not guilty." Sometimes, they burned the prisoner with hot irons or made him thrust his hand into boiling water; then the wounds were bound up; and if, after three days, they were healed and there was no scar, they said, "He is not guilty." But this did not happen often. Sometimes, if the man had a bad character, they branded him on the forehead with the sign of a wolf's head and took him to the forest, where he had to live all the rest of his life, for no one would have an outlaw in a village. If a man were afraid of being made an outlaw, he must find a great lord and ask him to protect him. If the man promised to work for a lord or gave him a present of fish or corn or honey every year he could find a lord. If it should happen that he were caught by the Hue and Cry, on that day the word of his lord in his favour was worth more than the words of six freemen against him. So most people worked for a lord. As time went on, the King began to call the lords and freemen together to ask them about a great war, or to make some new laws. They did not like going very much, for travelling was troublesome and dangerous. So the King usually asked only his cup-bearer and chamberlain and the great men of his court for advice. CHAPTER V THE COMING OF CHRISTIANITY Some there were who had heard of Christ in the old days, but a band of monks landing on the coast of Kent brought the news again to this country. Pope Gregory had sent Augustine from Rome to tell the Saxons about Christ, for he was sorry that they loved Odin and Thor, and did not know any other god. Ethelbert, the King of Kent, had a Christian wife, and he was very anxious to know what these strangers had to say about the new God. But he was afraid that they might know how to work charms and to call out wicked spirits, so he let Augustine and his monks preach to the people out of doors, for he thought that they could not harm any one in the open air. When the Roman monks preached, many people became Christians, but the old Saxon poets sang sorrowful stories of Odin's anger, and how the gods had left the world for ever because the people were not faithful. Bede tells a story of how the old wise men of Northumbria met together to decide whether they would give up the old gods for Christ or not, and as they sat in solemn silence, thinking of this great thing, an old man rose and said, "The present life of man, O King, seems to me like the swift flight of a sparrow, who on a wintry night darts into the hall, as we sit at supper. He flies from the storms of wind and rain outside, and for a brief space abides in the warmth and light, and then vanishes again into the darkness whence he came. So is the life of man, for we know not whence we came nor whither we go. Therefore if this stranger can tell us anything more certain, we should hearken gladly to him." Thus, they became Christians. They built churches in their villages; first of wood, then of stone. Many Christian teachers then came to England and built homes or monasteries, wherever they went, first of rough timber, then of stone. They made clearings in the forests and drained the fenlands, and the people followed and built houses for themselves near the monasteries, for they found that they could learn many things from the monks. The sick, the poor, the tired and the old were always welcome, and travellers too were glad to rest there, for there were no inns in those days. The monks were ruled by an abbot, and the nuns, who lived in other houses, by an abbess. They took a vow of poverty and thought that they served God best by giving their time to prayer and praise. They loved their monastery, and, as the centuries went by, they made it more and more beautiful. The people gave rich offerings and builders came from foreign lands, skilled in stonework and other arts. Carvings were made for the church, pictures were painted on the walls, and flowers and trees were brought from the Holy Land to plant in the gardens. In this way came the cedar trees and the juniper, and certain plants that now grow wild in parts of the country like the poisonous hellebore, the grape hyacinth and the little fritillary or snake's head. Great men brought gifts of frankincense and myrrh, to be burned in the church on holy days, or jewels for the altar, and silk from the east for hangings, but the greatest treasure of all was the "relic." People would travel many miles to see this, for those who saw it could be healed of their sickness or forgiven for their sins. There were many curious relics. There were little bits of wood, that men believed belonged to the real cross, on which Christ was crucified, and thorns, which were said to have come from His crown. S. Louis, King of France, built the beautiful Sainte Chapelle in Paris, where he might keep the crown of thorns, which the Crusaders brought from Palestine. The monastery was usually built round a square garden or lawn. On one side was the church, on another the hall and large kitchens and pantries, for there were often visitors, some of high estate, and they must be royally feasted. In the Rule of S. Benedict it was written, "Let all guests who come to the monastery be entertained like Christ Himself; because He will say, 'I was a stranger and ye took me in'." The guest-house must stand apart "so that the guests, who are never wanting in a monastery, may not disquiet the brethren by their untimely arrivals." Anyone could claim a lodging for two nights, and in a few monasteries there was stabling provided for as many as three hundred horses. There was a long dormitory where the monks slept. It was the custom for them to get up at midnight to make a procession into the church by the night stairs. There they said matins and lauds (the last three psalms), and then returned to the dormitory to sleep if it were winter until daybreak, if summer till sunrise. Only those who had worked hard in the fields all day were excused. They dressed by the light of the wicks set in oil in little bowls at either end of the dormitory. In the cloisters were troughs for washing before meals, filled with water by taps; and above were little cupboards for towels. Some monasteries had a library, for they were quite rich in books. Then there was a writing room, where the scribes were busy making beautiful copies of the precious books, some skilled in writing, others in painting and illuminating. When the writing was done, the artist brought his colours to make the capital letters and the little pictures in the text. There was music to be copied too, and the accounts of the Abbey must be kept neatly. Sometimes a chronicle was made of great events that happened. It is from such books as these that we have learned much about the story of the country. [Illustration: THE ABBEY OF CITEAUX A. Round this court, stables and barns. H. Guest houses and abbot's quarters. N. The Church. I. The kitchen. K. The dining hall. M. The dormitories. P. Cells of the scribes. R. The hospital.] [Illustration: A SERVICE IN THE CHAPEL] The monks led peaceful lives in days when most men were busy about war. The monks divided the hours between sunrise and sunset into twelve equal parts, so it happened that the hour in winter was twenty minutes shorter than in summer. Every three hours, there was a service in church, prime at the first, terce at the third, sext at the sixth and none at the ninth. After prime, on summer mornings, the monks were summoned by the Abbot to the chapter house and there each man received his task. The latest business was talked about and plans were made for the coming guests. Then each monk went to his business, some to the gate to give food to the poor and help to the sick, some to work in the orchard and garden, to spin or to weave, though in some monasteries this kind of work was done for the brethren. They had their first meal at midday in the hall in silence. While they ate, one of their number, who had already had his meal, would read to them from a book of sermons or the Lives of the Saints. After grace, the Miserere (Psalm 51) was sung through the cloister. In summer, they would rest in the afternoon, in the dormitory or perhaps in the cloister, on the sunny south side, where they could read or think or pray. In winter, they worked at this time, because their nights were long. Vespers was read at sunset, then came supper. Compline ended the day, but it sometimes happened that they lingered in the warming-house to chat with one another, but this was against rules. Kings and princes found out what wise counsellors these men were and brought them to the courts to help them govern, though this was against the rules of the monastic orders. Then, in those days, Abbots began to ride forth like princes, monasteries were full of treasure and monks forsook the humbler ways of life they had once followed. CHAPTER VI ALFRED AND THE DANES After the Saxons had been in England many years, when their weapons had grown rusty and they had almost forgotten how to fight, bands of Danes came sailing over the North Sea to plunder the land. "God Almighty sent forth these fierce and cruel people like swarms of bees," says the chronicler. First, they carried away the beautiful things from the monasteries and churches, and then they came to live here. They drove the Saxons from their houses or built new villages by the side of the old ones. We know that they must have settled in Yorkshire and Lincolnshire, in Westmorland and Cumberland, because they gave Danish names to many places, such as Grimsby (Grim's town), Whitby, Appleby. In those days, the Danes grew very bold. "Ships came from the west ready for war with grinning heads and carven beaks," runs the legend, "the golden war banner" shining in the bows. They tried to conquer the west and south, as well as the north and east. In the land of the West Saxons, many battles were fought, and still the little band of hungry, worn-out soldiers stood at bay. It was at this time that Alfred was made King and, like his father and brothers, was soon defeated and driven into Athelney, a little island in the west in the midst of a great swamp. There, he spent the winter drilling his soldiers and making plans to drive away the Danes in the spring time. A story is told of how he went into the Danish camp as a bard. He carried a harp, and while the mead cup was handed round, he sang the old sagas. When the feast was done and the chess board was brought out, the captains talked about the war, as they played their favourite game. So Alfred heard their plans. The Danes were surprised when the spring came, for Alfred drove them out of his kingdom and made them promise never to come into the land of the West Saxons again. But he did not try to drive them out of England, for he knew that it would be many years before his people would be strong enough, perhaps not until his own children were grown up. So he worked hard all his life to make his people good soldiers and thoughtful men, in order that, when the time came, they could drive the enemy across the seas and rule over the whole land in their stead. "Formerly," said the King, "foreigners sought wisdom and learning in this land, now we should have to get them from abroad if we would have them." Alfred found his nobles careless and idle, they loved hunting and feasting and thought very little about ruling a kingdom or leading an army. They were too old to learn, but the king made up his mind that their children should grow up good soldiers and wise rulers. So he made a school at his court for these boys. There they learned the art of war and many other things too. They read the history of their own country from Bede's Book, that had been kept at York. This book was written in Latin, so the King had to have it translated for them. He had heard of the fame of a great writer, Asser, who lived in South Wales. Messages were sent to him to ask him to come to Alfred's court to write the history of the reign. Asser did not wish to leave his beautiful home, but in the end, he promised to stay for six months every year; that is why we know so much about this great King. Alfred turned into English some beautiful old Latin books that taught men how to rule well, and in the margins he himself wrote what he thought wise counsel. Two of these books had been written by Pope Gregory who sent Augustine to England, and at the beginning of one of them there are these words, "Alfred, King, turned each word of me into English and sent me to his writers, north and south, and bade them make more such copies that he might send them to the bishops." Alfred loved reading and he wrote down all the wise sayings that he found. Asser tells the story of how the King came to do this. "When we were one day sitting together in the royal chamber and were holding converse upon divers topics, as our wont was, it chanced that I repeated to him a quotation from a certain book. And when he had listened attentively to this with all his ears, and had carefully pondered it in the deep of his mind, suddenly he showed me a little book which he carried constantly in the fold of his cloak. In it were written the Daily Course and certain psalms and some prayers, which he had read in his youth, and he commanded that I should write that quotation in the same little book. And when he urged me to write that as quickly as possible, I said to him, 'Are you willing that I should write the quotation apart by itself on a small leaf? For we know not that at some time we shall not find some other such quotation or more than one, which will please you: and if it should so turn out unexpectedly we shall rejoice that we have kept this apart from the rest.' "And when he heard this, he said 'Your counsel is good.' And I, hearing this and being glad, made ready a book of several leaves, in haste, and at the beginning of it I wrote that quotation according to his command. And on the same day, by his order, I wrote in the same book no less than three other quotations pleasing to him, as I had foretold." "This book he used to call his handbook, because with the utmost care he kept it at his hand day and night and in it he found, as he said, no small comfort." Alfred desired to hear of other lands, but there were hardly any maps in those days and no books of geography. Great travellers were welcomed at his court, for, when he was very young, he had paid a visit to Rome and had seen a little of foreign lands. Othere, the famous seaman, who had sailed in the Arctic regions, came to tell his stories of the frozen seas that men could walk upon and of the strange midnights when the sun shone as bright as by day. Othere spoke of whales and walruses and he brought their tusks of fine ivory to show the King. Wulfstan came, too, and he had travelled in Prussia and brought stories of a land rich in honey and fish. Travellers came from the hot lands, from India and the far east. They brought presents of tiger skins and spices, of rich silks and jewels. They told stories of wonderful deserts, of the high snowy mountains and thick jungles, that they had passed on their long journey. The King delighted to read of elephants and lions and of "the beast we call lynx" that men said could see through trees and even stones. "Or what shall I say," says the chronicler, "concerning the daily intercourse with the nations which dwell from the shores of Italy unto the uttermost bounds of Ireland? for I have seen and read letters and gifts sent to Alfred by Elias, patriarch of Jerusalem." In this way the West Saxon folk heard of great, unknown countries and peoples, and the sons of the nobles learned not only "to run, to ride, to swim and to make runes or rhymes," but to be great rulers and adventurers as their forefathers had been. Alfred was a very busy King, for not only had he to receive ambassadors and counsellors, but he had to ride through the land, seeing justice done, and restoring the ruined churches and monasteries. He taught the workers in gold and artificers of all kinds, "to build houses majestic and good, beyond all that had been built before. What shall I say of the cities and towns which he restored, and of the others which he built, where before there had never been any? Or of the work in gold and silver, incomparably made under his directions? Or of the halls and royal chambers wonderfully made of stone and wood by his command? Or of the royal residences built of stone, moved from their former positions and most beautifully set up in more fitting places by the King's command?" The King gave many gifts to the craftsmen whom he had gathered from all lands, men skilled "in every earthly work," and he gave a portion "to the wayfaring men who came to him from every nation, lying near and far, and who sought from him wealth, and even to those who sought it not." There were no clocks in those days and the King was much troubled, "for he had promised to give up to God half his services." "He could not equally distinguish the length of the hours by night, on account of the darkness: and oftentimes of the day, on account of storms and clouds." "After long reflection on these things he at length, by a useful and shrewd invention, commanded his chaplain to supply wax in sufficient quantities." "He caused the chaplain to make six candles of equal length, so that each candle might have twelve divisions marked upon it. These candles burned for twenty-four hours, a night and a day. But sometimes, from the violence of the wind, which blew through the doors and windows of the chambers or the canvas of the tents, they burned out before their time. The King then considered by what means he might shut out the wind; and so he ordered a lantern which was closed up, by the King's command, by a door made of horn. By this means, six candles lasted twenty-four hours, and when they went out others were lighted." Thus the King left behind him as he wished "a memory in good works," and, after him, his son and daughter drove the Danes eastward beyond Watling Street. The northmen came back with the strong King Cnut, who conquered the whole country. Now Cnut was a great king before he took England, for he ruled Sweden and Denmark and was lord over Norway. When he was crowned King of England, he began to love this kingdom more than all his lands, and he made his home in London. He wanted to be a real English King, so he looked for the old laws of Alfred the Great and told the English people that he would rule as Alfred had done. The King had a fine army of tall, strong soldiers, but he sent nearly all of them back to their own land and kept only three thousand house-companions for a body guard. The English people knew that he trusted them, for he could not have kept the land in order with so few soldiers, if the people had hated him. For seventeen years, there was a great peace in the land and ships could pass to and fro, carrying "skins, silks, costly gems and gold, besides garments, wine, oil, ivory, with brass and copper, and tin and silver and glass and such like." When Cnut's two sons had reigned in the land, then the Saxons once more had a Saxon King. CHAPTER VII THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS Edward the Confessor, the Saxon prince, had taken refuge in Normandy in the days when the Danish Kings ruled in England. There he learned to speak Norman French and to love Norman ways. When the Saxons chose him to be king, he brought some of his Norman friends to court with him. He was a man "full of grace and devoted to the service of God." He left the rule of his kingdom to three Saxon Earls, Siward the Stout, a man who struck terror to the hearts of the Scots, Leofric of the Marsh land, "wise in the things of God and men," and Godwin of Wessex. There was much trouble because there were no heirs to the throne, and the Norman chroniclers say that the King promised his crown to William, Duke of Normandy. The Saxons did not know this, and if they had they would not have crowned him; so they chose Harold, son of Godwin and brother of the Queen, to rule after Edward the Confessor. They chose Harold for he was a man after their own heart, strong and fearless, like the heroes of old. Harold had two elder brothers, but they were cruel and lawless and the people feared them. The Normans told a story of how Harold had been wrecked on the coast of Normandy, two years before this, and was taken before the Duke as a prisoner. The Duke would not let him go until he had sworn, with his hand upon the holy relics, that he would never claim the Saxon crown. When Edward died, Harold forgot this oath and the people crowned him with much rejoicing. When the news reached the Duke of Normandy "he was in his park of Quévilly, near Rouen, with many knights and squires, going forth to the chase." He had in his hand the bow, ready strung and bent for the arrow. The messenger greeted him and took him aside to tell him. Then the Duke was very angry. "Oft he tied his mantle and oft he untied it again and he spoke to no man, neither dare any man speak to him." Then he bade his men cut down the trees in the great forests and build him ships to take his soldiers to England. When they were ready, there arose a great storm and for many weeks he waited by the sea shore for a fair wind and a good tide. Tostig, too, Harold's brother, became very jealous and asked for a half of the kingdom. And because Harold would not listen, Tostig went to Norway, to beg the great King Hadrada to call out his men and ships and sail for England. So the Northmen sailed up the river Humber and took York. Then, Harold and his soldiers marched to the North to fight against Tostig. When he had pitched his camp, he sent word to Tostig, "King Harold, thy brother, sends thee greeting, saying that thou shalt have the whole of Northumbria or even the third of his kingdom, if thou wilt make peace with him." "But," said Tostig, "what shall be given to the King of Norway for his trouble?" "Seven feet of English ground," was the answer, "or as much more as is needful, seeing that he is taller than other men." Then said the Earl, "Go now and tell King Harold to get ready for battle, for never shall the Northmen say that Tostig left Hadrada, King of Norway, to join the enemy." And when Harold departed, the King of Norway asked who it was that had spoken so well. "That," said Tostig, "was my brother Harold." When Hadrada heard this he said, "That English king was a little man, but he stood strong in his stirrups." A great fight there was, and Hadrada fought fiercely, but he was killed by an arrow. When the sun set, the Northmen turned and fled, for Tostig, too, lay dead upon the field. That night there was a great feast in the Saxon camp. As they held wassail, a messenger came riding into the camp, breathless with haste, for he had rested not day nor night in the long ride to the North. He shouted to those who stood by, "The Normans--the Normans are come--they have landed at Hastings--Thy land, O King, they will wrest from thee, if thou canst not defend it well." That night, the Saxons broke up their camp and hurried towards London. The wise men begged Harold to burn the land, that the enemy might starve, but Harold would not, for he said, "How can I do harm to my own people?" So they rode off to meet the Duke near Hastings. Now Harold chose his battle-field very wisely, a rising ground, for most of his soldiers were on foot and many of the Normans were on horse-back and the King knew that it was hard riding up hill. So Harold stood under the Golden Dragon of Wessex watching the enemy below. In the front of the Normans rode their minstrel, throwing his sword into the air and catching it again, as he sang of the brave deeds of those knights of old, Roland and Oliver. Fierce was the onslaught, and soon the Normans turned to flee. Then were the Saxons so eager for the spoil that they came down from their high ground to chase the enemy. When the Duke saw this, he wheeled his men in battle array and the fight began again fiercer than ever. Then the Duke ordered a great shower of arrows to be shot up into the air, so that when they fell, they pierced many a good soldier. And Harold fell, shot through the eye by an arrow. Still, the Saxons fought on, for they held it shame to escape alive from the fields whereon their leader lay slain. That night, William pitched his tent where the King's banner had waved. Then came Gyda the mother of Harold to beg Harold's body from the Duke. But he gave orders that it should be buried by the seashore, "Harold guarded the cliffs when he was alive, let him guard them, now that he is dead," said William. So the King's mother and his brothers hid in the rocky west, in Tintagel, for fear of the Duke's anger. Then did William march slowly to London, burning and harrying the land, and all men feared him. [Illustration: HAROLD DEFEATS AND KILLS TOSTIG AND THE KING OF NORWAY AT STAMFORD BRIDGE] [Illustration: A BATTLE IN THE 15TH CENTURY] There is a piece of "tapestry" still kept at Bayeux in France, showing how England was conquered. It was probably made later than the reign of William and perhaps was intended to go round the walls of the choir of Bayeux Cathedral, for it has been measured and found to be of the right length. Though it is old and torn and faded, we have been able to learn many things from it[2]. [2] There is a copy in Reading Museum. See _Guide to Bayeux Tapestry_, published by Textile Department, Victoria and Albert Museum. There were few histories written in those days, for the Normans were too busy fighting for their new lands and the English were too sorrowful to tell their story. CHAPTER VIII THE NORMAN KINGS The strong men of the north had not bowed to William the Conqueror on the field of Hastings, and when they heard that he was crowned, they armed themselves against him. The King marched towards the north slowly, burning and harrying the land as he passed, and his path was marked by flaming villages and hayricks. When he came into Yorkshire, he laid waste the land, and for nine years not an acre was tilled beyond the Humber, and "dens of wild beasts and of robbers, to the great terror of the traveller, alone were to be seen." The Saxons fled; some died of hunger by the wayside, some sold themselves as slaves, and a few hid themselves in the Fens, a great stretch of water and marsh land, in the east, dotted here and there with islands and sometimes crossed in winter on sledges. There Hereward the Wake built his camp in the swamps of Ely and there all true men gathered round him. He was bold and hardy and even William said of him, "if there had been in England three such men as he, they would have driven out the Normans." The King gave orders that a causeway should be built across the Fens and he besieged the Saxons in Ely, and some said that Hereward was betrayed. But William pardoned him and sent him to Normandy to command his army. Many stories are told of his adventures. It was said that he was slain one day as he slept in an orchard, for there were many in the King's court who envied him. The Conqueror was a wise king, and he desired to know what manner of kingdom he had conquered. "He held a great council and very deep speech with his wise men about this land, how it was peopled and by what men." So he sent his clerks to every shire and commanded them to write down on a great roll all that they could find out about the country. They were to ask of the lord and of the freemen in the villages and of the monks in the monasteries these questions: How much land have you? Who gave you that land? What services do you owe the King for it? Have you paid them? How many people dwell upon your land? How many soldiers must you lend to the King if need be? How many cattle have you? Have you a mill? (if they had, they owed every third penny to the King). Have you a fish pond? (fish was a great luxury). The lords and the monks were unwilling to answer, for they knew they must pay to the King all that was due. "So narrowly did the King make them seek out all this that there was not a single yard of land (shameful it is to tell, though he thought it no shame to do) nor one ox, nor one cow, nor one swine left out, that was not set down in his rolls, and all these rolls were afterwards brought to him." These records are called Domesday Book. The Kings, when they desired to get money or soldiers from the great lords and monks, turned to the Domesday Book. When the book was brought to the King, he summoned the lords and freemen to come to do him "homage." These men came and they placed their hands between the King's hands and, kneeling before him, they promised to be the King's men and to follow him in time of need. "Hear, my lord," said the baron, "I become liege man of yours for life and limb ... and I will keep faith and loyalty to you for life and death, God help me." William I made great peace in the land, and, as he was dying, he called his three sons to him, and to Robert, the eldest, he gave Normandy and to William Rufus, England. Then Henry turned sorrowfully to his father, "And what, my father, do you give to me?" The King replied, "I bequeath £500 to you from my treasury." Then said Henry, "What shall I do with this money, having no corner of the earth I can call my own?" But his father replied, "My son, be content with your lot and trust heaven, Robert will have Normandy and William England. But you also in your turn will rule over the lands which are mine and you will be greater and richer than either of your brothers." Rufus ruled over England thirteen years, and he was hated by the people. Robert gave Normandy to his brother for a sum of money; and thus Henry, when Rufus was dead, became Duke of Normandy and King of England. He married a Saxon lady and "there was great awe of him in the land, he made peace for man and beast." CHAPTER IX THE NORMAN BARONS The Norman barons who came to England with William the Conqueror were much disappointed, for they had hoped to share the kingdom with him and to be great lords. But William had not given them as much land as they desired, and he had made Domesday Book so that they should render to him due service and payment in return for his gifts. The barons had not always paid that which they owed; and Henry I made a rule that all should come to his Court three times a year, to Winchester at the feast of Easter, to Westminster at Whitsuntide and to Gloucester at Mid-winter, when he wore his crown, and then they should do homage and pay their taxes. To this court came the officers of the household, and the King appointed a Bishop to receive the money and priests to keep the accounts, since there were few among the nobles or citizens who could read, write and add figures. The money was counted out on a chequered table, and so the court came to be called the Exchequer. The barons could not easily cheat the King; for, when their money had been counted out upon the table, some of it was melted on the furnace, lest it should contain base metal, and it was weighed in the balances, lest the coins should have been clipped. Then Domesday Book was searched and the priests read out what sum was due to the King from this lord. When the Chancellor was satisfied, a tally was handed to the baron. This was a willow or hazel stick, shaped something like the blade of a knife, about an inch thick. Notches were cut in it to show the amount paid and the halfpennies were marked by small holes. The tally was then split down the middle through the notches, and the baron took one half so that he might show it to the Chancellor when he came to court to pay again, and the Chancellor kept the other half to prove that the baron was not cheating. Thus the King kept his barons in order and there was peace in the land. Now Henry I had an only son, and to him he gave a ship, "a better one than which there did not seem to be in the fleet," but as he was sailing from Normandy to England, it struck upon a rock and all perished, save only a butcher, who was found in the morning clinging to a plank. When the King heard the news, he was in great distress; for no woman had yet ruled in England and his daughter Matilda was married to a French Count, whom all the Normans hated for his fierce temper and overbearing ways. The King, nevertheless, made them swear to put her on the throne, but, when he died, the barons chose her cousin, Stephen, for "he was a mild man, soft and good, and did no justice." Stephen quarrelled with the Chancellor and closed the Court of Exchequer where the barons had paid their dues, and he let the barons build castles and coin their own money. When he was in need of soldiers, he hired foreign ruffians, and because he could not pay them, he let them loose upon the land to plunder: thus he "undid all his cousins had done." "The barons forswore themselves and broke their troth, for every nobleman made him a castle and held it against the King and filled the land full of castles. They put the wretched country folk to sore toil with their castle-building; and, when the castles were made, they filled them with devils and evil men. Then they took all those that they deemed had any goods, both by night and day, men and women alike, and put them in prison to get their gold and silver, and tortured them with tortures unspeakable. Many thousands they slew with hunger. I cannot nor may not tell all the horrors and all the tortures that they laid on wretched men in the land. And this lasted nineteen winters, while Stephen was King, and ever it was worse and worse. "They laid taxes on the villages continually, and, when the wretched folk had no more to give them, they robbed and burned all the villages, so that thou mightest easily fare a whole day's journey and shouldst never find a man living in a village nor a land tilled. Then was corn dear, and flesh and cheese, and there was none in the land. "If two or three men came riding to a village, all the village folk fled before them, deeming them to be robbers. Wheresoever men tilled, the earth bore no corn, for the land was fordone with such deeds, and they said openly that Christ and His Saints slept. Such, and more than we can say, we suffered nineteen winters for our sins." Then Stephen made a treaty with Matilda's son Henry and promised him the crown of England; for Henry was already a great prince, holding more lands than the monarch of France. Moreover, he was valiant in battle, strong in the Council chamber and never weary. The French King said of him, "Henry is now in England, now in Ireland, now in Normandy, he may be rather said to fly than go by horse or boat." Henry II could ride all night and, if need were, sleep in the saddle. "His legs were bruised and livid with riding." "He was given beyond measure to the pleasures of hunting; and he would start off the first thing in the morning on a fleet horse and now traversing the woodland glades, now plunging into the forest itself, now crossing the ridges of the hills, would in this manner pass day after day in unwearied exertion; and when, in the evening, he reached home, he was rarely seen to sit down whether before or after supper. In spite of all the fatigue he had undergone, he would keep the whole court standing." This tireless ruler, before he became King, had restored order in England, for he commanded the hired soldiers to be gone immediately, and they went as they had come like a flight of locusts. He destroyed more than a thousand castles, and those that were well built he kept for himself. "All folk loved him, for he did good justice." He opened the Court of Exchequer, so that the Barons were forced to pay all they owed Stephen for the nineteen years of his reign. He visited all the courts of justice in the land, and no man durst do evil, for none knew where the King might be. He appointed judges to travel round the country and to sit at Westminster and hear complaints, for many had sought the King in vain, so swiftly did he travel from place to place. Thus the barons were made to fear the King and rule justly. CHAPTER X NORMAN PRELATES There came one day, to the Abbey of Bec in Normandy, a great scholar named Lanfranc. The Abbot was building an oven, "working at it with his own hands. Lanfranc came up and said, 'God save you.' 'God bless you,' said the Abbot Herlwin. 'Are you a Lombard?' 'I am,' said Lanfranc. 'What do you want?' 'I want to become a monk.' Then the Abbot bade a monk named Roger, who was doing his work apart, to show Lanfranc the book of S. Benedict's Rule; which he read and answered that, with God's help, he would gladly observe it. Then the Abbot, hearing this and knowing who he was and from whence he came, granted him what he desired. And he, falling down at the mouth of the oven, kissed Herlwin's feet." The fame of the Abbey of Bec spread far and wide. "Under Lanfranc," said the chronicler, "the Normans first fathomed the art of letters; for under the six dukes of Normandy, scarce anyone among the Normans had applied to studies, nor was there any teacher found, till God, the Provider of all things, brought Lanfranc to Normandy." He was William the Conqueror's friend and counsellor and brought the Church into much honour when he became Archbishop of Canterbury. Among the strangers, who came to Bec, was Anselm. He had long desired to be a monk and had travelled over the Alps from Italy to join the order. When he was young, he used "to listen gladly to his mother, and having heard from her that there is one God in Heaven above, ruling all things, he imagined that Heaven rested on the mountains, that the palace of God was there and that the way to it was up the mountains." Before he was fifteen, he had written to a certain Abbot asking him to make him a monk, but he would not, when he heard that Anselm had not spoken to his father about it. Anselm was a scholar, too, and men counted it a great thing to have been taught by him. "He behaved so that all men loved him as their dear father." If any were sick, he nursed them; if any angry, he sought them out. It was said that even the King, Rufus, so harsh and terrible to all others, in his presence became gentle and gracious. When he was Abbot of Bec, he gave so much to the poor that the monks were often in need of bread themselves. Many came to seek his advice, "whole days he would spend in giving counsel" and his nights in correcting the books that had been copied out. When Lanfranc died, William Rufus brought the kingdom into much trouble and sorrow, by closing churches, taking their money and refusing to choose an Archbishop. It happened that the King fell ill and messengers were sent to Anselm begging him to see the King and show him the way to health. Anselm was stern and bade the King confess his sins, and those who stood round urged him to make Anselm Archbishop. When the King's choice was told him, Anselm trembled and turned pale. "Consider I am old and unfit for work, how can I bear the charge of all this church? I am a monk and I can honestly say I have shunned all worldly business. Do not entangle me in what I have never loved and am not fit for." The Archbishop of Canterbury was a great officer, for he anointed the King when he was crowned, he held many lands and must protect the Church against the King if need be, for the Church was rich and the King poor. The bishops and barons would not listen and they dragged him back to the King, shouting, "A pastoral staff, a pastoral staff." When they had found one, the King pressed it into his hand, though he held his fist clenched, and the crowd shouted, "Long live the Bishop." The Archbishop soon after asked for a council, for the King was still robbing the Church and "the Christian religion had well-nigh perished in many men." Rufus was angry, "What good would come of this matter for you?" "If not for me, at least, I hope, for God and for you." "Enough, talk no more of it to me." The Archbishop begged the King not to rob the Abbeys and the King answered, "What are the abbeys to you? Are they not mine? Go to! you do what you like with your farms and am I not to do what I like with my Abbeys?" "They are not yours to waste and destroy and use for your wars." The King said, "Your predecessor would not have dared to speak thus to my father. I will do nothing for you." Then Anselm departed with speed and left him to his will. "Yesterday," said the King, "I hated him much, to-day still more; to-morrow and ever after, he may be sure I shall hate him with more bitter hatred. As Father and Archbishop I will never hold him more; his blessing and prayers I utterly abhor and refuse." Anselm asked leave to go to Rome, for the Archbishop must wear the white stole, woven from the wool of the sheep of S. Agnes in Rome and blessed by the Pope "the Father of all Christian people." "From which Pope?" said the King, for there were two at this time. "From Urban." "Urban," said the King, "I have not acknowledged. By my customs, and by the customs of my father, no man may acknowledge a Pope in England without my leave. To challenge my power in this is as much as to deprive me of my crown." Anselm, seeing that in no way could he bring the King to have respect for the Church, went to Rome to seek the Pope's help. He said to the bishops and barons, "Since you, the Shepherds of the Christian people, and you, who are called chiefs of the nation, refuse your counsel to me, your chief, except according to the will of one man, I will go to the chief shepherd and prince of all." The Pope honoured Anselm by giving him the chief seat among the Cardinals, but he kept him waiting at the Court, for he feared to offend all other kings and tyrants. It was the custom to read the laws of the Church once a year in S. Peter's Church in Rome, and there was gathered there a great crowd of pilgrims from many countries. The Bishop of Lucca, a man of great stature and loud voice, was chosen to read the laws. When he had got a little way, his eyes kindled and he called out, "One is sitting among us from the ends of the earth in modest silence, still and meek. But his silence is a loud cry. The deeper and gentler his humility and patience, the higher it rises before God, the more it should kindle us. This one man, this one man, I say, has come here in his cruel afflictions and wrongs to ask for your judgment. And this is his second year and what help has he found? If you do not all know whom I mean, it is Anselm, Archbishop of England," and he broke his staff and threw it on the ground. "Brother, enough, enough," said the Pope, "good order shall be taken about this." "There is good need, for otherwise the thing will not pass with Him who judges justly." Anselm left Rome, for he knew the Pope could not help. With much patience and meekness, Anselm contended yet again with Henry I for the rights of the Church. Becket, too, Archbishop of Canterbury, the King's friend and servant, defended it once again in the days of Henry II--even with his life. CHAPTER XI NORMAN BUILDERS The Normans were soldiers and rulers and great builders too. With the white stone, which they found in their own land, they built magnificent cathedrals, abbeys and churches, for they were cunning craftsmen and dreamers. The Cathedral was vast and grand, with its stately pillars and roof so lofty that it was lost in dim shadows. The master mason, who planned it, took great joy in building and often travelled far to see the works of other men. There are pictures of him with his cap on his head, the sign that he was a master, and his compass in his hand. All the years of his life, the ironmaster laboured to cast a beautiful peal of bells. One old man died of joy on the day that his bells were first rung, for they were almost perfect. The Normans, who came to England, did not forget their art. They built Ely Cathedral in the midst of the Fens, and Durham, overlooking the river. "You might see churches rise in every village and monasteries in the towns and cities, built after a style unknown before," says William of Malmesbury. At first, they built of the rough stone found in the quarries worked by the Romans in other days. Woods were cut down to give fuel for the lime-kilns, and machines were devised for lifting blocks of stone, roads and even waterways were made for this great traffic. [Illustration: ARCHITECT AND BUILDERS] [Illustration: BUILDING A CHURCH IN THE 15TH CENTURY] [Illustration: IMAGINARY PICTURE OF THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE OF JERUSALEM, SHOWING GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE] So much work was there for the masons that there were not skilled craftsmen enough in the land to do all that was needed. As the years went by and the people gave to the Church of their riches, more new buildings were made and yet more decoration was used. Organs were built and stained glass of lovely hues was put in the windows, orange and blue and red, colours so rich they seemed almost to have caught and held the sunlight. A monk, who was also an artist, wrote "Man's eye knoweth not whereon to gaze; if he look up at the vaults, they are as mantles embroidered with spring flowers; if he regard the walls, there is a manner of paradise; if he consider the light streaming through the windows, he marvelleth at the priceless beauty of the glass and at the variety of this most precious work." So full of riches were these buildings that S. Bernard, and other preachers too, called to the monks to remember their vows of poverty and to return to humbler dwellings like those they had once built where they might worship God. Round the Saxon earthworks, the Normans built strong walls that they might hold them against foreign foe or angry neighbour. By the rivers and on high rocks, they made great keeps or towers, first of timber, later of stone, where they could withdraw if pressed by foes. The stone walls were often 13 feet thick and round about there was a deep moat. The doorway was of stout oak barred with iron. Over this, they would drop the portcullis, a single grate of iron, worked from a chamber above by cords and chains round a windlass. Across the moat, they flung a drawbridge, which could be raised at pleasure. There were only a few rooms in the keep, storerooms below and chambers in the two stories above, for the Norman lord only sought shelter there in times of siege. In such a tower, he was safe enough if he had plenty of food and a well, secure from the enemy. Sometimes the Normans built strong walls and another moat round about the keep, and towers where they kept watch by night and day, looking towards the four quarters of heaven lest an enemy should surprise them. Much later, when the lord brought his family and soldiers to live in the castle, they made it still larger. Storerooms and stables were built round the courtyard and above these were the chambers of the lord and his followers. Here was a fine larder and a kitchen where the ox and wild boar were roasted whole and the mead was brewed and brown bread baked. There was a great hall where everyone dined and where the servants slept at night. The floor was strewn with rushes, for there were no carpets until the days of Queen Eleanor, and then they were hung on the damp cold walls or put on the tables. Down the centre of the room ran a long table, sometimes fixed to the floor, sometimes on trestles, with wooden benches on either side, covered with osier matting. Under the table, the dogs gathered to gnaw the bones that were flung to them. For the meat was carried round on a spit and each man helped himself with a knife from his girdle. [Illustration: A SIEGE] [Illustration: GATEWAY AND DRAWBRIDGE] So strong were these castles that, though the enemy used a ram, it was almost impossible to make a breach in the walls. If they brought scaling ladders, it was difficult to climb when the moat ran below and the archers shot from the ramparts. If they mined beneath the rock, the defenders could make a counter-mine. The besiegers could bring catapults to hurl heavy stones upon the walls, and siege towers to shoot their arrows high. These attacks were usually in vain, for the garrison of a castle only surrendered when there was famine. These were days of great strife and turmoil, and strong was the King in whose reign it was said that "a man might travel through his realm with his bosom full of gold, unhurt." CHAPTER XII KNIGHTHOOD In such troublous times when there was great fear abroad, when men feared the King, feared their neighbours and feared all foreigners, it seemed to them necessary that every lord should be trained to war. Yet they learned, too, to honour the courteous, gentle, generous knight, sworn to help the weak, and if need be to fight for the faith of Christ. Every knight served his lord for many years before he was deemed worthy of knighthood. At seven years old he became a page, attending his lord and lady in hall and bower. From the chaplain and the ladies he heard of gentleness and courtesy and love. In the field, he was taught by the squires to cast a spear, bear a shield, and march with measured tread. With falconer and huntsman, he sought the mysteries of wood and river. Then he became a squire, carving and serving in hall, offering the first cup of mead to his lord and the guests, carrying ewer and basin for them to wash after the meal. Upon him fell the duty of clearing the hall for dancing and minstrelsy and setting the tables for chess and draughts. In the field, he learned to ride a war-horse and to practise warlike exercises. Armed with a lance he tilted at the quintain, a shield bound to a pole or spear fastened in the ground. After the Crusades, the figure of a Saracen, armed at all points and brandishing a wooden sabre, was set up instead of the shield. If the squire could not strike it in the centre of face or breast, it revolved rapidly and struck him in the back. Then there was the pel, a post or tree stump, six feet high. This he struck at certain points, marked as face and breast and legs, covering himself at the same time with a shield. He must learn also to scale walls, to swim, to bear heat, cold, hunger and fatigue. If he were a "squire of the body" he bore the shield and armour of his lord in battle, cased and secured him in it and assisted him to mount his war-horse. To him fell the honour of defending the banner and securing the prisoners. If his lord were unhorsed, he must raise him and give him a new mount; if wounded, he must bear him to a place of safety. Froissart tells the story of a knight who fought as long as his breath served him and "at last at the end of the battle, his four squires took him and brought him out of the field and laid him under a hedgeside for to refresh him, and they unarmed him and bound up his wounds as well as they could." The squire did not fight unless his lord was sore pressed, but he kept a careful watch, as did the son of the King of France, at Poitiers, standing by his father in the mêlée, though he was but fifteen, shouting "Guard thyself on thy right, father. Guard thyself on thy left, father," till he was taken prisoner. A squire might be dubbed a knight on the battle-field in reward for bravery, or at the age of twenty-one he became a knight if he so desired, and this was the manner of his knighting, though often some of these ceremonies were left out. In the evening, he was placed in the care of "two squires of honour, grave and well seen in courtship and nurture and also in the feats of chivalry." A barber then attended and shaved him and cut his hair. After this he was led by the squires into his chamber where a bath was prepared, hung within and without with linen, and covered with rich cloths. While he was in the bath, "two ancient and grave knights attended on him, to instruct and counsel him touching the order and feats of chivalry." When this had been done, they poured some of the water of the bath over his shoulders, signing the left shoulder with the Cross. He was then taken from the bath and put into a plain bed without hangings, and there he remained until his body was dry. Then the two squires arrayed him in linen and a white shirt, and over that "a robe of russet with long sleeves, having a hood thereto like unto that of a hermit." In this way, knights of the order of the Bath were made. Then the "two ancient and grave knights" returned and led him to the chapel, the squires going before them "sporting and dancing, the minstrels making melody." And when they had been served with wines and spices they went away, leaving only the young squire, his companions, the priest, the chandler and the watch who kept the vigil of arms till sunrise. At daybreak he confessed to the priest, heard matins, took part in the service of the Mass, offering a taper and a piece of money stuck in the taper as near the lighted end as possible, the taper to the honour of God, the money to the honour of the person who made him a knight. Afterwards he was taken back to his chamber and remained in bed until the knights, squires and minstrels went to him and roused him. The knights then dressed him, mounted their horses and rode to the hall or the church where the new knight was to receive knighthood. His future squire rode before him, bareheaded, carrying his sword by the point of the scabbard with his spurs hanging from the hilt. If they rode to the hall, the lord there delivered the right spur "to the most noble and gentle knight" present and directed him to fasten it on the squire's right heel. The knight, kneeling, placed the squire's foot on his knee, fixed the spur and signed him with the Cross. In the same way, the left spur was fixed by another knight. And he, who was to create the new knight, took the sword and girded him with it, and then embracing him, lifted his right hand and smote him on the neck or shoulder, saying "Be thou a good knight." When this was done they all went to the chapel with much music, and there the sword was sprinkled with holy water by the priest who gave it to the knight, saying "Receive thy sword and use it in thine own defence and that of the Holy Church of God and to the confusion of the enemies of the Cross of Christ and for the Christian faith." "Be thou a knight who lovest peace, firm, faithful and a true servant of God." Then girt with his sword the new knight arose, drew it from its sheath and waved it twice mightily over his left arm and put it back in the scabbard. Sometimes it happened as he came from the chapel, that the master cook awaited him at the door, and claimed his spurs as a fee, saying, "If thou do anything contrary to the order of chivalry (which God forbid) I shall hack the spurs from thy heels." Some rode forth to protect "the good peace of the Lord their God" and some to break it. CHAPTER XIII THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE If we want to know about the ways of men in those days, we must read some of their tales. Many stories were sung and told of knightly deeds and adventures. There are a number that have come down to us about a great king, Arthur, and his knights, called the Knights of the Round Table. These are recorded in that "noble and joyous book" _Le Morte Darthur_, which Caxton printed. We do not know where this King lived nor are we sure where his kingdom lay. The English story-teller says he lived in Wales, but the French people say he lived in their land. When he was crowned King, those who loved him took a vow to follow him wherever he went. He chose twelve knights who promised to help the weak and suffering and to release men from their enemies. These were the Knights of the Round Table and they rode out into all the world to seek adventure. There was the good knight Sir Tristram, "the best chaser of the world and the noblest blower of an horn of all manner of measures, for, as books report, of Sir Tristram came all the good terms of hunting and all the sizes and measures of blowing of an horn; and of him we had first all the terms of hawking and which were beast of chase and which were vermins and all the blasts that belonged to all manner of games." There, too, was the beloved Knight Launcelot, "the courteoust Knight that ever bare shield, the kindest man that ever struck with sword, the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights, the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies, the sternest knight to mortal foe that ever put spear in rest." King Arthur had a beautiful sword and he came by it in this way. Merlin, the magician, led him down to the shores of a great lake, and as they gazed upon the dark waters an arm "clothed in white samite" came forth, holding the sword Excalibur. "With that they saw a damsel going upon the lake. What damosel is that? said Arthur. That is the Lady of the Lake, said Merlin; and within that lake is a rock and therein is as fair a place as any on earth, and richly beseen; and this damosel will come to you anon and then speak ye fair to her that she will give you that sword. Anon withal came the damosel unto Arthur and saluted him and he her again. Damosel, said Arthur, what sword is that, that yonder the arm holdeth above the water? I would it were mine for I have no sword. Sir Arthur, King, said the damosel, that sword is mine, and if ye will give me a gift when I ask it you, ye shall have it. By my faith, said Arthur, I will give you what gift ye will ask. Well! said the damosel, go ye into yonder barge and row yourself to the sword and take it and the scabbard with you and I will ask my gift in time. So Sir Arthur and Merlin alit and tied their horses to two trees, and so they went into the ship, and when they came to the sword that the hand held, Sir Arthur took it up by the handles and took it with him, and the arm and the hand went under water." Then Merlin built the King a beautiful palace at Camelot and there they brought the Queen Guinevere. Now some of Arthur's knights went in search of the Holy Grail, a mysterious cup, that had disappeared because men were evil. They thought that if they could find it and bring it back to the earth again, there would be no more sorrow nor pain. One day, there came in to the court an old man, clothed all in white, and there was no Knight that knew from whence he came. And with him, both on foot, he brought a young Knight, in red arms, without a sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging by his side. "Sir," said the old man to King Arthur, "I bring you here a young Knight." Then the old man made the young man un-arm him, and he was in a coat of red sandal and bare a mantle upon his shoulders that was furred with fine ermine, and put that upon him, and the old man said unto the young Knight, "Sir, follow after." And so he brought him unto the Siege Perilous. Now this was a seat at the Round Table, covered with a cloth, and no man durst sit in it, for Merlin had said that only he who should see the Holy Grail might sit therein without harm. "The old man removed the cloth and found letters written 'This is the siege of Sir Galahad the Good Knight'." "Sir," said the old man, "wit ye well, this place is yours." Then all the Knights of the Round Table marvelled greatly of Sir Galahad that he durst sit in that Siege Perilous." Then Sir Galahad took his seat in the Siege Perilous. "Then anon they heard cracking and crying of thunder, that they thought the place should fall. In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam more clearer by seven times than ever they saw day and all they were alighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight to behold other and either saw other, by their seeming, fairer than ever they saw afore. There was no Knight might speak one word a great while and so they looked every man on other as they had been dumb. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail covered with white samite, but there was none might see it, nor who bare it. And there was all the hall fulfilled with good odours and every knight had such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world. And when the Holy Grail had been borne through the hall, then the Holy Vessel departed suddenly that they wist not where it became; then had they all breath to speak." Then all the Knights of the Round Table arose and set forth in search of the Holy Grail, and through the world they wandered doing deeds of might and valour as they passed. But the Holy Grail never came back to the earth again, for not all the Knights were pure. Then King Arthur grew old and weary and was wounded unto death in battle. "Therefore, said Arthur unto Sir Bedivere, take thou Excalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder water side, and when thou comest there I charge thee throw my sword in that water and come again and tell me what thou there seest. My lord, said Bedivere, your commandment shall be done, and lightly bring you word again. So Sir Bedivere departed and by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft was all of precious stones; and then he said to himself: if I throw this rich sword in the water, thereof shall never come good but harm and loss. And then Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree. And so, as soon as might, he came again unto the King and said he had been at the water and had thrown the sword in the water. What saw thou there? said the King. Sir, he said, I saw nothing but waves and winds. That is untruly said of thee, said the King, therefore go thou lightly again and do my commandment, as thou art to me dear, spare not, but throw it in. Then Sir Bedivere returned again and took the sword in his hand, and then him thought sin and shame to throw away that noble sword and so again he hid the sword and returned again and told to the King that he had been in at the water and done his commandment. What saw thou there? said the King. Sir, he said, I saw nothing but the waters wappe (lap) and waves wanne (ebb). Ah traitor untrue, said King Arthur, now hast thou betrayed me twice. Who would have weened that, thou that hast been to me so dear? and thou that art named a noble Knight would betray me for the richness of the sword. But now go again lightly, for thy long tarrying putteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for I have taken cold. And but if thou do now as I bid thee, if ever I may see thee, I shall slay thee with mine own hands; for thou wouldst for my rich sword see me dead. Then Sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword and lightly took it up and went to the water side; and there he bound the girdle about the hilts and then threw the sword as far into the water, as he might; and there came an arm and an hand above the water and met it and caught it and so shook it thrice and brandished and then vanished away the hand with the sword in the water. So Bedivere came again to the King and told him what he saw." Then came the three Queens and took Arthur in their hands and bore him to the barge. They floated out across the seas towards the west and there was the sound as of a city rejoicing at the return of a hero. CHAPTER XIV THE CONQUEST OF IRELAND Away to the west lay the beautiful country of Ireland. It was known in all the world for its riches, and the ships of many lands were seen in its havens. For the rivers and seas were full of fish, the pastures gave abundant food to the flocks and herds. "Dark was the shadow of the corn in their fields" of which "great plenty was sent over-seas," and rich was the harvest of their orchards. Merchants came laden with spices, figs, pepper and ginger, with wine and carpets and many things from the east to offer in exchange for their wealth. It was the home of craftsmen, skilful in all manner of handiwork. They made the beautiful book of Kells, "the great Gospel of Columkill, the chief relic of the western world on account of its unequalled cover." So wonderful was their work in illuminating and lettering that an English writer who saw one of their books in 1185 said that it must have been done by angels, not men. Gold and silver were found in the land, and of these their goldsmiths wrought delicate ornaments. Their blacksmiths too were famed for fine armour and good weapons. They were weavers, and their cloth was sold in England; "white and green, and russet and red," for they had the secret of making lovely dyes. Of the reign of a good King it was said, "In his time, there was abundance of dye-stuff." Kings and Queens in far-off lands were anxious to buy their cloth for trimming mantles and gowns. The Irish made linen too, both fine and coarse, and leather gloves, shoes and belts. The people of Ireland were given to hospitality and were courteous in their ways. They loved rich clothes and beautiful things, and in their stories and songs you may still read of the fine golden goblets and beakers of horn from which they quaffed their ale, of the dress of cloth of gold that the lady donned when she entertained the poets, of the crimson velvet mantle bordered with black velvet that the chieftain wore on feast-days. Of their wide hanging linen sleeves, an Englishman wrote "30 yards are little enough for one of them." They were singers and makers of song like the Saxon people. They loved the harp and delighted in the old stories, such as you may still read, of the hero Cuculain and Deirdri of the Sorrows, of Patrick and the saints. William Rufus looking towards this rich country had said: "For the conquest of that land, I will gather together all the ships of my kingdom and will make them a bridge to cross over." But the King had no leisure to set sail for Ireland. In the days of Henry II, it befell that Dermot, King of Leinster, carried off the wife of O'Ruarc, the one-eyed, Prince of Meath, who was "heart-struck both by his shame and by his loss." Then he gathered his men together and marched against Dermot, "a man tall of stature and stout of frame, a soldier whose heart was in the fray and held valiant among his own nation. From often shouting his battle-cry, his voice had become hoarse. A man who liked better to be feared by all than loved by any." So his followers left him and Dermot sought refuge in Bristol. One of his men, who was sorry at his departure, wrote in the margin of the Book of Leinster, where you may still see them, these words: "O Mary! It is a great deed that has been done in Erin on this day; Dermot, King of Leinster and of the Foreigners, to have been banished by the men of Erin over the sea East-wards! Uch, Uch, O Lord! What shall I do?" Now Dermot asked help of the Normans in England, saying: Whoever shall wish for land or pence, Horses, trappings or chargers, Gold or silver, I shall give them A very ample pay. Whoever may wish for soil or sod Richly shall I enfeoff them. The Normans were glad of the promises of gold and of land and willingly set sail for Ireland. Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke, was their leader, "a man with reddish hair, freckled skin, grey eyes and tall of stature," strong in battle and of much wisdom. The King of Leinster gave him Eva, his daughter, in marriage. Then did the Kings submit to Dermot, for there was much bloodshed and he "made Ireland a trembling sod." When the King died, Strongbow succeeded him, and Henry II, when he heard the news, was not willing that his barons should be lords in a new land. Therefore, he too set sail for Ireland that they might do him homage. And all the lords and chiefs came, for they feared him. Then the Norman barons built castles and married Irish ladies, and they no more desired to return to England, for Ireland was a country abounding in treasure. "The old chieftains of Erin prospered under these princely English lords, who were the chief rulers and who had given up their surliness for good manners, their stubbornness for sweet-mildness and their perverseness for hospitality." So Ireland prospered, but it is not easy to find out its ancient history, for many of the old books have been lost or burnt and some have been used as though they were of no account. "By long lying shut and unused," says one writer, hundreds of years ago, "I could hardly read," and "by taylors being suffered to cut the leaves of the books in long pieces to make their measure" many pages are missing. CHAPTER XV THE COMING OF THE FRIARS About this time, Francis, the son of a merchant, was born in Italy in the town of Assisi. When he grew up his parents were very proud of him and gave him much money, for he dressed gaily, feasted often and led the young men of fashion. Then it chanced that he fell ill and, as he lay upon his bed, he thought of the sick and the poor, of the rich monks and the idle priests, and he made up his mind when he grew well to live as Christ lived among men. He left his father and mother, to their great sorrow. He gave all he had to the poor and dwelt near a ruined chapel beyond the city gates. There he busied himself in rebuilding the chapel, and when he came amongst men it was with a cheerful countenance and a merry heart to do them service. Though many laughed at him, some desired to become his followers, "and those who took upon themselves that life gave away to the poor all that they chanced to have. And they were content with one tunic patched as they required, within and without, together with a girdle and breeches." In the heat of the day, on the dusty roads, S. Francis and his companions trudged along, singing songs of joy and cheering those whom they chanced to meet. At night, they sometimes lay out-of-doors, singing praises all the while of "Sister moon and the stars bright and precious and comely" and watching for the rising of the sun, "that doth illumine us with the dawning of day." For food, they laboured or begged, and of that which was left they gave to the poor. One day, when they had done their begging, they met together to eat in a place without the city, where was a fine fountain and hard by a fine broad stone, upon which each set the alms that he had begged. And S. Francis, seeing that Brother Masseo's pieces of bread were more and finer and larger than his own, rejoiced with great joy and said, "Brother Masseo, we are not worthy of such vast treasures," and when he repeated many times these words, Brother Masseo made answer, "Father, how can one speak of treasure, where is such poverty and lack of all things whereof we are in need? Here is not cloth, nor knife, nor plate, nor porringer, nor house, nor table, nor man-servant nor maid-servant." Quoth S. Francis, "And this it is that I account vast treasure, wherein is no thing at all prepared by human hands but whatsoever we have is given by God, as doth appear in the bread that we have broken, in the table of stone so fine and in the fount so clear; wherefore I will that we pray unto God that He make us love with all our heart the treasure of holy poverty, which is so noble that thereunto did God Himself become a servitor." Of his courtesy and love towards all creatures on the earth, many stories are told. "And as with great fervour, he was going on the way, he lifted up his eyes and beheld some trees hard by the road, whereon sat a great company of birds well-nigh without number, whereat S. Francis marvelled and said to his companions, 'Ye shall wait for me here upon the way and I will go to preach unto my little sisters the birds.'" "And he went into the field and began to preach unto the birds that were on the ground and immediately those that were on the trees flew down to him and they all of them remained still and quiet together until S. Francis made an end of preaching." It was a great surprise even to his followers that so many should seek him. Quoth Brother Masseo, "I say, why doth all the world come after thee and why is it seen that all men long to see thee and hear thee and obey thee? Thou art not a man comely of form, thou art not of much wisdom, thou art not noble of birth, whence comes it then that it is after thee the whole world doth run?" And as his companions increased in number, he made a journey to Rome to desire the Pope to bless their Order. There is a story which may not be true that when the Pope saw his untrimmed hair and beard and read the rules, which seemed too hard for any man to keep, he made answer, "Go, brother, go to the pigs, for you are more like them than men, and read to them the rules you have drawn up." Then Francis humbly bowed his head and went away and coming to a field where there were pigs, he rolled in the mud with them. Then he returned to the Pope and said, "My lord, I have done as you commanded, grant me now, I beseech you, my petition." The Pope was astonished at his humility and, repenting of his own harshness, he granted the prayer. Thus was the order of the Grey Brothers or Friars[3] founded. Soon the little Brothers of S. Francis were scattered over the world and many joined them in England. They had no possessions, and they travelled from place to place preaching to the people and tending the sick and the lepers, of whom there were many in sore need. [3] French _Frères_, Latin _Fratres_. CHAPTER XVI THE THIRD CRUSADE In the time of William Rufus, Peter the Hermit travelled from country to country calling all Christian men to follow him to Palestine; for the holy places where Christ and His disciples had lived had fallen into the hands of fierce men, the Mohammedans. The pilgrims had been tortured and forbidden to enter Jerusalem, and their number was great, for men of all nations went sometimes in sorrow and carrying rich gifts to make their prayers at the tomb of Christ where, it was said, many wonders were done. Those who had sinned much sought forgiveness, those who were sick desired health and others came to pray for friends and patrons. Therefore the preacher asked of the rich that they should give all that they had, and of the strong and valiant that they should fight for the banner of the Cross. And many set out for the war--peasants and princes, French, Italian, English and Austrian--to rescue the land that some held dearer than their own. In that great company was Robert of Normandy, who had sold his dominions to his brother that he might go. The way was long and perilous, through forests, over mountains, by strange towns and across the treacherous sea, and many died of hunger or of fever on the journey. Twice did the Christian armies march to Jerusalem, yet though they took the city, they could not keep it. Then Richard of the Lion-heart, son of Henry II, planned to join the Third Crusade, for he was a great soldier and loved war. The King begged money from everyone for his journey. He invited his barons to join him and bring their best men, and from those who would not come he asked large sums of money, promising to pray for them when he reached Jerusalem. He seized the treasure of the Jews, for they were a people who worked hard and spent little. The Jews were much hated, and when the news went abroad that the King had taken their money, the English thought to do him service by killing them; but the King was angry, for he had only wanted their money. Then Richard sold the chief offices in his court to those who could pay well, caring little how they ruled while he was away. When he had gathered treasure enough, he set out with the boldest of his barons, and John, his brother, was left to govern England. After many adventures, he arrived at Acre, and there he found the French King and the Austrians and others surrounding the city. Then Richard besieged it and took it and the great army made him their leader, for they admired his prowess. The French King was much angered and returned home, and the Austrian Duke was envious and led his troops back to their own land. But Richard marched towards Jerusalem. Over the burning desert went the soldiers in their armour, so heavy that if a man fell from his horse, he would be stifled to death unless a comrade were near to raise him; and the horses found it heavy work in the shifting sand. At the rear of the army rode the Knights Hospitallers, who had made vows to succour the wounded and those who fell by the way, and for this service they were held in high esteem. The enemy watched in hiding to cut off the stragglers by the way. Mounted on swift Arab steeds and clothed in light garments, they moved rapidly, and the poisoned arrow was a deadly weapon. When the tired soldiers came in sight of Jaffa, it was the season of oranges and the time of vintage was at hand, so there they made a camp. Much refreshed they marched within twelve miles of Jerusalem, but the weather was bad and their tents were torn up and whirled away. The horses perished of cold and the stores were spoiled and their armour grew rusty and many fell ill from long sojourn in this land. There, too, Richard received a letter telling him that his brother John was plotting to take away his inheritance and that the King of France intended to make war on Normandy. Reluctantly he turned his back upon the Holy City, for he had desired above measure to take it. When one of the knights would have pointed it out to him in the camp, he snapped the switch he held in his hand and cast his surcoat over his head, praying with tears, "O Lord God, suffer not mine eyes to behold Thy Holy City, since Thou wilt not suffer me to deliver it out of the hands of Thine enemies." Now the Mohammedans held Richard in great awe. When the officers returned to their master after a battle, he asked them mockingly whether they were bringing Richard in chains and they answered, "Know, O King, for a surety that this Richard of whom you inquire is not like other men. In all time, no such soldier has been seen or heard of; no warrior so stout, so valiant or so skilled; his onset is terrible, it is death to encounter him, his deeds are more than human." Then Richard made a truce with the valiant Saladin, the ruler of the Mohammedans, and this was to last three years and three months and three days and three hours, and once again pilgrims were allowed to visit the tomb of Christ. Now the King dared not return through France for fear of the French monarch, therefore he pretended he was a rich merchant, and hiring two ships he sailed for Austria, hoping to make his way through that land in disguise. But the Duke of Austria hated him almost as much as did the French King. One evening, Richard sent his page into a city for food, and by mistake he carried the King's gloves in his belt and on them was embroidered the golden lion of England. And the lord of the castle happening to be in the market place saw these and gave orders to follow. Then Richard was captured and cast into a donjon to await the Duke's pleasure. The Duke demanded a ransom for the King so large that he thought the English could not pay it. But Eleanor, the King's mother, rested not till she had raised the money, and the English paid gladly. When the Crusaders returned to their own lands they spoke of the strange things they had seen and of the courage of Christian soldiers of many nations. Then also the people began to desire spices and silks from the East more than ever before, and they must often have longed for oranges, figs, grapes and dates, such as these adventurers described. CHAPTER XVII THE LOSS OF NORMANDY. THE SIGNING OF THE CHARTER By the river Seine, on a high rock, Richard built a fine castle to guard Normandy. When the King of France heard of its building, he said, "If its walls were of iron I would take it," and Richard replied, "If its walls were of butter I would hold it," and he named it Château Gaillard, Saucy Castle. When Richard died, his brother John did not trouble to keep many soldiers there, and the King of France was glad, for he desired it greatly. Eleanor, the King's mother, gathered soldiers for her son, and though she was very old she did her best to save Normandy. Yet Saucy Castle fell and the Norman barons would not fight for John. So Normandy was lost and the barons had to choose between their French lands and their English lands. Many, who were fierce and turbulent, went to live in Normandy, and those who had learned to love their new country stayed in England. Though they still spoke French they served England well and tried to make the King rule more justly. Now the people of England had been proud of Normandy and they were angry with John because he had lost it. In his days, too, there was a great quarrel between the King and the Pope, and the priests were forbidden to hold any services in England, and for five years the churches and monasteries were closed, the dead were buried without prayer in the ditches and highways, and no one could marry in church. "The images of saints were taken down and veiled; the frequent tinkle of the convent bell no longer told the serf at the plough how the weary hours were passing or guided the traveller through the forest to a shelter for the night." The people grew afraid, and they hated the King, who was the cause of much evil. Yet John did not care, and he would not receive the new Archbishop whom the Pope had sent. Then the Pope banished the King from the Church and declared him an outlaw, whose life any man might take, and still the King had no fear. At last, the Pope offered the English crown to the French King and John knew that the French King was a dangerous enemy, therefore he promised to do whatever the Pope wished. So the new Archbishop, Stephen Langton, was received by the King. Soon he began to talk with the barons of the wrongs that the King did daily in the land, and they searched for the old charter that Henry I had given his people. Then they drew up the Great Charter, asking the King to grant them justice. John met the barons and the Archbishop in a meadow near Windsor, called Runnymede. When he saw the charter he said, "These articles are pure foolishness! Why do they not ask me for the Kingdom at once? I will never give them such freedom as would make me a slave." But looking round at the fierce barons there, unwillingly he set his seal to it. Thus the King promised that no freeman should be imprisoned without a trial by his equals, that no one should be fined so heavily that he could not pay or that he had to give up the tools by which he earned his daily bread. He promised too that he would not take money from his people without asking the advice of his council and that he would let the merchants come and go freely in the land. In London, you may still see the old charter signed by the barons who were present, and bearing the King's seal, and when you are able to read it, you can find out what other promises the King made that day. CHAPTER XVIII THE LAWS OF EDWARD I AND THE FIRST PARLIAMENT IN the days of Henry III, the barons had become powerful, and his son Edward I remembered the days of Stephen and how the great lords had destroyed "the good peace" of the realm, and he wisely framed the laws against them. Now the King had grown poor and the barons had grown rich. They did not care to pay their taxes, so they pretended to give their lands to the Church. These lands were then "in the dead hand" because the Church held them for ever and owed nothing to the King. Yet all the time, the priests took their share and the lands were still held by the barons, free of all dues to the King. So the King forbade any man to give lands to the Church without his permission. Again, many had taken lands which did not belong to them and seized the King's dues in the courts and no one had made inquiries since Domesday Book was written. The King sent round his messengers to ask by what right they held their lands and courts, and the barons were angry. One man drew out his sword and defied the King, saying, "My ancestors came over with William and won the lands with their sword, and with the sword I will keep them." The King made other laws and the barons feared him. Edward desired that the people in the towns should prosper, for he hoped to get money from the traders. Much complaint was made that the roads were in danger from lurking bands of robbers and the cities too were unguarded. The merchants suffered most, for their mule packs, carrying merchandise, had to be strongly guarded. So the King gave orders concerning the watch and ward and bade the townsmen search out the evil doers or pay heavy fines for every crime done in their boundaries. The gates of the towns were to be shut from sunset to sunrise and the trees and undergrowth were to be cut down for a distance of 200 feet on either side of the highway, lest they gave shelter to men with evil intent. [Illustration: A COURT OF JUSTICE IN THE 15TH CENTURY Duke of Alençon condemned for treason by Charles VII, King of France, 1458 The figure of the artist is to be seen inside the barrier, turning from the scene as though he were not interested] [Illustration: THE PARLIAMENT OF EDWARD I This picture probably dates from the 16th century] Then the King planned to take not only from the richest of the nobles and the priests but also from the treasure chests of the citizens. When he was about to make war and desired money, he sent out a letter asking not only the bishops and barons to meet him but two knights from every shire and two citizens from every city and two burgesses from every borough. The new comers were at first flattered to sit with the great barons, but soon they found it very troublesome, for the King asked for much money, the journey to the meeting place was often long and dangerous and the King would take no excuses for absence. Then the members began to find fault with the King and to ask how he spent the money, and they made even the strong man Edward sign again the Great Charter. There is an old picture of one of these parliaments and in it the artist has drawn, not only the two Archbishops seated on either side of the King but also the King of Scotland and the Prince of Wales, but this no doubt he did to show the power of Edward I over these princes, for they never really were in Parliament. The judges sat on the four woolsacks which faced one another. On the right of the King sat the Archbishops, Bishops and Abbots; on the left, the great lords; and opposite him the Commons stood. CHAPTER XIX THE CONQUEST OF WALES In the old days, the Britons had fled before the Northmen, who came conquering from the east-ward; but those who dwelt in the mountain fastnesses of the west had been secure from Saxon and Norman foes. Their country was called Wales or the land of the foreigner, by all who heard of it. Between England and Wales lay the borderland or Marches as the Normans named it, and there the troublesome Norman barons had been given lands by the King to keep them far from the court and busy with their wild neighbours. When Edward ruled in England, Llewelyn, "towering above the rest of men, with his long red lance, and red helmet of battle, crested with a fierce wolf," was Prince of Snowdon. The bards sang of his fame and prophesied that he should rule from sea to sea. "Men spoke of the return of King Arthur, they whispered that the Northmen should be driven back to their fatherland" and the nation waited in expectation. Llewelyn desired to marry the daughter of one of the Lords of the Marches and to find friends among those barons. Edward, fearing this, captured the bride on her way to Wales and summoned the prince to London to do homage for his lands; but he would not come. "We dare not submit to Edward," said the Welsh, "nor will we suffer our prince to do so, nor do homage to strangers whose tongue, ways and laws we know nought of." So the King raised an army and marched into their country by way of the old Roman road along the north coast. His army marched untroubled with heavy stores and baggage, for Edward was a great soldier and had planned that his fleet should attend him, sailing in sight of the coast, till they reached the island of Anglesey, the granary of the Welsh. As he marched, he gave orders to build strong castles. Builders and architects were as busy as soldiers and there was great rivalry amongst them. Some boasted of the number of towers, some of their size, some of the speed at which they were able to build. The fine castle of Conway was made from the stones of a stronghold close by. Carnarvon and Beaumaris were built to guard the island of Anglesey, and Caerphilly looked towards the lands of the South Welsh. Llewelyn, hidden in the wilds of Snowdon, hoped ever that the King would risk a march into these unknown paths, but he waited in vain. Then Llewelyn fought on the coast road, but with dismay he saw himself cut off on all sides but one, and, looking towards the south, he knew it to be his only way of escape, and that was the land of his enemies. There, it is said, he died, by the treachery of the South Welsh, as he stood upon the bank of a river, but the South Welsh say that he was slain in battle by his enemies, the English. Then Edward summoned the Welsh to meet him at Carnarvon Castle, where he promised they should do homage to a new Welsh Prince, whom he would choose. When the day came, he showed to them his eldest son, who had just been born at Carnarvon, and they paid homage. Among the laws which he made, he bade the Welsh speak English, but to this day they can speak in their own tongue. "My people," said the Welsh chieftain, "may be weakened by your might and even in great part destroyed, but unless the wrath of God be on the side of its foe it will not perish utterly, nor deem I that other race or other tongue will answer for this corner of the world before the Judge of all at the last day save this people and the tongue of Wales." CHAPTER XX THE WAR WITH SCOTLAND The old King of Scotland, dying, left his kingdom to his little granddaughter, the Maid of Norway, who was only seven years old. Edward planned to marry her to his son the Prince of Wales and so make England and Scotland one kingdom. He sent a ship to bring her from Norway in the winter and he stored it with good things, with toys and sweetmeats for the voyage. The weather was stormy and Margaret died on the voyage. There was much woe in Scotland and trouble in the English King's mind. Many Scottish nobles claimed the crown and they asked Edward to choose amongst them. It was a difficult matter but Edward was trusted, for all men praised him as the Lion of Justice. He chose Balliol to rule over them, but this man proved himself of no wisdom and little counsel and his rivals Bruce and the Red Comyn were more powerful than he. Balliol thought to win favour of the Scots by defying the English King. Edward then harried the land and carried off the Stone of Destiny from Scone. This stone was said to be Jacob's Pillow and had been brought to Ireland long ago and thence into Scotland. On it, all the Kings of Scotland had sat to be crowned and it was put in Westminster Abbey, where it still lies underneath the coronation chair. English barons were sent to rule Scotland but they were not so wise as Edward and there was bitterness among the people. In their distress, they found a leader in William Wallace, who drilled them to fight on foot against the foreigner, for they were too poor to buy horses and ride into battle in costly armour. On the field, they stood close together, shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the onslaught of the knights, and then they fought with spear and battle-axe. The English soldiers were taken by surprise, for they had never heard of such a strange army nor seen such steady ranks of men. Edward, however, was a thoughtful general, and he soon learned to use his Welsh archers to trouble the Scots and break their lines. Yet when they were driven from the field, he found he could not rule in Scotland as he had done in Wales, for it was a barren land and the Scots were a hardy people. Now there was a great feud between Bruce and the Red Comyn. One day when the two met, they entered a church to talk and Bruce killed his foe on the steps of the high altar and, rushing out, he cried to his men, "I doubt I have slain the Red Comyn." "Ye doubt? I make certain," cried one of his followers as he pushed his way into the church. The people of Scotland were angry for this sin in their hero, but they could not do without him, for Wallace had been caught and hanged as a traitor. So they crowned the Bruce in the old city of Scone, and the golden circlet was placed upon his head by the Countess of Buchan, whose husband was with the invader. Many stories are told of these times and of the high courage of the Scots, for there were great perils in this strife and there was hunger and cold and faithlessness. Hearing of the deeds of this man, who had once paid vows to him, Edward, now an old man, led his armies northward again. There on the Borderland he died, leaving this charge to his son, that he should rest neither day nor night till he was prince of Scotland also. Yet the young King turned his face towards London to make ready for his coronation and wedding. Then the Bruce became indeed King of Scotland, and seven years afterwards, when it was too late, the English King marched with his men to the field of Bannockburn. There he was defeated and from the shame of that day he could never escape. The Scots harried the north of England for many a year. They rode on swift ponies, carrying only a tin platter and a bag of oatmeal for food, drinking from the streams and eating flesh when they could catch wild deer or mountain sheep or the fat oxen in the pastures. It was a hard matter to find this army, for they rode hither and thither silently, surely and swiftly. Thus was Scotland separated from England for many a generation. CHAPTER XXI THE WAR WITH FRANCE In the days of "the courteous knight" and King, Edward III, a great war was waged with France, for the English merchants complained bitterly that the French had troubled them as they passed bearing wool to the great markets. So bold had the French become that they had harried the Isle of Wight and burned many villages along the southern shore. As the King passed over seas to make war, he came in sight of the harbour of Sluys, "and when he saw so great a number of ships that their masts seemed to be like a great wood, he demanded of the master of his ship what people he thought they were." He answered and said, "Sir, I think they be men laid here by the French King, and they have done great displeasure in England, burnt your town of South Hampton and taken your great ship, Christopher." "Ah," quoth the King, "I have long desired to fight with the Frenchmen, and now shall I fight with some of them by the grace of God and S. George." The battle began with the sound of trumpets and drums and other kinds of music and "it endured from the morning till noon, for their enemies were four to one and all good men of the sea." But the English fought so valiantly that they obtained the victory and Edward received the title of Lord of the Seas. Some years later, Edward led his men into France to take Paris, but he found that a great army was drawn up to defend the city and that the bridges over the rivers had been destroyed. Many of his soldiers fell sick, so he hastened towards Calais. Then the French King gave chase. On the hill of Crécy, Edward III drew up his men to await the enemy. While they were waiting, a great thunderstorm burst over the land, and the King gave orders that the archers should cover their bows with their cloaks lest the heavy rain should spoil them. But the French King, in his haste, urged his men forward, and, wet and weary, they came in sight of their foe. When the French King saw the hosts on the hill, "he hated them" and bade the Italian crossbowmen, whom he had hired, begin the attack. They said their strings were slack and they could not fight that day, but he called them cowards and bade them fall on. As they advanced into battle, the sun shone in their faces, and when they drew near "the Italians made a great leap and cry to abash the English but they stood still and stirred not for all that. And a second time, they made another leap and a dreadful cry and stepped forward a little but the Englishmen removed not one foot. Again they leapt and cried and went forward till they came within shot, then the English archers stepped forward one pace and let fly their arrows so hotly and so thick that it seemed snow. When the Italians felt the arrows piercing through their heads, arms and breasts, many of them cast down their cross-bows and cut their strings and ran back discomfited." When the French King saw them fleeing, he said, "Slay those rascals, for they will hinder us and block up our path for nothing." Then the men-at-arms dashed in among them and killed a great number and still "the English kept shooting wherever they saw the thickest press and the sharp arrows ran into the men-at-arms and into their horses and many fell among the Italians and when they were down they could not get up again, for the press was so thick that one overthrew the other." It was in this battle that gunpowder was first used, but the cannon was only fired once an hour, and then it frightened those who stood by more than the enemy. The Prince of Wales, who was but sixteen years old, was hard-pressed by the horsemen of France, and the Knights under his banner sent a messenger to his father, the King, who was watching the battle from a windmill on the hill. "Is my son dead or hurt or felled to the ground?" asked Edward. "No sir, but hardly pressed." "Then go back to them that sent you and tell them to send to me no more whatever betide as long as my son is alive, and bid them let him win his spurs, for, please God, I wish this day and the honour thereof to be his and those that are with him." And they that heard it were greatly encouraged. The old King of Bohemia, fighting for the French, was led into battle by four of his comrades, for he was dim of sight. There he fell fighting, and his crest of three black feathers, with the motto, "Ich Dien," "I serve," was taken by the Prince and has been worn by his successors ever since. The French King was wounded and his soldiers scattered in dismay. Then the English made great fires and lighted up torches and candles, for it was very dark. And the King came down to the field and said to his son: "Fair son, God give you good perseverance, ye are my good son, thus ye have acquitted you nobly; ye are worthy to keep a realm." The prince inclined himself to the earth, honouring his father. CHAPTER XXII THE WAR WITH FRANCE (_continued_) Calais was the great port of Northern France. It was a strong town and the King besieged it. For eleven months it held out against him. The King was sore displeased that he should tarry so long before its gates, and when the citizens desired to make peace he demanded that six burgesses, bare headed, bare footed, in their shirts, with halters about their necks and with the keys of the castle and town in their hands, should give themselves as a ransom for the inhabitants. The bell in the market place was sounded and the people assembled. When they heard this "they began to weep and make much sorrow." At last the richest burgess of all the town, called Eustace of Saint Pierre, rose up and said openly, "Sirs, great and small, great mischief it should be to suffer such people as be in this town to die by famine or otherwise, wherefore to save them, I will be the first to put my life in jeopardy." Then another honest burgess rose and said: "I will keep company with my gossip Eustace," and so the six offered themselves and went and apparelled them as the King desired. When they were brought into the camp, they begged for mercy, "then all the earls and barons and others that were there wept for pity. The King looked felly (cruelly) on them, for greatly he hated the people of Calais for the great damages and displeasures they had done him on the sea before." Then he commanded their heads to be stricken off. Every man requested the King for mercy but he would hear no one on their behalf. "They of Calais have caused many of my men to be slain, wherefore shall they die like-wise." Then the Queen kneeled down and sore weeping said, "Ah, gentle sir, since I passed the sea in great peril, I have desired nothing of you, therefore now I humbly require you in honour of the Son of the Virgin Mary, and for the love of me, that ye will take mercy on these six burgesses." The King beheld the Queen and stood still in a study a space and then said: "Ah dame, I would ye had been now in some other place, ye make such request to me that I cannot deny you. Wherefore I give them to you and do your pleasure with them." "Then the Queen caused them to be brought into her chamber and made their halters to be taken from their necks and caused them to be new clothed and gave them dinner at their leisure and then gave them each some gold and made them to be brought out of the host in safeguard and set at their liberty." This is the story told by Froissart, who attended on the Queen, and thus did Calais fall into the hands of the English, and over its portals the conquerors inscribed the proud boast, Then shall the Frenchmen Calais win When iron and lead like cork shall swim. CHAPTER XXIII THE BLACK DEATH, AND THE PEASANTS' REVOLT In those days, the great men of the land were rich and they dressed gaily in silk and fur, gorgeous were their jewels, and their scabbards were decked with beauteous workmanship. From their bridles jangled the merry bells, as they followed their hounds to the hunt. The court too was magnificent. The King gave bounteous feasts and there were many dishes set before the guests. "There came in at the first course, before the King's self, Boars' heads on broad dishes of burnished silver, Flesh of fat harts with noble furmenty, And peacocks and plovers on platters of gold, Herons and swans in chargers of silver, And tarts of Turkey full pleasant to taste. Next hams of wild-boar with brawn beglazed, Barnacle-geese and bitterns in embossed dishes, Venison in pasties, so comely to view, Jellies that glittered and gladdened the eye. Then cranes and curlews craftily roasted, Conies in clear sauce coloured so bright, Pheasants in their feathers on the flashing silver, With gay galantines and dainties galore. There were claret and Crete wine in clear silver fountains Rhenish wine and Rochelle and wine from Mount Rose All in flagons of fine gold; and on the fair cupboard Stood store of gilt goblets glorious of hue, Sixty of one set, with jewels on their sides. When the banquet was over the guests washed their hands in rosewater and partook of wine and spices in another chamber. But the poor were much oppressed. Their fare was very simple, a loaf of beans and bran, an oaten cake with cheese or curds and cream, and sometimes perhaps parsley and leeks or cherries and apples in their season. Of the poor ploughman, the poet sang, His coat of the cloth that is named carry-marry, His hood full of holes, with the hair sticking through them; His clumsy knobbed shoes cobbled over so thickly, Though his toes started out as he trod on the ground, His hose hanging over each side of his hoggers, All plashed in the puddles as he followed the plough; Two miserable mittens made out of old rags, The fingers worn out and the filth clotted on them, He, wading in mud, almost up to his ankles, And before him four oxen, so weary and feeble, One could reckon their ribs, so rueful were they. His wife walked beside him, with a long ox goad, In a clouted coat cut short to the knee, Wrapped in a winnowing sheet to keep out the weather, Her bare feet on the bleak ice bled as she went. At one end of the acre, in a crumb-bowl so small, A little babe lay, lapped up in rags, And twins two years old tumbled beside it, All singing one song that was sorrowful hearing, For they all cried one cry, a sad note of care. A year after the siege of Calais, a great sorrow befell all men, for a little ship coming out of the east brought a terrible plague, called the Black Death. And the wind blew the plague from the south to the north, and as it passed, the towns were left desolate, for the rich escaped into the woods and many of the poor died. In Bristol, "the living were scarce able to bury the dead and the grass grew several inches high in Broad Street and High Street." When the wind reached the border of Scotland, it changed and blew from the north-west and down the eastern coast of England it sped, slaying thousands by the way. When it was gone, the lords could find but few to gather in the harvest and those that were left demanded high wages. Many landowners turned their fields into pastureland. For one shepherd and his dog could look after many sheep and there were merchants in Calais ready to buy English wool. In vain did the lords beg the King to forbid the labourer to ask for hire. If a man fled from his lord's land, whereon he was born, he should be branded with the letter F for fugitive, but still the peasants got away and offered themselves for hire in other places and those for whom they laboured were glad to have them. The peasants had many grievances. The wars with France had cost much money and the taxes were heavy. There were few who gave thought to the labourer and his troubles, for the monks had become idle and rich, and the friars had forgotten their vows and the priests their duties. Among the people, there was a band of sturdy men, who had learned to read and who took ideas of freedom from the Bible. They preached that the peasants should take up arms against the King and his lords, for they said, "they are clothed in velvet and warm in their furs and their ermine, while we are covered with rags. They have wine and spices and fine bread and we oat cake and straw and water to drink. They have leisure and fine houses, we have pain and labour, the wind and the rain in the fields. Yet it is of us and our toil that these men hold their state," and the people said When Adam delved and Eve span Who was then the gentleman? So the peasants planned to march to London to seek the new King, the boy Richard II, who was but fifteen years old, and "armed with clubs, rusty swords and axes, with old bows, reddened by the smoke of the chimney corner and old arrows with only one feather," they came to the city, only to find that the gates were shut. Then they threatened to burn and slay, and the citizens in their fear said, "Why do we not let these good people enter into the city? They are our fellows and what they do is for us." So the gates of the city were opened and the peasants sat down in the houses to eat and drink and afterwards they burned the dwellings of foreigners and great lords and slew many. The King was left alone in the Tower, for the courtiers had fled, and desiring to speak with the rebels, he rode out to an open space beyond the city where they were gathered, and there he entered in among them and said to them sweetly, "Ah, ye good people, I am your King. What lack ye? What will ye say?" Such as understood him answered, "We will that ye make us free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands." [Illustration: PREPARING THE FEAST] [Illustration: THE FEAST] "Sirs," said the King, "I am well agreed thereto; withdraw you home into your houses and into such villages as ye came from and leave behind you of every village two or three and I shall cause writings to be made and seal them with my seal, the which they shall have with them, containing everything that ye demand." They said, "It is well said, we desire no better," and so they returned to their own homes. The King could not keep his promise to the peasants, for the lords were stronger than he, yet not long after this time we find the peasants more free and labouring for hire. CHAPTER XXIV THE WAR WITH FRANCE (_continued_) When Henry V was crowned King, he desired much to revive the glories of Crécy and so he summoned his nobles to war. Then he built a great fleet to carry them to France, cutting down the oak trees in the Forest of Epping for that purpose. He was much loved by all his soldiers, "for in wrestling, leaping and running, no man could compare with him. In casting of great iron bars and heavy stones, he excelled all men, never shrinking at cold, nor slothful for heat; and when he most laboured, his head commonly uncovered; no more weariness of light armour than a light coat, very valiantly abiding at need both hunger and thirst, so manful of mind as never to seem to quinch at a wound or to smart at the pain." When he came into the realm of France, he laid siege to the strong city of Harfleur. It was summer time and many of the soldiers fell sick. Though the town was captured, Henry could but turn his back on Paris and march homeward on the old road to Calais, as his great-grandfather Edward III had done in like case. "The English were brought into some distress in this journey, by reason of their victuals in manner spent and no hope to get more: for the enemies had destroyed all the corn before they came. Rest could they none take, for their enemies with alarms did ever so infest them; daily it rained and nightly it freezed; of fuel there was great scarcity; money enough, but wares for their relief to bestow it on had they none. Yet, in this great necessity, the poor people of the country were not spoiled nor anything taken of them without payment, nor any offence done by Englishmen." In the French camp, there was much strife and discontent, yet when the news of the English King's distress reached them, and they sent after him their herald to demand ransom, the King answered with scorn. So Mountjoy, King-at-arms, was sent to the King of England to defy him as the enemy of France and to tell him that he should shortly have battle. King Henry advisedly answered, "Mine intent is to do as it pleaseth God. I will not seek your master at this time, but if he or his seek me I will meet them, God willing." When he had thus answered the herald, he gave him a princely reward and licence to depart. Then the French, coming to the field of Agincourt, and seeing how small an army stood before them, sent the herald once again to seek a ransom. Henry answered that he would never pay such ransom. "When the messenger was come back to the French host, the men of war put on their helmets and caused their trumpets to blow to the battle." As the English soldiers looked at the great host before them, there were some who sighed for the thousands lying idle in England. Henry, hearing them, answered, "I would not have a single man more. If God give us the victory it will be plain that we owe it to His grace. If not, the fewer we are, the less the loss for England." "What time is it now?" he asked. "The bells are ringing prime [six o'clock], my lord," answered the Bishop. "Now it is good time," said the King. "England prayeth for us, let us be of good cheer. Banners advance!" Then these Frenchmen came pricking down, as they would have over-ridden all our company. But God and our archers made them soon to stumble, for our archers shot never arrow amiss that did not pierce and bring to ground horse and man. And our King fought like a man, with his own hands. So were the French put to rout, though they indeed had been strong in their pride. Then the King passed into England and "in this passage the seas were so rough and troublous" that two ships were driven ashore, and the French prisoners said they would rather fight in another battle than cross the seas again. As they came in sight of the shore, the townsmen of Dover came out to meet them, wading waist-deep in the water, so great was their joy at the news. Bonfires were lit and bells were rung and money was freely given to the soldier King. "The mayor of London and aldermen, apparelled in orient grained scarlet, and four hundred commoners, clad in beautiful mulberry cloth, well-mounted and trimly horsed, with rich collars and great chains met the King on Blackheath, rejoicing at his return, and the clergy of London, with rich crosses, sumptuous copes and massy censors, received him at S. Thomas of Waterways [on the Old Kent Road] with solemn procession." It was not long before he set out again to win back Normandy, lost by John long ago. He laid siege to its chief city, where there was much suffering, of which the King had pity. Of the people to tell the truth It was a sight of mickle ruth; Much of the folk that was therein They were but bones and the bare skin With hollow eyes and face a-peak, They scarce had strength to breathe or speak. When the city surrendered, the King, "clothed in black damask, mounted on a black horse, with a squire behind him, bearing a fox-brush on a spear, for a banner, rode to the minster to give thanks for his victory." Then Henry marched on towards Paris, for "he had such knowledge in ordering and guiding an army with such a gift to encourage his people that the Frenchmen had constant opinion he would never be vanquished in battle." The Dauphin of France was idle and the old French King ill, so it befell that Henry married the French Princess and ruled Northern France. To the sorrow of all men he died soon after, and his son when he grew up had many troubles; for in those days, a soldier was held more in honour than a poet and a dreamer. Some years after Henry's death, Joan of Arc appeared to rescue her land from the enemy, for there was no hope either in the Dauphin who should have been its King or among the French lords who had lost their honour. Joan described how it happened to her in these words, "At the age of thirteen, I had a voice from God to guide me, and the first time I was very frightened; this voice came at the hour of noon in summer time, in my father's garden; it was on a fast day, I heard the voice on the right side where the church is. I saw at the time a great light." Then the Archangel Michael addressed her desiring that she should "have pity on the fair realm of France." She answered him, "Messire, I am but a poor maiden; I know not how to ride to the wars or to lead men-at-arms." But the voices were ever in her ear. When her friends desired her not to go, she answered them, "I had far rather rest and spin by my mother's side; for this is no work of my choosing, but I must go and do it, for my Lord wills it." "And who is your Lord?" they asked. "He is God," she said. When she had come with much danger and trouble to the place where the Dauphin lay, she desired to see him, but those that stood round mocked her. Coming into the presence, she said, "Gentle Dauphin, my name is Jeanne the Maid. The Heavenly King sends me to tell you that you shall be anointed and crowned in the town of Reims and you shall be lieutenant of the Heavenly King, who is the King of France." After many weary days, the Dauphin considered her message and he gave to her some of his armed men that she might prove that God was on her side. He bade her go to get back the good city of Orleans, which was in dire need by reason of the great armies of the English encamped round about it. Then was the might of the maid proved, for no sooner had her standard touched the walls of the city than the town was saved. Soldiers, who had scoffed or stood aside, now joined her. Thus was she able to march through the land in triumph to the city of Reims, where it was the custom to crown the Kings of France, and in the host there marched the Dauphin. In that city, she crowned the King, and the English fell back at the terror of her name. Then kneeling before the King, she said, "O gentle King, the pleasure of God is done, would it were His pleasure that I might go and keep sheep once more with my sisters and my brothers. They would be rejoiced to see me again." The King dared not let her go, yet she had many enemies, for the lords of France did not care to think that she had led their armies. To their bitter shame, they made little effort to save her from the English and she was burnt as a witch. From that day, the English gradually lost all France save Calais. So the victories of Henry V were of no avail and there was much poverty in England and murmuring against the rulers. CHAPTER XXV NEW WORLDS The barons came back from France. They were practised in the art of war and they turned their homes into strong forts and their servants into soldiers. Of these, they found many who were well versed in arms and ready to fight. They gave them food and lodging for their services and liveries to distinguish them from the followers of their neighbours and they no longer fought for the King but each for his own gain. The squires in the manors and the merchants in the towns stood in awe of these unruly subjects of the realm, but against them there was no remedy, and every man was forced to choose out a lord to protect him. Of the long wars which these men waged, fighting for the rival princes of York and Lancaster, for the white and the red rose, and of the havoc that they wrought in the land, there are many stories. Though the barons made war on one another, the citizens held their markets and fairs and worked with skill in their trades. Foreigners desired to buy, and they were anxious for peace with a country that could give them the finest wool. More ships were built to cross the narrow seas, and they were free to come and go, since England watched them from her two eyes, Calais and Dover. The merchants began to use more of their own good wool and many skilled craftsmen were needed for cloth making. First the wool was sorted and the coarse taken from the fine, then it was dyed, orange, red, green, russet made from madder, or blue from woad, a flower, which grew abundantly in France. The carder came next and the spinster spun it into long threads on her distaff. The weaver next doth warp and weave the chain, Whilst Puss, his cat, stands mewing for a skein. The cloth was cleaned and thickened by the walkers, who trampled it in a trough of water and stretched it upon tenters to dry. Then came the rower who beat it with teazles to find out all the loose fibres and the shearman stood by with shears to cut off the knots and ends when they appeared. Before it was sold, the drawer must mend any holes or bad places in it: The drawer last that many faults doth hide, (Whom merchant nor the weaver can abide) Yet is he one in most clothes, stops more holes Than there be stairs to the top of S. Paul's. [Illustration: A CHRISTIAN OF CONSTANTINOPLE BORROWING MONEY FROM A JEW AND PLEDGING HIS CRUCIFIX] [Illustration: MIÉLOT IN HIS STUDY] [Illustration: A PRINTING PRESS] They worked as a rule from five in the morning till seven at night in summer and from dawn till dusk in winter, with half an hour for breakfast, and an hour and a half for dinner and a sleep on hot days. There was a holiday for every festival of the Church. Of Jack of Newbury's workshop we read, Within one room being large and long There stood two hundred looms full strong; Two hundred men, the truth is so, Wrought in these looms all in a row. By every one a pretty boy Sate making quils with mickle joy, And in another place hard by An hundred women merrily Were carding hard, with joyful cheer, Who singing sate with voices clear. And in a chamber close beside Two hundred maidens did abide, In petticoats of stammel red, And milk-white kerchers on their head. Those who worked in one trade bound themselves together into a gild, and often lived in one quarter of the city to protect one another; those who desired to become members must serve seven years' apprenticeship. To guard their honour, the masters made a strict rule that no work should be sent to market until it had been inspected and found well done. If a man fell ill, he received help from the gild. When the feast days came round and all made holiday, the elders of the gild provided a banquet and pastimes, and sometimes they welcomed the players who acted stories from the Bible and old legends. There was dancing and feasting and much merriment. So the citizens became more important than great barons and soldiers, for they brought trade to the country and riches to the King's Exchequer. A new world, too, was opening to the people, the world of books. With care the monks had copied down the old stories and histories, but there were few who could procure them to read. The printing press was brought to England by Caxton. He was an English merchant, trading in the city of Bruges. It was his custom to spend his spare time in reading Latin and French stories. He translated the story of Troy into English, and the Duchess of Burgundy and her courtiers liked it so much that they asked him to write several copies. He says that his pen was so much worn, his hand so weary and his eyes so dim that he thought it worth while to learn the art of printing from those who could teach him. Then he brought a press to London, and out of his shop he hung a sign "Books bought here good cheap." Only the rich could buy, for books were very dear. He printed the stories of King Arthur and also the Golden Legend, or Lives of the Saints, Reynard the Fox and many another tale. That the poorer folk might also read, he printed a few sheets of poems and fables. Among them was a book of good teachings for children. In this he bade them, Arise early Serve God devoutly The world busily Go thy way sadly [seriously] Answer demurely Go to thy meat appetently And arise temperately. And to thy soup [suppers] soberly And to thy bed merrily And be there jocundly And sleep soundly. It was at this time that scholars were beginning to read the old writings of the Greeks, and there were many other books, too, that they desired to have printed. Then also men were moved to seek what lay beyond the ocean in the far west. They were in search of a new way to India, for India seemed to them the treasure house of the world. Out of the east came gold and silver and spices and silk, but the way was by mountain and desert and many a dangerous place. Few had ventured far across the uncharted seas that stretched away towards the setting sun, for their ships were small and much at the mercy of the winds. It was necessary, too, to put into shore to get fresh stores of water when rain failed. A sailor wrote of their sufferings from thirst on one of these voyages, "The hail-stones we gathered up and ate more pleasantly than if they had been the sweetest comfits in the world. The rain-drops were so carefully saved, that, as near as we could manage it, not one was lost in all our ship. Some hung up sheets, tied with cords by the four corners and a weight in the middle, that the water might run down thither, and so be received into some vessel set or hung underneath.... Some lapped with their tongues the boards under their feet, the sides, rails and masts of the ship. He who obtained a can of water by these means was spoken of, sued to, and envied as a rich man." It was with a good compass and stout heart that Columbus and his men set sail to find India, and to their great joy they saw, after many months, "a little stick loaded with dog roses" floating in the sea, a sign that they were near land. The natives, pointing to the setting sun, told them to seek gold in the great lands that lay beyond. Columbus thought he had found India, but it was America. To these lands adventurers came to seek for treasure and soon to find a new home. SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 1. Find out from the pictures in the Saxon Calendar: (_a_) the occupations of the Saxons, (_b_) the instruments they used in farming, (_c_) the kind of dress they wore. (See Traill and Mann, _Social England_.) 2. Plan and build a Saxon village (in a sand tray or with clay, etc.). 3. Write down what you think the miller and the goose boy would say in the dialogue. 4. Describe a Saxon Hall. (Read descriptions in Beowulf and Ivanhoe.) 5. Look at some old manuscripts, if you can, and make some illuminated letters. 6. Build a monastery in cardboard, paper or clay. 7. Cut out in paper some figures of Saxons and make a procession on their way to Church to keep a festival. 8. Write the story of Alfred's messenger arriving at the monastery to borrow the chronicle for the King's use. 9. Make a piece of tapestry showing a scene from the history of the Normans. 10. What can you discover about the Normans from the pictures of the Bayeux Tapestry? 11. Find out about Hereward the Wake. 12. Build a castle and defend it. 13. Find out some more stories of S. Francis of Assisi. 14. Find out as many Norman French words in English as you can. 15. Read the tales of Robin Hood. 16. Cut out of paper some figures of soldiers and make a picture by pasting them on a large sheet, showing them landing in England after the victory at Crécy. 17. Find out about a tournament and make the lists. (See Scott's _Ivanhoe_.) 18. If there are any old buildings where you live, find out when they were built and who used them. 19. Make a subject-index to the book and arrange it in alphabetical order. 20. Make a date chart and illustrate it with pictures. BIBLIOGRAPHY _Social England_ (illustrated). Vols. I. and II. Ed. Traill and Mann (Cassell). _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle._ (_Everyman's Library._ Dent.) _The Chronicles of Froissart._ (Globe Edition. Macmillan.) _Grandes Chroniques de France._ Foucquet. Bibliothèque Nationale, Berthaud Frères. 5 fr. _Alfred the Great._ B. A. Lees. (_Heroes of the Nations._ Putnam.) _St Anselm._ R. W. Church. (Macmillan.) _English Monasteries._ A. H. Thompson. (_Cambridge Manuals._) _English Monastic Life._ F. A. Gasquet. (_Antiquary's Books._ Methuen.) _The Chronicle of Jocelind of Brakelond._ (_King's Classics._ Chatto and Windus.) _Chivalry._ F. W. Cornish. (Fisher Unwin.) _The Making of Ireland and its Undoing, 1200-1600._ Mrs J. R. Green. (Macmillan.) _Mediaeval Art._ W. R. Lethaby. (Duckworth.) _Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages._ J. J. Jusserand. (Fisher Unwin.) _Mediaeval England._ M. Bateson. (_The Story of the Nations._ Fisher Unwin.) _Social Life in England from the Conquest to the Reformation._ G. G. Coulton. (Cambridge University Press.) _Bibliography of Mediaeval History, 400-1500._ Leaflet 44. Historical Association. * _A Picture Book of British History._ Vol. I, to 1485. 190 illustrations. Ed. S. C. Roberts. (Cambridge University Press.) * _Guide to Bayeux Tapestry._ Victoria and Albert Museum. Department of Textiles. 6_d._ * _Oxford Supplementary Histories._ (Source books. Henry Frowde and Hodder & Stoughton.) * _Old Stories from British History._ York Powell. (Longmans.) * _Heroes of Asgard._ Keary. (_Everyman's Library._) * _Beowulf._ C. Thomson. (Marshall.) * _The little flowers of S. Francis._ (_Everyman's Library._) * _The Knights of the Round Table._ Malory. (Blackie.) * _Stories of Robin Hood._ (_Told to the Children_ Series. Jack.) * _A History of Everyday Things in England._ Vol. I. M. and C. H. B. Quennell. (Batsford.) * _Suitable for Children._ DATES B.C. 55 The Romans first landed in Britain. A.D. 410 Saxons began to settle in Britain. 410 Romans left Britain. 597 S. Augustine landed. 787 Danes invaded England. 871-901 Alfred reigned. 1017-1035 Cnut reigned. 1066 Battle of Hastings. 1070 Lanfranc became Archbishop of Canterbury. 1086 Domesday Book. 1093 Anselm became Archbishop of Canterbury. 1096 The First Crusade. 1107 The Exchequer was founded. 1162 Becket became Archbishop of Canterbury. 1169 Strongbow landed in Ireland. 1147 The Second Crusade. 1189 The Third Crusade. 1204 The Loss of Normandy. 1215 The Great Charter. 1283 Conquest of Wales. 1295 The Model Parliament. 1295 War with Scotland began. 1346 Battle of Crécy. 1346 The Siege of Calais. 1347 The Black Death. 1381 The Peasants' Revolt. 1415 The Battle of Agincourt. 1429 Joan of Arc took Orleans. 1476 Caxton set up a printing-press. 1455-1485 The Wars of the Roses. 1492 Columbus discovered America. _Time Chart_ B.C. | | B.C. | _4000_| _Egyptian Calendar fixed_ |_1000_| (_as below_) -- | | -- | -- | | _900_| -- | | -- | -- | | _800_| -- | | -- | -- | | _700_| -- | | -- | -- | | _600_| -- | | -- | -- | | _500_| -- | | -- | -- | | _400_| -- | | -- | -- | | _300_| -- | | -- | -- | | _200_| -- | | -- | -- | | _100_| -- | | -- | _Romans landed in Britain_ _3000_| _Babylon founded_ | .....| BIRTH OF CHRIST -- | | A.D.| -- | | 100 | -- | | -- | -- | | 200 | -- | | -- | -- | | 300 | -- | | -- | -- | | 400 | -- | | -- |Saxons invaded Britain -- | _Hebrews enter Palestine_ | 500 | -- | | -- |Augustine landed in | | | Britain -- | | 600 | -- | | -- | -- | | 700 | -- | | -- | -- | | 800 | -- | | -- | -- | | 900 | -- | | -- | _2000_| | 1000 | -- | | -- | William the Norman invaded | | | Britain -- | | 1100 | -- | | -- | -- | | 1200 | -- | | -- | -- | | 1300 | -- | | -- | -- | | 1400 | -- | | -- | Columbus discovered | | | America -- | | 1500 | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | -- | -- | | 1900 | -- | | -- | _1000_| | -- | [Scale 1 inch to 500 years] THE TWELVE MONTHS In the following pages twelve pictures are reproduced from a _Book of Hours_ of the 15th century. All except "Feeding pigs in November" were painted by Pol de Limbourg for the Duke of Berri. Each of them shows a typical occupation of the season and most of them have a famous castle in the background. A FEAST IN JANUARY A FARM IN FEBRUARY PLOUGHING AND VINE-LOPPING IN MARCH A BETROTHAL IN APRIL THE FIRST OF MAY HAYMAKING IN JUNE HARVESTING AND SHEEP-SHEARING IN JULY HAWKING AND SWIMMING IN AUGUST THE VINTAGE IN SEPTEMBER SOWING SEEDS IN OCTOBER FEEDING PIGS IN NOVEMBER HUNTING BOAR IN DECEMBER [Illustration: A FEAST IN JANUARY Showing the Duke of Berri seated at table, with a tapestry in the background] [Illustration: A FARM IN FEBRUARY] [Illustration: PLOUGHING AND VINE-LOPPING IN MARCH In the background, the castle of Lusignan on the Vienne, the favourite residence of the Duke of Berri] [Illustration: A BETROTHAL IN APRIL In the background, the Castle of Dourdan, belonging to the Duke of Berri] [Illustration: THE FIRST OF MAY In the background, the Towers of Riom, the capital of the Duchy of Auvergne, belonging to the Duke of Berri] [Illustration: HAYMAKING IN JUNE In the background, the Towers of Paris, showing the Sainte Chapelle, the Conciergerie and the postern gate on the Seine] [Illustration: HARVESTING AND SHEEP-SHEARING IN JULY In the background, the Castle of Poitiers, rebuilt by the Duke of Berri] [Illustration: HAWKING AND SWIMMING IN AUGUST In the background, the Castle of Étampes, acquired by the Duke of Berri] [Illustration: THE VINTAGE IN SEPTEMBER In the background, the Castle of Saumur, in a district noted for its vineyards] [Illustration: SOWING SEEDS IN OCTOBER In the background, the River Seine and the old Louvre Note the scarecrow with a bow in his hands] [Illustration: FEEDING PIGS IN NOVEMBER This picture is by another artist at the end of the 15th century] [Illustration: HUNTING BOARS IN DECEMBER In the background, the Castle of Vincennes This picture was borrowed from an Italian artist] CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY J.B. PEACE, M.A., AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 
36934	----	[Illustration: "HE HELD UP THE SHOE WITH GREAT DISFAVOR"--_Page 138_] IN THE DAYS OF THE GUILD BY L. LAMPREY WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR BY FLORENCE GARDINER AND NUMEROUS LINE DRAWINGS BY MABEL HATT [Illustration] NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS _Copyright, 1918, by_ FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY _All rights reserved including that of translation into foreign languages._ _Printed in the United States of America_ _To_ MY FATHER HENRY PHELPS LAMPREY CONTENTS I PAGE _The Old Road_ 1 THE BOY WITH THE WOOLPACK 3 How Robert Edrupt journeyed with the wool-merchants to London II _The Biographer_ 13 BASIL THE SCRIBE 15 How an Irish monk in an English Abbey came to stand before Kings III _Venetian Glass_ 27 THE PICTURE IN THE WINDOW 29 How Alan of the Abbey Farms learned to make stained glass IV _Troubadour's Song_ 41 THE GRASSHOPPERS' LIBRARY 43 How Ranulph le Provençal ceased to be a minstrel and became a troubadour V _The Wood-Carver's Vision_ 55 THE BOX THAT QUENTIN CARVED 57 How Quentin of Peronne learned his trade when a boy in Amiens VI _The Caged Bouverel_ 69 AT THE SIGN OF THE GOLD FINCH 71 How Guy, the goldsmith's apprentice, won the desire of his heart VII _Up Anchor_ 79 THE VENTURE OF NICHOLAS GAY 81 How Nicholas Gay, the merchant's son, kept faith with a stranger and served the King VIII _London Bells_ 93 BARBARA, THE LITTLE GOOSE-GIRL 95 How Barbara sold geese in the Chepe and what fortune she found there IX _Harper's Song_ 105 RICHARD'S SILVER PENNY 107 How Richard sold a web of russet and made the best of a bad bargain X _Perfumer's Song_ 119 MARY LAVENDER'S GARDEN 121 How Mary Lavender came to be of service to an exiled Queen XI _Pavement Song_ 131 SAINT CRISPIN'S DAY 133 How Crispin, the shoemaker's son, made a shoe for a little damsel, and new streets in London XII _Concealed Weapons_ 143 THE LOZENGES OF GIOVANNI 144 How a Milanese baker-boy and a Paduan physician kept poison out of the King's dish XIII _A Song of Birds and Beasts_ 157 A DYKE IN THE DANELAW 159 How David le Saumond changed the course of an ancient nuisance XIV _London Bridge_ 173 AT BARTLEMY FAIR 175 How Barty Appleby went to the fair at Smithfield and caught a miscreant XV _Midsummer Day in England_ 187 EDWITHA'S LITTLE BOWL 189 How Edwitha found Roman pottery in the field of a Sussex farm XVI _Song of the Tapestry Weavers_ 197 LOOMS IN MINCHEN LANE 199 How Cornelys Bat, the Flemish weaver, befriended a black sheep and saved his wool XVII _The Wishing Carpet_ 211 THE HERBALIST'S BREW 213 How Tomaso, the physician of Padua, found a cure for a weary soul XVIII _The Marionettes_ 225 THE HURER'S LODGERS 229 How the poppet of Joan, the daughter of the capmaker, went to court and kept a secret XIX _Armorer's Song_ 241 DICKON AT THE FORGE 243 How a Sussex smith found the world come to him in the Weald XX _The Wander-Years_ 255 THE WINGS OF THE DRAGON 257 How Padraig made Irish wit a journeyman to Florentine genius XXI _St. Eloi's Blessing_ 269 GOLD OF BYZANTIUM 271 How Guy of Limoges taught the art of Byzantium to Wilfrid of Sussex XXII _The Watchword_ 281 COCKATRICE EGGS 283 How Tomaso the physician and Basil the scribe held the keys of Empire ILLUSTRATIONS "He held up the shoe with great disfavor" (_in colors_) _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE "Waiting for the wool-merchants" 4 "'Some of us will live to see Thomas of Canterbury a Saint of the Church'" 21 "The medallion was a picture in colored glass" 36 "'Upon my word, the race of wood-carvers has not yet come to an end'" 67 "'Have you been here all this time?'" 86 "Barbara knew exactly where to go" (_in colors_) 96 "'It is time to set him building for England'" 168 "'How beautiful it is!' he exclaimed" (_in colors_) 194 "Tomaso seemed not to have seen her action" 216 "The Marionettes" 224 "'It is better than the sketch,' he cried heartily" 246 "'And there goes what would seat the King of England on the throne of the Cæsars,' quoth Tomaso" (_in colors_) 284 THE OLD ROAD The horse-bells come a-tinkling by the shoulder of the Down, The bell of Bow is ringing as we ride to London Town. O the breath of the wet salt marshes by Romney port is sweet, But sweeter the thyme of the uplands under the horses' feet! It's far afield I'm faring, to the lands I do not know, For the merchant doth not prosper save he wander to and fro, Yet though the foreign cities be stately and fair to see, It's an English home on an English down, and my own lass for me! IN THE DAYS OF THE GUILD I THE BOY WITH THE WOOLPACK HOW ROBERT EDRUPT JOURNEYED WITH THE WOOL-MERCHANTS TO LONDON In the reign of King Henry II., when as yet there were no factories, no railways or even coaches, no post-offices and no tea-tables in England, a boy sat on a hillside not far from Salisbury Plain, with a great bale of wool by his side. It was not wrapped in paper; it was packed close and very skillfully bound together with cords, lengthwise and crosswise, making a network of packthread all over it. The boy's name was Robert Edrupt, but in the tiny village where he was born he had always been called Hob. He had been reared by his grandfather, a shepherd, and now the old shepherd was dead and he was going to seek his fortune. The old grandmother, Dame Lysbeth, was still alive, but there was not much left for her to live on. She had a few sheep and a little garden, chickens, a beehive, and one field; and she and her grandson had decided that he should take the wool, which was just ready for market when the sudden death of the shepherd took place, and ask the dealers when they came by if they would not take him with them to London. Now he was waiting, as near the road as he could get, listening hard for the tinkle of their horse-bells around the shoulder of the down. The road would not really be called a road to-day. It was a track, trodden out about half way up the slope of the valley in some parts of it, and now and then running along the top of the long, low hills that have been called downs as long as the memory of man holds a trace of them. Sometimes it would make a sharp twist to cross the shallows of a stream, for there were scarcely any bridges in the country. In some places it was wide enough for a regiment, and but faintly marked; in others it was bitten deep into the hillside and so narrow that three men could hardly have gone abreast upon it. But it did not need to be anything more than a trail, or bridle-path, because no wagons went that way,--only travelers afoot or a-horseback. At some seasons there would be wayfarers all along the road from early in the morning until sunset, and they would even be found camping by the wayside; at other times of the year one might walk for hours upon it and meet nobody at all. Robert had been sitting where he was for about three hours; and he had walked between four and five miles, woolpack on shoulder, before he reached the road; he had risen before the sun did that morning. Now he began to wonder if the wool-merchants had already gone by. It was late in the season, and if they had, there was hardly any hope of sending the wool to market that year. [Illustration: "WAITING FOR THE WOOL-MERCHANTS"] But worry never worked aught, as the saying is, and people who take care of sheep seem to worry less than others; there are many things that they cannot change, and they are kept busy attending to their flocks. Robert, who did not intend to be called Hob any more, took from his pouch some coarse bread and cheese and began munching it, for by the sun it was the dinner-hour--nine o'clock. Meanwhile he made sure that the silver penny in the corner of the pouch, which hung at his girdle and served him for a pocket, was safe. It was. It was about the size of a modern halfpenny and had a cross on one side. A penny such as this could be cut in quarters, and each piece passed as a coin. Just as the last bit of bread and cheese vanished there came, from far away over the fern, the jingle-jink-jing of strings of bells on the necks of pack-horses. A few minutes later the shaggy head and neck of the leader came in sight. They were strong, not very big horses; and while they were not built for racing, they were quick walkers. They could travel over rough country at a very good pace, even when, as they now were, loaded heavily with packs of wool. Robert stood up, his heart beating fast: he had never seen them so close before. The merchants were laughing and talking and seemed to be in a good humor, and he hoped very much that they would speak to him. "Ho!" said the one who rode nearest to him, "here's another, as I live. Did you grow out of the ground, and have you roots like the rest of them, bumpkin?" Robert bowed; he was rather angry, but this was no time to answer back. "I have wool to sell, so please you," he said, "and--and--if you be in need of a horse-boy, I would work my passage to London." The man who had spoken frowned and pulled at his beard, but the leader, who had been talking to some one behind him, now turned his face toward Robert. He was a kindly-looking, ruddy-cheeked old fellow, with eyes as sharp as the stars on a winter night that is clear. "Hum!" he said genially. "Who are you, and why are you so fond to go to London, young sheep-dog?" Robert told his story, as short and straight as he could, for he could see that some of the merchants were impatient. This was only one pack of wool, and at the next market-town they would probably find enough to load all the rest of their train of horses, when they could push straight on to London and get their money. "If you desire to know further of what I say," the boy ended his speech, "the landlord of the Woolpack will tell you that our fleeces are as fine and as heavy as any in the market, so please you, master." "Hum!" the wool-merchant said again. "Give him one of the spare nags, Gib, and take up the pack, lad, for we must be getting on. What if I find thee a liar and send thee back from the inn, hey?" "If I be a liar, I will go," said Robert joyfully, and he climbed on the great horse, and the whole company went trotting briskly onward. Robert found in course of time, however, that when we have got what we want, it is not always what we like most heartily. He had been on a horse before, but had never ridden for any length of time, and riding all day long on the hard-paced pack-horses over hill and valley was no play. Then, when they reached the town, and the merchants began to joke and trade with the shepherds who had brought in their wool for market-day, and all the people of the inn were bustling about getting supper, he had to help Gib and Jack, the horse-boys, to rub down the horses, take off their packs, and feed and water them. He nearly got into a terrible pickle for not knowing that you must not water a horse that has been traveling for hours until it has had at least half an hour to rest and cool off. When he finally did get his supper, a bowl of hot stew and some bread and cheese,--and extremely good it tasted,--it was time for bed. He and the other serving-lads had to sleep on the wool packs piled in the open courtyard of the inn, which was built in a hollow square,--two-story buildings and stables around the square court where the horses and baggage were left. This did not trouble Robert, however. He had slept on the open hillside more than once, and it was a clear night; he could see Arthur's Wain shining among the other stars, and hear the horses, not far away, contentedly champing their grain. The next morning he woke up lame and weary, but that wore off after a time. Nobody in the company paid attention to aching muscles; what was occupying the minds of the traffickers was the fear of getting the wool to London too late to secure their price for it. Italian and Flemish merchants had their agents there, buying up the fleeces from the great flocks of the abbeys, and Master Hardel had taken his company further west than usual, this year. No stop would be made after this, except to eat and sleep, for the horses were now loaded with all that they could carry. On the second night, it rained, and every one was wet,--not as wet as might be supposed, however, considering that no umbrellas and no rubber coats existed. Each man wore instead of a hat a pointed hood, with a cape, the front turned back from his eyes. By folding the cape around him he could keep off the worst of the rain, for the cloth had a shaggy nap, and was close-woven as well. On legs and feet were long woolen hose which dried when the sun came out; and some had leathern tunics under their cloaks. It was rather jolly on the road, even in the rain. The dark-bearded man, who was called Jeffrey, knew numberless tales and songs, and when he could turn a jest on any of the party he invariably did. No one took any especial notice of Robert, except that the man called Gib shifted as much of his own work on him as possible, and sometimes, when they were riding in the rear, grumbled viciously about the hard riding and small pay. There is usually one person of that sort in any company of travelers. Robert minded neither the hard work nor Gib's scolding. He was as strong as a young pony, and he was seeing the world, of which he had dreamed through many a long, thyme-scented day on the Downs, with soft little noises of sheep cropping turf all about him as he lay. What London would be like he could not quite make out, for as yet he had seen no town of more than a thousand people. At last, near sunset, somebody riding ahead raised a shout and flung up his arm, and all knew that they were within sight of London--London, the greatest city in England, with more than a hundred churches inside its towered city wall. They pushed the horses hard, hoping to reach the New Gate before eight o'clock, but it was of no use. They were still nearly a mile from the walls when the far sound of bells warned them that they were too late. They turned back and stayed their steps at an inn called the Shepherd's Bush, out on the road to the west country over which the drovers and the packmen came. A long pole over the door had on its end a bunch of green boughs and red berries--the "bush" told them that ale was to be had within. The landlord was a West Country man, and Robert found to his joy that the landlord's old father had known Colin Edrupt the shepherd and Dame Lysbeth, and danced at their wedding, nearly half a century before. Next morning, with the sun still in their eyes as they trotted briskly Londonward, they came to the massive gray wall, with the Fleet, a deep swift river, flowing down beside it to the Thames. They were waiting outside New Gate when the watchmen swung open the great doors, and the crowd of travelers, traders and country folk began to push in. The men with the woolpacks kept together, edging through the narrow streets that sloped downward to the river where the tall ships were anchored. The jingle of the bridle-bells, that rang so loud and merrily over the hills, was quite drowned out in the racket of the city streets where armorers were hammering, horsemen crowding, tradesmen shouting, and business of every sort was going on. Robert had somehow supposed that London would be on a great level encircled by hills, but he found with surprise that it was itself on a hill, crowned by the mighty cathedral St. Paul's, longer than Winchester, with a steeple that seemed climbing to pierce the clouds. At last the shaggy laden horses came to a halt at a warehouse by the river, where a little, dried-up-looking man in odd garments looked the wool over and agreed with Master Hardel on the price which he would pay. Robert could not understand a word of the conversation, for the wholesale merchant was a Hollander from Antwerp, and when he had loaded his ship with the wool it would go to Flanders to be made into fine cloth. Robert was so busy watching the transactions that when the master spoke to him it made him jump. "Here is the money for thy wool, my lad," the old man said kindly. "Hark 'ee, if you choose to ride with us again, meet me at Shepherd's Bush on the sixth day hence, and you shall have that good-for-naught Gib's place. And keep thy money safe; this is a place of thieves." That was how Robert Edrupt rode from the West Country and settled in his mind that some day he would himself be a wool-merchant. THE BIOGRAPHER The little green lizard on Solomon's wall Basked in the gold of a shimmering noon, Heard the insistent, imperious call Of hautboy and tabor and loud bassoon, When Balkis passed by, with her alien grace, And the light of wonder upon her face, To sit by the King in his lofty hall,-- And the little green lizard saw it all. The little green lizard on Solomon's wall Waited for flies the long day through, While the craftsmen came at the monarch's call To the task that was given each man to do, And the Temple rose with its cunning wrought gold, Cedar and silver, and all it could hold In treasure of tapestry, silk and shawl,-- And the little green lizard observed it all. The little green lizard on Solomon's wall Heard what the King said to one alone, Secrets that only the Djinns may recall, Graved on the Sacred, Ineffable Stone. And yet, when the little green lizard was led To speak of the King, when the King was dead, He had only kept count of the flies on the wall,-- For he was but a lizard, after all! II BASIL THE SCRIBE HOW AN IRISH MONK IN AN ENGLISH ABBEY CAME TO STAND BEFORE KINGS Brother Basil, of the scriptorium, was doing two things at once with the same brain. He did not know whether any of the other monks ever indulged in this or not. None of them showed any signs of it. The Abbot was clearly intent, soul, brain and body, on the ruling of the community. In such a house as this dozens of widely varied industries must be carried on, much time spent in prayer, song and meditation, and strict attention given to keeping in every detail the traditional Benedictine rule. In many mediæval Abbeys not all these things were done. Rumor hinted that one Order was too fond of ease, and another of increasing its estates. In the Irish Abbey where Brother Basil had received his first education, little thought was given to anything but religion; the fare was of the rudest and simplest kind. But in this English Abbey everything in the way of clothing, tools, furniture, meat and drink which could be produced on the lands was produced there. Guests of high rank were often entertained. The church, not yet complete, was planned on a magnificent scale. The work of the making of books had grown into something like a large publishing business. As the parchments for the writing, the leather for the covers, the goose-quill pens, the metal clasps, the ink, and the colors for illuminated lettering, were all made on the premises, a great deal of skilled labor was involved. Besides the revenues from the sale of manuscript volumes the Abbey sold increasing quantities of wool each year. Under some Abbots this material wealth might have led to luxury. But Benedict of Winchester held that a man who took the vows of religion should keep them. With this Brother Basil entirely agreed. He desired above all to give his life to the service of God and the glory of his Order. He was a skillful, accurate and rapid penman. Manuscripts copied by him, or under his direction, had no mistakes or slovenly carelessness about them. The pens which he cut were works of art. The ink was from a rule for which he had made many experiments. Every book was carefully and strongly bound. Brother Basil, in short, was an artist, and though the work might be mechanical, he could not endure not to have it beautifully done. The Abbot was quite aware of this, and made use of the young monk's talent for perfection by putting him in charge of the scriptorium. In the twelfth century the monks were almost the only persons who had leisure for bookmaking. They wrote and translated many histories; they copied the books which made up their own libraries, borrowed books wherever they could and copied those, over and over again. They sold their work to kings, noblemen, and scholars, and to other religious houses. The need for books was so great that in the scriptorium of which Brother Basil had charge, very little time was spent on illumination. Missals, chronicles and books of hymns fancifully decorated in color were done only when there was a demand for them. They were costly in time, labor and material. Brother Basil could copy a manuscript with his right hand and one half his brain, while the other half dreamed of things far afield. He could not remain blind to the grace of a bird's wing on its flight northward in spring, to the delicate seeking tendrils of grapevines, the starry beauty of daisies or the tracery of arched leafless boughs. Within his mind he could follow the gracious curves of the noble Norman choir, and he had visions of color more lustrous than a sunrise. Day by day, year by year, the sheep nibbled the tender springing grass. Yet the green sward continued to be decked with orfrey-work of many hues--buttercups, violets, rose-campion, speedwell, daisies--defiant little bright heads not three inches from the roots. His fancies would come up in spite of everything, like the flowers. But would it always be so? Was he to spend his life in copying these bulky volumes of theology and history--the same old phrases, the same authors, the same seat by the same window? And some day, would he find that his dreams had vanished forever? Might he not grow to be like Brother Peter, who had kept the porter's lodge for forty years and hated to see a new face? This was the doubt in the back of his mind, and it was very sobering indeed. Years ago, when he was a boy, he had read the old stories of the missionary monks of Scotland and Ireland. These men carried the message of the Cross to savage tribes, they stood before Kings, they wrought wonders. Was there no more need for such work as theirs? Even now there was fierce misrule in Ireland. Even now the dispute between church and state had resulted in the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury on the steps of the altar. The Abbeys of all England had hummed like bee-hives when that news came. Brother Basil discovered just then that the ink was failing, and went to see how the new supply was coming on. It was a tedious task to make ink, but when made it lasted. Wood of thorn-trees must be cut in April or May before the leaves or flowers were out, and the bundles of twigs dried for two, three or four weeks. Then they were beaten with wooden mallets upon hard wooden tablets to remove the bark, which was put in a barrel of water and left to stand for eight days. The water was then put in a cauldron and boiled with some of the bark, to boil out what sap remained. When it was boiled down to about a third of the original measure it was put into another kettle and cooked until black and thick, and reduced again to a third of its bulk. Then a little pure wine was added and it was further cooked until a sort of scum showed itself, when the pot was removed from the fire and placed in the sun until the black ink purified itself of the dregs. The pure ink was then poured into bags of parchment carefully sewn and hung in the sunlight until dry, when it could be kept for any length of time till wanted. To write, one moistened the ink with a little wine and vitriol. As all the colors for illumination must be made by similar tedious processes, it can be seen that unless there was a demand for such work it would not be thrifty to do it. Brother Basil arrived just in time to caution the lay brother, Simon Gastard, against undue haste. Gastard was a clever fellow, but he needed watching. He was too apt to think that a little slackness here and there was good for profits. Brother Basil stood over him until the ink was quite up to the standard of the Abbey. But his mind meanwhile ran on the petty squabblings and dry records of the chronicle that he had just been copying. How, after all, was he better than Gastard? He was giving the market what it wanted--and the book was not worth reading. If men were to write chronicles, why not make them vivid as legends, true, stirring, magnificent stories of the men who moved the world? Who would care, in a thousand years, what rent was paid by the tenant farmers of the Abbey, or who received a certain benefice from the King? As he turned from the sunlit court where the ink was a-making, he received a summons to the Abbot's own parlor. He found that dignitary occupied with a stout and consequential monk of perhaps forty-five, who was looking bewildered, snubbed, and indignant. Brother Ambrosius was most unaccustomed to admonitions, even of the mildest. He had a wide reputation as a writer, and was indeed the author of the very volume which Brother Basil was now copying. He seemed to know by instinct what would please the buyers of chronicles, and especially what was to be left out. It was also most unusual to see the Abbot thoroughly aroused. He had a cool, indifferent manner, which made his rebukes more cutting. Now he was in wrathful earnest. [Illustration: "'SOME OF US WILL LIVE TO SEE THOMAS OF CANTERBURY A SAINT OF THE CHURCH'"] "Ambrosius," he thundered, "there are some of us who will live to see Thomas of Canterbury a Saint of the Church. But that is no reason why we should gabble about it beforehand. You have been thinking yourself a writer, have you? Your place here has been allowed you because you are--as a rule--cautious even to timidity. Silence is always safe, and an indiscreet pen is ruinous. The children of the brain travel far, and they must not discuss their betters." "Shall we write then of the doings of binds and swinkers?" asked the historian, pursing his heavy mouth. "It seems we cannot write of Kings and of Saints." "You may write anything in reason of Kings and of Saints--when they are dead," the Abbot retorted. "But if you cannot avoid treasonable criticism of your King, I will find another historian. Go now to your penance." And Brother Ambrosius, not venturing a reply, slunk out. In the last three minutes Brother Basil had seen far beneath the surface of things. His deep-set blue eyes flamed. The dullness of the chronicle was not always the dullness of the author, it seemed. The King showed at best none too much respect for the Church, and his courtiers had dared the murder of Becket. Surely the Abbot was right. "Basil," his superior observed grimly, "in a world full of fools it would be strange if some were not found here. It is the business of the Church to make all men alike useful to God. Because the murder of an Archbishop has set all Christendom a-buzz, we must be the more zealous to give no just cause of offence. I do not believe that Henry is guilty of that murder, but if he were, he would not shrink from other crimes. In the one case we have no reason to condemn him; in the other, we must be silent or court our own destruction. There are other ways of keeping alive the memory of Thomas of Canterbury besides foolish accusations in black and white. There may be pictures, which the people will see, ballads which they will hear and repeat--the very towers of the Cathedral will be his monument. "I have sent for you now because there is work for you to do elsewhere. The road from Paris to Byzantium may soon be blocked. The Emperor of Germany is at open war with the Pope. Turks are attacking pilgrims in the Holy Land. Soon it may be impossible, even for a monk, to make the journey safely. The time to go is now. "You will set forth within a fortnight, and go to Rouen, Paris and Limoges; thence to Rome, Byzantium and Alexandria. I will give you memoranda of certain manuscripts which you are to secure if possible, either by purchase or by securing permission to make copies. Get as many more as you can. The King is coming here to-night in company with the Archbishop of York, the Chancellor, a Prince of Ireland, and others. He may buy or order some works on the ancient law. He desires also to found an Abbey in Ireland, to be a cell of this house. I have selected Cuthbert of Oxenford to take charge of the work, and he will set out immediately with twelve brethren to make the foundation. When you return from your journey it will doubtless be well under way. You will begin there the training of scribes, artists, metal workers and other craftsmen. It is true that you know little of any work except that of the scriptorium, but one can learn to know men there as well as anywhere. You will observe what is done in France, Lombardy and Byzantium. The men to whom you will have letters will make you acquainted with young craftsmen who may be induced to go to Ireland to work, and teach their work to others. Little can be done toward establishing a school until Ireland is more quiet, but in this the King believes that we shall be of some assistance. I desire you to be present at our conference, to make notes as you are directed, and to say nothing, for the present, of these matters. Ambrosius may think that you are to have his place, and that will be very well." The Abbot concluded with a rather ominous little smile. Brother Basil went back to the scriptorium, his head in a whirl. Within a twelvemonth he would see the mosaics of Saint Mark's in Venice, the glorious windows of the French cathedrals, the dome of Saint Sophia, the wonders of the Holy Land. He was no longer part of a machine. Indeed, he must always have been more than that, or the Abbot would not have chosen him for this work. He felt very humble and very happy. He knew that he must study architecture above anything else, for the building done by the monks was for centuries to come. Each brother of the Order gathered wisdom for all. When a monk of distinguished ability learned how to strengthen an arch here or carve a doorway there, his work was seen and studied by others from a hundred towns and cities. Living day by day with their work, the builders detected weaknesses and proved step by step all that they did. Cuthbert of Oxenford was a sure and careful mason, but that was all. The beauty of the building would have to be created by another man. Glass-work, goldsmith work, mosaics, vestments and books might be brought from abroad, but the stone-work must be done with materials near at hand and such labor as could be had. Brother Basil received letters not only to Abbots and Bishops, but to Gerard the wood-carver of Amiens, Matteo the Florentine artist, Tomaso the physician of Padua, Angelo the glass-maker. He set all in order in the scriptorium where he had toiled for five long years. Then, having been diligent in business, he went to stand before the King. Many churchmen pictured this Plantagenet with horns and a cloven foot, and muttered references to the old fairy tale about a certain ancestor of the family who married a witch. But Brother Basil was familiar with the records of history. He knew the fierce Norman blood of the race, and knew also the long struggle between Matilda, this King's mother, and Stephen. Here, in the plainly furnished room of the Abbot, was a hawk-nosed man with gray eyes and a stout restless figure, broad coarse hands, and slightly bowed legs, as if he spent most of his days in the saddle. The others, churchmen and courtiers, looked far more like royalty. Yet Henry's realm took in all England, a part of Ireland, and a half of what is now France. He was the only real rival to the German Emperor who had defied and driven into exile the Pope of Rome. If Henry were of like mind with Frederick Barbarossa it would be a sorry day indeed for the Church. If he were disposed to contend with Barbarossa for the supreme power over Europe, the land would be worn out with wars. What would he do? Brother Basil watched the debating group and tried to make up his mind. He wrote now and then a paragraph at the Abbot's command. It seemed that the King claimed certain taxes and service from the churchmen who held estates under him, precisely as from the feudal nobles. The Abbots and Bishops, while claiming the protection of English law for their property, claimed also that they owed no obedience to the King, but only to their spiritual master. Argument after argument was advanced by their trained minds. But it was not for amusement that Henry II., after a day with some hunting Abbot, falcon on fist, read busily in books of law. Brother Basil began to see that the King was defining, little by little, a code of England based on the old Roman law and customs handed down from the primitive British village. Would he at last obey the Church, or not? Suddenly the monarch halted in his pacing of the room, turned and faced the group. The lightning of his eye flashed from one to another, and all drew back a little except the Abbot, who listened with the little grim smile that the monks knew. "I tell ye," said Henry, bringing his hard fist down upon the oaken table, "Pope or no Pope, Emperor or no Emperor, I will be King of England, and this land shall be fief to no King upon earth. I will have neither two masters to my dogs, nor two laws to my realm. Hear ye that, my lords and councilors?" VENETIAN GLASS Sea-born they learned the secrets of the sea, Prisoned her with strong love that left her free, Cherished her beauty in those fragile chains Whereof this precious heritage remains. Venetian glass! The hues of sunset light, The gold of starlight in a winter night, Heaven joined with earth, and faeryland was wrought In these the crystal Palaces of Thought. III THE PICTURE IN THE WINDOW HOW ALAN OF THE ABBEY FARMS LEARNED TO MAKE STAINED GLASS Alan sat kicking his heels on the old Roman wall which was the most solid part of the half-built cathedral. He had been born and brought up on a farm not far away, and had never seen a town or a shop, although he was nearly thirteen years old. Around the great house in which the monks of the abbey lived there were a few houses of a low and humble sort, and the farm-houses thereabouts were comfortable; but there was no town in the neighborhood. The monks had come there in the beginning because it was a lonely place which no one wanted, and because they could have for the asking a great deal of land which did not seem to be good for anything. After they had settled there they proceeded to drain the marshes, fell the woods in prudent moderation, plant orchards and raise cattle and sheep and poultry. Alan's father was one of the farmers who held land under the Abbey, as his father and grandfather had done before him. He paid his rent out of the wool from his flocks, for very soon the sheep had increased far beyond the ability of the monks to look after them. Sometimes, when a new wall was to be built or an old one repaired, he lent a hand with the work, for he was a shrewd and honest builder of common masonry and a good carpenter as well. The cathedral had been roofed in so that services could be held there, but there was only one small chapel, and the towers were not even begun. All that would have to be done when money came to hand, and what with the King's wars in Normandy, and against the Scots, his expedition to Ireland, and his difficulties with his own barons, the building trade in that part of England was a poor one. Alan wondered, as he tilted his chin back to look up at the strong and graceful arches of the windows near by, whether he should ever see any more of it built. In the choir there were bits of stone carving which he always liked to look at, but there were only a few statues, and no glass windows. Brother Basil, who had traveled in France and Italy and had taught Alan something of drawing, said that in the cities where he had been, there were marvelous cathedrals with splendid carved towers and windows like jeweled flowers or imprisoned flame, but no such glories were to be found in England at that time. The boy looked beyond the gray wall at the gold and ruby and violet of the sunset clouds behind the lace-work of the bare elms, and wondered if the cathedral windows were as beautiful as that. He had an idea that they might be like the colored pictures in an old book which Brother Basil had brought from Rome, which he said had been made still further east in Byzantium--the city which we know as Constantinople. In the arched doorway which led from the garden into the orchard some one was standing--a small old man, bent and tired-looking, with a pack on his shoulder. Alan slid off the stone ledge and ran down the path. The old man had taken off his cap and was rubbing his forehead wearily. His eyes were big and dark, his hair and beard were dark and fine, his face was lined with delicate wrinkles, and he did not look in the least like the people of the village. His voice was soft and pleasant, and though he spoke English, he did not pronounce it like the village people, or like the monks. "This--is the cathedral?" he said in a disappointed way, as if he had expected something quite different. "Yes," drawled Alan, for he spoke as all the farmer-folk did, with a kind of twang. "But they are doing no work here," said the old man. Alan shook his head. "It has been like this ever since I can remember. Father says there's no knowing when it will be finished." The old man sighed, and then broke out in a quick patter of talk, as if he really could not help telling his story to some one. Alan could not understand all that he said, but he began to see why the stranger was so disappointed. He was Italian; he had come to London from France, and only two days after landing he had had a fall and broken his leg, so that he had been lame ever since. Then he had been robbed of his money. Some one had told him that there was an unfinished cathedral here, and he had come all the way on foot in the hope of finding work. Now, it seemed, there was no work to be had. What interested Alan was that this old man had really helped to build the wonderful French cathedrals of which Brother Basil had told, and he was sure that if Brother Basil were here, something might be done. But he was away, on a pilgrimage; the abbot was away too; and Brother Peter, the porter, did not like strangers. Alan decided that the best thing to do would be to take the old man home and explain to his mother. Dame Cicely at the Abbey Farm was usually inclined to give Alan what he asked, because he seldom asked anything. He was rather fond of spending his time roaming about the moors, or trying to draw pictures of things that he had seen or heard of; and she was not sure whether he would ever make a farmer or not. She was touched by the old man's troubles, and liked his polite ways; and Alan very soon had the satisfaction of seeing his new friend warm and comfortable in the chimney-corner. The rambling old farm-house had all sorts of rooms in it, and there was a little room in the older part, which had a window looking toward the sunset, a straw bed, a bench, and a fireplace, for it had once been used as a kitchen. It was never used now except at harvest-time, and the stranger could have that. Nobody in the household, except Alan, could make much of the old man's talk. The maids laughed at his way of speaking English; the men soon found that he knew nothing of cattle-raising, or plowing, or carpentering, or thatching, or sheep-shearing. But Alan hung about the little room in all his spare time, brought fagots for the fire, answered questions, begged, borrowed or picked up somewhere whatever seemed to be needed, and watched with fascinated eyes all the doings that went on. The old man's name, it appeared, was Angelo Pisano, and he had actually made cathedral windows, all by himself. Although Italian born, he had spent much of his life in France, and had known men of many nations, including the English. He meant now to make a window to show the Abbot when he returned, and then, perhaps, the Abbot would either let him stay and work for the Church, or help him to find work somewhere else. The first thing that he did was to mix, in a black iron pot that Alan found among rubbish, some sand and other mysterious ingredients, and then the fire must be kept up evenly, without a minute's inattention, until exactly the proper time, when the molten mass was lifted out in a lump on the end of a long iron pipe. Alan held his breath as the old man blew it into a great fragile crimson bubble, and then, so deftly and quickly that the boy did not see just how, cut the bottle-shaped hollow glass down one side and flattened it out, a transparent sheet of rose-red that was smooth and even for the most part, and thick and uneven around a part of the edge. Everything had to be done a little at a time. Angelo was working with such materials as he could get, and the glass did not always turn out as he meant it should. Twice it was an utter failure and had to be re-melted and worked all over again. Once it was even finer in color than it would have been if made exactly by the rule. Angelo said that some impurity in the metal which gave the color had made a more beautiful blue than he expected. Dame Cicely happened to be there when they were talking it over, and nodded wisely. "'Tis often that way," said she. "I remember once in the baking, the oven was too cold and I made sure the pasties would be slack-baked, and they was better than ever we had." Alan was not sure what the glassmaker would think of this taking it for granted that cookery was as much a craft as the making of windows, but the old man nodded and smiled. "I think that there is a gramarye in the nature of things," he said, "and God to keep us from being too wise in our own conceit lets it now and then bring all our wisdom to folly. Now, my son, we will store these away where no harm can come to them, for I have never known God to work miracles for the careless, and we have no more than time to finish the window." They had sheets of red, blue, green, yellow and clear white glass, not very large, but beautifully clear and shining, and these were set carefully in a corner with a block of wood in front of them for protection. Then Angelo fell silent and pulled at his beard. The little money that he had was almost gone. "Alan, my son," he said presently, "do you know what lead is?" Alan nodded. "The roof of the chapel was covered with it," he said, "the chapel that burned down. The lead melted and rained down on the floor, and burned Brother Basil when he ran in to save the book with the colored pictures." The glass-worker smiled. "Your Brother Basil," he said, "must have the soul of an artist. I wonder now what became of that lead?" "They saved a little, but most of it is mixed up with the rubbish and the ashes," Alan said confidently. "Do you want it?" Angelo spread his hands with a funny little gesture. "Want it!" he said. "Where did they put those ashes?" Lead was a costly thing in the Middle Ages. It was sometimes used for roofing purposes, as well as for gutter-pipes and drain-pipes, because it will not rust as iron will, and can easily be worked. Alan had played about that rubbish heap, and he knew that there were lumps of lead among the wood-ashes and crumbled stones. Much marveling, he led the artist to the pile of rubbish that had been thrown over the wall, and helped to dig out the precious bits of metal. Then the fire was lighted once more, and triumphantly Angelo melted the lead and purified it, and rolled it into sheets, and cut it into strips. "Now," he said one morning, "we are ready to begin. I shall make a medallion which can be set in a great window like embroidery on a curtain. It shall be a picture--of what, my son?" His dark eyes were very kind as he looked at the boy's eager face. The question had come so suddenly that Alan found no immediate answer. Then he saw his pet lamb delicately nibbling at a bit of green stuff which his mother held out to it as she stood in her blue gown and white apron, her bright hair shining under her cap. "I wish we could make a picture of her," he said a little doubtfully. Angelo smiled, and with a bit of charcoal he made a sketch on a board. Alan watched with wonder-widened eyes, although he had seen the old man draw before. Then they went together into the little room which had seen so many surprising things, and the sketch was copied on the broad wooden bench which they had been using for a table. Then holding one end of a piece of string in the middle of the lamb's back, Angelo slipped the charcoal through a loop in the other end, and drew a circle round the whole. Around this he drew a wreath of flowers and leaves. Then he laid the white glass over the lamb and drew the outline just as a child would draw on a transparent slate, putting in the curls of the wool, the eyes and ears and hoofs, with quick, sure touches. This done, he set the white glass aside, and drew Dame Cicely's blue gown and the blue of a glimpse of sky on the blue glass. The green of the grass and the bushes was drawn on the green glass, and the roses on the red, and on the yellow, the cowslips in the grass. When all these had been cut out with a sharp tool, they fitted together exactly like the bits of a picture-puzzle, but with a little space between, for each bit of the picture had been drawn a trifle inside the line to leave room for the framework. Now it began to be obvious what the lead was for. With the same deftness he had shown throughout the old glass-worker bent the strips of lead, which had been heated just enough to make them flexible, in and out and around the edges of the pieces of colored glass, which were held in place as the leaden strips were bent down over the edges, as a picture is held in the frame. When the work was finished, the medallion was a picture in colored glass, of a woman of gracious and kindly bearing, a pale gold halo about her face, her hand on the head of a white lamb, and a wreath of blossoms around the whole. When the sun shone through it, the leaden lines might have been a black network holding a mass of gems. Dame Cicely looked at it with awed wonder, and the lamb bleated cheerfully, as if he knew his own likeness. [Illustration: "THE MEDALLION WAS A PICTURE IN COLORED GLASS"] Then there was an exclamation from the gateway, and they turned to see a thin-faced man in the robe and sandals of a monk, with sea-blue eyes alight in joy and surprise. "Is it you, indeed, Angelo!" he cried. "They told me that a glass-worker was doing marvelous things here, and I heard a twelvemonth since that you were leaving Normandy for England. Where have you been all this time?" The upshot of it all was that after much talk of old times and new times, Angelo was asked to make a series of stained glass windows for the Abbey, with all the aid that the friendship of the Abbot and Brother Basil could supply. He kept his little room at the farm, where he could see the sunset through the trees, and have the comfortable care of Dame Cicely when he found the cold of the North oppressive; but he had a glass-house of his own, fitted up close by the Abbey, and there Alan worked with him. The Abbot had met in Rouen a north-country nobleman, of the great Vavasour family, who had married a Flemish wife and was coming shortly to live on his estates within a few miles of the Abbey. He desired to have a chapel built in honor of the patron saint of his family, and had given money for that, and also for the windows in the Abbey. The Abbot had been thinking that he should have to send for these windows to some glass-house on the Continent, and when he found that the work could be done close at hand by a master of the craft, he was more than pleased. With cathedrals and churches a-building all over England, and the Abbot to make his work known to other builders of his Order, there was no danger that Angelo would be without work in the future. Some day, he said, Alan should go as a journeyman and see for himself all the cathedral windows in Italy and France, but for the present he must stick to the glass-house. And this Alan was content to do, for he was learning, day by day, all that could be learned from a man superior to most artists of either France or Italy. TROUBADOUR'S SONG When we went hunting in Fairyland, (O the chiming bells on her bridle-rein!) And the hounds broke leash at the queen's command, (O the toss of her palfrey's mane!) Like shadows we fled through the weaving shade With quivering moonbeams thick inlaid, And the shrilling bugles around us played-- I dreamed that I fought the Dane. Clatter of faun-feet sudden and swift, (O the view-halloo in the dusky wood!) And satyrs crowding the mountain rift, (O the flare of her fierce wild mood!) Boulders and hollows alive, astir With a goat-thighed foe, all teeth and fur, We husked that foe like a chestnut bur-- I thought of the Holy Rood. We trailed from our shallop a magic net, (O the spell of her voice with its crooning note!) By the edge of the world, where the stars are set, (O the ripples that rocked our boat!) But into the mesh of the star-sown dream A mermaid swept on the lashing stream, A drift of spume and an emerald gleam-- I remembered my love's white throat. When we held revel in Fairyland, (O the whirl of the dancers under the Hill!) The wind-harp sang to the queen's light hand, (O her eyes, so deep and still!) But I was a captive among them all, And the jeweled flagons were brimming with gall, And the arras of gold was a dungeon-wall,-- I dreamed that they set me free! IV THE GRASSHOPPERS' LIBRARY HOW RANULPH LE PROVENÇAL CEASED TO BE A MINSTREL AND BECAME A TROUBADOUR On a hillside above a stone-terraced oval hollow, a youth lay singing softly to himself and making such music as he could upon a rote. The instrument was of the sort which King David had in mind when he said, "Awake, psaltery and harp; I myself will awake early." It was a box-shaped thing like a zither, which at one time had probably owned ten strings. The player was adapting his music as best he might to favor its peculiarities. Notwithstanding his debonair employment, he did not look as if he were on very good terms with life. His cloak and hose were shabby and weather-stained, his doublet was still less presentable, his cheeks were hollow, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Presently he abandoned the song altogether, and lay, chin in hand, staring down into the grass-grown, ancient pit. It had begun its history as a Roman amphitheater, a thousand years before. Gladiators had fought and wild beasts had raged in that arena, whose encircling wall was high enough to defy the leap of the most agile of lions. Up here, on the hillside, in the archways outside the outermost ring of seats, the slaves had watched the combats. The youth had heard something about these old imperial customs, and he had guessed that he had come upon a haunt of the Roman colonists who had founded a forgotten town near by. He wondered, as he lay there, if he himself were in any better ease than those unknown captives, who had fought and died for the amusement of their owners. Ranulph le Provençal, as he was one day to be known, was the son of a Provençal father and a Norman mother. In the siege of a town his father had been killed and his mother had died of starvation, and he himself had barely escaped with life. That had been the penalty of being on the wrong side of the struggle between the Normans of Anjou and their unwilling subjects in Aquitaine. At the moment the rebellious counts of Aquitaine were getting the best of it. Ranulph knew little of the tangled politics of the time, but it seemed to him that all France was turned into a cockpit in which the sovereign counts of France, who were jealous of their independence, and the fierce pride of the Angevin dukes who tried to keep a foothold in both France and England, and the determined ambition of the King who sat in Paris, were warring over the enslavement of an unhappy people. He himself had no chance of becoming a knight; his life was broken off before it had fairly begun. He got his living by wandering from one place to another making songs. He had a voice, and could coax music out of almost any sort of instrument; and he had a trick of putting new words to familiar tunes that made folk laugh and listen. Neighborhood quarrels had drained money and spirit out of the part of the country where he was, and he had almost forgotten what it was like to have enough to eat. The little dog that had followed him through his wanderings for a year foraged for scraps and fared better than his master; but now small Zipero was hungry too. The little fellow had been mauled by a mastiff that morning, and a blow from a porter's staff had broken his leg. Ranulph had rescued his comrade at some cost to himself, and might not have got off so easily if a sudden sound of trumpets had not cleared the way for a king's vanguard. As the soldiers rode in at the gates the young minstrel folded his dog in his cloak and limped out along the highway. Up here in the shade of some bushes by the deserted ruins, he had done what he could for his pet, but the little whimper Zipero gave now and then seemed to go through his heart. Life had been difficult before, but he had been stronger, or more ignorant. He had made blithe songs when he was anything but gay at heart; he had laughed when others were weeping and howling; he had danced to his own music when every inch of his body ached with weariness; and it had all come to this. He had been turned out of his poor lodgings because he had no money; he had been driven out of the town because he would not take money earned in a certain way. He seemed to have come to the end. If that were the case he might as well make a song about it and see what it would be like. He took up the rote, and began to work out a refrain that was singing itself in his head. Zipero listened; he was quieter when he heard the familiar sound. The song was flung like a challenge into the silent arena. The Planet of Love in the cloud-swept night Hangs like a censer of gold, And Venus reigns on her starlit height Even as she ruled of old. Yet the Planet of War is abroad on earth In a chariot of scarlet flame, And Mercy and Loyalty, Love and Mirth Must die for his grisly fame. Ravens are croaking and gray wolves prowl On the desolate field of death, The smoke of the burning hangs like a cowl-- Grim Terror throttles the breath. Yet a white bird flies in the silent night To your window that looks on the sea, To bear to my Lady of All Delight This one last song from me. "Princess, the planets that rule our life Are the same for beggar or King,-- We may win or lose in the hazard of strife, There is ever a song to sing! We are free as the wind, O heart of gold! The stars that rule our lot Are netted fast in a bond ninefold,-- The twist of Solomon's Knot." "So you believe that, my son?" asked a voice behind him. He sat up and looked about; an old man in a long dusky cloak and small flat cap had come over the brow of the hill. He answered, a trifle defiantly, "Perhaps I do. At any rate, that is the song." "Oh, it is true," the old man said quietly as he knelt beside Zipero on the turf. He examined the bandages on the little dog's neck and forelegs, undid them, laid some bruised leaves from his basket on the wounds. The small creature, with his eyes on his master's face, licked the stranger's hand gratefully to show that he was more at ease. "Man alone is free. This herb cannot change itself; it must heal; that one must slay. Saturn is ever the Greater Malignant; our Lady Venus cannot rule war, nor can Mars rule a Court of Love. The most uncertain creature in the world is a man. The stars themselves cannot force me to revile God." Ranulph was silent. After months and years among rude street crowds, the dignity and kindliness of the old man's ways were like a voice from another world. "I can cure this little animal," the stranger went on presently, "if you will let me take him to my lodgings, where I have certain salves and medicines. I shall be pleased if you will come also, unless you are occupied." Ranulph laughed; that was absurd. "I am a street singer," he said. "My time is not in demand at present. I must tell you, however, that the Count is my enemy--if a friendless beggar can have such a thing. One of his varlets set his ban-dog on us both, this morning." "He will give me no trouble," said the old man quietly. "Come, children." Ranulph got to his feet and followed with Zipero in his arms. At the foot of the hill on the other side was a nondescript building which had grown up around what was left of a Roman house. The unruined pillars and strongly cemented stone-work contrasted oddly with the thatch and tile of peasant workmen. They passed through a gate where an old and wrinkled woman peered through a window at them, then they went up a flight of stairs outside the wall to a tower-room in the third story. A chorus of welcome arose from a strange company of creatures, caged and free: finches, linnets, a parrot, a raven which sidled up at once to have its head scratched, pigeons strutting and cooing on the window-ledge, and a large cat of a slaty-blue color with solemn, topaz eyes, which took no more note of Zipero than if he had been a dog of stone. A basket was provided for the small patient, near the window that looked out over the hills; the old servingwoman brought food, simple but well-cooked and delicious, and Ranulph was motioned to a seat at the table. It was all done so easily and quickly that dinner was over before Ranulph found words for the gratitude which filled his soul. "Will you not tell me," he said hesitatingly at last, "to whom I may offer my thanks--and service--if I may not serve you in some way?" "Give to some one else in need, when you can," said his host calmly. "I am Tomaso of Padua. A physician's business is healing, wherever he finds sickness in man or beast. Your little friend there needed certain things; your need is for other things; the man who is now coming up the stairs needs something else." Taking a harp from a corner he added, "Perhaps you will amuse yourself with this for an hour, while I see what that knock at the door means, this time." Whoever the visitor was, he was shown into another room, and Ranulph presently forgot all his troubles and almost lost the consciousness of his surroundings, as the harp sang under his hand. He began to put into words a song which had been haunting him for days,--a ballad of a captive knight who spent seven long years in Fairyland, but in spite of all that the Fairy Queen's enchantment could do, never forgot his own people. Many of the popular romances of the time were fairy-tales full of magic spells, giants, caverns within the hills, witches and wood-folk hoofed and horned like Pan, sea-monsters, palaces which appeared and vanished like moon-shine. When they were sung to the harp-music of a troubadour who knew his work, they seemed very real. "That is a good song," said a stranger who had come in so quietly that Ranulph did not see him. "Did you find it in Spain?" Ranulph stood up and bowed with the grace that had not left him in all his wandering life. "No," he said, his dark eyes glinting with laughter, "I learned it in the Grasshoppers' Library. I beg your pardon, master,--that is a saying we have in Provence. You will guess the meaning. A learned physician found me there, studying diligently though perhaps not over-profitably upon a hillside." "Not bad at all," said the stranger, sitting down by Ranulph in the window and running over the melody on the harp. His fingers swept the strings in a confident power that showed him a master-musician, and he began a song so full of wonder, mystery and sweetness that Ranulph listened spellbound. Neither of them knew that for centuries after they sat there singing in a ruined Roman tower, the song would be known to all the world as the legend of Parzifal. "I too have studied in the Grasshoppers' Library," said the singer, "but I found in an ancient book among the infidels in Spain this tale of a cup of enchantment, and made use of it. I think that it is one of those songs which do not die, but travel far and wide in many disguises, and end perhaps in the Church. You are one of us, are you not?" "I am a street singer," Ranulph answered, "a jongleur--a jester. I make songs for this,"--he took up his battered rote and hummed a camp-chorus. "Do you mean to say that you play like that--on that?" asked the other. "Your studies must have led you indeed to Fairyland. You ought to go to England. The Plantagenets are friendly to us troubadours, and the English are a merry people, who delight in songs and the hearing of tales." Ranulph did not answer. Going to England and going to Fairyland were not in the same class of undertaking. Fairyland might be just over the border of the real world, but it cost money to cross the seas. Tomaso came in just then, his deep-set eyes twinkling. "It is all right," he said, nodding to the troubadour. "I have been telling our friend here that he should go to England," said the latter, rising and putting on his cloak. "If, as you say, his father was loyal to the House of Anjou, Henry will remember it. He is a wise old fox, is Henry, and he needs men whom he can trust. He is changing laws, and that is no easy thing to do when you have a stubborn people with all sorts of ideas in their heads about custom, and tradition, and what not. He wants to make things safe for his sons, and the throne on which he sits is rocking. The French king is greedy and the Welsh are savage, and Italian galleys crowd the very Pool of London. I remember me when I was a student in Paris, a Welsh clerk--he calls himself now Giraldus Cambrensis, but his name then was Gerald Barri,--had the room over mine, the year that Philip was born. We woke up one night to find the whole street ablaze with torches and lanterns, and two old crones dancing under our windows with lighted torches in their hands, howling for joy. Barri stuck his head out of window and asked what ailed them, and one of them screamed in her cracked voice, 'We have got a Prince now who will drive you all out of France some day, you Englishmen!' I can see his face now as he shouted back something that assuredly was not French. I tell you, Philip will hate the English like his father before him, and these are times when a troubadour who can keep a merry face and a close tongue will learn much." As the door closed the physician sat down in his round-backed chair, resting his long, wrinkled hands upon the arms. "Well, my son," he said in his unperturbed voice, "I find somebody yonder is very sorry that you were thrown out of the gates this morning." Ranulph glanced up quickly, but said nothing. "He had no idea that you were here, of course. He came to get me to ask the stars what had become of you, as you could not be found on the road. When he found that you would not serve him in the matter of the dagger and the poison, he never intended to let you leave the town, but as you know, your dog, seeing you mishandled, flew at his varlet, and the thick-headed fellow drove you out before he had any further orders. By such small means," old Tomaso stroked Zipero's head, "are evil plans made of no account." Ranulph drew a long breath. He had lost color. "But you," he faltered, "you must not shelter me if he is thus determined. He will take vengeance on you." The physician smiled. "He dares not. He is afraid of the stars. He knows also that I hold the death of every soul in his house in some small vial such as this--and he does not know which one. He knows that I have only to reveal to any minstrel what I know of his plans and his doings, and he would be driven from the court of his own sovereign. He can never be sure what I am going to do, and he does not know himself what he is going to do, so that he fears every one. By the twelve Houses of Fate, it must be unpleasant to be so given over to hatred! "Now, my son, let us consider. You heard what Christian said but now of the need of the House of Anjou for faithful service. A trouvère can go where others cannot. He knows what others dare not ask. He can say what others cannot. Were it not for that prince of mischief and minstrelsy, Bertran de Born, Henry and his folk would have been at peace long ago. Know men's hearts, and though you are a beggar in the market-place, you can turn them as a man turns a stream with a wooden dam. You shall go with Christian to Troyes and thence to Tours, and I will keep your little friend here until he is restored, and bring him to you when I come to that place. If search is made for you it will be made in Venice, where they think you have gone." Ranulph, with the aid of his new friends, went forth with proper harp and new raiment a day or two afterward, and repaid the loan of old Tomaso when he met the latter in Tours some six months later. He did not give up his studies in the Grasshoppers' Library, but the lean years were at an end both for him and for Zipero. THE WOOD-CARVER'S VISION The Hounds of Gabriel racing with the gale, Baying wild music past the tossing trees, The Ship of Souls with moonlight-silvered sail High over storm-swept seas, The faun-folk scampering to their dim abode, The goblin elves that haunt the forest road, With visage of the snake and eft and toad,-- I carve them as I please. Bertrand's gray saintly patriarchs of stone, Angelo the Pisan's gold-starred sapphire sky, Marc's Venice glass, a jeweled rose full-blown,-- Envy of none have I. Mine be the basilisk with mitered head, And loup-garou and mermaid, captive led By little tumbling cherubs who,--'tis said,-- Are all but seen to fly. Why hold we here these demons in the light Of the High Altar, by God's candles cast? They are the heathen creatures of the night, In heavenly bonds made fast. They are set here, that for all time to be, When God's own peace broods over earth and sea, Men may remember, in a world set free, The terrors that are past. V THE BOX THAT QUENTIN CARVED HOW QUENTIN OF PERONNE LEARNED HIS TRADE WHEN A BOY IN AMIENS Any one who happened to be in the market-place of Amiens one sunshiny summer morning in the last quarter of the twelfth century, might have seen a slim, dark, dreamy-eyed boy wandering about with teeth set in a ripe golden apricot, looking at all there was to be seen. But the chances were that no one who was there did see him, because people were very busy with their own affairs, and there was much to look at, far more important and interesting than a boy. In fact Quentin, who had come with his father, Jean of Peronne, to town that very morning, was not important to any one except his father and himself. They had been living in a small village of Northern France, where they had a tiny farm, but when the mother died, Jean left the two older boys to take care of the fields, and with his youngest son, who was most like the mother, started out to find work elsewhere. He was a good mason, and masons were welcome anywhere. In all French cities and many towns cathedrals, castles or churches were a-building, and no one would think of building them of anything but stone. While Quentin speculated on life as it might be in this new and interesting place, there was a shout of warning, a cry of terror from a woman near by, a dull rumble and crash, and a crowd began to gather in the street beside the cathedral. Before the boy could reach the place, a man in the garb of a Benedictine monk detached himself from the group and came toward him. "My boy," he said kindly, "you are Quentin, from Peronne? Yes? Do not be frightened, but I must tell you that your father has been hurt. They are taking him to a house near by, and if you will come with me, I will take care of you." The next few days were anxious ones for Quentin. His father did not die, but it was certain that he would do no more work as a mason for years, if ever. One of the older brothers came to take him home, and it was taken for granted that Quentin would go also. But the boy had a plan in his head. There was none too much to eat at home, as it was, and it would be a long time before he was strong enough to handle stone like his father. Brother Basil, the monk who had seen his father caught under the falling wall, helped to rescue him, and taken care that he did not lose sight of his boy, had been very kind, but he did not belong in Amiens; he was on his way to Rome. Quentin met him outside the house on the day that Pierre came in from Peronne, and gave him a questioning look. He was wondering if Brother Basil would understand. The smile that answered his look was encouraging. "Well, my boy," said Brother Basil in his quaintly spoken French, "what is it?" Quentin stood very straight, cap in hand. "I do not want to go home," he said slowly. "I want to stay here--and work." "Alone?" asked the monk. Quentin nodded. "Marc and Pierre work all day in the fields, and I am of no use there; they said so. Pierre said it again just now. I am not strong enough yet to be of use. There is work here that I can do." He traced the outline of an ancient bit of carving on the woodwork of the overhanging doorway with one small finger. "I can do that," he said confidently. Brother Basil's black eyebrows lifted a trifle and his mouth twitched; the boy was such a scrap of a boy. Yet he had seen enough of the oaken choir-stalls and the carved chests and the wainscoting of Amiens to know that a French wood-carver is often born with skill in his brain and his fingers, and can do things when a mere apprentice that others must be trained to do. "What have you done?" he said gravely. "I carved a box for the mother, and when the cousin Adele saw it she would have one too. It was made with a wreath of roses on the lid, but I would not make roses for any one but the mother; Adele's box has lilies, and a picture of herself. That she liked better." Brother Basil was thinking. "Quentin," he said, "I know a wood-carver here, Master Gerard, who is from Peronne, and knows your talk better than I. He was a boy like you when he began to learn the work of the huchier and the wood-carver, and he might give you a place in his shop. Will your father let you stay?" "He will if I get the chance," said Quentin. "If I ask him now, Pierre will say things." Like many younger brothers, Quentin knew more about the older members of his family than they knew about him. Brother Basil's smile escaped control this time. He turned and strode across the market-place to the shop of Master Gerard, beckoning Quentin to follow. "Master," he said to the old huchier, who was planing and chipping and shaping a piece of Spanish chestnut, "here is a boy who has fallen in love with your trade." Master Gerard glanced up in some surprise. "He likes the trade, does he?" was the gruff comment he made. "Does the trade like him?" "That is for you to say," said Brother Basil, and turning on his heel he went out, to walk up and down in the sunshine before the door and meditate on the loves of craftsmen for their crafts. "What can you do?" asked the old man shortly, still working at his piece of chestnut. Quentin took from his pouch a bit of wood on which he had carved, very carefully, the figure of a monk at a reading-desk with a huge volume before him. He had done it the day before after he had been with Brother Basil to bring some books from the Bishop's house, and although the figure was too small and his knife had been too clumsy to make much of a portrait of the face, he had caught exactly the intent pose of the head and the characteristic attitude of the monk's angular figure. Master Gerard frowned. "What sort of carving is that!" he barked. "The wood is coarse and the tools were not right. You tell me you did it?" Quentin stood his ground. "It is my work, Master," he said. "I had only this old knife, and I know the wood is not right, but it was all that I had." "And you want to learn my trade--eh?" said the old man a little more kindly. "You have no father?" Quentin explained. Master Gerard looked doubtful. He had met boys before who liked to whittle, and wished to work in his shop; he had apprentices whose fathers were good workmen and wished their sons to learn more than they could teach; but very seldom did he meet a boy who would work as he himself had worked when he was a lad, never satisfied with what he did, because the vision in his mind ran ahead of the power in his fingers. He was an old man now, but he was still seeing what might be done in wood-working if a man could only have a chance to come back, after he had spent one lifetime in learning, and use what he had learned, in the strength of a new, clear-sighted youth. He had sons of his own, but they were only good business men. They could sell the work, but they had no inspirations. "I will let you try what you can do," he said at last, "that is, if your father is willing. Tell him to come and see me before he goes home. And look you--come back when you have told him this, and copy this work of yours in the proper fashion, with tools and wood which I will give you." Quentin bowed, thanked the old wood-carver, walked, by a great effort, steadily out of the shop and answered a question of Brother Basil's, and then flashed like a squirrel in a hurry across the square and up the narrow winding stair in the side street where his father lodged, with the news. Pierre began two or three sentences, but never finished them. Jean of Peronne knew all about Master Gerard, and was only too glad to hear of such a chance for his motherless boy. And all the happy, sunlit afternoon Quentin sat in a corner, working away with keen-edged tools that were a joy to the hand, at a smooth-grained, close-fibered bit of wood that never splintered or split. Master Gerard was what might be called a carpenter, or cabinet-maker. He did not make doors or window-frames, or woodwork for houses, because the great houses of that day were built almost entirely of stone. Neither did he make furniture such as chairs, tables, or bureaus, because it was not yet thought of. Kings' households and great families moved about from castle to castle, and carried with them by boat, or in heavy wagons over bad roads, whatever comforts they owned. Modern furniture would have been fit for kindling-wood in a year, but ancient French luggage was built for hard travel. Master Gerard made chests of solid, well-seasoned wood, chosen with care and put together without nails, by fitting notch into notch at the corners. These were called huches, and Master Gerard was a master huchier. These huches were longer and lower than a large modern trunk, and could be set one on another, after they were carried up narrow twisting stairways on men's shoulders. The lid might be all in one piece, but more often it was in halves, with a bar between, so that when the chest was set on its side or end the lids would form doors. Ledges at top and bottom protected the corners and edges, and there might be feet that fitted into the bottom of the chest and made it easier to move about. The larger ones were long enough to use for a bed, and in these the tapestries that covered the walls, the embroidered bed-hangings, the cushions and mattresses to make hard seats and couches more comfortable, and the magnificent robes for state occasions, could be packed for any sort of journey. Huches were needed also for silver and gold state dishes, and the spices, preserved fruits and other luxuries needed for state feasts. It was desirable to make the chests beautiful as well as strong, for they were used as furniture; there might be a state bedstead, a huge wardrobe and one or two other furnishings in the apartments used by great folk, but the table was a movable one made of boards on trestles, and the carved huches, decorated with the heraldic emblems of the owner, served innumerable purposes. When one sees the specimens that are left, it does not seem surprising that when kings and queens went anywhere in the Middle Ages they went, if possible, by water. Luggage of that kind could be carried more easily by barge than by wagon. After the first day, when he finished the small carved figure of Brother Basil for his master to see, Quentin did almost anything but carving. He ran errands, he sharpened tools, he helped a journeyman at his work, he worked on common carpentering which required no artistic skill. The work which Master Gerard undertook was not such as an apprentice could be trusted to do. Quentin, watching as closely as he could all that was done in the shop, saw that one sort of wood was chosen for one use, and another kind for a different job; he saw how a tool was handled to get a free, bold curve or a delicate fold of drapery, and he found out more about the trade in a year than most modern carpenters ever learn. It was hot and uncomfortable in Amiens that summer. Life inside walls, among houses crowded and tall, was not like life in a country village, but it was not in Quentin to give up. When he felt like leaving the noisy, treeless town for the forest he would try to make a design of the flowers he remembered, or carve a knotted branch with the tools that he was allowed to use. He knew that when he should be entrusted with the carving of a chest, if that time ever came, he would have to be able to make his own design, if necessary, for that was a part of the work. Chests were carved on the lids and ends, which showed when they were set up, and sometimes they were covered with carving. Master Gerard had a chest of his own, full of patterns which he brought out to show his patrons now and then, but which no one else ever touched. These patterns, however, were rarely followed exactly. Each great family had its own heraldic device, and the leopard, the dragon, the dolphin, the fleur-de-lis, the portcullis, or whatever it might be, must form an important part of the decoration. Some of the patterns, while their proportions were perfect, were too simple for the taste of the one who ordered the chest, and had to be varied. Some were too elaborate for a small piece of work, and had to be made simpler. The wood-carver had very little chance of success unless he was also an artist, as he usually was. One day a great piece of carving was finished, and Master Gerard himself went to see that the workmen carried it safely; it was a chest in the form of a half-circle, for the tapestries and embroideries of the cathedral, in which the state mantle and robes of the Bishop could be laid flat with all their heavy gold-work. The youngest journeyman, Pol, who was left to mind the shop, slipped out a few minutes later, charging Quentin strictly to stay until he came back. Quentin had no objection. He wanted to try a pattern of his own for a small huche that was finished all but the carving. He had in mind a pattern of Master Gerard's, a border simple yet beautiful. It was copied from the inner wall of a Greek temple, although he did not know that. It was a running vine with leaves and now and then a flower, not like any vine that he had ever seen. The inclosed oblong on the lid was divided into halves by a bar, in the form of a woman's figure. Quentin thought that that was rather too stately a decoration for a small chest, and he decided to use a simple rounded bar, with grooves, which he knew that he could do well. He was not sure how the border went. Of course, he might wait until Master Gerard came back and ask to see the pattern, but he did not quite like to do that. It might seem presuming. He wondered how it would do to try apricot twigs laid stem to tip in a curving line, a ripe fruit in place of the flower of the pattern, and blossom-clusters here and there. He tried it cautiously, drawing the outline first on a corner, and it looked so well that he began to carve the twigs. He was finishing the second when he heard a voice in the doorway. "Does Master Gerard do his work with elves? Or have the fairies taken him and left a changeling?" The voice was musical with laughter, and the boy looked up to see a lovely and richly-robed lady standing within the door. A little behind her was a young man in the dress of a troubadour, and servingmen stood outside holding the bridles of the horses. Quentin sprang to his feet and bowed respectfully. "Master Gerard is but absent for an hour or two," he said; "shall I run to the Cathedral and fetch him?" "Nay," the lady answered, sinking into the high-backed chair in the corner, "it is cool here, and we will await him. Ranulph, come look at this coffret. I maintain that the fairies teach these people to work in wood as they do. Saw you ever the like?" The troubadour bent over the just-begun carving. "This is no boy's play; this is good work," he said. "You have the right notion; the eye and the hand work together like two good comrades." "My lord shall see this when he comes. I like the work." She touched the cheek of the apricot with a dainty finger. "Where did you get the pattern?" Quentin looked down, rather shyly; he did not feel sure that he would be believed. "I had no pattern," he said. "I remembered one that Master Gerard made for a great house a month since--" "And so do I!" laughed the lady. "Now I know where I saw that border. Therefore, not having the copy before you----" "You invented this variation. Upon my word, the race of wood-carvers has not come to an end," laughed the young man. "I think that his Royal Highness will like this coffret well." [Illustration: "'UPON MY WORD, THE RACE OF WOOD-CARVERS HAS NOT YET COME TO AN END'"] All in a flash it came to Quentin who this was. Some time before he had heard that the Princess Margaret, daughter of the French King, was in the city, with her husband, Prince Henry of England. It was for the Prince that Master Gerard had made that other chest. Things linked themselves together in this world, it seemed, like the apricots and blossoms of his design. "Finish the chest," said the Princess after a pause. "I will have it for a traveling casket. Can you carve a head on the top--or two heads, facing one another, man and woman?" "Like this?" asked Quentin, and he traced an outline on the bench. It was the lady's beautiful profile. Master Gerard came in just then, and Pol came slinking in at the back door. The next day Quentin was promoted to Pol's place, and finished his chest in great content and happiness. It was the beginning in a long upward climb to success. THE CAGED BOUVEREL I am a little finch with wings of gold, I dwell within a cage upon the wall. I cannot fly within my narrow fold,-- I eat, and drink, and sing, and that is all. My good old master talks to me sometimes, But if he knows my speech I cannot tell. He is so large he cannot sing nor fly, But he and I are both named Bouverel. I think perhaps he really wants to sing, Because the busy hammer that he wields Goes clinking light as merry bells that ring When morris-dancers frolic in the fields, And this is what the music seems to tell To me, the finch, the feathered Bouverel. "Kling-a-ling--clack! Masters, what do ye lack? Hammer your heart in't, and strike with a knack! Flackety kling-- Biff, batico, bing! Platter, cup, candlestick, necklace or ring! Spare not your labor, lads, make the gold sing,-- And some day perhaps ye may work for the King!" [Illustration] VI AT THE SIGN OF THE GOLD FINCH HOW GUY, THE GOLDSMITH'S APPRENTICE, WON THE DESIRE OF HIS HEART Bang--slam--bang-bang--slam! slam! slam! If anybody on the Chepe in the twelfth century had ever heard of rifle-practice, early risers thereabouts might have been reminded of the crackle of guns. The noise was made by the taking down of shutters all along the shop fronts, and stacking them together out of the way. The business day in London still begins in the same way, but now there are plate-glass windows inside the shutters, and the shops open between eight and nine instead of soon after day-break. It was the work of the apprentices and the young sons of shop-keepers to take down the shutters, sweep the floors, and put things in order for the business of the day. This was the task which Guy, nephew of Gamelyn the goldsmith, at the sign of the Gold Finch, particularly liked. The air blew sweet and fresh from the convent gardens to the eastward of the city, or up the river below London Bridge, or down from the forest-clad hills of the north, and those who had the first draft of it were in luck. London streets were narrow and twisty-wise, but not overhung with coal smoke, for the city still burned wood from the forests without the walls. On this May morning, Guy was among the first of the boys who tumbled out from beds behind the counter and began to open the shops. The shop-fronts were all uninclosed on the first floor, and when the shutters were down the shop was separated from the street only by the counter. Above were the rooms in which the shop-keeper and his family lived, and the second story often jutted over the one below and made a kind of covered porch. In some of the larger shops, like this one of Goldsmiths' Row, the jewelers' street, there was a third story which could be used as a storeroom. There were no glass cases or glass windows. Lattices and shutters were used in window-openings, and the goods of finer quality were kept in wooden chests. The shop was also a work-room, for the shopkeeper was a manufacturer as well, and a part if not all that he sold was made in his own house. Guy, having stacked away the shutters and taken a drink of water from the well in the little garden at the rear, got a broom and began to sweep the stone floor. It was like the brooms in pictures of witches, a bundle of fresh twigs bound on the end of a stick, withes of supple young willow being used instead of cord. Some of the twigs in the broom had sprouted green leaves. Guy sang as he swept the trash out into the middle of the street, but as a step came down the narrow stair he hushed his song. When old Gamelyn had rheumatism the less noise there was, the better. The five o'clock breakfast, a piece of brown bread, a bit of herring and a horn cup of ale, was soon finished, and then the goldsmith, rummaging among his wares, hauled a leather sack out of a chest and bade Guy run with it to Ely House. This was an unexpected pleasure, especially for a spring morning as fair as a blossoming almond tree. The Bishop of Ely lived outside London Wall, near the road to Oxford, and his house was like a palace in a fairy-tale. It had a chapel as stately as an ordinary church, a great banquet-hall, and acres of gardens and orchards. No pleasanter place could be found for an errand in May. Guy trotted along in great satisfaction, making all the speed he could, for the time he saved on the road he might have to look about in Ely House. For a city boy, he was extremely fond of country ways. He liked to walk out on a holiday to Mile End between the convent gardens; he liked to watch the squirrels flyte and frisk among the huge trees of Epping Forest; he liked to follow at the heels of the gardener at Ely House and see what new plant, shrub or seed some traveler from far lands had brought for the Bishop. He did not care much for the city houses, even for the finest ones, unless they had a garden. Privately he thought that if ever he had his uncle's shop and became rich,--and his uncle had no son of his own,--he would have a house outside the wall, with a garden in which he would grow fruits and vegetables for his table. Another matter on which his mind was quite made up was the kind of things that would be made in the shop when he had it. The gold finch that served for a sign had been made by his grandfather, who came from Limoges, and it was handsomer than anything that Guy had seen there in Gamelyn's day. Silver and gold work was often sent there to be repaired, like the cup he had in the bag, a silver wine-cup which the Bishop's steward now wanted at once; but Guy wanted to learn to make such cups, and candlesticks, and finely wrought banquet-dishes himself. He gave the cup to the steward and was told to come back for his money after tierce, that is, after the service at the third hour of the day, about half way between sunrise and noon. There were no clocks, and Guy would know when it was time to go back by the sound of the church bells. The hall was full of people coming and going on various errands. One was a tired-looking man in a coarse robe, and broad hat, rope girdle, and sandals, who, when he was told that the Bishop was at Westminster on business with the King, looked so disappointed that Guy felt sorry for him. The boy slipped into the garden for a talk with his old friend the gardener, who gave him a head of new lettuce and some young mustard, both of which were uncommon luxuries in a London household of that day, and some roots for the tiny walled garden which he and Aunt Joan were doing their best to keep up. As he came out of the gate, having got his money, he saw the man he had noticed before sitting by the roadside trying to fasten his sandal. The string was worn out. A boy's pocket usually has string in it. Guy found a piece of leather thong in his pouch and rather shyly held it out. The man looked up with an odd smile. "I thank you," he said in curious formal English with a lisp in it. "There is courtesy, then, among Londoners? I began to think none here cared for anything but money, and yet the finest things in the world are not for sale." Guy did not know what to answer, but the idea interested him. "The sky above our heads," the wayfarer went on, looking with narrowed eyes at the pink may spilling over the gray wall of the Bishop's garden,--"flowers, birds, music, these are for all. When you go on pilgrimage you find out how pleasant is the world when you need not think of gain." The stranger was a pilgrim, then. That accounted for the clothes, but old Gamelyn had been on pilgrimage to the new shrine at Canterbury, and it had not helped his rheumatism much, and certainly had given him no such ideas as these. Guy looked up at the weary face with the brilliant eyes and smile,--they were walking together now,--and wondered. "And what do you in London?" the pilgrim asked. "My uncle is a goldsmith in Chepe," said the boy. "And are you going to be a goldsmith in Chepe too?" "I suppose so." "Then you like not the plan?" Guy hesitated. He never had talked of his feeling about the business, but he felt that this man would see what he meant. "I should like it better than anything," he said, "if we made things like those the Bishop has. Uncle Gamelyn says that there is no profit in them, because they take the finest metal and the time of the best workmen, and the pay is no more, and folk do not want them." "My boy," said the pilgrim earnestly, "there are always folk who want the best. There are always men who will make only the best, and when the two come together----" He clapped his hollowed palms like a pair of cymbals. "Would you like to make a dish as blue as the sea, with figures of the saints in gold work and jewel-work--a gold cup garlanded in flowers all done in their own color,--a shrine threefold, framing pictures of the saints and studded with orfrey-work of gold and gems, yet so beautiful in the mere work that no one would think of the jewels? Would you?" "Would I!" said Guy with a deep quick breath. "Our jewelers of Limoges make all these, and when kings and their armies come from the Crusades they buy of us thank-offerings,--candlesticks, altar-screens, caskets, chalices, gold and silver and enamel-work of every kind. We sit at the cross-roads of Christendom. The jewels come to us from the mines of East and West. Men come to us with full purses and glad hearts, desiring to give to the Church costly gifts of their treasure, and our best work is none too good for their desire. But here we are at Saint Paul's. I shall see you again, for I have business on the Chepe." Guy headed for home as eagerly as a marmot in harvest time, threading his way through the crowds of the narrow streets without seeing them. He could not imagine who the stranger might be. It was dinner time, and he had to go to the cook-shop and bring home the roast, for families who could afford it patronized the cook-shops on the Thames instead of roasting and baking at home in the narrow quarters of the shops. In the great houses, with their army of servants and roomy kitchens, it was different; and the very poor did what they could, as they do everywhere; but when the wife and daughters of the shopkeeper served in the shop, or worked at embroidery, needle-craft, weaving, or any light work of the trade that they could do, it was an economy to have the cooking done out of the house. When the shadows were growing long and the narrow pavement of Goldsmith's Row was quite dark, someone wearing a gray robe and a broad hat came along the street, slowly, glancing into each shop as he passed. To Guy's amazement, old Gamelyn got to his feet and came forward. "Is it--is it thou indeed, master?" he said, bowing again and again. The pilgrim smiled. "A fine shop you have here," he said, "and a fine young bird in training for the sign of the Gold Finch. He and I scraped acquaintance this morning. Is he the youth of whom you told me when we met at Canterbury?" It was hard on Guy that just at that moment his aunt Joan called him to get some water from the well, but he went, all bursting with eagerness as he was. The pilgrim stayed to supper, and in course of time Guy found out what he had come for. He was Eloy, one of the chief jewelers of Limoges, which in the Middle Ages meant that his work was known in every country of Europe, for that city had been as famous for its gold work ever since the days of Clovis as it is now for porcelain. Enamel-work was done there as well, and the cunning workmen knew how to decorate gold, silver, or copper in colors like vivid flame, living green, the blue of summer skies. Eloy offered to take Guy as an apprentice and teach him all that he could for the sake of the maker of the Gold Finch, who had been his own good friend and master. It was as if the head of one of the great Paris studios should offer free training for the next ten years to some penniless art student of a country town. What amazed Guy more than anything else, however, was the discovery that his grumbling old uncle, who never had had a good word to say for him in the shop, had told this great artist about him when they met five years before, and begged Eloy if ever he came to London to visit the Gold Finch and see the little fellow who was growing up there to learn the ancient craft in a town where men hardly knew what good work was. Even now old Gamelyn would only say that his nephew was a good boy and willing, but so painstaking that he would never make a tradesman; he spent so much unnecessary time on his work. "He may be an artist," said Eloy with a smile; and some specimens of the work which Guy did when he was a man, which are now carefully kept in museums, prove that he was. No one knows how the enamel-work of Limoges was done; it is only clear that the men who did it were artists. The secret has long been lost--ever since the city, centuries ago, was trampled under the feet of war. UP ANCHOR Yo-o heave ho! an' a y-o heave ho! And lift her down the bay-- We're off to the Pillars of Hercules, All on a summer's day. We're off wi' bales of our Southdown wool Our fortune all to win, And we'll bring ye gold and gowns o' silk, Veils o' sendal as white as milk, And sugar and spice galore, lasses-- When our ship comes in! VII THE VENTURE OF NICHOLAS GAY HOW NICHOLAS GAY, THE MERCHANT'S SON, KEPT FAITH WITH A STRANGER AND SERVED THE KING Nicholas Gay stood on the wharf by his father's warehouse, and the fresh morning breeze that blew up from the Pool of the Thames was ruffling his bright hair. He could hear the seamen chanting at the windlass, and the shouts of the boatmen threading their skiffs and scows in and out among the crowded shipping. There were high-pooped Flemish freighters, built to hold all the cargo possible for a brief voyage; English coasting ships, lighter and quicker in the chop of the Channel waves; larger and more dignified London merchantmen, that had the best oak of the Weald in their bones and the pick of the Southdown wool to fill them full; Mediterranean galleys that shipped five times the crew and five times the cargo of a London ship; weather-beaten traders that had come over the North Sea with cargoes of salt fish; and many others. The scene was never twice the same, and the boy never tired of it. Coming into port with a cargo of spices and wine was a long Mediterranean galley with oars as well as sails, each oar pulled by a slave who kept time with his neighbor like a machine. The English made their bid for fortune with the sailing-ship, and even in the twelfth century, when their keels were rarely seen in any Eastern port, there was little of the rule of wind and sea short of Gibraltar that their captains did not know. Up Mart Lane, the steep little street from the wharves, Nicholas heard some one singing a familiar chantey, but not as the sailors sang it. He was a slender youth with a laugh in his eye, and he was singing to a guitar-like lute. He was piecing out the chantey and fitting words to it, and succeeding rather well. Nicholas stood by his father's warehouse, hands behind him and eyes on the ship just edging out to catch the tide, and listened to the song, his heart full of dreams. "Hey, there, youngster!" said the singer kindly as he reached the end of the strophe. "Have you a share in that ship that you watch her so sharply?" "No," said Nicholas gravely, "she's not one of father's ships. She's the _Heath Hen_ of Weymouth, and she's loaded with wool, surely, but she's for Bordeaux." "Bless the urchin, he might have been born on board!" The young man looked at Nicholas rather more attentively. "Your father has ships, then?" Nicholas nodded proudly. "The _Rose-in-June_, and the _Sainte Spirite_, and the _Thomasyn_,--she's named for mother,--and the _Sainte Genevieve_, because father was born in Paris, you know, and the _Saint Nicholas_,--that's named for me. But I'm not old enough to have a venture yet. Father says I shall some day." The Pool of the Thames was crowded, and as the wind freshened the ships looked even more like huge white-winged birds. Around them sailed and wheeled and fluttered the real sea-birds, picking up their living from the scraps thrown overboard,--swans, gulls, wild geese and ducks, here and there a strange bird lured to the harbor by hope of spoil. The oddly mated companions, the man and the boy, walked along busy Thames Street and came to Tower Hill and the great gray fortress-towers, with a double line of wall coiled around the base, just outside the City of London. The deep wide moat fed from the river made an island for the group of buildings with the square White Tower in the middle. "None of your friends live there, I suppose?" the young man inquired, and Nicholas smiled rather dubiously, for he was not certain whether it was a joke or not. The Tower had been prison, palace and fort by turns, but common criminals were not imprisoned there--only those who had been accused of crimes against the State. "Lucky you," the youth added. "London is much pleasanter as a residence, I assure you. I lodged not far from here when I first came, but now I lodge----" That sentence was never finished. Clattering down Tower Hill came a troop of horse, and one, swerving suddenly, caught Nicholas between his heels and the wall, and by the time the rider had his animal under control the little fellow was lying senseless in the arms of the stranger, who had dived in among the flying hoofs and dragged him clear. The rider, lagging behind the rest, looked hard at the two, and then spurred on without even stopping to ask whether he had hurt the boy. Before Nicholas had fairly come to himself he shut his teeth hard to keep from crying out with the pain in his side and left leg. The young man had laid him carefully down close by the wall, and just as he was looking about for help three of the troopers came spurring back, dismounted, and pressed close around the youth as one of them said something in French. He straightened up and looked at them, and in spite of his pain Nicholas could not help noticing that he looked proudly and straightforwardly, as if he were a gentleman born. He answered them in the same language; they shook their heads and made gruff, short answers. The young man laid his hand on his dagger, hesitated, and turned back to Nicholas. "Little lad," he said, "this is indeed bad fortune. They will not let me take you home, but----" So deftly that the action was hidden from the men who stood by, he closed Nicholas' hand over a small packet, while apparently he was only searching for a coin in his pouch and beckoning to a respectable-looking market-woman who halted near by just then. He added in a quick low tone without looking at the boy, "Keep it for me and say nothing." Nicholas nodded and slipped the packet into the breast of his doublet, with a groan which was very real, for it hurt him to move that arm. The young man rose and as his captors laid heavy hands upon him he put some silver in the woman's hand, saying persuasively, "This boy has been badly hurt. I know not who he is, but see that he gets home safely." "Aye, master," said the woman compassionately, and then everything grew black once more before Nicholas' eyes as he tried to see where the men were going. When he came to himself they were gone, and he told the woman that he was Nicholas Gay and that his father was Gilbert Gay, in Fenchurch Street. The woman knew the house, which was tile-roofed and three-storied, and had a garden; she called a porter and sent him for a hurdle, and they got Nicholas home. The merchant and his wife were seriously disturbed over the accident,--not only because the boy was hurt, and hurt in so cruel a way, but because some political plot or other seemed to be mixed up in it. From what the market-woman said it looked as if the men might have been officers of the law, and it was her guess that the young man was an Italian spy. Whatever he was, he had been taken in at the gates of the Tower. In a city of less than fifty thousand people, all sorts of gossip is rife about one faction and another, and if Gilbert Gay came to be suspected by any of the King's advisers there were plenty of jealous folk ready to make trouble for him and his. Time went by, however, and they heard nothing more of it. Nicholas said nothing, even to his mother, of the packet which he had hidden under the straw of his bed. It was sealed with a splash of red wax over the silken knot that tied it, and much as he desired to know what was inside, Nicholas had been told by his father that a seal must never be broken except by the person who had a right to break it. Gilbert Gay had also told his children repeatedly that if anything was given to them, or told them, in confidence, it was most wrong to say a word about it. It never occurred to Nicholas that perhaps his father would expect him to tell of this. The youth had told him not to tell, and he must not tell, and that was all about it. The broken rib and the bruises healed in time, and by the season when the _Rose-in-June_ was due to sail, Nicholas was able to limp into the rose-garden and play with his little sister Genevieve at sailing rose-petal boats in the fountain. The time of loading the ships for a foreign voyage was always rather exciting, and this was the best and fastest of them all. When she came back, if the voyage had been fortunate, she would be laden with spices and perfumes, fine silks and linen, from countries beyond the sunrise where no one that Nicholas knew had ever been. From India and Persia, Arabia and Turkey, caravans of laden camels were even then bringing her cargo across the desert. They would be unloaded in such great market-places as Moussoul, Damascus, Bagdad and Cairo, the Babylon of those days. Alexandria and Constantinople, Tyre and Joppa, were seaport market-cities, and here the Venetian and Genoese galleys, or French ships of Marseilles and Bordeaux, or the half-Saracen, half-Norman traders of Messina came for their goods. The _Rose-in-June_ would touch at Antwerp and unload wool for Flemish weavers to make into fine cloth; she would cruise around the coast, put in at Bordeaux, and sell the rest of her wool, and the grain of which England also had a plenty. She might go on to Cadiz, or even through the Straits of Gibraltar to Marseilles and Messina. The more costly the stuff which she could pack into the hold for the homeward voyage, the greater the profit for all concerned. Since wool takes up far more room in proportion to its value than silk, wine or spices, money as well as merchandise must be put into the venture, and the more money, the more profit. Others joined in the venture with Master Gay. Edrupt the wool-merchant furnished a part of the cargo on his own account; wool-merchants traveled through the country as agents for Master Gay. The men who served in the warehouse put in their share; even the porters and apprentices sent something, if no more than a shilling. There was some profit also in the passenger trade, especially in time of pilgrimage when it was hard to get ships enough for all who wished to go. The night before the sailing, Nicholas escaped from the happy hubbub and went slowly down to the wharves. It was not a very long walk, but it tired him, and he felt rather sad as he looked at the grim gray Tower looming above the river, and wondered if the owner of the packet sealed with the red seal would ever come back. As he passed the little church at the foot of Tower Hill a light step came up behind him, and two hands were placed on his shoulders. "My faith!" said the young man. "Have you been here all this time?" [Illustration: "'HAVE YOU BEEN HERE ALL THIS TIME?'"] He was thinner and paler, but the laughter still sparkled in his dark eyes, and he was dressed in daintily embroidered doublet, fine hose, and cloak of the newest fashion, a gold chain about his neck and a harp slung from his shoulder. A group of well-dressed servants stood near the church. "I'm well now," said Nicholas rather shyly but happily. "I'm glad you have come back." "I was at my wit's end when I thought of you, lad," went on the other, "for I remembered too late that neither of us knew the other's name, and if I had told mine or asked yours in the hearing of a certain rascal it might have been a sorry time for us both. They made a little mistake, you see,--they took me for a traitor." "How could they?" said Nicholas, surprised and indignant. "Oh, black is white to a scared man's eyes," said his companion light-heartedly. "How have your father's ships prospered?" "There's one of them,"--Nicholas pointed, proudly, across the little space of water, to the _Rose-in-June_ tugging at her anchor. "She's a fine ship," the young man said consideringly, and then, as he saw the parcel Nicholas was taking from his bosom, "Do you mean to say that that has never been opened? What sort of folk are you?" "I never told," said Nicholas, somewhat bewildered. "You said I was not to speak of it." "And there was no name on it, for a certain reason." The young man balanced the parcel in his hand and whistled softly. "You see, I was expecting to meet hereabouts a certain pilgrim who was to take the parcel to Bordeaux,--and beyond. I was--interfered with, as you know, and now it must go by a safe hand to one who will deliver it to this same pilgrim. I should say that your father must know how to choose his captains." "My father is Master Gilbert Gay,"--Nicholas held his head very straight--"and that is Master Garland, the captain of the _Rose-in-June_, coming ashore now." "Oh, I know him. I have had dealings with him before now. How would it be--since without your good help this packet would almost certainly have been lost--to let the worth of it be your venture in the cargo?" "My venture?" Nicholas stammered, the color rising in his cheeks. "My venture?" "It is not worth much in money," the troubadour said with a queer little laugh, "but it is something. Master Garland, I see you have not forgotten me,--Ranulph, called le Provençal. Here is a packet to be delivered to Tomaso the physician of Padua, whom you know. The money within is this young man's share in your cargo, and Tomaso will pay you for your trouble." Master Garland grinned broadly in his big beard. "Surely, sure-ly," he chuckled, and pocketed the parcel as if it had been an apple, but Nicholas noted that he kept his hand on his pouch as he went on to the wharf. "And now," Ranulph said, as there was a stir in the crowd by the church door,--evidently some one was coming out. "I must leave you, my lad. Some day we shall meet again." Then he went hastily away to join a brilliant company of courtiers in traveling attire. Things were evidently going well with Ranulph. Nicholas thought a great deal about that packet in the days that followed. He took to experimenting with various things to see what could account for the weight. Lead was heavy, but no one would send a lump of lead of that size over seas. The same could be said of iron. He bethought him finally of a goldsmith's nephew with whom he had acquaintance. Guy Bouverel was older, but the two boys knew each other well. "Guy," he said one day, "what's the heaviest metal you ever handled?" "Gold," said Guy promptly. "A bag that was too heavy to have silver in it would have gold?" "I should think so. Have you found treasure?" "No," said Nicholas, "I was wondering." The _Rose-in-June_ came back before she was due. Master Garland came up to the house with Gilbert Gay, one rainy evening when Nicholas and Genevieve were playing nine-men's-morris in a corner and their mother was embroidering a girdle by the light of a bracket lamp. Nicholas had been taught not to interrupt, and he did not, but he was glad when his mother said gently, but with shining eyes, "Nicholas, come here." It was a queer story that Captain Garland had to tell, and nobody could make out exactly what it meant. Two or three years before he had met Ranulph, who was then a troubadour in the service of Prince Henry of Anjou, and he had taken a casket of gold pieces to Tomaso the physician, who was then in Genoa. "They do say," said Captain Garland, pulling at his russet beard, "that the old doctor can do anything short o' raising the dead. They fair worshiped him there, I know. But it's my notion that that box o' gold pieces wasn't payment for physic." "Probably not," said the merchant smiling. "Secret messengers are more likely to deliver their messages if no one knows they have any. But what happened this time?" "Why," said the sea captain, "I found the old doctor in his garden, with a great cat o' Malta stalking along beside him, and I gave him the packet. He opened it and read the letter, and then he untied a little leather purse and spilled out half a dozen gold pieces and some jewels that fair made me blink--not many, but beauties--rubies and emeralds and pearls. He beckoned toward the house and a man in pilgrim's garb came out and valued the jewels. Then he sent me back to the _Rose-in-June_ with the worth o' the jewels in coined gold and this ring here. 'Tell the boy,' says he, 'that he saved the King's jewels, and that he has a better jewel than all of them, the jewel of honor.'" "But, father," said Nicholas, rather puzzled, "what else could I do?" None of them could make anything of the mystery, but as Tomaso of Padua talked with Eloy the goldsmith that same evening they agreed that the price they paid was cheap. In the game the Pope's party was playing against that of the Emperor for the mastery of Europe, it had been deemed advisable to find out whether Henry Plantagenet would rule the Holy Roman Empire if he could. He had refused the offer of the throne of the Cæsars, and it was of the utmost importance that no one should know that the offer had been made. Hence the delivery of the letter to the jeweler. LONDON BELLS London town is fair and great, Many a tower and steeple. Bells ring early and ring late, Mocking all the people. Some they say, "Good provender," Some they sing, "Sweet lavender," Some they call, "The taverner," Some they cry, "The fripperer Is lord of London Town!" London town is great and wide, Many a stately dwelling, And her folk that there abide Are beyond all telling. But by land or water-gate, Aldgate, Newgate, Bishopsgate, Ludgate, Moorgate, Cripplegate, Bells ring early and ring late, The bells of London Town. VIII BARBARA, THE LITTLE GOOSE-GIRL HOW BARBARA SOLD GEESE IN THE CHEPE AND WHAT FORTUNE SHE FOUND THERE Any one who had happened to be traveling along the Islington Road between two and three o'clock in the morning, when London was a walled city, would have seen how London was to be fed that day. But very few were on the road at that hour except the people whose business it was to feed London, and to them it was an old story. There were men with cattle and men with sheep and men with pigs; there were men with little, sober, gray donkeys, not much bigger than a large dog, trotting all so briskly along with the deep baskets known as paniers hung on each side their backs; men with paniers or huge sacks on their own backs, partly resting on the shoulders and partly held by a leather strap around the forehead; men with flat, shallow baskets on their heads, piled three and four deep and filled with vegetables. That was the way in which all the butter, fruit, poultry, eggs, meat, and milk for Londoners to eat came into medieval London. Before London Wall was fairly finished there were laws against any one within the city keeping cattle or pigs on the premises. Early every morning the market folk started from the villages round about,--there were women as well as men in the business--and by the time the city gates opened they were there. It was not as exciting to Barbara Thwaite as it would have been if she had not known every inch of the road, but it was exciting enough on this particular summer morning, for in all her thirteen years she had never been to market alone. Goody Thwaite had been trudging over the road several times a week for years--seven miles to London and seven miles home--and sometimes she had taken Barbara with her, but never had she sent the child by herself. Now she was bedridden and unless they were to lose all their work for the last month or more, Barbara would have to go to market and tend their stall. Several of the neighbors had stalls near by, and they would look after the child, but this was the busy season, and they could not undertake to carry any produce but their own. A neighbor, too old to do out-of-door work, would tend the mother, and with much misgiving and many cautions, consent was given, and Barbara set bravely forth alone. She had her hands full in more senses than one. Besides the basket she carried on her head, full of cress from the brook, sallet herbs and under these some early cherries, she had a basket of eggs on her arm, and she was driving three geese. Barbara's geese were trained to walk in the most orderly single file at home, but she had her doubts as to their behavior in a strange place. The Islington Road, however, was not the broad and dusty highway that it is to-day, and at first it was not very crowded. Now and again, from one of the little wooded lanes that led up to farmsteads, a marketman would turn into the highway with his load, and more and more of them appeared as they neared the city, so that by the time they reached the city gate it was really a dense throng. From roads in every direction just such crowds were pressing toward all the other gates, and boats laden with green stuff, fruits, butter and cheese were heading for the wharves on Thames-side, all bound for the market. Naturally it had been discovered long before that some sort of order would have to be observed, or there would be a frightful state of things among the eatables. Like most cities, London was inhabited largely by people who had come from smaller towns, and certain customs were common more or less to every market-town in England. In the smaller towns the cattle-market was held weekly or fortnightly, so that people not anxious to deal in cattle could avoid the trampling herds. London's cattle-market was not in the Chepe at all. It was in the fields outside the walls, in the deep inbent angle which the wall made between Aldersgate and Newgate, where Smithfield market is now. Even in the Chepe each kind of goods had its own place, and once through the gates the crowd separated. [Illustration: "BARBARA KNEW EXACTLY WHERE TO GO"--_Page 97_] Barbara knew exactly where to go. From Aldersgate she turned to the left and followed the narrow streets toward the spire of St. Michael's Church in Cornhill, where the poultry-dealers had their stands. Close by was Scalding Alley, sometimes known as the Poultry, where poultry were sold by the score, and the fowls were scalded after being killed, to make them ready for cooking. Goody Thwaite's little corner, wedged in between two bigger stalls, was not much more than a board with a coarse awning over it, but she had been there a long time and her neighbors were friends. Barbara set down her loads, dropped on the bench and scattered a little grain for her geese. They had really behaved very well. She was not very much to look at, this little lass Barbara. Her grandfather had come from the North Country, and she had black hair and eyes like a gypsy. She was rather silent as a rule, though she could sing like a blackbird when no one was about. People were likely to forget about Barbara until they wanted something done; then they remembered her. She penned in the geese with a small hurdle of wicker so that they should not get away; she set out the cherries and cress on one side and the eggs on the other; then she put the eggs in a bed of cress to set off their whiteness; then she waited. An apprentice boy came by and asked the price of the cherries, whistled and went on; a sharp-faced woman stopped and looked over what she had, and went on. They were all in a hurry; they were all going on some errand of their own. The next person who came by was an old woman with a fresh bright face, white cap and neat homespun gown. She too asked the price of the cherries and shook her head when she heard it. "How good that cress looks!" she said smiling. Barbara held out a bunch of the cress. "I can't give away the cherries," she said, "they are not mine, but you're welcome to this." "Thank you kindly, little maid," the old woman said, "my grandson's o'er fond of it. Never was such a chap for sallets and the like." A few minutes later a stout, rather fussy man stopped and bought the whole basket of eggs. As he paid for them and signed to the boy who followed to take them, Michael the poultryman in the next stall grinned at Barbara. "Ye don't know who that was, do you?" he said. "That was old Gamelyn Bouverel the goldsmith. You'll be sorry if any of those eggs be addled, my maiden." "They're not," said Barbara. "I know where all our hens' nests are, and Gaffer Edmunds' too. We sell for him since he had the palsy." Then a tall man in a sort of uniform stopped, eyed the staff, and without asking leave took one of the geese from the pen and strode off with it hissing and squawking under his arm. But Michael shook his head soberly as Barbara sprang up with a startled face. "That was one o' the purveyors of my lord Fitz-Walter," he said. "He may pay for the bird and he may not, but you can't refuse him. There's one good thing--London folk don't have to feed the King's soldiers nor his household. Old King Henry,--rest his soul!--settled that in the Charter he gave the City, and this one has kept to it. My grand-dad used to tell how any time you might have a great roaring archer or man-at-arms, or more likely two or three or a dozen, quartered in your house, willy nilly, for nobody knew how long. There goes the bell for Prime--that ends the privilege." Then Barbara remembered that the stewards of great houses were allowed to visit the market and choose what they wished until Prime (about six o'clock) after which the market was open to common folk. A merchant's wife bought another goose and some cherries, and the remaining goose was taken off her hands by the good-natured Michael, to make up a load of his own for a tavern-keeper. The rest of the cherries were sold to a young man who was very particular about the way in which they were arranged in the basket, and Barbara guessed that he was going to take them as a present to some one. The cress had gone a handful at a time with the other things, and she had some of it for her own dinner, with bread from the bakeshop and some cold meat which Goody Collins, her neighbor on the other side, had sent for. She started for home in good time, and brought her little store of money to her mother before any one had even begun to worry over her absence. The next market-day Barbara set forth with a light heart, but when she reached her stall she found it occupied. A rough lout had set up shop there, with dressed poultry for sale. A-plenty had been said about it before Barbara arrived, both by Michael and the rough-tongued, kind-hearted market-women. But Michael was old and fat, and no match for the invader. Barbara stood in dismay, a great basket of red roses on her head, her egg-basket on the ground, and the cherries from their finest tree in a panier hung from her shoulder. The merchant's wife had asked her if she could not bring some roses for rose-water and conserve, and if she had to hawk them about in the sun they would be fit for nothing. The Poultry was crowded, and unless she could have her little foothold here she would be obliged to go about the streets peddling, which she knew her mother would not like at all. "What's the trouble here?" asked a decided voice behind her. She turned to look up into the cool gray eyes of a masterful young fellow with a little old woman tucked under his arm. He was brown and lithe and had an air of outdoor freshness, and suddenly she recognized the old woman. It was that first customer, and this must be the grandson of whom she had spoken so fondly. "This man says he has this place and means to keep it," Barbara explained in a troubled but firm little voice. "He says that only the poultry dealers have any right here,--but it's Mother's corner and she has had it a long time." "Aye, that she has," chorused two or three voices. "And if there was a man belonging to them you'd see yon scamp go packing, like a cat out o' the dairy. 'Tis a downright shame, so 'tis." "Maybe a man that don't belong to them will do as well," said the youth coolly. "Back here, gammer, out of the way--and you go stand by her, little maid. Now then, you lummox, are you going to pick up your goods and go, or do I have to throw them after you?" The surly fellow eyed the new-comer's broad shoulders and hard-muscled arms for a moment, picked up his poultry and began to move, but as he loaded his donkeys he said something under his breath which Barbara did not hear. An instant later she beheld him lying on his back in a none-too-clean gutter with her defender standing over him. He lost no time in making his way out of the street, followed by the laughter of the Poultry. Even the ducks, geese and chickens joined in the cackle of merriment. "Sit thee down and rest," said the youth to Barbara kindly. "We must be getting on, grandmother. If he makes any more trouble, send some one, or come yourself, to our lodging--ask for Robert Edrupt at the house of Master Hardel the wool-merchant." "Thank you," said Barbara shyly. "There's plenty cress in the brook, and I'll bring some next market-day--and strawberries too, but not for pay." "Kindness breeds kindness, little maid," added the old woman, and Barbara reflected that it sometimes breeds good fortune also. This was not the end of Barbara's acquaintance with Dame Lysbeth and her grandson. The old dame had taken a fancy to the self-possessed, quaintly dignified little maid, and the Thwaite garden proved to have in it many fruits and herbs which she needed in her housekeeping. It was a very old-fashioned garden planted a long time ago by a tavern-keeper from the south of France, and he had brought some pears and plums from his old home in the south and grafted and planted and tended them very carefully. There was one tree which had two kinds of pears on it, one for the north side and one for the south. Barbara's mother did not get any better. One day Robert Edrupt stopped in the Poultry to buy a goose for dinner, to celebrate his home-coming from a long wool-buying journey, and the stall was empty. "Aye," said Goody Collins, wiping her eyes, "she was a good-hearted woman, was Alison Thwaite, and there's many who will miss her. She died two days ago, rest her soul." Edrupt bought his goose of Michael and went on his way looking sober. A plan had occurred to him, and when he talked it over with Dame Lysbeth she heartily agreed. A day or two later Barbara, standing in the door of the little lonely cottage and wondering what she should do now, saw the two of them coming down the lane. Dame Lysbeth opened the gate and came in, but Robert, after a bow and a pleasant word or two to Barbara, went on to the next farm on an errand. Barbara could hardly believe her ears when she heard what the old dame had to say. The young wool-merchant had brought his grandmother to London to keep house for him because he did not like to leave her alone in her cottage in the west country, nor could he live there so far from the great markets. But neither of them liked the city, and for the next few years he would have to be away more than ever. He and Master Gay had been considering a scheme for importing foreign sheep to see if they would improve the quality of English wool. Before they did this Edrupt would have to go to Spain, to Aquitaine, to Lombardy and perhaps even further. While he was abroad he might well study the ways of the weavers as well as the sheep that grew the fleece. He wanted to buy a farm he had seen, with a tidy house on it, where Dame Lysbeth could have the sort of home she was used to, but with maids to do the heavy farm work. If Barbara would come and live there, and help see to things, she would be very welcome indeed as long as she chose to stay. Dame Lysbeth had never had a daughter, and she had often thought in the last few months that if she had one, she would like to have just such a girl as Barbara. The young girl, on her side, already loved her old friend better than she had ever loved anybody but her own mother, and so it came about that when the spring turned the apple orchards white about King's Barton, three very happy people went from London to the farm near that village, known as the Long Lea. It had land about it which was not good enough for corn, but would do very well for geese and for sheep, and there was room for a large garden, as well as the orchard. Even in those early days, people who bought an English farm usually inherited some of the work of the previous owner, and as Robert said, they would try to farm Long Lea in such a way as to leave it richer than they found it, and still lose no profit. "Don't forget to take cuttings from this garden, lass," he said to Barbara in his blunt, kindly way, as they stood there together for the last time. "There are things here which we can make thrive in the years to come." "I have," said Barbara staidly. She motioned to a carefully packed and tied parcel in a sack. "And there's a whole basket of eggs from all our fowls." Edrupt laughed. He liked her business-like little way. "Did you take any red-rose cuttings?" he inquired. "There's a still-room where the old castle used to be, and they'd use some, I believe." "It's the Provence rose," Barbara said. "I took the whole bush up and set it in a wooden bucket. Michael won't want that." Michael the poultryman was adding the little garden and the stall in the Poultry to his own business. He would cart away the little tumbledown cottage and plant kale there. "The Provence rose, is it?" queried Edrupt thoughtfully. "We'll have it beside our door, Barbara, and that will make you feel more at home." Both Barbara and the roses throve by transplanting. When Edrupt came home from his long foreign journey, more than a year later, it was rose-time, and Barbara, with a basket of roses on her arm, was marshaling a flock of most important mother-ducks with their ducklings into the poultry-yard. The house with its tiled and thatched roofs sat in the middle of its flocks and fruits and seemed to welcome all who came, and Dame Lysbeth, beaming from the window, looked so well content that it did him good to see her. HARPER'S SONG O listen, good people in fair guildhall-- (Saxon gate, Norman tower on the Roman wall) A King in forest green and an Abbot in gray Rode west together on the Pilgrims' Way, And the Abbot thought the King was a crossbowman, And the King thought the Abbot was a sacristan. (On White Horse Hill the bright sun shone, And blithe sang the wind by the Blowing Stone,-- O, the bridle-bells ring merrily-sweet To the clickety-clack of the hackney's feet!) Said the King in green to the Abbot in gray, "Shrewd-built is yon Abbey as I hear say, With Purbeck marble and Portland stone, Stately and fair as a Cæsar's throne." "Not so," quo' the Abbot, and shook his wise head,-- "Well-founded our cloisters, when all is said, But the stones be rough as the mortar is thick, And piers of rubble are faced with brick." (The Saxon crypt and the Norman wall Keep faith together though Kingdoms fall,-- O, the mellow chime that the great bells ring Is wooing the folk to the one true King!) Said the Abbot in gray to the King in green, "Winchester Castle is fair to be seen, And London Tower by the changeful tide Is sure as strong as the seas are wide." But the King shook his head and spurred on his way,-- "London is loyal as I dare say, But the Border is fighting us tooth and horn, And the Lion must still hunt the Unicorn." (The trumpet blared from the fortress tower, The stern alarum clanged the hour,-- O, the wild Welsh Marches their war-song sing To the tune that the swords on the morions ring!) The King and the Abbot came riding down To the market-square of Chippenham town, Where wool-packs, wheatears, cheese-wych, flax, Malmsey and bacon pay their tax. Quo' the King to the Abbot, "The Crown must live By what all England hath to give." "Faith," quoth the Abbot, "good sign is here Tithes are a-gathering for our clerkes' cheer." (The song of the Mint is the song I sing, The crown that the beggar may share with the King, And the clink of the coin rhymes marvelous well To castle, or chapel, or market-bell!) [Illustration] IX RICHARD'S SILVER PENNY HOW RICHARD SOLD A WEB OF RUSSET AND MADE THE BEST OF A BAD BARGAIN Richard was going to market. He was rather a small boy to be going on that errand, especially as he carried on his shoulder a bundle nearly as big as he was. But his mother, with whom he lived in a little, whitewashed timber-and-plaster hut at the edge of the common, was too ill to go, and the Cloth Fair was not likely to wait until she was well again. The boy could hardly remember his father. Sebastian Garland was a sailor, and had gone away so long ago that there was little hope that he would ever come back. Ever since Richard could remember they had lived as they did now, mainly by his mother's weaving. They had a few sheep which were pastured on the common, and one of the neighbors helped them with the washing and shearing. The wool had to be combed and sorted and washed in long and tedious ways before it was ready to spin, and before it was woven it was dyed in colors that Dame Garland made from plants she found in the woods and fields. She had been a Highland Scotch girl, and could weave tyrtaine, as the people in the towns called the plaids. None of the English people knew anything about the different tartans that belonged to the Scottish clans, but a woman who could weave those could make woolen cloth of a very pretty variety of patterns. She worked as a dyer, too, when she could find any one who would pay for the work, and sometimes she did weaving for a farm-wife who had more than her maids could do. Richard knew every step of the work, from sheep-fleece to loom, and wherever a boy could help, he had been useful. He had gone to get elder bark, which, with iron filings, would dye black; he had seen oak bark used to dye yellow, and he knew that madder root was used for red, and woad for blue. His mother could not afford to buy the turmeric, indigo, kermes, and other dyestuffs brought from far countries or grown in gardens. She had to depend on whatever could be got for nothing. The bright rich colors which dyers used in dyeing wool for the London market were not for her. Yellow, brown, some kinds of green, black, gray and dull red she could make of common plants, mosses and the bark of trees. The more costly dyestuffs were made from plants which did not grow wild in England, or from minerals. Richard was thinking about all this as he trudged along the lane, and thinking also that it would be much easier for them to get a living if it were not for the rules of the Weavers' Guild. This association was one of the most important of the English guilds of the twelfth century, and had a charter, or protecting permit, from the King, which gave them special rights and privileges. He had also established the Cloth Fair at Smithfield in London, the greatest of all the cloth-markets that were so called. If any man did the guild "any unright or dis-ease" there was a fine of ten pounds, which would mean then more than fifty dollars would to-day. Later he protected the weavers still further by ordaining that the Portgrave should burn any cloth which had Spanish wool mixed with the English, and the weavers themselves allowed no work by candle-light. This helped to keep up the standard of the weaving, and to prevent dishonest dealers from lowering the price by selling inferior cloth. As early as 1100 Thomas Cole, the rich cloth worker of Reading, whose wains crowded the highway to London, had secured a charter from Henry I., this King's grandfather, and the measure of the King's own arm had been taken for the standard ell-measure throughout the kingdom. Richard knew all this, because, having no one else to talk to, his mother had talked much with him; and the laws of Scotland and England differed in so many ways that she had had to find out exactly what she might and might not do. In some of the towns the weavers' guilds had made a rule that no one within ten miles who did not belong to the guild or did not own sheep should make dyed cloth. This was profitable to the weavers in the association, but it was rather hard on those who were outside, and not every one was allowed to belong. The English weavers were especially jealous of foreigners, and some of their rules had been made to discourage Flemish and Florentine workmen and traders from getting a foothold in the market. Richard had been born in England, and when he was old enough to earn a living, he intended to repay his mother for all her hard and lonely work for him. As an apprentice to the craft he could grow up in it and belong to the Weavers' Guild himself some day, but he thought that if there were any way to manage it he would rather be a trader. He felt rather excited now as he hurried to reach the village before the bell should ring for the opening of the market. King's Barton was not a very big town, but on market days it seemed very busy. There was an irregular square in the middle of the town, with a cross of stone in the center, and the ringing of this bell gave notice for the opening and closing of the market. It was not always the same sort of market. Once a week the farmers brought in their cattle and sheep. On another day poultry was sold. In the season, there were corn markets and grass markets, for the crops of wheat and hay; and in every English town, markets were held at certain times for whatever was produced in the neighborhood. Everybody knew when these days came, and merchants from the larger cities came then to buy or sell--on other days they would have found the place half asleep. In so small a town there was not trade enough to support a shop for the sale of clothing, jewelry and foreign wares; but a traveling merchant could do very well on market days. When Richard came into the square the bell had just begun to ring, and the booths were already set up and occupied. His mother had told him to look for Master Elsing, a man to whom she had sometimes sold her cloth, but he was not there. In his stall was a new man. There was some trade between London and the Hanse, or German cities, and sometimes they sent men into the country to buy at the fairs and markets and keep an eye on trade. Master Elsing had been one of these, and he had always given a fair price. The new man smiled at the boy with his big roll of cloth, and said, "What have you there, my fine lad?" Richard told him. The man looked rather doubtful. "Let me see it," he said. The cloth was a soft, thick rough web with a long furry nap. If it was made into a cloak the person who wore it could have the nap sheared off when it was shabby, and wear it again and shear it again until it was threadbare. A man who did this work was called a shearman or sherman. The strange merchant pursed his lips and fingered the cloth. "Common stuff," he said, "I doubt me the dyes will not be fast color, and it will have to be finished at my cost. There is no profit for me in it, but I should like to help you--I like manly boys. What do you want for it?" Richard named the price his mother had told him to ask. There was an empty feeling inside him, for he knew that unless they sold that cloth they had only threepence to buy anything whatever to eat, and it would be a long time to next market day. The merchant laughed. "You will never make a trader if you do not learn the worth of things, my boy," he said good-naturedly. "The cloth is worth more than that. I will give you sixpence over, just by way of a lesson." Richard hesitated. He had never heard of such a thing as anybody offering more for a thing than was asked, and he looked incredulously at the handful of silver and copper that the merchant held out. "You had better take it and go home," the man added. "Think how surprised your mother will be! You can tell her that she has a fine young son--Conrad Waibling said so." Richard still hesitated, and Waibling withdrew the money. "You may ask any one in the market," he said impatiently, "and if you get a better price than mine I say no more." "Thank you," said Richard soberly, "I will come back if I get no other offer." He took his cloth to the oldest of the merchants and asked him if he would better Waibling's price, but the man shook his head. "More than it is worth," he said. "Nobody will give you that, my boy." And from two others he got the same reply. He went back to Waibling finally, left the cloth and took his price. He had never seen a silver penny before. It had a cross on one side and the King's head on the other, as the common pennies did; it was rather tarnished, but he rubbed it on his jacket to brighten it. He thought he would like to have it bright and shining when he showed it to his mother. All the time that he was sitting on a bank by the roadside, a little way out of the town, eating his bread and cheese, he was polishing the silver penny. A young man who rode by just then, with a black-eyed young woman behind him, reined in his horse and looked down with some amusement. "What art doing, lad?" he asked. "It's my silver penny," said Richard. "I wanted it to be fine and bonny to show mother." "Ha!" said the young man. "Let's see." Richard held up the penny. "Who gave you that, my boy?" "Master Waibling the cloth-merchant," said Richard, and he told the story of the bargain. The young man looked grave. "Barbara," he said to the girl, "art anxious to get home? Because I have business with this same Waibling, and I want to find him before he leaves the town." The girl smiled demurely. "That's like thee, Robert," she said. "Ever since I married thee,--and long before, it's been the same. I won't hinder thee. Leave me at Mary Lavender's and I'll have a look about her garden." The two rode off at a brisk pace, and Richard saw them halt at a gate not far away, and while the girl went in the man mounted his horse again and came back. "Jump thee up behind me, young chap," he ordered, "and we'll see to this. The silver penny is not good. He probably got it in some trade and passed it off on the first person who would take it. Look at this one." Edrupt held up a silver penny from his own purse. "I didn't know," said Richard slowly. "I thought all pennies were alike." "They're not--but until the new law was passed they were well-nigh anything you please. You see, this penny he gave you is an old one. Before the new law some time, when the King needed money very badly,--in Stephen's time maybe--they mixed the silver with lead to make it go further. That's why it would not shine. And look at this." He took out another coin. "This is true metal, but it has been clipped. Some thief took a bag full of them probably, clipped each one as much as he dared, passed off the coins for good money, and melted down the parings of silver to sell. Next time you take a silver penny see that it is pure bright silver and quite round." By this time they were in the market-place. Edrupt dismounted, and gave Richard the bridle to hold; then he went up to Waibling's stall, but the merchant was not there. "He told me to mind it for him," said the man in the next booth. "He went out but now and said he would be back in a moment." But the cloth-merchant did not come back. The web of cloth he had bought from Richard was on the counter, and that was the only important piece of goods he had bought. Quite a little crowd gathered about by the time they had waited awhile. Richard wondered what it all meant. Presently Edrupt came back, laughing. "He has left town," he said to Richard. "He must have seen me before I met you. I have had dealings with him before, and he knew what I would do if I caught him here. Well, he has left you your cloth and the price of the stuff, less one bad penny. Will you sell the cloth to me? I am a wool-merchant, not a cloth-merchant, but I can use a cloak made of good homespun." Richard looked up at his new friend with a face so bright with gratitude and relief that the young merchant laughed again. "What are you going to do with the penny?" he asked the boy, curiously. "I'd like to throw it in the river," said Richard in sudden wrath. "Then it would cheat no more poor folk." "They say that if you drop a coin in a stream it is a sign you will return," said Edrupt, still laughing, "and we want neither Waibling nor his money here again. Suppose we nail it up by the market-cross for a warning to others? How would that be?" This was the beginning of a curious collection of coins that might be seen, some years later, nailed to a post in the market of King's Barton. There were also the names of those who had passed them, and in time, some dishonest goods also were fastened up there for all to see. When Richard saw the coin in its new place he gave a sigh of relief. "I'll be going home now," he said. "Mother's alone, and she will be wanting me." "Ride with me so far as Dame Lavender's," said the wool-merchant good-naturedly. "What's thy name, by the way?" "Richard Garland. Father was a sailor, and his name was Sebastian," said the boy soberly. "Mother won't let me say he is drowned, but I'm afraid he is." "Sebastian Garland," repeated Edrupt thoughtfully. "And so thy mother makes her living weaving wool, does she?" "Aye," answered Richard. "She's frae Dunfermline last, but she was born in the Highlands." "My wife's grandmother was Scotch," said Edrupt absently. He was trying to remember where he had heard the name Sebastian Garland. He set Richard down after asking him where he lived, and took his own way home with Barbara, his wife of a year. He told Barbara that the town was well rid of a rascal, but she knew by his silence thereafter that he was thinking out a plan. "Some day," he spoke out that evening, "there'll be a law in the land to punish these dusty-footed knaves. They go from market to market cheating poor folk, and we have no hold on them because we cannot leave our work. But about this lad Richard Garland, Barbara, I've been a-thinking. What if we let him and his mother live in the little cottage beyond the sheepfold? The boy could help in tending the sheep. If they've had sheep o' their own they'll know how to make 'emselves useful, I dare say. And then, when these foreign fleeces come into the market, the dame could have dyes and so on, and we should see what kind o' cloth they make." This was the first change in the fortunes of Richard Garland and his mother. A little more than a year later Sebastian Garland, now captain of Master Gay's ship, the _Rose-in-June_, of London, came into port and met Robert Edrupt. On inquiry Edrupt learned that the captain had lost his wife and son many years before in a town which had been swept by the plague. When he heard of the Highland-born woman living in the Longley cottage, he journeyed post-haste to find her, and discovered that she was indeed his wife, and Richard his son. By the time that Richard was old enough to become a trader, a court known as the Court of Pied-poudre or Dusty Feet had been established by the King at every fair. Its purpose was to prevent peddlers and wandering merchants from cheating the folk. The common people got the name "Pie-powder Court," but that made it none the less powerful. King Henry also appointed itinerant justices--traveling judges--to go about from place to place and judge according to the King's law, with the aid of the sheriffs of the neighborhood who knew the customs of the people. The general instructions of these courts were that when the case was between a rich man and a poor man, the judges were to favor the poor man until and unless there was reason to do otherwise. The Norman barons, coming from a country in which they had been used to be petty kings each in his own estate, did not like this much, but little the King cared for that. Merchants like young Richard Garland found it most convenient to have one law throughout the land for all honest men. Remembering his own hard boyhood, Richard never failed to be both just and generous to a boy. PERFUMER'S SONG The rule of the world is heavy and hard, Taketh of every life a share, Strive as it may to cherish and guard The dawning hope that was all so fair, And yet, so sure as the night-wind blows, Memory dwells in her place apart, And the savor of rue or the breath of a rose Brings peace out of trouble, dear heart, dear heart! There was never a joy that the world can kill So long as there lives a dream of the past, For the alchemist in his fragrant still Keeps fresh the dream to the very last. So sure as the wind of the morning blows To heal the trouble, to cool the smart, The breath of lavender, thyme and rose Will bring to thee comfort, dear heart, dear heart! [Illustration] X MARY LAVENDER'S GARDEN HOW MARY LAVENDER CAME TO BE OF SERVICE TO AN EXILED QUEEN Mary Lavender lived in a garden. That seems really the best way to say it. The house of Dame Annis Lavender was hardly more than four walls and a roof, a green door and two small hooded windows. Instead of the house having a garden the garden seemed rather to hold the cottage in a blossomy lap. A long time ago there had been a castle on the low hill above the cottage. It was a Saxon castle, roughly built of great half-hewn stones, its double walls partly of tramped earth. Nearly a century had passed since a Norman baron had received the "hundred" in which the castle stood, as a reward for having helped Duke William become William the Conqueror. His domain was large enough for a hundred families to live on, getting their living from the land. The original Saxon owner had fled to join Hereward at Ely, and he never came back. This rude Saxon castle was not what the Norman needed, at all. He must have, if he meant to be safe in this hostile land, a fortress much harder to take. He chose a taller hill just beyond the village, made it higher with most of the stone from the old castle, and built there a great square frowning keep and some smaller towers, with a double wall of stone, topped by battlements, round the brow of the hill, and a ditch around all. No stream being convenient to fill the moat he left it dry. Here, where the Saxon castle had been, was nothing but a dimpled green mound, starred over in spring with pink and white baby daisies, and besprinkled with dwarf buttercups and the little flower that English children call Blue Eyes. Mary liked to take her distaff there and spin. The old castle had been built to guard a ford. The Normans had made a stone bridge at a narrower and deeper point in the river, and Dame Annis and Mary washed linen in the pool above the ford. The countryside had settled down to the rule of the Normans with hardly more trouble than the dismantled mound. Travelers often came over the new bridge and stayed at the inn on their way to or from London, and there were more than twice as many houses as there had been when Mary's mother was a girl. Older people complained that the country could never endure so much progress. This was a rather remote region, given over mainly to sheep-grazing. On the great extent of "common" still unfenced, the sheep wandered as they liked, and they often came nibbling about Mary's feet as she sat on the mound. There had been a garden about the ancient castle--several, in fact: the herb-garden, the vegetable garden, and a sort of out-door nursery for fruits and berries. The last had been against a southward-facing wall and was nearly destroyed; but herbs are tenacious things, and the old roots had spread into the vegetable patch, and flowers had seeded themselves, until Dame Annis moved into the little cottage and began to make her living. Most of the old-fashioned cottage-garden flowers could be found there. Thrift raised its rose-red spikes in crevices of a ruined wall. Bluebells, the wild hyacinths, made heavenly patches of color among the copses. Great beds of mustard and lavender, in early summer, were like a purple-and-gold mantle flung down upon a field. Presently violets bloomed in orderly rows in Dame Annis's new herb-garden, and roses were pruned and trimmed and trained over old walls and trees. It may seem odd that violets and roses should be among herbs. The truth is that very few flowers were cultivated in the early Middle Ages simply for ornament. Violets were used to make perfume. Roses were made into rose-water and also into rose conserve, a kind of sweetmeat of rose-petals, sugar and spice packed in little jars. Marigolds were brought from the East by returning Crusaders for use in broth. Pennyroyal, feverfew, camomile, parsley, larkspur, and other flowers used to be grown for making medicine. One of the few herbs which grow in modern gardens, which the Conqueror found in England when he came, is tansy. The name comes from a Greek word meaning immortality. Tansy was used to preserve meat, and to flavor various dishes. There were also sage, marjoram, thyme, and many other herbs of which Dame Annis did not know the names. One of the most precious finds that she made in her digging and transplanting was a root of woad. This plant was used for blue dye, and was so much in demand that England did not produce enough and had to import it. It was too valuable for her to use it herself; she cherished it and fed the soil, planting every seed, promising Mary that some day she should have a gown dyed watchet blue, of linen from their own flax. Mary was thinking about that gown as she sat spinning and listening to the hum of the bees. She knew exactly how it would be made from beginning to end. The flax would be soaked in the brook until the strong stem-fibers were all that were left; it would be hackled and washed and spun and finally woven by their neighbor, Dame Garland, for Mary's mother had no loom. This neighbor was as poor as themselves, but they would pay her in herbs and dyestuffs. The leaves--not the flowers, which were yellow--from the woad, would be crushed into a paste and allowed to ferment, and finally made into little balls that would keep until needed. Neither perfume nor dye could be bought in shops thereabouts, and there were no factories anywhere for making either. Dame Lavender had been, before she was married, maid to a great lady who had taught her women how to make such things out of the plants in the castle garden. Now, when her husband failed to come back from the wars in France, she turned to the perfumer's trade as the one which she knew best. There are a great many ways of making perfume at home. If she had had a still, Dame Lavender could have made almost any sort of ordinary perfume, flavor or medicine. In this process, a mixture of blossoms, spices and drugs, or the blossoms alone, or the leaves, is cooked in a glass bottle called a retort, with a long glass tube fitted to it so that the steam must pass through the tube and cool in little drops. These drops run out into a glass flask and are the perfume. Another way was to gather flowers when perfectly fresh and put them into a kettle of alcohol, which would take up the scent and keep it after the flowers are taken out. Strong-scented flowers or leaves were put with salve in a jar and covered, to perfume the salve. Dried plants of pleasant fragrance, mixed with salve, could be left until the scent had been taken up, then the whole could be melted and strained to remove the herbs. Each herb and flower had to be gathered at the proper time, and dried in the little attic. With this business, and the honey which the bees made, and the spinning done by both mother and daughter, they managed to make a living. One day when they were at their busiest an old man came to the door and asked for a night's lodging. He had a gentle way of speaking, although his cloak was threadbare, and he seemed much interested in their work. He knew some of the plants which they had never been able to name, and told what they were good for. He seemed so old, poor and feeble, that although she really needed all the money she could earn, Dame Lavender refused the coin he offered her. She felt that if he fell ill somewhere, he might need it. The Norman castle on the hill had not been really lived in for some ten years. There was a company of soldiers in it, with two or three knights who came and went, but that was all. It had been built as a fortress, and was one; and the situation was such that it could not easily be made into anything else. The baron who owned it was in attendance upon the King. Then, one day, a rumor went floating about the village, like the scent of growing hedges in spring. It was said that the castle was to be set in order for some great lady; and that she would bring with her two or three maids perhaps, but most of the work was to be done by the people of the village. This was rather mystifying. Mary wondered why a great lady should not rather choose to stay at the nunnery, where the Lady Abbess had all things seemly and well-planned. It was an old Saxon religious house and not at all rich; but Mary always liked to have an errand up Minchen Lane. The lane had got its name from the nuns, who were called "minchens" a long while ago. Sometimes they sent to get some roots or plants from the garden of Dame Lavender. She had some kinds that they had not. It was nearly certain, at any rate, that the housekeeper at the castle would want lavender and violets, and Dame Annis told Mary to get the besom and sweep out the still-room. This was a shed with a stone floor, the only room they had which was not used for living or sleeping. The room they had given their strange guest, Tomaso of Padua as he called himself, was the one where Mary and her mother usually slept, and they had made up a pallet in the attic. Mary worked briskly with her besom. It was just such a broom as English people still use to sweep garden walks, a bundle of twigs tied on a stick handle with a pliant osier. While she was at work she heard the gate shut, and saw old Tomaso coming in. It cannot be said that she was exactly glad to see him. She felt that they might have all that they could do without a lodger just then. She spoke to him courteously, however, and he smiled as if he read her thoughts. "I have not come to ask for your hospitality this time," he said, "but to bring your good mother something in return for her kindness." Beckoning to a boy who stood outside, he opened the gate, and the boy led in a little donkey laden with the basket-work saddle-bags called paniers. From these Tomaso took all the parts of a still, some fine earthen and glass jars, flasks and bowls, and bundles of spice which were like a whole garden packed into a basket. "These," he said, "will be of assistance to your mother in her work. I see her coming now, and I will talk with her awhile." Mary felt as if the earth had turned inside out when she heard the outcome of that conversation. The lady who was coming to the castle was Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of England, and her coming was a considerable responsibility to every one concerned. She had been found just ready to join her sons, Richard and Geoffrey, in Aquitaine, where they were fighting against their father, and she was to be shut up in this remote fortress, in charge of one of the King's most trusted knights, until he had disposed of the rebellion and had time to consider the case. She would not, she declared, spend her days in a nunnery, and the nuns of Minchen Lane were anything but anxious to have her. There was a room in the Norman castle which could be fitted up as a still-room, and it was desirable to have whatever was needed made within the walls if possible. Would Mary undertake to go there and make herself useful, either in ways that might aid the cook, or in any other duties that she saw? The cook was an Italian. The maids of honor were daughters of Norman-French families. Barbara Edrupt, the wife of the wool-merchant who owned Longley Farm, was also, it appeared, going to lend a hand with the spinning and train one or two country girls for the rough work. It was no small task to maintain a royal lady in fitting state, even though she was a prisoner. It was more difficult here because there was little or nothing to do it with, and peddlers, merchants and other purveyors from distant London or Paris might be a source of danger. Dame Annis Lavender was rather doubtful, but she had confidence in Mary, and it was settled that Mary should go. She was to have the gown of blue sooner than she thought. The flax was already spun, Dame Garland did the weaving, and she and Mary's mother dipped and dipped again until the web was a deep exquisite blue like a summer sky. Barbara made Mary a gift of a fair white linen cap and kerchief. The two girls, Barbara with her black eyes and hair, Mary with her gold-brown braids and calm blue eyes and wild-rose coloring, made a pretty picture together. So at least thought the troubadour who came riding by and saw them. He was in attendance upon the castellan, Thibaut of Toulouse, and a little group of maids and pages coming to make ready for the Queen, who was expected to arrive the next day. Thibaut's wife had been a Provençal lady, and his daughter Philippa, by whose side the troubadour was riding, was a trifle homesick for her childhood speech. She was very glad of Ranulph's company. As they came past the garden she bent sidewise in her saddle and looked eagerly toward the gate. "Do you see--there?" she cried. "That is a Provence rose." "I will bring you some," the troubadour answered, and a moment later he was striding toward the two girls among the flowers. They had never seen any one like him,--so gay, so courteous and so straightforward. "I come to beg a rose," he said. "Are not these the red roses of Provence?" "Surely," answered Barbara. "I brought the bush from my own home, and gave Mary a cutting. There never was such a rose for bloom and sweetness, we think. My husband he says so too." Barbara blushed and smiled a little when she spoke of Robert, and she and Mary quickly filled a basket with the roses. The next morning Ranulph came again with the Provençal maid of honor to get more flowers, and "strowing herbs,"--sweet-scented plants that gave out their fragrance when trodden upon. The rushes used for floor-covering were often mixed with these on festival days, and when new rushes were to be put down the whole might be swept into the fire and burned. The maids of honor made garlands for the wall, and thus the first breath of air the Queen drew in her grim, small stone rooms high in the castle keep, was laden with the scent of the blossoms of the South. It was a cheerless abode, Mary and Barbara thought. There were no hangings, no costly dishes nor candlesticks, no weapons or anything that could be made into a weapon, nor any jewels or rich clothing. Mary wondered a little that certain richly embroidered tapestries which belonged to the nuns had not been borrowed, for she knew that the Lady Abbess had lent them now and then. Philippa could have told her. "It is well," said the Queen haughtily when she had seen her apartments, "that they have given me no gold-woven arras for my prison. I think I would burn it for the gold--if any of these jailers of mine could be bought perchance." The captivity of the royal prisoner was not, however, very severe. She sometimes rode out under guard, she was allowed to walk upon the terrace and in the walled garden, and she talked sometimes with the troubadour and with old Tomaso. In one of the older towers of the castle the physician had his rooms, and here he read in ancient books, or brewed odd mixtures in his retorts and crucibles. He taught Mary more about the management of a still, the use of herbs and the making of essences than she had ever dreamed there was to learn. Physicians in those days might be quacks or alchemists. Here and there one was what we call an experimental chemist. Nearly a hundred years later some of Tomaso's papers proved most valuable to the University of Padua. PAVEMENT SONG All along the cobblestones by Saint Paul's, Clippety-clack the music runs, quick footfalls, Folk that go a-hurrying, all on business bent, They'll come to us in time, and we are content. So we keep our cobble-shop, by Saint Paul's Hammer-stroke and wax-thread, chasing up the awls, Cobbling is a merry trade,--we'll not change with you, We've leather good cheap, and all we can do! XI SAINT CRISPIN'S DAY HOW CRISPIN, THE SHOEMAKER'S SON, MADE A SHOE FOR A LITTLE DAMSEL, AND NEW STREETS IN LONDON "Rip-rap--tip-tap-- Tick-a-tack--too! Scarlet leather sewed together-- Thus we make a shoe!" --WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. London was a busy town when the long Venetian galleys and the tall ships of Spain anchored in the Pool of the Thames. Leather and silk and linen and velvet and broadcloth came to the London wharves, and London people were busy buying, selling, making and decorating every sort of apparel, from the girdle to hold a sword to the silken hood and veil of a lady. And nobody was busier than the men who worked in leather. Nowadays we go into a shop and try on shoes made perhaps a thousand miles away, until we find a pair that will fit. But when Crispin Eyre's father sold a pair of shoes he had seen those shoes made in his own shop, under his own eye, and chosen the leather. It might be calfskin from the yard of a tanner, who bought his hides from the man who had raised the calf on his farm, or it might be fine soft goatskin out of a bale from the galleons of Spain. In either case he had to know all about leather, or he would not succeed in the shoe business. The man who aspired to be a master shoemaker had to know how to make the whole shoe. More different kinds of shoes were made in Thomas Eyre's shop than most shops sell to-day, and as he had begun to use the hammer and the awl when he was not yet ten years old, he knew how every kind should be made. Early in the morning, before a modern family would be awake, hammers were going in the shoe-shops--tap-tap--tick-a-tack--tack! Sometimes by the light of a betty lamp in the early winter evenings the journeymen would be still at work, drawing the waxed thread carefully and quickly through the leather. Hand-sewn and made of well-tanned hide, such a shoe could be mended again and again before it was outworn. Riding-boots, leather shoes, slippers, sandals, clogs, pattens, shoes of cloth, silk, morocco, cloth-of-gold, velvet, with soles made of wood, leather, cork and sometimes even iron, went to and fro in the shadow of St. Paul's Cathedral, and sooner or later every kind crossed the threshold of Thomas Eyre's shop. The well-to-do came to order shoes for themselves, and the wooden-shod and barefoot came to get the shoes others would wear. Each trade kept to its own street, even in those early days. When the Guilds had multiplied so that each part of each trade had its own workers, who were not supposed to do anything outside their trade, the man who made a shoe never mended one, and the cobbler never made anything. Each trade had its Guild Hall, where the members met for business councils or holidays, and some of them had their favorite churches. It was like a very exclusive club. Men and women belonged to these societies, they made rules about the length of time a man must work before he could be a master workman, and they took care of their own poor folk out of a common fund. Each Guild had its patron saint, connected in some way with the craft it represented. The especial saint of the shoemakers was St. Crispin, and his day was the twenty-fifth of October. The leather workers were among the most important artisans of London, and in course of time each branch of the trade had its own Guild Hall. The cordwainers or leather workers took their name from Cordova in Spain, famous for its beautiful dyed, stamped, gilded and decorated leather. The saddlers had their hall, and the lorimers or harness-makers theirs, and the skinners and leather sellers and tanners had theirs. London was rather behind some of the cities on the Continent, however, both in the number and the power of her guilds. King Henry II. was not over-inclined to favor guilds, especially in London, for London was too independent, as it was, to please him. He had observed that when cities grew so strong that they governed themselves they were quite likely to make trouble for Kings, and not unnaturally, he felt that he had trouble enough on his hands as things were without inviting more. If he had allowed it London would have had a "Commune," as the organization of a self-governing city was called, long ago. Crispin heard this discussed more or less, for all sorts of chattering and story-telling went on in the shop, and he heard also many stories which tended to make him think. The popular tales and songs of the Middle Ages were not by any means always respectful to Kings. The people understood very well that there were good monarchs and bad ones, and they were not blind to the reasons for the difference. The story that Crispin liked best was the one about his own name, and on this October day, seated on his low bench beside Simon, the oldest of his shoemakers, he asked for it again. "Aye, I'll warrant," grunted Simon, "an Eyre would be a born shoemaker, and name him Crispin---- Eh, lad, what be you after with that leather?" Crispin's fingers were strong, if small, and he was busy with hammer and awl and waxed thread, making a little shoe. "Just a shoe, Simon--go on with the story," said the boy, with a little, shut-mouthed grin. Simon fitted the sole to the boot he was making and picked up his hammer. "It was a long time ago--(tap-tap) when the emperor of Rome was a-hunting down the blessed martyrs, that there were two brothers, Crispin and Crispian their names were, who lived in Rome and did nothing but kindness to every one. But there be rascals--(trip-trip-trap!)--who do not understand kindness, and ever repay it with evil. One of such a sort lived in the same street as the two brothers, and secretly ran to tell the Emperor that they were plotting against his life. Then privately the wife of this evil-doer came and warned them, for that they had given her shoes to her feet. So they fled out of the city by night and came to France and dwelt in Soissons, where the cathedral now is. "This England was a heathen country then, they say, and France not much better. Before long the king of that kingdom heard of the strangers and sent for them to know what their business was. When they said that their business was to teach the people the story of our Lord, he asked who this lord might be, and whether he was mightier than the king, or not. "Then when the heathen king heard that the Lord of Crispin and Crispian was more powerful than either King or emperor he had a mind to kill them, but he was afraid. He asked if they had ever seen a palace finer than his own, that was made of wood and hung with painted leather, and they said that there were finer ones in Rome. Then said the king, 'Give me a sign of the greatness of your Lord.' And they asked him what it should be. And the king said, 'Cover the streets of my city with leather and you shall go forth unharmed.' Only the rich had any leather in those parts. "That night Crispin and Crispian took the leather hide of their girdles and made a pair of shoes for the king. And when they came before him in the morning, they put the shoes upon his feet, the first shoes he had ever seen, and told him to walk abroad and he would find all the streets covered with leather." The apprentices had been listening, and a laugh went round the shop, as it always did at that part of the tale. "Thus it came to pass," concluded Simon, "that the two brothers lived at court and taught the king's leather workers how to make shoes, and that is why Saint Crispin is the friend of shoemakers." "What was the name of him who told you the tale, Simon?" Crispin asked thoughtfully. "Oh, he is dead these many years, but his name was Benet, and he came from Soissons, and had been to Rome and seen the street where the brothers lived. He had a nail out of one of the shoes they made for the king. People came to our house while he was with us, only to see that nail and hear the story. I heard it so many times that I learned it by heart." Old Simon drove in the last nail with a vicious stroke that sent it well into the leather. "I'll warrant," he said, "the blessed Saint Crispin made none o' them shoes we make here, with pointed toes and rose windows on the leather, fitten for a lady." He held up the shoe with great disfavor. It was for a courtier, and the toe was two feet long and turned up, with a chain to fasten it to the knee. The front of the shoe was cut into open work in a wheel shape to show the gay silken hose underneath, and the shoe itself was of soft fine leather. With a parting sniff, Simon tossed it to a slim, grinning youth who would finish it by putting on gilding. The shoe that Crispin was making was of a different sort. It was a little round-toed sturdy thing, about the right size for a child of ten. The mate to it was on the bench at his side, and he put them together and looked at them rather ruefully. The shoe he had made was plain, and the other was trimmed daintily with red morocco and cut in a quaint round pattern on the toe--the decoration that was known as "a Paul's window," because the geometric cut-work with the colored lining looked like stained glass. Crispin frowned and shook his head. "What's ailin' ye, lad?" Old Simon peered at the shoes in the boy's hands. "Bless ye, those ben't mates!" "I know that, but I haven't any colored leather for this one even if I knew how to finish it," Crispin said with a sigh. "Um-m-m!" Simon looked more closely at the little gay shoe. "That never came from these parts. That's Turkey leather." He gave Crispin a sharp glance. The great bell of Bow was ringing and the apprentices were quitting work. "Where did this shoe come from, now?" Crispin hesitated. "Don't you tell, now, Simon. I found a little maid crying in Candlewick street--standing on one foot like a duck because she had lost her other shoe. She was so light I could lift her up, and I set her on a wall while I looked for the shoe, but it wasn't any good, for a horse had stepped on it. She cried so about the shoe that I--I said I would make her another. And then her father came back for her and took her away." "Who might she be?" inquired Simon dryly. "I don't know. I didn't tell father. She said she would send for the shoes though." Simon had been rummaging in a leather bag behind his bench. "If she don't there's plenty of other little wenches that wear shoes. If the leather should be blue in place o' red, would that matter?" "I shouldn't think so; one shoe is no good alone." Crispin began to be hopeful. Old Simon pulled out some pieces of soft fine leather the color of a harebell and began to cut them quickly and deftly into fine scalloped borders. "This ben't Turkey leather, but it is a piece from Spain, and they learnt the trade of the paynim, so I reckon 'twill do. Stitch this on the other shoe in place o' the red, and I'll cut the pattern." Nobody would have believed that Simon's old, crooked fingers could handle a knife so cleverly. In no time the pattern on the old shoe had been copied exactly on the new one. When Crispin had stitched the blue cut-work border on both, and Simon had rubbed the new leather on some old scraps and cleaned the old a bit, the two little shoes looked like twins. "Is there a boy here named Crispin Eyre?" inquired a man's voice from the doorway. Almost at the same time came the sweet lilting speech of a little girl, "Oh, father, that is the boy who was so kind to me!" Crispin and old Simon stood up and bowed, for the man who spoke was a dignified person in the furred cloak and cap of a well-to-do merchant. The little girl held fast to her father's hand and gazed into the shop with bright interest. "Look at the shoes, father, aren't they pretty?" The merchant balanced the little shoes in his broad hand. "Which did you lose, Genevieve, child?" "I--I don't know, father," the child said, pursing her soft lips. "Cannot you tell?" "By my faith," said the merchant thoughtfully, "if a London shoemaker's boy does work like this I doubt Edrupt may be right when he says our ten fingers are as good as any. This shoe is one of a pair from Cordova. Who's your father, lad?" "My father is Thomas Eyre, so please you, master," said the boy proudly, "and I am Crispin." "A good craft and a good name and a good workman," said the merchant, and dropped a coin into the litter of leather scraps. It was the full price of a new pair of shoes. Crispin certainly could not have dreamed that his kindness to little Genevieve Gay would be the occasion of new streets in London, but it happened so. Master Gay, the merchant, came later to talk with Thomas Eyre about the shoe trade. Then, instead of sending a cargo of Irish hides abroad he gave Eyre the choice of them. Other shoemakers took the rest, the shoe trade of London grew, and so did the tanneries. The tanners presently needed more room by running water, and sought new quarters outside London Wall. The business of London kept on growing until the Leatherworkers' Guild had presently to send abroad for their own raw material. England became more and more a manufacturing country and less a farming country. In one or another trade almost every farming product was of use. Hides were made into leather, beef went to the cook-shops; horn was made into drinking-cups and lantern-lights, bones were ground or burnt for various purposes, tallow made candles. What the farmer had been used to do for himself on his farm, the Guilds began to do in companies, and their farm was England. CONCEALED WEAPONS The tiniest weed that blooms in fallow ground Arms all its children for the battle-field. Its myriad warriors weapon'd cap-a-pie Swarm forth upon the land. The bursting pods Their elfin shrapnel scatter far and wide. Aerial scouts on downy pinions flit, And awns prick lancet-wise, and clutching burs Grapple the fleeces of the wandering sheep, Invade the farm-lands and possess the soil. The curse of Eden falling on the flowers Drove them to self-defense and made the world One vast weed-garden. Yea, more dreadful still, Buried within the heart of many a plant Lie deadly drops of poisonous essences, Nightshade and spearwort, aconite and poppy, That slay more swift and sure than tempered steel. The least of little folk, or soon or late, May by such hidden terrors rule the great. The least of little folk, unseen, unknown, May find that saving strength is theirs alone. XII THE LOZENGES OF GIOVANNI HOW A MILANESE BAKER-BOY AND A PADUAN PHYSICIAN KEPT POISON OUT OF THE KING'S DISH Ranulph the troubadour was riding along a lonely moorland trail, singing softly to himself. In so poor a neighborhood there was little fear of robbers, and the Barbary horse which he had under him could outrun most other horses. The light-stepping hoofs made little noise upon the springy turf, and as the song ended he heard some one sobbing behind a group of stunted bushes. He halted and listened. The sound ceased. "Ho there, little one--what is the trouble?" He spoke in Saxon, the language of the country folk, but at the first words a figure sprang up and dodged from shrub to rock like a scared leveret. He called again quickly in French: "Hola! little friend, wait a moment!" There was no answer. Somehow he did not like to leave the mystery unsolved. There must be a child in trouble, but what child could there be in this wild place, and neither Norman nor Saxon? It was not far enough to the West to be Welsh borderland, and it was too far south to be near either Scotland or the Danelaw. He spoke in Provençal, and the fugitive halted at the sound of the soft southern o's and a's; then he spoke again in the Lombard dialect of Milan. A boy ventured out of the thicket and stood staring at him. Ranulph flung himself off his horse and held out his hand. "Come here, little comrade, and tell me who you are, and why you are all alone here." The boy's dark eyes grew wider in his elvish face and his hands opened and shut nervously as he answered in Italian: "I am no one, and I have no home. Take me not to prison." "There is no thought of a prison, my lad, but I cannot wait here. Come, ride with me, and I will take you to a kind woman who will take care of you." The boy hesitated, but at last loneliness conquered timidity and distrust, and he came. The troubadour swung him up to the front of the saddle and they rode on through the gathering dusk. Forgetting his terror as he heard the familiar sound of his native tongue, the boy told his story readily enough. His name was Giovanni Bergamotto, but he had been born in Milan, in the year that Barbarossa crossed the Alps. The first thing that he could really remember was his mother crying over her father and two brothers, who had been killed in the siege. He remembered many days when there was nothing to eat in the house. When Milan was taken he was old enough to walk at his mother's side as the people were driven out and the city destroyed so that no one should ever live there again. His father had been killed when the Emperor hung a siege-tower all over with hostages and captives to be shot at by their own people within the walls. He remembered his grandfather lifting him up to see when the Carocchio was brought out, and the great crucifix above the globe was lowered to do homage to the Emperor. He remembered seeing the Imperial banner unfurled from the top of the Cathedral. These things, his grandfather told him, no Milanese should ever forget. He and his mother had wandered about from one city to another until his mother died, two or three years later. He had worked for a pastry cook who beat him and starved him. At last he had run away and stolen his passage on a ship bound for England. They had beaten him when they found him, but kept him to help the cook. When he landed at a southern port on the English coast, he had found himself in a land of cold mist, where no sun shone, no fruit grew, and no one knew his language. He had turned at first naturally to the towns, for he was a city boy and craved the companionship of the crowd. But when he said that he was a Lombard they seemed to be angry. Perhaps there was some dreadful mistake, and he was in a land where the Ghibellines, the friends of the Emperor, were the rulers. When at last he faltered out this question his new friend gave a compassionate little laugh and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "No, little one, there is no fear of that. This is England, and the English King rules all the people. We have neither Guelf nor Ghibelline. A red rose here--is just a rose," he added as he saw Giovanni's questioning look at the crimson rose in his cap. Red roses were the flower of the Guelf party in North-Italian cities, as the white rose was the badge of the Ghibellines who favored the Imperial party; and the cities were divided between the two and fiercely partisan. "The Lombards in London," Ranulph went on, "are often money-lenders, and this the people hate. That is why thy black hair and eyes and thy Lombard tongue made them suspect thee, little comrade." Giovanni gave a long sigh of relief and fell silent, and when he was lifted off the horse at the door of Dame Lavender he had to be shaken awake to eat his supper. Then he was put to bed in a corner of the attic under the thatched roof, and the fragrance of well-known herbs and flowers came stealing into his dreams on the silent wind of the night. Language is not needed when a boy finds himself in the home of a born mother. All the same, Giovanni felt still more as if he must have waked up in heaven when he found sitting by the hearth a kind, grave old man who was himself an Italian, and to whom the tragedy of the downfall of Milan was known. Tomaso the physician told Dame Lavender all about it while Giovanni was helping Mary sort herbs in the still-room. Mary had learned a little of the physician's language and knew what he liked, and partly by signs, partly in hobbling Italian, they arrived at a plan for making a vegetable soup and cooking a chicken for dinner in a way that Giovanni knew. As the fragrance of the simmering broth came in at the door Tomaso sniffed it, smiled and went to see what the little waif was about. Standing in the doorway he watched Giovanni slicing garlic and nodded to himself. Men had died of a swift dagger-thrust in a bye-street of Lombardy because they cut an onion or ate an orange in the enemy's fashion. By such small signs were Guelf and Ghibelline known. "My boy," said the old physician, when dinner was over and Giovanni, pleased beyond measure at the compliments paid his cooking, was awaiting further orders, "do you know that Milan is going to be rebuilt?" The Milanese boy's pinched white face lighted with incredulous rapture. "Rebuilt?" he stammered. "Some day," said Tomaso. "The people of four Lombard cities met in secret and made that vow not three years after the Emperor gained his victory. They have built a city at the joining of two rivers, and called it Alexandria after the Pope whom he drove out of Rome. He still has his own governors in the cities that he conquered, but the League is gaining every month. Milan will be once more the Queen of the Midland--perhaps before very long. But it is a secret." "They may kill me," Giovanni stammered, "but I will not tell. I will never tell." Tomaso smiled. "I knew that, my son," he said. "That is why I spoke of this to you. You may talk freely to me or to Ranulph the troubadour, but to no one else unless we give you leave. You must be patient, wise and industrious, and fit yourself to be a true citizen of the Commune. For the present, you must be a good subject of the English King, and learn the language." Giovanni hid the precious secret in his heart during the months that followed, and learned both English and French with a rapidity that astonished Dame Lavender. He had a wisdom in herbs and flowers, too, that was almost uncanny. In the kitchen-gardens of the great houses where he had been a scullion, there were many plants used for perfumes, flavorings or coloring fluids, which were quite unknown to the English cook. He was useful to Dame Lavender both in the garden and the still-room. He knew how to make various delicious cakes as well, and how to combine spices and honey and syrups most cunningly, for he had seen pastry-cooks and confectioners preparing state banquets, and he never forgot anything he had seen. The castle which crowned the hill in the midst of the small town where Dame Lavender lived had lately been set in order for the use of a very great lady--a lady not young, but accustomed to luxury and good living--and all the resources of Dame Lavender's garden had been taxed to provide perfumes, ointments and fresh rose-leaves, for the linen-presses and to be strewn about the floors. Mary and her mother had all that they could do in serving Queen Eleanor. The Queen was not always easy to please. In her youth she had traveled with Crusaders and known the strange cities of the East; she had escaped once from a castle by night, in a boat, to free herself from a too-persistent suitor. She was not one of the meek ladies who spent their days in needlework, and as for spinning and weaving, she had asked scornfully if they would have her weave herself a hair shirt like a hermit. Mary Lavender was not, of course, a maid of honor, but she found that the Queen seemed rather to like having her about. "I wish I had your secret, Marie of the Flowers," said graceful Philippa, one weary day. "Tell me what you do, that our Lady the Queen likes so well." Mary smiled in her frank, fearless way. "It may be," she answered, "that it is the fragrance of the flowers. She desires now to embroider red roses for a cushion, and I have to ask Master Tomaso how to dye the thread." The embroidering of red roses became popular at once, but soon there was a new trouble. The Queen began to find fault with her food. "This cook flavors all his dishes alike," she said pettishly. "He thinks that colored toys of pastry and isinglass feed a man's stomach. When the King comes here--although he never knows what is set before him, that is true,--I would like well to have a fit meal for his gentlemen. Tell this Beppo that if he cannot cook plain toothsome dishes I will send for a farmer's wench from Longley Farm." This was the first that had been heard of the King's intended visit, and great was the excitement in the kitchen. Ranulph dismounted at the door of Dame Lavender's cottage and asked for Giovanni. Beppo the cook had been calling for more help, and the local labor market furnished nothing that suited him. Would Giovanni come? He would do anything for Ranulph and for Mary. "That is settled, then," laughed Ranulph. "I shall not have to scour the country for a scullion with hands about him instead of hoofs or horns." In his fourteen years of poverty the little Italian had learned to hold his tongue and keep his eyes open. Beppo was glad enough to have a helper who did not have to be told anything twice, and in the hurry-scurry of the preparations Giovanni made himself useful beyond belief. The cakes, however, did not suit the Queen. Mary came looking for Giovanni in the kitchen-garden. "Vanni," she said, "will you make some of your lozenges for the banquet? Beppo says you may. I think that perhaps his cakes are not simple enough, and I know that the King likes plain fare." Giovanni turned rather white. "Very well, Mistress Mary," he answered. Giovanni's lozenges were not candies, although they were diamond-shaped like the lozenges that are named after them. They were cakes made after the recipe still used in some Italian bakeries. He pounded six ounces of almonds; then he weighed eight eggs and put enough pounded sugar in the opposite scale to balance them; then he took out the eggs and weighed an equal amount of flour, and of butter. He melted the butter in a little silver saucepan. The eggs were not beaten, because egg-beaters had not been invented; they were strained through a sieve from a height into a bowl, and thus mixed with air. Two of the eggs were added to the pounded almonds, and then the whole was mixed with a wooden spoon in a wooden bowl. The paste was spread on a thin copper plate and baked in an oven built into the stone wall and heated by a fireplace underneath. While still warm the cake was cut into diamond-shaped pieces, called lozenges after the carved stone memorial tablets in cathedrals. The Queen approved them, and said that she would have those cakes and none other for the banquet, but with a little more spice. Beppo, who had paid the sweetmeats a grudging compliment, produced some ground spice from his private stores and told Giovanni to use that. "Vanni," said Mary laughing as she passed through the kitchen on the morning of the great day, "do you always scour your dishes as carefully as this?" The boy looked up from the copper plate which he was polishing. Mary thought he looked rather somber for a cook who had just been promoted to the office of baker to the King. "Things cannot be too clean," he said briefly. "Mistress Mary, will you ask Master Tomaso for some of the spice that he gave to your mother, for me?" Mary's blue eyes opened. Surely a court cook like Beppo ought to have all the spice needed for a simple cake like this. However, she brought Giovanni a packet of the fragrant stuff an hour later, and found Beppo fuming because the work was delayed. The basket of selected eggs had been broken, the melted butter had been spilled, and the cakes were not yet ready for the oven. Giovanni silently and deftly finished beating his pastry, added the spice, rolled out the dough, began the baking. When the cakes came out of the oven, done to a turn, and with a most alluring smell, he stood over them as they cooled and packed them carefully with his own hands into a basket. Mary Lavender came through the kitchen just as the last layer was put in. "Those are beautiful cakes, Vanni," she said kindly. "I am sure they are fit for the King. Did you use the spice I gave you?" Giovanni's heart gave a thump. He had not reckoned on the fact that simple Mary had grown up where there was no need of hiding a plain truth, and now Beppo would know. The cook turned on him. "What? What?" he cried. "You did not use my spices? You take them and do not use them?" Mary began to feel frightened. The cook's black eyes were flashing and his mustache bristling with excitement, until he looked like the cross cat on the border of the Queen's book of fables. But Giovanni was standing his ground. "I used good spice," he said firmly. "Try and see." He held out one of the cakes to Beppo, who dashed it furiously to the ground. "Where are my spices?" he shrieked. "You meant to steal them?" He dashed at the lad and seized him as if to search for the spices. Giovanni shook in his grasp like a rat in the jaws of a terrier, but he did not cringe. "I sent that packet of spice to Master Tomaso an hour ago," he gasped defiantly, "asking him if it was wholesome to use in the kitchen--and here he is now." At sight of the old physician standing calm as a judge in the doorway, Beppo bolted through the other door, seized a horse that stood in the courtyard and was gone before the astonished servants got their breath. "What is all this?" inquired Tomaso. "I came to warn that man that the packet of spice which you sent is poison. Where did you get it?" "The cook bought it of a peddler and gave it to Vanni," answered Mary, scared but truthful. "You all heard him say that he did," she added to the bystanders. "He told Vanni to use it in these cakes, but Vanni used the spice you gave us." "I have seen that peddler before," gasped Giovanni. "He tried to bribe me to take the Queen a letter and a packet, and I would not. I put some of the spice in honey, and the flies that ate of it died. Then I sent it to you." "It was a subtle device," said Tomaso slowly. "The spice would disguise the flavor. Every one knew that Giovanni was to make the cakes, and that the Queen will not come to the banquet. When it is served do you send each sauce to me for testing. We will have no poison in the King's dish." The plot, as Tomaso guessed, had not been born of the jealousy of a cook, but of subtler brains beyond the seas. The Queen might well have been held responsible if the poison had worked. But when she heard of it she wept. "I have not been loyal," she flung out, in tearful defiance, "but I would not have done that--never that!" [Illustration] A SONG OF BIRDS AND BEASTS I gaed awa' to Holyrood and there I built a kirk, And a' the birds of a' the air they helpit me to work. The whaup wi' her lang bill she dug up the stane, The dove wi' her short bill she brought it hame, The pyet was a wily bird and raised up the wa', The corby was a silly bird and she gar'd it fa', And bye cam' auld Tod Lowrie and skelpit them a'! I gaed and I gaed and I cam' to London town, And a' the beasts of a' the earth were met to pull it down. The cock wi' his loud voice he raised a fearfu' din, The dragon he was dumb, but he creepit slyly in, The ramping tramping unicorn he clattered at the wa', The bear he growled and grumbled and scrabbled wi' his claw, Till bye cam' auld Tod Lowrie and dang them a'! The leopard and the wolf they were fechtin' tooth and nail, The bear wad be a lion but he couldna raise a tail, The geese they heard the brattle and yammered loud and lang, The corby flyin' owre them he made his ain sang. The lion chased the unicorn by holt and by glen, Tod Lowrie met the hounds and he bade them come ben-- But the auld red rascal had twa holes tae his den! The wolf lap in the fold and made havoc wi' the flock, The corby cleaned the banes in his howf on the rock, The weasel sacked the warren but he couldna grow fat, The cattie met a pullet and they never found that. They made a wicker boothie and they tethered there a goose, And owre the wee bit lintel they hung a braided noose,-- But auld Tod Lowrie he sat in his ain hoose! NOTE: There is a pun in the third verse, as "tail" is an old word for a retinue or following. Albert the Bear was margrave of Brandenburg, the leopard was the emblem of Anjou, and the wolf in medieval fables stands for the feudal baron. The unicorn was the legendary beast of Scotland, and the dragon that of Wales. The cock stands for France. Henry II. is satirized as the bold and cunning fox, Tod Lowrie. The allusion to the trap in the last three lines is to the offer of the throne of the Holy Roman Empire to the English monarch, during a time of general international hostility and disorder. XIII A DYKE IN THE DANELAW HOW DAVID LE SAUMOND CHANGED THE COURSE OF AN ANCIENT NUISANCE Farmer Appleby was in what he called a fidget. He did not look nervous, and was not. But the word, along with several others he sometimes used, had come down to him from Scandinavian forefathers. The very name with its ending "by" showed that his farm was a part of the Danelaw. Along the coast, and in the part of England fronting the North Sea, Danish invaders had imposed their own laws and customs on the country, and were strong enough to hold their own even in the face of a Saxon King. It was only a few years since the Danegeld, the tax collected from all England to ward off the raids of Danish sea-rovers, had been abolished. But Ralph Appleby was as good an Englishman as any. Little by little the Danelaw was yielding to the common law of England, but that did not worry an Appleby. He did not trouble the law courts, nor did they molest him. The cause of his fidget was a certain law of nature by which water seeks the shortest way down. One side of his farm lay along the river. Like most of the Danish, Norse, Icelandic or Swedish colonists, his long-ago ancestor had settled on a little river in a marsh. First he made camp on an island; then he built a house on the higher bank. Then the channel on the near side of the island filled up, and he planted the rich soil that the river had brought with orchards, and pastured fat cattle in the meadows. Three hundred years later the Applebys owned one of the most prosperous farms in the neighborhood. Now and then, however, the river remembered that it had a claim on that land. The soil, all bound and matted with tough tree-roots and quitch-grass, could not be washed away, but the waters took their toll in produce. The year before the orchards had been flooded and two-thirds of the crop floated off. A day or two later, when the flood subsided, the apples were left to fatten Farmer Kettering's hogs, rooting about on the next farm. Hob Kettering's stubborn little Saxon face was all a-grin when he met Barty Appleby and told of it. It speaks well for the friendship of the two boys that there was not a fight on the spot. That was not all. The stone dyke between the river and the lowlands had been undermined by the tearing current, and must be rebuilt, and there were no stone-masons in the neighborhood. Each farmer did his own repairing as well as he could. The houses were of timber, plaster, some brick and a little rude masonry. There were not enough good masons in the country to supply the demand, and even in building castles and cathedrals the stone was sometimes brought, ready cut, from France. In some parts of England the people used stone from old Roman walls, or built on old foundations, but in Roman times this farm had been under water in the marsh. The building of Lincoln Cathedral meant a procession of stone-barges going up the river loaded with stone for the walls, quarried in Portland or in France. When landed it was carried up the steep hill to the site of the building, beyond reach of floods that might sap foundations. It was slow work building cathedrals in marsh lands. The farmer was out in his boat now, poling up and down along the face of the crumbling wall, trying to figure on the amount of stone that would be needed. He never picked a stone out of his fields that was not thrown on a heap for possible wall-building, but most of them were small. It would take several loads to replace what the river had stolen--and then the whole thing might sink into the mud in a year or two. "Hech, master!" said a voice overhead. "Are ye wantin' a stone-mason just now?" Ralph Appleby looked up. On the little bridge, peering down, was a freckled, high-cheek-boned man with eyes as blue as his own, and with a staff in one big, hard-muscled hand. He wore a rough, shabby cloak of ancient fashion and had a bundle on his shoulder. "I should say I be," said the surprised farmer. "Be you wanting the job?" The stranger was evidently a Scot, from his speech, and Scots were not popular in England then. Still, if he could build a wall he was worth day's wages. "What's yer name?" Appleby added. "Just David," was the answer. "I'm frae Dunedin. There's muckle stone work there." "I make my guess they've better stuff for building than that pile o' pebbles," muttered the farmer, leaping ashore and kicking with his foot the heap of stone on the bank. "I've built that wall over again three times, now." The newcomer grinned, not doubtfully but confidently, as if he knew exactly what the trouble was. "We'll mend all that," he said, striding down to peer along the water-course. The wriggling stream looked harmless enough now. "You've been in England some time?" queried Appleby. "Aye," said David. "I learned my trade overseas and then I came to the Minster, but I didna stay long. Me and the master mason couldna make our ideas fit." Barty, sorting over the stones, gazed awestruck at the stranger. Such independence was unheard-of. "What seemed to be the hitch?" asked the farmer coolly. "He was too fond o' making rubble serve for buildin' stone," said David. "Then he'd face it with Portland ashlars to deceive the passer-by." "Ye'll have no cause to worry over that here," said Ralph Appleby dryly. "I'm not using ashlars or whatever ye call them, in my orchard wall. Good masonry will do." "Ashlar means a building stone cut and dressed," explained David. "I went along that wall of yours before you came. If you make a culvert up stream with a stone-arched bridge in place of the ford yonder, ye'll divert the course of the waters from your land." "If I put a bridge over the Wash, I could make a weir to catch salmon," said the startled farmer. "I've no cut stone for arches." "We'll use good mortar and plenty of it, that's all," said David. "I'll show ye." The things that David accomplished with rubble, or miscellaneous scrap-stone, seemed like magic to Barty. He trotted about at the heels of the mason, got very tired and delightfully dirty, asked numberless questions, which were always answered, and considered David the most interesting man he had ever met. David solved the building-stone problem by concocting mortar after a recipe of his own and using plenty of it between selected stones. Sometimes there seemed to be almost as much mortar as there was stone, but the wedge-shaped pieces were so fitted that the greater the pressure on the arch the firmer it would be. Laborers were set to work digging a channel to let the stream through this gully under the arches, and it seemed glad to go. "When I'm a man, David," announced Barty, lying over the bridge-rail on his stomach and looking down at the waters that tore through the new channel, "I shall be a mason just like you. The river can't get our apples now, can it?" David grinned. "Water never runs up hill," he said. "And it will run down hill if it takes a thousand years. You learn that first, if you want to be a mason, lad." "But everybody knows that," Barty protested. "Two and two mak' four, but if you and me had twa aipples each, and I ate one o' mine, and pit the ither with yours to mak' fower and you didna find it out it wad be a sign ye didna know numbers," retorted David, growing more and more Scotch as he explained. "And when I see a mason lay twa-three stones to twa-three mair and fill in the core wi' rubble I ken he doesna reckon on the water seeping in." "But you've put rubble in those arches, David," said Barty, using his eyes to help his argument. "Spandrel, spandrel, ye loon," grunted David. "Ye'll no learn to be a mason if ye canna mind the names o' things. The space between the arch and the beam's filled wi' rubble and good mortar, but the weight doesna rest on that--it's mostly on the arches where we used the best of our stanes. And there's no great travel ower the brig forbye. It's different with a cathedral like yon. Ye canna build siccan a mighty wall wi' mortar alone. The water's aye searchin' for a place to enter. When the rocks freeze under the foundations they crumble where the water turns to ice i' the seams. When the rains come the water'll creep in if we dinna make a place for it to rin awa' doon the wa'. That's why we carve the little drip-channels longways of the arches, ye see. A wall's no better than the weakest stane in it, lad, and when you've built her you guard her day and night, summer and winter, frost, fire and flood, if you want her to last. And a Minster like York or Lincoln--the sound o' the hammer about her walls winna cease till Judgment Day." Barty looked rather solemnly at the little, solid, stone-arched bridge, and the stone-walled culvert. While it was a-building David had explained that if the stream overflowed here it would be over the reedy meadows near the river, which would be none the worse for a soaking. The orchards and farm lands were safe. The work that they had done seemed to link itself in the boy's mind to cathedral towers and fortress-castles and the dykes of Flanders of which David had told. The loose stone from the ruined wall was used to finish a wall in a new place, across the corner of the land by which the river still flowed. This would make a wharf for the boats. "This mortar o' yours might ha' balked the Flood o' Noah, belike," said Farmer Appleby, when they were mixing the last lot. "I wasna there, and I canna say," said David. "But there's a way to lay the stones that's worth knowing for a job like this. Let's see if ye ken your lesson, young chap." David's amusement at Barty's intense interest in the work had changed to genuine liking. The boy showed a judgment in what he did, which pleased the mason. He had always built walls and dams with the stones he gathered when his father set him at work. His favorite playground was the stone-heap. Now he laid selected stones so deftly and skillfully that the tiny wall he was raising was almost as firm as if mortar had been used. "You lay the stones in layers or courses," he explained, "the stretcher stones go lengthwise of the wall and the head-stones with the end on the face of the wall, and you lay first one and then the other, 'cordin' as you want them. When the big stones and the little ones are fitted so that the top of the layer is pretty level it's coursed rubble, and that's better than just building anyhow." "What wey is it better?" interposed David. Barty pondered. "It looks better anyhow. And then, if you want to put cut stone, or beams, on top, you're all ready. Besides, it takes some practice to lay a wall that way, and you might as well be practicing all you can." The two men chuckled. A part of this, of course, Farmer Appleby already knew, but he had never explained to Barty. The boy went on. "The stones ought to be fitted so that the face of the wall is laid to a true line. If you slope it a little it's stronger, because that makes it wider at the bottom. But if you slope it too much the water won't run off and the snow will lie. If you've got any big stones put them where they will do the most good, 'cause you want the wall to be strong everywhere. A bigger stone that is pretty square, like this, can be a bond stone, and if you use one here and there it holds the wall together. David says the English gener'lly build a stone wall with a row of headers and then a row of stretchers, but in Flanders they lay a header and then a stretcher in every row." "How many loads of stone will it take for this wall?" asked David. Barty hesitated, measured with his eye, and then made a guess. "How much mortar?" He guessed again. The estimate was so near Farmer Appleby's own figures that he was betrayed into a whistle of surprise. "He's gey canny for a lad," said David, grinning. "He's near as wise as me. We've been at that game for a month." "Never lat on, but aye lat owre, Twa and twa they aye mak' fowre." Barty quoted a rhyme from David. "I reckon you've earned over and above your pay," said Farmer Appleby. He foresaw the usefulness of all this lore when Barty was a little older. The boy could direct a gang of heavy-handed laborers nearly as well as he could. "Any mason that's worth his salt will dae that," said David, unconcernedly. Barty was experimenting with his stone-laying when a hunting-party of strangers came down the bridle-path from the fens, where they had been hawking for a day. The fame of the Appleby culvert had spread through the country, and people often came to look at it, so that no one was surprised. The leader of the group was a middle-aged stout man, with close-clipped reddish hair, a full curly beard and a masterful way of speaking; he had a bow in his hand, and paced to and fro restlessly even when he was talking. "Who taught you to build walls, my boy?" asked a young man with bright dark eyes and a citole over his shoulder. "David," said Barty. "He's a Scot. When he was in France they called him David Saumond because of his leaping. He can dance fine." "And who taught David?" inquired the stranger. "The birds," Barty answered with a grin. "There's a song." "Let's have it," laughed the minstrel, and Barty sang. "I gaed awa' to Holyrood, and there I bug a kirk, And a' the birds o' a' the air they helpit me to work. The whaup wi' her lang bill she pried out the stane, The dove wi' her short bill she brought them hame, The pyet was a wily bird and bug up the wa', The corby was a silly bird and pu'd it down ava, And then cam' auld Tod Lowrie and skelpit them a'." "What's all that, Ranulph?" queried the masterful man, pausing in his walk. Ranulph translated, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, for there was more in the song than Barty knew. Each of the birds stood for one or another of the Scotch lords who had figured in the recent trouble between William of Scotland and the English King, and Tod Lowrie is the popular Scotch name for the red fox. It is not every king who cares to hear himself called a fox to his face, even if he behaves like one. David and Farmer Appleby, coming through the orchard, were rather aghast. As they came to a halt, and made proper obeisance to their superiors, the King addressed David in Norman such as the common folk used. "So you hold it folly to pull down a wall? There's not one stone left on another in Milan since Frederick Barbarossa took the city." "Ou ay," said David coolly. "If he had to build it up again he'd no be so blate, I'm thinkin'." The King laughed and so did the others. "I wish I had had you seven years ago," he said, "when we dyked the Loire. There were thirty miles of river bank at Angers, flooded season after season, when a well-built river wall would have saved the ruin. A man that can handle rubble in a marsh like this ought to be doing something better." "I learned my trade on that dyke," said David. "They Norman priors havena all learned theirs yet. I was at the Minster yonder, and if I'd built my piers like they said, the water would ha' creepit under in ten years' time." "And in ten years, that Prior hopes to be Archbishop without doubt," said the King with a shrug. "Was that all?" "Nay," said David. "Their ashlars are set up for vanity and to be seen o' men. Ye must have regard to the disposition of the building-stone when ye build for good an' all. It doesna like to be stood up just anyhow. Let it lie as it lay in the quarry, and it's content." Barty was watching the group, his blue eyes blazing and the apple-red color flushing his round cheeks. The King was talking to David as if he were pleased, and David, though properly respectful, was not in the least afraid. The Plantagenets were a race of building Kings. They all knew a master mason when they saw him. "So you changed the ancient course of the flood into that culvert, did you?" the King inquired, with a glance at the new channel. "Aye," said David. "No man can rule the watters of the heavens, and it's better to dyke a flood than to dam it, if ye can." The King, with a short laugh, borrowed tablet and ink-horn from his scribe and made a note or two. [Illustration: "'IT IS TIME TO SET HIM BUILDING FOR ENGLAND'"] "When I find a Scotch mason with an English apprentice building Norman arches in the Danelaw," said Henry, "it is time to set him building for England. I hear that William, whom they call the Englishman, is at work in Canterbury. When you want work you may give him this, and by the sight of God have a care that there is peace among the building-stones." David must have done so, for on one of the stones in a world-famed cathedral may be seen the mason's mark of David le Saumond and the fish which is his token. LONDON BRIDGE (1066) It was almost an hundred years ago, When Ethelred was King. This town of London Was held by Danes. Olaf the King of Norway Came with his host to fight for Ethelred And with his galleys rowed beneath the bridge, Lashed cables round the piers, and caught the tide That lent the strength of Ocean to their strength Rowing down-stream. Ah, how the strong oars beat The waters into foam--and how the Danes Above upon the bridge fought furiously With stones and arrows--but the bridge went down-- The bridge went down. So Ethelred was King. And now the bridge has been built up again. 'Tis not a thing of timbers, or hewn stone; It is a weaving of men's hopes and dreams From shore to shore. It is a thing alive. The men of Surrey and the men of Kent, The men of Sussex and Northumberland, The shepherds of the downs, the Wealden forges, Fishermen, packmen, bargemen, masons, all The traffickers of England, made our bridge. It is a thing enchanted by the thoughts Of all our people. [Illustration] XIV AT BARTLEMY FAIR HOW BARTY APPLEBY WENT TO THE FAIR AT SMITH FIELD AND CAUGHT A MISCREANT The farmer's life is a very varied one, as any one who ever lived on a farm is aware. In some seasons the work is so pressing that the people hardly stop to eat or sleep. At other times Nature herself takes a hand, and the farmer has a chance to mend walls, make and repair harness, clear woodland and do some hedging and ditching while the land is getting ready for the next harvest. This at any rate was the way in medieval England, and the latter part of August between haying and harvest was a holiday time. Barty Appleby liked Saint Bartholomew's Day, the twenty-fourth of August, best of all the holidays of the year. It was the feast of his name-saint, when a cake was baked especially for him. Yule-tide was a merry season, but to have a holiday of one's very own was even pleasanter. On the day that he was twelve years old Barty was to have a treat which all the boys envied him. He was to go to Bartlemy Fair at Smithfield by London. David Saumond, the stone-mason who had built their orchard-wall, was going beyond London to Canterbury to work at the cathedral. Farmer Appleby had a sister living in London, whom he had not seen for many years, and by this and by that he decided to go with David as far as London Bridge. The Fairs held on one and another holiday during the year were great markets for Old England. Nearly all of them were called after some Saint. It might be because the saint was a patron of the guild or industry which made the fair prosperous; Saint Blaize was the patron of the wool-combers, Saint Eloy of the goldsmiths, and so on. It was often simply a means of making known the date. People might not know when the twenty-ninth of September came, if they could not read; but they were very likely to know how long it was to Saint Michael's Day, or Michaelmas, because the quarter's rent was due at that time. June 24, the Feast of Saint John the Baptist, was Midsummer Quarter Day, and in every month there were several saints' days which one or another person in any neighborhood had good cause for remembering. St. Bartholomew's Fair at London was one of the greatest of all, and its name came about in an interesting way. Barty knew the story by heart. The founder was Rahere, the jester of Henry I. While on pilgrimage to Rome he had fallen ill in a little town outside the city, and being near death had prayed to Saint Bartholomew, who was said to have been a physician, for help. The saint, so the legend goes, appeared to him in a vision and told him to found a church and a hospital. He was to have no misgiving, but go forward with the work and the way would be made clear. Coming back to England he told the story to the King, who gave him land in a waste marshy place called Smoothfield, outside London, where the wall turned inward in a great angle. He got the foundations laid by gathering beggars, children and half-witted wanderers about him and making a jest of the hard work. The fields were like the kind of place where a circus-tent is pitched now. Horses and cattle were brought there to market, as it was convenient both to the roads outside and the gates of the city. The church walls rose little by little, as the King and others became interested in the work, and in course of time Rahere gathered a company of Augustines there and became prior of the monastery. The hospital built and tended by these monks was the first in London. In 1133 Rahere persuaded the King to give him a charter for a three days' Fair of Saint Bartholomew in the last week of August, and tradition says that he used sometimes to go out and entertain the crowds with jests and songs. Rahere's Norman arches are still to be seen in Saint Bartholomew's Church in London, close by the street that is called the Cloth Fair. The Fair grew and prospered, for it had everything in its favor. It came at a time of year when traveling was good, it was near the horse-market, which every farmer would want to visit, it was near London on the other hand, so that merchants English and foreign could come out to sell their goods, and it had close by the church and the hospital, which received tolls, or a percentage as it would be called to-day, on the profits. Barty had heard of the Fair ever since he could remember, for almost every year some one in the neighborhood went. Very early in the morning the little party set forth, and Barty kissed his mother and the younger ones good-by, feeling very important. He rode behind David, and two serving men came with them to take care of the horses and luggage. Farmer Appleby was taking two fine young horses to market, and some apples and other oddments to his sister Olive. They trotted along the narrow lane at a brisk pace and presently reached the high road. After that there was much to see. All sorts of folk were wending to the Fair. The fairs, all over England, were the goal of foreign traders and small merchants of every kind, who could not afford to set up shop in a town. In many cases the tolls of the Fair went to the King, to some Abbey, or to one of the Guilds. The law frequently obliged the merchants in the neighboring town or city to close their shops while the Fair lasted. The townsfolk made holiday, or profited from the more substantial customers who came early and stayed late with friends. Barty heard his father and David discussing these and other laws as they rode. For David, as a stranger in the country, all such matters were of interest, although a member of the Masons' Guild could travel almost anywhere in the days of constant building. No stranger might remain in London more than one night. The first night he stayed in any man's house he might be regarded as a stranger, but if he stayed a second night he was considered the guest of the house-holder, and after that he was to be held a member of the household, for whom his host was responsible. Wandering tradesmen would have had a hard time of it without the Fairs. On a pinch, a traveling merchant who sold goods at a fair could sleep in his booth or in the open air. The law did not affect the Appleby party. Barty's Aunt Olive was married to Swan Petersen, a whitesmith or worker in tin, and she lived outside the wall, close to the church of Saint Clement of the Danes. When they reached London they would lodge under her roof. They stayed at an inn the first night on the road, and slept on the floor wrapped in their good woolen cloaks, for the place was crowded. During the hour after supper Barty, perched on a barrel in the court-yard, saw jongleurs and dancers, with bells on head and neck and heels, capering in the flare of the torches. He heard a minstrel sing a long ballad telling the story of Havelok the Dane, which his mother had told him. His father and David gave each a penny to these entertainers, and Barty felt as content as any boy would, on the way to London with money in his pocket for fairings. Toward the end of the next day the crowd was so dense that they had to ride at a snail's pace in dust and turmoil, and Barty grew so tired that he nearly tumbled off. David, with a chuckle, lifted the boy around in front of him, and when they reached London after the closing of the gates, and turned to the right toward the little village founded by the Danes, they had to shake Barty awake at Swan Petersen's door. Aunt Olive, a trim, fresh-faced, flaxen-haired woman, laughed heartily as the sleepy boy stumbled in. "How late you are, brother!" she said. "And this is David Saumond, by whom you sent a message last year. Well, it is good to see you. And how are they all at home?" Barty was awake next morning almost as soon as the pigeons were, and peering out of the window he saw David, already out and surveying the street. The boy tumbled into his clothes and down the stairs, and went with David to look about while Farmer Appleby and his sister told the news and unpacked the good things from the country. The Fleet River was crowded with ships of the lesser sort, and the Thames itself was more than twice as broad as it is to-day. Barty wanted to see London Bridge at once, but that was some distance away, and so was London Tower. The tangle of little lanes around the Convent Garden was full of braying donkeys, bawling drivers, cackling poultry and confusion. In Fair-time there was a general briskening of all trade for miles around. At Charing village David hailed a boatman, and all among the swans and other water-fowl, the barges and sailing craft, they went down to London Bridge. Barty had asked any number of questions about this bridge when David returned from London the previous year, but as often happens, the picture he had formed in his mind was not at all like the real thing. It was a wooden bridge, but the beginnings of stone piers could be seen. "They've put Peter de Colechurch at that job," said David. "He has a vision of a brig o' stanes, and swears it shall come true." "Do you think it will?" asked Barty soberly. The vast river as he looked to right and left seemed a mighty creature for one man to yoke. "Not in his time, happen, but some day it will," David answered as they shot under the middle arch. "And yon's the Tower!" Barty felt as if he had seen enough for the day already as he gazed up at the great square keep among the lesser buildings, jutting out into the river as if to challenge all comers. However, there was never a boy who could not go on sight-seeing forever. By the time they had returned to Fleet Street he had tucked away the Tower and London Bridge in his mind and was ready for the Fair. The Fair was a city of booths, of tents, of sheds and of awnings. Bunyan described the like in Vanity Fair. Cloth-sellers from Cambrai, Paris, Ypres, Arras and other towns where weavers dwelt, had a street to themselves, and so did the jewelers. The jewelry was made more for show than worth, and there were gay cords for lacing bodices or shoes, and necklaces that were called "tawdrey chains" from the fair of St. Etheldreda or Saint Audrey, where they were first sold. There were glass beads and perfume-bottles from Venice; there were linens of Damietta, brocaded stuff from Damascus, veils and scarfs from Moussoul--or so they were said to be. Shoes of Cordovan leather were there also, spices, and sweetmeats, herbs and cakes. Old-fashioned people call machine-sawed wooden borders on porches "gingerbread work." The gingerbread sold by old Goody Raby looked very much like them. She had gingerbread horses, and men, and peacocks, and monkeys, gingerbread churches and gingerbread castles, gingerbread kings and queens and saints and dragons and elephants, although the elephant looked rather queer. They were made of a spicy yellow-brown dough rolled into thin sheets, cut into shapes, baked hard and then gilded here and there. The king's crown, the peacock's head and neck, the castle on the elephant's back, were gilded. Barty bought a horse for himself and a small menagerie of animals for the younger children at home. A boy not much older than himself was selling perfume in a tiny corner. It struck Barty that here might be something that his mother would like, and he pulled at Aunt Olive's sleeve and asked her what she thought. She agreed with him, and they spent some pleasant minutes choosing little balls of perfumed wax, which could be carried in a box or bag, or laid away in chests. There was something wholesome and refreshing about the scent, and Barty could not make up his mind what flower it was like. The boy said that several kinds were used in the making of each perfume, and that he had helped in the work. He said that his name was "Vanni," which Barty thought a very queer one, but this name, it appeared, was the same as John in his country. Barty himself would be called there Bartolomeo. Vanni seemed to be known to many of the people at the fair. A tall, brown young fellow with a demure dark-eyed girl on his arm stopped and asked him how trade was, and so did a young man in foreign dress who spoke to him in his own language. This young man was presently addressed as "Matteo," by a gayly clad troubadour, and Barty, with a jump, recognized the young man who had been with the King when he came to look at their dyke. One of the reasons why almost everybody came to Bartlemy Fair was that almost everybody did. It was a place where people who seldom crossed each other's path were likely to meet. "Has Vanni caught anything yet?" the troubadour asked in that language which Barty did not know. "Not yet," the other answered, "but he will. Set a weasel to catch a rat." And the two laughed and parted. But it was Barty who really caught the rat they were talking about. A man with a performing bear had stopped just there and a crowd had gathered about him. Barty had seen that bear the night before, and he could not see over the heads of the men, in any case. A stout elderly merchant trying to make his way through the narrow lanes, fumed and fretted and became wedged in. Barty saw a thin, shabby-faced fellow duck under a big drover's arm, cut a long slit in the stout man's purse that hung at his belt, and slip through the crowd. Just then some one raised a cry that the bear was loose, and everything was confusion. Barty's wit and boldness blocked the thief's game. He tripped the man up with David's staff, and with a flying jump, landed on his shoulders. It was a risky thing to do, for the man had a knife and could use it, but Barty was the best wrestler in his village, and a minute later David had nabbed the rascal and recovered the plunder. "Thank ye, my lad, thank ye," said the merchant, and hurried away. The boy Vanni swept all his goods into a basket and after one look at the thief was off like a shot. Presently up came two or three men in the livery of the King's officers. Meanwhile Farmer Appleby and his sister came up, having seen the affair from a little distance. "My faith," said Aunt Olive indignantly, "he might have spared a penny or two for your trouble. That was Gamelyn Bouverel, one of the richest goldsmiths in Chepe." "I don't care," laughed Barty, "it was good sport." But that was not to be the end of it. They were on their way to the roast-pig booth where cooked meat could be had hot from the fire, when a young Londoner came toward them. "You are the lad who saved my uncle's purse for him," he said in a relieved tone. "I thought I had lost you in the crowd. Here is a fairing for you," and he slipped a silver groat into Barty's hand. "Now, that is more like a Christian," observed Aunt Olive. But Barty was meditating about something, and he was rather silent all through dinner. Besides the hot roast, they bought bread, and Barty had his new "Bartlemy knife" with which to cut his slice of the roast. A costard-monger sold them apples, and the seeds were carefully saved for planting at home. Then they must all see a show, and they crowded into a tent and saw a play acted by wooden marionettes in a toy theater, like a Punch and Judy. In the Cloth Fair the farmer bought fine Flemish cloth for the mother, dyed a beautiful blue, and red cloth for a cloak for Hilda. While Aunt Olive was helping to choose this Barty slipped across the way and looked for Vanni. He had heard Vanni tell the men that the thief's name was Conrad Waibling. Rascals were a new thing in Barty's experience. There was nobody in the village at home who would deliberately hem in a man by a crowd and then rob him. Barty was sure that the man with the performing bear was in it as well. "Vanni," he said, "you know that thief that they caught?" Vanni nodded. "Do you think that the man with the dancing bear was a friend of his?" "I know he was," said Vanni grimly. "He escaped." Barty hesitated. "What do you think they will do to the one that they caught?" "He will be punished," answered Vanni coolly. "He is a poisoner. He has sold poisoned spices--for pay. I think he failed, and did not poison anybody, so that he has had to get his living where he could. He is finished now--ended--no more." Barty felt rather cold. Vanni was so matter-of-fact about it. The Italian boy saw the look on his face. "There is nothing," he added, "so bad as betraying your salt--you understand--to live in a man's house and kill him secretly--to give him food which is death. There are places where no man can trust his neighbor. You do not know what they are like. Your father is his own man." Barty felt that he had seen a great deal in the world since he left the farm in the Danelaw. He was glad to go with his father and Aunt Olive and David into the stately quiet church. The Prior of the monastery--Rahere had long been dead--was a famous preacher, Aunt Olive said, and often preached sermons in rhyme. They went through the long airy quiet rooms of the hospital where the monks were tending sick men, or helping them out into the sun. As they came out, past the box for offerings, and each gave something, Barty left there his silver groat. "I'd rather Saint Bartlemy had it," he said. MIDSUMMER DAY IN ENGLAND A thousand years ago this England drew Into her magic circle Robin, Puck, Friar Rush, the Jester--all the wizard crew That foot it through the mazes for good luck. Flyting and frisking through the Sussex lanes They watched the Roman legions come and go, And the tall ships that once were kingly Spain's Driven like drifting snow. Midsummer Day in England! Faery bells Blue as the skies--and wheat-fields poppy-sown. Queen Mab's own roses--hawthorn-scented dells, And marshes where the bittern broods alone. Bees of this garden, over Salisbury Plain The circling airships drone! XV EDWITHA'S LITTLE BOWL HOW EDWITHA FOUND ROMAN POTTERY IN THE FIELD OF A SUSSEX FARM Under a hawthorn bush, near a white road leading up a hill, in sight of a thatch-roofed farmhouse, two little girls were playing house. Their names were Edwitha and Audrey, and they were cousins. Audrey's father lived in the farmhouse and kept sheep on the Downs, and Edwitha had also lived there nearly all her life. Her father had been lost at sea, and her mother had brought her back to the old home, and died not long after. The two girls had grown up like sisters, for the farmer was not a man who did things by halves, and when he adopted his brother's orphan child he made her his own. The two children were almost exactly of a size, and within a year of the same age; and both had the milky skin and rose-pink cheeks which make English children look so like flowers. But Audrey's hair was yellow as ripe wheat, and Edwitha's was brown like an oak-leaf in autumn; Audrey's eyes were gray, and Edwitha's were dark and dreamy. They wore homespun linen gowns off the same web of watchet blue, and little clumsy leather shoes like sandals, made by the village shoemaker. This particular place was their favorite playhouse. There were two hollows, like dimples in the hill, and the bush bent over one like a roof, while the other had been roofed over by a neighbor-lad, Wilfrid. He had stuck saplings into the ground, bent the tops over and woven branches in and out to hold them. They took root and came out in fine leaf. Wilfrid had seen something like it in a garden, where a walk was roofed in this way and called a "pleached alley." It looked like a bird's nest built on the ground, but it was a very nice little bower. At this particular hour they were making ready for a feast, setting out the eatables on all their best bits of crockery. Whatever was broken in the house was likely to come to them, and besides this, they found a good many pieces of pottery of different kinds on the farm. This had been, a thousand years before, a part of a Roman governor's country estate. When the men were plowing they often turned up scraps of bronze, tiles, or dishes that had been all that time buried in the earth. Edwitha was especially fond of the tiles; and she had collected almost enough of them to make a little hearth. The one she intended for the middle had a picture in colors of a little brown rabbit sitting on the grass, nibbling a carrot, with a blue flower and a yellow one growing close by. It was almost whole--only one corner was broken. Edwitha's dishes were nearly all of the old Roman ware. The fragments were deep red, and some had little black figures and decorations on them. No two fitted together, and there were no pieces large enough for her to make out what the dish had been like. She used to wonder what sort of people had used those dishes, and whether they lived very differently from the Sussex people who came after them. It seemed as if they must have. No dishes made nowadays had any such appearance. Audrey did not care about such matters. She preferred a bowl and jug she had which came from the pottery, and were whole, and would hold milk and honey. When the two girls ate their dinner in their bower, as they sometimes did, they used little wooden bowls with horn spoons. Wilfrid was the only person Edwitha knew, besides herself, who was at all interested in the unearthed pottery. He had brought her some of the best pieces she had, and had asked the priest at the village whether he knew who made such things. Father Cuthbert knew that there had been Romans in England, and he told Wilfrid some Roman history, but there was nothing in it about the way in which the Romans really lived. The very road that ran past the bower had been made by the Romans. It gave its name to the farm--Borstall Farm. It was a track cut deep into the chalk of the hill, not more than ten feet wide, leading to the camp which had once been on the top of the Down. Nothing was there now but the sheep and the gorse and the short, sweet grass of the Downs. On a level terrace-like break in the hillside, overlooking the valley, a Roman villa had stood, a great house with white porticoes, marble columns, tiled floors and painted walls. Mosaic pictures of the gods had been a part of its decorations, and if any one had known it, those buried gods were under the hillside quite uninjured--so firm and strong was the Roman cement, and so thorough the work. Hundreds of guests and relatives and servants had come and gone in the stately palace of the provincial Governor; the farm lands around it had been tilled by hundreds of peasants in its two hundred years of splendor. No wonder there were so many fragments! A great many dishes can be broken in two centuries. Pincher, the old sheep-dog, had been invited to the feast in the bower, but when it was ready he was busy elsewhere. Edwitha went looking for him, and after she had called several times she heard his answering "Wuff! Wuff!" and caught sight of him down among the brambles at the boundary-line of the next farmstead. He came leaping toward her, and as she looked at the place where he had been, she saw that a piece of the bank had slid into a rabbit-burrow, and something red was sticking out of the earth. It was a little red bowl. No such bowls are made in these days. They are never seen except on a shelf in some museum. Wise men have called them "Samian ware," because they have been found on the island of Samos, but as some of this ware has been found wherever the Romans went in Gaul or Britain, it would seem that they must have had some secret process in their potteries and made it out of ordinary clay. The bowl was deep red, and beautifully smooth. Around it was a band of little dancing figures in jet black, so lifelike that it almost seemed as if such figures might come out of the copse and dance away down the hill. Edwitha took some leaves and rubbed off the clay that stuck to the bowl, and the cleaner she made it the prettier it was. Very carefully she carried it back to the bower to show Audrey. Half way there, a dreadful thought came to her. What if Audrey should want the bowl? It was quite perfect--the only whole one they had found--and Audrey always liked things that were whole, not broken or nicked, better than any sort of imperfect ones. Certainly they could not both have it. Edwitha came to a stop, and stood quite still, thinking about it. She knew a place, under the roots of an old tree, where she could keep the bowl, and go and look at it when she was alone, and no one would know that she had it. If Audrey wanted the bowl, and took it, she might let it get broken, and then she would be willing that Edwitha should have it; but that would be worse than not having it at all. Edwitha felt as if she could not bear to have anything happen to the pretty thing. It already seemed like something alive--like a strange, mute person whom nobody understood but herself. She was the only person who really wanted it, and she knew that it wanted her. But under these thoughts which pushed unbidden into Edwitha's mind was her own feeling that it was a meanness even to think them. She and Audrey had all their lives done things together, and Audrey always shared. She always played fair. Edwitha took the bowl in both hands and walked straight and very fast up to the bower. "Audrey," she said, holding out the bowl, "see what I found." Audrey looked at it. "That's like your other dishes, isn't it?" she commented. "Only it is whole. It is just the thing for the dewberries. They will be prettier than in the basket." Edwitha set the bowl in the middle of the table and poured the shining dark fruit into it. It did look pretty, and it had a mat of green oak-leaves under it which made it prettier still. Audrey began sticking white blossoms round the edge to set off the red and green. "I'm glad you found it," she added placidly; "you haven't one dish that is quite whole, and I have a blue one, and a white one, and a jug." Edwitha touched the bowl caressingly with the tips of her fingers. "I will try to find another for you," she said. "If you find any more," answered Audrey, pushing Pincher away from the dish of cold meat, "you can have them. I'd rather have our dishes in sets, I think." Edwitha was poking about in the bank where she had found the bowl, late that afternoon, when Wilfrid came up the bank. There seemed to be no more dishes in sight. "What have you found?" asked Wilfrid. He held it up in the sunlight, and drew a quick breath of delight. "How beautiful it is!" he exclaimed in a low voice. Edwitha was silent. She was filled with a great happiness because she had the bowl. "I wonder how it came to be here," mused Wilfrid, and fell to digging and prodding the earth. "There isn't another in the hole," said Edwitha. "I've been here a long time." "This is the only bit I ever saw that was found just here. But see here, Edwitha, this is clay. It is exactly like the clay they use at the pottery down by the ford, but finer--I think. I tell you--I believe there was a pottery here once." He and Edwitha took the bowl and a few lumps of the clay, next morning, to the Master Potter beyond the village. Wilfrid had served his apprenticeship at this pottery and was now a journeyman. The clay proved to be finer and more workable than that near the pottery, and the deposit was close to the high road, so that donkeys and pack-horses could come up easily to be loaded with their earthen pots. It was even possible, so the Master Potter said, that it would make a better grade of ware than they had been able to make hitherto. Finally, and most important from the point of view of Wilfrid and Edwitha, it was on Wilfrid's own farm, he had his old mother to support, and this discovery might make it possible for him to have his own pottery and be a Master Potter. Edwitha often wished that the bowl could speak, and tell her how it was made, and who drew the little dancing figures. In course of time Wilfrid tried some experiments with pottery, ornamenting it with figures in white clay on the colored ground, and searching continually for new and better methods of glazing, baking, and modeling his wares. At last, when the years of his apprenticeship had all been served, and he knew everything that was taught in the old Sussex pottery by the ford, he came one spring twilight to the farmhouse and found Edwitha in the garden. "It is no use," he said, half-laughing. "I shall never be content to settle down here until I have seen what they are doing in other lands. If there is anywhere a man who can make things like that bowl of yours, I must learn what he can teach me. It may be that the secret has been lost--if it has, I will come back and work here again. A man was never meant to do less than his best, Edwitha." "I know," said Edwitha. "Those figures make me feel so too. They always did. I don't want to live anywhere but here--and now Audrey has gone away, uncle and aunt could never do without me--but I wish we could make beautiful things in England." "Some of the clever ones are in England," Wilfrid answered. "They are doing good work in glass, I know, and in carven stone, and some other things, but that is mostly for the rich abbeys. I shall never be aught but a potter--but I will be as good a one as I can." Therefore Wilfrid took scrip and staff and went on pilgrimage to France, and there he saw things which made him sure that men had not lost the love of beauty out of the world. But he could hear of no master potters who made anything like the deep red Roman ware. After a year of wandering he came back, full of new plans, and with many tales to tell; but he told Edwitha that in all his travels he had seen nothing which was better worth looking at than her little Roman bowl. [Illustration: "'HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS!' HE EXCLAIMED"--_Page 192_] SONG OF THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS All among the furze-bush, round the crystal dewpond, Feed the silly sheep like a cloud upon the down. Come safely home to croft, bear fleeces white and soft, Then we'll send the wool-wains to fair London Town. All in the dawnlight, white as a snowdrift Lies the wool a-waiting the spindle and the wheel. Sing, wheel, right cheerily, while I pace merrily,-- Knot by knot the thread runs on the busy reel. All in the sunshine, gay as a garden, Lie the skeins for weaving, the blue and gold and red. Fly, shuttle, merrily, in and out cheerily, Making all the woof bright with a rainbow thread. All in the noontide, wend we to market,-- Hear the folk a-chaffering like jackdaws up and down. Master, give ear to me, here's cloth for you to see, Fit for a canopy in fair London Town. All in the twilight sweet with the hearth-smoke, Homeward we go riding while the vesper bells ring. Southdown or Highland Scot, Fleming or Huguenot, Weaving our tapestries we shall serve our King! XVI LOOMS IN MINCHEN LANE HOW CORNELYS BAT, THE FLEMISH WEAVER, BEFRIENDED A BLACK SHEEP AND SAVED HIS WOOL It was in the early springtime, when lambs are frisking like rabbits upon the tender green grass, and all the land is like a tapestry of blue and white and gold and pink and green. Robert Edrupt, as he rode westward from London on his homeward way, felt that he had never loved his country quite so well as now. He had gone with a flock of English sheep to northern Spain, and come back in the same ship with the Spanish jennets which the captain took in exchange. On one of those graceful half-Arabian horses he was now riding, and on another, a little behind him, rode a swarthy, black-haired and black-eyed youngster in a sheepskin tunic, who looked about him as if all that he saw were strange. In truth Cimarron, as they called him, was very like a wild sheep from his native Pyrenees, and Edrupt was wondering, with some amusement and a little apprehension, what his grandmother and Barbara would say. The boy had been his servant in a rather dangerous expedition through the mountains, and but for his watchfulness and courage the English wool-merchant might not have come back alive. Edrupt had been awakened between two and three in the morning and told that robbers were on their trail, and then, abandoning their animals, Cimarron had led him over a precipitous cliff and down into the next valley by a road which he and the wild creatures alone had traveled. When the horses were led on shipboard the boy had come with them, and London was no place to leave him after that. They rode up the well-worn track into the yard of Longley Farm, and leaving the horses with his attendant, Edrupt went to find his family. Dame Lysbeth was seated in her chair by the window, spinning, and would have sent one of the maids to call the mistress of the house, but Edrupt shook his head. He said that he would go look for Barbara himself. He found her kneeling on the turf tending a motherless lamb, and it was a good thing that the lamb had had nearly all it could drink already, for when Barbara looked up and saw who was coming the rest of the milk was spilled. She looked down, laughing and blushing, presently, at the hem of her russet gown. "Sheep take a deal o' mothering," she explained, "well-nigh as much as men. Come and see the new-born lambs, Robert, will 'ee?" Robert stroked the head of the old sheep-dog that had come up for his share of petting. "Here is a black sheep for thee to mother, sweetheart," he said with a laugh. "He's of a breed that is new in these parts." Barbara looked at the rough, unkempt young stranger, with surprise but no unkindness in her eyes. She was not easily upset, and however wild he looked, the new-comer had been brought by Robert, and that was all that concerned her. "Where did tha find him, and what's his name?" she inquired. Edrupt laughed again, in proud satisfaction this time; he might have known that Barbara would behave just in that way. He explained, and Cimarron was forthwith shown a corner of a loft where he might sleep, and introduced to Don the collie as a shepherd in good standing. He and the sheep-dog seemed to understand each other almost at once, and though one was almost as silent as the other, they became excellent comrades. Besides the sheep, Cimarron seemed interested in but one thing on the farm, and that was the old loom which had belonged to Dame Garland and still stood in the weaving-chamber, where he slept. Dame Lysbeth, rummaging there for some flax that she wanted, found the boy sitting on the bench with one bare foot on the treadle, studying the workings of the clumsy machine. It was a "high-warp" loom, in which the web is vertical, and in the loom-chamber where Barbara's maids spun and wove, Edrupt had set up a Flemish "low-warp" loom with all the latest fittings. Into that place the herd-boy had never ventured. But Dame Lysbeth saw with surprise that he seemed to understand this loom quite well. When he was asked, he said that he had seen weaving done on such a loom in his country. "Robert will be surprised," said Barbara thoughtfully. "Who ever saw a lad like that who cared about weaving?" But Edrupt was not as mystified as the women were. He thought it quite possible that the dark young stranger might have come of some Eastern race which had made weaving an art beyond anything the West could do. "I think," he said one morning, "that I will take him to London and let him try what he can do in Cornelys Bat's factory." Cornelys Bat was a Flemish weaver who had come to London some months before and set up his looms in an old wool-storeroom outside London Wall. He was a very skillful workman, but Flanders had weavers enough to supply half Europe with clothing, and his own town of Arras was already known for its tapestries. The Lowlands were overcrowded, and there was not bread enough to go around. Edrupt, whom he had known for several years, helped him to settle himself in England, and he had met with almost immediate success. Now he had with him not only his old parents, a younger brother and sister and an aunt with her two children, but three neighbors who also found life hard in populous Flanders. He felt that he had done well in following Edrupt's advice, "When the wool won't come to you, go where the wool is." He was a square-built, placid, light-haired man with a stolid expression that sometimes misled people. When Edrupt came to him with a strange new apprentice, he readily consented to give the boy a chance. It was the only chance that there was, for the Weavers' Guild would not have had him. After a while Cimarron, or Zamaroun as the other 'prentices called him, was promoted from porter to draw-boy, as the weaver's assistant was termed. This work did not need skill, exactly, but it did demand strength and close attention. The boy from the Pyrenees was as strong as a young ox, and he was never tired of watching the work and seeing exactly how it was done. His silent, quick strength suited Cornelys Bat. Weaving is work which needs the constant thought of the weaver, especially when the work is tapestry, and just at present the Flemings had secured an order for a set of tapestries for one of the King's country houses. Henry II. was so continually traveling that the King of France once petulantly observed that he must fly like a bird through the air to be in so many places during the year. He had a way of mixing sport with state affairs, and a week spent in some palace like Woodstock or Clarendon might be divided evenly between his lawyers and his hunting-dogs. It is also said of him that he never forgot a face or a fact once brought to his notice. Perhaps he learned more on his hunting trips than any one imagined. [Illustration: HIGH-WARP LOOM] [Illustration: LOW-WARP LOOM] The tapestry weaving was far more complex and difficult than anything done by Barbara Edrupt's maids. The loom used by the Flemings was a "low-warp" loom, in which the web is horizontal. When the heavy timbers were set up they were mortised together, that is, a projection in one fitted into a hollow in another, dovetailing them together without nails. Wooden pegs fitted into holes, and thus the frame, in all its parts, could be taken to pieces and carried from place to place on pack-horses if necessary. An ordinary loom was about eight feet long and perhaps four feet wide, the web usually being not more than a yard wide, and more commonly twenty-three or four inches. Broadcloth was woven in those days, but not very commonly, for it needed a specially constructed loom and two weavers, one for each side, because of the width of the cloth. In tapestry weaving the picture was made in strips, as a rule, and sewed together. The idea of tapestry weaving in the early part of the Middle Ages was to tell a story. Few colors were used, and instead of making one large picture, which would have been very difficult with the looms then in use, the tapestries were made in sets, in which a series of pictures from some legends or chronicle could be shown. When in place, they were wall-coverings hung loosely from great iron hooks over which rings were slipped, or hangings for state beds, or sometimes a strip of tapestry was hung above the carved choir-stalls of a church, horizontally, to add a touch of color to the gray walls. When a court moved, or there was a festival day in the church, these woven or embroidered hangings could be taken from one place to another. Many tapestries were embroidered by hand, which was easier for the ordinary woman than weaving a picture, but took far more time. Kings and noblemen who had money to spend on such things would order sets of tapestry woven by such skilled workmen as Cornelys Bat and his Flemings, or the monks of Saumur in France, or the weavers of Poitiers. In Sicily, these hangings were often made of silk, for silk was already made there. Gold and silver thread was used sometimes, both in weaving and embroidery. Wool, however, was very satisfactory, not only because it was less costly than silk, but because it took dye well and made a web of rich soft colors. It was this which had drawn Robert Edrupt into Flanders to see what the weavers there were about, what sort of wool they used, and what the outlook was for their work. In Cornelys Bat he had found a man who could tell him very nearly all that there was to know about weaving. Yet weaving is a craft of so many possibilities and complexities that a man may spend his whole life at it and still feel himself only a learner. The master weaver liked Cimarron because the boy never chattered, but kept his whole mind on his work. When Cornelys was revolving some new combination or design in his head, his drawboy was as silent as the weaver's beam, and the whirr and clack of the loom were the only sounds in the place. The weaver at such a loom sat at one end on a little board, with the heavy roller or weaver's beam on which the warp, the lengthwise thread, was fastened in front of him. At the far end of the frame was another roller, the warp being stretched taut between the two. As the work progressed the web was rolled up gradually toward the weaver, and the pattern, if there was one, lay under the warp and was rolled up on a separate roller. Every skilled weaver had a number of simple patterns in his head, as a knitter has, but for a tapestry picture a pattern was drawn and colored on parchment ruled in squares, and a duplicate pattern made without the color, showing all the arrangement of the threads and used in "gating" as the arrangement of the warp in the beginning was called. Every weaver had his own way of gating, and his own little tricks of weaving. It was a craft that gave a chance for any amount of ingenuity. In plain, "tabby" or "taffety" weaving, the weft or woof, the crosswise thread, went in and out exactly as in darning, and the two treadles underneath the web, worked by the feet, lifted alternately the odd threads and the even threads, the weaver tossing the shuttle from hand to hand between them. At each stroke of the shuttle the swinging beam, or batten, beat up the weft to make a close, firm, even weave. The shuttle, made of boxwood and shaped like a little boat, held in its hollow the "quill" or bobbin carrying the weft. When all the "yarn," as thread for weaving was always called, was wound off, the weaver fastened on the end of the next thread with what is even now called a "weaver's knot." As the side of the web toward him was the wrong side of the cloth, no knot was allowed to show on the right side. In brocaded, figured or tapestry weaving, leashes or loops called heddles were hung from above and lifted whatever part of the warp they were attached to. For example, three threads out of ten in the warp could be lifted by one group of heddles with one motion of the treadle, the heddles being grouped or "harnessed" to make this possible. It can be seen that in weaving by hand a tapestry with perhaps forty or fifty figures and animals, besides flowers and trees, the most convenient arrangement of the heddles called for brains as well as skill of hand in the weaver who did the work. The drawboy's work was to pull each set of cords in regular order forward and downward. These cords had to raise a weight of about thirty-six pounds, which the boy must hold for perhaps a third of a minute while the ground was woven. He was in a way a part of the machine, but a part which had a brain. A ratchet on the roller which held the finished web kept it from slipping back and held the warp stretched firm at that end, and in some looms there was a ratchet on the other roller as well. But Cornelys Bat preferred weights at the far end of the warp. These allowed the warp to give a tiny bit at every blow of the batten and then drew it instantly taut, no matter how heavy the box was made. "This kindly giving," explained the weaver, "preventeth the breaking of the slender threads. No law may be kept too straitly and no thread drawn too strictly. That is a part of the craft." Cornelys may have been thinking of something more than weaving when he made that observation. The quiet tapissiers of Arras had caused an uproar in the Guild of London Weavers. A few cool heads advised the others to live and let live. The Flemings would be good English folk in time, and whatever they knew would help the craft in the future. But others, forgetting that they had refused to let their sons serve apprenticeship to Cornelys Bat when he came, railed at him for taking Flemings, Gascons, Florentines and even a vagabond from nobody knew where, into his employ. "We will have no black sheep in our fold," vociferated the leader of this faction, a keen-faced, tow-headed man of middle age. "These foreigners will ruin the craft." "Tut, tut," protested Martin Byram, "I have heard Master Cole of Reading say that thy grandfather, his 'prentice boy, was a Swabian, Simon. And he brought no craft to England." There was a laugh, for everybody knew that the superior skill of the Flemings was one main cause of their success in the market. Some of the weavers even had the insight to see that so far from taking work away from any English weaver, they were thus far doing work which would have gone abroad to find them if they had not been here, and the gold paid them was kept and spent in London markets. For all that, the feeling against the Flemings grew and spread, and might have broken out into open violence if they had not been working on the King's tapestries. Nobody felt like interfering with them until that job was done, for the King might ask questions, and not like the answers. How much of all this Cornelys Bat knew, no one could tell. Cimarron watched him, but the broad, thoughtful face was placid as usual. One day, however, the dark young apprentice was set upon in the street, where he had gone on an errand, by a crowd of other lads who nearly tore the clothes off his back. They had not reckoned on effectual fighting strength in this foreign youth, and they found that even a black sheep can be dangerous on occasion. The threats which they muttered set the boy's mountain-bred senses on the alert, and he went back to the master weaver with the information that as soon as the King's tapestries were finished the looms and their shelter would be burned over their heads. "I hid in the loft and heard," said Cimarron earnestly. "They are evil men here, master." The Fleming frowned slightly and balanced the beam of his loom--he was about to begin the last panel--thoughtfully in his hand. "So it seems," he said. "Well, we will finish the tapestries as early as may be." One of the weavers saw lights in the Flemish loom-rooms that night, and reported that the strangers were working by candle-light, contrary to the law of the Guild--to which they did not belong. But Cornelys Bat was gathering together the work already done, and he and Cimarron and two of the other men carried it before morning to the warehouse of Gilbert Gay, the merchant, where it would be safe. They also took there certain bales of fine wool, dyes, and some household goods, and all this was loaded the next day on a boat and sent up the Thames to a point above London, where Robert Edrupt's pack-horses took it to King's Barton. "It is no use to try to fight the entire Guild," said Edrupt ruefully. "You had best come to our village and make your home there. When this has blown over you may come back to London." "If I were alone I would not budge," said the Fleming with a sternness in his blue eyes. "But there are the old folk and the little ones. We have left our own land and come where the wool was; it is now time for the work to come to us." "I will warrant you it will," said Master Gay. "But are you going to leave your looms for them to burn?" "Not quite," said Cornelys Bat, grimly. The mob came just after nightfall of the day after the women and children, with the rest of the household goods, had gone on their way to a new home. It was not a very well organized crowd, and was armed with clubs, pikes, and torches mainly. It found to its astonishment that the timbers of a loom, heavy and well seasoned, may make excellent weapons, and that the arm of a weaver is not feeble nor his spirit weak. It was no part of the plan of Cornelys Bat to leave the buildings of Master Gay undefended, and the determined, organized resistance of the Flemings repelled the attack. The next day it was found that the weavers had gone, and their quarters were occupied by some of Master Gay's men who were storing there a quantity of this year's fleeces. Meanwhile the Flemings had settled in the little road that ran past the nunnery at King's Barton and was called Minchen Lane. THE WISHING CARPET My rug lies under the candle-light, Flame-red, sea-blue, leaf-brown, gold-bright, Born of the shifting ancient sand Of a far-away desert land. There in Haroun al Raschid's day A carpet enchanted, their wise men say, Was woven for princes, in realms apart-- And so is this rug of my heart! Here is a leaf like the heart of a rose, And here the shift in the pattern shows How another weft in the tireless loom Set the gold of the skies a-bloom. Old songs, old legends and ancient words They weave in the web as they pasture their herds On the barren slopes of a mountain height In the dusk of the lonely night. Prayers and memories and wordless dreams, Changeful shadows and lancet gleams,-- The Eden Tree in its folding wall Knows them and guards them all. To Moussoul market the rug they brought With all its treasure of woven thought, And thus over half a world of sea Came the Wishing Rug to me. XVII THE HERBALIST'S BREW HOW TOMASO, THE PHYSICIAN OF PADUA, FOUND A CURE FOR A WEARY SOUL There was thunder in the air, one summer day in King's Barton. Dame Lavender, putting her drying herbs under cover, wondered anxiously what Mary was doing. The moods of the royal lady in the castle depended very much on the weather, and both of late had been uncertain. Strong-willed, hot-tempered, ambitious and adventurous, this Queen had no traits that were suited to a quiet existence in the country. Yet she would have been about as safe a person to have at large as a wild-cat among harriers. Whoever had the worst of it, the fight would be sensational. When made prisoner she was on the way to the court of France, in which her rebellious sons could always find aid. Aquitaine was all but in open revolt against the Norman interloper--it was only through her that Henry had held that province at all. Scotland was ready for trouble at any time; Ireland was in tumult; the Welsh were in a permanent state of revolt. But Norman though he was, the King had won his way among his English subjects. They never forgot that he was only half Norman after all. His Saxon blood, cold and stubborn, steadied his Norman daring, and he could be alternately bold and crafty. Eleanor of Aquitaine was more an exile in her husband's own country than she would have been in France or Italy. His people might rebel against their King themselves, but they did not sympathize with her for doing it. They were as unfeeling as their gray, calm skies. Instead of weeping and bemoaning herself she made life difficult for her household. Oddly enough the two English girls got on with her better than the rest. Mary's even, sunny temper was never ruffled, and Barbara's North-country disposition had an iron common-sense at the core. The gentle-born damsels of the court were too yielding. When little hot flashes lightened among the far-off hills, and a distant rumble sounded occasionally, the Queen was pacing to and fro on the top of the great keep. It was not the safest place to be in case of a storm, for the castle was the highest building in the neighborhood. Philippa, working sedately at a tapestry emblem of a tower in flames, looked up the stairway and shivered as if she were cold. "Mary," she queried, as the still-room maid came through the bower, "where is Master Tomaso?" "In his study, I think," Mary answered. "Shall I call him?" "Nay--I thought----" Philippa left the sentence unfinished and folded her work; then she climbed the narrow stair. When the Queen turned and saw her she was standing with her slim hands resting on the battlement. "What are you doing away from your tapestry-frame, wench?" demanded her mistress. "Are you spying on me again?" "Your Grace," Philippa answered gently, "I could never spy on you--not even if my own father wished it. I--I was talking with Master Tomaso last night, and he said strange things about the stars. I would you could have heard him." The Queen laughed scornfully. "As if it were not enough to be prisoned in four walls, the girl wants to believe herself the puppet of the heavens! Look you, silly pigeon, if there be a Plantagenet star you may well fear it, for brother hates brother and all hate their father--and belike will hate their children. Were you asking him the day of my death?" "I was but asking what flowers belonged to the figures of the zodiac in my tapestry," answered Philippa. "He says that a man may rule the stars." "I wish that a woman could," mocked the Queen. "How you silly creatures can go on, sticking the needle in and out, in and out, day after day, I cannot see. One would think that you were weavers of Fate. I had rather cast myself over the battlements than look forward to thirty years of stitchery!" She swept her trailing robes about her and vanished down the stairs. Philippa, following, saw with a certain relief that she turned toward the rooms occupied by old Tomaso. The physician was equal to most situations. Yet in the Queen's present mood anything might arouse her anger. The study was of a quaint, bare simplicity in furnishing. It had a chair, a stool, a bench under the window, a table piled with leather-bound books, a large chest and a small one, an old worm-eaten oaken dresser with some flasks and dishes. A door led into the laboratory, and another into the cell where the philosopher slept. As the Queen entered he rose and with grave courtesy offered her his chair, which she did not take. She stood looking out across the quiet hills, and pressed one hand and then the other against her cheeks--then she turned, a dark figure against the stormy sky. "They say that you know all medicine," she flung out at him. "Have you any physic for a wasted soul?" With a fierce gesture she pointed at the half-open door. "Why do you stay in this dull sodden England--you who are free?" "There are times, your Grace," the physician replied tranquilly, "when I forget whether this is England or Venetia." The Queen moved restlessly about the room, and stopped to look at an herbal. "Will you teach me the properties of plants?" she asked, as she turned the pages carelessly. "With Mary's help we might make here an herb-garden. It is well to know the noxious plants from the wholesome, lest--unintentionally--one should put the wrong flavor in a draught." Tomaso had seen persons in this frame of mind before. He had taught many pupils the properties of plants, but he had his own ways of doing it. In his native city of Padua and elsewhere, there were chemists who owed their fame to the number of poisons they understood. "I have some experiments in hand which may interest your Grace," he answered. "If you will come into my poor studio you shall see them." He led the way into the inner chamber where no one was ever allowed to come. The walls were lined with shelves on which stood jars, flasks, mortars and other utensils whose use the Queen could not guess. Tomaso did not warn her not to touch any flask. She handled, sniffed and all but tasted. She finally went so far as to pour a small quantity of an unsensational-looking fluid into a glass, and a drop fell on the edge of her mantle, in which it burned a clean hole. [Illustration: "TOMASO SEEMED NOT TO HAVE SEEN HER ACTION"] Tomaso was pouring something into a bowl from a retort, and seemed not to have seen the action. Then he added a pinch of a colorless powder, and dipped a skein of silk into the bowl. It came out ruby-red. Another pinch of powder, another bath, and it was like a handful of iris petals. Other experiments gave emerald like rain-wet leaves in sunlight, gold like the pale outer petals of asphodels, ripe glowing orange, blue like the Mediterranean. Then suddenly the light in the stone-arched window was darkened and thunder crashed overhead. The little brazier in the far corner glowed like a red eye, and Tomaso had to light a horn lantern before the Queen could see her way out of the room. "We shall have to wait, now, until after the storm," he said, as he led the way into the outer room. "I am making these experiments for the benefit of a company of weavers whom a young friend of mine has brought here. The young man--he is a wool-merchant--has an idea that we can weave tapestry here as well as they can in Damascus if we have the wherewithal, and I said that I would attend to the dyeing of the yarn." The Queen gave a contemptuous little laugh and sank into the great chair. "These Saxons! I think they are born with paws instead of hands! They are good for nothing but to herd cattle and plow and reap. Do your stars tell you foolish tales like that, Master Tomaso?" "I did not ask them," said the old man tranquilly. "I use my eyes when I can. The weavers are Flemish, and I see no cause why they should not weave as good cloth here as they did at home. They had English wool there, and they will have it here. There is a Spaniard among them, and I do not know what he will do when the chilly rains come, poor imp. He does not like anything in England, as it is." "Poor imp!" the Queen repeated. "How do these weavers come here, so far from any town?" "Well, they came like most folk, because they had to come," smiled the Paduan. "The English weavers are inclined to be jealous folk, and they took the view that these Flemings were foreigners and had no right within London Wall--or outside it either, for they were in a lane somewhere about Mile End. Jealousy fed also on their success in their work--it was far superior to anything London looms can do. And certain dealers in fine cloth saw their profits threatened, and so did the Florentine importers. What with one thing and another Cornelys Bat and his people had to leave the city, or lose all that they possessed. The reasons were as mixed as the threads of a tapestry, but that is the way with life." "And why are you wasting time on them?" the Queen demanded. "My motives are also mixed," answered the old man. "Being myself an alien in a strange land, I had sympathy for them--especially Cimarron, the imp. Also it is interesting to work in a new field, and I have never done much with dyestuffs. I sometimes feel like a child gathering bright pebbles on the shore; each one seems brighter than the last. But really, I think I work because I dislike to spend my time in things which will not live after me. It seemed to me that if these Flemish weavers come here in colonies, teaching their art to such English as can learn, it will bring this land independence and wealth in years to come. There is plenty of pasturage for sheep, and wool needs much labor to make it fit for human use. Edrupt, the merchant--his wife is one of your women, by the way--says that this one craft of weaving will make cities stronger than anything else. And that will disturb some people." The Queen's eyes flashed with wicked amusement. She had heard the King rail to his barons upon the impudence of London. She knew that those who invaded London privilege came poorly out of it. "Barbara's husband," she said thoughtfully. "I did not know that he was a merchant--I thought he was one of these clod-hopping farmers." Tomaso did not enlighten her. Curiosity is the mother of knowledge. He peered out at his fast-filling cisterns. "This rain-water," he observed, "will be excellent for my dyestuffs." The Queen gave a little light laugh. "The heavens roar anathema maranatha," she cried, "and the philosopher says, 'I will fill my tubs.' You seem to be assured that the powers above are devoted to your service." "It is as well," smiled the physician, "to have them to your aid if possible. Some men have a--positive genius--for being on the wrong side. The growth of a people is like the growth of a vine. It will not twine contrary to nature." "But these are not your people," the Queen persisted. "No one will know who did the work you are doing." "Cornelys Bat the tapissier told me," Tomaso answered, "that no one knows now who it was who set the foot at work by tipping the loom over, and separated the warp threads by two treadles. Yet that changed the whole rule of weaving." "I have a mind to see this tapestry," announced Eleanor abruptly. "Tell your Cat, or Rat, or Bat, whatever his name is, to bring his looms here. If he works well we will have something for our walls besides this everlasting embroidery. I have watched Philippa working the histories of the saints this six months,--I believe she has all the eleven thousand virgins of Saint Ursula to march along the wall. I am ready to burn a candle to Saint Attila." Tomaso's eyes twinkled. That friendly twinkle went far to unlock the Queen's confidence. "Here am I," she went on impetuously, "mewed up here like a clipped goose that hears the cry of the flock. If there is another Crusade I would joyfully set forth as a man-at-arms, but belike I shall never even hear of it. I warrant you Richard will lead a host to Jerusalem some day--and I shall not be there to see." The Paduan lifted one long finger. "You fret because you are strong and see far. Your descendants may rule Europe. The Plantagenets are a building race. You can lay foundations for kings of the years to come. You have here the chance of knowing this people, whom none of your race did ever know truly. Your tiring women, the men who till these fields and live by their toil, the churchmen, the traders--knowing them you know the kingdom. Bend your wit and will to rule the stars, madam. Thus you bring wisdom out of ill-hap, and in that way only can a King be secure." The Queen sat silent, chin in hand, her eyes searching the shadows of the room, for the storm had passed and twilight was falling. "Gramercy for your sermon, Master Tomaso," she said at last, as she rose to leave the room. "Some day Henry will see that it was not I who taught the Plantagenets to quarrel. Send for your tapissiers to-morrow, and I will study weaving for a day." To the comfort of all, the Queen was in a gay humor that evening. The carved ivory chessmen were brought out, and as she watched Ranulph and Philippa in the mimic war-game Eleanor pondered over the recent betrothal of Princess Joan to the King of Sicily. "Women," she muttered, "are only pawns on a man's chessboard." "Aye," laughed Ranulph, as his white knight retreated, "but your Grace may remember that the pawn when it comes to Queen may win the game." The bulky loom of Cornelys Bat was set up next morning in the old hall, and the Queen came down to watch the strange, complex, curious task. Then she would take the shuttle herself and try it, and to the surprise of every one, kept at the task until she might well have challenged a journeyman. While the threads interlaced and shifted in a rainbow maze her mind was traveling strange pathways. The shuttle, flung to and fro in deft strong skill, was not like the needle with its maddening stitch after stitch, and there was no petty chatter in the room. The Flemish weaver might be silent, but he was not stupid, and the drawboy, the dusky youth with the coarse black hair, was like a wild panther-cub. Such a blend as these weaving-folk, brought together by one aim, could teach the arbitrary barons their place. Normandy, Aquitaine, Anjou, Brittany,--England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales--what a web of Empire they would make! And if into the dull russet and gray of this England there came a vivid young life like her Richard's--yellow hair, sea-blue eyes, gay daring, impulsive gallantry--and under all the stern fiber of the Norman--what kind of a tapestry would that be? Thus, as women have done through the centuries, Eleanor of Aquitaine let her mind play about her fingers. After a while she left the work to the weavers and watched Mary Lavender making dyestuffs under Tomaso's direction. It was fascinating to try for a color and make it come to a shade. It was yet more so to make new combinations and see what happened. Red and green dulled each other. A touch of orange made scarlet more brilliant. Lavender might be deepened to royal violet or paled to the purple-gray of ashes. The yarns, as the skillful Flemings handled them, were better than any gold thread, and the gorgeous blossom-hues of the wools were like an Eastern carpet. Presently the Queen began devising a set of hangings for a State bedchamber, the pictures to be scenes from the life of Charlemagne--the suggested comparison of this monarch with the King had its point. An Irish monk-bred lad with a knack at catching likenesses came by, and made the designs, under Queen Eleanor's direction; and during this undertaking she learned much concerning the state of Ireland. That ended and the weaving begun, she took to questioning Cimarron the drawboy. "I suppose," she jibed, "men grow like that they live by, or you would never have been driven out of London like sheep. I may become lamblike myself some day." Cimarron's white teeth gleamed. "I would not say that we went like sheep," he retorted, and he told the story of their going. "There were the old folk and the little ones, your Grace," he ended. "The master cares for his own people, and his work. He does not heed other folk's opinions." The Queen laughed gleefully. "I wish I had been at that hunting--the wolves driven by their quarry. My faith, a weaver's beam is not such a bad weapon after all." More than ten years after, when Richard I. was crowned King of England, one of his first acts was to make his mother regent in his absence. It was she who raised the money to outbid Philip of France when Coeur de Lion was to be ransomed. As one historian has said, she displayed qualities then and later, which prove that she spent her days in something besides needlework. She did not stay long at King's Barton, but one of Cornelys Bat's tapestries was always known as the Queen's Maze. In one way and another during the sixteen years of her captivity she learned nearly all that there was to know of the temper of the people and the nature of the land. [Illustration: THE MARIONETTES] THE MARIONETTES After the council comes the feast--and then Jongleurs and minstrels, and the sudden song That wakes the trumpets and the din of war,-- But now the Cæsar's mood is for a jest. Fellow--you juggler with the puppet-show, The Emperor permits you to come in. Ah, yes,--the five wise virgins--very fair. There certainly can be no harm in that. The bride, methinks, is somewhat like Matilda, Wife of Duke Henry whom they call the Lion. Aye, to be sure--the little hoods and cloaks All tricked out with the arms of Saxony. This way--be brisk now--to the banquet-hall. 'Tis clever--here come bride and bride-maidens With lights in silvern lanterns. Very good. Milan had puppet-shows, but none, I venture, So well set forth as this.... No Lombard here, He speaks pure French. Aha, the jester comes! A biting satire, yes, a merry jape,-- The Bear that aped the Lion! A good song, 'Twill please the Saxon, surely. Now, what next? Here come the foolish virgins all array'd In mourning veils, with little lamps revers'd. The merchant will not sell them any oil, The jester mocks them and the monk rebukes them,-- A shrewd morality. Aye,--loyalty, Truth, kindliness and mercy, and wise judgment Are the five precious oils to light a throne. A pretty compliment, a well-turned phrase! Woe to the foolish Virgins of the Lombards If we find lamps unlighted on our way! Then surely will the door of hope shut fast And in that outer darkness will be heard Weeping and howling.... So, is that the end? Hark, fellow, you have pleased the Emperor, This ring's the token. Take a message now That may be spoken by your wooden King,-- The master-mind regards all Christendom As but a puppet-show,--he pulls the strings, The others act and speak to suit his book,-- Aye, truly, a most excellent puppet-show! XVIII THE HURER'S LODGERS HOW THE POPPET OF JOAN, THE DAUGHTER OF THE CAPMAKER, WENT TO COURT AND KEPT A SECRET Joan, the little daughter of the hurer, sat on a three-legged stool in the corner of her father's shop, nursing her baby. It was not much of a baby, being only a piece of wood with a knob on the end. But the shop was not much of a shop. Gilles the hurer was a cripple, and it was all that he could do to give Joan and her mother a roof over their heads. They had sometimes two meals a day; oftener one; occasionally none at all. If he could have made hats and caps like those which he used to make when he was a tradesman in Milan, every sort of fine goods would have come into the shop. In processions and pageants, at banquets, weddings, betrothals, christenings, funerals, on every occasion in life, the people wore headgear which helped to make the picture. The fashion of a man's hat suited his position in life. Details and decorations varied more or less, but the styles very seldom did. Velvet and fur were allowed only to persons of a certain dignity; hats were made to show embroidery, which might be of gold thread and jeweled. Merchants wore a sort of hood with a long loose crown which could be used as a pocket. This protected the neck and ears on a journey, and had a lining of wool, fur, or lambskin. Court ladies wore hoods of velvet, silk or fine cloth for traveling. At any formal social affair a lady wore some ornamental head-dress with a veil which she could draw over her face. The wimple, usually worn by elderly women, was a scarf of fine linen thrown over the head, brought closely around the throat and chin, and held by a fillet. In later and more luxurious and splendid times, the cone-shaped and crescent-shaped head-dresses came in. Hats were not common in the twelfth century. The hair fell in carefully arranged curls, long braids or loose tresses on the shoulders; the face was framed in delicate veils of silk or sendal, kept in place by a chaplet of flowers or a coronet of gold. Every maiden learned to weave garlands in set patterns, and could make a wreath in any one of several given styles, for her own hair or for decorating a building. Red, green and blue were the colors most often used in dress, and on any festival day the company presented a very gay appearance. Gilles, however, was obliged to confine himself to the making of hures or rough woolen caps for common men. He had no apprentices, although his wife and daughter sometimes helped him. His shop was a corner of a very old building most of which had been burned in a great London fire. It was the oldest house in the street and was roofed with stone, which probably saved it. The ends of the beams in the wall fitted into sockets in other beams, and were set straight, crooked or diagonally without any apparent plan. Two or three hundred years before, when the house was built, the space between the timbers had been filled in with interlaced branches, over which mud was plastered on in thick coats. This made the kind of wall known as "wattle and daub." It was not very scientific in appearance, but it was weather-proof. As there was no fireplace or hearth, the family kept warm--when it could--by means of an iron brazier filled with coals. Cooking--when they had anything to cook--was done over the brazier in a chafing-dish, or in a tiny stone fireplace outside the rear wall, made of scattered stones by Joan's mother. Gilles was a Norman, but he had been born in Sicily, which had been conquered by the Norman adventurer Guiscard long before. He had gone to Milan when a youth, and there he had met Joan's mother--and stayed. The luxury of Lombard cities made any man who could manufacture handsome clothing sure of a living. "Milaner and Mantua-Maker" on a sign above a shop centuries later meant a shop where one could find the latest fashions. Gilles was prosperous and happy, and his little girl was just learning to walk, when the siege of Milan put an end to everything. He came to London crippled from a wound and palsied from fever and set about finding work. They might have starved if it had not been for a Florentine artist, Matteo, who was also a stranger in London, but had all that he could do. He lodged for a year in the solar chamber, as the room above the shop was called. Poor as their shelter was, it had this room to spare. Matteo paid his way in more than money; he improved the house. He understood plaster work, and covered the inner walls with a smooth creamy mixture which made a beautiful surface for pictures. On this fair and spotless plaster he made studies of what he saw day by day, drawing, painting, painting out and making new studies as he certainly could not have done had he been lodged in a palace. All along two sides of the shop was a procession of dignitaries in the most gorgeous of holiday robes. In the chamber above were portraits of the King and Queen, the Bishop of London, Prior Hagno preaching to a crowd at Bartlemy Fair, some of the chief men of the government, and animals wild and tame. He told Joan stories about the paintings, and these walls were the only picture-books that she had. Then they sheltered a smooth-spoken Italian called Giuseppe, who nearly got them into terrible trouble. He not only never paid a penny, but barely escaped the officers of the law, who asked a great many questions about him and how they came to harbor him. After that they made it a rule not to take any one in unless he was recommended by some one they knew. It was worse to go to prison than to be hungry. One day, when Gilles had just been paid for some work done for Master Nicholas Gay, the rich merchant, a slender, dark-eyed youth with a workman's pack on his shoulder came and asked for a room. Hardly had Joan called her mother when the stranger reeled and fell unconscious on the floor of the shop. He did not know where he was or who he was for days. They remembered Giuseppe and were dubious, but they kept him and tended him until he was able to talk. His tools and his hands showed him to be a wood-carver, and his dress was foreign. His illness was something like what used to be called ship-fever, due to the hard conditions of long voyages, in wooden ships not too clean. When their guest was able to talk he told them that he was Quentin, a wood-carver of Peronne. He had met Matteo in Messina and thus heard of this lodging. He had come to London to work at the oaken stalls of the Bishop of Ely's private chapel in Holborn. These stalls, or choir-seats, in a Gothic church were designed to suit the stately high-arched building. Their straight tall backs were carved in wood, and the arm-rests ended in an ornament called a finial. Often no two stalls were alike, and yet the different designs were shaped to fit the general style, so that the effect was uniform. The carving of one pair of arms might be couchant lions; on the next, leopards; on the next, hounds, and so on. The seats were usually hinged and could be raised when not in use. The under side of the seat, which then formed part of all this elaborate show of decoration, was most often carved with grotesque little squat figures of any sort that occurred to the artist. Here Noah stuck his head out of a nutshell Ark; there a woman belabored her husband for breaking a jug; on the next stall might be three solemn monkeys making butter in a churn. Quentin's fancy was apt to run to little wood-goblins, mermaids, crowned lizards, fauns, and flying ships. He came from a country where the forests are full of fairy-tales. Joan would be very sorry to have Quentin go away. She was thinking of this as she sat in the twilight nursing her wooden poppet. When he came in at last he had his tools with him, and a piece of fine hard wood about two feet long. Seating himself on a bench he lit the betty lamp on the wall, and laying out his knives and gouges he began to carve a face on the wood. Joan could not imagine what he was making, and she watched intently. The face grew into that of a charming little lady, with eyes crinkled as if they laughed, and a dimple in her firm chin. The hair waved over the round head; the neck was as softly curved as a pigeon's. The gown met in a V shape at the throat, with a bead necklace carved above. There was a close-fitting bodice, with sleeves that came down over the wrists and wrinkled into folds, and a loose over-sleeve that came to the elbow. The skirt fell in straight folds and there was a little ornamental border in a daisy pattern around the hem. When the statuette was finished and set up, it was like a court lady made small by enchantment. "There is a poppet for thee, small one," Quentin said smiling. Joan's hands clasped tight and her eyes grew big and dark. "For me?" she cried. "It is a poor return for the kindness that I have had in this house," answered Quentin brushing the chips into the brazier. The poppet seemed to bring luck to the hurer's household. Through Gilles, Master Gay had heard of Quentin's work, and he ordered a coffret for his wife, and a settle. The arms of the settle were to be carved with little lady-figures like Joan's, and Master Gay asked if they could not all be portraits of Princesses. Joan's own poppet was named Marguerite for the daughter of the French King, who had married the eldest son of Henry II. Quentin had copied the face from Matteo's sketch upon the wall, and in one room or the other were all the other members of the royal family. But as it would not be suitable to show Queens and Princesses upholding the arms of a chair in the house of a London merchant, Quentin suggested that they change the design, and use the leopards of Anjou for the arms, while the statuettes of the Princesses were ranged along the top of the high back. There could be five open-work arches with a figure in each, and plain linen-fold paneling below. Where the carving needed a flower or so he would put alternately the lilies of France and the sprig of broom which was the badge of the Plantagenets. Thus the piece of carving would commemorate the fact that the family of the King of England was related to nearly every royal house in Europe through marriage. It would be a picture-chronicle. In the middle arch was Marguerite, who would be Queen of England some day if her husband lived. At her right hand was Constance of Brittany, wife of Geoffrey, who through her would inherit that province. The other figures were Eleanor, who was married to Alfonso, King of Castile; Matilda, who was the wife of Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, the most powerful vassal of the German Emperor; and Joan, the youngest, betrothed to William, called the Good, King of Sicily. "There will be two more princesses some day," said Joan, cuddling Marguerite in her arms as she watched Quentin's deft strokes. "Prince Richard is not married yet, and neither is Prince John." "The work cannot wait for that, little one," Quentin answered laughing. "Richard is only sixteen, and John still younger. Yet they do say that the King is planning an alliance with Princess Alois of France for Richard, and is in treaty with Hubert the Duke of Maurienne for his daughter to wed with John. I think, myself, that Richard will choose his own bride." Joan said nothing, but in her own mind she thought it would be most unpleasant to be married off like that, by arrangements made years before. "The marriage with Hubert's daughter," Quentin added half to himself, "would keep open the way into Italy if it were needed. It is a bad thing to have an enemy blocking your gate." Although her poppet was carved so that the small out-held hands and arms were clear of the body, and dresses could be fitted over them, Joan found that there were but few points or edges that were likely to be chipped off. The wood was well seasoned, and the carving followed the grain most cunningly. Neither dampness nor wood-boring insects could easily get into the channels where sap once ran. This was part of the wisdom of wood-carving. When Joan grew too old to play with her poppet she sometimes carried her to some fine house to show a new fashion, or style of embroidery. Marguerite had a finer wardrobe than any modern doll, for the little hats, hoods and head-dresses had each a costume to go with it, and all were kept in a chest Quentin had made for her, with the arms of Milan on the lid. No exiled Milanese ever quite gave up the hope that some day the city would be rebuilt in all its splendor, and the foreign governors driven from Lombardy. Joan used to hear her father talking of it with their next lodger, Giovanni Bergamotto, who was a peddler at fairs. Gilles had had steady work for a long time, and was making not only the rough caps he used to make, now turned out by an apprentice, but fine hats and caps for the wealthy. A carved and gilded hat swung before the door, and Joan learned embroidery of every kind. She saw Quentin now and then, and one day he sent word to her, by the wool-merchant Robert Edrupt, that Queen Eleanor wished to see the newest court fashions, and that Joan might journey with Edrupt and his wife to the abbey where she was living. It was one of the best known houses in England, and the Abbess was of royal blood. It was not at all unusual for its guest-rooms to be occupied by Queens and Princesses. Quentin had been sent there to do some work for the Abbey, and in that way the Queen, through Philippa, her maid of honor, had heard of Joan. "I suppose it is a natural desire in a woman," Master Edrupt said when they talked of the matter, "but somehow I would stake my head it is not the fashions she is after." Barbara his wife smiled but said nothing. She agreed. When Joan had modestly shown her wares, and the little wooden court lady had smiled demurely through it all, the Queen dandled Marguerite on her knee and thoughtfully looked her over. "The face is surely like the Princess of France," she said. And Joan felt more than ever certain that there was a reason for this interest in poppets. Later in the day she found out what it was. Quentin was carving other little lady-figures like those he had made years ago for Master Gay. He had also made the figures of a Bishop, a King, a Monk, and a Merchant; with a grotesque hump-backed hook-nosed Dwarf for the Jester. It looked as if a giant were about to play chess. Padraig, an Irish scribe who had made some designs for the Queen's tapestry-workers, was using his best penmanship to copy certain letters on fine parchment. Giovanni, who had sprung up from somewhere, was making a harness-like contrivance of hempen cords, iron hooks and rods, and wooden pulleys. When finished it went into a small bag of tow-cloth; if stretched out it filled the end of a rough wooden frame. Joan began to suspect that the figures were for a puppet-show. "It is time to explain," Quentin said to the others. "We can trust Joan. She is as true as steel." Joan's heart leaped with pride. If Milan had only honor left, her children would keep that. "It is this, Joan," Quentin went on kindly. "In time of war any messenger may be searched, and we do not know when war will come. King Henry desires above all things the peace of his realm. He will not openly take the side of the Lombard cities against Frederick Barbarossa--yet. But he will throw all his influence into the scale if he can. The Queen has hit upon a way by which letters can be sent safely to the courts of Brittany, France, Castile, Sicily, and even to Saxony, which is in Barbarossa's own domains. Giovanni will travel as a peddler, with the weaver-boy Cimarron as his servant or companion, as may seem best. He will have a pack full of such pretty toys as maidens love,--broidered veils, pomanders, perfumed gloves, girdles--nothing costly enough to tempt robbers--and these wooden poppets of ours. We cannot trust the tiring-women in times like these, but he may be able to give the letters into the hands of the Queens themselves. No one, surely, will suspect a poppet. These gowns and wimples will display the fashions, and I had another reason for telling you to bring them all. If he cannot get his chance as a peddler he can hang about the court with a puppet-show. Now, look here." Quentin took the softly smiling poppet and began to twist her neck. When he had unscrewed the dainty little head a deep hole appeared in the middle of the figure. Into this Padraig fitted a roll of parchment, and over it a wooden peg. "May she keep it?" Quentin asked gently. "There is need for haste, and I have not time to make another figure." Joan swallowed hard. Marguerite had heard many secrets that no one else knew. "Aye," she said, "I will let her go." Then each little figure in turn received its secret to keep, and Joan, Lady Philippa, and the other maids sewed furiously for a day and a half. Each Princess was gowned in robes woven with the arms of her kingdom. The other figures were suitably dressed. The weights which made the jester turn a somersault were gold inside a lead casing--Giovanni might need that. There were jewels hidden safely in his dagger-hilt and Cimarron's, but to all appearance they were two common chapmen. They were gone for a long time, but Marguerite--the only poppet to return--came back safely, and inside her discreet bosom were letters for the King. Cimarron brought her to the door of Gilles the hurer, and told Joan that Giovanni, after selling the puppet-show, had stayed in Alexandria to fight for Milan. ARMORER'S SONG By the armorer's tower the fire burned bright In the long black shadows of coming night. Quoth Franklin to Tomkyn, "Twenty to one We shall both be gone ere to-morrow's sun-- Shoot a round for the love o' the game!" By Ascalon towers the sun blazed red Where one stood living and twenty were dead,-- Quoth Roger to Raimond, "We be but few, Yet keener the triumph when steel rings true-- Break a lance for the Faith and the Name!" By London Tower the watch-fires glowed On the troops that marched by the Roman Road. Quoth Drake to Howard, "Armadas be tall, Yet the proudest oak in a gale may fall,-- Take a chance for Belphoebe's fame! "They live in Valhalla who fought for their land With dauntless heart and ungrudging hand, They went to the task with a laugh and a jest,-- Peace to their souls, wherever they rest! And we of their blood, wherever we go, By the Carib Seas or the Greenland floe, With heart unwearied and hand unstayed, Must win or lose by the law they made,-- Strike hard--for the love o' the game!" XIX DICKON AT THE FORGE HOW A SUSSEX SMITH FOUND THE WORLD COME TO HIM IN THE WEALD The smithy was very small compared with a modern foundry. It was not large even for a country blacksmith's shop; the cottage close by was hardly bigger; yet that forge made iron-work which went all over England. It was on one of the Sussex roads leading into Lewes. Often a knight would stop to have something done to his own armor or his horse's gear, for the war-horse also wore armor,--on head and breast at least. Some of the work of old Adam Smith had gone as far as Jerusalem. Dickon felt occasionally that if he were a spear-head or a dagger, he would stand more chance of seeing the world than he did as the son of his father. Adam was secretly proud of the lad who at thirteen could do nearly as much as he himself could. That was saying more than a little, for Adam Smith had the knack of making every blow count by putting it in exactly the right place. A man who can do that will double his strength. Dickon had inherited the knack, but he had something else besides, of which his father knew nothing. He never did a piece of work that he did not try to make it look right. He could see that when the bar that latched a gate was of a certain length, not too small or too large, it pleased both eye and hand. He did not consider the hinges on the door better looking for being made into an elaborate pattern, unless the pattern was a good one. In short, Dickon had what is known as a sense of beauty. Some have it and some have not. Those who have can invent beautiful patterns, while those who have not can only copy,--and they do not always copy accurately. It may seem strange to speak of beauty in the iron-work of a little country smithy, but nothing is more beautiful in its way than good iron-work. There are gates, hinges, locks, keys and other furnishings which are so well designed that one is never weary of studying them. Armor has been made beautiful in its time; so have swords, halberds, daggers, fire-baskets, and fire-dogs. Because iron is so simple, and there is no chance of getting an effect by using color or gilding, the task of making it beautiful is unlike that of painting a picture. The beauty of iron-work is the line, the curve, the proportion. If these are wrong one sees it at once; and the same is true when the work is right. Most of the work of Adam Smith, while strong and well wrought, was only by accident good to look at. Dickon was not allowed to do anything that his father did not oversee, and Adam Smith saw to it that no job left his shop which was not well done. Dickon had found out, little by little, that when a thing is strong enough for its use, with no unnecessary clumsiness, and the handles, catches and rivetings are where they ought to be for strength and convenience, it usually looks very well. That is to say, beautiful iron-work is useful and economical. Dickon was hammering away, one golden autumn morning, on the latch for a gate. The cattle had broken into the Fore Acre again, and Adam, who had to go to Lewes on business, told Dickon to make that latch and do it properly, so that it would keep the gate shut. Old Wat had gone into the forest for some wood, for the great belt of woodland called the Weald was all around, and the oak from it served for fuel. Dickon had never seen a coal fire in his life. Forges like this were scattered all through the Weald, and what with the iron-workers and the ship-builders, and the people who wainscoted their houses with good Sussex oak, there is no Weald left nowadays. That part of the country keeps its name, and there are groves of oak here and there, but that is all. Dickon could see from the door the acorns dropping from the great oak that sheltered the smithy and was so huge that a man could not circle it with his arms. He began to wonder if he could put some sort of ornamental work on that latch. No one could have looked less like an artist than the big, muscular youth in his leathern apron, with his rough tow-head and square-chinned face; but inside his brain was a thought working itself out. He took an oak twig and laid it in this position and that, on the iron. It is not very easy to work out a design in iron. The iron must be heated, and beaten or bent into shape while it is soft. There is no making a sketch and taking your time with the brushes. Dickon thought he would see if he could draw a pattern. He took a bit of coal and a wooden tile fallen from the roof, and began to combine the lines of the gate-latch with those of the twig. He had not copied iron utensils and other patterns without knowing how to draw the lines of an oak leaf, but he found that somehow or other the leaf, as an ornament to the latch, did not look right. The cluster of acorns was better, but even that did not fit. Dickon's feeling, though he did not think it out, was that iron is strong, and an oak tree is one of the strongest of trees, and therefore the oak was suitable to decorate Sussex iron. He changed the lines, rubbing out one and then another, until he had got a set of curves and little nubbly knot-like ornaments which were not exactly like the oak twig, but suited the lines of the latch. The leaf-like side-pieces covered the parts of the latch where the fingers and thumb would rest in opening the gate, and the projecting handle might be made into something suggesting an acorn-cluster. He nodded thoughtfully. "That's rather good," said a voice over his shoulder. "Where did you learn to draw?" Dickon jumped; he had been so busy that he had not heard the sound of a horse's hoofs on the turf. The stranger who stood there, bridle over arm, was a rather slender man, five or six years older than Dickon, with deep-set hazel eyes, fair hair, and muddy boots that looked as if he had come a long journey. "Nobody never taught me," said Dickon soberly. "I was trying to find out how to do it." "You found out then. It is good--don't touch it. Is it for that gate-latch? Go on and finish the job; I won't hinder you. I'm a Sussex man, but I never came through the Weald this way. I lost my road, and they told me this would take me to Lewes. The nag and I shall both be the better for an hour's rest." Dickon blew up the fire and went to work, with strong, deft strokes. He was not a shy lad, particularly when he was doing what he could do well. He was used to working with people watching him. Not seldom they were making themselves disagreeable because the work was not done more quickly, but iron cannot be hurried. If a smith does not mean to spoil the temper of his work, he must keep his own temper well in hand. The young man led his horse into the shade, and came to watch Dickon. As the leaf-curves began to stand out and the nubs of the acorn-cluster took shape he seemed more and more interested. Once he began to ask a question, but stopped himself, as if he knew that when a man has his whole mind on a task he cannot spare any part of it for talk. Dickon almost forgot that he was there. He was intent upon putting exactly the right hollows and veins in the leaf, and giving exactly the right twist to the handle. At last it was done. Dickon straightened his back and looked at it, as the sunlight wavered upon it through the branches. The stranger clapped him on the shoulder. "It is better than the sketch," he cried heartily. "It is good indeed. I have been in London, lad, in the Low Countries and in France, and I never saw a sweeter bit of work. How didst know the true line for that handle?" [Illustration: "'IT IS BETTER THAN THE SKETCH,' HE CRIED HEARTILY"] "That's to make it open properly," Dickon explained, "fits the hand, like." The other nodded approvingly. "I see. I learned that same lesson in my pottery. 'Wilfrid,' my old master used to tell me, 'never thee make too small an ear to thy jugs if thou lik'st the maids to love 'ee.' There's a knack, you see, in making a handle with a good grip to it, that will neither spill the milk nor hinder pouring. My wife she helped me there. She loves good work as well as I do." Adam Smith, coming up the Lewes road next day, could not think what had happened when he saw Dickon in eager talk with a stranger. The boy had never been given to words. He was more taken aback when Master Wilfrid told him that his son had the making of a rare workman. He answered gruffly, stroking his big beard: "Aye, the lad's well enow. Latch done, Dickon? Go and fit it to yon gate." Wilfrid had come back to England full of new ideas, and ambitious above all for the honor of English craftsmen. When he found this youth working out, without any model at all, a thing so good as the oak-leaved gate-latch, he was surer than ever that the land he loved could raise her own smiths. It was his ambition to make his own house beautiful within and without, as were some of the merchants' houses he had seen in cities. He further astonished the old smith by telling him that if Dickon would put some time on work along his own lines, he would pay him double or treble what he would earn at common labor. "You see," explained the potter, as he showed the design he had drafted for a carved oaken chest, "there's much to be thought of in iron-work. You have to make it strong as well as handsome, and what's more, nine times out of ten you have to fit it to the work of some other man. It'd never do for the hinges and handles on this coffer to spoil the looks o' the carving, and that's to be done in London, d' ye see? Belike I'll have you make those first, Dickon, and let Quentin suit his pattern to yours. He can." "How does he make his design?" queried Dickon. "Work it out as he goes along--like iron-work?" "Not always," Wilfrid answered. "He's got a many patterns drawn out on parchment besides what he carries in his head. But they're only for show--to give an idea of the style. When he gets the size and shape and the wood he's to use settled, he changes the pattern according to his own judgment. If a wood-carver doesn't know his trade the design can be made by an artist, and all he need do is to follow it. But that's not my idea of good work. Unless you've made such a thing yourself you don't know how the lines are going to look. I'd never try to make a design for a fire-dog, and I doubt you'd make a poor job at shaping an earthen bowl. Then, if you want to suit yourself and your customer, you'll be changing your pattern with every job. The work ought to grow--like a plant." "I know," Dickon commented. "You make an iron pot for a woman, and another for her neighbor, and ten to one the second must be a bit bigger or narrower or somehow different. You've got to go by your eye." "They say," Wilfrid went on musingly, "that there's like to be mechanical ways to help the work--turn it out quicker--do the planing and gouging with some kind of engine and finish by hand. It seemed to me that would take the life out o' the carving. I said so to Quentin, and he laughed. He said a man could use any tool to advantage if he had the head, but without thought you couldn't make a shovel go right. I reckon that's so." Adam Smith nodded. "Half the smiths don't know the way to use a hammer," he said, "and well-nigh all the rest don't know what they're making. You stick to the old forge a while yet, lad. There's a bit to learn afore you'll be master o' the trade." "Your father's right," Master Wilfrid admitted. "You'll not waste your time by learning all that he can teach you. As I was saying to you yesterday, you've been doing good plain work and learned judgment. You know how to bend a rod so that it'll be strong, and that will make it look strong. And I'll warrant when you come to make a grille for a pair of iron gates you'll know where to put your cross-bars." For all that, Master Wilfrid did not mean to lose sight of Dickon. He knew how much a youth could learn by talking with men of other crafts, and he intended that Dickon should have his chance. He himself had lost no opportunity, while on his travels, of becoming acquainted with men who were doing good work in England, and now and then one of these men would turn off the main road to see him at his pottery or his home. When the time came to forge a pair of iron gates to the parish church, he saw to it that Dickon got the refusal of the work. With his favorite tools and his father's gruff "God speed ye, lad!" Dickon rode forth to his first work for himself, and it was done to the satisfaction of every one. "I knew that Sussex brains could handle that job," Wilfrid exulted, as they looked at the finished task. In days when churches and cathedrals were open all day long, it was desirable to have some sort of open-work railing to keep stray beasts out of the chancel. In a more splendid building this railing might have been of silver, but the homely farmer-folk thought the iron of the Weald was good enough for them. Up along the grassy track past the south door of the church rode a company of travelers, middle-class folk by their dress. As they came abreast of the gate the foremost called out, "Ho, Wilfrid, is there any tavern hereabouts? We be lost sheep in the wilderness. The Abbey guest-house is already full and they will not take us in." "Faith, it's good to see thee here, Robert Edrupt," the potter answered. "I could house three or four of you, but it's harvest time, that's a fact. No, there's no tavern in the village. You see, most of the folk that travel this way go to the Abbey for a lodging." "We'll stick together, I reckon," answered Edrupt, "if you can give us some kind o' shelter, and the makings of a meal. A barn would serve." "I'll do better than that," Wilfrid assured them. "I'll take ye to Cold Harbor. It's part of a Roman house that we uncovered near the pottery. The walls were used in the old farmer's time for a granary. It's weather-proof, and there's a stone hearth, and Dickon here will help swing a crane for the kettles. We've plenty stores if there's a cook among ye." "We can make shift," laughed Edrupt. "I'll come to the house to-morrow and gossip a bit. Quentin here has your carved coffer for ye." "And here's the lad that made the hinges and the handles," Wilfrid added, with a hand on the big youth's shoulder. "Sithee here, Dickon, you show them their way to their lodging, and I'll e'en ride home and tell Edwitha to spare some pots and kettles for the cooking." Thus Dickon was shoved all in a moment, in the edge of an autumn evening, into the company of merchants and craftsmen such as he had never met. The North-countryman, Alan of York, was a glazier; David Saumond, a Scotch stone-mason coming up from Canterbury to do some work for an Abbey; Guy of Limoges was a goldsmith; Crispin Eyre, a shoemaker of London; there were two or three merchants, some weavers newly arrived from overseas, various servants and horse-boys, and two peddlers of dark foreign aspect. The talk was mostly in a mixture of French and English, but Dickon understood this better than he could speak it, and several of the men were as English as himself. In the merry company at supper he saw what Wilfrid had meant when he said that hand-skill without head-wisdom was walking blind-fold, and work done alone was limping labor. It was the England of the guilds breaking bread by that fire. THE WANDER-YEARS Fair is the light on the castle wall-- (Heigh-ho, for the road!) Merry the wassail in hearth-warm hall-- (Blither the call of the road!) When the moonlight silvers the sleeping plain, And the wind is calling to heart and brain, And the blood beats quick and the soul is fain-- Ah, follow the open road! Low croons the mother while children sleep-- (Heigh-ho, for the road!) And firelight shadows are warm and deep-- (Dearer the call of the road!) Where the red fox runs and the merlin sings, And the hedge is alive with the whir of wings, And the wise earth whispers of nameless things-- Ah, follow the open road! Safe is the nook we have made our own-- (Heigh-ho, for the road!) Dear the comrades our hearts have known-- (Hark to the call of the road!) Trumpets are calling and torches flare, And a man must do, and a man must dare,-- Whether to victory or despair,-- Come, follow the open road! XX THE WINGS OF THE DRAGON HOW PADRAIG MADE IRISH WIT A JOURNEYMAN TO FLORENTINE GENIUS Padraig was having his first view of a foreign country. England, to be sure, was somewhat strange to a boy who had never before been outside Ireland. Brother Basil, who had taught him all that he knew of writing, reading, painting and other arts, had come to England on business for the Irish Abbeys and was going no further. Padraig felt that he wanted to see more of the world. Perhaps the wise monk felt that unless his pupil had the chance now to wander and come back, he would run away and never return at all; at any rate he told the youth that this would be a good time to make the pilgrimage to Rome if he could. There was peace in Lombardy for the moment, and the Pope, driven out more than once by the warring Emperor of Germany, was now in the Vatican, again. A fishing-boat, slipping over to Calais in the light of a windy dawn, carried one passenger, a red-headed boy in a hooded cloak of rough black frieze. Padraig's own feet bore him from town to town until now, in a French city, he stood in the doorway of a gray and stately church alive with pictures. On a scaffold slung up behind the altar a painter sat working on a new altar-piece. This was something which Padraig had never seen. He had painted pictures himself on parchment, and drawn designs in color for the craftsmen, but a wall-painting so full of life and color that it looked like a live angel come down from the skies, he had never seen made by any man. It was in three parts, filling three arches, the middle one larger than the others. In the center was the beautiful brooding Mother with the Child in her arms, and her dull red mantle seemed to lift and float like a sunset cloud. In the narrower spaces were figures of saints. One, already finished, was an old man in the dress of a hermit, with a hind; the graceful creature nestled its head against him. An arrow transfixed his knee, and Padraig knew that this was Saint Giles, patron saint of cripples. The last of the three, on which the artist was now working, was Saint Margaret and the dragon. The dragon was writhing away, with a dreadful look of rage and fear, before the cross in the hands of the brave, beautiful young girl. The sun crept through a loophole window and made the pictures, at the end of the long vista of gray arches, as real as living beings. Even at this distance, nevertheless, the trained eye of Padraig detected something the matter with that dragon. The artist painted, scraped out, scowled, pondered and finally flung down his brushes in impatient disgust. He moved away, his eyes still on the unfinished work, and backed directly into Padraig. "What--oh, I did not know that there was any one here. Look at that dragon, did you ever see such a creature!" "Softly, softly, Matteo," spoke a superior-looking man in the dress of a sub-prior, behind them. "What is wrong with the picture? It looks very well, to me. We must have it finished, you understand, before the feast of Saint Giles, in any case. You must remember, dear son, that these works are not for the purpose of delighting the eye. The figure of Our Lady would be more impressive if you were to add a gold border to the mantle, would it not?" Padraig retreated. He was still grinning over the expression on the artist's face, when he took out a bit of crayon and at a safe distance made a sketch of the pompous church-man on a convenient stone. Having caught the likeness he took from his scrip a half-completed "Book of Legends," and in the wide-open mouth of a squirming dragon which formed the initial he drew the head and shoulders of the half-swallowed Sub-Prior. Just as he sat back to survey the design, Matteo strode down the path and stopped with his hand on the gate. "Did you see him?" the artist spluttered. "Did you hear him? Because he is the secretary of the Archbishop and keeps the pay-roll he thinks he can instruct me in my work! If I had to paint the things he describes I would whitewash every one of my pictures and spend the rest of my days in a scullery! There, at least, no fault would be found because the work was too well done! "That monster will be the death of me yet. I know that Le Gargouille never looked like that. He was a great dragon, you know, who lived in the Seine and ravaged the country until he was destroyed by Saint Romaine. They do not infest our rivers any more--they have taken to the church. My faith, if I knew where to find one I would lead that stupid monk down there by the ear and show him what a dragon is like. I never saw a dragon--it is not my business to paint dragons--but I know that they ought to be slippery shining green like a frog, or a lizard--and I cannot get the color." "Is this anything like?" asked Padraig, and he held up the book. Padraig's mind worked by leaps, Brother Basil used to say, and it had made a jump while the artist was talking. The most that he had thought of, when he made the sketch in his book, was that the face of the Sub-Prior would be a good one to use some day for a certain kind of character; and then it had occurred to him to fancy the dragon showing his appreciation of the dignitary in a natural way. He had already done the dragon with the last of the green that he and Brother Basil brought from Ireland, before he came to France, and it was a clear transparent brilliant color that looked like a new-born water-plant leaf in the sun. He had watched lizards and frogs, in long dreamy afternoons by the fishing-pools, too many times not to remember. The painter's mobile dark face changed to half a dozen expressions in a minute. He chuckled over the caricature; then he looked at the work more closely; then he fluttered over the other leaves of the book. "Where did you get the color for this?" he queried. "I made it," said Padraig. "Can you make it again?" Padraig hesitated. "Is there a forest near by?" "Forest--no; but why? For the hunting of dragons?" "N-no, b-but--" Padraig was apt to stammer when excited--"if I had balsam like ours I could make the green. We had none, and so we hunted until we found the right resin--Brother Basil and I." "Basil Ossorin, an Irish monk from England?" asked Matteo quickly. "I met him ten years since when he was on his way to Byzantium. If he was your master you have had good teaching." Padraig nodded. Brother Basil was the man whom he best loved. "There is no trouble about the balsam if you know it when you see it," the artist went on. "I will take you to a place where anything may be bought--cobalt, lapis lazuli, cinnabar, orpiment, sandarac--and it is honestly sold." Padraig numbered the matters off on his fingers. "Copper,--and Venice turpentine,--and saffron, to make him yellow underneath like water-snakes in an old pond. His wings must be smooth--and green--bright, and mottled with rusty brown--the sun comes from behind, and he must look as if it were shining through the halo round the maiden's head." "I wonder now about that balsam," mused the painter. Padraig drew an outline in the dust on the stone flags. "The tree is like this--the leaf and berry like this." Matteo laughed with pure satisfaction. "That is all right; the tree grows in the abbey gardens. Come, young imp with the crest of fire, come quickly, and we will have a glorious day." It is not certain who painted more of that dragon, the master or the journeyman. Padraig directed the making of the vivid gold-green as if he were the artist and the other the grinder of paints. Matteo dragged old Brother Joseph, the caretaker, from his work in the crypt to scrape the original dragon off the wall until only the outline of curling body and webbed wings remained. The design was all right, for that was Matteo's especial skill. He could make a wall-painting as decorative and well-proportioned as the stiff symbolic figures, and yet make the picture natural. There was a fearful moment when the paint was ready and they made the trial, for neither was sure that the pigment would look right on this new surface. But it gleamed a living green. Padraig brightened the scaled body with yellow where the light struck it. Matteo used his knowledge of armor to deepen the shadows with a cunning blend of blue and bronze that made the scales look metallic. Each worked on a wing, spreading it with sure swift strokes across the base of the scene. Just as Padraig drew his brush for the last time along the bony framework of the clutching talons, the painter caught him by the arm and drew him back down the nave. "Now look!" he said. The dragon wallowed at the feet of Saint Margaret in furious, bewildered rage. Old Brother Joseph, coming out of the corner where he had been sitting half asleep, looked actually frightened at the creature. Matteo, well pleased, did not wait for the verdict of the monks, but took Padraig home to his lodgings in a narrow street of the town, and they sat up late that night in talk over many things. The painter was a Florentine, and when at home he lived in a street even then called the Street of the Painters, in Florence. He had been in London years before, in Paris, in Rome, in Spain, in Sicily. Now he had commissions for the decorating of a palace in Rouen, and he took Padraig's breath away by suggesting that they work together. "Some day," Matteo averred thoughtfully, "there will be cathedrals in Italy, France, Normandy, Aquitaine, England, greater than the world has seen. There will be cliffs and forests of stone-work--arches, towers, pinnacles, groined and vaulted roofs, hundreds of statues of the saints. Every inch of it will be made beautiful as the forest is--with vines and creeping mosses, blossoms and the little wood-folk that shelter among trees. There will be great windows of stained and painted glass. There will be altar-pieces like those that we only dream to-day. I tell you, Patricio mio, we are in the dawn of the millennium of the builders. What has been done already is nothing--nothing!" Padraig found in the following months that a group of young Italians, Matteo and some of his friends, were working along a new line, with models and methods that accounted for the beauty of their achievements. The figures that they painted met with scant appreciation oftentimes, for many of the churchmen desired only symbolic figures of bright colors, with gilding to make them rich. Moreover, there was a very general disbelief in the permanence of wall-painting. Walls were damp, and the only really satisfactory decoration thus far had been the costly and tedious mosaic. Made of thousands of tiny blocks of stone of various colors, the design of the mosaic had to be suited to the infinite network of little cracks and the knowledge of the worker. Kings and noblemen usually preferred tapestry which could be saved in case of disaster, and carried about, to costly wall-paintings which must remain where they were. Yet Padraig found Matteo's rich and graceful figures equal in their way to the stone sculptures of any French master, and said so. "It is like this, comrade," the Florentine explained, slipping his arm across Padraig's shoulders as they strolled past the church of Saint Ouen. "A picture is a soul; its life on earth depends upon the body that it inhabits; and we have not yet found out how to make its body immortal. I do not believe that my paintings will live more than a few years. You see, a mural painting is not like your illuminations. You can keep a book safe in a chest. But a painting on plaster--or on a wooden panel--is besieged day and night by dampness, and dryness, and dust, and smoke, changes of heat and cold,--everything. The wall may crack. The roof may take fire,--especially when pigeons and sparrows nest in the beams. The mere action of the air on any painting must be proved by years. I got my lesson on that when I was not as old as you. I heard from an ancient monk of a marvelous Madonna, painted from a living model--a beautiful girl pointed out for years as the Madonna of San Raffaele. I tramped over the Apennines to see it. Patricio mio, the face was black! The artist had used oil with resin and wax, and the picture had turned as black as a Florentine lily! I never told the old man about it, and I praised the work to his heart's content; but to myself I said that I would dream no more of my own immortal fame. I dream only of the work of others." "But suppose that a way could be found to make the colors lasting?" queried Padraig. "Ah, that would be a real Paradise of Painters--until some one came along with a torch. I think, myself, that some day a drying medium will be found which will make it possible to paint in oils for all time to come. There is painting on wood, and on dry plaster--and fresco, where you paint on the plaster while it is still damp. In fresco you must lay out only the work that can be finished that day. Me, I am content for the time to be a fresco painter." "And if it is all to vanish in a few years, why do we paint?" mused Padraig with a swift melancholy in his voice. Matteo's hand fell heavily upon his arm. "Because we must not lose our souls--that is why. The life of our work will last long enough to be seen and known by others. They will remember it, and do their work better. Thus it will go on, generation after generation, until painters come who can use all that we have learned since Rome fell, and cap it with new visions. Every generation has its dragon to dispose of. When I have tamed my dragon he will take me to the skies--maybe." It was not long after this that Matteo, overhauling the flat leather-bound coffer in which he kept his belongings, dragged up from the bottom of the collection some parchments covered with miscellaneous sketches, mostly of heads and figures. He had received a message from a sharp-faced Italian peddler-boy that day, and had been looking rather grave. On the plaster of the wall, in the sunset light, he began to draw, roughing it out with quick sure strokes, a procession of men and horses with some massive wheeled vehicle in the center. Presently this was seen to be a staging like a van, drawn by six white oxen harnessed in scarlet. Upon it stood churchmen in robes of ceremony, grouped about a tall standard rising high above their heads--a globe surmounted by a crucifix. Padraig knew what this was. It was the Carocchio or sacred car bearing the standard of Milan--but Matteo was a Florentine. "Patricio caro," said the artist turning to his young pupil, "to-morrow we shall have to part. I have told the Prince that you are quite capable of finishing his banquet-hall, and that I have other business. So I have, but not what he may think. I had word to-day that Barbarossa has crossed the Alps. This time it will be a fight to the end. "You know, for we have talked often of it, that the League of the Lombard cities is the great hope of the Communes in Italy. Moreover, it is your fight as well as ours. If the Empire conquers it will stamp those Communes flat, and take good care that the cities make no headway toward further resistance. The next step--for Frederick has said that he is another Charlemagne--will be the conquest of France, and then he will try to hurl the whole force of his Empire against Henry Plantagenet, his only great rival. Myself, I doubt if he can do that. When men do not want to fight they seldom win battles. "Now there are three hundred young men of the leading houses of Lombardy who have sworn to guard the Carocchio with their lives. The Archbishop and his priests will stand upon the car in the battle and administer the sacrament to the dying. If the Emperor takes it this time it will be after the death of every man of the 'juramento.' I am a Florentine, that is true, but I shall be a foot-soldier in that fight. If we live, we will have our cities free. If we die--it is for our own cities as well as theirs. "This is what I want you to do, little brother. Ah, yes, to die is not always the most difficult thing! These are the names and many of the faces of the 'juramento.' Keep them, and to-morrow, when I am gone, copy this sketch of the Carocchio going into the battle. Then, if I never come back, there will still be some one to paint the picture. When you find a prince, or some wealthy merchant, who will let you paint the Carocchio on his wall, do it and keep alive the glory of Milan. You will find some Milanese who will welcome you, however the game goes. And the picture will be so good--your picture and mine--that men will see and remember it whether they know the story or not. If they copy it, although the faces may not be like, they will yet carry the meaning--the standard of the free city above the conflict. Your promise, Patricio mio--and then--addio!" Padraig promised. The next day, when he came back to the little room at the end of the narrow stair, there was only the picture on the white sunlit wall. ST. ELOI'S BLESSING Clovis the King, proud of his golden thrones, Granted our Saint broad lands, whereon he should Build cloisters, work in gold and precious stones And carve in silver as it might be wood, And for God's glory--and the King's fair name-- Do miracles with metal and with flame. So to the world's end, where long-hoarded pelf Shone forth new-hallowed in the goldsmith's hand, Saint Eloi's craftsmen, as long since himself, Were honored where they went in every land, Yet still his heart was ever ours, and stayed Here in Limoges, the city that he made. Then all one night he knelt for us in prayer At the high altar, suing for this grace,-- That his fine art, in his true people's care, Should ripen rich as in none other place, And if gold fail, beauty to our desire Should we create, out of the earth and fire. All secret work of dainty orfreny Couchet in jeweled paternes brightly quaint, Balass and emeraut, sapphire, all should be Set in the triptych of the pictured saint, Or with new dreams of unwrought beauty haunted, Blend in amail deep hues of light enchanted. Then vanished all the vision--Saint Eloi With trembling saw it swallowed up in night. None may escape the laws of grief or joy, And when the day is done, then fails the light. Yet still he prayed--the dragon-darkness fled, And a new life dawned, risen from the dead. Soft smoothness like a creamy petaled rose, Rich roundness like the sun-filled apricot, Gold garlands twisted by some wind that blows From what strange land we craftsmen marvel not. And in this porcelain cup (he said) shall pour Joy of life, joy of craft, forevermore. XXI GOLD OF BYZANTIUM HOW GUY OF LIMOGES TAUGHT THE ART OF BYZANTIUM TO WILFRID OF SUSSEX Guy Bouverel was again in his own country, where he was called, according to the habit of the day, Guy of Limoges. He had spent nearly ten years working with Eloy, the master artist, in Limoges, and studying the art of enameling on copper, silver and gold. The new name was to him what a degree from some famous university is to the modern scientist. When a man was called Guy of Limoges, William of Sens, or Cornelys of Arras, it usually meant that he was a good example of whatever made the place mentioned famous. Guy Bouverel might be anybody. The name was known among the goldsmiths of Guthrum's Lane in London; that was all. But Guy of Limoges meant a reputation for enamel-work. The matter on which he was meditating, however, as he left Cold Harbor and walked up toward the house of Wilfrid the potter, was clean outside his own craft. The King, being much pleased with certain work done at the Abbey for which Guy was bound, had questioned him about it, and ended by giving him a rather large order. Brother Basil, a wise monk from an Irish monastery, had come to England to gather artists and artisans, and was for the time at this Abbey in the north, directing and aiding some work for the Church. Several of the company that lay the night before at Cold Harbor were going there, and among them they would be able to do what the King required. The dowry of Princess Joan was to include a table of gold twelve feet long, twenty-four gold cups and as many plates, and some other trifles. A part of this work would be done in Limoges; but the King seemed to think that the rest might be done in England quite as well. He had also ordered stained glass for a chapel, and some reliquaries, or cases for precious relics, and three illuminated missals. The Sicilian court was one of the most splendid in Europe. The King evidently meant his daughter's setting out to be nowise shabby. A chest of gold was to be delivered by the Chancellor to Guy, and he was to accompany it, with its guard, to its destination. One of the King's accountants would be nominally in charge, but of course if anything should happen to the chest, Guy would be in difficulties. There were ingots, or lumps, of gold, cast in molds for convenience in packing, and to be used in the goldsmith-work; but the greater part of the gold was coined bezants--coins worth about half a sovereign in modern money, and minted in Byzantium. This would pay for materials brought from almost every corner of the known world, and for the work of the skilled metal-worker, enamel-worker, glassmaker, and lumineur who would fill the order. Tomaso the physician had established himself in a half-ruined tower not far from the workshop on the Abbey lands, and would aid them in working out certain problems; and altogether, it was such a prospect as any man of Guy's age and ambition might find agreeable. "Hola, lad!" called Ranulph the troubadour cheerily. "Have you the world on your shoulders, or only some new undertaking?" Guy laughed, with a certain sense of relief. He had known Ranulph for some time, and it occurred to him that here he might safely find a listener. "Do you know a certain clerk named Simon Gastard?" he asked. "I have not that pleasure," laughed the troubadour. "Ought I to know him?" "Not if you can help it," said Guy, "if he is the same Gastard whom I heard of in France five years ago. Didst ever hear of sweating gold?" "It sounds like the tale of King Midas," Ranulph chuckled. "How, exactly, does it happen?" "It does not happen," Guy answered, "except an itching palm be in the treasury. There was a clerk in Paris who took a cask full of gold pieces and sand, which being rolled about, gold more or less was ground off by the sand without great change in the look of the coin. Then, the coins being taken out in a sieve and the sand mixed with water, the gold dust sank to the bottom and was melted and sold, while the coins were paid on the nail. I had as lief get money by paring a cheese, but that's as you look at it. If I have to travel with this fellow I should like to know that there is nothing unusual about the chest our gold is in. I cannot keep awake all the time, and there is enough in that chest to make a dozen men rich. I knew a rascal once who made a hole in the bottom of a chest, stole most of the coin, and then nailed the chest to the floor to hide its emptiness." Ranulph laughed sympathetically. "You do see the wrong side of mankind when you have anything to do with treasure." "Unless you know something of it," returned Guy grimly, "you won't be allowed to handle treasure more than once." "True," admitted Ranulph. "Why not take turns watching the chest?" "The others who are bound for the Abbey have gone on. I had to wait for the Chancellor, and then I saw Gastard." "Ask the potter," said Ranulph at last. "He can be trusted, and he may know of some one who has a chest that will defy your clerk. I suppose you don't expect him to steal it, chest and all?" "No; I have had dealings with the captain of the guard before. He is Sir Stephen Giffard, a West-country knight, and he will send men who can be trusted. The trouble is, you see, that I am not sure about Gastard. But he could not object to the secure packing of the gold." By this time they had reached Wilfrid's house, and he was at home. When Guy unfolded his problem the potter looked thoughtful. "I may have the very thing you want," he said. "Come here." He led the way into a small room which he used as a study, and dragged into the middle of the floor a carved oaken chest bound with iron. There was just enough carved work on it to add to its look of strength. Two leopards' heads in wrought iron, with rings in their jaws, formed handles on the ends. The corners were shielded with rounded iron plates suggesting oak leaves. The ornamental wrought iron hinges, in an oak and acorn pattern, stretched more than half way across the lid and down the back. Iron bolts passing through staples held the lid, and acorn-headed nails studded it all over. In fact, the iron was so spread over it in one way and another that to break it up one would have needed a small saw to work in and out among the nails, or a stone-crusher. When the lid was thrown back, more iron appeared, a network of small rods bedded into the inner surface of lid, bottom and sides. The staples holding the lock went clean through the front to the inside of the box. "What a piece of cunning workmanship!" said Guy in admiration. "It is like some of the German work, and yet that never came over seas." "No," said Wilfrid, "it was done here in the Sussex Weald. I had the idea of it when I came back from France, and young Dickon, whom you saw last night, made the iron-work. He began with the hinges and handles, and then Quentin of Peronne did the wood-work and brought the chest here, and Dickon fitted in these grilles yesterday." "Will you sell it?" asked Guy. The other hesitated. "I had meant to keep it to show the Abbey folk," he said. "I had thought it might get Dickon a job at some cathedral." "We'll use it to pack some gold-work that's to go to the King," averred Guy promptly. "Will that content you?" "It ought to," smiled Wilfrid, well satisfied, as he took the contents of the coffer out and shut down the lid. "What's your price?" asked Guy. Wilfrid hesitated again. It might have been thought that he was wondering how much he could possibly ask. But it was not that. "I met you in London, Master Bouverel," he said finally, "and I understood you to be a worker in amail." Amail was the common name for enamel. The corruption may have come from the fancied likeness of the work to the richly ornamented "mail," or from the fact that the enamel covered the gold as mail covers a man's body. "Amail, gold and silver work, and jewelry," said Guy. "Is it hard to learn?" "That depends," returned the goldsmith. "I was brought up to the craft, and I've been at it ten year now in Limoges, but I'm a prentice lad beside the masters." "Well, it's like this," said the potter slowly. "I saw amail in France and Limoges that fair made me silly. I know a bit of glass-work, and something of my own trade, but this was beyond me. I'll never be aught but a potter, but if you can give me a piece o' that I'll give you the chest and what you like besides to make up the price." Guy smiled--he had never suspected that Wilfrid felt about the enameling as he himself did. "You shall have it and welcome," he answered. "But why not come to the Abbey and learn to do the work yourself--if you can leave your own workshop? We can do with more men, and there might be things about the glazing and that which would be useful in your pottery." Wilfrid met the suggestion gladly. He could make arrangements to leave the pottery in the hands of his head man for a while; for all the work they did was common ware which a man could almost make in his sleep. If he could study some of the secrets of glazing and color work with Guy, he might come back with ideas worth the journey. He did not tell Edwitha anything about the enamel-work. That was to be a surprise. It was some time before they met again at the Abbey. The gold arrived safely in due season, and Simon Gastard bade it good-by, with very sour looks. It was placed in charge of Brother Basil and Tomaso, and Wilfrid, who had been a Master Potter, took his place as apprentice to a new craft. His experience as a potter helped him, however, for the processes were in some ways rather alike. At last he was ready to make the gift he intended for Edwitha. Padraig, the young artist and scribe who was making most of their designs, drafted a pattern for the work, but Wilfrid shook his head. "That is too fine," he said. "Too many flowers and leaves--finikin work. Make it simpler. Every one of those lines means a separate gold thread. It will be all gold network and no flowers." "As you will," Padraig answered. "It's the man that's to wear the cap that can say does it fit." And he tried again. Wilfrid himself modified the design in one or two details, for he had made pottery long enough to have ideas of his own. The enamel was to show dewberry blossoms and fruit, white and red, with green leaves, on a blue ground; the band of enamel around the gold cup was to be in little oblong sections divided by strips of ruby red. It was not like anything else they had made. It was as English as a hawthorn hedge. Very thin and narrow strips of gold were softened in the fire until they could be bent, in and out, in a network corresponding to the outlines of the design. This was fastened to the groundwork with flour paste. Then it was heated until the gold soldered itself on. Powdered glass of the red chosen for the berries was taken up in a tiny spoon made of a quill, and ladled carefully into each minute compartment, and packed firmly down. Then it was put into a copper case with small holes in the top, smooth inside, and rough like a grater outside, to let out the hot air and keep out hot ashes. The case had a long handle, and coals were piled all around it in a wall. When it had been heated long enough to melt the glass it was taken out and set aside to cool. This took some hours. When it was cold the glass had melted and sunk into the compartment as dissolved sugar sinks in a glass. More glass was put in and packed down, and the process repeated. When no more could possibly be heaped on the jewel-like bit of ruby glass inside the tiny gold wall, the white blossoms, green leaves, blue ground, and strips of deeper red, were made in turn. Only one color was handled at a time. If the glass used in the separate layers was not quite the same shade, it gave a certain depth and changefulness of color. Overheating, haste or carelessness would ruin the whole. Only the patient, intent care of a worker who loved every step of the work would make the right Limoges enamel. This was one of the simpler processes which are still known. The polishing was yet to be done. A goatskin was stretched smooth on a wooden table; the medallion was fixed in a piece of wax for a handle, and polished first on a smooth piece of bone and then on the goatskin. Each medallion was polished in turn until if half the work were wet and half dry the eye could detect no difference. Alan brought his mother, Dame Cicely, to the glass-house while Wilfrid was still at work on the polishing, and after she had seen the great window they had made for the Abbey church at the King's order, she paused to look at the enamel. "Tha'lt wear out thy ten finger-bones, lad," said she. "I'm pleased that my cheeses don't have to be rubbed i' that road. They say that women's work's never done, but good wheaten bread now--mix meal and leaven, and salt and water, and the batch'll rise itself." "There's no place for a hasty man in the work of making amail, mother," drawled her son. "Nor in most other crafts, to my mind." "My father told me once," quoth Wilfrid, smiling, "that no work is worth the doing for ourselves alone. We were making a wall round the sheepfold, and I, being but a lad, wondered at the tugging and bedding of great stones when half the size would ha' served. He wasn't a stout man neither--it was the spring before he died. He told me it was 'for the honor of the land.' I can see it all now--the silly sheep straying over the sweet spring turf, gray old Pincher guarding them, the old Roman wall that we could not ha' grubbed up if we would, and our wall joining it, to last after we were dead. That bit o' wall's been a monument to me all these years." "You're not one to scamp work whatever you're at," Guy declared heartily, "but that cup's due to be finished by to-morrow." When the wreath of blossoms was in place around the shallow golden bowl, the smaller garland around the base, and the stem was encircled with bands of ruby, azure and emerald, it was a chalice fit for the Queen of Fairyland if she were also a Sussex lass. Brother Basil, whose eye was never at fault, pronounced it perfect. It was not like anything else that they had made, but that, he said, was no matter. "When Abbot Suger of St. Denys made his master-works," Guy observed as he put away his tools for the night, "he did not bring workmen from Byzantium; he taught Frenchmen to do their own work. And an Englishman is as good as a Frenchman any day." THE WATCHWORD When from the lonely beacon height The leaping flame flared high, When bells rang out into the night Where ships at anchor lie, There orderly in all men's sight, With sword or pike in hand, Stood serf and craftsman, squire and knight For the Honor of the Land. When war had passed, and Peace at last Ruled over earth and sky, The bonds of ancient law held fast,-- The faith which cannot die. Ah, call us aliens though you may-- We hear and understand, The deathless watchword wakes to-day,-- The Honor of the Land! XXII COCKATRICE EGGS HOW TOMASO THE PHYSICIAN AND BASIL THE SCRIBE HELD THE KEYS OF EMPIRE Brother Basil and Tomaso of Padua sat in the glass-house crypt, with an oaken chest heavily bound with iron between them. It had been brought in, and the ropes about it loosened, by sweating varlets who looked with awe at the crucibles, retorts, mortars, braziers, furnaces, beakers and other paraphernalia of what they believed to be alchemy. They had not agreed about the contents of that coffer. Samkin held that it was too heavy to be anything but gold. Hob maintained that if these wise men could make gold there was no point in sending them a chest full. Tom Dowgate ended the argument by inquiring which of them had ever handled gold enough to judge its weight, and reminding them of the weight of a millstone when tugged up hill. It was gold, however. When doors were bolted and windows shuttered the two philosophers remained silent for a few moments, Tomaso stroking his white beard, Brother Basil fingering his rosary. Then the Paduan reached forward and tilted back the lid. Under a layer of parchment, leather and tow scraps used for packing, the bezants lay snug and orderly beneath, shining significantly in the light of the bronze lamp. There was coin enough in that chest to turn the scale, perhaps, in the next war in Christendom,--so the Chancellor had said when he saw it go. Brother Basil weighed one of the bright new-minted pieces on his finger-end, thoughtfully. "I wonder what this bit of metal will do in England," he mused. "Strange--that a thing so easily destroyed should have such power over the hearts of men." "It is like a Devil," said the unperturbed physician. "He does not come inside a man's heart unless he is invited. Gold as you will employ it means the upbuilding of those crafts that make men--not serfs. We shall make our treasure instead of hiring troopers to steal it, if your schools prosper." Brother Basil sighed. "I hope so. It is hard to see pages of priceless wisdom, scribed and illumined by loving and patient labor, scattered to the winds in the sack of a town. It made my soul ache to hear the monks of Ireland speak of the past. I believe that the King means to protect the Irish Abbeys, but this is a hard age for a peacemaker." "The Plantagenets were never scantly supplied with brains," observed Tomaso dryly. "I think, myself, that the King will use the sword only to enforce the law, and that the robber barons are going to have a sad time of it henceforth. Perhaps Henry is more in tune with the age than you think. Frederick Barbarossa is coming to grips with the Lombard cities, and it will be mailed knight against Commune this time. Meanwhile, let us get to work." The gold was unpacked and hidden safely in the hollow of the wall behind the turning stone. When the younger men arrived the chest was carried up the narrow stair and refilled with various precious or fragile things which it was well to have out of the way. The furnaces were set alight and the working day began. A fairy spell seemed to possess the fires and the crucibles. Brother Basil, working at a medallion of enamel, gave a delighted exclamation as he held up the finished work. The red roses of Saint Dorothea were like elfin blossoms. "The saint herself might have come from Alexandria to help us," he said. Guy, who never spared trouble, had been finishing a chalice begun before his recent journey to the south. Even the critical eye of the Abbot found no flaw in its beauty. The little group of artists had worked free from the Oriental stiffness and unreality of their first models. Their designs were conventional, but the working out was like the quaintly formal primness of wild flowers in garlands. The traditional shape might be much the same, but there was a living freshness and grace, a richness of color and strength of line, which were an improvement on the model. Alan, who seldom talked of an idea until he had tried it out, betook himself to a corner and began doing odd things with his blowpipe. The others went to work on a reliquary, and paid no attention to him until their work was well under way. Then there was a chorus of admiration. The sheet of glass just ready for the annealing was of the true heavenly azure that Brother Basil had tried in vain to get. "You kept the rule, I hope?" inquired the monk with some anxiety. "We cannot lose that glass now that we have it." Alan shifted from one foot to the other. "It wasn't my rule,--that is, not all of it," he answered bluntly. "I read a part on this torn page here, and it seemed to me that I might work out the rest by this," he showed a chalked formula on the wall. "I tried it, and it came right." Tomaso caught up the scrap of parchment. "What?" he said sharply. "Where did this come from?" It was a piece that had been used for the packing of the gold. Parchment was not cheap, and all the bits had been swept into a basket. Although covered with writing, they could be scraped clean and used again. The Paduan bent over the rubbish and picked out fragment after fragment, comparing them with keen interest. "No harm is done," he said as he met Alan's troubled gaze, "there may be something else worth keeping here. At any rate you shall make more blue glass. Keep the formula safe and secret." There are days in all men's work which are remembered while memory endures--hours when the inspiration of a new thought is like a song of gladness, and the mind forgets the drag of past failure. The little group in the Abbey glass-house and the adjoining rooms where the goldsmiths worked, were possessed by this mood of delight. The chalice that Guy had finished, the deep azure glass and the reliquary represented more real achievement than they had to show for any day in the past six months. There was just the difference that separates the perfect from the not quite perfect. Their dreams were coming true. The young men walked over the fields to supper at the Abbey farm, as usual, and Dame Cicely, as usual, stood in the door to greet them. [Illustration: "'AND THERE GOES WHAT WOULD SEAT THE KING OF ENGLAND ON THE THRONE OF THE CÆSARS,' QUOTH TOMASO"--_Page 291_] "How goes the work, lads?" she asked, and then caught Alan by the shoulder, crying, "No need to answer. I know by the face on thee. What hast been doing to make it shine so?" "Only finished a piece o' work, mother," said Padraig with a grin. "It takes some men a long time to do that. If they would bide just this side of a masterpiece they'd save 'emselves trouble. But they will spend all their force on the last step." "Aye," said Alan, "better leap clean over the Strid while you're about it." And for once Padraig had no more to say. Oddly enough Brother Basil also thought of the Strid that night--the deep and dangerous whirlpool in the grim North Country had haunted him ever since he saw it. He and Tomaso came back, after dark, to the crypt, and spread out the torn manuscripts by the light of two flambeaux in the wall. None of the pages were whole, and the script was in Latin, Arabic, Greek and Italian, and not all in the same handwriting. Both believed that in searching the heap for secrets of their arts they had stumbled on something dangerous. "I believe I know where these came from," Tomaso said, when they had patched together three or four pages. "They are part of the scripts of Archiater of Byzantium, who was taken for a wizard in Goslar ten years ago. I thought that all his books were burned. There was talk enough about it." "But what are these prescriptions?" asked the monk, puzzled. "You would know by this time," said the Paduan grimly, "if that flame-crested imp of yours, Padraig, had been the one to experiment. By following the directions on this bit of vellum he might have blown us all into the other world. Luckily only three of these formulæ are of that nature. The others are quite safe for your young disciples to play with. But these we will keep to ourselves." He laid a stained brownish piece of sheepskin apart from the others and two smaller ones beside it. "These are directions for the manufacture of aqua regia, Spanish gold, and something which Archiater called Apples of Sodom. Of a certainty they are fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, those apples." Brother Basil had lost color. This really was a trifle too near necromancy to be pleasant. Spanish gold was a Saracen invention, said to be made of most unholy materials, and he had heard of a wizard being carried bodily off on the wind after dealing in the others. "We will carry on our experiments," Tomaso continued, "in the cellars of my tower, if you please. The young ones will be only too glad to be rid of us. If any one meddled here we should risk all we have done and the lives of our pupils. If we make any blunders working by ourselves--well--I sometimes think that I have lived a long time already." The disciples were too well trained to ask any questions, but they were somewhat mystified by the proceedings which ensued. An underground chamber straitly walled in with masonry was fitted up, and the smells that clung to the garments of Brother Basil when he emerged were more like brimstone than anything else. Tomaso was never seen at all. Meanwhile the newly discovered formulæ for glass and enamel work had been turned over to the workers in the glass-house, with permission to buy whatever material was needed. Padraig and Guy went to London, and came back with precious packets of rare gums, dyes, minerals, oils and salts, not to be found or made at the Abbey. Meanwhile the monk and the physician worked with absorbed intentness at their crucibles and stills. There was a slight explosion one evening, and a country lout of the neighborhood told of it. Next day a neighboring farmer ventured to ask Padraig what was going on in the ruined tower. "Why," said Padraig soberly, "we are raising a brood of hobgoblins for the King. Did ye not know?" The making of sulphuric acid, nitric acid and their compounds would have been risky business in any age, with the primitive apparatus that the two investigators had. They were furthermore made cautious by the fact that they did not know what might happen if they made the least error. It was midnight after a long and nerve-racking day when they became satisfied that they had the secrets of at least three perilous mixtures in the hollow of their hands. "I think the King would give seven such chests as the one he sent, if he knew what we know," said Brother Basil musingly. "He has the value of that chest already, in the rose window and the great window, the monstrance, the chalice and the cups," Tomaso answered, his sense of money values undimmed. "They are as good in their way as Limoges itself can do." "I wish that we had tidings from London," said the monk thoughtfully. "If Lombardy loses in this war the Emperor will not stop there. He has said that he will obey no Pope on earth, only Saint Peter and the others in heaven. He is neither to hold nor to bind, that man." "Henry does not want to fight--that is certain," said Tomaso. "He desires only to keep for his children what he has already--Anjou, Normandy, Aquitaine; and most of all England. It would take a greater than the Conqueror to rob the Plantagenets of this kingdom." "What do you think will happen in Lombardy?" asked the other. "The League of Lombard cities will fight to the death," said Tomaso quietly. "The Communes are fighting for their lives, and cornered wolves are fierce. Neither Sicily nor France is on Frederick's side, although they may be, if he wins. If he can get Henry the Lion of Saxony to fight under his banner, it may turn the scale." "And Henry the Lion married our Henry's daughter Matilda," said Brother Basil. Tomaso nodded. "Without Saxony," the Paduan added, "I know that not more than two thousand men will follow Barbarossa into Italy, and not more than half are mailed knights. The Lombard army is more or less light cavalry and infantry. Here in this cellar we have such weapons as no King has dreamed of--blazing leaping serpents, metal-devouring and poison-breathing spirits, pomegranates full of the seeds of destruction. These--in the hands of the Communes----" "Would turn Christendom into the kingdom of Satan," said Brother Basil as the physician paused. "If we were to give the secret to Henry's clerks, or even if we ourselves handled the work in London Tower, how long would it be before treachery or thievery carried it overseas? Are we to spread ruin over the world?" "I thought you would see it as I did," said Tomaso smiling. The ground vibrated to the tread of hoofs, and a horn sounded outside the window. "That is Ranulph," said Tomaso. "I thought he might come to-night. He will have news." As Ranulph came up the path, travel-dusty and weary, lights twinkled out in the Abbey and the Abbey Farm. "The Emperor has lost," said the troubadour. "There was a battle at Legnano, and the German knights scattered the Italian cavalry at the first onset, but when they met the infantry massed about the Carocchio they broke. The Emperor was wounded and fled. Without Henry of Saxony the battle was lost before it began. They say that there will be a treaty at Venice. The Communes have won." "Come here, my son," said Tomaso, turning back into the tower. "We have found an armory of new and deadly weapons. You have heard of Archiater's apples? We can make them. Shall we give the Plantagenets to eat of the Tree of Knowledge?" Ranulph's eyes darkened and narrowed. His quick mind leaped forward to the consequences of such a revelation. "No," he answered. "Too much evil ambition lives among Normans. It might be safe with the King--and maybe with Richard, for he loves chivalry and knightly honor--but John loves nothing but his own will. Let us have peace in Christendom while we can." "Shall we burn the parchment then?" asked Brother Basil. "Nay--keep it in cipher. Let a few trusted men know the key." "We will trust our lads," Brother Basil said. "Let us ask them." Alan and Padraig, Wilfrid, Guy, and David, came up the path. Brother Basil explained the discovery. They had already heard the news of the Lombard victory from Giovanni, who had ridden with the troubadour and stopped at the Abbey Farm. "What shall we do with these mysteries?" Tomaso asked, holding out one of the deadly little grenades. "You must remember that some one else may find out the secret without our help. It is true that the man who did would risk being burned for a wizard in some places; still, there is little that men will not dare in the search for knowledge." "Let them find it out then," spoke Padraig in sudden heat. "We have had enough of war in our time. Let us kill this cockatrice in the egg." "These would pay some debts,"--Alan's hard young North-country face grew stern. He was thinking of tales which Angelo had told him in his boyhood. "God can pay debts without money," said Brother Basil gently. "We are not ready," Guy averred. "We need time to train men and to let the land breathe. After that it may be safe to use the secret--not now." "That cat's best in a sack," David commented shrewdly. "Padraig is right," said Wilfrid. "We have had enough of war in our time. We will keep this monster prisoned." They came to an agreement. Padraig was to make copies in cipher of the formulæ. After ten years, or on his deathbed should he die within that time, each might give the master-words and the rules to some comrade who could be trusted. They were all to swear never to use their knowledge for gain, or ambition, or vanity, but for the good of their craft, the glory of God and the honor of the land. "Before we destroy that which we have made," said Brother Basil, "we will show you in part what it can do." Metals dissolved like wet salt. Wood and leather were bitten through as by gnawing rats. A fire was kindled on the old tower, and a cone-like swarm of giant wasps of fire went spluttering and boiling up into the darkness. The apples of Sodom were planted under a troublesome ledge of rock, and reduced it to rubble. "And there goes what would seat the King of England on the throne of the Cæsars," quoth Tomaso. The last wavering flare was dying into the night, and he stood with Ranulph and Padraig on the top of the tower, under the stars. "He might have sat there before, if he had chosen," mused Ranulph. Padraig was silent. Matteo had fallen beside the Carocchio, and his heart was sad. Tomaso laid a hand on Ranulph's shoulder. "An empire is a forest of slow nurture, beloved of my soul," he said gently, "and it does--not--grow--by--conflagrations." Transcriber's Notes: The following corrections have been made: On page 46/47 two paragraphs were joined together. (He answered, a trifle defiantly, "Perhaps I do.) On page 239 the quotation marks were moved from the end of the stanza to the beginning of the next, (Take a chance for Belphoebe's fame!) ("They live in Valhalla). Spelling and pagenumbers in the Tables of Contents and Illustrations, and in the captions, have been corrected to match the rest of the book. Otherwise the original has been preserved, including archaic, unusual and inconsistent spelling, especially in the poems, and inconsistent hyphenation. 
9663	----	Domnei A Comedy of Woman-Worship By JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1920 "_En cor gentil domnei per mort no passa_." TO SARAH READ McADAMS IN GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION "The complication of opinions and ideas, of affections and habits, which prompted the chevalier to devote himself to the service of a lady, and by which he strove to prove to her his love, and to merit hers in return, was expressed, in the language of the Troubadours, by a single word, by the word _domnei_, a derivation of _domna_, which may be regarded as an alteration of the Latin _domina_, lady, mistress." --C. C. FAURIEL, _History of Provencal Poetry_. CONTENTS CHAPTER A PREFACE CRITICAL COMMENT THE ARGUMENT PART ONE--PERION I HOW PERION WAS UNMASKED II HOW THE VICOMTE WAS VERY GAY III HOW MELICENT WOOED IV HOW THE BISHOP AIDED PERION V HOW MELICENT WEDDED PART TWO--MELICENT VI HOW MELICENT SOUGHT OVERSEA VII HOW PERION WAS FREED VIII HOW DEMETRIOS WAS AMUSED IX HOW TIME SPED IN HEATHENRY X HOW DEMETRIOS WOOED PART THREE--DEMETRIOS XI HOW TIME SPED WITH PERION XII HOW DEMETRIOS WAS TAKEN XIII HOW THEY PRAISED MELICENT XIV HOW PERION BRAVED THEODORET. XV HOW PERION FOUGHT XVI HOW DEMETRIOS MEDITATED. XVII HOW A MINSTREL CAME XVIII HOW THEY CRIED QUITS XIX HOW FLAMBERGE WAS LOST XX HOW PERION GOT AID PART FOUR--AHASUERUS XXI HOW DEMETRIOS HELD HIS CHATTEL XXII HOW MISERY HELD NACUMERA. XXIII HOW DEMETRIOS CRIED FAREWELL XXIV HOW ORESTES RULED XXV HOW WOMEN TALKED TOGETHER XXVI HOW MEN ORDERED MATTERS XXVII HOW AHASUERUS WAS CANDID XXVIII HOW PERION SAW MELICENT XXIX HOW A BARGAIN WAS CRIED XXX HOW MELICENT CONQUERED THE AFTERWORD BIBLIOGRAPHY A Preface By Joseph Hergesheimer It would be absorbing to discover the present feminine attitude toward the profoundest compliment ever paid women by the heart and mind of men in league--the worshipping devotion conceived by Plato and elevated to a living faith in mediaeval France. Through that renaissance of a sublimated passion _domnei_ was regarded as a throne of alabaster by the chosen figures of its service: Melicent, at Bellegarde, waiting for her marriage with King Theodoret, held close an image of Perion made of substance that time was powerless to destroy; and which, in a life of singular violence, where blood hung scarlet before men's eyes like a tapestry, burned in a silver flame untroubled by the fate of her body. It was, to her, a magic that kept her inviolable, perpetually, in spite of marauding fingers, a rose in the blanched perfection of its early flowering. The clearest possible case for that religion was that it transmuted the individual subject of its adoration into the deathless splendor of a Madonna unique and yet divisible in a mirage of earthly loveliness. It was heaven come to Aquitaine, to the Courts of Love, in shapes of vivid fragrant beauty, with delectable hair lying gold on white samite worked in borders of blue petals. It chose not abstractions for its faith, but the most desirable of all actual--yes, worldly--incentives: the sister, it might be, of Count Emmerick of Poictesme. And, approaching beatitude not so much through a symbol of agony as by the fragile grace of a woman, raising Melicent to the stars, it fused, more completely than in any other aspiration, the spirit and the flesh. However, in its contact, its lovers' delight, it was no more than a slow clasping and unclasping of the hands; the spirit and flesh, merged, became spiritual; the height of stars was not a figment.... Here, since the conception of _domnei_ has so utterly vanished, the break between the ages impassable, the sympathy born of understanding is interrupted. Hardly a woman, to-day, would value a sigh the passion which turned a man steadfastly away that he might be with her forever beyond the parched forest of death. Now such emotion is held strictly to the gains, the accountability, of life's immediate span; women have left their cloudy magnificence for a footing on earth; but--at least in warm graceful youth--their dreams are still of a Perion de la Forêt. These, clear-eyed, they disavow; yet their secret desire, the most Elysian of all hopes, to burn at once with the body and the soul, mocks what they find. That vision, dominating Mr. Cabell's pages, the record of his revealed idealism, brings specially to _Domnei_ a beauty finely escaping the dusty confusion of any present. It is a book laid in a purity, a serenity, of space above the vapors, the bigotry and engendered spite, of dogma and creed. True to yesterday, it will be faithful of to-morrow; for, in the evolution of humanity, not necessarily the turn of a wheel upward, certain qualities have remained at the center, undisturbed. And, of these, none is more fixed than an abstract love. Different in men than in women, it is, for the former, an instinct, a need, to serve rather than be served: their desire is for a shining image superior, at best, to both lust and maternity. This consciousness, grown so dim that it is scarcely perceptible, yet still alive, is not extinguished with youth, but lingers hopeless of satisfaction through the incongruous years of middle age. There is never a man, gifted to any degree with imagination, but eternally searches for an ultimate loveliness not disappearing in the circle of his embrace--the instinctively Platonic gesture toward the only immortality conceivable in terms of ecstasy. A truth, now, in very low esteem! With the solidification of society, of property, the bond of family has been tremendously exalted, the mere fact of parenthood declared the last sanctity. Together with this, naturally, the persistent errantry of men, so vulgarly misunderstood, has become only a reprehensible paradox. The entire shelf of James Branch Cabell's books, dedicated to an unquenchable masculine idealism, has, as well, a paradoxical place in an age of material sentimentality. Compared with the novels of the moment, _Domnei_ is an isolated, a heroic fragment of a vastly deeper and higher structure. And, of its many aspects, it is not impossible that the highest, rising over even its heavenly vision, is the rare, the simple, fortitude of its statement. Whatever dissent the philosophy of Perion and Melicent may breed, no one can fail to admire the steady courage with which it is upheld. Aside from its special preoccupation, such independence in the face of ponderable threat, such accepted isolation, has a rare stability in a world treacherous with mental quicksands and evasions. This is a valor not drawn from insensibility, but from the sharpest possible recognition of all the evil and Cyclopean forces in existence, and a deliberate engagement of them on their own ground. Nothing more, in that direction, can be asked of Mr. Cabell, of anyone. While about the story itself, the soul of Melicent, the form and incidental writing, it is no longer necessary to speak. The pages have the rich sparkle of a past like stained glass called to life: the Confraternity of St. Médard presenting their masque of Hercules; the claret colored walls adorned with gold cinquefoils of Demetrios' court; his pavilion with porticoes of Andalusian copper; Theodoret's capital, Megaris, ruddy with bonfires; the free port of Narenta with its sails spread for the land of pagans; the lichen-incrusted glade in the Forest of Columbiers; gardens with the walks sprinkled with crocus and vermilion and powdered mica ... all are at once real and bright with unreality, rayed with the splendor of an antiquity built from webs and films of imagined wonder. The past is, at its moment, the present, and that lost is valueless. Distilled by time, only an imperishable romantic conception remains; a vision, where it is significant, animated by the feelings, the men and women, which only, at heart, are changeless. They, the surcharged figures of _Domnei_, move vividly through their stone galleries and closes, in procession, and--a far more difficult accomplishment--alone. The lute of the Bishop of Montors, playing as he rides in scarlet, sounds its Provençal refrain; the old man Theodoret, a king, sits shabbily between a prie-dieu and the tarnished hangings of his bed; Mélusine, with the pale frosty hair of a child, spins the melancholy of departed passion; Ahasuerus the Jew buys Melicent for a hundred and two minae and enters her room past midnight for his act of abnegation. And at the end, looking, perhaps, for a mortal woman, Perion finds, in a flesh not unscarred by years, the rose beyond destruction, the high silver flame of immortal happiness. So much, then, everything in the inner questioning of beings condemned to a glimpse of remote perfection, as though the sky had opened on a city of pure bliss, transpires in _Domnei_; while the fact that it is laid in Poictesme sharpens the thrust of its illusion. It is by that much the easier of entry; it borders--rather than on the clamor of mills--on the reaches men explore, leaving' weariness and dejection for fancy--a geography for lonely sensibilities betrayed by chance into the blind traps, the issueless barrens, of existence. JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER. CRITICAL COMMENT _And Norman_ Nicolas _at hearté meant (Pardie!) some subtle occupation In making of his Tale of Melicent, That stubbornly desiréd Perion. What perils for to rollen up and down, So long process, so many a sly cautel, For to obtain a silly damosel!_ --THOMAS UPCLIFFE. Nicolas de Caen, one of the most eminent of the early French writers of romance, was born at Caen in Normandy early in the 15th century, and was living in 1470. Little is known of his life, apart from the fact that a portion of his youth was spent in England, where he was connected in some minor capacity with the household of the Queen Dowager, Joan of Navarre. In later life, from the fact that two of his works are dedicated to Isabella of Portugal, third wife to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, it is conjectured that Nicolas was attached to the court of that prince . . . . Nicolas de Caen was not greatly esteemed nor highly praised by his contemporaries, or by writers of the century following, but latterly has received the recognition due to his unusual qualities of invention and conduct of narrative, together with his considerable knowledge of men and manners, and occasional remarkable modernity of thought. His books, therefore, apart from the interest attached to them as specimens of early French romance, and in spite of the difficulties and crudities of the unformed language in which they are written, are still readable, and are rich in instructive detail concerning the age that gave them birth . . . . Many romances are attributed to Nicolas de Caen. Modern criticism has selected four only as undoubtedly his. These are--(1) _Les Aventures d'Adhelmar de Nointel_, a metrical romance, plainly of youthful composition, containing some seven thousand verses; (2) _Le Roy Amaury_, well known to English students in Watson's spirited translation; (3) _Le Roman de Lusignan_, a re-handling of the Melusina myth, most of which is wholly lost; (4) _Le Dizain des Reines_, a collection of quasi-historical _novellino_ interspersed with lyrics. Six other romances are known to have been written by Nicolas, but these have perished; and he is credited with the authorship of _Le Cocu Rouge_, included by Hinsauf, and of several Ovidian translations or imitations still unpublished. The Satires formerly attributed to him Bülg has shown to be spurious compositions of 17th century origin. --E. Noel Codman, _Handbook of Literary Pioneers._ Nicolas de Caen est un représentant agréable, naïf, et expressif de cet âge que nous aimons à nous représenter de loin comme l'âge d'or du bon vieux temps ... Nicolas croyait à son Roy et à sa Dame, il croyait surtout à son Dieu. Nicolas sentait que le monde était semé à chaque pas d'obscurités et d'embûches, et que l'inconnu était partout; partout aussi était le protecteur invisible et le soutien; à chaque souffle qui frémissait, Nicolas croyait le sentir comme derrière le rideau. Le ciel par-dessus ce Nicolas de Caen était ouvert, peuplé en chaque point de figures vivantes, de patrons attentifs et manifestes, d'une invocation directe. Le plus intrépide guerrier alors marchait dans un mélange habituel de crainte et de confiance, comme un tout petit enfant. A cette vue, les esprits les plus émancipés d'aujourd'hui ne sauraient s'empêcher de crier, en tempérant leur sourire par le respect: _Sancta simplicitas!_ --Paul Verville, _Notice sur la vie de Nicolas de Caen._ THE ARGUMENT _"Of how, through Woman-Worship, knaves compound With honoure; Kings reck not of their domaine; Proud Pontiffs sigh; & War-men world-renownd, Toe win one Woman, all things else disdaine: Since Melicent doth in herselfe contayne All this world's Riches that may farre be found. "If Saphyres ye desire, her eies are plaine; If Rubies, loe, hir lips be Rubyes sound; If Pearles, hir teeth be Pearles, both pure & round; If Yvorie, her forehead Yvory weene; If Gold, her locks with finest Gold abound; If Silver, her faire hands have Silver's sheen. "Yet that which fayrest is, but Few beholde, Her Soul adornd with vertues manifold."_ --SIR WILLIAM ALLONBY. THE ROMANCE OF LUSIGNAN OF THAT FORGOTTEN MAKER IN THE FRENCH TONGUE, MESSIRE NICOLAS DE CAEN. HERE BEGINS THE TALE WHICH THEY OF POICTESME NARRATE CONCERNING DAME MELICENT, THAT WAS DAUGHTER TO THE GREAT COUNT MANUEL. PART ONE PERION _How Perion, that stalwart was and gay, Treadeth with sorrow on a holiday, Since Melicent anon must wed a king: How in his heart he hath vain love-longing, For which he putteth life in forfeiture, And would no longer in such wise endure; For writhing Perion in Venus' fire So burneth that he dieth for desire._ 1. _How Perion Was Unmasked_ Perion afterward remembered the two weeks spent at Bellegarde as in recovery from illness a person might remember some long fever dream which was all of an intolerable elvish brightness and of incessant laughter everywhere. They made a deal of him in Count Emmerick's pleasant home: day by day the outlaw was thrust into relations of mirth with noblemen, proud ladies, and even with a king; and was all the while half lightheaded through his singular knowledge as to how precariously the self-styled Vicomte de Puysange now balanced himself, as it were, upon a gilded stepping-stone from infamy to oblivion. Now that King Theodoret had withdrawn his sinister presence, young Perion spent some seven hours of every day alone, to all intent, with Dame Melicent. There might be merry people within a stone's throw, about this recreation or another, but these two seemed to watch aloofly, as royal persons do the antics of their hired comedians, without any condescension into open interest. They were together; and the jostle of earthly happenings might hope, at most, to afford them matter for incurious comment. They sat, as Perion thought, for the last time together, part of an audience before which the Confraternity of St. Médard was enacting a masque of _The Birth of Hercules_. The Bishop of Montors had returned to Bellegarde that evening with his brother, Count Gui, and the pleasure-loving prelate had brought these mirth-makers in his train. Clad in scarlet, he rode before them playing upon a lute--unclerical conduct which shocked his preciser brother and surprised nobody. In such circumstances Perion began to speak with an odd purpose, because his reason was bedrugged by the beauty and purity of Melicent, and perhaps a little by the slow and clutching music to whose progress the chorus of Theban virgins was dancing. When he had made an end of harsh whispering, Melicent sat for a while in scrupulous appraisement of the rushes. The music was so sweet it seemed to Perion he must go mad unless she spoke within the moment. Then Melicent said: "You tell me you are not the Vicomte de Puysange. You tell me you are, instead, the late King Helmas' servitor, suspected of his murder. You are the fellow that stole the royal jewels--the outlaw for whom half Christendom is searching--" Thus Melicent began to speak at last; and still he could not intercept those huge and tender eyes whose purple made the thought of heaven comprehensible. The man replied: "I am that widely hounded Perion of the Forest. The true vicomte is the wounded rascal over whose delirium we marvelled only last Tuesday. Yes, at the door of your home I attacked him, fought him--hah, but fairly, madame!--and stole his brilliant garments and with them his papers. Then in my desperate necessity I dared to masquerade. For I know enough about dancing to estimate that to dance upon air must necessarily prove to everybody a disgusting performance, but pre-eminently unpleasing to the main actor. Two weeks of safety till the _Tranchemer_ sailed I therefore valued at a perhaps preposterous rate. To-night, as I have said, the ship lies at anchor off Manneville." Melicent said an odd thing, asking, "Oh, can it be you are a less despicable person than you are striving to appear!" "Rather, I am a more unmitigated fool than even I suspected, since when affairs were in a promising train I have elected to blurt out, of all things, the naked and distasteful truth. Proclaim it now; and see the late Vicomte de Puysange lugged out of this hall and after appropriate torture hanged within the month." And with that Perion laughed. Thereafter he was silent. As the masque went, Amphitryon had newly returned from warfare, and was singing under Alcmena's window in the terms of an aubade, a waking-song. "_Rei glorios, verais lums e clardatz--" Amphitryon had begun. Dame Melicent heard him through. And after many ages, as it seemed to Perion, the soft and brilliant and exquisite mouth was pricked to motion. "You have affronted, by an incredible imposture and beyond the reach of mercy, every listener in this hall. You have injured me most deeply of all persons here. Yet it is to me alone that you confess." Perion leaned forward. You are to understand that, through the incurrent necessities of every circumstance, each of them spoke in whispers, even now. It was curious to note the candid mirth on either side. Mercury was making his adieux to Alcmena's waiting-woman in the middle of a jig. "But you," sneered Perion, "are merciful in all things. Rogue that I am, I dare to build on this notorious fact. I am snared in a hard golden trap, I cannot get a guide to Manneville, I cannot even procure a horse from Count Emmerick's stables without arousing fatal suspicions; and I must be at Manneville by dawn or else be hanged. Therefore I dare stake all upon one throw; and you must either save or hang me with unwashed hands. As surely as God reigns, my future rests with you. And as I am perfectly aware, you could not live comfortably with a gnat's death upon your conscience. Eh, am I not a seasoned rascal?" "Do not remind me now that you are vile," said Melicent. "Ah, no, not now!" "Lackey, impostor, and thief!" he sternly answered. "There you have the catalogue of all my rightful titles. And besides, it pleases me, for a reason I cannot entirely fathom, to be unpardonably candid and to fling my destiny into your lap. To-night, as I have said, the _Tranchemer_ lies off Manneville; keep counsel, get me a horse if you will, and to-morrow I am embarked for desperate service under the harried Kaiser of the Greeks, and for throat-cuttings from which I am not likely ever to return. Speak, and I hang before the month is up." Dame Melicent looked at him now, and within the moment Perion was repaid, and bountifully, for every folly and misdeed of his entire life. "What harm have I ever done you, Messire de la Forêt, that you should shame me in this fashion? Until to-night I was not unhappy in the belief I was loved by you. I may say that now without paltering, since you are not the man I thought some day to love. You are but the rind of him. And you would force me to cheat justice, to become a hunted thief's accomplice, or else to murder you!" "It comes to that, madame." "Then I must help you preserve your life by any sorry stratagems you may devise. I shall not hinder you. I will procure you a guide to Manneville. I will even forgive you all save one offence, since doubtless heaven made you the foul thing you are." The girl was in a hot and splendid rage. "For you love me. Women know. You love me. You!" "Undoubtedly, madame." "Look into my face! and say what horrid writ of infamy you fancied was apparent there, that my nails may destroy it." "I am all base," he answered, "and yet not so profoundly base as you suppose. Nay, believe me, I had never hoped to win even such scornful kindness as you might accord your lapdog. I have but dared to peep at heaven while I might, and only as lost Dives peeped. Ignoble as I am, I never dreamed to squire an angel down toward the mire and filth which is henceforward my inevitable kennel." "The masque is done," said Melicent, "and yet you talk, and talk, and talk, and mimic truth so cunningly--Well, I will send some trusty person to you. And now, for God's sake!--nay, for the fiend's love who is your patron!--let me not ever see you again, Messire de la Forêt." 2. _How the Vicomte Was Very Gay_ There was dancing afterward and a sumptuous supper. The Vicomte de Puysange was generally accounted that evening the most excellent of company. He mingled affably with the revellers and found a prosperous answer for every jest they broke upon the projected marriage of Dame Melicent and King Theodoret; and meanwhile hugged the reflection that half the realm was hunting Perion de la Forêt in the more customary haunts of rascality. The springs of Perion's turbulent mirth were that to-morrow every person in the room would discover how impudently every person had been tricked, and that Melicent deliberated even now, and could not but admire, the hunted outlaw's insolence, however much she loathed its perpetrator; and over this thought in particular Perion laughed like a madman. "You are very gay to-night, Messire de Puysange," said the Bishop of Montors. This remarkable young man, it is necessary to repeat, had reached Bellegarde that evening, coming from Brunbelois. It was he (as you have heard) who had arranged the match with Theodoret. The bishop himself loved his cousin Melicent; but, now that he was in holy orders and possession of her had become impossible, he had cannily resolved to utilise her beauty, as he did everything else, toward his own preferment. "Oh, sir," replied Perion, "you who are so fine a poet must surely know that _gay_ rhymes with _to-day_ as patly as _sorrow_ goes with _to-morrow_." "Yet your gay laughter, Messire de Puysange, is after all but breath: and _breath_ also"--the bishop's sharp eyes fixed Perion's--"has a hackneyed rhyme." "Indeed, it is the grim rhyme that rounds off and silences all our rhyming," Perion assented. "I must laugh, then, without rhyme or reason." Still the young prelate talked rather oddly. "But," said he, "you have an excellent reason, now that you sup so near to heaven." And his glance at Melicent did not lack pith. "No, no, I have quite another reason," Perion answered; "it is that to-morrow I breakfast in hell." "Well, they tell me the landlord of that place is used to cater to each according to his merits," the bishop, shrugging, returned. And Perion thought how true this was when, at the evening's end, he was alone in his own room. His life was tolerably secure. He trusted Ahasuerus the Jew to see to it that, about dawn, one of the ship's boats would touch at Fomor Beach near Manneville, according to their old agreement. Aboard the _Tranchemer_ the Free Companions awaited their captain; and the savage land they were bound for was a thought beyond the reach of a kingdom's lamentable curiosity concerning the whereabouts of King Helmas' treasure. The worthless life of Perion was safe. For worthless, and far less than worthless, life seemed to Perion as he thought of Melicent and waited for her messenger. He thought of her beauty and purity and illimitable loving-kindness toward every person in the world save only Perion of the Forest. He thought of how clean she was in every thought and deed; of that, above all, he thought, and he knew that he would never see her any more. "Oh, but past any doubting," said Perion, "the devil caters to each according to his merits." 3. _How Melicent Wooed_ Then Perion knew that vain regret had turned his brain, very certainly, for it seemed the door had opened and Dame Melicent herself had come, warily, into the panelled gloomy room. It seemed that Melicent paused in the convulsive brilliancy of the firelight, and stayed thus with vaguely troubled eyes like those of a child newly wakened from sleep. And it seemed a long while before she told Perion very quietly that she had confessed all to Ayrart de Montors, and had, by reason of de Montors' love for her, so goaded and allured the outcome of their talk--"ignobly," as she said,--that a clean-handed gentleman would come at three o'clock for Perion de la Forêt, and guide a thief toward unmerited impunity. All this she spoke quite levelly, as one reads aloud from a book; and then, with a signal change of voice, Melicent said: "Yes, that is true enough. Yet why, in reality, do you think I have in my own person come to tell you of it?" "Madame, I may not guess. Hah, indeed, indeed," Perion cried, because he knew the truth and was unspeakably afraid, "I dare not guess!" "You sail to-morrow for the fighting oversea----" she began, but her sweet voice trailed and died into silence. He heard the crepitations of the fire, and even the hurried beatings of his own heart, as against a terrible and lovely hush of all created life. "Then take me with you." Perion had never any recollection of what he answered. Indeed, he uttered no communicative words, but only foolish babblements. "Oh, I do not understand," said Melicent. "It is as though some spell were laid upon me. Look you, I have been cleanly reared, I have never wronged any person that I know of, and throughout my quiet, sheltered life I have loved truth and honour most of all. My judgment grants you to be what you are confessedly. And there is that in me more masterful and surer than my judgment, that which seems omniscient and lightly puts aside your confessings as unimportant." "Lackey, impostor, and thief!" young Perion answered. "There you have the catalogue of all my rightful titles fairly earned." "And even if I believed you, I think I would not care! Is that not strange? For then I should despise you. And even then, I think, I would fling my honour at your feet, as I do now, and but in part with loathing, I would still entreat you to make of me your wife, your servant, anything that pleased you . . . . Oh, I had thought that when love came it would be sweet!" Strangely quiet, in every sense, he answered: "It is very sweet. I have known no happier moment in my life. For you stand within arm's reach, mine to touch, mine to possess and do with as I elect. And I dare not lift a finger. I am as a man that has lain for a long while in a dungeon vainly hungering for the glad light of day--who, being freed at last, must hide his eyes from the dear sunlight he dare not look upon as yet. Ho, I am past speech unworthy of your notice! and I pray you now speak harshly with me, madame, for when your pure eyes regard me kindly, and your bright and delicate lips have come thus near to mine, I am so greatly tempted and so happy that I fear lest heaven grow jealous!" "Be not too much afraid--" she murmured. "Nay, should I then be bold? and within the moment wake Count Emmerick to say to him, very boldly, 'Beau sire, the thief half Christendom is hunting has the honour to request your sister's hand in marriage'?" "You sail to-morrow for the fighting oversea. Take me with you." "Indeed the feat would be worthy of me. For you are a lady tenderly nurtured and used to every luxury the age affords. There comes to woo you presently an excellent and potent monarch, not all unworthy of your love, who will presently share with you many happy and honourable years. Yonder is a lawless naked wilderness where I and my fellow desperadoes hope to cheat offended justice and to preserve thrice-forfeited lives in savagery. You bid me aid you to go into this country, never to return! Madame, if I obeyed you, Satan would protest against pollution of his ageless fires by any soul so filthy." "You talk of little things, whereas I think of great things. Love is not sustained by palatable food alone, and is not served only by those persons who go about the world in satin." "Then take the shameful truth. It is undeniable I swore I loved you, and with appropriate gestures, too. But, dompnedex, madame! I am past master in these specious ecstasies, for somehow I have rarely seen the woman who had not some charm or other to catch my heart with. I confess now that you alone have never quickened it. My only purpose was through hyperbole to wheedle you out of a horse, and meanwhile to have my recreation, you handsome jade!--and that is all you ever meant to me. I swear to you that is all, all, all!" sobbed Perion, for it appeared that he must die. "I have amused myself with you, I have abominably tricked you--" Melicent only waited with untroubled eyes which seemed to plumb his heart and to appraise all which Perion had ever thought or longed for since the day that Perion was born; and she was as beautiful, it seemed to him, as the untroubled, gracious angels are, and more compassionate. "Yes," Perion said, "I am trying to lie to you. And even at lying I fail." She said, with a wonderful smile: "Assuredly there were never any other persons so mad as we. For I must do the wooing, as though you were the maid, and all the while you rebuff me and suffer so that I fear to look on you. Men say you are no better than a highwayman; you confess yourself to be a thief: and I believe none of your accusers. Perion de la Forêt," said Melicent, and ballad-makers have never shaped a phrase wherewith to tell you of her voice, "I know that you have dabbled in dishonour no more often than an archangel has pilfered drying linen from a hedgerow. I do not guess, for my hour is upon me, and inevitably I know! and there is nothing dares to come between us now." "Nay,--ho, and even were matters as you suppose them, without any warrant,--there is at least one silly stumbling knave that dares as much. Saith he: 'What is the most precious thing in the world?--Why, assuredly, Dame Melicent's welfare. Let me get the keeping of it, then. For I have been entrusted with a host of common priceless things--with youth and vigour and honour, with a clean conscience and a child's faith, and so on--and no person alive has squandered them more gallantly. So heartward ho! and trust me now, my timorous yoke-fellow, to win and squander also the chiefest jewel of the world.' Eh, thus he chuckles and nudges me, with wicked whisperings. Indeed, madame, this rascal that shares equally in my least faculty is a most pitiful, ignoble rogue! and he has aforetime eked out our common livelihood by such practices as your unsullied imagination could scarcely depicture. Until I knew you I had endured him. But you have made of him a horror. A horror, a horror! a thing too pitiful for hell!" Perion turned away from her, groaning. He flung himself into a chair. He screened his eyes as if before some physical abomination. The girl kneeled close to him, touching him. "My dear, my dear! then slay for me this other Perion of the Forest." And Perion laughed, not very mirthfully. "It is the common usage of women to ask of men this little labour, which is a harder task than ever Hercules, that mighty-muscled king of heathenry, achieved. Nay, I, for all my sinews, am an attested weakling. The craft of other men I do not fear, for I have encountered no formidable enemy save myself; but that same midnight stabber unhorsed me long ago. I had wallowed in the mire contentedly enough until you came.... Ah, child, child! why needed you to trouble me! for to-night I want to be clean as you are clean, and that I may not ever be. I am garrisoned with devils, I am the battered plaything of every vice, and I lack the strength, and it may be, even the will, to leave my mire. Always I have betrayed the stewardship of man and god alike that my body might escape a momentary discomfort! And loving you as I do, I cannot swear that in the outcome I would not betray you too, to this same end! I cannot swear--Oh, now let Satan laugh, yet not unpitifully, since he and I, alone, know all the reasons why I may not swear! Hah, Madame Melicent!" cried Perion, in his great agony, "you offer me that gift an emperor might not accept save in awed gratitude; and I refuse it." Gently he raised her to her feet. "And now, in God's name, go, madame, and leave the prodigal among his husks." "You are a very brave and foolish gentleman," she said, "who chooses to face his own achievements without any paltering. To every man, I think, that must be bitter work; to the woman who loves him it is impossible." Perion could not see her face, because he lay prone at the feet of Melicent, sobbing, but without any tears, and tasting very deeply of such grief and vain regret as, he had thought, they know in hell alone; and even after she had gone, in silence, he lay in this same posture for an exceedingly long while. And after he knew not how long a while, Perion propped his chin between his hands and, still sprawling upon the rushes, stared hard into the little, crackling fire. He was thinking of a Perion de la Forêt that once had been. In him might have been found a fit mate for Melicent had this boy not died very long ago. It is no more cheerful than any other mortuary employment, this disinterment of the person you have been, and are not any longer; and so did Perion find his cataloguing of irrevocable old follies and evasions. Then Perion arose and looked for pen and ink. It was the first letter he ever wrote to Melicent, and, as you will presently learn, she never saw it. In such terms Perion wrote: "Madame--It may please you to remember that when Dame Mélusine and I were interrogated, I freely confessed to the murder of King Helmas and the theft of my dead master's jewels. In that I lied. For it was my manifest duty to save the woman whom, as I thought, I loved, and it was apparent that the guilty person was either she or I. "She is now at Brunbelois, where, as I have heard, the splendour of her estate is tolerably notorious. I have not ever heard she gave a thought to me, her cat's-paw. Madame, when I think of you and then of that sleek, smiling woman, I am appalled by my own folly. I am aghast by my long blindness as I write the words which no one will believe. To what avail do I deny a crime which every circumstance imputed to me and my own confession has publicly acknowledged? "But you, I think, will believe me. Look you, madame, I have nothing to gain of you. I shall not ever see you any more. I go into a perilous and an eternal banishment; and in the immediate neighbourhood of death a man finds little sustenance for romance. Take the worst of me: a gentleman I was born, and as a wastrel I have lived, and always very foolishly; but without dishonour. I have never to my knowledge--and God judge me as I speak the truth!--wronged any man or woman save myself. My dear, believe me! believe me, in spite of reason! and understand that my adoration and misery and unworthiness when I think of you are such as I cannot measure, and afford me no judicious moment wherein to fashion lies. For I shall not see you any more. "I thank you, madame, for your all-unmerited kindnesses, and, oh, I pray you to believe!" 4. _How the Bishop Aided Perion_ Then at three o'clock, as Perion supposed, someone tapped upon the door. Perion went out into the corridor, which was now unlighted, so that he had to hold to the cloak of Ayrart de Montors as the young prelate guided Perion through the complexities of unfamiliar halls and stairways into an inhospitable night. There were ready two horses, and presently the men were mounted and away. Once only Perion shifted in the saddle to glance back at Bellegarde, black and formless against an empty sky; and he dared not look again, for the thought of her that lay awake in the Marshal's Tower, so near at hand as yet, was like a dagger. With set teeth he followed in the wake of his taciturn companion. The bishop never spoke save to growl out some direction. Thus they came to Manneville and, skirting the town, came to Fomor Beach, a narrow sandy coast. It was dark in this place and very still save for the encroachment of the tide. Yonder were four little lights, lazily heaving with the water's motion, to show them where the _Tranchemer_ lay at anchor. It did not seem to Perion that anything mattered. "It will be nearing dawn by this," he said. "Ay," Ayrart de Montors said, very briefly; and his tone evinced his willingness to dispense with further conversation. Perion of the Forest was an unclean thing which the bishop must touch in his necessity, but could touch with loathing only, as a thirsty man takes a fly out of his drink. Perion conceded it, because nothing would ever matter any more; and so, the horses tethered, they sat upon the sand in utter silence for the space of a half hour. A bird cried somewhere, just once, and with a start Perion knew the night was not quite so murky as it had been, for he could now see a broken line of white, where the tide crept up and shattered and ebbed. Then in a while a light sank tipsily to the water's level and presently was bobbing in the darkness, apart from those other lights, and it was growing in size and brilliancy. Said Perion, "They have sent out the boat." "Ay," the bishop answered, as before. A sort of madness came upon Perion, and it seemed that he must weep, because everything fell out so very ill in this world. "Messire de Montors, you have aided me. I would be grateful if you permitted it." De Montors spoke at last, saying crisply: "Gratitude, I take it, forms no part of the bargain. I am the kinsman of Dame Melicent. It makes for my interest and for the honour of our house that the man whose rooms she visits at night be got out of Poictesme--" Said Perion, "You speak in this fashion of the most lovely lady God has made--of her whom the world adores!" "Adores!" the bishop answered, with a laugh; "and what poor gull am I to adore an attested wanton?" Then, with a sneer, he spoke of Melicent, and in such terms as are not bettered by repetition. Perion said: "I am the most unhappy man alive, as surely as you are the most ungenerous. For, look you, in my presence you have spoken infamy of Dame Melicent, though knowing I am in your debt so deeply that I have not the right to resent anything you may elect to say. You have just given me my life; and armoured by the fire-new obligation, you blaspheme an angel, you condescend to buffet a fettered man--" But with that his sluggish wits had spied an honest way out of the imbroglio. Perion said then, "Draw, messire! for, as God lives, I may yet repurchase, at this eleventh hour, the privilege of destroying you." "Heyday! but here is an odd evincement of gratitude!" de Montors retorted; "and though I am not particularly squeamish, let me tell you, my fine fellow, I do not ordinarily fight with lackeys." "Nor are you fit to do so, messire. Believe me, there is not a lackey in this realm--no, not a cut-purse, nor any pander--who would not in meeting you upon equal footing degrade himself. For you have slandered that which is most perfect in the world; yet lies, Messire de Montors, have short legs; and I design within the hour to insure the calumny against an echo." "Rogue, I have given you your very life within the hour--" "The fact is undeniable. Thus I must fling the bounty back to you, so that we sorry scoundrels may meet as equals." Perion wheeled toward the boat, which was now within the reach of wading. "Who is among you? Gaucelm, Roger, Jean Britauz--" He found the man he sought. "Ahasuerus, the captain that was to have accompanied the Free Companions oversea is of another mind. I cede my leadership to Landry de Bonnay. You will have the kindness to inform him of the unlooked-for change, and to tender your new captain every appropriate regret and the dying felicitations of Perion de la Forêt." He bowed toward the landward twilight, where the sand hillocks were taking form. "Messire de Montors, we may now resume our vigil. When yonder vessel sails there will be no conceivable happening that can keep breath within my body two weeks longer. I shall be quit of every debt to you. You will then fight with a man already dead if you so elect; but otherwise--if you attempt to flee this place, if you decline to cross swords with a lackey, with a convicted thief, with a suspected murderer, I swear upon my mother's honour! I will demolish you without compunction, as I would any other vermin." "Oh, brave, brave!" sneered the bishop, "to fling away your life, and perhaps mine too, for an idle word--" But at that he fetched a sob. "How foolish of you! and how like you!" he said, and Perion wondered at this prelate's voice. "Hey, gentlemen!" cried Ayrart de Montors, "a moment if you please!" He splashed knee-deep into the icy water, wading to the boat, where he snatched the lantern from the Jew's hands and fetched this light ashore. He held it aloft, so that Perion might see his face, and Perion perceived that, by some wonder-working, the person in man's attire who held this light aloft was Melicent. It was odd that Perion always remembered afterward most clearly of all the loosened wisp of hair the wind tossed about her forehead. "Look well upon me, Perion," said Melicent. "Look well, ruined gentleman! look well, poor hunted vagabond! and note how proud I am. Oh, in all things I am very proud! A little I exult in my high station and in my wealth, and, yes, even in my beauty, for I know that I am beautiful, but it is the chief of all my honours that you love me--and so foolishly!" "You do not understand--!" cried Perion. "Rather I understand at last that you are in sober verity a lackey, an impostor, and a thief, even as you said. Ay, a lackey to your honour! an imposter that would endeavour--and, oh, so very vainly!--to impersonate another's baseness! and a thief that has stolen another person's punishment! I ask no questions; loving means trusting; but I would like to kill that other person very, very slowly. I ask no questions, but I dare to trust the man I know of, even in defiance of that man's own voice. I dare protest the man no thief, but in all things a madly honourable gentleman. My poor bruised, puzzled boy," said Melicent, with an odd mirthful tenderness, "how came you to be blundering about this miry world of ours! Only be very good for my sake and forget the bitterness; what does it matter when there is happiness, too?" He answered nothing, but it was not because of misery. "Come, come, will you not even help me into the boat?" said Melicent. She, too, was glad. 5. _How Melicent Wedded_ "That may not be, my cousin." It was the real Bishop of Montors who was speaking. His company, some fifteen men in all, had ridden up while Melicent and Perion looked seaward. The bishop was clothed, in his habitual fashion, as a cavalier, showing in nothing as a churchman. He sat a-horseback for a considerable while, looking down at them, smiling and stroking the pommel of his saddle with a gold-fringed glove. It was now dawn. "I have been eavesdropping," the bishop said. His voice was tender, for the young man loved his kinswoman with an affection second only to that which he reserved for Ayrart de Montors. "Yes, I have been eavesdropping for an instant, and through that instant I seemed to see the heart of every woman that ever lived; and they differed only as stars differ on a fair night in August. No woman ever loved a man except, at bottom, as a mother loves her child: let him elect to build a nation or to write imperishable verses or to take purses upon the highway, and she will only smile to note how breathlessly the boy goes about his playing; and when he comes back to her with grimier hands she is a little sorry, and, if she think it salutary, will pretend to be angry. Meanwhile she sets about the quickest way to cleanse him and to heal his bruises. They are more wise than we, and at the bottom of their hearts they pity us more stalwart folk whose grosser wits require, to be quite sure of anything, a mere crass proof of it; and always they make us better by indomitably believing we are better than in reality a man can ever be." Now Ayrart de Montors dismounted. "So much for my sermon. For the rest, Messire de la Forêt, I perfectly recognised you on the day you came to Bellegarde. But I said nothing. For that you had not murdered King Helmas, as is popularly reported, I was certain, inasmuch as I happen to know he is now at Brunbelois, where Dame Mélusine holds his person and his treasury. A terrible, delicious woman! begotten on a water-demon, people say. I ask no questions. She is a close and useful friend to me, and through her aid I hope to go far. You see that I am frank. It is my nature." The bishop shrugged. "In a phrase, I accepted the Vicomte de Puysange, although it was necessary, of course, to keep an eye upon your comings in and your goings out, as you now see. And until this the imposture amused me. But this"--his hand waved toward the _Tranchemer_--"this, my fair friends, is past a jest." "You talk and talk," cried Perion, "while I reflect that I love the fairest lady who at any time has had life upon earth." "The proof of your affection," the bishop returned, "is, if you will permit the observation, somewhat extraordinary. For you propose, I gather, to make of her a camp-follower, a soldier's drab. Come, come, messire! you and I are conversant with warfare as it is. Armies do not conduct encounters by throwing sugar-candy at one another. What home have you, a landless man, to offer Melicent? What place is there for Melicent among your Free Companions?" "Oh, do I not know that!" said Perion. He turned to Melicent, and long and long they gazed upon each other. "Ignoble as I am," said Perion, "I never dreamed to squire an angel down toward the mire and filth which for a while as yet must be my kennel. I go. I go alone. Do you bid me return?" The girl was perfectly calm. She took a ring of diamonds from her hand, and placed it on his little finger, because the others were too large. "While life endures I pledge you faith and service, Perion. There is no need to speak of love." "There is no need," he answered. "Oh, does God think that I will live without you!" "I suppose they will give me to King Theodoret. The terrible old man has set my body as the only price that will buy him off from ravaging Poictesme, and he is stronger in the field than Emmerick. Emmerick is afraid of him, and Ayrart here has need of the King's friendship in order to become a cardinal. So my kinsmen must make traffic of my eyes and lips and hair. But first I wed you, Perion, here in the sight of God, and I bid you return to me, who am your wife and servitor for ever now, whatever lesser men may do." "I will return," he said. Then in a little while she withdrew her lips from his lips. "Cover my face, Ayrart. It may be I shall weep presently. Men must not see the wife of Perion weep. Cover my face, for he is going now, and I cannot watch his going." PART TWO MELICENT _Of how through love is Melicent upcast Under a heathen castle at the last: And how a wicked lord of proud degree, Demetrios, dwelleth in this country, Where humbled under him are all mankind: How to this wretched woman he hath mind, That fallen is in pagan lands alone, In point to die, as presently is shown._ 6. _How Melicent Sought Oversea_ It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling how love began between Perion of the Forest, who was a captain of mercenaries, and young Melicent, who was daughter to the great Dom Manuel, and sister to Count Emmerick of Poictesme. They tell also how Melicent and Perion were parted, because there was no remedy, and policy demanded she should wed King Theodoret. And the tale tells how Perion sailed with his retainers to seek desperate service under the harried Kaiser of the Greeks. This venture was ill-fated, since, as the Free Companions were passing not far from Masillia, their vessel being at the time becalmed, they were attacked by three pagan galleys under the admiralty of the proconsul Demetrios. Perion's men, who fought so hardily on land, were novices at sea. They were powerless against an adversary who, from a great distance, showered liquid fire upon their vessel. Then Demetrios sent little boats and took some thirty prisoners from the blazing ship, and made slaves of all save Ahasuerus the Jew, whom he released on being informed of the lean man's religion. It was a customary boast of this Demetrios that he made war on Christians only. And presently, as Perion had commanded, Ahasuerus came to Melicent. The princess sat in a high chair, the back of which was capped with a big lion's head in brass. It gleamed above her head, but was less glorious than her bright hair. Ahasuerus made dispassionate report. "Thus painfully I have delivered, as my task was, these fine messages concerning Faith and Love and Death and so on. Touching their rationality I may reserve my own opinion. I am merely Perion's echo. Do I echo madness? This madman was my loved and honoured master once, a lord without any peer in the fields where men contend in battle. To-day those sinews which preserved a throne are dedicated to the transportation of luggage. Grant it is laughable. I do not laugh." "And I lack time to weep," said Melicent. So, when the Jew had told his tale and gone, young Melicent arose and went into a chamber painted with the histories of Jason and Medea, where her brother Count Emmerick hid such jewels as had not many equals in Christendom. She did not hesitate. She took no thought for her brother, she did not remember her loved sisters: Ettarre and Dorothy were their names, and they also suffered for their beauty, and for the desire it quickened in the hearts of men. Melicent knew only that Perion was in captivity and might not look for aid from any person living save herself. She gathered in a blue napkin such emeralds as would ransom a pope. She cut short her marvellous hair and disguised herself in all things as a man, and under cover of the ensuing night slipped from the castle. At Manneville she found a Venetian ship bound homeward with a cargo of swords and armour. She hired herself to the captain of this vessel as a servant, calling herself Jocelin Gaignars. She found no time--wherein to be afraid or to grieve for the estate she was relinquishing, so long as Perion lay in danger. Thus the young Jocelin, though not without hardship and odd by-ends of adventure here irrelevant, came with time's course into a land of sunlight and much wickedness where Perion was. There the boy found in what fashion Perion was living and won the dearly purchased misery of seeing him, from afar, in his deplorable condition, as Perion went through the outer yard of Nacumera laden with chains and carrying great logs toward the kitchen. This befell when Jocelin had come into the hill country, where the eyrie of Demetrios blocked a crag-hung valley as snugly as a stone chokes a gutter-pipe. Young Jocelin had begged an audience of this heathen lord and had obtained it--though Jocelin did not know as much--with ominous facility. 7. _How Perion Was Freed_ Demetrios lay on a divan within the Court of Stars, through which you passed from the fortress into the Women's Garden and the luxurious prison where he kept his wives. This court was circular in form and was paved with red and yellow slabs, laid alternately, like a chess-board. In the centre was a fountain, which cast up a tall thin jet of water. A gallery extended around the place, supported by columns that had been painted scarlet and were gilded with fantastic designs. The walls were of the colour of claret and were adorned with golden cinquefoils regularly placed. From a distance they resembled stars, and so gave the enclosure its name. Demetrios lay upon a long divan which was covered with crimson, and which encircled the court entirely, save for the apertures of the two entrances. Demetrios was of burly person, which he by ordinary, as to-day, adorned resplendently; of a stature little above the common size, and disproportionately broad as to his chest and shoulders. It was rumoured that he could bore an apple through with his forefinger and had once killed a refractory horse with a blow of his naked fist; nor looking on the man, did you presume to question the report. His eyes were large and insolent, coloured like onyxes; for the rest, he had a handsome surly face which was disfigured by pimples. He did not speak at all while Jocelin explained that his errand was to ransom Perion. Then, "At what price?" Demetrios said, without any sign of interest; and Jocelin, with many encomiums, displayed his emeralds. "Ay, they are well enough," Demetrios agreed. "But then I have a superfluity of jewels." He raised himself a little among the cushions, and in this moving the figured golden stuff in which he was clothed heaved and glittered like the scales of a splendid monster. He leisurely unfastened the great chrysoberyl, big as a hen's egg, which adorned his fillet. "Look you, this is of a far more beautiful green than any of your trinkets, I think it is as valuable also, because of its huge size. Moreover, it turns red by lamplight--red as blood. That is an admirable colour. And yet I do not value it. I think I do not value anything. So I will make you a gift of this big coloured pebble, if you desire it, because your ignorance amuses me. Most people know Demetrios is not a merchant. He does not buy and sell. That which he has he keeps, and that which he desires he takes." The boy was all despair. He did not speak. He was very handsome as he stood in that still place where everything excepting him was red and gold. "You do not value my poor chrysoberyl? You value your friend more? It is a page out of Theocritos--'when there were golden men of old, when friends gave love for love.' And yet I could have sworn--Come now, a wager," purred Demetrios. "Show your contempt of this bauble to be as great as mine by throwing this shiny pebble, say, into the gallery, for the next passer-by to pick up, and I will credit your sincerity. Do that and I will even name my price for Perion." The boy obeyed him without hesitation. Turning, he saw the horrid change in the intent eyes of Demetrios, and quailed before it. But instantly that flare of passion flickered out. Demetrios gently said: "A bargain is a bargain. My wives are beautiful, but their caresses annoy me as much as formerly they pleased me. I have long thought it would perhaps amuse me if I possessed a Christian wife who had eyes like violets and hair like gold, and a plump white body. A man tires very soon of ebony and amber.... Procure me such a wife and I will willingly release this Perion and all his fellows who are yet alive." "But, seignior,"--and the boy was shaken now,--"you demand of me an impossibility!" "I am so hardy as to think not. And my reason is that a man throws from the elbow only, but a woman with her whole arm." There fell a silence now. "Why, look you, I deal fairly, though. Were such a woman here-- Demetrios of Anatolia's guest--I verily believe I would not hinder her departure, as I might easily do. For there is not a person within many miles of this place who considers it wholesome to withstand me. Yet were this woman purchasable, I would purchase. And--if she refused--I would not hinder her departure; but very certainly I would put Perion to the Torment of the Waterdrops. It is so droll to see a man go mad before your eyes, I think that I would laugh and quite forget the woman." She said, "O God, I cry to You for justice!" He answered: "My good girl, in Nacumera the wishes of Demetrios are justice. But we waste time. You desire to purchase one of my belongings? So be it. I will hear your offer." Just once her hands had gripped each other. Her arms fell now as if they had been drained of life. She spoke in a dull voice. "Seignior, I offer Melicent who was a princess. I cry a price, seignior, for red lips and bright eyes and a fair woman's tender body without any blemish. I cry a price for youth and happiness and honour. These you may have for playthings, seignior, with everything which I possess, except my heart, for that is dead." Demetrios asked, "Is this true speech?" She answered: "It is as sure as Love and Death. I know that nothing is more sure than these, and I praise God for my sure knowledge." He chuckled, saying, "Platitudes break no bones." So on the next day the chains were filed from Perion de la Forêt and all his fellows, save the nine unfortunates whom Demetrios had appointed to fight with lions a month before this, when he had entertained the Soldan of Bacharia. These men were bathed and perfumed and richly clad. A galley of the proconsul's fleet conveyed them toward Christendom and set the twoscore slaves of yesterday ashore not far from Megaris. The captain of the galley on departure left with Perion a blue napkin, wherein were wrapped large emeralds and a bit of parchment. Upon this parchment was written: "Not these, but the body of Melicent, who was once a princess, purchased your bodies. Yet these will buy you ships and men and swords with which to storm my house where Melicent now is. Come if you will and fight with Demetrios of Anatolia for that brave girl who loved a porter as all loyal men should love their Maker and customarily do not. I think it would amuse us." Then Perion stood by the languid sea which severed him from Melicent and cried: "O God, that hast permitted this hard bargain, trade now with me! now barter with me, O Father of us all! That which a man has I will give." Thus he waited in the clear sunlight, with no more wavering in his face than you may find in the next statue's face. Both hands strained toward the blue sky, as though he made a vow. If so, he did not break it. And now no more of Perion. * * * * * At the same hour young Melicent, wrapped all about with a flame-coloured veil and crowned with marjoram, was led by a spruce boy toward a threshold, over which Demetrios lifted her, while many people sang in a strange tongue. And then she paid her ransom. "Hymen, O Hymen!" they sang. "Do thou of many names and many temples, golden Aphrodite, be propitious to this bridal! Now let him first compute the glittering stars of midnight and the grasshoppers of a summer day who would count the joys this bridal shall bring about! Hymen, O Hymen, rejoice thou in this bridal!" 8. _How Demetrios Was Amused_ Now Melicent abode in the house of Demetrios, whom she had not seen since the morning after he had wedded her. A month had passed. As yet she could not understand the language of her fellow prisoners, but Halaon, a eunuch who had once served a cardinal in Tuscany, informed her the proconsul was in the West Provinces, where an invading force had landed under Ranulph de Meschines. A month had passed. She woke one night from dreams of Perion--what else should women dream of?--and found the same Ahasuerus that had brought her news of Perion's captivity, so long ago, attendant at her bedside. He seemed a prey to some half-scornful mirth. In speech, at least, the man was of entire discretion. "The Splendour of the World desires your presence, madame." Thus the Jew blandly spoke. She cried, aghast at so much treachery, "You had planned this!" He answered: "I plan always. Oh, certainly, I must weave always as the spider does.... Meanwhile time passes. I, like you, am now the servitor of Demetrios. I am his factor now at Calonak. I buy and sell. I estimate ounces. I earn my wages. Who forbids it?" Here the Jew shrugged. "And to conclude, the Splendour of the World desires your presence, madame." He seemed to get much joy of this mouth-filling periphrasis as sneeringly he spoke of their common master. * * * * * Now Melicent, in a loose robe of green Coan stuff shot through and through with a radiancy like that of copper, followed the thin, smiling Jew Ahasuerus. She came thus with bare feet into the Court of Stars, where the proconsul lay on the divan as though he had not ever moved from there. To-night he was clothed in scarlet, and barbaric ornaments dangled from his pierced ears. These glittered now that his head moved a little as he silently dismissed Ahasuerus from the Court of Stars. Real stars were overhead, so brilliant and (it seemed) so near they turned the fountain's jet into a spurt of melting silver. The moon was set, but there was a flaring lamp of iron, high as a man's shoulder, yonder where Demetrios lay. "Stand close to it, my wife," said the proconsul, "in order that I may see my newest purchase very clearly." She obeyed him; and she esteemed the sacrifice, however unendurable, which bought for Perion the chance to serve God and his love for her by valorous and commendable actions to be no cause for grief. "I think with those old men who sat upon the walls of Troy," Demetrios said, and he laughed because his voice had shaken a little. "Meanwhile I have returned from crucifying a hundred of your fellow worshippers," Demetrios continued. His speech had an odd sweetness. "Ey, yes, I conquered at Yroga. It was a good fight. My horse's hoofs were red at its conclusion. My surviving opponents I consider to have been deplorable fools when they surrendered, for people die less painfully in battle. There was one fellow, a Franciscan monk, who hung six hours upon a palm tree, always turning his head from one side to the other. It was amusing." She answered nothing. "And I was wondering always how I would feel were you nailed in his place. It was curious I should have thought of you.... But your white flesh is like the petals of a flower. I suppose it is as readily destructible. I think you would not long endure." "I pray God hourly that I may not!" said tense Melicent. He was pleased to have wrung one cry of anguish from this lovely effigy. He motioned her to him and laid one hand upon her naked breast. He gave a gesture of distaste. Demetrios said: "No, you are not afraid. However, you are very beautiful. I thought that you would please me more when your gold hair had grown a trifle longer. There is nothing in the world so beautiful as golden hair. Its beauty weathers even the commendation of poets." No power of motion seemed to be in this white girl, but certainly you could detect no fear. Her clinging robe shone like an opal in the lamplight, her body, only partly veiled, was enticing, and her visage was very lovely. Her wide-open eyes implored you, but only as those of a trapped animal beseech the mercy for which it does not really hope. Thus Melicent waited in the clear lamplight, with no more wavering in her face than you may find in the next statue's face. In the man's heart woke now some comprehension of the nature of her love for Perion, of that high and alien madness which dared to make of Demetrios of Anatolia's will an unavoidable discomfort, and no more. The prospect was alluring. The proconsul began to chuckle as water pours from a jar, and the gold in his ears twinkled. "Decidedly I shall get much mirth of you. Go back to your own rooms. I had thought the world afforded no adversary and no game worthy of Demetrios. I have found both. Therefore, go back to your own rooms," he gently said. 9. _How Time Sped in Heathenry_ On the next day Melicent was removed to more magnificent apartments, and she was lodged in a lofty and spacious pavilion, which had three porticoes builded of marble and carved teakwood and Andalusian copper. Her rooms were spread with gold-worked carpets and hung with tapestries and brocaded silks figured with all manner of beasts and birds in their proper colours. Such was the girl's home now, where only happiness was denied to her. Many slaves attended Melicent, and she lacked for nothing in luxury and riches and things of price; and thereafter she abode at Nacumera, to all appearances, as the favourite among the proconsul's wives. It must be recorded of Demetrios that henceforth he scrupulously demurred even to touch her. "I have purchased your body," he proudly said, "and I have taken seizin. I find I do not care for anything which can be purchased." It may be that the man was never sane; it is indisputable that the mainspring of his least action was an inordinate pride. Here he had stumbled upon something which made of Demetrios of Anatolia a temporary discomfort, and which bedwarfed the utmost reach of his ill-doing into equality with the molestations of a house-fly; and perception of this fact worked in Demetrios like a poisonous ferment. To beg or once again to pillage he thought equally unworthy of himself. "Let us have patience!" It was not easily said so long as this fair Frankish woman dared to entertain a passion which Demetrios could not comprehend, and of which Demetrios was, and knew himself to be, incapable. A connoisseur of passions, he resented such belittlement tempestuously; and he heaped every luxury upon Melicent, because, as he assured himself, the heart of every woman is alike. He had his theories, his cunning, and, chief of all, an appreciation of her beauty, as his abettors. She had her memories and her clean heart. They duelled thus accoutred. Meanwhile his other wives peered from screened alcoves at these two and duly hated Melicent. Upon no less than three occasions did Callistion-- the first wife of the proconsul and the mother of his elder son-- attempt the life of Melicent; and thrice Demetrios spared the woman at Melicent's entreaty. For Melicent (since she loved Perion) could understand that it was love of Demetrios, rather than hate of her, which drove the Dacian virago to extremities. Then one day about noon Demetrios came unheralded into Melicent's resplendent prison. Through an aisle of painted pillars he came to her, striding with unwonted quickness, glittering as he moved. His robe this day was scarlet, the colour he chiefly affected. Gold glowed upon his forehead, gold dangled from his ears, and about his throat was a broad collar of gold and rubies. At his side was a cross-handled sword, in a scabbard of blue leather, curiously ornamented. "Give thanks, my wife," Demetrios said, "that you are beautiful. For beauty was ever the spur of valour." Then quickly, joyously, he told her of how a fleet equipped by the King of Cyprus had been despatched against the province of Demetrios, and of how among the invaders were Perion of the Forest and his Free Companions. "Ey, yes, my porter has returned. I ride instantly for the coast to greet him with appropriate welcome. I pray heaven it is no sluggard or weakling that is come out against me." Proudly, Melicent replied: "There comes against you a champion of noted deeds, a courteous and hardy gentleman, pre-eminent at swordplay. There was never any man more ready than Perion to break a lance or shatter a shield, or more eager to succour the helpless and put to shame all cowards and traitors." Demetrios dryly said: "I do not question that the virtues of my porter are innumerable. Therefore we will not attempt to catalogue them. Now Ahasuerus reports that even before you came to tempt me with your paltry emeralds you once held the life of Perion in your hands?" Demetrios unfastened his sword. He grasped the hand of Melicent, and laid it upon the scabbard. "And what do you hold now, my wife? You hold the death of Perion. I take the antithesis to be neat." She answered nothing. Her seeming indifference angered him. Demetrios wrenched the sword from its scabbard, with a hard violence that made Melicent recoil. He showed the blade all covered with graved symbols of which she could make nothing. "This is Flamberge," said the proconsul; "the weapon which was the pride and bane of my father, famed Miramon Lluagor, because it was the sword which Galas made, in the old time's heyday, for unconquerable Charlemagne. Clerks declare it is a magic weapon and that the man who wields it is always unconquerable. I do not know. I think it is as difficult to believe in sorcery as it is to be entirely sure that all we know is not the sorcery of a drunken wizard. I very potently believe, however, that with this sword I shall kill Perion." Melicent had plenty of patience, but astonishingly little, it seemed, for this sort of speech. "I think that you talk foolishly, seignior. And, other matters apart, it is manifest that you yourself concede Perion to be the better swordsman, since you require to be abetted by sorcery before you dare to face him." "So, so!" Demetrios said, in a sort of grinding whisper, "you think that I am not the equal of this long-legged fellow! You would think otherwise if I had him here. You will think otherwise when I have killed him with my naked hands. Oh, very soon you will think otherwise." He snarled, rage choking him, flung the sword at her feet and quitted her without any leave-taking. He had ridden three miles from Nacumera before he began to laugh. He perceived that Melicent at least respected sorcery, and had tricked him out of Flamberge by playing upon his tetchy vanity. Her adroitness pleased him. Demetrios did not laugh when he found the Christian fleet had been ingloriously repulsed at sea by the Emir of Arsuf, and had never effected a landing. Demetrios picked a quarrel with the victorious admiral and killed the marplot in a public duel, but that was inadequate comfort. "However," the proconsul reassured himself, "if my wife reports at all truthfully as to this Perion's nature it is certain that this Perion will come again." Then Demetrios went into the sacred grove upon the hillsides south of Quesiton and made an offering of myrtle-branches, rose-leaves and incense to Aphrodite of Colias. 10. _How Demetrios Wooed_ Ahasuerus came and went at will. Nothing was known concerning this soft-treading furtive man except by the proconsul, who had no confidants. By his decree Ahasuerus was an honoured guest at Nacumera. And always the Jew's eyes when Melicent was near him were as expressionless as the eyes of a snake, which do not ever change. Once she told Demetrios that she feared Ahasuerus. "But I do not fear him, Melicent, though I have larger reason. For I alone of all men living know the truth concerning this same Jew. Therefore, it amuses me to think that he, who served my wizard father in a very different fashion, is to-day my factor and ciphers over my accounts." Demetrios laughed, and had the Jew summoned. This was in the Women's Garden, where the proconsul sat with Melicent in a little domed pavilion of stone-work which was gilded with red gold and crowned with a cupola of alabaster. Its pavement was of transparent glass, under which were clear running waters wherein swam red and yellow fish. Demetrios said: "It appears that you are a formidable person, Ahasuerus. My wife here fears you." "Splendour of the Age," returned Ahasuerus, quietly, "it is notorious that women have long hair and short wits. There is no need to fear a Jew. The Jew, I take it, was created in order that children might evince their playfulness by stoning him, the honest show their common-sense by robbing him, and the religious display their piety by burning him. Who forbids it?" "Ey, but my wife is a Christian and in consequence worships a Jew." Demetrios reflected. His dark eyes twinkled. "What is your opinion concerning this other Jew, Ahasuerus?" "I know that He was the Messiah, Lord." "And yet you do not worship Him." The Jew said: "It was not altogether worship He desired. He asked that men should love Him. He does not ask love of me." "I find that an obscure saying," Demetrios considered. "It is a true saying, King of Kings. In time it will be made plain. That time is not yet come. I used to pray it would come soon. Now I do not pray any longer. I only wait." Demetrios tugged at his chin, his eyes narrowed, meditating. He laughed. Demetrios said: "It is no affair of mine. What am I that I am called upon to have prejudices concerning the universe? It is highly probable there are gods of some sort or another, but I do not so far flatter myself as to consider that any possible god would be at all interested in my opinion of him. In any event, I am Demetrios. Let the worst come, and in whatever baleful underworld I find myself imprisoned I shall maintain myself there in a manner not unworthy of Demetrios." The proconsul shrugged at this point. "I do not find you amusing, Ahasuerus. You may go." "I hear, and I obey," the Jew replied. He went away patiently. Then Demetrios turned toward Melicent, rejoicing that his chattel had golden hair and was comely beyond comparison with all other women he had ever seen. Said Demetrios: "I love you, Melicent, and you do not love me. Do not be offended because my speech is harsh, for even though I know my candour is distasteful I must speak the truth. You have been obdurate too long, denying Kypris what is due to her. I think that your brain is giddy because of too much exulting in the magnificence of your body and in the number of men who have desired it to their own hurt. I concede your beauty, yet what will it matter a hundred years from now? "I admit that my refrain is old. But it will presently take on a more poignant meaning, because a hundred years from now you--even you, dear Melicent!--and all the loveliness which now causes me to estimate life as a light matter in comparison with your love, will be only a bone or two. Your lustrous eyes, which are now more beautiful than it is possible to express, will be unsavoury holes and a worm will crawl through them; and what will it matter a hundred years from now? "A hundred years from now should anyone break open our gilded tomb, he will find Melicent to be no more admirable than Demetrios. One skull is like another, and is as lightly split with a mattock. You will be as ugly as I, and nobody will be thinking of your eyes and hair. Hail, rain and dew will drench us both impartially when I lie at your side, as I intend to do, for a hundred years and yet another hundred years. You need not frown, for what will it matter a hundred years from now? "Melicent, I offer love and a life that derides the folly of all other manners of living; and even if you deny me, what will it matter a hundred years from now?" His face was contorted, his speech had fervent bitterness, for even while he wooed this woman the man internally was raging over his own infatuation. And Melicent answered: "There can be no question of love between us, seignior. You purchased my body. My body is at your disposal under God's will." Demetrios sneered, his ardours cooled. He said, "I have already told you, my girl, I do not care for that which can be purchased." In such fashion Melicent abode among these odious persons as a lily which is rooted in mire. She was a prisoner always, and when Demetrios came to Nacumera--which fell about irregularly, for now arose much fighting between the Christians and the pagans--a gem which he uncased, admired, curtly exulted in, and then, jeering at those hot wishes in his heart, locked up untouched when he went back to warfare. To her the man was uniformly kind, if with a sort of sneer she could not understand; and he pillaged an infinity of Genoese and Venetian ships--which were notoriously the richest laden--of jewels, veils, silks, furs, embroideries and figured stuffs, wherewith to enhance the comeliness of Melicent. It seemed an all-engulfing madness with this despot daily to aggravate his fierce desire of her, to nurture his obsession, so that he might glory in the consciousness of treading down no puny adversary. Pride spurred him on as witches ride their dupes to a foreknown destruction. "Let us have patience," he would say. Meanwhile his other wives peered from screened alcoves at these two and duly hated Melicent. "Let us have patience!" they said, also, but with a meaning that was more sinister. PART THREE DEMETRIOS _Of how Dame Melicent's fond lovers go As comrades, working each his fellow's woe: Each hath unhorsed the other of the twain, And knoweth that nowhither 'twixt Ukraine And Ormus roameth any lion's son More eager in the hunt than Perion, Nor any viper's sire more venomous Through jealous hurt than is Demetrios._ 11. _How Time Sped with Perion_ It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling of what befell Perion de la Forêt after he had been ransomed out of heathenry. They tell how he took service with the King of Cyprus. And the tale tells how the King of Cyprus was defeated at sea by the Emir of Arsuf; and how Perion came unhurt from that battle, and by land relieved the garrison at Japhe, and was ennobled therefor; and was afterward called the Comte de la Forêt. Then the King of Cyprus made peace with heathendom, and Perion left him. Now Perion's skill in warfare was leased to whatsoever lord would dare contend against Demetrios and the proconsul's magic sword Flamberge: and Perion of the Forest did not inordinately concern himself as to the merits of any quarrel because of which battalions died, so long as he fought toward Melicent. Demetrios was pleased, and thrilled with the heroic joy of an athlete who finds that he unwittingly has grappled with his equal. So the duel between these two dragged on with varying fortunes, and the years passed, and neither duellist had conquered as yet. Then King Theodoret, third of that name to rule, and once (as you have heard) a wooer of Dame Melicent, declared a crusade; and Perion went to him at Lacre Kai. It was in making this journey, they say, that Perion passed through Pseudopolis, and had speech there with Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men: and Perion conceded this Queen was well-enough to look at. "She reminds me, indeed, of that Dame Melicent whom I serve in this world, and trust to serve in Paradise," said Perion. "But Dame Melicent has a mole on her left cheek." "That is a pity," said an attendant lord. "A mole disfigures a pretty woman." "I was speaking, messire, of Dame Melicent." "Even so," the lord replied, "a mole is a blemish." "I cannot permit these observations," said Perion. So they fought, and Perion killed his opponent, and left Pseudopolis that afternoon. Such was Perion's way. He came unhurt to King Theodoret, who at once recognised in the famous Comte de la Forêt the former Vicomte de Puysange, but gave no sign of such recognition. "Heaven chooses its own instruments," the pious King reflected: "and this swaggering Comte de la Forêt, who affects so many names has also the name of being a warrior without any peer in Christendom. Let us first conquer this infamous proconsul, this adversary of our Redeemer, and then we shall see. It may be that heaven will then permit me to detect this Comte de la Forêt in some particularly abominable heresy. For this long-legged ruffian looks like a schismatic, and would singularly grace a rack." So King Theodoret kissed Perion upon both cheeks, and created him generalissimo of King Theodoret's forces. It was upon St. George's day that Perion set sail with thirty-four ships of great dimensions and admirable swiftness. "Do you bring me back Demetrios in chains," said the King, fondling Perion at parting, "and all that I have is yours." "I mean to bring back my stolen wife, Dame Melicent," was Perion's reply: "and if I can manage it I shall also bring you this Demetrios, in return for lending me these ships and soldiers." "Do you think," the King asked, peevishly, "that monarchs nowadays fit out armaments to replevin a woman who is no longer young, and who was always stupid?" "I cannot permit these observations--" said Perion. Theodoret hastily explained that his was merely a general observation, without any personal bearing. 12. _How Demetrios Was Taken_ Thus it was that war awoke and raged about the province of Demetrios as tirelessly as waves lapped at its shores. Then, after many ups and downs of carnage,[1: Nicolas de Caen gives here a minute account of the military and naval evolutions, with a fullness that verges upon prolixity. It appears expedient to omit all this.] Perion surprised the galley of Demetrios while the proconsul slept at anchor in his own harbour of Quesiton. Demetrios fought nakedly against accoutred soldiers and had killed two of them with his hands before he could be quieted by an admiring Perion. Demetrios by Perion's order was furnished with a sword of ordinary attributes, and Perion ridded himself of all defensive armour. The two met like an encounter of tempests, and in the outcome Demetrios was wounded so that he lay insensible. Demetrios was taken as a prisoner toward the domains of King Theodoret. "Only you are my private capture," said Perion; "conquered by my own hand and in fair fight. Now I am unwilling to insult the most valiant warrior whom I have known by valuing him too cheaply, and I accordingly fix your ransom as the person of Dame Melicent." Demetrios bit his nails. "Needs must," he said at last. "It is unnecessary to inform you that when my property is taken from me I shall endeavour to regain it. I shall, before the year is out, lay waste whatever kingdom it is that harbours you. Meanwhile I warn you it is necessary to be speedy in this ransoming. My other wives abhor the Frankish woman who has supplanted them in my esteem. My son Orestes, who succeeds me, will be guided by his mother. Callistion has thrice endeavoured to kill Melicent. If any harm befalls me, Callistion to all intent will reign in Nacumera, and she will not be satisfied with mere assassination. I cannot guess what torment Callistion will devise, but it will be no child's play--" "Hah, infamy!" cried Perion. He had learned long ago how cunning the heathen were in such cruelties, and so he shuddered. Demetrios was silent. He, too, was frightened, because this despot knew--and none knew better--that in his lordly house far oversea Callistion would find equipment for a hundred curious tortures. "It has been difficult for me to tell you this," Demetrios then said, "because it savours of an appeal to spare me. I think you will have gleaned, however, from our former encounters, that I am not unreasonably afraid of death. Also I think that you love Melicent. For the rest, there is no person in Nacumera so untutored as to cross my least desire until my death is triply proven. Accordingly, I who am Demetrios am willing to entreat an oath that you will not permit Theodoret to kill me." "I swear by God and all the laws of Rome--" cried Perion. "Ey, but I am not very popular in Rome," Demetrios interrupted. "I would prefer that you swore by your love for Melicent. I would prefer an oath which both of us may understand, and I know of none other." So Perion swore as Demetrios requested, and set about the conveyance of Demetrios into King Theodoret's realm. 13. _How They Praised Melicent_ The conqueror and the conquered sat together upon the prow of Perion's ship. It was a warm, clear night, so brilliant that the stars were invisible. Perion sighed. Demetrios inquired the reason. Perion said: "It is the memory of a fair and noble lady, Messire Demetrios, that causes me to heave a sigh from my inmost heart. I cannot forget that loveliness which had no parallel. Pardieu, her eyes were amethysts, her lips were red as the berries of a holly tree. Her hair blazed in the light, bright as the sunflower glows; her skin was whiter than milk; the down of a fledgling bird was not more grateful to the touch than were her hands. There was never any person more delightful to gaze upon, and whosoever beheld her forthwith desired to render love and service to Dame Melicent." Demetrios gave his customary lazy shrug. Demetrios said: "She is still a brightly-coloured creature, moves gracefully, has a sweet, drowsy voice, and is as soft to the touch as rabbit's fur. Therefore, it is imperative that one of us must cut the other's throat. The deduction is perfectly logical. Yet I do not know that my love for her is any greater than my hatred. I rage against her patient tolerance of me, and I am often tempted to disfigure, mutilate, even to destroy this colourful, stupid woman, who makes me wofully ridiculous in my own eyes. I shall be happier when death has taken the woman who ventures to deal in this fashion with Demetrios." Said Perion: "When I first saw Dame Melicent the sea was languid, as if outworn by vain endeavours to rival the purple of her eyes. Sea-birds were adrift in the air, very close to her and their movements were less graceful than hers. She was attired in a robe of white silk, and about her wrists were heavy bands of silver. A tiny wind played truant in order to caress her unplaited hair, because the wind was more hardy than I, and dared to love her. I did not think of love, I thought only of the noble deeds I might have done and had not done. I thought of my unworthiness, and it seemed to me that my soul writhed like an eel in sunlight, a naked, despicable thing, that was unworthy to render any love and service to Dame Melicent." Demetrios said: "When I first saw the girl she knew herself entrapped, her body mine, her life dependent on my whim. She waved aside such petty inconveniences, bade them await an hour when she had leisure to consider them, because nothing else was of any importance so long as my porter went in chains. I was an obstacle to her plans and nothing more; a pebble in her shoe would have perturbed her about as much as I did. Here at last, I thought, is genuine common-sense--a clear-headed decision as to your actual desire, apart from man-taught ethics, and fearless purchase of your desire at any cost. There is something not unakin to me, I reflected, in the girl who ventures to deal in this fashion with Demetrios." Said Perion: "Since she permits me to serve her, I may not serve unworthily. To-morrow I shall set new armies afield. To-morrow it will delight me to see their tents rise in your meadows, Messire Demetrios, and to see our followers meet in clashing combat, by hundreds and thousands, so mightily that men will sing of it when we are gone. To-morrow one of us must kill the other. To-night we drink our wine in amity. I have not time to hate you, I have not time to like or dislike any living person, I must devote all faculties that heaven gave me to the love and service of Dame Melicent." Demetrios said: "To-night we babble to the stars and dream vain dreams as other fools have done before us. To-morrow rests--perhaps--with heaven; but, depend upon it, Messire de la Forêt, whatever we may do to-morrow will be foolishly performed, because we are both besotted by bright eyes and lips and hair. I trust to find our antics laughable. Yet there is that in me which is murderous when I reflect that you and she do not dislike me. It is the distasteful truth that neither of you considers me to be worth the trouble. I find such conduct irritating, because no other persons have ever ventured to deal in this fashion with Demetrios." "Demetrios, already your antics are laughable, for you pass blindly by the revelation of heaven's splendour in heaven's masterwork; you ignore the miracle; and so do you find only the stings of the flesh where I find joy in rendering love and service to Dame Melicent." "Perion, it is you that play the fool, in not recognising that heaven is inaccessible and doubtful. But clearer eyes perceive the not at all doubtful dullness of wit, and the gratifying accessibility of every woman when properly handled,--yes, even of her who dares to deal in this fashion with Demetrios." Thus they would sit together, nightly, upon the prow of Perion's ship and speak against each other in the manner of a Tenson, as these two rhapsodised of Melicent until the stars grew lustreless before the sun. 14. _How Perion Braved Theodoret_ The city of Megaris (then Theodoret's capital) was ablaze with bonfires on the night that the Comte de la Forêt entered it at the head of his forces. Demetrios, meanly clothed, his hands tied behind him, trudged sullenly beside his conqueror's horse. Yet of the two the gloomier face showed below the count's coronet, for Perion did not relish the impendent interview with King Theodoret. They came thus amid much shouting to the Hôtel d'Ebelin, their assigned quarters, and slept there. Next morning, about the hour of prime, two men-at-arms accompanied a fettered Demetrios into the presence of King Theodoret. Perion of the Forest preceded them. He pardonably swaggered, in spite of his underlying uneasiness, for this last feat, as he could not ignore, was a performance which Christendom united to applaud. They came thus into a spacious chamber, very inadequately lighted. The walls were unhewn stone. There was but one window, of uncoloured glass; and it was guarded by iron bars. The floor was bare of rushes. On one side was a bed with tattered hangings of green, which were adorned with rampant lions worked in silver thread much tarnished; to the right hand stood a _prie-dieu_. Between these isolated articles of furniture, and behind an unpainted table sat, in a high-backed chair, a wizen and shabbily-clad old man. This was Theodoret, most pious and penurious of monarchs. In attendance upon him were Fra Battista, prior of the Grey Monks, and Melicent's near kinsman, once the Bishop, now the Cardinal, de Montors, who, as was widely known, was the actual monarch of this realm. The latter was smartly habited as a cavalier and showed in nothing like a churchman. The infirm King arose and came to meet the champion who had performed what many generals of Christendom had vainly striven to achieve. He embraced the conqueror of Demetrios as one does an equal. Said Theodoret: "Hail, my fair friend! you who have lopped the right arm of heathenry! To-day, I know, the saints hold festival in heaven. I cannot recompense you, since God alone is omnipotent. Yet ask now what you will, short of my crown, and it is yours." The old man kissed the chief of all his treasures, a bit of the True Cross, which hung upon his breast supported by a chain of gold. "The King has spoken," Perion returned. "I ask the life of Demetrios." Theodoret recoiled, like a small flame which is fluttered by its kindler's breath. He cackled thinly, saying: "A jest or so is privileged in this high hour. Yet we ought not to make a jest of matters which concern the Church. Am I not right, Ayrart? Oh, no, this merciless Demetrios is assuredly that very Antichrist whose coming was foretold. I must relinquish him to Mother Church, in order that he may be equitably tried, and be baptised--since even he may have a soul--and afterward be burned in the market-place." "The King has spoken," Perion replied. "I too have spoken." There was a pause of horror upon the part of King Theodoret. He was at first in a mere whirl. Theodoret said: "You ask, in earnest, for the life of this Demetrios, this arch-foe of our Redeemer, this spawn of Satan, who has sacked more of my towns than I have fingers on this wasted hand! Now, now that God has singularly favoured me--!" Theodoret snarled and gibbered like a frenzied ape, and had no longer the ability to articulate. "Beau sire, I fought the man because he infamously held Dame Melicent, whom I serve in this world without any reservation, and trust to serve in Paradise. His person, and this alone, will ransom Melicent." "You plan to loose this fiend!" the old King cried. "To stir up all this butchery again!" "Sire, pray recall how long I have loved Melicent. Reflect that if you slay Demetrios, Dame Melicent will be left destitute in heathenry. Remember that she will be murdered through the hatred of this man's other wives whom her inestimable beauty has supplanted." Thus Perion entreated. All this while the cardinal and the proconsul had been appraising each other. It was as though they two had been the only persons in the dimly-lit apartment. They had not met before. "Here is my match," thought each of these two; "here, if the world affords it, is my peer in cunning and bravery." And each lusted for a contest, and with something of mutual comprehension. In consequence they stinted pity for Theodoret, who unfeignedly believed that whether he kept or broke his recent oath damnation was inevitable. "You have been ill-advised--" he stammered. "I do not dare release Demetrios--My soul would answer that enormity--But it was sworn upon the Cross--Oh, ruin either way! Come now, my gallant captain," the King barked. "I have gold, lands, and jewels--" "Beau sire, I have loved this my dearest lady since the time when both of us were little more than children, and each day of the year my love for her has been doubled. What would it avail me to live in however lofty estate when I cannot daily see the treasure of my life?" Now the Cardinal de Montors interrupted, and his voice was to the ear as silk is to the fingers. "Beau sire," said Ayrart de Montors, "I speak in all appropriate respect. But you have sworn an oath which no man living may presume to violate." "Oh, true, Ayrart!" the fluttered King assented. "This blusterer holds me as in a vise." He turned to Perion again, fierce, tense and fragile, like an angered cat. "Choose now! I will make you the wealthiest person in my realm--My son, I warn you that since Adam's time women have been the devil's peculiar bait. See now, I am not angry. Heh, I remember, too, how beautiful she was. I was once tempted much as you are tempted. So I pardon you. I will give you my daughter Ermengarde in marriage, I will make you my heir, I will give you half my kingdom--" His voice rose, quavering; and it died now, for he foreread the damnation of Theodoret's soul while he fawned before this impassive Perion. "Since Love has taken up his abode within my heart," said Perion, "there has not ever been a vacancy therein for any other thought. How may I help it if Love recompenses my hospitality by afflicting me with a desire which can neither subdue the world nor be subdued by it?" Theodoret continued like the rustle of dead leaves: "--Else I must keep my oath. In that event you may depart with this unbeliever. I will accord you twenty-four hours wherein to accomplish this. But, oh, if I lay hands upon either of you within the twenty-fifth hour I will not kill my prisoner at once. For first I must devise unheard-of torments--" The King's face was not agreeable to look upon. Yet Perion encountered it with an untroubled gaze until Battista spoke, saying: "I promise worse. The Book will be cast down, the bells be tolled, and all the candles snuffed--ah, very soon!" Battista licked his lips, gingerly, just as a cat does. Then Perion was moved, since excommunication is more terrible than death to any of the Church's loyal children, and he was now more frightened than the King. And so Perion thought of Melicent a while before he spoke. Said Perion: "I choose. I choose hell fire in place of riches and honour, and I demand the freedom of Demetrios." "Go!" the King said. "Go hence, blasphemer. Hah, you will weep for this in hell. I pray that I may hear you then, and laugh as I do now--" He went away, and was followed by Battista, who whispered of a makeshift. The cardinal remained and saw to it that the chains were taken from Demetrios. "In consequence of Messire de la Forêt's--as I must term it--most unchristian decision," said the cardinal, "it is not impossible, Messire the Proconsul, that I may head the next assault upon your territory--" Demetrios laughed. He said: "I dare to promise your Eminence that reception you would most enjoy." "I had hoped for as much," the cardinal returned; and he too laughed. To do him justice, he did not know of Battista's makeshift. The cardinal remained when they had gone. Seated in a king's chair, Ayrart de Montors meditated rather wistfully upon that old time when he, also, had loved Melicent whole-heartedly. It seemed a great while ago, made him aware of his maturity. He had put love out of his life, in common with all other weaknesses which might conceivably hinder the advancement of Ayrart de Montors. In consequence, he had climbed far. He was not dissatisfied. It was a man's business to make his way in the world, and he had done this. "My cousin is a brave girl, though," he said aloud, "I must certainly do what I can to effect her rescue as soon as it is convenient to send another expedition against Demetrios." Then the cardinal set about concoction of a moving sonnet in praise of Monna Vittoria de' Pazzi. Desperation loaned him extraordinary eloquence (as he complacently reflected) in addressing this obdurate woman, who had held out against his love-making for six weeks now. 15. _How Perion Fought_ Demetrios and Perion, by the quick turn of fortune previously recorded, were allied against all Christendom. They got arms at the Hôtel d'Ebelin, and they rode out of the city of Megaris, where the bonfires lighted over-night in Perion's honour were still smouldering, amid loud execrations. Fra Battista had not delayed to spread the news of King Theodoret's dilemma. The burghers yelled menaces; but, knowing that an endeavour to constrain the passage of these champions would prove unwholesome for at least a dozen of the arrestors, they cannily confined their malice to a vocal demonstration. Demetrios rode unhelmeted, intending that these snarling little people of Megaris should plainly see the man whom they most feared and hated. It was Perion who spoke first. They had passed the city walls, and had mounted the hill which leads toward the Forest of Sannazaro. Their road lay through a rocky pass above which the leaves of spring were like sparse traceries on a blue cupola, for April had not come as yet. "I meant," said Perion, "to hold you as the ransom of Dame Melicent. I fear that is impossible. I, who am a landless man, have neither servitors nor any castle wherein to retain you as a prisoner. I earnestly desire to kill you, forthwith, in single combat; but when your son Orestes knows that you are dead he will, so you report, kill Melicent. And yet it may be you are lying." Perion was of a tall imperious person, and accustomed to command. He had black hair, grey eyes which challenged you, and a thin pleasant face which was not pleasant now. "You know that I am not a coward--." Demetrios began. "Indeed," said Perion, "I believe you to be the hardiest warrior in the world." "Therefore I may without dishonour repeat to you that my death involves the death of Melicent. Orestes hates her for his mother's sake. I think, now we have fought so often, that each of us knows I do not fear death. I grant I had Flamberge to wield, a magic weapon--" Demetrios shook himself, like a dog coming from the water, for to consider an extraneous invincibility was nauseous. "However! I who am Demetrios protest I will not fight with you, that I will accept any insult rather than risk my life in any quarrel extant, because I know the moment that Orestes has made certain I am no longer to be feared he will take vengeance on Dame Melicent." "Prove this!" said Perion, and with deliberation he struck Demetrios. Full in the face he struck the swart proconsul, and in the ensuing silence you could hear a feeble breeze that strayed about the tree-tops, but you could hear nothing else. And Perion, strong man, the willing scourge of heathendom, had half a mind to weep. Demetrios had not moved a finger. It was appalling. The proconsul's countenance had throughout the hue of wood-ashes, but his fixed eyes were like blown embers. "I believe that it is proved," said Demetrios, "since both of us are still alive." He whispered this. "In fact the thing is settled," Perion agreed. "I know that nothing save your love for Melicent could possibly induce you to decline a proffered battle. When Demetrios enacts the poltroon I am the most hasty of all men living to assert that the excellency of his reason is indisputable. Let us get on! I have only five hundred sequins, but this will be enough to buy your passage back to Quesiton. And inasmuch as we are near the coast--" "I think some others mean to have a spoon in that broth," Demetrios returned. "For look, messire!" Perion saw that far beneath them a company of retainers in white and purple were spurring up the hill. "It is Duke Sigurd's livery," said Perion. Demetrios forthwith interpreted and was amused by their common ruin. He said, grinning: "Pious Theodoret has sworn a truce of twenty-four hours, and in consequence might not send any of his own lackeys after us. But there was nothing to prevent the dropping of a hint into the ear of his brother in-law, because you servitors of Christ excel in these distinctions." "This is hardly an opportunity for theological debate," Perion considered. "And for the rest, time presses. It is your instant business to escape." He gave his tiny bag of gold to his chief enemy. "Make for Narenta. It is a free city and unfriendly to Theodoret. If I survive I will come presently and fight with you for Melicent." "I shall do nothing of the sort," Demetrios equably returned. "Am I the person to permit the man whom I most hate--you who have struck me and yet live!--to fight alone against some twenty adversaries! Oh, no, I shall remain, since after all, there are only twenty." "I was mistaken in you," Perion replied, "for I had thought you loved Dame Melicent as I do. I find too late that you would estimate your private honour as set against her welfare." The two men looked upon each other. Long and long they looked, and the heart of each was elated. "I comprehend," Demetrios said. He clapped spurs to his horse and fled as a coward would have fled. This was one occasion in his life when he overcame his pride, and should in consequence be noted. The heart of Perion was glad. "Oh, but at times," said Perion, "I wish that I might honourably love this infamous and lustful pagan." Afterward Perion wheeled and met Duke Sigurd's men. Then like a reaper cutting a field of wheat Sire Perion showed the sun his sword and went about his work, not without harvesting. In that narrow way nothing could be heard but the striking of blows on armour and the clash of swords which bit at one another. The Comte de la Forêt, for once, allowed himself the privilege of fighting in anger. He went without a word toward this hopeless encounter, as a drunkard to his bottle. First Perion killed Ruggiero of the Lamberti and after that Perion raged as a wolf harrying sheep. Six other stalwart men he cut down, like a dumb maniac among tapestries. His horse was slain and lay blocking the road, making a barrier behind which Perion fought. Then Perion encountered Giacomo di Forio, and while the two contended Gulio the Red very warily cast his sword like a spear so that it penetrated Perion's left shoulder and drew much blood. This hampered the lone champion. Marzio threw a stone which struck on Perion's crest and broke the fastenings of Perion's helmet. Instantly Giacomo gave him three wounds, and Perion stumbled, the sunlight glossing his hair. He fell and they took him. They robbed the corpses of their surcoats, which they tore in strips. They made ropes of this bloodied finery, and with these ropes they bound Perion of the Forest, whom twenty men had conquered at last. He laughed feebly, like a person bedrugged; but in the midst of this superfluous defiance Perion swooned because of many injuries. He knew that with fair luck Demetrios had a sufficient start. The heart of Perion exulted, thinking that Melicent was saved. It was the happier for him he was not ever destined to comprehend the standards of Demetrios. 16. _How Demetrios Meditated_ Demetrios came without any hindrance into Narenta, a free city. He believed his Emperor must have sent galleys toward Christendom to get tidings of his generalissimo, but in this city of merchants Demetrios heard no report of them. Yet in the harbour he found a trading-ship prepared for traffic in the country of the pagans; the sail was naked to the wind, the anchor chain was already shortened at the bow. Demetrios bargained with the captain of this vessel, and in the outcome paid him four hundred sequins. In exchange the man agreed to touch at the Needle of Ansignano that afternoon and take Demetrios aboard. Since the proconsul had no passport, he could not with safety endeavour to elude those officers of the Tribunal who must endorse the ship's passage at Piaja. Thus about sunset Demetrios waited the ship's coming, alone upon the Needle. This promontory is like a Titan's finger of black rock thrust out into the water. The day was perishing, and the querulous sea before Demetrios was an unresting welter of gold and blood. He thought of how he had won safely through a horde of dangers, and the gross man chuckled. He considered that unquestioned rulership of every person near Demetrios which awaited him oversea, and chiefly he thought of Melicent whom he loved even better than he did the power to sneer at everything the world contained. And the proconsul chuckled. He said, aloud: "I owe very much to Messire de la Forêt. I owe far more than I can estimate. For, by this, those lackeys will have slain Messire de la Forêt or else they will have taken Messire de la Forêt to King Theodoret, who will piously make an end of this handsome idiot. Either way, I shall enjoy tranquillity and shall possess my Melicent until I die. Decidedly, I owe a deal to this self-satisfied tall fool." Thus he contended with his irritation. It may be that the man was never sane; it is certain that the mainspring of his least action was an inordinate pride. Now hatred quickened, spreading from a flicker of distaste; and his faculties were stupefied, as though he faced a girdling conflagration. It was not possible to hate adequately this Perion who had struck Demetrios of Anatolia and perhaps was not yet dead; nor could Demetrios think of any sufficing requital for this Perion who dared to be so tall and handsome and young-looking when Demetrios was none of these things, for this Perion whom Melicent had loved and loved to-day. And Demetrios of Anatolia had fought with a charmed sword against a person such as this, safe as an angler matched against a minnow; Demetrios of Anatolia, now at the last, accepted alms from what had been until to-day a pertinacious gnat. Demetrios was physically shaken by disgust at the situation, and in the sunset's glare his swarthy countenance showed like that of Belial among the damned. "The life of Melicent hangs on my safe return to Nacumera.... Ey, what is that to me!" the proconsul cried aloud. "The thought of Melicent is sweeter than the thought of any god. It is not sweet enough to bribe me into living as this Perion's debtor." So when the ship touched at the Needle, a half-hour later, that spur of rock was vacant. Demetrios had untethered his horse, had thrown away his sword and other armour, and had torn his garments; afterward he rolled in the first puddle he discovered. Thus he set out afoot, in grimy rags--for no one marks a beggar upon the highway--and thus he came again into the realm of King Theodoret, where certainly nobody looked for Demetrios to come unarmed. With the advantage of a quiet advent, as was quickly proven, he found no check for a notorious leave-taking. 17. _How a Minstrel Came_ Demetrios came to Megaris where Perion lay fettered in the Castle of San' Alessandro, then a new building. Perion's trial, condemnation, and so on, had consumed the better part of an hour, on account of the drunkenness of one of the Inquisitors, who had vexatiously impeded these formalities by singing love-songs; but in the end it had been salutarily arranged that the Comte de la Forêt be torn apart by four horses upon the St. Richard's day ensuing. Demetrios, having gleaned this knowledge in a pothouse, purchased a stout file, a scarlet cap and a lute. Ambrogio Bracciolini, head-gaoler at the fortress--so the gossips told Demetrios--had been a jongleur in youth, and minstrels were always welcome guests at San' Alessandro. The gaoler was a very fat man with icy little eyes. Demetrios took his measure to a hair's breadth as this Bracciolini straddled in the doorway. Demetrios had assumed an admirable air of simplicity. "God give you joy, messire," he said, with a simper; "I come bringing a precious balsam which cures all sorts of ills, and heals the troubles both of body and mind. For what is better than to have a pleasant companion to sing and tell merry tales, songs and facetious histories?" "You appear to be something of a fool," Bracciolini considered, "but all do not sleep who snore. Come, tell me what are your accomplishments." "I can play the lute, the violin, the flageolet, the harp, the syrinx and the regals," the other replied; "also the Spanish penola that is struck with a quill, the organistrum that a wheel turns round, the wait so delightful, the rebeck so enchanting, the little gigue that chirps up on high, and the great horn that booms like thunder." Bracciolini said: "That is something. But can you throw knives into the air and catch them without cutting your fingers? Can you balance chairs and do tricks with string? or imitate the cries of birds? or throw a somersault and walk on your head? Ha, I thought not. The Gay Science is dying out, and young practitioners neglect these subtile points. It was not so in my day. However, you may come in." So when night fell Demetrios and Bracciolini sat snug and sang of love, of joy, and arms. The fire burned bright, and the floor was well covered with gaily tinted mats. White wines and red were on the table. Presently they turned to canzons of a more indecorous nature. Demetrios sang the loves of Douzi and Ishtar, which the gaoler found remarkable. He said so and crossed himself. "Man, man, you must have been afishing in the mid-pit of hell to net such filth." "I learned that song in Nacumera," said Demetrios, "when I was a prisoner there with Messire de la Forêt. It was a favourite song with him." "Ay?" said Bracciolini. He looked at Demetrios very hard, and Bracciolini pursed his lips as if to whistle. The gaoler scented from afar a bribe, but the face of Demetrios was all vacant cheerfulness. Bracciolini said, idly: "So you served under him? I remember that he was taken by the heathen. A woman ransomed him, they say." Demetrios, able to tell a tale against any man, told now the tale of Melicent's immolation, speaking with vivacity and truthfulness in all points save that he represented himself to have been one of the ransomed Free Companions. Bracciolini's careful epilogue was that the proconsul had acted foolishly in not keeping the emeralds. "He gave his enemy a weapon against him," Bracciolini said, and waited. "Oh, but that weapon was never used. Sire Perion found service at once, under King Bernart, you will remember. Therefore Sire Perion hid away these emeralds against future need--under an oak in Sannazaro, he told me. I suppose they lie there yet." "Humph!" said Bracciolini. He for a while was silent. Demetrios sat adjusting the strings of the lute, not looking at him. Bracciolini said, "There were eighteen of them, you tell me? and all fine stones?" "Ey?--oh, the emeralds? Yes, they were flawless, messire. The smallest was larger than a robin's egg. But I recall another song we learned at Nacumera--" Demetrios sang the loves of Lucius and Fotis. Bracciolini grunted, "Admirable" in an abstracted fashion, muttered something about the duties of his office, and left the room. Demetrios heard him lock the door outside and waited stolidly. Presently Bracciolini returned in full armour, a naked sword in his hand. "My man,"--and his voice rasped--"I believe you to be a rogue. I believe that you are contriving the escape of this infamous Comte de la Forêt. I believe you are attempting to bribe me into conniving at his escape. I shall do nothing of the sort, because, in the first place, it would be an abominable violation of my oath of office, and in the second place, it would result in my being hanged." "Messire, I swear to you--!" Demetrios cried, in excellently feigned perturbation. "And in addition, I believe you have lied to me throughout. I do not believe you ever saw this Comte de la Forêt. I very certainly do not believe you are a friend of this Comte de la Forêt's, because in that event you would never have been mad enough to admit it. The statement is enough to hang you twice over. In short, the only thing I can be certain of is that you are out of your wits." "They say that I am moonstruck," Demetrios answered; "but I will tell you a secret. There is a wisdom lies beyond the moon, and it is because of this that the stars are glad and admirable." "That appears to me to be nonsense," the gaoler commented; and he went on: "Now I am going to confront you with Messire de la Forêt. If your story prove to be false, it will be the worse for you." "It is a true tale. But sensible men close the door to him who always speaks the truth." "These reflections are not to the purpose," Bracciolini submitted, and continued his argument: "In that event Messire de la Forêt will undoubtedly be moved by your fidelity in having sought out him whom all the rest of the world has forsaken. You will remember that this same fidelity has touched me to such an extent that I am granting you an interview with your former master. Messire de la Forêt will naturally reflect that a man once torn in four pieces has no particular use for emeralds. He will, I repeat, be moved. In his emotion, in his gratitude, in mere decency, he will reveal to you the location of those eighteen stones, all flawless. If he should not evince a sufficiency of such appropriate and laudable feeling, I tell you candidly, it will be the worse for you. And now get on!" Bracciolini pointed the way and Demetrios cringed through the door. Bracciolini followed with drawn sword. The corridors were deserted. The head-gaoler had seen to that. His position was simple. Armed, he was certainly not afraid of any combination between a weaponless man and a fettered one. If this jongleur had lied, Bracciolini meant to kill him for his insolence. Bracciolini's own haphazard youth had taught him that a jongleur had no civil rights, was a creature to be beaten, robbed, or stabbed with impunity. Upon the other hand, if the vagabond's tale were true, one of two things would happen. Either Perion would not be brought to tell where the emeralds were hidden, in which event Bracciolini would kill the jongleur for his bungling; or else the prisoner would tell everything necessary, in which event Bracciolini would kill the jongleur for knowing more than was convenient. This Bracciolini had an honest respect for gems and considered them to be equally misplaced when under an oak or in a vagabond's wallet. Consideration of such avarice may well have heartened Demetrios when the well-armoured gaoler knelt in order to unlock the door of Perion's cell. As an asp leaps, the big and supple hands of the proconsul gripped Bracciolini's neck from behind, and silenced speech. Demetrios, who was not tall, lifted the gaoler as high as possible, lest the beating of armoured feet upon the slabs disturb any of the other keepers, and Demetrios strangled his dupe painstakingly. The keys, as Demetrios reflected, were luckily attached to the belt of this writhing thing, and in consequence had not jangled on the floor. It was an inaudible affair and consumed in all some ten minutes. Then with the sword of Bracciolini Demetrios cut Bracciolini's throat. In such matters Demetrios was thorough. 18. _How They Cried Quits_ Demetrios went into Perion's cell and filed away the chains of Perion of the Forest. Demetrios thrust the gaoler's corpse under the bed, and washed away all stains before the door of the cell, so that no awkward traces might remain. Demetrios locked the door of an unoccupied apartment and grinned as Old Legion must have done when Judas fell. More thanks to Bracciolini's precautions, these two got safely from the confines of San' Alessandro, and afterward from the city of Megaris. They trudged on a familiar road. Perion would have spoken, but Demetrios growled, "Not now, messire." They came by night to that pass in Sannazaro which Perion had held against a score of men-at-arms. Demetrios turned. Moonlight illuminated the warriors' faces and showed the face of Demetrios as sly and leering. It was less the countenance of a proud lord than a carved head on some old waterspout. "Messire de la Forêt," Demetrios said, "now we cry quits. Here our ways part till one of us has killed the other, as one of us must surely do." You saw that Perion was tremulous with fury. "You knave," he said, "because of your pride you have imperilled your accursed life--your life on which the life of Melicent depends! You must need delay and rescue me, while your spawn inflicted hideous infamies on Melicent! Oh, I had never hated you until to-night!" Demetrios was pleased. "Behold the increment," he said, "of the turned cheek and of the contriving of good for him that had despitefully used me! Be satisfied, O young and zealous servitor of Love and Christ. I am alone, unarmed and penniless, among a people whom I have never been at pains even to despise. Presently I shall be taken by this vermin, and afterward I shall be burned alive. Theodoret is quite resolved to make of me a candle which will light his way to heaven." "That is true," said Perion; "and I cannot permit that you be killed by anyone save me, as soon as I can afford to kill you." The two men talked together, leagued against entire Christendom. Demetrios had thirty sequins and Perion no money at all. Then Perion showed the ring which Melicent had given him, as a love-token, long ago, when she was young and ignorant of misery. He valued it as he did nothing else. Perion said: "Oh, very dear to me is this dear ring which once touched a finger of that dear young Melicent whom you know nothing of! Its gold is my lost youth, the gems of it are the tears she has shed because of me. Kiss it, Messire Demetrios, as I do now for the last time. It is a favour you have earned." Then these two went as mendicants--for no one marks a beggar upon the highway--into Narenta, and they sold this ring, in order that Demetrios might be conveyed oversea, and that the life of Melicent might be preserved. They found another vessel which was about to venture into heathendom. Their gold was given to the captain; and, in exchange, the bargain ran, his ship would touch at Assignano, a little after the ensuing dawn, and take Demetrios aboard. Thus the two lovers of Melicent foreplanned the future, and did not admit into their accounting vagarious Dame Chance. 19. _How Flamberge Was Lost_ These hunted men spent the following night upon the Needle, since there it was not possible for an adversary to surprise them. Perion's was the earlier watch, until midnight, and during this time Demetrios slept. Then the proconsul took his equitable turn. When Perion awakened the hour was after dawn. What Perion noted first, and within thirty feet of him, was a tall galley with blue and yellow sails. He perceived that the promontory was thronged with heathen sailors, who were unlading the ship of various bales and chests. Demetrios, now in the costume of his native country, stood among them giving orders. And it seemed, too, to Perion, in the moment of waking, that Dame Mélusine, whom Perion had loved so long ago, also stood among them; yet, now that Perion rose and faced Demetrios, she was not visible anywhere, and Perion wondered dimly over his wild dream that she had been there at all. But more importunate matters were in hand. The proconsul grinned malevolently. "This is a ship that once was mine," he said. "Do you not find it droll that Euthyclos here should have loved me sufficiently to hazard his life in order to come in search of me? Personally, I consider it preposterous. For the rest, you slept so soundly, Messire de la Forêt, that I was unwilling to waken you. Then, too, such was the advice of a person who has some influence with the waterfolk, people say, and who was perhaps the means of bringing this ship hither so opportunely. I do not know. She is gone now, you see, intent as always on her own ends. Well, well! her ways are not our ways, and it is wiser not to meddle with them." But Perion, unarmed and thus surrounded, understood only that he was lost. "Messire Demetrios," said Perion, "I never thought to ask a favour of you. I ask it now. For the ring's sake, give me at least a knife, Messire Demetrios. Let me die fighting." "Why, but who spoke of fighting? For the ring's sake, I have caused the ship to be rifled of what valuables they had aboard. It is not much, but it is all I have. And you are to accept my apologies for the somewhat miscellaneous nature of the cargo, Messire de la Forêt--consisting, as it does, of armours and gems, camphor and ambergris, carpets of raw silk, teakwood and precious metals, rugs of Yemen leather, enamels, and I hardly know what else besides. For Euthyclos, as you will readily understand, was compelled to masquerade as a merchant-trader." Perion shook his head, and declared: "You offer enough to make me a wealthy man. But I would prefer a sword." At that Demetrios grimaced, saying, "I had hoped to get off more cheaply." He unbuckled the crosshandled sword which he now wore and handed it to Perion. "This is Flamberge," Demetrios continued--"that magic blade which Galas made, in the old time's heyday, for Charlemaigne. It was with this sword that I slew my father, and this sword is as dear to me as your ring was to you. The man who wields it is reputed to be unconquerable. I do not know about that, but in any event I yield Flamberge to you as a free gift. I might have known it was the only gift you would accept." His swart face lighted. "Come presently and fight with me for Melicent. Perhaps it will amuse me to ride out to battle and know I shall not live to see the sunset. Already it seems laughable that you will probably kill me with this very sword which I am touching now." The champions faced each other, Demetrios in a half-wistful mirth, and Perion in half-grudging pity. Long and long they looked. Demetrios shrugged. Demetrios said: "For such as I am, to love is dangerous. For such as I am, nor fire nor meteor hurls a mightier bolt than Aphrodite's shaft, or marks its passage by more direful ruin. But you do not know Euripides?--a fidgety-footed liar, Messire the Comte, who occasionally blunders into the clumsiest truths. Yes, he is perfectly right; all things this goddess laughingly demolishes while she essays haphazard flights about the world as unforeseeably as travels a bee. And, like the bee, she wilfully dispenses honey, and at other times a wound." Said Perion, who was no scholar: "I glory in our difference. For such as I am, love is sufficient proof that man was fashioned in God's image." "Ey, there is no accounting for a taste in aphorisms," Demetrios replied. He said, "Now I embark." Yet he delayed, and spoke with unaccustomed awkwardness. "Come, you who have been generous till this! will you compel me to desert you here--quite penniless?" Said Perion: "I may accept a sword from you. I do accept it gladly. But I may not accept anything else." "That would have been my answer. I am a lucky man," Demetrios said, "to have provoked an enemy so worthy of my opposition. We two have fought an honest and notable duel, wherein our weapons were not made of steel. I pray you harry me as quickly as you may; and then we will fight with swords till I am rid of you or you of me." "Assuredly, I shall not fail you," answered Perion. These two embraced and kissed each other. Afterward Demetrios went into his own country, and Perion remained, girt with the magic sword Flamberge. It was not all at once Perion recollected that the wearer of Flamberge is unconquerable, if ancient histories are to be believed, for in deduction Perion was leisurely. Now on a sudden he perceived that Demetrios had flung control of the future to Perion, as one gives money to a sot, entirely prescient of how it will be used. Perion had his moment of bleak rage. "I will not cog the dice to my advantage any more than you!" said Perion. He drew the sword of Charlemaigne and brandished it and cast it as far as even strong Perion could cast, and the sea swallowed it. "Now God alone is arbiter!" cried Perion, "and I am not afraid." He stood a pauper and a friendless man. Beside his thigh hung a sorcerer's scabbard of blue leather, curiously ornamented, but it was emptied of power. Yet Perion laughed exultingly, because he was elate with dreams of the future. And for the rest, he was aware it is less grateful to remember plaudits than to recall the exercise of that in us which is not merely human. 20. _How Perion Got Aid_ Then Perion turned from the Needle of Assignano, and went westward into the Forest of Columbiers. He had no plan. He wandered in the high woods that had never yet been felled or ordered, as a beast does in watchful care of hunters. He came presently to a glade which the sunlight flooded without obstruction. There was in this place a fountain, which oozed from under an iron-coloured boulder incrusted with grey lichens and green moss. Upon the rock a woman sat, her chin propped by one hand, and she appeared to consider remote and pleasant happenings. She was clothed throughout in white, with metal bands about her neck and arms; and her loosened hair, which was coloured like straw, and was as pale as the hair of children, glittered about her, and shone frostily where it lay outspread upon the rock behind her. She turned toward Perion without any haste or surprise, and Perion saw that this woman was Dame Mélusine, whom he had loved to his own hurt (as you have heard) when Perion served King Helmas. She did not speak for a long while, but she lazily considered Perion's honest face in a sort of whimsical regret for the adoration she no longer found there. "Then it was really you," he said, in wonder, "whom I saw talking with Demetrios when I awakened to-day." "You may be sure," she answered, "that my talking was in no way injurious to you. Ah, no, had I been elsewhere, Perion, I think you would by this have been in Paradise." Then Mélusine fell again to meditation. "And so you do not any longer either love or hate me, Perion?" Here was an odd echo of the complaint Demetrios had made. "That I once loved you is a truth which neither of us, I think, may ever quite forget," said Perion, very quiet. "I alone know how utterly I loved you--no, it was not I who loved you, but a boy that is dead now. King's daughter, all of stone, O cruel woman and hateful, O sleek, smiling traitress! to-day no man remembers how utterly I loved you, for the years are as a mist between the heart of the dead boy and me, so that I may no longer see the boy's heart clearly. Yes, I have forgotten much. ...Yet even to-day there is that in me which is faithful to you, and I cannot give you the hatred which your treachery has earned." Mélusine spoke shrewdly. She had a sweet, shrill voice. "But I loved you, Perion--oh, yes, in part I loved you, just as one cannot help but love a large and faithful mastiff. But you were tedious, you annoyed me by your egotism. Yes, my friend, you think too much of what you owe to Perion's honour; you are perpetually squaring accounts with heaven, and you are too intent on keeping the balance in your favour to make a satisfactory lover." You saw that Mélusine was smiling in the shadow of her pale hair. "And yet you are very droll when you are unhappy," she said, as of two minds. He replied: "I am, as heaven made me, a being of mingled nature. So I remember without distaste old happenings which now seem scarcely credible. I cannot quite believe that it was you and I who were so happy when youth was common to us... O Mélusine, I have almost forgotten that if the world were searched between the sunrise and the sunsetting the Mélusine I loved would not be found. I only know that a woman has usurped the voice of Mélusine, and that this woman's eyes also are blue, and that this woman smiles as Mélusine was used to smile when I was young. I walk with ghosts, king's daughter, and I am none the happier." "Ay, Periori," she wisely answered, "for the spring is at hand, intent upon an ageless magic. I am no less comely than I was, and my heart, I think, is tenderer. You are yet young, and you are very beautiful, my brave mastiff... And neither of us is moved at all! For us the spring is only a dotard sorcerer who has forgotten the spells of yesterday. I think that it is pitiable, although I would not have it otherwise." She waited, fairy-like and wanton, seeming to premeditate a delicate mischief. He declared, sighing, "No, I would not have it otherwise." Then presently Mélusine arose. She said: "You are a hunted man, unarmed--oh, yes, I know. Demetrios talked freely, because the son of Miramon Lluagor has good and ancient reasons to trust me. Besides, it was not for nothing that Pressina was my mother, and I know many things, pilfering light from the past to shed it upon the future. Come now with me to Brunbelois. I am too deeply in your debt, my Perion. For the sake of that boy who is dead--as you tell me--you may honourably accept of me a horse, arms, and a purse, because I loved that boy after my fashion." "I take your bounty gladly," he replied; and he added conscientiously: "I consider that I am not at liberty to refuse of anybody any honest means of serving my lady Melicent." Mélusine parted her lips as if about to speak, and then seemed to think better of it. It is probable she was already informed concerning Melicent; she certainly asked no questions. Mélusine only shrugged, and laughed afterward, and the man and the woman turned toward Brunbelois. At times a shaft of sunlight would fall on her pale hair and convert it into silver, as these two went through the high woods that had never yet been felled or ordered. PART FOUR AHASUERUS _Of how a knave hath late compassion On Melicent's forlorn condition; For which he saith as ye shall after hear: "Dame, since that game we play costeth too dear, My truth I plight, I shall you no more grieve By my behest, and here I take my leave As of the fairest, truest and best wife That ever yet I knew in all my life."_ 21. _How Demetrios Held His Chattel_ It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling how Demetrios returned into the country of the pagans and found all matters there as he had left them. They relate how Melicent was summoned. And the tale tells how upon the stairway by which you descended from the Women's Garden to the citadel--people called it the Queen's Stairway, because it was builded by Queen Rudabeh very long ago when the Emperor Zal held Nacumera--Demetrios waited with a naked sword. Below were four of his soldiers, picked warriors. This stairway was of white marble, and a sphinx carved in green porphyry guarded each balustrade. "Now that we have our audience," Demetrios said, "come, let the games begin." One of the soldiers spoke. It was that Euthyclos who (as you have heard) had ventured into Christendom at the hazard of his life to rescue the proconsul. Euthyclos was a man of the West Provinces and had followed the fortunes of Demetrios since boyhood. "King of the Age," cried Euthyclos, "it is grim hearing that we must fight with you. But since your will is our will, we must endure this testing, although we find it bitter as aloes and hot as coals. Dear lord and master, none has put food to his lips for whose sake we would harm you willingly, and we shall weep to-night when your ghost passes over and through us." Demetrios answered: "Rise up and leave this idleness! It is I that will clip the ends of my hair to-night for the love of you, my stalwart knaves. Such weeping as is done your wounds will perform." At that they addressed themselves to battle, and Melicent perceived she was witnessing no child's play. The soldiers had attacked in unison, and before the onslaught Demetrios stepped lightly back. But his sword flashed as he moved, and with a grunt Demetrios, leaning far forward, dug deep into the throat of his foremost assailant. The sword penetrated and caught in a link of the gold chain about the fellow's neck, so that Demetrios was forced to wrench the weapon free, twisting it, as the dying man stumbled backward. Prostrate, the soldier did not cry out, but only writhed and gave a curious bubbling noise as his soul passed. "Come," Demetrios said, "come now, you others, and see what you can win of me. I warn you it will be dearly purchased." And Melicent turned away, hiding her eyes. She was obscurely conscious that a wanton butchery went on, hearing its blows and groans as if from a great distance, while she entreated the Virgin for deliverance from this foul place. Then a hand fell upon Melicent's shoulder, rousing her. It was Demetrios. He breathed quickly, but his voice was gentle. "It is enough," he said. "I shall not greatly need Flamberge when I encounter that ruddy innocent who is so dear to you." He broke off. Then he spoke again, half jeering, half wistful. Said Demetrios: "I had hoped that you would look on and admire my cunning at swordplay. I was anxious to seem admirable somehow in your eyes ... I failed. I know very well that I shall always fail. I know that Nacumera will fall, that some day in your native land people will say, 'That aged woman yonder was once the wife of Demetrios of Anatolia, who was pre-eminent among the heathen.' Then they will tell of how I cleft the head of an Emperor who had likened me to Priapos, and how I dragged his successor from behind an arras where he hid from me, to set him upon the throne I did not care to take; and they will tell how for a while great fortune went with me, and I ruled over much land, and was dreaded upon the wide sea, and raised the battlecry in cities that were not my own, fearing nobody. But you will not think of these matters, you will think only of your children's ailments, of baking and sewing and weaving tapestries, and of directing little household tasks. And the spider will spin her web in my helmet, which will hang as a trophy in the hall of Messire de la Forêt." Then he walked beside her into the Women's Garden, keeping silence for a while. He seemed to deliberate, to reach a decision. All at once Demetrios began to tell of that magnanimous contest which he had fought out in Theodoret's country with Perion of the Forest. "To do the long-legged fellow simple justice," said the proconsul, as epilogue, "there is no hardier knight alive. I shall always wonder whether or no I would have spared him had the water-demon's daughter not intervened in his behalf. Yes, I have had some previous dealings with her. Perhaps the less said concerning them, the better." Demetrios reflected for a while, rather sadly; then his swart face cleared. "Give thanks, my wife, that I have found an enemy who is not unworthy of me. He will come soon, I think, and then we will fight to the death. I hunger for that day." All praise of Perion, however worded, was as wine to Melicent. Demetrios saw as much, noted how the colour in her cheeks augmented delicately, how her eyes grew kindlier. It was his cue. Thereafter Demetrios very often spoke of Perion in that locked palace where no echo of the outer world might penetrate except at the proconsul's will. He told Melicent, in an unfeigned admiration, of Perion's courage and activity, declaring that no other captain since the days of those famous generals, Hannibal and Joshua, could lay claim to such preeminence in general estimation; and Demetrios narrated how the Free Companions had ridden through many kingdoms at adventure, serving many lords with valour and always fighting applaudably. To talk of Perion delighted Melicent: it was with such bribes that Demetrios purchased where his riches did not avail; and Melicent no longer avoided him. There is scope here for compassion. The man's love, if it be possible so to call that force which mastered him, had come to be an incessant malady. It poisoned everything, caused him to find his statecraft tedious, his power profitless, and his vices gloomy. But chief of all he fretted over the standards by which the lives of Melicent and Perion were guided. Demetrios thought these criteria comely, he had discovered them to be unshakable, and he despairingly knew that as long as he trusted in the judgment heaven gave him they must always appear to him supremely idiotic. To bring Melicent to his own level or to bring himself to hers was equally impossible. There were moments when he hated her. Thus the months passed, and the happenings of another year were chronicled; and as yet neither Perion nor Ayrart de Montors came to Nacumera, and the long plain before the citadel stayed tenantless save for the jackals crying there at night. "I wonder that my enemies do not come," Demetrios said. "It cannot be they have forgotten you and me. That is impossible." He frowned and sent spies into Christendom. 22. _How Misery Held Nacumera_ Then one day Demetrios came to Melicent, and he was in a surly rage. "Rogues all!" he grumbled. "Oh, I am wasted in this paltry age. Where are the giants and tyrants, and stalwart single-hearted champions of yesterday? Why, they are dead, and have become rotten bones. I will fight no longer. I will read legends instead, for life nowadays is no longer worthy of love or hatred." Melicent questioned him, and he told how his spies reported that the Cardinal de Montors could now not ever head an expedition against Demetrios' territories. The Pope had died suddenly in the course of the preceding October, and it was necessary to name his successor. The College of Cardinals had reached no decision after three days' balloting. Then, as is notorious, Dame Mélusine, as always hand in glove with Ayrart de Montors, held conference with the bishop who inspected the cardinals' dinner before it was carried into the apartments where these prelates were imprisoned together until, in edifying seclusion from all worldly influences, they should have prayerfully selected the next Pope. The Cardinal of Genoa received on the fourth day a chicken stuffed with a deed to the palaces of Monticello and Soriano; the Cardinal of Parma a similarly dressed fowl which made him master of the bishop's residence at Porto with its furniture and wine-cellar; while the Cardinals Orsino, Savelli, St. Angelo and Colonna were served with food of the same ingratiating sort. Such nourishment cured them of indecision, and Ayrart de Montors had presently ascended the papal throne under the title of Adrian VII, servant to the servants of God. His days of military captaincy were over. Demetrios deplored the loss of a formidable adversary, and jeered at the fact that the vicarship of heaven had been settled by six hens. But he particularly fretted over other news his spies had brought, which was the information that Perion had wedded Dame Mélusine, and had begotten two lusty children--Bertram and a daughter called Blaniferte--and now enjoyed the opulence and sovereignty of Brunbelois. Demetrios told this unwillingly. He turned away his eyes in speaking, and doggedly affected to rearrange a cushion, so that he might not see the face of Melicent. She noted his action and was grateful. Demetrios said, bitterly, "It is an old and tawdry history. He has forgotten you, Melicent, as a wise man will always put aside the dreams of his youth. To Cynara the Fates accord but a few years; a wanton Lyce laughs, cheats her adorers, and outlives the crow. There is an unintended moral here--" Demetrios said, "Yet you do not forget." "I know nothing as to this Perion you tell me of. I only know the Perion I loved has not forgotten," answered Melicent. And Demetrios, evincing a twinge like that of gout, demanded her reasons. It was a May morning, very hot and still, and Demetrios sat with his Christian wife in the Court of Stars. Said Melicent, "It is not unlikely that the Perion men know to-day has forgotten me and the service which I joyed to render Perion. Let him who would understand the mystery of the Crucifixion first become a lover! I pray for old sake's sake that Perion and his lady may taste of every prosperity. Indeed, I do not envy her. Rather I pity her, because last night I wandered through a certain forest hand-in-hand with a young Perion, whose excellencies she will never know as I know them in our own woods." Said Demetrios, "Do you console yourself with dreams?" The swart man grinned. Melicent said: "Now it is always twilight in these woods, and the light there is neither green nor gold, but both colours intermingled. It is like a friendly cloak for all who have been unhappy, even very long ago. Iseult is there, and Thisbe, too, and many others, and they are not severed from their lovers now.. Sometimes Dame Venus passes, riding upon a panther, and low-hanging leaves clutch at her tender flesh. Then Perion and I peep from a coppice, and are very glad and a little frightened in the heart of our own woods." Said Demetrios, "Do you console yourself with madness?" He showed no sign of mirth. Melicent said: "Ah, no, the Perion whom Mélusine possesses is but a man--a very happy man, I pray of God and all His saints. I am the luckier, who may not ever lose the Perion that to-day is mine alone. And though I may not ever touch this younger Perion's hands--and their palms were as hard as leather in that dear time now overpast--or see again his honest and courageous face, the most beautiful among all the faces of men and women I have ever seen, I do not grieve immeasurably, for nightly we walk hand-in-hand in our own woods." Demetrios said, "Ay; and then night passes, and dawn comes to light my face, which is the most hideous to you among all the faces of men and women!" But Melicent said only: "Seignior, although the severing daylight endures for a long while, I must be brave and worthy of Perion's love--nay, rather, of the love he gave me once. I may not grieve so long as no one else dares enter into our own woods." "Now go," cried the proconsul, when she had done, and he had noted her soft, deep, devoted gaze at one who was not there; "now go before I slay you!" And this new Demetrios whom she then saw was featured like a devil in sore torment. Wonderingly Melicent obeyed him. Thought Melicent, who was too proud to show her anguish: "I could have borne aught else, but this I am too cowardly to bear without complaint. I am a very contemptible person. I ought to love this Mélusine, who no doubt loves her husband quite as much as I love him--how could a woman do less?--and yet I cannot love her. I can only weep that I, robbed of all joy, and with no children to bewail me, must travel very tediously toward death, a friendless person cursed by fate, while this Mélusine laughs with her children. She has two children, as Demetrios reports. I think the boy must be the more like Perion. I think she must be very happy when she lifts that boy into her lap." Thus Melicent; and her full-blooded husband was not much more light-hearted. He went away from Nacumera shortly, in a shaking rage which robbed him of his hands' control, intent to kill and pillage, and, in fine, to make all other persons share his misery. 23. _How Demetrios Cried Farewell_ And then one day, when the proconsul had been absent some six weeks, Ahasuerus fetched Dame Melicent into the Court of Stars. Demetrios lay upon the divan supported by many pillows, as though he had not ever stirred since that first day when an unfettered Melicent, who was a princess then, exulted in her youth and comeliness. "Stand there," he said, and did not move at all, "that I may see my purchase." And presently he smiled, though wryly. Demetrios said next: "Of my own will I purchased misery. Yea, and death also. It is amusing.... Two days ago, in a brief skirmish, a league north of Calonak, the Prankish leader met me hand to hand. He has endeavoured to do this for a long while. I also wished it. Nothing could be sweeter than to feel the horse beneath me wading in his blood, I thought.. Ey, well, he dismounted me at the first encounter, though I am no weakling. I cannot understand quite how it happened. Pious people will say some deity was offended, but, for my part, I think my horse stumbled. It does not seem to matter now. What really matters, more or less, is that it would appear the man broke my backbone as one snaps a straw, since I cannot move a limb of me." "Seignior," said Melicent, "you mean that you are dying!" He answered, "Yes; but it is a trivial discomfort, now I see that it grieves you a little." She spoke his name some three times, sobbing. It was in her mind even then how strange the happening was that she should grieve for Demetrios. "O Melicent," he harshly said, "let us have done with lies! That Frankish captain who has brought about my death is Perion de la Forêt. He has not ever faltered in the duel between us since your paltry emeralds paid for his first armament.--Why, yes, I lied. I always hoped the man would do as in his place I would have done. I hoped in vain. For many long and hard-fought years this handsome maniac has been assailing Nacumera, tirelessly. Then the water-demon's daughter, that strange and wayward woman of Brunbelois, attempted to ensnare him. And that too was in vain. She failed, my spies reported--even Dame Mélusine, who had not ever failed before in such endeavours." "But certainly the foul witch failed!" cried Melicent. A glorious change had come into her face, and she continued, quite untruthfully, "Nor did I ever believe that this vile woman had made Perion prove faithless." "No, the fool's lunacy is rock, like yours. _En cor gentil domnei per mort no passa_, as they sing in your native country.... Ey, how indomitably I lied, what pains I took, lest you should ever know of this! And now it does not seem to matter any more.... The love this man bears for you," snarled Demetrios, "is sprung of the High God whom we diversely worship. The love I bear you is human, since I, too, am only human." And Demetrios chuckled. "Talk, and talk, and talk! There is no bird in any last year's nest." She laid her hand upon his unmoved hand, and found it cold and swollen. She wept to see the broken tyrant, who to her at least had been not all unkind. He said, with a great hunger in his eyes: "So likewise ends the duel which was fought between us two. I would salute the victor if I could. ... Ey, Melicent, I still consider you and Perion are fools. We have a not intolerable world to live in, and common-sense demands we make the most of every tidbit this world affords. Yet you can find in it only an exercising-ground for infatuation, and in all its contents--pleasures and pains alike--only so many obstacles for rapt insanity to override. I do not understand this mania; I would I might have known it, none the less. Always I envied you more than I loved you. Always my desire was less to win the love of Melicent than to love Melicent as Melicent loved Perion. I was incapable of this. Yet I have loved you. That was the reason, I believe, I put aside my purchased toy." It seemed to puzzle him. "Fair friend, it is the most honourable of reasons. You have done chivalrously. In this, at least, you have done that which would be not unworthy of Perion de la Forêt." A woman never avid for strained subtleties, it may be that she never understood, quite, why Demetrios laughed. He said: "I mean to serve you now, as I had always meant to serve you some day. Ey, yes, I think I always meant to give you back to Perion as a free gift. Meanwhile to see, and to writhe in seeing your perfection, has meant so much to me that daily I have delayed such a transfiguration of myself until to-morrow." The man grimaced. "My son Orestes, who will presently succeed me, has been summoned. I will order that he conduct you at once into Perion's camp--yonder by Quesiton. I think I shall not live three days." "I would not leave you, friend, until--" His grin was commentary and completion equally. Demetrios observed: "A dead dog has no teeth wherewith to serve even virtue. Oh, no, my women hate you far too greatly. You must go straightway to this Perion, while Demetrios of Anatolia is alive, or else not ever go." She had no words. She wept, and less for joy of winning home to Perion at last than for her grief that Demetrios was dying. Woman-like, she could remember only that the man had loved her in his fashion. And, woman-like, she could but wonder at the strength of Perion. Then Demetrios said: "I must depart into a doubtful exile. I have been powerful and valiant, I have laughed loud, I have drunk deep, but heaven no longer wishes Demetrios to exist. I am unable to support my sadness, so near am I to my departure from all I have loved. I cry farewell to all diversions and sports, to well-fought battles, to furred robes of vair and of silk, to noisy merriment, to music, to vain-gloriously coloured gems, and to brave deeds in open sunlight; for I desire--and I entreat of every person--only compassion and pardon. "Chiefly I grieve because I must leave Melicent behind me, unfriended in a perilous land, and abandoned, it may be, to the malice of those who wish her ill. I was a noted warrior, I was mighty of muscle, and I could have defended her stoutly. But I lie broken in the hand of Destiny. It is necessary I depart into the place where sinners, whether crowned or ragged, must seek for unearned mercy. I cry farewell to all that I have loved, to all that I have injured; and so in chief to you, dear Melicent, I cry farewell, and of you in chief I crave compassion and pardon. "O eyes and hair and lips of Melicent, that I have loved so long, I do not hunger for you now. Yet, as a dying man, I cry to the clean soul of Melicent--the only adversary that in all my lifetime I who was once Demetrios could never conquer. A ravening beast was I, and as a beast I raged to see you so unlike me. And now, a dying beast, I cry to you, but not for love, since that is overpast. I cry for pity that I have not earned, for pardon which I have not merited. Conquered and impotent, I cry to you, O soul of Melicent, for compassion and pardon. "Melicent, it may be that when I am dead, when nothing remains of Demetrios except his tomb, you will comprehend I loved, even while I hated, what is divine in you. Then since you are a woman, you will lift your lover's face between your hands, as you have never lifted my face, Melicent, and you will tell him of my folly merrily; yet since you are a woman, you will sigh afterward, and you will not deny me compassion and pardon." She gave him both--she who was prodigal of charity. Orestes came, with Ahasuerus at his heels, and Demetrios sent Melicent into the Women's Garden, so that father and son might talk together. She waited in this place for a half-hour, just as the proconsul had commanded her, obeying him for the last time. It was strange to think of that. * * * * * It was not gladness which Melicent knew for a brief while. Rather, it was a strange new comprehension of the world. To Melicent the world seemed very lovely. Indeed, the Women's Garden on this morning lacked nothing to delight each sense. Its hedges were of flowering jessamine; its walkways were spread with new sawdust tinged with crocus and vermilion and with mica beaten into a powder; and the place was rich in fruit-bearing trees and welling waters. The sun shone, and birds chaunted merrily to the right hand and to the left. Dog-headed apes, sacred to the moon, were chattering in the trees. There was a statue in this place, carved out of black stone, in the likeness of a woman, having enamelled eyes and three rows of breasts, with the lower part of her body confined in a sheath; and upon the glistening pedestal of this statue chameleons sunned themselves with distended throats. Round about Melicent were nodding armaments of roses and gillyflowers and narcissi and amaranths, and many violets and white lilies, and other flowers of all kinds and colours. To Melicent the world seemed very lovely. Here was a world created by Eternal Love that people might serve love in it not all unworthily. Here were anguishes to be endured, and time and human frailty and temporal hardship--all for love to mock at; a sea or two for love to sever, a man-made law or so for love to override, a shallow wisdom for love to deny, in exultance that these ills at most were only corporal hindrances. This done, you have earned the right to come--come hand-in-hand--to heaven whose liege-lord was Eternal Love. Thus Melicent, who knew that Perion loved her. She sat on a stone bench. She combed her golden hair, not heeding the more coarse gray hairs which here and there were apparent nowadays. A peacock came and watched her with bright, hard, small eyes; and he craned his glistening neck this way and that way, as though he were wondering at this other shining and gaily coloured creature, who seemed so happy. She did not dare to think of seeing Perion again. Instead, she made because of him a little song, which had not any words, so that it is not possible here to retail this song. Thus Melicent, who knew that Perion loved her. 24. _How Orestes Ruled_ Melicent returned into the Court of Stars; and as she entered, Orestes lifted one of the red cushions from Demetrios' face. The eyes of Ahasuerus, who stood by negligently, were as expressionless as the eyes of a snake. "The great proconsul laid an inconvenient mandate upon me," said Orestes. "The great proconsul has been removed from us in order that his splendour may enhance the glories of Elysium." She saw that the young man had smothered his own father in the flesh as Demetrios lay helpless; and knew thereby that Orestes was indeed the son of Demetrios. "Go," this Orestes said thereafter; "go, and remember I am master here." Said Melicent, "And by which door?" A little hope there was as yet. But he, as half in shame, had pointed to the entrance of the Women's Garden. "I have no enmity against you, outlander. Yet my mother desires to talk with you. Also there is some bargaining to be completed with Ahasuerus here." Then Melicent knew what had prompted the proconsul's murder. It seemed unfair Callistion should hate her with such bitterness; yet Melicent remembered certain thoughts concerning Dame Mélusine, and did not wonder at Callistion's mania half so much as did Callistion's son. "I must endure discomfort and, it may be, torture for a little longer," said Melicent, and laughed whole-heartedly. "Oh, but to-day I find a cure for every ill," said Melicent; and thereupon she left Orestes as a princess should. But first she knelt by that which yesterday had been her master. "I have no word of praise or blame to give you in farewell. You were not admirable, Demetrios. But you depart upon a fearful journey, and in my heart there is just memory of the long years wherein according to your fashion you were kind to me. A bargain is a bargain. I sold with open eyes that which you purchased. I may not reproach you." Then Melicent lifted the dead face between her hands, as mothers caress their boys in questioning them. "I would I had done this when you were living," said Melicent, "because I understand now that you loved me in your fashion. And I pray that you may know I am the happiest woman in the world, because I think this knowledge would now gladden you. I go to slavery, Demetrios, where I was queen, I go to hardship, and it may be that I go to death. But I have learned this assuredly--that love endures, that the strong knot which unites my heart and Perion's heart can never be untied. Oh, living is a higher thing than you or I had dreamed! And I have in my heart just pity, poor Demetrios, for you who never found the love of which I must endeavour to be worthy. A curse was I to you unwillingly, as you--I now believe--have been to me against your will. So at the last I turn anew to bargaining, and cry--in your deaf ears--_Pardon for pardon, O Demetrios!_" Then Melicent kissed pitiable lips which would not ever sneer again, and, rising, passed into the Women's Garden, proudly and unafraid. Ahasuerus shrugged so patiently that she was half afraid. Then, as a cloud passes, she saw that all further buffetings would of necessity be trivial. For Perion, as she now knew, was very near to her--single of purpose, clean of hands, and filled with such a love as thrilled her with delicious fears of her own poor unworthiness. 25. _How Women Talked Together_ Dame Melicent walked proudly through the Women's Garden, and presently entered a grove of orange trees, the most of which were at this season about their flowering. In this place was an artificial pool by which the trees were nourished. On its embankment sprawled the body of young Diophantus, a child of some ten years of age, Demetrios' son by Tryphera. Orestes had strangled Diophantus in order that there might be no rival to Orestes' claims. The lad lay on his back, and his left arm hung elbow-deep in the water, which swayed it gently. Callistion sat beside the corpse and stroked its limp right hand. She had hated the boy throughout his brief and merry life. She thought now of his likeness to Demetrios. She raised toward Melicent the dilated eyes of one who has just come from a dark place. Callistion said: "And so Demetrios is dead. I thought I would be glad when I said that. Hah, it is strange I am not glad." She rose, as though with hard effort, as a decrepit person might have done. You saw that she was dressed in a long gown of black, pleated to the knees, having no clasp or girdle, and bare of any ornamentation except a gold star on each breast. Callistion said: "Now, through my son, I reign in Nacumera. There is no person who dares disobey me. Therefore, come close to me that I may see the beauty which besotted this Demetrios, whom, I think now, I must have loved." "Oh, gaze your fill," said Melicent, "and know that had you possessed a tithe of my beauty you might have held the heart of Demetrios." For it was in Melicent's mind to provoke the woman into killing her before worse befell. But Callistion only studied the proud face for a long while, and knew there was no lovelier person between two seas. For time here had pillaged very sparingly; and if Dame Melicent had not any longer the first beauty of her girlhood, Callistion had nowhere seen a woman more handsome than this hated Frankish thief. Callistion said: "No, I was not ever so beautiful as you. Yet this Demetrios loved me when I, too, was lovely. You never saw the man in battle. I saw him, single-handed, fight with Abradas and three other knaves who stole me from my mother's home--oh, very long ago! He killed all four of them. He was like a horrible unconquerable god when he turned from that finished fight to me. He kissed me then--blood-smeared, just as he was.... I like to think of how he laughed and of how strong he was." The woman turned and crouched by the dead boy, and seemed painstakingly to appraise her own reflection on the water's surface. "It is gone now, the comeliness Demetrios was pleased to like. I would have waded Acheron--singing--rather than let his little finger ache. He knew as much. Only it seemed a trifle, because your eyes were bright and your fair skin was unwrinkled. In consequence the man is dead. Oh, Melicent, I wonder why I am so sad!" Callistion's meditative eyes were dry, but those of Melicent were not. And Melicent came to the Dacian woman, and put one arm about her in that dim, sweet-scented place, saying, "I never meant to wrong you." Callistion did not seem to heed. Then Callistion said: "See now! Do you not see the difference between us!" These two were kneeling side by side, and each looked into the water. Callistion said: "I do not wonder that Demetrios loved you. He loved at odd times many women. He loved the mother of this carrion here. But afterward he would come back to me, and lie asprawl at my feet with his big crafty head between my knees; and I would stroke his hair, and we would talk of the old days when we were young. He never spoke of you. I cannot pardon that." "I know," said Melicent. Their cheeks touched now. "There is only one master who could teach you that drear knowledge--" "There is but one, Callistion." "The man would be tall, I think. He would, I know, have thick, brown, curling hair--" "He has black hair, Callistion. It glistens like a raven's wing." "His face would be all pink and white, like yours--" "No, tanned like yours, Callistion. Oh, he is like an eagle, very resolute. His glance bedwarfs you. I used to be afraid to look at him, even when I saw how foolishly he loved me--" "I know," Callistion said. "All women know. Ah, we know many things--" She reached with her free arm across the body of Diophantus and presently dropped a stone into the pool. She said: "See how the water ripples. There is now not any reflection of my poor face or of your beauty. All is as wavering as a man's heart.... And now your beauty is regathering like coloured mists. Yet I have other stones." "Oh, and the will to use them!" said Dame Melicent. "For this bright thieving beauty is not any longer yours. It is mine now, to do with as I may elect--as yesterday it was the plaything of Demetrios.... Why, no! I think I shall not kill you. I have at hand three very cunning Cheylas--the men who carve and reshape children into such droll monsters. They cannot change your eyes, they tell me. That is a pity, but I can have one plucked out. Then I shall watch my Cheylas as they widen your mouth from ear to ear, take out the cartilage from your nose, wither your hair till it will always be like rotted hay, and turn your skin--which is like velvet now--the colour of baked mud. They will as deftly strip you of that beauty which has robbed me as I pluck up this blade of grass.... Oh, they will make you the most hideous of living things, they assure me. Otherwise, as they agree, I shall kill them. This done, you may go freely to your lover. I fear, though, lest you may not love him as I loved Demetrios." And Melicent said nothing. "For all we women know, my sister, our appointed curse. To love the man, and to know the man loves just the lips and eyes Youth lends to us--oho, for such a little while! Yes, it is cruel. And therefore we are cruel--always in thought and, when occasion offers, in the deed." And Melicent said nothing. For of that mutual love she shared with Perion, so high and splendid that it made of grief a music, and wrung a new sustainment out of every cross, as men get cordials of bitter herbs, she knew there was no comprehension here. 26. _How Men Ordered Matters_ Orestes came into the garden with Ahasuerus and nine other attendants. The master of Nacumera did not speak a syllable while his retainers seized Callistion, gagged her, and tied her hands with cords. They silently removed her. One among them bore on his shoulders the slim corpse of Diophantus, which was interred the same afternoon (with every appropriate ceremony) in company with that of his father. Orestes had the nicest sense of etiquette. This series of swift deeds was performed with such a glib precipitancy that if was as though the action had been rehearsed a score of times. The garden was all drowsy peace now that Orestes spread his palms in a gesture of deprecation. A little distance from him, Ahasuerus with his forefinger drew upon the water's surface designs which appeared to amuse the Jew. "She would have killed you, Melicent," Orestes said, "though all Olympos had marshalled in interdiction. That would have been irreligious. Moreover, by Hercules! I have not time to choose sides between snarling women. He who hunts with cats will catch mice. I aim more highly. And besides, by an incredible forced march, this Comte de la Forêt and all his Free Companions are battering at the gates of Nacumera--" Hope blazed. "You know that were I harmed he would spare no one. Your troops are all at Calonak. Oh, God is very good!" said Melicent. "I do not asperse the deities of any nation. It is unlucky. None the less, your desires outpace your reason. Grant that I had not more than fifty men to defend the garrison, yet Nacumera is impregnable except by starvation. We can sit snug a month. Meanwhile our main force is at Calonak, undoubtedly. Yet my infatuated father had already recalled these troops, in order that they might escort you into Messire de la Forêt's camp. Now I shall use these knaves quite otherwise. They will arrive within two days, and to the rear of Messire de la Forêt, who is encamped before an impregnable fortress. To the front unscalable walls, and behind him, at a moderate computation, three swords to his one. All this in a valley from which Daedalos might possibly escape, but certainly no other man. I count this Perion of the Forest as already dead." It was a lumbering Orestes who proclaimed each step in his enchained deductions by the descent of a blunt forefinger upon the palm of his left hand. Demetrios had left a son but not an heir. Yet the chain held. Melicent tested every link and found each obdurate. She foresaw it all. Perion would be surrounded and overpowered. "And these troops come from Calonak because of me!" "Things fall about with an odd patness, as you say. It should teach you not to talk about divinities lightly. Also, by this Jew's advice, I mean to further the gods' indisputable work. You will appear upon the walls of Nacumera at dawn to-morrow, in such a garb as you wore in your native country when the Comte de la Forêt first saw you. Ahasuerus estimates this Perion will not readily leave pursuit of you in that event, whatever his lieutenants urge, for you are very beautiful." Melicent cried aloud, "A bitter curse this beauty has been to me, and to all men who have desired it." "But I do not desire it," said Orestes. "Else I would not have sold it to Ahasuerus. I desire only the governorship of some province on the frontier where I may fight daily with stalwart adversaries, and ride past the homes of conquered persons who hate me. Ahasuerus here assures me that the Emperor will not deny me such employment when I bring him the head of Messire de la Forêt. The raids of Messire de la Forêt have irreligiously annoyed our Emperor for a long while." She muttered, "Thou that once wore a woman's body--!" "--And I take Ahasuerus to be shrewd in all respects save one. For he desires trivialities. A wise man knows that woman are the sauce and not the meat of life; Ahasuerus, therefore, is not wise. And in consequence I do not lack a handsome bribe for this Bathyllos whom our good Emperor--misguided man!--is weak enough to love; my mother goes in chains; and I shall get my province." Here Orestes laughed. And then the master of Nacumera left Dame Melicent alone with Ahasuerus. 27. _How Ahasuerus Was Candid_ When Orestes had gone, the Jew remained unmoved. He continued to dabble his finger-tips in the water as one who meditates. Presently he dried them on either sleeve so that he seemed to embrace himself. Said he, "What instruments we use at need!" She said, "So you have purchased me, Ahasuerus?" "Yes, for a hundred and two minae. That is a great sum. You are not as the run of women, though. I think you are worth it." She did not speak. The sun shone, and birds chaunted merrily to the right hand and to the left. She was considering the beauty of these gardens which seemed to sleep under a dome of hard, polished blue--the beauty of this cloistered Nacumera, wherein so many infamies writhed and contended like a nest of little serpents. "Do you remember, Melicent, that night at Fomor Beach when you snatched a lantern from my hand? Your hand touched my hand, Melicent." She answered, "I remember." "I first of all saw that it was a woman who was aiding Perion to escape. I considered Perion a lucky man, for I had seen the woman's face." She remained silent. "I thought of this woman very often. I thought of her even more frequently after I had talked with her at Bellegarde, telling of Perion's captivity.... Melicent," the Jew said, "I make no songs, no protestations, no phrases. My deeds must speak for me. Concede that I have laboured tirelessly." He paused, his gaze lifted, and his lips smiled. His eyes stayed mirthless. "This mad Callistion's hate of you, and of the Demetrios who had abandoned her, was my first stepping-stone. By my advice a tiny wire was fastened very tightly around the fetlock of a certain horse, between the foot and the heel, and the hair was smoothed over this wire. Demetrios rode that horse in his last battle. It stumbled, and our terrible proconsul was thus brought to death. Callistion managed it. Thus I betrayed Demetrios." Melicent said, "You are too foul for hell to swallow." And Ahasuerus manifested indifference to this imputed fault. "Thus far I had gone hand-in-hand with an insane Callistion. Now our ways parted. She desired only to be avenged on you, and very crudely. That did not accord with my plan. I fell to bargaining. I purchased with--O rarity of rarities!--a little rational advice and much gold as well. Thus in due season I betrayed Callistion. Well, who forbids it?" She said: "God is asleep. Therefore you live, and I--alas!--must live for a while longer." "Yes, you must live for a while longer--oh, and I, too, must live for a while longer!" the Jew returned. His voice had risen in a curious quavering wail. It was the first time Melicent ever knew him to display any emotion. But the mood passed, and he said only: "Who forbids it? In any event, there is a venerable adage concerning the buttering of parsnips. So I content myself with asking you to remember that I have not ever faltered. I shall not falter now. You loathe me. Who forbids it? I have known from the first that you detested me, and I have always considered your verdict to err upon the side of charity. Believe me, you will never loathe Ahasuerus as I do. And yet I coddle this poor knave sometimes--oh, as I do to-day!" he said. And thus they parted. 28. _How Perion Saw Melicent_ The manner of the torment of Melicent was this: A little before dawn she was conducted by Ahasuerus and Orestes to the outermost turrets of Nacumera, which were now beginning to take form and colour. Very suddenly a flash of light had flooded the valley, the big crimson sun was instantaneously apparent as though he had leaped over the bleeding night-mists. Darkness and all night's adherents were annihilated. Pelicans and geese and curlews were in uproar, as at a concerted signal. A buzzard yelped thrice like a dog, and rose in a long spiral from the cliff to Melicent's right hand. He hung motionless, a speck in the clear zenith, uncannily anticipative. Warmth flooded the valley. Now Melicent could see the long and narrow plain beneath her. It was overgrown with a tall coarse grass which, rippling in the dawn-wind, resembled moving waters from this distance, save where clumps of palm trees showed like islands. Farther off, the tents of the Free Companions were as the white, sharp teeth of a lion. Also she could see--and did not recognise--the helmet-covered head of Perion catch and reflect the sunrays dazzlingly, where he knelt in the shimmering grass just out of bowshot. Now Perion could see a woman standing, in the new-born sunlight, under many gaily coloured banners. The maiden was attired in a robe of white silk, and about her wrists were heavy bands of silver. Her hair blazed in the light, bright as the sunflower glows; her skin was whiter than milk; the down of a fledgling bird was not more grateful to the touch than were her hands. There was never anywhere a person more delightful to gaze upon, and whosoever beheld her forthwith desired to render love and service to Dame Melicent. This much could Perion know, whose fond eyes did not really see the woman upon the battlements but, instead, young Melicent as young Perion had first beheld her walking by the sea at Bellegarde. Thus Perion, who knelt in adoration of that listless girl, all white and silver, and gold, too, where her blown hair showed like a halo. Desirable and lovelier than words may express seemed Melicent to Perion as she stood thus in lonely exaltation, and behind her, glorious banners fluttered, and the blue sky took on a deeper colour. What Perion saw was like a church window when the sun shines through it. Ahasuerus perfectly understood the baiting of a trap. Perion came into the open plain before the castle and called on her dear name three times. Then Perion, naked to his enemies, and at the disposal of the first pagan archer that chose to shoot him down, sang cheerily the waking-song which Melicent had heard a mimic Amphitryon make in Dame Alcmena's honour, very long ago, when people laughed and Melicent was young and ignorant of misery. Sang Perion, "_Rei glorios, verais lums e clardatz--_" or, in other wording: "Thou King of glory, veritable light, all-powerful deity! be pleased to succour faithfully my fair, sweet friend. The night that severed us has been long and bitter, the darkness has been shaken by bleak winds, but now the dawn is near at hand. "My fair sweet friend, be of good heart! We have been tormented long enough by evil dreams. Be of good heart, for the dawn is approaching! The east is astir. I have seen the orient star which heralds day. I discern it clearly, for now the dawn is near at hand." The song was no great matter; but the splendid futility of its performance amid such touch-and-go surroundings Melicent considered to be august. And consciousness of his words' poverty, as Perion thus lightly played with death in order to accord due honour to the lady he served, was to Dame Melicent in her high martyrdom as is the twist of a dagger in an already fatal wound; and made her love augment. Sang Perion: "My fair sweet friend, it is I, your servitor, who cry to you, _Be of good heart!_ Regard the sky and the stars now growing dim, and you will see that I have been an untiring sentinel. It will presently fare the worse for those who do not recognise that the dawn is near at hand. "My fair sweet friend, since you were taken from me I have not ever been of a divided mind. I have kept faith, I have not failed you. Hourly I have entreated God and the Son of Mary to have compassion upon our evil dreams. And now the dawn is near at hand." "My poor, bruised, puzzled boy," thought Melicent, as she had done so long ago, "how came you to be blundering about this miry world of ours? And how may I be worthy?" Orestes spoke. His voice disturbed the woman's rapture thinly, like the speech of a ghost, and she remembered now that a bustling world was her antagonist. "Assuredly," Orestes said, "this man is insane. I will forthwith command my archers to despatch him in the middle of his caterwauling. For at this distance they cannot miss him." But Ahasuerus said: "No, seignior, not by my advice. If you slay this Perion of the Forest, his retainers will speedily abandon a desperate siege and retreat to the coast. But they will never retreat so long as the man lives and sways them, and we hold Melicent, for, as you plainly see, this abominable reprobate is quite besotted with love of her. His death would win you praise; but the destruction of his armament will purchase you your province. Now in two days at most our troops will come, and then we will slay all the Free Companions." "That is true," said Orestes, "and it is remarkable how you think of these things so quickly." So Orestes was ruled by Ahasuerus, and Perion, through no merit of his own, departed unharmed. Then Melicent was conducted to her own apartments; and eunuchs guarded her, while the battle was, and men she had not ever seen died by the score because her beauty was so great. 29. _How a Bargain Was Cried_ Now about sunset Melicent knelt in her oratory and laid all her grief before the Virgin, imploring counsel. This place was in reality a chapel, which Demetrios had builded for Melicent in exquisite enjoyment. To furnish it he had sacked towns she never heard of, and had rifled two cathedrals, because the notion that the wife of Demetrios should own a Christian chapel appeared to him amusing. The Virgin, a masterpiece of Pietro di Vicenza, Demetrios had purchased by the interception of a free city's navy. It was a painted statue, very handsome. The sunlight shone on Melicent through a richly coloured window wherein were shown the sufferings of Christ and the two thieves. This siftage made about her a welter of glowing and intermingling colours, above which her head shone with a clear halo. This much Ahasuerus noted. He said, "You offer tears to Miriam of Nazara. Yonder they are sacrificing a bull to Mithras. But I do not make either offering or prayer to any god. Yet of all persons in Nacumera I alone am sure of this day's outcome." Thus spoke the Jew Ahasuerus. The woman stood erect now. She asked, "What of the day, Ahasuerus?" "It has been much like other days that I have seen. The sun rose without any perturbation. And now it sinks as usual. Oh, true, there has been fighting. The sky has been clouded with arrows, and horses, nicer than their masters, have screamed because these soulless beasts were appalled by so much blood. Many women have become widows, and divers children are made orphans, because of two huge eyes they never saw. Puf! it is an old tale." She said, "Is Perion hurt?" "Is the dog hurt that has driven a cat into a tree? Such I estimate to be the position of Orestes and Perion. Ah, no, this Perion who was my captain once is as yet a lord without any peer in the fields where men contend in battle. But love has thrust him into a bag's end, and his fate is certain." She spoke her steadfast resolution. "And my fate, too. For when Perion is trapped and slain I mean to kill myself." "I am aware of that," he said. "Oh, women have these notions! Yet when the hour came, I think, you would not dare. For I know your beliefs concerning hell's geography, and which particular gulf of hell is reserved for all self-murderers." Then Melicent waited for a while. She spoke later without any apparent emotion. "And how should I fear hell who crave a bitterer fate! Listen, Ahasuerus! I know that you desire me as a plaything very greatly. The infamy in which you wade attests as much. Yet you have schemed to no purpose if Perion dies, because the ways of death are always open. I would die many times rather than endure the touch of your finger. Ahasuerus, I have not any words wherewith to tell you of my loathing--" "Turn then to bargaining," he said, and seemed aware of all her thoughts. "Oh, to a hideous bargain. Let Perion be warned of those troops that will to-morrow outflank him. Let him escape. There is yet time. Do this, dark hungry man, and I will live." She shuddered here. "Yes, I will live and be obedient in all things to you, my purchaser, until you shall have wearied of me, or, at the least, until God has remembered." His careful eyes were narrowed. "You would bribe me as you once bribed Demetrios? And to the same purpose? I think that fate excels less in invention than in cruelty." She bitterly said, "Heaven help me, and what other wares have I to vend!" He answered: "None. No woman has in this black age; and therefore comfort you, my girl." She hurried on. "Therefore anew I offer Melicent, who was a princess once. I cry a price for red lips and bright eyes and a fair woman's tender body without any blemish. I have no longer youth and happiness and honour to afford you as your toys. These three have long been strangers to me. Oh, very long! Yet all I have I offer for one charitable deed. See now how near you are to victory. Think now how gloriously one honest act would show in you who have betrayed each overlord you ever served." He said: "I am suspicious of strange paths, I shrink from practising unfamiliar virtues. My plan is fixed. I think I shall not alter it." "Ah, no, Ahasuerus! think instead how beautiful I am. There is no comelier animal in all this big lewd world. Indeed I cannot count how many men have died because I am a comely animal--" She smiled as one who is too tired to weep. "That, too, is an old tale. Now I abate in value, it appears, very lamentably. For I am purchasable now just by one honest deed, and there is none who will barter with me." He returned: "You forget that a freed Perion would always have a sonorous word or two to say in regard to your bargainings. Demetrios bargained, you may remember. Demetrios was a dread lord. It cost him daily warfare to retain you. Now I lack swords and castles--I who dare love you much as Demetrios did--and I would be able to retain neither Melicent nor tranquil existence for an unconscionable while. Ah, no! I bear my former general no grudge. I merely recognise that while Perion lives he will not ever leave pursuit of you. I would readily concede the potency of his spurs, even were there need to look on you a second time--It happens that there is no need! Meanwhile I am a quiet man, and I abhor dissension. For the rest, I do not think that you will kill yourself, and so I think I shall not alter my fixed plan." He left her, and Melicent prayed no more. To what end, she reflected, need she pray, when there was no hope for Perion? 30. _How Melicent Conquered_ Into Melicent's bedroom, about two o'clock in the morning, came Ahasuerus the Jew. She sat erect in bed and saw him cowering over a lamp which his long glistening fingers shielded, so that the lean face of the man floated upon a little golden pool in the darkness. She marvelled that this detestable countenance had not aged at all since her first sight of it. He smoothly said: "Now let us talk. I have loved you for some while, fair Melicent." "You have desired me," she replied. "Faith, I am but as all men, whatever their age. Why, what the devil! man may have Javeh's breath in him, but even Scripture proves that man was made of clay." The Jew now puffed out his jaws as if in recollection. "_You are a handsome piece of flesh_, I thought when I came to you at Bellegarde, telling of Perion's captivity. I thought no more than this, because in my time I have seen a greater number of handsome women than you would suppose. Thereafter, on account of an odd reason which I had, I served Demetrios willingly enough. This son of Miramon Lluagor was able to pay me well, in a curious coinage. So I arranged the bungling snare Demetrios proposed--too gross, I thought it, to trap any woman living. Ohé, and why should I not lay an open and frank springe for you? Who else was a king's bride-to-be, young, beautiful, and blessed with wealth and honour and every other comfort which the world affords?" Now the Jew made as if to fling away a robe from his gaunt person. "And you cast this, all this, aside as nothing. I saw it done." "Ah, but I did it to save Perion," she wisely said. "Unfathomable liar," he returned, "you boldly and unscrupulously bought of life the thing which you most earnestly desired. Nor Solomon nor Periander has won more. And thus I saw that which no other man has seen. I saw the shrewd and dauntless soul of Melicent. And so I loved you, and I laid my plan--" She said, "You do not know of love--" "Yet I have builded him a temple," the Jew considered. He continued, with that old abhorrent acquiescence, "Now, a temple is admirable, but it is not builded until many labourers have dug and toiled waist-deep in dirt. Here, too, such spatterment seemed necessary. So I played, in fine, I played a cunning music. The pride of Demetrios, the jealousy of Callistion, and the greed of Orestes--these were as so many stops of that flute on which I played a cunning deadly music. Who forbids it?" She motioned him, "Go on." Now she was not afraid. "Come then to the last note of my music! You offer to bargain, saying, _Save Perion and have my body as your chattel_. I answer _Click_! The turning of a key solves all. Accordingly I have betrayed the castle of Nacumera, I have this night admitted Perion and his broad-shouldered men. They are killing Orestes yonder in the Court of Stars even while I talk with you." Ahasuerus laughed noiselessly. "Such vanity does not become a Jew, but I needs must do the thing with some magnificence. Therefore I do not give Sire Perion only his life. I give him also victory and much throat-cutting and an impregnable rich castle. Have I not paid the price, fair Melicent? Have I not won God's masterpiece through a small wire, a purse, and a big key?" She answered, "You have paid." He said: "You will hold to your bargain? Ah, you have but to cry aloud, and you are rid of me. For this is Perion's castle." She said, "Christ help me! You have paid my price." Now the Jew raised his two hands in very horrible mirth. Said he: "Oh, I am almost tempted to praise Javeh, who created the invincible soul of Melicent. For you have conquered: you have gained, as always, and at whatever price, exactly that which you most desired, and you do not greatly care about anything else. So, because of a word said you would arise and follow me on my dark ways if I commanded it. You will not weight the dice, not even at this pinch, when it would be so easy! For Perion is safe; and nothing matters in comparison with that, and you will not break faith, not even with me. You are inexplicable, you are stupid, and you are resistless. Again I see my Melicent, who is not just a pair of purple eyes and so much lovely flesh." His face was as she had not ever known it now, and very tender. Ahasuerus said: "My way to victory is plain enough. And yet there is an obstacle. For my fancy is taken by the soul of Melicent, and not by that handsome piece of flesh which all men--even Perion, madame!--have loved so long with remarkable infatuation. Accordingly I had not ever designed that the edifice on which I laboured should be the stable of my lusts. Accordingly I played my cunning music--and accordingly I give you Perion. I that am Ahasuerus win for you all which righteousness and honour could not win. At the last it is I who give you Perion, and it is I who bring you to his embrace. He must still be about his magnanimous butchery, I think, in the Court of Stars." Ahasuerus knelt, kissing her hand. "Fair Melicent, such abominable persons as Demetrios and I are fatally alike. We may deny, deride, deplore, or even hate, the sanctity of any noble lady accordingly as we elect; but there is for us no possible escape from worshipping it. Your wind-fed Ferions, who will not ever acknowledge what sort of world we live in, are less quick to recognise the soul of Melicent. Such is our sorry consolation. Oh, you do not believe me yet. You will believe in the oncoming years. Meanwhile, O all-enduring and all-conquering! go now to your last labour; and--if my Brother dare concede as much--do you now conquer Perion." Then he vanished. She never saw him any more. She lifted the Jew's lamp. She bore it through the Women's Garden, wherein were many discomfortable shadows and no living being. She came to its outer entrance. Men were fighting there. She skirted a hideous conflict, and descended the Queen's Stairway, which led (as you have heard) toward the balcony about the Court of Stars. She found this balcony vacant. Below her men were fighting. To the farther end of the court Orestes sprawled upon the red and yellow slabs--which now for the most part were red--and above him towered Perion of the Forest. The conqueror had paused to cleanse his sword upon the same divan Demetrios had occupied when Melicent first saw the proconsul; and as Perion turned, in the act of sheathing his sword, he perceived the dear familiar denizen of all his dreams. A tiny lamp glowed in her hand quite steadily. "O Melicent," said Perion, with a great voice, "my task is done. Come now to me." She instantly obeyed whose only joy was to please Perion. Descending the enclosed stairway, she thought how like its gloom was to the temporal unhappiness she had passed through in serving Perion. He stood a dripping statue, for he had fought horribly. She came to him, picking her way among the slain. He trembled who was fresh from slaying. A flood of torchlight surged and swirled about them, and within a stone's cast Perion's men were despatching the wounded. These two stood face to face and did not speak at all. I think that he knew disappointment first. He looked to find the girl whom he had left on Fomor Beach. He found a woman, the possessor still of a compelling beauty. Oh, yes, past doubt: but this woman was a stranger to him, as he now knew with an odd sense of sickness. Thus, then, had ended the quest of Melicent. Their love had flouted Time and Fate. These had revenged this insolence, it seemed to Perion, by an ironical conversion of each rebel into another person. For this was not the girl whom Perion had loved in far red-roofed Poictesme; this was not the girl for whom Perion had fought ten minutes since: and he--as Perion for the first time perceived--was not and never could be any more the Perion that girl had bidden return to her. It were as easy to evoke the Perion who had loved Mélusine.... Then Perion perceived that love may be a power so august as to bedwarf consideration of the man and woman whom it sways. He saw that this is reasonable. I cannot justify this knowledge. I cannot even tell you just what great secret it was of which Perion became aware. Many men have seen the sunrise, but the serenity and awe and sweetness of this daily miracle, the huge assurance which it emanates that the beholder is both impotent and greatly beloved, is not entirely an affair of the sky's tincture. And thus it was with Perion. He knew what he could not explain. He knew such joy and terror as none has ever worded. A curtain had lifted briefly; and the familiar world which Perion knew, for the brief instant, had appeared to be a painting upon that curtain. Now, dazzled, he saw Melicent for the first time.... I think he saw the lines already forming in her face, and knew that, but for him, this woman, naked now of gear and friends, had been to-night a queen among her own acclaiming people. I think he worshipped where he did not dare to love, as every man cannot but do when starkly fronted by the divine and stupendous unreason of a woman's choice, among so many other men, of him. And yet, I think that Perion recalled what Ayrart de Montors had said of women and their love, so long ago:-- "They are more wise than we; and always they make us better by indomitably believing we are better than in reality a man can ever be." I think that Perion knew, now, de Montors had been in the right. The pity and mystery and beauty of that world wherein High God had-- scornfully?--placed a smug Perion, seemed to the Comte de la Forêt, I think, unbearable. I think a new and finer love smote Perion as a sword strikes. I think he did not speak because there was no scope for words. I know that he knelt (incurious for once of victory) before this stranger who was not the Melicent whom he had sought so long, and that all consideration of a lost young Melicent departed from him, as mists leave our world when the sun rises. I think that this was her high hour of triumph. CAETERA DESUNT THE AFTERWORD _These lives made out of loves that long since were Lives wrought as ours of earth and burning air, Was such not theirs, the twain I take, and give Out of my life to make their dead life live Some days of mine, and blow my living breath Between dead lips forgotten even of death? So many and many of old have given my twain Love and live song and honey-hearted pain._ Thus, rather suddenly, ends our knowledge of the love-business between Perion and Melicent. For at this point, as abruptly as it began, the one existing chronicle of their adventures makes conclusion, like a bit of interrupted music, and thereby affords conjecture no inconsiderable bounds wherein to exercise itself. Yet, in view of the fact that deductions as to what befell these lovers afterward can at best result in free-handed theorising, it seems more profitable in this place to speak very briefly of the fragmentary _Roman de Lusignan_, since the history of Melicent and Perion as set forth in this book makes no pretensions to be more than a rendering into English of this manuscript, with slight additions from the earliest known printed version of 1546. 2 M. Verville, in his monograph on Nicolas de Caen,[1: Paul Verville, _Notice sur la vie de Nicolas de Caen_, p. 112 (Rouen, 1911)] considers it probable that the _Roman de Lusignan_ was printed in Bruges by Colard Mansion at about the same time Mansion published the _Dizain des Reines_. This is possible; but until a copy of the book is discovered, our sole authority for the romance must continue to be the fragmentary MS. No. 503 in the Allonbian Collection. Among the innumerable manuscripts in the British Museum there is perhaps none which opens a wider field for guesswork. In its entirety the _Roman de Lusignan_ was, if appearances are to be trusted, a leisured and ambitious handling of the Melusina legend; but in the preserved portion Melusina figures hardly at all. We have merely the final chapters of what would seem to have been the first half, or perhaps the first third, of the complete narrative; so that this manuscript account of Melusina's beguilements breaks off, fantastically, at a period by many years anterior to a date which those better known versions of Jean d'Arras and Thuring von Ringoltingen select as the only appropriate starting-point. By means of a few elisions, however, the episodic story of Melicent and of the men who loved Melicent has been disembedded from what survives of the main narrative. This episode may reasonably be considered as complete in itself, in spite of its precipitous commencement; we are not told anything very definite concerning Perion's earlier relations with Melusina, it is true, but then they are hardly of any especial importance. And speculations as to the tale's perplexing chronology, or as to the curious treatment of the Ahasuerus legend, wherein Nicolas so strikingly differs from his precursors, Matthew Paris and Philippe Mouskes, or as to the probable course of latter incidents in the romance (which must almost inevitably have reached its climax in the foundation of the house of Lusignan by Perion's son Raymondin and Melusina) are more profitably left to M. Verville's ingenuity. 3 One feature, though, of this romance demands particular comment. The happenings of the Melicent-episode pivot remarkably upon _domnei_--upon chivalric love, upon the _Frowendienst_ of the minnesingers, or upon "woman-worship," as we might bunglingly translate a word for which in English there is no precisely equivalent synonym. Therefore this English version of the Melicent-episode has been called _Domnei_, at whatever price of unintelligibility. For there is really no other word or combination of words which seems quite to sum up, or even indicate this precise attitude toward life. _Domnei_ was less a preference for one especial woman than a code of philosophy. "The complication of opinions and ideas, of affections and habits," writes Charles Claude Fauriel,[1: _Histoire de la littérature provençale_, p. 330 (Adler's translation, New York, 1860)] "which prompted the chevalier to devote himself to the service of a lady, and by which he strove to prove to her his love and to merit hers in return, was expressed by the single word _domnei_." And this, of course, is true enough. Yet _domnei_ was even more than a complication of opinions and affections and habits: it was also a malady and a religion quite incommunicably blended. Thus you will find that Dante--to cite only the most readily accessible of mediaeval amorists--enlarges as to _domnei_ in both these last-named aspects impartially. _Domnei_ suspends all his senses save that of sight, makes him turn pale, causes tremors in his left side, and sends him to bed "like a little beaten child, in tears"; throughout you have the manifestations of _domnei_ described in terms befitting the symptoms of a physical disease: but as concerns the other aspect, Dante never wearies of reiterating that it is domnei which has turned his thoughts toward God; and with terrible sincerity he beholds in Beatrice de'Bardi the highest illumination which Divine Grace may permit to humankind. "This is no woman; rather it is one of heaven's most radiant angels," he says with terrible sincerity. With terrible sincerity, let it be repeated: for the service of domnei was never, as some would affect to interpret it, a modish and ordered affectation; the histories of Peire de Maënzac, of Guillaume de Caibestaing, of Geoffrey Rudel, of Ulrich von Liechtenstein, of the Monk of Pucibot, of Pons de Capdueilh, and even of Peire Vidal and Guillaume de Balaun, survive to prove it was a serious thing, a stark and life-disposing reality. En cor gentil domnei per mort no passa, as Nicolas himself declares. The service of domnei involved, it in fact invited, anguish; it was a martyrdom whereby the lover was uplifted to saintship and the lady to little less than, if anything less than, godhead. For it was a canon of domnei, it was the very essence of domnei, that the woman one loves is providentially set between her lover's apprehension, and God, as the mobile and vital image and corporeal reminder of heaven, as a quick symbol of beauty and holiness, of purity and perfection. In her the lover views--embodied, apparent to human sense, and even accessible to human enterprise--all qualities of God which can be comprehended by merely human faculties. It is precisely as such an intermediary that Melicent figures toward Perion, and, in a somewhat different degree, toward Ahasuerus--since Ahasuerus is of necessity apart in all things from the run of humanity. Yet instances were not lacking in the service of _domnei_ where worship of the symbol developed into a religion sufficing in itself, and became competitor with worship of what the symbol primarily represented--such instances as have their analogues in the legend of Ritter Tannhäuser, or in Aucassin's resolve in the romance to go down into hell with "his sweet mistress whom he so much loves," or (here perhaps most perfectly exampled) in Arnaud de Merveil's naïve declaration that whatever portion of his heart belongs to God heaven holds in vassalage to Adelaide de Beziers. It is upon this darker and rebellious side of _domnei_, of a religion pathetically dragged dustward by the luxuriance and efflorescence of over-passionate service, that Nicolas has touched in depicting Demetrios. 4 Nicolas de Caen, himself the servitor _par amours_ of Isabella of Burgundy, has elsewhere written of _domne_i (in his _Le Roi Amaury_) in terms such as it may not be entirely out of place to transcribe here. Baalzebub, as you may remember, has been discomfited in his endeavours to ensnare King Amaury and is withdrawing in disgust. "A pest upon this _domnei_!"[1: Quoted with minor alterations from Watson's version] the fiend growls. "Nay, the match is at an end, and I may speak in perfect candour now. I swear to you that, given a man clear-eyed enough to see that a woman by ordinary is nourished much as he is nourished, and is subjected to every bodily infirmity which he endures and frets beneath, I do not often bungle matters. But when a fool begins to flounder about the world, dead-drunk with adoration of an immaculate woman--a monster which, as even the man's own judgment assures him, does not exist and never will exist--why, he becomes as unmanageable as any other maniac when a frenzy is upon him. For then the idiot hungers after a life so high-pitched that his gross faculties may not so much as glimpse it; he is so rapt with impossible dreams that he becomes oblivious to the nudgings of his most petted vice; and he abhors his own innate and perfectly natural inclination to cowardice, and filth, and self-deception. He, in fine, affords me and all other rational people no available handle; and, in consequence, he very often flounders beyond the reach of my whisperings. There may be other persons who can inform you why such blatant folly should thus be the master-word of evil, but for my own part, I confess to ignorance." "Nay, that folly, as you term it, and as hell will always term it, is alike the riddle and the masterword of the universe," the old king replies.... And Nicolas whole-heartedly believed that this was true. We do not believe this, quite, but it may be that we are none the happier for our dubiety. EXPLICIT BIBLIOGRAPHY BIBLIOGRAPHY I. LES AMANTS DE MELICENT, Traduction moderne, annotée et procedée d'un notice historique sur Nicolas de Caen, par l'Abbé. * * * A Paris. Pour Iaques Keruer aux deux Cochetz, Rue S. Iaques, M. D. XLVI. Avec Privilège du Roy. The somewhat abridged reprint of 1788 was believed to be the first version printed in French, until the discovery of this unique volume in 1917. II. ARMAGEDDON; or the Great Day of the Lord's Judgement: a Parcenesis to Prince Henry--MELICENT; an heroicke poeme intended, drawne from French bookes, the First Booke, by Sir William Allonby. London. Printed for Nathaniel Butler, dwelling at the _Pied Bull_, at Saint Austen's Gate. 1626. III. PERION UNO MELICENT, zum erstenmale aus dem Franzôsischen ins Deutsche ubersetzt, von J. H. G. Lowe. Stuttgart und Tübingen, 1823. IV. Los NEGOCIANTES DO DON PERION, publicado por Plancher-Seignot. Rio de Janiero, 1827. The translator's name is not given. The preface is signed R. L. V. LA DONNA DI DEMETRIO, Historia piacevole e morale, da Antonio Checino. Milan, 1833. VI. PRINDSESSES MELICENT, oversat af Le Roman de Lusignan, og udgivna paa Dansk vid R. Knôs. Copenhagen, 1840. VII. ANTIQUAe FABULAe ET COMEDIAe, edid. G. Rask. Göttingen, 1852. Vol. II, p. 61 _et seq_. "DE FIDE MELICENTIS"--an abridged version of the romance. VIII. PERION EN MELICENT, voor de Nederlandsche Jeugduiitgegeven door J. M. L. Wolters. Groningen, 1862. IX. NOUVELLES FRANCOISES EN PROSE DU XIVE ET DE XVE SIÈCLE, Les textes anciens, édités et annotés par MM. Armin et Moland. Lyons, 1880. Vol. IV, p. 89 et seq., "LE ROMAN DE LA BELLE MELICENT"--a much condensed form of the story. X. THE SOUL OF MELICENT, by James Branch Cabell. Illustrated in colour by Howard Pyle. New York, 1913. This rendering was made, of course, before the discovery of the 1546 version, and so had not the benefit of that volume's interesting variants from the abridgment of 1788. XI. CINQ BALLADES DE NICOLAS DE CAEN, traduites en verse du Roman de Lusignan, par Mme. Adolpe Galland, et mises en musique par Raoul Bidoche. Paris, 1898. XII. LE LIURE DE MÉLUSINE en fracoys, par Jean d'Arras. Geneva, 1478. XIII. HISTORIA DE LA LINDA MELOSYNA. Tolosa, 1489. XIV. EEN SAN SONDERLINGKE SCHONE ENDE WONDERLIKE HISTORIE, die men warachtich kout te syne ende autentick sprekende van eenre vrouwen gheheeten Mélusine. Tantwerpen, 1500. XV. DIE HISTORI ODER GESCHICHT VON DER EDLE UND SCHÖNEN MELUSINA. Augsburg, 1547. XVI. L'HISTOIRE DE MÉLUSINE, fille du roy d'Albanie et de dame Pressine, revue et mise en meilleur langage que par cy devant. Lyons, 1597. XVII. LE ROMAN DE MÉLUSINE, princesse de Lusignan, avec l'histoire de Geoffry, surnommé à la Grand Dent, par Nodot. Paris, 1700. XVIII. KRONYKE KRATOCHWILNE, o ctné a slech netné Panne Meluzijne. Prag, 1760. XIX. WUNDERBARE GESCHICHTE VON DER EDELN UND SCHÔNEN MELUSINA, welche eine Tochter des König Helmus und ein Meerwunder gewesen ist. Nurnberg, without date: reprinted in Marbach's VOLKS BÜCHER, Leipzig, 1838. BOOKS _by_ MR. CABELL _Biography:_ BEYOND LIFE DOMNEI (_The Soul of Melicent_) CHIVALRY JURGEN THE LINE OF LOVE GALLANTRY THE CERTAIN HOUR THE CORDS OF VANITY FROM THE HIDDEN WAY THE RIVET IN GRANDFATHER'S NECK THE EAGLE'S SHADOW THE CREAM OF THE JEST _Genealogy:_ BRANCH OF ABINGDON BRANCHIANA THE MAJORS AND THEIR MARRIAGES 
6369	----	HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE No. 13 Editors: HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A. PROF. GILBERT MURRAY, Litt.D., LL.D., F.B.A. PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A. PROF. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A. MEDIEVAL EUROPE BY H. W. C. DAVIS, M.A. FELLOW AND TUTOR OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD AUTHOR OF "CHARLEMAGNE," "ENGLAND UNDER THE NORMANS AND ANGEVINS" ETC. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION I THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE II THE BARBARIAN KINGDOMS III THE EMPIRE AND THE NEW MONARCHIES (800-1000 A.D.) IV FEUDALISM V THE PAPACY BEFORE GREGORY VII VI THE HILDEBRANDINE CHURCH VII THE MEDIEVAL STATE VIII THE EXPANSION OF EUROPE--THE CRUSADES IX THE FREE TOWNS NOTE ON BOOKS MAP OF THE BARBARIAN KINGDOMS AND FRANKISH EMPIRE MAP OF FRANCE MAP OF HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE MAP OF THE CRUSADES MAP OF THE ALPS AND NORTH ITALY MEDIEVAL EUROPE INTRODUCTION All divisions of history into periods are artificial in proportion as they are precise. In history there is, strictly speaking, no end and no beginning. Each event is the product of an infinite series of causes, the starting-point of an infinite series of effects. Language and thought, government and manners, transform themselves by imperceptible degrees; with the result that every age is an age of transition, not fully intelligible unless regarded as the child of a past and the parent of a future. Even so the species of the animal and vegetable kingdoms shade off one into another until, if we only observe the marginal cases, we are inclined to doubt whether the species is more than a figment of the mind. Yet the biologist is prepared to defend the idea of species; and in like manner the historian holds that the distinction between one phase of culture and another is real enough to justify, and, indeed, to demand, the use of distinguishing names. In the development of single communities and groups of communities there occurs now and again a moment of equilibrium, when institutions are stable and adapted to the needs of those who live under them; when the minds of men are filled with ideas which they find completely satisfying; when the statesman, the artist, and the poet feel that they are best fulfilling their several missions if they express in deed and work and language the aspirations common to the whole society. Then for a while man appears to be the master of his fate; and then the prevailing temper is one of reasoned optimism, of noble exaltation, of content allied with hope. The spectator feels that he is face to face with the maturity of a social system and a creed. These moments are rare indeed; but it is for the sake of understanding them that we read history. All the rest of human fortunes is in the nature of an introduction or an epilogue. Now by a period of history we mean the tract of years in which this balance of harmonious activities, this reconciliation of the real with the ideal, is in course of preparing, is actually subsisting, and is vanishing away. Such a period were the Middle Ages--the centuries that separate the ancient from the modern world. They were something more than centuries of transition, though the genius of a Gibbon has represented them as a long night of ignorance and force, only redeemed from utter squalor by some lingering rays of ancient culture. It is true that they began with an involuntary secession from the power which represented, in the fifth century, the wisdom of Greece and the majesty of Rome; and that they ended with a jubilant return to the Promised Land of ancient art and literature. But the interval had been no mere sojourning in Egypt. The scholars of the Renaissance destroyed as much as they created. They overthrew one civilisation to clear the ground for another. It was imperative that the old canons of thought and conduct should be reconsidered. The time comes in the history of all half-truths when they form the great obstacles to the pursuit of truth. But this should not prevent us from recognising the value of the half-truth as a guide to those who first discover it; nor should we fall into the error, common to all reformers, of supposing that they comprehend the whole when they assert the importance of the neglected half. Erasmus had reason on his side; but so, too, had Aquinas. Luther was in his rough way a prophet; but St. Bernard also had a message for humanity. Medieval culture was imperfect, was restricted to a narrow circle of superior minds, offered no satisfaction to some of the higher faculties and instincts. Measure it, however, by the memories and the achievements that it has bequeathed to the modern world, and it will be found not unworthy to rank with those of earlier and later Golden Ages. It flourished in the midst of rude surroundings, fierce passions, and material ambitions. The volcanic fires of primitive human nature smouldered near the surface of medieval life; the events chronicled in medieval history are too often those of sordid and relentless strife, of religious persecutions, of crimes and conquests mendaciously excused by the affectation of a moral aim. The truth is that every civilisation has a seamy side, which it is easy to expose and to denounce. We should not, however, judge an age by its crimes and scandals. We do not think of the Athenians solely or chiefly as the people who turned against Pericles, who tried to enslave Sicily, who executed Socrates. We appraise them rather by their most heroic exploits and their most enduring work. We must apply the same test to the medieval nations; we must judge of them by their philosophy and law, by their poetry and architecture, by the examples that they afford of statesmanship and saintship. In these fields we shall not find that we are dealing with the spasmodic and irreflective heroisms which illuminate a barbarous age. The highest medieval achievements are the fruit of deep reflection, of persevering and concentrated effort, of a self forgetting self in the service of humanity and God. In other words, they spring from the soil, and have ripened in the atmosphere, of a civilised society. I THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE Medieval history begins with the dissolution of the Western Empire, with the abandonment of the Latin world to German conquerors. Of the provinces affected by the catastrophe the youngest was Britain; and even Britain had then been Roman soil for more than three hundred years. For Italy, Spain, and Gaul, the change of masters meant the atrophy of institutions which, at first reluctantly accepted, had come by lapse of time to be accepted as part of the natural order. Large tracts of Europe lay outside the evacuated provinces; for the Romans never entered Ireland or Scandinavia or Russia, and had failed to subjugate Scotland and the greater part of modern Germany. But the Romanised provinces long remained the dominant force in European history; the hearth-fire of medieval culture was kindled on the ruins of the Empire. How far the victorious Teuton borrowed from the conquered provincial is a question still debated; the degree and the nature of Rome's influence on the new rulers varied in every province, indeed in different parts of the same province. The fact of the debt remains, suggesting a doubt whether in this case it was indeed the fittest who survived. The flaws in a social order which has collapsed under the stress of adverse fortunes are painfully apparent. It is natural to speak of the final overthrow as the judgment of heaven or the verdict of events. But it has still to be proved that war is an unfailing test of worth; we have banished the judicial combat from our law courts, and we should be rash in assuming that a process obviously absurd when applied to the disputes of individuals ought to determine the judgments of history on nationalities or empires. The immediate and obvious causes which ruined the Western Empire were military and political--the shortcomings of a professional army and professional administrators. If asked whether these shortcomings were symptomatic of evils more generally diffused through other ranks and classes of society, we must go deeper in the analysis of facts. No _a priori_ answer would be satisfactory. The beginning and the end of the disaster were successful raids on Italy. Alaric and his Visigoths (401-410 A.D.) shattered the prestige and destroyed the efficiency of the government which ruled in the name of the feeble Honorius. The Ostrogoths under Theodoric destroyed the last simulacrum of an imperial power rooted in Italy (489-493 A.D.). After Theodoric had vanquished Odoacer, it was clear that the western provinces would not again acknowledge an Emperor acclaimed at Ravenna; although the chance remained that they might be reconquered and reorganised from Constantinople. This chance disappeared when the Lombards crossed the Alps (568 A.D.) and descended on the Po valley. From first to last Italy was the key to the West. And these successive shocks to imperial power in Italy were all due to one cause. All three of the invading hordes came from the Danube. The Roman bank of the great river was inadequately garrisoned, and a mistaken policy had colonised the Danubian provinces with Teutonic peoples, none the less dangerous for being the nominal allies (_foederati_) of the Empire. The Visigothic raids, which were in fact decisive, succeeded because the military defences of the Western Empire were already strained to breaking-point; and because the Roman armies were not only outnumbered, but also paralysed by the jealousies of rival statesmen, and divided by the mutinies of generals aspiring to the purple. The initial disasters were irreparable, because the whole machine of Roman officialdom came to a standstill when the guiding hand of Ravenna failed. Hitherto dependent on Italy, the other provinces were now like limbs amputated from the trunk. Here and there a local leader raised the standard of resistance to the barbarians. But a large proportion of the provincials made peace on the best terms they could obtain. Such are the essential facts. Evidently the original error of the Romans was the undue extension of their power. This was recognised by no less a statesman than Augustus, the founder of the Empire; but even in his time it was too late to sound a retreat; he could only register a protest against further annexations. Embracing the whole of the Mediterranean littoral and a large part of the territories to the south, east, and north, the Empire was encumbered with three land frontiers of enormous length. Two of these, the European and the Asiatic, were perpetual sources of anxiety, and called for separate military establishments. That neither might be neglected in the interest of the other it was reasonable to put the imperial power in commission between two colleagues. Diocletian (284-305 A.D.) was the first to adopt this plan; from his time projects of partition were in the air and would have been more regularly carried out, had not experience shown that partitions led naturally to civil wars between rival Emperors. In 395, on the death of the great Theodosius, the hazardous expedient was given a last trial. His youthful sons, Arcadius and Honorius, were allowed to divide the Empire; but the line of partition was drawn with more regard to racial jealousies than military considerations. It extended from the middle Danube (near Belgrade) to a point near Durazzo on the Adriatic coast, and thence to the Gulf of Sidra. East of this line lay the sphere of Greek civilisation, the provinces which looked to Alexandria and Antioch and Constantinople as their natural capitals. West of it the prevailing language was Latin, and the higher classes of society modelled themselves upon the Italian aristocracy. Founded upon a principle which appeals to our modern respect for nationality, this partition only gave a legal form to a schism which had been long in preparation. But in one respect it was disastrous. The defence of the Danube frontier was divided between the two governments; and that of the East, rating the impoverished Balkan peninsula as of secondary importance, and envisaging the problem from a wholly selfish point of view, left unguarded the great highways leading from the Danube into Italy. Stilicho, the great general who administered the West in the name of Honorius, ventured to meet this danger by intervening in the peninsula, and even in the political intrigues of Constantinople. He only succeeded in winning a precarious alliance with the Visigoths and the permanent ill-will of the Eastern Empire. He was left to deal single-handed with the first invaders of Italy; and the estrangement of the two imperial courts persisted after his untimely fall. The Western Empire, betrayed by the one possible ally, collapsed under the strain of simultaneous attacks along the whole line of the European frontier. It has been alleged that the Roman armies were neither so robust nor so well disciplined in the fifth century as they had been in an earlier age. However this may be, they could still give a good account of themselves when matched on equal terms with the most warlike of the barbarians. It was in patriotism and in numbers, rather than in professional efficiency, that they failed when put to the supreme test. The armies were now largely recruited with barbarians, who numbered more than half the fighting strength and were esteemed the flower of the Roman soldiery. Many of these hirelings showed an open contempt for their employers, and sympathised with the enemies whom they were paid to fight. Furthermore, each army, whatever its constituent elements, tended to be a hereditary caste, with a strong corporate spirit, respecting no authority but that of the general. The soldiers had no civic interests; but they had standing grievances against the Empire. Any political crisis suggested to them the idea of a mutiny led by the general, sometimes to obtain arrears of pay and donatives, sometimes to put their nominee upon the throne. The evil was an old one, dating from the latter days of the Republic, when Marius, in the interests of efficiency, had made military service a profession. But it was aggravated under the successors of Diocletian, as the barbarian element in the armies increased and the Roman element diminished. Its worst effects appeared in the years 406-407. The German inroads upon Italy and Gaul were then followed by the proclamation of military usurpers in Britain and on the Rhine; the Roman West was divided by civil war at the very moment when union was supremely important. Hence the strange spectacle of the Visigoths, still laden with the spoils of Rome, entering Gaul by invitation of the Empire to fight against imperial armies. The problem of numbers had been earlier recognised, but not more adequately met. Diocletian is said to have quadrupled the armies, and in the fourth century they were far larger than they had been under Julius and Augustus; Constantine had revised the scheme of frontier-defence to secure the greatest possible economy of men. Still, under Honorius, we find that one vital point could only be defended by withdrawing troops from another. The difficulty of increasing the numbers was twofold. First, the army was mercenary, and taxation was already strained to the point of diminishing returns. Secondly, it was difficult to raise recruits among the provincials. The old principle of universal service had been abandoned by Valentinian I (364-375); and although compulsory levies were still made from certain classes, the Government had thought fit to prohibit the enlistment of those who contributed most to taxation. Every citizen was legally liable for the defence of local strongholds; but the use of arms was so unfamiliar, the idea of military service as a national duty was so far forgotten, that Stilicho, when the barbarians were actually in Italy, preferred the desperate measure of enlisting slaves to the obvious resource of a general call to arms. We find ourselves here confronted with a social malady which was more than an economic weakness. The Empire was, no doubt, a complex and expensive form of government superimposed upon a society which stood at a rudimentary stage of economic development. Barbarous methods of taxation and corrupt practices among the ruling classes had aggravated the burden to such a degree that the municipalities of the provinces were bankrupt, and the middle-class capitalist was taxed out of existence. For this and other reasons the population of the older provinces was stationary or declining. But there was still much wealth in the Empire; and the great landowners of the provinces could raise considerable armies among their dependants when they saw fit to do so. The real evil was a moral evil, the decay of civic virtue. We do not mean that the ethics of private life had deteriorated from the standard of the past. This is incredible when we remember that Christianity was now the all but universal religion of the Empire; for Christianity, at its worst and weakest, laid more stress upon ethical duties, in the narrower sense, than any of the older religions. The provincial was a more moral being than the Goth or the Vandal. It is a mere superstition that every victorious race is chaste and frugal, just and law-abiding; or that ill success in the struggle for existence is a symptom of the contrary vices. In many respects the Greeks who submitted to Philip and Alexander were morally superior to the victors of Salamis and Plataea. Private and political morality may spring from the same root; but the one has often flourished where the other has been stunted. Perhaps this is only natural. Human nature seldom develops equally in all directions. Men who are intensely concerned with the right ordering of their relations to neighbours, friends and family, may well forget the larger community in which their private circle is contained. The Roman provincial had exceptional excuses for remaining indifferent to a state which claimed his loyalty, not in the name of nationality or religion, but in that of reason and the common good. Loyalty for him could only be an intellectual conviction. But, unless he could enter the privileged ranks of the army or the higher civil service, he had no opportunities of studying, still less of helping to decide, the questions of policy and administration with which his welfare was closely though indirectly linked. Political ideas only came before the private citizen under the garb of literature. The most admired authors only taught him to regret republican polities long out of date. The antiquarian enthusiasms which he acquired by his studies were in no way corrected by the experience of daily life. If a townsman, he was legally prohibited from changing his residence and even from travelling about the Empire, for fear that he might evade the tax-collector. If a rural landowner, he lived in a community which was economically self-sufficient, and consequently provincial to the last degree. The types of character which developed under such conditions were not wanting in amiable or admirable traits. The well-to-do provincial was often a scholar, a connoisseur in art and literature, a polished letter-writer and conversationalist, a shrewd observer of his little world, an exemplary husband and father, courteous to inferiors, warm-hearted to his friends. Sometimes he found in religion or philosophy an antidote to the pettiness of daily life, and was roused into rebellion against the materialism of his equals, the greed and the injustice of his rulers. But he despaired of bridging the gulf between the Empire, as he saw it, and the ideal commonwealth--City of God or Republic of the Universe--which his teachers held up to him as the goal of human aspirations. Rather he was inclined, like the just man of Plato, to seek the nearest shelter, to veil his head, and to wait patiently till the storm of violence and wrong should pass away. It is hard to condemn such conduct when we remember the appalling contrast between the weakness of the individual and the strength of a social order coextensive with civilisation itself. But in this spirit of reasonable submission to a state of things which appeared fundamentally unreasonable, in this conviction that the bad could not be bettered by reforms of detail, there was more danger to society than in the crass indifference of the selfish and the unreflecting. When the natural leaders of society avow that they despair of the future, fatalism spreads like a contagious blight among the rank and file, until even discontent is numbed into silence. Nor does the evil end here. The idealists pay for their contempt of the real, not merely with their fortunes and their lives, but, worse still, with their intellectual patrimony. Just as a government deteriorates when it is no longer tested by continual reference to principles of justice, so a Utopia, however magnificent, fades from the mind of the believer when he ceases to revise it by comparison with facts, when it is no longer a reply to the problems suggested by workaday experience. Life and theory being once divorced, the theorist becomes a vendor of commonplaces, and the plain man is fortified in his conviction that he must take life as he finds it. This analysis helps us to understand why the Western Empire, on the eve of dissolution, had already assumed the appearance of a semi-barbarian state. In those districts which had been lately settled with Teutonic colonists the phenomenon may be explained as resulting from over-sanguine attempts to civilise an intractable stock. But even in the heart of the oldest provinces the conditions were little better. Law and custom had conspired to sap the ideas and principles that we regard as essentially Roman. The civil was now subjected to the military power. The authority of the state was impaired by the growth of private jurisdictions and defied by the quasi-feudal retinues of the great. For civic equality had been substituted an irrational system of class-privileges and class-burdens. Law was ceasing to be the orderly development of general principles, and was becoming an accumulation of ill-considered, inconsistent edicts. So far had decay advanced through the negligence of those most vitally concerned that, if Europe was ever to learn again the highest lessons which Rome had existed to teach, the first step must be to sweep away the hybrid government which still claimed allegiance in the name of Rome. The provincials of the fifth century possessed the writings in which those lessons were recorded, but possessed them only as symbols of an unintelligible past. A long training in new schools of thought, under new forms of government, was necessary before the European mind could again be brought into touch with the old Roman spirit. The great service that the barbarians rendered was a service of destruction. In doing so they prepared the way for a return to the past. Their first efforts in reconstruction were also valuable, since the difficulty of the work and the clumsiness of the product revived the respect of men for the superior skill of Rome. In the end the barbarians succeeded in that branch of constructive statesmanship where Rome had failed most signally. The new states which they founded were smaller and feebler than the Western Empire, but furnished new opportunities for the development of individuality, and made it possible to endow citizenship with active functions and moral responsibilities. That these states laboured under manifold defects was obvious to those who made them and lived under them. The ideal of the world-wide Empire, maintaining universal peace and the brotherhood of men, continued to haunt the imagination of the Middle Ages as a lost possibility. But in this case, as so often, what passed for a memory was in truth an aspiration; and Europe was advancing towards a higher form of unity than that which had been destroyed. II THE BARBARIAN KINGDOMS The barbarian states which arose on the ruins of the Western Empire were founded, under widely different circumstances of time and place, by tribes and federations of tribes drawn from every part of Germany. We expect to find, and we do find, infinite varieties of detail in their laws, their social distinctions, their methods of government. But from a broader point of view they may be grouped in two classes, not according to affinities of race, but according to their relations with the social order which they had invaded. [Illustration: The Barbarian Kingdoms and Frankish Empire] One group of kingdoms was founded under cover of a legal fiction; the Visigoths, the Ostrogoths, and the Burgundians claimed to be the allies of the Empire. At one time or another they obtained the recognition of Constantinople for their settlements. Their kings accepted or usurped the titles of imperial administrators, stamped their coins with the effigies of the reigning Emperor, dated their proclamations by the names of the consuls for the year, and in many other ways flaunted their nominal subjection as the legal basis of their actual sovereignty. This fiction did not prevent them from governing their new dominions in true Teutonic fashion, through royal bailiffs, who administered the state demesnes, and military officers (dukes, counts, etc.) who ruled with autocratic sway over administrative districts. Nor did the most lenient of them hesitate to provide for their armies by wholesale confiscations; the ordinary rule was to take from the great proprietor one-third or two-thirds of his estate for the benefit of the Teutonic immigrant. Further, we have ample evidence that the provincials found existence considerably more precarious under the new order. The rich were exposed to the malice of the false informer and the venal judge; the cultivators of the soil were often oppressed and often reduced from partial freedom to absolute slavery. Yet in some respects the invaders of this type were tolerant and adaptable. They left to the provincials the civil law of Rome, and even codified it to guard against unauthorised innovations; the _Lex Romana Burgundionum_ and the Visigothic _Breviarium Alarici_ are still extant as memorials of this policy. They realised the necessity of compelling barbarians and provincials alike to respect the elementary rights of person and property; Theodoric the Ostrogoth and Gundobad the Burgundian were the authors of new criminal codes, in the one case mainly, in the other partially, derived from Roman jurisprudence. Such rulers were not content with professing an impartial regard for both classes of their subjects; they frequently raised the better-class provincials to posts of responsibility and confidence. By a singular fatality the chief races of this group had embraced the Arian heresy, which was repudiated and detested by their subjects. Yet their great statesmen uniformly extended toleration to the rival creed, and even patronised the orthodox bishops, by whom they were secretly regarded as worse than the lowest of the heathen. This generosity was little more than common prudence. Numerically the conquerors were much inferior to the provincials; economically they had everything to lose by needless ill-treatment of those whom they exploited. But the best of them had studied the organisation of the Empire at close quarters, sometimes as captains in the imperial service, sometimes as neighbours of flourishing provinces in the years preceding the grand catastrophe; and knowledge rarely failed to produce in them some respect or even enthusiasm for the _Respublica Romana_. "When I was young," said King Athaulf the Visigoth, "I desired to obliterate the Roman name and to bring under the sway of the Goths all that once belonged to the Romans. But I learned better by experience. The Goths were licentious barbarians who would obey no laws; and to deprive the commonwealth of laws would have been a crime. So for my part I chose the glory of restoring the Roman name to its old estate." To such men the ideal of the future was a federation of states owing a nominal allegiance to the official head of the Empire, but cherishing an effective loyalty to all that was best in Roman law and culture. The second group comprises the kingdoms which were founded in outlying provinces or comparatively late in time. The invaders of England, the Franks in Northern Gaul, the Alemanni and the Bavarians on the Upper Rhine and the Danube, the Lombards in Italy, the Vandals in Africa, never came completely under the spell of the past. The Vandals might have done so, but for their fanatical devotion to Arianism; for the province of Africa, in which they settled, was one of those which Roman statesmanship had most completely civilised. The Franks might have imitated the Visigoths and the Burgundians, if fortune had laid the cradle of their power in the valley of the Loire or the Rhone instead of the forests and marshes of the Netherlands. The Lombards and the Saxons showed no innate aversion to the ways and works of Rome; but they entered upon provinces which had already been impoverished and depopulated by the scourge of war. Such races proceeded rapidly with the construction of a new social and political order, because the past was a sealed book to them. Roman law vanished from England so completely as to leave it doubtful whether the Saxons ever came to terms with the provincials; it was tolerated but not encouraged by the Franks; it was in great measure set aside by the Lombards; it seems to have been unknown to the Alemanni and Bavarians. We shall see in the sequel the importance of these facts. The future of Europe lay not with the Goths or with the Burgundians, but with more ignorant or less impressionable races who, rather by good fortune than by choice, escaped the vices in missing the lessons of Roman civilisation. The Franks and the Saxons, as we find them described by Gregory of Tours and the Venerable Bede, were far from resembling the noble savage imagined by Tacitus and other idealists. But they were trained for future empire in the hard school of a northern climate. All that concerns us in the history of these kingdoms can be briefly stated. (1) Teutonic England hardly enters into European history before the year 800. In the fifth and sixth centuries a multitude of small colonies had been founded on the soil of Roman Britain by the three tribes of the Angles, Saxons and Jutes, who migrated thither from Jutland and Schleswig-Holstein. A few considerable kingdoms had emerged from this chaos by the time when the English received from Rome their first Christian teacher, St. Augustine: Kent, Sussex, and Wessex in the south; Mercia and East Anglia in the Midlands; Northumbria between the Humber and the Forth. The efforts of every ruler were devoted to the establishment of his personal ascendancy over the whole group. Such a supremacy was obtained by AEthelbert of Kent, the first royal convert to Christianity; by Edwin of Northumbria and his two immediate successors in the seventh century; by Offa of Mercia (757-796); and by Egbert of Wessex (802-839), whose power foreshadowed the later triumphs of the house of Alfred. (2) Southern Gaul was divided in the fifth century between the Visigoths and the Burgundians. The former of these peoples entered the imperial service in 410, after the death of Alaric I, who had led them into Italy. His successors, Athaulf and Wallia, undertook to pacify Gaul and to recover Spain for the rulers of Ravenna; the second of these sovereigns was rewarded with a settlement, for himself and his followers, between the Loire and the Garonne (419). In the terrible battle of Troyes, against Attila the Hun (451), they did good service to the Roman cause; but both before and after that event they were chiefly occupied in extending their boundaries by force or fraud. At the close of the fifth century their power in Gaul extended from the Loire to the Pyrenees, from the Atlantic to the Rhone valley, and along the Mediterranean seaboard farther east to the Alps. In Spain--which had been, since 409, the prey of the Vandals, Alans and Suevi--they found a more legitimate field for their ambitions. Between 466 and 484 they annexed every part of the peninsula except the north-west corner, which remained the last stronghold of their defeated competitors. The Burgundians, from less auspicious beginnings, had built up a smaller but yet a powerful kingdom. Transplanted by a victorious Roman general to Savoy (443) from the lands between the Necker and the Main, they had descended into the Rhone basin at the invitation of the provincials, to protect that fertile land alike against Teutonic marauders and Roman tax-collectors. By the year 500 they ruled from the Durance in the south to the headwaters of the Doubs and the Saone in the north, from the Alps and the Jura to the sources of the Loire. (3) Italy was less fortunate than Gaul; in the fifth century she was ravaged more persistently, since Rome and Ravenna were the most tempting prizes that the West could offer to conquerors seeking a settlement or to mere marauders; and for yet another two centuries her soil was in dispute between the Eastern Empire and the Teutons. The strategic importance of the peninsula, the magic of the name of Rome, the more recent tradition that Ravenna was the natural headquarters of imperial bureaucracy in the West, were three cogent reasons why the statesmen of Constantinople should insist that Italy must be recovered whatever outlying provinces of the West were abandoned. For sixty years after the deposition of Romulus Augustulus (476) Italy was entirely ruled by barbarians; then for more than two hundred years there was an Imperial Italy or a Papal Italy continually at feud with an Ostrogothic or a Lombard Italy. It would have been better for the Italians if either the Ostrogoths or the Lombards had triumphed decisively and at an early date. The Ostrogoths entered Italy from the north-east in 489, under the lead of Theodoric, the first and last statesman of their race. They came from the Middle Danube, where they had settled, with the leave of the Empire, after the death of Attila and the dissolution of his army. They were now in search of a more kindly habitation, and brought with them their wives, their children, and their household stuff on waggons. Their way was barred by Odoacer the Patrician--general of the Italian army and King of Italy in all but name. It cost them four years of hard fighting to overthrow this self-constituted representative of the Empire. After that they had no overt opposition to fear. To the Italians there was little difference between Odoacer and Theodoric. The change of rulers did not affect their material interests, since Theodoric merely appropriated that proportion of the cultivated land (one-third) which Odoacer had claimed for his followers. Nor was submission inconsistent with the loyalty demanded by the Eastern Empire; since for the moment it suited imperial policy to accept the Visigothic King as the successor of Odoacer. Theodoric reigned over Italy for thirty-three years (493-526). A tolerant and enlightened ruler, he spared no effort to give his rule a legal character, and to protect the Italians against oppression. Two eminent Romans, Liberius and Cassiodorus, acted successively as his confidential advisers and interpreted his policy to their countrymen. No attempt was made to fuse the Ostrogoths with the Italians. The invaders remained, an army quartered on the soil, subject for most purposes to their own law. But the law of the Italians was similarly respected; Theodoric applied the Roman law of crime impartially to both races; and he rigourously interdicted the prosecution of private wars and feuds. Unfortunately his subordinates were less scrupulous than himself. The Ostrogothic soldiery maintained the national character for lawlessness; the royal officers and judges were corrupt; men of means were harassed by blackmailers and false informers; the poor and helpless were frequently enslaved by force or fraud. The Italians could not forgive the Arian tenets of their new rulers, even though the orthodox were tolerated and protected. Naturally the clergy and the remnants of the Roman aristocracy sighed for an imperial restoration. And Theodoric, rightly or wrongly, came to suspect them all of treason. In his later years he meted out a terrible and barbarous justice to the supposed authors of conspiracy--notably to the Senator Boethius, who was beaten to death with clubs after a long period of rigourous imprisonment. Boethius has vindicated his own fair name, and blackened for ever that of Theodoric, by his immortal treatise, the _Consolation of Philosophy_, composed in hourly expectation of death. A Christian it would seem, but certainly nurtured on the precepts of Plato and the Stoics, Boethius turned in his extremity to these teachers for reassurance on the doubts which must always afflict the just man enmeshed in undeserved misfortune. Himself a philosopher only in his sublime optimism and his resolve to treat the inevitable as immaterial, Boethius rivets the attention by his absolute honesty. His book, revered in the Middle Ages as all but inspired, will be read with interest and sympathy so long as honest men are vexed by human oppression and the dispensations of a seemingly capricious destiny. But the footprints of the Ostrogoths are effaced from the soil of Italy; the name of Theodoric is scantily commemorated by some mosaics and a rifled mausoleum at Ravenna. Here at least Time has done justice in the end; from all that age of violent deeds and half-sincere ideals nothing has passed into the spiritual heritage of mankind but the communings of one undaunted sufferer with his soul and God. Theodoric died in 526, bequeathing his crown to his only daughter's son. Eight years afterwards the boy king, worn out by premature excess, was laid in the grave; his mother was murdered to clear the path of an ambitious kinsman; and, while the succession was still in doubt, the Emperor Justinian launched upon Italy the still invincible armies of the Empire, led by Belisarius, the greatest general of the time and already famous as the deliverer of Africa from the Vandals (536). The intrigues of his court rivals, rather than the resources of the divided Ostrogoths, robbed Belisarius of a decisive victory, and prolonged the struggle for years after he had been superseded. But in 553 the last embers of resistance were quenched in blood. Italy, devastated and depopulated, was reorganised as an imperial province with an elaborate hierarchy of civil and military officials. The change was welcome to the orthodox clergy, the more so because Justinian gave large powers in local administration to their bishops. Of outward pomp there was enough to gild corruption and inefficiency with a deceptive splendour; but in fact the restored Empire was little more civilised, in the true sense of the word, than the barbarian states of the past and future. Upon the Italians the Emperor conferred the boon of his famous _Corpus Juris_, a compendium of that legal wisdom which constitutes the best title of Rome to the world's gratitude. For the future it was momentous that Italy learned, at this early date, to regard the _Corpus_ as the perfection of legal wisdom. Through the Italian schools of later times (Ravenna, Bologna, etc.) the _Corpus_ has influenced the law of every European state and has dictated the principles of scientific jurisprudence. But in the sixth century good laws availed nothing for want of good government. In 568, only fifteen years after the restoration, the Lombards descended upon Italy from the Middle Danube, following the track of Theodoric and inspirited by the fame of his success. A few years made them masters of the North Italian plain still known as Lombardy. Within three-quarters of a century they had demonstrated the hollowness of the Byzantine power. The power of their kings, whose capital was Pavia, extended on the one side into Liguria and Tuscany, on the other into Emilia and Friuli; far away in the south, behind the line of fortresses which linked Rome with Ravenna, the semi-independent dukes of Spoleto and Benevento were masters of the land on both sides of the Apennines, excepting Naples and the toe of the Bruttian peninsula. Apart from these districts there remained in the imperial allegiance only the fisher-folk of the Venetian lagoons and the lands which afterwards were to be known as the Papal States. What the Byzantines achieved by the maintenance of this precarious foothold was nothing less than the political disruption of Italy. The Lombard duchies of the south were kept separate from the parent state; with the result that their ruins were built long afterwards into the fabric of a South Italian monarchy which was irreconcilably hostile to the political heirs of the Lombard kings. In many respects the Lombards showed capacity for governing a subject population. They adopted the Latin language; they forsook Arianism for Catholicism; they accommodated themselves to city life; they were liberal patrons of Italian art and industry. Although they introduced a strictly Teutonic form of administration, their rule compared not unfavourably with the makeshift methods of Byzantine statesmanship. In Imperial Italy we see the strange spectacle of a military despotism tempered by the usurped privileges and jurisdictions of the great proprietors, or by the ill-defined temporal pretensions of the bishops. In Lombard Italy matters were at least no worse. The Lombards were aliens; but so were the Greeks. The Greeks treated the Italians as inferiors. But the Lombards intermarried freely with their subjects, and the Lombard legislators (Rotharis, Luitprand) recognised no invidious privileges of race. (4) Northern Gaul remains to be considered. It was here that the Frankish monarchy developed; and we deal last with the Franks because they were destined to harvest the chief fruits of barbarian conquest and colonisation. By the close of the eighth century Africa, Spain, and Britain were the only western provinces of the Empire in which they had failed to establish themselves as the sole or the dominant power; and moreover they had penetrated by that time farther into Central Europe than any Roman statesman, since Tiberius, had extended his schemes of conquest. The expansion of the Franks was a slow process, interrupted by periods of stagnation or relapse; and we can only trace it in the barest outline. Known from an early date to the Romans as vagrant marauders, the Franks had been heavily chastised by most of the soldier emperors from Probus to Julian. Some of them were forcibly settled as serf-colonists on the left bank of the Rhine; others (the _Salian_ Franks) appropriated to themselves a large part of Batavia, the marsh country at the mouths of the Scheldt and Rhine; a third group (the _Ripuarians_) occupied the lands between the Rhine and the Meuse, in the neighbourhood of Koln and Bonn. The Salians and Ripuarians counted as allies (_foederati_) of the Empire, at least from the time of Aetius; under whom, like the Visigoths, they fought against the Huns at Troyes (451). Their aggressions were checked on the West by the Roman governors of the country lying between the Somme and the Loire; and their power was impaired by the partition of the Salian people among a swarm of petty kings. But in 481, with the accession of Clovis to the throne of Tournai, there began a period of consolidation and advance. In 486 Clovis overthrew the Roman governor Syagrius and usurped his power. In 496 he annexed the purely Teutonic principality which the Alemanni had recently established in the country now known as Suabia. This victory was the occasion of his conversion to Christianity. The legend goes that, in the crisis of the final battle, Clovis appealed to the God of his pious wife: "I have called on my gods and they have forsaken me. To Thee I turn, in Thee will I believe, if Thou wilt deliver me." He kept his word, and was baptised by St. Remi, the Bishop of Rheims, thus becoming a member of the orthodox communion, and the hope of all the Gallic clergy, who had hitherto submitted with an ill grace to the heretical rulers of the Visigoths and the Burgundians. A crafty and ambitious savage, the King of Tournai quickly realised the advantage of alliance with the native Church. In the year 500 he turned upon the Burgundians in the hope of making them his tributaries. He failed in his object, for the Burgundian King made a timely feint of conversion to orthodoxy and otherwise conciliated the Gallo-Roman population. But over Alaric II the Visigoth, who had been so impolitic as to persecute orthodox bishops, the Franks secured an easy and dramatic triumph. "It irks me," said Clovis to his army, "that these Arians should rule in Gaul." The Aquitanians welcomed him as a Crusader; Alaric, after a single defeat, took refuge in his Spanish dominions, where he was left to rule in peace. At one stroke the power of the Franks had advanced from the Loire to the Pyrenees (507). The latter days of Clovis were prosperously occupied in exterminating rival Frankish dynasties and the more dangerous of his own kindred. He died, after a reign of thirty years, in the odour of sanctity: "God increased his kingdom every day, because he walked with an upright heart and did what was pleasing in the eyes of God." He was buried in the Gallo-Roman part of his dominions, at Paris, which he had chosen as his capital. The province of Syagrius, later known as Neustria or Western Francia, was the natural centre of the Frankish state, nor was Clovis indifferent to the traditions and the luxury of an older civilisation. In Aquitaine he posed as the representative of the Empire, and he rode through the streets of Tours in the purple robe of a consul, which he had received from the Emperor Anastasius. The hope at Constantinople was that he would treat Theodoric the Ostrogoth as he had already treated Alaric; this was the first of many occasions on which the network of imperial diplomacy was woven round a Frankish king. Church and Empire conspired to inflame the ambitions and enlarge the schemes of Merovingian and Carolingian conquerors. But the Franks, more faithfully than any of their rivals, held to the barbarian usage of dividing a kingdom, in the manner of a family estate, equally between the sons of a dead sovereign. Logically pursued this custom of inheritance would have led to utter disintegration, such as Germany exhibited in the fourteenth century. Among the Franks a partition was followed, as a matter of course, by fratricidal conflicts and consequent reunion of the kingdom in the hands of the ultimate survivor; but even so the energies of the nation were squandered upon civil wars. The descendants of Clovis did little to augment the realm that he bequeathed to them; this little was done in the fifty years following his death. The Burgundians, Bavarians and Thuringians were subdued; Provence was bought from the Ostrogoths at the price of armed support against Justinian; the Saxons were compelled to promise tribute. From 561 to 688 the power and the morale of the Franks steadily declined. Dagobert I (628-638), the most renowned of the Merovingians after Clovis, could only chastise rebels and strengthen the defences of the eastern frontier. He released the Saxons from tribute; he was unable to prevent an adventurer of his own race, the merchant Samo, from organising the Slavs of Bohemia and the neighbouring lands in a powerful and aggressive federation. Already in his time the East Franks (Austrasians) refused to be governed from Neustria, and insisted that the son of Dagobert should be their king. After Dagobert the three kingdoms of Neustria, Austrasia and Burgundy asserted their right to separate administrations, even when subject to one king. In each of these divisions the effective ruler was the Mayor of the Palace, a viceroy who kept his sovereign in perpetual tutelage. The later Merovingians were feeble puppets, produced before their subjects on occasions of state, but at other times relegated to honourable seclusion on one of their estates. The history of the Franks from 638 to 719 is that of conflicts between the great families of Neustria and Austrasia for the position of sole Mayor. At length unity was restored by the triumph of the Austrasian Charles Martel. His father had gained the same position, but it was left for the son to sweep away the last remaining competitors. Charles Martel is the true founder of the Carolingian house, although his ancestors had long played a conspicuous part in Austrasian and national politics. He was not the inventor of feudalism, but was the first to see the possibility of basing royal power on the support of vassals pledged to support their lord, in every quarrel, with life and limb and earthly substance. To provide his vassals with fiefs he stripped the churches of many rich estates. But he atoned for the sacrilege upon the memorable field of Poitiers. In 711 the Arabs, having wrested northern Africa from the Byzantine Empire, entered Spain and overthrew Roderic, the last King of the Visigoths. With his death the cause of his nation collapsed. Though the Visigoths had long since accepted the orthodox creed and were in close alliance with the Spanish bishops, they were detested by the provincials, whom they had reduced to serfdom and brutally oppressed. Within ten years the soldiers of the Caliph were masters of Spain and turned their attention to southern Gaul. The Frankish Duke of Aquitaine could neither protect his duchy nor obtain a lasting treaty. In the last extremity he turned to the Mayor of the Palace, whom he had hitherto regarded as an enemy. The appeal was answered; and Charles with a great Frankish host confronted the Arabs under the walls of Poitiers. For seven days neither side would make the first move; on the eighth the infidels attacked. The Frankish host was composed of infantry protected by mail-shirts and shields; against their close-locked lines, which resembled iron walls, the Arabs dashed themselves in vain. When the attack had been repelled in disorder, the Franks advanced, bearing down resistance by sheer weight and strength. The Emir Abderrahman fell on the field, and then night put an end to the conflict. Both armies camped on the field; but next morning the Arabs had vanished in full retreat for the Pyrenees (Oct. 732). The flood of Islam had received the first check; though Spain was not to be recovered by the Franks, they were held to have saved northern Europe. Modern criticism has remarked that the internal dissensions of Moslem Spain did better service than this victory to the cause of Christendom; that the Arabs continued to hold Septimania and sent raids into Provence. But for contemporaries there was no question that the Franks had established a claim to the special gratitude of the Church, and Charles to his anomalous position as an uncrowned King. The Mayor of the Palace was fully alive to the value of ecclesiastical support. He lent his support to the work of the English missionaries Willibrord and Boniface among the unconverted German tribes (Frisians, Hessians, Thuringians) over whom he claimed supremacy. He permitted Boniface to enrol himself as the servant of the Holy See. It is true that he would not form a political alliance with the Roman Church against the Lombards. Northern wars absorbed him; wars with the Frisians, the Saxons, the rebellious Bavarians, Alemannians, and Aquitanians. But from alliance with the Church to alliance with Rome was a natural step for his successors. Shortly before his death (741) he divided his power between his sons Carlmann and Pepin, giving Austrasia to the one, Neustria to the other. But Carlmann abdicated to become a monk (747) and Pepin his junior was left to continue the work of their father single-handed. Both brothers employed Boniface to reorganise and reform the clergy of their dominions; Pepin allowed the saint to take from all the Frankish bishops an oath of subjection to the Holy See; and accepted him as Archbishop of Mainz and primate of the German church. Three years later the Mayor obtained the permission of Pope Zacharias to depose the last of the Merovingian puppet-kings and to assume the regal style; the Pope justly recommending that he should have the title to whom the power belonged (751). So ended the line of Clovis, and with it the barbarian period of Frankish history. For the next sixty years the history of Europe is that of Carolingian conquests and essays in political reconstruction. And now the growing connection with the Papacy acquired a new character. Since the beginning of the eighth century the Eastern Empire had forfeited the last claim to Italian allegiance by embracing the Iconoclastic heresy, a protest at once belated and premature against the growing materialism and polytheism of Catholic Christianity. Pope and Lombards made common cause to protect the images in imperial Italy. Gregory III excommunicated the iconoclasts (731); the Lombard King Aistulf seized Ravenna, the last important stronghold of the Byzantines in the peninsula (751). Too late the Papacy realised that the orthodox Lombard was a greater menace than the Greek heretic. Aistulf regarded Rome, in common with the other territories of the Empire, as his rightful spoil. For the first time the issue was raised between secular statesmanship scheming for Italian unity and a Roman bishop claiming sovereign power as the historical and indispensable adjunct of his office. Pope Stephen II visited the Frankish court to urge, not in vain, the claims of religion and of gratitude. By two raids across the Alps Pepin forced the Lombard to withdraw the claim on Rome, and furthermore to restore what had been conquered from the Empire. These territories, lying in Romagna and the Marches, the Frankish King conferred on the Pope, as the legitimate representative of imperial power (756). Pepin's Donation, made in defiance of Byzantine protests, greatly extended the temporal power which the predecessors of Stephen had long exercised in Rome and the neighbourhood. A shrewd expedient for crippling the most formidable rival of the Franks, it was to be the rock on which ideals then undreamed of were to founder. For it was the temporal power which provoked the last and mortal struggle of the Holy Roman Empire with the Papacy, which presented the most stubborn obstacle to the leaders of the _Risorgimento_. Like his father, Pepin laboured hard to knit together the conquests of the early Merovingians, but without the same success. He expelled the Arabs from Narbonne; he recovered the duchy of Aquitaine and suppressed the ducal dynasty after eight hard-fought campaigns. But neither from the Saxons nor from the Bavarians could he win effective recognition of his suzerainty. What he had achieved in Aquitaine was seriously endangered when, on his deathbed, he followed the tradition of dividing his realm between his sons Carloman and Charles (768). Fortunately Charles, though harassed by the intrigues of his incompetent senior, weathered the storm of a new Aquitanian rising; he saw Carloman sink unlamented into an early grave (771) and easily obtained recognition as sole king. Then indeed he stood in a position singularly favourable for prosecuting a policy which should embrace and transcend the ambitions of his ancestors. Heir to a power extending from the Atlantic to the Bohemian border in the one direction, in the other from the North Sea and the Channel to the Alps and Pyrenees; the hereditary patron of the Roman Church; ruler of a hierarchy which had definitely accepted the ideal of a Christian Republic and desired to see Christian unity enforced by the sword of the secular power; lord of a military caste of vassals filled with the pride and lust of conquest; he had at his disposal the resources and supporters sufficient to make him, what Theodoric had idly dreamed of becoming, the supreme lord of the Teutonic peoples, the lieutenant of the Empire in all the western provinces. It was no ordinary man to whom this opportunity fell. Imperfectly educated, even for his age, but of ready wit and unbounded curiosity; a general whose iron will and superhuman energy seldom failed in leading his soldiers through difficulties and reverses to ultimate victory; a dreamer whose imagination kindled whenever he came into contact with the great ideas, Christian or pagan, of an older world; a practical statesman whose innate love of order and respect for justice were coupled with a gift for organisation and the power of extracting their best work from his subordinates, it is not for any want of natural qualifications that his claim to rank with the great world-heroes can be challenged. The shortcomings of his work are merely those of the race and the age to which he belonged. The highest statesmanship is only possible when the statesman has at his disposal the accumulated experience and the specialised capacity of a civilisation which is old and at the same time vigorous. The policy of Charles in his period of sole rule (771-814) is Janus-headed; it looks forward and looks back. A true Austrasian, he is faithful to the old Frankish ideal of military conquest; but he gives it a new meaning, and besides fulfilling the projects of his predecessors goes beyond the horizon of their most ambitious enterprises. In his friendship for the Pope, in his care for ecclesiastical reform, he is his father's son; but the relations of the son with the Church have a new purpose and involve more than one breach with the past. His administration is largely guided by the traditional standard of royal duty; he is a notable steward of his demesnes; he is the reliever of the poor, the refuge of the defenceless, the champion of justice. But he is also a far-sighted reformer adapting old administrative methods to the requirements of a new political fabric. In fact, to epitomise all these antitheses in one, he is the heir of an old barbarian monarchy and also the founder of a new Empire. The story of his conquests reads like the epitome of a lost romance--so varied are the incidents, so jejune the details afforded by contemporary sources. (1) In 773 he crossed the Alps, at the prayer of Pope Hadrian, because the Lombard King Didier had seized some cities comprised in Pepin's Donation and was even threatening Rome. Pavia was starved into surrender, Didier relegated to a monastery; Charles annexed the whole of Lombard territory except Spoleto (which submitted to the Pope) and Benevento. He assumed the title of King of the Lombards; but beyond garrisoning a few towns and appointing a few Frankish counts made no attempt to displace Lombard officials or alter the Lombard modes of government. He visited Hadrian at Rome, renewed the Donation of Pepin, and concluded a pact of eternal friendship with the Papacy. (2) Then followed the period of the Saxon wars, as much a crusade against German heathenism as the vindication of old and dubious claims to suzerainty. The first campaign against the Saxons had taken place in 772; their final submission was not made till 785. The Saxons were still in that stage of political development which Tacitus describes in his _Germania_, ruled by petty chiefs who set up a war-leader when there was need for common action, otherwise united only by racial sentiment and the cult of a tribal deity. But they were a warlike race, and found in this crisis a leader of genius, the famous Widukind. At last he set his followers the example of embracing Christianity. Charles acted as sponsor at his baptism, and Widukind became a loyal subject of his spiritual father. In a few years the whole of Saxony was dotted with mission churches; in a few generations the Saxons were conspicuous for their loyalty to the faith, and the Saxon bishops counted among the wealthiest and most influential of ecclesiastical princes. It was through Saxon rulers, descended from Widukind, that the imperial policy of Charles was revived in the tenth century and the imperial diadem appropriated by the German nation. Yet the Saxons sturdily adhered to their national laws and language; their obstinate refusal to be ruled by other races was a stumbling-block to the most masterful sovereigns that medieval Germany produced. (3) During the years 786-787 Charles was threatened with a conspiracy against his power in Italy. Tassilo, the vassal Duke of Bavaria, aspired to independence and was induced by his wife, a daughter of King Didier, to make common cause with her nation; Areghis, the Lombard ruler of Benevento, had emphasised his independence by assuming the style and crown of a king. The two princes made common cause, but were detected before their plans had matured, and successively terrified into submission by the appearance of overwhelming armies on their borders. The Lombard duchy was no permanent acquisition for the Franks, but that of Bavaria was suppressed, in consequence of a second plot (788). The addition of this large and wealthy province made the eastern half of the Frankish kingdom practically coextensive with medieval Germany, and almost equal in importance to the Romanised provinces of Gaul. (4) As a natural precaution for the defence of Bavaria, Charles then turned against the Avars, a race akin to the Huns, who had settled on the middle Danube after the departure of the Lombards for Italy. The Avars invaded Bavaria and Friuli as allies of Tassilo (788); they were punished by three campaigns of extirpation (791-796), which broke their power and spared only a miserable remnant of their people. Their land was annexed but not settled; for Germany offered a more tempting field to the Frankish pioneers. Indeed, some of the surviving Avars were planted in the Ostmark (Austria), which Charles established as an outpost of Bavaria, to keep watch upon the Slavs. (5) To Spain the Emperor first turned his attention in 777, when he was invited by the discontented emirs on the north of the Ebro to free them from the Caliph of Cordova. The next year saw his abortive march through the pass of Roncesvalles to the walls of Saragossa--an expedition immortalised in the _Chanson de Roland_, the earliest and most famous epic of the Charlemagne cycle, but fabulous from first to last, except in recording the fact that there was a certain Roland (warden of the Breton Mark) who fell in the course of the Frankish retreat. More substantial work was done in Spain during the last years of the reign. Navarre declared for the Franks and Christianity; the eldest son of Charles captured Tortosa at the mouth of the Ebro (811), and founded the Spanish Mark. This lengthy catalogue only accounts for the more important of the wars in which Charles and his lieutenants were engaged. We must imagine, to complete the picture, a background of minor conflicts within and without the Empire--against the Slavs, the Danes, the Greeks, the Bretons, the Arabs, the Lombards of Benevento. These crowded years of war leave the Frankish Empire established as the one great power west of the Elbe and Adriatic. It did not include the Scandinavian lands or British Isles; the Franks were never masters of the northern seas. It had failed to expel the Arabs and Byzantines from the western Mediterranean; Spain, Sicily, even parts of Italy remain unconquered. Of recovering North Africa there could be no question. Still in magnitude the Frankish realm was a worthy successor of the Western Empire. On Christmas Day, 800, Charles was crowned Emperor of the Romans by Pope Leo III, in St. Peter's basilica at Rome; and his subjects vainly imagined that, by this dramatic ceremony, the clock of history had been put back four hundred years. Though the Age of the Barbarians had been ended by the greatest of them, the era which he inaugurated was an era not of revival but of new development. III THE EMPIRE AND THE NEW MONARCHIES (800-1000 A.D.) The imperial policy of Charles the Great constitutes a preface to the history of the later Middle Ages. He holds the balance between nascent forces which are to distract the future by their conflicts. He pays impartial homage to ideas which statesmen less imperious or more critical will afterwards regard as irreconcilable. He is at one and the same time an autocrat, the head of a ruling aristocracy, and a popular ruler who solicits the co-operation of primary assemblies. From the highest to the lowest his subjects must acknowledge their unconditional and immediate allegiance to his person; yet he tolerates the existence of tribal duchies, he revives the Lombard kingdom, and creates that of Aquitaine, as appanages for his younger sons. He fosters the growth of territorial feudalism, and lends the sanction of royal authority to the claims of the lord upon his vassal; but simultaneously he contrives expedients for controlling feudalism and stifling its natural development. He exalts the Church, and he enslaves her. He is there to do the will of God as expounded by the clergy; but he disposes of sees and abbacies like vacant fiefs, he dictates to the Pope, he interferes with the liturgy, he claims a voice in the definition of dogma and the wording of the creed. Finally, and most striking, there is the antithesis between the two aspects of his power, the monarchical and the imperial. The Franks left to Europe the legacy of two political conceptions. They perfected the system of barbarian royalty; they outlined the ideal of a power which should transcend royalty and embrace in one commonwealth all the Catholic kingdoms of the West. On the one hand they supplied a model to be imitated by an Egbert, a Henry the Fowler, a Hugh Capet. On the other hand they inspired the wider aims of the Ottos and the Hohenstauffen. It is therefore worth our while to understand what a Carolingian king was, and what a Carolingian Emperor hoped to be. The king's power was based upon three supports: the general allegiance of his subjects, the more personal obligations of the vassals who were in his _mund_, the services and customs of the tenants on the royal demesne. It is from these last that he derives his most substantial revenue. He is the greatest landowner of his realm, until in the ninth century he dissipates his patrimony by grants of hereditary _beneficia_. The farming of the demesnes is an important branch of the public service; they are managed by bailiffs, who work under rules minutely elaborated by the king in the form of edicts, and who render their accounts to a minister of state, the Seneschal or steward of the household. The king is further the fountain of justice, the guardian of public order, the protector of peaceful industry and commerce. Accordingly he derives large profits from the fines of the law-courts, the forfeitures of criminals, the tolls of highways and markets, the customs levied at seaports and at frontier towns. In the exercise and exploitation of his prerogatives he is assisted by functionaries of whom most are household officers: the Chamberlain who keeps the royal hoard; the Constable (_comes stabuli_) who marshals the host; the Seneschal, or High Steward, who controls the demesnes; the Protonotary, by whose staff the royal letters and all documents of state are written out; the Arch-chaplain, to whom ecclesiastical suitors bring their petitions and complaints. Finally there are the Counts of the Palace, appointed from the chief races of the realm, who exercise the king's appellate jurisdiction in secular cases. But the king is bound by custom to govern with the counsel and consent of his great men--a Germanic tradition which no after growth of respect for Roman absolutism can destroy. A select body of influential nobles deliberates with the king on all questions of national importance. Their decisions are submitted for approval to a more general assembly (Mayfield), held annually in the spring or summer. By this assembly the military expedition of the year is discussed and sanctioned; here also are promulgated royal edicts (_capitula_). The ordinary freeman, upon whom falls the ultimate burden of military service, has no voice in the debates of the Mayfield; but ordinances affecting the old customary laws of the several races which make up the kingdom (Salians, Ripuarians, Saxons, etc.) do not take effect till they have been accepted by popular assemblies in the provinces which they concern. And such revisions are infrequent. The royal prerogative in legislation is limited by a popular prejudice, which regards the customary law as sacred and immutable. The Capitularies are chiefly administrative ordinances; the "law of the land," which is the same everywhere and for all persons, is an ideal to be realised in England alone of medieval states. Elsewhere the king's law is a supplement, a postscript; the privilege of the free man is to live under the law of his province, his lord's fief or his free city. In local administration the king relies, outside the tribal duchies, on counts whose districts are subdivisions of the old national provinces. The count, often a hereditary official, is a royal deputy for all purposes, military and civil. He collects the royal dues, leads the free men to the host, maintains the peace and administers justice. His tribunal is the old Germanic hundred-court, in which the free suitors ought to be the judges; but the suitors for this purpose are represented by a few doomsmen (_scabini_) chosen for their respectability and knowledge of the law. They are an ineffectual check upon the count, and it is a standing difficulty to find ways and means of compelling these local viceroys to act with common honesty. For this purpose the king annually appoints itinerant inspectors (_missi dominici_); in twos and threes they are dispatched on circuit to acquaint the count with royal instructions, to promulgate new legislation, and above all to receive and adjudicate upon the complaints of all who are oppressed. A comparatively late expedient, and the first part of the Carolingian system to disappear, these tours of inspection were the one safeguard against local misgovernment and the feudalising of official power. When they ceased, the Carolingian county too often became a hereditary fief exploited for the lord's sole benefit. The Empire was not intended to supersede this system of royal government; kings no less than emperors were regarded as holding a definite rank and office in the Christian commonwealth. No traditions of imperial bureaucracy, except in a debased and orientalised form, were accessible to Charles the Great. In Gaul and Italy he had subjects who lived under a corrupt and mutilated Roman Law; but he was unacquainted with the scientific principles of the great jurists whose writings were the highest achievements of the Roman genius. To the best minds of the eighth century the Roman Empire appeared, not as to an Athaulf or a Theodoric, a masterpiece of human statesmanship, but rather a divine institution, providentially created before the birth of Christ to school the nations for the universal domination of His Church. The model of the Carolingian Emperors was not Augustus but Constantine the Great, the Most Christian ruler who made it his first business to protect the Church against heretic and heathen, to endow her with riches, to enforce her legislation. However his relation to the Pope might be conceived, the Emperor held his office as the first servant of the Church. What then were his practical duties? According to some he was pledged to restore the material unity of Christendom and to subdue all heathen peoples. This childlike ideal of his office no emperor could put into practice. Charles the Great waged no important wars after his coronation; he did not scruple to make peace with the Eastern Empire or even to exchange courtesies with Haroun al Rashid, the Caliph of Bagdad. He held, and the sanest of his counsellors agreed, that his first duty was to protect, unite and reform the societies over which the Church already exercised a nominal dominion. To conquer other Christian rulers was no more to be expected of him than that he should surrender his own royal prerogative; though it was desirable that they should do homage to him as the earthly representative of spiritual unity. Within his own realms the imperial office was to make a difference in the spirit rather than the forms of government. The Empire raised to a higher power the dignity and the responsibilities which belonged to him as a king. He conceived himself bound to provide more carefully than ever for the maintenance of ecclesiastical and the betterment of secular law. His subjects were to realise that through their allegiance to him they were God's subjects, bound to observe the law of God as a part of the law of the Empire; he on his side was to be, to the best of his power, a moral censor, an educator, a religious missionary, a protector of the clergy, a defender of the faith. When we turn from this noble dream to follow the history of the Carolingian Empire, the contrast between the real and the ideal is almost grotesque. Within a generation the Frankish realm is partitioned after the Merovingian fashion; all that remains as a guarantee of unity is the imperial title attached to one of several kingdoms, and the theory that the kings are linked in fraternal concord for the defence of Church and State against all enemies. Contemporaries laid the blame on the weakness of Lewis the Pious and the ambition of his sons. These causes undoubtedly accelerated the process of disruption; but others more impersonal and more gradual in their operation were at work below the surface of events. (1) The first was the dawning of nationality. North of the Alps the subjects of the Empire fell into a Germanic group, lying chiefly east of the Rhine, and a Romance group nearly co-extensive with the modern France; Italy was sharply severed from both by geography, by differences of race and language, and by political tradition. In the Treaty of Verdun (843), which begins the process of political disintegration, these natural divisions are only half respected. The kingdom of the East Franks is wholly Germanic; that of the West Franks contains the Gallo-Roman provinces subdued by Clovis; but between them lies the anomalous Middle Kingdom, the portion of the titular Emperor, in which are united Italy, Provence, Burgundy, the valley of the Moselle and a large part of the Netherlands. In each re-distribution of territories among Carolingian princes the lines of partition approximate more closely to the boundaries of modern nations. Burgundy and Provence alone remain, after the year 888, as memorials of the Middle Kingdom. Italy becomes an independent state; the northern provinces (Lotharingia) are disputed between the East Franks and the West Franks. And already the rulers of the new states are identifying themselves with national sentiments and aspirations; it is not without reason that a later age has given to Lewis, the first King of the East Franks, the title of "the German." (2) But, in the minds of ordinary men, national sentiment was little more than a contempt for those of alien race and speech. The nationalities were ready enough to separate one from the other; having done so, they split asunder into tribal or feudal groups. Thus in Germany the Saxons, Suabians, Bavarians, Thuringians, Franconians group themselves round provincial chieftains. West of the Rhine, where Roman rule had long since weakened tribal feeling, we can see a broad distinction between the North and South of Gaul, but in each half of the country the feudal principle is the dominating force; from the middle of the ninth century we remark the formation of those arbitrarily divided fiefs which play so large a part in French history. But of the feudal movement we shall speak elsewhere. (3) Last but not least we must allow for the disappearance of that moral enthusiasm which Charles the Great had evoked in his subjects. His conception of the Empire was too large for narrow minds. They could see no reason in it. They were acutely alive to the sacrifices which it demanded in the present, and sceptical as to the advantages which it promised in the future. The idea of working for posterity does not naturally occur to half-civilised peoples; they live from hand to mouth, and are continually absorbed in the difficulties of the moment; they believe in the supremacy of chance or fate or providence, and speak of human forethought as presumptuous or merely futile. The imperial programme was cherished and publicly defended by a little clique of clerical statesmen; but they did not succeed in making many converts. When the last of the Carolingian Emperors was deposed (887), there were cries of lamentation from ecclesiastics. But among lay statesmen not a hand was raised to stay the process of disintegration. This Emperor, Charles the Fat, had succeeded by mere longevity in uniting all the dominions of his family under his immediate rule; but in three short years he dissipated whatever lingering respect attached to the idea for which he stood. In the words of the annalist "a crop of many kinglets sprang up over Europe." All the new pretenders came from the class of the great feudatories. Among the West Franks it was Eude the Count of Paris who seized the royal diadem; the East Franks elected Arnulf, Duke of Carinthia; Italy became an apple of discord between the margraves of Spoleto and Friuli; Burgundy was partitioned by two native families. Yet within a hundred years there arose a reaction in favour of the imperial idea--a reaction of which Germany was the apostle, which Italy accepted, which made many converts in West Francia. There were new and sufficient reasons for returning to the discarded system. The national hierarchies, who had undermined the Frankish Empire to broaden the foundations of ecclesiastical privilege and influence, were discovering that they had set up King Stork in place of King Log; the exactions of an Augustus were as nothing compared with the lawless pillaging of the new feudalism; and elective sovereigns, ruling by the grace of their chief subjects, were powerless for good as well as harm. The lower ranks of laymen had no better cause to be content with the new order under which the small freeholder was oppressed, the peasant enslaved, the merchant robbed and held to ransom. The freedom of the aristocracy spelled misery for every other class. These self-constituted tyrants passed their lives in devastating faction fights. Worst of all, their divisions and their absorption in petty schemes of personal aggrandisement left Europe at the mercy of uncivilised invaders. In the ninth and tenth centuries, medieval society experienced the same ordeal to which the Roman Empire had been subjected in the fifth. From the North and from the East a new generation of barbarians, perceiving the patent signs of weakness, began to break through the frontiers in search of plunder and of settlements. First came the Northmen from Norway and Denmark. Like the Saxons of the fourth century they were unrivalled seamen. Their fleets transported them from point to point faster than land forces could follow in pursuit; the great rivers served them as natural highways; and if beaten in a descent upon the land, they had always their ships as a safe refuge. To make treaties and to offer blackmail was a worse than useless policy; the Vikings came in bands which operated separately, or united in this year to scatter and form new combinations in the next. One leader could not bind another; to buy off one fleet was merely to invite the coming of a second. These pirates had begun to molest the British Isles and Frisia before the death of Charles the Great; but after the first partition of his Empire they fell on the whole coastline from the Elbe to the Pyrenees. Originally attracted by the hope of plunder they soon aimed at conquest; when, at the close of the ninth century, there was a sudden pause in the flood of armed emigration from the North, the Danelaw in England and Normandy on the opposite side of the Channel remained as alien colonies which the native rulers were obliged to recognise. It was in Gaul that the ravages of the Normans were most severely felt, though for a few years they were the scourge of Frisia and the adjacent provinces. Germany and Italy had other enemies to fear. In the year 862 a new danger, in the shape of the Hungarians, appeared on the borders of Bavaria. They were an Asiatic people, from the northern slopes of the Ural Mountains, who had been moving westward since the commencement of the century. Contemporaries identified them with the Huns of Attila, and the resemblance was more than superficial. The Hungarians were of the Tartar race--nomads who lived by hunting and war, skilled in horsemanship and archery, utterly barbarous and a byeword for cruelty. The rapidity of their movements, and the distances to which their raids extended, are almost incredible. In 899 they swept through the Ostmark and reached the Lombard plain; in 915 they sacked Bremen; in 919 they harried the whole of Saxony and penetrated the old Middle Kingdom; in 926 they went into Tuscany and appeared in the neighbourhood of Rome; in 937 they even reached the walls of Capua. In fact, until the great victory of Otto I upon the Lech (955), they were the terror of two-thirds of Christian Europe. Italy, the most disunited of the new kingdoms, was further vexed by the Saracen pirates who roamed the Western Mediterranean. The only sea-power capable of dealing with them was that of the Byzantine Empire. The Greek fleet protected the southeast of Italy, but was powerless to save Sicily, which was conquered piecemeal for the Crescent (827-965). Farther north the seaports of Amalfi, Gaeta, Naples and Salerno paid tribute or admitted Saracen garrisons; in 846 Ostia and the Leonine quarter of Rome (including the basilica of St. Peter) were pillaged. Robber colonies established themselves on the river Garigliano, and at Garde-Frainet, the meeting-point of Italy and Provence. The effect which these disasters produced on the minds of the sufferers is nowhere more clearly visible than in England. Here the House of Alfred was able, within a century of the partition made at Wedmore between the West Saxon kingdom and the Danes (878), to establish a kingdom of imperial pretensions, loosely knit together but more durable and more highly organised than any power which had arisen in Britain since the Roman period. In Germany the Saxon line, beginning with Henry the Fowler (919-936), was permitted to make the royal title hereditary, and to assert an effective suzerainty over the other tribal dukes. In France the House of Paris, after ruling for many years in the name of a degenerate Carolingian line, was invited in the person of Hugh Capet to assume the royal dignity (987). We have here a European movement in favour of monarchy; and on the heels of it follows another for the restoration of the Empire. The new royal dynasties did good work; even the weakest among them, that of France, served as a symbol of unity, as a rallying point for the clergy and all other friends of peace; but both on practical grounds and on grounds of sentiment they left much to be desired. National monarchy meant national wars and the right of national churches to misgovern themselves according to their several inclinations. Every year the rent in the seamless robe of Christendom grew wider; political unity was disappearing, and religious unity would soon go the same way. The kingly title made but a slight appeal to the imagination or the conscience; with whatever ceremonies a King was crowned, the real source of his power was the position which he held, independently of his office, as a chief of a tribal or a feudal group; of men who, as St. Odo bitterly remarked, being oppressed took to themselves a lord that with his help they might become oppressors. Sovereign power had lost all poetry and dignity; it was being perverted to serve petty ends. An Emperor was needed to restore a higher sense of justice, to exalt the spiritual above the material side of life. So the idealists reasoned, and in Germany their arguments found willing converts. This may appear strange, since Germany had taken the lead in repudiating the Carolingian Empire, and Henry the Fowler, who established the new German monarchy, was the reverse of an idealist. But the truth was that the peculiar constitution of the German kingdom and the peculiar problems raised by German expansion towards the East were such as to make the ideal policy the safest. Though Henry the Fowler had sedulously limited his attention to German problems, his son, working on the same lines, found himself led by the natural sequence of events to cross the Alps, seize Italy and take the imperial crown from the Pope's hands. Henry the Fowler, elected after nineteen years of nominal kingship and unbridled anarchy, defined his position by a series of compacts with the great Dukes. Suabia, Bavaria and Lotharingia became dependent principalities, whose rulers attended national Diets, occasionally appeared at court, and still more occasionally rendered military service. Under their sway the new feudalism, which they encouraged as the means of creating armies both for defence and for pursuing an independent foreign policy, took root and throve as a legal institution. Within the borders of the duchies Henry had little power except as the patron of the church. He claimed the right of nominating bishops--though in Bavaria this claim was not made good till the next reign--and religious foundations held their privileges by his grace. The ecclesiastical councils which legislated with his sanction were more important than the Diets composed indifferently of laymen and prelates. His general policy gave greater cause for satisfaction to the clergy than to the remainder of his subjects. The assertion of supremacy over Lotharingia (925), and Bohemia (929), and the defeat of the Hungarians at the Unstrut (933), were national achievements; but for nine years before the battle of the Unstrut the King had allowed the Hungarians to work their will in Bavaria and Suabia, having secured the immunity of his own duchy by a separate truce. He had chiefly employed those years in building strong towns for the defence of Saxony, and in extending Saxon power by the conquest of Brandenburg, Lusatia, Strelitz and Schleswig. These could only be called national services on the assumption that the crown was to remain the hereditary possession of his house; but the German kingship was elective. To the Church, however, nothing was more welcome than conquests gained at the expense of heathen Slavs and Danes. In her eyes this Saxon statesman was the forerunner of the Christian faith in the dark places of Europe. For all these reasons, then, the power of Henry and his successors remained a power resting upon ecclesiastical support. To strengthen the alliance of church and state must be the first object of a Saxon ruler. For some years after his accession (936) Otto I was harassed by pretenders of his own family who allied themselves with one or more of the great Dukes. The Bavarians threatened to secede and form an independent nation; the Franconians rebelled when their right of waging private wars was called in question; the Lotharingians intrigued to make themselves an independent Middle Kingdom. All such malcontents found it easy to secure a brother or a son of the King as their nominal leader. Even when Otto had placed all the duchies in the hands of his own kinsmen or connections, his power was still precarious. For he claimed new rights which, though necessary to the maintenance of kingly power, did violence to feudal and provincial sentiment; while the Dukes whom he nominated usually took up the pretensions of their predecessors, and identified themselves with the interests of their subjects. It was more important than ever that the King should have the help of the clergy in educating public opinion. But in the most critical period (939-955) of the reign the German primate, Archbishop Frederic of Mainz, lent the weight of his influence and high personal reputation to the rebel cause. In another direction also Otto found the clergy the chief opponents of a cherished scheme. Organised missions were among the means on which he relied for civilising and extending his father's conquests in Slavonic territory. For this purpose he planned, with the approval of Rome, to make Magdeburg an archbishopric and the head of a Slavonic province. To this proposal the sees of Mainz and Halberstadt offered strenuous resistance, on the ground that it would curtail their jurisdictions (955). Twice, therefore, Otto had been sharply reminded that his authority over the German Church was insufficient for his purpose. Meanwhile the train of events had drawn him into Italian politics. The Kingdom of Italy had been seized, in 926, by Hugh of Provence, an adventurer of Carolingian descent. In 937, on the death of Rudolph II of Burgundy, Hugh designed to seize this derelict inheritance. He was forestalled by Otto, who assumed the guardianship of the lawful heir of Burgundy, the young Conrad; a united kingdom of Italy and Burgundy would have been too dangerous a neighbour for the German Kingdom. Hugh, however, secured for his son, Lothair, the hand of Conrad's sister Adelaide, thus keeping alive the claims of his family for a future day. Somewhat later Otto retaliated by giving protection to an Italian foe of Hugh, the Margrave Berengar of Friuli, who came to the Saxon court and became the liegeman of the German King. In 950 this relation suddenly acquired political importance, through the unexpected deaths of Hugh and Lothair, and the succession of Berengar in Italy. Reminded of his oath to Otto, the new King repudiated his obligations as a vassal, and gave further provocation by ill-treating the widowed Adelaide. Otto was thus equipped with a double excuse for making war. And war was forced upon him by the ambitions of his brother Henry, Duke of Bavaria, and of his son Liutolf, Duke of Suabia. Both cast covetous glances on Italy, which was hopelessly divided and an easy prey for the first-comer. In 949 the Duke of Bavaria had seized Aquileia; in 951 the Duke of Suabia crossed the Alps ostensibly to champion Adelaide. Otto could not remain idle while two of his subjects and kinsmen contended over the spoils of Italy. He collected an army and followed hard on the footsteps of Liutolf. Berengar fled, the Dukes made peace with their suzerain, and Otto was free to dispose of the Italian kingdom (951). It is possible that, if the opportunity had been forthcoming, he would at once have proceeded to Rome for an imperial coronation. But the Pope, who alone could make an Emperor, was the nominee of a Roman faction, headed by the ambitious Alberic the Senator who aspired to build up a secular lordship on the basis of the Papal patrimony. Otto was not invited to visit Rome. After some hesitation he decided, instead of himself assuming the unprofitable duties of an Italian King, to restore Berengar on condition of a renewal of homage. Perhaps the arrangement was intended to be temporary. Otto was still menaced by conspiracies in Germany; and Berengar might serve to guard Italy against ambitious Dukes, until the hands of his overlord were free for Italian adventures. Later events justify some such hypothesis. Within a few years the chief difficulties of Otto were removed. A great ducal rising collapsed; the Hungarians were so decisively beaten at the Lechfeld (955) that they ceased to trouble Germany; death relieved Otto of his most dangerous rivals, Archbishop Frederic of Mainz and his own son, Duke Liutolf. Then, in 960, arrived the long-delayed call from Rome. John XII, a dissipated youth of twenty-two, the son of Alberic (died 954) but devoid of his father's ability, invoked the aid of Germany to protect the temporal possessions against Berengar. Otto required no second summons. Descending upon Italy, he expelled his vassal, assumed the Italian crown at Pavia (961) and then repaired to Rome. Here in 962 he was crowned by the Pope as lord of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. For good or for evil the prerogative of Charles the Great was inseparably united to the German monarchy. From this complicated series of events some interesting conclusions may be deduced. The Empire, which has so often been abused as a source of countless woes to Germany, was revived in the interests of a purely German policy. Unlike his son and his grandson, Otto I never submitted to the spell of Italy. Since the time of Charles the Great it had been taken for granted that the Empire could only be conferred by the Pope and only held by a King of Italy. Otto did not greatly value his Italian dominions, though circumstances forced him to reside in Italy for a large part of his later years. For a time he had thoughts of recovering Apulia and Calabria from the Greeks, Sicily from the Arabs. But he abandoned his claims against the Eastern Empire as the price of a marriage-alliance, and he left Sicily untouched. The Crown of Italy was valuable to him chiefly as a qualification for his imperial office. To the ecclesiastical duties of that office he was not indifferent. His bishops, though largely employed as secular administrators, were chosenwith some regard to their spiritual duties; he was a friend to the Cluniac movement for monastic reform. But clearly he did not visit Rome in pursuit of any plans for cleansing that Augean stable the Papacy. The vices of John XII were notorious; but, as a Pope who could legally confer the Empire, he was good enough for Otto's purpose. Only when John repented of his bargain and turned traitor was he evicted in favour of a more reputable successor (963). And John's successor was a layman until the time of his election. Otto's chief concern was to secure a trustworthy partisan; this remained the Saxon policy till the days of his grandson. Otto was not indifferent to the splendour or the more ambitious claims of his office. He paraded before the world the benevolent protectorate which he exercised over the young rulers of Burgundy and France; he insisted upon the homage of the Polish and Bohemian dukes. He held magnificent Diets to celebrate his new position, and made great efforts to win recognition from the Byzantine court. But in substance his ambitions were those of a German national king. He had a keen sense of realities, a keen appreciation of concrete results; from first to last his thoughts centred round the problems of his native land. The extension of the eastern frontier, the alliance with the Church, the management of the duchies--these were his main achievements as they had been his main ambitions. But he had built better than he knew; and the Empire acquired before his death a nobler significance than he perhaps had ever contemplated. The work of Otto I was skilfully done, since it survived the follies of his son and grandson. For twenty years after his death (973) the titular rulers of the Empire were boys and women-regents. At Rome, in Germany, on the western and eastern frontiers all the beaten factions and humiliated rivals plucked up courage to make another bid for victory. The old Empress Adelaide, and her daughter-in-law the Empress Theophano, divided or disputed the control of the administration until 991; from that date till 998 the elder woman, freed from interference by the death of Theophano, exercised a great though a declining influence. Neither Empress was competent to handle the singular difficulties of the situation. Adelaide, though true to the German ambitions of her husband, was guided by personal prejudice in the selection of her ministers. Theophano, a woman of remarkable abilities and attainments, despised the monotonous intricacies of German politics, encouraged both her husband and her son to regard Italy as the worthiest field for the activities of an Emperor, and in Italy looked rather to Rome and the South than to Lombardy. It was the church party, both in Germany and in Lombardy, which in these years kept the subjects of the Empire true to their allegiance. The German dukes were less disinterested. But the precedents which Otto I had established proved invaluable when his son was required to deal with a rebellion, or had the opportunity of appointing to a vacant dukedom. The blame for the chimerical ambitions of Otto II and Otto III is usually thrown upon Theophano, that brilliant missionary of Byzantine culture and Byzantine political ideas. But the influence which perverted the judgement of these Emperors, until they became a byeword in Europe, was something more impalpable than the will-force of a domineering woman. They were born into the misty morning twilight of the medieval renaissance, of an age when intellectual curiosity was awakening, when philosophy, the sciences and Latin literature were studied with a lively but uncritical enthusiasm, when the rhetorician and the sophist were the uncrowned kings of intelligent society. The philosophy was little more than school-logic, derived at second or third hand from Aristotle, the science a grotesque amalgam of empiricism and tradition. The Latin classics, apart from their use as a source of tropes and commonplaces, only served to inspire a superstitious and uncomprehending reverence for ancient Rome. Of this new learning Otto II and his son were naive disciples. They could not sufficiently admire the encyclopaedic Gerbert, the most fashionable and incomparably the ablest teacher of their day. Otto II and his court listened patiently for hours while Gerbert disputed with a Saxon rival concerning the subdivisions of the genus philosophy. Otto III invited Gerbert to come to court and cure him of "Saxon rusticity"; he deluged the complaisant tutor with Latin verses, consulted him in affairs of state, and finally promoted him to the Papacy. Gerbert was in fact a subtle and ambitious politician, who filled the chair of Peter with no small degree of credit. But his more serious talents would never have found their opportunity save for his skill in ministering to the pseudo-classicism of rustic Saxons. Each of these Emperors turned his back on Germany at the first opportunity. Each met in Italy with bitter disillusionment and an untimely fate. Otto II, in whose idealism there was a trace of his father's concrete ambition, planned the conquest of South Italy and Sicily. The scheme was not impracticable as the Hohenstauffen were afterwards to prove. And in the year 980 it could be justified as advantageous to the whole of Christian Europe. A new Saracen peril was impending in the Western Mediterranean. A new dynasty of Mohammedan adventurers, the Fatimites, had arisen on the coast of Northern Africa and had made themselves masters of Egypt (969). Five years before that event they had already occupied Sicily; in 976 they turned their attention to Italy. The south of the peninsula was divided between the Eastern Empire and Pandulf Ironhead, the lord of Capua, who had established an ephemeral despotism on the ruins of Lombard and Byzantine power. Even he could not face the Arabs in the open field, and his death (981) was followed by the partition of his lands and bitter strife among his sons. Unless Otto intervened it was not unlikely that Italy, south of the Garigliano, would become a province of the Caliphate of Cairo. Otto, however, was ill-qualified to be the general of a crusade. His military experience had been gained in petty operations against the Danes and Slavs, and in an invasion of France vaingloriously begun but ending in humiliation (978). Full of self-confidence he led a powerful force into Apulia, intending to expel first the Greeks and then the Arabs. He captured Bari and Taranto without difficulty; but he had no sooner entered Calabria than he allowed himself to be entrapped by the Emir of Sicily. On the field of Colonne (982) he lost the flower of his army and barely escaped capture by flight to a passing merchant vessel. Next year he died, in the midst of feverish preparations to wipe out this disgrace. It was left for the despised Greeks to repel the Arabs from the mainland; Sicily remained a Mohammedan possession till the coming of the Normans (1062). It is easier to sympathise with the policy of Otto II than with the man himself. The case is reversed when we turn to the career of his son. Otto III, an infant at his father's death, escaped from female tutelage in 996, and made his first Italian expedition as an autocrat of sixteen. He went to free the Papacy from the bondage of a Roman faction, the party of the infamous John XII, again rearing its head under a new leader. The boy-ruler suppressed the rebels with some gratuitous cruelty. But he was not without noble ambitions or the capacity of appreciating finer natures than his own. Called upon to nominate a Pope he selected his cousin Bruno, a youth little older than himself, but a statesman and an idealist, who set himself to assert the authority of the Holy See over the national Churches, partly no doubt in the interests of the Empire but more in those of morality and discipline. Unhappily Bruno died before his influence had eradicated from the Emperor's character the weaknesses fostered by scheming flatterers and an injudicious education. Gerbert, who succeeded Bruno with the title of Sylvester II, encouraged his pupil in a career of puerile extravagances. While the new Pope extended his jurisdiction and magnified his office, the young Emperor was planning to revive in Rome the ancient glories of the Caesars. Otto built a palace on the Aventine; he imitated the splendour and travestied the ceremonial of the Byzantine court; he devised pompous legends to be inscribed on his seal and on his crown. In the year 1000 he made a solemn pilgrimage to Aachen and opened the vault of Charles the Great; another to Poland, to pray at the shrine of his martyred friend, St. Adalbert, in Gnesen. Meanwhile the serious business of the Empire was neglected; the Slavonic states shook off the German connection; the eastern frontier was unguarded. Even the Romans, whom he cherished as his peculiar people, despised his vagaries and rose in insurrection. This was the awakening. Alive at last to the difference between his dreams and his true position, he quitted the Eternal City to wander aimlessly in Italy, and died broken-hearted at the age of twenty-one. It would obviously be unjust to judge the Holy Roman Empire of the first Otto by the tragicomic aberrations of his immediate successors. Their careers illustrate, in an extreme form, the temptations to which an Emperor was exposed; but neither of them understood the essence of the institution. Far from idealising the Empire overmuch they did not make it ideal enough. The true conception of Empire eluded their grasp and was unaffected by their failure. The policy of Otto the Great is justified by the fact that he, like Charles the Great, gave to a national monarchy the character of a religious office and the sense of a sacred mission. To appreciate his achievement we need only compare the German monarchy, as it stood in the year 1000, after a generation of misgovernment had marred the architect's design, with that of the Capets in France or of the House of Egbert in England. The difference is not only in size or outward splendour. The Holy Roman Empire stood for a nobler theory of royal and national Duty. IV FEUDALISM Before discussing the origins or the effects of feudalism it is well to form a definite conception of the system as we find it in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when it is the basis of local government, of justice, of legislation, of the army and of all executive power. In this period the lawyers have arrived at the doctrine that all lands is held from the King either mediately or directly. The King is himself a great landowner with demesnes scattered over the length and breadth of the realm; the revenues of these estates supply him with the larger part of his permanent income. The King is surrounded by a circle of tenants-in-chief, some of whom are bishops and abbots and ecclesiastical dignitaries of other kinds; the remainder are dukes, counts, barons, knights. All of these, laymen and churchmen alike, are bound to perform more or less specific services in return for their lands; the most important is military service, with a definite quota of knights, which they usually render at their own charge; but they are also liable to pay aids (_auxilia_) of money in certain contingencies, to appear regularly at the King's council and to sit as assessors in his law court. They hold their lands in fact upon a contract; but the precise obligations named in this contract do not exhaust their relation to the King. In a vague and elastic sense they owe him honour (_obsequium_) and loyalty (_fidelitas_). They must do all in their power to uphold his interests and exalt his dignity. He on his side is bound to consult them collectively, in all matters of importance, and to maintain them individually in the rights and possessions which he has granted to them. These personal and indefinite ties should not be renounced, on either side, without some very serious reason--gross treachery, gross neglect of duty, gross abuse of power or privilege. These tenants-in-chief have on their estates a number of sub-tenants, who are bound to them by similar contracts and a similar personal relation. The homage of the sub-tenant to his immediate lord ought to be qualified by a reservation of the allegiance which all subjects owe to the King. Whether this reservation shall be made or, when made, shall have any practical consequences, will depend upon the King's resources and personality. Where effective, it means that he can claim from the sub-tenants the discharge of certain national duties, can call on them for military service, can judge them in his court, can tax them with the consent of his council, that is of their lords; on the other hand, it means that these sub-tenants may not allege the commands of their lord as an excuse for making war upon the King or committing any breach of the public peace. Where the general duty of allegiance has lapsed into oblivion, the tenant-in-chief is in all but name a dependent king, and the feudal state becomes a federation under a hereditary president, who occasionally arbitrates between the members of the federation and occasionally leads them out to war. The other members of the feudal state group themselves or are forcibly grouped under the rule of different persons in the feudal hierarchy. In the open country the soil is partly tilled by small free-holders, who pay to this or that lord a rent in money, kind, or services. Like the feudal sub-tenants these free-holders are, for most purposes, subject to the jurisdiction of their lord; though in the well organised state the royal judges protect them against the grosser forms of violence. But the greater part of the land is divided between servile village-communities, who give up perforce a large proportion of their working-days to the cultivation of the lord's demesne. The tendency of feudal law is to treat these peasants as slaves, to deny them the assistance of the royal law-courts, to regard them as holding their land at the will of their lord. In practice the lord finds that he cannot insist upon the full measure of his legal right. Though he has the right to reclaim all runaways, it is difficult to hunt them down; though he can fix the measure of his own demands, it is dangerous and unprofitable to arouse a spirit of mutiny. A judge from whom his serfs have no appeal in matters that concern their tenure, he finds it politic to make and to observe definite contracts, which remain unaltered from one generation to another. Hence the condition of the serfs, though hard, is less precarious than we might suppose if we only studied what the feudal lawyer has to say about them. Turning from the country to the towns, we find that all are subject to a lord or to the King; that some are only half-emancipated communities of serfs; that in others the burgesses have the status of small free-holders; that in a minority, but a growing minority, of cases the burgesses have established the right to deal collectively with the lord, to be regarded as _communes_ or free cities. In these cases there is a form of popular self-government under elected magistrates. Through the magistrates the town pays a fixed rent to the former lord; usually it claims the special protection of the King, and comes to hold the position of a tenant-in-chief (_une seigneurie collective populaire_). No society could be, in spirit and in organisation, more anti-feudal than the free town of the Middle Ages; but it can only secure a safe existence by obtaining a definite position in the feudal hierarchy. In fact, the clergy are the only considerable class who succeed in resisting the universal tendency to feudalise all landed property and to find for every man a lord. Even they are compelled to make large concessions to the spirit of the age. It is only at the cost of long and ruinous conflicts that bishops and other prelates establish some distinction between their position and that of the ordinary tenant-in-chief. Even so it remains the law that the principal endowments of every religious foundation are fiefs held under a feudal contract of service. More successful, though not less difficult, was the struggle against the theory that the parish-priest is the vassal of his patron and may, by recognising his obligations as a vassal, acquire the vassal's privilege of passing on his office to his son. Such then was feudalism in the concrete. It is the negation of all that we hold to be most important in the conceptions of the state and citizenship. In effect, though not altogether in theory, it subordinates the obligations of the citizen to those which the individual incurs by entering on a voluntary contract. This contract may or may not be made with the ruler of the state; in the majority of cases it is made with a fellow-citizen. Though honourable, according to current ideas, this contract always leaves to the lord some loopholes for the exercise of arbitrary and capricious authority; it impairs, if it does not destroy, the rule of law. Again, the effect of the system is to throw the main burden of national defence, and the main control of the royal power, upon a close hereditary caste of landowners. The standard of public duty is lowered; the government becomes either an absolutism or an oligarchy, and in either case studies chiefly the interests of a class which despises industry and holds privilege to be the necessary basis of society. Under feudalism the powers of the Crown, executive, judicial, administrative, are often granted away to be held by the same tenure as the fiefs over which they are exercised. And thus is created the worst form of civil service that we can conceive; a corps of hereditary officials, who can only be checked or removed with extreme difficulty, who render no account of the sums which they collect under the name of fines or dues, who are seldom educated to the point of realising that, even in their private interest, honesty is the best policy. If this system had developed to its logical conclusion, if the principles of feudal government had not been mitigated by revolt from below and interested tyranny from above, the only possible end would have been a state of particularism and anarchy compared with which the Germany of the fifteenth century, or the Italy of the eighteenth, might be called an earthly paradise. The very defects of the feudal system are, however, the best proof that it was the natural and inevitable product of social evolution. A legal theory so complex, so repugnant to the best traditions both of Roman and barbarian government, could not have obtained general recognition, as part of the natural order of things, unless it had grown up by degrees, unless it had been the outcome of older usages and institutions. A form of social organisation so cumbrous and so dangerous could hardly have survived for centuries unless it had solved difficulties of unusual urgency and magnitude. Let us then consider, in their historical order, the antecedents of feudalism and the reasons of state by which it was justified. Before the downfall of the Roman Empire the duties of local government were slipping from the grasp of the imperial executive. With or without official consent, the great proprietors--already held responsible for the taxes, the military service, and the good conduct of their dependents--were assuming rights of jurisdiction. When Gaul was reorganised by the Merovingians, these private courts of law continued to exist; and they were even legally recognised (by Clotaire II in 614) as institutions of public utility. A certain number of great estates were further protected by special charters of privilege (_immunitas_) which forbade public officials to enter them for the purposes of making arrests, of holding courts, of collecting fines and levying distraints. The owners were obliged to surrender any person accused of a grave crime, but otherwise did justice at their pleasure. This system of immunity was greatly extended by the Carolingian sovereigns, but with two important changes. (1) Henceforward the privilege was seldom granted to laymen, but was bestowed as a matter of course on the estates of bishops and of religious houses. (2) The holders of such ecclesiastical estates were compelled to vest their powers of police and justice in the hands of laymen (_advocati_) chosen either by the central power or by some approved form of election. The intention of these changes was to use the private courts for the maintenance of public order, to extract the sting from a dangerous privilege, and to make it a serviceable instrument of royal policy. But only one half of the scheme was permanent. By the middle of the ninth century, when _immunitas_ had been granted to all religious foundations, the Carolingians allowed the right of choosing the _advocati_ to slip from their feeble grasp. The privileged estates remained, but the royal control over their internal government was gone. They became ecclesiastical seignories; whatever checks were imposed upon the power of their rulers came from the lay-nobles who were their neighbours, or from the subject population. Partly from respect for custom and tradition, partly from motives of self-interest, the great ecclesiastical landowners sided with the Crown, even in the tenth century, when the fortunes of royalty were at their lowest ebb. But for this support a price had to be paid; the old privileges were maintained and even augmented by grants of the power of life and death (_hautejustice, blut-bann_). Thus came into existence the class of ecclesiastical princes, who throughout the Middle Ages maintained a state, and wielded a power, comparable with that of any lay feudatory. The ecclesiastical _immunitas_, as early as the ninth century, was in the eyes of all ambitious landowners the model of a privileged estate. But it was by another road that the layman arrived at the position of a petty sovereign. Speaking broadly, there are two stages in his progress. First, he comes into the position of a royal tenant, holding his lands in exchange for services and fealty. Secondly, he acquires, by delegation or usurpation, a greater or smaller part of the royal authority over his own dependents. (1) The idea of a personal contract between the free warrior and his lord, by which the former places himself at the disposition of the latter and promises unlimited service, is one which occurs in many primitive societies and is peculiar to no one branch of the human race. Tacitus noticed, as one feature of German life in his time, the free war-band (_comitatus_) who lived in the house of their chief, followed him to battle, and thought it the last degree of infamy to return alive from the field on which he had fallen. The Merovingian kings maintained a bodyguard of this kind (_antrustions_). Under the Carolingians such followers appear in the host, in the royal household, in every branch of the administration. They are the most trusted agents of the King and possess considerable social consequence. They are called _vassi_, a name formerly applied to any kind of dependent, but now reserved for free men rendering free services to the King or some other lord, and subject to his jurisdiction. So valuableare these followers that, in the eighth and ninth centuries, the power of the great is largely measured by the number of _vassi_ whom they can put into the field. Various considerations suggested to Frankish rulers and nobles the expediency of endowing these followers with land, and of granting land to no tenant unless he would take the vassal's oath. Usually land was the only form of pay which the lord could give; and it always served as a material guarantee of faithful service, since it could be resumed whenever the vassal made default. In days when law and morality availed little as the sanctions of contracts, the landlord naturally desired to bind his tenant to him by a personal obligation; and there were obvious advantages in providing that every tenant should be liable to aid his lord with arms. The estates granted to vassals were known as benefices (_beneficia_); they foreshadowed the lay-fief of later times. But there are some distinctions to be drawn. The benefice was not _de jure_ heritable; it escheated on the death of either lord or tenant. The service was not measured with the same precision as in later times. The military duties of the beneficed vassal were not different in kind or degree from those of the ordinary freemen. Finally, the idea had not yet arisen that vassals were superior in status to the rest of the community. The importance of the vassal depended entirely on his wealth and his rank in the King's employ. Only in the old age of the Carolingian Empire, when the class of free landowners, acknowledging no lord, had been almost ground out of existence by official oppression and the intolerable burden of military service, was the burden of national defence thrown entirely upon vassals. Then, as the sole military class in the community, they acquired the consideration which, in early stages of social development, is the monopoly of those who are trained to arms. (2) It was natural that the tie of vassalage should be imposed on every important official; and natural also to regard his office as a benefice, tenable for life or during good behaviour. At an early date we find cases of conquered princes--a Duke of Aquitaine, a Duke of Bavaria, a King of Denmark--who take the vassal's oath and agree to hold their former dominions as a _beneficium_. So again a member of the royal house does homage and promises service in return for his appanage. More common, and more important for the future, is the practice of treating counts as vassals. All over the Frankish Empire the county was the normal unit of local administration. The count led the military levies, collected the royal dues, enforced the laws, maintained the peace, and was a judge with powers of life and death. The Carolingians controlled their counts by means of itinerant inspectors (_missi dominici_); but with the disruption of their Empire this check was destroyed, while the power of the count survived. By that time the office had often become hereditary, on the analogy of the _beneficium_, and the count appropriated to his own use the profits of his office. In such cases his county became a small principality, classed by lawyers as a fief, but often ruled without any reference to the interests of the royal overlord. The fiefs of Anjou, Champagne and Flanders began in this way as hereditary countships. Sometimes, again, we find that a great vassal obtains, by grant of usurpation, the prerogatives of a count over his own lands; examples are the prince-bishops of Trier (898 A.D.), Hamburg (937), and Metz (945). The first effect of this striking change in the nature of landed property and of public office was to substitute for the centralised state of the Carolingians a lax federal system, in which each unit was a group of men attached to the person of a hereditary superior. This nascent feudalism was often brutal, always summary and short-sighted, in its methods of government. The feudal group was engaged in a perpetual struggle for existence with neighbouring groups. Feudal policy was aggressive; for every lord had his war-band, whom he could only hold together by providing them with adventure and rich plunder; nor could any lord regard himself as safe while a neighbour of equal resources remained unconquered. Furthermore, as though the disintegration of society had not gone far enough, every great fief was in constant danger of civil war and partition. As the lord had treated the King, so he in turn was treated by his vassals. He endowed them with lands, he allowed them to found families, he gave them positions of authority; and then they defied him. In the eleventh century the great fief bristled with castles held by chief vassals of the lord; in the small county of Maine alone we hear of thirty-five such strongholds; generally speaking they were centres of rebellion and indiscriminate rapine. Such feudalism was not a system of government; it was a symptom of anarchy. Yet feudalism had not always been a mere tyranny of the military class over the unarmed population. Like the Roman Empire, that of the Franks had forfeited respect and popularity by misgovernment, by feeble government, by insupportable demands on the personal service of the subject. The land-owner was a less exacting master than the Empire; often he could defend his tenants from imperial exactions. During the invasions of the Northmen and Hungarians, he was impelled by his own interest to guard his estates to the best of his ability. Therefore common men looked to their landlord, or looked about them for a landlord, to whom they could commend themselves. The great estate was the ark of refuge from the general flood of social evils. In the eleventh century the situation changed. The Hungarian tide of invasion was rolled back by a Henry the Fowler and an Otto the Great; the Northmen enrolled themselves as members of the European commonwealth. The petty feudal despot was no longer needed. From a protector he had degenerated into a pest of society. The great political problem of the age was to make him innocuous. It was taken in hand, and it was settled, by a variety of means. In France the Church took the lead of the repressive movement, endeavouring to mitigate the horrors of private war by certain restrictions upon the combatants. During the eleventh century it was not unusual for the bishop of a diocese to secure the co-operation of representative men, from all classes of society, in proclaiming a local Truce of God (_Treuga Dei_). This Truce, which all men were invited to swear that they would observe, forbade the molestation of ecclesiastics, peasants and other non-combatants; provided that cultivated land should not be harried or cattle carried off; and named certain seasons when no war should be waged. A typical agreement of this kind enjoins that all private hostilities shall be suspended from Wednesday evening to Monday morning in each week; from the beginning of Advent till a week after the Epiphany; from the beginning of Lent till a week after Easter; from the Rogation Days till a week after Pentecost. The Truce of God was approved by the Crown both in France and in Germany; even in the twelfth century it was still recommended by church councils as a useful expedient. But it was seldom effectual. There was no machinery for enforcing it; and those who swore to uphold it were so divided by conflicting class interests that they could not co-operate with any cordiality. The second of these defects, though not the first, can also be perceived in the German system of the Land-peace. Periodically we find an Emperor constraining a particular province, or even the whole German kingdom, to accept a set of rules which are partly modelled on those of the _Treuga Dei_ and partly in the nature of criminal legislation. Thus in 1103 the magnates of the kingdom were required to swear that for the next four years they would not molest ecclesiastics, merchants, women, or Jews; that during the same period they would neither burn nor break into private houses; that they would not kill or wound or hold to ransom any man. In regard to the last rule the magnates insisted on some modification; it was finally provided that a man meeting a private enemy on the high-road might attack him, but might not pursue him if he took refuge in a private house. The general Land-peaces of Frederic Barbarossa (1152) and Frederic II (1235) are the most important enactments of this kind; but they deviate widely from the original type. They are permanent; they aim at the total suppression of lawless self-help; they are codes of criminal law which, if thoroughly enforced, would have opened a new era in German history. As the case stands--they are only the evidence of an unrealised project of reform. It was not by confederations of this kind, whether spontaneous or compulsory, that feudalism could be bridled. The twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the great age of medieval statesmanship, saw other and more effectual remedies applied. In the free cities of France, Italy, the Netherlands and Germany, the commercial classes perfected a form of association which, however faulty in other respects, was successful in excluding feudalism from the principal centres of urban industry. In the larger states, whether kingdoms or not, the rulers, supported by the Church and the commons, bestirred themselves to slay the many-headed Hydra. Feudalism was not extirpated, but it was brought under the law. In many districts it defied repression. To the end of the Middle Ages the Knights of Suabia and the Rhineland maintained the predatory traditions of the Dark Ages; and everywhere feudalism remained a force inimical to national unity. But the great feudatories who survived into the age of Machiavelli and of the new despotisms had usually some claims upon the respect of their subjects. The Duchy of Brittany, the Burgundian inheritance, the German electorates, were mainly objectionable as impeding the growth of better communities--better because more comprehensive, more stable, more fitted to be the nurseries of great ideas and proud traditions. It remains to speak of chivalry, that peculiar and often fantastic code of etiquette and morals which was grafted upon feudalism in the eleventh and succeeding centuries. The practical influence of chivalry has been exaggerated. Chivalrous ethics were in great measure the natural product of a militarist age. Bravery and patriotism, loyalty and truthfulness, liberality and courtesy and magnanimity--these are qualities which the soldier, even in a semi-civilised society, discovers for himself. The higher demands of chivalric morality were as habitually disregarded as the fundamental precepts of the Christian faith. The chivalric statesmen of the Middle Ages, from Godfrey of Bouillon to Edward III and the Black Prince, appear, under the searchlight of historical criticism, not less calculating than Renaissance despots or the disciples of Frederic the Great of Prussia. But something less than justice has been rendered to the chivalric ideal. The ethics which it embodied were arbitrary and one-sided; but they represent a genuine endeavour to construct, if only for one class, a practicable code of conduct at a time when religion too often gloried in demanding the impossible. Chivalry degenerated into extravagance and conventional hyperbole; but at the worst it had the merit of investing human relationships and human occupations with an ideal significance. In particular it gave to women a more honourable position than they had occupied in any social system of antiquity. It rediscovered one half of human nature. But for chivalry the Beatrice of Dante, the Laura of Petrarch, Shakespeare's Miranda and Goethe's Marguerite, could not have been created, much less comprehended. Chivalry in the oldest discoverable form was the invention of the Church. The religious service by which the neophyte was initiated as a knight has been traced back to the time of Otto III, when it appears in the liturgy of the Roman churches. But the ceremony was not in general use, outside Italy, before the age of the Crusades. It was Urban II who inspired the knighthood of northern Europe with the belief that they were _Dei militia_, the soldiers of the Church; and it is significant that warfare against the unbeliever ranks prominently among the duties enjoined upon the new-made knight, though it does not stand alone. The defence of the true faith and of the Church is also inculcated; merit might be acquired in persecuting heretics or in fighting for the Pope against an unjust Emperor. Nor are the claims of the widow, the orphan and the defenceless totally forgotten. But the perfect knight of the Church was the Templar, the soldier living under the rule of a religious order and devoting his whole energies to the cause of the Holy Sepulchre. It was a remarkable innovation when St. Bernard, the mirror of orthodox conservatism, undertook to legislate for the Order of the Temple; for the primitive Church had hardly tolerated wars in self- defence. From one point of view it was a wholesome change of attitude in the moral leaders of society, that they should recognise war and a military class as inevitable necessities, that they should undertake to moralise and idealise the commonest of occupations. But the resolve was marred in the execution. In the desire to be practical, the Church set up too low an aim and translated Christianity into precepts which were only suited for one short stage of medieval civilisation, the stage of the Crusades. In the long run the poet had far more influence than the priest upon the chivalric classes. It is remarkable how uniformly Popes and Councils set their faces against the bloodshed and extravagant futilities of the tournament; still more remarkable that even threats of excommunication could not deter the most orthodox of knights from seeking distinction and distraction in these mimic wars. Equally significant is the growth of the _service des dames_ which, although invested by troubadours and minnesingers with a halo of religious allegory, was disliked by the Church, not merely from a dread of possible abuses, but as inherently idolatrous. The cult of the Virgin, while doing honour to the new conception of womanhood, was also a protest against a secular romanticism. Here and there a Wolfram von Eschenbach essays the feat of reconciling poetry with religion in the picture of the perfect knight. But the school of _courtoisie_ prevailed; the most celebrated of the troubadours are mundane, not to say profane; Walther von der Vogelweide, with his bitter attacks upon the Papacy, is more typical of his class than Wolfram with his allegory of Parsifal and the Sangraal. It was in Provence, on the eve of the Albigensian Crusade, in the society which was most indifferent to official Christianity and most hostile to the clergy, that chivalry was most sedulously preached and developed in the most curious detail. In the hands of the troubadours it became a gospel of pageantry and fanfaron, of artificial sentiments and artificial heroisms, cloaking the materialism, the sensuality and the inordinate ostentation of a theatrical and frivolous society, intoxicated with the pride of life. V THE PAPACY BEFORE GREGORY VII An institution is not necessarily discredited when we discover that it has grown from small beginnings, has been applied under new conditions to new purposes, and in the course of a long history has been defended by arguments which are demonstrably false. The child, no doubt, is father of the man; but the man is something different from, and may well be something better than, his infant self. We must not attach undue importance to the study of origins. On the other hand we cannot afford to neglect them. However slight the fibres by which the present is rooted in the past, to observe them is to realise the continuity of human development--the most important, the most obvious, and the most neglected of the lessons that history can teach. It is true that the roots, however strong and however deeply set, are insufficient to account for the characteristics of the plant which springs from them. But it is also true that neither plants nor institutions can altogether shed the husk of their immaturity. They are not entirely adapted to the conditions under which they reach their full development. The Papacy in the zenith of its power and renown is partly new and partly old. When we consider the papal theory, as it floated before the mind of a Gregory VII or an Innocent III, it produces in us the same impression of symmetry, logical consistency and completeness, which we experience on entering for the first time one of the great medieval churches. But when once we have grasped the design of the architect, we shall usually find that he has conformed in some respects to unmeaning traditions inherited from an earlier period, and further that his work incorporates the remnants of an older, simpler structure. Here are pillars of massive girth altogether disproportionate to the delicate arches which they carry; there an old tower has been buttressed to make it capable of supporting a new spire. For all the builder's cunning, we can yet distinguish between the new and the renovated. So it is with the papal apologia in the great days of papal policy. A sentence from the laws of ancient Rome dovetails with an axiom stolen from the philosophers of the Porch or the Academy. Fables of Gallic or Egyptian origin are invoked to corroborate the canons of Nicene and Chalcedonian synods. A text from a Hebrew prophet is interpreted by the fancy of an African expositor. The fabric composed of these incongruous elements has in truth a unity of purpose; but the design is so disguised and so perverted by the recalcitrance of the materials, that we are irresistibly impelled to ask how and why they came to be employed. More than any other human institution the Papacy has suffered from a supposed necessity of justifying every forward step by precedent and reference to authority. Twice in the course of sixteen centuries the Holy See has ventured on a startling change of front, and has been sorely embarrassed to rebut the charge of inconsistency. One such change was silently effected at the close of the seventeenth century, when the Popes ceased to concern themselves more than was unavoidable with international affairs. This was a great change; yet not so great as that made in the latter part of the eleventh century, by Gregory VII. For he revolutionised the whole theory of papal prerogative. Neither a profound lawyer nor a profound theologian, he regarded the past history of his office with the idealism of a poet, and looked into its future with the sanguine radicalism of a Machiavelli or a Hobbes. Gregory VII conceived of Christendom as an undivided state; of a state as a polity dominated by a sovereign; of a sovereign as a ruler who must be either absolute or useless. And who, he asked, but the heir of the Prince of the Apostles could presume to claim a power so tremendous? For us the audacity of his pretensions is excused by the lofty aims which they were meant to serve. To conciliate contemporary opinion it was necessary that the new claims should be represented as the revival of old rights, as the logical corollaries of undisputed truths. And this course involved as its consequence an industrious, if partially unconscious, perversion of past history. For the Popes who had gone before him claimed powers which, though extensive, were capable of definition; which, though startling, could in the main be defended by appeal to well-established usage. The new policy led to this paradoxical situation, that precedents were diligently invoked to prove the Pope superior to all precedents. With Gregory VII the primacy of Western Christendom assumed a new character. But the primacy, in one form or another, had for centuries belonged to the Roman See. So much his remote predecessors had achieved, and their success is all the more remarkable when we remember how few of them had been distinguished statesmen. It is no matter for surprise that, in the course of nine troubled centuries, some Bishops of Borne had proved incompetent and others had betrayed the interests committed to their charge. It is, however, surprising that the Roman See was able to assume and hold the leading position among Western bishops without rendering much service to the extension or the organisation of the Church. Of all the early Popes, save Leo I and Gregory I, it is true that we may be tolerably at home in the history of their times without knowing much about them. No Pope is ranked among the leading Western Fathers. The only considerable theologian who occupied the Holy See, before the year 1000, is Gregory I; and the highest praise which we can give his writings is that they imparted new life to some ideas of St. Augustine. It is as statesmen, not as thinkers, that the early Popes appeal to our attention. Yet their practical achievements scarcely account for the reverence which they inspired. The one great mission which Rome set on foot was that of Augustine to England. The other evangelists of the Dark Ages found their inspiration elsewhere, in the monasteries of Ireland or of Gaul and Germany. If we consider the progress of theological science, and of ecclesiastical organisation, we find that the great controversies were resolved, and the great legislative assemblies convened, in the Eastern Empire. It was but rarely that Rome asserted her right to speak in the name even of the Western Church; the record of the early Popes who attained to such a momentary pre-eminence was not such as the West could recollect with satisfaction. In fact, it was due to other causes than the merits of individual Popes that Rome became and remained the religious metropolis of Europe. How, then, are we to account for her triumphant progress? Hobbes suggested one explanation when he called the Papacy "the ghost of the Roman Empire." And it is true that the later Emperors found it convenient to confer special privileges on the bishops of their ancient capital. But they adopted this policy too late, when reverence for the Empire was already declining in the West. By imperial grants the Papacy gained no substantial powers, while individual Popes lost credit and independence by their special connection with the New Rome on the Bosporus. They were compelled to play an ignominious part in the squabbles of the Eastern Churches, they were loaded with onerous secular duties; they became the emblems and the agents of an alien tyranny, mistrusted alike by the barbarian invaders and the nominal subjects of the Empire. Other critics have explained the prestige of the Papacy as the fruit of successful impostures. For this hypothesis there is little to be said. One or two Popes, not the greatest, have condescended to use forged title-deeds. But the effect of these frauds has been much exaggerated. The most famous of them are the _Donation of Constantine_ and the _False Decretals_. The former, though probably of Roman origin, was little used at Rome, and only served to justify the modest beginnings of the temporal power. The latter are of more importance, and are sometimes regarded as opening an era of new pretensions. In fact they are little more than reiterations and amplifications of very ancient claims. Though frequently quoted by the canon lawyers, they are not indispensable links in the claim of historical proofs and precedents. They are chiefly significant as attesting the general desire of churchmen to find some warrant for a vigorous exercise of the papal prerogative. A primate with real powers was desired, not only by the clergy of the national churches as a bulwark against the brutal oppression of the State, but also by all religious thinkers as a symbol of corporate unity and a guarantee of doctrinal uniformity. No theory can be regarded as supplying a satisfactory explanation of papal authority, unless it explains this general belief in the necessity for a visible Head of the Western Church. In part the necessity was political. Exposed to the common danger of secular tyranny, the national churches looked for safety in federation; and they notified their union in the only way that uneducated laymen could understand, by announcing their subjection to a single spiritual sovereign. But there remained the problem of justifying this act of independence amounting to rebellion. The justification was found in two arguments, the one historical, the other doctrinal; the one based upon the Roman legend of St. Peter, the other on the acknowledged importance of holding fast to right tradition. Each of these arguments calls for some consideration. St. Peter, says the legend, was invested with the primacy among the Apostles; such is the plain meaning of the Saviour's declaration, _Tu es Petrus_. St. Peter founded the Roman Church and instituted the Roman bishopric. To Linus, the first bishop, Peter bequeathed his Divine commission and his knowledge of the Christian verities. From Linus these gifts descended without diminution to one after another in the unbroken chain of his successors. Hence Rome is entitled to the same pre-eminence among the churches which Peter held among his brethren. To examine the historical basis of the legend would be a lengthy and unprofitable task. Of St. Peter's connection with the Eternal City we know nothing certain, except that he preached and suffered there. If bishops existed in his time, there is some reason for thinking that the office was collegiate, and that the committee of bishops was less important then in the spiritual life of the community than at a later time. Not until the second century did the episcopate become monarchical and the holder of the office the supreme authority within the Church by which he was elected. The change was complete by the time of Irenaeus, who wrote _circa_ 180 A.D.; to him we owe our earliest catalogue of Roman bishops, beginning with Linus and ending with Eleutherus, the twelfth from Peter and the contemporary of Irenaeus. The later names in the list are doubtless those of authentic bishops; the earlier may be in some sense historical, the names of famous presbyters or of men who made their mark on the old episcopal committee. A point of secondary interest is that Irenaeus speaks of bishops, not of Popes; this title came into use a hundred years after his time. More important is the fact that, in the third century, when our documents become more copious, Rome is generally recognised as first in dignity among the churches (_ecclesia principalis_), but has no appellate jurisdiction and no legislative powers. It is only admitted that, when disputes arise on points of tradition, her testimony is entitled to special honour, as that of a church which preserves the memory of Peter's teaching. As doctrinal controversies become more acute and more fundamental, the importance of tradition is emphasised, the authority of those who voice it is magnified. Ultimately all the pretensions of the Holy See are founded on the claim that she possesses the only undefiled tradition. But it was not until long after the third century that the consequences of the claim were realised even by the claimants. If we were invited, at the present day, to suggest a means of conserving intact a body of doctrinal definitions and disciplinary law, we should not naturally select some mode of oral transmission as the safest available. Yet this expedient has found much favour in the past. Even among the Jews, with their extreme respect for sacred books, the written word was made of none account by the traditions of expositors. The votaries of the Greek mystic cults deliberately avoided writing down their more important formulae. Several considerations were in favour of this curious policy. There were no scientific canons for the interpretation of written texts; allegorising commentators read their own wild fancies into the plainest sentences. The only way of meeting them was to fall back on the traditional interpretation. We use the texts to test the traditions; but criticism in its early stages pursues the opposite course, and as a natural consequence rates tradition above Scripture. Other reasons which discouraged the use of writing were, first, the fear that no literary skill might be equal to the difficulty of accurate statement; secondly, the natural reluctance of the religious mind to let the deepest truths be exposed to the vulgar scoffs and criticism of the uninitiated; thirdly, some remnant of the primitive superstition that the formulae of a ritual are magic spells, which would lose their potency if published to the world; and, finally, the natural instinct of a sacerdotal class to reserve the knowledge of deepest mysteries to a select inner circle. For all these reasons a jealously guarded tradition, commonly designated as the _arcana_ or _secreta_, was to be found in all the early Christian Churches. To give a few examples: the Apostles' Creed, the distinctive symbol of the Roman Church, was preserved by oral tradition only down to the fourth century, and was not imparted to any catechumen until the time of his baptism. The minute rules of penitential discipline were first committed to writing by Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, towards the close of the seventh century; and this innovation was sharply criticised by some ecclesiastical synods. Most remarkable of all is the reluctance of the churches to write down the essential, operative parts of the Mass. Written copies are first mentioned in the fourth century, and it was not until a much later period that the diversities of local tradition were corrected by the issue of a standard text. It might be supposed that the non-existence of official copies was due to the want of any device, such as printing, by which they could be cheaply multiplied. But there is a curious fact which suggests that publication was considered undesirable. One section of the Canon of the Mass was called the secret part (_secretum_), and was recited by the celebrant in an undertone, that it might not become known to the congregation. Similarly, all literary exposition of such central doctrines as the Atonement, or the Trinity, was deprecated by early theologians, who pass by them with the remark that they are known to the initiate. This cult of secrecy engendered difficulties which are written large upon the page of history. Disputes arose about the wording of the creeds, about the canon of the Scriptures, about the number and nature of the mortal sins, and the penances which they should entail. Periodically a curious investigator raised a storm by claiming that he had discovered a flaw in the traditional formulae, or a mistake in the sense which was currently attached to them. The one way of meeting such doubts was to compare the traditions of the older churches. This could be done by a provincial synod or a general council. But of these tribunals the former was unsatisfactory, as its decisions were of merely local validity and might be overruled by the voice of the universal Church. The general council was hard to convene, particularly after a rift had opened between the Eastern and the Western Churches. It was easier to select as the final arbiter a bishop whose knowledge of tradition was derived from an apostolic predecessor. In the East there were three such sees (Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria), but in the West Rome alone satisfied the necessary conditions. And the Bishops of Rome could claim, with some show of reason, that their tradition was derived from a worthier source, and had been better guarded against contagion, than that of any other Apostolic Church. Was it not a well-established fact that Rome had preserved an unwavering front in the face of the heretical Arius, when even Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria had wavered? Recourse to Rome as the oracle of the faith was so obvious an expedient, given the prevailing attitude towards tradition, that we can only be surprised to find how slow and gradual was the triumph of the Roman claims. The victory of logic was retarded both by the pride and by the common sense of the other Western Churches. On the one hand, the See of Carthage clung to the old ideal of Christendom as a confederation of self-governing churches, which might consult one another as they pleased but recognised no superior except a general council. Carthage carried with her the whole Church of Africa, and furnished an example which less illustrious communities were proud to imitate. The conquest of Africa by the Vandal heretics was necessary before the African Christians would consent to look to Rome as their spiritual metropolis. On the other hand, the rulings of the Roman bishops were justly suspected of being tempered by regard for expediency. Sometimes they relaxed penitential discipline, for fear of driving the weaker brethren to apostasy. Sometimes, under pressure from Constantinople, they proposed an ambiguous compromise with heresy. Such considerations were but gradually overborne by the pressure of circumstances. The spread of Arianism and the irruption of the Teutons (themselves often Arians) at length compelled the churches to take the obvious means of preserving their imperilled uniformity and union. It is in the acts of the Council of Sardica (343 A.D.) that we find the first explicit recognition of the Pope as an arbiter and (we may almost say) a judge of appeal. This council was merely a gathering of Western bishops, and the canons which it passed were never accepted by the Church of Africa. So doubtful was their validity that the Popes of the next generation disingenuously asserted that they had been passed at the earlier and more famous Council of Nicaea (325). Yet even at Sardica the Pope was only endowed with one definite prerogative. Henceforward any bishop condemned by a provincial synod might appeal to him; he could then order a second trial to be held, and could send his legates to sit among the judges; but he could not hear the case in his own court. More striking than this decree are the words of the letter which the Council addressed to Pope Julius: "It will be very right and fitting for the priests of the Lord, from every province, to refer to their Head, that is to the See of Peter." This recommendation was readily obeyed by the Churches of Gaul and Spain. Questions from their bishops poured in upon the Popes, who began to give their decisions in the form of open letters, and to claim for these letters the binding force of law. Pope Liberius (352-366 A.D.) appears to have commenced the practice, although the earliest of the extant "Decretals" is from the pen of Pope Siricius (385). Sixty years after Siricius' time, when the Western Empire was in its death-agony, this claim to legislative power was formally confirmed by the Emperor Valentinian III (445). But for some time after the Council of Sardica the new prerogative was used with the greatest caution. The Popes of that period use every precaution to make their oracular answers inoffensive. They assure their correspondents that Rome enjoins no novelties; that she does not presume to decide any point on which tradition is silent; that she is merely executing a mandate which general councils have laid upon her. Those who evince respect for her claims are overwhelmed with compliments. A decretal of Innocent I (402-417) begins as follows:-- "Very dear brother, the Church's rules of life and conduct are well known to a priest of your merit and dignity. But since you have urgently inquired of us concerning the rule which the Roman Church prescribes, we bow to your desire and herewith send you our rules of discipline, arranged in order." On the other hand, no opportunity is lost of calling attention to the Roman primacy. Pope Siricius (384-398) writes in one of his letters: "We bear the burdens of all who are oppressed; it is the Apostle Peter who speaks in our person." Through the more confidential and domestic utterances of these Popes there runs a vein of haughty self-assertion. In the homilies of Leo I (440-461) the text _Tu es Petrus_ rings like a trumpet note; here we have the Roman ruler communing with his Roman people, the pride of empire taking a new shape amidst the ruins of that secular empire which the pagan Romans of the past had built up. In the general chaos produced by the barbarian migrations the consequence of the Papacy, as compared with that of other Western sees, was considerably enhanced by various causes: by the ruin of Carthage, the most unsparing of her critics; by the progressive deterioration of the other churches, which was most marked in those provinces where the barbarians were most readily converted; by the rising tide of ignorance, which overwhelmed all rival conceptions of Christendom and blotted out the past history of the Church. So great was this ignorance that Innocent I could claim, without much fear of contradiction, that "no man has founded any church in Italy, Sicily, Gaul, Spain, or Africa, excepting those whom Peter and his successors have ordained as priests." In the Italian peninsula there were three churches--Ravenna, Milan, Aquileia--which obstinately refused to consider themselves mere offshoots from the See of Peter. But the legend struck root and throve, as successive Popes associated themselves with missions to the unconverted tribes and with reforms in the barbarian churches. Among the earlier events which contributed to make the Roman belief the standard for all Western Christendom we need only mention the conquests of the orthodox Frankish monarchy; the official conversions from Arianism of the Burgundians (516) and the Visigoths in Spain (586); the extirpation of the Vandals and Ostrogoths by Justinian's generals; the missions of Augustine to England, of Wilfrid, Willibrord, and Boniface to the Germans; the submission of the Frankish Church under the influence of Boniface and Pepin the Short (748). Naturally the moral influence of Rome in the northern lands was augmented by the revival of the Western Empire, which meant the co-operation of Pope and Emperor in the extension of the Christian Republic. Cyril and Methodius, the Apostles of the Slavs, found it necessary to renounce the allegiance of the Greek Church, and to place their converts under the protection of Rome (866). It was from Rome that St. Adalbert went forth on his ill-starred but glorious mission to the Prussians (997); and it was a Pope, Sylvester II, who earned the glory of uniting the Hungarian people to Western Christendom (1000). Finally, Canute the Great, of Denmark and of England, came in the manner of a pilgrim (1027) to lay the homage of his Scandinavian subjects on the altar of St. Peter. The Popes reaped where they had not sown; but the harvest was rich and splendid. No less important was the political character which the papal office assumed with the revival of the Empire. Already under Gregory the Great we can trace the beginnings of a temporal power. Naturally and necessarily the Pope, already like other bishops a functionary charged with important secular duties, took upon himself the protection and government of Rome and the surrounding duchy, when the rulers of Byzantium shook off these unprofitable responsibilities. Naturally and excusably he claimed, over his vast Italian estates, the powers of jurisdiction which every landowner was assuming as a measure of self-defence against oppression or unbridled anarchy. In the time of Pepin the Short a further step was taken. The Frank, unwilling to involve himself in Italy yet anxious to secure the Holy See against the Lombards, recognized Pope Stephen II as the lawful heir of the derelict imperial possessions. And Charles the Great, both as King and as Emperor, confirmed the donation of his father. To make the Pope an independent sovereign was indeed a policy which he refused to entertain. His ideal was that of the Eastern Emperors: himself as the head of State and Church, the Pope as the Patriarch of all the churches in the Empire, elected with the Emperor's approval, ruling the clergy with the Emperor's counsel, enjoying over the lands of his see the largest privileges bestowed on any bishop, but still in all secular affairs a subject of the Empire. But on the other hand arose at Rome a different conception of the Pope's prerogative. Long ago Pope Gelasius had formulated the principle, more useful to his remote successors than himself, of the Two Powers, Church and State, both derived from God and both entitled to absolute power in their respective spheres. On this principle the State should not interfere with episcopal elections, or with matters of faith and discipline; it should not exercise jurisdiction over the priesthood who are servants of the Church, or over Church estates since they are held in trust for God and the poor. This view was proclaimed to the world by Leo III, who caused to be set up in the Lateran a mosaic representing in an allegory his relations to the Empire. St. Peter sits enthroned above; Charles and Leo kneel to right and left, in the act of receiving from the Apostle the pallium and the gonfalon, the symbols of their respective offices. No powerful Emperor ever accepted the Gelasian principle entire. To refute it was, however, difficult, so well did it harmonise with the current conception of the State. Under the later Carolingians it became the programme both of reformers and of mere ecclesiastical politicians. The new monasteries, founded or reorganised under the influence of Cluny, placed themselves beneath the special protection of the Pope, thus escaping from secular burdens. The national hierarchies hailed the forgeries of the Pseudo-Isidore as the charter of ecclesiastical liberty. Pope Nicholas I took his stand at the head of the new movement, and gave it a remarkable development when he asserted his jurisdiction over the adulterous Lothaire II (863). Nicholas died before he couldgive further illustrations of his claim to be supreme, even over kings, in matters of morality and faith. From his time to that of Hildebrand there was no Pope vigorous enough to make a similar example. Dragged down by their temporal possessions to the level of municipal seigneurs and party instruments, the Popes from 867 to 962 were, at the best, no more than vigorous Italian princes. To that level they returned after the period of the Saxon Ottos (962-1002). In those forty years there were glimpses of a better future; the German Pope, Gregory V, allied himself to Cluny (996-999); as Sylvester II (999-1003) the versatile Gerbert of Aurillac--at once mathematician, rhetorician, philosopher, and statesman--entered into the romantic dreams of his friend and pupil, Otto III, and formed others on his own behalf which centred round the Papacy rather than the Empire. Sylvester saw in imagination the Holy See at the head of a federation of Christian monarchies. But fate was no kinder to him than to Otto; he outlived his boy patron only by a year. VI THE HILDEBRANDINE CHURCH Modern life has travelled so far beyond medieval Christianity that it is only with an effort we retrace our steps to the intellectual position of a St. Bernard, a St. Francis, or the _Imitatio Christi_. Apart from the difficulties of an unfamiliar terminology, we have become estranged from ideas which then were commonplaces; beliefs once held to be self-evident and cardinal now hover on the outer verge of speculative thought, as bare possibilities, as unproved and unprovable guesses at truth. Our own creeds, it may be, rest upon no sounder bottom of logical demonstration. But they have been framed to answer doubts, and to account for facts, which medieval theories ignored; and in framing them we have been constrained partly to revise, partly to destroy, the medieval conceptions of God and the Universe, of man and the moral law. This is not the place for a critique of medieval religion. But, unless we bear in mind some essential features of the Catholic system of thought, we miss the key to that ecclesiastical statesmanship which dominates the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The programme of the great Popes, from Gregory VII to Boniface VIII, must appear a tissue of absurdities, of preposterous ambitions and indefensible actions, unless it is studied in relation to a theology as far remote from primitive Christianity as from the cults and philosophies of classical antiquity. The first article in this theology is the existence of a personal God who, though all-pervading and all-powerful, does not reveal Himself immediately to the human beings whom He has created to be His worshippers, and does not so order the world that events shall always express His will and purpose. He has endowed man with a sinful nature, and has permitted His universe to be invaded by evil intelligences of superhuman power and malignancy, who tempt man to destruction and are bent upon subverting the Divine order of which they form a part. He is supremely benevolent, and yet He only manifests the full measure of this quality when His help is invoked by prayer; His goodwill often finds expression in miracles--that is, in the suspending or reversing of the general laws which He has Himself laid down for the regulation of the universe and human destinies. He is inscrutable and incomprehensible; yet to be deceived as to the nature of His being is the greatest of all sins against His majesty. The goal of the religious life is personal communion with Him, the intuitive apprehension and spontaneous acceptance of His will, the Beatific Vision of His excellencies. But this state of blessedness cannot be reached by mere self-discipline; the prayers, the meditations, the good works of the isolated and uninstructed individual, can only serve to condone a state of irremediable ignorance. The avenue to knowledge of Him lies through faith; and faith means the unquestioning acceptance of the twofold revelation of Himself which He has given in the Scriptures and in the tradition of the Church. The two revelations are in effect reduced to one by the statement that only the Church is competent to give an authoritative exposition of the sacred writings. Upon the Church hangs the welfare of the individual and the world. Without participation in her sacraments the individual would be eternally cut off from God; without her prayers the tide of evil forces would no longer be held in check by recurring acts of miraculous intervention, but would rise irresistibly and submerge the human race. A society charged with these tremendous duties, the only organ of the Divine will and affording the only assurance of salvation, must obviously be superior to all mundane powers. It would be monstrous if her teaching were modified, if her powers of self-government were restricted, to suit the ambitions or the so-called common sense of a lay ruler. The Church stands to the State in the relation of the head to the members, of the soul to the body, of the sun to the moon. The State exists to provide the material foundations of the Christian society, to protect the Church, to extend her sphere and to constrain those who rebel against her law. In a sense the State is ordained by God, but only in the sense of being a necessary condition for the existence of a Christian Commonwealth. Logically the State should be the servant of the Church, acting with delegated powers under her direction. But theories, however logical, must come to terms with facts, or vanish into the limbo of chimeras. The power of the Hildebrandine Church was subject to serious limitations. On certain questions of importance the national hierarchies were inclined to side with the State against the Pope; and thus, for example, the claims of the Curia to tax the clergy, and to override the rights of ecclesiastical patrons, were restricted at one time or another by concordats, or by secular legislation such as the English statutes of Provisors and Praemunire. Where the whole of the clerical order presented a solid front, it was sometimes possible to make good a claim against which there was much to be said on grounds of common sense; as, for instance, benefit of clergy,--the exclusive jurisdiction of the Church over criminous ecclesiastics,--which was enforced even against a sovereign so powerful and so astute as Henry II of England. But, in the last resort, the pretensions of the Church depended for success upon a public opinion which was hard to move. Not because the average layman was critical or anti-clerical, but because he was illogical and unimaginative, he remained cold to any programme of reform which could only be justified by long trains of deductive reasoning; his natural impulse was against violent innovations, and he felt rather than argued that the State, as the ultimate guarantee of social order, must be maintained even at some cost of theological consistency. Until he could be convinced that high moral issues and his own salvation were at stake, it was useless or dangerous to excommunicate his king and to lay his country under interdict. For want of lay support the Church failed to make good such important claims as those of immunity from national taxation and of jurisdiction in cases of commercial contract. More striking still, she was prevented from establishing the Inquisition in states where that tribunal would have found no lack of work. Still, in spite of clerical divisions and lay conservatism, "the freedom of the Church" was an ideal which commanded universal homage; and it was necessary for the most obstinate opponent of ecclesiastical privilege to make it clear that his policy involved no real attack upon this freedom. Otherwise, defeat was certain. Thrice in two hundred years the cry for freedom was raised against the Holy Roman Empire; and three prolonged conflicts ended in the discomfiture of the most resolute and resourceful statesmen who ever held that office-Henry IV (1056-1105), Henry V (1106-1125), Frederic Barbarossa (1152-1190), and Frederic II (1212-1250). In the first of these great conflicts the question at issue was the reformation of the national clergy and their emancipation from secular authority. Henry IV paid for his assertion of prerogative and custom, both by the ignominious though illusory surrender at Canossa (1077), and by the unparalleled humiliations of his latter days, when he was compelled, as the prisoner of his own son, not only to abdicate but also to sign a confession of infamous offences against religion and morality. Henry V, reviving the plans of the father whom he had betrayed and entrapped, was reduced through very weariness to conclude the Concordat of worms (1122)--a renunciation which only ended in something less than absolute defeat for the Empire, because the imperial concessions were interpreted with more regard to the letter than the spirit. In the second struggle the immediate issue was the freedom of papal elections, the ultimate question whether Pope or Emperor should shape the Church's policy; and Frederic Barbarossa was compelled, after a schism of seventeen years' duration to surrender claims which dated from the time of Charles the Great, and to make peace with Alexander III, whom he had sworn that he would never recognise (Treaty of Anagni, 1176). Henry VI, the son of Barbarossa, when he joined the kingdom of Sicily to the Empire through his marriage with Constance, the heiress of the Norman throne, sowed the seed of a new conflict, and bequeathed to Frederic II the perilous ideal of an Italy united under a Hohenstauffen despotism. Ecclesiastical freedom now became a euphemism for the preservation of the temporal power, and for the project of a federal Italy, owning allegiance to a papal suzerain. Frederic II, who came nearer to success in a more far-reaching policy than any of his predecessors, was worn out by the steady alternation of successes with reverses, and left his sons and grandson to reap the bitter harvest of a failure which he had barely realised. The moral issue dwindles to smaller proportions in each successive stage of this titanic duel between the titular representatives of State and Church; and from first to last the Papacy depended largely upon allies who were pursuing their own objects in the Church's name. The German princes, the Normans of Lower Italy and Sicily, the Lombard communes, all contributed in varying degrees to the defeat of the Henries and the Frederics. The German princes brought Henry IV to his knees at two critical moments in the reign; the majority of them held obstinately aloof from the Italian wars of Barbarossa; and Frederic II, who endeavoured to buy their neutrality by extravagant concessions, found himself confronted by German rebels and pretenders towards the close of his career (1246-1250), when the Italian situation appeared to be changing in his favour. The Normans intervened more than once in the Wars of Investitures to shelter a fugitive Pope or rescue Rome from German armies; the Lombards, as we shall relate elsewhere, were the chief barrier between Rome and Frederic Barbarossa, between Frederic II and Germany. Charles of Anjou was the latest and most efficient champion of the papal cause; and he lives in history as the forerunner of the conscienceless and shameless statesmanship of the Renaissance epoch. And yet, when we have allowed for the utility of these alliances, the question remains why radical communes, rebellious feudatories, and adventurers in search of kingdoms, found it worth their while to enlist in the service of the Church, and to endure the restrictions which such a service inevitably entailed. The true strength of the Church lay in her moral influence. It was a handful, even among the clergy, who devoted themselves heart and soul to the ideal of society which she set up. Still her ideal was in possession of the field; it might be subjected to a negative and sceptical criticism by an isolated philosopher, by a heretical sect, or by an orthodox layman smarting under priestly arrogance; but when the forces of the Church were mobilised, the indifferent majority stood aside and shrugged their shoulders. The way of Rome might not be the way of Christ; but if the Apostolic misinterpreted the lessons of Scripture and tradition, from whom could a better rule of life be learned? An erring Church was better than no Church at all. In the thirteenth century, when papal extortions were a subject of complaint in every European state, Frederic II put himself forward as the champion of the common interest, and appealed from the Pope to the bar of public opinion. It was his turn today, he said with perfect truth; the turn of kings and princes would come when the Emperor was overthrown. His eloquence made some impression; but his fellow-sovereigns could not or would not prevent the Pope from taxing their clergy and recruiting their subjects for the Holy War against the secular chief of Christendom, the head and front of whose offending was that he opposed the interests of the State to the so-called rights of the Church. It is no mere accident that the heyday of sacerdotal pretensions coincided with the golden age of the religious orders; that the Hildebrandine policy took shape when the Cluniac movement was overflowing the borders of France into all the adjacent countries; that Alexander III was a younger contemporary of St. Bernard, and that the death-grapple between Empire and Papacy followed hard upon the foundation of the mendicant fraternities by St. Francis and St. Dominic. The monks and the friars were the militia of the Church. Not that the medieval orders devoted themselves to a political propaganda with the zeal and system of the Jesuits in the sixteenth century. The serviceswhich the Cluniacs and the Cistercians, the Dominicans and the Franciscans, rendered to the militant Papacy were more impalpable and indirect. From time to time, it is true, they were entrusted with important missions--to raise money, to preach a crusade, to influence monarchs, to convert or to persecute the heretic; St. Bernard, the founder of Clairvaux and the incarnation of the monastic spirit, was for twenty years (1133-1153) the oracle to whom Pope after Pope resorted for direction. But even in St. Bernard's time, and even when the reigning Pope was his nominee or pupil, there was a certain divergence between the theories for which he stood and the actual policy of the Curia. It was, for example, against his better judgment that he organised the Second Crusade in deference to the express commands of Pope Eugenius III; and on the other hand, the Papacy preserved towards the pioneers of scholasticism an attitude which he thought unduly lenient. Rome was more broad-minded than Clairvaux, more alive to realities, more versed in statecraft and diplomacy; while Clairvaux fostered a nobler conception of the spiritual life, and was more consistent in withholding the Church from secular entanglements. The qualities which made the monk invaluable as a leader of public opinion also made him an incalculable and intractable factor in political combinations. He was most useful as the missionary and the embodiment of an ecclesiastical idea which, unconsciously perhaps but none the less emphatically, attacked the foundations of the secular State. The founders of the great orders, whether they found their inspiration (with St. Bernard) in the Rule of Benedict, or rather strove (with St. Francis) to follow literally the commission imposed by Christ upon his twelve Apostles, returned upon a past in which the State and Caesar were nothing to the Christian but "the powers that be." The monastic or mendicant order, designed as an exemplar of the Christian society, was a voluntary association governed by the common conscience, as expressed in the will of representative chapters and an elected superior. The absolute obedience of the monk or friar was self-imposed, the consequence of a vow only accepted from one who had felt the inner call and had tested it in a severe probation. In virtue of his self-surrender he became dead to the world, a citizen of the kingdom of heaven upon earth. No secular duties could be lawfully demanded of him; he had migrated from the jurisdiction of the State to that of God. The religious orders claimed the right to be free from all subjection save that of the Church, as represented by the Pope. Though far from holding the State a superfluous invention--they regarded it as a Divine instrument to curb the lawless passions of the laity--they demanded that all other ministers of God, from the archbishop to the humblest clerk in orders, should enjoy the same exemption as themselves on condition of accepting the same threefold obligation--Poverty, Obedience, Chastity. It was consequently in the religious orders that the chief movements for reforming the medieval clergy found their warmest partisans; and the same school supplied the theoretical basis for each new claim of privilege. The Orders were the salt of the Church, so long as they preserved the spirit of their founders. But they were also responsible for the insanely logical pretensions which characterise the Church's policy in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; and it was with reason that Wycliffe, the greatest medieval critic of the sacerdotal theory, attacked the Mendicant Orders as typifying all that was worst in the hierarchy of his age. Naturally enough the monastic spirit has been often treated as an absolute antithesis to the lay statesmanship which it so bitterly opposed. But in fact they sprang from the same root of a discontent, which was wholly reasonable, with the anarchical conditions of the early Middle Ages. The religious reformer, stunned and bewildered by the wrong-doing of men and the manifest inequity of fortune, argued that a world so irredeemably bad must be regarded as an ordeal for the faith of the believer. Man was afflicted in this life that he might realise the supreme value of the life to come. He was surrounded by evil that he might learn to hate it. He was placed in society that he might school himself to control the immoral and non-moral instincts which society calls into play. The political reformers, at least in their more disinterested moods, were animated by the same belief in an all-wise Providence, but drew different deductions from it. The God who created man as a social being could not have intended that society should remain perpetually unjust. He must have intended that it should approximate, however imperfectly, to the idea of justice which He has revealed. The State is a divine institution, and therefore man must do his best to reform the State. The lay ruler, as the representative of justice, is God's steward and even in a sense His priest. Frederic II, whom his contemporaries denounced as an apostate and blasphemer, only expressed in a particularly daring form the tradition of medieval royalty when he styled himself, or allowed his flatterers to style him, the Corner-Stone of the Church, the Vicar of God, the New Messiah. Similarly, the heretics and rationalists, whose criticism was even more dangerous to the Church than the open violence of the State, had more in common with their opponents than we should infer from the duration and the character of the disputes which they provoked. In the background of medieval history, and developing _pari passu_ with the feud of Papacy and Empire, there was a war, of arguments and persecution, against free thought, in which the religious Orders figured as the protagonists of orthodoxy. Berengar of Tours, who challenged the doctrine of transubstantiation and so endangered the basis of the sacerdotal theory, lived in the age when a regenerated Papacy was arming for the war on secularism; it was Hildebrand himself who pronounced the final sentence on the first of the heresiarchs. The age of Henry V and of the Concordat of Worms saw the rise of a medieval Puritanism in Languedoc and Flanders. Between the Concordat of Worms and the schism of Frederic Barbarossa lies the age of Abelard,--the metaphysical free-lance who made philosophy the talk of the street-corner and the marketplace,--and of Arnold of Brescia, who demanded that the Church should be reduced to apostolic poverty. To the youthful days of Frederic II belong the Albigensian Crusade, the futile campaign of authority against Averroes and Aristotle, the heresy-hunts of volunteer inquisitors in Italy and Germany. While the same Emperor was trying conclusions with Innocent IV, the Papal Inquisition became a permanent branch of the ecclesiastical executive; and the Mendicant Orders, who supplied the inquisitors, simultaneously took upon themselves the harder task of converting the universities from the cult of Aristotle to a belief in the Christian scholasticism formulated by Albertus Magnus and Aquinas. The weapons of this interminable and many-sided controversy were as rude as the age which forged them: on the one side, coarse invective and irreverent paradox; on the other, scandalous imputations, spiritual censures, the sword, the prison, and the stake. For the medieval attitude towards heterodoxy was unflinching and uncompromising. To remain sceptical when the Church had defined was as the sin of witchcraft or idolatry. The existence of the rebel was an insult to the Most High, a menace to the salvation of the simple; he was a diseased limb of the body politic, calling for sharp surgery. And yet these nonconformists were anything but unbelievers. The free-thinkers of the schools, apart from a few obscure eccentrics, only desired to find a rational basis for the common creed or to eliminate from it certain articles which, on moral grounds and grounds of history, they stigmatised as mere interpolations. The offence of Berengar was that he attacked a dogma which had been an open question within the last two hundred years; of Abelard, that he offered his own theories on some points in regard to which the orthodox tradition was mute or inconsistent. As for the sectaries, their offence usually consisted in exaggerating one or other of three doctrines which the Church acknowledged in a more moderate shape. Either, like the Poor Men of Lyons, they desired that the Church should return to primitive simplicity; or, like the Albigeois, they harped upon the Pauline antithesis between the spirit and the flesh, pushed to extremes the monastic contempt for earthly ties, and exalted the Christian Devil to the rank of an evil deity, supreme in the material universe. Or, finally, with Joachim of Corazzo and the Fraticelli, they developed the cardinal idea of the more orthodox mystics, the belief in the inner light, and taught that the letter killeth but the spirit giveth life. In short, all were guilty, not of repudiating Christianity, but of interpreting the Christian doctrine in a sense forbidden by authority. Beneath all differences there was unity; behind the controversy, agreement. There are no feuds more bitter, no recriminations more unjust, than those of men who look at the same faith from different sides. In justice to the official Church it must be remembered that, whether she had to deal with kings or heretics, the peculiar nature of her power forced her to work through instruments which she was powerless to keep in hand, and in which she had placed her confidence with the temerity of desperation. There can be no greater contrast than that between the Hildebrandine programme and the measures by which it was incompletely realised. To enforce the celibacy of the clergy the mobs of Milan and the South-German cities were commissioned to rabble married priests. To make an end of simony the German princes were encouraged in a policy of provincial separatism, a premium was placed on perjured accusations, and a son was suborned to betray his father. That the tide of the Albigensian heresy might be stemmed, Innocent III launched against the brilliant civilisation of Languedoc the brutal and avaricious feudalism of the North. Sometimes the error was recognised after it had been committed. But no experience could cure the official Church of the delusion that every volunteer must be credited with the purest motives until the contrary is proved. The same ignorance of human nature characterised her methods of administrative routine. Even if, for the sake of argument, we admit the truth of the principles which were alleged to justify the Papal Inquisition, or the censorship of the bishops' courts, or the appellate jurisdiction of the Curia, the fact remains that these institutions were so organised and so conducted that the most flagrant abuses were only to be expected. A system which, if staffed with saints, would have been barely tolerable, became iniquitous when it was committed to the charge of petty officials, ill-paid, ill- supervised, and ill-selected. To a great extent the crimes and follies of the medieval Church were those of a complex bureaucracy in a half-civilised state. Such a system fails through being too ambitious; the founders have neither the technical experience requisite for a satisfactory arrangement of details, nor the subordinates who can repair the defects of the machine by the efficiency and honesty with which they tend it; and yet because the aim is grandiose, because the supporters of the scheme proclaim their readiness and their capacity to regenerate the State and human nature, they are hailed as the prophets of a new order; they are allowed to plead the excellence of their motives in extenuation of all and any means; and they end by creating new evils without appreciably diminishing the old. But if the Church as a scheme of government was a doubtful blessing to those who gave her their allegiance, the Church as a home of spiritual life was invested with a grandeur and a charm which were and are apparent, even to spectators standing at the outer verge of her domain. We may compare the religion of the Middle Ages to an alpine range, on the lower slopes of which the explorer finds himself entangled in the mire and undergrowth of pathless thickets, oppressed by a still and stifling atmosphere, shut off from any view of the sky above or the pleasant plains beneath. Ascending through this sheltered and ignoble wilderness, he comes to free and windswept pastures, to the white solitude of virgin snowfields, to brooding glens and soaring peaks robed in the light or darkness of a mystery which he is as little able to define as to resist. Far below him, illimitably vast and yet infinitely little, extends the prospect of the lower levels which, whether beautiful or sordid, are too remote to seem a part of the new world in which he finds himself, and strike his senses only as a foil and a background to the severer hues, the more majestic lines and contours of the snow-capped mountain-ranges. On such heights of moral exaltation the medieval mystics built their tabernacles and sang their _Benedicite_, calling all nature to bear witness with them that God in His heaven was very near, and all well with a universe which existed only to fulfil His word. It was a noble optimism; and those who embraced it are the truest poets of the Middle Ages, none the less poets because they expressed their high imaginings in life instead of language. Philosophers they neither were nor sought to be; the temperament which feels the mystery of things most keenly is not that which probes into the how and why; but the world of their dreams was at least superior to ours in being founded upon an ever-present and overwhelming reverence for the truth behind the veil. The vision of the mountain-peaks, however clouded, was worth the toil of the ascent; and there was reason in the docility with which the vulgar bowed themselves before the forms and ceremonies and rules of outward conduct which the visible Church prescribed; since they believed that so they might find the way, in this life or a better, to that higher rule of service, exemplified in the finest characters of their experience, which as Scripture said and the saints testified was perfect life and freedom. It is no wonder that they were disposed to go further still; to stake their earthly fortunes and the future of society on the bidding of those among the elect who from time to time descended among them, like Moses from the mountain, with transfigured faces and the message of a new revelation. And if the result was sometimes calamitous or pitiable, there were compensating gains; a matter-of-fact prosperity is not altogether preferable to enlistment in the forlorn hope of idealism. Had medieval society been more consistently secular and sceptical, it might have been more prosperous, more stable, the nursery of more balanced natures and the theatre of more orderly careers. But there would have been the less to learn from the ethical and political conceptions of the age. What appeals to us in the medieval outlook upon life is, first, the idea of mankind as a brotherhood transcending racial and political divisions, united in a common quest for truth, filled with the spirit of mutual charity and mutual helpfulness, and endowed with a higher will and wisdom than that of the individuals who belong to it; secondly, a profound belief in the superiority of right over might, of spirit over matter, of the eternal interests of humanity over the ambitions and the passions of the passing hour. Without Christianity these articles of faith could scarcely have passed into the common heritage of men; and, without the Church, it is in the last degree improbable that Christianity would have survived that age of semi-barbarism in which the foundations of the modern world were laid. VII THE MEDIEVAL STATE Between the years 1100 and 1500 A.D. the state-system of Europe passed through changes amounting in their sum-total to a revolution. But the changes which endured, whether they affected political boundaries or constitutions, came about by slow instalments. At no stage of the development was there any general cataclysm such as had followed the dissolution of the Frankish Empire, and was to follow the advent of Napoleon. New ideas matured slowly in the medieval mind; by the twelfth century the forces making for social stability had grown until they balanced those of disruption; and it was only in the age of the Renaissance that the equilibrium was again destroyed. In the interim the vested interests of property and privilege, of religious and secular authority, presented a firm front to the anarchists and radicals. The Jacquerie in France and Wat Tyler's followers in England, the Albigeois of Languedoc and the Hussites of Bohemia, were overwhelmed by armies of conservatives spontaneously banded together in defence of the established order;--while this spirit prevailed among the ruling classes, there was little fear that a revolution of any kind would be effected by a sudden stroke. As in domestic politics, so too in international relations, these solidly established states were habitually inert, strong in defence, but irresolute and sluggish in attack. The age produced no conqueror to sweep through Europe like a whirlwind, because the implements of conquest on the grand scale had either been destroyed or had not yet come into existence. The peoples of Europe had emerged from the nomadic stage of culture, and they were not yet organised as so many armed camps. The feudal host was hard to mobilise, harder still to keep in the field, and at the best an unmanageable weapon; a standing army of mercenary soldiers would have called for taxation heavier and more regular than any ruler dared to demand, or any people could afford to pay. The wars of the Middle Ages have therefore, with few exceptions, a stamp of futility and pettiness. Ambitious enterprises were foredoomed to failure, and powers apparently annihilated by an invading host recovered strength as soon as it had rolled away. In short, on the European and on the national stage alike, medieval politics meant the eternal recurrence of the same problems and disputes, the eternal repetition of the same palliatives and the same plan of campaign. It is true that political science made more progress than the art of war. But substantial reforms of institutions were effected only in a few exceptional communities--in Sicily under the Normans and Frederic II, in England under Henry II and Edward I, in France under Philip Augustus and his successors. Even in these cases the progress usually consists in elaborating some primitive expedient, in developing some accepted principal to the logical conclusion. The more audacious innovators, a Montfort, an Artevelde, a Frederic II, were tripped up and overthrown as soon as they stepped beyond the circle of conventional ideas. It will therefore suffice for our present purpose to state in the barest outline the leading events of international politics, and the chief advances in the theory of government, which signalised the Middle Ages. Extensive diplomatic combinations, though continually planned, seldom came to the birth and very rarely led to any notable result. The existence of some common interests was recognised; no power viewed with indifference any movement threatening the existence of the Papacy, which represented religious unity, or of the crusading principalities which formed the outer bulwark of Western Christendom; the principle of the Balance of Power, though not yet crystallised into a dogma, was so far understood that the inordinate growth of any single power alarmed the rest, even though they stood in no imminent danger of absorption. Therefore whenever the Empire gained the upper hand over the Church, whenever a new horde of Asiatics appeared on the horizon, whenever France seemed about to become a province of England, or Italy a province of France, the alarm was sounded by the publicists, and there ensued a general interchange of views between the monarchies; treaty was piled on treaty, alliance parried with alliance, as industriously as at any time in modern history. But the peoples seldom moved, and the agitation of the ruling classes effervesced in words. It is altogether exceptional to find two of the greater states uniting for the humiliation of a third, as England and the Empire united against Philip Augustus of France. Few medieval battles were so far-reaching in their consequences as Bouvines (1214), to which England owes her Magna Carta, Germany the magnificent and stormy autumn of the Hohenstauffen dynasty, France the consolidation of her long-divided provinces under an absolutist monarchy. At ordinary times there were in medieval Europe two groups of states with separate interests and types of polity. They were divided from one another by a broad belt of debatable territory, extending from Holland to the coast of Provence--the northern lands of the Carolingian Middle Kingdom. To the west lay the monarchies of the Iberian peninsula, of France, England, and Scotland; connected by their interest in the trade of the Atlantic seaboard, by a common civilisation in which the best elements were of French origin, but most of all by their preoccupation with the political questions arising out of England's claim to a good half of the territory of France. The rivalry of these two great powers, which dated in a rudimentary form from the Norman Conquest of England, became acute when Henry II, heir in his mother's right to England and Normandy, in that of his father to Anjou and Touraine, married Eleanor the duchess of Aquitaine and the divorced wife of Louis VII (1152). Developing from one stage to another, it alternately made and unmade the fortunes of either nation for four hundred years, until Charles VII of France brought his wars of reconquest to a triumphant conclusion by crushing, in Guyenne, the last remnants of the English garrison and of the party which clung to the English allegiance (1453). In the interval there had been sharp vicissitudes of failure and success: the expulsion of the English by Philip Augustus from Normandy, Maine, Anjou, Touraine, and Poitou; the capture of Calais and recovery of Aquitaine by Edward III and the Black Prince; the almost complete undoing of their work by Charles V and Bertrand Duguesclin; the union of the French and English crowns (1420), resulting from the victories of Henry V and the murderous feud of the Burgundian and Armagnac factions; the apparition of Jeanne d'Arc as the prophetess of French nationalism, and the regeneration of the French monarchy by a new race of scientific statesmen. All the West had been shaken by this secular duel. For Scotland it spelled independence, for Navarre the loss of independence; in Castile it set on the throne the new dynasty of Trastamare; to Aragon the result was the appearance of a new rival in Mediterranean commerce, the frustration of hopes which had centred round Provence and Languedoc, the imperilling of others which were fixed on Italy. With each successive triumph of French over English arms, the influence of France penetrated farther to the south and east; and by the marriages or military successes of princes of the French blood-royal, new territories were joined to the sphere of the western nations. Under St. Louis the counties of Toulouse and Provence became French appanages; his brother, Charles of Anjou, added to Provence the derelict kingdom of Naples; and Sicily only escaped from the rule of the Angevins by submission to the House of Aragon. After the victories of Charles V the Valois dukes of Burgundy, supported by the influence now of France and now of England, sketched the outlines of a new Middle Kingdom, stretching from the Jura to the Zuyder Zee, and chiefly composed of lands which had hitherto been attached to the Empire. [Illustration: France] The eastern group of nations is widely different in character. It includes a greater number of states, even if we omit from the reckoning the great German principalities which were, by the end of the Middle Ages, all but sovereign powers; and it is less homogeneous in culture. The Empire forms the centre of the group, and round the Empire the minor states are grouped like satellites: on the west, Savoy and Provence; south of the Alps, Venice, the Papal States, and the Kingdom of Sicily-- the last-named independent until 1194, and the private property of the Hohenstauffen from that date till 1268; on the east the kingdoms of Hungary and Bohemia and Poland, and the Russian principalities; on the north the three Scandinavian powers. Large as it is, this group only includes one state of the first rank; for the Norman kingdom, though a masterpiece of constructive statesmanship, was important in European politics rather as a second and a makeweight than as a principal, and would have been more admired than feared but for the accidents which made the Norman alliance so valuable to the Holy See. When Naples and Sicily were held by German Emperors, the Empire towered like a colossus above the states of Scandinavia, the Slav and the Magyar. But even without this support, the Empire might have continued to dominate two- thirds of Europe, if the imperial resources had not been swallowed up by the wars of Italy, and if the Emperors who came after the interregnum had given the national interest priority over those of their own families. In fact, however, the mischief of the Mezentian union between Italy and Germany survived their separation; as in western so in central Europe, the course of political development was largely determined by the persistent and disastrous efforts of a Teutonic to absorb a Latin nationality. But whereas the English attacks on France were directly responsible for the growth of a French national state, the failure of Germany left Italy but half emancipated from the foreigner, and more disintegrated than she had been at any period in the past. And whereas England, by her failure, was reduced for a while to a secondary rank among the nations, the purely German Empire of the fifteenth century was still the leading power east of the Rhine. This was partly the result of calamities to neighbouring nations which could neither be foreseen or obviated. While Western Europe was shielded, in the later Middle Ages, from the inroads of alien races, Eastern Europe felt the impact of the last migratory movements emanating from Central Asia and the Moslem lands. In the thirteenth century the advance guards of the Mongol Empire destroyed the medieval kingdom of Poland, and reduced the Russian princes to dependence upon the rulers of the Golden Horde. In the fifteenth, the advance of the Turks along the Danube completed the ruin of the Magyar state, already weakened by the feuds of aristocratic factions. But, apart from these favourable circumstances, the resources of Germany were irresistible when they could be concentrated. Twice after the Great Interregnum the integrity of the Empire was threatened by the Bohemian kingdom. On the first occasion, when Ottocar II had extended his power into the German lands between Bohemia and the Adriatic, he was overthrown by Rudolf of Hapsburg at the battle of the Marchfeld (1278); and a new Hapsburg principality was formed out of the reconquered lands to guard the south-east frontier against future incursions of Czech or Magyar. On the second, when the Hussite levies carried their devastations and their propaganda into all the neighbouring provinces of the Empire (1424-1434), crusade after crusade was launched against Bohemia until the heretics, uniformly victorious in the field, were worn out by the strain of their exertions against superior numbers, and all the more moderate spirits recognised that such triumphs must end in the ruin and depopulation of Bohemia. The case was the same in the Baltic, where the struggle with Danish ambitions was left to the princes and the free towns. Waldemar II (1202-1241), who had planned to revive the Scandinavian Empire of the great Canute, the conqueror of England, saw his ambitious edifice crumble to pieces while it was still in the making; even the Union of Kalmar (1397), by which the crowns of Norway and Sweden and Denmark were vested in a single dynasty, could not save the rich prize of the Baltic trade from falling into German hands. Germany, even when ill-governed and a prey to the ambitions of provincial dynasties, was still _grande chose et terrible_, as more than one political adventurer learned to his cost. The energy, the intelligence and the national spirit of a great people made good all the errors of statesmen and all the defects of institutions. [Illustration: Holy Roman Empire under Frederick Barbarossa] Late in the fifteenth century the Germans were mortified to discover that, although a nation, they had not become a state. They found that the centre of political power had shifted westward, that the destinies of Europe were now controlled by the French, the English and the Spaniards. These nations had perfected a new form of autocracy, more vigorous, more workmanlike in structure, than any medieval form of government. Germany in the meanwhile had clung to all that was worst and feeblest in the old order; her monarchy, and the institutions connected with it, had been reduced to impotence. The same process of decay had operated in the minor states of the eastern group. In Scandinavia, in Hungary, in the Slavonic lands, the tree of royal power was enveloped and strangled by the undergrowth of a bastard feudalism, by the territorial power of aristocracies which, under cover of administrative titles, converted whole provinces into family estates and claimed over their tenants the divine right of unlimited and irresponsible sovereignty. To investigate all the reasons for the political backwardness of these eastern peoples would carry us far afield. But one reason lies on the surface. Outside the free towns they had produced no middle class; and their towns were neither numerous nor wealthy enough to be important in national politics. They were not even represented in the national assemblies. In consequence the sovereigns of these states were obliged to govern by the help of aristocratic factions; to purchase recognition by the grant of larger and larger privileges; and for the sake of power to strip themselves of the resources which alone could give their power any meaning. But good government in the Middle Ages was only another name for a public-spirited and powerful monarchy. Such monarchies existed in the western states; they rested upon the shoulders of a middle class of small landowners and wealthy merchants, too weak to defend themselves in a state of nature, a war of all against all, but collectively strong enough to overawe the forces of anarchy. It may seem strange that this class, which desired strong government for purely practical and material reasons, should uniformly have accepted hereditary kingship as the one form of government practicable in a large community. Even where there was the warrant of tradition for recourse to free election, the better governed states preferred that the supreme power should pass automatically from father to son. The explanation is to be found in the motives which prompted the Athenians, under widely different circumstances, to choose their magistrates by lot. The grand danger, to be avoided at all costs, was that a disputed succession would leave the daily work of government in abeyance and open the door for destructive party-conflicts. If continuity and stability of government were assured, all would go well. The work of a ruler was not supposed to demand exceptional abilities; he existed to do justice, to secure every man in the possession of his own, to apply the law without respect of persons. For these purposes a high sense of duty was the main requisite. The wisest heads of the community would be at the king's service for the asking; he could hardly go wrong if he heard attentively and weighed impartially the counsel which they had to offer. Admitting that he would be all the more efficient for possessing some practical capacity, some experience of great affairs, was it not probable that a man of average intelligence, who had been trained from his youth to fill the kingly office, would acquit himself better than some self-made adventurer of genius, who had paid more attention to the arts of winning place and popularity than to the work that would be thrown upon him when he reached the goal of his ambition? When we further recollect that hereditary kingship was sanctioned by use and wont, was the most intelligible symbol of national unity, and possessed as of right all the prerogatives which were necessary for effective government, it is no wonder that even those to whom doctrines of popular sovereignty and a social contract were perfectly familiar acquiesced contentedly in a form of government which the modern world regards as unreasonable and essentially precarious. But a monarchy, however energetic, however public-spirited, was powerless until based on the firm foundations of an organised executive, an expert judicature, and an assembly representative in fact if not in form. No medieval state was so uniformly fortunate as Germany in finding kings of exceptional character and talent. Yet Germany, from the beginning to the end of the Middle Ages, was badly governed. This was not due solely to the circumstance that the German monarchy was in principle elective. It is true that the German crown was often purchased by ill-advised concessions; but a greater source of weakness was the inability of the Emperors to make the most of the prerogatives which they retained, and which the nation desired that they should exercise. Imperial justice was dilatory and inefficient because the imperial law court followed the Emperor; because the professional was liable to be overruled by the feudal element among the judges; because the rules of procedure were uncertain and the decisions based not upon a scientific jurisprudence but on provincial custom. The Diet of the Empire was weak, both in deliberation and as a legislature; because the towns and the lesser nobility had no respect for resolutions in framing which they had not been consulted. The executive was necessarily inefficient or unpopular; because the highest offices were claimed as a right by princes who, if laymen, owed their rank to the accident of birth or, if ecclesiastics, could only be good servants of the State by becoming unworthy servants of the Church. The Emperor who confided in his natural counsellors was ill-served; and if he relied upon new men, selected solely for their loyalty and qualifications, he incurred the reproach of tyranny or submission to unworthy favourites. The evils thus rooted in the German constitution had existed at an earlier date in France and England. To eradicate them was the object of the constitutional changes devised by the Plantagenets in England, by the later Capetian kings in France. And in essentials there is a strong likeness between the work of the two dynasties. But in England the policy of construction was earlier adopted, proceeded more rapidly, and produced an edifice which was more durable because established on a broader basis. The first stage of the policy was to organise the administration of those parts of each kingdom which, not having been absorbed in privileged fiefs, were still subject to the royal justice and contributory to the royal revenue. Owing to the foresight of William the Conqueror, there were few such fiefs in England; only in two palatine earldoms (Durham and Cheshire), on the Welsh and northern borders, and on the lands of a few prelates, was the king permanently cut off from immediate contact with the subject population. With these exceptions the face of England was divided into shires, and administered by sheriffs who were nominees of the Crown, dismissable at pleasure. The shires again were divided into hundreds governed under the sheriff by subordinate officials. But for the most important duties of executive routine the sheriff alone was responsible; he collected the revenue, he led the militia, he organised the Watch and Ward and Hue and Cry which were the medieval equivalents for a constabulary; finally, he presided over the shire moot in which the freeholders gathered at stated intervals to declare justice and receive it. The shires were periodically visited by Justices in Eyre (analogous to the Frankish _missi_) who heard complaints against the sheriff, inspected his administration, tried criminals, and heard those civil suits (particularly cases of freehold) which were deemed sufficiently important to be reserved for their decision. These itinerant commissioners were selected from the staff of the royal law court (_Curia Regis_), a tribunal which, in the thirteenth century, was subdivided into the three Courts of Common Law and acquired a fixed domicile at Westminster. The shire courts and the royal court were alike bound by the statute-law, so far as it extended; but, in the larger half of their work, they had no guides save the local custom, as expounded by the good men of the shire court, and the decisions recorded on the rolls of the royal court. From the latter source was derived the English Common Law, a system of precedents which, in spite of curious subtleties and technicalities, remains the most striking monument of medieval jurisprudence. In and after the fourteenth century it was supplemented by Equity, the law of the Chancellor's court, to which those suitors might repair whose grievances could not be remedied at Common Law, but were held worthy of special redress by the king in his character of a patron and protector of the defenceless. Lastly, on the fiscal side, the work of the sheriffs and of the judges was supervised by the Exchequer, a chamber of audit and receipt, to which the sheriffs rendered a half-yearly statement, and in which were prepared the articles of inquiry for the itinerant justices. Originally a branch of the Curia Regis and a tribunal as well as a treasury, the Exchequer always remains in close connection with the judicial system, since one of the three Courts of Common Law is primarily concerned with suits which affect the royal revenue. Such was the English scheme of administration, and _mutatis mutandis_ it was reproduced in France. Here the royal demesne, small in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, was enormously enlarged by the annexations of Philip Augustus and the later Capets, who brought under their immediate control the larger part of the Angevin inheritance, the great fiefs of Toulouse and Champagne, and many smaller territories. To provide for the government of these acquisitions, there was built up, in the course of the thirteenth century, an administrative hierarchy consisting of provosts, who correspond to the bailiffs of English hundreds, of _baillis_ and _senechaux_ who resemble the English sheriffs, of _enqueteurs_ who perambulate the demesne making inspections and holding sessions in the same manner as the English Justices in Eyre. All these functionaries are controlled, from the time of St. Louis, by the _Chambre des Comptes_ and the _Parlement_, the one a fiscal department, the other a supreme court of first instance and appeal. Within the _Parlement_ there is a distinction between the Courts of Common Law and the _Chambre des Reqeutes_ which deals with petitions by the rules of Equity. The vices of both systems were the same. The local officials were too powerful within their respective spheres; neither inspectors nor royal courts proved adequate as safeguards against corruption and abuses of authority, which were the more frequent because the vicious expedients of farming and selling offices had become an established practice. Otherwise the English system was superior to that of France, particularly in making use for certain purposes of local representatives as an additional check upon the servants of the Crown. The English shire was in fact as well as in law a community with a true corporate character (_communitas_), and possessed a public assembly which was a law court and a local parliament in one. Though the ordinary suitor counted for little, the secondary landowners, united by ties of local sentiment and personal relationship, took a lively interest and an active share in the business of the shire court, upholding the local custom against sheriffs and judges, serving as jurors, as assessors of taxes, as guardians of the peace, and (from the fourteenth century) as petty magistrates. Whether elected by their fellows or the nominees of the Crown, these functionaries were unpaid, and regarded themselves as the defenders of local liberty against official usurpations. In France the district of the _bailli_, and still more that of his subordinate the _prevot_, was an arbitrary creation, without natural unity or corporate sentiment; there was therefore no organised resistance to executive authority, and no reason why the Crown should court the goodwill of the landed gentry. In the lower grades of the Plantagenet system a powerful middle class served a political apprenticeship; under the Capets all power and responsibility were jealously reserved to the professional administrator. In England the next step in constitutional development, the addition to the national assembly of a Third Estate, was brilliantly successful, since the House of Commons was chiefly recruited from families which had long been active partners in local administration. In France the Third Estate, though constantly summoned in the fourteenth century, proved itself politically impotent. Both in France and in England (after 1066) the national assembly began as a feudal council, composed of the prelates and barons who held their lands and dignities directly from the Crown. But that of France was, before the twelfth century, seldom convened, sparsely attended, and generally ignored by the greater feudatories, a conference of partisans rather than a parliament. In England the Great Council of the Norman dynasty, inheriting the prestige and the claims of the Anglo-Saxon Witenagemot, held from the first a more respectable position. Even a William I or a Henry II scrupulously adhered to the principle of consulting his magnates on projects of legislation or taxation; under the sons and grandson of Henry II the pretensions of the assembly were enlarged and more pertinaciously asserted. The difficulties of the Crown were the opportunity of Church and Baronage. The Great Council now claimed to appoint and dismiss the royal ministers; to withhold pecuniary aid and military service until grievances had been redressed; to limit the prerogative, and even to put it in commission when it was habitually abused. In fact the English nobility of this period, thwarted as individuals in their ambitions of territorial power, found in their collective capacity, as members of the opposition in the Council, a new field of enterprise and self-aggrandisement. In France there was no such parliamentary movement, because the fundamental presupposition of success was wanting; because it was hopeless to appeal to public opinion, against a successful and venerated monarchy, in the name of an assembly which had never commanded popular respect. Under these circumstances it was natural that very different consequences should ensue in the two countries, when the reformation of their national assemblies was taken in hand by Edward I and his contemporary, Philippe le Bel. The problem before the two sovereigns was the same--to create an assembly which should be recognised as competent to tax the nation. The solutions which they adopted were closely alike; representatives of the free towns were brought into the Etats Generaux, of free towns and shires into the English Parliament; in each case a Third Estate was grafted upon a feudal council. But the products of the two experiments were different in temper and in destiny. The States General, practically a new creation, neither knew what powers to claim or how to vindicate them. They turned the power of the purse to little or no account; they discredited themselves in the eyes of the nation by giving proofs of feebleness and indecision in the first great crisis with which they were called to deal, the interregnum of anarchy and conspiracy that ensued upon the capture of King John at Poitiers (1356). The result was that the States General, occasionally summoned to endorse the policy or register the decrees of the monarchy, remained an ornamental feature of the French constitution. In England, on the other hand, the Commons accepted the position of auxiliaries to the superior Estates in their contests with the Crown; and the new Parliament pursued the aims and the tactics of the old Great Council, with all the advantages conferred by an exclusive right to grant taxation. For more than two hundred years it was a popular assembly in form and in pretension alone. The most active members of the Lower House were drawn from the lower ranks of the territorial aristocracy; and the Commons were bold in their demands only when they could attack the prerogative behind the shield of a faction quartered in the House of Lords. But the alliance of the Houses transformed the character of English politics. Before Parliament had been in existence for two centuries, it had deposed five kings and conferred a legal title upon three new dynasties; it had indicated to posterity the lines upon which an absolutism could be fought and ruined without civil war; and it had proved that the representative element in the constitution might overrule both monarchy and aristocracy, if it had the courage to carry accepted principles to their logical conclusion. Even in England a medieval Parliament was scarcely a legislature in our sense of the word. Legislation of a permanent and general kind was an occasional expedient. New laws were usually made in answer to the petitions of the Estates; but the laws were framed by the King and the Crown lawyers, and often took a form which by no means expressed the desires of the petitioners. The most important changes in the law of the land were not made, but grew, through the accumulated effect of judicial decisions. The chief function of Parliaments, after the voting of supplies, was to criticise and to complain; to indicate the shortcomings of a policy which they had not helped to make. Except as the guardians of individual liberty they cannot be said to have made medieval government more scientific or efficient. In the fifteenth century the English Commons criticised the government of the Lancastrian dynasty with the utmost freedom; but it was left for Yorkist and Tudor despots to diagnose aright the maladies of the body politic. Englishmen and Frenchmen alike were well advised when, at the close of the Middle Ages, they committed the task of national reconstruction to sovereigns who ignored or circumvented parliamentary institutions. A parliament was admirable as a check or a balance, as a symbol of popular sovereignty, as a school of political intelligence. But no parliament that had been brought together in any medieval state was fitted to take the lead in shaping policy, or in reforming governmental institutions. VIII THE EXPANSION OF EUROPE--THE CRUSADES Neither the internal development of the medieval state nor the international politics of medieval Europe can be explained without constant reference to class distinctions. First, there is a sharp line dividing each state horizontally and marking off the privileged few from the unprivileged many, the rulers from the ruled. Below the line are the traders, artisans, and cultivators of the soil; above it the landlords, the officeholders, and the clergy. If an industrial community, here and there a Milan or a Ghent, succeeds in asserting political independence, the phenomenon is regarded as anomalous and revolutionary; still graver is the head-shaking when mere peasants, like the Swiss, throw off what is called their natural allegiance. And such cases of successful rebellion are rare. It is true that in England, in France, and in the Spanish kingdoms there are privileged towns which receive the right of representation in national assemblies; but this concession to the power of the purse is strictly limited; the spokesmen of the burgesses are not invited to express opinions until asked for subsidies or military aid. Government is the affair of the King and the privileged classes. But again there is a division within the privileged classes, a vertical line of cleavage between the various grades of the lay and clerical aristocracies. The prelate and the baron, the knight and the priest, harmonious enough when it is a question of teaching the unprivileged their place, are rivals for social influence and political power, are committed to conflicting theories of life. The ecclesiastic, enrolled in an order which is recruited from every social grade, makes light of secular rank and titles; he claims precedence over every layman; he holds that it is the business of the Church to command, of princes to obey. The lay feudatory, born into a hereditary caste of soldiers, regards war as the highest vocation for a man of honour, is impatient of priestly arrogance, and believes in his heart that the Church ought not to meddle with politics. It would be a mistake to think of the two privileged classes as always at strife with one another and their social inferiors. But the great wars of Pope and Emperor, the fourteenth-century revolts of French and English peasants, are not events which come suddenly and unexpectedly; each such outbreak is like the eruption of a volcano, a symptom of subterranean forces continually in conflict. The state of peace in medieval society was a state of tension; equilibrium meant the unstable balance of centralising and centrifugal forces. And this was one reason why wars, condemned in the abstract by the Church, were frequently regarded with favour by sober statesmen and by idealists. In more ways than one a successful war might serve to heal or salve the feuds of rival classes. It offered an outlet for the restless and anarchic energies of feudalism; sometimes it ended in conquests with which the landless could be permanently endowed. It might offer new markets to the merchant, a field of emigration to the peasant, a new sphere of influence to the national clergy. Better still, it might evoke common sentiments of patriotism or religion, and create in all classes the consciousness of obligations superior to merely selfish interests. Such statecraft may perhaps seem rude and barbarous to us. The idea of a nation as a system of classes, and of national unity as a condition only to be realised when all classes combine for some purpose extraneous to the everyday life of the nation, is foreign to our thought. We believe that by making war upon class privileges we have given to the State a less divided and more organic character. We maintain that the State exists to realise an immanent ideal, which we express by some such formula as "the greatest good of the greatest number." But we are still so far from a reconciliation of facts with theories that we must hesitate before utterly condemning the medieval attitude towards war. In place of classes we have interests, which are hard to unite and often at open variance. Our statesmen balance one interest against another, and consider war legitimate when it offers great advantages to the interests most worth conciliating. Nor have we yet succeeded in giving to the average citizen so elevated a conception of the purpose for which the State exists that he can think of national policy as something different from national selfishness. It is easier to criticise the enthusiasts who urged medieval nations to undertake "some work of noble note," remote from daily routine, than it is to discover and to preach a nobler enterprise on behalf of a less visionary ideal. It helps us to understand, though it does not compel us to accept, the medieval theory, when we find modern poets and preachers glorifying war as a school of patriotism or of national character. Wars of conquest were less frequent in the Middle Ages than we might expect, and were usually waged on a small scale. Their comparative infrequency, in an age of militarism, must be explained by reference both to current morality and to economic conditions. For an attack upon a Christian power it was necessary that some just cause should be alleged. Public opinion, educated by the Church to regard Western Christendom as a single commonwealth, demanded that some respect should be shown to the ordinary moral code, even in international relations. Furthermore the medieval state, loosely knit together and bristling with isolated fortresses, showed in defeat the tenacious vitality of the lower organisms, and could not be entirely reduced without an expenditure, on the invader's part, which the methods of medieval state-finance were powerless to meet. Edward I failed to conquer the petty kingdom of Scotland; and the French provinces which were ceded to Edward III escaped from his grasp in a few years. The profitable wars were border wars, waged against the disunited tribes of Eastern Europe, or the decadent Moslem states of the Mediterranean. And such wars were of common occurrence, sometimes undertaken by the nationalities most favourably situated for the purpose, sometimes by self-expatriated emigrants in search of a new home. Thanks to the teaching of the Church, a large proportion of the border wars were converted into Crusades for the propagation of the faith or the extermination of the unbeliever or the defence of holy places. Often enough the religious motive was introduced as an afterthought, and gave a thin veil of respectability to operations which it would otherwise have been difficult to excuse. In some cases, however, those who enlisted as the soldiers of the Church were sacrificing their material interests for the good, as they supposed, of their own souls and the Christian commonwealth. There was nothing essentially Christian in this spirit of self-devotion; it had long been epidemic in the Mohammedan world, and accounts for the most successful encroachments of Islam upon Europe and the Eastern Empire. The impulse affected Western Christendom for a relatively short period of time, only once or twice producing movements at all commensurable with those which had emanated from Arabia, Asia Minor, and Africa, and leading to no conquests that can rank in magnitude with the caliphates of Bagdad, Cordova, and Cairo. But the Christian Crusade is in one sense more remarkable than the Mohammedan Jehad. Western Europe had long ago emerged from the nomadic stage, and even the ruling classes of Western Christendom, cosmopolitan as they may seem to us, were attached to their native soil by many ties. If the upheaval was smaller in the West than in the East, the material to be set in motion was more stubborn and inert, the prizes to be held before the eyes of the believer were more impalpable and dubious. There were ventures near at hand for which the Church could find volunteers without the slightest difficulty. But those which she was more particularly bent on forwarding were distant, hazardous, and irksome; the majority of the men who went on her great Crusades had no prospect of any temporal advantage. In the end those enterprises to which she gave her special countenance proved the least successful. It was not in the Eastern Mediterranean but in Spain, in Lower Italy, and in Central Europe, that the frontiers of Western Christendom were permanently advanced. For the historian, however, the failures have an interest not inferior to that of the more productive enterprises. The age of border wars and border colonies begins long before the appearance of a true crusading spirit. In German history the movement of expansion dates from Henry the Fowler; when he captured Brandeburg (928) and annexed the heathen tribes between the Elbe and Oder, he inaugurated a policy of settlement and colonisation which the German Margraves of those regions were to pursue, slowly and methodically for more than two hundred years. In its later stages the policy was sometimes assisted by Crusaders; from the first it made many converts to Christianity, and was furthered by the foundation of frontier sees and churches subject to the German archbishops of Hamburg and Magdeburg. But the men who directed the policy were purely secular and selfish. The greatest of them, Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony from 1142 to 1180, and Albert the Bear, Margrave of Brandenburg from 1134 to 1170, concentrated their energies upon the development and extension of their principalities, exploited the Slavs, plotted against one another and their Christian neighbours, neglected national interests, and frankly made the Church the instrument of their ambitions. Yet in the craft of state-building they showed exceptional sagacity, enlisting as their allies the traders of the Baltic, the peasants of North Germany and the Low Countries. Under their rule and that of their most successful imitators, the Teutonic Knights in Prussia, cities such as Lubeck (founded 1143) and Dantsic (colonised 1308) became centres of German trade and culture; while the open country in the basins of the Elbe and Oder was covered with newly settled villages of German immigrants. The effects of this colonisation have extended far beyond the lands immediately affected and the limits of medieval history. The new colonies laid the foundations of modern Prussia and modern Saxony. To their existence is due the connection of Poland and Bohemia with the state system of medieval Europe, and the consequent division of the Slavonic peoples into a western and an eastern group; the westward expansion of the Russian Empire was forestalled and prevented by these early pioneers of German and of Roman influence. Only less important was the German advance along the Danube, from the river Inn to Vienna and the Hungarian frontier, which was mainly directed by successive heads of the family of Babenberg (971-1246), first as Margraves and afterwards as Dukes of Austria. The Hapsburg power, like that of the Hohenzollerns, is partly an inheritance from medieval frontiersmen who drove a German wedge into the heart of a Slavonic territory. The history of these German colonies often reminds us how naturally such business ventures came to be regarded as a species of crusade. In 1147 a large body of German pilgrims, enlisted for the Second Crusade, were allowed to fulfil their vows by serving against the Slav in the armies of Saxony and Brandenburg. The Babenberg dukes, grown weary of their monotonous work on the Danube, roamed eastward to conquer Egypt or Palestine, westward to exterminate the Albigensians of Languedoc and the infidels in Spain. And when we turn from Germany to the Spanish peninsula, the alliance between religious fervour and commercial enterprise is still more striking. The Christian reconquest of Spain and Portugal began two or three generations before the Council of Clermont; but, from the first, the southward advance against the rulers of Cordova foreshadows the age of the Crusades. In Spain, as in the German marks, the pioneers of Christendom were often ruffianly, and always fought with an eye to the main chance. Among them are mere desperadoes like the Cid Campeador (_d._ 1099), who serves and betrays alternately the Christian and the Moorish causes, founds a principality at the expense of both religions, but is finally claimed as a hero and a martyr by his native Castile, because he has the good fortune to die in her allegiance. Many _conquistadores_ of more reputable character settled down contentedly amongst a tributary and unconverted Moorish population, whose manners and vices they adopted. But in Spain the racial antipathies of Moors and Christians were always aggravated by religious zeal. Several times it seemed as though Spanish Christianity was in danger of complete extinction. In the tenth century two great rulers of Cordova, Abderrahman III and Al Mansur, drove back the Castilians to the northern mountains and raided the inmost recesses of the Christian territories. Somewhat later the Wild Berber hordes of the Almoravides and the Almohads, crossing from Africa to usurp the Ommeiad dominions and carry on the holy war with greater energy, aroused new fears and provoked in the threatened kingdoms a fanaticism equal to their own. The Spanish Christians appealed for help to their northern neighbours; armies of volunteers from Normandy, from Aquitaine, and from Burgundy, poured over the Myrenees to strike a blow for the Cross against the Crescent, and incidentally to gain rich spoils or found a colony. The movement was early taken under the patronage of Rome. Gregory VII offered papal commissions to the immigrants, on condition that they would hold their conquests as vassals of the Holy See (1073). And thenceforth each new enterprise against the Moors was officially recognised as a service to the Catholic Church. Still, even in Spain, the tendency was for material ambitions to gain the upper hand. All classes in the Christian kingdoms benefited by the wresting of a new province from the infidel. The nobles received new fiefs; the burghers flocked into the cities evacuated by the Moors, or were encouraged, by large grants of privileges, to build new cities; round the cities clustered communities of peasants, who joyfully exchanged the barren security of the northern uplands for the risks and the prizes of the river valleys. No kings were so popular as those who planned and carried to a successful conclusion these ventures for the common good. One such ruler, James the Great of Aragon, has left us in his memoirs a faithful and instructive account of the use to which he and his subjects turned one of these so-called Crusades. At six years of age he had succeeded to a divided kingdom and the shadow of a royal prerogative. At fourteen he began a hard struggle, for the mastery of his rebellious barons and cities, which lasted five years and earned for him more credit than substantial success. When at length the rebels sued for peace, he was obliged to grant it without exacting compensation; the Crown remained as poor after the victory as before it. A little later he conceived the idea of attacking the Moors in the Balearic Isles, "either to convert them and turn that kingdom to the faith of our Lord, or else to destroy them." He propounded his plan to the Cortes (1229); and in a moment dissension was changed to harmony, civil indifference to loyal enthusiasm. The barons said that to conquer a Saracen kingdom set in the sea would be the greatest deed done by Christians for a hundred years. They would give an aid, they would find contingents, they would serve in person; always on the understanding that each should share in the spoils proportionately to the size of his contingent. The Archbishop of Tarragona, speaking for the clergy, said that now at last his eyes had seen the salvation of the Lord. He could not serve; he was too old for that; but his men and his money were the King's for this sacred undertaking, and he would gladly give a dispensation to any bishop or abbot who would go with the King; always provided that the clerical Crusaders were to share in the booty on the same terms as the laymen. To the same purpose, with the same stipulation, spoke the trading-cities. The expedition was a brilliant success. Majorca was reduced by the efforts of the whole expedition; Minorca capitulated without a struggle; and the Archbishop of Tarragona, by special licence from the King, conquered Ivica for himself. But the Moors were neither extirpated nor converted. Those of Majorca became the tenants of the Crusaders between whom that island was divided. Those of Minorca paid an annual tribute to the King. In both islands they were guaranteed the use of their native customs and religion. Surveying the Crusade many years after it was completed, James expresses the highest satisfaction with the results. From Minorca he receives not only the agreed tribute, but whatever else he chooses to demand. As for Majorca, the Lord has so increased it that it produces twice as much as in the days of Moorish rule. We are now in a position to understand the complex nature of the motives which animated the preachers, the generals, and the soldiers of the Crusades; for these enterprises are a continuation on a greater scale of the German, Spanish, and Norman wars of conquest. Like the wars of Spain, the Crusades were suggested by fears of a Mohammedan advance; the signal for the First Crusade was given by the successes of the Seljuk Turks under Alp Arslan and Malik Shah (1071-1092). These uncivilised and fanatical usurpers of the caliphate of Bagdad overran the whole of Asia Minor and of Syria in twenty years; they dealt a heavy blow to the Eastern Empire on the field of Manzikert (1071), and founded in Asia Minor the sultanate of Roum; they established smaller principalities in Syria. The rulers of Constantinople sent urgent appeals for help to the West; and pilgrims returning from the Holy Places complained loudly of the insults and persecutions by which the conquerors manifested their hostility to the Christian faith. Gregory VII, immediately after his election, was moved to plan an expedition for the defence of the Eastern Empire, which he justly regarded as the bulwark of Europe against Islam. He issued a general appeal to the princes of Europe for help and personal service; he even proposed to accompany the relieving force. But Gregory, though not without imagination, lacked the power of firing popular enthusiasm, and aroused mistrust by the admission that he intended using the Crusade in the first instance against the Normans of Lower Italy. Few volunteers were forthcoming, and his own energies were diverted to another channel by the outbreak of the War of Investitures. It was left for Urban II to revive Gregory's project, in another and more popular form, at a moment when Henry IV seemed a beaten and a broken man, and the unity of the Seljuk power had been shattered by the death of Malik Shah. In reality the danger from the Turks was then a thing of the past; but, even if Urban was correctly informed of their weakness, it needed little knowledge of history to warn him that one aggressive movement of Islam only died away to be succeeded by another. Like Gregory, he desired to strengthen the Eastern Empire; but his plan was new--to found a Latin state in Palestine for the defence of Jerusalem and the south-east Mediterranean. As with the First Crusade, so with the Second and the Third; each was a response to new victories of Mohammedan princes. The Second Crusade (1147) was proclaimed in consequence of the fall of Edessa, the north-east outpost of the Latin Kingdom. The Third (1189) was designed to recover Jerusalem and to cripple the sultanate of Egypt, which, under Saladin, seemed on the eve of absorbing not only Syria, but also Asia Minor and the Euphrates valley. The signal failure of an expedition for which armies were raised by the Emperor, the Kings of France and England, and many lesser princes, left the power of Egypt an object of almost superstitious awe. The Fifth Crusade (1217) and the Seventh (1248) expended their best energies in fruitless and disastrous descents on the Nile Delta. To this view of the Crusades, as a business of high political importance, the best of the laymen who led the Christian armies were sincerely attached. Many others, equally sincere but governed more by sentiment than reason, were moved by the desire to see the Holy Places and secure them as the common property of Christendom. But the most pertinacious and successful of the commanders went eastward, as their kinsmen went across the Elbe or the Alps or the Pyrenees, to carve out for themselves new principalities at the expense of Byzantine or Saracen, it did not matter which. Naturally the sovereign princes who took the Cross do not fall into this category. For them an expedition might be either an adventure, or the grudging fulfilment of a penance, or a bid for the esteem of their subjects; but it was often a conscious sacrifice of self-interest and national interests to a higher duty. However low their motives, it would not have paid them to turn aside from the task enjoined upon them by European opinion. Even Frederic II, the least Christian of Crusaders, who only accomplished his vow to put the Pope his adversary in the wrong, fulfilled his undertaking to the letter before he ventured to return. But a Crusade controlled by men of lower rank tended to be a joint-stock company of freebooters. For every Crusade the Pope was, to a certain point, responsible. He issued the appeal, he tuned the pulpits; he invited contributions from the laity and exacted them from the national churches; he provided for the enforcement by ecclesiastical censures of all Crusading vows. In the choice of leaders, and in the preliminary councils of war, he had a claim to be consulted. One or more of his legates normally accompanied the armies. But, if the generals chose to ignore his suggestions and to override his representatives, after the march had once begun he was powerless. Usually, it is true, his views would appeal to the rank and file, exempt as they were from the temptations presented to their leaders. But the Common soldiers could only leave the host if they had the means of paying for themselves the expenses of the homeward journey. Often they protested against the uses to which their arms were put; but very seldom were they able to enforce a change of policy. [Illustration: The Crusaders] These general statements may be illustrated from the First and Fourth Crusades. Godfrey of Bouillon and his fellow-leaders, when they passed through Constantinople (1097), did homage to the Emperor Alexius for any lands that they might conquer. The transaction may not have been voluntary; this homage was the price demanded for a safe-conduct through the Greek dominions. But later events proved that the chief Crusaders were resolved not to hold their conquests as fiefs from the Holy See, for which they were nominally fighting. As they drew near to the Holy Land, it became clear that the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre was a subordinate consideration with them. At Tarsus and at Antioch there were fierce disputes between rival claimants to the conquered territories. Baldwin separated from the main army to found a seignory for himself at Edessa. Bohemund remained behind, when Antioch was once assigned to him, for fear that any rival should rob him of his prize. Raymond of Toulouse turned aside to reduce Tripoli, and was with the greatest difficulty constrained to continue the march. The final result of a war in which the loss of men must be reckoned by tens of thousands was the establishment of the four states of Jerusalem, Edessa, Antioch, and Tripoli. To extend the boundaries of these colonies, and to consolidate them under the suzerainty of the Crown of Jerusalem, was the work of their rulers for the next eighty years. These princes were esteemed as champions of the Cross; to assist them in the defence of their territories the military orders of the Temple and the Hospital were founded under the sanction of the Church; apart from the great relieving expeditions, such as those of 1101 and 1147 and 1189, annual fleets of soldier-pilgrims arrived to take part in the operations of the year. But there is little to show that either the Kings of Jerusalem or their great vassals ever justified their position by pursuing an unselfish policy. That the dominions which they ruled were imperfectly colonised cannot be made a reproach against them; only for knights and merchants had the Holy Land any attractions. But the inevitable weakness of the Frankish states was aggravated by their feuds and reciprocal ill-faith. More than a hundred years elapsed before another expedition of this kind started for the East. The Second Crusade, inspired by St. Bernard acting as the half-reluctant spokesman of the Holy See, was ill-organised, ill-directed, and so disastrous a failure that it was followed by a perceptible reaction against the idealistic policy of which it was the outcome. It revealed to Europe the inefficiency of forces raised with more regard to the pious motives than to the efficiency of the recruits, and laid bare the calculating selfishness of the Latin principalities. But the principal leaders, Louis VII of France and the Emperor Conrad II, could not be charged with insincerity. They made gross mistakes, but were faithful to the purpose with which they set out. Similarly in the Third Crusade, though part of the failure can be directly attributed to the national jealousies of the various contingents, and to the quarrels of Richard I with the more important of his colleagues, the recovery of Jerusalem remained from first to last the dominants object of the army. There were cases of petulance, of unnecessary meddling in the squalid disputes of the Latin settlers, of readiness to depart on the first honourable excuse. But there was no disposition to make the pilgrimage a commercial undertaking. It was otherwise in 1203 when the soldiers of the Fourth Crusade set out from Venice, leaving behind them the papal legate and openly defying the injunctions of Innocent III, whose appeal to Christendom was nominally the warrant for their venture. No kings sailed with them; from the first the movement had been in the hands of turbulent feudatories, inspired by chivalry rather than religion. Their leader, Boniface of Montferrat, the patron of all the troubadours and knights-errant of the South, was a sworn friend of the Pope's worst enemy, Philip of Suabia, the brother and successor of the Emperor Henry VI. Boniface had been elected to the command without the sanction of the Pope; and from an early date was in league with Philip to turn the Crusade against Constantinople. This plan was for a time concealed from the army, in which a majority of the common soldiers were bent upon recovering the Holy Sepulchre. But the nobles, with whom lay the last word, were ready for whatever adventure the course of events might suggest. Their original hope was to conquer Egypt,--an infinitely more tempting prey than Palestine, where the chief fruits of any success would be claimed by the remnants of the standing garrison. To obtain ships from Venice they undertook on her behalf the siege of Zara; their first feat of arms was the conquest of a Christian city, the only offence of which was that it disputed the Venetian supremacy in the Adriatic. At Zara they were invited by Philip's envoys to attack Constantinople, to overthrow the Emperor Alexius III, and to substitute for him another Alexius, son of the deposed Isaac Angelus and brother-in-law to Philip. The proposal received enthusiastic support from the Venetians, whose great commercial interests in the Greek capital had been often assailed by the fanaticism of the city-populace. The Venetians held the key of the situation, since, if they withdrew their transports, the army could neither go forward nor return in safety; and the nobles, who needed little persuasion, were able to convince the more earnest pilgrims that Philip's offer must of necessity be accepted, though Alexius III was on friendly terms with the Pope and had been expected to assist the Crusade. To palliate the flagrant treachery a promise was exacted from the pretender that, when installed as Emperor, he would help in the conquest of Egypt with men, money, and supplies. On July 17th, 1203, the army entered Constantinople, after a short siege. Alexius III escaped by flight and Alexius IV was installed in his place. Still the Crusaders lingered in a city the outward splendour of which appealed irresistibly to their imagination and their avarice. The winter, they said, was approaching, and their candidate far from secure upon the throne; they would wait for the spring. Before that date, and in spite of their countenance, he had fallen before a nationalist rebellion (January 1204); and the army hailed the opportunity of reuniting the Greek Church to Rome and partitioning the Greek Empire among themselves. An agreement was made with the indispensable Venetians for the election of a Latin Emperor, to be endowed with one-fourth of the provinces; the booty of Constantinople and the remaining lands of the Empire were to be divided equally between the Venetians and the remaining leaders. For the second time Constantinople was carried by storm; a fire destroyed a large part of the city; and the Crusaders completed the devastation by three days of indiscriminate plunder and massacre. Neither the treasures of the churches nor the priceless monuments and statues of the public places were spared. The sum-total of the booty was thought to be equal to all the wealth of Western Europe; but when it came to the official division all that the knights obtained was twenty marks apiece; ten were the portion of a priest, and five of a foot-soldier. The other articles of the treaty, which had been referred for form's sake to the Pope, were executed without awaiting his reply. The Venetian candidate, Count Baldwin of Flanders, was elected to the Empire and received the Asiatic provinces. Boniface of Montferrat obtained, as a solatium, the kingdom of Thessalonica, embracing roughly the modern provinces of Thessaly and Macedonia; his followers were allowed to establish themselves by degrees in Central Greece and the Morea. The Venetians took the islands of the Ionian Sea, the Cyclades, and Aegina and Negropont; the provinces of Albania, Acarnania, and Aetolia; the city of Adrianople with the adjacent territories, and other possessions of less note. The Pope, compelled to recognise accomplished facts, merely demanded three concessions: that the Latin faith should be established as the official religion of the Empire; that the possessions of the Greek Church should be handed over to the Latin clergy; and that the Crusaders should continue their pilgrimage at the end of a year. Only the first of these points was conceded. The Crusade of Innocent III ended, like that of Urban II, in the creation of a string of feudal states and commercial factories. But in 1204 there was hardly the attempt to justify what had been done in the name of religion. The Venetians behaved from first to last as commercial buccaneers; a fickle and frivolous ambition, rather than calculating villainy, characterised their highborn associates. Plainly, these were the only materials available for a Crusade; the collapse of the Crusading policy was near at hand. A few romantic careers illuminate the monotonously sordid annals of the Latin Empire, threatened from within by the feuds of the rival baronial houses, from without by the Bulgarians, the Greek despots of Epirus, and the Greek Emperors of Nicaea. Henry of Flanders, the second Latin Emperor (1205-1216), the one constructive statesman produced by the Crusade; William of Champlitte, who overran the Morea with but a hundred knights, was hailed by the oppressed Greeks as a liberator, and founded the Principality of Achaea (1205-1209) only to lose it through the treachery of a lieutenant; Niccolo Acciajuoli (+1365), the Florentine banker, who rose to be Lord of Corinth, Count of Malta, and administrator of Achaea--these were men who on a greater stage might have achieved durable renown. But the subject Greeks were not to be Latinised by a handful of energetic seigneurs and merchants; one by one, as opportunities occurred, the provinces of the Latin Empire deserted to the allegiance of Nicaea. Adrianople and Thessalonica were lost in 1222, the Asiatic territories by 1228; in 1261 Michael Palaeologus recovered Constantinople, which was to remain the possession of his family until the capture by the Turks (1453). In Greece and the islands the colonists maintained a foothold long after the fall of the Latin Empire. But the last of the Frankish Dukes of Athens fell, with all his chivalry, fighting against the Catalan Company (1311), a horde of freebooters half-Christian and half-Turkish in its composition. Achaea, after years of ignominious subjection to the Angevins of Naples, was similarly conquered by the Company of Navarre (1380). In a maimed condition the two states survived these calamities; but the Greeks and the Venetians were enabled to absorb the richest parts of the peninsula; the last traces of Frankish blood and institutions were swept away by the Turkish conquerors of the fifteenth century. Before these grim invaders the Venetians and the Knights of St. John, the last representatives of Western power, slowly evacuated the Eastern Mediterranean. The story of this brilliant and ephemeral episode in the expansion of Europe is closed by the Venetian peace of 1479 with the Sultan, and by the fall of Rhodes, the stronghold of the Knights, before the Turkish arms (1522). But in Malta, down to the commencement of the ninteenth century, might be seen the strange and scandalous spectacle of a Crusading Order, emancipated from the old vows and obligations, yet still allowed to exercise a medieval tyranny in memory of the services which their remote predecessors had rendered to the Cross. The other Orders had vanished, not less ignominiously, at earlier dates. The Templars, who had evacuated Syria to live on their European estates and ply the trade of bankers, were proscribed on charges of heresy, by Pope Clement V (1312), to gratify the brutal greed of a French king. The Teutonic Knights, better counselled by their Grand Master, Hermann of Salza (1210-1239), looked about for a new field of conquest; they found it on the lower Vistula, where they settled with the countenance of the Pope, the Emperor, and the King of Poland to reduce the heathen Slavs. But, embroiled with their Polish protector by their territorial ambitions, they were reduced, after 1466, to narrow boundaries in East Prussia; and hardly a voice was raised in their favour when the last Grand Master, a Hohenzollern by birth, became a Protestant and bequeathed the lands of the Order to his own family (1525). From the adventures of the Frankish colonists we turn with relief to notice the last expiring flashes of enthusiasm in the armies equipped for their relief. The Germans and Hungarians of the Fifth Crusade (1217) showed more sincerity than worldly wisdom in delegating the chief command to a papal legate, and in following to the bitter end his reckless plan of campaign. Inspired with the hope of expelling Islam from the Eastern Mediterranean, they would neither be content with Damietta, which they conquered, nor with the Holy Land, which was offered in exchange by the Sultan of Egypt. They would have all or nothing, and they lost even Damietta in the end. Their discomfiture by the Nile floods, which they had forgotten to take into their reckoning, was a tragi-comic ending to a campaign in which greed and discord had been expiated by extraordinary daring. St. Louis, in his Crusades of 1248 and 1270, flew in the face of common prudence and was thought a pious fool, even by the barons who were too loyal to disobey his call. But it is such follies that make history something better than a Newgate Calendar of the crimes of common sense. He was no general; his attack on Egypt was foredoomed to failure, and was made more disastrous by neglect of ordinary precautions; that on Tunis, undertaken in the heat of an African summer, ended, as might have been expected, in his own death and the decimation of his followers by disease. Even as an example these expeditions were all but fruitless. Yet, when the worst has been said of the Crusades and those who led them, there are moments in the quixotic career of St. Louis which haunt the fancy and compel our admiration: his bearing when, a captive of the Egyptian Sultan, he refused, even under threats of torture, to barter a single Christian fortress for his freedom; his lonely watch in Palestine, when for three years he patiently awaited the reinforcements that were never sent; his death-bed, when he prayed for strength to despise good fortune and not to fear adversity. Ideals may fade, but the memories of those who realise them are the world's abiding possession. If we ask what results of a more tangible sort remained from the Crusades, when the service of the Holy Sepulchre had become a legend, and the name of Crusade a byeword for whatever enterprises are most impractical and visionary, the answer must be, that they affected Europe chiefly in a negative sense and through indirect channels. They helped to discredit the conception of the Church militant; they relieved Europe of a surplus population of feudal adventurers; and they accelerated the impoverishment of those other feudal families which took an occasional part in the Holy War. It has never been proved that they led to wholesale emancipation of serfs, or wholesale enfranchisement of towns; though it is true that all such expeditions meant an increased demand for ready money. To Western civilisation they contributed very little, the truth being that there was little to be learned from the Mohammedans in Syria. It is through Palermo and Toledo, where Christianity and Islam met and mixed in peaceful intercourse, that the knowledge of Arab science and philosophy filtered into Europe. The Fourth Crusade was an exception to the general rule; it is no accident that Venetian art and architecture developed rapidly when the republic was brought into close and friendly relations with Constantinople. Through these relations, and through studying the masterpieces brought home by the Crusaders, Venetian artists recovered the antique feeling for pure form, and founded a school which was classical in spirit, Christian only in external and unessential features. The learning and literature which the Eastern Empire inherited from Rome and Athens had no attraction for Venetian merchant princes. But north of the Alps, and especially at Paris, the thirteenth century saw an increasing interest in the Greek language, and in Greek books, so far as they were useful to theologians or scholastic disputants. Politically the Fourth Crusade is memorable for its effect upon the Italian balance of power. It gave Venice an advantage over her commercial rivals, Pisa and Genoa, which she never lost; it gave her also a unique position as an intermediary between East and West; and it placed her at the head of an empire comparable to those of Athens and of Carthage, the great sea-powers of antiquity. But the nation-states of Northern Europe, who had borne the burden and heat of the Crusades, were less affected by them, politically or otherwise, than were the city-states of Italy. IX THE FREE TOWNS Scattered broadcast over the territory of every medieval state are towns endowed with special privileges, and ruled by special magistrates. Some of these towns--particularly in Italy, Southern France, and the Rhineland--stand on the sites, and even within the walls, of ancient _municipia_, those miniature Homes which the statecraft of the Empire had created as seats of government and schools of culture. But, even in Italy, the medieval town is indebted to classical antiquity for nothing more than mouldering walls and aqueducts and amphitheatres and churches. The barbarians had ignored the institutions of the _municipium_, though it often served them as a fortress or a royal residence or a centre of administration. The citizens were degraded to the level of serfs; they became the property of a king, a bishop, or a count, and were governed by a bailiff presiding over a seignorial court. Only at the close of the Dark Ages, with the development of handicrafts and a commercial class, was it found necessary to distinguish between the town and the manorial village; and to a much later time the small town preserved the characteristics of an agricultural society. Many a burgess supplemented the profits of a trade by tilling acres in the common fields and grazing cattle on the common pastures; pigs and poultry scavenged in the streets; the farmyard was a usual adjunct of the burgage tenement. Whether small or great, the town was a phenomenon sufficiently unfamiliar to vex the soul of lawyers reared upon Teutonic custom. They recognised that they were dealing with a new form of community; but they were not prepared to define it or to generalise about it. They preferred to treat each town as _sui generis_, an awkward anomaly, a privileged abuse. Indeed, definition was no easy matter, for medieval towns differed infinitely in size, in government, and in the ingredients of their population. In one respect they are all alike; the most energetic and influential, though not necessarily the greater number, of the inhabitants are artisans or traders. But side by side with the industrial colony stand older interests, which often struggle hard against the ascendancy of commerce. In the town or near it there may be an abbey or a castle or a cathedral or a royal palace, to which the very existence of the burgess community is due. The townsmen, profiting by the custom and the protection of the great, have grown rich and independent; they have bought privileges or have usurped them. But they have still to reckon with the servants, the retainers, and the other partisans of a superior always on the watch to recover his lost rights of property and jurisdiction; the forces of the common enemy are permanently encamped within the walls. Again, if the town lies on a frontier or in newly-conquered country, it will be as much a fortress as a mart; a number of the residents will be knights or men-at-arms who hold their lands by the tenure of defending the town; and these burgesses will be naturally indifferent to the interests of the traders. Finally, in the Mediterranean lands, with their long tradition of urban society, we find the nobles of the neighbourhood resorting to the town, building town-houses, and frequently caballing among themselves to obtain control of the town's government. Often a long time elapses before the class which conceived the idea of municipal liberty is able to get the better of these hostile forces; and still more often the hardly-won privileges are wrested from those for whom they were intended, are cancelled, or are made the monopoly of an oligarchic ring. Still, the aims of the medieval burgess are more uniform, from one place to another and from one generation to another, than we might anticipate in ages when information travelled slowly, and when the relations of every town to its lord were settled by a separate treaty. In modern Europe the town is an administrative district of the state, and is organised upon a standard pattern. In medieval Europe the town-charter was frequently a compromise with the caprices and the interests of a petty seignor; and even kings were inclined to deal with the towns which stood upon the royal demesne in a spirit of the frankest opportunism. Moreover, the inclination of all lords was to meddle with their burgesses no further than seemed necessary to ensure the full and punctual discharge of all services and pecuniary dues. So long as these were guaranteed, the internal affairs of the town might be left for the residents to settle as seemed good to them. But, as to the main conditions of the compact, each of the contracting parties holds clear-cut and unwavering views. The lords are agreed that privileges of trade and tenure may safely be granted if the chief magistrates are nominated by, and accountable to themselves. The townsfolk, on the other hand, assume that promises of free tenure and free trade will be worth nothing unless accompanied by the permission to elect all magistrates and councils. Sometimes the victory rests with the lord, and sometimes with the burgesses. Accordingly, there are two kinds of chartered town. The larger class includes communities enjoying certain privileges under the rule of seignorial functionaries. A smaller class consists of those which are not only privileged but "free," that is, self-governing bodies corporate. The distinction between the two classes is not precise enough to satisfy a modern lawyer. Often a "free" town is obliged to allow the lord some voice in the appointment of magistrates; while the humblest body of traders may enjoy the right of doing justice in a market-court without the interference of a bailiff. The one class shades off into the other, if only for the reason that "freedom" is usually won by a gradual process of bargaining or encroachment on the part of towns which are already privileged. The higher type is simply a later stage in the natural course of municipal development. If we analyse the privileges of those towns which remain in leading-strings, the first in order of time and of importance is the town-peace, which only the king or his delegate can grant. Invested with this peace the town becomes, like a royal palace or the shrine of a saint, a sanctuary protected by special pains and penalties; the burgess stands to the king in the same relation as the widow and the orphan; to do him wrong is an outrage against the royal majesty. Next comes the right of trade. The burgesses are allowed to commute their servile dues and obligations for a fixed money-rent, that they may be at liberty for pursuits more lucrative than agriculture. They also receive a licence to hold a weekly market, and possibly a yearly fair as well; it is agreed that all disputes of traders, which arise in fair or market, shall be decided according to the law of merchants, the general usage of the commercial world; and a safe-conduct is granted to all strangers who resort to either gathering for lawful purposes. At first the tolls of the fair and market are collected by the lord, and the law-merchant is administered in the court of his bailiff. Often, however, he ends by leasing both the tolls and the commercial jurisdiction to the townsmen. When they are permitted (as in Flanders and in England) to form a merchant-gild, it is with this body that such bargains are concluded; and the gild usually purchases from the lord a quantity of other privileges--the monopoly of certain staple industries in the town and neighbourhood; rights of pre-emption over all imported wares; and the power of making by-laws to regulate wages, prices, the hours of labour, and the quality of manufactured goods. Where the lord is a sovereign prince, he is often induced to make concessions of a wider scope: freedom from inland tolls and from customs at the seaports; the right of making reprisals upon native and foreign enemies who rob the merchants or infringe the privileges of the town; immunity, in civil suits, from every jurisdiction but that of the town-court. It would be easy to multiply examples of this type of town, but we can only mention here a few whose history and customs are particularly instructive. One of the oldest is St. Riquier in Ponthieu, a notable instance of an industrial community dating from Carolingian times and fostered by the policy of a great religious house. The second half of the eleventh century is remarkable for the speculative acumen displayed by lay and secular lords in fostering the development of new commercial centres; the Norman _bourg_ of Breteuil, founded in 1060 by a seneschal of William the Conqueror, deserves special consideration as a model extensively imitated in England, Wales, and Ireland; the Suabian towns of Allensbach and Radolfszell, chartered by the great Abbey of Reichenau a few years later, are monuments of German seignorial enterprise. Lorris en Gatinais, a town on the demesne of the French monarchy, received from Louis VI a set of privileges which became the standard for the numerous _villes de bourgeoisie_ founded under the immediate sway of the Capetian dynasty. But the charters thankfully accepted by new colonies or embryonic market-centres were insufficient to satisfy the aspirations of older and greater cities. At the very time when far-sighted seigneurs are scattering commercial privileges broadcast, there begins among the urban classes of North France, of Flanders, and of some Italian provinces, an agitation for more extensive rights, for "free" municipal constitutions of our second type. In these regions the popular cry is "Commune," _novum ac pessimum nomen;_ and it is blended with complaints of feudal tyranny, which often develop, since the seigneur of the town is commonly a bishop or an abbot, into complaints against the Church. The commune is a sworn confederacy (_conjuratio_), which bears some resemblance both to the fraternities established for the enforcement of the Truce of God (_supra_, p. 103) and to the merchant-gilds. But it has also new and striking features. It is formed in defiance of authority, and for the purpose of seizing rights which are legally vested in the seigneur or the Crown. It is hostile to the ruling classes of society; and the object of the members is to establish a republican form of government within their city. They are largely merchants or artisans; but they concern themselves with wider interests than those of trade, and often insist that no man, of whatever avocation, shall remain in the city unless he joins the commune. We should be glad to know more of the bold spirits who directed the communal movement in this early stage. They startled contemporaries by their radicalism, and their conduct gives the lie to our preconceived idea that a townsman is a man of peace. These medieval burgesses were accustomed to defend their rights by force; there is nothing abnormal in the rule of the merchant-gild of Valenciennes that the gild-brethren should always bring their weapons with them to the market, and should ride in armed companies to distant fairs. The Milanese and the men of Ghent are typical in their greed for empire, in their readiness to strike a blow for their own profit whenever war is in the land. If the seigneurs of such cities gave cause for dissatisfaction, they found that they had brought a hornet's nest about their ears. In the struggle for liberties the popular party displayed a high courage which rose superior to defeat, though in the hour of triumph it was too often sullied by ferocious acts of vengeance. They threw themselves with intelligence and energy into the feuds of other interests and classes, backing the Church against the State, the State against the baronage, or the weaker against the stronger of two rival lords. The policy of the towns was often double-faced, material and separatist; but it also embodied ideals of justice and of citizenship which were destined to prevail in the struggle for existence, and to produce a wholesome reformation in the structure of society. The communal programme was not realised in a day; the struggle for free governments, which began in the eleventh century, was continued into the thirteenth and fourteenth; and the forces of the movement were already exhausted in North France and Italy before it reached a head in South France or in Germany. Naturally, in a conflict waged over so wide an area for several hundred years, the watchwords were often modified, and many different patterns of town government were devised. In its later stages the movement was more peaceful, and the purse was often found a better argument than the sword; the communal parties ceased to be democratic, though they never ceased to be republican; and power was practically if not formally monopolised by a municipal patriciate. The mass-meeting of the burgesses, all-powerful in the days when the commune was an organised rebellion, gradually became insignificant in the older communes, and in many of the late foundations was never recognised at all, its powers being distributed among the craft-gilds meeting in their separate assemblies. Concurrent with this diminution in the importance of the ordinary burgess, there is a tendency to restrict the franchise by demanding higher and higher qualifications from the candidates. The commune, in fact, sinks almost to the level of a trades union or a benefit society, and membership is valued chiefly as a title to exclusive rights of trade and poor-relief. The political aspect of the institution is almost forgotten in countries where the power of the state gains ground upon the centrifugal forces of society; and, in those communes which preserve the dignity of states, an internecine conflict between the rich and poor, the rulers and the ruled, usually becomes the main feature of domestic politics. In spite of these changes in principles and spirit, the organs of communal government are almost everywhere the same. The executive power is vested in a board or committee, called in Italy the _consules_, in France the _echevins, jurati_, or _syndics_, in Germany the _Rath_ (council). Commonly this board has a president, known in France and England as the mayor, in Germany as the burgomaster, who represents the body-corporate in all negotiations with the seigneur or the Crown or other communes. One or more councils (_sapientes, pares_, etc.) are often found assisting the executive with their advice; and in the older type of commune the mass-meeting plays a conspicuous part, not only electing magistrates and councils, but also voting taxes, auditing the accounts of expenditure, and deciding on all questions of exceptional importance. Where the general assembly is non-existent or moribund, offices are filled either by co-optation or by elections in the assemblies of the craft-gilds, or are even allowed to descend by hereditary right. As the popular control over the executive declines, jealousy of the executive leads to some disastrous changes: to the multiplication of offices, to the shortening of terms of office, to the creation of innumerable checks and balances, to the organisation of this or that powerful interest or party as a state within the state. But the morbid pathology of the communes in their last stage of decline is a subject with which we need not here concern ourselves. These intricate expedients, which are best exemplified in the constitution of fourteenth-century Florence, weakened the government but could not make it more impartial or more tolerant. By the end of the Middle Ages, the ordinary burgess was prepared to hail the advent of a royal bailiff or a self-constituted despot, as the only cure for the inveterate disorders incident to freedom. It is refreshing to turn back from the period of disillusionment to that of sanguine expectations, and to study the commune in the period of infancy and growth, when no other refuge from anarchy and oppression was open to the industrial classes, and when emancipated serfs were still intoxicated with the dream of liberty. Curiously enough, the communal revolution began most quietly in the land where it was ultimately responsible for the fiercest conflicts. The cities of North Italy gained their first instalments of freedom, at different periods in the eleventh century, by bargains or by usurpations of which few records have come down to us. At Pisa we hear of an agreement between the bishop and the citizens (1080-1085) under which the latter are permitted to form a peace-association, to hold mass-meetings, and to elect _consules_ who shall co-operate with the bishop in the government. At Genoa, on the other hand, the commune appears (in 1122) after several earlier _conjurationes_ have been successfully resisted and dispersed. Probably the case of Pisa is more typical than that of Genoa, since we usually hear of a commune for the first time when it is already a fully developed institution. In most of the North Italian cities it was at the expense of a bishop that the commune was established. Legally the change meant the transference, from the bishop or another seigneur to the town, of powers derived by delegation from the Emperor; and it took place in the course of the Investitures contest, when the bishops, conscious of simony and other offences which made their position insecure, were more concerned to dissuade their citizens from siding with the party of ecclesiastical reform than to fulfil their duties as officials of the Empire. The Emperors themselves, hard-pressed in the struggle with the Papacy and eager to purchase support at any price, contributed to the success of the communal movement by the charters which they bestowed on some important cities. In Northern France the situation was less favourable to the towns. Often indeed it suited the policy of the Capets to weaken an over-mighty subject by protecting his rebellious serfs. But the bishops and the lay seigneurs offered a pertinacious opposition to all demands for enfranchisement; the King was a timid and vacillating ally, always inclined to desert the cause of the townsfolk for a bribe, always in fear that the movement might spread to his demesne. Whatever his sympathies, he could do little, when it came to blows, but stand aside and watch the conflict. Two examples will serve to illustrate the general features of these feuds between municipalities and lords. (1) In 1070 the men of Le Mans were driven to rebellion by the lawlessness of the local baronage, and by the oppressions of the governor whom an absentee count had put over them. They formed a commune, and compelled the more timid of their enemies to swear that they would recognise it. Others they caught and hanged or blinded; and they made systematic war against the castles of the neighbourhood, which they took one by one and burned to the ground--and this, says the outraged chronicler, in Lent and even on Good Friday! The citizens themselves thought no season too sacred for such a crusade against anarchy; once, when their militia went out to attack a castle, the bishop and his clergy were induced to lead the vanguard, bearing crosses and consecrated banners. But after a time the fortune of war turned against the commune; the militia were routed and the count's lieutenant recovered the castle which dominated Le Mans. The citizens offered their allegiance to the Count of Anjou, if he would deliver them. He came to the rescue, the governor fled, the castle was surrendered by the garrison and at once demolished. But, before the citizens had settled their future relations with Anjou, an English army appeared, led by William the Conqueror, their lawful suzerain. The Angevins effaced themselves; the citizens, making a virtue of necessity, opened their gates to the King; and since he would only confirm their ancient liberties, the existence of the commune was abruptly terminated (1073). (2) At Laon in the next generation there was a wilder and more calamitous rising against the misrule of the bishop. His name was Waldric; he had been Chancellor to Henry I of England, and was elected by the chapter of Laon (1106) because of the great wealth which he had accumulated, none too honestly, in the course of his short official career. Much of his private fortune was expended in procuring the Pope's approval of his very irregular election. The remainder was soon squandered in extravagant and riotous living; and the bishop then began to exploit his seignorial rights in Laon. His extortions were the more resented since he kept no order; the environs of the city swarmed with brigands and footpads, and kidnappers were allowed to work their will inside the city. At length the burgesses seized an opportunity, when the bishop was away in England, to set up a commune. On his return he was obliged to accept the situation and to recognise the commune in return for a substantial payment. But he further recouped himself by debasing the local currency, till it was practically worthless; and he gratified his spite against the citizens by an atrocious crime. Professing to have discovered a conspiracy against his life, he arrested the Mayor and caused the unhappy man to be blinded by a black slave, whom he employed as his bodyguard and executioner. The friends of the Mayor complained to the Pope; but the bishop got before them with his own version of the story, and by the help of bribery secured an honourable acquittal. By the same arguments he induced the King to quash the charter of the commune, and then seemed master of the situation. But the men of Laon conspired to kill him as he was going in state to the cathedral; he was with difficulty rescued by his knights, and found it necessary to garrison the episcopal palace with villeins from his country estates. Arrogant as ever, he boasted of his power and the satisfaction that he would exact; the time was coming, he said, when his black slave should pull the noses of the most respected citizens, and the fellows would not dare to grunt. He was soon undeceived. The mob of Laon stormed the palace and massacred the defenders; they found the bishop in the cellars, disguised as a peasant and hiding in an empty cask; they dragged him forth by the hair of his head, and hacked him to pieces in the street (1112). When a calmer mood returned, the citizens were appalled at the prospect of the King's indignation. Those who were conscious of guilt fled from the city, which was left half-deserted. The barons and the serfs of the surrounding country swooped like vultures upon Laon, pillaged the empty houses and fought with one another for the spoil. For the next sixteen years the remnant of the citizens lived a miserable existence as the mere serfs of Waldric's successors. In 1128 the King permitted them to associate under a Mayor, for the better maintenance of the public peace; but they were denied the title of a commune, and continued to be subject to the jurisdiction of the bishop. These dramas of oppression and retaliation, though characteristic in the sense that they reveal the worst faults and the best excuses of the communal movement, were happily exceptional in Northern France; not because oppression was rare, but because rebellions defeated their own object. No seignorial concessions were worth the parchment on which they were inscribed, without a confirmation from the King; and it was not the King's interest to condone sacrilege or overt treason against a feudal lord. Hence the founders of a North French commune preferred to keep their agitation within the bounds of law. They invoked the King's help, and he, for an adequate consideration, destroyed seignorial rights by a few strokes of the pen; which he did the more readily since his lawyers had formulated the doctrine that communes were tenants of the Crown, liable to military service and to taxation at the royal pleasure. From the close of the twelfth century there was a firm alliance between the Third Estate and the French monarchy. On the whole it was more advantageous to the King than to the communes. Under St. Louis and his successors, when the power of the feudatories was broken, the commune presented itself as an obstacle in the path of central government. On one pretext or another, here because of faction-fights and there for mismanagement of the communal finances, the cities lost their charters and passed under the rule of royal commissioners. It was a poor compensation that the Third Estate obtained the right of sending delegates to the States General of the Kingdom. Representation brought new liabilities without corresponding rights. The Third Estate, holding jealously aloof from the estates of the nobles and the clergy, was powerless against a determined sovereign. The French commune, in fact, was a special expedient for the cure of a transitory evil. Republican institutions were in France an exotic growth, inconsistent with national traditions, and only welcome to classes which had neither the political intelligence nor the material resources to maintain their own ideals in the face of persistent opposition. It is significant that the charters of the French communes were frequently cancelled with the approval of the citizen assemblies. The situation was different in Flanders and North Italy, where the city was the natural unit of society, and the burgher class, enriched by foreign trade, were strong enough to negotiate on equal terms with their nominal superiors. Cities such as Ghent and Milan were shielded from contact with the great monarchies until the habit of self-government was firmly rooted in the citizens. When at last they were confronted with the absolutist claims of the Capets or the Hohenstauffen, these cities did not shrink from a direct appeal to arms; and the wars which they waged for independence are not the least interesting chapter of medieval history. Flanders was vexed by a problem of over-population, for which neither the continuous exodus of emigrants nor the systematic reclaiming of marsh-lands offered a permanent solution. At an early date her middle-classes discovered the grand principle of modern industry: that by manufacturing for foreign markets the production of wealth can be accelerated to an indefinite degree, and the most prolific communities maintained in affluence upon a sterile or restricted territory. The superfluous labour of the Flemish countryside flocked into towns, at the bidding of Flemish capital, and found remunerative employment in the weaving trade. From 1127 onwards these towns were bargaining with the Counts of Flanders for emancipation. Bruges, Ypres, Lille and Ghent were only the most successful among forty thriving communities which, at the close of the twelfth century, enjoyed a large measure of self-government but found their liberties threatened by the King of France. To meet the danger the Flemish communes embarked on the stormy sea of politics. At first they fought the King, in the name of the Count, and made their first appearance as a military power on the disastrous field of Bouvines (1214), which cost Count Ferrand his liberty and the communes the flower of their militia. The successors of Ferrand sank deeper and deeper into dependence on the Capets, until the communes were forced in self-defence to assume the leading role. At Courtrai (in 1302) they turned the tables on the Crown, and took an ample vengeance for Bouvines, by a terrible slaughter of French knights and men-at-arms, demonstrating to a startled Europe that feudal tactics were obsolete, and that pikemen on foot were a match for the best mailed cavalry. Cheated by a treacherous Count of the due fruits of their victory, the Flemish communes nursed their resentment and waited for new opportunities, while consoling themselves with savage persecution of the nobles, the clergy, and all others whom they suspected of French sympathies. The ambition of Edward III came at length to their assistance; under the leadership of Jacques van Artevelde, a merchant-prince and demagogue of Ghent, they signed a treaty with the English King for the invasion and conquest of France (1339). It was a brief and ill-starred alliance, ruinous to Flemish trade and abruptly ended by the fall of Artevelde, whom his fellow-citizens tore limb from limb under the impression that he was aiming at a tyranny (1345). But events soon justified the bold proposals of the fallen statesman. In 1369 the heiress of the county was given to a French prince of the blood; the French party in Flanders reared their heads; Bruges, to the alarm and fury of all patriots, joined the foreign cause from jealousy of Ghent. War broke out between the two great rivals; and the men of Ghent, commanded by Philip, the son of Jacques van Artevelde, gained the upper hand. Victorious in a pitched battle, they pursued the beaten army into Bruges, massacred the partisans of France, and put the city to the sack. No other commune dared to imitate the policy of Bruges, or to dispute the supremacy of Ghent in Flanders. The younger Artevelde, like his father before him, stood out for a brief moment as the dictator of a league of free republics. But the generals of France had profited by their hard experience in the wars with England; at Roosebeke (1382) the men of Ghent, charging the French cavalry "like wild boars," found themselves outflanked, and were crushed by the weight of superior science and numbers. They fought with the fury of despair, neither expecting nor receiving quarter. More than twenty thousand of the citizens fell in the battle, and were left, by the King's order, unburied on the field. The corpse of Artevelde, who had been suffocated in the press, was hanged on a gibbet for a warning to all demagogues. With him died the day-dream of an independent Flanders. Though her cities remained prosperous, they were destined to be successively the subjects of the Burgundian, the Spaniard, and the Austrian. It was only in 1831 that Flanders at length became a province in a kingdom based on the Walloon nationality. The Italian communes present, in their sharp vicissitudes of fortune, a spectacle not less dramatic and infinitely more momentous for the general history of Europe. In Italy, as in Flanders, the fair ideal of civic freedom was blurred and defaced by party feuds and personal ambitions, by the fickleness and passion of the mob, by the lust of conquest and the fratricidal jealousies of neighbouring republics. Yet to the influence of this ideal we must attribute both the solidarity of the Italian city-state and the wealth of individual genius which it fostered. The Italian Renaissance was little more than the harvest-time of medieval Italy, the glorious evening of a day which had dawned with the Fourth Crusade and had reached high noon in the lifetimes of Dante and Giotto. In the fifteenth century the aptitudes which had ripened in the intense and crowded life of turbulent republics were concentrated upon art and letters. The leisure and the security which the specialist demands were bought by renouncing the Utopian visions of the past. But the growth of technical dexterity was a poor compensation for the narrowing of interests; the individual was sacrificed to make the artist; and art, too, suffered by the divorce from practical affairs. If we are moved to impatience by the waste of life and energy involved in the turmoils of medieval Italy, we must remember that in no atmosphere less electric would the national energies have matured so early, or piled achievement on achievement with such feverish speed. [Illustration: (map) The Alps and North Italy] The city, from time immemorial the meeting-ground for the best elements in Italian society, had become in the early Middle Ages the one bulwark between the Italian middle-classes and a particularly lawless form of feudalism; and it had served this purpose well. The number of these cities, their population and resources, the luxury of the citizens, the splendour of the palaces and public buildings, were the admiration of all Europe at a time when the Flemish burghers still lived in wooden houses and the Flemish cities were still rudely protected by palisades and earthen ramparts. Nature had done much for Italy. Thanks to the central situation of the peninsula, the trade between Northern Europe and the Mediterranean converged upon her seaports and the Alpine passes which stand above the valley of the Po. The untiring industry of Italian capital and labour made Lombardy and Tuscany the homes of textile manufactures, of scientific cultivation, of banking and finance. In every port of the Levant, the Aegean and the Black Sea, the shipmen and merchants of Venice, Benoa, and Pisa hunted for trade like sleuth-hounds, and fought like wolves to secure a preference or a monopoly. By land and sea the rule of life was competition for territory and trade. War was a normal and often a welcome incident in the quest for wealth; few Italians were free from the belief that conquests are a short cut to prosperity, that trade follows the flag, and that the gain of one community must be another's loss. Within the city walls, class strove with class and family with family. Riot, massacre, and proscription were the normal instruments of party warfare; minorities conspired from fear of proscription, and majorities proscribed in order to forestall conspiracy. Boundless, indeed, was the vitality of republics which, under such conditions, not only throve, but also held at bay the ablest sovereigns and the most formidable troops of Europe. The best and the worst features of the communal regime are illustrated in the resistance of the Lombard cities to Frederic Barbarossa, the first Emperor who formulated and applied to Italy a scheme of absolutist government. Between 1154 and 1176 the Lombards turned the course of history. They prepared the way for Innocent III to plant his foot upon the necks of kings, and for Innocent IV to destroy the House of Hohenstauffen. That this would be the result of their stand for liberty, neither they nor the other parties to the struggle could foretell. But on both sides it was felt that the greatest issues were at stake. The question was whether Italy should, once for all, accept a German yoke; whether the Papacy should become a German patriarchate; whether free institutions, both in Church and State, should give place to a bureaucracy. The question did not take this shape from the beginning. When Frederic first intervened in Lombardy he came to protect the smaller cities against the imperialist ambitions of Milan, to restore the public peace, to investigate innumerable complaints of force and fraud. Many of the cities hailed him as a deliverer; against him were only the clients of Milan, or those who, on a humbler scale, aspired to emulate her policy. Even so it was no easy matter to chastise the most insignificant of the contumacious communes; and Milan, who refused point-blank to give satisfaction for her lawless acts of conquests, or even to renounce what she had won, could not safely be attacked. Two circumstances were against the Emperor. Any war against the Lombards must be a war of sieges; but the military science of the age was more skilful in defence than in attack. And no war could be carried to a prosperous conclusion without Italian help; for it was impossible to interest the German princes in the wars of Italy, or to exact substantial help from them. The first of these difficulties Frederic Barbarossa never overcame. With the second he was more successful in the middle period of the conflict (1158-1162); and it was then that the representatives of Lombard independence were most nearly overwhelmed. In 1158 he came back from Germany to besiege Milan, having carefully concluded treaties with her rivals in Lombardy, in the Mark of Verona, in Emilia and the Marches. With their help he starved the impregnable city into a surrender on terms dictated by himself. In these there was nothing to excite suspicion or alarm. It was a matter of course that the Milanese should take the oath of allegiance and emancipate the enslaved cities. He stipulated further for a palace in the city, and for the restitution of all imperial prerogatives (_regalia_) which the consuls had usurped; but the full import of these latter articles only became clear some two months later, when he announced his future policy at a Diet held on the plain of Roncaglia. He disclaimed the intention of ruling as a tyrant, but demanded that his lawful rights should be respected. As guardian of the public peace, he would permit no private wars to be waged and no leagues to be formed among the cities. As lord of the land, he claimed, under the title of _regalia_, a formidable list of rights and dues which the jurists of Bologna had compiled at the expense of much historical research. It included the nomination of the highest magistrate in every city; the supreme jurisdiction in appeals and criminal causes; the control of mints, markets, and highways; and rights of purveyance and taxation. Some of these had been in abeyance from time immemorial; most of them had been exercised by the cities for more than fifty years. Frederic held that no prescription could avail against the Crown; and, if this attitude seemed more appropriate to a Justinian than to a King of the Lombards, there was still something to be said for his claims on grounds of public policy. Till a strong monarchy was re-established in Italy, city would oppress city, and the strong would rob the weak. But such a monarchy could only be maintained if an ample revenue were assured, and if the powers arrogated by the communes were curtailed. Even those cities which had originally supported Frederic began to waver when they saw the logical consequences of his policy. They were not disposed to cavil at any measures that he might take against Milan. But to deal with friend and foe on the same principles struck them as injustice. To run the risk of enslavement by a neighbour was an evil; but it was worse to lose for ever the prospect of enslaving others. And what guarantee was there that the new absolutism, once firmly in the saddle, would always be benevolent, or would always be represented by officials of integrity? The claims of the Emperor might be in a sense historical; but the cities knew, if he did not, that the so-called restoration of _regalia_ was in effect a revolution. The time was nearly ripe for general defection; loyalty was strained to breaking-point when Frederic began to appoint for each city a resident commissioner (_podesta_), empowered to exercise the regalian rights and to collect the revenue accruing from them. But Milan was still feared and hated. When she alleged that her recent treaty of capitulation was infringed by the decrees of Roncaglia, and when she expelled the envoys whom Frederic had sent to instal a _podesta_, the other cities rallied to the imperial cause. There was one notable exception. The little commune of Crema had been ordered to destroy her walls; she refused, and made common cause with her great neighbour. The imperial ban was issued against both cities (April 1159); troops were hurriedly called up from Germany, and contingents were obtained from the Italian allies, until Frederic had in the field a force estimated at 100,000 men. But for six months he was held in check by the resistance of Crema, which he had planned to reduce with a small force while the main bulk of his levies were gathering for the siege of Milan. The attack on Crema was cordially seconded by the citizens of the neighbouring Cremona, who gave their assistance in diverting the watercourses which ran through the city, and lent Frederic the most famous of living engineers to make his siege-machines. Crema was completely invested; and every known method of assault was tried. The moat was filled with fascines, and movable towers of wood, so high as to overtop the battlements, were brought up to the walls; which were also attacked with rams, and undermined by sappers working in the shelter of huge penthouses. But breaches were no sooner made than repaired; every scaling-party was repulsed; and the defenders derided the Emperor in opprobrious songs. For once in his life he descended to bluster and ferocious inhumanity. He swore that he would give no quarter, he executed captives within sight of the walls, and he suspended his hostages in baskets from the most exposed parts of the siege-towers. Fortunately for his fame he relented, when hunger and the desertion of their master-engineer compelled the Cremesi to sue for terms. They received permission to depart with as much property as they could carry on their backs. The rest fell to the imperial army; and the men of Cremona were commissioned to demolish the city, which they did with a goodwill. The turn of Milan followed; the Emperor, warned by experience, fell back upon the slow and costly, but irresistible method of blockade. At the end of eight months (May 1161-Feb. 1162) the city was surrendered, evacuated, and condemned to destruction--a sentence which it was found impossible to execute completely, so solid were the ramparts and so vast the buildings they enclosed. For the moment all resistance seemed at an end. The policy outlined at Roncaglia could at length be put in force through the length and breadth of Lombardy; and Frederic departed for Germany, leaving trustworthy lieutenants to complete the vindication of his Italian rights. It only remained to try conclusions with a recalcitrant Pope and the evasive Normans of the South. The Emperor already saw himself in imagination the master of Italy, and even of the Western Mediterranean. Five years passed without bringing him nearer to his goal. Then Frederic returned to effect the expulsion of Alexander III from Rome. He succeeded in this object, and was crowned in St. Peter's by the anti-Pope of his own choosing (August 1167). It was the highest point of his fortunes, and the calamities which followed were so unforeseen and terrible that contemporaries saw in them the hand of God. While he was still in Rome, a pestilence broke out which cost him two thousand knights and his best counsellors. He was forced to fly from the infected city. On his way to the north he found the road barred by a new and formidable coalition. The Lombard League had come into existence--an alliance organised by Cremona, hitherto the staunchest of imperial allies, and closely linked with Venice, which Frederic had regarded as a negligible quantity. Of the intentions of the League there could be no doubt. The members were already engaged in the rebuilding of Milan; they had admitted to their inmost councils a legate of Alexander III; they announced that they would only render to the Emperor his ancient and undoubted rights. Frederic would not trust himself in their vicinity. Accompanied by a handful of knights he escaped ignominiously to the north, taking a circuitous route through Savoy. The Leaguers no longer troubled to mask their true intentions. As a token of their unity they built the city of Alessandria, named after Frederic's bitterest enemy, the lawful Pope; and they solemnly repudiated the appellate jurisdiction of the imperial law-court (1168). Six years elapsed before Frederic could return to demand satisfaction, and even then he could only muster some eight thousand men. From October 1174 to April 1175 he was engaged, first in besieging Alessandria, and then in making fruitless overtures to the League for a compromise. By the end of 1175 he was virtually blockaded in Pavia with a dwindling remnant of his army. Reinforced in the spring, he made a rapid march on Milan, in the hope of taking unawares the headquarters of the League. But the Lombards were forewarned, and met him, at Legnano (29th May 1176), with a force outnumbering his by more than two to one. The battle was hotly contested. The Lombard vanguard, composed of cavalry, scattered before the onslaught of the Germans. The Emperor then led a charge which penetrated to the centre of the enemy's position. Here was the banner of Milan, mounted on a triumphal car (_carroccio_) and guarded by picked burgesses, who had sworn to defend their trust to the death. Round them the fighting raged for hours; the Germans made no impression on their ranks, and by degrees the Lombard troops who had fled returned to renew the battle. At length the imperial standard-bearer was slain, and Frederic himself unhorsed. Thinking all was lost, the imperialists fled confusedly towards Pavia, which they reached after suffering more loss in the flight than in the battle. Frederic, cut off from his followers, only escaped capture by hiding for some days until the road to Pavia was clear. Legnano was no overwhelming catastrophe, but it was ominous that citizen levies had defeated German knights in a fair field. Frederic's counsellors insisted that it was foolhardiness to pursue the war interminably, when at any moment the papal interest might gain the upper hand in Germany. Peace must be made at any cost with Alexander, and he would accept no peace from which the Lombards were excluded. Frederic yielded to the inevitable with a good grace. A treaty was concluded with the Pope in the same year (November 1176); a few months later, a six years' truce with the Lombards was arranged at Venice; and at Constance, in 1183, this was converted into a lasting peace. In form there was a compromise. The cities, while retaining the regalia and the free election of their consuls, recognised their allegiance to the Emperor and his appellate jurisdiction. In reality the Emperor had surrendered everything of value, and the cities ignored any stipulations in the treaty which were unfavourable to them. So matters remained until Frederic II, the grandson of Barbarossa, having firmly established himself in his Sicilian heritage, began to meditate a closer union between his dominions north and south of the Alps. The better to secure his communications with Germany, he prepared to enforce in Lombardy the imperial rights reserved at Constance (1226). At once the dormant Lombard League revived. The Alpine passes were so effectually blockaded that Frederic was left entirely dependent on his Sicilian forces. He turned the flank of the League at length, by an alliance with Ezzelin da Romano, the tyrant of Verona, which gave him access to the Brenner pass; but the League retaliated by lending support to his rebellious son, Henry, King of the Germans. So began another war in Lombardy. Legnano was brilliantly avenged on the field of Cortenuova (1237), where the Emperor routed the Milanese and captured the _carroccio_, the symbol of their independence. But he, like his grandfather, was worn out by the difficulties of siege warfare; and in 1240 he turned southward to reduce the States of the Church. One more attempt he made on Lombardy in the winter of 1247-1248. But a disastrous fiasco destroyed his hopes and gave a mortal blow to his prestige. For five months he blockaded Parma, and the city was at the last gasp, when he imprudently dismissed a part of his troops. The garrison saw their opportunity, and made a desperate sortie while the Emperor was absent on a hunting expedition. They surprised and burned the strongly fortified camp which he had named Victoria; his baggage and even his crown jewels were captured; more than half of his army were slain or taken, and the rest fled in confusion to Cremona (18th February 1248). It was necessary for Frederic to beat a retreat, and he appeared no more in Lombardy. His son Enzio, whom he left to represent him, was captured next year by the Bolognese and sentenced to perpetual captivity. Frederic died in 1250; and from this year we may date both the disruption of the Empire and the decadence of the free Italian commune. What he had failed to effect, with the united power of Sicily and Germany behind him, was accomplished by a score of petty local dynasties. At Milan the Visconti completed the enslavement which the Delia Torre had first planned; at Verona it was the Scaligeri who entered on the imperial inheritance; at Ferrara, the Este; at Padua the Carrara; at Mantua, the Gonzaga. The tide of despotism rose slowly but surely, until in the fifteenth century Venice alone remained to remind Italy of the possibility of freedom. It is to Germany, rather than Italy or Flanders, that we must look for the last and perhaps the most fruitful phase in the development of medieval town life. Free institutions were acquired by the German towns comparatively late; and although it was the Lombard commune which they aspired to reproduce, they never succeeded in securing so large a measure of independent power, or in making themselves the capitals of petty States. The Hohenstauffen, like the early Capets, were sensible of the advantages to be gained by alliance with the Third Estate; but Frederic II was obliged to renounce the right of creating free imperial cities within the fiefs of the great princes; and most towns were left to bargain single-handed with their immediate lords. Shut off from any prospects of territorial sovereignty, the towns, even those which held from the Empire, were also excluded from the Diet until the close of the fifteenth century. Trade afforded the only outlet for their activities. But in trade they engaged with such success that, by the close of the Middle Ages, Augsburg rivalled Florence as a centre of cosmopolitan finance, and the Baltic towns had developed a commerce comparable to that of the Mediterranean. It was the Baltic trade which gave birth to a new form of municipal league, the famous Hansa. The nucleus of this association was an alliance formed between Lubeck and Hamburg to protect the traffic of the Elbe. Other cities were induced to affiliate themselves, and in 1299 the Hansa absorbed the older Gothland League of which Wisby was the centre. By the year 1400 there were upwards of eighty Hanseatic cities, lying chiefly in the lower Rhineland, in Saxony, in Brandenburg, and along the Baltic coast; but the commercial sphere of the League extended from England to Russia and from Norway to Cracow. The Hanseatic cities were subject to many different suzerains, and were federated only for the protection of their trade. The League was loosely knit together; there was a representative congress which met at irregular intervals in Lubeck; but the delegates had no power to bind their cities. There was only a small federal revenue, no standing fleet or army, and no means of coercing disobedient members save by exclusion from trade privileges. Yet this amorphous union ranked for some purposes as an independent power. The Hansa policed the Baltic and the waterways and high roads of North Germany; it owned factories (steelyards) in London, Bruges, Bergen, and Novgorod; it concluded commercial treaties, and on occasion it waged wars. In the fourteenth century it monopolised the Baltic trade, and was courted by all the nations which had interests in that sea. In the fifteenth it began to decline, and in the age of the Reformation sank into insignificance. New sea-Powers arose; England and the Netherlands, Sweden and Denmark, came into competition with the Hanso; the growth of territorialism in Germany sapped the independence of the leading members of the league; and the Baltic trade, like that of the Mediterranean, became of secondary importance when the Portuguese had discovered the Cape route to India, and when the work of Columbus, Cortes, and Pizarro opened up a New World in the Western hemisphere. 
39143	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) NOVELS AT SIX SHILLINGS EACH. _Uniform with this Volume._ =Tales of Unrest.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. =The White-headed Boy.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. =The Mutineer.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. =The Silver Christ=, and other Stories. By OUIDA. =Evelyn Innes.= By GEORGE MOORE. =The School for Saints.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. =Outlaws of the Marches.= By LORD ERNEST HAMILTON. =Hugh Wynne.= By DR WEIR MITCHELL. =The Tormentor.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. =The People of Clopton.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. =Pacific Tales.= By LOUIS BECKE. =Prisoners of Conscience.= By AMELIA E. BARR. =The Grey Man.= By S. R. CROCKETT. =An Outcast of the Islands.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. =Almayer's Folly.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. =The First Fleet Family.= By LOUIS BECKE and W. JEFFERY. =The Ebbing of the Tide.= By LOUIS BECKE. =Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.= =The Stickit Minister.= By S. R. CROCKETT. =The Raiders.= By S. R. CROCKETT. =Nancy Noon.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. =The Lilac Sunbonnet.= By S. R. CROCKETT. =A Daughter of the Fen.= By J. T. BEALBY. =The Herb Moon.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. =Mrs Keith's Crime.= By MRS W. K. CLIFFORD. LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN. THE MAKING OF A SAINT By the same Author LIZA OF LAMBETH _Second Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d._ 'There has not been so powerful a story of the lowest class as "Liza of Lambeth" ... since Mr Rudyard Kipling wrote the "History of Badalia Herodsfoot." We are not sure, indeed, that this new story does not beat that one in vividness and knowledge of the class it depicts ... he has an almost extraordinary gift of directness and concentration, and his characters have an astounding amount of vitality.'--_Standard._ 'Those who wish to read of life as it is, without exaggeration and without modification, will have no difficulty in recognising the merits of this volume.'--_Athenæum._ 'He has performed his task with singular ability. No one can read his book without being convinced and saddened by its evident truth and accuracy.'--_Literary World._ 'The characters are depicted with great vigour, and stand out before us as lifelike as if we were actually standing in the street listening to their talk.'--Review of Reviews. 'Liza's portrait is so complete and so strong that even now her ghost refuses to be laid.'--_Literature._ 'Liza is a living creature from the beginning to the end.'--_Queen._ THE MAKING OF A SAINT BY WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1898 [_All Rights reserved_] Quanto e bella giovinezza, Che si fugge tuttavia; Chi vuol esser lieto, sia, Di doman non c'e certezza. _Youth--how beautiful is youth!_ _But, alas, elusive ever!_ _Let him be light of heart who would be so,_ _For there's no surety in the morrow._ The Making of a Saint INTRODUCTION These are the memoirs of the Beato Giuliano, brother of the Order of St Francis of Assisi, known in his worldly life as Filippo Brandolini; of which family I, Giulo Brandolini, am the last descendant. On the death of Fra Giuliano the manuscript was given to his nephew Leonello, on whom the estates devolved; and has since been handed down from father to son, as the relic of a member of the family whose piety and good works still shed lustre on the name of Brandolini. It is perhaps necessary to explain how the resolution to give these memoirs to the world has eventually been arrived at. For my part, I should have allowed them to remain among the other papers of the family; but my wife wished otherwise. When she deserted her home in the New World to become the Countess Brandolini, she was very naturally interested at finding among my ancestors a man who had distinguished himself in good works, so as to be granted by the Pope the title of Beatus, which was acquired for him by the influence of his great-nephew not very long after his death; and, indeed, had our house retained the prosperity which it enjoyed during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, he would undoubtedly have been canonised, for it was a well certified fact that the necessary miracles had been performed by his remains and that prayers had been regularly offered at his tomb, but our estates had dwindled, so that we could not afford the necessary expenditure; and now, when my wife has restored its ancient magnificence to our house, times, alas! have changed. The good old customs of our fathers have fallen into disuse, and it is impossible to create a saint for ready money. However, my wife desired to publish an account of her pious ancestor. But a difficulty arose in the fact that there were no materials whatever for any relation of the life which Fra Giuliano led when he had entered the Franciscan monastery of Campomassa, and it was obvious that, even if there had been good works, prayer and fasting could not have afforded a very interesting story; and so we have been constrained to leave untold his pieties and recount instead his sins, for which there was every facility in the memoirs he had himself left behind him. Not content with writing the story of his own life, Fra Giuliano begins with a mythical Consul of the Roman Republic, who is supposed to have founded the family by a somewhat discreditable union with somebody else's wife. He then carries the story through countless ages till he arrives at his own conception, and the prodigies attending his birth, which he describes with great minuteness. He gives very amply the history of his childhood and boyhood, the period he spent as page at the Court of the Bentivogli of Bologna, and his adventures in the Neapolitan armies under the Duke of Calabria; but the whole story is narrated at such length, with so many digressions and details, and is sometimes so vague, incoherent and disjointed that, with whatever editing, it was considered impossible to make a clear and continuous narrative. Fra Giuliano himself divided his life into two parts: the one he named the Time of Honey, being the period of expectation; the other the Time of Gall, being that of realisation. The second half commences with his arrival at the town of Forli, in the year 1488, and it is this part which we have decided to publish; for, notwithstanding its brevity, this was the most eventful period of his life, and the account of it seems to hang together in a sufficiently lucid fashion, centring round the conspiracy which resulted in the assassination of Girolamo Riario, and finishing with the author's admission to the Order of St Francis. This, then, I have given exactly as he wrote it, neither adding nor suppressing a word. I do not deny that it would have pleased me a little to falsify the history, for the Anglo-Saxons are a race of idealists, as is shown in all their dealing, international and commercial; and truth they have always found a little ugly. I have a friend who lately wrote a story of the London poor, and his critics were properly disgusted because his characters dropped their aitches and often used bad language, and did not behave as elegantly as might be expected from the example they were continually receiving from their betters; while some of his readers were shocked to find that people existed in this world who did not possess the delicacy and refinement which they felt palpitating in their own bosoms. The author forgot that Truth is a naked lady, and that nudity is always shameful, unless it points a moral. If Truth has taken up her abode at the bottom of a well, it is clearly because she is conscious that she is no fit companion for decent people. I am painfully aware that the persons of this drama were not actuated by the moral sentiments, which they might have acquired by education at a really good English public school, but one may find excuse for them in the recollection that their deeds took place four hundred years ago, and that they were not wretched paupers, but persons of the very highest rank. If they sinned, they sinned elegantly, and much may be forgiven to people whose pedigree is above suspicion. And the writer, as if unwilling to wound the susceptibilities of his readers, has taken care to hurl contempt at the only character whose family was distinctly not respectable. Before making my bow, and leaving the reader with Filippo Brandolini, I will describe his appearance, shown in a portrait painted in the same year, 1488, and till the beginning of this century in the possession of my family, when it was sold, with many other works of art, to travellers in Italy. My wife has succeeded in buying back the portraits of several of my ancestors, but this particular one is in the collection of an English nobleman, who has refused to part with it, though kindly allowing a copy to be made, which now hangs in the place formerly occupied by the original. It represents a middle-sized man, slim and graceful, with a small black beard and moustache; an oval face, olive coloured, and from his fine dark eyes he is looking straight out into the world with an expression of complete happiness. It was painted soon after his marriage. He is dressed in the costume of the period, and holds a roll of parchment in his hand. At the top right hand corner are the date and the arms of the family; or a griffin rampant. Gules. Crest: a demiswan issuing from a coronet. The motto: _Felicitas_. I 'Allow me to present to you my friend Filippo Brandolini, a gentleman of Città di Castello.' Then, turning to me, Matteo added, 'This is my cousin, Checco d'Orsi.' Checco d'Orsi smiled and bowed. 'Messer Brandolini,' he said, 'I am most pleased to make your acquaintance; you are more than welcome to my house.' 'You are very kind,' I replied; 'Matteo has told me much of your hospitality.' Checco bowed courteously, and asked his cousin, 'You have just arrived, Matteo?' 'We arrived early this morning. I wished to come here directly, but Filippo, who suffers from a very insufferable vanity, insisted on going to an inn and spending a couple of hours in the adornment of his person.' 'How did you employ those hours, Matteo?' asked Checco, looking rather questioningly at his cousin's dress and smiling. Matteo looked at his boots and his coat. 'I am not elegant! But I felt too sentimental to attend to my personal appearance, and I had to restore myself with wine. You know, we are very proud of our native Forli wine, Filippo.' 'I did not think you were in the habit of being sentimental, Matteo,' remarked Checco. 'It was quite terrifying this morning, when we arrived,' said I; 'he struck attitudes and called it his beloved country, and wanted to linger in the cold morning and tell me anecdotes about his childhood.' 'You professional sentimentalists will never let anyone sentimentalise but yourselves.' 'I was hungry,' said I, laughing, 'and it didn't become you. Even your horse had his doubts.' 'Brute!' said Matteo. 'Of course, I was too excited to attend to my horse, and he slipped over those confounded stones and nearly shot me off--and Filippo, instead of sympathising, burst out laughing.' 'Evidently you must abandon sentiment,' said Checco. 'I'm afraid you are right. Now, Filippo can be romantic for hours at a stretch, and, what is worse, he is--but nothing happens to him. But on coming back to my native town after four years, I think it was pardonable.' 'We accept your apology, Matteo,' I said. 'But the fact is, Checco, that I am glad to get back. The sight of the old streets, the Palazzo, all fill me with a curious sensation of joy--and I feel--I don't know how I feel.' 'Make the utmost of your pleasure while you can; you may not always find a welcome in Forli,' said Checco, gravely. 'What the devil do you mean?' asked Matteo. 'Oh, we'll talk of these things later. You had better go and see my father now, and then you can rest yourselves. You must be tired after your journey. To-night we have here a great gathering, where you will meet your old friends. The Count has deigned to accept my invitation.' 'Deigned?' said Matteo, lifting his eyebrows and looking at his cousin. Checco smiled bitterly. 'Times have changed since you were here, Matteo' he said; 'the Forlivesi are subjects and courtiers now.' Putting aside Matteo's further questions, he bowed to me and left us. 'I wonder what it is?' said Matteo. 'What did you think of him?' I had examined Checco d'Orsi curiously--a tall dark man, with full beard and moustache, apparently about forty. There was a distinct likeness between him and Matteo: they both had the same dark hair and eyes; but Matteo's face was broader, the bones more prominent, and the skin rougher from his soldier's life. Checco was thinner and graver, he looked a great deal more talented; Matteo, as I often told him, was not clever. 'He was very amiable,' I said, in reply to the question. 'A little haughty, but he means to be courteous. He is rather oppressed with his dignity of head of the family.' 'But his father is still alive.' 'Yes, but he's eighty-five, and he's as deaf as a post and as blind as a bat; so he remains quietly in his room while Checco pulls the strings, so that we poor devils have to knuckle under and do as he bids us.' 'I'm sure that must be very good for you,' I said. 'I'm curious to know why Checco talks of the Count as he did; when I was here last they were bosom friends. However, let us go and drink, having done our duty.' We went to the inn at which we had left our horses and ordered wine. 'Give us your best, my fat friend,' cried Matteo to mine host. 'This gentleman is a stranger, and does not know what wine is; he was brought up on the sickly juice of Città di Castello.' 'You live at Città di Castello?' asked the innkeeper. 'I wish I did,' I answered. 'He was ejected from his country for his country's good,' remarked Matteo. 'That is not true,' I replied, laughing. 'I left of my own free will.' 'Galloping as hard as you could, with four-and-twenty horsemen at your heels.' 'Precisely! And so little did they want me to go, that when I thought a change of air would suit me they sent a troop of horse to induce me to return.' 'Your head would have made a pretty ornament stuck on a pike in the grand piazza.' 'The thought amuses you,' I answered, 'but the comedy of it did not impress me at the time.' I remembered the occasion when news was brought me that the Vitelli, the tyrant of Castello, had signed a warrant for my arrest; whereupon, knowing the rapid way he had of dealing with his enemies, I had bidden farewell to my hearth and home with somewhat indecent haste.... But the old man had lately died, and his son, proceeding to undo all his father's deeds, had called back the Fuorusciti, and strung up from the Palace windows such of his father's friends as had not had time to escape. I had come to Forli with Matteo, on my way home to take possession of my confiscated property, hoping to find that the intermediate proprietor, who was dangling at a rope's end some hundred feet from the ground, had made sundry necessary improvements. 'Well, what do you think of our wine?' said Matteo. 'Compare it with that of Città di Castello.' 'I really haven't tasted it yet,' I said, pretending to smile agreeably. 'Strange wines I always drink at a gulp--like medicine.' '_Brutta bestia!_' said Matteo. 'You are no judge.' 'It's passable,' I said, laughing, having sipped it with great deliberation. Matteo shrugged his shoulders. 'These foreigners!' he said scornfully. 'Come here, fat man,' he called to the innkeeper. 'Tell me how Count Girolamo and the gracious Caterina are progressing? When I left Forli the common people struggled to lick the ground they trod on.' The innkeeper shrugged his shoulders. 'Gentlemen of my profession have to be careful in what they say.' 'Don't be a fool, man; I am not a spy.' 'Well, sir, the common people no longer struggle to lick the ground the Count treads on.' 'I see!' 'You understand, sir. Now that his father is dead--' 'When I was here last Sixtus was called his uncle.' 'Ah, they say he was too fond of him not to be his father, but, of course, I know nothing. Far be it from me to say anything in disparagement of his Holiness, past or present.' 'However, go on.' 'Well, sir, when the Pope died the Count Girolamo found himself short of money--and so the taxes that he had taken off he put on again.' 'And the result is--' 'Well, the people are beginning to murmur about his extravagance; and they say that Caterina behaves as if she were a queen; whereas we all know that she is only the bastard of old Sforza of Milan. But, of course, it has nothing to do with me!' Matteo and I were beginning to feel sleepy, for we had been riding hard all night; and we went upstairs, giving orders to be called in time for the night's festivity. We were soon fast asleep. In the evening Matteo came to me, and began examining my clothes. 'I have been considering, Filippo,' he said, 'that it behoves me on my first appearance before the eyes of my numerous lady loves to cut the best figure I can.' 'I quite agree with you,' I answered; 'but I don't see what you are doing with my clothes.' 'Nobody knows you, and it is unimportant how you look; and, as you have some very nice things here, I am going to take advantage of your kindness and--' 'You're not going to take my clothes!' I said, springing out of bed. Matteo gathered up in his arms various garments and rushed out of the room, slamming the door and locking it on the outside, so that I was left shut in, helpless. I shouted abuse after him, but he went away laughing, and I had to manage as best I could with what he had left me. In half an hour he came to the door. 'Do you want to come out?' he said. 'Of course I do,' I answered, kicking the panel. 'Will you promise not to be violent?' I hesitated. 'I shan't let you out unless you do.' 'Very well!' I answered, laughing. Matteo opened the door and stood bolt upright on the threshold, decked out from head to foot in my newest clothes. 'You villain!' I said, amazed at his effrontery. 'You don't look bad, considering,' he answered, looking at me calmly. II When we arrived at the Palazzo Orsi, many of the guests had already come. Matteo was immediately surrounded by his friends; and a score of ladies beckoned to him from different parts of the room, so that he was torn away from me, leaving me rather disconsolate alone in the crowd. Presently I was attracted to a group of men talking to a woman whom I could not see; Matteo had joined them, and they were laughing at something he had said. I had turned away to look at other people when I heard Matteo calling me. 'Filippo,' he said, coming towards me, 'come and be introduced to Donna Giulia; she has asked me to present you.' He took me by the arm, and I saw that the lady and her admirers were looking at me. 'She's no better than she should be,' he whispered in my ear; 'but she's the loveliest woman in Forli!' 'Allow me to add another to your circle of adorers, Donna Giulia,' said Matteo, as we both bowed--'Messer Filippo Brandolini, like myself, a soldier of distinction.' I saw a graceful little woman, dressed in some Oriental brocade; a small face, with quite tiny features, large brown eyes, which struck me at the first glance as very soft and caressing, a mass of dark, reddish-brown hair, and a fascinating smile. 'We were asking Matteo where his wounds were,' she said, smiling on me very graciously. 'He tells us they are all in the region of his heart.' 'In that case,' I answered, 'he has come to a more deadly battlefield than any we saw during the war.' 'What war?' asked a gentleman who was standing by. 'Nowadays we are in the happy state of having ten different wars in as many parts of the country.' 'I was serving under the Duke of Calabria, 'I replied. 'In that case, your battles were bloodless.' 'We came, we saw, and the enemy decamped,' said Matteo. 'And now, taking advantage of the peace, you have come to trouble the hearts of Forli,' said Donna Giulia. 'Who knows how useful your swords may not be here!' remarked a young man. 'Be quiet, Nicolo!' said another, and there was an awkward silence, during which Matteo and I looked at one another in surprise; and then everyone burst out talking, so that you could not hear what was said. Matteo and I bowed ourselves away from Donna Giulia, and he took me to Checco, standing in a group of men. 'You have recovered from your fatigue?' he asked kindly. 'You have been travelling, Matteo?' said one of the company. 'Yes, we rode sixty miles yesterday,' he replied. 'Sixty miles on one horse; you must have good steeds and good imaginations,' said a big, heavy-looking man--an ugly, sallow-faced person, whom I hated at first sight. 'It was only once in a way, and we wanted to get home.' 'You could not have come faster if you had been running away from a battlefield,' said the man. I thought him needlessly disagreeable, but I did not speak. Matteo had not cultivated the golden quality. 'You talk as one who has had experience,' he remarked, smiling in his most amiable manner. I saw Checco frown at Matteo, while the bystanders looked on interestedly. 'I only said that,' added the man, shrugging his shoulders, 'because the Duke of Calabria is rather celebrated for his retreative tactics.' I entertained a very great respect for the Duke, who had always been a kind and generous master to me. 'Perhaps you do not know very much about tactics,' I remarked as offensively as I could. He turned and looked at me, as if to say, 'Who the devil are you!' He looked me up and down contemptuously, and I began to feel that I was almost losing my temper. 'My good young man,' he said, 'I imagine that I was engaged in war when your battles were with your nursemaid.' 'You have the advantage of me in courtesy as well as in years, sir,' I replied. 'But I might suggest that a man may fight all his life, and have no more idea of war at the end than at the beginning.' 'It depends on the intelligence,' remarked Matteo. 'Exactly what I was thinking,' said I. 'What the devil do you mean?' said the man, angrily. 'I don't suppose he means anything at all, Ercole,' put in Checco, with a forced laugh. 'He can answer for himself, I suppose,' said the man. A flush came over Checco's face, but he did not answer. 'My good sir,' I said, 'you have to consider whether I choose to answer.' 'Jackanapes!' I put my hand to my sword, but Checco caught hold of my arm. I recovered myself at once. 'I beg your pardon, Messer Checco,' I said; then, turning to the man, 'You are safe in insulting me here. You show your breeding! Really, Matteo, you did not tell me that you had such a charming fellow-countryman.' 'You are too hard on us, Filippo,' answered my friend, 'for such a monstrosity as that Forli is not responsible.' 'I am no Forlivese, thank God! Neither the Count nor I.' He looked round scornfully. 'We offer up thanks to the Almighty every time the fact occurs to us. I am a citizen of Castello.' Matteo was going to burst out, but I anticipated him. 'I, too, am a citizen of Castello; and allow me to inform you that I consider you a very insolent fellow, and I apologise to these gentlemen that a countryman of mine should forget the courtesy due to the city which is sheltering him.' 'You a Castelese! And, pray, who are you?' 'My name is Filippo Brandolini.' 'I know your house. Mine is Ercole Piacentini.' 'I cannot return the compliment; I have never heard of yours.' The surrounders laughed. 'My family is as good as yours, sir,' he said. 'Really, I have no acquaintance with the middle-classes of Castello; but I have no doubt it is respectable.' I noticed that the listeners seemed very contented, and I judged that Messer Ercole Piacentini was not greatly loved in Forli; but Checco was looking on anxiously. 'You insolent young boy!' said the man, furiously. 'How dare you talk to me like that. I will kick you!' I put my hand to my sword to draw it, for I was furious too; I pulled at the hilt, but I felt a hand catch hold of mine and prevent me. I struggled; then I heard Checco in my ear. 'Don't be a fool,' he said. 'Be quiet!' 'Let me be!' I cried. 'Don't be a fool! You'll ruin us.' He held my sword, so that I could not draw it. Ercole saw what was going on; his lips broke into a sarcastic smile. 'You are being taught the useful lesson of discretion, young man. You are not the only one who has learnt it.' He looked round at the bystanders.... At that moment a servant came to Checco and announced,-- 'The Count!' The group broke up, and Checco advanced to the further end of the hall, with Ercole Piacentini and several other gentlemen. Matteo and I lingered where we were. There was a rustle, and the Count and Countess appeared attended by their suite. First of all my eyes were attracted to Caterina; she was wonderfully beautiful. A tall, well-made woman, holding herself proudly, her head poised on the neck like a statue. 'One would think she was a king's daughter!' said Matteo, looking at her with astonishment. 'It is almost Francesco's face,' I said. We both had an immense admiration for Francesco Sforza, the King of Condottieri, who had raised himself from a soldier of fortune to the proudest duchy in the world. And Caterina, his natural daughter, had the same clear, strong features, the strong piercing eyes, but instead of the Sforza's pock-marked skin, she had a complexion of rare delicacy and softness; and afterwards she proved that she had inherited her father's courage as well as his appearance.... She was dressed in a gorgeous robe of silver cloth, glittering and shimmering as she walked, and her hair was done in her favourite manner, intertwined with gold and silver threads; but the wonderful chestnut outshone the brilliant metals, seeming to lend them beauty rather than to borrow it. I heard her speak, and her voice was low and full like a man's. Matteo and I stood looking at her for a minute; then we both broke out '_Per Bacco_, she is beautiful!' I began thinking of the fairy stories I had heard of Caterina at Rome, where she had enchanted everyone by her loveliness; and Sixtus had squandered the riches of the Church to satisfy her whims and fancies: banquets, balls, pageants and gorgeous ceremonies; the ancient city had run red with wine and mad with delight of her beauty. Suddenly Matteo said to me, 'Look at Girolamo!' I lifted my eyes, and saw him standing quite close to me--a tall man, muscular and strong, with big heavy face, and prominent jaw bones, the nose long and hooked, small keen eyes, very mobile. His skin was unpleasant, red and coarse; like his wife, he was dressed with great magnificence. 'One sees the sailor grandfather in him,' I said, remembering that Sixtus's father, the founder of the family, was a common sailor at Rovese. He was talking to Checco, who was apparently speaking to him of us, for he turned and stepped forward to Matteo. 'The prodigal has returned,' he said. 'We will not fail to kill the fatted calf. But this time you must stay with us, Matteo; we can give you service as well as the Duke of Calabria.' Matteo smiled grimly; and the Count turned to me. 'Checco has told me of you also, sir; but I fear there is no chance of keeping you, you are but a bird of passage--still, I hope you will let us make you welcome at the Palace.' All the time he was speaking his eyes kept moving rapidly up and down, all round me, and I felt he was taking in my whole person.... After these few words he smiled, a harsh, mechanical smile, meant to be gracious, and with a courteous bow moved on. I turned to Matteo and saw him looking after the Count very sourly. 'What is it,' I asked. 'He is devilish condescending,' he answered. 'When last I was here it was hail fellow, well met, but, good God! he's put on airs since then!' 'Your cousin said something to the same effect,' I remarked. 'Yes, I understand what he meant now.' We strolled round the room, looking at the people and talking. 'Look,' I said, 'there's a handsome woman!' pointing to a voluptuous beauty, a massive creature, full-brested and high-coloured. 'Your eye is drawn to a handsome woman like steel to a magnet, Filippo,' answered Matteo, laughing. 'Introduce me,' I said, 'if she is not ferocious.' 'By no means; and she has probably already fixed her eyes upon you. But she is wife to Ercole Piacentini.' 'I don't care. I mean to kill the man afterwards; but that is no reason why I should not make myself pleasant to his spouse.' 'You will do her a service in both ways,' he replied; and, going up to her, 'Claudia,' he said, 'your fatal eyes have transfixed another heart.' Her sensual lips broke into a smile. 'Have they that power?' She fixed them on me, and made room on the couch on which she was sitting. Neither Matteo nor I were slow to take the hint, for I took my place and he his leave. 'I wonder you have not already fallen victim to Madonna Giulia,' said Claudia, looking languorously at me, and glancing over to the other lady. 'One does not worship the moon when the sun is shining,' I replied politely. 'Giulia is more like the sun, for she gathers all men in her embrace. I am more modest.' I understood that the rival beauties were not good friends. 'You boast that you are cruel,' I replied. She did not answer, but sighed deeply, smiling, and fixed on me her great, liquid eyes. 'Oh, there is my husband.' I looked up and saw the great Ercole glaring viciously at me. I laughed within myself. 'He must be very jealous of so beautiful a wife?' I asked. 'He torments me to death.' Under these circumstances I thought I would pursue my advantage; I pressed closer to her. 'I can understand it: the first moment I saw you, I felt my head whirl.' She gave me a very long glance from beneath her eyelashes. I seized her hand. 'Those eyes!' I said, looking into them fervently. 'Ah!' she sighed again. 'Madam,' said a pageboy, coming up to her, 'Messer Piacentini begs that you will come to him.' She gave a little cry of annoyance. 'My husband!' Then, rising from her seat, she turned to me, holding out her hand; I immediately offered my arm, and we solemnly crossed the room to Ercole Piacentini. Here she bowed very graciously to me, and I smiled on the happy husband with the utmost sweetness, while he looked very grim and took not the faintest notice of me; then I marched off, feeling particularly pleased with myself. The Count and Countess were on the point of taking their departure: they were followed by Ercole and his wife; the remaining guests soon went, and in a little while there were left only Matteo and myself, two other men and Checco. III Checco led us to a smaller room, at some distance from the great hall of the reception; then, turning to a man I did not know, he said, 'Did you hear the Piacentini?' 'Yes!' he answered; and for a moment they looked at one another silently. 'He would not have been so bold without good cause,' added the man. I was told that his name was Lodovico Pansecchi, and that he was a soldier in the Count's pay. Checco turned round and looked at me sharply. Matteo understood what he meant, and said, 'Have no fear of Filippo; he is as safe as myself.' Checco nodded, and made a sign to a youth, who immediately rose and carefully closed the door. We sat still for a while; then Checco stood up and said impatiently, 'I cannot understand it.' He walked up and down the room, stopping at last in front of me. 'You had never seen that man before?' 'Never!' I answered. 'The quarrel was brought on solely by Ercole himself,' said the youth, whom I found to be Alessandro Moratini, a brother of Giulia dall' Aste. 'I know,' said Checco, 'but he would never have dared to behave thus unless he knew of some design of Girolamo.' He paused a moment to think, then turning to me again, 'You must not challenge him.' 'On the contrary,' I replied, 'I must challenge him; he has insulted me.' 'I don't care about that. I will not have you challenge him.' 'This concerns myself alone.' 'Nonsense! You are a guest of my house, and for all I know it is just such an opportunity as this that Girolamo is seeking.' 'I don't understand,' I said. 'Listen,' said Checco, sitting down again. 'When Sixtus obtained possession of Forli for his nephew, Girolamo Riario, I, like the fool I was, did all I could to bring the town to his allegiance. My father was against the plan, but I bore down his opposition and threw the whole power of my house on his side. Without me he would never have been Lord of Forli.' 'I remember,' said Matteo. 'You used Sixtus to keep the Ordelaffi out; and you thought Girolamo would be a catspaw in our hands.' 'I did not give the city for love of a person I had never seen in my life.... Well, this was eight years ago. Girolamo took off the heaviest taxes, granted favours to the town and entered in solemn state with Caterina.' 'Amid shouts and cheers,' remarked Alessandro. 'For a while he was more popular than ever the Ordelaffi had been, and when he went out the people ran to kiss the hem of his garment. He spent the great part of his time in Rome, but he employed the riches of the Pope in beautifying Forli, and when he came it was one round of feasts and balls and gaiety. 'Then Pope Sixtus died, and Girolamo settled here for good in the palace which he had commenced building on his accession. The feasts and balls and gaiety continued. Whenever a distinguished stranger passed through the town, he was welcomed by the Count and his wife with the most lavish hospitality; so that Forli became renowned for its luxury and riches. 'The poets ransacked Parnassus and the ancients for praises of their rules, and the people echoed the panegyrics of the poet.... 'Then came the crash. I had often warned Girolamo, for we were intimate friends--then. I told him that he could not continue the splendour which he had used when the wealth of Christendom was at his command, when he could spend the tribute of a nation on a necklace for Caterina. He would not listen. It was always, "I cannot be mean and thrifty," and he called it policy. "To be popular," he said, "I must be magnificent." The time came when the Treasury was empty, and he had to borrow. He borrowed in Rome and Florence and Milan--and all the time he would not retrench, but rather, as his means became less, the extravagance became greater; but when he could borrow no more outside, he came to the citizens of Forli, first, of course, to me, and I repeatedly lent him large sums. These were not enough, and he sent for the richest men of Forli and asked them to lend him money. Naturally they could not refuse. But he squandered their money as he had squandered his own; and one fine day he assembled the Council.' 'Ah, yes,' said Alessandro, 'I was there then. I heard him speak.' Checco stopped as if for Alessandro. 'He came to the Council chamber, clad as usual in the richest robes, and began talking privately to the senators, very courteously--laughing with them, shaking their hands. Then, going to his place, he began to speak. He talked of his liberality towards them, and the benefits he had conferred on the town; showed them his present necessities, and finally asked them to re-impose the taxes which he had taken off at the beginning of his reign. They were all prejudiced against him, for many of them had already lent him money privately, but there was such a charm in his discourse, he was so persuasive, that one really could not help seeing the reasonableness of his demand. I know I myself would have granted him whatever he asked.' 'He can make one do anything he likes when he once begins talking,' said Lodovico. 'The Council unanimously voted the re-imposition of the taxes, and Girolamo offered them his thanks in his most gracious manner.' There was a silence, broken by Matteo. 'And then?' he asked. 'Then,' answered Checco, 'he went to Imola, and commenced spending there the money that he was gathering here.' 'And what did they think of it in Forli?' 'Ah, when the time came to pay the taxes they ceased their praises of Girolamo. First they murmured beneath their breath, then out loud; and soon they cursed him and his wife. The Count heard of it and came back from Imola, thinking, by his presence, to preserve the town in its allegiance. But the fool did not know that the sight of him would redouble the anger of the populace. They saw his gorgeous costumes, the gold and silver dresses of his wife, the jewels, the feasting and riotry, and they knew that it came out of their pockets; the food of their children, all that they had toiled and worked for, was spent on the insane luxury of this papal favourite and his bastard wife.' 'And how has he treated us?' cried Lodovico, beating his fist violently down on the table. 'I was in the pay of the Duke of Calabria, and he made me tempting offers, so that I left the armies of Naples to enter the papal service under him. And now, for four years, I have not received a penny of my salary, and when I ask him, he puts me aside with gentle words, and now he does not even trouble to give me them. A few days back I stopped him in the piazza, and, falling on my knees, begged for what he owed me. He threw me violently away, and said he could not pay me--and the jewel on his breast was worth ten times the money he owed me. And now he looks at me with frowns, me who have served him faithfully as a dog. I will not endure it; by God! I will not.' He clenched his fists as he spoke, trembling with rage. 'And you know how he has served me,' said Checco. 'I have lent him so much that he has not the face to ask for more; and how do you think he has rewarded me? Because I have not paid certain dues I owe the Treasury, he sent a sheriff to demand them, and when I said I would not pay them at that moment, he sent for me, and himself asked for the money.' 'What did you do?' 'I reminded him of the money he owed me, and he informed me that a private debt had nothing to do with a debt to the State, and said that I must pay or the law should take its course.' 'He must be mad,' said Matteo. 'He is mad, mad with pride, mad in his extravagance.' 'I tell you,' said Lodovico, 'it cannot be endured.' 'And they tell me that he has said my tongue must be silenced,' added Checco. 'The other day he was talking to Giuseppe Albicina, and he said "Let Checco beware; he may go too far and find the hand of the master not so gentle as the hand of the friend!"' 'I, too, have heard him say things which sounded like threats,' said Alessandro. 'We have all heard it,' added Lodovico. 'When his temper overcomes him, he cares not what he says, and one discovers then what he and his silent wife have been plotting between them.' 'Now, sir,' interrupted Checco, speaking to me, 'you see how things stand: we are on thin ground, and the fire is raging beneath us. You must promise not to seek further quarrel with this countryman of yours, this Ercole Piacentini. He is one of Girolamo's chiefest favourites, and he would not bear to see him touched; if you happened to kill him, the Count would take the opportunity to have us all arrested, and we should suffer the fate of the Pazzi at Florence. Will you promise?' 'I promise,' I answered, smiling, 'to defer my satisfaction to a fitter opportunity.' 'Now, gentlemen,' said Checco, 'we can separate.' We bade one another Good-night; Alessandro, as he was going, said to Matteo, 'You must bring your friend to my sister to-morrow; she will be glad to see you both.' We said we should be enchanted, and Alessandro and Lodovico Pansecchi left us. Matteo looked at Checco meditatively. 'Cousin,' he said, 'all this looks very like conspiracy.' Checco started. 'I cannot help it, if the people are dissatisfied with Girolamo.' 'But you?' pursued Matteo. 'I imagine you do not greatly care whether the people are taxed or no. You knew the taxes would have to come on again sooner or later.' 'Has he not insulted me by sending a sheriff to demand his dues?' 'Is there nothing further than that?' asked Matteo, looking at his cousin steadily. Checco lifted his eyes and gazed back into Matteo's. 'Yes,' he said at last; 'eight years ago I was Girolamo's equal, now I am his servant. I was his friend, he loved me like a brother--and then his wife came, the daughter of Francesco Sforza, the bastard--and gradually he has lifted himself up from me. He has been cold and reserved; he begins to show himself master; and now I am nothing more than a citizen among citizens--the first, but not the equal of the master.' Checco kept silence for a moment, and in his quietness I could see the violence of his emotion. 'This concerns you as well as me, Matteo. You are an Orsi, and the Orsi are not made to be servants. I will be no man's servant. When I think of this man--this bastard of a pope--treating me as beneath him, by God! I cannot breathe. I could roll on the floor and tear my hair with rage. Do you know that the Orsi have been great and rich for three hundred years? The Medici pale before them, for they are burghers and we have been always noble. We expelled the Ordelaffi because they wished to give us a bastard boy to rule over us, and shall we accept this Riario? I swear I will not endure it.' 'Well said!' said Matteo. 'Girolamo shall go as the Ordelaffi went. By God! I swear it.' I looked at Matteo, and I saw that suddenly a passion had caught hold of him; his face was red, his eyes staring wide, and his voice was hoarse and thick. 'But do not mistake again, Checco,' he said; 'we want no foreign rulers. The Orsi must be the only Lords of Forli.' Checco and Matteo stood looking at one another; then the former, shaking himself as if to regain his calmness, turned his back on us and left the room. Matteo strode up and down for a while in thought, and then, turning to me, said, 'Come.' We went out and returned to our hostelry. IV Next day we went to Donna Giulia's. 'Who is she?' I asked Matteo, as we walked along. 'A widow!' he answered shortly. 'Further?' I asked. 'The scandal of Forli!' 'Most interesting; but how has she gained her reputation?' 'How do I know?' he answered, laughing; 'how do women usually gain their reputations? She drove Giovanni dall' Aste into his grave; her rivals say she poisoned him--but that is a cheerful libel, probably due to Claudia Piacentini.' 'How long has she been a widow?' 'Five or six years.' 'And how has she lived since then?' Matteo shrugged his shoulders. 'As widows usually live!' he answered. 'For my part, I really cannot see what inducement a woman in that position has to be virtuous. After all, one is only young once, and had better make the best use of one's youth while it lasts.' 'But has she no relations?' 'Certainly; she has a father and two brothers. But they hear nothing or care nothing. Besides, it may be only scandal after all.' 'You talked as if it were a fact,' I said. 'Oh, no; I only say that if it is not a fact she is a very foolish woman. Now that she has a bad reputation, it would be idiotic not to live up to it.' 'You speak with some feeling,' I remarked, laughing. 'Ah,' answered Matteo, with another shrug of the shoulders, 'I laid siege to the fort of her virtue--and she sallied and retired, and mined and countermined, advanced and drew back, so that I grew weary and abandoned the attack. Life is not long enough to spend six months in politeness and flattery, and then not be sure of the reward at the end.' 'You have a practical way of looking at things.' 'With me, you know, one woman is very like another. It comes to the same in the end; and after one has kicked about the world for a few years, one arrives at the conclusion that it it does not much matter if they be dark or fair, fat or thin....' 'Did you tell all this to Donna Giulia?' I asked. 'More or less.' 'What did she think of it?' 'She was cross for a while. She wished she had yielded sooner, when it was too late; it served her right!' We had arrived at the house, and were ushered in. Donna Giulia greeted us very politely, gave me a glance, and began talking again to her friends. One could see that the men round her were more or less in love, for they followed every motion with their eyes, disputing her smiles, which she scattered in profusion, now upon one, now upon another.... I saw she delighted in adulation, for the maker of any neat compliment was always rewarded with a softer look and a more charming smile. Matteo surpassed the others in the outrageousness of his flattery; I thought she must see that he was laughing at her, but she accepted everything he said quite seriously, and was evidently much pleased. 'Are you not glad to be back in Forli?' she said to him. 'We all delight to tread the ground you walk on.' 'You have grown very polite during your absence.' 'What other result could have been, when I spent my time thinking of the lovely Giulia.' 'I am afraid you had other thoughts in Naples: they say that there the women are all beautiful.' 'Naples! My dear lady, I swear that during all the time I have been away I have never seen a face to compare with yours.' Her eyes quite shone with pleasure. I turned away, finding the conversation silly. I thought I would do without the pleasant looks of Madonna Giulia, and I decided not to come to her again. Meanwhile, I began talking to one of the other ladies in the room and passed the time agreeably enough.... In a little while Giulia passed me, leaning on the arm of one of her admirers. I saw her glance at me, but I took no notice. Immediately afterwards she came again, hesitating a moment, as if she wished to say something, but passed on without speaking. I thought she was piqued at my inattention to her, and, with a smile, redoubled my attentions to the lady with whom I was talking. 'Messer Filippo!' Donna Giulia called me, 'if you are not too engaged, will you speak to me for one moment?' I approached her smiling. 'I am anxious to hear of your quarrel with Ercole Piacentini. I have heard quite ten different stories.' 'I am surprised that the insolence of an ill-bred fellow should rouse such interest.' 'We must talk of something in Forli. The only thing I hear for certain is that he insulted you, and you were prevented from getting satisfaction.' 'That will come later.' She lowered her voice and took my arm. 'But my brother tells me that Checco d'Orsi has made you promise to do nothing.' 'I shall get my revenge--having to wait for it will only make it sweeter.' Then, supposing she had nothing further to say to me, I stood still, as if expecting her to leave me. She looked up suddenly. 'Am I incommoding you?' she said. 'How could you!' I replied gallantly. 'I thought you wanted to get rid of me.' 'How can such an idea have entered your head? Do you not see that all men lie humble at your feet, attentive to every word and gesture?' 'Yes,' she answered, 'but not you!' Of course I protested. 'Oh,' she said, 'I saw very well that you avoided me. When you came in here--you hardly came near me.' 'I did not think you would notice my inattention.' 'Certainly I noticed it; I was afraid I had offended you. I could not think how.' 'My dear lady, you have certainly done nothing to offend me.' 'Then, why do you avoid me?' she asked petulantly. 'Really,' I said, 'I don't. Perhaps in my modesty I thought it would be a matter of indifference to you whether I was at your side or not. I am sorry I have annoyed you.' 'I don't like people not to like me,' she said in a plaintive way. 'But why should you think I do not like you? Indeed, without flattery, I can assure you that I think you one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.' A faint blush came over her cheeks, and a smile broke out on her lips; she looked up at me with a pretty reproachful air. 'Then, why don't you let me see it more plainly?' I smiled, and, looking into her eyes, was struck by their velvet softness. I almost thought she was as charming as she was beautiful. 'Do you really wish to know?' I said, in reply to her question. 'Do tell me!' she said, faintly pressing my arm. 'I thought you had so many admirers that you could well do without me.' 'But, you see,' she answered charmingly, 'I cannot!' 'And then I have a certain dislike to losing myself in a crowd. I did not wish to share your smiles with twenty others.' 'And would you for that refuse them altogether?' 'I have always avoided the woman who is the object of general admiration. I think I am too proud to struggle for favours; I would rather dispense with them.' 'But, then, supposing the lady wishes to favour you especially, you do not give her the opportunity.' 'That is so rare,' I replied, 'that it is not worth while breaking the rule.' 'But it may happen.' I shrugged my shoulders. She paused a moment, and then said,-- 'You do like me, then, after all?' I saw a slight trembling of the lip, perhaps the eyes were a little moist. I felt sorry for what I had done. 'I fear I have given you pain,' I said. 'You have a little,' she replied. 'I am sorry. I thought you did not care.' 'I like people to love me and be pleased with me.' 'I do both!' 'Then you must show it,' she replied, a smile breaking through the beginning of tears. I really had been brutal, and I was very sorry that I had caused a cloud to gather over her sunshiny nature. She was indeed very sweet and charming. 'Well, we are good friends now, aren't we?' she said. 'Of course.' 'And you'll come and see me often?' 'As often as you will allow me to,' I answered. She gave me her hand to kiss, and a bright, happy smile lit up her face. '_A rivederci!_' she said. We went home, and Matteo found waiting for him a message from Checco, bidding him leave the inn and take up his quarters with me at the Palazzo Orsi. On arriving, we found Checco excitedly walking up and down a long corridor lined with statues and pictures. 'I am glad you have come,' he said to Matteo, taking his hand and nodding. 'You must stay here; we must all keep together now, for anything may happen.' 'What do you mean?' asked Matteo. 'The catastrophe nearly came to-day.' We both looked at him with astonishment, not comprehending. Checco stood still abruptly. 'He tried to arrest me to-day--Girolamo!' Then, speaking very quickly, as if labouring under great excitement, 'I had to go to the Palace on business. I found him in the audience chamber, and we began to talk certain matters over, and I grew rather heated. Suddenly I noticed that the place had emptied itself. I stopped in the midst of my sentence and looked up at Girolamo. I saw he was not attending to me; his eyes were fixed on the door.' Checco was silent, and drops of perspiration were standing on his forehead. 'Yes! Yes!' we both said eagerly. 'The door opened, and the Master of the Guard walked in. "By God!" I thought, "I'm trapped!" "I have been waiting for you, Andrea," said Girolamo. Then he turned to me, and said, "Come into the Room of the Nymphs, Checco. I have some papers there to show you." He took hold of my arm. I loosed myself. "I pray you, excuse me," I said, "I have some very urgent business." I walked to the door. Andrea glanced at his master, and I thought he was going to bar my way; I think he was waiting for some sign, but before it came I had seen through the open door Paolo Bruni, and I called out, "Paolo, Paolo, wait for me. I want to talk to you urgently." Then I knew I was safe; he dared not touch me; and I turned round and said again, "I pray you, excuse me; my business with Paolo is a matter of life or death." I brushed past Andrea and got out. By Heaven! how I breathed when I found myself in the piazza!' 'But are you sure he meant to arrest you?' said Matteo. 'Certain; what else?' 'Andrea might have come in by accident. There may have been nothing in it at all.' 'I was not deceived,' answered Checco, earnestly. 'Their looks betrayed them--Andrea's questioning glance. I know he wants to kill me.' 'But would he dare seize you in cold blood?' 'He cares for nothing when he has an object in view. Besides, when he had me in his power, what could have been done? I know Girolamo too well. There would have been a mock trial, and I should have been condemned. Or else he would have me strangled in my cell, and when I had gone you would have been helpless--my father is too old, and there would have been no leader to the party but you--and what could you do alone?' We all remained silent for a while, then Checco broke out. 'I know he wants to rid himself of me. He has threatened before, but has never gone so far as this.' 'I agree with you,' said Matteo; 'things are becoming grave.' 'It is not so much for myself I care; but what would happen to my children? My father is safe--he is so old and helpless that they would never think of touching him--but my boys? Caterina would throw them into prison without a scruple.' 'Well,' said Matteo, 'what will you do?' 'What can I do?' he answered. 'I have been racking my brains, and I see no way of safety. I can wear a coat of mail to preserve me from the stray knife of an assassin, but that will not help me against a troop of soldiers. I can leave Forli, but that is to abandon everything.' 'No, you must not leave Forli--anything but that!' 'What can I do? What can I do?' he stamped his foot on the ground as if almost in desperation. 'One thing,' said Matteo, 'you must not go about alone--always with at least two friends.' 'Yes, I have thought of that. But how will it all turn out; it cannot last. What can I do?' He turned to me. 'What do you think?' he said. 'He means to kill me.' 'Why not anticipate him?' I answered quietly. They both started up with a cry. 'Kill him!' 'Assassination! I dare not, I dare not,' said Checco, very excitedly. 'I will do all I can by fair means, but assassination--' I shrugged my shoulders. 'It seems a matter of self-preservation,' I said. 'No, no; I won't speak of it! I won't think of it.' He began again to walk excitedly up and down the room. 'I won't think of it, I tell you. I could not.' Neither Matteo nor I spoke. 'Why don't you speak?' he said to Matteo, impatiently. 'I am thinking,' he answered. 'Not of that; I forbid you to think of that. I will not have it.' Then, after a pause, abruptly, as if he were angry with us and with himself, 'Leave me!' V A few days later, Matteo came to me as I was dressing, having rescued my clothes from him. 'I wonder you're not ashamed to go out in those garments,' he remarked, 'people will say that you wear my old things.' I took no notice of the insult. 'Where are you going?' he asked. 'To Madonna Giulia.' 'But you went there yesterday!' 'That is no reason why I should not go to-day. She asked me to come.' 'That's very obliging of her, I'm sure.' Then, after a pause, during which I continued my toilet, 'I have been gathering the news of Forli.' 'Oh!' 'Madonna Giulia has been affording a great deal of interest....' 'You have been talking to the lady whom you call the beautiful Claudia,' I said. 'By the way, why have you not been to her?' 'I really don't know,' I said. 'Why should I?' 'You told me you had progressed a long way in her favours during the half-hour's talk you had with her the other night; have you not followed up the advantage?' I shrugged my shoulders. 'I don't think I like a woman to make all the advances.' 'Don't you?' said Matteo. 'I do!' 'Besides, I don't care for the type; she is too massive.' 'She feels very much hurt at your neglect. She says you have fallen in love with Giulia.' 'That is absurd,' I replied; 'and as to her being hurt at my neglect, I am very sorry, but I don't feel any obligation to throw myself into the arms of every woman who chooses to open them.' 'I quite agree with you; neither she nor Giulia are a bit better than they should be. I'm told Giulia's latest lover is Amtrogio della Treccia. It seems one day he was almost caught by old Bartolomeo, and had to slip out of the window and perform feats worthy of a professional acrobat to get out of the way.' 'I don't think I attach belief to all the scandal circulating on the subject of that lady.' 'You're not in love with her?' asked Matteo, quickly. I laughed. 'Certainly not. But still--' 'That's all right; because, of course, you know it's notorious that she has had the most disgraceful amours. And she hasn't even kept them to her own class; all sorts of people have enjoyed her favours.' 'She does not look very much like a Messalina,' I said, sneering a little. 'Honestly, Filippo, I do think she is really very little better than a harlot.' 'You are extremely charitable,' I said. 'But don't you think you are somewhat prejudiced by the fact that you yourself did not find her one. Besides, her character makes no particular difference to me; I really care nothing if she's good or bad; she is agreeable, and that is all I care about. She is not going to be my wife.' 'She may make you very unhappy; you won't be the first.' 'What a fool you are!' I said, a little angrily. 'You seem to think that because I go and see a woman I must be dying of love for her. You are absurd.' I left him, and soon found myself at the Palazzo Aste, where Donna Giulia was waiting for me. I had been to see her nearly every day since my arrival in Forli, for I really liked her. Naturally, I was not in love with her as Matteo suggested, and I had no intention of entering into that miserable state. I had found her charmingly simple, very different from the monster of dissipation she was supposed to be. She must have been three or four-and-twenty, but in all her ways she was quite girlish, merry and thoughtless, full of laughter at one moment, and then some trifling thing would happen to discompose her and she would be brought to the verge of tears; but a word or caress, even a compliment, would make her forget the unhappiness which had appeared so terrible, and in an instant she would be wreathed in smiles. She seemed so delightfully fragile, so delicate, so weak, that one felt it necessary to be very gentle with her. I could not imagine how anyone could use a hard word to her face. Her eyes lit up as she saw me. 'How long you've been,' she said. 'I thought you were never coming.' She always seemed so glad so see you that you thought she must have been anxiously awaiting you, and that you were the very person of all others that she wished to have with her. Of course, I knew it was an affectation, but it was a very charming one. 'Come and sit by me here,' she said, making room for me on a couch; then when I had sat down, she nestled close up to me in her pretty childish way, as if seeking protection. 'Now, tell me all you've been doing.' 'I've been talking to Matteo,' I said. 'What about?' 'You.' 'Tell me what he said.' 'Nothing to your credit, my dear,' I said, laughing. 'Poor Matteo,' she answered. 'He's such a clumsy, lumbering creature, one can see he's spent half his life in camps.' 'And I? I have spent the same life as Matteo. Am I a clumsy, lumbering creature?' 'Oh, no,' she answered, 'you are quite different.' She put the pleasantest compliments in the look of her eyes. 'Matteo told me all sorts of scandal about you.' She blushed a little. 'Did you believe it?' 'I said I did not much care if it were true or not.' 'But do you believe it?' she asked, insisting. 'If you'll tell me it is not true, I will believe absolutely what you say.' The little anxious look on her face gave way to a bright smile. 'Of course, it is not true.' 'How beautiful you are when you smile,' I remarked irrelevantly. 'You should always smile.' 'I always do on you,' she answered. She opened her mouth, as if about to speak, held back, as if unable to make up her mind, then said, 'Did Matteo tell you he made love to me once, and was very angry because I would not pick up the handkerchief which he had condescended to throw.' 'He mentioned it.' 'Since then, I am afraid he has not had very much good to say of me.' I had thought at the time that Matteo was a little bitter in his account of Donna Giulia, and I felt more inclined to believe her version of the story than his. 'He has been beseeching me not to fall in love with you,' I said. She laughed. 'Claudia Piacentini has been telling everyone that it is too late, and she is horribly jealous.' 'Has she? Matteo also seemed certain I was in love with you.' 'And are you?' she asked suddenly. 'No!' I replied with great promptness. '_Brutta bestia!_' she said, throwing herself to the end of the couch, and beginning to pout. 'I am very sorry,' I said, laughing, 'but I cannot help it.' 'I think it is horrid of you,' she remarked. 'You have so many adorers,' I said in expostulation. 'Yes, but I want more,' she smiled. 'But what good can it do you to have all these people in love with you?' 'I don't know,' she said, 'it is a pleasant sensation.' 'What a child you are!' I answered, laughing. She bent forward seriously. 'But are you not at all in love with me?' I shook my head. She came close up to me, so that her hair brushed lightly against my cheek; it sent a shiver through me. I looked at her tiny ear; it was beautifully shaped, transparent as a pink shell. Unconsciously, quite without intention, I kissed it. She pretended to take no notice, and I was full of confusion. I felt myself blushing furiously. 'Are you quite sure?' she said gravely. I got up to go, foolishly, rather angry with myself. 'When shall I see you again?' I asked. 'I am going to confession to-morrow. Be at San Stefano at ten, and we can have a little talk in the church when I have finished.' VI There had been a great commotion in Forli during the last two days; for it had become known that the country people of the Count's domain had sent a petition for the removal of certain taxes which pressed so heavily upon them, that the land was speedily going to ruin. The proprietors were dismissing their labourers, the houses of the peasants were falling into decay, and in certain districts the poverty had reached such a height that the farmers had not even grain wherewith to sow their fields, and all around the ground was lying bare and desolate. A famine had been the result, and if the previous year the countrymen had found it difficult to pay their taxes, this year they found it impossible. Girolamo had listened to their arguments, and knew them to be true. After considering with his councillors, he had resolved to remit certain of the more oppressive taxes; but in doing this he was confronted with the fact that his Treasury was already empty, and that if the income were further diminished it would be impossible for him to meet the demands of the coming year. It was clear that the country could not pay, and it was clear that the money must be procured. He set his eyes on the town, and saw that it was rich and flourishing, but he dared not, on his own initiative, propose any increase in its burdens. He called a council, showed the state of his affairs, and asked the elders for advice. No one stirred or spoke. At last Antonio Lassi, a creature of the Count, whom he had raised to the council from a humble position, rose to his feet and gave utterance to the plan which his master had suggested to him. The pith of it was to abrogate the taxes on the country people, and in compensation place others on certain food-stuffs and wines, which had previously gone free. Girolamo answered in a studied speech, pretending great unwillingness to charge what were the necessaries of life, and asked several of the more prominent members what they thought of the suggestion. They had met Antonio Lassi's speech with silence, and now applauded Girolamo's answer; they agreed with him that such taxes should not be. Then the Count changed his tone. He said it was the only means of raising the money, and gathering anger from their sullen looks and their silence, he told them that if they would not give their sanction to the decree, he would do without their sanction. Then, breaking short, he asked them for their answer. The councillors looked at one another, rather pale but determined; and the reply came from one after the other, quietly,-- 'No--no--no!' Antonio Lassi was cowed, and dared not give his answer at all. The Count, with an oath, beat his fist on the table and said, 'I am determined to be lord and master here; and you shall learn, all of you, that my will is law.' With that he dismissed them. When the people heard the news, there was great excitement. The murmurs against the Count, which had hitherto been cautiously expressed, were now cried out in the market-place; the extravagance of the Countess was bitterly complained of, and the townsmen gathered together in groups, talking heatedly of the proposed exaction, occasionally breaking out into open menace. It was very like sedition. On the day after the council, the head of the customs had been almost torn to pieces by the people as he was walking towards the Palace, and on his way back he was protected by a troop of soldiers. Antonio Lassi was met everywhere with hoots and cries, and Checco d'Orsi, meeting him in the loggia of the piazza, had assailed him with taunts and bitter sarcasms. Ercole Piacentini interposed and the quarrel nearly ended in a brawl; but Checco, with difficulty restraining himself, withdrew before anything happened.... On leaving Donna Giulia, I walked to the piazza. and found the same restlessness as on the preceding days. Through all these people a strange commotion seemed to pass, a tremor like the waves of the sea; everywhere little knots of people were listening eagerly to some excited speaker; no one seemed able to work; the tradesmen were gathered at their doors talking with one another; idlers were wandering to and fro, now joining themselves to one group, now to another. Suddenly there was a silence; part of the crowd began looking eagerly in one direction, and the rest in their curiosity surged to the end of the piazza to see what was happening. Then it was seen that Caterina was approaching. She entered the place, and all eyes were fixed upon her. As usual, she was magnificently attired; her neck and hands and arms, her waistband and headgear, shone with jewels; she was accompanied by several of her ladies and two or three soldiers as guard. The crowd separated to let her pass, and she walked proudly between the serried rows of people, her head uplifted and her eyes fixed straight in front, as if she were unaware that anyone was looking at her. A few obsequiously took off their hats, but most gave no greeting; all around her was silence, a few murmurs, an oath or two muttered under breath, but that was all. She walked steadily on, and entered the Palace gates. At once a thousand voices burst forth, and after the deadly stillness the air seemed filled with confused sounds. Curses and imprecations were hurled on her from every side; they railed at her pride, they called her foul names.... Six years before, when she happened to cross the streets, the people had hurried forward to look at her, with joy in their hearts and blessings on their lips. They vowed they would die for her, they were in ecstasies at her graciousness. I went home thinking of all these things and of Donna Giulia. I was rather amused at my unintentional kiss; I wondered if she was thinking of me.... She really was a charming creature, and I was glad at the idea of seeing her again on the morrow. I liked her simple, fervent piety. She was in the habit of going regularly to mass, and happening to see her one day, I was struck with her devout air, full of faith; she also went to confessional frequently. It was rather absurd to think she was the perverse being people pretended.... When I reached the Palazzo Orsi I found the same excitement as outside in the piazza, Girolamo had heard of the dispute in the loggia, and had sent for Checco to hear his views on the subject of the tax. The audience was fixed for the following morning at eleven, and as Checco never went anywhere without attendants, Scipione Moratini, Giulia's second brother, and I were appointed to accompany him. Matteo was not to go for fear of the presence of the two most prominent members of the family tempting the Count to some sudden action. The following morning I arrived at San Stefano at half-past nine, and to my surprise found Giulia waiting for me. 'I did not think you would be out of the confessional so soon,' I said. 'Were your sins so small this week?' 'I haven't been,' she answered. 'Scipione told me that you and he were to accompany Checco to the Palace, and I thought you would have to leave here early, so I postponed the confessional.' 'You have preferred earth and me to Heaven and the worthy father?' 'You know I would do more for you than that,' she answered. 'You witch!' She took my arm. 'Come,' she said, 'come and sit in one of the transept chapels; it is quiet and dark there.' It was deliciously cool. The light came dimly through the coloured glass, clothing the marble of the chapel in mysterious reds and purples, and the air was faintly scented with incense. Sitting there she seemed to gain a new charm. Before, I had never really appreciated the extreme beauty of the brown hair tinged with red, its wonderful quality and luxuriance. I tried to think of something to say, but could not. I sat and looked at her, and the perfumes of her body blended with the incense. 'Why don't you speak?' she said. 'I'm sorry; I have nothing to say.' She laughed. 'Tell me of what you are thinking.' 'I daren't,' I said. She looked at me, repeating the wish with her eyes. 'I was thinking you were very beautiful.' She turned to me and leant forward so that her face was close to mine; her eyes acquired a look of deep, voluptuous languor. We sat without speaking, and my head began to whirl. The clock struck ten. 'I must go,' I said, breaking the silence. 'Yes,' she answered, 'but come to-night and tell me what has happened.' I promised I would, then asked whether I should lead her to another part of the church. 'No, leave me here,' she said. 'It is so good and quiet. I will stay and think.' 'Of what?' I said. She did not speak, but she smiled so that I understood her answer. VII I hurried back to the Palazzo and found Scipione Moratini already arrived. I liked him for his sister's sake, but in himself he was a pleasant person. Both he and his brother had something of Giulia in them--the delicate features, the fascination and the winning ways which in them seemed almost effeminate. Their mother had been a very beautiful woman--report said somewhat gay--and it was from her the sons had got the gallantry which made them the terror of husbands in Forli, and Giulia the coquetry which had given rise to so much scandal. The father, Bartolomeo, was quite different. He was a rugged, upright man of sixty, very grave and very dignified, the only resemblance of feature to his children being the charming smile, which the sons possessed as well as Giulia; though in him it was rarely seen. What I liked most in him was the blind love for his daughter, leading him to unbend and become a youth to flatter her folly. He was really devoted to her, so that it was quite pathetic to see the look of intense affection in his eyes as he followed her movements. He, of course, had never heard a word of the rumours circulating about Giulia; he had the utmost faith in her virtue, and I, it seems to me, had gained faith from him. After talking a while with Scipione, Checco came, and we started for the Palazzo. The people in Forli know everything, and were well aware of Checco's mission. As we walked along we were met by many kind greetings, good luck, and God speed were wished us, and Checco, beaming with joy, graciously returned the salutations. We were ushered into the council chamber, where we found the councillors and many of the more prominent citizens, and several gentlemen of the Court; immediately the great folding doors were opened and Girolamo entered with his wonted state, accompanied by his courtiers and men-at-arms, so that the hall was filled with them. He took his seat on a throne, and graciously bowed to the left and to the right. His courtiers responded, but the citizens preserved a severe aspect, quite unsympathetic towards his condescension. Girolamo rose to his feet and made a short speech, in which he extolled Checco's wisdom and knowledge and patriotism, saying he had heard of a controversy between him and Antonio Lassi on the subject of the proposed tax, and consequently had sent for him to hear his opinion on the subject. He stopped and looked round; his courtiers obsequiously applauded. Then, at opposite ends of the room, doors opened, and through each filed a string of soldiers; the citizens looked at one another, wondering. A flourish of trumpets was heard in the piazza, outside, and the tramp of soldiers. Girolamo waited; at last he proceeded,-- 'A good prince owes this to his subjects--to do nothing against their will freely expressed; and though I could command, for I am placed here by the Vicar of Christ himself, with absolute power over your lives and fortunes, yet such is my love and affection towards you that I do not disdain to ask your advice.' The courtiers broke out into a murmur of surprise and self-congratulation at his infinite graciousness; the trumpets flourished again, and in the succeeding silence could be heard cries of command from the officers in the square, while from the soldiers standing about the hall there was a clank of swords and spurs. Checco rose from his seat. He was pale and he almost seemed to hesitate; I wondered if the soldiers had had the effect which Girolamo intended. Then he began to speak, quietly, in even, well-turned sentences, so that one could see the speech had been carefully thought out. He called to mind his own affection for Girolamo, and the mutual friendship which had solaced many hours of doubt and difficulty, and assured him of his unalterable fidelity to himself and his family; then he reminded him of the love borne by the people towards their ruler, and their consciousness of an equal love on the part of the Count towards themselves. He drew a picture of the joy in Forli when first Girolamo came to it, and of the enthusiasm caused by the sight of him or his wife walking through the streets. There was a little applause, chiefly from the Count's suite; Checco paused as if he had come to the end of his preface, and were gathering himself up for the real matter of his speech. There was deadly silence in the hall, all eyes were fixed on him, and all minds were asking themselves, 'What will he say?' Girolamo was leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand, looking anxious. I wondered if he regretted that he had called the meeting. Checco resumed his speech. 'Girolamo,' he said, 'the people from the country districts lately sent you a petition, in which they showed their sufferings from rain and storm and famine, their poverty and misery, the oppressiveness of the taxes. They bade you come and look at their untilled fields, their houses falling to ruin, themselves dying by the roadside, naked and hungry, children expiring at their mothers' breasts, parents lying unburied in the ruin of their home. They bade you come and look at the desolation of the land, and implored you to help them while there was yet time, and lighten from their backs the burdens you had laid upon them. 'You turned an eye of pity on them; and now the land smiles, the people have shaken themselves from their sleep of death, and awakened to new life, and everywhere prayers are offered and blessings rained on the head of the most high and magnificent prince, Girolamo Riario. 'And we too, my Lord, join in the thanks and praise; for these to whom you have given new life are our cousins and brothers, our fellow-countrymen.' What was coming? The councillors looked at one another questioningly. Could Checco have made terms with the Count, and was it a comedy they were playing? Girolamo also was surprised; he had not for long heard praise from any but his courtiers. 'Eight years ago, when you acquired the sovereignty of Forli, you found the town weighed down under the taxes which the Ordelaffi had imposed. Depression had seized hold of the merchants and tradesmen; they were burdened so that they could not buy nor sell; they had given up effort, and the town was lying numb and cold, as if dying from a pestilence. The streets were deserted; such people as there were moved sadly, and with downturned faces. The inhabitants were becoming fewer; there was no motion, no life; a few years more and Forli would have become a city of the dead! 'But you came, and with you life; for your first deed was to remove the most oppressive imposts. As the bow, doubled up, when the string is loosened shoots back with a sudden impulse which propels the arrow to its mark, so Forli rebounded from the weight it had borne before. The Goddess of Plenty reigned in the land; it was the sunlight after storm; everywhere life and activity! The merchant wrote busily at his desk, the tradesman spread his wares anew and laughed in the joy of his heart. The mason, the builder, the blacksmith returned to their work, and through the city was heard the sound of hammering and building. The news spread of a beneficent lord, and the goldsmith and silversmith, the painter, the sculptor, came to the city in throngs. The money passed from hand to hand, and in its passage seemed to increase by magic. On the faces of all was happiness; the apprentice sang as he worked, and mirth and joy were universal; Forli became known as the home of delight; Italy rang with its feasts and celebrations--and every citizen was proud to be a Forlivese. 'And everywhere prayers were offered and blessings rained on the head of the most high and magnificent prince, Girolamo Riario.' Checco paused again. An inkling of his meaning was coming to his hearers, but they dared not think he would say what was in all their minds. 'Then,' Checco went on, 'you re-imposed the taxes which you had taken off.' 'That is a lie!' interrupted Girolamo. 'They were imposed by the council.' Checco shrugged his shoulders, smiling ironically. 'I remember quite well. You called a meeting of the Ancients, and showing them your necessities, suggested that they should re-impose the taxes. 'I forget if you reminded them that you could command, and that you were placed here by the Vicar of Christ on earth. 'And you forebore to let us hear the ring of trumpets and the tramp of soldiery in the square. Nor did you think so numerous a suite necessary for your dignity.' He looked round at the soldiers, thoughtfully stroking his beard. 'Proceed!' said Girolamo, impatiently; he was beginning to get angry. Checco, in talking, had recovered the assurance which at first seemed to fail him. He smiled politely at the Count's command, and said,-- 'I will come to the point at once. 'You replaced the taxes which you had taken away, and thereby undid the benefit you had done. The town soon felt the effect of the change; its prosperity is already declining, and it is not doubtful that a few years more will bring it to the condition in which you found it. And who knows, perhaps its last state may be worse than its first? 'And now you propose to make the townspeople pay the duties which you have taken off the countryfolk. You have sent for me to ask my advice on the subject, and here I give it you. 'Do not put on, but take off. In the name of the people, I beseech you to do away with the taxes you imposed four years ago, and return to the happy state of the first years of your rule.' He paused a moment, then with outstretched arm, pointing to the Count, he added solemnly, 'Or Girolamo Riario, the magnificent prince, may share the fate of the Ordelaffi, who ruled the town for two centuries and now wander homeless about the land.' There was a cry all round the room. They were astounded at his audacity. Girolamo had started in his chair--his eyes were staring, his face red; he was dumb with rage. He tried to speak, but the words died in his throat, and nothing was heard but an inarticulate murmur. The soldiers and courtiers were looking at one another in surprise; they did not know what to do or think; they looked at their master, but found no help in him. The citizens were bewildered, and by turns felt wonder, dismay, fear, pleasure; they could not understand.... 'Oh, Girolamo!' said Checco, unmindful of the excitement round him, 'I do not say these things in enmity to you. Come among your people yourself, and see their wants with your own eyes. Do not believe what your courtiers tell you--do not think the land in your charge is a captured town, which you can spoil at your pleasure. You have been placed here as a guardian in our perils and an assistance in our necessities. 'You are a stranger here; you do not know this people as I know it. They will be faithful, meek, obedient--but do not rob them of the money they have hardly earned, or they will turn against you. Forli has never supported an oppressor, and if you oppress them, beware of their wrath. What do you think are these soldiers of yours against the wrath of a people! And are you so sure of your soldiers? Will they take part for you against their fathers and brothers, their children?' 'Be quiet!' Girolamo had risen from his seat, and was standing with his arm threateningly upraised. He shouted so as to drown Checco, 'Be quiet! You have always been against me, Checco,' he cried. 'You have hated me because I have overwhelmed you with bounty. There has never been trouble between me and my people but you have come to make them more bitter against me.' 'You lie!' said Checco, passionately. 'Oh, I know you, Checco, and your pride! As Satan fell by pride, so may you, notwithstanding all your riches and power. You thought you were my equal, and because you found me your master you gnashed your teeth and cursed me. 'By God, you would kill me if you could!' Checco lost his calm, and gesticulating wildly shouted back at Girolamo. 'I have hated you because you are a tyrant to this town. Are these not my fellow-citizens, my brothers, my friends? Have we not been together since childhood, and our fathers and grandfathers before us? And do you think I look upon them as you who are a stranger? 'No; so long as you obtained money from the rich, I said nothing. You know what sums I have myself lent you; all that I freely give you. I do not want a penny of it back--keep it all. But when you have extorted the uttermost from us, and you turn to the poor and needy and rob them of their little, then I will not keep silence. You shall not impose these taxes on the people! And why is it you want them? For your riotous, insane extravagance; so that you may build yourself new palaces, and deck yourself in gorgeous robes, and buy diamonds and precious stones for your wife.' 'Do not speak of my wife,' interrupted the Count. 'So that you may pile gold in the hands of the parasite who makes a sonnet in your praise. You came to us and begged for money; we gave it and you flung it away in feasts and riotry. The very coat you wear was made out of our riches. But you have no right to take the money of the people for these ignoble uses. You are not their master; you are their servant; their money is not yours, but yours is theirs. Your duty before God is to protect them, and, instead, you rob them.' 'Be silent!' broke in Girolamo. 'I will hear no more. You have outraged me as no man has ever done without repenting it. You think you are all-powerful, Checco, but by God you shall find that I am more powerful! 'Now go, all of you! I have had enough of this scene. Go!' He waved his hand imperiously. Then, with a look of intense rage, he descended from his throne and, scowling, flung himself out of the room. VIII The courtiers followed on their master's heels, but the soldiers stood undecided. Ercole Piacentini looked at us, and spoke in an undertone to the Captain of the Guard. I thought they were discussing the possibility of boldly arresting Checco on the spot, which they doubtless knew would be a step very acceptable to Girolamo; but he was surrounded by his friends, and evidently, whatever Ercole and the Captain wished, they dared nothing, for the former quietly left the chamber, and the soldiers, on a whispered order, slid silently from the room like whipped dogs. Then the excitement of our friends knew no bounds. I, at the end of the speech, had seized his hand and said,-- 'Well done.' Now he was standing in the midst of all these people, happy and smiling, proud of the enthusiasm he had aroused, breathing heavily, so that a casual observer might have thought him drunk with wine. 'My friends,' he said, in answer to their praises, and his voice slightly trembled, so that his sincerity was conspicuous, 'whatever happens, be sure that I will continue to uphold your rights, and that I will willingly give my life for the cause of justice and freedom.' He was choked by the violence of his emotion, and could say nothing more. The cries of approbation were renewed, and then, with an impulse to get into the open air, they surged out of the council chamber into the piazza. It was not exactly known what had passed in the Palace, but the people knew that Checco had braved the Count, and that the latter had broken up the meeting in anger. Wonderful rumours were going about: it was said that swords had been drawn, and there had almost been a battle; others said that the Count had tried to arrest Checco, and this story, gaining credence--some even saying that Checco was being kept a prisoner--had worked the citizens to fever height. When Checco appeared, there was a great shout and a rush towards him. 'Bravo!' 'Well done!' I don't know what they did not find to say in praise of him. Their enthusiasm grew by its own fire; they went mad; they could not contain themselves, and they looked about for something on which to vent their feeling. A word, and they would have attacked the Palace or sacked the custom-house. They surrounded us, and would not let us pass. Bartolomeo Moratini pushed his way to Checco and said,-- 'Quiet them quickly, before it is too late.' Checco understood at once. 'Friends,' he said, 'let me pass quietly, for the love of God, and do you return to your work in peace. Let me pass!' Moving forward, the crowd opened to him, and still shouting, yelling and gesticulating, allowed him to go through. When we arrived at the gate of his palace, he turned to me and said,-- 'By God! Filippo, this is life. I shall never forget this day!' The crowd had followed to the door, and would not go away. Checco had to appear on the balcony and bow his thanks. As he stood there, I could see that his head was whirling. He was pale, almost senseless with his great joy. At last the people were persuaded to depart, and we entered the house. We were in Checco's private room. Besides the cousins and myself were present Bartolomeo Moratini and his two sons, Fabio Oliva and Cesare Gnocchi, both related on the mother's side to the Orsi. We were all restless and excited, discussing the events that had occurred; only Bartolomeo was quiet and grave. Matteo, in the highest of spirits, turned to him. 'Why so silent, Messer Bartolomeo?' he said. 'You are like the skeleton at the banquet.' 'It is a matter for gravity,' he answered. 'Why?' 'Why! Good God, man, do you suppose nothing has happened!' We stopped talking and stood round him, as if suddenly awakened. 'Our ships are burnt behind us,' he proceeded, and we must advance--must!' 'What do you mean?' said Checco. 'Do you suppose Girolamo is going to allow things to go on as before? You must be mad, Checco! 'I believe I am,' was the answer. 'All this has turned my head. Go on.' 'Girolamo has only one step open to him now. You have braved him publicly; you have crossed the streets in triumph, amid the acclamation of the people, and they have accompanied you to your house with shouts of joy. Girolamo sees in you a rival--and from a rival there is only one safeguard.' 'And that--?' asked Checco. 'Is death!' We were all silent for a moment; then Bartolomeo spoke again. 'He cannot allow you to live. He has threatened you before, but now he must carry his threats into effect. Take care!' 'I know,' said Checco, 'the sword is hanging over my head. But he dare not arrest me.' 'Perhaps he will try assassination. You must go out well guarded.' 'I do,' said Checco, 'and I wear a coat of mail. The fear of assassination has been haunting me for weeks. Oh God, it is terrible! I could bear an open foe. I have courage as much as anyone; but this perpetual suspense! I swear to you it is making me a coward. I cannot turn the corner of a street without thinking that my death may be on the other side; I cannot go through a dark corridor at night without thinking that over there in the darkness my murderer may be waiting for me. I start at the slightest sound, the banging of a door, a sudden step. And I awake in the night with a cry, sweating. I cannot stand it I shall go mad if it continues. What can I do?' Matteo and I looked at one another; we had the same thought. Bartolomeo spoke. 'Anticipate him!' We both started, for they were my very words. Checco gave a cry. 'You too! That thought has been with me night and day! Anticipate him! Kill him! But I dare not think of it. I cannot kill him.' 'You must,' said Bartolomeo. 'Take care we are not heard,' said Oliva. 'The doors are well fastened.' 'You must,' repeated Bartolomeo. 'It is the only course left you. And what is more, you must make haste--for he will not delay. The lives of all of us are at stake. He will not be satisfied with you; after you are gone, he will easily enough find means to get rid of us.' 'Hold your peace, Bartolomeo, for God's sake! It is treachery.' 'Of what are you frightened? It would not be difficult.' 'No, we must have no assassination! It always turns out badly. The Pazzi in Florence were killed, Salviati was hanged from the Palace windows, and Lorenzo is all-powerful, while the bones of the conspirators rot in unconsecrated ground. And at Milan, when they killed the Duke, not one of them escaped.' 'They were fools. We do not mistake as in Florence; we have the people with us, and we shall not bungle it as they did.' 'No, no, it cannot be.' 'I tell you it must. It is our only safety!' Checco looked round anxiously. 'We are all safe,' said Oliva. 'Have no fear.' 'What do you think of it?' asked Checco. 'I know what you think, Filippo, and Matteo.' 'I think with my father!' said Scipione. 'I too!' said his brother. 'And I!' 'And I!' 'Every one of you,' said Checco; 'you would have me murder him.' 'It is just and lawful.' 'Remember that he was my friend. I helped him to this power. Once we were almost brothers.' 'But now he is your deadly enemy. He is sharpening a knife for your heart--and if you do not kill him, he will kill you.' 'It is treachery. I cannot!' 'When a man has killed another, the law kills him. It is a just revenge. When a man attempts another's life, the law permits him to kill that man in self-defence. Girolamo has killed you in thought--and at this moment he may be arranging the details of your murder. It is just and lawful that you take his life to defend your own and ours.' 'Bartolomeo is right,' said Matteo. A murmur of approval showed what the others thought. 'But think, Bartolomeo,' said Checco, 'you are grey-headed; you are not so very far from the tomb; if you killed this man, what of afterwards?' 'I swear to you, Checco, that you would be a minister of God's vengeance. Has he not madly oppressed the people? What right has he more than another? Through him men and women and children have died of want; unhappiness and misery have gone through the land--and all the while he has been eating and drinking and making merry.' 'Make up your mind, Checco. You must give way to us!' said Matteo. 'Girolamo has failed in every way. On the score of honesty and justice he must die. And to save us he must die.' 'You drive me mad,' said Checco. 'All of you are against me. You are right in all you say, but I cannot--oh God, I cannot!' Bartolomeo was going to speak again, but Checco interrupted him. 'No, no, for Heaven's sake, say nothing more. Leave me alone. I want to be quiet and think.' IX In the evening at ten I went to the Palazzo Aste. The servant who let me in told me that Donna Giulia was at her father's, and he did not know when she would be back. I was intensely disappointed. I had been looking forward all day to seeing her, for the time in church had been so short.... The servant looked at me as if expecting me to go away, and I hesitated; but then I had such a desire to see her that I told him I would wait. I was shown into the room I already knew so well, and I sat down in Giulia's chair. I rested my head on the cushions which had pressed against her beautiful hair, her cheek; and I inhaled the fragrance which they had left behind them. How long she was! Why did she not come? I thought of her sitting there. In my mind I saw the beautiful, soft brown eyes, the red lips; her mouth was exquisite, very delicately shaped, with wonderful curves. It was for such a mouth as hers that the simile of Cupid's bow had been invented. I heard a noise below, and I went to the door to listen. My heart beat violently, but, alas! it was not she, and, bitterly disappointed, I returned to the chair. I thought I had been waiting hours, and every hour seemed a day. Would she never come? At last! The door opened, and she came in--so beautiful. She gave me both her hands. 'I am sorry you have had to wait,' she said, 'but I could not help it.' 'I would wait a hundred years to see you for an hour.' She sat down, and I lay at her feet. 'Tell me,' she said, 'all that has happened to-day.' I did as she asked; and as I gave my story, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed. I don't know what came over me; I felt a sensation of swooning, and at the same time I caught for breath. And I had a sudden impulse to take her in my arms and kiss her many times. 'How lovely you are!' I said, raising myself to her side. She did not answer, but looked at me, smiling. Her eyes glistened with tears, her bosom heaved. 'Giulia!' I put my arm round her, and took her hands in mine. 'Giulia, I love you!' She bent over to me, and put forward her face; and then--then I took her in my arms and covered her mouth with kisses. Oh God! I was mad, I had never tasted such happiness before. Her beautiful mouth, it was so soft, so small, I gasped in the agony of my happiness. If I could only have died then! Giulia! Giulia! * * * * * The cock crew, and the night seemed to fade away into greyness. The first light of dawn broke through the windows, and I pressed my love to my heart in one last kiss. 'Not yet,' she said; 'I love you.' I could not speak; I kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her breasts. 'Don't go,' she said. 'My love!' At last I tore myself away, and as I gave her the last kiss of all, she whispered,-- 'Come soon.' And I replied,-- 'To-night!' I walked through the grey streets of Forli, wondering at my happiness; it was too great to realise. It seemed absurd that I, a poor, commonplace man, should be chosen out for this ecstasy of bliss. I had been buffeted about the world, an exile, wandering here and there in search of a captain under whom to serve. I had had loves before, but common, grotesque things--not like this, pure and heavenly. With my other loves I had often felt a certain ugliness about them; they had seemed sordid and vulgar; but this was so pure, so clean! She was so saintly and innocent. Oh, it was good! And I laughed at myself for thinking I was not in love with her. I had loved her always; when it began I did not know ... and I did not care; all that interested me now was to think of myself, loving and beloved. I was not worthy of her; she was so good, so kind, and I a poor, mean wretch. I felt her a goddess, and I could have knelt down and worshipped her. I walked through the streets of Forli with swinging steps; I breathed in the morning air, and felt so strong, and well, and young. Everything was beautiful--all life! The grey walls enchanted me; the sombre carvings of the churches; the market women, gaily dressed, entering the town laden with baskets of many-coloured fruit. They gave me greeting, and I answered with a laughing heart. How kind they were! Indeed, my heart was so full of love that it welled over and covered everything and everybody, so that I felt a strange, hearty kindness to all around me. I loved mankind! X When I got home, I threw myself on my bed and enjoyed a delightful sleep, and when I awoke felt cool and fresh, and very happy. 'What is the matter with you?' asked Matteo. 'I am rather contented with myself,' I said. 'Then, if you want to make other people contented, you had better come with me to Donna Claudia.' 'The beautiful Claudia?' 'The same!' 'But can we venture in the enemy's camp?' 'That is exactly why I want you to come. The idea is to take no notice of the events of yesterday, and that we should all go about as if nothing had happened.' 'But Messer Piacentini will not be very glad to see us.' 'He will be grinding his teeth, and inwardly spitting fire; but he will take us to his arms and embrace us, and try to make us believe he loves us with the most Christian affection.' 'Very well; come on!' Donna Claudia, at all events, was delighted to see us, and she began making eyes and sighing, and putting her hand to her bosom in the most affecting manner. 'Why have you not been to see me, Messer Filippo?' she asked. 'Indeed, madam, I was afraid of being intrusive.' 'Ah,' she said, with a sweeping glance, 'how could you be! No, there was another reason for your absence. Alas!' 'I dared not face those lustrous eyes.' She turned them full on me, and then turned them up, Madonna-wise, showing the whites. 'Are they so cruel, do you think?' 'They are too brilliant. How dangerous to the moth is the candle; and in this case the candle is twain.' 'But they say the moth as it flutters in the flame enjoys a perfection of ecstasy.' 'Ah, but I am a very sensible moth,' I answered in a matter-of-fact tone, 'and I am afraid of burning my wings.' 'How prosaic!' she murmured. 'The muse,' I said politely, 'loses her force when you are present.' She evidently did not quite understand what I meant, for there was a look of slight bewilderment in her eyes; and I was not surprised, for I had not myself the faintest notion of my meaning. Still she saw it was a compliment. 'Ah, you are very polite!' We paused a moment, during which we both looked unutterable things at one another. Then she gave a deep sigh. 'Why so sad, sweet lady?' I asked. 'Messer Filippo,' she answered, 'I am an unhappy woman.' She hit her breast with her hand. 'You are too beautiful,' I remarked gallantly. 'Ah no! ah no! I am unhappy.' I glanced at her husband, who was stalking grimly about the room, looking like a retired soldier with the gout; and I thought that to be in the society of such a person was enough to make anyone miserable. 'You are right,' she said, following my eyes; 'it is my husband. He is so unsympathetic.' I condoled with her. 'He is so jealous of me, and, as you know, I am a pattern of virtue to Forli!' I had never heard her character so described, but, of course, I said,-- 'To look at you would be enough to reassure the most violent of husbands.' 'Oh, I have temptation enough, I assure you,' she answered quickly. 'I can well believe that.' 'But I am as faithful to him as if I were old and ugly; and yet he is jealous.' 'We all have our crosses in this life,' I remarked sententiously. 'Heaven knows I have mine; but I have my consolations.' So I supposed, and answered,-- 'Oh!' 'I pour out my soul in a series of sonnets.' 'A second Petrarch!' 'My friends say some of them are not unworthy of that great name.' 'I can well believe it.' Here relief came, and like the tired sentinel, I left the post of duty. I thought of my sweet Giulia, and wondered at her beauty and charm; it was all so much clearer and cleaner than the dross I saw around me. I came away, for I was pining for solitude, and then I gave myself up to the exquisite dreams of my love. At last the time came, the long day had at last worn away, and the night, the friend of lovers, gave me leave to go to Giulia. XI I was so happy. The world went on; things happened in Forli, the rival parties agitated and met together and discussed; there was a general ferment--and to it all I was profoundly indifferent. What matter all the petty little affairs of life? I said. People work and struggle, plot, scheme, make money, lose it, conspire for place and honour; they have their ambitions and hopes; but what is it all beside love? I had entered into the excitement of politics in Forli; I was behind the veil and knew the intricacies, the ambitions, the emotions of the actors; but now I withdrew myself. What did I care about the prospects of Forli, whether taxes were put on or taken off, or whether A killed B or B killed A, it really seemed so unimportant. I looked upon them as puppets performing on a stage, and I could not treat their acts with seriousness. Giulia! That was the great fact in life. Nothing mattered to me but Giulia. When I thought of Giulia my heart was filled with ecstasy, and I spat with scorn on all the silly details of events. I would willingly have kept myself out of the stream which was carrying along the others; but I could not help knowing what happened. And it was indeed ridiculous. After the great scene at the Palace people had begun to take steps as if for big events. Checco had sent a large sum of money to Florence for the Medici to take care of; Bartolomeo Moratini had made preparations; there were generally a stir and unrest. Girolamo was supposed to be going to take some step; people were prepared for everything; when they woke up in the morning they asked if aught had taken place in the night; and Checco wore a coat of mail. On the Count's side people were asking what Checco meant to do, whether the ovation he had received would encourage him to any violent step. All the world was agog for great events--and nothing happened. It reminded me of a mystery play in which, after great preparation of dialogue, some great stage effect is going to be produced--a saint is going to ascend to heaven, or a mountain is to open and the devil spring out. The spectators are sitting open-mouthed; the moment has come, everything is ready, the signal is given; the mob have already drawn their breath for a cry of astonishment--and something goes wrong and nothing happens. The good Forlivesi could not understand it: they were looking for signs and miracles, and behold! they came not. Each day they said to themselves that this would be one to be remembered in the history of the town; that to-day Girolamo would surely leave his hesitations; but the day wore on quite calmly. Everyone took his dinner and supper as usual, the sun journeyed from east to west as it had done on the previous day, the night came, and the worthy citizen went to his bed at his usual hour, and slept in peace till the following sunrise. Nothing happened, and it seemed that nothing was going to happen. The troubled spirits gradually came to the conclusion that there was nothing to be troubled about, and the old quiet came over the town; there was no talk of new taxes, and the world wagged on.... Checco and Matteo and the Moratini resigned themselves to the fact that the sky was serene, and that they had better pursue their way without troubling their little heads about conspiracies and midnight daggers. Meanwhile, I laughed, and admired their folly and my own wisdom. For I worried myself about none of these things; I lived in Giulia, for Giulia, by Giulia.... I had never enjoyed such happiness before; she was a little cold, perhaps, but I did not mind. I had passion that lived by its own flame, and I cared for nothing as long as she let me love her. And I argued with myself that it is an obvious thing that love is not the same on both sides. There is always one who loves and one who lets himself be loved. Perhaps it is a special decree of Nature; for the man loves actively, caresses and is passionate; while the woman gives herself to him, and is in his embrace like some sweet, helpless animal. I did not ask for such love as I gave; all I asked was that my love should let herself be loved. That was all I cared for; that was all I wanted. My love for Giulia was wonderful even to me. I felt I had lost myself in her. I had given my whole being into her hand. Samson and Delilah! But this was no faithless Philistine. I would have given my honour into her keeping and felt it as sure as in my own. In my great love I felt such devotion, such reverence, that sometimes I hardly dared touch her; it seemed to me I must kneel and worship at her feet. I learnt the great delight of abasing myself to the beloved. I could make myself so small and mean in my humility; but nothing satisfied my wish to show my abject slavery.... Oh, Giulia! Giulia! * * * * * But this inaction on the part of Girolamo Riario had the effect of persuading his subjects of his weakness. They had given over expecting reprisals on his part, and the only conclusion they could come to was that he dared do nothing against Checco. It was inconceivable that he should leave unavenged the insults he had received; that he should bear without remark the signs of popularity which greeted Checco, not only on the day of the Council meeting, but since, every time he appeared in the streets. They began to despise their ruler as well as hate him, and they told one another stories of violent disputes in the Palace between the Count and Caterina. Everyone knew the pride and passion which came to the Countess with her Sforza blood, and they felt sure that she would not patiently bear the insults which her husband did not seem to mind; for the fear of the people could not stop their sarcasms, and when any member of the household was seen he was assailed with taunts and jeers; Caterina herself had to listen to scornful laughs as she passed by, and the town was ringing with a song about the Count. It was whispered that Girolamo's little son, Ottaviano, had been heard singing it in ignorance of its meaning, and had been nearly killed by his father in a passion of rage. Evil reports began to circulate about Caterina's virtue; it was supposed that she would not keep faithful to such a husband, and another song was made in praise of cuckoldry. The Orsi would not be persuaded that this calm was to be believed in. Checco was assured that Girolamo must have some scheme on hand, and the quiet and silence seemed all the more ominous. The Count very rarely appeared in Forli; but one Saint's day he went to the Cathedral, and as he came back to the Palace, passing through the piazza, saw Checco. At the same moment Checco saw him, and stopped, uncertain what to do. The crowd suddenly became silent, and they stood still like statues petrified by a magic spell. What was going to happen? Girolamo himself hesitated a moment; a curious spasm crossed his face. Checco made as if to walk on, pretending not to notice the Count. Matteo and I were dumbfounded, absolutely at a loss. Then the Count stepped forward, and held out his hand. 'Ah, my Checco! how goes it?' He smiled and pressed warmly the hand which the Orsi gave him. Checco was taken aback, pale as if the hand he held were the hand of death. 'You have neglected me of late, dear friend,' said the Count. 'I have not been well, my lord.' Girolamo linked his arm in Checco's. 'Come, come,' he said, 'you must not be angry because I used sharp words to you the other day. You know I am hot-tempered.' 'You have a right to say what you please.' 'Oh, no; I have only a right to say pleasant things.' He smiled, but all the time the mobile eyes were shifting here and there, scrutinising Checco's face, giving occasional quick glances to me and Matteo. He went on,-- 'You must show a forgiving spirit.' Then, to Matteo, 'We must all be good Christians if we can, eh, Matteo?' 'Of course!' 'And yet your cousin bears malice.' 'No, my lord,' said Checco. 'I am afraid I was too outspoken.' 'Well, if you were, I have forgiven you, and you must forgive me. But we will not talk of that. My children have been asking for you. It is strange that this ferocious creature, who tells me I am the worst among bad men, should be so adored by my children. Your little godson is always crying for you.' 'Dear child!' said Checco. 'Come and see them now. There is no time like the present.' Matteo and I looked at one another. Was all this an attempt to get him in his hand, and this time not to let him go? 'I must pray you to excuse me, for I have some gentlemen coming to dine with me to-day, and I fear I shall be late already.' Girolamo gave us a rapid look, and evidently saw in our eyes something of our thoughts, for he said good-humouredly,-- 'You never will do anything for me, Checco. But I won't keep you; I respect the duties of hospitality. However, another day you must come.' He warmly pressed Checco's hand, and, nodding to Matteo and me, left us. The crowd had not been able to hear what was said, but they had seen the cordiality, and as soon as Girolamo disappeared behind the Palace doors, broke out into murmurs of derision. The Christian sentiment clearly gained little belief from them, and they put down the Count's act to fear. It was clear, they said, that he found Checco too strong for him, and dared nothing. It was a discovery that the man they had so feared was willing to turn the other cheek when the one was smitten, and to all their former hate they added a new hate that he had caused them terror without being terrible. They hated him now for their own pusillanimity. The mocking songs gained force, and Girolamo began to be known as Cornuto, the Man of Horns. Borne on this wave of contempt came another incident, which again showed the Count's weakness. On the Sunday following his meeting with Checco, it was known that Girolamo meant to hear mass at the church of San Stefano, and Jacopo Ronchi, commander of a troop, stationed himself, with two other soldiers, to await him. When the Count appeared, accompanied by his wife and children and his suite, Jacopo pressed forward and, throwing himself on his knees, presented a petition, in which he asked for the arrears of pay of himself and his fellows. The Count took it without speaking, and pursued his way. Then Jacopo took hold of his legs to stop him, and said,-- 'For Heaven's sake, my lord, give me a hearing. I and these others have received nothing for months, and we are starving.' 'Let me go,' said the Count, 'your claim shall be attended to.' 'Do not dismiss me, my lord. I have presented three petitions before, and to none of them have you paid attention. Now I am getting desperate, and can wait no longer. Look at my tattered clothes. Give me my money!' 'Let me go, I tell you,' said Girolamo, furiously, and he gave him a sweeping blow, so that the man fell on his back to the ground. 'How dare you come and insult me here in the public place! By God! I cannot keep my patience much longer.' He brought out these words with such violence of passion that it seemed as if in them exploded the anger which had been gathering up through this time of humiliation. Then, turning furiously on the people, he almost screamed,-- 'Make way!' They dared not face his anger, and with white faces, shrunk back, leaving a path for him and his party to walk through. XII I looked at these events as I might have looked at a comedy of Plautus; it was very amusing, but perhaps a little vulgar. I was wrapped up in my own happiness, and I had forgotten Nemesis. One day, perhaps two months from my arrival in Forli, I heard Checco tell his cousin that a certain Giorgio dall' Aste had returned. I paid no particular attention to the remark; but later, when I was alone with Matteo, it occurred to me that I had not heard before of this person. I did not know that Giulia had relations on her husband's side. I asked,-- 'By the way, who is that Giorgio dall' Aste, of whom Checco was speaking?' 'A cousin of Donna Giulia's late husband.' 'I have never heard him spoken of before.' 'Haven't you? He enjoys quite a peculiar reputation, as being the only lover that the virtuous Giulia has kept for more than ten days.' 'Another of your old wives' tales, Matteo! Nature intended you for a begging friar.' 'I have often thought I have missed my vocation. With my brilliant gift for telling lies in a truthful manner, I should have made my way in the Church to the highest dignities. Whereas, certain antiquated notions of honour having been instilled into me during my training as a soldier, my gifts are lost; with the result, that when I tell the truth people think I am lying. But this is solemn truth!' 'All your stories are!' I jeered. 'Ask anyone. This has been going on for years. When Giulia was married by old Tommaso, whom she had never seen in her life before the betrothal, the first thing she did was to fall in love with Giorgio. He fell in love with her, but being a fairly honest sort of man, he had some scruples about committing adultery with his cousin's wife, especially as he lived on his cousin's money. However, when a woman is vicious, a man's scruples soon go to the devil. If Adam couldn't refuse the apple, you can't expect us poor fallen creatures to do so either. The result was that Joseph did not run away from Potiphar's wife so fast as to prevent her from catching him.' 'How biblical you are.' 'Yes,' answered Matteo; 'I'm making love to a parson's mistress, and I am cultivating the style which I find she is used to.... But, however, Giorgio, being youthful, after a short while began to have prickings of conscience, and went away from Forli. Giulia was heart-broken, and her grief was so great that she must have half the town to console her. Then Giorgio's conscience calmed down, and he came back, and Giulia threw over all her lovers.' 'I don't believe a single word you say.' 'On my honour, it's true.' 'On the face of it, the story is false. If she really loves him, why do they not keep together now that there is no hindrance?' 'Because Giulia has the heart of a strumpet and can't be faithful to any one man. She's very fond of him, but they quarrel, and she takes a sudden fancy for somebody else, and for a while they won't see one another. But there seems some magical charm between them, for sooner or later they always come back to one another. I believe, if they were at the ends of the world, eventually they would be drawn together, even if they struggled with all their might against it. And, I promise you, Giorgio has struggled; he tries to part with her for good and all, and each time they separate he vows it shall be for ever. But there is an invisible chain and it always brings him back.' I stood looking at him in silence. Strange, horrible thoughts passed through my head and I could not drive them away. I tried to speak quite calmly. 'And how is it when they are together?' 'All sunshine and storm, but as time goes on the storm gets longer and blacker; and then Giorgio goes away.' 'But, good God! man, how do you know?' I cried in agony. He shrugged his shoulders. 'They quarrel?' I asked. 'Furiously! He feels himself imprisoned against his will, with the door open to escape, but not the strength to do it; and she is angry that he should love her thus, trying not to love her. It rather seems to me that it explains her own excesses; her other loves are partly to show him how much she is loved, and to persuade herself that she is lovable.' I did not believe it. Oh, no, I swear I did not believe it, yet I was frightened, horribly frightened; but I would not believe a single word of it. 'Listen, Matteo,' I said. 'You believe badly of Giulia; but you do not know her. I swear to you that she is good and pure, whatever she may have been in the past; and I do not believe a word of these scandals. I am sure that now she is as true and faithful as she is beautiful.' Matteo looked at me for a moment. 'Are you her lover?' he asked. 'Yes!' Matteo opened his mouth as if about to speak, then stopped, and after a moment's hesitation turned away. * * * * * That evening I went to Giulia. I found her lying full length on a divan, her head sunken in soft cushions. She was immersed in reverie. I wondered whether she was thinking of me, and I went up to her silently, and, bending over her, lightly kissed her lips. She gave a cry, and a frown darkened her eyes. 'You frightened me!' 'I am sorry,' I answered humbly. 'I wanted to surprise you.' She did not answer, but raised her eyebrows, slightly shrugging her shoulders. I wondered whether something had arisen to vex her. I knew she had a quick temper, but I did not mind it; a cross word was so soon followed by a look of repentance and a word of love. I passed my hand over her beautiful soft hair. The frown came again, and she turned her head away. 'Giulia,' I said, 'what is it?' I took her hand; she withdrew it immediately. 'Nothing,' she answered. 'Why do you turn away from me and withdraw your hand?' 'Why should I not turn away from you and withdraw my hand?' 'Don't you love me, Giulia?' She gave a sigh, and pretended to look bored. I looked at her, pained at heart and wondering. 'Giulia, my dear, tell me what it is. You are making me very unhappy.' 'Oh, don't I tell you, nothing, nothing, nothing!' 'Why are you cross?' I put my face to her's, and my arms round her neck. She disengaged herself impatiently. 'You refuse my kisses, Giulia!' She made another gesture of annoyance. 'Giulia, don't you love me?' My heart was beginning to sink, and I remembered what I had heard from Matteo. Oh, God! could it be true?... 'Yes, of course I love you, but sometimes I must be left in peace.' 'You have only to say the word, and I will go away altogether.' 'I don't want you to do that, but we shall like one another much better if we don't see too much of one another.' 'When one is in love, really and truly, one does not think of such wise precautions.' 'And you are here so often that I am afraid of my good name.' 'You need have no fear about your character,' I answered bitterly. 'One more scandal will not make much difference.' 'You need not insult me!' I could not be angry with her, I loved her too much, and the words I had said hurt me ten times more than they hurt her. I fell on my knees by her side and took hold of her arms. 'Oh, Giulia, Giulia, forgive me! I don't mean to say anything to wound you. But, for God's sake! don't be so cold. I love you, I love you. Be good to me.' 'I think I have been good to you.... After all, it is not such a very grave matter. I have not taken things more seriously than you.' 'What do you mean?' I cried, aghast. She shrugged her shoulders. 'I suppose you found me a pretty woman, and thought you could occupy a few spare moments with a pleasant amour. You can hardly have expected me to be influenced by sentiments very different from your own.' 'You mean you do not love me?' 'I love you as much as you love me. I don't suppose either you are Lancelot, or I Guinevere.' I still knelt at her side in silence, and my head felt as if the vessels in it were bursting.... 'You know,' she went on quite calmly, 'one cannot love for ever.' 'But I love you, Giulia; I love you with all my heart and soul! I have had loves picked up for the opportunity's sake, or for pure idleness; but my love for you is different. I swear to you it is a matter of my whole life.' 'That has been said to me so often....' I was beginning to be overwhelmed. 'But do you mean that it is all finished? Do you mean that you won't have anything more to do with me!' 'I don't say I won't have anything more to do with you.' 'But love? It is love I want.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'But why not?' I said despairingly. 'Why have you given it me at all if you want to take it away?' 'One is not master of one's love. It comes and goes.' 'Don't you love me at all?' 'No!' 'Oh, God! But why do you tell me this to-day?' 'I had to tell you some time.' 'But why not yesterday, or the day before? Why to-day particularly?' She did not answer. 'Is it because Giorgio dall' Aste has just returned?' She started up and her eyes flashed. 'What have they been telling you about him?' 'Has he been here to-day? Were you thinking of him when I came? Were you languorous from his embraces?' 'How dare you!' 'The only lover to whom you have been faithful, more or less!' 'You vowed you did not believe the scandals about me, and now, when I refuse you the smallest thing, you are ready to believe every word. What a love is this! I thought I had heard you talk so often of boundless confidence.' 'I believe every word I have heard against you. I believe you are a harlot.' She had raised herself from her couch, and we were standing face to face. 'Do you want money? Look! I have as good money as another. I will pay you for your love; here, take it.' I took gold pieces from my pocket and flung them at her feet. 'Ah,' she cried in indignation, 'you cur! Go, go!' She pointed to the door. Then I felt a sudden revulsion. I fell on my knees and seized her hands. 'Oh, forgive me, Giulia. I don't know what I am saying; I am mad. But don't rob me of your love; it is the only thing I have to live for. For God's sake, forgive me! Oh, Giulia, I love you, I love you. I can't live without you.' The tears broke from my eyes. I could not stop them. 'Leave me! leave me!' I was ashamed of my abjectness; I rose up indignant. 'Oh, you are quite heartless. You have no right to treat me so. You were not obliged to give me your love; but when once you have given it you cannot take it away. No one has the right to make another unhappy as you make me. You are a bad, evil woman. I hate you!' I stood over her with clenched fists. She shrank back, afraid. 'Don't be frightened,' I said; 'I won't touch you. I hate you too much.' Then I turned to the crucifix, and lifted my hands. 'Oh, God! I pray you, let this woman be treated as she has treated me.' And to her,'I hope to God you are as unhappy as I am. And I hope the unhappiness will come soon--you harlot!' I left her, and in my rage slammed the door, so that the lock shattered behind me. XIII I walked through the streets like a man who has received sentence of death. My brain was whirling, and sometimes I stopped and pressed my head with both hands to relieve the insupportable pressure. I could not realise what had happened; I only knew it was terrible. I felt as if I were going mad; I could have killed myself. At last, getting home, I threw myself on my bed and tried to gather myself together. I cried out against that woman. I wished I had my fingers curling round her soft white throat, that I could strangle the life out of her. Oh, I hated her! At last I fell asleep, and in that sweet forgetfulness enjoyed a little peace. When I woke I lay still for a moment without remembering what had happened; then suddenly it came back to me, and the blood flushed to my face as I thought of how I had humiliated myself to her. She must be as hard as stone, I said to myself, to see my misery and not take pity on me. She saw my tears and was not moved one jot. All the time I had been praying and beseeching, she had been as calm as a marble figure. She must have seen my agony and the passion of my love, and yet she was absolutely, absolutely indifferent. Oh, I despised her! I had known even when I adored her madly that it was only my love which gave her the qualities I worshipped. I had seen she was ignorant and foolish, and commonplace and vicious; but I did not care as long as I loved her and could have her love in return. But when I thought of her so horribly heartless, so uncaring to my unhappiness, I did more than hate her--I utterly despised her. I despised myself for having loved her. I despised myself for loving her still.... I got up and went about my day's duties, trying to forget myself in their performance. But still I brooded over my misery, and in my heart I cursed the woman. It was Nemesis, always Nemesis! In my folly I had forgotten her; and yet I should have remembered that through my life all happiness had been followed by all misery.... I had tried to ward off the evil by sacrifice; I had rejoiced at the harm which befell me, but the very rejoicing seemed to render the hurt of no avail, and with the inevitableness of fate, Nemesis had come and thrown me back into the old unhappiness. But of late I had forgotten. What was Nemesis to me now when I thought my happiness so great that it could not help but last? It was so robust and strong that I never thought of its cessation. I did not even think the Gods were good to me at last. I had forgotten the Gods; I thought of nothing but love and Giulia. Matteo came asking me to go to the Palace with him and Checco, at the particular desire of Girolamo, who wished to show them the progress of the decorations. I would not go. I wanted to be alone and think. But my thoughts maddened me. Over and over again I repeated every word of the terrible quarrel, and more than ever I was filled with horror for her cold cruelty. What right have these people to make us unhappy? Is there not enough misery in the world already? Oh, it is brutal! I could not bear myself; I regretted that I had not gone to the Palace. I detested this solitude. The hours passed like years, and as my brain grew tired I sank into a state of sodden, passive misery. At last they came back, and Matteo told me what had happened. I tried to listen, to forget myself.... It appeared that the Count had been extremely cordial. After talking to them of his house, and showing the beautiful things he had collected to furnish it with, he took them to Caterina's apartments, where they found the Countess surrounded by her children. She had been very charming and gracious, even deigning to compliment Matteo on his gallantry. How it interested me to know all this! The children had run to Checco as soon as they saw him, dragging him into their game. The others looked on while the Orsi played good-humouredly with the little boys, and Girolamo, laying his hand on Checco's shoulder, had remarked,-- 'You see, dear friend, the children are determined that there should not be enmity between us. And when the little ones love you so dearly, can you think that I should hate you?' And when they left he had accompanied them to the gates and been quite affectionate in his farewell. At last the night came and I could shut myself up in my room. I thought with a bitter smile that it was the hour at which I was used to go to Giulia. And now I should never go to Giulia again. My unhappiness was too great for wrath; I felt too utterly miserable to think of my grievances, or of my contempt. I only felt broken-hearted. I could not keep the tears back, and burying my face in the pillows, I cried my heart out. It was years and years since I had wept, not since I was quite a boy, but this blow had taken from me all manliness, and I gave myself over to my grief, passionately, shamelessly. I did not care that I was weak; I had no respect for myself, or care for myself. The sobs came, one on the heels of another like waves, and the pain, as they tore my chest, relieved the anguish of my mind. Exhaustion came at last, and with it sleep. But I knew I could not hide the change in me, and Matteo soon noticed it. 'What is the matter with you, Filippo?' he asked. I blushed and hesitated. 'Nothing,' I answered at last. 'I thought you were unhappy.' Our eyes met, but I could not stand his inquiring glance and looked down. He came to me, and sitting on the arm of my chair, put his hand on my shoulder and said affectionately,-- 'We're friends, aren't we, Filippo?' 'Yes,' I answered, smiling and taking his hand. 'Won't you trust me?' After a pause I answered,-- 'I should so much like to.' I felt as if indeed it would relieve me to be able to confide in somebody, I wanted sympathy so badly. He passed his hand gently over my hair. I hesitated a little, but I could not help myself, and I told him the whole story from beginning to end. 'Poverino!' he said, when I had finished; then, clenching his teeth, 'She is a beast, that woman!' 'I ought to have taken your warning, Matteo, but I was a fool.' 'Who ever does take warning!' he answered, shrugging his shoulders. 'How could you be expected to believe me?' 'But I believe you now. I am horrified when I think of her vice and cruelty.' 'Ah, well, it is over now.' 'Quite! I hate her and despise her. Oh, I wish I could get her face to face and tell her what I think of her.' I thought my talk with Matteo had relieved me, I thought the worst was over; but at night melancholy came on me stronger than ever, and I groaned as I threw myself on my bed. I felt so terribly alone in the world.... I had no relation but a half-brother, a boy of twelve, whom I had hardly seen; and as I wandered through the land, an exile, I had been continually assailed by the hateful demon of loneliness. And sometimes in my solitude I had felt that I could kill myself. But when I found I was in love with Giulia, I cried aloud with joy.... I threw everything to the winds, gathering myself up for the supreme effort of passion. All the storm and stress were passed; I was no longer alone, for I had someone to whom I could give my love. I was like the ship that arrives in the harbour, and reefs her sails and clears her deck, settling down in the quietness of the waters. And now all was over! Oh God, to think that my hopes should be shattered in so short a time, that the ship should be so soon tossed about in the storm, and the stars hidden by the clouds! And the past delight made the present darkness all the more bitter. I groaned. In my misery I uttered a prayer to God to help me. I could not think I should live henceforth. How could I go on existing with this aching void in my heart? I could not spend days and weeks and years always with this despair. It was too terrible to last. My reason told me that time would remedy it; but time was so long, and what misery must I go through before the wound was healed! And as I thought of what I had lost, my agony grew more unbearable. It grew vivid, and I felt Giulia in my arms. I panted as I pressed my lips against hers, and I said to her,-- 'How could you!' I buried my face in my hands, so as better to enjoy my dream. I smelt the perfume of her breath; I felt on my face the light touch of her hair. But it would not last. I tried to seize the image and hold it back, but it vanished and left me broken-hearted.... I knew I did not hate her. I had pretended to, but the words came from the mouth. In my heart I loved her still, more passionately than ever. What did I care if she was heartless and cruel and faithless and vicious! It was nothing to me as long as I could hold her in my arms and cover her with kisses. I did despise her; I knew her for what she was, but still I loved her insanely. Oh, if she would only come back to me! I would willingly forget everything and forgive her. Nay, I would ask her forgiveness and grovel before her, if she would only let me enjoy her love again. I would go back to her and fall on my knees, and pray her to be merciful. Why should I suppose she had changed in the few days. I knew she would treat me with the same indifference, and only feel a wondering contempt that I should so abase myself. It came like a blow in the face, the thought of her cold cruelty and her calmness. No, I vowed I would never subject myself to that again. I felt myself blush at the remembrance of the humiliation. But perhaps she was sorry for what she had done. I knew her pride would prevent her from coming or sending to me, and should I give her no opportunity? Perhaps, if we saw one another for a few moments everything might be arranged, and I might be happy again. An immense feeling of hope filled me. I thought I must be right in my idea; she could not be so heartless as to have no regret. How willingly I would take her back! My heart leaped. But I dared not go to her house. I knew I should find her on the morrow at her father's, who was going to give a banquet to some friends. I would speak to her there, casually, as if we were ordinary acquaintances; and then at the first sign of yielding on her part, even if I saw but a tinge of regret in her eyes, I would burst out. I was happy in my plan, and I went to sleep with the name of Giulia on my lips and her image in my heart. XIV I went to the Moratini Palace, and with beating heart looked round for Giulia. She was surrounded by her usual court, and seemed more lively and excited than ever. I had never seen her more beautiful. She was dressed all in white, and her sleeves were sewn with pearls; she looked like a bride. She caught sight of me at once, but pretended not to see me, and went on talking. I approached her brother Alessandro and said to him casually,-- 'I am told a cousin of your sister has come to Forli. Is he here to-day?' He looked at me inquiringly, not immediately understanding. 'Giorgio dall' Aste,' I explained. 'Oh, I didn't know you meant him. No, he's not here. He and Giulia's husband were not friends, and so--' 'Why were they not friends?' I interrupted, on the spur of the moment, not seeing the impertinence of the question till I had made it. 'Oh, I don't know. Relations always are at enmity with one another; probably some disagreement with regard to their estates.' 'Was that all?' 'So far as I know.' I recollected that in a scandal the persons most interested are the last to hear it. The husband hears nothing of his wife's treachery till all the town knows every detail. 'I should like to have seen him,' I went on. 'Giorgo? Oh, he's a weak sort of creature; one of those men who commit sins and repent!' 'That is not a fault of which you will ever be guilty, Alessandro,' I said, smiling. 'I sincerely hope not. After all, if a man has a conscience he ought not to do wrong. But if he does he must be a very poor sort of a fool to repent.' 'You cannot have the rose without the thorn.' 'Why not? It only needs care. There are dregs at the bottom of every cup, but you are not obliged to drink them.' 'You have made up your mind that if you commit sins you are ready to go to hell for them?' I said. 'It is braver than going to Heaven by the back door, turning pious when you are too old to do anything you shouldn't.' 'I agree with you that one has little respect for the man who turns monk when things go wrong with him.' I saw that Giulia was alone, and seized the opportunity to speak with her. 'Giulia,' I said, approaching. She looked at me for a moment with an air of perplexity, as if she really could not remember whom I was. 'Ah, Messer Filippo!' she said, as if suddenly recollecting. 'It is not so long since we met that you can have forgotten me.' 'Yes. I remember last time you did me the honour to visit me you were very rude and cross.' I looked at her silently, wondering. 'Well?' she said, steadily answering my gaze and smiling. 'Have you nothing more to say to me than that?' I asked in an undertone. 'What do you want me to say to you?' 'Are you quite heartless?' She gave a sigh of boredom, and looked to the other end of the room, as if for someone to come and break a tedious conversation. 'How could you!' I whispered. Notwithstanding her self-control, a faint blush came over her face. I stood looking at her for a little while and then I turned away. She was quite heartless. I left the Moratini and walked out into the town. This last interview had helped me in so far that it made certain that my love was hopeless. I stood still and stamped on the ground, vowing I would not love her. I would put her away from my thoughts entirely; she was a contemptible, vicious woman, and I was too proud to be subject to her. I wondered I did not kill her. I made up my mind to take my courage in both hands and leave Forli. Once away, I should find myself attracted to different matters, and probably I should not live long before finding some other woman to take Giulia's place. She was not the only woman in Italy; she was not the most beautiful nor the cleverest. Give me a month and I could laugh at my torments.... The same evening I told Matteo I meant to leave Forli. 'Why?' he asked in astonishment. 'I have been here several weeks,' I answered; 'I don't want to outstay my welcome.' 'That is rubbish. You know I should be only too glad for you to stay here all your life.' 'That is very kind of you,' I replied, with a laugh, 'but the establishment is not yours.' 'That makes no difference. Besides, Checco has become very fond of you, and I'm sure he wishes you to stay.' 'Of course, I know your hospitality is quite unlimited; but I am beginning to want to get back to Città di Castello.' 'Why?' asked Matteo, doubtfully. 'One likes to return to one's native place.' 'You have been away from Castello for ten years; you cannot be in any particular hurry to get back.' I was beginning to protest when Checco came in, and Matteo interrupted me with,-- 'Listen, Checco, Filippo says he wants to leave us.' 'But he sha'n't,' said Checco, laughing. 'I really must!' I answered gravely. 'You really mustn't,' replied Checco. 'We can't spare you, Filippo.' 'There's no great hurry about your going home,' he added, when I had explained my reasons, 'and I fancy that soon we shall want you here. A good sword and a brave heart will probably be of good use to us.' 'Everything is as quiet as a cemetery,' I said, shrugging my shoulders. 'It is quiet above; but below there are rumblings and strange movements. I feel sure this calm only presages a storm. It is impossible for Girolamo to go on as he is now; his debts are increasing every day, and his difficulties will soon be impracticable. He must do something. There is certain to be a disturbance at any attempt to put on the taxes, and then Heaven only knows what will happen.' I was beginning to get a little vexed at their opposition, and I answered petulantly,-- 'No, I must go.' 'Stay another month; things must come to a head before then.' A month would have been as bad as a year. 'I am out of health,' I answered; 'I feel I want to get into a different atmosphere.' Checco thought for a moment. 'Very well,' he said, 'we can arrange matters to suit us both. I want someone to go to Florence for me to conclude a little business matter with Messer Lorenzo de' Medici. You would be away a fortnight; and if you are out of sorts the ride across country will put you right. Will you go?' I thought for a moment. It was not a very long absence, but the new sights would distract me, and I wanted to see Florence again. On the whole, I thought it would suffice, and that I could count on the cure of my ill before the time was up. 'Very well,' I answered. 'Good! And you will have a pleasant companion. I had talked to Scipione Moratini about it; it did not occur to me that you would go. But it will be all the better to have two of you.' 'If I go,' I said, 'I shall go alone.' Checco was rather astonished. 'Why?' 'Scipione bores me. I want to be quiet and do as I like.' I was quite determined that neither of the Moratini should come with me. They would have reminded me too much of what I wanted to forget. 'As you like,' said Checco. 'I can easily tell Scipione that I want him to do something else for me.' 'Thanks.' 'When will you start?' 'At once.' 'Then come, and I will give you the instructions and necessary papers.' XV Next morning I mounted my horse and set out with Matteo, who was to accompany me for a little way. But at the town gate a guard stopped us and asked where we were going. 'Out!' I answered shortly, moving on. 'Stop!' said the man, catching hold of my bridle. 'What the devil d'you mean?' said Matteo. 'D'you know whom we are?' 'I have orders to let no one go by without the permission of my captain.' 'What tyrants they are!' cried Matteo. 'Well, what the hell are you standing there for? Go and tell your captain to come out.' The man signed to another soldier, who went into the guard-house; he was still holding my bridle. I was not very good-tempered that morning. 'Have the goodness to take your hands off,' I said. He looked as if he were about to refuse. 'Will you do as you are told?' Then, as he hesitated, I brought down the butt-end of my whip on his fingers, and with an oath bade him stand off. He let go at once, cursing, and looked as if he would willingly stab me if he dared. We waited impatiently, but the captain did not appear. 'Why the devil doesn't this man come?' I said; and Matteo, turning to one of the soldiers, ordered,-- 'Go and tell him to come here instantly.' At that moment the captain appeared, and we understood the incident, for it was Ercole Piacentini. He had apparently seen us coming, or heard of my intended journey, and had set himself out to insult us. We were both furious. 'Why the devil don't you hurry up when you're sent for?' said Matteo. He scowled, but did not answer. Turning to me he asked,-- 'Where are you going?' Matteo and I looked at one another in amazement at the man's impudence, and I burst forth,-- 'You insolent fellow! What do you mean by stopping me like this?' 'I have a right to refuse passage to anyone I choose.' 'Take care!' I said. 'I swear the Count shall be told of your behaviour, and nowadays the Count is in the habit of doing as the Orsi tell him.' 'He shall hear of this,' growled the Piacentini. 'Tell him what you like. Do you think I care? You can tell him that I consider his captain a very impertinent ruffian. Now, let me go.' 'You shall not pass till I choose.' 'By God! man,' I said, absolutely beside myself, 'it seems I cannot touch you here, but if ever we meet in Città di Castello--' 'I will give you any satisfaction you wish,' he answered hotly. 'Satisfaction! I would not soil my sword by crossing it with yours. I was going to say that if ever we meet in Castello I will have you whipped by my lacqueys in the public place.' I felt a ferocious pleasure in throwing the words of contempt in his face. 'Come on,' said Matteo; 'we cannot waste our time here.' We put the spurs to our horses. The soldiers looked to their captain to see whether they should stop us, but he gave no order, and we passed through. When we got outside, Matteo said to me,-- 'Girolamo must be planning something, or Ercole would not have dared to do that.' 'It is only the impotent anger of a foolish man,' I answered. 'The Count will probably be very angry with him when he hears of it.' We rode a few miles, and then Matteo turned back. When I found myself alone I heaved a great sigh of relief. I was free for a while at least.... Another episode in my life was finished; I could forget it, and look forward to new things. As I rode on, the March wind got into my blood and sent it whirling madly through my veins. The sun was shining brightly and covered everything with smiles; the fruit trees were all in flower--apples, pears, almonds--the dainty buds covered the branches with a snow of pink and white. The ground beneath them was bespattered with narcissi and anemones, the very olive trees looked gay. All the world laughed with joy at the bright spring morning, and I laughed louder than the rest. I drew in long breaths of the keen air, and it made me drunk, so that I set the spurs to my horse and galloped wildly along the silent road. I had made up my mind to forget Giulia, and I succeeded, for the changing scenes took me away from myself, and I was intent on the world at large. But I could not command my dreams. At night she came to me, and I dreamed that she was by my side, with her arms round my neck, sweetly caressing, trying to make me forget what I had suffered. And the waking was bitter.... But even that would leave me soon, I hoped, and then I should be free indeed. I rode on, full of courage and good spirits, along endless roads, putting up at wayside inns, through the mountains, past villages and hamlets, past thriving towns, till I found myself in the heart of Tuscany, and finally I saw the roofs of Florence spread out before me. After I had cleaned myself at the inn and had eaten, I sauntered through the town, renewing my recollections. I walked round Madonna del Fiore, and leaning against one of the houses at the back of the piazza looked at the beautiful apse, the marble all glistening in the moonlight. It was very quiet and peaceful; the exquisite church filled me with a sense of rest and purity, so that I cast far from me all vice.... Then I went to the baptistery and tried to make out in the dim light the details of Ghiberti's wonderful doors. It was late and the streets were silent as I strolled to the Piazza della Signoria, and saw before me the grim stone palace with its tower, and I came down to the Arno and looked at the glistening of the water, with the bridge covered with houses; and as I considered the beauty of it all I thought it strange that the works of man should be so good and pure and man himself so vile. Next day I set about my business. I had a special letter of introduction to Lorenzo, and was ushered in to him by a clerk. I found two people in the room; one, a young man with a long, oval face, and the bones of the face and chin very strongly marked; he had a very wonderful skin, like brown ivory, black hair that fell over his forehead and ears, and, most striking of all, large brown eyes, very soft and melancholy. I thought I had never before seen a man quite so beautiful. Seated by him, talking with animation, was an insignificant man, bent and wrinkled and mean, looking like a clerk in a cloth merchant's shop, except for the massive golden chain about his neck and the dress of dark red velvet with an embroidered collar. His features were ugly; a large, coarse nose, a heavy, sensual mouth, small eyes, but very sharp and glittering; the hair thin and short, the skin muddy, yellow, wrinkled--Lorenzo de' Medici! As I entered the room, he interrupted himself and spoke to me in a harsh, disagreeable voice. 'Messer Filippo Brandolini, I think. You are very welcome.' 'I am afraid I interrupt you,' I said, looking at the youth with the melancholy eyes. 'Oh no,' answered Lorenzo, gaily. 'We were talking of Plato. I really ought to have been attending to very much more serious matters, but I never can resist Pico.' Then that was the famous Pico della Mirandola. I looked at him again and felt envious that one person should be possessed of such genius and such beauty. It was hardly fair on Nature's part. 'It is more the subject than I that is irresistible.' 'Ah, the banquet!' said Lorenzo, clasping his hands. 'What an inexhaustible matter! I could go on talking about it all day and all night for a year, and then find I had left unsaid half what I had in my mind.' 'You have so vast an experience in the subject treated of,' said Pico, laughing; 'you could give a chapter of comment to every sentence of Plato.' 'You rascal, Pico!' answered Lorenzo, also laughing. 'And what is your opinion of love, Messer?' he added, turning to me. I answered, smiling,-- _'Con tua promesse, et tua false parole,_ _Con falsi risi, et con vago sembiante,_ _Donna, menato hai il tuo fidele amante.'_ * * * * * _Those promises of thine, and those false words,_ _Those traitor smiles, and that inconstant seeming,_ _Lady, with these thou'st led astray thy faithful lover.__ They were Lorenzo's own lines, and he was delighted that I should quote them, but still the pleasure was not too great, and I saw that it must be subtle flattery indeed that should turn his head. 'You have the spirit of a courtier, Messer Filippo,' he said in reply to my quotation. 'You are wasted on liberty!' 'It is in the air in Florence--one breathes it in through every pore.' 'What, liberty?' 'No; the spirit of the courtier.' Lorenzo looked at me sharply, then at Pico, repressing a smile at my sarcasm. 'Well, about your business from Forli?' he said; but when I began explaining the transaction he interrupted me. 'Oh, all that you can arrange with my secretaries. Tell me what is going on in the town. There have been rumours of disturbance.' I looked at Pico, who rose and went out, saying,-- 'I will leave you. Politics are not for me.' I told Lorenzo all that had happened, while he listened intently, occasionally interrupting me to ask a question. When I had finished, he said-- 'And what will happen now?' I shrugged my shoulders. 'Who knows?' 'The wise man knows,' he said earnestly, 'for he has made up his mind what will happen, and goes about to cause it to happen. It is only the fool who trusts to chance and waits for circumstances to develop themselves....' 'Tell your master--' 'I beg your pardon?' I interrupted. He looked at me interrogatively. 'I was wondering of whom you were speaking,' I murmured. He understood and, smiling, said,-- 'I apologise. I was thinking you were a Forlivese. Of course, I remember now that you are a citizen of Castello, and we all know how tenacious they have been of their liberty and how proud of their freedom.' He had me on the hip; for Città di Castello had been among the first of the towns to lose its liberty, and, unlike others, had borne its servitude with more equanimity than was honourable. 'However,' he went on, 'tell Checco d'Orsi that I know Girolamo Riario. It was his father and he who were the prime movers in the conspiracy which killed my brother and nearly killed myself. Let him remember that the Riario is perfectly unscrupulous, and that he is not accustomed to forgive an injury--or forget it. You say that Girolamo has repeatedly threatened Checco. Has that had no effect on him?' 'He was somewhat alarmed.' 'Besides?' I looked at him, trying to seize his meaning. 'Did he make up his mind to sit still and wait till Girolamo found means to carry his threats into effect?' I was rather at a loss for an answer. Lorenzo's eyes were fixed keenly upon me; they seemed to be trying to read my brain. 'It was suggested to him that it would be unwise,' I replied slowly. 'And what did he answer to that?' 'He recalled the ill results of certain recent--events.' 'Ah!' He took his eyes off me, as if he had suddenly seen the meaning behind my words, and was now quite sure of everything he wanted to know. He walked up and down the room, thinking; then he said to me,-- 'Tell Checco that Girolamo's position is very insecure. The Pope is against him, though he pretends to uphold him. You remember that when the Zampeschi seized his castle of San Marco, Girolamo thought they had the tacit consent of the Pope, and dared make no reprisal. Lodovico Sforza would doubtless come to the assistance of his half-sister, but he is occupied with the Venetians--and if the people of Forli hate the Count!' 'Then you advise--' 'I advise nothing. But let Checco know that it is only the fool who proposes to himself an end when he cannot or will not attain it; but the man who deserves the name of man, marches straight to the goal with clearness of mind and strength of will. He looks at things as they are and puts aside all vain appearances; and when his intelligence has shown him the means to his end, he is a fool if he refuses them, and he is a wise man if he uses them steadily and unhesitatingly. Tell that to Checco!' He threw himself into his chair with a little cry of relief. 'Now we can talk of other things. Pico!' A servant came in to say that Pico had gone away. 'The villain!' cried Lorenzo. 'But I daresay you will want to go away too, Messer Brandolini. But you must come to-morrow; we are going to act the Menacchini of Plautus; and besides the wit of the Latin you will see all the youth and beauty of Florence.' As I took my leave, he added,-- 'I need not warn you to be discreet.' XVI A few days later I found myself in sight of Forli. As I rode along I meditated; and presently the thought came to me that after all there was perhaps a certain equality in the portioning out of good and evil in this world. When fate gave one happiness she followed it with unhappiness, but the two lasted about an equal time, so that the balance was not unevenly preserved.... In my love for Giulia I had gone through a few days of intense happiness; the first kiss had caused me such ecstasy that I was rapt up to heaven; I felt myself a god. And this was followed by a sort of passive happiness, when I lived but to enjoy my love and cared for nothing in the world besides. Then came the catastrophe, and I passed through the most awful misery that man had ever felt: even now as I thought of it the sweat gathered on my forehead. But I noticed that strangely as this wretchedness was equal with the first happiness, so was it equal in length. And this was followed by a passive unhappiness when I no longer felt all the bitterness of my woe, but only a certain dull misery, which was like peace. And half smiling, half sighing, I thought that the passive misery again was equal to the passive happiness. Finally came the blessed state of indifference, and, except for the remembrance, my heart was as if nothing had been at all. So it seemed to me that one ought not to complain; for if the world had no right to give one continual misery, one had no cause to expect unmingled happiness, and the conjunction of the two, in all things equal, seemed normal and reasonable. And I had not noticed that I was come to Forli. I entered the gate with a pleasant sense of homecoming. I passed along the grey streets I was beginning to know so well, and felt for them something of the affection of old friends. I was glad, too, that I should shortly see Checco and my dear Matteo. I felt I had been unkind to Matteo: he was so fond of me and had always been so good, but I had been so wrapped up in my love that his very presence had been importunate, and I had responded coldly to his friendliness. And being then in a sentimental mood, I thought how much better and more trustworthy a friend is to the most lovely woman in the world. You could neglect him and be unfaithful to him, and yet if you were in trouble you could come back and he would take you to his arms and comfort you, and never once complain that you had strayed away. I longed to be with Matteo, clasping his hand. In my hurry I put the spurs to my horse, and clattered along the street. In a few minutes I had reached the Palazzo, leapt off my horse, sprung up the stairs, and flung myself into the arms of my friend. After the first greetings, Matteo dragged me along to Checco. 'The good cousin is most eager to hear your news. We must not keep him waiting.' Checco seemed as pleased to see me as Matteo. He warmly pressed my hand, and said,-- 'I am glad to have you back, Filippo. In your absence we have been lamenting like forsaken shepherdesses. Now, what is your news?' I was fully impressed with my importance at the moment, and the anxiety with which I was being listened to. I resolved not to betray myself too soon, and began telling them about the kindness of Lorenzo, and the play which he had invited me to see. I described the brilliancy of the assembly, and the excellence of the acting. They listened with interest, but I could see it was not what they wanted to hear. 'But I see you want to hear about more important matters,' I said. 'Well--' 'Ah!' they cried, drawing their chairs closer to me, settling themselves to listen attentively. With a slight smile I proceeded to give them the details of the commercial transaction which had been the ostensible purpose of my visit, and I laughed to myself as I saw their disgust. Checco could not restrain his impatience, but did not like to interrupt me. Matteo, however, saw that I was mocking, and broke in. 'Confound you, Filippo! Why do you torment us when you know we are on pins and needles?' Checco looked up and saw me laughing, and implored,-- 'Put us out of torture, for Heaven's sake!' 'Very well!' I answered. 'Lorenzo asked me about the state of Forli, and I told him. Then, after thinking awhile, he said, "Tell this to Checco--"' And I repeated word for word what Lorenzo had said to me, and, as far as I could, I reproduced his accent and gesture. When I had finished they both sat still and silent. At last Matteo, glancing to his cousin, said,-- 'It seems sufficiently clear.' 'It is, indeed, very clear,' answered Checco, gravely. XVII I made up my mind to amuse myself now. I was sick of being grave and serious. When one thinks how short a while youth lasts it is foolish not to take the best advantage of it; the time man has at his disposal is not long enough for tragedy and moaning; he has only room for a little laughter, and then his hair gets grey and his knees shaky, and he is left repenting that he did not make more of his opportunities. So many people have told me that they have never regretted their vices, but often their virtues! Life is too short to take things seriously. Let us eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die. There was really so much to do in Forli that amusement became almost hard work. There were hunting parties in which we scoured the country all day and returned at night, tired and sleepy, but with a delicious feeling of relief, stretching our limbs like giants waking from their sleep. There were excursions to villas, where we would be welcomed by some kind lady, and repeat on a smaller scale the Decameron of Boccaccio, or imitate the learned conversations of Lorenzo and his circle at Careggio; we could platonise as well as they, and we discovered the charm of treating impropriety from a philosophic point of view. We would set ourselves some subject and all write sonnets on it, and I noticed that the productions of our ladies were always more highly spiced than our own. Sometimes we would play at being shepherds and shepherdesses, but in this I always failed lamentably, for my nymph invariably complained that I was not as enterprising as a swain should be. Then we would act pastoral plays in the shadow of the trees; Orpheus was our favourite subject, and I was always set for the title part, rather against my will, for I could never bring the proper vigour into my lament for Eurydice, since it always struck me as both unreasonable and ungallant to be so inconsolable for the loss of one love when there were all around so many to console one.... And in Forli itself there was a continuous whirl of amusement, festivities of every kind crowded on one, so that one had scarcely time to sleep; from the gravity and instructive tedium of a comedy by Terence to a drinking bout or a card party. I went everywhere, and everywhere received the heartiest of welcomes. I could sing and dance, and play the lute, and act, and I was ready to compose a sonnet or an ode at a moment's notice; in a week I could produce a five-act tragedy in the Senecan manner, or an epic on Rinaldo or Launcelot; and as I had not a care in the world and was as merry as a drunken friar, they opened their arms to me and gave me the best of all they had.... I was attentive to all the ladies, and scandalous tongues gave me half a dozen mistresses, with details of the siege and capture. I wondered whether the amiable Giulia heard the stories, and what she thought of them. Occasionally I saw her, but I did not trouble to speak to her; Forli was large enough for the two of us; and when people are disagreeable why should you trouble your head about them? * * * * * One afternoon I rode with Matteo a few miles out of Forli to a villa where there was to be some festivity in honour of a christening. It was a beautiful spot, with fountains and shady walks, and pleasant lawns of well-mown grass; and I set myself to the enjoyment of another day. Among the guests was Claudia Piacentini. I pretended to be very angry with her because, at a ball which she had recently given, I had not received the honour of an invitation. She came to me to ask forgiveness. 'It was my husband,' she said, which I knew perfectly well. 'He said he would not have you in his house. You've had another quarrel with him!' 'How can I help it, when I see him the possessor of the lovely Claudia!' 'He says he will never be satisfied till he has your blood.' I was not alarmed. 'He talked of making a vow never to cut his beard or his hair till he had his revenge, but I implored him not to make himself more hideous than a merciful Providence had already made him.' I thought of the ferocious Ercole with a long, untrimmed beard and unkempt hair falling over his face. 'He would have looked like a wild man of the woods,' I said. 'I should have had to allow myself to be massacred for the good of society. I should have been one more of the martyrs of humanity--Saint Philip Brandolini!' I offered her my arm, suggesting a saunter through the gardens.... We wandered along cool paths bordered with myrtle and laurel and cypress trees; the air was filled with the song of birds, and a gentle breeze bore to us the scent of the spring flowers. By-and-by we came to a little lawn shut in by tall shrubs; in the middle a fountain was playing, and under the shadow of a chestnut-tree was a marble seat supported by griffins; in one corner stood a statue of Venus framed in green bushes. We had left the throng of guests far behind, and the place was very still; the birds, as if oppressed with its beauty, had ceased to sing, and only the fountain broke the silence. The unceasing fall of water was like a lullaby in its monotony, and the air was scented with lilac. We sat down. The quiet was delightful; peace and beauty filled one, and I felt a great sense of happiness pass into me, like some subtle liquid permeating every corner of my soul. The smell of the lilac was beginning to intoxicate me; and from my happiness issued a sentiment of love towards all nature; I felt as though I could stretch out my arms and embrace its impalpable spirit. The Venus in the corner gained flesh-like tints of green and yellow, and seemed to be melting into life; the lilac came across to me in great waves, oppressive, over-powering. I looked at Claudia. I thought she was affected as myself; she, too, was overwhelmed by the murmur of the water, the warmth, the scented air. And I was struck again with the wonderful voluptuousness of her beauty; her mouth sensual and moist, the lips deep red and heavy. Her neck was wonderfully massive, so white that the veins showed clear and blue; her clinging dress revealed the fulness of her form, its undulating curves. She seemed some goddess of Sensuality. As I looked at her I was filled with a sudden blind desire to possess her. I stretched out my arms, and she, with a cry of passion, like an animal, surrendered herself to my embrace. I drew her to me and kissed her beautiful mouth sensual and moist, her lips deep red and heavy.... We sat side by side looking at the fountain, breathing in the scented air. 'When can I see you?' I whispered. 'To-morrow.... After midnight. Come into the little street behind my house, and a door will be opened to you.' 'Claudia!' 'Good-bye. You must not come back with me now, we have been away so long, people would notice us. Wait here a while after me, and then there will be no fear. Good-bye.' She left me, and I stretched myself on the marble seat, looking at the little rings which the drops made as they fell on the water. My love for Giulia was indeed finished now--dead, buried, and a stone Venus erected over it as only sign of its existence. I tried to think of a suitable inscription.... Time could kill the most obstinate love, and a beautiful woman, with the breezes of spring to help her, could carry away even the remembrance. I felt that my life was now complete. I had all pleasures imaginable at my beck and call: good wines to drink, good foods to eat, nice clothes; games, sports and pastimes; and, last of all, the greatest gift the gods can make, a beautiful woman to my youth and strength. I had arrived at the summit of wisdom, the point aimed at by the wise man, to take the day as it comes, seizing the pleasures, avoiding the disagreeable, enjoying the present, and giving no thought to the past or future. That, I said to myself, is the highest wisdom--never to think; for the way of happiness is to live in one's senses as the beasts, and like the ox, chewing the cud, use the mind only to consider one's superiority to the rest of mankind. I laughed a little as I thought of my tears and cries when Giulia left me. It was not a matter worth troubling about; all I should have said to myself was that I was a fool not to abandon her before she abandoned me. Poor Giulia! I quite frightened her in the vehemence of my rage. The following evening I would not let Matteo go to bed. 'You must keep me company,' I said, 'I am going out at one.' 'Very well,' he said, 'if you will tell me where you're going.' 'Ah, no, that is a secret; but I am willing to drink her health with you.' 'Without a name?' 'Yes!' 'To the nameless one, then; and good luck!' Then, after a little conversation, he said,-- 'I am glad you have suffered no more from Giulia dall' Aste. I was afraid--' 'Oh, these things pass off. I took your advice, and found the best way to console myself was to fall in love with somebody else.' There was a little excitement in going to this mysterious meeting. I wondered whether it was a trap arranged by the amiable Ercole to get me in his power and rid himself of my unpleasant person. But faint heart never won fair lady; and even if he set on me with two or three others, I should be able to give a reasonable account of myself. * * * * * But there had been nothing to fear. On my way home, as the day was breaking, I smiled to myself at the matter-of-fact way in which a woman had opened the little door, and shown me into the room Claudia had told me of. She was evidently well used to her business; she did not even take the trouble to look into my face to see who was the newcomer. I wondered how many well-cloaked gallants she had let in by the same door; I did not care if they were half a hundred. I did not suppose the beautiful Claudia was more virtuous than myself. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had revenged myself on Ercole Piacentini at last; and the quaint thought, coming unexpectedly, made me stop dead and burst into a shout of laughter. The thought of that hang-dog visage, and the beautiful ornaments I had given him, was enough to make a dead man merry. Oh, it was a fairer revenge than any I could have dreamed of! But, besides that, I was filled with a great sense of pleasure because I was at last free. I felt that if some slight chain still bound me to Giulia now, even that was broken and I had recovered my liberty. There was no love this time. There was a great desire for the magnificent sensual creature, with the lips deep red and heavy; but it left my mind free. I was now again a complete man; and this time I had no Nemesis to fear. XVIII And so my life went on for a little while, filled with pleasure and amusement. I was contented with my lot, and had no wish for change. The time went by, and we reached the first week in April. Girolamo had organised a great ball to celebrate the completion of his Palace. He had started living in it as soon as there were walls and roof, but he had spent years on the decorations, taking into his service the best artists he could find in Italy; and now at last everything was finished. The Orsi had been invited with peculiar cordiality, and on the night we betook ourselves to the Palace. We walked up the stately staircase, a masterpiece of architecture, and found ourselves in the enormous hall which Girolamo had designed especially for gorgeous functions. It was ablaze with light. At the further end, on a low stage, led up to by three broad steps, under a daïs, on high-backed, golden chairs, sat Girolamo and Caterina Sforza. Behind them, in a semicircle, and on the steps at each side, were the ladies of Caterina's suite, and a number of gentlemen; at the back, standing like statues, a row of men-at-arms. 'It is almost regal!' said Checco, pursing up his lips. 'It is not so poor a thing to be the Lord of Forli,' answered Matteo. Fuel to the fire! We approached, and Girolamo, as he saw us, rose and came down the steps. 'Hail, my Checco!' he said, taking both his hands. 'Till you had come the assembly was not complete.' Matteo and I went to the Countess. She had surpassed herself this night. Her dress was of cloth of silver, shimmering and sparkling. In her hair were diamonds shining like fireflies in the night; her arms, her neck, her fingers glittered with costly gems. I had never seen her look so beautiful, nor so magnificent. Let them say what they liked, Checco and Matteo and the rest of them, but she was born to be a queen. How strange that this offspring of the rough Condottiere and the lewd woman should have a majesty such as one imagines of a mighty empress descended from countless kings. She took the trouble to be particularly gracious to us. Me she complimented on some verses she had seen, and was very flattering in reference to a pastoral play which I had arranged. She could not congratulate my good Matteo on any intellectual achievements, but the fame of his amours gave her a subject on which she could playfully reproach him. She demanded details, and I left her listening intently to some history which Matteo was whispering in her ear; and I knew he was not particular in what he said. I felt in peculiarly high spirits, and I looked about for someone on whom to vent my good humour. I caught sight of Giulia. I had seen her once or twice since my return to Forli, but had never spoken to her. Now I felt sure of myself; I knew I did not care two straws for her, but I thought it would please me to have a little revenge. I looked at her a moment. I made up my mind; I went to her and bowed most ceremoniously. 'Donna Giulia, behold the moth!' I had used the simile before, but not to her, so it did not matter. She looked at me undecidedly, not quite knowing how to take me. 'May I offer you my arm,' I said as blandly as I could. She smiled a little awkwardly and took it. 'How beautiful the Countess is to-night!' I said. 'Everyone will fall in love with her.' I knew she hated Caterina, a sentiment which the great lady returned with vigour. 'I would not dare say it to another; but I know you are never jealous: she is indeed like the moon among the stars.' 'The idea does not seem too new,' she said coldly. 'It is all the more comprehensible. I am thinking of writing a sonnet on the theme.' 'I imagined it had been done before; but the ladies of Forli will doubtless be grateful to you.' She was getting cross; and I knew by experience that when she was cross she always wanted to cry. 'I am afraid you are angry with me,' I said. 'No, it is you who are angry with me,' she answered rather tearfully. 'I? Why should you think that?' 'You have not forgiven me for--' I wondered whether the conscientious Giorgio had had another attack of morality and ridden off into the country. 'My dear lady,' I said, with a little laugh, 'I assure you that I have forgiven you entirely. After all, it was not such a very serious matter.' 'No?' She looked at me with a little surprise. I shrugged my shoulders. 'You were quite right in what you did. Those things have to finish some time or other, and it really does not so much matter when.' 'I was afraid I had hurt you,' she said in a low voice. The scene came to my mind; the dimly-lit room, the delicate form lying on the couch, cold and indifferent, while I was given over to an agony of despair. I remembered the glitter of the jewelled ring against the white hand. I would have no mercy. 'My dear Giulia--you will allow me to call you Giulia?' She nodded. 'My dear Giulia, I was a little unhappy at first, I acknowledge, but one gets over those things so quickly--a bottle of wine, and a good sleep: they are like bleeding to a fever.' 'You were unhappy?' 'Naturally; one is always rather put out when one is dismissed. One would prefer to have done the breaking oneself.' 'It was a matter of pride?' 'I am afraid I must confess to it.' 'I did not think so at the time.' I laughed. 'Oh, that is my excited way of putting things. I frightened you; but it did not really mean anything.' She did not answer. After a while I said,-- 'You know, when one is young one should make the most of one's time. Fidelity is a stupid virtue, unphilosophical and extremely unfashionable.' 'What do you mean?' 'Simply this; you did not particularly love me, and I did not particularly love you.' 'Oh!' 'We had a passing fancy for one another, and that satisfied there was nothing more to keep us together. We should have been very foolish not to break the chain; if you had not done so, I should have. With your woman's intuition, you saw that and forestalled me!' Again she did not answer. 'Of course, if you had been in love with me, or I with you, it would have been different. But as it was--' 'I see my cousin Violante in the corner there; will you lead me to her?' I did as she asked, and as she was bowing me my dismissal I said,-- 'We have had a very pleasant talk, and we are quite good friends, are we not?' 'Quite!' she said. I drew a long breath as I left her. I hoped I had hurt; I hoped I had humiliated her. I wished I could have thought of things to say that would have cut her to the heart. I was quite indifferent to her, but when I remembered--I hated her. I knew everyone in Forli by now, and as I turned away from Giulia I had no lack of friends with whom to talk. The rooms became more crowded every moment. The assembly was the most brilliant that Forli had ever seen; and as the evening wore on the people became more animated; a babel of talk drowned the music, and the chief topic of conversation was the wonderful beauty of Caterina. She was bubbling over with high spirits; no one knew what had happened to make her so joyful, for of late she had suffered a little from the unpopularity of her husband, and a sullen look of anger had replaced the old smiles and graces. But to-night she was herself again. Men were standing round talking to her, and one heard a shout of laughter from them as every now and then she made some witty repartee; and her conversation gained another charm from a sort of soldierly bluntness which people remembered in Francesco Sforza, and which she had inherited. People also spoke of the cordiality of Girolamo towards our Checco; he walked up and down the room with him, arm in arm, talking affectionately; it reminded the onlookers of the time when they had been as brothers together. Caterina occasionally gave them a glance and a little smile of approval; she was evidently well pleased with the reconciliation. I was making my way through the crowd, watching the various people, giving a word here and there or a nod, and I thought that life was really a very amusing thing. I felt mightily pleased with myself, and I wondered where my good friend Claudia was; I must go and pay her my respects. 'Filippo!' I turned and saw Scipione Moratini standing by his sister, with a number of gentlemen and ladies, most of them known to me. 'Why are you smiling so contentedly?' he said. 'You look as if you had lost a pebble and found a diamond in its place.' 'Perhaps I have; who knows?' At that moment I saw Ercole Piacentini enter the room with his wife; I wondered why they were so late. Claudia was at once seized upon by one of her admirers, and, leaving her husband, sauntered off on the proffered arm. Ercole came up the room on his way to the Count. His grim visage was contorted into an expression of amiability, which sat on him with an ill grace. 'This is indeed a day of rejoicing,' I said; 'even the wicked ogre is trying to look pleasant.' Giulia gave a little silvery laugh. I thought it forced. 'You have a forgiving spirit, dear friend,' she said, accenting the last word in recollection of what I had said to her. 'A truly Christian disposition!' 'Why?' I asked, smiling. 'I admire the way in which you have forgiven Ercole for the insults he has offered you; one does not often find a gentleman who so charitably turns his other cheek to the smiter!' I laughed within myself; she was trying to be even with me. I was glad to see that my darts had taken good effect. Scipione interposed, for what his sister had said was sufficiently bitter. 'Nonsense, Giulia!' he said. 'You know Filippo is the last man to forgive his enemies until the breath is well out of their bodies; but circumstances--' Giulia pursed up her lips into an expression of contempt. 'Circumstances. I was surprised, because I remembered the vigour with which Messer Filippo had vowed to revenge himself.' 'Oh, but Messer Filippo considers that he has revenged himself very effectively,' I said. 'How?' 'There are more ways of satisfying one's honour than by cutting a hole in a person's chest.' 'What do you mean, Filippo?' said Scipione. 'Did you not see as he passed?' 'Ercole? What?' 'Did you not see the adornment of his noble head, the elegant pair of horns?' They looked at me, not quite understanding; then I caught sight of Claudia, who was standing close to us. 'Ah, I see the diamond I have found in place of the pebble I have lost. I pray you excuse me.' Then as they saw me walk towards Claudia they understood, and I heard a burst of laughter. I took my lady's hand, and bowing deeply, kissed it with the greatest fervour. I glanced at Giulia from the corner of my eyes and saw her looking down on the ground, with a deep blush of anger on her face. My heart leapt for joy to think that I had returned something of the agony she had caused me. The evening grew late and the guests began to go. Checco, as he passed me, asked,-- 'Are you ready?' 'Yes!' I said, accompanying him to Girolamo and the Countess to take our leave. 'You are very unkind, Checco,' said the Countess. 'You have not come near me the whole evening.' 'You have been so occupied,' he answered. 'But I am not now,' she replied, smiling. 'The moment I saw you free I came to you.' 'To say good-bye.' 'It is very late.' 'No, surely; sit down and talk to me.' Checco did as he was bid, and I, seeing he meant to stay longer, sauntered off again in search of friends. The conversation between Checco and the Countess was rather hindered by the continual leave-takings, as the people began to go away rapidly, in groups. I sat myself down in a window with Matteo, and we began comparing notes of our evening; he told me of a new love to whom he had discovered his passion for the first time. 'Fair wind, foul wind?' I asked, laughing. 'She pretended to be very angry,' he said, 'but she allowed me to see that if the worst came to the worst she would not permit me to break my heart.' I looked out into the room and found that everyone had gone, except Ercole Piacentini, who was talking to the Count in undertones. 'I am getting so sleepy,' said Matteo. We went forward to the Countess, who said, as she saw us come,-- 'Go away, Matteo! I will not have you drag Checco away yet; we have been trying to talk to one another for the last half-hour, and now that we have the chance at last I refuse to be disturbed.' 'I would not for worlds rob Checco of such pleasure,' said Matteo; adding to me, as we retired to our window, 'What a nuisance having to wait for one's cousin while a pretty woman is flirting with him!' 'You have me to talk to--what more can you want!' 'I don't want to talk to you at all,' he answered, laughing. Girolamo was still with Ercole. His mobile eyes were moving over the room, hardly ever resting on Ercole's face, but sometimes on us, more often on Checco. I wondered whether he was jealous. At last Checco got up and said Good-night. Then Girolamo came forward. 'You are not going yet,' he said. 'I want to speak with you on the subject of those taxes.' It was the first time he had mentioned them. 'It is getting so late,' said Checco, 'and these good gentlemen are tired.' 'They can go home. Really, it is very urgent.' Checco hesitated, and looked at us. 'We will wait for you,' said Matteo. Girolamo's eyes moved about here and there, never resting a moment, from Checco to me, from me to Matteo, and on to his wife, and then on again, with extraordinary rapidity--it was quite terrifying. 'One would think you were afraid of leaving Checco in our hands,' said the Countess, smiling. 'No,' returned Matteo; 'but I look forward to having some of your attention now that Checco is otherwise occupied. Will you let me languish?' She laughed, and a rapid glance passed between her and the Count. 'I shall be only too pleased,' she said, 'come and sit by me, one on each side.' The Count turned to Ercole. 'Well, good-night, my friend,' he said. 'Good-night!' Ercole left us, and Girolamo, taking Checco's arm, walked up and down the room, speaking. The Countess and Matteo commenced a gay conversation. Although I was close to them I was left alone, and I watched the Count. His eyes fascinated me, moving ceaselessly. What could be behind them? What could be the man's thoughts that his eyes should never rest? They enveloped the person they looked at--his head, every feature of his face, his body, his clothes; one imagined there was no detail they had not caught; it was as if they ate into the very soul of the man. The two men tramped up and down, talking earnestly; I wondered what they were saying. At last Girolamo stopped. 'Ah, well, I must have mercy on you; I shall tire you to death. And you know I do not wish to do anything to harm you.' Checco smiled. 'Whatever difficulty there has been between us, Checco, you know that there has never on my part been any ill-feeling towards you. I have always had for you a very sincere and affectionate friendship.' And as he said the words an extraordinary change came over him. The eyes, the mobile eyes, stopped still at last; for the first time I saw them perfectly steady, motionless, like glass; they looked fixedly into Checco's eyes, without winking, and their immobility was as strange as their perpetual movement, and to me it was more terrifying. It was as if Girolamo was trying to see his own image in Checco's soul. We bade them farewell, and together issued out into the silence of the night; and I felt that behind us the motionless eyes, like glass, were following us into the darkness. XIX We issued out into the silence of the night. There had been a little rain during the day, and the air in consequence was fresh and sweet; the light breeze of the spring made one expand one's lungs and draw in long breaths. One felt the trees bursting out into green leaves, and the buds on the plants opening their downy mantles and discovering the flower within. Light clouds were wandering lazily along the sky, and between them shone out a few dim stars. Checco and Matteo walked in front, while I lingered enjoying the spring night; it filled me with a sweet sadness, a reaction from the boisterous joy of the evening, and pleasant by the contrast. When Matteo fell behind and joined me, I received him a little unwillingly, disappointed at the interruption of my reverie. 'I asked Checco what the Count had said to him of the taxes, but he would not tell me; he said he wanted to think about the conversation.' I made no answer, and we walked on in silence. We had left the piazza, and were going through the narrow streets bordered by the tall black houses. It was very late, and there was not a soul about; there was no sound but that of our own footsteps, and of Checco walking a few yards in front. Between the roofs of the houses only a little strip of sky could be seen, a single star, and the clouds floating lazily. The warm air blew in my face, and filled me with an intoxication of melancholy. I thought how sweet it would be to fall asleep this night, and never again to wake. I was tired, and I wanted the rest of an endless sleep.... Suddenly I was startled by a cry. I saw from the shadow of the houses black forms spring out on Checco. An arm was raised, and a glittering instrument flashed in the darkness. He staggered forward. 'Matteo,' he cried. 'Help! Help!' We rushed forward, drawing our swords. There was a scuffle, three of us against four of them, a flash of swords, a cry from one of the men as he reeled and fell with a wound from Matteo's sword. Then another rush, a little band of men suddenly appeared round the corner, and Ercole Piacentini's voice, crying,-- 'What is it? What is it?' And Matteo's answer,-- 'Help us, Ercole! I have killed one. Checco is stabbed.' 'Ah!' a cry from Ercole, and with his men he rushed into the fray. A few more cries, still the flash of swords, the fall of heavy bodies on the stones. 'They are done for!' said Matteo. The shouts, the clang of metal woke up the neighbours; lights were seen at the windows, and night-capped women appeared shrieking; doors were thrown open, and men came out in their shirts, sword in hand. 'What is it? What is it?' 'Checco, are you hurt?' asked Matteo. 'No; my coat of mail!' 'Thank God you had it on! I saw you stagger.' 'It was the blow. At first I did not know whether I was hurt or not.' 'What is it? What is it?' The neighbours surrounded us. 'They have tried to murder Checco! Checco d'Orsi!' 'My God! Is he safe?' 'Who has done it?' All eyes were turned to the four men, each one lying heaped up on the ground, with the blood streaming from his wounds. 'They are dead!' 'Footpads!' said Ercole; 'they wanted to rob you, and did not know you were accompanied.' 'Footpads! Why should footpads rob me this night?' said Checco. 'I wish they were not dead.' 'Look, look!' said a bystander, 'there is one moving.' The words were hardly out of the man's mouth before one of Ercole's soldiers snatched up his dagger and plunged it in the man's neck, shouting,-- 'Bestia!' A tremor went through the prostrate body, and then it was quite still. 'You fool!' said Matteo, angrily. 'Why did you do that?' 'He is a murderer,' said the soldier. 'You fool, we wanted him alive, not dead. We could have found out who hired him.' 'What do you mean?' said Ercole. 'They are common robbers.' 'Here is the guard,' cried someone. The guard came, and immediately there was a babel of explanation. The captain stepped forward, and examined the men lying on the ground. 'They are all dead,' he said. 'Take them away,' said Ercole. 'Let them be put in a church till morning.' 'Stop!' cried Checco. 'Bring a light, and let us see if we can recognise them.' 'Not now, it is late. To-morrow you can do what you like.' 'To-morrow it will be later, Ercole,' answered Checco. 'Bring a light.' Torches were brought, and thrust into the face of each dead man. Everyone eagerly scrutinised the features, drawn up in their last agony. 'I don't know him.' Then to another. 'No.' And the other two also were unknown. Checco examined the face of the last, and shook his head. But a man broke out excitedly,-- 'Ah! I know him.' A cry from us all. 'Who is it?' 'I know him. It is a soldier, one of the Count's guard.' 'Ah!' said Matteo and Checco, looking at one another. 'One of the Count's guard!' 'That is a lie,' said Ercole. 'I know them all, and I have never seen that face before. It is a footpad, I tell you.' 'It is not. I know him well. He is a member of the guard.' 'It is a lie, I tell you.' 'Ercole is doubtless right,' said Checco. 'They are common thieves. Let them be taken away. They have paid a heavy price for their attempt. Good-night, my friends. Good-night, Ercole, and thanks.' The guard took hold of the dead men by the head and by the feet, and one after another, in single file, they bore them off down the dark street. We three moved on, the crowd gradually melted away, and everything again became dark and silent. We walked home side by side without speaking. We came to the Palazzo Orsi, entered, walked upstairs, one after the other, into Checco's study, lights were brought, the door closed carefully, and Checco turned round to us. 'Well?' Neither I nor Matteo spoke. Checco clenched his fist, and his eyes flashed as he hissed out,-- 'The cur!' We all knew the attempt was the Count's.... 'By God! I am glad you are safe,' said Matteo. 'What a fool I was to be taken in by his protestations! I ought to have known that he would never forget the injury I had done him.' 'He planned it well,' said Matteo. 'Except for the soldier,' I remarked. 'He should not have chosen anyone who could be recognised.' 'Probably he was the leader. But how well he managed everything, keeping us after the others, and nearly persuading Filippo and me to go home before you. Caterina was in the plot.' 'I wonder he did not defer the attempt when he found you would not be alone,' I said to Checco. 'He knows I am never alone, and such an opportunity would not easily occur again. Perhaps he thought they could avoid you two, or even murder you as well.' 'But Ercole and his men?' I said. 'Yes, I have been thinking about them. The only explanation I have is that he placed them there to cover their flight if they succeeded, and if they failed or could not escape, to kill them.' 'As, in fact, they did. I thought I saw Ercole make a sign to the soldier who stabbed the only living one.' 'Possibly. The idea was evidently to destroy all witnesses and all opportunity for inquiry.' 'Well,' said Matteo, 'it will show others that it is dangerous to do dirty work for the Riario.' 'It will indeed!' 'And now, what is to happen?' said Matteo. Checco looked at him, but did not reply. 'Do you still refuse to do to Girolamo as he has tried to do to you?' Checco answered quietly,-- 'No!' 'Ah!' we both cried. 'Then you consent?' 'I see no reason now for not taking the law into my own hands.' 'Assassination?' whispered Matteo. And Checco answered boldly,-- 'Assassination!' Then, after a pause, 'It is the only way open to me. Do you remember Lorenzo's words? They have been with me every day, and I have considered them very, very deeply: "Let Checco know that it is only the fool who proposes to himself an end, when he cannot or will not attain it; but the man who deserves the name of man marches straight to the goal with clearness of mind and strength of will. He looks at things as they are, putting aside all vain appearances, and when his intelligence has shown him the means to his end, he is a fool if he refuses them, and he is a wise man if he uses them steadily and unhesitatingly." I know the end, and I will attain it. I know the means, and I will use them steadily, without hesitation.' 'I am glad to hear you speak like that at last!' said Matteo. 'We shall have plenty to help us. The Moratini will join at once. Jacopo Ronchi and Lodovico Pansecchi are so bitter against the Count they will come with us as soon as they hear you have decided to kill the enemy of us all.' 'You are blind, Matteo. Do you not see what we must do? You mistake the means for the end.' 'What do you mean?' 'The death of Girolamo is only a means. The end is further and higher.' Matteo did not speak. 'I must keep my hands clean from any base motive. It must not seem that I am influenced by any personal incentive. Nothing must come from me. The idea of assassination must come from outside.' 'Whom do you--' 'I think Bartolomeo Moratini must propose it, and I will yield to his instances.' 'Good! then I will go to him.' 'That will not do either. Neither you nor I must be concerned in it. Afterwards it must be clear to all minds that the Orsi were influenced solely by the public welfare. Do you see? I will tell you how it must be. Filippo must help us. He must go to Bartolomeo, and from his great affection for us talk of our danger and intreat Bartolomeo to persuade me to the assassination. Do you understand, Filippo?' 'Perfectly!' 'Will you do it?' 'I will go to him to-morrow.' 'Wait till the news of the attempt has spread.' I smiled at the completeness with which Checco had arranged everything; he had evidently thought it all out. How had his scruples disappeared? The blackness of the night was sinking before the dawn when we bade one another good-night. XX I seemed to have slept a bare half-hour when I was awakened by a great noise downstairs. I got up, and looking out of the window saw a crowd gathered in the street below; they were talking and gesticulating furiously. Then I remembered the occurrence of the night, and I saw that the news had spread and these were citizens come to gather details. I went downstairs and found the courtyard thronged. Immediately I was surrounded by anxious people asking for news. Very contrary reports had circulated; some said that Checco had been killed outright, others that he had escaped, while most asserted that he was wounded. All asked for Checco. 'If he is unhurt, why does he not show himself?' they asked. A servant assured them that he was dressing, and would be with them at once.... Suddenly there was a shout. Checco had appeared at the top of the stairs. They rushed towards him, surrounding him with cries of joy; they seized his hand, they clung to his legs, some of them touched him all over to see that he was indeed unwounded, others kissed the lappets of his coat.... Bartolomeo Moratini entered the court with his sons, and the people shrunk back as he came forward and embraced Checco. 'Thank God you are saved!' he said. 'It will be an evil day for Forli when anything happens to you.' The people answered in shouts. But at that moment another sound was heard without--a long and heavy murmur. The people surrounding the doorway looked out and turned in astonishment to their neighbours, pointing to the street; the murmur spread. What was it? 'Make way! Make way!' A strident voice called out the words, and ushers pushed the people aside. A little troop of men appeared in the entrance, and as they sank back there stepped forward the Count. The Count! Checco started, but immediately recovering himself advanced to meet his visitor. Girolamo walked up to him, and taking him in his arms kissed him on the cheeks, and said,-- 'My Checco! My Checco!' We who knew and the others who suspected looked on with astonishment. 'As soon as I heard the terrible news I rushed to find you,' said the Count. 'Are you safe--quite safe?' He embraced him again. 'You cannot think what agony I suffered when I heard you were wounded. How glad I am it was not true. Oh, God in Heaven, I thank Thee for my Checco!' 'You are very kind, my lord,' answered our friend. 'But it is some consolation that the miscreants have met the end which they deserved. We must take steps to free the town of all such dangerous persons. What will men say of my rule when it is known that the peaceful citizen cannot walk home at night without danger to his life? Oh, Checco, I blame myself bitterly.' 'You have no cause, my lord, but--would it not be well to examine the men to see if they are known in Forli? Perhaps they have associates.' 'Certainly; the idea was in my mind. Let them be laid out in the market-place so that all may see them.' 'Pardon, sir,' said one of his suite, 'but they were laid in the Church of San Spirito last night, and this morning they have disappeared.' Matteo and I looked at one another. Checco kept his eyes fixed on the Count. 'Disappeared!' cried the latter, displaying every sign of impatience. 'Who is responsible for this? Offer a reward for the discovery of their bodies and of any accomplices. I insist on their being discovered!' Shortly afterwards he took his leave, after repeatedly kissing Checco, and warmly congratulating Matteo and myself on the assistance we had given to our friend. To me he said,-- 'I regret, Messer Filippo, that you are not a Forlivese. I should be proud to have such a citizen.' Bartolomeo Moratini was still at the Palazzo Orsi, so, seizing my opportunity, I took him by the arm and walked with him to the statue gallery, where we could talk in peace. 'What do you think of all this?' I said. He shook his head. 'It is the beginning of the end. Of course it is clear to all of us that the assassination was ordered by the Count; he will persuade nobody of his innocence by his pretended concern. All the town is whispering his name. 'Having made a first attempt and failed, he will not hesitate to make a second, for if he could forgive the injury which he has received from Checco, he can never forgive the injury which he himself has done him. And next time he will not fail.' 'I am terribly concerned,' I said. 'You know the great affection I have for both the Orsi.' He stopped and warmly shook my hand. 'I cannot let Checco throw away his life in this way,' I said. 'What can be done?' 'Only one thing, and you suggested it.... Girolamo must be killed.' 'Ah, but Checco will never consent to that.' 'I am afraid not,' I said gravely. 'You know the delicacy of his conscience.' 'Yes; and though I think it excessive, I admire him for it. In these days it is rare to find a man so honest and upright and conscientious as Checco. But, Messer Filippo, one must yield to the ideas of the age one lives in.' 'I, too, am convinced of his noble-mindedness, but it will ruin him.' 'I am afraid so,' sighed the old man, stroking his beard. 'But he must be saved in spite of himself. He must be brought to see the necessity of killing the Count.' I spoke as emphatically as I could. 'He will never consent.' 'He must consent; and you are the man to make him do so. He would not listen to anything that Matteo or I said, but for you he has the greatest respect. I am sure if anyone can influence him it is you.' 'I have some power over him, I believe.' 'Will you try? Don't let him suspect that Matteo or I have had anything to do with it, or he will not listen. It must come solely from you.' 'I will do my best.' 'Ah, that is good of you. But don't be discouraged by his refusals; be insistent, for our sake. And one thing more, you know his unselfishness; he would not move his hand to save himself, but if you showed him that it is for the good of others, he could not refuse. Let him think the safety of us all depends on him. He is a man you can only move by his feeling for others.' 'I believe you,' he answered. 'But I will go to him, and I will leave no argument unused.' 'I am sure that your efforts will be rewarded.' Here I showed myself a perfectly wise man, for I only prophesied because I knew. XXI In the evening Bartolomeo returned to the Palace and asked for Checco. At his request Matteo and I joined him in Checco's study, and besides there were his two sons, Scipione and Alessandro. Bartolomeo was graver than ever. 'I have come to you now, Checco, impelled by a very strong sense of duty, and I wish to talk with you on a matter of the greatest importance.' He cleared his throat. 'Firstly, are you convinced that the attempt on your life was plotted by Girolamo Riario?' 'I am sorry for his sake, but--I am.' 'So are we all, absolutely. And what do you intend to do now?' 'What can I do? Nothing!' 'The answer is not nothing. You have something to do.' 'And that is?' 'To kill Girolamo before he has time to kill you.' Checco started to his feet. 'They have been talking to you--Matteo and Filippo. It is they who have put this in your head. I knew it would be suggested again.' 'Nothing has given me the idea but the irresistible force of circumstances.' 'Never! I will never consent to that.' 'But he will kill you.' 'I can die!' 'It will be the ruin of your family. What will happen to your wife and children if you are dead?' 'If need be they can die too. No one who bears the name of Orsi fears death.' 'You cannot sacrifice their lives in cold blood.' 'I cannot kill a fellow-man in cold blood. Ah, my friend, you don't know what is in me. I am not religious; I have never meddled with priests; but something in my heart tells me not to do this thing. I don't know what it is--conscience or honour--but it is speaking clearly within me.' He had his hand on his heart, and was speaking very earnestly. We followed his eyes and saw them resting on a crucifix. 'No, Bartolomeo,' he said, 'one cannot forget God. He is above us always, always watching us; and what should I say to Him with the blood of that man on my hands? You may say what you like, but, believe me, it is best to be honest and straight-forward, and to the utmost of one's ability to carry out the doctrines which Christ has left us, and upon which he set the seal with the blood of His hands and feet and the wound in His side.' Bartolomeo looked at me as if it were hopeless to attempt anything against such sentiments. But I signed him energetically to go on; he hesitated. It would be almost tragic if he gave the matter up before Checco had time to surrender. However, he proceeded,-- 'You are a good man, Checco, and I respect you deeply for what you have said. But if you will not stir to save yourself, think of the others.' 'What do you mean?' said Checco, starting as if from a dream. 'Have you the right to sacrifice your fellowmen? The citizens of Forli depend on you.' 'Ah, they will easily find another leader. Why, you yourself will be of greater assistance to them than I have ever been. How much better will they be in your strong hands than with me!' 'No, no! You are the only man who has power here. You could not be replaced.' 'But what can I do more than I am doing. I do not seek to leave Forli; I will stay here and protect myself as much as I can. I cannot do more.' 'Oh, Checco, look at their state. It cannot continue. They are ground down now; the Count must impose these taxes, and what will be their condition then? The people are dying in their misery, and the survivors hold happy those who die. How can you look on and see all this? And you, you know Girolamo will kill you; it is a matter of time, and who can tell how short a time? Perhaps even now he is forging the weapon of your death.' 'My death! My death!' cried Checco. 'All that is nothing!' 'But what will be the lot of the people when you are gone? You are the only curb on Riario's tyranny. When you are dead, nothing will keep him back. And when once he has eased his path by murder he will not fail to do so again. We shall live under perpetual terror of the knife. Oh, have mercy on your fellow-citizens.' 'My country!' said Checco. 'My country!' 'You cannot resist this. For the good of your country you must lead us on.' 'And if my soul--' 'It is for your country. Ah! Checco, think of us all. Not for ourselves only, but for our wives, our innocent children, we beg you, we implore. Shall we go down on our knees to you?' 'Oh, my God, what shall I do?' said Checco, extremely agitated. 'Listen to my father, Checco!' said Scipione. 'He has right on his side.' 'Oh, not you, too! Do not overwhelm me. I feel you are all against me. God help me! I know it is wrong, but I feel myself wavering.' 'Do not think of yourself, Checco; it is for others, for our liberty, our lives, our all, that we implore you.' 'You move me terribly. You know how I love my country, and how can I resist you, appealing on her behalf!' 'Be brave, Checco!' said Matteo. 'It is the highest thing of all that we ask you,' added Bartolomeo. 'Man can do nothing greater. We ask you to sacrifice yourself, even your soul, may be, for the good of us all.' Checco buried his face in his hands and groaned,-- 'Oh, God! Oh, God!' Then, with a great sigh, he rose and said,-- 'Be it as you will.... For the good of my country!' 'Ah, thanks, thanks!' Bartolomeo took him in his arms and kissed him on both cheeks. Then suddenly Checco tore himself away. 'But listen to this, all of you. I have consented, and now you must let me speak. I swear that in this thing I have no thought of myself. If I alone were concerned I would not move; I would wait for the assassin's knife calmly. I would even sacrifice my wife and children, and God knows how dearly I love them! I would not stir a finger to save myself. And I swear, by all that is most holy to me, that I am actuated by no base motive, no ambition, no thought of self, no petty revenge. I would willingly forgive Girolamo everything. Believe me, my friends, I am honest. I swear to you that I am only doing this for the welfare of the men I love, for the sake of you all, and--for Liberty.' They warmly pressed his hands. 'We know it, Checco, we believe it. You are a great and a good man.' A little later we began to discuss the ways and means. Everyone had his plan, and to it the others had the most conclusive objections. We all talked together, each one rather annoyed at the unwillingness of the others to listen to him, and thinking how contemptible their ideas were beside his own. Checco sat silent. After a while Checco spoke,-- 'Will you listen to me?' We held our tongues. 'First of all,' he said, 'we must find out who is with us and who is against us.' 'Well,' interrupted Scipione, 'there are the two soldiers, Jacopo Ronchi and Lodovico Pansecchi; they are furious with the Count, and said to me a long while since that they would willingly kill him.' 'Our six selves and those two make eight.' 'Then there are Pietro Albanese, and Paglianino, and Marco Scorsacana.' They were devoted adherents of the house of Orsi, and could be trusted to follow the head of the family to the bottomless pit. 'Eleven,' counted Bartolomeo. 'And then--' Each mentioned a name till the total was brought to seventeen. 'Who else?' asked Matteo. 'That is enough,' said Checco. 'It is as foolish to have more than necessary as to have less. Now, once more, who are they?' The names were repeated. They were all known enemies of the Count, and most of them related to the Orsi. 'We had better go to them separately and talk to them.' 'It will want care!' said Bartolomeo. 'Oh, they will not be backward. The first word will bring their adhesion.' 'Before that,' said Checco, 'we must make all arrangements. Every point of the execution must be arranged, and to them nothing left but the performance.' 'Well, my idea is--' 'Have the goodness to listen to me,' said Checco. 'You have been talking of committing the deed in church, or when he is out walking. Both of those ways are dangerous, for he is always well surrounded, and in the former, one has to remember the feeling of horror which the people have for sacrilege. Witness Galeazzo in Milan and the Medici in Florence. One is always wise to respect the prejudices of the mob....' 'What do you propose?' 'After the mid-day meal the--our friend is in the habit of retiring to a private room while his servants dine. He is then almost alone. I have often thought it would be an excellent opportunity for an assassin; I did not know it would be myself to take the opportunity.' He paused and smiled at the pleasantness of the irony. 'Afterwards we shall raise the town, and it is well that as many of our partisans as possible be present. The best day for that is a market-day, when they will come in, and we shall have no need of specially summoning them, and thus giving rise to suspicion.' Checco looked at us to see what we thought of his idea; then, as if from an after thought, he added,-- 'Of course, this is all on the spur of the moment.' It was well he said that, for I was thinking how elaborately everything was planned. I wondered how long he had the scheme in his head. We found nothing to say against it. 'And who will do the actual deed?' 'I will!' answered Checco, quietly. 'You!' 'Yes, alone. I will tell you your parts later.' 'And when?' 'Next Saturday. That is the first market-day.' 'So soon.' We were all surprised; it was only five days off, it gave us very little time to think. It was terribly near. Alessandro voiced our feelings. 'Does that give us enough time? Why not Saturday week? There are many needful preparations.' 'There are no needful preparations. You have your swords ready; the others can be warned in a few hours. I wish it were to-morrow.' 'It is--it is very soon.' 'There is less danger of our courage failing meanwhile. We have our goal before us, and we must go to it straight, with clearness of mind and strength of will.' There was nothing more to be said. As we separated, one of the Moratini asked,-- 'About the others, shall we--' 'You can leave everything to me. I take all on my hands. Will you three come here to play a game of chess on Friday night at ten? Our affairs will occupy us so that we shall not meet in the interval. I recommend you to go about as much as possible, and let yourselves be seen in all assemblies and parties....' Checco was taking his captaincy in earnest. He would allow no contradiction, and no swerving from the path he had marked out--on the spur of the moment. We had four days in which to make merry and gather the roses; after that, who knows? We might be dangling from the Palace windows in an even line, suspended by elegant hempen ropes; or our heads might be decorating spear heads and our bodies God knows where. I suggested these thoughts to Matteo, but I found him singularly ungrateful. Still, he agreed with me that we had better make the most of our time, and as it accorded with Checco's wishes, we were able to go to the devil from a sense of duty. I am sure Claudia never had a lover more ardent than myself during these four days; but, added to my duties towards that beautiful creature, were routs and banquets, drinking-parties, gaming-parties, where I plunged heavily in my uncertainty of the future, and consequently won a fortune. Checco had taken on his own shoulders all preparations, so that Matteo and I had nothing to do but to enjoy ourselves; and that we did. The only sign I had that Checco had been working was a look of intelligence given me by one or two of those whose names had been mentioned in Checco's study. Jacopo Ronchi, taking leave of me on the Thursday night, said,-- 'We shall meet to-morrow.' 'You are coming to play chess, I think,' I said, smiling. When, at the appointed hour, Matteo and I found ourselves again in Checco's study, we were both rather anxious and nervous. My heart was beating quite painfully, and I could not restrain my impatience. I wished the others would come. Gradually they made their way in, and we shook hands quietly, rather mysteriously, with an air of schoolboys meeting together in the dark to eat stolen fruit. It might have been comic if our mind's eye had not presented us with so vivid a picture of a halter. Checco began to speak in a low voice, slightly trembling; his emotion was real enough this time, and he did all he could to conceal it. 'My very dear and faithful fellow-citizens,' he began, 'it appears that to be born in Forli, and to live in it in our times, is the very greatest misfortune with which one can be born or with which one can live.' I never heard such silence as that among the listeners. It was awful. Checco's voice sank lower and lower, but yet every word could be distinctly heard. The tremor was increasing. 'Is it necessary that birth and life here should be the birth and life of slaves? Our glorious ancestors never submitted to this terrible misfortune. They were free, and in their freedom they found life. But this is a living death....' He recounted the various acts of tyranny which had made the Count hateful to his subjects, and he insisted on the insecurity in which they lived. 'You all know the grievous wrongs I have suffered at the hands of the man whom I helped to place on the throne. But these wrongs I freely forgive. I am filled only with devotion to my country and love to my fellowmen. If you others have private grievances, I implore you to put them aside, and think only that you are the liberators from oppression of all those you love and cherish. Gather up to your hearts the spirit of Brutus, when, for the sake of Freedom, he killed the man whom above all others he loved.' He gave them the details of the plot; told them what he would do himself, and what they should do, and finally dismissed them. 'Pray to God to-night,' he said earnestly, 'that He will look with favour upon the work which we have set ourselves, and implore Him to judge us by the purity of our intentions rather than by the actions which, in the imperfection of our knowledge, seem to us the only means to our end.' We made the sign of the cross, and retired as silently as we had come. XXII My sleep was troubled, and when I woke the next morning the sun had only just risen. It was Saturday, the 14th of April 1488. I went to my window and saw a cloudless sky, brilliantly yellow over in the east, and elsewhere liquid and white, hardening gradually into blue. The rays came dancing into my room, and in them incessantly whirled countless atoms of dust. Through the open window blew the spring wind, laden with the scents of the country, the blossoms of the fruit trees, the primroses and violets. I had never felt so young and strong and healthy. What could one not do on such a day as this! I went into Matteo's room, and found him sleeping as calmly as if this were an ordinary day like any other. 'Rise, thou sluggard!' I cried. In a few minutes we were both ready, and we went to Checco. We found him seated at a table polishing a dagger. 'Do you remember in Tacitus,' he said, smiling pleasantly, 'how the plot against Nero was discovered by one of the conspirators giving his dagger to his freedman to sharpen? Whereupon the freedman became suspicious, and warned the Emperor.' 'The philosophers tell us to rise on the mistakes of others,' I remarked in the same tone. 'One reason for my affection towards you, Filippo,' he answered, 'is that you have nice moral sentiments, and a pleasant moral way of looking at things.' He held out his dagger and looked at it. The blade was beautifully damaskeened, the hilt bejewelled. 'Look,' he said, showing me the excellence of the steel, and pointing out the maker's name. Then, meditatively, 'I have been wondering what sort of blow would be most effective if one wanted to kill a man.' 'You can get most force,' said Matteo, 'by bringing the dagger down from above your head--thus.' 'Yes; but then you may strike the ribs, in which case you would not seriously injure your friend.' 'You can hit him in the neck.' 'The space is too small, and the chin may get in the way. On the other hand, a wound in the large vessels of that region is almost immediately fatal.' 'It is an interesting subject,' I said. 'My opinion is that the best of all blows is an underhand one, ripping up the stomach.' I took the dagger and showed him what I meant. 'There are no hindrances in the way of bones; it is simple and certainly fatal.' 'Yes,' said Checco, 'but not immediately! My impression is that the best way is between the shoulders. Then you strike from the back, and your victim can see no uplifted hand to warn him, and, if he is very quick, enable him to ward the blow.' 'It is largely a matter of taste,' I answered, shrugging my shoulders. 'In these things a man has to judge for himself according to his own idiosyncrasies.' After a little more conversation I proposed to Matteo that we should go out to the market-place and see the people. 'Yes, do!' said Checco, 'and I will go and see my father.' As we walked along, Matteo told me that Checco had tried to persuade his father to go away for a while, but that he had refused, as also had his wife. I had seen old Orso d'Orsi once or twice; he was very weak and decrepit; he never came downstairs, but stayed in his own rooms all day by the fireside, playing with his grand-children. Checco was in the habit of going to see him every day, morning and evening, but to the rest of us it was as if he did not exist. Checco was complete master of everything. The market-place was full of people. Booths were erected in rows, and on the tables the peasant women had displayed their wares: vegetables and flowers, chickens, ducks and all kinds of domestic fowls, milk, butter, eggs; and other booths with meat and oil and candles. And the sellers were a joyful crew, decked out with red and yellow handkerchiefs, great chains of gold around their necks, and spotless headdresses; they were standing behind their tables, with a scale on one hand and a little basin full of coppers on the other, crying out to one another, bargaining, shouting and joking, laughing, quarrelling. Then there were the purchasers, who walked along looking at the goods, picking up things and pinching them, smelling them, tasting them, examining them from every point of view. And the sellers of tokens and amulets and charms passed through the crowd crying out their wares, elbowing, cursing when someone knocked against them. Gliding in and out, between people's legs, under the barrow wheels, behind the booths, were countless urchins, chasing one another through the crowd unmindful of kicks and cuffs, pouncing on any booth of which the proprietor had turned his back, seizing the first thing they could lay hands on, and scampering off with all their might. And there was a conjurer with a gaping crowd, a quack extracting teeth, a ballad singer. Everywhere was noise, and bustle, and life. 'One would not say on the first glance that these people were miserably oppressed slaves,' I said maliciously. 'You must look beneath the surface,' replied Matteo, who had begun to take a very serious view of things in general. I used to tell him that he would have a call some day and end up as a shaven monk. 'Let us amuse ourselves,' I said, taking Matteo by the arm, and dragging him along in search of prey. We fixed on a seller of cheap jewellery--a huge woman, with a treble chin and a red face dripping with perspiration. We felt quite sorry for her, and went to console her. 'It is a very cold day,' I remarked to her, whereupon she bulged out her cheeks and blew a blast that nearly carried me away. She took up a necklace of beads and offered it to Matteo for his lady love. We began to bargain, offering her just a little lower than she asked, and then, as she showed signs of coming down, made her a final offer a little lower still. At last she seized a broom and attacked us, so that we had to fly precipitately. I had never felt in such high spirits. I offered to race Matteo in every way he liked--riding, running and walking--but he refused, brutally telling me that I was frivolous. Then we went home. I found that Checco had just been hearing mass, and he was as solemn and silent as a hangman. I went about lamenting that I could get no one to talk to me, and at last took refuge with the children, who permitted me to join in their games, so that, at 'hide-and-seek' and 'blind man's buff,' I thoroughly amused myself till dinner-time. We ate together, and I tried not to be silenced, talking the greatest nonsense I could think of; but the others sat like owls and did not listen, so that I too began to feel depressed.... The frowns of the others infected me, and the dark pictures that were before their eyes appeared to mine; my words failed me and we all three sat gloomily. I had started with an excellent appetite, but again the others influenced me, and I could not eat. We toyed with our food, wishing the dinner over. I moved about restlessly, but Checco was quite still, leaning his face on his hand, occasionally raising his eyes and fixing them on Matteo or me. One of the servants dropped some plates; we all started at the sound, and Checco uttered an oath; I had never heard him swear before. He was so pale I wondered if he were nervous. I asked the time: still two hours before we could start. How long would they take to pass! I had been longing to finish dinner, so that I might get up and go away. I felt an urgent need for walking, but when the meal was over a heaviness came to my legs and I could do nothing but sit and look at the other two. Matteo filled his tankard and emptied it several times, but after awhile, as he reached over for the wine, he saw Checco's eyes fixed on the flagon, with a frown on his forehead, and the curious raising of one corner of the mouth, which was a sign he was displeased. Matteo withdrew his hand and pushed his mug away; it rolled over and fell on the floor. We heard the church bell strike the hour; it was three o'clock. Would it never be time! We sat on and on. At last Checco rose and began walking up and down the room. He called for his children. They came, and he began talking to them in a husky voice, so that they could scarcely understand him. Then, as if frightened of himself, he took them in his arms, one after the other, and kissed them convulsively, passionately, as one kisses a woman; and he told them to go. He stifled a sob. We sat on and on. I counted the minutes. I had never lived so long before. It was awful.... At last! It was half-past three; we got up and took our hats. 'Now, my friends!' said Checco, drawing a breath of relief, 'our worst troubles are over.' We followed him out of the house. I noticed the jewelled hilt of his dagger, and every now and then I saw him put his hand to it to see that it was really there. We passed along the streets, saluted by the people. A beggar stopped us, and Checco threw him a piece of gold. 'God bless you!' said the man. And Checco thanked him fervently. We walked along the narrow streets in the shade, but as we turned a corner the sun came full on our faces. Checco stopped a moment and opened his arms, as if to receive the sunbeams in his embrace, and, turning to us, with a smile, he said,-- 'A good omen!' A few more steps brought us to the piazza. XXIII Among the members of the Count's household was Fabrizio Tornielli, a cousin of the Orsi on the mother's side. Checco had told him that he wished to talk with Girolamo about the money he owed him, and thought the best opportunity would be when the Count was alone after the meal which he was in the habit of taking at three. But as he was very anxious to find the Count entirely by himself, he begged his cousin to make him a sign when the time came.... Fabrizio had agreed, and we had arranged to stroll about the piazza till we saw him. We came across our friends; to me they looked different from everyone else. I wondered that people as they passed did not stop them and ask what was disturbing them. At last, one of the Palace windows was opened, and we saw Fabrizio Tornielli standing in it, looking down on the piazza. Our opportunity has come. My heart beat so violently against my chest that I had to put my hand to it. Besides Matteo and myself, Marco Scorsacana, Lodovico Pansecchi and Scipione Moratini were to accompany Checco into the Palace. Checco took my arm and we walked slowly up the steps while the others followed on our heels. The head of the Orsi had a key of gold, that is to say he was admitted to the ruler's presence whenever he presented himself, and without formality. The guard at the door saluted as we passed, making no question. We ascended to Girolamo's private apartments, and were admitted by a servant. We found ourselves in an ante-room, in one wall of which was a large doorway, closed by curtains.... 'Wait for me here,' said Checco. 'I will go in to the Count.' The servant raised the curtain; Checco entered, and the curtain fell back behind him. Girolamo was alone, leaning against the sill of an open window. He stretched out his hand kindly. 'Ah, Checco, how goes it?' 'Well; and you?' 'Oh, I am always well when I get among my nymphs.' He waved his hand to the frescoes on the walls. They were the work of a celebrated artist, and represented nymphs sporting, bathing, weaving garlands and offering sacrifice to Pan; the room had been christened the Chamber of the Nymphs. Girolamo looked round with a contented smile. 'I am glad everything is finished at last,' he said. 'Eight years ago the stones with which the house is built had not been hewn out of the rock, and now every wall is painted, everything is carved and decorated, and I can sit down and say, "It is finished."' 'It is indeed a work to be proud of,' said Checco. 'You don't know how I have looked forward to this, Checco. Until now I have always lived in houses which others had built, and decorated, and lived in; but this one has grown up out of my own head; I have watched every detail of its construction, and I feel it mine as I have never felt anything mine before.' He paused a minute, looking at the room. 'Sometimes I think I have lost in its completion, for it gave me many pleasant hours to watch the progress. The hammer of the carpenter, the click of the trowel on the brick were music to my ears. There is always a melancholy in everything that is finished; with a house, the moment of its completion is the commencement of its decay. Who knows how long it will be before these pictures have mouldered off the walls, and the very walls themselves are crumbling to dust?' 'As long as your family reigns in Forli your palace will preserve its splendour.' 'Yes, and it seems to me that as the family will preserve the house, so the house will preserve the family. I feel myself firmer and more settled in Forli; this seems like a rock to which my fortunes can cling. But I am full of hope. I am still young and strong. I have a good thirty years of life before me, and what can one not do in thirty years? And then, Checco, my children! What a proud day it will be for me when I can take my son by the hand and say to him, "You are a full-grown man, and you are capable of taking up the sceptre when death takes it from my hand." And it will be a good present I shall leave him. My head is full of plans. Forli shall be rich and strong, and its prince shall not need to fear his neighbours, and the Pope and Florence shall be glad of his friendship.' He looked into space, as if he saw the future. 'But, meanwhile, I am going to enjoy life. I have a wife whom I love, a house to be proud of, two faithful cities. What more can I want?' 'You are a fortunate man,' said Checco. There was a short silence. Checco looked at him steadily. The Count turned away, and Checco put his hand to his dagger. He followed him. As he was approaching, the Count turned again with a jewel that he had just taken from the window sill. 'I was looking at this stone when you came,' he said. 'Bonifazio has brought it me from Milan, but I am afraid I cannot afford it. It is very tempting.' He handed it to Checco to look at. 'I don't think it is better than the one you have on your neck,' he said, pointing to the jewel which was set in a medallion of gold hanging from a heavy chain. 'Oh yes,' said Girolamo. 'It is much finer. Look at the two together.' Checco approached the stone he held in his hand to the other, and, as he did so, with his other fingers pressed against the Count's chest. He wanted to see whether by any chance he wore a coat of mail; he did not mean to make the same mistake as the Count.... He thought there was nothing; but he wished to make quite sure. 'I think you are right,' he said, 'but the setting shows off the other, so that at first sight it seems more brilliant. And no wonder, for the chain is a masterpiece.' He took it up as if to look at it, and as he did so put his hand on the Count's shoulder. He was certain now. 'Yes,' said Girolamo, 'that was made for me by the best goldsmith in Rome. It is really a work of art.' 'Here is your stone,' said Checco, handing it to him, but awkwardly, so that when Girolamo wanted to take it, it fell between their hands. Instinctively he bent down to catch it. In a moment Checco drew his dagger and buried it in the Count's back. He staggered forward and fell in a heap on his face. 'Oh God!' he cried, 'I am killed.' It was the first thing we had heard outside. We heard the cry, the heavy fall. The servant rushed to the curtain. 'They are killing my master,' he cried. 'Be quiet, you fool!' I said, seizing his head from behind and with my hands on his mouth dragging him backwards. At the same moment Matteo drew his dagger and pierced the man's heart. He gave a convulsive leap into the air, and then as he fell I pushed him so that he rolled to one side. Immediately afterwards the curtain was lifted and Checco appeared, leaning against the door-post. He was as pale as death, and trembling violently. He stood silent for a moment, open-mouthed, so that I thought he was about to faint; then with an effort he said in a hoarse, broken voice,-- 'Gentlemen, we are free!' A cry burst from us,-- 'Liberty!' Lodovico Pansecchi asked,-- 'Is he dead?' A visible shudder passed through Checco, as if he had been struck by an icy wind. He staggered to a chair and groaned,-- 'Oh God!' 'I will go and see,' said Pansecchi, lifting the curtain and entering. We stood still, waiting for him. We heard a heavy sound, and as he appeared, he said,-- 'There is no doubt now.' There was blood on his hands. Going up to Checco, he handed him the jewelled dagger. 'Take this. It will be more use to you than where you left it.' Checco turned away in disgust. 'Here, take mine,' said Matteo. 'I will take yours. It will bring me good luck.' The words were hardly out of his mouth when a step was heard outside. Scipione looked out cautiously. 'Andrea Framonti,' he whispered. 'Good luck, indeed!' said Matteo. It was the captain of the guard. He was in the habit of coming every day about this hour to receive the password from the Count. We had forgotten him. He entered. 'Good-day to you, gentlemen! Are you waiting to see the Count?' He caught sight of the corpse lying against the wall. 'Good God! what is this? What is--?' He looked at us, and stopped suddenly. We had surrounded him. 'Treason!' he cried. 'Where is the Count?' He looked behind him; Scipione and Matteo barred the door. 'Treason!' he shouted, drawing his sword. At the same moment we drew ours and rushed for him. He parried a few of our blows, but we were too many, and he fell pierced with a dozen wounds. The sight of the fray had a magical effect on Checco. We saw him standing up, drawn to his full height, his cheeks aflame, his eyes flashing. 'Good, my friends, good! Luck is on our side,' he said. 'Now we must look alive and work. Give me my dagger, Matteo; it is sacred now. It has been christened in blood with the name of Liberty. Liberty, my friends, Liberty!' We flourished our swords and shouted,-- 'Liberty!' 'Now, you, Filippo, take Lodovico Pansecchi and Marco, and go to the apartment of the Countess; tell her that she and her children are prisoners, and let no one enter or leave. Do this at any cost.... The rest of us will go out and rouse the people. I have twenty servants armed whom I told to wait in the piazza; they will come and guard the Palace and give you any help you need. Come!' I did not know the way to the Countess's chamber, but Marco had been a special favourite and knew well the ins and outs of the Palace. He guided me to the door, where we waited. In a few minutes we heard cries in the piazza, and shouts of 'Liberty.' There came a tramp of feet up the stairs. It was Checco's armed servants. Some of them appeared where we were. I sent Marco to lead the others. 'Clear the Palace of all the servants. Drive them out into the piazza, and if anyone resists, kill him.' Marco nodded and went off. The door of the Countess's apartments was opened, and a lady said,-- 'What is this noise?' But immediately she saw us, she gave a shriek and ran back. Then, leaving two men to guard the door, I entered with Pansecchi and the rest. The Countess came forward. 'What is the meaning of this?' she said angrily. 'Who are you? What are these men?' 'Madam,' I said, 'the Count, your husband, is dead, and I have been sent to take you prisoner.' The women began to weep and wail, but the Countess did not move a muscle. She appeared indifferent to my intelligence. 'You,' I said, pointing to the ladies and women servants, 'you are to leave the Palace at once. The Countess will be so good as to remain here with her children.' Then I asked where the children were. The women looked at their mistress, who said shortly,-- 'Bring them!' I signed to Pansecchi, who accompanied one of the ladies out of the room, and reappeared with the three little children. 'Now, madam,' I said, 'will you dismiss these ladies?' She looked at me a moment, hesitating. The cries from the piazza were growing greater; it was becoming a roar that mounted to the Palace windows. 'You can leave me,' she said. They broke again into shrieks and cries, and seemed disinclined to obey the order. I had no time to waste. 'If you do not go at once, I shall have you thrown out!' The Countess stamped her foot. 'Go when I tell you! Go!' she said. 'I want no crying and screaming.' They moved to the door like a flock of sheep, trampling on one another, bemoaning their fate. At last I had the room free. 'Madam,' I said, 'you must allow two soldiers to remain in the room.' I locked the two doors of the chamber, mounted a guard outside each, and left her. XXIV I went out into the piazza. It was full of men, but where was the enthusiasm we had expected, the tumult, the shouts of joy? Was not the tyrant dead? But they stood there dismayed, confounded, like sheep.... And was not the tyrant dead? I saw partisans of Checco rushing through the crowd with cries of 'Death to all tyrants,' and 'Liberty, liberty!' but the people did not move. Here and there were men mounted on barrows, haranguing the people, throwing out words of fire, but the wind was still and they did not spread.... Some of the younger ones were talking excitedly, but the merchants kept calm, seeming afraid. They asked what was to happen now--what Checco would do? Some suggested that the town should be offered to the Pope; others talked of Lodovico Sforza and the vengeance he would bring from Milan. I caught sight of Alessandra Moratini. 'What news? What news?' 'Oh God, I don't know!' he said with an expression of agony. 'They won't move. I thought they would rise up and take the work out of our hands. But they are as dull as stones.' 'And the others?' I asked. 'They are going through the town trying to rouse the people. God knows what success they will have!' At that moment there was a stir at one end of the square, and a crowd of mechanics surged in, headed by a gigantic butcher, flourishing a great meat-axe. They were crying 'Liberty!' Matteo went towards them and began to address them, but the butcher interrupted him and shouted coarse words of enthusiasm, at which they all yelled with applause. Checco came on the scene, accompanied by his servants. A small crowd followed, crying,-- 'Bravo, Checco! bravo!' As soon as the mechanics saw him, they rushed towards him, surrounding him with cries and cheers.... The square was growing fuller every moment; the shops had been closed, and from all quarters came swarming artisans and apprentices. I made my way to Checco and whispered to him,-- 'The people! Fire them, and the rest will follow.' 'A leader of rabble!' 'Never mind,' I said. 'Make use of them. Give way to them now, and they will do your will. Give them the body of the Count!' He looked at me, then nodded and whispered,-- 'Quickly!' I ran to the Palace and told Marco Scorsacana what I had come for. We went into the Hall of the Nymphs; the body was lying on its face, almost doubled up, and the floor was stained with a horrible stream of blood; in the back were two wounds. Lodovico had indeed made sure that the Count was safe.... We caught hold of the body; it was not yet cold, and dragged it to the window. With difficulty we lifted it on to the sill. 'Here is your enemy!' I cried. Then hoisting him, we pushed him out, and he fell on the stones with a great, dull thud. A mighty shout burst from the mob as they rushed at the body. One man tore the chain off his neck, but as he was running away with it another snatched at it. In the struggle it broke, and one got away with the chain, the other with the jewel. Then, with cries of hate, they set on the corpse. They kicked him and slapped his face and spat on him. The rings were wrenched off his fingers, his coat was torn away; they took his shoes, his hose; in less than a minute everything had been robbed, and he was lying naked, naked as when he was born. They had no mercy those people; they began to laugh and jeer, and make foul jokes about his nakedness. The piazza was thronged, and every moment people entered; the women of the lower classes had come, joining their shrill cries to the shouts of the men. The noise was stupendous, and above all rang the cries of Liberty and Death. 'The Countess! The Countess!' It became the general cry, drowning the others, and from all quarters. 'Where is the Countess? Bring her out. Death to the Countess!' A cry went up that she was in the Palace, and the shout became,-- 'To the Palace! To the Palace!' Checco said to us,-- 'We must save her. If they get hold of her she will be torn to pieces. Let her be taken to my house.' Matteo and Pansecchi took all the soldiers they could and entered the Palace. In a few minutes they appeared with Caterina and her children; they had surrounded her and were walking with drawn swords. A yell broke from these thousands of throats, and they surged towards the little band. Checco shouted out to them to let her go in peace, and they held back a little; but as she passed they hissed and cursed and called her foul names. Caterina walked proudly, neither turning to the right nor to the left, no sign of terror on her face, not even a pallid cheek. She might have been traversing the piazza amidst the homage of her people. Suddenly it occurred to a man that she had jewels concealed on her. He pushed through the guards and put his hand to her bosom. She lifted her hand and hit him in the face. A cry of rage broke from the populace, and they made a rush. Matteo and his men stopped, closing together, and he said,-- 'By God! I swear I will kill any man who comes within my reach.' They shrank back frightened, and taking advantage of this, the little band hurried out of the piazza. Then the people looked at one another, waiting for something to do, not knowing where to begin. Their eyes were beginning to flame, and their hands to itch for destruction. Checco saw their feeling, and at once pointed to the Palace. 'There are the fruits of your labours, your money, your jewels, your taxes. Go and take back your own. There is the Palace. We give you the Palace.' They broke into a cheer, a rush was made, and they struggled in by the great doors, fighting their way up the stairs in search of plunder, dispersing through the splendid rooms.... Checco looked at them disappearing through the gateway. 'Now, we have them at last.' In a few minutes the stream at the Palace gates became double, for it consisted of those coming out as well as of those going in. The confusion became greater and greater, and the rival bands elbowed and struggled and fought. The windows were burst open and things thrown out--coverlets, linen, curtains, gorgeous silks, Oriental brocades, satins--and the women stood below to catch them. Sometimes there was a struggle for possession, but the objects were poured out so fast that everyone could be satisfied. Through the doors men could be seen coming with their arms full, their pockets bulging, and handing their plunder to their wives to take home, while they themselves rushed in again. All the little things were taken first, and then it was the turn of the furniture. People came out with chairs or coffers on their heads, bearing them away quickly lest their claim should be disputed. Sometimes the entrance was stopped by two or three men coming out with a heavy chest or with the pieces of a bedstead. Then the shouting and pushing and confusion were worse than ever.... Even the furniture gave out under the keen hands, and looking round they saw that the walls and floors were bare. But there was still something for them. They made for the doors and wrenched them away. From the piazza we saw men tear out the window frames, even the hinges were taken, and they streamed out of the Palace heavily laden, their hands bloody from the work of destruction. All over the town the bells were ringing, and still people surged into the piazza. Thousands had got nothing from the Palace, and they cried out in anger against their companions, envious at their good luck. Bands had formed themselves with chiefs, and they were going about exciting the others. Checco stood among them, unable to restrain them. Suddenly another cry rose from a thousand throats,-- 'The Treasury!' And irresistible as the sea, they rushed to the Gabella. In a few minutes the same ruin had overtaken it, and it was lying bare and empty. Scarcely one of them remained in the piazza. The corpse was lying on the cold stones, naked, the face close to the house in which the living man had taken such pride; and the house itself, with the gaping apertures from the stolen windows, looked like a building which had been burnt with fire, so that only the walls remained. And it was empty but for a few rapacious men, who were wandering about like scavengers to see whether anything had been left unfound. The body had done its work and it could rest in peace. Checco sent for friars, who placed it on a stretcher, covering its nakedness, and bore it to their church. Night came, and with it a little peace. The tumult with which the town was filled quietened down; one by one the sounds ceased, and over the city fell a troubled sleep.... XXV We were up betimes. The town was ours, except the citadel. Checco had gone to the fortress, which stood above the town, to one side, and had summoned the Castellan to surrender. He had refused, as we expected; but we were not much troubled, for we had Caterina and her children in our power, and by their means thought we could get hold of the castle. Checco had called a meeting of the Council to decide what should be done with the town. It was purely a measure of politeness, for he had already made up his mind and taken steps in accordance. With the town so troubled, the citadel still in our opponent's hands, and the armies of Lodovico Moro at Milan, it was hopeless to suggest standing alone; and Checco had decided to offer Forli to the Pope. This would give a protection against external enemies and would not greatly interfere with the internal relations. The real power would belong to the chief citizen, and Checco knew well enough whom that was. Further, the lax grasp of the Pope would soon be loosed by death, and in the confusion of a long conclave and a change of rulers, it would not be impossible to change the state of dependence into real liberty, and for Checco to add the rights and titles of lordship to the power. On the previous night he had sent a messenger to the Protonotary Savello, the papal governor of Cesena, with an account of what had happened and the offer of the town. Checco had requested an immediate reply, and was expecting it every minute. The Council was called for ten o'clock. At nine Checco received Savello's secret consent. The President of the Council was Niccolo Tornielli, and he opened the sitting by reminding his hearers of their object, and calling for their opinions. At first no one would speak. They did not know what was in Checco's mind, and they had no wish to say anything that might be offensive to him. The Forlivesi are a cautious race! After a while an old man got up and timidly expressed the thanks of the citizens for the freedom which Checco had bestowed upon them, suggesting also that he should speak first. The lead thus given, the worthies rose, one after another, and said the same things with an air of profound originality. Then Antonio Sassi stood up. It was he who had advised Girolamo to impose the taxes on the town; and he was known to be a deadly enemy of Checco. The others had been sufficiently astonished when they saw him enter the Council chamber, for it was thought that he had left the town, as Ercole Piacentini and others of the Count's favourites had done. When he prepared to speak, the surprise was universal. 'Our good friend, Niccolo,' he said, 'has called upon us to decide what shall be done with the town. 'Your thoughts seem to be inclining to one foreign master or another. But my thoughts are inclining to the Liberty, in whose name the town has been won. 'Let us maintain the Liberty which these men have conquered at the risk of their lives.... 'Why should we doubt our ability to preserve the Liberty of our ancestors? Why should we think that we, who are descended from such fathers, born from their blood, bred in their houses, should have degenerated so far as to be incapable of seizing the opportunity which is presented to us? 'Let us not fear that the Mighty Monarch, who defends and protects him who walks the path of the Just, will fail to give us spirit and strength to introduce and firmly to implant in this city the blessed state of Liberty.' At the end of the sentence Antonio Sassi paused to see the effect on his auditors. He went on,-- 'But as the example of Our Master has shown us that the shepherd is necessary for the preservation of the flock; and as He seems to point out our guardian by the success which He has granted to his arms in the extermination of the Wolf, I propose that we surrender our Liberty to the hands of him who is best able to preserve it--Checco d'Orsi.' A cry of astonishment burst from the Councillors. Was this Antonio Sassi? They looked at Checco, but he was impassive; not even the shadow of a thought could be read on his face. They asked themselves whether this was pre-arranged, whether Checco had bought his enemy, or whether it was a sudden device of Antonio to make his peace with the victor. One could see the agitation of their minds. They were tortured: they did not know what Checco thought. Should they speak or be silent? There was a look of supplication in their faces which was quite pitiful. Finally, one of them made up his mind, and rose to second Antonio Sassi's motion. Then others took their courage in both hands and made speeches full of praise for Checco, begging him to accept the sovereignty. A grave smile appeared on Checco's face, but it disappeared at once. When he thought there had been sufficient talking he rose to his feet, and, after thanking his predecessors for their eulogies, said,-- 'It is true that we have conquered the city at the risk of our lives; but it was for the city, not for ourselves.... No thought of our own profit entered our minds, but we were possessed by a grave sense of our duty towards our fellowmen. Our watch-words were Liberty and the Commonweal! From the bottom of my heart I thank Antonio Sassi and all of you who have such confidence in me that you are willing to surrender the town to my keeping. In their good opinion I find a sufficient reward for all I have done. But, God knows, I have no desire to rule. I want the love of my fellow-citizens, not the fear of subjects; I look with dismay upon the toils of a ruler. And who would believe in my disinterestedness when he saw me take up the sceptre which the lifeless hand has dropped? 'Forgive me; I cannot accept your gift. 'But there is one who can and will. The Church is not wont to close her breast to him who seeks refuge beneath her sacred cloak, and she will pardon us for having shaken from our necks the hard yoke of Tyranny. Let us give ourselves to the Holy Father--' He was interrupted by the applause of the councillors: they did not want to hear further, but agreed unanimously; and it was forthwith arranged that an embassy should be sent to the Governor of Cesena to make the offer. The meeting was broken up amidst shouts of praise for Checco. If he had been strong before, he was ten times stronger now, for the better classes had been afraid of the mob and angry that he should depend on them; now they were won too. The people knew that the Council was assembled to consult on the destinies of the town, and they had come together in thousands outside the Council House. The news was made known to them at once, and when Checco appeared at the top of the stairs a mighty shout burst from them, and they closed round him with cries and cheers. 'Bravo! Bravo!' He began to walk homewards, and the crowd followed, making the old grey streets ring with their shouts. On each side people were thronging and stood on tiptoe to see him, the men waving their caps and throwing them in the air, the women madly flourishing handkerchiefs; children were hoisted up that they might see the great man pass, and joined their shrill cries to the tumult. Then it occurred to someone to spread his cloak for Checco to walk on, and at once everyone followed his example, and the people pressed and struggled to lay their garments before his feet. And baskets of flowers were obtained and scattered before him, and the heavy scent of the narcissi filled the air. The shouts were of all kinds; but at last one arose, and gathered strength, and replaced the others, till ten thousand throats were shouting,-- _'Pater Patriæ! Pater Patriæ!'_ Checco walked along with bare head, his eyes cast down, his face quite white. His triumph was so great--that he was afraid! The great procession entered the street in which stood the Palazzo Orsi, and at the same moment, from the gates of the palace issued Checco's wife and his children. They came towards us, followed by a troop of noble ladies. They met and Checco, opening his arms, clasped his wife to his breast and kissed her tenderly; then, with his arm round her waist, the children on each side, he proceeded towards his house. If the enthusiasm had been great before, now it was ten times greater. The people did not know what to do to show their joy; no words could express their emotion; they could only give a huge deafening shout,-- _'Pater Patriæ! Pater Patriæ!'_ XXVI After a while the formal embassy sent to Cesena came back with the message that the Protonotary Savello had been filled with doubts as to whether he should accept the town or no; but seeing the Forlivesi firm in their desire to come under the papal rule, and being convinced that their pious wish had been inspired by the most High Ruler of Kings, he had not ventured to contradict the manifest will of Heaven, and therefore would come and take possession of the city in person. Checco smiled a little as he heard of the worthy man's doubts and the arguments used by the ambassadors to persuade him; but he fully agreed with Monsignor Savello's decision, thinking the reasons very cogent.... The protonotary was received with all due honour. Savello was a middle-sized, stout man, with a great round belly and a fat red face, double-chinned and bull-necked. He had huge ears and tiny eyes, like pig's eyes, but they were very sharp and shrewd. His eyebrows were pale and thin, so that with the enormous expanse of shaven cheek his face had a look of almost indecent nakedness. His hair was scanty and his crown quite bald and shiny. He was gorgeously dressed in violet. After the greetings and necessary courtesies, he was informed of the state of things in Forli. He was vexed to find the citadel still in the hands of the Castellan, who had been summoned with great courtesy to surrender to the papal envoy, but without any courtesy at all had very stoutly declined. Savello said he would speak to the Countess and make her order the Castellan to open his gates. I was sent forward to inform Caterina of the last occurrences and of the protonotary's desire for an interview. The Countess had received apartments in the Orsi Palace, and it was in one of these rooms that the good Savello was ushered. He stopped on the threshold, and lifting up his arm stretched out two fingers, and in his thick, fat voice, said,-- 'The peace of God be upon you!' Caterina bowed and crossed herself. He went up to her and took her hand in his. 'Madam, it has always been my hope that I should some day meet the lady whose fame has reached me as the most talented, most beautiful, and most virtuous of her time. But I did not think that the day of our meeting would be one of such bitterness and woe!' He expressed himself in measured tones, grave and slow, and very fit to the occasion. 'Ah, lady, you do not know the grief I felt when I was made acquainted with your terrible loss. I knew your dear husband in Rome, and I always felt for him a most profound affection and esteem.' 'You are very kind!' she said. 'I can understand that you should be overwhelmed with grief, and I trust you do not think my visit importunate. I have come to offer you such consolation as is in my power; for is it not the most blessed work that our Divine Master has imposed upon us, to comfort the afflicted?' 'I was under the impression that you had come to take over the city on behalf of the Pope.' 'Ah, lady, I see that you are angry with me for taking the city from you; but do not think I do it of myself. Ah, no; I am a slave, I am but a servant of his Holiness. For my part, I would have acted far otherwise, not only for your own merits, great as they are, but also for the merits of the Duke, your brother.' His unction was most devout. He clasped his hand to his heart and looked up to Heaven so earnestly that the pupils of his eyes disappeared beneath the lids, and one could only see the whites. In this attitude he was an impressive picture of morality. 'I beseech you, madam, bravely to bear your evil fortunes. Do we not know that fortune is uncertain? If the city has been taken from you it is the will of God, and as a Christian you must, with resignation, submit yourself to His decrees. Remember that the ways of the Almighty are inscrutable. The soul of the sinner is purified by suffering. We must all pass through the fire. Perhaps these misfortunes will be the means of saving your soul alive. And now that this city has returned to the fold of the Master--for is not the Holy Father the Vicar of Christ--be assured that the loss you have suffered will be made good to you in the love of his Holiness, and that eventually you will receive the reward of the sinner who has repented, and sit amongst the elect singing hymns of praise to the glory of the Master of all things.' He paused to take breath. I saw Caterina's fingers convulsively close round the arm of her chair; she was restraining herself with difficulty. 'But the greatest grief of all is the loss of your husband, Girolamo. Ah, how beautiful is the grief of a widow! But it was the will of God. And what has he to complain of now? Let us think of him clad in robes of light, with a golden harp in his hands. Ah, lady, he is an angel in heaven, and we are miserable sinners upon earth. How greatly to be envied is his lot! He was a humble, pious man, and he has his reward. Ah--' But she could hold back no longer. She burst forth like a fury. 'Oh, how can you stand before me, uttering these hypocrisies? How dare you say these things to me, when you are enjoying the fruits of his death and my misfortune? Hypocrite! You are the vulture feeding with the crows, and you come and whine and pray and talk to me of the will of God!' She clasped her hands and lifted them passionately towards heaven. 'Oh, I hope that my turn will come, and then I will show you what is the will of God. Let them take care!' 'You are incensed, dear lady, and you know not what you say. You will regret that you have accepted my consolations with disdain. But I forgive you with a Christian spirit.' 'I do not want your forgiveness. I despise you.' She uttered the words like the hiss of a serpent. Savello's eyes sparkled a little, and his thin lips were drawn rather thinner than before, but he only sighed, and said gently,-- 'You are beside yourself. You should turn to the Consoler of Sorrow. Watch and pray!' 'What is it you want with me?' she said, taking no notice of his remark. Savello hesitated, looking at her. She beat her foot impatiently. 'Quick!' she said. 'Tell me, and let me remain in peace. I am sick of you.' 'I came to offer you consolation, and to bid you be of good faith.' 'Do you think I am a fool? If you have no further business with me--go!' The priest now had some difficulty in containing himself; his eyes betrayed him. 'I am a man of peace, and I desire to spill no blood. Therefore I wished to propose that you should come with me and summon the Castellan to give up the citadel, which may be the means of avoiding much bloodshed, and also of gaining the thanks of the Holy Father.' 'I will not help you. Shall I aid you to conquer my own town?' 'You must remember that you are in our hands, fair lady,' he answered meekly. 'Well?' 'I am a man of peace, but I might not be able to prevent the people from revenging themselves on you for your refusal. It will be impossible to hide from them that you are the cause of the holding back of the citadel.' 'I can well understand that you would hesitate at nothing.' 'It is not I, dear lady--' 'Ah, no; you are the servant of the Pope! It is the will of God!' 'You would be wise to do as we request.' There was a look of such ferocity in his face that one saw he would indeed hesitate at nothing. Caterina thought a little.... 'Very well,' she said, to my intense surprise, 'I will do my best.' 'You will gain the gratitude of the Holy Father and my own thanks.' 'I put an equal value upon both.' 'And now, madam, I will leave you. Take comfort, and apply yourself to pious exercises. In prayer you will find a consolation for all your woes.' He raised his hand as before, and, with the outstretched fingers, repeated the blessing. XXVII We went to the fortress in solemn procession, the people, as we passed, mingling shouts of praise for Checco with yells of derision for Caterina. She walked on with her stately indifference, and when the protonotary addressed her, repelled him with disdain. The Castellan was summoned, and the Countess addressed him in the words which Savello had suggested,-- 'As Heaven has taken the Count from me, and also the city, I beg you, by the confidence I showed in choosing you as Castellan, to surrender this fortress to the ministers of His Holiness the Pope.' There was a light tinge of irony in her voice, and her lips showed the shadow of a smile. The Castellan replied gravely,-- 'By the confidence you showed in choosing me as Castellan, I refuse to surrender this fortress to the ministers of his Holiness the Pope. And as Heaven has taken the Count from you, and also the city, it may take the citadel too, but, by God! madam, no power on earth shall.' Caterina turned to Savello,-- 'What shall I do?' 'Insist.' She solemnly repeated her request, and he solemnly made his reply. 'It is no good,' she said, 'I know him too well. He thinks I am speaking under compulsion. He does not know that I am acting of my own will, for the great love I bear the Pope and the Church.' 'We must have the citadel,' said Savello, emphatically. 'If we do not get it, I cannot answer for your safety.' She looked at him; then an idea seemed to occur to her. 'Perhaps if I went in and spoke to him he would consent to surrender.' 'We cannot allow you out of our power,' said Checco. 'You would have my children as hostages.' 'That is true,' mused Savello; 'I think we can let her go.' Checco disapproved, but the priest overruled him, and the Castellan was summoned again, and ordered to admit the Countess. Savello warned her,-- 'Remember that we hold your children, and shall not hesitate to hang them before your eyes if--' 'I know your Christian spirit, Monsignor,' she interrupted. * * * * * But when she was inside she turned to us, and from the ramparts addressed us with mocking laughter. The fury which had been boiling within her burst out. She hurled at us words of foul abuse, so that one might have thought her a fishwife; she threatened us with death, and every kind of torture, in revenge for the murder of her husband.... We stood looking up at her with open mouths, dumbfounded. A cry of rage broke from the people; Matteo uttered an oath. Checco looked angrily at Savello, but said nothing. The priest was furious; his big red face grew purple, and his eyes glistened like a serpent's. 'Bastard!' he hissed. 'Bastard!' Trembling with anger, he ordered the children to be sent for, and he cried out to the Countess,-- 'Do not think that we shall hesitate. Your sons shall be hanged before your very eyes.' 'I have the means of making more,' she replied scornfully. She was lion-hearted. I could not help feeling admiration for the extraordinary woman. Surely she could not sacrifice her children! And I wondered if a man would have had the courage to give that bold answer to Savello's threats. Savello's expression had become fiendish. He turned to his assistants. 'Let a double scaffold be erected here, at once and quickly.' The chiefs of the conspiracy retired to a sheltered place, while the mob gathered in the piazza; and soon the buzz of many voices mingled with hammering and the cries of workmen. The Countess stood above looking at the people, watching the gradual erection of the scaffold. In a little while its completion was announced. Savello and the others came forward, and the priest once more asked her whether she would surrender. She did not deign to answer. The two boys were brought forward--one was nine, the other seven. As the people looked upon their youth a murmur of pity passed through them. My own heart began to beat a little. They looked at the scaffold and could not understand; but Cesare, the younger, seeing the strange folk round him and the angry faces, began to cry. Ottaviano was feeling rather tearful too; but his superior age made him ashamed, and he was making mighty efforts to restrain himself. All at once Cesare caught sight of his mother, and he called to her. Ottaviano joined him, and they both cried out,-- 'Mother! Mother!' She looked at them, but made not the slightest motion, she might have been of stone.... Oh, it was horrible; she was too hard! 'Once more, I ask you,' said Savello, 'will you surrender the castle?' 'No--no!' Her voice was quite steady, ringing clear as a silver bell. Savello made a sign, and two men approached the boys. Then suddenly they seemed to understand; with a shriek they ran to Checco, and, falling at his feet, clasped his knees. Ottaviano could hold out no longer; he burst into tears, and his brother, at the elder's weakness, redoubled his own cries. 'Oh, Checco, don't let them touch us!' Checco took no notice of them; he looked straight in front of him. And even when the Count had just fallen under his dagger he had not been so ghastly pale.... The children were sobbing desperately at his knees. The men hesitated; but there was no pity in the man of God; he repeated his sign more decisively than before, and the men advanced. The children clung to Checco's legs, crying,-- 'Checco, don't let them touch us!' He made no sign. He held his eyes straight in front of him, as if he saw nothing, heard nothing. But his face! Never have I seen such agony.... The children were torn from him, their hands bound behind their backs. How could they! My heart was bursting within me, but I dared say nothing. They were led to the scaffold. A sobbing cry came from the people and wailed through the heavy air. The Countess stood still, looking at her children. She made not the slightest motion; she might have been of stone. The children cried out,-- 'Checco! Checco!' It was heartbreaking. 'Go on!' said Savello. A groan burst from Checco, and he swayed to and fro, as if he were going to fall. 'Go on!' said Savello. But Checco could not bear it. 'Oh, God! Stop!--stop!' 'What do you mean?' said Savello, angrily. 'Go on!' 'I cannot! Untie them!' 'You fool! I threatened to hang them, and I will. Go on!' 'You shall not! Untie them, I tell you!' 'I am master here. Go on!' Checco strode towards him with clenched fists. 'By God, Master Priest, you shall go the way you came, if you thwart me. Untie them!' In a moment Matteo and I had pushed aside the men who held them, and cut their cords. Checco staggered towards the children, and they with a bound threw themselves into his arms. He clasped them to him passionately, and covered them with kisses. A shout of joy broke from the people, and many burst into tears. Suddenly we saw a commotion on the castle walls. The Countess had fallen back, and men were pressing round her. She had fainted. XXVIII We went home rather troubled. Savello was walking alone, very angry, with a heavy frown between his eyes, refusing to speak.... Checco was silent and angry too, half blaming himself for what he had done, half glad, and Bartolomeo Moratini was by his side, talking to him. Matteo and I were behind with the children. Bartolomeo fell back and joined us. 'I have been trying to persuade Checco to apologise to Savello, but he will not.' 'Neither would I,' said Matteo. 'If they quarrel, it will be the worse for the town.' 'If I were Checco, I would say that the town might go to the devil, but I would not apologise to that damned priest.' When we reached the Palazzo Orsi a servant came out to meet us, and told Checco that a messenger was waiting with important news. Checco turned to Savello, and said gloomily,-- 'Will you come? It may need some consultation.' The protonotary did not answer, but walked sulkily into the house. After a few minutes, Checco came to us, and said,-- 'The Duke of Milan is marching against Forli with five thousand men.' No one spoke, but the expression on the protonotary's face grew darker. 'It is fortunate we have preserved the children,' said Bartolomeo. 'They will be more useful to us alive than dead.' Savello looked at him; and then, as if trying to mend the breach, but rather against his will, said ungraciously,-- 'Perhaps you were right, Checco, in what you did. I did not see at the moment the political wisdom of your act.' He could not help the sneer. Checco flushed a little, but on a look from Bartolomeo answered,-- 'I am sorry if I was too quick of tongue. The excitement of the moment and my temper made me scarcely responsible.' Checco looked as if it were a very bitter pill he had been forced to swallow; but the words had a reasonable effect, and the clouds began to clear away. An earnest discussion was commenced on the future movements. The first thing was to send for help against the Duke Lodovico. Savello said he would apply to Rome. Checco counted on Lorenzo de' Medici, and messengers were forthwith despatched to both. Then it was decided to gather as much victuals as possible into the town, and fortify the walls, so that they might be prepared for a siege. As to the citadel, we knew it was impossible to take it by storm; but it would not be difficult to starve it into surrender, for on the news of the Count's death the gates had been shut with such precipitation that the garrison could not have food for more than two or three days. Then Checco sent away his wife and children; he tried to persuade his father to go too, but the Orso said he was too old and would rather die in his own town and palace than rush about the country in search of safety. In the troubled days of his youth he had been exiled many times, and now his only desire was to remain at home in his beloved Forli. The news of Lodovico's advance threw consternation into the town, and when cartloads of provisions were brought in, and the fortifications worked at day and night, the brave citizens began to quake and tremble. They were going to have a siege and would have to fight, and it was possible that if they did not sufficiently hide themselves behind the walls, they might be killed. As I walked through the streets, I noticed that the whole populace was distinctly paler.... It was as if a cold wind had blown between their shoulders, and bleached and pinched their faces. I smiled, and said to them, in myself,-- 'You have had the plunder of the Palace and the custom-houses, my friends, and you liked that very well; now you will have to pay for your pleasure.' I admired Checco's wisdom in giving them good reasons for being faithful to him. I imagined that, if the beneficent rule of the Countess returned, it would fare ill with those who had taken part in the looting.... Checco had caused his family to leave the town as secretly as possible; the preparations had been made with the greatest care, and the departure effected under cover of night. But it leaked out, and then the care he had taken in concealing the affair made it more talked of. They asked why Checco had sent away his wife and children. Was he afraid of the siege? Did he intend to leave them himself? At the idea of a betrayal, anger mixed itself with their fear, and they cried out against him! And why did he want to do it so secretly? Why should he try to conceal it? A thousand answers were given, and all more or less discreditable to Checco. His wonderful popularity had taken long enough to reach the point when he had walked through the streets amidst showers of narcissi; but it looked as if less days would destroy it than years had built it up. Already he could walk out without being surrounded by the mob and carried about in triumph. The shouts of joy had ceased to be a burden to him; and no one cried 'Pater Patriæ' as he passed. Checco pretended to notice no change, but in his heart it tormented him terribly. The change had begun on the day of the fiasco at the fortress; people blamed the leaders for letting the Countess out of their hands, and it was a perpetual terror to them to have the enemy in their very midst. It would have been bearable to stand an ordinary siege, but when they had their own citadel against them, what could they do? The townspeople knew that help was coming from Rome and Florence, and the general hope was that the friendly armies would arrive before the terrible Duke. Strange stories were circulated about Lodovico. People who had seen him at Milan described his sallow face with the large, hooked nose and the broad, heavy chin. Others told of his cruelty. It was notorious that he had murdered his nephew after keeping him a prisoner for years. They remembered how he had crushed the revolt of a subject town, hanging in the market-place the whole council, young and old, and afterwards hunting up everyone suspected of complicity, and ruthlessly putting them to death, so that a third of the population had perished. The Forlivesi shuddered, and looked anxiously along the roads by which the friendly armies were expected. Lorenzo de' Medici refused to help. There was almost a tumult in the town when the news was told. He said that the position of Florence made it impossible for him to send troops at the present moment, but later he would be able to do whatever we wished. It meant that he intended to wait and see how things turned out, without coming to open war with the Duke unless it was certain that victory would be on our side. Checco was furious, and the people were furious with Checco. He had depended entirely on the help from Florence, and when it failed the citizens murmured openly against him, saying that he had entered into this thing without preparation, without thought of the future. We begged Checco not to show himself in the town that day, but he insisted. The people looked at him as he passed, keeping perfect silence. As yet they neither praised nor blamed, but how long would it be before they refrained from cursing him they had blessed? Checco walked through with set face, very pale. We asked him to turn back, but he refused, slackening his pace to prolong the walk, as if it gave him a certain painful pleasure to drain the cup of bitterness to the dregs. In the piazza we saw two councillors talking together; they crossed over to the other side, pretending not to see us. Now our only hope was in Rome. The Pope had sent a messenger to say that he was preparing an army, and bidding us keep steadfast and firm. Savello posted the notice up in the market-place, and the crowd that read broke out into praises of the Pope and Savello. And as Checco's influence diminished Savello's increased; the protonotary began to take greater authority in the councils, and often he seemed to contradict Checco for the mere pleasure of overbearing and humiliating him. Checco became more taciturn and gloomy every day. But the high spirits of the townsmen sank when it was announced that Lodovico's army was within a day's march, and nothing had been heard from Rome. Messengers were sent urging the Pope to hasten his army, or at least to send a few troops to divert the enemy and encourage the people. The citizens mounted the ramparts and watched the two roads--the road that led from Milan and the road that led to Rome. The Duke was coming nearer and nearer; the peasants began to flock into the town, with their families, their cattle, and such property as they had been able to carry with them. They said the Duke was approaching with a mighty army, and that he had vowed to put all the inhabitants to the sword to revenge the death of his brother. The fear of the fugitives spread to the citizens, and there was a general panic. The gates were closed, and all grown men summoned to arms. Then they began to lament, asking what inexperienced townsmen could do against the trained army of the Duke, and the women wept and implored their husbands not to risk their precious lives; and above all rose the murmur against Checco. When would the army come from Rome? They asked the country folk, but they had heard of nothing; they looked and looked, but the road was empty. And suddenly over the hills was seen appearing the vanguard of the Duke's army. The troops wound down into the plain, and others appeared on the brow of the hills; slowly they marched down and others again appeared, and others and others, and still they appeared on the summit and wound down into the plain. They wondered, horror-stricken, how large the army was--five, ten, twenty thousand men! Would it never end? They were panic-stricken. At last the whole army descended and halted; there was a confusion of commands, a rushing hither and thither, a bustling, a troubling; it looked like a colony of ants furnishing their winter home. The camp was marked out, entrenchments were made, tents erected, and Forli was in a state of siege. XXIX The night fell and was passed without sleep or rest. The citizens were gathered together on the walls, talking anxiously, trying to pierce the darkness to see the rescuing army from Rome. Now and then someone thought he heard the tramp of cavalry or saw a gleam of armour, and then they stood still, holding their breaths, listening. But they heard nothing, saw nothing.... Others were assembled in the piazza, and with them a crowd of women and children; the churches were full of women praying and weeping. The night seemed endless. At last a greater chilliness of the air told them that the dawn was at hand; gradually the darkness seemed to thin away into a cold pallor, and above a bank of cloud in the east appeared a sickly light. More anxiously than ever our eyes turned towards Rome; the mist hid the country from us, but some of the watchers thought they saw a black mass, far away. They pointed it out to the others, and all watched eagerly; but the black mass grew neither larger nor clearer nor nearer; and as great yellow rays shot up above the clouds, and the sun rose slowly, we saw the road stretched out before us, and it was empty, empty, empty. It was almost a sob that burst from them, and moaningly they asked when help was coming. At that moment a man ascended the ramparts and told us that the protonotary had received a letter from the Pope, in which he informed him that relief was on the way. A cheer broke from us. At last! The siege began in earnest with a simultaneous attack on the four gates of the town, but they were well defended, and the enemy easily beaten off. But all at once we heard a great sound of firing, and shouts, and shrieks, and we saw flames burst from the roof of a house. In our thought of Lodovico we had forgotten the enemy in our midst, and a terrible panic broke out when it was found that the citadel had opened fire. The Castellan had turned his cannon on the houses surrounding the fortress, and the damage was terrible. The inhabitants hurried out for their lives, taking with them their chattels and fled to safer parts of the town. One house had been set on fire and for a while we feared that others would catch and a general conflagration be added to our woes. People said it was a visitation of God; they talked of Divine vengeance for the murder of the Count, and when Checco hurried to the scene of the fire they did not care to restrain themselves any longer, but broke out into yells and hisses. Afterwards, when the flames had been extinguished and Checco was passing through the piazza, they surrounded him, hooting, and would not let him pass. 'Curs!' he hissed, looking at them furiously, with clenched fists. Then, as if unable to contain himself he drew his sword, shouting,-- 'Let me pass!' They shrank back and he went his way. But immediately he had gone the storm redoubled, and the place rang with their cries. 'By God,' said Checco, 'how willingly I would turn the cannon on them and mow them down like grass!' They were the first words he had said of the change of feeling.... It was the same with us, when we walked through the streets--Matteo and I and the Moratini--they hissed and groaned at us. And a week before they would have licked our boots and kissed the ground we trod on! The bombardment continued, outside and in, and it was reported through the town that Lodovico had vowed to sack the place and hang every third citizen. They knew he was the man to keep his word. The murmurs began to grow even louder, and voices were heard suggesting a surrender.... It had occurred to all of them, and when the most timid, driven to boldness by their fear, spoke the word, they looked at one another guiltily. They gathered together in little knots, talking in undertones, suspicious, stopping suddenly if they saw near anyone who was known to be in favour of the party of Liberty. They discussed how to make terms for themselves; some suggested giving up the town unconditionally, others proposed an agreement. At last they spoke of appeasing the Duke by handing over to him the seventeen conspirators who had planned the murder of Girolamo. The thought frightened them at first, but they soon became used to it. They said the Orsi had really had no thought of the common good, but it was for their private ends that they had killed the Count and brought this evil on the town. They railed against Checco for making them suffer for his own ambition; they had lauded him to the skies for refusing the sovereignty, but now they said he had only feigned, and that he intended to seize the city at the first good opportunity. And as to the others, they had helped for greed and petty malice. As they talked they grew more excited, and soon they said it would only be justice to hand over to the Duke the authors of their troubles. The day passed, and the second night, but there were no signs of the help from Rome. Another night passed by and still nothing came; the dawn, and the road was as empty as before. And the fourth night came and went and still there was nothing. Then a great discouragement fell upon the people; the army was on the way, but why did it not arrive? Suddenly here and there people were heard asking about the letter from the Pope. No one had seen the messenger. How had it come? And a horrible suspicion seized the people, so that they rushed to the Palazzo Orsi, asking for Savello. As soon as he appeared they broke out clamorously. 'Show us the letter!' Savello refused! They insisted; they asked for the messenger who had brought it. Savello said he had been sent back. None of us had seen letter or messenger; the suspicion seized us too, and Checco asked,-- 'Is there a letter?' Savello looked at him for a moment, and answered,-- 'No!' 'Oh God, why did you say there was?' 'I felt sure the army was on the way. I wanted to give them confidence.' 'You fool! Now they will believe nothing. You fool, you have muddled everything!' 'It is you! You told me that the city was firm for the Pope.' 'So it was till you came with your lies and your treacheries.' Savello closed his fist, and I thought he was going to strike Checco. A yell burst from the people. 'The letter! the messenger!' Checco sprang to the window. 'There is no letter! The protonotary has lied to you. No help is coming from Rome nor from Florence!' The people yelled again, and another cry arose,-- 'Surrender! Surrender!' 'Surrender at your pleasure,' shouted Checco, 'but do not think that the Duke will forgive you for stripping the Count and insulting his body and sacking his Palace.' Savello was standing alone, struck dumb in his rage. Checco turned to him and smiled mockingly. XXX Next day there was a secret meeting of the council, of which neither Checco nor his friends knew anything. But it leaked out that they had been discussing terms which Lodovico had offered. And the Duke's proposal was that Riario's children should be surrendered to him and the town ruled by a commission, appointed partly by him, partly by the Forlivesi. About mid-day a servant came and told us that Niccolo Tornielli and the other members of the council were below, seeking admission. Checco went down, and as soon as he saw him Niccolo said,-- 'Checco, we have decided that it will be better for us to have charge of the children of Count Girolamo; and therefore we have come to summon you to give them into our hands.' Checco's answer was short and pointed. 'If that is all you came for, Niccolo, you can go.' ... At this Antonio Sassi broke in,-- 'We shall not go without the children.' 'I imagine that depends on me; and I intend to keep the children.' 'Take care, Checco; remember that you are not our master.' 'And who are you, Antonio, I should like to know?' 'I am a member of the council of Forli, just as you are; no more, no less.' 'No,' said Checco, furiously; 'I will tell you whom you are. You are the miserable cur who pandered to the tyrant and helped him to oppress the people which I liberated; and the people spat upon you! You are the miserable cur who fawned upon me when I had killed the tyrant, and in your slavish adulation you proposed to make me ruler in his stead; and I spat upon you! And now you are afraid again and you are trying to make peace with the Duke by betraying me, and it is from you that come the propositions to give me up to Lodovico. That is what you are! Look at yourself and be proud!' Antonio was about to give a heated answer, but Niccolo interrupted him. 'Be quiet, Antonio! Now, Checco, let us have the children.' 'I will not, I tell you! I saved their lives, and they are mine by right. They are mine because I killed the Count; because I took them prisoners; because I hold them; and because they are necessary for my safety.' 'They are necessary for our safety, too, and we, the council of Forli, summon you, Checco d'Orsi, to surrender them.' 'And I, Checco d'Orsi, refuse!' 'Then we shall take them by force.' Niccolo and Antonio stepped forward. Checco whipped out his sword. 'By God, I swear I will kill the first man who crosses this threshold!' Gradually the people had collected, till behind the councillors there was a formidable crowd. They watched with eagerness the dispute, hailing with joy the opportunity of humiliating their old hero. They had broken out in mocking laughter while Checco was railing at Antonio, now they shouted,-- 'The children! Surrender the children!' 'I will not, I tell you!' They began to hoot and hiss, calling Checco foul names, accusing him of causing all their troubles, naming him tyrant and usurper. Checco stood looking at them, trembling with rage. Niccolo stepped forward once more. 'Give them up, Checco, or it will be the worse for you.' 'Advance one step further and I will kill you!' The people grew suddenly exasperated; a shower of stones fell on us, and one, striking Checco, caused a long streak of blood to flow down his forehead. 'Give us the children! Give us the children!' 'We will call the guard,' said Antonio. 'The children!' shouted the mob. 'He will kill them. Take them from him.' There was a rush from behind; the councillors and their supporters were driven forward; they were met by our drawn swords; in another moment it would have been too late, and against two hundred we should have been helpless. Suddenly Bartolomeo appeared at the head of the great staircase with the boys. 'Stop!' he cried. 'Here are the children. Stop!' Checco turned round to him. 'I will not have them given up. Take them away!' 'I have never asked you anything before, Checco,' said Bartolomeo; 'I have always done as you commanded; but this time I implore you to give way.' I joined my words to his. 'You must give way. We shall all be massacred.' Checco stood for a moment undecided, then, without speaking, he turned into a room looking on the court. We took it for consent, and Bartolomeo handed the frightened children to the councillors. A shout of joy broke from the people and they marched off with their prize in triumph.... I sought Checco and found him alone. As he heard the shouts of the people, a sob came from him in the misery of his humiliation. * * * * * But Jacopo Ronchi and the two sons of Bartolomeo were sent out to discover what was going on. We could not think what had driven the council to their step; but we felt sure they must have good reasons for acting so courageously. We felt also that we had lost all power, all hope. The wheel had turned, and now we were at the bottom. After several hours, Alessandro Moratini came back and said,-- 'The council has been meeting again, and it has been receiving messengers; but that is all I know. Everyone looks upon me with an evil eye and becomes silent at my approach. I ask questions and they say they know nothing, have seen nothing, heard nothing.' 'Brutes!' said Matteo. 'And for these people we risked our lives and fortunes!' said Bartolomeo. Checco looked at him curiously; and, like him, I thought of our disinterestedness! Alessandro, having given his news, filled a glass with wine and sat down. We all kept silence. The time went on, and the afternoon began to close; the hours seemed interminable. At last Jacopo Ronchi came panting. 'I have discovered everything,' he said. 'The council has resolved to surrender the town to the Duke, who promises, in return for the children, to forgive everything and allow them to rule themselves, with half the council appointed by him.' We sprang up with a cry. 'I will not allow it,' said Checco. 'If the conspirators make any disturbance, they are to be outlawed and a price set upon their heads.' 'How far have the negotiations gone?' I asked. 'The messengers have been sent to the Duke now.' 'In that case there is no time to lose,' I said. 'What do you mean?' said Checco. 'We must escape.' 'Escape!' 'Or we shall be taken alive; and you know what to expect from Caterina and Lodovico. Do not think of their promises of pardon.' 'I put no trust in their promises,' said Checco, bitterly. 'Filippo is right,' said Bartolomeo. 'We must escape.' 'And quickly!' I said. 'I cannot throw up the game,' said Checco. 'And without me, what will happen to my supporters?' 'They may find forgiveness in submission. But you can do no good here. If you are in safety, you may be of some assistance. Anyhow, you will have life.' Checco buried his face in his hands. 'I cannot, I cannot.' The Moratini and I insisted. We adduced every argument. Finally he consented. 'We must go together,' I said; 'we may have to fight our way through.' 'Yes,' said Scipione. 'Let us meet at the gate by the river--at two.' 'But go there separately. If the people find we are attempting to escape, they will set upon us.' 'I wish they would,' said Matteo. 'It would give me such satisfaction to put my sword into half a score of their fat bellies!' 'There is no moon.' 'Very well; at two!' * * * * * The night was cloudy, and if there had been a moon, it would have been covered. A thin, cold rain was falling, and it was pitch dark. When I got to the river gate, four or five of them were already there. We felt too cold and miserable to speak; we sat on our horses, waiting. As new arrivals came, we peered into their faces, and then, on recognising them, bent back and sat on silently. We were all there but Checco. We waited for a time. At last Bartolomeo Moratini whispered to Matteo,-- 'Where did you leave Checco?' 'In the house. He told me to go on, saying he would follow shortly. Two horses were saddled besides mine.' 'Whom was the second for?' 'I don't know!' We waited on. The rain fell thin and cold. It struck half-past two. Immediately afterwards, we heard the sound of hoofs, and through the mist saw a black form coming towards us. 'Is it you, Checco?' we whispered, for the guard of the gate might have heard us. We were standing in a little plot of waste ground, ten yards from the walls. 'I cannot go with you,' said Checco. 'Why?' we cried. 'Ssh!' said Checco. 'I intended to bring my father, but he will not come.' None of us had thought of old Orso Orsi. 'He says he is too old, and will not leave his native town. I did all I could to persuade him, but he bade me go, and said they would not dare to touch him. I cannot leave him; therefore go, all of you, and I will remain.' 'You must come, Checco; without you we are helpless.' 'And what of your wife and children?' 'Your presence will exasperate the tyrants. You can do no good, only harm.' 'I cannot leave my father unprotected.' 'I will stay, Checco,' I said. 'I am not well known as you are. I will take care of your father, and you can watch over your family and your interests in safety.' 'No, you must go. It is too dangerous for you.' 'Not half so dangerous as for you. I will do my best to preserve him. Let me stay.' 'Yes,' said the others, 'let Filippo stay. He may escape detection, but you would have no chance.' The clock struck three. 'Come, come; it is getting late. We must be thirty miles away before daybreak.' We had already arranged to go to Città di Castello, which was my native place, and in case of accident I had given them letters, so that they might be housed and protected for the present. 'We must have you, Checco, or we will all stay.' 'You will take care of him?' said Checco to me at last. 'I swear it!' 'Very well! Good-bye, Filippo, and God bless you!' They advanced to the gate, and Checco summoned the captain. 'Open the gate,' he said shortly. The captain looked at them undecisively. I stood behind in the shade, so that I could not be seen. 'If you make a sound, we will kill you,' said Checco. They drew their swords. He hesitated, and Checco repeated,-- 'Open the gate!' Then he brought out the heavy keys; the locks were turned, the gate growled on its hinges, and one by one they filed out. Then the gate swung back behind them. I heard a short word of command, and the clatter of horses' hoofs. I put the spurs to my own, and galloped back into the town. In half an hour the bells were ringing furiously; and it was announced from house to house that the conspirators had fled and the town was free. XXXI In the morning the council met again and resolved that the town should return to its old obedience, and by surrendering without conditions hoped to receive pardon for its offences. Lodovico Moro entered in triumph, and going to the fortress was received by Caterina, who came forth from the citadel and with him proceeded to the cathedral to hear mass. The good Forlivesi were getting used to ovations; as the Countess passed through the streets they received her with acclamation, thronging the road on each side, blessing her, and her mother, and all her ancestors. She went her way as indifferent as when she had crossed the same streets a few days back amid the execrations of her faithful subjects. The keen observers noticed the firm closing of her mouth, which boded no particular good to the Forlivesi, and consequently redoubled their shouts of joy. The protonotary Savello had mysteriously disappeared when the news of Checco's flight had been brought him; but Caterina was soon informed that he had taken refuge in a Dominican monastery. A light smile broke over her lips as she remarked,-- 'One would rather have expected him to take refuge in a convent.' Then she sent people to him to assure him of her good will and beg him to join her. The good man turned pale at the invitation, but he dared not refuse it. So, comforting himself with the thought that she dared not harm the legate of the Pope, he clothed himself in all his courage and his most gorgeous robes, and proceeded to the cathedral. When she saw him she lifted up two fingers and said solemnly,-- 'The peace of God be upon you!' Then, before he could recover himself, she went on,-- 'Sir, it has always been my hope that I should some day meet the gentleman whose fame has reached me as the most talented, most beautiful and most virtuous of his day.' 'Madam--' he interrupted. 'Sir, I beseech you bravely to bear your evil fortunes. Do you not know that fortune is uncertain? If the city has been taken from you, it is the will of God, and as a Christian you must with resignation submit yourself to His decrees.' It was the beginning of her revenge, and one could see how sweet it was. The courtiers were sniggering at Caterina's speech, and Savello was the picture of discomfort. 'Messer Savello,' she proceeded, 'on a previous meeting you made me some very excellent admonitions on the will of God; now, notwithstanding your order, I am going to be so bold as to give you some equally excellent lessons on the same subject. If you will take your place by my side, you will have every opportunity of examining the ways of the Almighty, which, as you may remember you remarked, are inscrutable.' Savello bowed and advanced to the place pointed out to him. XXXII The first thing I had done on returning to the Palazzo Orsi was to strip myself of my purple and fine linen, shave my beard and moustache, cut my hair short, put on the clothes of a serving-man, and look at myself in a mirror. If I had met in the street the image I saw I should have passed on without recognising it. Still I was not dissatisfied with myself, and I smiled as I thought that it would not be too extraordinary if a lady's wench lost her heart to such a serving-man. I went to the old Orso's apartments, and found everything quiet; I lay down on a couch outside the doors and tried to sleep; but my thoughts troubled me. My mind was with the sad horsemen galloping through the night, and I wondered what the morrow had in store for them and me. I knew a price would be set upon my head, and I had to remain here in the midst of my enemies as the only protection of an old man of eighty-five. In a little while I heard the bells which told the town that the conspirators had fled, and at last I fell into a restless sleep. At six I was awakened by a hurry and bustle in the house.... The servants told one another that Checco had gone, and the Countess would come out of the fortress in a little while; and then God only knew what would happen. They cowered about, whispering, taking no notice of the new serving-man who had appeared in the night. They said that the Palace would be given over to the vengeance of the people, that the servants would suffer instead of the master; and soon one of them gave the signal; he said he would not stay, and since his wages had not been paid he would take them with him. He filled his pockets with such valuables as he could find, and going down a back staircase slid out of a little side door and was lost in the labyrinth of streets. The others were quick to follow his example, and the Palace was subjected to a looting in miniature; the old steward stood by, wringing his hands, but they paid no attention to him, thinking only of their safety and their pockets. Before the sun had had time to clear away the early mists, they had all fled; and besides the old man, the house contained only the white-haired steward, a boy of twenty, his nephew, and myself; and Checco had been such a sweet and gentle master! We went in to the old Orso. He was seated in a large arm-chair by the fireside, huddled up in a heavy dressing-gown. He had sunk his head down in his collar to keep warm, so that one could only see the dead eyes, the nose, and the sunken, wrinkled cheeks; a velvet cap covered his hair and forehead. He was holding his long, shrivelled hands to the fire, and the flames almost shone through them; they trembled incessantly. He looked up at the sound of our entrance. 'Ah, Pietro!' he said to the steward. Then, after a pause, 'Where is Fabrizio?' Fabrizio was the servant in whose particular charge the Orso had been put, and the old man had become so fond of him that he would take food only from his hand, and insisted on having him near at every moment of the day. He had been among the first to fill his pockets and decamp. 'Why does not Fabrizio come?' he asked querulously. 'Tell him I want him. I will not be neglected in this way.' Pietro did not know what to answer. He looked about him in embarrassment. 'Why does not Fabrizio come? Now that Checco is master here, they neglect me. It is scandalous. I shall talk to Checco about it. Where is Fabrizio? Tell him to come immediately on pain of my displeasure.' His voice was so thin and weak and trembling it was like that of a little child ill with some fever. I saw that Pietro had nothing to say, and Orso was beginning to moan feebly. 'Fabrizio has been sent away,' I said, 'and I have been put in his place.' Pietro and his nephew looked at me. They noticed for the first time that my face was new, and they glanced at one another with upraised brows. 'Fabrizio sent away! Who sent him away? I won't have him sent away.' 'Checco sent him away.' 'Checco had no right to send him away. I am master here. They treat me as if I were a child. It is shameful! Where is Fabrizio? I will not have it, I tell you. It is shameful! I shall speak to Checco about it. Where is Checco?' None of us answered. 'Why don't you answer when I speak to you? Where is Checco?' He raised himself in his chair and bent forward to look at us, then he fell back. 'Ah, I remember now,' he murmured. 'Checco has gone. He wanted me to go too. But I am too old, too old, too old. I told Checco what it would be. I know the Forlivesi; I have known them for eighty years. They are more fickle and cowardly than any other people in this cesspool which they call God's earth. I have been an exile fourteen times. Fourteen times I have fled from the city, and fourteen times I have returned. Ah yes, I have lived the life in my time, but I am tired now. I don't want to go out again; and besides, I am so old. I might die before I returned, and I want to die in my own house.' He looked at the fire, murmuring his confidences to the smouldering ashes. Then he seemed to repeat his talk with Checco. 'No, Checco, I will not come. Go alone. They will not touch me. I am Orso Orsi. They will not touch me; they dare not. Go alone, and give my love to Clarice.' Clarice was Checco's wife. He kept silence for a while, then he broke out again,-- 'I want Fabrizio.' 'Will I not do instead?' I asked. 'Who are you?' I repeated patiently,-- 'I am the servant placed here to serve you instead of Fabrizio. My name is Fabio.' 'Your name is Fabio?' he asked, looking at me. 'Yes.' 'No, it is not! Why do you tell me your name is Fabio? I know your face. You are not a serving-man.' 'You are mistaken,' I said. 'No, no. You are not Fabio. I know your face. Who are you?' 'I am Fabio.' 'Who are you?' he asked again querulously. 'I cannot remember whom you are. Why don't you tell me? Can't you see that I am an old man? Why don't you tell me?' His voice broke into the moan, and I thought he would cry. He had only seen me twice, but among his few visitors the faces of those he saw remained with him, and he recognised me partly. 'I am Filippo Brandolini,' I said. 'I have remained here to look after you and see that no harm happens. Checco wished to stay himself, but we insisted on his going.' 'Oh, you are a gentleman,' he answered. 'I am glad of that.' Then, as if the talk had tired him, he sank deeper down in his chair and fell into a dose. I sent Andrea, the steward's nephew, to see what was happening in the town, and Pietro and I sat in the large window talking in undertones. Suddenly Pietro stopped and said,-- 'What is that?' We both listened. A confused roar in the distance; it resembled the raging of the sea very far away. I opened the window and looked out. The roar became louder, louder, and at last we discovered that it was the sound of many voices. 'What is it?' asked Pietro again. There was a scrambling up the stairs, the noise of running feet. The door was burst violently open, and Andrea rushed in. 'Save yourselves!' he cried. 'Save yourselves!' 'What is it?' 'They are coming to sack the Palace. The Countess has given them leave, and the whole populace is up.' The roar increased, and we could distinctly hear the shouting. 'Be quick!' cried Andrea. 'For God's sake be quick! They will be here in a moment!' I looked to the door, and Pietro, seeing my thoughts, said,-- 'Not that way! Here is another door which leads along a passage into a side street.' He lifted the tapestry and showed a tiny door, which he opened. I ran to old Orso and shook him. 'Wake up!' I said; 'wake up and come with me!' 'What is it?' he asked. 'Never mind; come with me!' I took his arm and tried to lift him out of his chair, but he caught hold of the handles and would not stir. 'I will not move,' he said. 'What is it?' 'The mob is coming to sack the Palace, and if they find you here they will kill you.' 'I will not move. I am Orso Orsi. They dare not touch me.' 'Be quick! be quick!' screamed Andrea from the window. 'The first of them have appeared in the street. In a moment they will be here.' 'Quick! quick!' cried Pietro. Now the roar had got so loud that it buzzed in one's ears, and every instant it grew louder. 'Be quick! be quick!' 'You must come,' I said, and Pietro joined his prayers to my commands, but nothing would move the old man. 'I tell you I will not fly. I am the head of my house. I am Orso Orsi. I will not fly like a dog before the rabble.' 'For your son's sake--for our sake,' I implored. 'We shall be killed with you.' 'You may go. The door is open for you. I will stay alone.' He seemed to have regained his old spirit. It was as if a last flame were flickering up. 'We will not leave you,' I said. 'I have been put by Checco to protect you, and if you are killed I must be killed too. Our only chance is to fly.' 'Quick! quick!' cried Andrea. 'They are nearly here!' 'Oh, master, master,' cried Pietro, 'accept the means he offers you!' 'Be quick! be quick!' 'Would you have me slink down a back passage, like a thief, in my own house? Never!' 'They have reached the doors,' cried Andrea. The noise was deafening below. The gates had been closed, and we heard a thunder of blows; stones were thrown, sticks beaten against the iron; then they seemed to take some great instrument and pound against the locks. Again and again the blows were repeated, but at last there was a crash. A mighty shout broke from the people, and we heard a rush. I sprang to the door of the Orso's room and locked and bolted it, then, calling the others to help me, I dragged a heavy chest against it. We placed another chest on the first, and dragged the bedstead up, pushing it against the chests. We were only just in time, for, like water rushing at once through every crevice, the mob surged up and filled every corner of the house. They came to our door and pushed it. To their surprise it did not open. Outside someone cried,-- 'It's locked!' The hindrance excited them, and the crowd gathered greater outside. 'Break it open,' they cried. Immediately heavy blows thundered down on the lock and handle. 'For God's sake, come,' I said, turning to Orso. He did not answer. There was no time to lose, and I could not conquer his obstinacy. 'Then I shall force you,' I cried, catching hold of both his arms and dragging him from the chair. He held on as tight as he could, but his strength was nothing against mine. I caught hold of him, and was lifting him in my arms when the door was burst open. The rush of people threw down the barricade, and the crowd surged into the room. It was too late. I made a rush for the little door with Orso, but I could not get to it. They crowded round me with a shout. 'Take him,' I cried to Pietro, 'while I defend you.' I drew my sword, but immediately a bludgeon fell on it and it smashed in two. I gave a shout and rushed at my assailants, but it was hopeless. I felt a crushing blow on my head. I sank down insensible. XXXIII When I opened my eyes I found myself on a bed in a darkened room. By my side was sitting a woman. I looked at her, and wondered who she was. 'Who the devil are you?' I asked, somewhat impolitely. At the words someone else stepped forward and bent over me. I recognised Andrea; then I recollected what had occurred. 'Where is the Orso?' I asked. 'Is he safe?' 'Do you feel better?' he said. 'I am all right. Where is the Orso?' I tried to sit up, but my head swam. I felt horribly sick and sank back. 'What is the matter?' I moaned. 'Only a broken head,' said Andrea, with a little smile. 'If you had been a real serving-man, instead of a fine gentleman masquerading, you wouldn't think twice about it.' 'Have pity on my infirmities, dear boy,' I murmured faintly. 'I don't pretend that my head is as wooden as yours.' Then he explained. 'When you were beaten down they made a rush for the old master and bore him off.' 'Oh!' I cried. 'I promised Checco to look after him. What will he think!' 'It was not your fault.' At the same time he renewed the bandages round my head and put cooling lotions on. 'Good boy!' I said, as I enjoyed the cold water on my throbbing head. 'When I saw the blows come down on your head, and you fall like a stone, I thought you were killed. With you soft-headed people one never knows!' 'It appears to amuse you,' I said. 'But what happened afterwards?' 'In the excitement of their capture they paid no attention to us, and my uncle and I dragged you through the little door, and eventually carried you here. You are a weight!' 'And where am I?' 'In my mother's house, where you are requested to stay as long as it suits your convenience.' 'And Orso?' 'My uncle went out to see, and reports that they have put him in prison. As yet no harm has been done him. The palace has been sacked; nothing but the bare walls remain.' At that moment Pietro came in panting. 'Two of the conspirators have been taken.' 'My God, not Checco or Matteo!' 'No; Pietro Albanese and Marco Scorsacana.' 'How did the others escape?' 'I don't know. All I heard was that the horse of Marco broke down, and Pietro refused to leave him. At a village close to the frontier Pietro was recognised, and they were both arrested and sent here for the sake of the reward.' 'My God!' 'They were brought into the town on asses, with their hands tied behind their backs, and the mob yelled with derision, and threw stones and refuse at them.' 'And now?' 'They have been taken to the prison, and--' 'Well?' 'The execution is to take place to-morrow.' I groaned. Pietro Albanese and Marco had been like Damon and Pythias. I shuddered as I thought of the fate in store for them. They had been conspicuous in their hatred of the Count, and it was they who had helped to throw the body into the piazza. I knew there would be no forgiveness in Caterina's heart, and all the night I wondered what vengeance she was meditating. XXXIV Next day I insisted on getting up. Andrea helped me to dress, and we went out together. 'No one would mistake you for a gentleman to-day,' he laughed. My clothes were shabby enough in the first instance, and in the scuffle of the previous day they had received usage which did not improve them; moreover, I had a two days' beard, and my head muffled up in bandages, so that I could well imagine that my appearance was not attractive. But I was too sore at heart to smile at his remark, or make retort. I could not help thinking of the terrible scene which awaited us. We found the piazza crowded. Opposite the Riario Palace was erected a stage on which were seats, but these were empty. The sky was blue, the sun shone merrily on the people, and the air was soft and warm. Nature was full of peace and goodwill; but in men's hearts was lust of blood.... A flourish of trumpets announced the approach of Caterina and her suite. Amid ringing cheers she entered the square, accompanied by her half-brother, the Duke of Milan, and by the Protonotary Savello. They took their seats on the platform, the Duke on her right, Savello on her left. She turned to the priest and talked most amiably to him; he smiled and bowed, but his agitation was shown by the twitching of his hands fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak. A beating of drums was heard, followed by a sudden silence. A guard of soldiers entered the piazza, tramping steadily with heavy footsteps; then two steps behind them a single figure, without a doublet, hatless, his shirt all torn, his hands tied behind his back. It was Marco Scorsacana. The foul mob broke out into a yell at the sight of him; he walked slowly, but with his head proudly erect, paying no heed to the hooting and hissing which rang in his ears. On each side walked a barefooted monk, bearing a crucifix.... He was followed by another troop of soldiers, and after them came another bare-headed figure, his hands also tied behind his back; but he kept his head bent over his chest and his eyes fixed on the ground, shrinking at the yells of derision. Poor Pietro! He, too, was accompanied by the solemn monks; the procession was finished by the drummers, beating their drums incessantly, maddeningly. They advanced to the platform, and there, the soldiers falling back, the prisoners were left standing before their judges. 'Marco Scorsacana and Pietro Albanese,' said the Countess, in a clear, calm voice, 'you have been found guilty of murder and treason; and as it was you who cast the body of my dear husband out of the Palace window on to the hard stones of the piazza, so you are sentenced to be hanged from that same window, and your bodies cast down on to the hard stones of the piazza.' A murmur of approval came from the populace. Pietro winced, but Marco turned to him and said something which I could not hear; but I saw the glance of deep affection, and the answering smile of Pietro as he seemed to take courage. The Countess turned to Savello. 'Do you not agree that the judgment is just?' 'Most just!' he whispered. 'The protonotary says, "Most just!"' she called aloud, so that all should hear. The man winced. Marco looked at him scornfully, and said, 'I would ten times rather be in my place than in yours.' The Countess smiled at the priest and said, 'You see, I carry out the will of God in doing unto others as they themselves have done.' She made a sign, and the two men were led to the Palace and up the stairs. The window of the Hall of Nymphs was thrown open, and a beam thrust out, to which was attached a rope. Pietro appeared at the window, with one end of the rope round his neck. 'Good-bye, sweet friend,' he said to Marco. 'Good-bye, Pietrino,' and Marco kissed him. Then two men hurled him from the sill, and he swung in mid-air; a horrible movement passed through his body, and it swayed from side to side. There was a pause; a man stretched out with a sword and cut the rope. From the people came a huge shout, and they caught the body as it fell and tore it to pieces. In a few minutes Marco appeared at the window, but he boldly sprang out into space, needing no help. In a little while he was a hanging corpse, and in a little while more the mob had fallen on him like wolves. I hid my face in my hands. It was awful! Oh, God! Oh, God! Then another beating of drums broke through the tumult. I looked up, wondering what was coming. A troop of soldiers entered the square, and after them an ass led by a fool with bells and bauble; on the ass was a miserable old man, Orso Orsi. 'Oh,' I groaned. 'What are they going to do to him?' A shout of laughter burst from the mob, and the clown flourished his bauble and bowed acknowledgments from side to side. A halt was made before the stage, and Caterina spoke again. 'Orso Orsi. You have been sentenced to see your palace destroyed before your eyes--stone by stone.' The people shouted, and a rush was made for the Orsi Palace. The old man said nothing and showed no sign of hearing or feeling. I hoped that all sensation had left him. The procession moved on until it came to the old house, which stood already like a wreck, for the pillagers had left nothing which could be moved. Then the work began, and stone by stone the mighty building was torn to pieces. Orso looked on indifferently at the terrible work, for no greater humiliation can be offered to the Italian nobleman than this. The Orso Palace had stood three hundred years, and the most famous architects, craftsmen and artists had worked on it. And now it was gone. The old man was brought back into the piazza, and once more the cruel woman spoke. 'You have received punishment for yourself, Orso, and now you are to receive punishment for your son. Make room!' And the soldiers, repeating her words, cried,-- 'Make room!' The people were pushed and hustled back till they were crammed against the house walls, leaving in the centre an enormous empty space. Then a flourish of trumpets, and the people made an opening at the end of the square to allow the passage of a horse and man, the horse--a huge black stallion--prancing and plunging, and on each side a man was holding the bridle. On his back sat a big man, dressed all in flaming red, and a red hood covered his head and face, leaving two apertures for the eyes. A horrified whisper ran round the square. 'The hangman!' In the centre of the piazza he stopped. Caterina addressed the Orso. 'Have you anything to say, Orso Orsi?' At last he seemed to hear, he looked at her and then, with all the strength he had, hurled the word at her,-- 'Bastard!' She flushed angrily and made a sign. Two men seized the old man and dragged him off the mule; they caught hold of his legs, throwing him to the ground, and with a thick rope tied his ankles together. At this I understood. I was seized with sudden horror, and I cried out. Obeying a sudden impulse, I started forward; I don't know what I was going to do; I felt I must protect him or die with him. I started forward, but Andrea threw his arms round me and held me back. 'Let me go,' I said, struggling. 'Don't be a fool!' he whispered. 'What can you do against all these?' It was no use; I gave way. Oh, God! that I should stand by and see this awful thing and be utterly powerless. I wondered the people could suffer this last atrocity; I thought they must scream and rush to save the wretched man. But they watched--they watched eagerly.... By his feet they dragged him to the horse, and the end of the rope round his ankles they tied to the horse's tail and about the rider's waist. 'Ready?' cried the hangman. 'Yes!' answered the soldiers. They all sprang back; the hangman dug the spurs into his horse. The people gave a huge shout, and the fiery beast went careering round the square at full tilt. The awful burden dragging behind terrified him, and with head strained forward and starting eyes he galloped madly. The mob urged him on with cries, and his rider dug the spurs in deeply; the pavement was scattered with blood. God knows how long the wretched man lived. I hope he died at once. At last the brute's furious career was stopped, the ropes were cut, the corpse fell back, and, the people again making passage, horse and rider disappeared. In the middle of the piazza, in a pool of blood, lay a shapeless mass. It was ordered that it should be left there till nightfall as an example to evildoers. Andrea wanted to come away, but I insisted on staying to see what happened more. But it was the end, for Caterina turned to Savello and said,-- 'I do not forget that all power comes from God, Monsignor, and I wish solemnly to render thanks to the Divine Majesty, who has saved me, my children and the State. Therefore, I shall order a grand procession which shall march round the town and afterwards hear mass at the cathedral.' 'It shows, madam,' replied Savello, 'that you are a pious and truly Christian woman.' XXXV When it was night and the piazza deserted, Andrea and I and the old steward went out and made our way to the place where the horrible corpse was lying. We wrapped it in a long black cloth and took it up silently, bearing it to the church where for generations the Orsi had been buried. A dark-robed monk met us in the nave and led the way to a door, which he opened; then, as if frightened, left us. We found ourselves in the cloisters. We laid the body down under an arch and advanced into the centre, where was a plot of green scattered over with little crosses. We took spades and began to dig; a thin rain drizzled down and the ground was stiff and clayey. It was hard work and I sweated; I took off my coat and allowed the rain to fall on me unprotected; I was soon wet to the skin. Silently Andrea and I turned up the soil, while Pietro, beneath the cloisters, watched by the body and prayed. We were knee deep now, and still we threw up heavy spadefuls of clay. At last I said,-- 'It is enough.' We climbed out and went to the body. We took it up and bore it to the grave, and reverently we laid it in. Pietro placed a crucifix on the old master's breast, and then we began to pile in the earth. And so without priests, without mourning, in the dead of night, and by the drizzling rain, was buried Orso Orsi, the great head of the family. In his time he had been excellent in war and in all the arts of peace. He had been noted for his skill in commerce; in politics he had been the first of his city, and, besides, he had been a great and generous patron of the arts. But he lived too long, and died thus miserably. Next day I set about thinking what I should do. I could be of no more use to anyone in Forli; indeed, I had never been of use, for I had only stood by and watched while those I loved and honoured were being put to cruel deaths. And now I must see that my presence did not harm my kind hosts. Caterina had thrown into prison some fifty of those who had taken part in the rebellion, notwithstanding her solemn promise of amnesty, and I knew well enough that if I were discovered Pietro and Andrea would suffer as severe a punishment as myself. They gave no sign that my presence was a menace to them, but in the woman's eyes, Andrea's mother, I saw an anxious look, and at any unexpected sound she would start and look fearfully at me. I made up my mind to go immediately. When I told Andrea, he insisted on coming with me, and although I painted the danger in lively colours he would not be dissuaded. The next day was market-day, and we resolved to slip out in a cart as soon as the gates were opened. We would be taken for tradesmen, and no one would pay attention to us. I was anxious to see what was happening in the town and what people were talking of; but I thought it prudent not to venture out, for my disguise might be seen through, and if I were discovered I knew well what to expect. So I sat at home twiddling my thumbs and chattering with Andrea. At last, getting tired of doing nothing, and seeing the good woman about to scrub out her courtyard, I volunteered to do it for her. I got a broom and a pail of water and began sweeping away vigorously, while Andrea stood in the doorway scoffing. For a little while I forgot the terrible scene in the piazza. There was a knock at the door. We stopped and listened; the knock was repeated, and as no answer was given, the latch was raised and the door opened. A servant-maid walked in and carefully closed it behind her. I recognised her at once; it was Giulia's maid. I shrank back, and Andrea stood in front of me. His mother went forward. 'And pray, madam, what can I do for you?' The maid did not answer, but stepped past her. 'There is a serving-man here for whom I have a message.' She came straight towards me, and handed me a piece of paper; then, without another word, slid back to the door and slipped out. The note contained four words, 'Come to me to-night,' and the handwriting was Giulia's. A strange feeling came over me as I looked at it, and my hand trembled a little.... Then I began pondering. Why did she want me? I could not think, and it occurred to me that perhaps she wished to give me up to the Countess. I knew she hated me, but I could not think her as vile as that; after all, she was her father's daughter, and Bartolomeo was a gentleman. Andrea looked at me questioningly. 'It is an invitation from my greatest enemy to put myself in her hands.' 'But you will not?' 'Yes,' I said, 'I will.' 'Why?' 'Because it is a woman.' 'But do you think she would betray you?' 'She might.' 'And you are going to take the risk?' 'I think I should be glad to prove her so utterly worthless.' Andrea looked at me open-mouthed; he could not understand. An idea struck him. 'Are you in love with her?' 'No; I was.' 'And now?' 'Now, I do not even hate her.' XXXVI The night came, and when everyone had gone to bed and the town was quiet, I said to Andrea, 'Wait for me here, and if I do not come back in two hours you will know--' He interrupted me. 'I am coming with you.' 'Nonsense!' I said. 'I don't know what danger there may be, and there is no object in your exposing yourself to it.' 'Where you go I will go too.' I argued with him, but he was an obstinate youth. We walked along the dark streets, running like thieves round corners when we heard the heavy footsteps of the watch. The Palazzo Aste was all dark; we waited outside a little while, but no one came, and I dared not knock. Then I remembered the side door. I still had the key, and I took it from my pocket. 'Wait outside,' I said to Andrea. 'No, I am coming with you.' 'Perhaps there is an ambush.' 'Two are more likely to escape than one.' I put the key in the lock, and as I did so my heart beat and my hand trembled, but not with fear. The key turned, and I pushed the door open. We entered and walked up the stairs. Sensations which I had forgotten crowded upon me, and my heart turned sick.... We came to an ante-room dimly lit. I signed Andrea to wait, and myself passed into the room I knew too well. It was that in which I had last seen Giulia--the Giulia I had loved--and nothing was altered in it. The same couch stood in the centre, and on it lay Giulia, sleeping. She started up. 'Filippo!' 'At your service, madam.' 'Lucia recognised you in the street yesterday, and she followed you to the house in which you are staying.' 'Yes.' 'My father sent me a message that you were still here, and if I wanted help would give it me.' 'I will do whatever I can for you.' What a fool I was to come. My head was in a whirl, my heart was bursting. My God! she was beautiful! I looked at her, and suddenly I knew that all the dreary indifference I had built up had melted away at the first look into her eyes. And I was terrified.... My love was not dead; it was alive, alive! Oh, how I adored that woman! I burned to take her in my arms and cover her soft mouth with kisses. Oh, why had I come? I was mad. I cursed my weakness.... And, when I saw her standing there, cold and indifferent as ever, I felt so furious a rage within me that I could have killed her. And I felt sick with love.... 'Messer Filippo,' she said, 'will you help me now? I have been warned by one of the Countess's women that the guard have orders to arrest me to-morrow; and I know what the daughter of Bartolomeo Moratini may expect. I must fly to-night--at once.' 'I will help you,' I answered. 'What shall I do?' 'I can disguise you as a common woman. The mother of my friend Andrea will lend you clothes; and Andrea and I will accompany you. Or, if you prefer, after we have safely passed the gates, he shall accompany you alone wherever you wish to go.' 'Why will you not come?' 'I feared my presence would make the journey more tedious to you.' 'And to you?' 'To me it would be a matter of complete indifference.' She looked at me a moment, then she cried,-- 'No, I will not come!' 'Why not?' 'Because you hate me.' I shrugged my shoulders. 'I should have thought my sentiments were of no consequence.' 'I will not be helped by you. You hate me too much. I will stay in Forli.' 'You are your own mistress.... Why do you mind?' 'Why do I mind? Shall I tell you?' She came close up to me. 'Because--because I love you.' My head swam, and I felt myself stagger.... I did not know what was happening. 'Filippo!' 'Giulia!' I opened my arms, and she fell into them, and I held her close to my heart, and I covered her with kisses.... I covered her mouth and eyes and neck with kisses. 'Giulia! Giulia!' But I wrenched myself away, and taking hold of her shoulders, said almost savagely. 'But this time I must have you altogether. Swear that you will--' She lifted her sweet face and smiled, and nestling close up to me, whispered,-- 'Will you marry me?' I kissed her. 'I loved you always,' I said. 'I tried to hate you, but I could not.' 'Do you remember that night at the Palace? You said you had never cared for me.' 'Ah, yes! but you did not believe me.' 'I felt it was not true, but I did not know; and it pained me. And then Claudia--' 'I was so angry with you, I would have done anything to revenge myself; but still I loved you.' 'But, Claudia--you loved her too?' 'No,' I protested, 'I hated her and despised her; but I tried to forget you; and I wanted you to feel certain that I no longer cared for you.' 'I hate her.' 'Forgive me,' I said. 'I forgive you everything,' she answered. I kissed her passionately; and I did not remember that I too had something to forgive. The time flew on, and when a ray of light pierced through the windows I started up in surprise. 'We must make haste,' I said. I went into the ante-room and found Andrea fast asleep. I shook him. 'At what time do the gates open?' I asked. He rubbed his eyes, and, on a repetition of the question, answered, 'Five!' It was half-past four; we had no time to lose. I thought for a minute. Andrea would have to go to his mother's and find the needful clothes, then come back; it would all take time, and time meant life and death. Then, the sight of a young and beautiful woman might arouse the guard's attention, and Giulia might be recognised. An idea struck me. 'Undress!' I said to Andrea. 'What?' 'Undress! Quickly.' He looked at me blankly, I signed to him, and as he was not rapid enough I tore off his coat; then he understood and in a minute he was standing in his shirt while I had walked off with his clothes. I handed them to Giulia and came back. Andrea was standing in the middle of the room, the very picture of misery. He looked very ridiculous. 'Look here, Andrea,' I said. 'I have given your clothes to a lady, who is going to accompany me instead of you. Do you see?' 'Yes, and what am I to do?' 'You can stay with your mother for the present, and then, if you like, you can join me at my house in Città di Castello.' 'And now?' 'Oh, now you can go home.' He did not answer, but looked at me dubiously, then at his bare legs and his shirt, then again at me. I pretended not to understand. 'You seem troubled, my dear Andrea. What is the matter?' He pointed to his shirt. 'Well?' I said. 'It is usual to go about in clothes.' 'A broad-minded youth like you should be free from such prejudice,' I answered gravely. 'On such a morning you will find life much pleasanter without hose and doublet.' 'Common decency--' 'My dear boy, are you not aware that our first parents were content with fig-leaves, and are you not satisfied with a whole shirt? Besides, have you not a fine pair of legs and a handsome body; what are you ashamed of?' 'Everyone will follow me.' 'All the more reason to have something to show them.' 'The guard will lock me up.' 'How will the jailor's daughter be able to resist you in that costume!' Then another idea struck me, and I said,-- 'Well, Andrea, I am grieved to find you of so unpoetical a turn of mind; but I will deny you nothing.' I went to Giulia, and taking the clothes she had just cast off brought them to Andrea. 'There!' He gave a cry of delight, but on seizing them, and discovering petticoats and flounces, his face fell. I leant against the wall and laughed till my sides ached. Then Giulia appeared, a most fascinating serving-boy.... 'Good-bye,' I cried, and hurried down the stairs. We marched boldly to the city gate, and with beating hearts and innocent countenances, passed through and found ourselves in the open country. XXXVII The Orsi and the Moratini had taken my advice and gone to Città di Castello; so it was to that city we directed our way, and eventually reached it in safety. I did not know where Bartolomeo Moratini was, and I did not wish to take Giulia to my own house, so I placed her in a Benedictine convent, the superior of which, on hearing my name, promised to give her guest every care. Then I went to the old palace which I had not seen for so many years. I had been too excited to get really home to notice anything of the streets as I passed through them; but as I came in view of the well-remembered walls, I stopped, overcome with strange emotions.... I remembered the day when news had been brought me that the old Vitelli, who was then ruler of Castello, had murmured certain things about me which caused my neck to itch uncomfortably--and upon this I had entrusted my little brother to a relative, who was one of the canons of the cathedral, and the palace to my steward, and mounting my horse, ridden off with all possible haste. I had supposed that a few months would calm the angry Vitelli, but the months had lengthened out into years, and his death had come before his forgiveness. But now I really was back, and I did not mean to go away; my travels had taught me caution, and my intrigues at Forli given me enough excitement for some time. Besides, I was going to marry and rear a family; for, as if Fortune could not give scantily, I had gained a love as well as a home, and everything I wished was granted. My meditations were interrupted. '_Corpo di Bacco!_' It was Matteo, and in a moment I was in his arms. 'I was just asking myself what that fool was staring at this house for, and thinking of telling him it was impolite to stare, when I recognised the house's owner.' I laughed, and shook his hand again. 'Well Filippo, I am sure we shall be very pleased to offer you hospitality.' 'You are most kind.' 'We have annexed the whole place, but I daresay you will be able to find room somewhere. But come in.' 'Thanks,' I said, 'if you do not mind.' I found Checco, Bartolomeo and his two sons sitting together. They jumped up when they saw me. 'What news? What news?' they asked. Then suddenly I remembered the terrible story I had to tell, for in my own happiness I had forgotten everything that went before. I suddenly became grave. 'Bad news,' I said. 'Bad news.' 'Oh, God! I have been foreboding it. Every night I have dreamed awful things.' 'Checco,' I answered. 'I have done all I could; but, alas! it has been of no avail. You left me as a protector and I have been able to protect no one.' 'Go on!' Then I began my story. I told them how the Council had opened the gates, surrendering unconditionally, and how the Countess had sallied forth in triumph. That was nothing. If there had been no worse news for them than that! But Checco clenched his hands as I related the sacking of his palace. And I told him how old Orso had refused to fly and had been seized, while I had lain senseless on the floor. 'You did your best, Filippo,' said Checco. 'You could do nothing more. But afterwards?' I told them how Marco Scorsacana and Pietro had been taken prisoners, and led into the town like thieves caught in the act; how the crowd had gathered together, and how they had been brought to the square and hanged from the Palace window, and their bodies torn to pieces by the people. 'Oh, God!' uttered Checco. 'And all this is my fault.' I told them that the old Orso was brought forward and taken to his palace, and before his eyes it was torn down, stone after stone, till only a heap of ruins marked the site. Checco gave a sob. 'My palace, my home!' And then, as if the blow was too great, he bent his head and burst into tears. 'Do not weep yet, Checco,' I said. 'You will have cause for tears presently.' He looked up. 'What more?' 'Your father.' 'Filippo!' He started up, and stepping back, stood against the wall, his arms against it, outstretched, with white and haggard face and staring eyes, like a hunted beast at bay. I told him how they had taken his father and bound him, and thrown him down, and tied him to the savage beast, and how he had been dragged along till his blood spattered on the pavement and his soul left him. Checco uttered a most awful groan, and, looking up to heaven, as if to call it in witness, cried,-- 'Oh, God!' Then, sinking into a chair, he buried his face in his hands, and in his agony swayed from side to side. Matteo went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him; but he motioned him aside. 'Let me be.' He rose from his seat, and we saw that his eyes were tearless, for his grief was too great for weeping. Then, with his hands before him like a blind man, he staggered to the door and left us. Scipione, the weak man, was crying. XXXVIII One does not really feel much grief at other people's sorrows; one tries, and puts on a melancholy face--thinking oneself brutal for not caring more, but one cannot; and it is better, for if one grieved too deeply at other people's tears life would be unendurable; and every man has sufficient sorrows of his own without taking to heart his neighbour's. The explanation of all this is that three days after my return to Città di Castello I was married to Giulia. Now I remember nothing more. I have a confused idea of great happiness; I lived in an intoxication, half fearing it was all a dream, enchanted when anything occurred to assure me it was true. But the details of our life I have forgotten; I remember I was happy. Is it not a curious irony that we should recall our miseries with such plainness, and that our happiness should pass over us so indistinctly, that when it has gone we can scarcely realise that it ever existed? It is as though Fortune were jealous of the little happiness she has given us, and to revenge herself blots it out of the memory, filling the mind with miseries past. But some things I recollect about others. I came across Ercole Piacentini and his wife Claudia. Castello being his native place, he had gone there on the death of the Count; and now, although the Riarii were restored to power, he remained, presumably to watch our movements and report them at Forli. I inquired whom he was, and after some difficulty discovered that he was the bastard of a Castello nobleman and the daughter of a tradesman. I saw that he did not lie when he said he had in his veins as good blood as I. Still I did not think him a very desirable acquisition to the town, and as I was in some favour with the new Lord I determined to procure his expulsion. Matteo proposed picking a quarrel with him and killing him, but that was difficult, because the bold man had become singularly retiring, and it was almost impossible to meet him. The change was so noticeable that we could not help thinking he had received special instructions from Forli; and we determined to take care. I invited the Moratini to live with me; but they preferred to take a house of their own. The old man, when I asked him for his daughter's hand, told me he wished no better son-in-law, and was very contented to see his daughter again settled under a man's protection. Scipione and Alessandro were both most pleased, and they redoubled the affection they had felt for me before. It all made me extremely happy; for after my long years of wandering I yearned very much for the love of others, and the various affections that surrounded me soothed and comforted me. From Giulia I could ask for nothing more, and I thought she really loved me--of course, not as I loved her, for that would have been impossible; but I was happy. Sometimes I wondered perplexedly at the incident which had separated us, for I could understand nothing of it; but I put it away from me, I did not want to understand, I wanted only to forget. Then there were Checco and Matteo. The Orsi family had bought a palace in Castello, and there they could have settled themselves happily enough had they not been driven on by an unextinguishable desire to regain what they had lost. Checco was rich even now, able to live as luxuriously as before, and in a little while he might have gained in Castello as much power as he had lost in Forli, for the young Vitelli had been singularly attracted by him, and was already inclined to give trust to his counsels; but the wretched man was filled with sadness. All day his thoughts were in the town he loved so well, and now his love was increased tenfold.... Sometimes he would think of Forli before the troubles, when he was living a peaceful life surrounded by his friends; and in mind, he wandered through the quiet streets, every house of which he knew. He would go from room to room in his palace, looking at the pictures, the statues, the armour; from the window at night he gazed upon the dark, silent town, with the houses rising like tall phantoms; in the morning a silver mist covered the earth, and as it rose left the air cool and fresh. But when his house appeared before him, a bare heap of ruins, with the rain beating down on the roofless stones, he would bury his face in his hands, and so remain during long hours of misery. Sometimes he would review the stirring events, which began with the attempted assassination of himself and ended with the ride out of the gate by the river in the cold open country beyond; and as they passed before him, he would wonder what he had done wrong, what he might have done differently. But he could alter nothing; he saw no mistake other than of trusting the populace who vowed to follow him to death, and of trusting the friends who promised to send him help. He had done his part, and what had followed was impossible to foresee. Fortune was against him and that was all.... But he did not entirely give himself over to vain regrets; he had opened up communication with Forli, and through his spies had learnt that the Countess had imprisoned and put to death all those who had been in any way connected with the rebellion, and that the town lay cowed, submissive as a whipped dog. And there was no hope for Checco from within, for his open partisans had suffered terrible punishments, and the others were few and timid. Then Checco turned his attention to the rival states; but everywhere he received rebuffs, for the power of Milan overshadowed them all, and they dared nothing while the Duke Lodovico was almighty. 'Wait,' they said, 'till he has roused the jealousy of the greater states of Florence and Venice, then will be your opportunity, and then will we willingly give you our help.' But Checco could not wait, every lost day seemed to him a year. He grew thin and haggard. Matteo tried to comfort him, but gradually Checco's troubles weighed on him too; he lost his mirth and became as moody and silent as his cousin. So passed a year, full of anxiety and heartburning for them, full of the sweetest happiness for me. One day Checco came to me and said,-- 'Filippo, you have been very good to me; now I want you to do me one more favour, and that shall be the last I will ask you.' 'What is it?' Then he expounded to me a scheme for interesting the Pope in his affairs. He knew how angry his Holiness had been, not only at the loss of the town, but also at the humiliation he had received through his lieutenant. There was a difficulty at the time between the Duke of Milan and Rome respecting certain rights of the former, and he did not think it unlikely that the Pope would be willing to break off negotiations and recover his advantage by making a sudden attack on Forli. Caterina's tyranny had become insupportable, and there was no doubt that at the sight of Checco leading the papal army they would open their gates and welcome him as the Pope's representative. I did not see of what use I could be, and I was very unwilling to leave my young wife. But Checco was so anxious that I should come, seeming to think I should be of such assistance, that I felt it would be cruel to refuse. Moreover, I reckoned a month would bring me back to Castello, and if the parting was bitter, how sweet would be the return! And I had certain business of my own in Rome, which I had delayed for months because I could not bear the thought of separation from Giulia. So I decided to go. A few days later we were riding towards Rome. I was sad, for it was the first time I had left my wife since our marriage, and the parting had been even more painful than I expected. A thousand times I had been on the verge of changing my mind and saying I would not go; but I could not, for Checco's sake. I was also a little sad because I thought Giulia was not so pained as I was, but then I chid myself for my folly. I expected too much. After all, it was only four short weeks, and she was still too great a child to feel very deeply. It is only when one is old or has greatly suffered that one's emotions are really powerful. We reached Rome and set about soliciting an audience from the Pope. I cannot remember the countless interviews we had with minor officials, how we were driven from cardinal to cardinal, the hours we spent in ante-rooms waiting for a few words from some great man. I used to get so tired that I could have dropped off to sleep standing, but Checco was so full of eagerness that I had to accompany him from place to place. The month passed, and we had done nothing. I suggested going home, but Checco implored me to stay, assuring me that the business would be finished in a fortnight. I remained, and the negotiations dragged their weary length through weeks and weeks. Now a ray of hope lightened our struggles, and Checco would become excited and cheerful; now the hope would be dashed to the ground, and Checco begin to despair. The month had drawn itself out into three, and I saw clearly enough that nothing would come of our endeavours. The conferences with the Duke were still going on, each party watching the other, trying by means of untruth and deceit and bribery to gain the advantage. The King of Naples was brought in; Florence and Venice began to send ambassadors to and fro, and no one knew what would be the result of it all. At last one day Checco came to me and threw himself on my bed. 'It's no good,' he said, in a tone of despair. 'It is all up.' 'I'm very sorry, Checco.' 'You had better go home now. You can do nothing here. Why should I drag you after me in my unhappiness?' 'But you, Checco, if you can do no good, why will not you come too?' 'I am better here than at Castello. Here I am at the centre of things, and I will take heart. War may break out any day, and then the Pope will be more ready to listen to me.' I saw it was no use that I should stay, and I saw I could not persuade him to come with me, so I packed up my things, and bidding him good-bye, started on the homeward journey. XXXIX What shall I say of the eagerness with which I looked forward to seeing my dear wife, the rapture with which, at last, I clasped her in my arms? * * * * * A little later I walked out to find Matteo. He was quite astonished to see me. 'We did not expect you so soon.' 'No,' I answered; 'I thought I should not arrive till after to-morrow, but I was so impatient to get home that I hurried on without stopping, and here I am.' I shook his hand heartily, I was so pleased and happy. 'Er--have you been home?' 'Of course,' I answered, smiling; 'it was the first thing I thought of.' I was not sure; I thought a look of relief came over Matteo's face. But why? I could not understand, but I thought it of no consequence, and it passed from my memory. I told Matteo the news I had, and left him. I wished to get back to my wife. On my way I happened to see Claudia Piacentini coming out of a house. I was very surprised, for I knew that my efforts had succeeded, and Ercole's banishment decreed. I supposed the order had not yet been issued. I was going to pass the lady without acknowledgment, for since my marriage she had never spoken to me, and I could well understand why she did not want to. To my astonishment she stopped me. 'Ah, Messer Filippo!' I bowed profoundly. 'How is it that now you never speak to me? Are you so angry with me?' 'No one can be angry with so beautiful a woman.' She flushed, and I felt I had said a stupid thing, for I had made remarks too similar on another occasion. I added, 'But I have been away.' 'I know. Will you not come in?' She pointed to the house from which she had just issued. 'But I shall be disturbing you, for you were going out.' She smiled as she replied. 'I saw you pass my house a little while ago; I guessed you were going to Matteo d'Orsi, and I waited for you on your return.' 'You are most kind.' I wondered why she was so anxious to see me. Perhaps she knew of her husband's approaching banishment, and the cause of it. We went in and sat down. 'Have you been home?' she asked. It was the same question as Matteo had asked. I gave the same answer. 'It was the first thing I thought of.' 'Your wife must have been--surprised to see you.' 'And delighted.' 'Ah!' She crossed her hands and smiled. I wondered what she meant. 'You were not expected for two days, I think.' 'You know my movements very well. I am pleased to find you take such interest in me.' 'Oh, it is not I alone. The whole town takes interest in you. You have been a most pleasant topic of conversation.' 'Really!' I was getting a little angry. 'And what has the town to say of me?' 'Oh, I do not want to trouble your peace of mind.' 'Will you have the goodness to tell me what you mean?' She shrugged her shoulders and smiled enigmatically. 'Well?' I said. 'If you insist, I will tell you. They say that you are a complaisant husband.' 'That is a lie!' 'You are not polite,' she answered calmly. 'How dare you say such things, you impudent woman!' 'My good sir, it is true, perfectly true. Ask Matteo.' Suddenly I remembered Matteo's question, and his look of relief. A sudden fear ran through me. I took hold of Claudia's wrists and said,-- 'What do you mean? What do you mean?' 'Leave go; you hurt me!' 'Answer, I tell you. I know you are dying to tell me. Is this why you lay in wait for me, and brought me here? Tell me.' A sudden transformation took place in Claudia; rage and hate broke out and contorted her face, so that one would not have recognised it. 'Do you suppose you can escape the ordinary fate of husbands?' She broke into a savage laugh. 'It is a lie. You slander Giulia because you are yourself impure.' 'You were willing enough to take advantage of that impurity. Do you suppose Giulia's character has altered because you have married her? She made her first husband a cuckold, and do you suppose that she has suddenly turned virtuous? You fool!' 'It is a lie. I will not believe a word of it.' 'The whole town has been ringing with her love for Giorgio dall' Aste.' I gave a cry; it was for him that she abandoned me before.... 'Ah, you believe me now!' 'Listen!' I said. 'If this is not true, I swear by all the saints that I will kill you.' 'Good; if it is not true, kill me. But, by all the saints, I swear it is true, true, true!' She repeated the words in triumph, and each one fell like the stab of a dagger in my heart. I left her. As I walked home, I fancied the people were looking at me, and smiling. Once I was on the verge of going up to a man, and asking him why he laughed, but I contained myself. How I was suffering! I remembered that Giulia had not seemed so pleased to see me; at the time I chid myself, and called myself exacting, but was it true? I fancied she turned away her lips when I was imprinting my passionate kisses on them. I told myself I was a fool, but was it true? I remembered a slight movement of withdrawal when I clasped her in my arms. Was it true? Oh God! was it true? I thought of going to Matteo, but I could not. He knew her before her marriage; he would be willing to accept the worst that was said of her. How could I be so disturbed at the slanders of a wicked, jealous woman? I wished I had never known Claudia, never given her reason to take this revenge on me. Oh, it was cruel! But I would not believe it; I had such trust in Giulia, such love. She could not betray me, when she knew what passionate love was poured down upon her. It would be too ungrateful. And I had done so much for her, but I did not wish to think of that.... All that I had done had been for pure love and pleasure, and I required no thanks. But surely if she had no love, she had at least some tender feeling for me; she would not give her honour to another. Ah no, I would not believe it. But was it true, oh God! was it true? I found myself at home, and suddenly I remembered the old steward, whom I had left in charge of my house. His name was Fabio; it was from him that I got the name when I presented myself as a serving-man to old Orso. If anything had taken place in the house he must know it; and she, Claudia, said the whole town knew it. 'Fabio!' 'My master!' He came into my room, and I looked at him steadily. 'Fabio, have you well looked after all I left in your hands when I went to Rome?' 'Your rents are paid, your harvests taken in, the olives all gathered.' 'I left in your charge something more precious than cornfields and vineyards.' 'My lord!' 'I made you guardian of my honour. What of that?' He hesitated, and his voice as he answered trembled. 'Your honour is--intact.' I took him by the shoulders. 'Fabio, what is it? I beseech you by your master, my father, to tell me.' I knew he loved my father's memory with more than human love. He looked up to heaven and clasped his hands; he could hardly speak. 'By my dear master, your father, nothing--nothing!' 'Fabio, you are lying.' I pressed his wrists which I was holding clenched in my hands. He sank down on his knees. 'Oh, master, have mercy on me!' He buried his face in his hands. 'I cannot tell you.' 'Speak, man, speak!' At last, with laments and groans, he uttered the words,-- 'She has--oh God, she has betrayed you!' 'Oh!' I staggered back. 'Forgive me!' 'Why did you not tell me before?' 'Ah, how could I? You loved her as I have never seen man love woman.' 'Did you not think of my honour?' 'I thought of your happiness. It is better to have happiness without honour, than honour without happiness.' 'For you,' I groaned, 'but not for me.' 'You are of the same flesh and blood, and you suffer as we do. I could not destroy your happiness.' 'Oh, Giulia! Giulia!' Then, after a while, I asked again, 'But are you sure?' 'Alas, there is no doubt!' 'I cannot believe it! Oh God, help me! You don't know how I loved her! She could not! Let me see it with my own eyes, Fabio.' We both stood silent; then a horrible thought struck me. 'Do you know--when they meet?' I whispered. He groaned. I asked again. 'God help me!' 'You know? I command you to tell me.' 'They did not know you were coming back till after to-morrow.' 'He is coming?' 'To-day.' 'Oh!' I seized him by the hand. 'Take me, and let me see them.' 'What will you do?' he asked, horror-stricken. 'Never mind, take me!' Trembling, he led me through ante-rooms and passages, till he brought me to a staircase. We mounted the steps and came to a little door. He opened it very quietly, and we found ourselves behind the arras of Giulia's chamber. I had forgotten the existence of door and steps, and she knew nothing of them. There was an opening in the tapestry to give exit. No one was in the room. We waited, holding our breath. At last Giulia entered. She walked to the window and looked out, and went back to the door. She sat down, but sprang up restlessly, and again looked out of window. Whom was she expecting? She walked up and down the room, and her face was full of anxiety. I watched intently. At last a light knock was heard; she opened the door and a man came in. A small, slight, thin man, with a quantity of corn-coloured hair falling over his shoulders, and a pale, fair skin. He had blue eyes, and a little golden moustache. He looked hardly twenty, but I knew he was older. He sprang forward, seizing her in his arms, and he pressed her to his heart, but she pushed him back. 'Oh, Giorgio, you must go,' she cried. 'He has come back.' 'Your husband?' 'I hoped you would not come. Go quickly. If he found you he would kill us both.' 'Tell me you love me, Giulia.' 'Oh yes, I love you with all my heart and soul.' For a moment they stood still in one another's arms, then she tore herself away. 'But go, for God's sake!' 'I go, my love. Good-bye!' 'Good-bye, beloved!' He took her in his arms again, and she placed hers around his neck. They kissed one another passionately on the lips; she kissed him as she had never kissed me. 'Oh!' I gave a cry of rage, and leaped out of my concealment. In a bound I had reached him. They hardly knew I was there; and I had plunged my dagger in his neck. Giulia gave a piercing shriek as he fell with a groan. The blood spattered over my hand. Then I looked at her. She ran from me with terror-stricken face, her eyes starting from her head. I rushed to her and she shrieked again, but Fabio caught hold of my arm. 'Not her, not her too!' I wrenched my hand away from him, and then--then as I saw her pallid face and the look of deathly terror--I stopped. I could not kill her. 'Lock that door,' I said to Fabio, pointing to the one from which we had come. Then, looking at her, I screamed,-- 'Harlot!' I called to Fabio, and we left the room. I locked the door, and she remained shut in with her lover.... I called my servants and bade them follow me, and went out. I walked proudly, surrounded by my retainers, and I came to the house of Bartolomeo Moratini. He had just finished dinner, and was sitting with his sons. They rose as they saw me. 'Ah, Filippo, you have returned.' Then, seeing my pale face, they cried, 'But what is it? What has happened?' And Bartolomeo broke in. 'What is that on your hand, Filippo?' I stretched it out, so that he might see. 'That--that is the blood of your daughter's lover.' 'Oh!' 'I found them together, and I killed the adulterer.' Bartolomeo kept silence a moment, then he said,-- 'You have done well, Filippo.' He turned to his sons. 'Scipione, give me my sword.' He girded it on, and then he spoke to me. 'Sir,' he said, 'I beg you to wait here till I come.' I bowed. 'Sir, I am your servant.' 'Scipione, Alessandro, follow me!' And accompanied by his sons, he left the room, and I remained alone. The servants peeped in at the door, looking at me as if I were some strange beast, and fled when I turned round. I walked up and down, up and down; I looked out of window. In the street the people were going to and fro, singing, and talking as if nothing had happened. They did not know that death was flying through the air; they did not know that the happiness of living men had gone for ever. At last I heard the steps again, and Bartolomeo Moratini entered the room, followed by his sons; and all three were very grave. 'Sir,' he said, 'the stain on your honour and mine has been effaced.' I bowed more deeply than before. 'Sir, I am your very humble servant.' 'I thank you that you allowed me to do my duty as a father; and I regret that a member of my family should have shown herself unworthy of my name and yours. I will detain you no longer.' I bowed again, and left them. XL I walked back to my house. It was very silent, and as I passed up the stairs the servants shrunk back with averted faces, as if they were afraid to look at me. 'Where is Fabio?' I asked. A page whispered timidly,-- 'In the chapel.' I turned on my heel, and passed through the rooms, one after another, till I came to the chapel door. I pushed it open and entered. A dim light came through the painted windows, and I could hardly see. In the centre were two bodies covered with a cloth, and their heads were lighted by the yellow gleam of candles. At their feet knelt an old man, praying. It was Fabio. I advanced and drew back the cloth; and I fell on my knees. Giulia looked as if she were sleeping. I had so often leant over her, watching the regular heaving of the breast, and sometimes I had thought her features as calm and relaxed as if she were dead. But now the breast would no more rise and fall, and its wonderful soft whiteness was disfigured by a gaping wound. Her eyes were closed and her lips half parted, and the only difference from life was the fallen jaw. Her face was very pale; the rich waving hair encircled it as with an aureole. I looked at him, and he, too, was pale, and his fair hair contrasted wonderfully with hers. He looked so young! Then, as I knelt there, and the hours passed slowly, I thought of all that had happened, and I tried to understand. The dim light from the window gradually failed, and the candles in the darkness burnt out more brightly; each was surrounded by a halo of light, and lit up the dead faces, throwing into deeper night the rest of the chapel. Little by little I seemed to see into the love of these two which had been so strong, that no ties of honour, faith, or truth had been able to influence it. And this is what I imagined, trying to console myself. * * * * * When she was sixteen, I thought, they married her to an old man she had never seen, and she met her husband's cousin, a boy no older than herself. And the love started and worked its way. But the boy lived on his rich cousin's charity; from him he had received a home and protection and a thousand kindnesses; he loved against his will, but he loved all the same. And she, I thought, had loved like a woman, passionately, thoughtless of honour and truth. In the sensual violence of her love she had carried him away, and he had yielded. Then with enjoyment had come remorse, and he had torn himself away from the temptress and fled. I hardly knew what had happened when she was left alone, pining for her lover. Scandal said evil things.... Had she, too, felt remorse and tried to kill her love, and had the attempt failed? And was it then she flung herself into dissipation to drown her trouble? Perhaps he told her he did not love her, and she in despair may have thrown herself in the arms of other lovers. But he loved her too strongly to forget her; at last he could not bear the absence and came back. And again with enjoyment came remorse, and, ashamed, he fled, hating himself, despising her. The years passed by, and her husband died. Why did he not come back to her? Had he lost his love and was he afraid? I could not understand.... Then she met me. Ah, I wondered what she felt. Did she love me? Perhaps his long absence had made her partly forget him, and she thought he had forgotten her. She fell in love with me, and I--I loved her with all my heart. I knew she loved me then; she must have loved me! But he came back. He may have thought himself cured, he may have said that he could meet her coldly and indifferently. Had I not said the same? But as they saw one another the old love burst out, again it burnt them with consuming fire, and Giulia hated me because I had made her faithless to the lover of her heart. * * * * * The candles were burning low, throwing strange lights and shadows on the faces of the dead. * * * * * Poor fool! His love was as powerful as ever, but he fought against it with all the strength of his weak will. She was the Evil One to him; she took his youth from him, his manhood, his honour, his strength; he felt that her kisses degraded him, and as he rose from her embrace he felt vile and mean. He vowed never to touch her again, and every time he broke the vow. But her love was the same as ever--passionate, even heartless. She cared not if she consumed him as long as she loved him. For her he might ruin his life, he might lose his soul. She cared for nothing; it was all and all for love. He fled again, and she turned her eyes on me once more. Perhaps she felt sorry for my pain, perhaps she fancied my love would efface the remembrance of him. And we were married. Ah! now that she was dead I could allow her good intentions. She may have intended to be faithful to me; she may have thought she could truly love and honour me. Perhaps she tried; who knows? But love--love cares not for vows. It was too strong for her, too strong for him. I do not know whether she sent for him, or whether he, in the extremity of his passion, came to her; but what had happened so often happened again. They threw everything to the winds, and gave themselves over to the love that kills.... The long hours passed as I thought of these things, and the candles were burnt to their sockets. At last I felt a touch on my shoulder, and heard Fabio's voice. 'Master, it is nearly morning.' I stood up, and he added,-- 'They put him in the chapel without asking me. You are not angry?' 'They did well!' He hesitated a moment and then asked,-- 'What shall I do?' I looked at him, not understanding. 'He cannot remain here, and she--she must be buried.' 'Take them to the church, and lay them in the tomb my father built--together.' 'The man too?' he asked. 'In your own tomb?' I sighed and answered sadly,-- 'Perhaps he loved her better than I.' As I spoke I heard a sob at my feet. A man I had not seen took hold of my hand and kissed it, and I felt it wet with tears. 'Who are you?' I asked. 'He has been here all the night,' said Fabio. 'He was my master and I loved him,' replied the kneeling figure in a broken voice. 'I thank you that you do not cast him out like a dog.' I looked at him and felt deep pity for his grief. 'What will you do now?' I asked. 'Alas! now I am a wreck that tosses on the billows without a guide.' I did not know what to say to him. 'Will you take me as your servant? I will be very faithful.' 'Do you ask me that?' I said. 'Do you not know--' 'Ah, yes! you took the life that he was glad to lose. It was almost a kindness; and now you bury him peacefully, and for that I love you. You owe it to me; you have robbed me of a master, give me another.' 'No, poor friend! I want no servants now. I too am like a wreck that drifts aimlessly across the seas. With me, too, it is finished.' I looked once more at Giulia, and then I replaced the white cloth, and the faces were covered. 'Bring me my horse, Fabio.' In a few minutes it was waiting for me. 'Will you have no one to accompany you?' he asked. 'No one!' Then, as I mounted and arranged the reins in my hand, he said,-- 'Where are you going?' And I despairingly answered,-- 'God knows!' XLI And I rode away out of the town into the open country. The day was breaking, and everything was cold and grey. I paid no heed to my course; I rode along, taking the roads as they came, through broad plains, eastwards towards the mountains. In the increasing day I saw the little river wind sinuously through the fields, and the country stretched flat before me, with slender trees marked out against the sky. Now and then a tiny hill was surmounted by a village, and once, as I passed, I heard the tinkling of a bell. I stopped at an inn to water the horse, and then, hating the sight of men, I hurried on. The hours of coolness had passed, and as we tramped along the shapeless roads the horse began to sweat, and the thick white dust rose in clouds behind us. At last I came to a roadside inn, and it was nearly mid-day. I dismounted, and giving the horse to the ostler's care, I went inside and sat at a table. The landlord came to me and offered food. I could not eat, I felt it would make me sick; I ordered wine. It was brought; I poured some out and tasted it. Then I put my elbows on the table and held my head with both hands, for it was aching so as almost to drive me mad. 'Sir!' I looked up and saw a Franciscan friar standing by my side. On his back he bore a sack; I supposed he was collecting food. 'Sir, I pray you for alms for the sick and needy.' I drew out a piece of gold and threw it to him. 'The roads are hard to-day,' he said. I made no answer. 'You are going far, sir?' 'When one gives alms to a beggar, it is so that he may not importune one,' I said. 'Ah, no; it is for the love of God and charity. But I do not wish to importune you, I thought I might help you.' 'I want no help.' 'You look unhappy.' 'I beg you to leave me in peace.' 'As you will, my son.' He left me, and I returned to my old position. I felt as if a sheet of lead were pressing upon my head. A moment later a gruff voice broke in upon me. 'Ah, Messer Filippo Brandolini!' I looked up. At the first glance I did not recognise the speaker; but then as I cleared my mind I saw it was Ercole Piacentini. What was he doing here? Then I remembered that it was on the road to Forli. I supposed he had received orders to leave Castello and was on his way to his old haunts. However, I did not want to speak to him; I bent down, and again clasped my head in my hands. 'That is a civil way of answering,' he said. 'Messer Filippo!' I looked up, rather bored. 'If I do not answer, it is evidently because I do not wish to speak to you.' 'And if I wish to speak to you?' 'Then I must take the liberty of begging you to hold your tongue.' 'You insolent fellow!' I felt too miserable to be angry. 'Have the goodness to leave me,' I said. 'You bore me intensely.' 'I tell you that you are an insolent fellow, and I shall do as I please.' 'Are you a beggar, that you are so importunate? What do you want?' 'Do you remember saying in Forli that you would fight me when the opportunity presented itself. It has! And I am ready, for I have to thank you for my banishment from Castello.' 'When I offered to fight you, sir, I thought you were a gentleman. Now that I know your condition, I must decline.' 'You coward!' 'Surely it is not cowardice to refuse a duel with a person like yourself?' By this time he was wild with rage; but I was cool and collected. 'Have you so much to boast?' he asked furiously. 'Happily I am not a bastard!' 'Cuckold!' 'Oh!' I sprang up and looked at him with a look of horror. He laughed scornfully and repeated,-- 'Cuckold!' Now it was my turn. The blood rushed to my head and a terrible rage seized me. I picked up the tankard of wine which was on the table and flung it at him with all my might. The wine splashed over his face, and the cup hit him on the forehead and cut him so that the blood trickled down. In a moment he had drawn his sword, and at the same time I wrenched mine from its sheath. He could fight well. He could fight well, but against me he was lost. All the rage and agony of the last day gathered themselves together. I was lifted up and cried aloud in the joy of having someone on whom to wreak my vengeance. I felt as if I had against me the whole world and were pouring out my hate at the end of my sword. My fury lent me the strength of a devil. I drove him back, I drove him back, and I fought as I had never fought before. In a minute I had beaten the sword from his hand, and it fell to the floor as if his wrist were broken, clattering down among the cups. He staggered back against the wall, and stood there with his head thrown back and his arms helplessly outspread. 'Ah, God, I thank thee!' I cried exultingly. 'Now I am happy.' I lifted my sword above my head to cleave his skull, my arm was in the swing--when I stopped. I saw the staring eyes, the white face blanched with terror; he was standing against the wall as he had fallen, shrinking away in his mortal anxiety. I stopped; I could not kill him. I sheathed my sword and said,-- 'Go! I will not kill you. I despise you too much.' He did not move, but stood as if he were turned to stone, still terror-stricken and afraid. Then, in my contempt, I took a horn of water and flung it over him. 'You look pale, my friend,' I said. 'Here is water to mix with your wine.' Then I leant back and burst into a shout of laughter, and I laughed till my sides ached, and I laughed again. I threw down money to pay for my entertainment, and went out. But as I bestrode my horse and we recommenced our journey along the silent roads I felt my head ache worse than ever. All enjoyment was gone; I could take no pleasure in life. How long would it last? How long? I rode along under the mid-day sun, and it fell scorching on my head; the wretched beast trotted with hanging head, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, parched and dry. The sun beat down with all the power of August, and everything seemed livid with the awful heat. Man and beast had shrunk away from the fiery rays, the country folk were taking the noonday rest, the cattle and the horses sheltered by barns and sheds, the birds were silent, and even the lizards had crept into their holes. Only the horse and I tramped along, miserably--only the horse and I. There was no shade; the walls on either side were too low to give shelter, the road glaring and white and dusty. I might have been riding through a furnace. Everything was against me. Everything! Even the sun seemed to beat down his hottest rays to increase my misery. What had I done that all this should come to me? I clenched my fist, and in impotent rage cursed God.... At last I saw close to me a little hill covered with dark fir trees; I came nearer, and the sight of the sombre green was like a draught of cool water. I could no longer bear the horror of the heat. From the main road another smaller one led winding up the hill. I turned my horse, and soon we were among the trees, and I took a long breath of delight in the coolness. I dismounted and led him by the bridle; it was enchanting to walk along the path, soft with the fallen needles, and a delicious green smell hovered in the air. We came to a clearing, where was a little pond; I watered the poor beast, and, throwing myself down, drank deeply. Then I tied him to a tree and advanced a few steps alone. I came to a sort of terrace, and going forward found myself at the edge of the hill, looking over the plain. Behind, the tall fir trees gave me shade and coolness; I sat down, looking at the country before me. In the cloudless sky it seemed now singularly beautiful. Far away on one side I could see the walls and towers of some city, and to it in broad curves wound a river; the maze and corn, vines and olive trees, covered the land, and in the distance I saw the soft blue mountains. Why should the world be so beautiful, and I so miserable? 'It is, indeed, a wonderful scene.' I looked up and saw the monk whom I had spoken with at the inn. He put down his sack and sat by my side. 'You do not think me importunate?' he asked. 'I beg your pardon,' I replied, 'I was not civil to you; you must forgive me. I was not myself.' 'Do not talk of it. I saw you here, and I came down to you to offer you our hospitality.' I looked at him questioningly; he pointed over his shoulder, and looking, I saw, perched on the top of the hill, piercing through the trees, a little monastery. 'How peaceful it looks!' I said. 'It is, indeed. St Francis himself used sometimes to come to enjoy the quiet.' I sighed. Oh, why could not I have done with the life I hated, and also enjoy the quiet? I felt the monk was watching me, and, looking up, I met his glance. He was a tall, thin man, with deeply-sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. And he was pale and worn from prayer and fasting. But his voice was sweet and very gentle. 'Why do you look at me?' I said. 'I was in the tavern when you disarmed the man and gave him his life.' 'It was not for charity and mercy,' I said bitterly. 'I know,' he answered, 'it was from despair.' 'How do you know?' 'I watched you; and at the end I said, '"God pity his unhappiness."' I looked with astonishment at the strange man; and then, with a groan, I said,-- 'Oh, you are right. I am so unhappy.' He took my hands in his, and with the gentleness of the mother of God herself replied,-- '"Come unto Me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."' Then I could suffer my woe no longer. I buried my face in his bosom, and burst into tears. EPILOGUE And now many years have passed, and the noble gentleman, Filippo Brandolini is the poor monk Giuliano; the gorgeous clothes, velvets and satins, have given way to the brown sackcloth of the Seraphic Father; and instead of golden belts my waist is girt with a hempen cord. And in me, what changes have taken place! The brown hair, which women kissed, is a little circlet in sign of the Redeemer's crown, and it is as white as snow. My eyes are dim and sunken, my cheeks are hollow, and the skin of my youth is ashy and wrinkled; the white teeth of my mouth have gone, but my toothless gums suffice for the monkish fare; and I am old and bent and weak. * * * * * One day in the spring I came to the terrace which overlooks the plain, and as I sat down to warm myself in the sunshine, gazing at the broad country which now I knew so well, and the distant hills, the wish came to me to write the history of my life. And now that, too, is done. I have nothing more to tell except that from the day when I arrived, weary of soul, to the cool shade of the fir trees, I have never gone into the world again. I gave my lands and palaces to my brother in the hope that he would make better use of his life than I, and to him I gave the charge of seeing that heirs were given to the ancient name. I knew I had failed in everything. My life had gone wrong, I know not why; and I had not the courage to adventure further. I withdrew from the battle in my unfitness, and let the world pass on and forget my poor existence. * * * * * Checco lived on, scheming and intriguing, wearing away his life in attempts to regain his fatherland, and always he was disappointed, always his hopes frustrated, till at last he despaired. And after six years, worn out with his fruitless efforts, mourning the greatness he had lost, and pining for the country he loved so well, he died of a broken heart, an exile. Matteo went back to his arms and the reckless life of the soldier of fortune, and was killed bravely fighting against the foreign invader, and died, knowing that his efforts, too, had been in vain, and that the sweet land of Italy lay fallen and enslaved. And I do not know whether they had not the better lot; for they are at peace, while I--I pursue my lonely pilgrimage through life, and the goal is ever far off. Now it cannot be much longer, my strength is failing, and soon I shall have the peace I wished for. Oh God, I do not ask You for crowns of gold and heavenly raiment, I do not aspire to the bliss which is the portion of the saint, but give me rest. When the great Release comes, give me rest; let me sleep the long sleep without awakening, so that at last I may forget and be at peace. O God, give me rest! Often, as I trudged along the roads barefooted to gather food and alms, have I wished to lay myself in the ditch by the wayside and die. Sometimes I have heard the beating of the wings of the Angel of Death; but he has taken the strong and the happy, and left me to wander on. The good man told me I should receive happiness; I have not even received forgetfulness. I go along the roads thinking of my life and the love that ruined me. Ah! how weak I am; but, forgive me, I cannot help myself! Sometimes when I have been able to do good I have felt a strange delight, I have felt the blessed joy of charity. And I love my people, the poor folk of the country round. They come to me in their troubles, and when I can help them I share their pleasure. But that is all I have. Ah! mine has been a useless life, I have wasted it; and if of late I have done a little good to my fellowmen, alas! how little! I bear my soul in patience, but sometimes I cannot help rising up against fate, and crying out that it is hard that all this should happen to me. Why? What had I done that I should be denied the little happiness of this world? Why should I be more unhappy than others? But then I chide myself, and ask whether I have indeed been less happy. Are they any of them happy? Or are those right who say that the world is misery, and that the only happiness is to die? Who knows? Ah, Giulia, how I loved thee! O Ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova? Tutti tornate alla gran madre antica, E'l nome vostro appena si ritrova. . . . . . . . . Blind that ye are! How doth this struggle profit you? Return ye must to the great Antique Mother, And even your name scarcely remains. THE END Colsson & Coy., Limited, Printers, Edinburgh. * * * * * T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher, SIX-SHILLING NOVELS _In uniform green cloth, large crown 8vo., gilt tops, 6s._ =Effie Hetherington.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN. Second Edition. =An Outcast of the Islands.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. Second Edition. =Almayer's Folly.= By JOSEPH CONRAD. Second Edition. =The Ebbing of the Tide.= By LOUIS BECKE. Second Edition. =A First Fleet Family.= By LOUIS BECKE and WALTER JEFFERY. =Paddy's Woman=, and Other Stories. By HUMPHREY JAMES. =Clara Hopgood.= By MARK RUTHERFORD. Second Edition. =The Tales of John Oliver Hobbes.= Portrait of the Author. Second Edition. =The Stickit Minister.= By S. R. CROCKETT. Eleventh Edition. =The Lilac Sunbonnet.= By S. R. CROCKETT. Sixth Edition. =The Raiders.= By S. R. CROCKETT. Eighth Edition. =The Grey Man.= By S. R. CROCKETT. =In a Man's Mind.= By J. R. WATSON. =A Daughter of the Fen.= By J. T. BEALBY. Second Edition. =The Herb-Moon.= By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. Third Edition. =Nancy Noon.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT. Second Edition. With New Preface. =Mr. Magnus.= By F. REGINALD STATHAM. Second Edition. =Trooper Peter Halket of Mashonaland.= By OLIVE SCHREINER. Frontispiece. =Pacific Tales.= By LOUIS BECKE. With Frontispiece Portrait of the Author. Second Edition. =Mrs. Keith's Crime.= By Mrs. W. K. CLIFFORD. Sixth Edition. With Portrait of Mrs. Keith by the Hon. JOHN COLLIER, and a New Preface by the Author. =Hugh Wynne.= By Dr. S. WEIR MITCHELL. With Frontispiece Illustration. =The Tormentor.= By BENJAMIN SWIFT, Author of "Nancy Noon." =Prisoners of Conscience.= By AMELIA E. BARR, Author of "Jan Vedder's Wife." With 12 Illustrations. =The Gods, some Mortals and Lord Wickenham.= New Edition. By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES. =The Outlaws of the Marches.= By Lord ERNEST HAMILTON. Fully illustrated. =The School for Saints:= Part of the History of the Right Honourable Robert Orange, M.P. By JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, Author of "Sinner's Comedy," "Some Emotions and a Moral," "The Herb Moon," &c. =The People of Clopton.= By GEORGE BARTRAM. 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. * * * * * T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher, WORKS BY JOSEPH CONRAD I. AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS _Crown 8vo., cloth_, =6s.= "Subject to the qualifications thus disposed of (_vide_ first part of notice), 'An Outcast of the Islands' is perhaps the finest piece of fiction that has been published this year, as 'Almayer's Folly' was one of the finest that was published in 1895.... Surely this is real romance--the romance that is real. Space forbids anything but the merest recapitulation of the other living realities of Mr. Conrad's invention--of Lingard, of the inimitable Almayer, the one-eyed Babalatchi, the Naturalist, of the pious Abdulla--all novel, all authentic. Enough has been written to show Mr. Conrad's quality. He imagines his scenes and their sequence like a master; he knows his individualities and their hearts; he has a new and wonderful field in this East Indian Novel of his.... Greatness is deliberately written; the present writer has read and re-read his two books, and after putting this review aside for some days to consider the discretion of it, the word still stands."--_Saturday Review_. * * * * * II. ALMAYER'S FOLLY _Second Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth_, =6s=. ="This startling, unique, splendid book."= MR. T. P. O'CONNOR, M.P. "This is a decidedly powerful story of an uncommon type, and breaks fresh ground in fiction.... All the leading characters in the book--Almayer, his wife, his daughter, and Dain, the daughter's native lover--are well drawn, and the parting between father and daughter has a pathetic naturalness about it, unspoiled by straining after effect. There are, too, some admirably graphic passages in the book. The approach of a monsoon is most effectively described.... The name of Mr. Joseph Conrad is new to us, but it appears to us as if he might become the Kipling of the Malay Archipelago."--_Spectator_. 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. * * * * * T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher. PADDY'S WOMAN BY HUMPHREY JAMES Crown 8vo., 6s. "Traits of the Celt of humble circumstances are copied with keen appreciation and unsparing accuracy." Scotsman. " ... They are full of indescribable charm and pathos."--_Bradford Observer._ "The outstanding merit of this series of stories is that they are absolutely true to life ... the photographic accuracy and minuteness displayed are really marvellous." _Aberdeen Free Press._ "'Paddy's Woman and Other Stories' by Humphrey James; a volume written in the familiar diction of the Ulster people themselves, with =perfect realism and very remarkable ability.... For genuine human nature and human relations, and humour of an indescribable kind, we are unable to cite a rival to this volume=." _The World._ "For a fine subtle piece of humour we are inclined to think that ='A Glass of Whisky'= takes a lot of beating.... In short Mr. Humphrey James has given us a delightful book, and one which does as much credit to his heart as to his head. We shall look forward with a keen anticipation to the next 'writings' by this shrewd, 'cliver,' and compassionate young author."--_Bookselling._ 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. * * * * * T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher, THE GREY MAN BY S. R. CROCKETT =Crown 8vo., cloth 6s.= _Also, an Edition de Luxe, with 26 Drawings by_ SEYMOUR LUCAS, R.A., _limited to 250 copies, signed by Author. Crown 4to., cloth gilt, 21s. net._ "It has nearly all the qualities which go to make a book of the first-class. Before you have read twenty pages you know that you are reading a classic."--_Literary World_. "All of that vast and increasing host of readers who prefer the novel of action to any other form of fiction should, nay, indeed, must, make a point of reading this exceedingly fine example of its class."--_Daily Chronicle_. "With such passages as these [referring to quotations], glowing with tender passion, or murky with horror, even the most insatiate lover of romance may feel that Mr. Crockett has given him good measure, well pressed down and running over."--_Daily Telegraph_. * * * * * T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher, A DAUGHTER OF THE FEN BY J. T. BEALBY _Second Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s._ "It will deserve notice at the hands of such as are interested in the ways and manner of living of a curious race that has ceased to be." _Daily Chronicle._ "For a first book 'A Daughter of the Fen' is full of promise."--_Academy._ "This book deserves to be read for its extremely interesting account of life in the Fens and for its splendid character study of Mme. Dykereave." "Deserves high praise."--_Scotsman._ [_Star._ "It is an able, interesting ... an exciting book, and is well worth reading. And when once taken up it will be difficult to lay it down." _Westminster Gazette._ * * * * * IN A MAN'S MIND BY JOHN REAY WATSON _Crown 8vo., cloth, =6s=_. "We regard the book as well worth the effort of reading."--_British Review._ "The book is clever, very clever."--_Dundee Advertiser._ "The power and pathos of the book are undeniable."--_Liverpool Post._ "It is a book of some promise."--_Newsagent._ "Mr. Watson has hardly a rival among Australian writers, past or present. There is real power in the book--power of insight, power of reflection, power of analysis, power of presentation.... 'Tis a very well made book--not a set of independent episodes strung on the thread of a name or two, but closely interwoven to the climax." _Sydney Bulletin._ "There is behind it all a power of drawing human nature that in time arrests the attention."--_Athenæum._ * * * * * 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. * * * * * NANCY NOON BY BENJAMIN SWIFT _Second Edition._ _Cloth_, =6s.= Some Reviews on the First Edition. "'Nancy Noon' is perhaps the strongest book of the year, certainly by far the strongest book which has been published by any new writer.... Mr. Swift contrives to keep his book from end to end real, passionate, even intense.... If Mr. Meredith had never written, one would have predicted, with the utmost confidence, a great future for Mr. Benjamin Swift, and even as it is I have hopes."--_Sketch._ "Certainly a promising first effort."--_Whitehall Review._ "If 'Nancy Noon' be Mr. Swift's first book, it is a success of an uncommon kind."--_Dundee Advertiser._ "'Nancy Noon' is one of the most remarkable novels of the year, and the author, avowedly a beginner, has succeeded in gaining a high position in the ranks of contemporary writers.... All his characters are delightful. In the heat of sensational incidents or droll scenes we stumble on observations that set us reflecting, and but for an occasional roughness of style--elliptical, Carlyle mannerisms--the whole is admirably written."--_Westminster Gazette._ "Mr. Swift has the creative touch and a spark of genius."--_Manchester Guardian._ "Mr. Swift has held us interested from the first to the last page of his novel."--_World._ "The writer of 'Nancy Noon' has succeeded in presenting a powerfully written and thoroughly interesting story."--_Scotsman._ "We are bound to admit that the story interested us all through, that it absorbed us towards the end, and that not until the last page had been read did we find it possible to lay the book down."--_Daily Chronicle._ "It is a very strong book, very vividly coloured, very fascinating in its style, very compelling in its claim on the attention, and not at all likely to be soon forgotten."--_British Weekly._ "A clever book.... The situations and ensuing complications are dramatic, and are handled with originality and daring throughout."--_Daily News._ "Mr. Benjamin Swift has written a vastly entertaining book."--_Academy._ T. FISHER UNWIN, Publisher, THE HALF-CROWN SERIES * * * * * _Each Demy 12mo., cloth._ 1. =A Gender in Satan.= By RITA. 2. =The Making of Mary.= By JEAN M. MCILWRAITH. 3. =Diana's Hunting.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN. 4. =Sir Quixote of the Moors.= By JOHN BUCHAN. 5. =Dreams.= By OLIVE SCHREINER. 6. =The Honour of the Flag.= By CLARK RUSSELL. 7. =Le Selve.= By OUIDA. 2nd Edition. 8. =An Altruist.= By OUIDA. 2nd Edition. THE CAMEO SERIES _Demy 12mo., half-bound, paper boards, price_ =3s. 6d.= _Vols._ 14-17, =3s. 6d.= _net._ _Also, an Edition de Luxe, limited to 30 copies, printed on Japan paper._ _Prices on application._ 1. =The Lady from the Sea.= By HENRIK IBSEN. Translated by ELEANOR MARX AVELING. Second Edition. Portrait. 4. =Iphigenia in Delphi,= with some Translations from the Greek. By RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D. Frontispiece. 5. =Mirelo:= A Provençal Poem. By FREDERIC MISTRAL. Translated by H. W. PRESTON. Frontispiece by JOSEPH PENNELL. 6. =Lyrics.= Selected from the Works of A. MARY F. ROBINSON (Mme. JAMES DARMESTETER). Frontispiece. 7. =A Minor Poet.= By AMY LEVY. With Portrait. Second Edition. 8. =Concerning Cats:= A Book of Verses by many Authors. Edited by GRAHAM R. THOMPSON. Illustrated. 9. =A Chaplet from the Greek Anthology.= By RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D. 11. =The Love Songs of Robert Burns.= Selected and Edited, with Introduction, by Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS, Bart. With Front. Portrait. 12. =Love Songs of Ireland.= Collected and Edited by KATHERINE TYNAN. 13. =Retrospect,= and other Poems. By A. MARY F. ROBINSON (Mme. DARMESTETER), Author of "An Italian Garden," &c. 14. =Brand:= A Dramatic Poem. By HENRIK IBSEN. Translated by F. EDMUND GARRETT. 15. =The Son of Don Juan.= By Don JOSÉ ECHEGARAY. Translated into English, with biographical Introduction, by JAMES GRAHAM. With Etched Portrait of the Author by Don B. MAURA. 16. =Mariana.= By Don JOSÉ ECHEGARAY. Translated into English by JAMES GRAHAM. With a Photogravure of a recent Portrait of the Author. 17. =Flamma Vestalis=, and other Poems. By EUGENE MASON. Frontispiece after Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES. 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E.C. * * * * * THE MERMAID SERIES The Best Plays of the Old Dramatists. Literal Reproductions of the Old Text. _Post 8vo., each Volume containing about 500 pages, and an etched Frontispiece, cloth_, =3s. 6d.= _each._ 1. =The Best Plays of Christopher= =Marlowe.= Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIS, and containing a General Introduction to the Series by JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. 2. =The Best Plays of Thomas Otway.= Introduction by the Hon. RODEN NOEL. 3. =The Best Plays of John Ford.=-- Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIS. 4 and 5. =The Best Plays of Thomas= =Massinger.= Essay and Notes by ARTHUR SYMONS. 6. =The Best Plays of Thomas Heywood.= Edited by A. W. VERITY. Introduction by J. A. SYMONDS. 7. =The Complete Plays of William= =Wycherley.= Edited by W. C. WARD. 8. =Nero,= and other Plays. Edited by H. P. HORNE, ARTHUR SYMONS, A. W. VERITY, and H. ELLIS. 9 and 10. =The Best Plays of Beaumont= =and Fletcher.= Introduction by J. ST. LOE STRACHEY. 11. =The Complete Plays of William= CONGREVE. Edited by ALEX. C. EWALD. 12. =The Best Plays of Webster and= =Tourneur.= Introduction by JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. 13 and 14. =The Best Plays of= =Thomas Middleton=. Introduction by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 15. =The Best Plays of James Shirley.= Introduction by EDMUND. GOSSE. 16. =The Best Plays of Thomas= =Dekker.= Notes by ERNEST RHYS. 17, 19, and 20. =The Best Plays of= =Ben Jonson.= Vol. I. edited, with Introduction and Notes, by BRINSLEY NICHOLSON and C. H. HERFORD. 18. =The Complete Plays of Richard= =Steele.= Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by G. A. AITKEN. 21. =The Best Plays of George Chapman.= Edited by WILLIAM LYON PHELPS, Instructor of English Literature at Yale College. 22. =The Select Plays of Sir John= =Vanbrugh.= Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by A. E. H. SWAEN. _PRESS OPINIONS._ "Even the professed scholar with a good library at his command will find some texts here not otherwise easily accessible; while the humbler student of slender resources, who knows the bitterness of not being able to possess himself of the treasure stored in expensive folios or quartos long out of print, will assuredly rise up and thank Mr. Unwin."--_St. James's Gazette._ "Resumed under good auspices."--_Saturday Review._ "The issue is as good as it could be."--_British Weekly._ "At once scholarly and interesting."--_Leeds Mercury._ 11, Paternoster Buildings, London, E. C. * * * * * The following typographical errors were corrected by the etext transcriber: somone=>someone get's over those things so=>get's over those things so off on the proferred arm=>off on the proffered arm the inns and outs of the Palace=>the ins and outs of the Palace The door off the Countess's apartments was opened=>The door of the Countess's apartments was opened where was the enthuiasm we had expected=>where was the enthusiasm we had expected We stood looking up at her with open mouths, dumbfoundered>=We stood looking up at her with open mouths, dumbfounded The castellan had turned his=>The Castellan had turned his They shank back and he went his way.=>They shrank back and he went his way. fidgetting with the lappet of his cloak.=>fidgeting with the lappet of his cloak. might have done differenly.=>might have done differently. leave me me in peace.=>leave me in peace. He vowed never to touch her again, and every time be broke the vow.=>He vowed never to touch her again, and every time he broke the vow. the horse's owner.=>the house's owner. 
12745	----	THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS JOINT EDITORS ARTHUR MEE Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge J.A. HAMMERTON Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopædia VOL. XI ANCIENT HISTORY MEDIÆVAL HISTORY * * * * * Table of Contents ANCIENT HISTORY EGYPT MASPERO, GASTON Dawn of Civilization Struggle of the Nations Passing of the Empires JEWS JOSEPHUS, FLAVIUS Antiquities of the Jews Wars of the Jews MILMAN, HENRY History of the Jews GREECE HERODOTUS History THUCYDIDES Peloponnesian War XENOPHON Anabasis GROTE, GEORGE History of Greece SCHLIEMANN, HEINRICH Troy and Its Remains ROME CÆSAR, JULIUS Commentaries on the Gallic War TACITUS, PUBLIUS CORNELIUS Annals SALLUST, CATOS CRISPUS Conspiracy of Catiline GIBBON, EDWARD Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire MOMMSEN, THEODOR History of Rome MEDIÆVAL HISTORY HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE GIBBON, EDWARD The Holy Roman Empire EUROPE GUIZOT, F.P.G. History of Civilization in Europe HALLAM, HENRY View of the State of Europe During the Middle Ages EGYPT LANE-POOLE, STANLEY Egypt in the Middle Ages ENGLAND HOLINSHED, RAPHAEL Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland FREEMAN, E.A. Norman Conquest of England FROUDE, JAMES ANTHONY History of England A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end of Volume XX. * * * * * Acknowledgment Acknowledgment and thanks for permitting the use of the following selections--"The Dawn of Civilisation," "The Struggle of the Nations" and "The Passing of the Empires," by Gaston Maspero--which appear in this volume, are hereby tendered to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, of London, England. * * * * * Ancient History GASTON MASPERO The Dawn of Civilisation Gaston Camille Charles Maspero, born on June 23, 1846, in Paris, is one of the most renowned of European experts in philology and Egyptology, having in great part studied his special subjects on Oriental ground. After occupying for several years the Chair of Egyptology in the École des Hautes Études at the Sorbonne in Paris, he became, in 1874, Professor of Egyptian Philology and Archæology at the Collège de France. From 1881 to 1886 he acted in Egypt as director of the Boulak Museum. It was under his superintendence that this museum became enriched with its choicest antique treasures. Dr. Maspero retired in 1886, but in 1899 again went to Egypt as Director of Excavations. His works are of the utmost value, his skill in marshalling facts and deducting legitimate inferences being unrivalled. His masterpiece is an immense work, with the general title of "History of the Ancient Peoples of the Classic East," divided into three parts, each complete in itself: (1) "The Dawn of Civilisation"; (2) "The Struggle of the Nations"; (3) "The Passing of the Empires." _I.--The Nile and Egypt_ A long, low, level shore, scarcely rising above the sea, a chain of vaguely defined and ever-shifting lakes and marshes, then the triangular plain beyond, whose apex is thrust thirty leagues into the land--this, the Delta of Egypt, has gradually been acquired from the sea, and is, as it were, the gift of the Nile. Where the Delta ends, Egypt proper begins. It is only a strip of vegetable mould stretching north and south between regions of drought and desolation, a prolonged oasis on the banks of the river, made by the Nile, and sustained by the Nile. The whole length of the land is shut in by two ranges of hills, roughly parallel at a mean distance of about twelve miles. During the earlier ages the river filled all this intermediate space; and the sides of the hills, polished, worn, blackened to their very summits, still bear unmistakable traces of its action. Wasted and shrunken within the deeps of its own ancient bed, the stream now makes a way through its own thick deposits of mud. The bulk of its waters keep to the east, and constitutes the true Nile, the "Great River" of the hieroglyphic inscriptions. At Khartoum the single channel in which the river flowed divides, and two other streams are opened up in a southerly direction, each of them apparently equal in volume to the main stream. Which is the true Nile? Is it the Blue Nile, which seems to come down from the distant mountains? Or is it the White Nile, which has traversed the immense plains of equatorial Africa? The old Egyptians never knew. The river kept the secret of its source from them as obstinately as it withheld it from us until a few years ago. Vainly did their victorious armies follow the Nile for months together, as they pursued the tribes who dwelt upon its banks, only to find it as wide, as full, as irresistible in its progress as ever. It was a fresh-water sea--_iauma, ioma_ was the name by which they called it. The Egyptians, therefore, never sought its source. It was said to be of supernatural origin, to rise in Paradise, to traverse burning regions inaccessible to man, and afterwards to fall into a sea whence it made its way to Egypt. The sea mentioned in all the tales is, perhaps, a less extravagant invention than we are at first inclined to think. A lake, nearly as large as the Victoria Nyanza, once covered the marshy plain where the Bahr-el-Abiad unites with the Sobat and with the Bahr-el-Ghazal. Alluvial deposits have filled up all but its deepest depression, which is known as Birket Nu; but in ages preceding our era it must still have been vast enough to suggest to Egyptian soldiers and boatmen the idea of an actual sea opening into the Indian Ocean. Everything is dependent upon the river--the soil, the produce of the soil, the species of animals it bears, the birds which it feeds--and hence it was the Egyptians placed the river among their gods. They personified it as a man with regular features, and a vigorous but portly body, such as befits the rich of high lineage. Sometimes water springs from his breast; sometimes he presents a frog, or libation of vases, or bears a tray full of offerings of flowers, corn, fish, or geese. The inscriptions call him "Hapi, father of the gods, lord of sustenance, who maketh food to be, and covereth the two lands of Egypt with his products; who giveth life, banisheth want, and filleth the granaries to overflowing." He is evolved into two personages, one being sometimes coloured red, the other blue. The former, who wears a cluster of lotus-flowers on his head, presides over Egypt of the south; the latter has a bunch of papyrus for his headdress, and watches over the Delta. Two goddesses, corresponding to the two Hapis--Mirit Qimait for the Upper, and Mirit-Mihit for the Lower Egypt--personified the banks of the river. They are represented with outstretched arms, as though begging for the water that should make them fertile. _II.--The Gods of Egypt_ The incredible number of religious scenes to be found represented on the ancient monuments of Egypt is at first glance very striking. Nearly every illustration in the works of Egyptologists shows us the figure of some deity. One would think the country had been inhabited for the most part by gods, with just enough men and animals to satisfy the requirements of their worship. Each of these deities represented a function, a moment in the life of man or of the universe. Thus, Naprit was identified with the ripe ear of wheat; Maskhonit appeared by the child's cradle at the very moment of its birth; and Raninit presided over the naming and nurture of the newly born. In penetrating this mysterious world we are confronted by an actual jumble of gods, many being of foreign origin; and these, with the indigenous deities, made up nations of gods. This mixed pantheon had its grades of noble princes and kings, each of its members representing one of the forces constituting the world. Some appeared in human form; others as animals; others as combinations of human and animal forms. The sky-gods, like the earth-gods, were separated into groups, the one composed of women: Hathor of Denderah, or Nit of Sais; the other composed of men identical with Horus, or derived from him: Anhuri-Shu of Sebennytos and Thinis; Harmerati, or Horus, of the two eyes, at Pharbæthos; Har-Sapedi, or Horus, of the zodiacal light, in the Wady Tumilat; and, finally, Harhuditi at Edfu. Ra, the solar disc, was enthroned at Heliopolis; and sun-gods were numerous among the home deities. Horus the sun, and Ra the sun-god of Heliopolis, so permeated each other that none could say where the one began and the other ended. Each of the feudal gods representing the sun cherished pretensions to universal dominion. The goddesses shared in supreme power. Isis was entitled lady and mistress of Buto, as Hathor was at Denderah, and as Nit was at Sais. The animal-gods shared omnipotence with those in human form. Each of the feudal divinities appropriated two companions and formed a trinity; or, as it is generally called, a triad. Often the local deity was content with one wife and one son, but often he was united to two goddesses. The system of triads enhanced, rather than lowered, the prestige of the feudal gods. The son in a divine triad had of himself but limited authority. When Isis and Osiris were his parents, he was generally an infant Horus, whose mother nursed him, offering him her breast. The gods had body and soul, like men; they had bones, muscles, flesh and blood; they hungered and thirsted, ate and drank; they had our passions, griefs, joys and infirmities; and they were subject to age, decrepitude and death, though they lived very far beyond the term of life of men. The _sa_, a mysterious fluid, circulated through their members, and carried with it divine vigour; and this they could impart to men, who thus might become gods. Many of the Pharaohs became deities. The king who wished to become impregnated with the divine _sa_ sat before the statue of the god in order that this principle might be infused into him. The gods were spared none of the anguish and none of the perils which death so plentifully bestows on men. The gods died; each nome possessed the mummy and the tomb of its dead deity. At Thinis there was the mummy of Anhuri in its tomb, at Mendes the mummy of Osiris, at Heliopolis that of Tumu. Usually, by dying, the god became another deity. Ptah of Memphis became Sokaris; Uapuaitu, the jackal of Siut, was changed into Anubis. Osiris first represented the wild and fickle Nile of primitive times; but was soon transformed into a benefactor to humanity, the supremely good being, Unnofriu, Onnophris. He was supposed to assume the shapes not only of man, but of rams and bulls, or even of water-birds, such as lapwings, herons, and cranes. His companion goddess was Isis, the cow, or woman with cow's horns, who personified the earth, and was mother of Horus. There were countless gods of the people: trees, serpents and family fetishes. Fine single sycamores, flourishing as if by miracle amid the sand, were counted divine, and worshipped by Egyptians of all ranks, who made them offerings of figs, grapes, cucumbers, vegetables and water. The most famous of them all, the Sycamore of the South, used to be regarded as the living body of Hathor on earth. Each family possessed gods and fetishes, which had been pointed out by some fortuitous meeting with an animal or an object; perhaps by a dream and often by sudden intuition. _III.--Legendary History of Egypt_ The legendary history of Egypt begins with the Heliopolitan Enneads, or traditions of the divine dynasties of Ra, Shu, Osiris, Sit and Horus. Great space is taken up with the fabulous history of Ra, the first king of Egypt, who allows himself to be duped and robbed by Isis, destroys rebellious men, and ascends to heaven. He dwelt in Heliopolis, where his court was mainly composed of gods and goddesses. In the morning he went forth in his barque, amid the acclamations of the crowd, made his accustomed circuit of the world, and returned to his home at the end of twelve hours after the journey. In his old age he became the subject of the wiles of Isis, who poisoned him, and so secured his departure from earth. He was succeeded by Shu and Sibu, between whom the empire of the universe was divided. The fantastic legends concocted by the priests go on to relate how at length Egypt was civilised by Osiris and Isis. By Osiris the people were taught agriculture; Isis weaned them from cannibalism. Osiris was slain by the red-haired and jealous demon, Sit-Typhon, and then Egypt was divided between Horus and Sit as rivals; and so it consisted henceforth of two kingdoms, of which one, that of the north, duly recognised Horus, son of Isis, as its patron deity; the other, that of the south, placed itself under the supreme protection of Sit-Nubiti, the god of Ombos. Elaborate and intricate and hopelessly confused are the fables relating to the Osirian embalmment, and to the opening of the kingdom of Osiris to the followers of Horus. Souls did not enter it without examination and trial, as it is the aim of the famous Book of the Dead to show. Before gaining access to this paradise each of them had to prove that it had during earthly life belonged to a friend or to a vassal of Osiris, and had served Horus in his exile, and had rallied to his banner from the very beginning of the Typhonian wars. To Menes of Thinis tradition ascribes the honour of fusing the two Egypts into one empire, and of inaugurating the reign of the human dynasties. But all we know of this first of the Pharaohs, beyond his existence, is practically nothing, and the stories related of him are mere legends. The real history of the early centuries eludes our researches. The history as we have it is divided into three periods: 1. The Memphite period, which is usually called the "Ancient Empire," from the First to the Tenth dynasty: kings of Memphite origin were rulers over the whole of Egypt during the greater part of this epoch. 2. The Theban period, from the Eleventh to the Twentieth dynasty. It is divided into two parts by the invasion of the Shepherds (Sixteenth dynasty). 3. Saite period, from the Twenty-first to the Thirtieth dynasty, divided again into two parts by the Persian Conquest, the first Saite period, from the Twenty-first to the Twenty-sixth dynasty; the second Saite Period, from the Twenty-eighth to the Thirtieth dynasty. _IV.--Political Constitution of Egypt_ Between the Fayum and the apex of the Delta, the Libyan range expands and forms a vast and slightly undulating table-land, which runs parallel to the Nile for nearly thirty leagues. The great Sphinx Harmakhis has mounted guard over its northern extremity ever since the time of the followers of Horus. In later times, a chapel of alabaster and rose granite was erected alongside the god; temples were built here and there in the more accessible places, and round these were grouped the tombs of the whole country. The bodies of the common people, usually naked and uncoffined, were thrust into the sand at a depth of barely three feet from the surface. Those of the better class rested in mean rectangular chambers, hastily built of yellow bricks, without ornaments or treasures; a few vessels, however, of coarse pottery contained the provisions left to nourish the departed during the period of his existence. Some of the wealthy class had their tombs cut out of the mountain-side; but the great majority preferred an isolated tomb, a "mastaba," comprised of a chapel above ground, a shaft, and some subterranean vaults. During the course of centuries, the ever-increasing number of tombs formed an almost uninterrupted chain, are rich in inscriptions, statues, and in painted or sculptured scenes, and from the womb, as it were, of these cemeteries, the Egypt of the Memphite dynasties gradually takes new life and reappears in the full daylight of history. The king stands out boldly in the foreground, and his tall figure towers over all else. He is god to his subjects, who call him "the good-god," and "the great-god," connecting him with Ra through the intervening kings. So the Pharaohs are blood relations of the sun-god, the "divine double" being infused into the royal infant at birth. The monuments throw full light on the supernatural character of the Pharaohs in general, but tell us little of the individual disposition of any king in particular, or of their everyday life. The royal family was very numerous. At least one of the many women of the harem received the title of "great spouse," or queen. Her union with the god-king rendered her a goddess. Children swarmed in the palace, as in the houses of private citizens, and they were constantly jealous of each other, having no bond of union except common hatred of the son whom the chances of birth had destined to be their ruler. Highly complex degrees of rank are revealed to us on the monuments of the people who immediately surrounded the Pharaoh. His person was, as it were, minutely subdivided into compartments, each requiring its attendants and their appointed chiefs. His toilet alone gave employment to a score of different trades. The guardianship of the crowns almost approached the dignity of a priesthood, for was not the urseus, which adorned each one, a living goddess? Troops of musicians, singers, dancers, buffoons and dwarfs whiled away the tedious hours. Many were the physicians, chaplains, soothsayers and magicians. But vast indeed was the army of officials connected with the administration of public affairs. The mainspring of all this machinery was the writer, or, as we call him, the scribe, across whom we come in all grades of the staff. The title of scribe was of no particular value in itself, for everyone was a scribe who knew how to read and write, was fairly proficient in wording the administrative formulas, and could easily apply the elementary rules of book-keeping. "One has only to be a scribe, for the scribe takes the lead of all," said the wise man. Sometimes, however, a talented scribe rose to a high position, like the Amten, whose tomb was removed to Berlin by Lepsius, and who became a favourite of the king and was ennobled. _V.--The Memphite Empire_ At that time "the Majesty of King Huni died, and the Majesty of King Snofrui arose to be a sovereign benefactor over this whole earth." All we know of him is contained in one sentence: he fought against the nomads of Sinai, constructed fortresses to protect the eastern frontier of the Delta, and made for himself a tomb in the form of a pyramid. Snofrui called the pyramid "Kha," the Rising, the place where the dead Pharaoh, identified with the sun, is raised above the world for ever. It was built to indicate the place in which lies a prince, chief, or person of rank in his tribe or province. The worship of Snofrui, the first pyramid-builders, was perpetuated from century to century. His popularity was probably great; but his fame has been eclipsed in our eyes by that of the Pharaohs of the Memphite dynasty who immediately followed him--Kheops, Khephren and Mykerinos. Khufui, the Kheops of the Greeks, was probably son of Snofrui. He reigned twenty-three years, successfully defended the valuable mines of copper, manganese and turquoise of the Sinaitic peninsula against the Bedouin; restored the temple of Hathor at Dendera; embellished that of Babastis; built a sanctuary to the Isis of the Sphinx; and consecrated there gold, silver and bronze statues of Horus and many other gods. Other Pharaohs had done as much or more; but the Egyptians of later dynasties measured the magnificence of Kheops by the dimensions of his pyramid at Ghizel. The Great Pyramid was called Khuit, the "Horizon," in which Kheops had to be swallowed up, as his father, the sun, was engulfed every evening in the horizon of the west. Of Dadufri, his immediate successor, we can probably say that he reigned eight years; but Khephren, the next son who succeeded to the throne, erected temples and a gigantic pyramid, like his father. He placed it some 394 feet to the south-west of that of Kheops, and called it Uiru the Great. It is much smaller than its neighbour, but at a distance the difference in height disappears. The pyramid of Mykerinos, son and successor of Khephren, was considerably inferior in height, but was built with scrupulous art and refined care. The Fifth dynasty manifested itself in every respect as the sequel and complement of the Fourth. It reckons nine Pharaohs, who reigned for a century and a half, and each of them built pyramids and founded cities, and appear to have ruled gloriously. They maintained, and even increased, the power and splendour of Egypt. But the history of the Memphite Empire unfortunately loses itself in legend and fable, and becomes a blank for several centuries. _VI.--The First Theban Empire_ The principality of the Oleander--Naru--comprised the territory lying between the Nile and the Bahr Yusuf, a district known to the Greeks as the island of Heracleopolis. It, moreover, included the whole basin of the Fayum, on the west of the valley. Attracted by the fertility of the soil, the Pharaohs of the older dynasties had from time to time taken up their residence in Heracleopolis, the capital of the district of the Oleander, and one of them, Snofrui, had built his pyramid at Medum, close to the frontier of the nome. In proportion as the power of the Memphites declined, so did the princes of the Oleander grow more vigorous and enterprising; and When the Memphite kings passed away, these princes succeeded their former masters and eventually sat "upon the throne of Horus." The founder of the Ninth dynasty was perhaps Khiti I., who ruled over all Egypt, and whose name has been found on rocks at the first cataract. His successors seem to have reigned ingloriously for more than a century. The history of this period seems to have been one of confused struggle, the Pharaohs fighting constantly against their vassals, and the nobles warring amongst themselves. During the Memphite and Heracleopolitan dynasties Memphis, Elephantiné, El-Kab and Koptos were the principal cities of the country; and it was only towards the end of the Eighth dynasty that Thebes began to realise its power. The revolt of the Theban. princes put an end to the Ninth dynasty; and though supported by the feudal powers of Central and Northern Egypt, the Tenth dynasty did not succeed in bringing them back to their allegiance, and after a struggle of nearly 200 years the Thebans triumphed and brought the two divisions of Egypt under their rule. The few glimpses to be obtained of the early history of the first Theban dynasty give the impression of an energetic and intelligent race. The kings of the Eleventh dynasty were careful not to wander too far from the valley of the Nile, concentrating their efforts not on conquest of fresh territory, but on the remedy of the evils from which the country had suffered for hundreds of years. The final overthrow of the Heracleopolitan dynasty, and the union of the two kingdoms under the rule of the Theban house, are supposed to have been the work of that Monthotpu, whose name the Egyptians of Rameside times inscribed in the royal lists as that of the founder and most illustrious representative of the Eleventh dynasty. The leader of the Twelfth dynasty, Amenemhait I., was of another stamp, showing himself to be a Pharaoh conscious of his own divinity and determined to assert it. He inspected the whole land, restored what he found in ruins, crushed crime, settled the bounds of towns, and established for each its frontiers. Recognising that Thebes lay too far south to be a suitable place of residence for the lord of all Egypt, Amenemhait proceeded to establish himself in the heart of the country in imitation of the glorious Pharaohs from whom he claimed descent. He took up his abode a little to the south of Dashur, in the palace of Titoui. Having restored peace to his country, the king in the twentieth year of his reign, when he was growing old, raised his son Usirtasen, then very young, to the co-regency with himself. When, ten years later, the old king died, his son was engaged in a war against the Libyans. He reigned alone for thirty-two years. The Twelfth dynasty lasted 213 years; and its history can be ascertained with greater certainty and completeness than that of any other dynasty which ruled Egypt, although we are far from having any adequate idea of its great achievements, for unfortunately the biographies of its eight sovereigns and the details of their interminable wars are very imperfectly known. Uncertainty again shrouds the history of the country after the reign of Sovkhoptu I. The Twentieth dynasty contained, so it is said, sixty kings, who reigned for a period of over 453 years. The Nofirhoptus and Sovkhoptus continued to all appearances both at home and abroad the work so ably begun by the Amenemhaits and the Usirtasens. During the Thirteenth dynasty art and everything else in Egypt were fairly prosperous, but wealth exercised an injurious effect on artistic taste. During this dynasty we hear nothing of the inhabitants of the Sinaitic Peninsula to the east, or of the Libyans to the west; it was in the south, in Ethiopia, that the Pharaohs expended all their superfluous energy. The middle basin of the Nile as far as Gebel-Barkal was soon incorporated with Egypt, and the population became quickly assimilated. Sovkhoptu III., who erected colossal statues of himself at Tanis, Bubastis and Thebes, was undisputed master of the whole Nile valley, from near the spot where it receives its last tributary to where it empties itself into the sea. The making of Egypt was finally accomplished in his time. The Fourteenth dynasty, however, consists of a line of seventy-five kings, whose mutilated names appear on the Turin Papyrus. These shadowy Pharaohs followed each other in rapid sequence, some reigning only a few months, others for certainly not more than two and three years. Meantime, during what appears to have been an era of rivalries between pretenders, mutually jealous of and deposing one another, usurpers in succession seizing the crown without strength to keep it, the feudal lords displayed more than their old restlessness. The nomad tribes began to show growing hostility on the frontier, and the peoples of the Tigris and Euphrates were already pushing their vanguards into Central Syria. While Egypt had been bringing the valley of the Nile and the eastern corner of Africa into subjection, Chaldæa had imposed not only language and habits, but also her laws upon the whole of that part of Eastern Asia which separated her from Egypt. Thus the time was rapidly approaching when these two great civilised powers of the ancient world would meet each other face to face and come into fierce and terrible collision. _VII.--Ancient Chaldæa_ The Chaldæan account of Genesis is contained on fragments of tablets discovered and deciphered in 1875 by George Smith. These tell legends of the time when "nothing which was called heaven existed above, and when nothing below had as yet received the name of earth. Apsu, the Ocean, who was their first father, and Chaos-Tiamat, who gave birth to them all, mingled their waters in one, reeds which were not united, rushes which bore no fruit. In the time when the gods were not created, Lakhmu and Lakhamu were the first to appear and waxed great for ages." Then came Anu, the sunlit sky by day, the starlit firmament by night; Inlil-Bel, the king of the earth; Ea, the sovereign of the waters and the personification of wisdom. Each of them duplicated himself, Anu into Anat, Bel into Belit, Ea into Damkina, and united himself to the spouse whom he had produced from himself. Other divinities sprang from these fruitful pairs, and, the impulse once given, the world was rapidly peopled by their descendants. Sin, Samash and Ramman, who presided respectively over the sun, moon and air, were all three of equal rank; next came the lords of the planets, Ninib, Merodach, Nergal, Ishtar, the warrior-goddess, and Nebo; then a whole army of lesser deities who ranged themselves around Anu as around a supreme master. Discord arose. The first great battle of the gods was between Tiamat and Merodach. In this fearful conflict Tiamat was destroyed. Splitting her body into halves, the conqueror hung up one on high, and this became the heavens; the other he spread out under his feet to form the earth, and made the universe as men have known it. Merodach regulated the movements of the sun and divided the year into twelve months. The heavens having been put in order, he set about peopling the earth. Many such fables concerning the cosmogony were current among the races of the lower Euphrates, who seem to have belonged to three different types. The most important were the Semites, who spoke a dialect akin to Armenian, Hebrew and Phoenician. Side by side with these the monuments give evidence of a race of ill-defined character, whom we provisionally call Sumerians, who came, it is said, from some northern country, and brought with them a curious system of writing which, adopted by ten different nations, has preserved for us all that we know in regard to the majority of the empires which rose and fell in Western Asia before the Persian conquest. The cities of these Semites and Sumerians were divided into two groups, one in the south, near the sea, the other more to the north, where the Euphrates and the Tigris are separated by a narrow strip of land. The southern group consisted of seven, Eridu lying nearest the coast. Uru was the most important. Lagash was to the north of Eridu. The northern group consisted of Nipur, "the incomparable," Borsip, Babylon (gate of the god and residence of life, the only metropolis of the Euphrates region of which posterity never lost reminiscence), Kishu, Kuta, Agade, and, lastly, the two Sipparas, that of Shamash, and that of Annuit. The earliest Chaldæan civilisation was confined almost to the banks of the lower Euphrates; except at the northern boundary it did not reach the Tigris and did not cross the river. Separated from the rest of the world, on the east by the vast marshes bordering on the river, on the north by the Mesopotamian table-land, on the west by the Arabian desert, it was able to develop its civilisation as Egypt had done, in an isolated area, and to follow out its destiny in peace. According to Ferossasi the first king was Aloros of Babylon. He was chosen by the god Oannes, and reigned supernaturally for ten sari, or 36,000 years, each saros being 3,600 years. Nine kings follow, each in this mythical record reigning an enormous period. Then took place the great deluge, 691,000 years after the creation, in consequence of the wickedness of men, who neglected the worship of the gods, and excited their wrath. Shamashnapishtim, king at this time in Shurippak, was saved miraculously in a great ship. Concerning him and his voyage strange fables are recorded. After the deluge, 86 kings ruled during 34,080 years. One of these was Nimrod, the mighty hunter of the Bible, who appears as Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, and is the hero of extraordinary adventures. History proper begins with Sargon the Elder, king at the first in Agade, who soon annexed Babylon, Sippara, Kishu, Uruk, Kuta and Nipur. His brilliant career was like an anticipation of that of the still more glorious life of Sargon of Nineveh. His son, Naramsin, succeeded him about 3750 B.C. He conquered Elam and was a great builder. After him the most famous king of that epoch was Gudea, of Lagash, the prince of whom we possess the greatest number of monuments. But in these records we have but the dust of history rather than history itself. The materials are scanty in the extreme and the framework also is wanting. _VIII.--The Temples and the Gods of Chaldæa_ The cities of the Euphrates attract no attention, like those of Egypt, by the magnificence of their ruins. They are merely heaps of rubbish in which no architectural outline can be traced--mounds of stiff greyish clay, containing the remains of the vast structures that were built of bricks set in mortar or bitumen. Stone was not used as in Egypt. While the Egyptian temple was spread superficially over a large area, the Chaldæan temple strove to attain as high an elevation as possible. These "ziggurats" were composed of several immense cubes piled up on one another, and diminishing in size up to the small shrine by which they were crowned, and wherein the god himself was supposed to dwell. The gods of the Euphrates, like those of the Nile, constituted a countless multitude of visible and invisible beings, distributed into tribes and empires throughout all the regions of the universe; but, whereas in Egypt they were, on the whole, friendly to man, in Chaldæa they for the most part pursued him with an implacable hatred, and only seemed to exist in order to destroy him. Whether Semite or Sumerian, the gods, like those of Egypt, were not abstract personages, but each contained in himself one of the principal elements of which our universe is composed--earth, air, sky, sun, moon and stars. The state religion, which all the inhabitants of the same city were solemnly bound to observe, included some dozen gods, but the private devotion of individuals supplemented this cult by vast additions, each family possessing its own household gods. Animals never became objects of worship as in Egypt; some of them, however, as the bull and the lion, were closely allied to the gods. If the idea of uniting all these gods into a single supreme one ever crossed the mind of a Chaldæan theologian, it never spread to the people as a whole. Among all the thousands of tablets or inscribed stones on which we find recorded prayers, we have as yet discovered no document containing the faintest allusion to a divine unity. The temples were miniature reproductions of the arrangements of the universe. The "ziggurat" represented in its form the mountain of the world, and the halls ranged at its feet resembled approximately the accessory parts of the world; the temple of Merodach at Babylon comprised them all up to the chambers of fate, where the sun received every morning the tablets of destiny. Every individual was placed, from the very moment of his birth, under the protection of a god or goddess, of whom he was the servant, or rather the son. These deities accompanied him by day and by night to guard him from the evil genii ready to attack him on every side. The Chaldæans had not such clear ideas as to what awaited them in the other world as the Egyptians possessed. The Chaldæan hades is a dark country surrounded by seven high walls, and is approached by seven gates, each guarded by a pitiless warder. Two deities rule within it--Nergal, "the lord of the great city," and Peltis-Allat, "the lady of the great land," whither everything which has breathed in this world descends after death. A legend relates that Allat reigned alone in hades and was invited by the gods to a feast which they had prepared in heaven. Owing to her hatred of the light she refused, sending a message by her servant, Namtar, who acquitted himself, with such a bad grace, that Anu and Ea were incensed against his mistress, and commissioned Nergal to chastise her. He went, and finding the gates of hell open, dragged the queen by her hair from the throne, and was about to decapitate her, but she mollified him by her prayers and saved her life by becoming his wife. The nature of Nergal fitted him well to play the part of a prince of the departed; for he was the destroying sun of summer, and the genius of pestilence and battle. His functions in heaven and earth took up so much of his time that he had little leisure to visit his nether kingdom, and he was consequently obliged to content himself with the rôle of providing subjects for it by dispatching thither the thousands of recruits which he gathered daily from the abodes of men or from the field of battle. _IX.--Chaldæan Civilisation_ The Chaldæan kings, unlike their contemporaries, the Pharaohs, rarely put forward any pretension to divinity. They contented themselves with occupying an intermediate position between their subjects and the gods. While the ordinary priest chose for himself a single deity as master, the priest-king exercised universal sacerdotal functions. He officiated for Merodach here below, and the scrupulously minute devotions daily occupied many hours. On great days of festival or sacrifice they laid aside all insignia of royalty and were clad as ordinary priests. Women do not seem to have been honoured in the Euphratean regions as in Egypt, where the wives of the sovereign were invested with that semi-sacred character that led the women to be associated with the devotions of the man, and made them indispensable auxiliaries in all religious ceremonies. Whereas the monuments on the banks of the Nile reveal to us princesses sharing the throne of their husbands, whom they embrace with a gesture of frank affection, in Chaldæa, the wives of the prince, his mother, sisters, daughters and even his slaves, remain absolutely invisible to posterity. The harem in which they were shut up by force of custom rarely, if ever, opened its doors; the people seldom caught sight of them; and we could count on our fingers the number of these whom the inscriptions mention by name. Life was not so pleasant in Chaldæa as in Egypt. The innumerable promissory notes, the receipted accounts, the contracts of sale and purchase--these cunningly drawn-up deeds which have been deciphered by the hundred, reveal to us a people greedy of gain, exacting, litigious, and almost exclusively absorbed in material concerns. The climate, too, variable and oppressive in summer and winter alike, imposed on the Chaldæan painful exactions, and obliged him to work with an energy of which the majority of Egyptians would not have felt themselves capable. And the plague of usury raged with equal violence in city and country. In proportion, however, as we are able to bring this wonderful civilisation to light we become more and more conscious that we have indeed little or nothing in common with it. Its laws, customs, habits and character, its methods of action and its modes of thought, are so far apart from those of the present day that they seem to belong to a humanity utterly different from our own. It thus happens that while we understand to a shade the classical language of the Greeks and of the Romans, and can read their works almost without effort, the great primitive literatures of the world, the Egyptian and Chaldæan, have nothing to offer us for the most part but a sequence of problems to solve or of enigmas to unriddle with patience. * * * * * The Struggle of the Nations Maspero in this work gives us the second volume of his great historical trilogy. He shows in parallel views the part played in the history of the ancient world by the first Chaldæan Empire, by Syria, by the Hyksos, or shepherd kings, of Egypt, and by the first Cossæan kings who established the greatness of Nineveh and the Assyrian Empire. The great Theban dynasty is then exhibited in its romantic rise under the Pharaohs. Maspero writes not as a mere chronicler or reciter of events, but as a philosophical historian. He makes the reader understand how fatally the chronic militarism of these competing empires drained each of its manhood and brought Babylon and Assyria simultaneously into a hopeless condition of national anæmia. Equally pathetic is the picture drawn of the gradual but sure decay of the grand empire of the Pharaohs. Maspero, with masterly skill, passes a processional of these despots before our eyes. _I.--The Chaldæan Empire and the Hyksos_ Some countries seem destined from their origin to become the battlefields of the contending nations which environ them. Into such regions neighbouring peoples come to settle their quarrels, and bit by bit they appropriate it, so that at best the only course open to the inhabitants is to join forces with one of the invaders. From remote antiquity this was the experience of Syria, which was thus destined to become subject to foreign rule. Chaldæa, Egypt, Assyria and Persia in turn presided over its destinies. Semites dwelt in the south and the centre, while colonies from beyond the Taurus occupied the north. The influence of Egypt never penetrated beyond the provinces lying nearest the Dead Sea. The remaining populations looked rather to Chaldæa, and received the continuous impress of the kingdoms of the Euphrates. The lords of Babylon had, ordinarily, a twofold function, the priest at first taking precedence of the soldier, but gradually yielding to the latter as the city increased in power. Each ruler was obliged to go in state to the temple of Bel Merodach within a year of his accession, there to do homage to the divine statue. The long lists of early kings contain semi-legendary names, including those of mythical heroes. Towards the end of the twenty-fifth century, however, before the Christian era, a dynasty arose of which all the members come within the range of history. The first of these kings, Sumuabim, has left us some contracts bearing the dates of one or other of the fifteen years of his reign. Of the ten kings who followed during the period embraced between the years 2416 B.C. and 2112 B.C., the one who ruled for the longest term was the. famous and fortunate Khammurabi (son of Sinmuballit), who was on the throne for fifty-five years. While thus the first Chaldean Empire was being established, Egypt, separated from her confines only by a narrow isthmus, loomed on the horizon, and appeared to beckon to her rival. But she had strangely declined from her former greatness, and had been attacked and subdued by invaders appearing like a cloud of locusts on the banks of the Nile, to whom was applied the name Hiq Shausu, from which the Greeks derived the term Hyksos for this people. Modern scholars have put forward many conflicting hypotheses as to the identity of this race of conquerors. The monuments represent them with the Mongoloid type of feature. The problem remains unsolved, and the origin of the Hyksos is as mysterious as ever. About this time took place that entrance into Egypt of the Beni-Isræl, or Isrælites, which has since acquired a unique position in the world's history. A comparatively ancient tradition relates that the Hebrews arrived in Egypt during the reign of Aphobis, a Hyksos king, doubtless one of the Apopi. The Hyksos were ousted by a hero named Ahmosis after a war of five years. The XVIIIth Dynasty was inaugurated by the Pharaohs, whose policy was so aggressive that Egypt, attacked by enemies from various quarters, and roused, as it were, to warlike frenzy, hurled her armies across all her frontiers simultaneously, and her sudden appearance in the heart of Syria gave a new turn to human history. The isolation of the kingdoms of the ancient world was at an end; and the conflict of the nations was about to begin. _II.--Beginning of the Egyptian Conquest_ The Egyptians had no need to anticipate Chaldæan interference when, forsaking their ancient traditions, they penetrated for the first time into the heart of Syria. Babylonian rule ceased to exercise direct control when the line of sovereigns who had introduced it disappeared. When Ammisatana died, about the year 2099 B.C., the dynasty of Khammurabi became extinct, and kings of the semi-barbarous Cossæan race gained the throne which had been occupied since the days of Khammurabi by Chaldæans of the ancient stock. The Cossæan king who seized on Babylon was named Gandish. He and his tribe came from the mountainous regions of Zagros, on the borders of Media. The Cossæan rule over the countries of the Euphrates was doubtless similar in its beginnings to that which the Hyksos exercised at first over the nomes of Egypt. The Cossæan kings did not merely bring with them their army, but their whole nation, who spread over the whole land. As in the case of the Hyksos, the barbarian conquerors thus became merged in the more civilised people which they had subdued. But the successors of Gandish were unable permanently to retain their ascendancy over all the districts and provinces, and several of these withdrew their allegiance. Thus in Syria the authority of Babylon was no longer supreme when the encroachments of Egypt began, and when Thutmosis entered the region the native levies which he encountered were by no means formidable. The whole country consisted of a collection of petty states, a complex group of peoples and territories which the Egyptians themselves never completely succeeded in disentangling. We are, however, able to distinguish at the present time several of these groups, all belonging to the same family, but possessing different characteristics--the kinsfolk of the Hebrews, the children of Ishmæl and Edom, the Moabites and Ammonites, the Arameans, the Khati and the Canaanites. The Canaanites were the most numerous, and had they been able to confederate under a single king, it would have been impossible for the Egyptians to have broken through the barrier thus raised between them and the rest of Asia. _III.--The Eighteenth Theban Dynasty_ The account of the first expedition undertaken by Thutmosis I. in Asia, a region at that time new to the Egyptians, would be interesting if we could lay our hands on it. We know that this king succeeded in reaching on his first campaign a limit which none of his successors was able to surpass. The results of the campaign were of a decisive character, for Southern Syria accepted its defeat, and Gaza was garrisoned as the secure door of Asia for future invasions. Freed from anxiety in this quarter, Pharaoh gave his whole time to the consolidation of his power in Ethiopia, where rebellion had become rife. Subduing this southern region and thus extending the supremacy of Egypt in the regions of the upper Nile, Thutmosis was able to end his days in the enjoyment of profound peace. Thutmosis II. did not long survive him. His chief wife, Queen Hatshopsitu, reigned for many years with great ability while the new Pharaoh, Thutmosis III., was still a youth. After the death of Hatshopsitu, the young Pharaoh set out with his army. It was at the beginning of the twenty-fourth year of his reign that he reached Gaza. Marching forward he reached the spurs of Mount Carmel and won a decisive victory at Megiddo over the allied Syrian princes. The inscriptions at Karnak contain long lists of the titles of the king's Syrian subjects. The Pharaoh had now no inclination to lay down his arms, and we have a record of twelve military expeditions of this king. When the Syrian conquest had been effected, Egypt gave permanency to its results by means of a series of international decrees, which established the constitution of her empire, and brought about her concerted action with the Asiatic powers. She had already occupied an important position among them when Thutmosis III. died in the fifty-fifth year of his reign. Of his successors the most prosperous was the renowned Amenothes III., who is immortalised by the wonderful monumental relics of his long and peaceful reign. Amenothes devoted immense energy to the building of temples, palaces and shrines, and gave very little of his time to war. _IV.--The Last Days of the Theban Empire_ When the male line failed, there was no lack of princesses in Egypt, of whom any one who happened to come to the throne might choose a consort after her own heart, and thus become the founder of a new dynasty. By such a chance alliance Harmhabi, himself a descendant of Thutmosis III., was raised to the kingly office as first Pharaoh of the XIXth Dynasty. He displayed great activity both within Egypt and beyond it, conducting mighty building enterprises and also undertaking expeditions against recalcitrant tribes along the Upper Nile. Rameses I., who succeeded Harmhabi, was already an old man at his accession. He reigned only six or seven years, and associated his son, Seti I., with himself in the government from his second year of power. No sooner had Seti celebrated his father's obsequies than he set out for war against Southern Syria, then in open revolt. He captured Hebron, marched to Gaza, and then northward to Lebanon, where he received the homage of the Phoenicians, and returned in triumph to Egypt, bringing troops of captives. By Seti I. were built the most wonderful of the halls at Karaak and Luxor, which render his name for ever illustrious. He associated with him his son, still very young, who became renowned as Ramses II., one of the greatest warriors and builders amongst all the rulers of Egypt The monuments and temples erected by this king also are among the wonders of the world. He married a Hittite princess when he was more than sixty. This alliance secured a long period of peace and prosperity. Syria once more breathed freely, her commerce being under the combined protection of the two Powers who shared her territory. Ramses II. was, in his youth, the handsomest man of his time, and old age and death did not succeed in marring his face sufficiently to disfigure it, as may be seen in his mummy to-day. Ramses the Great, who was thus the glory of the XIXth Dynasty, reigned sixty-eight years, and lived to the age of 100, when he passed away peacefully at Thebes. Under his successors, Minephtah, Seti II., Amenemis and Siphtah, the nation became decadent, though there were transient gleams of prosperity, as when Minephtah won a great victory over the Libyans. But after the death of Siphtah, there were many claimants for the Crown, and anarchy prevailed from one end of the Nile valley to the other. _V.--The Rise of the Assyrian Empire_ Ramses III., a descendant of Ramses II., was the founder of the last dynasty which was able to retain the supremacy of Egypt over the Oriental world. He took for his hero Ramses the Great, and endeavoured to rival him in everything, and for a period the imperial power revived. In the fifth year of his reign he was able to repulse the confederated Libyans with complete success. Victories over other enemies followed, and also peace and prosperity. The cessation of Egyptian authority over those countries in which it had so long prevailed did not at once do away with the deep impression it had made on their constitution and customs. Syria and Phoenicia had become, as it were, covered with an African veneer, both religion and language being affected by Egyptian influence. But the Phoenicians became absorbed in commercial pursuits, and failed to aspire to the inheritance which the Egyptians were letting slip. Coeval with the decline of the power of the latter was that of the Hittites. The Babylonian Empire likewise degenerated under the Cossæan kings, and gave way to the ascendancy of Assyria, which came to regard Babylon with deadly hatred. The capitals of the two countries were not more than 185 miles apart. The line of demarcation followed one of the many canals between the Tigris and Euphrates. It then crossed the Tigris and was formed by one of the rivers draining the Iranian table-land--the Upper Zab, the Radanu, or the Turnat. Each of the two states strove by every means in its power to stretch its boundary to the farthest limits, and the narrow area was the scene of continual war. Assyria was but a poor and insignificant country when compared with that of her rival. She occupied, on each side of the middle course of the Tigris, the territory lying between the 35th and 37th parallels of latitude. This was a compact and healthy district, well watered by the streams running from the Iranian plateau, which were regulated by a network of canals and ditches for irrigation of the whole region. The provinces thus supplied with water enjoyed a fertility which passed into a proverb. Thus Assyria was favoured by nature, but she was not well wooded. The most important of the cities were Assur, Arbeles, Kalakh and Nineveh. Assur, dedicated to the deity from which it took its name, placed on the very edge of the Mesopotamian desert, with the Tigris behind it, was, during the struggle with the Chaldæan power, exposed to the attacks of the Babylonian armies; while Nineveh, entrenched behind the Tigris and the Zab, was secure from any sudden assault. Thus it became the custom for the kings to pass at Nineveh the trying months of the year, though Assur remained the official capital and chief sanctuary of the empire, which began its aggrandisement under Assurballit, by his victory over the Cossæan kings of Babylon. But the heroic age comes before us in the career of Shalmaneser I., a powerful sovereign who in a few years doubled the extent of his dominions. He beautified Assur, but removed his court to Kalakh. His son, Tukulti-ninip I., made himself master of Babylon, and was the first of his race who was able to assume the title of King of Sumir and Akkad. This first conquest of Chaldæa did not produce lasting results, for the sons of the hero fought each other for the Crown, and Assyria became the scene of civil wars. The fortunes of Babylon rose again, but the depression of Assyria did not last long. Nineveh had become the metropolis. Confusion was increased in the whole of this vast region of Asia by the invasion and partial triumph of the Elamites over Babylon. But these were driven back when Nebuchadrezzar arose in Babylon. To Merodach he prayed, and "his prayer was heard," and he invaded Elam, taking its king by surprise and defeating him. Nebuchadrezzar no longer found any rival to oppose him save the king of Assyria, whom he attacked; but now his aggression was checked, for though his forces were successful at first, they were ultimately sent flying across the frontiers with great loss, through the prowess of Assurishishi, who became a mighty king in Nineveh. But his son, Tiglath-pileser, is the first of the great warrior kings of Assyria to stand out before us with any definite individuality. He immediately, on his accession, began to employ in aggressive wars the well-equipped army left by his father, and in three campaigns he regained all the territories that Shalmaneser I. had lost, and also conquered various regions of Asia Minor and Syria. In a rising of the Chaldæans he met with a severe defeat, which he did not long survive, dying about the year 1100 B.C. There is only one gleam in the murky night of this period. A certain Assurirba seems to have crossed Northern Syria, and, following in the footsteps of his great ancestor, to have penetrated as far as the Mediterranean; on the rocks of Mount Amanus, facing the sea, he left a triumphal inscription in which he set forth the mighty deeds he had accomplished. His good fortune soon forsook him. The Arameans wrested from him the fortresses of Pitru and Mutkinu, which commanded both banks of the Euphrates near Carchemish. What were the causes of this depression from which Babylon suffered at almost regular intervals, as though stricken with some periodic malady? The main reason soon becomes apparent if we consider the nature of the country and the material conditions of its existence. Chaldæa was neither extensive nor populous enough to afford a solid basis for the ambition of her princes. Since nearly every man capable of bearing arms was enrolled in the army, the Chaldæan kings had no difficulty in raising, at a moment's notice, a force which could be employed to repel an invasion, or to make a sudden attack on some distant territory; it was in schemes that required prolonged and sustained effort that they felt the drawbacks of their position. In that age of hand-to-hand combats, the mortality in battle was very high; forced marches through forests and across mountains entailed a heavy loss of men, and three or four campaigns against a stubborn foe soon reduced the army to a condition of weakness. When Nebuchadrezzar I. made war on Assurishishi, he was still weak from the losses he had incurred during the campaign against Elam, and could not conduct his attack with the same vigour as had gained him victory on the banks of the Ulai. In the first year he only secured a few indecisive advantages; in the second he succumbed. The same reasons which explain the decadence of Babylon show us the causes of the periodic eclipses undergone by Assyria after each outburst of her warlike spirit. The country was now forced to pay for the glories of Assurishishi and of Tiglath-pileser by falling into an inglorious state of languor and depression. And ere long newer races asserted themselves which had gradually come to displace the nations over which the dynasties of Thutmosis and Ramses had held sway as tributary to them. The Hebrews on the east, and the Philistines on the southwest, were about to undertake the conquest of Kharu, as the land which is known to us as Canaan was styled by the Egyptians. * * * * * The Passing of the Empires Maspero, in the third volume of his great archæological trilogy, completing his "History of the Ancient Peoples of the Classic East," deals with the passing in succession of the supremacies of the Babylonian, Assyrian, Chaldæan, Medo-Persian and Iranian Empires. The period dealt with in this graphic narrative covers fully five centuries, from 850 B.C. to 330 B.C. M. Maspero in cinematographic style passes before us the actors in many of the most thrilling of historic dramas. One excellent feature of his method is his balancing of evidences. Where Xenophon and Herodotus absolutely differ he tells what each asserts. With consummate skill also he arranges his recital like a series of dissolving views, showing how epochs overlap, and how as Babylon is fading Assyria is rising, and as the latter in turn is waning Media is looming into sight. We are, in this third instalment of Maspero's monumental work, brought to understand how the decline of one mighty Asiatic empire after another, culminating in the overthrow of the Persian dominion by Alexander, prepared at length for the entry of Western nations on the stage, and how Europe became the heir of the culture and civilisation of the Orient. _I.--The Assyrian Revival_ Since the extinction of the race of Nebuchadrezzar I. Babylon had been a prey to civil discord and foreign invasion. It was a period of calamity and distress, during which the Arabs or the Arameans ravaged the country, and an Elamite usurper overthrew the native dynasty and held authority for seven years. This intruder having died about the year 1030 B.C., a Babylonian of noble extraction expelled the Elamites and succeeded in bringing the larger part of the dominion under his rule. Five or six of his descendants passed away and another was feebly reigning when war broke out afresh with Assyria, and the two armies encountered each other again on their former battlefield between the Lower Zab and the Turnat. The Assyrians were victorious under their king, Tukulti-ninip II., who did not live long to enjoy his triumph. His son, Assur-nazir-pal, inherited a kingdom which embraced scarcely any of the countries that had paid tribute to former sovereign, for most of these had gradually regained their liberty. Nearly the whole empire had to be re-conquered under much the same conditions as in the first instance, but Assyria had recovered the vitality and elasticity of its earlier days. Its army now possessed a new element. This was the cavalry, properly so called, as an adjunct to the chariotry. But it must be remembered that the strength and discipline which the Assyrian troops possessed in such high degree were common to the military forces of all the great states--Elam, Damascus, Nairi, the Hittites and Chaldea. Thus, the armies of all these states being, as a rule, both in strength and numbers much on a par, no single power was able to inflict on any of the rest such a defeat as would be its destruction. Twice at least in three centuries a king of Assyria had entered Babylon, and twice the Babylonians had forced the intruder back. Profiting by the past, Assur-nazir-pal resolutely avoided those conflicts in which so many of his predecessors had wasted their lives. He was content to devote his attention to less dangerous enemies than the people of Babylonia. Invading Nummi, he quickly captured its chief cities, then subdued the Kirruri, attacked the fortress of Nishtu, and pillaged many of the cities around. Bubu, the Chief of Nishtu, was flayed alive. After a reign of twenty-five years he died in 860 B.C. A summary of the events in the reign of thirty-five years of his successor, Shalmaneser III., is contained on the Black Obelisk of Nimroud, discovered by Layard and preserved in the British Museum. He conquered the whole country round Lake Van, ravaging the country "as a savage bull ravages and tramples under his feet the fertile fields." An attack on Damascus led to a terrible but indecisive battle, Benhadad, King of Syria, proving himself fully a match for the invader. But a war with Babylon, lasting for a period of two years, ended with victory for Assyria, and Shalmaneser, entering the city, went direct to the temple of E-shaggil, where he offered worship to the local gods. Memorable events followed, first in connection with Damascus, Ahab, King of Isræl, Benhadad's ally, and other confederates, had not been faithful to his suzerainty. Ahab had by treaty agreed to surrender the city of Ramoth-gilead to the Syrian monarch and had not fulfilled his pledge. He and Jehoshaphat, King of Judah, had concluded an alliance against Benhadad, who seized the disputed fortress, and the two had organised an expedition, which led to the death of Ahab in battle. Isræl lapsed once more into the position of a vassal to Benhadad, and long remained in that subjection. The last days of Shalmaneser were embittered by the revolt of his son, Assur-dain-pal, and his death occurred in 824 B.C. The kingdom was shaken by the struggle that ensued between his sons. Samsi-ramman IV., the brother of Assurdain-pal, reigned for twelve years; his son, Ramman-nirari III., had married the Babylonian princess Sammuramat, and so had secured peace. He was an energetic and capable ruler. To him at length Damascus made submission and paid tribute. But Menuas, a bold and able King of Urartu, proved himself a thorn in the side of the Assyrian king, for he delivered from the yoke of Nineveh the tribes on the borders of Lake Urmiah and all the adjacent regions. Everywhere along the Lower Zab, and on the frontier as far as the Euphrates, the Assyrian outposts were driven back by Menuas, who also overcame the Hittites and by his campaigns formed that kingdom of Van, or Armenia, which was quite equal in size to Assyria. He died shortly before the death of Ramman-nirari, in 784 B.C. His son, Argistis, spent the first few years of his reign in completing his conquests in the country north of the Araxes. He was attacked by Shalmaneser IV., son of Ramman-nirari, but defeated the Assyrians. Misfortunes accumulated for the rulers and people who had exercised so wide a sway, and the end of the Second Assyrian Empire was not far off. Syria was lost under Assur-nirari III., who was also driven from Calah by sedition in 746 B.C. He died some months later and the dynasty came to an end, and in 745 a usurper, the leader of the revolt at Calah, proclaimed himself king under the name of Tiglath-pileser III. The Second Empire had lasted rather less than a century and a half. _II.--To the Destruction of Babylon_ Events proved that, at this period at any rate, the decadence of Assyria was not due to any exhaustion of the race or impoverishment of the country, but was owing Mainly to the incapacity of its kings and the lack of energy displayed by their generals. The Assyrian troops had lost none of their former valour, but their leaders had shown less foresight and skill. As soon as Tiglath-pileser assumed leadership, the armies regained their former prestige and supremacy. The empire still included the original patrimony of Assur and its ancient colonies on the Upper Tigris, but the buffer provinces, containing the tribes on the borders of Syria, Namri, Nairi, Melitene, had thrown off the yoke, as had the Arameans, while Menuas of Armenia and his son Argistis had by their invasions laid waste the Median territory. Sharduris III., son of Argistis, succeeded to the throne of Armenia about 760, and at once overran the district of Babilu, carrying by storm three royal castles, 23 cities, and 60 villages. He also captured the castles of the mountaineers of Melitene. Crossing Mount Taurus about 756, he forced the Hittites to swear allegiance. It was in the middle of this eighth century B.C., in the days of Tiglath-pileser III. of Assyria, and Sharduris III. of Armenia, that Isræl, under Jehoash, and his son Jeroboam II.; inspired by the exhortations of Elisha the prophet, was rehabilitated for a season, winning victories over the Syrians and taking vengeance on Damascus, and then attacking the Moabites. The sudden collapse of Damascus led to the decline of Syria, but though Jeroboam II. seemed to be firmly seated as king in Samaria, the downfall of Isræl and Judah alike, as well as of Tyre, Edom, Gaza, Moab, and Ammon, was foretold by the prophet Amos, while from the midst of Ephraim the priest-seer, Hosea, was never weary of reproaching the tribes with their ingratitude and of predicting their coming desolation. Ere long, Tiglath-pileser began his campaigns against them by attacking the Arameans, dwelling on the banks of the Tigris. He overthrew them at the first encounter. Nabunazir, then king in Babylon, bowed before him and swore fidelity to him, and he visited Sippar, Nipur, Babylon, Borsippa, Kuta, Kishu, Dilbat and Uruk, Babylonian "cities without a peer," and offered sacrifices to all their gods--to Bel Zirbanit, Nebo, Tashmit, and Nir-gal. This settlement took place in 745 B.C. His next exploit was the rapid conquest of the mountainous and populous regions on the shores of the Caspian. And now he ventured to try conclusions with Armenia and to attack the famous kingdom of Urartu in the difficult fastnesses round Lakes Van and Urumiah. Crossing the Euphrates in the spring of 743 B.C., he captured Arpad, and soon afterwards marched forth to meet the great army of Sharduris. The rout of the latter was complete, and he fled, after losing 73,000 men. The victor was covered with glory; yet the triumph cost him dear, for the forces left him were not sufficient to finish the campaign, nor to extort allegiance from the Syrian princes who had allied themselves with Sharduris. After spending the winter in Nineveh, reorganising his troops, the Assyrian inaugurated a campaign which ended in the subjugation of Northern Syria and its incorporation in the empire. Only one difficulty foiled Tiglath-pileser. He failed to capture the impregnable fortress of Dhuspas, in which Sharduris had taken refuge. This capital of Urartu held out against a long siege, and at length the Assyrian army withdrew. Sharduris remained king as before, but he was utterly spent, and his power had received a blow from which it never recovered. Since then, Armenia has more than once challenged fortune, but always with the same result; it fared no better under Tigranes in the Roman epoch than under Sharduris in the time of the Assyrians. As for Egypt at this period, it was ruled over by what is known as the Bubastite dynasty, so called from the city of Bubastis, in the Delta, where the Pharaohs of the time, Osorkon I., his son Takeloti I., and his grandson, Osorkon II., for an interval of fifty years chiefly resided, abstaining from politics, so that the country enjoyed an interval of profound peace. But the old cause brought about the fall of this dynasty also. Military feudalism again developed and Egypt split up into many petty states. The sceptre at length passed to another dynasty, this time of Tanite origin. Petubastis was the first of the line, but the power was really in the hands of the priests, one of whom, Auiti, actually declared himself king, together with Pharaoh. Sensational events followed. The weakness of Egypt tempted an uprising of the Ethiopians, who overran a great part of the country. And it was at this period that Tiglath-pileser crushed the kingdom of Isræl, King Pekah being compelled to flee from Samaria into the mountains, while the inhabitants of Naphtali and Gilead were carried into captivity. Nabonazir, King of Babylon, who had never swerved from the fidelity he had sworn to his mighty ally after the events of 745, died in 734 B.C., and was succeeded by his son Nabunadinziri, who at the end of two years was assassinated in a popular rising, and one of his sons, Nabushumukin, who was concerned in the rising, usurped the crown. He wore it for two months and twelve days, and then abdicated in favour of a certain Ukinzir, an Aramean chief. But Tiglath-pileser gave the new dynasty no time to settle itself firmly on the throne. The year after his return from Syria he marched against it. After two years of fighting Ukinzir was overcome and captured. Tiglath-pileser entered Babylon as conqueror, and caused himself to be proclaimed King of Sumir and Akkad within its walls. Many centuries had passed since the two empires had been united under one ruler. His Babylonian subjects seem to have taken a liking for him; but he did not long survive his triumph, dying after having reigned eighteen years over Assyria, and less than two years over Babylon and Chaldæa. The next great Assyrian name is that of Sargon II., whose origin is not clear. And the incidents of the revolution which raised him to the throne are also unknown. The first few years of his reign, which commenced in 722 B.C., were harassed by revolts among many of the border tribes, but these he resolutely faced at all points, inflicting overwhelming defeats on the Medes and the Armenians. The Philistines were cowed by the storming of Ashdod, and Sargon subdued Phoenicia, carrying his arms to the sea. This great monarch, while wars raged round him, found time for extensive works of a peaceful character, completing the system of irrigation, and erecting buildings at Calah and Nineveh, and raising a magnificent palace at Dur-Sharrukin. And here he intended in peace to build a great city, but he was, in 105 B.C., assassinated by an alien soldier. Sennacherib, his son, fighting on the frontier, was recalled and proclaimed immediately. He either failed to inherit his father's good fortune, or lacked his ability. Instead of conciliating the vanquished, he massacred entire tribes, and failed to re-people these with captive exiles from other nations. So, towards the end of his reign--which terminated in 681 B.C.--he found himself ruling over a sparsely inhabited desert where his father had left him flourishing and populous cities. Phoenicia and Judah formed an alliance with each other and with Egypt. Sennacherib bestirred himself and Tyre perished. The Assyrian invader then attacked Judah and besieged Jerusalem, where Hezekiah was king and Isaiah was prophesying. Whatever was the cause, half the army perished by pestilence, and Sennacherib led back the remnants of his force to Nineveh. The disaster was terrible, but not irreparable, for another and an equal host could be raised. And it was needed to quell a great Babylonian revolt led by Merodachbaladan, who had given the signal of rebellion to the mountain tribes also. After a series of terrible conflicts, Babylon was taken. And now Sennacherib, who had shown leniency after two previous revolts, displayed unbounded fury in his triumph. The massacre lasted several days, none being spared of the citizens. Piles of corpses filled the streets. The temples and palaces were pillaged, and finally the city was burnt. In the midst of his costly and absorbing wars we may well wonder how Sennacherib found time and means for building villas and temples; yet he is, nevertheless, the Assyrian king who has left us the largest number of monuments. His last years were embittered by the fierce rivalry of his sons. One of these he nominated his successor, Esarhaddon, son of a Babylonian wife. During his absence from Nineveh, on the 20th day of Teleth, 681, his father, Sennacherib, when praying before the image of his god, was assassinated by two other sons, Sharezer and Adrammelech. Esarhaddon, hearing of this tragedy, gathered an army, and in a battle defeated Sharezer and established himself on the throne. _III.--The Crisis of the Assyrian Power_ Esarhaddon was personally inclined for peace, for he delighted in building; but unfortunate disturbances did not permit him to pursue his favourite occupation without interruption, and, like his warlike predecessors, he was constrained to pass most of his life on the battlefield. He began his reign by quelling an insurrection of the Cimmerians in the territories on the border of the Black Sea. Sidon rebelled ungratefully, although his father had saved her from desolation by Tyre. He stormed and burnt the city. The Scythian tribes came on the field in 678 B.C., but they were diplomatically conciliated. Now followed a memorable event. Babylon was rebuilt. Esarhaddon used all the available captives taken in war on the foundations and the fabrication of bricks, erected walls, rebuilt all the temples, and lavishly devoted gold, silver, costly stones, rare woods, and plates of enamel to decoration. The canals were made good for the gardens, and the people, who had been scattered in various provinces, were encouraged to return to their homes. But fresh foreign complications arose through the support given continually to recalcitrant states in the south of Egypt. Esarhaddon was provoked to undertake the first actual invasion of Egypt in force by Assyria for the purpose of subduing the country. Over a great combination of the Egyptians and Ethiopians he won a crushing victory. Memphis was taken and sacked. Henceforth, Esarhaddon, in his pride, styled himself King of Egypt, and King of the Kings of Egypt, of the Said, and of Ethiopia. But he was not very long permitted to enjoy the glory of his triumph; a determined revolt of the conquered country demanded a fresh campaign. He set out, but was in bad health, and, his malady increasing, he died on the journey in the twelfth year of his reign. Before starting on the expedition, he had realised the impossibility of a permanent amalgamation of Assyria and Babylon, notwithstanding his personal affection for Babylon. Accordingly, he designated as his successors his two sons. Assurbanipal was to be King of Assyria, and Shamash-shumukin King of Babylon, under the suzerainty of his brother. As soon as Esarhaddon had passed away, the separation he had planned took place automatically, the two sons proclaiming themselves respectively kings of Assyria and Babylon. Thus Babylon regained half its independence. But the Assyrian Empire was now at its zenith. Egypt was quelled by the army of Esarhaddon, and to Assurbanipal submitted in vassalage the nations of the Mediterranean coast. Now followed years of exhausting warfare and of victory after victory, which fatally wasted the strength of Assyria. Never had the empire been so respected; never had so many nations united under one sceptre. But troubles accumulated. Mutiny in Egypt called for another expedition, which led to the capture and sacking of Thebes. Next came a war with Elam, ending in its subjection to Assyria, for the first time in history. But with success. Assurbanipal grew arrogant in his attitude to his brother, the King of Babylon, and a fratricidal war resulted in the defeat and death of Shamash-shumukin and the capture of the rival capital. But Assyria was now near one of its recurrent periods of exhaustion, and foes were rising for a formidable attack. _IV.--Fall of Media and Chaldæa_ At the very height of his apparent grandeur and prosperity Assurbanipal was attacked by Phraortes, King of the Medes, who paid for his temerity with his life, being left dead, with the greater part of his army, on the field. But the sequel was unexpected, for Cyaxares, son of the slain Mede, stubbornly continued the conflict, patiently reorganising his army, until he won a great victory over the Assyrian generals, and shut up the remnant of their forces in Nineveh. Assurbanipal, after a reign of forty-two years, died about 625 B.C., and was succeeded by his son, Assuretililani. Against his brother and successor, Sinsharishkin, the standard of rebellion was raised by Nabopolassar, the governor of Babylon, who declared himself independent, and assumed the title of king, but his reign not long after ended with his death, in 605 B.C. Nebuchadrezzar was proclaimed king in Babylon. His reign was long and prosperous, and, on the whole, a peaceful one. The most notable event in the career of Nebuchadrezzar II., was the capture and destruction of Jerusalem, in consequence of a revolt of Tyre and Judea. The unfortunate king, Zedekiah, saw his sons slain in his presence, and then, his eyes having been put out, he was loaded with chains, and sent to Babylon. Nebuchadrezzar died in 562 B.C. after a reign of fifty-five years. His successors were weak rulers, and their reigns were brief and inglorious. The army was suffered to dwindle, and the dynasty founded by Nabopolassar came to an end in 555 B.C., when Labashi-marduk, the last of the line, after reigning only nine months, was murdered by Nabonidus, a native Babylonian. This usurper witnessed the rapid rise of the new Iranian power which was to destroy him and Babylon. In 553 B.C., Cyrus, a Persian general, revolted against Astyages, defeated him, and destroyed the Median Empire at one blow. The only army that was a match for that of Cyrus was the Lydian host under King Croesus. A conflict took place between the two, ending in the defeat of the most powerful potentate of Asia Minor. But Cyrus treated Croesus with consideration, and the Lydian king is said to have become the friend of the mighty Persian. From that day neither Egypt nor Chaldæa had any chance of victory on the battlefield. Nabonidus became a mere vassal of Cyrus, and lived more or less inactively in his palace at Tima, leaving the direction of power at Babylon in the hands of his son, Bel-sharuzu. At length the Babylonians grew weary of their king. Nabonidus had never been popular, and the discontent of the people at length called for the intervention of the suzerain. In 538 Cyrus moved against Babylon, and Nabonidus now retreated into the city with his troops, and prepared for a siege. But Cyrus, taking advantage of the time of the year when the waters were lowest, diverted the Tigris, so that his soldiers were able to enter the city without striking a blow. Nabonidus surrendered, and Belsharuzur was slain. With him perished the second Chaldæan Empire. The sagacious conqueror did not pillage the city, and treated the citizens with clemency. Cyrus associated his son Cambyses with himself, making him King of Babylon. Nothing in Babylon was changed, and she remained what she had been since the fall of Assyria, the real capital of the regions between the Mediterranean and the Zapcos. The Persian dominion extended undisputed as far as the Isthmus of Suez. Under Cyrus took place the first return of the Jews to Jerusalem. According to Xenophon, the great Persian, in 529 B.C., died peaceably on his bed, surrounded by his children, and edifying them by his wisdom; but Herodotus declares that he perished miserably in fighting with the barbarian hosts of the Massagetæ, on the steppes of Turkestan, beyond the Arxes. He had believed that his destiny was to found an empire in which all other ancient empires should be merged, and he all but accomplished the stupendous task. When he passed away, Egypt alone remained to be conquered. Cambyses succeeded, took up the enterprise against Egypt; but after a series of successes met with reverses in Ethiopia, which affected his mind, and he is said to have ended his own life. Power fell into the hands of a chief of one of the seven great clans, the famous Darius, son of Hystaspes, whose rival was Nebuchadrezzar III., then King of Babylon. Once more, in his reign, Babylon was besieged and fell, Nebuchadrezzar being executed. He was an impostor who had pretended to be the son of the great Nebuchadrezzar. And now approached the last days of the greatness of the Eastern world, for the eve of the Macedonian conquest of the Near East had arrived. * * * * * FLAVIUS JOSEPHUS The Antiquities of the Jews Josephus's "Antiquities of the Jews" traces the whole history of the race down to the outbreak of the great war. He also wrote an autobiography (see Lives and Letters) and a polemical treatise, "Flavius Josephus against Apion." His style is so classically elegant that critics have called him the Greek Livy. The following summary of the "Antiquities of the Jews" contains the substance of the really valuable sections, other portions being little else than a paraphrase of the histories embodied in the Old Testament. _I.--From Alexander to Antiochus_ After Philip, King of Macedon, had been treacherously slain by Pausanias, he was succeeded by his son Alexander, who, passing over the Hellespont, overcame the army of Darius, King of Persia, at Granicum. So he marched over Lydia, subdued Ionia, overran Caria and Pamphylia, and again defeated Darius at Issus. The Persian king fled into his own land, and his mother, wife, and children were captured. Alexander besieged and took first Tyre, and then Gaza, and next marched towards Jerusalem. At Sapha, in full view of the city, he was met by a procession of the priests in fine linen, and a multitude of the citizens in white, the high-priest, Jaddua, being at their head in his resplendent robes. Graciously responding to the salutations of priests and people, Alexander entered Jerusalem, worshipped and sacrificed in the Temple, and then invited the people to ask what favours they pleased of him; whereupon the high-priest desired that they might enjoy the laws of their forefathers, and pay no tribute on the seventh year. All their requests were granted, and Alexander led his army into the neighbouring cities. Now, when Alexander was dead and his government had been divided among many, Ptolemy, the son of Lagus, by treachery seized Jerusalem, and took away many captives to Egypt, and settled them there. His successor, Ptolemy Philadelphus, restored to freedom 120,000 Jews who had been kept in slavery at the instance of Aristeus, one of his most intimate friends. He also dedicated many gifts to God, and showed great friendship to the Jews in his dominions. Other kings in Asia followed the example of Philadelphus, conferring honours on Jews who became their auxiliaries, and making them citizens with privileges equal to those enjoyed by the Macedonians and Greeks. In the reign of Antiochus the Great the Jews suffered greatly while he was at war with Ptolemy Philopater, and with his son, called Epiphanes. When Antiochus had beaten Ptolemy, he seized on Judea, but ultimately he made a league with Ptolemy, gave him his daughter Cleopatra to wife, and yielded up to him Celesyria, Samaria, Judea, and Phoenicia by way of dowry. Onias, son of Simon the Just, was then high-priest. He greatly provoked the king by neglecting to pay his taxes, so that Ptolemy threatened to settle his soldiers in Jerusalem to live on the citizens. But Joseph, the nephew of Onias, by his wisdom brought all things right again, and entered into friendship with the king, who lent him soldiers and sent him to force the people in various cities to pay their taxes. Many who refused were slain. Joseph not only thus gathered great wealth for himself, but sent much to the king and to Cleopatra, and to powerful men at the court of Egypt. He had a son named Hyrcanus, who became noted for his ability, and crossed the Jordan with many followers; he made war successfully on the Arabians, built a magnificent stone castle, and ruled over all the region for seven years, even all the time that Seleucus was king of Syria. But when Seleucus was dead, his brother Antiochus Epiphanes took the kingdom, and Hyrcanus, seeing that Antiochus had a great army, feared he should be taken and punished for what he had done to the Arabians. So he took his own life, Antiochus seizing his possessions. _II.--To the Death of Judas_ Antiochus, despising the son of Ptolemy as being but weak, and coveting the possession of Egypt, conducted an expedition against that country with a great force; but was compelled to withdraw by a declaration of the Romans. On his way back from Alexandria he took the city of Jerusalem, entering it without fighting in the 143d year of the kingdom of the Seleucidæ. He slew many of the citizens, plundered the city of much money, and returned to Antioch. After two years he again came up against Jerusalem, and this time left the Temple bare, taking away the golden altar and candlesticks, the table of shewbread, and the altar of burnt offering, and all the secret treasures. He slew some of the people, and carried off into captivity about ten thousand, burnt the finest buildings, erected a citadel, and therein placed a garrison of Macedonians. Building an idol altar in the Temple, he offered swine on it, and he compelled many of the Jews to raise idol altars in every town and village, and to offer swine on them every day. But many disregarded him, and these underwent bitter punishment. They were tortured or scourged or crucified. Now, at this time there dwelt at Modin a priest named Mattathias, a citizen of Jerusalem. He had five sons, one of whom, Judas, was called Maccabæus. Mattathias and his sons not only refused to sacrifice as Antiochus commanded, but, with his sons, attacked and slew an apostate Jewish worshipper and Apelles, the king's general, and a few of his soldiers. Then the priest and his five sons overthrew the idol altar, and fled into the desert, followed by many of their followers with their wives and children. About a thousand of these who had hidden in caves were overtaken and destroyed; but many who escaped joined themselves to Mattathias, and appointed him to be the ruler, who taught them to fight, even on the Sabbath. Gathering a great army, he overthrew the idol altars, and slew those who broke the laws. But after ruling one year, he fell into a distemper, and committed to his sons the conduct of affairs. He was buried at Modin, all the people making great lamentation. His son Judas took upon himself the administration of affairs in the 146th year, and with the help of his brothers and others, cast their enemies out of the country and purified the land of its pollutions. Judas celebrated in the Temple at Jerusalem the festival of the restoration of the sacrifices for eight days. From that time we call the yearly celebration the Feast of Lights. Judas also rebuilt the wall and reared towers of great height. When these things were over he made excursions against adversaries on every side, he and his brothers Simon and Jonathan subduing in turn Idumæa, Gilead, Jazer, Tyre, and Ashdod. Antiochus died of a distemper which overtook him as he was fleeing from Elymais, from which he was driven during an attack upon its gates. Before he died he called his friends about him, and confessed that his calamities had come upon him for the miseries he had brought upon the Jewish nation. Antiochus was succeeded by his son, Antiochus Eupator, a boy of tender age, whose guardians were Philip and Lysias. He reigned but two years, being put to death, together with Lysias, by order of the usurper Demetrius, the son of Seleucus, who fled from Rome, and, landing in Syria, gathered an army, and was joyfully received by the people. Against Jerusalem, Demetrius sent an expedition commanded by his general, Bacchides. Judas Maccabæus, fighting with great courage, but having with him only 800 men, fell in the battle. His brothers Simon and Jonathan, receiving his body by treaty from the enemy, carried it to the village of Modin, and there buried him. He left behind him a glorious reputation, by gaining freedom for his nation and delivering them from slavery under the Macedonians. He died after filling the office of high-priest for three years. _III.--To the Roman Dominion_ Jonathan and his brother Simon continued the war against Bacchides. They were assisted by Alexander, the son of Antiochus Epiphanes, who, in the 160th year, came up into Syria against Demetrius, and defeated and slew him in a great battle near Ptolemais. But the son of Demetrius, named after his father, in the 165th year, after Alexander had seated himself on the throne and had gained in marriage Cleopatra, daughter of Ptolemy Philometor, came from Crete with a great number of mercenary soldiers. Jonathan and Simon, brothers of Judas Maccabæus, entering into league with Demetrius, who offered them very great advantages, defeated at Ashdod the army sent by Alexander under Apollonius. A breach took place between Alexander and Ptolemy through the treachery of Ammonius, a friend of the former, and the Egyptian king took away his daughter Cleopatra from her husband, and immediately sent to Demetrius, offering to make a league of mutual assistance and friendship with him, to give him his daughter in marriage and to restore him to the principality of his fathers. These overtures were joyfully accepted, and Ptolemy came to Antioch and persuaded the people to receive Demetrius. Alexander was beaten in a battle by the two allies and fled into Arabia, where, however, his head was speedily cut off by Zabdiel, a prince of the country, and sent to Ptolemy. But that king, through wounds caused by falling from his horse, died a few days afterwards. Demetrius, being secure in power, disbanded a great part of his army, but this action greatly irritated the soldiers. Furthermore, he was hated, as his father had been, by the people of Syria. A revolt was raised by an Apanemian named Trypho, who overcame Demetrius in a fight, and took from him both his elephants and the city of Antioch. Demetrius on this defeat retired into Cilicia, and Trypho delivered the kingdom to Antiochus, the youthful son of Alexander, who quickly sent ambassadors to Jonathan and made him his confederate and friend, confirming him in the high-priesthood and yielding up to him four prefectures which had been added to Judea. Accordingly, Jonathan promptly joined him in a war against Demetrius, who was again defeated. Soon after Demetrius had been carried into captivity Trypho deserted Antiochus, who had now reigned four years. He usurped power, which he basely abused; and Antiochus Soter, brother of Demetrius, raised a force against him and drove him away to Apamea, where he was put to death, his term of power having lasted only three years. Antiochus Soter then attacked Simon, who successfully resisted, established peace, and ruled in all for eight years. His death also was the result of treachery, his son-in-law Ptolemy playing him false. His son Hyrcanus became high-priest, and speedily ejected the forces of Ptolemy from the land. Subduing all factions, he ruled justly for thirty-one years, leaving five sons. The eldest, Aristobulus, purposed to change the government into a kingdom, and placed a diadem on his own head; but his mother, to whom the supremacy had been entrusted, disputed his authority. He cast her into prison, where she was starved to death; and next he compassed the death of his brother Antigonus, but was soon attacked by a painful disease. He reigned only one year. His widow, Alexandra, let his brothers out of prison and made Alexander Janneus king. His reign was one of war and disorder. With savage cruelty he repressed rebellion, condemning hundreds of Jews to crucifixion. While these were yet living, their wives and children were slain before their eyes. His life was ended by a sickness which lasted three years, and after his death civil war broke out between his two sons, Aristobulus and Hyrcanus, in which great barbarities were committed. The conflict was terminated by the intervention of the Romans under Scarus. The two brothers appealed to Pompey after he came to Damascus; but that Roman general marched against Jerusalem and took it by force. Thus we lost our liberty as a nation and became subject to the Romans. _IV.--The Jews and the Romans_ Crassus next came with Roman troops into Judea and pillaged the Temple, and then marched into Parthia, where both he and his army perished. Then Cassius obtained Syria, and checked the Parthians. He passed on to Judea, fell on Tarichæa, and took it, and carried away 3,000 Jewish captives. A wealthy Idumean named Antipater, who had been a great friend of Hyrcanus, and had helped him against Aristobulus, was a very active and seditious man. He had married Cypros, a lady of his own Idumean race, by whom he had four sons, Phaselus, and Herod, who afterwards became king, and Joseph, and Pheroras; and a daughter, Salome. He cultivated friendship with other potentates, especially with the King of Arabia, to whom he committed the care of his children while he fought against Aristobulus. But when Cæsar had taken Rome, and after Pompey and the senate had fled beyond the Ionian Sea, Aristobulus was set free from the bonds in which he had been laid. Cæsar resolved to send him with two legions into Syria to set matters right; but Aristobulus had no enjoyment of this trust, for he was poisoned by Pompey's party. But Scipio, sent by Pompey to slay Alexander, son of Aristobulus, cut off his head at Antioch. And Ptolemy, son of Menneus, ruler of Chalcis, took Alexander's brethren to him, and sent his son Philippion to Askelon to Aristobulus's wife, and desired her to send back with him her son Antigonus and her daughters; the one of whom, Alexandra, Philippion fell in love with, and married her; though afterwards his father Ptolemy slew him, and married Alexandra. Now, after Pompey was dead, and after the victory Cæsar had gained over him, Antipater, who had managed the Jewish affairs, became very useful to Cæsar when he made war against Egypt, and that by the order of Hyrcanus. He brought over to the side of Cæsar the principal men of the Arabians, and also Jamblicus, the ruler of the Syrians, and Ptolemy, his son, and Tholomy, the son of Sohemus, who dwelt at Mount Libanus, and almost all the cities, and with 3,000 armed Jews he joined Mithradates of Pergamus, who was marching with his auxiliaries to aid Cæsar. Antipater and Mithradates together won a pitched battle against the Egyptians, and Cæsar not only then commended Antipater, but used him throughout that war in the most hazardous undertakings, and finally, at the end of that campaign, made him procurator of Judea, at the same time appointing Hyrcanus high-priest. Antipater, seeing that Hyrcanus was of a slow and slothful temper, made his eldest son, Phaselus, governor of Jerusalem; but committed Galilee to his next son, Herod, who was only fifteen, but was a youth of great mind, and soon proved his courage, and won the love of the Syrians by freeing their country of a nest of robbers, and slaying the captain of these, one Hezekias. Thus Herod became known to Sextus Cæsar, a relation of the great Cæsar, who was now president of Syria. Now, the growing reputation of Antipater and his sons excited the envy of the principal men among the Jews, especially as they saw that Herod was violent and bold, and was capable of acting tyrannically. So they accused him before Hyrcanus of encroaching on the government, and of transgressing the laws by putting men to death without their condemnation by the sanhedrin. Protecting Herod, whom he loved as his own son, from the sanhedrin when they would have sentenced him to death, Hyrcanus aided him to flee to Damascus, where he took refuge with Sextus Cæsar. When Herod received the kingdom, he slew all the members of that sanhedrin excepting Sameas, whom he respected because he persuaded the people to admit Herod into the city, and he even slew Hyrcanus also. Now, when Cæsar was come to Rome, and was ready to sail into Africa to fight against Scipio and Cato, Hyrcanus sent ambassadors to him, desiring the ratification of the league of friendship between them. Not only Cæsar but the senate heaped honours on the ambassadors, and confirmed the understanding that subsisted. But during the disorders that arose after the death of Cæsar, Cassius came into Syria and disturbed Judea by exacting great sums of money. Antipater sought to gather the great tax demanded from Judea, and was foully slain by a collector named Malichus, on whom Herod quickly took vengeance for the murder of his father. By his energy in obtaining the required tax, Herod gained new favour with Cassius. _V.--The Herodian Era_ In order to secure his position, Herod made an obscure priest from Babylon, named Ananelus, high-priest in place of Hyrcanus. This offended Alexandra, daughter of Hyrcanus and wife of Alexander, son of Aristobulus the king. She had ten children, among whom were Mariamne, the beautiful wife of Herod, and Aristobulus. She sent an appeal to Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, in order by her intercession to gain from Antony the high-priesthood for this son. At the instance of Antony, Herod took the office from Ananelus, and gave it to Aristobulus, but took care that the youth should soon be murdered. Then, from causeless jealousy, he put to death his uncle Joseph and threw Mariamne into prison. Victory in a war with Arabia enhanced his power. Cruelly slaying Hyrcanus, he hasted away to Octavian, who had beaten Antony at Actium, and obtained also from him, the new Cæsar, Augustus, the kingdom, thus being confirmed in his position. Women of the palace who hated Mariamne for her beauty, her high birth, and her pride, falsely accused her to Herod of gross unfaithfulness. He loved her passionately, but, giving ear to these traducers, ordered her to be tried. She was condemned to death, and showed great fortitude as she went to the place of execution, even though her own mother, Alexandra, in order to make herself safe from the wrath of the king, basely, and publicly, and violently upbraided her, while the people, pitying her, mourned at her fate. Herod was also attacked by a tormenting distemper. He ordered the execution of Alexandra and of several of his most intimate friends. By his persistent introduction of foreign customs, which corrupted the constitution of the country, Herod incurred the deep hatred of very many eminent citizens. He erected servile trophies to Cæsar, and prepared costly games in which men were condemned to fight with wild beasts. Ten men who conspired against him were betrayed, and were tortured horribly, and then slain. But the people seized the spy who had informed against them, tore him limb from limb, and flung the body in pieces to the dogs. By constant and relentless severity Herod still strengthened his rule. But now fearful disturbances arose in his family. His sister Salome and his brother Pheroras displayed virulent hatred against Alexander and Aristobulus, sons of the murdered Mariamne, and, on their part, the two young men were incensed at the partiality shown by Herod to his eldest son, Antipater. This prince was continually using cunning strategy against his brethren, while feigning affection for them. He so worked on the mind of the king by false accusations against Alexander that many of the friends of this youth were tortured to death in the attempts made to force disclosures from them. A traitor named Eurycles fanned the flame by additional accusations, all utterly groundless, so that Herod wrote letters to Rome concerning the treacherous designs of his sons against him, and asking permission of Cæsar to bring them to trial. This was granted, and they were accused before an assembly of judges at Berytus and condemned. By their father's command they were starved to death. For his share in bringing about this tragedy Antipater was hated by the people. But the secret desire of this eldest son was to see the end of his father, whom he deeply hated, though he now governed jointly with him and was no other than a king already. Herod by this time had nine wives and many children and grandchildren. The latter he brought up with much care. Antipater was sent on a mission to Rome, and during his absence his plots were discovered, and on his return, Herod, amazed at his wickedness, condemned him to death. The king now altered his testament, dividing the territory among several of his sons. He died on the fifth day after the execution of Antipater, having reigned thirty-four years after procuring the death of Antigonus. Archelaus, his son, was appointed by Cæsar, in confirmation of Herod's will, governor of one-half of the country; but accusation of enemies led to his banishment to Vienna, in Gaul. Cyrenaicus, a Roman senator and magistrate, was sent by Cæsar to make taxation in Syria and Judea, and Caponius was made procurator of Judea. Philip, a son of Herod, built cities in honour of Tiberius Cæsar. When Pontius Pilate became procurator he removed the army from Cassarea to Jerusalem, abolished Jewish laws, and in the night introduced Cæsar's effigies on ensigns. About this time Jesus, a wise man, a doer of wonderful works, drew over to him many Jews and Gentiles. He was Christ; and when Pilate, at the suggestion of the principal men among us, had condemned him to the cross, those that loved him did not forsake him, for he appeared to them again alive at the third day, as the prophets had foretold; and the tribe of Christians, so named from him, are not extinct at this day. John, who was called the Baptist, was slain by Herod the tetrarch at his castle at Machserus, by the Dead Sea. The destruction of his army by Aretas, king of Arabia, was ascribed by the Jews to God's anger for this crime. Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great, became the most famous of his descendants. On him Claudius Cæsar bestowed all the dominions of his grandfather with the title of king. But pride overcame him. Seated on a throne at a great festival at Cæsarea, arrayed in a magnificent robe, he was stricken by a disease, and died. He was succeeded by his son Agrippa, during whose time Felix and Festus were procurators in Judea, while Nero was Roman emperor. This Agrippa finished the Temple by the work of 18,000 men. The war of the Jews and Romans began through the oppression by Gessius Florus, who secured the procuratorship by the friendship of his wife Cleopatra with Poppea, wife of Nero. Florus filled Judea with intolerable cruelties, and the war began in the second year of his rule and the twelfth of the reign of Nero. What happened will be known by those who peruse the books I have written about the Jewish war. * * * * * The Wars of the Jews Josephus, in his "Wars of the Jews," gives the only full and reliable account of the tragic siege and destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans under Titus. Excepting in the opening, he writes throughout in the third person, although he was present in the Roman camp as a prisoner during the siege, and before then had been, as governor of Galilee, the brave and energetic antagonist of the Romans. Becoming the friend of Titus, and despairing of the success of his compatriots, he was employed in efforts to conciliate the leaders of the rebellion during the siege, and he was for three years a privileged captive in the camp of the besiegers. His recital is one of the most thrilling samples of romantic realism in the whole range of ancient literature, and its veracity and honesty have never been impugned. In his autobiography, Josephus tells how, after the war, he was invited by Titus to sail with him to Rome, and how on his arrival there the Emperor Vespasian entertained him in his own palace, bestowed on him a pension, and conferred on him the honours of Roman citizenship. The Emperors Titus and Domitian treated this remarkable Jew with continued favour. _I.--Beginning of the Great Conflict_ Whereas the war which the Jews made against the Romans hath been the greatest of all times, while some men who were not concerned themselves have written vain and contradictory stories by hearsay, and while those that were there have given false accounts, I, Joseph, the son of Matthias, by birth a Hebrew, and a priest also, and who at first fought against the Romans myself, and was forced to be present at what was done afterwards, am the author of this book. Now, the affairs of the Romans were in great disorder after the death of Nero. At the decease of Herod Agrippa, his son, who bore the same name, was seventeen years old. He was considered too young to bear the burden of royalty, and Judea relapsed into a Roman province. Cuspius Fadus was sent as governor, and administered his office with firmness, but found civil war disturbing the district beyond Jordan. He cleared the country of the robber bands; and his successor, Tiberius Alexander, during a brief rule, put down disturbances which broke out in Judea. The province was at peace till he was superseded by Cumanus, during whose government the people and the Roman soldiery began to show mutual animosity. In a terrible riot 20,000 people perished, and Jerusalem was given up to wailing and lamentation. It was in Cæsarea that the events took place which led to the final war. This magnificent city was inhabited by two races--the Syrian Greeks, who were heathens, and the Jews. The two parties violently contended for the pre-eminence. The Jews were the more wealthy; but the Roman soldiery, levied chiefly in Syria, took part with their countrymen. Tumults and bloodshed disturbed the streets. At this time a procurator named Gessius Florus was appointed, and he, by his barbarities, forced the Jews to begin the war in the twelfth year of the reign of Nero and the seventeenth of the reign of Agrippa. But the occasion of the war was by no means proportioned to those heavy calamities that it brought upon us. The fatal flame finally broke out from the old feud at Cæsarea. The decree of Nero had assigned the magistracy of that city to the Greeks. It happened that the Jews had a synagogue, the ground around which belonged to a Greek. For this spot the Jews offered a much higher price than it was worth. It was refused, and to annoy them as much as possible, the owner set up some mean buildings and shops upon it, and so made the approach to the synagogue as narrow and difficult as possible. The more impetuous of the Jewish youth interrupted the workmen. Then the men of greater wealth and influence, and among them John, a publican, collected the large sum of eight talents, and sent it as a bribe to Florus, that he might stop the building. He received the money, made great promises, and at once departed for Sebaste from Cæsarea. His object was to leave full scope for the riot. On the following day, while the Jews were crowding to the synagogue, a citizen of Cæsarea outraged them by oversetting an earthen vessel in the way, over which he sacrificed birds, as done by the law in cleansing lepers, and thus he implied that the Jews were a leprous people. The more violent Jews, furious at the insult, attacked the Greeks, who were already in arms. The Jews were worsted, took up the books of the law, and fled to Narbata, about seven miles distant. John, the publican, and twelve men of eminence went to Samaria to Florus, implored his aid, and reminded him of the eight talents he had received. He threw them into prison and demanded seventeen talents from the sacred treasury under pretence of Cæsar's necessities. This injustice and oppression caused violent excitement in Jerusalem when the news reached that city. The people assembled around the Temple with the loudest outcries; but it was the purpose of Florus to drive the people to insurrection, and he gave his soldiers orders to plunder the upper market and to put to death all whom they met. Of men, women, and children there fell that day 3,600. When Agrippa attempted to persuade the people to obey Florus till Cæsar should send someone to succeed him, the more seditious cast reproaches on him, and got the king excluded from the city; nay, some had the impudence to fling stones at him. At the same time they excited the people to go to war, and some laid siege to the Roman garrison in the Antonio; others made an assault on a certain fortress called Masada. They took it by treachery, and slew the Romans. One, Menahem, a Galilean, became leader of the sedition, and went to Masada and broke open Herod's armoury, and gave arms not only to his own people, but to other robbers, also. These he made use of for a bodyguard, and returned in state to Jerusalem, and gave orders to continue the siege of the Antonio. The tower was undermined, and fell, and many soldiers were slain. Next day the high-priest Ananias, and his brother Hezekiah, were slain by the robbers. By these successes Menahem was puffed up and became barbarously cruel; but he was slain, as were also the captains under him, in an attack led on by Eleazar, a bold youth who was governor of the Temple. _II.--The Gathering of Great Storms_ And now great calamities and slaughters came on the Jews. On the very same day two dreadful massacres happened. In Jerusalem the Jews fell on Netilius and the band of Roman soldiers whom he commanded after they had made terms and had surrendered, and all were killed except the commander himself, who supplicated for mercy, and even agreed to submit to circumcision. On that very day and hour, as though Providence had ordained it, the Greeks in Cæsarea rose, and in a single hour slew over 20,000 Jews, and so the city was emptied of its Jewish inhabitants. For Florus caught those who escaped, and sent them to the galleys. By this tragedy the whole nation was driven to madness. The Jews rose and laid waste the villages all around many cities in Syria, and they descended on Gadara, Hippo, and Gaulonitus, and burnt and destroyed many places. Sebaste and Askelon they seized without resistance, and they razed Anthedon and Gaza to the ground, pillaging the villages all around, with great slaughter. When thus the disorder in all Syria had become terrible, Cestius Gallus, the Roman commander at Antioch, marched with an army to Ptolemais and overran all Galilee and invested Jerusalem, expecting that it would be surrendered by means of a powerful party within the walls. But the plot was discovered, and the conspirators were flung headlong from the walls, and an attack by Cestius on the north side of the Temple was repulsed with great loss. Seeing the whole country around in arms, and the Jews swarming on all the heights, Cestius withdrew his army and retired in the night, leaving 400 of his bravest men to mount guard in the camp and to display their ensigns, that the Jews might be deceived. But at break of day it was discovered that the camp was deserted by the army, and the Jews rushed to the assault and slew all the Roman band. This happened in the twelfth year of the reign of Nero. _III.--Judea in Rebellion Against Rome_ Nero was at this time in Achaia. To him, as ambassador, Cestius, sent in order to lay the blame on Florus, Costobar and Saul, two brothers of the Herodian family, who, with Philip, the son of Jacimus, the general of Agrippa, had escaped from Jerusalem. Meantime, a great massacre of the Jews took place at Damascus. Then those in Jerusalem who had pursued after Cestius called a general assembly in the Temple, and elected their governors and commanders. Their choice fell on Joseph, the son of Gorion, and Ananus, the chief priest, who were invested with absolute authority in the city; but Eleazar was passed over, for he was suspected of aiming at kingly power, as he went about attended by a bodyguard of zealots. But as commanding within the Temple he had made himself master of the public treasures, and in a short time the need of money and his extreme subtlety won over the multitude, and all real authority fell into his hands. To the other districts they sent the men most to be trusted for courage and fidelity. Josephus was appointed to the command of Galilee, with particular charge of the strong city of Gamala. He raised in that province in the north an army of more than a hundred thousand young men, whom he armed and exercised after the Roman manner; and he formed a council of seventy, and appointed seven judges in each city. He sought to unite the people and to win their goodwill. But great trouble arose from the treachery of his enemy, John of Gischala, who surpassed all men in craft and deceit. He gathered a force of 4,000 robbers and wasted Galilee, while he inflamed the dissensions in the cities, and sent messengers to Jerusalem accusing Josephus of tyranny. Tiberias and several cities revolted, but Josephus suppressed the risings, severely punishing many of the leaders. John retired to the robbers at Masada, and took to plundering Idumsea. _IV.--Vespasian and Josephus_ Nero, on learning from the messengers the state of affairs, at first regarded the revolt lightly; but presently grew alarmed, and appointed to the command of the armies in Syria, and the task of subduing the Jews, Vespasian, who had pacified the West when it was disordered by the Germans, and had also recovered Britain for the Romans. He came to Antioch in the early spring, and was there joined by Agrippa and all his forces. He marched to Ptolemais, where he was met by his son Titus, who had, with expedition unusual in the winter season, sailed from Achaia to Alexandria. So the Roman army now numbered 60,000 horsemen and footmen, besides large numbers of camp followers who were also accustomed to military service and could fight on occasion. The war was now opened. Josephus attempted no resistance in the open field, and the people had been directed to fly to the fortified cities. The strongest of all these was Jotapata, and here Josephus commanded in person. Being very desirous of demolishing it, Vespasian besieged it with his whole army. It was defended with the greatest vigour, but was, after fierce conflicts, taken in the thirteenth year of the reign of Nero, on the first day of the month Panemus (July). During this dreadful siege, and at the capture, 40,000 men fell. The Romans sought in vain for the body of Josephus, their stubborn enemy. He had leaped down the shaft of a dry well leading to a long cavern. A woman betrayed the hiding-place, and Josephus was taken and brought before the conqueror, of whom he had demanded from his captors a private conference. To Vespasian he announced that he and his son would speedily attain the imperial dignity. Vespasian was conciliated by the speech of his prisoner, whom he treated with kindness; for though he did not release him from his bonds, he bestowed on him suits of clothes and other precious gifts. Joppa, Tiberias, Taricheæ, and Gamala were taken, both Romans and Jews perishing in the conflicts. Soon afterwards, by the capture of Gischala, all Galilee was subdued, John of Gischala fleeing to Jerusalem. _V.--The Prelude to the Great Siege_ While the cities of Galilee thus arrested the course of the Roman eagles, Jotapata and Gamala setting the example of daring resistance, the leaders of the nation in Jerusalem, instead of sending out armies to the relief of the besieged cities, were engaged in the most dreadful civil conflicts. The fame of John of Gishala had gone before him to Jerusalem, and the multitude poured forth to do him honour. He falsely represented the Roman forces as being very greatly weakened, and declared that their engines had been worn out in the sieges in Galilee. He was a man of enticing eloquence, to whom the young men eagerly gave heed. So the city now began to be divided into hostile factions, and the whole of Judea had before set to the people of Jerusalem the fatal example of discord. For every city was torn to pieces by civil animosities. Not only the public councils, but even numerous families were distracted by the peace and war dispute. Through all Judea the youth were ardent for war, while the elders vainly endeavoured to allay the frenzy. Bands of desperate men began to spread over the land, plundering houses, while the Roman garrisons in the towns, rather rejoicing in their hatred to the race than wishing to protect the sufferers, afforded little help. Large numbers of these evil men stole into the city and grew into a daring faction, who robbed houses openly, and many of the most eminent citizens were murdered by these Zealots, as they were called, from their pretence that they had discovered a conspiracy to betray the city to the Romans. They dismissed many of the sanhedrin from office and appointed men of the lowest degree, who would support them in their violence, till the leaders of the people became slaves to their will. At length resistance was provoked, led by Ananus, oldest of the chief priests, a man of great wisdom, and the robber Zealots took refuge in the Temple and fortified it more strongly than before. They appointed as high-priest one Phanias, a coarse and clownish rustic, utterly ignorant of the sacerdotal duties, who when decked in the robes of office caused great derision. This sport and pastime for the Zealots caused the more religious people to shed tears of grief and shame; and the citizens, unable to endure such insolence, rose in great numbers to avenge the outrage on the sacred rites. Thus a fierce civil war broke out in which very many were slain. Then John of Gischala with great treachery, outwardly siding with Ananus, and secretly aiding the Zealots, sent messengers inviting the Idumæans to come to his help, of whom 20,000 broke into the city during a stormy night, and slew 8,500 of the people. _VI.--The Siege and Fall of Jerusalem_ Nero died after having reigned thirteen years and eight days, and Vespasian, being informed of the event, waited for a whole year, holding his army together instead of proceeding against Jerusalem. Galba was made emperor, and slain, as was also Otho, his successor; and then, after the defeat and death of the emperor Vitellius, Vespasian was proclaimed by the East. He had preferred to leave the Jews to waste their strength by their internal feuds while he sent his lieutenants with forces to reduce various surrounding districts instead of attacking Jerusalem. When he became emperor, he released Josephus from his bonds, honouring him for his integrity. Hastening his journey to Rome, Vespasian commanded Titus to subdue Judea. At Jerusalem were now three factions raging furiously. Eleazar, son of Simon, who was the first cause of the war, by persuading the people to reject the offerings of the emperors to the Temple, and had led the Zealots and seized the Temple, pretended to cherish righteous wrath against John of Gishala for the bloodshed he had occasioned. But he deserted the Zealots and seized the inner court of the Temple, so that there was war between him and Simon, son of Gioras. Thus Eleazar, John, and Simon each led a band in constant fightings, and the Temple was everywhere defiled by murders. Now, as Titus was on his march he chose out 600 select horsemen, and went to take a view of the city, when suddenly an immense multitude burst forth from the gate over against the monuments of Queen Helena and intercepted him and a few others. He had on neither helmet nor breastplate, yet though many darts were hurled at him, all missed him, as if by some purpose of Providence, and, charging through the midst of his foes, he escaped unhurt. Part of the army now advanced to Scopos, within a mile of the city, while another occupied a station at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Seeing this gathering of the Roman forces, the factions within Jerusalem for the first time felt the necessity for concord, as Eleazar from the summit of the Temple, John from the porticoes of the outer court, and Simon from the heights of Sion watched the Roman camps forming thus so near the walls. Making terms with each other, they agreed to make an attack at the same moment. Their followers, rushing suddenly forth along the valley of Jehoshaphat, fell with violence on the 10th legion, encamped at the foot of the Mount of Olives, and working there unarmed at the entrenchments. The soldiers fell back, many being killed. Witnessing their peril, Titus, with picked troops, fell on the flank of the Jews and drove them into the city with great loss. The Roman commander now carefully pushed forward his approaches, leveling the whole plain of Scopos to the outward wall and destroying all the beautiful gardens with their fountains and water-courses, and the army took up a position all along the northern and the western wall, the footmen being drawn up in seven lines, with the horsemen in three lines behind, and the archers between. Jerusalem was fortified by three walls. These were not one within the other, for each defended one of the quarters into which the city was divided. The first, or outermost, encompassed Bezetha, the next protected the citadel of the Antonia and the northern front of the Temple, and the third, or old, and innermost wall was that of Sion. Many towers, 35 feet high and 35 feet broad, each surmounted with lofty chambers and with great tanks for rain water, guarded the whole circuit of the walls, 90 being in the first wall, 14 in the second, and 60 in the third. The whole circuit of the city was about 33 stadia (four miles). From their pent-houses of wicker the Romans, with great toil day and night, discharged arrows and stones, which slew many of the citizens. At three different places the battering rams began their thundering work, and at length a corner tower came down, yet the walls stood firm, for there was no breach. Suddenly the besieged sallied forth and set fire to the engines. Titus came up with his horsemen and slew twelve Jews with his own hands. One was taken prisoner and was crucified before the walls as an example, being the first so executed during the siege. The Jews now retreated to the second wall, abandoning the defence of Bezetha, which the Romans entered. Titus instantly ordered the second wall to be attacked, and for five days the conflict raged more fiercely than ever. The Jews were entirely reckless of their own lives, sacrificing themselves readily if they could kill their foes. On the fifth day they retreated from the second wall, and Titus entered that part of the lower city which was within it with I,000 picked men. But, being desirous of winning the people, he ordered that no houses should be set on fire and no massacres should be committed. The seditious, however, slew everyone who spoke of peace, and furiously assailed the Romans. Some fought from the walls, others from the houses, and such confusion prevailed that the Romans retired; then the Jews, elated, manned the breach, making a wall of their own bodies. Thus the fight continued for three days, till Titus a second time entered the wall. He threw down all the northern part and strongly garrisoned the towers on the south. The strong heights of Sion, the citadel of the Antonia, and the fortified Temple still held out Titus, eager to save so magnificent a place, resolved to refrain for a few days from the attack, in order that the minds of the besieged might be affected by their woes, and that the slow results of famine might operate. He reviewed his army in full armour, and they received their pay in view of the city, the battlements being thronged by spectators during this splendid defiling, who looked on in terror and dismay. Then Titus sent Josephus to address them and to persuade them to yield, but the Zealots reviled him and hurled darts at him; but many began to desert, Titus permitted them to come in unmolested. John and Simon in their anger watched every outlet and executed any whom they suspected of designing to follow. The famine increased, and the misery of the weaker was aggravated by seeing the stronger obtaining food. All natural affection was extinguished, husbands and wives, parents and children snatching the last morsel from each other. Many wretched men were caught by the Romans prowling in the ravines by night to pick up food, and these were scourged, tortured, and crucified. In the morning sometimes 500 of these victims were seen on crosses before the walls. This was done to terrify the rest, and it went on till there was not wood enough for crosses. Terrible crimes were committed in the city. The aged high-priest, Matthias, was accused of holding communication with the enemy. Three of his sons were killed in his presence, and he was executed in sight of the Romans, together with sixteen other members of the sanhedrin, and the parents of Josephus were thrown into prison. The famine grew so woeful that a woman devoured the body of her own child. At length, after fierce fighting, the Antonia was scaled, and Titus ordered its demolition. Titus now promised that the Temple should be spared if the defenders would come forth and fight in any other place, but John and the Zealots refused to surrender it. For several days the outer cloisters and outer court were attacked with rams, but the immense and compact stones resisted the blows. As many soldiers were slain in seeking to storm the cloisters, Titus ordered the gates to be set on fire. A soldier flung a blazing brand into a gilded door on the north side of the chambers. The Jews, with cries of grief and rage, grasped their swords and rushed to take revenge on their enemies or perish in the ruins. The slaughter was continued while the fire raged. Soon no part was left but a small portion of the outer cloisters. Titus next spent eighteen days in preparations for the attack on the upper city, which was then speedily captured. And now the Romans were not disposed to display any mercy, night alone putting an end to the carnage. During the whole of this siege of Jerusalem, 1,100,000 were slain, and the prisoners numbered 97,000. * * * * * HENRY MILMAN, D.D. History of the Jews Henry Hart Milman, D.D., was born in London on February 10, 1791, died on September 24, 1868, and was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral, of which for the last nineteen years of his life he was Dean. He was the youngest son of Sir Francis Milman, physician to George III, and was educated at Greenwich, Eton and Oxford. Although as a scholarly poet he had a considerable reputation, his literary fame rests chiefly on his fine historical works, of which fifteen volumes appeared, including the "History of the Jews," the "History of Christianity to the Abolition of Paganism in the Roman Empire," and the "History of Latin Christianity to the Pontificate of Nicholas V." The appearance of the "History of the Jews" in 1830 caused no small consternation among the orthodox, but among the Jews themselves it was exceptionally well received. Dean Milman wrote several hymns, including "Ride on, ride on in majesty," "When our heads are bowed in woe." Although this history carries the Jewish race down to modern times, it is included in the section of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS treating of ancient history, as it is the history of an ancient race, not of a definite country. _I.--Dissolution of the Jewish States_ By the destruction of Jerusalem and of the fortified cities of Machærus and Masada, which had held out after it, the political existence of the Jewish nation was annihilated; it was never again recognised as one of the states or kingdoms of the world. We have now to trace a despised and obscure race in almost every region of the world. We are called back, indeed, for a short time to Palestine, to relate new scenes of revolt, ruin, and persecution. Not long after the dissolution of the Jewish state it revived again in appearance, under the form of two separate communities--one under a sovereignty purely spiritual, the other partly spiritual and partly temporal, but each, comprehending all the Jewish families in the two great divisions of the world. At the head of the Jews on this side of the Euphrates appeared the Patriarch of the West; the chief of the Mesopotamian communities, assumed the striking but more temporal title of Resch-Glutha, or Prince of the Captivity. That Judaism should have thus survived is one of the most marvellous of historic phenomena. But, for the most part, the populous cities beyond the Jordan, the dominions of Agrippa, and Samaria escaped the devastation; and, according to tradition, the sanhedrin was spared in the general wreck. After a brief interval of peace for the Jews scattered through the world during the reign of Nerva, their settlements in Babylonia, Egypt, Cyrene, and Judea broke out in rebellion against the intolerant religious policy of the otherwise sagacious and upright Trajan. Great atrocities were committed by revolting Jews in Egypt, and the retaliation was terrible. It is said that 220,000 Jews fell before the remorseless vengeance of their enemies. The flame spread to Cyprus, where it was quenched by Hadrian, afterwards emperor. He expelled the Jews from the island. When Hadrian ascended the throne, in 117 A.D., he issued an edict which was tantamount to the total suppression of Judaism, for it interdicted circumcision, the reading of the law, and the observance of the Sabbath. At this momentous juncture, when universal dismay prevailed, it was announced that the Messiah had appeared. He had come in power and glory. His name fulfilled the prophecy of Balaam. Barcochab, the Son of the Star, was that star which was to "arise out of Jacob." Wonders attended on his person; he breathed flames from his mouth which, no doubt, would burn up the strength of the proud oppressor, and wither the armies of the tyrannical Hadrian. Above all, Akiba, the greatest of the rabbins, the living oracle of divine truth, espoused the claims of the new Messiah; he was called the standard-bearer of the Son of the Star. Of him also wondrous stories were told. The first expedition of Barcochab was to the ruins of Jerusalem, where a rude town had sprung up. Here he openly assumed the title of king. But he and his followers avoided a battle in the open field. On the arrival of the famous Julius Severus to take command of the Roman forces, the rebel Jews were in possession of fifty of the strongest castles and nearly a thousand villages. Severus attacked the strongholds in detail, reducing them by famine, and gradually brought the war to a close. Over half a million Jews perished during the struggle, and the whole of Judea was a desert in which wolves and hyenas howled through the streets of the desolate cities. Hadrian established a new city on the site of Jerusalem, which he called Ælia Capitolina, and peopled with a colony of foreigners. An edict was issued prohibiting any Jew from entering the new city on pain of death, and the more effectually to enforce the edict, the image of a swine was placed over the gate leading to Bethlehem. _II.--Judaism and Christianity_ For the fourth time the Jewish people seemed on the brink of extermination. Nebuchadrezzar, Antiochus, Titus, and Hadrian had successively exerted their utmost power to extinguish their existence as a separate people. Yet in less than sixty years after the war under Hadrian, before the close of the second century after Christ, the Jews present the extraordinary spectacle of two separate and regularly organised communities--one under the Patriarch of Tiberias, comprehending all of Isrælitish descent who inhabited the Roman Empire; the other under the Prince of the Captivity, to whom all the eastern Jews paid allegiance. By the mild temper of Antoninus Pius, the Jews were restored to their ancient privileges. Though still forbidden to enter Jerusalem, they were permitted to acquire the freedom of Rome, to establish many settlements in Italy, and to enjoy municipal honours. This gentle treatment assuaged the stern temper of the race. Awakened from their dream of prophecy and conquest, they assumed the behaviour of peaceable and industrious subjects. The worship of the synagogue became the great bond of racial union, and through centuries held the scattered nation in the closest uniformity. The middle of the third century beheld all Isræl incorporated into their two communities, under their patriarch and their caliphate. The Resch-Glutha, or Prince of the Captivity, lived in all the state and splendour of an oriental potentate, far outshining in his pomp his rival sovereign in Tiberias. The most celebrated of the rabbinical sovereigns was Jehuda, sometimes called the nasi or patriarch. His life was of such spotless purity that he was named the Holy. He was the author of a new constitution for the Jewish people, for he embodied in the celebrated Mischna all the authorised traditions of the schools and courts, and all the authorised interpretations of the Mosaic law. Both in the East and the West the Jews maintained their seclusion from the rest of the world. The great work called the Talmud, formed of the Mischna and the Gemara (or compilation of comments), was composed during a period of thirty years of profound peace for the masters of the Babylonian schools, under Persian rule. This remains a monumental token of learning and industry of the eastern Jewish rabbins of the third and fourth centuries. The formal establishment of Christianity by Constantine the Great, in the early part of the fourth century, might have led to Jewish apprehension lest the Synagogue should be eclipsed by the splendour of its triumphant rival, the Christian Church; but the Rabbinical authority had raised an insurmountable barrier around the Synagogue. And, unhappily, the Church had lost its most effective means of conversion--its miraculous powers, its simple doctrine, and the blameless lives of its believers. Constantine enacted severe laws against the Jews, which seem in great part to have been occasioned by their own fiery zeal. But, still earlier than these enactments, Spain had given the signal for hostility towards the Jews. A decree was passed at the Council of Elvira prohibiting Jewish and Christian farmers and peasants from mingling together at harvest home and other festivals. In Egypt, during the reign of Constantius, who succeeded his father Constantine, the hot-headed Jews of Alexandria provoked the enactment by that emperor of yet severer laws, by mingling themselves in the factions of Arians and Athanasians, which distracted that restless city. They joined with the pagans on the side of the Arian bishop, and committed frightful excesses. An insurrection in Judea, which terminated in the destruction of Dio Cæsarea, gave further pretext for exaction and oppression. But the apostasy of the emperor for a time revived the hopes of the race, especially when he issued his memorable edict decreeing the rebuilding of the Temple on Mount Moriah, and the restoration of the Jewish worship in its original splendour. The whole Jewish world was now in commotion. Julian entrusted the execution of the project to his favourite, Alypius, while he advanced with his ill-fated army to the East. The Jews crowded from the most distant quarters to assist in the work. But terrible disappointment ensued. Fire destroyed the work, and various catastrophes frustrated the enterprise, and the death of Julian rendered it hopeless. The irruption of the Northern Barbarians during the latter half of the fourth to about the end of the fifth century so completely disorganised the whole frame of society that the condition of its humblest members could not but be powerfully influenced thereby. The Jews were widely dispersed in all those countries on which the storm fell--in Belgium, the Rhine districts, Germany, where it was civilised, Gaul, Italy, and Spain. Not only did the Jews in their scattered colonies engage actively in mercantile pursuits, but one great branch of commerce fell chiefly into their hands--the internal slave-trade of Europe. The Church beheld this evil with grief and indignation, and popes issued rescripts and interdicts. Fierce hostility grew up between Church and Synagogue. The Church had not then the power--it may be hoped it had not the will--to persecute. It was fully occupied with the task of seeking to impart to the fierce conquerors--the Vandals; Goths, and other Barbarians--the humanising and civilising knowledge of Christianity. A great enemy arose in the person of the Emperor Justinian, who was provoked by savage conflicts between the Jews and the Samaritans to issue severe enactments against both, which led to the fall of the patriarchate. In the East, under the rule during the same period of the Persian king, Chosroes the Just, or Nushirvan, who began his reign in 531 A.D., the position was not more favourable for the Jews of Babylonia. _III.--The Golden Age of Judaism_ During the conflict between Persian and Roman emperors a power was rapidly growing up in the secret deserts of Arabia which was to erect its throne on the ruins of both. The Jews were the first opponents and the first victims of Mohammed. At least a hundred and twenty years before Christ, Jewish settlers had built castles in Sabæa and established an independent kingdom, known as Homeritis, which was subdued by an Arab chieftain and came to an end. But the Jews were still powerful in the Arabian peninsula. Mohammed designed to range all the tribes under his banner; but his overtures were scorned, and he ordered a massacre of all who refused to accept the Koran. On one day 700 Jews were slain in Medina while the Prophet looked on without emotion. But the persecution of the Jews by the Mohammedans was confined to Arabia, for under the empire of the caliphs they suffered no further oppression than the payment of tribute. Spain had maintained its odious distinction in the West, and it is not surprising that the suffering Jews by active intrigue materially assisted the triumphant invasion of the country by the Saracens. And in France the Jews became numerous and wealthy, and traded with great success. We enter on a period which may be described as the Golden Age of the modern Jews. The religious persecutions of this race by the Mohammedans were confined within the borders of Arabia. The Prophet was content with enforcing uniformity of worship within the sacred peninsula which gave him birth. The holy cities of Medina and Mecca were not to be profaned by the unclean footstep of the unbeliever. His immediate successors rose from stern fanatics to ambitious conquerors. Whoever would submit to the dominion of the caliph might easily evade the recognition of the Prophet's title. The Jews had reason to rejoice in the change of masters. An Islamite sovereign would not be more oppressive than a Byzantine on the throne of Constantinople or a Persian on the throne of Ctesiphon. In every respect the Jew rose in the social scale under his Mohammedan rulers. Provided he demeaned himself peaceably, and paid his tribute, he might go to the synagogue rather than to the mosque. In the time of Omar, the second caliph, the coinage, already a trust of great importance, had been committed to the care of a Jew. And the Jews acted as intermediate agents in the interworking of European civilisation, its knowledge, arts, and sciences, into the oriental mind, and in raising the barbarian conquerors from the chieftains of wild, marauding tribes into magnificent and enlightened sovereigns. The caliph readily acknowledged as his vassal the Prince of the Captivity, who maintained his state as representative of the Jewish community. And in the West, during the reigns of Pepin and Charlemagne, the treatment of Jews became much more liberal than before. Their superior intelligence and education, in a period when nobles and kings, and even the clergy, could not always write their names, pointed them out for offices of trust. They were the physicians, the ministers of finance, to monarchs. They even became ambassadors. The Golden Age of the Jews endured in increasing prosperity during the reign of Louis the Débonnaire, or the Pious, at whose court they were so powerful that their interest was solicited by the presents of kings. In the reign of Charles the Bald, the Jews maintained their high estate, but dark signs of the approaching Age of Iron began to lower around. _IV.--The Iron Age of Judaism_ Our Iron Age commences in the East, where it witnessed the extinction of the Princes of the Captivity by the ignominious death of the last sovereign, the downfall of the schools, and the dispersion of the community, which from that period remained an abject and degraded part of the population. During the ninth and tenth centuries the Caliphate fell into weakness and confusion, and split up into several kingdoms under conflicting sovereigns, and at the same time Judaism in the East was distracted by continual disputes between the Princes of the Captivity and the masters of the schools. The tribunals of the civil and temporal powers of the Eastern Jewish community were in perpetual collision, so that this singular state was weakened internally by its own dissensions. When a violent and rapacious caliph, Ahmed Kader, ascended the throne, he cast a jealous look on the powers of his vassal sovereign, and, without pretext, he seized Scherira, the prince of the community, now a hundred years old, imprisoned him and his son Hai, and confiscated their wealth. Hai escaped to resume his office and to transmit its honours and its dangers to Hezekiah, who was elected chief of the community, but after a reign of two years was arrested with all his family by order of the caliph Abdallah Kaim ben Marillah (A.D. 1036). The schools were closed. Many of the learned fled to Spain, where the revulsion under the Almohades had not yet taken place; all were dispersed. Among the rest two of the sons of the unfortunate Prince of the Captivity effected their escape to Spain, while the last of the House of David who reigned over the Jews of the Dispersion in Babylonia perished on the scaffold. The Jewish communities in Palestine suffered a slower but more complete dissolution. Benjamin of Tudela in the compilation of his travels in the twelfth century gives a humiliating account of the few brethren who still clung, in dire poverty and meanness, to their native land. In Tyre he found 400 Jews, mostly glass-blowers. There were in Jerusalem only 200, almost all dyers of wool. Ascalon contained 153 Jews; Tiberias, the seat of learning, and of the kingly patriarchate, but fifty. In the Byzantine Empire the number of Jews had greatly diminished. We pursue our dark progress to the West, where we find all orders gradually arrayed in fierce and implacable animosity against the race of Isræl. Every passion was in arms against them. In that singular structure, the feudal system, which rose like a pyramid from the villeins, or slaves attached to the soil, to the monarch who crowned the edifice, the, Jews alone found no proper place. In France and England they were the actual property of the king, and there was nowhere any tribunal to which they could appeal. The Jew, often acquiring wealth in commerce, might become valuable property of some feudatory lord. He was granted away, he was named in a marriage settlement, he was pawned, he was sold, he was stolen. Even Churchmen of the highest rank did not disdain such lucrative property. Louis, King of Provence, granted to the Archbishop of Aries all the possessions which his predecessors have held of former kings, including the Jews. Philip the Fair bought of his brother, Charles of Valois, all the Jews of his dominions and lordships. The Jew, making money as he knew how to do by trade and industry, was a valuable source of revenue, and was tolerated only as such, but he was a valuable possession. Chivalry, the parent of so much good and evil, was a source of unmitigated wretchedness to the Jew--for religious fanaticism and chivalry were inseparable, the knight of the Middle Ages being bound with his good sword to extirpate all the enemies of Christ and His Virgin Mother. The power of the clergy tended greatly to increase this general detestation against the unhappy Jew. And when undisciplined fanatics of the lowest order, under the guidance of Peter the Hermit and Walter the Penniless, were fired with the spirit of the Crusades, fearful massacres of Jews were perpetrated in Treves, Metz, Spiers, Worms, and Cologne. Everywhere the tracks of the Crusaders were deeply marked with Jewish blood. Half a century after the shocking massacres of Jews during the First Crusade, another storm gathered, as the monk Rodolph passed through Germany preaching the duty of wreaking vengeance on all the enemies of God. The terrible cry of "Hep!"--the signal for the massacre of Isrælites--ran through the cities of the Rhine. Countless atrocities took place as the Crusaders passed on, as the Jews record with triumph, to perish by plague, famine, and the sword. _V.--The Jews in England_ In the Dark Ages England was not advanced beyond the other nations of Europe in the civil or religious wisdom of toleration. There were Jews in England under the Saxons. And during the days of the Norman kings they were established in Oxford and in London. They taught Hebrew to Christian as well as to Jewish students. But they increased in both wealth and unpopularity, false tales about atrocities committed by them being bruited abroad. In many towns furious rabbles at different times attacked the Jewish quarters, burnt the dwellings, and put the inmates cruelly to death, as at York, where hundreds perished during a riot in the reign of Richard I. King John by cruel measures extorted large sums from wealthy Jews. The Church was also their implacable enemy, securing many repressive enactments against them. Jewish history has a melancholy sameness--perpetual exactions, the means of enforcing them differing only in their cruelty. When parliament refused to maintain the extravagant royal expenditure, nothing remained but still further to drain Hebrew veins. In the reign of Henry III. a tale was spread of the crucifixion of a Christian child, called Hugh of Lincoln. The story refutes itself, but it created horror throughout the country. For this crime eighteen of the richest Jews of Lincoln were hanged, and many more flung into dungeons. The death of Henry brought no respite, for Edward acted with equal harshness. At length he issued the famous irrevocable edict of total expulsion from the realm. Their departure was fixed for October 10, 1290. All who delayed were to be hanged without mercy. The Jews were pursued from, the kingdom with every mark of popular triumph in their sufferings. In one day 16,511 were exiled; all their property, debts, obligations, mortgages were escheated to the king. A like expulsion had been effected in France; and Spain, where the Jews were of a far nobler rank, was not to be outdone in bigotry. During the reign of John I., in 1388 A.D., a fierce popular preacher of Seville, Ferdinand Martinez, Arch-deacon of Ecija, excited the populace to excesses against the Jews. The streets of the noble city ran with blood, and 4,000 victims perished. The cruel spirit spread through the kingdom, and appalling massacres followed in many cities. A series of intermittent persecutions followed both in Spain and Portugal, in reign after reign. Jews and Protestants together went through awful ordeals at the hands of the Inquisition. When her glory had declined, Spain, even in her lowest decrepitude, indulged in what might seem the luxury of persecution. It was in the reign of Charles II. that the Jews found opportunity to steal insensibly back into England. Cromwell had felt very favourably disposed towards them, but had not dared to permit the re-establishment which they had openly sought. But the necessities of Charles and his courtiers quietly accomplished the, change, and the race has ever since maintained its footing, and no doubt contributed a fair share to the national wealth. Russia throughout her history adhered to her hostility to the Jews, but expulsion became impossible with such vast numbers. It is estimated that Russia contains half the Jewish population of the world, notwithstanding that Russia proper from ancient times has been sternly inhospitable to the Jewish race, while Poland has ever been hospitable. The most important measures of amelioration in the lot of the Jews in England were passed in 1723, when they acquired the right to possess land; in 1753, when parliament enacted the Naturalisation Bill; in 1830, when they were admitted to civic corporations; in 1833, when they were admitted to the profession of advocates; in 1845, when they were rendered eligible for the office of alderman and lord mayor; and in 1858, when the last and crowning triumph of the principle was achieved by the admission of Jews into parliament. In Asia, the Jews are still found in considerable numbers on the verge of the continent; in China, they are now found in one city alone, and possess only one synagogue. In Mesopotamia and Assyria the ancient seats of the Babylonian Jews are still occupied by 5,270 families. But England and Anglo-Saxon countries generally have been the most favourable to the race. Perhaps the most remarkable fact in the history of modern Judaism is the extension of the Jews in the United States. Writing in 1829, I stated, on the best authority then attainable, their numbers at 6,000. They are now [in 1863] reckoned at 75,000. * * * * * HERODOTUS History The "Father of History," as Herodotus has been styled, was born at Halicarnassus, the centre of a Greek colony in Asia Minor, between the years 490 and 480 B.C., and lived probably to sixty, dying about the year 425 B.C. A great part of his life was occupied with travels and investigations in those lands with which his history is mainly concerned. His work is the earliest essay in history in a European language. It is a record primarily of the causes and the course of the first great contest between East and West; and is a storehouse of curious and delightful traveller's gossip as well as a faithful record of events. The canons of evidence in his day were defective, for obvious reasons; a miscellaneous divine interposition in human affairs was taken for granted, and science had not yet reduced incredible marvels to ordinary natural phenomena. Nevertheless, Herodotus was a shrewd and careful critic, honest, and by no means remarkably credulous. If he had not acquired the conception of history as an exact science, he made it a particularly attractive form of literature, to which his simplicity of style gives a slight but pleasant archaic flavour. This epitome has been specially prepared far THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS from the Greek text. _I.--The Rise of Persian Power_ I will not dispute whether those ancient tales be true, of Io and Helen, and the like, which one or another have called the sources of the war between the Hellenes and the barbarians of Asia; but I will begin with those wrongs whereof I myself have knowledge. In the days of Sadyattes, king of Lydia, and his son Alyattes, there was war between Lydia and Miletus. And Croesus, the son of Alyattes, made himself master of the lands which are bounded by the river Halys, and he waxed in power and wealth, so that there was none like to him. To him came Solon, the Athenian, but would not hail him as the happiest of all men, saying that none may be called happy until his life's end. Thereafter trouble fell upon Croesus by the slaying of his son when he was a-hunting. Then Cyrus the Persian rose up and made himself master of the Medes and Persians, and Croesus, fearing his power, was fain to go up against him, being deceived by an oracle; but first he sought to make alliance with the chief of the states of Hellas. In those days, Pisistratus was despot of Athens; but Sparta was mighty, by the laws of Lycurgus. Therefore Croesus sent envoys to the Spartans to make alliance with them, which was done very willingly. But when Croesus went up against Cyrus, his army was put to flight, and Cyrus besieged him in the city of Sardis, and took it, and made himself lord of Lydia. He would have slain Croesus, but, finding him wise and pious, he made him his counsellor. Now, this Cyrus had before overthrown the Median king, Astyages, whose daughter was his own mother. For her father, fearing a dream, wedded her to a Persian, and when she bore a child, he gave order for its slaying. But the babe was taken away and brought up by a herdsman of the hill-folk. But in course of time the truth became known to Astyages, and to Harpagus, the officer who had been bidden to slay the babe, and to Cyrus himself. Then Harpagus, fearing the wrath of Astyages, bade Cyrus gather together the Persians--who in those days were a hardy people of the mountains--and made himself king over the Medians; which things Cyrus did, overthrowing his grandfather Astyages. And in this wise began the dominion of the Persians. The Ionian cities of Asia were zealous to make alliance with Cyrus when he had overthrown Croesus. But he held them of little account, and threatened them, and the Lacedæmonians also, who sent him messengers warning him to let the Ionians alone. And he sent Harpagus against the cities of the Ionians, of whom certain Phocæans and Teians sailed away to Rhegium and Abdera rather than become the slaves of the barbarians; but the rest, though they fought valiantly enough, were brought to submission by Harpagus. While Harpagus was completing the subjugation of the West, Cyrus was making conquest of Upper Asia, and overthrew the kingdom of Assyria, of which the chief city was Babylon, a very wonderful city, wherein there had ruled two famous queens, Semiramis and Nitocris. Now, this queen had made the city wondrous strong by the craft of engineers, yet Cyrus took it by a shrewd device, drawing off the water of the river so as to gain a passage. Thus Babylon also fell under the sway of the Persian. But when Cyrus would have made war upon Tomyris, the queen of the Massagetæ, who dwelt to the eastward, there was a very great battle, and Cyrus himself was slain and the most part of his host. And Cambyses, his son, reigned in his stead. _II.--Wars of Egypt and Persia_ Cambyses set out to conquer Egypt, taking in his army certain of the Greeks. But of all that I shall tell about that land, the most was told to me by the priests whom I myself visited at Memphis and Thebes and Heliopolis. They account themselves the most ancient of peoples. If the Ionians are right, who reckon that Egypt is only the Nile Delta, this could not be. But I reckon that the whole Egyptian territory is. Egypt, from the cataracts and Elephantiné down to the sea, parted into the Asiatic part and the Libyan part by the Nile. For the causes of the rising and falling of the Nile, the reasons that men give are of no account. And of the sources whence the river springs are strange stories told of which I say not whether they be true or false: but the course of it is known for four months' journey by land and water, and in my opinion it is a river comparable to the Ister. The priests tell that the first ruler of Egypt was Menes, and after him were three hundred and thirty kings, counting one queen, who was called Nitocris. After them came Sesostris, who carried his conquest as far as the Thracians and Scythians; and later was Rhampsinitus, who married his daughter to the clever thief who robbed his treasure-house; and after him Cheops, who built the pyramid, drawing the stones from the Arabian mountain down to the Nile. Chephren also, and Mycerinus built pyramids, and the Greeks have a story--which is not true--that another was built by Rhodopis. And in the reign of Sethon, Egypt was invaded by Sennacherib the Assyrian, whose army's bowstrings were eaten by field-mice. A thing more wonderful than the pyramids is the labyrinth near Lake Moeris, and still more wonderful is Lake Moeris itself, all which were made by the twelve kings who ruled at once after Sethon. And after them, Psammetichus made himself the monarch; and after him his great grandson Apries prospered greatly, till he was overthrown by Amasis. And Amasis also prospered, and showed favour to the Greeks. But for whatever reason, in his day Cambyses made his expedition against Egypt, invading it just when Amasis had died, and his son Psammenitus was reigning. Cambyses put the Egyptian army to rout in a great battle, and conquered the country, making Psammenitus prisoner. Yet he would have set him up as governor of the province, according to the Persian custom, but that Psammenitus was stirred up to revolt, and, being discovered, was put to death. Thereafter Cambyses would have made war upon Carthage, but that the Phoenicians would not aid him; and against the Ethiopians, who are called "long-lived," but his army could get no food; and against the Ammonians, but the troops that went were seen no more. Now, madness came upon Cambyses, and he died, having committed many crimes, among which was the slaying of his brother Smerdis. And there rose up one among the Magi who pretended to be Smerdis, and was proclaimed king. But this false Smerdis was one whose ears had been cut off, and he was thus found out by one of his wives, the daughter of a Persian nobleman, Otanes. Then seven nobles conspired together, since they would not be ruled over by one of the Magi; and having determined that it was best to have one man for ruler, rather than the rule of the people or of the nobles, they slew Smerdis and made Darius, the son of Hystaspes, their king. Then Darius divided the Persian empire into twenty satrapies, whereof each one paid its own tribute, save Persia itself, and he was lord of all Asia, and Egypt also. In the days of Cambyses, Polycrates was despot of Samos, being the first who ever thought to make himself a ruler of the seas. And he had prospered marvellously. But Oroetes, the satrap of Sardis, compassed his death by foul treachery, and wrought many other crimes; whom Darius in turn put to death by guile, fearing to make open war upon him. And not long afterwards, he sent Otanes to make conquest of Samos. And during the same days there was a revolt of the Babylonians; and Darius went up against Babylon, yet for twenty months he could not take it. Howbeit, it was taken by the act of Zopyrus, who, having mutilated himself, went to the Babylonians and told them that Darius had thus evilly entreated him, and so winning their trust, he made easy entry for the Persian army, and so Babylon was taken the second time. _III.--Persian Arms in Europe_ Now, Darius was minded to make conquest of the Scythians--concerning which people, and the lands beyond those which they inhabit, there are many marvels told, as of a bald-headed folk called Argippæi; and the Arimaspians or one-eyed people; and the Hyperborean land where the air is full of feathers. Of these lands are legends only; nothing is known. But concerning the earth's surface, this much is known, that Libya is surrounded by water, certain Phoenicians having sailed round it. And of the unknown regions of Asia much was searched out by order of Darius. The Scythians themselves have no cities; but there are great rivers in Scythia, whereof the Ister is the greatest of all known streams, being greater even than the Nile, if we reckon its tributaries. The great god of the Scythians is Ares; and their war customs are savage exceedingly, and all their ways barbarous. Against this folk Darius resolved to march. His plan was to convey his army across the Bosphorus on a bridge of boats, while the Ionian fleet should sail up to the Ister and bridge that, and await him. So he crossed the Bosphorus and marched through Thrace, subduing on his way the Getse, who believe that there is no true death. But when he passed the Ister, he would have taken the Ionians along with him; but by counsel of Coes of Mitylene, he resolved to leave them in charge of the bridge, giving order that, after sixty days, they might depart home, but no sooner. Then the Scythians, fearing that they could not match the great king's army, summoned the other barbaric peoples to their aid; among whom were the Sauromatians, who are fabled to be the offspring of the Amazons. And some were willing, but others not. Therefore the Scythians retired before Darius, first towards those peoples who would not come to their help; and so enticed him into desert regions, yet would in no wise come to battle with him. Now, at length, Darius found himself in so evil a plight that he began to march back to the Ister. And certain Scythians came to the Ionians, and counselled them to destroy the bridge, the sixty days being passed. And this Miltiades, the Athenian despot of the Chersonese, would have had them do, so that Darius might perish with all his army; but Histiæus of Miletus dissuaded them, because the rule of the despots was upheld by Darius. And thus the Persian army was saved, Megabazus being left in Europe to subdue the Hellespontines. When Megabazus had subdued many of the Thracian peoples, who, indeed, lack only union with each other to make them the mightiest of all nations, he sent an embassy to Amyntas, the king of Macedon, to demand earth and water. But because those envoys insulted the ladies of the court, Alexander, the son of Amyntas, slew them all, and of them or all their train was never aught heard more. Now Darius, with fair words, bade Histiseus of Miletus abide with him at the royal town of Susa. Then Aristagoras, the brother of Histiæus, having failed in an attempt to subdue Naxos, and fearing both Artaphernes, the satrap of Sardis, and the Persian general Megabazus, with whom he had quarrelled, sought to stir up a revolt of the Ionian cities; being incited thereto by secret messages from Histiseus. To this end, he sought alliance with the Lacedæmonians; but they would have nothing to do with him, deeming the venture too remote. Then he went to Athens, whence the sons of Pisistratus had been driven forth just before. For Hipparchus had been slain by Harmodius and Aristogiton, and afterwards Hippias would hardly have been expelled but that his enemies captured his children and so could make with him what terms they chose. But the Pisistratidse having been expelled, the city grew in might, and changes were made in the government of it by Cleisthenes the Alcmæonid. But the party that was against Cleisthenes got aid from Cleomenes of Sparta; yet the party of Cleisthenes won. Then, since they reckoned that there would be war with Sparta, the Athenians had sought friendship with Artaphernes at Sardis; but since he demanded earth and water they broke off. But because Athens was waxing in strength, the Spartans bethought them of restoring the despotism of the Pisistratidæ. But Sosicles, the Corinthian, dissuaded the allies of Sparta from taking part in so evil a deed. Then Hippias sought to stir up against the Athenians the ill-will of Artaphernes, who bade them take back the Pisistratidæ, which they would not do. Therefore, when Aristagoras came thither, the Athenians were readily persuaded to promise him aid. And he, having gathered the troops of the Ionians, who were at one with him, marched with them and the Athenians against Sardis and took the city, which by a chance was set on fire. But after that the Athenians refused further help to the Ionians, who were worsted by the Persians. But the ruin of the Ionians was at the sea-fight of Lade, where the men of Chios fought stoutly; but they of Samos and Lesbos deserting, there was a great rout. _IV.--Marathon and Thermopylæ_ Thereafter King Darius, being very wroth with the Athenians for their share in the burning of Sardis, sent a great army across the Hellespont to march through Thrace against Athens, under his young kinsman Mardonius. But disaster befell these at the hands of the Thracians, and the fleet that was to aid them was shattered in a storm; so that they returned to Asia without honour. Then Darius sent envoys to demand earth and water from the Greek states; and of the islanders the most gave them, and some also of the cities on the mainland; and among these were the Aeginetans, who were at feud with Athens. But of those who would not give the earth and water were the Eretrians of Eubcea. So Darius sent a great armament by sea against Eretria and Athens, led by Datis and Artaphernes, which sailed first against Eretria. The Athenians, indeed, sent aid; but when they found that the counsels of the Eretrians were divided, so that no firm stand might be made, they withdrew. Nevertheless, the Eretrians fought valiantly behind their walls, till they were betrayed on the seventh day. But the Persians, counselled by Hippias, sailed to the bay of Marathon. Then the Athenians sent the strong runner Pheidippides to call upon the Spartans for aid; who promised it, yet for sacred reasons would not move until the full moon. So the Athenian host had none to aid them save the loyal Platæans, valiant though few. Yet in the council of their generals the word of Miltiades was given for battle, whereto the rest consented. Then the Athenians and Platæans, being drawn up in a long line, charged across the plain nigh a mile, running upon the masses of the Persians; and, breaking them upon the wings, turned and routed the centre also after long fighting, and drove them down to the ships, slaying as they went; and of the ships they took seven. And of the barbarians there fell 6,400 men, and of the Athenians, 192. But as for the story that the Alcmæonidæ hoisted a friendly signal to the Persians, I credit it not at all. Now, Darius was very wroth with the Greeks when he heard of these things, and made preparation for a mighty armament to overthrow the Greeks, and also the Egyptians, who revolted soon afterwards. But he died before he was ready, and Xerxes, his son, reigned in his stead. Then, having first crushed the Egyptians, he, being ruled by Mardonius, gathered a council and declared his intent of marching against the Hellenes; which resolution was commended by Mardonius, but Artabanus, the king's uncle, spoke wise words of warning. Then Xerxes would have changed his mind, but for a dream which came to him twice, and to Artabanus also, threatening disaster if he ceased from his project; so that Artabanus was won over to favour it. Then Xerxes made vast provision for his invasion for the building of a bridge over the Hellespont, and the cutting of a canal through the peninsula of Athos, where the fleet of Mardonius had been shattered. And from all parts of his huge empire he mustered his hosts first in Cappadocia, and marched thence by way of Sardis to the Hellespont. And because, when the bridge was a building, a great storm wrecked it, he bade flog the naughty waves of the sea. Then, the bridge being finished, he passed over with his host, which took seven days to accomplish. And when they were come to Doriscus he numbered them, and found them to be 1,700,000 men, besides his fleets. And in the fleet were 1,207 great ships, manned chiefly by the Phoenicians and the Greeks of Asia, having also Persian and Scythian fighting men on board. But when Demaratus, an exiled king of Sparta, warned Xerxes of the valour of all the Greeks, but chiefly of the Spartans, who would give battle, however few they might be, against any foe, however many, his words seemed to Xerxes a jest, seeing how huge his own army was. Now, Xerxes had sent to many of the Greek states heralds to demand earth and water, which many had given; but to Athens and Sparta he had not sent, because there the heralds of his father Darius had been evilly entreated. And if it had not been for the resolution of the Athenians at this time, all Hellas would have been forced to submit to the Great King; for they, in despite of threatening oracles, held fast to their defiance, being urged thereto by Themistocles, who showed them how those oracles must mean that, although they would suffer evil things, they would be victorious by means of wooden bulwarks, which is to say, ships; and thus they were encouraged to rely upon building and manning a mighty fleet. And all the other cities of Greece resolved to stand by them, except the Argives, who would not submit to the leadership of the Spartans. And in like manner Gelon, the despot of Syracuse in Sicily, would not send aid unless he were accepted as leader. Nor were the men of Thessaly willing to join, since the other Greeks could not help them to guard Thessaly itself, as the pass of Tempe could be turned. Therefore the Greeks resolved to make their stand at Thermopylæ on land, and at the strait of Artemisium by sea. But at the strong pass of Thermopylæ only a small force was gathered to hold the barbarians in check, there being of the Spartans themselves only 300, commanded by the king Leonidas. And when the Persians had come thither and sought to storm the pass, they were beaten back with ease, until a track was found by which they might take the defenders in the rear. Then Leonidas bade the rest of the army depart except his Spartans. But the Thespians also would not go; and then those Spartans and Thespians went out into the open and died gloriously. _V.--Destruction of the Persian Hosts_ During these same days the Greek fleet at Artemisium fought three several engagements with the Persian fleet, in which neither side had much the better. And thereafter the Greek fleet withdrew, but was persuaded to remain undispersed in the bay of Salamis. The Peloponnesians were no longer minded to attempt the defence of Attica, but to fortify their isthmus, so that the Athenians had no choice but either to submit or to evacuate Athens, removing their families and their goods to Troezen or Aegina or Salamis. In the fleet, their contingent was by far the largest and best, but the commanding admiral was the Spartan Eurybiades. Then the Persians, passing through Boeotia, but, being dispersed before Delphi by thunderbolts and other portents, took possession of Athens, after a fierce fight with the garrison in the Acropolis. Then the rest of the Greek fleet was fain to withdraw from Salamis, and look to the safety of the Peloponnese only. But Themistocles warned them that if they did so, the Athenians would leave them and sail to new lands and make themselves a new Athens; and thus the fleet was persuaded to hold together at Salamis. Yet he did not trust only to their goodwill, but sent a messenger to the Persian fleet that the way of retreat might be intercepted. For the Persian fleet had gathered at Phalerum, and now looked to overwhelm the Grecian fleet altogether, despite the council of Queen Artemisia of Halicarnassus, who would have had them not fight by sea at all. When Aristides, called the Just, the great rival of Themistocles, came to the Greeks with the news that their retreat by sea was cut off, then they were no longer divided, but resolved to fight it out. In the battle, the Aeginetans and the Athenians did the best of all the Greeks, and Themistocles best among the commanders; nor was ever any fleet more utterly put to rout than that of the Persians, among whom Queen Artemisia won praise unmerited. As for King Xerxes, panic seized him when he saw the disaster to his fleet, and he made haste to flee. He consented, however, to leave Mardonius behind with 300,000 troops in Thessaly, he being still assured that he could crush the Greeks. And it was well for him that Themistocles was over-ruled in his desire to pursue and annihilate the fleet, then sail to the Hellespont and destroy the bridge. When the winter and spring were passed, Mardonius marched from Thessaly and again occupied Athens, which the Athenians had again evacuated, the Spartans having failed to send succour. But when at length the Lacedæmonians, fearing to lose the Athenian fleet, sent forth an army, the Persians fell back to Boeotia. So the Greek hosts gathered near Platæa to the number of 108,000 men, but the troops of Mardonius were about 350,000. Yet, by reason of doubtful auguries, both armies held back, till Mardonius resolved to attack, whereof warning was brought to the Athenians by Alexander of Macedon. But when the Spartan Pausanias, the general of the Greeks, heard of this, he did what caused no little wonder, for he proposed that the Athenians instead of the Lacedæmonians should face the picked troops of the Persians, as having fought them at Marathon. But Mardonius, seeing them move, moved his picked troops also. Then Mardonius sent some light horse against the Greeks by a fountain whence flowed the water for the army; which, becoming choked, it was needful to move to a new position. But the move being made by night, most of the allies withdrew into the town. But the Spartans, and Tegeans and Athenians, perceiving this, held each their ground till dawn. Now, in the morning the picked Persian troops fell on the Spartans, and their Grecian allies attacked the Athenians. But, Mardonius being slain, the Persians fled to their camp, which was stormed by the Spartans and Tegeans, and the Athenians, who also had routed their foes; and there the barbarians were slaughtered, so that of 300,000 men not 3,000 were left alive. But Artabazus, who, before the battle, had withdrawn with 40,000 men, escaped by forced marches to the Hellespont. And on that same day was fought another fight by sea at Mycale in Ionia, where also the barbarians were utterly routed, for the fleet had sailed thither. And thence the Greeks sailed to Sestos, captured the place, and so went home. * * * * * THUCYDIDES The Peloponnesian War The Athenian historian, Thucydides, was born about 471 B.C., within ten years of the great repulse of the Persian invasion. Before he was thirty, the great political ascendancy of Pericles was completely established at Athens, and the ascendancy of Athens among the Greek states was unchallenged, except by Sparta. He was forty at the beginning of the Peloponnesian War. Thucydides was appointed to a military command seven years later, but his failure in that office caused his banishment. From that time he remained an exiled spectator of events; the date of his death is uncertain. His great work is the history of the Peloponnesian War to its twentieth year, where his history is abruptly broken off. To Herodotus, history presented itself as a drama; Thucydides views it with the eyes of a philosophical statesman, but writes it also with extraordinary descriptive power, not only in pregnant sentences which have never been effectively rendered in translation, but in passages of sustained intensity, of which it would be vain to reproduce fragments. The abridged translation given here has been made direct from the Greek. _I.--The Beginning of the War_ I have written the account of the war between Athens and Sparta, since it is the greatest and the most calamitous of all wars hitherto to the Greeks. For the contest with the Medes was decided in four battles; but this war was protracted over many years, and wrought infinite injury and bloodshed. Of the immediate causes of the war the first is to be found in the affairs of Epidamnus, Corcyra, and Corinth, of which Corcyra was a colony. Of the Greek states, the most were joined either to the Athenian or the Peloponnesian league, but Corcyra had joined neither. But having a quarrel with Corinth about Epidamnus, she now formed an alliance with Athens, whose intervention enraged the Corinthians. They then helped Potidæa, a Corinthian colony, but an Athenian tributary, to revolt from Athens. Corinth next appealed to Sparta, as the head of Hellas, to intervene ere it should be too late and check the Athenian aggression, which threatened to make her the tyrant of all Greece. At Sparta the war party prevailed, although King Archidamus urged that sufficient pressure could be brought to bear without actual hostilities. The great prosperity and development of Athens since the Persian war had filled other states with fear and jealousy. She had rebuilt her city walls and refortified the port of Piræus after the Persian occupation; Sparta had virtually allowed her to take the lead in the subsequent stages of the war, as having the most effective naval force at command. Hence she had founded the Delian league of the maritime states, to hold the seas against Persia. At first these states provided fixed contingents of ships and mariners; but Athens was willing enough to accept treasure in substitution, so that she might herself supply the ships and men. Thus the provision of forces by each state to act against Persia was changed in effect into a tribute for the expansion of the Athenian fleet. The continuous development of the power of Athens had been checked only momentarily by her disastrous Egyptian expedition. Her nominal allies found themselves actually her tributary dependencies, and various attempts to break free from her yoke had made it only more secure and more burdensome. Hence the warlike decision of Sparta was welcomed by others besides Corinth. But diplomatic demands preceded hostilities. Sparta and Athens sent to each other summons and counter-summons for the "expulsion of the curse," that is of all persons connected with certain families which lay under the curse of the gods. In the case of Athens, this amounted to requiring the banishment of her greatest citizen and statesman, Pericles. To this the Spartans added the demand that the Athenians should "restore the freedom of Hellas," and should specifically remove certain trading disabilities imposed on the people of Megara. At this crisis Pericles laid down the rules of policy on which Athens ought to act--rules which required her to decline absolutely to submit to any form of dictation from Sparta. When a principle was at stake, it made no difference whether the occasion was trivial or serious. Athens could face war with confidence. Her available wealth was far greater--a matter of vital importance in a prolonged struggle. Her counsels were not divided by the conflicting interests of allies all claiming to direct military movements and policy. Her fleet gave her command of the sea, and enabled her to strike when and where she chose. If Peloponnesian invaders ravaged Attica, still no permanent injury would be done comparable to that which the Athenians could inflict upon them. The one necessity was to concentrate on the war, and attempt no extension of dominion while it was in progress. War was not yet formally declared when the Thebans attempted to seize Platæa, a town of Boeotia, which had long been closely allied to Athens. The attempt failed, and the Thebans were put to death; but the Platæans appealed to Athens for protection against their powerful neighbour, and when the Athenian garrison was sent to them, this was treated as a _casus belli_. Preparations were urged on both sides; Sparta summoned her allies to muster their contingents on the Isthmus for the invasion of Attica, nearly all the mainland states joining the Peloponnesian league. The islanders and the cities in Asia Minor, on the other hand, were nearly all either actually subject to Athens or in alliance with her. As Pericles advised, the Athenians left the country open to the ravages of the invading forces, and themselves retired within the city. In spite of the resentment of those who saw their property being laid waste, Pericles maintained his ascendency, and persuaded the people to devote their energies to sending out an irresistible fleet, and to establishing a great reserve both of ships and treasure, which were to be an annual charge and brought into active use only in the case of dire emergency. The fleet sailed round the Peloponnese, and the ravages it was able to inflict, with the alarm it created, caused the withdrawal of the forces in Attica. In that winter Pericles delivered a great funeral oration, or panegyric, in memory of the Athenians who had so far fallen gloriously in defence of their country, in which he painted the characteristic virtues of the Athenian people in such a fashion as to rouse to the highest pitch the patriotic pride of his countrymen, and their confidence in themselves, in their future, and in their leader. _II.--Early Successes of Athens_ In the second year of the war, Athens suffered from a fearful visitation of the plague, which, however, made no way in the Peloponnese. It broke out also among the reinforcements dispatched to Potidæa; and it required all the skill of Pericles to reconcile the Athenians to the continuation of the war, after seeing their territories overrun for the second time for six weeks. By dint of dwelling on the supreme importance of their decisive command of the sea, and on the vast financial resources which secured their staying power, he maintained his ascendency until his death in the following year, though he had to submit to a fine. The events which followed his death only confirmed the profundity of his political judgment, and the accuracy with which he had gauged the capacities of the state. In that winter Potidæa was forced to capitulate to the Athenians. In the summer of the third year, the Lacedæmonians called on the Platæans to desert the Athenian alliance. On their refusal, Platæa was besieged by the allied forces of the Peloponnesians. With splendid resolution, the Platæans defeated the attempt of the allies to force an entry till they were able to complete and withdraw behind a second and more easily tenable line of defence, when the Peloponnesians settled down to a regular investment. The same year was marked by the brilliant operations of the Athenian admiral Phormio in the neighbourhood of Naupactus. On the other hand, a Peloponnesian squadron threatened the Piræus, caused some temporary panic, and awakened the Athenians to the necessity of maintaining a look-out, but otherwise effected little. The year is further noted for the invasion of Macedonia by the Thracian or Scythian king Sitalces, who was, however, induced to retire. In the next year, Lesbos revolted against the Athenian supremacy. As a result, an Athenian squadron blockaded Mitylene. The Lacedaæonians were well pleased to accept alliance with a sea-power which claimed to have struck against Athens, not as being subject to her, but in anticipation of attempted subjugation. The prompt equipment, however, of another Athenian fleet chilled the naval enthusiasm of Sparta. During this winter the Platæans began to feel in straits from shortage of supplies, and it was resolved that a party of them should break through the siege lines, and escape to Athens, a feat of arms which was brilliantly and successfully accomplished. In the next--the fifth--summer, Mitylene capitulated; the fate of the inhabitants was to be referred to Athens. Here Cleon had now become the popular leader, and he persuaded the Athenians to order the whole of the adult males to be put to death. The opposition, however, succeeded in getting this bloodthirsty resolution rescinded. The second dispatch, racing desperately after the first, did not succeed in overtaking it, but was just in time to prevent the order for the massacre from being carried out. Lesbos was divided among Athenian citizens, who left the Lesbians in occupation as before, but drew a large rental from them. In the same summer the remaining garrison of Platæa surrendered to the Lacedæmonians, on terms to be decided by Lacedæmonian commissioners. Before them the Platæans justified their resistance, but the commissioners ignored the defence, and, on the pretext that the only question was whether they had suffered any "wrong" at the hands of the Platæans, and that the answer to that was obvious, put the Platæans to death and razed the city to the ground. Meanwhile, at Corcyra, the popular and the oligarchical parties, who favoured the Athenians and Peloponnesians respectively, had reached the stage of murderous hostility to each other. The oligarchs captured the government, and were then in turn attacked by the popular party; and there was savage faction fighting. An attempt was made by the commander of the Athenian squadron at Naupactus to act as moderator; the appearance of a Peloponnesian squadron and a confused sea-fight, somewhat in favour of the latter, brought the popular party to the verge of a compromise. But the Peloponnesians retired on the reported approach of a fresh Athenian fleet, and a democratic reign of terror followed. "The father slew the son, and the supplicants were torn from the temples and slain near them." And thus was initiated the peculiar horror of this war--the desperate civil strife in one city after another, oligarchs hoping to triumph by Lacedæmonian and democrats by Athenian, support, and either party, when uppermost, ruling by terror. It was at this time also that the Ionian and Dorian cities of Sicily, headed by Leontini and Syracuse respectively, went to war with each other, and an Athenian squadron was first induced to participate in the struggle. Among the operations of the next, or sixth, summer was a campaign which the Athenian commander Demosthenes conducted in Ætolia--successful at the outset, but terminating in disaster, which made the general afraid to return to Athens. He seized a chance, however, of recovering his credit by foiling a Lacedæmonian expedition against Naupactus; and in other ways he successfully established a high military reputation, so that he was no longer afraid to reappear at Athens. Next year, the Athenians dispatched a larger fleet with Sicily for its objective. Demosthenes, however, who had a project of his own in view, was given an independent command. He was thus enabled to seize and fortify Pylos, a position on the south-west of Peloponnese, with a harbour sheltered by the isle of Sphacteria. The Spartans, in alarm, withdrew their invading force from Attica, and attempted to recover Pylos, landing over 400 of their best men on Sphacteria. The locality now became the scene of a desperate struggle, which finally resulted in the Spartans on Sphacteria being completely isolated. So seriously did the Lacedæmonians regard this blow that they invited the Athenians to make peace virtually in terms of an equal alliance; but the Athenians were now so confident of a triumphant issue that they refused the terms--chiefly at the instigation of Cleon. Some supplies, however, were got into Sphacteria, owing to the high rewards offered by the Lacedæmonians for successful blockade-running. At this moment, Cleon, the Athenian demagogue, having rashly declared that he could easily capture Sphacteria, was taken at his word and sent to do it. He had the wit, however, to choose Demosthenes for his colleague, and to take precisely the kind of troops Demosthenes wanted; with the result that within twenty days, as he had promised, the Spartans found themselves with no other alternatives than annihilation or surrender. Their choice of the latter was an overwhelming blow to Lacedæmonian prestige. _III.--Victories of Lacedæmon_ The capture of the island of Cythera in the next summer gave the Athenians a second strong station from which they could constantly menace the Peloponnese. On the other hand, in this year the Sicilians were awakening to the fact that Athens was not playing a disinterested part on behalf of the Ionian states, but was dreaming of a Sicilian empire. At a sort of peace congress, Hermocrates of Syracuse successfully urged all Sicilians to compose their quarrels on the basis of _uti possidetis,_ and thus deprive the Athenians of any excuse for remaining. Thus for the time Athenian aspirations in that quarter were checked. At Megara this year the dissensions of the oligarchical and popular factions almost resulted in its capture by the Athenians. The Lacedæmonian Brasidas, however--who had distinguished himself at Pylos--effected an entry, so that the oligarchical and Peloponnesian party became permanently established in power. The most important operations were now in two fields. Brasidas made a dash through Thessaly into Macedonia, in alliance with Perdiccas of Macedon, with the hope of stirring the cities of Chalcidice to throw off the Athenian yoke; and the democrats of Boeotia intrigued with Athens to assist in a general revolution. Owing partly to misunderstandings and partly to treachery, the Boeotian democrats failed to carry out their programme, the Athenians were defeated at Delium, and Delium itself was captured by the Boeotians. Meanwhile, Brasidas succeeded in persuading Acanthus to revolt, he himself winning the highest of reputations for justice and moderation as well as for military skill. Later in the year he suddenly turned his forces against the Athenian colony of Amphipolis, which he induced to surrender by offering very favourable terms before Thucydides, who was in command of Thasos, arrived to relieve it. The further successes of Brasidas during this winter made the Athenians ready to treat for peace, and a truce was agreed upon for twelve months. Brasidas, however, continued to render aid to the subject cities which revolted from Athens--this being now the ninth year of the war--but he failed in an attempt to capture Potidæa. The period of truce terminating without any definite peace being arrived at, the summer of the tenth year is chiefly notable for the expedition sent under Cleon to recover Amphipolis, and for a recrudescence of the old quarrel in Sicily between Leontini and Syracuse. Before Amphipolis, the incompetent Cleon was routed by the skill of Brasidas; but the victor as well as the vanquished was slain, though he lived long enough to know of the victory. Their deaths removed two of the most zealous opponents of the peace for which both sides were now anxious. Hence at the close of the tenth year a definite peace was concluded. The Lacedæmonians, however, were almost alone in being fully satisfied by the terms, and the war was really continued by an anti-Laconian confederation of the former Peloponnesian allies, who saw in the peace a means to the excessive preponderance of Athens and Sparta. Argos was brought into the new confederacy in the hope of establishing her nominal equality with Sparta. For some years from this point the combinations of the states were constantly changing, while Athens and Sparta remained generally on terms of friendliness, the two prominent figures at Athens being the conservative Nicias and the restless and ambitious young intriguer Alcibiades. In the fourteenth year there were active hostilities between Argos, with which by this time Athens was in alliance, and Lacedæmon, issuing in the great battle of Mantinea, where there was an Athenian contingent with the Argives. This was notable especially as completely restoring the prestige of the Lacedæmonian arms, their victory being decisive. The result was a new treaty between Sparta and Argos, and the dissolution of the Argive-Athenian alliance; but this was once more reversed in the following year, when the Argive oligarchy was attacked successfully by the popular party. The next year is marked by the high-handed treatment of the island of Melos by the Athenians. This was one of the very few islands which had not been compelled to submit to Athens, but had endeavoured to remain neutral. Thither the Athenians now sent an expedition, absolutely without excuse, to compel their submission. The Melians, however, refused, and gave the Athenians a good deal of trouble before they could be subdued, when the adult male population was put to death, and the women and children enslaved. At this time the Athenians resolved, under colour of an appeal for assistance from the Sicilian city of Egesta, deliberately to set about the establishment of their empire in Sicily. The aggressive policy was vehemently advocated by Alcibiades, and opposed by Nicias. Nevertheless, he, with Alcibiades and Lamachus, was appointed to command the expedition, which was prepared on a scale of unparalleled magnificence. It was on the point of starting, when the whole city was stirred to frenzy by the midnight mutilation of the sacred images called Hermæ, an act laid at the door of Alcibiades, along with many other charges of profane outrages. Of set purpose, however, the enemies of Alcibiades refused to bring him to trial. The expedition sailed. The Syracusans were deaf to the warnings of Hermocrates until the great fleet had actually arrived at Rhegium. Nicias was now anxious to find an excuse, in the evident falsity of statements made by the Egestans, for the fleet to content itself with making a demonstration and then returning home. The scheme of Alcibiades, however, was adopted for gaining over the other Sicilian states in order to crush Syracuse. But at this moment dispatches arrived requiring the return of Alcibiades to stand trial. Athens was in a panic over the Hermæ affair, which was supposed to portend an attempt to reestablish the despotism which had been ended a hundred years before by the expulsion of the Pisistratidæ. Alcibiades, however, made his escape, and for years pursued a life of political intrigue against the Athenian government. Nicias and Lamachus, left in joint command, drew off the Syracusan forces by a ruse, and were thus enabled to occupy unchecked a strong position before Syracuse. Although, however, they inflicted a defeat on the returned Syracusan forces, they withdrew into winter quarters; the Syracusans were roused by Hermocrates to improve their military organisation; and both sides entered on a diplomatic contest for winning over the other states of Sicily. Alcibiades, now an avowed enemy of Athens, was received by the Lacedæmonians, whom he induced to send an able Spartan officer, Gylippus, to Syracuse, and to determine on the establishment of a military post corresponding to that of Pylos on Attic soil at Decelea. _IV.--The Disaster of Syracuse_ In the spring the Athenians succeeded in establishing themselves on the heights called Epipolæ, overlooking Syracuse, began raising a wall of circumvallation, and carried by a surprise the counter-stockade which the Syracusans were raising. In one of the skirmishes, while the building of the wall was in progress, Lamachus was killed; otherwise matters went well for the Athenians and ill for the Syracusans, till Gylippus was allowed to land at Himera, force his way into Syracuse, and give new life. Nicias was guilty of the blunder of allowing Gylippus to land at Himera, to aid the defence, at the moment when it was on the point of capitulation. A long contest followed, the Athenians endeavouring to complete the investing lines, the Syracusans to pierce them with counterworks. Nicias sent to Athens for reinforcements, while the Syracusans were energetically fitting out a fleet and appealing for air in the Peloponnese. Nicias, in fact, was extremely despondent and anxious to resign; the Athenians, however, answered his dispatches by preparing a great reinforcement under the command of Demosthenes, without accepting the resignation of Nicias. The Lacedæmonians, however, also sent some reinforcements; at the same time they formally declared war, and carried out the plan of occupying and fortifying Decelea, which completely commanded the Athenian territory and was the cause of untold loss and suffering. Now, at Syracuse the besieged took the offensive both by sea and land, and were worsted on the water, but captured some of the Athenian forts, commanding the entry to the besiegers' lines--a serious disaster. By the time that Demosthenes with his reinforcements reached Sicily nearly the whole island had come over to the side of Syracuse. Before this, the Syracusans had again challenged an engagement both by sea and land, with results indecisive on the first day but distinctly in their favour on the second. At this juncture, Demosthenes arrived, and, seeing the necessity for immediate action, made a night attack on the Syracusan lines; but, his men falling into confusion after a first success, the attempt was disastrously repulsed. Demosthenes was quick to realise that the whole situation was hopeless; but Nicias lacked nerve to accept the responsibility of retiring, and also had some idea that affairs within Syracuse were favourable. His obstinacy gave Demosthenes and his colleague Eurymedon the impression that he was guided by secret information. And now it became the primary object of Gylippus and the Syracusans to keep the Athenians from retiring. Another naval defeat reduced the Athenians to despair; they resolved that they must cut their way out. The desperate attempt was made, but by almost hopeless men against an enemy now full of confidence. To the excited, almost agonised, watchers on shore, it seemed for a brief space that the ships might force a passage; the fight was a frenzied scuffle; but presently the terrible truth was realised--the Athenian ships were being driven ashore. The last hope of escape by sea was gone, for, though there were still ships enough, the sailors were too utterly demoralised to make the attempt. Hermocrates and Gylippus, sure that a retreat by land would not be tried, succeeded by a trick in detaining the Athenians till they had themselves sent out detachments to hold the roads. On the third day the Athenians began their retreat in unspeakable misery, amid the lamentations of the sick and wounded, whom they were forced to leave behind. For three days they struggled on, short of food and perpetually harassed, cut off from all communications. On the third day their passage was barred in a pass, and they found themselves in a trap. On the third night they attempted to break away by a different route, but the van and the rear lost touch. Overtaken by the Syracusans, Demosthenes attempted to fight a rearguard action, but in vain, and he was forced to surrender at discretion with his whole force. Next day, Nicias with the van was overtaken, and, after a ghastly scene of confusion and slaughter, the remnants of the vanguard were forced to surrender also. Nicias and Demosthenes were put to death; great numbers were seized as private spoil by their captors, the rest of the prisoners--more than 7,000--were confined for weeks under the most noisome conditions in the quarries, and finally the survivors were sold as slaves. So pitiably ended that once magnificent enterprise in the nineteenth year of the war. The terrific disaster filled every enemy of Athens with confident expectation of her immediate and utter ruin. Lacedæmonians anticipated an unqualified supremacy. At Athens there was a stubborn determination to prepare for a desperate stand; but half the islanders were intriguing for Lacedæmonian or Persian aid in breaking free, while Alcibiades became extremely busy. The first Peloponnesian squadron which attempted to move was promptly driven into Piræus by an Athenian fleet and blockaded. On the open revolt of some of the states, the Athenians for the first time brought into play their reserve fund and reserve navy--the emergency had arisen. While one after another of the subject cities revolted, the Athenians struck hard at Chios, and especially Miletus, and obtained marked successes. Meanwhile, a revolution in Samos had expelled the oligarchy and re-established the democracy, to which the Athenians accorded freedom, thereby securing an ally. In Lesbos also they recovered their challenged supremacy. Phrynicus now came into prominence as a shrewd commander and a crafty politician, while the intricate intrigues of Alcibiades, whose great object was to recover his position at Athens, created perpetual confusion. These events took place in the twentieth year of the war, and to them must be added a Lacedæmonian treaty with Persia through the satrap Tissaphernes. All the leading men, however, were engaged in playing fast and loose, each of them having his personal ambitions in view. Of this labyrinth of plots and counter-plots, the startling outcome was the sudden abrogation of the constitution at Athens and the capture of the government by a committee of five with a council of four hundred and a supplementary assembly of five thousand--in place of the whole body of citizens as formerly. The Five and the Four Hundred in effect were the Government, and established a reign of terror. At Athens, the administration thus formed was effective; but the army and fleet at Satnos repudiated the revolution and swore loyalty to the democracy, claiming to be the true representatives of the Athenian state. Moreover, they allied themselves with Alcibiades, expecting through him to receive Persian support; and, happily for Athens, he succeeded in restraining the fleet--which was still more than a match for all adversaries--from sailing back to the Piræus to subvert the rule of the Four Hundred. The more patriotic of the oligarchs saw, in fact, that the best hopes for the state lay in the establishment of a limited democracy; with the result that the extreme oligarchs, who would have joined hands with the enemy, were overthrown, and the rule of the Five Thousand replaced that of the Four Hundred, providing Athens with the best administration it had ever known. A great naval victory was won by the Athenian fleet, under the command of Thrasybulus, over a slightly larger Peloponnesian fleet at Cynossema. * * * * * XENOPHON Anabasis Xenophon was born at Athens about B.C. 430, and died probably in 355. He was an Athenian gentleman who in his early-manhood was an intimate member of the Socratic circle. In 401 he joined the expedition of Cyrus, recorded in the "Anabasis," and did not again take up his residence in Athens. The "Anabasis" must be introduced by an historical note. In the year 404 B.C. the Peloponnesian war was brought to a close by a peace establishing the Lacedæmonian supremacy consequent upon the crowning disaster to the Athenians at Aegos Potami. In the same year the Persian king Darius Nothus died, and was succeeded on the throne by his son Artaxerxes. His younger son, Cyrus, determined to make a bid for the throne. He had personal knowledge of the immense superiority of the Greek soldiery and the Greek discipline over those of the Eastern nations. Accordingly, he planned to obtain the services of a large contingent of Greek mercenaries, who had become the more readily available since the internecine struggle between the two leading states of Hellas had been brought to an end. The term "Anabasis," or "going up," applies properly to the advance into the interior; the retreat, with which the work is mainly concerned, is the "Katabasis." The author writes his record in the third person. This epitome has been specially adapted for THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS from the Greek text. _I.--The Going-up of Cyrus_ Cyrus, the younger brother of Artaxerxes the king, began his preparations for revolt by gradually gathering and equipping an army on the pretext of hostile relations between himself and another of the western satraps, Tissaphernes. Notably, he secretly furnished Clearchus, a Lacedæmonian, with means to equip a Greek force in Thrace; another like force was ready to move from Thessaly under Aristippus; while a Boeotian, Proxenus, and two others friends were commissioned to collect more mercenaries to aid in the war with Tissaphernes. Next, an excuse for marching up-country, at the head of all these forces, was found in the need of suppressing the Pisidians. He advanced from Sardis into Phrygia, where his musters were completed at Celænæ. A review was held at Tyriæum, where the Cilician queen, who had supplied funds, was badly frightened by a mock charge of the Greek contingent. When the advance had reached Tarsus, there was almost a mutiny among the Greeks, who were suspicious of the intentions of Cyrus. The diplomacy, however, of their principal general, Clearchus, the Lacedæmonian, coupled with promises of increased pay, prevailed, though it had long been obvious that Pisidia was not the objective of the expedition. Further reinforcements were received at Issus, the eastern seaport of Cilicia; Cyrus then marched through the Cilician gate into Syria. At Myriandrus two Greek commanders, probably through jealousy of Clearchus, deserted. Cyrus won popularity by refusing to presume thereon; and the whole force now struck inland to Thapsacus, on the Euphrates. At Thapsacus, Cyrus announced his purpose. The Greek soldiers were angry with their generals for having, as they supposed, wilfully misled them, but were mollified by promise of large rewards. One of the commanders, Menon, won the approval of Cyrus by being the first to lead his own contingent across the Euphrates on his own initiative. The advance was now conducted by forced marches through a painfully sterile country. In the course of this, the troops of Clearchus and Menon very nearly came to blows; the intervention of Proxenus only made matters worse; and order was restored by the arrival of Cyrus, who pointed out that the whole expedition must be ruined if the Greeks fell out among themselves. By this time, Artaxerxes had realised that the repeated warnings of Tissaphernes and others were justified; and as the expedition neared Babylonia, signs of the enemy became apparent in the deliberate devastation of the country. Here Orontes, one of the principal Persian officers of Cyrus, was convicted of treason and put to death. The army was again reviewed, the whole force amounting to some 100,000 barbarians and nearly 14,000 Greeks; the enemy were reputed to number over 1,000,000, though not so many took part in the engagement. Cyrus now advanced, expecting battle immediately at an entrenched pass; but, finding this unoccupied, he did not maintain battle order; which was hurriedly taken up on news of the approach of the royal forces. The Greeks, under Clearchus, occupied the right wing, Cyrus being in the centre, and Ariæus on the left. The king's army was so large that its centre extended beyond the left of Cyrus. The Greeks advanced on the royalist left, which broke and fled almost without a blow. Thinking that the Greeks might be intercepted and cut off, Cyrus charged the centre in person with his bodyguard, and routed the opposing troops; but dashing forward in the hope of capturing Artaxerxes, was himself pierced by a javelin, and fell dead on the field. So ended the career of the most brilliant Persian since Cyrus the Great had established the Persian Empire; brave, accomplished, the mirror of honour, just himself and the rewarder of justice in others, generous and most loyal to his friends. _II.--The Homeward March_ When Cyrus fell, the left wing, under Ariæus, broke and fled. The Greeks had meantime poured on in pursuit of the royalist left, while the main body of the royalists were in possession of the rebel camp, though a Greek guard, which had been left there, held the Greek quarter. Artaxerxes, however, had no mind to give battle to the returning Greek column. It was not till next day that Clearchus and his colleagues learned by messengers from Ariæus that Cyrus was slain, and that Ariæus had fallen back to the last halting-place, where he proposed to wait twenty-four hours, and no more, before starting in his retreat westward. Clearchus replied, that the Greeks, for their part, had been victorious, and that if Ariæus would rejoin them they would win the Persian crown for him, since Cyrus was dead. The next message was from Artaxerxes inviting the Greeks to give up their arms; to which they replied that he might come and take them if he could, but if he meant to treat them as friends, they would be no use to him without their arms, if as enemies, they would keep them to defend themselves. Though no formal appointment was made, the Greeks recognised Clearchus as their leader. They fell back to join Ariæus, who declined the proposal to seat him on the Persian throne; and it was agreed to follow a new route in retreat to Ionia, the way by which the force had advanced being now impracticable. Now, however, Artaxerxes began to negotiate through Tissaphernes, the Greeks maintaining a bold and even contemptuous front, warranted by the king's obvious fear of risking an engagement. Finally, an offer came to conduct the Greeks back to Grecian territory, providing them, at their own cost, with necessaries. Prolonged delays, however, aroused suspicions of treachery among the Greeks, who distrusted Tissaphernes and Ariæus alike; but Clearchus held it better not to break openly with the Persians. The march at last began along a northerly route towards the Black Sea, the Greeks keeping rigidly apart from the Persian forces which accompanied them, in readiness for an attack. At the crossing of the Tigris suspicion was particularly active, the conduct of Ariæus being especially dubious; but still no overt hostilities were attempted until the river Zabatus was reached, after three weeks of marching. Here Clearchus endeavoured to end the extremely strained relations between the Greeks and the barbarian commanders by an interview with Tissaphernes. Both men carefully repudiated any idea of hostile intentions, and the Persian invited Clearchus and the Greek officers generally to attend a conference. Not all, but a considerable number--five generals, including Clearchus, Proxenus, and Menon, with twenty more officers and nearly two hundred others--attended. At a given signal all were treacherously massacred; but a fugitive reached the Greek camp, where the men sprang to arms. Ariæus, approaching with an escort, declared that Clearchus had been proved guilty of treason, but was received with fierce indignation, and withdrew. Of the murdered generals, Clearchus was a man of high military capacity, but a harsh disciplinarian, feared and respected, but very unpopular; Proxenus, a particular friend of Xenophon, was an amiable but not a strong man; Menon, the Thessalian, was a crafty and hypocritical time-server, of whom no good can be spoken. The ten thousand Greeks were now in an ugly predicament; they were a thousand miles from home, while between them and the Black Sea lay the mountains of Armenia. They were surrounded by hostile hordes, and were without cavalry. They had no recognised chief, and their most trusted leaders were gone. The whole company seemed paralysed under a universal despondency. It was at this juncture that Xenophon, an Athenian gentleman-volunteer, was stirred to action by a dream. He rose and roused the officers of the contingent of Proxenus, to which he was attached. Heartened by an address, in which he pointed out that, on the one hand they had to depend on their own courage, skill, and resourcefulness, and, on the other, were released from all obligation to the Persians, they unanimously chose him their leader, and at his instigation roused the senior officers of all the other contingents to assemble for deliberation. The council thus summoned, inspired again by the words of Xenophon, vigorously backed up by other leaders, appointed new generals, among them Xenophon himself, and set about actively to organise a retreat to the sea. The contagion of resolute determination spread through the ranks of the whole force. Cheirisophus the Lacedæmonian was given the chief command, the two youngest generals, Xenophon and Timerion, were placed in charge of the rear-guard. A troop of slingers was organised; all horses with the arroy were sequestrated to form a cavalry squadron. The army started on its march through the unknown, formed in a hollow square, which was shortly so organised that the columns could be broadened or narrowed according to the ground without creating confusion. They soon found themselves able to repulse without difficulty even attacks in force by the troops of Tissaphernes, the enemy being entirely outmatched in hand-to-hand fighting. The slingers and archers, however, proved troublesome, and hostile forces, though keeping out of reach, were never far off. At last Tissaphernes and Ariæus drew off altogether, and the Greek generals having as alternative courses the march east upon Susa, north upon Babylon, and west towards Ionia, decided to revert to the course northwards to the Black Sea. _III.--The Sea! The Sea!_ This route led at first through the country of the Carduchi, a very warlike folk who had never been subjugated. Here there was a good deal of hard fighting, the Carduchi being adepts in hill warfare, and particularly expert archers. Such was the length and weight of their arrows that Greeks collected them, and used them as javelins. Seven days of this brought the retreating force to the river Centrites, which parts the Carduchian mountains from the province of Armenia. With a barely fordable river, troops in evidence on the other side, and the Carduchi hanging on their rear, the passage offered great difficulties, solved by the discovery of a much shallower ford. A feint at one point by the rearguard drew off the enemy on the opposite bank, while the main body crossed at the shallows, which the rearguard also managed to pass by a successful ruse which misled the Carduchi. The Persian governor of Western Armenia, Tiribazus, offered safe passage through his province, but scouts brought information that large forces were collecting, and would dispute the passage of a defile through which the army must pass. This point, however, was reached by a forced march, and the enemy was put to rout. For some days after this the marching was very severe; the men had to struggle forward on very nearly empty stomachs, through blizzards, suffering terribly from frostbite and the blinding effect of the snow on their eyes, so that at times nothing short of actual threats from the officers could induce the exhausted men to toil forward; and all the time the enemy's skirmishers were harassing the troops and cutting off stragglers. These, however, were finally dispersed by a sudden onslaught of the rearguard, and after this a more populous district was reached, where food and wine abounded, and the Greeks, who were not ill-received, made some days' halt to recuperate. Here a guide was obtained for the next stages; but on the third night he deserted, because Cheirisophus had lost his temper and struck him. This incident was the only occasion of a serious difference between Xenophon and the elder commander. On the seventh day after this the river Phasis was crossed; but two days later, on approaching a mountain pass, it was seen to be occupied in force. A council of war was held, at which some jesting passed, Xenophon remarking on the reputation of the Lacedæmonians as adepts in thieving, a jibe which Cheirisophus retorted on the Athenians; as the business in hand was to "steal a match" on the enemy, each encouraged the other to act up to the national reputation. In the night, a detachment of volunteers captured the ridge above the pass; the enemy facing the main body beat a hasty retreat when they found their position turned. Another five days brought the army into the country of the Taochi, where the Greeks had to rush a somewhat dangerous position in order to capture supplies. A space of some twenty yards was open to such a storm of missiles from above that it could only be passed by drawing the enemy's fire and making a dash before fresh missiles were accumulated. When this was accomplished, however, the foe offered no practical resistance, but flung themselves over the cliffs. Eighteen days later the Greeks reached a town called Gymnise, where they obtained a guide. Their course lay through tribes towards whom the governor was hostile, and the Greeks had no objection to gratifying him by spoiling and burning on their way. On the fifth day after leaving Gymnise, a mountain pass was reached. When the van cleared the top of the mountain, there arose a great shouting. And when Xenophon heard it, and they of the rear-guard, they supposed that other enemies were ranged against them, for the men of the land which had been ravaged were following behind; but when the clamour grew louder and nearer, and the new arrivals doubled forward to where the shouting was, so that it became greater and greater with the added numbers, Xenophon thought this must be something of moment. Therefore, taking Lycias and the horsemen, he rode forward at speed to give aid; and then suddenly they were aware of the soldiers' shout, the word that rang through the lines--"The sea! the sea!" Then every man raced, rear-guard and all, urging horses and the very baggage-mules to the top of their speed, and when they came to the top, they fell on each other's necks, and the generals, and officers, too, with tears of delight. And in a moment, whoever it was that passed the word, the men were gathering stones, and there they reared a mighty column. And as for the lucky guide, he betook himself home laden with presents. Of what befell between this point and the actual arrival of the army on the coast of the Black Sea at the Grecian colony of Trapezus [Trebizond] the most curious incident was that of the soldiers lighting upon great quantities of honey, which not only made them violently ill, but had an intoxicating effect, attributed to the herbs frequented by the bees in that district. This necessitated a halt of some days. The second day's march thence brought them to Trapezus, where they made sacrificial thank-offerings to the gods, and further celebrated the occasion by holding athletic games. _IV.--The End of the Expedition_ But Trapezus was not Greece, and the problem of transport was serious. The men, sick of marching, were eager to accomplish the rest of their journey by sea. Cheirisophus the general, as being a personal friend of the Lacedæmonian admiral stationed at Byzantium, was commissioned to obtain ships from him to take the Greeks home. Cheirisophus departed. The army, which still numbered over ten thousand persons, was willing enough to maintain its military organisation for foraging and for self-defence; also to make such arrangements as were practicable for collecting ships in case Cheirisophus should fail them; but the men flatly refused to consider any further movement except by water. So they stayed where they were, maintaining their supplies by raids on the natives; but time passed, and there were no tidings of Cheirisophus. At last, they saw nothing for it but to put the sick and other non-combatants aboard of the vessels which had been secured, send them on by sea, and themselves march by the coast to Cerasus, another Greek colony. Thence they continued their westward progress, in which they met with considerable resistance from the natives, who were barbarians of a primitive type, until they came to Cotyora. This was another settlement from Sinope; but it received the Greeks very inhospitably, so that the latter continued their practice of ravaging the neighbouring territories. It was now eight months since the expedition had started on its homeward march. Here a deputation arrived from Sinope to protest against their proceedings; but Xenophon pointed out that while they were perfectly willing to buy what they needed and behave as friends, if they were not allowed to buy, self-preservation compelled them to take by force. Ultimately, the deputation promised to send ships from Sinope to convey them thither. During the time of waiting there was some risk of the force breaking itself up, and some inclination to make attacks on the officers, including Xenophon. The formulation of charges, however, enabled him amply to justify the acts complained of, and order generally was restored. At last, however, a sufficient number of ships were collected to convey the force to Sinope, where also Cheirisophus put in his long-delayed appearance. Cheirisophus came practically without ships and with nothing but vague promises from the admiral at Byzantium. At this point it occurred to the army that it would be better to have a single commander for the whole than a committee of generals each in control of his own division. Hence Xenophon was invited to accept the position. On consulting the omens he declined, recommending that, since Cheirisophus was a Lacedæmonian, it would be the proper thing to offer him the command, which was accordingly done. The force now sailed from Sinope as far as Heraclea. Here the contingents from Arcadia and Archæa--more than half the force--insisted on requisitioning large supplies of money from Heraclea. Cheirisophus, supported by Xenophon, refused assent; the Arcadians and Achæans consequently refused to serve under their command any more, and appointed captains for themselves. The other half of the army was also parted in two divisions, commanded by Cheirisophus and Xenophon respectively. From Calpe the Arcadians and Archæans made an expedition into the interior, which fared so ill that Xenophon, hearing by accident of what had happened, was obliged to march to their relief. To his satisfaction, however, it was found that the enemy had already dispersed, and the Greek column was overtaken on the way back to Calpe. The general effect of the episode was to impress upon the Arcadians and Archæans that it was commonsense for the whole force to remain united. The usual operations were carried on for obtaining supplies, report having arrived that Cleander, the Lacedæmonian governor of Byzantium, was coming, which he presently did, with a couple of galleys but no transports. From information received, Cleander was inclined to regard the army as little better than a band of brigands; but this idea was successfully dissipated by Xenophon. Cleander went back to Byzantium, and the Greeks marched from Calpe to Chrysopolis, which faces Byzantium. Here the whole force was at last carried over to the opposite shore, and once more found itself on European soil, having received promises of pay from the admiral Anaxibius. Suspicions of his real intentions were aroused, and Xenophon had no little difficulty in preventing his soldiery from breaking loose and sacking Byzantium itself. Ultimately, the greater part of the force took service with the Thracian king Seuthes. Seuthes, however, failed to carry out his promises as to payments and rewards. But now the Lacedæmonians were engaged in a quarrel with the western satraps, Tissaphernes and Artabazus; six thousand veterans so experienced as those who had followed this famous march into the heart of the Persian empire, had fought their way from Cunaxa to Trapezus, and had supported themselves mainly by their military prowess in getting from Trapezus to Europe, were a force by no means to be neglected, and the bulk of the troops were not unwilling to be incorporated in the Lacedæmonian armies. And so ends the story of the Retreat of the Ten Thousand Greeks. * * * * * GEORGE GROTE History of Greece George Grote, born at Beckenham, England, Nov. 17, 1794, entered the bank founded by his grandfather, from which he withdrew in 1843. He joined the group of "philosophic Radicals," among whom James Mill was a leader, and was a keen politician and reformer, and an ardent advocate of the ballot. His determination to write a sound "History of Greece" was ensured, if it was not inspired, by Mitford's history, a work full of anti-democratic fervour and very antagonistic to the great Greek democratic state of Athens. In some respects his work is a defence of the Athenian democracy, at least as contrasted with Sparta; it appeared in twelve volumes between 1846 and 1856, and covered Greek history from the earliest times "till the close of the generation contemporary with Alexander the Great." It at once occupied, and still holds, the field as the classic work on the subject as a whole, though later research has modified many of his conclusions. His methods were pre-eminently thorough, dispassionate, and judicial; but he suffers from a lack of sympathetic imagination. He died on June 18, 1871, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. _I.--Early History_ The divine myths constitute the earliest matter of Greek history. These may be divided into those which belong to the gods and to the heroes respectively; but most of them, in point of fact, present gods, heroes, and men in juxtaposition. Every community sought to trace its origin to some common divine, or semi-divine, progenitor; the establishment of a pedigree was a necessity; and each pedigree contains at some, point figures corresponding to some actual historical character, before whom the pedigree is imaginary, but after whom, in the main, actual. The precise point where the legend fades into the mythical, or consolidates into the historical, is not usually ascertainable. The legendary period culminates in the tale of Troy, which belongs to a period prior to the Dorian conquest presented in the Herakleid legend; the tale of Troy itself remaining the common heritage of the Greek peoples, and having an actual basis in historical fact. The events, however, are of less importance than the picture of an actual historical, political, and social system, corresponding, not to the supposed date of the Trojan war, but to the date of the composition of the Homeric poems. Later ages regarded the myths themselves with a good deal of scepticism, and were often disposed to rationalise them, or to find for them an allegorical interpretation. The myths of other European peoples have undergone a somewhat similar treatment. Greece proper, that is, the European territory occupied by the Hellenic peoples, has a very extensive coast-line, covers the islands of the Ægean, and is so mountainous on the mainland that communication between one point and another is not easy. This facilitated the system which isolated communities, compelling each one to develop and perfect its own separate organisation; so that Greece became, not a state, but a congerie of single separate city states--small territories centering in the city, although in some cases the village system was not centralised into the city system. On the other hand, the Hellenes very definitely recognised their common affinity, looked on themselves as a distinct aggregate, and very emphatically differentiated that entire aggregate from the non-Hellenes, whom they designated as "barbarians." Of these states, the first to come into view--post-Homerically--is Sparta, the head of the Dorian communities, governed under the laws and discipline attributed to Lycurgus, with its special peculiarity of the dual kingship designed to make a pure despotism impossible. The government lay and remained in the hands of the conquering Spartan race--as for a time with the Normans in England--which formed a close oligarchy, while within the oligarchical body the organisation was democratic and communistic. For Sparta, the eighth and seventh centuries B.C. were characterised by the two Messenian wars; and we note that while the Hellenes generally recognised her headship, Argos claimed a titular right to that position. As a general rule, the primitive monarchical system portrayed in the Homeric poems was displaced in the Greek cities by an oligarchical government, which in turn was overthrown by an irregular despotism called _tyrannis_, primarily established by a professed popular leader, who maintained his supremacy by mercenary troops. One after another these usurping dynasties were again ejected in favour either of a restored oligarchy or of a democracy. Sparta, where the power of the dual kingship was extremely limited, was the only state where the legitimate kingship survived. Corinth attained her highest power Under the despot Periander, son of Cypselus. Of the Ionian section of Greek states, the supreme type is Athens. Her early history is obscure. The kingship seems to have ended by being, so to speak, placed in commission, the royal functions being discharged by an elected body of Archons. Dissensions among the groups of citizens issued in the democratic Solonian constitution, which remained the basis of Athenian government, except during the despotism of the house of Pisistratus in the latter half of the sixth century B.C. But outside of Greece proper were the numerous Dorian and Ionian colonies, really independent cities, planted in the coast districts of Asia Minor, at Cyrene and Barka in Mediterranean Africa, in Epirus (Albania), Southern Italy, Sicily, and even at Massilia in Gaul, and in Thrace beyond the proper Hellenic area. These colonies brought the Greek world in touch with Lydia and its king, Croesus, with the one sea-going Semitic power, the Phoenicians, with the Egyptians, and more remotely with the wholly Oriental empires of Assyria and Babylon, as well as with the outer barbarians of Scythia. Between 560 and 510 B.C., Athens was generally under the rule of the despot Pisistratus and his son Hippias. In 510, the Pisistratidæ were expelled, and Athens became a pure democracy. Meanwhile, the Persian Cyrus had seized the Median monarchy and overthrown every other potentate in Western Asia; Egypt was added to the vast Persian dominion by his son Cambyses. A new dynasty was established by Darius, the son of Hystaspes, who organized the empire, but failed to extend it by an incursion into European Scythia. The revolt of the Ionic cities in Asia Minor against the governments established by the "great king" brought him in contact with the Athenians, who sent help to Ionia. Demands for "earth and water," _i.e.,_ the formal recognition of Persian sovereignty, sent to the apparently insignificant Greek states were insolently rejected. Darius sent an expedition to punish Athens in particular, and the Athenians drove his army into the sea at the battle of Marathon. Xerxes, son of Darius, organised an overwhelming force by land and sea to eat up the Greeks. The invaders were met but hardly checked at Thermopylæ, where Leonidas and the immortal three hundred fell; all Greece north of the Isthmus of Corinth was in their hands, including Athens. But their fleet was shattered to pieces, chiefly by the Athenians under Themistocles and Aristides at Salamis, and the destruction of their land forces was completed by the united Greeks at Platæa. A further disaster was inflicted on the same day at Mycale. _II.--The Struggles of Athens and Sparta_ Meanwhile, the Sicilian Greeks, led by Gelo of Syracuse, successfully resisted and overthrew the aggression of Carthage, the issue being decided at the battle of Himera. The part played by Athens under the guidance of Themistocles in the repulse of Persia gave her a new position among the Greek states and an indisputable naval leadership. As the maritime head of Hellas she was chief of the naval Delian League, now formed ostensibly to carry on the war against Persia. But the leaguers, who first contributed a quota of ships, soon began to substitute money to provide ships, which in effect swelled the Athenian navy, and turned the contributors into tributaries. Thus, almost automatically, the Delian League converted itself into an Athenian empire. In Athens itself an unparalleled personal ascendancy was acquired by Pericles, who made the form of government and administration more democratic than before. But this growing supremacy of Athens aroused the jealous alarm of other Greek states. Sparta saw her own titular hegemony threatened; the subject cities grew restive under the Athenian yoke. Sparta came forward professedly as champion of the liberties of Hellas; Athens, guided by Pericles, refused to submit to Spartan dictation, and accepted the challenge which plunged Greece into the Peloponnesian war. The Athenians concentrated on the expansion of their naval armaments, left the open country undefended and gathered within the city walls, and landed forces at will on the Peloponnese. Platsea, almost their sole ally on land, held out valiantly for some time, but was forced to surrender; and Athens herself suffered frightfully from a visitation of the plague. After the death of Pericles, Cleon became the most prominent leader of the aggressive and democratic party, Nicias, of the anti-democratic peace party. Over most of Greece in each state the oligarchic faction favoured the Peloponnesian league, the democratic, Athens. The general Demosthenes at Pylos effected the surrender of a Lacedæmonian force, which temporarily shattered Sparta's military prestige, a blow in some degree counteracted by the brilliant operations of Brasidas in the north, where, however, both he and Cleon were killed. Meanwhile, Athens was awakening to the possibilities of a great sea-empire, in consequence of her intervention having been invited in disputes among the Sicilian states. As the outcome, incited by the brilliant young Alcibiades, she resolved on the fatal Sicilian expedition. The expedition, planned under command of Alcibiades and Nicias, was dispatched in spite of the startling mutilation of the Hermæ, a sacrilegious performance attributed to Alcibiades. It had hardly reached Sicily when he was recalled, but made his escape and spent some years mainly in intriguing against Athens. The siege of Syracuse was progressing favourably, when the Spartan Gylippus was allowed to enter and put new life into the defence. Disaster followed on disaster both by sea and land; finally, the whole Athenian force was either cut to pieces or surrendered at discretion, to become the slaves of the Syracusans, both Nicias and Demosthenes being put to death. Meanwhile, the truce between Athens and Sparta had been ended, and war again declared. Sparta occupied permanently a post of the Attic territory, Deceleia, with merciless effect. The Sicilian disaster moved the islanders, notably Chios, to revolt, by Spartan help, against Athens. She, however, renovated her navy with unexpected vigour. But, with her fleets away, Alcibiades inspired oligarchical intrigues in the city; a _coup d'état_ gave the government to the leaders of a group of 400. The navy stood by the democratic constitution, the 400 were overthrown, and an assembly, nominally of 5,000, assumed the government. A great Athenian triumph at Arginusæ was followed later by a still more overwhelming disaster at Ægos Potami. The Spartan commander Lysander blockaded Athens; starvation forced her to surrender. Lysander established the government known as that of the Thirty Tyrants, who were headed by Kritias. Lysander's ascendancy created in Sparta a party in opposition to him; in the outcome, the Spartan king Pausanias helped in the overthrow of the Thirty at Athens by Thrasybulus, and the restoration of the Athenian democracy. Throughout, the conduct of the democratic party, at its best and its worst, contrasted favourably with that of the oligarchical faction. These eighty years were the great period of Athenian literature and art: of the Parthenon and Phidias; of Æschylus, the soldier of Marathon; then Sophocles and Euripides and Aristophanes; finally, of Socrates, not himself an author, but the inspirer of Plato, and the founder of ethical science; according to popular ideas, the typical Sophist, but in fact differing from the Sophists fundamentally. _III.--The Blotting Out of Hellas_ The triumph of Sparta has established her empire among the Greeks; she used her power with a tyranny infinitely more galling than the sway of Athens. The Spartan character had become greatly demoralised. Agesilaus, who succeeded to the kingship, set on foot ambitious projects for a Greek conquest of Asia; but Greece began to revolt against the Spartan dominion. Thebes and other cities rose, and called for help from Athens, their former foe. In the first stages of the ensuing war, of which the most notable battle was Coronea, Sparta maintained her supremacy within the Peloponnesus, but not beyond. Athens obtained the countenance of Persia, and the counter-diplomacy of Sparta produced the peace known by the name of the Spartan Antalcidas, establishing generally the autonomy of Greek cities. But this in effect meant the restoration of Spartan domination. In course of time, however, this brought about the defiance of Spartan dictation by Thebes and the tremendous check to her power inflicted at the battle of Leuctra, by Epaminondas the Theban, whose military skill and tactical originality there overthrew the Spartan military prestige. As a consequence, half the Peloponnese itself broke away from Sparta; a force under Epaminondas aided the Arcadians, and the Arcadian federation was established. Hellenic Sicily during these years was having a history of her own of some importance. Syracuse, after her triumph over the Athenian forces, continued the contest with her neighbours, which had been the ostensible cause of the Athenian expedition. But this was closed by the advent of fresh invaders, the Carthaginians, who renewed the attack repulsed at Himera. Owing to the disaster to Athens, her fleets were no longer to be feared by Carthage as a protection to the Hellenic world; and for two centuries to come, her interventions in Sicily were incessant. Now, the presence of a foreign foe in Sicily gave intriguers for power at Syracuse their opportunity, of which the outcome was the subversion of the democracy and the establishment of Dionysius as despot. His son, Dionysius II., succeeded, and was finally ejected by the Corinthian Timoleon, who, after a brilliant career of victories as Syracusan general against Carthage, acted as general liberator of Sicilian cities from despotisms, laid down his powers, and was content with the position, not of despot, but of counsellor, to the great prosperity of Sicily as a whole. Going back to the north of Greece, the semi-Hellenic Macedon with a Hellenic dynasty was growing powerful. Philip--father of Alexander the Great--was now king, and was resolved to make himself the head of the Greek world. His great opponent is found in the person of the Athenian orator Demosthenes, who saw that Philip was aiming at ascendancy, but generally failed to persuade the Athenians to recognise the danger in which they stood. Philip gradually achieved his immediate end of being recognised as the captain-general of the Hellenes, and their leader in a new Persian war, when his life was cut short by an assassin, and he was succeeded by his youthful son Alexander. The Greek states, awakening to their practical subjection, would have thrown off the new yoke, but the young king with swift and overwhelming energy swept down from Thrace upon Thebes, the centre of resistance, and stamped it out. He had already conceived, in part at least, his vast schemes of Asiatic conquest; while he lived, Greece had practically no distinguishable history. She is merely an appendage to Macedon. Everything is absorbed in the Macedon conqueror. With an army incredibly small for the task before him, he entered Asia Minor, and routed the Persian forces on the river Granicus. The Greek Memnon, the one able leader for the Persians, would have organised against him a destructive naval power; but death removed him. Alexander dispersed the armies of the Persian king Darius at the Issus, captured Tyre after a remarkable siege, and took easy possession of Egypt, where he founded Alexandria. Having organised the administration of the conquered territories, he marched to the Euphrates, but did not engage the enormous Persian hosts till he found and shattered them at the battle of Gaugamela, also called Arbela. Darius fled, and Alexander swept on to Babylon, to Susa, to Persepolis, assuming the functions of the "Great King." The fugitive Darius was assassinated. Alexander henceforth assumed a new and oriental demeanour; but he continued his conquests, crossing the Hindoo Koosh to Bactria, and then bursting into the Punjab. But his ambitions were ended by his death, and their fulfilment, not at all according to his designs, was left to the "Diadochi," the generals among whom the conquered dominions were parted. Athens led the revolt against Macedonian supremacy, but in vain. Demosthenes, condemned by the conquering Antipater, took poison. The remainder of the history is that of the blotting out of Hellas and of Hellenism. * * * * * HEINRICH SCHLIEMANN Troy and Its Remains Heinrich Schliemann was born at Kalkhorst, a village in Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on January 6, 1822, and died on December 27, 1890. During his early childhood an old scholar, who had fallen upon evil days, delighted him with stories of the great deeds of Homeric heroes. At the age of fourteen he was apprenticed in a warehouse, but never lost his love for antiquity, and unceasingly prayed to God that he might yet have the happiness to learn Greek. An accident released him from his low position, and he went to Holland and found a situation in an office. He now began to study languages, suffering extraordinary denials so as to be able to afford money for his studies. In 1846 he was sent by his firm to Russia, learning Swedish and Polish, and next acquired Greek. Later, he travelled in Europe and the East, making a voyage round the world. At last he realised the dream of his life. Inaugurating a series of explorations in Greece and Asia Minor, Dr. Schliemann gained fame by his discoveries at Tiryus, Mycenæ, and Troy, largely solving the problems of antiquity and archæology associated with these localities. "Troy and Its Remains" is published here in order that, having read in the classical histories, we may see how the ancient world is reconstructed for modern readers, by the records of one of the most famous of archæologists. _I.--Searching for the Site of Troy_ _Hissarlik, Plain of Troy, October_ 18, 1871. In my work, "Ithaca, the Peloponnesus, and Troy," published in 1869, I endeavored to prove, both by my own excavations and by the statement of the Iliad, that the Homeric Troy cannot possibly have been situated on the heights of Bunarbashi, to which place most archæologists assign it. At the same time I endeavoured to explain that the site of Troy must necessarily be identical with the site of that town which, throughout all antiquity and down to its Complete destruction at the end of the eighth or beginning of the ninth century A.D., was called Ilium, and not until 1,000 years, after its disappearance--that is, in 1788 A.D.--was christened Ilium Novum by Lechevalier, who, as his work proves, can never have visited his Ilium Novum. The site of Ilium is on a plateau 80 feet above the plain. Its north-western corner is formed by a hill about 26 feet higher still, which is about 705 feet in breadth and about 984 feet in length, and from its imposing situation and natural fortifications, this hill of Hissarlik seems specially suited to the acropolis of the town. Ever since my first visit I never doubted that I should find the Pergamus of Priam in the depths of this hill. On October 10, 1871, I started with my wife from the Dardanelles for the Plain of Troy, a journey of eight hours, and next day commenced my excavations where I had, a year previously, made some preliminary explorations, and had found, among other things, at a depth of 16 feet, walls about 6-1/2 feet thick, which belong to a bastion of the time of Lysimachus. Hissarlik, the Turkish name of this imposing hill at the north-western end of the site of Ilium, means "fortress," or "acropolis," and seems to prove that this is the Pergamus of Priam; that here Xerxes in 480 B.C. offered up 1,000 oxen to the Ilian Athena; that here Alexander the Great hung up his armour in the temple of the goddess, and took away in its stead some of the weapons therein dedicated, belonging to the time of the Trojan war. I conjectured that this temple, the pride of the Ilians, must have stood on the highest point of the hill, and I therefore decided to excavate this locality down to the native soil, and I made an immense cutting on the face of the steep northern slope, about 66 feet from my last year's work. Notwithstanding the difficulties due to coming on immense blocks of stone, the work advances rapidly. My dear wife, an Athenian lady, who is an enthusiastic admirer of Homer, and knows almost the whole of the Iliad by heart, is present at the excavations from morning to night. All of my workmen are Greeks from the neighbouring village of Renkoi; only on Sunday, a day on which the Greeks do not work, I employ Turks. _Hissarlik, October_ 26, 1871. Since my report of the 18th I have continued the excavations with the utmost energy, with, on the average, 80 workmen, and I have to-day reached an average depth of 13 feet. I found an immense number of round articles of terra-cotta, red, yellow, grey, and black, with two holes, without inscriptions, but frequently with a kind of potter's stamp upon them. I cannot find any trace of their having been used for domestic purposes, and therefore I presume they have served as _ex votos_ for hanging up in the temples. I found at a depth of about five feet three marble slabs with inscriptions. One of these must, I think, from the character of the writing, be assigned to the third century, the two others to the first century B.C. A king spoken of in the third century writing must have been one of the kings of Pergamus. The view from the hill of Hissarlik is magnificent. Before me lies the glorious Plain of Troy, traversed from the south-east to the north-west by the Scamander, which has changed its bed since ancient times. _Hissarlik, November_ 18, 1871. I have now reached a depth of 33 feet. During these operations I was for a time deceived by the enormous mass of stone implements which were dug up, and by the absence of any trace of metal, and supposed that I had come upon the Stone Age. But since the sixth of this month there have appeared many nails, knives, lances, and battle-axes of copper of such elegant workmanship that they can have been made only by a civilised people. I cannot even admit that I have reached the Bronze Period, for the implements and weapons which I find are too well finished. I must, however, observe that the deeper I dig the greater are the indications of a higher civilisation. And as I thus find ever more and more traces of civilisation the deeper I dig, I am now perfectly convinced that I have not yet penetrated to the period of the Trojan war, and hence I am more hopeful than ever of finding the site of Troy by further excavations; for if ever there was a Troy--and my belief in this is firm--it can only have been here, on the site of Ilium. _II.--Trojan Life and Civilisation_ _Hissarlik, April 5, 1872._ On the first of this month I resumed the excavations which were discontinued at the end of November. In the ruins of houses I find, amongst other things, a great number of small idols of very fine marble, with or without the symbols of the owl's head and woman's girdle. Many Trojan articles found in the ruins have stamped on them crosses of various descriptions, which are of the highest importance to archæology. Such symbols were already regarded, thousands of years before Christ, as religious tokens of the very greatest importance. The figure of the cross represents two pieces of wood which were laid crosswise upon one another before the sacrificial altars in order to produce holy fire. The fire was produced by the friction of one piece of wood against another. At all depths we find a number of flat idols of very fine marble; upon many of them is the owl's face, and a female girdle with dots. I am firmly convinced that all of the helmeted owls' heads represent a goddess, and the important question now presents itself, what goddess is it who is here found so repeatedly, and is, moreover, the only one to be found upon the idols, drinking-cups, and vases? The answer is, she must necessarily be the tutelary goddess of Troy; she must be the Ilian Athena, and this indeed perfectly agrees with the statement of Homer, who continually calls her _thea glaukopis Athene,_ "the goddess with the owl's face." _Hissarlik, June 18, 1872._ I had scarcely begun to extend a third cutting into the hill when I found a block of triglyphs of Parian marble, containing a sculpture in high relief which represents Phoebus Apollo, who, in a long woman's robe with a girdle, is riding on the four immortal horses which pursue their career through the universe. Nothing is to be seen of a chariot. Above the head of the god is seen about two-thirds of the sun's disc with twenty rays. The face of the god is very expressive, and the folds of his robe are exquisitely sculptured; but my admiration is specially excited by the four horses, which, snorting and looking wildly forward, career through the universe with infinite power. Their anatomy is so masterly that I confess I have never seen so masterly a work. It is especially remarkable to find the sun-god here, for Homer knows nothing of a temple to the sun in Troy, and later history says not a word about the existence of such a temple. However, the image of Phoebus Apollo does not prove that the sculpture must have belonged to a temple of the sun; in my opinion it may just as well have served as an ornament to any other temple. I venture to express the opinion that the image of the sun, which I find represented here thousands and thousands of times upon the whorls of terra-cotta, must be regarded as the name or emblem of the town--that is, Ilios. In like manner, this sun-god shone in the form of a woman upon the propylæa of the temple of the Ilian Athena as a symbol of the sun-city. This head of the sun-god appears to me to have so much of the Alexandrian style that I must adhere to history, and believe that this work of art belongs to the time of Lysimachus, who, according to Strabo, after the time of Alexander the Great, built here the new temple of the Ilian Athena, which Alexander had promised to the town of Ilium after the subjugation of the Persian Empire. Were it not for the splendid terra-cottas which I find exclusively on the primary soil and as far as 6-1/2 feet above it, I could swear that at a depth of from 26 to 33 feet, I am among the ruins of the Homeric Troy. [The reader should bear in mind that Dr. Schliemann finally came back to this opinion.] For at this depth I have found a thousand wonderful objects; whereas I find little in the lowest stratum, the removal of which gives immense trouble. We daily find some of the whorls of very fine terra-cotta, and it is curious that those which have no decorations at all are always of the ordinary shape, and of the size of small tops, or like the craters of volcanoes, while almost all those possessing decorations are flat, and in the form of a wheel. Metals, at least gold, silver, and copper, were known to the Trojans, for I found a copper knife highly gilded, a silver hairpin, and a number of copper nails at a depth of forty-six feet. I found many small instruments for use as pins; also a number of ivory needles, and some curious pieces of ivory, one in the form of a paper-knife, the other in the shape of an exceedingly neat dagger. We discovered one-edged or double-edged knives of white silex in the form of saws in quantities, each about two inches long; also many hand millstones of lava, and some beautiful red vases, cups, vessels, jugs, and hand plates. In these depths we likewise find many bones of animals; boars' tusks, small shells, horns of the buffalo, ram, and stag, as well as the vertebræ of the shark. The houses and palaces in which the splendid terra-cottas were used were large and spacious, for to them belong all the mighty heaps of stone, hewn and unhewn, which cover them to the height of from 13 to 20 feet. These buildings were easily destroyed, for the stones were only joined with earth, and when the walls fell everything in the houses was crushed to pieces by the immense blocks of stone. The primitive Trojan people disappeared simultaneously with the destruction of their town. [Here, as well as in what goes before, Dr. Schliemann writes on the supposition, which he afterwards abandoned, that the remains in the lowest stratum are those of the Trojans of the Iliad.] Upon the site of the destroyed city new settlers, of a different civilisation, manners, and customs, built a new town; but only the foundation of their houses consisted of stones joined with clay; all the house-walls were built of unburnt bricks. I must draw attention to the fact that I have found twice on fragments of pottery the curious symbol of the _suastika_, or crossed angles, which proves that the primitive Trojans belonged to the Aryan race. This is further proved by the symbols on the round terra-cottas. The existence of the nation which preceded the Trojans was likewise of long duration, for all the layers of _débris_ at the depth of from 33 to 23 feet belong to it. They also were of Aryan descent, for they possessed innumerable Aryan religious symbols. Several of the symbols belonged to the time when Germans, Pelasgians, Hindoos, Persians, Celts, and Greeks still formed one nation. I found no trace of a double cup among this people, but instead of it those curious cups which have a coronet below in place of a handle; then those brilliant, fanciful goblets, in the form of immense champagne glasses, and with two mighty handles on the sides; they are round below, so that they can only stand on their mouths. Further, all those splendid vessels of burnt earthenware, as, for instance, funeral, wine, or water urns, five feet high; likewise, all of those vessels with a beak-shaped mouth, bent back, and either short or long. I have met with many very curious vases in the shape of animals with three feet. The mouth of the vessel is in the tail, which is upright and very thick, and is connected with the back by a handle. In these strata we also meet with an immense number of those round terra-cottas--the whorls--embellished with beautiful and ingenious symbolical signs, amongst which the sun-god always occupies the most prominent position. But the fire-machine of our primeval ancestors, the holy sacrificial altar with blazing flames, the holy soma-tree, or tree of life, and the _rosa mystica_, are also very frequently met with here. This mystic rose, which occurs very often in the Byzantine sculptures, and the name of which, as is well known, is employed to designate the Holy Virgin in the Roman Catholic liturgies, is a very ancient Aryan symbol, as yet, unfortunately, unexplained. It is very ancient, because I find it at a depth of from 23 to 33 feet, in the strata of the successors to the Trojans, which must belong to a period about 1,200 years before Christ. At a depth of 30-1/2 feet, among the yellow ashes of a house destroyed by fire, I found silver-ware ornaments and also a very pretty gold ear-ring, which has three lows of stars on both sides; then two bunches of earrings of various forms, most of which are of silver and terminate in five leaves. I now come to the strata of _débris_ at a depth of from 23 to 13 feet, which are evidently also the remains of a people of the Aryan race, who took possession of the town built on the ruins of Troy, and who destroyed it and extirpated the inhabitants; for in these strata of ten feet thick I find no trace of metal, and the structure of the houses is entirely different. All the house-walls consist of small stones joined with clay. In these strata--at a depth of from 23 to 13 feet--not only are all the stone implements much rougher, but all the terra-cottas are of a coarser quality. Still, they possess a certain elegance. A new epoch in the history of Ilium commenced when the accumulation of _débris_ on this hill had reached a height of 13 feet below its present surface; for the town was again destroyed, and the inhabitants killed or driven out by a wretched tribe, which certainly must likewise have belonged to the Aryan race, for upon the round terra-cottas I still very frequently find the tree of life, and the simple cross and double cross with the four nails. In these depths, however, the forms of the whorls degenerate. Of pottery, however, much less is found, and all of it is considerably less artistic than that which I have found in the preceding strata. With the people to whom these strata belonged--from 13 to 6-1/2 feet below the surface--the pre-Hellenic ages end, for henceforth we see many ruined walls of Greek buildings, of beautifully hewn stones laid together without cement, and the painted and unpainted terra-cottas leave no doubt that a Greek colony took possession of Ilium when the surface of this hill was much lower than it is now. It is impossible to determine when this new colonisation took place, but it must have been much earlier than the visit of Xerxes reported by Herodotus, which took place 480 years before Christ. The event may have taken place 700 B.C. _III.--Homeric Legends Verified_ _Pergamus of Troy, August_ 4, 1872. On the south side of the hill where I made my great trench I discovered a great tower, 40 feet thick, which obstructs my path and appears to extend to a great length. I have uncovered it on the north and south sides along the whole breadth of my trench, and have convinced myself that it is built on the rock at a depth of 46-1/2 feet. This tower is now only 20 feet high, but must have been much higher. For its preservation we have to thank the ruins of Troy, which entirely covered it as it now stands. Its situation would be most interesting and imposing, for its top would command not only a view of the whole plain of Troy, but of the sea, with the islands of Tenedos, Imbros, and Samothrace. There is not a more sublime situation in the whole area of the plain of Troy than this. In the ashes of a house at the depth of 42-1/2 feet I found a tolerably well preserved skeleton of a woman. The colour of the bones shows that the lady, whose gold ornaments were near by, was overtaken by fire and burnt alive. With the exception of the skeleton of an infant found in a vase, this is the only skeleton of a human being I have ever met with in the pre-Hellenic remains on this hill. As we know from Homer, all corpses were burnt and the ashes placed in urns, of which I have found great numbers. The bones were always burnt to ashes. _Pergamus of Troy, August 14, 1872._ In stopping the excavations for this year, and in looking back on the dangers to which we have been exposed between the gigantic layers of ruins, I cannot but fervently thank God for his great mercy, not only that no life has been lost, but that none of us has been seriously hurt. As regards the result of my excavations, everyone must admit that I have solved a great historical problem, and that I have solved it by the discovery of a high civilisation and immense buildings upon the primary soil, in the depths of an ancient town, which throughout antiquity was called Ilium and declared itself to be the successor of Troy, the site of which was regarded as identical with the site of the Homeric Ilium by the whole world of that time. The situation of this town not only corresponds perfectly with all the statements of the Iliad, but also with all the traditions handed down to us by later authorities. _Pergamus of Troy, March 22, 1873. _During this last week, with splendid weather, and with 150 men on the average, I have got through a good piece of work. On the north side of the excavation on the site of the Temple of Athena I have already reached a depth of 26 feet, and have laid bare the tower in several places. The most remarkable of the objects found this week is a large knob of the purest and finest crystal, belonging to a stick, in the form of a beautifully wrought lion's head. It seems probable that in remote antiquity lions existed in this region. Homer could not so excellently have described them had he not had the opportunities of watching them. _Pergamus of Troy, May 10, 1873._ Although the Pergamus, whose depths I have been ransacking, borders directly on the marshes formed by the Simois, in which there are always hundreds of storks, yet none of them ever settle down here. Though there are sometimes a dozen storks' nests on one roof in the neighbouring Turkish villages, yet no one will settle on mine, even though I have two comfortable nests made for them. It is probably too cold and stormy for the little storks on _Ilios anemoessa_. My most recent excavations have far surpassed my expectations, for I have unearthed two large gates, standing 20 feet apart, in a splendid street which proceeds from the chief building in the Pergamus. I venture to assert that this great double gate must be the Homeric Scæan Gate. It is in an excellent state of preservation. Here, therefore, by the side of the double gate, at Ilium's Great Tower, sat Priam, the seven elders of the city, and Helen. From this spot the company surveyed the whole plain, and saw at the foot of the Pergamus the Trojan and Achæan armies face to face about to settle their agreement to let the war be decided by a single combat between Paris and Menelaus. I now positively retract my former opinion that Ilium was inhabited up to the ninth century after Christ, and I must distinctly maintain that its site has been desolate and uninhabited since the end of the fourth century. But Troy was not large. I am extremely disappointed at being obliged to give so small a plan of the city; nay, I had wished to be able to make it a thousand times larger, but I value truth above everything, and I rejoice that my three years' excavations have laid open the Homeric Troy, even though on a diminished scale, and that I have proved the Iliad based upon real facts. Homer is an epic poet, and not an historian; so it is quite natural that he should have exaggerated everything with poetic licence. Moreover, the events he describes are so marvellous that many scholars have long doubted the very existence of Troy, and have considered the city to be a mere invention of the poet's fancy. I venture to hope that the civilised world will not only not be disappointed that the city of Priam has shown itself to be scarcely a twentieth part as large as was to be expected from the statements of the Iliad, but that, on the contrary, it will accept with delight and enthusiasm the certainty that Ilium did really exist, that a large portion of it has now been brought to light, and that Homer, even though he exaggerates, nevertheless sings of events that actually happened. Homer can never have seen Ilium's Great Tower, the surrounding wall of Poseidon and Apollo, the Scæan Gate of the palace of King Priam, for all these monuments lay buried deep in heaps of rubbish, and he could have made no excavations to bring them to light. He knew of these monuments only from hearsay and tradition, for the tragic fate of ancient Troy was then still in fresh remembrance, and had already been for centuries in the mouth of all minstrels. * * * * * JULIUS CÆSAR Commentaries on the Gallic War Caius Julius Cæsar was born on July 12, 100 B.C., of a noble Roman family. His career was decided when he threw in his lot with the democratic section against the republican oligarchy. Marrying Cornelia, daughter of Lucius Cinna, the chief opponent of the tyrant dictator Sulla, he incurred the implacable hatred of the latter, and was obliged to quit Rome. For a season he studied rhetoric at Rhodes. Settling in Rome after Sulla's death, Cæsar attached himself to the illustrious Pompey, whose policy was then democratic. In B.C. 68 he obtained a quæstorship in Spain, and on returning next year reconciled the two most powerful men in Rome, Pompey and Crassus. With them he formed what became known as the First Triumvirate. Being appointed to govern Gaul for five years, Cæsar there developed his genius for war; but his brilliant success excited the fears of the senate and the envy even of Pompey. Civil war broke out. The conflict ended in the fall of Pompey, who was defeated in the fateful battle of Pharsalia, and was afterwards murdered in Egypt. Julius Cæsar now possessed supreme power. He lavished vast sums on games and public buildings, won splendid victories in Gaul, Egypt, Pontus, and Africa, and was the idol of the common people. But the jealousy of many of the aristocrats led to the formation of a plot, and on March 15, 44 B.C., Cæsar was assassinated in the Senate House. This summary relates to the commentaries known to be by Cæsar himself, certain other books having been added by other Latin writers. It will be noticed that he writes in the third person. This epitome is prepared from the Latin text. _I.--Subduing Celtic Gaul_ Gaul is divided into three parts, one of which the Belgæ inhabit; the Aquitani another; those who in their own language are called Celts, in ours Gauls, the third. All these differ from each other in language, customs, and laws. Among the Gauls the Helvetii surpass the rest in valour, as they constantly contend in battle with the Germans. When Messala and Piso were consuls, Orgetorix, the most distinguished of the Helvetii, formed a conspiracy among the nobility, persuading them that, since they excelled all in valour, it would be very easy to acquire the supremacy of the whole of Gaul. They made great preparations for the expedition, but suddenly Orgetorix died, nor was suspicion lacking that he committed suicide. After his death, the Helvetii nevertheless attempted the exodus from their territories. When it was reported to Cæsar that they were attempting to make their route through our province, he gathered as great a force as possible, and by forced marches arrived at Geneva. The Helvetii now sent ambassadors to Cæsar, requesting permission to pass through the province, which he refused, inasmuch as he remembered that Lucius Cassius, the consul, had been slain and his army routed, and made to pass under the yoke by the Helvetii. Disappointed in their hope, the Helvetii attempted to force a passage across the Rhone, but, being resisted by the soldier, desisted. After the war with the Helvetii was concluded, ambassadors from almost all parts of Gaul assembled to congratulate Cæsar, and to declare that his victory had happened no less to the benefit of the land of Gaul than of the Roman people, because the Helvetii had quitted their country with the design of subduing the whole of Gaul. When the assembly was dismissed, the chiefs' of the Ædui and of the Sequani waited upon Cæsar to complain that Ariovistus, the king of the Germans, had seized a third of their land, which was the best in Gaul, and was now ordering them to depart from another third part. To ambassadors sent by Cæsar, demanding an appointment of some spot for a conference, Ariovistus gave an insolent reply, which was repeated on a second overture. Hearing that the king of the Germans was threatening to seize Vesontio, the capital of the Sequani, Cæsar, by a forced march, arrived there and took possession of the city. Apprised of this event, Ariovistus changed his attitude, and sent messengers intimating that he agreed to meet Cæsar, as they were now nearer to each other, and could meet without danger. The conference took place, but it led to no successful result, for Ariovistus demanded that the Romans should withdraw from Gaul and his conduct became afterwards so hostile that it led to war. A battle took place about fifty miles from the Rhine. The Germans were routed and fled to the river, across which many escaped, the rest being slain in pursuit. Cæsar, having concluded two very important wars in one campaign, conducted his army into winter quarters. _II.--Taming the Rebellious Belgæ_ While Cæsar was in winter quarters in Hither Gaul frequent reports were brought to him that all the Belgæ were entering into a confederacy against the Roman people, because they feared that, after all Celtic Gaul was subdued, our army would be led against them. Cæsar, alarmed, levied two new legions in Hither Gaul, and proceeded to the territory of the Belgæ. As he arrived there unexpectedly, and sooner than anyone anticipated, the Remi, who are the nearest of the Belgæ to Celtic Gaul, sent messages of submission and gave Cæsar full information about the other Belgæ. Cæsar next learned that the Nervii, a savage and very brave people, whose territories bordered those just conquered, had upbraided the rest of the Belgæ who had surrendered themselves to the Roman people, and had declared that they themselves would neither send ambassadors nor accept any condition of peace. He was informed concerning them that they allowed no access of any merchants, and that they suffered no wine and other things tending to luxury to be imported, because they thought that by their use the mind is enervated and the courage impaired. After he had made three days' march into their territory, Cæsar discovered that all the Nervii had stationed themselves on the other side of the River Sambre, not more than ten miles from his camp, and that they had persuaded the Atrebates and the Veromandui to join with them, and that likewise the Aduatuci were expected by them, and were on the march. The Roman army proceeded to encamp in front of the river, on a site sloping towards it. Here they were fiercely attacked by the Nervii, the assault being so sudden that Cæsar had to do all things at one time. The standard as the sign to run to arms had to be displayed, the soldiers were to be called from the works on the rampart, the order of battle was to be formed, and a great part of these arrangements was prevented by the shortness of time and the sudden charge of the enemy. Time was lacking even for putting on helmets and uncovering shields. In such an unfavorable state of affairs, various events of fortune followed. The soldiers of the ninth and tenth legions speedily drove back the Atrebates, who were breathless with running and fatigue. Many of them were slain. In like manner the Veromandui were routed by the eighth and eleventh legions; but as part of the camp was very exposed, the Nervii hastened in a very close body, under Boduagnatus, their leader, to rush against that quarter. Our horsemen and light-armed infantry were by the first assault routed, and the enemy, rushing into our camp in great numbers, pressed hard on the legions. But Cæsar, seizing a shield and encouraging the soldiers, many of whose centurions had been slain, ordering them to extend their companies that they might more freely use their swords. So great a change was soon effected that, though the enemy displayed great courage, the battle was ended so disastrously for them that the Nervii were almost annihilated. Scarcely five hundred were left who could bear arms. Their old men sent ambassadors to Cæsar by the consent of all who remained, surrendering themselves. The Aduatuci, before mentioned, who were coming to the help of the Nervii, returned home when they heard of this battle. All Gaul being now subdued, so high an opinion of this war was spread among the barbarians that ambassadors were sent to Cæsar by those nations that dwelt beyond the Rhine, to promise that they would give hostages and execute his commands. He ordered these embassies to return to him at the beginning of the following summer, because he was hastening into Italy and Illyricum. Having led his legions into winter quarters among the Carnutes, the Andes, and the Turones, which states were close to those in which he had waged war, he set out for Italy, and a public thanksgiving of fifteen days was decreed for these achievements, an honour which before that time had been conferred on none. _III.--War by Land and Sea in Gaul_ When Cæsar was setting out for Italy, he sent Servius Galba with the twelfth legion and part of the cavalry against the Nantuates, the Veragri, and the Seduni, who extend from the territories of the Allobroges and the Lake of Geneva and the River Rhone to the top of the Alps. The reason for sending him was that he desired that the pass along the Alps, through which the Roman merchants had been accustomed to travel with great danger, should be opened. Galba fought several successful battles, stormed some of their forts, and concluded a peace. He then determined to winter in a village of the Veragri, which is called Octodurus. But before the winter camp could be completed the tops of the mountains were seen to be crowded with armed men, and soon these rushed down from all parts and discharged stones and darts on the ramparts. The fierce battle that followed lasted for more than six hours. During the fight more than a third part of the army of 30,000 men of the Seduni and the Veragri were slain, and the rest were put to flight, panic-stricken. Then Galba, unwilling to tempt fortune again, after having burned all the buildings in that village, hastened to return into the province, urged chiefly by the want of corn and provision. As no enemy opposed his march, he brought his forces safely into the country of the Allobroges, and there wintered. These things being achieved, Cæsar, who was visiting Illyricum to gain a knowledge of that country, had every reason to suppose that Gaul was reduced to a state of tranquillity. For the Belgæ had been overcome, the Germans had been expelled, and the Seduni and the Veragri among the Alps defeated. But a sudden war sprang up in Gaul. The occasion of that war was this. P. Crassus, a young man, had taken up his winter quarters with the seventh legion among the Andes, who border on the Atlantic Ocean. As corn was scarce, he sent out officers among the neighbouring states for the purpose of procuring supplies. The most considerable of these states was the Veneti, who have a very great number of ships with which they have been accustomed to sail into Britain, and thus they excel the rest of the states in nautical affairs. With them arose the beginning of the revolt. The Veneti detained Silius and Velanius, who had been sent among them, for they thought they should recover by their means the hostages which they had given Crassus. The neighbouring people, the Essui and the Curiosolitæ, led on by the influence of the Veneti (as the measures of the Gauls are sudden and hasty) detained other officers for the same motive. All the sea-coast being quickly brought over to the sentiments of these states, they sent a common embassy to P. Crassus to say "If he wished to receive back his officers, let him send back to them their hostages." Cæsar, being informed of these things, since he was himself so far distant, ordered ships of war to be built on the River Loire; rowers to be raised from the province; sailors and pilots to be provided. These matters being quickly executed, he hastened to the army as soon as the season of the year admitted. Cæsar at once ordered his army, divided into several detachments, to attack the towns of the enemy in different districts. Many were stormed, yet much of the warfare was vain and much labour was lost, because the Veneti, having numerous ships specially adapted for such a purpose, their keels being flatter than those of our ships, could easily navigate the shallows and estuaries, and thus their flight hither and thither could not be prevented. At length, in a naval fight, our fleet, being fully assembled, gained a victory so signal that, by that one battle, the war with the Veneti and the whole sea-coast was finished. Cæsar thought that severe punishment should be inflicted, in order that for the future the rights of ambassadors should be respected by barbarians; he therefore put to death all their senate, and sold the rest for slaves. About the same time P. Crassus arrived in Aquitania, which, as was already said, is, both from its extent and its number of population, a third part of Gaul. Here, a few years before, L. Valerius Præconius, the lieutenant, had been killed and his army routed, so that Crassus understood no ordinary care must be used. On his arrival being known, the Sotiates assembled great forces, and the battle that followed was long and vigorously contested. The Sotiates being routed, they retired to their principal stronghold, but it was stormed, and they submitted. Crassus then marched into the territories of the Vocates and the Tarusites, who raised a great host of men to carry on the war, but suffered total defeat, after which the greater part of Aquitania of its own accord surrendered to the Romans, sending hostages of their own accord from different tribes. A few only--and those remote nations--relying on the time of year, neglected to do this. _IV.--The First Landing in Britain_ The following winter, this being the year in which Cn. Pompey and M. Crassus were consuls [this was the year 699 after the building of Rome, 55 before Christ; it was the fourth year of the Gallic war] the Germans, called the Usipetes, and likewise the Tenchtheri, with a great number of men, crossed the Rhine, not far from the place at which that river falls into the sea. The motive was to escape from the Suevi, the largest and strongest nation in Germany, by whom they had been for several years harassed and hindered from agricultural pursuits. The Suevi are said to possess a hundred cantons, from each of which they send forth for war a thousand armed men yearly, the others remaining at home, and going forth in their turn in other years. Cæsar, hearing that various messages had been sent to them by the Gauls (whose fickle disposition he knew) asking them to come forward from the Rhine, and promising them all that they needed, set forward for the army earlier in the year than usual. When he had arrived in the region, he discovered that those things which he had suspected would occur, had taken place, and that, allured by the hopes held out to them, the Germans were then making excursions to greater distances, and had advanced to the territories of the Euburones and the Condrusi, who are under the protection of the Treviri. After summoning the chiefs of Gaul, Cæsar thought proper to pretend ignorance of the things which he had discovered, and, having conciliated and confirmed their minds, and ordered some cavalry to be raised, resolved to make war against the Germans. When he had advanced some distance, the Germans sent ambassadors, begging him not to advance further, as they had come hither reluctantly, having been expelled from their country. But Cæsar, knowing that they wished for delay only to make further secret preparations, refused the overtures. Marshalling his army in three lines, and marching eight miles, he took them by surprise, and the Romans rushed their camp. Many of the enemy were slain, the rest being either scattered or drowned in attempting to escape by crossing the Meuse in the flight. The conflict with the Germans being finished, Cæsar thought it expedient to cross the Rhine. Since the Germans were so easily urged to go into Gaul, he desired they should have fears for their own territories. Therefore, notwithstanding the difficulty of constructing a bridge, owing to the breadth, rapidity, and depth of the river, he devised and built one of timber and of great strength, piles being first driven in on which to erect it. The army was led over into Germany, advanced some distance, and burnt some villages of the hostile Sigambri, who had concealed themselves in the woods after conveying away all their possessions. Then Cæsar, having done enough to strike fear into the Germans and to serve both honour and interest, after a stay of eighteen days across the Rhine, returned into Gaul and cut down the bridge. During the short part of the summer which remained he resolved to proceed into Britain, because succours had been constantly furnished to the Gauls from that country. He thought it expedient, if he only entered the island, to see into the character of the people, and to gain knowledge of their localities, harbours, and landing-places. Having collected about eighty transport ships, he set sail with two legions in fair weather, and the soldiers were attacked instantly on landing by the cavalry and charioteers of the barbarians. The enemy were vanquished, but could not be pursued, because the Roman horse had not been able to maintain their course at sea and to reach the island. This alone was wanting to Cæsar's accustomed success. _V.--Cæsar on the Thames_ During the winter Cæsar commanded as many ships as possible to be constructed, and the old repaired. About six hundred transports and twenty ships of war were built, and, after settling some disputes in Gaul among the chiefs, Cæsar went to Port Itius with the legions. He took with him several of the leading chiefs of the Gauls, determined to retain them as hostages and to keep them with him during his next expedition to Britain, lest a commotion should arise in Gaul during his absence. Cæsar, having crossed to the shore of Britain and disembarked his army at a convenient spot advanced about twelve miles and repelled all attacks of the cavalry and charioteers of the enemy. Then he led his forces into the territories of Cassivellaunus to the River Thames, which river can be forded in one place only. Here an engagement took place which resulted in the flight of the Britons. But Cassivellaunus had sent messengers to the four kings who reigned over Kent and the districts by the sea, Cingetorix, Carvilius, Taximaquilus, and Segonax, commanding them to collect all their forces and assail the naval camp. In the battle which ensued the Romans were victorious, and when Cassivellaunus heard of this disaster he sent ambassadors to Cæsar to treat about a surrender. Cæsar, since he had resolved to pass the winter on the continent, on account of sudden revolts in Gaul, demanded hostages and prescribed what tribute Britain should pay each year to the Roman people. Cæsar, expecting for many reasons greater commotion in Gaul, levied additional forces. He saw that war was being prepared on all sides, that the Nervii, Aduatuci, and Menapii, with the addition of all the Germans on this side of the Rhine, were under arms; that the Senones did not assemble according to his command, and were concerting measures with Carnutes and the neighbouring states; and that the Germans were importuned by the Treviri in frequent embassies. Therefore he thought that he ought to take prompt measures for the war. Accordingly, before the winter was ended, he marched with four legions unexpectedly into the territories of the Nervii, captured many men and much cattle, wasted their lands, and forced them to surrender and give hostages. He followed up his success by worsting the Senones, Carnutes, and Menapii, while Labienus defeated the Treviri. Gaul being tranquil, Cæsar, as he had determined, set out for Italy to hold the provincial assizes. There he was informed of the decree of the senate that all the youth of Italy should take the military oath, and he determined to hold a levy throughout the entire province. The Gauls, animated by the opportunity afforded through his absence, and indignant that they were reduced beneath the dominion of Rome, began to organise their plans for war openly. Many of the nations confederated and selected as their commander Vercingetorix, a young Avernian. On hearing what had happened, Cæsar set out from Italy for Transalpine Gaul, and began the campaign by marching into the country of the Helvii, although it was the severest time of the year, and the country was covered with deep snow. The armies met, and Vercingetorix sustained a series of losses at Vellaunodunum, Genabum, and Noviodunum. The Gauls then threw a strong garrison into Avaricum, which Cæsar besieged, and at length Cæsar's soldiers took it by storm. All the Gauls, with few exceptions, joined in the revolt; and the united forces, under Vercingetorix, attacked the Roman army while it was marching into the country of the Sequani, but they suffered complete defeat. After struggling vainly to continue the war, Vercingetorix surrendered, and the Gallic chieftains laid down their arms. Cæsar demanded a great number of hostages, sent his lieutenants with various legions to different stations in Gaul, and determined himself to winter at Bibracte. A supplication of twenty days was decreed at Rome by the senate on hearing of these successes. * * * * * TACITUS Annals Publius Cornelius Tacitus was born perhaps at Rome, shortly before the accession of the Emperor Nero in 54 A.D. He married the daughter of Agricola, famous in the history of Britain, and died probably about the time of Hadrian's accession to the empire, 117 A.D. He attained distinction as a pleader at the bar, and in public life; but his fame rests on his historical works. A man of strong prepossessions and prejudices, he allowed them to colour his narratives, and particularly his portraits; but he cannot be charged with dishonesty. The portraits themselves are singularly powerful; his narrative is picturesque, vivid, dramatic; but the condensed character of his style and the pregnancy of his phrases make his work occasionally obscure, and particularly difficult to render in translation. His "Germania" is a most valuable record of the early institutions of the Teutonic peoples. His "Histories" of the empire from Galba to Domitian are valuable as dealing with events of which he was an eye-witness. His "Annals," covering practically the reigns from Tiberius to Nero, open only some forty years before his own birth. Of the original sixteen books, four are lost, and four are incomplete. The following epitome has been specially prepared from the Latin text. _I.--Emperor and Nephew_ Tiberius, adopted son and actual stepson of Augustus, was summoned from Illyria by his mother Livia to the bedside of the dying emperor at Nola. Augustus left a granddaughter, Agrippina, who was married to Germanicus, the nephew of Tiberius; and a grandson, Agrippa Postumus, a youth of evil reputation. The succession of Tiberius was not in doubt; but his first act was to have Agrippa Postumus put to death--according to his own statement, by the order of Augustus. At Rome, consuls, senators, and knights hurried to embrace their servitude. The nobler the name that each man bore, the more zealous was he in his hypocrisy. The grave pretence of Tiberius that he laid no claim to imperial honours was met by the grave pretence that the needs of the state forbade his refusal of them, however reluctant he might be. His mother, Livia Augusta, was the object of a like sycophancy. But the world was not deceived by the solemn farce. The death of Augustus, however, was the signal for mutinous outbreaks among the legions on the European frontiers of the empire; first in Pannonia, then in Germany. In Pannonia, the ostensible motive was jealousy of the higher pay and easier terms of service of the Prætorian guard. So violent were the men, and so completely did the officers lose control, that Drusus, the son of Tiberius, was sent to make terms with the mutineers, and only owed his success to the reaction caused by the superstitious alarm of the soldiery at an eclipse of the moon. Germanicus, who was in command in Germany, was absent in Gaul. Here the mutiny of the Lower Army, under Cæcina, was very serious, because it was clearly organised, the men working systematically and not haphazard. News of the outbreak brought their popular general, Germanicus, to the spot. The mutineers at once offered to make him emperor, a proposal which he indignantly repudiated. The position, in a hostile country, made some concession necessary; but fresh disturbances broke out when it was suspected that the arrival of a commission from the senate meant that the concessions would be cancelled. Here the reaction which broke down the mutiny was caused by the shame of the soldiers themselves, when Germanicus sent his wife and child away from a camp where their lives were in danger. Of their own accord, the best of the soldiers turned on their former ringleaders, and slew them. And the legions under Cæcina took similar steps to recover their lost credit. Germanicus, however, saw that the true remedy for the disaffection would be found in an active campaign. The desired effect was attained by an expedition against the Marsi, conducted with a success which Tiberius, at Rome, regarded with mixed feelings. The German tribe named the Cherusci favoured Arminius, the determined enemy of Rome, in preference to Segestes, who was conspicuous for "loyalty" to Rome. Germanicus advanced to support the latter, and Arminius was enraged by the news that his wife, the daughter of Segestes, was a prisoner. His call to arms, his declamations in the name of liberty, roused the Cherusci, the people who had annihilated the legions of Varus a few years before. A column commanded by Cæcina was enticed by Arminius into a swampy position, where it was in extreme danger, and a severe engagement took place. The scheme of Arminius was to attack the Romans on the march; fortunately, the rasher counsels of his uncle, Inguiomerus, prevailed; an attempt was made to storm the camp, and the Romans were thus enabled to inflict a decisive defeat on the foe. It was at this time that the disastrous practice was instituted of informers bringing charges of treason against prominent citizens on grounds which Tiberius himself condemned as frivolous. The emperor began to make a practice of attending trials, which indeed prevented corrupt awards, but ruined freedom. Now arose disturbances in the east. The Parthians expelled their king, Vonones, a former favourite of Augustus. Armenia became involved, and these things were the source of serious complications later. Tiberius was already meditating the transfer of Germanicus to these regions. That general, however, was planning a fresh German campaign from the North Sea coast. A great fleet carried the army to the mouth of the Ems; thence Germanicus marched to the Weser and crossed it. Germanicus was gratified to find that his troops were eager for the impending fray. A tremendous defeat was inflicted on the Cherusci, with little loss to the Romans. Arminius, who had headed a charge which all but broke the Roman line, escaped only with the utmost difficulty. Nevertheless, the Germans rallied their forces, and a second furious engagement took place, in which the foe fought again with desperate valour, and were routed mainly through the superiority of the Roman armour and discipline. The triumph was marred only by a disaster which befel the legions which were withdrawn by sea. A terrific storm wrecked almost the entire fleet, and it was with great difficulty that the few survivors were rescued. The consequent revival of German hopes made it necessary for two large armies to advance against the Marsi and the Catti respectively, complete success again attending the Roman arms. Jealousy of his nephew's popularity and success now caused Tiberius to insist on his recall. At this time informers charged with treason a young man of distinguished family, Libo Drusus, mainly on the ground of his foolish consultation of astrologers, with the result that Drusus committed suicide. This story will serve as one among many which exemplify the prevalent demoralisation. In the same year occurred the audacious insurrection of a slave who impersonated the dead Agrippa Postumus; and also the deposition of the king of Cappadocia, whose kingdom was annexed as a province of the empire. A contest took place between the Suevi and the Cherusci, in which Rome declined to intervene. Maroboduus, of the Suevi, was disliked because he took the title of king, which was alien to the German ideas, being in this respect contrasted with Arminius. The Cherusci had the better of the encounter. _II.--The Development of Despotism_ Germanicus on his recall was in danger, while in Rome, of being made the head of a faction in antagonism to Drusus, the son of Tiberius. He was dispatched, however, with extraordinary powers, to take control of the East, where Piso, the governor of Syria, believed that he held his own appointment precisely that he might be a thorn in the side of Germanicus. The latter made a progress through Greece, settled affairs in Armenia and Parthia, and continued his journey to Egypt. Piso's machinations, encouraged by the reports which reached him of the emperor's displeasure at the conduct of Germanicus, caused the gravest friction. Finally, on the return from Egypt through Syria, Germanicus became desperately ill. He declared his own belief that Piso and his wife had poisoned him; and, on his death, the rumour met general credence, though it was unsupported by evidence. Agrippina returned to Rome, bent on vengeance, and the object of universal sympathy. Piso attempted to make himself master of Syria, but failed to win over the legions, and then resolved to return to Rome and defy his accusers. About this time Arminius was killed in attempting to make himself king. Shortly before, Tiberius had rejected with becoming dignity a rival chief's offer to poison the national hero of German independence. On the arrival in Italy of Agrippina with the ashes of Germanicus, the popular and official expressions of grief and sympathy were almost unprecedented. This public display was not at all encouraged by Tiberius himself. Drusus was instructed to emphasize the fact that Piso must not be held either guilty or innocent, till the case had been sifted. Tiberius insisted that not he, but the senate, must be the judge; the case must be decided on its merits, not out of consideration for his own outraged feelings. Piso was charged with having corrupted the soldiery, levied war on the province of Syria, and poisoned Germanicus. All except the last charge were proved up to the hilt; for that alone there was no evidence. Piso, however, despaired, fearing less the ebullitions of popular wrath than the emotionless implacability of the emperor. He was found dead in his room; but whether by his own act or that of Tiberius, was generally doubted. The penalties imposed on his wife and son were mitigated by the emperor himself. A number of notorious scandals at this period emphasise the degradation of morals and the disregard for the sanctity of the marriage tie in a society where children were regarded as a burden, in spite of official encouragement of the birth-rate. There was an instructive debate on a proposal that magistrates appointed to provinces should not take their wives with them. Risings in Gaul of the Treveri and Aedui created much alarm in Rome; the composure of Tiberius was justified by their decisive suppression. In Africa, Blæms successfully suppressed, though he did not finally curb, the brigand chief Tacfarinas, who had been building up a nomad empire of his own. It was under Dolabella, the successor of Blæms, that Tacfarinas was completely overthrown and slain. Hitherto the rule of Tiberius had been, on the whole, prosperous. But the ninth year marks the establishment of the ascendancy of Ælius Sejanus over the mind of the emperor, whereby his sway was transformed into a foul tyranny. Not of noble birth, Sejanus had neglected no means, however base, to secure his own favour with Tiberius and with the Prætorian Guard, of which he held the command. He was now determined to get rid of Drusus, the son of Tiberius, as the most dangerous obstacle to his ambitions. He accomplished his purpose by administering a poison, of which the operation was unsuspected till the facts were revealed many years later by an accomplice. Then the young sons of Germanicus became the accepted representatives of the imperial line, for the infant sons of Drusus died very shortly afterwards. Accordingly, Sejanus now directed his attacks against the more powerful persons who might be regarded as partisans of the house of Germanicus. Despite the multiplications of prosecutions, it is to be noted that it was still possible for a shrewd and tactful person, as exemplified by the career of Marcus Lepidus, to uphold the principles of justice and liberty without losing the favour of the emperor. Among other prosecutions, that of Cremutius, whose crime was that of praising the memory of Brutus and Cassius, demands attention, as the first of the kind. The ambitions of Sejanus received a check when he had the presumption to request Tiberius to grant him the hand of the widow of Drusus in marriage. In order the more surely to bring disgrace on the house of Germanicus, he now implanted in the mind of Agrippina a conviction that Tiberius intended to poison her. That such suspicions were mere commonplaces of that terrible time is well illustrated by the story. Incapable of hiding her feelings, the persistent gloom of her face and voice, and her refusal of proffered dishes as she sat near Tiberius at dinner, attracted his attention; to test her, he personally commended and pressed on her some apples; this only intensified her suspicions, and she gave them to the attendants untasted. Tiberius made no open comment, but observed to his mother that it would hardly be surprising should he contemplate harsh measures towards one who obviously took him for a poisoner. _III.--Morbid Tyrant and Dotard_ It was at this time that Tiberius withdrew himself from the capital, and took up his residence at a country seat where hardly anyone had access to him except Sejanus; whether at the favourite's suggestion or not is uncertain. The retreat finally selected was the island of Capræ. The monstrous lengths to which men of the highest rank were now prepared to go to curry favour with Tiberius and Sejanus was exemplified in the ruin of Sabinus, a loyal friend of the house of Germanicus. The unfortunate man was tricked into speaking bitterly of Sejanus and Tiberius. Three senators were actually hidden above the ceiling of the room where he was entrapped into uttering unguarded phrases, and on this evidence he was condemned. The death of the aged Livia Augusta removed the last check on the influence of Sejanus. [The account of his two years of unqualified supremacy, and of his sudden and utter overthrow has been lost, two books of the "Annals" being missing here.] From this time, the life of Tiberius at Capræ was one of morbid and nameless debauchery. The condition of his mind may be inferred from the opening words of one of his letters to the senate. "If I know what to write, how to write it, what not to write, may the gods and goddesses destroy me with a worse misery than the death I feel myself dying daily." The end came when Macro, the prefect of the Prætorians, who, to save his own life and secure the succession of Gaius Cæsar Caligula, the surviving son of Germanicus, caused the old emperor to be smothered. [The record of the next ten years--the reign of Caligula, and the first years of Claudius--is lost. When the story is taken up again, the wife of Claudius, the infamous Messalina, was at the zenith of her evil career.] While the doting pedant Claudius was adding new letters to the alphabet, Messalina was parading with utter shamelessness her last and fatal passion for Silius, and went so far as publicly to marry her paramour. It was the freedman Narcissus who made the outrageous truth known to Claudius, and practically terrorised him into striking. Half measures were impossible; a swarm of Messalina's accomplices in vice were put to death. To her, Claudius showed signs of relenting; but Narcissus gave the orders for her death without his knowledge. When they told Claudius that she was dead, he displayed no emotion, but went on with his dinner, and apparently forgot the whole matter. A new wife had to be provided; Agrippina, the daughter of Germanicus, niece of Claudius himself, and mother of the boy Domitius, who was to become the emperor Nero, was the choice of the freedman Pallas, and proved the successful candidate. Shortly after, her new husband adopted Nero formally as his son. It was not long before she had assumed an air of equality with her husband; and all men saw that she intended him to be succeeded not by his own son Britannicus, but by hers, Nero. Meanwhile, there had been a great revolt in Britain against the proprætor Ostorius. First the Iceni took up arms, then the Brigantes; then--a still more serious matter--the Silures, led by the most brilliant of British warriors, Caractacus. Even his skill and courage, however, were of no avail against the superior armament of the Roman legions; his forces were broken up, and he himself, escaping to the Brigantes, was by them betrayed to the Romans. The famous warrior was carried to Rome, where by his dignified demeanour he won pardon and liberty. In the Far East, Mithridates was overthrown by his nephew Rhadamistus, and Parthia and Armenia remained in wild confusion. The reign of Claudius was brought to an end by poison--the notorious Locusta was employed by Agrippina for the purpose--and he was succeeded by Nero, to whom his mother's artifices gave the priority over Britannicus. _IV.--The Infamies of Nero_ At the outset the young emperor was guided by Seneca and Burrus; his first speech--put into his mouth by Seneca, for he was no orator--was full of promise. But he was encouraged in a passion for Acte, a freed-woman, by way of counterpoise to the influence of his mother, Agrippina. The latter, enraged at the dismissal of Pallas, threatened her son with the legitimate claims of Britannicus, son of Claudius; Nero had the boy poisoned. In terror now of his mother, he would have murdered her, but was checked by Burrus. Nero's private excesses and debaucheries developed, while the horrible system of delation flourished, and prosecutions for treason abounded. About this time the emperor's passion for Poppæa Sabina, the wife of Otho, became the source of later disaster. Beautiful, brilliant, utterly immoral, but complete mistress of her passions, she had married Nero's boon companion. Otho was dispatched to Lusitania, and Poppæa remained at Rome. Poppæa was bent on the imperial crown for herself, and urged Nero against his mother. A mock reconciliation took place, but it was only the preliminary to a treacherous plot for murdering the former empress. The plot failed; her barge was sunk, but she escaped to shore. Nero, however, with the shameful assent of Burrus and Seneca, dispatched assassins to carry out the work, and Agrippina was slaughtered. For a moment remorse seized Nero, but it was soon soothed; Burrus headed the cringing congratulations of Roman society, to which Thrasea Pætus was alone in refusing to be a party. The emperor forthwith began to plunge into the wild extravagances on which his mother's life had been some check. He took cover for his passion for chariot-driving and singing by inducing men of noble birth to exhibit themselves in the arena; high-born ladies acted in disreputable plays; the emperor himself posed as a mime, and pretended to be a patron of poetry and philosophy. The wildest licence prevailed, and there were those who ventured even to defend it. About this time the Roman governor in Britain, Suetonius, crossed the Menai Strait and conquered the island of Anglesea. But outrages committed against Boadicea, queen of the Iceni, stirred that tribe to fierce revolt. Being joined by the Trinobantes, they fell upon the Romans at Camulodunum and massacred them. Suetonius, returning hastily from the west, found the Roman population in panic. The troops, however, inspired by the general's resolution, won a decisive victory, in which it is said that no fewer than 80,000 Britons, men and women, were slaughtered. Not long after, Burrus died--in common belief, if not in actual fact, of poison; and Seneca found himself driven into retirement, while Tigellinus became Nero's favourite and confidant. Nero then capped his matricide by suborning the same scoundrel who had murdered Agrippina to bring foul and false charges against his innocent wife, Octavia; who was thus done to death when not yet twenty, that her husband might be free to marry Poppæa. As a matter of course, the crime was duly celebrated by a public thanksgiving. The dispatch of an incompetent general into Asia resulted in a most inglorious Parthian campaign. Nero, however, was more interested first in extravagant rejoicings at the birth of a daughter to Poppæa, and then in equally extravagant mourning over the infant's death. It was well that Corbulo, marching from Syria, restored the Roman prestige in the Far East. These events were followed by the famous fire which devastated Rome; whether or no it was actually Nero's own work, rumour declared that he appeared on a private stage while the conflagration was raging, and chanted appropriately of the fall of Troy. He planned rebuilding on a magnificent scale, and sought popularity by throwing the blame of the fire--and putting to the most exquisite tortures--a class hated for their abominations, called Christians, from their first leader, Christus, who had suffered the extreme penalty under Pontius Pilate, procurator of Judæa, in the reign of Tiberius. A very widespread conspiracy was now formed against Nero, in favour of one Gaius Calpurnius Piso; Fænius Rufus, an officer of the Prætorians, who had been subordinated to Tigellinus, being one of the leaders. The plot, however, was betrayed by a freedman of one of the conspirators. * * * * * SALLUST The Conspiracy of Catiline The Roman historian Caius Crispus Sallust, who was born at Amiternum in 86 B.C., and died in 34 B.C., lived throughout the active career of Julius Cæsar, and died while Anthony and Octavian were still rivals for the supreme power. It might be supposed from his works that he was a person of eminent virtue, but this was merely a literary pose. He was probably driven into private life, in the first place, on account of the scandals with which he was associated. He became a partisan of Cæsar in the struggle with Pompey, and to this he owed the pro-consulship of Numidia, on the proceeds of which he retired into leisured ease. Sallust aspired with very limited success to assume the mantle of Thucydides, and the rôle of a philosophic historian. He displays considerable political acumen on occasion, but his assumption of stern impartiality is hardly less a pose than his pretense of elevated morality. His "Conspiracy of Catiline"--the first of his historical essays--was probably written, in part at least, with the object of dissociating Cæsar from it; the lurid colors in which he paints the conspirator are probably exaggerated. But whether true or false, the picture presented is a vivid one. This epitome is adapted specially from the Latin text. _I.--The Plotting_ I esteem the intellectual above the physical qualities of man; and the task of the historian has attracted me because it taxes the writer's abilities to the utmost Personal ambition had at first drawn me into public life, but the political atmosphere, full of degradation and corruption, was so uncongenial that I resolved to retire and devote myself to the production of a series of historical studies, for which I felt myself to be the better fitted by my freedom from the influences which bias the political partisan. For the first of these studies I have selected the conspiracy of Catiline. Lucius Catilina [commonly called Catiline] was of high birth, richly endowed both in mind and body, but of extreme depravity; with extraordinary powers of endurance, reckless, crafty, and versatile, a master in the arts of deception, at once grasping and lavish, unbridled in his passions, ready of speech, but with little true insight Of insatiable and inordinate ambitions, he was possessed, after Sulla's supremacy, with a craving to grasp the control of the state, utterly careless of the means, so the end were attained. Naturally headstrong, he was urged forward by his want of money, the consciousness of his crimes, and the degradation of morals in a society where luxury and greed ruled side by side. The wildest, the most reckless, the most prodigal, the most criminal, were readily drawn into the circle of Catiline's associates; in such a circle those who were not already utterly depraved very soon became so under the sinister and seductive influence of their leader. This man, who in the pursuit of his own vices had done his own son to death, did not hesitate to encourage his pupils in every species of crime; and with such allies, and the aid of the disbanded Sullan soldiery swarming in Italy, he dreamed of subverting the Roman state while her armies, under Gnæus Pompeius, were far away. The first step was to secure his own election as consul. One plot of his had already failed, because Catiline himself had attempted to move prematurely; but the conspirators remained scatheless. Those who were now with Catiline included members of the oldest families and of equestrian rank. Crassus himself was suspected of complicity, owing to his rivalry with Pompeius. The assembled conspirators were addressed by Catiline in a speech of the most virulent character. He urged these social outcasts to rise against a bloated plutocracy battening on the ill-gotten wealth to which his audience had just as good a title. He promised the cancellation of all debts, the proscription of the wealthy, and the general application of the rule of "the spoils to the victors." He had friends at the head of the armies in Spain and Mauritania, if Gaius Antonius were the other successful candidate for the consulship, his co-operation, too, could be secured. Such was the purport of his speech; but I do not credit the popular fiction that the conspirators were solemnly pledged in a bowl of mingled wine and blood. Rumours of the plot, however, began to leak out through a certain Fulvia, mistress of Quintus Curio, a man who had been expelled from the senatorial body on account of his iniquities; and this probably caused many of the nobility to support, for the consulship, Cicero, whom, as a "new man," they would otherwise have religiously opposed. The result was that Catiline's candidature failed, and Cicero was elected with Gaius Antonius for his colleague. At length Cicero, seeing that the ferment was everywhere increasing to an extent with which the ordinary law could not cope, obtained from the senate the exceptional powers for dealing with a national emergency which they had constitutional authority to grant. Thus, when news came that a Catilinarian, Gaius Manlius, had risen in Etruria at the head of an armed force, prompt administrative measures were taken to dispatch adequate military forces to various parts of the country. Catiline himself had taken no overt action; he now presented himself in the senate, was openly assailed by Cicero, responded with insults which were interrupted by cries of indignation, and flung from the house with the words "Since I am beset by enemies and driven out, the fire you have kindled about me shall be crushed out by the ruin of yourselves." Seeing that delay would be fatal, he started at once for the camp of Manlius, leaving Cethegus and Lentulus to keep up the ferment in Rome. To several persons of position he sent letters announcing that he was retiring to Marseilles; but, with misplaced confidence, he sent one of a different and extremely compromising tenor to Quintus Catullus, which the recipient read to the senate. It was next reported that he had assumed the consular attributes and joined Manlius; whereupon he was proclaimed a public enemy, a general levy was decreed, Antonius was appointed to take the field, while Cicero was to remain in the capital. _II.--The Downfall_ Meanwhile, Lentulus at Rome, among his various plots, intrigued to obtain the support of the Allobroges, a tribe of Gauls from whom there was at the time an embassy in Rome. The envoys, however, took the advice of Quintus Fabius Sanga, and while he kept Cicero supplied with information, themselves pretended to be at one with the conspirators. Risings were now taking place all over Italy, though they were ill-concerted. At Rome, the plan was that when Catiline's army was at Fæsulæ, the tribune Lucius Bestia should publicly accuse Cicero of having caused the war; and this was to be the signal for an organised massacre, while the city itself was to be fired at twelve points simultaneously. The insurgents were then to march out and join Catiline at Fæsulæ. The Allobroges were now departing, carrying with them letters from Lentulus to Catiline; but according to a concerted plan, they were arrested. This provided Cicero with evidence which warranted the arrest of Lentulus and other ringleaders in Rome; and its publication created a popular revulsion--the lower classes were not averse from plunder, but saw no benefit to themselves in a general conflagration of Rome. A certain Lucius Tarquinius was now captured, who gave information tallying with what was already published, but further incriminated Crassus. Crassus, however, was so wealthy, and had so many of the senate in his power, that even those who believed the charge to be true, thought it politic to pronounce it a gross fabrication. The danger of an attempted rescue of Lentulus brought on a debate as to what should be done with the prisoners. Cæsar, from whatever motive, spoke forcibly against any unconstitutional action which, however justified by the enormity of the prisoners' guilt, might become a dangerous precedent. In his opinion, the wise course would be to confiscate the property of the prisoners, and to place their persons in custody not in Rome, but in provincial towns. Cæsar's humanitarian statesmanship was answered by the grave austerity of Cato. "The question for us is not that of punishing a crime, but of preserving the state--or of what the degenerate Roman of to-day cares for more than the state, our lives and property. To speak of clemency and compassion is an abuse of terms only too common, when vices are habitually dignified with the names of virtues. Let us for once act with vigour and decision, and doom these convicted traitors to the death they deserve." The decree of death was carried to immediate execution. In the meantime, Catiline had raised a force numbering two legions, but not more than a quarter of them were properly armed. He remained in the hills, refusing to give battle to Antonius. On hearing the fate of Lentulus and the rest, he attempted to retreat to Gaul, but this movement was anticipated and intercepted by Metellus Celer, who was posted at Picenum with three legions. With Antonius pressing on his rear, Catiline resolved to hazard all on a desperate engagement. In exhorting his troops, he dwelt on the fact that men fighting for life and liberty were more than a match for a foe who had infinitely less at stake. Thus brought to bay, Catiline's soldiers met the attack of the government troops with furious valour, their leader setting a brilliant example of desperate daring, and the most vigilant and vigorous generalship. But Petreius, on the other side, directed his force against the rebel centre, shattered it, and took the wings in flank. Catiline's followers stood and fought till they fell, with their wounds in front; he himself hewed his way through the foe, and was found still breathing at a distance from his own ranks. No quarter was given or taken; and among the rebels there were no survivors. In the triumphant army, all the stoutest soldiers were slain or wounded; mourning and grief mingled with the elation of victory. * * * * * EDWARD GIBBON Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire--I Edward Gibbon, son of a Hampshire gentleman, was born at Putney, near London, April 27, 1737. After a preliminary education at Westminster, and fourteen "unprofitable" months at Magdalen College, Oxford, a whim to join the Roman church led to his banishment to Lausanne, where he spent five years, and acquired a mastery of the French language, formed his taste for literary expression, and settled his religious doubts in a profound scepticism. He served some years in the militia, and was a member of parliament. It was in 1764, while musing amidst, the ruins of the Capitol of Rome, that the idea of writing "The Decline and Fall" of the city first started into his mind. The vast work was completed in 1787. "A Study in Literature," written in French, and his "Miscellaneous Works," published after his death, which include "The Memoirs of his Life and Writings," complete the list of his literary labours. He died of dropsy on January 16, 1794. The portion of the work which is epitomized here covers the period from the reign of Commodus to the era of Charlemagne, and includes the famous portion of the work dealing with the growth of the Christian church. _I.--Rome, Mistress of the World_ In the second century of the Christian era, the Empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilised portion of mankind. On the death of Augustus, that emperor bequeathed, as a valuable legacy to his successors, the advice of confining the empire within those limits which nature seemed to have placed as its permanent bulwarks and boundaries--on the west the Atlantic Ocean, the Rhine and Danube on the north, the Euphrates on the east, and towards the south the sandy deserts of Arabia and Africa. The subsequent settlement of Great Britain and Dacia supplied the two exceptions to the precepts of Augustus, if we omit the transient conquests of Trajan in the east, which were renounced by Hadrian. By maintaining the dignity of the empire, without attempting to enlarge its limits, the early emperors caused the Roman name to be revered among the most remote nations of the earth. The terror of their arms added weight and dignity to their moderation. They preserved peace by a constant preparation for war. The soldiers, though drawn from the meanest, and very frequently from the most profligate, of mankind, and no longer, as in the days of the ancient republic, recruited from Rome herself, were preserved in their allegiance to the emperor, and their invincibility before the enemy, by the influences of superstition, inflexible discipline, and the hopes of reward. The peace establishment of the Roman army numbered some 375,000 men, divided into thirty legions, who were confined, not within the walls of fortified cities, which the Romans considered as the refuge of pusillanimity, but upon the confines of the empire; while 20,000 chosen soldiers, distinguished by the titles of City Cohorts and Prætorian Guards, watched over the safety of the monarch and the capitol. "Wheresoever the Roman conquers he inhabits," was a very just observation of Seneca. Colonies, composed for the most part of veteran soldiers, were settled throughout the empire. Rich and prosperous cities, adorned with magnificent temples and baths and other public buildings, demonstrated at once the magnificence and majesty of the Roman system. In Britain, York was the seat of government. London was already enriched by commerce, and Bath was celebrated for the salutary effects of its medicinal waters. All the great cities were connected with each other, and with the capital, by the public highway, which, issuing from the Forum of Rome, traversed Italy, pervaded the provinces, and was terminated only by the frontiers of the empire. This great chain of communications ran in a direct line from city to city, and in its construction the Roman engineers snowed little respect for the obstacles, either of nature or of private property. Mountains were perforated and bold arches thrown over the broadest and most rapid streams. The middle part of the road, raised into a terrace which commanded the adjacent country, consisted of several strata of sand, gravel, and cement, and was paved with granite or large stones. Distances were accurately computed by milestones, and the establishment of post-houses, at a distance of five or six miles, enabled a citizen to travel with ease a hundred miles a day along the Roman roads. This freedom of intercourse, which was established throughout the Roman world, while it extended the vices, diffused likewise the improvements of social life. Rude barbarians of Gaul laid aside their arms for the more peaceful pursuits of agriculture. The cultivation of the earth produced abundance in every portion of the empire, and accidental scarcity in any single province was immediately relieved by the plentifulness of its more fortunate neighbours. Since the productions of nature are the materials of art, this flourishing condition of agriculture laid the foundation of manufactures, which provided the luxurious Roman with those refinements of conveniency, of elegance, and of splendour which his tastes demanded. Commerce flourished, and the products of Egypt and the East were poured out in the lap of Rome. Though there still existed within the body of the Roman Empire an unhappy condition of men who endured the weight, without sharing the benefits of society, the position of a slave was greatly improved in the progress of Roman development. The power of life and death was taken from his master's hands and vested in the magistrate, to whom he had a right to appeal against intolerable treatment. These magistrates exercised the authority of the emperor and the senate in every quarter of the empire, inflexibly maintaining in their administration, as in the case of military government, the use of the Latin tongue. Greek was the natural idiom of science, Latin that of government. _II.--The Seeds of Dissolution_ But while Roman society persisted in a state of peaceful security, it already contained within itself the seeds of dissolution. The long peace and uniform government of the Romans introduced a slow and secret poison into the vitals of the empire. The minds of men were gradually reduced to the same level, the fire of genius was extinguished, and even the military spirit evaporated. The citizens received laws and covenants from the will of their sovereign, and trusted for their defence to a mercenary army. Of their ancient freedom nothing remained except the name, and that Augustus, sensible that mankind is governed by names, was careful to preserve. It was by the will of the senate the emperor ruled. It was from the senate that he received the ancient titles of the republic--of consul, tribune, pontiff, and censor. Even his title of _imperator_ was decreed him, according to the custom of the republic, only for a period of ten years. But this specious pretence, which was preserved until the last days of the empire, did not mask the real autocratic authority of the emperor. The fact that he nominated citizens to the senate was proof, if proof were needed, that the independence of that body was destroyed; for the principles of a free constitution are irrecoverably lost when the legislative power is nominated by the executive. Moreover, the dependence of the emperor on the legions completely subverted the civil authority. To keep the military power, which had given him his position, from undermining it, Augustus had summoned to his aid whatever remained in the fierce minds of his soldiers of Roman prejudices, and interposing the majesty of the senate between the emperor and the army, boldly claimed their allegiance as the first magistrate of the republic. During a period of 220 years, the dangers inherent to a military government were in a great measure suspended by this artful system. The soldiers were seldom roused to that fatal sense of their own strength and of the weakness of the civil authority which afterwards was productive of such terrible calamities. The emperors Caligula and Domitian were assassinated in their palace by their own domestics. The Roman world, it is true, was shaken by the events that followed the death of Nero, when, in the space of eighteen months, four princes perished by the sword. But, excepting this violent eruption of military licence, the two centuries from Augustus to Commodus passed away unstained with civil blood and undisturbed by revolution. The Roman citizens might groan under the tyranny, from which they could not hope to escape, of the unrelenting Tiberius, the furious Caligula, the profligate and cruel Nero, the beastly Vitellius, and the timid, inhuman Domitian; but order was maintained, and it was not until Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, the philosopher, succeeded to the authority that his father had exercised for the benefit of the Roman Empire that the army fully realised, and did not fail to exercise, the power it had always possessed. During the first three years of his reign the vices of Commodus affected the emperor rather than the state. While the young prince revelled in licentious pleasures, the management of affairs remained in the hands of his father's faithful councillors; but, in the year 183, the attempt of his sister Lucilla to assassinate him produced fatal results. The assassin, in attempting the deed, exclaimed, "The senate sends you this!" and though the blow never reached the body of the emperor, the words sank deep into his heart. He turned upon the senate with relentless cruelty. The possession of either wealth or virtue excited the tyrant's fury. Suspicion was equivalent to proof; trial to condemnation, and the noblest blood of the senate was poured out like water. He has shed with impunity the noblest blood of Rome; he perished as soon as he was dreaded by his own domestics. A cup of drugged wine, delivered by his favourite concubine, plunged him in a deep sleep. At the instigation of Lætus, his Prætorian prefect, a robust youth was admitted into his chamber, and strangled him without resistance. With secrecy and celerity the conspirators sought out Pertinax, the prefect of the city, an ancient senator of consular rank, and persuaded him to accept the purple. A large donative secured them the support of the Prætorian guard, and the joyous senate eagerly bestowed upon the new Augustus all the titles of imperial power. For eighty-six days Pertinax ruled the empire with firmness and moderation, but the strictness of the ancient discipline that he attempted to restore in the army excited the hatred of the Prætorian guards, and the new emperor was struck down on March 28, 193. _III.--An Empire at Auction_ The Prætorians had violated the sanctity of the throne by the atrocious murder of Pertinax; they dishonored the majesty of it with their subsequent conduct. They ran out upon the ramparts of the city, and with a loud voice proclaimed that the Roman world was to be disposed of to the best bidder by public auction. Sulpicianus, father-in-law of Pertinax, and Didius Julianus, bid against each other for the prize. It fell to Julian, who offered upwards of £1,000 sterling to each of the soldiers, and the author of this ignominious bargain received the insignia of the empire and the acknowledgments of a trembling senate. The news of this disgraceful auction was received by the legions of the frontiers with surprise, with indignation, and, perhaps, with envy. Albinus, governor of Britain, Niger, governor of Syria, and Septimius Severus, a native of Africa, commander of the Pannonian army, prepared to revenge the death of Pertinax, and to establish their own claims to the vacant throne. Marching night and day, Severus crossed the Julian Alps, swept aside the feeble defences of Julian, and put an end to a reign of power which had lasted but sixty-six days, and had been purchased with such immense treasure. Having secured the supreme authority, Severus turned his arms against his two competitors, and within three years, and in the course of two or three battles, established his position and brought about the death of both Albinus and Niger. The prosperity of Rome revived, and a profound peace reigned throughout the world. At the same time, Severus was guilty of two acts which were detrimental to the future interests of the republic. He relaxed the discipline of the army, increased their pay beyond the example of former times, re-established the Prætorian guards, who had been abolished for their transaction with Julian, and welded more firmly the chains of tyranny by filling the senate with his creatures. At the age of sixty-five in the year 211, he expired at York of a disorder which was aggravated by the labours of a campaign against the Caledonians. Severus recommended concord to his sons, Caracalla and Geta, and his sons to the army. The government of the civilised world was entrusted to the hands of brothers who were implacable enemies. A latent civil war brooded in the city, and hardly more than a year passed before the assassins of Caracalla put an end to an impossible situation by murdering Geta. Twenty thousand persons of both sexes suffered death under the vague appellation of the friends of Geta. The fears of Macrinus, the controller of the civil affairs of the Prætorian prefecture, brought about his death in the neighbourhood of Carrhæ in Syria on April 8, 217. For a little more than a year his successor governed the empire, but the necessary step of reforming the army brought about his ruin. On June 7, 218, he succumbed to the superior fortune of Elagabulus, the grandson of Severus, a youth trained in all the superstitions and vices of the East. Under this sovereign Rome was prostituted to the vilest vices of which human nature is capable. The sum of his infamy was reached when the master of the Roman world affected to copy the dress and manners of the female sex. The shame and disgust of the soldiers resulted in his murder on March 10, 222, and the proclamation of his cousin, Alexander Severus. Again the necessity of restoring discipline within the army led to the ruin of the emperor, and, despite thirteen years of just and moderate government, Alexander was murdered in his tent on March 19, 235, on the banks of the Rhine, and Maximin, his chief lieutenant, a Thracian, reigned in his stead. _IV.--Tyranny and Disaster_ Fear of contempt, for his origin was mean and barbarian, made Maximin one of the cruellest tyrants that ever oppressed the Roman world. During the three years of his reign he disdained to visit either Rome or Italy, but from the banks of the Rhine and the Danube oppressed the whole state, and trampled on every principle of law and justice. The tyrant's avarice ruined not only private citizens, but seized the municipal funds of the cities, and stripped the very temples of their gold and silver offerings. Maximus and Balbinus, on July 9, 237, were declared emperors. The Emperor Maximus advanced to meet the furious tyrant, but the stroke of domestic conspiracy prevented the further eruption of civil war. Maximin and his son were murdered by their disappointed troops in front of Aquileia. Three months later, Maximus and Balbinus, on July 15, 238, fell victims to their own virtues at the hands of the Prætorian guard, Gordian became emperor. At the end of six years, he, too, after an innocent and virtuous reign, succumbed to the ambition of the prefect Philip, while engaged in a war with Persia, and in March 244, the Roman world recognized the sovereignty of an Arabian robber. Returning to Rome, Philip celebrated the secular games, on the accomplishment of the full period of a thousand years from the foundation of Rome. From that date, which marked the fifth time that these rites had been performed in the history of the city, for the next twenty years the Roman world was afflicted by barbarous invaders and military tyrants, and the ruined empire seemed to approach the last and fatal moment of its dissolution. Six emperors in turn succeeded to the sceptre of Philip and ended their lives, either as the victims of military licence, or in the vain attempt to stay the triumphal eruption of the Goths and the Franks and the Suevi. In three expeditions the Goths seized the Bosphorus, plundered the cities of Bithynia, ravaged Greece, and threatened Italy, while the Franks invaded Gaul, overran Spain and the provinces of Africa. Some sparks of their ancient virtue enabled the senate to repulse the Suevi, who threatened Rome herself, but the miseries of the empire were not assuaged by this one triumph, and the successes of Sapor, king of Persia, in the East, seemed to foreshadow the immediate downfall of Rome. Six emperors and thirty tyrants attempted in vain to stay the course of disaster. Famine and pestilence, tumults and disorders, and a great diminution of the population marked this period, which ended with the death of the Emperor Gallienus on March 20, 268. _V.--Restorers of the Roman World_ The empire, which had been oppressed and almost destroyed by the soldiers, the tyrants, and the barbarians, was saved by a series of great princes, who derived their obscure origin from the martial provinces of Illyricum. Within a period of about thirty years, Claudius, Aurelian, Probus, Diocletian and his colleagues triumphed over the foreign and domestic enemies of the state, re-established, with a military discipline, the strength of the frontier, and deserved the glorious title of Restorers of the Roman world. Claudius gained a crushing victory over the Goths, whose discomfiture was completed by disease in the year 269. And his successor, Aurelian, in a reign of less than five years, put an end to the Gothic war, chastised the Germans who invaded Italy, recovered Gaul, Spain, and Britain from the Roman usurpers, and destroyed the proud monarchy which Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, had erected in the East on the ruins of the afflicted empire. The murder of Aurelian in the East (January 275) led to a curious revival of the authority of the senate. During an interregnum of eight months the ancient assembly at Rome governed with the consent of the army, and appeared to regain with the election of Tacitus, one of their members, all their ancient prerogatives. Their authority expired, however, with the death of his successor, Probus, who delivered the empire once more from the invasions of the barbarians, and succumbed to the too common fate of assassination in August 282. Carus, who was elected in his place, maintained the reputation of the Roman arms in the East; but his supposed death by lightning, by delivering the sceptre into the hands of his sons Carinus and Numerian (December 25, 283), once more placed the Roman world at the mercy of profligacy and licentiousness. A year later, the election of the Emperor Diocletian (September 17, 284) founded a new era in the history and fortunes of the empire. It was the artful policy of Diocletian to destroy the last vestiges of the ancient constitution. Dividing his unwieldly power among three other associates--Maximian, a rough, brutal soldier, who ranked as Augustus; and Galerius and Constantius, who bore the inferior titles of Cæsar--the emperor removed the centre of government by gradual steps from Rome. Diocletian and Maximian held their courts in the provinces, and the authority of the senators was destroyed by spoliation and death. _VI.--Reign of the Six Emperors_ For twenty-one years Diocletian held sway, establishing, with the assistance of his associates, the might of the Roman arms in Britain, Africa, Egypt, and Persia; and then, on May 1, 305, in a spacious plain in the neighborhood of Nicomedia, divested himself of the purple and abdicated the throne. On the same day at Milan, Maximian reluctantly made his resignation of the imperial dignity. According to the rules of the new constitution, Constantius and Galerius assumed the title of Augustus, and nominated Maximin and Severus as Cæsars. The elaborate machinery devised by Diocletian at once broke down. Galerius, who was supported by Severus, intrigued for the possession of the whole Roman world. Constantine, the son of Constantius, on account of his popularity with the army and the people, excited his suspicion, and only the flight of Constantine saved him from death. He made his way to Gaul, and, after taking part in a campaign with his father against the Caledonians, received the title of Augustus in the imperial palace at York on the death of Constantius. Civil war once more raged. Maxentius, the son of Maximian, was declared Emperor of Rome, and, with the assistance of his father, who broke from his retirement, defended his title against Severus, who was taken prisoner at Ravenna and executed at Rome in February 307. Galerius, who had raised Licinius to fill the post vacated by the death of Severus, invaded Italy to reestablish his authority, but, after threatening Rome, was compelled to retire. There were now six emperors. Maximian and his son Maxentius and Constantine in the West; in the East, Gelerius, Maximin, and Licinius. The second resignation of Maximian, and his renewed attempt to seize the imperial power by seducing the soldiers of Constantine, and his subsequent execution at Marseilles in February 310, reduced the number to five. Galerius died of a lingering disorder in the following year, and the civil war that broke out between Maxentius and Constantine, culminating in a battle near Rome in 312, placed the sceptre of the West in the hands of the son of Constantius. In the East, the alliance between Licinius and Maximin dissolved into discord, and the defeat of the latter on April 30, 313, ended in his death three or four months later. The empire was now divided between Constantine and Licinius, and the ambition of the two princes rendered peace impossible. In the years 315 and 323 civil conflict broke out, ending, after the battle of Adrianople and the siege of Byzantium, in a culminating victory for Constantine in the field of Chrysopolis, in September. Licinius, taken prisoner, laid himself and his purple at the feet of his lord and master, and was duly executed. By successive steps, from his first assuming the purple at York, to the resignation of Licinius, Constantine had reached the undivided sovereignty of the Roman world. His success contributed to the decline of the empire by the expense of blood and treasure, and by the perpetual increase as well of the taxes as of the military establishments. The foundation of Constantinople and the establishment of the Christian religion were the immediate and memorable consequences of this revolution. * * * * * Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire--II _I.--Decay of the Empire under Constantine_ The unfortunate Licinius was the last rival who opposed the greatness of Constantine. After a tranquil and prosperous reign, the conqueror bequeathed to his family the inheritance of the Roman Empire; a new capital, a new policy, and a new religion; and the innovations which he established have been embraced, and consecrated, by succeeding generations. Byzantium, which, under the more august name of Constantinople, was destined to preserve the shadow of the Roman power for nearly a thousand years after it had been extinguished by Rome herself, was the site selected for the new capital. Its boundary was traced by the emperor, and its circumference measured some sixteen miles. In a general decay of the arts no architect could be found worthy to decorate the new capital, and the cities of Greece and Asia were despoiled of their most valuable ornaments to supply this want of ability. In the course of eight or ten years the city, with its beautiful forum, its circus, its imperial palace, its theatres, baths, churches, and houses, was completed with more haste than care. The dedication of the new Rome was performed with all due pomp and ceremony, and a population was provided by the expedient of summoning some of the wealthiest families in the empire to take up their residence within its walls. The gradual decay of Rome had eliminated that simplicity of manners which was the just pride of the ancient republic. Under the autocratic system of Diocletian, a hierarchy of dependents had sprung up. The rank of each was marked with the most scrupulous exactness, and the purity of the Latin language was debased by the invention of the deceitful titles of your Sincerity, your Excellency, your Illustrious and Magnificent Highness. The officials of the empire were divided into three classes of the Illustrious, Respectable, and Honourable. The consuls were still annually elected, but obtained the semblance of their ancient authority, not from the suffrages of the people, but from the whim of the emperor. On the morning of January 1 they assumed the ensigns of their dignity, and in the two capitals of the empire they celebrated their promotion to office by the annual games. As soon as they had discharged these customary duties, they retired into the shade of private life, to enjoy, during the remainder of the year, the undisturbed contemplation of their own greatness. Their names served only as the legal date of the year in which they had filled the chair of Marius and of Cicero. The ancient title of Patrician became now an empty honour bestowed by the emperor. Four prefects held jurisdiction over as many divisions of the empire, and two municipal prefects ruled Rome and Constantinople. The proconsuls and vice-prefects belonged to the rank of Respectable, and the provincial magistrates to the lower class of Honourable. In the military system, eight master-generals exercised their jurisdiction over the cavalry and the infantry, while thirty-five military commanders, with the titles of counts and dukes, under their orders, held sway in the provinces. The army itself was recruited with difficulty, for such was the horror of the profession of a soldier which affected the minds of the degenerate Romans that compulsory levies had frequently to be made. The number of the barbarian auxiliaries enormously increased, and they were included in the legions and the troops that surrounded the throne. Seven ministers with the rank of Illustrious regulated the affairs of the palace, and a host of official spies and torturers swelled the number of the immediate followers of the sovereign. The general tribute, or indiction, as it was called, was derived largely from the taxation of landed property. Every fifteen years an accurate census, or survey, was made of all lands, and the proprietor was compelled to state the true facts of his affairs under oath, and paid his contribution partly in gold and partly in kind. In addition to this land tax there was a capitation tax on every branch of commercial industry, and "free gifts" were exacted from the cities and provinces on the occasion of any joyous event in the family of the emperor. The peculiar "free gift" of the senate of Rome amounted to some $320,000. Constantine celebrated the twentieth year of his reign at Rome in the year 326. The glory of his triumph was marred by the execution, or murder, of his son Crispus, whom he suspected of a conspiracy, and the reputation of the emperor who established the Christian religion in the Roman world was further stained by the death of his second wife, Fausta. With a successful war against the Goths in 331, and the expulsion of the Sarmatians in 334, his reign closed. He died at Nicomedia on May 22, 337. _II.--The Division of East and West_ The unity of the empire was again destroyed by the three sons of Constantine. A massacre of their kinsmen preceded the separation of the Roman world between Constantius, Constans, and Constantine. Within three years, civil war eliminated Constantine. The conflict among the emperors resulted in a doubtful war with Persia, and the almost complete extinction of the Christian monarchy which had been founded for fifty-six years in Armenia. Constantius was left sole emperor in 353. He associated with himself successively as Cæsars the two nephews of the great Constantine, Gallus and Julian. The first, being suspected, was destroyed in 354; the second succeeded to the purple in 361. Trained in the school of the philosophers, and proved as a commander in a series of successful campaigns against the German hordes, Julian brought to the throne a genius which, in other times, might have effected the reformation of the empire. The sufferings of his youth had associated in a mind susceptible of the most lively impressions the names of Christ and of Constantius, the ideas of slavery and religion. At the age of twenty he renounced the Christian faith, and boldly asserted the doctrines of paganism. His accession to the supreme power filled the minds of the Christians with horror and indignation. But instructed by history and reflection, Julian extended to all the inhabitants of the Roman world the benefits of a free and equal toleration, and the only hardship which he inflicted on the Christians was to deprive them of the power of tormenting their fellow subjects, whom they stigmatised with the odious titles of idolaters and heretics. While re-establishing and reforming the old pagan system and attempting to subvert Christianity, he held out a hand of succour to the persecuted Jews, asked to be permitted to pay his grateful vows in the holy city of Jerusalem, and was only prevented from rebuilding the Temple by a supposed preternatural interference. He suppressed the authority of George, Archbishop of Alexandria, who had infamously persecuted and betrayed the people under his spiritual care, and that odious priest, who has been transformed by superstition into the renowned St. George of England, the patron of arms, of chivalry, and of the Garter, fell a victim to the just resentment of the Alexandrian multitude. The Persian system of monarchy, introduced by Diocletian, was distasteful to the philosophic mind of Julian; he refused the title of lord and master, and attempted to restore in all its pristine simplicity the ancient government of the republic. In a campaign against the Persians he received a mortal wound, and died on June 26, 363. The election of Jovian, the first of the domestics, by the acclamation of the soldiers, resulted in a disgraceful peace with the Persians, which aroused the anger and indignation of the Roman world, and the new emperor hardly survived this act of weakness for nine months (February 17, 364). The throne of the Roman world remained ten days without a master. At the end of that period the civil and military powers of the empire solemnly elected Valentinian as emperor at Nice in Bithynia. The new Augustus divided the vast empire with his brother Valens, and this division marked the final separation of the western and eastern empires. This arrangement continued, until the death of Valentinian in 375, when the western empire was divided between his sons, Gratian and Valentinian II. His reign had been notable for the stemming of the invasion of the Alemanni of Gaul, the incursions of the Burgundians and the Saxons, the restoration of Britain from the attacks of the Picts and Scots, the recovery of Africa by the emperor's general, Theodosius, and the diplomatic settlement with the approaching hordes of the Goths, who already swarmed upon the frontiers of the empire. Under the three emperors the Roman world began to feel more severely the gradual pressure exerted by the hordes of barbarians that moved westward. In 376 the Goths, pursued by the Huns, who had come from the steppes of China into Europe, sought the protection of Valens, who succoured them by transporting them over the Danube into Roman territory. They repaid his clemency by uniting their arms with those of the Huns, and defeating and killing him at the battle of Hadrianople in 378. To save the provinces from the ravages of the barbarians, Gratian appointed Theodosius, son of his father's general, emperor of the East, and the wisdom of his choice was justified by the success of one who added a new lustre to the title of Augustus. By prudent strategy, Theodosius divided and defeated the Goths, and compelled them to submit. The sons of Theodosius, Arcadius and Honorius succeeded respectively to the government of the East and the West in 395. The symptoms of decay, which not even the wise rule of Theodosius had been able to remove, had grown more alarming. The luxury of the Romans was more shameless and dissolute, and as the increasing depredations of the barbarians had checked industry and diminished wealth, this profuse luxury must have been the result of that indolent despair which enjoys the present hour and declines the thoughts of futurity. The secret and destructive poison of the age had affected the camps of the legions. The infantry had laid aside their armour, and, discarding their shields, advanced, trembling, to meet the cavalry of the Goths and the arrows of the barbarians, who easily overwhelmed the naked soldiers, no longer deserving the name of Romans. The enervated legionaries abandoned their own and the public defence, and their pusillanimous indolence may be considered the immediate cause of the downfall of the empire. _III.--Ruin by Goth, Vandal, and Hun_ The genius of Rome expired with Theodosius. His sons within three months had once more sharply divided the empire. At a time when the only hope of delaying its ruin depended on the firm union of the two sections, the subject of Arcadius and Honorius were instructed by their respective masters to view each other in a hostile light, to rejoice in their mutual calamity, and to embrace as their faithful allies the barbarians, whom they incited to invade the territories of their countrymen. Alarmed at the insecurity of Rome, Honorius about this time fixed the imperial residence within the naturally fortified city of Ravenna--an example which was afterwards imitated by his feeble successors, the Gothic kings and the Exarchs; and till the middle of the eighth century Ravenna was considered as the seat of government and the capital of Italy. The reign of Arcadius in the East marked the complete division of the Roman world. His subjects assumed the language and manners of Greeks, and his form of government was a pure and simple monarchy. The name of the Roman republic, which so long preserved a faint tradition of freedom, was confined to the Latin provinces. A series of internal disputes, both civil and religious, marked his career of power, and his reign may be regarded as notable if only for the election of St. John Chrysostom to the head of the church of Constantinople. Arcadius died in May 408, and was succeeded by his supposed son, Theodosius, then a boy of seven, the reins of power being first held by the prefect Anthemius, and afterwards by his sister Pulcheria, who governed the eastern empire--in fact, for nearly forty years. The wisdom of Honorius, emperor of the West, in removing his capital to Ravenna, was soon justified by events. Alaric, king of the Goths, advanced in 408 to the gates of Rome, and completely blockaded the city. In the course of a long siege, thousands of Romans died of plague and famine, and only a heavy ransom, amounting to $1,575,000, relieved the citizens from their terrible situation in the year 409. In the same year Alaric again besieged Rome, after fruitless negotiations with Honorius, and his attempt once more proving successful, he created Attilus, prefect of the city, emperor. But the imprudent measures of his puppet sovereign exasperated Alaric. Attilus was formally deposed in 410, and the infuriated Goth besieged and sacked Rome, and ravaged Italy. The spoil that the barbarians carried away with them comprised nearly all the movable wealth of the city. The ancient capital was devastated, the exquisite works of art destroyed, and nearly all the monuments of a glorious past sacrificed to the insatiate greed of the conquerors. Fire helped to complete the ruin wrought by the Goths, and it is not easy to compute the multitude of citizens who, from an honourable station and a prosperous fortune, were suddenly reduced to the miserable condition of captives and exiles. The complete ruin of Italy was prevented by the death of Alaric in 410. During the reign of Honorius, the Goths, Burgundians, and Franks were settled in Gaul. The maritime countries, between the Seine and the Loire, followed the example of Britain in 409, and threw off the yoke of the empire. Aquitaine, with its capital at Aries, received, under the title of the seven provinces, the right of convening an annual assembly for the management of its own affairs. Honorius died in 423, and was succeeded by Valentinian III. His long reign was marked by a series of disasters, which foretold the rapidly approaching dissolution of the western empire. Genseric, king of the Vandals, in 429 crossed into Africa, conquered the province, and set up in the depopulated territory, with Carthage as his capital, a new rule and government. Italy was filled with fugitives from Africa, and a barbarian race, which had issued from the frozen regions of the north, established their victorious reign over one of the fairest provinces of the empire. Two years later, in 441, a new and even more terrible danger threatened the empire. The Goths and Vandals, flying before the Huns, had oppressed the western World. The hordes of these barbarians, now gathering strength in their union under their king, Attila, threatened an attack upon the eastern empire. In appearance their chieftain was terrible in the extreme; his portrait exhibits the genuine deformity of a modern Calmuck: a large head, a swarthy complexion, small, deep-seated eyes, a flat nose, a few hairs in the place of a beard, broad shoulders, and a short, square body of nervous strength, though of a disproportionate form. He had a custom of fiercely rolling his eyes, as if he wished to enjoy the terror which he inspired. This savage hero, who had subdued Germany and Scythia, and almost exterminated the Burgundians of the Rhine, and had conquered Scandinavia, was able to bring into the field 700,000 barbarians. An unsuccessful raid into Persia induced him to turn his attention to the eastern empire, and the enervated troops of Theodosius the Younger dissolved before the fury of his onset. He ravaged up to the very gates of Constantinople, and only a humiliating treaty preserved his dominion to the "invincible Augustus" of the East. After the death of Theodosius the Younger, and the accession of Marcian, the husband of Pulcheria, Attila threatened, in 450, both empires. An incursion of his hordes into Gaul was rendered abortive by the conduct of the patrician, Ætius, who, uniting all the various troops of Gaul and Germany, the Saxons, the Burgundians, the Franks, under their Merovingian prince, and the Visigoths under their king, Theodoric, after two important battles, induced the Huns to retreat from the field of Chalons. Attila, diverted from his purpose, turned into Italy, and the citizens of the various towns fled before the savage destroyer. Many families of Aquileia, Padua, and the adjacent towns, found a safe refuge in the neighbouring islands of the Adriatic, where their place of refuge evolved, in time, into the famous Republic of Venice. Valentinian fled from Ravenna to Rome, prepared to desert his people and his empire. The fortitude of Ætius alone supported and preserved the tottering state. Leo, Bishop of Rome, in his sacerdotal robes, dared to demand the clemency of the savage king, and the intervention of St. Peter and St. Paul is supposed to have induced Attila to retire beyond the Danube, with the Princess Honoria as his bride. He did not long survive this last campaign, and in 453 he died, and was buried amidst all the savage pomp and grief of his subjects. His death resolved the bonds that had united the various nations of which his subjects were composed, and in a very few years domestic discord had extinguished the empire of the Huns. Genseric, king of the Vandals, sacked and pillaged the ancient capital in June 455. The vacant throne was filled by the nomination of Theodoric, king of the Goths. The senate of Rome bitterly opposed the elevation of this stranger, and though Avitus might have supported his title against the votes of an unarmed assembly, he fell immediately he incurred the resentment of Count Ricimer, one of the chief commanders of the barbarian troops who formed the military defence of Italy. At a distance from his Gothic allies, he was compelled to abdicate (October 16, 456), and Majorian was raised to fill his place. _IV.--The Last Emperor of the West_ The successor of Avitus was a great and heroic character, such as sometimes arise in a degenerate age to vindicate the honour of the human species. In the ruin of the Roman world he loved his people, sympathised with their distress, and studied by judicial and effectual remedies to allay their sufferings. He reformed the most intolerable grievances of the taxes, attempted to restore and maintain the edifices of Rome, and to establish a new and healthier moral code. His military abilities and his fortune were not in proportion to his merits. An unsuccessful attempt against the Vandals to recover the lost provinces of Africa resulted in the loss of his fleet, and his return from this disastrous campaign terminated his reign. He was deposed by Ricimer, and five days later died of a reported dysentery, on August 7, 461. At the command of Ricimer, the senate bestowed the imperial title on Libius Severus, who reigned as long as it suited his patron. The increasing difficulties, however, of the kingdom of Italy, due largely to the naval depredation of the Vandals, compelled Ricimer to seek the assistance of the emperor Leo, who had succeeded Marcian in the East in 457. Leo determined to extirpate the tyranny of the Vandals, and solemnly invested Anthemius with the diadem and purple of the West (467). In 472, Ricimer raised the senator Olybrius to the purple, and, advancing from Milan, entered and sacked Rome and murdered Anthemius (July 11, 472). Forty days after this calamitous event, the tyrant Ricimer died of a painful disease, and two months later death also removed Olybrius. The emperor Leo nominated Julius Nepos to the vacant throne. After suppressing a rival in the person of Glycerius, Julius succumbed, in 475, to a furious sedition of the barbarian confederates, who, under the command of the patrician Orestes, marched from Rome to Ravenna. The troops would have made Orestes emperor, but when he declined they consented to acknowledge his son Augustulus as emperor of the West. The ambition of the patrician might have seemed satisfied, but he soon discovered, before the end of the first year, that he must either be the slave or the victim of his barbarian mercenaries. The soldiers demanded a third part of the land of Italy. Orestes rejected the audacious demand, and his refusal was favourable to the ambition of Odoacer, a bold barbarian, who assured his fellow-soldiers that if they dared to associate under his command they might extort the justice that had been denied to their dutiful petition. Orestes was executed, and Odoacer, resolving to abolish the useless and expensive office of the emperor of the West, compelled the unfortunate Augustulus to resign. So ended, in the year 476, the empire of the West, and the last Roman emperor lived out his life in retirement in the Lucullan villa on the promontory of Misenum. * * * * * Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire--III _I.--The Growth of the Christian Church_ The policy of the emperors and the senate, as far as it concerned religion, was happily seconded by the reflections of the enlightened, and by the habits of the superstitious part of their subjects. The various modes of worship which prevailed in the Roman world were all considered by the people as equally true; by the philosopher as equally false; by the magistrate as equally useful. Under this spirit of toleration the Christian church grew with great rapidity. Five main causes effectually favoured and assisted this development. 1. The inflexible and intolerant zeal of the Christians, purified from the narrow and unsocial spirit of the Jewish religion. 2. The doctrine of a future life, improved by every additional circumstance which could give weight and efficacy to that important theory. 3. The miraculous powers ascribed to the primitive Church. 4. The pure and austere morals of the early Christians. 5. The union and discipline of the Christian republic, which gradually formed an independent and increasing state in the heart of the Roman Empire. The early Christians of the mother church at Jerusalem subscribed to the Mosaic law, and the first fifteen bishops of Jerusalem were all circumcised Jews. But the Gentile church rejected the intolerable weight of Mosaic ceremonies, and at length refused to their more scrupulous brethren the same toleration which at first they had humbly solicited for their own practise. After the ruin of the temple of the city, and of the public religion of the Jews, the Nazarenes, as the Christian Jews of Jerusalem were called, retired to the little town of Pella, from whence they could make easy and frequent pilgrimages to the Holy City. When the Emperor Hadrian forbade the Jewish people from approaching the precincts of the city, the Nazarenes escaped from the common proscription by disavowing the Mosaic law. A small remnant, however, still combined the Mosaic ceremonies with the Christian faith, and existed, until the fourth century, under the name of Ebeonites. The immortality of the soul had been held by a few sages of Greece and Rome, who were unwilling to confound themselves with the beasts of the field, or to suppose that a being for whose dignity they entertained the most sincere admiration could be limited to a spot of earth, and to a few years of duration. But reason could not justify the specious and noble principles of the disciples of Plato. To the Christians alone the authority of Christ gave a certainty of a future life, and when the promise of eternal happiness was proposed to mankind on condition of adopting the faith, and of observing the precepts of the Gospel, it is no wonder that so advantageous an offer should have been accepted by great numbers of every religion, of every rank, and of every province in the Roman Empire. The immediate expectation of the second coming of Christ, and the reign of the Son of God with His saints for a thousand years, strengthened the ancient Christians against all trials and sufferings. The supernatural gifts which even in this life were ascribed to the Christians above the rest of mankind must have conduced to their own comfort, and very frequently to the conviction of infidels. The gift of tongues, of vision, and of prophecy, the power of expelling demons, of healing the sick, and of raising the dead, were prodigies claimed by the Christian Church at the time of the apostles and their first disciples. Repentance for their past sins, and the laudable desire of supporting the reputation of the society in which they were engaged, rendered the lives of the primitive Christians much purer and more austere than those of their pagan contemporaries or their degenerate successors. They were insistent in their condemnation of pleasure and luxury, and, in their search after purity, were induced to approve reluctantly that institution of marriage which they were compelled to tolerate. A state of celibacy was regarded as the nearest approach to the divine perfection, and there were in the primitive church a great number of persons devoted to the profession of perpetual chastity. The government of the primitive church was based on the principles of freedom and equality. The societies which were instituted in the cities of the Roman Empire were united only by the ties of faith and charity. The want of discipline and human learning was supplied by the occasional assistance of the "prophets "--men or women who, as often as they felt the divine impulse, poured forth the effusions of the spirit in the assembly, of the faithful. In the course of time bishops and presbyters exercised solely the functions of legislation and spiritual guidance. A hundred years after the death of the apostles, the bishop, acting as the president of the presbyterial college, administered the sacrament and discipline of the Church, managed the public funds, and determined all such differences as the faithful were unwilling to expose before the tribunal of an idolatrous judge. Every society formed within itself a separate and independent republic, and towards the end of the second century, realizing the advantages that might result from a closer union of their interests and designs, these little states adopted the useful institution of a provincial synod. The bishops of the various churches met in the capital of the province at stated periods, and issued their decrees or canons. The institution of synods was so well suited to private ambition and to public interest that it was received throughout the whole empire. A regular correspondence was established between the provincial councils, which mutually communicated and approved their respective proceedings, and the Catholic Church soon assumed the form and acquired the strength of a great federative republic. The community of goods which for a short time had been adopted in the primitive church was gradually abolished, and a system of voluntary gifts was substituted. In the time of the Emperor Decius it was the opinion of the magistrates that the Christians of Rome were possessed of very considerable wealth, and several laws, enacted with the same design as our statutes of mortmain, forbade real estate being given or bequeathed to any corporate body, without special sanctions. The bishops distributed these revenues, exercised the right of exclusion or excommunication of recalcitrant members of the Church, and maintained the dignity of their office with ever increasing pomp and circumstance. _II.--The Days of Persecution_ The persecution of Christians by the Roman emperors must at first sight seem strange, when one considers their inoffensive mode of faith and worship. When one remembers the scepticism that prevailed among the pagans, and the tolerant view of all religions which was characteristic of the Roman citizen in the early years of the empire, this harshness seems all the more remarkable. It can be explained partly by the misapprehension which existed in the mind of the pagan world as to the principles of the Christian faith, and partly by the organization of the sect. The Jews were allowed the exercise of their unsocial and exclusive faith. But the Jews were a nation; the Christians were a sect. Moreover, the Christians were regarded as apostates from the ancient faith of Moses, and, worshipping no visible god, were held to be atheists. The Roman policy also viewed with the utmost jealousy and distrust any association among its subjects, and the secret and nocturnal meetings of the Christians appeared peculiarly dangerous in the eyes of the law. They were oppressed by the Emperor Domitian. Trajan protected their meetings by requiring definite evidence of these illegal assemblies, and an informer who failed in his proofs was subject to a severe or capital penalty. But the edicts of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius protected the Church from the danger of popular clamour in times of disaster, declaring that the voice of the multitude should never be admitted as legal evidence to convict or to punish those unfortunate persons who had embraced the enthusiasm of the Christians. The authority of Origen and Dionysius annihilates that formidable army of martyrs, whose relics, drawn for the most part from the catacombs of Rome, have replenished so many churches, and whose marvellous achievements have been the subject of so many volumes of holy romance. The martyrdom of Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage, on September 14, 258, was one of the most notable of that period. Under Marcus Antoninus, the Christians were treated harshly, but the tyrant Commodus protected them by his leniency. After a temporary period of persecution during the reign of Severus, the Christians enjoyed a calm from 211 to 249. The storms gathered again under Decius, and so vigorous was the persecution that the bishops of the most considerable cities were removed by exile or death. _III.--The Church under Constantine_ From 284 to 303, during the reign of Diocletian, the Christian Church enjoyed peace and prosperity, but in the latter year Galerius persuaded the emperor to renew the persecution of the sect. An edict on February 24 enacted that all churches throughout the empire should be demolished, and the punishment of death was pronounced against all who should presume to hold any secret assemblies for the purposes of religious worship. Many suffered martyrdom under this cruel enactment. Churches everywhere were burnt, and sacred books destroyed. Three more edicts published before March 304 led to the imprisonment of all persons of the ecclesiastical order, compelled the magistrates to exercise torture to subvert the religion of their Christian prisoners, and made it the duty, as well as the interest, of the imperial officers to discover, to pursue, and to torment the most obnoxious among the faithful. But after six years of persecution, the mind of Galerius, softened by salutary reflection, induced him to attempt some reparation. In the edict of toleration which he published on April 30, 311, he expresses the hope "that our indulgence will engage the Christians to offer up their prayers to the Deity whom they adore for our safety and prosperity, and for that of the Republic." The triumph of the great Constantine established the security of the Christian Church from the attacks of the pagans. Converted in 306, Constantine, as soon as he had achieved the conquest of Italy, issued the Edict of Milan (313), declaring that the places of worship which had been confiscated should be restored to the Church without dispute, without delay, and without expense. Though himself never received by baptism into the Church, until his last moments, his powerful patronage of the Christians, and his edicts of toleration, removed all the temporal disadvantages which had hitherto retarded the progress of Christianity. The faith of Christ became the national religion of the empire. The soldiers bore upon their helmets and upon their shields the sacred emblem of the Cross. All the machinery of government was employed to propagate the faith, not only within the empire, but beyond its borders. Confirmed in his new religion by the miraculous vision of the Cross, Constantine, who was the master of the world, consented to recognise the superiority of the ecclesiastical orders in all spiritual matters, while retaining himself the temporal power. The persecution of heresy was carried out by Constantine with all the ardour of a convert. An edict confiscated the public property of the heretics to the use either of the revenue or the Catholic Church, and the penal regulations of Diocletian against the Christians were now employed against the schismatics. The Donatists, who maintained the apostolic succession of Donatus, primate of Carthage, as opposed to Cæcilian, were suppressed in Africa, and a general synod attempted to regulate the faith of the Church. The subject of the nature of the divine Trinity had early given rise to discussion. Of the three main heretical views, that of Arius and his disciples was the most prevalent. He held in effect that the Son, by whom all things were made, though He had been begotten before all worlds, yet had not always existed. He shone only with the reflected light of His Almighty Father, and, like the sons of the Roman emperors, who were invested with the titles of Cæsar or Augustus. He governed the universe. The Tritheists advocated a system which seemed to establish three independent deities, while the Sabellian theory allowed only to the man Jesus the inspiration of the divine wisdom. The consubstantiality of the Father and of the Son had been established by the Council of Nicæa in 325, but the East ranged itself for the most part under the banner of the Arian heresy. At first indifferent, Constantine at last persecuted the Arians, who later, under Constantius, were received into favour. Constantinople, which for forty years was the stronghold of Arianism, was converted to the orthodox faith under Theodosius by Gregory Nazianzen. _IV.--The Conversion of the World_ The pagan religion was finally destroyed about the year 390, and the faintest vestiges of it were not visible thirty years later. Its influence, however, might be observed in many of the ceremonies which were introduced into the Church, and the worship of martyrs and relics seemed to revive a system of polytheism by the worship of a hierarchy of saints. Among the most famous of the dignitaries of the Church at this period was the Archbishop of Constantinople, who was distinguished by the epithet of Chrysostom, or the Golden Mouth. He attempted to purify the eastern empire, excited the animosity of the Empress Eudoxia, and died in exile in 407. The monastic system had been founded by Antony, an illiterate youth, in the year 305, by the establishment on Mount Cobyim, near the Red Sea, of a colony of ascetics, who renounced all the business and pleasures in life as the price of eternal happiness. A long series of hermits, monks, and anachorets propagated the system and, patronised by Athanasius, it spread to all parts of the world. The monastic profession was an act of voluntary devotion, and the inconstant fanatic was threatened with the eternal vengeance of the God whom he deserted. The monks had to give a blind submission to the commands of their abbot, however absurd, and the freedom of the mind, the source of every generous and rational sentiment, was destroyed by the habits of credulity and submission. In their dress and diet they preserved the most rigorous simplicity, and they subsisted entirely by their own manual exertions. But in the course of time this simplicity vanished, and, enriched by the offerings of the faithful, they assumed the pride of wealth, and at last indulged in the luxury of extravagance. The conversion of the barbarians followed upon their invasion of the Roman world; but they were involved in the Arian heresy, and from their advocacy of that cause they were characterised by the name of heretics, an epithet more odious than that of barbarian. The bitterness engendered by this reproach confirmed them in their faith, and the Vandals in Africa persecuted the orthodox Catholic with all the vigour and cruel arts of religious tyranny. * * * * * Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire--IV _I.--Theodoric the Ostrogoth_ After the fall of the Roman Empire in the West, an interval of fifty years, until the memorable reign of Justinian, is faintly marked by the obscure names and imperfect annals of Zeno, Anastasius, and Justin, who successively ascended the throne of Constantinople. During the same period Italy revived and nourished under the government of a Gothic king, who might have deserved a statue among the best and bravest of the ancient Romans. Theodoric the Ostrogoth, the fourteenth in lineal descent of royal line of the Amali, was born (455) in the neighbourhood of Vienna two years after the death of Attila. The murmurs of the Goths, who complained that they were exposed to intolerable hardships, determined Theodoric to attempt an adventure worthy of his courage and ambition. He boldly demanded the privilege of rescuing Italy and Rome from Odoacer, and at the head of his people forced his way, between the years 488 and 489, through hostile country into Italy. In three battles he triumphed over Odoacer, forced that monarch to capitulate on favourable terms at Ravenna (493), and after pretending to allow him to share his sovereignty of Italy, assassinated him in the same year. The long reign of Theodoric (493-526) was marked by a transient return of peace and prosperity to Italy. His domestic and foreign policy were dictated alike by wisdom and necessity. His people were settled on the land, which they held by military tenure. A series of matrimonial alliances secured him the support of the Franks, the Burgundians, the Visigoths, the Vandals, and the Thuringians, and his sword preserved his territory from the incursions of rival barbarians and the two disastrous attacks (505 and 508) that envy prompted the Emperor Anastasius to attempt. _II.--Justinian the Great_ The death of the Emperor Anastasius had raised to the throne a Dardanian peasant, who by his arts secured the suffrage of the guards, despoiled and destroyed his more powerful rivals, and reigned under the name of Justin I. from 518 to 527. He was succeeded by his nephew, the great Justinian, who for thirty-eight years directed the fortunes of the Roman Empire. The Empress Theodora, who before her marriage had been a theatrical wanton, was seated, by the fondness of the emperor, on the throne as an equal and independent colleague in the sovereignty. Her rapacity, her cruelty, and her pride were the subject of contemporary writings, but her benevolence to her less fortunate sisters, and her courage amidst the factions and dangers of the court, justly entitle her to a certain nobility of character. Constantinople in the age of Justinian was torn by the factions of the circus. The rival bands of charioteers, who wore respectively liveries of green and blue, created in the capital of the East, as they had created in Rome, two factions among the populace. Justinian's support of the blues led to a serious sedition in the capital. The two factions were united by a common desire for vengeance, and with the watchword of "Nika" (vanquish) (January 532), raged in tumult through Constantinople for five days. At the command of Theodora 3,000 veterans who could be trusted marched through the burning streets to the Hippodrome, and there, supported by the repentant blues, massacred the unresisting mob. The Eastern Empire, after Rome was barbarous, still embraced the nations whom she had conquered beyond the Adriatic, and as far as the frontiers of Ethiopia and Persia. Justinian reigned over 64 provinces and 935 cities. The arts and agriculture flourished under his rule, but the avarice and profusion of Justinian oppressed the people. His expensive taste for building almost exhausted the resources of the empire. Heavy custom tolls, taxes on the food and industry of the poor, the exercise of intolerable monopolies, were not excused or compensated for by the parsimonious saving in the salaries of court officials, and even in the pay of the soldiers. His stately edifices were cemented with the blood and treasures of his people, and the rapacity and luxury of the emperor were imitated by the civil magistrates and officials. The schools of Athens, which still kept alight the sacred flame of the ancient philosophy, were suppressed by Justinian. The academy of the Platonics, the Lyceum of the Peripatetics, the Portico of the Stoics, and the Garden of the Epicureans had long survived. With the death of Simplicius and his six companions, who terminate the long list of Grecian philosophers, the golden chain, as it was fondly styled, of the Platonic succession was broken, and the Edict of Justinian (529) imposed a perpetual silence on the schools of Athens. The Roman consulship was also abolished by Justinian in 541; but this office, the title of which admonished the Romans of their ancient freedom, still lived in the minds of the people. They applauded the gracious condescension of successive princes by whom it was assumed in the first year of their reign, and three centuries elapsed after the death of Justinian before that obsolete office, which had been suppressed by law, could be abolished by custom. The usurpation by Gelimer (530) of the Vandalic crown of Africa, which belonged of right to Hilderic, first encouraged Justinian to undertake the African war. Hilderic had granted toleration to the Catholics, and for this reason was held in reproach by his Arian subjects. His compulsory abdication afforded the emperor of the East an opportunity of interfering in the cause of orthodoxy. A large army was entrusted to the command of Belisarius, one of those heroic names which are familiar to every age and to every nation. Proved in the Persian war, Belisarius was given unlimited authority. He set sail from Constantinople with a fleet of six hundred ships in June 533. He landed on the coast of Africa in September, defeated the degenerate Vandals, reduced Carthage within a few days, utterly vanquished Gelimer, and completed the conquest of the ancient Roman province by 534. The Vandals in Africa fled beyond the power or even the knowledge of the Romans. _III.--Gothic Italy_ Dissensions in Italy excited the ambition of Justinian. Belisarius was sent with another army to Sicily in 535, and after subduing that island and suppressing a revolt in Africa, he invaded Italy in 536. Policy dictated the retreat of the Goths, and Belisarius entered Rome (December 536). In March, Vitiges, the Gothic ruler, returned with a force of one hundred and fifty thousand men. The valour of the Roman general supported a siege of forty-one days and the intrigues of the Pope Silverius, who was exiled by his orders; and, finally, with the assistance of a seasonable reinforcement, Belisarius compelled the barbarians to retire in March of the following year. The conquests of Ravenna and the suppression of the invasion of the Franks completed the subjugation of the Gothic kingdom by December 539. The success of Belisarius and the intrigues of his secret enemies had excited the jealousy of Justinian. He was recalled, and the eunuch Narses was sent to Italy, as a powerful rival, to oppose the interests of the conqueror of Rome and Africa. The infidelity of Antonina, which excited her husband's just indignation, was excused by the Empress Theodora, and her powerful support was given to the wife of the last of the Roman heroes, who, after serving again against the Persians, returned to the capital, to be received not with honour and triumph, but with disgrace and contempt and a fine of $600,000. The incursions of the Lombards, the Slavonians, and the Avars and the Turks, and the successful raids of the King of Persia were among the number of the important events of the reign of Justinian. To maintain his position in Africa and Italy taxed his resources to their utmost limit. The victories of Justinian were pernicious to mankind; the desolation of Africa was such that in many parts a stranger might wander whole days without meeting the face of either a friend or an enemy. The revolts of the Goths, under their king, Totila (541), once more demanded the presence of Belisarius, and, a hero on the banks of the Euphrates, a slave in the palace of Constantinople, he accepted with reluctance the painful task of supporting his own reputation and retrieving the faults of his successors. He was too late to save Rome from the Goths, by whom it was taken in December 546; but he recovered it in the following February. After his recall by his envious sovereign in September 548, Rome was once more taken by the Goths. The successful repulse of the Franks and Alemanni finally restored the kingdom to the rule of the emperor. Belisarius died on March 13, 565. The emperor survived his death only eight months, and passed away, in the eighty-third year of his life and the thirty-eighth of his reign, on November 14, 565. The most lasting memorial of his reign is to be found neither in his victories nor his monuments, but in the immortal works of the Code, the Pandects, and the Institutes, in which the civil jurisprudence of the Romans was digested, and by means of which the public reason of the Romans has been silently or studiously transfused into the domestic institutions of the whole of Europe. _IV.--Gregory the Great_ Justinian was succeeded by his nephew, Justin II., who lived to see the conquest of the greater part of Italy by Alboin, king of the Lombards (568-570), the disaffection of the exarch, Narses, and the ruin of the revived glories of the Roman world. During a period of 200 years Italy was unequally divided between the king of the Lombards and the exarchate of Ravenna. Rome relapsed into a state of misery. The Campania was reduced to the state of a dreary wilderness. The stagnation of a deluge caused by the torrential swelling of the Tiber produced a pestilential disease, and a stranger visiting Rome might contemplate with horror the solitude of the city. Gregory the Great, whose pontificate lasted from 590 to 604, reconciled the Arians of Italy and Spain to the Catholic Church, conquered Britain in the name of the Cross, and established his right to interfere in the management of the episcopal provinces of Greece, Spain, and Gaul. The merits of Gregory were treated by the Byzantine court with reproach and insult, but in the attachment of a grateful people he found the purest reward of a citizen and the best right of a sovereign. The short and virtuous reign of Tiberius (578-582), which succeeded that of Justin, made way for that of Maurice. For twenty years Maurice ruled with honesty and honour. But the parsimony of the emperor, and his attempt to cure the inveterate evil of a military despotism, led to his undoing, and in 602 he was murdered with his children. A like fate befell the Emperor Phocas, who succumbed in 610 to the fortunes of Heraclius, the son of Crispus, exarch of Africa. For thirty-two years Heraclius ruled the Roman world. In three campaigns he chastised the rising power of Persia, drove the armies of Chosroes from Syria, Palestine, and Egypt, rescued Constantinople from the joint siege of the Avars and Persians (626), and finally reduced the Persian monarch to the defence of his hereditary kingdom. The deposition and murder of Chosroes by his son Siroes (628) concluded the successes of the emperor. A treaty of peace was arranged, and Heraclius returned in triumph to Constantinople, where, after the exploits of six glorious campaigns, he peacefully enjoyed the sabbath of his toils. The year after his return he made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem to restore the true Cross to the Holy Sepulchre. In the last eight years of his reign Heraclius lost to the Arabs the same provinces which he had rescued from the Persians. Heraclius died in 612. His descendants continued to fill the throne in the persons of Constantine III. (641), Heracleonas (641), Constans II. (641), Constantine IV. (668), Justinian II. (685), until 711, when an interval of six years, divided into three reigns, made way for the rise of the Isaurian dynasty. _V.--The New Era of Charlemagne_ Leo III. ascended the throne on March 25, 718, and the purple descended to his family, by the rights of heredity, for three generations. The Isaurian dynasty is most notable for the part it played in ecclesiastical history. The introduction of images into the Christian Church had confused the simplicity of religious worship. The education of Leo, his reason, perhaps his intercourse with Jews and Arabs, had inspired him with a hatred of images. By two edicts he proscribed the existence, as well as the use, of religious pictures. This heresy of Leo and of his successors and descendants, Constantine V. (741), Leo IV. (775), and Constantine VI. (780), whose blinding by his mother Irene is one of the most tragic stories of Roman history, justified the popes in rebelling against the authority of the emperor, and in restoring and establishing the supremacy of Rome. Gregory II. saved the city from the attacks of the Lombards, who had seized Ravenna and extinguished the series of Greek exarchs in 751. He secured the assistance of Pepin, and the real governor of the French monarchy--Charles Martel, who, by his signal victory over the Saracens, had saved Europe from the Mohammedan yoke. Twice--in 754 and 756--Pepin marched to the relief of the city. His son Charlemagne, in 774, seemed to secure the permanent safety of the ancient capital by the conquest of Lombardy, and for twenty-six years he ruled the Romans as his subjects. The people swore allegiance to his person and his family, and the elections of the popes were examined and authorised by him. The senate exercised its rights by proclaiming him patrician and of the power of the emperor; nothing was lacking except the title. A document, known as the Forged Decretals, which assigned the free and perpetual sovereignty of Rome, Italy, and the provinces of the West to the popes by Constantine, was presented by Pope Hadrian I. to Charlemagne. This document served to absolve the popes from their debt of gratitude to the French monarch, and excused the revolt of Rome from the authority of the eastern empire. Though Constantinople returned, under Irene, to the employment of images, and the seventh general council of Nicæa, September 24, 787, pronounced the worship of the Greeks as agreeable to scripture and reason, the division between the East and the West could not be avoided. The pope was driven to revive the western empire in order to secure the gift of the exarchy, to eradicate the claims of the Greeks, and to restore the majesty of Rome from the debasement of a provincial town. The emperors of the West would receive their crown from the successor of St. Peter, and the Roman Church would require a zealous and respectable advocate. Inspired by these motives, Pope Leo, who had nearly fallen a victim to a conspiracy (788), and had been saved and reinstated by Charlemagne, took the opportunity presented by the French king's visit to Rome to crown him emperor. On the festival of Christmas (800), in the church of St. Peter, Leo, after the celebration of the Holy Mysteries, suddenly placed a precious crown on his head. The dome resounded with the acclamations of the people, his head and body were consecrated with the royal unction, and he was saluted, or adored, by the pontiff after the example of the Cæsars. Europe dates a new era from his restoration of the western empire. * * * * * THEODOR MOMMSEN History of Rome Theodor Mommsen was born at Garding in Schleswig on November 30, 1817. He studied at Kiel University for three years, examined Roman inscriptions in France and Italy from 1844 to 1847, and attained his first professorship at Leipzig in 1848, and the Berlin Chair of Ancient History in 1858. His greatest work was the "History of Rome," published in 1854, and its successor, the "Roman Provinces." On this work he brought to bear a research and a scholarship of almost unparalleled range and completeness. He was a man capable of vehement and occasionally unreasonable partisanship, and a strict and cold-blooded impartiality would have tempered the enthusiasm of some of his portraits and the severity of others. These defects, however, are less obvious when his history is condensed in small compass. There are cases in which his judgments are open to adverse criticism. But at the present day it may safely be affirmed that there is no extant history of Rome down to the establishment of the empire which can be regarded as rivalling that here presented. Upwards of 900 separate publications remain as a monument of Mommsen's industry. He died on November 1, 1903. Iapygians, Etruscans, and Italians, the last certainly Indo-Europeans, are the original stocks of Italy proper. Of the Italians there are two divisions, the Latin and the Umbro-Sabellian. Central Italy was occupied by the Latins, who were established in cantons formed of village groups; which cantons at an early age formed themselves into the loose Latin League, with Alba at its head. The Roman canton, on both banks of the Tiber, concentrated itself on the city earlier than others. The citizens consisted of the families which constituted the larger groups of clans or gentes, formed into those tribes. The remainder of the population were their dependents or slaves. At the head of the family was the father, and the whole community had its king, standing to it in the same relation as the father to the family. His power, within the law, was absolute; but he could not override it or change it on his own authority. This required the formal assent of the assembled citizens. The heads of the clans formed a separate body--the Senate--which controlled the appointment of the king, and could veto legislation. By admission of aliens and absorption of other communities, swelling the number of dependents, was gradually created a great body of plebeians, non-citizens, who began to demand political rights; and whom it was necessary to organise for military purposes which was done by the "Servian Constitution." Gradually Rome won a supremacy in the Latin League, a position of superiority over the aggregate of the other cantons. In this community arose three political movements: (1) On the part of the full citizen, patricii, to limit the power not of the state, but of the kings; (2) of the non-citizens, to acquire political rights; (3) of antagonism between the great landholders and the land-interests opposed to them. The first resulted in the expulsion of the monarchs, and the substitution of a dual kingship held for one year only. But in many respects their joint power was curtailed as compared with that of the monarch, while for emergencies they could appoint a temporary dictator. The change increased the power of the General Assembly, to which it became necessary to admit the non-citizen freeholders who were liable to military duties. The life tenure of the members of the Senate greatly increased the powers of that body, and intensified the antagonism of the patriarch and the plebeians. At the same time, a landed nobility was developing; and when fresh land was acquired by the state, the Patricians claimed to control it. But the great agricultural population could not submit to this process of land absorption, and the consequent strife took the form of a demand for political recognition, which issued in the appointment of Tribunes of the Plebs, with power of administrative veto. The struggle over privileges lasted for two hundred years. First the Canuleian law made marriage valid between patricians and plebeians, and instituted for a time military tribunes. The Licinian law, eighty years later, admitted plebeians to the consulship, and also required the employment of free labour in agriculture. The decisively democratic measure was the Horticunian law, after another seventy years, giving the exclusively plebeian assembly full legislative power. The practical effect of the changes was to create a new aristocracy, semi-plebeian in origin, and to reduce the personal power of the chief officers of state, while somewhat increasing that of the remodelled Senate; rendering it a body selfish indeed in internal matters, but essentially patriotic as well as powerful. _I.--The Description of Italy_ During the period of this long constitutional struggle, Rome and her kinsfolk had first been engaged in a stubborn and ultimately successful contest with the non-Aryan Etruscan race; and then Italy had been attacked by the migrating Aryan hordes of the Celts, known as Gauls, who sacked Rome, but retired to North Italy; events giving birth to many well-known stories, probably in the main mythical. But the practical effect was to impose a greater solidarity of the Latin and kindred races, and a more decisive acceptance of Roman hegemony. That hegemony, however, had to be established by persistent compulsion, and there were three stages in its completion. First, the subjection of the Latins and Campanians; then the struggle of Rome with the Umbrian-Samnites; finally, the decisive repulse of the Epirote invader Pyrrhus--in effect a Hellenic movement. The Roman supremacy established through the exhaustion of the valiant Samnites required to be confirmed by stern repression of attempts to recover liberty. But the Hellenic element in Italy, antagonistic to the growing Roman power, in effect invited the intervention of the Epirote chief. But his scheme was not that of an imperial statesman, but of a chivalrous and romantic warrior. His own political blunders and the iron determination of the Romans, destroyed his chances of conquest. His retirement left Rome undisputed lord of Italy; which in part shared full citizenship, in part possessed only the more restricted Latin rights, and in part only rights conceded under varying treaties. A sense of common Italian nationality was developing. But if Rome was queen of Italy, Carthage was queen of the seas. Maritime expansion was precluded, though Rome's position fitted her for it. Carthage was the one Phoenician state which developed political as well as commercial power. The commercial cities of North Africa were in subordination to her, in the Western Mediterranean she had no rivals, her domestic government was oligarchical. Roman intervention in the affairs of Sicily, where Carthage was the dominant power, produced the rupture between the two great states which was bound to come sooner or later. Sicily itself was the scene of the initial struggle, which taught Rome that her victories on land were liable to be nullified by the Carthaginian sea power. She resolved to build a navy, on the plan of adopting boarding tactics which would assimilate a naval engagement to a battle on land. These tactics were successful enough to equalise the fighting value of the respective fleets. The Romans were enabled to land an invading army under Regulus in Africa. Though superior on land, the general's blundering led to a disaster, and for some time misfortune by sea and failure by land dogged the Romans. But Carthage failed to use her opportunity; she did not attempt to strike a crushing blow when she could have done so. But the private energy of Roman patriots at last placed on the seas a fleet which once more turned the scale, whereas it was on land that the brilliant Carthaginian Hamilcar had displayed his genius and daring. The first Punic War gave Rome predominance in Sicily, and a position of maritime equality. Sardinia was added to the Roman dominion, and her provincial administration came into being. She was carrying her expansion farther over Celtic regions, when Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar, hurled himself against her, and came near to destroying her. Hamilcar had conceived the idea of imperial expansion, and given it shape by creating a dominion in Spain; he had looked forward to the life-and-death struggle with Rome that was destined to his son; for which Spain was to be the base. Hannibal, left in control in Spain, deliberately challenged Rome to war. The challenge was accepted, war was declared, and Hannibal accomplished the amazing feat of leading an army of 60,000 men from Spain and effecting the passage of the Alps, while the Romans were landing an army in Spain. In a brilliant campaign, he defeated the stubborn Roman legions at Vercellæ and the Trebia. But success depended not on the winning of victories by an isolated force, but on the disruption of Italy. His superiority in the field was again demonstrated at Trasimenus, but no Italian allies came in. He outwitted Fabius, and then utterly shattered at Cannæ a Roman force of double his own numbers. For a moment it seemed that Italian cohesion was weakening; but the Roman Senate and people were stirred only to a more dogged resolution. Cannæ failed to break up the Roman confederation. Generalship unaided could accomplish no more. In Spain, where young Scipio was soon winning renown, the Roman arms were in the ascendant, and in Sicily. No effective aid was coming from Macedon, though war was declared between her and Rome. Hannibal's activities began to be paralysed; by slow degrees he was forced into the south. Hannibal succeeded in crossing the Alps with fresh forces, but by a brilliant operation was annihilated on the Metaurus. The time had come when Scipio could disregard Hannibal and strike at Carthage herself. Even Hannibal's return could not save her. The victory of Zama decided the issue. Carthage became virtually a tributary and subject state. Spain was a Roman province, and North Africa a sort of protectorate. The threatening extension of Macedonian power now demanded the protecting intervention of Rome; an honest act of liberation for the Greeks, but entailing presently the war with Antiochus of Syria. Antiochus had left Phillip and Macedon in the lurch; now he sought to impose his own yoke in place of theirs. The practical outcome was his decisive overthrow at the battle of Magnesia, and the cession to Rome of Asia Minor. Pergamus, under the house of Actalus, was established as a protected kingdom, as Numidia under Masinissa had been. The Greek states, however, were becoming conscious that their freedom was hardly more than a name; Perseus of Macedon once more challenged Rome, not without Greek support. Macedon was finally crushed by Aemilius Paullus at Pydna. From that moment, Rome dropped the policy of maintaining free states beyond the seas, which had manifestly failed. Virtually, the known world was divided into subjects and dependencies of Rome, so vast was the change in the forty years between the battles of the Metaurus and Pydna. Rapid extension of dominion by conquest had demoralising results; the ruling race was exposed to strong temptations in the provinces, and the city remained the seat of government, while the best of the burgesses were distributed elsewhere. Hence, the popular assembly became virtually the city mob, while the ruling families tended more and more to form a close and greedy and plutocratic oligarchy. The demoralisation was very inadequately checked by the austerity of the censorship as exercised by Cato. In the provinces, the Spanish natives revolted, and were only repressed after severe fighting. In Greece, Asia and Africa, the Roman rule gave neither freedom nor strong government. In Africa, the disturbances led to the wiping out of Carthage; in Greece to the complete subjection of the dependent states; in the Far East, a new Parthian power arose under Mithridates. The Mediterranean was allowed to be infested by pirates. Revolution was at hand. Politics had become reduced to a process of intrigue for office emoluments, involving a pandering to the city mob for its suffrages. _II.--The Revolution_ Socially, the most patent evil was the total disappearance of the free agricultural class, the absorption of all the land into huge estates under slave labour. The remedy proposed by Tiberius Gracchus was the partial state resumption of land and its re-allotment. He adopted unconstitutional methods for carrying his proposals, and was murdered in a riot led by the oligarchs. Appeals to the Roman populace were not, unfortunately, appeals to the Roman nation. His brother, Gaius, deliberately designed a revolution. He proposed to work through the antagonism of the aristocrats and the wealthy non-senatorial equestrian order; and by concentrating power in the hands of the tribunate, hitherto checked by the restrictions on re-election. In effect, he meant to destroy the oligarchy by making the Tribune a perpetual dictator, and thus to carry through social reforms; to establish also legal equality first for the Italians, then for the provinces also. But these reforms were not particularly attractive to the city mob, and the other side could play the demagogue. The condition of Cæsarism is the control of physical force; Gaius Gracchus fell because he had not that essential control. The oligarchy remained supreme. The plans of Gracchus for planting colonies and distributing allotments were nullified. The evils of slave labour multiplied, and issued in servile insurrections. In Numidia, the able Masimissa had been succeeded by Micipsa. On Micipsa's death, the rule was usurped by his illegitimate nephew Jugurtha, whose story has been told by Sallust. The war was at least terminated less by the low-born general in command, Marius, than his brilliant lieutenant Sulla. But Marius re-organised the army on the basis which was to make a military despotism practicable, as it made a professional instead of a citizen army. But now a new foe appears; the first Teutonic (not Celtic) hordes of the Cimbri and Teutones; to meet with an overwhelming check at the hands of Marius at Aquæ Sextiæ and Vercellæ. The successful soldier allied himself with the popular leader Saturninus; the programme of Gaius Gracchus was resuscitated. But Marius, a political incapable, separated from the demagogues, and by helping to crush them, effaced himself. Livius Drusus attempted to carry out the Gracchan social reform, with the senate instead of the tribunate as the controlling power; the senatorial party themselves wrecked his schemes, and the antagonistic power of the equestrian order was advanced. But the immediate outcome was the revolt of the Italians, the _socii_ (whence the name social war). They were not citizens, not on an equal footing with the citizens before the law. The revolt was suppressed, but the legions were completely out of hand. The attempt of Sulpicius to head the reform movement was answered by Sulla, who for the first time led a Roman army against Rome, crushed Sulpicius, prescribed some of his adherents, and placed the power of the senate on a stronger footing by legal enactment. Then he went to the East, to conduct the war against Mithridates. While Sulla was conducting his operations, military and diplomatic, with skill and success in the East, his arrangements at Rome had left discontent and disappointment seething. There was another revolution, led by Cinna, Marius and Sertorius; it mastered Rome. Marius spilt seas of blood, but soon died. For three years Cinna was supreme, but he had no constructive policy. But now Sulla had finished his work in the East. He was returning at the head of a body of veterans devoted to him; and his diplomacy won over half Italy to his side. The struggle with the revolutionary government was not greatly prolonged, and it was decisive. In plain terms, the Roman constitution had gone utterly to wreck; Sulla was in something of the same position as Oliver Cromwell. He had to reconstruct under conditions which made a constitutional restoration impracticable; but his control of the efficient military force gave him the necessary power. That any system introduced must be arbitrary and find its main sanction in physical force--that it should partake of terrorism--was inevitable. Sulla obtained the formal conferment on himself of absolute power. He began by applying this rule of terror not vindictively, but with impersonal mercilessness, against the lives and property of the opposition. In the constitution which he promulgated the senatorial body was alone recognised as a privileged class; the senate itself was increased, it recovered full control of the judiciary and of legislation; no power was left of cancelling membership. The tribunician power was curtailed. The civil and military functions of consuls and prætors were separated. They were to hold civil power in Italy proper during their year of office; they were then to have a second year in military control of a province. The planting of military colonies provided numerous garrisons whose interests were associated with the new constitution. When Sulla had done his work, he resigned his extraordinary powers with entire indifference. In a little more than a year he died. The Sullan constitution saved the Roman empire from imminent collapse; but it was impossible that it should be more than a makeshift, like Cromwell's protectorate. There were huge classes with perpetual grievances; the removal of the military forces to the provinces left the city of Rome without adequate governors of the provinces themselves. And there was no man of the hour of supreme ability to carry on work demanding a master. _III.--Pompey and Cæsar_ The young Graccus Pompeius was the most distinguished of the Sullan party; Crassus was the wealthiest and most powerful of the Equestrian group; Lepidus was the popular leader. A popular insurrection which he headed was suppressed, and he disappeared, but Sertorius, once an associate of Marius, had obtained a remarkable personal ascendancy in Spain, and, in league with the Mediterranean pirates, threatened to be a formidable foe of the new constitution. For some years he maintained a gradually waning resistance against the arms of Pompeius, but finally was assassinated. Meanwhile Tigranes, King of Armenia, had been developing a powerful monarchy; and mutual distrust had brought on another war with Mithridates, successfully conducted by Lucullus. Out of this war arose a struggle with Tigranes, on whom an overwhelming defeat was inflicted at Tigranocerta. But the brilliant achievements of Lucullus were nullified by the mutinous conduct of the troops, and the factious conduct of the home government. The gross inefficiency of that government was shown by the immense extension of organised piracy, and by the famous slave revolt under Spartacus, which seriously endangered the state. Pompeius on his return from Spain was barred on technical grounds from the triumph and the consulship which he demanded. He was thus driven into an alliance with the democratic party, and with Crassus. The result was the fall of the Sullan constitution, and the restoration of checks on the power of the senate. Pompeius might have grasped a military despotism; he did not, but he did receive extraordinary powers for dealing with the whole Eastern question, and when that work was settled successfully, he would be able to dictate his own terms. Pompeius began his task by a swift and crushing blow against the pirate cities and fleets, which broke up the organisation. He crushed Mithridates in one campaign, and received the submission of Tigranes; Mithridates soon after fell by his own hand, the victim of an insurrection. Anarchy in Syria warranted Pompeius in annexing the Seleucid dominion. The whole of the nearer East was now a part of the Roman empire; and was thenceforth ruled not as protectorates, but as a group of provinces. Egypt alone was not incorporated. Meanwhile, the democratic party at Rome were dominant, though their policy was inconsistent and opportunist. Probably the leading men, such as Crassus and the rising Gaius, Julius Cæsar, stood aside from the wilder schemes, such as the Catilinarian conspiracies, but secretly fostered them. Catiline's projects were betrayed, and the illegal execution of the captured conspirators by the consul Cicero was hailed by Cato and the senatorial party as a triumph of patriotic statesmanship. Catiline himself was crushed in the field. The definite fact emerged, that neither the senatorial nor the democratic party could establish a strong government; that would be possible only for a military monarchy--a statesman with a policy and an irresistible, force at his back. But Pompeius lacked the courage and skill. Cæsar, as yet, lacked the military force. Pompeius, on his return from the East, again allied himself with Crassus and Cæsar, whose object was to acquire for himself the opportunity which Pompeius would not grasp. The alliance gave Pompeius the land allotments he required for his soldiers, and to Cæsar the consulship followed by a prolonged governorship of Gaul. The conquest and organisation of Gaul was an end in itself, a necessary defence against barbarian pressure. Cæsar's operations there were invaluable to the empire; incidentally, they enabled him to become master of it. Cæsar has left his own record. Gaul was transformed into a barrier against the Teutonic migration. But Pompeius, nominally holding a far greater position, proved incapable of controlling the situation in Rome; he could not even suppress the demagogue Clodius, while the prestige of his military exploits was waning. Fear of the power of the Triumvirate was driving moderate men to the senatorial part; that party, without an efficient leader, began to find in Pompeius rather in ally against the more dangerous Cæsar than an enemy. But they would not concede him the powers he required; which might yet be turned to the uses of his colleagues in the Triumvirate; he could not afford to challenge Cæsar; and Cæsar adroitly used the situation to secure for himself a prolongation of his Gallic command. The completion of his work there was to have precedence of his personal ambitions. Crassus was sent to the Eastern command; and Pompeius remained in Italy, while nominally appointed to Spain. Pompeius, indeed, attained a predominance in Rome which enabled him to secure temporarily dictatorial powers which were employed to counteract the electoral machinery of the republican party; but he had not the qualifications or the inclination to play the demagogue, and could not unite his aspirations as a restorer of law and order with effective party leadership. Crassus disappeared; his armies in the East met with a complete disaster at Carrhæ, and he took his own life. Cæsar and Pompeius were left; Pompeius was not content that Cæsar should stand on a real equality with him, and the inevitable rupture came. In effect Pompeius used his dictatorship to extend his own military command and to curtail Cæsar's. The position resolved itself into a rivalry between the two; Cæsar declaring as always for the democracy, Pompeius now assuming the championship of the aristocracy, and the guardianship of the constitution. For Cæsar the vital point now was that his own command should not terminate till he exchanged it for a fresh consulship. As the law now stood, he could not obtain his election without resigning his command beforehand. But he succeeded in forcing Pompeius to break the law; and in making the official government responsible for declaring war. He offered a compromise, perhaps, in the certainty that it would be rejected--as it was. He was virtually declared a public enemy; and he struck at once. At the head of his devotedly loyal veterans he crossed the Rubicon. His rapid and successful advance caused Pompeius to abandon Italy and fall back on the Eastern Provinces. The discipline preserved, and the moderation displayed by Cæsar won him unexpected favour. Having secured Italy, he turned next on Spain, and secured that. Swift and decisive action was pitted against inertness. When Cæsar entered Epirus the odds against him on paper were enormous; but the triumphant victory of Phansalus shattered the Pompeian coalition. Pompeius hurried to Egypt, but was assassinated while landing. The struggle, however, was not over till after the battle of Thapsus nearly two years after Phansalus. Cæsar was now beyond question master of the whole Roman world. He had made himself one of the mightiest of all masters of the art of war; but he was even more emphatically unsurpassed as a statesman. In the brief time that was left him he laid the foundation of the new monarchy which replaced the ancient Republic of Rome. * * * * * Mediæval History EDWARD GIBBON The Holy Roman Empire The third of Gibbon's divisions of his great history was devoted to that period which is comprised between the establishment of the Holy Roman Empire in 800 and the final extinction of the Eastern Empire with the conquest of Constantinople by Mahomet II. in 1453. Although this was the longest period, Gibbon devoted much less space to it than to the preceding parts of his history. This fact was partly due to the gradual diminution of Roman interests, for the dominions of the empire became contracted to the limits of a single city, and also to the fact that the material which the most painstaking search placed at his disposal was distinctly limited. But though the conquest of the Normans, to instance one section, has been dealt with inadequately in the light of modern research, the wonderful panorama that Gibbon's genius was able to present never fails in its effect or general accuracy. The Holy Roman Empire is, of course, properly classified under Mediæval History, which accounts for its separation from the rest of Gibbon's work. _I.--Birth and Sway of the Empire_ The Western Empire, or Holy Roman Empire, as it has been called, which was re-established by Charlemagne (and lasted in shadow until the abdication of Francis II. under the pressure of Napoleon in 1806), was not unworthy of its title. The personal and political importance of Charlemagne was magnified by the distress and division of the rest of Europe. The Greek emperor was addressed by him as brother instead of father; and as long as the imperial dignity of the West was usurped by a hero, the Greeks respectfully saluted the _august_ Charlemagne with the acclamations of "Basileus" and "Emperor of the Romans." Lewis the Pious (814-840) possessed the virtue of his father but not the power. When both power and virtue were extinct, the Greeks despoiled Lewis II. of his hereditary title, and with the barbarous appellation of _Rex_ degraded him amongst the crowd of Latin princes. The imperial title of the West remained in the family of Charlemagne until the deposition of Charles the Fat in 884. His insanity dissolved the empire into factions, and it was not until Otho, King of Germany, laid claim to the title, with fire and sword, that the western empire was restored (962). His conquest of Italy and delivery of the pope for ever fixed the imperial crown in the name and nation of Germany. From that memorable era two maxims of public jurisprudence were introduced by force and ratified by time: (1) That the prince who was elected in the German Diet acquired from that instant the subject kingdoms of Italy and Rome; (2) but that he might not legally assume the titles of Emperor and Augustus till he had received the crown from the hands of the Roman pontiff. The nominal power of the Western emperors was considerable. No pontiff could be legally consecrated till the emperor, the advocate of the Church, had graciously signified his approbation and consent. Gregory VII., in 1073, usurped this power, and fixed for ever in the college of cardinals the freedom and independence of election. Nominally, also, the emperors held sway in Rome, but this supremacy was annihilated in the thirteenth century. In the fourteenth century the power derived from his title was still recognised in Europe; the hereditary monarchs confessed the pre-eminence of his rank and dignity. The persecution of images and their votaries in the East had separated-Rome and Italy from the Byzantine throne, and prepared the way for the conquests of the Franks. The rise and triumph of the Mahometans still further diminished the empire of the East. The successful inroads of the Bulgarians, Hungarians, and Russians, who assaulted by sea or by land the provinces and the capital, seemed to advance the approach of its final dissolution. The Norman adventurers, who founded a powerful kingdom in Apulia and Sicily, shook the throne of Constantinople (1146), and their hostile enterprises did not cease until the year 1185. _II.--Latin Rulers of Constantinople_ Under the name of the Latins, the subjects of the pope, the nations of the West, enlisted under the banner of the Cross for the recovery or the release of the Holy Sepulchre. The Greek emperors were terrified and preserved by the myriads of pilgrims who marched to Jerusalem with Godfrey of Bouillon (1095-99) and the peers of Christendom. The second (1147) and the third (1189) crusades trod in the footsteps of the first. Asia and Europe were mingled in a sacred war of two hundred years; and the Christian powers were bravely resisted and finally expelled (1291) by Saladin (1171-93) and the Mamelukes of Egypt. In these memorable crusades a fleet and army of French and Venetians were diverted from Syria to the Thracian Bosphorus; they assaulted the capital (1203), they subverted the Greek monarchy; and a dynasty of Latin princes was seated near three-score years on the throne of Constantine. During this period of captivity and exile, which lasted from 1204 to 1261, the purple was preserved by a succession of four monarchs, who maintained their title as the heirs of Augustus, though outcasts from their capital. The _de facto_ sovereigns of Constantinople during this period, the Latin emperors of the houses of Flanders and Courtenay, provided five sovereigns for the usurped throne. By an agreement between the allied conquerors, the emperor of the East was nominated by the vote of twelve electors, chosen equally from the French and Venetians. To him, with all the titles and prerogatives of the Byzantine throne, a fourth part of the Greek monarchy was assigned; the remaining portions were equally snared between the republic of Venice and the barons of France. Under this agreement, Baldwin, Count of Flanders and Hainault, was created emperor (1204-05). The idea of the Roman system, which, despite the passage of centuries devoted to the triumphs of the barbarians, had impressed itself on Europe, was seen in the emperor's letter to the Roman pontiff, in which he congratulated him on the restoration of his authority in the East. The defeat and captivity of Baldwin in a war against the Bulgarians, and his subsequent death, placed the crown on the head of his brother Henry (1205-16). With him the imperial house of Flanders became extinct, and Peter of Courtenay, Count of Auxerre (1217-19), assumed the empire of the East. Peter was taken captive by Theodore, the legitimate sovereign of Constantinople, and his sons Robert (1221-28) and Baldwin II. (1228-37) reigned in succession. The gradual recovery of their empire by the legitimate sovereigns of the East culminated in the capture of Constantinople by the Greeks (1261). The line of Latin sovereigns was extinct. Baldwin lived the remainder of his life a royal fugitive, soliciting the Catholic powers to join in his restoration. He died in 1272. From the days of the Emperor Heraclius the Byzantine Empire had been most tranquil and prosperous when it could acquiesce in hereditary succession. Five dynasties--the Heraclian, Isaurian, Amorian, Basilian, and Comnenian families--enjoyed and transmitted the royal patrimony during their respective series of five, four, three, six, and four generations. The imperial house of Comnenius, though its direct line in male descent had expired with Andronicus I. (1185), had been perpetuated by marriage in the female line, and had survived the exile from Constantinople, in the persons of the descendants of Theodore Lascaris. Michael Palæologus, who, through his mother, might claim perhaps a prior right to the throne of the Comnenii, usurped the imperial dignity on the recovery of Constantinople, cruelly blinded the young Emperor John, the legitimate heir of Theodore Lascaris, and reigned until 1282. His career of authority was notable for an attempt to unite the Greek and Roman churches--a union which was dissolved in 1283--and his instigation of the revolt in Sicily, which ended in the famous Sicilian Vespers (March 30, 1282), when 8,000 French were exterminated in a promiscuous massacre. He saved his empire by involving the kingdoms of the West in rebellion and blood. From these seeds of discord uprose a generation of iron men, who assaulted and endangered the empire of his son, Andronicus the Elder (1282-1332). Thousands of Genoese and Catalans, released from the wars that Michael had aroused in the West, took service under his successor against the Turks. Other mercenaries flocked to their standard, and, under the name of the Great Company, they subverted the authority of the emperor, defeated his troops, laid waste his territory, united themselves with his enemies, and, finally, abandoning the banks of the Hellespont, marched into Greece. Here they overthrew the remnant of the Latin power, and for fourteen years (1311-1326) the Great Company was the terror of the Grecian states. Their factions drove them to acknowledge the sovereignity of the house of Arragon; and, during the remainder of the fourteenth century, Athens as a government or an appanage was successfully bestowed by the kings of Sicily. Conquered in turn by the French and Catalans, Athens at length became the capital of a state that extended over Thebes, Argos, Corinth, Delphi, and a part of Thessaly, and was ruled by the family of Accaioli, plebeians of Florence (1384-1456). The last duke of this dynasty was strangled by Mahomet II., who educated his sons in the discipline of the seraglio. During the reign of John Palæologus, son of Andronicus the Younger, which began in 1355, the eastern empire was nearly subverted by the Genoese. On the return of the legitimate sovereign to Constantinople, the Genoese, who had established their factories and industries in the suburb of Galata, or Pera, were allowed to remain. During the civil wars the Genoese forces took advantage of the disunion of the Greeks, and by the skilful use of their power exacted a treaty by which they were granted a monopoly of trade, and almost a right of dominions. The Roman Empire (I smile in transcribing the name) might soon have sunk into a province of Genoa if the ambition of the republic had not been checked by the ruin of her freedom and naval power. Yet the spirit of commerce survived that of conquest; and the colony of Pera still awed the capital and navigated the Euxine till it was involved by the Turks in the final servitude of Constantinople itself. _III.--End of the Roman World_ Only three more sovereigns ruled the remnants of the Roman world after the reign of John Palæologus, but the final downfall of the empire was delayed above fifty years by a series of events that had sapped the strength of the Mahometan empire. The rise and triumph of the Moguls and Tartars under their emperors, descendants of Zingis Khan, had shaken the globe from China to Poland and Greece (1206-1304). The sultans were overthrown, and in the general disorder of the Mahometan world a veteran and adventurous army, which included many Turkoman hordes, was dissolved into factions who, under various chiefs, lived a life of rapine and plunder. Some of these engaged in the service of Aladin (1219-1236), Sultan of Iconium, and among these were the obscure fathers of the Ottoman line. Orchan ruled from 1326 to 1360, achieved the conquest of Bithynia, and first led the Turks into Europe, and in 1353 established himself in the Chersonesus, and occupied Gallipoli, the key of the Hellespont. Orchan was succeeded by Amurath I. (1389-1403). Bajazet carried his victorious arms from the Danube to the Euphrates, and the Roman world became contracted to a corner of Thrace, between the Propontis and the Black Sea, about fifty miles in length and thirty in breadth, a space of ground not more extensive than the lesser principalities of Germany or Italy, if the remains of Constantinople had not still represented the wealth and populousness of a kingdom. Under Manuel (1391-1425), the son and successor of John Palteologus, Constantinople would have fallen before the might of the Sultan Bajazet had not the Turkish Empire been oppressed by the revival of the Mogul power under the victorious Timour, or Tamerlane. After achieving a conquest of Persia (1380-1393), of Tartary (1370-1383), and Hindustan (1398-1399), Timour, who aspired to the monarchy of the world, found himself at length face to face with the Sultan Bajazet. Bajazet was taken prisoner in the war that followed. Kept, probably only as a precaution, in an iron cage, Bajazet attended the marches of his conqueror, and died on March 9, 1403. Two years later, Timour also passed away on the road to China. Of his empire to-day nothing remains. Since the reign of his descendant Aurungzebe, his empire has been dissolved (1659-1707); the treasures of Delhi have been rifled by a Persian robber; and the riches of their kingdom is now possessed by the Christians of a remote island in the northern ocean. Far different was the fate of the Ottoman monarchy. The massive trunk was bent to the ground, but no sooner did the hurricane pass away than it again rose with fresh vigour and more lively vegetation. After a period of civil war between the sons of Bajazet (1403-1421), the Ottoman Empire was once more firmly established by his grandson, Amurath II. (1421-1451). One of the first expeditions undertaken by the new sultan was the siege of Constantinople (1422), but the fortune rather than the genius of the Emperor Manuel prevented the attempt. Amurath was recalled to Asia by a domestic revolt, and the siege was raised. While the sultan led his Janizaries to new conquests, the Byzantine Empire was indulged in a servile and precarious respite of thirty years. Manuel sank into the grave, and John Palæologus II. (1425-1448) was permitted to reign for an annual tribute of 300,000 aspers and the dereliction of almost all that he held beyond the suburbs of Constantinople. On November 1, 1448, Constantine, the last of the Roman emperors, assumed the purple of the Cæsars. For three years he was allowed to indulge himself in various private and public designs, the completion of which were interrupted by a Turkish war, and finally buried in the ruins of the empire. _IV.--The Great Siege of Constantinople_ Mahomet II. succeeded his father Amurath on February 9, 1451. His hostile designs against the capital were immediately seen in the building of a fortress on the Bosphorus, which commanded the source whence the city drew her supplies. In the following year a quarrel between some Greeks and Turks gave him the excuse of declaring war. His cannon--for the use of gunpowder, for some time the monopoly of the Christian world, had been betrayed to Amurath by the Genoese--commanded the port, and a tribute was exacted from all ships that entered the harbour. But the actual siege was delayed until the ensuing spring of 1453. Mahomet, in person, surveyed the city, encouraged his soldiers, and discussed with his generals and engineers the best means of making the assault. By his orders a huge cannon was built in Hadrianople. It fired a ball one mile, and to convey it to its position before the walls, a team of sixty oxen and the assistance of 200 men were employed. The Emperor Constantine, unable to excite the sympathy of Europe, attempted the best defence of which he was capable, with a force of 4,970 Romans and 2,000 Genoese. A chain was drawn across the mouth of the harbour, and whatever supplies arrived from Candia and the Black Sea were detained for the public service. The siege of Constantinople, in which scarcely 7,000 soldiers had to defend a city sixteen miles in extent against the powers of the Ottoman Empire, commenced on April 6, 1453. The last Constantine deserves the name of a hero; his noble band of volunteers was inspired with Roman virtue, and the foreign auxiliaries supported the honour of the Western chivalry. But their inadequate stock of gunpowder was wasted in the operations of each day. Their ordnance was not powerful either in size or number; and if they possessed some heavy cannon, they feared to plant them on the walls, lest the aged structure should be shaken and overthrown by the explosion. The great cannon of Mahomet could only be fired seven times in one day, but the weight and repetition of the shots made some impression on the walls. The Turks rushed to the edge of the ditch, attempted to fill the enormous chasm and to build a road to the assault. In the attack, as well as in the defence, ancient and modern artillery was employed. Cannon and mechanical engines, the bullet and the battering-ram, gunpowder and Greek fire, were engaged on both sides. Christendom watched the struggle with coldness and apathy. Four ships, which successfully forced an entrance into the harbour, were the limit of their assistance. None the less, Mahomet meditated a retreat. Unless the city could be attacked from the harbour, its reduction appeared to be hopeless. In this perplexity the genius of Mahomet executed a plan of a bold and marvellous cast. He transported his fleet over land for ten miles. In the course of one night four-score light galleys and brigantines painfully climbed the hill, steered over the plain, and were launched from the declivity into the shallow waters of the harbour, far above the molestation of the deeper vessels of the Greeks. A bridge, or mole, hastily built, formed a base for one of his largest cannon. The galleys, with troops and scaling ladders, approached the most accessible side of the walls, and, after a siege of forty days, the diminutive garrison, exhausted by a double attack, could hope no longer to avert the fate of the capital. On Monday, May 28, preparations were made for the final assault. Mahomet had inspired his soldiers with the hope of rewards in this world and the next. His camp re-echoed with the shouts of "God is God; there is but one God, and Mahomet is the apostle of God"; and the sea and land, from Galata to the Seven Towers, were illuminated with the blaze of the Moslem fires. Far different was the state of the Christians. On that last night of the Roman Empire, Constantine Palæologus, in his palace, addressed the noblest of the Greeks and the bravest of the allies on the duties and dangers that lay before them. It was the funeral oration of the Roman Empire. That same night the emperor and some faithful companions entered the Dome of St. Sofia, which, within a few hours, was to be converted into a mosque, and devoutly received, with tears and prayers, the sacrament of the Holy Communion. He reposed some moments in the palace, which resounded with cries and lamentations, solicited the pardon of all whom he might have injured, and mounted on horseback to visit the guards and explore the motions of the enemy. The distress and fall of the last Constantine are more glorious than the long prosperity of the Byzantine Cæsars. At daybreak on May 29 the Turks assaulted the city by sea and land. For two hours the Greeks maintained the defence with advantage, and the voice of the emperor was heard encouraging the soldiers to achieve by a last effort the deliverance of their country. The new and fresh forces of the Turks supplied the places of their wearied associates. From all sides the attack was pressed. The number of the Ottomans was fifty, perhaps one hundred, times superior to that of the Christians, the double walls were reduced by the cannons to a heap of ruins, and at last one point was found which the besiegers could penetrate. Hasan, the Janizary, of gigantic stature and strength, ascended the outward fortification. The walls and towers were instantly covered with a swarm of Turks, and the Greeks, now driven from the vantage ground, were overwhelmed by increasing multitudes. Amidst these multitudes, the emperor, who accomplished all the duties of a general and a soldier, was long seen and finally lost. His mournful exclamation was heard, "Cannot there be found a Christian to cut off my head?" and his last fear was that of falling alive into the hands of the infidels. The prudent despair of Constantine cast away the purple. Amidst the tumult he fell by an unknown hand, and his body was buried under a mountain of the slain. After his death, resistance and order were no more. Two thousand Greeks were put to the sword, and more would have perished had not avarice soon prevailed over cruelty. It was thus, after a siege of fifty-three days, that Constantinople, which had defied the power of Chosroes and the caliphs, was irretrievably subdued by the arms of Mahomet II. Sixty thousand Greeks were driven through the streets like cattle and sold as slaves. The nuns were torn from the monasteries and compelled to enter the harems of their conquerors. The churches were plundered, and the gold and silver, the pearls and jewels, the vases and sacerdotal ornaments of St. Sofia were most wickedly converted to the service of mankind. The cathedral itself, despoiled of its images and ornaments, was converted into a mosque, and Mahomet II. performed the _namaz_ of prayer and thanksgiving at the great altar, where the Christian mysteries had so lately been celebrated before the last of the Cæsars. The body of Constantine was discovered under a heap of slain, by the golden eagles embroidered on his shoes, and after exposing the bloody trophy, Mahomet bestowed on his rival the honours of a decent funeral. Constantinople, desolated by bloodshed, was re-peopled and re-adorned by Mahomet. Its churches were shared between the two religions, and the Greeks were attracted back to their ancient capital by the assurance of their lives and the free exercise of their religion. The grief and terror of Europe when the fall of Constantinople became known revived, or seemed to revive, the old enthusiasm of the crusades. Pius II. attempted to lead Christendom against the Turks, but on the very day on which he embarked his forces drew back, and he was compelled to abandon the attempt. The siege and sack of Otranto by the Turks put an end to all thoughts of a crusade, and the general consternation was only allayed by the death of Mahomet II. in the fifty-first year of his age. His lofty genius aspired to the conquest of Italy; he was possessed of a strong city and a capacious harbour, and the same reign might have been decorated with the trophies of the New and the Ancient Rome. * * * * * FRANÇOIS GUIZOT History of Civilisation in Europe François Pierre Guillaume Guizot, French historian and statesman, was born of Huguenot parents at Nimes on October 4, 1787. The liberal opinions of his family did not save his father from the guillotine in 1794, and the mother fled to Geneva, where Guizot was educated. He went to Paris in the later days of the Empire, and engaged himself at once in literature and politics. His lectures on the History of Civilisation delivered in 1828, 1829, and 1830, during his professorship at the University of Paris, revealed him as a historian with a rare capacity for mastering the broad essential truths of history, co-ordinating them, and expounding them with vigour and impressiveness. His first series of lectures was on "The History of Civilisation in Europe," a masterly abstract of a colossal subject; the second on "The History of Civilisation in France." From 1830 to 1848 Guizot occupied high offices of State, ultimately becoming prime minister; in 1848, like his master Louis Philippe, he had to fly the country. He died on September 12, 1874. _I.--The Nature of Civilisation_ The subject I propose to consider is the civilisation of Europe--its origins, its progress, its aims, its character. The fact of civilisation belongs to what is called the philosophic portion of history; it is a vague, obscure, complex fact, very difficult, I admit, to explain and describe, but none the less requiring explanation and description. It is, indeed, the greatest historical fact, to which all others contribute; it is a kind of ocean which makes the wealth of a people, and in the bosom of which all the elements of the people's life, all the forces of its existence, are joined in unity. What, then, is civilisation--this grave, far-reaching precious reality that seems the expression of the entire life of a people? It seems to me that the first and fundamental fact conveyed by the word civilisation is the fact of progress, of development. But what is this progress? What is this development? Here is the greatest difficulty of all. The etymology of the word civilisation seems to provide an easy answer. It tells us that civilisation is the perfecting of civil life, the development of society properly so called, of the relations of men to men. But is this all? Have we exhausted the natural and usual sense of the word? France, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, was acknowledged to be the most civilised country in Europe; yet in respect of purely civil progress France was then greatly inferior to some other European countries, Holland and England, for example. Another development, then, reveals itself--the development of individual life, of the man himself, of his faculties, sentiments, and ideas. These two notions that are comprehended in the broad notion of civilisation--that of the development of social activity and that of the development of individual activity--are intimately related to each other. Their relationship is upheld by the instinctive conviction of men; it is proved by the course of the world's history--all the great moral and intellectual advances of man have profited society, all the great social advances have profited the individual mind. So much for civilisation in general. It is now necessary to point out the essential difference between modern European and other civilisations. The characteristic of other civilisations has been unity; they seem to have emanated from a single fact, a single idea. In Egypt and India, for example, the theocratic principle was dominant; in the Greek and Phoenician republics, the democratic principle. The civilisation of modern Europe, on the contrary, is diverse, confused, stormy; all the forms and principles of social organisation theocratic, monarchical, aristocratic, democratic, co-exist in it; there are infinite gradations of liberty, wealth, influence. All the various forces are in a state of constant struggle; yet all of them have a certain family resemblance, as it were, that we cannot but recognise. These diverse elements, for all their conflict, cannot any one of them extinguish any other; each has to dwell with the rest, make a compromise with the rest. The outcome, then, of this diversity and struggle is liberty; and here is the grand and true superiority of the European over the other civilisations. European civilisation, if I may say so, has entered into eternal truth; it advances in the ways of God. _II.--Feudalism_ It would be an important confirmation of my assertion as to the diverse character of our civilisation if we should find in its very cradle the causes and the elements of that diversity. And indeed, at the fall of the Roman empire, we do so find it. Three forms of society, each entirely different from the other, are visible at this time of chaos. The municipalities survived, the last remnant of the Imperial system. The Christian Church survived. And in the third place there were the Barbarians, who brought with them a military organisation, and a hardy individual independence, that were wholly new to the peoples who had dwelt under the shelter of the empire. The Barbarian epoch was the chaos of all the elements, the infancy of all the systems, a universal hubbub in which even conflict itself had no definite or permanent effects. Europe laboured to escape from this confusion; at some times, and in some places, it was temporarily checked--in particular by the great Charlemagne in his revival of the imperial power; but the confusion did not cease until its causes no longer acted. These causes were two--one material, one moral. The material cause was the irruption of fresh Barbarian hordes. The moral cause was the lack of any ideas in common among men as to the structure of society. The old imperial fabric had disappeared; Charlemagne's restoration of it depended wholly on his own personality, and did not survive him; men had no ideas of any new structure--their intellectual horizon was limited to their own affairs. By the beginning of the tenth century the Barbarian invasions ended, and as the populations settled down a new system appeared, based partly on the Barbarians' love of independence, partly on their plans of military gradation--the system of feudalism. A sound proof that in the tenth century the feudal system was necessary, and the only social state possible, lies in the universality of its establishment. Everywhere society was dismembered; everywhere there was formed a multitude of small, obscure, isolated societies, consisting of the chief, his family, his retainers, and the wretched serfs over whom he ruled without restraint, and who had no appeal against his whim. The power he exercised was the power of individual over individual, the domination of personal will and caprice; and this is perhaps the only kind of tyranny that man, to his eternal honour, is never willing to endure. Hence the prodigious and invincible hatred that the people have at all times entertained for feudal rule, for the memories of it, for its very name. The narrow concentrated life of the feudal lord lent, undoubtedly, a great preponderance to domesticity in his affairs. The lord had his wife and children for his permanent society; they continually shared his interests, his destiny. It was in the bosom of the feudal family that woman gained her importance in civilisation. The system excited development of private character and passion that were, all things considered, noble. Chivalry was the daughter of feudalism. But from the social point of view feudalism failed to provide either legal order or political security. It contained elaborate obligations between the higher and the lower orders of the feudal hierarchy, duties of protection on the one side and of service on the other. But these obligations could never be established as institutions. There was no superior force to which all had to submit; there was public opinion to make itself respected. Hence the feudal system was without political guarantee to sustain it. Might alone was right. Feudalism was as much opposed to the establishment of general order as to the extension of general liberty. It was indispensable for the reconstruction of European society, but politically it was in itself a radically bad system. _III.--The Church_ Meanwhile the Church, adhering to its own principles, had steadily advanced along the route that it had marked out for itself in the early days of its organisation. It was during the feudal epoch the only power that made for civilised development. All education was ecclesiastical; all the arts were in the service of the Church. It had, during the Dark Ages, won the Barbarians to its fold by the gorgeous solemnity of its ritual; and, to protect itself against secular interference, it had declared the spiritual power to be independent of the temporal--the first great assertion, in the history of European civilisation, of the liberty of thought. In one set of respects the Church during the feudal epoch satisfied the conditions of good government; in another, it did not. Its power was uniformly distributed, it drew its recruits from all classes, and entrusted the rule to the most capable. It was in close touch with every grade of mankind; every colony of serfs, even, had its priest. It was the most popular and most accessible society of the time, the most open to all talents and all noble ambitions. But, on the other hand, it failed in that all-important requisite of good government, respect for liberty. It denied the rights of individual reason in spiritual matters, and it claimed the right to compel belief--a claim that placed it in some dependence upon the temporal powers, since as a purely spiritual body, governing by influence and not by force, it could not persecute without the aid of the secular arm. To sum up, the Church exerted an immense and on the whole a beneficent influence on ideas, sentiments, and conduct; but from the political point of view the Church was nearly always the interpreter and defender of the theocratic system and the Roman Imperial system--that is, of religious and civil despotism. _IV.--The Towns_ Like the Church, the municipalities survived the downfall of the Roman empire. Their history varied greatly in different parts of Europe, but none the less some observations can be made that are broadly accurate with respect to most of them. From the fifth to the tenth century, the state of the towns was a state neither of servitude nor of liberty. They suffered all the woes that are the fate of the weak; they were the prey of continual violence and depredation; yet, in spite of the fearful disorders of the time, they preserved a certain importance. When feudalism was established, the towns lost such independence as they had possessed; they found themselves under the heel of feudal chiefs. But feudalism did bring about a sort of peace, a sort of order; and with the slightest gleam of peace and order a man's hope revives, and on the revival of hope he takes to work. So it was with the towns. New wants were created; commerce and industry arose to satisfy them; wealth and population slowly returned. But industry and commerce were absolutely without security; the townsmen were exposed to merciless extortion and plundering at the hands of their feudal overlords. Nothing irritates a man more than to be harassed in his toil, thus deprived of its promised fruits. The only way in which the towns could defend themselves from the violence of their masters was by using violence themselves. So in the eleventh century we find town after town rising in revolt against its despot, and winning from him a charter of liberty. Although the insurrection was in a sense general, it was in no way concerted--it was not a rising of the combined citizens against the combined feudal aristocracy. All the towns found themselves exposed to much the same evils, and rescued themselves in much the same manner. But each town acted for itself--did not go to the help of any other town. Hence these detached communities had no ambitions, no aspirations to national importance; their outlook was limited to themselves. But at the same time the emancipation of the towns created a new class, a class of citizens engaged in the same pursuits, with the same interests and the same modes of life; a class that would in time unite and assert itself, and prevent the domination of a single order of society that has been the curse of Asia. Although it may be broadly asserted that the emancipation did not alter the relations of the citizens with the general government, that assertion must be modified in one respect. A link was established between the citizens and the king. Sometimes they appealed for his aid against their lord, sometimes the lord invoked him as judge; in one way or another a relation was established between the king and the towns, and the citizens thus came into touch with the centre of the State. _V.--The Crusades_ From the fifth to the twelfth century, society, as we have seen, contained kings, a lay aristocracy, a clergy, citizens, peasantry, the germs, in fact, of all that goes to make a nation and a government; yet--no government, no nation. We have come across a multitude of particular forces, of local institutions, but nothing general, nothing public, nothing properly speaking political. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, on the contrary, all the classes and the particular forces have taken a secondary place, are shadowy and almost effaced; the stage of the world is occupied by two great figures, government and people. Here, if I am not mistaken, is the essential distinction between primitive Europe and modern Europe. Here is the change that was accomplished in the period extending from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century. Viewed by itself, that period seems a characterless one of confusion without cause, of movement without direction, of agitation without result. Yet, in relation to the period that followed, this period had a tendency and a progress of its own; it slowly accomplished a vast work. It was the second period of European civilisation--the period of attempt and experiment, succeeding that of origins and formation, and preparing the way for that of development properly so called. The first great event of this period was the Crusades--a universal movement of all classes and all countries in moral unity--the truly heroic event of Europe. Besides the religious impulse that led to the Crusades, there was another impulse. They gave to me an opportunity of widening their horizons, of indulging the taste for movement and adventure. The opportunity, thus freely taken, changed the face of society. Men's minds were opened, their ideas were extended, by contact with other races; European society was dragged out of the groove along which it had been travelling. Religious ideas remained unchanged, but religious beliefs were no longer the only sphere in which the human intellect exercised itself. The moral state of Europe was profoundly modified. The social state underwent a similar change. Many of the smaller feudal lords sold their fiefs, or impoverished themselves by crusading, or lost much of their power during their absence. Property and power came into fewer hands; society was more centralised, no longer dispersed as it formerly was. The citizens, on their part, were no longer content with local industry and trade; they entered upon commerce on a grander scale with countries oversea. Petty influence yielded place to larger influences; the small existences grouped themselves round the great. By the end of the Crusades, the march of society towards centralisation was in steady progress. _VI.--The Age of Centralisation_ Already, in the twelfth century, a new idea of kingship had begun, very faintly, to make its appearance. In most European countries the king, under the feudal system, had been a head who could not enforce his headship. But there was, all the while, such a thing as kingship, and somebody bore the title of king; and society, striving to escape from feudal violence and to get hold of real order and unity, had recourse to the king in an experimental way, to see, as one might say, what he could do. Gradually there developed the idea of the king as the protector of public order and justice and of the common interest as the paramount magistrate--the idea that changed Europe society from a series of classes into a group of centralised States. But the old order did not perish without efforts to perpetuate itself. These efforts were of two kinds; a particular class sought predominance, or it was proposed that the classes should agree to act in concert. To the first kind belonged the design of the Church to gain mastery over Europe that culminated with Pope Gregory VII. It failed for three reasons--because Christianity is a purely moral force and not a temporal administrative force; because the ambitions of the Church were opposed by the feudal aristocracy; and because the celibacy of the clergy prevented the formation of a caste capable of theocratic organisation. Attempts at democracy were made, for a time with apparent means, by the Italian civic republics; but they were a prey to internal disorder, their government tended to become oligarchical, and their incapacity for uniting among themselves made them the victims of foreign invaders. The Swiss Republican organisation was more successful, but became aristocratic and immobile. The House Towns and the towns of Flanders and the Rhine organised for pure defence; they preserved their privileges, but remained confined within their walls. The effort at concerted action by the classes was manifested in the States General of France, Spain, and Portugal, the Diet in Germany, and the Parliament in England. All these, except the Parliament, were ineffective and as it were accidental in their action; all they did was to preserve in a manner the notion of liberty. The circumstances of England were exceptional. The Parliament did not govern; but it became a mode of government adopted in principle, and often indispensable in practice. Nothing, however, could arrest the march of centralisation. In France the war of independence against England brought a sense of national unity and purpose, and feudalism was finally overthrown, and the central power made dominant, by the policy of Louis XI. Similar effects were brought about in Spain by the war against the Moors and the rule of Ferdinand. In England feudalism was destroyed by the Wars of the Roses, and was succeeded by the Tudor despotism. In Germany, the House of Austria began its long ascendancy. Thus in the fifteenth century the new principles prevailed; the old forms, the old liberties were swept aside to make way for centralised government under absolute rulers. At the same time another new fact entered into European history. The kings began to enter into relations with each other, to form alliances; diplomacy was created. Since it is in the nature of diplomacy to be conducted more or less secretly by a few persons, and since the peoples did not and would not greatly concern themselves in it, this development was favourable to the strengthening of royalty. _VII.--The Spiritual Revolt_ Although the Church until the sixteenth century had successfully suppressed all attempts at spiritual independence, yet the broadening of men's minds that began with the Crusades, and received a vigorous impetus from the Renaissance, made its mark even in the fifteenth century upon ecclesiastical affairs. Three main facts of the moral order are presented during this period: the ineffectual attempts of the councils of Constance and Bale to reform the Church from within; the most notable of which was that of Huss in Bohemia; and the intellectual revolution that accompanied the Renaissance. The way was thus prepared for the event that was inaugurated when Luther burnt the Pope's Bull at Wittenberg in 1520. The Reformation was not, as its opponents contend, the result of accident or intrigue; nor was it, as its upholders contend, the outcome of a simple desire for the reform of abuses. It was, in reality, a revolt of the human spirit against absolute power in spiritual affairs. The minds of men were during the sixteenth century in energetic movement, consumed by desire for progress; the Church had become inert and stationary, yet it maintained all its pretensions and external importance. The Church, indeed, was less tyrannical than it had formerly been, and not more corrupt. But it had not advanced; it had lost touch with human thought. The Reformation, in all the lands that it reached, in all the lands where it played a great part, whether as conqueror, or as conquered, resulted in general, constant, and immense progress in liberty and activity of thought, and tended towards the emancipation of the human spirit. It accomplished more than it knew; more, perhaps, than it would have desired. It did not attack temporal absolutism; but the collision between temporal absolutism and spiritual freedom was bound to come, and did come. Spiritual movement in European history has always been ahead of temporal movement. The Church began as a very loose society, without a properly-constituted government. Then it placed itself under an aristocratic control of bishops and councils. Then it came under the monarchical rule of the Popes; and finally a revolution broke out against absolutism in spiritual affairs. The ecclesiastical and civil societies have undergone the same vicissitudes; but the ecclesiastical society has always been the first to be changed. We are now in possession of one of the great facts of modern society, the liberty of the human spirit. At the same time we see political centralisation prevailing nearly everywhere. In the seventeenth century the two principles were for the first time to be opposed. _VIII.--The Political Revolt_ Their first shock was in England, for England was a country of exceptional conditions both civil and religious. The Reformation there had in part been the work of the kings themselves, and was incomplete; the Reformers remained militant, and denounced the bishops as they had formerly denounced the Pope. Moreover, the aspirations after civil liberty that were stirred up by the emancipation of thought had means of action in the old institution of the country--the charter, the Parliament, the laws, the precedents. Similar aspirations in Continental countries had no such means of action, and led to nothing. Two national desires coincided in England at this epoch--the desire for religious revolution and liberty, and the desire for political liberty and the overthrow of despotism. The two sets of reformers joined forces. For the political party, civil freedom was the end; for the religious party, it was only a means; but throughout the conflict the political party took the lead, and the others followed. It was not until 1688 that the reformers finally attained their aim in the abolition of absolute power spiritual and temporal; and the accession of William of Orange in that year brought England into the great struggle that was raging on the Continent between the principle of despotism and the principle of freedom. England differed from other European countries in that the essential diversity of European civilisation was more pronounced there than anywhere else. Elsewhere, one element prevailed over the others until it was overthrown; in England, even if one element was dominant, the others were strong and important. Elizabeth had to be far more wary with her nobles and commons than Louis XIV. with his. For this reason, Europe lagged behind England in civil freedom. But there was another reason--the influence of France. During the seventeenth century, the French Government was the strongest in Europe, and it was a despotic government. During the eighteenth century, French thought was the most active and potent in Europe, and it was unboundedly free thought. Louis XIV. did not, as is sometimes supposed, adopt as his principles the propagation of absolutism; his aim was the strength and greatness of France, and to this end he fought and planned--just as William of Orange fought and planned, not against despotism, but against France. France presented herself at that age as the most redoubtable, skilful, and imposing Power in Europe. Yet, after the death of Louis XIV., the government immediately degenerated. This was inevitable. No system of government can be maintained without institutions, and a despot dislikes institutions. The rule of Louis XIV. was great, powerful, and brilliant, but it had no roots. The decrepit remains of it were in the eighteenth century brought face to face with a society in which free examination and free speculation had been carried to lengths never imagined before. Freedom of thought once came to grips with absolute power. Of the stupendous consequence of that collision it is not for me to speak here; I have reached the end. But let me, before concluding, dwell upon the gravest and most instructive part that is revealed to us by this grand spectacle of civilisation. It is the danger, the insurmountable evil of absolute power in any form--whether in a form of a despot like Louis XIV. or in that of the untrammelled human spirit that prevailed at the Revolution. Each human power has in itself a natural vice, a principle of weakness, to which there has to be assigned a limit. It is only by general liberty of all rights, interests and opinions that each power can be restrained within its legitimate bounds, and intellectual freedom enabled to exist genuinely and to the advantage of the whole community. * * * * * HENRY HALLAM View of the State of Europe During the Middle Ages Henry Hallam, the English historian, was born on July 9, 1777, at Windsor, his father being Canon of Windsor, and Dean of Bristol. Educated at Eton and at Christ Church, Oxford, he was called to the English bar, but devoted himself to the study and writing of history. He received an appointment in the Civil Service, which, with his private means, placed him in comfortable leisure for his wide researches. His son, Arthur Henry, who died at the age of 22, is the subject of Tennyson's "In Memoriam." Hallam died on January 21, 1859, and was buried at Clevedon, Somersetshire. The "View of the State of Europe during the Middle Ages," commonly known as Hallam's "Middle Ages," was published by the author in 1818. Hallam was already well known among the literary men of the day, but this was his first important work. It is a study of the period from the appearance of Clovis, the creator of the dominion of the Franks, to the close of the Middle Ages, the arbitrary dividing line being drawn at the invasion of Italy by Charles VIII. of France. _I.--France_ The Frankish dominion was established over the Roman province of Gaul by Clovis at the opening of the sixth century. The Merovingian dynasty degenerated rapidly; and the power passed into the hands of the Mayors of the Palace--an office which became hereditary with Pepin Heristal and Charles Martel. With the sanction of the Pope the Merovingian king was deposed by Pepin, the son of Charles Martel, who was crowned king and overthrew the Lombard power in Italy. Pepin was succeeded by Charlemagne, who completed the conquest of the Lombards, carried his arms into Spain as far as the Ebro, and extended his power eastwards over the Saxons as far as the Elbe. In his person the Roman empire was revived, and he was crowned emperor at Rome on Christmas Day A.D. 800. The great empire he had built up fell to pieces under his successors, who adopted the disastrous plan of partition amongst brothers. France fell to the share of one branch of the Carlovingians. The Northmen were allowed to establish themselves in Normandy, and Germany was completely separated from France. The Carlovingians were displaced by Hugh Capet. The actual royal domain was small, and the kings of the House of Capet exercised little control over their great feudatories until the reign of Philip Augustus. That crafty monarch drew into his own hands the greater part of the immense territories held by the kings of England as French feudatories. After a brief interval the craft of Philip Augustus was succeeded by the idealism of St. Louis, whose admirable character enabled him to achieve an extraordinary ascendancy over the imagination of his people. In spite of the disastrous failure of his crusading expeditions, the aggrandisement of the crown continued, especially under Philip the Fair; but the failure of the direct heirs after the successive reigns of his three sons placed Philip of Valois on the throne according to the "Salic" law of succession in 1328. On the pretext of claiming the succession for himself, Edward III. began the great French war which lasted, interrupted by only one regular pacification, for a hundred and twenty years. The brilliant personal qualities of Edward and the Black Prince, the great resources of England, and the quality of the soldiery, account for the English successes. After the peace of Bretigny these triumphs were reversed, and the English lost their possessions; but when Charles VI. ascended the throne disaster followed. France was rent by the rival factions of Burgundy and Orleans, the latter taking its more familiar name from the Court of Armagnac. The troubled reigns of Richard II. and Henry IV. prevented England from taking advantage of these dissensions; but Henry V. renewed the war, winning the battle of Agincourt in his first campaign and securing the Treaty of Troyes on his second invasion. After his death came that most marvellous revolution wrought by Joan of Arc, and the expulsion of the English from the country. In France the effect of the war was to strengthen the Crown as against the Nobility, a process developed by the subtlety of Louis XI. Out of the long contest in which the diplomatic skill of the king was pitted against the fiery ambitions of Charles of Burgundy, Louis extracted for himself sundry Burgundian provinces. The supremacy of the Crown was secured when his son Charles VIII. acquired Brittany by marrying the Duchess Anne. The essential distinction of ranks in France was found in the possession of land. Besides the National lands, there were lands reserved to the Crown, which, under the name of benefices, were bestowed upon personal followers of the king, held more or less on military tenure; and the king's vassals acquired vassals for themselves by a similar process of subinfeudation. On the other hand freeholders inclined, for the sake of protection, to commend themselves, as the phrase was, to their stronger neighbours and so to assume the relation of vassal to liege lord. The essential principle was a mutual contract of support and fidelity, confirmed by the ceremonies of homage, fealty, and investiture, which conferred upon the lord the right to various reliefs, fines, and rights capable of conversion into money payments. Gentility, now hereditary, was derived from the tenure of land; the idea of it was emphasised by the adoption of surnames and armorial bearings. A close aristocracy was created, somewhat modified by the right claimed by the king of creating nobles. Prelates and abbots were in the same position as feudal nobles, though the duty of personal service was in many cases commuted for an equivalent. Below the gentle class were freemen, and the remainder of the population were serfs or villeins. It was not impossible for villeins to purchase freedom. In France the privileges possessed by the vassals of the Crown were scarcely consistent with the sovereignty. Such were the rights of coining money, of private war, and of immunity from taxation. Such legislation as there was appears to have been effected by the king, supported by a Royal Council or a more general assembly of the barons. It was only by degrees that the Royal ordinances came to be current in the fiefs of the greater vassals. It was Philip the Fair who introduced the general assembly of the Three Estates. This assembly very soon claimed the right of granting and refusing money as well as of bringing forward grievances. The kings of France, however, sought to avoid convocation of the States General by obtaining grants from provincial assemblies of the Three Estates. The old system of jurisdiction by elected officers was superseded by feudal jurisdiction, having three degrees of power, and acting according to recognised local customs, varied by the right to ordeal by combat. The Crown began to encroach on these feudal jurisdictions by the establishment of Royal courts of appeal; but there also subsisted a supreme Court of Peers to whom were added the king's household officers. The peers ceased by degrees to attend this court, while the Crown multiplied the councillors of inferior rank; and this body became known as the Parliament of Paris--in effect an assembly of lawyers. The decline of the feudal system was due mainly to the increasing power of the Crown on the one hand, and of the lower ranks on the other; more especially from the extension of the privileges of towns. But the feudal principle itself was weakened by the tendency to commute military service for money, enabling the Crown to employ paid troops. _II.--Italy and Spain_ After the disruption of Charlemagne's empire the imperial title was revived from the German, Otto the Great of Saxony. His imperial supremacy was recognised in Italy; the German king was the Roman emperor. Italian unity had gone to pieces, but the German supremacy offended Italy. Still from the time of Conrad of Franconia the election of the King of Germany was assumed, at least my him, to convey the sovereignty of Italy. In the eleventh century Norman adventurers made themselves masters of Sicily and Southern Italy. In Northern Italy on the other hand the emperors favoured the development of free cities, owning only the imperial sovereignty and tending to self-government on Republican lines. The appearance on the scene in the twelfth century of the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa introduced a period characterised by a three-fold change: the victorious struggle of the northern cities for independence; the establishment of the temporal sovereignty of the Papacy in the middle provinces; and the union of the kingdom of Naples to the dominions of the Imperial House. The first quarrels with Milan led to the formation of the Lombard league, and a long war in which the battle of Legnano gave the confederates a decisive victory. The mutual rivalries of the States, however, prevented them from turning this to good account. Barbarossa's grandson, Frederick II., was a child of four when he succeeded to the Swabian inheritance, and through his mother to that of Sicily. It was now that the powerful Pope Innocent III. so greatly extended the temporal power of the Papacy, and that the rival parties of Guelfs and Ghibelins, adherents the one of the Papacy, the other of the Empire, were established as factions in practically every Italian city. When the young Frederick grew up he was drawn into a long struggle with the Papacy which ended in the overthrow of the Imperial authority. From this time the quarrel of Guelfs and Ghibelins for the most part became mere family feuds resting on no principles. Charles of Anjou was adopted as Papal champion; the republics of the North were in effect controlled by despots for a brief moment. Rome revived her republicanism under the leadership of Rienzi. In the general chaos the principle interest attaches to the peculiar but highly complicated form of democracy developed in Florence, where the old Patrician families were virtually disfranchised. Wild and disorderly as was the state of Florence, the records certainly point to the conditions having been far worse in the cities ruled by the Visconti and their like. Of Genoa's wars with Pisa and with Venice a detailed account cannot be given. Of all the northern cities Venice achieved the highest political position; isolated to a great extent from the political problems of the cities of Lombardy and Tuscany, she developed her wealth and her commerce by the sea. Her splendour may, however, be dated from the taking of Constantinople by the Latins in 1204, when she became effectively Queen of the Adriatic and Mistress of the Eastern Mediterranean. In effect her government was a close oligarchy; possessed of complete control over elections which in theory were originally popular. The oligarchy reached its highest and narrowest development with the institution of the famous Council of Ten. Naples and Sicily came under the dominion of Charles of Anjou when he was adopted as Papal champion. The French supremacy, however, was overthrown when the Sicilians rose and carried out the massacre known as the Sicilian Vespers. They offered the Crown to the King of Aragon. It was not till 1409, however, that Sicily was definitely united to the Crown of Aragon and a few years later the same king was able to assert successfully a claim to Naples. When the Roman empire was tottering the Visigoths established their dominion in Spain. In 712 Saracen invaders made themselves masters of the greater part of the peninsula. The Christians were driven into the more northern parts and formed a number of small States out of which were developed the kingdoms of Navarre, Leon and Castille, and Aragon. Frontier towns acquired large liberties while they were practically responsible for defence against the Moors. During the thirteenth century great territories were recovered from the Moors; but the advance ceased as the Moors were reduced to the compact kingdom of Granada. In the fourteenth century the struggle for Castille between Pedro the Cruel and his brother established the house of Trastamare on the throne. The Crowns of Castille and Aragon were united by the marriage of Isabella and Ferdinand. The government of the old Gothic monarchy was through the Crown and a Council of Prelates and Nobles. At a comparatively early date, however, the "Cortes" was attended by deputies from the town, though the number of these was afterwards closely limited. The principle of taxation through representatives was recognised; and laws could neither be made nor annulled except in the Cortes. This form of constitutionalism was varied by the claim of the nobles to assume forcible control when matters were conducted in a fashion of which they disapproved. The union of Castille and Aragon led immediately to the conquest of Granada completed in 1492; an event which in some respects counterbalanced the conquest of Constantinople by the Turks. _III.--The German Empire and the Papacy_ When the German branch of the Carlovingian dynasty became extinct the five German nations--Franconia, Swabia, Bavaria, Saxony, and Lorraine--resolved to make the German kingship elective. For some generations the Crown was bestowed on the Saxon Ottos. On the extinction of their house in 1024, it was succeeded by a Franconian dynasty which came into collision with the Papacy under Pope Gregory VII. On the extinction of this line in 1025 Germany became divided between the partisans of the Houses of Swabia and Saxony, the Wibelungs and Welfs,--the origin of the Hibelines and Guelfs. The Swabian House, the Hohenstauffen, gained the ascendancy in the person of Frederick Barbarossa. The lineal representatives of the Saxon Guelfs are found to-day in the House of Brunswick. The rule of the Swabian House is most intimately connected with Italian history. In the thirteenth century the principle that the right of election of the emperor lay with seven electors was apparently becoming established. There were the Archbishops of Mentz, Treves, and Cologne, the Duke of Saxony, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, the King of Bohemia, and the Margrave of Brandenburg. In all other respects, however, several other dukes and princes were at least on an equality with the electors. In 1272 the election fell on the capable Rudolph of Hapsburg; and for some time after this the emperors were chosen from the Houses of Austria, Bavaria, or Luxemburg. Disintegration was greatly increased by the practice of the partition of territories among brothers in place of primogeniture. A preponderating authority was given to the electors by the Golden Bull of Charles IV. in 1355. The power of the emperor as against the princes was increased, as that of the latter was counterbalanced by the development of free cities. Considerable reforms were introduced at the close of our period mainly by Maximilian. The depravity of the Greek empire would have brought it to utter ruin at a much earlier date but for the degeneration which overtook Mohammedanism. Incidentally the Crusades helped the Byzantine power at first to strengthen its hold on some of its threatened possessions; but the so-called fourth crusade replaced the Greek Empire by a Latin one with no elements of permanency. When a Greek dynasty was re-established, and the crusading spirit of Western Europe was already dead, the Byzantine Princes were left to cope with the Turks single handed, and the last of the Cæsars died heroically when the Ottomans captured Constantinople in 1453. Throughout the early middle ages the Church acquired enormous wealth and Church lands were free from taxation. It was not till a comparatively late period that the payment of tithes was enforced by law. Not infrequently the Church was despoiled by violence, but the balance was more than recovered by fraud. By the time of Charlemagne the clergy were almost exempt from civil jurisdiction and held practically an exclusive authority in matters of religion. The state, however, maintained its temporal supremacy. When the strong hand of Charlemagne was removed ecclesiastical influence increased. It was under Gregory the Great that the Papacy acquired its great supremacy over the Provincial Churches. As the power of the Church grew after the death of Charlemagne, partly from the inclination of weak kings to lean on ecclesiastical support, the Papal claims to authority developed and began to be maintained by the penalties of excommunication and interdict. A period of extreme laxity in the tenth century was to be brought to a close in the eleventh partly by the pressure brought to bear on the Papacy by the Saxon emperors, but still bore by the ambitious resolution of Gregory VII. This remarkable man was determined to assert the complete supremacy of the Holy See over all secular powers. He refused to recognise the right of secular princes to make ecclesiastical appointments within their own dominions; and he emphasised the distinction between the priesthood, as a cast having divine authority, and the laity, by enforcing with the utmost strictness the ecclesiastical law of celibacy, which completely separates the churchman from the normal interests and ambitions which actuate the layman. In the contest between Gregory and the emperor, it seemed for the moment as if the secular power had won the victory; but, in fact, throughout the twelfth century; the claims which Gregory had put forward were becoming practically effective partly from the great influence exercised through the Crusades. These Papal pretensions reached their climax in the great Pope Innocent III., who asserted with practical success the right to pronounce absolutely on all disputes between princes or between princes and their subjects, and to depose those who rejected his authority. Throughout the thirteenth century Rome was once more mistress of the world. The Church derived great influence from the institution of mendicant orders, especially those of St. Dominic and St. Francis which recovered much of the esteem forfeited by the old Monastic orders. Another instrument of Papal influence was the power of granting dispensations both with regard to marriages and as to the keeping of oaths. If the clergy were free for the most part from civil taxation, they were nevertheless severely mulcted by the Papacy. The ecclesiastical jurisdiction encroached upon the secular tribunals; the classes of persons with respect to whom it claimed exclusive authority were persistently extended, in spite of the opposition of such Princes as Henry II. and Edward I. At last, however, the Papal aggressor met his match in Philip the Fair. When Boniface VIII. died, his successors first submitted to the French monarchy and then became its nominees; while they resided at Avignon, virtually under French control. The restoration of the pontificate to Rome in 1375 was shortly followed by the Great Schism. For some years there were two rival Popes, each of whom was recognised by one or the other half of Western Christendom. This was terminated by the Council of Constance, which incidentally affirmed the supremacy of general councils over the Pope. The following council at Basle was distinctly anti-papal; but the Papacy had the better of the contest. _IV.--England_ The Anglo-Saxon polity limited the succession of the Crown to a particular house but allowed a latitude of choice within that house. The community was divided into Thames or gentry, Ceorls or freemen, and serfs. The ceorls tended to sink to the position known later as villeinage. The composition of the king's great council called the Witenagemot is doubtful. The country was divided into shires, the shire into districts called hundreds, and the hundreds into tithings. There appears to be no adequate authority for the idea that trial by jury was practised; the prevailing characteristic of justice was the system of penalty by fine, and the responsibility of the tithing for the misdeeds of any of its members. There is no direct evidence as to the extent to which feudal tenures were beginning to be established before the Norman conquest. The Norman conquest involved a vast confiscation of property and the exclusion of the native English from political privileges. The feudal system of land tenure was established; but its political aspect here and in France was quite different. There were no barons with territories comparable to those of the great French feudataries. That the government was extremely tyrannical is certain. The Crown derived its revenues from feudal dues, customs duties, tallages--that is, special charges on particular towns,--and the war tax called the Danegelt; all except the first being arbitrary taxes. The violence of King John led to the demand of the barons for the Great Charter, the keystone of English liberty, securing the persons and property of all freemen from arbitrary imprisonment or spoliation. Thenceforth no right of general taxation is claimed. The barons held themselves warranted in refusing supplies. The King's Court was gradually separated into three branches, King's Bench, Exchequer, and Common Pleas. The advance in the study of law had the definite effect of establishing a fixed rule of succession to the Crown. One point must still be noticed which distinguishes England from other European countries; that the law recognises no distinction of class among freemen who stand between the peers and villeins. The reign of Edward I. forms an epoch. The Confirmation of the Charters put an end to all arbitrary taxation; and the type of the English Parliament was fixed. In the Great Councils the prelates and greater barons had assembled, and the lesser barons were also summoned; the term baron being equivalent to tenant in chief. A system of representation is definitely formulated in Montfort's Parliament of 1265. Whether the knights were elected by the freemen of the shire or only by the tenants in chief, is not clear. Many towns were self governing--independent, that is, of local magnates--under charters from the Crown. Montfort's Parliament is the first to which towns sent representatives. Edward established the practice in his Model Parliament; probably in order to ensure that his demands for money from the towns might in appearance at least receive their formal assent. Parliament was not definitely divided into two houses until the reign of Edward III. In this reign the Commons succeeded in establishing the illegality of raising money without consent; the necessity that the two houses should concur for any alterations in the law; and the right of the Commons to enquire into public abuses and to impeach public counsellors. Under the second heading is introduced a distinction between statutes and ordinances; the latter being of a temporary character, and requiring to be confirmed by Parliament before they acquire permanent authority. In the next reign the Commons assert the right of examining the public expenditure. Moreover the Parliaments more openly and boldly expressed resentment at the acts of the king's ministers and claimed rights of control. For a time, however, the king secured supremacy by a coup d'état; which in turn brought about his deposition, and the accession of Henry IV., despite the absurd weakness of his title to the inheritance of the Crown. The rights thus acquired developed until the War of the Roses. Notably redress of grievances became the condition of supply; and the inclination of the Crown to claim a dispensing power is resolutely combated. It is also to be remarked that the king's foreign policy of war or peace is freely submitted to the approval of Parliament. This continues during the minority of Henry VI.; but the revival of dissatisfaction with the government leads to a renewed activity in the practice of impeachments; and Parliament begins to display a marked sensitiveness on the question of its privileges. The Commons further definitely express their exclusive right of originating money bills. At this time it is clear that at least all freeholders were entitled to vote in the election of the knights of the shire. The selection of the towns which sent up members, and the franchise under which their members were elected, seems to have been to a considerable extent arbitrary. Nor can we be perfectly certain of the principles on which writs were issued for attendance in the upper house. We find that for some time the lower clergy as well as the higher were summoned to attend Parliament; but presently, sitting in a separate chamber, they ceased to take part in Parliamentary business. We have seen the King's Court divided into three courts of justice. The court itself, however, as the king's Council, continued to exercise a juridical as well as a deliberative and administrative function. In spite of the charter, it possessed an effective if illegal power of arbitrary imprisonment. So far the essential character of our constitution appears to be a monarchy greatly limited by law but swerving continually into irregular courses which there was no constraint adequate to correct. There is absolutely no warrant for the theory that the king was merely a hereditary executive magistrate, the first officer of the State. The special advantage enjoyed by England lay in the absence of an aristocracy with interests antagonistic to those of the people. It would be truer to say that the liberties of England were bought by money than by the blood of our forefathers. The process by which the villein became a hired labourer is obscure and an attempt was made to check it by the Statute of Labourers at the time of the Black Death. This was followed by the peasant's revolt of 1382, which corresponded to the far worse horrors of the French Jacquerie. Sharply though this was suppressed, the real object of the rising seemed to have been accomplished. Of the period of the Wars of the Roses it is here sufficient to say that it established the principle embodied in a statute of Henry VII. that obedience to the _de facto_ government is not to be punished on the ground that government is not also _de jure_. _V.--Europe_ In spite of the Teutonic incursion, Latin remained the basis of language as it survived in Italy, France, and Spain. But the pursuit of letters was practically confined to the clergy and was by them employed almost exclusively in the interests of clerical authority. To this end a multitude of superstitions were encouraged; superstitions which were the cause of not a few strange and irrational outbursts of fanaticism. The monasteries served indeed a useful purpose as sanctuaries in days of general lawlessness and rapine; but the huge weight of evidence is conclusive as to the general corruption of morals among the clergy as among the laity. The common diversion of the upper classes, lay and clerical, when not engaged in actual war, was hunting. An extended commerce was impossible when robbery was a normal occupation of the great. Gradually, however, a more orderly society emerged. Maritime commerce developed in two separate areas, the northern and western, and the Mediterranean. The first great commerce in the north arises from the manufacture in Flanders of the wool exported from England. And in the fourteenth century England herself began to compete in the woollen manufacture. The German free manufacturing towns established the Great Hanseatic League; but maritime commerce between the Northern and Southern areas was practically non-existent till the fifteenth century, by which time English ships were carrying on a fairly extensive traffic in the Mediterranean. In that area the great seaports of Italy, and in a less degree, of Catalonia and the French Mediterranean seaboard, developed a large commerce. Naturally, however, the law which it was sufficiently difficult to enforce by land was even more easily defied on the sea, and piracy was extremely prevalent. Governments as well as private persons were under a frequent necessity of borrowing, and for a long time the great money lenders were the Jews. They, however, were later to a great extent displaced by the merchants of Lombardy, and the fifteenth century witnesses the rise of the great bankers, Italian and German. The structure and furniture of all buildings for private purposes made exceedingly little provision for comfort, offering an extreme contrast to the dignity of the public buildings and the sublimity of ecclesiastical architecture. During the last three hundred years of our period it is clear that there was a great diminution of the status of servitude and a great increase in the privileges extended to corporate towns. Private warfare was checked and lawless robbery to a considerable extent restrained. It is tolerably clear that the rise of heretical sects were both the cause and the result of moral dissatisfaction, tending to the adoption of higher moral standards. Some of these sects were cruelly crushed by merciless persecution, as in the case of the Albigenses. The doctrines of Wickliffe, however, were never stamped out in England; and the form which they took in Bohemia among the followers of the martyred John Huss had little about them that was beneficial. The great moral school of the Middle Ages was the institution of chivalry, which existed to animate and cherish the principle of honour. To this a strong religious flavor was superadded, perhaps by the Crusades. To valour and devotion was added the law of service to womanhood, and chivalry may fairly claim to have developed generally the three virtues essential to it, of loyalty, courtesy, and liberality. Resting, however, as it did on the personal prowess and skill of the individual in single combat, the whole system of chivalry was destroyed by the introduction on an extensive scale of the use of firearms. We turn lastly to the intellectual improvement which may be referred to four points: the study of civil laws the institution of universities; the application of modern languages to literature, and especially to poetry; and the revival of ancient learning. Education may almost be said to have begun with the establishment of the great schools by Charlemagne out of which sprang the European universities. For a long time of course all studies were dominated by that of theology, and the scholastic philosophy which pertained to it. Barren as these pursuits were, they kept alive an intellectual activity which ultimately found fresh channels. The Romance languages developed a new literature first on the tongues of the troubadours and then in Italy--the Italy which gave birth to Dante and Petrarch. It was about the fourteenth century that a new enthusiasm was born for the study of classical authors, though Greek was still unknown. And the final and decisive impulse was given when the invention of printing made the great multiplication of books possible. * * * * * STANLEY LANE-POOLE Egypt in the Middle Ages Stanley Lane-Poole, born on December 18, 1845, studied Arabic under his great-uncle, Lane, the Orientalist, and, before going up to Oxford for his degree, began his "Catalogue of Oriental Coins in the British Museum," which appeared in fourteen volumes between 1875 and 1892, and founded his reputation as the first living authority on Arabic numismatics. In 1883, 1896, and 1897 he was at Cairo officially employed by the British Government upon the Mohammedan antiquities, and published his treatise on "The Art of the Saracens in Egypt" in 1886, in which year he visited Stockholm, Helsingfors, St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Constantinople to examine their Oriental collections. He has written histories of the "Moors in Spain," "Turkey," "The Barbary Corsairs," and "Mediæval India," which have run to many editions; and biographies of Saladin, Babar, Aurangzib; of Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, and Sir Harry Parkes. He has also published a miniature Koran in the "Golden Treasury" series, and written "Studies in a Mosque," besides editing three volumes of Lane's "Arabic Lexicon." For five years he held the post of Professor of Arabic at Trinity College, Dublin, of which he is Litt.D. Mohammedan Egypt, his special subject, he has treated in several books on Cairo, the latest being "The Story of Cairo." But his most complete work on this subject is "The History of Egypt in the Middle Ages," here epitomised by the author. _I.--A Province of the Caliphate_ Ever since the Arab conquest in 641 Egypt has been ruled by Mohammedans, and for more than half the time by men of Turkish race. Though now and again a strong man has gathered all the reins of control into his own hands and been for a time a personal monarch, as a rule the government has been, till recent years, a military bureaucracy. The people, of course, had no voice in the government. The Egyptians have never been a self-governing race, and such a dream as constitutional democracy was never heard of until a few years ago. By the Arab conquest in the seventh century the people merely changed masters. They were probably not indisposed to welcome the Moslems as their deliverers from the tyranny of the Orthodox Church of the East Roman or Byzantine Empire, invincibly intolerant of the native monophysite heresy; and when the conquest was complete they found themselves, on the whole, better off than before. They paid their taxes to officials with Arabic instead of Greek titles, but the taxes were lighter and the amount was strictly laid down by law. The land-tax of about a pound per acre was not excessive on so fertile a soil, and the poll-tax on nonconformity, of the same amount, was a moderate price to pay for entire liberty of conscience and freedom in public worship guaranteed by solemn treaty. The other taxes were comparatively insignificant, and the total revenue in the eighth century was about £7,000,000. The surplus went to the caliph, the head of the vast Mohammedan empire, which then stretched from Seville to Samarkand, whose capital was first Damascus and afterwards Baghdad. For over 200 years (till 868) Egypt was a mere province of this huge caliphate, and was governed, like other provinces, with a sole view to revenue. "Milk till the udder be dry and let blood to the last drop" was a caliph's instructions to a governor of Egypt. As these governors were constantly changed--there were sixty-seven in 118 years under the Abbasid caliphs of Baghdad--and as a governor's main object was to "make hay while the sun shines," the process of milking the Egyptian cow was often accelerated by illegal extortion, and the governor's harvest was reaped before it was due. Illegality was, however, checked to some extent by the generally wise and just influence of the chief justice, or kadi, whose probity often formed the best feature of the Arab government in Egypt. Nor did the caliphs extort taxes without giving something in return. The development of irrigation works was always a main consideration with the early Mohammedan rules, from Spain to India, and in Egypt, where irrigation is the country's very life, it was specially cared for, with a corresponding increase in the yield. Moreover, the governors usually held to the agreement that the Christians should have liberty of conscience, and protected them from the Moslem soldiery. As time went on, this toleration abated, partly because the Moslems had gradually become the predominant population. At the beginning the caliphs had taken anxious precautions against the colonising of Egypt; they held it by an army, but they were insistent that the army should not take root, but be always free to join the caliph's standard. But it was inevitable that the Arabs should settle in so fertile and pleasant a land. Each governor brought a small army as his escort, and these Arab troops naturally intermarried with Egyptian women, who were constitutionally inclined to such alliances. A few Arab tribes also settled in Egypt. This gradual and undesigned Arabising of the country would lead to oppression of the Christians, to the "squeezing" of wealthy natives, and occasionally to the institution of humiliating distinctions of dress and other vexations, and even to the spoiling of Coptic churches. Then sometimes the Copts, as the Egyptian Christians are called, would rebel. Their last and greatest rebellion, which occurred in the Delta in 830-832, was ruthlessly trampled out by Turkish troops under Mamun, the only Abbasid caliph who made a visit to Egypt. Many Copts now apostatised, and from this time dates the predominance of the Moslem population and the settling of Arabs in the villages and on the land, instead of as heretofore only in the two or three large towns. The coming of the Turkish troops with the caliph Mamun was an ominous event for the country. Up to 846 all the successive governors had been Arabs, and many of them were related to the caliphs themselves. With some unfortunate exceptions, they seem to have been men of simple habits--the Arabs were never luxurious--and usually of strict Mohammedan principles. They made money, honestly if possible, during their brief tenure; but they did not harass the people much by their personal interference, and left the local officials to manage matters in their own way, as had always been the custom. They lived at the new capital, Fustat, which grew up on the site of the conqueror's camp, and very near the modern Cairo; for Alexandria, the symbol of Roman domination, was dismantled in 645 after the Emperor Manuel's attempt at reconquest. If they did not do much active good, they did little harm, and Egypt pursued her immemorial ways. The last Arab governor, Anbasa, was a man of fine character, and his term of office was distinguished by the building of the fort of Damietta, as a protection against Roman raids, and by a defeat of the tributary Sudanis near Dongola. _II.--Turkish Governors_ The Arabs have neither the ferocity nor the luxuriousness, nor, it should be added, the courage and the genius for administration of the Turkish race. In the arrival of Turkish troops in 830 we see a symptom of what was going on all over the eastern caliphate. Turks were taking the place of Arabs in the army and the provincial governments, just as the Persians were filling up the civil appointments. The caliph's Turkish bodyguard was the beginning of the dismemberment of the caliphate. It became the habit of the caliphs to grant the government of Egypt, as a sort of fief, to a leading Turkish officer, who usually appointed a deputy to do his work and to pay him the surplus revenue. Such a deputy was Ahmad-ibn-Tulun (868-884), the first of the many Turkish despots of Egypt. Ibn-Tulun was the first ruler to raise Egypt from a mere tax-paying appendage of the caliphate to a kingdom, independent save for the recognition of the caliph on the coinage, and he was the first to found a Moslem dynasty there. A man of fair Mohammedan education, iron will, and ubiquitous personal attention to affairs, he added Syria to his dominions, defeated the East Romans with vast slaughter near Tarsus (883), kept an army of 30,000 Turkish slaves and a fleet of a hundred fighting ships. He beautified his capital by building a sumptuous palace and his well-known mosque, which still stands in his new royal suburb of Katai; he encouraged the small farmers and reduced the taxation, yet he left five millions in the treasury when he died in 884. His son maintained his power, and more than his luxury and artistic extravagance; but there were no elements of stability in the dynasty, which depended solely upon the character of the ruler. The next generation saw Egypt once more (905) a mere province of the caliphate, but with this difference, that its governors were now Turks, generally under the control of their own soldiery, and much less dependent upon the ever-weakening power of the Caliph of Baghdad. One of them, the Ikhshid, in 935 emulated Ibn-Tulun and united part of Syria to Egypt; but the sons he left were almost children, and the power fell into the hands of the regent Kafur, a black eunuch from the Sudan, bought for £25, who combined a luxurious and cultivated court with some military successes and real administrative capacity. _III.--The Fatimid Caliphs_ The Mohammedan world is roughly divided into Sunnis and Shia. The Shia are the idealists, the mystics of Islam; the Sunnis are the formalists, the schoolmen. The Shia trace an apostolic succession from Ali, the husband of the prophet Mohammed's daughter Fatima, hold doctrines of immanence and illumination, adopt an allegorical interpretation of scripture, and believe in the coming of a Mahdi or Messiah. The Sunnis adhere to the elective historical caliphate descended from Mohammed's uncle, maintain the eternal uncreated sufficiency of the Koran, literally interpreted, and believe in no Messiah save Mohammed. The Shia, whatever their racial origin, form the Persian, the Aryan, adaptation of Islam, which is an essentially Semitic creed. In the tenth century they had established a caliph among the Berbers at Kayrawan (908). They had thence invaded Egypt with temporary success in 914 and 919. When the death of Kafur in 968 left the country a prey to rival military factions, the fourth of the caliphs of Kayrawan--called the Fatimid caliphs, because they claimed a very doubtful descent from Fatima--sent his army into Egypt. The people, who had too long been the sport of Turkish mercenaries, received the invaders as deliverers, just as the Copts had welcomed the Arabs three centuries before. Gauhar, the Fatimid general, entered Fustat (or Misr, as it was usually called, a name still applied both to Egypt and to its capital) amid acclamations in 969, and immediately laid the foundations of the fortified palace which he named, astrologically, after the planet Mars (Kahir), El-Kahira, "the Martial," or "the Victorious," which gradually expanded to the city of Cairo. He also founded the great historic university mosque of the Azhar, which, begun by the heretical Shia, became the bulwark of rigid scholasticism and the theological centre of orthodox Islam. The theological change was abrupt. It was as though Presbyterian Scotland had suddenly been put under the rule of the Jesuits. But, like the Society of Jesus, the Shia were pre-eminently intellectual and recognised the necessity of adapting their teaching to the capacities of their hearers, and the conditions of the time. They did not force extreme Shia doctrine upon the Egyptians. Their esoteric system, with its graduated stages of initiation, permitted a large latitude, and they were content to add their distinctive formulas to the ordinary Mohammedan ritual, and to set them conspicuously on their coinage, without entering upon a propaganda. The bulk of the Egyptian Moslems apparently preserved their orthodoxy and suffered an heretical caliphate for two centuries with traditional composure. The Christian Copts found the new _régime_ a marked improvement. Mysticism finds kindred elements in many faiths, and the Fatimid caliphs soon struck up relations with the local heads of the Christian religion. The second Egyptian caliph, Aziz (975-996), was greatly influenced by a Christian wife, who encouraged his natural clemency. Bishop Severus attended his court, and Coptic churches were rebuilt. Throughout the Fatimid period we constantly find Christians and Jews, and especially Armenians, advanced to the highest offices of state. This was partly due, of course, to their special qualifications as scribes and accountants, for Arabs and Turks were no hands at "sums." The land had rest under this wise and tolerant caliph. If he set a dangerous example in his luxury and love of display, he unquestionably maintained law, enforced equity, punished corruption, and valiantly defended his kingdom. He fitted out a fleet of 600 sail at Maks (then the port of Cairo, on the Nile), which kept the Emperor Basil at a distance and assured the caliph's ascendancy from end to end of the Mediterranean Sea. After these two great rulers the Fatimid caliphate subsisted for nearly two centuries by no virtue or energy of its own. The caliphs lived secluded, like veiled prophets, in their huge palace at Cairo, given over to sensual delights (Saladin found 12,000 women in the Great Palace when he entered it in 1171), and wholly regardless of their kingdom, which they left to the care of vezirs, who were chiefly bent on making their own fortunes, though there were many able, and a few honest men amongst them. The real power rested with the army, and the only check upon the tyranny and debauchery of the army lay in its own jealous divisions. The fanatical Berber regiments imported from Tunis, the bloody blacks recruited in the Sudan, and the mutinous Turkish troops long established in the country, were always at daggers drawn, and their rivalry was the vezirs' opportunity. In such anarchy the country fell from bad to worse. The reign of Hakim, the frantic son of Aziz and his Christian wife, was a personal despotism of the most eccentric kind, marked by apparently unreasonable regulations, such as keeping the shops open by night instead of by day, and confining all women to the house for seven years, as well as by intermittent persecution of Christians and Jews; and also by enlightened acts, such as the founding of the Hall of Science and the building of mosques, for all the Fatimides were friends to the arts; and ending in the proclamation of Hakim as the incarnation of the Divine Reason, in which capacity he is still adored by the Druses of the Lebanon. This assumption led to popular tumults and an orgy of carnage, in the midst of which Hakim mysteriously disappeared (1021). His successors, Zahir (1021-1036), and Mustansir (1036-1096) did nothing to retrieve the anarchic situation, of which the soldiers were the unruly masters. Palace cliques, disastrous famines (one of which lasted seven years, 1066-1072, and even led to the public selling of human joints as butcher's meat), slave, or rather freedmen's, revolts, military tumults, and the occasional temporary ascendancy of a talented vezir, sum up the history of Egypt during most of the eleventh century. The wisdom and firmness of two great Armenian vezirs, Bedr-el-Gemali (1073-1094) and his son Afdal (1094-1121), brought a large degree of order, but the last years of the Fatimid caliphate were blotted by savage murders both of caliphs and vezirs, and by the loss of their Syrian dominions to Seljuks and Crusaders. _IV.--The House of Saladin_ It was a question whether Egypt would fall to the Christian king of Jerusalem or the Moslem king of Damascus; but, after several invasions by both, Nur-ed-din settled the problem by sending his Syrian army to Cairo in 1169, when the Crusaders withdrew without offering battle, and the Fatimid caliphate came to an end in 1171. On the Syrian general's death, two months after the conquest, his nephew, Salah-ed-din ibn-Ayyub (Saladin), succeeded to the vezirate, and after Nur-ed-din's death, in 1174, he made himself independent sultan, not only of Egypt but of Syria and Mesopotamia. Saladin was a Kurd from the Tigris districts; but his training and his following were purely Turkish, moulded on the Seljuk model, and recruited largely from the Seljuk lands. His fame was won outside Egypt, and only eight of the twenty-four years of his reign were spent in Cairo; the rest was passed in waging wars in Syria, Mesopotamia, and Palestine, culminating in the catastrophic defeat of the Crusaders near Tiberias in 1187, and the conquest of Jerusalem and all of the Holy Land. The famous crusade of Richard I., though it resulted only in recovering a strip of coast from Acre to Jaffa, and did not rescue Jerusalem, wore out Saladin's strength, and in 1193 the chivalrous and magnanimous "Soldan" died. In Egypt his chief work, after repressing revolts of black troops and Shia conspiracies, and repelling successive naval attacks on Damietta and Alexandria by the Eastern emperor and the kings of Jerusalem and Sicily, was the building of the Citadel of Cairo after the model of Norman fortresses in Syria, and the encouragement of Sunni orthodoxy by the founding and endowment of medresas, or theological colleges. The people, who had never been really converted to the Fatimid creed, accepted the latest reformation with their habitual nonchalance. This was really the greatest achievement of Saladin and his house. Cairo succeeded to Baghdad and Cordova as the true metropolis of Islam, and Egypt has remained true to the most narrow school of orthodoxy ever since. Saladin's kinsmen, known as the Ayyubid dynasty, ruled Egypt for over half a century after the death of their great leader. First his politic brother, Adil Seyf-ed-din ("Saphadin") carried on his fine tradition for a quarter of a century, and then from 1218 to 1238 Seyf-ed-din's able son Kamil, who had long been the ruler of Egypt during his father's frequent absences, followed in his steps. The futile efforts of the discredited Crusaders disturbed their peace. John of Brienne's seizure of Damietta was a serious menace, and it took all Kamil's energy to defeat the "Franks" at Mansura (1219) and drive them out of the country. On the other hand, he cultivated very friendly relations with the Emperor Frederic II., who concluded a singular defensive alliance with him in 1229, to the indignation of the Pope. He was tolerant to Christians, and listened to the preaching of St. Francis of Assisi; he granted trading concessions to the Venetians and Pisans, who established a consulate at Alexandria. At the same time he notably encouraged Moslem learning, built colleges, and developed the resources of the kingdom in every way. What had happened to the dynasties of Tulun, Ikhshid, and the Fatimides, was repeated on the death of Kamil. Two sons kept the throne successively till 1249, and then, in the midst of Louis IX's crusade, the salvation of Egypt devolved on the famous Mamluks, or white slaves, who had formed the _corps d'élite_ of Saladin's army. _V.--The Mamluks_ Political women have played a great rôle in Egypt from Hatshepsut and Cleopatra to the Christian wife of Aziz, the princess royal who engineered the downfall of Hakim, and the black mother who dominated Mustansir; and it was a woman who was the first queen of the Mamluks. Sheger-ed-durr ("Tree of Pearls"), widow of Salih, the last reigning Ayyubid of Egypt, was the brain of the army which broke the chivalry of France. At the second battle of Mansura in 1249, she took Louis prisoner. Then she married a leading Mamluk emir, to conciliate Moslem prejudice against a woman's rule, and thenceforth for more than two centuries and a half one Mamluk after another seized the throne, held it as long as he could, and sometimes transmitted it to his son. When it is noted that forty-eight sultans (twenty-five Bahri Mamluks, or "white slaves of the river," so called from the barracks on an island in the Nile, and twenty-three Burgis, named after the burg, or citadel, where their quarters originally were), succeeded one another from 1250 to 1517, it will be seen that their average reign was but three and a half years. The throne, in fact, belonged to the man with the longest sword. The bravest and richest generals and court officials surrounded themselves with bands of warrior slaves, and reached a power almost equal to the reigning sultan, who was, in fact, only _primus inter pares_, and on his death--usually by assassination--they fought for his title. All were alike slaves by origin, but this term implied no degradation. Any slave with courage and address had the chance of becoming a freedman, rising to influence, and climbing into his master's seat. Every man was every other man's equal--if he could prove it; but the process of proving it often turned Cairo into a shambles. The Mamluks were physically superb, a race of born soldiers, dashing horsemen, skilled leaders, brilliant alike in battle and in all manly sports. They were at the same time the most luxurious of men, heavy drinkers, debauched sensualists, magnificent in their profusion, in their splendid prodigality in works of art and luxury, and in the munificence with which they filled their capital with noble monuments of the most exquisite Saracenic architecture. Most of the beautiful mosques of Cairo were built by these truculent soldiers, all foreigners, chiefly Turks, a caste apart, with no thought for the native Egyptians whose lands they received as fiefs from the sultan; with no mercy when ambition called for secret assassination or wholesale massacre; yet fastidious in dress, equipment, and manners, given to superb pageants, laborious in business, and fond of music and poetry. Their orthodoxy is attested not only by their innumerable religious foundations and endowments, but by their importing into Cairo a line of Abbasid caliphs--_fainéants_ indeed, but in a manner representative of the great caliphs of Baghdad, extinguished by the Mongols in 1258--and in maintaining them till the Ottoman sultan usurped their very nominal authority as Commanders of the Faithful. The greatest of all the Mamluks was Beybars (1260-1277). He it was who had charged St. Louis's knights at Mansura in 1249, and afterwards helped to rout the Mongol hordes at the critical battle of Goliath's Spring in 1260; and he was the real founder of the Mamluk empire, and organised and consolidated his wide dominions so skilfully and firmly that all the follies and jealousies and crimes of his successors could not destroy the fabric. He made his army perfect in discipline, built a navy, made canals, roads, and bridges, annexed Nubia, organised a regular postal service, built fortifications, mosques, colleges, halls of justice, and managed everything, from the fourth cataract of the Nile and the Holy Cities of Arabia to the Pyramus and the Euphrates, by his immense capacity for work and amazing rapidity of movements. Egypt prospered exceedingly under his just, firm, and capable rule; he was severe to immorality and strictly prohibited wine, beer, and hashish. He entered into diplomatic relations with European powers to the great advantage of his country's trade; and his bravery, munificence, and justice have made him a popular hero in Arabic romances down to the present day. None of his successors approached his high example Khalil indeed recovered Acre and all that remained of the Crusader's possessions in Palestine, and the Mamluks, who never lost their soldierly qualities whoever happened to be their nominal ruler, handsomely defeated the Mongols again in 1299 and 1303, and for ever saved Egypt from the unspeakable curse of a Mongol conquest Nasir, whose reign covers most of the first half of the fourteenth century, was a great builder, and so were many of the nobles of his court. It was the golden age of Saracenic architecture, and Cairo is still full of the monuments of Nasir's emirs. He encouraged agriculture, stockbreeding, farming, falconry, as well as literature and art, everything, in short, except vice, wine, and Christians. The Burgi, or Circassian Mamluks (1382-1517), were little more than chief among the emirs. Widespread corruption, the open sale of high offices and of "justice," and general debauchery characterised their rule. Yet they built many of the loveliest mosques in Cairo, and the conquest of Cyprus, long a nest of Mediterranean piracy, by Bars Bey in 1426 may be added to their credit. Kait Bey (1468-1496) was a great builder, and in every way a wise, brave, and energetic, public-spirited sovereign, and was an exception to the general baseness. Egypt was rich in his day. The European trade had swelled enormously, and the duties brought in a prodigious revenue. The Italian Republics had their consulates or their marts in Alexandria, and Marseilles, Narbonne, and Catalonia sent their representatives. The Indian trade was also very considerable; we read of £36,000 paid at one time in customs dues at Gidda, then an Egyptian port on the Red Sea. The Mamluk sultan took toll on every bale of goods that passed between Europe and India in the palmy days that preceded Vasco de Gama's discovery of the Cape route in 1497. It was an immense monopoly, extortionately used, and it was not resigned without a struggle. The Mamluk fleet engaged the Portuguese off Chaul in the Bay of Bengal in 1508 and defeated them; but Almeida avenged the honour of his country by a victory over the Mamluk admiral Hoseyn off Diu in the following year, and the prolific transit trade of Egypt was to a great extent lost. This final effort was made by the last great sultan of the Circassian dynasty, Kansuh Ghuri (1501-1516), who also exerted himself manfully in defending his country from the impending disaster of Ottoman invasion. But the Othmanli Turks, greatly heartened by the conquest of Constantinople in 1453, had been steadily encroaching in Asia, and, after defeating the shah of Persia, their advance upon Syria and Egypt was only a matter of time. The victory was made easier by jealousies and treachery among the Mamluks. Kansuh fell at the head of his gallant troops in a battle near Aleppo in August 1516; a last desperate stand of the Mamluks under the Mukattam Hill at Cairo in January 1517, was overcome, and Sultan Selim made Egypt a province of the Turkish empire. Such it remains, formally, to this day. * * * * * RAPHAEL HOLINSHED Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland Raphael Holinshed, who was born about 1520, is one of the most celebrated of English chroniclers. The "Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland," known by his name, cover a long period of English history, beginning with a "Description" of Britain from the earliest times, and carried on until the reign of Elizabeth, in the course of which, between 1580 and 1584, Holinshed died. The work did good service to Shakespeare, who drew from it much of the material for his historical plays. The first edition, published in 1577, was succeeded in 1587 by another, in which the "Chronicles" were continued by John Hooker and others. An edition appeared in 1807, in the foreword to which the "Chronicles" are described as containing "the most curious and authentic account of the manners and customs of our island in the reign of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth "; and being the work of a contemporary observer this is not too much to claim for it. Owing to the great scope of this work, it is impossible to convey an impression of the whole, which is best represented by means of selected examples of the chronicler's method. Being the work of so many different authors, the literary quality of the "Chronicles" naturally varies; but the learning and research they show make them an invaluable aid to the study of the manners and customs of early England. _I.--Master Holinshed to his Good Lord and Master, Sir William Brooke, Knight_ Being earnestlie required, Right Honorable, of divers my freends, to set down some breefe discourse of some of those things which I had observed in the reading of manifold antiquities, I was at first verie loth to yeeld to their desires. But, they pressing their irksome sute, I condescended to it, and went in hand with the work, with hopes of good, although no gaie success. In the process of this Booke, if your Honor regard the substance of that which is here declared, I must needs confess that it is none of mine owne; but if your lordship have consideration of the barbarous composition shewed herein, that I may boldlie claim and challenge for mine owne. Certes, I protest before God and your Honor, that I never made any choise of stile, or words, neither regarded to handle this Treatise in such precise order and method as manie other would have done, thinking it sufficient, truelie and plainelie to set forth such things as I minded to intreat of, rather than with vain affectation of eloquence to paint out a rotten sepulchre, a thing neither commendable in a writer, nor profitable to the reader. But howsoever it be done, I have had an especial eye unto the truth of things, and for the rest, I hope that this foule frizeled Treatise of mine will prove a spur to others better learned to handle the self-same argument, if in my life-time I doo not peruse it again. _II.--Some Account of the Historie of Britaine_ As few or no nations can justlie boast themselves to have continued sithence their countrie was first replenished, without anie mixture, more or lesse, of forreine inhabitant mixture, more or lesse, of forreine inhabitants; no more can this our Iland, whose manifold commodities have oft allured sundrie princes and famous capteines of the world to conquer and subdue the same unto their owne subjection. Manie sorts of people therefore have come in hither and settled themselves here in this Ile, and first of all other, a parcell of the lineage and posteritie of Japhet, brought in by Samothes, in the 1910 after the creation of Adam. Howbeit in process of time, and after they had indifferentlie replenished and furnished this Iland with people, Albion, the giant, repaired hither with a companie of his owne race proceeding from Cham, and not onelie annexed the same to his owne dominion, but brought all such as he found here of the line of Japhet, into miserable servitude and most extreame thraldome. After him also, and within lesse than six hundred and two yeares, came Brute, the son of Sylvius, with a great train of the posteritie of the dispersed Trojans in 324 ships; who rendering the like courtesie unto Chemminits as they had done before unto the seed of Japhet, brought them also wholie under his rule and governance, and dispossessing them he divided the countrie among such princes and capteines as he had led out of Grecia with him. Then after some further space of time the Roman Emperours subdued the land to their dominion; and after the coming of the Romans, it is hard to say with how manie sorts of people we were dailie pestered. For their armies did commonlie consist of manie sorts of people, and were (as I may call them) a confused mixture of all other countries and nations then living in the world. Howbeit I thinke it best, because they did all beare the title of Romans, to retaine onelie that name for them all, albeit they were wofull guests to this our Iland: sith that with them came all kinds of vice, all riot and excess of behaviour into our countrie, which their legions brought with them from each corner of their dominions. Then did follow the Saxons, and the Danes, and at last the Normans, of whom it is worthilie doubted whether they were more hard and cruell to our countrymen than the Danes, or more heavie and intollerable to our Iland than the Saxons or the Romans. For they were so cruellie bent to our utter subversion and overthrow, that in the beginning it was lesse reproach to be accounted a slave than an Englishman, or a drudge in anie filthie businesse than a Britaine: insomuch that everie French page was superiour to the greatest Peere; and the losse of an Englishman's life but a pastime to such of them as contended in their braverie who should give the greatest strokes or wounds unto their bodies when their toiling and drudgerie could not please them or satisfie their greedie humours. Yet such was our lot in those daies by the divine appointed order, that we must needs obey such as the Lord did set pyer us, and this all because we refused grace offered in time, and would not heare when God by his preachers did call us so favourablie unto him. By all this then we perceive, how from time to time this Hand hath not onelie been a prey, but as it were a common receptacle for strangers, the naturall homelings or Britons being still cut shorter and shorter, till in the end they came not onelie to be driven into a corner of this region, but in time also verie like utterlie to have been extinguished. Thus we see how England hath been manie times subject to the reproach of conquest. And whereas the Scots seeme to challenge manie famous victories also over us, it shall suffice for answer, that they deale in this as in the most part of their historie, which is to seeke great honour by lying, and great renown by prating and craking. Indeed they have done great mischief in this Hand, and with extreime crueltie; but as for anie conquest the first is yet to heare of. But beside those conquests aforementioned, Huntingdon, the old historiographer, speaketh of another, likelie (as he saith) to come one daie out of the North, which is a wind that bloweth no man to good, sith nothing is to be had in those parts, but hunger and much cold. _III.--Of King Richard, the First, and his Journie to the Holie Land_ Richard the First of that name, and second sonne of Henrie the Second, began his reign over England the sixt day of Julie, in the yere of our Lord 1189. He received the crowne with all due and accustomed sollemnitie, at the hands of Baldwin, the archbishop of Canterburie, the third daie of September. Upon this daie of King Richard's coronation, the Jewes that dwelt in London and in other parts of the realme, being there assembled, had but sorie hap, as it chanced. For they meaning to honour the same coronation with their presence, and to present to the king some honourable gift, whereby they might declare themselves glad for his advancement, and procure his freendship towards them, for the confirming of their privileges and liberties; he of a zealous mind to Christes religion, abhorring their nation (and doubting some sorcerie by them to be practised) commanded that they should not come within the church when he should receive the crowne, nor within the palace whilest he was at dinner. But at dinner-time, among other that pressed in at the palace gate, diverse of the Jews were about to thrust in, till one of them was striken by a Christian, who alledging the king's commandment, kept them backe from comming within the palace. Which some of the unrulie people, perceiving, and supposing it had been done by the king's commandement, tooke lightlie occasion thereof, and falling upon the Jewes with staves, bats, and stones, beat them and chased them home to their houses and lodgings. Then did they set fire on the houses, and the Jewes within were either smoldred and burned to death within, or else at their comming forth most cruellie received upon the points of speares, billes, and swords of their adversaries that watched for them verie diligentlie. This great riot well deserved sere and grievous punishment, but yet it passed over without correction, because of the hatred generallie conceived against the obstinate frowardnesse of the Jewes. Finallie, after the tumult was ceased, the king commanded that no man should hurt or harm any of the Jewes, and so they were restored to peace after they had susteined infinit damage. No great while after this his coronation, the king sought to prepare himself to journey to the holie land, and to this end he had great need of money. Therefore he made such sale of things appertaining to him, as well in right of the crowne, as otherwise, that it seemed to divers that he made his reckoning never to return agan, in so much that some of his councillors told him plainelie, that he did not well in making things awaie so freelie; unto whom he answered "that in time of need it was no evill policie for a man to help himself with his owne." and further, "that if London at that time of need would be bought, he would surelie sell it, if he might meet with a convenient merchant that were able to give him monie enough for it." Then all things being readie, King Richard set forth, and, after great hindrance by tempests, and at the hands of the men of Cyprus, who warred against him and were overcome, he came to the citie of Acres, which then was besieged by the Christian armie. Such was the valiancie of King Richard shown in manfull constraining of the citie, that his praise was greatly bruted both amongst the Christians and also the Saracens. At last, on the twelfth date of Julie, in the yeare of grace 1192, the citie of Acres was surrendered into the Christian men's hands. These things being concluded, the French King Philip, upon envie and malice conceived against King Richard (although he pretended sickness for excuse) departed homewards. Now touching this departure, divers occasions are remembered by writers of the emulation and secret spite which he should bear towards King Richard. But, howsoever, it came to passe, partlie through envie (as hath beene thought) conceived at the great deeds of King Richard, whose mightie power and valiantnesse he could not well abide, and partlie for other respects him moving, he took the sea with three gallies of the Genevois, and returned into Italie, and so home into France, having promised first unto King Richard in the holie land, and after to pope Celestine at Rome, that he would not attempt any hurtfull enterprise against the English dominions, till King Richard should be returned out of the holie land. But this promise was not kept, for he sought to procure Earle John, King Richard's brother, to rebell against him, though he then sought it in vaine. Yet were matters nowise peacefull within the realme of England, and because of this, and likewise because the froward humours of the French so greatlie hindered him in warring against the Saracens, King Richard determined fullie to depart homewards, and at last there was a peace concluded with Saladin. But on his journie homewards the King had but sorie hap, for he made shipwracke on the coast of Istria, and then fell into captivitie; and this was the manner that it came to passe. _IV.--Of King Richard's Captivitie_ King Richard, doubting to fall into the hands of those who might bear him ill-will, made the best shift he could to passe through quietlie, yet were many of his servants made captive, and he himself came with but three men to Vienna. There causing his servants to provide meat for him more sumptuous and fine than was thought requisite for so meane a person as he counterfeited then, he was straightway remarked, and some gave knowledge to the Duke of Austrich named Leopold, who loved him not for some matter that had passed in the holie land. Moreover, his page, going about the towne to change gold, and buy vittels, bewraied him, having by chance the King's gloves under his girdle: whereupon, being examined, for fear of tortures he confessed the truth. The Duke sent men to apprehend him, but he, being warie that he was descried, got him to his weapon; but they alledging the Duke's commandement, he boldly answered, "that sith he must be taken, he being a King, would yeeld himselfe to none of the companie but to the Duke alone." The Duke hearing of this, speedilie came unto him, whom he meeting, delivered up his sword, and committed him unto his custodie. Then was he brought before the princes and lords of the empire, in whose presence the emperour charged him with diverse unlawfull doings. King Richard notwithstanding the vaine and frivolous objections laid to his charge, made his answers always so pithilie and directlie to all that could be laid against him, and excused himself e in everie point so thoroughlie, that the emperour much marvelled at his high wisdom and prudence, and not onelie greatlie commended him for the same, but from thenceforth used him more courteously. Yet did King Richard perceive that no excuses would serve, but that he must paie to his covetous host some great summe of monie for his hard entertainment. Therefore he sent the bishop of Salisburie into England to provide for the paiment of his ransome. Finallie the King, after he had beene prisoner one yeare, six weekes, and three daies, was set at libertie on Candle-mass day, and then with long and hastie journies, not keeping the high waies, he hasted forth towards England. It is reported that if he had lingered by the way, he had beene eftsoones apprehended. For the emperour being incensed against him by ambassadors that came from the French king, immediatlie after he was set forward, began to repent himselfe in that he had suffered him so soon to depart from him, and hereupon sent men after him with all speed to bring him backe if they could by any means overtake him, meaning as then to have kept him in perpetual prison. But these his knavish tricks being in the good providence of God defeated, King Richard at length in good safetie landed at Sandwich, and the morrow after came to Canterburie, where he was received with procession. From thence he came unto London, where he was received with great joy and gladnesse of the people, giving heartie thanks to almightie God for his safe return and deliverance. The same yeare that King Richard was taken by the Duke of Austrich, one night in the month of Januarie about the first watch of the night, the northwest side of the element appeared of such a ruddie colour as though it had burned, without any clouds or other darknesse to cover it, so that the stars showed through that redness and might be verie well discerned. Diverse bright strakes appeared to flash upwards now and then, dividing the rednesse, through the which the stars seemed to be of a bright sanguine colour. In Februarie next insuing, one night after midnight the like wonder was seene and shortlie after newes came that the king was taken in Almaigne. And the same daie and selfe houre that the king arrived at Sandwich, whitest the sunne shone verie bright and cleare, there appeared a most brightsome and unaccustomed clearnesse, not farre distant from the sunne, as it were to the length and breadth of a man's personage, having a red shining brightnesse withall, like to the rainbow, which strange sight when manie beheld, there were that prognosticated the king alreadie to be arrived. _V.--Of Good Queen Elisabeth, and How She Came into Her Kingdom_ After all the stormie, tempestuous, and blustering windie weather of Queene Marie was overblowne, the darksome clouds of discomfort dispersed, the palpable fogs and mists of most intollerable miserie consumed, and the dashing showers of persecution overpast, it pleased God to send England a calm and quiet season, a cleare and lovelie sunshine, and a world of blessings by good Queene Elisabeth, into whose gracious reign we are now to make an happie entrance as followeth. On her entering the citie of London, she was received of the people with prayers, wishes, welcomings, cries, and tender words, all which argued a wonderfull earnest love of most obedient subjects towards their sovereign. And on the other side, her grace, by holding up her hands, and merrie countenance to such as stood farre off, and most tender and gentle language to those that stood nigh unto her grace, did declare herselfe no lesse thankfullie to receive her people's good will, than they lovinglie offered it to her. And it was not onelie to those her subjects who were of noble birth that she showed herself thus verie gracious, but also to the poorest sort. How manie nose gaies did her grace receive at poore women's hands? How oftentimes staid she her chariot, when she saw anie simple bodie offer to speake to her grace? A branch of rosemarie given her grace with a supplication about Fleetbridge, was seene in her chariot till her grace came to Westminster, not without the marvellous wondering of such as knew the presenter, and noted the queene's most gracious receiving and keeping the same. Therefore may the poore and needie looke for great hope at her grace's hand, who hath shown so loving a carefulnesse for them. Moreover, because princes be set in their seat by God's appointing, and they must therefore first and chieflie tender the glorie of Him from whom their glorie issueth; it is to be noted in her grace that for so much as God hath so wonderfullie placed her in the seat of government of this realme, she in all her doings doth show herselfe most mindful of His goodness and mercie shewed unto her. And one notable signe thereof her grace gave at the verie time of her passage through London, for in the Tower, before she entered her chariot, she lifted up her eies to Heaven and saith as followeth: "O Lord Almightie and everlasting God, I give Thee most heartie thanks that Thou hast beene so mercifull unto me as to spare me to behold this joy full daie. And I acknowledge that Thou hast dealt as wonderfullie and as mercifullie with me as Thou diddest with Thy true and faithfull servant Daniell Thy prophet, whom Thou deliveredst out of the den from the crueltie of the greedie and raging lions; even so was I overwhelmed, and onlie by Thee delivered. To Thee, therefore, onlie be thankes, honor, and praise, for ever. Amen." On Sundaie, the five and twentieth daie of Januarie, her majestie was with great solemnitie crowned at Westminster, in the Abbey church there, by doctor Oglethorpe bishop of Carlisle. She dined in Westminster hall, which was richlie hung, and everything ordered in such royall manner, as to such a regall and most solemn feast appertained. In the meane time, whilst her grace sat at dinner, Sir Edward Dimmocke, knight, her champion by office, came riding into the hall in faire complete armour, mounted upon a beautifull courser, richlie trapped in cloth of gold, and in the midst of the hall cast downe his gauntlet, with offer to fight in her quarell with anie man that should denie her to be the righteous and lawfull queene of this realme. The queene, taking a cup of gold full of wine, dranke to him thereof, and sent it to him for his fee. Finallie, this feast being celebrated with all due and fitting royall ceremonies, tooke end with great joy and contentation to all the beholders. Yet, though there was thus an end of the ceremonies befitting the queene's coronation, her majesty was everywhere received with brave shows, and with pageants, all for the love and respect that her subjects bare her. Thus on Whitsundaie, in the first year of her reign, the citizens of London set forth a muster before the queene's majestie at Greenwich in the parke there, of the number of 1,400 men, whereof 800 were pikes, armed in fine corselets, 400 shot in shirts of mail, and 200 halberdiers armed in Almaine rivets; these were furnished forth by the crafts and companies of the citie. To everie hundred two wifflers were assigned, richlie appointed and apparelled for the purpose. There were also twelve wardens of the best companies mounted on horsebacke in coates of blacke velvet, to conduct them, with drums and fifes, and sixe ensigne all in lerkins of white sattin of Bridges, cut and lined with black sarsenet, and caps, hosen, and scarfs according. The sergeant-majors, captaine Constable, and captaine Sanders, brought them in order before the queene's presence, placing them in battell arraie, even as they should have fought; so the shew was verie faire, the emperour's and the French king's ammbassadors being present. Verilie the queene hath ever shown herself forward and most willing that her faithfull subjects should be readie and skilfull in war as in peace. Thus in the fourteenth yeare of her reign, by order of her council, the citizens of London, assembling in their several halles, the masters chose out the most likelie and active persons of their companies to be pikemen and shot. To these were appointed diverse valiant captaines, who to train them up in warlike feats, mustered them thrice everie weeke, sometimes in the artillerie yard, teaching the gunners to handle their pieces, sometimes at the Miles end, and in saint George's field, teaching them to skirmish. In the arts of peace likewise, she is greatlie pleased with them who are good craftsmen, and shews them favour. In government we have peace and securitie, and do not greatlie fear those who may stir up wicked rebellion within our land, or may come against us from beyond the sea. In brief, they of Norwich did say well, when the queene's majestie came thither, and in a pageant in her honour, one spake these words: "Dost them not see the joie of all this flocke? Vouchsafe to view their passing gladsome cheere, Be still (good queene) their refuge and their rocke, As they are thine to serve in love and feare; So fraud, nor force, nor forreine foe may stand Against the strength of thy most puissant hand." * * * * * EDWARD A. FREEMAN The Norman Conquest of England Edward Augustus Freeman was born at Harborne, Staffordshire, England, Aug. 2, 1823. His precocity as a child was remarkable; at seven he read English and Roman history, and at eleven he had acquired a knowledge of Greek and Latin, and had taught himself the rudiments of Hebrew. An increase in fortune in 1848 enabled him to settle down and devote himself to historical research, and from that time until his death on March 17, 1892, his life was one spell of literary strenuousness. His first published work, other than a share in two volumes of verse, was "A History of Architecture," which appeared in 1849. Freeman's reputation as historian rests principally on his monumental "History of the Norman Conquest." It was published in fifteen volumes between 1867 and 1876, and, in common with all his works, is distinguished by critical ability, exhaustiveness of research, and an extraordinary degree of insight. His historical scenes are remarkably clear and vivid, as though, according to one critic "he had actually lived in the times." _Preliminary Events_ The Norman Conquest is important, not as the beginning of English history, but as its chief turning point. Its whole importance is that which belongs to a turning point. This conquest is an event which stands by itself in the history of Europe. It took place at a transitional period in the world's development. A kingdom which had hitherto been only Teutonic, was brought within the sphere of the laws, manners, and speech of the Romance nations. At the very moment when Pope and Cæsar held each other in the death grasp, a church which had hitherto maintained a sort of insular and barbaric independence was brought into a far more intimate connection with the Roman See. The conquest of England by William wrought less immediate change than when the first English conquerors slew, expelled, or enslaved the whole nation of the vanquished Britons or than when Africa was subdued by Genseric. But it wrought a greater immediate change than the conquest of Sicily by Charles of Anjou. It brought with it not only a new dynasty, but a new nobility. It did not expel or transplant the English nation or any part of it; but it gradually deprived the leading men and families of England of their land and offices, and thrust them down into a secondary position under the alien intruders. It must not be forgotten that the old English constitution survived the Norman Conquest. What the constitution had been under the Saxon Eadgar, that it remained under William. The laws, with a few changes in detail, and also the language of the public documents, remained the same. The powers vested in King William and his Witan remained constitutionally the same as those which had been vested in King Eadgar and his Witan a hundred years before. Immense changes ensued in social condition and administration, and in the relation of the kingdom to foreign lands. There was also a vast increase of royal power, and new relations were introduced between the king and every class of his subjects; but formal constitutional changes there were none. I cannot too often repeat, for the saying is the very summing up of the whole history, that the Norman Conquest was not the wiping out of the constitution, the laws, the language, the national life of Englishmen. The English kingship gradually changed from the old Teutonic to the later mediæval type; but the change began before the Norman Conquest. It was hastened by that event; it was not completed till long after it, and the gradual transition, was brought to perfection by Henry II. Certain events indicate the remoter causes of the Norman Conquest. The accession of Eadward at once brings us among the events that led immediately to that conquest, or rather we may look on the accession of this Saxon king as the first stage of the conquest itself. Swend and Cnut, the Danes, had shown that it was possible for a foreign power to overcome England by force of arms. The misgovernment of the sons of Cnut hindered the formation of a lasting Danish dynasty in England. The throne of Cerdic was again filled by a son of Woden; but there can be no doubt that the shock given to the country by the Danish Conquest, especially the way in which the ancient nobility was cut off in the long struggle with Swend and Cnut, directly opened the way for the coming of the Norman. Eadward did his best, wittingly or unwillingly, to make his path still easier. This he did by accustoming Englishmen to the sight of strangers--not national kinsmen like Cnut's Danes, but Frenchmen, men of utterly alien speech and manners--enjoying every available place of honour or profit in the country. The great national reaction under Godwine and Harold made England once more England for a few years. But this change, happy as it was, could not altogether do away with the effects of the French predilections of Eadward. With Eadward, then, the Norman Conquest really begins. The men of the generation before the Conquest, the men whose eyes were not to behold the event itself, but who were to do all that they could do to advance or retard it, are now in the full maturity of life, in the full possession of power. Eadward is on the throne of England; Godwine, Leofric, and Siward divide among them the administration of the realm. The next generation, the warriors of Stamfordbridge and Senlac, of York and Ely, are fast growing into maturity. Harold Hadrada is already pursuing his wild career of night-errantry in distant lands, and is astonishing the world by his exploits in Russia and Sicily, at Constantinople and at Jerusalem. The younger warriors of the Conquest, Eadwine and Morcere and Waltheof and Hereward, were probably born, but they must still have been in their cradles or in their mothers' arms. But, among the leaders of Church and State, Ealdred, who lived to place the crown on the head both of Harold and of William, is already a great prelate, abbot of the great house of Tewkesbury, soon to succeed Lyfing in the chair of Worcester. Tostig must have been on the verge of manhood; Swegen and Harold were already men, bold and vigorous, ready to march at their father's bidding, and before long to affect the destiny of their country for evil and for good. Beyond the sea, William, still a boy in years but a man in conduct and counsel, is holding his own among the storms of a troubled minority, and learning those arts of the statesman and the warrior which fitted him to become the wisest ruler of Normandy, the last and greatest conqueror of England. The actors in the great drama are ready for their parts; the ground is gradually preparing for the scene of their performance. The great struggle of nations and tongues and principles in which each of them had his share, the struggle in which William of Normandy and Harold of England stand forth as worthy rivals of the noblest of prizes, will form the subject of the next, the chief and central portion of my history. The struggle between Normans and Englishmen began with the accession of Eadward in 1042, although the actual subjugation of England by force of arms was still twenty-four years distant. The thought of another Danish king was now hateful. "All folk chose Eadward to King." As the son of Æthelred and Emma, the brother of the murdered and half-canonised Alfred, he had long been-familiar to English imaginations. Eadward, and Eadward alone, stood forth as the heir of English royalty, the representative of English nationality. In his behalf the popular voice spoke out at once, and unmistakably. His popular election took place in June, immediately on the death of Harthacnut, and even before his burial. Eadward, then, was king, and he reigned as every English king before him had reigned, by that union of popular election and royal descent which formed the essence of all ancient Teutonic kingship. He was crowned at Winchester, April 3, 1043. But by virtue of his peculiar character, his natural place was not on the throne of England, but at the head of a Norman abbey, for all his best qualities were those of a monk. Like him father, he was constantly under the dominion of favourites. It was to the evil choice of his favourites during the early part of his reign that most of the misfortunes of his time were owing, and that a still more direct path was opened for the ambition of his Norman kinsman. In the latter part of his reign, either by happy accident or returning good sense, led him to a better choice. Without a guide he could not reign, but the good fortune of his later years gave him the wisest and noblest of all guides. We have now reached the first appearance of the illustrious man round whom the main interest of this history will henceforth centre. The second son of Godwine lived to be the last of our kings, the hero and martyr of our native freedom. The few recorded actions of Harold, Earl of the East Angles, could hardly have enabled me to look forward to the glorious career of Harold, Earl of the West Saxons, King of the English. Tall in stature, beautiful in countenance, of a bodily strength whose memory still lives in the rude pictorial art of his time, he was foremost alike in the active courage and in the passive endurance of the warrior. It is plain that in him, no less than in his more successful, and, therefore, more famous, rival, we have to admire not only the mere animal courage, but that true skill of the leader of armies which would have placed both Harold and William high among the captains of any age. Great as Harold was in war, his character as a civil ruler is still more remarkable, still more worthy of admiration. The most prominent feature in his character is his singular gentleness and mercy. Never, either in warfare or in civil strife, do we find Harold bearing hardly upon an enemy. From the time of his advancement to the practical government of the kingdom there is not a single harsh or cruel action with which he can be charged. Such was the man who, seemingly in the fourth year of Eadward, in the twenty-fourth of his own age, was invested with the rule of one of the great divisions of England, who, seven years later, became the virtual ruler of the kingdom; who, at last, twenty-one years from his first elevation, received, alone among English kings, the crown of England as the free gift of her people, and, alone among English kings, died axe in hand on her soil in the defence of England against foreign invaders. William of Normandy bears a name which must for ever stand forth among the foremost of mankind. No man that ever trod this earth was endowed with greater natural gifts; to no man was it ever granted to accomplish greater things. No man ever did his work more effectually at the moment; no man ever left his work behind him as more truly an abiding possession for all time. In his character one feature stands out pre-eminently above all others. Throughout his career we admire in him the embodiment in the highest degree that human nature will allow of the fixed purpose and the unbending will. We are too apt to look upon William as simply the conqueror of England. But so to do is to look at him only in his most splendid, but at the same time his least honourable, aspect. William learned to become the conqueror of England only by first becoming the conqueror of Normandy and the conqueror of France. He found means to conquer Normandy by the help of France, and to conquer France by the help of Normandy. He came to his duchy under every disadvantage. At once bastard and minor, with competitors for his coronet arising at every moment, he was throughout the whole of his early life beset by troubles, none of which were of his own making, and he came honourably out of all. In 1052, William paid his memorable visit to England. At that time both Normandy and England were at rest, enjoying peace. Visits of mere friendship and courtesy among sovereign princes were rare in those days. Such visits as those which William and Eustace of Boulogne paid at this time to this country were altogether novelties, and unlikely to be acceptable to the English mind. We may be sure that every patriotic Englishman looked with an evil eye on any French-speaking prince who made his way to the English court. William came with a great following; he tarried awhile in his cousin's company; he went away loaded with gifts and honours. And he can hardly doubt that he went away encouraged by some kind of promise of succeeding to the kingdom which he now visited as a stranger. Direct heirs were lacking to the royal house, and William was Eadward's kinsman. The moment was in every way favourable for suggesting to William on the one hand, to Eadward on the other, the idea of an arrangement by which William should succeed to the English crown on Eadward's death. The Norman writers are full of Eadward's promise to William, and also of some kind of oath that Harold swore to him. Had either the promise or the oath been a pure Norman invention, William could never have paraded both in the way that he did in the eyes of Europe. I admit, then, some promise of Eadward, some oath of Harold. But when the time came for Eadward the Confessor to make his final recommendation of a successor, he certainly changed his purpose; for his last will, so far as such an expression can be used, was undoubtedly in favour of Harold. There is not the slightest sign of any intention on the part of Eadward during his later years to nominate William to the Witan as future king. The two streams of English and Norman history were joined together in the year when the two sovereigns met for the only time in their reigns. Those streams again diverged. England shook off the Norman influence to all outward appearance, and became once more the England of Æthelstan and Eadgar. But the effects of Eadgar's Norman tendencies were by no means wholly wiped away. Normans still remained in the land, and circumstances constituted secondary causes of the expedition of William. It was in the year 1051 that the influence of strangers reached its height. During the first nine years of Eadward's reign we find no signs of any open warfare between the national and the Normanising parties. The course of events shows that Godwine's power was being practically undermined, but the great earl was still Jutwardly in the enjoyment of royal favour, and his fast possessions were still being added to by royal grants. But soon England began to feel how great is the evil when a king and those immediately around him are estranged from the mass of his people in feeling. To the French favourites who gradually crowded the court of Eadward the name, the speech, and the laws of England were things on which their ignorant pride looked with utter contempt. Count Eustace of Boulogne, now brother-in-law of the king of the English, presently came, like the rest of the world, to the English Court. The king was spending the autumn at Gloucester. Thither came Count Eustace, and, after his satisfactory interview with the king, he turned his face homewards. When a few miles from Dover he felt himself, in a region specially devoted to Godwine, to be still more thoroughly in an enemy's country than in other parts of England, and he and all his company took the precaution of putting on their coats of mail. The proud Frenchmen expected to find free quarters at Dover, and they attempted to lodge themselves at their pleasure in the houses of the burghers. One Englishman resisted, and was struck dead on the spot. The count's party then rode through the town, cutting and slaying at pleasure. In a skirmish which quickly ensued twenty Englishmen and nineteen Frenchmen were slain. Count Eustace and the remnant of the party hastened back to Gloucester, and told the story after their own fashion. On the mere accusation of a stranger, the English king condemned his own subjects without a hearing. He sent for Godwine, as earl of the district in which lay the offending town, and commanded him to inflict chastisement on Dover. The English champion was then in the midst of a domestic rejoicing. He had, like the king, been strengthening himself by a foreign alliance, and had just connected his house with that of a foreign prince. Tostig, the third son of Godwine, had just married Judith, the daughter of Baldwin of Flanders. Godwine, however, bidden without the least legal proof of offence, to visit with all the horrors of fire and sword, was not long in choosing his course. Official duty and public policy, no less than abstract justice and humanity, dictated a distinct refusal. Now or never a stand was to be made against strangers, and the earl demanded a legal trial for the burghers of Dover. But there were influences about Eadward which cut off all hope of a peaceful settlement of the matter. Eustace probably still lingered about the king, and there was another voice ever at the royal ear, ever ready to poison the royal mind against the people of England and their leader. It was the voice of a foreign monk, Archbishop Robert. Godwine and three other earls summoned their followers and demanded the surrender of Eustace, but the frightened king sent for the Northern Earls Siward, Leofric, and Ralph, bidding them bring a force strong enough to keep Godwine in check. Thus the northern and southern sections were arrayed against each other. There were, however, on the king's side, men who were not willing to see the country involved in civil war. Leofric, the good Earl of Mercia, stood forth as the champion of compromise and peace, and it was agreed that hostilities should be avoided and that the witenagemot should assemble at Michaelmas in London. Of this truce King Eadward and his foreign advisers took advantage to collect an army, at the head of which they appeared in London. Godwine and his son Harold were summoned to the gemot, but refused to appear without a security for a safe conduct. The hostages and safe-conduct were refused. The refusal was announced by Bishop Stigand to the earl as he sat at his evening meal. The bishop wept; the earl sprang to his feet, overthrew the table, leaped on his horse, and, with his sons, rode for his life all that night. In the morning the king held his witenagemot, and by a vote of the king and his whole army, Godwine and his sons were declared outlaws, but five days were allowed them to get out of the land. Godwine, Swegen, Tostig, and Gyrth, together with Gytha and Judith, the newly-married wife of Tostig, set sail for Bruges in a ship laden with as much treasure as it would hold. They reached the court of Flanders in safety, were honourably received by the count, and passed the whole winter with him. Two of Godwine's sons, however, sought another refuge. Harold and his younger brother Leofwine determined on resistance, and resolved to seek shelter among the Danish settlers in Ireland, where they were cordially received by King Diarmid. For the moment the overthrow of the patriotic leaders in England was complete, and the dominion of the foreigners over the feeble mind of the king was complete. It was while Godwine dwelt as an exile at Bruges, and Harold was planning schemes of vengeance in the friendly court of Dublin, that William the Bastard, afterwards known as William the Conqueror, paid his memorable visit to England, that visit which has already been referred to as a stage, and a most important one, among the immediate causes of the Norman Conquest. Stirring events followed in quick succession. General regret was felt among all patriotic Englishmen at the absence of Godwine. The common voice of England soon began to call for the return of the banished earl, who was looked to by all men as the father of his country. England now knew that in his fall a fatal blow had been dealt to her own welfare and freedom. And Godwine, after sending many petitions to the king, vainly petitioning for a reconciliation, determined to return by force, satisfied that the great majority of Englishmen would be less likely to resist him than to join his banners. Harold sailed from Ireland to meet his father by way of the English Channel. Godwine sailed up the Thames, and London declared for him. Panic reigned among the favourites of King Eadward. The foreigners took to flight, among the fugitives being Archbishop Robert and Bishop Ulf. The gemot met and decreed the restoration of the earl and the outlawry of many Normans. The king yielded, and accorded to Godwine the kiss of peace, and a revolution was accomplished of which England may well be proud. But a tragedy soon followed, in the death of the most renowned Englishman of that generation. During a meal at the Easter festival Godwine fell from his seat, and died after lying insensible for three days. Great was the grief of the nation. Harold, in the years that followed, became so increasingly popular that he was virtually chief ruler of England, even before the death of Eadward, which happened on January 5, 1066. His burial was followed by the coronation of Harold. But the moment of struggle was now come. The English throne had become vacant, and the Norman duke knew how to represent himself as its lawful heir, and to brand the king of the nation's choice as an usurper. The days of debate were past, and the sword alone could decide between England and her enemy. William found one Englishman willing to help him in all his schemes, in the person of Tostig, Harold's brother, who had been outlawed at the demand of the nation, owing to his unfitness to rule his province as Earl of Northumberland. He had sunk from bad to worse. Harold had done all he could for his fallen brother, but to restore him was impossible. Tostig was at the Norman court, urging William to the invasion of England. At his own risk, he was allowed to make an incursion on the English coast. Entering the Humber, he burned several towns and slew many men. But after these ravages Tostig repaired to ask help of Harold Hardrada, whom he induced to prepare a great expedition. Harold Hardrada and Tostig landed and marched towards York. A battle was fought between the Mercians and Norwegians at Fulford, in which the former were worsted, but Harold was marching northward. In the fearful battle of Stamford Bridge both Harold Hardrada and Tostig were slain, and the Viking host was shattered. The victorious English king was banqueting in celebration of the great victory, when a messenger appeared who had come at fleetest pace from the distant coast of Sussex. One blow had been warded off, but another still more terrible had fallen. Three days after the fight at Stamford Bridge, William, Duke of the Normans, once the peaceful guest of Edward, had again, but in quite another guise, made good his landing on the shores of England. It was in August 1066 that the Norman fleet had set sail on its great enterprise. For several weeks a south wind had been waited for at the mouth of the River Dive, prayers and sacred rites of every kind being employed to move Heaven to send the propitious breeze. On September 28 the landing was effected at Pevensey, the ancient Anderida. There were neither, ships nor men to resist the landing. The first armed man who set foot on English ground was Duke William himself, whose foot slipped, so that he fell with both hands on the ground. A loud cry of grief was raised at the evil omen. But the ready wit of William failed him not. "By the splendour of God," he cried, "I have taken seizin of my kingdom; the earth of England is in my hands." The whole army landed in order, but only one day was spent at Pevensey. On the next day the army marched on eastward and came to Hastings, which was fixed on as the centre of the operations of the whole campaign. It was a hard lot for the English king to be compelled to hasten southward to dislodge the new enemy, after scarcely a moment's rest from the toils and glories of Stamford Bridge. But the heart of Harold failed him not, and the heart of England beat in unison with the heart of her king. As soon as the news came, King Harold held a council of the leaders of Stamford Bridge, or perhaps an armed gemot. He told them of the landing of the enemy; he set before them the horrors which would come upon the land if the invader succeeded in his enterprise. A loud shout of assent rose from the whole assembly. Every man pledged his faith rather to die in arms than to acknowledge any king but Harold. The king thanked his loyal followers, and at once ordered an immediate march to the south, an immediate muster of the forces of his kingdom. London was the trysting-place. He himself pressed on at once with his immediate following. And throughout the land awoke a spirit in every English heart which has never died out to this day. The men from various shires flocked eagerly to the standard of their glorious king. Harold seems to have reached London on October 5, about ten days after the fight at Stamford Bridge, and a week after the Norman landing at Pevensey. Though his royal home was now at Westminster, he went, in order to seek divine help and succour, to pray at Waltham, the home of his earlier days, devoting one day to a pilgrimage to the Holy Cross which gave England her war-cry. Harold and William were now both eager for the battle. The king set out from London on October 12. His consummate generalship is nowhere more plainly shown than in this memorable campaign. He formed his own plan, and he carried it out. He determined to give battle, but only on his own ground, and after his own fashion. The nature of the post shows that his real plan was to occupy a position where the Normans would have to attack him at a great disadvantage. William constrained Harold to fight, but Harold, in his turn, constrained William to fight on ground of Harold's own choosing. The latter halted at a point distant about seven miles from the headquarters of the invaders, and pitched his camp upon the ever-memorable heights of Senlac. It was his policy not to attack. He occupied and fortified a post of great natural strength, which he speedily made into what is distinctly spoken of as a castle. The hill of Senlac, now occupied by the abbey and town of Battle, commemorates in its later name the great event of which it was the scene. The morning of the decisive day, Saturday, October 14, at last had come. The duke of the Normans heard mass, and received the communion in both kinds, and drew forth his troops for their march against the English post. Then in full armour, and seated on his noble Spanish war-horse, William led his host forth in three divisions. The Normans from the hill of Telham first caught sight of the English encamped on the opposite height of Senlac. First in each of the three Norman divisions marched the archers, slingers, and cross-bow men, then the more heavily-armed infantry, lastly the horsemen. The reason of this arrangement is clear. The light-armed were to do what they could with their missiles to annoy the English; the heavy infantry were to strive to break down the palisades of the English camp, and so to make ready the way for the charge of the horse. Like the Normans, the English had risen early. The king, after exhorting his troops to stand firm, rode to the royal post; he there dismounted, took his place on foot, and prayed to God for help. The battle began at nine in the morning--one of the sacred hours of the church. The trumpet sounded, and a flight of arrows from all three Norman divisions--right, centre, and left,--was the prelude to the onslaught of the heavy-armed foot. The real struggle now began. The French infantry had to toil up the hill, and to break down the palisade, while a shower of stones and javelins disordered their approach, and while club, sword and axe greeted all who came within the reach of hand-strokes. Both sides fought with unyielding valour. The war-cries rose on either side. The Normans shouted "God help us!" the English called on the "Holy Cross." The Norman infantry had soon done its best, but that best had been in vain. The choicest chivalry of Europe now pressed on to the attack. The knights of Normandy and of all lands from which men had flocked to William's standard, now pressed on, striving to make what impression they could with the whole strength of themselves and their horses on the impenetrable fortress of timber, shields, and living warriors. But all was in vain. The English had thus far stood their ground well and wisely, and the tactics of Harold had so far completely answered. Not only had every attack failed, but the great mass of the French army altogether lost heart. The Bretons and the other auxiliaries on the left were the first to give way. Horse and foot alike, they turned and fled. The whole of William's left wing was thrown into utter confusion. The strong heart of William, however, failed him not, and by his single prowess and presence of mind he recalled the fleeing troops. Order was soon restored, and the Norman host pressed on to a second and more terrible attack. The duke himself, his relics round his neck, sought out Harold. A few moments more, and the two might have come face to face, but Gyrth, the noble brother of the English king, hurled a spear at William. The missile narrowly missed the duke, but slew the Spanish steed, the first of three that died under him that day. But William could not fight on foot as well as on horseback. He rose to his feet, pressed straight to seek the man who had so nearly slain him, and the earl fell, crushed beneath the blow of William's mace. Nor did he fall alone, for his brother, Earl Leofwine, was smitten to the earth by an unknown assailant. The second attack, however, failed, for the English lines were as unyielding as ever. Direct attack was unavailing. In the Norman character fox and lion were equally blended, as William now showed. He ventured on the daring stratagem of ordering a pretended flight, and the unwary English rushed down the slope, pursuing the fugitive with shouts of delight. The error was fatal to England. The tide was turned; the duke's object was now gained; and the main end of Harold's skilful tactics was frustrated. The English were no longer entrenched, and the battle fell into a series of single combats. As twilight was coming on an arrow, falling like a bolt from heaven, pierced Harold's right eye, and he sank in agony at the foot of the standard. Round that standard the fight still raged, till the highest nobility, the most valiant soldiery of England were slaughtered to a man. Had Harold lived, had another like him been ready to take his place, we may well doubt whether, even after Senlac, England would have been conquered at all. As it was, from this moment her complete conquest was only a matter of time. From that day forward the Normans began to work the will of God upon the folk of England, till there were left in England no chiefs of the land of English blood, till all were brought down to bondage and sorrow, till it was a shame to be called an Englishman, and the men of England were no more a people. * * * * * JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE History of England James Anthony Froude was born at Darlington, England, April 23, 1818, and died on Oct. 20, 1894. He was educated at Westminster, and Oriel College, Oxford. Taking Holy Orders, he was, for a time, deeply influenced by Newman and the Tractarian movement, but soon underwent the radical revolution of thought revealed by his first treatise, the "Nemesis of Faith," which appeared in 1849, and created a sensation. Its tendency to skepticism cost him his fellowship, but its profound pathos, its accent of tenderness, and its fervour excited wide admiration. Permanent fame was secured by the appearance, in 1856, of the first two instalments of his magnificent work, "The History of England, from the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the Armada," the last volume appearing in 1870. This treatise on the middle Tudor period is one of the most fascinating historical treatises in the whole range of literature. It is written in a vivid and graphic prose, and with rare command of the art of picturesque description. Froude never accepted the doctrine that history should be treated as a science; rather he claimed that the historian should concern himself with the dramatic aspect of the period about which he writes. The student may disagree with many of Froude's points of view and portraitures, yet his men and women breathe with the life he endows them, and their motives are actuated by the forces he sets in motion. Of his voluminous works perhaps the most notable, with the exception of the "History," are his "History of Ireland in the Eighteenth Century," 1871-74, and his "Short Studies on Great Subjects," the latter aptly exhibiting Froude's gifts of masterful prose and glittering paradox. _I.--The Condition of England_ In periods like the present, when knowledge is every day extending, and the habits and thoughts of mankind are perpetually changing under the influence of new discoveries, it is no easy matter to throw ourselves back into a time in which for centuries the European world grew upon a single type, in which the forms of the father's thoughts were the forms of the son's, and the late descendant was occupied in treading into paths the footprints of his ancestors. So absolutely has change become the law of our present condition, that to cease to change is to lose place in the great race. Looking back over history, we see times of change and progress alternating with other times when life and thought have settled into permanent forms. Such was the condition of the Greeks through many ages before the Persian wars, and such, again, became the condition of Europe when the Northern nations grafted religion and the laws of the Western empire on their own hardy natures. A condition of things differing alike both inwardly and outwardly from that into which a happier fortune has introduced ourselves, is necessarily obscure to us. In the alteration of our own characters we have lost the key which would interpret the characters of our fathers. But some broad conclusions as to what they were are, however, at least possible to us. A rough census taken at the time of the Armada shows that it was something under five millions. The feudal system, though practically modified, was still the organising principle of the nation, and the owner of land was bound to military service at home whenever occasion required. All land was held upon a strictly military principle. The state of the working classes can best be determined by a comparison of their wages with the price of food. Both were as far as possible regulated by Act of Parliament. Wheat in the fourteenth century averaged 10d. the bushel; beef and pork were 1/2d. a pound; mutton was 3/4d. The best pig or goose could be bought for 4d.; a good capon for 3d.; a chicken for 1d.; a hen for 2d. Strong-beer, which now costs 1s. 6d. a gallon, was then a 1d. a gallon, and table beer was less than 1/2d. A penny at the time of which we write must have been nearly equal in the reign of Henry VIII. to the present shilling. For a penny the labourer could buy as much bread, beef, beer, and wine as the labourer of to-day can for a shilling. Turning then to the question of wages, by the 3d of the 6th of Henry VIII., it was enacted that the master, carpenters, masons, bricklayers, tilers, plumbers, glaziers, joiners, and others, employers of skilled workmen should give to each of their journeymen, if no meat and drink was allowed, sixpence a day for the half year, fivepence a day for the other half; or fivepence-half penny for the yearly average. The common labourers were to receive fourpence a day for the half year; for the remaining half, threepence. The day labourer received what was equivalent to something near twenty shillings a week, the wages at present paid in English colonies; and this is far from being a full account of his advantages. The agricultural labourer held land in connection with his house, while in most parishes there were large ranges of common and unenclosed forest land, which furnished fuel to him gratis, where pigs might range, and ducks and geese, and where, if he could afford a cow, he was in no danger of being unable to feed it; and so important was this privilege considered, that when the commons began to be largely enclosed, Parliament insisted that the working man should not be without some piece of ground on which he could employ his own and his family's industry. By the 7th of the 31st of Elizabeth it was ordered that no cottage should be built for residence without four acres of land at lowest being attached to it for the sole use of the occupants of such cottage. The incomes of the great nobles cannot be determined for they varied probably as much as they do now. Under Henry IV. the average income of an earl was estimated at £2,000 a year. Under Henry VIII. the great Duke of Buckingham, the wealthiest English peer, had £6,000. And the income of the Archbishop of Canterbury was rated at the same amount. But the establishments of such men were enormous. Their retinues in time of peace consisted of several hundred persons, and in time of war a large share of the expenses was paid often out of private purses. Passing down to the body of the people, we find that £20 a year and heavy duties to do for it, represented the condition of the squire of the parish. By the 2nd of Henry V. "the wages" of a parish priest were limited to £5 6s. 8d., except in cases where there was a special license from the bishop, when they might be raised as high as £6. Both squire and priest had sufficient for comfort. Neither was able to establish any steep difference between himself and the commons among whom he lived, so far as concerned outward advantages. The habits of all classes were free, open, and liberal. In frank style the people lived in "merry England," displaying the "glory of hospitality," England's pre-eminent boast, by the rules according to which all tables were open to all comers without reserve. To every man, according to his degree, who chose to ask for it, there was free fare and free lodging. The people hated three things with all their hearts--idleness, want, and cowardice. A change, however, was coming upon the world, the meaning and direction of which even still is hidden from us, a change from era to era. Chivalry was dying; the abbey and castle were soon together to crumble into ruins; and all the forms, desires, beliefs, and convictions of the old world were passing away never to return. A new continent had arisen beyond the western sea. The floor of heaven, inlaid with stars, had sunk back into an infinite abyss of immeasurable space; and the firm earth itself, unfixed from its foundations, was seen to be but a small atom in the awful vastness of the universe. In the fabric of habit which they had so laboriously built for themselves mankind were to remain no longer. _II.--The Fall of Wolsey's Policy_ Times were changed in England since the second Henry walked barefoot through the streets of Canterbury, and knelt while the monks flogged him on the pavement in the Chapter House, doing penance for Becket's murder. The clergy had won the battle in the twelfth century because they deserved it. They were not free from fault and weakness, but they felt the meaning of their profession. Their hearts were in their vows, their authority was exercised more justly, more nobly, than the authority of the crown; and therefore, with inevitable justice, the crown was compelled to stoop before them. The victory was great, but, like many victories, it was fatal to the conquerors. It filled them with the vanity of power; they forgot their duties in their privileges, and when, a century later, the conflict recommenced, the altering issue proved the altering nature of the conditions under which it was fought. The nation was ready for sweeping remedies. The people felt little loyalty to the pope. The clergy pursued their course to its end. They sank steadily into that condition which is inevitable from the constitution of human nature, among men without faith, wealthy, powerful, and luxuriously fed, yet condemned to celibacy and cut off from the common duties and common pleasures of ordinary life. Many priests spent their time in hawking or hunting, in lounging at taverns, in the dissolute enjoyment of the world. If, however, there were no longer saints among the clergy, there could still arise among them a remarkable man. In Cardinal Wolsey the king found an adviser who was essentially a transition minister, holding a middle place between an English statesman and a Catholic of the old order. Under Wolsey's influence, Henry made war with Louis of France in the pope's quarrel, entered the polemic lists with Luther, and persecuted the English Protestants. Yet Wolsey could not blind himself to the true condition of the church, before which lay the alternative of ruin or amendment. Therefore he familiarised Henry with sense that a reformation was inevitable. Dreaming that it could be effected from within, by the church itself inspired with a wiser spirit, he himself fell the first victim of a convulsion which he had assisted to create, and which he attempted too late to stay. Wolsey talked of reformation, but delayed its coming. The monasteries grew worse and worse. Favoured parish clergy held as many as eight benefices. Bishops accumulated sees, and, unable to attend to all, attended to none. Wolsey himself, the church reformer (so little did he really know what a reformation means), was at once Archbishop of York, Bishop of Winchester and of Durham, and Abbot of St. Albans. Under such circumstances, we need not be surprised to find the clergy sunk low in the respect of the English people. Fish's famous pamphlet shows the spirit that was seething. He spoke of what he had seen and knew. The monks, he tells the king, "be they that have made a hundred thousand idle dissolute women in your realm." But Wolsey could interfere with neither bishops nor monks without a special dispensation from the pope. A new trouble arose from the nation in the desire of Henry to divorce Catherine of Aragon, who had been his deceased brother's wife, was six years older than himself, and was an obstacle to the establishment of the kingdom. Her sons were dead, and she was beyond the period when more children could be expected. Though descent in the female line was not formally denied, no queen regent had ever, in fact, sat upon the throne; nor was the claim distinctly admitted, or the claim of the House of York would have been unquestionable. It was, therefore, with no little anxiety that the council of Henry VIII. perceived his male children, on whom their hopes were centred, either born dead, or dying one after another within a few days of their birth. The line of the Princess Mary was precarious, for her health was weak from her childhood. If she lived, her accession would be a temptation to insurrection; if she did not live, and the king had no other children, a civil war was inevitable. The next heir in blood was James of Scotland, and gravely as statesmen desired the union of the two countries, in the existing mood of the people, the very stones in London streets, it was said, would rise up against a king of Scotland who entered England as sovereign. So far were Henry and Catherine alike that both had imperious tempers, and both were indomitably obstinate; but Henry was hot and impetuous, Catherine cold and self-contained. She had been the wife of Prince Arthur, eldest son of Henry VII., but the death of that prince occurred only five months after the marriage. The uncertainty of the laws of marriage, and the innumerable refinements of the Roman canon law, affected the legitimacy of the children and raised scruples of conscience in the mind of the king. The loss of his children must have appeared as a judicial sentence on a violation of the Divine law. The divorce presented itself to him as a moral obligation, when national advantage combined with superstition to encourage what he secretly desired. Wolsey, after thirty years' experience of public life, was as sanguine as a boy. Armed with this little lever of divorce, he saw himself in imagination the rebuilder of the Catholic faith and the deliverer of Europe from ecclesiastical revolt and from innovations of faith. The mass of the people hated Protestantism as he, a true friend of the Catholic cult, sincerely detested the reformation of Luther. He believed that the old life-tree of Catholicism, which in fact was but cumbering the ground, might bloom again in its old beauty. But a truer political prophet than Wolsey would have been found in the most ignorant of those poor men who were risking death and torture in disseminating the pernicious volumes of the English Testament. Catherine being a Spanish princess, Henry, in 1527, formed a league with Francis I., with the object of breaking the Spanish alliance. The pope was requested to make use of his dispensing power to enable the King of England to marry a wife who could bear him children. Deeply as we deplore the outrage inflicted on Catherine, and the scandal and suffering occasioned by the dispute, it was in the highest degree fortunate that at the crisis of public dissatisfaction in England with the condition of the church, a cause should have arisen which tested the whole question of church authority in its highest form. It was no accident which connected a suit for divorce with the reformation of religion. _Anne Boleyn_ The Spanish emperor, Charles V., gave Catherine his unwavering support, and refused to allow the pope to pass a judicial sentence of divorce. Catherine refused to yield. Another person now comes into conspicuous view. It has been with Anne Boleyn as with Catherine of Aragon--both are regarded as the victims of a tyranny which Catholics and Protestants unite to remember with horror, and each has taken the place of a martyred saint in the hagiology of the respective creeds. Anne Boleyn was second daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a gentleman of noble family. She was educated in Paris, and in 1525 came back to England to be maid of honour to Queen Catherine, and to be distinguished at the court by her talents, accomplishments, and beauty. The fortunes of Anne Boleyn were unhappily linked with those of men to whom the greatest work ever yet accomplished in this country was committed. In the memorable year 1529, after the meeting of parliament, events moved apace. In six weeks, for so long only the session lasted, the astonished church authorities saw bill after bill hurried up before the lords, by which successively the pleasant fountains of their incomes would be dried up to flow no longer. The Great Reformation had commenced in earnest. The carelessness of the bishops in the discharge of their most immediate duties obliged the legislature to trespass in the provinces most purely spiritual, and to undertake the discipline of the clergy. Bill after bill struck hard and home on the privileges of the recreant clergy. The aged Bishop of Rochester complained to the lords that in the lower house the cry was nothing but "Down with the church." Yet, so frightful were the abuses that called for radical reform, that even persons who most disapprove of the reformation will not at the present time wonder at their enactment, or disapprove of their severity. The king treated the bishops, when they remonstrated, with the most contemptuous disrespect. Archbishop Cranmer now adopted a singular expedient. He advised Henry to invite expressions from all the chief learned authorities throughout Europe as to the right of the pope to grant him a dispensation of dissolution of his marriage. The English universities, to escape imputations of treasons and to avoid exciting Henry's wrath, gave replies such as would please him, that of Oxford being, however, the more decided of the two. Most of the continental authorities declined to pronounce any dictum as to the powers of the pope. _The Fall of the Great Chancellor_ The fall of Wolsey was at hand. His enemies accused him of treason to the constitution by violating a law of the realm. He had acted as papal legate within the realm. The parliaments of Edward I., Edward III., Richard II., and Henry IV. had by a series of statutes pronounced illegal all presentations by the pope to any office or dignity in the Anglican Church, under a penalty of premunire. Henry did not feel himself called on to shield his great minister, although the guilt extended to all who had recognised Wolsey in the capacity of papal legate. Indeed, it extended to the archbishops, bishops, the privy council, the two houses of parliament, and indirectly to the nation itself. The higher clergy had been encouraged by Wolsey's position to commit those acts of despotism which had created so deep animosity among the people. The overflow of England's last ecclesiastical minister was to teach them that the privileges they had abused were at an end. In February, 1531, Henry assumed the title which was to occasion such momentous consequences, of "Protector and only Supreme Head of the Church and Clergy of England." The clergy were compelled to assent. Further serious steps marked the great breach with Rome. The annates, or first fruits, were abolished. Ever since the crusades a practice had existed in all the churches of Europe that bishops and archbishops, on presentation to their sees, should transmit to the pope one year's income. This impressive impost was not abrogated. It was a sign of the parting of the ways. Henry laid his conduct open to the world, declaring truly what he desired, and seeking it by open means. He was determined to proceed with the divorce, and also to continue the reformation of the English church. And he was in no small measure aided in the former resolve by the recommendation of Francis, for the French king advised him to act on the general opinion of Europe that his marriage with Catherine, as widow of his elder brother Arthur, was null, and at once made Anne Boleyn his wife. This counsel was administered at an interview between the two kings at Boulogne, in October, 1532. The pope had trifled for six years with the momentous question, and Henry was growing old. At the outset of the discussion the pope had said: "Marry freely; fear nothing, and all shall be arranged as you desire." But the pontiff, reduced to a dilemma by various causes, had fallen back on his Italian cunning, and had changed his attitude, listening to the appeals of Catherine and her powerful friends. And now he threatened Henry with excommunication. Henry entered privately into matrimonial relations with Anne in November, 1532, and the marriage was solemnly celebrated, with a gorgeous pageant, at Westminster Abbey in the following January. On July 24 the people gathering to church in every parish read, nailed to the church doors, a paper signed Henry R., setting forth that Lady Catherine of Spain, heretofore called Queen of England, was not to be called by that title any more, but was to be called princess dowager, and so to be held and esteemed. The triumph of Anne was to last but three short years. _Protestantism_ Wycliffe's labour had left only the Bible as the seed of a future life, and no trace remained in the sixteenth century of the Lollardry of the fourteenth. But now Protestantism recommenced its enterprise in the growing desire for a nobler, holier insight into the will of God. In the year 1525 was enrolled in London a society calling itself "The Association of Christian Brothers." Its paid agents went up and down the land carrying tracts and Testaments with them, and enrolling in the order all who dared risk their lives in such a cause. The Protestants thus isolated were waiting for direction, and men in such a temper are seldom left to wait in vain. Luther had kindled the spark, which was to become a conflagration in Germany, at Wittemberg, on October 31, 1517, by his denunciation of indulgences. His words found an echo, and flew from lip to lip all through Western Europe. Tyndal, an Oxford student, went to Germany, saw Luther, and under his direction translated into English the Gospels and Epistles. This led to the formation of the "association" in London. The authorities were alarmed. The bishops subscribed to buy up the translations of the Bible, and these were burned before a vast concourse in St. Paul's Churchyard. But Wolsey had for two years been suppressing the smaller monasteries. Simultaneously, Protestants were persecuted wherever they could be detected and seized. "Little" Bilney, or "Saint" Bilney, a distinguished Cambridge student, was burnt as a heretic at the stake, as were James Bainham, a barrister of the Middle Temple, and several other members of the "association." These were the first paladins of the reformation, and the struggle went bravely forward. They were the knights who slew the dragons and made the earth habitable for common flesh and blood. As yet but two men of the highest order of power were on the side of Protestantism--Latimer and Cromwell. These were now to come forward, pressed by circumstances which could no longer dispense with them. When the breach with the pope was made irreparable, and the papal party at home had assumed an attitude of suspended insurrection, the fortunes of the Protestants entered into a new phase. The persecution ceased, and those who were but lately its likely victims, hiding for their lives, passed at once by a sudden alternation into the sunshine of political favour. Cromwell and Latimer together caught the moment as it went by, and before it was over a work had been done in England which, when it was accomplished once, was accomplished for ever. The conservative party recovered their power, and abused it as before; but the chains of the nation were broken, and no craft of kings or priests or statesmen could weld the magic links again, Latimer became famous as a preacher at Cambridge, and was heard of by Henry, who sent for him and appointed him one of the royal chaplains. He was accused by the bishops of heresy, but was on trial absolved and sent back to his parish. Soon after the tide turned, and the reformation entered into a new phase. Thomas Cromwell, like Latimer of humble origin, was the "malleus monachorum." Wolsey discovered his merit, and employed him in breaking up the small monasteries, which the pope had granted for the foundation of the new colleges. Cromwell remained with the great cardinal till his fall. It was then that the truly noble nature which was in him showed itself. The lords had passed a bill of impeachment against Wolsey--violent, vindictive, and malevolent. It was to be submitted to the commons. Cromwell prepared an opposition, and conducted the defence from his place in parliament so skilfully that he threw out the bill, saved Wolsey, and gained such a reputation that he became Henry's secretary, representing the government in the House of Commons, and was on the highroad to power. The reformation was blotted with a black and frightful stain. Towards the end of April, 1536, certain members of the Privy Council were engaged in secretly collecting evidence which implicated the queen in adultery. In connection with the terrible charge, as her accomplices five gentlemen were arrested--Sir William Brereton, Mark Smeton, a court musician, Sir Henry Norris, Sir Francis Weston, and, the accusation in his case being the most shocking, Lord Rochford, the queen's brother. The trial was hastily pushed forward, and all were executed. The queen, who vehemently and piteously appealed to Henry, passionately protesting that she was absolutely innocent, was also condemned, and was beheaded in public on Tower Hill. Henry immediately after the tragedy married Jane, daughter of Sir John Seymour. The indecent haste is usually considered conclusive of the cause of Anne Boleyn's ruin. On December 12, 1537, a prince, so long and passionately hoped for, was born; but a sad calamity followed, for the queen took cold, and died on October 24. In 1539 monastic life came to an end in England. The great monasteries were dissolved; the abbey lands were distributed partly amongst the old nobility and partly amongst the chapters of six new bishoprics. On January 6, 1540, was solemnised the marriage of Henry with Anne, daughter of the Duke of Cleves, and sister-in-law of the Elector of Saxony. This event was brought about by the negotiations of Cromwell. The king was deeply displeased with the ungainly appearance of his bride when he met her on her landing, but retreat was impossible. Though Henry was personally kind to the new queen, the marriage made him wretched. Cromwell's enemies speedily hatched a conspiracy against the great statesman. He was arrested on a charge of high treason, was accused of corruption and heresy, of gaining wealth by bribery and extortion, and, in spite of Cranmer's efforts to save him, passed to the scaffold on July 28, 1540. For eight years Cromwell, who had been ennobled as Earl of Essex, was supreme with king, parliament, and convocation, and the nation, in the ferment of revolution, was absolutely controlled by him. Convocation had already dissolved the marriage of Henry and Anne, setting both free to contract and consummate other marriages without objection or delay. The queen had placidly given her consent. Handsome settlements were made on her in the shape of estates for her maintenance producing nearly three thousand a year. In August of the same year the King married, without delay of circumstance, Catherine, daughter of Lord Edmond Howard. Brief, indeed, was her reign. In November, 1541, she was charged with unfaithfulness to her marriage vows. The king was overwhelmed. Some dreadful spirit pursued his married life, tainting it with infamy. Two gentlemen confessed their guilty connection with the queen. They were hanged at Tyburn, and the queen and Lady Rochford, who had been her confidential companion, suffered within the Tower. Once more the king ventured into marriage. Catherine, widow of Lord Latimer, his last choice, was selected, not in the interest of politics or religion, but by his own personal judgment; and this time he found the peace which he desired. The great event of 1542 was the signal victory of the English over a Scottish army of ten thousand men at Solway Moss. King James of Scotland had undertaken, at the instigation of the pope and of the King of France to attack the English as heretics. The Scottish clergy were ready to proclaim a pilgrimage of grace. But the English borderers, though only shepherds and agriculturists, as soon as they mounted their horses, were instantly the finest light cavalry in Europe. They so disastrously defeated the Scots that all the latter either perished in the morass by the Solway, or were captured. Henry died on January 28, 1547. He was attended in his last moments by Cranmer, having sent specially for the archbishop. The king did not leave the world without expressing his views on the future with elaborate explicitness. He spent the day before his death in conversation with Lord Hertford and Sir William Paget on the condition of the country. By separate and earnest messages he commended Prince Edward to the care both of Charles V. and of Francis I. The earl, on the morning of Henry's death, hastened off to bring up the prince, who was in Hertfordshire with the Princess Elizabeth, and in the afternoon of Monday, the 31st, he arrived at the Tower with Edward. The Council was already in session, and Hertford was appointed protector during the minority of Edward. Thus, the reforming Protestant party was in full power. Cranmer set the willing example, and the other prelates consented, or were compelled to imitate him, in an acknowledgment that all jurisdiction, ecclesiastical as well as secular, within the realm, only emanated from the sovereign. On February it was ordered in council that Hertford should be Duke of Somerset, and that his brother, Sir Thomas Seymour, should be Lord Seymour of Sudleye; Lord Parr was to be Marquis of Northampton; Lord Wriothesley, the chancellor, Earl of Southampton; and Viscount Lisle was to be Earl of Warwick. The Duke of Somerset was the young king's uncle, and the real power was at once in his hands. But if he was ambitious, it was only--as he persuaded himself--to do good. _Edward's Guardian_ Under his rule the spirit of iconoclasm spread fast, and the reformation proceeded to completion. Churches were cleared of images, and crucifixes were melted into coin. Somerset gave the popular movement the formal sanction of the Government. Injunctions were issued for the general purification of the churches. The Book of Homilies was issued as a guide to doctrine, care was taken that copies of the Bible were accessible in the parish churches, and translations of Erasmus's "Paraphrase of the New Testament" were provided as a commentary. Somerset was a brave general as well as a great statesman. He invaded Scotland during the first year of his protectorate, on account of the refusal of the Scottish government to ratify the contract entered into with Henry VIII., by which it was agreed that Mary Queen of Scots should marry Edward. At the memorable battle of Pinkie, on September 10, 1547, the Scots were completely beaten. But Somerset was hastily summoned southward. His brother, Lord Seymour, had been caballing against him, and was arrested, tried, and beheaded on Tower Hill, on March 20, 1549. But the fall of the protector himself was not long delayed, for under his administration of three years his policy gradually excited wide discontent. In various parts of the country insurrections had to be suppressed. The French king had taken away the young Scottish queen, the king's majesty's espouse, by which marriage the realms of England and Scotland should have been united in perpetual peace. Money had been wasted on the royal household. The alliance with Charles V. had been trifled away. The princely name and princely splendour which Somerset affected, the vast fortune which he amassed amidst the ruin of the national finances, and the palace--now known as Somerset House, London--which was rising before the eyes of the world amidst the national defeats and misfortunes, combined to embitter the irritation with which the council regarded him. His great rival, John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, by constant insinuations both in and out of parliament, excited the national feeling against him to such a degree that at length the young king was constrained to sign his deposition. He seems to have entertained no strong attachment to his uncle. On December I, 1551, he was tried before the lords for high treason and condemned. He was beheaded on Tower Hill on January 22, 1582. The English public, often wildly wrong on general questions, are good judges, for the most part, of personal character; and so passionately was Somerset loved, that those who were nearest the scaffold started forward to dip their handkerchiefs in his blood. Before this event, Dudley, by whose cruel treachery the tragedy had been brought about, had been created Duke of Northumberland. The great aim of this nobleman was to secure the succession to the throne for his own family. With this purpose in view he married his son, Lord Guildford Dudley, to Lady Jane Grey, daughter of the Duchess of Suffolk, to whom, by the will of Henry VIII., the crown would pass, in default of issue by Edward, Mary, or Elizabeth. In April, 1553, Edward, who had been removed to Greenwich in consequence of illness, grew rapidly worse. By the end of the month he was spitting blood, and the country was felt to be on the eve of a new reign. The accession of Mary, who was personally popular, was looked forward to by the people as a matter of course. Northumberland now worked on the mind of the feeble and dying king, and succeeded in persuading him to declare both his sisters incapable of succeeding to the crown, as being illegitimate. The king died on July 6. The last male child of the Tudor race had ceased to suffer. When Lady Jane was saluted by Northumberland and four other lords, all kneeling at her feet, as queen, she shook, covered her face with her hands, and fell fainting to the ground. The next Monday, July 10, the royal barges came down the Thames from Richmond, and at three in the afternoon Lady Jane landed at the broad staircase of the Tower, as queen, in undesired splendour. But that same evening messages came saying that Mary had declared herself queen. She had sent addresses to the peers, commanding them on their allegiance to come to her. Happily, the conspiracy in favour of Lady Jane was crushed, without bloodshed, although it had seemed for a time as if the nation, was on the brink of a civil war. But, though Mary wished to spare Lady Jane and her husband, her intentions were frustrated by the determination of Renard, ambassador of the emperor. Northumberland was sent to the Tower, and beheaded on August 22, and in the following November Lady Jane and her husband were also condemned. Mary long hesitated, but at length issued the fatal warrant on February 8, 1554, and four days later both were executed. Lady Jane was but a delicate girl of seventeen, but met her fate with the utmost heroism. Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, became the chief instrument of the restoration of the Catholic faith under Mary. His fierce spirit soon began to display itself. In the fiery obstinacy of his determination this prelate speedily became the incarnate expression of the fury of the ecclesiastical faction, smarting, as they were, under their long degradation, and under the irritating consciousness of those false oaths of submission which they had sworn to a power they loathed. Gardiner now saw his Romanising party once more in a position to revenge their wrongs when there was no longer any Henry to stand between them and their enemies. He would take the tide at the flood, forge a weapon keener than the last, and establish the Inquisition. _The Reign of Terror_ Mary listened to the worse counsels of each, and her distempered humour settled into a confused ferocity. Both Gardiner and she resolved to secure the trial, condemnation, and execution of her sister Elizabeth, but their plans utterly miscarried, for no evidence against her could be gathered. The princess was known to be favourable to the Protestant cause, but the attempts to prove her disloyalty to Mary were vain. She was imprisoned in the Tower, and the fatal net appeared to be closing on her. But though the danger of her murder was very great, the lords who had reluctantly permitted her to be imprisoned would not allow her to be openly sacrificed, or indeed, permit the queen to continue in the career of vengeance on which she had entered. The necessity of releasing Elizabeth from the Tower was an unspeakable annoyance to Mary. A confinement at Woodstock was the furthest stretch of severity that the country would, for the present, permit. On May 19, 1554, Elizabeth was taken up the river. The princess believed herself that she was being carried off _tanquam ovis_, as she said--as a sheep for the slaughter. But the world thought she was set at liberty, and, as her barge passed under the bridge, Mary heard with indignation, from the palace windows, three salvoes of artillery fired from the Steelyard, as a sign of the joy of the people. Vexations began to tell on Mary's spirit. She could not shake off her anxieties, or escape from the shadow of her subject's hatred. Insolent pamphlets were dropped in her path and in the offices of Whitehall. They were placed by mysterious hands in the sanctuary of her bedroom. Her trials began to tell on her understanding. She was ill with hysterical longings; ill with the passions which Gardiner, as her chancellor, had provoked, but Paget as leader of the opposing party, had disappointed. But she was now to become the wife of King Philip of Spain. Negotiations for this momentous marriage had been protracted, and even after the contract had been signed, Philip seemed slow to arrive. The coolness manifested by his tardiness did much to aggravate the queen's despondency. On July 20, 1554, he landed at Southampton. The atmospheric auspices were not cheering, for Philip, who had come from the sunny plains of Castile, from his window at Southampton looked out on a steady downfall of July rain. Through the cruel torrent he made his way to church to mass, and afterwards Gardiner came to him from the queen. On the next Sunday he journeyed to Winchester, again in pouring rain. To the cathedral he went first, wet as he was. Whatever Philip of Spain was entering on, whether it was a marriage or a massacre, a state intrigue or a midnight murder, his first step was ever to seek a blessing from the holy wafer. Mary was at the bishop's palace, a few hundred yards' distance. Mary could not wait, and the same night the interview took place. Let the curtain fall over the meeting, let it close also over the wedding solemnities which followed with due splendour two days after. There are scenes in life which we regard with pity too deep for words. The unhappy queen, unloved, unlovable, yet with her parched heart thirsting for affection, was flinging herself upon a breast to which an iceberg was warm; upon a man to whom love was an unmeaning word, except as the most brutal of all passions. Mary set about to complete the Catholic reaction. She had restored the Catholic orthodoxy in her own person, and now was resolved to bring over her own subjects. But clouds gathered over the court. The Spaniards were too much in evidence. With the reaction came back the supremacy of the pope, and the ecclesiastical courts were reinstated in authority to check unlicensed extravagance of opinion. Gardiner, Bonner, Tunstal, and three other prelates formed a court on January 28, 1555, in St. Mary Overy's Church, Southwark, and Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, and Canon Rogers of St. Paul's, were brought up before them. Both were condemned as Protestants, and both were burnt at the stake, the bishop at Gloucester, the canon at Smithfield. They suffered heroically. The Catholics had affected to sneer at the faith of their rivals. There was a general conviction among them that Protestants would all flinch at the last; that they had no "doctrine that would abide the fire." Many more victims were offered. The enemies of the church were to submit or die. So said Gardiner, and so said the papal legate and the queen, in the delirious belief that they were the chosen instruments of Providence. The people, whom the cruelty of the party was reconverting to the reformation, while the fires of Smithfield blazed, with a rapidity like that produced by the gift of tongues at Pentecost, regarded the martyrs with admiration as soldiers dying for their country. On Mary, sorrow was heaped on sorrow. Her expectation of a child was disappointed, and Philip refused to stay in England. His unhappy wife was forced to know that he preferred the society of the most abandoned women to hers. The horrible crusade against heretics became the business of the rest of her life. Archbishop Cranmer, Bishops Ridley and Latimer, and many other persons of distinction were amongst the martyrs of the Marian persecution. Latimer was eighty years of age. Mary's miseries were intensified month by month. War broke out between England and France. For ten years the French had cherished designs, and on January 7, 1558, the famous stronghold fell into their hands. The effect of this misfortune on the queen was to produce utter prostration. She now well understood that both parliament and the nation were badly disposed towards her. But her end was at hand. After much suffering from dropsy and nervous debility, she prepared quietly for what she knew was inevitable. On November 16, at midnight, taking leave of a world in which she had played so evil a part, Mary received the last rites of the church. Towards morning she was sinking, and at the elevation of the Host, as mass was being said, her head sank, and she was gone. A few hours later the pope's legate, Cardinal Pole, at Lambeth, followed her. Thus the reign of the pope in England and the reign of terror closed together. 
9488	----	THE LINE OF LOVE BY JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1921 TO ROBERT GAMBLE CABELL I "He loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. And of his port as meek as is a mayde, He never yet no vileinye ne sayde In al his lyf, unto no maner wight. He was a verray parfit gentil knyght." _Introduction_ The Cabell case belongs to comedy in the grand manner. For fifteen years or more the man wrote and wrote--good stuff, sound stuff, extremely original stuff, often superbly fine stuff--and yet no one in the whole of this vast and incomparable Republic arose to his merit--no one, that is, save a few encapsulated enthusiasts, chiefly somewhat dubious. It would be difficult to imagine a first-rate artist cloaked in greater obscurity, even in the remotest lands of Ghengis Khan. The newspapers, reviewing him, dismissed him with a sort of inspired ill-nature; the critics of a more austere kidney--the Paul Elmer Mores, Brander Matthewses, Hamilton Wright Mabies, and other such brummagem dons--were utterly unaware of him. Then, of a sudden, the imbeciles who operate the Comstock Society raided and suppressed his "Jurgen," and at once he was a made man. Old book-shops began to be ransacked for his romances and extravaganzas--many of them stored, I daresay, as "picture-books," and under the name of the artist who illustrated them, Howard Pyle. And simultaneously, a great gabble about him set up in the newspapers, and then in the literary weeklies, and finally even in the learned reviews. An Englishman, Hugh Walpole, magnified the excitement with some startling _hochs_; a single _hoch_ from the Motherland brings down the professors like firemen sliding down a pole. To-day every literate American has heard of Cabell, including even those presidents of women's clubs who lately confessed that they had never heard of Lizette Woodworth Reese. More of his books are sold in a week than used to be sold in a year. Every flapper in the land has read "Jurgen" behind the door; two-thirds of the grandmothers east of the Mississippi have tried to borrow it from me. Solemn _Privat Dozenten_ lecture upon the author; he is invited to take to the chautauqua himself; if the donkeys who manage the National Institute of Arts and Letters were not afraid of his reply he would be offered its gilt-edged ribbon, vice Sylvanus Cobb, deceased. And all because a few pornographic old fellows thrust their ever-hopeful snouts into the man's tenth (or was it eleventh or twelfth?) book! Certainly, the farce must appeal to Cabell himself--a sardonic mocker, not incapable of making himself a character in his own _revues_. But I doubt that he enjoys the actual pawing that he has been getting--any more than he resented the neglect that he got for so long. Very lately, in the midst of the carnival, he announced his own literary death and burial, and even preached a burlesque funeral sermon upon his life and times. Such an artist, by the very nature of his endeavors, must needs stand above all public-clapper-clawing, pro or con. He writes, not to please his customers in general, nor even to please his partisans in particular, but to please himself. He is his own criterion, his own audience, his own judge and hangman. When he does bad work, he suffers for it as no holy clerk ever suffered from a gnawing conscience or Freudian suppressions; when he does good work he gets his pay in a form of joy that only artists know. One could no more think of him exposing himself to the stealthy, uneasy admiration of a women's club--he is a man of agreeable exterior, with handsome manners and an eye for this and that--than one could imagine him taking to the stump for some political mountebank or getting converted at a camp-meeting. What moves such a man to write is the obscure, inner necessity that Joseph Conrad has told us of, and what rewards him when he has done is his own searching and accurate judgment, his own pride and delight in a beautiful piece of work. At once, I suppose, you visualize a somewhat smug fellow, loftily complacent and superior--in brief, the bogus artist of Greenwich Village, posturing in a pot-hat before a cellar full of visiting schoolmarms, all dreaming of being betrayed. If so, you see a ghost. It is the curse of the true artist that his work never stands before him in all its imagined completeness--that he can never look at it without feeling an impulse to add to it here or take away from it there--that the beautiful, to him, is not a state of being, but an eternal becoming. Satisfaction, like the praise of dolts, is the compensation of the aesthetic cheese-monger--the popular novelist, the Broadway dramatist, the Massenet and Kipling, the Maeterlinck and Augustus Thomas. Cabell, in fact, is forever fussing over his books, trying to make them one degree better. He rewrites almost as pertinaciously as Joseph Conrad, Henry James, or Brahms. Compare "Domnei" in its present state to "The Soul of Melicent," its first state, circa 1913. The obvious change is the change in title, but of far more importance are a multitude of little changes--a phrase made more musical, a word moved from one place to another, some small banality tracked down and excised, a brilliant adjective inserted, the plan altered in small ways, the rhythm of it made more delicate and agreeable. Here, in "The Line of Love," there is another curious example of his high capacity for revision. It is not only that the book, once standing isolated, has been brought into the Cabellian canon, and so related to "Jurgen" and "Figures of Earth" at one end, and to the tales of latter-day Virginia at the other; it is that the whole texture has been worked over, and the colors made more harmonious, and the inner life of the thing given a fresh energy. Once a flavor of the rococo hung about it; now it breathes and moves. For Cabell knows a good deal more than he knew in 1905. He is an artist whose work shows constant progress toward the goals he aims at--principally the goal of a perfect style. Content, with him, is always secondary. He has ideas, and they are often of much charm and plausibility, but his main concern is with the manner of stating them. It is surely not ideas that make "Jurgen" stand out so saliently from the dreadful prairie of modern American literature; it is the magnificent writing that is visible on every page of it--writing apparently simple and spontaneous, and yet extraordinarily cunning and painstaking. The current notoriety of "Jurgen" will pass. The Comstocks will turn to new imbecilities, and the followers of literary parades to new marvels. But it will remain an author's book for many a year. By author, of course, I mean artist--not mere artisan. It was certainly not surprising to hear that Maurice Hewlett found "Jurgen" exasperating. So, too, there is exasperation in Richard Strauss for plodding music-masters. Hewlett is simply a British Civil Servant turned author, which is not unsuggestive of an American Congressman turned philosopher. He has a pretty eye for color, and all the gusto that goes with beefiness, but like all the men of his class and race and time he can think only within the range of a few elemental ideas, chiefly of a sentimental variety, and when he finds those ideas flouted he is horrified. The bray, in fact, revealed the ass. It is Cabell's skepticism that saves him from an Americanism as crushing as Hewlett's Briticism, and so sets him free as an artist. Unhampered by a mission, happily ignorant of what is commended by all good men, disdainful of the petty certainties of pedagogues and green-grocers, not caring a damn what becomes of the Republic, or the Family, or even snivelization itself, he is at liberty to disport himself pleasantly with his nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns, arranging them with the same free hand, the same innocent joy, the same superb skill and discretion with which the late Jahveh arranged carbon, nitrogen, sulphur, hydrogen, oxygen and phosphorus in the sublime form of the human carcass. He, too, has his jokes. He knows the arch effect of a strange touch; his elaborate pedantries correspond almost exactly to the hook noses, cock eyes, outstanding ears and undulating Adam's apples which give so sinister and Rabelaisian a touch to the human scene. But in the main he sticks to more seemly materials and designs. His achievement, in fact, consists precisely in the success with which he gives those materials a striking newness, and gets a novel vitality into those designs. He takes the ancient and mouldy parts of speech--the liver and lights of harangues by Dr. Harding, of editorials in the New York _Times_, of "Science and Health, with a Key to the Scriptures," of department-store advertisements, of college yells, of chautauqual oratory, of smoke-room anecdote--and arranges them in mosaics that glitter with an almost fabulous light. He knows where a red noun should go, and where a peacock-blue verb, and where an adjective as darkly purple as a grape. He is an imagist in prose. You may like his story and you may not like it, but if you don't like the way he tells it then there is something the matter with your ears. As for me, his experiments with words caress me as I am caressed by the tunes of old Johannes Brahms. How simple it seems to manage them--and how infernally difficult it actually is! H. L. MENCKEN. _Baltimore, October 1st, 1921_. _Contents_ CHAPTER THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY I THE EPISODE CALLED THE WEDDING JEST II THE EPISODE CALLED ADHELMAR AT PUYSANGE III THE EPISODE CALLED LOVE-LETTERS OF FALSTAFF IV THE EPISODE CALLED "SWEET ADELAIS" V THE EPISODE CALLED IN NECESSITY'S MORTAR VI THE EPISODE CALLED THE CONSPIRACY OF ARNAYE VII THE EPISODE CALLED THE CASTLE OF CONTENT VIII THE EPISODE CALLED IN URSULA'S GARDEN IX THE EPISODE CALLED PORCELAIN CUPS X THE ENVOI CALLED SEMPER IDEM THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY _"In elect utteraunce to make memoriall, To thee for souccour, to thee for helpe I call, Mine homely rudeness and dryghness to expell With the freshe waters of Elyconys well."_ MY DEAR MRS. GRUNDY: You may have observed that nowadays we rank the love-story among the comfits of literature; and we do this for the excellent reason that man is a thinking animal by courtesy rather than usage. Rightly considered, the most trivial love-affair is of staggering import. Who are we to question this, when nine-tenths of us owe our existence to a summer flirtation? And while our graver economic and social and psychic "problems" (to settle some one of which is nowadays the object of all ponderable fiction) are doubtless worthy of most serious consideration, you will find, my dear madam, that frivolous love-affairs, little and big, were shaping history and playing spillikins with sceptres long before any of these delectable matters were thought of. Yes, even the most talked-about "questions of the day" are sometimes worthy of consideration; but were it not for the kisses of remote years and the high gropings of hearts no longer animate, there would be none to accord them this same consideration, and a void world would teeter about the sun, silent and naked as an orange. Love is an illusion, if you will; but always through this illusion, alone, has the next generation been rendered possible, and all endearing human idiocies, including "questions of the day," have been maintained. Love, then, is no trifle. And literature, mimicking life at a respectful distance, may very reasonably be permitted an occasional reference to the corner-stone of all that exists. For in life "a trivial little love-story" is a matter more frequently aspersed than found. Viewed in the light of its consequences, any love-affair is of gigantic signification, inasmuch as the most trivial is a part of Nature's unending and, some say, her only labor, toward the peopling of the worlds. She is uninventive, if you will, this Nature, but she is tireless. Generation by generation she brings it about that for a period weak men may stalk as demigods, while to every woman is granted at least one hour wherein to spurn the earth, a warm, breathing angel. Generation by generation does Nature thus betrick humanity, that humanity may endure. Here for a little--with the gracious connivance of Mr. R. E. Townsend, to whom all lyrics hereinafter should be accredited--I have followed Nature, the arch-trickster. Through her monstrous tapestry I have traced out for you the windings of a single thread. It is parti-colored, this thread--now black for a mourning sign, and now scarlet where blood has stained it, and now brilliancy itself--for the tinsel of young love (if, as wise men tell us, it be but tinsel), at least makes a prodigiously fine appearance until time tarnish it. I entreat you, dear lady, to accept this traced-out thread with assurances of my most distinguished regard. The gift is not great. Hereinafter is recorded nothing more weighty than the follies of young persons, perpetrated in a lost world which when compared with your ladyship's present planet seems rather callow. Hereinafter are only love-stories, and nowadays nobody takes love-making very seriously.... And truly, my dear madam, I dare say the Pompeiians did not take Vesuvius very seriously; it was merely an eligible spot for a _fête champêtre_. And when gaunt fishermen first preached Christ about the highways, depend upon it, that was not taken very seriously, either. _Credat Judaeus_; but all sensible folk--such as you and I, my dear madam--passed on with a tolerant shrug, knowing "their doctrine could be held of no sane man." * * * * * APRIL 30, 1293--MAY 1, 1323 "_Pus vezem de novelh florir pratz, e vergiers reverdezir rius e fontanas esclarzir, ben deu quascus lo joy jauzir don es jauzens_." It would in ordinary circumstances be my endeavor to tell you, first of all, just whom the following tale concerns. Yet to do this is not expedient, since any such attempt could not but revive the question as to whose son was Florian de Puysange? No gain is to be had by resuscitating the mouldy scandal: and, indeed, it does not matter a button, nowadays, that in Poictesme, toward the end of the thirteenth century, there were elderly persons who considered the young Vicomte de Puysange to exhibit an indiscreet resemblance to Jurgen the pawnbroker. In the wild youth of Jurgen, when Jurgen was a practising poet (declared these persons), Jurgen had been very intimate with the former Vicomte de Puysange, now dead, for the two men had much in common. Oh, a great deal more in common, said these gossips, than the poor vicomte ever suspected, as you can see for yourself. That was the extent of the scandal, now happily forgotten, which we must at outset agree to ignore. All this was in Poictesme, whither the young vicomte had come a-wooing the oldest daughter of the Comte de la Forêt. The whispering and the nods did not much trouble Messire Jurgen, who merely observed that he was used to the buffets of a censorious world; young Florian never heard of this furtive chatter; and certainly what people said in Poictesme did not at all perturb the vicomte's mother, that elderly and pious lady, Madame Félise de Puysange, at her remote home in Normandy. The principals taking the affair thus quietly, we may with profit emulate them. So I let lapse this delicate matter of young Florian's paternity, and begin with his wedding._ CHAPTER I _The Episode Called The Wedding Jest_ 1. _Concerning Several Compacts_ It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, telling how love began between Florian de Puysange and Adelaide de la Forêt. They tell also how young Florian had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another; but that this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. And the tale tells how the Comte de la Forêt stroked a gray beard, and said, "Well, after all, Puysange is a good fief--" "As if that mattered!" cried his daughter, indignantly. "My father, you are a deplorably sordid person." "My dear," replied the old gentleman, "it does matter. Fiefs last." So he gave his consent to the match, and the two young people were married on Walburga's Eve, on the day that ends April. And they narrate how Florian de Puysange was vexed by a thought that was in his mind. He did not know what this thought was. But something he had overlooked; something there was he had meant to do, and had not done: and a troubling consciousness of this lurked at the back of his mind like a small formless cloud. All day, while bustling about other matters, he had groped toward this unapprehended thought. Now he had it: Tiburce. The young Vicomte de Puysange stood in the doorway, looking back into the bright hall where they of Storisende were dancing at his marriage feast. His wife, for a whole half-hour his wife, was dancing with handsome Etienne de Nérac. Her glance met Florian's, and Adelaide flashed him an especial smile. Her hand went out as though to touch him, for all that the width of the hall severed them. Florian remembered presently to smile back at her. Then he went out of the castle into a starless night that was as quiet as an unvoiced menace. A small and hard and gnarled-looking moon ruled over the dusk's secrecy. The moon this night, afloat in a luminous gray void, somehow reminded Florian of a glistening and unripe huge apple. The foliage about him moved at most as a sleeper breathes, while Florian descended eastward through walled gardens, and so came to the graveyard. White mists were rising, such mists as the witches of Amneran notoriously evoked in these parts on each Walburga's Eve to purchase recreations which squeamishness leaves undescribed. For five years now Tiburce d'Arnaye had lain there. Florian thought of his dead comrade and of the love which had been between them--a love more perfect and deeper and higher than commonly exists between men--and the thought came to Florian, and was petulantly thrust away, that Adelaide loved ignorantly where Tiburce d'Arnaye had loved with comprehension. Yes, he had known almost the worst of Florian de Puysange, this dear lad who, none the less, had flung himself between Black Torrismond's sword and the breast of Florian de Puysange. And it seemed to Florian unfair that all should prosper with him, and Tiburce lie there imprisoned in dirt which shut away the color and variousness of things and the drollness of things, wherein Tiburce d'Arnaye had taken such joy. And Tiburce, it seemed to Florian--for this was a strange night--was struggling futilely under all that dirt, which shut out movement, and clogged the mouth of Tiburce, and would not let him speak; and was struggling to voice a desire which was unsatisfied and hopeless. "O comrade dear," said Florian, "you who loved merriment, there is a feast afoot on this strange night, and my heart is sad that you are not here to share in the feasting. Come, come, Tiburce, a right trusty friend you were to me; and, living or dead, you should not fail to make merry at my wedding." Thus he spoke. White mists were rising, and it was Walburga's Eve. So a queer thing happened, and it was that the earth upon the grave began to heave and to break in fissures, as when a mole passes through the ground. And other queer things happened after that, and presently Tiburce d'Arnaye was standing there, gray and vague in the moonlight as he stood there brushing the mold from his brows, and as he stood there blinking bright wild eyes. And he was not greatly changed, it seemed to Florian; only the brows and nose of Tiburce cast no shadows upon his face, nor did his moving hand cast any shadow there, either, though the moon was naked overhead. "You had forgotten the promise that was between us," said Tiburce; and his voice had not changed much, though it was smaller. "It is true. I had forgotten. I remember now." And Florian shivered a little, not with fear, but with distaste. "A man prefers to forget these things when he marries. It is natural enough. But are you not afraid of me who come from yonder?" "Why should I be afraid of you, Tiburce, who gave your life for mine?" "I do not say. But we change yonder." "And does love change, Tiburce? For surely love is immortal." "Living or dead, love changes. I do not say love dies in us who may hope to gain nothing more from love. Still, lying alone in the dark clay, there is nothing to do, as yet, save to think of what life was, and of what sunlight was, and of what we sang and whispered in dark places when we had lips; and of how young grass and murmuring waters and the high stars beget fine follies even now; and to think of how merry our loved ones still contrive to be, even now, with their new playfellows. Such reflections are not always conducive to philanthropy." "Tell me," said Florian then, "and is there no way in which we who are still alive may aid you to be happier yonder?" "Oh, but assuredly," replied Tiburce d'Arnaye, and he discoursed of curious matters; and as he talked, the mists about the graveyard thickened. "And so," Tiburce said, in concluding his tale, "it is not permitted that I make merry at your wedding after the fashion of those who are still in the warm flesh. But now that you recall our ancient compact, it is permitted I have my peculiar share in the merriment, and I may drink with you to the bride's welfare." "I drink," said Florian, as he took the proffered cup, "to the welfare of my beloved Adelaide, whom alone of women I have really loved, and whom I shall love always." "I perceive," replied the other, "that you must still be having your joke." Then Florian drank, and after him Tiburce. And Florian said, "But it is a strange drink, Tiburce, and now that you have tasted it you are changed." "You have not changed, at least," Tiburce answered; and for the first time he smiled, a little perturbingly by reason of the change in him. "Tell me," said Florian, "of how you fare yonder." So Tiburce told him of yet more curious matters. Now the augmenting mists had shut off all the rest of the world. Florian could see only vague rolling graynesses and a gray and changed Tiburce sitting there, with bright wild eyes, and discoursing in a small chill voice. The appearance of a woman came, and sat beside him on the right. She, too, was gray, as became Eve's senior: and she made a sign which Florian remembered, and it troubled him. Tiburce said then, "And now, young Florian, you who were once so dear to me, it is to your welfare I drink." "I drink to yours, Tiburce." Tiburce drank first: and Florian, having drunk in turn, cried out, "You have changed beyond recognition!" "You have not changed," Tiburce d'Arnaye replied again. "Now let me tell you of our pastimes yonder." With that he talked of exceedingly curious matters. And Florian began to grow dissatisfied, for Tiburce was no longer recognizable, and Tiburce whispered things uncomfortable to believe; and other eyes, as wild as his, but lit with red flarings from behind, like a beast's eyes, showed in the mists to this side and to that side, for unhappy beings were passing through the mists upon secret errands which they discharged unwillingly. Then, too, the appearance of a gray man now sat to the left of that which had been Tiburce d'Arnaye, and this newcomer was marked so that all might know who he was: and Florian's heart was troubled to note how handsome and how admirable was that desecrated face even now. "But I must go," said Florian, "lest they miss me at Storisende, and Adelaide be worried." "Surely it will not take long to toss off a third cup. Nay, comrade, who were once so dear, let us two now drink our last toast together. Then go, in Sclaug's name, and celebrate your marriage. But before that let us drink to the continuance of human mirth-making everywhere." Florian drank first. Then Tiburce took his turn, looking at Florian as Tiburce drank slowly. As he drank, Tiburce d'Arnaye was changed even more, and the shape of him altered, and the shape of him trickled as though Tiburce were builded of sliding fine white sand. So Tiburce d'Arnaye returned to his own place. The appearances that had sat to his left and to his right were no longer there to trouble Florian with memories. And Florian saw that the mists of Walburga's Eve had departed, and that the sun was rising, and that the graveyard was all overgrown with nettles and tall grass. He had not remembered the place being thus, and it seemed to him the night had passed with unnatural quickness. But he thought more of the fact that he had been beguiled into spending his wedding-night in a graveyard, in such questionable company, and of what explanation he could make to Adelaide. 2. _Of Young Persons in May_ The tale tells how Florian de Puysange came in the dawn through flowering gardens, and heard young people from afar, already about their maying. Two by two he saw them from afar as they went with romping and laughter into the tall woods behind Storisende to fetch back the May-pole with dubious old rites. And as they went they sang, as was customary, that song which Raimbaut de Vaqueiras made in the ancient time in honor of May's ageless triumph. Sang they: "_May shows with godlike showing To-day for each that sees May's magic overthrowing All musty memories In him whom May decrees To be love's own. He saith, 'I wear love's liveries Until released by death_.' "_Thus all we laud May's sowing, Nor heed how harvests please When nowhere grain worth growing Greets autumn's questing breeze, And garnerers garner these-- Vain words and wasted breath And spilth and tasteless lees-- Until released by death._ "_Unwillingly foreknowing That love with May-time flees, We take this day's bestowing, And feed on fantasies Such as love lends for ease Where none but travaileth, With lean infrequent fees, Until released by death_." And Florian shook his sleek black head. "A very foolish and pessimistical old song, a superfluous song, and a song that is particularly out of place in the loveliest spot in the loveliest of all possible worlds." Yet Florian took no inventory of the gardens. There was but a happy sense of green and gold, with blue topping all; of twinkling, fluent, tossing leaves and of the gray under side of elongated, straining leaves; a sense of pert bird noises, and of a longer shadow than usual slanting before him, and a sense of youth and well-being everywhere. Certainly it was not a morning wherein pessimism might hope to flourish. Instead, it was of Adelaide that Florian thought: of the tall, impulsive, and yet timid, fair girl who was both shrewd and innocent, and of her tenderly colored loveliness, and of his abysmally unmerited felicity in having won her. Why, but what, he reflected, grimacing--what if he had too hastily married somebody else? For he had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another: but this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. 3. _What Comes of Marrying Happily_ The tale tells how Florian de Puysange found Adelaide in the company of two ladies who were unknown to him. One of these was very old, the other an imposing matron in middle life. The three were pleasantly shaded by young oak-trees; beyond was a tall hedge of clipped yew. The older women were at chess, while Adelaide bent her meek golden head to some of that fine needlework in which the girl delighted. And beside them rippled a small sunlit stream, which babbled and gurgled with silver flashes. Florian hastily noted these things as he ran laughing to his wife. "Heart's dearest--!" he cried. And he saw, perplexed, that Adelaide had risen with a faint wordless cry, and was gazing at him as though she were puzzled and alarmed a very little. "Such an adventure as I have to tell you of!" says Florian then. "But, hey, young man, who are you that would seem to know my daughter so well?" demands the lady in middle life, and she rose majestically from her chess-game. Florian stared, as he well might. "Your daughter, madame! But certainly you are not Dame Melicent." At this the old, old woman raised her nodding head. "Dame Melicent? And was it I you were seeking, sir?" Now Florian looked from one to the other of these incomprehensible strangers, bewildered: and his eyes came back to his lovely wife, and his lips smiled irresolutely. "Is this some jest to punish me, my dear?" But then a new and graver trouble kindled in his face, and his eyes narrowed, for there was something odd about his wife also. "I have been drinking in queer company," he said. "It must be that my head is not yet clear. Now certainly it seems to me that you are Adelaide de la Forêt, and certainly it seems to me that you are not Adelaide." The girl replied, "Why, no, messire; I am Sylvie de Nointel." "Come, come," says the middle-aged lady, briskly, "let us make an end to this play-acting, and, young fellow, let us have a sniff at you. No, you are not tipsy, after all. Well, I am glad of that. So let us get to the bottom of this business. What do they call you when you are at home?" "Florian de Puysange," he answered, speaking meekly enough. This capable large person was to the young man rather intimidating. "La!" said she. She looked at him very hard. She nodded gravely two or three times, so that her double chin opened and shut. "Yes, and you favor him. How old are you?" He told her twenty-four. She said, inconsequently: "So I was a fool, after all. Well, young man, you will never be as good-looking as your father, but I trust you have an honester nature. However, bygones are bygones. Is the old rascal still living? and was it he that had the impudence to send you to me?" "My father, madame, was slain at the battle of Marchfeld--" "Some fifty years ago! And you are twenty-four. Young man, your parentage had unusual features, or else we are at cross-purposes. Let us start at the beginning of this. You tell us you are called Florian de Puysange and that you have been drinking in queer company. Now let us have the whole story." Florian told of last night's happenings, with no more omissions than seemed desirable with feminine auditors. Then the old woman said: "I think this is a true tale, my daughter, for the witches of Amneran contrive strange things, with mists to aid them, and with Lilith and Sclaug to abet. Yes, and this fate has fallen before to men that were over-friendly with the dead." "Stuff and nonsense!" said the stout lady. "But, no, my daughter. Thus seven persons slept at Ephesus, from the time of Decius to the time of Theodosius--" "Still, Mother--" "--And the proof of it is that they were called Constantine and Dionysius and John and Malchus and Marcian and Maximian and Serapion. They were duly canonized. You cannot deny that this thing happened without asserting no less than seven blessed saints to have been unprincipled liars, and that would be a very horrible heresy--" "Yet, Mother, you know as well as I do--" "--And thus Epimenides, another excellently spoken-of saint, slept at Athens for fifty-seven years. Thus Charlemagne slept in the Untersberg, and will sleep until the ravens of Miramon Lluagor have left his mountains. Thus Rhyming Thomas in the Eildon Hills, thus Ogier in Avalon, thus Oisin--" The old lady bade fair to go on interminably in her gentle resolute piping old voice, but the other interrupted. "Well, Mother, do not excite yourself about it, for it only makes your asthma worse, and does no especial good to anybody. Things may be as you say. Certainly I intended nothing irreligious. Yet these extended naps, appropriate enough for saints and emperors, are out of place in one's own family. So, if it is not stuff and nonsense, it ought to be. And that I stick to." "But we forget the boy, my dear," said the old lady. "Now listen, Florian de Puysange. Thirty years ago last night, to the month and the day, it was that you vanished from our knowledge, leaving my daughter a forsaken bride. For I am what the years have made of Dame Melicent, and this is my daughter Adelaide, and yonder is her daughter Sylvie de Nointel." "La, Mother," observed the stout lady, "but are you certain it was the last of April? I had been thinking it was some time in June. And I protest it could not have been all of thirty years. Let me see now, Sylvie, how old is your brother Richard? Twenty-eight, you say. Well, Mother, I always said you had a marvelous memory for things like that, and I often envy you. But how time does fly, to be sure!" And Florian was perturbed. "For this is an awkward thing, and Tiburce has played me an unworthy trick. He never did know when to leave off joking; but such posthumous frivolity is past endurance. For, see now, in what a pickle it has landed me! I have outlived my friends, I may encounter difficulty in regaining my fiefs, and certainly I have lost the fairest wife man ever had. Oh, can it be, madame, that you are indeed my Adelaide!" "Yes, every pound of me, poor boy, and that says much." "--And that you have been untrue to the eternal fidelity which you vowed to me here by this very stream! Oh, but I cannot believe it was thirty years ago, for not a grass-blade or a pebble has been altered; and I perfectly remember the lapping of water under those lichened rocks, and that continuous file of ripples yonder, which are shaped like arrowheads." Adelaide rubbed her nose. "Did I promise eternal fidelity? I can hardly remember that far back. But I remember I wept a great deal, and my parents assured me you were either dead or a rascal, so that tears could not help either way. Then Ralph de Nointel came along, good man, and made me a fair husband, as husbands go--" "As for that stream," then said Dame Melicent, "it is often I have thought of that stream, sitting here with my grandchildren where I once sat with gay young men whom nobody remembers now save me. Yes, it is strange to think that instantly, and within the speaking of any simple word, no drop of water retains the place it had before the word was spoken: and yet the stream remains unchanged, and stays as it was when I sat here with those young men who are gone. Yes, that is a strange thought, and it is a sad thought, too, for those of us who are old." "But, Mother, of course the stream remains unchanged," agreed Dame Adelaide. "Streams always do except after heavy rains. Everybody knows that, and I can see nothing very remarkable about it. As for you, Florian, if you stickle for love's being an immortal affair," she added, with a large twinkle, "I would have you know I have been a widow for three years. So the matter could be arranged." Florian looked at her sadly. To him the situation was incongruous with the terrible archness of a fat woman. "But, madame, you are no longer the same person." She patted him upon the shoulder. "Come, Florian, there is some sense in you, after all. Console yourself, lad, with the reflection that if you had stuck manfully by your wife instead of mooning about graveyards, I would still be just as I am to-day, and you would be tied to me. Your friend probably knew what he was about when he drank to our welfare, for we would never have suited each other, as you can see for yourself. Well, Mother, many things fall out queerly in this world, but with age we learn to accept what happens without flustering too much over it. What are we to do with this resurrected old lover of mine?" It was horrible to Florian to see how prosaically these women dealt with his unusual misadventure. Here was a miracle occurring virtually before their eyes, and these women accepted it with maddening tranquillity as an affair for which they were not responsible. Florian began to reflect that elderly persons were always more or less unsympathetic and inadequate. "First of all," says Dame Melicent, "I would give him some breakfast. He must be hungry after all these years. And you could put him in Adhelmar's room--" "But," Florian said wildly, to Dame Adelaide, "you have committed the crime of bigamy, and you are, after all, my wife!" She replied, herself not untroubled: "Yes, but, Mother, both the cook and the butler are somewhere in the bushes yonder, up to some nonsense that I prefer to know nothing about. You know how servants are, particularly on holidays. I could scramble him some eggs, though, with a rasher. And Adhelmar's room it had better be, I suppose, though I had meant to have it turned out. But as for bigamy and being your wife," she concluded more cheerfully, "it seems to me the least said the soonest mended. It is to nobody's interest to rake up those foolish bygones, so far as I can see." "Adelaide, you profane equally love, which is divine, and marriage, which is a holy sacrament." "Florian, do you really love Adelaide de Nointel?" asked this terrible woman. "And now that I am free to listen to your proposals, do you wish to marry me?" "Well, no," said Florian: "for, as I have just said; you are no longer the same person." "Why, then, you see for yourself. So do you quit talking nonsense about immortality and sacraments." "But, still," cried Florian, "love is immortal. Yes, I repeat to you, precisely as I told Tiburce, love is immortal." Then says Dame Melicent, nodding her shriveled old head: "When I was young, and was served by nimbler senses and desires, and was housed in brightly colored flesh, there were a host of men to love me. Minstrels yet tell of the men that loved me, and of how many tall men were slain because of their love for me, and of how in the end it was Perion who won me. For the noblest and the most faithful of all my lovers was Perion of the Forest, and through tempestuous years he sought me with a love that conquered time and chance: and so he won me. Thereafter he made me a fair husband, as husbands go. But I might not stay the girl he had loved, nor might he remain the lad that Melicent had dreamed of, with dreams be-drugging the long years in which Demetrios held Melicent a prisoner, and youth went away from her. No, Perion and I could not do that, any more than might two drops of water there retain their place in the stream's flowing. So Perion and I grew old together, friendly enough; and our senses and desires began to serve us more drowsily, so that we did not greatly mind the falling away of youth, nor greatly mind to note what shriveled hands now moved before us, performing common tasks; and we were content enough. But of the high passion that had wedded us there was no trace, and of little senseless human bickerings there were a great many. For one thing"--and the old lady's voice was changed--"for one thing, he was foolishly particular about what he would eat and what he would not eat, and that upset my housekeeping, and I had never any patience with such nonsense." "Well, none the less," said Florian, "it is not quite nice of you to acknowledge it." Then said Dame Adelaide: "That is a true word, Mother. All men get finicky about their food, and think they are the only persons to be considered, and there is no end to it if once you begin to humor them. So there has to be a stand made. Well, and indeed my poor Ralph, too, was all for kissing and pretty talk at first, and I accepted it willingly enough. You know how girls are. They like to be made much of, and it is perfectly natural. But that leads to children. And when the children began to come, I had not much time to bother with him: and Ralph had his farming and his warfaring to keep him busy. A man with a growing family cannot afford to neglect his affairs. And certainly, being no fool, he began to notice that girls here and there had brighter eyes and trimmer waists than I. I do not know what such observations may have led to when he was away from me: I never inquired into it, because in such matters all men are fools. But I put up with no nonsense at home, and he made me a fair husband, as husbands go. That much I will say for him gladly: and if any widow says more than that, Florian, do you beware of her, for she is an untruthful woman." "Be that as it may," replied Florian, "it is not quite becoming to speak thus of your dead husband. No doubt you speak the truth: there is no telling what sort of person you may have married in what still seems to me unseemly haste to provide me with a successor: but even so, a little charitable prevarication would be far more edifying." He spoke with such earnestness that there fell a silence. The women seemed to pity him. And in the silence Florian heard from afar young persons returning from the woods behind Storisende, and bringing with them the May-pole. They were still singing. Sang they: "_Unwillingly foreknowing That love with May-time flees, We take this day's bestowing, And feed on fantasies_--" 4. _Youth Solves It_ The tale tells how lightly and sweetly, and compassionately, too, then spoke young Sylvie de Nointel. "Ah, but, assuredly, Messire Florian, you do not argue with my pets quite seriously! Old people always have some such queer notions. Of course love all depends upon what sort of person you are. Now, as I see it, Mama and Grandmama are not the sort of persons who have real love-affairs. Devoted as I am to both of them, I cannot but perceive they are lacking in real depth of sentiment. They simply do not understand or care about such matters. They are fine, straightforward, practical persons, poor dears, and always have been, of course, for in things like that one does not change, as I have often noticed. And Father, and Grandfather Perion, too, as I remember him, was kind-hearted and admirable and all that, but nobody could ever have expected him to be a satisfactory lover. Why, he was bald as an egg, the poor pet!" And Sylvie laughed again at the preposterous notions of old people. She flashed an especial smile at Florian. Her hand went out as though to touch him, in an unforgotten gesture. "Old people do not understand," said Sylvie de Nointel, in tones which took this handsome young fellow ineffably into confidence. "Mademoiselle," said Florian, with a sigh that was part relief and all approval, "it is you who speak the truth, and your elders have fallen victims to the cynicism of a crassly material age. Love is immortal when it is really love and when one is the right sort of person. There is the love--known to how few, alas! and a passion of which I regret to find your mother incapable--that endures unchanged until the end of life." "I am so glad you think so, Messire Florian," she answered demurely. "And do you not think so, mademoiselle?" "How should I know," she asked him, "as yet?" He noted she had incredibly long lashes. "Thrice happy is he that convinces you!" says Florian. And about them, who were young in the world's recaptured youth, spring triumphed with an ageless rural pageant, and birds cried to their mates. He noted the red brevity of her lips and their probable softness. Meanwhile the elder women regarded each other. "It is the season of May. They are young and they are together. Poor children!" said Dame Melicent. "Youth cries to youth for the toys of youth, and saying, 'Lo, I cry with the voice of a great god!'" "Still," said Madame Adelaide, "Puysange is a good fief--" But Florian heeded neither of them as he stood there by the sunlit stream, in which no drop of water retained its place for a moment, and which yet did not alter in appearance at all. He did not heed his elders for the excellent reason that Sylvie de Nointel was about to speak, and he preferred to listen to her. For this girl, he knew, was lovelier than any other person had ever been since Eve first raised just such admiring, innocent, and venturesome eyes to inspect what must have seemed to her the quaintest of all animals, called man. So it was with a shrug that Florian remembered how he had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another; since this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted. * * * * * APRIL 14, 1355--OCTOBER 23, 1356 "_D'aquest segle flac, plen de marrimen, S'amor s'en vai, son jot teinh mensongier_." _So Florian married Sylvie, and made her, they relate, a fair husband, as husbands go. And children came to them, and then old age, and, lastly, that which comes to all._ Which reminds me that it was an uncomfortable number of years ago, in an out-of-the-way corner of the library at Allonby Shaw, that I first came upon_ Les Aventures d'Adhelmar de Nointel. _This manuscript dates from the early part of the fifteenth century and is attributed--though on no very conclusive evidence, says Hinsauf,--to the facile pen of Nicolas de Caen (circa 1450), until lately better known as a lyric poet and satirist._ _The story, told in decasyllabic couplets, interspersed after a rather unusual fashion with innumerable lyrics, seems in the main authentic. Sir Adhelmar de Nointel, born about 1332, was once a real and stalwart personage, a younger brother to that Henri de Nointel, the fighting Bishop of Mantes, whose unsavory part in the murder of Jacques van Arteveldt history has recorded at length; and it is with the exploits of this Adhelmar that the romance deals, not, it may be, without exaggeration._ _In any event, the following is, with certain compressions and omissions that have seemed desirable, the last episode of the_ Aventures. _The tale concerns the children of Florian and Sylvie: and for it I may claim, at least, the same merit that old Nicolas does at the very outset; since as he veraciously declares--yet with a smack of pride:_ _Cette bonne ystoire n'est pas usée, Ni guère de lieux jadis trouvée, Ni ècrite par clercz ne fut encore._ CHAPTER II _The Episode Called Adhelmar at Puysange_ I. _April-magic_ When Adhelmar had ended the tale of Dame Venus and the love which she bore the knight Tannhäuser (here one overtakes Nicolas midcourse in narrative), Adhelmar put away the book and sighed. The Demoiselle Mélite laughed a little--her laughter, as I have told you, was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass--and demanded the reason of his sudden grief. "I sigh," he answered, "for sorrow that this Dame Venus is dead." "Surely," said she, wondering at his glum face, "that is no great matter." "By Saint Vulfran, yes!" Adhelmar protested; "for the same Lady Venus was the fairest of women, as all learned clerks avow; and she is dead these many years, and now there is no woman left alive so beautiful as she--saving one alone, and she will have none of me. And therefore," he added, very slowly, "I sigh for desire of Dame Venus and for envy of the knight Tannhäuser." Again Mélite laughed, but she forbore--discreetly enough--to question him concerning the lady who was of equal beauty with Dame Venus. It was an April morning, and they set in the hedged garden of Puysange. Adhelmar read to her of divers ancient queens and of the love-business wherein each took part, relating the histories of the Lady Heleine and of her sweethearting with Duke Paris, the Emperor of Troy's son, and of the Lady Melior that loved Parthénopex of Blois, and of the Lady Aude, for love of whom Sieur Roland slew the pagan Angoulaffre, and of the Lady Cresseide that betrayed love, and of the Lady Morgaine la Fée, whose Danish lover should yet come from Avalon to save France in her black hour of need. All these he read aloud, suavely, with bland modulations, for he was a man of letters, as letters went in those days. Originally, he had been bred for the Church; but this vocation he had happily forsaken long since, protesting with some show of reason that France at this particular time had a greater need of spears than of aves. For the rest, Sir Adhelmar de Nointel was known as a valiant knight, who had won glory in the wars with the English. He had lodged for a fortnight at Puysange, of which castle the master, Sire Reinault (son to the late Vicomte Florian) was Adhelmar's cousin: and on the next day Adhelmar proposed to set forth for Paris, where the French King--Jehan the Luckless--was gathering his lieges about him to withstand his kinsman, Edward of England. Now, as I have said, Adhelmar was cousin to Reinault, and, in consequence, to Reinault's sister, the Demoiselle Mélite; and the latter Adhelmar loved, at least, as much as a cousin should. That was well known; and Reinault de Puysange had sworn very heartily that this was a great pity when he affianced her to Hugues d'Arques. Both Hugues and Adhelmar had loved Mélite since boyhood,--so far their claims ran equally. But while Adhelmar had busied himself in the acquisition of some scant fame and a vast number of scars, Hugues had sensibly inherited the fief of Arques, a snug property with fertile lands and a stout fortress. How, then, should Reinault hesitate between them? He did not. For the Château d'Arques, you must understand, was builded in Lower Normandy, on the fringe of the hill-country, just where the peninsula of Cotentin juts out into the sea; Puysange stood not far north, among the level lands of Upper Normandy: and these two being the strongest castles in those parts, what more natural and desirable than that the families should be united by marriage? Reinault informed his sister of his decision; she wept a little, but did not refuse to comply. So Adhelmar, come again to Puysange after five years' absence, found Mélite troth-plighted, fast and safe, to Hugues. Reinault told him. Adhelmar grumbled and bit his nails in a corner, for a time; then laughed shortly. "I have loved Mélite," he said. "It may be that I love her still. Hah, Saint Vulfran! why should I not? Why should a man not love his cousin?" Adhelmar grinned, while the vicomte twitched his beard and wished Adhelmar at the devil. But the young knight stuck fast at Puysange, for all that, and he and Mélite were much together. Daily they made parties to dance, and to hunt the deer, and to fish, but most often to rehearse songs. For Adhelmar made good songs. [Footnote: Nicolas indeed declares of Adhelmar, earlier in the tale, in such high terms as are not uncommon to this chronicle: Hardi estait et fier comme lions, Et si faisait balades et chançons, Rondeaulx et laiz, très bans et pleins de grâce, Comme Orpheus, cet menestrier de Thrace.] To-day, the summer already stirring in the womb of the year, they sat, as I have said, in the hedged garden; and about them the birds piped and wrangled over their nest-building, and daffodils danced in spring's honor with lively saltations, and overhead the sky was colored like a robin's egg. It was very perilous weather for young folk. By reason of this, when he had ended his reading about the lady of the hollow hill, Sir Adhelmar sighed again, and stared at his companion with hungry eyes, wherein desire strained like a hound at the leash. Said Mélite, "Was this Lady Venus, then, exceedingly beautiful?" Adhelmar swore an oath of sufficient magnitude that she was. Whereupon Mélite, twisting her fingers idly and evincing a sudden interest in her own feet, demanded if this Venus were more beautiful than the Lady Ermengarde of Arnaye or the Lady Ysabeau of Brieuc. "Holy Ouen!" scoffed Adhelmar; "these ladies, while well enough, I grant you, would seem to be callow howlets blinking about that Arabian Phoenix which Plinius tells of, in comparison with this Lady Venus that is dead!" "But how," asked Mélite, "was this lady fashioned that you commend so highly?--and how can you know of her beauty who have never seen her?" Said Adhelmar: "I have read of her fairness in the chronicles of Messire Stace of Thebes, and of Dares, who was her husband's bishop. And she was very comely, neither too little nor too big; she was fairer and whiter and more lovely than any flower of the lily or snow upon the branch, but her eyebrows had the mischance of meeting. She had wide-open, beautiful eyes, and her wit was quick and ready. She was graceful and of demure countenance. She was well-beloved, and could herself love well, but her heart was changeable--" "Cousin Adhelmar," declared Mélite, flushing somewhat, for the portrait was like enough, "I think that you tell of a woman, not of a goddess of heathenry." "Her eyes," said Adhelmar, and his voice shook, and his hands, lifting a little, trembled,--"her eyes were large and very bright and of a color like that of the June sunlight falling upon deep waters. Her hair was of a curious gold color like the Fleece that the knight Jason sought, and it curled marvellously about her temples. For mouth she had but a small red wound; and her throat was a tower builded of ivory." But now, still staring at her feet and glowing with the even complexion of a rose, (though not ill-pleased), the Demoiselle Mélite bade him desist and make her a song. Moreover, she added, beauty was but a fleeting thing, and she considered it of little importance; and then she laughed again. Adhelmar took up the lute that lay beside them and fingered it for a moment, as though wondering of what he would rhyme. Afterward he sang for her as they sat in the gardens. Sang Adhelmar: _"It is in vain I mirror forth the praise In pondered virelais Of her that is the lady of my love; Far-sought and curious phrases fail to tell The tender miracle Of her white body and the grace thereof. "Thus many and many an artful-artless strain Is fashioned all in vain: Sound proves unsound; and even her name, that is To me more glorious than the glow of fire Or dawn or love's desire Or opals interlinked with turquoises, Mocks utterance. "So, lacking skill to praise That perfect bodily beauty which is hers, Even as those worshippers Who bore rude offerings of honey and maize, Their all, into the gold-paved ministers Of Aphrodite, I have given her these My faltering melodies, That are Love's lean and ragged messengers."_ When he had ended, Adhelmar cast aside the lute, and caught up both of Mélite's hands, and strained them to his lips. There needed no wizard to read the message in his eyes. Mélite sat silent for a moment. Presently, "Ah, cousin, cousin!" she sighed, "I cannot love you as you would have me love. God alone knows why, true heart, for I revere you as a strong man and a proven knight and a faithful lover; but I do not love you. There are many women who would love you, Adhelmar, for the world praises you, and you have done brave deeds and made good songs and have served your King potently; and yet"--she drew her hands away and laughed a little wearily--"yet I, poor maid, must needs love Hugues, who has done nothing. This love is a strange, unreasoning thing, my cousin." "But do you in truth love Hugues?" asked Adhelmar, in a harsh voice. "Yes," said Mélite, very softly, and afterward flushed and wondered dimly if she had spoken the truth. Then, somehow, her arms clasped about Adhelmar's neck, and she kissed him, from pure pity, as she told herself; for Mélite's heart was tender, and she could not endure the anguish in his face. This was all very well. But Hugues d'Arques, coming suddenly out of a pleached walk, at this juncture, stumbled upon them and found their postures distasteful. He bent black brows upon the two. "Adhelmar," said he, at length, "this world is a small place." Adhelmar rose. "Indeed," he assented, with a wried smile, "I think there is scarce room in it for both of us, Hugues." "That was my meaning," said the Sieur d'Arques. "Only," Adhelmar pursued, somewhat wistfully, "my sword just now, Hugues, is vowed to my King's quarrel. There are some of us who hope to save France yet, if our blood may avail. In a year, God willing, I shall come again to Puysange; and till then you must wait." Hugues conceded that, perforce, he must wait, since a vow was sacred; and Adhelmar, who suspected Hugues' natural appetite for battle to be lamentably squeamish, grinned. After that, in a sick rage, Adhelmar struck Hugues in the face, and turned about. The Sieur d'Arques rubbed his cheek ruefully. Then he and Mélite stood silent for a moment, and heard Adhelmar in the court-yard calling his men to ride forth; and Mélite laughed; and Hugues scowled. 2. _Nicolas as Chorus_ The year passed, and Adhelmar did not return; and there was much fighting during that interval, and Hugues began to think the knight was slain and would never return to fight with him. The reflection was borne with equanimity. So Adhelmar was half-forgot, and the Sieur d'Arques turned his mind to other matters. He was still a bachelor, for Reinault considered the burden of the times in ill-accord with the chinking of marriage-bells. They were grim times for Frenchmen: right and left the English pillaged and killed and sacked and guzzled and drank, as if they would never have done; and Edward of England began, to subscribe himself _Rex Franciae_ with some show of excuse. In Normandy men acted according to their natures. Reinault swore lustily and looked to his defences; Hugues, seeing the English everywhere triumphant, drew a long face and doubted, when the will of God was made thus apparent, were it the part of a Christian to withstand it? Then he began to write letters, but to whom no man at either Arques or Puysange knew, saving One-eyed Peire, who carried them. 3. _Treats of Huckstering_ It was in the dusk of a rain-sodden October day that Adhelmar rode to the gates of Puysange, with some score men-at-arms behind him. They came from Poictiers, where again the English had conquered, and Adhelmar rode with difficulty, for in that disastrous business in the field of Maupertuis he had been run through the chest, and his wound was scarce healed. Nevertheless, he came to finish his debate with the Sieur d'Arques, wound or no wound. But at Puysange he heard a strange tale of Hugues. Reinault, whom Adhelmar found in a fine rage, told the story as they sat over their supper. It had happened, somehow, (Reinault said), that the Marshal Arnold d'Andreghen--newly escaped from prison and with his disposition unameliorated by Lord Audley's gaolership,--had heard of these letters that Hugues wrote so constantly; and the Marshal, being no scholar, had frowned at such doings, and waited presently, with a company of horse, on the road to Arques. Into their midst, on the day before Adhelmar came, rode Peire, the one-eyed messenger; and it was not an unconscionable while before Peire was bound hand and foot, and d'Andreghen was reading the letter they had found in Peire's jerkin. "Hang the carrier on that oak," said d'Andreghen, when he had ended, "but leave that largest branch yonder for the writer. For by the Blood of Christ, our common salvation! I will hang him there on Monday!" So Peire swung in the air ere long and stuck out a black tongue at the crows, who cawed and waited for supper; and presently they feasted while d'Andreghen rode to Arques, carrying a rope for Hugues. For the Marshal, you must understand, was a man of sudden action. Only two months ago, he had taken the Comte de Harcourt with other gentlemen from the Dauphin's own table to behead them that afternoon in a field behind Rouen. It was true they had planned to resist the _gabelle_, the King's immemorial right to impose a tax on salt; but Harcourt was Hugues' cousin, and the Sieur d'Arques, being somewhat of an epicurean disposition, esteemed the dessert accorded his kinsman unpalatable. There was no cause for great surprise to d'Andreghen, then, to find that the letter Hugues had written was meant for Edward, the Black Prince of England, now at Bordeaux, where he held the French King, whom the Prince had captured at Poictiers, as a prisoner; for this prince, though he had no particular love for a rogue, yet knew how to make use of one when kingcraft demanded it,--and, as he afterward made use of Pedro the Castilian, he was now prepared to make use of Hugues, who hung like a ripe pear ready to drop into Prince Edward's mouth. "For," as the Sieur d'Arques pointed out in his letter, "I am by nature inclined to favor you brave English, and so, beyond doubt, is the good God. And I will deliver Arques to you; and thus and thus you may take Normandy and the major portion of France; and thus and thus will I do, and thus and thus must you reward me." Said d'Andreghen, "I will hang him at dawn; and thus and thus may the devil do with his soul!" Then with his company d'Andreghen rode to Arques. A herald declared to the men of that place how the matter stood, and bade Hugues come forth and dance upon nothing. The Sieur d'Arques spat curses, like a cat driven into a corner, and wished to fight, but the greater part of his garrison were not willing to do so in such a cause: and so d'Andreghen took him and carried him off. In anger having sworn by the Blood of Christ to hang Hugues d'Arques to a certain tree, d'Andreghen had no choice in calm but to abide by his oath. This day being the Sabbath, he deferred the matter; but the Marshal promised to see to it that when morning broke the Sieur d'Arques should dangle side by side with his messenger. Thus far the Vicomte de Puysange. He concluded his narrative with a dry chuckle. "And I think we are very well rid of him, Adhelmar. Holy Maclou! that I should have taken the traitor for a true man, though! He would sell France, you observe,--chaffered, they tell me, like a pedlar over the price of Normandy. Heh, the huckster, the triple-damned Jew!" "And Mélite?" asked Adhelmar, after a little. Again Reinault shrugged. "In the White Turret," he said; then, with a short laugh: "Oy Dieus, yes! The girl has been caterwauling for this shabby rogue all day. She would have me--me, the King's man, look you!--save Hugues at the peril of my seignory! And I protest to you, by the most high and pious Saint Nicolas the Confessor," Reinault swore, "that sooner than see this huckster go unpunished, I would lock Hell's gate on him with my own hands!" For a moment Adhelmar stood with his jaws puffed out, as if in thought, and then he laughed like a wolf. Afterward he went to the White Turret, leaving Reinault smiling over his wine. 4. _Folly Diversely Attested_ He found Mélite alone. She had robed herself in black, and had gathered her gold hair about her face like a heavy veil, and sat weeping into it for the plight of Hugues d'Arques. "Mélite!" cried Adhelmar; "Mélite!" The Demoiselle de Puysange rose with a start, and, seeing him standing in the doorway, ran to him, incompetent little hands fluttering before her like frightened doves. She was very tired, by that day-long arguing with her brother's notions about honor and knightly faith and such foolish matters, and to her weariness Adhelmar seemed strength incarnate; surely he, if any one, could aid Hugues and bring him safe out of the grim marshal's claws. For the moment, perhaps, she had forgotten the feud which existed between Adhelmar and the Sieur d'Arques; but in any event, I am convinced, she knew that Adhelmar could refuse her nothing. So she ran toward him, her cheeks flushing arbutus-like, and she was smiling through her tears. Oh, thought Adhelmar, were it not very easy to leave Hugues to the dog's death he merits and to take this woman for my own? For I know that she loves me a little. And thinking of this, he kissed her, quietly, as one might comfort a sobbing child; afterward he held her in his arms for a moment, wondering vaguely at the pliant thickness of her hair and the sweet scent of it. Then he put her from him gently, and swore in his soul that Hugues must die, so that this woman might be Adhelmar's. "You will save him?" Mélite asked, and raised her face to his. There was that in her eyes which caused Adhelmar to muse for a little on the nature of women's love, and, subsequently, to laugh harshly and make vehement utterance. "Yes!" said Adhelmar. He demanded how many of Hugues' men were about. Some twenty of them had come to Puysange, Mélite said, in the hope that Reinault might aid them to save their master. She protested that her brother was a coward for not doing so; but Adhelmar, having his own opinion on this subject, and thinking in his heart that Hugues' skin might easily be ripped off him without spilling a pint of honest blood, said, simply: "Twenty and twenty is two-score. It is not a large armament, but it may serve." He told her his plan was to fall suddenly upon d'Andreghen and his men that night, and in the tumult to steal Hugues away; whereafter, as Adhelmar pointed out, Hugues might readily take ship for England, and leave the marshal to blaspheme Fortune in Normandy, and the French King to gnaw at his chains in Bordeaux, while Hugues toasts his shins in comfort at London. Adhelmar admitted that the plan was a mad one, but added, reasonably enough, that needs must when the devil drives. And so firm was his confidence, so cheery his laugh--he managed to laugh somehow, though it was a stiff piece of work,--that Mélite began to be comforted somewhat, and bade him go and Godspeed. So then Adhelmar left her. In the main hall he found the vicomte still sitting over his wine of Anjou. "Cousin," said Adhelmar, "I must ride hence to-night." Reinault stared at him: a mastering wonder woke in Reinault's face. "Ta, ta, ta!" he clicked his tongue, very softly. Afterward he sprang to his feet and clutched Adhelmar by both arms. "No, no!" Reinault cried. "No, Adhelmar, you must not try that! It is death, lad,--sure death! It means hanging, boy!" the vicomte pleaded, for, hard man that he was, he loved Adhelmar. "That is likely enough," Adhelmar conceded. "They will hang you,"' Reinault said again: "d'Andreghen and the Count Dauphin of Vienna will hang you as blithely as they would Iscariot." "That, too," said Adhelmar, "is likely enough, if I remain in France." "Oy Dieus! will you flee to England, then?" the vicomte scoffed, bitterly. "Has King Edward not sworn to hang you these eight years past? Was it not you, then, cousin, who took Almerigo di Pavia, that Lombard knave whom he made governor of Calais,--was it not you, then, who delivered Edward's loved Almerigo to Geoffrey de Chargny, who had him broken on the wheel? Eh, holy Maclou! but you will get hearty welcome and a chaplain and a rope in England." Adhelmar admitted that this was true. "Still," said he, "I must ride hence to-night." "For her?" Reinault asked, and jerked his thumb upward. "Yes," said Adhelmar,--"for her." Reinault stared in his face for a while. "You are a fool, Adhelmar," said he, at last, "but you are a brave man, and you love as becomes a chevalier. It is a great pity that a flibbertigibbet wench with a tow-head should be the death of you. For my part, I am the King's vassal; I shall not break faith with him; but you are my guest and my kinsman. For that reason I am going to bed, and I shall sleep very soundly. It is likely I shall hear nothing of the night's doings,--ohimé, no! not if you murder d'Andreghen in the court-yard!" Reinault ended, and smiled, somewhat sadly. Afterward he took Adhelmar's hand and said: "Farewell, lord Adhelmar! O true knight, sturdy and bold! terrible and merciless toward your enemies, gentle and simple toward your friends, farewell!" He kissed Adhelmar on either cheek and left him. In those days men encountered death with very little ado. Then Adhelmar rode off in the rain with thirty-four armed followers. Riding thus, he reflected upon the nature of women and upon his love for the Demoiselle de Puysange; and, to himself, he swore gloomily that if she had a mind to Hugues she must have Hugues, come what might. Having reached this conclusion, Adhelmar wheeled upon his men, and cursed them for tavern-idlers and laggards and flea-hearted snails, and bade them spur. Mélite, at her window, heard them depart, and heard the noise of their going lapse into the bland monotony of the rain's noise. This dank night now divulged no more, and she turned back into the room. Adhelmar's glove, which he had forgotten in his haste, lay upon the floor, and Mélite lifted it and twisted it idly. "I wonder--?" said she. She lighted four wax candles and set them before a mirror that was in the room. Mélite stood among them and looked into the mirror. She seemed very tall and very slender, and her loosened hair hung heavily about her beautiful shallow face and fell like a cloak around her black-robed body, showing against the black gown like melting gold; and about her were the tall, white candles tipped with still flames of gold. Mélite laughed--her laughter was high and delicate, with the resonance of thin glass,--and raised her arms above her, head, stretching tensely like a cat before a fire, and laughed yet again. "After all," said she, "I do not wonder." Mélite sat before the mirror, and braided her hair, and sang to herself in a sweet, low voice, brooding with unfathomable eyes upon her image in the glass, while the October rain beat about Puysange, and Adhelmar rode forth to save Hugues that must else be hanged. Sang Mélite: "_Rustling leaves of the willow-tree Peering downward at you and me, And no man else in the world to see, "Only the birds, whose dusty coats Show dark in the green,--whose throbbing throats Turn joy to music and love to notes_. "Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Mélite, and kiss, with no man to see! "And let us laugh for a little:--Yea, Let love and laughter herald the day When laughter and love will be put away. "Then you will remember the willow-tree And this very hour, and remember me, Mélite,--whose face you will no more see! "So swift, so swift the glad time goes, And Eld and Death with their countless woes Draw near, and the end thereof no man knows, "Lean your body against the tree, Lifting your red lips up to me, Mélite, and kiss, with no man to see!"_ Mélite smiled as she sang; for this was a song that Adhelmar had made for her upon a May morning at Nointel, before he was a knight, when both were very young. So now she smiled to remember the making of the verses which she sang while the October rain was beating about Puysange. 5. _Night-work_ It was not long before they came upon d'Andreghen and his men camped about a great oak, with One-eyed Peire a-swing over their heads for a lamentable banner. A shrill sentinel, somewhere in the dark, demanded the newcomers' business, but without receiving any adequate answer, for at that moment Adhelmar gave the word to charge. Then it was as if all the devils in Pandemonium had chosen Normandy for their playground; and what took place in the night no man saw for the darkness, so that I cannot tell you of it. Let it suffice that Adhelmar rode away before d'Andreghen had rubbed sleep well out of his eyes; and with Adhelmar were Hugues d'Arques and some half of Adhelmar's men. The rest were dead, and Adhelmar was badly hurt, for he had burst open his old wound and it was bleeding under his armor. Of this he said nothing. "Hugues," said he, "do you and these fellows ride to the coast; thence take ship for England." He would have none of Hugues' thanks; instead, he turned and left Hugues to whimper out his gratitude to the skies, which spat a warm, gusty rain at him. Adhelmar rode again to Puysange, and as he went he sang. Sang Adhelmar: "D'Andreghen in Normandy Went forth to slay mine enemy; But as he went Lord God for me wrought marvellously; "Wherefore, I may call and cry That am now about to die, 'I am content!' "Domine! Domine! Gratias accipe! Et meum animum Recipe in coelum_!" 6. They Kiss at Parting When he had come to Puysange, Adhelmar climbed the stairs of the White Turret,--slowly, for he was growing very feeble now,--and so came again to Mélite crouching among the burned-out candles in the slate-colored twilight which heralded dawn. "He is safe," said Adhelmar. He told Mélite how Hugues was rescued and shipped to England, and how, if she would, she might straightway follow him in a fishing-boat. "For there is likely to be ugly work at Puysange," Adhelmar said, "when the marshal comes. And he will come." "But what will you do now, my cousin?" asked Mélite. "Holy Ouen!" said Adhelmar; "since I needs must die, I will die in France, not in the cold land of England." "Die!" cried Mélite. "Are you hurt so sorely, then?" He grinned like a death's-head. "My injuries are not incurable," said he, "yet must I die very quickly, for all that. The English King will hang me if I go thither, as he has sworn to do these eight years, because of that matter of Almerigo di Pavia: and if I stay in France, I must hang because of this night's work." Mélite wept. "O God! O God!" she quavered, two or three times, like one hurt in the throat. "And you have done this for me! Is there no way to save you, Adhelmar?" she pleaded, with wide, frightened eyes that were like a child's. "None," said Adhelmar. He took both her hands in his, very tenderly. "Ah, my sweet," said he, "must I, whose grave is already digged, waste breath upon this idle talk of kingdoms and the squabbling men who rule them? I have but a brief while to live, and I wish to forget that there is aught else in the world save you, and that I love you. Do not weep, Mélite! In a little time you will forget me and be happy with this Hugues whom you love; and I?--ah, my sweet, I think that even in my grave I shall dream of you and of your great beauty and of the exceeding love that I bore you in the old days." "Ah, no, I shall not ever forget, O true and faithful lover! And, indeed, indeed, Adhelmar, I would give my life right willingly that yours might be saved!" She had almost forgotten Hugues. Her heart was sad as she thought of Adhelmar, who must die a shameful death for her sake, and of the love which she had cast away. Beside it, the Sieur d'Arques' affection showed somewhat tawdry, and Mélite began to reflect that, after all, she had liked Adhelmar almost as well. "Sweet," said Adhelmar, "do I not know you to the marrow? You will forget me utterly, for your heart is very changeable. Ah, Mother of God!" Adhelmar cried, with a quick lift of speech; "I am afraid to die, for the harsh dust will shut out the glory of your face, and you will forget!" "No; ah, no!" Mélite whispered, and drew near to him. Adhelmar smiled, a little wistfully, for he did not believe that she spoke the truth; but it was good to feel her body close to his, even though he was dying, and he was content. But by this time the dawn had come completely, flooding the room with its first thin radiance, and Mélite saw the pallor of his face and so knew that he was wounded. "Indeed, yes," said Adhelmar, when she had questioned him, "for my breast is quite cloven through." And when she disarmed him, Mélite found a great cut in his chest which had bled so much that it was apparent he must die, whether d'Andreghen and Edward of England would or no. Mélite wept again, and cried, "Why had you not told me of this?" "To have you heal me, perchance?" said Adhelmar. "Ah, love, is hanging, then, so sweet a death that I should choose it, rather than to die very peacefully in your arms? Indeed, I would not live if I might; for I have proven traitor to my King, and it is right that traitors should die; and, chief of all, I know that life can bring me naught more desirable than I have known this night. What need, then, have I to live?" Mélite bent over him; for as he spoke he had lain back in a tall carven chair by the east window. She was past speech. But now, for a moment, her lips clung to his, and her warm tears fell upon his face. What better death for a lover? thought Adhelmar. Yet he murmured somewhat. "Pity, always pity!" he said, wearily. "I shall never win aught else of you, Mélite. For before this you have kissed me, pitying me because you could not love me. And you have kissed me now, pitying me because I may not live." But Mélite, clasping her arms about his neck, whispered into his ear the meaning of this last kiss, and at the honeyed sound of her whispering his strength came back for a moment, and he strove to rise. The level sunlight through the open window smote full upon his face, which was very glad. Mélite was conscious of her nobility in causing him such delight at the last. "God, God!" cried Adhelmar, and he spread out his arms toward the dear, familiar world that was slowly taking form beneath them,--a world now infinitely dear to him; "all, my God, have pity and let me live a little longer!" As Mélite, half frightened, drew back from him, he crept out of his chair and fell prone at her feet. Afterward his hands stretched forward toward her, clutching, and then trembled and were still. Mélite stood looking downward, wondering vaguely when she would next know either joy or sorrow again. She was now conscious of no emotion whatever. It seemed to her she ought to be more greatly moved. So the new day found them. * * * * * MARCH 2, 1414 "_Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg_?" _In the chapel at Puysange you may still see the tomb of Adhelmar; but Mélite's bones lie otherwhere. "Her heart was changeable," as old Nicolas says, justly enough; and so in due time it was comforted. For Hugues d'Arques--or Hugh Darke, as his name was Anglicized--presently stood high in the favor of King Edward. A fief was granted to Messire Darke, in Norfolk, where Hugues shortly built for himself a residence at Yaxham, and began to look about for a wife: it was not long before he found one. This befell at Brétigny when, in 1360, the Great Peace was signed between France and England, and Hugues, as one of the English embassy, came face to face with Reinault and Mélite. History does not detail the meeting; but, inasmuch as the Sieur d'Arques and Mélite de Puysange were married at Rouen the following October, doubtless it passed off pleasantly enough. The couple had sufficient in common to have qualified them for several decades of mutual toleration. But by ill luck, Mélite died in child-birth three years after her marriage. She had borne, in 1361, twin daughters, of whom Adelais died a spinster; the other daughter, Sylvia, circa 1378, figured in an unfortunate love-affair with one of Sir Thomas Mowbray's attendants, but subsequently married Robert Vernon of Winstead. Mélite left also a son, Hugh, born in 1363, who succeeded to his father's estate of Yaxham in 1387, in which year Hugues fell at the battle of Radcot Bridge, fighting in behalf of the ill-fated Richard of Bordeaux. Now we turn to certain happenings in Eastcheap, at the Boar's Head Tavern._ CHAPTER III _The Episode Called Love-Letters of Falstaff_ I. "_That Gray Iniquity_" There was a sound of scuffling within as Sir John Falstaff--much broken since his loss of the King's favor, and now equally decayed in wit and health and reputation--stood fumbling at the door of the Angel room. He was particularly shaky this morning after a night of particularly hard drinking. But he came into the apartment singing, and, whatever the scuffling had meant, found Bardolph in one corner employed in sorting garments from a clothes-chest, while at the extreme end of the room Mistress Quickly demurely stirred the fire; which winked at the old knight rather knowingly. "_Then came the bold Sir Caradoc_," carolled Sir John. "Ah, mistress, what news?--_And eke Sir Pellinore_.--Did I rage last night, Bardolph? Was I a Bedlamite?" "As mine own bruises can testify," Bardolph assented. "Had each one of them a tongue, they would raise a clamor beside which Babel were as an heir weeping for his rich uncle's death; their testimony would qualify you for any mad-house in England. And if their evidence go against the doctor's stomach, the watchman at the corner hath three teeth--or, rather, hath them no longer, since you knocked them out last night--that will, right willingly, aid him to digest it." "Three, say you?" asked the knight, rather stiffly lowering his great body into his great chair set ready for him beside the fire. "I would have my valor in all men's mouths, but not in this fashion, for it is too biting a jest. Three, say you? Well, I am glad it was no worse; I have a tender conscience, and that mad fellow of the north, Hotspur, sits heavily upon it, so that thus this Percy, being slain by my valor, is _per se_ avenged, a plague on him! Three, say you? I would to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is; I would I had 'bated my natural inclination somewhat, and had slain less tall fellows by some threescore. I doubt Agamemnon slept not well o' nights. Three, say you? Give the fellow a crown apiece for his mouldy teeth, if thou hast them; if thou hast them not, bid him eschew this vice of drunkenness, whereby his misfortune hath befallen him, and thus win him heavenly crowns." "Indeed, sir," began Bardolph, "I doubt--" "Doubt not, sirrah!" cried Sir John, testily; and continued, in a virtuous manner: "Was not the apostle reproved for that same sin? Thou art a Didymus, Bardolph;--an incredulous paynim, a most unspeculative rogue! Have I carracks trading in the Indies? Have I robbed the exchequer of late? Have I the Golden Fleece for a cloak? Nay, it is paltry gimlet, and that augurs badly. Why, does this knavish watchman take me for a raven to feed him in the wilderness? Tell him there are no such ravens hereabout; else had I ravenously limed the house-tops and set springes in the gutters. Inform him that my purse is no better lined than his own broken skull: it is void as a beggar's protestations, or a butcher's stall in Lent; light as a famished gnat, or the sighing of a new-made widower; more empty than a last year's bird-nest, than a madman's eye, or, in fine, than the friendship of a king." "But you have wealthy friends, Sir John," suggested the hostess of the Boar's Head Tavern, whose impatience had but very hardly waited for this opportunity to join in the talk. "Yes, I warrant you, Sir John. Sir John, you have a many wealthy friends; you cannot deny that, Sir John." "Friends, dame?" asked the knight, and cowered closer to the fire, as though he were a little cold. "I have no friends since Hal is King. I had, I grant you, a few score of acquaintances whom I taught to play at dice; paltry young blades of the City, very unfledged juvenals! Setting my knighthood and my valor aside, if I did swear friendship with these, I did swear to a lie. But this is a censorious and muddy-minded world, so that, look you, even these sprouting aldermen, these foul bacon-fed rogues, have fled my friendship of late, and my reputation hath grown somewhat more murky than Erebus. No matter! I walk alone, as one that hath the pestilence. No matter! But I grow old; I am not in the vaward of my youth, mistress." He nodded his head with extreme gravity; then reached for a cup of sack that Bardolph held at the knight's elbow. "Indeed, I know not what your worship will do," said Mistress Quickly, rather sadly. "Faith!" answered Sir John, finishing the sack and grinning in a somewhat ghastly fashion; "unless the Providence that watches over the fall of a sparrow hath an eye to the career of Sir John Falstaff, Knight, and so comes to my aid shortly, I must needs convert my last doublet into a mask, and turn highwayman in my shirt. I can take purses yet, ye Uzzite comforters, as gaily as I did at Gadshill, where that scurvy Poins, and he that is now King, and some twoscore other knaves did afterward assault me in the dark; yet I peppered some of them, I warrant you!" "You must be rid of me, then, master," Bardolph interpolated. "I for one have no need of a hempen collar." "Ah, well!" said the knight, stretching himself in his chair as the warmth of the liquor coursed through his inert blood; "I, too, would be loth to break the gallows' back! For fear of halters, we must alter our way of living; we must live close, Bardolph, till the wars make us Croesuses or food for crows. And if Hal but hold to his bias, there will be wars: I will eat a piece of my sword, if he have not need of it shortly. Ah, go thy ways, tall Jack; there live not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old. We must live close, Bardolph; we must forswear drinking and wenching! But there is lime in this sack, you rogue; give me another cup." The old knight drained this second cup, and unctuously sucked at and licked his lips. Thereafter, "I pray you, hostess," he continued, "remember that Doll Tearsheet sups with me to-night; have a capon of the best, and be not sparing of the wine. I will repay you, upon honor, when we young fellows return from France, all laden with rings and brooches and such trumperies like your Norfolkshire pedlars at Christmas-tide. We will sack a town for you, and bring you back the Lord Mayor's beard to stuff you a cushion; the Dauphin shall be your tapster yet; we will walk on lilies, I warrant you, to the tune of _Hey, then up go we!"_ "Indeed, sir," said Mistress Quickly, in perfect earnest, "your worship is as welcome to my pantry as the mice--a pox on 'em!--think themselves; you are heartily welcome. Ah, well, old Puss is dead; I had her of Goodman Quickly these ten years since;--but I had thought you looked for the lady who was here but now;--she was a roaring lion among the mice." "What lady?" cried Sir John, with great animation. "Was it Flint the mercer's wife, think you? Ah, she hath a liberal disposition, and will, without the aid of Prince Houssain's carpet or the horse of Cambuscan, transfer the golden shining pieces from her husband's coffers to mine." "No mercer's wife, I think," Mistress Quickly answered, after consideration. "She came with two patched footmen, and smacked of gentility;--Master Dumbleton's father was a mercer; but he had red hair;--she is old;--and I could never abide red hair." "No matter!" cried the knight. "I can love this lady, be she a very Witch of Endor. Observe, what a thing it is to be a proper man, Bardolph! She hath marked me;--in public, perhaps; on the street, it may be;--and then, I warrant you, made such eyes! and sighed such sighs! and lain awake o' nights, thinking of a pleasing portly gentleman, whom, were I not modesty's self, I might name;--and I, all this while, not knowing! Fetch me my Book of Riddles and my Sonnets, that I may speak smoothly. Why was my beard not combed this morning? No matter, it will serve. Have I no better cloak than this?" Sir John was in a tremendous bustle, all a-beam with pleasurable anticipation. But Mistress Quickly, who had been looking out of the window, said, "Come, but your worship must begin with unwashed hands, for old Madam Wish-for't and her two country louts are even now at the door." "Avaunt, minions!" cried the knight. "Avaunt! Conduct the lady hither, hostess; Bardolph, another cup of sack. We will ruffle it, lad, and go to France all gold, like Midas! Are mine eyes too red? I must look sad, you know, and sigh very pitifully. Ah, we will ruffle it! Another cup of sack, Bardolph;--I am a rogue if I have drunk to-day. And avaunt! vanish! for the lady comes." He threw himself into a gallant attitude, suggestive of one suddenly palsied, and with the mien of a turkey-cock strutted toward the door to greet his unknown visitor. 2. _"Then was Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a Boy"_ The woman who entered was not the jolly City dame one looked for: and, at first sight, you estimated her age as a trifle upon the staider side of sixty. But to this woman the years had shown unwonted kindliness, as though time touched her less with intent to mar than to caress; her form was still unbent, and her countenance, bloodless and deep-furrowed, bore the traces of great beauty; and, whatever the nature of her errand, the woman who stood in the doorway was unquestionably a person of breeding. Sir John advanced toward her with as much elegance as he might muster; for gout when coupled with such excessive bulk does not beget an overpowering amount of grace. "_See, from the glowing East, Aurora comes_," he chirped. "Madam, permit me to welcome you to my poor apartments; they are not worthy--" "I would see Sir John Falstaff, sir," declared the lady, courteously, but with some reserve of manner, and looking him full in the face as she said this. "Indeed, madam," suggested Sir John, "if those bright eyes--whose glances have already cut my poor heart into as many pieces as the man in the front of the almanac--will but desist for a moment from such butcher's work and do their proper duty, you will have little trouble in finding the bluff soldier you seek." "Are you Sir John?" asked the lady, as though suspecting a jest. "The son of old Sir Edward Falstaff, of Norfolk?" "His wife hath frequently assured me so," Sir John protested, very gravely; "and to confirm her evidence I have about me a certain villainous thirst that did plague Sir Edward sorely in his lifetime, and came to me with his other chattels. The property I have expended long since; but no Jew will advance me a maravedi on the Falstaff thirst. It is a priceless commodity, not to be bought or sold; you might as soon quench it." "I would not have known you," said the lady, wonderingly; "but," she added, "I have not seen you these forty years." "Faith, madam," grinned the knight, "the great pilferer Time hath since then taken away a little from my hair, and added somewhat (saving your presence) to my belly; and my face hath not been improved by being the grindstone for some hundred swords. But I do not know you." "I am Sylvia Vernon," said the lady. "And once, a long while ago, I was Sylvia Darke." "I remember," said the knight. His voice was altered. Bardolph would hardly have known it; nor, perhaps, would he have recognized his master's manner as he handed Dame Sylvia to the best chair. "A long while ago," she repeated, sadly, after a pause during which the crackling of the fire was very audible. "Time hath dealt harshly with us both, John;--the name hath a sweet savor. I am an old woman now. And you--" "I would not have known you," said Sir John; then asked, almost resentfully, "What do you here?" "My son goes to the wars," she answered, "and I am come to bid him farewell; yet I should not tarry in London, for my lord is feeble and hath constant need of me. But I, an old woman, am yet vain enough to steal these few moments from him who needs me, to see for the last time, mayhap, him who was once my very dear friend." "I was never your friend, Sylvia," said Sir John. "Ah, the old wrangle!" said the lady, and smiled a little wistfully. "My dear and very honored lover, then; and I am come to see him here." "Ay!" interrupted Sir John, rather hastily; and he proceeded, glowing with benevolence: "A quiet, orderly place, where I bestow my patronage; the woman of the house had once a husband in my company. God rest his soul! he bore a good pike. He retired in his old age and 'stablished this tavern, where he passed his declining years, till death called him gently away from this naughty world. God rest his soul, say I!" This was a somewhat euphemistic version of the taking-off of Goodman Quickly, who had been knocked over the head with a joint-stool while rifling the pockets of a drunken guest; but perhaps Sir John wished to speak well of the dead, even at the price of conferring upon the present home of Sir John an idyllic atmosphere denied it by the London constabulary. "And you for old memories' sake yet aid his widow?" the lady murmured. "That is like you, John." There was another silence, and the fire crackled more loudly than ever. "And are you sorry that I come again, in a worse body, John, strange and time-ruined?" "Sorry?" echoed Sir John; and, ungallant as it was, he hesitated a moment before replying: "No, faith! But there are some ghosts that will not easily bear raising, and you have raised one." "We have summoned up no very fearful spectre, I think," replied the lady; "at most, no worse than a pallid, gentle spirit that speaks--to me, at least--of a boy and a girl who loved each other and were very happy a great while ago." "Are you come hither to seek that boy?" asked the knight, and chuckled, though not merrily. "The boy that went mad and rhymed of you in those far-off dusty years? He is quite dead, my lady; he was drowned, mayhap, in a cup of wine. Or he was slain, perchance, by a few light women. I know not how he died. But he is quite dead, my lady, and I had not been haunted by his ghost until to-day." He stared at the floor as he ended; then choked, and broke into a fit of coughing which unromantic chance brought on just now, of all times. "He was a dear boy," she said, presently; "a boy who loved a young maid very truly; a boy that found the maid's father too strong and shrewd for desperate young lovers--Eh, how long ago it seems, and what a flood of tears the poor maid shed at being parted from that dear boy!" "Faith!" admitted Sir John, "the rogue had his good points." "Ah, John, you have not forgotten, I know," the lady said, looking up into his face, "and, you will believe me that I am very heartily sorry for the pain I brought into your life?" "My wounds heal easily," said Sir John. "For though my dear dead father was too wise for us, and knew it was for the best that I should not accept your love, believe me, John, I always knew the value of that love, and have held it an honor that any woman must prize." "Dear lady," the knight suggested, with a slight grimace, "the world is not altogether of your opinion." "I know not of the world," she said; "for we live away from it. But we have heard of you ever and anon; I have your life quite letter-perfect for these forty years or more." "You have heard of me?" asked Sir John; and, for a seasoned knave, he looked rather uncomfortable. "As a gallant and brave soldier," she answered; "of how you fought at sea with Mowbray that was afterward Duke of Norfolk; of your knighthood by King Richard; of how you slew the Percy at Shrewsbury; and captured Coleville o' late in Yorkshire; and how the Prince, that now is King, did love you above all men; and, in fine, of many splendid doings in the great world." Sir John raised a protesting hand. He said, with commendable modesty: "I have fought somewhat. But we are not Bevis of Southampton; we have slain no giants. Heard you naught else?" "Little else of note," replied the lady; and went on, very quietly: "But we are proud of you at home in Norfolk. And such tales as I have heard I have woven together in one story; and I have told it many times to my children as we sat on the old Chapel steps at evening, and the shadows lengthened across the lawn, and I bid them emulate this, the most perfect knight and gallant gentleman that I have known. And they love you, I think, though but by repute." Once more silence fell between them; and the fire grinned wickedly at the mimic fire reflected by the old chest, as though it knew of a most entertaining secret. "Do you yet live at Winstead?" asked Sir John, half idly. "Yes," she answered; "in the old house. It is little changed, but there are many changes about." "Is Moll yet with you that did once carry our letters?" "Married to Hodge, the tanner," the lady said; "and dead long since." "And all our merry company?" Sir John demanded. "Marian? And Tom and little Osric? And Phyllis? And Adelais? Zounds, it is like a breath of country air to speak their names once more." "All dead," she answered, in a hushed voice, "save Adelais, and even to me poor Adelais seems old and strange. Walter was slain in the French wars, and she hath never married." "All dead," Sir John informed the fire, as if confidentially; then he laughed, though his bloodshot eyes were not merry. "This same Death hath a wide maw! It is not long before you and I, my lady, will be at supper with the worms. But you, at least, have had a happy life." "I have been content enough," she said, "but all that seems run by; for, John, I think that at our age we are not any longer very happy nor very miserable." "Faith!" agreed Sir John, "we are both old; and I had not known it, my lady, until to-day." Again there was silence; and again the fire leapt with delight at the jest. Sylvia Vernon arose suddenly and cried, "I would I had not come!" Then said Sir John: "Nay, this is but a feeble grieving you have wakened. For, madam--you whom I loved once!--you are in the right. Our blood runs thinner than of yore; and we may no longer, I think, either sorrow or rejoice very deeply." "It is true," she said; "but I must go; and, indeed, I would to God I had not come!" Sir John was silent; he bowed his head, in acquiescence perhaps, in meditation it may have been; but he stayed silent. "Yet," said she, "there is something here which I must keep no longer: for here are all the letters you ever writ me." Whereupon she handed Sir John a little packet of very old and very faded papers. He turned them awkwardly in his hand once or twice; then stared at them; then at the lady. "You have kept them--always?" he cried. "Yes," she responded, wistfully; "but I must not be guilty of continuing such follies. It is a villainous example to my grandchildren," Dame Sylvia told him, and smiled. "Farewell." Sir John drew close to her and took her hands in his. He looked into her eyes for an instant, holding himself very erect,--and it was a rare event when Sir John looked any one squarely in the eyes,--and he said, wonderingly, "How I loved you!" "I know," she murmured. Sylvia Vernon gazed up into his bloated old face with a proud tenderness that was half-regretful. A quavering came into her gentle voice. "And I thank you for your gift, my lover,--O brave true lover, whose love I was not ever ashamed to own! Farewell, my dear; yet a little while, and I go to seek the boy and girl we know of." "I shall not be long, madam," said Sir John. "Speak a kind word for me in Heaven; for I shall have sore need of it." She had reached the door by this. "You are not sorry that I came?" Sir John answered, very sadly: "There are many wrinkles now in your dear face, my lady; the great eyes are a little dimmed, and the sweet laughter is a little cracked; but I am not sorry to have seen you thus. For I have loved no woman truly save you alone; and I am not sorry. Farewell." And for a moment he bowed his unreverend gray head over her shrivelled fingers. 3. "_This Pitch, as Ancient Writers do Report, doth Defile_" "Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to the vice of lying!" chuckled Sir John, and leaned back rheumatically in his chair and mumbled over the jest. "Yet it was not all a lie," he confided, as if in perplexity, to the fire; "but what a coil over a youthful green-sickness 'twixt a lad and a wench more than forty years syne! "I might have had money of her for the asking," he presently went on; "yet I am glad I did not; which is a parlous sign and smacks of dotage." He nodded very gravely over this new and alarming phase of his character. "Were it not a quaint conceit, a merry tickle-brain of Fate," he asked of the leaping flames, after a still longer pause, "that this mountain of malmsey were once a delicate stripling with apple cheeks and a clean breath, smelling of civet, and as mad for love, I warrant you, as any Amadis of them all? For, if a man were to speak truly, I did love her. "I had the special marks of the pestilence," he assured a particularly incredulous--and obstinate-looking coal,--a grim, black fellow that, lurking in a corner, scowled forbiddingly and seemed to defy both the flames and Sir John. "Not all the flagons and apples in the universe might have comforted me; I was wont to sigh like a leaky bellows; to weep like a wench that hath lost her grandam; to lard my speech with the fag-ends of ballads like a man milliner; and did, indeed, indite sonnets, canzonets, and what not of mine own elaboration. "And Moll did carry them," he continued; "plump brown-eyed Moll, that hath married Hodge the tanner, and reared her tannerkins, and died long since." But the coal remained incredulous, and the flames crackled merrily. "Lord, Lord, what did I not write?" said Sir John, drawing out a paper from the packet, and deciphering by the firelight the faded writing. Read Sir John: "_Have pity, Sylvia? Cringing at thy door Entreats with dolorous cry and clamoring, That mendicant who quits thee nevermore; Now winter chills the world, and no birds sing In any woods, yet as in wanton Spring He follows thee; and never will have done, Though nakedly he die, from following Whither thou leadest. "Canst thou look upon His woes, and laugh to see a goddess' son Of wide dominion, and in strategy "More strong than Jove, more wise than Solomon, Inept to combat thy severity? Have pity, Sylvia! And let Love be one Among the folk that bear thee company_." "Is it not the very puling speech of your true lover?" he chuckled; and the flames spluttered assent. "_Among the folk that bear thee company_," he repeated, and afterward looked about him with a smack of gravity. "Faith, Adam Cupid hath forsworn my fellowship long since; he hath no score chalked up against him at the Boar's Head Tavern; or, if he have, I doubt not the next street-beggar might discharge it." "And she hath commended me to her children as a very gallant gentleman and a true knight," Sir John went on, reflectively. He cast his eyes toward the ceiling, and grinned at invisible deities. "Jove that sees all hath a goodly commodity of mirth; I doubt not his sides ache at times, as if they had conceived another wine-god." "Yet, by my honor," he insisted to the fire; then added, apologetically,--"if I had any, which, to speak plain, I have not,--I am glad; it is a brave jest; and I did love her once." Then the time-battered, bloat rogue picked out another paper, and read: "'_My dear lady,--That I am not with thee to-night is, indeed, no fault of mine; for Sir Thomas Mowbray hath need of me, he saith. Yet the service that I have rendered him thus far is but to cool my heels in his antechamber and dream of two great eyes and of that net of golden hair wherewith Lord Love hath lately snared my poor heart. For it comforts me_--' And so on, and so on, the pen trailing most juvenal sugar, like a fly newly crept out of the honey-pot. And ending with a posy, filched, I warrant you, from some ring. "I remember when I did write her this," he explained to the fire. "Lord, Lord, if the fire of grace were not quite out of me, now should I be moved. For I did write it; and it was sent with a sonnet, all of Hell, and Heaven, and your pagan gods, and other tricks of speech. It should be somewhere." He fumbled with uncertain fingers among the papers. "Ah, here it is," he said at last, and he again began to read aloud. Read Sir John: "_Cupid invaded Hell, and boldly drove Before him all the hosts of Erebus, Till he had conquered: and grim Cerberus Sang madrigals, the Furies rhymed of love, Old Charon sighed, and sonnets rang above The gloomy Styx; and even as Tantalus Was Proserpine discrowned in Tartarus, And Cupid regnant in the place thereof_. "_Thus Love is monarch throughout Hell to-day; In Heaven we know his power was always great; And Earth acclaimed Love's mastery straightway When Sylvia came to gladden Earth's estate:-- Thus Hell and Heaven and Earth his rule obey, And Sylvia's heart alone is obdurate_. "Well, well," sighed Sir John, "it was a goodly rogue that writ it, though the verse runs but lamely! A goodly rogue! "He might," Sir John suggested, tentatively, "have lived cleanly, and forsworn sack; he might have been a gallant gentleman, and begotten grandchildren, and had a quiet nook at the ingleside to rest his old bones: but he is dead long since. He might have writ himself _armigero_ in many a bill, or obligation, or quittance, or what not; he might have left something behind him save unpaid tavern bills; he might have heard cases, harried poachers, and quoted old saws; and slept in his own family chapel through sermons yet unwrit, beneath his presentment, done in stone, and a comforting bit of Latin: but he is dead long since." Sir John sat meditating for a while; it had grown quite dark in the room as he muttered to himself. He rose now, rather cumbrously and uncertainly, but with a fine rousing snort of indignation. "Zooks!" he said, "I prate like a death's-head. A thing done hath an end, God have mercy on us all! And I will read no more of the rubbish." He cast the packet into the heart of the fire; the yellow papers curled at the edges, rustled a little, and blazed; he watched them burn to the last spark. "A cup of sack to purge the brain!" cried Sir John, and filled one to the brim. "And I will go sup with Doll Tearsheet." * * * * * SEPTEMBER 29, 1422 "_Anoon her herte hath pitee of his wo, And with that pitee, love com in also; Thus is this quene in pleasaunce and in loye_." _Meanwhile had old Dome Sylvia returned contentedly to the helpmate whom she had accepted under compulsion, and who had made her a fair husband, as husbands go. It is duly recorded, indeed, on their shared tomb, that their forty years of married life were of continuous felicity, and set a pattern to all Norfolk. The more prosaic verbal tradition is that Lady Vernon retained Sir Robert well in hand by pointing out, at judicious intervals, that she had only herself to blame for having married such a selfish person in preference to a hero of the age and an ornament of the loftiest circles. I find, on consultation of the Allonby records, that Sylvia Vernon died of a quinsy, in 1419, surviving Sir Robert by some three months. She had borne him four sons and four daughters: of these there remained at Winstead in 1422 only Sir Hugh Vernon, the oldest son, knighted by Henry V at Agincourt, where Vernon had fought with distinction; and Adelais Vernon, the youngest daughter, with whom the following has to do._ CHAPTER IV _The Episode Called "Sweet Adelais"_ 1. _Gruntings at Aeaea_ It was on a clear September day that the Marquis of Falmouth set out for France. John of Bedford had summoned him posthaste when Henry V was stricken at Senlis with what bid fair to prove a mortal distemper; for the marquis was Bedford's comrade-in-arms, veteran of Shrewsbury, Agincourt and other martial disputations, and the Duke-Regent suspected that, to hold France in case of the King's death, he would presently need all the help he could muster. "And I, too, look for warm work," the marquis conceded to Mistress Adelais Vernon, at parting. "But, God willing, my sweet, we shall be wed at Christmas for all that. The Channel is not very wide. At a pinch I might swim it, I think, to come to you." He kissed her and rode away with his men. Adelais stared after them, striving to picture her betrothed rivalling Leander in this fashion, and subsequently laughed. The marquis was a great lord and a brave captain, but long past his first youth; his actions went somewhat too deliberately ever to be roused to the high lunacies of the Sestian amorist. So Adelais laughed, but a moment later, recollecting the man's cold desire of her, his iron fervors, Adelais shuddered. This was in the court-yard at Winstead. Roger Darke of Yaxham, the girl's cousin, standing beside her, noted the gesture, and snarled. "Think twice of it, Adelais," said he. Whereupon Mistress Vernon flushed like a peony. "I honor him," she said, with some irrelevance, "and he loves me." Roger scoffed. "Love, love! O you piece of ice! You gray-stone saint! What do you know of love?" Master Darke caught both her hands in his. "Now, by Almighty God, our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ!" he said, between his teeth, his eyes flaming; "I, Roger Darke, have offered you undefiled love and you have mocked at it. Ha, Tears of Mary! how I love you! And you mean to marry this man for his title! Do you not believe that I love you, Adelais?" he whimpered. Gently she disengaged herself. This was of a pattern with Roger's behavior any time during the past two years. "I suppose you do," Adelais conceded, with the tiniest possible shrug. "Perhaps that is why I find you so insufferable." Afterward Mistress Vernon turned on her heel and left Master Darke. In his fluent invocation of Mahound and Termagaunt and other overseers of the damned he presently touched upon eloquence. 2. _Comes One with Moly_ Adelais came into the walled garden of Winstead, aflame now with autumnal scarlet and gold. She seated herself upon a semicircular marble bench, and laughed for no apparent reason, and contentedly waited what Dame Luck might send. She was a comely maid, past argument or (as her lovers habitually complained) any adequate description. Circe, Colchian Medea, Viviane du Lac, were their favorite analogues; and what old romancers had fabled concerning these ladies they took to be the shadow of which Adelais Vernon was the substance. At times these rhapsodists might have supported their contention with a certain speciousness, such as was apparent to-day, for example, when against the garden's hurly-burly of color, the prodigal blazes of scarlet and saffron and wine-yellow, the girl's green gown glowed like an emerald, and her eyes, too, seemed emeralds, vivid, inscrutable, of a clear verdancy that was quite untinged with either blue or gray. Very black lashes shaded them. The long oval of her face (you might have objected), was of an absolute pallor, rarely quickening to a flush; but her petulant lips burned crimson, and her hair mimicked the dwindling radiance of the autumn sunlight and shamed it. All in all, the aspect of Adelais Vernon was, beyond any questioning, spiced with a sorcerous tang; say, the look of a young witch shrewd at love-potions, but ignorant of their flavor; yet before this the girl's comeliness had stirred men's hearts to madness, and the county boasted of it. Presently Adelais lifted her small imperious head, and then again she smiled, for out of the depths of the garden, with an embellishment of divers trills and roulades, came a man's voice that carolled blithely. Sang the voice: _"Had you lived when earth was new What had bards of old to do Save to sing in praise of you? "Had you lived in ancient days, Adelais, sweet Adelais, You had all the ancients' praise,-- You whose beauty would have won Canticles of Solomon, Had the sage Judean king Gazed upon this goodliest thing Earth of Heaven's grace hath got. "Had you gladdened Greece, were not All the nymphs of Greece forgot? "Had you trod Sicilian ways, Adelais, sweet Adelais_, "You had pilfered all their praise: Bion and Theocritus Had transmitted unto us Honeyed harmonies to tell Of your beauty's miracle, Delicate, desirable, And their singing skill were bent You-ward tenderly,--content, While the world slipped by, to gaze On the grace of you, and praise Sweet Adelais_." Here the song ended, and a man, wheeling about the hedge, paused to regard her with adoring eyes. Adelais looked up at him, incredibly surprised by his coming. This was the young Sieur d'Arnaye, Hugh Vernon's prisoner, taken at Agincourt seven years earlier and held since then, by the King's command, without ransom; for it was Henry's policy to release none of the important French prisoners. Even on his death-bed he found time to admonish his brother, John of Bedford, that four of these,--Charles d'Orleans and Jehan de Bourbon and Arthur de Rougemont and Fulke d'Arnaye,--should never be set at liberty. "Lest," as the King said, with a savor of prophecy, "more fire be kindled in one day than all your endeavors can quench in three." Presently the Sieur d'Arnaye sighed, rather ostentatiously; and Adelais laughed, and demanded the cause of his grief. "Mademoiselle," he said,--his English had but a trace of accent,--"I am afflicted with a very grave malady." "What is the name of this malady?" said she. "They call it love, mademoiselle." Adelais laughed yet again and doubted if the disease were incurable. But Fulke d'Arnaye seated himself beside her and demonstrated that, in his case, it might not ever be healed. "For it is true," he observed, "that the ancient Scythians, who lived before the moon was made, were wont to cure this distemper by blood-letting under the ears; but your brother, mademoiselle, denies me access to all knives. And the leech Aelian avers that it may be cured by the herb agnea; but your brother, mademoiselle, will not permit that I go into the fields in search of this herb. And in Greece--he, mademoiselle, I might easily be healed of my malady in Greece! For in Greece is the rock, Leucata Petra, from which a lover may leap and be cured; and the well of the Cyziceni, from which a lover may drink and be cured; and the river Selemnus, in which a lover may bathe and be cured: but your brother will not permit that I go to Greece. You have a very cruel brother, mademoiselle; seven long years, no less, he has penned me here like a starling in a cage." And Fulke d'Arnaye shook his head at her reproachfully. Afterward he laughed. Always this Frenchman found something at which to laugh; Adelais could not remember in all the seven years a time when she had seen him downcast. But while his lips jested of his imprisonment, his eyes stared at her mirthlessly, like a dog at his master, and her gaze fell before the candor of the passion she saw in them. "My lord," said Adelais, "why will you not give your parole? Then you would be free to come and go as you elected." A little she bent toward him, a covert red showing in her cheeks. "To-night at Halvergate the Earl of Brudenel holds the feast of Saint Michael. Give your parole, my lord, and come with us. There will be in our company fair ladies who may perhaps heal your malady." But the Sieur d'Arnaye only laughed. "I cannot give my parole," he said, "since I mean to escape for all your brother's care." Then he fell to pacing up and down before her. "Now, by Monseigneur Saint Médard and the Eagle that sheltered him!" he cried, in half-humorous self-mockery; "however thickly troubles rain upon me, I think that I shall never give up hoping!" After a pause, "Listen, mademoiselle," he went on, more gravely, and gave a nervous gesture toward the east, "yonder is France, sacked, pillaged, ruinous, prostrate, naked to her enemy. But at Vincennes, men say, the butcher of Agincourt is dying. With him dies the English power in France. Can his son hold that dear realm? Are those tiny hands with which this child may not yet feed himself capable to wield a sceptre? Can he who is yet beholden to nurses for milk distribute sustenance to the law and justice of a nation? He, I think not, mademoiselle! France will have need of me shortly. Therefore, I cannot give my parole." "Then must my brother still lose his sleep, lord, for always your safe-keeping is in his mind. To-day at cock-crow he set out for the coast to examine those Frenchmen who landed yesterday." At this he wheeled about. "Frenchmen!" "Only Norman fishermen, lord, whom the storm drove to seek shelter in England. But he feared they had come to rescue you." Fulke d'Arnaye shrugged his shoulders. "That was my thought, too," he admitted, with a laugh. "Always I dream of escape, mademoiselle. Have a care of me, sweet enemy! I shall escape yet, it may be." "But I will not have you escape," said Adelais. She tossed her glittering little head. "Winstead would not be Winstead without you. Why, I was but a child, my lord, when you came. Have you forgotten, then, the lank, awkward child who used to stare at you so gravely?" "Mademoiselle," he returned, and now his voice trembled and still the hunger in his eyes grew more great, "I think that in all these years I have forgotten nothing--not even the most trivial happening, mademoiselle,--wherein you had a part. You were a very beautiful child. Look you, I remember as if it were yesterday that you never wept when your good lady mother--whose soul may Christ have in his keeping!--was forced to punish you for some little misdeed. No, you never wept; but your eyes would grow wistful, and you would come to me here in the garden, and sit with me for a long time in silence. 'Fulke,' you would say, quite suddenly, 'I love you better than my mother.' And I told you that it was wrong to make such observations, did I not, mademoiselle? My faith, yes! but I may confess now that I liked it," Fulke d'Arnaye ended, with a faint chuckle. Adelais sat motionless. Certainly it was strange, she thought, how the sound of this man's voice had power to move her. Certainly, too, this man was very foolish. "And now the child is a woman,--a woman who will presently be Marchioness of Falmouth. Look you, when I get free of my prison--and I shall get free, never fear, mademoiselle,--I shall often think of that great lady. For only God can curb a man's dreams, and God is compassionate. So I hope to dream nightly of a gracious lady whose hair is gold and whose eyes are colored like the summer sea and whose voice is clear and low and very wonderfully sweet. Nightly, I think, the vision of that dear enemy will hearten me to fight for France by day. In effect, mademoiselle, your traitor beauty will yet aid me to destroy your country." The Sieur d'Arnaye laughed, somewhat cheerlessly, as he lifted her hand to his lips. And certainly also (she concluded her reflections) it was absurd how this man's touch seemed an alarm to her pulses. Adelais drew away from him. "No!" she said: "remember, lord, I, too, am not free." "Indeed, we tread on dangerous ground," the Frenchman assented, with a sad little smile. "Pardon me, mademoiselle. Even were you free of your trothplight--even were I free of my prison, most beautiful lady, I have naught to offer you yonder in that fair land of France. They tell me that the owl and the wolf hunt undisturbed where Arnaye once stood. My château is carpeted with furze and roofed with God's Heaven. That gives me a large estate--does it not?--but I may not reasonably ask a woman to share it. So I pray you pardon me for my nonsense, mademoiselle, and I pray that the Marchioness of Falmouth may be very happy." And with that he vanished into the autumn-fired recesses of the garden, singing, his head borne stiff. Oh, the brave man who esteemed misfortune so slightly! thought Adelais. She remembered that the Marquis of Falmouth rarely smiled; and once only--at a bull-baiting--had she heard him laugh. It needed bloodshed, then, to amuse him, Adelais deduced, with that self-certainty in logic which is proper to youth; and the girl shuddered. But through the scarlet coppices of the garden, growing fainter and yet more faint, rang the singing of Fulke d'Arnaye. Sang the Frenchman: "Had you lived in Roman times No Catullus in his rhymes Had lamented Lesbia's sparrow: He had praised your forehead, narrow As the newly-crescent moon, White as apple-trees in June; He had made some amorous tune Of the laughing light Eros Snared as Psyche-ward he goes By your beauty,--by your slim, White, perfect beauty. "After him Horace, finding in your eyes Horace limned in lustrous wise, Would have made you melodies Fittingly to hymn your praise, Sweet Adelais." 3. Roger is Explicit Into the midst of the Michaelmas festivities at Halvergate that night, burst a mud-splattered fellow in search of Sir Hugh Vernon. Roger Darke brought him to the knight. The fellow then related that he came from Simeon de Beck, the master of Castle Rising, with tidings that a strange boat, French-rigged, was hovering about the north coast. Let Sir Hugh have a care of his prisoner. Vernon swore roundly. "I must look into this," he said. "But what shall I do with Adelais?" "Will you not trust her to me?" Roger asked. "If so, cousin, I will very gladly be her escort to Winstead. Let the girl dance her fill while she may, Hugh. She will have little heart for dancing after a month or so of Falmouth's company." "That is true," Vernon assented; "but the match is a good one, and she is bent upon it." So presently he rode with his men to the north coast. An hour later Roger Darke and Adelais set out for Winstead, in spite of all Lady Brudenel's protestations that Mistress Vernon had best lie with her that night at Halvergate. It was a clear night of restless winds, neither warm nor chill, but fine September weather. About them the air was heavy with the damp odors of decaying leaves, for the road they followed was shut in by the autumn woods, that now arched the way with sere foliage, rustling and whirring and thinly complaining overhead, and now left it open to broad splashes of moonlight, where fallen leaves scuttled about in the wind vortices. Adelais, elate with dancing, chattered of this and that as her gray mare ambled homeward, but Roger was moody. Past Upton the road branched in three directions; here Master Darke caught the gray mare's bridle and turned both horses to the left. "Why, of whatever are you thinking!" the girl derided him. "Roger, this is not the road to Winstead!" He grinned evilly over his shoulder. "It is the road to Yaxham, Adelais, where my chaplain expects us." In a flash she saw it all as her eyes swept these desolate woods. "You will not dare!" "Will I not?" said Roger. "Faith, for my part, I think you have mocked me for the last time, Adelais, since it is the wife's duty, as Paul very justly says, to obey." Swiftly she slipped from the mare. But he followed her. "Oh, infamy!" the girl cried. "You have planned this, you coward!" "Yes, I planned it," said Roger Darke. "Yet I take no great credit therefor, for it was simple enough. I had but to send a feigned message to your block-head brother. Ha, yes, I planned it, Adelais, and I planned it well. But I deal honorably. To-morrow you will be Mistress Darke, never fear." He grasped at her cloak as she shrank from him. The garment fell, leaving the girl momentarily free, her festival jewels shimmering in the moonlight, her bared shoulders glistening like silver. Darke, staring at her, giggled horribly. An instant later Adelais fell upon her knees. "Sweet Christ, have pity upon Thy handmaiden! Do not forsake me, sweet Christ, in my extremity! Save me from this man!" she prayed, with entire faith. "My lady wife," said Darke, and his hot, wet hand sank heavily upon her shoulder, "you had best finish your prayer before my chaplain, I think, since by ordinary Holy Church is skilled to comfort the sorrowing." "A miracle, dear lord Christ!" the girl wailed. "O sweet Christ, a miracle!" "Faith of God!" said Roger, in a flattish tone; "what was that?" For faintly there came the sound of one singing. Sang the distant voice: _"Had your father's household been Guelfic-born or Ghibelline, Beatrice were unknown On her star-encompassed throne. "For, had Dante viewed your grace, Adelais, sweet Adelais, You had reigned in Bice's place,-- Had for candles, Hyades, Rastaben, and Betelguese,-- And had heard Zachariel Chaunt of you, and, chaunting, tell All the grace of you, and praise Sweet Adelais."_ 4. _Honor Brings a Padlock_ Adelais sprang to her feet. "A miracle!" she cried, her voice shaking. "Fulke, Fulke! to me, Fulke!" Master Darke hurried her struggling toward his horse. Darke was muttering curses, for there was now a beat of hoofs in the road yonder that led to Winstead. "Fulke, Fulke!" the girl shrieked. Then presently, as Roger put foot to stirrup, two horsemen wheeled about the bend in the road, and one of them leapt to the ground. "Mademoiselle," said Fulke d'Arnaye, "am I, indeed, so fortunate as to be of any service to you?" "Ho!" cried Roger, with a gulp of relief, "it is only the French dancing-master taking French leave of poor cousin Hugh! Man, but you startled me!" Now Adelais ran to the Frenchman, clinging to him the while that she told of Roger's tricks. And d'Arnaye's face set mask-like. "Monsieur," he said, when she had ended, "you have wronged a sweet and innocent lady. As God lives, you shall answer to me for this." "Look you," Roger pointed out, "this is none of your affair, Monsieur Jackanapes. You are bound for the coast, I take it. Very well,--ka me, and I ka thee. Do you go your way in peace, and let us do the same." Fulke d'Arnaye put the girl aside and spoke rapidly in French to his companion. Then with mincing agility he stepped toward Master Darke. Roger blustered. "You hop-toad! you jumping-jack!" said he, "what do you mean?" "Chastisement!" said the Frenchman, and struck him in the face. "Very well!" said Master Darke, strangely quiet. And with that they both drew. The Frenchman laughed, high and shrill, as they closed, and afterward he began to pour forth a voluble flow of discourse. Battle was wine to the man. "Not since Agincourt, Master Coward--he, no!--have I held sword in hand. It is a good sword, this,--a sharp sword, is it not? Ah, the poor arm--but see, your blood is quite black-looking in this moonlight, and I had thought cowards yielded a paler blood than brave men possess. We live and learn, is it not? Observe, I play with you like a child,--as I played with your tall King at Agincourt when I cut away the coronet from his helmet. I did not kill him--no!--but I wounded him, you conceive? Presently, I shall wound you, too. My compliments--you have grazed my hand. But I shall not kill you, because you are the kinsman of the fairest lady earth may boast, and I would not willingly shed the least drop of any blood that is partly hers. Ohé, no! Yet since I needs must do this ungallant thing--why, see, monsieur, how easy it is!" Thereupon he cut Roger down at a blow and composedly set to wiping his sword on the grass. The Englishman lay like a log where he had fallen. "Lord," Adelais quavered, "lord, have you killed him?" Fulke d'Arnaye sighed. "Hélas, no!" said he, "since I knew that you did not wish it. See, mademoiselle,--I have but made a healthful and blood-letting small hole in him here. He will return himself to survive to it long time--Fie, but my English fails me, after these so many years--" D'Arnaye stood for a moment as if in thought, concluding his meditations with a grimace. After that he began again to speak in French to his companion. The debate seemed vital. The stranger gesticulated, pleaded, swore, implored, summoned all inventions between the starry spheres and the mud of Cocytus to judge of the affair; but Fulke d'Arnaye was resolute. "Behold, mademoiselle," he said, at length, "how my poor Olivier excites himself over a little matter. Olivier is my brother, most beautiful lady, but he speaks no English, so that I cannot present him to you. He came to rescue me, this poor Olivier, you conceive. Those Norman fishermen of whom you spoke to-day--but you English are blinded, I think, by the fogs of your cold island. Eight of the bravest gentlemen in France, mademoiselle, were those same fishermen, come to bribe my gaoler,--the incorruptible Tompkins, no less. Hé, yes, they came to tell me that Henry of Monmouth, by the wrath of God King of France, is dead at Vincennes yonder, mademoiselle, and that France will soon be free of you English. France rises in her might--" His nostrils dilated, he seemed taller; then he shrugged. "And poor Olivier grieves that I may not strike a blow for her,--grieves that I must go back to Winstead." D'Arnaye laughed as he caught the bridle of the gray mare and turned her so that Adelais might mount. But the girl, with a faint, wondering cry, drew away from him. "You will go back! You have escaped, lord, and you will go back!" "Why, look you," said the Frenchman, "what else may I conceivably do? We are some miles from your home, most beautiful lady,--can you ride those four long miles alone? in this night so dangerous? Can I leave you here alone in this so tall forest? Hé, surely not. I am desolated, mademoiselle, but I needs must burden you with my company homeward." Adelais drew a choking breath. He had fretted out seven years of captivity. Now he was free; and lest she be harmed or her name be smutched, however faintly, he would go back to his prison, jesting. "No, no!" she cried aloud. But he raised a deprecating hand. "You cannot go alone. Olivier here would go with you gladly. Not one of those brave gentlemen who await me at the coast yonder but would go with you very, very gladly, for they love France, these brave gentlemen, and they think that I can serve her better than most other men. That is very flattering, is it not? But all the world conspires to flatter me, mademoiselle. Your good brother, by example, prizes my company so highly that he would infallibly hang the gentleman who rode back with you. So, you conceive, I cannot avail myself of their services. But with me it is different, hein? Ah, yes, Sir Hugh will merely lock me up again and for the future guard me more vigilantly. Will you not mount, mademoiselle?" His voice was quiet, and his smile never failed him. It was this steady smile which set her heart to aching. Adelais knew that no natural power could dissuade him; he would go back with her; but she knew how constantly he had hoped for liberty, with what fortitude he had awaited his chance of liberty; and that he should return to captivity, smiling, thrilled her to impotent, heart-shaking rage. It maddened her that he dared love her thus infinitely. "But, mademoiselle," Fulke d'Arnaye went on, when she had mounted, "let us proceed, if it so please you, by way of Filby. For then we may ride a little distance with this rogue Olivier. I may not hope to see Olivier again in this life, you comprehend, and Olivier is, I think, the one person who loves me in all this great wide world. Me, I am not very popular, you conceive. But you do not object, mademoiselle?" "No!" she said, in a stifled voice. Afterward they rode on the way to Filby, leaving Roger Darke to regain at discretion the mastership of his faculties. The two Frenchmen as they went talked vehemently; and Adelais, following them, brooded on the powerful Marquis of Falmouth and the great lady she would shortly be; but her eyes strained after Fulke d'Arnaye. Presently he fell a-singing; and still his singing praised her in a desirous song, yearning but very sweet, as they rode through the autumn woods; and his voice quickened her pulses as always it had the power to quicken them, and in her soul an interminable battling dragged on. Sang Fulke d'Arnaye: _"Had you lived when earth was new What had bards of old to do Save to sing in praise of you? "They had sung of you always, Adelais, sweet Adelais, As worthiest of all men's praise; Nor had undying melodies, Wailed soft as love may sing of these Dream-hallowed names,--of Héloïse, Ysoude, Salomê, Semelê, Morgaine, Lucrece, Antiopê, Brunhilda, Helen, Mélusine, Penelope, and Magdalene: --But you alone had all men's praise, Sweet Adelais"_ 5. _"Thalatta!"_ When they had crossed the Bure, they had come into the open country,--a great plain, gray in the moonlight, that descended, hillock by hillock, toward the shores of the North Sea. On the right the dimpling lustre of tumbling waters stretched to a dubious sky-line, unbroken save for the sail of the French boat, moored near the ruins of the old Roman station, Garianonum, and showing white against the unresting sea, like a naked arm; to the left the lights of Filby flashed their unblinking, cordial radiance. Here the brothers parted. Vainly Olivier wept and stormed before Fulke's unwavering smile; the Sieur d'Arnaye was adamantean: and presently the younger man kissed him on both cheeks and rode slowly away toward the sea. D'Arnaye stared after him. "Ah, the brave lad!" said Fulke d'Arnaye. "And yet how foolish! Look you, mademoiselle, that rogue is worth ten of me, and he does not even suspect it." His composure stung her to madness. "Now, by the passion of our Lord and Saviour!" Adelais cried, wringing her hands in impotence; "I conjure you to hear me, Fulke! You must not do this thing. Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Listen, my lord," she went on with more restraint, when she had reined up her horse by the side of his, "yonder in France the world lies at your feet. Our great King is dead. France rises now, and France needs a brave captain. You, you! it is you that she needs. She has sent for you, my lord, that mother France whom you love. And you will go back to sleep in the sun at Winstead when France has need of you. Oh, it is foul!" But he shook his head. "France is very dear to me," he said, "yet there are other men who can serve France. And there is no man save me who may to-night serve you, most beautiful lady." "You shame me!" she cried, in a gust of passion. "You shame my worthlessness with this mad honor of yours that drags you jesting to your death! For you must die a prisoner now, without any hope. You and Orleans and Bourbon are England's only hold on France, and Bedford dare not let you go. Fetters, chains, dungeons, death, torture perhaps--that is what you must look for now. And you will no longer be held at Winstead, but in the strong Tower at London." "Hélas, you speak more truly than an oracle," he gayly assented. And hers was the ageless thought of women. "This man is rather foolish and peculiarly dear to me. What shall I do with him? and how much must I humor him in his foolishness?" D'Arnaye stayed motionless: but still his eyes strained after Olivier. Well, she would humor him. There was no alternative save that of perhaps never seeing Fulke again. Adelais laid her hand upon his arm. "You love me. God knows, I am not worthy of it, but you love me. Ever since I was a child you have loved me,--always, always it was you who indulged me, shielded me, protected me with this fond constancy that I have not merited. Very well,"--she paused, for a single heartbeat,--"go! and take me with you." The hand he raised shook as though palsied. "O most beautiful!" the Frenchman cried, in an extreme of adoration; "you would do that! You would do that in pity to save me--unworthy me! And it is I whom you call brave--me, who annoy you with my woes so petty!" Fulke d'Arnaye slipped from his horse, and presently stood beside the gray mare, holding a small, slim hand in his. "I thank you," he said, simply. "You know that it is impossible. But yes, I have loved you these long years. And now--Ah, my heart shakes, my words tumble, I cannot speak! You know that I may not--may not let you do this thing. Why, but even if, of your prodigal graciousness, mademoiselle, you were so foolish as to waste a little liking upon my so many demerits--" He gave a hopeless gesture. "Why, there is always our brave marquis to be considered, who will so soon make you a powerful, rich lady. And I?--I have nothing." But Adelais had rested either hand upon a stalwart shoulder, bending down to him till her hair brushed his. Yes, this man was peculiarly dear to her: she could not bear to have him murdered when in equity he deserved only to have his jaws boxed for his toplofty nonsense about her; and, after all, she did not much mind humoring him in his foolishness. "Do you not understand?" she whispered. "Ah, my paladin, do you think I speak in pity? I wished to be a great lady,--yes. Yet always, I think, I loved you, Fulke, but until to-night I had believed that love was only the man's folly, the woman's diversion. See, here is Falmouth's ring." She drew it from her finger, and flung it awkwardly, as every woman throws. Through the moonlight it fell glistening. "Yes, I hungered for Falmouth's power, but you have shown me that which is above any temporal power. Ever I must crave the highest, Fulke--Ah, fair sweet friend, do not deny me!" Adelais cried, piteously. "Take me with you, Fulke! I will ride with you to the wars, my lord, as your page; I will be your wife, your slave, your scullion. I will do anything save leave you. Lord, it is not the maid's part to plead thus!" Fulke d'Arnaye drew her warm, yielding body toward him and stood in silence. Then he raised his eyes to heaven. "Dear Lord God," he cried, in a great voice, "I entreat of Thee that if through my fault this woman ever know regret or sorrow I be cast into the nethermost pit of Hell for all eternity!" Afterward he kissed her. And presently Adelais lifted her head, with a mocking little laugh. "Sorrow!" she echoed. "I think there is no sorrow in all the world. Mount, my lord, mount! See where brother Olivier waits for us yonder." * * * * * JUNE 5, 1455--AUGUST 4, 1462 _"Fortune fuz par clercs jadis nominée, Qui toi, François, crie et nomme meurtrière."_ _So it came about that Adelais went into France with the great-grandson of Tiburce d'Arnaye: and Fulke, they say, made her a very fair husband. But he had not, of course, much time for love-making. For in France there was sterner work awaiting Fulke d'Arnaye, and he set about it: through seven dreary years he and Rougemont and Dunois managed, somehow, to bolster up the cause of the fat-witted King of Bourges (as the English then called him), who afterward became King Charles VII of France. But in the February of 1429--four days before the Maid of Domremy set forth from her voice-haunted Bois Chenu to bring about a certain coronation in Rheims Church and in Rouen Square a flamy martyrdom--four days before the coming of the good Lorrainer, Fulke d'Arnaye was slain at Rouvray-en-Beausse in that encounter between the French and the English which history has commemorated as the Battle of the Herrings. Adelais was wooed by, and betrothed to, the powerful old Comte de Vaudremont; but died just before the date set for this second marriage, in October, 1429. She left two sons: Noël, born in 1425, and Raymond, born in 1426; who were reared by their uncle, Olivier d'Arnaye. It was said of them that Noel was the handsomest man of his times, and Raymond the most shrewd; concerning that you will judge hereafter. Both of these d'Arnayes, on reaching manhood, were identified with the Dauphin's party in the unending squabbles between Charles VII and the future Louis XI. Now you may learn how Noël d'Arnaye came to be immortalized by a legacy of two hundred and twenty blows from an osierwhip--since (as the testator piously affirms), "chastoy est une belle aulmosne."_ CHAPTER V _The Episode Called In Necessity's Mortar_ 1. "Bon Bec de Paris" There went about the Rue Saint Jacques a notable shaking of heads on the day that Catherine de Vaucelles was betrothed to François de Montcorbier. "Holy Virgin!" said the Rue Saint Jacques; "the girl is a fool. Why has she not taken Noël d'Arnaye,--Noël the Handsome? I grant you Noël is an ass, but, then, look you, he is of the nobility. He has the Dauphin's favor. Noël will be a great man when our exiled Dauphin comes back from Geneppe to be King of France. Then, too, she might have had Philippe Sermaise. Sermaise is a priest, of course, and one may not marry a priest, but Sermaise has money, and Sermaise is mad for love of her. She might have done worse. But François! Ho, death of my life, what is François? Perhaps--he, he!--perhaps Ysabeau de Montigny might inform us, you say? Doubtless Ysabeau knows more of him than she would care to confess, but I measure the lad by other standards. François is inoffensive enough, I dare assert, but what does Catherine see in him? He is a scholar?--well, the College of Navarre has furnished food for the gallows before this. A poet?--rhyming will not fill the pot. Rhymes are a thin diet for two lusty young folk like these. And who knows if Guillaume de Villon, his foster-father, has one sou to rub against another? He is canon at Saint Benôit-le-Bétourné yonder, but canons are not Midases. The girl will have a hard life of it, neighbor, a hard life, I tell you, if--but, yes!--if Ysabeau de Montigny does not knife her some day. Oh, beyond doubt, Catherine has played the fool." Thus far the Rue Saint Jacques. This was on the day of the Fête-Dieu. It was on this day that Noël d'Arnaye blasphemed for a matter of a half-hour and then went to the Crowned Ox, where he drank himself into a contented insensibility; that Ysabeau de Montigny, having wept a little, sent for Gilles Raguyer, a priest and aforetime a rival of François de Montcorbier for her favors; and that Philippe Sermaise grinned and said nothing. But afterward Sermaise gnawed at his under lip like a madman as he went about seeking for François de Montcorbier. 2. "_Deux estions, et n'avions qu'ung Cueur_" It verged upon nine in the evening--a late hour in those days--when François climbed the wall of Jehan de Vaucelles' garden. A wall!--and what is a wall to your true lover? What bones, pray, did the Sieur Pyramus, that ill-starred Babylonish knight, make of a wall? did not his protestations slip through a chink, mocking at implacable granite and more implacable fathers? Most assuredly they did; and Pyramus was a pattern to all lovers. Thus ran the meditations of Master François as he leapt down into the garden. He had not, you must understand, seen Catherine for three hours. Three hours! three eternities rather, and each one of them spent in Malebolge. Coming to a patch of moonlight, François paused there and cut an agile caper, as he thought of that approaching time when he might see Catherine every day. "Madame François de Montcorbier," he said, tasting each syllable with gusto. "Catherine de Montcorbier. Was there ever a sweeter juxtaposition of sounds? It is a name for an angel. And an angel shall bear it,--eh, yes, an angel, no less. O saints in Paradise, envy me! Envy me," he cried, with a heroical gesture toward the stars, "for François would change places with none of you." He crept through ordered rows of chestnuts and acacias to a window wherein burned a dim light. He unslung a lute from his shoulder and began to sing, secure in the knowledge that deaf old Jehan de Vaucelles was not likely to be disturbed by sound of any nature till that time when it should please high God that the last trump be noised about the tumbling heavens. It was good to breathe the mingled odor of roses and mignonette that was thick about him. It was good to sing to her a wailing song of unrequited love and know that she loved him. François dallied with his bliss, parodied his bliss, and--as he complacently reflected,--lamented in the moonlight with as tuneful a dolor as Messire Orpheus may have evinced when he carolled in Hades. Sang François: _"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! O Love of her, the bit that guides me on To sorrow and to grievous misery! O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy! O furtive murderous Pride! O pitiless, great Cold Eyes of her! have done with cruelty! Have pity upon me ere it be too late! "Happier for me if elsewhere I had gone For pity--ah, far happier for me, Since never of her may any grace be won, And lest dishonor slay me, I must flee. 'Haro!' I cry, (and cry how uselessly!) 'Haro!' I cry to folk of all estate, "For I must die unless it chance that she Have pity upon me ere it be too late. "M'amye, that day in whose disastrous sun Your beauty's flower must fade and wane and be No longer beautiful, draws near,--whereon I will nor plead nor mock;--not I, for we Shall both be old and vigorless! M'amye, Drink deep of love, drink deep, nor hesitate Until the spring run dry, but speedily Have pity upon me--ere it be too late! "Lord Love, that all love's lordship hast in fee, Lighten, ah, lighten thy displeasure's weight, For all true hearts should, of Christ's charity, Have pity upon me ere it be too late."_ Then from above a delicate and cool voice was audible. "You have mistaken the window, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the Rue du Fouarre." "Ah, cruel!" sighed François. "Will you never let that kite hang upon the wall?" "It is all very well to groan like a bellows. Guillemette Moreau did not sup here for nothing. I know of the verses you made her,--and the gloves you gave her at Candlemas, too. Saint Anne!" observed the voice, somewhat sharply; "she needed gloves. Her hands are so much raw beef. And the head-dress at Easter,--she looks like the steeple of Saint Benoit in it. But every man to his taste, Monsieur de Montcorbier. Good-night, Monsieur de Montcorbier." But, for all that, the window did not close. "Catherine--!" he pleaded; and under his breath he expressed uncharitable aspirations as to the future of Guillemette Moreau. "You have made me very unhappy," said the voice, with a little sniff. "It was before I knew you, Catherine. The stars are beautiful, m'amye, and a man may reasonably admire them; but the stars vanish and are forgotten when the sun appears." "Ysabeau is not a star," the voice pointed out; "she is simply a lank, good-for-nothing, slovenly trollop." "Ah, Catherine--!" "You are still in love with her." "Catherine--!" "Otherwise, you will promise me for the future to avoid her as you would the Black Death." "Catherine, her brother is my friend--!" "René de Montigny is, to the knowledge of the entire Rue Saint Jacques, a gambler and a drunkard and, in all likelihood, a thief. But you prefer, it appears, the Montignys to me. An ill cat seeks an ill rat. Very heartily do I wish you joy of them. You will not promise? Good-night, then, Monsieur de Montcorbier." "Mother of God! I promise, Catherine." From above Mademoiselle de Vaucelles gave a luxurious sigh. "Dear François!" said she. "You are a tyrant," he complained. "Madame Penthesilea was not more cruel. Madame Herodias was less implacable, I think. And I think that neither was so beautiful." "I love you," said Mademoiselle de Vaucelles, promptly. "But there was never any one so many fathoms deep in love as I. Love bandies me from the postern to the frying-pan, from hot to cold. Ah, Catherine, Catherine, have pity upon my folly! Bid me fetch you Prester John's beard, and I will do it; bid me believe the sky is made of calf-skin, that morning is evening, that a fat sow is a windmill, and I will do it. Only love me a little, dear." "My king, my king of lads!" she murmured. "My queen, my tyrant of unreason! Ah, yes, you are all that is ruthless and abominable, but then what eyes you have! Oh, very pitiless, large, lovely eyes--huge sapphires that in the old days might have ransomed every monarch in Tamerlane's stable! Even in the night I see them, Catherine." "Yet Ysabeau's eyes are brown." "Then are her eyes the gutter's color. But Catherine's eyes are twin firmaments." And about them the acacias rustled lazily, and the air was sweet with the odors of growing things, and the world, drenched in moonlight, slumbered. Without was Paris, but old Jehan's garden-wall cloistered Paradise. "Has the world, think you, known lovers, long dead now, that were once as happy as we?" "Love was not known till we discovered it." "I am so happy, François, that I fear death." "We have our day. Let us drink deep of love, not waiting until the spring run dry. Catherine, death comes to all, and yonder in the church-yard the poor dead lie together, huggermugger, and a man may not tell an archbishop from a rag-picker. Yet they have exulted in their youth, and have laughed in the sun with some lass or another lass. We have our day, Catherine." "Our day wherein I love you!" "And wherein I love you precisely seven times as much!" So they prattled in the moonlight. Their discourse was no more overburdened with wisdom than has been the ordinary communing of lovers since Adam first awakened ribless. Yet they were content, who, were young in the world's recaptured youth. Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. 3. "Et Ysabeau, Qui Dit: Enné!" Somewhat later François came down the deserted street, treading on air. It was a bland summer night, windless, moon-washed, odorous with garden-scents; the moon, nearing its full, was a silver egg set on end--("Leda-hatched," he termed it; "one may look for the advent of Queen Heleine ere dawn"); and the sky he likened to blue velvet studded with the gilt nail-heads of a seraphic upholsterer. François was a poet, but a civic poet; then, as always, he pilfered his similes from shop-windows. But the heart of François was pure magnanimity, the heels of François were mercury, as he tripped past the church of Saint Benoit-le-Bétourné, stark snow and ink in the moonlight. Then with a jerk François paused. On a stone bench before the church sat Ysabeau de Montigny and Gilles Raguyer. The priest was fuddled, hiccuping in his amorous dithyrambics as he paddled with the girl's hand. "You tempt me to murder," he was saying. "It is a deadly sin, my soul, and I have no mind to fry in Hell while my body swings on the Saint Denis road, a crow's dinner. Let François live, my soul! My soul, he would stick little Gilles like a pig." Raguyer began to blubber at the thought. "Holy Macaire!" said François; "here is a pretty plot a-brewing." Yet because his heart was filled just now with loving-kindness, he forgave the girl. _"Tantaene irae?"_ said François; and aloud, "Ysabeau, it is time you were abed." She wheeled upon him in apprehension; then, with recognition, her rage flamed. "Now, Gilles!" cried Ysabeau de Montigny; "now, coward! He is unarmed, Gilles. Look, Gilles! Kill for me this betrayer of women!" Under his mantle Francois loosened the short sword he carried. But the priest plainly had no mind to the business. He rose, tipsily fumbling a knife, and snarling like a cur at sight of a strange mastiff. "Vile rascal!" said Gilles Raguyer, as he strove to lash himself into a rage. "O coward! O parricide! O Tarquin!" François began to laugh. "Let us have done with this farce," said he. "Your man has no stomach for battle, Ysabeau. And you do me wrong, my lass, to call me a betrayer of women. Doubtless, that tale seemed the most apt to kindle in poor Gilles some homicidal virtue: but you and I and God know that naught has passed between us save a few kisses and a trinket or so. It is no knifing matter. Yet for the sake of old time, come home, Ysabeau; your brother is my friend, and the hour is somewhat late for honest women to be abroad." "Enné?" shrilled Ysabeau; "and yet, if I cannot strike a spark of courage from this clod here, there come those who may help me, François de Montcorbier. 'Ware Sermaise, Master François!" François wheeled. Down the Rue Saint Jacques came Philippe Sermaise, like a questing hound, with drunken Jehan le Merdi at his heels. "Holy Virgin!" thought François; "this is likely to be a nasty affair. I would give a deal for a glimpse of the patrol lanterns just now." He edged his way toward the cloister, to get a wall at his back. But Gilles Raguyer followed him, knife in hand. "O hideous Tarquin! O Absalom!" growled Gilles; "have you, then, no respect for churchmen?" With an oath, Sermaise ran up. "Now, may God die twice," he panted, "if I have not found the skulker at last! There is a crow needs picking between us two, Montcorbier." Hemmed in by his enemies, François temporized. "Why do you accost me thus angrily, Master Philippe?" he babbled. "What harm have I done you? What is your will of me?" But his fingers tore feverishly at the strap by which the lute was swung over his shoulder, and now the lute fell at their feet, leaving François unhampered and his sword-arm free. This was fuel to the priest's wrath. "Sacred bones of Benoit!" he snarled; "I could make a near guess as to what window you have been caterwauling under." From beneath his gown he suddenly hauled out a rapier and struck at the boy while Francois was yet tugging at his sword. Full in the mouth Sermaise struck him, splitting the lower lip through. Francois felt the piercing cold of the steel, the tingling of it against his teeth, then the warm grateful spurt of blood; through a red mist, he saw Gilles and Ysabeau run screaming down the Rue Saint Jacques. He drew and made at Sermaise, forgetful of le Merdi. It was shrewd work. Presently they were fighting in the moonlight, hammer-and-tongs, as the saying is, and presently Sermaise was cursing like a madman, for François had wounded him in the groin. Window after window rattled open as the Rue Saint Jacques ran nightcapped to peer at the brawl. Then as Francois hurled back his sword to slash at the priest's shaven head--Frenchmen had not yet learned to thrust with the point in the Italian manner--Jehan le Merdi leapt from behind, nimble as a snake, and wrested away the boy's weapon. Sermaise closed with a glad shout. "Heart of God!" cried Sermaise. "Pray, bridegroom, pray!" But François jumped backward, tumbling over le Merdi, and with apish celerity caught up a great stone and flung it full in the priest's countenance. The rest was hideous. For a breathing space Sermaise kept his feet, his outspread arms making a tottering cross. It was curious to see him peer about irresolutely now that he had no face. François, staring at the black featureless horror before him, began to choke. Standing thus, with outstretched arms, the priest first let fall his hands, so that they hung limp from the wrists; his finger-nails gleamed in the moonlight. His rapier tinkled on the flagstones with the sound of shattering glass, and Philippe Sermaise slid down, all a-jumble, crumpling like a broken toy. Afterward you might have heard a long, awed sibilance go about the windows overhead as the watching Rue Saint Jacques breathed again. Francois de Montcorbier ran. He tore at his breast as he ran, stifling. He wept as he ran through the moon-washed Rue Saint Jacques, making animal-like and whistling noises. His split lip was a clammy dead thing that napped against his chin as he ran. "François!" a man cried, meeting him; "ah, name of a name, François!" It was René de Montigny, lurching from the Crowned Ox, half-tipsy. He caught the boy by the shoulder and hurried François, still sobbing, to Fouquet the barber-surgeon's, where they sewed up his wound. In accordance with the police regulations, they first demanded an account of how he had received it. René lied up-hill and down-dale, while in a corner of the room François monotonously wept. Fate grinned and went on with her weaving. 4. "_Necessité Faict Gens Mesprende_" The Rue Saint Jacques had toothsome sauce for its breakfast. The quarter smacked stiff lips over the news, as it pictured François de Montcorbier dangling from Montfaucon. "Horrible!" said the Rue Saint Jacques, and drew a moral of suitably pious flavor. Guillemette Moreau had told Catherine of the affair before the day was aired. The girl's hurt vanity broke tether. "Sermaise!" said she. "Bah, what do I care for Sermaise! He killed him in fair fight. But within an hour, Guillemette,--within a half-hour after leaving me, he is junketing on church-porches with that trollop. They were not there for holy-water. Midnight, look you! And he swore to me--chaff, chaff! His honor is chaff, Guillemette, and his heart a bran-bag. Oh, swine, filthy swine! Eh, well, let the swine stick to his sty. Send Noël d'Arnaye to me." The Sieur d'Arnaye came, his head tied in a napkin. "Foh!" said she; "another swine fresh from the gutter? No, this is a bottle, a tun, a walking wine-barrel! Noël, I despise you. I will marry you if you like." He fell to mumbling her hand. An hour later Catherine told Jehan de Vaucelles she intended to marry Noël the Handsome when he should come back from Geneppe with the exiled Dauphin. The old man, having wisdom, lifted his brows, and returned to his reading in _Le Pet au Diable_. The patrol had transported Sermaise to the prison of Saint Benoit, where he lay all night. That day he was carried to the hospital of the Hôtel Dieu. He died the following Saturday. Death exalted the man to some nobility. Before one of the apparitors of the Châtelet he exonerated Montcorbier, under oath, and asked that no steps be taken against him. "I forgive him my death," said Sermaise, manly enough at the last, "by reason of certain causes moving him thereunto." Presently he demanded the peach-colored silk glove they would find in the pocket of his gown. It was Catherine's glove. The priest kissed it, and then began to laugh. Shortly afterward he died, still gnawing at the glove. François and René had vanished. "Good riddance," said the Rue Saint Jacques. But Montcorbier was summoned to answer before the court of the Châtelet for the death of Philippe Sermaise, and in default of his appearance, was subsequently condemned to banishment from the kingdom. The two young men were at Saint Pourçain-en-Bourbonnais, where René had kinsmen. Under the name of des Loges, François had there secured a place as tutor, but when he heard that Sermaise in the article of death had cleared him of all blame, François set about procuring a pardon. [Footnote: There is humor in his deposition that Gilles and Ysabeau and he were loitering before Saint Benoît's in friendly discourse,--"pour soy esbatre." Perhaps René prompted this; but in itself, it is characteristic of Montcorbier that he trenched on perjury, blithely, in order to screen Ysabeau.] It was January before he succeeded in obtaining it. Meanwhile he had learned a deal of René's way of living. "You are a thief," François observed to Montigny the day the pardon came, "but you have played a kindly part by me. I think you are Dysmas, René, not Gestas. Heh, I throw no stones. You have stolen, but I have killed. Let us go to Paris, lad, and start afresh." Montigny grinned. "I shall certainly go to Paris," he said. "Friends wait for me there,--Guy Tabary, Petit Jehan and Colin de Cayeux. We are planning to visit Guillaume Coiffier, a fat priest with some six hundred crowns in the cupboard. You will make one of the party, François." "René, René," said the other, "my heart bleeds for you." Again Montigny grinned. "You think a great deal about blood nowadays," he commented. "People will be mistaking you for such a poet as was crowned Nero, who, likewise, gave his time to ballad-making and to murdering fathers of the Church. Eh, dear Ahenabarbus, let us first see what the Rue Saint Jacques has to say about your recent gambols. After that, I think you will make one of our party." 5. "_Yeulx sans Pitié!_" There was a light crackling frost under foot the day that François came back to the Rue Saint Jacques. Upon this brisk, clear January day it was good to be home again, an excellent thing to be alive. "Eh, Guillemette, Guillemette," he laughed. "Why, lass--!" "Faugh!" said Guillemette Moreau, as she passed him, nose in air. "A murderer, a priest-killer." Then the sun went black for François. Such welcoming was a bucket of cold water, full in the face. He gasped, staring after her; and pursy Thomas Tricot, on his way from mass, nudged Martin Blaru in the ribs. "Martin," said he, "fruit must be cheap this year. Yonder in the gutter is an apple from the gallows-tree, and no one will pick it up." Blaru turned and spat out, "Cain! Judas!" This was only a sample. Everywhere François found rigid faces, sniffs, and skirts drawn aside. A little girl in a red cap, Robin Troussecaille's daughter, flung a stone at François as he slunk into the cloister of Saint Benoit-le-Bétourné. In those days a slain priest was God's servant slain, no less; and the Rue Saint Jacques was a respectable God-fearing quarter of Paris. "My father!" the boy cried, rapping upon the door of the Hôtel de la Porte-Rouge; "O my father, open to me, for I think that my heart is breaking." Shortly his foster-father, Guillaume de Villon, came to the window. "Murderer!" said he. "Betrayer of women! Now, by the caldron of John! how dare you show your face here? I gave you my name and you soiled it. Back to your husks, rascal!" "O God, O God!" François cried, one or two times, as he looked up into the old man's implacable countenance. "You, too, my father!" He burst into a fit of sobbing. "Go!" the priest stormed; "go, murderer!" It was not good to hear François' laughter. "What a world we live in!" he giggled. "You gave me your name and I soiled it? Eh, Master Priest, Master Pharisee, beware! _Villon_ is good French for _vagabond_, an excellent name for an outcast. And as God lives, I will presently drag that name through every muckheap in France." Yet he went to Jehan de Vaucelles' home. "I will afford God one more chance at my soul," said François. In the garden he met Catherine and Noël d'Arnaye coming out of the house. They stopped short. Her face, half-muffled in the brown fur of her cloak, flushed to a wonderful rose of happiness, the great eyes glowed, and Catherine reached out her hands toward François with a glad cry. His heart was hot wax as he fell before her upon his knees. "O heart's dearest, heart's dearest!" he sobbed; "forgive me that I doubted you!" And then for an instant, the balance hung level. But after a while, "Ysabeau de Montigny dwells in the Rue du Fouarre," said Catherine, in a crisp voice,--"having served your purpose, however, I perceive that Ysabeau, too, is to be cast aside as though she were an old glove. Monsieur d'Arnaye, thrash for me this betrayer of women." Noël was a big, handsome man, like an obtuse demi-god, a foot taller than François. Noel lifted the boy by his collar, caught up a stick and set to work. Catherine watched them, her eyes gemlike and cruel. François did not move a muscle. God had chosen. After a little, though, the Sieur d'Arnaye flung François upon the ground, where he lay quite still for a moment. Then slowly he rose to his feet. He never looked at Noël. For a long time Francois stared at Catherine de Vaucelles, frost-flushed, defiant, incredibly beautiful. Afterward the boy went out of the garden, staggering like a drunken person. He found Montigny at the Crowned Ox. "René," said François, "there is no charity on earth, there is no God in Heaven. But in Hell there is most assuredly a devil, and I think that he must laugh a great deal. What was that you were telling me about the priest with six hundred crowns in his cupboard?" René slapped him on the shoulder. "Now," said he, "you talk like a man." He opened the door at the back and cried: "Colin, you and Petit Jehan and that pig Tabary may come out. I have the honor, messieurs, to offer you a new Companion of the Cockleshell--Master François de Montcorbier." But the recruit raised a protesting hand. "No," said he,--"François Villon. The name is triply indisputable, since it has been put upon me not by one priest but by three." 6. _"Volia l'Estat Divers d'entre Eulx"_ When the Dauphin came from Geneppe to be crowned King of France, there rode with him Noël d'Arnaye and Noël's brother Raymond. And the longawaited news that Charles the Well-Served was at last servitor to Death, brought the exiled Louis post-haste to Paris, where the Rue Saint Jacques turned out full force to witness his triumphal entry. They expected, in those days, Saturnian doings of Louis XI, a recrudescence of the Golden Age; and when the new king began his reign by granting Noël a snug fief in Picardy, the Rue Saint Jacques applauded. "Noël has followed the King's fortunes these ten years," said the Rue Saint Jacques; "it is only just. And now, neighbor, we may look to see Noel the Handsome and Catherine de Vaucelles make a match of it. The girl has a tidy dowry, they say; old Jehan proved wealthier than the quarter suspected. But death of my life, yes! You may see his tomb in the Innocents' yonder, with weeping seraphim and a yard of Latin on it. I warrant you that rascal Montcorbier has lain awake in half the prisons in France thinking of what he flung away. Seven years, no less, since he and Montigny showed their thieves' faces here. La, the world wags, neighbor, and they say there will be a new tax on salt if we go to war with the English." Not quite thus, perhaps, ran the meditations of Catherine de Vaucelles one still August night as she sat at her window, overlooking the acacias and chestnuts of her garden. Noël, conspicuously prosperous in blue and silver, had but now gone down the Rue Saint Jacques, singing, clinking the fat purse whose plumpness was still a novelty. That evening she had given her promise to marry him at Michaelmas. This was a black night, moonless, windless. There were a scant half-dozen stars overhead, and the thick scent of roses and mignonette came up to her in languid waves. Below, the tree-tops conferred, stealthily, and the fountain plashed its eternal remonstrance against the conspiracy they lisped of. After a while Catherine rose and stood contemplative before a long mirror that was in her room. Catherine de Vaucelles was now, at twenty-three, in the full flower of her comeliness. Blue eyes the mirror showed her,--luminous and tranquil eyes, set very far apart; honey-colored hair massed heavily about her face, a mouth all curves, the hue of a strawberry, tender but rather fretful, and beneath it a firm chin; only her nose left something to be desired,--for that feature, though well-formed, was diminutive and bent toward the left, by perhaps the thickness of a cobweb. She might reasonably have smiled at what the mirror showed her, but, for all that, she sighed. "O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone," said Catherine, wistfully. "Ah, God in Heaven, forgive me for my folly! Sweet Christ, intercede for me who have paid dearly for my folly!" Fate grinned in her weaving. Through the open window came the sound of a voice singing. Sang the voice: _"O Beauty of her, whereby I am undone! O Grace of her, that hath no grace for me! O Love of her, the bit that guides me on To sorrow and to grievous misery! O felon Charms, my poor heart's enemy--"_ and the singing broke off in a fit of coughing. Catherine had remained motionless for a matter of two minutes, her head poised alertly. She went to the gong and struck it seven or eight times. "Macée, there is a man in the garden. Bring him to me, Macée,--ah, love of God, Macée, make haste!" Blinking, he stood upon the threshold. Then, without words, their lips met. "My king!" said Catherine; "heart's emperor!" "O rose of all the world!" he cried. There was at first no need of speech. But after a moment she drew away and stared at him. François, though he was but thirty, seemed an old man. His bald head shone in the candle-light. His face was a mesh of tiny wrinkles, wax-white, and his lower lip, puckered by the scar of his wound, protruded in an eternal grimace. As Catherine steadfastly regarded him, the faded eyes, half-covered with a bluish film, shifted, and with a jerk he glanced over his shoulder. The movement started a cough tearing at his throat. "Holy Macaire!" said he. "I thought that somebody, if not Henri Cousin, the executioner, was at my heels. Why do you stare so, lass? Have you anything to eat? I am famished." In silence she brought him meat and wine, and he fell upon it. He ate hastily, chewing with his front teeth, like a sheep. When he had ended, Catherine came to him and took both his hands in hers and lifted them to her lips. "The years have changed you, François," she said, curiously meek. François put her away. Then he strode to the mirror and regarded it intently. With a snarl, he turned about. "The years!" said he. "You are modest. It was you who killed François de Montcorbier, as surely as Montcorbier killed Sermaise. Eh, Sovereign Virgin! that is scant cause for grief. You made François Villon. What do you think of him, lass?" She echoed the name. It was in many ways a seasoned name, but unaccustomed to mean nothing. Accordingly François sneered. "Now, by all the fourteen joys and sorrows of Our Lady! I believe that you have never heard of François Villon! The Rue Saint Jacques has not heard of François Villon! The pigs, the gross pigs, that dare not peep out of their sty! Why, I have capped verses with the Duke of Orleans. The very street-boys know my Ballad of the Women of Paris. Not a drunkard in the realm but has ranted my jolly Orison for Master Cotard's Soul when the bottle passed. The King himself hauled me out of Meung gaol last September, swearing that in all France there was not my equal at a ballad. And you have never heard of me!" Once more a fit of coughing choked him mid-course in his indignant chattering. She gave him a woman's answer: "I do not care if you are the greatest lord in the kingdom or the most sunken knave that steals ducks from Paris Moat. I only know that I love you, François." For a long time he kept silence, blinking, peering quizzically at her lifted face. She did love him; no questioning that. But presently he again put her aside, and went toward the open window. This was a matter for consideration. The night was black as a pocket. Staring into it, François threw back his head and drew a deep, tremulous breath. The rising odor of roses and mignonette, keen and intolerably sweet, had roused unforgotten pulses in his blood, had set shame and joy adrum in his breast. The woman loved him! Through these years, with a woman's unreasoning fidelity, she had loved him. He knew well enough how matters stood between her and Noel d'Arnaye; the host of the Crowned Ox had been garrulous that evening. But it was François whom she loved. She was well-to-do. Here for the asking was a competence, love, an ingleside of his own. The deuce of it was that Francois feared to ask. "--Because I am still past reason in all that touches this ignorant, hot-headed, Pharisaical, rather stupid wench! That is droll. But love is a resistless tyrant, and, Mother of God! has there been in my life a day, an hour, a moment when I have not loved her! To see her once was all that I had craved,--as a lost soul might covet, ere the Pit take him, one splendid glimpse of Heaven and the Nine Blessed Orders at their fiddling. And I find that she loves me--me! Fate must have her jest, I perceive, though the firmament crack for it. She would have been content enough with Noel, thinking me dead. And with me?" Contemplatively he spat out of the window. "Eh, if I dared hope that this last flicker of life left in my crazy carcass might burn clear! I have but a little while to live; if I dared hope to live that little cleanly! But the next cup of wine, the next light woman?--I have answered more difficult riddles. Choose, then, François Villon,--choose between the squalid, foul life yonder and her well-being. It is true that starvation is unpleasant and that hanging is reported to be even less agreeable. But just now these considerations are irrelevant." Staring into the darkness he fought the battle out. Squarely he faced the issue; for that instant he saw François Villon as the last seven years had made him, saw the wine-sodden soul of François Villon, rotten and weak and honeycombed with vice. Moments of nobility it had; momentarily, as now, it might be roused to finer issues; but François knew that no power existent could hearten it daily to curb the brutish passions. It was no longer possible for François Villon to live cleanly. "For what am I?--a hog with a voice. And shall I hazard her life's happiness to get me a more comfortable sty? Ah, but the deuce of it is that I so badly need that sty!" He turned with a quick gesture. "Listen," François said. "Yonder is Paris,--laughing, tragic Paris, who once had need of a singer to proclaim her splendor and all her misery. Fate made the man; in necessity's mortar she pounded his soul into the shape Fate needed. To king's courts she lifted him; to thieves' hovels she thrust him down; and past Lutetia's palaces and abbeys and taverns and lupanars and gutters and prisons and its very gallows--past each in turn the man was dragged, that he might make the Song of Paris. He could not have made it here in the smug Rue Saint Jacques. Well! the song is made, Catherine. So long as Paris endures, François Villon will be remembered. Villon the singer Fate fashioned as was needful: and, in this fashioning, Villon the man was damned in body and soul. And by God! the song was worth it!" She gave a startled cry and came to him, her hands fluttering toward his breast. "François!" she breathed. It would not be good to kill the love in her face. "You loved François de Montcorbier. François de Montcorbier is dead. The Pharisees of the Rue Saint Jacques killed him seven years ago, and that day François Villon was born. That was the name I swore to drag through every muckheap in France. And I have done it, Catherine. The Companions of the Cockleshell--eh, well, the world knows us. We robbed Guillamme Coiffier, we robbed the College of Navarre, we robbed the Church of Saint Maturin,--I abridge the list of our gambols. Now we harvest. René de Montigny's bones swing in the wind yonder at Montfaucon. Colin de Cayeux they broke on the wheel. The rest--in effect, I am the only one that justice spared,--because I had diverting gifts at rhyming, they said. Pah! if they only knew! I am immortal, lass. _Exegi monumentum_. Villon's glory and Villon's shame will never die." He flung back his bald head and laughed now, tittering over that calamitous, shabby secret between all-seeing God and François Villon. She had drawn a little away from him. This well-reared girl saw him exultant in infamy, steeped to the eyes in infamy. But still the nearness of her, the faint perfume of her, shook in his veins, and still he must play the miserable comedy to the end, since the prize he played for was to him peculiarly desirable. "A thief--a common thief!" But again her hands fluttered back. "I drove you to it. Mine is the shame." "Holy Macaire! what is a theft or two? Hunger that causes the wolf to sally from the wood, may well make a man do worse than steal. I could tell you--For example, you might ask in Hell of one Thevenin Pensete, who knifed him in the cemetery of Saint John." He hinted a lie, for it was Montigny who killed Thevenin Pensete. Villon played without scruple now. Catherine's face was white. "Stop," she pleaded; "no more, François,--ah, Holy Virgin! do not tell me any more." But after a little she came to him, touching him almost as if with unwillingness. "Mine is the shame. It was my jealousy, my vanity, François, that thrust you back into temptation. And we are told by those in holy orders that the compassion of God is infinite. If you still care for me, I will be your wife." Yet she shuddered. He saw it. His face, too, was paper, and François laughed horribly. "If I still love you! Go, ask of Denise, of Jacqueline, or of Pierrette, of Marion the Statue, of Jehanne of Brittany, of Blanche Slippermaker, of Fat Peg,--ask of any trollop in all Paris how François Villon loves. You thought me faithful! You thought that I especially preferred you to any other bed-fellow! Eh, I perceive that the credo of the Rue Saint Jacques is somewhat narrow-minded. For my part I find one woman much the same as another." And his voice shook, for he saw how pretty she was, saw how she suffered. But he managed a laugh. "I do not believe you," Catherine said, in muffled tones. "François! You loved me, François. Ah, boy, boy!" she cried, with a pitiable wail; "come back to me, boy that I loved!" It was a difficult business. But he grinned in her face. "He is dead. Let François de Montcorbier rest in his grave. Your voice is very sweet, Catherine, and--and he could refuse you nothing, could he, lass? Ah, God, God, God!" he cried, in his agony; "why can you not believe me? I tell you Necessity pounds us in her mortar to what shape she will. I tell you that Montcorbier loved you, but François Villon prefers Fat Peg. An ill cat seeks an ill rat." And with this, tranquillity fell upon his soul, for he knew that he had won. Her face told him that. Loathing was what he saw there. "I am sorry," Catherine said, dully. "I am sorry. Oh, for high God's sake! go, go! Do you want money? I will give you anything if you will only go. Oh, beast! Oh, swine, swine, swine!" He turned and went, staggering like a drunken person. Once in the garden he fell prone upon his face in the wet grass. About him the mingled odor of roses and mignonette was sweet and heavy; the fountain plashed interminably in the night, and above him the chestnuts and acacias rustled and lisped as they had done seven years ago. Only he was changed. "O Mother of God," the thief prayed, "grant that Noël may be kind to her! Mother of God, grant that she may be happy! Mother of God, grant that I may not live long!" And straightway he perceived that triple invocation could be, rather neatly, worked out in ballade form. Yes, with a separate prayer to each verse. So, dismissing for the while his misery, he fell to considering, with undried cheeks, what rhymes he needed. * * * * * JULY 17, 1484 "_Et puis il se rencontre icy une avanture merveilleuse, c'est que le fils de Grand Turc ressemble à Cléonte, à peu de chose prés_." _Noël d'Arnaye and Catherine de Vaucelles were married in the September of 1462, and afterward withdrew to Noël's fief in Picardy. There Noël built him a new Chateau d'Arnaye, and through the influence of Nicole Beaupertuys, the King's mistress, (who was rumored in court by-ways to have a tenderness for the handsome Noël), obtained large grants for its maintenance. Madame d'Arnaye, also, it is gratifying to record, appears to have lived in tolerable amity with Sieur Noël, and neither of them pried too closely into the other's friendships. Catherine died in 1470, and Noël outlived her but by three years. Of the six acknowledged children surviving him, only one was legitimate--a daughter called Matthiette. The estate and title thus reverted to Raymond d'Arnaye, Noël's younger brother, from whom the present family of Arnaye is descended. Raymond was a far shrewder man than his predecessor. For ten years' space, while Louis XI, that royal fox of France, was destroying feudalism piecemeal,--trimming its power day by day as you might pare an onion,--the new Sieur d'Arnaye steered his shifty course between France and Burgundy, always to the betterment of his chances in this world however he may have modified them in the next. At Arras he fought beneath the orifiamme; at Guinegate you could not have found a more staunch Burgundian: though he was no warrior, victory followed him like a lap-dog. So that presently the Sieur d'Arnaye and the Vicomte de Puysange--with which family we have previously concerned ourselves--were the great lords of Northern France. But after the old King's death came gusty times for Sieur Raymond. It is with them we have here to do_. CHAPTER VI _The Episode Called The Conspiracy of Arnaye_ 1. _Policy Tempered with Singing_ "And so," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, as he laid down the letter, "we may look for the coming of Monsieur de Puysange to-morrow." The Demoiselle Matthiette contorted her features in an expression of disapproval. "So soon!" said she. "I had thought--" "Ouais, my dear niece, Love rides by ordinary with a dripping spur, and is still as arbitrary as in the day when Mars was taken with a net and amorous Jove bellowed in Europa's kail-yard. My faith! if Love distemper thus the spectral ichor of the gods, is it remarkable that the warmer blood of man pulses rather vehemently at his bidding? It were the least of Cupid's miracles that a lusty bridegroom of some twenty-and-odd should be pricked to outstrip the dial by a scant week. For love--I might tell you such tales--" Sieur Raymond crossed his white, dimpled hands over a well-rounded paunch and chuckled reminiscently; had he spoken doubtless he would have left Master Jehan de Troyes very little to reveal in his Scandalous Chronicle: but now, as if now recalling with whom Sieur Raymond conversed, d'Arnaye's lean face assumed an expression of placid sanctity, and the somewhat unholy flame died out of his green eyes. He was like no other thing than a plethoric cat purring over the follies of kittenhood. You would have taken oath that a cultured taste for good living was the chief of his offences, and that this benevolent gentleman had some sixty well-spent years to his credit. True, his late Majesty, King Louis XI, had sworn Pacque Dieu! that d'Arnaye loved underhanded work so heartily that he conspired with his gardener concerning the planting of cabbages, and within a week after his death would be heading some treachery against Lucifer; but kings are not always infallible, as his Majesty himself had proven at Peronne. "--For," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "man's flesh is frail, and the devil is very cunning to avail himself of the weaknesses of lovers." "Love!" Matthiette cried. "Ah, do not mock me, my uncle! There can be no pretence of love between Monsieur de Puysange and me. A man that I have never seen, that is to wed me of pure policy, may look for no Alcestis in his wife." "You speak like a very sensible girl," said Sieur Raymond, complacently. "However, so that he find her no Guinevere or Semiramis or other loose-minded trollop of history, I dare say Monsieur de Puysange will hold to his bargain with indifferent content. Look you, niece, he, also, is buying--though the saying is somewhat rustic--a pig in a poke." Matthiette glanced quickly toward the mirror which hung in her apartment. The glass reflected features which went to make up a beauty already be-sonneted in that part of France; and if her green gown was some months behind the last Italian fashion, it undeniably clad one who needed few adventitious aids. The Demoiselle Matthiette at seventeen was very tall, and was as yet too slender for perfection of form, but her honey-colored hair hung heavily about the unblemished oval of a countenance whose nose alone left something to be desired; for this feature, though well shaped, was unduly diminutive. For the rest, her mouth curved in an irreproachable bow, her complexion was mingled milk and roses, her blue eyes brooded in a provoking calm; taking matters by and large, the smile that followed her inspection of the mirror's depths was far from unwarranted. Catherine de Vaucelles reanimate, you would have sworn; and at the abbey of Saint Maixent-en-Poitou there was a pot-belly monk, a Brother François, who would have demonstrated it to you, in an unanswerable ballad, that Catherine's daughter was in consequence all that an empress should be and so rarely is. Harembourges and Bertha Broadfoot and white Queen Blanche would have been laughed to scorn, demolished and proven, in comparison (with a catalogue of very intimate personal detail), the squalidest sluts conceivable, by Brother François. But Sieur Raymond merely chuckled wheezily, as one discovering a fault in his companion of which he disapproves in theory, but in practice finds flattering to his vanity. "I grant you, Monsieur de Puysange drives a good bargain," said Sieur Raymond. "Were Cleopatra thus featured, the Roman lost the world very worthily. Yet, such is the fantastic disposition of man that I do not doubt the vicomte looks forward to the joys of to-morrow no whit more cheerfully than you do: for the lad is young, and, as rumor says, has been guilty of divers verses,--ay, he has bearded common-sense in the vext periods of many a wailing rhyme. I will wager a moderate amount, however, that the vicomte, like a sensible young man, keeps these whimsies of flames and dames laid away in lavender for festivals and the like; they are somewhat too fine for everyday wear." Sieur Raymond sipped the sugared wine which stood beside him. "Like any sensible young man," he repeated, in a meditative fashion that was half a query. Matthiette stirred uneasily. "Is love, then, nothing?" she murmured. "Love!" Sieur Raymond barked like a kicked mastiff. "It is very discreetly fabled that love was brought forth at Cythera by the ocean fogs. Thus, look you, even ballad-mongers admit it comes of a short-lived family, that fade as time wears on. I may have a passion for cloud-tatters, and, doubtless, the morning mists are beautiful; but if I give rein to my admiration, breakfast is likely to grow cold. I deduce that beauty, as represented by the sunrise, is less profitably considered than utility, as personified by the frying-pan. And love! A niece of mine prating of love!" The idea of such an occurrence, combined with a fit of coughing which now came upon him, drew tears to the Sieur d'Arnaye's eyes. "Pardon me," said he, when he had recovered his breath, "if I speak somewhat brutally to maiden ears." Matthiette sighed. "Indeed," said she, "you have spoken very brutally!" She rose from her seat, and went to the Sieur d'Arnaye. "Dear uncle," said she, with her arms about his neck, and with her soft cheek brushing his withered countenance, "are you come to my apartments to-night to tell me that love is nothing--you who have shown me that even the roughest, most grizzled bear in all the world has a heart compact of love and tender as a woman's?" The Sieur d'Arnaye snorted. "Her mother all over again!" he complained; and then, recovering himself, shook his head with a hint of sadness. He said: "I have sighed to every eyebrow at court, and I tell you this moonshine is--moonshine pure and simple. Matthiette, I love you too dearly to deceive you in, at all events, this matter, and I have learned by hard knocks that we of gentle quality may not lightly follow our own inclinations. Happiness is a luxury which the great can very rarely afford. Granted that you have an aversion to this marriage. Yet consider this: Arnaye and Puysange united may sit snug and let the world wag; otherwise, lying here between the Breton and the Austrian, we are so many nuts in a door-crack, at the next wind's mercy. And yonder in the South, Orléans and Dunois are raising every devil in Hell's register! Ah, no, ma mie; I put it to you fairly is it of greater import that a girl have her callow heart's desire than that a province go free of Monsieur War and Madame Rapine?" "Yes, but--" said Matthiette. Sieur Raymond struck his hand upon the table with considerable heat. "Everywhere Death yawps at the frontier; will you, a d'Arnaye, bid him enter and surfeit? An alliance with Puysange alone may save us. Eheu, it is, doubtless, pitiful that a maid may not wait and wed her chosen paladin, but our vassals demand these sacrifices. For example, do you think I wedded my late wife in any fervor of adoration? I had never seen her before our marriage day; yet we lived much as most couples do for some ten years afterward, thereby demonstrating--" He smiled, evilly; Matthiette sighed. "--Well, thereby demonstrating nothing new," said Sieur Raymond. "So do you remember that Pierre must have his bread and cheese; that the cows must calve undisturbed; that the pigs--you have not seen the sow I had to-day from Harfleur?--black as ebony and a snout like a rose-leaf!--must be stied in comfort: and that these things may not be, without an alliance with Puysange. Besides, dear niece, it is something to be the wife of a great lord." A certain excitement awoke in Matthiette's eyes. "It must be very beautiful at Court," said she, softly. "Masques, fêtes, tourneys every day;--and they say the new King is exceedingly gallant--" Sieur Raymond caught her by the chin, and for a moment turned her face toward his. "I warn you," said he, "you are a d'Arnaye; and King or not--" He paused here. Through the open window came the voice of one singing to the demure accompaniment of a lute. "Hey?" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. Sang the voice: "_When you are very old, and I am gone, Not to return, it may be you will say-- Hearing my name and holding me as one Long dead to you,--in some half-jesting way Of speech, sweet as vague heraldings of May Rumored in woods when first the throstles sing-- 'He loved me once.' And straightway murmuring My half-forgotten rhymes, you will regret Evanished times when I was wont to sing So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.'_" "Now, may I never sit among the saints," said the Sieur d'Arnaye, "if that is not the voice of Raoul de Prison, my new page." "Hush," Matthiette whispered. "He woos my maid, Alys. He often sings under the window, and I wink at it." Sang the voice: _"I shall not heed you then. My course being run For good or ill, I shall have gone my way, And know you, love, no longer,--nor the sun, Perchance, nor any light of earthly day, Nor any joy nor sorrow,--while at play The world speeds merrily, nor reckoning Our coming or our going. Lips will cling, Forswear, and be forsaken, and men forget Where once our tombs were, and our children sing-- So very lightly!--'Love runs into debt.' "If in the grave love have dominion Will that wild cry not quicken the wise clay, And taunt with memories of fond deeds undone,-- Some joy untasted, some lost holiday,-- All death's large wisdom? Will that wisdom lay The ghost of any sweet familiar thing Come haggard from the Past, or ever bring Forgetfulness of those two lovers met When all was April?--nor too wise to sing So very lightly, 'Love runs into debt.' "Yet, Matthiette, though vain remembering Draw nigh, and age be drear, yet in the spring We meet and kiss, whatever hour beset Wherein all hours attain to harvesting,-- So very lightly love runs into debt."_ "Dear, dear!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "You mentioned your maid's name, I think?" "Alys," said Matthiette, with unwonted humbleness. Sieur Raymond spread out his hands in a gesture of commiseration. "This is very remarkable," he said. "Beyond doubt, the gallant beneath has made some unfortunate error. Captain Gotiard," he called, loudly, "will you ascertain who it is that warbles in the garden such queer aliases for our good Alys?" 2. _Age Glosses the Text of Youth_ Gotiard was not long in returning; he was followed by two men-at-arms, who held between them the discomfited minstrel. Envy alone could have described the lutanist as ill-favored; his close-fitting garb, wherein the brave reds of autumn were judiciously mingled, at once set off a well-knit form and enhanced the dark comeliness of features less French than Italian in cast. The young man now stood silent, his eyes mutely questioning the Sieur d'Arnaye. "Oh, la, la, la!" chirped Sieur Raymond. "Captain, I think you are at liberty to retire." He sipped his wine meditatively, as the men filed out. "Monsieur de Frison," d'Arnaye resumed, when the arras had fallen, "believe me, I grieve to interrupt your very moving and most excellently phrased ballad in this fashion. But the hour is somewhat late for melody, and the curiosity of old age is privileged. May one inquire, therefore, why you outsing my larks and linnets and other musical poultry that are now all abed? and warble them to rest with this pleasing but--if I may venture a suggestion--rather ill-timed madrigal?" The young man hesitated for an instant before replying. "Sir," said he, at length, "I confess that had I known of your whereabouts, the birds had gone without their lullaby. But you so rarely come to this wing of the chateau, that your presence here to-night is naturally unforeseen. As it is, since chance has betrayed my secret to you, I must make bold to acknowledge it; and to confess that I love your niece." "Hey, no doubt you do," Sieur Raymond assented, pleasantly. "Indeed, I think half the young men hereabout are in much the same predicament. But, my question, if I mistake not, related to your reason for chaunting canzonets beneath her window." Raoul de Frison stared at him in amazement. "I love her," he said. "You mentioned that before," Sieur Raymond suggested. "And I agreed, as I remember, that it was more than probable; for my niece here--though it be I that speak it--is by no means uncomely, has a commendable voice, the walk of a Hebe, and sufficient wit to deceive her lover into happiness. My faith, young man, you show excellent taste! But, I submit, the purest affection is an insufficient excuse for outbaying a whole kennel of hounds beneath the adored one's casement." "Sir," said Raoul, "I believe that lovers have rarely been remarkable for sanity; and it is an immemorial custom among them to praise the object of their desires with fitting rhymes. Conceive, sir, that in your youth, had you been accorded the love of so fair a lady, you yourself had scarcely done otherwise. For I doubt if your blood runs so thin as yet that you have quite forgot young Raymond d'Arnaye and the gracious ladies whom he loved,--I think that your heart must needs yet treasure the memories of divers moonlit nights, even such as this, when there was a great silence in the world, and the nested trees were astir with desire of the dawn, and your waking dreams were vext with the singular favor of some woman's face. It is in the name of that young Raymond I now appeal to you." "H'm!" said the Sieur d'Arnaye. "As I understand it, you appeal on the ground that you were coerced by the moonlight and led astray by the bird-nests in my poplar-trees; and you desire me to punish your accomplices rather than you." "Sir,--" said Raoul. Sieur Raymond snarled. "You young dog, you know that in the most prosaic breast a minor poet survives his entombment,--and you endeavor to make capital of the knowledge. You know that I have a most sincere affection for your father, and have even contracted since you came to Arnaye more or less tolerance for you,--which emboldens you, my friend, to keep me out of a comfortable bed at this hour of the night with an idiotic discourse of moonlight and dissatisfied shrubbery! As it happens, I am not a lank wench in her first country dance. Remember that, Raoul de Frison, and praise the good God who gave me at birth a very placable disposition! There is not a seigneur in all France, save me, but would hang you at the crack of that same dawn for which you report your lackadaisical trees to be whining; but the quarrel will soon be Monsieur de Puysange's, and I prefer that he settle it at his own discretion. I content myself with advising you to pester my niece no more." Raoul spoke boldly. "She loves me," said he, standing very erect. Sieur Raymond glanced at Matthiette, who sat with downcast head. "H'm!" said he. "She moderates her transports indifferently well. Though, again, why not? You are not an ill-looking lad. Indeed, Monsieur de Frison, I am quite ready to admit that my niece is breaking her heart for you. The point on which I wish to dwell is that she weds Monsieur de Puysange early to-morrow morning." "Uncle," Matthiette cried, as she started to her feet, "such a marriage is a crime! I love Raoul!" "Undoubtedly," purred Sieur Raymond, "you love the lad unboundedly, madly, distractedly! Now we come to the root of the matter." He sank back in his chair and smiled. "Young people," said he, "be seated, and hearken to the words of wisdom. Love is a divine insanity, in which the sufferer fancies the world mad. And the world is made up of madmen who condemn and punish one another." "But," Matthiette dissented, "ours is no ordinary case!" "Surely not," Sieur Raymond readily agreed; "for there was never an ordinary case in all the history of the universe. Oh, but I, too, have known this madness; I, too, have perceived how infinitely my own skirmishes with the blind bow-god differed in every respect from all that has been or will ever be. It is an infallible sign of this frenzy. Surely, I have said, the world will not willingly forget the vision of Chloris in her wedding garments, or the wonder of her last clinging kiss. Or, say Phyllis comes to-morrow: will an uninventive sun dare to rise in the old, hackneyed fashion on such a day of days? Perish the thought! There will probably be six suns, and, I dare say, a meteor or two." "I perceive, sir," Raoul said here, "that after all you have not forgotten the young Raymond of whom I spoke." "That was a long while ago," snapped Sieur Raymond. "I know a deal more of the world nowadays; and a level-headed world would be somewhat surprised at such occurrences, and suggest that for the future Phyllis remain at home. For whether you--or I--or any one--be in love or no is to our fellow creatures an affair of astonishingly trivial import. Not since Noé that great admiral, repeopled the world by begetting three sons upon Dame Noria has there been a love-business worthy of consideration; nor, if you come to that, not since sagacious Solomon went a-wenching has a wise man wasted his wisdom on a lover. So love one another, my children, by all means: but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into Normandy as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange; and do you, Raoul de Prison, remain at Arnaye, and attend to my falcons more carefully than you have done of late,--or, by the cross of Saint Lo! I will clap the wench in a convent and hang the lad as high as Haman!" Whereon Sieur Raymond smiled pleasantly, and drained his wine-cup as one considering the discussion ended. Raoul sat silent for a moment. Then he rose. "Monsieur d'Arnaye, you know me to be a gentleman of unblemished descent, and as such entitled to a hearing. I forbid you before all-seeing Heaven to wed your niece to a man she does not love! And I have the honor to request of you her hand in marriage." "Which offer I decline," said Sieur Raymond, grinning placidly,--"with every imaginable civility. Niece," he continued, "here is a gentleman who offers you a heartful of love, six months of insanity, and forty years of boredom in a leaky, wind-swept château. He has dreamed dreams concerning you: allow me to present to you the reality." With some ceremony Sieur Raymond now grasped Matthiette's hand and led her mirror-ward. "Permit me to present the wife of Monsieur de Puysange. Could he have made a worthier choice? Ah, happy lord, that shall so soon embrace such perfect loveliness! For, frankly, my niece, is not that golden hair of a shade that will set off a coronet extraordinarily well? Are those wondrous eyes not fashioned to surfeit themselves upon the homage and respect accorded the wife of a great lord? Ouais, the thing is indisputable: and, therefore, I must differ from Monsieur de Frison here, who would condemn this perfection to bloom and bud unnoticed in a paltry country town." There was an interval, during which Matthiette gazed sadly into the mirror. "And Arnaye--?" said she. "Undoubtedly," said Sieur Raymond,--"Arnaye must perish unless Puysange prove her friend. Therefore, my niece conquers her natural aversion to a young and wealthy husband, and a life of comfort and flattery and gayety; relinquishes you, Raoul; and, like a feminine Mettius Curtius, sacrifices herself to her country's welfare. Pierre may sleep undisturbed; and the pigs will have a new sty. My faith, it is quite affecting! And so," Sieur Raymond summed it up, "you two young fools may bid adieu, once for all, while I contemplate this tapestry." He strolled to the end of the room and turned his back. "Admirable!" said he; "really now, that leopard is astonishingly lifelike!" Raoul came toward Matthiette. "Dear love," said he, "you have chosen wisely, and I bow to your decision. Farewell, Matthiette,--O indomitable heart! O brave perfect woman that I have loved! Now at the last of all, I praise you for your charity to me, Love's mendicant,--ah, believe me, Matthiette, that atones for aught which follows now. Come what may, I shall always remember that once in old days you loved me, and, remembering this, I shall always thank God with a contented heart." He bowed over her unresponsive hand. "Matthiette," he whispered, "be happy! For I desire that very heartily, and I beseech of our Sovereign Lady--not caring to hide at all how my voice shakes, nor how the loveliness of you, seen now for the last time, is making blind my eyes--that you may never know unhappiness. You have chosen wisely, Matthiette; yet, ah, my dear, do not forget me utterly, but keep always a little place in your heart for your boy lover!" Sieur Raymond concluded his inspection of the tapestry, and turned with a premonitory cough. "Thus ends the comedy," said he, shrugging, "with much fine, harmless talking about 'always,' while the world triumphs. Invariably the world triumphs, my children. Eheu, we are as God made us, we men and women that cumber His stately earth!" He drew his arm through Raoul's. "Farewell, niece," said Sieur Raymond, smiling; "I rejoice that you are cured of your malady. Now in respect to gerfalcons--" said he. The arras fell behind them. 3. _Obdurate Love_ Matthiette sat brooding in her room, as the night wore on. She was pitifully frightened, numb. There was in the room, she dimly noted, a heavy silence that sobs had no power to shatter. Dimly, too, she seemed aware of a multitude of wide, incurious eyes which watched her from every corner, where panels snapped at times with sharp echoes. The night was well-nigh done when she arose. "After all," she said, wearily, "it is my manifest duty." Matthiette crept to the mirror and studied it. "Madame de Puysange," said she, without any intonation; then threw her arms above her head, with a hard gesture of despair. "I love him!" she cried, in a frightened voice. Matthiette went to a great chest and fumbled among its contents. She drew out a dagger in a leather case, and unsheathed it. The light shone evilly scintillant upon the blade. She laughed, and hid it in the bosom of her gown, and fastened a cloak about her with impatient fingers. Then Matthiette crept down the winding stair that led to the gardens, and unlocked the door at the foot of it. A sudden rush of night swept toward her, big with the secrecy of dawn. The sky, washed clean of stars, sprawled above,--a leaden, monotonous blank. Many trees whispered thickly over the chaos of earth; to the left, in an increasing dove-colored luminousness, a field of growing maize bristled like the chin of an unshaven Titan. Matthiette entered an expectant world. Once in the tree-chequered gardens, it was as though she crept through the aisles of an unlit cathedral already garnished for its sacred pageant. Matthiette heard the querulous birds call sleepily above; the margin of night was thick with their petulant complaints; behind her was the monstrous shadow of the Chateau d'Arnaye, and past that was a sullen red, the red of contused flesh, to herald dawn. Infinity waited a-tiptoe, tense for the coming miracle, and against this vast repression, her grief dwindled into irrelevancy: the leaves whispered comfort; each tree-bole hid chuckling fauns. Matthiette laughed. Content had flooded the universe all through and through now that yonder, unseen as yet, the scarlet-faced sun was toiling up the rim of the world, and matters, it somehow seemed, could not turn out so very ill, in the end. Matthiette came to a hut, from whose open window a faded golden glow spread out into obscurity like a tawdry fan. From without she peered into the hut and saw Raoul. A lamp flickered upon the table. His shadow twitched and wavered about the plastered walls,--a portentous mass of head upon a hemisphere of shoulders,--as Raoul bent over a chest, sorting the contents, singing softly to himself, while Matthiette leaned upon the sill without, and the gardens of Arnaye took form and stirred in the heart of a chill, steady, sapphire-like radiance. Sang Raoul: _"Lord, I have worshipped thee ever,-- Through all these years I have served thee, forsaking never Light Love that veers As a child between laughter and tears. Hast thou no more to afford,-- Naught save laughter and tears,-- Love, my lord? "I have borne thy heaviest burden, Nor served thee amiss: Now thou hast given a guerdon; Lo, it was this-- A sigh, a shudder, a kiss. Hast thou no more to accord! I would have more than this, Love, my lord. "I am wearied of love that is pastime And gifts that it brings; I entreat of thee, lord, at this last time "Inèffable things. Nay, have proud long-dead kings Stricken no subtler chord, Whereof the memory clings, Love, my lord? "But for a little we live; Show me thine innermost hoard! Hast thou no more to give, Love, my lord?"_ 4. _Raymond Psychopompos_ Matthiette went to the hut's door: her hands fell irresolutely upon the rough surface of it and lay still for a moment. Then with the noise of a hoarse groan the door swung inward, and the light guttered in a swirl of keen morning air, casting convulsive shadows upon her lifted countenance, and was extinguished. She held out her arms in a gesture that was half maternal. "Raoul!" she murmured. He turned. A sudden bird plunged through the twilight without, with a glad cry that pierced like a knife through the stillness which had fallen in the little room. Raoul de Frison faced her, with clenched hands, silent. For that instant she saw him transfigured. But his silence frightened her. There came a piteous catch in her voice. "Fair friend, have you not bidden me--_be happy?_" He sighed. "Mademoiselle," he said, dully, "I may not avail myself of your tenderness of heart; that you have come to comfort me in my sorrow is a deed at which, I think, God's holy Angels must rejoice: but I cannot avail myself of it." "Raoul, Raoul," she said, "do you think that I have come in--pity!" "Matthiette," he returned, "your uncle spoke the truth. I have dreamed dreams concerning you,--dreams of a foolish, golden-hearted girl, who would yield--yield gladly--all that the world may give, to be one flesh and soul with me. But I have wakened, dear, to the braver reality,--that valorous woman, strong enough to conquer even her own heart that her people may be freed from their peril." "Blind! blind!" she cried. Raoul smiled down upon her. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I do not doubt that you love me." She went wearily toward the window. "I am not very wise," Matthiette said, looking out upon the gardens, "and it appears that God has given me an exceedingly tangled matter to unravel. Yet if I decide it wrongly I think the Eternal Father will understand it is because I am not very wise." Matthiette for a moment was silent. Then with averted face she spoke again. "My uncle commands me, with many astute saws and pithy sayings, to wed Monsieur de Puysange. I have not skill to combat him. Many times he has proven it my duty, but he is quick in argument and proves what he will; and I do not think it is my duty. It appears to me a matter wherein man's wisdom is at variance with God's will as manifested to us through the holy Evangelists. Assuredly, if I do not wed Monsieur de Puysange there may be war here in our Arnaye, and God has forbidden war; but I may not insure peace in Arnaye without prostituting my body to a man I do not love, and that, too, God has forbidden. I speak somewhat grossly for a maid, but you love me, I think, and will understand. And I, also, love you, Monsieur de Frison. Yet--ah, I am pitiably weak! Love tugs at my heart-strings, bidding me cling to you, and forget these other matters; but I cannot do that, either. I desire very heartily the comfort and splendor and adulation which you cannot give me. I am pitiably weak, Raoul! I cannot come to you with an undivided heart,--but my heart, such as it is, I have given you, and to-day I deliver my honor into your hands and my life's happiness, to preserve or to destroy. Mother of Christ, grant that I have chosen rightly, for I have chosen now, past retreat! I have chosen you, Raoul, and that love which you elect to give me, and of which I must endeavor to be worthy." Matthiette turned from the window. Now, her bright audacity gone, her ardors chilled, you saw how like a grave, straightforward boy she was, how illimitably tender, how inefficient. "It may be that I have decided wrongly in this tangled matter," she said now. "And yet I think that God, Who loves us infinitely, cannot be greatly vexed at anything His children do for love of one another." He came toward her. "I bid you go," he said. "Matthiette, it is my duty to bid you go, and it is your duty to obey." She smiled wistfully through unshed tears. "Man's wisdom!" said Matthiette. "I think that it is not my duty. And so I disobey you, dear,--this once, and no more hereafter." "And yet last night--" Raoul began. "Last night," said she, "I thought that I was strong. I know now it was my vanity that was strong,--vanity and pride and fear, Raoul, that for a little mastered me. But in the dawn all things seem very trivial, saving love alone." They looked out into the dew-washed gardens. The daylight was fullgrown, and already the clear-cut forms of men were passing beneath the swaying branches. In the distance a trumpet snarled. "Dear love," said Raoul, "do you not understand that you have brought about my death? For Monsieur de Puysange is at the gates of Arnaye; and either he or Sieur Raymond will have me hanged ere noon." "I do not know," she said, in a tired voice. "I think that Monsieur de Puysange has some cause to thank me; and my uncle loves me, and his heart, for all his gruffness, is very tender. And--see, Raoul!" She drew the dagger from her bosom. "I shall not survive you a long while, O man of all the world!" Perplexed joy flushed through his countenance. "You will do this--for me?" he cried, with a sort of sob. "Matthiette, Matthiette, you shame me!" "But I love you," said Matthiette. "How could it be possible, then, for me to live after you were dead?" He bent to her. They kissed. Hand in hand they went forth into the daylight. The kindly, familiar place seemed in Matthiette's eyes oppressed and transformed by the austerity of dawn. It was a clear Sunday morning, at the hightide of summer, and she found the world unutterably Sabbatical; only by a vigorous effort could memory connect it with the normal life of yesterday. The cool edges of the woods, vibrant now with multitudinous shrill pipings, the purple shadows shrinking eastward on the dimpling lawns, the intricate and broken traceries of the dial (where they had met so often), the blurred windings of their path, above which brooded the peaked roofs and gables and slender clerestories of Arnaye, the broad river yonder lapsing through deserted sunlit fields,--these things lay before them scarce heeded, stript of all perspective, flat as an open scroll. To them all this was alien. She and Raoul were quite apart from these matters, quite alone, despite the men of Arnaye, hurrying toward the courtyard, who stared at them curiously, but said nothing. A brisk wind was abroad in the tree-tops, scattering stray leaves, already dead, over the lush grass. Tenderly Raoul brushed a little golden sycamore leaf from the lovelier gold of Matthiette's hair. "I do not know how long I have to live," he said. "Nobody knows that. But I wish that I might live a great while to serve you worthily." She answered: "Neither in life nor death shall we be parted now. That only matters, my husband." They came into the crowded court-yard just as the drawbridge fell. A troop of horse clattered into Arnaye, and the leader, a young man of frank countenance, dismounted and looked about him inquiringly. Then he came toward them. "Monseigneur," said he, "you see that we ride early in honor of your nuptials." Behind them some one chuckled. "Love one another, young people," said Sieur Raymond; "but do you, Matthiette, make ready to depart into Normandy as a true and faithful wife to Monsieur de Puysange." She stared into Raoul's laughing face; there was a kind of anguish in her swift comprehension. Quickly the two men who loved her glanced at each other, half in shame. But the Sieur d'Arnaye was not lightly dashed. "Oh, la, la, la!" chuckled the Sieur d'Arnaye, "she would never have given you a second thought, monsieur le vicomte, had I not labelled you forbidden fruit. As it is, my last conspiracy, while a little ruthless, I grant you, turns out admirably. Jack has his Jill, and all ends merrily, like an old song. I will begin on those pig-sties the first thing to-morrow morning." * * * * * OCTOBER 6, 1519 _"Therefore, like as May month flowereth and flourisheth in many gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart in this world; first unto God, and next unto the joy of them that he promiseth his faith unto."_ _The quondam Raoul de Prison stood high in the graces of the Lady Regent of France, Anne de Beaujeu, who was, indeed, tolerably notorious for her partiality to well-built young men. Courtiers whispered more than there is any need here to rehearse. In any event, when in 1485 the daughter of Louis XI fitted out an expedition to press the Earl of Richmond's claim to the English crown, de Puysange sailed from Havre as commander of the French fleet. He fought at Bosworth, not discreditably; and a year afterward, when England had for the most part accepted Henry VII, Matthiette rejoined her husband. They never subsequently quitted England. During the long civil wars, de Puysange was known as a shrewd captain and a judicious counsellor to the King, who rewarded his services as liberally as Tudorian parsimony would permit. After the death of Henry VII, however, the vicomte took little part in public affairs, spending most of his time at Tiverton Manor, in Devon, where, surrounded by their numerous progeny, he and Matthiette grew old together in peace and concord. Indeed, the vicomte so ordered all his cool love-affairs that, having taken a wife as a matter of expediency, he continued as a matter of expediency to make her a fair husband, as husbands go. It also seemed to him, they relate, a matter of expediency to ignore the interpretation given by scandalous persons to the paternal friendship extended to Madame de Puysange by a high prince of the Church, during the last five years of the great Cardinal Morton's life, for the connection was useful. The following is from a manuscript of doubtful authenticity still to be seen at Allonby Shaw. It purports to contain the autobiography of Will Sommers, the vicomte's jester, afterward court-fool to Henry VIII._ CHAPTER VII _The Episode Called The Castle of Content_ 1. _I Glimpse the Castle_ "And so, dearie," she ended, "you may seize the revenues of Allonby with unwashed hands." I said, "Why have you done this?" I was half-frightened by the sudden whirl of Dame Fortune's wheel. "Dear cousin in motley," grinned the beldame, "'twas for hatred of Tom Allonby and all his accursed race that I have kept the secret thus long. Now comes a braver revenge: and I settle my score with the black spawn of Allonby--euh, how entirely!--by setting you at their head." "Nay, I elect for a more flattering reason. I begin to suspect you, cousin, of some human compunction." "Well, Willie, well, I never hated you as much as I had reason to," she grumbled, and began to cough very lamentably. "So at the last I must make a marquis of you--ugh! Will you jest for them in counsel, Willie, and lead your henchman to battle with a bawdy song--ugh, ugh!" Her voice crackled like burning timber, and sputtered in groans that would have been fanged curses had breath not failed her: for my aunt Elinor possessed a nimble tongue, whetted, as rumor had it, by the attendance of divers Sabbats, and the chaunting of such songs as honest men may not hear and live, however highly the succubi and warlocks and were-cats, and Satan's courtiers generally, commend them. I squinted down at one green leg, scratched the crimson fellow to it with my bauble, and could not deny that, even so, the witch was dealing handsomely with me to-night. 'Twas a strange tale which my Aunt Elinor had ended, speaking swiftly lest the worms grow impatient and Charon weigh anchor ere she had done: and the proofs of the tale's verity, set forth in a fair clerkly handwriting, rustled in my hand,--scratches of a long-rotted pen that transferred me to the right side of the blanket, and transformed the motley of a fool into the ermine of a peer. All Devon knew I was son to Tom Allonby, who had been Marquis of Falmouth at his uncle's death, had not Tom Allonby, upon the very eve of that event, broken his neck in a fox-hunt; but Dan Gabriel, come post-haste from Heaven had with difficulty convinced the village idiot that Holy Church had smiled upon Tom's union with a tanner's daughter, and that their son was lord of Allonby Shaw. I doubted it, even as I read the proof. Yet it was true,--true that I had precedence even of the great Monsieur de Puysange, who had kept me to make him mirth on a shifty diet, first coins, then curses, these ten years past,--true that my father, rogue in all else, had yet dealt equitably with my mother ere he died,--true that my aunt, less honorably used by him, had shared their secret with the priest who married them, maliciously preserving it till this, when her words fell before me as anciently Jove's shower before the Argive Danaë, coruscant and awful, pregnant with undreamed-of chances which stirred as yet blindly in Time's womb. A sick anger woke in me, remembering the burden of ignoble years this hag had suffered me to bear; yet my so young gentility bade me avoid reproach of the dying peasant woman, who, when all was said, had been but ill-used by our house. Death hath a strange potency: commanding as he doth, unquestioned and unchidden, the emperor to have done with slaying, the poet to rise from his unfinished rhyme, the tender and gracious lady to cease from nice denying words (mixed though they be with pitiful sighs that break their sequence like an amorous ditty heard through the strains of a martial stave), and all men, gentle or base, to follow Death's gaunt standard into unmapped realms, something of majesty enshrines the paltriest knave on whom the weight of Death's chill finger hath fallen. I doubt not that Cain's children wept about his deathbed, and that the centurions spake in whispers as they lowered Iscariot from the elder-tree: and in like manner the reproaches which stirred in my brain had no power to move my lips. The frail carnal tenement, swept and cleansed of all mortality, was garnished for Death's coming; and I could not sorrow at his advent here: but I perforce must pity rather than revile the prey which Age and Poverty, those ravenous forerunning hounds of Death yet harried, at the door of the tomb. Running over these considerations in my mind, I said, "I forgive you." "You posturing lack-wit!" she returned, and her sunk jaws quivered angrily. "D'ye play the condescending gentleman already! Dearie, your master did not take the news so calmly." "You have told him?" I had risen, for the wried, and yet sly, malice of my aunt's face was rather that of Bellona, who, as clerks avow, ever bore carnage and dissension in her train, than that of a mortal, mutton-fed woman. Elinor Sommers hated me--having God knows how just a cause--for the reason that I was my father's son; and yet, for this same reason as I think, there was in all our intercourse an odd, harsh, grudging sort of tenderness. She laughed now,--flat and shrill, like the laughter of the damned heard in Hell between the roaring of flames. "Were it not common kindness to tell him, since this old sleek fellow's fine daughter is to wed the cuckoo that hath your nest? Yes, Willie, yes, your master hath known since morning." "And Adeliza?" I asked, in a voice that tricked me. "Heh, my Lady-High-and-Mighty hath, I think, heard nothing as yet. She will be hearing of new suitors soon enough, though, for her father, Monsieur Fine-Words, that silky, grinning thief, is very keen in a money-chase,--keen as a terrier on a rat-track, may Satan twist his neck! Pshutt, dearie! here is a smiling knave who means to have the estate of Allonby as it stands; what live-stock may go therewith, whether crack-brained or not, is all one to him. He will not balk at a drachm or two of wit in his son-in-law. You have but to whistle,--but to whistle, Willie, and she'll come!" I said, "Eh, woman, and have you no heart?" "I gave it to your father for a few lying speeches," she answered, "and Tom Allonby taught me the worth of all such commerce." There was a smile upon her lips, sister to that which Clytemnestra may have flaunted in welcome of that old Emperor Agamemnon, come in gory opulence from the sack of Troy Town. "I gave it--" Her voice rose here to a despairing wail. "Ah, go, before I lay my curse upon you, son of Thomas Allonby! But do you kiss me first, for you have just his lying mouth. So, that is better! And now go, my lord marquis; it is not fitting that death should intrude into your lordship's presence. Go, fool, and let me die in peace!" I no longer cast a cautious eye toward the whip (ah, familiar unkindly whip!) that still hung beside the door of the hut; but, I confess, my aunt's looks were none too delectable, and ancient custom rendered her wrath yet terrible. If the farmers thereabouts were to be trusted, I knew Old Legion's bailiff would shortly be at hand, to distrain upon a soul escheat and forfeited to Dis by many years of cruel witchcrafts, close wiles, and nameless sorceries; and I could never abide unpared nails, even though they be red-hot. Therefore, I relinquished her to the village gossips, who waited without, and I tucked my bauble under my arm. "Dear aunt," said I, "farewell!" "Good-bye, Willie!" said she; "I shall often laugh in Hell to think of the crack-brained marquis that I made on earth. It was my will to make a beggar of Tom's son, but at the last I play the fool and cannot do it. But do you play the fool, too, dearie, and"--she chuckled here--"and have your posture and your fine long words, whatever happens." "'Tis my vocation," I answered, briefly; and so went forth into the night. 2. _At the Ladder's Foot_ I came to Tiverton Manor through a darkness black as the lining of Baalzebub's oldest cloak. The storm had passed, but clouds yet hung heavy as feather-beds between mankind and the stars; as I crossed the bridge the swollen Exe was but dimly visible, though it roared beneath me, and shook the frail timbers hungrily. The bridge had long been unsafe: Monsieur de Puysange had planned one stronger and less hazardous than the former edifice, of which the arches yet remained, and this was now in the making, as divers piles of unhewn lumber and stone attested: meanwhile, the roadway was a makeshift of half-rotten wood that even in this abating wind shook villainously. I stood for a moment and heard the waters lapping and splashing and laughing, as though they would hold it rare and desirable mirth to swallow and spew forth a powerful marquis, and grind his body among the battered timber and tree-boles and dead sheep swept from the hills, and at last vomit him into the sea, that a corpse, wide-eyed and livid, might bob up and down the beach, in quest of a quiet grave where the name of Allonby was scarcely known. The imagination was so vivid that it frightened me as I picked my way cat-footed through the dark. The folk of Tiverton Manor were knotting on their nightcaps, by this; but there was a light in the Lady Adeliza's window, faint as a sick glowworm. I rolled in the seeded grass and chuckled, as I thought of what a day or two might bring about, and I murmured to myself an old cradle-song of Devon which she loved and often sang; and was, ere I knew it, carolling aloud, for pure wantonness and joy that Monsieur de Puysange was not likely to have me whipped, now, however blatantly I might elect to discourse. Sang I: _"Through the mist of years does it gleam as yet-- That fair and free extent Of moonlit turret and parapet, Which castled, once, Content? "Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, With drowsy music drowning merriment Where Dreams and Visions held high carnival, And frolicking frail Loves made light of all,-- Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ As I ended, the casement was pushed open, and the Lady Adeliza came upon the balcony, the light streaming from behind her in such fashion as made her appear an angel peering out of Heaven at our mortal antics. Indeed, there was always something more than human in her loveliness, though, to be frank, it savored less of chilling paradisial perfection than of a vision of some great-eyed queen of faery, such as those whose feet glide unwetted over our fen-waters when they roam o' nights in search of unwary travellers. Lady Adeliza was a fair beauty; that is, her eyes were of the color of opals, and her complexion as the first rose of spring, blushing at her haste to snare men's hearts with beauty; and her loosened hair rippled in such a burst of splendor that I have seen a pale brilliancy, like that of amber, reflected by her bared shoulders where the bright waves fell heavily against the tender flesh, and ivory vied with gold in beauty. She was somewhat proud, they said; and to others she may have been, but to me, never. Her voice was a low, sweet song, her look that of the chaste Roman, beneficent Saint Dorothy, as she is pictured in our Chapel here at Tiverton. Proud, they called her! to me her condescensions were so manifold that I cannot set them down: indeed, in all she spoke and did there was an extreme kindliness that made a courteous word from her of more worth than a purse from another. She said, "Is it you, Will Sommers?" "Madonna," I answered, "with whom else should the owls confer? It is a venerable saying that extremes meet. And here you may behold it exemplified, as in the conference of an epicure and an ostrich: though, for this once, Wisdom makes bold to sit above Folly." "Did you carol, then, to the owls of Tiverton?" she queried. "Hand upon heart," said I, "my grim gossips care less for my melody than for the squeaking of a mouse; and I sang rather for joy that at last I may enter into the Castle of Content." The Lady Adeliza replied, "But nobody enters there alone." "Madonna," said I, "your apprehension is nimble. I am in hope that a woman's hand may lower the drawbridge." She said only "You--!" Then she desisted, incredulous laughter breaking the soft flow of speech. "Now, by Paul and Peter, those eminent apostles! the prophet Jeremy never spake more veraciously in Edom! The fool sighs for a fair woman,--what else should he do, being a fool? Ah, madonna, as in very remote times that notable jester, Love, popped out of Night's wind-egg, and by his sorcery fashioned from the primeval tangle the pleasant earth that sleeps about us,--even thus, may he not frame the disorder of a fool's brain into the semblance of a lover's? Believe me, the change is not so great as you might think. Yet if you will, laugh at me, madonna, for I love a woman far above me,--a woman who knows not of my love, or, at most, considers it but as the homage which grateful peasants accord the all-nurturing sun; so that, now chance hath woven me a ladder whereby to mount to her, I scarcely dare to set my foot upon the bottom rung." "A ladder?" she said, oddly: "and are you talking of a rope ladder?" "I would describe it, rather," said I, "as a golden ladder." There came a silence. About us the wind wailed among the gaunt, deserted choir of the trees, and in the distance an owl hooted sardonically. The Lady Adeliza said: "Be bold. Be bold, and know that a woman loves once and forever, whether she will or no. Love is not sold in the shops, and the grave merchants that trade in the ultimate seas, and send forth argosies even to jewelled Ind, to fetch home rich pearls, and strange outlandish dyes, and spiceries, and the raiment of imperious queens of the old time, have bought and sold no love, for all their traffic. It is above gold. I know"--here her voice faltered somewhat--"I know of a woman whose birth is very near the throne, and whose beauty, such as it is, hath been commended, who loved a man the politic world would have none of, for he was not rich nor famous, nor even very wise. And the world bade her relinquish him; but within the chambers of her heart his voice rang more loudly than that of the world, and for his least word said she would leave all and go with him whither he would. And--she waits only for the speaking of that word." "Be bold?" said I. "Ay," she returned; "that is the moral of my tale. Make me a song of it to-night, dear Will,--and tomorrow, perhaps, you may learn how this woman, too, entered into the Castle of Content." "Madonna--!" I cried. "It is late," said she, "and I must go." "To-morrow--?" I said. My heart was racing now. "Ay, to-morrow,--the morrow that by this draws very near. Farewell!" She was gone, casting one swift glance backward, even as the ancient Parthians are fabled to have shot their arrows as they fled; and, if the airier missile, also, left a wound, I, for one, would not willingly have quitted her invulnerate. 3. _Night, and a Stormed Castle_ I went forth into the woods that stand thick about Tiverton Manor, where I lay flat on my back among the fallen leaves, dreaming many dreams to myself,--dreams that were frolic songs of happiness, to which the papers in my jerkin rustled a reassuring chorus. I have heard that night is own sister to death; now, as the ultimate torn cloud passed seaward, and the new-washed harvest-moon broke forth in a red glory, and stars clustered about her like a swarm of golden bees, I thought this night was rather the parent of a new life. But, indeed, there is a solemnity in night beyond all jesting: for night knits up the tangled yarn of our day's doings into a pattern either good or ill; it renews the vigor of the living, and with the lapsing of the tide it draws the dying toward night's impenetrable depths, gently; and it honors the secrecy of lovers as zealously as that of rogues. In the morning our bodies rise to their allotted work; but our wits have had their season in the night, or of kissing, or of junketing, or of high resolve; and the greater part of such noble deeds as day witnesses have been planned in the solitude of night. It is the sage counsellor, the potent physician that heals and comforts the sorrows of all the world: and night proved such to me, as I pondered on the proud race of Allonby, and knew that in the general record of time my name must soon be set as a sonorous word significant, as the cat might jump, for much good or for large evil. And Adeliza loved me, and had bidden me be bold! I may not write of what my thoughts were as I considered that stupendous miracle. But even the lark that daily soars into the naked presence of the sun must seek his woven nest among the grass at twilight; and so, with many yawns, I rose after an hour of dreams to look for sleep. Tiverton Manor was a formless blot on the mild radiance of the heavens, but I must needs pause for a while, gazing up at the Lady Adeliza's window, like a hen drinking water, and thinking of divers matters. It was then that something rustled among the leaves, and, turning, I stared into the countenance of Stephen Allonby, until to-day Marquis of Falmouth, a slim, comely youth, and son to my father's younger brother. "Fool," said he, "you walk late." "Faith!" said I, "instinct warned me that a fool might find fit company here,--dear cousin." He frowned at the word, for he was never prone to admit the relationship, being in disposition somewhat precise. "Eh?" said he; then paused for a while. "I have more kinsmen than I knew of," he resumed, at length, "and to-day spawns them thick as herrings. Your greeting falls strangely pat with that of a brother of yours, alleged to be begot in lawful matrimony, who hath appeared to claim the title and estates, and hath even imposed upon the credulity of Monsieur de Puysange." I said, "And who is this new kinsman?" though his speaking had brought my heart into my mouth. "I have many brethren, if report speak truly as to how little my poor father slept at night." "I do not know," said he. "The vicomte had not told me more than half the tale when I called him a double-faced old rogue. Thereafter we parted--well, rather hastily!" I was moved with a sort of pity, since it was plainer than a pike-staff that Monsieur de Puysange had bundled this penniless young fellow out of Tiverton, with scant courtesy and a scantier explanation. Still, the wording of this sympathy was a ticklish business. I waved my hand upward. "The match, then, is broken off, between you and the Lady Adeliza?" "Ay!" my cousin said, grimly. Again I was nonplussed. Since their betrothal was an affair of rank conveniency, my Cousin Stephen should, in reason, grieve at this miscarriage temperately, and yet if by some awkward chance he, too, adored the delicate comeliness asleep above us, equity conceded his taste to be unfortunate rather than remarkable. Inwardly I resolved to bestow upon my Cousin Stephen a competence, and to pick out for him somewhere a wife better suited to his station. Meanwhile a silence fell. He cleared his throat; swore softly to himself; took a brief turn on the grass; and approached me, purse in hand. "It is time you were abed," said my cousin. I assented to this. "And since one may sleep anywhere," I reasoned, "why not here?" Thereupon, for I was somewhat puzzled at his bearing, I lay down upon the gravel and snored. "Fool," he said. I opened one eye. "I have business here"--I opened the other--"with the Lady Adeliza." He tossed me a coin as I sprang to my feet. "Sir--!" I cried out. "Ho, she expects me." "In that case--" said I. "The difficulty is to give a signal." "'Tis as easy as lying," I reassured him; and thereupon I began to sing. Sang I: _"Such toll we took of his niggling hours That the troops of Time were sent To seise the treasures and fell the towers Of the Castle of Content. "Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, With flaming tower and tumbling battlement Where Time hath conquered, and the firelight streams Above sore-wounded Loves and dying Dreams,-- Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ And I had scarcely ended when the casement opened. "Stephen!" said the Lady Adeliza. "Dear love!" said he. "Humph!" said I. Here a rope-ladder unrolled from the balcony and hit me upon the head. "Regard the orchard for a moment," the Lady Adeliza said, with the wonderfullest little laugh. My cousin indignantly protested, "I have company,--a burr that sticks to me." "A fool," I explained,--"to keep him in countenance." "It was ever the part of folly," said she, laughing yet again, "to be swayed by a woman; and it is the part of wisdom to be discreet. In any event, there must be no spectators." So we two Allonbys held each a strand of the ladder and stared at the ripening apples, black globes among the wind-vext silver of the leaves. In a moment the Lady Adeliza stood between us. Her hand rested upon mine as she leapt to the ground,--the tiniest velvet-soft ounce-weight that ever set a man's blood a-tingle. "I did not know--" said she. "Faith, madonna!" said I, "no more did I till this. I deduce but now that the Marquis of Falmouth is the person you discoursed of an hour since, with whom you hope to enter the Castle of Content." "Ah, Will! dear Will, do not think lightly of me," she said. "My father--" "Is as all of them have been since Father Adam's dotage," I ended; "and therefore is keeping fools and honest horses from their rest." My cousin said, angrily, "You have been spying!" "Because I know that there are horses yonder?" said I. "And fools here--and everywhere? Surely, there needs no argent-bearded Merlin come yawning out of Brocheliaunde to inform us of that." He said, "You will be secret?" "In comparison," I answered, "the grave is garrulous, and a death's-head a chattering magpie; yet I think that your maid, madonna,--" "Beatris is sworn to silence." "Which signifies she is already on her way to Monsieur de Puysange. She was coerced; she discovered it too late; and a sufficiency of tears and pious protestations will attest her innocence. It is all one." I winked an eye very sagely. "Your jesting is tedious," my cousin said. "Come, Adeliza!" Blaise, my lord marquis' French servant, held three horses in the shadow, so close that it was incredible I had not heard their trampling. Now the lovers mounted and were off like thistledown ere Blaise put foot to stirrup. "Blaise," said I. "Ohé!" said he, pausing. "--if, upon this pleasurable occasion, I were to borrow your horse--" "Impossible!" "If I were to take it by force--" I exhibited my coin. "Eh?" "--no one could blame you." "And yet perhaps--" "The deduction is illogical," said I. And pushing him aside, I mounted and set out into the night after my cousin and the Lady Adeliza. 4. _All Ends in a Puff of Smoke_ They rode leisurely enough along the winding highway that lay in the moonlight like a white ribbon in a pedlar's box; and staying as I did some hundred yards behind, they thought me no other than Blaise, being, indeed, too much engrossed with each other to regard the outer world very strictly. So we rode a matter of three miles in the whispering, moonlit woods, they prattling and laughing as though there were no such monster in all the universe as a thrifty-minded father, and I brooding upon many things beside my marquisate, and keeping an ear cocked backward for possible pursuit. In any ordinary falling out of affairs they would ride unhindered to Teignmouth, and thence to Allonby Shaw; they counted fully upon doing this; but I, knowing Beatris, who was waiting-maid to the Lady Adeliza, and consequently in the plot, to be the devil's own vixen, despite an innocent face and a wheedling tongue, was less certain. I shall not easily forget that riding away from the old vicomte's preparations to make a match of it between Adeliza and me. About us the woods sighed and whispered, dappled by the moonlight with unstable chequerings of blue and silver. Tightly he clung to my crupper, that swart tireless horseman, Care; but ahead rode Love, anterior to all things and yet eternally young, in quest of the Castle of Content. The horses' hoofs beat against the pebbles as if in chorus to the Devon cradle-song that rang idly in my brain. 'Twas little to me--now--whether the quest were won or lost; yet, as I watched the Lady Adeliza's white cloak tossing and fluttering in the wind, my blood pulsed more strongly than it is wont to do, and was stirred by the keen odors of the night and by many memories of her gracious kindliness and by a desire to serve somewhat toward the attainment of her happiness. Thus it was that my teeth clenched, and a dog howled in the distance, and the world seemed very old and very incurious of our mortal woes and joys. Then that befell which I had looked for, and I heard the clatter of horses' hoofs behind us, and knew that Monsieur de Puysange and his men were at hand to rescue the Lady Adeliza from my fine-looking young cousin, to put her into the bed of a rich fool. So I essayed a gallop. "Spur!" I cried;--"in the name of Saint Cupid!" With a little gasp, she bent forward over her horse's mane, urging him onward with every nerve and muscle of her tender body. I could not keep my gaze from her as we swept through the night. Picture Europa in her traverse, bull-borne, through the summer sea, the depths giving up their misshapen deities, and the blind sea-snakes writhing about her in hideous homage, while she, a little frightened, thinks resolutely of Crete beyond these unaccustomed horrors and of the god desirous of her contentation; and there, to an eyelash, you have Adeliza as I saw her. But steadily our pursuers gained on us: and as we paused to pick our way over the frail bridge that spanned the Exe, their clamor was very near. "Take care!" I cried,--but too late, for my horse swerved under me as I spoke, and my lord marquis' steed caught foot in a pile of lumber and fell heavily. He was up in a moment, unhurt, but the horse was lamed. "You!" cried my Cousin Stephen. "Oh, but what fiend sends me this burr again!" I said: "My fellow-madmen, it is all one if I have a taste for night-riding and the shedding of noble blood. Alack, though, that I have left my brave bauble at Tiverton! Had I that here, I might do such deeds! I might show such prowess upon the person of Monsieur de Puysange as your Nine Worthies would quake to hear of! For I have the honor to inform you, my doves, that we are captured." Indeed, we were in train to be, for even the two sound horses were well-nigh foundered: Blaise, the idle rogue, had not troubled to provide fresh steeds, so easy had the flitting seemed; and it was conspicuous that we would be overtaken in half an hour. "So it seems," said Stephen Allonby. "Well! one can die but once." Thus speaking, he drew his sword with an air which might have been envied by Captain Leonidas at Thermopylae. "Together, my heart!" she cried. "Madonna," said I, dismounting as I spoke, "pray you consider! With neither of you, is there any question of death; 'tis but that Monsieur de Puysange desires you to make a suitable match. It is not yet too late; his heart is kindly so long as he gets his will and profit everywhere, and he bears no malice toward my lord marquis. Yield, then, to your father's wishes, since there is no choice." She stared at me, as thanks for this sensible advice. "And you--is it you that would enter into the Castle of Content?" she cried, with a scorn that lashed. I said: "Madonna, bethink you, you know naught of this man your father desires you to wed. Is it not possible that he, too, may love--or may learn to love you, on provocation? You are very fair, madonna. Yours is a beauty that may draw a man to Heaven or unclose the gates of Hell, at will; indeed, even I, in my poor dreams, have seen your face as bright and glorious as is the lighted space above the altar when Christ's blood and body are shared among His worshippers. Men certainly will never cease to love you. Will he--your husband that may be--prove less susceptible, we will say, than I? Ah, but, madonna, let us unrein imagination! Suppose, were it possible, that he--even now--yearns to enter into the Castle of Content, and that your hand, your hand alone, may draw the bolt for him,--that the thought of you is to him as a flame before which honor and faith shrivel as shed feathers, and that he has loved you these many years, unknown to you, long, long before the Marquis of Falmouth came into your life with his fair face and smooth sayings. Suppose, were it possible, that he now stood before you, every pulse and fibre of him racked with an intolerable ecstasy of loving you, his heart one vast hunger for you, Adeliza, and his voice shaking as my voice shakes, and his hands trembling as my hands tremble,--ah, see how they tremble, madonna, the poor foolish hands! Suppose, were it possible,--" "Fool! O treacherous fool!" my cousin cried, in a fine rage. She rested her finger-tips upon his arm. "Hush!" she bade him; then turned to me an uncertain countenance that was half pity, half wonder. "Dear Will," said she, "if you have ever known aught of love, do you not understand how I love Stephen here?" But she did not any longer speak as a lord's daughter speaks to the fool that makes mirth for his betters. "In that case," said I,--and my voice played tricks,--"in that case, may I request that you assist me in gathering such brushwood as we may find hereabout?" They both stared at me now. "My lord," I said, "the Exe is high, the bridge is of wood, and I have flint and steel in my pocket. The ford is five miles above and quite impassable. Do you understand me, my lord?" He clapped his hands. "Oh, excellent!" he cried. Then, each having caught my drift, we heaped up a pile of broken boughs and twigs and brushwood on the bridge, all three gathering it together. And I wondered if the moon, that is co-partner in the antics of most rogues and lovers, had often beheld a sight more reasonless than the foregathering of a marquis, a peer's daughter, and a fool at dead of night to make fagots. When we had done I handed him the flint and steel. "My lord," said I, "the honor is yours." "Udsfoot!" he murmured, in a moment, swearing and striking futile sparks, "but the late rain has so wet the wood that it will not kindle." I said, "Assuredly, in such matters a fool is indispensable." I heaped before him the papers that made an honest woman of my mother and a marquis of me, and seizing the flint, I cast a spark among them that set them crackling cheerily. Oh, I knew well enough that patience would coax a flame from those twigs without my paper's aid, but to be patient does not afford the posturing which youth loves. So it was a comfort to wreck all magnificently: and I knew that, too, as we three drew back upon the western bank and watched the writhing twigs splutter and snap and burn. The bridge caught apace and in five minutes afforded passage to nothing short of the ardent equipage of the prophet Elias. Five minutes later the bridge did not exist: only the stone arches towered above the roaring waters that glistened in the light of the fire, which had, by this, reached the other side of the river, to find quick employment in the woods of Tiverton. Our pursuers rode through a glare which was that of Hell's kitchen on baking-day, and so reached the Exe only to curse vainly and to shriek idle imprecations at us, who were as immune from their anger as though the severing river had been Pyriphlegethon. "My lord," I presently suggested, "it may be that your priest expects you?" "Indeed," said he, laughing, "it is possible. Let us go." Thereupon they mounted the two sound horses. "Most useful burr," said he, "do you follow on foot to Teignmouth; and there--" "Sir," I replied, "my home is at Tiverton." He wheeled about. "Do you not fear--?" "The whip?" said I. "Ah, my lord, I have been whipped ere this. It is not the greatest ill in life to be whipped." He began to protest. "But, indeed, I am resolved," said I. "Farewell!" He tossed me his purse. "As you will," he retorted, shortly. "We thank you for your aid; and if I am still master of Allonby--" "No fear of that!" I said. "Farewell, good cousin marquis! I cannot weep at your going, since it brings you happiness. And we have it on excellent authority that the laughter of fools is as the crackling of thorns under a pot. Accordingly, I bid you God-speed in a discreet silence." I stood fumbling my cousin's gold as he went forward into the night; but she did not follow. "I am sorry--" she began. She paused and the lithe fingers fretted with her horse's mane. I said: "Madonna, earlier in this crowded night, you told me of love's nature: must my halting commentary prove the glose upon your text? Look, then, to be edified while the fool is delivered of his folly. For upon the maternal side, love was born of the ocean, madonna, and the ocean is but salt water, and salt water is but tears; and thus may love claim love's authentic kin with sorrow. Ay, certainly, madonna, Fate hath ordained for her diversion that through sorrow alone we lovers may attain to the true Castle of Content." There was a long silence, and the wind wailed among the falling, tattered leaves. "Had I but known--" said Adeliza, very sadly. I said: "Madonna, go forward and God speed you! Yonder your lover waits for you, and the world is exceedingly fair; here is only a fool. As for this new Marquis of Falmouth, let him trouble you no longer. 'Tis an Eastern superstition that we lackbrains are endowed with peculiar gifts of prophecy: and as such, I predict, very confidently, madonna, that you will see and hear no more of him in this life." I caught my breath. In the moonlight she seemed God's master-work. Her eyes were big with half-comprehended sorrow, and a slender hand stole timorously toward me. I laughed, seeing how she strove to pity my great sorrow and could not, by reason of her great happiness. I laughed and was content. "As surely as God reigns in Heaven," I cried aloud, "I am content, and this moment is well purchased with a marquisate!" Indeed, I was vastly uplift and vastly pleased with my own nobleness, just then, and that condition is always a comfort. More alertly she regarded me; and in her eyes I saw the anxiety and the wonder merge now into illimitable pity. "That, too!" she said, smiling sadly. "That, too, O son of Thomas Allonby!" And her mothering arms were clasped about me, and her lips clung and were one with my lips for a moment, and her tears were wet upon my cheek. She seemed to shield me, making of her breast my sanctuary. "My dear, my dear, I am not worthy!" said Adeliza, with a tenderness I cannot tell you of; and presently she, too, was gone. I mounted the lamed horse, who limped slowly up the river bank; very slowly we came out from the glare of the crackling fire into the cool darkness of the autumn woods; very slowly, for the horse was lamed and wearied, and patience is a discreet virtue when one journeys toward curses and the lash of a dog-whip: and I thought of many quips and jests whereby to soothe the anger of Monsieur de Puysange, and I sang to myself as I rode through the woods, a nobleman no longer, a tired Jack-pudding whose tongue must save his hide. Sang I: _"The towers are fallen; no laughter rings Through the rafters, charred and rent; The ruin is wrought of all goodly things In the Castle of Content. "Ei ho! Ei ho! the Castle of Content, Rased in the Land of Youth, where mirth was meant! Nay, all is ashes 'there; and all in vain Hand-shadowed eyes turn backward, to regain Disastrous memories of that dear domain,-- Ei ho! the vanished Castle of Content!"_ * * * * * MAY 27, 1559 _"'O welladay!' said Beichan then, 'That I so soon have married thee! For it can be none but Susie Pie, That sailed the sea for love of me.'"_ _How Will Sommers encountered the Marchioness of Falmouth in the Cardinal's house at Whitehall, and how in Windsor Forest that noble lady died with the fool's arms about her, does not concern us here. That is matter for another tale. You are not, though, to imagine any scandal. Barring an affair with Sir Henry Rochford, and another with Lord Norreys, and the brief interval in 1525 when the King was enamored of her, there is no record that the marchioness ever wavered from the choice her heart had made, or had any especial reason to regret it. So she lived and died, more virtuously and happily than most, and found the marquis a fair husband, as husbands go; and bore him three sons and a daughter. But when the ninth Marquis of Falmouth died long after his wife, in the November of 1557, he was survived by only one of these sons, a junior Stephen, born in 1530, who at his father's demise succeeded to the title. The oldest son, Thomas, born 1531, had been killed in Wyatt's Rebellion in 1554; the second, George, born 1526, with a marked look of the King, was, in February, 1556, stabbed in a disreputable tavern brawl. Now we have to do with the tenth Marquis of Falmouth's suit for the hand of Lady Ursula Heleigh, the Earl of Brudenel's co-heiress. You are to imagine yourself at Longaville Court, in Sussex, at a time when Anne Bullen's daughter was very recently become Queen of England._ CHAPTER VIII _The Episode Called In Ursula's Garden_ 1. Love, and Love's Mimic Her three lovers had praised her with many canzonets and sonnets on that May morning as they sat in the rose-garden at Longaville, and the sun-steeped leaves made a tempered aromatic shade about them. Afterward they had drawn grass-blades to decide who should accompany the Lady Ursula to the summer pavilion, that she might fetch her viol and sing them a song of love, and in the sylvan lottery chance had favored the Earl of Pevensey. Left to themselves, the Marquis of Falmouth and Master Richard Mervale regarded each the other, irresolutely, like strange curs uncertain whether to fraternize or to fly at one another's throat. Then Master Mervale lay down in the young grass, stretched himself, twirled his thin black mustachios, and chuckled in luxurious content. "Decidedly," said he, "your lordship is past master in the art of wooing; no university in the world would refuse you a degree." The marquis frowned. He was a great bluff man, with wheat-colored hair, and was somewhat slow-witted. After a little he found the quizzical, boyish face that mocked him irresistible, and he laughed, and unbent from the dignified reserve which he had for a while maintained portentously. "Master Mervale," said the marquis, "I will be frank with you, for you appear a lad of good intelligence, as lads run, and barring a trifle of affectation and a certain squeamishness in speech. When I would go exploring into a woman's heart, I must pay my way in the land's current coinage of compliments and high-pitched protestations. Yes, yes, such sixpenny phrases suffice the seasoned traveler, who does not ostentatiously display his gems while traveling. Now, in courtship, Master Mervale, one traverses ground more dubious than the Indies, and the truth, Master Mervale, is a jewel of great price." Master Mervale raised his eyebrows. "The truth?" he queried, gently. "Now how, I wonder, did your lordship happen to think of that remote abstraction." For beyond doubt, Lord Falmouth's wooing had been that morning of a rather florid sort. However, "It would surely be indelicate," the marquis suggested, "to allow even truth to appear quite unclothed in the presence of a lady?" He smiled and took a short turn on the grass. "Look you, Master Mervale," said he, narrowing his pale-blue eyes to slits, "I have, somehow, a disposition to confidence come upon me. Frankly, my passion for the Lady Ursula burns more mildly than that which Antony bore the Egyptian; it is less a fire to consume kingdoms than a candle wherewith to light a contented home; and quite frankly, I mean to have her. The estates lie convenient, the families are of equal rank, her father is agreed, and she has a sufficiency of beauty; there are, in short, no obstacles to our union save you and my lord of Pevensey, and these, I confess, I do not fear. I can wait, Master Mervale. Oh, I am patient, Master Mervale, but, I own, I cannot brook denial. It is I, or no one. By Saint Gregory! I wear steel at my side, Master Mervale, that will serve for other purposes save that of opening oysters!" So he blustered in the spring sunlight, and frowned darkly when Master Mervale appeared the more amused than impressed. "Your patience shames Job the Patriarch," said Master Mervale, "yet, it seems to me, my lord, you do not consider one thing. I grant you that Pevensey and I are your equals neither in estate nor reputation; still, setting modesty aside, is it not possible the Lady Ursula may come, in time, to love one of us?" "Setting common sense aside," said the marquis, stiffly, "it is possible she may be smitten with the smallpox. Let us hope, however, that she may escape both of these misfortunes." The younger man refrained from speech for a while. Presently, "You liken love to a plague," he said, "yet I have heard there was once a cousin of the Lady Ursula's--a Mistress Katherine Beaufort--" "Swounds!" Lord Falmouth had wheeled about, scowled, and then tapped sharply upon the palm of one hand with the nail-bitten fingers of the other. "Ay," said he, more slowly, "there was such a person." "She loved you?" Master Mervale suggested. "God help me!" replied the marquis; "we loved each other! I know not how you came by your information, nor do I ask. Yet, it is ill to open an old wound. I loved her; let that suffice." With a set face, he turned away for a moment and gazed toward the high parapets of Longaville, half-hidden by pale foliage and very white against the rain-washed sky; then groaned, and glared angrily into the lad's upturned countenance. "You talk of love," said the marquis; "a love compounded equally of youthful imagination, a liking for fantastic phrases and a disposition for caterwauling i' the moonlight. Ah, lad, lad!--if you but knew! That is not love; to love is to go mad like a star-struck moth, and afterward to strive in vain to forget, and to eat one's heart out in the loneliness, and to hunger--hunger--" The marquis spread his big hands helplessly, and then, with a quick, impatient gesture, swept back the mass of wheat-colored hair that fell about his face. "Ah, Master Mervale," he sighed, "I was right after all,--it is the cruelest plague in the world, and that same smallpox leaves less troubling scars." "Yet," Master Mervale said, with courteous interest, "you did not marry?" "Marry!" His lordship snarled toward the sun and laughed. "Look you, Master Mervale, I know not how far y'are acquainted with the business. It was in Cornwall yonder years since; I was but a lad, and she a wench,--Oh, such a wench, with tender blue eyes, and a faint, sweet voice that could deny me nothing! God does not fashion her like every day,--_Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains_, saith the Frenchman." The marquis paced the grass, gnawing his lip and debating with himself. "Marry? Her family was good, but their deserts outranked their fortunes; their crest was not the topmost feather in Fortune's cap, you understand; somewhat sunken i' the world, Master Mervale, somewhat sunken. And I? My father--God rest his bones!--was a cold, hard man, and my two elder brothers--Holy Virgin, pray for them!--loved me none too well. I was the cadet then: Heaven helps them that help themselves, says my father, and I ha'n't a penny for you. My way was yet to make in the world; to saddle myself with a dowerless wench--even a wench whose least 'Good-morning' set a man's heart hammering at his ribs--would have been folly, Master Mervale. Utter, improvident, shiftless, bedlamite folly, lad!" "H'm!" Master Mervale cleared his throat, twirled his mustachios, and smiled at some unspoken thought. "We pay for our follies in this world, my lord, but I sometimes think that we pay even more dearly for our wisdom." "Ah, lad, lad!" the marquis cried, in a gust of anger; "I dare say, as your smirking hints, it was a coward's act not to snap fingers at fate and fathers and dare all! Well! I did not dare. We parted--in what lamentable fashion is now of little import--and I set forth to seek my fortune. Ho, it was a brave world then, Master Mervale, for all the tears that were scarce dried on my cheeks! A world wherein the heavens were as blue as a certain woman's eyes,--a world wherein a likely lad might see far countries, waggle a good sword in Babylon and Tripolis and other ultimate kingdoms, beard the Mussulman in his mosque, and at last fetch home--though he might never love her, you understand--a soldan's daughter for his wife,-- _With more gay gold about her middle Than would buy half Northumberlee."_ His voice died away. He sighed and shrugged. "Eh, well!" said the marquis; "I fought in Flanders somewhat--in Spain--what matter where? Then, at last, sickened in Amsterdam, three years ago, where a messenger comes to haul me out of bed as future Marquis of Falmouth. One brother slain in a duel, Master Mervale; one killed in Wyatt's Rebellion; my father dying, and--Heaven rest his soul!--not over-eager to meet his Maker. There you have it, Master Mervale,--a right pleasant jest of Fortune's perpetration,--I a marquis, my own master, fit mate for any woman in the kingdom, and Kate--my Kate who was past human praising!--vanished." "Vanished?" The lad echoed the word, with wide eyes. "Vanished in the night, and no sign nor rumor of her since! Gone to seek me abroad, no doubt, poor wench! Dead, dead, beyond question, Master Mervale!" The marquis swallowed, and rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. "Ah, well!" said he; "it is an old sorrow!" The male animal shaken by strong emotion is to his brothers an embarrassing rather than a pathetic sight. Master Mervale, lowering his eyes discreetly, rooted up several tufts of grass before he spoke. Then, "My lord, you have known of love," said he, very slowly; "does there survive no kindliness for aspiring lovers in you who have been one of us? My lord of Pevensey, I think, loves the Lady Ursula, at least, as much as you ever loved this Mistress Katherine; of my own adoration I do not speak, save to say that I have sworn never to marry any other woman. Her father favors you, for you are a match in a thousand; but you do not love her. It matters little to you, my lord, whom she may wed; to us it signifies a life's happiness. Will not the memory of that Cornish lass--the memory of moonlit nights, and of those sweet, vain aspirations and foiled day-dreams that in boyhood waked your blood even to such brave folly as now possesses us,--will not the memory of these things soften you, my lord?" But Falmouth by this time appeared half regretful of his recent outburst, and somewhat inclined to regard his companion as a dangerously plausible young fellow who had very unwarrantably wormed himself into Lord Falmouth's confidence. Falmouth's heavy jaw shut like a trap. "By Saint Gregory!" said he; "if ever such notions soften me at all, I pray to be in hell entirely melted! What I have told you of is past, Master Mervale; and a wise man does not meditate unthriftily upon spilt milk." "You are adamant?" sighed the boy. "The nether millstone," said the marquis, smiling grimly, "is in comparison a pillow of down." "Yet--yet the milk was sweet, my lord?" the boy suggested, with a faint answering smile. "Sweet!" The marquis' voice had a deep tremor. "And if the choice lay between Ursula and Katherine?" "Oh, fool!--Oh, pink-cheeked, utter ignorant fool!" the marquis groaned. "Did I not say you knew nothing of love?" "Heigho!" Master Mervale put aside all glum-faced discussion, with a little yawn, and sprang to his feet. "Then we can but hope that somewhere, somehow, Mistress Katherine yet lives and in her own good time may reappear. And while we speak of reappearances--surely the Lady Ursula is strangely tardy in making hers?" The marquis' jealousy when it slumbered slept with an open ear. "Let us join them," he said, shortly, and he started through the gardens with quick, stiff strides. 2. _Song-guerdon_ They went westward toward the summer pavilion. Presently the marquis blundered into the green gloom of the maze, laid out in the Italian fashion, and was extricated only by the superior knowledge of Master Mervale, who guided Falmouth skilfully and surely through manifold intricacies, to open daylight. Afterward they came to a close-shaven lawn, where the summer pavilion stood beside the brook that widened here into an artificial pond, spread with lily-pads and fringed with rushes. The Lady Ursula sat with the Earl of Pevensey beneath a burgeoning maple-tree. Such rays as sifted through into their cool retreat lay like splotches of wine upon the ground, and there the taller grass-blades turned to needles of thin silver; one palpitating beam, more daring than the rest, slanted straight toward the little head of the Lady Ursula, converting her hair into a halo of misty gold, that appeared out of place in this particular position. She seemed a Bassarid who had somehow fallen heir to an aureole; for otherwise, to phrase it sedately, there was about her no clamant suggestion of saintship. At least, there is no record of any saint in the calendar who ever looked with laughing gray-green eyes upon her lover and mocked at the fervor and trepidation of his speech. This the Lady Ursula now did; and, manifestly, enjoyed the doing of it. Within the moment the Earl of Pevensey took up the viol that lay beside them, and sang to her in the clear morning. He was sunbrowned and very comely, and his big, black eyes were tender as he sang to her sitting there in the shade. He himself sat at her feet in the sunlight. Sang the Earl of Pevensey: _"Ursula, spring wakes about us-- Wakes to mock at us and flout us That so coldly do delay: When the very birds are mating, Pray you, why should we be waiting-- We that might be wed to-day! "'Life is short,' the wise men tell us;-- Even those dusty, musty fellows That have done with life,--and pass Where the wraith of Aristotle Hankers, vainly, for a bottle, Youth and some frank Grecian lass._ "Ah, I warrant you;--and Zeno Would not reason, now, could he know One more chance to live and love: For, at best, the merry May-time Is a very fleeting play-time;-- Why, then, waste an hour thereof? "Plato, Solon, Periander, Seneca, Anaximander, Pyrrho, and Parmenides! Were one hour alone remaining Would ye spend it in attaining Learning, or to lips like these? "Thus, I demonstrate by reason Now is our predestined season For the garnering of all bliss; Prudence is but long-faced folly; Cry a fig for melancholy! Seal the bargain with a kiss"_ When he had ended, the Earl of Pevensey laughed and looked up into the Lady Ursula's face with a long, hungry gaze; and the Lady Ursula laughed likewise and spoke kindly to him, though the distance was too great for the eavesdroppers to overhear. Then, after a little, the Lady Ursula bent forward, out of the shade of the maple into the sun, so that the sunlight fell upon her golden head and glowed in the depths of her hair, as she kissed Pevensey, tenderly and without haste, full upon the lips. 3. _Falmouth Furens_ The Marquis of Falmouth caught Master Mervale's arm in a grip that made the boy wince. Lord Falmouth's look was murderous, as he turned in the shadow of a white-lilac bush and spoke carefully through sharp breaths that shook his great body. "There are," said he, "certain matters I must immediately discuss with my lord of Pevensey. I desire you, Master Mervale, to fetch him to the spot where we parted last, so that we may talk over these matters quietly and undisturbed. For else--go, lad, and fetch him!" For a moment the boy faced the half-shut pale eyes that were like coals smouldering behind a veil of gray ash. Then he shrugged his shoulders, sauntered forward, and doffed his hat to the Lady Ursula. There followed much laughter among the three, many explanations from Master Mervale, and yet more laughter from the lady and the earl. The marquis ground his big, white teeth as he listened, and he appeared to disapprove of so much mirth. "Foh, the hyenas! the apes, the vile magpies!" the marquis observed. He heaved a sigh of relief, as the Earl of Pevensey, raising his hands lightly toward heaven, laughed once more, and departed into the thicket. Lord Falmouth laughed in turn, though not very pleasantly. Afterward he loosened his sword in the scabbard and wheeled back to seek their rendezvous in the shadowed place where they had made sonnets to the Lady Ursula. For some ten minutes the marquis strode proudly through the maze, pondering, by the look of him, on the more fatal tricks of fencing. In a quarter of an hour he was lost in a wilderness of trim yew-hedges which confronted him stiffly at every outlet and branched off into innumerable gravelled alleys that led nowhither. "Swounds!" said the marquis. He retraced his steps impatiently. He cast his hat upon the ground in seething desperation. He turned in a different direction, and in two minutes trod upon his discarded head-gear. "Holy Gregory!" the marquis commented. He meditated for a moment, then caught up his sword close to his side and plunged into the nearest hedge. After a little he came out, with a scratched face and a scant breath, into another alley. As the crow flies, he went through the maze of Longaville, leaving in his rear desolation and snapped yew-twigs. He came out of the ruin behind the white-lilac bush, where he had stood and had heard the Earl of Pevensey sing to the Lady Ursula, and had seen what followed. The marquis wiped his brow. He looked out over the lawn and breathed heavily. The Lady Ursula still sat beneath the maple, and beside her was Master Mervale, whose arm girdled her waist. Her arm was about his neck, and she listened as he talked eagerly with many gestures. Then they both laughed and kissed each other. "Oh, defend me!" groaned the marquis. Once more he wiped his brow, as he crouched behind the white-lilac bush. "Why, the woman is a second Messalina!" he said. "Oh, the trollop! the wanton! Oh, holy Gregory! Yet I must be quiet--quiet as a sucking lamb, that I may strike afterward as a roaring lion. Is this your innocence, Mistress Ursula, that cannot endure the spoken name of a spade? Oh, splendor of God!" Thus he raged behind the white-lilac bush while they laughed and kissed under the maple-tree. After a space they parted. The Lady Ursula, still laughing, lifted the branches of the rearward thicket and disappeared in the path which the Earl of Pevensey had taken. Master Mervale, kissing his hand and laughing yet more loudly, lounged toward the entrance of the maze. The jackanapes (as anybody could see), was in a mood to be pleased with himself. Smiles eddied about the boy's face, his heels skipped, disdaining the honest grass; and presently he broke into a glad little song, all trills and shakes, like that of a bird ecstasizing over the perfections of his mate. Sang Master Mervale: _"Listen, all lovers! the spring is here And the world is not amiss; As long as laughter is good to hear, And lips are good to kiss, As long as Youth and Spring endure, There is never an evil past a cure And the world is never amiss. "O lovers all, I bid ye declare The world is a pleasant place;-- Give thanks to God for the gift so fair, Give thanks for His singular grace! Give thanks for Youth and Love and Spring! Give thanks, as gentlefolk should, and sing, 'The world is a pleasant place!'"_ In mid-skip Master Mervale here desisted, his voice trailing into inarticulate vowels. After many angry throes, a white-lilac bush had been delivered of the Marquis of Falmouth, who now confronted Master Mervale, furiously moved. 4. _Love Rises from un-Cytherean Waters_ "I have heard, Master Mervale," said the marquis, gently, "that love is blind?" The boy stared at the white face, that had before his eyes veiled rage with a crooked smile. So you may see the cat, tense for the fatal spring, relax and with one paw indolently flip the mouse. "It is an ancient fable, my lord," the boy said, smiling, and made as though to pass. "Indeed," said the marquis, courteously, but without yielding an inch, "it is a very reassuring fable: for," he continued, meditatively, "were the eyes of all lovers suddenly opened, Master Mervale, I suspect it would prove a red hour for the world. There would be both tempers and reputations lost, Master Mervale; there would be sword-thrusts; there would be corpses, Master Mervale." "Doubtless, my lord," the lad assented, striving to jest and have done; "for all flesh is frail, and as the flesh of woman is frailer than that of man, so is it, as I remember to have read, the more easily entrapped by the gross snares of the devil, as was over-well proved by the serpent's beguiling deceit of Eve at the beginning." "Yet, Master Mervale," pursued the marquis, equably, but without smiling, "there be lovers in the world that have eyes?" "Doubtless, my lord," said the boy. "There also be women in the world, Master Mervale," Lord Falmouth suggested, with a deeper gravity, "that are but the handsome sepulchres of iniquity,--ay, and for the major part of women, those miracles which are their bodies, compact of white and gold and sprightly color though they be, serve as the lovely cerements of corruption." "Doubtless, my lord. The devil, as they say, is homelier with that sex." "There also be swords in the world, Master Mervale?" purred the marquis. He touched his own sword as he spoke. "My lord--!" the boy cried, with a gasp. "Now, swords have at least three uses, Master Mervale," Falmouth continued. "With a sword one may pick a cork from a bottle; with a sword one may toast cheese about the Twelfth Night fire; and with a sword one may spit a man, Master Mervale,--ay, even an ambling, pink-faced, lisping lad that cannot boo at a goose, Master Mervale. I have no inclination, Master Mervale, just now, for either wine or toasted cheese." "I do not understand you, my lord," said the boy, in a thin voice. "Indeed, I think we understand each other perfectly," said the marquis. "For I have been very frank with you, and I have watched you from behind this bush." The boy raised his hand as though to speak. "Look you, Master Mervale," the marquis argued, "you and my lord of Pevensey and I be brave fellows; we need a wide world to bustle in. Now, the thought has come to me that this small planet of ours is scarcely commodious enough for all three. There be purgatory and Heaven, and yet another place, Master Mervale; why, then, crowd one another?" "My lord," said the boy, dully, "I do not understand you." "Holy Gregory!" scoffed the marquis; "surely my meaning is plain enough! it is to kill you first, and my lord of Pevensey afterward! Y'are phoenixes, Master Mervale, Arabian birds! Y'are too good for this world. Longaville is not fit to be trodden under your feet; and therefore it is my intention that you leave Longaville feet first. Draw, Master Mervale!" cried the marquis, his light hair falling about his flushed, handsome face as he laughed joyously, and flashed his sword in the spring sunshine. The boy sprang back, with an inarticulate cry; then gulped some dignity into himself and spoke. "My lord," he said, "I admit that explanation may seem necessary." "You will render it, if to anybody, Master Mervale, to my heir, who will doubtless accord it such credence as it merits. For my part, having two duels on my hands to-day, I have no time to listen to a romance out of the Hundred Merry Tales." Falmouth had placed himself on guard; but Master Mervale stood with chattering teeth and irresolute, groping hands, and made no effort to draw. "Oh, the block! the curd-faced cheat!" cried the marquis. "Will nothing move you?" With his left hand he struck at the boy. Thereupon Master Mervale gasped, and turning with a great sob, ran through the gardens. The marquis laughed discordantly; then he followed, taking big leaps as he ran and flourishing his sword. "Oh, the coward!" he shouted; "Oh, the milk-livered rogue! Oh, you paltry rabbit!" So they came to the bank of the artificial pond. Master Mervale swerved as with an oath the marquis pounced at him. Master Mervale's foot caught in the root of a great willow, and Master Mervale splashed into ten feet of still water, that glistened like quicksilver in the sunlight. "Oh, Saint Gregory!" the marquis cried, and clasped his sides in noisy mirth; "was there no other way to cool your courage? Paddle out and be flogged, Master Hare-heels!" he called. The boy had come to the surface and was swimming aimlessly, parallel to the bank. "Now I have heard," said the marquis, as he walked beside him, "that water swells a man. Pray Heaven, it may swell his heart a thousandfold or so, and thus hearten him for wholesome exercise after his ducking--a friendly thrust or two, a little judicious bloodletting to ward off the effects of the damp." The marquis started as Master Mervale grounded on a shallow and rose, dripping, knee-deep among the lily-pads. "Oh, splendor of God!" cried the marquis. Master Mervale had risen from his bath almost clean-shaven; only one sodden half of his mustachios clung to his upper lip, and as he rubbed the water from his eyes, this remaining half also fell away from the boy's face. "Oh, splendor of God!" groaned the marquis. He splashed noisily into the water. "O Kate, Kate!" he cried, his arms about Master Mervale. "Oh, blind, blind, blind! O heart's dearest! Oh, my dear, my dear!" he observed. Master Mervale slipped from his embrace and waded to dry land. "My lord,--" he began, demurely. "My lady wife,--" said his lordship of Falmouth, with a tremulous smile. He paused, and passed his hand over his brow. "And yet I do not understand," he said. "Y'are dead; y'are buried. It was a frightened boy I struck." He spread out his strong arms. "O world! O sun! O stars!" he cried; "she is come back to me from the grave. O little world! small shining planet! I think that I could crush you in my hands!" "Meanwhile," Master Mervale suggested, after an interval, "it is I that you are crushing." He sighed,--though not very deeply,--and continued, with a hiatus: "They would have wedded me to Lucius Rossmore, and I could not--I could not--" "That skinflint! that palsied goat!" the marquis growled. "He was wealthy," said Master Mervale. Then he sighed once more. "There seemed only you,--only you in all the world. A man might come to you in those far-off countries: a woman might not. I fled by night, my lord, by the aid of a waiting-woman; became a man by the aid of a tailor; and set out to find you by the aid of such impudence as I might muster. But luck did not travel with me. I followed you through Flanders, Italy, Spain,--always just too late; always finding the bird flown, the nest yet warm. Presently I heard you were become Marquis of Falmouth; then I gave up the quest." "I would suggest," said the marquis, "that my name is Stephen;--but why, in the devil's name, should you give up a quest so laudable?" "Stephen Allonby, my lord," said Master Mervale, sadly, "was not Marquis of Falmouth; as Marquis of Falmouth, you might look to mate with any woman short of the Queen." "To tell you a secret," the marquis whispered, "I look to mate with one beside whom the Queen--not to speak treason--is but a lean-faced, yellow piece of affectation. I aim higher than royalty, heart's dearest,--aspiring to one beside whom empresses are but common hussies." "And Ursula?" asked Master Mervale, gently. "Holy Gregory!" cried the marquis, "I had forgot! Poor wench, poor wench! I must withdraw my suit warily,--firmly, of course, yet very kindlily, you understand, so as to grieve her no more than must be. Poor wench!--well, after all," he hopefully suggested, "there is yet Pevensey." "O Stephen! Stephen!" Master Mervale murmured; "Why, there was never any other but Pevensey! For Ursula knows all,--knows there was never any more manhood in Master Mervale's disposition than might be gummed on with a play-actor's mustachios! Why, she is my cousin, Stephen,--my cousin and good friend, to whom I came at once on reaching England, to find you, favored by her father, pestering her with your suit, and the poor girl well-nigh at her wits' end because she might not have Pevensey. So," said Master Mervale, "we put our heads together, Stephen, as you observe." "Indeed," my lord of Falmouth said, "it would seem that you two wenches have, between you, concocted a very pleasant comedy." "It was not all a comedy," sighed Master Mervale,--"not all a comedy, Stephen, until to-day when you told Master Mervale the story of Katherine Beaufort. For I did not know--I could not know--" "And now?" my lord of Falmouth queried. "H'm!" cried Master Mervale, and he tossed his head. "You are very unreasonable in anger! you are a veritable Turk! you struck me!" The marquis rose, bowing low to his former adversary. "Master Mervale," said the marquis, "I hereby tender you my unreserved apologies for the affront I put upon you. I protest I was vastly mistaken in your disposition and hold you as valorous a gentleman as was ever made by barbers' tricks; and you are at liberty to bestow as many kisses and caresses upon the Lady Ursula as you may elect, reserving, however, a reasonable sufficiency for one that shall be nameless. Are we friends, Master Mervale?" Master Mervale rested his head upon Lord Falmouth's shoulder, and sighed happily. Master Mervale laughed,--a low and gentle laugh that was vibrant with content. But Master Mervale said nothing, because there seemed to be between these two, who were young in the world's recaptured youth, no longer any need of idle speaking. * * * * * JUNE 1, 1593 _"She was the admirablest lady that ever lived: therefore, Master Doctor, if you will do us that favor, as to let us see that peerless dame, we should think ourselves much beholding unto you."_ _There was a double wedding some two weeks later in the chapel at Longaville: and each marriage appears to have been happy enough. The tenth Marquis of Falmouth had begotten sixteen children within seventeen years, at the end of which period his wife unluckily died in producing a final pledge of affection. This child, a daughter, survived, and was christened Cynthia: of her you may hear later. Meanwhile the Earl and the Countess of Pevensey had propagated more moderately; and Pevensey had played a larger part in public life than was allotted to Falmouth, who did not shine at Court. Pevensey, indeed, has his sizable niche in history: his Irish expeditions, in 1575, were once notorious, as well as the circumstances of the earl's death in that year at Triloch Lenoch. His more famous son, then a boy of eight, succeeded to the title, and somewhat later, as the world knows, to the hazardous position of chief favorite to Queen Elizabeth. "For Pevensey has the vision of a poet,"--thus Langard quotes the lonely old Queen,--"and to balance it, such mathematics as add two and two correctly, where you others smirk and assure me it sums up to whatever the Queen prefers. I have need of Pevensey: in this parched little age all England has need of Pevensey." That is as it may have been: at all events, it is with this Lord Pevensey, at the height of his power, that we have now to do._ CHAPTER IX _The Episode Called Porcelain Cups_ 1. _Of Greatness Intimately Viewed_ "Ah, but they are beyond praise," said Cynthia Allonby, enraptured, "and certainly you should have presented them to the Queen." "Her majesty already possesses a cup of that ware," replied Lord Pevensey. "It was one of her New Year's gifts, from Robert Cecil. Hers is, I believe, not quite so fine as either of yours; but then, they tell me, there is not the like of this pair in England, nor indeed on the hither side of Cataia." He set the two pieces of Chinese pottery upon the shelves in the south corner of the room. These cups were of that sea-green tint called celadon, with a very wonderful glow and radiance. Such oddities were the last vogue at Court; and Cynthia could not but speculate as to what monstrous sum Lord Pevensey had paid for this his last gift to her. Now he turned, smiling, a really superb creature in his blue and gold. "I had to-day another message from the Queen--" "George," Cynthia said, with fond concern, "it frightens me to see you thus foolhardy, in tempting alike the Queen's anger and the Plague." "Eh, as goes the Plague, it spares nine out of ten," he answered, lightly. "The Queen, I grant you, is another pair of sleeves, for an irritated Tudor spares nobody." But Cynthia Allonby kept silence, and did not exactly smile, while she appraised her famous young kinsman. She was flattered by, and a little afraid of, the gay self-confidence which led anybody to take such chances. Two weeks ago it was that the terrible painted old Queen had named Lord Pevensey to go straightway into France, where, rumor had it, King Henri was preparing to renounce the Reformed Religion, and making his peace with the Pope: and for two weeks Pevensey had lingered, on one pretence or another, at his house in London, with the Plague creeping about the city like an invisible incalculable flame, and the Queen asking questions at Windsor. Of all the monarchs that had ever reigned in England, Elizabeth Tudor was the least used to having her orders disregarded. Meanwhile Lord Pevensey came every day to the Marquis of Falmouth's lodgings at Deptford: and every day Lord Pevensey pointed out to the marquis' daughter that Pevensey, whose wife had died in childbirth a year back, did not intend to go into France, for nobody could foretell how long a stay, as a widower. Certainly it was all very flattering.... "Yes, and you would be an excellent match," said Cynthia, aloud, "if that were all. And yet, what must I reasonably expect in marrying, sir, the famous Earl of Pevensey?" "A great deal of love and petting, my dear. And if there were anything else to which you had a fancy, I would get it for you." Her glance went to those lovely cups and lingered fondly. "Yes, dear Master Generosity, if it could be purchased or manufactured, you would get it for me--" "If it exists I will get it for you," he declared. "I think that it exists. But I am not learned enough to know what it is. George, if I married you I would have money and fine clothes and gilded coaches, and an army of maids and pages, and honor from all men. And you would be kind to me, I know, when you returned from the day's work at Windsor--or Holyrood or the Louvre. But do you not see that I would always be to you only a rather costly luxury, like those cups, which the Queen's minister could afford to keep for his hours of leisure?" He answered: "You are all in all to me. You know it. Oh, very well do you know and abuse your power, you adorable and lovely baggage, who have kept me dancing attendance for a fortnight, without ever giving me an honest yes or no." He gesticulated. "Well, but life is very dull in Deptford village, and it amuses you to twist a Queen's adviser around your finger! I see it plainly, you minx, and I acquiesce because it delights me to give you pleasure, even at the cost of some dignity. Yet I may no longer shirk the Queen's business,--no, not even to amuse you, my dear." "You said you had heard from her--again?" "I had this morning my orders, under Gloriana's own fair hand, either to depart to-morrow into France or else to come to-morrow to Windsor. I need not say that in the circumstances I consider France the more wholesome." Now the girl's voice was hurt and wistful. "So, for the thousandth time, is it proven the Queen's business means more to you than I do. Yes, certainly it is just as I said, George." He observed, unruffled: "My dear, I scent unreason. This is a high matter. If the French King compounds with Rome, it means war for Protestant England. Even you must see that." She replied, sadly: "Yes, even I! oh, certainly, my lord, even a half-witted child of seventeen can perceive as much as that." "I was not speaking of half-witted persons, as I remember. Well, it chances that I am honored by the friendship of our gallant Bearnais, and am supposed to have some claim upon him, thanks to my good fortune last year in saving his life from the assassin Barriere. It chances that I may perhaps become, under providence, the instrument of preserving my fellow countrymen from much grief and trumpet-sounding and throat-cutting. Instead of pursuing that chance, two weeks ago--as was my duty--I have dangled at your apron-strings, in the vain hope of softening the most variable and hardest heart in the world. Now, clearly, I have not the right to do that any longer." She admired the ennobled, the slightly rapt look which, she knew, denoted that George Bulmer was doing his duty as he saw it, even in her disappointment. "No, you have not the right. You are wedded to your statecraft, to your patriotism, to your self-advancement, or christen it what you will. You are wedded, at all events, to your man's business. You have not the time for such trifles as giving a maid that foolish and lovely sort of wooing to which every maid looks forward in her heart of hearts. Indeed, when you married the first time it was a kind of infidelity; and I am certain that poor, dear mouse-like Mary must have felt that often and over again. Why, do you not see, George, even now, that your wife will always come second to your real love?" "In my heart, dear sophist, you will always come first. But it is not permitted that any loyal gentleman devote every hour of his life to sighing and making sonnets, and to the general solacing of a maid's loneliness in this dull little Deptford. Nor would you, I am sure, desire me to do so." "I hardly know what I desire," she told him ruefully. "But I know that when you talk of your man's business I am lonely and chilled and far away from you. And I know that I cannot understand more than half your fine high notions about duty and patriotism and serving England and so on," the girl declared: and she flung wide her lovely little hands, in a despairing gesture. "I admire you, sir, when you talk of England. It makes you handsomer--yes, even handsomer!--somehow. But all the while I am remembering that England is just an ordinary island inhabited by a number of ordinary persons, for the most of whom I have no particular feeling one way or the other." Pevensey looked down at her for a while with queer tenderness. Then he smiled. "No, I could not quite make you understand, my dear. But, ah, why fuddle that quaint little brain by trying to understand such matters as lie without your realm? For a woman's kingdom is the home, my dear, and her throne is in the heart of her husband--" "All this is but another way of saying your lordship would have us cups upon a shelf," she pointed out--"in readiness for your leisure." He shrugged, said "Nonsense!" and began more lightly to talk of other matters. Thus and thus he would do in France, such and such trinkets he would fetch back--"as toys for the most whimsical, the loveliest, and the most obstinate child in all the world," he phrased it. And they would be married, Pevensey declared, in September: nor (he gaily said) did he propose to have any further argument about it. Children should be seen--the proverb was dusty, but it particularly applied to pretty children. Cynthia let him talk. She was just a little afraid of his self-confidence, and of this tall nobleman's habit of getting what he wanted, in the end: but she dispiritedly felt that Pevensey had failed her. Why, George Bulmer treated her as if she were a silly infant; and his want of her, even in that capacity, was a secondary matter: he was going into France, for all his petting talk, and was leaving her to shift as she best might, until he could spare the time to resume his love-making.... 2. _What Comes of Scribbling_ Now when Pevensey had gone the room seemed darkened by the withdrawal of so much magnificence. Cynthia watched from the window as the tall earl rode away, with three handsomely clad retainers. Yes, George was very fine and admirable, no doubt of it: even so, there was relief in the reflection that for a month or two she was rid of him. Turning, she faced a lean, dishevelled man, who stood by the Magdalen tapestry scratching his chin. He had unquiet bright eyes, this out-at-elbows poet whom a marquis' daughter was pleased to patronize, and his red hair was unpardonably tousled. Nor were his manners beyond reproach, for now, without saying anything, he, too, went to the window. He dragged one foot a little as he walked. "So my lord Pevensey departs! Look how he rides in triumph! like lame Tamburlaine, with Techelles and Usumcasane and Theridamas to attend him, and with the sunset turning the dust raised by their horses' hoofs into a sort of golden haze about them. It is a beautiful world. And truly, Mistress Cyn," the poet said, reflectively, "that Pevensey is a very splendid ephemera. If not a king himself, at least he goes magnificently to settle the affairs of kings. Were modesty not my failing, Mistress Cyn, I would acclaim you as strangely lucky, in being beloved by two fine fellows that have not their like in England." "Truly, you are not always thus modest, Kit Marlowe--" "But, Lord, how seriously Pevensey takes it all! and takes himself in particular! Why, there departs from us, in befitting state, a personage whose opinion as to every topic in the world is written legibly in the carriage of those fine shoulders, even when seen from behind and from so considerable a distance. And in not one syllable do any of these opinions differ from the opinions of his great-great-grandfathers. Oho, and hark to Deptford! now all the oafs in the Corn-market are cheering this bulwark of Protestant England, this rising young hero of a people with no nonsense about them. Yes, it is a very quaint and rather splendid ephemera." The daughter of a marquis could not quite approve of the way in which this shoemaker's son, however talented, railed at his betters. "Pevensey will be the greatest man in these kingdoms some day. Indeed, Kit Marlowe, there are those who say he is that much already." "Oh, very probably! Still, I am puzzled by human greatness. A century hence what will he matter, this Pevensey? His ascent and his declension will have been completed, and his foolish battles and treaties will have given place to other foolish battles and treaties, and oblivion will have swallowed this glistening bluebottle, plumes and fine lace and stately ruff and all. Why, he is but an adviser to the queen of half an island, whereas my Tamburlaine was lord of all the golden ancient East: and what does my Tamburlaine matter now, save that he gave Kit Marlowe the subject of a drama? Hah, softly though! for does even that very greatly matter? Who really cares to-day about what scratches were made upon wax by that old Euripides, the latchet of whose sandals I am not worthy to unloose? No, not quite worthy, as yet!" And thereupon the shabby fellow sat down in the tall leather-covered chair which Pevensey had just vacated: and this Marlowe nodded his flaming head portentously. "Hoh, look you, I am displeased, Mistress Cyn, I cannot lend my approval to this over-greedy oblivion that gapes for all. No, it is not a satisfying arrangement, that I should teeter insecurely through the void on a gob of mud, and be expected by and by to relinquish even that crazy foothold. Even for Kit Marlowe death lies in wait! and it may be, not anything more after death, not even any lovely words to play with. Yes, and this Marlowe may amount to nothing, after all: and his one chance of amounting to that which he intends may be taken away from him at any moment!" He touched the breast of a weather-beaten doublet. He gave her that queer twisted sort of smile which the girl could not but find attractive, somehow. He said: "Why, but this heart thumping here inside me may stop any moment like a broken clock. Here is Euripides writing better than I: and here in my body, under my hand, is the mechanism upon which depend all those masterpieces that are to blot the Athenian from the reckoning, and I have no control of it!" "Indeed, I fear that you control few things," she told him, "and that least of all do you control your taste for taverns and bad women. Oh, I hear tales of you!" And Cynthia raised a reproving forefinger. "True tales, no doubt." He shrugged. "Lacking the moon he vainly cried for, the child learns to content himself with a penny whistle." "Ah, but the moon is far away," the girl said, smiling--"too far to hear the sound of human crying: and besides, the moon, as I remember it, was never a very amorous goddess--" "Just so," he answered: "also she was called Cynthia, and she, too, was beautiful." "Yet is it the heart that cries to me, my poet?" she asked him, softly, "or just the lips?" "Oh, both of them, most beautiful and inaccessible of goddesses." Then Marlowe leaned toward her, laughing and shaking that disreputable red head. "Still, you are very foolish, in your latest incarnation, to be wasting your rays upon carpet earls who will not outwear a century. Were modesty not my failing, I repeat, I could name somebody who will last longer. Yes, and--if but I lacked that plaguey virtue--I would advise you to go a-gypsying with that nameless somebody, so that two manikins might snatch their little share of the big things that are eternal, just as the butterfly fares intrepidly and joyously, with the sun for his torchboy, through a universe wherein thought cannot estimate the unimportance of a butterfly, and wherein not even the chaste moon is very important. Yes, certainly I would advise you to have done with this vanity of courts and masques, of satins and fans and fiddles, this dallying with tinsels and bright vapors; and very movingly I would exhort you to seek out Arcadia, travelling hand in hand with that still nameless somebody." And of a sudden the restless man began to sing. Sang Kit Marlowe: _"Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Woods or steepy mountain yields. "And we will sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals--"_ But the girl shook her small, wise head decisively. "That is all very fine, but, as it happens, there is no such place as this Arcadia, where people can frolic in perpetual sunlight the year round, and find their food and clothing miraculously provided. No, nor can you, I am afraid, give me what all maids really, in their heart of hearts, desire far more than any sugar-candy Arcadia. Oh, as I have so often told you, Kit, I think you love no woman. You love words. And your seraglio is tenanted by very beautiful words, I grant you, though there is no longer any Sestos builded of agate and crystal, either, Kit Marlowe. For, as you may perceive, sir, I have read all that lovely poem you left with me last Thursday--" She saw how interested he was, saw how he almost smirked. "Aha, so you think it not quite bad, eh, the conclusion of my _Hero and Leander_?" "It is your best. And your middlemost, my poet, is better than aught else in English," she said, politely, and knowing how much he delighted to hear such remarks. "Come, I retract my charge of foolishness, for you are plainly a wench of rare discrimination. And yet you say I do not love you! Cynthia, you are beautiful, you are perfect in all things. You are that heavenly Helen of whom I wrote, some persons say, acceptably enough. How strange it was I did not know that Helen was dark-haired and pale! for certainly yours is that immortal loveliness which must be served by poets in life and death." "And I wonder how much of these ardors," she thought, "is kindled by my praise of his verses?" She bit her lip, and she regarded him with a hint of sadness. She said, aloud: "But I did not, after all, speak to Lord Pevensey concerning the printing of your poem. Instead, I burned your _Hero and Leander_." She saw him jump, as under a whip-lash. Then he smiled again, in that wry fashion of his. "I lament the loss to letters, for it was my only copy. But you knew that." "Yes, Kit, I knew it was your only copy." "Oho! and for what reason did you burn it, may one ask?" "I thought you loved it more than you loved me. It was my rival, I thought--" The girl was conscious of remorse, and yet it was remorse commingled with a mounting joy. "And so you thought a jingle scribbled upon a bit of paper could be your rival with me!" Then Cynthia no longer doubted, but gave a joyous little sobbing laugh, for the love of her disreputable dear poet was sustaining the stringent testing she had devised. She touched his freckled hand caressingly, and her face was as no man had ever seen it, and her voice, too, caressed him. "Ah, you have made me the happiest of women, Kit! Kit, I am almost disappointed in you, though, that you do not grieve more for the loss of that beautiful poem." His smiling did not waver; yet the lean, red-haired man stayed motionless. "Why, but see how lightly I take the destruction of my life-work in this, my masterpiece! For I can assure you it was a masterpiece, the fruit of two years' toil and of much loving repolishment--" "Ah, but you love me better than such matters, do you not?" she asked him, tenderly. "Kit Marlowe, I adore you! Sweetheart, do you not understand that a woman wants to be loved utterly and entirely? She wants no rivals, not even paper rivals. And so often when you talked of poetry I have felt lonely and chilled and far away from you, and I have been half envious, dear, of your Heros and Helens and your other good-for-nothing Greek minxes. But now I do not mind them at all. And I will make amends, quite prodigal amends, for my naughty jealousy: and my poet shall write me some more lovely poems, so he shall--" He said: "You fool!" And she drew away from him, for this man was no longer smiling. "You burned my _Hero and Leander_! You! you big-eyed fool! You lisping idiot! you wriggling, cuddling worm! you silken bag of guts! had not even you the wit to perceive it was immortal beauty which would have lived long after you and I were stinking dirt? And you, a half-witted animal, a shining, chattering parrot, lay claws to it!" Marlowe had risen in a sort of seizure, in a condition which was really quite unreasonable when you considered that only a poem was at stake, even a rather long poem. And Cynthia began to smile, with tremulous hurt-looking young lips. "So my poet's love is very much the same as Pevensey's love! And I was right, after all." "Oh, oh!" said Marlowe, "that ever a poet should love a woman! What jokes does the lewd flesh contrive!" Of a sudden he was calmer; and then rage fell away from him like a dropped cloak, and he viewed her as with respectful wonder. "Why, but you sitting there, with goggling innocent bright eyes, are an allegory of all that is most droll and tragic. Yes, and indeed there is no reason to blame you. It is not your fault that every now and then is born a man who serves an idea which is to him the most important thing in the world. It is not your fault that this man perforce inhabits a body to which the most important thing in the world is a woman. Certainly it is not your fault that this compost makes yet another jumble of his two desires, and persuades himself that the two are somehow allied. The woman inspires, the woman uplifts, the woman strengthens him for his high work, saith he! Well, well, perhaps there are such women, but by land and sea I have encountered none of them." All this was said while Marlowe shuffled about the room, with bent shoulders, and nodding his tousled red head, and limping as he walked. Now Marlowe turned, futile and shabby looking, just where a while ago Lord Pevensey had loomed resplendent. Again she saw the poet's queer, twisted, jeering smile. "What do you care for my ideals? What do you care for the ideals of that tall earl whom for a fortnight you have held from his proper business? or for the ideals of any man alive? Why, not one thread of that dark hair, not one snap of those white little fingers, except when ideals irritate you by distracting a man's attention from Cynthia Allonby. Otherwise, he is welcome enough to play with his incomprehensible toys." He jerked a thumb toward the shelves behind him. "Oho, you virtuous pretty ladies! what all you value is such matters as those cups: they please the eye, they are worth sound money, and people envy you the possession of them. So you cherish your shiny mud cups, and you burn my _Hero and Leander_: and I declaim all this dull nonsense over the ashes of my ruined dreams, thinking at bottom of how pretty you are, and of how much I would like to kiss you. That is the real tragedy, the immemorial tragedy, that I should still hanker after you, my Cynthia--" His voice dwelt tenderly upon her name. His fever-haunted eyes were tender, too, for just a moment. Then he grimaced. "No, I was wrong--the tragedy strikes deeper. The root of it is that there is in you and in all your glittering kind no malice, no will to do harm nor to hurt anything, but just a bland and invincible and, upon the whole, a well-meaning stupidity, informing a bright and soft and delicately scented animal. So you work ruin among those men who serve ideals, not foreplanning ruin, not desiring to ruin anything, not even having sufficient wit to perceive the ruin when it is accomplished. You are, when all is done, not even detestable, not even a worthy peg whereon to hang denunciatory sonnets, you shallow-pated pretty creatures whom poets--oh, and in youth all men are poets!--whom poets, now and always, are doomed to hanker after to the detriment of their poesy. No, I concede it: you kill without pre-meditation, and without ever suspecting your hands to be anything but stainless. So in logic I must retract all my harsh words; and I must, without any hint of reproach, endeavor to bid you a somewhat more civil farewell." She had regarded him, throughout this preposterous and uncalled-for harangue, with sad composure, with a forgiving pity. Now she asked him, very quietly, "Where are you going, Kit?" "To the Golden Hind, O gentle, patient and unjustly persecuted virgin martyr!" he answered, with an exaggerated bow--"since that is the part in which you now elect to posture." "Not to that low, vile place again!" "But certainly I intend in that tavern to get tipsy as quickly as possible: for then the first woman I see will for the time become the woman whom I desire, and who exists nowhere." And with that the red-haired man departed, limping and singing as he went to look for a trull in a pot-house. Sang Kit Marlowe: _"And I will make her beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. "A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair-lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold--"_ 3. _Economics of Egeria_ She sat quite still when Marlowe had gone. "He will get drunk again," she thought despondently. "Well, and why should it matter to me if he does, after all that outrageous ranting? He has been unforgivably insulting--Oh, but none the less, I do not want to have him babbling of the roses and gold of that impossible fairy world which the poor, frantic child really believes in, to some painted woman of the town who will laugh at him. I loathe the thought of her laughing at him--and kissing him! His notions are wild foolishness; but I at least wish that they were not foolishness, and that hateful woman will not care one way or the other." So Cynthia sighed, and to comfort her forlorn condition fetched a hand-mirror from the shelves whereon glowed her green cups. She touched each cup caressingly in passing; and that which she found in the mirror, too, she regarded not unappreciatively, from varying angles.... Yes, after all, dark hair and a pale skin had their advantages at a court where pink and yellow women were so much the fashion as to be common. Men remembered you more distinctively. Though nobody cared for men, in view of their unreasonable behavior, and their absolute self-centeredness.... Oh, it was pitiable, it was grotesque, she reflected sadly, how Pevensey and Kit Marlowe had both failed her, after so many pretty speeches. Still, there was a queer pleasure in being wooed by Kit: his insane notions went to one's head like wine. She would send Meg for him again to-morrow. And Pevensey was, of course, the best match imaginable.... No, it would be too heartless to dismiss George Buhner outright. It was unreasonable of him to desert her because a Gascon threatened to go to mass: but, after all, she would probably marry George, in the end. He was really almost unendurably silly, though, about England and freedom and religion and right and wrong and things like that. Yes, it would be tedious to have a husband who often talked to you as though he were addressing a public assemblage.... Yet, he was very handsome, particularly in his highflown and most tedious moments; that year-old son of his was sickly, and would probably die soon, the sweet forlorn little pet, and not be a bother to anybody: and her dear old father would be profoundly delighted by the marriage of his daughter to a man whose wife could have at will a dozen céladon cups, and anything else she chose to ask for.... But now the sun had set, and the room was growing quite dark. So Cynthia stood a-tiptoe, and replaced the mirror upon the shelves, setting it upright behind those wonderful green cups which had anew reminded her of Pevensey's wealth and generosity. She smiled a little, to think of what fun it had been to hold George back, for two whole weeks, from discharging that horrible old queen's stupid errands. 4. _Treats Philosophically of Breakage_ The door opened. Stalwart young Captain Edward Musgrave came with a lighted candle, which he placed carefully upon the table in the room's centre. He said: "They told me you were here. I come from London. I bring news for you." "You bring no pleasant tidings, I fear--" "As Lord Pevensey rode through the Strand this afternoon, on his way home, the Plague smote him. That is my sad news. I grieve to bring such news, for your cousin was a worthy gentleman and universally respected." "Ah," Cynthia said, very quiet, "so Pevensey is dead. But the Plague kills quickly!" "Yes, yes, that is a comfort, certainly. Yes, he turned quite black in the face, they report, and before his men could reach him had fallen from his horse. It was all over almost instantly. I saw him afterward, hardly a pleasant sight. I came to you as soon as I could. I was vexatiously detained--" "So George Bulmer is dead, in a London gutter! It seems strange, because he was here, befriended by monarchs, and very strong and handsome and self-confident, hardly two hours ago. Is that his blood upon your sleeve?" "But of course not! I told you I was vexatiously detained, almost at your gates. Yes, I had the ill luck to blunder into a disgusting business. The two rapscallions tumbled out of a doorway under my horse's very nose, egad! It was a near thing I did not ride them down. So I stopped, naturally. I regretted stopping, afterward, for I was too late to be of help. It was at the Golden Hind, of course. Something really ought to be done about that place. Yes, and that rogue Marler bled all over a new doublet, as you see. And the Deptford constables held me with their foolish interrogatories--" "So one of the fighting men was named Marlowe! Is he dead, too, dead in another gutter?" "Marlowe or Marler, or something of the sort--wrote plays and sonnets and such stuff, they tell me. I do not know anything about him--though, I give you my word, now, those greasy constables treated me as though I were a noted frequenter of pot-houses. That sort of thing is most annoying. At all events, he was drunk as David's sow, and squabbling over, saving your presence, a woman of the sort one looks to find in that abominable hole. And so, as I was saying, this other drunken rascal dug a knife into him--" But now, to Captain Musgrave's discomfort, Cynthia Allonby had begun to weep heartbrokenly. So he cleared his throat, and he patted the back of her hand. "It is a great shock to you, naturally--oh, most naturally, and does you great credit. But come now, Pevensey is gone, as we must all go some day, and our tears cannot bring him back, my dear. We can but hope he is better off, poor fellow, and look on it as a mysterious dispensation and that sort of thing, my dear--" "Oh, Ned, but people are so cruel! People will be saying that it was I who kept poor Cousin George in London this past two weeks, and that but for me he would have been in France long ago! And then the Queen, Ned!--why, that pig-headed old woman will be blaming it on me, that there is nobody to prevent that detestable French King from turning Catholic and dragging England into new wars, and I shall not be able to go to any of the Court dances! nor to the masques!" sobbed Cynthia, "nor anywhere!" "Now you talk tender-hearted and angelic nonsense. It is noble of you to feel that way, of course. But Pevensey did not take proper care of himself, and that is all there is to it. Now I have remained in London since the Plague's outbreak. I stayed with my regiment, naturally. We have had a few deaths, of course. People die everywhere. But the Plague has never bothered me. And why has it never bothered me? Simply because I was sensible, took the pains to consult an astrologer, and by his advice wear about my neck, night and day, a bag containing tablets of toads' blood and arsenic. It is an infallible specific for men born in February. No, not for a moment do I wish to speak harshly of the dead, but sensible persons cannot but consider Lord Pevensey's death to have been caused by his own carelessness." "Now, certainly that is true," the girl said, brightening. "It was really his own carelessness and his dear lovable rashness. And somebody could explain it to the Queen. Besides, I often think that wars are good for the public spirit of a nation, and bring out its true manhood. But then it upset me, too, a little, Ned, to hear about this Marlowe--for I must tell you that I knew the poor man, very slightly. So I happen to know that to-day he flung off in a rage, and began drinking, because somebody, almost by pure chance, had burned a packet of his verses--" Thereupon Captain Musgrave raised heavy eyebrows, and guffawed so heartily that the candle flickered. "To think of the fellow's putting it on that plea! when he could so easily have written some more verses. That is the trouble with these poets, if you ask me: they are not practical even in their ordinary everyday lying. No, no, the truth of it was that the rogue wanted a pretext for making a beast of himself, and seized the first that came to hand. Egad, my dear, it is a daily practise with these poets. They hardly draw a sober breath. Everybody knows that." Cynthia was looking at him in the half-lit room with very flattering admiration.... Seen thus, with her scarlet lips a little parted--disclosing pearls,--and with her naive dark eyes aglow, she was quite incredibly pretty and caressable. She had almost forgotten until now that this stalwart soldier, too, was in love with her. But now her spirits were rising venturously, and she knew that she liked Ned Musgrave. He had sensible notions; he saw things as they really were, and with him there would never be any nonsense about toplofty ideas. Then, too, her dear old white-haired father would be pleased, because there was a very fair estate.... So Cynthia said: "I believe you are right, Ned. I often wonder how they can be so lacking in self-respect. Oh, I am certain you must be right, for it is just what I felt without being able quite to express it. You will stay for supper with us, of course. Yes, but you must, because it is always a great comfort for me to talk with really sensible persons. I do not wonder that you are not very eager to stay, though, for I am probably a fright, with my eyes red, and with my hair all tumbling down, like an old witch's. Well, let us see what can be done about it, sir! There was a hand-mirror--" And thus speaking, she tripped, with very much the reputed grace of a fairy, toward the far end of the room, and standing a-tiptoe, groped at the obscure shelves, with a resultant crash of falling china. "Oh, but my lovely cups!" said Cynthia, in dismay. "I had forgotten they were up there: and now I have smashed both of them, in looking for my mirror, sir, and trying to prettify myself for you. And I had so fancied them, because they had not their like in England!" She looked at the fragments, and then at Musgrave, with wide, innocent hurt eyes. She was really grieved by the loss of her quaint toys. But Musgrave, in his sturdy, common-sense way, only laughed at her seriousness over such kickshaws. "I am for an honest earthenware tankard myself!" he said, jovially, as the two went in to supper. * * * * * 1905-1919 _"Tell me where is fancy bred Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished?... Then let us all ring fancy's knell."_ CHAPTER X _The Envoi Called Semper Idem_ 1. _Which Baulks at an Estranging Sea_ Here, then, let us end the lovers' comedy, after a good precedent, with supper as the denouement. _Chacun ira souper: la comédie ne peut pas mieux finir._ For epilogue, Cynthia Allonby was duly married to Edward Musgrave, and he made her a fair husband, as husbands go. That was the upshot of Pevensey's death and Marlowe's murder: as indeed, it was the outcome of all the earlier-recorded heart-burnings and endeavors and spoiled dreams. Through generation by generation, traversing just three centuries, I have explained to you, my dear Mrs. Grundy, how divers weddings came about: and each marriage appears, upon the whole, to have resulted satisfactorily. Dame Melicent and Dame Adelaide, not Florian, touched the root of the matter as they talked together at Storisende: and the trio's descendants could probe no deeper. But now we reach the annals of the house of Musgrave: and further adventuring is blocked by R. V. Musgrave's monumental work _The Musgraves of Matocton_. The critical may differ as to the plausibility of the family tradition (ably defended by Colonel Musgrave, pp. 33-41) that Mistress Cynthia Musgrave was the dark lady of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and that this poet, also, in the end, absolved her of intentional malice. There is none, at any event, but may find in this genealogical classic a full record of the highly improbable happenings which led to the emigration of Captain Edward Musgrave, and later of Cynthia Musgrave, to the Colony of Virginia; and none but must admire Colonel Musgrave's painstaking and accurate tracing of the American Musgraves who descended from this couple, down to the eve of the twentieth century. It would be supererogatory, therefore, for me to tell you of the various Musgrave marriages, and to re-dish such data as is readily accessible on the reference shelves of the nearest public library, as well as in the archives of the Colonial Dames, of the Society of the Cincinnati, and of the Sons and Daughters of various wars. It suffices that from the marriage of Edward Musgrave and Cynthia Allonby sprang this well-known American family, prolific of brave gentlemen and gracious ladies who in due course, and in new lands, achieved their allotted portion of laughter and anguish and compromise, very much as their European fathers and mothers had done aforetime. So I desist to follow the line of love across the Atlantic; and, for the while at least, make an end of these chronicles. My pen flags, my ink runs low, and (since Florian wedded twice) the Dizain of Marriages is completed. 2. _Which Defers to Various Illusions_ I have bound up my gleanings from the fields of old years into a modest sheaf; and if it be so fortunate as to please you, my dear Mrs. Grundy,--if it so come about that your ladyship be moved in time to desire another sheaf such as this,--why, assuredly, my surprise will be untempered with obduracy. The legends of Allonby have been but lightly touched upon: and apart from the _Aventures d'Adhelmar_, Nicolas de Caen is thus far represented in English only by the _Roi Atnaury_ (which, to be sure, is Nicolas' masterpiece) and the mutilated _Dizain des Reines_ and the fragmentary _Roman de Lusignan_. But since you, madam, are not Schahriah, to give respite for the sake of an unnarrated tale, I must now without further peroration make an end. Through the monstrous tapestry I have traced out for you the windings of a single thread, and I entreat you, dear lady, to accept it with assurances of my most distinguished regard. And if the offering be no great gift, this lack of greatness, believe me, is due to the errors and limitations of the transcriber alone. For they loved greatly, these men and women of the past, in that rapt hour wherein Nature tricked them to noble ends, and lured them to skyey heights of adoration and sacrifice. At bottom they were, perhaps, no more heroical than you or I. Indeed, neither Florian nor Adhelmar was at strict pains to act as common-sense dictated, and Falstaff is scarcely describable as immaculate: Villon thieved, Kit Marlowe left a wake of emptied bottles, and Will Sommers was notoriously a fool; Matthiette was vain, and Adelais self-seeking, and the tenth Marquis of Falmouth, if you press me, rather a stupid and pompous ass: and yet to each in turn it was granted to love greatly, to know at least one hour of magnanimity when each was young in the world's annually recaptured youth. And if that hour did not ever have its sequel in precisely the anticipated life-long rapture, nor always in a wedding with the person preferred, yet since at any rate it resulted in a marriage that turned out well enough, in a world wherein people have to consider expediency, one may rationally assert that each of these romances ended happily. Besides, there had been the hour. Ah, yes, this love is an illusion, if you will. Wise men have protested that vehemently enough in all conscience. But there are two ends to every stickler for his opinion here. Whether you see, in this fleet hour's abandonment to love, the man's spark of divinity flaring in momentary splendor,--a tragic candle, with divinity guttering and half-choked among the drossier particles, and with momentary splendor lighting man's similitude to Him in Whose likeness man was created,--or whether you, more modernly, detect as prompting this surrender coarse-fibred Nature, in the Prince of Lycia's role (with all mankind her Troiluses to be cajoled into perpetuation of mankind), you have, in either event, conceded that to live unbefooled by love is at best a shuffling and debt-dodging business, and you have granted this unreasoned, transitory surrender to be the most high and, indeed, the one requisite action which living affords. Beyond that is silence. If you succeed in proving love a species of madness, you have but demonstrated that there is something more profoundly pivotal than sanity, and for the sanest logician this is a disastrous gambit: whereas if, in well-nigh obsolete fashion, you confess the universe to be a weightier matter than the contents of your skull, and your wits a somewhat slender instrument wherewith to plumb infinity,--why, then you will recall that it is written _God is love_, and this recollection, too, is conducive to a fine taciturnity. EXPLICIT LINEA AMORIS 
3821	----	Transcribed from the 1889 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org THE ROMAN AND THE TEUTON A SERIES OF LECTURES DELIVERED BEFORE _THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE_ BY CHARLES KINGSLEY, M.A. _NEW EDITION_, _WITH PREFACE_, _BY_ PROFESSOR F. MAX MULLER London MACMILLAN AND CO. 1889 [_All rights reserved_] OXFORD: HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY. DEDICATED TO The Gentlemen of the University WHO DID ME THE HONOUR TO ATTEND THESE LECTURES. Contents Preface by Professor F. Max Muller The Forest Children The Dying Empire Preface to Lecture III The Human Deluge The Gothic Civilizer Dietrich's End The Nemesis of the Goths Paulus Diaconus The Clergy and the Heathen The Monk a Civilizer The Lombard Laws The Popes and the Lombards The Strategy of Prividence Appendix--Inaugural Lecture: The Limits of Exact Science as Applied to History PREFACE Never shall I forget the moment when for the last time I gazed upon the manly features of Charles Kingsley, features which Death had rendered calm, grand, sublime. The constant struggle that in life seemed to allow no rest to his expression, the spirit, like a caged lion, shaking the bars of his prison, the mind striving for utterance, the soul wearying for loving response,--all that was over. There remained only the satisfied expression of triumph and peace, as of a soldier who had fought a good fight, and who, while sinking into the stillness of the slumber of death, listens to the distant sounds of music and to the shouts of victory. One saw the ideal man, as Nature had meant him to be, and one felt that there is no greater sculptor than Death. As one looked on that marble statue which only some weeks ago had so warmly pressed one's hand, his whole life flashed through one's thoughts. One remembered the young curate and the Saint's Tragedy; the chartist parson and Alton Locke; the happy poet and the Sands of Dee; the brilliant novel-writer and Hypatia and Westward-Ho; the Rector of Eversley and his Village Sermons; the beloved professor at Cambridge, the busy canon at Chester, the powerful preacher in Westminster Abbey. One thought of him by the Berkshire chalk-streams and on the Devonshire coast, watching the beauty and wisdom of Nature, reading her solemn lessons, chuckling too over her inimitable fun. One saw him in town-alleys, preaching the Gospel of godliness and cleanliness, while smoking his pipe with soldiers and navvies. One heard him in drawing- rooms, listened to with patient silence, till one of his vigorous or quaint speeches bounded forth, never to be forgotten. How children delighted in him! How young, wild men believed in him, and obeyed him too! How women were captivated by his chivalry, older men by his genuine humility and sympathy! All that was now passing away--was gone. But as one looked on him for the last time on earth, one felt that greater than the curate, the poet, the professor, the canon, had been the man himself, with his warm heart, his honest purposes, his trust in his friends, his readiness to spend himself, his chivalry and humility, worthy of a better age. Of all this the world knew little;--yet few men excited wider and stronger sympathies. Who can forget that funeral on the 28th Jan., 1875, and the large sad throng that gathered round his grave? There was the representative of the Prince of Wales, and close by the gipsies of the Eversley common, who used to call him their Patrico-rai, their Priest-King. There was the old Squire of his village, and the labourers, young and old, to whom he had been a friend and a father. There were Governors of distant Colonies, officers, and sailors, the Bishop of his diocese, and the Dean of his abbey; there were the leading Nonconformists of the neighbourhood, and his own devoted curates, Peers and Members of the House of Commons, authors and publishers; and outside the church-yard, the horses and the hounds and the huntsman in pink, for though as good a clergyman as any, Charles Kingsley had been a good sportsman too, and had taken in his life many a fence as bravely as he took the last fence of all, without fear or trembling. All that he had loved, and all that had loved him was there, and few eyes were dry when he was laid in his own yellow gravel bed, the old trees which he had planted and cared for waving their branches to him for the last time, and the grey sunny sky looking down with calm pity on the deserted rectory, and on the short joys and the shorter sufferings of mortal men. All went home feeling that life was poorer, and every one knew that he had lost a friend who had been, in some peculiar sense, his own. Charles Kingsley will be missed in England, in the English colonies, in America, where he spent his last happy year; aye, wherever Saxon speech and Saxon thought is understood. He will be mourned for, yearned for, in every place in which he passed some days of his busy life. As to myself, I feel as if another cable had snapped that tied me to this hospitable shore. When an author or a poet dies, the better part of him, it is often said, is left in his works. So it is in many cases. But with Kingsley his life and his works were one. All he wrote was meant for the day when he wrote it. That was enough for him. He hardly gave himself time to think of fame and the future. Compared with a good work done, with a good word spoken, with a silent grasp of the hand from a young man he had saved from mischief, or with a 'Thank you, Sir,' from a poor woman to whom he had been a comfort, he would have despised what people call glory, like incense curling away in smoke. He was, in one sense of the word, a careless writer. He did his best at the time and for the time. He did it with a concentrated energy of will which broke through all difficulties. In his flights of imagination, in the light and fire of his language he had few equals, if any; but the perfection and classical finish which can be obtained by a sustained effort only, and by a patience which shrinks from no drudgery, these are wanting in most of his works. However, fame, for which he cared so little, has come to him. His bust will stand in Westminster Abbey, in the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, by the side of his friend, Frederick Maurice; and in the Temple of Fame which will be consecrated to the period of Victoria and Albert, there will be a niche for Charles Kingsley, the author of Alton Locke and Hypatia. Sooner or later a complete edition of his works will be wanted, though we may doubt whether he himself would have wished all his literary works to be preserved. From what I knew of him and his marvellous modesty, I should say decidedly not. I doubt more especially, whether he would have wished the present book, _The Roman and the Teuton_, to be handed down to posterity. None of his books was so severely criticised as this volume of Lectures, delivered before the University of Cambridge, and published in 1864. He himself did not republish it, and it seems impossible to speak in more depreciatory terms of his own historical studies than he does himself again and again in the course of his lectures. Yet these lectures, it should be remembered, were more largely attended than almost any other lectures at Cambridge. They produced a permanent impression on many a young mind. They are asked for again and again, and when the publishers wished for my advice as to the expediency of bringing out a new and cheaper edition, I could not hesitate as to what answer to give. I am not so blinded by my friendship for Kingsley as to say that these lectures are throughout what academical lectures ought to be. I only wish some one would tell me what academical lectures at Oxford and Cambridge can be, as long as the present system of teaching and examining is maintained. It is easy to say what these lectures are not. They do not profess to contain the results of long continued original research. They are not based on a critical appreciation of the authorities which had to be consulted. They are not well arranged, systematic or complete. All this the suddenly elected professor of history at Cambridge would have been the first to grant. 'I am not here,' he says, 'to teach you history. I am here to teach you how to teach yourselves history.' I must say even more. It seems to me that these lectures were not always written in a perfectly impartial and judicial spirit, and that occasionally they are unjust to the historians who, from no other motive but a sincere regard for truth, thought it their duty to withhold their assent from many of the commonly received statements of mediaeval chroniclers. But for all that, let us see what these Lectures are, and whether there is not room for them by the side of other works. First of all, according to the unanimous testimony of those who heard them delivered at Cambridge, they stirred up the interest of young men, and made them ask for books which Undergraduates had never asked for before at the University libraries. They made many people who read them afterwards, take a new interest in old and half-forgotten kings and battles, and they extorted even from unfriendly critics the admission that certain chapters, such as, for instance, 'The Monk as a Civiliser,' displayed in an unexpected way his power of appreciating the good points in characters, otherwise most antipathic to the apostle of Manly Christianity. They contain, in fact, the thoughts of a poet, a moralist, a politician, a theologian, and, before all, of a friend and counsellor of young men, while reading for them and with them one of the most awful periods in the history of mankind, the agonies of a dying Empire and the birth of new nationalities. History was but his text, his chief aim was that of the teacher and preacher, and as an eloquent interpreter of the purposes of history before an audience of young men to whom history is but too often a mere succession of events to be learnt by heart, and to be ready against periodical examinations, he achieved what he wished to achieve. Historians by profession would naturally be incensed at some portions of this book, but even they would probably admit by this time, that there are in it whole chapters full of excellence, telling passages, happy delineations, shrewd remarks, powerful outbreaks of real eloquence, which could not possibly be consigned to oblivion. Nor would it have been possible to attempt to introduce any alterations, or to correct what may seem to be mistakes. The book is not meant as a text-book or as an authority, any more than Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War; it should be read in future, as what it was meant to be from the first, Kingsley's thoughts on some of the moral problems presented by the conflict between the Roman and the Teuton. One cannot help wishing that, instead of lectures, Kingsley had given us another novel, like Hypatia, or a real historical tragedy, a Dietrich von Bern, embodying in living characters one of the fiercest struggles of humanity, the death of the Roman, the birth of the German world. Let me quote here what Bunsen said of Kingsley's dramatic power many years ago: 'I do not hesitate (he writes) to call these two works, the _Saint's Tragedy_ and _Hypatia_, by far the most important and perfect of this genial writer. In these more particularly I find the justification of a hope which I beg to be allowed to express--that Kingsley might continue Shakspeare's historical plays. I have for several years made no secret of it, that Kingsley seems to me the genius of our century, called to place by the side of that sublime dramatic series from _King John_ to _Henry VIII_, another series of equal rank, from _Edward VI_ to the _Landing of William of Orange_. This is the only historical development of Europe which unites in itself all vital elements, and which we might look upon without overpowering pain. The tragedy of _St. Elizabeth_ shows that Kingsley can grapple, not only with the novel, but with the more severe rules of dramatic art. And _Hypatia_ proves, on the largest scale, that he can discover in the picture of the historical past, the truly human, the deep, the permanent, and that he knows how to represent it. How, with all this, he can hit the fresh tone of popular life, and draw humourous characters and complications with Shakspearian energy, is proved by all his works. And why should he not undertake this great task? There is a time when the true poet, the prophet of the present, must bid farewell to the questions of the day, which seem so great because they are so near, but are, in truth, but small and unpoetical. He must say to himself, "Let the dead bury their dead"--and the time has come that Kingsley should do so.' A great deal has been written on mistakes which Kingsley was supposed to have made in these Lectures, but I doubt whether these criticisms were always perfectly judicial and fair. For instance, Kingsley's using the name of Dietrich, instead of Theodoric, was represented as the very gem of a blunder, and some critics went so far as to hint that he had taken Theodoric for a Greek word, as an adjective of Theodorus. This, of course, was only meant as a joke, for on page 120 Kingsley had said, in a note, that the name of _Theodoric_, _Theuderic_, _Dietrich_, signifies 'king of nations.' He therefore knew perfectly well that _Theodoric_ was simply a Greek adaptation of the Gothic name _Theode-reiks_, _theod_ meaning people, _reiks_, according to Grimm, _princeps_ {1}. But even if he had called the king Theodorus, the mistake would not have been unpardonable, for he might have appealed to the authority of Gregory of Tours, who uses not only Theodoricus, but also Theodorus, as the same name. A more serious charge, however, was brought against him for having used the High-German form _Dietrich_, instead of the original form _Theodereiks_ or _Theoderic_, or even _Theodoric_. Should I have altered this? I believe not; for it is clear to me that Kingsley had his good reasons for preferring Dietrich to Theodoric. He introduces him first to his hearers as 'Theodoric, known in German song as Dietrich of Bern.' He had spoken before of the Visi-Gothic Theodoric, and of him he never speaks as Dietrich. Then, why should he have adopted this High-German name for the great Theodoric, and why should he speak of Attila too as Etzel? One of the greatest of German historians, Johannes von Muller, does the same. He always calls Theodoric, Dietrich of Bern; and though he gives no reasons for it, his reasons can easily be guessed. Soon after Theodoric's death, the influence of the German legends on history, and of history on the German legends, became so great that it was impossible for a time to disentangle two characters, originally totally distinct, viz. _Thjodrekr_ of the Edda, the _Dietrich_ of the German poetry on one side, and the King of the Goths, _Theodoric_, on the other. What had long been said and sung about Thjodrekr and Dietrich was believed to have happened to King Theodoric, while at the same time historical and local elements in the life of Theodoric, residing at Verona, were absorbed by the legends of Thjodrekr and Dietrich. The names of the legendary hero and the historical king were probably identical, though even that is not quite certain {2}; but at all events, after Theodoric's death, all the numerous dialectic varieties of the name, whether in High or in Low-German, were understood by the people at large, both of the hero and of the king. Few names have had a larger number of alias'. They have been carefully collected by Graff, Grimm, Forstemann, Pott, and others. I here give the principal varieties of this name, as actually occurring in MSS., and arranged according to the changes of the principal consonants:-- (1) With _Th-d_: Theudoricus, Theudericus, [Greek text], Thiodiricus, Thiodericus, Thiodric, Thiodricus, Thiodrih, Theodoricus, Theodericus, Theoderic, Theodrich, Thiadric, Thiadrich, Thiedorik, Thiederic, Thiederik, Thiederich, Thiedorich, Thiedric, Thiedrich, Thideric, Thiederich, Thidrich, Thodericus, Thiaedric, Thieoderich, Thederich, Thedric. (2) With _T-d_: Teudericus, Teudricus, Tiodericus, Teodoricus, Teodericus, Teodric, Teodrich, Tiadric, Tiedrik, Tiedrich, Tiedric, Tidericus, Tiderich, Tederich. (3) With _D-d_: [Greek text], Diodericus, Deoderich, Deodrich, Diederich, Diderich. (4) With _Th-t_: Thiotiricus, Thiotirih, Thiotiricus, Thiotrih, Theotoricus, Theotericus, Theoterih, Theotrih, Theotrich, Thiatric, Thieterich, Thietrih, Thietrich, Theatrih. (5) With _T-t_: Teutrich, Teoterih, Teotrich, Teotrih, Tieterich, Teatrih, Tiheiterich. (6) With _D-t_: Dioterih, Diotericus, Diotricus, Deotrich, Deotrih, Dieterih, Dieterich, Dietrich, Diterih, Ditricus. (7) With _Th-th_: Theotherich, Theothirich. (8) With _T-th_: _deest_. (9) With _D-th_: Dietherich. It is quite true that, strictly speaking, the forms with Th-d, are Low- German, and those with D-t, High-German, but before we trust ourselves to this division for historical purposes, we must remember three facts: (1) that Proper Names frequently defy Grimm's Law; (2) that in High-German MSS. much depends on the locality in which they are written; (3) that High-German is not in the strict sense of the word a corruption of Low- German, and, at all events, not, as Grimm supposed, chronologically posterior to Low-German, but that the two are parallel dialects, like Doric and Aeolic, the Low-German being represented by the earliest literary documents, Gothic and Saxon, the High-German asserting its literary presence later, not much before the eighth century, but afterwards maintaining its literary and political supremacy from the time of Charlemagne to the present day. When Theodoric married Odeflede, the daughter of Childebert, and a sister of Chlodwig, I have little doubt that, at the court of Chlodwig or Clovis, his royal brother-in-law was spoken of in conversation as Dioterih, although in official documents, and in the history of Gregory of Tours, he appears under his classical name of Theodoricus, in Jornandes Theodericus. Those who, with Grimm {3}, admit a transition of Low into High-German, and deny that the change of Gothic _Th_ into High- German _D_ took place before the sixth or seventh century, will find it difficult to account, in the first century, for the name of Deudorix, a German captive, the nephew of Melo the Sigambrian, mentioned by Strabo {4}. In the oldest German poem in which the name of Dietrich occurs, the song of Hildebrand and Hadebrand, written down in the beginning of the ninth century {5}, we find both forms, the Low-German _Theotrih_, and the High-German _Deotrih_, used side by side. Very soon, however, when High-German became the more prevalent language in Germany, German historians knew both of the old legendary hero and of the Ost-gothic king, by one and the same name, the High-German _Dietrich_. If therefore Johannes von Muller spoke of Theodoric of Verona as Dietrich von Bern, he simply intended to carry on the historical tradition. He meant to remind his readers of the popular name which they all knew, and to tell them,--This Dietrich with whom you are all acquainted from your childhood, this Dietrich of whom so much is said and sung in your legendary stories and poems, the famous Dietrich of Bern, this is really the Theoderic, the first German who ruled Italy for thirty-three years, more gloriously than any Roman Emperor before or after. I see no harm in this, as long as it is done on purpose, and as long as the purpose which Johannes von Muller had in his mind, was attained. No doubt the best plan for an historian to follow is to call every man by the name by which he called himself. Theodoric, we know, could not write, but he had a gold plate {6} made in which the first four letters of his name were incised, and when it was fixed on the paper, the King drew his pen through the intervals. Those four letters were [Greek text], and though we should expect that, as a Goth, he would have spelt his name _Thiudereik_, yet we have no right to doubt, that the vowels were _eo_, and not _iu_. But again and again historians spell proper names, not as they were written by the people themselves, but as they appear in the historical documents through which they became chiefly known. We speak of Plato, because we have Roman literature between us and Greece. American names are accepted in history through a Spanish, Indian names through an English medium. The strictly Old High-German form of Carolus Magnus would be Charal, A. S. Carl; yet even in the Oaths of Strassburg (842) the name appears as Karlus and as Karl, and has remained so ever since {7}. In the same document we find Ludher for Lothar, Ludhuwig and Lodhuvig for Ludovicus, the oldest form being Chlodowich: and who would lay down the law, which of these forms shall be used for historical purposes? I have little doubt that Kingsley's object in retaining the name Dietrich for the Ost-gothic king was much the same as Johannes von Muller's. You know, he meant to say, of Dietrich of Bern, of all the wonderful things told of him in the Nibelunge and other German poems. Well, that is the Dietrich of the German people, that is what the Germans themselves have made of him, by transferring to their great Gothic king some of the most incredible achievements of one of their oldest legendary heroes. They have changed even his name, and as the children in the schools of Germany {8} still speak of him as their Dietrich von Bern, let him be to us too Dietrich, not simply the Ost-gothic Theoderic, but the German Dietrich. I confess I see no harm in that, though a few words on the strange mixture of legend and history might have been useful, because the case of Theodoric is one of the most luculent testimonies for that blending of fact and fancy in strictly historical times which people find it so difficult to believe, but which offers the key, and the only true key, for many of the most perplexing problems, both of history and of mythology. Originally nothing could be more different than the Dietrich of the old legend and the Dietrich of history. The former is followed by misfortune through the whole of his life. He is oppressed in his youth by his uncle, the famous Ermanrich {9}; he has to spend the greater part of his life (thirty years) in exile, and only returns to his kingdom after the death of his enemy. Yet whenever he is called Dietrich of Bern, it is because the real Theodoric, the most successful of Gothic conquerors, ruled at Verona. When his enemy was called Otacher, instead of Sibich, it is because the real Theodoric conquered the real Odoacer. When the king, at whose court he passes his years of exile, is called Etzel, it is because many German heroes had really taken refuge in the camp of Attila. That Attila died two years before Theodoric of Verona was born, is no difficulty to a popular poet, nor even the still more glaring contradiction between the daring and ferocious character of the real Attila and the cowardice of his namesake Etzel, as represented in the poem of the Nibelunge. Thus was legend quickened by history. On the other hand, if historians, such as Gregory I (Dial. iv. 36) {10}, tell us that an Italian hermit had been witness in a vision to the damnation of Theodoric, whose soul was plunged, by the ministers of divine vengeance, into the volcano of Lipari, one of the flaming mouths of the infernal world, we may recognise in the heated imagination of the orthodox monk some recollection of the mysterious end of the legendary Dietrich {11}. Later on, the legendary and the real hero were so firmly welded together that, as early as the twelfth century, chroniclers are at their wits' end how to reconcile facts and dates. Ekkehard, in his Chronicon Universale {12}, which ends 1126 A.D., points out the chronological contradiction between Jornandes, who places the death of Ermanrich long before Attila, and the popular story which makes him and Dietrich, the son of Dietmar, his contemporaries. Otto von Freising {13}, in the first half of the twelfth century, expresses the same perplexity when he finds that Theodoric is made a contemporary of Hermanricus and Attila, though it is certain that Attila ruled long after Hermanric, and that, after the death of Attila, Theodoric, when eight years old, was given by his father as a hostage to the emperor Leo. Gottfried von Viterbo {14}, in the second half of the twelfth century, expresses his difficulties in similar words. All these chroniclers who handed down the historical traditions of Germany were High-Germans, and thus it has happened that in Germany Theodoric the Great became Dietrich, as Strataburgum became Strassburg, or Turicum, Zurich. Whether because English belongs to the Low German branch, it is less permissible to an English historian than to a German to adopt these High-German names, I cannot say: all I wished to point out was that there was a very intelligible reason why Kingsley should have preferred the popular and poetical name of Dietrich, even though it was High-German, either to his real Gothic name, Theodereik, or to its classical metamorphosis, Theodoricus or Theodorus. Some other mistakes, too, which have been pointed out, did not seem to me so serious as to justify their correction in a posthumous edition. It was said, for instance, that Kingsley ought not to have called Odoacer and Theodoric, Kings of Italy, as they were only lieutenants of the Eastern Caesar. Cassiodorus, however, tells us that Odoacer assumed the name of king (nomen regis Odoacer assumpsit), and though Gibbon points out that this may only mean that he assumed the abstract title of a king, without applying it to any particular nation or country, yet that great historian himself calls Odoacer, King of Italy, and shows how he was determined to abolish the useless and expensive office of vicegerent of the emperor. Kingsley guesses very ingeniously, that Odoacer's assumed title, King of nations, may have been the Gothic _Theode-reiks_, the very name of Theodoric. As to Theodoric himself, Kingsley surely knew his real status, for he says: 'Why did he not set himself up as Caesar of Rome? Why did he always consider himself as son-in-arms, and quasi-vassal of the Caesar of Constantinople?' Lastly, in speaking of the extinction of the Western Empire with Romulus Augustulus, Kingsley again simply followed the lead of Gibbon and other historians; nor can it be said that the expression is not perfectly legitimate, however clearly modern research may have shown that the Roman Empire, though dead, lived. So much in defence, or at all events, in explanation, of expressions and statements which have been pointed out as most glaring mistakes in Kingsley's lectures. I think it must be clear that in all these cases alterations would have been impossible. There were other passages, where I should gladly have altered or struck out whole lines, particularly in the ethnological passages, and in the attempted etymologies of German proper names. Neither the one nor the other, I believe, are Kingsley's own, though I have tried in vain to find out whence he could possibly have taken them. These, however, are minor matters which are mentioned chiefly in order to guard against the impression that, because I left them unchanged, I approved of them. The permanent interest attaching to these lectures does not spring from the facts which they give. For these, students will refer to Gibbon. They will be valued chiefly for the thoughts which they contain, for the imagination and eloquence which they display, and last, not least, for the sake of the man, a man, it is true, of a warm heart rather than of a cold judgment, but a man whom, for that very reason, many admired, many loved, and many will miss, almost every day of their life. M. M. LECTURE I--THE FOREST CHILDREN. I wish in this first lecture to give you some general conception of the causes which urged our Teutonic race to attack and destroy Rome. I shall take for this one lecture no special text-book: but suppose you all to be acquainted with the Germania of Tacitus, and with the 9th Chapter of Gibbon. And I shall begin, if you will allow me, by a parable, a myth, a saga, such as the men of whom I am going to tell you loved; and if it seem to any of you childish, bear in mind that what is childish need not therefore be shallow. I know that it is not history. These lectures will not be, in the popular sense, history at all. But I beg you to bear in mind that I am not here to teach you history. No man can do that. I am here to teach you how to teach yourselves history. I will give you the scaffolding as well as I can; you must build the house. Fancy to yourself a great Troll-garden, such as our forefathers dreamed of often fifteen hundred years ago;--a fairy palace, with a fairy garden; and all around the primaeval wood. Inside the Trolls dwell, cunning and wicked, watching their fairy treasures, working at their magic forges, making and making always things rare and strange; and outside, the forest is full of children; such children as the world had never seen before, but children still: children in frankness, and purity, and affectionateness, and tenderness of conscience, and devout awe of the unseen; and children too in fancy, and silliness, and ignorance, and caprice, and jealousy, and quarrelsomeness, and love of excitement and adventure, and the mere sport of overflowing animal health. They play unharmed among the forest beasts, and conquer them in their play; but the forest is too dull and too poor for them; and they wander to the walls of the Troll-garden, and wonder what is inside. One can conceive easily for oneself what from that moment would begin to happen. Some of the more adventurous clamber in. Some, too, the Trolls steal and carry off into their palace. Most never return: but here and there one escapes out again, and tells how the Trolls killed all his comrades: but tells too, of the wonders he has seen inside, of shoes of swiftness, and swords of sharpness, and caps of darkness; of charmed harps, charmed jewels, and above all of the charmed wine: and after all, the Trolls were very kind to him--see what fine clothes they have given him--and he struts about awhile among his companions; and then returns, and not alone. The Trolls have bewitched him, as they will bewitch more. So the fame of the Troll- garden spreads; and more and more steal in, boys and maidens, and tempt their comrades over the wall, and tell of the jewels, and the dresses, and the wine, the joyous maddening wine, which equals men with gods; and forget to tell how the Trolls have bought them, soul as well as body, and taught them to be vain, and lustful, and slavish; and tempted them, too often, to sins which have no name. But their better nature flashes out at times. They will not be the slaves and brutes in human form, which the evil Trolls would have them; and they rebel, and escape, and tell of the horrors of that fair foul place. And then arises a noble indignation, and war between the Trolls and the forest-children. But still the Trolls can tempt and bribe the greedier or the more vain; and still the wonders inside haunt their minds; till it becomes a fixed idea among them all, to conquer the garden for themselves and bedizen themselves in the fine clothes, and drink their fill of the wine. Again and again they break in: but the Trolls drive them out, rebuild their walls, keep off those outside by those whom they hold enslaved within; till the boys grow to be youths, and the youths men: and still the Troll-garden is not conquered, and still it shall be. And the Trolls have grown old and weak, and their walls are crumbling away. Perhaps they may succeed this time--perhaps next. And at last they do succeed--the fairy walls are breached, the fairy palace stormed--and the Trolls are crouching at their feet, and now all will be theirs, gold, jewels, dresses, arms, all that the Troll possesses--except his cunning. For as each struggles into the charmed ground, the spell of the place falls on him. He drinks the wine, and it maddens him. He fills his arms with precious trumpery, and another snatches it from his grasp. Each envies the youth before him, each cries--Why had I not the luck to enter first? And the Trolls set them against each other, and split them into parties, each mad with excitement, and jealousy, and wine, till, they scarce know how, each falls upon his fellow, and all upon those who are crowding in from the forest, and they fight and fight, up and down the palace halls, till their triumph has become a very feast of the Lapithae, and the Trolls look on, and laugh a wicked laugh, as they tar them on to the unnatural fight, till the gardens are all trampled, the finery torn, the halls dismantled, and each pavement slippery with brothers' blood. And then, when the wine is gone out of them, the survivors come to their senses, and stare shamefully and sadly round. What an ugly, desolate, tottering ruin the fairy palace has become! Have they spoilt it themselves? or have the Trolls bewitched it? And all the fairy treasure--what has become of it? no man knows. Have they thrown it away in their quarrel? have the cunningest hidden it? have the Trolls flown away with it, to the fairy land beyond the Eastern mountains? who can tell? Nothing is left but recrimination and remorse. And they wander back again into the forest, away from the doleful ruin, carrion-strewn, to sulk each apart over some petty spoil which he has saved from the general wreck, hating and dreading each the sound of his neighbour's footstep. What will become of the forest children, unless some kind saint or hermit comes among them, to bind them in the holy bonds of brotherhood and law? This is my saga, gentlemen; and it is a true one withal. For it is neither more nor less than the story of the Teutonic tribes, and how they overthrew the Empire of Rome. Menzel, who though he may not rank very high as a historian, has at least a true German heart, opens his history with a striking passage. 'The sages of the East were teaching wisdom beneath the palms; the merchants of Tyre and Carthage were weighing their heavy anchors, and spreading their purple sails for far seas; the Greek was making the earth fair by his art, and the Roman founding his colossal empire of force, while the Teuton sat, yet a child, unknown and naked among the forest beasts: and yet unharmed and in his sport he lorded it over them; for the child was of a royal race, and destined to win glory for all time to come.' To the strange and complicated education which God appointed for this race; and by which he has fitted it to become, at least for many centuries henceforth, the ruling race of the world, I wish to call your attention in my future lectures. To-day, I wish to impress strongly on your minds this childishness of our forefathers. For good or for evil they were great boys; very noble boys; very often very naughty boys--as boys with the strength of men might well be. Try to conceive such to yourselves, and you have the old Markman, Allman, Goth, Lombard, Saxon, Frank. And the notion may be more than a mere metaphor. Races, like individuals, it has been often said, may have their childhood, their youth, their manhood, their old age, and natural death. It is but a theory--perhaps nothing more. But at least, our race had its childhood. Their virtues, and their sad failings, and failures, I can understand on no other theory. The nearest type which we can see now is I fancy, the English sailor, or the English navvy. A great, simple, honest, baby--full of power and fun, very coarse and plain spoken at times: but if treated like a human being, most affectionate, susceptible, even sentimental and superstitious; fond of gambling, brute excitement, childish amusements in the intervals of enormous exertion; quarrelsome among themselves, as boys are, and with a spirit of wild independence which seems to be strength; but which, till it be disciplined into loyal obedience and self-sacrifice, is mere weakness; and beneath all a deep practical shrewdness, an indomitable perseverance, when once roused by need. Such a spirit as we see to this day in the English sailor--that is the nearest analogue I can find now. One gets hints here and there of what manner of men they were, from the evil day, when, one hundred and two years before Christ, the Kempers and Teutons, ranging over the Alps toward Italy, 300,000 armed men and 15,000 mailed knights with broad sword and lances, and in their helmets the same bulls'-horns, wings, and feathers, which one sees now in the crests of German princes, stumbled upon Marius and his Romans, and were destroyed utterly, first the men, then the women, who like true women as they were, rather than give up their honour to the Romans, hung themselves on the horns of the waggon-oxen, and were trampled to death beneath their feet; and then the very dogs, who fought on when men and women were all slain--from that fatal day, down to the glorious one, when, five hundred years after, Alaric stood beneath the walls of Rome, and to their despairing boast of the Roman numbers, answered, 'Come out to us then, the thicker the hay, the easier mowed,'--for five hundred years, I say, the hints of their character are all those of a boy-nature. They were cruel at times: but so are boys--much more cruel than grown men, I hardly know why--perhaps because they have not felt suffering so much themselves, and know not how hard it is to bear. There were varieties of character among them. The Franks were always false, vain, capricious, selfish, taking part with the Romans whenever their interest or vanity was at stake--the worst of all Teutons, though by no means the weakest--and a miserable business they made of it in France, for some five hundred years. The Goths, Salvian says, were the most ignavi of all of them; great lazy lourdans; apt to be cruel, too, the Visigoths at least, as their Spanish descendants proved to the horror of the world: but men of honour withal, as those old Spaniards were. The Saxons were famed for cruelty--I know not why, for our branch of the Saxons has been, from the beginning of history, the least cruel people in Europe; but they had the reputation--as the Vandals had also--of being the most pure; Castitate venerandi. And among the uncivilized people coldness and cruelty go often together. The less passionate and sensitive the nature, the less open to pity. The Caribs of the West Indies were famed for both, in contrast to the profligate and gentle inhabitants of Cuba and Hispaniola; and in double contrast to the Red Indian tribes of North America, who combined, from our first acquaintance with them, the two vices of cruelty and profligacy, to an extent which has done more to extirpate them than all the fire-water of the white man. But we must be careful how we compare our forefathers with these, or any other savages. Those who, like Gibbon, have tried to draw a parallel between the Red Indian and the Primaeval Teuton, have done so at the expense of facts. First, they have overlooked the broad fact, that while the Red Indians have been, ever since we have known them, a decreasing race, the Teutons have been a rapidly increasing one; in spite of war, and famine, and all the ills of a precarious forest life, proving their youthful strength and vitality by a reproduction unparalleled, as far as I know, in history, save perhaps by that noble and young race, the Russian. These writers have not known that the Teuton had his definite laws, more simple, doubtless, in the time of Tacitus than in that of Justinian, but still founded on abstract principles so deep and broad that they form the groundwork of our English laws and constitution; that the Teuton creed concerning the unseen world, and divine beings, was of a loftiness and purity as far above the silly legends of Hiawatha as the Teuton morals were above those of a Sioux or a Comanche. Let any one read honest accounts of the Red Indians; let him read Catlin, James, Lewis and Clarke, Shoolbred; and first and best of all, the old 'Travaile in Virginia,' published by the Hakluyt Society: and then let him read the Germania of Tacitus, and judge for himself. For my part, I believe that if Gibbon was right, and if our forefathers in the German forests had been like Powhattan's people as we found them in the Virginian forests, the Romans would not have been long in civilizing us off the face of the earth. No. All the notes which Tacitus gives us are notes of a young and strong race; unconscious of its own capabilities, but possessing such capabilities that the observant Romans saw at once with dread and awe that they were face to face with such a people as they had never met before; that in their hands, sooner or later, might be the fate of Rome. Mad Caracalla, aping the Teuton dress and hair, listening in dread to the songs of the Allman Alrunas, telling the Teutons that they ought to come over the Rhine and destroy the empire, and then, murdering the interpreters, lest they should repeat his words, was but babbling out in an insane shape the thought which was brooding in the most far-seeing Roman minds. He felt that they could have done the deed; and he felt rightly, madman as he was. They could have done it then, if physical power and courage were all that was needed, in the days of the Allman war. They could have done it a few years before, when the Markmen fought Marcus Aurelius Antoninus; on the day when the Caesar, at the advice of his augurs, sent two lions to swim across the Danube as a test of victory; and the simple Markmen took them for big dogs, and killed them with their clubs. From that day, indeed, the Teutons began to conquer slowly, but surely. Though Antoninus beat the Markmen on the Danube, and recovered 100,000 Roman prisoners, yet it was only by the help of the Vandals; from that day the empire was doomed, and the Teutons only kept at bay by bribing one tribe to fight another, or by enlisting their more adventurous spirits into the Roman legions, to fight against men of their own blood;--a short-sighted and suicidal policy; for by that very method they were teaching the Teuton all he needed, the discipline and the military science of the Roman. But the Teutons might have done it a hundred years before that, when Rome was in a death agony, and Vitellius and Vespasian were struggling for the purple, and Civilis and the fair Velleda, like Barak and Deborah of old, raised the Teuton tribes. They might have done it before that again, when Hermann slew Varus and his legions in the Teutoburger Wald; or before that again, when the Kempers and Teutons burst over the Alps, to madden themselves with the fatal wines of the rich south. And why did the Teutons _not_ do it? Because they were boys fighting against cunning men. Boiorich, the young Kemper, riding down to Marius' camp, to bid him fix the place and time of battle--for the Teuton thought it mean to use surprises and stratagems, or to conquer save in fair and open fight--is the type of the Teuton hero; and one which had no chance in a struggle with the cool, false, politic Roman, grown grey in the experience of the forum and of the camp, and still as physically brave as his young enemy. Because, too, there was no unity among them; no feeling that they were brethren of one blood. Had the Teuton tribes, at any one of the great crises I have mentioned, and at many a crisis afterwards, united for but three years, under the feeling of a common blood, language, interest, destiny, Rome would have perished. But they could not learn that lesson. They could not put aside their boyish quarrels. They never learnt the lesson till after their final victory, when the Gospel of Christ--of a Being to whom they all owed equal allegiance, in whose sight they were all morally equal--came to unite them into a Christendom. And it was well that they did not learn it sooner. Well for them and for the world, that they did not unite on any false ground of interest or ambition, but had to wait for the true ground of unity, the knowledge of the God-man, King of all nations upon earth. Had they destroyed Rome sooner, what would not they have lost? What would not the world have lost? Christianity would have been stifled in its very cradle; and with Christianity all chance--be sure of it--of their own progress. Roman law, order, and discipline, the very things which they needed to acquire by a contact of five hundred years, would have been swept away. All classic literature and classic art, which they learnt to admire with an almost superstitious awe, would have perished likewise. Greek philosophy, the germs of physical science, and all that we owe to the ancients, would have perished; and we should have truly had an invasion of the barbarians, followed by truly dark ages, in which Europe would have had to begin all anew, without the help of the generations which had gone before. Therefore it was well as it was, and God was just and merciful to them and to the human race. They had a glorious destiny, and glorious powers wherewith to fulfil it: but they had, as every man and people has, before whom there is a noble future, to be educated by suffering. There was before them a terrible experience of sorrow and disappointment, sin and blood, by which they gained the first consciousness of what they could do and what they could not. Like Adam of old, like every man unto this day, they ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and were driven out of the paradise of unconsciousness; had to begin again sadder and wiser men, and eat their bread in the sweat of their brow; and so to rise, after their fall, into a nobler, wiser, more artificial, and therefore more truly human and divine life, than that from which they had at first fallen, when they left their German wilds. One does not, of course, mean the parallel to fit in all details. The fall of the Teuton from the noble simplicity in which Tacitus beheld and honoured him, was a work of four centuries; perhaps it was going on in Tacitus' own time. But the culminating point was the century which saw Italy conquered, and Rome sacked, by Visigoth, by Ostrogoth, by Vandal, till nothing was left save fever-haunted ruins. Then the ignorant and greedy child, who had been grasping so long after the fair apples of Sodom, clutched them once and for all, and found them turn to ashes in his hands. Yes--it is thus that I wish you to look at the Invasion of the Barbarians, Immigration of the Teutons, or whatsoever name you may call it. Before looking at questions of migration, of ethnology, of laws, and of classes, look first at the thing itself; and see with sacred pity--and awe, one of the saddest and grandest tragedies ever performed on earth. Poor souls! And they were so simple withal. One pities them, as one pities a child who steals apples, and makes himself sick with them after all. It is not the enormous loss of life which is to me the most tragic part of the story; it is that very simplicity of the Teutons. Bloodshed is a bad thing, certainly; but after all nature is prodigal of human life--killing her twenty thousand and her fifty thousand by a single earthquake; and as for death in battle--I sometimes am tempted to think, having sat by many death beds, that our old forefathers may have been right, and that death in battle may be a not unenviable method of passing out of this troublesome world. Besides, we have no right to blame those old Teutons, while we are killing every year more of her Majesty's subjects by preventible disease, than ever they killed in their bloodiest battle. Let us think of that, and mend that, ere we blame the old German heroes. No, there are more pitiful tragedies than any battlefield can shew; and first among them, surely, is the disappointment of young hopes, the degradation of young souls. One pities them, I say. And they pitied themselves. Remorse, shame, sadness, mark the few legends and songs of the days which followed the fall of Rome. They had done a great work. They had destroyed a mighty tyranny; they had parted between them the spoils wrung from all the nations; they had rid the earth of a mighty man-devouring ogre, whose hands had been stretched out for centuries over all the earth, dragging all virgins to his den, butchering and torturing thousands for his sport; foul, too, with crimes for which their language, like our own (thank God) has scarcely found a name. Babylon the Great, drunken with the blood of the saints, had fallen at last before the simple foresters of the north: but if it looks a triumph to us, it looked not such to them. They could only think how they had stained their hands in their brothers' blood. They had got the fatal Nibelungen hoard: but it had vanished between their hands, and left them to kill each other, till none was left. You know the Nibelungen Lied? That expresses, I believe, the key-note of the old Teuton's heart, after his work was done. Siegfried murdered by his brother-in-law; fair Chriemhild turned into an avenging fury; the heroes hewing each other down, they scarce know why, in Hunnish Etzel's hall, till Hagen and Gunther stand alone; Dietrich of Bern going in, to bind the last surviving heroes; Chriemhild shaking Hagen's gory head in Gunther's face, himself hewed down by the old Hildebrand, till nothing is left but stark corpses and vain tears:--while all the while the Nibelungen hoard, the cause of all the woe, lies drowned in the deep Rhine until the judgment day.--What is all this, but the true tale of the fall of Rome, of the mad quarrels of the conquering Teutons? The names are confused, mythic; the dates and places all awry: but the tale is true--too true. Mutato nomine fabula narratur. Even so they went on, killing, till none were left. Deeds as strange, horrible, fratricidal, were done, again and again, not only between Frank and Goth, Lombard and Gepid, but between Lombard and Lombard, Frank and Frank. Yes, they were drunk with each other's blood, those elder brethren of ours. Let us thank God that we did not share their booty, and perish, like them, from the touch of the fatal Nibelungen hoard. Happy for us Englishmen, that we were forced to seek our adventures here, in this lonely isle; to turn aside from the great stream of Teutonic immigration; and settle here, each man on his forest-clearing, to till the ground in comparative peace, keeping unbroken the old Teutonic laws, unstained the old Teutonic faith and virtue, cursed neither with poverty nor riches, but fed with food sufficient for us. To us, indeed, after long centuries, peace brought sloth, and sloth foreign invaders and bitter woes: but better so, than that we should have cast away alike our virtue and our lives, in that mad quarrel over the fairy gold of Rome. LECTURE II--THE DYING EMPIRE. It is not for me to trace the rise, or even the fall of the Roman Empire. That would be the duty rather of a professor of ancient history, than of modern. All I need do is to sketch, as shortly as I can, the state in which the young world found the old, when it came in contact with it. The Roman Empire, toward the latter part of the fourth century, was in much the same condition as the Chinese or the Turkish Empire in our own days. Private morality (as Juvenal and Persius will tell you), had vanished long before. Public morality had, of course, vanished likewise. The only powers really recognised were force and cunning. The only aim was personal enjoyment. The only God was the Divus Caesar, the imperial demigod, whose illimitable brute force gave him illimitable powers of self-enjoyment, and made him thus the paragon and ideal of humanity, whom all envied, flattered, hated, and obeyed. The palace was a sink of corruption, where eunuchs, concubines, spies, informers, freedmen, adventurers, struggled in the basest plots, each for his share of the public plunder. The senate only existed to register the edicts of their tyrant, and if need be, destroy each other, or any one else, by judicial murders, the willing tools of imperial cruelty. The government was administered (at least since the time of Diocletian) by an official bureaucracy, of which Professor Goldwin Smith well says, 'the earth swarmed with the consuming hierarchy of extortion, so that it was said that they who received taxes were more than those who paid them.' The free middle class had disappeared, or lingered in the cities, too proud to labour, fed on government bounty, and amused by government spectacles. With them, arts and science had died likewise. Such things were left to slaves, and became therefore, literally, servile imitations of the past. What, indeed, was not left to slaves? Drawn without respect of rank, as well as of sex and age, from every nation under heaven by an organized slave-trade, to which our late African one was but a tiny streamlet compared with a mighty river; a slave-trade which once bought 10,000 human beings in Delos in a single day; the 'servorum nationes' were the only tillers of the soil, of those 'latifundia' or great estates, 'quae perdidere Romam.' Denied the rights of marriage, the very name of humanity; protected by no law, save the interest or caprice of their masters; subjected, for slight offences, to cruel torments, they were butchered by thousands in the amphitheatres to make a Roman holiday, or wore out their lives in 'ergastula' or barracks, which were dens of darkness and horror. Their owners, as 'senatores,' 'clarissimi,' or at least 'curiales,' spent their lives in the cities, luxurious and effeminate, and left their slaves to the tender mercy of 'villici,' stewards and gang-drivers, who were themselves slaves likewise. More pampered, yet more degraded, were the crowds of wretched beings, cut off from all the hopes of humanity, who ministered to the wicked pleasures of their masters, even in the palaces of nominally Christian emperors--but over that side of Roman slavery I must draw a veil, only saying, that the atrocities of the Romans toward their slaves--especially of this last and darkest kind--notably drew down on them the just wrath and revenge of those Teutonic nations, from which so many of their slaves were taken. {19} And yet they called themselves Christians--to whom it had been said, 'Be not deceived, God is not mocked. For these things cometh the wrath of God on the children of disobedience.' And the wrath did come. If such were the morals of the Empire, what was its political state? One of complete disorganization. The only uniting bond left seems to have been that of the bureaucracy, the community of tax-gatherers, who found it on the whole safer and more profitable to pay into the imperial treasury a portion of their plunder, than to keep it all themselves. It stood by mere vi inertiae, just because it happened to be there, and there was nothing else to put in its place. Like an old tree whose every root is decayed, it did not fall, simply because the storm had not yet come. Storms, indeed, had come; but they had been partial and local. One cannot look into the pages of Gibbon, without seeing that the normal condition of the empire was one of revolt, civil war, invasion--Pretenders, like Carausius and Allectus in Britain, setting themselves up as emperors for awhile--Bands of brigands, like the Bagaudae of Gaul, and the Circumcelliones of Africa, wandering about, desperate with hunger and revenge, to slay and pillage--Teutonic tribes making forays on the frontier, enlisted into the Roman armies, and bought off, or hired to keep back the tribes behind them, and perish by their brethren's swords. What kept the empire standing, paradoxical as it may seem, was its own innate weakness. From within, at least, it could not be overthrown. The masses were too crushed to rise. Without unity, purpose, courage, they submitted to inevitable misery as to rain and thunder. At most they destroyed their own children from poverty, or, as in Egypt, fled by thousands into the caves and quarries, and turned monks and hermits; while the upper classes, equally without unity or purpose, said each to himself, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' The state of things at Rome, and after the rise of Byzantium under Constantine at Byzantium likewise, was one altogether fantastic, abnormal, utterly unlike anything that we have seen, or can imagine to ourselves without great effort. I know no better method of illustrating it, than quoting, from Mr. Sheppard's excellent book, _The Fall of Rome and the Rise of New Nationalities_, a passage in which he transfers the whole comi-tragedy from Italy of old to England in 1861. 'I have not thought it necessary to give a separate and distinct reply to the theory of Mr. Congreve, that Roman Imperialism was the type of all good government, and a desirable precedent for ourselves. Those who feel any penchant for the notion, I should strongly recommend to read the answer of Professor G. Smith, in the _Oxford Essays_ for 1856, which is as complete and crushing as that gentleman's performances usually are. But in order to convey to the uninitiated some idea of the state of society under Caesarian rule, and which a Caesarian rule, so far as mere government is concerned, if it does not produce, has never shewn any tendency to prevent, let us give reins to imagination for a moment, and picture to ourselves a few social and political analogies in our own England of the nineteenth century. 'An entire revolution has taken place in our principles, manners, and form of government. Parliaments, meetings, and all the ordinary expressions of the national will, are no longer in existence. A free press has shared their fate. There is no accredited organ of public opinion; indeed there is no public opinion to record. Lords and Commons have been swept away, though a number of the richest old gentlemen in London meet daily at Westminster to receive orders from Buckingham Palace. But at the palace itself has broken out one of those sanguinary conspiracies which have of late become unceasing. The last heir of the house of Brunswick is lying dead with a dagger in his heart, and everything is in frightful confusion. The armed force of the capital are of course "masters of the situation," and the Guards, after a tumultuous meeting at Windsor or Knightsbridge, have sold the throne to Baron Rothschild, for a handsome donation of 25 pounds a-piece. Lord Clyde, however, we may be sure, is not likely to stand this, and in a few months will be marching upon London at the head of the Indian Army. In the mean time the Channel Fleet has declared for its own commander, has seized upon Plymouth and Portsmouth, and intends to starve the metropolis by stopping the imports of "bread-stuffs" at the mouth of the Thames. And this has become quite possible; for half the population of London, under the present state of things, subsist upon free distributions of corn dispensed by the occupant of the throne for the time being. But a more fatal change than even this has come over the population of the capital and of the whole country. The free citizens and 'prentices of London; the sturdy labourers of Dorsetshire and the eastern counties; and the skilful artizans of Manchester, Sheffield and Birmingham; the mariners and shipwrights of Liverpool, have been long ago drafted into marching regiments, and have left their bones to bleach beneath Indian suns and Polar snows. Their place has been supplied by countless herds of negro slaves, who till the fields and crowd the workshops of our towns, to the entire exclusion of free labour; for the free population, or rather the miserable relics of them, disdain all manual employment: they divide their time between starvation and a degrading debauchery, the means for which are sedulously provided by the government. The time-honoured institutions of the bull-bait, the cockpit, and the ring, are in daily operation, under the most distinguished patronage. Hyde Park has been converted into a gigantic arena, where criminals from Newgate "set-to" with the animals from the Zoological Gardens. Every fortnight there is a Derby Day, and the whole population pour into the Downs with frantic excitement, leaving the city to the slaves. And then the moral condition of this immense mass! Of the doings about the palace we should be sorry to speak. But the lady patronesses of Almack's still more assiduously patronize the prize-fights, and one of them has been seen within the ropes, in battle array, by the side of Sayers himself. No tongue may tell the orgies enacted, with the aid of French cooks, Italian singers, and foreign artists of all sorts, in the gilded saloons of Park Lane and Mayfair. Suffice to say, that in them the worst passions of human nature have full swing, unmodified by any thought of human or divine restraints, and only dashed a little now and then by the apprehension that the slaves may rise, and make a clean sweep of the metropolis with fire and steel. But _n'importe_--_Vive la bagatelle_! Mario has just been appointed prime minister, and has made a chorus singer from the Opera Duke of Middlesex and Governor-General of India. All wise men and all good men despair of the state, but they are not permitted to say anything, much less to act. Mr. Disraeli lost his head a few days ago; Lords Palmerston and Derby lie in the Tower under sentence of death; Lord Brougham, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Mr. Gladstone, opened their veins and died in a warm bath last week. Foreign relations will make a still greater demand on the reader's imagination. We must conceive of England no longer as "A precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive of a house." but rather as open to the inroad of every foe whom her aggressive and colonizing genius has provoked. The red man of the West, the Caffre, the Sikh, and the Sepoy, Chinese braves, and fierce orientals of all sorts, are hovering on her frontiers in "numbers numberless," as the flakes of snow in the northern winter. They are not the impotent enemy which we know, but vigorous races, supplied from inexhaustible founts of population, and animated by an insatiate appetite for the gold and silver, purple and fine linen, rich meats and intoxicating drinks of our effete civilization. And we can no longer oppose them with those victorious legions which have fought and conquered in all regions of the world. The men of Waterloo and Inkermann are no more. We are compelled to recruit our armies from those very tribes before whose swords we are receding! 'Doubtless the ordinary reader will believe this picture to be overcharged, drawn with manifest exaggeration, and somewhat questionable taste. _Every single statement which it contains_ may be paralleled by the circumstances and events of the decadence of the Roman Empire. The analogous situation was with the subjects of this type of all good government, _always a possible_, often an actual, state of things. We think this disposes of the theory of Mr. Congreve. With it may advantageously be contrasted the opinion of a man of more statesman-like mind. "The benefits of despotism are short-lived; it poisons the very springs which it lays open; if it display a merit, it is an exceptional one; if a virtue, it is created of circumstances; and when once this better hour has passed away, all the vices of its nature break forth with redoubled violence, and weigh down society in every direction." So writes M. Guizot. Is it the language of prophecy as well as of personal experience?' Mr. Sheppard should have added, to make the picture complete, that the Irish have just established popery across St. George's Channel, by the aid of re-immigrants from America; that Free Kirk and National Kirk are carrying on a sanguinary civil war in Scotland; that the Devonshire Wesleyans have just sacked Exeter cathedral, and murdered the Bishop at the altar, while the Bishop of London, supported by the Jews and the rich churchmen (who are all mixed up in financial operations with Baron Rothschild) has just commanded all Dissenters to leave the metropolis within three days, under pain of death. I must add yet one more feature to this fearful, but accurate picture, and say how, a few generations forward, an even uglier thing would be seen. The English aristocracy would have been absorbed by foreign adventurers. The grandchildren of these slaves and mercenaries would be holding the highest offices in the state and the army, naming themselves after the masters who had freed them, or disguising their barbarian names by English endings. The De Fung-Chowvilles would be Dukes, the Little- grizzly-bear-Joe-Smiths Earls, and the Fitz-Stanleysons, descended from a king of the gipsies who enlisted to avoid transportation, and in due time became Commander-in-Chief, would rule at Knowsley in place of the Earl of Derby, having inherited the same by the summary process of assassination. Beggars on horseback, only too literally; married, most of them, to Englishwomen of the highest rank; but looking on England merely as a prey; without patriotism, without principle; they would destroy the old aristocracy by legal murders, grind the people, fight against their yet barbarian cousins outside, as long as they were in luck: but the moment the luck turned against them, would call in those barbarian cousins to help them, and invade England every ten years with heathen hordes, armed no more with tulwar and matchlock, but with Enfield rifle and Whitworth cannon. And that, it must be agreed, would be about the last phase of the British empire. If you will look through the names which figure in the high places of the Roman empire, during the fourth and fifth centuries, you will see how few of them are really Roman. If you will try to investigate, not their genealogies--for they have none--not a grandfather among them--but the few facts of their lives which have come down to us; you will see how that Nemesis had fallen on her which must at last fall on every nation which attempts to establish itself on slavery as a legal basis. Rome had become the slave of her own slaves. It is at this last period, the point when Rome has become the slave of her own slaves, that I take up the story of our Teutonic race. I do not think that anyone will call either Mr. Sheppard's statements, or mine, exaggerated, who knows the bitter complaints of the wickedness and folly of the time, which are to be found in the writings of the Emperor Julian. Pedant and apostate as he was, he devoted his short life to one great idea, the restoration of the Roman Empire to what it had been (as he fancied) in the days of the virtuous stoic Emperors of the second century. He found his dream a dream, owing to the dead heap of frivolity, sensuality, brutality, utter unbelief, not merely in the dead Pagan gods whom he vainly tried to restore, but in any god at all, as a living, ruling, judging, rewarding, punishing power. No one, again, will call these statements exaggerated who knows the Roman history of his faithful servant and soldier, Ammianus Marcellinus, and especially the later books of it, in which he sets forth the state of the Empire after Julian's death, under Jovian, Procopius, Valentinian, (who kept close to his bed-chamber two she-bears who used to eat men, one called Golden Camel, and the other Innocence--which latter, when she had devoured a sufficiency of his living victims, he set free in the forests as a reward for her services--a brutal tyrant, whose only virtue seems to have been his chastity); and Valens, the shameless extortioner who perished in that great battle of Adrianople, of which more hereafter. The last five remaining books of the honest soldier's story are a tissue of horrors, from reading which one turns away as from a slaughter-house or a witches' sabbath. No one, again, will think these statements exaggerated who knows Salvian's De Gubernatione Dei. It has been always and most justly held in high esteem, as one great authority of the state of Gaul when conquered by the Franks and Goths and Vandals. Salvian was a Christian gentleman, born somewhere near Treves. He married a Pagan lady of Cologne, converted her, had by her a daughter, and then persuaded her to devote herself to celibacy, while he did the like. His father-in-law, Hypatius, quarrelled with him on this account; and the letter in which he tries to soothe the old man is still extant, a curious specimen of the style of cultivated men in that day. Salvian then went down to the south of France and became a priest at Marseilles, and tutor to the sons of Eucherius, the Bishop of Lyons. Eucherius, himself a good man, speaks in terms of passionate admiration of Salvian, his goodness, sanctity, learning, talents. Gennadius (who describes him as still living when he wrote, about 490) calls him among other encomiums, the Master of Bishops; and both mention familiarly this very work, by which he became notorious in his own day, and which he wrote about 450 or 455, during the invasion of the Britons. So that we may trust fully that we have hold of an authentic contemporaneous work, written by a good man and true. Let me first say a few words on the fact of his having--as many good men did then--separated from his wife in order to lead what was called a religious life. It has a direct bearing on the History of those days. One must not praise him because he (in common with all Christians of his day) held, no doubt, the belief that marriage was a degradation in itself; that though the Church might mend it somewhat by exalting it into a sacrament, still, the less of a bad thing the better:--a doctrine against which one need not use (thank God) in England, the same language which Michelet has most justly used in France. We, being safe from the poison, can afford to talk of it calmly. But I boldly assert, that few more practically immoral doctrines than that of the dignity of celibacy and the defilement of marriage (which was the doctrine of all Christian devotees for 1000 years) have, as far as I know, ever been preached to man. That is a strong statement. It will be answered perhaps, by the patent fact, that during those very 1000 years the morality of Europe improved more, and more rapidly, than it had ever done before. I know it; and I thank God for it. But I adhere to my statement, and rejoin--And how much more rapidly have the morals of Europe improved, since that doctrine has been swept away; and woman, and the love of woman, have been restored to their rightful place in the education of man? But if we do not praise Salvian, we must not blame him, or any one else who meant to be an honest and good man. Such did not see to what their celibate notions would lead. If they had, we must believe that they would have acted differently. And what is more, their preference for celibacy was not fancy, but common sense of a very lofty kind. Be sure that when two middle-aged Christian people consider it best to part, they have very good reasons for such a solemn step, at which only boys or cynics will laugh. And the reasons, in Salvian's case, and many more in his day, are patent to common human understanding. Do not fancy that he had any private reason, such as we should very fairly assign now: public reasons, and those, such as God grant no living man may see, caused wise men to thank God that they were not burdened with wife and child. Remember the years in which Salvian lived--from 416 perhaps to 490. It was a day of the Lord such as Joel saw; 'a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the morning spread upon the mountains; a great people and strong; there had not been ever the like, neither should be any more after it: the land was a garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wilderness: Yea, and nothing should escape them.' All things were going to wrack; the country was overrun by foreign invaders; bankruptcy, devastation, massacre, and captivity were for perhaps 100 years the normal state of Gaul, and of most other countries besides. I have little doubt that Salvian was a prudent man, when he thought fit to bring no more human beings into the world. That is an ugly thought--I trust that you feel how ugly, unnatural, desperate a thought it is. If you do not, think over it till you do, till it frightens you. You will gain a great step thereby in human sympathy, and therefore in the understanding of history. For many times, and in many places, men have said, rightly or wrongly, 'It is better to leave none behind me like myself. The miseries of life (and of what comes after this life) are greater than its joys. I commit an act of cruelty by bringing a fresh human being into the world.' I wish you to look at that thought steadily, and apply it for yourselves. It has many applications: and has therefore been a very common one. But put to yourselves--it is too painful for me to put to you--the case of a married gentleman who sees his country gradually devastated and brought to utter ruin by foreign invaders; and who feels--as poor Salvian felt, that there is no hope or escape; that the misery is merited, deserved, fairly _earned_ (for that is the true meaning of those words), and therefore must come. Conceive him seeing around him estates destroyed, farms burnt, ladies and gentlemen, his own friends and relations, reduced in an hour to beggary, plundered, stript, driven off in gangs--I do not choose to finish the picture: but ask yourselves, would an honourable man wish to bring sons--much more daughters--into the world to endure that? Put yourselves in Salvian's place. Forget for a few minutes that you are Englishmen, the freest and bravest nation upon earth, strong in all that gives real strength, and with a volunteer army which is now formidable by numbers and courage--which, did the terrible call come, might be increased ten times in as many months. Forget all that awhile; and put yourselves in Salvian's place, the gentleman of Gaul, while Franks and Goths, Burgunds and Vandals were sweeping, wave after wave, over that lovely land; and judge him rationally, and talk as little as possible of his superstition, and as much as possible of his human feeling, prudence, self-control, and common sense. Believe me, neither celibacy, nor any other seemingly unnatural superstition would have held its ground for a generation if there had not been some practical considerations of common sense to back them. We wonder why men in old times went into monasteries. The simplest answer is, common sense sent them thither. They were tired of being the slaves of their own passions; they were tired of killing, and of running the chance of being killed. They saw society, the whole world, going to wrack, as they thought, around them: what could they do better, than see that their own characters, morals, immortal souls did not go to wrack with the rest. We wonder why women, especially women of rank, went into convents; why, as soon as a community of monks was founded, a community of nuns sprung up near them. The simplest answer is, common sense sent them thither. The men, especially of the upper fighting classes, were killed off rapidly; the women were not killed off, and a large number always remained, who, if they had wished to marry, could not. What better for them than to seek in convents that peace which this world could not give? They may have mixed up with that simple wish for peace the notion of being handmaids of God, brides of Christ, and so forth. Be it so. Let us instead of complaining, thank heaven that there was some motive, whether quite right or not, to keep alive in them self-respect, and the feeling that they were not altogether useless and aimless on earth. Look at the question in this light, and you will understand two things; first, how horrible the times were, and secondly, why there grew up in the early middle age a passion for celibacy. Salvian, in a word, had already grown up to manhood and reason, when he saw a time come to his native country, in which were fulfilled, with fearful exactness, the words of the prophet Isaiah:-- 'Behold, the Lord maketh the land empty, and maketh it waste, and turneth it upside down, and scattereth abroad the inhabitants thereof. And it shall be, as with the people, so with the priest; as with the slave, so with his master; as with the maid, so with her mistress; as with the seller, so with the buyer; as with the lender, so with the borrower; as with the taker of usury, so with the giver of usury to him. The land shall be utterly emptied, and utterly spoiled; for the Lord hath spoken this word.' And Salvian desired to know the reason why the Lord had spoken that word, and read his Bible till he found out, and wrote thereon his book De Gubernatione Dei, of the government of God; and a very noble book it is. He takes his stand on the ground of Scripture, with which he shews an admirable acquaintance. The few good were expecting the end of the world. Christ was coming to put an end to all these horrors: but why did he delay his coming? The many weak were crying that God had given up the world; that Christ had deserted his Church, and delivered over Christians to the cruelties of heathen and Arian barbarians. The many bad were openly blaspheming, throwing off in despair all faith, all bonds of religion, all common decency, and crying, Let us eat and drink, for to- morrow we die. Salvian answers them like an old Hebrew prophet: 'The Lord's arm is not shortened. The Lord's eyes are not closed. The Lord is still as near as ever. He is governing the world as He has always governed it: by the everlasting moral laws, by which the wages of sin are death. Your iniquities have withheld good things from you. You have earned exactly what God has paid you. Yourselves are your own punishment. You have been wicked men, and therefore weak men; your own vices, and not the Goths, have been your true conquerors.' As I said in my inaugural lecture--that is after all the true theory of history. Men may forget it in piping times of peace. God grant that in the dark hour of adversity, God may always raise up to them a prophet, like good old Salvian, to preach to them once again the everlasting judgments of God; and teach them that not faulty constitutions, faulty laws, faulty circumstances of any kind, but the faults of their own hearts and lives, are the causes of their misery. M. Guizot, in his elaborate work on the History of Civilization in France, has a few curious pages, on the causes of the decline of civil society in Roman Gaul, and its consequent weakness and ruin. He tells you how the Senators or Clarissimi did not constitute a true aristocracy, able to lead and protect the people, being at the mercy of the Emperor, and nominated and removed at his pleasure. How the Curiales, or wealthy middle class, who were bound by law to fulfil all the municipal offices, and were responsible for the collection of the revenue, found their responsibilities so great, that they by every trick in their power, avoided office. How, as M. Guizot well puts it, the central despotism of Rome stript the Curiales of all they earned, to pay its own functionaries and soldiers; and gave them the power of appointing magistrates, who were only after all the imperial agents of that despotism, for whose sake they robbed their fellow-citizens. How the plebs, comprising the small tradesmen and free artizans, were utterly unable to assert their own opinions or rights. How the slave population, though their condition was much improved, constituted a mere dead weight of helpless brutality. And then he says, that the Roman Empire was dying. Very true: but often as he quotes Salvian, he omits always to tell us what Roman society was dying of. Salvian says, that it was dying of vice. Not of bad laws and class arrangements, but of bad men. M. Guizot belongs to a school which is apt to impute human happiness and prosperity too exclusively to the political constitution under which they may happen to live, irrespectively of the morality of the people themselves. From that, the constitutionalist school, there has been of late a strong reaction, the highest exponent, nay the very coryphaeus of which is Mr. Carlyle. He undervalues, even despises, the influence of laws and constitutions: with him private virtue, from which springs public virtue, is the first and sole cause of national prosperity. My inaugural lecture has told you how deeply I sympathize with his view--taking my stand, as Mr. Carlyle does, on the Hebrew prophets. There is, nevertheless, a side of truth in the constitutionalist view, which Mr. Carlyle, I think, overlooks. A bad political constitution does produce poverty and weakness: but only in as far as it tends to produce moral evil; to make men bad. That it can help to do. It can put a premium on vice, on falsehood, on peculation, on laziness, on ignorance; and thus tempt the mass to moral degradation, from the premier to the slave. Russia has been, for two centuries now but too patent a proof of the truth of this assertion. But even in this case, the moral element is the most important, and just the one which is overlooked. To have good laws, M. Guizot is apt to forget, you must first have good men to make them; and second, you must have good men to carry them out, after they are made. Bad men can abuse the best of laws, the best of constitutions. Look at the working of our parliaments during the reigns of William III and Anne, and see how powerless good constitutions are, when the men who work them are false and venal. Look, on the other hand, at the Roman Empire from the time of Vespasian to that of the Antonines, and see how well even a bad constitution will succeed, when good men are working it. Bad laws, I say, will work tolerably under good men, if fitted to the existing circumstances by men of the world, as all Roman laws were. If they had not been such, how was the Roman Empire, at least in its first years, a blessing to the safety, prosperity, and wealth of every country it enslaved? But when defective Roman laws began to be worked by bad men, and that for 200 years, then indeed came times of evil. Let us take, then, Salvian's own account of the cause of Roman decay. He, an eye-witness, imputes it all to the morals of Roman citizens. They were, according to him, of the very worst. To the general dissoluteness he attributes, in plain words, the success of the Frank and Gothic invaders. And the facts which he gives, and which there is no reason to doubt, are quite enough to prove him in the right. Every great man's house, he says, was a sink of profligacy. The women slaves were at the mercy of their master; and the slaves copied his morals among themselves. It is an ugly picture: but common sense will tell us, if we but think a little, that such will, and must, be the case in slave-holding countries, wherever Christianity is not present in its purest and strongest form, to control the passions of arbitrary power. But there was not merely profligacy among these Gauls. That alone would not have wrought their immediate ruin. Morals were bad enough in old Greece and Rome; as they were afterwards among the Turks: nevertheless as long as a race is strong; as long as there is prudence, energy, deep national feeling, outraged virtue does not avenge itself at once by general ruin. But it avenges itself at last, as Salvian shews--as all experience shews. As in individuals so in nations, unbridled indulgence of the passions must produce, and does produce, frivolity, effeminacy, slavery to the appetite of the moment, a brutalized and reckless temper, before which, prudence, energy, national feeling, any and every feeling which is not centered in self, perishes utterly. The old French noblesse gave a proof of this law, which will last as a warning beacon to the end of time. The Spanish population of America, I am told, gives now a fearful proof of this same terrible penalty. Has not Italy proved it likewise, for centuries past? It must be so, gentlemen. For national life is grounded on, is the development of, the life of the family. And where the root is corrupt, the tree must be corrupt likewise. It must be so. For Asmodeus does not walk alone. In his train follow impatience and disappointment, suspicion and jealousy, rage and cruelty, and all the passions which set man's hand against his fellow-man. It must be so. For profligacy is selfishness; and the family, and the society, the nation, exists only by casting away selfishness and by obeying law:--not only the outward law, which says in the name of God, 'Thou shalt not,' but the inward law, the Law of Christ, which says, 'Thou must;' the law of self- sacrifice, which selfish lust tramples under foot, till there is no more cohesion left between man and man, no more trust, no more fellow-help, than between the stags who fight for the hinds; and God help the nation which has brought itself to that! No wonder, therefore, if Salvian's accounts of Gaulish profligacy be true, that Gaulish recklessness reached at last a pitch all but incredible. It is credible, however shocking, that as he says, he himself saw, both at Treves, and another great city (probably Cologne, Colonia Agrippina, or 'The Colony' par excellence) while the destruction of the state was imminent, 'old men of rank, decrepit Christians, slaves to gluttony and lust, rabid with clamour, furious with bacchanalian orgies.' It is credible, however shocking, that all through Gaul the captivity was 'foreseen, yet never dreaded.' And 'so when the barbarians had encamped almost in sight, there was no terror among the people, no care of the cities. All was possest by carelessness and sloth, gluttony, drunkenness, sleep, according to that which the prophet saith: A sleep from the Lord had come over them.' It is credible, however shocking, that though Treves was four times taken by the barbarians, it remained just as reckless as ever; and that--I quote Salvian still--when the population was half destroyed by fire and sword, the poor dying of famine, corpses of men and women lying about the streets breeding pestilence, while the dogs devoured them, the few nobles who were left comforted themselves by sending to the Emperor to beg for Circensian games. Those Circensian games, and indeed all the public spectacles, are fresh proofs of what I said just now; that if a bad people earn bad government, still a bad government makes a bad people. They were the most extraordinary instance which the world ever saw, of a government setting to work at a vast expense to debauch its subjects. Whether the Roman rulers set that purpose consciously before them, one dare not affirm. Their notion probably was (for they were as worldly wise as they were unprincipled) that the more frivolous and sensual the people were, the more quietly they would submit to slavery; and the best way to keep them frivolous and sensual, the Romans knew full well; so well, that after the Empire became Christian, and many heathen matters were done away with, they did not find it safe to do away with the public spectacles. The temples of the Gods might go: but not the pantomimes. In one respect, indeed, these government spectacles became worse, not better, under Christianity. They were less cruel, no doubt: but also they were less beautiful. The old custom of exhibiting representations of the old Greek myths, which had something of grace and poetry about them, and would carry back the spectators' thoughts to the nobler and purer heroic ages, disappeared before Christianity; but the old vice did not. That was left; and no longer ennobled by the old heroic myths round which it had clustered itself, was simply of the silliest and most vulgar kind. We know in detail the abominations, as shameless and ridiculous, which went on a century after Salvian, in the theatres of Constantinople, under the eyes of the most Christian Emperor Justinian, and which won for that most infamous woman, Theodora, a share in his imperial crown, and the right to dictate doctrine to the Christian Bishops of the East, and to condemn the soul of Origen to everlasting damnation, for having exprest hopes of the final pardon of sinners. We can well believe, therefore, Salvian's complaints of the wickedness of those pantomimes of which he says, that 'honeste non possunt vel accusari;' he cannot even accuse them without saying what he is ashamed to say; I believe also his assertion, that they would not let people be modest, even if they wished; that they inflamed the passions, and debauched the imaginations of young and old, man and woman, and--but I am not here to argue that sin is sin, or that the population of London would be the worse if the most shameless persons among them were put by the Government in possession of Drury Lane and Covent Garden; and that, and nothing less than that, did the Roman pantomimes mean, from the days of Juvenal till those of the most holy and orthodox Empress Theodora. 'Who, knowing the judgment of God, that they who do such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.' Now in contrast to all these abominations, old Salvian sets, boldly and honestly, the superior morality of the barbarians. That, he says, is the cause of their strength and our weakness. We, professing orthodoxy, are profligate hypocrites. They, half heathens, half Arians, are honester men, purer men than we. There is no use, he says, in despising the Goths as heretics, while they are better men than we. They are better Christians than the Romans, because they are better men. They pray to God for success, and trust in him, and we presumptuously trust in ourselves. We swear by Christ: but what do we do but blaspheme him, when we swear 'Per Christum tollo eum,' 'I will make away with him,' 'Per Christum hunc jugulo,' 'I will cut his throat,' and then believe ourselves bound to commit the murder which we have vowed? . . . 'The Saxons,' he says, 'are fierce, the Franks faithless, the Gepidae inhuman, the Huns shameless. But is the Frank's perfidy as blameable as ours? Is the Alman's drunkenness, or the Alan's rapacity, as damnable as a Christian's? If a Hun or a Gepid deceives you, what wonder? He is utterly ignorant that there is any sin in falsehood. But what of the Christian who does the same? The Barbarians,' he says, 'are better men than the Christians. The Goths,' he says, 'are perfidious, but chaste. The Alans unchaste, but less perfidious. The Franks are liars, but hospitable; the Saxons ferociously cruel, but venerable for their chastity. The Visigoths who conquered Spain,' he says, 'were the most "ignavi" (heavy, I presume he means, and loutish) of all the barbarians: but they were chaste, and therefore they conquered.' In Africa, if we are to believe Salvian, things stood even worse, at the time of the invasion of the Vandals. In his violent invectives against the Africans, however, allowance must be made. Salvian was a great lover of monks; and the Africans used, he says, to detest them, and mob them wherever they appeared; for which offence, of course, he can find no words too strong. St. Augustine, however, himself a countryman of theirs, who died, happily, just before the storm burst on that hapless land, speaks bitterly of their exceeding profligacy--of which he himself in his wild youth, had had but too sad experience. Salvian's assertion is, that the Africans were the most profligate of all the Romans; and that while each barbarian tribe had (as we have just seen) some good in them, the Africans had none. But there were noble souls left among them, lights which shone all the more brightly in the surrounding darkness. In the pages of Victor Vitensis, which tell the sad story of the persecution of the African Catholics by the Arian Vandals, you will find many a moving tale which shews that God had his own, even among those degraded Carthaginians. The causes of the Arian hatred to the Catholics is very obscure. You will find all that is known in Dean Milman's History of Latin Christianity. A simple explanation may be found in the fact that the Catholics considered the Arians, and did not conceal their opinion, as all literally and actually doomed to the torments of everlasting fire; and that, as Gibbon puts it, 'The heroes of the north, who had submitted with some reluctance, to believe that all their ancestors were in hell, were astonished and exasperated to learn, that they themselves had only changed the mode of their eternal condemnation.' The Teutons were (Salvian himself confesses it) trying to serve God devoutly, in chastity, sobriety, and honesty, according to their light. And they were told by the profligates of Africa, that this and no less, was their doom. It is not to be wondered at, again, if they mistook the Catholic creed for the cause of Catholic immorality. That may account for the Vandal custom of re-baptizing the Catholics. It certainly accounts for the fact (if after all it be a fact) which Victor states, that they tortured the nuns to extort from them shameful confessions against the priests. But the history of the African persecution is the history of all persecutions, as confest again and again by the old fathers, as proved by the analogies of later times. The sins of the Church draw down punishment, by making her enemies confound her doctrine and her practice. But in return, the punishment of the Church purifies her, and brings out her nobleness afresh, as the snake casts his skin in pain, and comes out young and fair once more; and in every dark hour of the Church, there flashes out some bright form of human heroism, to be a beacon and a comfort to all future time. Victor, for instance, tells the story of Dionysia, the beautiful widow whom the Vandals tried to torture into denying the Divinity of our Lord.--How when they saw that she was bolder and fairer than all the other matrons, they seized her, and went to strip her: and she cried to them, 'Qualiter libet occidite: verecunda tamen membra nolite nudare,' but in vain. They hung her up by the hands, and scourged her till streams of blood ran down every limb. Her only son, a delicate boy, stood by trembling, knowing that his turn would come next; and she saw it, and called to him in the midst of her shame and agony. 'He had been baptized into the name of the Blessed Trinity; let him die in that name, and not lose the wedding-garment. Let him fear the pain that never ends, and cling to the life that endures for ever.' The boy took heart, and when his turn came, died under the torture; and Dionysia took up the little corpse, and buried it in her own house; and worshipped upon her boy's grave to her dying day. Yes. God had his own left, even among those fallen Africans of Carthage. But neither there, nor in Spain, could the Vandals cure the evil. 'Now-a- days,' says Salvian, 'there are no profligates among the Goths, save Romans; none among the Vandals, save Romans. Blush, Roman people, everywhere, blush for your morals. There is hardly a city free from dens of sin, and none at all from impurity, save those which the barbarians have begun to occupy. And do we wonder if we are surpassed in power, by an enemy who surpasses us in decency? It is not the natural strength of their bodies which makes them conquer us. We have been conquered only by the vices of our own morals.' Yes. Salvian was right. Those last words were no mere outburst of national vanity, content to confess every sin, save that of being cowards. He was right. It was not the mere muscle of the Teuton which enabled him to crush the decrepit and debauched slave-nations, Gaul and Briton, Iberian and African, as the ox crushes the frogs of the marsh. The 'sera juvenum Venus, ideoque inexhausta pubertas,' had given him more than his lofty stature, and his mighty limbs. Had he had nought but them, he might have remained to the end a blind Samson, grinding among the slaves in Caesar's mill, butchered to make a Roman holiday. But it had given him more, that purity of his; it had given him, as it may give you, gentlemen, a calm and steady brain, and a free and loyal heart; the energy which springs from health; the self-respect which comes from self- restraint; and the spirit which shrinks from neither God nor man, and feels it light to die for wife and child, for people, and for Queen. PREFACE TO LECTURE III.--ON DR. LATHAM'S 'GERMANIA.' If I have followed in these lectures the better known and more widely received etymology of the name Goth, I have done so out of no disrespect to Dr. Latham; but simply because his theory seems to me adhuc sub judice. It is this, as far as I understand it. That 'Goth' was not the aboriginal name of the race. That they were probably not so called till they came into the land of the Getae, about the mouths of the Danube. That the Teutonic name for the Ostrogoths was Grutungs, and that of the Visigoths (which he does not consider to mean West-Goths) Thervings, Thuringer. That on reaching the land of the Getae they took their name; 'just as the Kentings of Anglo-Saxon England took name from the Keltic country of Kent;' and that the names Goth, Gothones, Gothini were originally given to Lithuanians by their Sclavonic neighbours. I merely state the theory, and leave it for the judgment of others. The principal points which Dr. Latham considers himself to have established, are-- That the area and population of the Teutonic tribes have been, on the authority of Tacitus, much overrated; many tribes hitherto supposed to be Teutonic being really Sclavonic, &c. This need not shock our pride, if proved--as it seems to me to be. The nations who have influenced the world's destiny have not been great, in the modern American sense of 'big;' but great in heart, as our forefathers were. The Greeks were but a handful at Salamis; so were the Romans of the Republic; so were the Spaniards of America; so, probably, were the Aztecs and Incas whom they overthrew; and surely our own conquerors and re-conquerers of Hindostan have shewn enough that it is not numbers, but soul, which gives a race the power to rule. Neither need we object to Dr. Latham's opinion, that more than one of the tribes which took part in the destruction of the Empire were not aboriginal Germans, but Sclavonians Germanized, and under German leaders. It may be so. The custom of enslaving captives would render pure Teutonic blood among the lower classes of a tribe the exception and not the rule; while the custom of chiefs choosing the 'thegns,' 'gesitha,' or 'comites,' who lived and died as their companions-in-arms, from among the most valiant of the unfree, would tend to produce a mixed blood in the upper classes also, and gradually assimilate the whole mass to the manners and laws of their Teutonic lords. Only by some such actual superiority of the upper classes to the lower can I explain the deep respect for rank and blood, which distinguishes, and will perhaps always distinguish, the Teutonic peoples. Had there even been anything like a primaeval equality among our race, a hereditary aristocracy could never have arisen, or if arising for a while, never could have remained as a fact which all believed in, from the lowest to the highest. Just, or unjust, the institution represented, I verily believe, an ethnological fact. The golden-haired hero said to his brown-haired bondsman, 'I am a gentleman, who have a "gens," a stamm, a pedigree, and know from whom I am sprung. I am a Garding, an Amalung, a Scylding, an Osing, or what not. I am a son of the gods. The blood of the Asas is in my veins. Do you not see it? Am I not wiser, stronger, more virtuous, more beautiful than you? You must obey me, and be my man, and follow me to the death. Then, if you prove a worthy thane, I will give you horse, weapons, bracelets, lands; and marry you, it may be, to my daughter or my niece. And if not, you must remain a son of the earth, grubbing in the dust of which you were made.' And the bondsman believed him; and became his lord's man, and followed him to the death; and was thereby not degraded, but raised out of selfish savagery and brute independence into loyalty, usefulness, and self-respect. As a fact, that is the method by which the thing was done: done;--very ill indeed, as most human things are done; but a method inevitable--and possibly right; till (as in England now) the lower classes became ethnologically identical with the upper, and equality became possible in law, simply because it existed in fact. But the part of Dr. Latham's 'Germania' to which I am bound to call most attention, because I have not followed it, is that interesting part of the Prolegomena, in which he combats the generally received theory, that, between the time of Tacitus and that of Charlemagne, vast masses of Germans had migrated southward from between the Elbe and the Vistula; and that they had been replaced by the Sclavonians who certainly were there in Charlemagne's days. Dr. Latham argues against this theory with a great variety of facts and reasons. But has he not overstated his case on some points? Need the migrations necessary for this theory have been of 'unparalleled magnitude and rapidity'? As for the 'unparalleled completeness' on which he lays much stress, from the fact that no remnants of Teutonic population are found in the countries evacuated: Is it the fact that 'history only tells us of German armies having advanced south'? Do we not find four famous cases--the irruption of the Cimbri and Teutons into Italy; the passage of the Danube by the Visigoths; and the invasions of Italy first by the Ostrogoths, then by the Lombards--in which the nations came with men, women, and children, horses, cattle, and dogs, bag and baggage? May not this have been the custom of the race, with its strong feeling for the family tie; and may not this account for no traces of them being left behind? Does not Dr. Latham's theory proceed too much on an assumption that the Sclavonians dispossest the Teutons by force? And is not this assumption his ground for objecting that the movement was effected improbably 'by that division of the European population (the Sclavonic and Lithuanian) which has, within the historic period, receded before the Germanic'? Are these migrations, though 'unrepresented in any history' (i.e. contemporaneous), really 'unrepresented in any tradition'? Do not the traditions of Jornandes and Paulus Diaconus, that the Goths and the Lombards came from Scandinavia, represent this very fact?--and are they to be set aside as naught? Surely not. Myths of this kind generally embody a nucleus of truth, and must be regarded with respect; for they often, after all arguments about them are spent, are found to contain the very pith of the matter. Are the 'phenomena of replacement and substitution' so very strange--I will not say upon the popular theory, but at least on one half-way between it and Dr. Latham's? Namely-- That the Teutonic races came originally, as some of them say they did, from Scandinavia, Denmark, the South Baltic, &c. That they forced their way down, wave after wave, on what would have been the line of least resistance--the Marches between the Gauls, Romanized or otherwise, and the Sclavonians. And that the Alps and the solid front of the Roman Empire turned them to the East, till their vanguard found itself on the Danube. This would agree with Dr. Latham's most valuable hint, that Markmen, 'Men of the Marches,' was perhaps the name of many German tribes successively. That they fought, as they went, with the Sclavonian and other tribes (as their traditions seem to report), and rolled them back to the eastward; and that as each Teutonic tribe past down the line, the Sclavonians rolled back again, till the last column was past. That the Teutons also carried down with them, as slaves or allies, a portion of this old Sclavonic population (to which Dr. Latham will perhaps agree); and that this fact caused a hiatus, which was gradually filled by tribes who after all were little better than nomad hunters, and would occupy (quite nominally) a very large tract with a small population. Would not this theory agree at once tolerably with the old traditions and with Dr. Latham's new facts? The question still remains--which is the question of all. What put these Germanic peoples on going South? Were there no causes sufficient to excite so desperate a resolve? (1) Did they all go? Is not Paulus Diaconus' story that one-third of the Lombards was to emigrate by lot, and two-thirds remain at home, a rough type of what generally happened--what happens now in our modern emigrations? Was not the surplus population driven off by famine toward warmer and more hopeful climes? (2) Are not the Teutonic populations of England, North Germany, and the Baltic, the descendants, much intermixed, and with dialects much changed, of the portions which were left behind? This is the opinion, I believe, of several great ethnologists. Is it not true? If philological objections are raised to this, I ask (but in all humility), Did not these southward migrations commence long before the time of Tacitus? If so, may they not have commenced before the different Teutonic dialects were as distinct as they were in the historic period? And are we to suppose that the dialects did not alter during the long journeyings through many nations? Is it possible that the Thervings and Grutungs could have retained the same tongue on the Danube, as their forefathers spoke in their native land? Would not the Moeso-Gothic of Ulfilas have been all but unintelligible to the Goth who, upon the old theory, remained in Gothland of Sweden? (3) But were there not more causes than mere want, which sent them south? Had the peculiar restlessness of the race nothing to do with it? A restlessness not nomadic, but migratory: arising not from carelessness of land and home, but from the longing to found a home in a new land, like the restlessness of us, their children? As soon as we meet them in historic times, they are always moving, migrating, invading. Were they not doing the same in pre-historic times, by fits and starts, no doubt with periods of excitement, periods of collapse and rest? When we recollect the invasion of the Normans; the wholesale eastward migration of the Crusaders, men, women, and children; and the later colonization by Teutonic peoples, of every quarter of the globe, is there anything wonderful in the belief that similar migratory manias may have seized the old tribes; that the spirit of Woden, 'the mover,' may have moved them, and forced them to go ahead, as now? Doubtless the theory is strange. But the Teutons were and are a strange people; so strange, that they have conquered--one may almost say that they are--all nations which are alive upon the globe; and we may therefore expect them to have done strange things even in their infancy. The Romans saw them conquer the empire; and said, the good men among them, that it was on account of their superior virtue. But beside the virtue which made them succeed, there must have been the adventurousness which made them attempt. They were a people fond of 'avanturen,' like their descendants; and they went out to seek them; and found enough and to spare. (4) But more, had they never heard of Rome? Surely they had, and at a very early period of the empire. We are apt to forget, that for every discovery of the Germans by the Romans, there was a similar discovery of the Romans by the Germans, and one which would tell powerfully on their childish imagination. Did not one single Kemper or Teuton return from Marius' slaughter, to spread among the tribes (niddering though he may have been called for coming back alive) the fair land which they had found, fit for the gods of Valhalla; the land of sunshine, fruits and wine, wherein his brothers' and sisters' bones were bleaching unavenged? Did no gay Gaul of the Legion of the Lark, boast in a frontier wine-house to a German trapper, who came in to sell his peltry, how he himself was a gentleman now, and a civilized man, and a Roman; and how he had followed Julius Caesar, the king of men, over the Rubicon, and on to a city of the like of which man never dreamed, wherein was room for all the gods of heaven? Did no captive tribune of Varus' legions, led with horrid shouts round Thor's altar in the Teutoburger Wald, ere his corpse was hung among the horses and goats on the primaeval oaks, turn to bay like a Roman, and tell his wild captors of the Eternal City, and of the might of that Caesar who would avenge every hair upon his head with a German life; and receive for answer a shout of laughter, and the cry--'You have come to us: and some day we will go to you?' Did no commissary, bargaining with a German for cattle to be sent over the frontier by such a day of the week, and teaching him to mistranslate into those names of Thor, Woden, Freya, and so forth, which they now carry, the Jewish-Assyrian-Roman days of the se'nnight, amuse the simple forester by telling him how the streets of Rome were paved with gold, and no one had anything to do there but to eat and bathe at the public expense, and to go to the theatre, and see 20,000 gladiators fight at once? Did no German 'Regulus,' alderman, or king, enter Rome on an embassy, and come back with uplifted eyes and hands, declaring that he had seen things unspeakable--a 'very fine plunder,' as Blucher said of London; and that if it were not for the walls, they might get it all; for not only the ladies, but the noblemen, went about in litters of silver and gold, and wore gauze dresses, the shameless wretches, through which you might see every limb, so that as for killing them, there was no more fear of them than of a flock of sheep: but that he did not see as well as he could have wished how to enter the great city, for he was more or less the worse for liquor the whole time, with wondrous stuff which they called wine? Or did no captive, escaped by miracle from the butcheries of the amphitheatre, return to tell his countrymen how all the rest had died like German men; and call on them to rise and avenge their brothers' blood? Yes, surely the Teutons knew well, even in the time of Tacitus, of the 'micklegard,' the great city and all its glory. Every fresh tribe who passed along the frontier of Gaul or of Noricum would hear more and more of it, see more and more men who had actually been there. If the glory of the city exercised on its own inhabitants an intoxicating influence, as of a place omnipotent, superhuman, divine--it would exercise (exaggerated as it would be) a still stronger influence on the barbarians outside: and what wonder if they pressed southwards at first in the hope of taking the mighty city; and afterwards, as her real strength became more known, of at least seizing some of those colonial cities, which were as superhuman in their eyes as Rome itself would have been? In the crusades, the children, whenever they came to a great town, asked their parents if that was not Jerusalem. And so, it may be, many a gallant young Teuton, on entering for the first time such a city as Cologne, Lyons, or Vienna, whispered half trembling to his lord--'Surely this must be Rome.' Some such arguments as these might surely be brought in favour of a greater migration than Dr. Latham is inclined to allow: but I must leave the question for men of deeper research and wider learning, than I possess. LECTURE III.--THE HUMAN DELUGE 'I have taken in hand,' said Sir Francis Drake once to the crew of the immortal Pelican, 'that which I know not how to accomplish. Yea, it hath even bereaved me of my wits to think of it.' And so I must say on the subject of this lecture. I wish to give you some notion of the history of Italy for nearly one hundred years; say from 400 to 500. But it is very difficult. How can a man draw a picture of that which has no shape; or tell the order of absolute disorder? It is all a horrible 'fourmillement des nations,' like the working of an ant- heap; like the insects devouring each other in a drop of water. Teuton tribes, Sclavonic tribes, Tartar tribes, Roman generals, empresses, bishops, courtiers, adventurers, appear for a moment out of the crowd, dim phantoms--nothing more, most of them--with a name appended, and then vanish, proving their humanity only by leaving behind them one more stain of blood. And what became of the masses all the while? of the men, slaves the greater part of them, if not all, who tilled the soil, and ground the corn--for man must have eaten, then as now? We have no hint. One trusts that God had mercy on them, if not in this world, still in the world to come. Man, at least, had none. Taking one's stand at Rome, and looking toward the north, what does one see for nearly one hundred years? Wave after wave rising out of the north, the land of night, and wonder, and the terrible unknown; visible only as the light of Roman civilization strikes their crests, and they dash against the Alps, and roll over through the mountain passes, into the fertile plains below. Then at last they are seen but too well; and you discover that the waves are living men, women, and children, horses, dogs, and cattle, all rushing headlong into that great whirlpool of Italy: and yet the gulf is never full. The earth drinks up the blood; the bones decay into the fruitful soil; the very names and memories of whole tribes are washed away. And the result of an immigration which may be counted by hundreds of thousands is this--that all the land is waste. The best authorities which I can give you (though you will find many more in Gibbon) are--for the main story, Jornandes, De Rebus Geticis. Himself a Goth, he wrote the history of his race, and that of Attila and his Huns, in good rugged Latin, not without force and sense. Then Claudian, the poet, a bombastic panegyrist of contemporary Roman scoundrels; but full of curious facts, if one could only depend on them. Then the earlier books of Procopius De Bello Gothico, and the Chronicle of Zosimus. Salvian, Ennodius and Sidonius Apollinaris, as Christians, will give you curious details, especially as to South France and North Italy; while many particulars of the first sack of Rome, with comments thereon which express the highest intellects of that day, you will find in St. Jerome's Letters, and St. Augustine's City of God. But if you want these dreadful times _explained_ to you, I do not think you can do better than to take your Bibles, and to read the Revelations of St. John the Apostle. I shall quote them, more than once, in this lecture. I cannot help quoting them. The words come naturally to my lips, as fitter to the facts than any words of my own. I do not come here to interpret the Book of Revelations. I do not understand that book. But I do say plainly, though I cannot interpret the book, that the book has interpreted those times to me. Its awful metaphors give me more living and accurate pictures of what went on than any that Gibbon's faithful details can give. You may see, if you have spiritual eyes wherewith to see, the Dragon, the serpent, symbol of political craft and the devilish wisdom of the Roman, giving authority to the Beast, the symbol of brute power; to mongrel AEtiuses and Bonifaces, barbarian Stilichos, Ricimers and Aspars, and a host of similar adventurers, whose only strength was force. You may see the world wondering after the beast, and worshipping brute force, as the only thing left to believe in. You may see the nations of the world gnawing their tongues for pain, and blaspheming God, but not repenting of their deeds. You may see the faith and patience of the saints--men like Augustine, Salvian, Epiphanius, Severinus, Deogratias of Carthage, and a host more, no doubt, whose names the world will never hear--the salt of the earth, which kept it all from rotting. You may see Babylon the great fallen, and all the kings and merchants of the earth bewailing her afar off, and watching the smoke of her torment. You may see, as St. John warns you, that--after her fall, mind--if men would go on worshipping the beast, and much more his image--the phantom and shadow of brute force, after the reality had passed away--they should drink of the wine of the wrath of God, and be tormented for ever. For you may see how those degenerate Romans did go on worshipping the shadow of brute force, and how they were tormented for ever; and had no rest day or night, because they worshipped the Beast and his image. You may see all the fowl of the heavens flocking together to the feast of the great God, to eat the flesh of kings and captains, horse and rider, bond and free.--All carrion-birds, human as well as brute--All greedy villains and adventurers, the scoundreldom of the whole world, flocking in to get their share of the carcass of the dying empire; as the vulture and the raven flock in to the carrion when the royal eagles have gorged their fill. And lastly, you may see, if God give you grace, One who is faithful and true, with a name which no man knew, save Himself, making war in righteousness against all evil; bringing order out of disorder, hope out of despair, fresh health and life out of old disease and death; executing just judgment among all the nations of the earth; and sending down from heaven the city of God, in the light of which the nations of those who are saved should walk, and the kings of the earth should bring their power and their glory into it; with the tree of life in the midst of it, whose leaves should be for the healing of the nations. Again, I say, I am not here to interpret the Book of Revelations; but this I say, that that book interprets those times to me. Leaving, for the present at least, to better historians than myself the general subject of the Teutonic immigrations; the conquest of North Gaul by the Franks, of Britain by the Saxons and Angles, of Burgundy by the Burgundians, of Africa by the Vandals, I shall speak rather of those Teutonic tribes which actually entered and conquered Italy; and first, of course, of the Goths. Especially interesting to us English should their fortunes be, for they are said to be very near of kin to us; at least to those Jutes who conquered Kent. As Goths, Geats, Getae, Juts, antiquarians find them in early and altogether mythic times, in the Scandinavian peninsula, and the isles and mainland of Denmark. Their name, it is said, is the same as one name for the Supreme Being. Goth, Guth, Yuth, signifies war. 'God' is the highest warrior, the Lord of hosts, and the progenitor of the race, whether as an 'Eponym hero' or as the supreme Deity. Physical force was their rude notion of Divine power, and Tiu, Tiv, or Tyr, in like manner, who was originally the god of the clear sky, the Zeus or Jove of the Greeks and Romans, became by virtue of his warlike character, identical with the Roman Mars, till the dies Martis of the Roman week became the German Tuesday. Working their way down from Gothland and Jutland, we know not why nor when, thrusting aside the cognate Burgunds, and the Sclavonic tribes whom they met on the road, they had spread themselves, in the third century, over the whole South of Russia, and westward over the Danubian Provinces, and Hungary. The Ostrogoths (East-goths) lay from the Volga to the Borysthenes, the Visigoths (West-goths?) from the Borysthenes to the Theiss. Behind them lay the Gepidae, a German tribe, who had come south- eastward with them, and whose name is said to signify the men who had 'bided' (remained) behind the rest. What manner of men they were it is hard to say, so few details are left to us. But we may conceive them as a tall, fair-haired people, clothed in shirts and smocks of embroidered linen, and gaiters cross-strapped with hide; their arms and necks encircled with gold and silver rings; the warriors, at least of the upper class, well horsed, and armed with lance and heavy sword, with chain-mail, and helmets surmounted with plumes, horns, towers, dragons, boars, and the other strange devices which are still seen on the crests of German nobles. This much we can guess; for in this way their ancestors, or at least relations, the War-Geats, appear clothed in the grand old song of Beowulf. Their land must have been tilled principally by slaves, usually captives taken in war: but the noble mystery of the forge, where arms and ornaments were made, was an honourable craft for men of rank; and their ladies, as in the middle age, prided themselves on their skill with the needle and the loom. Their language has been happily preserved to us in Ulfilas' Translation of the Scriptures. For these Goths, the greater number of them at least, were by this time Christians, or very nearly such. Good Bishop Ulfilas, brought up a Christian and consecrated by order of Constantine the Great, had been labouring for years to convert his adopted countrymen from the worship of Thor and Woden. He had translated the Bible for them, and had constructed a Gothic alphabet for that purpose. He had omitted, however (prudently as he considered) the books of Kings, with their histories of the Jewish wars. The Goths, he held, were only too fond of fighting already, and 'needed in that matter the bit, rather than the spur.' He had now a large number of converts, some of whom had even endured persecution from their heathen brethren. Athanaric, 'judge,' or alderman of the Thervings, had sent through the camp--so runs the story--the waggon which bore the idol of Woden, and had burnt, with their tents and their families, those who refused to worship. They, like all other German tribes, were ruled over by two royal races, sons of Woden and the Asas. The Ostrogoth race was the Amalungs--the 'heavenly,' or 'spotless' race; the Visigoth race was the Balthungs--the 'bold' or 'valiant' race; and from these two families, and from a few others, but all believed to be lineally descended from Woden, and now much intermixed, are derived all the old royal families of Europe, that of the House of Brunswick among the rest. That they were no savages, is shewn sufficiently by their names, at least those of their chiefs. Such names as Alaric, 'all rich' or 'all powerful,' Ataulf, 'the helping father,' Fridigern, 'the willing peace- maker,' and so forth--all the names in fact, which can be put back into their native form out of their Romanized distortions, are tokens of a people far removed from that barbarous state in which men are named after personal peculiarities, natural objects, or the beasts of the field. On this subject you may consult, as full of interest and instruction, the list of Teutonic names given in Muratori. They had broken over the Roman frontier more than once, and taken cities. They had compelled the Emperor Gratian to buy them off. They had built themselves flat-bottomed boats without iron in them and sailed from the Crimea round the shores of the Black Sea, once and again, plundering Trebizond, and at last the temple itself of Diana at Ephesus. They had even penetrated into Greece and Athens, plundered the Parthenon, and threatened the capitol. They had fought the Emperor Decius, till he, and many of his legionaries, were drowned in a bog in the moment of victory. They had been driven with difficulty back across the Danube by Aurelian, and walled out of the Empire with the Allemanni by Probus's 'Teufels-Mauer,' stretching from the Danube to the Rhine. Their time was not yet come by a hundred years. But they had seen and tasted the fine things of the sunny south, and did not forget them amid the steppes and snows. At last a sore need came upon them. About 350 there was a great king among them, Ermanaric, 'the powerful warrior,' comparable, says Jornandes, to Alexander himself, who had conquered all the conquered tribes around. When he was past 100 years old, a chief of the Roxolani (Ugrians, according to Dr. Latham; men of Ros, or Russia), one of these tribes, plotted against him, and sent for help to the new people, the Huns, who had just appeared on the confines of Europe and Asia. Old Ermanaric tore the traitor's wife to pieces with wild horses: but the Huns came nevertheless. A magic hind, the Goths said, guided the new people over the steppes to the land of the Goths, and then vanished. They fought with the Goths, and defeated them. Old Ermanaric stabbed himself for shame, and the hearts of the Goths became as water before the tempest of nations. They were supernatural creatures, the Goths believed, engendered of witches and demons on the steppes; pig-eyed hideous beings, with cakes instead of faces, 'offam magis quam faciem,' under ratskin caps, armed with arrows tipped with bone, and lassos of cord, eating, marketing, sleeping on horseback, so grown into the saddle that they could hardly walk in their huge boots. With them were Acatzirs, painted blue, hair as well as skin; Alans, wandering with their waggons like the Huns, armed with heavy cuirasses of plaited horn, their horses decked with human scalps; Geloni armed with a scythe, wrapt in a cloak of human skin; Bulgars who impaled their prisoners--savages innumerable as the locust swarms. Who could stand against them? In the year 375, the West Goths came down to the Danube-bank and entreated the Romans to let them cross. There was a Christian party among them, persecuted by the heathens, and hoping for protection from Rome. Athanaric had vowed never to set foot on Roman soil, and after defending himself against the Huns, retired into the forests of 'Caucaland.' Good Bishop Ulfilas and his converts looked longingly toward the Christian Empire. Surely the Christians would receive them as brothers, welcome them, help them. The simple German fancied a Roman even such a one as themselves. Ulfilas went on embassy to Antioch, to Valens the Emperor. Valens, low- born, cruel, and covetous, was an Arian, and could not lose the opportunity of making converts. He sent theologians to meet Ulfilas, and torment him into Arianism. When he arrived, Valens tormented him himself. While the Goths starved he argued, apostasy was the absolute condition of his help, till Ulfilas, in a weak moment, gave his word that the Goths should become Arians, if Valens would give them lands on the South bank of the Danube. Then they would be the Emperor's men, and guard the marches against all foes. From that time Arianism became the creed, not only of the Goths, but of the Vandals, the Sueves, and almost all the Teutonic tribes. It was (if the story be true) a sinful and foolish compact, forced from a good man by the sight of his countrymen's extreme danger and misery. It avenged itself, soon enough, upon both Goths and Romans. To the Goths themselves the change must have seemed not only unimportant, but imperceptible. Unaccustomed to that accuracy of thought, which is too often sneered at by Gibbon as 'metaphysical subtlety,' all of which they would have been aware was the change of a few letters in a creed written in an unknown tongue. They could not know, (Ulfilas himself could not have known, only two years after the death of St. Athanasius at Alexandria; while the Nicaean Creed was as yet received by only half of the Empire; and while he meanwhile had been toiling for years in the Danubian wilds, ignorant perhaps of the controversy which had meanwhile convulsed the Church)--neither the Goths nor he, I say, could have known that the Arianism, which they embraced, was really the last, and as it were apologetic, refuge of dying Polytheism; that it, and not the Catholic Faith, denied the abysmal unity of the Godhead; that by making the Son inferior to the Father, as touching his Godhead, it invented two Gods, a greater and a lesser, thus denying the absoluteness, the infinity, the illimitability, by any category of quantity, of that One Eternal, of whom it is written, that God is a Spirit. Still less could they have guessed that when Arius, the handsome popular preacher (whose very name, perhaps, Ulfilas never heard) asked the fine ladies of Alexandria--'Had you a son before that son was born?'--'No.' 'Then God could have no son before that son was begotten, &c.'--that he was mingling up the idea of Time with the idea of that Eternal God who created Time, and debasing to the accidents of before and after that Timeless and Eternal Generation, of which it is written, 'Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee.' Still less could Ulfilas, or his Goths, have known, that the natural human tendency to condition God by Time, would be, in later ages, even long after Arianism was crushed utterly, the parent of many a cruel, gross, and stupid superstition. To them it would have been a mere question whether Woden, the All-father, was superior to one of his sons, the Asas: and the Catholic faith probably seemed to them an impious assumption of equality, on the part of one of those Asas, with Woden himself. Of the battle between Arianism and Orthodoxy I have said enough to shew you that I think it an internecine battle between truth and falsehood. But it has been long ago judged by wager of battle: by the success of that duel of time, of which we must believe (as our forefathers believed of all fair duels) that God defends the right. So the Goths were to come over the Danube stream: but they must give up their arms, and deliver their children (those of rank, one supposes), as hostages, to be educated by the Romans, as Romans. They crossed the fatal river; they were whole days in crossing; those set to count them gave it up in despair; Ammianus says: 'He who wishes to know their number,' 'Libyci velit aequoris idem Discere quam multae Zephyro volvuntur arenae.' And when they were across, they gave up the children. They had not the heart to give up the beloved weapons. The Roman commissioners let them keep the arms, at the price of many a Gothic woman's honour. Ugly and foul things happened, of which we have only hints. Then they had to be fed for the time being, till they could cultivate their land. Lupicinus and Maximus, the two governors of Thrace pocketed the funds which Valens sent, and starved the Goths. The markets were full of carrion and dogs' flesh. Anything was good enough for a barbarian. Their fringed carpets, their beautiful linens, all went. A little wholesome meat cost 10 pounds of silver. When all was gone, they had to sell their children. To establish a slave-trade in the beautiful boys and girls was just what the wicked Romans wanted. At last the end came. They began to rise. Fridigern, their king, kept them quiet till the time was ripe for revenge. The Romans, trying to keep the West Goths down, got so confused, it seems, that they let the whole nation of the East Goths (of whom we shall hear more hereafter) dash across the Danube, and establish themselves in the north of the present Turkey, to the east of the West Goths. Then at Marcianopolis, the capital of Lower Moesia, Lupicinus asked Fridigern and his chiefs to a feast. The starving Goths outside were refused supplies from the market, and came to blows with the guards. Lupicinus, half drunk, heard of it, and gave orders for a massacre. Fridigern escaped from the palace, sword in hand. The smouldering embers burst into flame, the war-cry was raised, and the villain Lupicinus fled for his life. Then began war south of the Danube. The Roman legions were defeated by the Goths, who armed themselves with the weapons of the dead. Moesia was overrun with fire and sword. Adrianople was attacked, but in vain. The slaves in the gold mines were freed from their misery, and shewed the Goths the mountain-passes and the stores of grain. As they went on, the Goths recovered their children. The poor things told horrid tales; and the Goths, maddened, avenged themselves on the Romans of every age and sex. 'They left,' says St. Jerome, 'nothing alive--not even the beasts of the field; till nothing was left but growing brambles and thick forests.' Valens, the Emperor, was at Antioch. Now he hurried to Constantinople, but too late. The East Goths had joined the West Goths; and hordes of Huns, Alans, and Taifalae (detestable savages, of whom we know nothing but evil) had joined Fridigern's confederacy. Gratian, Valens' colleague and nephew, son of Valentinian the bear-ward, had just won a great victory over the Allemanni at Colmar in Alsace; and Valens was jealous of his glory. He is said to have been a virtuous youth, whose monomania was shooting. He fell in love with the wild Alans, in spite of their horse-trappings of scalps, simply because of their skill in archery; formed a body-guard of them, and passed his time hunting with them round Paris. Nevertheless, he won this great victory by the help, it seems, of one Count Ricimer ('ever-powerful'), Count of the Domestics, whose name proclaims him a German. Valens was jealous of Gratian's fame; he was stung by the reproaches of the mob of Constantinople; and he undervalued the Goths, on account of some successes of his lieutenants, who had recovered much of the plunder taken by them, and had utterly overpowered the foul Taifalae, transporting them to lands about Modena and Parma in Italy. He rejected Count Ricimer's advice to wait till Gratian reinforced him with the victorious western legions, and determined to give battle a few miles from Adrianople. Had he waited for Gratian, the history of the whole world might have been different. For on the ninth of August, A.D. 378, the fatal day, the second Cannae, from which Rome never recovered as from that first, the young world and the old world met, and fought it out; and the young world won. The light Roman cavalry fled before the long lances and heavy swords of the German knights. The knights turned on the infantry, broke them, hunted them down by charge after charge, and left the footmen to finish the work. Two-thirds of the Roman army were destroyed; four Counts of the Empire; generals and officers without number. Valens fled wounded to a cottage. The Goths set it on fire, and burned him and his staff therein, ignorant that they had in their hands the Emperor of Rome. Verily there is a God who judgeth the earth. So thought the Catholics of that day, who saw in the fearful death of Valens a punishment for his having forced the Goths to become Arians. 'It was just,' says one, 'that he should burn on earth, by whose counsels so many barbarians will burn in hell for ever.' There are (as I have shewn) still darker counts in the conduct of the Romans toward the Goths; enough (if we believe our Bibles) to draw down on the guilty the swift and terrible judgments of God. At least, this was the second Cannae, the death-wound of Rome. From that day the end was certain, however slow. The Teuton had at last tried his strength against the Roman. The wild forest-child had found himself suddenly at death-grips with the Enchanter whom he had feared, and almost worshipped, for so long; and behold, to his own wonder, he was no more a child, but grown into a man, and the stronger, if not the cunninger of the two. There had been a spell upon him; the 'Romani nominis umbra.' But from that day the spell was broken. He had faced a Roman Emperor, a Divus Caesar, the man-god by whose head all nations swore, rich with the magic wealth, wise with the magic cunning, of centuries of superhuman glory; and he had killed him, and behold he died, like other men. That he had done. What was there left for him now that he could not do? The stronger he was, but not yet the cunninger of the two. The Goths could do no more. They had to leave Adrianople behind them, with the Emperor's treasures safe within its walls; to gaze with childish wonder at the Bosphorus and its palaces; to recoil in awe from the 'long walls' of Constantinople, and the great stones which the engines thereon hurled at them by 'arsmetricke and nigromancy,' as their descendants believed of the Roman mechanicians, even five hundred years after; to hear (without being able to avenge) the horrible news, that the Gothic lads distributed throughout Asia, to be educated as Romans, had been decoyed into the cities by promises of lands and honours, and then massacred in cold blood; and then to settle down, leaving their children unavenged, for twenty years on the rich land which we now call Turkey in Europe, waiting till the time was come. Waiting, I say, till the time was come. The fixed idea that Rome, if not Constantinople, could be taken at last, probably never left the minds of the leading Goths after the battle of Adrianople. The altered policy of the Caesars was enough of itself to keep that idea alive. So far from expelling them from the country which they had seized, the new Emperor began to flatter and to honour them. They had been heretofore regarded as savages, either to be driven back by main force, or tempted to enlist in the Roman ranks. Theodosius regarded them as a nation, and one which it was his interest to hire, to trust, to indulge at the expense of his Roman subjects. Theodosius has received the surname of Great--seemingly by comparison; 'Inter caecos luscus rex;' and it was highly creditable to a Roman Emperor in those days to be neither ruffian nor villain, but a handsome, highbred, courteous gentleman, pure in his domestic life, an orthodox Christian, and sufficiently obedient to the Church to forgive the monks who had burnt a Jewish synagogue, and to do penance in the Cathedral of Milan for the massacre of Thessalonica. That the morals of the Empire (if Zosimus is to be at all believed) grew more and more effeminate, corrupt, reckless; that the soldiers (if Vegetius is to be believed) actually laid aside, by royal permission, their helmets and cuirasses, as too heavy for their degenerate bodies; that the Roman heavy infantry, which had conquered the world, ceased to exist, while its place was taken by that Teutonic heavy cavalry, which decided every battle in Europe till the English yeoman, at Crecy and Poictiers, turned again the balance of arms in favour of the men who fought on foot; that the Goths became the 'foederati' or allies of the Empire, paid to fight its battles against Maximus the Spaniard, and Arbogast the Frank, the rebels who, after the murder of young Gratian, attempted to set up a separate empire in the west; that Stilicho the Vandal was the Emperor's trusted friend, and master of the horse; that Alaric the Balth, and other noble Goths, were learning to combine with their native courage those Roman tactics which they only needed to become masters of the world; that in all cities, even in the Royal Palace, the huge Goth swaggered in Roman costume, his neck and arms heavy with golden torcs and bracelets; or even (as in the case of Fravitta and Priulf) stabbed his enemy with impunity at the imperial table; that [Greek text], to disturb the Goths, was a deadly offence throughout the Empire: all these things did not prevent a thousand new statues from rising in honour of the great Caesar, and excited nothing more than grumblings of impotent jealousy from a people whose maxim had become, 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' Three anecdotes will illustrate sufficiently the policy of Theodosius toward his inconvenient guests. Towards the beginning of his reign, when the Goths, after the death of the great Fridigern, were broken up, and quarreling among themselves, he tempted a royal Amal, Modar by name, by the title of Master-General, to attack and slaughter in their sleep a rival tribe of Goths, and carry off an immense spoil to the imperial camp. To destroy the German by the German was so old a method of the Roman policy, that it was not considered derogatory to the 'greatness' of Theodosius. The old Athanaric, the Therving--he who had sworn never to set foot on Roman soil, and had burnt them who would not fall down and worship before Woden's waggon, came over the Danube, out of the forests of 'Caucaland,' and put himself at the head of the Goths. The great Caesar trembled before the heathen hero; and they made peace together; and old Athanaric went to him at Constantinople, and they became as friends. And the Romani nominis umbra, the glamour of the Roman name, fell on the old man, too feeble now to fight; and as he looked, says Jornandes, on the site of the city, and on the fleets of ships, and the world-famous walls, and the people from all the nations upon earth, he said, 'Now I behold what I have often heard tell, and never believed. The Kaiser is a God on earth, and he who shall lift his hand against him, is guilty of his own blood.' The old hero died in Constantinople, and the really good-natured Emperor gave him a grand funeral, and a statue, and so delighted the simple Goths, that the whole nation entered his service bodily, and became the Emperor's men. The famous massacre of Thessalonica, and the penance of Theodosius, immortalized by the pencil of Vandyke, is another significant example of the relation between Goth and Roman. One Botheric (a Vandal or other Teuton by his name) was military commandant of that important post. He put in prison a popular charioteer of the circus, for a crime for which the Teutonic language had to borrow a foreign name, and which the Teutons, like ourselves, punished with death, though it was committed with impunity in any Roman city. At the public games, the base mob clamoured, but in vain, for the release of their favourite; and not getting him, rose on Botheric, murdered him and his officers, and dragged their corpses through the streets. This was indeed [Greek text]; and Theodosius, partly in honest indignation, partly perhaps in fear of the consequences, issued orders from Milan which seem to have amounted to a permission to the Goths to avenge themselves. The populace were invited as usual to the games of the circus, and crowded in, forgetful of their crime, heedless of danger, absorbed in the one greed of frivolous, if not sinful pleasure. The Gothic troops concealed around entered, and then began a 'murder grim and great.' For three hours it lasted. Every age and sex, innocent or guilty, native or foreigner, to the number of at least 7,000, perished, or are said to have perished; and the soul of Botheric had 'good company on its way to Valhalla.' The Goths, doubtless, considered that they were performing an act of public justice upon villains: but the Bishops of the Church looked at the matter in another light. The circumstances of treachery, the confusion of the innocent with the guilty, the want of any judicial examination and sentence, aroused their sense of humanity and justice. The offence was aggravated by the thought that the victims were Roman and orthodox, the murderers barbarians and Arians; St. Ambrose, with a noble courage, stopped the Emperor at the door of the Basilica of Milan, and forbad him to enter, till he had atoned for the fatal order by public penance. The Caesar submitted nobly to the noble demand; and the repentance of Theodosius is the last scene in the downward career of the Caesars, which can call forth a feeling of admiration and respect. In January 395 Theodosius died; and after him came the deluge. The Empire was parted between his two worthless sons. Honorius had the west, Arcadius the east; while the real master of the Empire was Stilicho the Vandal, whose virtues and valour and mighty stature are sung (and not undeservedly) in the pompous verses of Claudian. Of the confusion which ensued; of the murder (well-deserved) of Rufinus, the infamous minister whose devout hypocrisy had so long cajoled Theodosius; of the revolt and atrocities of Gildo in Africa, you must read in the pages of Gibbon. These lectures confine themselves, at present, to the history of the Goths. In January 395, I said, Theodosius died. Before the end of the winter the Goths were in arms, with Alaric the Balth at their head. They had been refused, at least for the time, the payment of their usual subsidy. He had been refused the command of the Roman armies. Any excuse was sufficient. The fruit was ripe for plucking. The wrongs of centuries were to be avenged. Other tribes crost the Danube on the ice, and joined the Goths; and the mighty host swept down through Greece, passing Thermopylae unopposed, ransoming Athens (where Alaric enjoyed a Greek bath and a public banquet, and tried to behave for a day like a Roman gentleman); sacking Corinth, Argos, Sparta, and all the cities and villages far and wide, and carrying off plunder inestimable, and troops of captive women. Stilicho threw himself into the Peloponnese at Corinth to cut off the Goths, and after heavy fighting, Alaric, who seems to have been a really great general, out-manoeuvred him, crost the Gulf of Corinth at Rhium, with all his plunder and captives, and got safe away into northern Greece. There Arcadius, the terrified Emperor of the East, punished him for having devastated Greece, by appointing him Master-General of the very country which he had ravaged. The end was coming very near. The Goths lifted him on the shield, and proclaimed him King of the West Goths; and there he staid, somewhere about the head of the Adriatic, poised like an eagle in mid-air, watching Rome on one side, and Byzant on the other, uncertain on which quarry he should swoop. He made up his mind for Rome. He would be the man to do the deed at last. There was a saga in which he trusted. Claudian gives it in an hexameter, 'Alpibus Italiae ruptis penetrabis ad urbem.' Yes, he would take The City, and avenge the treachery of Valens, and all the wrongs which Teutons had endured from the Romans for now four centuries. And he did it. But not the first time. He swept over the Alps. Honorius fled to Asta, and Alaric besieged him there. The faithful Stilicho came to the rescue; and Alaric was driven to extremities. His warriors counselled him to retreat. No, he would take Rome, or die. But at Pollentia, Stilicho surprised him, while he and his Goths were celebrating Easter Sunday, and a fearful battle followed. The Romans stormed his camp, recovered the spoils of Greece, and took his wife, decked in the jewels in which she meant to enter Rome. One longs to know what became of her. At least, so say the Romans: the Goths tell a very different story; and one suspects that Pollentia may be one more of those splendid paper victories, in which the Teutons were utterly exterminated, only to rise out of the ground, seemingly stronger and more numerous than ever. At least, instead of turning his head to the Alps, he went on toward Rome. Stilicho dared not fight him again, and bought him off. He turned northward toward Gaul, and at Verona Stilicho got him at an advantage, and fought him once more, and if we are to believe Rosino and Claudian, beat him again. 'Taceo de Alarico, saepe victo, saepe concluso, semperque dimisso.' 'It is ill work trapping an eagle,' says some one. When you have caught him, the safest thing very often is to let him go again. Meanwhile poured down into Italy, as far as Florence (a merely unimportant episode in those fearful days), another wave of German invaders under one Radogast, 200,000 strong. Under the walls of Florence they sat down, and perished of wine, and heat, and dysentery. Like water they flowed in, and like water they sank into the soil: and every one of them a human soul. Stilicho and Honorius went to Rome, and celebrated their triumph over the Goths, with (for the last time in history) gladiatorial sports. Three years past, and then Stilicho was duly rewarded for having saved Rome, in the approved method for every great barbarian who was fool enough to help the treacherous Roman; namely, by being murdered. Alaric rose instantly, and with him all the Gothic tribes. Down through Italy he past, almost without striking a blow. Ravenna, infamous, according to Sidonius, for its profligacy, where the Emperor's court was, he past disdainfully, and sat down before the walls of Rome. He did not try to storm it. Probably he could not. He had no such machines, as those with which the Romans battered walls. Quietly he sat, he and his Goths, 'as wolves wait round the dying buffalo;' waiting for the Romans within to starve and die. They did starve and die; men murdered each other for food; mothers ate their own babes; but they sent out embassies, boasting of their strength and numbers. Alaric laughed,--'The thicker the hay, the easier it is mowed.' What terms would he take? 'All your gold, all your silver, the best of your precious things. All your barbarian slaves.' That last is significant. He would deliver his own flesh and blood. The Teuton man should be free. The trolls should drag no more of the forest children into their accursed den. 'What then will you leave us?' 'Your lives.' They bought him off with a quaint ransom: 5000 pounds weight of gold, 30,000 of silver, 4000 robes of silk, 3000 pieces of scarlet cloth, and 3000 lbs. of pepper, possibly spices of all kinds. Gold, and finery, and spices--gifts fit for children, such as those Goths were. But he got, too, 40,000 Teuton slaves safe out of the evil place, and embodied them into his army. He had now 100,000 fighting men. Why did he not set up as king of Italy? Was it that the awe of the place, the prestige of the Roman name, cowed him? It cowed each of the Teutonic invaders successively. To make themselves emperors of Rome was a thing of which they dared not dream. Be that as it may, all he asked was, to be received as some sort of vassal of the Emperor. The Master-Generalship of Italy, subsidies for his army, an independent command in the Tyrolese country, whence he had come, were his demand. Overblown with self-conceit, the Romans refused him. They would listen to no conditions. They were in a thoroughly Chinese temper. You will find the Byzantine empire in the same temper centuries after; blinded to present weakness by the traditions of their forefathers' strength. They had worshipped the beast. Now that only his image was left, they worshipped that. Alaric seized Ostia, and cut off their supplies. They tried to appease him by dethroning Honorius, and setting up some puppet Attalus. Alaric found him plotting; or said that he had done so; and degraded him publicly at Rimini before his whole army. Again he offered peace. The insane Romans proclaimed that his guilt precluded him for ever from the clemency of the Empire. Then came the end. He marched on Rome. The Salarian gate was thrown open at midnight, probably by German slaves within; and then, for five dreadful days and nights, the wicked city expiated in agony the sins of centuries. And so at last the Nibelungen hoard was won. 'And the kings of the earth who had lived delicately with her, and the merchants of the earth who were made rich by her, bewailed her, standing afar off for the fear of her torment, and crying, Alas! alas, that great Babylon! for in one hour is thy judgment come.' St. John passes in those words from the region of symbol to that of literal description. A great horror fell upon all nations, when the news came. Rome taken? Surely the end of all things was at hand. The wretched fugitives poured into Egypt and Syria--especially to Jerusalem; perhaps with some superstitious hope that Christ's tomb, or even Christ himself, might save them. St. Jerome, as he saw day by day patrician men and women who had passed their lives in luxury, begging their bread around his hermitage at Bethlehem, wrote of the fall of Rome as a man astonied. St. Augustine, at Hippo, could only look on it as the end of all human power and glory, perhaps of the earth itself. Babylon the great had fallen, and now Christ was coming in the clouds of heaven to set up the city of God for ever. In that thought he wrote his De Civitate Dei. Read it, gentlemen--especially you who are to be priests--not merely for its details of the fall of Rome, but as the noblest theodicy which has yet proceeded from a human pen. Followed by long trains of captives, long trains of waggons bearing the spoils of all the world, Alaric went on South, 'with the native instinct of the barbarian,' as Dr. Sheppard well says. Always toward the sun. Away from Muspelheim and the dark cold north, toward the sun, and Valhalla, where Odin and the Asas dwell in everlasting light. He tried to cross into Sicily: but a storm wrecked his boats, and the Goths were afraid of the sea. And after a while he died. And the wild men made a great mourning over him. They had now no plan left; no heart to go south, and look for Odin over the sea. But of one thing they were resolved, that the base Romans should not dig up Alaric out of his barrow and scatter his bones to the winds. So they put no barrow over the great king; but under the walls of Cosenza they turned the river-bed, and in that river-bed they set Alaric, armed and mailed, upright upon his horse, with gold, and jewels, and arms, and it may be captive youths and maids, that he might enter into Valhalla in royal pomp, and make a worthy show among the heroes in Odin's hall. And then they turned back the river into its bed, and slew the slaves who had done the work, that no man might know where Alaric lies: and no man does know till this day. As I said, they had no plan left now. Two years they stayed in Campania, basking in the villas and gardens, drinking their fill of the wine; and then flowed away northward again, no one knows why. They had no wish to settle, as they might have done. They followed some God-given instinct, undiscoverable now by us. Ataulf, Alaric's kinsman, married Placidia, the Emperor's beautiful young sister, and accepted from him some sort of commission to fight against his enemies in Gaul. So to the south of Gaul they went, and then into Spain, crushing before them Alans, Sueves, and Vandals, and quarrelling among themselves. Ataulf was murdered, and all his children; Placidia put to shame. Then she had her revenge. To me it is not so much horrible as pitiful. They had got the Nibelungen hoard; and with it the Nibelungen curse. A hundred years afterwards, when the Franks pillaged the Gothic palace of Narbonne, they found the remnants of it. Things inestimable, indescribable; tables of solid emerald; the Missorium, a dish 2500 lbs. weight, covered with all the gems of India. They had been in Solomon's Temple, fancied the simple Franks--as indeed some of them may well have been. The Arabs got the great emerald table at last, with its three rows of great pearls. Where are they all now? What is become, gentlemen, of the treasures of Rome? Jewels, recollect, are all but indestructible; recollect, too, that vast quantities were buried from time to time, and their places forgotten. Perhaps future generations will discover many such hoards. Meanwhile, many of those same jewels must be in actual use even now. Many a gem which hangs now on an English lady's wrist saw Alaric sack Rome--and saw before and since--What not? The palaces of the Pharaohs, or of Darius; then the pomp of the Ptolemies, or of the Seleucids--came into Europe on the neck of some vulgar drunken wife of a Roman proconsul, to glitter for a few centuries at every gladiator's butchery in the amphitheatre; then went away with Placidia on a Gothic ox- waggon, to pass into an Arab seraglio at Seville; and then, perhaps, back from Sultan to Sultan again to its native India, to figure in the peacock- throne of the Great Mogul, and be bought at last by some Armenian for a few rupees from an English soldier, and come hither--and whither next? When England shall be what Alexandria and Rome are now, that little stone will be as bright as ever.--An awful symbol, if you will take it so, of the permanence of God's works and God's laws, amid the wild chance and change of sinful man. Then followed for Rome years of peace,--such peace as the wicked make for themselves--A troubled sea, casting up mire and dirt. Wicked women, wicked counts (mayors of the palace, one may call them) like Aetius and Boniface, the real rulers of a nominal Empire. Puppet Valentinian succeeded his father, puppet Honorius. In his days appeared another great portent--another comet, sweeping down out of infinite space, and back into infinite space again.--Attila and his Huns. They lay in innumerable hordes upon the Danube, until Honoria, Valentinian's sister, confined in a convent at Constantinople for some profligacy, sent her ring to Attila. He must be her champion, and deliver her. He paused a while, like Alaric before him, doubting whether to dash on Constantinople or Rome, and at last decided for Rome. But he would try Gaul first; and into Gaul he poured, with all his Tartar hordes, and with them all the Teuton tribes, who had gathered in his progress, as an avalanche gathers the snow in its course. At the great battle of Chalons, in the year 451, he fought it out: Hun, Sclav, Tartar, and Finn, backed by Teutonic Gepid and Herule, Turkling, East Goth and Lombard, against Roman and West Goth, Frank and Burgund, and the Bretons of Armorica. Wicked Aetius shewed himself that day, as always, a general and a hero--the Marlborough of his time--and conquered. Attila and his hordes rolled away eastward, and into Italy for Rome. That is the Hunnenschlacht; 'a battle,' as Jornandes calls it, 'atrox, multiplex, immane, pertinax.' Antiquity, he says, tells of nothing like it. No man who had lost that sight could say that he had seen aught worth seeing.--A fight gigantic, supernatural in vastness and horror, and the legends which still hang about the place. You may see one of them in Von Kaulbach's immortal design--the ghosts of the Huns and the ghosts of the Germans rising from their graves on the battle-night in every year, to fight it over again in the clouds, while the country far and wide trembles at their ghostly hurrah. No wonder men remember that Hunnenschlacht. Many consider that it saved Europe; that it was one of the decisive battles of the world. Not that Attila was ruined. Within the year he had swept through Germany, crossed the Alps, and devastated Italy almost to the walls of Rome. And there the great Pope Leo, 'the Cicero of preaching, the Homer of theology, the Aristotle of true philosophy,' met the wild heathen: and a sacred horror fell upon Attila, and he turned, and went his way, to die a year or two after no man knows how. Over and above his innumerable wives, he took a beautiful German girl. When his people came in the morning, the girl sat weeping, or seeming to weep; but Etzel, the scourge of God, lay dead in a pool of gore. She said that he had burst a blood- vessel. The Teutons whispered among themselves, that like a free-born Teuton, she had slain her tyrant. One longs to know what became of her. And then the hordes broke up. Ardarich raised the Teuton Gepids and Ostrogoths. The Teutons who had obeyed Attila, turned on their Tartar conquerors, the only people who had ever subdued German men, and then only by brute force of overpowering numbers. At Netad, upon the great plain between the Drave and the Danube, they fought the second Hunnenschlacht, and the Germans conquered. Thirty thousand Huns fell on that dreadful day, and the rest streamed away into the heart of Asia, into the infinite unknown deserts from whence the foul miscreants had streamed forth, and left the Teutons masters of the world. The battle of Netad; that, and not Chalons, to my mind, was the saving battle of Europe. So Rome was saved; but only for a few years. Puppet Valentinian rewarded Aetius for saving Rome, by stabbing with his own hand in his own palace, the hero of Chalons; and then went on to fill up the cup of his iniquity. It is all more like some horrible romance than sober history. Neglecting his own wife Eudoxia, he took it into his wicked head to ravish her intimate friend, the wife of a senator. Maximus stabbed him, retaliated on the beautiful empress, and made himself Emperor. She sent across the seas to Africa, to Genseric the Vandal, the cruel tyrant and persecutor. He must come and be her champion, as Attila had been Honoria's. And he came, with Vandals, Moors, naked Ausurians from the Atlas. The wretched Romans, in their terror, tore Maximus in pieces; but it was too late. Eudoxia met Genseric at the gates in royal robes and jewels. He stript her of her jewels on the spot, and sacked Rome; and that was her reward. This is the second sack. More dreadful far than the first--455 is its date. Then it was that the statues, whose fragments are still found, were hurled in vain on the barbarian assailants. Not merely gold and jewels, but the art-treasures of Rome were carried off to the Vandal fleet, and with them the golden table and the seven-branched candlestick which Titus took from the Temple of Jerusalem. How had these things escaped the Goths forty years before? We cannot tell. Perhaps the Gothic sack, which only lasted five days, was less complete than this one, which went on for fourteen days of unutterable horrors. The plunderers were not this time sturdy honest Goths; not even German slaves, mad to revenge themselves on their masters: they were Moors, Ausurian black savages, and all the pirates and cut-throats of the Mediterranean. Sixty thousand prisoners were carried off to Carthage. All the statues were wrecked on the voyage to Africa, and lost for ever. And yet Rome did not die. She lingered on; her Emperor still calling himself an Emperor, her senate a senate; feeding her lazy plebs, as best she could, with the remnant of those revenues which former Emperors had set aside for their support--their public bread, public pork, public oil, public wine, public baths,--and leaving them to gamble and quarrel, and listen to the lawyers in rags and rascality, and to rise and murder ruler after ruler, benefactor after benefactor, out of base jealousy and fear of any one less base than themselves. And so 'the smoke of her torment went up continually.' But if Rome would not die, still less would she repent; as it is written--'The remnant of the people repented not of their deeds, but gnawed their tongues for pain, and blasphemed the God of heaven.' As the century runs on, the confusion becomes more and more dreadful. Anthemius, Olybrius, Orestes, and the other half-caste Romans with Greek names who become quasi-emperors and get murdered; Ricimer the Sueve, the king-maker and king-murderer; even good Majorian, who as puppet Emperor set up by Ricimer, tries to pass a few respectable laws, and is only murdered all the sooner. None of these need detain us. They mean nothing, they represent no idea, they are simply kites and crows quarrelling over the carcase, and cannot possibly teach us anything, but the terrible lesson, that in all revolutions the worst men are certain to rise to the top. But only for a while, gentlemen, only for a while. Villany is by its very essence self-destructive, and if rogues have their day, the time comes when rogues fall out, and honest men come by their own. That day, however, was not come for wretched Rome. A third time she was sacked by Ricimer her own general; and then more villains ruled her; and more kites and crows plundered her. The last of them only need keep us a while. He is Odoacer, the giant Herule, Houd-y-wacker, as some say his name really is, a soubriquet perhaps from his war-cry, 'Hold ye stoutly,' 'Stand you steady.' His father was AEdecon, Attila's secretary, chief of the little Turkling tribe, who, though Teutonic, had clung faithfully to Attila's sons, and after the battle of Netad, came to ruin. There are strange stories of Odoacer. One from the Lives of St. Severinus, how Odoacer and his brothers started over the Alps, knapsacks at back, to seek their fortunes in Italy, and take service with the Romans; and how they came to St. Severinus' cell near Vienna, and went in, heathens as they probably were, to get a blessing from the holy hermit; and how Odoacer had to stoop, and stand stooping, so huge he was. And how the saint saw that he was no common lad, and said, 'Go into Italy, clothed in thy ragged sheep-skins: thou shalt soon give greater gifts to thy friends.' So he went, and his brother with him. One of them at least ought to interest us. He was Onulf, Hunwulf, Wulf, Guelph, the Wolf-cub, who went away to Constantinople, and saw strange things, and did strange things likewise, and at last got back to Germany, and settled in Bavaria, and became the ancestor of all the Guelphs, and of Victoria, queen of England. His son, Wulfgang, fought under Belisarius against the Goths; his son again, Ulgang, under Belisarius against Persian and Lombard; his son or grandson was Queen Brunhilda's confidant in France, and became Duke of Burgundy; and after that the fortunes of his family were mixed up with the Merovingian kings of France, and then again with the Lombards in Italy, till one of them emerges as Guelf, count of Altorf, the ancestor of our Guelphic line. But to return to Odoacer. He came to Rome, seeking his fortune. There he found in power Orestes, his father's old colleague at Attila's court, the most unprincipled turn-coat of his day; who had been the Emperor's man, then Attila's man, and would be anybody's man if needed: but who was now his own man, being king-maker for the time being, and father of the puppet Emperor, Romulus Augustulus, a pretty little lad, with an ominous name. Odoacer took service under Orestes in the bodyguards, became a great warrior and popular; watched his time; and when Orestes refused the mercenaries, Herules, Rugians, Scyrings, Turklings and Alans--all the weak or half-caste frontier tribes who had as yet little or no share in the spoils of Italy--their demand of the third of the lands of Italy, he betrayed his benefactor; promised the mercenaries to do for them what Orestes would not, and raises his famous band of confederates. At last he called himself King of Nations, burnt Pavia, and murdered Orestes, as a due reward for his benefits. Stript of his purple, the last Emperor of Rome knelt crying at the feet of the German giant, and begged not to be murdered like his father. And the great wild beast's hard heart smote him, and he sent the poor little lad away, to live in wealth and peace in Lucullus' villa at Misenum, with plenty of money, and women, and gewgaws, to dream away his foolish life looking out over the fair bay of Naples--the last Emperor of Rome. Then Odoacer set to work, and not altogether ill. He gave his confederates the third of Italy, in fief under himself as king, and for fourteen years (not without the help of a few more murders) he kept some sort of rude order and justice in the wretched land. Remember him, for, bad man as he is, he does represent a principle. He initiated, by that gift of the lands to his soldiers, the feudal system in Italy. I do not mean that he invented it. It seems rather to be a primaeval German form, as old as the days of Tacitus, who describes, if you will recollect, the German war-kings as parting the conquered lands among their 'comites,' thanes, or companions in arms. So we leave Odoacer king of Italy, for fourteen years, little dreaming, perhaps, of the day when as he had done unto others so should it be done to him. But for that tale of just and terrible retribution you must wait till the next lecture. And now, to refresh us with a gleam of wholesome humanity after all these horrors, let us turn to our worthy West Goth cousins for a while. They have stopt cutting each other's throats, settled themselves in North Spain and South France, and good bishop Sidonius gets to like them. They are just and honest men on the whole, kindly, and respectable in morals, living according to their strange old Gothic Law. But above all Sidonius likes their king--Theodoric is his name. A man of blood he has been in his youth: but he has settled down, like his people; and here is a picture of him. A real photograph of a live old Goth, nearly 1400 years ago. Gibbon gives a good translation of it. I will give you one, but Sidonius is prolix and florid, and I have had to condense. A middle-sized, stout man, of great breadth of chest, and thickness of limb, a large hand, and a small foot, curly haired, bushy eye-browed, with remarkably large eyes and eyelids, hook-nosed, thin-lipped; brilliant, cheerful, impassioned, full of health and strength in mind and body. He goes to chapel before day-light, sits till eight doing justice, while the crowd, let into a latticed enclosure, is admitted one by one behind a curtain into the presence. At eight he leaves the throne, and goes either to count his money, or look at his horses. If he hunts, he thinks it undignified to carry his bow, and womanish to keep it strung, a boy carries it behind him; and when game gets up, he asks you (or the Bishop, who seems to have gone hunting with him) what you would wish him to aim at; strings his bow, and then (says Sidonius) never misses his shot. He dines at noon, quietly in general, magnificently on Saturdays; drinks very little, and instead of sleeping after dinner, plays at tables and dice. He is passionately fond of his game, but never loses his temper, joking and talking to the dice, and to every one round him, throwing aside royal severity, and bidding all be merry (says the bishop); for, to speak my mind, what he is afraid of is, that people should be afraid of him. If he wins he is in immense good humour; then is the time to ask favours of him; and, says the crafty bishop, many a time have I lost the game, and won my cause thereby. At three begins again the toil of state. The knockers return, and those who shove them away return too; everywhere the litigious crowd murmurs round; and follows him at evening, when he goes to supper, or gets its matters settled by the officers of the court, who have to stay there till bed- time. At supper, though there are but rarely 'mimici sales,' which I cannot translate--some sort of jesting: but biting and cruel insults (common at the feasts of the Roman Emperors) are never allowed. His taste in music is severe. No water-organs, flute-player, lyrist, cymbal or harp-playing woman is allowed. All he delights in is the old Teutonic music, whose virtue (says the bishop) soothes the soul no less than does its sound the ear. When he rises from table the guards for the night are set, and armed men stand at all the doors, to watch him through the first hours of sleep. LECTURE IV.--THE GOTHIC CIVILIZER Let us follow the fortunes of Italy and of Rome. They are not only a type of the fortunes of the whole western world, but the fortunes of that world, as you will see, depend on Rome. You must recollect, meanwhile, that by the middle of the fifth century, the Western Empire had ceased to exist. The Angles and Saxons were fighting their way into Britain. The Franks were settled in north France and the lower Rhineland. South of them, the centre of Gaul still remained Roman, governed by Counts of cities, who were all but independent sovereigns, while they confessed a nominal allegiance to the Emperor of Constantinople. Their power was destined soon to be annihilated by the conquests of Clovis and his Franks--as false and cruel ruffians as their sainted king, the first-born son of the Church. The history of Gaul for some centuries becomes henceforth a tissue of internecine horrors, which you must read for yourselves in the pages of M. Sismondi, or of Gregory of Tours. The Allemanni (whose name has become among the Franks the general name for Germans) held the lands from the Maine to the Rhaetian Alps. The Burgunds, the lands to the south- west of them, comprising the greater part of south-east Gaul. The West Goths held the south-west of Gaul, and the greater part of Spain, having thrust the Sueves, and with them some Alans, into Gallicia, Asturias, and Portugal; and thrust, also, the Vandals across the straits of Gibraltar, to found a prosperous kingdom along the northern shore of Africa. The East Goths, meanwhile, after various wanderings to the north of the Alps, lay in the present Austria and in the Danube lands, resting after their great struggle with the Huns, and their crowning victory of Netad. To follow the fortunes of Italy, we must follow those of these East Goths, and especially of one man among them, Theodoric, known in German song as Dietrich of Bern or Verona. Interesting exceedingly to us should this great hero be. No man's history better shows the strange relations between the Teutons and the dying Empire: but more; his life is the first instance of a Teuton attempting to found a civilized and ordered state, upon experience drawn from Roman sources; of the young world trying to build itself up some sort of dwelling out of the ruins of the old. Dietrich failed, it is true. But if the thing had been then possible, he seems to have been the man to have done it. He lived and laboured like what he was--a royal Amal, a true son of Woden. Unable to write, he founded a great kingdom by native virtue and common sense. Called a barbarian, he restored prosperity to ruined Italy, and gave to it (and with it to the greater part of the western world), peace for three and thirty years. Brought up among hostile sects, he laid down that golden law of religious liberty which the nineteenth century has not yet courage and humanity enough to accept. But if his life was heroic, his death was tragic. He failed after all in his vast endeavours, from causes hidden from him, but visible, and most instructive, to us; and after having toiled impartially for the good of conquerors and of conquered alike, he died sadly, leaving behind him a people who, most of them, believed gladly the news that a holy hermit had seen his soul hurled down the crater of Stromboli, as a just punishment for the inexpiable crime of being wiser than his generation. Some have complained of Gibbon's 'hero-worship' of Dietrich--I do not. The honest and accurate cynic so very seldom worshipped a hero, or believed in the existence of any, that we may take his good opinion as almost final and without appeal. One author, for whose opinion I have already exprest a very high respect, says that he was but a wild man of the woods to the last; polished over skin-deep with Roman civilization; 'Scratch him, and you found the barbarian underneath {101}.' It may be true. If it be true, it is a very high compliment. It was not from his Roman civilization, but from his 'barbarian' mother and father, that he drew the 'vive intelligence des choses morales, et ces inspirations elevees et heroiques,' which M. Thierry truly attributes to him. If there was, as M. Thierry truly says, another nature struggling within him--is there not such in every man? And are not the struggles the more painful, the temptations more dangerous, the inconsistencies too often the more shameful, the capacities for evil as well as for good, more huge, just in proportion to the native force and massiveness of the soul? The doctrine may seem dangerous. It is dangerous, like many truths; and woe to those who, being unlearned and unstable, wrest it to their own destruction; and presume upon it to indulge their own passions under Byronic excuses of 'genius,' or 'muscular Christianity.' But it is true nevertheless: so at least the Bible tells us, in its wonderful delineations of David, 'the man after God's own heart,' and of St. Peter, the chief of the apostles. And there are points of likeness between the character of Dietrich, and that of David, which will surely suggest themselves to any acute student of human nature. M. Thierry attributes to him, as his worse self, 'les instincts les plus violents; la cruaute, l'astuce, l'egoisme impitoyable.' The two first counts are undeniable--at least during his youth: they were the common vices of the age. The two latter I must hold as not proven by facts: but were they proven, they would still be excusable, on the simple ground of his Greek education. 'Cunning and pitiless egotism' were the only moral qualities which Dietrich is likely to have seen exercised at the court of Constantinople: and what wonder, if he was somewhat demoralized by the abominable atmosphere which he breathed from childhood? Dietrich is an illustration of the saga with which these lectures began. He is the very type of the forest child, bewitched by the fine things of the wicked Troll garden. The key to the man's character, indeed the very glory of it, is the long struggle within him, between the Teutonic and the Greek elements. Dazzled and debauched, at times, by the sinful glories of the Bosphorus, its palaces, its gold, and its women, he will break the spell desperately. He will become a wild Goth and an honest man once more; he will revenge his own degradation on that court and empire which he knows well enough to despise, distrust and hate. Again and again the spell comes over him. His vanity and his passions make him once more a courtier among the Greeks; but the blood of Odin is strong within him still; again and again he rises, with a noble shame, to virtue and patriotism, trampling under foot selfish luxury and glory, till the victory is complete; and he turns away in the very moment of the greatest temptation, from the bewitching city, to wander, fight, starve, and at last conquer a new land for himself and for his nation; and shew, by thirty years of justice and wisdom, what that true Dietrich was, which had been so long overlaid by the false Dietrich of his sinful youth. Look at the facts of his history, as they stand, and see whether they do not bear out this, and no other, theory of his character. The year was 455, two years after Attila's death. Near Vienna a boy was born, of Theodemir one of the Gothic kings and his favourite Erleva. He was sent when eight years old to Constantinople as a hostage. The Emperor Leo had agreed to pay the Goths 300 pounds of gold every year, if they would but leave him in peace; and young Dietrich was the pledge of the compact. There he grew up amid all the wisdom of the Romans, watching it all, and yet never even learning to write. It seems to some that the German did not care to learn; it seems to me rather that they did not care to teach. He came back to his people at eighteen, delighted them by his strength and stature, and became, to all appearance, a Goth of the Goths; going adventures with six thousand volunteers against the Sarmatae, who had just defeated the Greeks, and taken a city--which he retook, but instead of restoring it to the Emperor, kept himself. Food becoming scarce in Austria, the Ostrogoths moved some into Italy, some down on Illyria and Thessaly; and the Emperor gracefully presented them with the country of which they had already taken possession. In every case, you see, this method went on. The failing Emperors bought off the Teutons where they could; submitted to them where they could not; and readily enough turned on them when they had a chance. The relations between the two parties can be hardly better explained, than by comparing them to those between the English adventurers in Hindostan and the falling Rajahs and Sultans of the last century. After a while Theodoric, or Dietrich, found himself, at his father's death, sole king of the Ostrogoths. This period of his life is very obscure: but one hint at least we have, which may explain his whole future career. Side by side with him and with his father before him, there was another Dietrich--Dietrich the One-eyed, son of Triar, a low- born adventurer, who had got together the remnants of some low-caste tribes, who were called the Goths of Thrace, and was swaggering about the court of Constantinople, as, when the East Goths first met him, what we call Warden of the Marches, with some annual pay for his Goths. He was insolent to Theodemir and his family, and they retaliated by bitter hatred. It was intolerable for them, Amals, sons of Odin, to be insulted by this upstart. So they went on for years, till the miserable religious squabble fell out--you may read it in Gibbon--which ended in the Emperor Zeno, a low-born and cunning man, suspected of the murder of his own son by the princess Ariadne, being driven out of Constantinople by Basiliscus. We need not enter into such matters, except as far as they bear on the history of Dietrich the Amal. Dietrich the One-eyed helped Basiliscus--and then Zeno seems to have sent for Dietrich the Amal to help him. He came, but too late. Basiliscus' party had already broken up; Basiliscus and his family had taken refuge in a church, from whence Zeno enticed him, on the promise of shedding no blood, which he did not: but instead, put him, his wife and children, in a dry cistern, walled it up and left them. Dietrich the Amal rose into power and great glory, and became 'son-in- arms' to the Emperor. But the young Amal longed for adventures. He offered to take his Ostrogoths into Italy, drive out Odoacer, and seat on the throne of the West, Nepos, one of the many puppets who had been hurled off it a few years before. Zeno had need of the young hero nearer home, and persuaded him to stay in Constantinople, eat, drink, and be merry. Whereon Odoacer made Romulus Agustulus and the Roman Senate write to Zeno that they wanted no Emperor save him at Constantinople; that they were very happy under the excellent Odoacer, and that they therefore sent to Zeno, as the rightful owner, all the Imperial insignia and ornaments; things which may have been worn, some of them, by Augustus himself. And so ended, even in name, the Empire of Rome. All which the Amal saw, and, as will appear, did not forget. Zeno gave the Amal all that the One-eyed had had before him, and paid the Ostrogoths yearly as he had paid the One-eye's men. The One-eyed was banished to his cantonments, and of course revolted. Zeno wanted to buy him off, but the Amal would not hear of it; he would not help the Romans against his rival, unless they swore perpetual enmity against him. They did so, and he marched to the assistance of the wretched Empire. He was to be met by Roman reinforcements at the Haemus. They never came; and the Amal, disgusted and disheartened, found himself entangled in the defiles of the Haemus, starving and worn out; with the One-eyed entrenched on an inaccessible rock, where he dared not attack him. Then followed an extraordinary scene. The One-eyed came down again and again from his rock, and rode round the Amal's camp, shouting to him words so true, that one must believe them to have been really spoken. 'Perjured boy, madman, betrayer of your race--do you not see that the Roman plan is as always to destroy Goths by Goths? Whichever of us falls, they, not we, will be the stronger. They never met you as they promised, at the cities, nor here. They have sent you out here to perish in the desert.' Then the East Goths raised a cry. 'The One-eyed is right. The Amal cares not that these men are Goths like ourselves.' Then the One-eyed appeals to the Goths themselves, as he curses the Amal. 'Why are you killing your kinsmen? Why have you made so many widows? Where is all their wealth gone, they who set out to fight for you? Each of them had two or three horses: but now they are walking on foot behind you like slaves,--free-men as well-born as yourself:--and you promised to measure them out gold by the bushel.' Was it not true? If young Dietrich had in him (and he shewed that he had in after years) a Teuton's heart, may not that strange interview have opened his eyes to his own folly, and taught him that the Teuton must be his own master, and not the mercenary of the Romans? The men cried out that it was true. He must make peace with the One-eyed, or they would do it themselves; and peace was made. They both sent ambassadors to Zeno; the Amal complaining of treachery; the One-eyed demanding indemnity for all his losses. The Emperor was furious. He tried to buy off the Amal by marrying him to a princess of the blood royal, and making him a Caesar. Dietrich would not consent; he felt that it was a snare. Zeno proclaimed the One-eyed an enemy to the Empire; and ended by reinstating him in his old honours, and taking them from the Amal. The Amal became furious, burnt villages, slaughtered the peasants, even (the Greeks say) cut off the hands of his captives. He had broken with the Romans at last. The Roman was astride of him, and of all Teutons, like Sindbad's old man of the sea. The only question, as with Sindbad, was whether he should get drunk, and give them a chance of throwing the perfidious tyrant. And now the time was come. He was compelled to ask himself, not--what shall I be in relation to myself: but what shall I be in relation to the Kaiser of the Romans--a mercenary, a slave, or a conqueror--for one of the three I must be? So it went on, year after year--sometimes with terrible reverses for Dietrich, till the year 480. Then the old One-eyed died, in a strange way. Mounting a wild horse at the tent-door, the beast reared before he could get his seat; afraid of pulling it over by the curb, he let it go. A lance, in Gothic fashion, was hanging at the tent-door, and the horse plunged the One-eyed against it. The point went deep into his side, and the old fighting man was at rest for ever. And then came a strange peripeteia for the Amal. Zeno, we know not why, sent instantly for him. He had been ravaging, pursuing, defeating Roman troops, or being defeated by them. Now he must come to Rome. His Goths should have the Lower Danube. He should have glory and honour to spare. He came. His ideal, at this time, seems actually to have been to live like a Roman citizen in Constantinople, and help to govern the Empire. Recollect, he was still little more than five and twenty years old. So he went to Constantinople, and I suppose with him the faithful mother, and faithful sister, who had been with him in all his wanderings. He had a triumph decreed him at the Emperor's expense, was made Consul Ordinarius ('which,' saith Jornandes, 'is accounted the highest good and chief glory in the world') and Master-general, and lodged in the palace. What did it all mean? Dietrich was dazzled by it, at least for a while. What it meant, he found out too soon. He was to fight the Emperor's battles against all rebels, and he fought them, to return irritated, complaining (justly or unjustly) of plots against his life; to be pacified, like a child, with the honour of an equestrian statue; then to sink down into Byzantine luxury for seven inglorious years, with only one flashing out of the ancient spirit, when he demanded to go alone against the Bulgars, and killed their king with his own hand. What woke him from his dream? The cry of his starving people. The Goths, settled on the lower Danube, had been living, as wild men and mercenaries live, recklessly from hand to mouth, drinking and gambling till their families were in want. They send to the Amal. 'While thou art revelling at Roman banquets, we are starving--come back ere we are ruined.' They were jealous, too, of the success of Odoacer and his mercenaries. He was growing now to be a great power; styling himself 'King of nations {109},' giving away to the Visigoths the Narbonnaise, the last remnant of the Western Empire; collecting round him learned Romans like Symmachus, Boethius, and Cassiodorus; respecting the Catholic clergy; and seemingly doing his best to govern well. His mercenaries, however, would not be governed. Under their violence and oppression agriculture and population were both failing; till Pope Gelasius speaks of 'AEmilia, Tuscia, ceteraeque provinciae in quibus nullus prope hominum existit.' Meanwhile there seems to have been a deep hatred on the part of the Goths to Odoacer and his mercenaries. Dr. Sheppard thinks that they despised him himself as a man of low birth. But his father AEdecon had been chief of the Turklings, and was most probably of royal blood. It is very unlikely, indeed, that so large a number of Teutons would have followed any man who had not Odin's blood in his veins. Was there a stain on Odoacer from his early connexion with Attila? Or was the hatred against his men more than himself, contempt especially of the low-caste Herules,--a question of race, springing out of those miserable tribe-feuds, which kept the Teutons always divided and weak? Be that as it may, Odoacer had done a deed which raised this hatred to open fury. He had gone over the Alps into Rugiland (then Noricum, and the neighbourhood of Vienna) and utterly destroyed those of the Rugier who had not gone into Italy under his banner. They had plundered, it is said, the cell of his old friend St. Severinus, as soon as the saint died, of the garments laid up for the poor, and a silver cup, and the sacred vessels of the mass. Be that as it may, Odoacer utterly exterminated them, and carried their king Feletheus, or Fava, back to Italy, with Gisa his 'noxious wife;' and with them many Roman Christians, and (seemingly) the body of St. Severinus himself. But this had been a small thing, if he had not advised himself to have a regular Roman triumph, with Fava, the captive king, walking beside his chariot; and afterwards, in the approved fashion of the ancient Romans on such occasions, to put Fava to death in cold blood. The records of this feat are to be found, as far as I know them, in one short chapter (I. xix.) of Paulus Diaconus, and in Muratori's notes thereto; but however small the records, the deed decided the fate of Italy. Frederic, son of Fava, took refuge with the Ostrogoths, and demanded revenge in the name of his royal race; and it is easy to conceive that the sympathies of the Goths would be with him. An attack (seemingly unprovoked) on an ancient Teutonic nation by a mere band of adventurers was--or could easily be made--a grievous wrong, and clear casus belli, over and above the innate Teutonic lust for fighting and adventures, simply for the sake of 'the sport.' Dietrich went back, and from that day, the dream of eastern luxury was broken, and young Dietrich was a Goth again, for good and for evil. He assembled the Goths, and marched straight on Constantinople, burning and pillaging as he went. So say, at least, the Greek historians, of whom, all through this strange story, no one need believe more than he likes. Had the Goths had the writing of the life of Dietrich, we should have heard another tale. As it is, we have, as it were, a life of Lord Clive composed by the court scribes of Delhi. To no Roman would he tell what was in his mind. Five leagues from Constantinople he paused. Some say that he had compassion on the city where he had been brought up. Who can tell? He demanded to speak to Zeno alone, and the father in arms and his wild son met once more. There was still strong in him the old Teutonic feudal instinct. He was 'Zeno's man,' in spite of all. He asked (says Jornandes) Zeno's leave to march against Odoacer, and conquer Italy. Procopius and the Valesian Fragment say that Zeno sent him, and that in case of success, he was to reign there till Zeno came. Zeno was, no doubt, glad to get rid of him at any price. As Ennodius well says, 'Another's honour made him remember his own origin, and fear the very legions which obeyed him--for that obedience is suspected which serves the unworthy.' Rome was only nominally under Zeno's dominion; and it mattered little to him whether Herule or Gothic adventurer called himself his representative. Then was held a grand function. Dietrich, solemnly appointed 'Patrician,' had Italy ceded to him by a 'Pragmatic' sanction, and Zeno placed on his head the sacrum velamen, a square of purple, signifying in Constantinople things wonderful, august, imperial--if they could only be made to come to pass. And he made them come to pass. He gathered all Teutonic heroes of every tribe, as well as his own; and through Roumelia, and through the Alps, a long and dangerous journey, went Dietrich and his Goths, with their wives and children, and all they had, packed on waggons; living on their flocks and herds, grinding their corn in hand- mills, and hunting as they went, for seven hundred miles of march; fighting as they went with Bulgars and Sarmatians, who had swarmed into the waste marches of Hungary and Carniola, once populous, cultivated, and full of noble cities; fighting a desperate battle with the Gepidae, up to their knees in a morass; till over the passes of the Julian Alps, where icicles hung upon their beards, and their clothes cracked with frost, they poured into the Venetian plains. It was a daring deed; and needed a spirit like Dietrich's to carry it through. Odoacer awaited him near the ruins of Aquileia. On the morning of the fight, as he was arming, Dietrich asked his noble mother to bring him some specially fine mantle, which she had embroidered for him, and put it over his armour, 'that all men may see how he goes gayer into the fight than ever he did into feast. For this day she shall see whether she have brought a man-child into the world, or no.' And in front of Verona (where the plain was long white with human bones), he beat Odoacer, and after a short and sharp campaign, drove him to Ravenna. But there, Roman fortifications, and Roman artillery, stopped, as usual, the Goth; and Odoacer fulfilled his name so well, and stood so stout, that he could only be reduced by famine; and at last surrendered on terms, difficult now to discover. Gibbon says, that there was a regular compact that they should enjoy equal authority, and refers to Procopius: but Procopius only says, that they should live together peaceably 'in that city.' Be that as it may, Odoacer and his party were detected, after awhile, conspiring against Dietrich, and put to death in some dark fashion. Gibbon, as advocatus diaboli, of course gives the doubt against Dietrich, by his usual enthymeme--All men are likely to be rogues, ergo, Dietrich was one. Rather hard measure, when one remembers that the very men who tell the story are Dietrich's own enemies. By far the most important of them, the author of the Valesian Fragment, who considers Dietrich damned as an Arian, and the murderer of Boethius and Symmachus, says plainly that Odoacer plotted against his life. But it was a dark business at best. Be that as it may, Dietrich the Amal found himself in one day king of all Italy, without a peer. And now followed a three and thirty years' reign of wisdom, justice, and prosperity, unexampled in the history of those centuries. Between the days of the Antonines and those of Charlemagne, I know no such bright spot in the dark history of Europe. As for his transferring the third of the lands of Italy, which had been held by Odoacer's men, to his own Goths,--that was just or unjust (even putting out of the question the rights of conquest), according to what manner of men Odoacer's mercenaries were, and what right they had to the lands. At least it was done so, says Cassiodorus, that it notoriously gave satisfaction to the Romans themselves. One can well conceive it. Odoacer's men had been lawless adventurers; and now law was installed as supreme. Dietrich, in his long sojourn at the Emperor's court, had discovered the true secret of Roman power, which made the Empire terrible even in her fallen fortunes; and that was Law. Law, which tells every man what to expect, and what is expected of him; and so gives, if not content, still confidence, energy, industry. The Goths were to live by the Gothic law, the Romans by the Roman. To amalgamate the two races would have been as impossible as to amalgamate English and Hindoos. The parallel is really tolerably exact. The Goth was very English; and the over-civilized, learned, false, profligate Roman was the very counterpart of the modern Brahmin. But there was to be equal justice between man and man. If the Goths were the masters of much of the Roman soil, still spoliation and oppression were forbidden; and the remarkable edict or code of Theodoric, shews how deeply into his great mind had sunk the idea of the divineness of Law. It is short, and of Draconic severity, especially against spoliation, cheating, false informers, abuse by the clergy of the rights of sanctuary, and all offences against the honour of women. I advise you all to study it, as an example of what an early Teutonic king thought men ought to do, and could be made to do. The Romans were left to their luxury and laziness; and their country villas (long deserted) were filled again by the owners. The Goths were expected to perform military service, and were drilled from their youth in those military evolutions which had so often given the disciplined Roman the victory over the undisciplined Goth, till every pomoerium (boulevard), says Ennodius, might be seen full of boys and lads, learning to be soldiers. Everything meanwhile was done to soothe the wounded pride of the conquered. The senate of Rome was still kept up in name (as by Odoacer), her nobles flattered by sonorous titles, and the officers of the kingdom and the palace bore the same names as they would have done under Roman emperors. The whole was an attempt to develop Dietrich's own Goths by the only civilization which he knew, that of Constantinople: but to engraft on it an order, a justice, a freedom, a morality, which was the 'barbarian' element. The treasures of Roman art were placed under the care of government officers; baths, palaces, churches, aqueducts, were repaired or founded; to build seems to have been Dietrich's great delight; and we have left us, on a coin, some image of his own palace at Verona, a strange building with domes and minarets, something like a Turkish mosque; standing, seemingly, on the arcades of some older Roman building. Dietrich the Goth may, indeed, be called the founder of 'Byzantine' architecture throughout the Western world. Meanwhile, agriculture prospered once more; the Pontine Marshes were drained; the imperial ports restored, and new cities sprang up. 'The new ones,' says Machiavelli, 'were Venice, Siena, Ferrara, Aquileia; and those which became extended were Florence, Genoa, Pisa, Milan, Naples, and Bologna.' Of these the great sea-ports, especially Venice, were founded not by Goths, but by Roman and Greek fugitives: but it was the security and liberality of Dietrich's reign which made their existence possible; and Venice really owes far more to the barbarian hero, than to the fabled patronage of St. Mark. 'From this devastation and new population,' continues Machiavelli, 'arose new languages, which, partaking of the native idiom of the new people, and of the old Roman, formed a new manner of discourse. Besides, not only were the names of provinces changed, but also of lakes, rivers, seas, and men; for France, Spain, and Italy are full of fresh names, wholly different from the ancient.' This reign of Dietrich was, in fact, the birth-hour of modern Italy; and, as Machiavelli says, 'brought the country to such a state of greatness, that her previous sufferings were unrecognizable.' We shall see hereafter how the great Goth's work was all undone; and (to their everlasting shame) by whom it was undone. The most interesting records of the time are, without doubt, the letters of Cassiodorus, the king's secretary and chancellor, which have come down to us in great numbers. There are letters among them on all questions of domestic and foreign policy: to the kings of the Varni, kings of the Herules, kings of the Thuringer (who were still heathens beyond the Black forest), calling on them all to join him and the Burgundians, and defend his son-in-law Alaric II., king of the Visigoths, against Clovis and his Franks. There are letters, too, bearing on the religious feuds of the Roman population, and on the morals and social state of Rome itself, of which I shall say nothing in this lecture, having cause to refer to them hereafter. But if you wish to know the times, you must read Cassiodorus thoroughly. In his letters you will remark how most of the so-called Roman names are Greek. You will remark, too, as a sign of the decadence of taste and art, that though full of wisdom and practical morality, the letters are couched in the most wonderful bombast to be met with, even in that age of infimae Latinitatis. One can only explain their style by supposing that King Dietrich, having supplied the sense, left it for Cassiodorus to shape it as he thought best; and when the letter was read over to him, took for granted (being no scholar) that that was the way in which Roman Caesars and other cultivated personages ought to talk; admired his secretary's learning; and probably laughed in his sleeve at the whole thing, thinking that ten words of honest German would have said all that he meant. As for understanding these flights of rhetoric, it is impossible that Dietrich could have done so: perhaps not even Cassiodorus himself. Take as one example, such a letter as this.--After a lofty moral maxim, which I leave for you to construe--'In partem pietatis recidit mitigata districtio; et sub beneficio praestat, qui poenam debitam moderatione considerata palpaverit,'--Jovinus the curial is informed, after the most complex method, that having first quarrelled with a fellow-curial, and then proceeded to kill him, he is banished for life to the isle of Volcano, among the Liparis. As a curial is a gentleman and a government magistrate, the punishment is just enough; but why should Cassiodorus (certainly not King Dietrich) finish a short letter by a long dissertation on volcanoes in general, and Stromboli in particular, insisting on the wonder that the rocks, though continually burnt, are continually renewed by 'the inextricable potency of nature;' and only returning to Jovinus to inform him that he will henceforth follow the example of a salamander, which always lives in fire, 'being so contracted by natural cold, that it is tempered by burning flame. It is a thin and small animal, connected with worms, and clothed with a yellow colour;' . . . Cassiodorus then returns to the main subject of volcanoes, and ends with a story of Stromboli having broken out just as Hannibal poisoned himself at the court of Prusias;--information which may have been interesting, though not consoling, to poor Jovinus, in the prospect of living there; but of which one would like to have had king Dietrich's opinion. Did he felicitate himself like a simple Teuton, on the wonderful learning and eloquence of his Greek-Roman secretary? Or did he laugh a royal laugh at the whole letter, and crack a royal joke at Cassiodorus and all quill-driving schoolmasters and lawyers--the two classes of men whom the Goths hated especially, and at the end to which they by their pedantries had brought imperial Rome? One would like to know. For not only was Dietrich no scholar himself, but he had a contempt for the very scholarship which he employed, and forbade the Goths to learn it--as the event proved, a foolish and fatal prejudice. But it was connected in his mind with chicanery, effeminacy, and with the cruel and degrading punishments of children. Perhaps the ferula had been applied to him at Constantinople in old days. If so, no wonder that he never learnt to write. 'The boy who trembles at a cane,' he used to say, 'will never face a lance.' His mother wit, meanwhile, was so shrewd that 'many of his sayings (says the unknown author of the invaluable Valesian Fragment) remain among us to this day.' Two only, as far as I know, have been preserved, quaint enough: 'He that hath gold, or a devil, cannot hide it.' And 'The Roman, when poor, apes the Goth: the Goth, when rich, apes the Roman.' There is a sort of Solomon's judgment, too, told of him, in the case of a woman who refused to acknowledge her own son, which was effectual enough; but somewhat too homely to repeat. As for his personal appearance, it was given in a saga; but I have not consulted it myself, and am no judge of its authenticity. The traditional description of him is that of a man almost beardless--a rare case among the Goths--with masses of golden ringlets, and black eyebrows over 'oculos caesios,' the blue grey eyes common to so many conquerors. A complexion so peculiar, that one must believe it to be truly reported. His tragic death, and the yet more tragic consequences thereof, will be detailed in the next lecture. LECTURE V--DIETRICH'S END. I have now to speak to you on the latter end of Dietrich's reign--made so sadly famous by the death of Boethius--the last Roman philosopher, as he has been called for centuries, and not unjustly. His De Consolatione Philosophiae is a book good for any man, full of wholesome and godly doctrine. For centuries it ranked as high as the highest classics; higher perhaps at times than any book save the Bible, among not merely scholars, but statesmen. It is the last legacy of the dying old world to the young world which was trampling it out of life; and therefore it is full of sadness. But beneath the sadness there is faith and hope; for God is just, and virtue must be triumphant and immortal, and the absolute and only good for man. The whole story is very sad. Dietrich was one of those great men, who like Henry VIII, Elizabeth, Napoleon, or the late Czar Nicholas, have lived too long for their own honour. The old heathen would have attributed his misadventures to a [Greek text], an envy of the Gods, who will not abide to see men as prosperous as they themselves are. We may attribute it more simply and more piously to the wear and tear of frail humanity. For it may be that very few human souls can stand for many years the strain of a great rule. I do not mean that they break down from overwork, but that they are pulled out of shape by it; and that, especially, the will becomes enormously developed at the expense of the other powers of the soul, till the man becomes, as he grows older, imperious, careless of, or irritated by counsel, determined to have his own way because it is his own way. We see the same tendency in all accustomed for a long while to absolute rule, even in petty matters;--in the old ship's captain, the old head of a factory, the old master of hounds; and we do not blame them for it. It is a disease incident to their calling, as pedantry is to that of a scholar, or astuteness to that of an attorney. But it is most dangerous in the greatest minds, and in the highest places; and only to be kept off by them, as by us, each in our place, by honest self-examination, diligent prayer, and the grace of God which comes thereby. Once or twice in the world's history a great ruler, like Charles the Fifth, cuts the Gordian knot, and escapes into a convent: but how few can or ought to do that? There are those who must go on ruling, or see their country ruined; for all depends on them. So had Queen Elizabeth to do; so had Dietrich of Bern likewise. After them would come the deluge, and did come; and they must endure to the last, whatever it may cost to their own health of character, or peace of mind. But most painful, and most dangerous to the veteran sovereign, is it to have learnt to suspect, perhaps to despise, those whom he rules; to have thrown away all his labour upon knaves and fools; to have cast his pearls before swine, and find them turning again and rending him. That feeling, forced from Queen Elizabeth, in her old age, that tragic cry, 'I am a miserable forlorn woman. There is none about me whom I can trust.' She was a woman, always longing for some one to love; and her heart broke under it all. But do you not see that where the ruler is not an affectionate woman, but a strong proud man, the effect may be very different, and very terrible?--how, roused to indignation, scorn, suspicion, rage, he may turn to bay against his own subjects, with 'Scoundrels! you have seen the fair side of my character, and in vain. Now you shall see the foul, and beware for yourselves.' Even so, I fancy, did old Dietrich turn to bay, and did deeds which have blackened his name for ever. Heaven forgive him! for surely he had provocation enough and to spare. I have told you of the simple, half-superstitious respect which the Teuton had for the prestige of Rome. Dietrich seems to have partaken of it, like the rest. Else why did he not set himself up as Caesar of Rome? Why did he always consider himself as son-in-arms, and quasi-vassal, of the Caesar of Constantinople? He had been in youth overawed by the cunning civilization which he had seen in the great city. He felt, with a noble modesty, that he could not emulate it. He must copy it afar off. He must take to his counsels men like Cassiodorus, Symmachus, Boethius, born and bred in it; trained from childhood in the craft by which, as a patent fact, the Kaisers of Rome had been for centuries, even in their decay and degradation, the rulers of the nations. Yet beneath that there must have been a perpetual under-current of contempt for it and for Rome--the 'colluvies gentium'--the sink of the nations, with its conceit, its pomposity, its beggary, its profligacy, its superstition, its pretence of preserving the Roman law and rights, while practically it cared for no law nor right at all. Dietrich had had to write letter upon letter, to prevent the green and blue factions cutting each other's throats at the public spectacles; letters to the tribunus voluptatum, who had to look after the pantomimes and loose women, telling him to keep the poor wretches in some decent order, and to set them and the city an example of a better life, by being a chaste and respectable man himself. Letter upon letter of Cassiodorus', written in Dietrich's name, disclose a state of things in Rome on which a Goth could look only with disgust and contempt. And what if he discovered (or thought that he discovered) that these prating coxcombs--who were actually living on government bounty, and had their daily bread, daily bath, daily oil, daily pork, daily wine, found for them at government expense, while they lounged from the theatre to the church, and the church to the theatre--were plotting with Justin the scoundrel and upstart Emperor at Constantinople, to restore forsooth the liberties of Rome? And that that was their answer to his three and thirty years of good government, respect, indulgence, which had raised them up again out of all the miseries of domestic anarchy and foreign invasion? And what if he discovered (or thought that he discovered) that the Catholic Clergy, with Pope John at their head, were in the very same plot for bringing in the Emperor of Constantinople, on the grounds of religion; because he was persecuting the Arian Goths at Constantinople, and therefore would help them to persecute them in Italy? And that that was their answer to his three and thirty years of unexampled religious liberty? Would not those two facts (even the belief that they were facts) have been enough to drive many a wise man mad? How far they were facts, we never shall exactly know. Almost all our information comes from Catholic historians--and he would be a rash man who would pin his faith on any statement of theirs concerning the actions of a heretic. But I think, even with no other help than theirs, we may see why Dietrich would have looked with horror on any intimacy between the Church of Rome and the Court of Constantinople. We must remember first what the Greek Empire was then, and who was the new Emperor. Anastasius the poor old Emperor, dying at eighty with his heart broken by monks and priests, had an ugly dream; and told it to Amantius the eunuch and lord chamberlain. Whereon Amantius said he had had a dream too;--how a great hog flew at him as he was in waiting in the very presence, and threw him down and eat him fairly up. Which came true--though not in the way Amantius expected. On the death of Anastasius he determined to set up as Emperor a creature of his own. For this purpose he must buy the guards; to which noble end he put a large sum of treasure into the hands of Justin, senator, and commander-in-chief of the said guards, who takes the money, and spends it on his own account; so that the miserable eunuch finds, not his man, but Justin himself, Emperor, and his hard-earned money spent against him. The mere rise of this unscrupulous swindler and his still more unscrupulous nephew, Justinian, would have been enough to rouse Dietrich's suspicion, if not fear. Deep and unspeakable must have been the royal Amal's contempt for the man. For he must have known him well at Constantinople in his youth; known how he was a Goth or other Teuton after all, though he was called a Dardanian; how his real name was Uprauda (upright), the son of Stock--which Uprauda he had latinized into Justinus. The Amal knew well how he had entered the Emperor's guard; how he had intrigued and fought his way up (for the man did not lack courage and conduct) to his general's commission; and now, by a crowning act of roguery, to the Empire. He had known too, most probably, the man's vulgar peasant wife, who, in her efforts to ape royalty, was making herself the laughing-stock of the people, and who was urging on her already willing husband to persecute. And this man he saw ready to convulse his own Empire by beginning a violent persecution against the Arians. He was dangerous enough as a villain, doubly dangerous as a bigot also. We must remember next what the Greek Church was then; a chaos of intrigue, villainy, slander, and wild fury, tearing to pieces itself and the whole Empire by religious feuds, in which the doctrine in question becomes invisible amid the passions and crimes of the disputants, while the Lords of the Church were hordes of wild monks, who swarm out of their dens to head the lowest mobs, or fight pitched battles with each other. The ecclesiastical history of the fifth century in the Eastern Empire is one, which not even the genius of a Gibbon or a Milman can make interesting, or even intelligible. Recollect that Dietrich had seen much of this with his own eyes; had seen actually, as I told you, the rebellion of Basiliscus and the Eutychian Bishops headed by the mad Daniel the Stylite against his foster father the Emperor Zeno; had seen that Emperor (as Dean Milman forcibly puts it) 'flying before a naked hermit, who had lost the use of his legs by standing sixteen years upon a column.' Recollect that Dietrich and his Goths had helped to restore that Emperor to his throne; and then understand in what a school he had learnt his great ideas of religious toleration: how deep must have been the determination to have no such doings in his kingdom; how deep, too, the dread of any similar outbreak at Rome. Recollect, also, that now in his old age he had just witnessed the same iniquities again rending the Eastern Empire; the old Emperor Anastasius hunted to death by armies of mad monks about the Monophysite Heresy; the cities, even the holiest places of the East, stained with Christian blood; everywhere mob-law, murder, treachery, assassination even in the house of God; and now the new Emperor Justin was throwing himself into the party of the Orthodox with all the blind rage of an ignorant peasant; persecuting, expelling, shutting up the Arian Churches of the Goths, refusing to hear Dietrich's noble appeals; and evidently organizing a great movement against those peaceable Arians, against whom, during the life-time of Dietrich, their bitterest enemies do not allege a single case of persecution. Remember, too, that Dietrich had had experience of similar outbreaks of fanaticism at Rome; that the ordination of two rival Popes had once made the streets run with blood; that he had seen priests murdered, monasteries fired, nuns insulted, and had had to interfere with the strong arm of the law, and himself decide in favour of the Pope who had the most votes, and was first chosen; and that in the quarrels, intrigues, and slanders, which followed that election, he had had too good proof that the ecclesiastics and the mob of Rome, if he but let them, could behave as ill as that of Constantinople; and, moreover, that this new Pope John, who seems to have been a hot-headed fanatic, had begun his rule by whipping and banishing Manichees--by whose permission, does not appear. Recollect too, that for some reason or other, Dietrich, when he had interfered in Eastern matters, had been always on the side of the Orthodox and the Council of Chalcedon. He had fought for the Orthodox against Basiliscus. He had backed the Orthodox and Vitalianus their champion, against the late Emperor Anastasius; and now as soon as the Orthodox got into power under Justin, this was the reward of his impartiality. If he did not distrust and despise the Church and Emperor of the East, he must have been not a hero, but a saint. Recollect, too, that in those very days, Catholic bigotry had broken out in a general plunder of the Jews. At Rome, at Milan, and Genoa their houses had been sacked, and their synagogues burnt; and Dietrich, having compelled the Catholics to rebuild them at their own expense, had earned the hatred of a large portion of his subjects. And now Pope John was doing all he could to thwart him. Dietrich bade him go to Constantinople, and plead with Justin for the persecuted Arians. He refused. Dietrich shipt him off, nolentem volentem. But when he got to Constantinople he threw his whole weight into the Emperor's scale. He was received by Justin as if he was St. Peter himself, the Emperor coming out to meet him with processions and wax-lights, imploring his blessing; he did exactly the opposite to what Dietrich bade him do; and published on his return a furious epistle to the bishops of Italy, calling upon them to oppress and extirpate the Arian perfidy, so that no root of it is left: to consecrate the Arian churches wheresoever he found them, pleading the advice of the most pious and Christian Emperor Justin, talking of Dietrich as tainted inwardly and wrapt up outwardly with the pest of heresy. On which Cochlaeus (who religiously believes that Dietrich was damned for his Arianism, and that all his virtues went for nothing because he had not charity, which exists, he says, alone within the pale of the Church), cannot help the naive comment, that if the Pontiff did really write that letter, he cannot wonder at Dietrich's being a little angry. Kings now, it is true, can afford to smile at such outbursts; they could not afford to do so in Dietrich's days. Such words meant murder, pillage, civil war, dethronement, general anarchy; and so Dietrich threw Pope John into prison. He had been in bad health before he sailed to Constantinople, and in a few months he died, and was worshipped as a saint. As for the political conspiracy, we shall never know the truth of it. The 'Anonymus Valesii,' meanwhile says, that when Cyprian accused Albinus, Boethius answered, 'It is false: but if Albinus has done it, so have I, and the whole senate, with one consent. It is false, my Lord King!' Whatever such words may prove, they prove at least this, that Boethius, as he says himself, was the victim of his own chivalry. To save Albinus, and the senate, he thrust himself into the fore-front of the battle, and fell at least like a brave man. Whether Albinus, Boethius, and Symmachus did plot to bring in Justin; whether the senate did send a letter to him, I cannot tell. Boethius, in his De Consolatione, denies it all; and Boethius was a good man. He says that the letters in which he hoped for the liberty of Rome were forged; how could he hope for the impossible? but he adds, 'would that any liberty could have been hoped for! I would have answered the king as Cassius did, when falsely accused of conspiring by Caligula: "If I had known of it, you should not."' One knows not whether Dietrich ever saw those words: but they prove at least that all his confidence, justice, kindness to the patrician philosopher, had not won him from the pardonable conceit about the Romani nominis umbram. Boethius' story is most probably true. One cannot think that that man would die with a lie in his mouth. One cannot pass by, as the utterances of a deliberate hypocrisy, those touching appeals to his guiding mistress, that heavenly wisdom who has led him so long upon the paths of truth and virtue, and who seems to him, in his miserable cell, to have betrayed him in his hour of need. Heaven forbid. Better to believe that Dietrich committed once in his life, a fearful crime, than that good Boethius' famous book is such another as the Eikon Basilike. Boethius, again, says that the Gothic courtiers hated him, and suborned branded scoundrels to swear away his life and that of the senate, because he had opposed 'the hounds of the palace,' Amigast, Trigulla, and other greedy barbarians. There was, of course, a Gothic party and a Roman party about the court; and each hated the other bitterly. Dietrich had favoured the Romans. But the Goths could not have seen such men as Symmachus and Boethius the confidants and counsellors of the Amal, without longing for their downfall; and if, as Boethius and the Catholic historians say, the whole tragedy arose out of a Gothic plot to destroy the Roman party, such things have happened but too often in the world's history. The only facts which make against the story are, that Cyprianus the accuser was a Roman, and that Cassiodorus, who must have belonged to the Roman party, not only is never mentioned during the whole tragedy, but was high in power under Theodatus and Athalaric afterwards. Add to this, that there were vague but wide-spread reports that the Goths were in danger; that Dietrich at least could not be ignorant of the ambition and the talents of that terrible Justinian, Justin's nephew, who was soon to alter, for a generation, the fortunes of the whole Empire, and to sweep the Goths from Italy; that men's minds must have been perplexed with fear of change, when they recollected that Dietrich was seventy years old, without a son to succeed him, and that a woman and a child would soon rule that great people in a crisis, which they could not but foresee. We know that the ruin came; is it unreasonable to suppose that the Goths foresaw it, and made a desperate, it may be a treacherous, effort to crush once and for all, the proud and not less treacherous senators of Rome? So, maddened with the fancied discovery that the man whom he had honoured, trusted, loved, was conspiring against him, Dietrich sent Boethius to prison. He seems, however, not to have been eager for his death; for Boethius remained there long enough to write his noble book. However, whether fresh proofs of his supposed guilt were discovered or not, the day came when he must die. A cord was twisted round his head (probably to extort confession), till his eyes burst from their sockets, and then he was put out of his misery by a club; and so ended the last Roman philosopher. Symmachus, his father-in-law, was beheaded; and Pope John, as we have heard, was thrown into prison on his return, and died after a few months. These are the tragedies which have stained for ever the name of 'Theodoric the Great.' Pope John seems to have fairly earned his imprisonment. For the two others, we can only, I fear, join in the sacred pity in which their memories have been embalmed to all succeeding generations. But we must recollect, that after all, we know but one side of the question. The Romans could write; the Goths could not: they may have been able to make out a fair case for themselves; they may have believed truly in the guilt of Boethius; and if they did, nothing less could have happened, by such rules of public law and justice as were then in vogue, than did happen. Be that as it may, the deed was done; and the punishment, if deserved, came soon enough. Sitting at dinner (so the story runs), the head of a fish took in Dietrich's fancy the shape of Symmachus' head, the upper teeth biting the lip, the great eyes staring at him. He sprang up in horror; took to his bed; and there, complaining of a mortal chill, wrapping himself up in heaps of blankets, and bewailing to his physician the death of his two victims, he died sadly in a few days. And a certain holy hermit, name not given, nor date of the vision, saw the ghosts of Boethius and Symmachus lead the Amal's soul up the cone of Stromboli, and hurl him in, as the English sailors saw old Boots, the Wapping usurer, hurled into the same place, for offences far more capable of proof. So runs the story of Dietrich's death. It is perfectly natural, and very likely true. His contemporaries, who all believed it, saw in it proof of his enormous guilt, and the manifest judgment of God. We shall rather see in it a proof of the earnest, child-like, honest nature of the man, startled into boundless horror and self-abasement, by the sudden revelation of his crime. Truly bad men die easier deaths than that; and go down to the grave, for the most part, blind and self-contented, and, as they think, unpunished; and perhaps forgiven. After Dietrich came the deluge. The royal head was gone. The royal heart remained in Amalasuentha 'the heavenly beauty,' a daughter worthy of her father. One of her first acts was to restore to the widows and children of the two victims the estates which Dietrich had confiscated. That may, or may not, prove that she thought the men innocent. She may have only felt it royal not to visit the sins of the fathers on the children; and those fathers, too, her own friends and preceptors. Beautiful, learned, and wise, she too was, like her father, before her age. She, the pupil of Boethius, would needs bring up her son Athalaric in Roman learning, and favour the Romans in all ways; never putting to death or even fining any of them, and keeping down the rough Goths, who were ready enough, now Dietrich's hand was off them, to ill-use the conquered Italians. The Goths soon grew to dislike her, and her Roman tendencies, her Roman education of the lad. One day she boxed his ears for some fault. He ran crying out into the Heldensaal, and complained to the heroes. They sent a deputation to Amalasuentha, insolent enough. 'The boy should not be made a scholar of.' 'She meant to kill the boy and marry again. Had not old Dietrich forbidden free Goths to go to schoolmasters, and said, that the boy who was taught to tremble at a cane, would never face a lance?' So they took the lad away from the women, and made a ruffian of him. What with drink, women, idleness, and the company of wild young fellows like himself, he was early ruined, body and soul. Poor Amalasuentha, not knowing whither to turn, took the desperate resolution of offering Italy to the Emperor Justinian. She did not know that her cousin Theodatus had been beforehand with her--a bad old man, greedy and unjust, whose rapacity she had had to control again and again, and who hated her in return. Both send messages to Justinian. The wily Emperor gave no direct answer: but sent his ambassador to watch the course of events. The young prince died of debauchery, and the Goths whispered that his mother had poisoned him. Meanwhile Theodatus went on from bad to worse; accusations flowed in to Amalasuentha of his lawless rapacity: but he was too strong for her; and she, losing her head more and more, made the desperate resolve of marrying him, as the only way to keep him quiet. He was the last male heir of the royal Amalungs. The marriage would set him right in the eyes of the Goths, while it would free her from the suspicion of having murdered her son, in order to reign alone. Theodatus meanwhile was to have the name of royalty; but she was to keep the power and the money--a foolish, confused plan, which could have but one ending. Theodatus married her of course, and then cast her into prison, seized all her treasures, and threw himself into the arms of that party among the Goths, who hated Amalasuentha for having punished their oppressions. The end was swift and sad. By the time that Justinian's ambassador landed, Amalasuentha was strangled in her bath; and all that Peter the ambassador had to do was, to catch at the cause of quarrel, and declare 'inexpiable war' on the part of Justinian, as the avenger of the Queen. And then began that dreadful East Goth war, which you may read for yourselves in the pages of an eye-witness, Procopius;--a war which destroyed utterly the civilization of Dietrich's long and prosperous reign, left Italy a desert, and exterminated the Roman people. That was the last woe: but of it I must tell you in my next Lecture. LECTURE VI--THE NEMESIS OF THE GOTHS. Of this truly dreadful Gothic war I can give you but a hasty sketch; of some of the most important figures in it, not even a sketch. I cannot conceive to myself, and therefore cannot draw for you, the famous Belisarius. Was he really the strange compound of strength and weakness which Procopius, and after him Gibbon, represent him?--a caricature, for good and evil, of our own famous Marlborough? You must read and judge for yourselves. I cannot, at least as yet, offer you any solution of the enigma. Still less can I conceive to myself Narses, living till his grey hairs in the effeminate intrigues of the harem, and then springing forth a general; the Warrior Eunuch; the misanthrope avenging his great wrong upon all mankind in bloody battle-fields; dark of counsel, and terrible of execution; him to whom in after years the Empress Sophia sent word that he was more fit to spin among maids than to command armies, and he answered, that he would spin her such a thread as she could not unravel; and kept his word (as legends say) by inviting the Lombards into Italy. Least of all can I sketch Justinian the Great, the half-Teuton peasant, whom his uncle Justin sent for out of the Dardanian hills, to make him a demigod upon earth. Men whispered in after years that he was born of a demon, a demon himself, passing whole days without food, wandering up and down his palace corridors all night, resolving dark things, and labouring all day with Herculean force to carry them out. No wonder he was thought to be a demon, wedded to a demon-wife. The man is unfathomable, inexplicable;--marrying deliberately the wickedest of all women, plainly not for mere beauty's sake, but possibly because he saw in her a congenial intellect;--faithful and loving to her and she to him, amid all the crimes of their following years;--pious with exceeding devotion and orthodoxy, and yet with a piety utterly divorced from, unconscious of, the commonest morality;--discerning and using the greatest men, Belisarius and Narses for example, and throwing them away again, surely not in weak caprice, whenever they served him too well;--conquering Persians, Vandals, Goths; all but re-conquering, in fact, the carcase Roman Empire;--and then trying (with a deep discernment of the value of Roman law) to put a galvanic life into the carcase by codifying that law. In whatever work I find this man, during his long life, he is to me inexplicable. Louis XI of France is the man most like Justinian whom I know, but he, too, is a man not to be fathomed by me. All the facts about Justinian you will find in Gibbon. I have no theory by which to arrange and explain them, and therefore can tell you no more than Gibbon does. So to this Gothic war; which, you must remember, became possible for Justinian by Belisarius' having just destroyed the Vandals out of Africa. It began by Belisarius invading the south of Italy. Witigis was elected war-king of the Goths, 'the man of witty counsels,' who did not fulfil his name; while Theodatus (Theod-aht 'esteemed by the people' as his name meant) had fallen into utter disesteem, after some last villainy about money; had been struck down in the road by the man he had injured; and there had his throat cut, 'resupinus instar victimae jugulatus.' He had consulted a Jew diviner just before, who had given him a warning. Thirty pigs, signifying the unclean Gentiles, the Jew shut up in three sties; naming ten Goths, ten Romans, and ten Imperialists of Belisarius' army, and left them to starve. At the end they found dead all the Goths but two, hardly any of the Imperialists, and half the Romans: but the five Roman pigs who were left had lost their bristles--bare to the skin, as the event proved. After that Theodatus had no heart to fight, and ended his dog's life by a dog's death, as we have seen. Note also this, that there was a general feeling of coming ruin; that there were quaint signs and omens. We have heard of the pigs which warned the Goths. Here is another. There was a Mosaic picture of Theodoric at Naples; it had been crumbling to pieces at intervals, and every fresh downfall had marked the death of an Amal. Now the last remains went down, to the very feet, and the Romans believed that it foretold the end of the Amal dynasty. There was a Sibylline oracle too; 'Quintili mense Roma nihil Geticum metuet.' Here, too, we find the last trace of heathenism, of that political mythology which had so inextricably interwoven itself with the life and history of the city. The shrine of Janus was still standing, all of bronze, only just large enough, Procopius says, to contain the bronze image of Janus Bifrons. The gates, during Christian centuries, had never been opened, even in war time. Now people went by night, and tried to force them open: but hardly succeeded. Belisarius garrisoned Rome, and the Goths attacked it, but in vain. You must read the story of that famous siege in the really brilliant pages of old Procopius, the last good historian of the old world. Moreover, and this is most important, Belisarius raised the native population against the Goths. As he had done in Africa, when in one short campaign he utterly destroyed the now effeminate aristocracy of the Vandals, so he did in Italy. By real justice and kindness; by proclaiming himself the deliverer of the conquered from the yoke of foreign tyrants, he isolated the slave-holding aristocracy of the Goths from the mass of the inhabitants of Italy. Belisarius and the Goths met, and the Goths conquered. But to take Rome was beyond their power; and after that a long miserable war struggled and wrangled up and down over the wretched land; city after city was taken and destroyed, now by Roman, now by Goth. The lands lay waste, the people disappeared in tens of thousands. All great Dietrich's work of thirty years was trampled into mud. There were horrible sieges and destructions by both parties;--sack of Milan by Goths, sack of Rimini and the country round by Romans; horrors of famine at Auximum; two women who kept an inn, killing and eating seventeen men, till the eighteenth discovered the trap and killed them. Everywhere, as I say, good Dietrich's work of thirty years trampled into gory mud. Then Theudebert and his false Franks came down to see what they could get; all (save a few knights round the king) on foot, without bow or lance; but armed with sword, shield, and heavy short-handled double-edged francisc, or battle-axe. At the bridge over the Ticinus they (nominal Catholics) sacrificed Gothic women and children with horrid rites, fought alike Goths and Romans, lost a third of their army by dysentery, and went home again. At last, after more horrors, Vitigis and his Goths were driven into Ravenna. Justinian treated for peace; and then followed a strange peripeteia, which we have, happily, from an eye-witness, Procopius himself. The Roman generals outside confessed their chance of success hopeless. The Goths inside, tired of the slow Vitigis, send out to the great Belisarius, Will he be their king? King over them there in Italy? He promised, meaning to break his promise; and to the astonishment and delight of the Romans, the simple and honest barbarians opened the gates of Ravenna, and let in him and his Romans, to find themselves betrayed and enslaved. 'When I saw our troops march in,' says Procopius, 'I felt it was God's doing, so to turn their minds. The Goths,' he says, 'were far superior in numbers and in strength; and their women, who had fancied these Romans to be mighty men of valour, spit in the faces of their huge husbands, and pointing to the little Romans, reproached them with having surrendered to such things as that.' But the folly was committed. Belisarius carried them away captive to Constantinople, and so ended the first act of the Gothic war. In the moment of victory the envy of the Byzantine court undid all that it had done. Belisarius returned with his captives to Rome, not for a triumph, but for a disgrace; and Italy was left open to the Goths, if they had men and heart to rise once more. And they did rise. Among the remnant of the race was left a hero, Totila by name;--a Teuton of the ancient stamp. Totilas, 'free from death'--'the deathless one,' they say his name means. Under him the nation rose once more as out of the ground. A Teuton of the ancient stamp he was, just and merciful exceedingly. Take but two instances of him, and know the man by them. He retook Naples. The Romans within were starving. He fed them; but lest they should die of the sudden repletion, he kept them in by guards at each gate, and fed them up more and more each day, till it was safe to let them out, to find food for themselves in the country. A Roman came to complain that a Goth had violated his daughter. He shall die, said Totila. He shall not die, said the Goths. He is a valiant hero. They came clamouring to the king. He answered them quietly and firmly. They may choose to-day, whether to let this man go unpunished, or to save the Gothic nation and win the victory. Do they not recollect how at the beginning of the war, they had brave soldiers, famous generals, countless treasures, horses, weapons, and all the forts of Italy? And yet under Theodatus, a man who loved gold better than justice, they had so angered God by their unrighteous lives, that--what had happened they knew but too well. Now God had seemed to have avenged himself on them enough. He had begun a new course with them. They must begin a new course with him; and justice was the only path. As for the man's being a valiant hero: let them know that the unjust and the ravisher were never brave in fight; but that according to a man's life, such was his luck in battle. His noble words came all but true. The feeble generals who were filling Belisarius's place were beaten one by one, and almost all Italy was reconquered. Belisarius had to be sent back again to Italy: but the envy, whether of Justinian himself, or of the two wicked women who ruled his court, allowed him so small a force that he could do nothing. Totila and the Goths came down once more to Rome. Belisarius in agony sent for reinforcements, and got them; but too late. He could not relieve Rome. The Goths had massed themselves round the city, and Belisarius, having got to Ostia (Portus) at the Tiber's mouth, could get no further. This was the last woe; the actual death-agony of ancient Rome. The famine grew and grew. The wretched Romans cried to Bessas and his garrison, either to feed them or to kill them out of their misery. They would do neither. They could hardly at last feed themselves. The Romans ate nettles off the ruins, and worse things still. There was not a dog or a rat left. They even killed themselves. One father of five children could bear no longer their cries for food. He wrapped his head in his mantle, and sprang into the Tiber, while the children looked on. The survivors wandered about like spectres, brown with hunger, and dropped dead with half-chewed nettles between their lips. To this, says Procopius, had fortune brought the Roman senate and people. Nay, not fortune, but wickedness. They had wished to play at being free, while they themselves were the slaves of sin. And still Belisarius was coming,--and still he did not come. He was forcing his way up the Tiber; he had broken Totila's chain, burnt a tower full of Goths, and the city was on the point of being relieved, when one Isaac made a fool of himself, and was taken by the Goths. Belisarius fancied that Portus, his base of operations, with all his supplies, and Antonia, the worthless wife on whom he doted, were gone. He lost his head, was beaten terribly, fell back on Ostia, and then the end came. Isaurians from within helped in Goths by night. The Asinarian gate was opened, and Rome was in the hands of the Goths. And what was left? What of all the pomp and glory, the spoils of the world, the millions of inhabitants? Five or six senators, who had taken refuge in St. Peter's, and some five hundred of the plebs; Pope Pelagius crouching at Totila's feet, and crying for mercy; and Rusticiana, daughter of Symmachus, Boethius' widow, with other noble women, in slaves' rags, knocking without shame at door after door to beg a bit of bread. And that was what was left of Rome. Gentlemen, I make no comment. I know no more awful page in the history of Europe. Through such facts as these God speaks. Let man be silent; and look on in fear and trembling, knowing that it was written of old time--The wages of sin are death. The Goths wanted to kill Rusticiana. She had sent money to the Roman generals; she had thrown down Dietrich's statues, in revenge for the death of her father and her husband. Totila would not let them touch her. Neither maid, wife, nor widow, says Procopius, was the worse for any Goth. Next day he called the heroes together. He is going to tell them the old tale, he says--How in Vitigis' time at Ravenna, 7000 Greeks had conquered and robbed of kingdom and liberty 200,000 rich and well-armed Goths. And now that they were raw levies, few, naked, wretched, they had conquered more than 20,000 of the enemy. And why? Because of old they had looked to everything rather than to justice; they had sinned against each other and the Romans. Therefore they must choose, and be just men henceforth, and have God with them, or unjust, and have God against them. Then he sends for the wretched remnant of the senators and tells them the plain truth:--How the great Dietrich and his successors had heaped them with honour and wealth; and how they had returned his benefits by bringing in the Greeks. And what had they gained by changing Dietrich for Justinian? Logothetes, who forced them by blows to pay up the money which they had already paid to their Gothic rulers; and revenue exacted alike in war and in peace. Slaves they deserve to be; and slaves they shall be henceforth. Then he sends to Justinian. He shall withdraw his army from Italy, and make peace with him. He will be his ally and his son in arms, as Dietrich had been to the Emperors before him, or if not, he will kill the senate, destroy Rome, and march into Illyricum. Justinian leaves it to Belisarius. Then Totila begins to destroy Rome. He batters down the walls, he is ready to burn the town. He will turn the evil place into a sheep-pasture. Belisarius flatters and cajoles him from his purpose, and he marches away with all his captives, leaving not a living soul in Rome. But Totila shews himself a general unable to cope with that great tactician. He divides his forces, and allows Belisarius to start out of Ostia and fortify himself in Rome. The Goths are furious at his rashness: but it is too late, and the war begins again, up and down the wretched land, till Belisarius is recalled by some fresh court intrigue of his wicked wife, and another and even more terrible enemy appears on the field, Narses the eunuch, avenging his wrong upon his fellow-men by cunning and courage almost preternatural. He comes upon them with a mighty host: but not of Romans alone. He has gathered the Teuton tribes;--Herules, the descendants probably of Odoacer's confederates; Gepids, who have a long blood-feud against the Goths; and most terrible of all, Alboin with his five thousand more Burgundians, of whom you will hear enough hereafter. We read even of multitudes of Huns, and even of Persian deserters from the Chosroo. But Narses' policy is the old Roman one--Teuton must destroy Teuton. And it succeeds. In spite of some trouble with the Franks, who are holding Venetia, he marches down victorious through the wasted land, and Totila marches to meet him in the Apennines. The hero makes his last speech. He says, 'There will be no need to talk henceforth. This day will end the war. They are not to fear these hired Huns, Herules, Lombards, fighting for money. Let them hold together like desperate men.' So they fight it out. The Goths depending entirely on the lance, the Romans on a due use of every kind of weapon. The tremendous charge of the Gothic knights is stopped by showers of Hun and Herule arrows, and they roll back again and again in disorder on the foot: but in spite of the far superior numbers of the Romans, it is not till nightfall that Narses orders a general advance of his line. The Goths try one last charge; but appalled by the numbers of the enemy, break up, and, falling back on the foot, throw them into confusion, and all is lost. The foot are cut down flying. The knights ride for their lives. Totila and five horsemen are caught up by Asbad the Gepid chief. Asbad puts his lance in rest, not knowing who was before him. 'Dog,' cries Totila's page, 'wilt thou strike thy lord?' But it is too late. Asbad's lance goes through his back, and he drops on his horse's neck. Scipwar (Shipward) the Goth wounds Asbad, and falls wounded himself. The rest carry off Totila. He dies that night, after reigning eleven stormy years. The Goths flee across the Po. There is one more struggle for life, and one more hero left. Teia by name, 'the slow one,' slow, but strong. He shall be king now. They lift him on the shield, and gather round him desperate, but determined to die hard. He finds the treasure of Totila, hid in Pisa. He sends to Theudebald and his Franks. Will they help him against the Roman, and they shall have the treasure; the last remnant of the Nibelungen hoard. No. The Luegenfelden will not come. They will stand by and see the butchery, on the chance of getting all Italy for themselves. Narses storms Rome--or rather a little part of it round Hadrian's Mole, which the Goths had fortified; and the Goths escape down into Campania, mad with rage. That victory of Narses, says Procopius, brought only a more dreadful destruction on the Roman senate and people. The Goths, as they go down, murder every Roman they meet. The day of grace which Totila had given them is over. The Teutons in Narses' army do much the same. What matter to Burgunds and Herules who was who, provided they had any thing to be plundered of? Totila has allowed many Roman senators to live in Campania. They hear that Narses has taken Rome, they begin to flock to the ghastly ruin. Perhaps there will be once again a phantom senate, phantom consuls, under the Romani nominis umbram. The Goths catch them, and kill them to a man. And there is an end of the Senatus Populusque Romanus. The end is near now. And yet these terrible Goths cannot be killed out of the way. On the slopes of Vesuvius, by Nuceria, they fortify a camp; and as long as they are masters of the neighbouring sea, for two months they keep Narses at bay. At last he brings up an innumerable fleet, cuts off their supplies; and then the end comes. The Goths will die like desperate men on foot. They burst out of camp, turn their horses loose, after the fashion of German knights--One hears of the fashion again and again in the middle age,--and rush upon the enemy in deep solid column. The Romans have hardly time to form some sort of line; and then not the real Romans, I presume, but the Burgunds and Gepids, turn their horses loose like the Goths. There is no need for tactics; the fight is hand to hand; every man, says Procopius, rushing at the man nearest him. For a third of the day Teia fights in front, sheltered by his long pavisse, stabbing with a mighty lance at the mob which makes at him, as dogs at a boar at bay. Procopius is awed by the man. Most probably he saw him with his own eyes. Second in valour, he says, to none of the Heroes. Again and again his shield is full of darts. Without moving a foot, without turning an inch right or left, says Procopius, he catches another from his shield-bearer, and fights on. At last he has twelve lances in his shield, and cannot move it: coolly he calls for a fresh one, as if he were fixed to the soil, thrusts back the enemy with his left hand, and stabs at them with his right. But his time is come. As he shifts his shield for a moment his chest is exposed, and a javelin is through him. And so ends the last hero of the East Goths. They put his head upon a pole, and carry it round the lines to frighten the Goths. The Goths are long past frightening. All day long, and all the next day, did the Germans fight on, Burgund and Gepid against Goth, neither giving nor taking quarter, each man dying where he stood, till human strength could bear up no longer, while Narses sat by, like an ugly Troll as he was, smiling to see the Teuton slay the Teuton, for the sake of their common enemy. Then the Goths sent down to Narses. They were fighting against God. They would give in, and go their ways peaceably, and live with some other Teuton nations after their own laws. They had had enough of Italy, poor fellows, and of the Nibelungen hoard. Only Narses, that they might buy food on the journey back, must let them have their money, which he had taken in various towns of Italy. Narses agreed. There was no use fighting more with desperate men. They should go in peace. And he kept his faith with them. Perhaps he dared not break it. He let them go, like a wounded lion crawling away from the hunter, up through Italy, and over the Po, to vanish. They and their name became absorbed in other nations, and history knows the East Goths no more. So perished, by their own sins, a noble nation; and in perishing, destroyed utterly the Roman people. After war and famine followed as usual dreadful pestilence, and Italy lay waste for years. Henceforth the Italian population was not Roman, but a mixture of all races, with a most powerful, but an entirely new type of character. Rome was no more Senatorial, but Papal. And why did these Goths perish, in spite of all their valour and patriotism, at the hands of mercenaries? They were enervated, no doubt, as the Vandals had been in Africa, by the luxurious southern climate, with its gardens, palaces, and wines. But I have indicated a stronger reason already:--they perished because they were a slave-holding aristocracy. We must not blame them. All men then held slaves: but the original sin was their ruin, though they knew it not. It helped, doubtless, to debauch them; to tempt them to the indulgence of those fierce and greedy passions, which must, in the long run, lower the morality of slaveholders; and which, as Totila told them, had drawn down on them the anger of heaven. But more; though they reformed their morals, and that nobly, under the stern teaching of affliction, that could not save them. They were ruined by the inherent weakness of all slaveholding states; the very weakness which had ruined, in past years, the Roman Empire. They had no middle class, who could keep up their supplies, by exercising for them during war the arts of peace. They had no lower class, whom they dare entrust with arms, and from whom they might recruit their hosts. They could not call a whole population into the field, and when beaten in that field, carry on, as Britain would when invaded, a guerilla warfare from wood to wood, and hedge to hedge, as long as a coign of vantage-ground was left. They found themselves a small army of gentlemen, chivalrous and valiant, as slaveholders of our race have always been; but lessening day by day from battle and disease, with no means of recruiting their numbers; while below them and apart from them lay the great mass of the population, helpless, unarmed, degraded, ready to side with any or every one who would give them bread, or let them earn it for themselves (for slaves must eat, even though their masters starve), and careless of, if not even hostile to, their masters' interests, the moment those masters were gone to the wars. In such a case, nothing was before them, save certain defeat at last by an enemy who could pour in ever fresh troops of mercenaries, and who had the command of the seas. I may seem to be describing the case of a modern and just as valiant and noble a people. I do not mention its name. The parallel, I fear, is too complete, not to have already suggested itself to you. LECTURE VII--PAULUS DIACONUS And now I come to the final settlement of Italy and the Lombard race; and to do that well, I must introduce you to-day to an old chronicler--a very valuable, and as far as we know, faithful writer--Paul Warnefrid, alias Paul the Deacon. I shall not trouble you with much commentary on him; but let him, as much as possible, tell his own story. He may not be always quite accurate, but you will get no one more accurate. In the long run, you will know nothing about the matter, save what he tells you; so be content with what you can get. Let him shew you what sort of an account of his nation, and the world in general, a Lombard gentleman and clergyman could give, at the end of the 8th century. You recollect the Lombards, of whom Tacitus says, 'Longobardos paucitas nobilitat.' Paulus Warnefrid was one of their descendants, and his history carries out the exact truth of Tacitus' words. He too speaks of them as a very small tribe. He could not foresee how much the 'nobilitat' meant. He knew his folk as a brave semi-feudal race, who had conquered the greater part of Italy, and tilled and ruled it well; who were now conquered by Charlemagne, and annexed to the great Frank Empire, but without losing anything of their distinctive national character. He did not foresee that they would become the architects, the merchants, the goldsmiths, the bankers, the scientific agriculturists of all Europe. We know it. Whenever in London or any other great city, you see a 'Lombard Street,' an old street of goldsmiths and bankers--or the three golden balls of Lombardy over a pawnbroker's shop--or in the country a field of rye-grass, or a patch of lucerne--recollect this wise and noble people, and thank the Lombards for what they have done for mankind. Paulus is a garrulous historian, but a valuable one, just because he is garrulous. Though he turned monk and deacon in middle life, he has not sunk the man in the monk, and become a cosmopolite, like most Roman ecclesiastics, who have no love or hate for human beings save as they are friends or enemies of the pope, or their own abbey. He has retained enough of the Lombard gentleman to be proud of his family, his country, and the old legends of his race, which he tells, half-ashamed, but with evident enjoyment. He was born at beautiful Friuli, with the jagged snow-line of the Alps behind him, and before him the sun and the sea, and the plains of Po; he was a courtier as a boy in Desiderius' court at Pavia, and then, when Charlemagne destroyed the Lombard monarchy, seems to have been much with the great king at Aix. He certainly ended his life as a Benedictine monk, at Monte Casino, about 799; having written a Life of St. Gregory; Homilies long and many; the Appendix to Eutropius (the Historia Miscella, as it is usually called) up to Justinian's time; and above all, this history of the Lombards, his forefathers, which I shall take as my text. To me, and I believe to the great German antiquaries, his history seems a model history of a nation. You watch the people and their story rise before you out of fable into fact; out of the dreary darkness of the unknown north, into the clear light of civilized Roman history. The first chapter is 'Of Germany, how it nourishes much people, and therefore many nations go forth of it.' The reason which he gives for the immense population is significant. The further to the north, and the colder, the more healthy he considers the world to be, and more fit for breeding human beings; whereas the south, being nearer to the heat of the sun, always abounds with diseases. The fact really is, I presume, that Italy (all the south which he knew), and perhaps most of the once Roman empire, were during the 6th and 7th centuries pestilential. Ruined cities, stopt watercourses, cultivated land falling back into marsh and desert, a soil too often saturated with human corpses--offered all the elements for pestilence. If the once populous Campagna of Rome be now uninhabitable from malaria, what must it have been in Paul Warnefrid's time? Be that as it may, this is his theory. Then he tells us how his people were at first called Winils; and how they came out of Scania Insula. Sweden is often, naturally, an island with the early chroniclers; only the south was known to them. The north was magical, unknown, Quenland, the dwelling-place of Yotuns, Elves, Trolls, Scratlings, and all other uncanny inhumanities. The Winils find that they are growing too many for Scanland, and they divide into three parties. Two shall stay behind, and the third go out to seek their fortunes. Which shall go is to be decided by lot. The third on whom the lot falls choose as war-kings, two brothers, Ayo and Ibor, and with them their mother, Gambara, the Alruna-wife, prudent and wise exceedingly--and they go forth. But before Paul can go too, he has a thing or two to say, which he must not forget, about the wild mysterious north from which his forefathers came. First how, in those very extreme parts of Germany, in a cave on the ocean shore, lie the seven sleepers. How they got thither from Ephesus, I cannot tell, still less how they should be at once there on the Baltic shore, and at Ephesus--as Mohammed himself believed, and Edward the Confessor taught--and at Marmoutier by Tours, and probably elsewhere beside. Be that as it may, there they are, the seven martyrs, sleeping for ever in their Roman dresses, which some wild fellow tried to pull off once, and had his arms withered as a punishment. And Paul trusts that they will awake some day, and by their preaching save the souls of the heathen Wends and Finns who haunt those parts. The Teutonic knights, however, and not the seven sleepers, did that good work. Only their dog is not with them, it appears;--the sacred dog which watches them till the judgment day, when it is to go up to heaven, with Noah's dove, and Balaam's ass, and Alborah the camel, and all the holy beasts. The dog must have been left behind at Ephesus. Then he must tell us about the Scritofinns of the Bothnia gulf; wild Lapps and Finns, who have now retreated before the Teutonic race. In Paul Warnefrid's eyes they are little wild hopping creatures--whence they derive their name, he says--Scritofinns, the hopping, or scrambling Finns. Scrattels, Skretles, often figure in the Norse tales as hopping dwarfs, half magical {158}. The Norse discoverers of America recognized the Skraellings in the Esquimaux, and fled from them in panic terror; till that furious virago Freydisa, Thorvard's wife, and Eirek the Red's daughter, caught up a dead man's sword, and put to flight, single-handed, the legion of little imps. Others, wiser, or too wise, say that Paul is wrong; that Skrikfins is the right name, so called from their 'screeking', screaming, and jabbering, which doubtless the little fellows did, loudly enough. Be that as it may, they appear to Paul (or rather to his informants, Wendish merchants probably, who came down to Charlemagne's court at Aix, to sell their amber and their furs) as hopping about, he says, after the rein-deer, shooting them with a little clumsy bow, and arrows tipt with bone, and dressing themselves in their skins. Procopius knew these Scritfins too (but he has got (as usual) addled in his geography, and puts them in ultima Thule or Shetland), and tells us, over and above the reindeer-skin dresses, that the women never nursed their children, but went out hunting with their husbands, hanging the papoose up to a tree, as the Lapps do now, with a piece of deer's marrow in its mouth to keep it employed; and moreover, that they sacrificed their captives to a war- god (Mars he calls him) in cruel ugly ways. All which we may fully believe. Then Paul has to tell us how in the Scritfin country there is little or no night in midsummer, little or no day in winter; and how the shadows there are exceeding long, and shorten to nothing as they reach the equator,--where he puts not merely Egypt, but Jerusalem. And how on Christmas days a man's shadow is nine feet long in Italy, whereas at Totonis Villam (Thionville), as he himself has measured, it is nineteen feet and a half. Because, he says, shrewdly enough, the further you go from the sun, the nearer the sun seems to the horizon. Of all which if you answer--But this is not history: I shall reply--But it is better than history. It is the history of history. It helps you to see how the world got gradually known; how history got gradually to be written; how each man, in each age, added his little grain to the great heap of facts, and gave his rough explanation thereof; and how each man's outlook upon this wondrous world grew wider, clearer, juster, as the years rolled on. And therefore I have no objection at all to listen to Paul in his next chapter, concerning the two navels of the ocean, one on each side Britain--abysses which swallow up the water twice a day, and twice a day spout it up again. Paul has seen, so he seems to say, the tide, the [Greek text], that inexplicable wonder of the old Greeks and Romans, running up far inland at the mouths of the Seine and Loire; and he has to get it explained somehow, before he can go forward with a clear conscience. One of the navels seems to be the Mahlstrom in Norway. Of the place of the other there is no doubt. It is close to Evodia insula, seemingly Alderney. For a high noble of the French told him so; he was sucked into it, ships and all, and only escaped by clinging to a rock. And after awhile the margins of that abyss were all left bare, leaving the Frenchman high and dry, 'palpitating so with fear,' says Paul, 'that he could hardly keep his seat.' But when all the water had been sucked in, out and up it came pouring again, in huge mountains, and upon them the Frenchman's ships, to his intense astonishment, reappeared out of the bottomless pit; into one of which he jumped; being, like a true Frenchman, thoroughly master of the situation; and got safe home to tell Paul the deacon. It is not quite the explanation of the tides which one would have wished for: but if a French nobleman of high rank will swear that he saw it with his own eyes, what can Paul do, in common courtesy, but believe him? Paul has observed, too, which is a fact, that there is a small tide in his own Adriatic; and suggests modestly that there may be a similar hole in the bottom of that sea, only a little one, the tide being very little. After which, 'his praelibatis,' he will return, he says, to his story. And so he goes back to the famous Langbard Saga, the old story, which he has turned out of living Teutonic verse into dead Latin prose, and calls De Woden et Frea quaedam ridicula fabula; but can't help for the life of him telling it, apologizing all the time. How the Winils (his own folk) went out to fight the Wendels, many more than them in number; and how Gambara, the Alruna-wife, cried to Freia the goddess, and Freia told her that whichsoever of the two armies first greeted Woden at the sunrise should win. But the Winils are far away on the war-road, and there is no time to send to them. So Freia bids her take the Winil women, and dress them as warriors, and plait their tresses over their lips for beards, and cry to Woden; and Woden admires their long beards, and thinks them such valiant 'war-beasts,' that he grants them the victory. Then Freia tells him how he has been taken in, and the old god laughs till the clouds rattle again, and the Winils are called Langbardr ever after. But then comes in the antiquary, and says that the etymology is worthless, and that Langbardr means long axes--(bard=an axe)--a word which we keep in halbert, a hall-axe, or guard's pole-axe; and perhaps the antiquary is right. But again comes in a very learned man, Dr. Latham {162}, and more than hints that the name is derived from the Lange Borde, the long meadows by the side of the Elbe: and so a good story crumbles to pieces, and 'All charms do fly Beneath the touch of cold philosophy.' Then follows another story, possibly from another saga. How by reason of a great famine they had to leave Scoringia, the shore-land, and go into Mauringia, a word which Mr. Latham connects with the Merovingi, or Meerwing conquerors of Gaul. Others say that it means the moorland, others something else. All that they will ever find out we may see for ourselves already.--A little tribe of valiant fair-haired men, whether all Teutons, or, as Mr. Latham thinks, Sclavonians with Teuton leaders, still intimately connected with our own English race both by their language and their laws, struggling for existence on the bleak brown bogs and moors, sowing a little barley and flax, feeding a few rough cattle, breeding a few great black horses; generation after generation fighting their way southward, as they exhausted the barren northern soils, or became too numerous for their marches, or found land left waste in front of them by the emigration of some Suevic, Vandal, or Burgund tribe. We know nothing about them, and never shall know, save that they wore white linen gaiters, and carried long halberts, or pole-axes, and had each an immortal soul in him, as dear to God as yours or mine, with immense unconscious capabilities, which their children have proved right well. Then comes another saga, how they met the Assipitti, of whom, whether they were Tacitus's Usipetes, of the Lower Rhine, or Asabiden, the remnant of the Asen, who went not to Scandinavia with Odin, we know not, and need not know; and how the Assipitti would not let them pass; and how they told the Lombards that they had dogheaded men in their tribe who drank men's blood, which Mr. Latham well explains by pointing out, in the Traveller's Song, a tribe of Hundings (Houndings) sons of the hound; and how the Lombards sent out a champion, who fought the champion of the Assipitti, and so gained leave to go on their way. Forward they go, toward the south-east, seemingly along the German marches, the debateable land between Teuton and Sclav, which would, mechanically speaking, be the line of least resistance. We hear of Gothland--wherever that happened to be just then; of Anthaib, the land held by the Sclavonian Anten, and Bathaib, possibly the land held by the Gepidae, or remnant of the Goths who bided behind (as Wessex men still say), while the Goths moved forward; and then of Burgundhaib, wherever the Burgunds might be then. I know not; and I will dare to say, no man can exactly know. For no dates are given, and how can they be? The Lombards have not yet emerged out of the dismal darkness of the north into the light of Roman civilization; and all the history they have are a few scraps of saga. At last they take a king of the family of the Gungings, Agilmund, son of Ayo, like the rest of the nations, says Jornandes; for they will be no more under duces, elective war-kings. And then follows a fresh saga (which repeats itself in the myths of several nations), how a woman has seven children at a birth, and throws them for shame into a pond; and Agilmund the king, riding by, stops to see, and turns them over with his lance; and one of the babes lays hold thereof; and the king says, 'This will be a great man;' and takes him out of the pond, and calls him Lamissohn, 'the son of the fishpond,' (so it is interpreted;) who grows to be a mighty Kemper-man, and slays an Amazon. For when they come to a certain river, the Amazons forbid them to pass, unless they will fight their she-champion; and Lamissohn swims over and fights the war-maiden, and slays her; and they go on and come into a large land and quiet, somewhere about Silesia, it would seem, and abode there a long while. Then down on them come the savage Bulgars by night, and slay king Agilmund, and carry off his daughter; and Lamissohn follows them, and defeats them with a great slaughter, and is made king; and so forth: till at last they have got--how we shall never know--near history and historic lands. For when Odoacer and his Turklings and other confederates went up into Rugiland, the country north of Vienna, and destroyed the Rugians, and Fava their king, then the Lombards went down into the waste land of the Rugians, because it was fertile, and abode there certain years. Then they moved on again, we know not why, and dwelt in the open plains, which are called feld. One says 'Moravia;' but that they had surely left behind. Rather it is the western plain of Hungary about Comorn. Be that as it may, they quarrelled there with the Heruli. Eutropius says that they paid the Herules tribute for the land, and offered to pay more, if the Herules would not attack them. Paul tells a wild saga, or story, of the Lombard king's daughter insulting a Herule prince, because he was short of stature: he answered by some counter-insult; and she, furious, had him stabbed from behind through a window as he sat with his back to it. Then war came. The Herules, old and practised warriors, trained in the Roman armies, despised the wild Lombards, and disdained to use armour against them, fighting with no clothes save girdles. Rodulf their king, too certain of victory, sat playing at tables, and sent a man up a tree to see how the fight went, telling him that he would cut his head off if he said that the Herules fled; and then, touched by some secret anxiety as to the end, spoke the fatal words himself; and a madness from God came on the Herules; and when they came to a field of flax, they took the blue flowers for water, and spread out their arms to swim through, and were all slaughtered defencelessly. Then they fought with the Suevi; and their kings' daughters married with the kings of the Franks; and then ruled Aldwin (a name which Dr. Latham identifies with our English Eadwin, or Edwin, 'the noble conqueror,' though Grotius translates it Audwin, 'the old or auld conqueror'), who brought them over the Danube into Pannonia, between the Danube and the Drave, about the year 526. Procopius says, that they came by a grant from the Emperor Justinian, who gave as wife to Aldwin a great niece of Dietrich the Good, carried captive with Witigis to Byzant. Thus at last they too have reached the forecourt of the Roman Empire, and are waiting for their turn at the Nibelungen hoard. They have one more struggle, the most terrible of all; and then they will be for a while the most important people of the then world. The Gepidae are in Hungary before them, now a great people. Ever since they helped to beat the Huns at Netad, they have been holding Attila's old kingdom for themselves and not attempting to move southward into the Empire; so fulfilling their name. There is continual desultory war; Justinian, according to Procopius' account, playing false with each, in order to make them destroy each other. Then, once (this is Procopius' story, not Paul's) they meet for a great fight; and both armies run away by a panic terror; and Aldwin the Lombard and Thorisend the Gepid are left alone, face to face.--It is the hand of God, say the two wild kings--God does not mean these two peoples to destroy each other. So they make a truce for two years. Then the Gepidae call in Cutuguri, a Hunnic tribe, to help them; then, says Procopius, Aldwin, helped by Roman mercenaries, under Amalfrid the Goth, Theodoric's great nephew, and brother-in-law of Aldwin, has a great fight with the Gepidae. But Paul knows naught of all this: with him it is not Aldwin, but Alboin his son, who destroys the Gepidae. Alboin, Grotius translates as Albe-win, 'he who wins all:' but Dr. Latham, true to his opinion that the Lombards and the Angles were closely connected, identifies it with our AElfwine, 'the fairy conqueror.' Aldwin, Paul says, and Thorisend fought in the Asfeld,--wherever that may be,--and Alboin the Lombard prince slew Thorisend the Gepid prince, and the Gepidae were defeated with a great slaughter. Then young Alboin asked his father to let him sit at the table with him. No, he could not do that, by Lombard custom, till he has become son-at- arms to some neighbouring king. Young Alboin takes forty thanes, and goes off to Thorisend's court, as the guest of his enemy. The rites of hospitality are sacred. The king receives him, feasts him, seats him, the slayer of his son, in his dead son's place. And as he looks on him he sighs; and at last he can contain no longer. The seat, he says, I like right well: but not the man who sits in it. One of his sons takes fire, and begins to insult the Lombards and their white gaiters. You Lombards have white legs like so many brood mares. A Lombard flashes up. Go to the Asfeld, and you will see how Lombard mares can kick. Your brother's bones are lying about there like any sorry nag's. This is too much; swords are drawn; but old Thorisend leaps up. He will punish the first man who strikes. Guests are sacred. Let them sit down again, and drink their liquor in peace. And after they have drunk, he gives Alboin his dead son's weapons, and lets them go in peace, like a noble gentleman. This grand old King dies in peace. Aldwin dies likewise, and to them succeed their sons, Alboin and Cunimund--the latter probably the prince who made the jest about the brood-mares--and they two will fight the quarrel out. Cunimund, says Paul, began the war--of course that is his story. Alboin is growing a great man; he has married a daughter of Clotaire, king of the Franks: and now he takes to his alliance the Avars, who have just burst into the Empire, wild people who afterwards founded a great kingdom in the Danube lands, and they ravage Cunimund's lands. He will fight the Lombards first, nevertheless: he can settle the Avars after. He and his, says Paul, are slain to a man. Alboin makes a drinking-cup of his skull, carries off his daughter Rosamund ('Rosy-mouth'), and a vast multitude of captives and immense wealth. The Gepidae vanish from history; to this day (says Paul) slaves either of the Lombards or the Huns (by whom he rather means Avars); and Alboin becomes the hero of his time, praised even to Paul's days in sagas, Saxon and Bavarian as well as Lombard, for his liberality and his glory. We shall see now how he has his chance at the Nibelungen hoard. He has heard enough (as all Teutons have) of Italy, its beauty, and its weakness. He has sent five thousand chosen warriors to Narses, to help him against Totila and the Ostrogoths; and they have told him of the fair land and large, with its vineyards, olive-groves, and orchards, waste by war and pestilence, and crying out for human beings to come and till it once more. There is no force left in Italy now, which can oppose him. Hardly any left in the Roman world. The plague is come; to add its horrors to all the other horrors of the time--the true old plague, as far as I can ascertain; bred, men say, from the Serbonian bog; the plague which visited Athens in the time of Socrates, and England in the seventeenth century: and after the plague a famine; woe on woe, through all the dark days of Justinian the demon-emperor. The Ostrogoths, as you know, were extinct as a nation. The two deluges of Franks and Allmen, which, under the two brothers Buccelin and Lothaire, all on foot (for the French, as now, were no horsemen), had rolled into Italy during the Gothic war, had been swallowed up, as all things were, in the fatal gulf of Italy. Lothaire and his army, returning laden with plunder, had rotted away like sheep by Lake Benacus (Garda now) of drink, and of the plague. Buccelin, entrenched among his plunder-waggons by the Volturno stream in the far south, had waited in vain for that dead brother and his dead host, till Narses came on him, with his army of trained Herules and Goths; the Francisc axe and barbed pike had proved useless before the arrows and the cavalry of the Romans; and no more than five Allmen, says one, remained of all that mighty host. Awful to think of: 75,000 men, they say, in one column, 100,000 in the other: and like water they flowed over the land; and like water they sank into the ground, and left no trace. And now Narses, established as exarch of Ravenna, a sort of satrap, like those of the Persian Emperors, and representing the Emperor of Constantinople, was rewarded for all his conquests and labours by disgrace. Eunuch-like, he loved money, they said; and eunuch-like, he was harsh and cruel. The Empress Sophia, listening too readily to court- slanders, bade him 'leave to men the use of arms, and come back to the palace, to spin among the maids.'--'Tell her,' said the terrible old imp, 'I will spin her such a thread as she shall not unravel.' He went, superseded by Longinus; but not to Constantinople. From Naples he sent (so says Paul the Deacon) to Alboin, and bade him come and try his fortune as king of Italy. He sent, too, (so says old Paul) presents to tempt the simple Lombard men--such presents as children would like--all fruits which grew in Italian orchards. Though the gold was gone, those were still left. Great babies they were, these Teutons, as I told you at the first; and Narses knew it well, and had used them for his ends for many a year. Then were terrible signs seen in Italy by night; fiery armies fighting in the sky, and streams of blood aloft, foreshadowing the blood which should be shed. Sent for or not, King Alboin came; and with him all his army, and a mighty multitude, women, and children, and slaves; Bavarians, Gepidae, Bulgars, Sarmatae, Pannonians, Sueves, and Noricans; whose names (says Paul) remain unto this day in the names of the villages where they settled. With Alboin, too, came Saxons, twenty thousand of them at the least, with wife and child. And Sigebert king of the Franks put Suevic settlers into the lands which the Saxons had left. Alboin gave up his own Hungarian land to his friends the Avars, on the condition that he should have them back if he had to return. But return he never did, he nor his Lombard host. This is the end. The last invasion of Italy. The sowing, once for all, of an Italian people. Fresh nations were still pressing down to the rear of the Alps, waiting for their turn to enter the Fairy Land--not knowing, perhaps, that nothing was left therein, but ashes and blood:--but their chance was over now: a people were going into Italy who could hold what they got. On Easter Tuesday, in the year of grace 568, they came, seemingly by the old road; the path of Alaric and Dietrich and the rest; the pass from Carniola, through which the rail runs now from Laybach to Trieste. It must have been white, in those days, with the bones of nigh 200 years. And they found bisons, aurochsen, in the mountains, Paul says, and is not surprised thereat, because there are plenty of them in Hungary near by. An old man told him he had seen a skin in which fifteen men might lie side by side. None, you must know, are left now, save a very few in the Lithuanian forests. Paul goes out of his way to note this fact, and so shall I. Alboin left a strong guard in Friuli, and Paul's ancestor among them, under Gisulf his nephew, and Marphrais or master of the horse, who now became duke of Friuli and warden of the marches, bound to prevent the Avars following them into their new abode. Then the human deluge spread itself slowly over the Lombard plains. None fought with them, and none gainsaid; for all the land was waste. The plague of three years before, and the famine which followed it had, says Paul, reduced the world into primaeval silence. The villages had no inhabitants but dogs; the sheep were pasturing without a shepherd; the wild birds swarmed unhurt about the fields. The corn was springing self-sown under the April sun, the vines sprouting unpruned, the lucerne fields unmown, when the great Lombard people flowed into that waste land, and gave to it their own undying name. The scanty population, worn out with misery, fled to rocks and islands in the lakes, and to the seaport towns; but they seem to have found the Lombards merciful masters, and bowed their necks meekly to the inevitable yoke. The towns alone seem to have offered resistance. Pavia Alboin besieged three years, and could not take. He swore some wild oath of utter destruction to all within, and would have kept it. At last they capitulated. As Alboin rode in at St. John's gate, his horse slipped up; and could not rise, though the grooms beat him with their lance-butts. A ghostly fear came on the Lombards. 'Remember, lord king, thy cruel oath, and cancel it; for there are Christian folk in the city.' Alboin cancelled his oath, and the horse rose at once. So Alboin spared the people of Pavia, and entered the palace of old Dietrich the Ostrogoth, as king of Italy, as far as the gates of Rome and Ravenna. And what was his end? Such an end as he deserved; earned and worked out for himself. A great warrior, he had destroyed many nations, and won a fair land. A just and wise governor, he had settled North Italy on some rough feudal system, without bloodshed or cruelty. A passionate savage, he died as savages deserve to die. You recollect Rosamund his Gepid bride? In some mad drinking-bout (perhaps cherishing still his old hatred of her family) he sent her her father's skull full of wine, and bade her drink before all. She drank, and had her revenge. The story has become world-famous from its horror: but I suppose I must tell it you in its place.--How she went to Helmichis the shield-bearer, and he bade her get Peredeo the Kemper-man to do the deed: and how Peredeo intrigued with one of her bower-maidens, and how Rosamund did a deed of darkness, and deceived Peredeo; and then said to him, I am thy mistress; thou must slay thy master, or thy master thee. And how he, like Gyges in old Herodotus's tale, preferred to survive; and how Rosamund bound the king's sword to his bedstead as he slept his mid-day sleep, and Peredeo did the deed; and how Alboin leapt up, and fought with his footstool, but in vain. And how, after he was dead, Rosamund became Helmichis' leman, as she had been Peredeo's, and fled with him to Ravenna, with all the treasure and Alpswintha, Alboin's daughter by the Frankish wife; and how Longinus the exarch persuaded her to poison Helmichis, and marry him; and how she gave Helmichis the poisoned cup as he came out of the bath, and he saw by the light of her wicked eyes that it was poison, and made her drink the rest; and so they both fell dead. And then how Peredeo and the treasure were sent to the Emperor at Constantinople; and how Peredeo slew a great lion in the theatre; and how Tiberius, when he saw that he was so mighty a man of his hands, bade put his eyes out; and how he hid two knives in his sleeves, and slew with them two great chamberlains of the Emperor; and so died, like Samson, says old Paul, having got good weregeld for the loss of his eyes--a man for either eye. And old Narses died at Rome, at a great age; and they wrapt him in lead, and sent him to Byzant with all his wealth. But some say that while he was still alive, he hid his wealth in a great cistern, and slew all who knew of it save one old man, and swore him never to reveal the place. But after Narses' death that old man went to Constantinople to Tiberius the Caesar, and told him how he could not die with that secret on his mind; and so Tiberius got all the money, so much that it took many days to carry away, and gave it all to the poor, as was his wont. A myth--a fable: but significant, as one more attempt to answer the question of all questions in a Teuton's mind--What had become of the Nibelungen hoard? What had become of all the wealth of Rome? LECTURE VIII--THE CLERGY AND THE HEATHEN I asked in my first lecture, 'What would become of the forest children, unless some kind saint or hermit took pity on them?' I used the words saint and hermit with a special purpose. It was by the influence, actual or imaginary, of such, that the Teutons, after the destruction of the Roman empire, were saved from becoming hordes of savages, destroying each other by continual warfare. What our race owes, for good and for evil, to the Roman clergy, I shall now try to set before you. To mete out to them their due share of praise and blame is, I confess, a very difficult task. It can only be fulfilled by putting oneself, as far as possible, in their place, and making human allowance for the circumstances, utterly novel and unexpected, in which they found themselves during the Teutonic invasions. Thus, perhaps, we may find it true of some of them, as of others, that 'Wisdom is justified of all her children.' That is a hard saying for human nature. Justified of her children she may be, after we have settled which are to be her children and which not: but of all her children? That is a hard saying. And yet was not every man from the beginning of the world, who tried with his whole soul to be right, and to do good, a child of wisdom, of whom she at least will be justified, whether he is justified or not? He may have had his ignorances, follies, weaknesses, possibly crimes: but he served the purpose of his mighty mother. He did, even by his follies, just what she wanted done; and she is justified of all her children. This may sound like optimism: but it also sounds like truth to any one who has fairly studied that fantastic page of history, the contrast between the old monks and our own heathen forefathers. The more one studies the facts, the less one is inclined to ask, 'Why was it not done better?'--the more inclined to ask, 'Could it have been done better?' Were not the celibate clergy, from the fifth to the eighth centuries, exceptional agents fitted for an exceptional time, and set to do a work which in the then state of the European races, none else could have done? At least, so one suspects, after experience of their chronicles and legends, sufficient to make one thoroughly detest the evil which was in their system: but sufficient also to make one thoroughly love many of the men themselves. A few desultory sketches, some carefully historical, the rest as carefully compiled from common facts, may serve best to illustrate my meaning. The monk and clergyman, whether celibate or not, worked on the heathen generally in one of three capacities: As tribune of the people; as hermit or solitary prophet; as colonizer; and in all three worked as well as frail human beings are wont to do, in this most piecemeal world. Let us look first at the Hermits. All know what an important part they play in old romances and ballads. All are not aware that they played as important a part in actual history. Scattered through all wildernesses from the cliffs of the Hebrides to the Sclavonian marches, they put forth a power, uniformly, it must be said, for good. Every one knows how they appear in the old romances.--How some Sir Bertrand or other, wearied with the burden of his sins, stumbles on one of these Einsiedler, 'settlers alone,' and talks with him; and goes on a wiser and a better man. How he crawls, perhaps, out of some wild scuffle, 'all-to bebled,' and reeling to his saddlebow; and 'ever he went through a waste land, and rocks rough and strait, so that it him seemed he must surely starve; and anon he heard a little bell, whereat he marvelled; and betwixt the water and the wood he was aware of a chapel, and an hermitage; and there a holy man said mass, for he was a priest, and a great leech, and cunning withal. And Sir Bertrand went in to him and told him all his case--how he fought Sir Marculf for love of the fair Ellinore, and how the king bade part them, and how Marculf did him open shame at the wineboard, and how he went about to have slain him privily, but could not; and then how he went and wasted Marculf's lands, house with byre, kine with corn, till a strong woman smote him over the head with a quern-stone, and all-to broke his brain-pan;' and so forth--the usual story of mad passion, drink, pride, revenge. 'And there the holy man a-read him right godly doctrine, and shrived him, and gave him an oath upon the blessed Gospels, that fight he should not, save in his liege lord's quarrel, for a year and a day. And there he abode till he was well healed, he and his horse.' Must not that wild fighting Bertrand have gone away from that place a wiser and a better man? Is it a matter to be regretted, or otherwise, that such men as the hermit were to be found in that forest, to mend Bertrand's head and his morals, at the same time? Is it a matter to be regretted, or otherwise, that after twenty or thirty years more of fighting and quarrelling and drinking, this same Sir Bertrand--finding that on the whole the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, were poor paymasters, and having very sufficient proof, in the ends of many a friend and foe, that the wages of sin are death--'fell to religion likewise, and was a hermit in that same place, after the holy man was dead; and was made priest of that same chapel; and died in honour, having succoured many good knights, and wayfaring men'? One knows very well that it would not be right now; that it is not needed now. It is childish to repeat that, when the question is, was it right then--or, at least, as right as was possible then? Was it needed then--or, at least, the nearest thing to that which was needed? If it was, why should not wisdom be justified of all her children? One hopes that she was; for certainly, if any men ever needed to be in the right, lest they should be of all men most miserable, it was these same old hermits. Praying and preaching continually, they lived on food which dogs would not eat, in dens in which dogs ought not to live. They had their reasons. Possibly they knew their own business best. Possibly also they knew their neighbour's business somewhat; they knew that such generations as they lived in could not be taught, save by some extravagant example of this kind, some caricature, as it were, of the doctrines which were to be enforced. Nothing less startling, perhaps, could have touched the dull hearts, have convinced the dull brains, of fierce, ignorant, and unreasoning men. Ferocity, lawlessness, rapine, cruelty, and--when they were glutted and debauched by the spoils of the Roman empire--sensuality, were the evils which were making Europe uninhabitable for decent folk, and history--as Milton called it--a mere battle of kites and crows. What less than the example of the hermit--especially when that hermit was a delicate and high-born woman--could have taught men the absolute superiority of soul to body, of spiritual to physical force, of spiritual to physical pleasure, and have said to them, not in vain words, but solid acts--'All that you follow is not the way of life. The very opposite to it is the way of life. The wages of sin are death; and you will find them so,--in this life the victims of your own passions, and of the foes whom your crimes arouse, and in life to come of hell for ever. But I tell you I have no mind to go to hell. I have a mind to go to heaven; and I know my mind right well. If the world is to be such as this, and the rulers thereof such as you, I will flee from you. I will not enter into the congregation of sinners, neither will I cast in my lot with the bloodthirsty. I will be alone with God and His universe. I will go to the mountain cave or to the ocean cliff, and there, while the salt wind whistles through my hair, I will be stronger than you, safer than you, richer than you, happier than you. Richer than you, for I shall have for my companion the beatific vision of God, and of all things and beings God- like, fair, noble, just, and merciful. Stronger than you, because virtue will give me a power over the hearts of men such as your force cannot give you; and you will have to come to my lonely cell, and ask me to advise you, and teach you, and help you against the consequences of your own sins. Safer than you, because God in whom I trust will protect me: and if not, I have still the everlasting life of heaven, which this world cannot give or take away. So go your ways, fight and devour one another, the victims of your own lusts. I am minded to be a good man; and to be that, I will give up--as you have made all other methods impossible for me--all which seems to make life worth having'? Oh! instead of finding fault with such men; instead of, with vulturine beak, picking out the elements of Manichaeism, of conceit, of discontent, of what not human frailty and ignorance, which may have been in them, let us honour the enormous moral force which enabled them so to bear witness that not the mortal animal, but the immortal spirit, is the Man; and that when all which outward circumstance can give is cast away, the Man still lives for ever, by God, and in God. And they did teach that lesson. They were good, while other men were bad; and men saw the beauty of goodness, and felt the strength of it, and worshipped it in blind savage admiration. Read Roswede's Vitae Patrum Eremiticorum; read the legends of the hermits of the German forests; read Colgan's Lives of the Irish Saints; and see whether, amid all fantastic, incredible, sometimes immoral myths, the goodness of life of some one or other is not the historic nucleus, round which the myths, and the worship of the saint, have crystallized and developed. Take, for instance, the exquisite hymn of St. Bridget, which Colgan attributes to the sixth century: though it is probably much later; that has nothing to do with the argument:-- 'Bridget, the victorious, she loved not the world; She sat on it as a gull sits on the ocean; She slept the sleep of a captive mother, Mourning after her absent child. She suffered not much from evil tongues; She held the blessed faith of the Trinity; Bridget, the mother of my Lord of Heaven, The best among the sons of the Lord. She was not querulous, nor malevolent; She loved not the fierce wrangling of women; She was not a backbiting serpent, or a liar; She sold not the Son of God for that which passes away. She was not greedy of the goods of this life; She gave away without gall, without slackness; She was not rough to wayfaring men; She handled gently the wretched lepers. She built her a town in the plains (of Kildare); And dead, she is the patroness of many peoples.' I might comment much on this quotation. I might point out how St. Bridget is called the mother of the Lord, and by others, the Mary of the Irish, the 'Automata coeli regina,' and seems to have been considered at times as an avatar or incarnation of the blessed Virgin. I might more than hint how that appellation, as well as the calling of Christ 'the best of the sons of the Lord,' in an orthodox Catholic hymn, seems to point to the remnants of an older creed, possibly Buddhist, the transition whence towards Catholic Christianity was slow and imperfect. I might make merry over the fact that there are many Bridgets, some say eleven; even as there are three or four St. Patricks; and raise learned doubts as to whether such persons ever existed, after that Straussian method of pseudo-criticism which cometh not from above, from the Spirit of God, nor yet indeed from below, from the sound region of fact, but from within, out of the naughtiness of the heart, defiling a man. I might weaken, too, the effect of the hymn by going on with the rest of it, and making you smile at its childish miracles and portents; but I should only do a foolish thing, by turning your minds away from the broad fact that St. Bridget, or various persons who got, in the lapse of time, massed together under the name of St. Bridget, were eminently good women. It matters little whether these legends are historically correct. Their value lies in the moral of them. And as for their real historical correctness, the Straussian argument that no such persons existed, because lies are told of them, is, I hold, most irrational. The falsehood would not have been invented unless it had started in a truth. The high moral character ascribed to them would never have been dreamed of by persons who had not seen living instances of that character. Man's imagination does not create; it only reproduces and recombines its own experience. It does so in dreams. It does so, as far as the moral character of the saint is concerned, in the legend; and if there had not been persons like St. Bridget in Ireland, the wild Irish could never have imagined them. Therefore it matters little to a wise man, standing on the top of Croagh Patrick, the grandest mountain perhaps, with the grandest outlook, in these British isles, as he looks on the wild Irish there on pattern days, up among the Atlantic clouds, crawling on bare and bleeding knees round St. Patrick's cell,--it matters little, I say, to the wise man, whether St. Patrick himself owned the ancient image which is worshipped on that mountain peak, or the ancient bell which till late years hung in the sanctuary,--such a strange oblong bell as the Irish saints carried with them to keep off the demons--the magic bells which appear (as far as I am aware) in the legends of no country till you get to Tartary and the Buddhists;--such a bell as came (or did not come) down from heaven to St. Senan; such a bell as St. Fursey sent flying through the air to greet St. Cuanady at his devotions when he could not come himself; such a bell as another saint, wandering in the woods, rang till a stag came out of the covert, and carried his burden for him on his horns. It matters as little to the wise man whether that bell belonged to St. Patrick, as whether all these child's dreams are dreams. It matters little to him, too, whether St. Patrick did, or did not stand on that mountain peak, 'in the spirit and power of Elias' (after whom it was long named), fasting, like Elias, forty days and forty nights, wrestling with the demons of the storm, and the snakes of the fen, and the Peishta-more (the monstrous Python of the lakes), which assembled at the magic ringing of his bell, till he conquered not by the brute force of a Hercules and Theseus, and the monster-quellers of old Greece, but by the spiritual force of which (so the text was then applied) it is written, 'This kind cometh not out but by prayer and fasting,' till he smote the evil things with 'the golden rod of Jesus,' and they rolled over the cliff, in hideous rout, and perished in the Atlantic far below. But it matters much to a wise man that under all these symbols (not childish at all, but most grand, to the man who knows the grand place of which they are told), there is set forth the victory of a good and beneficent man over evil, whether of matter or of spirit. It matters much to him that that cell, that bell, that image are tokens that if not St. Patrick, some one else, at least, did live and worship on that mountain top, in remote primaeval times, in a place in which we would not, perhaps could not, endure life a week. It matters much to him that the man who so dwelt there, gained such a power over the minds of the heathen round him, that five millions of their Christian descendants worship him, and God on account of him, at this day. St. Ita, again. It matters little that she did not--because she could not--perform the miracles imputed to her. It matters little whether she had or not--as I do not believe her to have had--a regularly organized convent of nuns in Ireland during the sixth century. It matters little if the story which follows is a mere invention of the nuns in some after- century, in order to make a good title for the lands which they held--a trick but too common in those days. But it matters much that she should have been such a person, that such a story as this, when told of her, should have gained belief:--How the tribes of Hy-Connell, hearing of her great holiness, came to her with their chiefs, and offered her all the land about her cell. But she, not wishing to be entangled with earthly cares, accepted but four acres round her cell, for a garden of herbs for her and her nuns. And the simple wild Irish were sad and angry, and said, 'If thou wilt not take it alive, thou shalt take it when thou art dead. So they chose her then and there for their patroness, and she blessed them with many blessings, which are fulfilled unto this day; and when she migrated to the Lord they gave her all the land, and her nuns hold it to this day, the land of Hy-Connell on the east Shannon bank, at the roots of Luachra mountain.' What a picture! One hopes that it may be true, for the sake of its beauty and its pathos. The poor, savage, half-naked, and, I fear, on the authority of St. Jerome and others, now and then cannibal Celts, with their saffron scarfs, and skenes, and darts, and glibs of long hair hanging over their hypo-gorillaceous visages, coming to the prophet maiden, and asking her to take their land, for they could make no decent use of it themselves; and look after them, body and soul, for they could not look after themselves; and pray for them to her God, for they did not know how to pray to Him themselves. If any man shall regret that such an event happened to any savages on this earth, I am, I confess, sorry for him. St. Severinus, again, whom I have mentioned to you more than once:--none of us can believe that he made a dead corpse (Silvinus the priest, by name) sit up and talk with him on its road to burial. None of us need believe that he stopped the plague at Vienna by his prayers. None of us need attribute to anything but his sagacity the Divine revelations whereby he predicted the destruction of a town for its wickedness, and escaped thence, like Lot, alone; or by which he discovered, during the famine of Vienna, that a certain rich widow had much corn hidden in her cellars: but there are facts enough, credible and undoubted, concerning St. Severinus, the apostle of Austria, to make us trust that in him, too, wisdom was justified of all her children. You may remark, among the few words which have been as yet said of St. Severinus, a destruction, a plague, and a famine. Those words are a fair sample of St. Severinus's times, and of the circumstances into which he voluntarily threw himself. About the middle of the fifth century there appears in the dying Roman province of Noricum (Austria we now call it) a strange gentleman, eloquent and learned beyond all, and with the strangest power of melting and ruling the hearts of men. Who he is he will not tell, save that his name is Severinus, a right noble name without doubt. Gradually it oozes out that he has been in the far East, through long travels and strange dangers, through many cities and many lands; but he will tell nothing. He is the servant of God, come hither to try to be of use. He certainly could have come for no other reason, unless to buy slaves; for Austria was at that time the very highway of the nations, the centre of the human Mahlstrom, in which Huns, Gepiden, Allmannen, Rugen, and a dozen wild tribes more, wrestled up and down round the starving and beleaguered Roman towns of that once fertile and happy province. A man who went there for his own pleasure, or even devotion, would have been as wise as one who had built himself last summer a villa on the Rappahannock, or retired for private meditation to the orchard of Hougoumont during the battle of Waterloo. Nevertheless, there Severinus stayed till men began to appreciate him; and called him, and not unjustly, Saint. Why not? He preached, he taught, he succoured, he advised, he fed, he governed; he turned aside the raids of the wild German kings; he gained a divine power over their hearts; he taught them something of God and of Christ, something of justice and mercy; something of peace and unity among themselves; till the fame ran through all the Alps, and far away into the Hungarian marches, that there was a prophet of God arisen in the land; and before the unarmed man, fasting and praying in his solitary cell on the mountain above Vienna, ten thousand knights and champions trembled, who never had trembled at the sight of armed hosts. Who would deny that man the name of saint? And who, if by that sagacity which comes from the combination of intellect and virtue, he sometimes seemed miraculously to foretell coming events, would deny him the name of prophet also? If St. Severinus be the type of the monk as prophet, St. Columba may stand as the type of the missionary monk; the good man strengthened by lonely meditation; but using that strength not for selfish fanaticism, but for the good of men; going forth unwillingly out of his beloved solitude, that he may save souls. Round him, too, cluster the usual myths. He drives away with the sign of the cross a monster which attacks him at a ford. He expels from a fountain the devils who smote with palsy and madness all who bathed therein. He sees by a prophetic spirit, he sitting in his cell in Ireland, a great Italian town destroyed by a volcano. His friends behold a column of light rising from his head as he celebrates mass. Yes; but they also tell of him, 'that he was angelical in look, brilliant in speech, holy in work, clear in intellect, great in council.' That he 'never passed an hour without prayer, or a holy deed, or reading of the Scriptures (for these old monks had Bibles, and knew them by heart too, in spite of all that has been written to the contrary), that he was of so excellent a humility and charity, bathing his disciples' feet when they came home from labour, and carrying corn from the mill on his own back, that he fulfilled the precept of his Master, 'He that will be the greatest among you, let him be as your servant.' They also tell of him (and this is fact and history) how he left his monastery of Derm Each, 'the field of oaks,' which we call Derry, and went away at the risk of his life to preach to the wild Picts of Galloway, and founded the great monastery of Iona, and that succession of abbots from whom Christianity spread over the south of Scotland and north of England, under his great successor Aidan. Aidan has his myths likewise. They tell of him how he stilled the sea- waves with holy oil; how he turned back on Penda and his Saxons the flames with which the heathen king was trying to burn down Bamborough walls. But they tell, too (and Bede had heard it from those who had known Aidan in the flesh) of 'his love of peace and charity, his purity and humility, his mind superior to avarice or pride, his authority, becoming a minister of Christ, in reproving the haughty and powerful, and his tenderness in relieving the afflicted, and defending the poor.' Who, save one who rejoiceth in evil, instead of rejoicing in the truth, will care to fix his eyes for a moment upon the fairy tales which surround such a story, as long as there shines out from among them clear and pure, in spite of all doctrinal errors, the grace of God, the likeness of Jesus Christ our Lord? Let us look next at the priest as Tribune of the people, supported usually by the invisible, but most potent presence of the saint, whose relics he kept. One may see that side of his power in Raphael's immortal design of Attila's meeting with the Pope at the gates of Rome, and recoiling as he sees St. Peter and St. Paul floating terrible and threatening above the Holy City. Is it a myth, a falsehood? Not altogether. Such a man as Attila probably would have seen them, with his strong savage imagination, as incapable as that of a child from distinguishing between dreams and facts, between the subjective and the objective world. And it was on the whole well for him and for mankind, that he should think that he saw them, and tremble before the spiritual and the invisible; confessing a higher law than that of his own ambition and self-will; a higher power than that of his brute Tartar hordes. Raphael's design is but a famous instance of an influence which wrought through the length and breadth of the down-trodden and dying Roman Empire, through the four fearful centuries which followed the battle of Adrianople. The wild licence, the boyish audacity, of the invading Teutons was never really checked, save by the priest and the monk who worshipped over the bones of some old saint or martyr, whose name the Teutons had never heard. Then, as the wild King, Earl, or Comes, with his wild reiters at his heels, galloped through the land, fighting indiscriminately his Roman enemies, and his Teutonic rivals--harrying, slaughtering, burning by field and wild--he was aware at last of something which made him pause. Some little walled town, built on the ruins of a great Roman city, with its Byzantine minster towering over the thatched roofs, sheltering them as the oak shelters the last night's fungus at its base. More than once in the last century or two, has that same town been sacked. More than once has the surviving priest crawled out of his hiding-place when the sound of war was past, called the surviving poor around him, dug the dead out of the burning ruins for Christian burial, built up a few sheds, fed a few widows and orphans, organized some form of orderly life out of the chaos of blood and ashes, in the name of God and St. Quemdeusvult whose bones he guards; and so he has established a temporary theocracy, and become a sort of tribune of the people, magistrate and father--the only one they have. And now he will try the might of St. Quemdeusvult against the wild king, and see if he can save the town from being sacked once more. So out he comes--a bishop perhaps, with priests, monks, crucifixes, banners, litanies. The wild king must come no further. That land belongs to no mortal man, but to St. Quemdeusvult, martyred here by the heathen five hundred years ago. Some old Kaiser of Rome, or it may be some former Gothic king, gave that place to the saint for ever, and the saint will avenge his rights. He is very merciful to those who duly honour him: but very terrible in his wrath if he be aroused. Has not the king heard how the Count of such a place, only forty years before, would have carried off a maiden from St. Quemdeusvult's town; and when the bishop withstood him, he answered that he cared no more for the relics of the saint than for the relics of a dead ass, and so took the maiden and went? But within a year and a day, he fell down dead in his drink, and when they came to lay out the corpse, behold the devils had carried it away, and put a dead ass in its place. All which the bishop would fully believe. Why not? He had no physical science to tell him that it was impossible. Morally, it was in his eyes just, and therefore probable; while as for testimony, men were content with very little in those days, simply because they could get very little. News progressed slowly in countries desolate and roadless, and grew as it passed from mouth to mouth, as it did in the Highlands a century ago, as it did but lately in the Indian Mutiny; till after a fact had taken ten years in crossing a few mountains and forests, it had assumed proportions utterly fantastic and gigantic. So the wild king and his wild knights pause. They can face flesh and blood: but who can face the quite infinite terrors of an unseen world? They are men of blood too, men of evil lives; and conscience makes them cowards. They begin to think that they have gone too far. Could they see the saint, and make it up with him somewhat? No. The saint they cannot see. To open his shrine would be to commit the sin of Uzzah. Palsy and blindness would be the least that would follow. But the dome under which he lies all men may see; and perhaps the saint may listen, if they speak him fair. They feel more and more uncomfortable. This saint, in heaven at God's right hand, and yet there in the dom-church--is clearly a mysterious, ubiquitous person, who may take them in the rear very unexpectedly. And his priests, with their book-learning, and their sciences, and their strange dresses and chants--who knows what secret powers, magical or other, they may not possess? They bluster at first: being (as I have said) much of the temper and habits, for good and evil, of English navvies. But they grow more and more uneasy, full of childish curiosity, and undefined dread. So into the town they go, on promise (which they will honourably keep, being German men) of doing no harm to the plebs, the half Roman artisans and burghers who are keeping themselves alive here--the last dying remnants of the civilization, and luxury, and cruelty, and wickedness, of a great Roman colonial city; and they stare at arts and handicrafts new to them; and are hospitably fed by bishops and priests; and then they go, trembling and awkward, into the great dom-church; and gaze wondering at the frescoes, and the carvings of the arcades--marbles from Italy, porphyries from Egypt, all patched together out of the ruins of Roman baths, and temples, and theatres; and at last they arrive at the saint's shrine itself--some marble sarcophagus, most probably covered with vine and ivy leaves, with nymphs and satyrs, long since consecrated with holy water to a new and better use. Inside that lies the saint, asleep, yet ever awake. So they had best consider in whose presence they are, and fear God and St. Quemdeusvult, and cast away the seven deadly sins wherewith they are defiled; for the saint is a righteous man, and died for righteousness' sake; and those who rob the orphan and the widow, and put the fatherless to death, them he cannot abide; and them he will watch like an eagle of the sky, and track like a wolf of the wood, fill he punishes them with a great destruction. In short, the bishop preaches to the king and his men a right noble and valiant sermon, calling things by their true names without fear or favour, and assuming, on the mere strength of being in the right, a tone of calm superiority which makes the strong armed men blush and tremble before the weak and helpless one. Yes. Spirit is stronger than flesh. 'Meekly bend thy neck, Sicamber!' said St. Remigius to the great conquering King Clovis, when he stept into the baptismal font--(not 'Most Gracious Majesty,' or 'Illustrious Caesar,' or 'by the grace of God Lord of the Franks,' but Sicamber, as a missionary might now say Maori, or Caffre,--and yet St. Remigius's life was in Clovis's hand then and always),--'Burn what thou hast adored, and adore what thou hast burned!' And the terrible Clovis trembled and obeyed. So does the wild king at the shrine of St. Quemdeusvult. He takes his bracelet, or his jewel, and offers it civilly enough. Will the bishop be so good as to inform the great Earl St. Quemdeusvult, that he was not aware of his rights, or even of his name; that perhaps he will deign to accept this jewel, which he took off the neck of a Roman General--that--that on the whole he is willing to make the amende honorable, as far as is consistent with the feelings of a nobleman; and trusts that the saint, being a nobleman too, will be satisfied therewith. After which, probably, it will appear to the wild king that this bishop is the very man that he wants, the very opposite to himself and his wild riders; a man pure, peaceable, just, and brave; possessed, too, of boundless learning; who can read, write, cipher, and cast nativities; who has a whole room full of books and parchments, and a map of the whole world; who can talk Latin, and perhaps Greek, as well as one of those accursed man-eating Grendels, a Roman lawyer, or a logothete from Ravenna; possessed, too, of boundless supernatural power;--Would the bishop be so good as to help him in his dispute with the Count Boso, about their respective marches in such and such a forest? If the bishop could only settle that without more fighting, of course he should have his reward. He would confirm to the saint and his burg all the rights granted by Constantine the Kaiser; and give him moreover all the meadow land in such and such a place, with the mills and fisheries, on service of a dish of trout from the bishop and his successors, whenever he came that way: for the trout there were exceeding good, that he knew. And so a bargain would be struck, and one of those curious compromises between the spiritual and temporal authorities take root, of which one may read at length in the pages of M. Guizot, or Sir James Stephen. And after a few years, most probably, the king would express a wish to be baptized, at the instance of his queen who had been won over by the bishop, and had gone down into the font some years before; and he would bid his riders be baptized also; and they would obey, seeing that it could do them no harm, and might do them some good; and they would agree to live more or less according to the laws of God and common humanity; and so one more Christian state would be formed; one more living stone (as it was phrased in those days) built into the great temple of God which was called Christendom. So the work was done. Can we devise any better method of doing it? If not, let us be content that it was done somehow, and believe that wisdom is justified of all her children. We may object to the fact, that the dom-church and its organization grew up (as was the case in the vast majority of instances) round the body of a saint or martyr; we may smile at the notion of an invisible owner and protector of the soil: but we must not overlook the broad fact, that without that prestige the barbarians would never have been awed into humanity; without that prestige the place would have been swept off the face of the earth, till not one stone stood on another: and he who does not see what a disaster for humanity that would have been, must be ignorant that the civilization of Europe is the child of the towns; and also that our Teutonic forefathers were by profession destroyers of towns, and settlers apart from each other on country freeholds. Lonely barbarism would have been the fate of Europe, but for the monk who guarded the relics of the saint within the walled burg. This good work of the Church, in the preservation and even resuscitation of the municipal institutions of the towns, has been discust so well and fully by M. Guizot, M. Sismondi, and Sir James Stephen, that I shall say no more about it, save to recommend you to read what they have written. I go on to point out to you some other very important facts, which my ideal sketch exemplifies. The difference between the Clergy and the Teuton conquerors was more than a difference of creed, or of civilization. It was an actual difference of race. They were Romans, to whom the Teuton was a savage, speaking a different tongue, obeying different laws, his whole theory of the universe different from the Roman. And he was, moreover, an enemy and a destroyer. The Teuton was to them as a Hindoo is to us, with the terrible exception, that the positions were reversed; that the Teuton was not the conquered, but the conqueror. It is easy for us to feel humanity and Christian charity toward races which we have mastered. It was not so easy for the Roman priest to feel them toward a race which had mastered him. His repugnance to the 'Barbarian' must have been at first intense. He never would have conquered it; he never would have become the willing converter of the heathen, had there not been in him the Spirit of God, and firm belief in a Catholic Church, to which all men of all races ought alike to belong. This true and glorious idea, the only one which has ever been or ever will be able to break down the barriers of race, and the animal antipathy which the natural man has to all who are not of his own kin: this idea was the sole possession of the Roman clergy; and by it they conquered, because it was true, and came from God. But this very difference of race exposed the clergy to great temptations. They were the only civilized men left, west of Constantinople. They looked on the Teuton not as a man, but as a child; to be ruled; to be petted when he did right, punished when he did wrong; and too often cajoled into doing right, and avoiding wrong. Craft became more and more their usual weapon. There were great excuses for them. Their lives and property were in continual danger. Craft is the natural weapon of the weak against the strong. It seemed to them, too often, to be not only natural, but spiritual also, and therefore just and right. Again, the clergy were the only organic remnants of the Roman Empire. They claimed their privileges and lands as granted to them by past Roman Emperors, under the Roman law. This fact made it their interest, of course, to perpetuate that Roman law, and to introduce it as far as they could among their conquerors, to the expulsion of the old Teutonic laws; and they succeeded on the whole. Of that more hereafter. Observe now, that as their rights dated from times which to the Teutons were pre-historic, their statements could not be checked by conquerors who could not even read. Thence rose the temptation to forge; to forge legends, charters, dotations, ecclesiastical history of all kinds--an ugly and world-famous instance of which you will hear of hereafter. To that temptation they yielded more and more as the years rolled on, till their statements on ecclesiastical history became such as no historian can trust, without the most plentiful corroboration. There were great excuses for them, in this matter, as in others. They could not but look on the Teuton as--what in fact and law he was--an unjust and intrusive usurper. They could not but look on their Roman congregations, and on themselves, as what in fact and law they were, the rightful owners of the soil. They were but defending or recovering their original rights. Would not the end justify the means? But more. Out of this singular position grew a doctrine, which looks to us irrational now, but was by no means so then. If the Church derived her rights from the extinct Roman Caesars, how could the Teuton conquerors interfere with those rights? If she had owed allegiance to Constantine or Theodosius, she certainly owed none to Dietrich, Alboin, or Clovis. She did not hold their lands of them; and would pay them, if she could avoid it, neither tax nor toll. She did not recognize the sovereignty of these Teutons as 'ordained by God.' Out of this simple political fact grew up vast consequences. The Teuton king was a heathen or Arian usurper. He was not a king de jure, in the eyes of the clergy, till he was baptized into the Church, and then lawfully anointed king by the clergy. Thus the clergy gradually became the makers of kings; and the power of making involved a corresponding power of unmaking, if the king rebelled against the Church, and so cut himself off from Christendom. At best, he was one of 'the Princes of this world,' from whom the Church was free, absolutely in spiritual matters, and in temporal matters, also de jure, and therefore de facto as far as she could be made free. To keep the possessions of the Church from being touched by profane hands, even that they might contribute to the common needs of the nation, became a sacred duty, a fixed idea, for which the clergy must struggle, anathematize, forge if need be: but also--to do them justice--die if need be as martyrs. The nations of this world were nothing to them. The wars of the nations were nothing. They were the people of God, 'who dwelt alone, and were not reckoned among the nations;' their possessions were the inheritance of God: and from this idea, growing (as I have shewn) out of a political fact, arose the extra- national, and too often anti-national position, which the Roman clergy held for many ages, and of which the instinct, at least, lingers among them in many countries. Out of it arose, too, all after struggles between the temporal and ecclesiastical powers. Becket, fighting to the death against Henry II., was not, as M. Thierry thinks, the Anglo-Saxon defying the Norman. He was the representative of the Christian Roman defying the Teuton, on the ground of rights which he believed to have existed while the Teuton was a heathen in the German forests. Gradually, as the nations of Europe became really nations, within fixed boundaries, and separate Christian organizations, these demands of the Church became intolerable in reason, because unnecessary in fact. But had there not been in them at the first an instinct of right and justice, they would never have become the fixed idea of the clerical mind; the violation of them the one inexpiable sin; and the defence of them (as may be seen by looking through the Romish Calendar) the most potent qualification for saintship. Yes. The clergy believed that idea deeply enough to die for it. St. Alphege at Canterbury had been, it is said, one of the first advisers of the ignominious payment of the Danegeld: but there was one thing which he would not do. He would advise the giving up of the money of the nation: but the money of his church he would not give up. The Danes might thrust him into a filthy dungeon: he would not take the children's bread and cast it unto the dogs. They might drag him out into their husting, and threaten him with torture: but to the drunken cry of 'Gold! Bishop! Gold!' his only answer would be--Not a penny. He could not rob the poor of Christ. And when he fell, beaten to death with the bones and horns of the slaughtered oxen, he died in faith; a martyr to the great idea of that day, that the gold of the Church did not belong to the conquerors of this world. But St. Alphege was an Englishman, and not a Roman. True in the letter: but not in the spirit. The priest or monk, by becoming such, more or less renounced his nationality. It was the object of the Church to make him renounce it utterly; to make him regard himself no longer as Englishman, Frank, Lombard, or Goth: but as the representatives by an hereditary descent, considered all the more real because it was spiritual and not carnal, of the Roman Church; to prevent his being entangled, whether by marriage or otherwise, in the business of this life; out of which would flow nepotism, Simony, and Erastian submission to those sovereigns who ought to be the servants, not the lords of the Church. For this end no means were too costly. St. Dunstan, in order to expel the married secular priests, and replace them by Benedictine monks of the Italian order of Monte Casino, convulsed England, drove her into civil war, paralysed her monarchs one after the other, and finally left her exhausted and imbecile, a prey to the invading Northmen: but he had at least done his best to make the royal House of Cerdic, and the nations which obeyed that House, understand that the Church derived its rights not from them, but from Rome. This hereditary sense of superiority on the part of the clergy may explain and excuse much of their seeming flattery. The most vicious kings are lauded, if only they have been 'erga servos Dei benevoli;' if they have founded monasteries; if they have respected the rights of the Church. The clergy too often looked on the secular princes as more or less wild beasts, of whom neither common decency, justice, or mercy was to be expected; and they had too often reason enough to do so. All that could be expected of the kings was, that if they would not regard man, they should at least fear God; which if they did, the proof of 'divine grace' on their part was so unexpected, as well as important, that the monk chroniclers praised them heartily and honestly, judging them by what they had, not by what they had not. Thus alone can one explain such a case as that of the monastic opinion of Dagobert the Second, king of the Franks. We are told in the same narrative, seemingly without any great sense of incongruity, how he murdered his own relations and guests, and who not?--how he massacred 9000 Bulgars to whom he had given hospitality; how he kept a harem of three queens, and other women so numerous that Fredegarius cannot mention them; and also how, accompanied by his harem, he chanted among the monks of St. Denis; how he founded many rich convents; how he was the friend, or rather pupil, of St. Arnulf of Metz, St. Omer, and above all of St. Eloi--whose story I recommend you to read, charmingly told, in Mr. Maitland's 'Dark Ages,' pp. 81-122. The three saints were no hypocrites--God forbid! They were good men and true, to whom had been entrusted the keeping of a wild beast, to be petted and praised whenever it shewed any signs of humanity or obedience. But woe to the prince, however useful or virtuous in other respects, who laid sacrilegious hands on the goods of the Church. He might, like Charles Martel, have delivered France from the Pagans on the east, and from the Mussulmen on the south, and have saved Christendom once and for all from the dominion of the Crescent, in that great battle on the plains of Poitiers, where the Arab cavalry (says Isidore of Beja) broke against the immoveable line of Franks, like 'waves against a wall of ice.' But if, like Charles Martel, he had dared to demand of the Church taxes and contributions toward the support of his troops, and the salvation both of Church and commonweal, then all his prowess was in vain. Some monk would surely see him in a vision, as St. Eucherius, Bishop of Orleans, saw Charles Martel (according to the Council of Kiersy), 'with Cain, Judas, and Caiaphas, thrust into the Stygian whirlpools and Acherontic combustion of the sempiternal Tartarus.' Those words, which, with slight variations, are a common formula of cursing appended to monastic charters against all who should infringe them, remind us rather of the sixth book of Virgil's AEneid than of the Holy Scriptures; and explain why Dante naturally chooses that poet as a guide through his Inferno. The cosmogony from which such an idea was derived was simple enough. I give, of course, no theological opinion on its correctness: but as professor of Modern History, I am bound to set before you opinions which had the most enormous influence on the history of early Europe. Unless you keep them in mind, as the fixed and absolute background of all human thought and action for more than 1000 years, you will never be able to understand the doings of European men. This earth, then, or at least the habitable part of it, was considered as most probably a flat plane. Below that plane, or in the centre of the earth, was the realm of endless fire. It could be entered (as by the Welsh knight who went down into St. Patrick's Purgatory) by certain caves. By listening at the craters of volcanoes, which were its mouths, the cries of the tortured might be heard in the depths of the earth. In that 'Tartarus' every human being born into the world was doomed to be endlessly burnt alive: only in the Church, 'extra quam nulla salus,' was there escape from the common doom. But to that doom, excommunication, which thrust a man from the pale of the Church, condemned the sinner afresh, with curses the most explicit and most horrible. The superior clergy, therefore, with whom the anathematizing power lay, believed firmly that they could, proprio motu, upon due cause shewn, cause any man or woman to be burned alive through endless ages. And what was more, the Teutonic laity, with that intense awe of the unseen which they had brought with them out of the wilderness, believed it likewise, and trembled. It paralysed the wisest, as well as the fiercest, that belief. Instead of disgusting the kings of the earth, it gave them over, bound hand and foot by their own guilty consciences, into the dominion of the clergy; and the belief that Charles Martel was damned, only knit (as M. Sismondi well remarks) his descendants the Carlovingians more closely to the Church which possest so terrible a weapon. Whether they were right or wrong in these beliefs is a question not to be discussed in this chair. My duty is only to point out to you the universal existence of those beliefs, and the historic fact that they gave the clergy a character supernatural, magical, divine, with a reserve of power before which all trembled, from the beggar to the king; and also, that all struggles between the temporal and spiritual powers, like that between Henry and Becket, can only be seen justly in the light of the practical meaning of that excommunication which Becket so freely employed. I must also point out to you that so enormous a power (too great for the shoulders of mortal man) was certain to be, and actually was, fearfully abused, not only by its direct exercise, but also by bargaining with men, through indulgences and otherwise, for the remission of that punishment, which the clergy could, if they would, inflict; and worst of all, that out of the whole theory sprang up that system of persecution, in which the worst cruelties of heathen Rome were imitated by Christian priests, on the seemingly irrefragable ground that it was merciful to offenders to save them, or, if not, at least to save others through them, by making them feel for a few hours in this world what they would feel for endless ages in the next. LECTURE IX--THE MONK A CIVILIZER Historians are often blamed for writing as if the History of Kings and Princes were the whole history of the world. 'Why do you tell us,' is said, 'of nothing but the marriages, successions, wars, characters, of a few Royal Races? We want to know what the people, and not the princes, were like. History ought to be the history of the masses, and not of kings.' The only answer to this complaint seems to be, that the defect is unavoidable. The history of the masses cannot be written, while they have no history; and none will they have, as long as they remain a mass; ere their history begins, individuals, few at first, and more and more numerous as they progress, must rise out of the mass, and become persons, with fixed ideas, determination, conscience, more or less different from their fellows, and thereby leavening and elevating their fellows, that they too may become persons, and men indeed. Then they will begin to have a common history, issuing out of each man's struggle to assert his own personality and his own convictions. Till that point is reached, the history of the masses will be mere statistic concerning their physical well-being or ill-being, which (for the early ages of our race) is unwritten, and therefore undiscoverable. The early history of the Teutonic race, therefore, is, and must always remain, simply the history of a few great figures. Of the many of the masses, nothing is said; because there was nothing to say. They all ate, drank, married, tilled, fought, and died, not altogether brutally, we will hope, but still in a dull monotony, unbroken by any struggle of principles or ideas. We know that large masses of human beings have so lived in every age, and are living so now--the Tartar hordes, for instance, or the thriving negroes of central Africa: comfortable folk, getting a tolerable living, son after father, for many generations, but certainly not developed enough, or afflicted enough, to have any history. I believe that the masses, during the early middle age, were very well off; quite as well off as they deserved; that is, earned for themselves. They lived in a rough way, certainly: but roughness is not discomfort, where the taste has not been educated. A Red Indian sleeps as well in a wigwam as we in a spring bed; and the Irish babies thrive as well among the peat ashes as on a Brussels carpet. Man is a very well constructed being, and can live and multiply anywhere, provided he can keep warm, and get pure water and enough to eat. Indeed, our Teutonic fathers must have been comfortably off, or they could not have multiplied as they did. Even though their numbers may have been overstated, the fact is patent, that howsoever they were slaughtered down, by the Romans or by each other, they rose again as out of the soil, more numerous than ever. Again and again you read of a tribe being all but exterminated by the Romans, and in a few years find it bursting over the Pfalzgrab or the Danube, more numerous and terrible than before. Never believe that a people deprest by cold, ill-feeding, and ill-training, could have conquered Europe in the face of centuries of destructive war. Those very wars, again, may have helped in the long run the increase of population, and for a reason simple enough, though often overlooked. War throws land out of cultivation; and when peace returns, the new settlers find the land fallow, and more or less restored to its original fertility; and so begins a period of rapid and prosperous increase. In no other way can I explain the rate at which nations after the most desolating wars spring up, young and strong again, like the phoenix, from their own funeral pile. They begin afresh as the tillers of a virgin soil, fattened too often with the ashes of burnt homesteads, and the blood of the slain. Another element of comfort may have been the fact, that in the rough education of the forest, only the strong and healthy children lived, while the weakly died off young, and so the labour-market, as we should say now, was never overstocked. This is the case with our own gipsies, and with many savage tribes--the Red Indians, for instance--and accounts for their general healthiness: the unhealthy being all dead, in the first struggle for existence. But then these gipsies, and the Red Indians, do not increase in numbers, but the contrary; while our forefathers increased rapidly. On the other hand, we have, at least throughout the middle ages, accounts of such swarms of cripples, lepers, deformed, and other incapable persons, as to make some men believe that there were more of them, in proportion to the population, than there are now. And it may have been so. The strongest and healthiest men always going off to be killed in war, the weakliest only would be left at home to breed; and so an unhealthy population might spring up. And again--and this is a curious fact--as law and order enter a country, so will the proportion of incapables, in body and mind, increase. In times of war and anarchy, when every one is shifting for himself, only the strongest and shrewdest can stand. Woe to those who cannot take care of themselves. The fools and cowards, the weakly and sickly, are killed, starved, neglected, or in other ways brought to grief. But when law and order come, they protect those who cannot protect themselves, and the fools and cowards, the weakly and sickly, are supported at the public expense, and allowed to increase and multiply as public burdens. I do not say that this is wrong, Heaven forbid! I only state the fact. A government is quite right in defending all alike from the brute competition of nature, whose motto is--Woe to the weak. To the Church of the middle age is due the preaching and the practice of the great Christian doctrine, that society is bound to protect the weak. So far the middle age saw: but no further. For our own times has been reserved the higher and deeper doctrine, that it is the duty of society to make the weak strong; to reform, to cure, and above all, to prevent by education, by sanitary science, by all and every means, the necessity of reforming and of curing. Science could not do that in the middle age. But if Science could not do it, Religion would at least try to do the next best thing to it. The monasteries were the refuges, whither the weak escaped from the competition of the strong. Thither flocked the poor, the crippled, the orphan, and the widow, all, in fact, who could not fight for themselves. There they found something like justice, order, pity, help. Even the fool and the coward, when they went to the convent-door, were not turned away. The poor half-witted rascal, who had not sense enough to serve the king, might still serve the abbot. He would be set to drive, plough, or hew wood--possibly by the side of a gentleman, a nobleman, or even a prince--and live under equal law with them; and under, too, a discipline more strict than that of any modern army; and if he would not hew the wood, or drive the bullocks, as he ought, then the abbot would have him flogged soundly till he did; which was better for him, after all, than wandering about to be hooted by the boys, and dying in a ditch at last. The coward, too--the abbot could make him of use, even though the king could not. There were, no doubt, in those days, though fewer in number than now, men who could not face physical danger, and the storm of the evil world,--delicate, nervous, imaginative, feminine characters; who, when sent out to battle, would be very likely to run away. Our forefathers, having no use for such persons, used to put such into a bog- hole, and lay a hurdle over them, in the belief that they would sink to the lowest pool of Hela for ever more. But the abbot had great use for such. They could learn to read, write, sing, think; they were often very clever; they might make great scholars; at all events they might make saints. Whatever they could not do, they could pray. And the united prayer of those monks, it was then believed, could take heaven by storm, alter the course of the elements, overcome Divine justice, avert from mankind the anger of an offended God. Whether that belief were right or wrong, people held it; and the man who could not fight with carnal weapons, regained his self-respect, and therefore his virtue, when he found himself fighting, as he held, with spiritual weapons against all the powers of darkness {214}. The first light in which I wish you to look at the old monasteries, is as defences for the weak against the strong. But what has this to do with what I said at first, as to the masses having no history? This:--that through these monasteries the masses began first to have a history; because through them they ceased to be masses, and became first, persons and men, and then, gradually, a people. That last the monasteries could not make them: but they educated them for becoming a people; and in this way. They brought out, in each man, the sense of individual responsibility. They taught him, whether warrior or cripple, prince or beggar, that he had an immortal soul, for which each must give like account to God. Do you not see the effect of that new thought? Treated as slaves, as things and animals, the many had learnt to consider themselves as things and animals. And so they had become 'a mass,' that is, a mere heap of inorganic units, each of which has no spring of life in itself as distinguished from a whole, a people, which has one bond, uniting each to all. The 'masses' of the French had fallen into that state, before the Revolution of 1793. The 'masses' of our agricultural labourers,--the 'masses' of our manufacturing workmen, were fast falling into that state in the days of our grandfathers. Whether the French masses have risen out of it, remains to be seen. The English masses, thanks to Almighty God, have risen out of it; and by the very same factor by which the middle-age masses rose--by Religion. The great Methodist movement of the last century did for our masses, what the monks did for our forefathers in the middle age. Wesley and Whitfield, and many another noble soul, said to Nailsea colliers, Cornish miners, and all manner of drunken brutalized fellows, living like the beasts that perish,--'Each of you--thou--and thou--and thou--stand apart and alone before God. Each has an immortal soul in him, which will be happy or miserable for ever, according to the deeds done in the body. A whole eternity of shame or of glory lies in you--and you are living like a beast.' And in proportion as each man heard that word, and took it home to himself, he became a new man, and a true man. The preachers may have mixed up words with their message with which we may disagree, have appealed to low hopes and fears which we should be ashamed to bring into our calculations;--so did the monks: but they got their work done somehow; and let us thank them, and the old Methodists, and any man who will tell men, in whatever clumsy and rough fashion, that they are not things, and pieces of a mass, but persons, with an everlasting duty, an everlasting right and wrong, an everlasting God in whose presence they stand, and who will judge them according to their works. True, that is not all that men need to learn. After they are taught, each apart, that he is a man, they must be taught, how to be an united people: but the individual teaching must come first; and before we hastily blame the individualizing tendencies of the old Evangelical movement, or that of the middle-age monks, let us remember, that if they had not laid the foundation, others could not build thereon. Besides, they built themselves, as well as they could, on their own foundation. As soon as men begin to be really men, the desire of corporate life springs up in them. They must unite; they must organize themselves. If they possess duties, they must be duties to their fellow- men; if they possess virtues and graces, they must mix with their fellow- men in order to exercise them. The solitaries of the Thebaid found that they became selfish wild beasts, or went mad, if they remained alone; and they formed themselves into lauras, 'lanes' of huts, convents, under a common abbot or father. The evangelical converts of the last century formed themselves into powerful and highly organized sects. The middle-age monasteries organized themselves into highly artificial communities round some sacred spot, generally under the supposed protection of some saint or martyr, whose bones lay there. Each method was good, though not the highest. None of them rises to the idea of a people, having one national life, under one monarch, the representative to each and all of that national life, and the dispenser and executor of its laws. Indeed, the artificial organization, whether monastic or sectarian, may become so strong as to interfere with national life, and make men forget their real duty to their king and country, in their self-imposed duty to the sect or order to which they belong. The monastic organization indeed had to die, in many countries, in order that national life might develop itself; and the dissolution of the monasteries marks the birth of an united and powerful England. They or Britain must have died. An imperium in imperio--much more many separate imperia--was an element of national weakness, which might be allowed in times of peace and safety, but not in times of convulsion and of danger. You may ask, however, how these monasteries became so powerful, if they were merely refuges for the weak? Even if they were (and they were) the homes of an equal justice and order, mercy and beneficence, which had few or no standing-places outside their walls, still, how, if governed by weak men, could they survive in the great battle of life? The sheep would have but a poor life of it, if they set up hurdles against the wolves, and agreed at all events not to eat each other. The answer is, that the monasteries were not altogether tenanted by incapables. The same causes which brought the low-born into the monasteries, brought the high-born, many of the very highest. The same cause which brought the weak into the monasteries, brought the strong, many of the very strongest. The middle-age records give us a long list of kings, princes, nobles, who having done (as they held) their work in the world outside, went into those convents to try their hands at what seemed to them (and often was) better work than the perpetual coil of war, intrigue, and ambition, which was not the crime, but the necessary fate, of a ruler in the middle ages. Tired of work, and tired of life; tired too, of vain luxury and vain wealth, they fled to the convent, as to the only place where a man could get a little peace, and think of God, and his own soul; and recollected, as they worked with their own hands by the side of the lowest-born of their subjects, that they had a human flesh and blood, a human immortal soul, like those whom they had ruled. Thank God that the great have other methods now of learning that great truth; that the work of life, if but well done, will teach it to them: but those were hard times, and wild times; and fighting men could hardly learn, save in the convent, that there was a God above who watched the widows' and the orphans' tears, and when he made inquisition for blood, forgot not the cause of the poor. Such men and women of rank brought into the convent, meanwhile, all the prestige of their rank, all their superior knowledge of the world; and became the patrons and protectors of the society; while they submitted, generally with peculiar humility and devotion, to its most severe and degrading rules. Their higher sensibilities, instead of making them shrink from hardship, made them strong to endure self-sacrifices, and often self-tortures, which seem to us all but incredible; and the lives, or rather living deaths, of the noble and princely penitents of the early middle age, are among the most beautiful tragedies of humanity. To these monasteries, too, came the men of the very highest intellect, of whatsoever class. I say, of the very highest intellect. Tolerably talented men might find it worth while to stay in the world, and use their wits in struggling upward there. The most talented of all would be the very men to see a better 'carriere ouverte aux talens' than the world could give; to long for deeper and loftier meditation than could be found in the court; for a more divine life, a more blessed death, than could be found in the camp and the battle-field. And so it befals, that in the early middle age the cleverest men were generally inside the convent, trying, by moral influence and superior intellect, to keep those outside from tearing each other to pieces. But these intellects could not remain locked up in the monasteries. The daily routine of devotion, even of silent study and contemplation, was not sufficient for them, as it was for the average monk. There was still a reserve of force in them, which must be up and doing; and which, in a man inspired by that Spirit which is the Spirit of love to man as well as to God, must needs expand outwards in all directions, to Christianize, to civilize, to colonize. To colonize. When people talk loosely of founding an abbey for superstitious uses, they cannot surely be aware of the state of the countries in which those abbeys were founded; either primaeval forest, hardly-tilled common, or to be described by that terrible epithet of Domesday-book, 'wasta'--wasted by war. A knowledge of that fact would lead them to guess that there were almost certainly uses for the abbey which had nothing to do with superstition; which were as thoroughly practical as those of a company for draining the bog of Allen, or running a railroad through an American forest. Such, at least, was the case, at least for the first seven centuries after the fall of Rome; and to these missionary colonizers Europe owes, I verily believe, among a hundred benefits, this which all Englishmen will appreciate; that Roman agriculture not only revived in the countries which were once the Empire, but spread from thence eastward and northward, into the principal wilderness of the Teuton and Sclavonic races. I cannot, I think, shew you better what manner of men these monk-colonizers were, and what sort of work they did, than by giving you the biography of one of them; and out of many I have chosen that of St. Sturmi, founder whilome of the great abbey of Fulda, which lies on the central watershed of Germany, about equidistant, to speak roughly, from Frankfort, Cassel, Gotha, and Coburg. His life is matter of history, written by one Eigils (sainted like himself), who was his disciple and his friend. Naturally told it is, and lovingly; but if I recollect right, without a single miracle or myth; the living contemporaneous picture of such a man, living in such a state of society, as we shall never (and happily need never) see again, but which is for that very reason worthy to be preserved, for a token that wisdom is justified of all her children. It stands at length in Pertz's admirable 'Monumenta Historica,' among many another like biography, and if I tell it here somewhat at length, readers must forgive me. Every one has heard of little king Pepin, and many may have heard also how he was a mighty man of valour, and cut off a lion's head at one blow; and how he was a crafty statesman, and first consolidated the temporal power of the Popes, and helped them in that detestable crime of overthrowing the noble Lombard kingdom, which cost Italy centuries of slavery and shame, and which has to be expiated even yet, it would seem, by some fearful punishment. But every one may not know that Pepin had great excuses--if not for helping to destroy the Lombards--yet still for supporting the power of the Popes. It seemed to him--and perhaps it was--the only practical method of uniting the German tribes into one common people, and stopping the internecine wars by which they were tearing themselves to pieces. It seemed to him--and perhaps it was--the only practical method for civilizing and Christianizing the still wild tribes, Frisians, Saxons, and Sclaves, who pressed upon the German marches, from the mouth of the Elbe to the very Alps. Be that as it may, he began the work; and his son Charlemagne finished it; somewhat well, and again somewhat ill--as most work, alas! is done on earth. Now in the days of little king Pepin there was a nobleman of Bavaria, and his wife, who had a son called Sturmi; and they brought him to St. Boniface, that he might make him a priest. And the child loved St. Boniface's noble English face, and went with him willingly, and was to him as a son. And who was St. Boniface? That is a long story. Suffice it that he was a man of Devon, brought up in a cloister at Exeter; and that he had crossed over into Frankenland, upon the lower Rhine, and become a missionary of the widest and loftiest aims; not merely a preacher and winner of souls, though that, it is said, in perfection; but a civilizer, a colonizer, a statesman. He, and many another noble Englishman and Scot (whether Irish or Caledonian) were working under the Frank kings to convert the heathens of the marches, and carry the Cross into the far East. They led lives of poverty and danger; they were martyred, half of them, as St. Boniface was at last. But they did their work; and doubtless they have their reward. They did their best, according to their light. God grant that we, to whom so much more light has been given, may do our best likewise. Under this great genius was young Sturmi trained. Trained (as was perhaps needed for those who had to do such work in such a time) to have neither wife, nor child, nor home, nor penny in his purse; but to do all that he was bid, learn all that he could, and work for his living with his own hands; a life of bitter self-sacrifice. Such a life is not needed now. Possibly, nevertheless, it was needed then. So St. Boniface took Sturmi about with him in his travels, and at last handed him over to Wigbert, the priest, to prepare him for the ministry. 'Under whom,' says his old chronicler, 'the boy began to know the Psalms thoroughly by heart; to understand the Holy Scriptures of Christ with spiritual sense; took care to learn most studiously the mysteries of the four Gospels, and to bury in his heart, by assiduous reading, the treasures of the Old and New Testament. For his meditation was in the Law of the Lord day and night; profound in understanding, shrewd of thought, prudent of speech, fair of face, sober of carriage, honourable in morals, spotless in life, by sweetness, humility, and alacrity, he drew to him the love of all.' He grew to be a man; and in due time he was ordained priest, 'by the will and consent of all;' and he 'began to preach the words of Christ earnestly to the people;' and his preaching wrought wonders among them. Three years he preached in his Rhineland parish, winning love from all. But in the third year 'a heavenly thought' came into his mind that he would turn hermit and dwell in the wild forest. And why? Who can tell? He may, likely enough, have found celibacy a fearful temptation for a young and eloquent man, and longed to flee from the sight of that which must not be his. And that, in his circumstances, was not a foolish wish. He may have wished to escape, if but once, from the noise and crowd of outward things, and be alone with God and Christ, and his own soul. And that was not a foolish wish. John Bunyan so longed, and found what he wanted in Bedford Jail, and set it down and printed it in a Pilgrim's Progress, which will live as long as man is man. George Fox longed for it, and made himself clothes of leather which would not wear out, and lived in a hollow tree, till he, too, set down the fruit of his solitude in a diary which will live likewise as long as man is man. Perhaps, again, young Sturmi longed to try for once in a way what he was worth upon God's earth; how much he could endure; what power he had of helping himself, what courage to live by his own wits, and God's mercy, on roots and fruits, as wild things live. And surely that was not altogether a foolish wish. At least, he longed to be a hermit; but he kept his longing to himself, however, till St. Boniface, his bishop, appeared; and then he told him all his heart. And St. Boniface said: 'Go; in the name of God;' and gave him two comrades, and sent him into 'the wilderness which is called Buchonia, the Beech Forest, to find a place fit for the servants of the Lord to dwell in. For the Lord is able to provide his people a home in the desert.' So those three went into the wild forest. And 'for three days they saw nought but earth and sky and mighty trees. And they went on, praying Christ that He would guide their feet into the way of peace. And on the third day they came to the place which is called Hersfelt (the hart's down?), and searched it round, and prayed that Christ would bless the place for them to dwell in; and then they built themselves little huts of beech-bark, and abode there many days, serving God with holy fastings, and watchings, and prayers.' Is it not a strange story? so utterly unlike anything which we see now;--so utterly unlike anything which we ought to see now? And yet it may have been good in its time. It looks out on us from the dim ages, like the fossil bone of some old monster cropping out of a quarry. But the old monster was good in his place and time. God made him and had need of him. It may be that God made those three poor monks, and had need of them likewise. As for their purposes being superstitious, we shall be better able to judge of that when we have seen what they were--what sort of a house they meant to build to God. As for their having self-interest in view, no doubt they thought that they should benefit their own souls in this life, and in the life to come. But one would hardly blame them for that, surely? One would not blame them as selfish and sordid if they had gone out on a commercial speculation? Why, then, if on a religious one? The merchant adventurer is often a noble type of man, and one to whom the world owes much, though his hands are not always clean, nor his eye single. The monk adventurer of the middle age is, perhaps, a still nobler type of man, and one to whom the world owes more, though his eye, too, was not always single, nor his hands clean. As for selfishness, one must really bear in mind that men who walked away into that doleful 'urwarld' had need to pray very literally 'that Christ would guide their feet into the way of peace;' and must have cared as much for their wordly interests as those who march up to the cannon's mouth. Their lives in that forest were not worth twenty-four hours' purchase, and they knew it. It is an ugly thing for an unarmed man, without a compass, to traverse the bush of Australia or New Zealand, where there are no wild beasts. But it was uglier still to start out under the dark roof of that primaeval wood. Knights, when they rode it, went armed cap-a-pie, like Sintram through the dark valley, trusting in God and their good sword. Chapmen and merchants stole through it by a few tracks in great companies, armed with bill and bow. Peasants ventured into it a few miles, to cut timber, and find pannage for their swine, and whispered wild legends of the ugly things therein--and sometimes, too, never came home. Away it stretched from the fair Rhineland, wave after wave of oak and alder, beech and pine, God alone knew how far, into the land of night and wonder, and the infinite unknown; full of elk and bison, bear and wolf, lynx and glutton, and perhaps of worse beasts still. Worse beasts, certainly, Sturmi and his comrades would have met, if they had met them in human form. For there were waifs and strays of barbarism there, uglier far than any waif and stray of civilization, border ruffian of the far west, buccaneer of the Tropic keys, Cimaroon of the Panama forests; men verbiesterte, turned into the likeness of beasts, wildfanger, huner, ogres, wehr-wolves, strong thieves and outlaws, many of them possibly mere brutal maniacs; naked, living in caves and coverts, knowing no law but their own hunger, rage, and lust; feeding often on human flesh; and woe to the woman or child or unarmed man who fell into their ruthless clutch. Orson, and such like human brutes of the wilderness, serve now to amuse children in fairy tales; they were then ugly facts of flesh and blood. There were heathens there, too, in small colonies: heathen Saxons, cruelest of all the tribes; who worshipped at the Irmensul, and had an old blood-feud against the Franks; heathen Thuringer, who had murdered St. Kilian the Irishman at Wurzburg; heathen Slaves, of different tribes, who had introduced into Europe the custom of impaling their captives: and woe to the Christian priest who fell into any of their hands. To be knocked on the head before some ugly idol was the gentlest death which they were like to have. They would have called that martyrdom, and the gate of eternal bliss; but they were none the less brave men for going out to face it. And beside all these, and worse than all these, there were the terrors of the unseen world; very real in those poor monks' eyes, though not in ours. There were Nixes in the streams, and Kobolds in the caves, and Tannhauser in the dark pine-glades, who hated the Christian man, and would lure him to his death. There were fair swan-maidens and elf-maidens; nay, dame Venus herself, and Herodias the dancer, with all their rout of revellers; who would tempt him to sin, and having made him sell his soul, destroy both body and soul in hell. There was Satan and all the devils, too, plotting to stop the Christian man from building the house of the Lord, and preaching the gospel to the heathen; ready to call up storms, and floods, and forest fires; to hurl the crag down from the cliffs, or drop the rotting tree on their defenceless heads--all real and terrible in those poor monks' eyes, as they walked on, singing their psalms, and reading their Gospels, and praying to God to save them, for they could not save themselves; and to guide them, for they knew not, like Abraham, whither they went; and to show them the place where they should build the house of the Lord, and preach righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit to the heathen round. We talk still, thank heaven, of heroes, and understand what that great word should mean. But were not these poor monks heroes? Knights-errant of God, doing his work as they best knew how. We have a purer gospel than they: we understand our Bibles better. But if they had not done what they did, where would have been now our gospel, and our Bible? We cannot tell. It was a wise old saw of our forefathers--'Do not speak ill of the bridge which carries you over.' If Sturmi had had a 'holy longing' to get into the wild wood, now he had a 'holy longing' to go back; and to find St. Boniface, and tell him what a pleasant place Hersfelt was, and the quality of the soil, and the direction of the watershed, and the meadows, and springs, and so forth, in a very practical way. And St. Boniface answered, that the place seemed good enough; but that he was afraid for them, on account of the savage heathen Saxons. They must go deeper into the forest, and then they would be safe. So he went back to his fellow-hermits, and they made to themselves a canoe; and went paddling up and down the Fulda stream, beneath the alder boughs, 'trying the mouths of the mountain-streams, and landing to survey the hills and ridges,'--pioneers of civilization none the less because they pioneered in the name of Him who made earth and heaven: but they found nothing which they thought would suit the blessed St. Boniface, save that they stayed a little at the place which is called Ruohen-bah, 'the rough brook,' to see if it would suit; but it would not. So they went back to their birch huts to fast and pray once more. St. Boniface sent for Sturmi after awhile, probably to Maintz, to ask of his success; and Sturmi threw himself on his face before him; and Boniface raised him up, and kissed him, and made him sit by his side--which was a mighty honour; for St. Boniface, the penniless monk, was at that moment one of the most powerful men of Europe; and he gave Sturmi a good dinner, of which, no doubt, he stood in need; and bade him keep up heart, and seek again for the place which God had surely prepared, and would reveal in His good time. And this time Sturmi, probably wiser from experience, determined to go alone; but not on foot. So he took to him a trusty ass, and as much food as he could pack on it; and, axe in hand, rode away into the wild wood, singing his psalms. And every night, before he lay down to sleep, he cut boughs, and stuck them up for a ring fence round him and the ass, to the discomfiture of the wolves, which had, and have still, a great hankering after asses' flesh. It is a quaint picture, no doubt; but let us respect it, while we smile at it; if we, too, be brave men. Then one day he fell into a great peril. He came to the old road (a Roman one, I presume; for the Teutons, whether in England or elsewhere, never dreamed of making roads till three hundred years ago, but used the old Roman ones), which led out of the Thuringen land to Maintz. And at the ford over the Fulda he met a great multitude bathing, of Sclavonian heathens, going to the fair at Maintz. And they smelt so strong, the foul miscreants, that Sturmi's donkey backed, and refused to face them; and Sturmi himself was much of the donkey's mind, for they began to mock him (possibly he nearly went over the donkey's head), and went about to hurt him. 'But,' says the chronicler, 'the power of the Lord held them back.' Then he went on, right thankful at having escaped with his life, up and down, round and round, exploring and surveying--for what purpose we shall see hereafter. And at last he lost himself in the place which is called Aihen-loh, 'the glade of oaks;' and at night-fall he heard the plash of water, and knew not whether man or wild beast made it. And not daring to call out, he tapped a tree-trunk with his axe (some backwoodsman's sign of those days, we may presume), and he was answered. And a forester came to him, leading his lord's horse; a man from the Wetterau, who knew the woods far and wide, and told him all that he wanted to know. And they slept side by side that night; and in the morning they blest each other, and each went his way. Yes, there were not merely kings and wars, popes and councils, in those old days;--there were real human beings, just such as we might meet by the wayside any hour, with human hearts and histories within them. And we will be thankful if but one of them, now and then, starts up out of the darkness of twelve hundred years, like that good forester, and looks at us with human eyes, and goes his way again, blessing, and not unblest. And now Sturmi knew all that he needed to know; and after awhile, following the counsel of the forester, he came to 'the blessed place, long ago prepared of the Lord. And when he saw it, he was filled with immense joy, and went on exulting; for he felt that by the merits and prayers of the holy Bishop Boniface that place had been revealed to him. And he went about it, and about it, half the day; and the more he looked on it the more he gave God thanks;' and those who know Fulda say, that Sturmi had reason to give God thanks, and must have had a keen eye, moreover, for that which man needs for wealth and prosperity, in soil and water, meadow and wood. So he blessed the place, and signed it with the sign of the Cross (in token that it belonged thenceforth neither to devils nor fairies, but to his rightful Lord and Maker), and went back to his cell, and thence a weary journey to St. Boniface, to tell him of the fair place which he had found at last. And St. Boniface went his weary way, either to Paris or to Aix, to Pepin and Carloman, kings of the Franks; and begged of them a grant of the Aihen-loh, and all the land for four miles round, and had it. And the nobles about gave up to him their rights of venison, and vert, and pasture, and pannage of swine; and Sturmi and seven brethren set out thither, 'in the year of our Lord 744, in the first month (April, presumably), in the twelfth day of the month, unto the place prepared of the Lord,' that they might do what? That they might build an abbey. Yes; but the question is, what building an abbey meant, not three hundred, nor five hundred, but eleven hundred years ago--for centuries are long matters, and men and their works change in them. And then it meant this: Clearing the back woods for a Christian settlement; an industrial colony, in which every man was expected to spend his life in doing good--all and every good which he could for his fellow-men. Whatever talent he had he threw into the common stock; and worked, as he was found fit to work, at farming, gardening, carpentering, writing, doctoring, teaching in the schools, or preaching to the heathen round. In their common church they met to worship God; but also to ask for grace and strength to do their work, as Christianizers and civilizers of mankind. What Christianity and civilization they knew (and they knew more than we are apt now to believe) they taught it freely; and therefore they were loved, and looked up to as superior beings, as modern missionaries, wherever they do their work even decently well, are looked up to now. So because the work could be done in that way, and (as far as men then, or now, can see) in no other way, Pepin and Carloman gave Boniface the glade of oaks, that they might clear the virgin forest, and extend cultivation, and win fresh souls to Christ, instead of fighting, like the kings of this world, for the land which was already cleared, and the people who were already Christian. In two months' time they had cut down much of the forest; and then came St. Boniface himself to see them, and with him a great company of workmen, and chose a place for a church. And St. Boniface went up to the hill which is yet called Bishop's Mount, that he might read his Bible in peace, away from kings and courts, and the noise of the wicked world; and his workmen felled trees innumerable, and dug peat to burn lime withal; and then all went back again, and left the settlers to thrive and work. And thrive and work they did, clearing more land, building their church, ploughing up their farm, drawing to them more and more heathen converts, more and more heathen school-children; and St. Boniface came to see them from time to time, whenever he could get a holiday, and spent happy days in prayer and study, with his pupil and friend. And ten years after, when St. Boniface was martyred at last by the Friesland heathens, and died, as he had lived, like an apostle of God, then all the folk of Maintz wanted to bring his corpse home to their town, because he had been Archbishop there. But he 'appeared in a dream to a certain deacon, and said: "Why delay ye to take me home to Fulda, to my rest in the wilderness which God bath prepared for me?"' So St. Boniface sleeps at Fulda,--unless the French Republican armies dug up his bones, and scattered them, as they scattered holier things, to the winds of heaven. And all men came to worship at his tomb, after the fashion of those days. And Fulda became a noble abbey, with its dom-church, library, schools, workshops, farmsteads, almshouses, and all the appanages of such a place, in the days when monks were monks indeed. And Sturmi became a great man, and went through many troubles and slanders, and conquered in them all, because there was no fault found in him, as in Daniel of old; and died in a good old age, bewept by thousands, who, but for him, would have been heathens still. And the Aihen-loh became rich corn-land and garden, and Fulda an abbey borough and a principality, where men lived in peace under mild rule, while the feudal princes quarrelled and fought outside; and a great literary centre, whose old records are now precious to the diggers among the bones of bygone times; and at last St. Sturmi and the Aihen-lob had so developed themselves, that the latest record of the Abbots of Fulda which I have seen is this, bearing date about 1710:-- 'The arms of the most illustrious Lord and Prince, Abbot of Fulda, Archchancellor of the most Serene Empress, Primate of all Germany and Gaul, and Prince of the Holy Roman Empire.' Developed, certainly: and not altogether in the right direction. For instead of the small beer, which they had promised St. Boniface to drink to the end of the world, the abbots of Fulda had the best wine in Germany, and the best table too. Be that as it may, to have cleared the timber off the Aihen-lob, and planted a Christian colony instead, was enough to make St. Sturmi hope that he had not read his Bible altogether in vain. Surely such men as St. Sturmi were children of wisdom, put what sense on the word you will. In a dark, confused, lawless, cut-throat age, while everything was decided by the sword, they found that they could do no good to themselves, or any man, by throwing their swords into either scale. They would be men of peace, and see what could be done so. Was that not wise? So they set to work. They feared God exceedingly, and walked with God. Was not that wise? They wrought righteousness, and were merciful and kind, while kings and nobles were murdering around them; pure and temperate, while other men were lustful and drunken; just and equal in all their ways, while other men were unjust and capricious; serving God faithfully, according to their light, while the people round them were half or wholly heathen; content to do their work well on earth, and look for their reward in heaven, while the kings and nobles, the holders of the land, were full of insane ambition, every man trying to seize a scrap of ground from his neighbour, as if that would make them happier. Was that not wise? Which was the wiser, the chief killing human beings, to take from them some few square miles which men had brought into cultivation already, or the monk, leaving the cultivated land, and going out into the backwoods to clear the forest, and till the virgin soil? Which was the child of wisdom, I ask again? And do not tell me that the old monk worked only for fanatical and superstitious ends. It is not so. I know well his fanaticism and his superstition, and the depths of its ignorance and silliness: but he had more in him than that. Had he not, he would have worked no lasting work. He was not only the pioneer of civilization, but he knew that he was such. He believed that all knowledge came from God, even that which taught a man to clear the forest, and plant corn instead; and he determined to spread such knowledge as he had wherever he could. He was a wiser man than the heathen Saxons, even than the Christian Franks, around him; a better scholar, a better thinker, better handicraftsman, better farmer; and he did not keep his knowledge to himself. He did not, as some tell you, keep the Bible to himself. It is not so; and those who say so, in this generation, ought to be ashamed of themselves. The monk knew his Bible well himself, and he taught it. Those who learnt from him to read, learnt to read their Bibles. Those who did not learn (of course the vast majority, in days when there was no printing), he taught by sermons, by pictures, afterward by mystery and miracle plays. The Bible was not forbidden to the laity till centuries afterwards--and forbidden then, why? Because the laity throughout Europe knew too much about the Bible, and not too little. Because the early monks had so ingrained the mind of the masses, throughout Christendom, with Bible stories, Bible personages, the great facts, and the great doctrines, of our Lord's life, that the masses knew too much; that they could contrast too easily, and too freely, the fallen and profligate monks of the 15th and 16th centuries, with those Bible examples, which the old monks of centuries before had taught their forefathers. Then the clergy tried to keep from the laity, because it testified against themselves, the very book which centuries before they had taught them to love and know too well. In a word, the old monk missionary taught all he knew to all who would learn, just as our best modern missionaries do; and was loved, and obeyed, and looked on as a superior being, as they are. Of course he did not know how far civilization would extend. He could not foretell railroads and electric telegraphs, any more than he could political economy, or sanitary science. But the best that he knew, he taught--and did also, working with his own hands. He was faithful in a few things, and God made him ruler over many things. For out of those monasteries sprang--what did not spring? They restored again and again sound law and just government, when the good old Teutonic laws, and the Roman law also, was trampled underfoot amid the lawless strife of ambition and fury. Under their shadow sprang up the towns with their corporate rights, their middle classes, their artizan classes. They were the physicians, the alms-givers, the relieving officers, the schoolmasters of the middle-age world. They first taught us the great principle of the division of labour, to which we owe, at this moment, that England is what she is, instead of being covered with a horde of peasants, each making and producing everything for himself, and starving each upon his rood of ground. They transcribed or composed all the books of the then world; many of them spent their lives in doing nothing but writing; and the number of books, even of those to be found in single monasteries, considering the tedious labour of copying, is altogether astonishing. They preserved to us the treasures of classical antiquity. They discovered for us the germs of all our modern inventions. They brought in from abroad arts and new knowledge; and while they taught men to know that they had a common humanity, a common Father in heaven taught them also to profit by each other's wisdom instead of remaining in isolated ignorance. They, too, were the great witnesses against feudal caste. With them was neither high-born nor low-born, rich nor poor: worth was their only test; the meanest serf entering there might become the lord of knights and vassals, the counsellor of kings and princes. Men may talk of democracy--those old monasteries were the most democratic institutions the world had ever till then seen. 'A man's a man for a' that,' was not only talked of in them, but carried out in practice--only not in anarchy, and as a cloak for licentiousness: but under those safeguards of strict discipline, and almost military order, without which men may call themselves free, and yet be really only slaves to their own passions. Yes, paradoxical as it may seem, in those monasteries was preserved the sacred fire of modern liberty, through those feudal centuries when all the outside world was doing its best to trample it out. Remember, as a single instance, that in the Abbot's lodging at Bury St. Edmunds, the Magna Charta was drawn out, before being presented to John at Runymede. I know what they became afterwards, better than most do here; too well to defile my lips, or your ears, with tales too true. They had done their work, and they went. Like all things born in time, they died; and decayed in time; and the old order changed, giving place to the new; and God fulfilled himself in many ways. But in them, too, he fulfilled himself. They were the best things the world had seen; the only method of Christianizing and civilizing semi-barbarous Europe. Like all human plans and conceptions, they contained in themselves original sin; idolatry, celibacy, inhuman fanaticism; these were their three roots of bitterness; and when they bore the natural fruit of immorality, the monasteries fell with a great and just destruction. But had not those monasteries been good at first, and noble at first; had not the men in them been better and more useful men than the men outside, do you think they would have endured for centuries? They would not even have established themselves at all. They would soon, in those stormy times, have been swept off the face of the earth. Ill used they often were, plundered and burnt down. But men found that they were good. Their own plunderers found that they could not do without them; and repented, and humbled themselves, and built them up again, to be centres of justice and mercy and peace, amid the wild weltering sea of war and misery. For all things endure, even for a generation, only by virtue of the good which is in them. By the Spirit of God in them they live, as do all created things; and when he taketh away their breath they die, and return again to their dust. And what was the original sin of them? We can hardly say that it was their superstitious and partially false creed: because that they held in common with all Europe. It was rather that they had identified themselves with, and tried to realize on earth, one of the worst falsehoods of that creed--celibacy. Not being founded on the true and only ground of all society, family life, they were merely artificial and self-willed arrangements of man's invention, which could not develop to any higher form. And when the sanctity of marriage was revindicated at the Reformation, the monasteries, having identified themselves with celibacy, naturally fell. They could not partake in the Reformation movement, and rise with it into some higher form of life, as the laity outside did. I say, they were altogether artificial things. The Abbot might be called the Abba, Father, of his monks: but he was not their father--just as when young ladies now play at being nuns, they call their superior, Mother: but all the calling in the world will not make that sacred name a fact and a reality, as they too often find out. And celibacy brought serious evils from the first. It induced an excited, hysterical tone of mind, which is most remarkable in the best men; violent, querulous, suspicious, irritable, credulous, visionary; at best more womanly than manly; alternately in tears and in raptures. You never get in their writings anything of that manly calmness, which we so deservedly honour, and at which we all aim for ourselves. They are bombastic; excited; perpetually mistaking virulence for strength, putting us in mind for ever of the allocutions of the Popes. Read the writings of one of the best of monks, and of men, who ever lived, the great St. Bernard, and you will be painfully struck by this hysterical element. The fact is, that their rule of life, from the earliest to the latest,--from that of St. Benedict of Casino, 'father of all monks,' to that of Loyola the Jesuit, was pitched not too low, but too high. It was an ideal which, for good or for evil, could only be carried out by new converts, by people in a state of high religious excitement, and therefore the history of the monastic orders is just that of the protestant sects. We hear of continual fallings off from their first purity; of continual excitements, revivals, and startings of new orders, which hoped to realize the perfection which the old orders could not. You must bear this in mind, as you read mediaeval history. You will be puzzled to know why continual new rules and new orders sprung up. They were so many revivals, so many purist attempts at new sects. You will see this very clearly in the three great revivals which exercised such enormous influence on the history of the 13th, the 16th and the 17th centuries,--I mean the rise first of the Franciscans and Dominicans, next of the Jesuits, and lastly of the Port Royalists. They each professed to restore monachism to what it had been at first; to realize the unnatural and impossible ideal. Another serious fault of these monasteries may be traced to their artificial celibate system. I mean their avarice. Only one generation after St. Sturmi, Charlemagne had to make indignant laws against Abbots who tried to get into their hands the property of everybody around them: but in vain. The Abbots became more and more the great landholders, till their power was intolerable. The reasons are simple enough. An abbey had no children between whom to divide its wealth, and therefore more land was always flowing in and concentrating, and never breaking up again; while almost every Abbot left his personalities, all his private savings and purchases, to his successor. Then again, in an unhappy hour, they discovered that the easiest way of getting rich was by persuading sinners, and weak persons, to secure the safety of their souls by leaving land to the Church, in return for the prayers and masses of monks; and that shameful mine of wealth was worked by them for centuries, in spite of statutes of mortmain, and other checks which the civil power laid on them, very often by most detestable means. One is shocked to find good men lending themselves to such base tricks: but we must recollect, that there has always been among men a public and a private conscience, and that these two, alas! have generally been very different. It is an old saying, that 'committees have no consciences;' and it is too true. A body of men acting in concert for a public purpose will do things which they would shrink from with disgust, if the same trick would merely put money into their private purses; and this is too often the case when the public object is a good one. Then the end seems to sanctify the means, to almost any amount of chicanery. So it was with those old monks. An abbey had no conscience. An order of monks had no conscience. A Benedictine, a Dominican, a Franciscan, who had not himself a penny in the world, and never intended to have one, would play tricks, lie, cheat, slander, forge, for the honour and the wealth of his order; when for himself, and in himself, he may have been an honest God-fearing man enough. So it was; one more ugly fruit of an unnatural attempt to be not good men, but something more than men; by trying to be more than men, they ended by being less than men. That was their sin, and that sin, when it had conceived, brought forth death. LECTURE X--THE LOMBARD LAWS I have tried to shew you how the Teutonic nations were Christianized. I have tried to explain to you why the clergy who converted them were, nevertheless, more or less permanently antagonistic to them. I shall have, hereafter, to tell you something of one of the most famous instances of that antagonism: of the destruction of the liberties of the Lombards by that Latin clergy. But at first you ought to know something of the manners of these Lombards; and that you may learn best by studying their Code. They are valuable to you, as giving you a fair specimen of the laws of an old Teutonic people. You may profitably compare them with the old Gothic, Franco-Salic, Burgundian, Anglo-Saxon, and Scandinavian laws, all formed on the same primaeval model, agreeing often in minute details, and betokening one primaeval origin, of awful antiquity. By studying them, moreover, you may gain some notion of that primaeval liberty and self- government, common at first to all the race, but preserved alone by England;--to which the descendants of these very Lombards are at this very moment so manfully working their way back. These laws were collected and published in writing by king Rothar, A.D. 643, 76 years after Alboin came into Italy. The cause, he says, was the continual wearying of the poor, and the superfluous exactions, and even violence, of the strong against those who were weak. They are the 'laws of our fathers, as far as we have learnt them from ancient men, and are published with the counsel and consent of our princes, judges, and all our most prosperous army,' i.e. the barons, or freemen capable of bearing arms; 'and are confirmed according to the custom of our nation by garathinx,' that is, as far as I can ascertain from Grimm's German Law, by giving an earnest, garant, or warrant of the bargain. Among these Lombards, as among our English forefathers, when a man thingavit, i.e. donavit, a gift or bequest to any one, it was necessary, according to law CLXXII., to do it before gisiles, witnesses, and to give a garathinx, or earnest, of his bequest--a halm of straw, a turf, a cup of drink, a piece of money--as to this day a drover seals his bargain with a shilling, and a commercial traveller with a glass of liquor. Whether Rothar gave the garathinx to his barons, or his barons to him, I do not understand: but at least it is clear from the use of this one word that the publication of these laws was a 'social contract'--a distinct compact between king and people. From all which you will perceive at once that these Lombards, like all Teutons, were a free people, under a rough kind of constitutional monarchy. They would have greeted with laughter the modern fable of the divine right of kings, if by that they were expected to understand that the will of the king was law, or that the eldest son of a certain family had any God-given ipso-facto right to succeed his father. Sixteen kings, says the preface, had reigned from Agilmund to Rothar; and seven times had the royal race been changed. That the king should belong to one of the families who derived their pedigree from Wodin, and that a son should, as natural, succeed his father, were old rules: but the barons would, as all history shews, make little of crowning a younger son instead of an elder, if the younger were a hero, and the elder an 'arga'--a lazy loon; and little, also, would they make of setting aside the whole royal family, and crowning the man who would do their business best. The king was, as this preface and these laws shew, the commander in chief of the exercitus, the militia, and therefore of every free man in the state; (for all were bound to fight when required). He was also the supreme judge, the head of the executive, dispenser and fountain of law: but with no more power of making the law, of breaking the law, or of arbitrarily depriving a man of his property, than an English sovereign has now; and his power was quamdiu se bene gesserit, and no longer, as history proves in every page. The doctrine of the divine right of kings as understood in England in the seventeenth century, and still in some continental countries, was, as far as I can ascertain, invented by the early popes, not for the purpose of exalting the kings, but of enslaving them, and through them the nations. A king and his son's sons had divine 'right to govern wrong' not from God, but from the vicar of God and the successor of St. Peter, to whom God had given the dominion of the whole earth, and who had the right to anoint, or to depose, whomsoever he would. Even in these old laws, we see that new idea obtruding itself. 'The king's heart,' says one of them 'is in the hand of God.' That is a text of Scripture. What it was meant to mean, one cannot doubt, or by whom it was inserted. The 'Chancellor,' or whoever else transcribed those laws in Latin, was, of course, a cleric, priest or monk. From his hand comes the first hint of arbitrary power; the first small blot of a long dark stain of absolutism, which was to darken and deepen through centuries of tyranny and shame. But to plead the divine right of kings, in a country which has thrown off its allegiance to the pope, is to assert the conclusion of a syllogism, the major and minor premiss of which are both denied by the assertor. The arguments for such a right drawn from the Old Testament, which were common among the high-church party from James I. to James II. and the Nonjurors, are really too inconsequent to require more than a passing smile. How can you prove that a king has the power to make laws, from the history of the Jewish nation, when that very history represents it all through as bound by a primaeval and divinely revealed law, to which kings and people were alike subject? How can you prove that the eldest son's eldest son has a divine right to wear the crown as 'God's anointed,' when the very persons to whom that title is given are generally either not eldest sons, or not of royal race at all? The rule that the eldest son's eldest son should succeed, has been proved by experience to be in practice a most excellent one: but it rests, as in England, so in Lombardy, or Spain, or Frankreich of old time, simply upon the consent of the barons, and the will of the thing or parliament. There is a sentimental admiration of 'Imperialism' growing up now-a-days, under the pretentious titles of 'hero-worship,' and 'strong government;' and the British constitution is represented as a clumsy and artificial arrangement of the year 1688. 1688 after Christ? 1688 before Christ would be nearer the mark. It is as old, in its essentials, as the time when not only all the Teutons formed one tribe, but when Teutons and Scandinavians were still united--and when that was, who dare say? We at least brought the British constitution with us out of the bogs and moors of Jutland, along with our smock-frocks and leather gaiters, brown bills and stone axes; and it has done us good service, and will do, till we have carried it right round the world. As for these Lombard kings, they arose on this wise. After Alboin's death the Lombards were for ten years under dukes, and evil times came, every man doing what was right in his own eyes; enlarging their frontier by killing the Roman landholders, and making the survivors give them up a portion of their lands, as Odoacer first, and the Ostrogoths next, had done. At last, tired of lawlessness, dissension and weakness, and seemingly dreading an invasion from Childebert, king of the Franks, they chose a king, Autharis the son of Cleph, and called him Flavius, by which Roman title the Lombard kings were afterwards known. Moreover, they agreed to give him (I conclude only once for all) the half of all their substance, to support the kingdom. There were certain tributes afterwards paid into the king's treasury every three years; and certain fines, and also certain portions of the property of those who died without direct heirs, seem to have made up the revenue. Whereon, Paul says, perfect peace and justice followed. Now for the laws, which were reduced into writing about sixty years afterwards. The first thing that you will remark about these laws, is that duel, wager of battle under shield, 'diremptio causae per pugnam sub uno scuto,' is the earliest form of settling a lawsuit. If you cannot agree, fight it out fairly, either by yourself or per campionem, a champion or kemper man, and God defend the right. Then follows 'faida,' blood-feud, from generation to generation. To stop which a man is allowed to purge himself by oath; his own and that of certain neighbours, twelve in general, who will swear their belief in his innocence. This was common to the northern nations, and was the origin of our trial by jury. If guilty, the offender has to pay the weregeld, or legal price, set upon the injury he has inflicted. When the composition is paid, there is an end of the feud; if after taking the composition the plaintiff avenges himself, he has to pay it back. Hence our system of fines. This method of composition by fines runs through all the Teutonic laws; and makes the punishment of death, at least among freemen, very rare. Punishments by stripes, by imprisonment, or by cruel or degrading methods, there are none. The person of a freeman is sacred, 'Vincire et verberare nefas,' as Tacitus said of these Germans 600 years before. The offences absolutely punishable by death seem to be, treason against the king's life; cowardice in battle; concealment of robbers; mutinies and attempts to escape out of the realm; and therefore (under the then military organization) to escape from the duty of every freeman, to bear arms in defence of the land. More than a hundred of these laws define the different fines, or 'weregelds,' by which each offence is to be compounded for, from 900 solidi aurei, gold pieces, for a murder, downwards to the smallest breach of the peace. Each limb has its special price. For the loss of an eye, half the price of the whole man is to be paid. A front tooth is worth 16s., solidi aurei; their loss being a disfigurement; but a back tooth is worth only 8s. A slave's tooth, on the other hand, is worth but 4s.; and in every case, the weregeld of a slave is much less than that of a freeman. The sacredness of the household, and the strong sense of the individual rights of property, are to be remarked. One found in a 'court,' courtledge (or homestead), by night (as we say in old English), may be killed. You know, I dare say, that in many Teutonic and Scandinavian nations the principle that a man's house is his castle was so strongly held that men were not allowed to enter a condemned man's house to carry him off to execution; but if he would not come out, could only burn the house over his head. Shooting, or throwing a lance into any man's homestead, costs 20s. 'Oberos,' or 'curtis ruptura,' that is, making violent entry into a man's homestead, costs 20s. also. Nay, merely to fetch your own goods out of another man's house secretly, and without asking leave, was likewise punished as oberos. So of personal honour. 'Schelte' or insult, for instance, to call a man arga, i.e. a lazy loon, is a serious offence. If the defendant will confess that he said it in a passion, and will take oath that he never knew the plaintiff to be arga, he must still pay 12_s._; but if he will stand to his word, then he must fight it out by duel, sub uno scuto. The person, for the same reason, was sacred. If a man had lain in wait for a freeman, 'cum virtute et solatio,' with valour and comfort, i.e. with armed men to back him, and had found him standing or walking simply, and had shamefully held him, or 'battiderit,' committed assault and battery on him, he must pay half the man's weregeld; the 'turpiter et ridiculum' being considered for a freeman as half as bad as death. Here you find in private life, as well as in public, the vincire et verberare nefas. If, again, one had a mind to lose 80 shillings of gold, he need but to commit the offence of 'meerworphin,' a word which will puzzle you somewhat, till you find it to signify 'mare warping,' to warp, or throw one's neighbour off his mare or horse. A blow with the closed fist, again, costs three shillings: but one with the open hand, six. The latter is an insult as well as an injury. A freeman is struck with the fist, but a slave with the palm of the hand. Breaking a man's head costs six solidi. But if one had broken his skull, then (as in the Alemannic laws) one must pay twelve shillings, and twelve more for each fracture up to three--after which they are not counted. But a piece of bone must come out which will make a sound when thrown into a shield twelve feet off; which feet are to be measured by that of a man of middle stature. From which strange law may be deduced, not only the toughness of the Lombard brain-pan, but the extreme necessity of defining each particular, in order to prevent subsequent disputes, followed up by a blood-feud, which might be handed down from father to son. For by accepting the legal fine, the injured man expressly renounced his primaeval right of feud. Then follow some curious laws in favour of the masters of Como, Magistri Comacenes, who seem to have been a guild of architects, perhaps the original germ of the great society of free-masons--belonging, no doubt, to the Roman population--who were settled about the lake of Como, and were hired, on contract, (as the laws themselves express,) to build for the Lombards, who of course had no skill to make anything beyond a skin- tent or a log-hall. Then follow laws against incendiaries; a fine for damage by accidental house-fire, if the offender have carried fire more than nine feet from the hearth; a law against leaving a fire alight on a journey, as in the Australian colonies now. Then laws to protect mills; important matters in those days, being unknown to the Lombards before their entrance into Italy. Then laws of inheritance; on which I shall remark, that natural sons, if free, are to have a portion of their father's inheritance; but less than the legitimate sons: but that a natural son born of a slave remains a slave, 'nisi pater liberum thingaverit.' This cruel law was the law of Rome and of the Church; our Anglo-Saxon forefathers, to their honour, held the reverse rule. 'Semper a patre, non a matre, generationis ordo texitur.' Next, it is to be remarked, that no free woman can live in Lombardy, or, I believe, in any Teutonic state, save under the 'mundium' of some one. You should understand this word 'mund.' Among most of the Teutonic races, women, slaves, and youths, at least not of age to carry arms, were under the mund of some one. Of course, primarily the father, head of the family, and if he died, an uncle, elder brother, &c. The married woman was, of course, under the mund of her husband. He was answerable for the good conduct of all under his mund; he had to pay their fines if they offended; and he was bound, on the other hand, to protect them by all lawful means. This system still lingers in the legal status of women in England, for good and evil; the husband is more or less answerable for the wife's debts; the wife, till lately, was unable to gain property apart from her husband's control; the wife is supposed, in certain cases of law, to act under the husband's compulsion. All these, and many others, are relics of the old system of mund for women; and that system has, I verily believe, succeeded. It has called out, as no other system could have done, chivalry in the man. It has made him feel it a duty and an honour to protect the physically weaker sex. It has made the woman feel that her influence, whether in the state or in the family, is to be not physical and legal, but moral and spiritual; and that it therefore rests on a ground really nobler and deeper than that of the man. The modern experiments for emancipating women from all mund, and placing them on a physical and legal equality with the man, may be right, and may be ultimately successful. We must not hastily prejudge them. But of this we may be almost certain; that if they succeed, they will cause a wide- spread revolution in society, of which the patent danger will be, the destruction of the feeling of chivalry, and the consequent brutalization of the male sex. Then follow laws relating to marriage and women, of which I may remark, that (as in Tacitus' time), the woman brings her dowry, or 'fader fee,' to her husband; and that the morning after the wedding she receives from him, if he be content with her, her morgen gap, or morning gift; which remains her own private property, unless she misbehaves. The honour of women, whether in fact or merely in fame, is protected by many severe laws, among which I shall only notice, that the calling a free woman 'striga' (witch) is severely punishable. If any one does so who has the mund of her, except her father or brother, he loses his mund. On the whole, woman's condition seems inferior to man's on some points: but superior on others. e.g. A woman's weregeld--the price of her life--is 1200 solidi; while the man's is only 900. For he can defend himself, but she cannot. On the other hand, if a man kill his wife, he pays only the 1200 solidi, and loses her dowry: but if she kill him, she dies. Again. If a free man be caught thieving, up to the amount of 20 siliquae, beans, _i.e._ one gold piece--though Pope Gregory makes the solidus (aureus) 24 siliquae--he replaces the theft, and pays 80 solidi, or dies; and a slave one half, or dies. But if a free woman is taken in theft, she only replaces it; for she has suffered for her wrong-doing, and must lay it to her own shame, that she has tried to do 'operam indecentem,' a foul deed. And if an aldia or slave-woman steals, her master replaces the theft, and pays 40 solidi, minus the value of the stolen goods--and beats her afterwards, I presume, if he chooses. And now concerning slaves, who seem to have been divided into three classes. The Aldius and Aldia, masculine and feminine, who were of a higher rank than other slaves. The Aldius could marry a free woman, while the slave marrying a free woman is punishable by death; and, as experimentum crucis, if an Aldius married an Aldia or a free woman, the children followed the father. If he married a slave, the children followed the mother, and became slaves of his lord. The Aldius, again, may not sell his lord's land or slaves, which indicates that he held land and slaves under his lord. What the word means, Grimm does not seem to know. He thinks it synonymous with 'litus,' of whom we hear as early as Tacitus' time, as one of the four classes, nobles, freemen, liti, slaves; and therefore libertus, a freedman. But the word does not merely mean, it appears, a slave half freed by his master; but one rather hereditarily half free, and holding a farm under his lord. Dio, however, is said to be an old German word for a slave; and it is possible that aldius (a word only known, seemingly, in Lombardy) may have signified originally an old slave, an old Roman colonus, or peasant of some sort, found by the conquerors in possession of land, and allowed to retain, and till it, from father to son. We, in England, had the same distinction between 'Laet,' or 'villains' settled on the land, glebae adscripti, and mere thralls or theows, slaves pure and simple. No doubt such would have better terms than the mere mancipia--slaves taken in war, or bought--for the simple reason, that they would be agriculturists, practised in the Roman tillage, understanding the mysteries of irrigation, artificial grasses, and rotation of crops, as well as the culture of vines, fruit, and olives. Next to them you have different sorts of slaves; Servus massarius, who seems to be also rusticanus, one who takes care of his lord's 'massa' or farm, and is allowed a peculium, it seems, some animals of his own, which he may not sell, though he may give them away. And again, servus doctus, an educated household slave, whose weregeld is higher than that of others. The laws relating to fugitive slaves seem as merciful as such things can be; and the Lombards have always had the credit of being kind and easy masters. Connected with fugitive slaves are laws about portunarii, ferrymen, who appear, as you know, in the old ballads as very important, and generally formidable men. The fight between Von Troneg Hagen and the old ferryman in the Nibelungen Lied, is a famous instance of the ancient ferrymen's prowess. One can easily understand how necessary strict laws were, to prevent these ferrymen carrying over fugitive slaves, outlaws, and indeed any one without due caution; for each man was bound to remain in his own province, that he might be ready when called on for military service; and a traveller to foreign parts was looked on as a deserter from his liege- lord and country. Then follow a great number of laws, to me both amusing and instructive, as giving us some glimpse of the country life of those Lombards in the 8th century. Scattered in the vast woodlands and marshes lie small farms, enclosed by ditches and posts and rails, from which if you steal a rail, you are fined 1s., if you steal a post, 3s. There were stake fences, which you must be careful in making, for if a horse stakes himself by leaping in, you pay nothing; but if he does so by leaping out, you pay the price of the horse. Moreover, you must leave no sharp stakes standing out of the hedge; for if a man or beast wounds himself thereby in passing, you have to pay full weregeld. Walking over sown land, or sending a woman of your mundium to do so, in accordance with an ancient superstition, is a severe offence; so is injuring a vineyard, or taking more than tres uvae (bunches of grapes, I presume) from the vine. Injuring landmarks cut on the trees (theclaturas and signaturas) or any other boundary mark, is severely punishable either in a slave, or in a freeman. In the vast woods range herds of swine, and in the pastures, horses, cared for by law; for to take a herd of swine or brood mares as pledge, without the king's leave, is punishable by death, or a fine of 900_s._ Oxen or horses used to the yoke can be taken as pledge; but only by leave of the king, or of the schuldhais (local magistrate), on proof that the debtor has no other property; for by them he gets his living. If, however, you find pigs routing in your enclosure, you may kill one, under certain restrictions, but not the 'sornpair,' sounder boar, who 'battit et vincit' all the other boars in the sounder (old English for herd). Rival swineherds, as is to be supposed, 'battidunt inter se,' and 'scandalum faciunt,' often enough. Whereon the law advises them to fight it out, and then settle the damage between them. Horses are cared for. To ride another man's horse costs 2s.; to dock or crop him, eight-fold the damage; and so on of hurting another man's horse. Moreover, if your neighbour's dog flies at you, you may hit him with a stick or little sword, and kill him, but if you throw a stone after him and kill him, you being then out of danger, you must give the master a new dog. Then there are quaint laws about hunting; and damage caused by wild beasts caught in snares or brought to bay. A wounded stag belongs to the man who has wounded it for twenty-four hours: but after that to anyone. Tame deer, it is observable, are kept; and to kill a doe or fawn costs 6s., to kill a buck, 12s. Tame hawks, cranes, and swans, if taken in snares, cost 6s. But any man may take flying hawks out of his neighbour's wood, but not out of the Gaias Regis, the king's gehage, haies, hedges, or enclosed parks. And now, I have but one more law to mention--would God that it had been in force in later centuries-- 'Let no one presume to kill another man's aldia or ancilla, as a striga, witch, which is called masca; because it is not to be believed by Christian minds, that a woman can eat up a live man from within; and if any one does so he shall pay 60s. as her price, and for his fault, half to her master, and half to the king.' This last strange law forces on us a serious question, one which may have been suggesting itself to you throughout my lecture. If these were the old Teutonic laws, this the old Teutonic liberty, the respect for man as man, for woman as woman, whence came the opposite element? How is it that these liberties have been lost throughout almost all Europe? How is it that a system of law prevailed over the whole continent, up to the French revolution, and prevails still in too many countries, the very opposite of all this? I am afraid that I must answer, Mainly through the influence of the Roman clergy during the middle age. The original difference of race between the clergy and the Teutonic conquerors, which I have already pointed out to you, had a curious effect, which lingers to this day. It placed the Church in antagonism, more or less open, to the civil administration of justice. The criminal was looked on by the priest rather as a sufferer to be delivered, than an offender to be punished. All who are conversant with the lives of saints must recollect cases in which the saint performs even miracles on behalf of the condemned. Mediaeval tales are full of instances of the same feeling which prompted the Italian brigands, even in our own times, to carry a leaden saint's image in his hat as a safeguard. In an old French fabliau, for instance, we read how a certain highway-robber was always careful to address his prayers to the Blessed Virgin, before going out to murder and steal; and found the practice pay him well. For when he was taken and hanged, our Lady put her 'mains blanches' under his feet, and supported him invisibly for a whole day, till the executioner, finding it impossible to kill him, was forced to let him retire peaceably into a monastery, where he lived and died devoutly. We may laugh at such fancies; or express, if we will, our abhorrence of their immorality: but it will be more useful to examine into the causes which produced them. They seem to have been twofold. In the first place, the Church did not look on the Teutonic laws, whether Frank, Burgund, Goth or Lombard, as law at all. Her law, whether ecclesiastical or civil, was formed on the Roman model; and by it alone she wished herself, and those who were under her protection, to be judged. Next--and this count is altogether to her honour--law, such as it was, was too often administered, especially by the Franks, capriciously and brutally; while the servile population, always the great majority, can hardly be said to have been under the protection of law at all. No one can read the pages of Fredegarius, or Gregory of Tours, without seeing that there must have been cases weekly, even daily, which called on the clergy, in the name of justice and humanity, to deliver if possible, the poor from him that spoiled him; which excused fully the rise of the right of sanctuary, and of benefit of clergy, afterwards so much abused; which made it a pious duty in prelates to work themselves into power at court, and there, as the 'Chancellors' of princes, try to get something like regular justice done; and naturally enough, to remodel the laws of each nation on the time-honoured and scientific Roman form. Nevertheless, the antagonism of the Church to the national and secular law remained for centuries. It died out first perhaps, in England, after the signature of Magna Charta. For then the English prelates began to take up that truly Protestant and national attitude which issued in the great Reformation: but it lingers still in Ireland and in Italy. It lingered in France up to the French revolution, as may be seen notably in the account of the execution of the Marquise de Brinvilliers, by the priest who attended her. Horror at her atrocious crimes is quite swallowed up, in the mind of the good father, by sympathy with her suffering; and the mob snatch her bones from the funeral pile, and keep them as the relics of a saint. But more. While the Roman clergy did real good to Europe, in preserving the scientific elements of Roman law, they did harm by preserving therewith other elements--Roman chicane, and Roman cruelty. In that respect, as in others, 'Rome conquered her conquerors;' and the descendants of those Roman lawyers, whom the honest Teutons called adders, and as adders killed them down, destroyed, in course of time, Teutonic freedom. But those descendants were, alas! the clergy. Weak, they began early to adopt those arms of quibbling and craft, which religious men too often fancy are the proper arms of 'the saints' against 'the world.' Holding human nature in suspicion and contempt, they early gave way to the maxim of the savage, that every one is likely to be guilty till proved innocent, and therefore licensed the stupid brutalities of torture to extract confession. Holding self-degradation to be a virtue, and independence as a carnal vice; glorying in being slaves themselves, till to become, under the name of holy obedience, 'perinde ac cadaver,' was the ideal of a good monk; and accustomed, themselves, to degrading corporal punishment; they did not shrink from inflicting, even on boys and women, tortures as dastardly as indecent. Looking on the world, and on the future of the human race, through a medium compared with which the darkest fancies of a modern fanatic are bright and clear, they did not shrink from inflicting penalties, the very mention of which makes the blood run cold. Suspecting, if not alternately envying and despising, all women who were not nuns; writing openly of the whole sex (until unsexed) as the snare and curse of mankind; and possessed by a Manichaean belief in the power and presence of innumerable demons, whose especial victims were women; they erected witch-hunting into a science; they pandered to, and actually formalized, and justified on scientific grounds, the most cruel and cowardly superstitions of the mob; and again and again raised literal crusades against women, torturing, exposing, burning, young and old, not merely in the witch-mania of the 17th century, but through the whole middle age. It is a detestable page of history. I ask those who may think my statement exaggerated, to consult the original authorities. Let them contrast Rothar's law about the impossibility of witchcraft, with the pages of the Malleus Maleficarum, Nider's Fornicarium, or Delrio the Jesuit, and see for themselves who were the false teachers. And if they be told, that the cruelties of the Inquisition were only those in vogue according to the secular law of the day, let them recollect that the formulizers of that law were none other than the celibate Roman clergy. I do not deny that there was in all this a just, though a terrible, Nemesis. What was the essential fault of these Lombard laws--indeed of all the Teutonic codes? This--that there was one law for the free man, another for the slave. Ecclesiastical dominion was necessary, to make one law for all classes, even though it were a law of common slavery. As the free had done to the slave, even so, and far worse, would the Roman clergy do to them. The Albigense persecutors, burning sixty ladies in one day; Conrad of Marpurg scourging his own sovereign, St. Elizabeth; shaving the Count of Saiym's head; and burning noble ladies almost without trial; Sprenger and his compeers, offering up female hecatombs of the highest blood thoughout Germany; English bishops burning in Smithfield Anne Askew, the hapless court-beauty, and her fellow-courtier Mr. Lascelles, just as if they had been Essex or Berkshire peasants;--all these evildoers were welding the different classes of the European nations, by a community of suffering, into nations; into the belief that free and slave had one blood, one humanity, one conscience, one capacity of suffering; and at last, one capacity of rebelling, and making common cause, high and low alike, against him who reigned in Italy under the 'Romani nominis umbram.' And if our English law, our English ideas of justice and mercy, have retained, more than most European codes, the freedom, the truthfulness, the kindliness, of the old Teutonic laws, we owe it to the fact, that England escaped, more than any other land, the taint of effete Roman civilization; that she therefore first of the lands, in the 12th century, rebelled against, and first of them, in the 16th century, threw off, the Ultramontane yoke. And surely it will be so, in due time, with the descendants of these very Lombards. We have seen them in these very years arise out of the dust and shame of centuries, and determine to be Lombards once again. We have seen a hero arise among them of the true old Teuton stamp, bearing worthily the name which his forefathers brought over the Alps with Alboin--Garibald, the 'bold in war.' May they succeed in the same noble struggle as that in which we succeeded, and returning, not in letter, but in spirit, to the old laws of Rothar and their free forefathers, become the leading race of a free and united Italy! LECTURE XI--THE POPES AND THE LOMBARDS 'Our Lady the Mother of God, even Virgin Maria, together with us, protests to you, adjuring you with great obligations, and admonishes and commands you, and with her the thrones, dominations, all the heavenly angels, the martyrs and confessors of Christ, on behalf of the Roman city, committed to us by the Lord God, and the sheep of the Lord dwelling in it. Defend and free it speedily from the hands of the persecuting Lombards, lest my body which suffered torments for Christ, and my home in which it rests by the command of God, be contaminated by the people of the Lombards, who are guilty of such iniquitous perjury, and are proud transgressors of the divine scripture. So will I at the day of judgment reward you with my patronage, and prepare for you in the kingdom of God most shining and glorious tabernacles, promising you the reward of eternal retribution, and the infinite joys of paradise. 'Run, by the true and living God I exhort you, run, and help; before the living fountain, whence you were consecrated and born again, shall dry up: before the little spark remaining of that brilliant flame, from which you knew the light, be extinguished; before your spiritual mother, the holy Church of God, in which you hope to receive eternal life, shall be humiliated, invaded, violated, and defiled by the impious. 'But if not, may your provinces in return, and your possessions, be invaded by people whom you know not. Separate not yourselves from my Roman people; so you will not be aliens, and separate from the kingdom of God, and eternal life. For whatever you shall ask of me, I will surely give you, and be your patron. Assist my Roman people, your brothers; and strive more perfectly; for it is written, No man receiveth the crown, unless he strive lawfully. 'I conjure you, most beloved, by the living God, leave not this my city of Rome to be any longer torn by the Lombards, lest your bodies and souls be torn and tormented for ever, in inextinguishable and Tartarian fire with the devil and his pestiferous angels; and let not the sheep of the Lord's flock, which are the Roman people, be dispersed any more, lest the Lord disperse you, and cast you forth as the people of Israel was dispersed.' You will conclude, doubtless, that this curious document can be nothing but a papal allocution. Its peculiar scriptural style (wrongly supposed to have been invented by the Puritans, who merely learnt it from the old Roman clergy), as well as the self-conceit, which fancies the fate of the whole world to depend on the prosperity of a small half-ruined city in Italy, will be to you sufficient marks of the Roman hand. But you will be somewhat mistaken. It is hardly an epistle from the successor of St. Peter. It professes to be an epistle from St. Peter himself, and sent by him through the hands of Pope Stephen III. to Pepin the king of the Franks, in the year 755. You will have concluded also from it, that Catholic Christianity is in its extreme agony; that the worship and name of our Lord, and the fountains of sacramental grace are about to be extinguished for ever, and that nothing but heresy or heathendom can follow. Then you will be quite mistaken. These Lombards are pious Catholics. Builders of churches and monasteries, they are taking up the relics of the Roman martyrs, to transfer them to the churches of Milan and Pavia. They have just given Pope Stephen the most striking proof of their awe of his person and office. But they are quarrelling with him about the boundaries of his estates for the patrimony of St. Peter. They consider that he and his predecessors have grossly wronged them at different times; and now last of all, by calling in foreign invaders; and they are at the gates of Rome laying waste the country, and demanding a poll-tax as ransom. That is all. The causes which led to this quarrel must be sought far back in history. The original documents in which you will find the facts will be Paulus Diaconus, as far as King Luitprand's death; then the Life and Writings of Gregory the Great; and then Baronius' Annals, especially his quotations from Anastasius' Life of Stephen III., bearing in mind that, as with the Ostrogoths, we have only the Roman Papal story; that the Lombards have never stated their case, not even through Paulus Diaconus, who, being a clergyman, prudently holds his tongue about the whole matter. But by far the best account is to be found in Dean Milman's 'Latin Christianity,' Vols. I. and II. Rome, you must understand, has become gradually the patrimony of St. Peter; the Popes are the practical kings of Rome, possessing, in the name of the Church, much land round Rome, and many estates scattered throughout Italy, and even in Sicily, Gaul, Africa, and the East--estates probably bequeathed by pious people. They have succeeded to this jurisdiction simply by default. They rule Rome, because there is no one else to rule it. We find St. Gregory the Great feeding the pauper-masses of Rome, on the first day of every month, from the fruitful corn-bearing estates in Sicily; keeping up the 'Panem;' but substituting, thank Heaven, for the 'Circenses' at least the services of the Church. Of course, the man who could keep the Roman people alive must needs become, ipso facto, their monarch. The Pope acknowledges, of course, a certain allegiance to the Emperor at Constantinople, and therefore to his representative, the Exarch of Ravenna: that is to say, he meets them with flattery when they are working on his side; with wrath when they oppose him. He intrigues with them, too, whenever he can safely do so, against the Lombards. Thus the Pope has become, during the four centuries which followed the destruction of the Western Empire, the sole surviving representative of that Empire. He is the head of the 'gens togata;' of the 'Senatus Populusque Romanus.' In him Rome has risen again out of her grave, to awe the peoples once more by the Romani nominis umbra; and to found a new Empire; not as before, on physical force, and the awe of visible power; but on the deeper and more enduring ground of spiritual force, and the awe of the invisible world. An Empire, I say. The Popes were becoming, from the 5th to the 8th centuries, not merely the lords of Rome, but the lords of the Western Church. Their spiritual Empire, to do them justice, was not so much deliberately sought by them, as thrust upon them. As the clergy were, all over the Empire, the representatives of the down-trodden Romans, so they naturally gravitated toward the Eternal City, their ancient mistress. Like all disciplined and organized bodies they felt the need of unity, of monarchy. Where could they find it, save at Rome? Rome was still, practically and in fact, the fountain of their doctrine, of their superior civilization; and to submit themselves to the Pope of Rome was their only means of keeping up one faith, one practice, and the strength which comes from union. To seat the Pope upon the throne of the Caesars; to attribute to him powers weightier than all which the Caesars had possest . . . It was a magnificent idea. A politic idea, too; for it would cover the priesthood with all the prestige of ancient Rome, and enable them to face the barbarian in the name of that great people whose very memory still awed him; whose baths, aqueducts, palaces, he looked on as the work of demons; whose sages and poets were to him enchanters; whose very gems, dug out of the ruins by night, in fear and trembling, possest magic influence for healing, for preservation, for good fortune in peace or war. Politic; and in their eyes, true. Easy enough to be believed honestly, by men who already believed honestly in their own divine mission. They were the representatives of Christ on earth. Of that fact there could be then, or can be now, no doubt whatsoever. Whatsoever truth, light, righteousness, there was in the West, came to it through them. And Christ was the King of kings. But He delayed his coming: at moments, He seemed to have deserted the earth, and left mankind to tear itself in pieces, with wild war and misrule. But it could not be so. If Christ were absent, He must at least have left an authority behind Him to occupy till He came; a head and ruler for his opprest and distracted Church. And who could that be, if not the Pope of Rome? It ought to be so.--It must be so--thought they. And to men in that mood, proofs that it was so soon came to hand, and accumulated from generation to generation; till the Pope at last found himself proclaiming, and what was more, believing, that God had given the whole world to St. Peter, and through St. Peter to him; and that he was the only source of power, law, kingship, who could set up and pull down whom he would, as the vicegerent of God on earth. Such pretensions, of course, grew but slowly. It was not, I believe, till the year 875, 180 years after the time of which I am speaking, that Pope John VIII. distinctly asserted his right, as representative of the ancient Roman Empire, to create the Caesar; and informed the Synod of Pavia that he had 'elected and approved Charles the Bald, with the consent of his brothers the bishops, of the other ministers of the Holy Roman Church, and' (significant, though empty words) 'of the Roman senate and people.' At the time of which I speak, the power was still in embryo, growing, through many struggles: but growing surely and strongly, and destined speedily to avenge the fall of Rome on the simple barbarians who were tearing each other to pieces over her spoils. It is not easy to explain the lasting and hereditary hatred of the Popes to the Lombards. Its origin is simple enough: but not so its continuance. Why they should be nefandissimi in the eyes of Pope Gregory the Great one sees: but why 100 years afterwards, they should be still nefandissimi, and 'non dicenda gens Langobardorum,' not to be called a nation, is puzzling. At first, of course, the Pope could only look on them as a fresh horde of barbarous conquerors; half heathen, half Arian. Their virtuous and loyal life within the boundaries of Alboin's conquests--of which Paulus Diaconus says, that violence and treachery were unknown--that no one oppressed, no one plundered--that the traveller went where he would in perfect safety--all this would be hid from the Pope by the plain fact, that they were continually enlarging their frontier toward Rome; that they had founded two half-independent Dukedoms of Beneventum and Spoleto, that Autharis had swept over South Italy, and ridden his horse into the sea at Reggio, to strike with his lance a column in the waves, and cry, 'Here ends the Lombard kingdom.' The Pope (Gregory the Great I am speaking of) could only recollect, again, that during the lawless interregnum before Autharis' coronation, the independent Lombard dukes had plundered churches and monasteries, slain the clergy, and destroyed the people, who had 'grown up again like corn.' But as years rolled on, these Arian Lombards had become good Catholics; and that in the lifetime of Gregory the Great. Theodelinda, the Bavarian princess, she to whom Autharis had gone in disguise to her father's court, and only confessed himself at his departure, by rising in his stirrups, and burying his battle-axe in a tree stem with the cry, 'Thus smites Autharis the Lombard,'--this Theodelinda, I say, had married after his death Agilwulf his cousin, and made him king of the Lombards. She was a Catholic; and through her Gregory the Great converted Autharis, and the Lombard nation. To her he addressed those famous dialogues of his, full alike of true piety and earnestness, and of childish superstition. But in judging them and him we must bear in mind, that these Lombards became at least by his means Catholics, and that Arians would have believed in the superstitions just as much as Catholics. And it is surely better to believe a great truth, plus certain mistakes which do not affect it in the least, than a great lie, plus the very same mistakes likewise. Which is best, to believe that the road to London lies through Bishopstortford, and that there are dog-headed men on the road: or that it lies through Edinburgh, but that there are dog-headed men on that road too? Theodelinda had built at Modicaea, twelve miles above Milan, a fair basilica to John the Baptist, enriched by her and the Lombard kings and dukes, 'crowns, crosses, golden tables adorned with emeralds, hyacinths, amber, carbuncles and pearls, gold and silver altar-cloths, and that admirable cup of sapphire,' all which remained till the eighteenth century. There, too, was the famous iron crown of Lombardy, which Austria still claims as her own; so called from a thin ring of iron inserted in it, made from a nail of the true cross which Gregory had sent Agilwulf; just as he sent Childebert, the Frankish king, some filings of St. Peter's chains; which however, he says, did not always allow their sacred selves to be filed. In return, Agilwulf had restored the church-property which he had plundered, had reinstated the bishops; and why did not all go well? Why are these Lombards still the most wicked of men? Again, in the beginning of the eighth century came the days of the good Luitprand, 'wise and pious, a lover of peace, and mighty in war; merciful to offenders, chaste and modest, instant in prayer, bountiful in alms, equal to the philosophers, though he knew no letters, a nourisher of his people, an augmenter of the laws.' He it was, who, when he had quarrelled with Pope Gregory II., and marched on Rome, was stopped at the Gates of the Vatican by the Pontiff's prayers and threats. And a sacred awe fell on him; and humbly entering St. Peter's, he worshipped there, and laid on the Apostle's tomb his royal arms, his silver cross and crown of gold, and withdrawing his army, went home again in peace. But why were this great king's good deeds towards the Pope and the Catholic faith rewarded, by what we can only call detestable intrigue and treachery? Again; Leo the Iconoclast Emperor destroyed the holy images in the East, and sent commands to the Exarch of Ravenna to destroy them in western Italy. Pope Gregory II. replied by renouncing allegiance to the Emperor of Constantinople; and by two famous letters which are still preserved; in which he tells the Iconoclast Emperor, that, 'if he went round the grammar-schools at Rome, the children would throw their horn-books at his head . . . that he implored Christ to send the Emperor a devil, for the destruction of his body and the salvation of his soul . . . that if he attempted to destroy the images in Rome, the pontiff would take refuge with the Lombards, and then he might as well chase the wind that the Popes were the mediators of peace between East and West, and that the eyes of the nations were fixed on the Pope's humility, and adored as a God on earth the apostle St. Peter. And that the pious Barbarians, kindled into rage, thirsted to avenge the persecution of the East.' Then Luitprand took up the cause of the Pope and his images, and of the mob, who were furious at the loss of their idols; and marched on Ravenna, which opened her gates to him, so that he became master of the whole Pentapolis; and image-worship, to which some plainspoken people give a harsher name, was saved for ever and a day in Italy. Why did Gregory II. in return, call in Orso, the first Venetian Doge, to expel from Ravenna the very Luitprand who had fought his battles for him, and to restore that Exarchate of Ravenna, of which it was confessed, that its civil quarrels, misrule, and extortions, made it the most miserable government in Italy? And why did he enter into secret negotiations with the Franks to come and invade Italy? Again, when Luitprand wanted to reduce the duchies of Beneventum and Spoleto, which he considered as rebels against him, their feudal suzerain; why did the next Pope, Gregory III., again send over the Alps to Charles Martel to come and invade Italy, and deliver the Church and Christ's people from ruin? And who were these Franks, the ancestors of that magnificent, but profligate aristocracy whose destruction our grandfathers beheld in 1793? I have purposely abstained from describing them, till they appear upon the stage of Italy, and take part in her fortunes--which were then the fortunes of the world. They appear first on the Roman frontier in A.D. 241, and from that time are never at rest till they have conquered the north of Gaul. They are supposed (with reason) not to have been a race or tribe at all; but a confederation of warriors, who were simply 'Franken,' 'free;' 'free companions,' or 'free lances,' as they would have been called a few centuries later; who recruited themselves from any and every tribe who would join them in war and plunder. If this was the case; if they had thrown away, as adventurers, much of the old Teutonic respect for law, for the royal races, for family life, for the sacred bonds of kindred, many of their peculiarities are explained. Falsehood, brutality, lawlessness, ignorance, and cruelty to the conquered Romans, were their special sins; while their special, and indeed only virtue, was that indomitable daring which they transmitted to their descendants for so many hundred years. The buccaneers of the young world, they were insensible to all influences save that of superstition. They had become, under Clovis, orthodox Christians: but their conversion, to judge from the notorious facts of history, worked little improvement on their morals. The pages of Gregory of Tours are comparable, for dreary monotony of horrors, only to those of Johnson's History of the Pyrates. But, as M. Sismondi well remarks, their very ignorance and brutality made them the more easily the tools of the Roman clergy: 'Cette haute veneration pour l'Eglise, et leur severe orthodoxie, d'autant plus facile a conserver que, ne faisant aucune etude, et ne disputant jamais sur la foi, ils ne connaissaient pas meme les questions controversees, leur donnerent dans le clerge de puissants auxiliaires. Les Francs se montrerent disposes a hair les Ariens, a les combattres, et les depouiller sans les entendre; les eveques, en retour, ne se montrerent pas scrupuleux sur le reste des enseignements moraux de la religion: ils fermerent les yeux sur les violences, le meurtre, le dereglement des moeurs; ils autoriserent en quelque sorte publiquement la poligamie, et ils precherent le droit divin des rois et le devoir le l'obeissance pour les peuples {279}.' A painful picture of the alliance: but, I fear, too true. The history of these Franks you must read for yourselves. You will find it well told in the pages of Sismondi, and in Mr. Perry's excellent book, 'The Franks.' It suffices now to say, that in the days of Luitprand these Franks, after centuries of confusion and bloodshed, have been united into one great nation, stretching from the Rhine to the Loire and the sea, and encroaching continually to the southward and eastward. The government has long passed out of the hands of their faineant Meerwing kings into that of the semi-hereditary Majores Domus, or Mayors of the Palace; and Charles Martel, perhaps the greatest of that race of great men, has just made himself mayor of Austrasia (the real Teutonic centre of Frank life and power), Neustria and Burgundy. He has crushed Eudo, the duke of Romanized Aquitaine, and has finally delivered France and Christendom from the invading Saracens. On his Franks, and on the Lombards of Italy, rest, for the moment, the destinies of Europe. For meanwhile another portent has appeared, this time out of the far East. Another swarm of destroyers has swept over the earth. The wild Arabs of the desert, awakening into sudden life and civilization under the influence of a new creed, have overwhelmed the whole East, the whole north of Africa, destroying the last relics of Roman and Greek civilization, and with them the effete and semi-idolatrous Christianity of the Empire. All the work of Narses and Belisarius is undone. Arab Emirs rule in the old kingdom of the Vandals. The new human deluge has crossed the Straits into Europe. The Visigoths, enervated by the luxurious climate of Spain, have recoiled before the Mussulman invaders. Roderick, the last king of the Goths, is wandering as an unknown penitent in expiation of his sin against the fair Cava, which brought down (so legends and ballads tell) the scourge of God upon the hapless land; and the remnants of the old Visigoths and Sueves are crushed together into the mountain fastnesses of Asturias and Gallicia, thence to reissue, after long centuries, as the noble Spanish nation, wrought in the forges of adversity into the likeness of tempered steel; and destined to reconquer, foot by foot, their native land from the Moslem invader. But at present the Crescent was master of the Cross; and beyond the Pyrenees all was slavery and 'miscreance.' The Arabs, invading France in 732, in countless thousands, had been driven back at the great fight of Tours, with a slaughter so great, that the excited imagination of Paulus Diaconus sees 375,000 miscreants dead upon the field, while only 1500 Franks had perished. But home troubles had prevented 'the Hammer of the Moors' from following up his victory. The Saracens had returned in force in 737, and again in 739. They still held Narbonne. The danger was imminent. There was no reason why they should not attempt a third invasion. Why should they not spread along the shores of the Mediterranean, establishing themselves there, as they were already doing in Sicily, and menacing Rome from north as well as south? To unite, therefore, the two great Catholic Teutonic powers, the Frank and the Lombard, for the defence of Christendom, should have been the policy of him who called himself the Chief Pontiff in Christendom. Yet the Pope preferred, in the face of that great danger, to set the Teutonic nations on destroying each other, rather than to unite them against the Moslem. The bribe offered to the Frank was significant--the title of Roman Consul; beside which he was to have filings of St. Peter's chains, and the key of his tomb, to preserve him body and soul from all evil. Charles would not come. Frank though he was, he was too honourable to march at a priest's bidding against Luitprand, his old brother in arms, to whom he had sent the boy Pepin, his son, that Luitprand might take him on his knee, and cut his long royal hair, and become his father-in-arms, after the good old Teuton fashion; Luitprand, who with his Lombards had helped him to save Christendom a second time from the Mussulman in 737. The Pope, one would think, should have remembered that good deed of the good Lombard's whereof his epitaph sings, 'Deinceps tremuere feroces Usque Saraceni, quos dispulit impiger, ipsos Cum premerent Gallos, Karolo poscente juvari.' So Charles Martel took the title of Patrician from the Pope, but sent him no armies; and the quarrel went on; while Charles filled up the measure of his iniquity by meddling with that church-property in Gaul which his sword had saved from the hordes of the Saracens; and is now, as St. Eucherius (or Bishop Hincmar) saw in a vision, writhing therefore in the lowest abyss of hell. So one generation more passes by; and then Pepin le Bref, grown to manhood, is less scrupulous than his father. He is bound to the Pope by gratitude. The Pope has confirmed him as king, allowing him to depose the royal house of the Merovingians, and so assumed the right of making kings.--A right which future popes will not forget. Meanwhile the Pope has persuaded the Lombard king Rachis to go into a monastery. Astulf seizes the crown, and attacks Ravenna. The Pope succeeding, Stephen III., opposes him; and he marches on Rome, threatening to assault it, unless the citizens redeem their lives by a poll-tax. Stephen determines to go himself to Pepin to ask for help: and so awful has the name and person of a Pope become, that he is allowed to do it; allowed to pass safely and unarmed through the very land upon which he is going to let loose all the horrors of invading warfare. It is a strange, and instructive figure, that. The dread of the unseen, the fear of spiritual power, has fallen on the wild Teutons; on Frank and on Lombard alike. The Pope and his clergy are to them magicians, against whom neither sword nor lance avails; who can heal the sick and blast the sound; who can call to their aid out of the clouds that pantheon of demi- gods, with which, under the name of saints, they have peopled heaven; who can let loose on them the legions of fiends who dwell in every cave, every forest, every ruin, every cloud; who can, by the sentence of excommunication, destroy both body and soul in hell. They were very loth to fear God, these wild Teutons; therefore they had instead, as all men have who will not fear God, to fear the devil. So Pope Stephen goes to Pepin, the eldest son of the Church. He promises to come with all his Franks. Stephen's conscience seems to have been touched: he tries to have no fighting, only negotiation: but it is too late now. Astolf will hear of no terms; Pepin sweeps over the Alps, and at the gates of Pavia dictates his own terms to the Lombards. The old Lombard spirit seems to have past away. Pepin goes back again, and Astolf refuses to fulfil his promises. The Pope sends Pepin that letter from St. Peter himself with which this lecture commenced. Astolf has marched down, as we heard, to the walls of Rome, laying the land waste; cutting down the vines, carrying off consecrated vessels, insulting the sacrament of the altar. The Lombards have violated nuns; and tried to kill them, the Pope says; though, if they had really tried, one cannot see why they should not have succeeded. In fact, Pope Stephen's hysterical orations to Pepin must be received with extreme caution. No Catholic historian of that age cares to examine the truth of a fact which makes for him; nothing is too bad to say of an enemy: and really the man who would forge a letter from St. Peter might dare to tell a few lesser falsehoods into the bargain. Pepin cannot but obey so august a summons; and again he is in Italy, and the Lombards dare not resist him. He seizes not only all that Astolf had taken from the Pope, but the Pentapolis and Exarchate, the property, if of any one, of the Greek Emperors, and bestows them on Stephen, the Pope, and 'the holy Roman Republic.' The pope's commissioners received the keys of the towns, which were placed upon the altar of St. Peter; and this, the Dotation of Pepin, the Dotation of the Exarchate, was the first legal temporal sovereignty of the Popes:--born in sin, and conceived in iniquity, as you may see. The Lombard rule now broke up rapidly. The Lombards of Spoleto yielded to the double pressure of Franks and Romans, asked to be 'taken into the service of St. Peter,' and clipt their long German locks after the Roman fashion. Charlemagne, in his final invasion, had little left to do. He confirmed Pepin's gift, and even, though he hardly kept his promise, enlarged it to include the whole of Italy, from Lombardy to the frontier of Naples, while he himself became king of Lombardy, and won the iron crown. And so by French armies--not for the last time--was the Pope propt up on his ill-gotten throne. But the mere support of French armies was not enough to seat the Pope securely upon the throne of the western Caesars. Documentary evidence was required to prove that they possessed Rome, not as the vassals of the Frankish Kaisers, or of any barbarian Teutons whatsoever; but in their own right, as hereditary sovereigns of Rome. And the documents, when needed, were forthcoming. Under the name of St. Isidore, some ready scribe produced the too-famous 'Decretals,' and the 'Donation of Constantine,' and Pope Adrian I. saw no reason against publishing them to Charlemagne and to the world. It was discovered suddenly, by means of these remarkable documents, that Constantine the Great had been healed of leprosy, and afterwards baptized, by Pope Sylvester; that he had, in gratitude for his cure, resigned to the Popes his western throne, and the patrimony of St. Peter, and the sovereignty of Italy and the West; and that this was the true reason of his having founded Constantinople, as a new seat of government for the remnant of his empire. This astounding falsehood was, of course, accepted humbly by the unlettered Teutons; and did its work well, for centuries to come. It is said--I trust not truly--to be still enrolled among the decrees of the Canon law, though reprobated by all enlightened Roman Catholics. Be that as it may, on the strength of this document the Popes began to assume an all but despotic sovereignty over the western world, and--the Teutonic peoples, and Rome's conquest of her conquerors was at last complete. What then were the causes of the Papal hatred of a race who were good and devout Catholics for the last 200 years of their rule? There were deep political reasons (in the strictest, and I am afraid lowest sense of the word); but over and above them there were evidently moral reasons, which lay even deeper still. A free, plain-spoken, practical race like these Lombards; living by their own laws; disbelieving in witchcraft; and seemingly doing little for monasticism, were not likely to find favour in the eyes of popes. They were not the material which the Papacy could mould into the Neapolitan ideal of 'Little saints,--and little asses.' These Lombards were not a superstitious race; they did not, like the Franks and Anglo-Saxons, crowd into monasteries. I can only find four instances of Lombard sovereigns founding monasteries in all Paulus' history. One of them, strangely enough, is that of the very Astulf against whom the Pope fulminated so loudly the letter from St. Peter which I read you. Moreover, it must be said in all fairness--the Lombards despised the Romans exceedingly. So did all the Teutons. 'We Lombards,' says Bishop Luitprand, 'Saxons, Franks, Lorrainers, Bavarians, Sueves, Burgunds, consider it a sufficient insult to call our enemy a Roman; comprehending in that one name of Roman, whatever is ignoble, cowardly, avaricious, luxurious, false, in a word, every vice.' If this was--as it very probably was--the feeling of the whole Teutonic race; and if it was repaid--as it certainly was--on the part of the Roman, by contempt for the 'barbarism' and 'ignorance' of the Teuton; what must have been the feeling between Roman and Lombard? Contact must have embittered mutual contempt into an utter and internecine hatred, in which the Pope, as representative of the Roman people, could not but share. As for the political reasons, they are clear enough. It is absurd to say that they wished to free Italy from Lombard tyrants. What did they do but hand her over to Frankish tyrants instead? No. The true reason was this. Gradually there had arisen in the mind of all Popes, from Gregory the Great onward, the idea of a spiritual supremacy, independent of all kings of the earth. It was a great idea, as the event proved: it was a beneficent one for Europe; but a ruinous one for Italy. For the Popes were not content with spiritual power. They could not conceive of it as separated from temporal power, and temporal power meant land. How early they set their hearts on the Exarchate of Ravenna, we shall never know: the fact is patent, that it was a Naboth's vineyard to them; and that to obtain it they called in the Franks. Their dread was, evidently, lest the Lombards should become masters of the whole of Italy. A united Italy suited their views then, no more than it does now. Not only did they conceive of Rome as still the centre of the western world, but more, their stock in trade was at Rome. The chains of St. Peter, the sepulchres of St. Peter and St. Paul, the catacombs filled with the bones of innumerable martyrs;--these were their stock in trade. By giving these, selling these, working miracles with these, calling pilgrims from all parts of Christendom to visit these in situ, they kept up their power and their wealth. I do not accuse them of misusing that power and that wealth in those days. They used them, on the contrary, better than power and wealth had been ever used in the world before. But they were dependent on the sanctity attached to a particular spot; and any power, which, like the Lombard, tended to give Italy another centre than Rome, they dreaded and disliked. That Lombard basilica, near Milan, with all its treasures, must have been in their eyes, a formidable rival. Still more frightful must it have been to them to see Astulf, when he encamped before the walls of Rome, searching for martyrs' relics, and carrying them off to Milan. That, as a fact, seems to have been the exciting cause of Stephen's journey to Pepin. This Astulf was a good Catholic. He founded a nunnery, and put his own daughters in it. What could a man do more meritorious in the eyes of the Pope? But he took away the lands of the Church, and worse, the relics, the reserved capital by which the Church purchased lands. This was indeed a crime only to be expiated by the horrors of a Frank invasion. On the same principle the Popes supported the Exarchs of Ravenna, and the independent duchies of Spoleto and Beneventum. Well or ill ruled, Iconoclast or not, they were necessary to keep Italy divided and weak. And having obtained what they wanted from Pepin and Charlemagne, it was still their interest to pursue the same policy; to compound for their own independence, as they did with Charlemagne and his successors, by defending the pretences of foreign kings to the sovereignty of the rest of Italy. This has been their policy for centuries. It is their policy still; and that policy has been the curse of Italy. This fatal gift of the patrimony of St. Peter--as Dante saw--as Machiavelli saw,--as all clear-sighted Italians have seen,--as we are seeing it now in these very days--has kept her divided, torn by civil wars, conquered and reconquered by foreign invaders. Unable, as a celibate ecclesiastic, to form his dominions into a strong hereditary kingdom; unable, as the hierophant of a priestly caste, to unite his people in the bonds of national life; unable, as Borgia tried to do, to conquer the rest of Italy for himself; and form it into a kingdom large enough to have weight in the balance of power; the Pope has been forced, again and again, to keep himself on his throne by intriguing with foreign princes, and calling in foreign arms; and the bane of Italy, from the time of Stephen III. to that of Pius IX., has been the temporal power of the Pope. But on the popes, also, the Nemesis came. In building their power on the Roman relics, on the fable that Rome was the patrimony of Peter, they had built on a lie; and that lie avenged itself. Had they been independent of the locality of Rome; had they been really spiritual emperors, by becoming cosmopolitan, journeying, it may be, from nation to nation in regular progresses, then their power might have been as boundless as they ever desired it should be. Having committed themselves to the false position of being petty kings of a petty kingdom, they had to endure continual treachery and tyranny from their foreign allies; to see not merely Italy, but Rome itself insulted, and even sacked, by faithful Catholics; and to become more and more, as the centuries rolled on, the tools of those very kings whom they had wished to make their tools. True, they defended themselves long, and with astonishing skill and courage. Their sources of power were two, the moral, and the thaumaturgic; and they used them both: but when the former failed, the latter became useless. As long as their moral power was real; as long as they and their clergy were on the whole, in spite of enormous faults, the best men in Europe; so long the people believed in them, and in their thaumaturgic relics likewise. But they became by no means the best men in Europe. Then they began to think that after all it was more easy to work the material than the moral power--easier to work the bones than to work righteousness. They were deceived. Behold! when the righteousness was gone, the bones refused to work. People began to question the virtues of the bones, and to ask, We can believe that the bones may have worked miracles for good men, but for bad men? We will examine whether they work any miracles at all. And then, behold, it came out that the bones did not work miracles, and that possibly they were not saints' bones at all; and then the storm came: and the lie, as all lies do, punished itself. The salt had lost its savour. The Teutonic intellect appealed from its old masters to God, and to God's universe of facts, and emancipated itself once and for all. They who had been the light of Europe, became its darkness; they who had been first, became last; a warning to mankind until the end of time, that on Truth and Virtue depends the only abiding strength. LECTURE XII--THE STRATEGY OF PROVIDENCE I no not know whether any of you know much of the theory of war. I know very little myself. But something of it one is bound to know, as Professor of History. For, unfortunately, a large portion of the history of mankind is the history of war; and the historian, as a man who wants to know how things were done--as distinct from the philosopher, the man who wants to know how things ought to have been done--ought to know a little of the first of human arts--the art of killing. What little I know thereof I shall employ to-day, in explaining to you the invasion of the Teutons, from a so-called mechanical point of view. I wish to shew you how it was possible for so small and uncivilized a people to conquer one so vast and so civilized; and what circumstances (which you may attribute to what cause you will: but I to God) enabled our race to conquer in the most vast and important campaign the world has ever seen. I call it a campaign rather than a war. Though it lasted 200 years and more, it seems to me (it will, I think, seem to you) if you look at the maps, as but one campaign: I had almost said, one battle. There is but one problem to be solved; and therefore the operations of our race take a sort of unity. The question is, how to take Rome, and keep it, by destroying the Roman Empire. Let us consider the two combatants--their numbers, and their position. One glance at the map will shew you which are the most numerous. When you cast your eye over the vastness of the Roman Empire from east to west--Italy, Switzerland, half Austria, Turkey and Greece, Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, North Africa, Spain, France, Britain--and then compare it with the narrow German strip which reaches from the mouth of the Danube to the mouth of the Rhine, the disparity of area is enormous; ten times as great at least; perhaps more, if you accept, as I am inclined to do, the theory of Dr. Latham, that we were always 'Markmen,' men of the Marches, occupying a narrow frontier between the Slavs and the Roman Empire; and that Tacitus has included among Germans, from hearsay, many tribes of the interior of Bohemia, Prussia, and Poland, who were Slavs or others; and that the numbers and area of our race has been, on Tacitus' authority, greatly overrated. What then were the causes of the success of the Teutons? Native courage and strength? They had these: but you must recollect what I have told you, that those very qualities were employed against them; that they were hired, in large numbers, into the Roman armies, to fight against their own brothers. Unanimity? Of that, alas! one can say but little. The great Teutonic army had not only to fight the Romans, but to fight each brigade the brigade before it, to make them move on; and the brigade behind it likewise, to prevent their marching over them; while too often two brigades quarrelled like children, and destroyed each other on the spot. What, then, was the cause of their success? I think a great deal of it must be attributed to their admirable military position. Look at a map of Europe; putting yourself first at the point to be attacked--at Rome, and looking north, follow the German frontier from the Euxine up the Danube and down the Rhine. It is a convex arc: but not nearly as long as the concave arc of the Roman frontier opposed to it. The Roman frontier overlaps it to the north-west by all Britain, to the south-west by part of Turkey and the whole of Asia Minor. That would seem to make it weak, and liable to be outflanked on either wing. In reality it made it strong. Both the German wings rested on the sea; one on the Euxine, one on the North Sea. That in itself would not have given strength; for the Roman fleets were masters of the seas. But the lands in the rear, on either flank, were deserts, incapable of supporting an army. What would have been the fate of a force landed at the mouth of the Weser on the north, or at the mouth of the Dnieper at the west? Starvation among wild moors, and bogs, and steppes, if they attempted to leave their base of operations on the coast. The Romans saw this, and never tried the plan. To defend the centre of their position was the safest and easiest plan. Look at this centre. It is complicated. The Roman position is guarded by the walls of Italy, the gigantic earthwork of the Alps. To storm them, is impossible. But right and left of them, the German position has two remarkable points--strategic points, which decided the fate of the world. They are two salient angles, promontories of the German frontier. The one is north-east of Switzerland; the Allman country, between the head- waters of the Danube and the Upper Rhine, Basle is its apex. Mentz its northern point, Ratisbon its southern. That triangle encloses the end of the Schwartzwald; the Black Forest of primaeval oak. Those oaks have saved Europe. The advantages of a salient angle of that kind, in invading an enemy's country, are manifest. You can break out on either side, and return at once into your own country on 'lines of interior operation;' while the enemy has to march round the angle, three feet for your one, on 'lines of exterior operation.' The early German invaders saw that, and burst again and again into Gaul from that angle. The Romans saw it also (admirable strategists as they were) and built Hadrian's wall right across it, from the Maine to the Danube, to keep them back. And why did not Hadrian's wall keep them back? On account of the Black Forest. The Roman never dared to face it; to attempt to break our centre, and to save Italy by carrying the war into the heart of Germany. They knew (what the invaders of England will discover to their cost) that a close woodland is a more formidable barrier than the Alps themselves. The Black Forest, I say, was the key of our position, and saved our race. From this salient angle, and along the whole Rhine above it, the Western Teutons could throw their masses into Gaul; Franks, Vandals, Alans, Suevi, following each other in echellon. You know what an echellon means? When bodies of troops move in lines parallel to each other, but each somewhat in the rear of the other, so that their whole position resembles an echelle--a flight of steps. This mode of attack has two great advantages. It cannot be outflanked by the enemy; and he dare not concentrate his forces on the foremost division, and beat the divisions in detail. If he tries to do so, he is out-flanked himself; and he is liable to be beaten in detail by continually fresh bodies of troops. Thus only a part of his line is engaged at a time. Now it was en echellon, from necessity, that the tribes moved down. They could not follow immediately in each other's track, because two armies following each other would not have found subsistence in the same country. They had to march in parallel lines; those nearest to Italy moving first; and thus forming a vast echellon, whose advanced left rested on, and was protected by, the Alps. But you must remember (and this is important) that all these western attacks along the Rhine and Rhone were mistakes, in as far as they were aimed at Rome. The Teutons were not aware, I suppose, that the Alps turned to the South between Gaul and Italy, and ran right down to the Mediterranean. There they found themselves still cut off from Rome by them. Hannibal's pass over the Mont Cenis they seem not to have known. They had to range down to the Mediterranean; turn eastward along the Genoese coast at Nice; and then, far away from their base of operations, were cut off again and again, just as the Cimbri and Teutons were cut off by Marius. All attempts to take Rome from the Piedmontese entrance into Italy failed. But these western attacks had immense effects. They cut the Roman position in two. And then came out the real weakness of that great ill-gotten Empire, conquered for conquering's sake. To the north-west, the Romans had extended their line far beyond what they could defend. The whole of North Gaul was taken by the Franks. Britain was then isolated, and had to be given up to its fate. South Gaul, being nearer to Italy their base, they could defend, and did, like splendid soldiers as they were; but that defence only injured them. It thrust the foremost columns of the enemy on into Spain. Spain was too far from their base of operation to be defended, and was lost likewise, and seized by Vandals and Suevi. The true point of attack was at the other salient angle of our position, on the Roman right centre. You know that the Danube as you ascend it lies east and west from the Black Sea to Belgrade; but above the point where the Save enters it, it turns north almost at right angles. This is the second salient point; the real key of the whole Roman Empire. For from this point the Germans could menace--equally, Constantinople and Turkey on the right (I speak always as standing at Rome and looking north), and Italy and Rome on the left. The Danube once crossed, between them and Constantinople was nothing but the rich rolling land of Turkey; between them and Rome nothing but the easy passes of the Carnic Alps, Laybach to Trieste. Trieste was the key of the Roman position. It was, and always will be, a most important point. It might be the centre of a great kingdom. The nation which has it ought to spend its last bullet in defending it. The Teutons did cross the Danube, as you know, in 376, and had a great victory, of which nothing came but moral force. They waited long in Moesia before they found out the important step which they had made. The genius of Alaric first discovered the key of the Roman position, and discovered that it was in his own hands. I do not say that no Germans had crossed the Laybach pass before him. On the contrary, Markmen, Quadi, Vandals, seem to have come over it as early as 180, and appeared under the walls of Aquileia. Of course, some one must have gone first, or Alaric would not have known of it. There were no maps then, at least among our race. Their great generals had to feel their way foot by foot, trusting to hearsays of old adventurers, deserters, and what not, as to whether a fruitful country or an impassable alp, a great city or the world's end, was twenty miles a-head of them. Yes, they had great generals among them, and Alaric, perhaps, the greatest. If you consider Alaric's campaigns, from A.D. 400 to A.D. 415, you will see that the eye of a genius planned them. He wanted Rome, as all Teutons did. He was close to Italy, in the angle of which I just spoke; but instead of going hither, he resolved to go south, and destroy Greece, and he did it. Thereby, if you will consider, he cut the Roman Empire in two. He paralysed and destroyed the right wing of its forces, which might, if he had marched straight for Italy, have come up from Greece and Turkey, to take him in flank and rear. He prevented their doing that; he prevented also their succouring Italy by sea by the same destruction. And then he was free to move on Rome, knowing that he leaves no strong place on his left flank, save Constantinople itself; and that the Ostrogoths, and other tribes left behind, would mask it for him. Then he moved into Italy over the Carnic Alps, and was repulsed the first time at Pollentia. He was not disheartened; he retired upon Hungary, waited five years, tried it again, and succeeded, after a campaign of two years. Yes. He was a great general. To be able to move vast masses of men safely through a hostile country and in face of an enemy's army (beside women and children) requires an amount of talent bestowed on few. Alaric could do it. Dietrich the Ostrogoth could do it. Alboin the Lombard could do it, though not under such fearful disadvantages. There were generals before Marlborough or Napoleon. And do not fancy that the work was easy; that the Romans were degenerate enough to be an easy prey. Alaric had been certainly beaten out of Italy, even though the victory of Pollentia was exaggerated. And in 405, Radagast with 200,000 men had tried to take Rome by Alaric's route, and had simply, from want of generalship, been forced to capitulate under the walls of Florence, and the remnant of his army sold for slaves. Why was Alaric more fortunate? Because he was a great genius. And why when he died, did the Goths lose all plan, and wander wildly up Italy, and out into Spain? Because the great genius was gone. Native Teuton courage could ensure no permanent success against Roman discipline and strategy, unless guided by men like Alaric or Dietrich. You might fancy the campaign over now: but it was not. Along the country of the Danube, from the Euxine to the Alps, the Teutons had still the advantage of interior lines, and vast bodies of men--Herules, Gepids, Ostrogoths, Lombards--were coming down in an enormous echellon similar to that which forced the Rhine; to force Italy at the same fatal point--Venetia. The party who could command the last reserve would win, as is the rule. And the last reserves were with our race. They must win. But not yet. They had, in the mean time, taken up a concave line; a great arc running round the whole west of the Mediterranean from Italy, France, Spain, Algeria, as far as Carthage. They could not move forces round that length of coast, as fast as the Romans could move them by sea; and they had no fleets. Although they had conquered the Western Empire, they were in a very dangerous position, and were about to be very nearly ruined. For you see, the Romans in turn had changed front at more than a right angle. They lay at first north-west and south-east. They lay in Justinian's time, north and south. Their right was Constantinople; their left Pentapolis; between those two points they held Greece, Asia Minor, Syria and Egypt; a position of wealth incalculable. Meanwhile, as we must remember always, they were masters of the sea, and therefore of the interior lines of operation. They had been forced into this position; but, like Romans, they had accepted it. With the boundless common sense of the race (however fallen, debauched, pedantic), they worked it out, and with terrible effect. Their right in Constantinople was so strong that they cared nothing for it, though it was the only exposed point. They would defend it by hiring the Barbarians, and when they could not pay them, setting them on to kill down each other; while they quietly drew into Constantinople the boundless crops of Asia, Syria and Egypt. The strength of Constantinople was infinite--commanding two seas and two continents. It is, as the genius of Constantinople saw--as the genius of the Czar Nicholas saw--the strongest spot, perhaps, in the world. That fact was what enabled Justinian's Empire to arise again, and enabled Belisarius and Narses to reconquer Africa and Italy. Remember that, and see how strong the Romans were still. The Teutons meanwhile had changed their front, by conquering the Western Mediterranean, and were becoming weak, because scattered on exterior lines, to their extreme danger. I cannot exaggerate the danger of that position. It enabled the Romans by rapid movements of their fleets, to reconquer Africa and Italy. It might have enabled them to do much more. Belisarius, with great wisdom, began by attacking the Vandals at Carthage on the extreme right. They had put themselves into an isolated position, and were destroyed without help. Then he moved on Italy and the Ostrogoths. He was going to force the positions in detail, and drive them back behind the Alps. What he did not finish, Narses did; and the Teutons were actually driven back behind the Alps for some years. But Narses had to stop at Italy. Even if not recalled, he could have gone no further. The next move should have been on Spain, if he had really had strength in Italy. But to attack Spain from Constantinople, would have been to go too far from home. The Franks would have crost the Pyrenees, and fallen on his flank. The Visigoths, even if beaten, would have been only pushed across the Straits of Gibraltar, to reconquer the Vandal coast of Africa; while to take troops from Italy for any such purpose, would have been to let in the Lombards--who came, let in or not. There were reserves in Germany still, of which Narses knew full well; for he had seen 5000 Lombards, besides Herules, and Huns, and Avars, fight for him at Nuceria, and destroy the Ostrogoths; and he knew well that they could, if they chose, fight against him. On the other hand, the Roman Empire had no reserves; while the campaign had just come to that point at which he who can bring up the last reserve wins. Ours were so far from being exhausted, that the heaviest of them, the Franks, came into action, stronger than ever, 200 years after. But the Roman reserves were gone. If Greece, if Asia Minor, if Egypt, had been the holds of a hardy people, the Romans might have done still--Heaven alone knows what. At least, they might have extended their front once more to the line of Carthage, Sicily, Italy. But the people of Syria and Egypt, were--what they were. No recruits, as far as I know, were drawn from them. Had they been, they would have been face to face with a Frank, or a Lombard, or a Visigoth, much what--not a Sikh, a Rohilla, or a Ghoorka, but a Bengalee proper--would be face to face with an Englishman. One thousand Varangers might have walked from Constantinople to Alexandria without fighting a pitched battle, if they had had only Greeks and Syrians to face. Thus the Romans were growing weak. If we had lost, so had they. Every wild Teuton who came down to perish, had destroyed a Roman, or more than one, before he died. Each column which the admirable skill and courage of the Romans had destroyed, had weakened them as much, perhaps more, than its destruction weakened the Teutons; and had, by harrying the country, destroyed the Roman's power of obtaining supplies. Italy and Turkey at last became too poor to be a fighting ground at all. But now comes in one of the strangest new elements in this strange epic--Mohammed and his Arabs. Suddenly, these Arab tribes, under the excitement of the new Mussulman creed, burst forth of the unknown East. They take the Eastern Empire in the rear; by such a rear attack as the world never saw before or since; they cut it in two; devour it up: and save Europe thereby. That may seem a strange speech. I must explain it. I have told you how the Eastern Empire and its military position was immensely strong; that Constantinople was a great maritime base of operations, mistress of the Mediterranean. What prevented the Romans from reconquering all the shores of that sea, and establishing themselves in strength in the Morea, or in Sicily, or in Carthage, or in any central base of operations? What forced them to cling to Constantinople, and fight a losing campaign thenceforth. Simply this; the Mussulman had forced their position from the rear, and deprived them of Syria, Egypt, Africa. But the Teutons could not have opposed them. During the 7th century the Lombards in Italy were lazy and divided; the Goths in Spain lazier and more divided still; the Franks were tearing themselves in pieces by civil war. The years from A.D. 550 to A.D. 750 and the rise of the Carlovingian dynasty, were a period of exhaustion for our race, such as follows on great victories, and the consequent slaughter and collapse. This was the critical period of the Teutonic race; little talked of, because little known: but very perilous. Nevertheless, whatever the Eastern Empire might have done, the Saracens prevented its doing; and if you hold (with me) that the welfare of the Teutonic race is the welfare of the world; then, meaning nothing less, the Saracen invasion, by crippling the Eastern Empire, saved Europe and our race. And now, gentlemen, was this vast campaign fought without a general? If Trafalgar could not be won without the mind of a Nelson, or Waterloo without the mind of a Wellington, was there no one mind to lead those innumerable armies, on whose success depended the future of the whole human race? Did no one marshal them in that impregnable convex front, from the Euxine to the North Sea? No one guide them to the two great strategic centres, of the Black Forest and Trieste? No one cause them, blind barbarians without maps or science, to follow those rules of war, without which victory in a protracted struggle is impossible; and by the pressure of the Huns behind, force on their flagging myriads to an enterprise which their simplicity fancied at first beyond the powers of mortal men? Believe it who will: but I cannot. I may be told that they gravitated into their places, as stones and mud do. Be it so. They obeyed natural laws of course, as all things do on earth, when they obeyed the laws of war: those too are natural laws, explicable on simple mathematical principles. But while I believe that not a stone or a handful of mud gravitates into its place without the will of God; that it was ordained, ages since, into what particular spot each grain of gold should be washed down from an Australian quartz reef, that a certain man might find it at a certain moment and crisis of his life;--if I be superstitious enough (as thank God I am) to hold that creed, shall I not believe that though this great war had no general upon earth, it may have had a general in Heaven? and that in spite of all their sins, the hosts of our forefathers were the hosts of God? APPENDIX: THE LIMITS OF EXACT SCIENCE AS APPLIED TO HISTORY. It is with a feeling of awe, I had almost said of fear, that I find myself in this place, upon this errand. The responsibility of a teacher of History in Cambridge is in itself very heavy: but doubly heavy in the case of one who sees among his audience many men as fit, it may be some more fit, to fill this Chair: and again, more heavy still, when one succeeds to a man whose learning, like his virtues, one can never hope to equal. But a Professor, I trust, is like other men, capable of improvement; and the great law, 'docendo disces,' may be fulfilled in him, as in other men. Meanwhile, I can only promise that such small powers as I possess will be honestly devoted to this Professorate; and that I shall endeavour to teach Modern History after a method which shall give satisfaction to the Rulers of this University. I shall do that best, I believe, by keeping in mind the lessons which I, in common with thousands more, have learnt from my wise and good predecessor. I do not mean merely patience in research, and accuracy in fact. They are required of all men: and they may be learnt from many men. But what Sir James Stephen's life and writings should especially teach us, is the beauty and the value of charity; of that large-hearted humanity, which sympathizes with all noble, generous, earnest thought and endeavour, in whatsoever shape they may have appeared; a charity which, without weakly or lazily confounding the eternal laws of right and wrong, can make allowances for human frailty; can separate the good from the evil in men and in theories; can understand, and can forgive, because it loves. Who can read Sir James Stephen's works without feeling more kindly toward many a man, and many a form of thought, against which he has been more or less prejudiced; without a more genial view of human nature, a more hopeful view of human destiny, a more full belief in the great saying, that 'Wisdom is justified of all her children'? Who, too, can read those works without seeing how charity enlightens the intellect, just as bigotry darkens it; how events, which to the theorist and the pedant are merely monstrous and unmeaning, may explain themselves easily enough to the man who will put himself in his fellow-creatures' place; who will give them credit for being men of like passions with himself; who will see with their eyes, feel with their hearts, and take for his motto, 'Homo sum, nil humani a me alienum puto'? I entreat gentlemen who may hereafter attend my lectures to bear in mind this last saying. If they wish to understand History, they must first try to understand men and women. For History is the history of men and women, and of nothing else; and he who knows men and women thoroughly will best understand the past work of the world, and be best able to carry on its work now. The men who, in the long run, have governed the world, have been those who understood the human heart; and therefore it is to this day the statesman who keeps the reins in his hand, and not the mere student. He is a man of the world; he knows how to manage his fellow-men; and therefore he can get work done which the mere student (it may be) has taught him ought to be done; but which the mere student, much less the mere trader or economist, could not get done; simply because his fellow-men would probably not listen to him, and certainly outwit him. Of course, in proportion to the depth, width, soundness, of his conception of human nature, will be the greatness and wholesomeness of his power. He may appeal to the meanest, or to the loftiest motives. He may be a fox or an eagle; a Borgia, or a Hildebrand; a Talleyrand, or a Napoleon; a Mary Stuart, or an Elizabeth: but however base, however noble, the power which he exercises is the same in essence. He makes History, because he understands men. And you, if you would understand History, must understand men. If, therefore, any of you should ask me how to study history, I should answer--Take by all means biographies: wheresoever possible, autobiographies; and study them. Fill your minds with live human figures; men of like passions with yourselves; see how each lived and worked in the time and place in which God put him. Believe me, that when you have thus made a friend of the dead, and brought him to life again, and let him teach you to see with his eyes, and feel with his heart, you will begin to understand more of his generation and his circumstances, than all the mere history-books of the period would teach you. In proportion as you understand the man, and only so, will you begin to understand the elements in which he worked. And not only to understand, but to remember. Names, dates, genealogies, geographical details, costumes, fashions, manners, crabbed scraps of old law, which you used, perhaps, to read up and forget again, because they were not rooted, but stuck into your brain, as pins are into a pincushion, to fall out at the first shake--all these you will remember; because they will arrange and organize themselves around the central human figure: just as, if you have studied a portrait by some great artist, you cannot think of the face in it, without recollecting also the light and shadow, the tone of colouring, the dress, the very details of the background, and all the accessories which the painter's art has grouped around; each with a purpose, and therefore each fixing itself duly in your mind. Who, for instance, has not found that he can learn more French history from French memoirs, than even from all the truly learned and admirable histories of France which have been written of late years? There are those, too, who will say of good old Plutarch's lives (now-a-days, I think, too much neglected), what some great man used to say of Shakspeare and English history--that all the ancient history which they really knew, they had got from Plutarch. I am free to confess that I have learnt what little I know of the middle-ages, what they were like, how they came to be what they were, and how they issued in the Reformation, not so much from the study of the books about them (many and wise though they are), as from the thumbing over, for years, the semi-mythical saints' lives of Surius and the Bollandists. Without doubt History obeys, and always has obeyed, in the long run, certain laws. But those laws assert themselves, and are to be discovered, not in things, but in persons; in the actions of human beings; and just in proportion as we understand human beings, shall we understand the laws which they have obeyed, or which have avenged themselves on their disobedience. This may seem a truism: if it be such, it is one which we cannot too often repeat to ourselves just now, when the rapid progress of science is tempting us to look at human beings rather as things than as persons, and at abstractions (under the name of laws) rather as persons than as things. Discovering, to our just delight, order and law all around us, in a thousand events which seemed to our fathers fortuitous and arbitrary, we are dazzled just now by the magnificent prospect opening before us, and fall, too often, into more than one serious mistake. First; students try to explain too often all the facts which they meet by the very few laws which they know; and especially moral phaenomena by physical, or at least economic laws. There is an excuse for this last error. Much which was thought, a few centuries since, to belong to the spiritual world, is now found to belong to the material; and the physician is consulted, where the exorcist used to be called in. But it is a somewhat hasty corollary therefrom, and one not likely to find favour in this University, that moral laws and spiritual agencies have nothing at all to do with the history of the human race. We shall not be inclined here, I trust, to explain (as some one tried to do lately) the Crusades by a hypothesis of over-stocked labour-markets on the Continent. Neither, again, shall we be inclined to class those same Crusades among 'popular delusions,' and mere outbursts of folly and madness. This is a very easy, and I am sorry to say, a very common method of disposing of facts which will not fit into the theory, too common of late, that need and greed have been always, and always ought to be, the chief motives of mankind. Need and greed, heaven knows, are powerful enough: but I think that he who has something nobler in himself than need and greed, will have eyes to discern something nobler than them, in the most fantastic superstitions, in the most ferocious outbursts, of the most untutored masses. Thank God, that those who preach the opposite doctrine belie it so often by a happy inconsistency; that he who declares self-interest to be the mainspring of the world, can live a life of virtuous self-sacrifice; that he who denies, with Spinoza, the existence of free- will, can disprove his own theory, by willing, like Spinoza, amid all the temptations of the world, to live a life worthy of a Roman Stoic; and that he who represents men as the puppets of material circumstance, and who therefore has no logical right either to praise virtue, or to blame vice, can shew, by a healthy admiration of the former, a healthy scorn of the latter, how little his heart has been corrupted by the eidola specus, the phantoms of the study, which have oppressed his brain. But though men are often, thank heaven, better than their doctrines, yet the goodness of the man does not make his doctrine good; and it is immoral as well as unphilosophical to call a thing hard names simply because it cannot be fitted into our theory of the universe. Immoral, because all harsh and hasty wholesale judgments are immoral; unphilosophical, because the only philosophical method of looking at the strangest of phaenomena is to believe that it too is the result of law, perhaps a healthy result; that it is not to be condemned as a product of disease before it is proven to be such; and that if it be a product of disease, disease has its laws, as much as health; and is a subject, not for cursing, but for induction; so that (to return to my example) if every man who ever took part in the Crusades were proved to have been simply mad, our sole business would be to discover why he went mad upon that special matter, and at that special time. And to do that, we must begin by recollecting that in every man who went forth to the Crusades, or to any other strange adventure of humanity, was a whole human heart and brain, of like strength and weakness, like hopes, like temptations, with our own; and find out what may have driven him mad, by considering what would have driven us mad in his place. May I be permitted to enlarge somewhat on this topic? There is, as you are aware, a demand just now for philosophies of History. The general spread of Inductive Science has awakened this appetite; the admirable contemporary French historians have quickened it by feeding it; till, the more order and sequence we find in the facts of the past, the more we wish to find. So it should be (or why was man created a rational being?) and so it is; and the requirements of the more educated are becoming so peremptory, that many thinking men would be ready to say (I should be sorry to endorse their opinion), that if History is not studied according to exact scientific method, it need not be studied at all. A very able anonymous writer has lately expressed this general tendency of modern thought in language so clear and forcible that I must beg leave to quote it:-- 'Step by step,' he says, 'the notion of evolution by law is transforming the whole field of our knowledge and opinion. It is not one order of conception which comes under its influence: but it is the whole sphere of our ideas, and with them the whole system of our action and conduct. Not the physical world alone is now the domain of inductive science, but the moral, the intellectual, and the spiritual are being added to its empire. Two co-ordinate ideas pervade the vision of every thinker, physicist or moralist, philosopher or priest. In the physical and the moral world, in the natural and the human, are ever seen two forces--invariable rule, and continual advance; law and action; order and progress; these two powers working harmoniously together, and the result, inevitable sequence, orderly movement, irresistible growth. In the physical world indeed, order is most prominent to our eyes; in the moral world it is progress, but both exist as truly in the one as in the other. In the scale of nature, as we rise from the inorganic to the organic, the idea of change becomes even more distinct; just as when we rise through the gradations of the moral world, the idea of order becomes more difficult to grasp. It was the last task of the astronomer to show eternal change even in the grand order of our Solar System. It is the crown of philosophy to see immutable law even in the complex action of human life. In the latter, indeed, it is but the first germs which are clear. No rational thinker hopes to discover more than some few primary actions of law, and some approximative theory of growth. Much is dark and contradictory. Numerous theories differing in method and degree are offered; nor do we decide between them. We insist now only upon this, that the principle of development in the moral, as in the physical, has been definitely admitted; and something like a conception of one grand analogy through the whole sphere of knowledge, has almost become a part of popular opinion. Most men shrink from any broad statement of the principle, though all in some special instances adopt it. It surrounds every idea of our life, and is diffused in every branch of study. The press, the platform, the lecture-room, and the pulpit ring with it in every variety of form. Unconscious pedants are proving it. It flashes on the statistician through his registers; it guides the hand of simple philanthropy; it is obeyed by the instinct of the statesman. There is not an act of our public life which does not acknowledge it. No man denies that there are certain, and even practical laws of political economy. They are nothing but laws of society. The conferences of social reformers, the congresses for international statistics and for social science bear witness of its force. Everywhere we hear of the development of the constitution, of public law, of public opinion, of institutions, of forms of society, of theories of history. In a word, whatever views of history may be inculcated on the Universities by novelists or epigrammatists, it is certain that the best intellects and spirits of our day are labouring to see more of that invariable order, and of that principle of growth in the life of human societies and of the great society of mankind which nearly all men, more or less, acknowledge, and partially and unconsciously confirm.' This passage expresses admirably, I think, the tendencies of modern thought for good and evil. For good. For surely it is good, and a thing to thank God for, that men should be more and more expecting order, searching for order, welcoming order. But for evil also. For young sciences, like young men, have their time of wonder, hope, imagination, and of passion too, and haste, and bigotry. Dazzled, and that pardonably, by the beauty of the few laws they may have discovered, they are too apt to erect them into gods, and to explain by them all matters in heaven and earth; and apt, too, as I think this author does, to patch them where they are weakest, by that most dangerous succedaneum of vague and grand epithets, which very often contain, each of them, an assumption far more important than the law to which they are tacked. Such surely are the words which so often occur in this passage--'Invariable, continual, immutable, inevitable, irresistible.' There is an ambiguity in these words, which may lead--which I believe does lead--to most unphilosophical conclusions. They are used very much as synonyms; not merely in this passage, but in the mouths of men. Are you aware that those who carelessly do so, blink the whole of the world- old arguments between necessity and free-will? Whatever may be the rights of that quarrel, they are certainly not to be assumed in a passing epithet. But what else does the writer do, who tells us that an inevitable sequence, an irresistible growth, exists in the moral as well as in the physical world; and then says, as a seemingly identical statement, that it is the crown of philosophy to see immutable law, even in the complex action of human life? The crown of philosophy? Doubtless it is so. But not a crown, I should have thought, which has been reserved as the special glory of these latter days. Very early, at least in the known history of mankind, did Philosophy (under the humble names of Religion and Common Sense) see most immutable, and even eternal, laws, in the complex action of human life, even the laws of right and wrong; and called them The Everlasting Judgments of God, to which a confused and hard-worked man was to look; and take comfort, for all would be well at last. By fair induction (as I believe) did man discover, more or less clearly, those eternal laws: by repeated verifications of them in every age, man has been rising, and will yet rise, to clearer insight into their essence, their limits, their practical results. And if it be these, the old laws of right and wrong, which this author and his school call invariable and immutable, we shall, I trust, most heartily agree with them; only wondering why a moral government of the world seems to them so very recent a discovery. But we shall not agree with them, I trust, when they represent these invariable and immutable laws as resulting in any inevitable sequence, or irresistible growth. We shall not deny a sequence--Reason forbids that; or again, a growth--Experience forbids that: but we shall be puzzled to see why a law, because it is immutable itself, should produce inevitable results; and if they quote the facts of material nature against us, we shall be ready to meet them on that very ground, and ask:--You say that as the laws of matter are inevitable, so probably are the laws of human life? Be it so: but in what sense are the laws of matter inevitable? Potentially, or actually? Even in the seemingly most uniform and universal law, where do we find the inevitable or the irresistible? Is there not in nature a perpetual competition of law against law, force against force, producing the most endless and unexpected variety of results? Cannot each law be interfered with at any moment by some other law, so that the first law, though it may struggle for the mastery, shall be for an indefinite time utterly defeated? The law of gravity is immutable enough: but do all stones inevitably fall to the ground? Certainly not, if I choose to catch one, and keep it in my hand. It remains there by laws; and the law of gravity is there too, making it feel heavy in my hand: but it has not fallen to the ground, and will not, till I let it. So much for the inevitable action of the laws of gravity, as of others. Potentially, it is immutable; but actually it can be conquered by other laws. I really beg your pardon for occupying you here with such truisms: but I must put the students of this University in mind of them, as long as too many modern thinkers shall choose to ignore them. Even if then, as it seems to me, the history of mankind depended merely on physical laws, analogous to those which govern the rest of nature, it would be a hopeless task for us to discover an inevitable sequence in History, even though we might suppose that such existed. But as long as man has the mysterious power of breaking the laws of his own being, such a sequence not only cannot be discovered, but it cannot exist. For man can break the laws of his own being, whether physical, intellectual, or moral. He breaks them every day, and has always been breaking them. The greater number of them he cannot obey till he knows them. And too many of them he cannot know, alas, till he has broken them; and paid the penalty of his ignorance. He does not, like the brute or the vegetable, thrive by laws of which he is not conscious: but by laws of which he becomes gradually conscious; and which he can disobey after all. And therefore it seems to me very like a juggle of words to draw analogies from the physical and irrational world, and apply them to the moral and rational world; and most unwise to bridge over the gulf between the two by such adjectives as 'irresistible' or 'inevitable,' such nouns as 'order, sequence, law'--which must bear an utterly different meaning, according as they are applied to physical beings or to moral ones. Indeed, so patent is the ambiguity, that I cannot fancy that it has escaped the author and his school; and am driven, by mere respect for their logical powers, to suppose that they mean no ambiguity at all; that they do not conceive of irrational beings as differing from rational beings, or the physical from the moral, or the body of man from his spirit, in kind and property; and that the immutable laws which they represent as governing human life and history have nothing at all to do with those laws of right and wrong, which I intend to set forth to you, as the 'everlasting judgments of God.' In which case, I fear, they must go their way; while we go ours; confessing that there is an order, and there is a law, for man; and that if he disturb that order, or break that law in anywise, they will prove themselves too strong for him, and reassert themselves, and go forward, grinding him to powder if he stubbornly try to stop their way. But we must assert too, that his disobedience to them, even for a moment, has disturbed the natural course of events, and broken that inevitable sequence, which we may find indeed, in our own imaginations, as long as we sit with a book in our studies: but which vanishes the moment that we step outside into practical contact with life; and, instead of talking cheerfully of a necessary and orderly progress, find ourselves more inclined to cry with the cynical man of the world: 'All the windy ways of men, Are but dust that rises up; And is lightly laid again.' The usual rejoinder to this argument is to fall back upon man's weakness and ignorance, and to take refuge in the infinite unknown. Man, it is said, may of course interfere a little with some of the less important laws of his being: but who is he, to grapple with the more vast and remote ones? Because he can prevent a pebble from falling, is he to suppose that he can alter the destiny of nations, and grapple forsooth with 'the eternities and the immensities,' and so forth? The argument is very powerful: but addrest rather to the imagination than the reason. It is, after all, another form of the old omne ignotum pro magnifico; and we may answer, I think fairly--About the eternities and immensities we know nothing, not having been there as yet; but it is a mere assumption to suppose, without proof, that the more remote and impalpable laws are more vast, in the sense of being more powerful (the only sense which really bears upon the argument), than the laws which are palpably at work around us all day long; and if we are capable of interfering with almost every law of human life which we know of already, it is more philosophical to believe (till disproved by actual failure) that we can interfere with those laws of our life which we may know hereafter. Whether it will pay us to interfere with them, is a different question. It is not prudent to interfere with the laws of health, and it may not be with other laws, hereafter to be discovered. I am only pleading that man can disobey the laws of his being; that such power has always been a disturbing force in the progress of the human race, which modern theories too hastily overlook; and that the science of history (unless the existence of the human will be denied) must belong rather to the moral sciences, than to that 'positive science' which seems to me inclined to reduce all human phaenomena under physical laws, hastily assumed, by the old fallacy of [Greek text], to apply where there is no proof whatsoever that they do or even can apply. As for the question of the existence of the human will--I am not here, I hope, to argue that. I shall only beg leave to assume its existence, for practical purposes. I may be told (though I trust not in this University), that it is, like the undulatory theory of light, an unphilosophical 'hypothesis.' Be that as it may, it is very convenient (and may be for a few centuries to come) to retain the said 'hypothesis,' as one retains the undulatory theory; and for the simple reason, that with it one can explain the phaenomena tolerably; and without it cannot explain them at all. A dread (half-unconscious, it may be) of this last practical result, seems to have crossed the mind of the author on whom I have been commenting; for he confesses, honestly enough (and he writes throughout like an honest man) that in human life 'no rational thinker hopes to discover more than some few primary actions of law, and some approximative theory of growth.' I have higher hopes of a possible science of history; because I fall back on those old moral laws, which I think he wishes to ignore: but I can conceive that he will not; because he cannot, on his own definitions of law and growth. They are (if I understand him aright) to be irresistible and inevitable. I say that they are not so, even in the case of trees and stones; much more in the world of man. Facts, when he goes on to verify his theories, will leave him with a very few primary actions of law, a very faint approximative theory; because his theories, in plain English, will not work. At the first step, at every step, they are stopped short by those disturbing forces, or at least disturbed phaenomena, which have been as yet, and probably will be hereafter, attributed (as the only explanation of them) to the existence, for good and evil, of a human will. Let us look in detail at a few of these disturbances of anything like inevitable or irresistible movement. Shall we not, at the very first glance, confess--I am afraid only too soon--that there always have been fools therein; fools of whom no man could guess, or can yet, what they were going to do next or why they were going to do it? And how, pray, can we talk of the inevitable, in the face of that one miserable fact of human folly, whether of ignorance or of passion, folly still? There may be laws of folly, as there are laws of disease; and whether there are or not, we may learn much wisdom from folly; we may see what the true laws of humanity are, by seeing the penalties which come from breaking them: but as for laws which work of themselves, by an irresistible movement,--how can we discover such in a past in which every law which we know has been outraged again and again? Take one of the highest instances--the progress of the human intellect--I do not mean just now the spread of conscious science, but of that unconscious science which we call common sense. What hope have we of laying down exact laws for its growth, in a world wherein it has been ignored, insulted, crushed, a thousand times, sometimes in whole nations and for whole generations, by the stupidity, tyranny, greed, caprice of a single ruler; or if not so, yet by the mere superstition, laziness, sensuality, anarchy of the mob? How, again, are we to arrive at any exact laws of the increase of population, in a race which has had, from the beginning, the abnormal and truly monstrous habit of slaughtering each other, not for food--for in a race of normal cannibals, the ratio of increase or decrease might easily be calculated--but uselessly, from rage, hate, fanaticism, or even mere wantonness? No man is less inclined than I to undervalue vital statistics, and their already admirable results: but how can they help us, and how can we help them, in looking at such a past as that of three- fourths of the nations of the world? Look--as a single instance among too many--at that most noble nation of Germany, swept and stunned, by peasant wars, thirty years' wars, French wars, and after each hurricane, blossoming up again into brave industry and brave thought, to be in its turn cut off by a fresh storm ere it could bear full fruit: doing nevertheless such work, against such fearful disadvantages, as nation never did before; and proving thereby what she might have done for humanity, had not she, the mother of all European life, been devoured, generation after generation, by her own unnatural children. Nevertheless, she is their mother still; and her history, as I believe, the root-history of Europe: but it is hard to read--the sibylline leaves are so fantastically torn, the characters so blotted out by tears and blood. And if such be the history of not one nation only, but of the average, how, I ask, are we to make calculations about such a species as man? Many modern men of science wish to draw the normal laws of human life from the average of humanity: I question whether they can do so; because I do not believe the average man to be the normal man, exhibiting the normal laws: but a very abnormal man, diseased and crippled, but even if their method were correct, it could work in practice, only if the destinies of men were always decided by majorities: and granting that the majority of men have common sense, are the minority of fools to count for nothing? Are they powerless? Have they had no influence on History? Have they even been always a minority, and not at times a terrible majority, doing each that which was right in the sight of his own eyes? You can surely answer that question for yourselves. As far as my small knowledge of History goes, I think it may be proved from facts, that any given people, down to the lowest savages, has, at any period of its life, known far more than it has done; known quite enough to have enabled it to have got on comfortably, thriven, and developed; if it had only done, what no man does, all that it knew it ought to do, and could do. St. Paul's experience of himself is true of all mankind--'The good which I would, I do not; and the evil which I would not, that I do.' The discrepancy between the amount of knowledge and the amount of work, is one of the most patent and most painful facts which strikes us in the history of man; and one not certainly to be explained on any theory of man's progress being the effect of inevitable laws, or one which gives us much hope of ascertaining fixed laws for that progress. And bear in mind, that fools are not always merely imbecile and obstructive; they are at times ferocious, dangerous, mad. There is in human nature what Goethe used to call a demoniac element, defying all law, and all induction; and we can, I fear, from that one cause, as easily calculate the progress of the human race, as we can calculate that of the vines upon the slopes of AEtna, with the lava ready to boil up and overwhelm them at any and every moment. Let us learn, in God's name, all we can, from the short intervals of average peace and common sense: let us, or rather our grandchildren, get precious lessons from them for the next period of sanity. But let us not be surprised, much less disheartened, if after learning a very little, some unexpected and truly demoniac factor, Anabaptist war, French revolution, or other, should toss all our calculations to the winds, and set us to begin afresh, sadder and wiser men. We may learn, doubtless, even more of the real facts of human nature, the real laws of human history, from these critical periods, when the root-fibres of the human heart are laid bare, for good and evil, than from any smooth and respectable periods of peace and plenty: nevertheless their lessons are not statistical, but moral. But if human folly has been a disturbing force for evil, surely human reason has been a disturbing force for good. Man can not only disobey the laws of his being, he can also choose between them, to an extent which science widens every day, and so become, what he was meant to be, an artificial being; artificial in his manufactures, habits, society, polity--what not? All day long he has a free choice between even physical laws, which mere things have not, and which make the laws of mere things inapplicable to him. Take the simplest case. If he falls into the water, he has his choice whether he will obey the laws of gravity and sink, or by other laws perform the (to him) artificial process of swimming, and get ashore. True, both would happen by law: but he has his choice which law shall conquer, sink or swim. We have yet to learn why whole nations, why all mankind may not use the same prudential power as to which law they shall obey,--which, without breaking it, they shall conquer and repress, as long as seems good to them. It is true, nature must be obeyed in order that she may he conquered: but then she is to be CONQUERED. It has been too much the fashion of late to travestie that great dictum of Bacon's into a very different one, and say, Nature must be obeyed because she cannot be conquered; thus proclaiming the impotence of science to discover anything save her own impotence--a result as contrary to fact, as to Bacon's own hopes of what science would do for the welfare of the human race. For what is all human invention, but the transcending and conquering one natural law by another? What is the practical answer which all mankind has been making to nature and her pretensions, whenever it has progressed one step since the foundation of the world: by which all discoverers have discovered, all teachers taught: by which all polities, kingdoms, civilizations, arts, manufactures, have established themselves; all who have raised themselves above the mob have faced the mob, and conquered the mob, crucified by them first and worshipped by them afterwards: by which the first savage conquered the natural law which put wild beasts in the forest, by killing them; conquered the natural law which makes raw meat wholesome, by cooking it; conquered the natural law which made weeds grow at his hut door, by rooting them up, and planting corn instead; and won his first spurs in the great battle of man against nature, proving thereby that he was a man, and not an ape? What but this?--'Nature is strong, but I am stronger. I know her worth, but I know my own. I trust her and her laws, but my trusty servant she shall be, and not my tyrant; and if she interfere with my ideal, even with my personal comfort, then Nature and I will fight it out to the last gasp, and Heaven defend the right!' In forgetting this, in my humble opinion, lay the error of the early, or laissez faire School of Political Economy. It was too much inclined to say to men: 'You are the puppets of certain natural laws. Your own freewill and choice, if they really exist, exist merely as a dangerous disease. All you can do is to submit to the laws, and drift whithersoever they may carry you, for good or evil.' But not less certainly was the same blame to be attached to the French Socialist School. It, though based on a revolt from the Philosophie du neant, philosophie de la misere, as it used to term the laissez faire School, yet retained the worst fallacy of its foe, namely, that man was the creature of circumstances; and denied him just as much as its antagonist the possession of freewill, or at least the right to use freewill on any large scale. The laissez faire School was certainly the more logical of the two. With them, if man was the creature of circumstances, those circumstances were at least defined for him by external laws which he had not created: while the Socialists, with Fourier at their head (as it has always seemed to me), fell into the extraordinary paradox of supposing that though man was the creature of circumstances, he was to become happy by creating the very circumstances which were afterwards to create him. But both of them erred, surely, in ignoring that self-arbitrating power of man, by which he can, for good or for evil, rebel against and conquer circumstance. I am not, surely, overstepping my province as Professor of History, in alluding to this subject. Just notions of Political Economy are absolutely necessary to just notions of History; and I should wish those young gentlemen who may attend my Lectures, to go first, were it possible, to my more learned brother, the Professor of Political Economy, and get from him not merely exact habits of thought, but a knowledge which I cannot give, and yet which they ought to possess. For to take the very lowest ground, the first fact of history is, Bouche va toujours; whatever men have or have not done, they have always eaten, or tried to eat; and the laws which regulate the supply of the first necessaries of life are, after all, the first which should be learnt, and the last which should be ignored. The more modern school, however, of Political Economy while giving due weight to circumstance, has refused to acknowledge it as the force which ought to determine all human life; and our greatest living political economist has, in his Essay on Liberty, put in a plea unequalled since the Areopagitica of Milton, for the self-determining power of the individual, and for his right to use that power. But my business is not with rights, so much as with facts; and as a fact, surely, one may say, that this inventive reason of man has been, in all ages, interfering with any thing like an inevitable sequence or orderly progress of humanity. Some of those writers, indeed, who are most anxious to discover an exact order, are most loud in their complaints that it has been interfered with by over-legislation; and rejoice that mankind is returning to a healthier frame of mind, and leaving nature alone to her own work in her own way. I do not altogether agree with their complaints; but of that I hope to speak in subsequent lectures. Meanwhile, I must ask, if (as is said) most good legislation now-a-days consists in repealing old laws which ought never to have been passed; if (as is said) the great fault of our forefathers was that they were continually setting things wrong, by intermeddling in matters political, economic, religious, which should have been let alone, to develop themselves in their own way, what becomes of the inevitable laws, and the continuous progress, of the human mind? Look again at the disturbing power, not merely of the general reason of the many, but of the genius of the few. I am not sure, but that the one fact, that genius is occasionally present in the world, is not enough to prevent our ever discovering any regular sequence in human progress, past or future. Let me explain myself. In addition to the infinite variety of individual characters continually born (in itself a cause of perpetual disturbance), man alone of all species has the faculty of producing, from time to time, individuals immeasurably superior to the average in some point or other, whom we call men of genius. Like Mr. Babbage's calculating machine, human nature gives millions of orderly respectable common-place results, which any statistician can classify, and enables hasty philosophers to say--It always has gone on thus; it must go on thus always; when behold, after many millions of orderly results, there turns up a seemingly disorderly, a certainly unexpected, result, and the law seems broken (being really superseded by some deeper law) for that once, and perhaps never again for centuries. Even so it is with man, and the physiological laws which determine the earthly appearance of men. Laws there are, doubt it not; but they are beyond us: and let our induction be as wide as it may, they will baffle it; and great nature, just as we fancy we have found out her secret, will smile in our faces as she brings into the world a man, the like of whom we have never seen, and cannot explain, define, classify--in one word, a genius. Such do, as a fact, become leaders of men into quite new and unexpected paths, and, for good or evil, leave their stamp upon whole generations and races. Notorious as this may be, it is just, I think, what most modern theories of human progress ignore. They take the actions and the tendencies of the average many, and from them construct their scheme: a method not perhaps quite safe were they dealing with plants or animals; but what if it be the very peculiarity of this fantastic and altogether unique creature called man, not only that he develops, from time to time, these exceptional individuals, but that they are the most important individuals of all? that his course is decided for him not by the average many, but by the extraordinary few; that one Mahommed, one Luther, one Bacon, one Napoleon, shall change the thoughts and habits of millions?--So that instead of saying that the history of mankind is the history of the masses, it would be much more true to say, that the history of mankind is the history of its great men; and that a true philosophy of history ought to declare the laws--call them physical, spiritual, biological, or what we choose--by which great minds have been produced into the world, as necessary results, each in his place and time. That would be a science indeed; how far we are as yet from any such, you know as well as I. As yet, the appearance of great minds is as inexplicable to us as if they had dropped among us from another planet. Who will tell us why they have arisen when they did, and why they did what they did, and nothing else? I do not deny that such a science is conceivable; because each mind, however great or strange, may be the result of fixed and unerring laws of life: and it is conceivable, too, that such a science may so perfectly explain the past, as to be able to predict the future; and tell men when a fresh genius is likely to arise and of what form his intellect will be. Conceivable: but I fear only conceivable; if for no other reason, at least for this one. We may grant safely that the mind of Luther was the necessary result of a combination of natural laws. We may go further, and grant, but by no means safely, that Luther, was the creature of circumstances, that there was no self- moving originality in him, but that his age made him what he was. To some modern minds these concessions remove all difficulty and mystery: but not, I trust, to our minds. For does not the very puzzle de quo agitur remain equally real; namely, why the average of Augustine monks, the average of German men, did not, by being exposed to the same average circumstances as Luther, become what Luther was? But whether we allow Luther to have been a person with an originally different character from all others, or whether we hold him to have been the mere puppet of outside influences, the first step towards discovering how he became what he was, will be to find out what he was. It will be more easy, and, I am sorry to say, more common to settle beforehand our theory, and explain by it such parts of Luther as will fit it; and call those which will not fit it hard names. History is often so taught, and the method is popular and lucrative. But we here shall be of opinion, I am sure, that we only can learn causes through their effects; we can only learn the laws which produced Luther, by learning Luther himself; by analyzing his whole character; by gauging all his powers; and that--unless the less can comprehend the greater--we cannot do till we are more than Luther himself. I repeat it. None can comprehend a man, unless he be greater than that man. He must be not merely equal to him, because none can see in another elements of character which he has not already seen in himself: he must be greater; because to comprehend him thoroughly, he must be able to judge the man's failings as well as his excellencies; to see not only why he did what he did, but why he did not do more: in a word, he must be nearer than his object is to the ideal man. And if it be assumed that I am quibbling on the words 'comprehend' and 'greater,' that the observer need be greater only potentially, and not in act; that all the comprehension required of him, is to have in himself the germs of other men's faculties, without having developed those germs in life; I must still stand to my assertion. For such a rejoinder ignores the most mysterious element of all character, which we call strength: by virtue of which, of two seemingly similar characters, while one does nothing, the other shall do great things; while in one the germs of intellect and virtue remain comparatively embryonic, passive, and weak, in the other these same germs shall develop into manhood, action, success. And in what that same strength consists, not even the dramatic imagination of a Shakespeare could discover. What are those heart-rending sonnets of his, but the confession that over and above all his powers he lacked one thing, and knew not what it was, or where to find it--and that was--to be strong? And yet he who will give us a science of great men, must begin by having a larger heart, a keener insight, a more varying human experience, than Shakespeare's own; while those who offer us a science of little men, and attempt to explain history and progress by laws drawn from the average of mankind, are utterly at sea the moment they come in contact with the very men whose actions make the history, to whose thought the progress is due. And why? Because (so at least I think) the new science of little men can be no science at all: because the average man is not the normal man, and never yet has been; because the great man is rather the normal man, as approaching more nearly than his fellows to the true 'norma' and standard of a complete human character; and therefore to pass him by as a mere irregular sport of nature, an accidental giant with six fingers and six toes, and to turn to the mob for your theory of humanity, is (I think) about as wise as to ignore the Apollo and the Theseus, and to determine the proportions of the human figure from a crowd of dwarfs and cripples. No, let us not weary ourselves with narrow theories, with hasty inductions, which will, a century hence, furnish mere matter for a smile. Let us confine ourselves, at least in the present infantile state of the anthropologic sciences, to facts; to ascertaining honestly and patiently the thing which has been done; trusting that if we make ourselves masters of them, some rays of inductive light will be vouchsafed to us from Him who truly comprehends mankind, and knows what is in man, because He is the Son of Man; who has His own true theory of human progress, His own sound method of educating the human race, perfectly good, and perfectly wise, and at last, perfectly victorious; which nevertheless, were it revealed to us to-morrow, we could not understand; for if he who would comprehend Luther must be more than Luther, what must he be, who would comprehend God? Look again, as a result of the disturbing force of genius, at the effects of great inventions--how unexpected, complex, subtle, all but miraculous--throwing out alike the path of human history, and the calculations of the student. If physical discoveries produced only physical or economic results--if the invention of printing had only produced more books, and more knowledge--if the invention of gunpowder had only caused more or less men to be killed--if the invention of the spinning-jenny had only produced more cotton-stuffs, more employment, and therefore more human beings,--then their effects would have been, however complex, more or less subjects of exact computation. But so strangely interwoven is the physical and spiritual history of man, that material inventions produce continually the most unexpected spiritual results. Printing becomes a religious agent, causes not merely more books, but a Protestant Reformation; then again, through the Jesuit literature, helps to a Romanist counter-reformation; and by the clashing of the two, is one of the great causes of the Thirty Years' War, one of the most disastrous checks which European progress ever suffered. Gunpowder, again, not content with killing men, becomes unexpectedly a political agent; 'the villanous saltpetre,' as Ariosto and Shakespeare's fop complain, 'does to death many a goodly gentleman,' and enables the masses to cope, for the first time, with knights in armour; thus forming a most important agent in the rise of the middle classes; while the spinning-jenny, not content with furnishing facts for the political economist, and employment for millions, helps to extend slavery in the United States, and gives rise to moral and political questions, which may have, ere they be solved, the most painful consequences to one of the greatest nations on earth. So far removed is the sequence of human history from any thing which we can call irresistible or inevitable. Did one dare to deal in epithets, crooked, wayward, mysterious, incalculable, would be those which would rather suggest themselves to a man looking steadily not at a few facts here and there, and not again at some hasty bird's-eye sketch, which he chooses to call a whole, but at the actual whole, fact by fact, step by step, and alas! failure by failure, and crime by crime. Understand me, I beg. I do not wish (Heaven forbid!) to discourage inductive thought; I do not wish to undervalue exact science. I only ask that the moral world, which is just as much the domain of inductive science as the physical one, be not ignored; that the tremendous difficulties of analyzing its phenomena be fairly faced; and the hope given up, at least for the present, of forming any exact science of history; and I wish to warn you off from the too common mistake of trying to explain the mysteries of the spiritual world by a few roughly defined physical laws (for too much of our modern thought does little more than that); and of ignoring as old fashioned, or even superstitious, those great moral laws of history, which are sanctioned by the experience of ages. Foremost among them stands a law which I must insist on, boldly and perpetually, if I wish (as I do wish) to follow in the footsteps of Sir James Stephen: a law which man has been trying in all ages, as now, to deny, or at least to ignore; though he might have seen it if he had willed, working steadily in all times and nations. And that is--that as the fruit of righteousness is wealth and peace, strength and honour; the fruit of unrighteousness is poverty and anarchy, weakness and shame. It is an ancient doctrine, and yet one ever young. The Hebrew prophets preached it long ago, in words which are fulfilling themselves around us every day, and which no new discoveries of science will abrogate, because they express the great root-law, which disobeyed, science itself cannot get a hearing. For not upon mind, gentlemen, not upon mind, but upon morals, is human welfare founded. The true subjective history of man is the history not of his thought, but of his conscience; the true objective history of man is not that of his inventions, but of his vices and his virtues. So far from morals depending upon thought, thought, I believe, depends on morals. In proportion as a nation is righteous,--in proportion as common justice is done between man and man, will thought grow rapidly, securely, triumphantly; will its discoveries be cheerfully accepted, and faithfully obeyed, to the welfare of the whole commonweal. But where a nation is corrupt, that is, where the majority of individuals in it are bad, and justice is not done between man and man, there thought will wither, and science will be either crushed by frivolity and sensuality, or abused to the ends of tyranny, ambition, profligacy, till she herself perishes, amid the general ruin of all good things; as she had done in Greece, in Rome, in Spain, in China, and many other lands. Laws of economy, of polity, of health, of all which makes human life endurable, may be ignored and trampled under foot, and are too often, every day, for the sake of present greed, of present passion; self-interest may become, and will become, more and more blinded, just in proportion as it is not enlightened by virtue; till a nation may arrive, though, thank God, but seldom, at that state of frantic recklessness which Salvian describes among his Roman countrymen in Gaul, when, while the Franks were thundering at their gates, and starved and half-burnt corpses lay about the unguarded streets, the remnant, like that in doomed Jerusalem of old, were drinking, dicing, ravishing, robbing the orphan and the widow, swindling the poor man out of his plot of ground, and sending meanwhile to the tottering Caesar at Rome, to ask, not for armies, but for Circensian games. We cannot see how science could have bettered those poor Gauls. And we can conceive, surely, a nation falling into the same madness, and crying 'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die,' in the midst of railroads, spinning-jennies, electric telegraphs, and crystal palaces, with infinite blue-books and scientific treatises ready to prove to them, what they knew perfectly well already, that they were making a very unprofitable investment, both of money and of time. For science indeed is great: but she is not the greatest. She is an instrument, and not a power; beneficent or deadly, according as she is wielded by the hand of virtue or of vice. But her lawful mistress, the only one which can use her aright, the only one under whom she can truly grow, and prosper, and prove her divine descent, is Virtue, the likeness of Almighty God. This, indeed, the Hebrew Prophets, who knew no science in one sense of the word, do not expressly say: but it is a corollary from their doctrine, which we may discover for ourselves, if we will look at the nations round us now, if we will look at all the nations which have been. Even Voltaire himself acknowledged that; and when he pointed to the Chinese as the most prosperous nation upon earth, ascribed their prosperity uniformly to their virtue. We now know that he was wrong in fact: for we have discovered that Chinese civilization is one not of peace and plenty, but of anarchy and wretchedness. But that fact only goes to corroborate the belief, which (strange juxtaposition!) was common to Voltaire and the old Hebrew Prophets at whom he scoffed, namely, that virtue is wealth, and vice is ruin. For we have found that these Chinese, the ruling classes of them at least, are an especially unrighteous people; rotting upon the rotting remnants of the wisdom and virtue of their forefathers, which now live only on their lips in flowery maxims about justice and mercy and truth, as a cloak for practical hypocrisy and villany; and we have discovered also, as a patent fact, just what the Hebrew Prophets would have foretold us--that the miseries and horrors which are now destroying the Chinese Empire, are the direct and organic results of the moral profligacy of its inhabitants. I know no modern nation, moreover, which illustrates so forcibly as China the great historic law which the Hebrew Prophets proclaim; and that is this:--That as the prosperity of a nation is the correlative of their morals, so are their morals the correlative of their theology. As a people behaves, so it thrives; as it believes, so it behaves. Such as his Gods are, such will the man be; down to that lowest point which too many of the Chinese seem to have reached, where, having no Gods, he himself becomes no man; but (as I hear you see him at the Australian diggings) abhorred for his foul crimes even by the scum of Europe. I do not say that the theology always produces the morals, any more than that the morals always produce the theology. Each is, I think, alternately cause and effect. Men make the Gods in their own likeness; then they copy the likeness they have set up. But whichever be cause, and whichever effect, the law, I believe, stands true, that on the two together depends the physical welfare of a people. History gives us many examples, in which superstition, many again in which profligacy, have been the patent cause of a nation's deoradation. It does not, as far as I am aware, give us a single case of a nation's thriving and developing when deeply infected with either of those two vices. These, the broad and simple laws of moral retribution, we may see in history; and (I hope) something more than them; something of a general method, something of an upward progress, though any thing but an irresistible or inevitable one. For I have not argued that there is no order, no progress--God forbid. Were there no order to be found, what could the student with a man's reason in him do, but in due time go mad?--Were there no progress, what could the student with a man's heart within him do, but in due time break his heart, over the sight of a chaos of folly and misery irredeemable?--I only argue that the order and the progress of human history cannot be similar to those which govern irrational beings, and cannot (without extreme danger) be described by metaphors (for they are nothing stronger) drawn from physical science. If there be an order, a progress, they must be moral; fit for the guidance of moral beings; limited by the obedience which those moral beings pay to what they know. And such an order, such a progress as that, I have good hope that we shall find in history. We shall find, as I believe, in all the ages, God educating man; protecting him till he can go alone, furnishing him with the primary necessaries, teaching him, guiding him, inspiring him, as we should do to our children; bearing with him, and forgiving him too, again and again, as we should do: but teaching him withal (as we shall do if we be wise) in great part by his own experience, making him test for himself, even by failure and pain, the truth of the laws which have been given him; discover for himself, as much as possible, fresh laws, or fresh applications of laws; and exercising his will and faculties, by trusting him to himself wherever he can be trusted without his final destruction. This is my conception of history, especially of Modern History--of history since the Revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ. I express myself feebly enough, I know. And even could I express what I mean perfectly, it would still be but a partial analogy, not to be pushed into details. As I said just now, were the true law of human progress revealed to us to- morrow, we could not understand it. For suppose that the theory were true, which Dr. Temple of Rugby has lately put into such noble words: suppose that, as he says, 'The power whereby the present ever gathers into itself the results of the past, transforms the human race into a colossal man, whose life reaches from the creation to the day of judgment. The successive generations of men, are days in this man's life. The discoveries and inventions which characterize the different epochs of the world, are this man's works. The creeds and doctrines, the opinions and principles of the successive ages, are his thoughts. The state of society at different times, are his manners. He grows in knowledge, in self-control, in visible size, just as we do.' Suppose all this; and suppose too, that God is educating this his colossal child, as we educate our own children; it will hardly follow from thence that his education would be, as Dr. Temple says it is, precisely similar to ours. Analogous it may be, but not precisely similar; and for this reason: That the collective man, in the theory, must be infinitely more complex in his organization than the individuals of which he is composed. While between the educator of the one and of the other, there is simply the difference between a man and God. How much more complex then must his education be! how all-inscrutable to human minds much in it!--often as inscrutable as would our training of our children seem to the bird brooding over her young ones in the nest. The parental relations in all three cases may be--the Scriptures say that they are--expansions of the same great law; the key to all history may be contained in those great words--'How often would I have gathered thy children as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings.' Yet even there the analogy stops short--'but thou wouldest not' expresses a new element, which has no place in the training of the nestling by the dam, though it has place in our training of our children; even that self-will, that power of disobedience, which is the dark side of man's prerogative as a rational and self-cultivating being. Here that analogy fails, as we should have expected it to do; and in a hundred other points it fails, or rather transcends so utterly its original type, that mankind seems, at moments, the mere puppet of those laws of natural selection, and competition of species, of which we have heard so much of late; and, to give a single instance, the seeming waste, of human thought, of human agony, of human power, seems but another instance of that inscrutable prodigality of nature, by which, of a thousand acorns dropping to the ground, but one shall become the thing it can become, and grow into a builder oak, the rest be craunched up by the nearest swine. Yet these dark passages of human life may be only necessary elements of the complex education of our race; and as much mercy under a fearful shape, as ours when we put the child we love under the surgeon's knife. At least we may believe so; believe that they have a moral end, though that end be unseen by us; and without any rash or narrow prying into final causes (a trick as fatal to historic research as Bacon said it was to science), we may justify God by faith, where we cannot justify Him by experience. Surely this will be the philosophic method. If we seem to ourselves to have discovered a law, we do not throw it away the moment we find phaenomena which will not be explained by it. We use those phaenomena to correct and to expand our law. And this belief that History is 'God educating man,' is no mere hypothesis; it results from the observation of thousands of minds, throughout thousands of years. It has long seemed--I trust it will seem still--the best explanation of the strange deeds of that strange being, man: and where we find in history facts which seem to contradict it, we shall not cast away rashly or angrily either it or them: but if we be Bacon's true disciples, we shall use them patiently and reverently to correct and expand our notions of the law itself, and rise thereby to more deep and just conceptions of education, of man, and--it may be--of God Himself. In proportion as we look at history thus; searching for effective, rather than final causes, and content to see God working everywhere, without impertinently demanding of Him a reason for His deeds, we shall study in a frame of mind equally removed from superstition on the one hand, and necessitarianism on the other. We shall not be afraid to confess natural agencies: but neither shall we be afraid to confess those supernatural causes which underlie all existence, save God's alone. We shall talk of more than of an over-ruling Providence. That such exists, will seem to us a patent fact. But it will seem to us somewhat Manichaean to believe that the world is ill made, mankind a failure, and that all God has to do with them, is to set them right here and there, when they go intolerably wrong. We shall believe not merely in an over- ruling Providence, but (if I may dare to coin a word) in an under-ruling one, which has fixed for mankind eternal laws of life, health, growth, both physical and spiritual; in an around-ruling Providence, likewise, by which circumstances, that which stands around a man, are perpetually arranged, it may be, are fore-ordained, so that each law shall have at least an opportunity of taking effect on the right person, in the right time and place; and in an in-ruling Providence. too, from whose inspiration comes all true thought, all right feeling; from whom, we must believe, man alone of all living things known to us inherits that mysterious faculty of perceiving the law beneath the phaenomena, by virtue of which he is a _man_. But we can hold all this, surely, and equally hold all which natural science may teach us. Hold what natural science teaches? We shall not dare not to hold it. It will be sacred in our eyes. All light which science, political, economic, physiological, or other, can throw upon the past, will be welcomed by us, as coming from the Author of all light. To ignore it, even to receive it suspiciously and grudgingly, we shall feel to be a sin against Him. We shall dread no 'inroads of materialism;' because we shall be standing upon that spiritual ground which underlies--ay, causes--the material. All discoveries of science, whether political or economic, whether laws of health or laws of climate, will be accepted trustfully and cheerfully. And when we meet with such startling speculations as those on the influence of climate, soil, scenery on national character, which have lately excited so much controversy, we shall welcome them at first sight, just because they give us hope of order where we had seen only disorder, law where we fancied chance: we shall verify them patiently; correct them if they need correction; and if proven, believe that they have worked, and still work, [Greek text], as factors in the great method of Him who has appointed to all nations their times, and the bounds of their habitation, if haply they might feel after Him, and find Him: though He be not far from any one of them; for in Him we live, and move, and have our being, and are the offspring of God Himself. I thus end what it seemed to me proper to say in this, my Inaugural Lecture; thanking you much for the patience with which you have heard me: and if I have in it too often spoken of myself, and my own opinions, I can only answer that it is a fault which has been forced on me by my position, and which will not occur again. It seemed to me that some sort of statement of my belief was necessary, if only from respect to a University from which I have been long separated, and to return to which is to me a high honour and a deep pleasure; and I cannot but be aware (it is best to be honest) that there exists a prejudice against me in the minds of better men than I am, on account of certain early writings of mine. That prejudice, I trust, with God's help, I shall be able to dissipate. At least whatever I shall fail in doing, this University will find that I shall do one thing; and that is, obey the Apostolic precept, 'Study to be quiet, and to do your own business.' Footnotes: {1} Grimm, Grammatik, ii. p. 516. {2} See Grimm, Grammatik, (2nd edit.) vol. i. p. 108; vol. ii. p. 581. {3} Lectures on the Science of Language, vol. ii. p. 232. {4} Forstemann mentions a Latin inscription of the third century found near Wiesbaden with the Dative Toutiorigi. {5} German classics, by M. M. p. 12. {6} Anonym. Valesian. ad calcem Ann. Marcellin. p. 722. Gibbon, cap. xxxix; now known, through Mommsen, as the Annals of Ravenna. {7} Grimm thinks that Charle-maigne and Charlemagne were originally corruptions of Karlo-man, and were interpreted later as Carolus magnus. Grimm, Grammatik, ii. 462; iii. 320. {8} Weber, Lehrbuch der Weltgeschichte, section 245: 'Bei Verona von Theoderich (daher Dietrich von Bern) besiegt, barg sich Odoaker hinter die Mauern von Ravenna.' It is much more objectionable when Simrock in his translation of the Edda renders Thjodrekr by Dietrich, though he retains Theodolf and similar names. But it shows at the same time the wide popularity of that name. {9} Grimm, Heldensage, p. 344. {10} Gibbon, chap. xxxix. sub fin. {11} Otto von Freising, in the first half of the twelfth century (Chronicon 5, 3), takes the opposite view, and thinks the fable derived from history: 'Ob ea non multis post diebus, xxx imperii sui anno, subitanea morte rapitur ac juxta beati Gregorii dialogum (4, 36) a Joanne et Symmacho in Aetnam praecipitatus, a quodam homine Dei cernitur. Hinc puto fabulam illam traductam, qua vulgo dicitur: _Theodoricus vivus equo sedens ad inferos descendit_. {12} Grimm, Deutsche Heldensage, p. 36. Chronicon Urspergense, 85a: Haec Jordanis quidam grammaticus, ex eorundem stirpe Gothorum progenitus, de Getarum origine et Amalorum nobilitate non omnia, quae de eis scribuntur et referuntur, ut ipse dicit, complexus exaravit, sed brevius pro rerum notitia huic opusculo inseruimus. His perlectis diligenterque perspectis perpendat, qui discernere noverit, quomodo illud ratum teneatur, quod non solum _vulgarifabulatione_ et _cantilenarum modulatione_ usitatur, verum etiam in _quibusdam chronicis_ annotatur; scilicet quod _Hermenricus_ tempore Martiani principis super omnes Gothos regnaverit, et _Theodoricum Dietmari filium_, _patruelem_ suum, ut dicunt, _instimulante Odoacre_, item, ut ajunt, _patruele suo de Verona pulsum_, apud _Attilam Hunorum regem exulare coegerit_, cum historiographus narret, Ermenricum regem Gothorum multis regibus dominantem tempore Valentiniani et Valentis fratrum regnasse et a _duobus fratribus Saro_ et _Ammio_, quos conjicimus eos fuisse, qui _vulgariter Sarelo et Hamidiecus_ dicuntur, vulneratum in primordio egressionis Hunorum per Maeotidem paludem, quibus rex fuit Valamber, tam vulneris quam Hunorum irruptionis dolore defunctum fuisse, Attilam vero postea ultra LXX annos sub Martiano et Valentiniano cum Romanis et Wisigothis Aetioque duce Romanorum pugnasse et sub eisdem principibus regno vitaque decessisse. . . . Hinc rerum diligens inspector perpendat, quomodo _Ermenricus Theodoricum Dietmari filium apud Attilam exulare coegerit_, cum juxta hunc historiographum contemporalis ejus non fuit. Igitur aut hic falsa conscripsit, aut _vulgaris opinio fallitur_ et _fallit_, aut alius Ermenricus et alms Theodoricus dandi sunt Attilae contemporanei, in quibus hujus modi rerum convenientia rata possit haberi. Hic enim Ermenricus longe ante Attilam legitur defunctus. {13} Chronicon, 5, 3: Quod autem rursum narrant, eum Hermanarico Attilaeque contemporaneum fuisse, omnino stare non potest, dum Attilam longe post Hermanaricum constat exercuisse tyrannidem istumque post mortem Attilae octennem a patre obsidem Leoni Augusto traditum. {14} Chronicon, 16, 481: Quod autem quidam dicunt, ipsum Theodoricum fuisse Hermenrico Veronensi et Attilae contemporaneum, non est verum. Constat enim Attilam longe post Hermenricum fuisse Theodoricum etiam longe post mortem Attilae, quum esset puer octennis, Leoni imperatori in obsidem datum fuisse. {19} The early romancers, and especially Achilles Tatius, give pictures of Roman praedial slavery too painful to quote. Roman domestic slavery is not to be described by the pen of an Englishman. And I must express my sorrow, that in the face of such notorious facts, some have of late tried to prove American slavery to be as bad as, or even worse than, that of Rome. God forbid! Whatsoever may have been the sins of the Southern gentleman, he is at least a Teuton, and not a Roman; a whole moral heaven above the effeminate wretch, who in the 4th and 5th centuries called himself a senator and a clarissimus. {101} Dr. Sheppard, p. 297. {109} Had he actually taken the name of Theodoric, Theuderic, Dietrich, which signifies much the same thing as 'King of nations'? {158} With west-countrymen, to 'scrattle' still means to scramble, or shuffle about. {162} English Language, vol. i. p. 200. {214} Cf. Montalembert. 'Moines d'Occident.' {279} Sismondi _Hist. de la Chute de l'Empire Romain_, p. 187. 
8771	----	Library, Agnes Scott College. JURGEN _A Comedy of Justice_ By JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1922 _"Of JURGEN eke they maken mencioun, That of an old wyf gat his youthe agoon, And gat himselfe a shirte as bright as fyre Wherein to jape, yet gat not his desire In any countrie ne condicioun."_ TO BURTON RASCOE Before each tarradiddle, Uncowed by sciolists, Robuster persons twiddle Tremendously big fists. "Our gods are good," they tell us; "Nor will our gods defer Remission of rude fellows' Ability to err." So this, your JURGEN, travels Content to compromise Ordainments none unravels Explicitly ... and sighs. * * * * * "Others, with better moderation, do either entertain the vulgar history of Jurgen as a fabulous addition unto the true and authentic story of St. Iurgenius of Poictesme, or else we conceive the literal acception to be a misconstruction of the symbolical expression: apprehending a veritable history, in an emblem or piece of Christian poesy. And this emblematical construction hath been received by men not forward to extenuate the acts of saints." --PHILIP BORSDALE. "A forced construction is very idle. If readers of _The High History of Jurgen_ do not meddle with the allegory, the allegory will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all, the whole is as plain as a pikestaff. It might as well be pretended that we cannot see Poussin's pictures without first being told the allegory, as that the allegory aids us in understanding _Jurgen_." --E. NOEL CODMAN. "Too urbane to advocate delusion, too hale for the bitterness of irony, this fable of Jurgen is, as the world itself, a book wherein each man will find what his nature enables him to see; which gives us back each his own image; and which teaches us each the lesson that each of us desires to learn." --JOHN FREDERICK LEWISTAM. * * * * * _CONTENTS_ A FOREWORD: WHICH ASSERTS NOTHING I WHY JURGEN DID THE MANLY THING II ASSUMPTION OF A NOTED GARMENT III THE GARDEN BETWEEN DAWN AND SUNRISE IV THE DOROTHY WHO DID NOT UNDERSTAND V REQUIREMENTS OF BREAD AND BUTTER VI SHOWING THAT SEREDA IS FEMININE VII OF COMPROMISES ON A WEDNESDAY VIII OLD TOYS AND A NEW SHADOW IX THE ORTHODOX RESCUE OF GUENEVERE X PITIFUL DISGUISES OF THRAGNAR XI APPEARANCE OF THE DUKE OF LOGREUS XII EXCURSUS OF YOLANDE'S UNDOING XIII PHILOSOPHY OF GOGYRVAN GAWR XIV PRELIMINARY TACTICS OF DUKE JURGEN XV OF COMPROMISES IN GLATHION XVI DIVERS IMBROGLIOS OF KING SMOIT XVII ABOUT A COCK THAT CROWED TOO SOON XVIII WHY MERLIN TALKED IN TWILIGHT XIX THE BROWN MAN WITH QUEER FEET XX EFFICACY OF PRAYER XXI HOW ANAÏTIS VOYAGED XXII AS TO A VEIL THEY BROKE XXIII SHORTCOMINGS OF PRINCE JURGEN XXIV OF COMPROMISES IN COCAIGNE XXV CANTRAPS OF THE MASTER PHILOLOGIST XXVI IN TIME'S HOUR-GLASS XXVII VEXATIOUS ESTATE OF QUEEN HELEN XXVIII OF COMPROMISES IN LEUKÊ XXIX CONCERNING HORVENDILE'S NONSENSE XXX ECONOMICS OF KING JURGEN XXXI THE FALL OF PSEUDOPOLIS XXXII SUNDRY DEVICES OF THE PHILISTINES XXXIII FAREWELL TO CHLORIS XXXIV HOW EMPEROR JURGEN FARED INFERNALLY XXXV WHAT GRANDFATHER SATAN REPORTED XXXVI WHY COTH WAS CONTRADICTED XXXVII INVENTION OF THE LOVELY VAMPIRE XXXVIII AS TO APPLAUDED PRECEDENTS XXXIX OF COMPROMISES IN HELL XL THE ASCENSION OF POPE JURGEN XLI OF COMPROMISES IN HEAVEN XLII TWELVE THAT ARE FRETTED HOURLY XLIII POSTURES BEFORE A SHADOW XLIV IN THE MANAGER'S OFFICE XLV THE FAITH OF GUENEVERE XLVI THE DESIRE OF ANAÏTIS XLVII THE VISION OF HELEN XLVIII CANDID OPINIONS OF DAME LISA XLIX OF THE COMPROMISE WITH KOSHCHEI L THE MOMENT THAT DID NOT COUNT A FOREWORD _"Nescio quid certè est: et Hylax in limine latrat."_ _A Foreword: Which Asserts Nothing._ In Continental periodicals not more than a dozen articles in all would seem to have given accounts or partial translations of the Jurgen legends. No thorough investigation of this epos can be said to have appeared in print, anywhere, prior to the publication, in 1913, of the monumental _Synopses of Aryan Mythology_ by Angelo de Ruiz. It is unnecessary to observe that in this exhaustive digest Professor de Ruiz has given (VII, p. 415 _et sequentia_) a summary of the greater part of these legends as contained in the collections of Verville and Bülg; and has discussed at length and with much learning the esoteric meaning of these folk-stories and their bearing upon questions to which the "solar theory" of myth explanation has given rise. To his volumes, and to the pages of Mr. Lewistam's _Key to the Popular Tales of Poictesme_, must be referred all those who may elect to think of Jurgen as the resplendent, journeying and procreative sun. Equally in reading hereinafter will the judicious waive all allegorical interpretation, if merely because the suggestions hitherto advanced are inconveniently various. Thus Verville finds the Nessus shirt a symbol of retribution, where Bülg, with rather wide divergence, would have it represent the dangerous gift of genius. Then it may be remembered that Dr. Codman says, without any hesitancy, of Mother Sereda: "This Mother Middle is the world generally (an obvious anagram of _Erda es_), and this Sereda rules not merely the middle of the working-days but the midst of everything. She is the factor of _middleness_, of mediocrity, of an avoidance of extremes, of the eternal compromise begotten by use and wont. She is the Mrs. Grundy of the Léshy; she is Comstockery: and her shadow is common-sense." Yet Codman speaks with certainly no more authority than Prote, when the latter, in his _Origins of Fable_, declares this epos is "a parable of ... man's vain journeying in search of that rationality and justice which his nature craves, and discovers nowhere in the universe: and the shirt is an emblem of this instinctive craving, as ... the shadow symbolizes conscience. Sereda typifies a surrender to life as it is, a giving up of man's rebellious self-centredness and selfishness: the anagram being _se dare_." Thus do interpretations throng and clash, and neatly equal the commentators in number. Yet possibly each one of these unriddlings, with no doubt a host of others, is conceivable: so that wisdom will dwell upon none of them very seriously. With the origin and the occult meaning of the folklore of Poictesme this book at least is in no wise concerned: its unambitious aim has been merely to familiarize English readers with the Jurgen epos for the tale's sake. And this tale of old years is one which, by rare fortune, can be given to English readers almost unabridged, in view of the singular delicacy and pure-mindedness of the Jurgen mythos: in all, not more than a half-dozen deletions have seemed expedient (and have been duly indicated) in order to remove such sparse and unimportant outcroppings of mediæval frankness as might conceivably offend the squeamish. Since this volume is presented simply as a story to be read for pastime, neither morality nor symbolism is hereinafter educed, and no "parallels" and "authorities" are quoted. Even the gaps are left unbridged by guesswork: whereas the historic and mythological problems perhaps involved are relinquished to those really thoroughgoing scholars whom erudition qualifies to deal with such topics, and tedium does not deter.... In such terms, and thus far, ran the Foreword to the first issues of this book, whose later fortunes have made necessary the lengthening of the Foreword with a postscript. The needed addition--this much at least chiming with good luck--is brief. It is just that fragment which some scholars, since the first appearance of this volume, have asserted--upon what perfect frankness must describe as not indisputable grounds--to be a portion of the thirty-second chapter of the complete form of _La Haulte Histoire de Jurgen_. And in reply to what these scholars assert, discretion says nothing. For this fragment was, of course, unknown when the High History was first put into English, and there in consequence appears, here, little to be won either by endorsing or denying its claims to authenticity. Rather, does discretion prompt the appending, without any gloss or scholia, of this fragment, which deals with _The Judging of Jurgen._ Now a court was held by the Philistines to decide whether or no King Jurgen should be relegated to limbo. And when the judges were prepared for judging, there came into the court a great tumblebug, rolling in front of him his loved and properly housed young ones. With the creature came pages, in black and white, bearing a sword, a staff and a lance. This insect looked at Jurgen, and its pincers rose erect in horror. The bug cried to the three judges, "Now, by St. Anthony! this Jurgen must forthwith be relegated to limbo, for he is offensive and lewd and lascivious and indecent." "And how can that be?" says Jurgen. "You are offensive," the bug replied, "because this page has a sword which I choose to say is not a sword. You are lewd because that page has a lance which I prefer to think is not a lance. You are lascivious because yonder page has a staff which I elect to declare is not a staff. And finally, you are indecent for reasons of which a description would be objectionable to me, and which therefore I must decline to reveal to anybody." "Well, that sounds logical," says Jurgen, "but still, at the same time, it would be no worse for an admixture of common-sense. For you gentlemen can see for yourselves, by considering these pages fairly and as a whole, that these pages bear a sword and a lance and a staff, and nothing else whatever; and you will deduce, I hope, that all the lewdness is in the insectival mind of him who itches to be calling these things by other names." The judges said nothing as yet. But they that guarded Jurgen, and all the other Philistines, stood to this side and to that side with their eyes shut tight, and all these said: "We decline to look at the pages fairly and as a whole, because to look might seem to imply a doubt of what the tumblebug has decreed. Besides, as long as the tumblebug has reasons which he declines to reveal, his reasons stay unanswerable, and you are plainly a prurient rascal who are making trouble for yourself." "To the contrary," says Jurgen, "I am a poet, and I make literature." "But in Philistia to make literature and to make trouble for yourself are synonyms," the tumblebug explained. "I know, for already we of Philistia have been pestered by three of these makers of literature. Yes, there was Edgar, whom I starved and hunted until I was tired of it: then I chased him up a back alley one night, and knocked out those annoying brains of his. And there was Walt, whom I chivvied and battered from place to place, and made a paralytic of him: and him, too, I labelled offensive and lewd and lascivious and indecent. Then later there was Mark, whom I frightened into disguising himself in a clown's suit, so that nobody might suspect him to be a maker of literature: indeed, I frightened him so that he hid away the greater part of what he had made until after he was dead, and I could not get at him. That was a disgusting trick to play on me, I consider. Still, these are the only three detected makers of literature that have ever infested Philistia, thanks be to goodness and my vigilance, but for both of which we might have been no more free from makers of literature than are the other countries." "Now, but these three," cried Jurgen, "are the glory of Philistia: and of all that Philistia has produced, it is these three alone, whom living ye made least of, that to-day are honored wherever art is honored, and where nobody bothers one way or the other about Philistia." "What is art to me and my way of living?" replied the tumblebug, wearily. "I have no concern with art and letters and the other lewd idols of foreign nations. I have in charge the moral welfare of my young, whom I roll here before me, and trust with St. Anthony's aid to raise in time to be God-fearing tumblebugs like me, delighting in what is proper to their nature. For the rest, I have never minded dead men being well-spoken-of. No, no, my lad: once whatever I may do means nothing to you, and once you are really rotten, you will find the tumblebug friendly enough. Meanwhile I am paid to protest that living persons are offensive and lewd and lascivious and indecent, and one must live." Then the Philistines who stood to this side and to that side said in indignant unison: "And we, the reputable citizenry of Philistia, are not at all in sympathy with those who would take any protest against the tumblebug as a justification of what they are pleased to call art. The harm done by the tumblebug seems to us very slight, whereas the harm done by the self-styled artist may be very great." Jurgen now looked more attentively at this queer creature: and he saw that the tumblebug was malodorous, certainly, but at bottom honest and well-meaning; and this seemed to Jurgen the saddest thing he had found among the Philistines. For the tumblebug was sincere in his insane doings, and all Philistia honored him sincerely, so that there was nowhere any hope for this people. Therefore King Jurgen addressed himself, as his need was, to submit to the strange customs of the Philistines. "Now do you judge me fairly," cried Jurgen to his judges, "if there be any justice in this mad country. And if there be none, do you relegate me to limbo or to any other place, so long as in that place this tumblebug is not omnipotent and sincere and insane." And Jurgen waited.... * * * * * JURGEN ... _amara lento temperet risu_ 1. Why Jurgen Did the Manly Thing It is a tale which they narrate in Poictesme, saying: In the 'old days lived a pawnbroker named Jurgen; but what his wife called him was very often much worse than that. She was a high-spirited woman, with no especial gift for silence. Her name, they say, was Adelais, but people by ordinary called her Dame Lisa. They tell, also, that in the old days, after putting up the shop-windows for the night, Jurgen was passing the Cistercian Abbey, on his way home: and one of the monks had tripped over a stone in the roadway. He was cursing the devil who had placed it there. "Fie, brother!" says Jurgen, "and have not the devils enough to bear as it is?" "I never held with Origen," replied the monk; "and besides, it hurt my great-toe confoundedly." "None the less," observes Jurgen, "it does not behoove God-fearing persons to speak with disrespect of the divinely appointed Prince of Darkness. To your further confusion, consider this monarch's industry! day and night you may detect him toiling at the task Heaven set him. That is a thing can be said of few communicants and of no monks. Think, too, of his fine artistry, as evidenced in all the perilous and lovely snares of this world, which it is your business to combat, and mine to lend money upon. Why, but for him we would both be vocationless! Then, too, consider his philanthropy! and deliberate how insufferable would be our case if you and I, and all our fellow parishioners, were to-day hobnobbing with other beasts in the Garden which we pretend to desiderate on Sundays! To arise with swine and lie down with the hyena?--oh, intolerable!" Thus he ran on, devising reasons for not thinking too harshly of the Devil. Most of it was an abridgement of some verses Jurgen had composed, in the shop when business was slack. "I consider that to be stuff and nonsense," was the monk's glose. "No doubt your notion is sensible," observed the pawnbroker: "but mine is the prettier." Then Jurgen passed the Cistercian Abbey, and was approaching Bellegarde, when he met a black gentleman, who saluted him and said: "Thanks, Jurgen, for your good word." "Who are you, and why do you thank me?" asks Jurgen. "My name is no great matter. But you have a kind heart, Jurgen. May your life be free from care!" "Save us from hurt and harm, friend, but I am already married." "Eh, sirs, and a fine clever poet like you!" "Yet it is a long while now since I was a practising poet." "Why, to be sure! You have the artistic temperament, which is not exactly suited to the restrictions of domestic life. Then I suppose your wife has her own personal opinion about poetry, Jurgen." "Indeed, sir, her opinion would not bear repetition, for I am sure you are unaccustomed to such language." "This is very sad. I am afraid your wife does not quite understand you, Jurgen." "Sir," says Jurgen, astounded, "do you read people's inmost thoughts?" The black gentleman seemed much dejected. He pursed his lips, and fell to counting upon his fingers: as they moved his sharp nails glittered like flame-points. "Now but this is a very deplorable thing," says the black gentleman, "to have befallen the first person I have found ready to speak a kind word for evil. And in all these centuries, too! Dear me, this is a most regrettable instance of mismanagement! No matter, Jurgen, the morning is brighter than the evening. How I will reward you, to be sure!" So Jurgen thanked the simple old creature politely. And when Jurgen reached home his wife was nowhere to be seen. He looked on all sides and questioned everyone, but to no avail. Dame Lisa had vanished in the midst of getting supper ready--suddenly, completely and inexplicably, just as (in Jurgen's figure) a windstorm passes and leaves behind it a tranquillity which seems, by contrast, uncanny. Nothing could explain the mystery, short of magic: and Jurgen on a sudden recollected the black gentleman's queer promise. Jurgen crossed himself. "How unjustly now," says Jurgen, "do some people get an ill name for gratitude! And now do I perceive how wise I am, always to speak pleasantly of everybody, in this world of tale-bearers." Then Jurgen prepared his own supper, went to bed, and slept soundly. "I have implicit confidence," says he, "in Lisa. I have particular confidence in her ability to take care of herself in any surroundings." That was all very well: but time passed, and presently it began to be rumored that Dame Lisa walked on Morven. Her brother, who was a grocer and a member of the town-council, went thither to see about this report. And sure enough, there was Jurgen's wife walking in the twilight and muttering incessantly. "Fie, sister!" says the town-councillor, "this is very unseemly conduct for a married woman, and a thing likely to be talked about." "Follow me!" replied Dame Lisa. And the town-councillor followed her a little way in the dusk, but when she came to Amneran Heath and still went onward, he knew better than to follow. Next evening the elder sister of Dame Lisa went to Morven. This sister had married a notary, and was a shrewd woman. In consequence, she took with her this evening a long wand of peeled willow-wood. And there was Jurgen's wife walking in the twilight and muttering incessantly. "Fie, sister!" says the notary's wife, who was a shrewd woman, "and do you not know that all this while Jurgen does his own sewing, and is once more making eyes at Countess Dorothy?" Dame Lisa shuddered; but she only said, "Follow me!" And the notary's wife followed her to Amneran Heath, and across the heath, to where a cave was. This was a place of abominable repute. A lean hound came to meet them there in the twilight, lolling his tongue: but the notary's wife struck thrice with her wand, and the silent beast left them. And Dame Lisa passed silently into the cave, and her sister turned and went home to her children, weeping. So the next evening Jurgen himself came to Morven, because all his wife's family assured him this was the manly thing to do. Jurgen left the shop in charge of Urien Villemarche, who was a highly efficient clerk. Jurgen followed his wife across Amneran Heath until they reached the cave. Jurgen would willingly have been elsewhere. For the hound squatted upon his haunches, and seemed to grin at Jurgen; and there were other creatures abroad, that flew low in the twilight, keeping close to the ground like owls; but they were larger than owls and were more discomforting. And, moreover, all this was just after sunset upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen. So Jurgen said, a little peevishly: "Lisa, my dear, if you go into the cave I will have to follow you, because it is the manly thing to do. And you know how easily I take cold." The voice of Dame Lisa, now, was thin and wailing, a curiously changed voice. "There is a cross about your neck. You must throw that away." Jurgen was wearing such a cross, through motives of sentiment, because it had once belonged to his dead mother. But now, to pleasure his wife, he removed the trinket, and hung it on a barberry bush; and with the reflection that this was likely to prove a deplorable business, he followed Dame Lisa into the cave. 2. Assumption of a Noted Garment The tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and on, and so came presently to a centaur: and this surprised him not a little, because Jurgen knew that centaurs were imaginary creatures. Certainly they were curious to look at: for here was the body of a fine bay horse, and rising from its shoulders, the sun-burnt body of a young fellow who regarded Jurgen with grave and not unfriendly eyes. The Centaur was lying beside a fire of cedar and juniper wood: near him was a platter containing a liquid with which he was anointing his hoofs. This stuff, as the Centaur rubbed it in with his fingers, turned the appearance of his hoofs to gold. "Hail, friend," says Jurgen, "if you be the work of God." "Your protasis is not good Greek," observed the Centaur, "because in Hellas we did not make such reservations. Besides, it is not so much my origin as my destination which concerns you." "Well, friend, and whither are you going?" "To the garden between dawn and sunrise, Jurgen." "Surely, now, but that is a fine name for a garden! and it is a place I would take joy to be seeing." "Up upon my back, Jurgen, and I will take you thither," says the Centaur, and heaved to his feet. Then said the Centaur, when the pawnbroker hesitated: "Because, as you must understand, there is no other way. For this garden does not exist, and never did exist, in what men humorously called real life; so that of course only imaginary creatures such as I can enter it." "That sounds very reasonable," Jurgen estimated: "but as it happens, I am looking for my wife, whom I suspect to have been carried off by a devil, poor fellow!" And Jurgen began to explain to the Centaur what had befallen. The Centaur laughed. "It may be for that reason I am here. There is, in any event, only one remedy in this matter. Above all devils--and above all gods, they tell me, but certainly above all centaurs--is the power of Koshchei the Deathless, who made things as they are." "It is not always wholesome," Jurgen submitted, "to speak of Koshchei. It seems especially undesirable in a dark place like this." "None the less, I suspect it is to him you must go for justice." "I would prefer not doing that," said Jurgen, with unaffected candor. "You have my sympathy: but there is no question of preference where Koshchei is concerned. Do you think, for example, that I am frowzing in this underground place by my own choice? and knew your name by accident?" Jurgen was frightened, a little. "Well, well! but it is usually the deuce and all, this doing of the manly thing. How, then, can I come to Koshchei?" "Roundabout," says the Centaur. "There is never any other way." "And is the road to this garden roundabout?" "Oh, very much so, inasmuch as it circumvents both destiny and common-sense." "Needs must, then," says Jurgen: "at all events, I am willing to taste any drink once." "You will be chilled, though, traveling as you are. For you and I are going a queer way, in search of justice, over the grave of a dream and through the malice of time. So you had best put on this shirt above your other clothing." "Indeed it is a fine snug shining garment, with curious figures on it. I accept such raiment gladly. And whom shall I be thanking for his kindness, now?" "My name," said the Centaur, "is Nessus." "Well, then, friend Nessus, I am at your service." And in a trice Jurgen was on the Centaur's back, and the two of them had somehow come out of the cave, and were crossing Amneran Heath. So they passed into a wooded place, where the light of sunset yet lingered, rather unaccountably. Now the Centaur went westward. And now about the pawnbroker's shoulders and upon his breast and over his lean arms glittered like a rainbow the many-colored shirt of Nessus. For a while they went through the woods, which were composed of big trees standing a goodish distance from one another, with the Centaur's gilded hoofs rustling and sinking in a thick carpet of dead leaves, all gray and brown, in level stretches that were unbroken by any undergrowth. And then they came to a white roadway that extended due west, and so were done with the woods. Now happened an incredible thing in which Jurgen would never have believed had he not seen it with his own eyes: for now the Centaur went so fast that he gained a little by a little upon the sun, thus causing it to rise in the west a little by a little; and these two sped westward in the glory of a departed sunset. The sun fell full in Jurgen's face as he rode straight toward the west, so that he blinked and closed his eyes, and looked first toward this side, then the other. Thus it was that the country about him, and the persons they were passing, were seen by him in quick bright flashes, like pictures suddenly transmuted into other pictures; and all his memories of this shining highway were, in consequence, always confused and incoherent. He wondered that there seemed to be so many young women along the road to the garden. Here was a slim girl in white teasing a great brown and yellow dog that leaped about her clumsily; here a girl sat in the branches of a twisted and gnarled tree, and back of her was a broad muddied river, copper-colored in the sun; and here shone the fair head of a tall girl on horseback, who seemed to wait for someone: in fine, the girls along the way were numberless, and Jurgen thought he recollected one or two of them. But the Centaur went so swiftly that Jurgen could not be sure. 3. The Garden between Dawn and Sunrise Thus it was that Jurgen and the Centaur came to the garden between dawn and sunrise, entering this place in a fashion which it is not convenient to record. But as they passed over the bridge three fled before them, screaming. And when the life had been trampled out of the small furry bodies which these three had misused, there was none to oppose the Centaur's entry into the garden between dawn and sunrise. This was a wonderful garden: yet nothing therein was strange. Instead, it seemed that everything hereabouts was heart-breakingly familiar and very dear to Jurgen. For he had come to a broad lawn which slanted northward to a well-remembered brook: and multitudinous maples and locust-trees stood here and there, irregularly, and were being played with very lazily by an irresolute west wind, so that foliage seemed to toss and ripple everywhere like green spray: but autumn was at hand, for the locust-trees were dropping a Danaë's shower of small round yellow leaves. Around the garden was an unforgotten circle of blue hills. And this was a place of lucent twilight, unlit by either sun or stars, and with no shadows anywhere in the diffused faint radiancy that revealed this garden, which is not visible to any man except in the brief interval between dawn and sunrise. "Why, but it is Count Emmerick's garden at Storisende," says Jurgen, "where I used to be having such fine times when I was a lad." "I will wager," said Nessus, "that you did not use to walk alone in this garden." "Well, no; there was a girl." "Just so," assented Nessus. "It is a local by-law: and here are those who comply with it." For now had come toward them, walking together in the dawn, a handsome boy and girl. And the girl was incredibly beautiful, because everybody in the garden saw her with the vision of the boy who was with her. "I am Rudolph," said this boy, "and she is Anne." "And are you happy here?" asked Jurgen. "Oh, yes, sir, we are tolerably happy: but Anne's father is very rich, and my mother is poor, so that we cannot be quite happy until I have gone into foreign lands and come back with a great many lakhs of rupees and pieces of eight." "And what will you do with all this money, Rudolph?" "My duty, sir, as I see it. But I inherit defective eyesight." "God speed to you, Rudolph!" said Jurgen, "for many others are in your plight." Then came to Jurgen and the Centaur another boy with the small blue-eyed person in whom he took delight. And this fat and indolent looking boy informed them that he and the girl who was with him were walking in the glaze of the red mustard jar, which Jurgen thought was gibberish: and the fat boy said that he and the girl had decided never to grow any older, which Jurgen said was excellent good sense if only they could manage it. "Oh, I can manage that," said this fat boy, reflectively, "if only I do not find the managing of it uncomfortable." Jurgen for a moment regarded him, and then gravely shook hands. "I feel for you," said Jurgen, "for I perceive that you, too, are a monstrous clever fellow: so life will get the best of you." "But is not cleverness the main thing, sir?" "Time will show you, my lad," says Jurgen, a little sorrowfully. "And God speed to you, for many others are in your plight." And a host of boys and girls did Jurgen see in the garden. And all the faces that Jurgen saw were young and glad and very lovely and quite heart-breakingly confident, as young persons beyond numbering came toward Jurgen and passed him there, in the first glow of dawn: so they all went exulting in the glory of their youth, and foreknowing life to be a puny antagonist from whom one might take very easily anything which one desired. And all passed in couples--"as though they came from the Ark," said Jurgen. But the Centaur said they followed a precedent which was far older than the Ark. "For in this garden," said the Centaur, "each man that ever lived has sojourned for a little while, with no company save his illusions. I must tell you again that in this garden are encountered none but imaginary creatures. And stalwart persons take their hour of recreation here, and go hence unaccompanied, to become aldermen and respected merchants and bishops, and to be admired as captains upon prancing horses, or even as kings upon tall thrones; each in his station thinking not at all of the garden ever any more. But now and then come timid persons, Jurgen, who fear to leave this garden without an escort: so these must need go hence with one or another imaginary creature, to guide them about alleys and by-paths, because imaginary creatures find little nourishment in the public highways, and shun them. Thus must these timid persons skulk about obscurely with their diffident and skittish guides, and they do not ever venture willingly into the thronged places where men get horses and build thrones." "And what becomes of these timid persons, Centaur?" "Why, sometimes they spoil paper, Jurgen, and sometimes they spoil human lives." "Then are these accursed persons," Jurgen considered. "You should know best," replied the Centaur. "Oh, very probably," said Jurgen. "Meanwhile here is one who walks alone in this garden, and I wonder to see the local by-laws thus violated." Now Nessus looked at Jurgen for a while without speaking: and in the eyes of the Centaur was so much of comprehension and compassion that it troubled Jurgen. For somehow it made Jurgen fidget and consider this an unpleasantly personal way of looking at anybody. "Yes, certainly," said the Centaur, "this woman walks alone. But there is no help for her loneliness, since the lad who loved this woman is dead." "Nessus, I am willing to be reasonably sorry about it. Still, is there any need of pulling quite such a portentously long face? After all, a great many other persons have died, off and on: and for anything I can say to the contrary, this particular young fellow may have been no especial loss to anybody." Again the Centaur said, "You should know best." 4. The Dorothy Who Did Not Understand For now had come to Jurgen and the Centaur a gold-haired woman, clothed all in white, and walking alone. She was tall, and lovely and tender to regard: and hers was not the red and white comeliness of many ladies that were famed for beauty, but rather it had the even glow of ivory. Her nose was large and high in the bridge, her flexible mouth was not of the smallest: and yet whatever other persons might have said, to Jurgen this woman's countenance was in all things perfect. Perhaps this was because he never saw her as she was. For certainly the color of her eyes stayed a matter never revealed to him: gray, blue or green, there was no saying: they varied as does the sea; but always these eyes were lovely and friendly and perturbing. Jurgen remembered that: for Jurgen saw this was Count Emmerick's second sister, Dorothy la Désirée, whom Jurgen very long ago (a many years before he met Dame Lisa and set up in business as a pawnbroker) had hymned in innumerable verses as Heart's Desire. "And this is the only woman whom I ever loved," Jurgen remembered, upon a sudden. For people cannot always be thinking of these matters. So he saluted her, with such deference as is due to a countess from a tradesman, and yet with unforgotten tremors waking in his staid body. But the strangest was yet to be seen, for he noted now that this was not a handsome woman in middle life but a young girl. "I do not understand," he said, aloud: "for you are Dorothy. And yet it seems to me that you are not the Countess Dorothy who is Heitman Michael's wife." And the girl tossed her fair head, with that careless lovely gesture which the Countess had forgotten. "Heitman Michael is well enough, for a nobleman, and my brother is at me day and night to marry the man: and certainly Heitman Michael's wife will go in satin and diamonds at half the courts of Christendom, with many lackeys to attend her. But I am not to be thus purchased." "So you told a boy that I remember, very long ago. Yet you married Heitman Michael, for all that, and in the teeth of a number of other fine declarations." "Oh, no, not I," said this Dorothy, wondering. "I never married anybody. And Heitman Michael has never married anybody, either, old as he is. For he is twenty-eight, and looks every day of it! But who are you, friend, that have such curious notions about me?" "That question I will answer, just as though it were put reasonably. For surely you perceive I am Jurgen." "I never knew but one Jurgen. And he is a young man, barely come of age--" Then as she paused in speech, whatever was the matter upon which this girl now meditated, her cheeks were tenderly colored by the thought of it, and in her knowledge of this thing her eyes took infinite joy. And Jurgen understood. He had come back somehow to the Dorothy whom he had loved: but departed, and past overtaking by the fleet hoofs of centaurs, was the boy who had once loved this Dorothy, and who had rhymed of her as his Heart's Desire: and in the garden there was of this boy no trace. Instead, the girl was talking to a staid and paunchy pawnbroker, of forty-and-something. So Jurgen shrugged, and looked toward the Centaur: but Nessus had discreetly wandered away from them, in search of four-leafed clovers. Now the east had grown brighter, and its crimson began to be colored with gold. "Yes, I have heard of this other Jurgen," says the pawnbroker. "Oh, Madame Dorothy, but it was he that loved you!" "No more than I loved him. Through a whole summer have I loved Jurgen." And the knowledge that this girl spoke a wondrous truth was now to Jurgen a joy that was keen as pain. And he stood motionless for a while, scowling and biting his lips. "I wonder how long the poor devil loved you! He also loved for a whole summer, it may be. And yet again, it may be that he loved you all his life. For twenty years and for more than twenty years I have debated the matter: and I am as well informed as when I started." "But, friend, you talk in riddles." "Is not that customary when age talks with youth? For I am an old fellow, in my forties: and you, as I know now, are near eighteen,--or rather, four months short of being eighteen, for it is August. Nay, more, it is the August of a year I had not looked ever to see again; and again Dom Manuel reigns over us, that man of iron whom I saw die so horribly. All this seems very improbable." Then Jurgen meditated for a while. He shrugged. "Well, and what could anybody expect me to do about it? Somehow it has befallen that I, who am but the shadow of what I was, now walk among shadows, and we converse with the thin intonations of dead persons. For, Madame Dorothy, you who are not yet eighteen, in this same garden there was once a boy who loved a girl, with such love as it puzzles me to think of now. I believe that she loved him. Yes, certainly it is a cordial to the tired and battered heart which nowadays pumps blood for me, to think that for a little while, for a whole summer, these two were as brave and comely and clean a pair of sweethearts as the world has known." Thus Jurgen spoke. But his thought was that this was a girl whose equal for loveliness and delight was not to be found between two oceans. Long and long ago that doubtfulness of himself which was closer to him than his skin had fretted Jurgen into believing the Dorothy he had loved was but a piece of his imaginings. But certainly this girl was real. And sweet she was, and innocent she was, and light of heart and feet, beyond the reach of any man's inventiveness. No, Jurgen had not invented her; and it strangely contented him to know as much. "Tell me your story, sir," says she, "for I love all romances." "Ah, my dear child, but I cannot tell you very well of just what happened. As I look back, there is a blinding glory of green woods and lawns and moonlit nights and dance music and unreasonable laughter. I remember her hair and eyes, and the curving and the feel of her red mouth, and once when I was bolder than ordinary--But that is hardly worth raking up at this late day. Well, I see these things in memory as plainly as I now seem to see your face: but I can recollect hardly anything she said. Perhaps, now I think of it, she was not very intelligent, and said nothing worth remembering. But the boy loved her, and was happy, because her lips and heart were his, and he, as the saying is, had plucked a diamond from the world's ring. True, she was a count's daughter and the sister of a count: but in those days the boy quite firmly intended to become a duke or an emperor or something of that sort, so the transient discrepancy did not worry them." "I know. Why, Jurgen is going to be a duke, too," says she, very proudly, "though he did think, a great while ago, before he knew me, of being a cardinal, on account of the robes. But cardinals are not allowed to marry, you see--And I am forgetting your story, too! What happened then?" "They parted in September--with what vows it hardly matters now--and the boy went into Gâtinais, to win his spurs under the old Vidame de Soyecourt. And presently--oh, a good while before Christmas!--came the news that Dorothy la Désirée had married rich Heitman Michael." "But that is what I am called! And as you know, there is a Heitman Michael who is always plaguing me. Is that not strange! for you tell me all this happened a great while ago." "Indeed, the story is very old, and old it was when Methuselah was teething. There is no older and more common story anywhere. As the sequel, it would be heroic to tell you this boy's life was ruined. But I do not think it was. Instead, he had learned all of a sudden that which at twenty-one is heady knowledge. That was the hour which taught him sorrow and rage, and sneering, too, for a redemption. Oh, it was armor that hour brought him, and a humor to use it, because no woman now could hurt him very seriously. No, never any more!" "Ah, the poor boy!" she said, divinely tender, and smiling as a goddess smiles, not quite in mirth. "Well, women, as he knew by experience now, were the pleasantest of playfellows. So he began to play. Rampaging through the world he went in the pride of his youth and in the armor of his hurt. And songs he made for the pleasure of kings, and sword-play he made for the pleasure of men, and a whispering he made for the pleasure of women, in places where renown was, and where he trod boldly, giving pleasure to everybody, in those fine days. But the whispering, and all that followed the whispering, was his best game, and the game he played for the longest while, with many brightly colored playmates who took the game more seriously than he did. And their faith in the game's importance, and in him and his high-sounding nonsense, he very often found amusing: and in their other chattels too he took his natural pleasure. Then, when he had played sufficiently, he held a consultation with divers waning appetites; and he married the handsome daughter of an estimable pawnbroker in a fair line of business. And he lived with his wife very much as two people customarily live together. So, all in all, I would not say his life was ruined." "Why, then, it was," said Dorothy. She stirred uneasily, with an impatient sigh; and you saw that she was vaguely puzzled. "Oh, but somehow I think you are a very horrible old man: and you seem doubly horrible in that glittering queer garment you are wearing." "No woman ever praised a woman's handiwork, and each of you is particularly severe upon her own. But you are interrupting the saga." "I do not see"--and those large bright eyes of which the color was so indeterminable and so dear to Jurgen, seemed even larger now--"but I do not see how there could well be any more." "Still, human hearts survive the benediction of the priest, as you may perceive any day. This man, at least, inherited his father-in-law's business, and found it, quite as he had anticipated, the fittest of vocations for a cashiered poet. And so, I suppose, he was content. Ah, yes; but after a while Heitman Michael returned from foreign parts, along with his lackeys, and plate, and chest upon chest of merchandise, and his fine horses, and his wife. And he who had been her lover could see her now, after so many years, whenever he liked. She was a handsome stranger. That was all. She was rather stupid. She was nothing remarkable, one way or another. This respectable pawnbroker saw that quite plainly: day by day he writhed under the knowledge. Because, as I must tell you, he could not retain composure in her presence, even now. No, he was never able to do that." The girl somewhat condensed her brows over this information. "You mean that he still loved her. Why, but of course!" "My child," says Jurgen, now with a reproving forefinger, "you are an incurable romanticist. The man disliked her and despised her. At any event, he assured himself that he did. Well, even so, this handsome stupid stranger held his eyes, and muddled his thoughts, and put errors into his accounts: and when he touched her hand he did not sleep that night as he was used to sleep. Thus he saw her, day after day. And they whispered that this handsome and stupid stranger had a liking for young men who aided her artfully to deceive her husband: but she never showed any such favor to the respectable pawnbroker. For youth had gone out of him, and it seemed that nothing in particular happened. Well, that was his saga. About her I do not know. And I shall never know! But certainly she got the name of deceiving Heitman Michael with two young men, or with five young men it might be, but never with a respectable pawnbroker." "I think that is an exceedingly cynical and stupid story," observed the girl. "And so I shall be off to look for Jurgen. For he makes love very amusingly," says Dorothy, with the sweetest, loveliest meditative smile that ever was lost to heaven. And a madness came upon Jurgen, there in the garden between dawn and sunrise, and a disbelief in such injustice as now seemed incredible. "No, Heart's Desire," he cried, "I will not let you go. For you are dear and pure and faithful, and all my evil dream, wherein you were a wanton and be-fooled me, was not true. Surely, mine was a dream that can never be true so long as there is any justice upon earth. Why, there is no imaginable God who would permit a boy to be robbed of that which in my evil dream was taken from me!" "And still I cannot understand your talking, about this dream of yours--!" "Why, it seemed to me I had lost the most of myself; and there was left only a brain which played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down pleasant ways. And I could not believe as my fellows believed, nor could I love them, nor could I detect anything in aught they said or did save their exceeding folly: for I had lost their cordial common faith in the importance of what use they made of half-hours and months and years; and because a jill-flirt had opened my eyes so that they saw too much, I had lost faith in the importance of my own actions, too. There was a little time of which the passing might be made endurable; beyond gaped unpredictable darkness: and that was all there was of certainty anywhere. Now tell me, Heart's Desire, but was not that a foolish dream? For these things never happened. Why, it would not be fair if these things ever happened!" And the girl's eyes were wide and puzzled and a little frightened. "I do not understand what you are saying: and there is that about you which troubles me unspeakably. For you call me by the name which none but Jurgen used, and it seems to me that you are Jurgen; and yet you are not Jurgen." "But I am truly Jurgen. And look you, I have done what never any man has done before! For I have won back to that first love whom every man must lose, no matter whom he marries. I have come back again, passing very swiftly over the grave of a dream and through the malice of time, to my Heart's Desire! And how strange it seems that I did not know this thing was inevitable!" "Still, friend, I do not understand you." "Why, but I yawned and fretted in preparation for some great and beautiful adventure which was to befall me by and by, and dazedly I toiled forward. Whereas behind me all the while was the garden between dawn and sunrise, and therein you awaited me! Now assuredly, the life of every man is a quaintly builded tale, in which the right and proper ending comes first. Thereafter time runs forward, not as schoolmen fable in a straight line, but in a vast closed curve, returning to the place of its starting. And it is by a dim foreknowledge of this, by some faint prescience of justice and reparation being given them by and by, that men have heart to live. For I know now that I have always known this thing. What else was living good for unless it brought me back to you?" But the girl shook her small glittering head, very sadly. "I do not understand you, and I fear you. For you talk foolishness and in your face I see the face of Jurgen as one might see the face of a dead man drowned in muddy water." "Yet am I truly Jurgen, and, as it seems to me, for the first time since we were parted. For I am strong and admirable--even I, who sneered and played so long, because I thought myself a thing of no worth at all. That which has been since you and I were young together is as a mist that passes: and I am strong and admirable, and all my being is one vast hunger for you, my dearest, and I will not let you go, for you, and you alone, are my Heart's Desire." Now the girl was looking at him very steadily, with a small puzzled frown, and with her vivid young soft lips a little parted. And all her tender loveliness was glorified by the light of a sky that had turned to dusty palpitating gold. "Ah, but you say that you are strong and admirable: and I can only marvel at such talking. For I see that which all men see." And then Dorothy showed him the little mirror which was attached to the long chain of turquoise matrix about her neck: and Jurgen studied the frightened foolish aged face that he found in the mirror. Thus drearily did sanity return to Jurgen: and his flare of passion died, and the fever and storm and the impetuous whirl of things was ended, and the man was very weary. And in the silence he heard the piping cry of a bird that seemed to seek for what it could not find. "Well, I am answered," said the pawnbroker: "and yet I know that this is not the final answer. Dearer than any hope of heaven was that moment when awed surmises first awoke as to the new strange loveliness which I had seen in the face of Dorothy. It was then I noted the new faint flush suffusing her face from chin to brow so often as my eyes encountered and found new lights in the shining eyes which were no longer entirely frank in meeting mine. Well, let that be, for I do not love Heitman Michael's wife. "It is a grief to remember how we followed love, and found his service lovely. It is bitter to recall the sweetness of those vows which proclaimed her mine eternally,--vows that were broken in their making by prolonged and unforgotten kisses. We used to laugh at Heitman Michael then; we used to laugh at everything. Thus for a while, for a whole summer, we were as brave and comely and clean a pair of sweethearts as the world has known. But let that be, for I do not love Heitman Michael's wife. "Our love was fair but short-lived. There is none that may revive him since the small feet of Dorothy trod out this small love's life. Yet when this life of ours too is over--this parsimonious life which can allow us no more love for anybody,--must we not win back, somehow, to that faith we vowed against eternity? and be content again, in some fair-colored realm? Assuredly I think this thing will happen. Well, but let that be, for I do not love Heitman Michael's wife." "Why, this is excellent hearing," observed Dorothy, "because I see that you are converting your sorrow into the raw stuff of verses. So I shall be off to look for Jurgen, since he makes love quite otherwise and far more amusingly." And again, whatever was the matter upon which this girl now meditated, her cheeks were tenderly colored by the thought of it, and in her knowledge of this thing her eyes took infinite joy. Thus it was for a moment only: for she left Jurgen now, with the friendliest light waving of her hand; and so passed from him, not thinking of this old fellow any longer, as he could see, even in the instant she turned from him. And she went toward the dawn, in search of that young Jurgen whom she, who was perfect in all things, had loved, though only for a little while, not undeservedly. 5. Requirements of Bread and Butter "Nessus," says Jurgen, "and am I so changed? For that Dorothy whom I loved in youth did not know me." "Good and evil keep very exact accounts," replied the Centaur, "and the face of every man is their ledger. Meanwhile the sun rises, it is already another workday: and when the shadows of those two who come to take possession fall full upon the garden, I warn you, there will be astounding changes brought about by the requirements of bread and butter. You have not time to revive old memories by chatting with the others to whom you babbled aforetime in this garden." "Ah, Centaur, in the garden between dawn and sunrise there was never any other save Dorothy la Désirée." The Centaur shrugged. "It may be you forget; it is certain that you underestimate the local population. Some of the transient visitors you have seen, and in addition hereabouts dwell the year round all manner of imaginary creatures. The fairies live just southward, and the gnomes too. To your right is the realm of the Valkyries: the Amazons and the Cynocephali are their allies: all three of these nations are continually at loggerheads with their neighbors, the Baba-Yagas, whom Morfei cooks for, and whose monarch is Oh, a person very dangerous to name. Northward dwell the Lepracauns and the Men of Hunger, whose king is Clobhair. My people, who are ruled by Chiron, live even further to the north. The Sphinx pastures on yonder mountain; and now the Chimæra is old and generally derided, they say that Cerberus visits the Sphinx at twilight, although I was never the person to disseminate scandal--" "Centaur," said Jurgen, "and what is Dorothy doing here?" "Why, all the women that any man has ever loved live here," replied the Centaur, "for very obvious reasons." "That is a hard saying, friend." Nessus tapped with his forefinger upon the back of Jurgen's hand. "Worm's-meat! this is the destined food, do what you will, of small white worms. This by and by will be a struggling pale corruption, like seething milk. That too is a hard saying, Jurgen. But it is a true saying." "And was that Dorothy whom I loved in youth an imaginary creature?" "My poor Jurgen, you who were once a poet! she was your masterpiece. For there was only a shallow, stupid and airy, high-nosed and light-haired miss, with no remarkable good looks,--and consider what your ingenuity made from such poor material! You should be proud of yourself." "No, Centaur, I cannot very well be proud of my folly: yet I do not regret it. I have been befooled by a bright shadow of my own raising, you tell me, and I concede it to be probable. No less, I served a lovely shadow; and my heart will keep the memory of that loveliness until life ends, in a world where other men follow pantingly after shadows which are not even pretty." "There is something in that, Jurgen: there is also something in an old tale we used to tell in Thessaly, about a fox and certain grapes." "Well, but look you, Nessus, there is an emperor that reigns now in Constantinople and occasionally does business with me. Yes, and I could tell you tales of by what shifts he came to the throne--" "Men's hands are by ordinary soiled in climbing," quoth the Centaur. "And 'Jurgen,' this emperor says to me, not many months ago, as he sat in his palace, crowned and dreary and trying to cheat me out of my fair profit on some emeralds,--'Jurgen, I cannot sleep of nights, because of that fool Alexius, who comes into my room with staring eyes and the bowstring still about his neck. And my Varangians must be in league with that silly ghost, because I constantly order them to keep Alexius out of my bedchamber, and they do not obey me, Jurgen. To be King of the East is not to the purpose, Jurgen, when one must submit to such vexations.' Yes, it was Cæsar Pharamond himself said this to me: and I deduce the shadow of a crown has led him into an ugly pickle, for all that he is the mightiest monarch in the world. And I would not change with Cæsar Pharamond, not I who am a respectable pawnbroker, with my home in fee and my bit of tilled land. Well, this is a queer world, to be sure: and this garden is visited by no stranger things than pop into a man's mind sometimes, without his knowing how." "Ah, but you must understand that the garden is speedily to be remodeled. Yonder you may observe the two whose requirements are to rid the place of all fantastic unremunerative notions; and who will develop the natural resources of this garden according to generally approved methods." And from afar Jurgen could see two figures coming out of the east, so tall that their heads rose above the encircling hills and glistened in the rays of a sun which was not yet visible. One was a white pasty-looking giant, with a crusty expression: he walked with the aid of a cane. The other was of a pale yellow color: his face was oily, and he rode on a vast cow that was called Ædhumla. "Make way there, brother, with your staff of life," says the yellow giant, "for there is much to do hereabouts." "Ay, brother, this place must be altered a deal before it meets with our requirements," the other grumbled. "May I be toasted if I know where to begin!" Then as the giants turned dull and harsh faces toward the garden, the sun came above the circle of blue hills, so that the mingled shadows of these two giants fell across the garden. For an instant Jurgen saw the place oppressed by that attenuated mile-long shadow, as in heraldry you may see a black bar painted sheer across some brightly emblazoned shield. Then the radiancy of everything twitched and vanished, as a bubble bursts. And Jurgen was standing in the midst of a field, very neatly plowed, but with nothing as yet growing in it. And the Centaur was with him still, it seemed, for there were the creature's hoofs, but all the gold had been washed or rubbed away from them in traveling with Jurgen. "See, Nessus!" Jurgen cried, "the garden is made desolate. Oh, Nessus, was it fair that so much loveliness should be thus wasted!" "Nay," said the Centaur, "nay!" Long and wailingly he whinneyed, "Nay!" And when Jurgen raised his eyes he saw that his companion was not a centaur, but only a strayed riding-horse. "Were you the animal, then," says Jurgen, "and was it a quite ordinary animal, that conveyed me to the garden between dawn and sunrise?" And Jurgen laughed disconsolately. "At all events, you have clothed me in a curious fine shirt. And, now I look, your bridle is marked with a coronet. So I will return you to the castle at Bellegarde, and it may be that Heitman Michael will reward me." Then Jurgen mounted this horse and rode away from the plowed field wherein nothing grew as yet. As they left the furrows they came to a signboard with writing on it, in a peculiar red and yellow lettering. Jurgen paused to decipher this. "Read me!" was written on the signboard: "read me, and judge if you understand! So you stopped in your journey because I called, scenting something unusual, something droll. Thus, although I am nothing, and even less, there is no one that sees me but lingers here. Stranger, I am a law of the universe. Stranger, render the law what is due the law!" Jurgen felt cheated. "A very foolish signboard, indeed! for how can it be 'a law of the universe', when there is no meaning to it!" says Jurgen. "Why, for any law to be meaningless would not be fair." 6. Showing that Sereda Is Feminine Then, having snapped his fingers at that foolish signboard, Jurgen would have turned easterly, toward Bellegarde: but his horse resisted. The pawnbroker decided to accept this as an omen. "Forward, then!" he said, "in the name of Koshchei." And thereafter Jurgen permitted the horse to choose its own way. Thus Jurgen came through a forest, wherein he saw many things not salutary to notice, to a great stone house like a prison, and he sought shelter there. But he could find nobody about the place, until he came to a large hall, newly swept. This was a depressing apartment, in its chill neat emptiness, for it was unfurnished save for a bare deal table, upon which lay a yardstick and a pair of scales. Above this table hung a wicker cage, containing a blue bird, and another wicker cage containing three white pigeons. And in this hall a woman, no longer young, dressed all in blue, and wearing a white towel by way of head-dress was assorting curiously colored cloths. She had very bright eyes, with wrinkled lids; and now as she looked up at Jurgen her shrunk jaws quivered. "Ah," says she, "I have a visitor. Good day to you, in your glittering shirt. It is a garment I seem to recognize." "Good day, grandmother! I am looking for my wife, whom I suspect to have been carried off by a devil, poor fellow! Now, having lost my way, I have come to pass the night under your roof." "Very good: but few come seeking Mother Sereda of their own accord." Then Jurgen knew with whom he talked: and inwardly he was perturbed, for all the Léshy are unreliable in their dealings. So when he spoke it was very civilly. "And what do you do here, grandmother?" "I bleach. In time I shall bleach that garment you are wearing. For I take the color out of all things. Thus you see these stuffs here, as they are now. Clotho spun the glowing threads, and Lachesis wove them, as you observe, in curious patterns, very marvelous to see: but when I am done with these stuffs there will be no more color or beauty or strangeness anywhere apparent than in so many dishclouts." "Now I perceive," says Jurgen, "that your power and dominion is more great than any other power which is in the world." He made a song of this, in praise of the Léshy and their Days, but more especially in praise of the might of Mother Sereda and of the ruins that have fallen on Wednesday. To Chetverg and Utornik and Subbota he gave their due. Pyatinka and Nedelka also did Jurgen commend for such demolishments as have enregistered their names in the calendar of saints, no less. Ah, but there was none like Mother Sereda: hers was the centre of that power which is the Léshy's. The others did but nibble at temporal things, like furtive mice: she devastated, like a sandstorm, so that there were many dustheaps where Mother Sereda had passed, but nothing else. And so on, and so on. The song was no masterpiece, and would not be bettered by repetition. But it was all untrammeled eulogy, and the old woman beat time to it with her lean hands: and her shrunk jaws quivered, and she nodded her white-wrapped head this way and that way, with a rolling motion, and on her thin lips was a very proud and foolish smile. "That is a good song," says she; "oh, yes, an excellent song! But you report nothing of my sister Pandelis who controls the day of the Moon." "Monday!" says Jurgen: "yes, I neglected Monday, perhaps because she is the oldest of you, but in part because of the exigencies of my rhyme scheme. We must let Pandelis go unhymned. How can I remember everything when I consider the might of Sereda?" "Why, but," says Mother Sereda, "Pandelis may not like it, and she may take holiday from her washing some day to have a word with you. However, I repeat, that is an excellent song. And in return for your praise of me, I will tell you that, if your wife has been carried off by a devil, your affair is one which Koshchei alone can remedy. Assuredly, I think it is to him you must go for justice." "But how may I come to him, grandmother?" "Oh, as to that, it does not matter at all which road you follow. All highways, as the saying is, lead roundabout to Koshchei. The one thing needful is not to stand still. This much I will tell you also for your song's sake, because that was an excellent song, and nobody ever made a song in praise of me before to-day." Now Jurgen wondered to see what a simple old creature was this Mother Sereda, who sat before him shaking and grinning and frail as a dead leaf, with her head wrapped in a common kitchen-towel, and whose power was so enormous. "To think of it," Jurgen reflected, "that the world I inhabit is ordered by beings who are not one-tenth so clever as I am! I have often suspected as much, and it is decidedly unfair. Now let me see if I cannot make something out of being such a monstrous clever fellow." Jurgen said aloud: "I do not wonder that no practising poet ever presumed to make a song of you. You are too majestical. You frighten these rhymesters, who feel themselves to be unworthy of so great a theme. So it remained for you to be appreciated by a pawnbroker, since it is we who handle and observe the treasures of this world after you have handled them." "Do you think so?" says she, more pleased than ever. "Now, may be that was the way of it. But I wonder that you who are so fine a poet should ever have become a pawnbroker." "Well, and indeed, Mother Sereda, your wonder seems to me another wonder: for I can think of no profession better suited to a retired poet. Why, there is the variety of company! for high and low and even the genteel are pressed sometimes for money: then the plowman slouches into my shop, and the duke sends for me privately. So the people I know, and the bits of their lives I pop into, give me a deal to romance about." "Ah, yes, indeed," says Mother Sereda, wisely, "that well may be the case. But I do not hold with romance, myself." "Moreover, sitting in my shop, I wait there quiet-like while tribute comes to me from the ends of earth: everything which men and women have valued anywhere comes sooner or later to me: and jewels and fine knickknacks that were the pride of queens they bring me, and wedding rings, and the baby's cradle with his little tooth marks on the rim of it, and silver coffin-handles, or it may be an old frying-pan, they bring me, but all comes to Jurgen. So that just to sit there in my dark shop quiet-like, and wonder about the history of my belongings and how they were made mine, is poetry, and is the deep and high and ancient thinking of a god who is dozing among what time has left of a dead world, if you understand me, Mother Sereda." "I understand: oho, I understand that which pertains to gods, for a sufficient reason." "And then another thing, you do not need any turn for business: people are glad to get whatever you choose to offer, for they would not come otherwise. So you get the shining and rough-edged coins that you can feel the proud king's head on, with his laurel-wreath like millet seed under your fingers; and you get the flat and greenish coins that are smeared with the titles and the chins and hooked noses of emperors whom nobody remembers or cares about any longer: all just by waiting there quiet-like, and making a favor of it to let customers give you their belongings for a third of what they are worth. And that is easy labor, even for a poet." "I understand: I understand all labor." "And people treat you a deal more civilly than any real need is, because they are ashamed of trafficking with you at all: I dispute if a poet could get such civility shown him in any other profession. And finally, there is the long idleness between business interviews, with nothing to do save sit there quiet-like and think about the queerness of things in general: and that is always rare employment for a poet, even without the tatters of so many lives and homes heaped up about him like spillikins. So that I would say in all, Mother Sereda, there is certainly no profession better suited to an old poet than the profession of pawnbroking." "Certainly, there may be something in what you tell me," observes Mother Sereda. "I know what the Little Gods are, and I know what work is, but I do not think about these other matters, nor about anything else. I bleach." "Ah, and a great deal more I could be saying, too, godmother, but for the fear of wearying you. Nor would I have run on at all about my private affairs were it not that we two are so close related. And kith makes kind, as people say." "But how can you and I be kin?" "Why, heyday, and was I not born upon a Wednesday? That makes you my godmother, does it not?" "I do not know, dearie, I am sure. Nobody ever cared to claim kin with Mother Sereda before this," says she, pathetically. "There can be no doubt, though, on the point, no possible doubt. Sabellius states it plainly. Artemidorus Minor, I grant you, holds the question debatable, but his reasons for doing so are tolerably notorious. Besides, what does all his flimsy sophistry avail against Nicanor's fine chapter on this very subject? Crushing, I consider it. His logic is final and irrefutable. What can anyone say against Sævius Nicanor?--ah, what indeed?" demanded Jurgen. And he wondered if there might not have been perchance some such persons somewhere, after all. Their names, in any event, sounded very plausible to Jurgen. "Ah, dearie, I was never one for learning. It may be as you say." "You say 'it may be', godmother. That embarrasses me, rather, because I was about to ask for my christening gift, which in the press of other matters you overlooked some forty years back. You will readily conceive that your negligence, however unintentional, might possibly give rise to unkindly criticism: and so I felt I ought to mention it, in common fairness to you." "As for that, dearie, ask what you will within the limits of my power. For mine are all the sapphires and turquoises and whatever else in this dusty world is blue; and mine likewise are all the Wednesdays that have ever been or ever will be: and any one of these will I freely give you in return for your fine speeches and your tender heart." "Ah, but, godmother, would it be quite just for you to accord me so much more than is granted to other persons?" "Why, no: but what have I to do with justice? I bleach. Come now, then, do you make a choice! for I can assure you that my sapphires are of the first water, and that many of my oncoming Wednesdays will be well worth seeing." "No, godmother, I never greatly cared for jewelry: and the future is but dressing and undressing, and shaving, and eating, and computing percentage, and so on; the future does not interest me now. So I shall modestly content myself with a second-hand Wednesday, with one that you have used and have no further need of: and it will be a Wednesday in the August of such and such a year." Mother Sereda agreed to this. "But there are certain rules to be observed," says she, "for one must have system." As she spoke, she undid the towel about her head, and she took a blue comb from her white hair: and she showed Jurgen what was engraved on the comb. It frightened Jurgen, a little: but he nodded assent. "First, though," says Mother Sereda, "here is the blue bird. Would you not rather have that, dearie, than your Wednesday? Most people would." "Ah, but, godmother," he replied, "I am Jurgen. No, it is not the blue bird I desire." So Mother Sereda took from the wall the wicker cage containing the three white pigeons: and going before him, with small hunched shoulders, and shuffling her feet along the flagstones, she led the way into a courtyard, where, sure enough, they found a tethered he-goat. Of a dark blue color this beast was, and his eyes were wiser than the eyes of a beast. Then Jurgen set about that which Mother Sereda said was necessary. 7. Of Compromises on a Wednesday So it was that, riding upon a horse whose bridle was marked with a coronet, the pawnbroker returned to a place, and to a moment, which he remembered. It was rather queer to be a fine young fellow again, and to foresee all that was to happen for the next twenty years. As it chanced, the first person he encountered was his mother Azra, whom Coth had loved very greatly but not long. And Jurgen talked with Azra of what clothes he would be likely to need in Gâtinais, and of how often he would write to her. She disparaged the new shirt he was wearing, as was to be expected, since Azra had always preferred to select her son's clothing rather than trust to Jurgen's taste. His new horse she admitted to be a handsome animal; and only hoped he had not stolen it from anybody who would get him into trouble. For Azra, it must be recorded, had never any confidence in her son; and was the only woman, Jurgen felt, who really understood him. And now as his beautiful young mother impartially petted and snapped at him, poor Jurgen thought of that very real dissension and severance which in the oncoming years was to arise between them; and of how she would die without his knowing of her death for two whole months; and of how his life thereafter would be changed, somehow, and the world would become an unstable place in which you could no longer put cordial faith. And he foreknew all the remorse he was to shrug away, after the squandering of so much pride and love. But these things were not yet: and besides, these things were inevitable. "And yet that these things should be inevitable is decidedly not fair," said Jurgen. So it was with all the persons he encountered. The people whom he loved when at his best as a fine young fellow were so very soon, and through petty causes, to become nothing to him, and he himself was to be converted into a commonplace tradesman. And living seemed to Jurgen a wasteful and inequitable process. Then Jurgen left the home of his youth, and rode toward Bellegarde, and tethered his horse upon the heath, and went into the castle. Thus Jurgen came to Dorothy. She was lovely and dear, and yet, by some odd turn, not quite so lovely and dear as the Dorothy he had seen in the garden between dawn and sunrise. And Dorothy, like everybody else, praised Jurgen's wonderful new shirt. "It is designed for such festivals," said Jurgen, modestly--"a little notion of my own. A bit extreme, some persons might consider it, but there is no pleasing everybody. And I like a trifle of color." For there was a masque that night at the castle of Bellegarde: and wildly droll and sad it was to Jurgen to remember what was to befall so many of the participants. Jurgen had not forgotten this Wednesday, this ancient Wednesday upon which Messire de Montors had brought the Confraternity of St. Médard from Brunbelois, to enact a masque of The Birth of Hercules, as the vagabonds were now doing, to hilarious applause. Jurgen remembered it was the day before Bellegarde discovered that Count Emmerick's guest, the Vicomte de Puysange, was in reality the notorious outlaw, Perion de la Forêt. Well, yonder the yet undetected impostor was talking very earnestly with Dame Melicent: and Jurgen knew all that was in store for this pair of lovers. Meanwhile, as Jurgen reflected, the real Vicomte de Puysange was at this moment lying in a delirium, yonder at Benoit's: to-morrow the true Vicomte would be recognized, and within the year the Vicomte would have married Félise de Soyecourt, and later Jurgen would meet her, in the orchard; and Jurgen knew what was to happen then also. And Messire de Montors was watching Dame Melicent, sidewise, while he joked with little Ettarre, who was this night permitted to stay up later than usual, in honor of the masque: and Jurgen knew that this young bishop was to become Pope of Rome, no less; and that the child he joked with was to become the woman for possession of whom Guiron des Rocques and the surly-looking small boy yonder, Maugis d'Aigremont, would contend with each other until the country hereabouts had been devastated, and the castle wherein Jurgen now was had been besieged, and this part of it burned. And wildly droll and sad it was to Jurgen thus to remember all that was going to happen to these persons, and to all the other persons who were frolicking in the shadow of their doom and laughing at this trivial masque. For here--with so much of ruin and failure impending, and with sorrow prepared so soon to smite a many of these revellers in ways foreknown to Jurgen; and with death resistlessly approaching so soon to make an end of almost all this company in some unlovely fashion that Jurgen foreknew exactly,--here laughter seemed unreasonable and ghastly. Why, but Reinault yonder, who laughed so loud, with his cropped head flung back: would Reinault be laughing in quite this manner if he knew the round strong throat he thus exposed was going to be cut like the throat of a calf, while three Burgundians held him? Jurgen knew this thing was to befall Reinault Vinsauf before October was out. So he looked at Reinault's throat, and shudderingly drew in his breath between set teeth. "And he is worth a score of me, this boy!" thought Jurgen: "and it is I who am going to live to be an old fellow, with my bit of land in fee, years after dirt clogs those bright generous eyes, and years after this fine big-hearted boy is wasted! And I shall forget all about him, too. Marion l'Edol, that very pretty girl behind him, is to become a blotched and toothless haunter of alleys, a leering plucker at men's sleeves! And blue-eyed Colin here, with his baby mouth, is to be hanged for that matter of coin-clipping--let me recall, now,--yes, within six years of to-night! Well, but in a way, these people are blessed in lacking foresight. For they laugh, and I cannot laugh, and to me their laughter is more terrible than weeping. Yes, they may be very wise in not glooming over what is inevitable; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time--! And assuredly, living seems to me in everything a wasteful and inequitable process." Thus Jurgen, while the others passed a very pleasant evening. And presently, when the masque was over, Dorothy and Jurgen went out upon the terrace, to the east of Bellegarde, and so came to an unforgotten world of moonlight. They sat upon a bench of carved stone near the balustrade which overlooked the highway: and the boy and the girl gazed wistfully beyond the highway, over luminous valleys and tree-tops. Just so they had sat there, as Jurgen perfectly remembered, when Mother Sereda first used this Wednesday. "My Heart's Desire," says Jurgen, "I am sad to-night. For I am thinking of what life will do to us, and what offal the years will make of you and me." "My own sweetheart," says she, "and do we not know very well what is to happen?" And Dorothy began to talk of all the splendid things that Jurgen was to do, and of the happy life which was to be theirs together. "It is horrible," he said: "for we are more fine than we shall ever be hereafter. We have a splendor for which the world has no employment. It will be wasted. And such wastage is not fair." "But presently you will be so and so," says she: and fondly predicts all manner of noble exploits which, as Jurgen remembered, had once seemed very plausible to him also. Now he had clearer knowledge as to the capacities of the boy of whom he had thought so well. "No, Heart's Desire: no, I shall be quite otherwise." "--and to think how proud I shall be of you! 'But then I always knew it', I shall tell everybody, very condescendingly--" "No, Heart's Desire: for you will not think of me at all." "Ah, sweetheart! and can you really believe that I shall ever care a snap of my fingers for anybody but you?" Then Jurgen laughed a little; for Heitman Michael came now across the lonely terrace, in search of Madame Dorothy: and Jurgen foreknew this was the man to whom within two months of this evening Dorothy was to give her love and all the beauty that was hers, and with whom she was to share the ruinous years which lay ahead. But the girl did not know this, and Dorothy gave a little shrugging gesture. "I have promised to dance with him, and so I must. But the old fellow is a great plague." For Heitman Michael was nearing thirty, and this to Dorothy and Jurgen was an age that bordered upon senility. "Now, by heaven," said Jurgen, "wherever Heitman Michael does his next dancing it will not be hereabouts." Jurgen had decided what he must do. And then Heitman Michael saluted them civilly. "But I fear I must rob you of this fair lady, Master Jurgen," says he. Jurgen remembered that the man had said precisely this a score of years ago; and that Jurgen had mumbled polite regrets, and had stood aside while Heitman Michael bore off Dorothy to dance with him. And this dance had been the beginning of intimacy between Heitman Michael and Dorothy. "Heitman," says Jurgen, "the bereavement which you threaten is very happily spared me, since, as it happens, the next dance is to be mine." "We can but leave it to the lady," says Heitman Michael, laughing. "Not I," says Jurgen. "For I know too well what would come of that. I intend to leave my destiny to no one." "Your conduct, Master Jurgen, is somewhat strange," observed Heitman Michael. "Ah, but I will show you a thing yet stranger. For, look you, there seem to be three of us here on this terrace. Yet I can assure you there are four." "Read me the riddle, my boy, and have done." "The fourth of us, Heitman, is a goddess that wears a speckled garment and has black wings. She can boast of no temples, and no priests cry to her anywhere, because she is the only deity whom no prayers can move or any sacrifices placate. I allude, sir, to the eldest daughter of Nox and Erebus." "You speak of death, I take it." "Your apprehension, Heitman, is nimble. Even so, it is not quick enough, I fear, to forerun the whims of goddesses. Indeed, what person could have foreseen that this implacable lady would have taken such a strong fancy for your company." "Ah, my young bantam," replies Heitman Michael, "it is quite true that she and I are acquainted. I may even boast of having despatched one or two stout warriors to serve her underground. Now, as I divine your meaning, you plan that I should decrease her obligation by sending her a whippersnapper." "My notion, Heitman, is that since this dark goddess is about to leave us, she should not, in common gallantry, be permitted to go hence unaccompanied. I propose, therefore, that we forthwith decide who is to be her escort." Now Heitman Michael had drawn his sword. "You are insane. But you extend an invitation which I have never yet refused." "Heitman," cries Jurgen, in honest gratitude and admiration, "I bear you no ill-will. But it is highly necessary you die to-night, in order that my soul may not perish too many years before my body." With that he too whipped out his sword. So they fought. Now Jurgen was a very acceptable swordsman, but from the start he found in Heitman Michael his master. Jurgen had never reckoned upon that, and he considered it annoying. If Heitman Michael perforated Jurgen the future would be altered, certainly, but not quite as Jurgen had decided it ought to be remodeled. So this unlooked-for complication seemed preposterous, and Jurgen began to be irritated by the suspicion that he was getting himself killed for nothing at all. Meanwhile his unruffled tall antagonist seemed but to play with Jurgen, so that Jurgen was steadily forced back toward the balustrade. And presently Jurgen's sword was twisted from his hand, and sent flashing over the balustrade, into the public highway. "So now, Master Jurgen," says Heitman Michael, "that is the end of your nonsense. Why, no, there is not any occasion to posture like a statue. I do not intend to kill you. Why the devil's name, should I? To do so would only get me an ill name with your parents: and besides it is infinitely more pleasant to dance with this lady, just as I first intended." And he turned gaily toward Madame Dorothy. But Jurgen found this outcome of affairs insufferable. This man was stronger than he, this man was of the sort that takes and uses gallantly all the world's prizes which mere poets can but respectfully admire. All was to do again: Heitman Michael, in his own hateful phrase, would act just as he had first intended, and Jurgen would be brushed aside by the man's brute strength. This man would take away Dorothy, and leave the life of Jurgen to become a business which Jurgen remembered with distaste. It was unfair. So Jurgen snatched out his dagger, and drove it deep into the undefended back of Heitman Michael. Three times young Jurgen stabbed and hacked the burly soldier, just underneath the left ribs. Even in his fury Jurgen remembered to strike on the left side. It was all very quickly done. Heitman Michael's arms jerked upward, and in the moonlight his fingers spread and clutched. He made curious gurgling noises. Then the strength went from his knees, so that he toppled backward. His head fell upon Jurgen's shoulder, resting there for an instant fraternally; and as Jurgen shuddered away from the abhorred contact, the body of Heitman Michael collapsed. Now he lay staring upward, dead at the feet of his murderer. He was horrible looking, but he was quite dead. "What will become of you?" Dorothy whispered, after a while. "Oh, Jurgen, it was foully done, that which you did was infamous! What will become of you, my dear?" "I will take my doom," says Jurgen, "and without whimpering, so that I get justice. But I shall certainly insist upon justice." Then Jurgen raised his face to the bright heavens. "The man was stronger than I and wanted what I wanted. So I have compromised with necessity, in the only way I could make sure of getting that which was requisite to me. I cry for justice to the power that gave him strength and gave me weakness, and gave to each of us his desires. That which I have done, I have done. Now judge!" Then Jurgen tugged and shoved the heavy body of Heitman Michael, until it lay well out of sight, under the bench upon which Jurgen and Dorothy had been sitting. "Rest there, brave sir, until they find you. Come to me now, my Heart's Desire. Good, that is excellent. Here I sit with my true love, upon the body of my enemy. Justice is satisfied, and all is quite as it should be. For you must understand that I have fallen heir to a fine steed, whose bridle is marked with a coronet,--prophetically, I take it,--and upon this steed you will ride pillion with me to Lisuarte. There we will find a priest to marry us. We will go together into Gâtinais. Meanwhile, there is a bit of neglected business to be attended to." And he drew the girl close to him. For Jurgen was afraid of nothing now. And Jurgen thought: "Oh, that I could detain the moment! that I could make some fitting verses to preserve this moment in my own memory! Could I but get into words the odor and the thick softness of this girl's hair as my hands, that are a-quiver in every nerve of them, caress her hair; and get into enduring words the glitter and the cloudy shadowings of her hair in this be-drenching moonlight! For I shall forget all this beauty, or at best I shall remember this moment very dimly." "You have done very wrong--" says Dorothy. Says Jurgen, to himself: "Already the moment passes this miserably happy moment wherein once more life shudders and stands heart-stricken at the height of bliss! it passes, and I know even as I lift this girl's soft face to mine, and mark what faith and submissiveness and expectancy is in her face, that whatever the future holds for us, and whatever of happiness we two may know hereafter, we shall find no instant happier than this, which passes from us irretrievably while I am thinking about it, poor fool, in place of rising to the issue." "--And heaven only knows what will become of you Jurgen--" Says Jurgen, still to himself: "Yes, something must remain to me of all this rapture, though it be only guilt and sorrow: something I mean to wrest from this high moment which was once wasted fruitlessly. Now I am wiser: for I know there is not any memory with less satisfaction in it than the memory of some temptation we resisted. So I will not waste the one real passion I have known, nor leave unfed the one desire which ever caused me for a heart-beat to forget to think about Jurgen's welfare. And thus, whatever happens, I shall not always regret that I did not avail myself of this girl's love before it was taken from me." So Jurgen made such advances as seemed good to him. And he noted, with amusing memories of how much afraid he had once been of shocking his Dorothy's notions of decorum, that she did not repulse him very vigorously. "Here, over a dead body! Oh, Jurgen, this is horrible! Now, Jurgen, remember that somebody may come any minute! And I thought I could trust you! Ah, and is this all the respect you have for me!" This much she said in duty. Meanwhile the eyes of Dorothy were dilated and very tender. "Faith, I take no chances, this second time. And so whatever happens, I shall not always regret that which I left undone." Now upon his lips was laughter, and his arms were about the submissive girl. And in his heart was an unnamable depression and a loneliness, because it seemed to him that this was not the Dorothy whom he had seen in the garden between dawn and sunrise. For in my arms now there is just a very pretty girl who is not over-careful in her dealings with young men, thought Jurgen, as their lips met. Well, all life is a compromise; and a pretty girl is something tangible, at any rate. So he laughed, triumphantly, and prepared for the sequel. But as Jurgen laughed triumphantly, with his arm beneath the head of Dorothy, and with the tender face of Dorothy passive beneath his lips, and with unreasonable wistfulness in his heart, the castle bell tolled midnight. What followed was curious: for as Wednesday passed, the face of Dorothy altered, her flesh roughened under his touch, and her cheeks fell away, and fine lines came about her eyes, and she became the Countess Dorothy whom Jurgen remembered as Heitman Michael's wife. There was no doubt about it, in that be-drenching moonlight: and she was leering at him, and he was touching her everywhere, this horrible lascivious woman, who was certainly quite old enough to know better than to permit such liberties. And her breath was sour and nauseous. Jurgen drew away from her, with a shiver of loathing, and he closed his eyes, to shut away that sensual face. "No," he said; "it would not be fair to what we owe to others. In fact, it would be a very heinous sin. We should weigh such considerations occasionally, madame." Then Jurgen left his temptress, with simple dignity. "I go to search for my dear wife, madame, in a frame of mind which I would strongly advise you to adopt toward your husband." And he went straightway down the terraces of Bellegarde, and turned southward to where his horse was tethered upon Amneran Heath: and Jurgen was feeling very virtuous. 8. Old Toys and a New Shadow Jurgen had behaved with conspicuous nobility, Jurgen reflected: but he had committed himself. "I go in search of my dear wife," he had stated, in the exaltation of virtuous sentiments. And now Jurgen found himself alone in a world of moonlight just where he had last seen his wife. "Well, well," he said, "now that my Wednesday is done with, and I am again a reputable pawnbroker, let us remember the advisability of sometimes doing the manly thing! It was into this cave that Lisa went. So into this cave go I, for the second time, rather than home to my unsympathetic relatives-in-law. Or at least, I think I am going--" "Ay," said a squeaking voice, "this is the time. A ab hur hus!" "High time!" "Oh, more than time!" "Look, the man in the oak!" "Oho, the fire-drake!" Thus many voices screeched and wailed confusedly. But Jurgen, staring about him, could see nobody: and all the tiny voices seemed to come from far overhead, where nothing was visible save the clouds which of a sudden were gathering; for a wind was rising, and already the moon was overcast. Now for a while that noise high in the air became like a wrangling of sparrows, wherein no words were distinguishable. Then said a small shrill voice distinctly: "Note now, sweethearts, how high we pass over the wind-vexed heath, where the gallows' burden creaks and groans swaying to and fro in the night! Now the rain breaks loose as a hawk from the fowler, and grave Queen Holda draws her tresses over the moon's bright shield. Now the bed is made, and the water drawn, and we the bride's maids seek for the lass who will be bride to Sclaug." Said another: "Oh, search for a maid with golden hair, who is perfect, tender and pure, and fit for a king who is old as love, with no trace of love in him. Even now our grinning dusty master wakes from sleep, and his yellow fingers shake to think of her flower-soft lips who comes to-night to his lank embrace and warms the ribs that our eyes have seen. Who will be bride to Sclaug?" And a third said: "The wedding-gown we have brought with us, we that a-questing ride; and a maid will go hence on Phorgemon in Cleopatra's shroud. Hah. Will o'the Wisp will marry the couple--" "No, no! let Brachyotus!" "No, be it Kitt with the candle-stick!" "Eman hetan, a fight, a fight!" "Oho, Tom Tumbler, 'ware of Stadlin!" "Hast thou the marmaritin, Tib?" "A ab hur hus!" "Come, Bembo, come away!" So they all fell to screeching and whistling and wrangling high over Jurgen's head, and Jurgen was not pleased with his surroundings. "For these are the witches of Amneran about some deviltry or another in which I prefer to take no part. I now regret that I flung away a cross in this neighborhood so very recently, and trust the action was understood. If my wife had not made a point of it, and had not positively insisted upon it, I would never have thought of doing such a thing. I intended no reflection upon anybody. Even so, I consider this heath to be unwholesome. And upon the whole, I prefer to seek whatever I may encounter in this cave." So in went Jurgen, for the second time. And the tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and on, and so came to the place where he had found the Centaur. This part of the cave was now vacant. But behind where Nessus had lain in wait for Jurgen was an opening in the cave's wall, and through this opening streamed the light. Jurgen stooped and crawled through the orifice. He stood erect. He caught his breath sharply. Here at his feet was, of all things, a tomb carved with the recumbent effigy of a woman. Now this part of the cave was lighted by lamps upon tall iron stands, so that everything was clearly visible, even to Jurgen, whose eyesight had of late years failed him. This was certainly a low flat tombstone such as Jurgen had seen in many churches: but the tinted effigy thereupon was curious, somehow Jurgen looked more closely. He touched the thing. Then he recoiled, because there is no mistaking the feel of dead flesh. The effigy was not colored stone: it was the body of a dead woman. More unaccountable still, it was the body of Félise de Puysange, whom Jurgen had loved very long ago in Gâtinais, a great many years before he set up in business as a pawnbroker. Very strange it was to Jurgen again to see her face. He had often wondered what had become of this large brown woman; had wondered if he were really the first man for whom she had put a deceit upon her husband; and had wondered what sort of person Madame Félise de Puysange had been in reality. "Two months it was that we played at intimacy, was it not, Félise? You comprehend, my dear, I really remember very little about you. But I recall quite clearly the door left just a-jar, and how as I opened it gently I would see first of all the lamp upon your dressing-table, turned down almost to extinction, and the glowing dust upon its glass shade. Is it not strange that our exceeding wickedness should have resulted in nothing save the memory of dust upon a lamp chimney? Yet you were very handsome, Félise. I dare say I would have liked you if I had ever known you. But when you told me of the child you had lost, and showed me his baby picture, I took a dislike to you. It seemed to me you were betraying that child by dealing over-generously with me: and always between us afterward was his little ghost. Yet I did not at all mind the deceits you put upon your husband. It is true I knew your husband rather intimately--. Well, and they tell me the good Vicomte was vastly pleased by the son you bore him some months after you and I had parted. So there was no great harm done, after all--" Then Jurgen saw there was another woman's body lying like an effigy upon another low flat tomb, and beyond that another, and then still others. And Jurgen whistled. "What, all of them!" he said. "Am I to be confronted with every pound of tender flesh I have embraced? Yes, here is Graine, and Rosamond, and Marcouève, and Elinor. This girl, though, I do not remember at all. And this one is, I think, the little Jewess I purchased from Hassan Bey in Sidon, but how can one be sure? Still, this is certainly Judith, and this is Myrina. I have half a mind to look again for that mole, but I suppose it would be indecorous. Lord, how one's women do add up! There must be several scores of them in all. It is the sort of spectacle that turns a man to serious thinking. Well, but it is a great comfort to reflect that I dealt fairly with every one of them. Several of them treated me most unjustly, too. But that is past and done with: and I bear no malice toward such fickle and short-sighted creatures as could not be contented with one lover, and he the Jurgen that was!" Thereafter, Jurgen, standing among his dead, spread out his arms in an embracing gesture. "Hail to you, ladies, and farewell! for you and I have done with love. Well, love is very pleasant to observe as he advances, overthrowing all ancient memories with laughter. And yet for each gay lover who concedes the lordship of love, and wears intrepidly love's liveries, the end of all is death. Love's sowing is more agreeable than love's harvest: or, let us put it, he allures us into byways leading nowhither, among blossoms which fall before the first rough wind: so at the last, with much excitement and breath and valuable time quite wasted, we find that the end of all is death. Then would it have been more shrewd, dear ladies, to have avoided love? To the contrary, we were unspeakably wise to indulge the high-hearted insanity that love induced; since love alone can lend young people rapture, however transiently, in a world wherein the result of every human endeavor is transient, and the end of all is death." Then Jurgen courteously bowed to his dead loves, and left them, and went forward as the cave stretched. But now the light was behind him, so that Jurgen's shadow, as he came to a sharp turn in the cave, loomed suddenly upon the cave wall, confronting him. This shadow was clear-cut and unarguable. Jurgen regarded it intently. He turned this way, then the other; he looked behind him, raised one hand, shook his head tentatively; then he twisted his head sideways with his chin well lifted, and squinted so as to get a profile view of this shadow. Whatever Jurgen did the shadow repeated, which was natural enough. The odd part was that it in nothing resembled the shadow which ought to attend any man, and this was an uncomfortable discovery to make in loneliness deep under ground. "I do not exactly like this," said Jurgen. "Upon my word, I do not like this at all. It does not seem fair. It is perfectly preposterous. Well"--and here he shrugged,--"well, and what could anybody expect me to do about it? Ah, what indeed! So I shall treat the incident with dignified contempt, and continue my exploration of this cave." 9. The Orthodox Rescue of Guenevere Now the tale tells how the cave narrowed and again turned sharply, so that Jurgen came as through a corridor into quite another sort of underground chamber. Yet this also was a discomfortable place. Here suspended from the roof of the vault was a kettle of quivering red flames. These lighted a very old and villainous looking man in full armor, girded with a sword, and crowned royally: he sat erect upon a throne, motionless, with staring eyes that saw nothing. Back of him Jurgen noted many warriors seated in rows, and all staring at Jurgen with wide-open eyes that saw nothing. The red flaming of the kettle was reflected in all these eyes, and to observe this was not pleasant. Jurgen waited non-committally. Nothing happened. Then Jurgen saw that at this unengaging monarch's feet were three chests. The lids had been ripped from two of them, and these were filled with silver coins. Upon the middle chest, immediately before the king, sat a woman, with her face resting against the knees of the glaring, withered, motionless, old rascal. "And this is a young woman. Obviously! Observe the glint of that thick coil of hair! the rich curve of the neck! Oh, clearly, a tidbit fit to fight for, against any moderate odds!" So ran the thoughts of Jurgen. Bold as a dragon now, he stepped forward and lifted the girl's head. Her eyes were closed. She was, even so, the most beautiful creature Jurgen had ever imagined. "She does not breathe. And yet, unless memory fails me, this is certainly a living woman in my arms. Evidently this is a sleep induced by necromancy. Well, it is not for nothing I have read so many fairy tales. There are orthodoxies to be observed in the awakening of every enchanted princess. And Lisa, wherever she may be, poor dear! is nowhere in this neighborhood, because I hear nobody talking. So I may consider myself at liberty to do the traditional thing by this princess. Indeed, it is the only fair thing for me to do, and justice demands it." In consequence, Jurgen kissed the girl. Her lips parted and softened, and they assumed a not unpleasant sort of submissive ardor. Her eyes, enormous when seen thus closely, had languorously opened, had viewed him without wonder, and then the lids had fallen, about half-way, just as, Jurgen remembered, the eyelids of a woman ought to do when she is being kissed properly. She clung a little, and now she shivered a little, but not with cold: Jurgen perfectly remembered that ecstatic shudder convulsing a woman's body: everything, in fine, was quite as it should be. So Jurgen put an end to the kiss, which, as you may surmise, was a tolerably lengthy affair. His heart was pounding as though determined to burst from his body, and he could feel the blood tingling at his finger-tips. He wondered what in the world had come over him, who was too old for such emotions. Yet, truly, this was the loveliest girl that Jurgen had ever imagined. Fair was she to look on, with her shining gray eyes and small smiling lips, a fairer person might no man boast of having seen. And she regarded Jurgen graciously, with her cheeks flushed by that red flickering overhead, and she was very lovely to observe. She was clothed in a robe of flame-colored silk, and about her neck was a collar of red gold. When she spoke her voice was music. "I knew that you would come," the girl said, happily. "I am very glad that I came," observed Jurgen. "But time presses." "Time sets an admirable example, my dear Princess--" "Oh, messire, but do you not perceive that you have brought life into this horrible place! You have given of this life to me, in the most direct and speedy fashion. But life is very contagious. Already it is spreading by infection." And Jurgen regarded the old king, as the girl indicated. The withered ruffian stayed motionless: but from his nostrils came slow augmenting jets of vapor, as though he were beginning to breathe in a chill place. This was odd, because the cave was not cold. "And all the others too are snorting smoke," says Jurgen. "Upon my word I think this is a delightful place to be leaving." First, though, he unfastened the king's sword-belt, and girded himself therewith, sword, dagger and all. "Now I have arms befitting my fine shirt," says Jurgen. Then the girl showed him a sort of passage way, by which they ascended forty-nine steps roughly hewn in stone, and so came to daylight. At the top of the stairway was an iron trapdoor, and this door at the girl's instruction Jurgen lowered. There was no way of fastening the door from without. "But Thragnar is not to be stopped by bolts or padlocks," the girl said. "Instead, we must straightway mark this door with a cross, since that is a symbol which Thragnar cannot pass." Jurgen's hand had gone instinctively to his throat. Now he shrugged. "My dear young lady, I no longer carry the cross. I must fight Thragnar with other weapons." "Two sticks will serve, laid crosswise--" Jurgen submitted that nothing would be easier than to lift the trapdoor, and thus dislodge the sticks. "They will tumble apart without anyone having to touch them, and then what becomes of your crucifix?" "Why, how quickly you think of everything!" she said, admiringly. "Here is a strip from my sleeve, then. We will tie the twigs together." Jurgen did this, and laid upon the trapdoor a recognizable crucifix. "Still, when anyone raises the trapdoor whatever lies upon it will fall off. Without disparaging the potency of your charm, I cannot but observe that in this case it is peculiarly difficult to handle. Magician or no, I would put heartier faith in a stout padlock." So the girl tore another strip, from the hem of her gown, and then another from her right sleeve, and with these they fastened their cross to the surface of the trapdoor, in such a fashion that the twigs could not be dislodged from beneath. They mounted the fine steed whose bridle was marked with a coronet, the girl riding pillion, and they turned westward, since the girl said this was best. For, as she now told Jurgen, she was Guenevere, the daughter of Gogyrvan, King of Glathion and the Red Islands. So Jurgen told her he was the Duke of Logreus, because he felt it was not appropriate for a pawnbroker to be rescuing princesses: and he swore, too, that he would restore her safely to her father, whatever Thragnar might attempt. And all the story of her nefarious capture and imprisonment by King Thragnar did Dame Guenevere relate to Jurgen, as they rode together through the pleasant May morning. She considered the Troll King could not well molest them. "For now you have his charmed sword, Caliburn, the only weapon with which Thragnar can be slain. Besides, the sign of the cross he cannot pass. He beholds and trembles." "My dear Princess, he has but to push up the trapdoor from beneath, and the cross, being tied to the trapdoor, is promptly moved out of his way. Failing this expedient, he can always come out of the cave by the other opening, through which I entered. If this Thragnar has any intelligence at all and a reasonable amount of tenacity, he will presently be at hand." "Even so, he can do no harm unless we accept a present from him. The difficulty is that he will come in disguise." "Why, then, we will accept gifts from nobody." "There is, moreover, a sign by which you may distinguish Thragnar. For if you deny what he says, he will promptly concede you are in the right. This was the curse put upon him by Miramon Lluagor, for a detection and a hindrance." "By that unhuman trait," says Jurgen, "Thragnar ought to be very easy to distinguish." 10. Pitiful Disguises of Thragnar Next, the tale tells that as Jurgen and the Princess were nearing Gihon, a man came riding toward them, full armed in black, and having a red serpent with an apple in its mouth painted upon his shield. "Sir knight," says he, speaking hollowly from the closed helmet, "you must yield to me that lady." "I think," says Jurgen, civilly, "that you are mistaken." So they fought, and presently, since Caliburn was a resistless weapon, and he who wore the scabbard of Caliburn could not be wounded, Jurgen prevailed; and gave the strange knight so heavy a buffet that the knight fell senseless. "Do you think," says Jurgen, about to unlace his antagonist's helmet, "that this is Thragnar?" "There is no possible way of telling," replied Dame Guenevere: "if it is the Troll King he should have offered you gifts, and when you contradicted him he should have admitted you were right. Instead, he proffered nothing, and to contradiction he answered nothing, so that proves nothing." "But silence is a proverbial form of assent. At all events, we will have a look at him." "But that too will prove nothing, since Thragnar goes about his mischiefs so disguised by enchantments as invariably to resemble somebody else, and not himself at all." "Such dishonest habits introduce an element of uncertainty, I grant you," says Jurgen. "Still, one can rarely err by keeping on the safe side. This person is, in any event, a very ill-bred fellow, with probably immoral intentions. Yes, caution is the main thing, and in justice to ourselves we will keep on the safe side." So without unloosing the helmet, he struck off the strange knight's head, and left him thus. The Princess was now mounted on the horse of their deceased assailant. "Assuredly," says Jurgen then, "a magic sword is a fine thing, and a very necessary equipment, too, for a knight errant of my age." "But you talk as though you were an old man, Messire de Logreus!" "Come now," thinks Jurgen, "this is a princess of rare discrimination. What, after all, is forty-and-something when one is well-preserved? This uncommonly intelligent girl reminds me a little of Marcouève, whom I loved in Artein: besides, she does not look at me as women look at an elderly man. I like this princess, in fact, I adore this princess. I wonder now what would she say if I told her as much?" But Jurgen did not tempt chance that time, for just then they encountered a boy who had frizzed hair and painted cheeks. He walked mincingly, in a curious garb of black bespangled with gold lozenges, and he carried a gilded dung fork. * * * * * Then Jurgen and the Princess came to a black and silver pavilion standing by the roadside. At the door of the pavilion was an apple-tree in blossom: from a branch of this tree was suspended a black hunting-horn, silver-mounted. A woman waited there alone. Before her was a chess-board, with the ebony and silver pieces set ready for a game, and upon the table to her left hand glittered flagons and goblets of silver. Eagerly this woman rose and came toward the travellers. "Oh, my dear Jurgen," says she, "but how fine you look in that new shirt you are wearing! But there was never a man had better taste in dress, as I have always said: and it is long I have waited for you in this pavilion, which belongs to a black gentleman who seems to be a great friend of yours. And he went into Crim Tartary this morning, with some missionaries, by the worst piece of luck, for I know how sorry he will be to miss you, dear. Now, but I am forgetting that you must be very tired and thirsty, my darling, after your travels. So do you and the young lady have a sip of this, and then we will be telling one another of our adventures." For this woman had the appearance of Jurgen's wife, Dame Lisa, and of none other. Jurgen regarded her with two minds. "You certainly seem to be Lisa. But it is a long while since I saw Lisa in such an amiable mood." "You must know," says she, still smiling, "that I have learned to appreciate you since we were separated." "The fiend who stole you from me may possibly have brought about that wonder. None the less, you have met me riding at adventure with a young woman. And you have assaulted neither of us, you have not even raised your voice. No, quite decidedly, here is a miracle beyond the power of any fiend." "Ah, but I have been doing a great deal of thinking, Jurgen dear, as to our difficulties in the past. And it seems to me that you were almost always in the right." Guenevere nudged Jurgen. "Did you note that? This is certainly Thragnar in disguise." "I am beginning to think that at all events it is not Lisa." Then Jurgen magisterially cleared his throat. "Lisa, if you indeed be Lisa, you must understand I am through with you. The plain truth is that you tire me. You talk and talk: no woman breathing equals you at mere volume and continuity of speech: but you say nothing that I have not heard seven hundred and eighty times if not oftener." "You are perfectly right, my dear," says Dame Lisa, piteously. "But then I never pretended to be as clever as you." "Spare me your beguilements, if you please. And besides, I am in love with this princess. Now spare me your recriminations, also, for you have no real right to complain. If you had stayed the person whom I promised the priest to love, I would have continued to think the world of you. But you did nothing of the sort. From a cuddlesome and merry girl, who thought whatever I did was done to perfection, you elected to develop into an uncommonly plain and short-tempered old woman." And Jurgen paused. "Eh?" said he, "and did you not do this?" Dame Lisa answered sadly: "My dear, you are perfectly right, from your way of thinking. However, I could not very well help getting older." "But, oh, dear me!" says Jurgen, "this is astonishingly inadequate impersonation, as any married man would see at once. Well, I made no contract to love any such plain and short-tempered person. I repudiate the claims of any such person, as manifestly unfair. And I pledge undying affection to this high and noble Princess Guenevere, who is the fairest lady that I have ever seen." "You are right," wailed Dame Lisa, "and I was entirely to blame. It was because I loved you, and wanted you to get on in the world and be a credit to my father's line of business, that I nagged you so. But you will never understand the feelings of a wife, nor will you understand that even now I desire your happiness above all else. Here is our wedding-ring, then, Jurgen. I give you back your freedom. And I pray that this princess may make you very happy, my dear. For surely you deserve a princess if ever any man did." Jurgen shook his head. "It is astounding that a demon so much talked about should be so poor an impersonator. It raises the staggering supposition that the majority of married women must go to Heaven. As for your ring, I am not accepting gifts this morning, from anyone. But you understand, I trust, that I am hopelessly enamored of the Princess on account of her beauty." "Oh, and I cannot blame you, my dear. She is the loveliest person I have ever seen." "Hah, Thragnar!" says Jurgen, "I have you now. A woman might, just possibly, have granted her own homeliness: but no woman that ever breathed would have conceded the Princess had a ray of good looks." So with Caliburn he smote, and struck off the head of this thing which foolishly pretended to be Dame Lisa. "Well done! oh, bravely done!" cried Guenevere. "Now the enchantment is dissolved, and Thragnar is slain by my clever champion." "I could wish there were some surer sign of that," said Jurgen. "I would have preferred that the pavilion and the decapitated Troll King had vanished with a peal of thunder and an earthquake and such other phenomena as are customary. Instead, nothing is changed except that the woman who was talking to me a moment since now lies at my feet in a very untidy condition. You conceive, madame, I used to tease her about that twisted little-finger, in the days before we began to squabble: and it annoys me that Thragnar should not have omitted even Lisa's crooked little-finger on her left hand. Yes, such painstaking carefulness worries me. For you conceive also, madame, it would be more or less awkward if I had made an error, and if the appearance were in reality what it seemed to be, because I was pretty trying sometimes. At all events, I have done that which seemed equitable, and I have found no comfort in the doing of it, and I do not like this place." 11. Appearance of the Duke of Logreus So Jurgen brushed from the table the chessmen that were set there in readiness for a game, and he emptied the silver flagons upon the ground. His reasons for not meddling with the horn he explained to the Princess: she shivered, and said that, such being the case, he was certainly very sensible. Then they mounted, and departed from the black and silver pavilion. They came thus without further adventure to Gogyrvan Gawr's city of Cameliard. Now there was shouting and the bells all rang when the people knew their Princess was returned to them: the houses were hung with painted cloths and banners, and trumpets sounded, as Guenevere and Jurgen came to the King in his Hall of Judgment. And this Gogyrvan, that was King of Glathion and Lord of Enisgarth and Camwy and Sargyll, came down from his wide throne, and he embraced first Guenevere, then Jurgen. "And demand of me what you will, Duke of Logreus," said Gogyrvan, when he had heard the champion's name, "and it is yours for the asking. For you have restored to me the best loved daughter that ever was the pride of a high king." "Sir," replied Jurgen, reasonably, "a service rendered so gladly should be its own reward. So I am asking that you do in turn restore to me the Princess Guenevere, in honorable marriage, do you understand, because I am a poor lorn widower, I am tolerably certain, but I am quite certain I love your daughter with my whole heart." Thus Jurgen, whose periods were confused by emotion. "I do not see what the condition of your heart has to do with any such unreasonable request. And you have no good sense to be asking this thing of me when here are the servants of Arthur, that is now King of the Britons, come to ask for my daughter as his wife. That you are Duke of Logreus you tell me, and I concede a duke is all very well: but I expect you in return to concede a king takes precedence, with any man whose daughter is marriageable. But to-morrow or the next day it may be, you and I will talk over your reward more privately. Meanwhile it is very queer and very frightened you are looking, to be the champion who conquered Thragnar." For Jurgen was staring at the great mirror behind the King's throne. In this mirror Jurgen saw the back of Gogyrvan's crowned head, and beyond this, Jurgen saw a queer and frightened looking young fellow, with sleek black hair, and an impudent nose, and wide-open bright brown eyes which were staring hard at Jurgen: and the lad's very red and very heavy lips were parted, so that you saw what fine strong teeth he had: and he wore a glittering shirt with curious figures on it "I was thinking," says Jurgen, and he saw the lad in the mirror was speaking too, "I was thinking that is a remarkable mirror you have there." "It is like any other mirror," replies the King, "in that it shows things as they are. But if you fancy it as your reward, why, take it and welcome." "And are you still talking of rewards!" cries Jurgen. "Why, if that mirror shows things as they are, I have come out of my borrowed Wednesday still twenty-one. Oh, but it was the clever fellow I was, to flatter Mother Sereda so cunningly, and to fool her into such generosity! And I wonder that you who are only a king, with bleared eyes under your crown, and with a drooping belly under all your royal robes, should be talking of rewarding a fine young fellow of twenty-one, for there is nothing you have which I need be wanting now." "Then you will not be plaguing me any more with your nonsense about my daughter: and that is excellent news." "But I have no requirement to be asking your good graces now," said Jurgen, "nor the good will of any man alive that has a handsome daughter or a handsome wife. For now I have the aid of a lad that was very recently made Duke of Logreus: and with his countenance I can look out for myself, and I can get justice done me everywhere, in all the bedchambers of the world." And Jurgen snapped his fingers, and was about to turn away from the King. There was much sunlight in the hall, so that Jurgen in this half-turn confronted his shadow as it lay plain upon the flagstones. And Jurgen looked at it very intently. "Of course," said Jurgen presently, "I only meant in a manner of speaking, sir: and was paraphrasing the splendid if hackneyed passage from Sornatius, with which you are doubtless familiar, in which he goes on to say, so much more beautifully than I could possibly express without quoting him word for word, that all this was spoken jestingly, and without the least intention of offending anybody, oh, anybody whatever, I can assure you, sir." "Very well," said Gogyrvan Gawr: and he smiled, for no reason that was apparent to Jurgen, who was still watching his shadow sidewise. "To-morrow, I repeat, I must talk with you more privately. To-day I am giving a banquet such as was never known in these parts, because my daughter is restored to me, and because my daughter is going to be queen over all the Britons." So said Gogyrvan, that was King of Glathion and Lord of Enisgarth and Camwy and Sargyll: and this was done. And everywhere at the banquet Jurgen heard talk of this King Arthur who was to marry Dame Guenevere, and of the prophecy which Merlin Ambrosius had made as to the young monarch. For Merlin had predicted: "He shall afford succor, and shall tread upon the necks of his enemies: the isles of the ocean shall be subdued by him, and he shall possess the forests of Gaul: the house of Romulus shall fear his rage, and his acts shall be food for the narrators." "Why, then," says Jurgen, to himself, "this monarch reminds me in all things of David of Israel, who was so splendid and famous, and so greedy, in the ancient ages. For to these forests and islands and necks and other possessions, this Arthur Pendragon must be adding my one ewe lamb; and I lack a Nathan to convert him to repentance. Now, but this, to be sure, is a very unfair thing." Then Jurgen looked again into a mirror: and presently the eyes of the lad he found therein began to twinkle. "Have at you, David!" said Jurgen, valorously; "since after all, I see no reason to despair." 12. Excursus of Yolande's Undoing Now Jurgen, self-appointed Duke of Logreus, abode at the court of King Gogyrvan. The month of May passed quickly and pleasantly: but the monstrous shadow which followed Jurgen did not pass. Still, no one noticed it: that was the main thing. For himself, he was not afraid of shadows, and the queerness of this one was not enough to distract his thoughts from Guenevere, nor from his love-making with Guenevere. For these were quiet times in Glathion, now that the war with Rience of Northgalis was satisfactorily ended: and love-making was now everywhere in vogue. By way of diversion, gentlemen hunted and fished and rode a-hawking and amicably slashed and battered one another in tournaments: but their really serious pursuit was lovemaking, after the manner of chivalrous persons, who knew that the King's trumpets would presently be summoning them into less softly furnished fields of action, from one or another of which they would return feet foremost on a bier. So Jurgen sighed and warbled and made eyes with many excellent fighting-men: and the Princess listened with many other ladies whose hearts were not of flint. And Gogyrvan meditated. Now it was the kingly custom of Gogyrvan when his dinner was spread at noontide, not to go to meat until all such as demanded justice from him had been furnished with a champion to redress the wrong. One day as the gaunt old King sat thus in his main hall, upon a seat of green rushes covered with yellow satin, and with a cushion of yellow satin under his elbow, and with his barons ranged about him according to their degrees, a damsel came with a very heart-rending tale of the oppression that was on her. Gogyrvan blinked at her, and nodded. "You are the handsomest woman I have seen in a long while," says he, irrelevantly. "You are a woman I have waited for. Duke Jurgen of Logreus will undertake this adventure." There being no help for it, Jurgen rode off with this Dame Yolande, not very well pleased: but as they rode he jested with her. And so, with much laughter by the way, Yolande conducted him to the Green Castle, of which she had been dispossessed by Graemagog, a most formidable giant. "Now prepare to meet your death, sir knight!" cried Graemagog, laughing horribly, and brandishing his club; "for all knights who come hither I have sworn to slay." "Well, if truth-telling were a sin you would be a very virtuous giant," says Jurgen, and he flourished Thragnar's sword, resistless Caliburn. Then they fought, and Jurgen killed Graemagog. Thus was the Green Castle restored to Dame Yolande, and the maidens who attended her aforetime were duly released from the cellarage. They were now maidens by courtesy only, but so tender is the heart of women that they all wept over Graemagog. Yolande was very grateful, and proffered every manner of reward. "But, no, I will take none of these fine jewels, nor money, nor lands either," says Jurgen. "For Logreus, I must tell you, is a fairly well-to-do duchy, and the killing of giants is by way of being my favorite pastime. He is well paid that is well satisfied. Yet if you must reward me for such a little service, do you swear to do what you can to get me the love of my lady, and that will suffice." Yolande, without any particular enthusiasm, consented to attempt this: and indeed Yolande, at Jurgen's request, made oath upon the Four Evangelists that she would do everything within her power to aid him. "Very well," said Jurgen, "you have sworn, and it is you whom I love." Surprise now made her lovely. Yolande was frankly delighted at the thought of marrying the young Duke of Logreus, and offered to send for a priest at once. "My dear," says Jurgen, "there is no need to bother a priest about our private affairs." She took his meaning, and sighed. "Now I regret," said she, "that I made so solemn an oath. Your trick was unfair." "Oh, not at all," said Jurgen: "and presently you will not regret it. For indeed the game is well worth the candle." "How is that shown, Messire de Logreus?" "Why, by candle-light," says Jurgen,--"naturally." "In that event, we will talk no further of it until this evening." So that evening Yolande sent for him. She was, as Gogyrvan had said, a remarkably handsome woman, sleek and sumptuous and crowned with a wealth of copper-colored hair. To-night she was at her best in a tunic of shimmering blue, with a surcote of gold embroidery, and with gold embroidered pendent sleeves that touched the floor. Thus she was when Jurgen came to her. "Now," says Yolande, frowning, "you may as well come out straightforwardly with what you were hinting at this morning." But first Jurgen looked about the apartment, and it was lighted by a tall gilt stand whereon burned candles. He counted these, and he whistled. "Seven candles! upon my word, sweetheart, you do me great honor, for this is a veritable illumination. To think of it, now, that you should honor me, as people do saints, with seven candles! Well, I am only mortal, but none the less I am Jurgen, and I shall endeavor to repay this sevenfold courtesy without discount." "Oh, Messire de Logreus," cried Dame Yolande, "but what incomprehensible nonsense you talk! You misinterpret matters, for I can assure you I had nothing of that sort in mind. Besides, I do not know what you are talking about." "Indeed, I must warn you that my actions often speak more unmistakably than my words. It is what learned persons term an idiosyncrasy." "--And I certainly do not see how any of the saints can be concerned in this. If you had said the Four Evangelists now--! For we were talking of the Four Evangelists, you remember, this morning--Oh, but how stupid it is of you, Messire de Logreus, to stand there grinning and looking at me in a way that makes me blush!" "Well, that is easily remedied," said Jurgen, as he blew out the candles, "since women do not blush in the dark." "What do you plan, Messire de Logreus?" "Ah, do not be alarmed!" said Jurgen. "I shall deal fairly with you." And in fact Yolande confessed afterward that, considering everything, Messire de Logreus was very generous. Jurgen confessed nothing: and as the room was profoundly dark nobody else can speak with authority as to what happened there. It suffices that the Duke of Logreus and the Lady of the Green Castle parted later on the most friendly terms. "You have undone me, with your games and your candles and your scrupulous returning of courtesies," said Yolande, and yawned, for she was sleepy; "but I fear that I do not hate you as much as I ought to." "No woman ever does," says Jurgen, "at this hour." He called for breakfast, then kissed Yolande--for this, as Jurgen had said, was their hour of parting,--and he rode away from the Green Castle in high spirits. "Why, what a thing it is again to be a fine young fellow!" said Jurgen. "Well, even though her big brown eyes protrude too much--something like a lobster's--she is a splendid woman, that Dame Yolande: and it is a comfort to reflect I have seen justice was done her." Then he rode back to Cameliard, singing with delight in the thought that he was riding toward the Princess Guenevere, whom he loved with his whole heart. 13. Philosophy of Gogyrvan Gawr At Cameliard the young Duke of Logreus spent most of his time in the company of Guenevere, whose father made no objection overtly. Gogyrvan had his promised talk with Jurgen. "I lament that Dame Yolande dealt over-thriftily with you," the King said, first of all: "for I estimated you two would be as spark and tinder, kindling between you an amorous conflagration to burn up all this nonsense about my daughter." "Thrift, sir," said Jurgen, discreetly, "is a proverbial virtue, and fires may not consume true love." "That is the truth," Gogyrvan admitted, "whoever says it." And he sighed. Then for a while he sat in nodding meditation. Tonight the old King wore a disreputably rusty gown of black stuff, with fur about the neck and sleeves of it, and his scant white hair was covered by a very shabby black cap. So he huddled over a small fire in a large stone fireplace carved with shields; beside him was white wine and red, which stayed untasted while Gogyrvan meditated upon things that fretted him. "Now, then!" says Gogyrvan Gawr: "this marriage with the high King of the Britons must go forward, of course. That was settled last year, when Arthur and his devil-mongers, the Lady of the Lake and Merlin Ambrosius, were at some pains to rescue me at Carohaise. I estimate that Arthur's ambassadors, probably the devil-mongers themselves, will come for my daughter before June is out. Meanwhile, you two have youth and love for playthings, and it is spring." "What is the season of the year to me," groaned Jurgen, "when I reflect that within a week or so the lady of my heart will be borne away from me forever? How can I be happy, when all the while I know the long years of misery and vain regret are near at hand?" "You are saying that," observed the King, "in part because you drank too much last night, and in part because you think it is expected of you. For in point of fact, you are as happy as anyone is permitted to be in this world, through the simple reason that you are young. Misery, as you employ the word, I consider to be a poetical trophe: but I can assure you that the moment you are no longer young the years of vain regret will begin, either way." "That is true," said Jurgen, heartily. "How do you know? Now then, put it I were insane enough to marry my daughter to a mere duke, you would grow damnably tired of her: I can assure you of that also, for in disposition Guenevere is her sainted mother all over again. She is nice looking, of course, because in that she takes after my side of the family: but, between ourselves, she is not particularly intelligent, and she will always be making eyes at some man or another. To-day it appears to be your turn to serve as her target, in a fine glittering shirt of which the like was never seen in Glathion. I deplore, but even so I cannot deny, your rights as the champion who rescued her: and I must bid you make the most of that turn." "Meanwhile, it occurs to me, sir, that it is unusual to betroth your daughter to one man, and permit her to go freely with another." "If you insist upon it," said Gogyrvan Gawr, "I can of course lock up the pair of you, in separate dungeons, until the wedding day. Meanwhile, it occurs to me you should be the last commentator to grumble." "Why, I tell you plainly, sir, that critical persons would say you are taking very small care of your daughter's honor." "To that there are several answers," replied the King. "One is that I remember my late wife as tenderly as possible, and I reflect I have only her word for it as to Guenevere's being my daughter. Another is that, though my daughter is a quiet and well-conducted young woman, I never heard King Thragnar was anything of this sort." "Oh, sir," said Jurgen, horrified, "whatever are you hinting!" "All sorts of things, however, happen in caves, things which it is wiser to ignore in sunlight. So I ignore: I ask no questions: my business is to marry my daughter acceptably, and that only. Such discoveries as may be made by her husband afterward are his affair, not mine. This much I might tell you, Messire de Logreus, by way of answer. But the real answer is to bid you consider this: that a woman's honor is concerned with one thing only, and it is a thing with which the honor of a man is not concerned at all." "But now you talk in riddles, King, and I wonder what it is you would have me do." Gogyrvan grinned. "Obviously, I advise you to give thanks you were born a man, because that sturdier sex has so much less need to bother over breakage." "What sort of breakage, sir?" says Jurgen. Gogyrvan told him. Duke Jurgen for the second time looked properly horrified. "Your aphorisms, King, are abominable, and of a sort unlikely to quiet my misery. However, we were speaking of your daughter, and it is she who must be considered rather than I." "Now I perceive that you take my meaning perfectly. Yes, in all matters which concern my daughter I would have you lie like a gentleman." "Well, I am afraid, sir," said Jurgen, after a pause, "that you are a person of somewhat degraded ideals." "Ah, but you are young. Youth can afford ideals, being vigorous enough to stand the hard knocks they earn their possessor. But I am an old fellow cursed with a tender heart and tolerably keen eyes. That combination, Messire de Logreus, is one which very often forces me to jeer out of season, simply because I know myself to be upon the verge of far more untimely tears." Thus Gogyrvan replied. He was silent for a while, and he contemplated the fire. Then he waved a shriveled hand toward the window, and Gogyrvan began to speak, meditatively: "Messire de Logreus, it is night in my city of Cameliard. And somewhere one of those roofs harbors a girl whom we will call Lynette. She has a lover--we will say he is called Sagramor. The names do not matter. Tonight, as I speak with you, Lynette lies motionless in the carved wide bed that formerly was her mother's. She is thinking of Sagramor. The room is dark save where moonlight silvers the diamond-shaped panes of ancient windows. In every corner of the room mysterious quivering suggestions lurk." "Ah, sire," says Jurgen, "you also are a poet!" "Do not interrupt me, then! Lynette, I repeat, is thinking of Sagramor. Again they sit near the lake, under an apple-tree older than Rome. The knotted branches of the tree are upraised as in benediction: and petals--petals, fluttering, drifting, turning,--interminable white petals fall silently in the stillness. Neither speaks: for there is no need. Silently he brushes a petal from the blackness of her hair, and silently he kisses her. The lake is dusky and hard-seeming as jade. Two lonely stars hang low in the green sky. It is droll that the chest of a man is hairy, oh, very droll! And a bird is singing, a silvery needle of sound moves fitfully in the stillness. Surely high Heaven is thus quietly colored and thus strangely lovely. So at least thinks little Lynette, lying motionless like a little mouse, in the carved wide bed wherein Lynette was born." "A very moving touch, that," Jurgen interpolated. "Now, there is another sort of singing: for now the pot-house closes, big shutters bang, feet shuffle, a drunken man hiccoughs in his singing. It is a love-song he is murdering. He sheds inexplicable tears as he lurches nearer and nearer to Lynette's window, and his heart is all magnanimity, for Sagramor is celebrating his latest conquest. Do you not think that this or something very like this is happening to-night in my city of Cameliard, Messire de Logreus?". "It happens momently," said Jurgen, "everywhere. For thus is every woman for a little while, and thus is every man for all time." "That being a dreadful truth," continued Gogyrvan, "you may take it as one of the many reasons why I jeer out of season in order to stave off far more untimely tears. For this thing happens: in my city it happens, and in my castle it happens. King or no, I am powerless to prevent its happening. So I can but shrug and hearten my old blood with a fresh bottle. No less, I regard the young woman, who is quite possibly my daughter, with considerable affection: and it would be salutary for you to remember that circumstance, Messire de Logreus, if ever you are tempted to be candid." Jurgen was horrified. "But with the Princess, sir, it is unthinkable that I should not deal fairly." King Gogyrvan continued to look at Jurgen. Gogyrvan Gawr said nothing, and not a muscle of him moved. "Although of course," said Jurgen, "I would, in simple justice to her, not ever consider volunteering any information likely to cause pain." "Again I perceive," said Gogyrvan, "that you understand me. Yet I did not speak of my daughter only, but of everybody." "How then, sir, would you have me deal with everybody?" "Why, I can but repeat my words," says Gogyrvan, very patiently: "I would have you lie like a gentleman. And now be off with you, for I am going to sleep. I shall not be wide awake again until my daughter is safely married. And that is absolutely all I can do for you." "Do you think this is reputable conduct, King?" "Oh, no!" says Gogyrvan, surprised. "It is what we call philanthropy." 14. Preliminary Tactics of Duke Jurgen So Jurgen abode at court, and was tolerably content for a little while. He loved a princess, the fairest and most perfect of mortal women; and loved her (a circumstance to which he frequently recurred) as never any other man had loved in the world's history: and very shortly he was to stand by and see her married to another. Here was a situation to delight the chivalrous court of Glathion, for every requirement of romance was exactly fulfilled. Now the appearance of Guenevere, whom Jurgen loved with an entire heart, was this:--She was of middling height, with a figure not yet wholly the figure of a woman. She had fine and very thick hair, and the color of it was the yellow of corn floss. When Guenevere undid her hair it was a marvel to Jurgen to note how snugly this hair descended about the small head and slender throat, and then broadened boldly and clothed her with a loose soft foam of pallid gold. For Jurgen delighted in her hair; and with increasing intimacy, loved to draw great strands of it back of his head, crossing them there, and pressing soft handfuls of her perfumed hair against his cheeks as he kissed the Princess. The head of Guenevere, be it repeated, was small: you wondered at the proud free tossing movements of that little head which had to sustain the weight of so much hair. The face of Guenevere was colored tenderly and softly: it made the faces of other women seem the work of a sign-painter, just splotched in anyhow. Gray eyes had Guenevere, veiled by incredibly long black lashes that curved incredibly. Her brows arched rather high above her eyes: that was almost a fault. Her nose was delicate and saucy: her chin was impudence made flesh: and her mouth was a tiny and irresistible temptation. "And so on, and so on! But indeed there is no sense at all in describing this lovely girl as though I were taking an inventory of my shopwindow," said Jurgen. "Analogues are all very well, and they have the unanswerable sanction of custom: none the less, when I proclaim that my adored mistress's hair reminds me of gold I am quite consciously lying. It looks like yellow hair, and nothing else: nor would I willingly venture within ten feet of any woman whose head sprouted with wires, of whatever metal. And to protest that her eyes are as gray and fathomless as the sea is very well also, and the sort of thing which seems expected of me: but imagine how horrific would be puddles of water slopping about in a lady's eye-sockets! If we poets could actually behold the monsters we rhyme of, we would scream and run. Still, I rather like this sirvente." For he was making a sirvente in praise of Guenevere. It was the pleasant custom of Gogyrvan's court that every gentleman must compose verses in honor of the lady of whom he was hopelessly enamored; as well as that in these verses he should address the lady (as one whose name was too sacred to mention) otherwise than did her sponsors. So Duke Jurgen of Logreus duly rhapsodized of his Phyllida. "I borrow for my dear love the appellation of that noted but by much inferior lady who was beloved by Ariphus of Belsize," he explained. "You will remember Poliger suspects she was a princess of the house of Scleroveus: and you of course recall Pisander's masterly summing-up of the probabilities, in his _Heraclea_." "Oh, yes," they said. And the courtiers of Gogyrvan Gawr, like Mother Sereda, were greatly impressed by young Duke Jurgen's erudition. For Jurgen was Duke of Logreus nowadays, with his glittering shirt and the coronet upon his bridle to show for it. Awkwardly this proved to be an earl's coronet, but incongruities are not always inexplicable. "It was Earl Giarmuid's horse. You have doubtless heard of Giarmuid: but to ask that is insulting." "Oh, not at all. It is humor. We perfectly understand your humor, Duke Jurgen." "And a very pretty fighter I found this famous Giarmuid as I traveled westward. And since he killed my steed in the heat of our conversation, I was compelled to take over his horse, after I had given this poor Giarmuid proper interment. Oh, yes, a very pretty fighter, and I had heard much talk of him in Logreus. He was Lord of Ore and Persaunt, you remember, though of course the estate came by his mother's side." "Oh, yes," they said. "You must not think that we of Glathion are quite shut out from the great world. We have heard of all these affairs. And we have also heard fine things of your duchy of Logreus, messire." "Doubtless," said Jurgen; and turned again to his singing. "Lo, for I pray to thee, resistless Love," he descanted, "that thou to-day make cry unto my love, to Phyllida whom I, poor Logreus, love so tenderly, not to deny me love! Asked why, say thou my drink and food is love, in days wherein I think and brood on love, and truly find naught good in aught save love, since Phyllida hath taught me how to love." Here Jurgen groaned with nicely modulated ardor; and he continued: "If she avow such constant hate of love as would ignore my great and constant love, plead thou no more! With listless lore of love woo Death resistlessly, resistless Love, in place of her that saith such scorn of love as lends to Death the lure and grace I love." Thus Jurgen sang melodiously of his Phyllida, and meant thereby (as everybody knew) the Princess Guenevere. Since custom compelled him to deal in analogues, he dealt wholesale. Gems and metals, the blossoms of the field and garden, fires and wounds and sunrises and perfumes, an armory of lethal weapons, ice and a concourse of mythological deities were his starting-point. Then the seas and heavens were dredged of phenomena to be mentioned with disparagement, in comparison with one or another feature of Duke Jurgen's Phyllida. Zoology and history, and generally the remembered contents of his pawnshop, were overhauled and made to furnish targets for depreciation: whereas in dealing with the famous ladies loved by earlier poets, Duke Jurgen was positively insulting, allowing hardly a rag of merit. Still, he was careful to be just: and he allowed that these poor creatures might figure advantageously enough in eyes which had never beheld his Phyllida. And to all this information the lady whom he hymned attended willingly. "She is a princess," reflected Jurgen. "She is quite beautiful. She is young, and whatever her father's opinion, she is reasonably intelligent, as women go. Nobody could ask more. Why, then, am I not out of my head about her? Already she permits a kiss or two when nobody is around, and presently she will permit more. And she thinks I am quite the cleverest person living. Come, Jurgen, man! is there no heart in this spry young body you have regained? Come, let us have a little honest rapture and excitement over this promising situation!" But somehow Jurgen could not manage it. He was interested in what, he knew, was going to happen. Yes, undoubtedly he looked forward to more intimate converse with this beautiful young princess, but it was rather as one anticipates partaking of a favorite dessert. Jurgen felt that a liaison arranged for in this spirit was neither one thing or the other. "If only I could feel like a cold-blooded villain, now, I would at worst be classifiable. But I intend the girl no harm, I am honestly fond of her. I shall talk my best, broaden her ideas, and give her, I flatter myself, considerable pleasure: vulgar prejudices apart, I shall leave her no whit the worse. Why, the dear little thing, not for the ransom of seven emperors would I do her any hurt! And in these matters discretion is everything, simply everything. No, quite decidedly, I am not a cold-blooded villain; and I shall deal fairly with the Princess." Thus Jurgen was disappointed by his own emotions, as he turned them from side to side, and prodded them, and shifted to a fresh viewpoint, only to find it no more favorable than the one relinquished: but he veiled the inadequacy of his emotions with very moving fervors. The tale does not record his conversations with Guenevere: for Jurgen now discoursed plain idiocy, as one purveys sweetmeats to a child in fond astonishment at the pet's appetite. And leisurely Jurgen advanced: there was no hurry, with weeks wherein to accomplish everything: meanwhile this routine work had a familiar pleasantness. For the amateur co-ordinates matters, knowing that one thing axiomatically leads to another. There is no harm at all in respectful allusions to a love that comprehends its hopelessness: it was merely a fact which Jurgen mentioned, and was about to pass on; only Guenevere, in modesty, was forced to disparage her own attractions, as an inadequate cause for so much misery. Common courtesy demanded that Jurgen enter upon a rebuttal. To emphasize one point in this, the orator was forced to take the hand of his audience: but strangers did that every day, with nobody objecting; moreover, the hand was here, not so much seized as displayed by its detainer, as evidence of what he contended. How else was he to prove the Princess of Glathion had the loveliest hand in the world? It was not a matter he could request Guenevere to accept on hearsay: and Jurgen wanted to deal fairly with her. Well, but before relinquishing the loveliest hand in the world a connoisseur will naturally kiss each fingertip: this is merely a tribute to perfection, and has no personal application. Besides, a kiss, wherever deposited, as Jurgen pointed out, is, when you think of it, but a ceremonial, of no intrinsic wrongfulness. The girl demurring against this apothegm--as custom again exacted,--was, still in common fairness, convinced of her error. So now, says Jurgen presently, you see for yourself. Is anything changed between us? Do we not sit here, just as we were before? Why, to be sure! a kiss is now attestedly a quite innocuous performance, with nothing very fearful about it one way or the other. It even has its pleasant side. Thus there is no need to make a pother over kisses or over an arm about you, when it is more comfortable sitting so: how can one reasonably deny to a sincere friend what is accorded to a cousin or an old cloak? It would be nonsense, as Jurgen demonstrated with a very apt citation from Napsacus. Then, sitting so, in the heat of conversation a speaker naturally gesticulates: and a deal of his eloquence is dependent upon his hands. When anyone is talking it is discourteous to interrupt, whereas to lay hold of a gentleman's hand outright, as Jurgen parenthesized, is a little forward. No, he really did not think it would be quite proper for Guenevere to hold his hand. Let us preserve decorum, even in trifles. "Ah, but you know that you are doing wrong!" "I doing wrong! I, who am simply sitting here and talking my poor best in an effort to entertain you! Come now, Princess, but tell me what you mean!" "You should know very well what I mean." "But I protest to you I have not the least notion. How can I possibly know what you mean when you refuse to tell me what you mean?" And since the Princess declined to put into words just what she meant, things stayed as they were, for the while. Thus did Jurgen co-ordinate matters, knowing that one thing axiomatically leads to another. And in short, affairs sped very much as Jurgen had anticipated. Now, by ordinary, Jurgen talked with Guenevere in dimly lighted places. He preferred this, because then he was not bothered by that unaccountable shadow whose presence in sunlight put him out. Nobody ever seemed to notice this preposterous shadow; it was patent, indeed, that nobody could see it save Jurgen: none the less, the thing worried him. So even from the first he remembered Guenevere as a soft voice and a delectable perfume in twilight, as a beauty not clearly visioned. And Gogyrvan's people worried him. The hook-nosed tall old King had been by Jurgen dismissed from thought, as an enigma not important enough to be worth the trouble of solving. Gogyrvan at once seemed to be schooling himself to patience under some private annoyance and to be revolving in his mind some private jest; he was queer, and probably abominable: but to grant the old rascal his due, he was not meddlesome. The people about Gogyrvan, though, were perplexing. These men who considered that all you possessed was loaned you to devote to the service of your God, your King and every woman who crossed your path, could hardly be behaving rationally. To talk of serving God sounded as sonorously and as inspiritingly as a drum: yes, and a drum had nothing but air in it. The priests said so-and-so: but did anybody believe the gallant Bishop of Merion, for example, was always to be depended upon? "I would like the opinion of Prince Evrawc's wife as to that," said Jurgen, with a grin. For it was well-known that all affairs between this Dame Alundyne and the Bishop were so discreetly managed as to afford no reason for any scandal whatever. As for serving the King, there in plain view was Gogyrvan Gawr, for anyone who so elected, to regard and grow enthusiastic over: Gogyrvan might be shrewd enough, but to Jurgen he suggested very little of the Lord's anointed. To the contrary, he reminded you of Jurgen's brother-in-law, the grocer, without being graced by the tradesman's friendly interest in customers. Gogyrvan Gawr was a person whom Jurgen simply could not imagine any intelligent Deity selecting as steward. And finally, when it came to serving women, what sort of service did women most cordially appreciate? Jurgen had his answer pat enough, but it was an answer not suitable for utterance in a mixed company. "No one of my honest opinions, in fact, is adapted to further my popularity in Glathion, because I am a monstrous clever fellow who does justice to things as they are. Therefore I must remember always, in justice to myself, that I very probably hold traffic with madmen. Yet Rome was a fine town, and it was geese who saved it. These people may be right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time--! Yes, that is how I feel about it." Thus did Jurgen abide at the chivalrous court of Glathion, and conform to all its customs. In the matter of love-songs nobody protested more movingly that the lady whom he loved (quite hopelessly, of course), embodied all divine perfections: and when it came to knightly service, the possession of Caliburn made the despatching of thieves and giants and dragons seem hardly sportsmanlike. Still, Jurgen fought a little, now and then, in order to conform to the customs of Glathion: and the Duke of Logreus was widely praised as a very promising young knight. And all the while he fretted because he could just dimly perceive that ideal which was served in Glathion, and the beauty of this ideal, but could not possibly believe in it. Here was, again, a loveliness perceived in twilight, a beauty not clearly visioned. "Yet am not I a monstrous clever fellow," he would console himself, "to take them all in so completely? It is a joke to which, I think, I do full justice." So Jurgen abode among these persons to whom life was a high-hearted journeying homeward. God the Father awaited you there, ready to punish at need, but eager to forgive, after the manner of all fathers: that one became a little soiled in traveling, and sometimes blundered into the wrong lane, was a matter which fathers understood: meanwhile here was an ever-present reminder of His perfection incarnated in woman, the finest and the noblest of His creations. Thus was every woman a symbol to be honored magnanimously and reverently. So said they all. "Why, but to be sure!" assented Jurgen. And in support of his position he very edifyingly quoted Ophelion, and Fabianus Papirius, and Sextius Niger to boot. 15. Of Compromises in Glathion The tale records that it was not a great while before, in simple justice to Guenevere, Duke Jurgen had afforded her the advantage of frank conversation in actual privacy. For conventions have to be regarded, of course. Thus the time of a princess is not her own, and at any hour of day all sorts of people are apt to request an audience just when some most improving conversation is progressing famously: but the Hall of Judgment stood vacant and unguarded at night. "But I would never consider doing such a thing," said Guenevere: "and whatever must you think of me, to make such a proposal!" "That too, my dearest, is a matter which I can only explain in private." "And if I were to report your insolence to my father--" "You would annoy him exceedingly: and from such griefs it is our duty to shield the aged." "And besides, I am afraid." "Oh, my dearest," says Jurgen, and his voice quavered, because his love and his sorrow seemed very great to him: "but, oh, my dearest, can it be that you have not faith in me! For with all my body and soul I love you, as I have loved you ever since I first raised your face between my hands, and understood that I had never before known beauty. Indeed, I love you as, I think, no man has ever loved any woman that lived in the long time that is gone, for my love is worship, and no less. The touch of your hand sets me to trembling, dear; and the look of your gray eyes makes me forget there is anything of pain or grief or evil anywhere: for you are the loveliest thing God ever made, with joy in the new skill that had come to His fingers. And you have not faith in me!" Then the Princess gave a little sobbing laugh of content and repentance, and she clasped the hand of her grief-stricken lover. "Forgive me, Jurgen, for I cannot bear to see you so unhappy!" "Ah, and what is my grief to you!" he asks of her, bitterly. "Much, oh, very much, my dear!" she whispered. So in the upshot Jurgen was never to forget that moment wherein he waited behind the door, and through the crack between the half-open door and the door-frame saw Guenevere approach irresolutely, a wavering white blur in the dark corridor. She came to talk with him where they would not be bothered with interruptions: but she came delightfully perfumed, in her night-shift, and in nothing else. Jurgen wondered at the way of these women even as his arms went about her in the gloom. He remembered always the feel of that warm and slender and yielding body, naked under the thin fabric of the shift, as his arms first went about her: of all their moments together that last breathless minute before either of them had spoken stayed in his memory as the most perfect. And yet what followed was pleasant enough, for now it was to the wide and softly cushioned throne of a king, no less, that Guenevere and Jurgen resorted, so as to talk where they would not be bothered with interruptions. The throne of Gogyrvan was perfectly dark, under its canopy, in the unlighted hall, and in the dark nobody can see what happens. Thereafter these two contrived to talk together nightly upon the throne of Glathion: but what remained in Jurgen's memory was that last moment behind the door, and the six tall windows upon the east side of the hall, those windows which were of commingled blue and silver, but were all an opulent glitter, throughout that time in the night when the moon was clear of the tree-tops and had not yet risen high enough to be shut off by the eaves. For that was all which Jurgen really saw in the Hall of Judgment. There would be a brief period wherein upon the floor beneath each window would show a narrow quadrangle of moonlight: but the windows were set in a wall so deep that this soon passed. On the west side were six windows also, but about these was a porch; so no light ever came from the west. Thus in the dark they would laugh and talk with lowered voices. Jurgen came to these encounters well primed with wine, and in consequence, as he quite comprehended, talked like an angel, without confining himself exclusively to celestial topics. He was often delighted by his own brilliance, and it seemed to him a pity there was no one handy to take it down: so much of his talking was necessarily just a little over the head of any girl, however beautiful and adorable. And Guenevere, he found, talked infinitely better at night. It was not altogether the wine which made him think that, either: the girl displayed a side she veiled in the day time. A girl, far less a princess, is not supposed to know more than agrees with a man's notion of maidenly ignorance, she contended. "Nobody ever told me anything about so many interesting matters. Why, I remember--" And Guenevere narrated a quaintly pathetic little story, here irrelevant, of what had befallen her some three or four years earlier. "My mother was living then: but she had never said a word about such things, and frightened as I was, I did not go to her." Jurgen asked questions. "Why, yes. There was nothing else to do. I cannot talk freely with my maids and ladies even now. I cannot question them, that is: of course I can listen as they talk among themselves. For me to do more would be unbecoming in a princess. And I wonder quietly about so many things!" She educed instances. "After that I used to notice the animals and the poultry. So I worked out problems for myself, after a fashion. But nobody ever told me anything directly." "Yet I dare say that Thragnar--well, the Troll King, being very wise, must have made zoology much clearer." "Thragnar was a skilled enchanter," says a demure voice in the dark; "and through the potency of his abominable arts, I can remember nothing whatever about Thragnar." Jurgen laughed, ruefully. Still, he was tolerably sure about Thragnar now. So they talked: and Jurgen marvelled, as millions of men had done aforetime, and have done since, at the girl's eagerness, now that barriers were down, to discuss in considerable detail all such matters as etiquette had previously compelled them to ignore. About her ladies in waiting, for example, she afforded him some very curious data: and concerning men in general she asked innumerable questions that Jurgen found delicious. Such innocence combined--upon the whole--with a certain moral obtuseness, seemed inconceivable. For to Jurgen it now appeared that Guenevere was behaving with not quite the decorum which might fairly be expected of a princess. Contrition, at least, one might have looked for, over this hole and corner business: whereas it worried him to note that Guenevere was coming to accept affairs almost as a matter of course. Certainly she did not seem to think at all of any wickedness anywhere: the utmost she suggested was the necessity of being very careful. And while she never contradicted him in these private conversations, and submitted in everything to his judgment, her motive now appeared to be hardly more than a wish to please him. It was almost as though she were humoring him in his foolishness. And all this within six weeks! reflected Jurgen: and he nibbled his finger-nails, with a mental side-glance toward the opinions of King Gogyrvan Gawr. But in daylight the Princess remained unchanged. In daylight Jurgen adored her, but with no feeling of intimacy. Very rarely did occasion serve for them to be actually alone in the day time. Once or twice, though, he kissed her in open sunlight: and then her eyes were melting but wary, and the whole affair was rather flat. She did not repulse him: but she stayed a princess, appreciative of her station, and seemed not at all the invisible person who talked with him at night in the Hall of Judgment. Presently, by common consent, they began to avoid each other by daylight. Indeed, the time of the Princess was now pre-occupied: for now had come into Glathion a ship with saffron colored sails, and having for its figure-head a dragon that was painted with thirty colors. Such was the ship which brought Messire Merlin Ambrosius and Dame Anaïtis, the Lady of the Lake, with a great retinue, to fetch young Guenevere to London, where she was to be married to King Arthur. First there was a week of feasting and tourneys and high mirth of every kind. Now the trumpets blared, and upon a scaffolding that was gay with pennons and smart tapestries King Gogyrvan sat nodding and blinking in his brightest raiment, to judge who did the best: and into the field came joyously a press of dukes and earls and barons and many famous knights, to contend for honor and a trumpery chaplet of pearls. Jurgen shrugged, and honored custom. The Duke of Logreus acquitted himself with credit in the opening tournament, unhorsing Sir Dodinas le Sauvage, Earl Roth of Meliot, Sir Epinogris, and Sir Hector de Maris: then Earl Damas of Listenise smote like a whirlwind, and Jurgen slid contentedly down the tail of his fine horse. His part in the tournament was ended, and he was heartily glad of it. He preferred to contemplate rather than share in such festivities: and he now followed his bent with a most exquisite misery, because he considered that never had any other poet occupied a situation more picturesque. By day he was the Duke of Logreus, which in itself was a notable advance upon pawnbroking: after nightfall he discounted the peculiar privileges of a king. It was the secrecy, the deluding of everybody, which he especially enjoyed: and in the thought of what a monstrous clever fellow was Jurgen, he almost lost sight of the fact that he was miserable over the impending marriage of the lady he loved. Once or twice he caught the tail-end of a glance from Gogyrvan's bright old eye. Jurgen by this time abhorred Gogyrvan, as a person of abominably unjust dealings. "To take no better care of his own daughter," Jurgen considered, "is infamous. The man is neglecting his duties as a father, and to do that is not fair." 16. Divers Imbroglios of King Smoit Now it befell that for three nights in succession the Princess Guenevere was unable to converse with Jurgen in the Hall of Judgment. So upon one of these disengaged evenings Duke Jurgen held a carouse with Aribert and Urien, two of Gogyrvan's barons, who had just returned from Pengwaed-Gir, and had queer tales to narrate of the Trooping Fairies who garrison that place. All three were seasoned topers, so Jurgen went to bed prepared for anything. Later he sat up in bed, and found it was much as he had suspected. The room was haunted, and at the foot of his couch were two ghosts: one an impudent-looking leering phantom, in a suit of old-fashioned armor, and the other a beautiful pale lady, in the customary flowing white draperies. "Good-morning to you both," says Jurgen, "and sorry am I that I cannot truthfully observe I am glad to see you. Though you are welcome enough if you can manage to haunt the room quietly." Then, seeing that both phantoms looked puzzled, Jurgen proceeded to explain. "Last year, when I was traveling upon business in Westphalia, it was my grief to spend a night in the haunted castle of Neuedesberg, for I could not get any sleep at all in that place. There was a ghost in charge who persisted in rattling very large iron chains and in groaning dismally throughout the night. Then toward morning he took the form of a monstrous cat, and climbed upon the foot of my bed: and there he squatted yowling until daybreak. And as I am ignorant of German, I was not able to convey to him any idea of my disapproval of his conduct. Now I trust that as compatriots, or as I might say with more exactness, as former compatriots, you will appreciate that such behavior is out of all reason." "Messire," says the male ghost, and he oozed to his full height, "you are guilty of impertinence in harboring such a suspicion. I can only hope it proceeds from ignorance." "For I am sure," put in the lady, "that I always disliked cats, and we never had them about the castle." "And you must pardon my frankness, messire," continued the male ghost, "but you cannot have moved widely in noble company if you are indeed unable to distinguish between members of the feline species and of the reigning family of Glathion." "Well, I have seen dowager queens who justified some such confusion," observed Jurgen. "Still, I entreat the forgiveness of both of you, for I had no idea that I was addressing royalty." "I was King Smoit," explained the male phantom, "and this was my ninth wife, Queen Sylvia Tereu." Jurgen bowed as gracefully, he flattered himself, as was possible in his circumstances. It is not easy to bow gracefully while sitting erect in bed. "Often and over again have I heard of you, King Smoit," says Jurgen. "You were the grandfather of Gogyrvan Gawr, and you murdered your ninth wife, and your eighth wife, and your fifth wife, and your third wife too: and you went under the title of the Black King, for you were reputed the wickedest monarch that ever reigned in Glathion and the Red Islands." It seemed to Jurgen that King Smoit evinced embarrassment, but it is hard to be quite certain when a ghost is blushing. "Perhaps I was spoken of in some such terms," says Smoit, "for the neighbors were censorious gossips, and I was not lucky in my marriages. And I regret, I bitterly regret, to confess that, in a moment of extreme yet not quite unprovoked excitement, I assassinated the lady whom you now behold." "And I am sure, through no fault of mine," says Sylvia Tereu. "Certainly, my dear, you resisted with all your might. I only wish that you had been a larger and a brawnier woman. But you, messire, can now perceive, I suppose, the folly of expecting a high King of Glathion, and the queen that he took delight in, to sit upon your bed and howl?" So then, upon reflection, Jurgen admitted he had never had that experience; nor, he handsomely added, could he recall any similar incident among his friends. "The notion is certainly preposterous," went on King Smoit, and very grimly he smiled. "We are drawn hither by quite other intentions. In fact, we wish to ask of you, as a member of the family, your assistance in a delicate affair." "I would be delighted," Jurgen stated, "to aid you in any possible way. But why do you call me a member of the family?" "Now, to deal frankly," says Smoit, with a grin, "I am not claiming any alliance with the Duke of Logreus--" "Sometimes," says Jurgen, "one prefers to travel incognito. As a king, you ought to understand that." --"My interest is rather in the grandson of Steinvor. Now you will remember your grandmother Steinvor as, I do not doubt, a charming old lady. But I remember Steinvor, the wife of Ludwig, as one of the loveliest girls that a king's eyes ever lighted on." "Oh, sir," says Jurgen, horrified, "and what is this you are telling me!" "Merely that I had always an affectionate nature," replied King Smoit, "and that I was a fine upstanding young king in those days. And one of the results of my being these things was your father, whom men called Coth the son of Ludwig. But I can assure you Ludwig had done nothing to deserve it." "Well, well!" said Jurgen: "all this is very scandalous: and very upsetting, too, it is to have a brand-new grandfather foisted upon you at this hour of the morning. Still, it happened a great while ago: and if Ludwig did not fret over it, I see no reason why I should do so. And besides, King Smoit, it may be that you are not telling me the truth." "If you doubt my confession, messire my grandson, you have only to look into the next mirror. It is precisely on this account that we have ventured to dispel your slumbers. For to me you bear a striking resemblance. You have the family face." Now Jurgen considered the lineaments of King Smoit of Glathion. "Really," said Jurgen, "of course it is very flattering to be told that your appearance is regal. I do not at all know what to say in reply to the implied compliment, without seeming uncivil. I would never for a moment question that you were much admired in your day, sir, and no doubt very justly so. None the less--well, my nose, now, from such glimpses of it as mirrors have hitherto afforded, does not appear to be a snub-nose." "Ah, but appearances are proverbially deceitful," observed King Smoit. "And about the left hand corner," protested Queen Sylvia Tereu, "I detect a distinct resemblance." "Now I may seem unduly obtuse," said Jurgen, "for I am a little obtuse. It is a habit with me, a very bad habit formed in early infancy, and I have never been able to break myself of it. And so I have not any notion at what you two are aiming." Replied the ghost of King Smoit: "I will explain. Just sixty-three years ago to-night I murdered my ninth wife in circumstances of peculiar brutality, as you with rather questionable taste have mentioned." Then Jurgen was somewhat abashed, and felt that it did not become him, who had so recently cut off the head of his own wife, to assume the airs of a precisian. "Of course," says Jurgen, more broad-mindedly, "these little family differences are always apt to occur in married life." "So be it! Though, by the so-and-sos of Ursula's eleven thousand traveling companions, there was a time wherein I would not have brooked such criticism. Ah, well, that time is overpast, and I am a bloodless thing that the wind sweeps at the wind's will through lands in which but yesterday King Smoit was dreaded. So I let that which has been be." "Well, that seems reasonable," said Jurgen, "and to be a trifle rhetorical is the privilege of grandfathers. Therefore I entreat you, sir, to continue." "Two years afterward I followed the Emperor Locrine in his expedition against the Suevetii, an evil and luxurious people who worship Gozarin peculiarly, by means of little boats. I must tell you, grandson, that was a goodly raid, conducted by a band of tidy fighters in a land of wealth and of fine women. But alack, as the saying is, in our return from Osnach my loved general Locrine was captured by that arch-fiend Duke Corineus of Cornwall: and I, among many others who had followed the Emperor, paid for our merry larcenies and throat-cuttings a very bitter price. Corineus was not at all broadminded, not what you would call a man of the world. So it was in a noisome dungeon that I was incarcerated,--I, Smoit of Glathion, who conquered Enisgarth and Sargyll in open battle and fearlessly married the heiress of Camwy! But I spare you the unpleasant details. It suffices to say that I was dissatisfied with my quarters. Yet fain to leave them as I became, there was but one way. It involved the slaying of my gaoler, a step which was, I confess, to me distasteful. I was getting on in life, and had grown tired of killing people. Yet, to mature deliberation, the life of a graceless varlet, void of all gentleness and with no bowels of compassion, and deaf to suggestions of bribery, appeared of no overwhelming importance." "I can readily imagine, grandfather, that you were not deeply interested in either the nature or the anatomy of your gaoler. So you did what was unavoidable." "Yes, I treacherously slew him, and escaped in an impenetrable disguise to Glathion, where not long afterward I died. My dying just then was most annoying, for I was on the point of being married, and she was a remarkably attractive girl,--King Tyrnog's daughter, from Craintnor way. She would have been my thirteenth wife. And not a week before the ceremony I tripped and fell down my own castle steps, and broke my neck. It was a humiliating end for one who had been a warrior of considerable repute. Upon my word, it made me think there might be something, after all, in those old superstitions about thirteen being an unlucky number. But what was I saying?--oh, yes! It is also unlucky to be careless about one's murders. You will readily understand that for one or two such affairs I am condemned yearly to haunt the scene of my crime on its anniversary: such an arrangement is fair enough, and I make no complaint, though of course it does rather break into the evening. But it happened that I treacherously slew my gaoler with a large cobble-stone on the fifteenth of June. Now the unfortunate part, the really awkward feature, was that this was to an hour the anniversary of the death of my ninth wife." "And you murdering insignificant strangers on such a day!" said Queen Sylvia. "You climbing out of jail windows figged out as a lady abbess, on an anniversary you ought to have kept on your knees in unavailing repentance! But you were a hard man, Smoit, and it was little loving courtesy you showed your wife at a time when she might reasonably look to be remembered, and that is a fact." "My dear, I admit it was heedless of me. I could not possibly say more. At any rate, grandson, I discovered after my decease that such heedlessness entailed my haunting on every fifteenth of June at three in the morning two separate places." "Well, but that was justice," says Jurgen. "It may have been justice," Smoit admitted: "but my point is that it happened to be impossible. However, I was aided by my great-great-grandfather Penpingon Vreichvras ap Mylwald Glasanief. He too had the family face; and in every way resembled me so closely that he impersonated me to everyone's entire satisfaction; and with my wife's assistance re-enacted my disastrous crime upon the scene of its occurrence, June after June." "Indeed," said Queen Sylvia, "he handled his sword infinitely better than you, my dear. It was a thrilling pleasure to be murdered by Penpingon Vreichvras ap Mylwald Glasanief, and I shall always regret him." "For you must understand, grandson, that the term of King Penpingon Vreichvras ap Mylwald Glasanief's stay in Purgatory has now run out, and he has recently gone to Heaven. That was pleasant for him, I dare say, so I do not complain. Still, it leaves me with no one to take my place. Angels, as you will readily understand, are not permitted to perpetrate murders, even in the way of kindness. It might be thought to establish a dangerous precedent." "All this," said Jurgen, "seems regrettable, but not strikingly explicit. I have a heart and a half to serve you, sir, with not seven-eighths of a notion as to what you want of me. Come, put a name to it!" "You have, as I have said, the family face. You are, in fact, the living counterpart of Smoit of Glathion. So I beseech you, messire my grandson, for this one night to impersonate my ghost, and with the assistance of Queen Sylvia Tereu to see that at three o'clock the White Turret is haunted to everyone's satisfaction. Otherwise," said Smoit, gloomily, "the consequences will be deplorable." "But I have had no experience at haunting," Jurgen confessed. "It is a pursuit in which I do not pretend to competence: and I do not even know just how one goes about it." "That matter is simple, although mysterious preliminaries will be, of course, necessitated, in order to convert a living person into a ghost--" "The usual preliminaries, sir, are out of the question: and I must positively decline to be stabbed or poisoned or anything of that kind, even to humor my grandfather." Both Smoit and Sylvia protested that any such radical step would be superfluous, since Jurgen's ghostship was to be transient. In fact, all Jurgen would have to do would be to drain the embossed goblet which Sylvia Tereu held out to him, with Druidical invocations. And for a moment Jurgen hesitated. The whole business seemed rather improbable. Still, the ties of kin are strong, and it is not often one gets the chance to aid, however slightly, one's long-dead grandfather: besides, the potion smelt very invitingly. "Well," says Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once." Then Jurgen drank. The flavor was excellent. Yet the drink seemed not to affect Jurgen, at first. Then he began to feel a trifle light-headed. Next he looked downward, and was surprised to notice there was nobody in his bed. Closer investigation revealed the shadowy outline of a human figure, through which the bedclothing had collapsed. This, he decided, was all that was left of Jurgen. And it gave him a queer sensation. Jurgen jumped like a startled horse, and so violently that he flew out of bed, and found himself floating imponderably about the room. Now Jurgen recognized the feeling perfectly. He had often had it in his sleep, in dreams wherein he would bend his legs at the knees so that his feet came up behind him, and he would pass through the air without any effort. Then it seemed ridiculously simple, and he would wonder why he never thought of it before. And then he would reflect: "This is an excellent way of getting around. I will come to breakfast this way in the morning, and show Lisa how simple it is. How it will astonish her, to be sure, and how clever she will think me!" And then Jurgen would wake up, and find that somehow he had forgotten the trick of it. But just now this manner of locomotion was undeniably easy. So Jurgen floated around his bed once or twice, then to the ceiling, for practice. Through inexperience, he miscalculated the necessary force, and popped through into the room above, where he found himself hovering immediately over the Bishop of Merion. His eminence was not alone, but as both occupants of the apartment were asleep, Jurgen witnessed nothing unepiscopal. Now Jurgen rejoined his grandfather, and girded on charmed Caliburn, and demanded what must next be done. "The assassination will take place in the White Turret, as usual. Queen Sylvia will instruct you in the details. You can invent most of the affair, however, as the Lady of the Lake, who occupies this room to-night, is very probably unacquainted with our terrible history." Then King Smoit observed that it was high time he kept his appointment in Cornwall, and he melted into air, with an easy confidence that bespoke long practise: and Jurgen followed Queen Sylvia Tereu. 17. About a Cock That Crowed Too Soon Next the tale tells of how Jurgen and the ghost of Queen Sylvia Tereu came into the White Turret. The Lady of the Lake was in bed: she slept unaccompanied, as Jurgen noted with approval, for he wished to intrude upon no more tête-à-têtes. And Dame Anaïtis did not at first awake. Now this was a gloomy and high-paneled apartment, with exactly the traditional amount of moonlight streaming through two windows. Any ghost, even an apprentice, could have acquitted himself with credit in such surroundings, and Jurgen thought he did extremely well. He was atavistically brutal, and to improvise the accompanying dialogue he did not find difficult. So everything went smoothly, and with such spirit that Anaïtis was presently wakened by Queen Sylvia's very moving wails for mercy, and sat erect in bed, as though a little startled. Then the Lady of the Lake leaned back among the pillows, and witnessed the remainder of the terrible scene with remarkable self-possession. So it was that the tragedy swelled to its appalling climax, and subsided handsomely. With the aid of Caliburn, Jurgen had murdered his temporary wife. He had dragged her insensate body across the floor, by the hair of her head, and had carefully remembered first to put her comb in his pocket, as Queen Sylvia had requested, so that it would not be lost. He had given vent to several fiendish "Ha-ha's" and all the old high imprecations he remembered: and in short, everything had gone splendidly when he left the White Turret with a sense of self-approval and Queen Sylvia Tereu. The two of them paused in the winding stairway; and in the darkness, after he had restored her comb, the Queen was telling Jurgen how sorry she was to part with him. "For it is back to the cold grave I must be going now, Messire Jurgen, and to the tall flames of Purgatory: and it may be that I shall not ever see you any more." "I shall regret the circumstance, madame," says Jurgen, "for you are the loveliest person I have ever seen." The Queen was pleased. "That is a delightfully boyish speech, and one can see it comes from the heart. I only wish that I could meet with such unsophisticated persons in my present abode. Instead, I am herded with battered sinners who have no heart, who are not frank and outspoken about anything, and I detest their affectations." "Ah, then you are not happy with your husband, Sylvia? I suspected as much." "I see very little of Smoit. It is true he has eight other wives all resident in the same flame, and cannot well show any partiality. Two of his Queens, though, went straight to Heaven: and his eighth wife, Gudrun, we are compelled to fear, must have been an unrepentant sinner, for she has never reached Purgatory. But I always distrusted Gudrun, myself: otherwise I would never have suggested to Smoit that he have her strangled in order to make me his queen. You see, I thought it a fine thing to be a queen, in those days, Jurgen, when I was an artless slip of a girl. And Smoit was all honey and perfume and velvet, in those days, Jurgen, and little did I suspect the cruel fate that was to befall me." "Indeed, it is a sad thing, Sylvia, to be murdered by the hand which, so to speak, is sworn to keep an eye on your welfare, and which rightfully should serve you on its knees." "It was not that I minded. Smoit killed me in a fit of jealousy, and jealousy is in its blundering way a compliment. No, a worse thing than that befell me, Jurgen, and embittered all my life in the flesh." And Sylvia began to weep. "And what was that thing, Sylvia?" Queen Sylvia whispered the terrible truth. "My husband did not understand me." "Now, by Heaven," says Jurgen, "when a woman tells me that, even though the woman be dead, I know what it is she expects of me." So Jurgen put his arm about the ghost of Queen Sylvia Tereu, and comforted her. Then, finding her quite willing to be comforted, Jurgen sat for a while upon the dark steps, with one arm still about Queen Sylvia. The effect of the potion had evidently worn off, because Jurgen found himself to be composed no longer of cool imponderable vapor, but of the warmest and hardest sort of flesh everywhere. But probably the effect of the wine which Jurgen had drunk earlier in the evening had not worn off: for now Jurgen began to talk wildishly in the dark, about the necessity of his, in some way, avenging the injury inflicted upon his nominal grandfather, Ludwig, and Jurgen drew his sword, charmed Caliburn. "For, as you perceive," said Jurgen, "I carry such weapons as are sufficient for all ordinary encounters. And am I not to use them, to requite King Smoit for the injustice he did poor Ludwig? Why, certainly I must. It is my duty." "Ah, but Smoit by this is back in Purgatory," Queen Sylvia protested, "And to draw your sword against a woman is cowardly." "The avenging sword of Jurgen, my charming Sylvia, is the terror of envious men, but it is the comfort of all pretty women." "It is undoubtedly a very large sword," said she: "oh, a magnificent sword, as I can perceive even in the dark. But Smoit, I repeat, is not here to measure weapons with you." "Now your arguments irritate me, whereas an honest woman would see to it that all the legacies of her dead husband were duly satisfied--" "Oh, oh! and what do you mean--?" "Well, but certainly a grandson is--at one remove, I grant you,--a sort of legacy." "There is something in what you advance--" "There is a great deal in what I advance, I can assure you. It is the most natural and most penetrating kind of logic; and I wish merely to discharge a duty--" "But you upset me, with that big sword of yours, you make me nervous, and I cannot argue so long as you are flourishing it about. Come now, put up your sword! Oh, what is anybody to do with you! Here is the sheath for your sword," says she. At this point they were interrupted. "Duke of Logreus," says the voice of Dame Anaïtis, "do you not think it would be better to retire, before such antics at the door of my bedroom give rise to a scandal?" For Anaïtis had half-opened the door of her bedroom, and with a lamp in her hand, was peering out into the narrow stairway. Jurgen was a little embarrassed, for his apparent intimacy with a lady who had been dead for sixty-three years would be, he felt, a matter difficult to explain. So Jurgen rose to his feet, and hastily put up the weapon he had exhibited to Queen Sylvia, and decided to pass airily over the whole affair. And outside, a cock crowed, for it was now dawn. "I bid you a good morning, Dame Anaïtis," said Jurgen. "But the stairways hereabouts are confusing, and I must have lost my way. I was going for a stroll. This is my distant relative Queen Sylvia Tereu, who kindly offered to accompany me. We were going out to gather mushrooms and to watch the sunrise, you conceive." "Messire de Logreus, I think you had far better go back to bed." "To the contrary, madame, it is my manifest duty to serve as Queen Sylvia's escort--" "For all that, messire, I do not see any Queen Sylvia." Jurgen looked about him. And certainly his grandfather's ninth wife was no longer visible. "Yes, she has vanished. But that was to be expected at cockcrow. Still, that cock crew just at the wrong moment," said Jurgen, ruefully. "It was not fair." And Dame Anaïtis said: "Gogyrvan's cellar is well stocked: and you sat late with Urien and Aribert: and doubtless they also were lucky enough to discover a queen or two in Gogyrvan's cellar. No less, I think you are still a little drunk." "Now answer me this, Dame Anaïtis: were you not visited by two ghosts to-night?" "Why, that is as it may be," she replied: "but the White Turret is notoriously haunted, and it is few quiet nights I have passed there, for Gogyrvan's people were a bad lot." "Upon my word," wonders Jurgen, "what manner of person is this Dame Anaïtis, who remains unstirred by such a brutal murder as I have committed, and makes no more of ghosts than I would of moths? I have heard she is an enchantress, I am sure she is a fine figure of a woman: and in short, here is a matter which would repay looking into, were not young Guenevere the mistress of my heart." Aloud he said: "Perhaps then I am drunk, madame. None the less, I still think the cock crew just at the wrong moment." "Some day you must explain the meaning of that," says she. "Meanwhile I am going back to bed, and I again advise you to do the same." Then the door closed, the bolt fell, and Jurgen went away, still in considerable excitement. "This Dame Anaïtis is an interesting personality," he reflected, "and it would be a pleasure, now, to demonstrate to her my grievance against the cock, did occasion serve. Well, things less likely than that have happened. Then, too, she came upon me when my sword was out, and in consequence knows I wield a respectable weapon. She may feel the need of a good swordsman some day, this handsome Lady of the Lake who has no husband. So let us cultivate patience. Meanwhile, it appears that I am of royal blood. Well, I fancy there is something in the scandal, for I detect in me a deal in common with this King Smoit. Twelve wives, though! no, that is too many. I would limit no man's liaisons, but twelve wives in lawful matrimony bespeaks an optimism unknown to me. No, I do not think I am drunk: but it is unquestionable that I am not walking very straight. Certainly, too, we did drink a great deal. So I had best go quietly back to bed, and say nothing more about to-night's doings." As much he did. And this was the first time that Jurgen, who had been a pawnbroker, held any discourse with Dame Anaïtis, whom men called the Lady of the Lake. 18. Why Merlin Talked in Twilight It was two days later that Jurgen was sent for by Merlin Ambrosius. The Duke of Logreus came to the magician in twilight, for the windows of this room were covered with sheets which shut out the full radiance of day. Everything in the room was thus visible in a diffused and tempered light that cast no shadows. In his hand Merlin held a small mirror, about three inches square, from which he raised his dark eyes puzzlingly. "I have been talking to my fellow ambassador, Dame Anaïtis: and I have been wondering, Messire de Logreus, if you have ever reared white pigeons." Jurgen looked at the little mirror. "There was a woman of the Léshy who not long ago showed me an employment to which one might put the blood of white pigeons. She too used such a mirror. I saw what followed, but I must tell you candidly that I understood nothing of the ins and outs of the affair." Merlin nodded. "I suspected something of the sort. So I elected to talk with you in a room wherein, as you perceive, there are no shadows." "Now, upon my word," says Jurgen, "but here at last is somebody who can see my attendant! Why is it, pray, that no one else can do so?" "It was my own shadow which drew my notice to your follower. For I, too, have had a shadow given me. It was the gift of my father, of whom you have probably heard." It was Jurgen's turn to nod. Everybody knew who had begotten Merlin Ambrosius, and sensible persons preferred not to talk of the matter. Then Merlin went on to speak of the traffic between Merlin and Merlin's shadow. "Thus and thus," says Merlin, "I humor my shadow. And thus and thus my shadow serves me. There is give-and-take, such as is requisite everywhere." "I understand," says Jurgen: "but has no other person ever perceived this shadow of yours?" "Once only, when for a while my shadow deserted me," Merlin replied. "It was on a Sunday my shadow left me, so that I walked unattended in naked sunlight: for my shadow was embracing the church-steeple, where church-goers knelt beneath him. The church-goers were obscurely troubled without suspecting why, for they looked only at each other. The priest and I alone saw him quite clearly,--the priest because this thing was evil, and I because this thing was mine." "Well, now I wonder what did the priest say to your bold shadow?" "'But you must go away!'--and the priest spoke without any fear. Why is it they seem always without fear, those dull and calm-eyed priests? 'Such conduct is unseemly. For this is High God's house, and far-off peoples are admonished by its steadfast spire, pointing always heavenward, that the place is holy,' said the priest. And my shadow answered, 'But I only know that steeples are of phallic origin.' And my shadow wept, wept ludicrously, clinging to the steeple where church-goers knelt beneath him." "Now, and indeed that must have been disconcerting, Messire Merlin. Still, as you got your shadow back again, there was no great harm done. But why is it that such attendants follow some men while other men are permitted to live in decent solitude? It does not seem quite fair." "Perhaps I could explain it to you, friend, but certainly I shall not. You know too much as it is. For you appear in that bright garment of yours to have come from a land and a time which even I, who am a skilled magician, can only cloudily foresee, and cannot understand at all. What puzzles me, however"--and Merlin's fore-finger shot out. "How many feet had the first wearer of your shirt? and were you ever an old man?" says he. "Well, four, and I was getting on," says Jurgen. "And I did not guess! But certainly that is it,--an old poet loaned at once a young man's body and the Centaur's shirt. Adères has loosed a new jest into the world, for her own reasons--" "But you have things backwards. It was Sereda whom I cajoled so nicely." "Names that are given by men amount to very little in a case like this. The shadow which follows you I recognize--and revere--as the gift of Adères, a dreadful Mother of small Gods. No doubt she has a host of other names. And you cajoled her, you consider! I would not willingly walk in the shirt of any person who considers that. But she will enlighten you, my friend, at her appointed time." "Well, so that she deals justly--" Jurgen said, and shrugged. Now Merlin put aside the mirror. "Meanwhile it was another matter entirely that Dame Anaïtis and I discussed, and about which I wished to be speaking with you. Gogyrvan is sending to King Arthur, along with Gogyrvan's daughter, that Round Table which Uther Pendragon gave Gogyrvan, and a hundred knights to fill the sieges of this table. Gogyrvan, who, with due respect, possesses a deplorable sense of humor, has numbered you among these knights. Now it is rumored the Princess is given to conversing a great deal with you in private, and Arthur has never approved of garrulity. So I warn you that for you to come with us to London would not be convenient." "I hardly think so, either," said Jurgen, with appropriate melancholy; "for me to pursue the affair any further would only result in marring what otherwise will always be a perfect memory of divers very pleasant conversations." "Old poet, you are well advised," said Merlin,--"especially now that the little princess whom we know is about to enter queenhood and become a symbol. I am sorry for her, for she will be worshipped as a revelation of Heaven's splendor, and being flesh and blood, she will not like it. And it is to no effect I have forewarned King Arthur, for that must happen which will always happen so long as wisdom is impotent against human stupidity. So wisdom can but make the best of it, and be content to face the facts of a great mystery." Thereupon, Merlin arose, and lifted the tapestry behind him, so that Jurgen could see what hitherto this tapestry had screened. * * * * * "You have embarrassed me horribly," said Jurgen, "and I can feel that I am still blushing, about the ankles. Well, I was wrong: so let us say no more concerning it." "I wished to show you," Merlin returned, "that I know what I am talking about. However, my present purpose is to put Guenevere out of your head: for in your heart I think she never was, old poet, who go so modestly in the Centaur's shirt. Come, tell me now! and does the thought of her approaching marriage really disturb you?" "I am the unhappiest man that breathes," said Jurgen, with unction. "All night I lie awake in my tumbled bed, and think of the miserable day which is past, and of what is to happen in that equally miserable day whose dawn I watch with a sick heart. And I cry aloud, in the immortal words of Apollonius Myronides--" "Of whom?" says Merlin. "I allude to the author of the _Myrosis_," Jurgen explained,--"whom so many persons rashly identify with Apollonius Herophileius." "Oh, yes, of course! your quotation is very apt. Why, then your condition is sad but not incurable. For I am about to give you this token, with which, if you are bold enough, you will do thus and thus." "But indeed this is a somewhat strange token, and the arms and legs, and even the head, of this little man are remarkably alike! Well, and you tell me thus and thus. But how does it happen, Messire Merlin, that you have never used this token in the fashion you suggest to me?" "Because I was afraid. You forget I am only a magician, whose conjuring raises nothing more formidable than devils. But this is a bit of the Old Magic that is no longer understood, and I prefer not to meddle with it. You, to the contrary, are a poet, and the Old Magic was always favorable to poets." "Well, I will think about it," says Jurgen, "if this will really put Dame Guenevere out of my head." "Be assured it will do that," said Merlin. "For with reason does the _Dirghâgama_ declare, 'The brightness of the glowworm cannot be compared to that of a lamp.'" "A very pleasant little work, the _Dirghâgama_," said Jurgen, tolerantly--"though superficial, of course." Then Merlin Ambrosius gave Jurgen the token, and some advice. So that night Jurgen told Guenevere he would not go in her train to London. He told her candidly that Merlin was suspicious of their intercourse. "And therefore, in order to protect you and to protect your fame, my dearest dear," said Jurgen, "it is necessary that I sacrifice myself and everything I prize in life. I shall suffer very much: but my consolation will be that I have dealt fairly with you whom I love with an entire heart, and shall have preserved you through my misery." But Guenevere did not appear to notice how noble this was of Jurgen. Instead, she wept very softly, in a heartbroken way that Jurgen found unbearable. "For no man, whether emperor or peasant," says the Princess, "has ever been loved more dearly or faithfully or more wholly without any reserve or forethought than you, my dearest, have been loved by me. All that I had I have given you. All that I had you have taken, consuming it. So now you leave me with not anything more to give you, not even any anger or contempt, now that you turn me adrift, for there is nothing in me anywhere save love of you, who are unworthy." "But I die many deaths," said Jurgen, "when you speak thus to me." And in point of fact, he did feel rather uncomfortable. "I speak the truth, though. You have had all: and so you are a little weary, and perhaps a little afraid of what may happen if you do not break off with me." "Now you misjudge me, darling--" "No, I do not misjudge you, Jurgen. Instead, for the first time I judge both of us. You I forgive, because I love you, but myself I do not forgive, and I cannot ever forgive, for having been a spendthrift fool." And Jurgen found such talking uncomfortable and tedious and very unfair to him. "For there is nothing I can do to help matters," says Jurgen. "Why, what could anybody possibly expect me to do about it? And so why not be happy while we may? It is not as though we had any time to waste." For this was the last night but one before the day that was set for Guenevere's departure. 19. The Brown Man with Queer Feet Early in the following morning Jurgen left Cameliard, traveling toward Carohaise, and went into the Druid forest there, and followed Merlin's instructions. "Not that I for a moment believe in such nonsense," said Jurgen: "but it will be amusing to see what comes of this business, and it is unjust to deny even nonsense a fair trial." So he presently observed a sun-browned brawny fellow, who sat upon the bank of a stream, dabbling his feet in the water, and making music with a pipe constructed of seven reeds of irregular lengths. To him Jurgen displayed, in such a manner as Merlin had prescribed, the token which Merlin had given. The man made a peculiar sign, and rose. Jurgen saw that this man's feet were unusual. Jurgen bowed low, and he said, as Merlin had bidden: "Now praise be to thee, thou lord of the two truths! I have come to thee, O most wise, that I may learn thy secret. I would know thee, and would know the forty-two mighty ones who dwell with thee in the hall of the two truths, and who are nourished by evil-doers, and who partake of wicked blood each day of the reckoning before Wennofree. I would know thee for what thou art." The brown man answered: "I am everything that was and that is to be. Never has any mortal been able to discover what I am." Then this brown man conducted Jurgen to an open glen, at the heart of the forest. "Merlin dared not come himself, because," observed the brown man, "Merlin is wise. But you are a poet. So you will presently forget that which you are about to see, or at worst you will tell pleasant lies about it, particularly to yourself." "I do not know about that," says Jurgen, "but I am willing to taste any drink once. What are you about to show me?" The brown man answered: "All." So it was near evening when they came out of the glen. It was dark now, for a storm had risen. The brown man was smiling, and Jurgen was in a flutter. "It is not true," Jurgen protested. "What you have shown me is a pack of nonsense. It is the degraded lunacy of a so-called Realist. It is sorcery and pure childishness and abominable blasphemy. It is, in a word, something I do not choose to believe. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" "Even so, you do believe me, Jurgen." "I believe that you are an honest man and that I am your cousin: so there are two more lies for you." The brown man said, still smiling: "Yes, you are certainly a poet, you who have borrowed the apparel of my cousin. For you come out of my glen, and from my candor, as sane as when you entered. That is not saying much, to be sure, in praise of a poet's sanity at any time. But Merlin would have died, and Merlin would have died without regret, if Merlin had seen what you have seen, because Merlin receives facts reasonably." "Facts! sanity! and reason!" Jurgen raged: "why, but what nonsense you are talking! Were there a bit of truth in your silly puppetry this world of time and space and consciousness would be a bubble, a bubble which contained the sun and moon and the high stars, and still was but a bubble in fermenting swill! I must go cleanse my mind of all this foulness. You would have me believe that men, that all men who have ever lived or shall ever live hereafter, that even I am of no importance! Why, there would be no justice in any such arrangement, no justice anywhere!" "That vexed you, did it not? It vexes me at times, even me, who under Koshchei's will alone am changeless." "I do not know about your variability: but I stick to my opinion about your veracity," says Jurgen, for all that he was upon the verge of hysteria. "Yes, if lies could choke people that shaggy throat would certainly be sore." Then the brown man stamped his foot, and the striking of his foot upon the moss made a new noise such as Jurgen had never heard: for the noise seemed to come multitudinously from every side, at first as though each leaf in the forest were tinily cachinnating; and then this noise was swelled by the mirth of larger creatures, and echoes played with this noise, until there was a reverberation everywhere like that of thunder. The earth moved under their feet very much as a beast twitches its skin under the annoyance of flies. Another queer thing Jurgen noticed, and it was that the trees about the glen had writhed and arched their trunks, and so had bended, much as candles bend in very hot weather, to lay their topmost foliage at the feet of the brown man. And the brown man's appearance was changed as he stood there, terrible in a continuous brown glare from the low-hanging clouds, and with the forest making obeisance, and with shivering and laughter everywhere. "Make answer, you who chatter about justice! how if I slew you now," says the brown man,--"I being what I am?" "Slay me, then!" says Jurgen, with shut eyes, for he did not at all like the appearance of things. "Yes, you can kill me if you choose, but it is beyond your power to make me believe that there is no justice anywhere, and that I am unimportant. For I would have you know I am a monstrous clever fellow. As for you, you are either a delusion or a god or a degraded Realist. But whatever you are, you have lied to me, and I know that you have lied, and I will not believe in the insignificance of Jurgen." Chillingly came the whisper of the brown man: "Poor fool! O shuddering, stiff-necked fool! and have you not just seen that which you may not ever quite forget?" "None the less, I think there is something in me which will endure. I am fettered by cowardice, I am enfeebled by disastrous memories; and I am maimed by old follies. Still, I seem to detect in myself something which is permanent and rather fine. Underneath everything, and in spite of everything, I really do seem to detect that something. What rôle that something is to enact after the death of my body, and upon what stage, I cannot guess. When fortune knocks I shall open the door. Meanwhile I tell you candidly, you brown man, there is something in Jurgen far too admirable for any intelligent arbiter ever to fling into the dustheap. I am, if nothing else, a monstrous clever fellow: and I think I shall endure, somehow. Yes, cap in hand goes through the land, as the saying is, and I believe I can contrive some trick to cheat oblivion when the need arises," says Jurgen, trembling, and gulping, and with his eyes shut tight, but even so, with his mind quite made up about it. "Of course you may be right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but still, at the same time--" "Now but before a fool's opinion of himself," the brown man cried, "the Gods are powerless. Oh, yes, and envious, too!" And when Jurgen very cautiously opened his eyes the brown man had left him physically unharmed. But the state of Jurgen's nervous system was deplorable. 20. Efficacy of Prayer Jurgen went in a tremble to the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn in Cameliard. All night Jurgen prayed there, not in repentance, but in terror. For his dead he prayed, that they should not have been blotted out in nothingness, for the dead among his kindred whom he had loved in boyhood, and for these only. About the men and women whom he had known since then he did not seem to care, or not at least so vitally. But he put up a sort of prayer for Dame Lisa--"wherever my dear wife may be, and, O God, grant that I may come to her at last, and be forgiven!" he wailed, and wondered if he really meant it. He had forgotten about Guenevere. And nobody knows what were that night the thoughts of the young Princess, nor if she offered any prayers, in the deserted Hall of Judgment. In the morning a sprinkling of persons came to early mass. Jurgen attended with fervor, and started doorward with the others. Just before him a merchant stopped to get a pebble from his shoe, and the merchant's wife went forward to the holy-water font. "Madame, permit me," said a handsome young esquire, and offered her holy water. "At eleven," said the merchant's wife, in low tones. "He will be out all day." "My dear," says her husband, as he rejoined her, "and who was the young gentleman?" "Why, I do not know, darling. I never saw him before." "He was certainly very civil. I wish there were more like him. And a fine looking young fellow, too!" "Was he? I did not notice," said the merchant's wife, indifferently. And Jurgen saw and heard and regarded the departing trio ruefully. It seemed to him incredible the world should be going on just as it went before he ventured into the Druid forest. He paused before a crucifix, and he knelt and looked up wistfully. "If one could only know," says Jurgen, "what really happened in Judea! How immensely would matters be simplified, if anyone but knew the truth about You, Man upon the Cross!" Now the Bishop of Merion passed him, coming from celebration of the early mass. "My Lord Bishop," says Jurgen, simply, "can you tell me the truth about this Christ?" "Why, indeed, Messire de Logreus," replied the Bishop, "one cannot but sympathize with Pilate in thinking that the truth about Him is very hard to get at, even nowadays. Was He Melchisedek, or Shem, or Adam? or was He verily the Logos? and in that event, what sort of a something was the Logos? Granted He was a god, were the Arians or the Sabellians in the right? had He existed always, co-substantial with the Father and the Holy Spirit, or was He a creation of the Father, a kind of Israelitic Zagreus? Was He the husband of Acharamoth, that degraded Sophia, as the Valentinians aver? or the son of Pantherus, as say the Jews? or Kalakau, as contends Basilidês? or was it, as the Docetês taught, only a tinted cloud in the shape of a man that went from Jordan to Golgotha? Or were the Merinthians right? These are a few of the questions, Messire de Logreus, which naturally arise. And not all of them are to be settled out of hand." Thus speaking, the gallant prelate bowed, then raised three fingers in benediction, and so quitted Jurgen, who was still kneeling before the crucifix. "Ah, ah!" says Jurgen, to himself, "but what a variety of interesting problems are, in point of fact, suggested by religion. And what delectable exercise would the settling of these problems, once for all, afford the mind of a monstrous clever fellow! Come now, it might be well for me to enter the priesthood. It may be that I have a call." But people were shouting in the street. So Jurgen rose and dusted his knees. And as Jurgen came out of the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn the cavalcade was passing that bore away Dame Guenevere to the arms and throne of her appointed husband. Jurgen stood upon the Cathedral porch, his mind in part pre-occupied by theology, but still not failing to observe how beautiful was this young princess, as she rode by on her white palfrey, green-garbed and crowned and a-glitter with jewels. She was smiling as she passed him, bowing her small tenderly-colored young countenance this way and that way, to the shouting people, and not seeing Jurgen at all. Thus she went to her bridal, that Guenevere who was the symbol of all beauty and purity to the chivalrous people of Glathion. The mob worshipped her; and they spoke as though it were an angel who passed. "Our beautiful young Princess!" "Ah, there is none like her anywhere!" "And never a harsh word for anyone, they say--!" "Oh, but she is the most admirable of ladies--!" "And so brave too, that lovely smiling child who is leaving her home forever!" "And so very, very pretty!" "--So generous!" "King Arthur will be hard put to it to deserve her!" Said Jurgen: "Now it is droll that to these truths I have but to add another truth in order to have large paving-stones flung at her! and to have myself tumultuously torn into fragments, by those unpleasantly sweaty persons who, thank Heaven, are no longer jostling me!" For the Cathedral porch had suddenly emptied, because as the procession passed heralds were scattering silver among the spectators. "Arthur will have a very lovely queen," says a soft lazy voice. And Jurgen turned and saw that beside him was Dame Anaïtis, whom people called the Lady of the Lake. "Yes, he is greatly to be envied," says Jurgen, politely. "But do you not ride with them to London?" "Why, no," says the Lady of the Lake, "because my part in this bridal was done when I mixed the stirrup-cup of which the Princess and young Lancelot drank this morning. He is the son of King Ban of Benwick, that tall young fellow in blue armor. I am partial to Lancelot, for I reared him, at the bottom of a lake that belongs to me, and I consider he does me credit. I also believe that Madame Guenevere by this time agrees with me. And so, my part being done to serve my creator, I am off for Cocaigne." "And what is this Cocaigne?" "It is an island wherein I rule." "I did not know you were a queen, madame." "Why, indeed there are a many things unknown to you, Messire de Logreus, in a world where nobody gets any assuredness of knowledge about anything. For it is a world wherein all men that live have but a little while to live, and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body: and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure." "I believe," said Jurgen, as his thoughts shuddered away from what he had seen and heard in the Druid forest, "that you speak wisdom." "Then in Cocaigne we are all wise: for that is our religion. But of what are you thinking, Duke of Logreus?" "I was thinking," says Jurgen, "that your eyes are unlike the eyes of any other woman that I have ever seen." Smilingly the dark woman asked him wherein they differed, and smilingly he said he did not know. They were looking at each other warily. In each glance an experienced gamester acknowledged a worthy opponent. "Why, then you must come with me into Cocaigne," says Anaïtis, "and see if you cannot discover wherein lies that difference. For it is not a matter I would care to leave unsettled." "Well, that seems only just to you," says Jurgen. "Yes, certainly I must deal fairly with you." Then they left the Cathedral of the Sacred Thorn, walking together. The folk who went toward London were now well out of sight and hearing, which possibly accounts for the fact that Jurgen was now in no wise thinking of Guenevere. So it was that Guenevere rode out of Jurgen's life for a while: and as she rode she talked with Lancelot. 21. How Anaïtis Voyaged Now the tale tells that Jurgen and this Lady of the Lake came presently to the wharves of Cameliard, and went aboard the ship which had brought Anaïtis and Merlin into Glathion. This ship was now to every appearance deserted: yet all its saffron colored sails were spread, as though in readiness for the ship's departure. "The crew are scrambling, it may be, for the largesse, and fighting over Gogyrvan's silver pieces," says Anaïtis, "but I think they will not be long in returning. So we will sit here upon the prow, and await their leisure." "But already the vessel moves," says Jurgen, "and I hear behind us the rattling of silver chains and the flapping of shifted saffron-colored sails." "They are roguish fellows," says Anaïtis, smiling. "Evidently, they hid from us, pretending there was nobody aboard. Now they think to give us a surprise when the ship sets out to sea as though it were of itself. But we will disappoint these merry rascals, by seeming to notice nothing unusual." So Jurgen sat with Anaïtis in the two tall chairs that were in the prow of the vessel, under a canopy of crimson stuff embroidered with gold dragons, and just back of the ship's figurehead, which was a dragon painted with thirty colors: and the ship moved out of the harbor, and so into the open sea. Thus they passed Enisgarth. "And it is a queer crew that serve you, Anaïtis, who are Queen of Cocaigne: for I can hear them talking, far back of us, and their language is all a cheeping and a twittering, as though the mice and the bats were holding conference." "Why, you must understand that these are outlanders who speak a dialect of their own, and are not like any other people you have ever seen." "Indeed, now, that is very probable, for I have seen none of your crew. Sometimes it is as though small flickerings passed over the deck, and that is all." "It is but the heat waves rising from the deck, for the day is warmer than you would think, sitting here under this canopy. And besides, what call have you and I to be bothering over the pranks of common mariners, so long as they do their proper duty?" "I was thinking, O woman with unusual eyes, that these are hardly common mariners." "And I was thinking, Duke Jurgen, that I would tell you a tale of the Old Gods, to make the time speed more pleasantly as we sit here untroubled as a god and a goddess." Now they had passed Camwy: and Anaïtis began to narrate the history of Anistar and Calmoora and of the unusual concessions they granted each other, and of how Calmoora contented her five lovers: and Jurgen found the tale perturbing. While Anaïtis talked the sky grew dark, as though the sun were ashamed and veiled his shame with clouds: and they went forward in a gray twilight which deepened steadily over a tranquil sea. So they passed the lights of Sargyll, most remote of the Red Islands, while Anaïtis talked of Procris and King Minos and Pasiphaë. As color went out of the air new colors entered into the sea, which now assumed the varied gleams of water that has long been stagnant. And a silence brooded over the sea, so that there was no noise anywhere except the sound of the voice of Anaïtis, saying, "All men that live have but a little while to live, and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body; and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure." They came thus to a low-lying naked beach, where there was no sign of habitation. Anaïtis said this was the land they were seeking, and they went ashore. "Even now," says Jurgen, "I have seen none of the crew who brought us hither." And the beautiful dark woman shrugged, and marveled why he need perpetually be bothering over the doings of common sailors. They went forward across the beach, through sand hills, to a moor, seeing no one, and walking in a gray fog. They passed many gray fat sluggish worms and some curious gray reptiles such as Jurgen had never imagined to exist, but Anaïtis said these need not trouble them. "So there is no call to be fingering your charmed sword as we walk here, Duke Jurgen, for these great worms do not ever harm the living." "For whom, then, do they lie here in wait, in this gray fog, wherethrough the green lights flutter, and wherethrough I hear at times a thin and far-off wailing?" "What is that to you, Duke Jurgen, since you and I are still in the warm flesh? Surely there was never a man who asked more idle questions." "Yet this is an uncomfortable twilight." "To the contrary, you should rejoice that it is a fog too heavy to be penetrated by the Moon." "But what have I to do with the Moon?" "Nothing, as yet. And that is as well for you, Duke Jurgen, since it is authentically reported you have derided the day which is sacred to the Moon. Now the Moon does not love derision, as I well know, for in part I serve the Moon." "Eh?" says Jurgen: and he began to reflect. So they came to a wall that was high and gray, and to the door which was in the wall. "You must knock two or three times," says Anaïtis, "to get into Cocaigne." Jurgen observed the bronze knocker upon the door, and he grinned in order to hide his embarrassment. "It is a quaint fancy," said he, "and the two constituents of it appear to have been modeled from life." "They were copied very exactly from Adam and Eve," says Anaïtis, "who were the first persons to open this gateway." "Why, then," says Jurgen, "there is no earthly doubt that men degenerate, since here under my hand is the proof of it." With that he knocked, and the door opened, and the two of them entered. 22. As to a Veil They Broke So it was that Jurgen came into Cocaigne, wherein is the bedchamber of Time. And Time, they report, came in with Jurgen, since Jurgen was mortal: and Time, they say, rejoiced in this respite from the slow toil of dilapidating cities stone by stone, and with his eyes tired by the finicky work of etching in wrinkles, went happily into his bedchamber, and fell asleep just after sunset on this fine evening in late June: so that the weather remained fair and changeless, with no glaring sun rays anywhere, and with one large star shining alone in clear daylight. This was the star of Venus Mechanitis, and Jurgen later derived considerable amusement from noting how this star was trundled about the dome of heaven by a largish beetle, named Khepre. And the trees everywhere kept their first fresh foliage, and the birds were about their indolent evening songs, all during Jurgen's stay in Cocaigne, for Time had gone to sleep at the pleasantest hour of the year's most pleasant season. So tells the tale. And Jurgen's shadow also went in with Jurgen, but in Cocaigne as in Glathion, nobody save Jurgen seemed to notice this curious shadow which now followed Jurgen everywhere. In Cocaigne Queen Anaïtis had a palace, where domes and pinnacles beyond numbering glimmered with a soft whiteness above the top of an old twilit forest, wherein the vegetation was unlike that which is nourished by ordinary earth. There was to be seen in these woods, for instance, a sort of moss which made Jurgen shudder. So Anaïtis and Jurgen came through narrow paths, like murmuring green caverns, into a courtyard walled and paved with yellow marble, wherein was nothing save the dimly colored statue of a god with ten heads and thirty-four arms: he was represented as very much engrossed by a woman, and with his unoccupied hands was holding yet other women. "It is Jigsbyed," said Anaïtis. Said Jurgen: "I do not criticize. Nevertheless, I think this Jigsbyed is carrying matters to extremes." Then they passed the statue of Tangaro Loloquong, and afterward the statue of Legba. Jurgen stroked his chin, and his color heightened. "Now certainly, Queen Anaïtis," he said, "you have unusual taste in sculpture." Thence Jurgen came with Anaïtis into a white room, with copper plaques upon the walls, and there four girls were heating water in a brass tripod. They bathed Jurgen, giving him astonishing caresses meanwhile--with the tongue, the hair, the finger-nails, and the tips of the breasts,--and they anointed him with four oils, then dressed him again in his glittering shirt. Of Caliburn, said Anaïtis, there was no present need: so Jurgen's sword was hung upon the wall. These girls brought silver bowls containing wine mixed with honey, and they brought pomegranates and eggs and barleycorn, and triangular red-colored loaves, whereon they sprinkled sweet-smelling little seeds with formal gestures. Then Anaïtis and Jurgen broke their fast, eating together while the four girls served them. "And now," says Jurgen, "and now, my dear, I would suggest that we enter into the pursuit of those curious pleasures of which you were telling me." "I am very willing," responded Anaïtis, "since there is no one of these pleasures but is purchased by some diversion of man's nature. Yet first, as I need hardly inform you, there is a ceremonial to be observed." "And what, pray, is this ceremonial?" "Why, we call it the Breaking of the Veil." And Queen Anaïtis explained what they must do. "Well," says Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once." So Anaïtis led Jurgen into a sort of chapel, adorned with very unchurchlike paintings. There were four shrines, dedicated severally to St. Cosmo, to St. Damianus, to St. Guignole of Brest, and to St. Foutin de Varailles. In this chapel were a hooded man, clothed in long garments that were striped with white and yellow, and two naked children, both girls. One of the children carried a censer: the other held in one hand a vividly blue pitcher half filled with water, and in her left hand a cellar of salt. First of all, the hooded man made Jurgen ready. "Behold the lance," said the hooded man, "which must serve you in this adventure." "I accept the adventure," Jurgen replied, "because I believe the weapon to be trustworthy." Said the hooded man: "So be it! but as you are, so once was I." Meanwhile Duke Jurgen held the lance erect, shaking it with his right hand. This lance was large, and the tip of it was red with blood. "Behold," said Jurgen, "I am a man born of a woman incomprehensibly. Now I, who am miraculous, am found worthy to perform a miracle, and to create that which I may not comprehend." Anaïtis took salt and water from the child, and mingled these. "Let the salt of earth enable the thin fluid to assume the virtue of the teeming sea!" Then, kneeling, she touched the lance, and began to stroke it lovingly. To Jurgen she said: "Now may you be fervent of soul and body! May the endless Serpent be your crown, and the fertile flame of the sun your strength!" Said the hooded man, again: "So be it!" His voice was high and bleating, because of that which had been done to him. "That therefore which we cannot understand we also invoke," said Jurgen. "By the power of the lifted lance"--and now with his left hand he took the hand of Anaïtis,--"I, being a man born of a woman incomprehensibly, now seize upon that which alone I desire with my whole being. I lead you toward the east. I upraise you above the earth and all the things of earth." Then Jurgen raised Queen Anaïtis so that she sat upon the altar, and that which was there before tumbled to the ground. Anaïtis placed together the tips of her thumbs and of her fingers, so that her hands made an open triangle; and waited thus. Upon her head was a network of red coral, with branches radiating downward: her gauzy tunic had twenty-two openings, so as to admit all imaginable caresses, and was of two colors, being shot with black and crimson curiously mingled: her dark eyes glittered and her breath came fast. Now the hooded man and the two naked girls performed their share in the ceremonial, which part it is not essential to record. But Jurgen was rather shocked by it. None the less, Jurgen said: "O cord that binds the circling of the stars! O cup which holds all time, all color, and all thought! O soul of space! not unto any image of thee do we attain unless thy image show in what we are about to do. Therefore by every plant which scatters its seed and by the moist warm garden which receives and nourishes it, by the comminglement of bloodshed with pleasure, by the joy that mimics anguish with sighs and shudderings, and by the contentment which mimics death,--by all these do we invoke thee. O thou, continuous one, whose will these children attend, and whom I now adore in this fair-colored and soft woman's body, it is thou whom I honor, not any woman, in doing what seems good to me: and it is thou who art about to speak, and not she." Then Anaïtis said: "Yea, for I speak with the tongue of every woman, and I shine in the eyes of every woman, when the lance is lifted. To serve me is better than all else. When you invoke me with a heart wherein is kindled the serpent flame, if but for a moment, you will understand the delights of my garden, what joy unwordable pulsates therein, and how potent is the sole desire which uses all of a man. To serve me you will then be eager to surrender whatever else is in your life: and other pleasures you will take with your left hand, not thinking of them entirely: for I am the desire which uses all of a man, and so wastes nothing. And I accept you, I yearn toward you, I who am daughter and somewhat more than daughter to the Sun. I who am all pleasure, all ruin, and a drunkenness of the inmost sense, desire you." Now Jurgen held his lance erect before Anaïtis. "O secret of all things, hidden in the being of all which lives, now that the lance is exalted I do not dread thee: for thou art in me, and I am thou. I am the flame that burns in every beating heart and in the core of the farthest star. I too am life and the giver of life, and in me too is death. Wherein art thou better than I? I am alone: my will is justice: and there comes no other god where I am." Said the hooded man behind Jurgen: "So be it! but as you are, so once was I." The two naked children stood one at each side of Anaïtis, and waited there trembling. These girls, as Jurgen afterward learned, were Alecto and Tisiphonê, two of the Eumenidês. And now Jurgen shifted the red point of the lance, so that it rested in the open triangle made by the fingers of Anaïtis. "I am life and the giver of life," cried Jurgen. "Thou that art one, that makest use of all! I who am a man born of woman, I in my station honor thee in honoring this desire which uses all of a man. Make open therefore the way of creation, encourage the flaming dust which is in our hearts, and aid us in that flame's perpetuation! For is not that thy law?" Anaïtis answered: "There is no law in Cocaigne save, Do that which seems good to you." Then said the naked children: "Perhaps it is the law, but certainly it is not justice. Yet we are little and quite helpless. So presently we must be made as you are for now you two are no longer two, and your flesh is not shared merely with each other. For your flesh becomes our flesh, and your sins our sins: and we have no choice." Jurgen lifted Anaïtis from the altar, and they went into the chancel and searched for the adytum. There seemed to be no doors anywhere in the chancel: but presently Jurgen found an opening screened by a pink veil. Jurgen thrust with his lance and broke this veil. He heard the sound of one brief wailing cry: it was followed by soft laughter. So Jurgen came into the adytum. Black candles were burning in this place, and sulphur too was burning there, before a scarlet cross, of which the top was a circle, and whereon was nailed a living toad. And other curious matters Jurgen likewise noticed. He laughed, and turned to Anaïtis: now that the candles were behind him, she was standing in his shadow. "Well, well! but you are a little old-fashioned, with all these equivocal mummeries. And I did not know that civilized persons any longer retained sufficient credulity to wring a thrill from god-baiting. Still, women must be humored, bless them! and at last, I take it, we have quite fairly fulfilled the ceremonial requisite to the pursuit of curious pleasures." Queen Anaïtis was very beautiful, even under his bedimming shadow. Triumphant too was the proud face beneath that curious coral network, and yet this woman's face was sad. "Dear fool," she said, "it was not wise, when you sang of the Léshy, to put an affront upon Monday. But you have forgotten that. And now you laugh because that which we have done you do not understand: and equally that which I am you do not understand." "No matter what you may be, my dear, I am sure that you will presently tell me all about it. For I assume that you mean to deal fairly with me." "I shall do that which becomes me, Duke Jurgen--" "That is it, my dear, precisely! You intend to be true to yourself, whatever happens. The aspiration does you infinite honor, and I shall try to help you. Now I have noticed that every woman is most truly herself," says Jurgen, oracularly, "in the dark." Then Jurgen looked at her for a moment, with twinkling eyes: then Anaïtis, standing in his shadow, smiled with glowing eyes: then Jurgen blew out those black candles: and then it was quite dark. 23. Shortcomings of Prince Jurgen Now the happenings just recorded befell on the eve of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist: and thereafter Jurgen abode in Cocaigne, and complied with the customs of that country. In the palace of Queen Anaïtis, all manner of pastimes were practised without any cessation. Jurgen, who considered himself to be somewhat of an authority upon such contrivances, was soon astounded by his own innocence. For Anaïtis showed him whatever was being done in Cocaigne, to this side and to that side, under the direction of Anaïtis, whom Jurgen found to be a nature myth of doubtful origin connected with the Moon; and who, in consequence, ruled not merely in Cocaigne but furtively swayed the tides of life everywhere the Moon keeps any power over tides. It was the mission of Anaïtis to divert and turn aside and deflect: in this the jealous Moon abetted her because sunlight makes for straightforwardness. So Anaïtis and the Moon were staunch allies. These mysteries of their private relations, however, as revealed to Jurgen, are not very nicely repeatable. "But you dishonored the Moon, Prince Jurgen, denying praise to the day of the Moon. Or so, at least, I have heard." "I remember doing nothing of the sort. But I remember considering it unjust to devote one paltry day to the Moon's majesty. For night is sacred to the Moon, each night that ever was the friend of lovers,--night, the renewer and begetter of all life." "Why, indeed, there is something in that argument," says Anaïtis, dubiously. "'Something', do you say! why, but to my way of thinking it proves the Moon is precisely seven times more honorable than any of the Léshy. It is merely, my dear, a question of arithmetic." "Was it for that reason you did not praise Pandelis and her Mondays with the other Léshy?" "Why, to be sure," said Jurgen, glibly. "I did not find it at all praiseworthy that such an insignificant Léshy as Pandelis should name her day after the Moon: to me it seemed blasphemy." Then Jurgen coughed, and looked sidewise at his shadow. "Had it been Sereda, now, the case would have been different, and the Moon might well have appreciated the delicate compliment." Anaïtis appeared relieved. "I shall report your explanation. Candidly, there were ill things in store for you, Prince Jurgen, because your language was misunderstood. But that which you now say puts quite a different complexion upon matters." Jurgen laughed, not understanding the mystery, but confident he could always say whatever was required of him. "Now let us see a little more of Cocaigne!" cries Jurgen. For Jurgen was greatly interested by the pursuits of Cocaigne, and for a week or ten days participated therein industriously. Anaïtis, who reported the Moon's honor to be satisfied, now spared no effort to divert him, and they investigated innumerable pastimes together. "For all men that live have but a little while to live," said Anaïtis, "and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his body: and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure. As thus and thus," says Anaïtis. And she revealed devices to her Prince Consort. For Jurgen found that unknowingly he had in due and proper form espoused Queen Anaïtis, by participating in the Breaking of the Veil, which is the marriage ceremony of Cocaigne. His earlier relations with Dame Lisa had, of course, no legal standing in Cocaigne, where the Church is not Christian and the Law is, Do that which seems good to you. "Well, when in Rome," said Jurgen, "one must be romantic. But certainly this proves that nobody ever knows when he is being entrapped into respectability: and never did a fine young fellow marry a high queen with less premeditation." "Ah, my dear," says Anaïtis, "you were controlled by the finger of Fate." "I do not altogether like that figure of speech. It makes one seem too trivial, to be controlled by a mere finger. No, it is not quite complimentary to call what prompted me a finger." "By the long arm of coincidence, then." "Much more appropriate, my love," says Jurgen, complacently: "it sounds more dignified, and does not wound my self esteem." Now this Anaïtis who was Queen of Cocaigne was a delicious tall dark woman, thinnish, and lovely, and very restless. From the first her new Prince Consort was puzzled by her fervors, and presently was fretted by them. He humbly failed to understand how anyone could be so frantic over Jurgen. It seemed unreasonable. And in her more affectionate moments this nature myth positively frightened him: for transports such as these could not but rouse discomfortable reminiscences of the female spider, who ends such recreations by devouring her partner. "Thus to be loved is very flattering," he would reflect, "and I again am Jurgen, asking odds of none. But even so, I am mortal. She ought to remember that, in common fairness." Then the jealousy of Anaïtis, while equally flattering, was equally out of reason. She suspected everybody, seemed assured that every bosom cherished a mad passion for Jurgen, and that not for a moment could he be trusted. Well, as Jurgen frankly conceded, his conduct toward Stella, that ill-starred yogini of Indawadi, had in point of fact displayed, when viewed from an especial and quite unconscionable point of view, an aspect which, when isolated by persons judging hastily, might, just possibly, appear to approach remotely, in one or two respects, to temporary forgetfulness of Anaïtis, if indeed there were people anywhere so mentally deficient as to find such forgetfulness conceivable. But the main thing, the really important feature, which Anaïtis could not be made to understand, was that she had interrupted her consort in what was, in effect, a philosophical experiment, necessarily attempted in the dark. The muntrus requisite to the sacti sodhana were always performed in darkness: everybody knew that. For the rest, this Stella had asserted so-and-so; in simple equity she was entitled to a chance to prove her allegations if she could: so Jurgen had proceeded to deal fairly with her. Besides, why keep talking about this Stella, after a vengeance so spectacular and thorough as that to which Anaïtis had out of hand resorted? why keep reverting to a topic which was repugnant to Jurgen and visibly upset the dearest nature myth in all legend? Was it quite fair to anyone concerned? That was the sensible way in which Jurgen put it. Still, he became honestly fond of Anaïtis. Barring her eccentricities when roused to passion, she was a generous and kindly creature, although in Jurgen's opinion somewhat narrow-minded. "My love," he would say to her, "you appear positively unable to keep away from virtuous persons! You are always seeking out the people who endeavor to be upright and straightforward, and you are perpetually laying plans to divert these people. Ah, but why bother about them? What need have you to wear yourself out, and to devote your entire time to such proselitizing, when you might be so much more agreeably employed? You should learn, in justice to yourself as well as to others, to be tolerant of all things; and to acknowledge that in a being of man's mingled nature a strain of respectability is apt to develop every now and then, whatever you might prefer." But Anaïtis had high notions as to her mission, and merely told him that he ought not to speak with levity of such matters. "I would be much happier staying at home with you and the children," she would say, "but I feel that it is my duty--" "And your duty to whom, in heaven's name?" "Please do not employ such distasteful expressions, Jurgen. It is my duty to the power I serve, my very manifest duty to my creator. But you have no sense of religion, I am afraid; and the reflection is often a considerable grief to me." "Ah, but, my dear, you are quite certain as to who made you, and for what purpose you were made. You nature myths were created in the Mythopoeic age by the perversity of old heathen nations: and you serve your creator religiously. That is quite as it should be. But I have no such authentic information as to my origin and mission in life, I appear at all events to have no natural talent for being diverted, I do not take to it wholeheartedly, and these are facts we have to face." Now Jurgen put his arm around her. "My dear Anaïtis, you must not think it mere selfishness on my part. I was born with a something lacking that is requisite for anyone who aspires to be as thoroughly misled as most people: and you will have to love me in spite of it." "I almost wish I had never seen you as I saw you in that corridor, Jurgen. For I felt drawn toward you then and there. I almost wish I had never seen you at all. I cannot help being fond of you: and yet you laugh at the things I know to be required of me, and sometimes you make me laugh, too." "But, darling, are you not just the least, littlest, tiniest, very weest trifle bigoted? For instance, I can see that you think I ought to evince more interest in your striking dances, and your strange pleasures, and your surprising caresses, and all your other elaborate diversions. And I do think they do you credit, great credit, and I admire your inventiveness no less than your industry--" "You have no sense of reverence, Jurgen, you seem to have no sense at all of what is due to one's creator. I suppose you cannot help that: but you might at least remember it troubles me to hear you talk so flippantly of my religion." "But I do not talk flippantly--" "Indeed you do, though. And it does not sound at all well, let me tell you." "--Instead, I but point out that your creed necessitates, upon the whole, an ardor I lack. You, my pet, were created by perversity: and everyone knows it is the part of piety to worship one's creator in fashions acceptable to that creator. So, I do not criticize your religious connections, dear, and nobody admires these ceremonials of your faith more heartily than I do. I merely confess that to celebrate these rites so frequently requires a sustention of enthusiasm which is beyond me. In fine, I have not your fervent temperament, I am more sceptical. You may be right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but still, at the same time--! That is how I feel about it, my precious, and that is why I find, with constant repetition of these ceremonials, a certain lack of firmness developing in my responses: and finally, darling, that is all there is to it." "I never in my whole incarnation had such a Prince Consort! Sometimes I think you do not care a bit about me one way or the other, Jurgen." "Ah, but I do care for you very much. And to prove it, come now let us try some brand-new diversion, at sight of which the skies will be blackened and the earth will shudder or something of that sort, and then I will take the children fishing, as I promised." "No, Jurgen, I do not feel like diverting you just now. You take all the solemnity out of it with your jeering. Besides, you are always with the children. Jurgen, I believe you are fonder of the children than you are of me. And when you are not with them you are locked up in the Library." "Well, and was there ever such a treasury as the Library of Cocaigne? All the diversions that you nature myths have practised I find recorded there: and to read of your ingenious devices delights and maddens me. For it is eminently interesting to meditate upon strange pleasures, and to make verses about them is the most amiable of avocations: it is merely the pursuit of them that I would discourage, as disappointing and mussy. Besides, the Library is the only spot I have to myself in the palace, what with your fellow nature myths making the most of life all over the place." "It is necessary, Jurgen, for one in my position to entertain more or less. And certainly I cannot close the doors against my own relatives." "Such riffraff, though, my darling! Such odds and ends! I cannot congratulate you upon your kindred, for I do not get on at all with these patchwork combinations, that are one-third man and the other two-thirds a vulgar fraction of bull or hawk or goat or serpent or ape or jackal or what not. Priapos is the only male myth who comes here in anything like the semblance of a complete human being: and I had infinitely rather he stayed away, because even I who am Jurgen cannot but be envious of him." "And why, pray?" "Well, where I go reasonably equipped with Caliburn, Priapos carries a lance I envy--" "Like all the Bacchic myths he usually carries a thyrsos, and it is a showy weapon, certainly; but it is not of much use in actual conflict." "My darling! and how do you know?" "Why, Jurgen, how do women always know these things?--by intuition, I suppose." "You mean that you judge all affairs by feeling rather than reason? Indeed, I dare say that is true of most women, and men are daily chafed and delighted, about equally, by your illogical method of putting things together. But to get back to the congenial task of criticizing your kindred, your cousin Apis, for example, may be a very good sort of fellow: but, say what you will, it is ill-advised of him to be going about in public with a bull's head. It makes him needlessly conspicuous, if not actually ridiculous: and it puts me out when I try to talk to him." "Now, Jurgen, pray remember that you speak of a very generally respected myth, and that you are being irreverent--" "--And moreover, I take the liberty of repeating, my darling, that even though this Ba of Mendes is your cousin, it honestly does embarrass me to have to meet three-quarters of a goat socially--" "But, Jurgen, I must as a master of course invite prolific Ba to my feasts of the Sacæ--" "Even so, my dear, in issuing invitations a hostess may fairly presuppose that her guests will not make beasts of themselves. I often wish that this mere bit of ordinary civility were more rigorously observed by Ba and Hortanes and Fricco and Vul and Baal-Peor, and by all your other cousins who come to visit you in such a zoologically muddled condition. It shows a certain lack of respect for you, my darling." "Oh, but it is all in the family, Jurgen--" "Besides, they have no conversation. They merely bellow--or twitter or bleat or low or gibber or purr, according to their respective incarnations,--about unspeakable mysteries and monstrous pleasures until I am driven to the verge of virtue by their imbecility." "If you were more practical, Jurgen, you would realize that it speaks splendidly for anyone to be really interested in his vocation--" "And your female relatives are just as annoying, with their eternal whispered enigmas, and their crescent moons, and their mystic roses that change color and require continual gardening, and their pathetic belief that I have time to fool with them. And the entire pack practises symbolism until the house is positively littered with asherahs and combs and phalloses and linghams and yonis and arghas and pulleiars and talys, and I do not know what other idiotic toys that I am continually stepping on!" "Which of those minxes has been making up to you?" says Anaïtis, her eyes snapping. "Ah, ah! now many of your female cousins are enticing enough--" "I knew it! Oh, but you need not think you deluded me--!" "My darling, pray consider! be reasonable about it! Your feminine guests at present are Sekhmet in the form of a lioness, Io incarnated as a cow, Hekt as a frog, Derceto as a sturgeon, and--ah, yes!--Thoueris as a hippopotamus. I leave it to your sense of justice, dear Anaïtis, if of ladies with such tastes in dress a lovely myth like you can reasonably be jealous." "And I know perfectly well who it is! It is that Ephesian hussy, and I had several times noticed her behavior. Very well, oh, very well, indeed! nevertheless, I shall have a plain word or two with her at once, and the sooner she gets out of my house the better, as I shall tell her quite frankly. And as for you, Jurgen--!" "But, my dear Lisa--!" "What do you call me? Lisa was never an epithet of mine. Why do you call me Lisa?" "It was a slip of the tongue, my pet, an involuntary but not unnatural association of ideas. As for the Ephesian Diana, she reminds me of an animated pine-cone, with that eruption of breasts all over her, and I can assure you of your having no particular reason to be jealous of her. It was merely of the female myths in general I spoke. Of course they all make eyes at me: I cannot well help that, and you should have anticipated as much when you selected such an attractive Prince Consort. What do these poor enamored creatures matter when to you my heart is ever faithful?" "It is not your heart I am worrying over, Jurgen, for I believe you have none. Yes, you have quite succeeded in worrying me to distraction, if that is any comfort to you. However, let us not talk about it. For it is now necessary, absolutely imperative, that I go into Armenia to take part in the mourning for Tammouz: people would not understand it at all if I stayed away from such important orgies. And I shall get no benefit whatever from the trip, much as I need the change, because, without speaking of that famous heart of yours, you are always up to some double-dealing, and I shall not know into what mischief you may be thrusting yourself." Jurgen laughed, and kissed her. "Be off, and attend to your religious duties, dear, by all means. And I promise you I will stay safe locked in the Library till you come back." Thus Jurgen abode among the offspring of heathen perversity, and conformed to their customs. Death ends all things for all, they contended, and life is brief: for how few years do men endure, and how quickly is the most subtle and appalling nature myth explained away by the Philologists! So the wise person, and equally the foreseeing nature myth, will take his glut of pleasure while there is yet time to take anything, and will waste none of his short lien upon desire and vigor by asking questions. "Oh, but by all means!" said Jurgen, and he docilely crowned himself with a rose garland, and drank his wine, and kissed his Anaïtis. Then, when the feast of the Sacæ was at full-tide, he would whisper to Anaïtis, "I will be back in a moment, darling," and she would frown fondly at him as he very quietly slipped from his ivory dining couch, and went, with the merest suspicion of a reel, into the Library. She knew that Jurgen had no intention of coming back: and she despaired of his ever taking the position in the social life of Cocaigne to which he was entitled no less by his rank as Prince Consort than by his personal abilities. For Anaïtis did not really think that, as went natural endowments, her Jurgen had much reason to envy even such a general favorite as Priapos, say, from what she knew of both. So it was that Jurgen honored custom. "Because these beastly nature myths may be right," said Jurgen; "and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time--!" For Jurgen was content to dismiss no riddle with a mere "I do not know." Jurgen was no more able to give up questioning the meaning of life than could a trout relinquish swimming: indeed, he lived submerged in a flood of curiosity and doubt, as his native element. That death ended all things might very well be the case: yet if the outcome proved otherwise, how much more pleasant it would be, for everyone concerned, to have aforetime established amicable relations with the overlords of his second life, by having done whatever it was they expected of him here. "Yes, I feel that something is expected of me," says Jurgen: "and without knowing what it is, I am tolerably sure, somehow, that it is not an indulgence in endless pleasure. Besides, I do not think death is going to end all for me. If only I could be quite certain my encounter with King Smoit, and with that charming little Sylvia Tereu, was not a dream! As it is, plain reasoning assures me I am not indispensable to the universe: but with this reasoning, somehow, does not travel my belief. No, it is only fair to my own interests to go graveward a little more openmindedly than do these nature myths, since I lack the requisite credulity to become a free-thinking materialist. To believe that we know nothing assuredly, and cannot ever know anything assuredly, is to take too much on faith." And Jurgen paused to shake his sleek black head two or three times, very sagely. "No, I cannot believe in nothingness being the destined end of all: that would be too futile a climax to content a dramatist clever enough to have invented Jurgen. No, it is just as I said to the brown man: I cannot believe in the annihilation of Jurgen by any really thrifty overlords; so I shall see to it that Jurgen does nothing which he cannot more or less plausibly excuse, in case of supernal inquiries. That is far safer." Now Jurgen was shaking his head again: and he sighed. "For the pleasures of Cocaigne do not satisfy me. They are all well enough in their way; and I admit the truism that in seeking bed and board two heads are better than one. Yes, Anaïtis makes me an excellent wife. Nevertheless, her diversions do not satisfy me, and gallantly to make the most of life is not enough. No, it is something else that I desire: and Anaïtis does not quite understand me." 24. Of Compromises in Cocaigne Thus Jurgen abode for a little over two months in Cocaigne, and complied with the customs of that country. Nothing altered in Cocaigne: but in the world wherein Jurgen was reared, he knew, it would by this time be September, with the leaves flaring gloriously, and the birds flocking southward, and the hearts of Jurgen's fellows turning to not unpleasant regrets. But in Cocaigne there was no regret and no variability, but only an interminable flow of curious pleasures, illumined by the wandering star of Venus Mechanitis. "Why is it, then, that I am not content?" said Jurgen. "And what thing is this which I desire? It seems to me there is some injustice being perpetrated upon Jurgen, somewhere." Meanwhile he lived with Anaïtis the Sun's daughter very much as he had lived with Lisa, who was daughter to a pawnbroker. Anaïtis displayed upon the whole a milder temper: in part because she could confidently look forward to several centuries more of life before being explained away by the Philologists, and so had less need than Dame Lisa to worry over temporal matters; and in part because there was less to ruin one's disposition in two months than in ten years of Jurgen's company. Anaïtis nagged and sulked for a while when her Prince Consort slackened in the pursuit of strange delights, as he did very soon, with frank confession that his tastes were simple and that these outlandish refinements bored him. Later Anaïtis seemed to despair of his ever becoming proficient in curious pleasures, and she permitted Jurgen to lead a comparatively normal life, with only an occasional and half-hearted remonstrance. What puzzled Jurgen was that she did not seem to tire of him: and he would often wonder what this lovely myth, so skilled and potent in arts wherein he was the merest bungler, could find to care for in Jurgen. For now they lived together like any other humdrum married couple, and their occasional exchange of endearments was as much a matter of course as their meals, and hardly more exciting. "Poor dear, I believe it is simply because I am a monstrous clever fellow. She distrusts my cleverness, she very often disapproves of it, and yet she values it as queer, as a sort of curiosity. Well, but who can deny that cleverness is truly a curiosity in Cocaigne?" So Anaïtis petted and pampered her Prince Consort, and took such open pride in his queerness as very nearly embarrassed him sometimes. She could not understand his attitude of polite amusement toward his associates and the events which befell him, and even toward his own doings and traits. Whatever happened, Jurgen shrugged, and, delicately avoiding actual laughter, evinced amusement. Anaïtis could not understand this at all, of course, since Asian myths are remarkably destitute of humor. To Jurgen in private she protested that he ought to be ashamed of his levity: but none the less, she would draw him out, when among the bestial and grim nature myths, and she would glow visibly with fond pride in Jurgen's queerness. "She mothers me," reflected Jurgen. "Upon my word, I believe that in the end this is the only way in which females are capable of loving. And she is a dear and lovely creature, of whom I am sincerely fond. What is this thing, then, that I desire? Why do I feel life is not treating me quite justly?" So the summer had passed; and Anaïtis travelled a great deal, being a popular myth in every land. Her sense of duty was so strong that she endeavored to grace in person all the peculiar festivals held in her honor, and this, now the harvest season was at hand, left her with hardly a moment disengaged. Then, too, the mission of Anaïtis was to divert; and there were so many people whom she had personally to visit--so many notable ascetics who were advancing straight toward canonization, and whom her underlings were unable to divert,--that Anaïtis was compelled to pass night after night in unwholesomely comfortless surroundings, in monasteries and in the cells and caves of hermits. "You are wearing yourself out, my darling," Jurgen would say: "and does it not seem, after all, a game that is hardly worth the candle? I know that, for my part, before I would travel so many miles into a desert, and then climb a hundred foot pillar, just to whisper diverting notions into an anchorite's very dirty ear, I would let the gaunt rascal go to Heaven. But you associate so much with saintly persons that you have contracted their incapacity for seeing the humorous side of things. Well, you are a dear, even so. Here is a kiss for you: and do you come back to your adoring husband as soon as you conveniently can without neglecting your duty." "They report that this Stylites is very far gone in rectitude," said Anaïtis, absent-mindedly, as she prepared for the journey, "but I have hopes for him." Then Anaïtis put purple powder on her hair, and hastily got together a few beguiling devices, and went into the Thebaid. Jurgen went back to the Library, and the _System of Worshipping a Girl_, and the unique manuscripts of Astyanassa and Elephantis and Sotadês, and the Dionysiac Formulae, and the Chart of Postures, and the _Litany of the Centre of Delight_, and the Spintrian Treatises, and the _Thirty-two Gratifications_, and innumerable other volumes which he found instructive. The Library was a vaulted chamber, having its walls painted with the twelve Asan of Cyrenê; the ceiling was frescoed with the arched body of a woman, whose toes rested upon the cornice of the east wall, and whose out-stretched finger-tips touched the cornice of the western wall. The clothing of this painted woman was remarkable: and to Jurgen her face was not unfamiliar. "Who is that?" he inquired, of Anaïtis. Looking a little troubled, Anaïtis told him this was Æsred. "Well, I have heard her called otherwise: and I have seen her in quite other clothing." "You have seen Æsred!" "Yes, with a kitchen towel about her head, and otherwise unostentatiously appareled--but very becomingly, I can assure you!" Here Jurgen glanced sidewise at his shadow, and he cleared his throat. "Oh, and a most charming and a most estimable old lady I found this Æsred to be, I can assure you also." "I would prefer to know nothing about it," said Anaïtis, hastily, "I would prefer, for both our sakes, that you say no more of Æsred." Jurgen shrugged. Now in the Library of Cocaigne was garnered a record of all that the nature myths had invented in the way of pleasure. And here, with no companion save his queer shadow, and with Æsred arched above and bleakly regarding him, Jurgen spent most of his time, rather agreeably, in investigating and meditating upon the more curious of these recreations. The painted Asan were, in all conscience, food for wonder: but over and above these dozen surprising pastimes, the books of Anaïtis revealed to Jurgen, without disguise or reticence, every other far-fetched frolic of heathenry. Hitherto unheard-of forms of diversion were unveiled to him, and every recreation which ingenuity had been able to contrive, for the gratifying of the most subtle and the most strong-stomached tastes. No possible sort of amusement would seem to have been omitted, in running the quaint gamut of refinements upon nature which Anaïtis and her cousins had at odd moments invented, to satiate their desire for some more suave or more strange or more sanguinary pleasure. Yet the deeper Jurgen investigated, and the longer he meditated, the more certain it seemed to him that all such employment was a peculiarly unimaginative pursuit of happiness. "I am willing to taste any drink once. So I must give diversion a fair trial. But I am afraid these are the games of mental childhood. Well, that reminds me I promised the children to play with them for a while before supper." So he came out, and presently, brave in the shirt of Nessus, and mimicked in every action by that incongruous shadow, Prince Jurgen was playing tag with the three little Eumenidês, the daughters of Anaïtis by her former marriage with Acheron, the King of Midnight. Anaïtis and the dark potentate had parted by mutual consent. "Acheron meant well," she would say, with a forgiving sigh, "and that in the Moon's absence he occasionally diverted travellers, I do not deny. But he did not understand me." And Jurgen agreed that this tragedy sometimes befell even the irreproachably diverting. The three Eumenidês at this period were half-grown girls, whom their mother was carefully tutoring to drive guilty persons mad by the stings of conscience: and very quaint it was to see the young Furies at practise in the schoolroom, black-robed, and waving lighted torches, and crowned each with her garland of pet serpents. They became attached to Jurgen, who was always fond of children, and who had frequently regretted that Dame Lisa had borne him none. "It is enough to get the poor dear a name for eccentricity," he had been used to say. So Jurgen now made much of his step-children: and indeed he found their innocent prattle quite as intelligent, in essentials, as the talk of the full-grown nature myths who infested the palace of Anaïtis. And the four of them--Jurgen, and critical Alecto, and grave Tisiphonê, and fairy-like little Megæra,--would take long walks, and play with their dolls (though Alecto was a trifle condescending toward dolls), and romp together in the eternal evening of Cocaigne; and discuss what sort of dresses and trinkets Mother would probably bring them when she came back from Ecbatana or Lesbos, and would generally enjoy themselves. Rather pathetically earnest and unimaginative little lasses, Jurgen found the young Eumenidês: they inherited much of their mother's narrow-mindedness, if not their father's brooding and gloomy tendencies; but in them narrow-mindedness showed merely as amusing. And Jurgen loved them, and would often reflect what a pity it was that these dear little girls were destined when they reached maturity, to spend the rest of their lives in haunting criminals and adulterers and parricides and, generally, such persons as must inevitably tarnish the girls' outlook upon life, and lead them to see too much of the worst side of human nature. So Jurgen was content enough. But still he was not actually happy, not even among the endless pleasures of Cocaigne. "And what is this thing that I desire?" he would ask himself, again and again. And still he did not know: he merely felt he was not getting justice: and a dim sense of this would trouble him even while he was playing with the Eumenidês. 25. Cantraps of the Master Philologist But now, as has been recorded, it was September, and Jurgen could see that Anaïtis too was worrying over something. She kept it from him as long as possible: first said it was nothing at all, then said he would know it soon enough, then wept a little over the possibility that he would probably be very glad to hear it, and eventually told him. For in becoming the consort of a nature myth connected with the Moon Jurgen had of course exposed himself to the danger of being converted into a solar legend by the Philologists, and in that event would be compelled to leave Cocaigne with the Equinox, to enter into autumnal exploits elsewhere. And Anaïtis was quite heart-broken over the prospect of losing Jurgen. "For I have never had such a Prince Consort in Cocaigne, so maddening, and so helpless, and so clever; and the girls are so fond of you, although they have not been able to get on at all with so many of their step-fathers! And I know that you are flippant and heartless, but you have quite spoiled me for other men. No, Jurgen, there is no need to argue, for I have experimented with at least a dozen lovers lately, when I was traveling, and they bored me insufferably. They had, as you put it, dear, no conversation: and you are the only young man I have found in all these ages who could talk interestingly." "There is a reason for that, since like you, Anaïtis, I am not so youthful as I appear." "I do not care a straw about appearances," wept Anaïtis, "but I know that I love you, and that you must be leaving me with the Equinox unless you can settle matters with the Master Philologist." "Well, my pet," says Jurgen, "the Jews got into Jericho by trying." He armed, and girded himself with Caliburn, drank a couple of bottles of wine, put on the shirt of Nessus over all, and then went to seek this thaumaturgist. Anaïtis showed him the way to an unpretentious residence, where a week's washing was drying and flapping in the side yard. Jurgen knocked boldly, and after an interval the door was opened by the Master Philologist himself. "You must pardon this informality," he said, blinking through his great spectacles, which had dust on them: "but time was by ill luck arrested hereabouts on a Thursday evening, and so the maid is out indefinitely. I would suggest, therefore, that the lady wait outside upon the porch. For the neighbors to see her go in would not be respectable." "Do you know what I have come for?" says Jurgen, blustering, and splendid in his glittering shirt and his gleaming armor. "For I warn you I am justice." "I think you are lying, and I am sure you are making an unnecessary noise. In any event, justice is a word, and I control all words." "You will discover very soon, sir, that actions speak louder than words." "I believe that is so," said the Master Philologist, still blinking, "just as the Jewish mob spoke louder than He Whom they crucified. But the Word endures." "You are a quibbler!" "You are my guest. So I advise you, in pure friendliness, not to impugn the power of my words." Said Jurgen, scornfully: "But is justice, then, a word?" "Oh, yes, it is one of the most useful. It is the Spanish _justicia_, the Portuguese _justiça_, the Italian _giustizia_, all from the Latin _justus_. Oh, yes indeed, but justice is one of my best connected words, and one of the best trained also, I can assure you." "Aha, and to what degraded uses do you put this poor enslaved intimidated justice!" "There is but one intelligent use," said the Master Philologist, unruffled, "for anybody to make of words. I will explain it to you, if you will come in out of this treacherous draught. One never knows what a cold may lead to." Then the door closed upon them, and Anaïtis waited outside, in some trepidation. Presently Jurgen came out of that unpretentious residence, and so back to Anaïtis, discomfited. Jurgen flung down his magic sword, charmed Caliburn. "This, Anaïtis, I perceive to be an outmoded weapon. There is no weapon like words, no armor against words, and with words the Master Philologist has conquered me. It is not at all equitable: but the man showed me a huge book wherein were the names of everything in the world, and justice was not among them. It develops that, instead, justice is merely a common noun, vaguely denoting an ethical idea of conduct proper to the circumstances, whether of individuals or communities. It is, you observe, just a grammarian's notion." "But what has he decided about you, Jurgen?" "Alas, dear Anaïtis, he has decided, in spite of all that I could do, to derive Jurgen from _jargon_, indicating a confused chattering such as birds give forth at sunrise: thus ruthlessly does the Master Philologist convert me into a solar legend. So the affair is settled, and we must part, my darling." Anaïtis took up the sword. "But this is valuable, since the man who wields it is the mightiest of warriors." "It is a rush, a rotten twig, a broomstraw, against the insidious weapons of the Master Philologist. But keep it if you like, my dear, and give it to your next Prince Consort. I am ashamed to have trifled with such toys," says Jurgen, in fretted disgust. "And besides, the Master Philologist assures me I shall mount far higher through the aid of this." "But what is on that bit of parchment?" "Thirty-two of the Master Philologist's own words that I begged of him. See, my dear, he made this cantrap for me with his own hand and ink." And Jurgen read from the parchment, impressively: "'At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the Twenty-first.'" Said Anaïtis, blankly: "And is that all?" "Why, yes: and surely thirty-two whole words should be enough for the most exacting." "But is it magic? are you certain it is authentic magic?" "I have learned that there is always magic in words." "Now, if you ask my opinion, Jurgen, your cantrap is nonsense, and can never be of any earthly use to anybody. Without boasting, dear, I have handled a great deal of black magic in my day, but I never encountered a spell at all like this." "None the less, my darling, it is evidently a cantrap, for else the Master Philologist would never have given it to me." "But how are you to use it, pray?" "Why, as need directs," said Jurgen, and he put the parchment into the pocket of his glittering shirt. "Yes, I repeat, there is always something to be done with words, and here are thirty-two authentic words from the Master Philologist himself, not to speak of three commas and a full-stop. Oh, I shall certainly go far with this." "We women have firmer faith in the sword," replied Anaïtis. "At all events, you and I cannot remain upon this thaumaturgist's porch indefinitely." So Anaïtis put up Caliburn, and carried it from the thaumaturgist's unpretentious residence to her fine palace in the old twilit wood: and afterward, as everybody knows, she gave this sword to King Arthur, who with its aid rose to be hailed as one of the Nine Worthies of the World. So did the husband of Guenevere win for himself eternal fame with that which Jurgen flung away. 26. In Time's Hour-Glass "Well, well!" said Jurgen, when he had taken off all that foolish ironmongery, and had made himself comfortable in his shirt; "well, beyond doubt, the situation is awkward. I was content enough in Cocaigne, and it is unfair that I should be thus ousted. Still, a sensible person will manage to be content anywhere. But whither, pray, am I expected to go?" "Into whatever land you may elect, my dear," said Anaïtis, fondly. "That much at least I can manage for you: and the interpretation of your legend can be arranged afterward." "But I grow tired of all the countries I have ever seen, dear Anaïtis, and in my time I have visited nearly all the lands that are known to men." "That too can be arranged: and you can go instead into one of the countries which are desired by men. Indeed there are a number of such realms which no man has ever visited except in dreams, so that your choice is wide." "But how am I to make a choice without having seen any of these countries? It is not fair to be expecting me to do anything of the sort." "Why, I will show them to you," Anaïtis replied. The two of them then went together into a small blue chamber, the walls of which were ornamented with gold stars placed helter-skelter. The room was entirely empty save for an hour-glass near twice the height of a man. "It is Time's own glass," said Anaïtis, "which was left in my keeping when Time went to sleep." Anaïtis opened a little door of carved crystal that was in the lower half of the hour-glass, just above the fallen sands. With her finger-tips she touched the sand that was in Time's hour-glass, and in the sand she drew a triangle with equal sides, she who was strangely gifted and perverse. Then she drew just such another figure so that the tip of it penetrated the first triangle. The sand began to smoulder there, and vapors rose into the upper part of the hour-glass, and Jurgen saw that all the sand in Time's hour-glass was kindled by a magic generated by the contact of these two triangles. And in the vapors a picture formed. "I see a land of woods and rivers, Anaïtis. A very old fellow, regally crowned, lies asleep under an ash-tree, guarded by a watchman who has more arms and hands than Jigsbyed." "It is Atlantis you behold, and the sleeping of ancient Time--Time, to whom this glass belongs,--while Briareus watches." "Time sleeps quite naked, Anaïtis, and, though it is a delicate matter to talk about, I notice he has met with a deplorable accident." "So that Time begets nothing any more, Jurgen, the while he brings about old happenings over and over, and changes the name of what is ancient, in order to persuade himself he has a new plaything. There is really no more tedious and wearing old dotard anywhere, I can assure you. But Atlantis is only the western province of Cocaigne. Now do you look again, Jurgen!" "Now I behold a flowering plain and three steep hills, with a castle upon each hill. There are woods wherein the foliage is crimson: shining birds with white bodies and purple heads feed upon the clusters of golden berries that grow everywhere: and people go about in green clothes, with gold chains about their necks, and with broad bands of gold upon their arms, and all these people have untroubled faces." "That is Inislocha: and to the south is Inis Daleb, and to the north Inis Ercandra. And there is sweet music to be listening to eternally, could we but hear the birds of Rhiannon, and there is the best of wine to drink, and there delight is common. For thither comes nothing hard nor rough, and no grief, nor any regret, nor sickness, nor age, nor death, for this is the Land of Women, a land of many-colored hospitality." "Why, then, it is no different from Cocaigne. And into no realm where pleasure is endless will I ever venture again of my own free will, for I find that I do not enjoy pleasure." Then Anaïtis showed him Ogygia, and Tryphême, and Sudarsana, and the Fortunate Islands, and Æaea, and Caer-Is, and Invallis, and the Hesperides, and Meropis, and Planasia, and Uttarra, and Avalon, and Tir-nam-Beo, and Thelême, and a number of other lands to enter which men have desired: and Jurgen groaned. "I am ashamed of my fellows," says he: "for it appears their notion of felicity is to dwell eternally in a glorified brothel. I do not think that as a self-respecting young Prince I would care to inhabit any of these earthly paradises, for were there nothing else, I would always be looking for an invasion by the police." "There remains, then, but one other realm, which I have not shown you, in part because it is an obscure little place, and in part because, for a reason that I have, I shall not assist you to go thither. Still, there is Leukê, where Queen Helen rules: and Leukê it is that you behold." "But Leukê seems like any other country in autumn, and appears to be reasonably free from the fantastic animals and overgrown flowers which made the other paradises look childish. Come now, there is an attractive simplicity about Leukê. I might put up with Leukê if the local by-laws allowed me a rational amount of discomfort." "Discomfort you would have full measure. For the heart of no man remains untroubled after he has once viewed Queen Helen and the beauty that is hers. It is for that reason, Jurgen, I shall not help you to go into Leukê: for in Leukê you would forget me, having seen Queen Helen." "Why, what nonsense you are talking, my darling! I will wager she cannot hold a candle to you." "See for yourself!" said Anaïtis, sadly. Now through the rolling vapors came confusedly a gleaming and a surging glitter of all the loveliest colors of heaven and earth: and these took order presently, and Jurgen saw before him in the hour-glass that young Dorothy who was not Heitman Michael's wife. And long and wistfully he looked at her, and the blinding tears came to his eyes for no reason at all, and for the while he could not speak. Then Jurgen yawned, and said, "But certainly this is not the Helen who was famed for beauty." "I can assure you that it is," said Anaïtis: "and that it is she who rules in Leukê, whither I do not intend you shall go." "Why, but, my darling! this is preposterous. The girl is nothing to look at twice, one way or the other. She is not actually ugly, I suppose, if one happens to admire that washed-out blonde type, as of course some people do. But to call her beautiful is out of reason; and that I must protest in simple justice." "Do you really think so?" says Anaïtis, brightening. "I most assuredly do. Why, you remember what Calpurnius Bassus says about all blondes?" "No, I believe not. What did he say, dear?" "I would only spoil the splendid passage by quoting it inaccurately from memory. But he was quite right, and his opinion is mine in every particular. So if that is the best Leukê can offer, I heartily agree with you I had best go into some other country." "I suppose you already have your eyes upon some minx or other?" "Well, my love, those girls in the Hesperides were strikingly like you, with even more wonderful hair than yours: and the girl Aillê whom we saw in Tir-nam-Beo likewise resembled you remarkably, except that I thought she had the better figure. So I believe in either of those countries I could be content enough, after a while. Since part from you I must," said Jurgen, tenderly, "I intend, in common fairness to myself, to find a companion as like you as possible. You conceive I can pretend it is you at first: and then as I grow fonder of her for her own sake, you will gradually be put out of my mind without my incurring any intolerable anguish." Anaïtis was not pleased. "So you are already hankering after those huzzies! And you think them better looking than I am! And you tell me so to my face!" "My darling, you cannot deny we have been married all of three whole months: and nobody can maintain an infatuation for any woman that long, in the teeth of having nothing refused him. Infatuation is largely a matter of curiosity, and both of these emotions die when they are fed." "Jurgen," said Anaïtis, with conviction, "you are lying to me about something. I can see it in your eyes." "There is no deceiving a woman's intuition. Yes, I was not speaking quite honestly when I pretended I had as lief go into the Hesperides as to Tir-nam-Beo: it was wrong of me, and I ask your pardon. I thought that by affecting indifference I could manage you better. But you saw through me at once, and very rightly became angry. So I fling my cards upon the table, I no longer beat about the bushes of equivocation. It is Aillê, the daughter of Cormac, whom I love, and who can blame me? Did you ever in your life behold a more enticing figure, Anaïtis?--certainly I never did. Besides, I noticed--but never mind about that! Still I could not help seeing them. And then such eyes! twin beacons that light my way to comfort for my not inconsiderable regret at losing you, my darling. Oh, yes, assuredly it is to Tir-nam-Beo I elect to go." "Whither you go, my fine fellow, is a matter in which I have the choice, not you. And you are going to Leukê." "My love, now do be reasonable! We both agreed that Leukê was not a bit suitable. Why, were there nothing else, in Leukê there are no attractive women." "Have you no sense except book-sense! It is for that reason I am sending you to Leukê." And thus speaking, Anaïtis set about a strong magic that hastened the coming of the Equinox. In the midst of her charming she wept a little, for she was fond of Jurgen. And Jurgen preserved a hurt and angry face as well as he could: for at the sight of Queen Helen, who was so like young Dorothy la Désirée, he had ceased to care for Queen Anaïtis and her diverting ways, or to care for aught else in the world save only Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men. But Jurgen had learned that Anaïtis required management. "For her own good," as he put it, "and in simple justice to the many admirable qualities which she possesses." 27. Vexatious Estate of Queen Helen "But how can I travel with the Equinox, with a fictitious thing, with a mere convention?" Jurgen had said. "To demand any such proceeding of me is preposterous." "Is it any more preposterous than to travel with an imaginary creature like a centaur?" they had retorted. "Why, Prince Jurgen, we wonder how you, who have done that perfectly unheard-of thing, can have the effrontery to call anything else preposterous! Is there no reason at all in you? Why, conventions are respectable, and that is a deal more than can be said for a great many centaurs. Would you be throwing stones at respectability, Prince Jurgen? Why, we are unutterably astounded at your objection to any such well-known phenomenon as the Equinox!" And so on, and so on, and so on, said they. And in fine, they kept at him until Jurgen was too confused to argue, and his head was in a whirl, and one thing seemed as preposterous as another: and he ceased to notice any especial improbability in his traveling with the Equinox, and so passed without any further protest or argument about it, from Cocaigne to Leukê. But he would not have been thus readily flustered had Jurgen not been thinking all the while of Queen Helen and of the beauty that was hers. So he inquired forthwith the way that one might quickliest come into the presence of Queen Helen. "Why, you will find Queen Helen," he was told, "in her palace at Pseudopolis." His informant was a hamadryad, whom Jurgen encountered upon the outskirts of a forest overlooking the city from the west. Beyond broad sloping stretches of ripe corn, you saw Pseudopolis as a city builded of gold and ivory, now all a dazzling glitter under a hard-seeming sky that appeared unusually remote from earth. "And is the Queen as fair as people report?" asks Jurgen. "Men say that she excels all other women," replied the Hamadryad, "as immeasurably as all we women perceive her husband to surpass all other men--" "But, oh, dear me!" says Jurgen. "--Although, for one, I see nothing remarkable in Queen Helen's looks. And I cannot but think that a woman who has been so much talked about ought to be more careful in the way she dresses." "So this Queen Helen is already provided with a husband!" Jurgen was displeased, but saw no reason for despair. Then Jurgen inquired as to the Queen's husband, and learned that Achilles, the son of Peleus, was now wedded to Helen, the Swan's daughter, and that these two ruled in Pseudopolis. "For they report," said the Hamadryad, "that in Adês' dreary kingdom Achilles remembered her beauty, and by this memory was heartened to break the bonds of Adês: so did Achilles, King of Men, and all his ancient comrades come forth resistlessly upon a second quest of this Helen, whom people call--and as I think, with considerable exaggeration--the wonder of this world. Then the Gods fulfilled the desire of Achilles, because, they said, the man who has once beheld Queen Helen will never any more regain contentment so long as his life lacks this wonder of the world. Personally, I would dislike to think that all men are so foolish." "Men are not always rational, I grant you: but then," says Jurgen, slyly, "so many of their ancestresses are feminine." "But an ancestress is always feminine. Nobody ever heard of a man being an ancestress. Men are ancestors. Why, whatever are you talking about?" "Well, we were speaking, I believe, of Queen Helen's marriage." "To be sure we were! And I was telling you about the Gods, when you made that droll mistake about ancestors. Everybody makes mistakes sometimes, however, and foreigners are always apt to get words confused. I could see at once you were a foreigner--" "Yes," said Jurgen, "but you were not telling me about myself but about the Gods." "Why, you must know the aging Gods desired tranquillity. So we will give her to Achilles, they said; and then, it may be, this King of Men will retain her so safely that his littler fellows will despair, and will cease to war for Helen: and so we shall not be bothered any longer by their wars and other foolishnesses. For this reason it was that the Gods gave Helen to Achilles, and sent the pair to reign in Leukê: though, for my part," concluded the Hamadryad, "I shall never cease to wonder what he saw in her--no, not if I live to be a thousand." "I must," says Jurgen, "observe this monarch Achilles before the world is a day older. A king is all very well, of course, but no husband wears a crown so as to prevent the affixion of other head-gear." And Jurgen went down into Pseudopolis, swaggering. * * * * * So in the evening, just after sunset, Jurgen returned to the Hamadryad: he walked now with the aid of the ashen staff which Thersitês had given Jurgen, and Jurgen was mirthless and rather humble. "I have observed your King Achilles," Jurgen says, "and he is a better man than I. Queen Helen, as I confess with regret, is worthily mated." "And what have you to say about her?" inquires the Hamadryad. "Why, there is nothing more to say than that she is worthily mated, and fit to be the wife of Achilles." For once, poor Jurgen was really miserable. "For I admire this man Achilles, I envy him, and I fear him," says Jurgen: "and it is not fair that he should have been created my superior." "But is not Queen Helen the loveliest of ladies that you have ever seen?" "As to that--!" says Jurgen. He led the Hamadryad to a forest pool hard-by the oak-tree in which she resided. The dusky water lay unruffled, a natural mirror. "Look!" said Jurgen, and he spoke with a downward waving of his staff. The silence gathering in the woods was wonderful. Here the air was sweet and pure: and the little wind which went about the ilex boughs in search of night was a tender and peaceful wind, because it knew that the all-healing night was close at hand. The Hamadryad replied, "But I see only my own face." "It is the answer to your question, none the less. Now do you tell me your name, my dear, so that I may know who in reality is the loveliest of all the ladies I have ever seen." The Hamadryad told him that her name was Chloris, and that she always looked a fright with her hair arranged as it was to-day, and that he was a strangely impudent fellow. So he in turn confessed to her he was King Jurgen of Eubonia, drawn from his remote kingdom by exaggerated reports as to the beauty of Queen Helen. Chloris agreed with him that rumor was in such matters invariably untrustworthy. This led to further talk as twilight deepened: and the while that a little by a little this pretty girl was converted into a warm breathing shadow, hardly visible to the eye, the shadow of Jurgen departed from him, and he began to talk better and better. He had seen Queen Helen face to face, and other women now seemed unimportant. Whether or not he got into the graces of this Hamadryad did not greatly matter, one way or the other: and in consequence Jurgen talked with such fluency, such apposite remarks and such tenderness as astounded him. So he sat listening with delight to the seductive tongue of that monstrous clever fellow, Jurgen. For this plump brown-haired bright-eyed little creature, this Chloris, he was honestly sorry. Into the uneventful life of a hamadryad, here in this uncultured forest, could not possibly have entered much pleasurable excitement, and it seemed only right to inject a little. "Why, simply in justice to her!" Jurgen reflected. "I must deal fairly." Now it grew darker and darker under the trees, and in the dark nobody can see what happens. There were only two voices that talked, with lengthy pauses: and they spoke gravely of unimportant trifles, like children at play together. "And how does a king come thus to be traveling without any retinue or even a sword about him?" "Why, I travel with a staff, my dear, as you perceive: and it suffices me." "Certainly it is large enough, in all conscience. Alas, young outlander, who call yourself a king! you carry the bludgeon of a highwayman, and I am afraid of it." "My staff is a twig from Yggdrasill, the tree of universal life: Thersitês gave it me, and the sap that throbs therein arises from the Undar fountain, where the grave Norns make laws for men and fix their destinies." "Thersitês is a scoffer, and his gifts are mockery. I would have none of them." The two began to wrangle, not at all angrily, as to what Jurgen had best do with his prized staff. "Do you take it away from me, at any rate!" says Chloris. So Jurgen hid his staff where Chloris could not possibly see it; and he drew the Hamadryad close to him, and he laughed contentedly. "Oh, oh! O wretched King," cried Chloris, "I fear that you will be the death of me! And you have no right to oppress me in this way, for I am not your subject." "Rather shall you be my queen, dear Chloris, receiving all that I most prize." "But you are too domineering: and I am afraid to be alone with you and your big staff! Ah! not without knowing what she talked about did my mother use to quote her Æolic saying, The king is cruel and takes joy in bloodshed!" "Presently you will not be afraid of me, nor will you be afraid of my staff. Custom is all. For this likewise is an Æolic saying, The taste of the first olive is unpleasant, but the second is good." Now for a while was silence save for the small secretive rumors of the forest. One of the large green locusts which frequent the Island of Leukê began shrilling tentatively. "Wait now, King Jurgen, for surely I hear footsteps, and one comes to trouble us." "It is a wind in the tree-tops: or perhaps it is a god who envies me. I pause for neither." "Ah, but speak reverently of the Gods! For is not Love a god, and a jealous god that has wings with which to leave us?" "Then am I a god, for in my heart is love, and in every fibre of me is love, and from me now love emanates." "But certainly I heard somebody approaching through the forest--" "Well, and do you not perceive I have withdrawn my staff from its hiding-place?" "Ah, you have great faith in that staff of yours!" "I fear nobody when I brandish it." Another locust had answered the first one. Now the two insects were in full dispute, suffusing the warm darkness with their pertinacious whirrings. "King of Eubonia, it is certainly true, that which you told me about olives." "Yes, for always love begets truthfulness." "I pray it may beget between us utter truthfulness, and nothing else, King Jurgen." "Not 'Jurgen' now, but 'love'." "Indeed, they tell that even so, in such deep darkness, Love came to his sweetheart Psychê." "Then why do you complain because I piously emulate the Gods, and offer unto Love the sincerest form of flattery?" And Jurgen shook his staff at her. "Ah, but you are strangely ready with your flattery! and Love threatened Psychê with no such enormous staff." "That is possible: for I am Jurgen. And I deal fairly with all women, and raise my staff against none save in the way of kindness." So they talked nonsense, in utter darkness, while the locusts, and presently a score of locusts, disputed obstinately. Now Chloris and Jurgen were invisible, even to each other, as they talked under her oak-tree: but before them the fields shone mistily under a gold-dusted dome, for this night seemed builded of stars. And the white towers of Pseudopolis also could Jurgen see, as he laughed there and took his pleasure with Chloris. He reflected that very probably Achilles and Helen were laughing thus, and were not dissimilarly occupied, out yonder, in this night of wonder. He sighed. But in a while Jurgen and the Hamadryad were speaking again, just as inconsequently, and the locusts were whirring just as obstinately. Later the moon rose, and they all slept. With the dawn Jurgen arose, and left this Hamadryad Chloris still asleep. He stood where he overlooked the city and the shirt of Nessus glittered in the level sun rays: and Jurgen thought of Queen Helen. Then he sighed, and went back to Chloris and wakened her with the sort of salutation that appeared her just due. 28. Of Compromises in Leukê Now the tale tells that ten days later Jurgen and his Hamadryad were duly married, in consonance with the law of the Wood: not for a moment did Chloris consider any violation of the proprieties, so they were married the first evening she could assemble her kindred. "Still, Chloris, I already have two wives," says Jurgen, "and it is but fair to confess it." "I thought it was only yesterday you arrived in Leukê." "That is true: for I came with the Equinox, over the long sea." "Then Jugatinus has not had time to marry you to anybody, and certainly he would never think of marrying you to two wives. Why do you talk such nonsense?" "No, it is true, I was not married by Jugatinus." "So there!" says Chloris, as if that settled matters. "Now you see for yourself." "Why, yes, to be sure," says Jurgen, "that does put rather a different light upon it, now I think of it." "It makes all the difference in the world." "I would hardly go that far. Still, I perceive it makes a difference." "Why, you talk as if everybody did not know that Jugatinus marries people!" "No, dear, let us be fair! I did not say precisely that." "--And as if everybody was not always married by Jugatinus!" "Yes, here in Leukê, perhaps. But outside of Leukê, you understand, my darling!" "But nobody goes outside of Leukê. Nobody ever thinks of leaving Leukê. I never heard such nonsense." "You mean, nobody ever leaves this island?" "Nobody that you ever hear of. Of course, there are Lares and Penates, with no social position, that the kings of Pseudopolis sometimes take a-voyaging--" "Still, the people of other countries do get married." "No, Jurgen," said Chloris, sadly, "it is a rule with Jugatinus never to leave the island; and indeed I am sure he has never even considered such unheard-of conduct: so, of course, the people of other countries are not able to get married." "Well, but, Chloris, in Eubonia--" "Now if you do not mind, dear, I think we had better talk about something more pleasant. I do not blame you men of Eubonia, because all men are in such matters perfectly irresponsible. And perhaps it is not altogether the fault of the women, either, though I do think any really self-respecting woman would have the strength of character to keep out of such irregular relations, and that much I am compelled to say. So do not let us talk any more about these persons whom you describe as your wives. It is very nice of you, dear, to call them that, and I appreciate your delicacy. Still, I really do believe we had better talk about something else." Jurgen deliberated. "Yet do you not think, Chloris, that in the absence of Jugatinus--and in, as I understand it, the unavoidable absence of Jugatinus,--somebody else might perform the ceremony?" "Oh, yes, if they wanted to. But it would not count. Nobody but Jugatinus can really marry people. And so of course nobody else does." "What makes you sure of that?" "Why, because," said Chloris, triumphantly, "nobody ever heard of such a thing." "You have voiced," said Jurgen, "an entire code of philosophy. Let us by all means go to Jugatinus and be married." So they were married by Jugatinus, according to the ceremony with which the People of the Wood were always married by Jugatinus. First Virgo loosed the girdle of Chloris in such fashion as was customary; and Chloris, after sitting much longer than Jurgen liked in the lap of Mutinus (who was in the state that custom required of him) was led back to Jurgen by Domiducus in accordance with immemorial custom; Subigo did her customary part; then Praema grasped the bride's plump arms: and everything was perfectly regular. Thereafter Jurgen disposed of his staff in the way Thersitês had directed: and thereafter Jurgen abode with Chloris upon the outskirts of the forest, and complied with the customs of Leukê. Her tree was a rather large oak, for Chloris was now in her two hundred and sixty-sixth year; and at first its commodious trunk sheltered them. But later Jurgen builded himself a little cabin thatched with birds' wings, and made himself more comfortable. "It is well enough for you, my dear, in fact it is expected of you, to live in a tree-bole. But it makes me feel uncomfortably like a worm, and it needlessly emphasizes the restrictions of married life. Besides, you do not want me under your feet all the time, nor I you. No, let us cultivate a judicious abstention from familiarity: such is one secret of an enduring, because endurable, marriage. But why is it, pray, that you have never married before, in all these years?" She told him. At first Jurgen could not believe her, but presently Jurgen was convinced, through at least two of his senses, that what Chloris told him was true about hamadryads. "Otherwise, you are not markedly unlike the women of Eubonia," said Jurgen. And now Jurgen met many of the People of the Wood; but since the tree of Chloris stood upon the verge of the forest, he saw far more of the People of the Field, who dwelt between the forest and the city of Pseudopolis. These were the neighbors and the ordinary associates of Chloris and Jurgen; though once in a while, of course, there would be family gatherings in the forest. But Jurgen presently had found good reason to distrust the People of the Wood, and went to none of these gatherings. "For in Eubonia," he said, "we are taught that your wife's relatives will never find fault with you to your face so long as you keep away from them. And more than that, no sensible man expects." Meanwhile, King Jurgen was perplexed by the People of the Field, who were his neighbors. They one and all did what they had always done. Thus Runcina saw to it that the Fields were weeded: Seia took care of the seed while it was buried in the earth: Nodosa arranged the knots and joints of the stalk: Volusia folded the blade around the corn: each had an immemorial duty. And there was hardly a day that somebody was not busied in the Fields, whether it was Occator harrowing, or Sator and Sarritor about their sowing and raking, or Stercutius manuring the ground: and Hippona was always bustling about in one place or another looking after the horses, or else Bubona would be there attending to the cattle. There was never any restfulness in the Fields. "And why do you do these things year in and year out?" asked Jurgen. "Why, King of Eubonia, we have always done these things," they said, in high astonishment. "Yes, but why not stop occasionally?" "Because in that event the work would stop. The corn would die, the cattle would perish, and the Fields would become jungles." "But, as I understand it, this is not your corn, nor your cattle, nor your Fields. You derive no good from them. And there is nothing to prevent your ceasing this interminable labor, and living as do the People of the Wood, who perform no heavy work whatever." "I should think not!" said Aristæus, and his teeth flashed in a smile that was very pleasant to see, as he strained at the olive-press. "Whoever heard of the People of the Wood doing anything useful!" "Yes, but," says Jurgen, patiently, "do you think it is quite fair to yourselves to be always about some tedious and difficult labor when nobody compels you to do it? Why do you not sometimes take holiday?" "King Jurgen," replied Fornax, looking up from the little furnace wherein she was parching corn, "you are talking nonsense. The People of the Field have never taken holiday. Nobody ever heard of such a thing." "We should think not indeed!" said all the others, sagely. "Ah, ah!" said Jurgen, "so that is your demolishing reason. Well, I shall inquire about this matter among the People of the Wood, for they may be more sensible." Then as Jurgen was about to enter the forest, he encountered Terminus, perfumed with ointment, and crowned with a garland of roses, and standing stock still. "Aha," said Jurgen, "so here is one of the People of the Wood about to go down into the Fields. But if I were you, my friend, I would keep away from any such foolish place." "I never go down into the Fields," said Terminus. "Oh, then, you are returning into the forest." "But certainly not. Whoever heard of my going into the forest!" "Indeed, now I look at you, you are merely standing here." "I have always stood here," said Terminus. "And do you never move?" "No," said Terminus. "And for what reason?" "Because I have always stood here without moving," replied Terminus. "Why, for me to move would be a quite unheard-of thing." So Jurgen left him, and went into the forest. And there Jurgen encountered a smiling young fellow, who rode upon the back of a large ram. This young man had his left fore-finger laid to his lips, and his right hand held an astonishing object to be thus publicly displayed. "But, oh, dear me! now, really, sir--!" says Jurgen. "Bah!" says the ram. But the smiling young fellow said nothing at all as he passed Jurgen, because it is not the custom of Harpocrates to speak. "Which would be well enough," reflected Jurgen, "if only his custom did not make for stiffness and the embarrassment of others." Thereafter Jurgen came upon a considerable commotion in the bushes, where a satyr was at play with an oread. "Oh, but this forest is not respectable!" said Jurgen. "Have you no ethics and morals, you People of the Wood! Have you no sense of responsibility whatever, thus to be frolicking on a working-day?" "Why, no," responded the Satyr, "of course not. None of my people have such things: and so the natural vocation of all satyrs is that which you are now interrupting." "Perhaps you speak the truth," said Jurgen. "Still, you ought to be ashamed of the fact that you are not lying." "For a satyr to be ashamed of himself would be indeed an unheard-of thing! Now go away, you in the glittering shirt! for we are studying eudæmonism, and you are talking nonsense, and I am busy, and you annoy me," said the Satyr. "Well, but in Cocaigne," said Jurgen, "this eudæmonism was considered an indoor diversion." "And did you ever hear of a satyr going indoors?" "Why, save us from all hurt and harm! but what has that to do with it?" "Do not try to equivocate, you shining idiot! For now you see for yourself you are talking nonsense. And I repeat that such unheard-of nonsense irritates me," said the Satyr. The Oread said nothing at all. But she too looked annoyed, and Jurgen reflected that it was probably not the custom of oreads to be rescued from the eudæmonism of satyrs. So Jurgen left them; and yet deeper in the forest he found a bald-headed squat old man, with a big paunch and a flat red nose and very small bleared eyes. Now the old fellow was so helplessly drunk that he could not walk: instead, he sat upon the ground, and leaned against a tree-bole. "This is a very disgusting state for you to be in so early in the morning," observed Jurgen. "But Silenus is always drunk," the bald-headed man responded, with a dignified hiccough. "So here is another one of you! Well, and why are you always drunk, Silenus?" "Because Silenus is the wisest of the People of the Wood." "Ah, ah! but I apologize. For here at last is somebody with a plausible excuse for his daily employment. Now, then, Silenus, since you are so wise, come tell me, is it really the best fate for a man to be drunk always?" "Not at all. Drunkenness is a joy reserved for the Gods: so do men partake of it impiously, and so are they very properly punished for their audacity. For men, it is best of all never to be born; but, being born, to die very quickly." "Ah, yes! but failing either?" "The third best thing for a man is to do that which seems expected of him," replied Silenus. "But that is the Law of Philistia: and with Philistia, they inform me, Pseudopolis is at war." Silenus meditated. Jurgen had discovered an uncomfortable thing about this old fellow, and it was that his small bleared eyes did not blink nor the lids twitch at all. His eyes moved, as through magic the eyes of a painted statue might move horribly, under quite motionless red lids. Therefore it was uncomfortable when these eyes moved toward you. "Young fellow in the glittering shirt, I will tell you a secret: and it is that the Philistines were created after the image of Koshchei who made some things as they are. Do you think upon that! So the Philistines do that which seems expected. And the people of Leukê were created after the image of Koshchei who made yet other things as they are: therefore do the people of Leukê do that which is customary, adhering to classical tradition. Do you think upon that also! Then do you pick your side in this war, remembering that you side with stupidity either way. And when that happens which will happen, do you remember how Silenus foretold to you precisely what would happen, a long while before it happened, because Silenus was so old and so wise and so very disreputably drunk, and so very, very sleepy." "Yes, certainly, Silenus: but how will this war end?" "Dullness will conquer dullness: and it will not matter." "Ah, yes! but what will become, in all this fighting, of Jurgen?" "That will not matter either," said Silenus, comfortably. "Nobody will bother about you." And with that he closed his horrible bleared eyes and went to sleep. So Jurgen left the old tippler, and started to leave the forest also. "For undoubtedly all the people in Leukê are resolute to do that which is customary," reflected Jurgen, "for the unarguable reason it is their custom, and has always been their custom. And they will desist from these practises when the cat eats acorns, but not before. So it is the part of wisdom to inquire no further into the matter. For after all, these people may be right; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong." Jurgen shrugged. "But still, at the same time--!" Now in returning to his cabin Jurgen heard a frightful sort of yowling and screeching as of mad people. "Hail, daughter of various-formed Protogonus, thou that takest joy in mountains and battles and in the beating of the drum! Hail, thou deceitful saviour, mother of all gods, that comest now, pleased with long wanderings, to be propitious to us!" But the uproar was becoming so increasingly unpleasant that Jurgen at this point withdrew into a thicket: and thence he witnessed the passing through the Woods of a notable procession. There were features connected with this procession sufficiently unusual to cause Jurgen to vow that the desiderated moment wherein he walked unhurt from the forest would mark the termination of his last visit thereto. Then amazement tripped up the heels of terror: for now passed Mother Sereda, or, as Anaïtis had called her, Æsred. To-day, in place of a towel about her head, she wore a species of crown, shaped like a circlet of crumbling towers: she carried a large key, and her chariot was drawn by two lions. She was attended by howling persons, with shaved heads: and it was apparent that these persons had parted with possessions which Jurgen valued. "This is undoubtedly," said he, "a most unwholesome forest." Jurgen inquired about this procession, later, and from Chloris he got information which surprised him. "And these are the beings who I had thought were poetic ornaments of speech! But what is the old lady doing in such high company?" He described Mother Sereda, and Chloris told him who this was. Now Jurgen shook his sleek black head. "Behold another mystery! Yet after all, it is no concern of mine if the old lady elects for an additional anagram. I should be the last person to criticize her, inasmuch as to me she has been more than generous. Well, I shall preserve her friendship by the infallible recipe of keeping out of her way. Oh, but I shall certainly keep out of her way now that I have perceived what is done to the men who serve her." And after that Jurgen and Chloris lived very pleasantly together, though Jurgen began to find his Hamadryad a trifle unperceptive, if not actually obtuse. "She does not understand me, and she does not always treat my superior wisdom quite respectfully. That is unfair, but it seems to be an unavoidable feature of married life. Besides, if any woman had ever understood me she would, in self-protection, have refused to marry me. In any case, Chloris is a dear brown plump delicious partridge of a darling: and cleverness in women is, after all, a virtue misplaced." And Jurgen did not return into the Woods, nor did he go down into the city. Neither the People of the Field nor of the Wood, of course, ever went within city gates. "But I would think that you would like to see the fine sights of Pseudopolis," says Chloris,--"and that fine Queen of theirs," she added, almost as though she spoke without premeditation. "Woman dear," says Jurgen, "I do not wish to appear boastful. But in Eubonia, now! well, really some day we must return to my kingdom, and you shall inspect for yourself a dozen or two of my cities--Ziph and Eglington and Poissieux and Gazden and Bäremburg, at all events. And then you will concede with me that this little village of Pseudopolis, while well enough in its way--!" And Jurgen shrugged. "But as for saying more!" "Sometimes," said Chloris, "I wonder if there is any such place as your fine kingdom of Eubonia: for certainly it grows larger and more splendid every time you talk of it." "Now can it be," asks Jurgen, more hurt than angry, "that you suspect me of uncandid dealing and, in short, of being an impostor!" "Why, what does it matter? You are Jurgen," she answered, happily. And the man was moved as she smiled at him across the glowing queer embroidery-work at which Chloris seemed to labor interminably: he was conscious of a tenderness for her which was oddly remorseful: and it appeared to him that if he had known lovelier women he had certainly found nowhere anyone more lovable than was this plump and busy and sunny-tempered little wife of his. "My dear, I do not care to see Queen Helen again, and that is a fact. I am contented here, with a wife befitting my station, suited to my endowments, and infinitely excelling my deserts." "And do you think of that tow-headed bean-pole very often, King Jurgen?" "That is unfair, and you wrong me, Chloris, with these unmerited suspicions. It pains me to reflect, my dear, that you esteem the tie between us so lightly you can consider me capable of breaking it even in thought." "To talk of fairness is all very well, but it is no answer to a plain question." Jurgen looked full at her; and he laughed. "You women are so unscrupulously practical. My dear, I have seen Queen Helen face to face. But it is you whom I love as a man customarily loves a woman." "That is not saying much." "No: for I endeavor to speak in consonance with my importance. You forget that I have also seen Achilles." "But you admired Achilles! You told me so yourself." "I admired the perfections of Achilles, but I cordially dislike the man who possesses them. Therefore I shall keep away from both the King and Queen of Pseudopolis." "Yet you will not go into the Woods, either, Jurgen--" "Not after what I have witnessed there," said Jurgen, with an exaggerated shudder that was not very much exaggerated. Now Chloris laughed, and quitted her queer embroidery in order to rumple up his hair. "And you find the People of the Field so insufferably stupid, and so uninterested by your Zorobasiuses and Ptolemopiters and so on, that you keep away from them also. O foolish man of mine, you are determined to be neither fish nor beast nor poultry and nowhere will you ever consent to be happy." "It was not I who determined my nature, Chloris: and as for being happy, I make no complaint. Indeed, I have nothing to complain of, nowadays. So I am very well contented by my dear wife and by my manner of living in Leukê," said Jurgen, with a sigh. 29. Concerning Horvendile's Nonsense It was on a bright and tranquil day in November, at the period which the People of the Field called the summer of Alcyonê, that Jurgen went down from the forest; and after skirting the moats of Pseudopolis, and avoiding a meeting with any of the town's dispiritingly glorious inhabitants, Jurgen came to the seashore. Chloris had suggested his doing this, in order that she could have a chance to straighten things in his cabin while she was tidying her tree for the winter, and could so make one day's work serve for two. For the dryad of an oak-tree has large responsibilities, what with the care of so many dead leaves all winter, and the acorns being blown from their places and littering up the ground everywhere, and the bark cracking until it looks positively disreputable: and Jurgen was at any such work less a help than a hindrance. So Chloris gave him a parcel of lunch and a perfunctory kiss, and told him to go down to the seashore and get inspired and make up a pretty poem about her. "And do you be back in time for an early supper, Jurgen," says she, "but not a minute before." Thus it befell that Jurgen reflectively ate his lunch in solitude, and regarded the Euxine. The sun was high, and the queer shadow that followed Jurgen was huddled into shapelessness. "This is indeed an inspiring spectacle," Jurgen reflected. "How puny seems the race of man, in contrast with this mighty sea, which now spreads before me like, as So-and-so has very strikingly observed, a something or other under such and such conditions!" Then Jurgen shrugged. "Really, now I think of it, though, there is no call for me to be suffused with the traditional emotions. It looks like a great deal of water, and like nothing else in particular. And I cannot but consider the water is behaving rather futilely." So he sat in drowsy contemplation of the sea. Far out a shadow would form on the water, like the shadow of a broadish plank, scudding shoreward, and lengthening and darkening as it approached. Presently it would be some hundred feet in length, and would assume a hard smooth darkness, like that of green stone: this was the under side of the wave. Then the top of it would curdle, the southern end of the wave would collapse, and with exceeding swiftness this white feathery falling would plunge and scamper and bluster northward, the full length of the wave. It would be neater and more workmanlike to have each wave tumble down as a whole. From the smacking and the splashing, what looked like boiling milk would thrust out over the brown sleek sands: and as the mess spread it would thin to a reticulated whiteness, like lace, and then to the appearance of smoke sprays clinging to the sands. Plainly the tide was coming in. Or perhaps it was going out. Jurgen's notions as to such phenomena were vague. But, either way, the sea was stirring up a large commotion and a rather pleasant and invigorating odor. And then all this would happen once more: and then it would happen yet again. It had happened a number of hundred of times since Jurgen first sat down to eat his lunch: and what was gained by it? The sea was behaving stupidly. There was no sense in this continual sloshing and spanking and scrabbling and spluttering. Thus Jurgen, as he nodded over the remnants of his lunch. "Sheer waste of energy, I am compelled to call it," said Jurgen, aloud, just as he noticed there were two other men on this long beach. One came from the north, one from the south, so that they met not far from where Jurgen was sitting: and by an incredible coincidence Jurgen had known both of these men in his first youth. So he hailed them, and they recognized him at once. One of these travellers was the Horvendile who had been secretary to Count Emmerick when Jurgen was a lad: and the other was Perion de la Forêt, that outlaw who had come to Bellegarde very long ago disguised as the Vicomte de Puysange. And all three of these old acquaintances had kept their youth surprisingly. Now Horvendile and Perion marveled at the fine shirt which Jurgen was wearing. "Why, you must know," he said, modestly, "that I have lately become King of Eubonia, and must dress according to my station." So they said they had always expected some such high honor to befall him, and then the three of them fell to talking. And Perion told how he had come through Pseudopolis, on his way to King Theodoret at Lacre Kai, and how in the market-place at Pseudopolis he had seen Queen Helen. "She is a very lovely lady," said Perion, "and I marvelled over her resemblance to Count Emmerick's fair sister, whom we all remember." "I noticed that at once," said Horvendile, and he smiled strangely, "when I, too, passed through the city." "Why, but nobody could fail to notice it," said Jurgen. "It is not, of course, that I consider her to be as lovely as Dame Melicent," continued Perion, "since, as I have contended in all quarters of the world, there has never lived, and will never live, any woman so beautiful as Melicent. But you gentlemen appear surprised by what seems to me a very simple statement. Your air, in fine, is one that forces me to point out it is a statement I can permit nobody to deny." And Perion's honest eyes had narrowed unpleasantly, and his sun-browned countenance was uncomfortably stern. "Dear sir," said Jurgen, hastily, "it was merely that it appeared to me the lady whom they call Queen Helen hereabouts is quite evidently Count Emmerick's sister Dorothy la Désirée." "Whereas I recognized her at once," says Horvendile, "as Count Emmerick's third sister, La Beale Ettarre." And now they stared at one another, for it was certain that these three sisters were not particularly alike. "Putting aside any question of eyesight," observes Perion, "it is indisputable that the language of both of you is distorted. For one of you says this is Madame Dorothy, and the other says this is Madame Ettarre: whereas everybody knows that this Queen Helen, whomever she may resemble, cannot possibly be anybody else save Queen Helen." "To you, who are always the same person," replied Jurgen, "that may sound reasonable. For my part, I am several people: and I detect no incongruity in other persons' resembling me." "There would be no incongruity anywhere," suggested Horvendile, "if Queen Helen were the woman whom we had loved in vain. For the woman whom when we were young we loved in vain is the one woman that we can never see quite clearly, whatever happens. So we might easily, I suppose, confuse her with some other woman." "But Melicent is the lady whom I have loved in vain," said Perion, "and I care nothing whatever about Queen Helen. Why should I? What do you mean now, Horvendile, by your hints that I have faltered in my constancy to Dame Melicent since I saw Queen Helen? I do not like such hints." "No less, it is Ettarre whom I love, and have loved not quite in vain, and have loved unfalteringly," says Horvendile, with his quiet smile: "and I am certain that it was Ettarre whom I beheld when I looked upon Queen Helen." "I may confess," says Jurgen, clearing his throat, "that I have always regarded Madame Dorothy with peculiar respect and admiration. For the rest, I am married. Even so, I think that Madame Dorothy is Queen Helen." Then they fell to debating this mystery. And presently Perion said the one way out was to leave the matter to Queen Helen. "She at all events must know who she is. So do one of you go back into the city, and embrace her knees as is the custom of this country when one implores a favor of the King or the Queen: and do you then ask her fairly." "Not I," says Jurgen. "I am upon terms of some intimacy with a hamadryad just at present. I am content with my Hamadryad. And I intend never to venture into the presence of Queen Helen any more, in order to preserve my contentment." "Why, but I cannot go," says Perion, "because Dame Melicent has a little mole upon her left cheek. And Queen Helen's cheek is flawless. You understand, of course, that I am certain this mole immeasurably enhances the beauty of Dame Melicent," he added, loyally. "None the less, I mean to hold no further traffic with Queen Helen." "Now my reason for not going is this," said Horvendile:--"that if I attempted to embrace the knees of Ettarre, whom people hereabouts call Helen, she would instantly vanish. Other matters apart, I do not wish to bring any such misfortune upon the Island of Leukê." "But that," said Perion, "is nonsense." "Of course it is," said Horvendile. "That is probably why it happens." So none of them would go. And each of them clung, none the less, to his own opinion about Queen Helen. And presently Perion said they were wasting both time and words. Then Perion bade the two farewell, and Perion continued southward, toward Lacre Kai. And as he went he sang a song in honor of Dame Melicent, whom he celebrated as Heart o' My Heart: and the two who heard him agreed that Perion de la Forêt was probably the worst poet in the world. "Nevertheless, there goes a very chivalrous and worthy gentleman," said Horvendile, "intent to play out the remainder of his romance. I wonder if the Author gets much pleasure from these simple characters? At least they must be easy to handle." "I cultivate a judicious amount of gallantry," says Jurgen: "I do not any longer aspire to be chivalrous. And indeed, Horvendile, it seems to me indisputable that each one of us is the hero in his own romance, and cannot understand any other person's romance, but misinterprets everything therein, very much as we three have fallen out in the simple matter of a woman's face." Now young Horvendile meditatively stroked his own curly and reddish hair, brushing it away from his ears with his left hand, as he sat there staring meditatively at nothing in particular. "I would put it, Jurgen, that we three have met like characters out of three separate romances which the Author has composed in different styles." "That also," Jurgen submitted, "would be nonsense." "Ah, but perhaps the Author very often perpetrates nonsense. Come Jurgen, you who are King of Eubonia!" says Horvendile, with his wide-set eyes a-twinkle; "what is there in you or me to attest that our Author has not composed our romances with his tongue in his cheek?" "Messire Horvendile, if you are attempting to joke about Koshchei who made all things as they are, I warn you I do not consider that sort of humor very wholesome. Without being prudish, I believe in common-sense: and I would vastly prefer to have you talk about something else." Horvendile was still smiling. "You look some day to come to Koshchei, as you call the Author. That is easily said, and sounds excellently. Ah, but how will you recognize Koshchei? and how do you know you have not already passed by Koshchei in some street or meadow? Come now, King Jurgen," said Horvendile, and still his young face wore an impish smile; "come tell me, how do you know that I am not Koshchei who made all things as they are?" "Be off with you!" says Jurgen; "you would never have had the wit to invent a Jurgen. Something else is troubling me: I have just recollected that the young Perion who left us only a moment since, grew to be rich and gray-headed and famous, and took Dame Melicent from her pagan husband, and married her himself: and that all this happened long years ago. So our recent talk with young Perion seems very improbable." "Why, but do you not remember, too, that I ran away in the night when Maugis d'Aigremont stormed Storisende? and was never heard of any more? and that all this, too, took place a long, long while ago? Yet we have met as three fine young fellows, here on the beach of fabulous Leukê. I put it to you fairly, King Jurgen: now how could this conceivably have come about unless the Author sometimes composes nonsense?" "Truly the way that you express it, Horvendile, the thing does seem a little strange; and I can think of no explanation rendering it plausible." "Again, see now, King Jurgen of Eubonia, how you underrate the Author's ability. This is one of the romancer's most venerable devices that is being practised. See for yourself!" And suddenly Horvendile pushed Jurgen so that Jurgen tumbled over in the warm sand. Then Jurgen arose, gaping and stretching himself. "That was a very foolish dream I had, napping here in the sun. For it was certainly a dream. Otherwise, they would have left footprints, these young fellows who have gone the way of youth so long ago. And it was a dream that had no sense in it. But indeed it would be strange if that were the whole point of it, and if living, too, were such a dream, as that queer Horvendile would have me think." Jurgen snapped his fingers. "Well, and what in common fairness could he or anyone else expect me to do about it! That is the answer I fling at you, you Horvendile whom I made up in a dream. And I disown you as the most futile of my inventions. So be off with you! and a good riddance, too, for I never held with upsetting people." Then Jurgen dusted himself, and trudged home to an early supper with the Hamadryad who contented him. 30. Economics of King Jurgen Now Jurgen's curious dream put notions into the restless head of Jurgen. So mighty became his curiosity that he went shuddering into the abhorred Woods, and passed over Coalisnacoan (which is the Ferry of Dogs), and did all such detestable things as were necessary to placate Phobetor. Then Jurgen tricked Phobetor by an indescribable device, wherein surprising use was made of a cheese and three beetles and a gimlet, and so cheated Phobetor out of a gray magic. And that night while Pseudopolis slept King Jurgen came down into this city of gold and ivory. Jurgen went with distaste among the broad-browed and great-limbed monarchs of Pseudopolis, for they reminded him of things that he had long ago put aside, and they made him feel unpleasantly ignoble and insignificant. That was his real reason for avoiding the city. Now he passed between unlighted and silent palaces, walking in deserted streets where the moon made ominous shadows. Here was the house of Ajax Telamon who reigned in sea-girt Salamis, here that of god-like Philoctetês: much-counseling Odysseus dwelt just across the way, and the corner residence was fair-haired Agamemnon's: in the moonlight Jurgen easily made out these names engraved upon the bronze shield that hung beside each doorway. To every side of him slept the heroes of old song while Jurgen skulked under their windows. He remembered how incuriously--not even scornfully--these people had overlooked him on that disastrous afternoon when he had ventured into Pseudopolis by daylight. And a spiteful little gust of rage possessed him, and Jurgen shook his fist at the big silent palaces. "Yah!" he snarled: for he did not know at all what it was that he desired to say to those great stupid heroes who did not care what he said, but he knew that he hated them. Then Jurgen became aware of himself growling there like a kicked cur who is afraid to bite, and he began to laugh at this Jurgen. "Your pardon, gentlemen of Greece," says he, with a wide ceremonious bow, "and I think the information I wished to convey was that I am a monstrous clever fellow." Jurgen went into the largest palace, and crept stealthily by the bedroom of Achilles, King of Men, treading a-tip-toe; and so came at last into a little room panelled with cedar-wood where slept Queen Helen. She was smiling in her sleep when he had lighted his lamp, with due observance of the gray magic. She was infinitely beautiful, this young Dorothy whom people hereabouts through some odd error called Helen. For Jurgen saw very well that this was Count Emmerick's sister Dorothy la Désirée, whom Jurgen had vainly loved in the days when Jurgen was young alike in body and heart. Just once he had won back to her, in the garden between dawn and sunrise: but he was then a time-battered burgher whom Dorothy did not recognise. Now he returned to her a king, less admirable it might be than some of the many other kings without realms who slept now in Pseudopolis, but still very fine in his borrowed youth, and above all, armored by a gray magic: so that improbabilities were possible. And Jurgen's eyes were furtive, and he passed his tongue across his upper lip from one corner to the other, and his hand went out toward the robe of violet-colored wool which covered the sleeping girl, for he stood ready to awaken Dorothy la Désirée in the way he often awoke Chloris. But a queer thought held him. Nothing, he recollected, had shown the power to hurt him very deeply since he had lost this young Dorothy. And to affairs which threatened to result unpleasantly, he had always managed to impart an agreeable turn, since then, by virtue of preserving a cool heart. What if by some misfortune he were to get back his real youth? and were to become again the flustered boy who blundered from stammering rapture to wild misery, and back again, at the least word or gesture of a gold-haired girl? "Thank you, no!" says Jurgen. "The boy was more admirable than I, who am by way of being not wholly admirable. But then he had a wretched time of it, by and large. Thus it may be that my real youth lies sleeping here: and for no consideration would I re-awaken it." And yet tears came into his eyes, for no reason at all. And it seemed to him that the sleeping woman, here at his disposal, was not the young Dorothy whom he had seen in the garden between dawn and sunrise, although the two were curiously alike; and that of the two this woman here was, somehow, infinitely the lovelier. "Lady, if you indeed be the Swan's daughter, long and long ago there was a child that was ill. And his illness turned to a fever, and in his fever he arose from his bed one night, saying that he must set out for Troy, because of his love for Queen Helen. I was once that child. I remember how strange it seemed to me I should be talking such nonsense: I remember how the warm room smelt of drugs: and I remember how I pitied the trouble in my nurse's face, drawn and old in the yellow lamplight. For she loved me, and she did not understand: and she pleaded with me to be a good boy and not to worry my sleeping parents. But I perceive now that I was not talking nonsense." He paused, considering the riddle: and his fingers fretted with the robe of violet-colored wool beneath which lay Queen Helen. "Yours is that beauty of which men know by fabulous report alone, and which they may not ever find, nor ever win to, quite. And for that beauty I have hungered always, even in childhood. Toward that beauty I have struggled always, but not quite whole-heartedly. That night forecast my life. I have hungered for you: and"--Jurgen smiled here--"and I have always stayed a passably good boy, lest I should beyond reason disturb my family. For to do that, I thought, would not be fair: and still I believe for me to have done that would have been unfair." He grimaced at this point: for Jurgen was finding his scruples inconveniently numerous. "And now I think that what I do to-night is not quite fair to Chloris. And I do not know what thing it is that I desire, and the will of Jurgen is a feather in the wind. But I know that I would like to love somebody as Chloris loves me, and as so many women have loved me. And I know that it is you who have prevented this, Queen Helen, at every moment of my life since the disastrous moment when I first seemed to find your loveliness in the face of Madame Dorothy. It is the memory of your beauty, as I then saw it mirrored in the face of a jill-flirt, which has enfeebled me for such honest love as other men give women: and I envy these other men. For Jurgen has loved nothing--not even you, not even Jurgen!--quite whole-heartedly. Well, what if I took vengeance now upon this thieving comeliness, upon this robber that strips life of joy and sorrow?" Jurgen stood at Queen Helen's bedside, watching her, for a long while. He had shifted into a less fanciful mood: and the shadow that followed him was ugly and hulking and wavering upon the cedarn wall of Queen Helen's sleeping-chamber. "Mine is a magic which does not fail," old Phobetor had said, while his attendants raised his eyelids so that he could see King Jurgen. Now Jurgen remembered this. And reflectively he drew back the robe of violet-colored wool, a little way. The breast of Queen Helen lay bare. And she did not move at all, but she smiled in her sleep. Never had Jurgen imagined that any woman could be so beautiful nor so desirable as this woman, or that he could ever know such rapture. So Jurgen paused. "Because," said Jurgen now, "it may be this woman has some fault: it may be there is some fleck in her beauty somewhere. And sooner than know that, I would prefer to retain my unreasonable dreams, and this longing which is unfed and hopeless, and the memory of to-night. Besides, if she were perfect in everything, how could I live any longer, who would have no more to desire? No, I would be betraying my own interests, either way; and injustice is always despicable." So Jurgen sighed and gently replaced the robe of violet-colored wool, and he returned to his Hamadryad. "And now that I think of it, too," reflected Jurgen, "I am behaving rather nobly. Yes, it is questionless that I have to-night evinced a certain delicacy of feeling which merits appreciation, at all events by King Achilles." 31. The Fall of Pseudopolis So Jurgen abode in Leukê, and complied with the customs of that country; and what with one thing and another, he and Chloris made the time pass pleasantly enough, until the winter solstice was at hand. Now Pseudopolis, as has been said, was at war with Philistia: so it befell that at this season Leukê was invaded by an army of Philistines, led by their Queen Dolores, a woman who was wise but not entirely reliable. They came from the coast, a terrible army insanely clad in such garments as had been commanded by Ageus, a god of theirs; and chaunting psalms in honor of their god Vel-Tyno, who had inspired this crusade: thus they swept down upon Pseudopolis, and encamped before the city. These Philistines fought in this campaign by casting before them a more horrible form of Greek fire, which consumed whatever was not gray-colored. For that color alone was now favored by their god Vel-Tyno. "And all other colors," his oracles had decreed, "are forevermore abominable, until I say otherwise." So the forces of Philistia were marshalled in the plain before Pseudopolis, and Queen Dolores spoke to her troops. And smilingly she said:-- "Whenever you come to blows with the enemy he will be beaten. No mercy will be shown, no prisoners taken. As the Philistines under Libnah and Goliath and Gershon, and a many other tall captains, made for themselves a name which is still mighty in traditions and legend, even thus to-day may the name of Realist be so fixed in Pseudopolis, by your deeds to-day, that no one shall ever dare again even to look askance at a Philistine. Open the door for Realism, once for all!" Meanwhile within the city Achilles, King of Men, addressed his army:-- "The eyes of all the world will be upon you, because you are in some especial sense the soldiers of Romance. Let it be your pride, therefore, to show all men everywhere, not only what good soldiers you are, but also what good men you are, keeping yourselves fit and straight in everything, and pure and clean through and through. Let us set ourselves a standard so high that it will be a glory to live up to it, and then let us live up to it, and add a new laurel to the crown of Pseudopolis. May the Gods of Old keep you and guide you!" Then said Thersitês, in his beard: "Certainly Pelidês has learned from history with what weapon a strong man discomfits the Philistines." But the other kings applauded, and the trumpet was sounded, and the battle was joined. And that day the forces of Philistia were everywhere triumphant. But they report a queer thing happened: and it was that when the Philistines shouted in their triumph, Achilles and all they who served him rose from the ground like gleaming clouds and passed above the heads of the Philistines, deriding them. Thus was Pseudopolis left empty, so that the Philistines entered thereinto without any opposition. They defiled this city of blasphemous colors, then burned it as a sacrifice to their god Vel-Tyno, because the color of ashes is gray. Then the Philistines erected lithoi (which were not unlike may-poles), and began to celebrate their religious rites. * * * * * So it was reported: but Jurgen witnessed none of these events. "Let them fight it out," said Jurgen: "it is not my affair. I agree with Silenus: dullness will conquer dullness, and it will not matter. But do you, woman dear, take shelter with your kindred in the unconquerable Woods, for there is no telling what damage the Philistines may do hereabouts." "Will you go with me, Jurgen?" "My dear, you know very well that it is impossible for me ever again to go into the Woods, after the trick I played upon Phobetor." "And if only you had kept your head about that bean-pole of a Helen, in her yellow wig--for I have not a doubt that every strand of it is false, and at all events this is not a time to be arguing about it, Jurgen,--why, then you would never have meddled with Uncle Phobetor! It simply shows you!" "Yes," said Jurgen. "Still, I do not know. If you come with me into the Woods, Uncle Phobetor in his impetuous way will quite certainly turn you into a boar-pig, because he has always done that to the people who irritated him--" "I seem to recognise that reason." "--But give me time, and I can get around Uncle Phobetor, just as I have always done, and he will turn you back." "No," says Jurgen, obstinately, "I do not wish to be turned into a boar-pig." "Now, Jurgen, let us be sensible about this! Of course, it is a little humiliating. But I will take the very best of care of you, and feed you with my own acorns, and it will be a purely temporary arrangement. And to be a pig for a week or two, or even for a month, is infinitely better for a poet than being captured by the Philistines." "How do I know that?" says Jurgen. "--For it is not, after all, as if Uncle Phobetor's heart were not in the right place. It is just his way. And besides, you must remember what you did with that gimlet!" Said Jurgen: "All this is hardly to the purpose. You forget I have seen the hapless swine of Phobetor, and I know how he ameliorates the natural ferocity of his boar-pigs. No, I am Jurgen. So I remain. I will face the Philistines and whatever they may possibly do to me, rather than suffer that which Phobetor will quite certainly do to me." "Then I stay too," said Chloris. "No, woman dear--!" "But do you not understand?" says Chloris, a little pale, as he saw now. "Since the life of a hamadryad is linked with the life of her tree, nobody can harm me so long as my tree lives: and if they cut down my tree I shall die, wherever I may happen to be." "I had forgotten that." He was really troubled now. "--And you can see for yourself, Jurgen, it is quite out of the question for me to be carrying that great oak anywhere, and I wonder at your talking such nonsense." "Indeed, my dear," says Jurgen, "we are very neatly trapped. Well, nobody can live longer in peace than his neighbor chooses. Nevertheless, it is not fair." As he spoke the Philistines came forth from the burning city. Again the trumpet sounded, and the Philistines advanced in their order of battle. 32. Sundry Devices of the Philistines Meanwhile the People of the Field had watched Pseudopolis burn, and had wondered what would befall them. They had not long to wonder, for next day the Fields were occupied, without any resistance by the inhabitants. "The People of the Field," said they, "have never fought, and for them to begin now would be a very unheard-of thing indeed." So the Fields were captured by the Philistines, and Chloris and Jurgen and all the People of the Field were judged summarily. They were declared to be obsolete illusions, whose merited doom was to be relegated to limbo. To Jurgen this appeared unreasonable. "For I am no illusion," he asserted. "I am manifestly flesh and blood, and in addition, I am the high King of Eubonia, and no less. Why, in disputing these facts you contest circumstances that are so well known hereabouts as to rank among mathematical certainties. And that makes you look foolish, as I tell you for your own good." This vexed the leaders of the Philistines, as it always vexes people to be told anything for their own good. "We would have you know," said they, "that we are not mathematicians; and that moreover, we have no kings in Philistia, where all must do what seems to be expected of them, and have no other law." "How then can you be the leaders of Philistia?" "Why, it is expected that women and priests should behave unaccountably. Therefore all we who are women or priests do what we will in Philistia, and the men there obey us. And it is we, the priests of Philistia, who do not think you can possibly have any flesh and blood under a shirt which we recognize to be a conventional figure of speech. It does not stand to reason. And certainly you could not ever prove such a thing by mathematics; and to say so is nonsense." "But I can prove it by mathematics, quite irrefutably. I can prove anything you require of me by whatever means you may prefer," said Jurgen, modestly, "for the simple reason that I am a monstrous clever fellow." Then spoke the wise Queen Dolores, saying: "I have studied mathematics. I will question this young man, in my tent to-night, and in the morning I will report the truth as to his claims. Are you content to endure this interrogatory, my spruce young fellow who wear the shirt of a king?" Jurgen looked full upon her: she was lovely as a hawk is lovely: and of all that Jurgen saw Jurgen approved. He assumed the rest to be in keeping: and deduced that Dolores was a fine woman. "Madame and Queen," said Jurgen, "I am content. And I can promise to deal fairly with you." So that evening Jurgen was conducted into the purple tent of Queen Dolores of Philistia. It was quite dark there, and Jurgen went in alone, and wondering what would happen next: but this scented darkness he found of excellent augury, if only because it prevented his shadow from following him. "Now, you who claim to be flesh and blood, and King of Eubonia, too," says the voice of Queen Dolores, "what is this nonsense you were talking about proving any such claims by mathematics?" "Well, but my mathematics," replied Jurgen, "are Praxagorean." "What, do you mean Praxagoras of Cos?" "As if," scoffed Jurgen, "anybody had ever heard of any other Praxagoras!" "But he, as I recall, belonged to the medical school of the Dogmatici," observed the wise Queen Dolores, "and was particularly celebrated for his researches in anatomy. Was he, then, also a mathematician?" "The two are not incongruous, madame, as I would be delighted to demonstrate." "Oh, nobody said that! For, indeed, it does seem to me I have heard of this Praxagorean system of mathematics, though, I confess, I have never studied it." "Our school, madame, postulates, first of all, that since the science of mathematics is an abstract science, it is best inculcated by some concrete example." Said the Queen: "But that sounds rather complicated." "It occasionally leads to complications," Jurgen admitted, "through a choice of the wrong example. But the axiom is no less true." "Come, then, and sit next to me on this couch if you can find it in the dark; and do you explain to me what you mean." "Why, madame, by a concrete example I mean one that is perceptible to any of the senses--as to sight or hearing, or touch--" "Oh, oh!" said the Queen, "now I perceive what you mean by a concrete example. And grasping this, I can understand that complications must of course arise from a choice of the wrong example." "Well, then, madame, it is first necessary to implant in you, by the force of example, a lively sense of the peculiar character, and virtues and properties, of each of the numbers upon which is based the whole science of Praxagorean mathematics. For in order to convince you thoroughly, we must start far down, at the beginning of all things." "I see," said the Queen, "or rather, in this darkness I cannot see at all, but I perceive your point. Your opening interests me: and you may go on." "Now ONE, or the monad," says Jurgen, "is the principle and the end of all: it reveals the sublime knot which binds together the chain of causes: it is the symbol of identity, of equality, of existence, of conservation, and of general harmony." And Jurgen emphasized these characteristics vigorously. "In brief, ONE is a symbol of the union of things: it introduces that generating virtue which is the cause of all combinations: and consequently ONE is a good principle." "Ah, ah!" said Queen Dolores, "I heartily admire a good principle. But what has become of your concrete example?" "It is ready for you, madame: there is but ONE Jurgen." "Oh, I assure you, I am not yet convinced of that. Still, the audacity of your example will help me to remember ONE, whether or not you prove to be really unique." "Now, TWO, or the dyad, the origin of contrasts--" Jurgen went on penetratingly to demonstrate that TWO was a symbol of diversity and of restlessness and of disorder, ending in collapse and separation: and was accordingly an evil principle. Thus was the life of every man made wretched by the struggle between his TWO components, his soul and his body; and thus was the rapture of expectant parents considerably abated by the advent of TWINS. THREE, or the triad, however, since everything was composed of three substances, contained the most sublime mysteries, which Jurgen duly communicated. We must remember, he pointed out, that Zeus carried a TRIPLE thunderbolt, and Poseidon a TRIDENT, whereas Adês was guarded by a dog with THREE heads: this in addition to the omnipotent brothers themselves being a TRIO. Thus Jurgen continued to impart the Praxagorean significance of each digit separately: and by and by the Queen was declaring his flow of wisdom was superhuman. "Ah, but, madame, not even the wisdom of a king is without limit. EIGHT, I repeat, then, is appropriately the number of the Beatitudes. And NINE, or the ennead, also, being the multiple of THREE, should be regarded as sacred--" The Queen attended docilely to his demonstration of the peculiar properties of NINE. And when he had ended she confessed that beyond doubt NINE should be regarded as miraculous. But she repudiated his analogues as to the muses, the lives of a cat, and how many tailors made a man. "Rather, I shall remember always," she declared, "that King Jurgen of Eubonia is a NINE days' wonder." "Well, madame," said Jurgen, with a sigh, "now that we have reached NINE, I regret to say we have exhausted the digits." "Oh, what a pity!" cried Queen Dolores. "Nevertheless, I will concede the only illustration I disputed; there is but ONE Jurgen: and certainly this Praxagorean system of mathematics is a fascinating study." And promptly she commenced to plan Jurgen's return with her into Philistia, so that she might perfect herself in the higher branches of mathematics. "For you must teach me calculus and geometry and all other sciences in which these digits are employed. We can arrange some compromise with the priests. That is always possible with the priests of Philistia, and indeed the priests of Sesphra can be made to help anybody in anything. And as for your Hamadryad, I will attend to her myself." "But, no," says Jurgen, "I am ready enough in all conscience to compromise elsewhere: but to compound with the forces of Philistia is the one thing I cannot do." "Do you mean that, King Jurgen?" The Queen was astounded. "I mean it, my dear, as I mean nothing else. You are in many ways an admirable people, and you are in all ways a formidable people. So I admire, I dread, I avoid, and at the very last pinch I defy. For you are not my people, and willy-nilly my gorge rises against your laws, as equally insane and abhorrent. Mind you, though, I assert nothing. You may be right in attributing wisdom to these laws; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong: but still, at the same time--! That is the way I feel about it. So I, who compromise with everything else, can make no compromise with Philistia. No, my adored Dolores, it is not a virtue, rather it is an instinct with me, and I have no choice." Even Dolores, who was Queen of all the Philistines, could perceive that this man spoke truthfully. "I am sorry," says she, with real regret, "for you could be much run after in Philistia." "Yes," said Jurgen, "as an instructor in mathematics." "But, no, King Jurgen, not only in mathematics," said Dolores, reasonably. "There is poetry, for instance! For they tell me you are a poet, and a great many of my people take poetry quite seriously, I believe. Of course, I do not have much time for reading, myself. So you can be the Poet Laureate of Philistia, on any salary you like. And you can teach us all your ideas by writing beautiful poems about them. And you and I can be very happy together." "Teach, teach! there speaks Philistia, and very temptingly, too, through an adorable mouth, that would bribe me with praise and fine food and soft days forever. It is a thing that happens rather often, though. And I can but repeat that art is not a branch of pedagogy!" "Really I am heartily sorry. For apart from mathematics, I like you, King Jurgen, just as a person." "I, too, am sorry, Dolores. For I confess to a weakness for the women of Philistia." "Certainly you have given me no cause to suspect you of any weakness in that quarter," observed Dolores, "in the long while you have been alone with me, and have talked so wisely and have reasoned so deeply. I am afraid that after to-night I shall find all other men more or less superficial. Heigho! and I shall probably weep my eyes out to-morrow when you are relegated to limbo. For that is what the priests will do with you, King Jurgen, on one plea or another, if you do not conform to the laws of Philistia." "And that one compromise I cannot make! Ah, but even now I have a plan wherewith to escape your priests: and failing that, I possess a cantrap to fall back upon in my hour of direst need. My private affairs are thus not yet in a hopeless or even in a dejected condition. This fact now urges me to observe that TEN, or the decade, is the measure of all, since it contains all the numeric relations and harmonies--" So they continued their study of mathematics until it was time for Jurgen to appear again before his judges. And in the morning Queen Dolores sent word to her priests that she was too sleepy to attend their council, but that the man was indisputably flesh and blood, amply deserved to be a king, and as a mathematician had not his peer. Now these points being settled, the judges conferred, and Jurgen was decreed a backslider into the ways of undesirable error. His judges were the priests of Vel-Tyno and Sesphra and Ageus, who are the Gods of Philistia. Then the priest of Ageus put on his spectacles and consulted the canonical law, and declared that this change in the indictment necessitated a severance of Jurgen from the others, in the infliction of punishment. "For each, of course, must be relegated to the limbo of his fathers, as was foretold, in order that the prophecies may be fulfilled. Religion languishes when prophecies are not fulfilled. Now it appears that the forefathers of the flesh and blood prisoner were of a different faith from the progenitors of these obsolete illusions, and that his fathers foretold quite different things, and that their limbo was called Hell." "It is little you know," says Jurgen, "of the religion of Eubonia." "We have it written down in this great book," the priest of Vel-Tyno then told him,--"every word of it without blot or error." "Then you will see that the King of Eubonia is the head of the church there, and changes all the prophecies at will. Learned Gowlais says so directly: and the judicious Stevegonius was forced to agree with him, however unwillingly, as you will instantly discover by consulting the third section of his widely famous nineteenth chapter." "Both Gowlais and Stevegonius were probably notorious heretics," says the priest of Ageus. "I believe that was settled once for all at the Diet of Orthumar." "Eh!" says Jurgen. He did not like this priest. "Now I will wager, sirs," Jurgen continued, a trifle patronizingly, "that you gentlemen have not read Gowlais, or even Stevegonius, in the light of Vossler's commentaries. And that is why you underrate them." "I at least have read every word that was ever written by any of these three," replied the priest of Sesphra--"and with, as I need hardly say, the liveliest abhorrence. And this Gowlais in particular, as I hasten to agree with my learned confrère, is a most notorious heretic--" "Oh, sir," said Jurgen, horrified, "whatever are you telling me about Gowlais!" "I tell you that I have been roused to indignation by his _Historia de Bello Veneris_--" "You surprise me: still--" "--Shocked by his _Pornoboscodidascolo_--" "I can hardly believe it: even so, you must grant--" "--And horrified by his _Liber de immortalitate Mentulæ_--" "Well, conceding you that earlier work, sir, yet, at the same time--" "--And have been disgusted by his _De modo coeundi_--" "Ah, but, none the less--" "--And have shuddered over the unspeakable enormities of his _Erotopægnion!_ of his _Cinædica!_ and especially of his _Epipedesis_, that most pestilential and abominable book, _quem sine horrore nemo potest legere_--" "Still, you cannot deny--" "--And have read also all the confutations of this detestable Gowlais: as those of Zanchius, Faventinus, Lelius Vincentius, Lagalla, Thomas Giaminus, and eight other admirable commentators--" "You are very exact, sir: but--" "--And that, in short, I have read every book you can imagine," says the priest of Sesphra. The shoulders of Jurgen rose to his ears, and Jurgen silently flung out his hands, palms upward. "For, I perceive," says Jurgen, to himself, "that this Realist is too circumstantial for me. None the less, he invents his facts: it is by citing books which never existed that he publicly confutes the Gowlais whom I invented privately: and that is not fair. Now there remains only one chance for Jurgen; but luckily that chance is sure." "Why are you fumbling in your pocket?" asks the old priest of Ageus, fidgeting and peering. "Aha, you may well ask!" cried Jurgen. He unfolded the cantrap which had been given him by the Master Philologist, and which Jurgen had treasured against the time when more was needed than a glib tongue. "O most unrighteous judges," says Jurgen, sternly, "now hear and tremble! 'At the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the Twenty-first!'" "Hah, and what have we to do with that?" inquired the priest of Vel-Tyno, with raised eyebrows. "Why are you telling us of these irrelevant matters?" "Because I thought it would interest you," said Jurgen. "It was a fact that appeared to me rather amusing. So I thought I would mention it." "Then you have very queer ideas of amusement," they told him. And Jurgen perceived that either he had not employed his cantrap correctly or else that its magic was unappreciated by the leaders of Philistia. 33. Farewell to Chloris Now the Philistines led out their prisoners, and made ready to inflict the doom which was decreed. And they permitted the young King of Eubonia to speak with Chloris. "Farewell to you now, Jurgen!" says Chloris, weeping softly. "It is little I care what foolish words these priests of Philistia may utter against me. But the big-armed axemen are felling my tree yonder, to get them timber to make a bedstead for the Queen of Philistia: for that is what this Queen Dolores ordered them to do the first thing this morning." And Jurgen raised his hands. "You women!" he said. "What man would ever have thought of that?" "So when my tree is felled I must depart into a sombre land wherein there is no laughter at all; and where the puzzled dead go wandering futilely through fields of scentless asphodel, and through tall sullen groves of myrtle,--the puzzled quiet dead, who may not even weep as I do now, but can only wonder what it is that they regret. And I too must taste of Lethê, and forget all I have loved." "You should give thanks to the imagination of your forefathers, my dear, that your doom is no worse. For I am going into a more barbaric limbo, into the Hell of a people who thought entirely too much about flames and pitchforks," says Jurgen, ruefully. "I tell you it is the deuce and all, to come of morbid ancestry." And he kissed Chloris, upon the brow. "My dear, dear girl," he said, with a gulp, "as long as you remember me, do so with charity." "Jurgen"--and she clung close to him--"you were not ever unkind, not even for a moment. Jurgen, you have not ever spoken one harsh word to me or any other person, in all the while we were together. O Jurgen, whom I have loved as you could love nobody, it was not much those other women had left me to worship!" "Indeed, it is a pity that you loved me, Chloris, for I was not worthy." And for the instant Jurgen meant it. "If any other person said that, Jurgen, I would be very angry. And even to hear you say it troubles me, because there was never a hamadryad between two hills that had a husband one-half so clever-foolish as he made light of time and chance, with his sleek black head cocked to one side, and his mischievous brown eyes a-twinkle." And Jurgen wondered that this should be the notion Chloris had of him, and that a gesture should be the things she remembered about him: and he was doubly assured that no woman bothers to understand the man she elects to love and cosset and slave for. "O woman dear," says Jurgen, "but I have loved you, and my heart is water now that you are taken from me: and to remember your ways and the joy I had in them will be a big and grinding sorrow in the long time to come. Oh, not with any heroic love have I loved you, nor with any madness and high dreams, nor with much talking either; but with a love befitting my condition, with a quiet and cordial love." "And must you be trying, while I die, to get your grieving for me into the right words?" she asks him, smiling very sadly. "No matter: you are Jurgen, and I have loved you. And I am glad that I shall know nothing about it when in the long time, to come you will be telling so many other women about what was said by Zorobasius and Ptolemopiter, and when you will be posturing and romancing for their delight. For presently I shall have tasted Lethê: and presently I shall have forgotten you, King Jurgen, and all the joy I had in you, and all the pride, and all the love I had for you, King Jurgen, who loved me as much as you were able." "Why, and will there be any love-making, do you think, in Hell?" he asks her, with a doleful smile. "There will be love-making," she replied, "wherever you go, King Jurgen. And there will be women to listen. And at the last there will be a bean-pole of a woman, in a wig." "I am sorry--" he said. "And yet I have loved you, Chloris." "That is my comfort now. And presently there will be Lethê. I put the greater faith in Lethê. And still, I cannot help but love you, Jurgen, in whom I have no faith at all." He said, again: "I am not worthy." They kissed. Then each of them was conveyed to an appropriate doom. And tears were in the eyes of Jurgen, who was not used to weep: and he thought not at all of what was to befall him, but only of this and that small trivial thing which would have pleased his Chloris had Jurgen done it, and which for one reason or another Jurgen had left undone. "I was not ever unkind to her, says she! ah, but I might have been so much kinder. And now I shall not ever see her any more, nor ever any more may I awaken delight and admiration in those bright tender eyes which saw no fault in me! Well, but it is a comfort surely that she does not know how I devoted the last night she was to live to teaching mathematics." And then Jurgen wondered how he would be despatched into the Hell of his fathers? And when the Philistines showed him in what manner they proposed to inflict their sentence he wondered at his own obtuseness. "For I might have surmised this would be the way of it," said Jurgen. "And yet as always there is a simplicity in the methods of the Philistines which is unimaginable by really clever fellows. And as always, too, these methods are unfair to us clever fellows. Well, I am willing to taste any drink once: but this is a very horrible device, none the less; and I wonder if I have the pluck to endure it?" Then as he stood considering this matter, a man-at-arms came hurrying. He brought with him three great rolled parchments, with seals and ribbons and everything in order: and these were Jurgen's pardon and Jurgen's nomination as Poet Laureate of Philistia and Jurgen's appointment as Mathematician Royal. The man-at-arms brought also a letter from Queen Dolores, and this Jurgen read with a frown. "Do you consider now what fun it would be to hood-wink everybody by pretending to conform to our laws!" said this letter, and it said nothing more: Dolores was really a wise woman. Yet there was a postscript. "For we could be so happy!" said the postscript. And Jurgen looked toward the Woods, where men were sawing up a great oak-tree. And Jurgen gave a fine laugh, and with fine deliberateness he tore up the Queen's letter into little strips. Then statelily he took the parchments, and found they were so tough he could not tear them. This was uncommonly awkward, for Jurgen's ill-advised attempt to tear the parchments impaired the dignity of his magnanimous self-sacrifice: he even suspected one of the guards of smiling. So there was nothing for it but presently to give up that futile tugging and jerking, and to compromise by crumpling these parchments. "This is my answer," said Jurgen heroically, and with some admiration of himself, but still a little dashed by the uncalled-for toughness of the parchments. Then Jurgen cried farewell to fallen Leukê; and scornfully he cried farewell to the Philistines and to their devices. Then he submitted to their devices. Thus, it was without making any special protest about it that Jurgen was relegated to limbo, and was despatched to the Hell of his fathers, two days before Christmas. 34. How Emperor Jurgen Fared Infernally Now the tale tells how the devils of Hell were in one of their churches celebrating Christmas in such manner as the devils observe that day; and how Jurgen came through the trapdoor in the vestry-room; and how he saw and wondered over the creatures which inhabited this place. For to him after the Christmas services came all such devils as his fathers had foretold, and in not a hair or scale or talon did they differ from the worst that anybody had been able to imagine. "Anatomy is hereabouts even more inconsequent than in Cocaigne," was Jurgen's first reflection. But the first thing the devils did was to search Jurgen very carefully, in order to make sure he was not bringing any water into Hell. "Now, who may you be, that come to us alive, in a fine shirt of which we never saw the like before?" asked Dithican. He had the head of a tiger, but otherwise the appearance of a large bird, with shining feathers and four feet: his neck was yellow, his body green, and his feet black. "It would not be treating honestly with you to deny that I am the Emperor of Noumaria," said Jurgen, somewhat advancing his estate. Now spoke Amaimon, in the form of a thick suet-colored worm going upright upon his tail, which shone like the tail of a glowworm. He had no feet, but under his chops were two short hands, and upon his back were bristles such as grow upon hedgehogs. "But we are rather overrun with emperors," said Amaimon, doubtfully, "and their crimes are a great trouble to us. Were you a very wicked ruler?" "Never since I became an emperor," replied Jurgen, "has any of my subjects uttered one word of complaint against me. So it stands to reason I have nothing very serious with which to reproach myself." "Your conscience, then, does not demand that you be punished?" "My conscience, gentlemen, is too well-bred to insist on anything." "You do not even wish to be tortured?" "Well, I admit I had expected something of the sort. But none the less, I will not make a point of it," said Jurgen, handsomely. "No, I shall be quite satisfied even though you do not torture me at all." And then the mob of devils made a great to-do over Jurgen. "For it is exceedingly good to have at least one unpretentious and undictatorial human being in Hell. Nobody as a rule drops in on us save inordinately proud and conscientious ghosts, whose self-conceit is intolerable, and whose demands are outrageous." "How can that be?" "Why, we have to punish them. Of course they are not properly punished until they are convinced that what is happening to them is just and adequate. And you have no notion what elaborate tortures they insist their exceeding wickedness has merited, as though that which they did or left undone could possibly matter to anybody. And to contrive these torments quite tires us out." "But wherefore is this place called the Hell of my fathers?" "Because your forefathers builded it in dreams," they told him, "out of the pride which led them to believe that what they did was of sufficient importance to merit punishment. Or so at least we have heard: but if you want the truth of the matter you must go to our Grandfather at Barathum." "I shall go to him, then. And do my own grandfathers, and all the forefathers that I had in the old time, inhabit this gray place?" "All such as are born with what they call a conscience come hither," the devils said. "Do you think you could persuade them to go elsewhere? For in that event, we would be deeply obliged to you. Their self-conceit is pitiful: but it is also a nuisance, because it prevents our getting any rest." "Perhaps I can help you to obtain justice, and certainly to attempt to secure justice for you is my imperial duty. But who governs this country?" They told him how Hell was divided into principalities that had for governors Lucifer and Beelzebub and Belial and Ascheroth and Phlegeton: but that over all these was Grandfather Satan, who lived in the Black House at Barathum. "Well, I prefer," says Jurgen, "to deal directly with your principal, especially if he can explain the polity of this insane and murky country. Do some of you conduct me to him in such state as becomes an emperor!" So Cannagosta fetched a wheelbarrow, and Jurgen got into it, and Cannagosta trundled him away. Cannagosta was something like an ox, but rather more like a cat, and his hair was curly. And as they came through Chorasma, a very uncomfortable place where the damned abide in torment, whom should Jurgen see but his own father, Coth, the son of Smoit and Steinvor, standing there chewing his long moustaches in the midst of an especially tall flame. "Do you stop now for a moment!" says Jurgen, to his escort. "Oh, but this is the most vexatious person in all Hell!" cried Cannagosta; "and a person whom there is absolutely no pleasing!" "Nobody knows that better than I," says Jurgen. And Jurgen civilly bade his father good-day, but Coth did not recognize this spruce young Emperor of Noumaria, who went about Hell in a wheelbarrow. "You do not know me, then?" says Jurgen. "How should I know you when I never saw you before?" replied Coth, irritably. And Jurgen did not argue the point: for he knew that he and his father could never agree about anything. So Jurgen kept silent for that time, and Cannagosta wheeled him through the gray twilight, descending always deeper and yet deeper into the lowlands of Hell, until they had come to Barathum. 35. What Grandfather Satan Reported Next the tale tells how three inferior devils made a loud music with bagpipes as Jurgen went into the Black House of Barathum, to talk with Grandfather Satan. Satan was like a man of sixty, or it might be sixty-two, in all things save that he was covered with gray fur, and had horns like those of a stag. He wore a breech-clout of very dark gray, and he sat in a chair of black marble, on a daïs: his bushy tail, which was like that of a squirrel, waved restlessly over his head as he looked at Jurgen, without speaking, and without turning his mind from an ancient thought. And his eyes were like light shining upon little pools of ink, for they had no whites to them. "What is the meaning of this insane country?" says Jurgen, plunging at the heart of things. "There is no sense in it, and no fairness at all." "Ah," replied Satan, in his curious hoarse voice, "you may well say that: and it is what I was telling my wife only last night." "You have a wife, then!" says Jurgen, who was always interested in such matters. "Why, but to be sure! either as a Christian or as a married man, I should have comprehended this was Satan's due. And how do you get on with her?" "Pretty well," says Grandfather Satan: "but she does not understand me." "_Et tu, Brute!_" says Jurgen. "And what does that mean?" "It is an expression connotating astonishment over an event without parallel. But everything in Hell seems rather strange, and the place is not at all as it was rumored to be by the priests and the bishops and the cardinals that used to be exhorting me in my fine palace at Breschau." "And where, did you say, is this palace?" "In Noumaria, where I am the Emperor Jurgen. And I need not insult you by explaining Breschau is my capital city, and is noted for its manufacture of linen and woolen cloth and gloves and cameos and brandy, though the majority of my subjects are engaged in cattle-breeding and agricultural pursuits." "Of course not: for I have studied geography. And, Jurgen, it is often I have heard of you, though never of your being an emperor." "Did I not say this place was not in touch with new ideas?" "Ah, but you must remember that thoughtful persons keep out of Hell. Besides, the war with Heaven prevents us from thinking of other matters. In any event, you Emperor Jurgen, by what authority do you question Satan, in Satan's home?" "I have heard that word which the ass spoke with the cat," replied Jurgen; for he recollected upon a sudden what Merlin had shown him. Grandfather Satan nodded comprehendingly. "All honor be to Set and Bast! and may their power increase. This, Emperor, is how my kingdom came about." Then Satan, sitting erect and bleak in his tall marble chair, explained how he, and all the domain and all the infernal hierarchies he ruled, had been created extempore by Koshchei, to humor the pride of Jurgen's forefathers. "For they were exceedingly proud of their sins. And Koshchei happened to notice Earth once upon a time, with your forefathers walking about it exultant in the enormity of their sins and in the terrible punishments they expected in requital. Now Koshchei will do almost anything to humor pride, because to be proud is one of the two things that are impossible to Koshchei. So he was pleased, oh, very much pleased: and after he had had his laugh out, he created Hell extempore, and made it just such a place as your forefathers imagined it ought to be, in order to humor the pride of your forefathers." "And why is pride impossible to Koshchei?" "Because he made things as they are; and day and night he contemplates things as they are, having nothing else to look at. How, then, can Koshchei be proud?" "I see. It is as if I were imprisoned in a cell wherein there was nothing, absolutely nothing, except my verses. I shudder to think of it! But what is this other thing which is impossible to Koshchei?" "I do not know. It is something that does not enter into Hell." "Well, I wish I too had never entered here, and now you must assist me to get out of this murky place." "And why must I assist you?" "Because," said Jurgen, and he drew out the cantrap of the Master Philologist, "because at the death of Adrian the Fifth, Pedro Juliani, who should be named John the Twentieth, was through an error in the reckoning elevated to the papal chair as John the Twenty-first. Do you not find my reason sufficient?" "No," said Grandfather Satan, after thinking it over, "I cannot say that I do. But, then, popes go to Heaven. It is considered to look better, all around, and particularly by my countrymen, inasmuch as many popes have been suspected of pro-Celestialism. So we admit none of them into Hell, in order to be on the safe side, now that we are at war. In consequence, I am no judge of popes and their affairs, nor do I pretend to be." And Jurgen perceived that again he had employed his cantrap incorrectly or else that it was impotent to rescue people from Satan. "But who would have thought," he reflected, "that Grandfather Satan was such a simple old creature!" "How long, then, must I remain here?" asks Jurgen, after a dejected pause. "I do not know," replies Satan. "It must depend entirely upon what your father thinks about it--" "But what has he to do with it?" "--Since I and all else that is here are your father's absurd notions, as you have so frequently proved by logic. And it is hardly possible that such a clever fellow as you can be mistaken." "Why, of course, that is not possible," says Jurgen. "Well, the matter is rather complicated. But I am willing to taste any drink once: and I shall manage to get justice somehow, even in this unreasonable place where my father's absurd notions are the truth." So Jurgen left the Black House of Barathum: and Jurgen also left Grandfather Satan, erect and bleak in his tall marble chair, and with his eyes gleaming in the dim light, as he sat there restively swishing his soft bushy tail, and not ever turning his mind from an ancient thought. 36. Why Coth was Contradicted Then Jurgen went back to Chorasma, where Coth, the son of Smoit and Steinvor, stood conscientiously in the midst of the largest and hottest flame he had been able to imagine, and rebuked the outworn devils who were tormenting him, because the tortures they inflicted were not adequate to the wickedness of Coth. And Jurgen cried to his father: "The lewd fiend Cannagosta told you I was the Emperor of Noumaria, and I do not deny it even now. But do you not perceive I am likewise your son Jurgen?" "Why, so it is," said Coth, "now that I look at the rascal. And how, Jurgen, did you become an emperor?" "Oh, sir, and is this a place wherein to talk about mere earthly dignities? I am surprised your mind should still run upon these empty vanities even here in torment." "But it is inadequate torment, Jurgen, such as does not salve my conscience. There is no justice in this place, and no way of getting justice. For these shiftless devils do not take seriously that which I did, and they merely pretend to punish me, and so my conscience stays unsatisfied." "Well, but, father, I have talked with them, and they seem to think your crimes do not amount to much, after all." Coth flew into one of his familiar rages. "I would have you know that I killed eight men in cold blood, and held five other men while they were being killed. I estimate the sum of such iniquity as ten and a half murders, and for these my conscience demands that I be punished." "Ah, but, sir, that was fifty years or more ago, and these men would now be dead in any event, so you see it does not matter now." "I went astray with women, with I do not know how many women." Jurgen shook his head. "This is very shocking news for a son to receive, and you can imagine my feelings. None the less, sir, that also was fifty years ago, and nobody is bothering over it now." "You jackanapes, I tell you that I swore and stole and forged and burned four houses and broke the Sabbath and was guilty of mayhem and spoke disrespectfully to my mother and worshipped a stone image in Porutsa. I tell you I shattered the whole Decalogue, time and again. I committed all the crimes that were ever heard of, and invented six new ones." "Yes, sir," said Jurgen: "but, still, what does it matter if you did?" "Oh, take away this son of mine!" cried Coth: "for he is his mother all over again; and though I was the vilest sinner that ever lived, I have not deserved to be plagued twice with such silly questions. And I demand that you loitering devils bring more fuel." "Sir," said a panting little fiend, in the form of a tadpole with hairy arms and legs like a monkey's, as he ran up with four bundles of faggots, "we are doing the very best we can for your discomfort. But you damned have no consideration for us, and do not remember that we are on our feet day and night, waiting upon you," said the little devil, whimpering, as with his pitchfork he raked up the fire about Coth. "You do not even remember the upset condition of the country, on account of the war with Heaven, which makes it so hard for us to get you all the inconveniences of life. Instead, you lounge in your flames, and complain about the service, and Grandfather Satan punishes us, and it is not fair." "I think, myself," said Jurgen, "you should be gentler with the boy. And as for your crimes, sir, come, will you not conquer this pride which you nickname conscience, and concede that after any man has been dead a little while it does not matter at all what he did? Why, about Bellegarde no one ever thinks of your throat-cutting and Sabbath-breaking except when very old people gossip over the fire, and your wickedness brightens up the evening for them. To the rest of us you are just a stone in the churchyard which describes you as a paragon of all the virtues. And outside of Bellegarde, sir, your name and deeds mean nothing now to anybody, and no one anywhere remembers you. So really your wickedness is not bothering any person now save these poor toiling devils: and I think that, in consequence, you might consent to put up with such torments as they can conveniently contrive, without complaining so ill-temperedly about it." "Ah, but my conscience, Jurgen! that is the point." "Oh, if you continue to talk about your conscience, sir, you restrict the conversation to matters I do not understand, and so cannot discuss. But I dare say we will find occasion to thresh out this, and all other matters, by and by: and you and I will make the best of this place, for now I will never leave you." Coth began to weep: and he said that his sins in the flesh had been too heinous for this comfort to be permitted him in the unendurable torment which he had fairly earned, and hoped some day to come by. "Do you care about me, one way or the other, then?" says Jurgen, quite astounded. And from the midst of his flame Coth, the son of Smoit, talked of the birth of Jurgen, and of the infant that had been Jurgen, and of the child that had been Jurgen. And a horrible, deep, unreasonable emotion moved in Jurgen as he listened to the man who had begotten him, and whose flesh was Jurgen's flesh, and whose thoughts had not ever been Jurgen's thoughts: and Jurgen did not like it. Then the voice of Coth was bitterly changed, as he talked of the young man that had been Jurgen, of the young man who was idle and rebellious and considerate of nothing save his own light desires; and of the division which had arisen between Jurgen and Jurgen's father Coth spoke likewise: and Jurgen felt better now, but was still grieved to know how much his father had once loved him. "It is lamentably true," says Jurgen, "that I was an idle and rebellious son. So I did not follow your teachings. I went astray, oh, very terribly astray. I even went astray, sir I must tell you, with a nature myth connected with the Moon." "Oh, hideous abomination of the heathen!" "And she considered, sir, that thereafter I was likely to become a solar legend." "I should not wonder," said Coth, and he shook his bald and dome-shaped head despondently. "Ah, my son, it simply shows you what comes of these wild courses." "And in that event, I would, of course, be released from sojourning in the underworld by the Spring Equinox. Do you not think so, sir?" says Jurgen, very coaxingly, because he remembered that, according to Satan, whatever Coth believed would be the truth in Hell. "I am sure," said Coth--"why, I am sure I do not know anything about such matters." "Yes, but what do you think?" "I do not think about it at all." "Yes, but--" "Jurgen, you have a very uncivil habit of arguing with people--" "Still, sir--" "And I have spoken to you about it before--" "Yet, father--" "And I do not wish to have to speak to you about it again--" "None the less, sir--" "And when I say that I have no opinion--" "But everybody has an opinion, father!" Jurgen shouted this, and felt it was quite like old times. "How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice, sir!" "But I only meant--" "Do not lie to me, Jurgen! and stop interrupting me! For, as I was saying when you began to yell at your father as though you were addressing an unreasonable person, it is my opinion that I know nothing whatever about Equinoxes! and do not care to know anything about Equinoxes, I would have you understand! and that the less said as to such disreputable topics the better, as I tell you to your face!" And Jurgen groaned. "Here is a pretty father! If you had thought so, it would have happened. But you imagine me in a place like this, and have not sufficient fairness, far less paternal affection, to imagine me out of it." "I can only think of your well merited affliction, you quarrelsome scoundrel! and of the host of light women with whom you have sinned! and of the doom which has befallen you in consequence!" "Well, at worst," says Jurgen, "there are no women here. That ought to be a comfort to you." "I think there are women here," snapped his father. "It is reputed that quite a number of women have had consciences. But these conscientious women are probably kept separate from us men, in some other part of Hell, for the reason that if they were admitted into Chorasma they would attempt to tidy the place and make it habitable. I know your mother would have been meddling out of hand." "Oh, sir, and must you still be finding fault with mother?" "Your mother, Jurgen, was in many ways an admirable woman. But," said Coth, "she did not understand me." "Ah, well, that may have been the trouble. Still, all this you say about women being here is mere guess-work." "It is not!" said Coth, "and I want none of your impudence, either. How many times must I tell you that?" Jurgen scratched his ear reflectively. For he still remembered what Grandfather Satan had said, and Coth's irritation seemed promising. "Well, but the women here are all ugly, I wager." "They are not!" said his father, angrily. "Why do you keep contradicting me?" "Because you do not know what you are talking about," says Jurgen, egging him on. "How could there be any pretty women in this horrible place? For the soft flesh would be burned away from their little bones, and the loveliest of queens would be reduced to a horrid cinder." "I think there are any number of vampires and succubi and such creatures, whom the flames do not injure at all, because these creatures are informed with an ardor that is unquenchable and is more hot than fire. And you understand perfectly what I mean, so there is no need for you to stand there goggling at me like a horrified abbess!" "Oh, sir, but you know very well that I would have nothing to do with such unregenerate persons." "I do not know anything of the sort. You are probably lying to me. You always lied to me. I think you are on your way to meet a vampire now." "What, sir, a hideous creature with fangs and leathery wings!" "No, but a very poisonous and seductively beautiful creature." "Come, now! you do not really think she is beautiful." "I do think so. How dare you tell me what I think and do not think!" "Ah, well, I shall have nothing to do with her." "I think you will," said his father: "ah, but I think you will be up to your tricks with her before this hour is out. For do I not know what emperors are? and do I not know you?" And Coth fell to talking of Jurgen's past, in the customary terms of a family squabble, such as are not very nicely repeatable elsewhere. And the fiends who had been tormenting Coth withdrew in embarrassment, and so long as Coth continued talking they kept out of earshot. 37. Invention of the Lovely Vampire So again Coth parted with his son in anger, and Jurgen returned again toward Barathum; and, whether or not it was a coincidence, Jurgen met precisely the vampire of whom he had inveigled his father into thinking. She was the most seductively beautiful creature that it would be possible for Jurgen's father or any other man to imagine: and her clothes were orange-colored, for a reason sufficiently well known in Hell, and were embroidered everywhere with green fig-leaves. "A good morning to you, madame," says Jurgen, "and whither are you going?" "Why, to no place at all, good youth. For this is my vacation, granted yearly by the Law of Kalki--" "And who is Kalki, madame?" "Nobody as yet: but he will come as a stallion. Meanwhile his Law precedes him, so that I am spending my vacation peacefully in Hell, with none of my ordinary annoyances to bother me." "And what, madame, can they be?" "Why, you must understand that it is little rest a vampire gets on earth, with so many fine young fellows like yourself going about everywhere eager to be destroyed." "But how, madame, did you happen to become a vampire if the life does not please you? And what is it that they call you?" "My name, sir," replied the Vampire, sorrowfully, "is Florimel, because my nature no less than my person was as beautiful as the flowers of the field and as sweet as the honey which the bees (who furnish us with such admirable examples of industry) get out of these flowers. But a sad misfortune changed all this. For I chanced one day to fall ill and die (which, of course, might happen to anyone), and as my funeral was leaving the house the cat jumped over my coffin. That was a terrible misfortune to befall a poor dead girl so generally respected, and in wide demand as a seamstress; though, even then, the worst might have been averted had not my sister-in-law been of what they call a humane disposition and foolishly attached to the cat. So they did not kill it, and I, of course, became a vampire." "Yes, I can understand that was inevitable. Still, it seems hardly fair. I pity you, my dear." And Jurgen sighed. "I would prefer, sir, that you did not address me thus familiarly, since you and I have omitted the formality of an introduction; and in the absence of any joint acquaintances are unlikely ever to meet properly." "I have no herald handy, for I travel incognito. However, I am that Jurgen who recently made himself Emperor of Noumaria, King of Eubonia, Prince of Cocaigne, and Duke of Logreus; and of whom you have doubtless heard." "Why, to be sure!" says she, patting her hair straight. "And who would have anticipated meeting your highness in such a place!" "One says 'majesty' to an emperor, my dear. It is a detail, of course: but in my position one has to be a little exigent." "I perfectly comprehend, your majesty; and indeed I might have divined your rank from your lovely clothes. I can but entreat you to overlook my unintentional breach of etiquette: and I make bold to add that a kind heart reveals the splendor of its graciousness through the interest which your majesty has just evinced in my disastrous history." "Upon my word," thinks Jurgen, "but in this flow of words I seem to recognize my father's imagination when in anger." Then Florimel told Jurgen of her horrible awakening in the grave, and of what had befallen her hands and feet there, the while that against her will she fed repugnantly, destroying first her kindred and then the neighbors. This done, she had arisen. "For the cattle still lived, and that troubled me. When I had put an end to this annoyance, I climbed into the church belfry, not alone, for one went with me of whom I prefer not to talk; and at midnight I sounded the bell so that all who heard it would sicken and die. And I wept all the while, because I knew that when everything had been destroyed which I had known in my first life in the flesh, I would be compelled to go into new lands, in search of the food which alone can nourish me, and I was always sincerely attached to my home. So it was, your majesty, that I forever relinquished my sewing, and became a lovely peril, a flashing desolation, and an evil which smites by night, in spite of my abhorrence of irregular hours: and what I do I dislike extremely, for it is a sad fate to become a vampire, and still to sympathize with your victims, and particularly with their poor mothers." So Jurgen comforted Florimel, and he put his arm around her. "Come, come!" he said, "but I will see that your vacation passes pleasantly. And I intend to deal fairly with you, too." Then he glanced sidewise at his shadow, and whispered a suggestion which caused Florimel to sigh. "By the terms of my doom," said she, "at no time during the nine lives of the cat can I refuse. Still, it is a comfort you are the Emperor of Noumaria and have a kind heart." "Oh, and a many other possessions, my dear! and I again assure you that I intend to deal fairly with you." So Florimel conducted Jurgen, through the changeless twilight of Barathum, like that of a gray winter afternoon, to a quiet cleft by the Sea of Blood, which she had fitted out very cosily in imitation of her girlhood home; and she lighted a candle, and made him welcome to her cleft. And when Jurgen was about to enter it he saw that his shadow was following him into the Vampire's home. "Let us extinguish this candle!" says Jurgen, "for I have seen so many flames to-day that my eyes are tired." So Florimel extinguished the candle, with a good-will that delighted Jurgen. And now they were in utter darkness, and in the dark nobody can see what is happening. But that Florimel now trusted Jurgen and his Noumarian claims was evinced by her very first remark. "I was in the beginning suspicious of your majesty," said Florimel, "because I had always heard that every emperor carried a magnificent sceptre, and you then displayed nothing of the sort. But now, somehow, I do not doubt you any longer. And of what is your majesty thinking?" "Why, I was reflecting, my dear," says Jurgen, "that my father imagines things very satisfactorily." 38. As to Applauded Precedents Afterward Jurgen abode in Hell, and complied with the customs of that country. And the tale tells that a week or it might be ten days after his meeting with Florimel, Jurgen married her, without being at all hindered by his having three other wives. For the devils, he found, esteemed polygamy, and ranked it above mere skill at torturing the damned, through a literal interpretation of the saying that it is better to marry than to burn. "And formerly," they told Jurgen, "you could hardly come across a marriage anywhere that was not hallmarked 'made in Heaven': but since we have been at war with Heaven we have quite taken away that trade from our enemies. So you may marry here as much as you like." "Why, then," says Jurgen, "I shall marry in haste, and repeat at leisure. But can one obtain a divorce here?" "Oh, no," said they. "We trafficked in them for a while, but we found that all persons who obtained divorces through our industry promptly thanked Heaven they were free at last. In the face of such ingratitude we gave over that profitless trade, and now there is a manufactory, for specialties in men's clothing, upon the old statutory grounds." "But these makeshifts are unsatisfactory, and I wish to know, in confidence, what do you do in Hell when there is no longer any putting up with your wives." The devils all blushed. "We would prefer not to tell you," said they, "for it might get to their ears." "Now do I perceive," said Jurgen, "that Hell is pretty much like any other place." So Jurgen and the lovely Vampire were duly married. First Jurgen's nails were trimmed, and the parings were given to Florimel. A broomstick was laid before them, and they stepped over it. Then Florimel said "Temon!" thrice, and nine times did Jurgen reply "Arigizator!" Afterward the Emperor Jurgen and his bride were given a posset of dudaïm and eruca, and the devils modestly withdrew. Thereafter Jurgen abode in Hell, and complied with the customs of that country, and was tolerably content for a while. Now Jurgen shared with Florimel that quiet cleft which she had fitted out in imitation of her girlhood home: and they lived in the suburbs of Barathum, very respectably, by the shore of the sea. There was, of course, no water in Hell; indeed the importation of water was forbidden, under severe penalties, in view of its possible use for baptismal purposes: this sea was composed of the blood that had been shed by piety in furthering the kingdom of the Prince of Peace, and was reputed to be the largest ocean in existence. And it explained the nonsensical saying which Jurgen had so often heard, as to Hell's being paved with good intentions. "For Epigenes of Rhodes is right, after all," said Jurgen, "in suggesting a misprint: and the word should be 'laved'." "Why, to be sure, your majesty," assented Florimel: "ah, but I always said your majesty had remarkable powers of penetration, quite apart from your majesty's scholarship." For Florimel had this cajoling way of speaking. None the less, all vampires have their foibles, and are nourished by the vigor and youth of their lovers. So one morning Florimel complained of being unwell, and attributed it to indigestion. Jurgen stroked her head meditatively; then he opened his glittering shirt, and displayed what was plain enough to see. "I am full of vigor and I am young," said Jurgen, "but my vigor and my youthfulness are of a peculiar sort, and are not wholesome. So let us have no more of your tricks, or you will quite spoil your vacation by being very ill indeed." "But I had thought all emperors were human!" said Florimel, in a flutter of blushing penitence, exceedingly pretty to observe. "Even so, sweetheart, all emperors are not Jurgens," he replied, magnificently. "Therefore you will find that not every emperor is justly styled the father of his people, or is qualified by nature to wield the sceptre of Noumaria. I trust this lesson will suffice." "It will," said Florimel, with a wry face. So thereafter they had no further trouble of this sort, and the wound on Jurgen's breast was soon healed. And Jurgen kept away from the damned, of course, because he and Florimel were living respectably. They paid a visit to Jurgen's father, however, very shortly after they were married, because this was the proper thing to do. And Coth was civil enough, for Coth, and voiced a hope that Florimel might have a good influence upon Jurgen and make him worth his salt, but did not pretend to be optimistic. Yet this visit was never returned, because Coth considered his wickedness was too great for him to be spared a moment of torment, and so would not leave his flame. "And really, your majesty," said Florimel, "I do not wish for an instant to have the appearance of criticizing your majesty's relatives. But I do think that your majesty's father might have called upon us, at least once, particularly after I offered to have a fire made up for him to sit on any time he chose to come. I consider that your majesty's father assumes somewhat extravagant airs, in the lack of any definite proof as to his having been a bit more wicked than anybody else: and the child-like candor which has always been with me a leading characteristic prevents concealment of my opinion." "Oh, it is just his conscience, dear." "A conscience is all very well in its place, your majesty; and I, for one, would never have been able to endure the interminable labor of seducing and assassinating so many fine young fellows if my conscience had not assured me that it was all the fault of my sister-in-law. But, even so, there is no sense in letting your conscience make a slave of you: and when conscience reduces your majesty's father to ignoring the rules of common civility and behaving like a candle-wick, I am sure that matters are being carried too far." "And right you are, my dear. However, we do not lack for company. So come now, make yourself fine, and shake the black dog from your back, for we are spending the evening with the Asmodeuses." "And will your majesty talk politics again?" "Oh, I suppose so. They appear to like it." "I only wish that I did, your majesty," observed Florimel, and she yawned by anticipation. For with the devils Jurgen got on garrulously. The religion of Hell is patriotism, and the government is an enlightened democracy. This contented the devils, and Jurgen had learned long ago never to fall out with either of these codes, without which, as the devils were fond of observing, Hell would not be what it is. They were, to Jurgen's finding, simple-minded fiends who allowed themselves to be deplorably overworked by the importunate dead. They got no rest because of the damned, who were such persons as had been saddled with a conscience, and who in consequence demanded interminable torments. And at the time of Jurgen's coming into Hell political affairs were in a very bad way, because there was a considerable party among the younger devils who were for compounding the age-old war with Heaven, at almost any price, in order to get relief from this unceasing influx of conscientious dead persons in search of torment. For it was well-known that when Satan submitted to be bound in chains there would be no more death: and the annoying immigration would thus be ended. So said the younger devils: and considered Grandfather Satan ought to sacrifice himself for the general welfare. Then too they pointed out that Satan had been perforce their presiding magistrate ever since the settlement of Hell, because a change of administration is inexpedient in war-time: so that Satan must term after term be re-elected: and of course Satan had been voted absolute power in everything, since this too is customary in wartime. Well, and after the first few thousand years of this the younger devils began to whisper that such government was not ideal democracy. But their more conservative elders were enraged by these effete and wild new notions, and dealt with their juniors somewhat severely, tearing them into bits and quite destroying them. The elder devils then proceeded to inflict even more startling punishments. * * * * * So Grandfather Satan was much vexed, because the laws were being violated everywhere: and a day or two after Jurgen's advent Satan issued a public appeal to his subjects, that the code of Hell should be better respected. But under a democratic government people do not like to be perpetually bothering about law and order, as one of the older and stronger devils pointed out to Jurgen. Jurgen drew a serious face, and he stroked his chin. "Why, but look you," says Jurgen, "in deploring the mob spirit that has been manifesting itself sporadically throughout this country against the advocates of peace and submission to the commands of Heaven and other pro-Celestial propaganda,--and in warning loyal citizenship that such outbursts must be guarded against, as hurtful to the public welfare of Hell,--why, Grandfather Satan should bear in mind that the government, in large measure, holds the remedy of the evil in its own hands." And Jurgen looked very severely toward Satan. "Come now," says Phlegeton, nodding his head, which was like that of a bear, except for his naked long, red ears, inside each of which was a flame like that of a spirit-lamp: "come now, but this young emperor in the fine shirt speaks uncommonly well!" "So we spoke together in Pandemonium," said Belial, wistfully, "in the brave days when Pandemonium was newly built and we were all imps together." "Yes, his talk is of the old school, than which there is none better. So pray continue, Emperor Jurgen," cried the elderly devils, "and let us know what you are talking about." "Why, merely this," says Jurgen, and again he looked severely toward Satan: "I tell you that as long as sentimental weakness marks the prosecution of offences in violation of the laws necessitated by war-time conditions; as long as deserved punishment for overt acts of pro-Celestialism is withheld; as long as weak-kneed clemency condones even a suspicion of disloyal thinking: then just so long will a righteously incensed, if now and then misguided patriotism take into its own hands vengeance upon the offenders." "But, still--" said Grandfather Satan. "Ineffectual administration of the law," continued Jurgen, sternly, "is the true defence of these outbursts: and far more justly deplorable than acts of mob violence is the policy of condonation that furnishes occasion for them. The patriotic people of Hell are not in a temper to be trifled with, now that they are at war. Conviction for offenses against the nation should not be behedged about with technicalities devised for over-refined peacetime jurisprudence. Why, there is no one of you, I am sure, but has at his tongue's tip the immortal words of Livonius as to this very topic: and so I shall not repeat them. But I fancy you will agree with me that what Livonius says is unanswerable." So it was that Jurgen went on at a great rate, and looking always very sternly at Grandfather Satan. "Yes, yes!" said Satan, wriggling uncomfortably, but still not thinking of Jurgen entirely: "yes, all this is excellent oratory, and not for a moment would I decry the authority of Livonius. And your quotation is uncommonly apropos and all that sort of thing. But with what are you charging me?" "With sentimental weakness," retorted Jurgen. "Was it not only yesterday one of the younger devils was brought before you, upon the charge that he had said the climate in Heaven was better than the climate here? And you, sir, Hell's chief magistrate--you it was who actually asked him if he had ever uttered such a disloyal heresy!" "Now, but what else was I to do?" said Satan, fidgeting, and swishing his great bushy tail so that it rustled against his horns, and still not really turning his mind from that ancient thought. "You should have remembered, sir, that a devil whose patriotism is impugned is a devil to be punished; and that there is no time to be prying into irrevelant questions of his guilt or innocence. Otherwise, I take it, you will never have any real democracy in Hell." Now Jurgen looked very impressive, and the devils were all cheering him. "And so," says Jurgen, "your disgusted hearers were wearied by such frivolous interrogatories, and took the fellow out of your hands, and tore him into particularly small bits. Now I warn you, Grandfather Satan, that it is your duty as a democratic magistrate just so to deal with such offenders first of all, and to ask your silly questions afterward. For what does Rudigernus say outright upon this point? and Zantipher Magnus, too? Why, my dear sir, I ask you plainly, where in the entire history of international jurisprudence will you find any more explicit language than these two employ?" "Now certainly," says Satan, with his bleak smile, "you cite very respectable authority: and I shall take your reproof in good part. I will endeavor to be more strict in the future. And you must not blame my laxity too severely, Emperor Jurgen, for it is a long while since any man came living into Hell to instruct us how to manage matters in time of war. No doubt, precisely as you say, we do need a little more severity hereabouts, and would gain by adopting more human methods. Rudigernus, now?--yes, Rudigernus is rather unanswerable, and I concede it frankly. So do you come home and have supper with me, Emperor Jurgen, and we will talk over these things." Then Jurgen went off arm in arm with Grandfather Satan, and Jurgen's erudition and sturdy common-sense were forevermore established among the older and more solid element in Hell. And Satan followed Jurgen's suggestions, and the threatened rebellion was satisfactorily discouraged, by tearing into very small fragments anybody who grumbled about anything. So that all the subjects of Satan went about smiling broadly all the time at the thought of what might befall them if they seemed dejected. Thus was Hell a happier looking place because of Jurgen's coming. 39. Of Compromises in Hell Now Grandfather Satan's wife was called Phyllis: and apart from having wings like a bat's, she was the loveliest little slip of devilishness that Jurgen had seen in a long while. Jurgen spent this night at the Black House of Barathum, and two more nights, or it might be three nights: and the details of what Jurgen used to do there, after supper, when he would walk alone in the Black House Gardens, among the artfully colored cast-iron flowers and shrubbery, and would so come to the grated windows of Phyllis's room, and would stand there joking with her in the dark, are not requisite to this story. Satan was very jealous of his wife, and kept one of her wings clipped and held her under lock and key, as the treasure that she was. But Jurgen was accustomed to say afterward that, while the gratings over the windows were very formidable, they only seemed somehow to enhance the piquancy of his commerce with Dame Phyllis. This queen, said Jurgen, he had found simply unexcelled at repartee. Florimel considered the saying cryptic: just what precisely did his majesty mean? "Why, that in any and all circumstances Dame Phyllis knows how to take a joke, and to return as good as she receives." "So your majesty has already informed me: and certainly jokes can be exchanged through a grating--" "Yes, that was what I meant. And Dame Phyllis appeared to appreciate my ready flow of humor. She informs me Grandfather Satan is of a cold dry temperament, with very little humor in him, so that they go for months without exchanging any pleasantries. Well, I am willing to taste any drink once: and for the rest, remembering that my host had very enormous and intimidating horns, I was at particular pains to deal fairly with my hostess. Though, indeed, it was more for the honor and the glory of the affair than anything else that I exchanged pleasantries with Satan's wife. For to do that, my dear, I felt was worthy of the Emperor Jurgen." "Ah, I am afraid your majesty is a sad scapegrace," replied Florimel: "however, we all know that the sceptre of an emperor is respected everywhere." "Indeed," says Jurgen, "I have often regretted that I did not bring with me my jewelled sceptre when I left Noumaria." She shivered at some unspoken thought: it was not until some while afterward that Florimel told Jurgen of her humiliating misadventure with the absent-minded Sultan of Garçao's sceptre. Now she only replied that jewels might, conceivably, seem ostentatious and out of place. Jurgen agreed to this truism: for of course they were living very quietly, and Jurgen was splendid enough for any reasonable wife's requirements, in his glittering shirt. So Jurgen got on pleasantly with Florimel. But he never became as fond of her as he had been of Guenevere or Anaïtis, nor one-tenth as fond of her as he had been of Chloris. In the first place, he suspected that Florimel had been invented by his father, and Coth and Jurgen had never any tastes in common: and in the second place, Jurgen could not but see that Florimel thought a great deal of his being an emperor. "It is my title she loves, not me," reflected Jurgen, sadly, "and her affection is less for that which is really integral to me than for imperial orbs and sceptres and such-like external trappings." And Jurgen would come out of Florimel's cleft considerably dejected, and would sit alone by the Sea of Blood, and would meditate how inequitable it was that the mere title of emperor should thus shut him off from sincerity and candor. "We who are called kings and emperors are men like other men: we are as rightly entitled as other persons to the solace of true love and affection: instead, we live in a continuous isolation, and women offer us all things save their hearts, and we are a lonely folk. No, I cannot believe that Florimel loves me for myself alone: it is my title which dazzles her. And I would that I had never made myself the emperor of Noumaria: for this emperor goes about everywhere in a fabulous splendor, and is, very naturally, resistless in his semi-mythical magnificence. Ah, but these imperial gewgaws distract the thoughts of Florimel from the real Jurgen; so that the real Jurgen is a person whom she does not understand at all. And it is not fair." Then, too, he had a sort of prejudice against the way in which Florimel spent her time in seducing and murdering young men. It was not possible, of course, actually to blame the girl, since she was the victim of circumstances, and had no choice about becoming a vampire, once the cat had jumped over her coffin. Still, Jurgen always felt, in his illogical masculine way, that her vocation was not nice. And equally in the illogical way of men, did he persist in coaxing Florimel to tell him of her vampiric transactions, in spite of his underlying feeling that he would prefer to have his wife engaged in some other trade: and the merry little creature would humor him willingly enough, with her purple eyes a-sparkle, and with her vivid lips curling prettily back, so as to show her tiny white sharp teeth quite plainly. She was really very pretty thus, as she told him of what happened in Copenhagen when young Count Osmund went down into the blind beggar-woman's cellar, and what they did with bits of him; and of how one kind of serpent came to have a secret name, which, when cried aloud in the night, with the appropriate ceremony, will bring about delicious happenings; and of what one can do with small unchristened children, if only they do not kiss you, with their moist uncertain little mouths, for then this thing is impossible; and of what use she had made of young Sir Ganelon's skull, when he was through with it, and she with him; and of what the young priest Wulfnoth had said to the crocodiles at the very last. "Oh, yes, my life has its amusing side," said Florimel: "and one likes to feel, of course, that one is not wholly out of touch with things, and is even, in one's modest way, contributing to the suppression of folly. But even so, your majesty, the calls that are made upon one! the things that young men expect of you, as the price of their bodily and spiritual ruin! and the things their relatives say about you! and, above all, the constant strain, the irregular hours, and the continual effort to live up to one's position! Oh, yes, your majesty, I was far happier when I was a consumptive seamstress and took pride in my buttonholes. But from a sister-in-law who only has you in to tea occasionally as a matter of duty, and who is prominent in churchwork, one may, of course, expect anything. And that reminds me that I really must tell your majesty about what happened in the hay-loft, just after the abbot had finished undressing--" So she would chatter away, while Jurgen listened and smiled indulgently. For she certainly was very pretty. And so they kept house in Hell contentedly enough until Florimel's vacation was at an end: and then they parted, without any tears but in perfect friendliness. And Jurgen always remembered Florimel most pleasantly, but not as a wife with whom he had ever been on terms of actual intimacy. Now when this lovely Vampire had quitted him, the Emperor Jurgen, in spite of his general popularity and the deference accorded his political views, was not quite happy in Hell. "It is a comfort, at any rate," said Jurgen, "to discover who originated the theory of democratic government. I have long wondered who started the notion that the way to get a wise decision on any conceivable question was to submit it to a popular vote. Now I know. Well, and the devils may be right in their doctrines; certainly I cannot go so far as to say they are wrong: but still, at the same time--!" For instance, this interminable effort to make the universe safe for democracy, this continual warring against Heaven because Heaven clung to a tyrannical form of autocratic government, sounded both logical and magnanimous, and was, of course, the only method of insuring any general triumph for democracy: yet it seemed rather futile to Jurgen, since, as he knew now, there was certainly something in the Celestial system which made for military efficiency, so that Heaven usually won. Moreover, Jurgen could not get over the fact that Hell was just a notion of his ancestors with which Koshchei had happened to fall in: for Jurgen had never much patience with antiquated ideas, particularly when anyone put them into practice, as Koshchei had done. "Why, this place appears to me a glaring anachronism," said Jurgen, brooding over the fires of Chorasma: "and its methods of tormenting conscientious people I cannot but consider very crude indeed. The devils are simple-minded and they mean well, as nobody would dream of denying, but that is just it: for hereabouts is needed some more pertinacious and efficiently disagreeable person--" And that, of course, reminded him of Dame Lisa: and so it was the thoughts of Jurgen turned again to doing the manly thing. And he sighed, and went among the devils tentatively looking and inquiring for that intrepid fiend who in the form of a black gentleman had carried off Dame Lisa. But a queer happening befell, and it was that nowhere could Jurgen find the black gentleman, nor did any of the devils know anything about him. "From what you tell us, Emperor Jurgen," said they all, "your wife was an acidulous shrew, and the sort of woman who believes that whatever she does is right." "It was not a belief," says Jurgen: "it was a mania with the poor dear." "By that fact, then, she is forever debarred from entering Hell." "You tell me news," says Jurgen, "which if generally known would lead many husbands into vicious living." "But it is notorious that people are saved by faith. And there is no faith stronger than that of a bad-tempered woman in her own infallibility. Plainly, this wife of yours is the sort of person who cannot be tolerated by anybody short of the angels. We deduce that your Empress must be in Heaven." "Well, that sounds reasonable. And so to Heaven I will go, and it may be that there I shall find justice." "We would have you know," the fiends cried, bristling, "that in Hell we have all kinds of justice, since our government is an enlightened democracy." "Just so," says Jurgen: "in an enlightened democracy one has all kinds of justice, and I would not dream of denying it. But you have not, you conceive, that lesser plague, my wife; and it is she whom I must continue to look for." "Oh, as you like," said they, "so long as you do not criticize the exigencies of war-time. But certainly we are sorry to see you going into a country where the benighted people put up with an autocrat Who was not duly elected to His position. And why need you continue seeking your wife's society when it is so much pleasanter living in Hell?" And Jurgen shrugged. "One has to do the manly thing sometimes." So the fiends told him the way to Heaven's frontiers, pitying him. "But the crossing of the frontier must be your affair." "I have a cantrap," said Jurgen; "and my stay in Hell has taught me how to use it." Then Jurgen followed his instructions, and went into Meridie, and turned to the left when he had come to the great puddle where the adders and toads are reared, and so passed through the mists of Tartarus, with due care of the wild lightning, and took the second turn to his left--"always in seeking Heaven be guided by your heart," had been the advice given him by devils,--and thus avoiding the abode of Jemra, he crossed the bridge over the Bottomless Pit and the solitary Narakas. And Brachus, who kept the toll-gate on this bridge, did that of which the fiends had forewarned Jurgen: but for this, of course, there was no help. 40. The Ascension of Pope Jurgen The tale tells how on the feast of the Annunciation Jurgen came to the high white walls which girdle Heaven. For Jurgen's forefathers had, of course, imagined that Hell stood directly contiguous to Heaven, so that the blessed could augment their felicity by gazing down upon the tortures of the damned. Now at this time a boy angel was looking over the parapet of Heaven's wall. "And a good day to you, my fine young fellow," says Jurgen. "But of what are you thinking so intently?" For just as Dives had done long years before, now Jurgen found that a man's voice carries perfectly between Hell and Heaven. "Sir," replies the boy, "I was pitying the poor damned." "Why, then, you must be Origen," says Jurgen, laughing. "No, sir, my name is Jurgen." "Heyday!" says Jurgen: "well, but this Jurgen has been a great many persons in my time. So very possibly you speak the truth." "I am Jurgen, the son of Coth and Azra." "Ah, ah! but so were all of them, my boy." "Why, then, I am Jurgen, the grandson of Steinvor, and the grandchild whom she loved above her other grandchildren: and so I abide forever in Heaven with all the other illusions of Steinvor. But who, messire, are you that go about Hell unscorched, in such a fine looking shirt?" Jurgen reflected. Clearly it would never do to give his real name, and thus raise the question as to whether Jurgen was in Heaven or Hell. Then he recollected the cantrap of the Master Philologist, which Jurgen had twice employed incorrectly. And Jurgen cleared his throat, for he believed that he now understood the proper use of cantraps. "Perhaps," says Jurgen, "I ought not to tell you who I am. But what is life without confidence in one another? Besides, you appear a boy of remarkable discretion. So I will confide in you that I am Pope John the Twentieth, Heaven's regent upon Earth, now visiting this place upon Celestial business which I am not at liberty to divulge more particularly, for reasons that will at once occur to a young man of your unusual cleverness." "Oh, but I say! that is droll. Do you just wait a moment!" cried the boy angel. His bright face vanished, with a whisking of brown curls: and Jurgen carefully re-read the cantrap of the Master Philologist. "Yes, I have found, I think, the way to use such magic," observes Jurgen. Presently the young angel re-appeared at the parapet. "I say, messire! I looked on the Register--all popes are admitted here the moment they die, without inquiring into their private affairs, you know, so as to avoid any unfortunate scandal,--and we have twenty-three Pope Johns listed. And sure enough, the mansion prepared for John the Twentieth is vacant. He seems to be the only pope that is not in Heaven." "Why, but of course not," says Jurgen, complacently, "inasmuch as you see me, who was once Bishop of Rome and servant to the servants of God, standing down here on this cinder-heap." "Yes, but none of the others in your series appears to place you. John the Nineteenth says he never heard of you, and not to bother him in the middle of a harp lesson--" "He died before my accession, naturally." "--And John the Twenty-first says he thinks they lost count somehow, and that there never was any Pope John the Twentieth. He says you must be an impostor." "Ah, professional jealousy!" sighed Jurgen: "dear me, this is very sad, and gives one a poor opinion of human nature. Now, my boy, I put it to you fairly, how could there have been a twenty-first unless there had been a twentieth? And what becomes of the great principle of papal infallibility when a pope admits to a mistake in elementary arithmetic? Oh, but this is a very dangerous heresy, let me tell you, an Inquisition matter, a consistory business! Yet, luckily, upon his own contention, this Pedro Juliani--" "And that was his name, too, for he told me! You evidently know all about it, messire," said the young angel, visibly impressed. "Of course, I know all about it. Well, I repeat, upon his own contention this man is non-existent, and so, whatever he may say amounts to nothing. For he tells you there was never any Pope John the Twentieth: and either he is lying or he is telling you the truth. If he is lying, you, of course, ought not to believe him: yet, if he is telling you the truth, about there never having been any Pope John the Twentieth, why then, quite plainly, there was never any Pope John the Twenty-first, so that this man asserts his own non-existence; and thus is talking nonsense, and you, of course, ought not to believe in nonsense. Even did we grant his insane contention that he is nobody, you are too well brought up, I am sure, to dispute that nobody tells lies in Heaven: it follows that in this case nobody is lying; and so, of course, I must be telling the truth, and you have no choice save to believe me." "Now, certainly that sounds all right," the younger Jurgen conceded: "though you explain it so quickly it is a little difficult to follow you." "Ah, but furthermore, and over and above this, and as a tangible proof of the infallible particularity of every syllable of my assertion," observes the elder Jurgen, "if you will look in the garret of Heaven you will find the identical ladder upon which I descended hither, and which I directed them to lay aside until I was ready to come up again. Indeed, I was just about to ask you to fetch it, inasmuch as my business here is satisfactorily concluded." Well, the boy agreed that the word of no pope, whether in Hell or Heaven, was tangible proof like a ladder: and again he was off. Jurgen waited, in tolerable confidence. It was a matter of logic. Jacob's Ladder must from all accounts have been far too valuable to throw away after one night's use at Beth-El; it would come in very handy on Judgment Day: and Jurgen's knowledge of Lisa enabled him to deduce that anything which was being kept because it would come in handy some day would inevitably be stored in the garret, in any establishment imaginable by women. "And it is notorious that Heaven is a delusion of old women. Why, the thing is a certainty," said Jurgen; "simply a mathematical certainty." And events proved his logic correct: for presently the younger Jurgen came back with Jacob's Ladder, which was rather cobwebby and obsolete looking after having been lain aside so long. "So you see you were perfectly right," then said this younger Jurgen, as he lowered Jacob's Ladder into Hell. "Oh, Messire John, do hurry up and have it out with that old fellow who slandered you!" Thus it came about that Jurgen clambered merrily from Hell to Heaven upon a ladder of unalloyed, time-tested gold: and as he climbed the shirt of Nessus glittered handsomely in the light which shone from Heaven: and by this great light above him, as Jurgen mounted higher and yet higher, the shadow of Jurgen was lengthened beyond belief along the sheer white wall of Heaven, as though the shadow were reluctant and adhered tenaciously to Hell. Yet presently Jurgen leaped the ramparts: and then the shadow leaped too; and so his shadow came with Jurgen into Heaven, and huddled dispiritedly at Jurgen's feet. "Well, well!" thinks Jurgen, "certainly there is no disputing the magic of the Master Philologist when it is correctly employed. For through its aid I am entering alive into Heaven, as only Enoch and Elijah have done before me: and moreover, if this boy is to be believed, one of the very handsomest of Heaven's many mansions awaits my occupancy. One could not ask more of any magician fairly. Aha, if only Lisa could see me now!" That was his first thought. Afterward Jurgen tore up the cantrap and scattered its fragments as the Master Philologist had directed. Then Jurgen turned to the boy who aided Jurgen to get into Heaven. "Come, youngster, and let us have a good look at you!" And Jurgen talked with the boy that he had once been, and stood face to face with all that Jurgen had been and was not any longer. And this was the one happening which befell Jurgen that the writer of the tale lacked heart to tell of. So Jurgen quitted the boy that he had been. But first had Jurgen learned that in this place his grandmother Steinvor (whom King Smoit had loved) abode and was happy in her notion of Heaven; and that about her were her notions of her children and of her grandchildren. Steinvor had never imagined her husband in Heaven, nor King Smoit either. "That is a circumstance," says Jurgen, "which heartens me to hope one may find justice here. Yet I shall keep away from my grandmother, the Steinvor whom I knew and loved, and who loved me so blindly that this boy here is her notion of me. Yes, in mere fairness to her, I must keep away." So he avoided that part of Heaven wherein were his grandmother's illusions: and this was counted for righteousness in Jurgen. That part of Heaven smelt of mignonette, and a starling was singing there. 41. Of Compromises in Heaven Jurgen then went unhindered to where the God of Jurgen's grandmother sat upon a throne, beside a sea of crystal. A rainbow, made high and narrow like a window frame, so as to fit the throne, formed an arch-way in which He sat: at His feet burned seven lamps, and four remarkable winged creatures sat there chaunting softly, "Glory and honor and thanks to Him Who liveth forever!" In one hand of the God was a sceptre, and in the other a large book with seven red spots on it. There were twelve smaller thrones, without rainbows, upon each side of the God of Jurgen's grandmother, in two semi-circles: upon these inferior thrones sat benignant-looking elderly angels, with long white hair, all crowned, and clothed in white robes, and having a harp in one hand, and in the other a gold flask, about pint size. And everywhere fluttered and glittered the multicolored wings of seraphs and cherubs, like magnified paroquets, as they went softly and gaily about the golden haze that brooded over Heaven, to a continuous sound of hushed organ music and a remote and undistinguishable singing. Now the eyes of this God met the eyes of Jurgen: and Jurgen waited thus for a long while, and far longer, indeed, than Jurgen suspected. "I fear You," Jurgen said, at last: "and, yes, I love You: and yet I cannot believe. Why could You not let me believe, where so many believed? Or else, why could You not let me deride, as the remainder derided so noisily? O God, why could You not let me have faith? for You gave me no faith in anything, not even in nothingness. It was not fair." And in the highest court of Heaven, and in plain view of all the angels, Jurgen began to weep. "I was not ever your God, Jurgen." "Once very long ago," said Jurgen, "I had faith in You." "No, for that boy is here with Me, as you yourself have seen. And to-day there is nothing remaining of him anywhere in the man that is Jurgen." "God of my grandmother! God Whom I too loved in boyhood!" said Jurgen then: "why is it that I am denied a God? For I have searched: and nowhere can I find justice, and nowhere can I find anything to worship." "What, Jurgen, and would you look for justice, of all places, in Heaven?" "No," Jurgen said; "no, I perceive it cannot be considered here. Else You would sit alone." "And for the rest, you have looked to find your God without, not looking within to see that which is truly worshipped in the thoughts of Jurgen. Had you done so, you would have seen, as plainly as I now see, that which alone you are able to worship. And your God is maimed: the dust of your journeying is thick upon him; your vanity is laid as a napkin upon his eyes; and in his heart is neither love nor hate, not even for his only worshipper." "Do not deride him, You Who have so many worshippers! At least, he is a monstrous clever fellow," said Jurgen: and boldly he said it, in the highest court of Heaven, and before the pensive face of the God of Jurgen's grandmother. "Ah, very probably. I do not meet with many clever people. And as for My numerous worshippers, you forget how often you have demonstrated that I was the delusion of an old woman." "Well, and was there ever a flaw in my logic?" "I was not listening to you, Jurgen. You must know that logic does not much concern us, inasmuch as nothing is logical hereabouts." And now the four winged creatures ceased their chaunting, and the organ music became a far-off murmuring. And there was silence in Heaven. And the God of Jurgen's grandmother, too, was silent for a while, and the rainbow under which He sat put off its seven colors and burned with an unendurable white, tinged bluishly, while the God considered ancient things. Then in the silence this God began to speak. Some years ago (said the God of Jurgen's grandmother) it was reported to Koshchei that scepticism was abroad in his universe, and that one walked therein who would be contented with no rational explanation. "Bring me this infidel," says Koshchei: so they brought to him in the void a little bent gray woman in an old gray shawl. "Now, tell me why you will not believe," says Koshchei, "in things as they are." Then the decent little bent gray woman answered civilly; "I do not know, sir, who you may happen to be. But, since you ask me, everybody knows that things as they are must be regarded as temporary afflictions, and as trials through which we are righteously condemned to pass, in order to attain to eternal life with our loved ones in Heaven." "Ah, yes," said Koshchei, who made things as they are; "ah, yes, to be sure! and how did you learn of this?" "Why, every Sunday morning the priest discoursed to us about Heaven, and of how happy we would be there after death." "Has this woman died, then?" asked Koshchei. "Yes, sir," they told him,--"recently. And she will believe nothing we explain to her, but demands to be taken to Heaven." "Now, this is very vexing," Koshchei said, "and I cannot, of course, put up with such scepticism. That would never do. So why do you not convey her to this Heaven which she believes in, and thus put an end to the matter?" "But, sir," they told him, "there is no such place." Then Koshchei reflected. "It is certainly strange that a place which does not exist should be a matter of public knowledge in another place. Where does this woman come from?" "From Earth," they told him. "Where is that?" he asked: and they explained to him as well as they could. "Oh, yes, over that way," Koshchei interrupted. "I remember. Now--but what is your name, woman who wish to go to Heaven?" "Steinvor, sir: and if you please I am rather in a hurry to be with my children again. You see, I have not seen any of them for a long while." "But stay," said Koshchei: "what is that which comes into this woman's eyes as she speaks of her children?" They told him it was love. "Did I create this love?" says Koshchei, who made things as they are. And they told him, no: and that there were many sorts of love, but that this especial sort was an illusion which women had invented for themselves, and which they exhibited in all dealings with their children. And Koshchei sighed. "Tell me about your children," Koshchei then said to Steinvor: "and look at me as you talk, so that I may see your eyes." So Steinvor talked of her children: and Koshchei, who made all things, listened very attentively. Of Coth she told him, of her only son, confessing Coth was the finest boy that ever lived,--"a little wild, sir, at first, but then you know what boys are,"--and telling of how well Coth had done in business and of how he had even risen to be an alderman. Koshchei, who made all things, seemed properly impressed. Then Steinvor talked of her daughters, of Imperia and Lindamira and Christine: of Imperia's beauty, and of Lindamira's bravery under the mishaps of an unlucky marriage, and of Christine's superlative housekeeping. "Fine women, sir, every one of them, with children of their own! and to me they still seem such babies, bless them!" And the decent little bent gray woman laughed. "I have been very lucky in my children, sir, and in my grandchildren, too," she told Koshchei. "There is Jurgen, now, my Coth's boy! You may not believe it, sir, but there is a story I must tell you about Jurgen--" So she ran on very happily and proudly, while Koshchei, who made all things, listened, and watched the eyes of Steinvor. Then privately Koshchei asked, "Are these children and grandchildren of Steinvor such as she reports?" "No, sir," they told him privately. So as Steinvor talked Koshchei devised illusions in accordance with that which Steinvor said, and created such children and grandchildren as she described. Male and female he created them standing behind Steinvor, and all were beautiful and stainless: and Koshchei gave life to these illusions. Then Koshchei bade her turn about. She obeyed: and Koshchei was forgotten. Well, Koshchei sat there alone in the void, looking not very happy, and looking puzzled, and drumming upon his knee, and staring at the little bent gray woman, who was busied with her children and grandchildren, and had forgotten all about him. "But surely, Lindamira," he hears Steinvor say, "we are not yet in Heaven."--"Ah, my dear mother," replies her illusion of Lindamira, "to be with you again is Heaven: and besides, it may be that Heaven is like this, after all."--"My darling child, it is sweet of you to say that, and exactly like you to say that. But you know very well that Heaven is fully described in the Book of Revelations, in the Bible, as the glorious place that Heaven is. Whereas, as you can see for yourself, around us is nothing at all, and no person at all except that very civil gentleman to whom I was just talking; and who, between ourselves, seems woefully uninformed about the most ordinary matters." "Bring Earth to me," says Koshchei. This was done, and Koshchei looked over the planet, and found a Bible. Koshchei opened the Bible, and read the Revelation of St. John the Divine, while Steinvor talked with her illusions. "I see," said Koshchei. "The idea is a little garish. Still--!" So he replaced the Bible, and bade them put Earth, too, in its proper place, for Koshchei dislikes wasting anything. Then Koshchei smiled and created Heaven about Steinvor and her illusions, and he made Heaven just such a place as was described in the book. "And so, Jurgen, that was how it came about," ended the God of Jurgen's grandmother. "And Me also Koshchei created at that time, with the seraphim and the saints and all the blessed, very much as you see us: and, of course, he caused us to have been here always, since the beginning of time, because that, too, was in the book." "But how could that be done?" says Jurgen, with brows puckering. "And in what way could Koshchei juggle so with time?" "How should I know, since I am but the illusion of an old woman, as you have so frequently proved by logic? Let it suffice that whatever Koshchei wills, not only happens, but has already happened beyond the ancientest memory of man and his mother. How otherwise could he be Koshchei?" "And all this," said Jurgen, virtuously, "for a woman who was not even faithful to her husband!" "Oh, very probably!" said the God: "at all events, it was done for a woman who loved. Koshchei will do almost anything to humor love, since love is one of the two things which are impossible to Koshchei." "I have heard that pride is impossible to Koshchei--" The God of Jurgen's grandmother raised His white eyebrows. "What is pride? I do not think I ever heard of it before. Assuredly it is something that does not enter here." "But why is love impossible to Koshchei?" "Because Koshchei made things as they are, and day and night he contemplates things as they are. How, then, can Koshchei love anything?" But Jurgen shook his sleek black head. "That I cannot understand at all. If I were imprisoned in a cell wherein was nothing except my verses I would not be happy, and certainly I would not be proud: but even so, I would love my verses. I am afraid that I fall in more readily with the ideas of Grandfather Satan than with Yours; and without contradicting You, I cannot but wonder if what You reveal is true." "And how should I know whether or not I speak the truth?" the God asked of him, "since I am but the illusion of an old woman, as you have so frequently proved by logic." "Well, well!" said Jurgen, "You may be right in all matters, and certainly I cannot presume to say You are wrong: but still, at the same time--! No, even now I do not quite believe in You." "Who could expect it of a clever fellow, who sees so clearly through the illusions of old women?" the God asked, a little wearily. And Jurgen answered: "God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, and Your doings as they are recorded I find incoherent and a little droll. But I am glad the affair has been so arranged that You may always now be real to brave and gentle persons who have believed in and have worshipped and have loved You. To have disappointed them would have been unfair: and it is right that before the faith they had in You not even Koshchei who made things as they are was able to be reasonable. "God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You; but remembering the sum of love and faith that has been given You, I tremble. I think of the dear people whose living was confident and glad because of their faith in You: I think of them, and in my heart contends a blind contrition, and a yearning, and an enviousness, and yet a tender sort of amusement colors all. Oh, God, there was never any other deity who had such dear worshippers as You have had, and You should be very proud of them. "God of my grandmother, I cannot quite believe in You, yet I am not as those who would come peering at You reasonably. I, Jurgen, see You only through a mist of tears. For You were loved by those whom I loved greatly very long ago: and when I look at You it is Your worshippers and the dear believers of old that I remember. And it seems to me that dates and manuscripts and the opinions of learned persons are very trifling things beside what I remember, and what I envy!" "Who could have expected such a monstrous clever fellow ever to envy the illusions of old women?" the God of Jurgen's grandmother asked again: and yet His countenance was not unfriendly. "Why, but," said Jurgen, on a sudden, "why, but my grandmother--in a way--was right about Heaven and about You also. For certainly You seem to exist, and to reign in just such estate as she described. And yet, according to Your latest revelation, I too was right--in a way--about these things being an old woman's delusions. I wonder now--?" "Yes, Jurgen?" "Why, I wonder if everything is right, in a way? I wonder if that is the large secret of everything? It would not be a bad solution, sir," said Jurgen, meditatively. The God smiled. Then suddenly that part of Heaven was vacant, except for Jurgen, who stood there quite alone. And before him was the throne of the vanished God and the sceptre of the God, and Jurgen saw that the seven spots upon the great book were of red sealing-wax. Jurgen was afraid: but he was particularly appalled by his consciousness that he was not going to falter. "What, you who have been duke and prince and king and emperor and pope! and do such dignities content a Jurgen? Why, not at all," says Jurgen. So Jurgen ascended the throne of Heaven, and sat beneath that wondrous rainbow: and in his lap now was the book, and in his hand was the sceptre, of the God of Jurgen's grandmother. Jurgen sat thus, for a long while regarding the bright vacant courts of Heaven. "And what will you do now?" says Jurgen, aloud. "Oh, fretful little Jurgen, you that have complained because you had not your desire, you are omnipotent over Earth and all the affairs of men. What now is your desire?" And sitting thus terribly enthroned, the heart of Jurgen was as lead within him, and he felt old and very tired. "For I do not know. Oh, nothing can help me, for I do not know what thing it is that I desire! And this book and this sceptre and this throne avail me nothing at all, and nothing can ever avail me: for I am Jurgen who seeks he knows not what." So Jurgen shrugged, and climbed down from the throne of the God, and wandering at adventure, came presently to four archangels. They were seated upon a fleecy cloud, and they were eating milk and honey from gold porringers: and of these radiant beings Jurgen inquired the quickest way out of Heaven. "For hereabouts are none of my illusions," said Jurgen, "and I must now return to such illusions as are congenial. One must believe in something. And all that I have seen in Heaven I have admired and envied, but in none of these things could I believe, and with none of these things could I be satisfied. And while I think of it, I wonder now if any of you gentlemen can give me news of that Lisa who used to be my wife?" He described her; and they regarded him with compassion. But these archangels, he found, had never heard of Lisa, and they assured him there was no such person in Heaven. For Steinvor had died when Jurgen was a boy, and so she had never seen Lisa; and in consequence, had not thought about Lisa one way or the other, when Steinvor outlined her notions to Koshchei who made things as they are. Now Jurgen discovered, too, that, when his eyes first met the eyes of the God of Jurgen's grandmother, Jurgen had stayed motionless for thirty-seven days, forgetful of everything save that the God of his grandmother was love. "Nobody else has willingly turned away so soon," Zachariel told him: "and we think that your insensibility is due to some evil virtue in the glittering garment which you are wearing, and of which the like was never seen in Heaven." "I did but search for justice," Jurgen said: "and I could not find it in the eyes of your God, but only love and such forgiveness as troubled me." "Because of that should you rejoice," the four archangels said; "and so should all that lives rejoice: and more particularly should we rejoice that dwell in Heaven, and hourly praise our Lord God's negligence of justice, whereby we are permitted to enter into this place." 42. Twelve That are Fretted Hourly So it was upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen, that Jurgen went hastily out of Heaven, without having gained or wasted any love there. St. Peter unbarred for him, not the main entrance, but a small private door, carved with innumerable fishes in bas-relief, because this exit opened directly upon any place you chose to imagine. "For thus," St. Peter said, "you may return without loss of time to your own illusions." "There was a cross," said Jurgen, "which I used to wear about my neck, through motives of sentiment, because it once belonged to my dead mother. For no woman has ever loved me save that Azra who was my mother--" "I wonder if your mother told you that?" St. Peter asked him, smiling reminiscently. "Mine did, time and again. And sometimes I have wondered--? For, as you may remember, I was a married man, Jurgen: and my wife did not quite understand me," said St. Peter, with a sigh. "Why, indeed," says Jurgen, "my case is not entirely dissimilar: and the more I marry, the less I find of comprehension. I should have had more sympathy with King Smoit, who was certainly my grandfather. Well, you conceive, St. Peter, these other women have trusted me, more or less, because they loved a phantom Jurgen. But Azra trusted me not at all, because she loved me with clear eyes. She comprehended Jurgen, and yet loved him: though I for one, with all my cleverness, cannot do either of these things. None the less, in order to do the manly thing, in order to pleasure a woman,--and a married woman, too!--I flung away the little gold cross which was all that remained to me of my mother: and since then, St. Peter, the illusions of sentiment have given me a woefully wide berth. So I shall relinquish Heaven to seek a cross." "That has been done before, Jurgen, and I doubt if much good came of it." "Heyday, and did it not lead to the eternal glory of the first and greatest of the popes? It seems to me, sir, that you have either very little memory or very little gratitude, and I am tempted to crow in your face." "Why, now you talk like a cherub, Jurgen, and you ought to have better manners. Do you suppose that we Apostles enjoy hearing jokes made about the Church?" "Well, it is true, St. Peter, that you founded the Church--" "Now, there you go again! That is what those patronizing seraphim and those impish cherubs are always telling us. You see, we Twelve sit together in Heaven, each on his white throne: and we behold everything that happens on Earth. Now from our station there has been no ignoring the growth and doings of what you might loosely call Christianity. And sometimes that which we see makes us very uncomfortable, Jurgen. Especially as just then some cherub is sure to flutter by, in a broad grin, and chuckle, 'But you started it.' And we did; I cannot deny that in a way we did. Yet really we never anticipated anything of this sort, and it is not fair to tease us about it." "Indeed, St. Peter, now I think of it, you ought to be held responsible for very little that has been said or done in the shadow of a steeple. For as I remember it, you Twelve attempted to convert a world to the teachings of Jesus: and good intentions ought to be respected, however drolly they may turn out." It was apparent this sympathy was grateful to the old Saint, for he was moved to a more confidential tone. Meditatively he stroked his long white beard, then said with indignation: "If only they would not claim sib with us we could stand it: but as it is, for centuries we have felt like fools. It is particularly embarrassing for me, of course, being on the wicket; for to cap it all, Jurgen, the little wretches die, and come to Heaven impudent as sparrows, and expect me to let them in! From their thumbscrewings, and their auto-da-fés, and from their massacres, and patriotic sermons, and holy wars, and from every manner of abomination, they come to me, smirking. And millions upon millions of them, Jurgen! There is no form of cruelty or folly that has not come to me for praise, and no sort of criminal idiot who has not claimed fellowship with me, who was an Apostle and a gentleman. Why, Jurgen, you may not believe it, but there was an eminent bishop came to me only last week in the expectation that I was going to admit him,--and I with the full record of his work for temperance, all fairly written out and in my hand!" Now Jurgen was surprised. "But temperance is surely a virtue, St. Peter." "Ah, but his notion of temperance! and his filthy ravings to my face, as though he were talking in some church or other! Why, the slavering little blasphemer! to my face he spoke against the first of my Master's miracles, and against the last injunction which was laid upon us Twelve, spluttering that the wine was unfermented! To me he said this, look you, Jurgen! to me, who drank of that noble wine at Cana and equally of that sustaining wine we had in the little upper room in Jerusalem when the hour of trial was near and our Master would have us at our best! With me, who have since tasted of that unimaginable wine which the Master promised us in His kingdom, the busy wretch would be arguing! and would have convinced me, in the face of all my memories, that my Master, Who was a Man among men, was nourished by such thin swill as bred this niggling brawling wretch to plague me!" "Well, but indeed, St. Peter, there is no denying that wine is often misused." "So he informed me, Jurgen. And I told him by that argument he would prohibit the making of bishops, for reasons he would find in the mirror: and that, remembering what happened at the Crucifixion, he would clap every lumber dealer into jail. So they took him away still slavering," said St. Peter, wearily. "He was threatening to have somebody else elected in my place when I last heard him: but that was only old habit." "I do not think, however, that I encountered any such bishop, sir, down yonder." "In the Hell of your fathers? Oh, no: your fathers meant well, but their notions were limited. No, we have quite another eternal home for these blasphemers, in a region that was fitted out long ago, when the need grew pressing to provide a place for zealous Churchmen." "And who devised this place, St. Peter?" "As a very special favor, we Twelve to whom is imputed the beginning and the patronizing of such abominations were permitted to design and furnish this place. And, of course, we put it in charge of our former confrère, Judas. He seemed the appropriate person. Equally of course, we put a very special roof upon it, the best imitation which we could contrive of the War Roof, so that none of those grinning cherubs could see what long reward it was we Twelve who founded Christianity had contrived for these blasphemers." "Well, doubtless that was wise." "Ah, and if we Twelve had our way there would be just such another roof kept always over Earth. For the slavering madman has left a many like him clamoring and spewing about the churches that were named for us Twelve, and in the pulpits of the churches that were named for us: and we find it embarrassing. It is the doctrine of Mahound they splutter, and not any doctrine that we ever preached or even heard of: and they ought to say so fairly, instead of libeling us who were Apostles and gentlemen. But thus it is that the rascals make free with our names: and the cherubs keep track of these antics, and poke fun at us. So that it is not all pleasure, this being a Holy Apostle in Heaven, Jurgen, though once we Twelve were happy enough." And St. Peter sighed. "One thing I did not understand, sir: and that was when you spoke just now of the War Roof." "It is a stone roof, made of the two tablets handed down at Sinai, which God fits over Earth whenever men go to war. For He is merciful: and many of us here remember that once upon a time we were men and women. So when men go to war God screens the sight of what they do, because He wishes to be merciful to us." "That must prevent, however, the ascent of all prayers that are made in war-time." "Why, but, of course, that is the roof's secondary purpose," replied St. Peter. "What else would you expect when the Master's teachings are being flouted? Rumors get through, though, somehow, and horribly preposterous rumors. For instance, I have actually heard that in war-time prayers are put up to the Lord God to back His favorites and take part in the murdering. Not," said the good Saint, in haste, "that I would believe even a Christian bishop to be capable of such blasphemy: I merely want to show you, Jurgen, what wild stories get about. Still, I remember, back in Cappadocia--" And then St. Peter slapped his thigh. "But would you keep me gossiping here forever, Jurgen, with the Souls lining up at the main entrance like ants that swarm to molasses! Come, out of Heaven with you, Jurgen! and back to whatever place you imagine will restore to you your own proper illusions! and let me be returning to my duties." "Well, then, St. Peter, I imagine Amneran Heath, where I flung away my mother's last gift to me." "And Amneran Heath it is," said St. Peter, as he thrust Jurgen through the small private door that was carved with fishes in bas-relief. And Jurgen saw that the Saint spoke truthfully. 43. Postures before a Shadow Thus Jurgen stood again upon Amneran Heath. And again it was Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen: and the low moon was bright, so that the shadow of Jurgen was long and thin. And Jurgen searched for the gold cross that he had worn through motives of sentiment, but he could not find it, nor did he ever recover it: but barberry bushes and the thorns of barberry bushes he found in great plenty as he searched vainly. All the while that he searched, the shirt of Nessus glittered in the moonlight, and the shadow of Jurgen streamed long and thin, and every movement that was made by Jurgen the shadow parodied. And as always, it was the shadow of a lean woman, with her head wrapped in a towel. Now Jurgen regarded this shadow, and to Jurgen it was abhorrent. "Oh, Mother Sereda," says he, "for a whole year your shadow has dogged me. Many lands we have visited, and many sights we have seen: and at the end all that we have done is a tale that is told: and it is a tale that does not matter. So I stand where I stood at the beginning of my foiled journeying. The gift you gave me has availed me nothing: and I do not care whether I be young or old: and I have lost all that remained to me of my mother and of my mother's love, and I have betrayed my mother's pride in me, and I am weary." Now a little whispering gathered upon the ground, as though dead leaves were moving there: and the whispering augmented (because this was upon Walburga's Eve, when almost anything is rather more than likely to happen), and the whispering became the ghost of a voice. "You flattered me very cunningly, Jurgen, for you are a monstrous clever fellow." This it was that the voice said drily. "A number of people might say that with tolerable justice," Jurgen declared: "and yet I guess who speaks. As for flattering you, godmother, I was only joking that day in Glathion: in fact, I was careful to explain as much, the moment I noticed your shadow seemed interested in my idle remarks and was writing them all down in a notebook. Oh, no, I can assure you I trafficked quite honestly, and have dealt fairly everywhere. For the rest, I really am very clever: it would be foolish of me to deny it." "Vain fool!" said the voice of Mother Sereda. Jurgen replied: "It may be that I am vain. But it is certain that I am clever. And even more certain is the fact that I am weary. For, look you, in the tinsel of my borrowed youth I have gone romancing through the world; and into lands unvisited by other men have I ventured, playing at spillikins with women and gear and with the welfare of kingdoms; and into Hell have I fallen, and into Heaven have I climbed, and into the place of the Lord God Himself have I crept stealthily: and nowhere have I found what I desired. Nor do I know what my desire is, even now. But I know that it is not possible for me to become young again, whatever I may appear to others." "Indeed, Jurgen, youth has passed out of your heart, beyond the reach of Léshy: and the nearest you can come to regaining youth is to behave childishly." "O godmother, but do give rein to your better instincts and all that sort of thing, and speak with me more candidly! Come now, dear lady, there should be no secrets between you and me. In Leukê you were reported to be Cybelê, the great Res Dea, the mistress of every tangible thing. In Cocaigne they spoke of you as Æsred. And at Cameliard Merlin called you Adères, dark Mother of the Little Gods. Well, but at your home in the forest, where I first had the honor of making your acquaintance, godmother, you told me you were Sereda, who takes the color out of things, and controls all Wednesdays. Now these anagrams bewilder me, and I desire to know you frankly for what you are." "It may be that I am all these. Meanwhile I bleach, and sooner or later I bleach everything. It may be that some day, Jurgen, I shall even take the color out of a fool's conception of himself." "Yes, yes! but just between ourselves, godmother, is it not this shadow of you that prevents my entering, quite, into the appropriate emotion, the spirit of the occasion, as one might say, and robs my life of the zest which other persons apparently get out of living? Come now, you know it is! Well, and for my part, godmother, I love a jest as well as any man breathing, but I do prefer to have it intelligible." "Now, let me tell you something plainly, Jurgen!" Mother Sereda cleared her invisible throat, and began to speak rather indignantly. * * * * * "Well, godmother, if you will pardon my frankness, I do not think it is quite nice to talk about such things, and certainly not with so much candor. However, dismissing these considerations of delicacy, let us revert to my original question. You have given me youth and all the appurtenances of youth: and therewith you have given, too, in your joking way--which nobody appreciates more heartily than I,--a shadow that renders all things not quite satisfactory, not wholly to be trusted, not to be met with frankness. Now--as you understand, I hope,--I concede the jest, I do not for a moment deny it is a master-stroke of humor. But, after all, just what exactly is the point of it? What does it mean?" "It may be that there is no meaning anywhere. Could you face that interpretation, Jurgen?" "No," said Jurgen: "I have faced god and devil, but that I will not face." "No more would I who have so many names face that. You jested with me. So I jest with you. Probably Koshchei jests with all of us. And he, no doubt--even Koshchei who made things as they are,--is in turn the butt of some larger jest." "He may be, certainly," said Jurgen: "yet, on the other hand--" "About these matters I do not know. How should I? But I think that all of us take part in a moving and a shifting and a reasoned using of the things which are Koshchei's, a using such as we do not comprehend, and are not fit to comprehend." "That is possible," said Jurgen: "but, none the less--!" "It is as a chessboard whereon the pieces move diversely: the knights leaping sidewise, and the bishops darting obliquely, and the rooks charging straightforward, and the pawns laboriously hobbling from square to square, each at the player's will. There is no discernible order, all to the onlooker is manifestly in confusion: but to the player there is a meaning in the disposition of the pieces." "I do not deny it: still, one must grant--" "And I think it is as though each of the pieces, even the pawns, had a chessboard of his own which moves as he is moved, and whereupon he moves the pieces to suit his will, in the very moment wherein he is moved willy-nilly." "You may be right: yet, even so--" "And Koshchei who directs this infinite moving of puppets may well be the futile harried king in some yet larger game." "Now, certainly I cannot contradict you: but, at the same time--!" "So goes this criss-cross multitudinous moving as far as thought can reach: and beyond that the moving goes. All moves. All moves uncomprehendingly, and to the sound of laughter. For all moves in consonance with a higher power that understands the meaning of the movement. And each moves the pieces before him in consonance with his ability. So the game is endless and ruthless: and there is merriment overhead, but it is very far away." "Nobody is more willing to concede that these are handsome fancies, Mother Sereda. But they make my head ache. Moreover, two people are needed to play chess, and your hypothesis does not provide anybody with an antagonist. Lastly, and above all, how do I know there is a word of truth in your high-sounding fancies?" "How can any of us know anything? And what is Jurgen, that his knowing or his not knowing should matter to anybody?" Jurgen slapped his hands together. "Hah, Mother Sereda!" says he, "but now I have you. It is that, precisely that damnable question, which your shadow has been whispering to me from the beginning of our companionship. And I am through with you. I will have no more of your gifts, which are purchased at the cost of hearing that whisper. I am resolved henceforward to be as other persons, and to believe implicitly in my own importance." "But have you any reason to blame me? I restored to you your youth. And when, just at the passing of that replevined Wednesday which I loaned, you rebuked the Countess Dorothy very edifyingly, I was pleased to find a man so chaste: and therefore I continued my grant of youth--" "Ah, yes!" said Jurgen: "then that was the way of it! You were pleased, just in the nick of time, by my virtuous rebuke of the woman who tempted me. Yes, to be sure. Well, well! come now, you know, that is very gratifying." "None the less your chastity, however unusual, has proved a barren virtue. For what have you made of a year of youth? Why, each thing that every man of forty-odd by ordinary regrets having done, you have done again, only more swiftly, compressing the follies of a quarter of a century into the space of one year. You have sought bodily pleasures. You have made jests. You have asked many idle questions. And you have doubted all things, including Jurgen. In the face of your memories, in the face of what you probably considered cordial repentance, you have made of your second youth just nothing. Each thing that every man of forty-odd regrets having done, you have done again." "Yes: it is undeniable that I re-married," said Jurgen. "Indeed, now I think of it, there was Anaïtis and Chloris and Florimel, so that I have married thrice in one year. But I am largely the victim of heredity, you must remember, since it was without consulting me that Smoit of Glathion perpetuated his characteristics." "Your marriages I do not criticize, for each was in accordance with the custom of the country: the law is always respectable; and matrimony is an honorable estate, and has a steadying influence, in all climes. It is true my shadow reports several other affairs--" "Oh, godmother, and what is this you are telling me!" "There was a Yolande and a Guenevere"--the voice of Mother Sereda appeared to read from a memorandum,--"and a Sylvia, who was your own step-grandmother, and a Stella, who was a yogini, whatever that may be; and a Phyllis and a Dolores, who were the queens of Hell and Philistia severally. Moreover, you visited the Queen of Pseudopolis in circumstances which could not but have been unfavorably viewed by her husband. Oh, yes, you have committed follies with divers women." "Follies, it may be, but no crimes, not even a misdemeanor. Look you, Mother Sereda, does your shadow report in all this year one single instance of misconduct with a woman?" says Jurgen, sternly. "No, dearie, as I joyfully concede. The very worst reported is that matters were sometimes assuming a more or less suspicious turn when you happened to put out the light. And, of course, shadows cannot exist in absolute darkness." "See now," said Jurgen, "what a thing it is to be careful! Careful, I mean, in one's avoidance of even an appearance of evil. In what other young man of twenty-one may you look to find such continence? And yet you grumble!" "I do not complain because you have lived chastely. That pleases me, and is the single reason you have been spared this long." "Oh, godmother, and whatever are you telling me!" "Yes, dearie, had you once sinned with a woman in the youth I gave, you would have been punished instantly and very terribly. For I was always a great believer in chastity, and in the old days I used to insure the chastity of all my priests in the only way that is infallible." "In fact, I noticed something of the sort as you passed in Leukê." "And over and over again I have been angered by my shadow's reports, and was about to punish you, my poor dearie, when I would remember that you held fast to the rarest of all virtues in a man, and that my shadow reported no irregularities with women. And that would please me, I acknowledge: so I would let matters run on a while longer. But it is a shiftless business, dearie, for you are making nothing of the youth I restored to you. And had you a thousand lives the result would be the same." "Nevertheless, I am a monstrous clever fellow." Jurgen chuckled here. "You are, instead, a palterer; and your life, apart from that fine song you made about me, is sheer waste." "Ah, if you come to that, there was a brown man in the Druid forest, who showed me a very curious spectacle, last June. And I am not apt to lose the memory of what he showed me, whatever you may say, and whatever I may have said to him." "This and a many other curious spectacles you have seen and have made nothing of, in the false youth I gave you. And therefore my shadow was angry that in the revelation of so much futile trifling I did not take away the youth I gave--as I have half a mind to do, even now, I warn you, dearie, for there is really no putting up with you. But I spared you because of my shadow's grudging reports as to your continence, which is a virtue that we of the Léshy peculiarly revere." Now Jurgen considered. "Eh?--then it is within your ability to make me old again, or rather, an excellently preserved person of forty-odd, or say, thirty-nine, by the calendar, but not looking it by a long shot? Such threats are easily voiced. But how can I know that you are speaking the truth?" "How can any of us know anything? And what is Jurgen, that his knowing or his not knowing should matter to anybody?" "Ah, godmother, and must you still be mumbling that! Come now, forget you are a woman, and be reasonable! You exercise the fair and ancient privilege of kinship by calling me harsh names, but it is in the face of this plain fact: I got from you what never man has got before. I am a monstrous clever fellow, say what you will: for already I have cajoled you out of a year of youth, a year wherein I have neither builded nor robbed any churches, but have had upon the whole a very pleasant time. Ah, you may murmur platitudes and threats and axioms and anything else which happens to appeal to you: the fact remains that I got what I wanted. Yes, I cajoled you very neatly into giving me eternal youth. For, of course, poor dear, you are now powerless to take it back: and so I shall retain, in spite of you, the most desirable possession in life." "I gave, in honor of your chastity, which is the one commendable trait that you possess--" "My chastity, I grant you, is remarkable. Nevertheless, you really gave because I was the cleverer." "--And what I give I can retract at will!" "Come, come, you know very well you can do nothing of the sort. I refer you to Sævius Nicanor. None of the Léshy can ever take back the priceless gift of youth. That is explicitly proved, in the Appendix." "Now, but I am becoming angry--" "To the contrary, as I perceive with real regret, you are becoming ridiculous, since you dispute the authority of Sævius Nicanor." "--And I will show you--oh, but I will show you, you jackanapes!" "Ah, but come now! keep your temper in hand! All fairly erudite persons know you cannot do the thing you threaten: and it is notorious that the weakest wheel of every cart creaks loudest. So do you cultivate a judicious taciturnity! for really nobody is going to put up with petulance in an ugly and toothless woman of your age, as I tell you for your own good." It always vexes people to be told anything for their own good. So what followed happened quickly. A fleece of cloud slipped over the moon. The night seemed bitterly cold, for the space of a heart-beat, and then matters were comfortable enough. The moon emerged in its full glory, and there in front of Jurgen was the proper shadow of Jurgen. He dazedly regarded his hands, and they were the hands of an elderly person. He felt the calves of his legs, and they were shrunken. He patted himself centrally, and underneath the shirt of Nessus the paunch of Jurgen was of impressive dimension. In other respects he had abated. "Then, too, I have forgotten something very suddenly," reflected Jurgen. "It was something I wanted to forget. Ah, yes! but what was it that I wanted to forget? Why, there was a brown man--with something unusual about his feet--He talked nonsense and behaved idiotically in a Druid forest--He was probably insane. No, I do not remember what it was that I have forgotten: but I am sure it has gnawed away in the back of my mind, like a small ruinous maggot: and that, after all, it was of no importance." Aloud he wailed, in his most moving tones: "Oh, Mother Sereda, I did not mean to anger you. It was not fair to snap me up on a thoughtless word! Have mercy upon me, Mother Sereda, for I would never have alluded to your being so old and plain-looking if I had known you were so vain!" But Mother Sereda did not appear to be softened by this form of entreaty, for nothing happened. "Well, then, thank goodness, that is over!" says Jurgen, to himself. "Of course, she may be listening still, and it is dangerous jesting with the Léshy: but really they do not seem to be very intelligent. Otherwise this irritable maunderer would have known that, everything else apart, I am heartily tired of the responsibilities of youth under any such constant surveillance. Now all is changed: there is no call to avoid a suspicion of wrong doing by transacting all philosophical investigations in the dark: and I am no longer distrustful of lamps or candles, or even of sunlight. Old body, you are as grateful as old slippers, to a somewhat wearied man: and for the second time I have tricked Mother Sereda rather neatly. My knowledge of Lisa, however painfully acquired, is a decided advantage in dealing with anything that is feminine." Then Jurgen regarded the black cave. "And that reminds me it still would be, I suppose, the manly thing to continue my quest for Lisa. The intimidating part is that if I go into this cave for the third time I shall almost certainly get her back. By every rule of tradition the third attempt is invariably successful. I wonder if I want Lisa back?" Jurgen meditated: and he shook a grizzled head. "I do not definitely know. She was an excellent cook. There were pies that I shall always remember with affection. And she meant well, poor dear! But then if it was really her head that I sliced off last May--or if her temper is not any better--Still, it is an interminable nuisance washing your own dishes: and I appear to have no aptitude whatever for sewing and darning things. But, to the other hand, Lisa nags so: and she does not understand me--" Jurgen shrugged. "See-saw! the argument for and against might run on indefinitely. Since I have no real preference, I will humor prejudice by doing the manly thing. For it seems only fair: and besides, it may fail after all." Then he went into the cave for the third time. 44. In the Manager's Office The tale tells that all was dark there, and Jurgen could see no one. But the cave stretched straight forward, and downward, and at the far end was a glow of light. Jurgen went on and on, and so came to the place where Nessus had lain in wait for Jurgen. Again Jurgen stooped, and crawled through the opening in the cave's wall, and so came to where lamps were burning upon tall iron stands. Now, one by one, these lamps were going out, and there were now no women here: instead, Jurgen trod inch deep in fine white ashes, leaving the print of his feet upon them. He went forward as the cave stretched. He came to a sharp turn in the cave, with the failing lamplight now behind him, so that his shadow confronted Jurgen, blurred but unarguable. It was the proper shadow of a commonplace and elderly pawnbroker, and Jurgen regarded it with approval. Jurgen came then into a sort of underground chamber, from the roof of which was suspended a kettle of quivering red flames. Facing him was a throne, and back of this were rows of benches: but here, too, was nobody. Resting upright against the vacant throne was a triangular white shield: and when Jurgen looked more closely he could see there was writing upon it. Jurgen carried this shield as close as he could to the kettle of flames, for his eyesight was now not very good, and besides, the flames in the kettle were burning low: and Jurgen deciphered the message that was written upon the shield, in black and red letters. "Absent upon important affairs," it said. "Will be back in an hour." And it was signed, "Thragnar R." "I wonder now for whom King Thragnar left this notice?" reflected Jurgen--"certainly not for me. And I wonder, too, if he left it here a year ago or only this evening? And I wonder if it was Thragnar's head I removed in the black and silver pavilion? Ah, well, there are a number of things to wonder about in this incredible cave, wherein the lights are dying out, as I observe with some discomfort. And I think the air grows chillier." Then Jurgen looked to his right, at the stairway which he and Guenevere had ascended; and he shook his head. "Glathion is no fit resort for a respectable pawnbroker. Chivalry is for young people, like the late Duke of Logreus. But I must get out of this place, for certainly there is in the air a deathlike chill." So Jurgen went on down the aisle between the rows of benches wherefrom Thragnar's warriors had glared at Jurgen when he was last in this part of the cave. At the end of the aisle was a wooden door painted white. It was marked, in large black letters, "Office of the Manager--Keep Out." So Jurgen opened this door. He entered into a notable place illuminated by six cresset lights. These lights were the power of Assyria, and Nineveh, and Egypt, and Rome, and Athens, and Byzantium: six other cressets stood ready there, but fire had not yet been laid to these. Back of all was a large blackboard with much figuring on it in red chalk. And here, too, was the black gentleman, who a year ago had given his blessing to Jurgen, for speaking civilly of the powers of darkness. To-night the black gentleman wore a black dressing-gown that was embroidered with all the signs of the Zodiac. He sat at a table, the top of which was curiously inlaid with thirty pieces of silver: and he was copying entries from one big book into another. He looked up from his writing pleasantly enough, and very much as though he were expecting Jurgen. "You find me busy with the Stellar Accounts," says he, "which appear to be in a fearful muddle. But what more can I do for you, Jurgen?--for you, my friend, who spoke a kind word for things as they are, and furnished me with one or two really very acceptable explanations as to why I had created evil?" "I have been thinking, Prince--" begins the pawnbroker. "And why do you call me a prince, Jurgen?" "I do not know, sir. But I suspect that my quest is ended, and that you are Koshchei the Deathless." The black gentleman nodded. "Something of the sort. Koshchei, or Ardnari, or Ptha, or Jaldalaoth, or Abraxas,--it is all one what I may be called hereabouts. My real name you never heard: no man has ever heard my name. So that matter we need hardly go into." "Precisely, Prince. Well, but it is a long way that I have traveled roundabout, to win to you who made things as they are. And it is eager I am to learn just why you made things as they are." Up went the black gentleman's eyebrows into regular Gothic arches. "And do you really think, Jurgen, that I am going to explain to you why I made things as they are?" "I fail to see, Prince, how my wanderings could have any other equitable climax." "But, friend, I have nothing to do with justice. To the contrary, I am Koshchei who made things as they are." Jurgen saw the point. "Your reasoning, Prince, is unanswerable. I bow to it. I should even have foreseen it. Do you tell me, then, what thing is this which I desire, and cannot find in any realm that man has known nor in any kingdom that man has imagined." Koshchei was very patient. "I am not, I confess, anything like as well acquainted with what has been going on in this part of the universe as I ought to be. Of course, events are reported to me, in a general sort of way, and some of my people were put in charge of these stars, a while back: but they appear to have run the constellation rather shiftlessly. Still, I have recently been figuring on the matter, and I do not despair of putting the suns hereabouts to some profitable use, in one way or another, after all. Of course, it is not as if it were an important constellation. But I am an Economist, and I dislike waste--" Then he was silent for an instant, not greatly worried by the problem, as Jurgen could see, but mildly vexed by his inability to divine the solution out of hand. Presently Koshchei said: "And in the mean time, Jurgen, I am afraid I cannot answer your question on the spur of the moment. You see, there appears to have been a great number of human beings, as you call them, evolved upon--oh, yes!--upon Earth. I have the approximate figures over yonder, but they would hardly interest you. And the desires of each one of these human beings seem to have been multitudinous and inconstant. Yet, Jurgen, you might appeal to the local authorities, for I remember appointing some, at the request of a very charming old lady." "In fine, you do not know what thing it is that I desire," said Jurgen, much surprised. "Why, no, I have not the least notion," replied Koshchei. "Still, I suspect that if you got it you would protest it was a most unjust affliction. So why keep worrying about it?" Jurgen demanded, almost indignantly: "But have you not then, Prince, been guiding all my journeying during this last year?" "Now, really, Jurgen, I remember our little meeting very pleasantly. And I endeavored forthwith to dispose of your most urgent annoyance. But I confess I have had one or two other matters upon my mind since then. You see, Jurgen, the universe is rather large, and the running of it is a considerable tax upon my time. I cannot manage to see anything like as much of my friends as I would be delighted to see of them. And so perhaps, what with one thing and another, I have not given you my undivided attention all through the year--not every moment of it, that is." "Ah, Prince, I see that you are trying to spare my feelings, and it is kind of you. But the upshot is that you do not know what I have been doing, and you did not care what I was doing. Dear me! but this is a very sad come-down for my pride." "Yes, but reflect how remarkable a possession is that pride of yours, and how I wonder at it, and how I envy it in vain,--I, who have nothing anywhere to contemplate save my own handiwork. Do you consider, Jurgen, what I would give if I could find, anywhere in this universe of mine, anything which would make me think myself one-half so important as you think Jurgen is!" And Koshchei sighed. But instead, Jurgen considered the humiliating fact that Koshchei had not been supervising Jurgen's travels. And of a sudden Jurgen perceived that this Koshchei the Deathless was not particularly intelligent. Then Jurgen wondered why he should ever have expected Koshchei to be intelligent? Koshchei was omnipotent, as men estimate omnipotence: but by what course of reasoning had people come to believe that Koshchei was clever, as men estimate cleverness? The fact that, to the contrary, Koshchei seemed well-meaning, but rather slow of apprehension and a little needlessly fussy, went far toward explaining a host of matters which had long puzzled Jurgen. Cleverness was, of course, the most admirable of all traits: but cleverness was not at the top of things, and never had been. "Very well, then!" says Jurgen, with a shrug; "let us come to my third request and to the third thing that I have been seeking. Here, though, you ought to be more communicative. For I have been thinking, Prince, my wife's society is perhaps becoming to you a trifle burdensome." "Eh, sirs, I am not unaccustomed to women. I may truthfully say that as I find them, so do I take them. And I was willing to oblige a fellow rebel." "But I do not know, Prince, that I have ever rebelled. Far from it, I have everywhere conformed with custom." "Your lips conformed, but all the while your mind made verses, Jurgen. And poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is." "--And besides, you call me a fellow rebel. Now, how can it be possible that Koshchei, who made all things as they are, should be a rebel? unless, indeed, there is some power above even Koshchei. I would very much like to have that explained to me, sir." "No doubt: but then why should I explain it to you, Jurgen?" says the black gentleman. "Well, be that as it may, Prince! But--to return a little--I do not know that you have obliged me in carrying off my wife. I mean, of course, my first wife." "Why, Jurgen," says the black gentleman, in high astonishment, "do you mean to tell me that you want the plague of your life back again!" "I do not know about that either, sir. She was certainly very hard to live with. On the other hand, I had become used to having her about. I rather miss her, now that I am again an elderly person. Indeed, I believe I have missed Lisa all along." The black gentleman meditated. "Come, friend," he says, at last. "You were a poet of some merit. You displayed a promising talent which might have been cleverly developed, in any suitable environment. Now, I repeat, I am an Economist: I dislike waste: and you were never fitted to be anything save a poet. The trouble was"--and Koshchei lowered his voice to an impressive whisper,--"the trouble was your wife did not understand you. She hindered your art. Yes, that precisely sums it up: she interfered with your soul-development, and your instinctive need of self-expression, and all that sort of thing. You are very well rid of this woman, who converted a poet into a pawnbroker. To the other side, as is with point observed somewhere or other, it is not good for man to live alone. But, friend, I have just the wife for you." "Well, Prince," said Jurgen, "I am willing to taste any drink once." So Koshchei waved his hand: and there, quick as winking, was the loveliest lady that Jurgen had ever imagined. 45. The Faith of Guenevere Very fair was this woman to look upon, with her shining gray eyes and small smiling lips, a fairer woman might no man boast of having seen. And she regarded Jurgen graciously, with her cheeks red and white, very lovely to observe. She was clothed in a robe of flame-colored silk, and about her neck was a collar of red gold. And she told him, quite as though she spoke with a stranger, that she was Queen Guenevere. "But Lancelot is turned monk, at Glastonbury: and Arthur is gone into Avalon," says she: "and I will be your wife if you will have me, Jurgen." And Jurgen saw that Guenevere did not know him at all, and that even his name to her was meaningless. There were a many ways of accounting for this: but he put aside the unflattering explanation that she had simply forgotten all about Jurgen, in favor of the reflection that the Jurgen she had known was a scapegrace of twenty-one. Whereas he was now a staid and knowledgeable pawnbroker. And it seemed to Jurgen that he had never really loved any woman save Guenevere, the daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr, and the pawnbroker was troubled. "For again you make me think myself a god," says Jurgen. "Madame Guenevere, when man recognized himself to be Heaven's vicar upon earth, it was to serve and to glorify and to protect you and your radiant sisterhood that man consecrated his existence. You were beautiful, and you were frail; you were half goddess and half bric-à-brac. Ohimé, I recognize the call of chivalry, and my heart-strings resound: yet, for innumerable reasons, I hesitate to take you for my wife, and to concede myself your appointed protector, responsible as such to Heaven. For one matter, I am not altogether sure that I am Heaven's vicar here upon earth. Certainly the God of Heaven said nothing to me about it, and I cannot but suspect that Omniscience would have selected some more competent representative." "It is so written, Messire Jurgen." Jurgen shrugged. "I too, in the intervals of business, have written much that is beautiful. Very often my verses were so beautiful that I would have given anything in the world in exchange for somewhat less sure information as to the author's veracity. Ah, no, madame, desire and knowledge are pressing me so sorely that, between them, I dare not love you, and still I cannot help it!" Then Jurgen gave a little wringing gesture with his hands. His smile was not merry; and it seemed pitiful that Guenevere should not remember him. "Madame and queen," says Jurgen, "once long and long ago there was a man who worshipped all women. To him they were one and all of sacred, sweet intimidating beauty. He shaped sonorous rhymes of this, in praise of the mystery and sanctity of women. Then a count's tow-headed daughter whom he loved, with such love as it puzzles me to think of now, was shown to him just as she was, as not even worthy of hatred. The goddess stood revealed, unveiled, and displaying in all things such mediocrity as he fretted to find in himself. That was unfortunate. For he began to suspect that women, also, are akin to their parents; and are no wiser, and no more subtle, and no more immaculate, than the father who begot them. Madame and queen, it is not good for any man to suspect this." "It is certainly not the conduct of a chivalrous person, nor of an authentic poet," says Queen Guenevere. "And yet your eyes are big with tears." "Hah, madame," he replied, "but it amuses me to weep for a dead man with eyes that once were his. For he was a dear lad before he went rampaging through the world, in the pride of his youth and in the armor of his hurt. And songs he made for the pleasure of kings, and sword play he made for the pleasure of men, and a whispering he made for the pleasure of women, in places where renown was, and where he trod boldly, giving pleasure to everybody in those fine days. But for all his laughter, he could not understand his fellows, nor could he love them, nor could he detect anything in aught they said or did save their exceeding folly." "Why, man's folly is indeed very great, Messire Jurgen, and the doings of this world are often inexplicable: and so does it come about that man can be saved by faith alone." "Ah, but this boy had lost his fellows' cordial common faith in the importance of what use they made of half-hours and months and years; and because a jill-flirt had opened his eyes so that they saw too much, he had lost faith in the importance of his own actions, too. There was a little time of which the passing might be made not unendurable; beyond gaped unpredictable darkness; and that was all there was of certainty anywhere. Meanwhile, he had the loan of a brain which played with ideas, and a body that went delicately down pleasant ways. And so he was never the mate for you, dear Guenevere, because he had not sufficient faith in anything at all, not even in his own deductions." Now said Queen Guenevere: "Farewell to you, then, Jurgen, for it is I that am leaving you forever. I was to them that served me the lovely and excellent masterwork of God: in Caerleon and Northgalis and at Joyeuse Garde might men behold me with delight, because, men said, to view me was to comprehend the power and kindliness of their Creator. Very beautiful was Iseult, and the face of Luned sparkled like a moving gem; Morgaine and Enid and Viviane and shrewd Nimuë were lovely, too; and the comeliness of Ettarde exalted the beholder like a proud music: these, going statelily about Arthur's hall, seemed Heaven's finest craftsmanship until the Queen came to her daïs, as the moon among glowing stars: men then affirmed that God in making Guenevere had used both hands. And it is I that am leaving you forever. My beauty was no human white and red, said they, but an explicit sign of Heaven's might. In approaching me men thought of God, because in me, they said, His splendor was incarnate. That which I willed was neither right nor wrong: it was divine. This thing it was that the knights saw in me; this surety, as to the power and kindliness of their great Father, it was of which the chevaliers of yesterday were conscious in beholding me, and of men's need to be worthy of such parentage; and it is I that am leaving you forever." Said Jurgen: "I could not see all this in you, not quite all this, because of a shadow that followed me. Now it is too late, and this is a sorrowful thing which is happening. I am become as a rudderless boat that goes from wave to wave: I am turned to unfertile dust which a whirlwind makes coherent, and presently lets fall. And so, farewell to you, Queen Guenevere, for it is a sorrowful thing and a very unfair thing that is happening." Thus he cried farewell to the daughter of Gogyrvan Gawr. And instantly she vanished like the flame of a blown out altar-candle. 46. The Desire of Anaïtis And again Koshchei waved his hand. Then came to Jurgen a woman who was strangely gifted and perverse. Her dark eyes glittered: upon her head was a net-work of red coral, with branches radiating downward, and her tunic was of two colors, being shot with black and crimson curiously mingled. And Anaïtis also had forgotten Jurgen, or else she did not recognize him in this man of forty and something: and again belief awoke in Jurgen's heart that this was the only woman whom Jurgen had really loved, as he listened to Anaïtis and to her talk of marvelous things. Of the lore of Thaïs she spoke, and of the schooling of Sappho, and of the secrets of Rhodopê, and of the mourning for Adonis: and the refrain of all her talking was not changed. "For we have but a little while to live, and none knows his fate thereafter. So that a man possesses nothing certainly save a brief loan of his own body: and yet the body of man is capable of much curious pleasure. As thus and thus," says she. And the bright-colored pensive woman spoke with antique directness of matters that Jurgen, being no longer a scapegrace of twenty-one, found rather embarrassing. "Come, come!" thinks he, "but it will never do to seem provincial. I believe that I am actually blushing." Aloud he said: "Sweetheart, there was--why, not a half-hour since!--a youth who sought quite zealously for the over-mastering frenzies you prattle about. But, candidly, he could not find the flesh whose touch would rouse insanity. The lad had opportunities, too, let me tell you! Hah, I recall with tenderness the glitter of eyes and hair, and the gay garments, and the soft voices of those fond foolish women, even now. But he went from one pair of lips to another, with an ardor that was always half-feigned, and with protestations which were conscious echoes of some romance or other. Such escapades were pleasant enough: but they were not very serious, after all. For these things concerned his body alone: and I am more than an edifice of viands reared by my teeth. To pretend that what my body does or endures is of importance seems rather silly nowadays. I prefer to regard it as a necessary beast of burden which I maintain, at considerable expense and trouble. So I shall make no more pother about it." But then again Queen Anaïtis spoke of marvelous things; and he listened, fair-mindedly; for the Queen spoke now of that which was hers to share with him. "Well, I have heard," says Jurgen, "that you have a notable residence in Cocaigne." "But that is only a little country place, to which I sometimes repair in summer, in order to live rustically. No, Jurgen, you must see my palaces. In Babylon I have a palace where many abide with cords about them and burn bran for perfume, while they await that thing which is to befall them. In Armenia I have a palace surrounded by vast gardens, where only strangers have the right to enter: they there receive a hospitality that is more than gallant. In Paphos I have a palace wherein is a little pyramid of white stone, very curious to see: but still more curious is the statue in my palace at Amathus, of a bearded woman, which displays other features that women do not possess. And in Alexandria I have a palace that is tended by thirty-six exceedingly wise and sacred persons, and wherein it is always night: and there folk seek for monstrous pleasures, even at the price of instant death, and win to both of these swiftly. Everywhere my palaces stand upon high places near the sea: so they are beheld from afar by those whom I hold dearest, my beautiful broad-chested mariners, who do not fear even me, but know that in my palaces they will find notable employment. For I must tell you of what is to be encountered within these places that are mine, and of how pleasantly we pass our time there." Then she told him. Now he listened more attentively than ever, and his eyes were narrowed, and his lips were lax and motionless and foolish-looking, and he was deeply interested. For Anaïtis had thought of some new diversions since their last meeting: and to Jurgen, even at forty and something, this queen's voice was all a horrible and strange and lovely magic. "She really tempts very nicely, too," he reflected, with a sort of pride in her. Then Jurgen growled and shook himself, half angrily: and he tweaked the ear of Queen Anaïtis. "Sweetheart," says he, "you paint a glowing picture: but you are shrewd enough to borrow your pigments from the day-dreams of inexperience. What you prattle about is not at all as you describe it. You forget you are talking to a widely married man of varied experience. Moreover, I shudder to think of what might happen if Lisa were to walk in unexpectedly. And for the rest, all this to-do over nameless delights and unspeakable caresses and other anonymous antics seems rather naïve. My ears are beset by eloquent gray hairs which plead at closer quarters than does that fibbing little tongue of yours. And so be off with you!" With that Queen Anaïtis smiled very cruelly, and she said: "Farewell to you, then Jurgen, for it is I that am leaving you forever. Henceforward you must fret away much sunlight by interminably shunning discomfort and by indulging tepid preferences. For I, and none but I, can waken that desire which uses all of a man, and so wastes nothing, even though it leave that favored man forever after like wan ashes in the sunlight. And with you I have no more concern, for it is I that am leaving you forever. Join with your graying fellows, then! and help them to affront the clean sane sunlight, by making guilds and laws and solemn phrases wherewith to rid the world of me. I, Anaïtis, laugh, and my heart is a wave in the sunlight. For there is no power like my power, and no living thing which can withstand my power; and those who deride me, as I well know, are but the dead dry husks that a wind moves, with hissing noises, while I harvest in open sunlight. For I am the desire that uses all of a man: and it is I that am leaving you forever." Said Jurgen: "I could not see all this in you, not quite all this, because of a shadow that followed me. Now it is too late, and this is a sorrowful thing which is happening. I am become as a puzzled ghost who furtively observes the doings of loud-voiced ruddy persons: and I am compact of weariness and apprehension, for I no longer discern what thing is I, nor what is my desire, and I fear that I am already dead. So farewell to you, Queen Anaïtis, for this, too, is a sorrowful thing and a very unfair thing that is happening." Thus he cried farewell to the Sun's daughter. And all the colors of her loveliness flickered and merged into the likeness of a tall thin flame, that aspired; and then this flame was extinguished. 47. The Vision of Helen And for the third time Koshchei waved his hand. Now came to Jurgen a gold-haired woman, clothed all in white. She was tall, and lovely and tender to regard: and hers was not the red and white comeliness of many ladies that were famed for beauty, but rather it had the even glow of ivory. Her nose was large and high in the bridge, her flexible mouth was not of the smallest; and yet, whatever other persons might have said, to Jurgen this woman's countenance was in all things perfect. And, beholding her, Jurgen kneeled. He hid his face in her white robe: and he stayed thus, without speaking, for a long while. "Lady of my vision," he said, and his voice broke--"there is that in you which wakes old memories. For now assuredly I believe your father was not Dom Manuel but that ardent bird which nestled very long ago in Leda's bosom. And now Troy's sons are all in Adês' keeping, in the world below; fire has consumed the walls of Troy, and the years have forgotten her tall conquerors; but still you are bringing woe on woe to hapless sufferers." And again his voice broke. For the world seemed cheerless, and like a house that none has lived in for a great while. Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men, replied nothing at all, because there was no need, inasmuch as the man who has once glimpsed her loveliness is beyond saving, and beyond the desire of being saved. "To-night," says Jurgen, "as once through the gray art of Phobetor, now through the will of Koshchei, it appears that you stand within arm's reach. Hah, lady, were that possible--and I know very well it is not possible, whatever my senses may report,--I am not fit to mate with your perfection. At the bottom of my heart, I no longer desire perfection. For we who are tax-payers as well as immortal souls must live by politic evasions and formulae and catchwords that fret away our lives as moths waste a garment; we fall insensibly to common-sense as to a drug; and it dulls and kills whatever in us is rebellious and fine and unreasonable; and so you will find no man of my years with whom living is not a mechanism which gnaws away time unprompted. For within this hour I have become again a creature of use and wont; I am the lackey of prudence and half-measures; and I have put my dreams upon an allowance. Yet even now I love you more than I love books and indolence and flattery and the charitable wine which cheats me into a favorable opinion of myself. What more can an old poet say? For that reason, lady, I pray you begone, because your loveliness is a taunt which I find unendurable." But his voice yearned, because this was Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men, who regarded him with grave, kind eyes. She seemed to view, as one appraises the pattern of an unrolled carpet, every action of Jurgen's life: and she seemed, too, to wonder, without reproach or trouble, how men could be so foolish, and of their own accord become so miry. "Oh, I have failed my vision!" cries Jurgen. "I have failed, and I know very well that every man must fail: and yet my shame is no less bitter. For I am transmuted by time's handling! I shudder at the thought of living day-in and day-out with my vision! And so I will have none of you for my wife." Then, trembling, Jurgen raised toward his lips the hand of her who was the world's darling. "And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Oh, very long ago I found your beauty mirrored in a wanton's face! and often in a woman's face I have found one or another feature wherein she resembled you, and for the sake of it have lied to that woman glibly. And all my verses, as I know now, were vain enchantments striving to evoke that hidden loveliness of which I knew by dim report alone. Oh, all my life was a foiled quest of you, Queen Helen, and an unsatiated hungering. And for a while I served my vision, honoring you with clean-handed deeds. Yes, certainly it should be graved upon my tomb, 'Queen Helen ruled this earth while it stayed worthy.' But that was very long ago. "And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Your beauty has been to me as a robber that stripped my life of joy and sorrow, and I desire not ever to dream of your beauty any more. For I have been able to love nobody. And I know that it is you who have prevented this, Queen Helen, at every moment of my life since the disastrous moment when I first seemed to find your loveliness in the face of Madame Dorothy. It is the memory of your beauty, as I then saw it mirrored in the face of a jill-flirt, which has enfeebled me for such honest love as other men give women; and I envy these other men. For Jurgen has loved nothing--not even you, not even Jurgen!--quite whole-heartedly. "And so farewell to you, Queen Helen! Hereafter I rove no more a-questing anything; instead, I potter after hearthside comforts, and play the physician with myself, and strive painstakingly to make old bones. And no man's notion anywhere seems worth a cup of mulled wine; and for the sake of no notion would I endanger the routine which so hideously bores me. For I am transmuted by time's handling; I have become the lackey of prudence and half-measures; and it does not seem fair, but there is no help for it. So it is necessary that I now cry farewell to you, Queen Helen: for I have failed in the service of my vision, and I deny you utterly!" Thus he cried farewell to the Swan's daughter: and Queen Helen vanished as a bright mist passes, not departing swiftly, as had departed Queen Guenevere and Queen Anaïtis; and Jurgen was alone with the black gentleman. And to Jurgen the world seemed cheerless, and like a house that none has lived in for a great while. 48. Candid Opinions of Dame Lisa "Eh, sirs!" observes Koshchei the Deathless, "but some of us are certainly hard to please." And now Jurgen was already intent to shrug off his display of emotion. "In selecting a wife, sir," submitted Jurgen, "there are all sorts of matters to be considered--" Then bewilderment smote him. For it occurred to Jurgen that his previous commerce with these three women was patently unknown to Koshchei. Why, Koshchei, who made all things as they are--Koshchei, no less--was now doing for Jurgen Koshchei's utmost: and that utmost amounted to getting for Jurgen what Jurgen had once, with the aid of youth and impudence, got for himself. Not even Koshchei, then, could do more for Jurgen than might be accomplished by that youth and impudence and tendency to pry into things generally which Jurgen had just relinquished as over-restless nuisances. Jurgen drew the inference, and shrugged; decidedly cleverness was not at the top. However, there was no pressing need to enlighten Koshchei, and no wisdom in attempting it. "--For you must understand, sir," continued Jurgen, smoothly, "that, whatever the first impulse of the moment, it was apparent to any reflective person that in the past of each of these ladies there was much to suggest inborn inaptitude for domestic life. And I am a peace-loving fellow, sir; nor do I hold with moral laxity, now that I am forty-odd, except, of course, in talk when it promotes sociability, and in verse-making wherein it is esteemed as a conventional ornament. Still, Prince, the chance I lost! I do not refer to matrimony, you conceive. But in the presence of these famous fair ones now departed from me forever, with what glowing words I ought to have spoken! upon a wondrous ladder of trophes, metaphors and recondite allusions, to what stylistic heights of Asiatic prose I ought to have ascended! and instead, I twaddled like a schoolmaster. Decidedly, Lisa is right, and I am good-for-nothing. However," Jurgen added, hopefully, "it appeared to me that when I last saw her, a year ago this evening, Lisa was somewhat less outspoken than usual." "Eh, sirs, but she was under a very potent spell. I found that necessary in the interest of law and order hereabouts. I, who made things as they are, am not accustomed to the excesses of practical persons who are ruthlessly bent upon reforming their associates. Indeed, it is one of the advantages of my situation that such folk do not consider things as they are, and in consequence very rarely bother me." And the black gentleman in turn shrugged. "You will pardon me, but I notice in my accounts that I am positively committed to color this year's anemones to-night, and there is a rather large planetary system to be discontinued at half-past ten. So time presses." "And time is inexorable. Prince, with all due respect, I fancy it is precisely this truism which you have overlooked. You produce the most charming of women, in a determined onslaught upon my fancy; but you forget you are displaying them to a man of forty-and-something." "And does that make so great a difference?" "Oh, a sad difference, Prince! For as a man gets on in life he changes in many ways. He handles sword and lance less creditably, and does not carry as heavy a staff as he once flourished. He takes less interest in conversation, and his flow of humor diminishes. He is not the tireless mathematician that he was, if only because his faith in his personal endowments slackens. He recognizes his limitations, and in consequence the unimportance of his opinions, and indeed he recognizes the probable unimportance of all fleshly matters. So he relinquishes trying to figure out things, and sceptres and candles appear to him about equivalent; and he is inclined to give up philosophical experiments, and to let things pass unplumbed. Oh, yes, it makes a difference." And Jurgen sighed. "And yet, for all that, it is a relief, sir, in a way." "Nevertheless," said Koshchei, "now that you have inspected the flower of womanhood, I cannot soberly believe you prefer your termagant of a wife." "Frankly, Prince, I also am, as usual, undecided. You may be right in all you have urged; and certainly I cannot go so far as to say you are wrong; but still, at the same time--! Come now, could you not let me see my first wife for just a moment?" This was no sooner asked than granted; for there, sure enough, was Dame Lisa. She was no longer restricted to quiet speech by any stupendous necromancy: and uncommonly plain she looked, after the passing of those lovely ladies. "Aha, you rascal!" begins Dame Lisa, addressing Jurgen; "and so you thought to be rid of me! Oh, a precious lot you are! and a deal of thanks I get for my scrimping and slaving!" And she began scolding away. But she began, somewhat to Jurgen's astonishment, by stating that he was even worse than the Countess Dorothy. Then he recollected that, by not the most disastrous piece of luck conceivable, Dame Lisa's latest news from the outside world had been rendered by her sister, the notary's wife, a twelvemonth back. And rather unaccountably Jurgen fell to thinking of how unsubstantial seemed these curious months devoted to other women, as set against the commonplace years which he and Lisa had fretted through together; of the fine and merry girl that Lisa had been before she married him; of how well she knew his tastes in cookery and all his little preferences, and of how cleverly she humored them on those rare days when nothing had occurred to vex her; of all the buttons she had replaced, and all the socks she had darned, and of what tempests had been loosed when anyone else had had the audacity to criticize Jurgen; and of how much more unpleasant--everything considered--life was without her than with her. She was so unattractive looking, too, poor dear, that you could not but be sorry for her. And Jurgen's mood was half yearning and half penitence. "I think I will take her back, Prince," says Jurgen, very subdued,--"now that I am forty-and-something. For I do not know but it is as hard on her as on me." "My friend, do you forget the poet that you might be, even yet? No rational person would dispute that the society and amiable chat of Dame Lisa must naturally be a desideratum--" But Dame Lisa was always resentful of long words. "Be silent, you black scoffer, and do not allude to such disgraceful things in the presence of respectable people! For I am a decent Christian woman, I would have you understand. But everybody knows your reputation! and a very fit companion you are for that scamp yonder! and volumes could not say more!" Thus casually, and with comparative lenience, did Dame Lisa dispose of Koshchei, who made things as they are, for she believed him to be merely Satan. And to her husband Dame Lisa now addressed herself more particularly. "Jurgen, I always told you you would come to this, and now I hope you are satisfied. Jurgen, do not stand there with your mouth open, like a scared fish, when I ask you a civil question! but answer when you are spoken to! Yes, and you need not try to look so idiotically innocent, Jurgen, because I am disgusted with you. For, Jurgen, you heard perfectly well what your very suitable friend just said about me, with my own husband standing by. No--now I beg of you!--do not ask me what he said, Jurgen! I leave that to your conscience, and I prefer to talk no more about it. You know that when I am once disappointed in a person I am through with that person. So, very luckily, there is no need at all for you to pile hypocrisy on cowardice, because if my own husband has not the feelings of a man, and cannot protect me from insults and low company, I had best be going home and getting supper ready. I dare say the house is like a pig-sty: and I can see by looking at you that you have been ruining your eyes by reading in bed again. And to think of your going about in public, even among such associates, with a button off your shirt!" She was silent for one terrible moment; then Lisa spoke in frozen despair. "And now I look at that shirt, I ask you fairly, Jurgen, do you consider that a man of your age has any right to be going about in a shirt that nobody--in a shirt which--in a shirt that I can only--Ah, but I never saw such a shirt! and neither did anybody else! You simply cannot imagine what a figure you cut in it, Jurgen. Jurgen, I have been patient with you; I have put up with a great deal, saying nothing where many women would have lost their temper; but I simply cannot permit you to select your own clothes, and so ruin the business and take the bread out of our mouths. In short, you are enough to drive a person mad; and I warn you that I am done with you forever." Dame Lisa went with dignity to the door of Koshchei's office. "So you can come with me or not, precisely as you elect. It is all one to me, I can assure you, after the cruel things you have said, and the way you have stormed at me, and have encouraged that notorious blackamoor to insult me in terms which I, for one, would not soil my lips by repeating. I do not doubt you consider it is all very clever and amusing, but you know now what I think about it. And upon the whole, if you do not feel the exertion will kill you, you had better come home the long way, and stop by Sister's and ask her to let you have a half-pound of butter; for I know you too well to suppose you have been attending to the churning." Dame Lisa here evinced a stately sort of mirth such as is unimaginable by bachelors. "You churning while I was away!--oh, no, not you! There is probably not so much as an egg in the house. For my lord and gentleman has had other fish to fry, in his fine new courting clothes. And that--and on a man of your age, with a paunch to you like a beer barrel and with legs like pipe-stems!--yes, that infamous shirt of yours is the reason you had better, for your own comfort, come home the long way. For I warn you, Jurgen, that the style in which I have caught you rigged out has quite decided me, before I go home or anywhere else, to stop by for a word or so with your high and mighty Madame Dorothy. So you had just as well not be along with me, for there is no pulling wool over my eyes any longer, and you two need never think to hoodwink me again about your goings-on. No, Jurgen, you cannot fool me; for I can read you like a book. And such behavior, at your time of life, does not surprise me at all, because it is precisely what I would have expected of you." With that Dame Lisa passed through the door and went away, still talking. It was of Heitman Michael's wife that the wife of Jurgen spoke, discoursing of the personal traits, and of the past doings, and (with augmented fervor) of the figure and visage of Madame Dorothy, as all these abominations appeared to the eye of discernment, and must be revealed by the tongue of candor, as a matter of public duty. So passed Dame Lisa, neither as flame nor mist, but as the voice of judgment. 49. Of the Compromise with Koshchei "Phew!" said Koshchei, in the ensuing silence: "you had better stay overnight, in any event. I really think, friend, you will be more comfortable, just now at least, in this quiet cave." But Jurgen had taken up his hat. "No, I dare say I, too, had better be going," says Jurgen. "I thank you very heartily for your intended kindness, sir, still I do not know but it is better as it is. And is there anything"--Jurgen coughed delicately--"and is there anything to pay, sir?" "Oh, just a trifle, first of all, for a year's maintenance of Dame Lisa. You see, Jurgen, that is an almighty fine shirt you are wearing: it rather appeals to me; and I fancy, from something your wife let drop just now, it did not impress her as being quite suited to you. So, in the interest of domesticity, suppose you ransom Dame Lisa with that fine shirt of yours?" "Why, willingly," said Jurgen, and he took off the shirt of Nessus. "You have worn this for some time, I understand," said Koshchei, meditatively: "and did you ever notice any inconvenience in wearing this garment?" "Not that I could detect, Prince; it fitted me, and seemed to impress everybody most favorably." "There!" said Koshchei; "that is what I have always contended. To the strong man, and to wholesome matter of fact people generally, it is a fatal irritant; but persons like you can wear the shirt of Nessus very comfortably for a long, long while, and be generally admired; and you end by exchanging it for your wife's society. But now, Jurgen, about yourself. You probably noticed that my door was marked Keep Out. One must have rules, you know. Often it is a nuisance, but still rules are rules; and so I must tell you, Jurgen, it is not permitted any person to leave my presence unmaimed, if not actually annihilated. One really must have rules, you know." "You would chop off an arm? or a hand? or a whole finger? Come now, Prince, you must be joking!" Koshchei the Deathless was very grave as he sat there, in meditation, drumming with his long jet-black fingers upon the table-top that was curiously inlaid with thirty pieces of silver. In the lamplight his sharp nails glittered like flame points, and the color suddenly withdrew from his eyes, so that they showed like small white eggs. "But, man, how strange you are!" said Koshchei, presently; and life flowed back into his eyes, and Jurgen ventured the liberty of breathing. "Inside, I mean. Why, there is hardly anything left. Now rules are rules, of course; but you, who are the remnant of a poet, may depart unhindered whenever you will, and I shall take nothing from you. For really it is necessary to draw the line somewhere." Jurgen meditated this clemency; and with a sick heart he seemed to understand. "Yes; that is probably the truth; for I have not retained the faith, nor the desire, nor the vision. Yes, that is probably the truth. Well, at all events, Prince, I very unfeignedly admired each of the ladies to whom you were friendly enough to present me, and I was greatly flattered by their offers. More than generous I thought them. But it really would not do for me to take up with any one of them now. For Lisa is my wife, you see. A great deal has passed between us, sir, in the last ten years--And I have been a sore disappointment to her, in many ways--And I am used to her--" Then Jurgen considered, and regarded the black gentleman with mingled envy and commiseration. "Why, no, you probably would not understand, sir, on account of your not being, I suppose, a married person. But I can assure you it is always pretty much like that." "I lack grounds to dispute your aphorism," observed Koshchei, "inasmuch as matrimony was certainly not included in my doom. None the less, to a by-stander, the conduct of you both appears remarkable. I could not understand, for example, just how your wife proposed to have you keep out of her sight forever and still have supper with her to-night; nor why she should desire to sup with such a reprobate as she described with unbridled pungency and disapproval." "Ah, but again, it is always pretty much like that, sir. And the truth of it, Prince, is a great symbol. The truth of it is, we have lived together so long that my wife has become rather foolishly fond of me. So she is not, as one might say, quite reasonable about me. No, sir; it is the fashion of women to discard civility toward those for whom they suffer most willingly; and whom a woman loveth she chasteneth, after a good precedent." "But her talking, Jurgen, has nowhere any precedent. Why, it deafens, it appals, it submerges you in an uproarious sea of fault-finding; and in a word, you might as profitably oppose a hurricane. Yet you want her back! Now assuredly, Jurgen, I do not think very highly of your wisdom, but by your bravery I am astounded." "Ah, Prince, it is because I can perceive that all women are poets, though the medium they work in is not always ink. So the moment Lisa is set free from what, in a manner of speaking, sir, inconsiderate persons might, in their unthinking way, refer to as the terrors of an underground establishment that I do not for an instant doubt to be conducted after a system which furthers the true interests of everybody, and so reflects vast credit upon its officials, if you will pardon my frankness"--and Jurgen smiled ingratiatingly,--"why, at that moment Lisa's thoughts take form in very much the high denunciatory style of Jeremiah and Amos, who were remarkably fine poets. Her concluding observations as to the Countess, in particular, I consider to have been an example of sustained invective such as one rarely encounters in this degenerate age. Well, her next essay in creative composition is my supper, which will be an equally spirited impromptu. To-morrow she will darn and sew me an epic; and her desserts will continue to be in the richest lyric vein. Such, sir, are the poems of Lisa, all addressed to me, who came so near to gallivanting with mere queens!" "What, can it be that you are remorseful?" said Koshchei. "Oh, Prince, when I consider steadfastly the depth and the intensity of that devotion which, for so many years, has tended me, and has endured the society of that person whom I peculiarly know to be the most tedious and irritating of companions, I stand aghast, before a miracle. And I cry, Oh, certainly a goddess! and I can think of no queen who is fairly mentionable in the same breath. Hah, all we poets write a deal about love: but none of us may grasp the word's full meaning until he reflects that this is a passion mighty enough to induce a woman to put up with him." "Even so, it does not seem to induce quite thorough confidence. Jurgen, I was grieved to see that Dame Lisa evidently suspects you of running after some other woman in your wife's absence." "Think upon that now! And you saw for yourself how little the handsomest of women could tempt me. Yet even Lisa's absurd notion I can comprehend and pardon. And again, you probably would not understand my overlooking such a thing, sir, on account of your not being a married person. Nevertheless, my forgiveness also is a great symbol." Then Jurgen sighed and he shook hands, very circumspectly, with Koshchei, who made things as they are; and Jurgen started out of the office. "But I will bear you company a part of the way," says Koshchei. So Koshchei removed his dressing-gown, and he put on the fine laced coat which was hung over the back of a strange looking chair with three legs, each of a different metal; the shirt of Nessus Koshchei folded and put aside, saying that some day he might be able to use it somehow. And Koshchei paused before the blackboard and he scratched his head reflectively. Jurgen saw that this board was nearly covered with figures which had not yet been added up; and this blackboard seemed to him the most frightful thing he had faced anywhere. Then Koshchei came out of the cave with Jurgen, and Koshchei walked with Jurgen across Amneran Heath, and through Morven, in the late evening. And Koshchei talked as they went; and a queer thing Jurgen noticed, and it was that the moon was sinking in the east, as though the time were getting earlier and earlier. But Jurgen did not presume to criticize this, in the presence of Koshchei, who made things as they are. "And I manage affairs as best I can, Jurgen. But they get in a fearful muddle sometimes. Eh, sirs, I have no competent assistants. I have to look out for everything, absolutely everything! And of course, while in a sort of way I am infallible, mistakes will occur every now and then in the actual working out of plans that in the abstract are right enough. So it really does please me to hear anybody putting in a kind word for things as they are, because, between ourselves, there is a deal of dissatisfaction about. And I was honestly delighted, just now, to hear you speaking up for evil in the face of that rapscallion monk. So I give you thanks and many thanks, Jurgen, for your kind word." "'Just now!'" thinks Jurgen. He perceived that they had passed the Cistercian Abbey, and were approaching Bellegarde. And it was as in a dream that Jurgen was speaking, _"Who are you, and why do you thank me?"_ asks Jurgen. _"My name is no great matter. But you have a kind heart, Jurgen. May your life lie free from care."_ _"Save us from hurt and harm, friend, but I am already married_--" Then resolutely Jurgen put aside the spell that was befogging him. "See here, Prince, are you beginning all over again? For I really cannot stand any more of your benevolences." Koshchei smiled. "No, Jurgen, I am not beginning all over again. For now I have never begun, and now there is no word of truth in anything which you remember of the year just past. Now none of these things has ever happened." "But how can that be, Prince?" "Why should I tell you, Jurgen? Let it suffice that what I will, not only happens, but has already happened, beyond the ancientest memory of man and his mother. How otherwise could I be Koshchei? And so farewell to you, poor Jurgen, to whom nothing in particular has happened now. It is not justice I am giving you, but something infinitely more acceptable to you and all your kind." "But, to be sure!" says Jurgen. "I fancy that nobody anywhere cares much for justice. So farewell to you, Prince. And at our parting I ask no more questions of you, for I perceive it is scant comfort a man gets from questioning Koshchei, who made things as they are. But I am wondering what pleasure you get out of it all?" "Eh, sirs," says Koshchei, with not the most candid of smiles, "I contemplate the spectacle with appropriate emotions." And so speaking, Koshchei quitted Jurgen forever. "Yet how may I be sure," thought Jurgen, instantly, "that this black gentleman was really Koshchei? He said he was? Why, yes; and Horvendile to all intents told me that Horvendile was Koshchei. Aha, and what else did Horvendile say!--'This is one of the romancer's most venerable devices that is being practised.' Why, but there was Smoit of Glathion, also, so that this is the third time I have been fobbed off with the explanation I was dreaming! and left with no proof, one way or the other." Thus Jurgen, indignantly, and then he laughed. "Why, but, of course! I may have talked face to face with Koshchei, who made all things as they are; and again, I may not have. That is the whole point of it--the cream, as one might say, of the jest--that I cannot ever be sure. Well!"--and Jurgen shrugged here--"well, and what could I be expected to do about it?" 50. The Moment That Did Not Count And that is really all the story save for the moment Jurgen paused on his way home. For Koshchei (if it, indeed, was Koshchei) had quitted Jurgen just as they approached Bellegarde: and as the pawnbroker walked on alone in the pleasant April evening one called to him from the terrace. Even in the dusk he knew this was the Countess Dorothy. "May I speak with you a moment?" says she. "Very willingly, madame." And Jurgen ascended from the highway to the terrace. "I thought it would be near your supper hour. So I was waiting here until you passed. You conceive, it is not quite convenient for me to seek you out at the shop." "Why, no, madame. There is a prejudice," said Jurgen, soberly. And he waited. He saw that Madame Dorothy was perfectly composed, yet anxious to speed the affair. "You must know," said she, "that my husband's birthday approaches, and I wish to surprise him with a gift. It is therefore necessary that I raise some money without troubling him. How much--abominable usurer!--could you advance me upon this necklace?" Jurgen turned it in his hand. It was a handsome piece of jewelry, familiar to him as formerly the property of Heitman Michael's mother. Jurgen named a sum. "But that," the Countess says, "is not a fraction of its worth!" "Times are very hard, madame. Of course, if you cared to sell outright I could deal more generously." "Old monster, I could not do that. It would not be convenient." She hesitated here. "It would not be explicable." "As to that, madame, I could make you an imitation in paste which nobody could distinguish from the original, I can amply understand that you desire to veil from your husband any sacrifices that are entailed by your affection." "It is my affection for him," said the Countess quickly. "I alluded to your affection for him," said Jurgen--"naturally." Then Countess Dorothy named a price for the necklace. "For it is necessary I have that much, and not a penny less." And Jurgen shook his head dubiously, and vowed that ladies were unconscionable bargainers: but Jurgen agreed to what she asked, because the necklace was worth almost as much again. Then Jurgen suggested that the business could be most conveniently concluded through an emissary. "If Messire de Nérac, for example, could have matters explained to him, and could manage to visit me tomorrow, I am sure we could carry through this amiable imposture without any annoyance whatever to Heitman Michael," says Jurgen, smoothly. "Nérac will come then," says the Countess. "And you may give him the money, precisely as though it were for him." "But certainly, madame. A very estimable young nobleman, that! and it is a pity his debts are so large. I heard that he had lost heavily at dice within the last month; and I grieved, madame." "He has promised me when these debts are settled to play no more--But again what am I saying! I mean, Master Inquisitive, that I take considerable interest in the welfare of Messire de Nérac: and so I have sometimes chided him on his wild courses. And that is all I mean." "Precisely, madame. And so Messire de Nérac will come to me to-morrow for the money: and there is no more to say." Jurgen paused. The moon was risen now. These two sat together upon a bench of carved stone near the balustrade: and before them, upon the other side of the highway, were luminous valleys and tree-tops. Fleetingly Jurgen recollected the boy and girl who had once sat in this place, and had talked of all the splendid things which Jurgen was to do, and of the happy life that was to be theirs together. Then he regarded the composed and handsome woman beside him, and he considered that the money to pay her latest lover's debts had been assured with a suitable respect for appearances. "Come, but this is a gallant lady, who would defy the almanac," reflected Jurgen. "Even so, thirty-eight is an undeniable and somewhat autumnal figure, and I suspect young Nérac is bleeding his elderly mistress. Well, but at his age nobody has a conscience. Yes, and Madame Dorothy is handsome still; and still my pulse is playing me queer tricks, because she is near me, and my voice has not the intonation I intend, because she is near me; and still I am three-quarters in love with her. Yes, in the light of such cursed folly as even now possesses me, I have good reason to give thanks for the regained infirmities of age. Yet living seems to me a wasteful and inequitable process, for this is a poor outcome for the boy and girl that I remember. And weighing this outcome, I am tempted to weep and to talk romantically, even now." But he did not. For really, weeping was not requisite. Jurgen was making his fair profit out of the Countess's folly, and it was merely his duty to see that this little business transaction was managed without any scandal. "So there is nothing more to say," observed Jurgen, as he rose in the moonlight, "save that I shall always be delighted to serve you, madame, and I may reasonably boast that I have earned a reputation for fair dealing." And he thought: "In effect, since certainly as she grows older she will need yet more money for her lovers, I am offering to pimp for her." Then Jurgen shrugged. "That is one side of the affair. The other is that I transact my legitimate business,--I, who am that which the years have made of me." Thus it was that Jurgen quitted the Countess Dorothy, whom, as you have heard, this pawnbroker had loved in his first youth under the name of Heart's Desire; and whom in the youth that was loaned him by Mother Sereda he had loved as Queen Helen, the delight of gods and men. For Jurgen was quitting Madame Dorothy after the simplest of business transactions, which consumed only a moment, and did not actually count one way or the other. And after this moment which did not count, the pawnbroker resumed his journey, and so came presently to his home. He peeped through the window. And there in a snug room, with supper laid, sat Dame Lisa about some sewing, and evidently in a quite amiable frame of mind. Then terror smote the Jurgen who had faced sorcerers and gods and devils intrepidly. "For I forgot about the butter!" But immediately afterward he recollected that, now, not even what Lisa had said to him in the cave was real. Neither he nor Lisa, now, had ever been in the cave, and probably there was no longer any such place, and now there never had been any such place. It was rather confusing. "Ah, but I must remember carefully," said Jurgen, "that I have not seen Lisa since breakfast, this morning. Nothing whatever has happened. There has been no requirement laid upon me, after all, to do the manly thing. So I retain my wife, such as she is, poor dear! I retain my home. I retain my shop and a fair line of business. Yes, Koshchei--if it was really Koshchei--has dealt with me very justly. And probably his methods are everything they should be; certainly I cannot go so far as to say that they are wrong: but still, at the same time--!" Then Jurgen sighed, and entered his snug home. Thus it was in the old days. EXPLICIT 
10940	----	[Illustration] [Illustration: The Queen of Sheba before Solomon (_Costume of 15th century_.) Fac-simile of a miniature from the _Breviary_ of the Cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Bibl. of S. Marc, Venice. (From a copy in the possession of M. Ambroise Firmin-Didot.) The King inclines his sceptre towards the Queen indicating his appreciation of her person and her gifts; five ladies attend the Queen and five of the King's courtiers stand on his right hand.] Manners, Customs, and Dress During the Middle Ages, and During the Renaissance Period. By Paul Lacroix (Bibliophile Jacob), Curator of the Imperial Library of the Arsenal, Paris. Illustrated with Nineteen Chromolithographic Prints by F. Kellerhoven and upwards of _Four Hundred Engravings on Wood_. Preface. The several successive editions of "The Arts of the Middle Ages and Period of the Renaissance" sufficiently testify to its appreciation by the public. The object of that work was to introduce the reader to a branch of learning to which access had hitherto appeared only permitted to the scientific. That attempt, which was a bold one, succeeded too well not to induce us to push our researches further. In fact, art alone cannot acquaint us entirely with an epoch. "The arts, considered in their generality, are the true expressions of society. They tell us its tastes, its ideas, and its character." We thus spoke in the preface to our first work, and we find nothing to modify in this opinion. Art must be the faithful expression of a society, since it represents it by its works as it has created them--undeniable witnesses of its spirit and manners for future generations. But it must be acknowledged that art is only the consequence of the ideas which it expresses; it is the fruit of civilisation, not its origin. To understand the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, it is necessary to go back to the source of its art, and to know the life of our fathers; these are two inseparable things, which entwine one another, and become complete one by the other. The Manners and Customs of the Middle Ages:--this subject is of the greatest interest, not only to the man of science, but to the man of the world also. In it, too, "we retrace not only one single period, but two periods quite distinct one from the other." In the first, the public and private customs offer a curious mixture of barbarism and civilisation. We find barbarian, Roman, and Christian customs and character in presence of each other, mixed up in the same society, and very often in the same individuals. Everywhere the most adverse and opposite tendencies display themselves. What an ardent struggle during that long period! and how full, too, of emotion is its picture! Society tends to reconstitute itself in every aspect. She wants to create, so to say, from every side, property, authority, justice, &c., &c., in a word, everything which can establish the basis of public life; and this new order of things must be established by means of the elements supplied at once by the barbarian, Roman, and Christian world--a prodigious creation, the working of which occupied the whole of the Middle Ages. Hardly does modern society, civilised by Christianity, reach the fullness of its power, than it divides itself to follow different paths. Ancient art and literature resuscitates because custom _insensibly_ takes that direction. Under that influence, everything is modified both in private and public life. The history of the human race does not present a subject more vast or more interesting. It is a subject we have chosen to succeed our first book, and which will be followed by a similar study on the various aspects of Religious and Military Life. This work, devoted to the vivid and faithful description of the Manners and Customs of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, answers fully to the requirements of contemporary times. We are, in fact, no longer content with the chronological narration and simple nomenclatures which formerly were considered sufficient for education. We no longer imagine that the history of our institutions has less interest than that of our wars, nor that the annals of the humbler classes are irrelevant to those of the privileged orders. We go further still. What is above all sought for in historical works nowadays is the physiognomy, the inmost character of past generations. "How did our fathers live?" is a daily question. "What institutions had they? What were their political rights? Can you not place before us their pastimes, their hunting parties, their meals, and all sorts of scenes, sad or gay, which composed their home life? We should like to follow them in public and private occupations, and to know their manner of living hourly, as we know our own." In a high order of ideas, what great facts serve as a foundation to our history and that of the modern world! We have first royalty, which, weak and debased under the Merovingians, rises and establishes itself energetically under Pépin and Charlemagne, to degenerate under Louis le Débonnaire and Charles le Chauve. After having dared a second time to found the Empire of the Caesars, it quickly sees its sovereignty replaced by feudal rights, and all its rights usurped by the nobles, and has to struggle for many centuries to recover its rights one by one. Feudalism, evidently of Germanic origin, will also attract our attention, and we shall draw a rapid outline of this legislation, which, barbarian at the onset, becomes by degrees subject to the rules of moral progress. We shall ascertain that military service is the essence itself of the "fief," and that thence springs feudal right. On our way we shall protest against civil wars, and shall welcome emancipation and the formation of the communes. Following the thousand details of the life of the people, we shall see the slave become serf, and the serf become peasant. We shall assist at the dispensation of justice by royalty and nobility, at the solemn sittings of parliaments, and we shall see the complicated details of a strict ceremonial, which formed an integral part of the law, develop themselves before us. The counters of dealers, fairs and markets, manufactures, commerce, and industry, also merit our attention; we must search deeply into corporations of workmen and tradesmen, examining their statutes, and initiating ourselves into their business. Fashion and dress are also a manifestation of public and private customs; for that reason we must give them particular attention. And to accomplish the work we have undertaken, we are lucky to have the conscientious studies of our old associates in the great work of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance to assist us: such as those of Emile Bégin, Elzéar Blaze, Depping, Benjamin Guérard, Le Roux de Lincy, H. Martin, Mary-Lafon, Francisque Michel, A. Monteil, Rabutau, Ferdinand Séré, Horace de Viel-Castel, A. de la Villegille, Vallet de Viriville. As in the volume of the Arts of the Middle Ages, engraving and chromo-lithography will come to our assistance by reproducing, by means of strict fac-similes, the rarest engravings of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and the most precious miniatures of the manuscripts preserved in the principal libraries of France and Europe. Here again we have the aid of the eminent artist, M. Kellerhoven, who quite recently found means of reproducing with so much fidelity the gems of Italian painting. Paul Lacroix (Bibliophile Jacob). Table of Contents. Condition of Persons and Lands Disorganization of the West at the Beginning of the Middle Ages.--Mixture of Roman, Germanic, and Gallic Institutions.--Fusion organized under Charlemagne.--Royal Authority.--Position of the Great Feudalists.--Division of the Territory and Prerogatives attached to Landed Possessions.--Freeman and Tenants.--The Læti, the Colon, the Serf, and the Labourer, who may be called the Origin of the Modern Lower Classes.--Formation of Communities.--Right of Mortmain. Privileges and Rights (Feudal and Municipal) Elements of Feudalism.--Rights of Treasure-trove, Sporting, Safe-Conducts, Ransom, Disinheritance, &c.--Immunity of the Feudalists.--Dues from the Nobles to their Sovereign.--Law and University Dues.--Curious Exactions resulting from the Universal System of Dues.--Struggles to enfranchise the Classes subjected to Dues.--Feudal Spirit and Citizen Spirit.--Resuscitation of the System of Ancient Municipalities in Italy, Germany, and France.--Municipal Institutions and Associations.--The Community.--The Middle-Class Cities (_Cités Bourgeoises_).--Origin of National Unity. Private Life in the Castles, the Towns, and the Rural Districts The Merovingian Castles.--Pastimes of the Nobles: Hunting, War.--Domestic Arrangements.--Private Life of Charlemagne.--Domestic Habits under the Carlovingians.--Influence of Chivalry.--Simplicity of the Court of Philip Augustus not imitated by his Successors.--Princely Life of the Fifteenth Century.--The bringing up of Latour Landry, a Noble of Anjou.--Varlets, Pages, Esquires, Maids of Honour.--Opulence of the Bourgeoisie.--"Le Ménagier de Paris."--Ancient Dwellings.--State of Rustics at various Periods.--"Rustic Sayings," by Noël du Fail. Food and Cookery History of Bread.--Vegetables and Plants used in Cooking.--Fruits.--Butchers' Meat.--Poultry, Game.--Milk, Butter, Cheese, and Eggs.--Fish and Shellfish.--Beverages: Beer, Cider, Wine, Sweet Wine, Refreshing Drinks, Brandy.--Cookery.--Soups, Boiled Food, Pies, Stews, Salads, Roasts, Grills.--Seasoning, Truffles, Sugar, Verjuice.--Sweets, Desserts, Pastry,--Meals and Feasts.--Rules of Serving at Table from the Fifteenth to the Sixteenth Centuries. Hunting Venery and Hawking.--Origin of Aix-la-Chapelle.--Gaston Phoebus and his Book.--The Presiding Deities of Sportsmen.--Sporting Societies and Brotherhoods.--Sporting Kings: Charlemagne, Louis IX., Louis XI., Charles VIII., Louis XII., Francis I., &c.--Treatise on Venery.--Sporting Popes.--Origin of Hawking.--Training Birds.--Hawking Retinues.--Book of King Modus.--Technical Terms used in Hawking.--Persons who have excelled in this kind of Sport.--Fowling. Games and Pastimes Games of the Ancient Greeks and Romans.--Games of the Circus.--Animal Combats.--Daring of King Pepin.--The King's Lions.--Blind Men's Fights.--Cockneys of Paris.--Champ de Mars.--Cours Plénières and Cours Couronnées.--Jugglers, Tumblers, and Minstrels.--Rope-dancers.--Fireworks.--Gymnastics.--Cards and Dice.--Chess, Marbles, and Billiards.--La Soule, La Pirouette, &c.--Small Games for Private Society.--History of Dancing.--Ballet des Ardents.--The "Orchésographie" (Art of Dancing) of Thoinot Arbeau.--List of Dances. Commerce State of Commerce after the Fall of the Roman Empire; its Revival under the Frankish Kings; its Prosperity under Charlemagne; its Decline down to the Time of the Crusaders.--The Levant Trade of the East.--Flourishing State of the Towns of Provence and Languedoc.--Establishment of Fairs.--Fairs of Landit, Champagne, Beaucaire, and Lyons.--Weights and Measures.--Commercial Flanders.--Laws of Maritime Commerce.--Consular Laws.--Banks and Bills of Exchange.--French Settlements on the Coast of Africa.--Consequences of the Discovery of America. Guilds and Trade Corporations Uncertain Origin of Corporations.--Ancient Industrial Associations.--The Germanic Guild.--Colleges.--Teutonic Associations.--The Paris Company for the Transit of Merchandise by Water.--Corporations properly so called.--Etienne Boileau's "Book of Trades," or the First Code of Regulations.--The Laws governing Trades.--Public and Private Organization of Trades Corporations and other Communities.--Energy of the Corporations.--Masters, Journeymen, Supernumeraries, and Apprentices.--Religious Festivals and Trade Societies.--Trade Unions. Taxes, Money, and Finance Taxes under the Roman Rule.--Money Exactions of the Merovingian Kings.--Varieties of Money.--Financial Laws under Charlemagne.--Missi Dominici.--Increase of Taxes owing to the Crusades.--Organization of Finances by Louis IX.--Extortions of Philip lo Bel.--Pecuniary Embarrassment of his Successors.--Charles V. re-establishes Order in Finances.--Disasters of France under Charles VI., Charles VII., and Jacques Coeur.--Changes in Taxation from Louis XI. to Francis I.--The Great Financiers.--Florimond Robertet. Law and the Administration of Justice The Family the Origin of Government.--Origin of Supreme Power amongst the Franks.--The Legislation of Barbarism humanised by Christianity.--Right of Justice inherent to the Right of Property.--The Laws under Charlemagne.--Judicial Forms.--Witnesses.--Duels, &c.--Organization of Royal Justice under St. Louis.--The Châtelet and the Provost of Paris.--Jurisdiction of Parliament, its Duties and its Responsibilities.--The Bailiwicks.--Struggles between Parliament and the Châtelet.--Codification of the Customs and Usages.--Official Cupidity.--Comparison between the Parliament and the Châtelet. Secret Tribunals The Old Man of the Mountain and his Followers in Syria.--The Castle of Alamond, Paradise of Assassins.--Charlemagne the Founder of Secret Tribunals amongst the Saxons.--The Holy Vehme.--Organization of the Tribunal of the _Terre Rouge_, and Modes adopted in its Procedures.--Condemnations and Execution of Sentences.--The Truth respecting the Free Judges of Westphalia.--Duration and Fall of the Vehmie Tribunal.--Council of Ten, in Venice; its Code and Secret Decisions.--End of the Council of Ten. Punishments Refinements of Penal Cruelty.--Tortures for different Purposes.--Water, Screw-boards, and the Rack.--The Executioner.--Female Executioners.--Tortures.--Amende Honorable.--Torture of Fire, Real and Feigned.--Auto-da-fé.--Red-hot Brazier or Basin.--Beheading.--Quartering.--The Wheel.--Garotting.--Hanging.--The Whip.--The Pillory.--The Arquebuse.--Tickling.--Flaying.--Drowning.--Imprisonment.--Regulations of Prisons.--The Iron Cage.--"The Leads" of Venice. Jews Dispersion of the Jews.--Jewish Quarters in the Mediæval Towns.--The _Ghetto_ of Rome.--Ancient Prague.--The _Giudecca_ of Venice.--Condition of the Jews; Animosity of the People against them; Vexations Treatment and Severity of the Sovereigns.--The Jews of Lincoln.--The Jews of Blois.--Mission of the _Pastoureaux_.--Extermination of the Jews.--The Price at which the Jews purchased Indulgences.--Marks set upon them.--Wealth, Knowledge, Industry, and Financial Aptitude of the Jews.--Regulations respecting Usury as practised by the Jews.--Attachment of the Jews to their Religion. Gipsies, Tramps, Beggars, and Cours des Miracles First Appearance of Gipsies in the West.--Gipsies in Paris.--Manners and Customs of these Wandering Tribes.--Tricks of Captain Charles.--Gipsies expelled by Royal Edict.--Language of Gipsies.--The Kingdom of Slang.--The Great Coesre, Chief of the Vagrants; his Vassals and Subjects.--Divisions of the Slang People; its Decay, and the Causes thereof.--Cours des Miracles.--The Camp of Rogues.--Cunning Language, or Slang.--Foreign Rogues, Thieves, and Pickpockets. Ceremonials Origin of Modern Ceremonial.--Uncertainty of French Ceremonial up to the End of the Sixteenth Century.--Consecration of the Kings of France.--Coronation of the Emperors of Germany.--Consecration of the Doges of Venice.--Marriage of the Doge with the Sea.--State Entries of Sovereigns.--An Account of the Entry of Isabel of Bavaria into Paris.--Seats of Justice.--Visits of Ceremony between Persons of Rank.--Mourning.--Social Courtesies.--Popular Demonstrations and National Commemorations--New Year's Day.--Local Festivals.--_Vins d'Honneur_.--Processions of Trades. Costumes Influence of Ancient Costume.--Costume in the Fifteenth Century.--Hair.--Costumes in the Time of Charlemagne.--Origin of Modern National Dress.--Head-dresses and Beards: Time of St. Louis.--Progress of Dress: Trousers, Hose, Shoes, Coats, Surcoats, Capes.--Changes in the Fashions of Shoes and Hoods.--_Livrée_.--Cloaks and Capes.--Edicts against Extravagant Fashions.--Female Dress: Gowns, Bonnets, Head-dresses, &c.--Disappearance of Ancient Dress.--Tight-fitting Gowns.--General Character of Dress under Francis I.--Uniformity of Dress. Table of Illustrations. I. Chromolithographs. 1. The Queen of Sheba before Solomon. Fac-simile of a Miniature from the Breviary of Cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Costumes of the Fifteenth Century. 2. The Court of Marie of Anjou, Wife of Charles VII. Fac-simile of a Miniature from the "Douze Perilz d'Enfer." Costumes of the Fifteenth Century. 3. Louis XII. leaving Alexandria, on the 24th April, 1507, to chastise the City of Genoa. From a Miniature in the "Voyage de Gênes" of Jean Marot. 4. A Young Mother's Retinue. Miniature from a Latin "Terence" of Charles VI. Costumes of the Fourteenth Century. 5. Table Service of a Lady of Quality. Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Roman de Renaud de Montauban." Costumes of the Fifteenth Century. 6. Ladies Hunting. From a Miniature in a Manuscript Copy of "Ovid's Epistles." Costumes of the Fifteenth Century. 7. A Court Fool. Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century. 8. The Chess-players. After a Miniature of the "Three Ages of Man." (End of the Fifteenth Century.) 9. Martyrdom of SS. Crispin and Crépinien. From a Window in the Hôpital des Quinze-Vingts (Fifteenth Century). 10. Settlement of Accounts by the Brotherhood of Charité-Dieu, Rouen, in 1466. A Miniature from the "Livre des Comptes" of this Society (Fifteenth Century). 11. Decapitation of Guillaume de Pommiers and his Confessor at Bordeaux in 1377 ("Chroniques de Froissart"). 12. The Jews' Passover. Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Missal of the Fifteenth Century of the School of Van Eyck. 13. Entry of Charles VII. into Paris. A Miniature from the "Chroniques d'Enguerrand de Monstrelet." Costumes of the Sixteenth Century. 14. St. Catherine surrounded by the Doctors of Alexandria. A Miniature from the Breviary of Cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Costumes of the Fifteenth Century. 15. Italian Lace-work, in Gold-thread. The Cypher and Arms of Henri III. (Sixteenth Century). II. Engravings. Aigues-Mortes, Ramparts of the Town of Alms Bag, Fifteenth Century Amende honorable before the Tribunal America, Discovery of Anne of Brittany and the Ladies of her Court Archer, in Fighting Dress, Fifteenth Century Armourer Arms of Louis XI. and Charlotte of Savoy Arms, Various, Fifteenth Century Bailiwick Bailliage, or Tribunal of the King's Bailiff, Sixteenth Century Baker, The, Sixteenth Century Balancing, Feats of, Thirteenth Century Ballet, Representation of a, before Henri III. and his Court Banner of the Coopers of Bayonne " " La Rochelle " Corporation of Bakers of Arras " " Bakers of Paris " " Boot and Shoe Makers of Issoudun " Corporation of Publichouse-keepers of Montmédy " Corporation of Publichouse-keepers of Tonnerre " Drapers of Caen " Harness-makers of Paris " Nail-makers of Paris " Pastrycooks of Caen " " La Rochelle " " Tonnerre " Tanners of Vie " Tilers of Paris " Weavers of Toulon " Wheelwrights of Paris Banquet, Grand, at the Court of France Barber Barnacle Geese Barrister, Fifteenth Century Basin-maker Bastille, The Bears and other Beasts, how they may be caught with a Dart Beggar playing the Fiddle Beheading Bell and Canon Caster Bird-catching, Fourteenth Century Bird-piping, Fourteenth Century Blind and Poor Sick of St. John, Fifteenth Century Bob Apple, The Game of Bootmaker's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece, Thirteenth Century Bourbon, Constable de, Trial of, before the Peers of France Bourgeois, Thirteenth Century Brandenburg, Marquis of Brewer, The, Sixteenth Century Brotherhood of Death, Member of the Burgess of Ghent and his Wife, from a Window of the Fifteenth Century Burgess at Meals Burgesses with Hoods, Fourteenth Century Burning Ballet, The Butcher, The, Sixteenth Century Butler at his Duties Cards for a Game of Piquet, Sixteenth Century Carlovingian King in his Palace Carpenter, Fifteenth Century Carpenter's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece, Fifteenth Century Cast to allure Beasts Castle of Alamond, The Cat-o'-nine-tails Celtic Monument (the Holy Ox) Chamber of Accounts, Hotel of the Chandeliers in Bronze, Fourteenth Century Charlemagne, The Emperor " Coronation of " Dalmatica and Sandals of " receiving the Oath of Fidelity from one of his great Barons " Portrait of Charles, eldest Son of King Pepin, receiving the News of the Death of his Father Charles V. and the Emperor Charles IV., Interview between Château-Gaillard aux Andelys Châtelet, The Great Cheeses, The Manufacture of, Sixteenth Century Chilpéric, Tomb of, Eleventh Century Clasp-maker Cloth to approach Beasts, How to carry a Cloth-worker Coins, Gold Merovingian, 628-638 " Gold, Sixth and Seventh Centuries " " Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries " Gold and Silver, Thirteenth Century " " Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries " Silver, Eighth to Eleventh Centuries Cologne, View of, Sixteenth Century Comb in Ivory, Sixteenth Century Combat of a Knight with a Dog, Thirteenth Century Companion Carpenter, Fifteenth Century Cook, The, Sixteenth Century Coppersmith, The, Sixteenth Century Corn-threshing and Bread-making, Sixteenth Century Costume of Emperors at their Coronation since the Time of Charlemagne " King Childebert, Seventh Century " King Clovis, Sixth Century " Saints in the Sixth to Eighth Century " Prelates, Eighth to Tenth Century " a Scholar of the Carlovingian Period Costume of a Scholar, Ninth Century " a Bishop or Abbot, Ninth Century " Charles the Simple, Tenth Century " Louis le Jeune " a Princess " William Malgeneste, the King's Huntsman " an English Servant, Fourteenth Century " Philip the Good " Charles V., King of France " Jeanne de Bourbon " Charlotte of Savoy " Mary of Burgundy " the Ladies of the Court of Catherine de Medicis " a Gentleman of the French Court, Sixteenth Century " the German Bourgeoisie, Sixteenth Century Costumes, Italian, Fifteenth Century Costumes of the Thirteenth Century " the Common People, Fourteenth Century " a rich Bourgeoise, of a Peasant-woman, and of a Lady of the Nobility, Fourteenth Century " a Young Nobleman and of a Bourgeois, Fourteenth Century " a Bourgeois or Merchant, of a Nobleman, and of a Lady of the Court or rich Bourgeoise, Fifteenth Century " a Mechanic's Wife and a rich Bourgeois, Fifteenth Century " Young Noblemen of the Court of Charles VIII " a Nobleman, a Bourgeois, and a Noble Lady, of the time of Louis XII " a rich Bourgeoise and a Nobleman, time of Francis I Counter-seal of the Butchers of Bruges in 1356 Country Life Cour des Miracles of Paris Court Fool " of Love in Provence, Fourteenth Century " of the Nobles, The " Supreme, presided over by the King " of a Baron, The " Inferior, in the Great Bailiwick Courtiers amassing Riches at the Expense of the Poor, Fourteenth Century Courts of Love in Provence, Allegorical Scene of, Thirteenth Century Craftsmen, Fourteenth Century Cultivation of Fruit, Fifteenth Century " Grain, and Manufacture of Barley and Oat Bread Dance called "La Gaillarde" " of Fools, Thirteenth Century " by Torchlight Dancers on Christmas Night David playing on the Lyre Dealer in Eggs, Sixteenth Century Deer, Appearance of, and how to hunt them with Dogs Deputies of the Burghers of Ghent, Fourteenth Century Dice-maker Distribution of Bread, Meat, and Wine Doge of Venice, Costume of the, before the Sixteenth Century " in Ceremonial Costume of the Sixteenth Century " Procession of the Dog-kennel, Fifteenth Century Dogs, Diseases of, and their Cure, Fourteenth Century Dortmund, View of, Sixteenth Century _Drille_, or _Narquois_, Fifteenth Century Drinkers of the North, The Great Druggist Dues on Wine Dyer Edict, Promulgation of an Elder and Juror, Ceremonial Dress of an Elder and Jurors of the Tanners of Ghent Eloy, St., Signature of Empalement Entry of Louis XI. into Paris Equestrian Performances, Thirteenth Century Estrapade, The, or Question Extraordinary Executions Exhibitor of Strange Animals Falcon, How to train a New, Fourteenth Century " How to bathe a New Falconer, Dress of the, Thirteenth Century " German, Sixteenth Century Falconers, Thirteenth Century " dressing their Birds, Fourteenth Century Falconry, Art of, King Modus teaching the, Fourteenth Century " Varlets of, Fourteenth Century Families, The, and the Barbarians Fight between a Horse and Dogs, Thirteenth Century Fireworks on the Water Fish, Conveyance of, by Water and Land Flemish Peasants, Fifteenth Century Franc, Silver, Henry IV. Franks, Fourth to Eighth Century " King or Chief of the, Ninth Century " King of the, dictating the Salic Law Frédégonde giving orders to assassinate Sigebert, from a Window of the Fifteenth Century Free Judges Funeral Token Gallo-Roman Costumes Gaston Phoebus teaching the Art of Venery German Beggars " Knights, Fifteenth Century " Soldiers, Sixth to Twelfth Century " Sportsman, Sixteenth Century Ghent, Civic Guard of Gibbet of Montfaucon, The Gipsies Fortune-telling " on the March Gipsy Encampment " Family, A " who used to wash his Hands in Molten Lead Goldbeater Goldsmith Goldsmiths of Ghent, Names and Titles of some of the Members of the Corporation of, Fifteenth Century " Group of, Seventeenth Century. Grain-measurers of Ghent, Arms of the Grape, Treading the Grocer and Druggist, Shop of a, Seventeenth Century Hanging to Music Hare, How to allure the Hatter Hawking, Lady setting out, Fourteenth Century Hawks, Young, how to make them fly, Fourteenth Century Hay-carriers, Sixteenth Century Herald, Fourteenth Century Heralds, Lodge of the Heron-hawking, Fourteenth Century Hostelry, Interior of an, Sixteenth Century Hôtel des Ursins, Paris, Fourteenth Century Hunting-meal Imperial Procession Infant Richard, The, crucified by the Jews at Pontoise Irmensul and Crodon, Idols of the Ancient Saxons Iron Cage Issue de Table, The Italian Beggar " Jew, Fourteenth Century " Kitchen, Interior of " Nobleman, Fifteenth Century Jacques Coeur, Amende honorable of, before Charles VII " House of, at Bourges Jean Jouvenel des Ursins, Provost of Paris, and Michelle de Vitry, his Wife (Reign of Charles VI.) Jerusalem, View and Plan of Jew, Legend of a, calling the Devil from a Vessel of Blood Jewish Ceremony before the Ark " Conspiracy in France " Procession Jews taking the Blood from Christian Children " of Cologne burnt alive, The " Expulsion of the, in the Reign of the Emperor Hadrian " Secret Meeting of the John the Baptist, Decapitation of John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, Assassination of Judge, Fifteenth Century Judicial Duel, The Jugglers exhibiting Monkeys and Bears, Thirteenth Century " performing in Public, Thirteenth Century King-at-Arms presenting the Sword to the Duc de Bourbon King's Court, The, or Grand Council, Fifteenth Century Kitchen, Interior of a, Sixteenth Century. " and Table Utensils Knife-handles in Ivory, Sixteenth Century Knight in War-harness Knight and his Lady, Fourteenth Century Knights and Men-at-Arms of the Reign of Louis le Gros Labouring Colons, Twelfth Century Lambert of Liége, St., Chimes of the Clock of Landgrave of Thuringia and his Wife Lawyer, Sixteenth Century Leopard, Hunting with the, Sixteenth Century Lubeck and its Harbour, View of, Sixteenth Century Maidservants, Dress of, Thirteenth Century Mallet, Louis de, Admiral of France Mark's Place, St., Venice, Sixteenth Century Marseilles and its Harbour, View and Plan of, Sixteenth Century Measurers of Corn, Paris, Sixteenth Century Measuring Salt Merchant Vessel in a Storm Merchants and Lion-keepers at Constantinople Merchants of Rouen, Medal to commemorate the Association of the Merchants of Rouen, Painting commemorative of the Union of, Seventeenth Century Merchants or Tradesmen, Fourteenth Century Metals, The Extraction of Miller, The, Sixteenth Century Mint, The, Sixteenth Century Musician accompanying the Dancing New-born Child, The Nicholas Flamel, and Pernelle, his Wife, from a Painting of the Fifteenth Century Nobility, Costumes of the, from the Seventh to the Ninth century " Ladies of the, in the Ninth Century Noble Ladies and Children, Dress of, Fourteenth Century Noble Lady and Maid of Honour, Fourteenth Century Noble of Provence, Fifteenth Century Nobleman hunting Nogent-le-Rotrou, Tower of the Castle of Nut-crackers, Sixteenth Century Occupations of the Peasants Officers of the Table and of the Chamber of the Imperial Court Oil, the Manufacture of, Sixteenth Century Old Man of the Mountain, The Olifant, or Hunting-horn, Fourteenth Century " " details of Orphaus, Gallois, and Family of the Grand Coesre, Fifteenth Century Palace, The, Sixteenth Century Palace of the Doges, Interior Court of the Paris, View of Partridges, Way to catch Paying Toll on passing a Bridge Peasant Dances at the May Feasts Pheasant-fowling, Fourteenth Century Philippe le Bel in War-dress Pillory, View of the, in the Market-place of Paris, Sixteenth Century Pin and Needle Maker Ploughmen. Fac-simile of a Miniature in very ancient Anglo-Saxon Manuscript Pond Fisherman, The Pont aux Changeurs, View of the ancient Pork-butcher, The, Fourteenth Century Poulterer, The, Sixteenth Century Poultry-dealer, The Powder-horn, Sixteenth Century Provost's Prison, The Provostship of the Merchants of Paris, Assembly of the, Sixteenth Century Punishment by Fire, The Purse or Leather Bag, with Knife or Dagger, Fifteenth Century Receiver of Taxes, The Remy, St., Bishop of Rheirns, begging of Clovis the restitution of the Sacred Vase, Fifteenth Century River Fishermen, The, Sixteenth Century Roi de l'Epinette, Entry of the, at Lille Roman Soldiers, Sixth to Twelfth Century Royal Costume _Ruffés_ and _Millards_, Fifteenth Century Sainte-Geneviève, Front of the Church of the Abbey of Sale by Town-Crier Salt-cellar, enamelled, Sixteenth Century Sandal or Buskin of Charlemagne Saxony, Duke of Sbirro, Chief of Seal of the Bateliers of Bruges in 1356 " Corporation of Carpenters of St. Trond (Belgium) " Corporation of Clothworkers of Bruges " Corporation of Fullers of St. Trond " Corporation of Joiners of Bruges " " Shoemakers of St. Trond " Corporation of Wool-weavers of Hasselt " Free Count Hans Vollmar von Twern " Free Count Heinrich Beckmann " " Herman Loseckin " " Johann Croppe " King Chilpéric " United Trades of Ghent, Fifteenth Century Seat of Justice held by Philippe de Valois Secret Tribunal, Execution of the Sentences of the Sémur, Tower of the Castle of Serf or Vassal, Tenth Century Serjeants-at-Arms, Fourteenth Century Shepherds celebrating the Birth of the Messiah Shoemaker Shops under Covered Market, Fifteenth Century Shout and blow Horns, How to Simon, Martyrdom of, at Trent Slaves or Serfs, Sixth to Twelfth Century Somersaults Sport with Dogs, Fourteenth Century Spring-board, The Spur-maker Squirrels, Way to catch Stag, How to kill and cut up a, Fifteenth Century Staircase of the Office of the Goldsmiths of Rouen, Fifteenth Century Stall of Carved Wood, Fifteenth Century Standards of the Church and the Empire State Banquet, Sixteenth Century Stoertebeck, Execution of Styli, Fourteenth Century Swineherd Swiss Grand Provost Sword-dance to the Sound of the Bagpipe, Fourteenth Century Sword-maker Table of a Baron, Thirteenth Century Tailor Talebot the Hunchback Tinman Tithe of Beer, Fifteenth Century Token of the Corporation of Carpenters of Antwerp Token of the Corporation of Carpenters of Maëstricht Toll under the Bridges of Paris Toll on Markets, levied by a Cleric, Fifteenth Century Torture of the Wheel, Demons applying the Tournaments in Honour of the Entry of Queen Isabel into Paris Tower of the Temple, Paris Trade on the Seaports of the Levant, Fifteenth Century Transport of Merchandise on the Backs of Camels University of Paris, Fellows of the, haranguing the Emperor Charles IV. Varlet or Squire carrying a Halberd, Fifteenth Century View of Alexandria, Sixteenth Century Village Feast, Sixteenth Century Village pillaged by Soldiers Villain, the Covetous and Avaricious Villain, the Egotistical and Envious Villain or Peasant, Fifteenth Century Villain receiving his Lord's Orders Vine, Culture of the Vintagers, The, Thirteenth Century Votive Altar of the Nautes Parisiens Water Torture, The Weight in Brass of the Fish-market at Mans, Sixteenth Century Whale Fishing William, Duke of Normandy, Eleventh Century Winegrower, The Wire-worker Wolves, how they may be caught with a Snare Woman under the Safeguard of Knighthood, Fifteenth Century Women of the Court, Sixth to Tenth Century Woodcock, Mode of catching a, Fourteenth Century Manners, Customs, and Dress During the Middle Ages, and During the Renaissance Period. Condition of Persons and Lands. Disorganization of the West at the Beginning of the Middle Ages.--Mixture of Roman, Germanic, and Gallic Institutions.--Fusion organized under Charlemagne.--Royal Authority.--Position of the Great Feudalists.--Division of the Territory and Prerogatives attached to Landed Possessions.--Freemen and Tenants.--The Læti, the Colon, the Serf, and the Labourer, who may be called the Origin of the Modern Lower Classes.--Formation of Communities.--Right of Mortmain. The period known as the Middle Ages, says the learned Benjamin Guérard, is the produce of Pagan civilisation, of Germanic barbarism, and of Christianity. It began in 476, on the fall of Agustulus, and ended in 1453, at the taking of Constantinople by Mahomet II., and consequently the fall of two empires, that of the West and that of the East, marks its duration. Its first act, which was due to the Germans, was the destruction of political unity, and this was destined to be afterwards replaced by religions unity. Then we find a multitude of scattered and disorderly influences growing on the ruins of central power. The yoke of imperial dominion was broken by the barbarians; but the populace, far from acquiring liberty, fell to the lowest degrees of servitude. Instead of one despot, it found thousands of tyrants, and it was but slowly and with much trouble that it succeeded in freeing itself from feudalism. Nothing could be more strangely troubled than the West at the time of the dissolution of the Empire of the Caesars; nothing more diverse or more discordant than the interests, the institutions, and the state of society, which were delivered to the Germans (Figs. 1 and 2). In fact, it would be impossible in the whole pages of history to find a society formed of more heterogeneous or incompatible elements. On the one side might be placed the Goths, Burgundians, Vandals, Germans, Franks, Saxons, and Lombards, nations, or more strictly hordes, accustomed to rough and successful warfare, and, on the other, the Romans, including those people who by long servitude to Roman dominion had become closely allied with their conquerors (Fig. 3). There were, on both sides, freemen, freedmen, colons, and slaves; different ranks and degrees being, however, observable both in freedom and servitude. This hierarchical principle applied itself even to the land, which was divided into freeholds, tributary lands, lands of the nobility, and servile lands, thus constituting the freeholds, the benefices, the fiefs, and the tenures. It may be added that the customs, and to a certain degree the laws, varied according to the masters of the country, so that it can hardly be wondered at that everywhere diversity and inequality were to be found, and, as a consequence, that anarchy and confusion ruled supreme. [Illustration: Figs. 1 and 2.--Costumes of the Franks from the Fourth to the Eighth Centuries, collected by H. de Vielcastel, from original Documents in the great Libraries of Europe.] [Illustration: Fig. 3.--Costumes of Roman Soldiers. Fig. 4.--Costume of German Soldiers. From Miniatures on different Manuscripts, from the Sixth to the Twelfth Centuries.] The Germans (Fig. 4) had brought with them over the Rhine none of the heroic virtues attributed to them by Tacitus when he wrote their history, with the evident intention of making a satire on his countrymen. Amongst the degenerate Romans whom those ferocious Germans had subjugated, civilisation was reconstituted on the ruins of vices common in the early history of a new society by the adoption of a series of loose and dissolute habits, both by the conquerors and the conquered. [Illustration: Fig. 5.--Costumes of Slaves or Serfs, from the Sixth to the Twelfth Centuries, collected by H. de Vielcastel, from original Documents in the great Libraries of Europe.] In fact, the conquerors contributed the worse share (Fig. 5); for, whilst exercising the low and debasing instincts of their former barbarism, they undertook the work of social reconstruction with a sort of natural and innate servitude. To them, liberty, the desire for which caused them to brave the greatest dangers, was simply the right of doing evil--of obeying their ardent thirst for plunder. Long ago, in the depths of their forests, they had adopted the curious institution of vassalage. When they came to the West to create States, instead of reducing personal power, every step in their social edifice, from the top to the bottom, was made to depend on individual superiority. To bow to a superior was their first political principle; and on that principle feudalism was one day to find its base. Servitude was in fact to be found in all conditions and ranks, equally in the palace of the sovereign as in the dwellings of his subjects. The vassal who was waited on at his own table by a varlet, himself served at the table of his lord; the nobles treated each other likewise, according to their rank; and all the exactions which each submitted to from his superiors, and required to be paid to him by those below him, were looked upon not as onerous duties, but as rights and honours. The sentiment of dignity and of personal independence, which has become, so to say, the soul of modern society, did not exist at all, or at least but very slightly, amongst the Germans. If we could doubt the fact, we have but to remember that these men, so proud, so indifferent to suffering or death, would often think little of staking their liberty in gambling, in the hope that if successful their gain might afford them the means of gratifying some brutal passion. [Illustration: Fig. 6.--King or Chief of Franks armed with the Seramasax, from a Miniature of the Ninth Century, drawn by H. de Vielcastel.] When the Franks took root in Gaul, their dress and institutions were adopted by the Roman society (Fig. 6). This had the most disastrous influence in every point of view, and it is easy to prove that civilisation did not emerge from this chaos until by degrees the Teutonic spirit disappeared from the world. As long as this spirit reigned, neither private nor public liberty existed. Individual patriotism only extended as far as the border of a man's family, and the nation became broken up into clans. Gaul soon found itself parcelled off into domains which were almost independent of one another. It was thus that Germanic genius became developed. [Illustration: Fig. 7.--The King of the Franks, in the midst of the Military Chiefs who formed his _Treuste_, or armed Court, dictates the Salic Law (Code of the Barbaric Laws).--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chronicles of St. Denis," a Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (Library of the Arsenal).] The advantages of acting together for mutual protection first established itself in families. If any one suffered from an act of violence, he laid the matter before his relatives for them jointly to seek reparation. The question was then settled between the families of the offended person and the offender, all of whom were equally associated in the object of vindicating a cause which interested them alone, without recognising any established authority, and without appealing to the law. If the parties had sought the protection or advice of men of power, the quarrel might at once take a wider scope, and tend to kindle a feud between two nobles. In any case the King only interfered when the safety of his person or the interests of his dominions were threatened. Penalties and punishments were almost always to be averted by a money payment. A son, for instance, instead of avenging the death of his father, received from the murderer a certain indemnity in specie, according to legal tariff; and the law was thus satisfied. The tariff of indemnities or compensations to be paid for each crime formed the basis of the code of laws amongst the principal tribes of Franks, a code essentially barbarian, and called the Salic law, or law of the Salians (Fig. 7). Such, however, was the spirit of inequality among the German races, that it became an established principle for justice to be subservient to the rank of individuals. The more powerful a man was, the more he was protected by the law; the lower his rank, the less the law protected him. The life of a Frank, by right, was worth twice that of a Roman; the life of a servant of the King was worth three times that of an ordinary individual who did not possess that protecting tie. On the other hand, punishment was the more prompt and rigorous according to the inferiority of position of the culprit. In case of theft, for instance, a person of importance was brought before the King's tribunal, and as it respected the rank held by the accused in the social hierarchy, little or no punishment was awarded. In the case of the same crime by a poor man, on the contrary, the ordinary judge gave immediate sentence, and he was seized and hung on the spot. Inasmuch as no political institutions amongst the Germans were nobler or more just than those of the Franks and the other barbaric races, we cannot accept the creed of certain historians who have represented the Germans as the true regenerators of society in Europe. The two sources of modern civilisation are indisputably Pagan antiquity and Christianity. After the fall of the Merovingian kings great progress was made in the political and social state of nations. These kings, who were but chiefs of undisciplined bands, were unable to assume a regal character, properly so called. Their authority was more personal than territorial, for incessant changes were made in the boundaries of their conquered dominions. It was therefore with good reason that they styled themselves kings of the Franks, and not kings of France. Charlemagne was the first who recognised that social union, so admirable an example of which was furnished by Roman organization, and who was able, with the very elements of confusion and disorder to which he succeeded, to unite, direct, and consolidate diverging and opposite forces, to establish and regulate public administrations, to found and build towns, and to form and reconstruct almost a new world (Fig. 8). We hear of him assigning to each his place, creating for all a common interest, making of a crowd of small and scattered peoples a great and powerful nation; in a word, rekindling the beacon of ancient civilisation. When he died, after a most active and glorious reign of forty-five years, he left an immense empire in the most perfect state of peace (Fig. 9). But this magnificent inheritance was unfortunately destined to pass into unworthy or impotent hands, so that society soon fell back into anarchy and confusion. The nobles, in their turn invested with power, were continually at war, and gradually weakened the royal authority--the power of the kingdom--by their endless disputes with the Crown and with one another. [Illustration: Fig. 8.--Charles, eldest Son of King Pepin, receives the News of the Death of his Father and the Great Feudalists offer him the Crown.--Costumes of the Court of Burgundy in the Fifteenth Century.--Fac-simile of a Miniature of the "History of the Emperors" (Library of the Arsenal).] [Illustration: Fig. 9. Portrait of Charlemagne, whom the Song of Roland names the King with the Grizzly Beard.--Fac-simile of an Engraving of the End of the Sixteenth Century.] The revolution in society which took place under the Carlovingian dynasty had for its especial object that of rendering territorial what was formerly personal, and, as it were, of destroying personality in matters of government. The usurpation of lands by the great having been thus limited by the influence of the lesser holders, everybody tried to become the holder of land. Its possession then formed the basis of social position, and, as a consequence, individual servitude became lessened, and society assumed a more stable condition. The ancient laws of wandering tribes fell into disuse; and at the same time many distinctions of caste and race disappeared, as they were incompatible with the new order of things. As there were no more Salians, Ripuarians, nor Visigoths among the free men, so there were no more colons, læti, nor slaves amongst those deprived of liberty. [Illustrations: Figs. 10 and 11.--Present State of the Feudal Castle of Chateau-Gaillard aux Andelys, which was considered one of the strongest Castles of France in the Middle Ages, and was rebuilt in the Twelfth Century by Richard Coeur de Lion.] Heads of families, on becoming attached to the soil, naturally had other wants and other customs than those which they had delighted in when they were only the chiefs of wandering adventurers. The strength of their followers was not now so important to them as the security of their castles. Fortresses took the place of armed bodies; and at this time, every one who wished to keep what he had, entrenched himself to the best of his ability at his own residence. The banks of rivers, elevated positions, and all inaccessible heights, were occupied by towers and castles, surrounded by ditches, which served as strongholds to the lords of the soil. (Figs. 10 and 11). These places of defence soon became points for attack. Out of danger at home, many of the nobles kept watch like birds of prey on the surrounding country, and were always ready to fall, not only upon their enemies, but also on their neighbours, in the hope either of robbing them when off their guard, or of obtaining a ransom for any unwary traveller who might fall into their hands. Everywhere society was in ambuscade, and waged civil war--individual against individual--without peace or mercy. Such was the reign of feudalism. It is unnecessary to point out how this system of perpetual petty warfare tended to reduce the power of centralisation, and how royalty itself was weakened towards the end of the second dynasty. When the descendants of Hugh Capet wished to restore their power by giving it a larger basis, they were obliged to attack, one after the other, all these strongholds, and practically to re-annex each fief, city, and province held by these petty monarchs, in order to force their owners to recognise the sovereignty of the King. Centuries of war and negotiations became necessary before the kingdom of France could be, as it were, reformed. [Illustration: Fig. 12.--Knights and Men-at-arms, cased in Mail, in the Reign of Louis le Gros, from a Miniature in a Psalter written towards the End of the Twelfth Century.] The corporations and the citizens had great weight in restoring the monarchical power, as well as in forming French nationality; but by far the best influence brought to bear in the Middle Ages was that of Christianity. The doctrine of one origin and of one final destiny being common to all men of all classes constantly acted as a strong inducement for thinking that all should be equally free. Religious equality paved the way for political equality, and as all Christians were brothers before God, the tendency was for them to become, as citizens, equal also in law. This transformation, however, was but slow, and followed concurrently the progress made in the security of property. At the onset, the slave only possessed his life, and this was but imperfectly guaranteed to him by the laws of charity; laws which, however, year by year became of greater power. He afterwards became _colon_, or labourer (Figs. 13 and 14), working for himself under certain conditions and tenures, paying fines, or services, which, it is true, were often very extortionate. At this time he was considered to belong to the domain on which he was born, and he was at least sure that that soil would not be taken from him, and that in giving part of his time to his master, he was at liberty to enjoy the rest according to his fancy. The farmer afterwards became proprietor of the soil he cultivated, and master, not only of himself, but of his lands; certain trivial obligations or fines being all that was required of him, and these daily grew less, and at last disappeared altogether. Having thus obtained a footing in society, he soon began to take a place in provincial assemblies; and he made the last bound on the road of social progress, when the vote of his fellow-electors sent him to represent them in the parliament of the kingdom. Thus the people who had begun by excessive servitude, gradually climbed to power. [Illustration: Fig. 13.--Labouring Colons (Twelfth Century), after a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Ste. Chapelle, of the National Library of Paris.] We will now describe more in detail the various conditions of persons of the Middle Ages. The King, who held his rights by birth, and not by election, enjoyed relatively an absolute authority, proportioned according to the power of his abilities, to the extent of his dominions, and to the devotion of his vassals. Invested with a power which for a long time resembled the command of a general of an army, he had at first no other ministers than the officers to whom he gave full power to act in the provinces, and who decided arbitrarily in the name of, and representing, the King, on all questions of administration. One minister alone approached the King, and that was the chancellor, who verified, sealed, and dispatched all royal decrees and orders. As early, however, as the seventh century, a few officers of state appeared, who were specially attached to the King's person or household; a count of the palace, who examined and directed the suits brought before the throne; a mayor of the palace, who at one time raised himself from the administration of the royal property to the supreme power; an arch-chaplain, who presided over ecclesiastical affairs; a lord of the bedchamber, charged with the treasure of the chamber; and a count of the stables, charged with the superintendence of the stables. [Illustration: Fig. 14.--Labouring Colons (Twelfth Century), after a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Ste. Chapelle, of the National Library of Paris.] For all important affairs, the King generally consulted the grandees of his court; but as in the five or six first centuries of monarchy in France the royal residence was not permanent, it is probable the Council of State was composed in part of the officers who followed the King, and in part of the noblemen who came to visit him, or resided near the place he happened to be inhabiting. It was only under the Capetians that the Royal Council took a permanent footing, or even assembled at stated periods. In ordinary times, that is to say, when he was not engaged in war, the King had few around him besides his family, his personal attendants, and the ministers charged with the dispatch of affairs. As he changed from one of his abodes to another he only held his court on the great festivals of the year. [Illustration: Fig. 15.--The Lords and Barons prove their Nobility by hanging their Banners and exposing their Coats-of-arms at the Windows of the Lodge of the Heralds.--After a Miniature of the "Tournaments of King Réné" (Fifteenth Century), MSS. of the National Library of Paris.] Up to the thirteenth century, there was, strictly speaking, no taxation and no public treasury. The King received, through special officers appointed for the purpose, tributes either in money or in kind, which were most variable, but often very heavy, and drawn almost exclusively from his personal and private properties. In cases of emergency only, he appealed to his vassals for pecuniary aid. A great number of the grandees, who lived far from the court, either in state offices or on their own fiefs, had establishments similar to that of the King. Numerous and considerable privileges elevated them above other free men. The offices and fiefs having become hereditary, the order of nobility followed as a consequence; and it then became highly necessary for families to keep their genealogical histories, not only to gratify their pride, but also to give them the necessary titles for the feudal advantages they derived by birth. (Fig. 15). Without this right of inheritance, society, which was still unsettled in the Middle Ages, would soon have been dissolved. This great principle, sacred in the eyes both of great and small, maintained feudalism, and in so doing it maintained itself amidst all the chaos and confusion of repeated revolutions and social disturbances. We have already stated, and we cannot sufficiently insist upon this important point, that from the day on which the adventurous habits of the chiefs of Germanic origin gave place to the desire for territorial possessions, the part played by the land increased insensibly towards defining the position of the persons holding it. Domains became small kingdoms, over which the lord assumed the most absolute and arbitrary rights. A rule was soon established, that the nobility was inherent to the soil, and consequently that the land ought to transmit to its possessors the rights of nobility. This privilege was so much accepted, that the long tenure of a fief ended by ennobling the commoner. Subsequently, by a sort of compensation which naturally followed, lands on which rent had hitherto been paid became free and noble on passing to the possession of a noble. At last, however, the contrary rule prevailed, which caused the lands not to change quality in changing owners: the noble could still possess the labourers's lands without losing his nobility, but the labourer could be proprietor of a fief without thereby becoming a noble. To the _comites_, who, according to Tacitus, attached themselves to the fortunes of the Germanic chiefs, succeeded the Merovingian _leudes_, whose assembly formed the King's Council. These _leudes_ were persons of great importance owing to the number of their vassals, and although they composed his ordinary Council, they did not hesitate at times to declare themselves openly opposed to his will. [Illustration: Fig. 16.--Knight in War-harness, after a Miniature in a Psalter written and illuminated under Louis le Gros.] The name of _leudes_ was abandoned under the second of the then French dynasties, and replaced by that of _fidèles_, which, in truth soon became a common designation of both the vassals of the Crown and those of the nobility. Under the kings of the third dynasty, the kingdom was divided into about one hundred and fifty domains, which were called great fiefs of the crown, and which were possessed in hereditary right by the members of the highest nobility, placed immediately under the royal sovereignty and dependence. [Illustration: Fig. 17.--King Charlemagne receiving the Oath of Fidelity and Homage from one of his great Feudatories or High Barons.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in Cameo, of the "Chronicles of St. Denis." Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (Library of the Arsenal).] Vassals emanating directly from the King, were then generally designated by the title of _barons_, and mostly possessed strongholds. The other nobles indiscriminately ranked as _chevaliers_ or _cnights_, a generic title, to which was added that of _banneret_, The fiefs of _hauberk_ were bound to supply the sovereign with a certain number of knights covered with coats of mail, and completely armed. All knights were mounted in war (Fig. 16); but knights who were made so in consequence of their high birth must not be confounded with those who became knights by some great feat in arms in the house of a prince or high noble, nor with the members of the different orders of chivalry which were successively instituted, such as the Knights of the Star, the Genet, the Golden Fleece, Saint-Esprit, St. John of Jerusalem, &c. Originally, the possession of a benefice or fief meant no more than the privilege of enjoying the profits derived from the land, a concession which made the holder dependent upon the proprietor. He was in fact his "man," to whom he owed homage (Fig. 17), service in case of war, and assistance in any suit the proprietor might have before the King's tribunal. The chiefs of German bands at first recompensed their companions in arms by giving them fiefs of parts of the territory which they had conquered; but later on, everything was equally given to be held in fief, namely, dignities, offices, rights, and incomes or titles. It is important to remark (and it is in this alone that feudalism shows its social bearing), that if the vassal owed obedience and devotion to his lord, the lord in exchange owed protection to the vassal. The rank of "free man" did not necessarily require the possession of land; but the position of free men who did not hold fiefs was extremely delicate and often painful, for they were by natural right dependent upon those on whose domain they resided. In fact, the greater part of these nobles without lands became by choice the King's men, and remained attached to his service. If this failed them, they took lands on lease, so as to support themselves and their families, and to avoid falling into absolute servitude. In the event of a change of proprietor, they changed with the land into new hands. Nevertheless, it was not uncommon for them to be so reduced as to sell their freedom; but in such cases, they reserved the right, should better times come, of re-purchasing their liberty by paying one-fifth more than the sum for which they had sold it. We thus see that in olden times, as also later, freedom was more or less the natural consequence of the possession of wealth or power on the part of individuals or families who considered themselves free in the midst of general dependence. During the tenth century, indeed, if not impossible, it was at least difficult to find a single inhabitant of the kingdom of France who was not "the man" of some one, and who was either tied by rules of a liberal order, or else was under the most servile obligations. The property of the free men was originally the "_aleu_," which was under the jurisdiction of the royal magistrates. The _aleu_ gradually lost the greater part of its franchise, and became liable to the common charges due on lands which were not freehold. In ancient times, all landed property of a certain extent was composed of two distinct parts: one occupied by the owner, constituted the domain or manor; the other, divided between persons who were more or less dependent, formed what were called _tenures_. These _tenures_ were again divided according to the position of those who occupied them: if they were possessed by free men, who took the name of vassals, they were called benefices or fiefs; if they were let to læti, colons, or serfs, they were then called colonies or demesnes. [Illustration: Fig. 18.--Ploughmen.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a very ancient Anglo-Saxon Manuscript published by Shaw, with legend "God Spede ye Plough, and send us Korne enow."] The _læti_ occupied a rank between the colon and the serf. They had less liberty than the colon, over whom the proprietor only had an indirect and very limited power. The colon only served the land, whilst the læti, whether agriculturists or servants, served both the land and the owner (Fig. 18). They nevertheless enjoyed the right of possession, and of defending themselves, or prosecuting by law. The serf, on the contrary, had neither city, tribunal, nor family. The læti had, besides, the power of purchasing their liberty when they had amassed sufficient for the purpose. _Serfs_ occupied the lowest position in the social ladder (Fig. 19). They succeeded to slaves, thus making, thanks to Christianity, a step towards liberty. Although the civil laws barely protected them, those of the Church continually stepped in and defended them from arbitrary despotism. The time came when they had no direct masters, and when the almost absolute dependence of serfs was changed by the nobles requiring them to farm the land and pay tithes and fees. And lastly, they became farmers, and regular taxes took the place of tithes and fees. The colons, læti, and serfs, all of whom were more or less tillers of the soil, were, so to speak, the ancestors of "the people" of modern times; those who remained devoted to agriculture were the ancestors of our peasants; and those who gave themselves up to trades and commerce in the towns, were the originators of the middle classes. [Illustration: Fig. 19.--Serf or Vassal of Tenth Century, from Miniatures in the "Dialogues of St. Gregory," Manuscript No. 9917 (Royal Library of Brussels).] As early as the commencement of the third royal dynasty we find in the rural districts, as well as in the towns, a great number of free men: and as the charters concerning the condition of lands and persons became more and more extended, the tyranny of the great was reduced, and servitude decreased. During the following centuries, the establishment of civic bodies and the springing up of the middle classes (Fig. 20) made the acquisition of liberty more easy and more general. Nevertheless, this liberty was rather theoretical than practical; for if the nobles granted it nominally, they gave it at the cost of excessive fines, and the community, which purchased at a high price the right of self-administration, did not get rid of any of the feudal charges imposed upon it. [Illustration: Fig. 20.--Bourgeois at the End of Thirteenth Century.--Fac-simile of Miniature in Manuscript No. 6820, in the National Library of Paris.] Fortunately for the progress of liberty, the civic bodies, as if they had been providentially warned of the future in store for them, never hesitated to accept from their lords, civil or ecclesiastical, conditions, onerous though they were, which enabled them to exist in the interior of the cities to which they belonged. They formed a sort of small state, almost independent for private affairs, subject to the absolute power of the King, and more or less tied by their customs or agreements with the local nobles. They held public assemblies and elected magistrates, whose powers embraced both the administration of civil and criminal justice, police, finance, and the militia. They generally had fixed and written laws. Protected by ramparts, each possessed a town-hall (_hôtel de ville_), a seal, a treasury, and a watch-tower, and it could arm a certain number of men, either for its own defence or for the service of the noble or sovereign under whom it held its rights. In no case could a community such as this exist without the sanction of the King, who placed it under the safeguard of the Crown. At first the kings, blinded by a covetous policy, only seemed to see in the issue of these charters an excellent pretext for extorting money. If they consented to recognise them, and even to help them against their lords, it was on account of the enormous sacrifices made by the towns. Later on, however, they affected, on the contrary, the greatest generosity towards the vassals who wished to incorporate themselves, when they had understood that these institutions might become powerful auxiliaries against the great titulary feudalists; but from the reign of Louis XI., when the power of the nobles was much diminished, and no longer inspired any terror to royalty, the kings turned against their former allies, the middle classes, and deprived them successively of all the prerogatives which could prejudice the rights of the Crown. The middle classes, it is true, acquired considerable influence afterwards by participation in the general and provincial councils. After having victoriously struggled against the clergy and nobility, in the assemblies of the three states or orders, they ended by defeating royalty itself. Louis le Gros, in whose orders the style or title of _bourgeois_ first appears (1134), is generally looked upon as the founder of the franchise of communities in France; but it is proved that a certain number of communities or corporations were already formally constituted, before his accession to the throne. The title of bourgeois was not, however, given exclusively to inhabitants of cities. It often happened that the nobles, with the intention of improving and enriching their domains, opened a kind of asylum, under the attractive title of _Free Towns_, or _New Towns_, where they offered, to all wishing to establish themselves, lands, houses, and a more or less extended share of privileges, rights, and liberties. These congregations, or families, soon became boroughs, and the inhabitants, though agriculturists, took the name of bourgeois. [Illustration: Fig. 21.--Costume of a Vilain or Peasant, Fifteenth Century, from a Miniature of "La Danse Macabre," Manuscript 7310 of the National Library of Paris.] There was also a third kind of bourgeois, whose influence on the extension of royal power was not less than that of the others. There were free men who, under the title of bourgeois of the King _(bourgeois du Roy_), kept their liberty by virtue of letters of protection given them by the King, although they were established on lands of nobles whose inhabitants were deprived of liberty. Further, when a _vilain_--that is to say, the serf, of a noble--bought a lease of land in a royal borough, it was an established custom that after having lived there a year and a day without being reclaimed by his lord and master, he became a bourgeois of the King and a free man. In consequence of this the serfs and vilains (Fig. 21) emigrated from all parts, in order to profit by these advantages, to such a degree, that the lands of the nobles became deserted by all the serfs of different degrees, and were in danger of remaining uncultivated. The nobility, in the interests of their properties, and to arrest this increasing emigration, devoted themselves to improving the condition of persons placed under their dependence, and attempted to create on their domains _boroughs_ analogous to those of royalty. But however liberal these ameliorations might appear to be, it was difficult for the nobles not only to concede privileges equal to those emanating from the throne, but also to ensure equal protection to those they thus enfranchised. In spite of this, however, the result was that a double current of enfranchisement was established, which resulted in the daily diminution of the miserable order of serfs, and which, whilst it emancipated the lower orders, had the immediate result of giving increased weight and power to royalty, both in its own domains and in those of the nobility and their vassals. These social revolutions did not, of course, operate suddenly, nor did they at once abolish former institutions, for we still find, that after the establishment of communities and corporations, several orders of servitude remained. At the close of the thirteenth century, on the authority of Philippe de Beaumanoir, the celebrated editor of "Coutumes de Beauvoisis," there were three states or orders amongst the laity, namely, the nobleman (Fig. 22), the free man, and the serf. All noblemen were free, but all free men were not necessarily noblemen. Generally, nobility descended from the father and franchise from the mother. But according to many other customs of France, the child, as a general rule, succeeded to the lower rank of his parents. There were two orders of serfs: one rigorously held in the absolute dependence of his lord, to such a degree that the latter could appropriate during his life, or after death if he chose, all he possessed; he could imprison him, ill-treat him as he thought proper, without having to answer to any one but God; the other, though held equally in bondage, was more liberally treated, for "unless he was guilty of some evil-doing, the lord could ask of him nothing during his life but the fees, rents, or fines which he owed on account of his servitude." If one of the latter class of serfs married a free woman, everything which he possessed became the property of his lord. The same was the case when he died, for he could not transmit any of his goods to his children, and was only allowed to dispose by will of a sum of about five sous, or about twenty-five francs of modern money. As early as the fourteenth century, serfdom or servitude no longer existed except in "mortmain," of which we still have to speak. [Illustration: The Court of Mary of Anjou, Wife of Charles VII. Her chaplain the learned Robert Blondel presents her with the allegorical Treatise of the "_Twelve Perils of Hell_." Which he composed for her (1455). Fac-simile of a miniature from this work. Bibl. de l'Arsenal, Paris.] _Mortmain_ consisted of the privation of the right of freely disposing of one's person or goods. He who had not the power of going where he would, of giving or selling, of leaving by will or transferring his property, fixed or movable, as he thought best, was called a man of mortmain. [Illustration: Fig. 22.--Italian Nobleman of the Fifteenth Century. From a Playing-card engraved on Copper about 1460 (Cabinet des Estampes, National Library of Paris).] This name was apparently chosen because the hand, "considered the symbol of power and the instrument of donation," was deprived of movement, paralysed, in fact struck as by death. It was also nearly in this sense, that men of the Church were also called men of mortmain, because they were equally forbidden to dispose, either in life, or by will after death, of anything belonging to them. There were two kinds of mortmain: real and personal; one concerning land, and the other concerning the person; that is to say, land held in mortmain did not change quality, whatever might be the position of the person who occupied it, and a "man of mortmain" did not cease to suffer the inconveniences of his position on whatever land he went to establish himself. The mortmains were generally subject to the greater share of feudal obligations formerly imposed on serfs; these were particularly to work for a certain time for their lord without receiving any wages, or else to pay him the _tax_ when it was due, on certain definite occasions, as for example, when he married, when he gave a dower to his daughter, when he was taken prisoner of war, when he went to the Holy Land, &c., &c. What particularly characterized the condition of mortmains was, that the lords had the right to take all their goods when they died without issue, or when the children held a separate household; and that they could not dispose of anything they possessed, either by will or gift, beyond a certain sum. The noble who franchised mortmains, imposed on them in almost all cases very heavy conditions, consisting of fees, labours, and fines of all sorts. In fact, a mortmain person, to be free, not only required to be franchised by his own lord, but also by all the nobles on whom he was dependent, as well as by the sovereign. If a noble franchised without the consent of his superiors, he incurred a fine, as it was considered a dismemberment or depreciation of the fief. As early as the end of the fourteenth century, the rigorous laws of mortmain began to fall into disuse in the provinces; though if the name began to disappear, the condition itself continued to exist. The free men, whether they belonged to the middle class or to the peasantry, were nevertheless still subject to pay fines or obligations to their lords of such a nature that they must be considered to have been practically in the same position as mortmains. In fact, this custom had been so deeply rooted into social habits by feudalism, that to make it disappear totally at the end of the eighteenth century, it required three decrees of the National Convention (July 17 and October 2, 1793; and 8 Ventôse, year II.--that is, March 2, 1794). It is only just to state, that twelve or fourteen years earlier, Louis XVI. had done all in his power towards the same purpose, by suppressing mortmain, both real or personal, on the lands of the Crown, and personal mortmain (i.e. the right of following mortmains out of their original districts) all over the kingdom. [Illustration: Fig. 23.--Alms Bag taken from some Tapestry in Orleans, Fifteenth Century.] Privileges and Rights. Feudal and Municipal. Elements of Feudalism.--Rights of Treasure-trove, Sporting, Safe Conducts, Ransom, Disinheritance, &c.--Immunity of the Feudalists.--Dues from the Nobles to their Sovereign.--Law and University Dues.--Curious Exactions resulting from the Universal System of Dues.--Struggles to Enfranchise the Classes subjected to Dues.--Feudal Spirit and Citizen Spirit.--Resuscitation of the System of Ancient Municipalities in Italy, Germany, and France.--Municipal Institutions and Associations.--The Community.--The Middle-Class Cities (_Cités Bourgeoises_).--Origin of National Unity. So as to understand the numerous charges, dues, and servitudes, often as quaint as iniquitous and vexations, which weighed on the lower orders during the Middle Ages, we must remember how the upper class, who assumed to itself the privilege of oppression on lands and persons under the feudal System, was constituted. The Roman nobles, heirs to their fathers' agricultural dominions, succeeded for the most part in preserving through the successive invasions of the barbarians, the influence attached to the prestige of birth and wealth; they still possessed the greater part of the land and owned as vassals the rural populations. The Grerman nobles, on the contrary, had not such extended landed properties, but they appropriated all the strongest positions. The dukes, counts, and marquises were generally of German origin. The Roman race, mixed with the blood of the various nations it had subdued, was the first to infuse itself into ancient Society, and only furnished barons of a secondary order. These heterogeneous elements, brought together, with the object of common dominion, constituted a body who found life and motion only in the traditions of Rome and ancient Germany. From these two historical sources, as is very judiciously pointed out by M. Mary-Lafon, issued all the habits of the new society, and particularly the rights and privileges assumed by the nobility. These rights and privileges, which we are about to pass summarily in review, were numerous, and often curious: amongst them may be mentioned the rights of treasure-trove, the rights of wreck, the rights of establishing fairs or markets, rights of marque, of sporting, &c. The rights of treasure-trove were those which gave full power to dukes and counts over all minerals found on their properties. It was in asserting this right that the famous Richard Coeur de Lion, King of England, met his death. Adhémar, Viscount of Limoges, had discovered in a field a treasure, of which, no doubt, public report exaggerated the value, for it was said to be large enough to model in pure gold, and life-size, a Roman emperor and the members of his family, at table. Adhémar was a vassal of the Duke of Guienne, and, as a matter of course, set aside what was considered the sovereign's share in his discovery; but Richard, refusing to concede any part of his privilege, claimed the whole treasure. On the refusal of the viscount to give it up he appeared under arms before the gates of the Castle of Chalus, where he supposed that the treasure was hidden. On seeing the royal standard, the garrison offered to open the gates. "No," answered Richard, "since you have forced me to unfurl my banner, I shall only enter by the breach, and you shall all be hung on the battlements." The siege commenced, and did not at first seem to favour the English, for the besieged made a noble stand. One evening, as his troops were assaulting the place, in order to witness the scene, Richard was sitting at a short distance on a piece of rock, protected with a target--that is, a large shield covered with leather and blades of iron--which two archers held over him. Impatient to see the result of the assault, Richard pushed down the shield, and that moment decided his fate (1199). An archer of Chalus, who had recognised him and was watching from the top of the rampart, sent a bolt from a crossbow, which hit him full in the chest. The wound, however, would perhaps not have been mortal, but, shortly after, having carried the place by storm, and in his delight at finding the treasure almost intact, he gave himself up madly to degrading orgies, during which he had already dissipated the greater part of his treasure, and died of his wound twelve days later; first having, however, graciously pardoned the bowman who caused his death. The right of shipwrecks, which the nobles of seaboard countries rarely renounced, and of which they were the more jealous from the fact that they had continually to dispute them with their vassals and neighbours, was the pitiless and barbaric right of appropriating the contents of ships happening to be wrecked on their shores. [Illustration: Figs. 24 and 25.--Varlet or Squire carrying a Halberd with a thick Blade; and Archer, in Fighting Dress, drawing the String of his Crossbow with a double-handled Winch.--From the Miniatures of the "Jouvencel," and the "Chroniques" of Froissart, Manuscripts of the Fifteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] When the feudal nobles granted to their vassals the right of assembling on certain days, in order to hold fairs and markets, they never neglected to reserve to themselves some tax on each head of cattle, as well as on the various articles brought in and put up for sale. As these fairs and markets never failed to attract a great number of buyers and sellers, this formed a very lucrative tax for the noble (Fig. 26). [Illustration: Fig. 26.--Flemish Peasants at the Cattle Market.--Miniature of the "Chroniques de Hainaut." Manuscripts of the Fifteenth Century, vol. ii. fol. 204 (Library of the Dukes of Burgundy, Brussels).] The right of _marque_, or reprisal, was a most barbarous custom. A famous example is given of it. In 1022, William the Pious, Count of Angoulême, before starting for a pilgrimage to Rome, made his three brothers, who were his vassals, swear to live in honourable peace and good friendship. But, notwithstanding their oath, two of the brothers, having invited the third to the Easter festivities, seized him at night in his bed, put out his eyes so that he might not find the way to his castle, and cut out his tongue so that he might not name the authors of this horrible treatment. The voice of God, however, denounced them, and the Count of Angoulême, shuddering with horror, referred the case to his sovereign, the Duke of Aquitaine, William IV., who immediately came, and by fire and sword exercised his right of _marque_ on the lands of the two brothers, leaving them nothing but their lives and limbs, after having first put out their eyes and cut out their tongues, so as to inflict on them the penalty of retaliation. The right of sporting or hunting was of all prerogatives that dearest to, and most valued by the nobles. Not only were the severest and even cruellest penalties imposed on "vilains" who dared to kill the smallest head of game, but quarrels frequently arose between nobles of different degrees on the subject, some pretending to have a feudal privilege of hunting on the lands of others (Fig. 27). From this tyrannical exercise of the right of hunting, which the least powerful of the nobles only submitted to with the most violent and bitter feelings, sprung those old and familiar ballads, which indicate the popular sentiment on the subject. In some of these songs the inveterate hunters are condemned, by the order of Fairies or of the Fates, either to follow a phantom stag for everlasting, or to hunt, like King Artus, in the clouds and to catch a fly every hundred years. The right of jurisdiction, which gave judicial power to the dukes and counts in cases arising in their domains, had no appeal save to the King himself, and this was even often contested by the nobles, as for instance, in the unhappy case of Enguerrand de Coucy. Enguerrand had ordered three young Flemish noblemen, who were scholars at the Abbey of "St. Nicholas des Bois," to be seized and hung, because, not knowing that they were on the domain of the Lord of Coucy, they had killed a few rabbits with arrows. St. Louis called the case before him. Enguerrand answered to the call, but only to dispute the King's right, and to claim the judgment of his peers. The King, without taking any notice of the remonstrance, ordered Enguerrand to be locked up in the big tower of the Louvre, and was nearly applying the law of _retaliation_ to his case. Eventually he granted him letters of pardon, after condemning him to build three chapels, where masses were continually to be said for the three victims; to give the forest where the young scholars had been found hunting, to the Abbey of "St. Nicholas des Bois;" to lose on all his estates the rights of jurisdiction and sporting; to serve three years in the Holy Land; and to pay to the King a fine of 12,500 pounds tournois. It must be remembered that Louis IX., although most generous in cases relating simply to private interests, was one of the most stubborn defenders of royal prerogatives. A right which feudalists had the greatest interest in observing, and causing to be respected, because they themselves might with their wandering habits require it at any moment, was that of _safe convoy_, or _guidance_. This right was so powerful, that it even applied itself to the lower orders, and its violation was considered the most odious crime; thus, in the thirteenth century, the King of Aragon was severely abused by all persons and all classes, because in spite of this right he caused a Jew to be burned so as not to have to pay a debt which the man claimed of him. [Illustration: Fig. 27.--Nobleman in Hunting Costume, preceded by his Servant, trying to find the Scent of a Stag.--From a Miniature in the Book of Gaston Phoebus ("Des Deduitz de la Chasse des Bestes Sauvaiges").--Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (National Library of Paris).] The right of "the Crown" should also be mentioned, which consisted of a circle of gold ornamented in various fashions, according to the different degrees of feudal monarchy, which vassals had to present to their lord on the day of his investiture. The right of seal was a fee or fine they had to pay for the charters which their lord caused to be delivered to them. The duty of _aubaine_ was the fine or due paid by merchants, either in kind or money, to the feudal chief, when they passed near his castle, landed in his ports, or exposed goods for sale in his markets. The nobles of second order possessed among their privileges that of wearing spurs of silver or gold according to their rank of knighthood; the right of receiving double rations when prisoners of war; the right of claiming a year's delay when a creditor wished to seize their land; and the right of never having to submit to torture after trial, unless they were condemned to death for the crime they had committed. If a great baron for serious offences confiscated the goods of a noble who was his vassal, the latter had a right to keep his palfrey, the horse of his squire, various pieces of his harness and armour, his bed, his silk robe, his wife's bed, one of her dresses, her ring, her cloth stomacher, &c. The nobles alone possessed the right of having seats of honour in churches and in chapels (Fig. 28), and to erect therein funereal monuments, and we know that they maintained this right so rigorously and with so much effrontery, that fatal quarrels at times arose on questions of precedence. The epitaphs, the placing of tombs, the position of a monument, were all subjects for conflicts or lawsuits. The nobles enjoyed also the right of _disinheritance_, that is to say, of claiming the goods of a person dying on their lands who had no direct heir; the right of claiming a tax when a fief or domain changed hands; the right of _common oven_, or requiring vassals to make use of the mill, the oven, or the press of the lord. At the time of the vintage, no peasant might sell his wine until the nobles had sold theirs. Everything was a source of privilege for the nobles. Kings and councils waived the necessity of their studying, in order to be received as bachelors of universities. If a noble was made a prisoner of war, his life was saved by his nobility, and his ransom had practically to be raised by the "vilains" of his domains. The nobles were also exempted from serving in the militia, nor were they obliged to lodge soldiers, &c. They had a thousand pretexts for establishing taxes on their vassals, who were generally considered "taxable and to be worked at will." Thus in the domain of Montignac, the Count of Perigord claimed among other things as follows: "for every case of censure or complaint brought before him, 10 deniers; for a quarrel in which blood was shed, 60 sols; if blood was not shed, 7 sols; for use of ovens, the sixteenth loaf of each baking; for the sale of corn in the domain, 43 setiers: besides these, 6 setiers of rye, 161 setiers of oats, 3 setiers of beans, 1 pound of wax, 8 capons, 17 hens, and 37 loads of wine." There were a multitude of other rights due to him, including the provostship fees, the fees on deeds, the tolls and furnaces of towns, the taxes on salt, on leather, corn, nuts; fees for the right of fishing; for the right of sporting, which last gave the lord a certain part or quarter of the game killed, and, in addition, the _dîme_ or tenth part of all the corn, wine, &c., &c. [Illustration: Fig. 28.--Jean Jouvenel des Ursins, Provost of the Merchants of Paris, and Michelle de Vitry, his Wife, in the Reign of Charles VI.--Fragment of a Picture of the Period, which was in the Chapel of the Ursinus, and is now in the Versailles Museum.] This worthy noble gathered in besides all this, during the religious festivals of the year, certain tributes in money on the estate of Montignac alone, amounting to as much as 20,000 pounds tournois. One can judge by this rough sketch, of the income he must have had, both in good and bad years, from his other domains in the rich county of Perigord. It must not be imagined that this was an exceptional case; all over the feudal territory the same state of things existed, and each lord farmed both his lands and the persons whom feudal right had placed under his dependence. [Illustration: Fig. 29.--Dues on Wines, granted to the Chapter of Tournai by King Chilperic.--From the Windows of the Cathedral of Tournai, Fifteenth Century.] To add to these already excessive rates and taxes, there were endless dues, under all shapes and names, claimed by the ecclesiastical lords (Figs. 29 and 30). And not only did the nobility make without scruple these enormous exactions, but the Crown supported them in avenging any act, however opposed to all sense of justice; so that the nobles were really placed above the great law of equality, without which the continuance of social order seemed normally impossible. The history of the city of Toulouse gives us a significant example on this subject. [Illustration: Fig. 30.--The Bishop of Tournai receiving the Tithe of Beer granted by King Chilpéric.--From the Windows of the Cathedral of Tournai, Fifteenth Century.] On Easter Day, 1335, some students of the university, who had passed the night of the anniversary of the resurrection of our Saviour in drinking, left the table half intoxicated, and ran about the town during the hours of service, beating pans and cauldrons, and making such a noise and disturbance, that the indignant preachers were obliged to stop in the middle of their discourses, and claimed the intervention of the municipal authorities of Toulouse. One of these, the lord of Gaure, went out of church with five sergeants, and tried himself to arrest the most turbulent of the band. But as he was seizing him by the body, one of his comrades gave the lord a blow with a dagger, which cut off his nose, lips, and part of his chin. This occurrence aroused the whole town. Toulouse had been insulted in the person of its first magistrate, and claimed vengeance. The author of the deed, named Aimeri de Bérenger, was seized, judged, condemned, and beheaded, and his body was suspended on the _spikes_ of the Château Narbonnais. [Illustration: Fig. 31.--Fellows of the University of Paris haranguing the Emperor Charles IV. in 1377.--From a Miniature of the Manuscript of the "Chroniques de St. Denis," No. 8395 (National Library of Paris).] Toulouse had to pay dearly for the respect shown to its municipal dignity. The parents of the student presented a petition to the King against the city, for having dared to execute a noble and to hang his body on a gibbet, in opposition to the sacred right which this noble had of appealing to the judgment of his peers. The Parliament of Paris finally decided the matter with the inflexible partiality to the rights of rank, and confiscated all the goods of the inhabitants, forced the principal magistrates to go on their knees before the house of Aimeri de Bérenger, and ask pardon; themselves to take down the body of the victim, and to have it publicly and honourably buried in the burial-ground of the Daurade. Such was the sentence and humiliation to which one of the first towns of the south was subjected, for having practised immediate justice on a noble, whilst it would certainly have suffered no vindication, if the culprit condemned to death had belonged to the middle or lower orders. We must nevertheless remember that heavy dues fell upon the privileged class themselves to a certain degree, and that if they taxed their poor vassals without mercy, they had in their turn often to reckon with their superiors in the feudal hierarchy. _Albere_, or right of shelter, was the principal charge imposed upon the noble. When a great baron visited his lands, his tenants were not only obliged to give him and his followers shelter, but also provisions and food, the nature and quality of which were all arranged beforehand with the most extraordinary minuteness. The lesser nobles took advantage sometimes of the power they possessed to repurchase this obligation; but the rich, on the contrary, were most anxious to seize the occasion of proudly displaying before their sovereign all the pomp in their power, at the risk even of mortgaging their revenues for several years, and of ruining their vassals. History is full of stories bearing witness to the extravagant prodigalities of certain nobles on such occasions. Payments in kind fell generally on the abbeys, up to 1158. That of St. Denis, which was very rich in lands, was charged with supplying the house and table of the King. This tax, which became heavier and heavier, eventually fell on the Parisians, who only succeeded in ridding themselves of it in 1374, when Charles V. made all the bourgeois of Paris noble. In the twelfth century, all furniture made of wood or iron which was found in the house of the Bishop at his death, became the property of the King. But in the fourteenth century, the abbots of St. Denis, St. Germain des Prés, St. Geneviève (Fig. 32), and a few priories in the neighbourhood of Paris, were only required to present the sovereign with two horse-loads of produce annually, so as to keep up the old system of fines. This system of rents and dues of all kinds was so much the basis of social organization in the Middle Ages, that it sometimes happened that the lower orders benefited by it. Thus the bed of the Bishop of Paris belonged, after his death, to the poor invalids of the Hôtel Dieu. The canons were also bound to leave theirs to that hospital, as an atonement for the sins which they had committed. The Bishops of Paris were required to give two very sumptuous repasts to their chapters at the feasts of St. Eloi and St. Paul. The holy men of St. Martin were obliged, annually, on the 10th of November, to offer to the first President of the Court of Parliament, two square caps, and to the first usher, a writing-desk and a pair of gloves. The executioner too received, from various monastic communities of the capital, bread, bottles of wine, and pigs' heads; and even criminals who were taken to Montfaucon to be hung had the right to claim bread and wine from the nuns of St. Catherine and the Filles Dieux, as they passed those establishments on their way to the gibbet. [Illustration: Fig. 32.--Front of the Ancient Church of the Abbey of Sainte-Geneviève, in Paris, founded by Clovis, and rebuilt from the Eleventh to Thirteenth Centuries.--State of the Building before its Destruction at the End of the Last Century.] Fines were levied everywhere, at all times, and for all sorts of reasons. Under the name of _épices_, the magistrates, judges, reporters, and counsel, who had at first only received sweetmeats and preserves as voluntary offerings, eventually exacted substantial tribute in current coin. Scholars who wished to take rank in the University sent some small pies, costing ten sols, to each examiner. Students in philosophy or theology gave two suppers to the president, eight to the other masters, besides presenting them with sweetmeats, &c. It would be an endless task to relate all the fines due by apprentices and companions before they could reach mastership in their various crafts, nor have we yet mentioned certain fines, which, from their strange or ridiculous nature, prove to what a pitch of folly men may be led under the influence of tyranny, vanity, or caprice. Thus, we read of vassals descending to the humiliating occupation of beating the water of the moat of the castle, in order to stop the noise of the frogs, during the illness of the mistress; we elsewhere find that at times the lord required of them to hop on one leg, to kiss the latch of the castle-gate, or to go through some drunken play in his presence, or sing a somewhat broad song before the lady. At Tulle, all the rustics who had married during the year were bound to appear on the Puy or Mont St. Clair. At twelve o'clock precisely, three children came out of the hospital, one beating a drum violently, the other two carrying a pot full of dirt; a herald called the names of the bride-grooms, and those who were absent or were unable to assist in breaking the pot by throwing stones at it, paid a fine. At Périgueux, the young couples had to give the consuls a pincushion of embossed leather or cloth of different colours; a woman marrying a second time was required to present them with an earthen pot containing twelve sticks of different woods; a woman marrying for the third time, a barrel of cinders passed thirteen times through the sieve, and thirteen spoons made of wood of fruit-trees; and, lastly, one coming to the altar for the fifth time was obliged to bring with her a small tub containing the excrement of a white hen! "The people of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance period were literally tied down with taxes and dues of all sorts," says M. Mary-Lafon. "If a few gleams of liberty reached them, it was only from a distance, and more in the hope of the future than as regarded the present. As an example of the way people were treated, a certain Lord of Laguène, spoken of in the old chronicles of the south, may be mentioned. Every year, this cunning baron assembled his tenants in the village square. A large maypole was planted, and on the top was attached a wren. The lord, pointing to the little bird, declared solemnly, that if any 'vilain' succeeded in piercing him with an arrow he should be exempt from that year's dues. The vilains shot away, but, to the great merriment of their lord, never hit, and so had to continue paying the dues." [Illustration: Fig. 33.--Ramparts of the Town of Aigues-Mortes, one of the Municipalities of Languedoc.] One can easily understand how such a system, legalised by law, hampered the efforts for freedom, which a sense of human dignity was constantly raising in the bosoms of the oppressed. The struggle was long, often bloody, and at times it seemed almost hopeless, for on both sides it was felt that the contest was between two principles which were incompatible, and one of which must necessarily end by annihilating the other. Any compromise between the complete slavery and the personal freedom of the lower orders, could only be a respite to enable these implacable adversaries to reinforce themselves, so as to resume with more vigour than ever this desperate combat, the issue of which was so long to remain doubtful. [Illustration: Louis IV Leaving Alexandria on the 24th of April 1507 To chastise the city of Genoa. From a miniature by Jean Marot. No 5091, Bibl. nat'le de Paris.] These efforts to obtain individual liberty displayed themselves more particularly in towns; but although they became almost universal in the west, they had not the same importance or character everywhere. The feudal system had not everywhere produced the same consequences. Thus, whilst in ancient Gaul it had absorbed all social vitality, we find that in Germany, the place of its origin, the Teutonic institutions of older date gave a comparative freedom to the labourers. In southern countries again we find the same beneficial effect from the Roman rule. On that long area of land reaching from the southern slope of the Cevennes to the Apennines, the hand of the barbarian had weighed much less heavily than on the rest of Europe. In those favoured provinces where Roman organization had outlived Roman patronage, it seems as if ancient splendour had never ceased to exist, and the elegance of customs re-flourished amidst the ruins. There, a sort of urban aristocracy always continued, as a balance against the nobles, and the counsel of elected _prud'hommes_, the syndics, jurors or _capitouls_, who in the towns replaced the Roman _honorati_ and _curiales_, still were considered by kings and princes as holding some position in the state. The municipal body, larger, more open than the old "ward," no longer formed a corporation of unwilling aristocrats enchained to privileges which ruined them. The principal cities on the Italian coast had already amassed enormous wealth by commerce, and displayed the most remarkable ardour, activity, and power. The Eternal City, which was disputed by emperors, popes, and barons of the Roman States, bestirred itself at times to snatch at the ancient phantom of republicanism; and this phantom was destined soon to change into reality, and another Rome, or rather a new Carthage, the lovely Venice, arose free and independent from the waves of the Adriatic (Fig. 34). In Lombardy, so thickly colonised by the German conquerors, feudalism, on the contrary, weighed heavily; but there, too, the cities were populous and energetic, and the struggle for supremacy continued for centuries in an uncompromising manner between the people and the nobles, between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. In the north and east of the Gallic territory, the instinct of resistance did not exist any the less, though perhaps it was more intermittent. In fact, in these regions we find ambitious nobles forestalling the action of the King, and in order to attach towns to themselves and their houses, suppressing the most obnoxious of the taxes, and at the same time granting legal guarantees. For this the Counts of Flanders became celebrated, and the famous Héribert de Vermandois was noted for being so exacting in his demands with the great, and yet so popular with the small. [Illustration: Fig. 34.--View of St. Mark's Place, Venice, Sixteenth Century, after Cesare Vecellio.] The eleventh century, during which feudal power rose to its height, was also the period when a reaction set in of the townspeople against the nobility. The spirit of the city revived with that of the bourgeois (a name derived from the Teutonic word _burg_, habitation) and infused a feeling of opposition to the system which followed the conquest of the Teutons. "But," says M. Henri Martin, "what reappeared was not the Roman municipality of the Empire, stained by servitude, although surrounded with glittering pomp and gorgeous arts, but it was something coarse and almost semi-barbarous in form, though strong and generous at core, and which, as far as the difference of the times would allow, rather reminds us of the small republics which existed previous to the Roman Empire." Two strong impulses, originating from two totally dissimilar centres of action, irresistibly propelled this great social revolution, with its various and endless aspects, affecting all central Europe, and being more or less felt in the west, the north, and the south. On one side, the Greek and Latin partiality for ancient corporations, modified by a democratic element, and an innate feeling of opposition characteristic of barbaric tribes; and on the other, the free spirit and equality of the old Celtic tribes rising suddenly against the military hierarchy, which was the offspring of conquest. Europe was roused by the double current of ideas which simultaneously urged her on to a new state of civilisation, and more particularly to a new organization of city life. Italy was naturally destined to be the country where the new trials of social regeneration were to be made; but she presented the greatest possible variety of customs, laws, and governments, including Emperor, Pope, bishops, and feudal princes. In Tuscany and Liguria, the march towards liberty was continued almost without effort; whilst in Lombardy, on the contrary, the feudal resistance was very powerful. Everywhere, however, cities became more or less completely enfranchised, though some more rapidly than others. In Sicily, feudalism swayed over the countries; but in the greater part of the peninsula, the democratic spirit of the cities influenced the enfranchisement of the rural population. The feudal caste was in fact dissolved; the barons were transformed into patricians of the noble towns which gave their republican magistrates the old title of consuls. The Teutonic Emperor in vain sought to seize and turn to his own interest the sovereignty of the people, who had shaken off the yokes of his vassals: the signal of war was immediately given by the newly enfranchised masses; and the imperial eagle was obliged to fly before the banners of the besieged cities. Happy indeed might the cities of Italy have been had they not forgotten, in their prosperity, that union alone could give them the possibility of maintaining that liberty which they so freely risked in continual quarrels amongst one another! [Illustration: Fig. 35.--William, Duke of Normandy, accompanied by Eustatius, Count of Boulogne, and followed by his Knights in arms.--Military Dress of the Eleventh Century, from Bayeux Tapestry said to have been worked by Queen Matilda.] The Italian movement was immediately felt on the other side of the Alps. In Provence, Septimanie, and Aquitaine, we find, in the eleventh century, cities which enjoyed considerable freedom. Under the name of communities and universities, which meant that all citizens were part of the one body, they jointly interfered in the general affairs of the kingdom to which they belonged. Their magistrates were treated on a footing of equality with the feudal nobility, and although the latter at first would only recognise them as "good men" or notables, the consuls knew how to make a position for themselves in the hierarchy. If the consulate, which was a powerful expression of the most prominent system of independence, did no succeed in suppressing feudalism in Provence as in Italy, it at least so transformed it, that it deprived it of its most unjust and insupportable elements. At Toulouse, for instance (where the consuls were by exception called _capitouls_, that is to say, heads of the chapters or councils of the city), the lord of the country seemed less a feudal prince in his capital, than an honorary magistrate of the bourgeoisie. Avignon added to her consuls two _podestats_ (from the Latin _potestas_, power). At Marseilles, the University of the high city was ruled by a republic under the presidency of the Count of Provence, although the lower city was still under the sovereignty of a viscount. Périgueux, which was divided into two communities, "the great and the small fraternity," took up arms to resist the authority of the Counts of Périgord; and Arles under its _podestats_ was governed for some time as a free and imperial town. Amongst the constitutions which were established by the cities, from the eleventh to the sixteenth centuries, we find admirable examples of administration and government, so that one is struck with admiration at the efforts of intelligence and patriotism, often uselessly lavished on such small political arenas. The consulate, which nominally at least found its origin in the ancient grandeur of southern regions, did not spread itself beyond Lyons. In the centre of France, at Poictiers, Tours, Moulin, &c., the urban progress only manifested itself in efforts which were feeble and easily suppressed; but in the north, on the contrary, in the provinces between the Seine and the Rhine, and even between the Seine and the Loire, the system of franchise took footing and became recognised. In some places, the revolution was effected without difficulty, but in others it gave rise to the most determined struggles. In Normandy, for instance, under the active and intelligent government of the dukes of the race of Roll or Rollon, the middle class was rich and even warlike. It had access to the councils of the duchy; and when it was contemplated to invade England, the Duke William (Fig. 35) found support from the middle class, both in money and men. The case was the same in Flanders, where the towns of Ghent (Fig. 36), of Bruges, of Ypres, after being enfranchised but a short time developed with great rapidity. But in the other counties of western France, the greater part of the towns were still much oppressed by the counts and bishops. If some obtained certain franchises, these privileges were their ultimate ruin, owing to the ill faith of their nobles. A town between the Loire and the Seine gave the signal which caused the regeneration of the North. The inhabitants of Mans formed a community or association, and took an oath that they would obtain and maintain certain rights. They rebelled about 1070, and forced the count and his noble vassals to grant them the freedom which they had sworn to obtain, though William of Normandy very soon restored the rebel city to order, and dissolved the presumptuous community. However, the example soon bore fruit. Cambrai rose in its turn and proclaimed the "Commune," and although its bishop, aided by treason and by the Count of Hainault, reduced it to obedience, it only seemed to succumb for a time, to renew the struggle with greater success at a subsequent period. [Illustration: Fig. 36.--Civic Guard of Ghent (Brotherhood of St. Sebastian), from a painting on the Wall of the Chapel of St. John and St. Paul, Ghent, near the Gate of Bruges.] We have just mentioned the Commune; but we must not mistake the true meaning of this word, which, under a Latin form (_communitas_), expresses originally a Germanic idea, and in its new form a Christian mode of living. Societies of mutual defence, guilds, &c., had never disappeared from Germanic and Celtic countries; and, indeed, knighthood itself was but a brotherhood of Christian warriors. The societies of the _Paix de Dieu_, and of the _Trève de Dieu_, were encouraged by the clergy in order to stop the bloody quarrels of the nobility, and formed in reality great religious guilds. This idea of a body of persons taking some common oath to one another, of which feudalism gave so striking an example, could not fail to influence the minds of the rustics and the lower classes, and they only wanted the opportunity which the idea of the Commune at once gave them of imitating their superiors. They too took oaths, and possessed their bodies and souls in "common;" they seized, by force of strategy, the ramparts of their towns; they elected mayors, aldermen, and jurors, who were charged to watch over the interests of their association. They swore to spare neither their goods, their labour, nor their blood, in order to free themselves; and not content with defending themselves behind barricades or chains which closed the streets, they boldly took the offensive against the proud feudal chiefs before whom their fathers had trembled, and they forced the nobles, who now saw themselves threatened by this armed multitude, to acknowledge their franchise by a solemn covenant. It does not follow that everywhere the Commune was established by means of insurrection, for it was obtained after all sorts of struggles; and franchises were sold in some places for gold, and in others granted by a more or less voluntary liberality. Everywhere the object was the same; everywhere they struggled or negotiated to upset, by a written constitution or charter, the violence and arbitrary rule under which they had so long suffered, and to replace by an annual and fixed rent, under the protection of an independent and impartial law, the unlimited exactions and disguised plundering so long made by the nobility and royalty. Circumstanced as they were, what other means had they to attain this end but ramparts and gates, a common treasury, a permanent military force, and magistrates who were both administrators, judges, and captains? The hôtel de ville, or mansion-house, immediately became a sort of civic temple, where the banner of the Commune, the emblems of unity, and the seal which sanctioned the municipal acts were preserved. Then arose the watch-towers, where the watchmen were unceasingly posted night and day, and whence the alarm signal was ever ready to issue its powerful sounds when danger threatened the city. These watch-towers, the monuments of liberty, became as necessary for the burghers as the clock-towers of their cathedrals, whose brilliant peals and joyous chimes gave zest to the popular feasts (Fig. 37). The mansion-houses built in Flanders from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries, under municipal influence, are marvels of architecture. [Illustration: Fig. 37.--Chimes of the Clock of St. Lambert of Liége.] Who is there who could thoroughly describe or even appreciate all the happy or unhappy vicissitudes relating to the establishment of the Communes? We read of the Commune of Cambrai, four times created, four times destroyed, and which was continually at war with the Bishops; the Commune of Beauvais, sustained on the contrary by the diocesan prelate against two nobles who possessed feudal rights over it; Laon, a commune bought for money from the bishop, afterwards confirmed by the King, and then violated by fraud and treachery, and eventually buried in the blood of its defenders. We read also of St. Quentin, where the Count of Vermandois and his vassals voluntarily swore to maintain the right of the bourgeois, and scrupulously respected their oath. In many other localities the feudal dignitaries took alarm simply at the name of Commune, and whereas they would not agree to the very best arrangements under this terrible designation, they did not hesitate to adopt them when called either the "laws of friendship," the "peace of God," or the "institutions of peace." At Lisle, for instance, the bourgeois magistrates took the name of _appeasers_, or watchers over friendship. At Aire, in Artois, the members of friendship mutually, not only helped one another against the enemy, but also assisted one another in distress. [Illustration: Fig. 38.--The Deputies of the burghers of Ghent, in revolt against their Sovereign Louis II., Count of Flanders, come to beg him to pardon them, and to return to their Town. 1397--Miniature from Froissart, No. 2644 (National Library of Paris)] Amiens deserves the first place amongst the cities which dearly purchased their privileges. The most terrible and sanguinary war was sustained by the bourgeois against their count and lord of the manor, assisted by King Louis le Gros, who had under similar circumstances just taken the part of the nobles of Laon. From Amiens, which, having been triumphant, became a perfect municipal republic, the example propagated itself throughout the rest of Picardy, the Isle of France, Normandy, Brittany, and Burgundy, and by degrees, without any revolutionary shocks, reached the region of Lyons, where the consulate, a characteristic institution of southern Communes, ended. From Flanders, also, the movement spread in the direction of the German Empire; and there, too, the struggle was animated, and victorious against the aristocracy, until at last the great system of enfranchisement prevailed; and the cities of the west and south formed a confederation against the nobles, whilst those in the north formed the famous Teutonic Hanse, so celebrated for its maritime commerce. The centre of France slowly followed the movement; but its progress was considerably delayed by the close influence of royalty, which sometimes conceded large franchises, and sometimes suppressed the least claims to independence. The kings, who willingly favoured Communes on the properties of their neighbours, did not so much care to see them forming on their own estates; unless the exceptional position and importance of any town required a wise exercise of tolerance. Thus Orleans, situated in the heart of the royal domains, was roughly repulsed in its first movement; whilst Mantes, which was on the frontier of the Duchy of Normandy, and still under the King of England, had but to ask in order to receive its franchise from the King of France. It was particularly in the royal domains that cities were to be found, which, although they did not possess the complete independence of communes, had a certain amount of liberty and civil guarantees. They had neither the right of war, the watch-tower, nor the exclusive jurisdiction over their elected magistrates, for the bailiffs and the royal provosts represented the sovereign amongst them (Fig. 39). [Illustration: Fig. 39.--Bailliage, or Tribunal of the King's Bailiff.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Wood in the Work of Josse Damhoudere, "Praxis Rerum Civilium." (Antwerp, 1557, in 4to.).] In Paris, less than anywhere, could the kings consent to the organization of an independent political System, although that city succeeded in creating for itself a municipal existence. The middle-class influence originated in a Gallo-Roman corporation. The Company of _Nautes_ or "the Corporation of the Water Trade," formed a centre round which were successively attached various bodies of different trades. Gradually a strong concourse of civic powers was established, which succeeded in electing a municipal council, composed of a provost of merchants, four aldermen, and twenty-six councillors of the town. This council afterwards succeeded in overstepping the royal influence at difficult times, and was destined to play a prominent part in history. There also sprang up a lower order of towns or boroughs than these bourgeois cities, which were especially under the Crown. Not having sufficient strength to claim a great amount of liberty, they were obliged to be satisfied with a few privileges, conceded to them by the nobles, for the most part with a political end. These were the Free Towns or New Towns which we have already named. However it came about, it is certain that although during the tenth century feudal power was almost supreme in Europe, as early as the twelfth century the municipal system had gained great weight, and was constantly progressing until the policy of the kingdom became developed on a more and more extended basis, so that it was then necessary for it to give up its primitive nature, and to participate in the great movement of consolidisation and national unity. In this way the position of the large towns in the state relatively lost their individual position, and became somewhat analogous, as compared with the kingdom at large, to that formerly held by bourgeois in the cities. Friendly ties arose between provinces; and distinct and rival interests were effaced by the general aspiration towards common objects. The towns were admitted to the states general, and the citizens of various regions mixed as representatives of the _Tiers Etat_. Three orders thus met, who were destined to struggle for predominance in the future. We must call attention to the fact that, as M. Henri Martin says, by an apparent contradiction, the fall of the Communes declared itself in inverse ratio to the progress of the _Tiers Etat_. By degrees, as the government became more settled from the great fiefs being absorbed by the Crown, and as parliament and other courts of appeal which emanated from the middle class extended their high judiciary and military authority, so the central power, organized under monarchical form, must necessarily have been less disposed to tolerate the local independence of the Communes. The State replaced the Commune for everything concerning justice, war, and administration. No doubt some valuable privileges were lost; but that was only an accidental circumstance, for a great social revolution was produced, which cleared off at once all the relics of the old age; and when the work of reconstruction terminated, homage was rendered to the venerable name of "Commune," which became uniformly applied to all towns, boroughs, or villages into which the new spirit of the same municipal system was infused. [Illustration: Fig. 40.--Various Arms of the Fifteenth Century.] Private Life in the Castles, the Towns, and the Rural Districts. The Merovingian Castles.--Pastimes of the Nobles; Hunting, War.--Domestic Arrangements.--Private Life of Charlemagne.--Domestic Habits under the Carlovingians.--Influence of Chivalry.--Simplicity of the Court of Philip Angustus not imitated by his Successors.--Princely Life of the Fifteenth Century.--The bringing up of Latour Landry, a Noble of Anjou.--Varlets, Pages, Esquires, Maids of Honour.--Opulence of the Bourgeoisie.--"Le Menagier de Paris."--Ancient Dwellings.--State of Rustics at various Periods.--"Rustic Sayings," by Noël du Fail. Augustin Thierry, taking Gregory of Tours, the Merovingian Herodotus, as an authority, thus describes a royal domain under the first royal dynasty of France:-- "This dwelling in no way possessed the military aspect of the château of the Middle Ages; it was a large building surrounded with porticos of Roman architecture, sometimes built of carefully polished and sculptured wood, which in no way was wanting in elegance. Around the main body of the building were arranged the dwellings of the officers of the palace, either foreigners or Romans, and those of the chiefs of companies, who, according to Germanic custom, had placed themselves and their warriors under the King, that is to say, under a special engagement of vassalage and fidelity. Other houses, of less imposing appearance, were occupied by a great number of families, who worked at all sorts of trades, such as jewellery, the making of arms, weaving, currying, the embroidering of silk and gold, cotton, &c. "Farm-buildings, paddocks, cow-houses, sheepfolds, barns, the houses of agriculturists, and the cabins of the serfs, completed the royal village, which perfectly resembled, although on a larger scale, the villages of ancient Germany. There was something too in the position of these dwellings which resembled the scenery beyond the Rhine; the greater number of them were on the borders, and some few in the centre of great forests, which have since been partly destroyed, and the remains of which we so much admire." [Illustration: Fig. 41.--St. Remy, Bishop of Rheims, begging of Clovis the restitution of the Sacred Vase taken by the Franks in the Pillage of Soissons.--Costumes of the Court of Burgundy in the Fifteenth Century.--Fac-simile of a Miniature on a Manuscript of the "History of the Emperors" (Library of the Arsenal).] Although historical documents are not very explicit respecting those remote times, it is only sufficient to study carefully a very small portion of the territory in order to form some idea of the manners and customs of the Franks; for in the royal domain we find the existence of all classes, from the sovereign himself down to the humblest slave. As regards the private life, however, of the different classes in this elementary form of society, we have but approximate and very imperfect notions. It is clear, however, that as early as the beginning of the Merovingian race, there was much more luxury and comfort among the upper classes than is generally supposed. All the gold and silver furniture, all the jewels, and all the rich stuffs which the Gallo-Romans had amassed in their sumptuous dwellings, had not been destroyed by the barbarians. The Frank Kings had appropriated the greater part; and the rest had fallen into the hands of the chiefs of companies in the division of spoil. A well-known anecdote, namely, that concerning the Vase of Soissons (Fig. 41), which King Clovis wished to preserve, and which a soldier broke with an axe, proves that many gems of ancient art must have disappeared, owing to the ignorance and brutality of the conquerors; although it is equally certain that the latter soon adopted the tastes and customs of the native population. At first, they appropriated everything that flattered their pride and sensuality. This is how the material remains of the civilisation of the Gauls were preserved in the royal and noble residences, the churches, and the monasteries. Gregory of Tours informs us, that when Frédégonde, wife of Chilpéric, gave the hand of her daughter Rigouthe to the son of the Gothic king, fifty chariots were required to carry away all the valuable objects which composed the princess's dower. A strange family scene, related by the same historian, gives us an idea of the private habits of the court of that terrible queen of the Franks. "The mother and daughter had frequent quarrels, which sometimes ended in the most violent encounters. Frédégonde said one day to Rigouthe, 'Why do you continually trouble me? Here are the goods of your father, take them and do as you like with them.' And conducting her to a room where she locked up her treasures, she opened a large box filled with valuables. After having pulled out a great number of jewels which she gave to her daughter, she said, 'I am tired; put your own hands in the box, and take what you find.' Rigouthe bent down to reach the objects placed at the bottom of the box; upon which Frédégonde immediately lowered the lid on her daughter, and pressed upon it with so much force that the eyes began to start out of the princess's head. A maid began screaming, 'Help! my mistress is being murdered by her mother!' and Rigouthe was saved from an untimely end." It is further related that this was only one of the minor crimes attributed by history to Frédégonde _the Terrible_, who always carried a dagger or poison about with her. Amongst the Franks, as amongst all barbaric populations, hunting was the pastime preferred when war was not being waged. The Merovingian nobles were therefore determined hunters, and it frequently happened that hunting occupied whole weeks, and took them far from their homes and families. But when the season or other circumstances prevented them from waging war against men or beasts, they only cared for feasting and gambling. To these occupations they gave themselves up, with a determination and wildness well worthy of those semi-civilised times. It was the custom for invited guests to appear armed at the feasts, which were the more frequent, inasmuch as they were necessarily accompanied with religious ceremonies. It often happened that these long repasts, followed by games of chance, were stained with blood, either in private quarrels or in a general _mêlée_. One can easily imagine the tumult which must have arisen in a numerous assembly when the hot wine and other fermented drinks, such as beer, &c., had excited every one to the highest pitch of unchecked merriment. [Illustration: Fig. 42.--Costumes of the Women of the Court from the Sixth to the Tenth Centuries, from Documents collected by H. de Vielcastel, in the great Libraries of Europe.] Some of the Merovingian kings listened to the advice of the ministers of the Catholic religion, and tried to reform these noisy excesses, and themselves abandoned the evil custom. For this purpose they received at their tables bishops, who blessed the assembly at the commencement of the meal, and were charged besides to recite chapters of holy writ, or to sing hymns out of the divine service, so as to edify and occupy the minds of the guests. Gregory of Tours bears witness to the happy influence of the presence of bishops at the tables of the Frank kings and nobles; he relates, too, that Chilpéric, who was very proud of his theological and secular knowledge, liked, when dining, to discuss, or rather to pronounce authoritatively his opinion on questions of grammar, before his companions in arms, who, for the most part, neither knew how to read nor write; he even went as far as to order three ancient Greek letters to be added to the Latin alphabet. [Illustration: Fig. 43.--Queen Frédégonde, seated on her Throne, gives orders to two young Men of Térouanne to assassinate Sigebert, King of Austrasia.--Window in the Cathedral of Tournai, Fifteenth Century.] The private properties of the Frank kings were immense, and produced enormous revenues. These monarchs had palaces in almost all the large towns; at Bourges, Châlons-sur-Saône, Châlons-sur-Marne, Dijon, Étampes, Metz, Langres, Mayence, Rheims, Soissons, Tours, Toulouse, Trèves, Valenciennes, Worms, &c. In Paris, they occupied the vast residence now known as the _Thermes de Julien_ (Hôtel de Cluny), which then extended from the hill of St. Geneviève as far as the Seine; but they frequently left it for their numerous villas in the neighbourhood, on which occasions they were always accompanied by their treasury. All these residences were built on the same plan. High walls surrounded the palace. The Roman _atrium_, preserved under the name of _proaulium_ (_preau_, ante-court), was placed in front of the _salutorium_ (hall of reception), where visitors were received. The _consistorium_, or great circular hall surrounded with seats, served for legislation, councils, public assemblies, and other solemnities, at which the kings displayed their royal pomp. The _trichorium_, or dining-room, was generally the largest hall in the palace; two rows of columns divided it into three parts; one for the royal family, one for the officers of the household, and the third for the guests, who were always very numerous. No person of rank visiting the King could leave without sitting at his table, or at least draining a cup to his health. The King's hospitality was magnificent, especially on great religious festivals such as Christmas and Easter. The royal apartments were divided into winter and summer rooms. In order to regulate the temperature hot or cold water was used, according to the season; this circulated in the pipes of the _hypocauste_, or the subterranean furnace which warmed the baths. The rooms with chimneys were called _epicaustoria_ (stoves), and it was the custom hermetically to close these when any one wished to be anointed with ointments and aromatic essences. In the same manner as the Gallo-Roman houses, the palaces of the Frank kings and principal nobles of ecclesiastical or military order had _thermes_, or bath-rooms: to the _thermes_ were attached a _colymbum_, or washhouse, a gymnasium for bodily exercise, and a _hypodrome_, or covered gallery for exercise, which must not be confounded with the _hippodrome_, a circus where horse-races took place. Sometimes after the repast, in the interval between two games of dice, the nobles listened to a bard, who sang the brilliant deeds of their ancestors in their native tongue. Under the government of Charlemagne, the private life of his subjects seems to have been less rough and coarse, although they did not entirely give up their turbulent pleasures. Science and letters, for a long time buried in monasteries, reappeared like beautiful exiles at the imperial court, and social life thereby gained a little charm and softness. Charlemagne had created in his palace, under the direction of Alcuin, a sort of academy called the "School of the Palace," which followed him everywhere. The intellectual exercises of this school generally brought together all the members of the imperial family, as well as all the persons of the household. Charlemagne, in fact, was himself one of the most attentive followers of the lessons given by Alcuin. He was indeed the principal interlocutor and discourser at the discussions, which were on all subjects, religions, literary, and philosophical. [Illustration: Fig. 44.--Costumes of the Nobility from the Seventh to the Ninth Centuries, from Documents gathered by H. de Vielcastel from the great Libraries of Europe.] Charlemagne took as much pains with the administration of his palace as he did with that of his States. In his "Capitulaires," a work he wrote on legislature, we find him descending to the minutest details in that respect. For instance, he not only interested himself in his warlike and hunting equipages, but also in his kitchen and pleasure gardens. He insisted upon knowing every year the number of his oxen, horses, and goats; he calculated the produce of the sale of fruits gathered in his orchards, which were not required for the use of his house; he had a return of the number of fish caught in his ponds; he pointed out the shrubs best calculated for ornamenting his garden, and the vegetables which were required for his table, &c. The Emperor generally assumed the greatest simplicity in his dress. His daily attire consisted of a linen shirt and drawers, and a woollen tunic fastened with a silk belt. Over this tunic he threw a cloak of blue stuff, very long behind and before, but very short on each side, thus giving freedom to his arms to use his sword, which he always wore. On his feet he wore bands of stuffs of various colours, crossed over one another, and covering his legs also. In winter, when he travelled or hunted on horseback, he threw over his shoulders a covering of otter or sheepskin. The changes in fashion which the custom of the times necessitated, but to which he would never submit personally, induced him to issue several strenuous orders, which, however, in reality had hardly any effect. He was most simple as regards his food and drink, and made a habit of having pious or historical works read to him during his repasts. He devoted the morning, which with him began in summer at sunrise, and in winter earlier, to the political administration of his empire. He dined at twelve with his family; the dukes and chiefs of various nations first waited on him, and then took their places at the table, and were waited on in their turn by the counts, prefects, and superior officers of the court, who dined after them. When these had finished the different chiefs of the household sat down, and they were succeeded lastly by servants of the lower order, who often did not dine till midnight, and had to content themselves with what was left. When occasion required, however, this powerful Emperor knew how to maintain the pomp and dignity of his station; but as soon as he had done what was necessary, either for some great religious festival or otherwise, he returned, as if by instinct, to his dear and native simplicity. It must be understood that the simple tastes of Charlemagne were not always shared by the princes and princesses of his family, nor by the magnates of his court (Fig. 45). Poets and historians have handed down to us descriptions of hunts, feasts, and ceremonies, at which a truly Asiatic splendour was displayed. Eginhard, however, assures us that the sons and daughters of the King were brought up under their father's eye in liberal studios; that, to save them from the vice of idleness, Charlemagne required his sons to devote themselves to all bodily exercises, such as horsemanship, handling of arms, &c., and his daughters to do needlework and to spin. From what is recorded, however, of the frivolous habits and irregular morals of these princesses, it is evident that they but imperfectly realised the end of their education. [Illustration: Fig. 45.--Costumes of the Ladies of the Nobility in the Ninth Century, from a Miniature in the Bible of Charles the Bold (National Library of Paris).] Science and letters, which for a time were brought into prominence by Charlemagne and also by his son Louis, who was very learned and was considered skilful in translating and expounding Scripture, were, however, after the death of these two kings, for a long time banished to the seclusion of the cloisters, owing to the hostile rivalry of their successors, which favoured the attacks of the Norman pirates. All the monuments and relics of the Gallo-Roman civilisation, which the great Emperor had collected, disappeared in the civil wars, or were gradually destroyed by the devastations of the northerners. The vast empire which Charlemagne had formed became gradually split up, so that from a dread of social destruction, in order to protect churches and monasteries, as well as castles and homesteads, from the attacks of internal as well as foreign enemies, towers and impregnable fortresses began to rise in all parts of Europe, and particularly in France. [Illustration: Fig. 46.--Towers of the Castle of Sémur, and of the Castle of Nogent-le-Rotrou (Present Condition).--Specimens of Towers of the Thirteenth Century.] During the first period of feudalism, that is to say from the middle of the ninth to the middle of the twelfth centuries, the inhabitants of castles had little time to devote to the pleasures of private life. They had not only to be continually under arms for the endless quarrels of the King and the great chiefs; but they had also to oppose the Normans on one side, and the Saracens on the other, who, being masters of the Spanish peninsula, spread like the rising tide in the southern counties of Languedoc and Provence. It is true that the Carlovingian warriors obtained a handsome and rich reward for these long and sanguinary efforts, for at last they seized upon the provinces and districts which had been originally entrusted to their charge, and the origin of their feudal possession was soon so far forgotten, that their descendants pretended that they held the lands, which they had really usurped regardless of their oath, from heaven and their swords. It is needless to say, that at that time the domestic life in these castles must have been dull and monotonous; although, according to M. Guizot, the loneliness which was the resuit of this rough and laborious life, became by degrees the pioneer of civilisation. "When the owner of the fief left his castle, his wife remained there, though in a totally different position from that which women generally held. She remained as mistress, representing her husband, and was charged with the defence and honour of the fief. This high and exalted position, in the centre of domestic life, often gave to women an opportunity of displaying dignity, courage, virtue, and intelligence, which would otherwise have remained hidden, and, no doubt, contributed greatly to their moral development, and to the general improvement of their condition. [Illustration: Fig. 47.--Woman under the Safeguard of Knighthood, allegorical Scene.--Costume of the End of the Fifteenth Century, from a Miniature in a Latin Psalm Book (Manuscript No. 175, National Library of Paris).] "The importance of children, and particularly of the eldest son, was greater in feudal houses than elsewhere.... The eldest son of the noble was, in the eyes of his father and of all his followers, a prince and heir-presumptive, and the hope and glory of the dynasty. These feelings, and the domestic pride and affection of the various members one to another, united to give families much energy and power..... Add to this the influence of Christian ideas, and it will be understood how this lonely, dull, and hard castle life was, nevertheless, favourable to the development of domestic society, and to that improvement in the condition of women which plays such a great part in the history of our civilisation." [Illustration: Fig. 48.--Court of Love in Provence in the Fourteenth Century (Manuscript of the National Library of Paris).] Whatever opinion may be formed of chivalry, it is impossible to deny the influence which this institution exercised on private life in the Middle Ages. It considerably modified custom, by bringing the stronger sex to respect and defend the weaker. These warriors, who were both simple and externally rough and coarse, required association and intercourse with women to soften them (Fig. 47). In taking women and helpless widows under their protection, they were necessarily more and more thrown in contact with them. A deep feeling of veneration for woman, inspired by Christianity, and, above all, by the worship of the Virgin Mary, ran throughout the songs of the troubadours, and produced a sort of sentimental reverence for the gentle sex, which culminated in the authority which women had in the courts of love (Fig. 48). We have now reached the reign of Philip Augustus, that is to say, the end of the twelfth century. This epoch is remarkable, not only for its political history, but also for its effect on civilisation. Christianity had then considerably influenced the world; arts, sciences, and letters, animated by its influence, again began to appear, and to add charms to the leisure of private life. The castles were naturally the first to be affected by this poetical and intellectual regeneration, although it has been too much the custom to exaggerate the ignorance of those who inhabited them. We are too apt to consider the warriors of the Middle Ages as totally devoid of knowledge, and as hardly able to sign their names, as far as the kings and princes are concerned. This is quite an error; for many of the knights composed poems which exhibit evidence of their high literary culture. It was, in fact, the epoch of troubadours, who might be called professional poets and actors, who went from country to country, and from castle to castle, relating stories of good King Artus of Brittany and of the Knights of the Round Table; repeating historical poems of the great Emperor Charlemagne and his followers. These minstrels were always accompanied by jugglers and instrumentalists, who formed a travelling troop (Fig. 49), having no other mission than to amuse and instruct their feudal hosts. After singing a few fragments of epics, or after the lively recital of some ancient fable, the jugglers would display their art or skill in gymnastic feats or conjuring, which were the more appreciated by the spectators, in that the latter were more or less able to compete with them. These wandering troops acted small comedies, taken from incidents of the times. Sometimes, too, the instrumentalists formed an orchestra, and dancing commenced. It may be here remarked that dancing at this epoch consisted of a number of persons forming large circles, and turning to the time of the music or the rhythm of the song. At least the dances of the nobles are thus represented in the MSS. of the Middle Ages. To these amusements were added games of calculation and chance, the fashion for which had much increased, and particularly such games as backgammon, draughts, and chess, to which certain knights devoted all their leisure. From the reign of Philip Augustus, a remarkable change seems to have taken place in the private life of kings, princes, and nobles. Although his domains and revenues had always been on the increase, this monarch never displayed, in ordinary circumstances at least, much magnificence. The accounts of his private expenses for the years 1202 and 1203 have been preserved, which enable us to discover some curious details bearing witness to the extreme simplicity of the court at that period. The household of the King or royal family was still very small: one chancellor, one chaplain, a squire, a butler, a few Knights of the Temple, and some sergeants-at-arms were the only officers of the palace. The king and princes of his household only changed apparel three times during the year. [Illustration: Fig. 49.--King David playing on the Lyre, surrounded by four Musicians.--Costumes of the Thirteenth Century (from a Miniature in a Manuscript Psalter in the Imperial Library, Paris).] The children of the King slept in sheets of serge, and their nurses were dressed in gowns of dark-coloured woollen stuff, called _brunette_. The royal cloak, which was of scarlet, was jewelled, but the King only wore it on great ceremonies. At the same time enormous expenses were incurred for implements of war, arrows, helmets with visors, chariots, and for the men-at-arms whom the King kept in his pay. Louis IX. personally kept up almost similar habits. The Sire de Joinville tells us in his "Chronicles," that the holy King on his return from his first crusade, in order to repair the damage done to his treasury by the failure of this expedition, would no longer wear costly furs nor robes of scarlet, and contented himself with common stuffs trimmed with hare-skin. He nevertheless did not diminish the officers of his household, which had already become numerous; and being no doubt convinced that royalty required magnificence, he surrounded himself with as much pomp as the times permitted. Under the two Philips, his successors, this magnificence increased, and descended to the great vassals, who were soon imitated by the knights "bannerets." There seemed to be a danger of luxury becoming so great, and so general in all classes of feudal society, that in 1294 an order of the King was issued, regulating in the minutest details the expenses of each person according to his rank in the State, or the fortune which he could prove. But this law had the fate of all such enactments, and was either easily evaded, or was only partially enforced, and that with great difficulty. Another futile attempt to put it in practice was made in 1306, when the splendour of dress, of equipages, and of table had become still greater and more ruinous, and had descended progressively to the bourgeois and merchants. It must be stated in praise of Philip le Bel (Fig. 50) that, notwithstanding the failure of his attempts to arrest the progress of luxury, he was not satisfied with making laws against the extravagances of his subjects, for we find that he studied a strict economy in his own household, which recalled the austere times of Philip Augustus. Thus, in the curious regulations relating to the domestic arrangements of the palace, the Queen, Jeanne de Navarre, was only allowed two ladies and three maids of honour in her suite, and she is said to have had only two four-horse carriages, one for herself and the other for these ladies. In another place these regulations require that a butler, specially appointed, "should buy all the cloth and furs for the king, take charge of the key of the cupboards where these are kept, know the quantity given to the tailors to make clothes, and check the accounts when the tailors send in their claims for the price of their work." [Illustration: Fig. 50.--King Philip le Bel in War-dress, on the Occasion of his entering Paris in 1304, after having conquered the Communes of Flanders.--Equestrian Statue placed in Notre Dame, Paris, and destroyed in 1772.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut from Thevet's "Cosmographie Universelle," 1575.] After the death of the pious Jeanne de Navarre, to whom perhaps we must attribute the wise measures of her husband, Philip le Bel, the expenses of the royal household materially increased, especially on the occasions of the marriages of the three young sons of the King, from 1305 to 1307. Gold, diamonds, pearls, and precious stones were employed profusely, both for the King's garments and for those of the members of the royal family. The accounts of 1307 mention considerable sums paid for carpets, counterpanes, robes, worked linen, &c. A chariot of state, ornamented and covered with paintings, and gilded like the back of an altar, is also mentioned, and must have been a great change to the heavy vehicles used for travelling in those days. Down to the reign of St. Louis the furniture of castles had preserved a character of primitive simplicity which did not, however, lack grandeur. The stone remained uncovered in most of the halls, or else it was whitened with mortar and ornamented with moulded roses and leaves, coloured in distemper. Against the wall, and also against the pillars supporting the arches, arms and armour of all sorts were hung, arranged in suits, and interspersed with banners and pennants or emblazoned standards. In the great middle hall, or dining-room, there was a long massive oak table, with benches and stools of the same wood. At the end of this table, there was a large arm-chair, overhung with a canopy of golden or silken stuff, which was occupied by the owner of the castle, and only relinquished by him in favour of his superior or sovereign. Often the walls of the hall of state were hung with tapestry, representing groves with cattle, heroes of ancient history, or events in the romance of chivalry. The floor was generally paved with hard stone, or covered with enamelled tiles. It was carefully strewn with scented herbs in summer, and straw in winter. Philip Augustus ordered that the Hôtel Dieu of Paris should receive the herbs and straw which was daily removed from the floors of his palace. It was only very much later that this troublesome system was replaced by mats and carpets. The bedrooms were generally at the top of the towers, and had little else by way of furniture, besides a very large bed, with or without curtains, a box in which clothes were kept, and which also served as a seat, and a _priedieu_ chair, which sometimes contained prayer and other books of devotion. These lofty rooms, whose thick walls kept out the heat in summer, and the cold in winter, were only lighted by a small window or loophole, closed with a square of oiled paper or of thin horn. A great change took place in the abodes of the nobility in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries (Fig. 51). We find, for instance, in Sauval's "History and Researches of the Antiquities of the City of Paris," that the abodes of the kings of the first dynasty had been transformed into Palaces of Justice by Philip le Bel; the same author also gives us a vivid description of the Château du Louvre, and the Hôtel St. Paul, which the kings inhabited when their court was in the capital. But even without examining into all the royal abodes, it will suffice to give an account of the Hôtel de Bohême, which, after having been the home of the Sires de Nesles, of Queen Blanche of Castille, and other great persons, was given by Charles VI., in 1388, to his brother, the famous Duke Louis of Orleans. [Illustration: Fig. 51.--The Knight and his Lady.--Costumes of the Court of Burgundy in the Fourteenth Century; Furnished Chamber.--Miniature in "Othea," Poem by Christine de Pisan (Brussels Library).] "I shall not attempt," says Sauval, "to speak of the cellars and wine-cellars, the bakehouses, the fruiteries, the salt-stores, the fur-rooms, the porters' lodges, the stores, the guard-rooms, the wood-yard, or the glass-stores; nor of the servants; nor of the place where _hypocras_ was made; neither shall I describe the tapestry-room, the linen-room, nor the laundry; nor, indeed, any of the various conveniences which were then to be found in the yards of that palace as well as in the other abodes of the princes and nobles. "I shall simply remark, that amongst the many suites of rooms which composed it, two occupied the two first stories of the main building; the first was raised some few steps above the ground-floor of the court, and was occupied by Valentine de Milan; and her husband, Louis of Orleans, generally occupied the second. Each of these suites of rooms consisted of a great hall, a chamber of state, a large chamber, a wardrobe, some closets, and a chapel. The windows of the halls were thirteen and a half feet[A] high by four and a half wide. The state chambers were eight 'toises,' that is, about fifty feet and a half long. The duke and duchess's chambers were six 'toises' by three, that is, about thirty-six feet by eighteen; the others were seven toises and a half square, all lighted by long and narrow windows of wirework with trellis-work of iron; the wainscots and the ceilings were made of Irish wood, the same as at the Louvre." [Footnote A: French feet.] In this palace there was a room used by the duke, hung with cloth of gold, bordered with vermilion velvet embroidered with roses; the duchess had a room hung with vermilion satin embroidered with crossbows, which were on her coat of arms; that of the Duke of Burgundy was hung with cloth of gold embroidered with windmills. There were, besides, eight carpets of glossy texture, with gold flowers; one representing "The Seven Virtues and the Seven Vices;" another the history of Charlemagne; another that of St. Louis. There were also cushions of cloth of gold, twenty-four pieces of vermilion leather of Aragon, and four carpets of Aragon leather, "to be placed on the floor of rooms in summer." The favourite arm-chair of the princess is thus described in an inventory:--"A chamber chair with four supports, painted in fine vermilion, the seat and arms of which are covered with vermilion morocco, or cordovan, worked and stamped with designs representing the sun, birds, and other devices, bordered with fringes of silk and studded with nails." Among the ornamental furniture were--"A large vase of massive silver, for holding sugar-plums or sweetmeats, shaped like a square table, supported by four satyrs, also of silver; a fine wooden casket, covered with vermilion cordovan, nailed, and bordered with a narrow gilt band, shutting with a key." [Illustration: Fig. 52.--Bronze Chandeliers of the Fourteenth Century (Collection of M. Ach. Jubinal).] In the daily life of Louis of Orleans and his wife, everything corresponded with the luxury of their house. Thus, for the amusement of their children, two little books of pictures were made, illuminated with gold, azure, and vermilion, and covered with vermilion leather of Cordova, which cost sixty _sols parisis, i.e. four hundred francs. But it was in the custom of New Year's gifts that the duke and duchess displayed truly royal magnificence, as we find described in the accounts of their expenses. For instance, in 1388 they paid four hundred francs of gold for sheets of silk to give to those who received the New Year's gifts from the King and Queen. In 1402, one hundred pounds (tournois) were given to Jehan Taienne, goldsmith, for six silver cups presented to Jacques de Poschin, the Duke's squire. To the Sire de la Trémouille Valentine gives "a cup and basin of gold;" to Queen Isabella, "a golden image of St. John, surrounded with nine rubies, one sapphire, and twenty-one pearls;" to Mademoiselle de Luxembourg, "another small golden sacred image, surrounded with pearls;" and lastly, in an account of 1394, headed, "Portion of gold and silver jewels bought by Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans as a New Year's gift," we find "a clasp of gold, studded with one large ruby and six large pearls, given to the King; three paternosters for the King's daughters, and two large diamonds for the Dukes of Burgundy and Berry." [Illustration: Fig. 53.--Styli used in writing in the Fourteenth Century.] Such were the habits in private life of the royal princes under Charles VI.; and it can easily be shown that the example of royalty was followed not only by the court, but also in the remotest provinces. The great tenants or vassals of the crown each possessed several splendid mansions in their fiefs; the Dukes of Burgundy, at Souvigny, at Moulins, and at Bourbon l'Archambault; the Counts of Champagne, at Troyes; the Dukes of Burgundy, at Dijon; and all the smaller nobles made a point of imitating their superiors. From the fifteenth to the sixteenth centuries, the provinces which now compose France were studded with castles, which were as remarkable for their interior, architecture as for the richness of their furniture; and it may be asserted that the luxury which was displayed in the dwellings of the nobility was the evidence, if not the resuit, of a great social revolution in the manners and customs of private life. At the end of the fourteenth century there lived a much-respected noble of Anjou, named Geoffroy de Latour-Landry, who had three daughters. In his old age, he resolved that, considering the dangers which might surround them in consequence of their inexperience and beauty, he would compose for their use a code of admonitions which might guide them in the various circumstances of life. [Illustration: A Young Mother's Retinue Representing the Parisian costumes at the end of the fourteenth century. Fac-simile of a miniature from the latin _Terence_ of King Charles VI. From a manuscript in the Bibl. de l'Arsenal.] This book of domestic maxims is most curious and instructive, from the details which it contains respecting the manners and customs, mode of conduct, and fashions of the nobility of the period (Fig. 54). The author mostly illustrates each of his precepts by examples from the life of contemporary personages. [Illustration: Fig. 54.--Dress of Noble Ladies and Children in the Fourteenth Century.--Miniature in the "Merveilles du Monde" (Manuscript, National Library of Paris).] The first advice the knight gives his daughters is, to begin the day with prayer; and, in order to give greater weight to his counsel, he relates the following anecdote: "A noble had two daughters; the one was pious, always saying her prayers with devotion, and regularly attending the services of the church; she married an honest man, and was most happy. The other, on the contrary, was satisfied with hearing low mass, and hurrying once or twice through the Lord's Prayer, after which she went off to indulge herself with sweetmeats. She complained of headaches, and required careful diet. She married a most excellent knight; but, one evening, taking advantage of her husband being asleep, she shut herself up in one of the rooms of the palace, and in company with the people of the household began eating and drinking in the most riotous and excessive manner. The knight awoke; and, surprised not to find his wife by his side, got up, and, armed with a stick, betook himself to the scene of festivity. He struck one of the domestics with such force that he broke his stick in pieces, and one of the fragments flew into the lady's eye and put it out. This caused her husband to take a dislike to her, and he soon placed his affections elsewhere." "My pretty daughters," the moralising parent proceeds, "be courteous and meek, for nothing is more beautiful, nothing so secures the favour of God and the love of others. Be then courteous to great and small; speak gently with them.... I have seen a great lady take off her cap and bow to a simple ironmonger. One of her followers seemed astonished. 'I prefer,' she said, 'to have been too courteous towards that man, than to have been guilty of the least incivility to a knight.'" [Illustration: Fig. 55.--Noble Lady and Maid of Honour, and two Burgesses with Hoods (Fourteenth Century), from a Miniature in the "Merveilles du Monde" (Manuscript in the Imperial Library of Paris).] Latour-Landry also advised his daughters to avoid outrageous fashions in dress. "Do not be hasty in copying the dress of foreign women. I will relate a story on this subject respecting a bourgeoise of Guyenne and the Sire de Beaumanoir. The lady said to him, 'Cousin, I come from Brittany, where I saw my fine cousin, your wife, who was not so well dressed as the ladies of Guyenne and many other places. The borders of her dress and of her bonnet are not in fashion.' The Sire answered, 'Since you find fault with the dress and cap of my wife, and as they do not suit you, I shall take care in future that they are changed; but I shall be careful not to choose them similar to yours.... Understand, madam, that I wish her to be dressed according to the fashion of the good ladies of France and this country, and not like those of England. It was these last who first introduced into Brittany the large borders, the bodices opened on the hips, and the hanging sleeves. I remember the time, and saw it myself, and I have little respect for women who adopt these fashions.'" Respecting the high head-dresses "which cause women to resemble stags who are obliged to lower their heads to enter a wood," the knight relates what took place in 1392 at the fête of St. Marguerite. "There was a young and pretty woman there, quite differently dressed from the others; every one stared at her as if she had been a wild beast. One respectable lady approached her and said, 'My friend, what do you call that fashion?' She answered, 'It is called the "gibbet dress."' 'Indeed; but that is not a fine name!' answered the old lady. Very soon the name of 'gibbet dress' got known all round the room, and every one laughed at the foolish creature who was thus bedecked." This head-dress did in fact owe its name to its summit, which resembled a gibbet. These extracts from the work of this honest knight, suffice to prove that the customs of French society had, as early as the end of the fourteenth century, taken a decided character which was to remain subject only to modifications introduced at various historical periods. Amongst the customs which contributed most to the softening and elegance of the feudal class, we must cite that of sending into the service of the sovereign for some years all the youths of both sexes, under the names of varlets, pages, squires, and maids of honour. No noble, of whatever wealth or power, ever thought of depriving his family of this apprenticeship and its accompanying chivalric education. Up to the end of the twelfth century, the number of domestic officers attached to a castle was very limited; we have seen, for instance, that Philip Augustus contented himself with a few servants, and his queen with two or three maids of honour. Under Louis IX. this household was much increased, and under Philippe le Bel and his sons the royal household had become so considerable as to constitute quite a large assemblage of young men and women. Under Charles VI., the household of Queen Isabella of Bavaria alone amounted to forty-five persons, without counting the almoner, the chaplains, and clerks of the chapel, who must have been very numerous, since the sums paid to them amounted to the large amount of four hundred and sixty francs of gold per annum. [Illustration: Fig. 56.--Court of the Ladies of Queen Anne of Brittany, Miniature representing this lady weeping on account of the absence of her husband during the Italian war.--Manuscript of the "Epistres Envoyées au Roi" (Sixteenth Century), obtained by the Coislin Fund for the Library of St. Germain des Pres in Paris, now in the Library of St. Petersburg.] Under Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I., the service of the young nobility, which was called "apprenticeship of honour or virtue," had taken a much wider range; for the first families of the French nobility were most eager to get their children admitted into the royal household, either to attend on the King or Queen, or at any rate on one of the princes of the royal blood. Anne of Brittany particularly gave special attention to her female attendants (Fig. 56). "She was the first," says Brantôme in his work on "Illustrious Women," "who began to form the great court of ladies which has descended to our days; for she had a considerable retinue both of adult ladies and young girls. She never refused to receive any one; on the contrary, she inquired of the gentlemen of the court if they had any daughters, ascertained who they were, and asked for them." It was thus that the Admiral de Graville (Fig. 57) confided to the good Queen the education of his daughter Anne, who at this school of the Court of Ladies became one of the most distinguished women of her day. The same Queen, as Duchess of Brittany, created a company of one hundred Breton gentlemen, who accompanied her everywhere. "They never failed," says the author of "Illustrious Women," "when she went to mass or took a walk, to await her return on the little terrace of Blois, which is still called the _Perche aux Bretons_. She gave it this name herself; for when she saw them she said, 'There are my Bretons on the perch waiting for me.'" We must not forget that this queen, who became successively the wife of Charles VIII. and of Louis XII., had taken care to establish a strict discipline amongst the young men and women who composed her court. She rightly considered herself the guardian of the honour of the former, and of the virtue of the latter; therefore, as long as she lived, her court was renowned for purity and politeness, noble and refined gallantry, and was never allowed to degenerate into imprudent amusements or licentious and culpable intrigues. Unfortunately, the moral influence of this worthy princess died with her. Although the court of France continued to gather around it almost every sort of elegance, and although it continued during the whole of the sixteenth century the most polished of European courts, notwithstanding the great external and civil wars, yet it afforded at the same time a sad example of laxity of morals, which had a most baneful influence on public habits; so much so that vice and corruption descended from class to class, and contaminated all orders of society. If we wished to make investigations into the private life of the lower orders in those times, we should not succeed as we have been able to do with that of the upper classes; for we have scarcely any data to throw light upon their sad and obscure history. Bourgeois and peasants were, as we have already shown, long included together with the miserable class of serfs, a herd of human beings without individuality, without significance, who from their birth to their death, whether isolated or collectively, were the "property" of their masters. What must have been the private life of this degraded multitude, bowed down under the most tyrannical and humiliating dependence, we can scarcely imagine; it was in fact but a purely material existence, which has left scarcely any trace in history. [Illustration: Fig. 57.--Louis de Mallet, Lord of Graville, Admiral of France, 1487, in Costume of War and Tournament, from an Engraving of the Sixteenth Century (National Library of Paris, Cabinet des Estampes).] Many centuries elapsed before the dawn of liberty could penetrate the social strata of this multitude, thus oppressed and denuded of all power of action. The development was slow, painful, and dearly bought, but at last it took place; first of all towns sprang up, and with them, or rather by their influence, the inhabitants became possessed of social life. The agricultural population took its social position many generations later. As we have already seen, the great movement for the creation of communes and bourgeoisies only dates from the unsettled period ranging from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries, and simultaneously we see the bourgeois appear, already rich and luxurious, parading on all occasions their personal opulence. Their private life could only be an imitation of that in the châteaux; by degrees as wealth strengthened and improved their condition, and rendered them independent, we find them trying to procure luxuries equal or analogous to those enjoyed by the upper classes, and which appeared to them the height of material happiness. In all times the small have imitated the great. It was in vain that the great obstinately threatened, by the exercise of their prerogatives, to try and crush this tendency to equality which alarmed them, by issuing pecuniary edicts, summary laws, coercive regulations, and penal ordinances; by the force of circumstances the arbitrary restrictions which the nobility laid upon the lower classes gradually disappeared, and the power of wealth displayed itself in spite of all their efforts to suppress it. In fact, occasions were not wanting in which the bourgeois class was able to refute the charge of unworthiness with which the nobles sought to stamp it. When taking a place in the council of the King, or employed in the administration of the provinces, many of its members distinguished themselves by firmness and wisdom; when called upon to assist in the national defence, they gave their blood and their gold with noble self-denial; and lastly, they did not fail to prove themselves possessed of those high and delicate sentiments of which the nobility alone claimed the hereditary possession. [Illustration: Fig. 58.--Burgess of Ghent and his Wife, in ceremonial Attire, kneeling in Church, from a painted Window belonging to a Chapel in that Town (Fifteenth Century).] "The bourgeois," says Arnaud de Marveil, one of the most famous troubadours of the thirteenth century, "have divers sorts of merits: some distinguish themselves by deeds of honour, others are by nature noble and behave accordingly. There are others thoroughly brave, courteous, frank, and jovial, who, although poor, find means to please by graceful speech, frequenting courts, and making themselves agreeable there; these, well versed in courtesy and politeness, appear in noble attire, and figure conspicuously at the tournaments and military games, proving themselves good judges and good company." Down to the thirteenth century, however rich their fathers or husbands might be, the women of the bourgeoisie were not permitted, without incurring a fine, to use the ornaments and stuffs exclusively reserved for the nobility. During the reigns of Philip Augustus and Louis IX., although these arbitrary laws were not positively abolished, a heavy blow was inflicted on them by the marks of confidence, esteem, and honour which these monarchs found pleasure in bestowing on the bourgeoisie. We find the first of these kings, when on the point of starting for a crusade, choosing six from amongst the principal members of the _parloir aux bourgeois_ (it was thus that the first Hôtel de Ville, situated in the corner of the Place de la Grève, was named) to be attached to the Council of Regency, to whom he specially confided his will and the royal treasure. His grandson made a point of following his grandsire's example, and Louis IX. showed the same appreciation for the new element which the Parisian bourgeoisie was about to establish in political life by making the bourgeois Etienne Boileau one of his principal ministers of police, and the bourgeois Jean Sarrazin his chamberlain. Under these circumstances, the whole bourgeoisie gloried in the marks of distinction conferred upon their representatives, and during the following reign, the ladies of this class, proud of their immense fortunes, but above all proud of the municipal powers held by their families, bedecked themselves, regardless of expense, with costly furs and rich stuffs, notwithstanding that they were forbidden by law to do so. Then came an outcry on the part of the nobles; and we read as follows, in an edict of Philippe le Bel, who inclined less to the bourgeoisie than to the nobles, and who did not spare the former in matters of taxation:--"No bourgeois shall have a chariot nor wear gold, precious stones, or crowns of gold or silver. Bourgeois, not being either prelates nor dignitaries of state, shall not have tapers of wax. A bourgeois possessing two thousand pounds (tournois) or more, may order for himself a dress of twelve sous six deniers, and for his wife one worth sixteen sous at the most." The sou, which was but nominal money, may be reckoned as representing twenty francs, and the denier one franc, but allowance must be made for the enormous difference in the value of silver, which would make twenty francs in the thirteenth century represent upwards of two hundred francs of present currency. [Illustration: Fig. 59.--The new-born Child, from a Miniature in the "Histoire de la Belle Hélaine" (Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, National Library of Paris).] But these regulations as to the mode of living were so little or so carelessly observed, that all the successors of Philippe le Bel thought it necessary to re-enact them, and, indeed, Charles VII., one century later, was obliged to censure the excess of luxury in dress by an edict which was, however, no better enforced than the rest. "It has been shown to the said lord" (the King Charles VII.), "that of all nations of the habitable globe there are none so changeable, outrageous, and excessive in their manner of dress, as the French nation, and there is no possibility of discovering by their dress the state or calling of persons, be they princes, nobles, bourgeois, or working men, because all are allowed to dress as they think proper, whether in gold or silver, silk or wool, without any regard to their calling." At the end of the thirteenth century, a rich merchant of Valenciennes went to the court of the King of France wearing a cloak of furs covered with gold and pearls; seeing that no one offered him a cushion, he proudly sat on his cloak. On leaving he did not attempt to take up the cloak; and on a servant calling his attention to the fact he remarked, "It is not the custom in my country for people to carry away their cushions with them." Respecting a journey made by Philippe le Bel and his wife Jeanne de Navarre to the towns of Bruges and Ghent, the historian Jean Mayer relates that Jeanne, on seeing the costly array of the bourgeois of those two rich cities, exclaimed, "I thought I was the only queen here, but I see more than six hundred!" In spite of the laws, the Parisian bourgeoisie soon rivalled the Flemish in the brilliancy of their dress. Thus, in the second half of the fourteenth century, the famous Christine de Pisan relates that, having gone to visit the wife of a merchant during her confinement, it was not without some amazement that she saw the sumptuous furniture of the apartment in which this woman lay in bed (Fig. 59). The walls were hung with precious tapestry of Cyprus, on which the initials and motto of the lady were embroidered; the sheets were of fine linen of Rheims, and had cost more than three hundred pounds; the quilt was a new invention of silk and silver tissue; the carpet was like gold. The lady wore an elegant dress of crimson silk, and rested her head and arms on pillows, ornamented with buttons of oriental pearls. It should be remarked that this lady was not the wife of a large merchant, such as those of Venice and Genoa, but of a simple retail dealer, who was not above selling articles for four sous; such being the case, we need not be surprised that Christine should have considered the anecdote "worthy of being immortalised in a book." It must not, however, be assumed that the sole aim of the bourgeoisie was that of making a haughty and pompous display. This is refuted by the testimony of the "Ménagier de Paris," a curious anonymous work, the author of which must have been an educated and enlightened bourgeois. The "Ménagier," which was first published by the Baron Jérôme Pichon, is a collection of counsels addressed by a husband to his young wife, as to her conduct in society, in the world, and in the management of her household. The first part is devoted to developing the mind of the young housewife; and the second relates to the arrangements necessary for the welfare of her house. It must be remembered that the comparatively trifling duties relating to the comforts of private life, which devolved on the wife, were not so numerous in those days as they are now; but on the other hand they required an amount of practical knowledge on the part of the housewife which she can nowadays dispense with. Under this head the "Ménagier" is full of information. After having spoken of the prayers which a Christian woman should say morning and evening, the author discusses the great question of dress, which has ever been of supreme importance in the eyes of the female sex: "Know, dear sister," (the friendly name he gives his young wife), "that in the choice of your apparel you must always consider the rank of your parents and mine, as also the state of my fortune. Be respectably dressed, without devoting too much study to it, without too much plunging into new fashions. Before leaving your room, see that the collar of your gown be well adjusted and is not put on crooked." [Illustration: Fig. 60.--Sculptured Comb, in Ivory, of the Sixteenth Century (Sauvageot Collection)] Then he dilates on the characters of women, which are too often wilful and unmanageable; on this point, for he is not less profuse in examples than the Chevalier de Latour-Landry, he relates an amusing anecdote, worthy of being repeated and remembered. "I have heard the bailiff of Tournay relate, that he had found himself several times at table with men long married, and that he had wagered with them the price of a dinner under the following conditions: the company was to visit the abode of each of the husbands successively, and any one who had a wife obedient enough immediately, without contradicting or making any remark, to consent to count up to four, would win the bet; but, on the other hand, those whose wives showed temper, laughed, or refused to obey, would lose. Under these conditions the company gaily adjourned to the abode of Robin, whose wife, called Marie, had a high opinion of herself. The husband said before all, 'Marie, repeat after me what I shall say.' 'Willingly, sire.' 'Marie, say, "One, two, three!"' But by this time Marie was out of patience, and said, 'And seven, and twelve, and fourteen! Why, you are making a fool of me!' So that husband lost his wager. "The company next went to the house of Maître Jean, whose wife, Agnescat well knew how to play the lady. Jean said, 'Repeat after me, one!' 'And two!' answered Agnescat disdainfully; so he lost his wager. Tassin then tried, and said to dame Tassin, 'Count one!' 'Go upstairs!' she answered, 'if you want to teach counting, I am not a child.' Another said, 'Go away with you; you must have lost your senses,' or similar words, which made the husbands lose their wagers. Those, on the contrary, who had well-behaved wives gained their wager and went away joyful." This amusing quotation suffices to show that the author of the "Ménagier de Paris" wished to adopt a jocose style, with a view to enliven the seriousness of the subject he was advocating. The part of his work in which he discusses the administration of the house is not less worthy of attention. One of the most curious chapters of the work is that in which he points out the manner in which the young bourgeoise is to behave towards persons in her service. Rich people in those days, in whatever station of life, were obliged to keep a numerous retinue of servants. It is curious to find that so far back as the period to which we allude, there was in Paris a kind of servants' registry office, where situations were found for servant-maids from the country. The bourgeois gave up the entire management of the servants to his wife; but, on account of her extreme youth, the author of the work in question recommends his wife only to engage servants who shall have been chosen by Dame Agnes, the nun whom he had placed with her as a kind of governess or companion. "Before engaging them," he says, "know whence they come; in what houses they have been; if they have acquaintances in town, and if they are steady. Discover what they are capable of doing; and ascertain that they are not greedy, or inclined to drink. If they come from another country, try to find out why they left it; for, generally, it is not without some serious reason that a woman decides upon a change of abode. When you have engaged a maid, do not permit her to take the slightest liberty with you, nor allow her to speak disrespectfully to you. If, on the contrary, she be quiet in her demeanour, honest, modest, and shows herself amenable to reproof, treat her as if she were your daughter. "Superintend the work to be done; and choose among your servants those qualified for each special department. If you order a thing to be done immediately, do not be satisfied with the following answers: 'It shall be done presently, or to-morrow early;' otherwise, be sure that you will have to repeat your orders." [Illustration: Fig. 61.--Dress of Maidservants in the Thirteenth Century.--Miniature in a Manuscript of the National Library of Paris.] To these severe instructions upon the management of servants, the bourgeois adds a few words respecting their morality. He recommends that they be not permitted to use coarse or indecent language, or to insult one another (Fig. 61). Although he is of opinion that necessary time should be given to servants at their meals, he does not approve of their remaining drinking and talking too long at table: concerning which practice he quotes a proverb in use at that time: "Quand varlet presche à table et cheval paist en gué, il est temps qu'on l'en oste: assez y a esté;" which means, that when a servant talks at table and a horse feeds near a watering-place it is time he should be removed; he has been there long enough. [Illustration: Fig. 62.--Hôtel des Ursins, Paris, built during the Fourteenth Century, restored in the Sixteenth, and now destroyed.--State of the North Front at the End of the last Century.] The manner in which the author concludes his instruction proves his kindness of heart, as well as his benevolence: "If one of your servants fall sick, it is your duty, setting everything else aside, to see to his being cured." It was thus that a bourgeois of the fifteenth century expressed himself; and as it is clear that he could only have been inspired to dictate his theoretical teachings by the practical experience which he must have gained for the most part among the middle class to which he belonged, we must conclude that in those days the bourgeoisie possessed considerable knowledge of moral dignity and social propriety. It must be added that by the side of the merchant and working bourgeoisie--who, above all, owed their greatness to the high functions of the municipality--the parliamentary bourgeoisie had raised itself to power, and that from the fourteenth century it played a considerable part in the State, holding at several royal courts at different periods, and at last, almost hereditarily, the highest magisterial positions. The very character of these great offices of president, or of parliamentary counsel, barristers, &c., proves that the holders must have had no small amount of intellectual culture. In this way a refined taste was created among this class, which the protection of kings, princes, and lords had alone hitherto encouraged. We find, for example, the Grosliers at Lyons, the De Thous and Seguiers in Paris, regardless of their bourgeois origin, becoming judicious and zealous patrons of poets, scholars, and artists. A description of Paris, published in the middle of the fifteenth century, describes amongst the most splendid residences of the capital the hotels of Juvénal des Ursins (Fig. 62), of Bureau de Dampmartin, of Guillaume Seguin, of Mille Baillet, of Martin Double, and particularly that of Jacques Duchié, situated in the Rue des Prouvaires, in which were collected at great cost collections of all kinds of arms, musical instruments, rare birds, tapestry, and works of art. In each church in Paris, and there were upwards of a hundred, the principal chapels were founded by celebrated families of the ancient bourgeoisie, who had left money for one or more masses to be said daily for the repose of the soûls of their deceased members. In the burial-grounds, and principally in that of the Innocents, the monuments of these families of Parisian bourgeoisie were of the most expensive character, and were inscribed with epitaphs in which the living vainly tried to immortalise the deeds of the deceased. Every one has heard of the celebrated tomb of Nicholas Flamel and Pernelle his wife (Fig. 63), the cross of Bureau, the epitaph of Yolande Bailly, who died in 1514, at the age of eighty-eight, and who "saw, or might have seen, two hundred and ninety-five children descended from her." In fact, the religious institutions of Paris afford much curious and interesting information relative to the history of the bourgeoisie. For instance, Jean Alais, who levied a tax of one denier on each basket of fish brought to market, and thereby amassed an enormous fortune, left the whole of it at his death for the purpose of erecting a chapel called St. Agnes, which soon after became the church of St. Eustace. He further directed that, by way of expiation, his body should be thrown into the sewer which drained the offal from the market, and covered with a large stone; this sewer up to the end of the last century was still called Pont Alais. [Illustration: Fig. 63.--Nicholas Flamel and Pernelle, his Wife, from a Painting executed at the End of the Fifteenth Century, under the Vaults of the Cemetery of the Innocents, in Paris.] Very often when citizens made gifts during their lifetime to churches or parishes, the donors reserved to themselves certain privileges which were calculated to cause the motives which had actuated them to be open to criticism. Thus, in 1304, the daughters of Nicholas Arrode, formerly provost of the merchants, presented to the church of St. Jacques-la-Boucherie the house and grounds which they inhabited, but one of them reserved the right of having a key of the church that she might go in whenever she pleased. Guillaume Haussecuel, in 1405, bought a similar right for the sum of eighteen _sols parisis_ per annum (equal to twenty-five francs); and Alain and his wife, whose house was close to two chapels of the church, undertook not to build so as in any way to shut out the light from one of the chapels on condition that they might open a small window into the chapel, and so be enabled to hear the service without leaving their room. [Illustration: Fig. 64.--Country Life--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in a folio Edition of Virgil, published at Lyons in 1517.] We thus see that the bourgeoisie, especially of Paris, gradually took a more prominent position in history, and became so grasping after power that it ventured, at a period which does not concern us here, to aspire to every sort of distinction, and to secure an important social standing. What had been the exception during the sixteenth century became the rule two centuries later. We will now take a glance at the agricultural population (Fig. 64), who, as we have already stated, were only emancipated from serfdom at the end of the eighteenth century. But whatever might have been formerly the civil condition of the rural population, everything leads us to suppose that there were no special changes in their private and domestic means of existence from a comparatively remote period down to almost the present time. A small poem of the thirteenth century, entitled, "De l'Oustillement au Vilain," gives a clear though rough sketch of the domestic state of the peasantry. Strange as it may seem, it must be acknowledged that, with a few exceptions resulting from the progress of time, it would not be difficult, even at the present day, to find the exact type maintained in the country districts farthest away from the capital and large towns; at all events, they were faithfully represented at the time of the revolution of 1789. [Illustration: Fig. 65.--Sedentary Occupations of the Peasauts.--Fac-simile from an Engraving on Wood, attributed to Holbein, in the "Cosmographie" of Munster (Basle, 1552, folio).] We gather from this poem, which must be considered an authentic and most interesting document, that the _manse_ or dwelling of the villain comprised three distinct buildings; the first for the corn, the second for the hay and straw, the third for the man and his family. In this rustic abode a fire of vine branches and faggots sparkled in a large chimney furnished with an iron pot-hanger, a tripod, a shovel, large fire-irons, a cauldron and a meat-hook. Next to the fireplace was an oven, and in close proximity to this an enormous bedstead, on which the villain, his wife, his children, and even the stranger who asked for hospitality, could all be easily accommodated; a kneading trough, a table, a bench, a cheese cupboard, a jug, and a few baskets made up the rest of the furniture. The villain also possessed other utensils, such as a ladder, a mortar, a hand-mill--for every one then was obliged to grind his own corn; a mallet, some nails, some gimlets, fishing lines, hooks, and baskets, &c. [Illustration: Fig. 66.--Villains before going to Work receiving their Lord's Orders.--Miniature in the "Propriétaire des Choses."--Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (Library of the Arsenal, in Paris).] His working implements were a plough, a scythe, a spade, a hoe, large shears, a knife and a sharpening stone; he had also a waggon, with harness for several horses, so as to be able to accomplish the different tasks required of him under feudal rights, either by his proper lord, or by the sovereign; for the villain was liable to be called upon to undertake every kind of work of this sort. His dress consisted of a blouse of cloth or skin fastened by a leather belt round the waist, an overcoat or mantle of thick woollen stuff, which fell from his shoulders to half-way down his legs; shoes or large boots, short woollen trousers, and from his belt there hung his wallet and a sheath for his knife (Figs. 66 and 71). He generally went bareheaded, but in cold weather or in rain he wore a sort of hat of similar stuff to his coat, or one of felt with a broad brim. He seldom wore _mouffles_, or padded gloves, except when engaged in hedging. A small kitchen-garden, which he cultivated himself, was usually attached to the cottage, which was guarded by a large watch-dog. There was also a shed for the cows, whose milk contributed to the sustenance of the establishment; and on the thatched roof of this and his cottage the wild cats hunted the rats and mice. The family were never idle, even in the bad season, and the children were taught from infancy to work by the side of their parents (Fig. 65). If, then, we find so much resemblance between the abodes of the villains of the thirteenth century and those of the inhabitants of the poorest communes of France in the present day, we may fairly infer that there must be a great deal which is analogous between the inhabitants themselves of the two periods; for in the châteaux as well as in the towns we find the material condition of the dwellings modifying itself conjointly with that of the moral condition of the inhabitants. [Illustration: Fig. 67.--The egotistical and envious Villain.--From a Miniature in "Proverbes et Adages, &c.," Manuscript of the La Vallière Fund, in the National Library of Paris, with this legend: "Attrapez y sont les plus fins: Qui trop embrasse mal estraint." ("The cleverest burn their fingers at it, And those who grasp all may lose all.") ] Another little poem entitled, "On the Twenty-four Kinds of Villains," composed about the same period as the one above referred to, gives us a graphic description of the varieties of character among the feudal peasants. One example is given of a man who will not tell a traveller the way, but merely in a surly way answers, "You know it better than I" (Fig. 67). Another, sitting at his door on a Sunday, laughs at those passing by, and says to himself when he sees a gentleman going hawking with a bird on his wrist, "Ah! that bird will eat a hen to-day, and our children could all feast upon it!" Another is described as a sort of madman who equally despises God, the saints, the Church, and the nobility. His neighbour is an honest simpleton, who, stopping in admiration before the doorway of Notre Dame in Paris in order to admire the statues of Pepin, Charlemagne, and their successors, has his pocket picked of his purse. Another villain is supposed to make trade of pleading the cause of others before "Messire le Bailli;" he is very eloquent in trying to show that in the time of their ancestors the cows had a free right of pasture in such and such a meadow, or the sheep on such and such a ridge; then there is the miser, and the speculator, who converts all his possessions into ready money, so as to purchase grain against a bad season; but of course the harvest turns out to be excellent, and he does not make a farthing, but runs away to conceal his ruin and rage. There is also the villain who leaves his plough to become a poacher. There are many other curious examples which altogether tend to prove that there has been but little change in the villager class since the first periods of History. [Illustration: Fig. 68.--The covetous and avaricious Villain.--From a Miniature in "Proverbes et Adages, &c," Manuscript in the National Library of Paris, with this legend: "Je suis icy levant les yeulx Eu ce haut lieu des attendens, En convoitant pour avoir mieulx Prendre la lune avec les dens." ("Even on this lofty height We yet look higher, As nothing will satisfy us But to clutch the moon.") ] Notwithstanding the miseries to which they were generally subject, the rural population had their days of rest and amusement, which were then much more numerous than at present. At that period the festivals of the Church were frequent and rigidly kept, and as each of them was the pretext for a forced holiday from manual labour, the peasants thought of nothing, after church, but of amusing themselves; they drank, talked, sang, danced, and, above all, laughed, for the laugh of our forefathers quite rivalled the Homeric laugh, and burst forth with a noisy joviality (Fig. 69). The "wakes," or evening parties, which are still the custom in most of the French provinces, and which are of very ancient origin, formed important events in the private lives of the peasants. It was at these that the strange legends and vulgar superstitions, which so long fed the minds of the ignorant classes, were mostly created and propagated. It was there that those extraordinary and terrible fairy tales were related, as well as those of magicians, witches, spirits, &c. It was there that the matrons, whose great age justified their experience, insisted on proving, by absurd tales, that they knew all the marvellous secrets for causing happiness or for curing sickness. Consequently, in those days the most enlightened rustic never for a moment doubted the truth of witchcraft. In fact, one of the first efforts at printing was applied to reproducing the most ridiculous stories under the title of the "Evangile des Conuilles ou Quenouilles," and which had been previously circulated in manuscript, and had obtained implicit belief. The author of this remarkable collection asserts that the matrons in his neighbourhood had deputed him to put together in writing the sayings suitable for all conditions of rural life which were believed in by them and were announced at the wakes. The absurdities and childish follies which he has dared to register under their dictation are almost incredible. The "Evangile des Quenouilles," which was as much believed in as Holy Writ, tells us, amongst other secrets which it contains for the advantage of the reader, that a girl wishing to know the Christian name of her future husband, has but to stretch the first thread she spins in the morning across the doorway; and that the first man who passes and touches the thread will necessarily have the same name as the man she is destined to marry. Another of the stories in this book was, that if a woman, on leaving off work on Saturday night, left her distaff loaded, she might be sure that the thread she would obtain from it during the following week would only produce linen of bad quality, which could not be bleached; this was considered to be proved by the fact that the Germans wore dark-brown coloured shirts, and it was known that the women never unloaded their distaffs from Saturday to Monday. Should a woman enter a cow-house to milk her cows without saying "God and St. Bridget bless you!" she was thought to run the risk of the cows kicking and breaking the milk-pail and spilling the milk. [Illustration: Fig. 69.--Village Feast.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Sandrin ou Verd Galant," facetious Work of the End of the Sixteenth Century (edition of 1609).] This silly nonsense, compiled like oracles, was printed as late as 1493. Eighty years later a gentleman of Brittany, named Noel du Fail, Lord of Herissaye, councillor in the Parliament of Rennes, published, under the title of "Rustic and Amusing Discourses," a work intended to counteract the influence of the famous "Evangile des Quenouilles." This new work was a simple and true sketch of country habits, and proved the elegance and artless simplicity of the author, as well as his accuracy of observation. He begins thus: "Occasionally, having to retire into the country more conveniently and uninterruptedly to finish some business, on a particular holiday, as I was walking I came to a neighbouring village, where the greater part of the old and young men were assembled, in groups of separate ages, for, according to the proverb, 'Each seeks his like.' The young were practising the bow, jumping, wrestling, running races, and playing other games. The old were looking on, some sitting under an oak, with their legs crossed, and their hats lowered over their eyes, others leaning on their elbows criticizing every performance, and refreshing the memory of their own youth, and taking a lively interest in seeing the gambols of the young people." The author states that on questioning one of the peasants to ascertain who was the cleverest person present, the following dialogue took place: "The one you see leaning on his elbow, hitting his boots, which have white strings, with a hazel stick, is called Anselme; he is one of the rich ones of the village, he is a good workman, and not a bad writer for the flat country; and the one you see by his side, with his thumb in his belt, hanging from which is a large game bag, containing spectacles and an old prayer book, is called Pasquier, one of the greatest wits within a day's journey--nay, were I to say two I should not be lying. Anyhow, he is certainly the readiest of the whole company to open his purse to give drink to his companions." "And that one," I asked, "with the large Milanese cap on his head, who holds an old book?" "That one," he answered, "who is scratching the end of his nose with one hand and his beard with the other?" "That one," I replied, "and who has turned towards us?" "Why," said he, "that is Roger Bontemps, a merry careless fellow, who up to the age of fifty kept the parish school; but changing his first trade he has become a wine-grower. However, he cannot resist the feast days, when he brings us his old books, and reads to us as long as we choose, such works as the 'Calondrier des Bergers,' 'Fables d'Esope,' 'Le Roman de la Rose,' 'Matheolus,' 'Alain Chartier,' 'Les Vigiles du feu Roy Charles,' 'Les deux Grebans,' and others. Neither, with his old habit of warbling, can he help singing on Sundays in the choir; and he is called Huguet. The other sitting near him, looking over his shoulder into his book, and wearing a sealskin belt with a yellow buckle, is another rich peasant of the village, not a bad villain, named Lubin, who also lives at home, and is called the little old man of the neighbourhood." After this artistic sketch, the author dilates on the goodman Anselme. He says: "This good man possessed a moderate amount of knowledge, was a goodish grammarian, a musician, somewhat of a sophist, and rather given to picking holes in others." Some of Anselme's conversation is also given, and after beginning by describing in glowing terms the bygone days which he and his contemporaries had seen, and which he stated to be very different to the present, he goes on to say, "I must own, my good old friends, that I look back with pleasure on our young days; at all events the mode of doing things in those days was very superior and better in every way to that of the present.... O happy days! O fortunate times when our fathers and grandfathers, whom may God absolve, were still among us!" As he said this, he would raise the rim of his hat. He contented himself as to dress with a good coat of thick wool, well lined according to the fashion; and for feast days and other important occasions, one of thick cloth, lined with some old gabardine. [Illustration: Fig. 70.--The Shepherds celebrating the Birth of the Messiah by Songs and Dances.--Fifteenth Century.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Wood, from a Book of Hours, printed by Anthony Verard.] "So we see," says M. Le Roux de Lincy, "at the end of the fifteenth century that the old peasants complained of the changes in the village customs, and of the luxury which every one wished to display in his furniture or apparel. On this point it seems that there has been little or no change. We read that, from the time of Homer down to that of the excellent author of 'Rustic Discourses,' and even later, the old people found fault with the manners of the present generation and extolled those of their forefathers, which they themselves had criticized in their own youth." [Illustration: Fig. 71.--Purse or Leather Bag, with Knife or Dagger of the Fifteenth Century.] Food and Cookery. History of Bread.--Vegetables and Plants used in Cooking.--Fruits.--Butchers' Meat.--Poultry, Game.--Milk, Butter, Cheese, and Eggs.--Fish and Shellfish.--Beverages, Beer, Cider, Wine, Sweet Wine, Refreshing Drinks, Brandy.--Cookery.--Soups, Boiled Food, Pies, Stews, Salads, Roasts, Grills.--Seasoning, Truffles, Sugar, Verjuice.--Sweets, Desserts, Pastry.--Meals and Feasts.--Rules of Serving at Table from the Fifteenth to the Sixteenth Centuries. "The private life of a people," says Legrand d'Aussy, who had studied that of the French from a gastronomic point of view only, "from the foundation of monarchy down to the eighteenth century, must, like that of mankind generally, commence with obtaining the first and most pressing of its requirements. Not satisfied with providing food for his support, man has endeavoured to add to his food something which pleased his taste. He does not wait to be hungry, but he anticipates that feeling, and aggravates it by condiments and seasonings. In a word his greediness has created on this score a very complicated and wide-spread science, which, amongst nations which are considered civilised, has become most important, and is designated the culinary art." At all times the people of every country have strained the nature of the soil on which they lived by forcing it to produce that which it seemed destined ever to refuse them. Such food as human industry was unable to obtain from any particular soil or from any particular climate, commerce undertook to bring from the country which produced it. This caused Rabelais to say that the stomach was the father and master of industry. We will rapidly glance over the alimentary matters which our forefathers obtained from the animal and vegetable kingdom, and then trace the progress of culinary art, and examine the rules of feasts and such matters as belong to the epicurean customs of the Middle Ages. Aliments. Bread.--The Gauls, who principally inhabited deep and thick forests, fed on herbs and fruits, and particularly on acorns. It is even possible that the veneration in which they held the oak had no other origin. This primitive food continued in use, at least in times of famine, up to the eighth century, and we find in the regulations of St. Chrodegand that if, in consequence of a bad year, the acorn or beech-nut became scarce, it was the bishop's duty to provide something to make up for it. Eight centuries later, when René du Bellay, Bishop of Mans, came to report to Francis I. the fearful poverty of his diocese, he informed the king that the inhabitants in many places were reduced to subsisting on acorn bread. [Illustration: Figs. 72 and 73.--Corn-threshing and Bread-making.--Miniatures from the Calendar of a Book of Hours.--Manuscript of the Sixteenth Century.] In the earliest times bread was cooked under the embers. The use of ovens was introduced into Europe by the Romans, who had found them in Egypt. But, notwithstanding this importation, the old system of cooking was long after employed, for in the tenth century Raimbold, abbot of the monastery of St. Thierry, near Rheims, ordered in his will that on the day of his death bread cooked under the embers--_panes subcinericios_--should be given to his monks. By feudal law the lord was bound to bake the bread of his vassals, for which they were taxed, but the latter often preferred to cook their flour at home in the embers of their own hearths, rather than to carry it to the public oven. [Illustration: Fig. 74.--The Miller.--From an Engraving of the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] It must be stated that the custom of leavening the dough by the addition of a ferment was not universally adopted amongst the ancients. For this reason, as the dough without leaven could only produce a heavy and indigestible bread, they were careful, in order to secure their loaves being thoroughly cooked, to make them very thin. These loaves served as plates for cutting up the other food upon, and when they thus became saturated with the sauce and gravy they were eaten as cakes. The use of the _tourteaux_ (small crusty loaves), which were at first called _tranchoirs_ and subsequently _tailloirs_, remained long in fashion even at the most splendid banquets. Thus, in 1336, the Dauphin of Vienna, Humbert II., had, besides the small white bread, four small loaves to serve as _tranchoirs_ at table. The "Ménagier de Paris" mentions "_des pains de tranchouers_ half a foot in diameter, and four fingers deep," and Froissart the historian also speaks of _tailloirs_. It would be difficult to point out the exact period at which leavening bread was adopted in Europe, but we can assert that in the Middle Ages it was anything but general. Yeast, which, according to Pliny, was already known to the Gauls, was reserved for pastry, and it was only at the end of the sixteenth century that the bakers of Paris used it for bread. At first the trades of miller and baker were carried on by the same person (Figs. 74 and 75). The man who undertook the grinding of the grain had ovens near his mill, which he let to his lord to bake bread, when he did not confine his business to persons who sent him their corn to grind. [Illustration: Fig. 75.--The Baker.--From an Engraving of the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] At a later period public bakers established themselves, who not only baked the loaves which were brought to them already kneaded, but also made bread which they sold by weight; and this system was in existence until very recently in the provinces. Charlemagne, in his "Capitulaires" (statutes), fixed the number of bakers in each city according to the population, and St. Louis relieved them, as well as the millers, from taking their turn at the watch, so that they might have no pretext for stopping or neglecting their work, which he considered of public utility. Nevertheless bakers as a body never became rich or powerful (Figs. 76 and 77). It is pretty generally believed that the name of _boulanger_ (baker) originated from the fact that the shape of the loaves made at one time was very like that of a round ball. But loaves varied so much in form, quality, and consequently in name, that in his "Dictionary of Obscure Words" the learned Du Cange specifies at least twenty sorts made during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and amongst them may be mentioned the court loaf, the pope's loaf, the knight's loaf, the squire's loaf, the peer's loaf, the varlet's loaf, &c. [Illustration: Fig. 76.--Banner of the Corporation of Bakers of Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 77.--Banner of the Corporation, of Bakers of Arras.] The most celebrated bread was the white bread of Chailly or Chilly, a village four leagues (ten miles) south of Paris, which necessarily appeared at all the tables of the _élite_ of the fourteenth century. The _pain mollet_, or soft bread made with milk and butter, although much in use before this, only became fashionable on the arrival of Marie de Medicis in France (1600), on account of this Tuscan princess finding it so much to her taste that she would eat no other. The ordinary market bread of Paris comprised the _rousset bread_, made of meslin, and employed for soup; the _bourgeoisie bread_; and the _chaland_ or _customer's bread_, which last was a general name given to all descriptions which were sent daily from the neighbouring villages to the capital. Amongst the best known varieties we will only mention the _Corbeil bread_, the _dog bread_, the _bread of two colours_, which last was composed of alternate layers of wheat and rye, and was used by persons of small means; there was also the _Gonesse bread_, which has maintained its reputation to this day. The "table loaves," which in the provinces were served at the tables of the rich, were of such a convenient size that one of them would suffice for a man of ordinary appetite, even after the crust was cut off, which it was considered polite to offer to the ladies, who soaked it in their soup. For the servants an inferior bread was baked, called "common bread." In many counties they sprinkled the bread, before putting it into the oven, with powdered linseed, a custom which still exists. They usually added salt to the flour, excepting in certain localities, especially in Paris, where, on account of its price, they only mixed it with the expensive qualities. The wheats which were long most esteemed for baking purposes, were those of Brie, Champagne, and Bassigny; while those of the Dauphiné were held of little value, because they were said to contain so many tares and worthless grains, that the bread made from them produced headache and other ailments. An ancient chronicle of the time of Charlemagne makes mention of a bread twice baked, or biscuit. This bread was very hard, and easier to keep than any other description. It was also used, as now, for provisioning ships, or towns threatened with a siege, as well as in religious houses. At a later period, delicate biscuits were made of a sort of dry and crumbling pastry which retained the original name. As early as the sixteenth century, Rheims had earned a great renown for these articles of food. Bread made with barley, oats, or millet was always ranked as coarse food, to which the poor only had recourse in years of want (Fig. 78). Barley bread was, besides, used as a kind of punishment, and monks who had committed any serious offence against discipline were condemned to live on it for a certain period. Rye bread was held of very little value, although in certain provinces, such as Lyonnais, Forez, and Auvergne, it was very generally used among the country people, and contributed, says Bruyérin Champier in his treatise "De re Cibaria," to "preserve beauty and freshness amongst women." At a later period, the doctors of Paris frequently ordered the use of bread made half of wheat and half of rye as a means "of preserving the health." Black wheat, or buck wheat, which was introduced into Europe by the Moors and Saracens when they conquered Spain, quickly spread to the northern provinces, especially to Flanders, where, by its easy culture and almost certain yield, it averted much suffering from the inhabitants, who were continually being threatened with famine. It was only later that maize, or Turkey wheat, was cultivated in the south, and that rice came into use; but these two kinds of grain, both equally useless for bread, were employed the one for fattening poultry, and the other for making cakes, which, however, were little appreciated. [Illustration: Fig. 78.--Cultivation of Grain in use amongst the Peasants, and the Manufacture of Barley and Oat Bread.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in an edition of Virgil published at Lyons in 1517.] Vegetables and Plants Used in Cooking.--From the most ancient historical documents we find that at the very earliest period of the French monarchy, fresh and dried vegetables were the ordinary food of the population. Pliny and Columella attribute a Gallic origin to certain roots, and among them onions and parsnips, which the Romans cultivated in their gardens for use at their tables. It is evident, however, that vegetables were never considered as being capable of forming solid nutriment, since they were almost exclusively used by monastic communities when under vows of extreme abstinence. A statute of Charlemagne, in which the useful plants which the emperor desired should be cultivated in his domains are detailed, shows us that at that period the greater part of our cooking vegetables were in use, for we find mentioned in it, fennel, garlic, parsley, shallot, onions, watercress, endive, lettuce, beetroot, cabbage, leeks, carrots, artichokes; besides long-beans, broad-beans, peas or Italian vetches, and lentils. In the thirteenth century, the plants fit for cooking went under the general appellation of _aigrun_, and amongst them, at a later date, were ranked oranges, lemons, and other acid fruits. St. Louis added to this category even fruits with hard rinds, such as walnuts, filberts, and chestnuts; and when the guild of the fruiterers of Paris received its statutes in 1608, they were still called "vendors of fruits and _aigrun_." The vegetables and cooking-plants noticed in the "Ménagier de Paris," which dates from the fourteenth century, and in the treatise "De Obsoniis," of Platina (the name adopted by the Italian Bartholomew Sacchi), which dates from the fifteenth century, do not lead us to suppose that alimentary horticulture had made much progress since the time of Charlemagne. Moreover, we are astonished to find the thistle placed amongst choice dishes; though it cannot be the common thistle that is meant, but probably this somewhat general appellation refers to the vegetable-marrow, which is still found on the tables of the higher classes, or perhaps the artichoke, which we know to be only a kind of thistle developed by cultivation, and which at that period had been recently imported. About the same date melons begin to appear; but the management of this vegetable fruit was not much known. It was so imperfectly cultivated in the northern provinces, that, in the middle of the sixteenth century, Bruyérin Champier speaks of the Languedocians as alone knowing how to produce excellent _sucrins_--"thus called," say both Charles Estienne and Liébault in the "Maison Rustique," "because gardeners watered them with honeyed or sweetened water." The water-melons have never been cultivated but in the south. Cabbages, the alimentary reputation of which dates from the remotest times, were already of several kinds, most of which have descended to us; amongst them may be mentioned the apple-headed, the Roman, the white, the common white head, the Easter cabbage, &c.; but the one held in the highest estimation was the famous cabbage of Senlis, whose leaves, says an ancient author, when opened, exhaled a smell more agreeable than musk or amber. This species no doubt fell into disuse when the plan of employing aromatic herbs in cooking, which was so much in repute by our ancestors, was abandoned. [Illustration: Fig. 79.--Coat-of-arms of the Grain-measurers of Ghent, on their Ceremonial Banner, dated 1568.] By a strange coincidence, at the same period as marjoram, carraway seed, sweet basil, coriander, lavender, and rosemary were used to add their pungent flavour to sauces and hashes, on the same tables might be found herbs of the coldest and most insipid kinds, such as mallows, some kinds of mosses, &c. Cucumber, though rather in request, was supposed to be an unwholesome vegetable, because it was said that the inhabitants of Forez, who ate much of it, were subject to periodical fevers, which might really have been caused by noxious emanation from the ponds with which that country abounded. Lentils, now considered so wholesome, were also long looked upon as a doubtful vegetable; according to Liébault, they were difficult to digest and otherwise injurious; they inflamed the inside, affected the sight, and brought on the nightmare, &c. On the other hand, small fresh beans, especially those sold at Landit fair, were used in the most delicate repasts; peas passed as a royal dish in the sixteenth century, when the custom was to eat them with salt pork. Turnips were also most esteemed by the Parisians. "This vegetable is to them," says Charles Estienne, "what large radishes are to the Limousins." The best were supposed to come from Maisons, Vaugirard, and Aubervilliers. Lastly, there were four kinds of lettuces grown in France, according to Liébault, in 1574: the small, the common, the curled, and the Roman: the seed of the last-named was sent to France by François Rabelais when he was in Rome with Cardinal du Bellay in 1537; and the salad made from it consequently received the name of Roman salad, which it has ever since retained. In fact, our ancestors much appreciated salads, for there was not a banquet without at least three or four different kinds. Fruits.--Western Europe was originally very poor in fruits, and it only improved by foreign importations, mostly from Asia by the Romans. The apricot came from Armenia, the pistachio-nuts and plums from Syria, the peach and nut from Persia, the cherry from Cerasus, the lemon from Media, the filbert from the Hellespont, and chestnuts from Castana, a town of Magnesia. We are also indebted to Asia for almonds; the pomegranate, according to some, came from Africa, to others from Cyprus; the quince from Cydon in Crete; the olive, fig, pear, and apple, from Greece. The statutes of Charlemagne show us that almost all these fruits were reared in his gardens, and that some of them were of several kinds or varieties. A considerable period, however, elapsed before the finest and more luscious productions of the garden became as it were almost forced on nature by artificial means. Thus in the sixteenth century we find Rabelais, Charles Estienne, and La Framboisière, physician to Henry IV., praising the Corbeil peach, which was only an inferior and almost wild sort, and describing it as having "_dry_ and _solid_ flesh, not adhering to the stone." The culture of this fruit, which was not larger than a damask plum, had then, according to Champier, only just been introduced into France. It must be remarked here that Jacques Coythier, physician to Louis XI., in order to curry favour with his master, who was very fond of new fruits, took as his crest an apricot-tree, from which he was jokingly called Abri-Coythier. [Illustration: Fig. 80.--Cultivation of Fruit, from a Miniature of the "Propriétaire de Choses" (Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris).] It must be owned that great progress has been made in the culture of the plum, the pear, and the apple. Champier says that the best plums are the _royale_, the _perdrigon_, and the _damas_ of Tours; Olivier de Serres mentions eighteen kinds--amongst which, however, we do not find the celebrated Reine Claude (greengage), which owes its name to the daughter of Louis XII., first wife of Francis I. Of pears, the most esteemed in the thirteenth century were the _hastiveau_, which was an early sort, and no doubt the golden pear now called St. Jean, the _caillou_ or _chaillou_, a hard pear, which came from Cailloux in Burgundy and _l'angoisse_ (agony), so called on account of its bitterness--which, however, totally disappeared in cooking. In the sixteenth century the palm is given to the _cuisse dame_, or _madame_; the _bon chrétien_, brought, it is said, by St. François de Paule to Louis XI.; the _bergamote_, which came from Bergamo, in Lombardy; the _tant-bonne_, so named from its aroma; and the _caillou rosat_, our rosewater pear. Amongst apples, the _blandureau_ (hard white) of Auvergne, the _rouveau_, and the _paradis_ of Provence, are of oldest repute. This reminds us of the couplet by the author of the "Street Cries of Paris," thirteenth century:-- "Primes ai pommes de rouviau, Et d'Auvergne le blanc duriau." ("Give me first the russet apple, And the hard white fruit of Auvergne.") The quince, which was so generally cultivated in the Middle Ages, was looked upon as the most useful of all fruits. Not only did it form the basis of the farmers' dried preserves of Orleans, called _cotignac_, a sort of marmalade, but it was also used for seasoning meat. The Portugal quince was the most esteemed; and the cotignac of Orleans had such a reputation, that boxes of this fruit were always given to kings, queens, and princes on entering the towns of France. It was the first offering made to Joan of Arc on her bringing reinforcements into Orleans during the English siege. Several sorts of cherries were known, but these did not prevent the small wild or wood cherry from being appreciated at the tables of the citizens; whilst the _cornouille_, or wild cornelian cherry, was hardly touched, excepting by the peasants; thence came the proverbial expression, more particularly in use at Orleans, when a person made a silly remark, "He has eaten cornelians," _i.e._, he speaks like a rustic. In the thirteenth century, chestnuts from Lombardy were hawked in the streets; but, in the sixteenth century, the chestnuts of the Lyonnais and Auvergne were substituted, and were to be found on the royal table. Four different sorts of figs, in equal estimation, were brought from Marseilles, Nismes, Saint-Andéol, and Pont Saint-Esprit; and in Provence, filberts were to be had in such profusion that they supplied from there all the tables of the kingdom. The Portuguese claim the honour of having introduced oranges from China; however, in an account of the house of Humbert, Dauphin of Viennois, in 1333, that is, long before the expeditions of the Portuguese to India, mention is made of a sum of money being paid for transplanting orange-trees. [Illustration: Figs. 81 and 82.--Culture of the Vine and Treading the Grape.--Miniatures taken from the Calendar of a Prayer-Book, in Manuscript, of the Sixteenth Century.] In the time of Bruyérin Champier, physician to Henry II., raspberries were still completely wild; the same author states that wood strawberries had only just at that time been introduced into gardens, "by which," he says, "they had attained a larger size, though they at the same time lost their quality." The vine, acclimatised and propagated by the Gauls, ever since the followers of Brennus had brought it from Italy, five hundred years before the Christian era, never ceased to be productive, and even to constitute the natural wealth of the country (Fig. 81 and 82). In the sixteenth century, Liébault enumerated nineteen sorts of grapes, and Olivier de Serres twenty-four, amongst which, notwithstanding the eccentricities of the ancient names, we believe that we can trace the greater part of those plants which are now cultivated in France. For instance, it is known that the excellent vines of Thomery, near Fontainebleau, which yield in abundance the most beautiful table grape which art and care can produce, were already in use in the reign of Henry IV. (Fig. 83). [Illustration: Fig. 83.--The Winegrower, drawn and engraved in the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] In the time of the Gauls the custom of drying grapes by exposing them to the sun, or to a certain amount of artificial heat, was already known; and very soon after, the same means were adopted for preserving plums, an industry in which then, as now, the people of Tours and Rheims excelled. Drying apples in an oven was also the custom, and formed a delicacy which was reserved for winter and spring banquets. Dried fruits were also brought from abroad, as mentioned in the "Book of Street Cries in Paris:"-- "Figues de Mélités sans fin, J'ai roisin d'outre mer, roisin." ("Figs from Malta without end, And grapes from over the sea.") Butchers' Meat.--According to Strabo, the Gauls were great eaters of meat, especially of pork, whether fresh or salted. "Gaul," says he, "feeds so many flocks, and, above all, so many pigs, that it supplies not only Rome, but all Italy, with grease and salt meat." The second chapter of the Salic law, comprising nineteen articles, relates entirely to penalties for pig-stealing; and in the laws of the Visigoths we find four articles on the same subject. [Illustration: Fig. 84.--Swineherd. Illustration: Fig 85.--A Burgess at Meals. Miniatures from the Calendar of a Book of Hours.--Manuscript of the Sixteenth Century.] In those remote days, in which the land was still covered with enormous forests of oak, great facilities were offered for breeding pigs, whose special liking for acorns is well known. Thus the bishops, princes, and lords caused numerous droves of pigs to be fed on their domains, both for the purpose of supplying their own tables as well as for the fairs and markets. At a subsequent period, it became the custom for each household, whether in town or country, to rear and fatten a pig, which was killed and salted at a stated period of the year; and this custom still exists in many provinces. In Paris, for instance, there was scarcely a bourgeois who had not two or three young pigs. During the day these unsightly creatures were allowed to roam in the streets; which, however, they helped to keep clean by eating up the refuse of all sorts which was thrown out of the houses. One of the sons of Louis le Gros, while passing, on the 2nd of October, 1131, in the Rue du Martroi, between the Hôtel de Ville and the church of St. Gervais, fractured his skull by a fall from his horse, caused by a pig running between that animal's legs. This accident led to the first order being issued by the provosts, to the effect that breeding pigs within the town was forbidden. Custom, however, deep-rooted for centuries, resisted this order, and many others on the same subject which followed it: for we find, under Francis I., a license was issued to the executioner, empowering him to capture all the stray pigs which he could find in Paris, and to take them to the Hôtel Dieu, when he should receive either five sous in silver or the head of the animal. It is said that the holy men of St. Antoine, in virtue of the privilege attached to the popular legend of their patron, who was generally represented with a pig, objected to this order, and long after maintained the exclusive right of allowing their pigs to roam in the streets of the capital. The obstinate determination with which every one tried to evade the administrative laws on this subject, is explained, in fact, by the general taste of the French nation for pork. This taste appears somewhat strange at a time when this kind of food was supposed to engender leprosy, a disease with which France was at that time overrun. [Illustration: Fig. 86.--Stall of Carved Wood (Fifteenth Century), representing the Proverb, "Margaritas ante Porcos," "Throwing Pearls before Swine," from Rouen Cathedral.] Pigs' meat made up generally the greater part of the domestic banquets. There was no great feast at which hams, sausages, and black puddings were not served in profusion on all the tables; and as Easter Day, which brought to a close the prolonged fastings of Lent, was one of the great feasts, this food formed the most important dish on that occasion. It is possible that the necessity for providing for the consumption of that day originated the celebrated ham fair, which was and is still held annually on the Thursday of Passion Week in front of Notre-Dame, where the dealers from all parts of France, and especially from Normandy and Lower Brittany, assembled with their swine. Sanitary measures were taken in Paris and in the various towns in order to prevent the evil effects likely to arise from the enormous consumption of pork; public officers, called _languayeurs_, were ordered to examine the animals to ensure that they had not white ulcers under the tongue, these being considered the signs that their flesh was in a condition to communicate leprosy to those who partook of it. For a long time the retail sale of pork was confined to the butchers, like that of other meat. Salt or fresh pork was at one time always sold raw, though at a later period some retailers, who carried on business principally among the lowest orders of the people, took to selling cooked pork and sausages. They were named _charcuitiers_ or _saucissiers_. This new trade, which was most lucrative, was adopted by so many people that parliament was forced to limit the number of _charcuitiers_, who at last formed a corporation, and received their statutes, which were confirmed by the King in 1475. Amongst the privileges attached to their calling was that of selling red herrings and sea-fish in Lent, during which time the sale of pork was strictly forbidden. Although they had the exclusive monopoly of selling cooked pork, they were at first forbidden to buy their meat of any one but of the butchers, who alone had the right of killing pigs; and it was only in 1513 that the _charcuitiers_ were allowed to purchase at market and sell the meat raw, in opposition to the butchers, who in consequence gradually gave up killing and selling pork (Fig. 87). Although the consumption of butchers' meat was not so great in the Middle Ages as it is now, the trade of a butcher, to which extraordinary privileges were attached, was nevertheless one of the industries which realised the greatest profits. We know what an important part the butchers played in the municipal history of France, as also of Belgium; and we also know how great their political influence was, especially in the fifteenth century. [Illustration: Fig. 87.--The Pork-butcher (_Charcutier_).--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Charter of the Abbey of Solignac (Fourteenth Century).] The existence of the great slaughter-house of Paris dates back to the most remote period of monarchy. The parish church of the corporation of butchers, namely, that of St. Pierre aux Boeufs in the city, on the front of which were two sculptured oxen, existed before the tenth century. A Celtic monument was discovered on the site of the ancient part of Paris, with a bas-relief representing a wild bull carrying three cranes standing among oak branches. Archæology has chosen to recognise in this sculpture a Druidical allegory, which has descended to us in the shape of the triumphal car of the Prize Ox (Fig. 88). The butchers who, for centuries at least in France, only killed sheep and pigs, proved themselves most jealous of their privileges, and admitted no strangers into their corporation. The proprietorship of stalls at the markets, and the right of being admitted as a master butcher at the age of seven years and a day, belonged exclusively to the male descendants of a few rich and powerful families. The Kings of France alone, on their accession, could create a new master butcher. Since the middle of the fourteenth century the "Grande Boucherie" was the seat of an important jurisdiction, composed of a mayor, a master, a proctor, and an attorney; it also had a judicial council before which the butchers could bring up all their cases, and an appeal from which could only be considered by Parliament. Besides this court, which had to decide cases of misbehaviour on the part of the apprentices, and all their appeals against their masters, the corporation had a counsel in Parliament, as also one at the Châtelet, who were specially attached to the interests of the butchers, and were in their pay. [Illustration: Fig. 88.--The Holy Ox.--Celtic Monument found in Paris under the Choir of Notre-Dame in 1711, and preserved in the Musée de Cluny et des Thermes.] Although bound, at all events with their money, to follow the calling of their fathers, we find many descendants of ancient butchers' families of Paris, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, abandoning their stalls to fill high places in the state, and even at court. It must not be concluded that the rich butchers in those days occupied themselves with the minor details of their trade; the greater number employed servants who cut up and retailed the meat, and they themselves simply kept the accounts, and were engaged in dealing through factors or foremen for the purchase of beasts for their stalls (Fig. 89). One can form an opinion of the wealth of some of these tradesmen by reading the enumeration made by an old chronicler of the property and income of Guillaume de Saint-Yon, one of the principal master butchers in 1370. "He was proprietor of three stalls, in which meat was weekly sold to the amount of 200 _livres parisis_ (the livre being equivalent to 24 francs at least), with an average profit of ten to fifteen per cent.; he had an income of 600 _livres parisis_; he possessed besides his family house in Paris, four country-houses, well supplied with furniture and agricultural implements, drinking-cups, vases, cups of silver, and cups of onyx with silver feet, valued at 100 francs or more each. His wife had jewels, belts, purses, and trinkets, to the value of upwards of 1,000 gold francs (the gold franc was worth 24 livres); long and short gowns trimmed with fur; and three mantles of grey fur. Guillaume de Saint-Yon had generally in his storehouses 300 ox-hides, worth 24 francs each at least; 800 measures of fat, worth 3-1/2 sols each; in his sheds, he had 800 sheep worth 100 sols each; in his safes 500 or 600 silver florins of ready money (the florin was worth 12 francs, which must be multiplied five times to estimate its value in present currency), and his household furniture was valued at 12,000 florins. He gave a dowry of 2,000 florins to his two nieces, and spent 3,000 florins in rebuilding his Paris house; and lastly, as if he had been a noble, he used a silver seal." [Illustration: Fig. 89.--The Butcher and his Servant, drawn and engraved by J. Amman (Sixteenth Century).] We find in the "Ménagier de Paris" curious statistics respecting the various butchers' shops of the capital, and the daily sale in each at the period referred to. This sale, without counting the households of the King, the Queen, and the royal family, which were specially provisioned, amounted to 26,624 oxen, 162,760 sheep, 27,456 pigs, and 15,912 calves per annum; to which must be added not only the smoked and salted flesh of 200 or 300 pigs, which were sold at the fair in Holy Week, but also 6,420 sheep, 823 oxen, 832 calves, and 624 pigs, which, according to the "Ménagier," were used in the royal and princely households. Sometimes the meat was sent to market already cut up, but the slaughter of beasts was more frequently done in the butchers' shops in the town; for they only killed from day to day, according to the demand. Besides the butchers' there were tripe shops, where the feet, kidneys, &c., were sold. [Illustration: Figs. 90 and 91.--Seal and Counter-Seal of the Butchers of Bruges in 1356, from an impression on green wax, preserved in the archives of that town.] According to Bruyérin Champier, during the sixteenth century the most celebrated sheep in France were those of Berri and Limousin; and of all butchers' meat, veal was reckoned the best. In fact, calves intended for the tables of the upper classes were fed in a special manner: they were allowed for six months, or even for a year, nothing but milk, which made their flesh most tender and delicate. Contrary to the present taste, kid was more appreciated than lamb, which caused the _rôtisseurs_ frequently to attach the tail of a kid to a lamb, so as to deceive the customer and sell him a less expensive meat at the higher price. This was the origin of the proverb which described a cheat as "a dealer in goat by halves." In other places butchers were far from acquiring the same importance which they did in France and Belgium (Figs. 90 and 91), where much more meat was consumed than in Spain, Italy, or even in Germany. Nevertheless, in almost all countries there were certain regulations, sometimes eccentric, but almost always rigidly enforced, to ensure a supply of meat of the best quality and in a healthy state. In England, for instance, butchers were only allowed to kill bulls after they had been baited with dogs, no doubt with the view of making the flesh more tender. At Mans, it was laid down in the trade regulations, that "no butcher shall be so bold as to sell meat unless it shall have been previously seen alive by two or three persons, who will testify to it on oath; and, anyhow, they shall not sell it until the persons shall have declared it wholesome," &c. To the many regulations affecting the interests of the public must be added that forbidding butchers to sell meat on days when abstinence from animal food was ordered by the Church. These regulations applied less to the vendors than to the consumers, who, by disobeying them, were liable to fine or imprisonment, or to severe corporal punishment by the whip or in the pillory. We find that Clément Marot was imprisoned and nearly burned alive for having eaten pork in Lent. In 1534, Guillaume des Moulins, Count of Brie, asked permission for his mother, who was then eighty years of age, to cease fasting; the Bishop of Paris only granted dispensation on condition that the old lady should take her meals in secret and out of sight of every one, and should still fast on Fridays. "In a certain town," says Brantôme, "there had been a procession in Lent. A woman, who had assisted at it barefooted, went home to dine off a quarter of lamb and a ham. The smell got into the street; the house was entered. The fact being established, the woman was taken, and condemned to walk through the town with her quarter of lamb on the spit over her shoulder, and the ham hung round her neck." This species of severity increased during the times of religious dissensions. Erasmus says, "He who has eaten pork instead of fish is taken to the torture like a parricide." An edict of Henry II, 1549, forbade the sale of meat in Lent to persons who should not be furnished with a doctor's certificate. Charles IX forbade the sale of meat to the Huguenots; and it was ordered that the privilege of selling meat during the time of abstinence should belong exclusively to the hospitals. Orders were given to those who retailed meat to take the address of every purchaser, although he had presented a medical certificate, so that the necessity for his eating meat might be verified. Subsequently, the medical certificate required to be endorsed by the priest, specifying what quantity of meat was required. Even in these cases the use of butchers' meat alone was granted, pork, poultry, and game being strictly forbidden. Poultry.--A monk of the Abbey of Cluny once went on a visit to his relations. On arriving he asked for food; but as it was a fast day he was told there was nothing in the house but fish. Perceiving some chickens in the yard, he took a stick and killed one, and brought it to his relations, saying, "This is the fish which I shall eat to-day." "Eh, but, my son," they said, "have you dispensation from fasting on a Friday?" "No," he answered; "but poultry is not flesh; fish and fowls were created at the same time; they have a common origin, as the hymn which I sing in the service teaches me." This simple legend belongs to the tenth century; and notwithstanding that the opinion of this Benedictine monk may appear strange nowadays, yet it must be acknowledged that he was only conforming himself to the opinions laid down by certain theologians. In 817, the Council of Aix-la-Chapelle decided that such delicate nourishment could scarcely be called mortification as understood by the teaching of the Church. In consequence of this an order was issued forbidding the monks to eat poultry, except during four days at Easter and four at Christmas. But this prohibition in no way changed the established custom of certain parts of Christendom, and the faithful persisted in believing that poultry and fish were identical in the eyes of the Church, and accordingly continued to eat them indiscriminately. We also see, in the middle of the thirteenth century, St. Thomas Aquinas, who was considered an authority in questions of dogma and of faith, ranking poultry amongst species of aquatic origin. Eventually, this palpable error was abandoned; but when the Church forbade Christians the use of poultry on fast days, it made an exception, out of consideration for the ancient prejudice, in favour of teal, widgeon, moor-hens, and also two or three kinds of small amphibious quadrupeds. Hence probably arose the general and absurd beliefs concerning the origin of teal, which some said sprung from the rotten wood of old ships, others from the fruits of a tree, or the gum on fir-trees, whilst others thought they came from a fresh-water shell analogous to that of the oyster and mussel. As far back as modern history can be traced, we find that a similar mode of fattening poultry was employed then as now, and was one which the Gauls must have learnt from the Romans. Amongst the charges in the households of the kings of France one item was that which concerned the poultry-house, and which, according to an edict of St. Louis in 1261, bears the name of _poulaillier_. At a subsequent period this name was given to breeders and dealers in poultry (Fig. 92). The "Ménagier" tells as that, as is the present practice, chickens were fattened by depriving them of light and liberty, and gorging them with succulent food. Amongst the poultry yards in repute at that time, the author mentions that of Hesdin, a property of the Dukes of Luxemburg, in Artois; that of the King, at the Hôtel Saint-Pol, Rue Saint-Antoine, Paris; that of Master Hugues Aubriot, provost of Paris; and that of Charlot, no doubt a bourgeois of that name, who also gave his name to an ancient street in that quarter called the Marais. [Illustration: Fig. 92.--The Poulterer, drawn and engraved in the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] _Capons_ are frequently mentioned in poems of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; but the name of the _poularde_ does not occur until the sixteenth. We know that under the Roman rule, the Gauls carried on a considerable trade in fattened geese. This trade ceased when Gaul passed to new masters; but the breeding of geese continued to be carefully attended to. For many centuries geese were more highly prized than any other description of poultry, and Charlemagne ordered that his domains should be well stocked with flocks of geese, which were driven to feed in the fields, like flocks of sheep. There was an old proverb, "Who eats the king's goose returns the feathers in a hundred years." This bird was considered a great delicacy by the working classes and bourgeoisie. The _rôtisseurs_ (Fig. 94) had hardly anything in their shops but geese, and, therefore, when they were united in a company, they received the name of _oyers_, or _oyeurs_. The street in which they were established, with their spits always loaded with juicy roasts, was called Rue des _Oues_ (geese), and this street, when it ceased to be frequented by the _oyers_, became by corruption Rue Auxours. [Illustration: Fig. 93.--Barnacle Geese.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Wood, from the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, folio, Basle, 1552.] There is every reason for believing that the domestication of the wild duck is of quite recent date. The attempt having succeeded, it was wished to follow it up by the naturalisation in the poultry-yard of two other sorts of aquatic birds, namely, the sheldrake (_tadorna_) and the moorhen, but without success. Some attribute the introduction of turkeys into France and Europe to Jacques Coeur, treasurer to Charles VII., whose commercial connections with the East were very extensive; others assert that it is due to King René, Count of Provence; but according to the best authorities these birds were first brought into France in the time of Francis I. by Admiral Philippe de Chabot, and Bruyérin Champier asserts that they were not known until even later. It was at about the same period that guinea-fowls were brought from the coast of Africa by Portuguese merchants; and the travelling naturalist, Pierre Belon, who wrote in the year 1555, asserts that in his time "they had already so multiplied in the houses of the nobles that they had become quite common." [Illustration: Fig. 94.--The Poultry-dealer.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Wood, after Cesare Vecellio.] The pea-fowl played an important part in the chivalric banquets of the Middle Ages (Fig. 95). According to old poets the flesh of this noble bird is "food for the brave." A poet of the thirteenth century says, "that thieves have as much taste for falsehood as a hungry man has for the flesh of the peacock." In the fourteenth century poultry-yards were still stocked with these birds; but the turkey and the pheasant gradually replaced them, as their flesh was considered somewhat hard and stringy. This is proved by the fact that in 1581, "La Nouvelle Coutume du Bourbonnois" only reckons the value of these beautiful birds at two sous and a half, or about three francs of present currency. [Illustration: Fig. 95.--State Banquet.--Serving the Peacock.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in an edition of Virgil, folio, published at Lyons in 1517.] Game.--Our forefathers included among the birds which now constitute feathered game the heron, the crane, the crow, the swan, the stork, the cormorant, and the bittern. These supplied the best tables, especially the first three, which were looked upon as exquisite food, fit even for royalty, and were reckoned as thorough French delicacies. There were at that time heronries, as at a later period there were pheasantries. People also ate birds of prey, and only rejected those which fed on carrion. Swans, which were much appreciated, were very common on all the principal rivers of France, especially in the north; a small island below Paris had taken its name from these birds, and has maintained it ever since. It was proverbially said that the Charente was bordered with swans, and for this same reason Valenciennes was called _Val des Cygnes_, or the Swan Valley. Some authors make it appear that for a long time young game was avoided owing to the little nourishment it contained and its indigestibility, and assert that it was only when some French ambassadors returned from Venice that the French learnt that young partridges and leverets were exquisite, and quite fit to appear at the most sumptuous banquets. The "Ménagier" gives not only various receipts for cooking them, but also for dressing chickens, when game was out of season, so as to make them taste like young partridges. There was a time when they fattened pheasants as they did capons; it was a secret, says Liébault, only known to the poultry dealers; but although they were much appreciated, the pullet was more so, and realised as much as two crowns each (this does not mean the gold crown, but a current coin worth three livres). Plovers, which sometimes came from Beauce in cart-loads, were much relished; they were roasted without being drawn, as also were turtle-doves and larks; "for," says an ancient author, "larks only eat small pebbles and sand, doves grains of juniper and scented herbs, and plovers feed on air." At a later period the same honour was conferred on woodcocks. Thrushes, starlings, blackbirds, quail, and partridges were in equal repute according to the season. The _bec-figue_, a small bird like a nightingale, was so much esteemed in Provence that there were feasts at which that bird alone was served, prepared in various ways; but of all birds used for the table none could be compared to the young cuckoo taken just as it was full fledged. As far as we can ascertain, the Gauls had a dislike to the flesh of rabbits, and they did not even hunt them, for according to Strabo, Southern Gaul was infested with these mischievous animals, which destroyed the growing crops, and even the barks of the trees. There was considerable change in this respect a few centuries later, for every one in town or country reared domesticated rabbits, and the wild ones formed an article of food which was much in request. In order to ascertain whether a rabbit is young, Strabo tells us we should feel the first joint of the fore-leg, when we shall find a small bone free and movable. This method is adopted in all kitchens in the present day. Hares were preferred to rabbits, provided they were young; for an old French proverb says, "An old hare and an old goose are food for the devil." [Illustration: Fig. 96.--"The way to skin and cut up a Stag."--Fac-simile of a Miniature of "Phoebus, and his Staff for hunting Wild Animals" (Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, National Library of Paris).] The hedgehog and squirrel were also eaten. As for roe and red deer, they were, according to Dr. Bruyérin Ohampier, morsels fit for kings and rich people (Fig. 96). The doctor speaks of "fried slices of the young horn of the stag" as the daintiest of food, and the "Ménagier de Paris" shows how, as early as the fourteenth century, beef was dished up like bear's-flesh venison, for the use of kitchens in countries where the black bear did not exist. This proves that bear's flesh was in those days considered good food. Milk, Butter, Eggs, and Cheese.--These articles of food, the first which nature gave to man, were not always and everywhere uniformly permitted or prohibited by the Church on fast days. The faithful were for several centuries left to their own judgment on the subject. In fact, there is nothing extraordinary in eggs being eaten in Lent without scruple, considering that some theologians maintained that the hens which laid them were animals of aquatic extraction. It appears, however, that butter, either from prejudice or mere custom, was only used on fast days in its fresh state, and was not allowed to be used for cooking purposes. At first, and especially amongst the monks, the dishes were prepared with oil; but as in some countries oil was apt to become very expensive, and the supply even to fail totally, animal fat or lard had to be substituted. At a subsequent period the Church authorised the use of butter and milk; but on this point, the discipline varied much. In the fourteenth century, Charles V., King of France, having asked Pope Gregory XI. for a dispensation to use milk and butter on fast days, in consequence of the bad state of his health, brought on owing to an attempt having been made to poison him, the supreme Pontiff required a certificate from a physician and from the King's confessor. He even then only granted the dispensation after imposing on that Christian king the repetition of a certain number of prayers and the performance of certain pious deeds. In defiance of the severity of ecclesiastical authority, we find, in the "Journal of a Bourgeois of Paris," that in the unhappy reign of Charles VI. (1420), "for want of oil, butter was eaten in Lent the same as on ordinary non-fast days." In 1491, Queen Anne, Duchess of Brittany, in order to obtain permission from the Pope to eat butter in Lent, represented that Brittany did not produce oil, neither did it import it from southern countries. Many northern provinces adopted necessity as the law, and, having no oil, used butter; and thence originated that famous toast with slices of bread and butter, which formed such an important part of Flemish food. These papal dispensations were, however, only earned at the price of prayers and alms, and this was the origin of the _troncs pour le beurre_, that is, "alms-box for butter," which are still to be seen in some of the Flemish churches. [Illustration: Fig. 97.--The Manufacture of Oil, drawn and engraved by J. Amman in the Sixteenth Century.] It is not known when butter was first salted in order to preserve it or to send it to distant places; but this process, which is so simple and so natural, dates, no doubt, from very ancient times; it was particularly practised by the Normans and Bretons, who enclosed the butter in large earthenware jars, for in the statutes which were given to the fruiterers of Paris in 1412, mention is made of salt butter in earthenware jars. Lorraine only exported butter in such jars. The fresh butter most in request for the table in Paris, was that made at Vanvres, which in the month of May the people ate every morning mixed with garlic. The consumption of butter was greatest in Flanders. "I am surprised," says Bruyérin Champier, speaking of that country, "that they have not yet tried to turn it into drink; in France it is mockingly called _beurrière;_ and when any one has to travel in that country, he is advised to take a knife with him if he wishes to taste the good rolls of butter." [Illustration: Fig. 98.--A Dealer in Eggs.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut, after Cesare Vecellio, Sixteenth Century.] It is not necessary to state that milk and cheese followed the fortunes of butter in the Catholic world, the same as eggs followed those of poultry. But butter having been declared lawful by the Church, a claim was put in for eggs (Fig. 98), and Pope Julius III. granted this dispensation to all Christendom, although certain private churches did not at once choose to profit by this favour. The Greeks had always been more rigid on these points of discipline than the people of the West. It is to the prohibition of eggs in Lent that the origin of "Easter eggs" must be traced. These were hardened by boiling them in a madder bath, and were brought to receive the blessing of the priest on Good Friday, and were then eaten on the following Sunday as a sign of rejoicing. Ancient Gaul was celebrated for some of its home-made cheeses. Pliny praises those of Nismes, and of Mount Lozère, in Gévaudau; Martial mentions those of Toulouse, &c. A simple anecdote, handed down by the monk of St. Gall, who wrote in the ninth century, proves to us that the traditions with regard to cheeses were not lost in the time of Charlemagne: "The Emperor, in one of his travels, alighted suddenly, and without being expected, at the house of a bishop. It was on a Friday. The prelate had no fish, and did not dare to set meat before the prince. He therefore offered him what he had got, some boiled corn and green cheese. Charles ate of the cheese; but taking the green part to be bad, he took care to remove it with his knife. The Bishop, seeing this, took the liberty of telling his guest that this was the best part. The Emperor, tasting it, found that the bishop was right; and consequently ordered him to send him annually two cases of similar cheese to Aix-la-Chapelle. The Bishop answered, that he could easily send cheeses, but he could not be sure of sending them in proper condition, because it was only by opening them that you could be sure of the dealer not having deceived you in the quality of the cheese. 'Well,' said the Emperor, 'before sending them, cut them through the middle, so as to see if they are what I want; you will only have to join the two halves again by means of a wooden peg, and you can then put the whole into a case.'" Under the kings of the third French dynasty, a cheese was made at the village of Chaillot, near Paris, which was much appreciated in the capital. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the cheeses of Champagne and of Brie, which are still manufactured, were equally popular, and were hawked in the streets, according to the "Book of Street-Cries in Paris,"-- "J'ai bon fromage de Champaigne; Or i a fromage de Brie!" ("Buy my cheese from Champagne, And my cheese from Brie!") Eustache Deschamps went so far as to say that cheese was the only good thing which could possibly come from Brie. The "Ménagier de Paris" praises several kinds of cheeses, the names of which it would now be difficult to trace, owing to their frequent changes during four hundred years; but, according to the Gallic author of this collection, a cheese to be presentable at table, was required to possess certain qualities (in proverbial Latin, "Non Argus, nee Helena, nee Maria Magdalena," &c.), thus expressed in French rhyme:-- "Non mie (pas) blanc comme Hélaine, Non mie (pas) plourant comme Magdelaine, Non Argus (à cent yeux), mais du tout avugle (aveugle) Et aussi pesant comme un bugle (boeuf), Contre le pouce soit rebelle, Et qu'il ait ligneuse cotelle (épaisse croûte) Sans yeux, sans plourer, non pas blanc, Tigneulx, rebelle, bien pesant." ("Neither-white like Helena, Nor weeping as Magdelena, Neither Argus, nor yet quite blind, And having too a thickish rind, Resisting somewhat to the touch, And as a bull should weigh as much; Not eyeless, weeping, nor quite white, But firm, resisting, not too light.") In 1509, Platina, although an Italian, in speaking of good cheeses, mentions those of Chauny, in Picardy, and of Brehemont, in Touraine; Charles Estienne praises those of Craponne, in Auvergne, the _angelots_ of Normandy, and the cheeses made from fresh cream which the peasant-women of Montreuil and Vincennes brought to Paris in small wickerwork baskets, and which were eaten sprinkled with sugar. The same author names also the _rougerets_ of Lyons, which were always much esteemed; but, above all the cheeses of Europe, he places the round or cylindrical ones of Auvergne, which were only made by very clean and healthy children of fourteen years of age. Olivier de Serres advises those who wish to have good cheeses to boil the milk before churning it, a plan which is in use at Lodi and Parma, "where cheeses are made which are acknowledged by all the world to be excellent." The parmesan, which this celebrated agriculturist cites as an example, only became the fashion in France on the return of Charles VIII. from his expedition to Naples. Much was thought at that time of a cheese brought from Turkey in bladders, and of different varieties produced in Holland and Zetland. A few of these foreign products were eaten in stews and in pastry, others were toasted and sprinkled with sugar and powdered cinnamon. "Le Roman de Claris," a manuscript which belongs to the commencement of the fourteenth century, says that in a town winch was taken by storm the following stores were found:--: "Maint bon tonnel de vin, Maint bon bacon (cochon), maint fromage à rostir." ("Many a ton of wine, Many a slice of good bacon, plenty of good roasted cheese.") [Illustration: Table Service of a Lady of Quality Fac-simile of a miniature from the Romance of Renaud de Montauban, a ms. of fifteenth century Bibl. de l'Arsenal] [Illustration: Ladies Hunting Costumes of the fifteenth century. From a miniature in a ms. copy of _Ovid's Epistles_. No 7231 _bis._ Bibl. nat'le de Paris.] Besides cheese and butter, the Normans, who had a great many cows in their rich pastures, made a sort of fermenting liquor from the butter-milk, which they called _serat_, by boiling the milk with onions and garlic, and letting it cool in closed vessels. [Illustration: Fig. 99.--Manufacture of Cheeses in Switzerland.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, folio, Basle, 1549.] If the author of the "Ménagier" is to be believed, the women who sold milk by retail in the towns were well acquainted with the method of increasing its quantity at the expense of its quality. He describes how his _froumentée_, which consists of a sort of soup, is made, and states that when he sends his cook to make her purchases at the milk market held in the neighbourhood of the Rues de la Savonnerie, des Ecrivains, and de la Vieille-Monnaie, he enjoins her particularly "to get very fresh cow's milk, and to tell the person who sells it not to do so if she has put water to it; for, unless it be quite fresh, or if there be water in it, it will turn." Fish and Shellfish.--Freshwater fish, which was much more abundant in former days than now, was the ordinary food of those who lived on the borders of lakes, ponds, or rivers, or who, at all events, were not so far distant but that they could procure it fresh. There was of course much diversity at different periods and in different countries as regards the estimation in which the various kinds of fish were held. Thus Ausone, who was a native of Bordeaux, spoke highly of the delicacy of the perch, and asserted that shad, pike, and tench should be left to the lower orders; an opinion which was subsequently contradicted by the inhabitants of other parts of Gaul, and even by the countrymen of the Latin poet Gregory of Tours, who loudly praised the Geneva trout. But a time arrived when the higher classes preferred the freshwater fish of Orchies in Flanders, and even those of the Lyonnais. Thus we see in the thirteenth century the barbel of Saint-Florentin held in great estimation, whereas two hundred years later a man who was of no use, or a nonentity, was said to resemble a barbel, "which is neither good for roasting nor boiling." [Illustration: Fig. 100.--The Pond Fisherman.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, folio, Basle, 1549.] In a collection of vulgar proverbs of the twelfth century mention is made, amongst the fish most in demand, besides the barbel of Saint-Florentin above referred to, of the eels of Maine, the pike of Chalons, the lampreys of Nantes, the trout of Andeli, and the dace of Aise. The "Ménagier" adds several others to the above list, including blay, shad, roach, and gudgeon, but, above all, the carp, which was supposed to be a native of Southern Europe, and which must have been naturalised at a much later period in the northern waters (Figs. 100, 101, and 102). [Illustration: Fig. 101.--The River Fisherman, designed and engraved, in the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] [Illustration: Fig. 102.--Conveyance of Fish by Water and Land.--Fac-simile of an Engraving in the Royal Statutes of the Provostship of Merchants, 1528.] The most ancient documents bear witness that the natives of the sea-coasts of Europe, and particularly of the Mediterranean, fed on the same fish as at present: there were, however, a few other sea-fish, which were also used for food, but which have since been abandoned. Our ancestors were, not difficult to please: they had good teeth, and their palates, having become accustomed to the flesh of the cormorant, heron, and crane, without difficulty appreciated the delicacy of the nauseous sea-dog, the porpoise, and even the whale, which, when salted, furnished to a great extent all the markets of Europe. The trade in salted sea-fish only began in Paris in the twelfth century, when a company of merchants was instituted, or rather re-established, on the principle of the ancient association of Nantes. This association had existed from the period of the foundation under the Gauls of Lutetia, the city of fluvial commerce (Fig. 103), and it is mentioned in the letters patent of Louis VII. (1170). One of the first cargoes which this company brought in its boats was that of salted herrings from the coast of Normandy. These herrings became a necessary food during Lent, and "Sor et blanc harene frès pouldré (couvert de sel)!" ("Herrings smoked, fresh, and salted!") was the cry of the retailers in the streets of Paris, where this fish became a permanent article of consumption to an extent which can be appreciated from the fact that Saint Louis gave annually nearly seventy thousand herrings to the hospitals, plague-houses, and monasteries. [Illustration: Fig. 103.--A Votive Altar of the Nantes Parisiens, or the Company for the Commercial Navigation of the Seine, erected in Lutelia during the reign of Tiberius.--Fragments of this Altar, which were discovered in 1711 under the Choir of the Church of Notre-Dame, are preserved in the Museums of Cluny and the Palais des Thermes.] The profit derived from the sale of herrings at that time was so great that it soon became a special trade; it was, in fact, the regular practice of the Middle Ages for persons engaged in any branch of industry to unite together and form themselves into a corporation. Other speculators conceived the idea of bringing fresh fish to Paris by means of relays of posting conveyances placed along the road, and they called themselves _forains_. Laws were made to distinguish the rights of each of these trades, and to prevent any quarrel in the competition. In these laws, all sea-fish were comprised under three names, the fresh, the salted, and the smoked (_sor_). Louis IX. in an edict divides the dealers into two classes, namely, the sellers of fresh fish, and the sellers of salt or smoked fish. Besides salt and fresh herrings, an enormous amount of salted mackerel, which was almost as much used, was brought from the sea-coast, in addition to flat-fish, gurnets, skate, fresh and salted whiting and codfish. In an old document of the thirteenth century about fifty kinds of fish are enumerated which were retailed in the markets of the kingdom; and a century later the "Ménagier" gives receipts for cooking forty kinds, amongst which appears, under the name of _craspois_, the salted flesh of the whale, which was also called _le lard de carême_. This coarse food, which was sent from the northern seas in enormous slices, was only eaten by the lower orders, for, according to a writer of the sixteenth century, "were it cooked even for twenty-four hours it would still be very hard and indigestible." The "Proverbes" of the thirteenth century, which mention the freshwater fish then in vogue, also names the sea-fish most preferred, and whence they came, namely, the shad from Bordeaux, the congers from La Rochelle, the sturgeon from Blaye, the fresh herrings from Fécamp, and the cuttle-fish from Coutances. At a later period the conger was not eaten from its being supposed to produce the plague. The turbot, John-dory, skate and sole, which were very dear, were reserved for the rich. The fishermen fed on the sea-dragon. A great quantity of the small sea crayfish were brought into market; and in certain countries these were called _santé_, because the doctors recommended them to invalids or those in consumption; on the other hand, freshwater crayfish were not much esteemed in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, excepting for their eggs, which were prepared with spice. It is well known that pond frogs were a favourite food of the Gauls and Franks; they were never out of fashion in the rural districts, and were served at the best tables, dressed with green sauce; at the same period, and especially during Lent, snails, which were served in pyramid-shaped dishes, were much appreciated; so much so that nobles and bourgeois cultivated snail beds, somewhat resembling our oyster beds of the present day. The inhabitants of the coast at all periods ate various kinds of shell-fish, which were called in Italy sea-fruit; but it was only towards the twelfth century that the idea was entertained of bringing oysters to Paris, and mussels were not known there until much later. It is notorious that Henry IV. was a great oyster-eater. Sully relates that when he was created a duke "the king came, without being expected, to take his seat at the reception banquet, but as there was much delay in going to dinner, he began by eating some _huîtres de chasse_, which he found very fresh." By _huîtres de chasse_ were meant those oysters which were brought by the _chasse-marées_, carriers who brought the fresh fish from the coast to Paris at great speed. Beverages.--Beer is not only one of the oldest fermenting beverages used by man, but it is also the one which was most in vogue in the Middle Ages. If we refer to the tales of the Greek historians, we find that the Gauls--who, like the Egyptians, attributed the discovery of this refreshing drink to their god Osiris--had two sorts of beer: one called _zythus_, made with honey and intended for the rich; the other called _corma_, in which there was no honey, and which was made for the poor. But Pliny asserts that beer in Gallie was called _cerevisia_, and the grain employed for making it _brasce_. This testimony seems true, as from _brasce_ or _brasse_ comes the name _brasseur_ (brewer), and from _cerevisia, cervoise_, the generic name by which beer was known for centuries, and which only lately fell into disuse. [Illustration: Fig. 104.--The Great Drinkers of the North.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Histoires des Pays Septentrionaux," by Olaus Magnus, 16mo., Antwerp, 1560.] After a great famine, Domitian ordered all the vines in Gaul to be uprooted so as to make room for corn. This rigorous measure must have caused beer to become even more general, and, although two centuries later Probus allowed vines to be replanted, the use of beverages made from grain became an established custom; but in time, whilst the people still only drank _cervoise_, those who were able to afford it bought wine and drank it alternately with beer. However, as by degrees the vineyards increased in all places having a suitable soil and climate, the use of beer was almost entirely given up, so that in central Gaul wine became so common and cheap that all could drink it. In the northern provinces, where the vine would not grow, beer naturally continued to be the national beverage (Fig. 104). In the time of Charlemagne, for instance, we find the Emperor wisely ordered that persons knowing how to brew should be attached to each of his farms. Everywhere the monastic houses possessed breweries; but as early as the reign of St. Louis there were only a very few breweries in Paris itself, and, in spite of all the privileges granted to their corporation, even these were soon obliged to leave the capital, where there ceased to be any demand for the produce of their industry. They reappeared in 1428, probably in consequence of the political and commercial relations which had become established between Paris and the rich towns of the Flemish bourgeoisie; and then, either on account of the dearness of wine, or the caprice of fashion, the consumption of beer again became so general in France that, according to the "Journal d'un Bourgeois de Paris," it produced to the revenue two-thirds more than wine. It must be understood, however, that in times of scarcity, as in the years 1415 and 1482, brewing was temporarily stopped, and even forbidden altogether, on account of the quantity of grain which was thereby withdrawn from the food supply of the people (Fig. 105). [Illustration: Fig. 105.--The Brewer, designed and engraved, in the Sixteenth. Century, by J. Amman.] Under the Romans, the real _cervoise_, or beer, was made with barley; but, at a later period, all sorts of grain was indiscriminately used; and it was only towards the end of the sixteenth century that adding the flower or seed of hops to the oats or barley, which formed the basis of this beverage, was thought of. Estienne Boileau's "Book of Trades," edited in the thirteenth century, shows us that, besides the _cervoise_, another sort of beer was known, which was called _godale_. This name, we should imagine, was derived from the two German words _god ael_, which mean "good beer," and was of a stronger description than the ordinary _cervoise_; this idea is proved by the Picards and Flemish people calling it "double beer." In any case, it is from the word _godale_ that the familiar expression of _godailler_ (to tipple) is derived. In fact, there is hardly any sort of mixture or ingredient which has not been used in the making of beer, according to the fashions of the different periods. When, on the return from the Crusades, the use of spice had become the fashion, beverages as well as the food were loaded with it. Allspice, juniper, resin, apples, bread-crumbs, sage, lavender, gentian, cinnamon, and laurel were each thrown into it. The English sugared it, and the Germans salted it, and at times they even went so far as to put darnel into it, at the risk of rendering the mixture poisonous. The object of these various mixtures was naturally to obtain high-flavoured beers, which became so much in fashion, that to describe the want of merit of persons, or the lack of value in anything, no simile was more common than to compare them to "small beer." Nevertheless, more delicate and less blunted palates were to be found which could appreciate beer sweetened simply with honey, or scented with ambergris or raspberries. It is possible, however, that these compositions refer to mixtures in which beer, the produce of fermented grain, was confounded with hydromel, or fermented honey. Both these primitive drinks claim an origin equally remote, which is buried in the most distant periods of history, and they have been used in all parts of the world, being mentioned in the oldest historical records, in the Bible, the Edda, and in the sacred books of India. In the thirteenth century, hydromel, which then bore the name of _borgérafre, borgéraste_, or _bochet_, was composed of one part of honey to twelve parts of water, scented with herbs, and allowed to ferment for a month or six weeks. This beverage, which in the customs and statutes of the order of Cluny is termed _potus dulcissimus_ (the sweetest beverage), and which must have been both agreeable in taste and smell, was specially appreciated by the monks, who feasted on it on the great anniversaries of the Church. Besides this, an inferior quality of _bochet_ was made for the consumption of the lower orders and peasants, out of the honeycomb after the honey had been drained away, or with the scum which rose during the fermentation of the better qualities. [Illustration: Fig. 106.--The Vintagers, after a Miniature of the "Dialogues de Saint Gregoire" (Thirteenth Century).--Manuscript of the Royal Library of Brussels.] Cider (in Latin _sicera_) and perry can also both claim a very ancient origin, since they are mentioned by Pliny. It does not appear, however, that the Gauls were acquainted with them. The first historical mention of them is made with reference to a repast which Thierry II., King of Burgundy and Orleans (596-613), son of Childebert, and grandson of Queen Brunehaut, gave to St. Colomban, in which both cider and wine were used. In the thirteenth century, a Latin poet (Guillaume le Breton) says that the inhabitants of the Auge and of Normandy made cider their daily drink; but it is not likely that this beverage was sent away from the localities where it was made; for, besides the fact that the "Ménagier" only very curtly mentions a drink made of apples, we know that in the fifteenth century the Parisians were satisfied with pouring water on apples, and steeping them, so as to extract a sort of half-sour, half-sweet drink called _dépense_. Besides this, Paulmier de Grandmesnil, a Norman by birth, a famous doctor, and the author of a Latin treatise on wine and cider (1588), asserts that half a century before, cider was very scarce at Rouen, and that in all the districts of Caux the people only drank beer. Duperron adds that the Normans brought cider from Biscay, when their crops of apples failed. By whom and at what period the vine was naturalised in Gaul has been a long-disputed question, which, in spite of the most careful research, remains unsolved. The most plausible opinion is that which attributes the honour of having imported the vine to the Phoenician colony who founded Marseilles. Pliny makes mention of several wines of the Gauls as being highly esteemed. He nevertheless reproaches the vine-growers of Marseilles, Beziers, and Narbonne with doctoring their wines, and with infusing various drugs into them, which rendered them disagreeable and even unwholesome (Fig. 106). Dioscorides, however, approved of the custom in use among the Allobroges, of mixing resin with their wines to preserve them and prevent them from turning sour, as the temperature of their country was not warm enough thoroughly to ripen the grape. Rooted up by order of Domitian in 92, as stated above, the vine only reappeared in Gaul under Protus, who revoked, in 282, the imperial edict of his predecessor; after which period the Gallic wines soon recovered their ancient celebrity. Under the dominion of the Franks, who held wine in great favour, vineyard property was one of those which the barbaric laws protected with the greatest care. We find in the code of the Salians and in that of the Visigoths very severe penalties for uprooting a vine or stealing a bunch of grapes. The cultivation of the vine became general, and kings themselves planted them, even in the gardens of their city palaces. In 1160, there was still in Paris, near the Louvre, a vineyard of such an extent, that Louis VII. could annually present six hogsheads of wine made from it to the rector of St. Nicholas. Philip Augustus possessed about twenty vineyards of excellent quality in various parts of his kingdom. The culture of the vine having thus developed, the wine trade acquired an enormous importance in France. Gascony, Aunis, and Saintonge sent their wines to Flanders; Guyenne sent hers to England. Froissart writes that, in 1372, a merchant fleet of quite two hundred sail came from London to Bordeaux for wine. This flourishing trade received a severe blow in the sixteenth century; for an awful famine having invaded France in 1566, Charles IX. did not hesitate to repeat the acts of Domitian, and to order all the vines to be uprooted and their place to be sown with corn; fortunately Henry III. soon after modified this edict by simply recommending the governors of the provinces to see that "the ploughs were not being neglected in their districts on account of the excessive cultivation of the vine." [Illustration: Fig. 107.--Interior of an Hostelry.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in a folio edition of Virgil, published at Lyons in 1517.] Although the trade of a wine-merchant is one of the oldest established in Paris, it does not follow that the retail sale of wine was exclusively carried on by special tradesmen. On the contrary, for a long time the owner of the vineyard retailed the wine which he had not been able to sell in the cask. A broom, a laurel-wreath, or some other sign of the sort hung over a door, denoted that any one passing could purchase or drink wine within. When the wine-growers did not have the quality and price of their wine announced in the village or town by the public crier, they placed a man before the door of their cellar, who enticed the public to enter and taste the new wines. Other proprietors, instead of selling for people to take away in their own vessels, established a tavern in some room of their house, where they retailed drink (Fig. 107). The monks, who made wine extensively, also opened these taverns in the monasteries, as they only consumed part of their wine themselves; and this system was universally adopted by wine-growers, and even by the king and the nobles. The latter, however, had this advantage, that, whilst they were retailing their wines, no one in the district was allowed to enter into competition with them. This prescriptive right, which was called _droit de ban-vin_, was still in force in the seventeenth century. Saint Louis granted special statutes to the wine-merchants in 1264; but it was only three centuries later that they formed a society, which was divided into four classes, namely, hotel-keepers, publichouse-keepers, tavern proprietors, and dealers in wine _à pot_, that is, sold to people to take away with them. Hotel-keepers, also called _aubergistes_, accommodated travellers, and also put up horses and carriages. The dealers _à pot_ sold wine which could not be drunk on their premises. There was generally a sort of window in their door through which the empty pot was passed, to be returned filled: hence the expression, still in use in the eighteenth century, _vente a huis coupé_ (sale through a cut door). Publichouse-keepers supplied drink as well as _nappe et assiette_ (tablecloth and plate), which meant that refreshments were also served. And lastly, the _taverniers_ sold wine to be drunk on the premises, but without the right of supplying bread or meat to their customers (Figs 108 and 109). [Illustration: Fig. 108.--Banner of the Corporation of the Publichouse-keepers of Montmedy.] [Illustration: Fig. 109.--Banner of the Corporation of the Publichouse-keepers of Tonnerre.] The wines of France in most request from the ninth to the thirteenth centuries were those of Mâcon, Cahors, Rheims, Choisy, Montargis, Marne, Meulan, and Orléanais. Amongst the latter there was one which was much appreciated by Henry I., and of which he kept a store, to stimulate his courage when he joined his army. The little fable of the Battle of Wines, composed in the thirteenth century by Henri d'Andelys, mentions a number of wines which have to this day maintained their reputation: for instance, the Beaune, in Burgundy; the Saint-Emilion, in Gruyenne; the Chablis, Epernay, Sézanne, in Champagne, &c. But he places above all, with good reason, according to the taste of those days, the Saint-Pourçain of Auvergne, which was then most expensive and in great request. Another French poet, in describing the luxurious habits of a young man of fashion, says that he drank nothing but Saint-Pourçain; and in a poem composed by Jean Bruyant, secretary of the Châtelet of Paris, in 1332, we find "Du saint-pourçain Que l'on met en son sein pour sain." ("Saint-Pourçain wine, which you imbibe for the good of your health.") [Illustration: Fig. 110.--Banner of the Coopers of Bayonne.] [Illustration: Fig. 111.--Banner of the Coopers of La Rochelle.] Towards 1400, the vineyards of Aï became celebrated for Champagne as those of Beaune were for Burgundy; and it is then that we find, according to the testimony of the learned Paulmier de Grandmesnil, kings and queens making champagne their favourite beverage. Tradition has it that Francis I., Charles Quint, Henry VIII., and Pope Leon X. all possessed vineyards in Champagne at the same time. Burgundy, that pure and pleasant wine, was not despised, and it was in its honour that Erasmus said, "Happy province! she may well call herself the mother of men, since she produces such milk." Nevertheless, the above-mentioned physician, Paulmier, preferred to burgundy, "if not perhaps for their flavour, yet for their wholesomeness, the vines of the _Ile de France_ or _vins français_, which agree, he says, with scholars, invalids, the bourgeois, and all other persons who do not devote themselves to manual labour; for they do not parch the blood, like the wines of Gascony, nor fly to the head like those of Orleans and Château-Thierry; nor do they cause obstructions like those of Bordeaux." This is also the opinion of Baccius, who in his Latin treatise on the natural history of wines (1596) asserts that the wines of Paris "are in no way inferior to those of any other district of the kingdom." These thin and sour wines, so much esteemed in the first periods of monarchy and so long abandoned, first lost favour in the reign of Francis I., who preferred the strong and stimulating productions of the South. Notwithstanding the great number of excellent wines made in their own country, the French imported from other lands. In the thirteenth century, in the "Battle of Wines" we find those of Aquila, Spain, and, above all, those of Cyprus, spoken of in high terms. A century later, Eustace Deschamps praised the Rhine wines, and those of Greece, Malmsey, and Grenache. In an edict of Charles VI. mention is also made of the muscatel, rosette, and the wine of Lieppe. Generally, the Malmsey which was drunk in France was an artificial preparation, which had neither the colour nor taste of the Cyprian wine. Olivier de Serres tells us that in his time it was made with water, honey, clary juice, beer grounds, and brandy. At first the same name was used for the natural wine, mulled and spiced, which was produced in the island of Madeira from the grapes which the Portuguese brought there from Cyprus in 1420. The reputation which this wine acquired in Europe induced Francis I. to import some vines from Greece, and he planted fifty acres with them near Fontainebleau. It was at first considered that this plant was succeeding so well, that "there were hopes," says Olivier de Serres, "that France would soon be able to furnish her own Malmsey and Greek wines, instead of having to import them from abroad." It is evident, however, that they soon gave up this delusion, and that for want of the genuine wine they returned to artificial beverages, such as _vin cuit_, or cooked wine, which had at all times been cleverly prepared by boiling down new wine and adding various aromatic herbs to it. Many wines were made under the name of _herbés_, which were merely infusions of wormwood, myrtle, hyssop, rosemary, &c., mixed with sweetened wine and flavoured with honey. The most celebrated of these beverages bore the pretentious name of "nectar;" those composed of spices, Asiatic aromatics, and honey, were generally called "white wine," a name indiscriminately applied to liquors having for their bases some slightly coloured wine, as well as to the hypocras, which was often composed of a mixture of foreign liqueurs. This hypocras plays a prominent part in the romances of chivalry, and was considered a drink of honour, being always offered to kings, princes, and nobles on their solemn entry into a town. [Illustration: Fig. 112.--Butler at his Duties.--Fac-simile from a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle," of Munster, folio, Basle, 1549.] The name of wine was also given to drinks composed of the juices of certain fruits, and in which grapes were in no way used. These were the cherry, the currant, the raspberry, and the pomegranate wines; also the _moré_, made with the mulberry, which was so extolled by the poets of the thirteenth century. We must also mention the sour wines, which were made by pouring water on the refuse grapes after the wine had been extracted; also the drinks made from filberts, milk of almonds, the syrups of apricots and strawberries, and cherry and raspberry waters, all of which were refreshing, and were principally used in summer; and, lastly, _tisane_, sold by the confectioners of Paris, and made hot or cold, with prepared barley, dried grapes, plums, dates, gum, or liquorice. This _tisane_ may be considered as the origin of that drink which is now sold to the poor at a sous a glass, and which most assuredly has not much improved since olden times. It was about the thirteenth century that brandy first became known in France; but it does not appear that it was recognised as a liqueur before the sixteenth. The celebrated physician Arnauld de Villeneuve, who wrote at the end of the thirteenth century, to whom credit has wrongly been given for inventing brandy, employed it as one of his remedies, and thus expresses himself about it: "Who would have believed that we could have derived from wine a liquor which neither resembles it in nature, colour, or effect?.... This _eau de vin_ is called by some _eau de vie_, and justly so, since it prolongs life.... It prolongs health, dissipates superfluous matters, revives the spirits, and preserves youth. Alone, or added to some other proper remedy, it cures colic, dropsy, paralysis, ague, gravel, &c." At a period when so many doctors, alchemists, and other learned men made it their principal occupation to try to discover that marvellous golden fluid which was to free the human race of all its original infirmities, the discovery of such an elixir could not fail to attract the attention of all such manufacturers of panaceas. It was, therefore, under the name of _eau d'or_ (_aqua auri_) that brandy first became known to the world; a name improperly given to it, implying as it did that it was of mineral origin, whereas its beautiful golden colour was caused by the addition of spices. At a later period, when it lost its repute as a medicine, they actually sprinkled it with pure gold leaves, and at the same time that it ceased to be exclusively considered as a remedy, it became a favourite beverage. It was also employed in distilleries, especially as the basis of various strengthening and exciting liqueurs, most of which have descended to us, some coming from monasteries and others from châteaux, where they had been manufactured. The Kitchen. Soups, broths, and stews, &c.--The French word _potage_ must originally have signified a soup composed of vegetables and herbs from the kitchen garden, but from the remotest times it was applied to soups in general. As the Gauls, according to Athenæus, generally ate their meat boiled, we must presume that they made soup with the water in which it was cooked. It is related that one day Gregory of Tours was sitting at the table of King Chilpéric, when the latter offered him a soup specially made in his honour from chicken. The poems of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries mention soups made of peas, of bacon, of vegetables, and of groats. In the southern provinces there were soups made of almonds, and of olive oil. When Du Gueselin went out to fight the English knight William of Blancbourg in single combat, he first ate three sorts of soup made with wine, "in honour of the three persons in the Holy Trinity." [Illustration: Fig. 113.--Interior of a Kitchen of the Sixteenth Century.--Fac-simile from a Woodcut in the "Calendarium Romanum" of Jean Staéffler, folio, Tubingen, 1518.] We find in the "Ménagier," amongst a long list of the common soups the receipts for which are given, soup made of "dried peas and the water in which bacon has been boiled," and, in Lent, "salted-whale water;" watercress soup, cabbage soup, cheese soup, and _gramose_ soup, which was prepared by adding stewed meat to the water in which meat had already been boiled, and adding beaten eggs and verjuice; and, lastly, the _souppe despourvue_, which was rapidly made at the hotels, for unexpected travellers, and was a sort of soup made from the odds and ends of the larder. In those days there is no doubt but that hot soup formed an indispensable part of the daily meals, and that each person took it at least twice a day, according to the old proverb:-- "Soupe la soir, soupe le matin, C'est l'ordinaire du bon chrétien." ("Soup in the evening, and soup in the morning, Is the everyday food of a good Christian.") The cooking apparatus of that period consisted of a whole glittering array of cauldrons, saucepans, kettles, and vessels of red and yellow copper, which hardly sufficed for all the rich soups for which France was so famous. Thence the old proverb, "En France sont les grands soupiers." But besides these soups, which were in fact looked upon as "common, and without spice," a number of dishes were served under the generic name of soup, which constituted the principal luxuries at the great tables in the fourteenth century, but which do not altogether bear out the names under which we find them. For instance, there was haricot mutton, a sort of stew; thin chicken broth; veal broth with herbs; soup made of veal, roe, stag, wild boar, pork, hare and rabbit soup flavoured with green peas, &c. The greater number of these soups were very rich, very expensive, several being served at the same time; and in order to please the eye as well as the taste they were generally made of various colours, sweetened with sugar, and sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and aromatic herbs, such as marjoram, sage, thyme, sweet basil, savoury, &c. [Illustration: Fig. 114.--Coppersmith, designed and engraved in the Sixteenth Century by J. Amman.] These descriptions of soups were perfect luxuries, and were taken instead of sweets. As a proof of this we must refer to the famous _soupe dorée_, the description of which is given by Taillevent, head cook of Charles VII., in the following words, "Toast slices of bread, throw them into a jelly made of sugar, white wine, yolk of egg, and rosewater; when they are well soaked fry them, then throw them again into the rosewater and sprinkle them with sugar and saffron." [Illustration: Fig. 115.--Kitchen and Table Uensils:-- 1, Carving-knife (Sixteenth Century); 2, Chalice or Cup, with Cover (Fourteenth Century); 3, Doubled-handled Pot, in Copper (Ninth Century); 4, Metal Boiler, or Tin Pot, taken from "L'Histoire de la Belle Hélaine" (Fifteenth Century); 5, Knife (Sixteenth Century); 6, Pot, with Handles (Fourteenth Century); 7, Copper Boiler, taken from "L'Histoire de la Belle Hélaine" (Fifteenth Century); 8, Ewer, with Handle, in Oriental Fashion (Ninth Century); 9, Pitcher, sculptured, from among the Decorations of the Church of St. Benedict, Paris (Fifteenth Century); 10, Two-branched Candlestick (Sixteenth Century); 11, Cauldron (Fifteenth Century). ] It is possible that even now this kind of soup might find some favour; but we cannot say the same for those made with mustard, hemp-seed, millet, verjuice, and a number of others much in repute at that period; for we see in Rabelais that the French were the greatest soup eaters in the world, and boasted to be the inventors of seventy sorts. We have already remarked that broths were in use at the remotest periods, for, from the time that the practice of boiling various meats was first adopted, it must have been discovered that the water in which they were so boiled became savoury and nourishing. "In the time of the great King Francis I.," says Noël du Fail, in his "Contes d'Eutrapel," "in many places the saucepan was put on to the table, on which there was only one other large dish, of beef, mutton, veal, and bacon, garnished with a large bunch of cooked herbs, the whole of which mixture composed a porridge, and a real restorer and elixir of life. From this came the adage, 'The soup in the great pot and the dainties in the hotch-potch.'" At one time they made what they imagined to be strengthening broths for invalids, though their virtue must have been somewhat delusive, for, after having boiled down various materials in a close kettle and at a slow fire, they then distilled from this, and the water thus obtained was administered as a sovereign remedy. The common sense of Bernard Palissy did not fail to make him see this absurdity, and to protest against this ridiculous custom: "Take a capon," he says, "a partridge, or anything else, cook it well, and then if you smell the broth you will find it very good, and if you taste it you will find it has plenty of flavour; so much so that you will feel that it contains something to invigorate you. Distil this, on the contrary, and take the water then collected and taste it, and you will find it insipid, and without smell except that of burning. This should convince you that your restorer does not give that nourishment to the weak body for which you recommend it as a means of making good blood, and restoring and strengthening the spirits." The taste for broths made of flour was formerly almost universal in France and over the whole of Europe; it is spoken of repeatedly in the histories and annals of monasteries; and we know that the Normans, who made it their principal nutriment, were surnamed _bouilleux_. They were indeed almost like the Romans who in olden times, before their wars with eastern nations, gave up making bread, and ate their corn simply boiled in water. In the fourteenth century the broths and soups were made with millet-flour and mixed wheats. The pure wheat flour was steeped in milk seasoned with sugar, saffron, honey, sweet wine or aromatic herbs, and sometimes butter, fat, and yolks of eggs were added. It was on account of this that the bread of the ancients so much resembled cakes, and it was also from this fact that the art of the pastrycook took its rise. Wheat made into gruel for a long time was an important ingredient in cooking, being the basis of a famous preparation called _fromentée_, which was a _bouillie_ of milk, made creamy by the addition of yolks of eggs, and which served as a liquor in which to roast meats and fish. There were, besides, several sorts of _fromentée_, all equally esteemed, and Taillevent recommended the following receipt, which differs from the one above given:--"First boil your wheat in water, then put into it the juice or gravy of fat meat, or, if you like it better, milk of almonds, and by this means you will make a soup fit for fasts, because it dissolves slowly, is of slow digestion and nourishes much. In this way, too, you can make _ordiat_, or barley soup, which is more generally approved than the said _fromentée_." [Illustration: Fig. 116.--Interior of a Kitchen.--Fac-simile from a Woodcut in the "Calendarium Romanum" of J. Staéffler, folio, Tubingen, 1518.] Semolina, vermicelli, macaroni, &c., which were called Italian because they originally came from that country, have been in use in France longer than is generally supposed. They were first introduced after the expedition of Charles VIII. into Italy, and the conquest of the kingdom of Naples; that is, in the reign of Louis XII., or the first years of the sixteenth century. Pies, Stews, Roasts, Salads, &c.--Pastry made with fat, which might be supposed to have been the invention of modern kitchens, was in great repute amongst our ancestors. The manufacture of sweet and savoury pastry was intrusted to the care of the good _ménagiers_ of all ranks and conditions, and to the corporation of pastrycooks, who obtained their statutes only in the middle of the sixteenth century; the united skill of these, both in Paris and in the provinces, multiplied the different sorts of tarts and meat pies to a very great extent. So much was this the case that these ingenious productions became a special art, worthy of rivalling even cookery itself (Figs. 117, 118, and 130). One of the earliest known receipts for making pies is that of Gaces de la Bigne, first chaplain of Kings John, Charles V., and Charles VI. We find it in a sporting poem, and it deserves to be quoted verbatim as a record of the royal kitchen of the fourteenth century. It will be observed on perusing it that nothing was spared either in pastry or in cookery, and that expense was not considered when it was a question of satisfying the appetite. "Trois perdriaulx gros et reffais Au milieu du paté me mets; Mais gardes bien que tu ne failles A moi prendre six grosses cailles, De quoi tu les apuyeras. Et puis après tu me prendras Une douzaine d'alouètes Qu'environ les cailles me mettes, Et puis pendras de ces machés Et de ces petits oiselés: Selon ce que tu en auras, Le paté m'en billeteras. Or te fault faire pourvéance D'un pen de lart, sans point de rance, Que tu tailleras comme dé: S'en sera le pasté pouldré. S tu le veux de bonne guise, Du vertjus la grappe y soit mise, D'un bien peu de sel soit pouldré ... ... Fay mettre des oeufs en la paste, Les croutes un peu rudement Faictes de flour de pur froment ... ... N'y mets espices ni fromaige ... Au four bien à point chaud le met, Qui de cendre ait l'atre bien net; E quand sera bien à point cuit, I n'est si bon mangier, ce cuit." ("Put me in the middle of the pie three young partridges large and fat; But take good care not to fail to take six fine quail to put by their side. After that you must take a dozen skylarks, which round the quail you must place; And then you must take some thrushes and such other little birds as you can get to garnish the pie. Further, you must provide yourself with a little bacon, which must not be in the least rank (reasty), and you must cut it into pieces of the size of a die, and sprinkle them into the pie. If you want it to be in quite good form, you must put some sour grapes in and a very little salt ... ... Have eggs put into the paste, and the crust made rather hard of the flour of pure wheat. Put in neither spice nor cheese ... Put it into the oven just at the proper heat, The bottom of which must be quite free from ashes; And when it is baked enough, isn't that a dish to feast on!") From this period all treatises on cookery are full of the same kind of receipts for making "pies of young chickens, of fresh venison, of veal, of eels, of bream and salmon, of young rabbits, of pigeons, of small birds, of geese, and of _narrois_" (a mixture of cod's liver and hashed fish). We may mention also the small pies, which were made of minced beef and raisins, similar to our mince pies, and which were hawked in the streets of Paris, until their sale was forbidden, because the trade encouraged greediness on the one hand and laziness on the other. Ancient pastries, owing to their shapes, received the name of _tourte_ or _tarte_, from the Latin _torta_, a large hunch of bread. This name was afterwards exclusively used for hot pies, whether they contained vegetables, meat, or fish. But towards the end of the fourteenth century _tourte_ and _tarte_ was applied to pastry containing, herbs, fruits, or preserves, and _pâté_ to those containing any kind of meat, game, or fish. [Illustration: Fig. 117.--Banner of the Corporation of Pastrycooks of Caen.] [Illustration: Fig. 118.--Banner of the Corporation of Pastrycooks of Bordeaux.] It was only in the course of the sixteenth century that the name of _potage_ ceased to be applied to stews, whose number equalled their variety, for on a bill of fare of a banquet of that period we find more than fifty different sorts of _potages_ mentioned. The greater number of these dishes have disappeared from our books on cookery, having gone out of fashion; but there are two stews which were popular during many centuries, and which have maintained their reputation, although they do not now exactly represent what they formerly did. The _pot-pourri_, which was composed of veal, beef, mutton, bacon, and vegetables, and the _galimafrée_, a fricassee of poultry, sprinkled with verjuice, flavoured with spices, and surrounded by a sauce composed of vinegar, bread crumbs, cinnamon, ginger, &c. (Fig. 119). The highest aim of the cooks of the Taillevent school was to make dishes not only palatable, but also pleasing to the eye. These masters in the art of cooking might be said to be both sculptors and painters, so much did they decorate their works, their object being to surprise or amuse the guests by concealing the real nature of the disbes. Froissart, speaking of a repast given in his time, says that there were a number of "dishes so curious and disguised that it was impossible to guess what they were." For instance, the bill of fare above referred to mentions a lion and a sun made of white chicken, a pink jelly, with diamond-shaped points; and, as if the object of cookery was to disguise food and deceive epicures, Taillevent facetiously gives us a receipt for making fried or roast butter and for cooking eggs on the spit. [Illustration: Fig. 119.--Interior of Italian Kitchen.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Book on Cookery of Christoforo di Messisburgo, "Banchetti compositioni di Vivende," 4to., Ferrara, 1549.] The roasts were as numerous as the stews. A treatise of the fourteenth century names about thirty, beginning with a sirloin of beef, which must have been one of the most common, and ending with a swan, which appeared on table in full plumage. This last was the triumph of cookery, inasmuch as it presented this magnificent bird to the eyes of the astonished guests just as if he were living and swimming. His beak was gilt, his body silvered, resting 'on a mass of brown pastry, painted green in order to represent a grass field. Eight banners of silk were placed round, and a cloth of the same material served as a carpet for the whole dish, which towered above the other appointments of the table. [Illustration: Fig. 120.--Hunting-Meal.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (National Library of Paris).] The peacock, which was as much thought of then as it is little valued now, was similarly arrayed, and was brought to table amidst a flourish of trumpets and the applause of all present. The modes of preparing other roasts much resembled the present system in their simplicity, with this difference, that strong meats were first boiled to render them tender, and no roast was ever handed over to the skill of the carver without first being thoroughly basted with orange juice and rose water, and covered with sugar and powdered spices. We must not forget to mention the broiled dishes, the invention of which is attributed to hunters, and which Rabelais continually refers to as acting as stimulants and irresistibly exciting the thirst for wine at the sumptuous feasts of those voracious heroes (Fig. 120). The custom of introducing salads after roasts was already established in the fifteenth century. However, a salad, of whatever sort, was never brought to table in its natural state; for, besides the raw herbs, dressed in the same manner as in our days, it contained several mixtures, such as cooked vegetables, and the crests, livers, or brains of poultry. After the salads fish was served; sometimes fried, sometimes sliced with eggs or reduced to a sort of pulp, which was called _carpée_ or _charpie_, and sometimes it was boiled in water or wine, with strong seasoning. Near the salads, in the course of the dinner, dishes of eggs prepared in various ways were generally served. Many of these are now in use, such as the poached egg, the hard-boiled egg, egg sauce, &c. [Illustration: Fig. 121.--Shop of a Grocer and Druggist, from a Stamp of Vriese (Seventeenth Century).] Seasonings.--We have already stated that the taste for spices much increased in Europe after the Crusades; and in this rapid historical sketch of the food of the French people in the Middle Ages it must have been observed to what an extent this taste had become developed in France (Fig. 121). This was the origin of sauces, all, or almost all, of which were highly spiced, and were generally used with boiled, roast, or grilled meats. A few of these sauces, such as the yellow, the green, and the _caméline_, became so necessary in cooking that numerous persons took to manufacturing them by wholesale, and they were hawked in the streets of Paris. These sauce-criers were first called _saulciers_, then _vinaigriers-moustardiers_, and when Louis XII. united them in a body, as their business had considerably increased, they were termed _sauciers-moutardiers-vinaigriers_, distillers of brandy and spirits of wine, and _buffetiers_ (from _buffet_, a sideboard). [Illustration: Fig. 122.--The Cook, drawn and engraved, in the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] But very soon the corporation became divided, no doubt from the force of circumstances; and on one side we find the distillers, and on the other the master-cooks and cooks, or _porte-chapes_, as they were called, because, when they carried on their business of cooking, they covered their dishes with a _chape_, that is, a cope or tin cover (Fig. 122), so as to keep them warm. The list of sauces of the fourteenth century, given by the "Ménagier de Paris," is most complicated; but, on examining the receipts, it becomes clear that the variety of those preparations, intended to sharpen the appetite, resulted principally from the spicy ingredients with which they were flavoured; and it is here worthy of remark that pepper, in these days exclusively obtained from America, was known and generally used long before the time of Columbus. It is mentioned in a document, of the time of Clotaire III. (660); and it is clear, therefore, that before the discovery of the New World pepper and spices were imported into Europe from the East. Mustard, which was an ingredient in so many dishes, was cultivated and manufactured in the thirteenth century in the neighbourhood of Dijon and Angers. According to a popular adage, garlic was the medicine (_thériaque_) of peasants; town-people for a long time greatly appreciated _aillée_, which was a sauce made of garlic, and sold ready prepared in the streets of Paris. The custom of using anchovies as a flavouring is also very ancient. This was also done with _botargue_ and _cavial_, two sorts of side-dishes, which consisted of fishes' eggs, chiefly mullet and sturgeon, properly salted or dried, and mixed with fresh or pickled olives. The olives for the use of the lower orders were brought from Languedoc and Provence, whereas those for the rich were imported from Spain and some from Syria. It was also from the south of France that the rest of the kingdom was supplied with olive oil, for which, to this day, those provinces have preserved their renown; but as early as the twelfth and thirteenth centuries oil of walnuts was brought from the centre of France to Paris, and this, although cheaper, was superseded by oil extracted from the poppy. Truffles, though known and esteemed by the ancients, disappeared from the gastronomie collection of our forefathers. It was only in the fourteenth century that they were again introduced, but evidently without a knowledge of their culinary qualities, since, after being preserved in vinegar, they were soaked in hot water, and afterwards served up in butter. We may also here mention sorrel and the common mushroom, which were used in cooking during the Middle Ages. On the strength of the old proverb, "Sugar has never spoiled sauce," sugar was put into all sauces which were not _piquantes_, and generally some perfumed water was added to them, such as rose-water. This was made in great quantities by exposing to the sun a basin full of water, covered over by another basin of glass, under which was a little vase containing rose-leaves. This rose-water was added to all stews, pastries, and beverages. It is very doubtful as to the period at which white lump sugar became known in the West. However, in an account of the house of the Dauphin Viennois (1333) mention is made of "white sugar;" and the author of the "Ménagier de Paris" frequently speaks of this white sugar, which, before the discovery, or rather colonisation, of America, was brought, ready refined, from the Grecian islands, and especially from Candia. [Illustration: Fig. 123.--The _Issue de Table_.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Treatise of Christoforo di Messisburgo, "Banchetti compositioni di Vivende," 4to., Ferrara, 1549.] Verjuice, or green juice, which, with vinegar, formed the essential basis of sauces, and is now extracted from a species of green grape, which never ripens, was originally the juice of sorrel; another sort was extracted by pounding the green blades of wheat. Vinegar was originally merely soured wine, as the word _vin-aigre_ denotes. The mode of manufacturing it by artificial means, in order to render the taste more pungent and the quality better, is very ancient. It is needless to state that it was scented by the infusion of herbs or flowers--roses, elder, cloves, &c.; but it was not much before the sixteenth century that it was used for pickling herbs or fruits and vegetables, such as gherkins, onions, cucumber, purslain, &c. Salt, which from the remotest periods was the condiment _par excellence_, and the trade in which had been free up to the fourteenth century, became, from that period, the subject of repeated taxation. The levying of these taxes was a frequent cause of tumult amongst the people, who saw with marked displeasure the exigencies of the excise gradually raising the price of an article of primary necessity. We have already mentioned times during which the price of salt was so exorbitant that the rich alone could put it in their bread. Thus, in the reign of Francis I., it was almost as dear as Indian spices. Sweet Dishes, Desserts, &c.--In the fourteenth century, the first courses of a repast were called _mets_ or _assiettes_; the last, "_entremets, dorures, issue de table, desserte_, and _boule-hors_." The dessert consisted generally of baked pears, medlars, pealed walnuts, figs, dates, peaches, grapes, filberts, spices, and white or red sugar-plums. At the _issue de table_ wafers or some other light pastry were introduced, which were eaten with the hypocras wine. The _boute-hors,_ which was served when the guests, after having washed their hands and said grace, had passed into the drawing-room, consisted of spices, different from those which had appeared at dessert, and intended specially to assist the digestion; and for this object they must have been much needed, considering that a repast lasted several hours. Whilst eating these spices they drank Grenache, Malmsey, or aromatic wines (Fig. 123). It was only at the banquets and great repeats that sweet dishes and _dorures_ appeared, and they seem to have been introduced for the purpose of exhibiting the power of the imagination and the talent in execution of the master-cook. The _dorures_ consisted of jellies of all sorts and colours; swans, peacocks, bitterns, and herons, on gala feasts, were served in full feather on a raised platform in the middle of the table, and hence the name of "raised dishes." As for the side-dishes, properly so called, the long list collected in the "Ménagier" shows us that they were served at table indiscriminately, for stuffed chickens at times followed hashed porpoise in sauce, lark pies succeeded lamb sausages, and pike's-eggs fritters appeared after orange preserve. At a later period the luxury of side-dishes consisted in the quantity and in the variety of the pastry; Rabelais names sixteen different sorts at one repast; Taillevent mentions pastry called _covered pastry, Bourbonnaise pastry, double-faced pastry, pear pastry_, and _apple pastry_; Platina speaks of the _white pastry_ with quince, elder flowers, rice, roses, chestnuts, &c. The fashion of having pastry is, however, of very ancient date, for in the book of the "Proverbs" of the thirteenth century, we find that the pies of Dourlens and the pastry of Chartres were then in great celebrity. [Illustration: Fig. 124.--The Table of a Baron, as laid out in the Thirteenth Century.--Miniature from the "Histoire de St. Graal" (Manuscript from the Imperial Library, Paris).] In a charter of Robert le Bouillon, Bishop of Amiens, in 1311, mention is made of a cake composed of puff flaky paste; these cakes, however, are less ancient than the firm pastry called bean cake, or king's cake, which, from the earliest days of monarchy, appeared on all the tables, not only at the feast of the Epiphany, but also on every festive occasion. Amongst the dry and sweet pastries from the small oven which appeared at the _issue de table_, the first to be noticed were those made of almonds, nuts, &c., and such choice morsels, which were very expensive; then came the cream or cheesecakes, the _petits choux_, made of butter and eggs; the _échaudés_, of which the people were very fond, and St. Louis even allowed the bakers to cook them on Sundays and feast days for the poor; wafers, which are older than the thirteenth century; and lastly the _oublies_, which, under the names of _nieules, esterets_, and _supplications_, gave rise to such an extensive trade that a corporation was established in Paris, called the _oublayeurs, oublayers,_ or _oublieux_, whose statutes directed that none should be admitted to exercise the trade unless he was able to make in one day 500 large _oublies_, 300 _supplications_, and 200 _esterets_. Repasts and Feasts. We have had to treat elsewhere of the rules and regulations of the repasts under the Merovingian and Carlovingian kings. We have also spoken of the table service of the thirteenth century (see chapter on "Private Life"). The earliest author who has left us any documents on this curious subject is that excellent bourgeois to whom we owe the "Ménagier de Paris." He describes, for instance, in its fullest details, a repast which was given in the fourteenth century by the Abbé de Lagny, to the Bishop of Paris, the President of the Parliament, the King's attorney and advocate, and other members of his council, in all sixteen guests. We find from this account that "my lord of Paris, occupying the place of honour, was, in consequence of his rank, served on covered dishes by three of his squires, as was the custom for the King, the royal princes, the dukes, and peers; that Master President, who was seated by the side of the bishop, was also served by one of his own servants, but on uncovered dishes, and the other guests were seated at table according to the order indicated by their titles or charges." The bill of fare of this feast, which was given on a fast-day, is the more worthy of attention, in that it proves to us what numerous resources cookery already possessed. This was especially the case as regards fish, notwithstanding that the transport of fresh sea-fish was so difficult, owing to the bad state of the roads. First, a quarter of a pint of Grenache was given to each guest on sitting down, then "hot _eschaudés_, roast apples with white sugar-plums upon them, roasted figs, sorrel and watercress, and rosemary." "Soups.--A rich soup, composed of six trout, six tenches, white herring, freshwater eels, salted twenty-four hours, and three whiting, soaked twelve hours; almonds, ginger, saffron, cinnamon powder and sweetmeats. "Salt-Water Fish.--Soles, gurnets, congers, turbots, and salmon. "Fresh-Water Fish.--_Lux faudis_ (pike with roe), carps from the Marne, breams. "Side-Dishes.--Lampreys _à la boee_, orange-apples (one for each guest), porpoise with sauce, mackerel, soles, bream, and shad _à la cameline_, with verjuice, rice and fried almonds upon them; sugar and apples. [Illustration: Fig. 125.--Officers of the Table and of the Chamber of the Imperial Court: Cup-bearer, Cook, Barber, and Tailor, from a Picture in the "Triomphe de Maximilien T.," engraved by J. Resch, Burgmayer, and others (1512), from Drawings by Albert Durer.] "Dessert.--Stewed fruit with white and vermilion sugar-plums; figs, dates, grapes, and filberts. "Hypocras for _issue de table_, with _oublies_ and _supplications_. "Wines and spices compose the _baute-hors_." To this fasting repast we give by way of contrast the bill of fare at the nuptial feast of Master Helye, "to which forty guests were bidden on a Tuesday in May, a 'day of flesh.'" "Soups.--Capons with white sauce, ornamented with pomegranate and crimson sweetmeats. "Roasts.--Quarter of roe-deer, goslings, young chickens, and sauces of orange, cameline, and verjuice. "Side-Dishes.--Jellies of crayfish and loach; young rabbits and pork. "Dessert.--_Froumentée_ and venison. "Issue.--Hypocras. "Boute-Hors.--Wine and spices." The clever editor of the "Ménagier de Paris," M. le Baron Jerôme Pichon, after giving us this curious account of the mode of living of the citizens of that day, thus sums up the whole arrangements for the table in the fourteenth century: "The different provisions necessary for food are usually entrusted to the squires of the kitchen, and were chosen, purchased, and paid for by one or more of these officials, assisted by the cooks. The dishes prepared by the cooks were placed, by the help of the esquires, on dressers in the kitchen until the moment of serving. Thence they were carried to the tables. Let us imagine a vast hall hung with tapestries and other brilliant stuffs. The tables are covered with fringed table-cloths, and strewn with odoriferous herbs; one of them, called the Great Table, is reserved for the persons of distinction. The guests are taken to their seats by two butlers, who bring them water to wash. The Great Table is laid out by a butler, with silver salt-cellars (Figs. 126 and 127), golden goblets with lids for the high personages, spoons and silver drinking cups. The guests eat at least certain dishes on _tranchoirs_, or large slices of thick bread, afterwards thrown into vases called _couloueres_ (drainers). For the other tables the salt is placed on pieces of bread, scooped out for that purpose by the intendants, who are called _porte-chappes._ In the hall is a dresser covered with plate and various kinds of wine. Two squires standing near this dresser give the guests clean spoons, pour out what wine they ask for, and remove the silver when used; two other squires superintend the conveyance of wine to the dresser; a varlet placed under their orders is occupied with nothing but drawing wine from the casks." At that time wine was not bottled, and they drew directly from the cask the amount necessary for the day's consumption. "The dishes, consisting of three, four, five, and even six courses, called _mets_ or _assiettes_, are brought in by varlets and two of the principal squires, and in certain wedding-feasts the bridegroom walked in front of them. The dishes are placed on the table by an _asséeur_ (placer), assisted by two servants. The latter take away the remains at the conclusion of the course, and hand them over to the squires of the kitchen who have charge of them. After the _mets_ or _assiettes_ the table-cloths are changed, and the _entremets_ are then brought in. This course is the most brilliant of the repast, and at some of the princely banquets the dishes are made to imitate a sort of theatrical representation. It is composed of sweet dishes, of coloured jellies of swans, of peacocks, or of pheasants adorned with their feathers, having the beak and feet gilt, and placed on the middle of the table on a sort of pedestal. To the _entremets_, a course which does not appear on all bills of fare, succeeds the dessert. The _issue_, or exit from table, is mostly composed of hypocras and a sort of _oublie_ called _mestier_; or, in summer, when hypocras is out of season on account of its strength, of apples, cheeses, and sometimes of pastries and sweetmeats. The _boute-hors_ (wines and spices) end the repast. The guests then wash their hands, say grace, and pass into the _chambre de parement_ or drawing-room. The servants then sit down and dine after their masters. They subsequently bring the guests wine and _épices de chambre_, after which each retires home." [Illustration: Figs. 126 and 127.--Sides of an Enamelled Salt-cellar, with six facings representing the Labours of Hercules, made at Limoges, by Pierre Raymond, for Francis I.] But all the pomp and magnificence of the feasts of this period would have appeared paltry a century later, when royal banquets were managed by Taillevent, head cook to Charles VII. The historian of French cookery, Legrand d'Aussy, thus desoribes a great feast given in 1455 by the Count of Anjou, third son of Louis II., King of Sicily:-- "On the table was placed a centre-piece, which represented a green lawn, surrounded with large peacocks' feathers and green branches, to which were tied violets and other sweet-smelling flowers. In the middle of this lawn a fortress was placed, covered with silver. This was hollow, and formed a sort of cage, in which several live birds were shut up, their tufts and feet being gilt. On its tower, which was gilt, three banners were placed, one bearing the arms of the count, the two others those of Mesdemoiselles de Châteaubrun and de Villequier, in whose honour the feast was given. "The first course consisted of a civet of hare, a quarter of stag which had been a night in salt, a stuffed chicken, and a loin of veal. The two last dishes were covered with a German sauce, with gilt sugar-plums, and pomegranate seeds.... At each end, outside the green lawn, was an enormous pie, surmounted with smaller pies, which formed a crown. The crust of the large ones was silvered all round and gilt at the top; each contained a whole roe-deer, a gosling, three capons, six chickens, ten pigeons, one young rabbit, and, no doubt to serve as seasoning or stuffing, a minced loin of veal, two pounds of fat, and twenty-six hard-boiled eggs, covered with saffron and flavoured with cloves. For the three following courses, there was a roe-deer, a pig, a sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar, and covered with powdered ginger; a kid, two goslings, twelve chickens, as many pigeons, six young rabbits, two herons, a leveret, a fat capon stuffed, four chickens covered with yolks of eggs and sprinkled with powder _de Duc_ (spice), a wild boar, some wafers (_darioles_), and stars; a jelly, part white and part red, representing the crests of the three above-mentioned persons; cream with _Duc_ powder, covered with fennel seeds preserved in sugar; a white cream, cheese in slices, and strawberries; and, lastly, plums stewed in rose-water. Besides these four courses, there was a fifth, entirely composed of the prepared wines then in vogue, and of preserves. These consisted of fruits and various sweet pastries. The pastries represented stags and swans, to the necks of which were suspended the arms of the Count of Anjou and those of the two young ladies." In great houses, dinner was announced by the sound of the hunting-horn; this is what Froissard calls _corner l'assiette,_ but which was at an earlier period called _corner l'eau_, because it was the custom to wash the hands before sitting down to table as well as on leaving the dining-room. [Illustration: Fig. 128.--Knife-handles in Sculptured Ivory, Sixteenth Century (Collection of M. Becker, of Frankfort).] [Illustration: Fig. 129.--Nut-crackers, in Boxwood, Sixteenth Century (Collection of M. Achille Jubinal).] For these ablutions scented water, and especially rose-water, was used, brought in ewers of precious and delicately wrought metals, by pages or squires, who handed them to the ladies in silver basins. It was at about this period, that is, in the times of chivalry, that the custom of placing the guests by couples was introduced, generally a gentleman and lady, each couple having but one cup and one plate; hence the expression, to eat from the same plate. Historians relate that in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, at certain gala feasts, the dishes were brought in by servants in full armour, mounted on caparisoned horses; but this is a custom exclusively attached to chivalry. As early as those days, powerful and ingenious machines were in use, which lowered from the story above, or raised from that below, ready-served tables, which were made to disappear after use as if by enchantment. At that period the table service of the wealthy required a considerable staff of retainers and varlets; and, at a later period, this number was much increased. Thus, for instance, when Louis of Orleans went on a diplomatic mission to Germany from his brother Charles VI., this prince, in order that France might be worthily represented abroad, raised the number of his household to more than two hundred and fifty persons, of whom about one hundred were retainers and table attendants. Olivier de la Marche, who, in his "Mémoires," gives the most minute details of the ceremonial of the court of Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, tells us that the table service was as extensive as in the other great princely houses. This extravagant and ruinous pomp fell into disuse during the reigns of Louis XI., Charles VIII., and Louis XII., but reappeared in that of Francis I. This prince, after his first wars in Italy, imported the cookery and the gastronomic luxury of that country, where the art of good living, especially in Venice, Florence, and Rome, had reached the highest degree of refinement and magnificence. Henry II. and Francis II. maintained the magnificence of their royal tables; but after them, notwithstanding the soft effeminacy of the manners at court, the continued wars which Henry III. and Charles IX. had to sustain in their own states against the Protestants and the League necessitated a considerable economy in the households and tables of those kings. "It was only by fits and starts," says Brantôme, "that one was well fed during this reign, for very often circumstances prevented the proper preparation of the repasts; a thing much disliked by the courtiers, who prefer open table to be kept at both court and with the army, because it then costs them nothing." Henry IV. was neither fastidious nor greedy; we must therefore come down to the reign of Louis XIII. to find a vestige of the splendour of the banquets of Francis I. [Illustration: Fig. 130.--Grand Ceremonial Banquet at the Court of France in the Fourteenth Century, archaeological Restoration from Miniatures and Narratives of the Period. From the "Dictionnaire du Mobilier Français" of M. Viollet-Leduc.] From the establishment of the Franks in Gaul down to the fifteenth century inclusive, there were but two meals a day; people dined at ten o'clock in the morning, and supped at four in the afternoon. In the sixteenth century they put back dinner one hour and supper three hours, to which many people objected. Hence the old proverb:-- "Lever à six, dîner à dix, Souper à six, coucher à dix, Fait vivre l'homme dix fois dix." ("To rise at six, dine at ten, Sup at six, to bed at ten, Makes man live ten times ten.") [Illustration: Fig. 131.--Banner of the Corporation of Pastrycooks of Tonnerre.] Hunting. Venery and Hawking.--Origin of Aix-la-Chapelle.--Gaston Phoebus and his Book.--The Presiding Deities of Sportsmen.--Sporting Societies and Brotherhoods.--Sporting Kings: Charlemagne, Louis IX., Louis XI., Charles VIII., Louis XII., Francis I., &c.--Treatise on Venery.--Sporting Popes.--Origin of Hawking.--Training Birds.--Hawking Retinues.--Book of King Modus.--Technical Terms used in Hawking.--Persons who have excelled in this kind of Sport.--Fowling. By the general term hunting is included the three distinct branches of an art, or it may be called a science, which dates its origin from the earliest times, but which was particularly esteemed in the Middle Ages, and was especially cultivated in the glorious days of chivalry. _Venery_, which is the earliest, is defined by M. Elzéar Blaze as "the science of snaring, taking, or killing one particular animal from amongst a herd." _Hawking_ came next. This was not only the art of hunting with the falcon, but that of training birds of prey to hunt feathered game. Lastly, _l'oisellerie_ (fowling), which, according to the author of several well-known works on the subject we are discussing, had originally no other object than that of protecting the crops and fruits from birds and other animals whose nature it was to feed on them. Venery will be first considered. Sportsmen always pride themselves in placing Xenophon, the general, philosopher, and historian, at the head of sporting writers, although his treatise on the chase (translated from the Greek into Latin under the title of "De Venatione"), which gives excellent advice respecting the training of dogs, only speaks of traps and nets for capturing wild animals. Amongst the Greeks Arrian and Oppian, and amongst the Romans, Gratius Faliscus and Nemesianus, wrote on the same subject. Their works, however, except in a few isolated or scattered passages, do not contain anything about venery properly so called, and the first historical information on the subject is to be found in the records of the seventh century. Long after that period, however, they still hunted, as it were, at random, attacking the first animal they met. The sports of Charlemagne, for instance, were almost always of this description. On some occasions they killed animals of all sorts by thousands, after having tracked and driven them into an enclosure composed of cloths or nets. This illustrious Emperor, although usually at war in all parts of Europe, never missed an opportunity of hunting: so much so that it might be said that he rested himself by galloping through the forests. He was on these occasions not only followed by a large number of huntsmen and attendants of his household, but he was accompanied by his wife and daughters, mounted on magnificent coursers, and surrounded by a numerous and elegant court, who vied with each other in displaying their skill and courage in attacking the fiercest animals. It is even stated that Aix-la-Chapelle owes its origin to a hunting adventure of Charlemagne. The Emperor one day while chasing a stag required to cross a brook which came in his path, but immediately his horse had set his foot in the water he pulled it out again and began to limp as if it were hurt. His noble rider dismounted, and on feeling the foot found it was quite hot. This induced him to put his hand into the water, which he found to be almost boiling. On that very spot therefore he caused a chapel to be erected, in the shape of a horse's hoof. The town was afterwards built, and to this day the spring of hot mineral water is enclosed under a rotunda, the shape of which reminds one of the old legend of Charlemagne and his horse. The sons of Charlemagne also held hunting in much esteem, and by degrees the art of venery was introduced and carried to great perfection. It was not, however, until the end of the thirteenth century that an anonymous author conceived the idea of writing its principal precepts in an instructive poem, called "Le Dict de la Chace du Cerf." In 1328 another anonymous writer composed the "Livre du Roy Modus," which contains the rules for hunting all furred animals, from the stag to the hare. Then followed other poets and writers of French prose, such as Gace de la Vigne (1359), Gaston Phoebus (1387), and Hardouin, lord of Fontaine-Guérin (1394). None of these, however, wrote exclusively on venery, but described the different sports known in their day. Towards 1340, Alphonse XI., king of Castile, caused a book on hunting to be compiled for his use; but it was not so popular as the instruction of Gaston Phoebus (Fig. 132). If hunting with hounds is known everywhere by the French name of the chase, it is because the honour of having organized it into a system, if not of having originated it, is due to the early French sporting authors, who were able to form a code of rules for it. This also accounts for so many of the technical terms now in use in venery being of French origin, as they are no others than those adopted by these ancient authors, whose works, so to speak, have perpetuated them. [Illustration: Fig. 132.--Gaston Phoebus teaching the Art of Venery.--Fac-simile of a Miniature of "Phoebus and his Staff for Hunting Wild Animals and Birds of Prey" (Manuscript, Fifteenth Century, National Library of Paris)] [Illustration: Fig. 133.--"How to carry a Cloth to approach Beasts."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] The curious miniatures which accompany the text in the original manuscript of Gaston Phoebus, and which have been reproduced in nearly all the ancient copies of this celebrated manuscript, give most distinct and graphic ideas of the various modes of hunting. We find, for instance, that the use of an artificial cow for approaching wild-fowl was understood at that time, the only difference being that a model was used more like a horse than a cow (Fig. 133); we also see sportsmen shooting at bears, wild boars, stags, and such live animals with arrows having sharp iron points, intended to enter deep into the flesh, notwithstanding the thickness of the fur and the creature's hard skin. In the case of the hare, however, the missile had a heavy, massive end, probably made of lead, which stunned him without piercing his body (Fig. 134). In other cases the sportsman is represented with a crossbow seated in a cart, all covered up with boughs, by which plan he was supposed to approach the prey without alarming it any more than a swinging branch would do (Fig. 135). Gaston Phoebus is known to have been one of the bravest knights of his time; and, after fighting, he considered hunting as his greatest delight. Somewhat ingenuously he writes of himself as a hunter, "that he doubts having any superior." Like all his contemporaries, he is eloquent as to the moral effect of his favourite pastime. "By hunting," he says, "one avoids the sin of indolence; and, according to our faith, he who avoids the seven mortal sins will be saved; therefore the good sportsman will be saved." [Illustration: Fig. 134.--"How to allure the Hare."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] From the earliest ages sportsmen placed themselves under the protection of some special deity. Among the Greeks and Romans it was Diana and Phoebe. The Gauls, who had adopted the greater number of the gods and goddesses of Rome, invoked the moon when they sallied forth to war or to the chase; but, as soon as they penetrated the sacred obscurity of the forests, they appealed more particularly to the goddess _Ardhuina_, whose name, of unknown origin, has probably since been applied to the immense well-stocked forests of Ardenne or Ardennes. They erected in the depths of the woods monstrous stone figures in honour of this goddess, such as the heads of stags on the bodies of men or women; and, to propitiate her during the chase, they hung round these idols the feet, the skins, and the horns of the beasts they killed. Cernunnos, who was always represented with a human head surmounted by stags' horns, had an altar even in Lutetia, which was, no doubt, in consequence of the great woods which skirted the banks of the Seine. [Illustration: Fig. 135.--"How to take a Cart to allure Beasts."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] The Gallic Cernunnos, which we also find among the Romans, since Ovid mentions the votary stags' horns, continued to be worshipped to a certain extent after the establishment of the Christian religion. In the fifth century, Germain, an intrepid hunter, who afterwards became Bishop of Auxerre, possessed not far from his residence an oak of enormous diameter, a thorough Cernunnos, which he hung with the skins and other portions of animals he had killed in the chase. In some countries, where the Cernunnos remained an object of veneration, everybody bedecked it in the same way. The largest oak to be found in the district was chosen on which to suspend the trophies both of warriors and of hunters; and, at a more recent period, sportsmen used to hang outside their doors stags' heads, boars' feet, birds of prey, and other trophies, a custom which evidently was a relic of the one referred to. On pagan idolatry being abandoned, hunters used to have a presiding genius or protector, whom they selected from amongst the saints most in renown. Some chose St. Germain d'Auxerre, who had himself been a sportsman; others St. Martin, who had been a soldier before he became Bishop of Tours. Eventually they all agreed to place themselves under the patronage of St. Hubert, Bishop of Liège, a renowned hunter of the eighth century. This saint devoted himself to a religious life, after one day haying encountered a miraculous stag whilst hunting in the woods, which appeared to him as bearing between his horns a luminous image of our Saviour. At first the feast of St. Hubert was celebrated four times a year, namely, at the anniversaries of his conversion and death, and on the two occasions on which his relics were exhibited. At the celebration of each of these feasts a large number of sportsmen in "fine apparel" came from great distances with their horses and dogs. There was, in fact, no magnificence or pomp deemed too imposing to be displayed, both by the kings and nobles, in honour of the patron-saint of hunting (Fig. 136). [Illustration: Fig. 136.--"How to shout and blow Horns."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] [Illustration: Ladies Hunting Costumes of the fifteenth century. From a miniature in a ms. copy of _Ovid's Epistles_ No 7234 _bis._ Bibl. nat'le de Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 137.--German Sportsman, drawn and engraved by J. Amman in the Sixteenth Century.] Hunters and sportsmen in those days formed brotherhoods, which had their rank defined at public ceremonials, and especially in processions. In 1455, Gérard, Duke of Cleves and Burgrave of Ravensberg, created the order of the Knights of St. Hubert, into which those of noble blood only were admitted. The insignia consisted of a gold or silver chain formed of hunting horns, to which was hung a small likeness of the patron-saint in the act of doing homage to our Saviour's image as it shone on the head of a stag. It was popularly believed that the Knights of St. Hubert had the power of curing madness, which, for some unknown reason, never showed itself in a pack of hounds. This, however, was not the only superstitious belief attached to the noble and adventurous occupations of the followers of St. Hubert. Amongst a number of old legends, which mostly belong to Germany (Fig. 137), mention is made of hunters who sold their souls to the devil in exchange for some enchanted arrow which never missed its aim, and which reached game at extraordinary distances. Mention is also made in these legends of various animals which, on being pursued by the hunters, were miraculously saved by throwing themselves into the arms of some saint, or by running into some holy sanctuary. There were besides knights who, having hunted all their lives, believed that they were to continue the same occupation in another world. An account is given in history of the apparition of a fiery phantom to Charles IX. in the forest of Lyons, and also the ominous meeting of Henry IV. with the terrible _grand-veneur_ in the forest of Fontainebleau. We may account for these strange tales from the fact that hunting formerly constituted a sort of freemasonry, with its mysterious rites and its secret language. The initiated used particular signs of recognition amongst themselves, and they also had lucky and unlucky numbers, emblematical colours, &c. The more dangerous the sport the more it was indulged in by military men. The Chronicles of the Monk of Saint-Gall describe an adventure which befell Charlemagne on the occasion of his setting out with his huntsmen and hounds in order to chase an enormous bear which was the terror of the Vosges. The bear, after having disabled numerous dogs and hunters, found himself face to face with the Emperor, who alone dared to stand up before him. A fierce combat ensued on the summit of a rock, in which both were locked together in a fatal embrace. The contest ended by the death of the bear, Charles striking him with his dagger and hurling him down the precipice. On this the hills resounded with the cry of "Vive Charles le Grand!" from the numerous huntsmen and others who had assembled; and it is said that this was the first occasion on which the companions of the intrepid monarch gave him the title of _Grand_ (Magnus), so from that time King Charles became King _Charlemagne_. This prince was most jealous of his rights of hunting, which he would waive to no one. For a long time he refused permission to the monks of the Abbey of St. Denis, whom he nevertheless held in great esteem, to have some stags killed which were destroying their forests. It was only on condition that the flesh of these animals would serve as food to the monks of inferior order, and that their hides should be used for binding the missals, that he eventually granted them permission to kill the offending animals (Fig. 138). If we pass from the ninth to the thirteenth century, we find that Louis IX., king of France, was as keen a sportsman and as brave a warrior as any of his ancestors. He was, indeed, as fond of hunting as of war, and during his first crusade an opportunity occurred to him of hunting the lion. "As soon as he began to know the country of Cesarea," says Joinville, "the King set to work with his people to hunt lions, so that they captured many; but in doing so they incurred great bodily danger. The mode of taking them was this: They pursued them on the swiftest horses. When they came near one they shot a bolt or arrow at him, and the animal, feeling himself wounded, ran at the first person he could see, who immediately turned his horse's head and fled as fast as he could. During his flight he dropped a portion of his clothing, which the lion caught up and tore, thinking it was the person who had injured him; and whilst the lion was thus engaged the hunters again approached the infuriated animal and shot more bolts and arrows at him. Soon the lion left the cloth and madly rushed at some other hunter, who adopted the same strategy as before. This was repeated until the animal succumbed, becoming exhausted by the wounds he had received." [Illustration: Fig. 138.--"Nature and Appearance of Deer, and how they can be hunted with Dogs."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Livre du Roy Modus"--Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (National Library of Paris)] Notwithstanding the passion which this king had for hunting, he was the first to grant leave to the bourgeoisie to enjoy the sport. The condition he made with them was that they should always give a haunch of any animal killed to the lord of the soil. It is to this that we must trace the origin of giving the animal's foot to the huntsman or to the person who has the lead of the hunting party. Louis XI., however, did not at all act in this liberal manner, and although it might have been supposed that the incessant wars and political intrigues in which he was constantly engaged would have given him no time for amusements of this kind, yet he was, nevertheless, the keenest sportsman of his day. This tyrant of the Castle of Plessis-les-Tours, who was always miserly, except in matters of hunting, in which he was most lavish, forbade even the higher classes to hunt under penalty of hanging. To ensure the execution of his severe orders, he had all the castles as well as the cottages searched, and any net, engine, or sporting arm found was immediately destroyed. His only son, the heir to the throne, was not exempted from these laws. Shut up in the Castle of Amboise, he had no permission to leave it, for it was the will of the King that the young prince should remain ignorant of the noble exercises of chivalry. One day the Dauphin prayed his governor, M. du Bouchage, with so much earnestness to give him an idea of hunting, that this noble consented to make an excursion into the neighbouring wood with him. The King, however, managed to find it out, and Du Bouchage had great difficulty in keeping his head on his shoulders. One of the best ways of pleasing Louis XI. was to offer him some present relating to his favourite pastime, either pointers, hounds, falcons, or varlets who were adepts in the art of venery or hawking (Figs. 139 and 140). When the cunning monarch became old and infirm, in order to make his enemies believe that he was still young and vigorous, he sent messengers everywhere, even to the most remote countries, to purchase horses, dogs, and falcons, for which, according to Comines, he paid large sums (Fig. 141). On his death, the young prince, Charles VIII., succeeded him, and he seems to have had an innate taste for hunting, and soon made up for lost time and the privation to which his father had subjected him. He hunted daily, and generously allowed the nobles to do the same. It is scarcely necessary to say that these were not slow in indulging in the privilege thus restored to them, and which was one of their most ancient pastimes and occupations; for it must be remembered that, in those days of small intellectual culture, hunting must have been a great, if not at times the only, resource against idleness and the monotony of country life. Everything which related to sport again became the fashion amongst the youth of the nobility, and their chief occupation when not engaged in war. They continued as formerly to invent every sort of sporting device. For example, they obtained from other countries traps, engines, and hunting-weapons; they introduced into France at great expense foreign animals, which they took great pains in naturalising as game or in training as auxiliaries in hunting. After having imported the reindeer from Lapland, which did not succeed in their temperate climate, and the pheasant from Tartary, with which they stocked the woods, they imported with greater success the panther and the leopard from Africa, which were used for furred game as the hawk was for feathered game. The mode of hunting with these animals was as follows: The sportsmen, preceded by their dogs, rode across country, each with a leopard sitting behind him on his saddle. When the dogs had started the game the leopard jumped off the saddle and sprang after it, and as soon as it was caught the hunters threw the leopard a piece of raw flesh, for which he gave up the prey and remounted behind his master (Fig. 142) Louis XI., Charles VIII., and Louis XII. often hunted thus. The leopards, which formed a part of the royal venery, were kept in an enclosure of the Castle of Amboise, which still exists near the gate _des Lions_, so called, no doubt, on account of these sporting and carnivorous animals being mistaken for lions by the common people. There, were, however, always lions in the menageries of the kings of France. [Illustration: Fig. 139.--"The Way to catch Squirrels on the Ground in the Woods"--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century)] Francis I. was quite as fond of hunting as any of his predecessors. His innate taste for sport was increased during his travels in Italy, where he lived with princes who displayed great splendour in their hunting equipages. He even acquired the name of the _Father of Sportsmen_. His _netting_ establishment alone, consisted of one captain, one lieutenant, twelve mounted huntsmen, six varlets to attend the bloodhounds; six whips, who had under their charge sixty hounds; and one hundred bowmen on foot, carrying large stakes for fixing the nets and tents, which were carried by fifty six-horsed chariots. He was much pleased when ladies followed the chase; and amongst those who were most inclined to share its pleasures, its toils, and even its perils, was Catherine de Medicis, then Dauphine, who was distinguished for her agility and her graceful appearance on horseback, and who became a thorough sportswoman. [Illustration: Fig. 140.-"The Way of catching Partridges with an Osier Net-Work Apparatus"--Fac-simile of a Miniature in "Livre du Roy Modus."] The taste for hunting having become very general, and the art being considered as the most noble occupation to which persons could devote themselves, it is not surprising to find sporting works composed by writers of the greatest renown and of the highest rank. The learned William Budé, whom Erasmus called the _wonder of France_, dedicated to the children of Francis I. the second book of his "Philologie," which contains a treatise on stag-hunting. This treatise, originally written in Latin, was afterwards translated into French by order of Charles IX., who was acknowledged to be one of the boldest and most scientific hunters of his time. An extraordinary feat, which has never been imitated by any one, is recorded of him, and that was, that alone, on horseback and without dogs, he hunted down a stag. The "Chasse Royale," the authorship of which is attributed to him, is replete with scientific information. "Wolf-hunting," a work by the celebrated Clamorgan, and "Yenery," by Du Fouilloux, were dedicated to Charles IX., and a great number of special treatises on such subjects appeared in his reign. [Illustration: Fig. 141.--"Kennel in which Dogs should live, and how they should be kept."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] His brother, the effeminate Henry III., disliked hunting, as he considered it too fatiguing and too dangerous. On the other hand, according to Sully, Henry IV., _le Béarnais_, who learned hunting in early youth in the Pyrenees, "loved all kinds of sport, and, above all, the most fatiguing and adventurous pursuits, such as those after wolves, bears, and boars." He never missed a chance of hunting, "even when in face of an enemy. If he knew a stag to be near, he found time to hunt it," and we find in the "Memoirs of Sully " that the King hunted the day after the famous battle of Ivry. One day, when he was only King of Navarre, he invited the ladies of Pau to come and see a bear-hunt. Happily they refused, for on that occasion their nerves would have been put to a serious test. Two bears killed two of the horses, and several bowmen were hugged to death by the ferocious animals. Another bear, although pierced in several places, and having six or seven pike-heads in his body, charged eight men who were stationed on the top of a rock, and the whole of them with the bear were all dashed to pieces down the precipice. The only point in which Louis XIII. resembled his father was his love of the chase, for during his reign hunting continued in France, as well as in other countries, to be a favourite royal pastime. We have remarked that St. Germain d'Auxerre, who at a certain period was the patron of sportsmen, made hunting his habitual relaxation. He devoted himself to it with great keenness in his youth, before he became bishop, that is, when he was Duke of Auxerre and general of the troops of the provinces. Subsequently, when against his will he was raised to the episcopal dignity, not only did he give up all pleasures, but he devoted himself to the strictest religious life. Unfortunately, in those days, all church-men did not understand, as he did, that the duties of their holy vocation were not consistent with these pastimes, for, in the year 507, we find that councils and synods forbade priests to hunt. In spite of this, however, the ancient historians relate that several noble prelates, yielding to the customs of the times, indulged in hunting the stag and flying the falcon. [Illustration: Fig. 142.--Hunting with the Leopard, from a Stamp of Jean Stradan (Sixteenth Century).] It is related in history that some of the most illustrious popes were also great lovers of the chase, namely, Julius II, Leo X., and, previously to them, Pius II, who, before becoming Pope, amongst other literary and scientific works, wrote a Latin treatise on venery under his Christian names, Æneas Silvius. It is easy to understand how it happened that sports formerly possessed such attractions for ecclesiastical dignitaries. In early life they acquired the tastes and habits of people of their rank, and they were accordingly extremely jealous of the rights of chase in their domains. Although Pope Clement V., in his celebrated "Institutions," called "Clémentines," had formally forbidden the monks to hunt, there were few who did not evade the canonical prohibition by pursuing furred game, and that without considering that they were violating the laws of the Church. The papal edict permitted the monks and priests to hunt under certain circumstances, and especially where rabbits or beasts of prey increased so much as to damage the crops. It can easily be imagined that such would always be the case at a period when the people were so strictly forbidden to destroy game; and therefore hunting was practised at all seasons in the woods and fields in the vicinity of each abbey. The jealous peasants, not themselves having the right of hunting, and who continually saw _Master Abbot_ passing on his hunting excursions, said, with malice, that "the monks never forgot to pray for the success of the litters and nests (_pro pullis et nidis_), in order that game might always be abundant." [Illustration: Fig. 143.--"How Wolves may be caught with a Snare."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] If venery, as a regular science, dates from a comparatively recent period, it is not so with falconry, the first traces of which are lost in obscure antiquity. This kind of sport, which had become a most learned and complicated art, was the delight of the nobles of the Middle Ages and during the Renaissance period. It was in such esteem that a nobleman or his lady never appeared in public without a hawk on the wrist as a mark of dignity (Fig. 147). Even bishops and abbots entered the churches with their hunting birds, which they placed on the steps of the altar itself during the service. [Illustration: Fig. 144.--"How Bears and other Beasts may be caught with a Dart."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fifteenth Century).] The bird, like the sword, was a distinctive mark which was inseparable from the person of gentle birth, who frequently even went to war with the falcon on his wrist. During the battle he would make his squire hold the bird, which he replaced on his gauntlet when the fight was over. In fact, it was forbidden by the laws of chivalry for persons to give up their birds, even as a ransom, should they be made prisoners; in which case they had to let the noble birds fly, in order that they might not share their captivity. The falcon to a certain degree partook of his owner's nobility; he was, moreover, considered a noble bird by the laws of falconry, as were all birds of prey which could be trained for purposes of sport. All other birds, without distinction, were declared _ignoble_, and no exception was made to this rule by the naturalists of the Middle Ages, even in favour of the strongest and most magnificent, such as the eagle and vulture. According to this capricious classification, they considered the sparrow-hawk, which was the smallest of the hunting-birds, to rank higher than the eagle. The nickname of this diminutive sporting bird was often applied to a country-gentleman, who, not being able to afford to keep falcons, used the sparrow-hawk to capture partridges and quail. [Illustration: Fig. 145.--Olifant, or Hunting-horn, in Ivory (Fourteenth Century).--From an Original existing in England.] It was customary for gentlemen of all classes, whether sportsmen or not, to possess birds of some kind, "to keep up their rank," as the saying then was. Only the richest nobles, however, were expected to keep a regular falconry, that is, a collection of birds suited for taking all kinds of game, such as the hare, the kite, the heron, &c., as each sport not only required special birds, but a particular and distinctive retinue and establishment. [Illustration: Fig. 146.--Details Hunting-horn of the Fourteenth Century.--From the Original in an English Collection.] Besides the cost of falcons, which was often very great (for they were brought from the most distant countries, such as Sweden, Iceland, Turkey, and Morocco), their rearing and training involved considerable outlay, as may be more readily understood from the illustrations (Figs. 148 to 155), showing some of the principal details of the long and difficult education which had to be given them. To succeed in making the falcon obey the whistle, the voice, and the signs of the falconer was the highest aim of the art, and it was only by the exercise of much patience that the desired resuit was obtained. All birds of prey, when used for sport, received the generic name of _falcon_; and amongst them were to be found the gerfalcon, the saker-hawk, the lanner, the merlin, and the sparrow-hawk. The male birds were smaller than the females, and were called _tiercelet_--this name, however, more particularly applied to the gosshawk or the largest kind of male hawk, whereas the males of the above mentioned were called _laneret, sacret, émouchet._ Generally the male birds were used for partridges and quail, and the female birds for the hare, the heron, and crane. _Oiseaux de poing_, or _hand-birds,_ was the name given to the gosshawk, common hawk, the gerfalcon, and the merlin, because they returned to the hand of their master after having pursued game. The lanner, sparrow-hawk, and saker-hawk were called _oiseaux de leure_, from the fact that it was always necessary to entice them back again. [Illustration: Fig. 147.--A Noble of Provence (Fifteenth Century).--Bonnart's "Costumes from the Tenth to the Sixteenth Century."] The lure was an imitation of a bird, made of red cloth, that it might be more easily seen from a distance. It was stuffed so that the falcon could settle easily on it, and furnished with the wings of a partridge, duck, or heron, according to circumstances. The falconer swung his mock bird like a sling, and whistled as he did so, and the falcon, accustomed to find a piece of flesh attached to the lure, flew down in order to obtain it, and was thus secured. [Illustration: Fig. 148.--King Modus teaching the Art of Falconry.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] The trainers of birds divided them into two kinds, namely, the _niais_ or simple bird, which had been taken from the nest, and the wild bird (_hagard_) captured when full-grown. The education of the former was naturally very much the easier, but they succeeded in taming both classes, and even the most rebellious were at last subdued by depriving them of sleep, by keeping away the light from them, by coaxing them with the voice, by patting them, by giving them choice food, &c. Regardless of his original habits, the bird was first accustomed to have no fear of men, horses, and dogs. He was afterwards fastened to a string by one leg, and, being allowed to fly a short distance, was recalled to the lure, where he always found a dainty bit of food. After he had been thus exercised for several months, a wounded partridge was let loose that he might catch it near the falconer, who immediately took it from him before he could tear it to pieces. When he appeared sufficiently tame, a quail or partridge, previously stripped of a few feathers so as to prevent it flying properly, was put in his way as before. If he was wanted for hunting hares, a stuffed hare was dragged before him, inside of which was a live chicken, whose head and liver was his reward if he did his work well. Then they tried him with a hare whose fore-leg was broken in order to ensure his being quickly caught. For the kite, they placed two hawks together on the same perch, so as to accustom them peaceably to live and hunt together, for if they fought with one another, as strange birds were apt to do, instead of attacking the kite, the sport would of course have failed. At first a hen of the colour of a kite was given them to fight with. When they had mastered this, a real kite was used, which was tied to a string and his claws and beak were filed so as to prevent him from wounding the young untrained falcons. The moment they had secured their prey, they were called off it and given chickens' flesh to eat on the lure. The same System was adopted for hunting the heron or crane (Fig. 159). [Illustration: Fig. 149.--Falconers dressing their Birds.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] It will be seen that, in order to train birds, it was necessary for a large number of the various kinds of game to be kept on the premises, and for each branch of sport a regular establishment was required. In falconry, as in venery, great care was taken to secure that a bird should continue at one object of prey until he had secured it, that is to say, it was most essential to teach it not to leave the game he was after in order to pursue another which might come in his way. To establish a falconry, therefore, not only was a very large poultry-yard required, but also a considerable staff of huntsmen, falconers, and whips, besides a number of horses and dogs of all sorts, which were either used for starting the game for the hawks, or for running it down when it was forced to ground by the birds. [Illustration: Fig. 150.--Varlets of Falconry.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] A well-trained falcon was a bird of great value, and was the finest present that could be made to a lady, to a nobleman, or to the King himself, by any one who had received a favour. For instance, the King of France received six birds from the Abbot of St. Hubert as a token of gratitude for the protection granted by him to the abbey. The King of Denmark sent him several as a gracious offering in the month of April; the Grand Master of Malta in the month of May. At court, in those days, the reception of falcons either in public or in private was a great business, and the first trial of any new birds formed a topic of conversation among the courtiers for some time after. The arrival at court of a hawk-dealer from some distant country was also a great event. It is said that Louis XI. gave orders that watch should be kept night and day to seize any falcons consigned to the Duke of Brittany from Turkey. The plan succeeded, and the birds thus stolen were brought to the King, who exclaimed, "By our holy Lady of Cléry! what will the Duke Francis and his Bretons do? They will be very angry at the good trick I have played them." European princes vied with each other in extravagance as regards falconry; but this was nothing in comparison to the magnificence displayed in oriental establishments. The Count de Nevers, son of Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, having been made prisoner at the battle of Nicopolis, was presented to the Sultan Bajazet, who showed him his hunting establishment consisting of seven thousand falconers and as many huntsmen. The Duke of Burgundy, on hearing this, sent twelve white hawks, which were very scarce birds, as a present to Bajazet. The Sultan was so pleased with them that he sent him back his son in exchange. [Illustration: Fig. 151.--"How to train a New Falcon."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] The "Livre du Roy Modus" gives the most minute and curious details on the noble science of hawking. For instance, it tells us that the _nobility_ of the falcon was held in such respect that their utensils, trappings, or feeding-dishes were never used for other birds. The glove on which they were accustomed to alight was frequently elaborately embroidered in gold, and was never used except for birds of their own species. In the private establishments the leather hoods, which were put on their heads to prevent them seeing, were embroidered with gold and pearls and surmounted with the feathers of birds of paradise. Each bird wore on his legs two little bells with his owner's crest upon them; the noise made by these was very distinct, and could be heard even when the bird was too high in the air to be seen, for they were not made to sound in unison; they generally came from Italy, Milan especially being celebrated for their manufacture. Straps were also fastened to the falcon's legs, by means of which he was attached to the perch; at the end of this strap was a brass or gold ring with the owner's name engraved upon it. In the royal establishments each ring bore on one side, "I belong to the king," and on the other the name of the Grand Falconer. This was a necessary precaution, for the birds frequently strayed, and, if captured, they could thus be recognised and returned. The ownership of a falcon was considered sacred, and, by an ancient barbaric law, the stealer of a falcon was condemned to a very curious punishment. The unfortunate thief was obliged to allow the falcon to eat six ounces of the flesh of his breast, unless he could pay a heavy fine to the owner and another to the king. [Illustration: Fig. 152.--Falconers.--Fac-simile from a Miniature in Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century, which treats of the "Cour de Jaime, Roi de Maiorque."] A man thoroughly acquainted with the mode of training hawks was in high esteem everywhere. If he was a freeman, the nobles outbid each other as to who should secure his services; if he was a serf, his master kept him as a rare treasure, only parted with him as a most magnificent present, or sold him for a considerable sum. Like the clever huntsman, a good falconer (Fig. 156) was bound to be a man of varied information on natural history, the veterinary art, and the chase; but the profession generally ran in families, and the son added his own experience to the lessons of his father. There were also special schools of venery and falconry, the most renowned being of course in the royal household. The office of Grand Falconer of France, the origin of which dates from 1250, was one of the highest in the kingdom. The Maréchal de Fleuranges says, in his curious "Memoirs"--"The Grand Falconer, whose salary is four thousand florins" (the golden florin was worth then twelve or fifteen francs, and this amount must represent upwards of eighty thousand francs of present currency), "has fifty gentlemen under him, the salary of each being from five to six thousand livres. He has also fifty assistant falconers at two hundred livres each, all chosen by himself. His establishment consists of three hundred birds; he has the right to hunt wherever he pleases in the kingdom; he levies a tax on all bird-dealers, who are forbidden, under penalty of the confiscation of their stock, from selling a single bird in any town or at court without his sanction." The Grand Falconer was chief at all the hunts or hawking meetings; in public ceremonies he always appeared with the bird on his wrist, as an emblem of his rank; and the King, whilst hawking, could not let loose his bird until after the Grand Falconer had slipped his. [Illustration: Fig. 153.--"How to bathe a New Falcon."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] Falconry, like venery, had a distinctive and professional vocabulary, which it was necessary for every one who joined in hawking to understand, unless he wished to be looked upon as an ignorant yeoman. "Flying the hawk is a royal pastime," says the Jesuit Claude Binet, "and it is to talk royally to talk of the flight of birds. Every one speaks of it, but few speak well. Many speak so ignorantly as to excite pity among their hearers. Sometimes one says the _hand_ of the bird instead of saying the _talon_, sometimes the _talon_ instead of the _claw_, sometimes the _claw_ instead of the _nail_" &c. The fourteenth century was the great epoch of falconry. There were then so many nobles who hawked, that in the rooms of inns there were perches made under the large mantel-pieces on which to place the birds while the sportsmen were at dinner. Histories of the period are full of characteristic anecdotes, which prove the enthusiasm which was created by hawking in those who devoted themselves to it. [Illustration: Fig. 154.--"How to make Young Hawks fly."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] Emperors and kings were as keen as others for this kind of sport. As early as the tenth century the Emperor Henry I. had acquired the soubriquet of "the Bird-catcher," from the fact of his giving much more attention to his birds than to his subjects. His example was followed by one of his successors, the Emperor Henry VI., who was reckoned the first falconer of his time. When his father, the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa (Red-beard), died in the Holy Land, in 1189, the Archdukes, Electors of the Empire, went out to meet the prince so as to proclaim him Emperor of Germany. They found him, surrounded by dogs, horses, and birds, ready to go hunting. "The day is fine," he said; "allow us to put off serious affairs until to-morrow." Two centuries later we find at the court of France the same ardour for hawking and the same admiration for the performances of falcons. The Constable Bertrand du Guesclin gave two hawks to King Charles VI.; and the Count de Tancarville, whilst witnessing a combat between these noble birds and a crane which had been powerful enough to keep two greyhounds at bay, exclaimed, "I would not give up the pleasure which I feel for a thousand florins!" The court-poet, William Crétin, although he was Canon of the holy chapel of Vincennes, was as passionately fond of hawking as his good master Louis XII. He thus describes the pleasure he felt in seeing a heron succumb to the vigorous attack of the falcons:-- "Qui auroit la mort aux dents, Il revivroit d'avour un tel passe-temps!" ("He who is about to die Would live again with such amusement.") [Illustration: Fig. 155.--Lady setting out Hawking.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth. Century).] At a hunting party given by Louis XII. to the Archduke Maximilian, Mary of Burgundy, the Archduke's wife, was killed by a fall from her horse. The King presented his best falcons to the Archduke with a view to divert his mind and to turn his attention from the sad event, and one of the historians tells us that the bereaved husband was soon consoled: "The partridges, herons, wild ducks, and quails which he was enabled to take on his journey home by means of the King's present, materially lessening his sorrow." Falconry, after having been in much esteem for centuries, at last became amenable to the same law which affects all great institutions, and, having reached the height of its glory, it was destined to decay. Although the art disappeared completely under Louis the Great, who only liked stag-kunting, and who, by drawing all the nobility to court, disorganized country life, no greater adept had ever been known than King Louis XIII. His first favourite and Grand Falconer was Albert de Luynes, whom he made prime minister and constable. Even in the Tuileries gardens, on his way to mass at the convent of the Feuillants, this prince amused himself by catching linnets and wrens with noisy magpies trained to pursue small birds. It was during this reign that some ingenious person discovered that the words LOUIS TREIZIÈME, ROY DE FRANCE ET DE NAVARRE, exactly gave this anagram, ROY TRÈS-RARE, ESTIMÉ DIEU DE LA FAUCONNERIE. It was also at this time that Charles d'Arcussia, the last author who wrote a technical work on falconry, after praising his majesty for devoting himself so thoroughly to the divine sport, compared the King's birds to domestic angels, and the carnivorous birds which they destroyed he likened to the devil. From this he argued that the sport was like the angel Gabriel destroying the demon Asmodeus. He also added, in his dedication to the King, "As the nature of angels is above that of men, so is that of these birds above all other animals." [Illustration: Fig. 156.--Dress of the Falconer (Thirteenth Century).--Sculpture of the Cathedral of Rouen.] At that time certain religious or rather superstitious ceremonies were in use for blessing the water with which the falcons were sprinkled before hunting, and supplications were addressed to the eagles that they might not molest them. The following words were used: "I adjure you, O eagles! by the true God, by the holy God, by the most blessed Virgin Mary, by the nine orders of angels, by the holy prophets, by the twelve apostles, &c.... to leave the field clear to our birds, and not to molest them: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." It was at this time that, in order to recover a lost bird, the Sire de la Brizardière, a professional necromancer, proposed beating the owner of the bird with birch-rods until he bled, and of making a charm with the blood, which was reckoned infallible. [Illustration: Fig. 157.--Diseases of Dogs and their Cure.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of Phoebus (Fourteenth Century).] Elzéar Blaze expressed his astonishment that the ladies should not have used their influence to prevent falconry from falling into disuse. The chase, he considered, gave them an active part in an interesting and animated scene, which only required easy and graceful movements on their part, and to which no danger was attached. "The ladies knowing," he says, "how to fly a bird, how to call him back, and how to encourage him with their voice, being familiar with him from having continually carried him on their wrist, and often even from having broken him in themselves, the honour of hunting belongs to them by right. Besides, it brings out to advantage their grace and dexterity as they gallop amongst the sportsmen, followed by their pages and varlets and a whole herd of horses and dogs." The question of precedence and of superiority had, at every period, been pretty evenly balanced between venery and falconry, each having its own staunch supporters. Thus, in the "Livre du Roy Modus," two ladies contend in verse (for the subject was considered too exalted to be treated of in simple prose), the one for the superiority of the birds, the other for the superiority of dogs. Their controversy is at length terminated by a celebrated huntsman and falconer, who decides in favour of venery, for the somewhat remarkable reason that those who pursue it enjoy oral and ocular pleasure at the same time. In an ancient Treatise by Gace de la Vigne, in which the same question occupies no fewer than ten thousand verses, the King (unnamed) ends the dispute by ordering that in future they shall be termed pleasures of dogs and pleasures of birds, so that there may be no superiority on one side or the other (Fig. 160). The court-poet, William Crétin, who was in great renown during the reigns of Louis XII. and Francis I., having asked two ladies to discuss the same subject in verse, does not hesitate, on the contrary, to place falconry above venery. [Illustration: Fig. 158.--German Falconer, designed and engraved, in the Sixteenth Century, by J. Amman.] It may fairly be asserted that venery and falconry have taken a position of some importance in history; and in support of this theory it will suffice to mention a few facts borrowed from the annals of the chase. The King of Navarre, Charles the Bad, had sworn to be faithful to the alliance made between himself and King Edward III. of England; but the English troops having been beaten by Du Guesclin, Charles saw that it was to his advantage to turn to the side of the King of France. In order not to appear to break his oath, he managed to be taken prisoner by the French whilst out hunting, and thus he sacrificed his honour to his personal interests. It was also due to a hunting party that Henry III., another King of Navarre, who was afterwards Henry IV., escaped from Paris, on the 3rd February, 1576, and fled to Senlis, where his friends of the Reformed religion came to join him. [Illustration: Fig. 159.--Heron-hawking.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] Hunting formed a principal entertainment when public festivals were celebrated, and it was frequently accompanied with great magnificence. At the entry of Isabel of Bavaria into Paris, a sort of stag hunt was performed, when "the streets," according to a popular story of the time, "were full to profusion of hares, rabbits, and goslings." Again, at the solemn entry of Louis XI. into Paris, a representation of a doe hunt took place near the fountain St. Innocent; "after which the queen received a present of a magnificent stag, made of confectionery, and having the royal arms hung round its neck." At the memorable festival given at Lille, in 1453, by the Duke of Burgundy, a very curious performance took place. "At one end of the table," says the historian Mathieu de Coucy, "a heron was started, which was hunted as if by falconers and sportsmen; and presently from the other end of the table a falcon was slipped, which hovered over the heron. In a few minutes another falcon was started from the other side of the table, which attacked the heron so fiercely that he brought him down in the middle of the hall. After the performance was over and the heron was killed, it was served up at the dinner-table." [Illustration: Fig. 160.--Sport with Dogs.--"How the Wild Boar is hunted by means of Dogs."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] We shall conclude this chapter with a few words on bird-fowling, a kind of sport which was almost disdained in the Middle Ages. The anonymous author of the "Livre du Roy Modus" called it, in the fourteenth century, the pastime of the poor, "because the poor, who can neither keep hounds nor falcons to hunt or to fly, take much pleasure in it, particularly as it serves at the same time as a means of subsistence to many of them." In this book, which was for a long time the authority in matters of sport generally, we find that nearly all the methods and contrivances now employed for bird-fowling were known and in use in the Middle Ages, in addition to some which have since fallen into disuse. We accordingly read in the "Roy Modus" a description of the drag-net, the mirror, the screech-owl, the bird-pipe (Fig. 161), the traps, the springs, &c., the use of all of which is now well understood. At that time, when falcons were so much required, it was necessary that people should be employed to catch them when young; and the author of this book speaks of nets of various sorts, and the pronged piece of wood in the middle of which a screech-owl or some other bird was placed in order to attract the falcons (Fig. 162). [Illustration: Fig. 161.--Bird-piping.--"The Manner of Catching Birds by piping."--Fac-simile of Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] Two methods were in use in those days for catching the woodcook and pheasant, which deserve to be mentioned. "The pheasants," says "King Modus," "are of such a nature that the male bird cannot bear the company of another." Taking advantage of this weakness, the plan of placing a mirror, which balanced a sort of wicker cage or coop, was adopted. The pheasant, thinking he saw his fellow, attacked him, struck against the glass and brought down the coop, in which he had leisure to reflect on his jealousy (Fig. 163). Woodcocks, which are, says the author, "the most silly birds," were caught in this way. The bird-fowler was covered from head to foot with clothes of the colour of dead leaves, only having two little holes for his eyes. When he saw one he knelt down noiselessly, and supported his arms on two sticks, so as to keep perfectly still. When the bird was not looking towards him he cautiously approached it on his knees, holding in his hands two little dry sticks covered with red cloth, which he gently waved so as to divert the bird's attention from himself. In this way he gradually got near enough to pass a noose, which he kept ready at the end of a stick, round the bird's neck (Fig. 164). However ingenious these tricks may appear, they are eclipsed by one we find recorded in the "Ixeuticon," a very elegant Latin poem, by Angelis de Barga, written two centuries later. In order to catch a large number of starlings, this author assures us, it is only necessary to have two or three in a cage, and, when a flight of these birds is seen passing, to liberate them with a very long twine attached to their claws. The twine must be covered with bird-lime, and, as the released birds instantly join their friends, all those they come near get glued to the twine and fall together to the ground. [Illustration: Fig. 162.--Bird-catching with a Machine like a Long Arm.--Fac-simile of Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] As at the present time, the object of bird-fowling was twofold, namely, to procure game for food and to capture birds to be kept either for their voice or for fancy as pets. The trade in the latter was so important, at least in Paris, that the bird-catchers formed a numerous corporation having its statutes and privileges. The Pont au Change (then covered on each side with houses and shops occupied by goldsmiths and money-changers) was the place where these people carried on their trade; and they had the privilege of hanging their cages against the houses, even without the sanction of the proprietors. This curious right was granted to them by Charles VI. in 1402, in return for which they were bound to "provide four hundred birds" whenever a king was crowned, "and an equal number when the queen made her first entry into her good town of Paris." The goldsmiths and money-changers, however, finding that this became a nuisance, and that it injured their trade, tried to get it abolished. They applied to the authorities to protect their rights, urging that the approaches to their shops, the rents of which they paid regularly, were continually obstructed by a crowd of purchasers and dealers in birds. The case was brought several times before parliament, which only confirmed the orders of the kings of France and the ancient privileges of the bird-catchers. At the end of the sixteenth century the quarrel became so bitter that the goldsmiths and changers took to "throwing down the cages and birds and trampling them under foot," and even assaulted and openly ill-treated the poor bird-dealers. But a degree of parliament again justified the sale of birds on the Pont an Change, by condemning the ring-leader, [Illustration: Fig. 163.--Pheasant Fowling.--"Showing how to catch Pheasants."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] Pierre Filacier, the master goldsmith who had commenced the proceedings against the bird-catchers, to pay a double fine, namely, twenty crowns to the plaintiffs and ten to the King. [Illustration: Fig. 164.--The Mode of catching a Woodcock.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Livre du Roy Modus" (Fourteenth Century).] It is satisfactory to observe that at that period measures were taken to preserve nests and to prevent bird-fowling from the 15th of March to the 15th of August. Besides this, it was necessary to have an express permission from the King himself to give persons the right of catching birds on the King's domains. Before any one could sell birds it was required for him to have been received as a master bird-catcher. The recognised bird-catchers, therefore, had no opponents except dealers from other countries, who brought canary-birds, parrots, and other foreign specimens into Paris. These dealers were, however, obliged to conform to strict rules. They were required on their arrival to exhibit their birds from ten to twelve o'clock on the marble stone in the palace yard on the days when parliament sat, in order that the masters and governors of the King's aviary, and, after them, the presidents and councillors, might have the first choice before other people of anything they wished to buy. They were, besides, bound to part the male and female birds in separate cages with tickets on them, so that purchasers might not be deceived; and, in case of dispute on this point, some sworn inspectors were appointed as arbitrators. No doubt, emboldened by the victory which they had achieved over the goldsmiths of the Pont an Change, the bird-dealers of Paris attempted to forbid any bourgeois of the town from breeding canaries or any sort of cage birds. The bourgeois resented this, and brought their case before the Marshals of France. They urged that it was easy for them to breed canaries, and it was also a pleasure for their wives and daughters to teach them, whereas those bought on the Pont an Change were old and difficult to educate. This appeal was favourably received, and an order from the tribunal of the Marshals of France permitted the bourgeois to breed canaries, but it forbade the sale of them, which it was considered would interfere with the trade of the master-fowlers of the town, faubourgs, and suburbs of Paris. [Illustration: Fig. 165.--Powder-horn.--Work of the Sixteenth Century (Artillery Museum of Brussels).] Games and Pastimes. Games of the Ancient Greeks and Romans.--Games of the Circus.--Animal Combats.--Daring of King Pepin.--The King's Lions.--Blind Men's Fights.--Cockneys of Paris.--Champ de Mars.--Cours Plénières and Cours Couronnées.--Jugglers, Tumblers, and Minstrels.--Rope-dancers.--Fireworks.--Gymnastics.--Cards and Dice.--Chess, Marbles, and Billiards.--La Soule, La Pirouette, &c.--Small Games for Private Society.--History of Dancing.--Ballet des Ardents.--The "Orchésographie" (Art of Dancing) of Thoinot Arbeau.--List of Dances. People of all countries and at all periods have been fond of public amusements, and have indulged in games and pastimes with a view to make time pass agreeably. These amusements have continually varied, according to the character of each nation, and according to the capricious changes of fashion. Since the learned antiquarian, J. Meursius, has devoted a large volume to describing the games of the ancient Greeks ("De Ludis Graecorum"), and Rabelais has collected a list of two hundred and twenty games which were in fashion at different times at the court of his gay master, it will be easily understood that a description of all the games and pastimes which have ever been in use by different nations, and particularly by the French, would form an encyclopaedia of some size. We shall give a rapid sketch of the different kinds of games and pastimes which were most in fashion during the Middle Ages and to the end of the sixteenth century--omitting, however, the religious festivals, which belong to a different category; the public festivals, which will come under the chapter on Ceremonials; the tournaments and tilting matches and other sports of warriors, which belong to Chivalry; and, lastly, the scenic and literary representations, which specially belong to the history of the stage. We shall, therefore, limit ourselves here to giving in a condensed form a few historical details of certain court amusements, and a short description of the games of skill and of chance, and also of dancing. The Romans, especially during the times of the emperors, had a passionate love for performances in the circus and amphitheatre, as well as for chariot races, horse races, foot races, combats of animals, and feats of strength and agility. The daily life of the Roman people may be summed up as consisting of taking their food and enjoying games in the circus (_panem et circenses_). A taste for similar amusements was common to the Gauls as well as to the whole Roman Empire; and, were historians silent on the subject, we need no further information than that which is to be gathered from the ruins of the numerous amphitheatres, which are to be found at every centre of Roman occupation. The circus disappeared on the establishment of the Christian religion, for the bishops condemned it as a profane and sanguinary vestige of Paganism, and, no doubt, this led to the cessation of combats between man and beast. They continued, however, to pit wild or savage animals against one another, and to train dogs to fight with lions, tigers, bears, and bulls; otherwise it would be difficult to explain the restoration by King Chilpéric (A.D. 577) of the circuses and arenas at Paris and Soissons. The remains of one of these circuses was not long ago discovered in Paris whilst they were engaged in laying the foundations for a new street, on the west side of the hill of St. Geneviève, a short distance from the old palace of the Caesars, known by the name of the Thermes of Julian. Gregory of Tours states that Chilpéric revived the ancient games of the circus, but that Gaul had ceased to be famous for good athletes and race-horses, although animal combats continued to take place for the amusement of the kings. One day King Pepin halted, with the principal officers of his army, at the Abbey of Ferrières, and witnessed a fight between a lion and a bull. The bull was of enormous size and extraordinary strength, but nevertheless the lion overcame him; whereupon Pepin, who was surnamed the Short, turned to his officers, who used to joke him about his short stature, and said to them, "Make the lion loose his hold of the bull, or kill him." No one dared to undertake so perilous a task, and some said aloud that the man who would measure his strength with a lion must be mad. Upon this, Pepin sprang into the arena sword in hand, and with two blows cut off the heads of the lion and the bull. "What do you think of that?" he said to his astonished officers. "Am I not fit to be your master? Size cannot compare with courage. Remember what little David did to the Giant Goliath." Eight hundred years later there were occasional animal combats at the court of Francis I. "A fine lady," says Brantôme, "went to see the King's lions, in company with a gentleman who much admired her. She suddenly let her glove drop, and it fell into the lions' den. 'I beg of you,' she said, in the calmest way, to her admirer, 'to go amongst the lions and bring me back my glove.' The gentleman made no remark, but, without even drawing his sword, went into the den and gave himself up silently to death to please the lady. The lions did not move, and he was able to leave their den without a scratch and return the lady her missing glove. 'Here is your glove, madam,' he coldly said to her who evidently valued his life at so small a price; 'see if you can find any one else who would do the same as I have done for you.' So saying he left her, and never afterwards looked at or even spoke to her." It has been imagined that the kings of France only kept lions as living symbols of royalty. In 1333 Philippe de Valois bought a barn in the Rue Froidmantel, near the Château du Louvre, where he established a menagerie for his lions, bears, leopards, and other wild beasts. This royal menagerie still existed in the reigns of Charles VIII. and Francis I. Charles V. and his successors had an establishment of lions in the quadrangle of the Grand Hôtel de St. Paul, on the very spot which was subsequently the site of the Rue des Lions St. Paul. These wild beasts were sometimes employed in the combats, and were pitted against bulls and dogs in the presence of the King and his court. It was after one of these combats that Charles IX., excited by the sanguinary spectacle, wished to enter the arena alone in order to attack a lion which had torn some of his best dogs to pieces, and it was only with great difficulty that the audacious sovereign was dissuaded from his foolish purpose. Henry III. had no disposition to imitate his brother's example; for dreaming one night that his lions were devouring him, he had them all killed the next day. The love for hunting wild animals, such as the wolf, bear, and boar (see chapter on Hunting), from an early date took the place of the animal combats as far as the court and the nobles were concerned. The people were therefore deprived of the spectacle of the combats which had had so much charm for them; and as they could not resort to the alternative of the chase, they treated themselves to a feeble imitation of the games of the circus in such amusements as setting dogs to worry old horses or donkeys, &c. (Fig. 166). Bull-fights, nevertheless, continued in the southern provinces of France, as also in Spain. At village feasts not only did wrestling matches take place, but also queer kinds of combats with sticks or birch boughs. Two men, blindfolded, each armed with a stick, and holding in his hand a rope fastened to a stake, entered the arena, and went round and round trying to strike at a fat goose or a pig which was also let loose with them. It can easily be imagined that the greater number of the blows fell like hail on one or other of the principal actors in this blind combat, amidst shouts of laughter from the spectators. [Illustration: Fig. 166.--Fight between a Horse and Dogs.--Fac-simile of a Manuscript in the British Museum (Thirteenth Century).] Nothing amused our ancestors more than these blind encounters; even kings took part at these burlesque representations. At Mid-Lent annually they attended with their court at the Quinze-Vingts, in Paris, in order to see blindfold persons, armed from head to foot, fighting with a lance or stick. This amusement was quite sufficient to attract all Paris. In 1425, on the last day of August, the inhabitants of the capital crowded their windows to witness the procession of four blind men, clothed in full armour, like knights going to a tournament, and preceded by two men, one playing the hautbois and the other bearing a banner on which a pig was painted. These four champions on the next day attacked a pig, which was to become the property of the one who killed it. The lists were situated in the court of the Hôtel d'Armagnac, the present site of the Palais Royal. A great crowd attended the encounter. The blind men, armed with all sorts of weapons, belaboured each other so furiously that the game would have ended fatally to one or more of them had they not been separated and made to divide the pig which they had all so well earned. [Illustration: Fig. 167.--Merchants and Lion-keepers at Constantinople.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Wood from the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Thevet: folio, 1575.] The people of the Middle Ages had an insatiable love of sight-seeing; they came great distances, from all parts, to witness any amusing exhibition. They would suffer any amount of privation or fatigue to indulge this feeling, and they gave themselves up to it so heartily that it became a solace to them in their greatest sorrows, and they laughed with that hearty laugh which may be said to be one of their natural characteristics. In all public processions in the open air the crowd (or rather, as we might say, the Cockneys of Paris), in their anxiety to see everything that was to be seen, would frequently obstruct all the public avenues, and so prevent the procession from passing along. In consequence of this the Provosts of Paris on these occasions distributed hundreds of stout sticks amongst the sergeants, who used them freely on the shoulders of the most obstinate sight-seers (see chapter on Ceremonials). There was no religious procession, no parish fair, no municipal feast, and no parade or review of troops, which did not bring together crowds of people, whose ears and eyes were wide open, if only to hear the sound of the trumpet, or to see a "dog rush past with a frying-pan tied to his tail." [Illustration: Fig. 168.--Free Distribution of Bread, Meat, and Wine to the People.--Reduced Copy of a Woodcut of the Solemn Entry of Charles V and Pope Clement VII into Bologna, in 1530.] This curiosity of the French was particularly exhibited when the kings of the first royal dynasty held their _Champs de Mars_, the kings of the second dynasty their _Cours Plenières_, and the kings of the third dynasty their _Cours Couronnées._ In these assemblies, where the King gathered together all his principal vassals once or twice a year, to hold personal communication with them, and to strengthen his power by ensuring their feudal services, large quantities of food and fermented liquors were publicly distributed among the people (Fig. 168). The populace were always most enthusiastic spectators of military displays, of court ceremonies, and, above all, of the various amusements which royalty provided for them at great cost in those days: and it was on these state occasions that jugglers, tumblers, and minstrels displayed their talents. The _Champ de Mars_ was one of the principal fêtes of the year, and was held sometimes in the centre of some large town, sometimes in a royal domain, and sometimes in the open country. Bishop Gregory of Tours describes one which was given in his diocese during the reign of Chilpéric, at the Easter festivals, at which we may be sure that the games of the circus, re-established by Chilpéric, excited the greatest interest. Charlemagne also held _Champs de Mars_, but called them _Cours Royales,_ at which he appeared dressed in cloth of gold studded all over with pearls and precious stones. Under the third dynasty King Robert celebrated court days with the same magnificence, and the people were admitted to the palace during the royal banquet to witness the King sitting amongst his great officers of state. The _Cours Plénières_, which were always held at Christmas, Twelfth-day, Easter, and on the day of Pentecost, were not less brilliant during the reigns of Robert's successors. Louis IX. himself, notwithstanding his natural shyness and his taste for simplicity, was noted for the display he made on state occasions. In 1350, Philippe de Valois wore his crown at the _Cours Plénières_, and from that time they were called _Cours Couronnées_. The kings of jugglers were the privileged performers, and their feats and the other amusements, which continued on each occasion for several days, were provided for at the sovereign's sole expense. [Illustration: Fig. 169.--Feats in Balancing.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Manuscript in the Bodleian Library at Oxford (Thirteenth Century).] These kings of jugglers exercised a supreme authority over the art of jugglery and over all the members of this jovial fraternity. It must not be imagined that these jugglers merely recited snatches from tales and fables in rhyme; this was the least of their talents. The cleverest of them played all sorts of musical instruments, sung songs, and repeated by heart a multitude of stories, after the example of their reputed forefather, King Borgabed, or Bédabie, who, according to these troubadours, was King of Great Britain at the time that Alexander the Great was King of Macedonia. The jugglers of a lower order especially excelled in tumbling and in tricks of legerdemain (Figs. 169 and 170). They threw wonderful somersaults, they leaped through hoops placed at certain distances from one another, they played with knives, slings, baskets, brass balls, and earthenware plates, and they walked on their hands with their feet in the air or with their heads turned downwards so as to look through their legs backwards. These acrobatic feats were even practised by women. According to a legend, the daughter of Herodias was a renowned acrobat, and on a bas-relief in the Cathedral of Rouen we find this Jewish dancer turning somersaults before Herod, so as to fascinate him, and thus obtain the decapitation of John the Baptist. [Illustration: Fig. 170.--Sword-dance to the sound of the Bagpipe.--Fac-simile of a Manuscript in the British Museum (Fourteenth Century).] "The jugglers," adds M. de Labédollière, in his clever work on "The Private Life of the French," "often led about bears, monkeys, and other animals, which they taught to dance or to fight (Figs. 171 and 172). A manuscript in the National Library represents a banquet, and around the table, so as to amuse the guests, performances of animals are going on, such as monkeys riding on horseback, a bear feigning to be dead, a goat playing the harp, and dogs walking on their hind legs." We find the same grotesque figures on sculptures, on the capitals of churches, on the illuminated margins of manuscripts of theology, and on prayer-books, which seems to indicate that jugglers were the associates of painters and illuminators, even if they themselves were not the writers and illuminators of the manuscripts. "Jugglery," M. de Labédollière goes on to say, "at that time embraced poetry, music, dancing, sleight of hand, conjuring, wrestling, boxing, and the training of animals. Its humblest practitioners were the mimics or grimacers, in many-coloured garments, and brazen-faced mountebanks, who provoked laughter at the expense of decency." [Illustration: Fig. 171.--Jugglers exhibiting Monkeys and Bears.--Fac-simile of a Manuscript in the British Museum (Thirteenth Century).] At first, and down to the thirteenth century, the profession of a juggler was a most lucrative one. There was no public or private feast of any importance without the profession being represented. Their mimicry and acrobatic feats were less thought of than their long poems or lays of wars and adventures, which they recited in doggerel rhyme to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. The doors of the châteaux were always open to them, and they had a place assigned to them at all feasts. They were the principal attraction at the _Cours Plénières_, and, according to the testimony of one of their poets, they frequently retired from business loaded with presents, such as riding-horses, carriage-horses, jewels, cloaks, fur robes, clothing of violet or scarlet cloth, and, above all, with large sums of money. They loved to recall with pride the heroic memory of one of their own calling, the brave Norman, Taillefer, who, before the battle of Hastings, advanced alone on horseback between the two armies about to commence the engagement, and drew off the attention of the English by singing them the song of Roland. He then began juggling, and taking his lance by the hilt, he threw it into the air and caught it by the point as it fell; then, drawing his sword, he spun it several times over his head, and caught it in a similar way as it fell. After these skilful exercises, during which the enemy were gaping in mute astonishment, he forced his charger through the English ranks, and caused great havoc before he fell, positively riddled with wounds. Notwithstanding this noble instance, not to belie the old proverb, jugglers were never received into the order of knighthood. They were, after a time, as much abused as they had before been extolled. Their licentious lives reflected itself in their obscene language. Their pantomimes, like their songs, showed that they were the votaries of the lowest vices. The lower orders laughed at their coarseness, and were amused at their juggleries; but the nobility were disgusted with them, and they were absolutely excluded from the presence of ladies and girls in the châteaux and houses of the bourgeoisie. We see in the tale of "Le Jugleor" that they acquired ill fame everywhere, inasmuch as they were addicted to every sort of vice. The clergy, and St. Bernard especially, denounced them and held them up to public contempt. St. Bernard spoke thus of them in one of his sermons written in the middle of the twelfth century: "A man fond of jugglers will soon enough possess a wife whose name is Poverty. If it happens that the tricks of jugglers are forced upon your notice, endeavour to avoid them, and think of other things. The tricks of jugglers never please God." [Illustration: Fig. 172.--Equestrian Performances.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in an English Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century.] From this remark we may understand their fall as well as the disrepute in which they were held at that time, and we are not surprised to find in an old edition of the "Mémoires du Sire de Joinville" this passage, which is, perhaps, an interpolation from a contemporary document: "St. Louis drove from his kingdom all tumblers and players of sleight of hand, through whom many evil habits and tastes had become engendered in the people." A troubadour's story of this period shows that the jugglers wandered about the country with their trained animals nearly starved; they were half naked, and were often without anything on their heads, without coats, without shoes, and always without money. The lower orders welcomed them, and continued to admire and idolize them for their clever tricks (Fig. 173), but the bourgeois class, following the example of the nobility, turned their backs upon them. In 1345 Guillaume de Gourmont, Provost of Paris, forbad their singing or relating obscene stories, under penalty of fine and imprisonment. [Illustration: Fig. 173.--Jugglers performing in public.--From a Miniature of the Manuscript of "Guarin de Loherane" (Thirteenth Century).--Library of the Arsenal, Paris.] Having been associated together as a confraternity since 1331, they lived huddled together in one street of Paris, which took the name of _Rue des Jougleurs_. It was at this period that the Church and Hospital of St. Julian were founded through the exertions of Jacques Goure, a native of Pistoia, and of Huet le Lorrain, who were both jugglers. The newly formed brotherhood at once undertook to subscribe to this good work, and each member did so according to his means. Their aid to the cost of the two buildings was sixty livres, and they were both erected in the Rue St. Martin, and placed under the protection of St. Julian the Martyr. The chapel was consecrated on the last Sunday in September, 1335, and on the front of it there were three figures, one representing a troubadour, one a minstrel, and one a juggler, each with his various instruments. The bad repute into which jugglers had fallen did not prevent the kings of France from attaching buffoons, or fools, as they were generally called, to their households, who were often more or less deformed dwarfs, and who, to all intents and purposes, were jugglers. They were allowed to indulge in every sort of impertinence and waggery in order to excite the risibility of their masters (Figs. 174 and 175). These buffoons or fools were an institution at court until the time of Louis XIV., and several, such as Caillette, Triboulet, and Brusquet, are better known in history than many of the statesmen and soldiers who were their contemporaries. [Illustration: Fig. 174.--Dance of Fools.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century in the Bodleian Library of Oxford.] At the end of the fourteenth century the brotherhood of jugglers divided itself into two distinct classes, the jugglers proper and the tumblers. The former continued to recite serious or amusing poetry, to sing love-songs, to play comic interludes, either singly or in concert, in the streets or in the houses, accompanying themselves or being accompanied by all sorts of musical instruments. The tumblers, on the other hand, devoted themselves exclusively to feats of agility or of skill, the exhibition of trained animals, the making of comic grimaces, and tight-rope dancing. [Illustration: A Court-Fool, of the 15th Century. Fac-simile of a miniature from a ms. in the Bibl. de l'Arsenal, Th. lat., no 125.] The art of rope dancing is very ancient; it was patronised by the Franks, who looked upon it as a marvellous effort of human genius. The most remarkable rope-dancers of that time were of Indian origin. All performers in this art came originally from the East, although they afterwards trained pupils in the countries through which they passed, recruiting themselves chiefly from the mixed tribe of jugglers. According to a document quoted by the learned Foncemagne, rope-dancers appeared as early as 1327 at the entertainments given at state banquets by the kings of France. But long before that time they are mentioned in the poems of troubadours as the necessary auxiliaries of any feast given by the nobility, or even by the monasteries. From the fourteenth to the end of the sixteenth century they were never absent from any public ceremonial, and it was at the state entries of kings and queens, princes and princesses, that they were especially called upon to display their talents. [Illustration: Fig. 175.--Court Fool.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: folio (Basle, 1552).] One of the most extraordinary examples of the daring of these tumblers is to be found in the records of the entry of Queen Isabel of Bavaria into Paris, in 1385 (see chapter on Ceremonials); and, indeed, all the chronicles of the fifteenth century are full of anecdotes of their doings. Mathieu de Coucy, who wrote a history of the time of Charles VII., relates some very curious details respecting a show which took place at Milan, and which astonished the whole of Europe:--"The Duke of Milan ordered a rope to be stretched across his palace, about one hundred and fifty feet from the ground, and of equal length. On to this a Portuguese mounted, walked straight along, going backwards and forwards, and dancing to the sound of the tambourine. He also hung from the rope with his head downwards, and went through all sorts of tricks. The ladies who were looking on could not help hiding their eyes in their handkerchiefs, from fear lest they should see him overbalance and fall and kill himself." The chronicler of Charles XII., Jean d'Arton, tells us of a not less remarkable feat, performed on the occasion of the obsequies of Duke Pierre de Bourbon, which were celebrated at Moulins, in the month of October, 1503, in the presence of the king and the court. "Amongst other performances was that of a German tight-rope dancer, named Georges Menustre, a very young man, who had a thick rope stretched across from the highest part of the tower of the Castle of Mâcon to the windows of the steeple of the Church of the Jacobites. The height of this from the ground was twenty-five fathoms, and the distance from the castle to the steeple some two hundred and fifty paces. On two evenings in succession he walked along this rope, and on the second occasion when he started from the tower of the castle his feat was witnessed by the king and upwards of thirty thousand persons. He performed all sorts of graceful tricks, such as dancing grotesque dances to music and hanging to the rope by his feet and by his teeth. Although so strange and marvellous, these feats were nevertheless actually performed, unless human sight had been deceived by magic. A female dancer also performed in a novel way, cutting capers, throwing somersaults, and performing graceful Moorish and other remarkable and peculiar dances." Such was their manner of celebrating a funeral. In the sixteenth century these dancers and tumblers became so numerous that they were to be met with everywhere, in the provinces as well as in the towns. Many of them were Bohemians or Zingari. They travelled in companies, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback, and sometimes with some sort of a conveyance containing the accessories of their craft and a travelling theatre. But people began to tire of these sorts of entertainments, the more so as they were required to pay for them, and they naturally preferred the public rejoicings, which cost them nothing. They were particularly fond of illuminations and fireworks, which are of much later origin than the invention of gunpowder; although the Saracens, at the time of the Crusades, used a Greek fire for illuminations, which considerably alarmed the Crusaders when they first witnessed its effects. Regular fireworks appear to have been invented in Italy, where the pyrotechnic art has retained its superiority to this day, and where the inhabitants are as enthusiastic as ever for this sort of amusement, and consider it, in fact, inseparable from every religious, private, or public festival. This Italian invention was first introduced into the Low Countries by the Spaniards, where it found many admirers, and it made its appearance in France with the Italian artists who established themselves in that country in the reigns of Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I. Fireworks could not fail to be attractive at the Court of the Valois, to which Catherine de Médicis had introduced the manners and customs of Italy. The French, who up to that time had only been accustomed to the illuminations of St. John's Day and of the first Sunday in Lent, received those fireworks with great enthusiasm, and they soon became a regular part of the programme for public festivals (Fig. 176). [Illustration: Fig. 176.--Fireworks on the Water, with an Imitation of a Naval Combat.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Copper of the "Pyrotechnie" of Hanzelet le Lorrain: 4to (Pont-à-Mousson, 1630).] We have hitherto only described the sports engaged in for the amusement of the spectators; we have still to describe those in which the actors took greater pleasure than even the spectators themselves. These were specially the games of strength and skill as well as dancing, with a notice of which we shall conclude this chapter. There were, besides, the various games of chance and the games of fun and humour. Most of the bourgeois and the villagers played a variety of games of agility, many of which have descended to our times, and are still to be found at our schools and colleges. Wrestling, running races, the game of bars, high and wide jumping, leap-frog, blind-man's buff, games of ball of all sorts, gymnastics, and all exercises which strengthened the body or added to the suppleness of the limbs, were long in use among the youth of the nobility (Figs. 177 and 178). The Lord of Fleuranges, in his memoirs written at the court of Francis I., recounts numerous exercises to which he devoted himself during his childhood and youth, and which were then looked upon as a necessary part of the education of chivalry. The nobles in this way acquired a taste for physical exercises, and took naturally to combats, tournaments, and hunting, and subsequently their services in the battle-field gave them plenty of opportunities to gratify the taste thus developed in them. These were not, however, sufficient for their insatiable activity; when they could not do anything else, they played at tennis and such games at all hours of the day; and these pastimes had so much attraction for nobles of all ages that they not unfrequently sacrificed their health in consequence of overtaxing their strength. In 1506 the King of Castile, Philippe le Beau, died of pleurisy, from a severe cold which he caught while playing tennis. [Illustration: Fig. 177.--Somersaults.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in "Exercises in Leaping and Vaulting," by A. Tuccaro: 4to (Paris, 1599).] Tennis also became the favourite game amongst the bourgeois in the towns, and tennis-courts were built in all parts, of such spacious proportions and so well adapted for spectators, that they were often converted into theatres. Their game of billiards resembled the modern one only in name, for it was played on a level piece of ground with wooden balls which were struck with hooked sticks and mallets. It was in great repute in the fourteenth century, for in 1396 Marshal de Boucicault, who was considered one of the best players of his time, won at it six hundred francs (or more than twenty-eight thousand francs of present currency). At the beginning of the following century the Duke Louis d'Orleans ordered _billes et billars_ to be bought for the sum of eleven sols six deniers tournois (about fifteen francs of our money), that he might amuse himself with them. There were several games of the same sort, which were not less popular. Skittles; _la Soule_ or _Soulette_, which consisted of a large ball of hay covered over with leather, the possession of which was contested for by two opposing sides of players; Football; open Tennis; Shuttlecock, &c. It was Charles V. who first thought of giving a more serious and useful character to the games of the people, and who, in a celebrated edict forbidding games of chance, encouraged the establishment of companies of archers and bowmen. These companies, to which was subsequently added that of the arquebusiers, outlived political revolutions, and are still extant, especially in the northern provinces of France. [Illustration: Fig. 178.--The Spring-board.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in "Exercises in Leaping and Vaulting," by A. Tuccaro: 4to (Paris, 1599).] At all times and in all countries the games of chance were the most popular, although they were forbidden both by ecclesiastical and royal authority. New laws were continually being enacted against them, and especially against those in which dice were used, though with little avail. "Dice shall not be made in the kingdom," says the law of 1256; and "those who are discovered using them, and frequenting taverns and bad places, will be looked upon as suspicions characters." A law of 1291 repeats, "That games with dice be forbidden." Nevertheless, though these prohibitions were frequently renewed, people continued to disregard them and to lose much money at such games. The law of 1396 is aimed particularly against loaded dice, which must have been contemporary with the origin of dice themselves, for no games ever gave rise to a greater amount of roguery than those of this description. They were, however, publicly sold in spite of all the laws to the contrary; for, in the "Dit du Mercier," the dealer offers his merchandise thus:-- "J'ay dez de plus, j'ay dez de moins, De Paris, de Chartres, de Rains." ("I have heavy dice, I have light dice, From Paris, from Chartres, and from Rains.") It has been said that the game of dice was at first called the _game of God_, because the regulation of lottery was one of God's prerogatives; but this derivation is purely imaginary. What appears more likely is, that dice were first forbidden by the Church, and then by the civil authorities, on account of the fearful oaths which were so apt to be uttered by those players who had a run of ill luck. Nothing was commoner than for people to ruin themselves at this game. The poems of troubadours are full of imprecations against the fatal chance of dice; many troubadours, such as Guillaume Magret and Gaucelm Faydit, lost their fortunes at it, and their lives in consequence. Rutebeuf exclaims, in one of his satires, "Dice rob me of all my clothes, dice kill me, dice watch me, dice track me, dice attack me, and dice defy me." The blasphemies of the gamblers did not always remain unpunished. "Philip Augustus," says Bigord, in his Latin history of this king, "carried his aversion for oaths to such an extent, that if any one, whether knight or of any other rank, let one slip from his lips in the presence of the sovereign, even by mistake, he was ordered to be immediately thrown into the river." Louis XII., who was somewhat less severe, contented himself with having a hole bored with a hot iron through the blasphemer's tongue. [Illustration: Figs. 179 and 180.--French Cards for a Game of Piquet, early Sixteenth Century.--Collection of the National Library of Paris.] The work "On the Manner of playing with Dice," has handed down to us the technical terms used in these games, which varied as much in practice as in name. They sometimes played with three dice, sometimes with six; different games were also in fashion, and in some the cast of the dice alone decided. The games of cards were also most numerous, but it is not our intention to give the origin of them here. It is sufficient to name a few of the most popular ones in France, which were, Flux, Prime, Sequence, Triomphe, Piquet, Trente-et-un, Passe-dix, Condemnade, Lansquenet, Marriage, Gay, or J'ai, Malcontent, Hère, &c. (Figs. 179 and 180). All these games, which were as much forbidden as dice, were played in taverns as well as at court; and, just as there were loaded dice, so were there also false cards, prepared by rogues for cheating. The greater number of the games of cards formerly did not require the least skill on the part of the players, chance alone deciding. The game of _Tables_, however, required skill and calculation, for under this head were comprised all the games which were played on a board, and particularly chess, draughts, and backgammon. The invention of the game of chess has been attributed to the Assyrians, and there can be no doubt but that it came from the East, and reached Gaul about the beginning of the ninth century, although it was not extensively known till about the twelfth. The annals of chivalry continually speak of the barons playing at these games, and especially at chess. Historians also mention chess, and show that it was played with the same zest in the camp of the Saracens as in that of the Crusaders. We must not be surprised if chess shared the prohibition laid upon dice, for those who were ignorant of its ingenious combinations ranked it amongst games of chance. The Council of Paris, in 1212, therefore condemned chess for the same reasons as dice, and it was specially forbidden to church people, who had begun to make it their habitual pastime. The royal edict of 1254 was equally unjust with regard to this game. "We strictly forbid," says Louis IX., "any person to play at dice, tables, or chess." This pious king set himself against these games, which he looked upon as inventions of the devil. After the fatal day of Mansorah, in 1249, the King, who was still in Egypt with the remnants of his army, asked what his brother, the Comte d'Anjou, was doing. "He was told," says Joinville, "that he was playing at tables with his Royal Highness Gaultier de Nemours. The King was highly incensed against his brother, and, though most feeble from the effects of his illness, went to him, and taking the dice and the tables, had them thrown into the sea." Nevertheless Louis IX. received as a present from the _Vieux de la Montagne_, chief of the Ismalians, a chessboard made of gold and rock crystal, the pieces being of precious metals beautifully worked. It has been asserted, but incorrectly, that this chessboard was the one preserved in the Musée de Cluny, after having long formed part of the treasures of the Kings of France. Amongst the games comprised under the name of _tables_, it is sufficient to mention that of draughts, which was formerly played with dice and with the same men as were used for chess; also the game of _honchet_, or _jonchées_, that is, bones or spillikins, games which required pieces or men in the same way as chess, but which required more quickness of hand than of intelligence; and _épingles_, or push-pin, which was played in a similar manner to the _honchets_, and was the great amusement of the small pages in the houses of the nobility. When they had not épingles, honchets, or draughtsmen to play with, they used their fingers instead, and played a game which is still most popular amongst the Italian people, called the _morra_, and which was as much in vogue with the ancient Romans as it is among the modern Italians. It consisted of suddenly raising as many fingers as had been shown by one's adversary, and gave rise to a great amount of amusement among the players and lookers-on. The games played by girls were, of course, different from those in use among boys. The latter played at marbles, _luettes_, peg or humming tops, quoits, _fouquet, merelles_, and a number of other games, many of which are now unknown. The girls, it is almost needless to say, from the earliest times played with dolls. _Briche_, a game in which a brick and a small stick was used, were also a favourite. _Martiaus_, or small quoits, wolf or fox, blind man's buff, hide and seek, quoits, &c., were all girls' games. The greater part of these amusements were enlivened by a chorus, which all the girls sang together, or by dialogues sung or chanted in unison. [Illustration: Fig. 181.--Allegorical Scene of one of the Courts of Love in Provence--In the First Compartment, the God of Love, Cupid, is sitting on the Stump of a Laurel-tree, wounding with his Darts those who do him homage, the Second Compartment represents the Love Vows of Men and Women.--From the Cover of a Looking-glass, carved in Ivory, of the end of the Thirteenth Century.] [Illustration: The Chess-Players. After a miniature of "_The Three Ages of Man_", a ms. of the fifteenth century attributed to Estienne Porchier. (Bibl. of M. Ambroise Firmin-Didot.) The scene is laid in one of the saloons of the castle of Plessis-les-Tours, the residence of Louis XI; in the player to the right, the features of the king are recognisable.] If children had their games, which for many generations continued comparatively unchanged, so the dames and the young ladies had theirs, consisting of gallantry and politeness, which only disappeared with those harmless assemblies in which the two sexes vied with each other in urbanity, friendly roguishness, and wit. It would require long antiquarian researches to discover the origin and mode of playing many of these pastimes, such as _des oes, des trois ânes, des accords bigarrés, du jardin madame, de la fricade, du feiseau, de la mick_, and a number of others which are named but not described in the records of the times. The game _à l'oreille,_ the invention of which is attributed to the troubadour Guillaume Adhémar, the _jeu des Valentines,_ or the game of lovers, and the numerous games of forfeits, which have come down to us from the Courts of Love of the Middle Ages, we find to be somewhat deprived of their original simplicity in the way they are now played in country-houses in the winter and at village festivals in the summer. But the Courts of Love are no longer in existence gravely to superintend all these diversions (Fig. 181). Amongst the amusements which time has not obliterated, but which, on the contrary, seem destined to be of longer duration than monuments of stone and brass, we must name dancing, which was certainly one of the principal amusements of society, and which has come down to us through all religions, all customs, all people, and all ages, preserving at the same time much of its original character. Dancing appears, at each period of the world's history, to have been alternately religions and profane, lively and solemn, frivolous and severe. Though dancing was as common an amusement formerly as it is now, there was this essential difference between the two periods, namely, that certain people, such as the Romans, were very fond of seeing dancing, but did not join in it themselves. Tiberius drove the dancers out of Rome, and Domitian dismissed certain senators from their seats in the senate who had degraded themselves by dancing; and there seems to be no doubt that the Romans, from the conquest of Julius Caesar, did not themselves patronise the art. There were a number of professional dancers in Gaul, as well as in the other provinces of the Roman Empire, who were hired to dance at feasts, and who endeavoured to do their best to make their art as popular as possible. The lightheartedness of the Gauls, their natural gaiety, their love for violent exercise and for pleasures of all sorts, made them delight in dancing, and indulge in it with great energy; and thus, notwithstanding the repugnance of the Roman aristocracy and the prohibitions and anathemas of councils and synods, dancing has always been one of the favourite pastimes of the Gauls and the French. [Illustration: Fig. 182.--Dancers on Christmas Night punished for their Impiety, and condemned to dance for a whole Year (Legend of the Fifteenth Century).--Fac-simile of a Woodcut by P. Wohlgemuth, in the "Liber Chronicorum Mundi:" folio (Nuremberg, 1493).] Leuce Carin, a writer of doubtful authority, states that in the early history of Christianity the faithful danced, or rather stamped, in measured time during religions ceremonials, gesticulating and distorting themselves. This is, however, a mistake. The only thing approaching to it was the slight trace of the ancient Pagan dances which remained in the feast of the first Sunday in Lent, and which probably belonged to the religious ceremonies of the Druids. At nightfall fires were lighted in public places, and numbers of people danced madly round them. Rioting and disorderly conduct often resulted from this popular feast, and the magistrates were obliged to interfere in order to suppress it. The church, too, did not close her eyes to the abuses which this feast engendered, although episcopal admonitions were not always listened to (Fig. 182). We see, in the records of one of the most recent Councils of Narbonne, that the custom of dancing in the churches and in the cemeteries on certain feasts had not been abolished in some parts of the Languedoc at the end of the sixteenth century. Dancing was at all times forbidden by the Catholic Church on account of its tendency to corrupt the morals, and for centuries ecclesiastical authority was strenuously opposed to it; but, on the other hand, it could not complain of want of encouragement from the civil power. When King Childebert, in 554, forbade all dances in his domains, he was only induced to do so by the influence of the bishops. We have but little information respecting the dances of this period, and it would be impossible accurately to determine as to the justice of their being forbidden. They were certainly no longer those war-dances which the Franks had brought with them, and which antiquarians have mentioned under the name of _Pyrrhichienne_ dances. In any case, war-dances reappeared at the commencement of chivalry; for, when a new knight was elected, all the knights in full armour performed evolutions, either on foot or on horseback, to the sound of military music, and the populace danced round them. It has been said that this was the origin of court ballets, and La Colombière, in his "Théâtre d'Honneur et de Chevalerie," relates that this ancient dance of the knights was kept up by the Spaniards, who called it the _Moresque_. The Middle Ages was the great epoch for dancing, especially in France. There were an endless number of dancing festivals, and, from reading the old poets and romancers, one might imagine that the French had never anything better to do than to dance, and that at all hours of the day and night. A curious argument in favour of the practical utility of dancing is suggested by Jean Tabourot in his "Orchésographie," published at Langres in 1588, under the name of Thoinot Arbeau. He says, "Dancing is practised in order to see whether lovers are healthy and suitable for one another: at the end of a dance the gentlemen are permitted to kiss their mistresses, in order that they may ascertain if they have an agreeable breath. In this matter, besides many other good results which follow from dancing, it becomes necessary for the good governing of society." Such was the doctrine of the Courts of Love, which stoutly took up the defence of dancing against the clergy. In those days, as soon as the two sexes were assembled in sufficient numbers, before or after the feasts, the balls began, and men and women took each other by the hand and commenced the performance in regular steps (Fig. 183). The author of the poem of Provence, called "Flamença," thus allegorically describes these amusements: "Youth and Gaiety opened the ball, accompanied by their sister Bravery; Cowardice, confused, went of her own accord and hid herself." The troubadours mention a great number of dances, without describing them; no doubt they were so familiar that they thought a description of them needless. They often speak of the _danse au virlet_, a kind of round dance, during the performance of which each person in turn sang a verse, the chorus being repeated by all. In the code of the Courts of Love, entitled "Arresta Amorum," that is, the decrees of love, the _pas de Brabant_ is mentioned, in which each gentleman bent his knee before his lady; and also the _danse au chapelet_, at the end of which each dancer kissed his lady. Romances of chivalry frequently mention that knights used to dance with the dames and young ladies without taking off their helmets and coats of mail. Although this costume was hardly fitted for the purpose, we find, in the romance of "Perceforet," that, after a repast, whilst the tables were being removed, everything was prepared for a ball, and that although the knights made no change in their accoutrements, yet the ladies went and made fresh toilettes. "Then," says the old novelist, "the young knights and the young ladies began to play their instruments and to have the dance." From this custom may be traced the origin of the ancient Gallic proverb, "_Après la panse vient la danse_" ("After the feast comes the dance"). Sometimes a minstrel sang songs to the accompaniment of the harp, and the young ladies danced in couples and repeated at intervals the minstrel's songs. Sometimes the torch-dance was performed; in this each performer bore in his hand a long lighted taper, and endeavoured to prevent his neighbours from blowing it out, which each one tried to do if possible (Fig. 184). This dance, which was in use up to the end of the sixteenth century at court, was generally reserved for weddings. [Illustration: Fig. 183.--Peasant Dances at the May Feasts.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Prayer-book of the Fifteenth Century, in the National Library of Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 184.--Dance by Torchlight, a Scene at the Court of Burgundy.--From a Painting on Wood of 1463, belonging to M. H. Casterman, of Tournai (Belgium).] Dancing lost much of its simplicity and harmlessness when masquerades were introduced, these being the first examples of the ballet. These masquerades, which soon after their introduction became passionately indulged in at court under Charles VI., were, at first, only allowed during Carnival, and on particular occasions called _Charivaris_, and they were usually made the pretext for the practice of the most licentious follies. These masquerades had a most unfortunate inauguration by the catastrophe which rendered the madness of Charles VI. incurable, and which is described in history under the name of the _Burning Ballet_. It was on the 29th of January, 1393, that this ballet made famous the festival held in the Royal Palace of St. Paul in Paris, on the occasion of the marriage of one of the maids of honour of Queen Isabel of Bavaria with a gentleman of Vermandois. The bride was a widow, and the second nuptials were deemed a fitting occasion for the Charivaris. [Illustration: Fig. 185.--The Burning Ballet.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Manuscript of the "Chroniques" of Froissart (Fifteenth Century), in the National Library of Paris.] A gentleman from Normandy, named Hugonin de Grensay, thought he could create a sensation by having a dance of wild men to please the ladies. "He admitted to his plot," says Froissart, "the king and four of the principal nobles of the court. These all had themselves sewn up in close-fitting linen garments covered with resin on which a quantity of tow was glued, and in this guise they appeared in the middle of the ball. The king was alone, but the other four were chained together. They jumped about like madmen, uttered wild cries, and made all sorts of eccentric gestures. No one knew who these hideous objects were, but the Duke of Orleans determined to find out, so he took a candle and imprudently approached too near one of the men. The tow caught fire, and the flames enveloped him and the other three who were chained to him in a moment." "They were burning for nearly an hour like torches," says a chronicler. "The king had the good fortune to escape the peril, because the Duchesse de Berry, his aunt, recognised him, and had the presence of mind to envelop him in her train" (Fig. 185). Such a calamity, one would have thought, might have been sufficient to disgust people with masquerades, but they were none the less in favour at court for many years afterwards; and, two centuries later, the author of the "Orchésographie" thus writes on the subject: "Kings and princes give dances and masquerades for amusement and in order to afford a joyful welcome to foreign nobles; we also practise the same amusements on the celebration of marriages." In no country in the world was dancing practised with more grace and elegance than in France. Foreign dances of every kind were introduced, and, after being remodelled and brought to as great perfection as possible, they were often returned to the countries from which they had been imported under almost a new character. [Illustration: Fig. 186.--Musicians accompanying the Dancing.--Fac-simile of a Wood Engraving in the "Orchésographie" of Thoinot Arbeau (Jehan Tabourot): 4to (Langres, 1588).] In 1548, the dances of the Béarnais, which were much admired at the court of the Comtes de Foix, especially those called the _danse mauresque_ and the _danse des sauvages_, were introduced at the court of France, and excited great merriment. So popular did they become, that with a little modification they soon were considered essentially French. The German dances, which were distinguished by the rapidity of their movements, were also thoroughly established at the court of France. Italian, Milanese, Spanish, and Piedmontese dances were in fashion in France before the expedition of Charles VIII. into Italy: and when this king, followed by his youthful nobility, passed over the mountains to march to the conquest of Naples, he found everywhere in the towns that welcomed him, and in which balls and masquerades were given in honour of his visit, the dance _à la mode de France_, which consisted of a sort of medley of the dances of all countries. Some hundreds of these dances have been enumerated in the fifth book of the "Pantagruel" of Rabelais, and in various humorous works of those who succeeded him. They owed their success to the singing with which they were generally accompanied, or to the postures, pantomimes, or drolleries with which they were supplemented for the amusement of the spectators. A few, and amongst others that of the _five steps_ and that of the _three faces_, are mentioned in the "History of the Queen of Navarre." [Illustration: Fig. 187.--The Dance called "La Gaillarde."--Fac-simile of Wood Engravings from the "Orchésographie" of Thoinot Arbeau (Jehan Tabourot): 4to (Langres, 1588).] Dances were divided into two distinct classes--_danses basses_, or common and regular dances, which did not admit of jumping, violent movements, or extraordinary contortions--and the _danses par haut_, which were irregular, and comprised all sorts of antics and buffoonery. The regular French dance was a _basse_ dance, called the _gaillarde_; it was accompanied by the sound of the hautbois and tambourine, and originally it was danced with great form and state. This is the dance which Jean Tabouret has described; it began with the two performers standing opposite to each other, advancing, bowing, and retiring. "These advancings and retirings were done in steps to the time of the music, and continued until the instrumental accompaniment stopped; then the gentleman made his bow to the lady, took her by the hand, thanked her, and led her to her seat." The _tourdion_ was similar to the _gaillarde_, only faster, and was accompanied with more action. Each province of France had its national dance, such as the _bourrée_ of Auvergne, the _trioris_ of Brittany, the _branles_ of Poitou, and the _valses_ of Lorraine, which constituted a very agreeable pastime, and one in which the French excelled all other nations. This art, "so ancient, so honourable, and so profitable," to use the words of Jean Tabourot, was long in esteem in the highest social circles, and the old men liked to display their agility, and the dames and young ladies to find a temperate exercise calculated to contribute to their health as well as to their amusement. The sixteenth century was the great era of dancing in all the courts of Europe; but under the Valois, the art had more charm and prestige at the court of France than anywhere else. The Queen-mother, Catherine, surrounded by a crowd of pretty young ladies, who composed what she called her _flying squadron_, presided at these exciting dances. A certain Balthazar de Beaujoyeux was master of her ballets, and they danced at the Castle of Blois the night before the Duc de Guise was assassinated under the eyes of Henry III., just as they had danced at the Château of the Tuileries the day after St. Bartholomew's Day. [Illustration: Fig. 188.--The Game of Bob Apple, or Swinging Apple.--Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century, in the British Museum.] Commerce. State of Commerce after the Fall of the Roman. Empire.--Its Revival under the Frankish Kings.--Its Prosperity under Charlemagne.--Its Decline down to the Time of the Crusaders.--The Levant Trade of the East.--Flourishing State of the Towns of Provence and Languedoc.--Establishment of Fairs.--Fairs of Landit, Champagne, Beaucaire, and Lyons.--Weights and Measures.--Commercial Flanders. Laws of Maritime Commerce.--Consular Laws.--Banks and Bills of Exchange.--French. Settlements on the Coast of Africa.--Consequences of the Discovery of America. "Commerce in the Middle Ages," says M. Charles Grandmaison, "differed but little from that of a more remote period. It was essentially a local and limited traffic, rather inland than maritime, for long and perilous sea voyages only commenced towards the end of the fifteenth century, or about the time when Columbus discovered America." On the fall of the Roman Empire, commerce was rendered insecure, and, indeed, it was almost completely put a stop to by the barbarian invasions, and all facility of communication between different nations, and even between towns of the same country, was interrupted. In those times of social confusion, there were periods of such poverty and distress, that for want of money commerce was reduced to the simple exchange of the positive necessaries of life. When order was a little restored, and society and the minds of people became more composed, we see commerce recovering its position; and France was, perhaps, the first country in Europe in which this happy change took place. Those famous cities of Gaul, which ancient authors describe to us as so rich and so industrious, quickly recovered their former prosperity, and the friendly relations which were established between the kings of the Franks and the Eastern Empire encouraged the Gallic cities in cultivating a commerce, which was at that time the most important and most extensive in the world. Marseilles, the ancient Phoenician colony, once the rival and then the successor to Carthage, was undoubtedly at the head of the commercial cities of France. Next to her came Arles, which supplied ship-builders and seamen to the fleet of Provence; and Narbonne, which admitted into its harbour ships from Spain, Sicily, and Africa, until, in consequence of the Aude having changed its course, it was obliged to relinquish the greater part of its maritime commerce in favour of Montpellier. [Illustration: Fig. 189.--View of Alexandria in Egypt, in the Sixteenth Century.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Travels of P. Belon, "Observations de Plusieurs Singularitez," &c.: 4to (Paris, 1588).] Commerce maintained frequent communications with the East; it sought its supplies on the coast of Syria, and especially at Alexandria, in Egypt, which was a kind of depôt for goods obtained from the rich countries lying beyond the Red Sea (Figs. 189 and 190). The Frank navigators imported from these countries, groceries, linen, Egyptian paper, pearls, perfumes, and a thousand other rare and choice articles. In exchange they offered chiefly the precious metals in bars rather than coined, and it is probable that at this period they also exported iron, wines, oil, and wax. The agricultural produce and manufactures of Gaul had not sufficiently developed to provide anything more than what was required for the producers themselves. Industry was as yet, if not purely domestic, confined to monasteries and to the houses of the nobility; and even the kings employed women or serf workmen to manufacture the coarse stuffs with which they clothed themselves and their households. We may add, that the bad state of the roads, the little security they offered to travellers, the extortions of all kinds to which foreign merchants were subjected, and above all the iniquitous System of fines and tolls which each landowner thought right to exact, before letting merchandise pass through his domains, all created insuperable obstacles to the development of commerce. [Illustration: Fig. 190.--Transport of Merchandise on the Backs of Camels.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle," of Thevet: folio, 1575.] The Frank kings on several occasions evinced a desire that communications favourable to trade should be re-established in their dominions. We find, for instance, Chilpéric making treaties with Eastern emperors in favour of the merchants of Agde and Marseilles, Queen Brunehaut making viaducts worthy of the Romans, and which still bear her name, and Dagobert opening at St. Denis free fairs--that is to say, free, or nearly so, from all tolls and taxes--to which goods, both agricultural and manufactured, were sent from every corner of Europe and the known world, to be afterwards distributed through the towns and provinces by the enterprise of internal commerce. After the reign of Dagobert, commerce again declined without positively ceasing, for the revolution, which transferred the power of the kings to the mayors of the palace was not of a nature to exhaust the resources of public prosperity; and a charter of 710 proves that the merchants of Saxony, England, Normandy, and even Hungary, still flocked to the fairs of St. Denis. Under the powerful and administrative hand of Charlemagne, the roads being better kept up, and the rivers being made more navigable, commerce became safe and more general; the coasts were protected from piratical incursions; lighthouses were erected at dangerous points, to prevent shipwrecks; and treaties of commerce with foreign nations, including even the most distant, guaranteed the liberty and security of French traders abroad. Under the weak successors of this monarch, notwithstanding their many efforts, commerce was again subjected to all sorts of injustice and extortions, and all its safeguards were rapidly destroyed. The Moors in the south, and the Normans in the north, appeared to desire to destroy everything which came in their way, and already Marseilles, in 838, was taken and pillaged by the Greeks. The constant altercations between the sons of Louis le Débonnaire and their unfortunate father, their jealousies amongst themselves, and their fratricidal wars, increased the measure of public calamity, so that soon, overrun by foreign enemies and destroyed by her own sons, France became a vast field of disorder and desolation. The Church, which alone possessed some social influence, never ceased to use its authority in endeavouring to remedy this miserable state of things; but episcopal edicts, papal anathemas, and decrees of councils, had only a partial effect at this unhappy period. At any moment agricultural and commercial operations were liable to be interrupted, if not completely ruined, by the violence of a wild and rapacious soldiery; at every step the roads, often impassable, were intercepted by toll-bars for some due of a vexatious nature, besides being continually infested by bands of brigands, who carried off the merchandise and murdered those few merchants who were so bold as to attempt to continue their business. It was the Church, occupied as she was with the interests of civilisation, who again assisted commerce to emerge from the state of annihilation into which it had fallen; and the "Peace or Truce of God," established in 1041, endeavoured to stop at least the internal wars of feudalism, and it succeeded, at any rate for a time, in arresting these disorders. This was all that could be done at that period, and the Church accomplished it, by taking the high hand; and with as much unselfishness as energy and courage, she regulated society, which had been abandoned by the civil power from sheer impotence and want of administrative capability. [Illustration: Fig. 191.--Trade on the Seaports of the Levant.--After a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Travels of Marco Polo (Fifteenth Century), Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] At all events, thanks to ecclesiastical foresight, which increased the number of fairs and markets at the gates of abbeys and convents, the first step was made towards the general resuscitation of commerce. Indeed, the Church may be said to have largely contributed to develop the spirit of progress and liberty, whence were to spring societies and nationalities, and, in a word, modern organization. The Eastern commerce furnished the first elements of that trading activity which showed itself on the borders of the Mediterranean, and we find the ancient towns of Provence and Languedoc springing up again by the aide of the republics of Amalfi, Venice, Genoa, and Pisa, which had become the rich depôts of all maritime trade. At first, as we have already stated, the wares of India came to Europe through the Greek port of Alexandria, or through Constantinople. The Crusades, which had facilitated the relations with Eastern countries, developed a taste in the West for their indigenous productions, gave a fresh vigour to this foreign commerce, and rendered it more productive by removing the stumbling blocks which had arrested its progress (Fig. 191). The conquest of Palestine by the Crusaders had first opened all the towns and harbours of this wealthy region to Western traders, and many of them were able permanently to establish themselves there, with all sorts of privileges and exemptions from taxes, which were gladly offered to them by the nobles who had transferred feudal power to Mussulman territories. Ocean commerce assumed from this moment proportions hitherto unknown. Notwithstanding the papal bulls and decrees, which forbade Christians from having any connection with infidels, the voice of interest was more listened to than that of the Church (Fig. 192), and traders did not fear to disobey the political and religions orders which forbade them to carry arms and slaves to the enemies of the faith. It was easy to foretell, from the very first, that the military occupation of the Holy Land would not be permanent. In consequence of this, therefore, the nearer the loss of this fine conquest seemed to be, the greater were the efforts made by the maritime towns of the West to re-establish, on a more solid and lasting basis, a commercial alliance with Egypt, the country which they selected to replace Palestine, in a mercantile point of view. Marseilles was the greatest supporter of this intercourse with Egypt; and in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries she reached a very high position, which she owed to her shipowners and traders. In the fourteenth century, however, the princes of the house of Anjou ruined her like the rest of Provence, in the great and fruitless efforts which they made to recover the kingdom of Naples; and it was not until the reign of Louis XI. that the old Phoenician city recovered its maritime and commercial prosperity (Fig. 193). [Illustration: Fig. 192.--Merchant Vessel in a Storm.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Grand Kalendrier et Compost des Bergers," in folio: printed at Troyes, about 1490, by Nicolas de Rouge.[*] [Footnote *: "Mortal man, living in the world, is compared to a vessel on perilous seas, bearing rich merchandise, by which, if it can come to harbour, the merchant will be rendered rich and happy. The ship from the commencement to the end of its voyage is in great peril of being lost or taken by an enemy, for the seas are always beset with perils. So is the body of man during its sojourn in the world. The merchandise he bears is his soul, his virtues, and his good deeds. The harbour is paradise, and he who reaches that haven is made supremely rich. The sea is the world, full of vices and sins, and in which all, during their passage through life, are in peril and danger of losing body and soul and of being drowned in the infernal sea, from which God in His grace keep us! Amen."] ] [Illustration: Fig. 193.--View and Plan of Marseilles and its Harbour, in the Sixteenth Century.--From a Copper-plate in the Collection of G. Bruin, in folio: "Théâtre des Citez du Monde."] Languedoc, depressed, and for a time nearly ruined in the thirteenth century by the effect of the wars of the Albigenses, was enabled, subsequently, to recover itself. Béziers, Agde, Narbonne, and especially Montpellier, so quickly established important trading connections with all the ports of the Mediterranean, that at the end of the fourteenth century consuls were appointed at each of these towns, in order to protect and direct their transmarine commerce. A traveller of the twelfth century, Benjamin de Tudèle, relates that in these ports, which were afterwards called the stepping stones to the Levant, every language in the world might be heard. Toulouse was soon on a par with the towns of Lower Languedoc, and the Garonne poured into the markets, not only the produce of Guienne, and of the western parts of France, but also those of Flanders, Normandy, and England. We may observe, however, that Bordeaux, although placed in a most advantageous position, at the mouth of the river, only possessed, when under the English dominion, a very limited commerce, principally confined to the export of wines to Great Britain in exchange for corn, oil, &c. La Rochelle, on the same coast, was much more flourishing at this period, owing to the numerous coasters which carried the wines of Aunis and Saintonge, and the salt of Brouage to Flanders, the Netherlands, and the north of Germany. Vitré already had its silk manufactories in the fifteenth century, and Nantes gave promise of her future greatness as a depôt of maritime commerce. It was about this time also that the fisheries became a new industry, in which Bayonne and a few villages on the sea-coast took the lead, some being especially engaged in whaling, and others in the cod and herring fisheries (Fig. 194). Long before this, Normandy had depended on other branches of trade for its commercial prosperity. Its fabrics of woollen stuffs, its arms and cutlery, besides the agricultural productions of its fertile and well-cultivated soil, each furnished material for export on a large scale. The towns of Rouen and Caen were especially manufacturing cities, and were very rich. This was the case with Rouen particularly, which was situated on the Seine, and was at that time an extensive depôt for provisions and other merchandise which was sent down the river for export, or was imported for future internal consumption. Already Paris, the abode of kings, and the metropolis of government, began to foreshadow the immense development which it was destined to undergo, by becoming the centre of commercial affairs, and by daily adding to its labouring and mercantile population (Figs. 195 and 196). It was, however, outside the walls of Paris that commerce, which needed liberty as well as protection, at first progressed most rapidly. The northern provinces had early united manufacturing industry with traffic, and this double source of local prosperity was the origin of their enormous wealth. Ghent and Bruges in the Low Countries, and Beauvais and Arras, were celebrated for their manufacture of cloths, carpets, and serge, and Cambrai for its fine cloths. The artizans and merchants of these industrious cities then established their powerful corporations, whose unwearied energy gave rise to that commercial freedom so favourable to trade. [Illustration: Fig. 194. Whale-Fishing. Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Thevet, in folio: Paris, 1574.] More important than the woollen manufactures--for the greater part of the wool used was brought from England--was the manufacture of flax, inasmuch as it encouraged agriculture, the raw material being produced in France. This first flourished in the north-east of France, and spread slowly to Picardy, to Beauvois, and Brittany. The central countries, with the exception of Bruges, whose cloth manufactories were already celebrated in the fifteenth century, remained essentially agricultural; and their principal towns were merely depôts for imported goods. The institution of fairs, however, rendered, it is true, this commerce of some of the towns as wide-spread as it was productive. In the Middle Ages religious feasts and ceremonials almost always gave rise to fairs, which commerce was not slow in multiplying as much as possible. The merchants naturally came to exhibit their goods where the largest concourse of people afforded the greatest promise of their readily disposing of them. As early as the first dynasty of Merovingian kings, temporary and periodical markets of this kind existed; but, except at St. Denis, articles of local consumption only were brought to them. The reasons for this were, the heavy taxes which were levied by the feudal lords on all merchandise exhibited for sale, and the danger which foreign merchants ran of being plundered on their way, or even at the fair itself. These causes for a long time delayed the progress of an institution which was afterwards destined to become so useful and beneficial to all classes of the community. We have several times mentioned the famous fair of Landit, which is supposed to have been established by Charlemagne, but which no doubt was a sort of revival of the fairs of St. Denis, founded by Dagobert, and which for a time had fallen into disuse in the midst of the general ruin which preceded that emperor's reign. This fair of Landit was renowned over the whole of Europe, and attracted merchants from all countries. It was held in the month of June, and only lasted fifteen days. Goods of all sorts, both of home and foreign manufacture, were sold, but the sale of parchment was the principal object of the fair, to purchase a supply of which the University of Paris regularly went in procession. On account of its special character, this fair was of less general importance than the six others, which from the twelfth century were held at Troyes, Provins, Lagny-sur-Marne, Rheims, and Bar-sur-Aube. These infused so much commercial vitality into the province of Champagne, that the nobles for the most part shook off the prejudice which forbad their entering into any sort of trading association. Fairs multiplied in the centre and in the south of France simultaneously. Those of Puy-en-Velay, now the capital of the Haute-Loire, are looked upon as the most ancient, and they preserved their old reputation and attracted a considerable concourse of people, which was also increased by the pilgrimages then made to Notre-Dame du Puy. These fairs, which were more of a religious than of a commercial character, were then of less importance as regards trade than those held at Beaucaire. This town rose to great repute in the thirteenth century, and, with the Lyons market, became at that time the largest centre of commerce in the southern provinces. Placed at the junction of the Saóne and the Rhône, Lyons owed its commercial development to the proximity of Marseilles and the towns of Italy. Its four annual fairs were always much frequented, and when the kings of France transferred to it the privileges of the fairs of Champagne, and transplanted to within its walls the silk manufactories formerly established at Tours, Lyons really became the second city of France. [Illustration: Fig. 195.--Measurers of Corn in Paris. Fig. 196.--Hay Carriers. Fac-simile of Woodcuts from the "Royal Orders concerning the Jurisdiction of the Company of Merchants and Shrievalty in the City of Paris," in small folio goth.: Jacques Nyverd, 1528.] It may be asserted as an established fact that the gradual extension of the power of the king, produced by the fall of feudalism, was favourable to the extension of commerce. As early as the reign of Louis IX. many laws and regulations prove that the kings were alive to the importance of trade. Among the chief enactments was one which led to the formation of the harbour of Aigues-Mortes on the Mediterranean; another to the publication of the book of "Weights and Measures," by Etienne Boileau, a work in which the ancient statutes of the various trades were arranged and codified; and a third to the enactment made in the very year of this king's death, to guarantee the security of vendors, and, at the same time, to ensure purchasers against fraud. All these bear undoubted witness that an enlightened policy in favour of commerce had already sprung up. Philippe le Bel issued several prohibitory enactments also in the interest of home commerce and local industry, which Louis X. confirmed. Philippe le Long attempted even to outdo the judicious efforts of Louis XI., and tried, though unsuccessfully, to establish a uniformity in the weights and measures throughout the kingdom; a reform, however, which was never accomplished until the revolution of 1789. It is difficult to credit how many different weights and measures were in use at that time, each one varying according to local custom or the choice of the lord of the soil, who probably in some way profited by the confusion which this uncertain state of things must have produced. The fraud and errors to which this led may easily be imagined, particularly in the intercourse between one part of the country and another. The feudal stamp is here thoroughly exhibited; as M. Charles de Grandmaison remarks, "Nothing is fixed, nothing is uniform, everything is special and arbitrary, settled by the lord of the soil by virtue of his right of _justesse_, by which he undertook the regulation and superintendence of the weights and measures in use in his lordship." Measures of length and contents often differed much from one another, although they might be similarly named, and it would require very complicated comparative tables approximately to fix their value. The _pied de roi_ was from ten to twelve inches, and was the least varying measure. The fathom differed much in different parts, and in the attempt to determine the relations between the innumerable measures of contents which we find recorded--a knowledge of which must have been necessary for the commerce of the period--we are stopped by a labyrinth of incomprehensible calculations, which it is impossible to determine with any degree of certainty. The weights were more uniform and less uncertain. The pound was everywhere in use, but it was not everywhere of the same standard (Fig. 201). For instance, at Paris it weighed sixteen ounces, whereas at Lyons it only weighed fourteen; and in weighing silk fifteen ounces to the pound was the rule. At Toulouse and in Upper Languedoc the pound was only thirteen and a half ounces; at Marseilles, thirteen ounces; and at other places it even fell to twelve ounces. There was in Paris a public scale called _poids du roi_; but this scale, though a most important means of revenue, was a great hindrance to retail trade. In spite of these petty and irritating impediments, the commerce of France extended throughout the whole world. [Illustration: Fig. 197.--View of Lubeck and its Harbour (Sixteenth Century).--From a Copper-plate in the Work of P. Bertius, "Commentaria Rerum Germanicarum," in 4to: Amsterdam, 1616.] The compass--known in Italy as early as the twelfth century, but little used until the fourteenth--enabled the mercantile navy to discover new routes, and it was thus that true maritime commerce may be said regularly to have begun. The sailors of the Mediterranean, with the help of this little instrument, dared to pass the Straits of Gibraltar, and to venture on the ocean. From that moment commercial intercourse, which had previously only existed by land, and that with great difficulty, was permanently established between the northern and southern harbours of Europe. Flanders was the central port for merchant vessels, which arrived in great numbers from the Mediterranean, and Bruges became the principal depôt. The Teutonic league, the origin of which dates from the thirteenth century, and which formed the most powerful confederacy recorded in history, also sent innumerable vessels from its harbours of Lubeck (Fig. 197) and Hamburg. These carried the merchandise of the northern countries into Flanders, and this rich province, which excelled in every branch of industry, and especially in those relating to metals and weaving, became the great market of Europe (Fig. 198). The commercial movement, formerly limited to the shores of the Mediterranean, extended to all parts, and gradually became universal. The northern states shared in it, and England, which for a long time kept aloof from a stage on which it was destined to play the first part, began to give indications of its future commercial greatness. The number of transactions increased as the facility for carrying them on became greater. Consumption being extended, production progressively followed, and so commerce went on gaining strength as it widened its sphere. Everything, in fact, seemed to contribute to its expansion. The downfall of the feudal system and the establishment in each country of a central power, more or less strong and respected, enabled it to extend its operations by land with a degree of security hitherto unknown; and, at the same time, international legislation came in to protect maritime trade, which was still exposed to great dangers. The sea, which was open freely to the whole human race, gave robbers comparatively easy means of following their nefarious practices, and with less fear of punishment than they could obtain on the shore of civilised countries. For this reason piracy continued its depredations long after the enactment of severe laws for its suppression. This maritime legislation did not wait for the sixteenth century to come into existence. Maritime law was promulgated more or less in the twelfth century, but the troubles and agitations which weakened and disorganized empires during that period of the Middle Ages, deprived it of its power and efficiency. The _Code des Rhodiens_ dates as far back as 1167; the _Code de la Mer_, which became a sort of recognised text-book, dates from the same period; the _Lois d'Oléron_ is anterior to the twelfth century, and ruled the western coasts of France, being also adopted in Flanders and in England; Venice dated her most ancient law on maritime rights from 1255, and the Statutes of Marseilles date from 1254. [Illustration: Fig. 198.--Execution of the celebrated pirate Stoertebeck and his seventy accomplices, in 1402, at Hamburg.--From a popular Picture of the end of the Sixteenth Century (Hamburg Library).] The period of the establishment of commercial law and justice corresponds with that of the introduction of national and universal codes of law and consular jurisdiction. These may be said to have originated in the sixth century in the laws of the Visigoths, which empowered foreign traders to be judged by delegates from their own countries. The Venetians had consuls in the Greek empire as early as the tenth century, and we may fairly presume that the French had consuls in Palestine during the reign of Charlemagne. In the thirteenth century the towns of Italy had consular agents in France; and Marseilles had them in Savoy, in Arles, and in Genoa. Thus traders of each country were always sure of finding justice, assistance, and protection in all the centres of European commerce. Numerous facilities for barter were added to these advantages. Merchants, who at first travelled with their merchandise, and who afterwards merely sent a factor as their representative, finally consigned it to foreign agents. Communication by correspondence in this way became more general, and paper replaced parchment as being less rare and less expensive. The introduction of Arabic figures, which were more convenient than the Roman numerals for making calculations, the establishment of banks, of which the most ancient was in operation in Venice as early as the twelfth century, the invention of bills of exchange, attributed to the Jews, and generally in use in the thirteenth century, the establishment of insurance against the risks and perils of sea and land, and lastly, the formation of trading companies, or what are now called partnerships, all tended to give expansion and activity to commerce, whereby public and private wealth was increased in spite of obstacles which routine, envy, and ill-will persistently raised against great commercial enterprises. For a long time the French, through indolence or antipathy--for it was more to their liking to be occupied with arms and chivalry than with matters of interest and profit--took but a feeble part in the trade which was carried on so successfully on their own territory. The nobles were ashamed to mix in commerce, considering it unworthy of them, and the bourgeois, for want of liberal feeling and expansiveness in their ideas, were satisfied with appropriating merely local trade. Foreign commerce, even of the most lucrative description, was handed over to foreigners, and especially to Jews, who were often banished from the kingdom and as frequently ransomed, though universally despised and hated. Notwithstanding this, they succeeded in rising to wealth under the stigma of shame and infamy, and the immense gains which they realised by means of usury reconciled them to, and consoled them for, the ill-treatment to which they were subjected. [Illustration: Fig. 199.--Discovery of America, 12th of May, 1492.--Columbus erects the Cross and baptizes the Isle of Guanahani (now Cat Island, one of the Bahamas) by the Christian Name of St. Salvador.--From a Stamp engraved on Copper by Th. de Bry, in the Collection of "Grands Voyages," in folio, 1590.] At a very early period, and especially when the Jews had been absolutely expelled, the advantage of exclusively trading with and securing the rich profits from France had attracted the Italians, who were frequently only Jews in disguise, concealing themselves as to their character under the generic name of Lombards. It was under this name that the French kings gave them on different occasions various privileges, when they frequented the fairs of Champagne and came to establish themselves in the inland and seaport towns. These Italians constituted the great corporation of money-changers in Paris, and hoarded in their coffers all the coin of the kingdom, and in this way caused a perpetual variation in the value of money, by which they themselves benefited. In the sixteenth century the wars of Italy rather changed matters, and we find royal and important concessions increasing in favour of Castilians and other Spaniards, whom the people maliciously called _negroes_, and who had emigrated in order to engage in commerce and manufactures in Saintonge, Normandy, Burgundy, Agenois, and Languedoc. About the time of Louis XI., the French, becoming more alive to their true interests, began to manage their own affairs, following the suggestions and advice of the King, whose democratic instincts prompted him to encourage and favour the bourgeois. This result was also attributable to the state of peace and security which then began to exist in the kingdom, impoverished and distracted as it had been by a hundred years of domestic and foreign warfare. From 1365 to 1382 factories and warehouses were founded by Norman navigators on the western coast of Africa, in Senegal and Guinea. Numerous fleets of merchantmen, of great size for those days, were employed in transporting cloth, grain of all kinds, knives, brandy, salt, and other merchandise, which were bartered for leather, ivory, gum, amber, and gold dust. Considerable profits were realised by the shipowners and merchants, who, like Jacques Coeur, employed ships for the purpose of carrying on these large and lucrative commercial operations. These facts sufficiently testify the condition of France at this period, and prove that this, like other branches of human industry, was arrested in its expansion by the political troubles which followed in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Fortunately these social troubles were not universal, and it was just at the period when France was struggling and had become exhausted and impoverished that the Portuguese extended their discoveries on the same coast of Africa, and soon after succeeded in rounding the Cape of Good Hope, and opening a new maritime road to India, a country which was always attractive from the commercial advantages which it offered. Some years after, Christopher Columbus, the Genoese, more daring and more fortunate still, guided by the compass and impelled by his own genius, discovered a new continent, the fourth continent of the world (Fig. 199). This unexpected event, the greatest and most remarkable of the age, necessarily enlarged the field for produce as well as for consumption to an enormous extent, and naturally added, not only to the variety and quantity of exchangeable wares, but also to the production of the precious metals, and brought about a complete revolution in the laws of the whole civilised world. Maritime commerce immediately acquired an extraordinary development, and merchants, forsaking the harbours of the Mediterranean, and even those of the Levant, which then seemed to them scarcely worthy of notice, sent their vessels by thousands upon the ocean in pursuit of the wonderful riches of the New World. The day of caravans and coasting had passed; Venice had lost its splendour; the sway of the Mediterranean was over; the commerce of the world was suddenly transferred from the active and industrious towns of that sea, which had so long monopolized it, to the Western nations, to the Portuguese and Spaniards first, and then to the Dutch and English. France, absorbed in, and almost ruined by civil war, and above all by religious dissensions, only played a subordinate part in this commercial and pacific revolution, although it has been said that the sailors of Dieppe and Honfleur really discovered America before Columbus. Nevertheless the kings of France, Louis XII., Francis I., and Henry II., tried to establish and encourage transatlantic voyages, and to create, in the interest of French commerce, colonies on the coasts of the New World, from Florida and Virginia to Canada. But these colonies had but a precarious and transitory existence; fisheries alone succeeded, and French commerce continued insignificant, circumscribed, and domestic, notwithstanding the increasing requirements of luxury at court. This luxury contented itself with the use of the merchandise which arrived from the Low Countries, Spain, and Italy. National industry did all in its power to surmount this ignominious condition; she specially turned her attention to the manufacture of silks and of stuffs tissued with gold and silver. The only practical attempt of the government in the sixteenth century to protect commerce and manufactures was to forbid the import of foreign merchandise, and to endeavour to oppose the progress of luxury by rigid enactments. Certainly the government of that time little understood the advantages which a country derived from commerce when it forbade the higher classes from engaging in mercantile pursuits under penalty of having their privileges of nobility withdrawn from them. In the face of the examples of Italy, Genoa, Venice, and especially of Florence, where the nobles were all traders or sons of traders, the kings of the line of Valois thought proper to make this enactment. The desire seemed to be to make the merchant class a separate class, stationary, and consisting exclusively of bourgeois, shut up in their counting-houses, and prevented in every way from participating in public life. The merchants became indignant at this banishment, and, in order to employ their leisure, they plunged with all their energy into the sanguinary struggles of Reform and of the League. [Illustration: Fig. 200.--Medal to commemorate the Association of the Merchants of the City of Rouen.] It was not until the reign of Henry IV. that they again confined themselves to their occupations as merchants, when Sully published the political suggestions of his master for renewing commercial prosperity. From this time a new era commenced in the commercial destiny of France. Commerce, fostered and protected by statesmen, sought to extend its operations with greater freedom and power. Companies were formed at Paris, Marseilles, Lyons, and Rouen to carry French merchandise all over the world, and the rules of the mercantile associations, in spite of the routine and jealousies which guided the trade corporations, became the code which afterwards regulated commerce (Fig. 200). [Illustration: Fig. 201.--Standard Weight in Brass of the Fish-market at Mans: Sign of the Syren (End of the Sixteenth Century).] Guilds and Trade Corporations. Uncertain Origin of Corporations.--Ancient Industrial Associations.--The Germanic Guild.--Colleges.--Teutonic Associations.--The Paris Company for the Transit of Merchandise by Water.--Corporations properly so called.--Etienne Boileau's "Book of Trades," or the First Code of Regulations.--The Laws governing Trades.--Public and Private Organization of Trade Corporations and other Communities.--Energy of the Corporations.--Masters, Journeymen, Supernumeraries, and Apprentices.--Religious Festivals and Trade Societies.--Trade Unions. Learned authorities have frequently discussed, without agreeing, on the question of the origin of the Corporations of the Middle Ages. It may be admitted, we think _à priori_, that associations of artisans were as ancient as the trades themselves. It may readily be imagined that the numerous members of the industrial classes, having to maintain and defend their common rights and common interests, would have sought to establish mutual fraternal associations among themselves. The deeper we dive into ancient history the clearer we perceive traces, more or less distinct, of these kinds of associations. To cite only two examples, which may serve to some extent as an historical parallel to the analogous institutions of the present day, we may mention the Roman _Colleges_, which were really leagues of artisans following the same calling; and the Scandinavian guilds, whose object was to assimilate the different branches of industry and trade, either of a city or of some particular district. Indeed, brotherhoods amongst the labouring classes always existed under the German conquerors from the moment when Europe, so long divided into Roman provinces, shook off the yoke of subjection to Rome, although she still adhered to the laws and customs of the nation which had held her in subjection for so many generations. We can, however, only regard the few traces which remain of these brotherhoods as evidence of their having once existed, and not as indicative of their having been in a flourishing state. In the fifth century, the Hermit Ampelius, in his "Legends of the Saints," mentions _Consuls_ or Chiefs of Locksmiths. The Corporation of Goldsmiths is spoken of as existing in the first dynasty of the French kings. Bakers are named collectively in 630 in the laws of Dagobert, which seems to show that they formed a sort of trade union at that remote period. We also see Charlemagne, in several of his statutes, taking steps in order that the number of persons engaged in providing food of different kinds should everywhere be adequate to provide for the necessities of consumption, which would tend to show a general organization of that most important branch of industry. In Lombardy colleges of artisans were established at an early period, and were, no doubt, on the model of the Roman ones. Ravenna, in 943, possessed a College of Fishermen; and ten years later the records of that town mention a _Chief of the Corporation of Traders_, and, in 1001, a _Chief of the Corporation of Butchers_. France at the same time kept up a remembrance of the institutions of Roman Gaul, and the ancient colleges of trades still formed associations and companies in Paris and in the larger towns. In 1061 King Philip I. granted certain privileges to Master Chandlers and Oilmen. The ancient customs of the butchers are mentioned as early as the time of Louis VII., 1162. The same king granted to the wife of Ives Laccobre and her heirs the collectorship of the dues which were payable by tanners, purse-makers, curriers, and shoemakers. Under Philip Augustus similar concessions became more frequent, and it is evident that at that time trade was beginning to take root and to require special and particular administration. This led to regulations being drawn up for each trade, to which Philip Augustus gave his sanction. In 1182 he confirmed the statutes of the butchers, and the furriers and drapers also obtained favourable concessions from him. According to the learned Augustin Thierry, corporations, like civic communities, were engrafted on previously existing guilds, such as on the colleges or corporations of workmen, which were of Roman origin. In the _guild_, which signifies a banquet at common expense, there was a mutual assurance against misfortunes and injuries of all sorts, such as fire and shipwreck, and also against all lawsuits incurred for offences and crimes, even though they were proved against the accused. Each of these associations was placed under the patronage of a god or of a hero, and had its compulsory statutes; each had its chief or president chosen from among the members, and a common treasury supplied by annual contributions. Roman colleges, as we have already stated, were established with a more special purpose, and were more exclusively confined to the peculiar trade to which they belonged; but these, equally with the guilds, possessed a common exchequer, enjoyed equal rights and privileges, elected their own presidents, and celebrated in common their sacrifices, festivals, and banquets. We have, therefore, good reason for agreeing in the opinion of the celebrated historian, who considers that in the establishment of a corporation "the guild should be to a certain degree the motive power, and the Roman college, with its organization, the material which should be used to bring it into existence." [Illustration: Fig. 202.--Craftsmen in the Fourteenth Century--Fac-simile of a Miniature of a Manuscript in the Library of Brussels.] It is certain, however, that during several centuries corporations were either dissolved or hidden from public notice, for they almost entirely disappeared from the historic records during the partial return to barbarism, when the production of objects of daily necessity and the preparation of food were entrusted to slaves under the eye of their master. Not till the twelfth century did they again begin to flourish, and, as might be supposed, it was Italy which gave the signal for the resuscitation of the institutions whose birthplace had been Rome, and which barbarism had allowed to fall into decay. Brotherhoods of artisans were also founded at an early period in the north of Gaul, whence they rapidly spread beyond the Rhine. Under the Emperor Henry I., that is, during the tenth century, the ordinary condition of artisans in Germany was still serfdom; but two centuries later the greater number of trades in most of the large towns of the empire had congregated together in colleges or bodies under the name of unions (_Einnungen_ or _Innungen_) (Fig. 202), as, for example, at Gozlar, at Würzburg, at Brunswick, &c. These colleges, however, were not established without much difficulty and without the energetic resistance of the ruling powers, inasmuch as they often raised their pretensions so high as to wish to substitute their authority for the senatorial law, and thus to grasp the government of the cities. The thirteenth century witnessed obstinate and sanguinary feuds between these two parties, each of which was alternately victorious. Whichever had the upper hand took advantage of the opportunity to carry out the most cruel reprisals against its defeated opponents. The Emperors Frederick II. and Henry VII. tried to put an end to these strifes by abolishing the corporations of workmen, but these powerful associations fearlessly opposed the imperial authority. In France the organization of communities of artisans, an organization which in many ways was connected with the commercial movement, but which must not be confounded with it, did not give rise to any political difficulty. It seems not even to have met with any opposition from the feudal powers, who no doubt found it an easy pretext for levying additional rates and taxes. The most ancient of these corporations was the Parisian _Hanse_, or corporation of the bourgeois for canal navigation, which probably dates its origin back to the college of Parisian _Nautes_, existing before the Roman conquest. This mercantile association held its meetings in the island of Lutetia, on the very spot where the church of Notre-Dame was afterwards built. From the earliest days of monarchy tradesmen constituted entirely the bourgeois of the towns (Fig. 203). Above them were the nobility or clergy, beneath them the artisans. Hence we can understand how the bourgeois, who during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were a distinct section of the community, became at last the important commercial body itself. The kings invariably treated them with favour. Louis VI. granted them new rights, Louis VII. confirmed their ancient privileges, and Philip Augustus increased them. The Parisian Hanse succeeded in monopolising all the commerce which was carried on by water on the Seine and the Yonne between Mantes and Auxerre. No merchandise coming up or down the stream in boats could be disembarked in the interior of Paris without becoming, as it were, the property of the corporation, which, through its agents, superintended its measurement and its sale in bulk, and, up to a certain point, its sale by retail. No foreign merchant was permitted to send his goods to Paris without first obtaining _lettres de Hanse_, whereby he had associated with him a bourgeois of the town, who acted as his guarantee, and who shared in his profits. [Illustration: Fig. 203.--Merchants or Tradesmen of the Fourteenth Century.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Library at Brussels.] There were associations of the same kind in most of the commercial towns situated on the banks of rivers and on the sea-coast, as, for example, at Rouen, Arles, Marseilles, Narbonne, Toulouse, Ratisbon, Augsburg, and Utrecht. Sometimes neighbouring towns, such as the great manufacturing cities of Flanders, agreed together and entered into a leagued bond, which gave them greater power, and constituted an offensive and defensive compact (Fig. 204). A typical example of this last institution is that of the commercial association of the _Hanseatic Towns_ of Germany, which were grouped together to the number of eighty around their four capitals, viz., Lubeck, Cologne, Dantzic, and Brunswick. [Illustration: Fig. 204.--Seal of the United Trades of Ghent (End of the Fifteenth Century).] Although, as we have already seen, previous to the thirteenth century many of the corporations of artisans had been authorised by several of the kings of France to make special laws whereby they might govern themselves, it was really only from the reign of St. Louis that the first general measures of administration and police relating to these communities can be dated. The King appointed Etienne Boileau, a rich bourgeois, provost of the capital in 1261, to set to work to establish order, wise administration, and "good faith" in the commerce of Paris. To this end he ascertained from the verbal testimony of the senior members of each corporation the customs and usages of the various crafts, which for the most part up to that time had not been committed to writing. He arranged and probably amended them in many ways, and thus composed the famous "Book of Trades," which, as M. Depping, the able editor of this valuable compilation, first published in 1837, says, "has the advantage of being to a great extent the genuine production of the corporations themselves, and not a list of rules established and framed by the municipal or judicial authorities." From that time corporations gradually introduced themselves into the order of society. The royal decrees in their favour were multiplied, and the regulations with regard to mechanical trades daily improved, not only in Paris and in the provinces, and also abroad, both in the south and in the north of Europe, especially in Italy, Germany, England, and the Low Countries (Figs. 205 to 213). Etienne Boileau's "Book of Trades" contained the rules of one hundred different trade associations. It must be observed, however, that several of the most important trades, such as the butchers, tanners, glaziers, &c., were omitted, either because they neglected to be registered at the Châtelet, where the inquiry superintended by Boileau was made, or because some private interest induced them to keep aloof from this registration, which probably imposed some sort of fine and a tax upon them. In the following century the number of trade associations considerably increased, and wonderfully so during the reigns of the last of the Valois and the first of the Bourbons. The historian of the antiquities of Paris, Henry Sauval, enumerated no fewer than fifteen hundred and fifty-one trade associations in the capital alone in the middle of the seventeenth century. It must be remarked, however, that the societies of artisans were much subdivided owing to the simple fact that each craft could only practise its own special work. Thus, in Boileau's book, we find four different corporations of _patenôtriers_, or makers of chaplets, six of hatters, six of weavers, &c. Besides these societies of artisans, there were in Paris a few privileged corporations, which occupied a more important position, and were known under the name of _Corps des Marchands_. Their number at first frequently varied, but finally it was settled at six, and they were termed _les Six Corps_. They comprised the drapers, which always took precedence of the five others, the grocers, the mercers, the furriers, the hatters, and the goldsmiths. These five for a long time disputed the question of precedence, and finally they decided the matter by lot, as they were not able to agree in any other way. [Illustration: Fig. 205.--Seal of the Corporation of Carpenters of St. Trond (Belgium)--From an Impression preserved in the Archives of that Town (1481).] [Illustration: Fig. 206.--Seal of the Corporation of Shoemakers of St. Trond, from a Map of 1481, preserved in the Archives of that Town.] [Illustration: Fig. 207.--Seal of the Corporation of Wool-weavers of Hasselt (Belgium), from a Parchment Title-deed of June 25, 1574.] [Illustration: Fig. 208.--Seal of the Corporation of Clothworkers of Bruges (1356).--From an Impression preserved in the Archives of that Town.] [Illustration: Fig. 209.--Seal of the Corporation of Fullers of St. Trond (about 1350).--From an Impression preserved in the Archives of that Town.] [Illustration: Fig. 210.--Seal of the Corporation of Joiners of Bruges (1356).--From an Impression preserved in the Archives of that Town.] [Illustration: Fig. 211.--Token of the Corporation of Carpenters of Maestricht.] [Illustration: Fig. 212.--Token of the Corporation of Carpenters of Antwerp.] [Illustration: Fig. 213.--Funeral Token of the Corporation of Carpenters of Maestricht.] Trades. Fac-simile of Engravings on Wood, designed and engraved by J. Amman, in the Sixteenth Century. [Illustration: Fig. 214.--Cloth-worker.] [Illustration: Fig. 215.--Tailor.] [Illustration: Fig. 216.--Hatter.] [Illustration: Fig. 217.--Dyer.] [Illustration: Fig. 218.--Druggist] [Illustration: Fig. 219.--Barber] [Illustration: Fig. 220.--Goldsmith] [Illustration: Fig. 221.--Goldbeater] [Illustration: Fig. 222.--Pin and Needle Maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 223.--Clasp-maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 224.--Wire-worker.] [Illustration: Fig. 225.--Dice-maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 226.--Sword-maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 227.--Armourer.] [Illustration: Fig. 228.--Spur-maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 229.--Shoemaker.] [Illustration: Fig. 230.--Basin-maker.] [Illustration: Fig. 231.--Tinman.] [Illustration: Fig. 232.--Coppersmith.] [Illustration: Fig. 233.--Bell and Cannon Caster.] Apart from the privilege which these six bodies of merchants exclusively enjoyed of being called upon to appear, though at their own expense, in the civic processions and at the public ceremonials, and to carry the canopy over the heads of kings, queens, or princes on their state entry into the capital (Fig. 234), it would be difficult to specify the nature of the privileges which were granted to them, and of which they were so jealous. It is clear, however, that these six bodies were imbued with a kind of aristocratic spirit which made them place trading much above handicraft in their own class, and set a high value on their calling as merchants. Thus contemporary historians tell us that any merchant who compromised the dignity of the company "fell into the class of the lower orders;" that mercers boasted of excluding from their body the upholsterers, "who were but artisans;" that hatters, who were admitted into the _Six Corps_ to replace one of the other trades, became in consequence "merchants instead of artisans, which they had been up to that time." Notwithstanding the statutes so carefully compiled and revised by Etienne Boileau and his successors, and in spite of the numerous arbitrary rules which the sovereigns, the magistrates, and the corporations themselves strenuously endeavoured to frame, order and unity were far from governing the commerce and industry of Paris during the Middle Ages, and what took place in Paris generally repeated itself elsewhere. Serious disputes continually arose between the authorities and those amenable to their jurisdiction, and between the various crafts themselves, notwithstanding the relation which they bore to each other from the similarity of their employments. In fact in this, as in many other matters, social disorder often emanated from the powers whose duty it was in the first instance to have repressed it. Thus, at the time when Philip Augustus extended the boundaries of his capital so as to include the boroughs in it, which until then had been separated from the city, the lay and clerical lords, under whose feudal dominion those districts had hitherto been placed, naturally insisted upon preserving all their rights. So forcibly did they do this that the King was obliged to recognise their claims; and in several boroughs, including the Bourg l'Abbé, the Beau Bourg, the Bourg St. Germain, and the Bourg Auxerrois, &c., there were trade associations completely distinct from and independent of those of ancient Paris. If we simply limit our examination to that of the condition of the trade associations which held their authority immediately from royalty, we still see that the causes of confusion were by no means trifling; for the majority of the high officers of the crown, acting as delegates of the royal authority, were always disputing amongst themselves the right of superintending, protecting, judging, punishing, and, above all, of exacting tribute from the members of the various trades. The King granted to various officers the privilege of arbitrarily disposing of the freedom of each trade for their own profit, and thereby gave them power over all the merchants and craftsmen who were officially connected with them, not only in Paris, but also throughout the whole kingdom. Thus the lord chamberlain had jurisdiction over the drapers, mercers, furriers, shoemakers, tailors, and other dealers in articles of wearing apparel; the barbers were governed by the king's varlet and barber; the head baker was governor over the bakers; and the head butler over the wine merchants. [Illustration: Fig. 234.--Group of Goldsmiths preceding the _Chasse de St. Marcel_ in the Reign of Louis XIII.--From a Copper-plate of the Period (Cabinet of Stamps in the National Library of Paris).] These state officers granted freedoms to artisans, or, in other words, they gave them the right to exercise such and such a craft with assistants or companions, exacting for the performance of this trifling act a very considerable tax. And, as they preferred receiving their revenues without the annoyance of having direct communication with their humble subjects, they appointed deputies, who were authorised to collect them in their names. The most celebrated of these deputies were the _rois des merciers_, who lived on the fat of the land in complete idleness, and who were surrounded by a mercantile court, which appeared in all its splendour at the trade festivals. [Illustration: Fig. 235.--Banner of the Corporation of the United Boot and Shoe Makers of Issoudun.] The great officers of the crown exercised in their own interests, and without a thought for the public advantage, a complete magisterial jurisdiction over all crafts; they adjudicated in disputes arising between masters and men, decided quarrels, visited, either personally or through their deputies, the houses of the merchants, in order to discover frauds or infractions in the rules of the trade, and levied fines accordingly. We must remember that the collectors of court dues had always to contend for the free exercise of their jurisdiction against the provost of Paris, who considered their acquisitions of authority as interfering with his personal prerogatives, and who therefore persistently opposed them on all occasions. For instance, if the head baker ordered an artisan of the same trade to be imprisoned in the Châtelet, the high provost, who was governor of the prison, released him immediately; and, in retaliation, if the high provost punished a baker, the chief baker warmly espoused his subordinate's cause. At other times the artisans, if they were dissatisfied with the deputy appointed by the great officer of the crown, whose dependents they were, would refuse to recognise his authority. In this way constant quarrels and interminable lawsuits occurred, and it is easy to understand the disorder which must have arisen from such a state of things. By degrees, however, and in consequence of the new tendencies of royalty, which were simply directed to the diminution of feudal power, the numerous jurisdictions relating to the various trades gradually returned to the hand of the municipal provostship; and this concentration of power had the best results, as well for the public good as for that of the corporations themselves. Having examined into corporations collectively and also into their general administration, we will now turn to consider their internal organization. It was only after long and difficult struggles that these trade associations succeeded in taking a definite and established position; without, however, succeeding at any time in organizing themselves as one body on the same basis and with the same privileges. Therefore, in pointing out the influential character of these institutions generally, we must omit various matters specially connected with individual associations, which it would be impossible to mention in this brief sketch. In the fourteenth century, the period when the communities of crafts were at the height of their development and power, no association of artisans could legally exist without a license either from the king, the lord, the prince, the abbot, the bailiff, or the mayor of the district in which it proposed to establish itself. [Illustration: Fig. 236.--Banner of the Tilers of Paris, with the Armorial Bearings of the Corporation.] [Illustration: Fig. 237.--Banner of the Nail-makers of Paris, with Armorial Bearings of the Corporation.] [Illustration: Fig. 238.--Banner of the Harness-makers of Paris, with the Armorial Bearings of the Corporation.] [Illustration: Fig. 239.--Banner of the Wheelwrights of Paris, with the Armoral Bearings of the Corporation.] [Illustration: Fig. 240.--Banner of the Tanners of Vie, with the Patron Saint of the Corporation.] [Illustration: Fig. 241.--Banner of the Weavers of Poulon, with the Patron Saint of the Corporation.] These communities had their statutes and privileges; they were distinguished at public ceremonials by their _liveries_ or special dress, as well as by their arms and banners (Figs. 235 to 241). They possessed the right freely to discuss their general interests, and at meetings composed of all their members they might modify their statutes, provided that such changes were confirmed by the King or by the authorities. It was also necessary that these meetings, at which the royal delegates were present, should be duly authorised; and, lastly, so as to render the communication between members more easy, and to facilitate everything which concerned the interests of the craft, artisans of the same trade usually resided in the same quarter of the town, and even in the same street. The names of many streets in Paris and other towns of France testify to this custom, which still partially exists in the towns of Germany and Italy. [Illustration: Fig. 242.--Ceremonial Dress of an Elder and a Juror of the Corporation of Old Shoemakers of Ghent.] The communities of artisans had, to a certain extent, the character and position of private individuals. They had the power in their corporate capacity of holding and administrating property, of defending or bringing actions at law, of accepting inheritances, &c.; they disbursed from a common treasury, which was supplied by legacies, donations, fines, and periodical subscriptions. These communities exercised in addition, through their jurors, a magisterial authority, and even, under some circumstances, a criminal jurisdiction over their members. For a long time they strove to extend this last power or to keep it independent of municipal control and the supreme courts, by which it was curtailed to that of exercising a simple police authority strictly confined to persons or things relating to the craft. They carefully watched for any infractions of the rules of the trade. They acted as arbitrators between master and man, particularly in quarrels when the parties had had recourse to violence. The functions of this kind of domestic magistracy were exercised by officers known under various names, such as _kings, masters, elders, guards, syndics_, and _jurors_, who were besides charged to visit the workshops at any hour they pleased in order to see that the laws concerning the articles of workmanship were observed. They also received the taxes for the benefit of the association; and, lastly, they examined the apprentices and installed masters into their office (Fig. 242). The jurors, or syndics, as they were more usually called, and whose number varied according to the importance of numerical force of the corporation, were generally elected by the majority of votes of their fellow-workmen, though sometimes the choice of these was entirely in the hands of the great officers of state. It was not unfrequent to find women amongst the dignitaries of the arts and crafts; and the professional tribunals, which decided every question relative to the community and its members, were often held by an equal number of masters and associate craftsmen. The jealous, exclusive, and inflexible spirit of caste, which in the Middle Ages is to be seen almost everywhere, formed one of the principal features of industrial associations. The admission of new members was surrounded with conditions calculated to restrict the number of associates and to discourage candidates. The sons of masters alone enjoyed hereditary privileges, in consequence of which they were always allowed to be admitted without being subjected to the tyrannical yoke of the association. [Illustration: Martyrdom of SS. Crispin and Crépinien. From a window in the Hôpital des Quinze-Vingts (Fifteenth Century).] Generally the members of a corporation were divided into three distinct classes--the masters, the paid assistants or companions, and the apprentices. Apprenticeship, from which the sons of masters were often exempted, began between the ages of twelve and seventeen years, and lasted from two to five years. In most of the trades the master could only receive one apprentice in his house besides his own son. Tanners, dyers, and goldsmiths were allowed one of their relatives in addition, or a second apprentice if they had no relation willing to learn their trade; and although some commoner trades, such as butchers and bakers, were allowed an unlimited number of apprentices, the custom of restriction had become a sort of general law, with the object of limiting the number of masters and workmen to the requirements of the public. The position of paid assistant or companion was required to be held in many trades for a certain length of time before promotion to mastership could be obtained. [Illustration: Fig. 243.--Bootmaker's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece.--From a Window of the Thirteenth Century, published by Messrs. Cahier and Martin] When apprentices or companions wished to become masters, they were called _aspirants_, and were subjected to successive examinations. They were particularly required to prove their ability by executing what was termed a _chef-d'oeuvre_, which consisted in fabricating a perfect specimen of whatever craft they practised. The execution of the _chef-d'oeuvre_ gave rise to many technical formalities, which were at times most frivolous. The aspirant in certain cases had to pass a technical examination, as, for instance, the barber in forging and polishing lancets; the wool-weaver in making and adjusting the different parts of his loom; and during the period of executing the _chef-d'oeuvre,_ which often extended over several months, the aspirant was deprived of all communication with his fellows. He had to work at the office of the association, which was called the _bureau_, under the eyes of the jurors or syndics, who, often after an angry debate, issued their judgment upon the merits of the work and the capability of the workman (Figs. 243 and 244). [Illustration: Fig. 244.--Carpenter's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece.--From one of the Stalls called _Miséricordes_, in Rouen Cathedral (Fifteenth Century).] On his admission the aspirant had first to take again the oath of allegiance to the King before the provost or civil deputy, although he had already done so on commencing his apprenticeship. He then had to pay a duty or fee, which was divided between the sovereign or lord and the brotherhood, from which fee the sons of masters always obtained a considerable abatement. Often, too, the husbands of the daughters of masters were exempted from paying the duties. A few masters, such as the goldsmiths and the cloth-workers, had besides to pay a sum of money by way of guarantee, which remained in the funds of the craft as long as they carried on the trade. After these forms had been complied with, the masters acquired the exclusive privilege of freely exercising their profession. There were, however, certain exceptions to this rule, for a king on his coronation, a prince or princess of the royal blood at the time of his or her marriage, and, in certain towns, the bishop on his installation, had the right of creating one or more masters in each trade, and these received their licence without going through any of the usual formalities. [Illustration: Fig. 245.--Staircase of the Office of the Goldsmiths of Rouen (Fifteenth Century). The Shield which the Lion holds with his Paw shows the Arms of the Goldsmiths of Rouen. (Present Condition).] A widower or widow might generally continue the craft of the deceased wife or husband who had acquired the freedom, and which thus became the inheritance of the survivor. The condition, however, was that he or she did not contract a second marriage with any one who did not belong to the craft. Masters lost their rights directly they worked for any other master and received wages. Certain freedoms, too, were only available in the towns in which they had been obtained. In more than one craft, when a family holding the freedom became extinct, their premises and tools became the property of the corporation, subject to an indemnity payable to the next of kin. [Illustration: Fig. 246.--Shops under Covered Market (Goldsmith, Dealer in Stuffs, and Shoemaker).--From a Miniature in Aristotle's "Ethics and Politics," translated by Nicholas Oresme (Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, Library of Rouen).] At times, and particularly in those trades where the aspirants were not required to produce a _chef-d'oeuvre_, the installation of masters was accompanied with extraordinary ceremonies, which no doubt originally possessed some symbolical meaning, but which, having lost their true signification, became singular, and appeared even ludicrous. Thus with the bakers, after four years' apprenticeship, the candidate on purchasing the freedom from the King, issued from his door, escorted by all the other bakers of the town, bearing a new pot filled with walnuts and wafers. On arriving before the chief of the corporation, he said to him, "Master, I have accomplished my four years; here is my pot filled with walnuts and wafers." The assistants in the ceremony having vouched for the truth of this statement, the candidate broke the pot against the wall, and the chief solemnly pronounced his admission, which was inaugurated by the older masters emptying a number of tankards of wine or beer at the expense of their new brother. The ceremony was also of a jovial character in the case of the millwrights, who only admitted the candidate after he had received a caning on the shoulders from the last-elected brother. [Illustration: Fig. 247.--Fac-simile of the first six Lines on the Copper Tablet on which was engraved, from the year 1470, the Names and Titles of those who were elected Members of the Corporation of Goldsmiths of Ghent.] The statutes of the corporations, which had the force of law on account of being approved and accepted by royal authority, almost always detailed with the greatest precision the conditions of labour. They fixed the hours and days for working, the size of the articles to be made, the quality of the stuffs used in their manufacture, and even the price at which they were to be sold (Fig. 246). Night labour was pretty generally forbidden, as likely to produce only imperfect work. We nevertheless find that carpenters were permitted to make coffins and other funeral articles by night. On the eve of religious feasts the shops were shut earlier than usual, that is to say, at three o'clock, and were not opened on the next day, with the exception of those of pastrycooks, whose assistance was especially required on feast days, and who sold curious varieties of cakes and sweetmeats. Notwithstanding the strictness of the rules and the administrative laws of each trade, which were intended to secure good faith and loyalty between the various members, it is unnecessary to state that they were frequently violated. The fines which were then imposed on delinquents constituted an important source of revenue, not only to the corporations themselves, but also to the town treasury. The penally, however, was not always a pecuniary one, for as late as the fifteenth century we have instances of artisans being condemned to death simply for having adulterated their articles of trade. [Illustration: Fig. 248.--Elder and Jurors of the Tanners of the Town of Ghent in Ceremonial Dress.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century.] This deception was looked upon as of the nature of robbery, which we know to have been for a long time punishable by death. Robbery on the part of merchants found no indulgence nor pardon in those days, and the whole corporation demanded immediate and exemplary justice. According to the statutes, which generally tended to prevent frauds and falsifications, in most crafts the masters were bound to put their trade-mark on their goods, or some particular sign which was to be a guarantee for the purchaser and one means of identifying the culprit in the event of complaints arising on account of the bad quality or bad workmanship of the articles sold. [Illustration: Fig. 249.--Companion Carpenter.--Fragment of a Woodcut of the Fifteenth Century, after a Drawing by Wohlgemüth for the "Chronique de Nuremberg."] Besides taking various steps to maintain professional integrity, the framers of the various statutes, as a safeguard to the public interests, undertook also to inculcate morality and good feeling amongst their members. A youth could not be admitted unless he could prove his legitimacy of birth by his baptismal register; and, to obtain the freedom, he was bound to bear an irreproachable character. Artisans exposed themselves to a reprimand, and even to bodily chastisement, from the corporation, for even associating with, and certainly for working or drinking with those who had been expelled. Licentiousness and misconduct of any kind rendered them liable to be deprived of their mastership. In some trade associations all the members were bound to solemnize the day of the decease of a brother, to assist at his funeral, and to follow him to the grave. In another community the slightest indecent or discourteous word was punishable by a fine. A new master could not establish himself in the same street as his former master, except at a distance, which was determined by the statutes; and, further, no member was allowed to ask for or attract customers when the latter were nearer the shop of his neighbour than of his own. In the Middle Ages religion placed its stamp on every occupation and calling, and corporations were careful to maintain this characteristic feature. Each was under the patronage of some saint, who was considered the special protector of the craft; each possessed a shrine or chapel in some church of the quarter where the trade was located, and some even kept chaplains at their own expense for the celebration of masses which were daily said for the souls of the good deceased members of the craft. These associations, animated by Christian charity, took upon them to invoke the blessings of heaven on all members of the fraternity, and to assist those who were either laid by through sickness or want of work, and to take care of the widows and to help the orphans of the less prosperous craftsmen. They also gave alms to the poor, and presented the broken meat left at their banquets to the hospitals. Under the name of _garçons_, or _compagnons de devoir_ (this surname was at first specially applied to carpenters and masons, who from a very ancient date formed an important association, which was partly secret, and from which Freemasonry traces its origin) (Fig. 250), the companions, notwithstanding that they belonged to the community of their own special craft, also formed distinct corporations among themselves with a view to mutual assistance. They made a point of visiting any foreign workman on his arrival in their town, supplied his first requirements, found him work, and, when work was wanting, the oldest companion gave up his place to him. These associations of companionship, however, soon failed to carry out the noble object for which they were instituted. After a time the meeting together of the fraternity was but a pretext for intemperance and debauchery, and at times their tumultuous processions and indecent masquerades occasioned much disorder in the cities. The facilities which these numerous associations possessed of extending and mutually co-operating with one another also led to coalitions among them for the purpose of securing any advantage which they desired to possess. Sometimes open violence was resorted to to obtain their exorbitant and unjust demands, which greatly excited the industrious classes, and eventually induced the authorities to interfere. Lastly, these brotherhoods gave rise to many violent quarrels, which ended in blows and too often in bloodshed, between workmen of the same craft, who took different views on debateable points. The decrees of parliament, the edicts of sovereigns, and the decisions of councils, as early as at the end of the fifteenth century and throughout the whole of the sixteenth, severely proscribed the doings of these brotherhoods, but these interdictions were never duly and rigidly enforced, and the authorities themselves often tolerated infractions of the law, and thus license was given to every kind of abuse. [Illustration: Fig. 250.--Carpenters.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chroniques de Hainaut," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Burgundy Library, Brussels.] We have frequently mentioned in the course of this volume the political part played by the corporations during the Middle Ages. We know the active and important part taken by trades of all descriptions, in France in the great movement of the formation of communities. The spirit of fraternal association which constituted the strength of the corporations (Fig. 251), and which exhibited itself so conspicuously in every act of their public and private life, resisted during several centuries the individual and collective attacks made on it by craftsmen themselves. These rich and powerful corporations began to decline from the moment they ceased to be united, and they were dissolved by law at the beginning of the revolution of 1789, an act which necessarily dealt a heavy blow to industry and commerce. [Illustration: Fig. 251.--Painting commemorative of the Union of the Merchants of Rouen at the End of the Seventeenth Century.] [Illustration: Fig. 252.--Banner of the Drapers of Caen.] Taxes, Money, and Finance. Taxes under the Roman Rule.--Money Exactions of the Merovingian Kings.--Varieties of Money.--Financial Laws under Charlemagne.--Missi Dominici.--Increase of Taxes owing to the Crusades.--Organization of Finances by Louis IX.--Extortions of Philip le Bel.--Pecuniary Embarrassaient of his Successors.--Charles V. re-establishes Order in Finances.--Disasters of France under Charles VI., Charles VII., and Jacques Coeur.--Changes in Taxation from Louis XI. to Francis I.--The great Financiers.--Florimond Robertet. If we believe Caesar's Commentaries on the Gallic War, the Gauls were groaning in his time under the pressure of taxation, and struggled hard to remove it. Rome lightened their burden; but the fiscal system of the metropolis imperceptibly took root in all the Roman provinces. There was an arbitrary personal tax, called the poll tax, and a land tax which was named _cens_, calculated according to the area of the holding. Besides these, there were taxes on articles of consumption, on salt, on the import and export of all articles of merchandise, on sales by auction; also on marriages, on burials, and on houses. There were also legacy and succession duties, and taxes on slaves, according to their number. Tolls on highways were also created; and the treasury went so far as to tax the hearth. Hence the origin of the name, _feu_, which was afterwards applied to each household or family group assembled in the same house or sitting before the same fire. A number of other taxes sprung up, called _sordides_, from which the nobility and the government functionaries were exempt. This ruinous system of taxation, rendered still more insupportable by the exactions of the proconsuls, and the violence of their subordinates, went on increasing down to the time of the fall of the Roman Empire. The Middle Ages gave birth to a new order of things. The municipal administration, composed in great part of Gallo-Roman citizens, did not perceptibly deviate from the customs established for five centuries, but each invading nation by degrees introduced new habits and ideas into the countries they subdued. The Germans and Franks, having become masters of part of Gaul, established themselves on the lands which they had divided between them. The great domains, with their revenues which had belonged to the emperors, naturally became the property of the barbarian chiefs, and served to defray the expenses of their houses or their courts. These chiefs, at each general assembly of the _Leudes_, or great vassals, received presents of money, of arms, of horses, and of various objects of home or of foreign manufacture. For a long time these gifts were voluntary. The territorial fief, which was given to those soldlers who had deserved it by their military services, involved from the holders a personal service to the King. They had to attend him on his journeys, to follow him to war, and to defend him under all circumstances. The fief was entirely exempt from taxes. Many misdeeds--even robberies and other crimes, which were ordinarily punishable by death--were pardonable on payment of a proportionate fine, and oaths, in many cases, might be absolved in the same way. Thus a large revenue was received, which was generally divided equally between the State, the procurator fiscal, and the King. [Illustration: Fig. 253.--The Extraction of Metals.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, folio: Basle, 1552.] War, which was almost constant in those turbulent times, furnished the barbarian kings with occasional resources, which were usually much more important than the ordinary supplies from taxation. The first chiefs of the Visigoths, the Ostrogoths, and the Franks, sought means of replenishing their treasuries by their victorious arms. Alaric, Totila, and Clovis thus amassed enormous wealth, without troubling themselves to place the government finances on a satisfactory basis. We see, however, a semblance of financial organization in the institutions of Alaric and his successors. Subsequently, the great Théodoric, who had studied the administrative theories of the Byzantine Court, exercised his genius in endeavouring to work out an accurate system of finance, which was adopted in Italy. Gregory of Tours, a writer of the sixteenth century, relates in several passages of his "History of the Franks," that they exhibited the same repugnance to compulsory taxation as the Germans of the time of Tacitus. The _Leudes_ considered that they owed nothing to the treasury, and to force them to submit to taxation was not an easy matter. About the year 465, Childéric I., father of Clovis, lost his crown for wishing all classes to submit to taxation equally. In 673, Childéric II., King of Austrasia, had one of these _Leudes_, named Bodillon, flogged with rods for daring to reproach him with the injustice of certain taxes. He, however, was afterwards assassinated by this same Bodillon, and the _Leudes_ maintained their right of immunity. A century before the _Leudes_ were already quarrelling with royalty on account of the taxes, which they refused to pay, and they sacrificed Queen Brunehaut because she attempted to enrich the treasury with the confiscated property of a few nobles who had rebelled against her authority. The wealth of the Frank kings, which was always very great, was a continual object of envy, and on one occasion Chilpéric I., King of Soissons, having the _Leudes_ in league with him, laid his hands on the wealth amassed by his father, Clotaire I., which was kept in the Palace of Braine. He was, nevertheless, obliged to share his spoil with his brothers and their followers, who came in arms to force him to refund what he had taken. Chilpéric (Fig. 254) was so much in awe of these _Leudes_ that he did not ask them for money. His wife, the much-feared Frédégonde, did not, however, exempt them more than Brunehaut had done; and her judges or ministers, Audon and Mummius, having met with an insurmountable resistance in endeavouring to force taxation on the nobles, nearly lost their lives in consequence. [Illustration: Fig. 254.--Tomb of Chilpéric.--Sculpture of the Eleventh Century, in the Abbey of St. Denis.] The custom of numbering the population, such as was carried on in Rome through the censors, appears to have been observed under the Merovingian kings. At the request of the Bishop of Poitiers, Childebert gave orders to amend the census taken under Sigebert, King of Austrasia. It is a most curious document mentioned by Gregory of Tours. "The ancient division," he says, "had been one so unequal, owing to the subdivision of properties and other changes which time had made in the condition of the taxpayers, that the poor, the orphans, and the helpless classes generally alone bore the real burden of taxation." Florentius, comptroller of the King's household, and Romulfus, count of the palace, remedied this abuse. After a closer examination of the changes which had taken place, they relieved the taxpayers who were too heavily rated and placed the burden on those who could better afford it. This direct taxation continued on this plan until the time of the kings of the second dynasty. The Franks, who had not the privilege of exemption, paid a poll tax and a house tax; about a tenth was charged on the produce of highly cultivated lands, a little more on that of lands of an inferior description, and a certain measure, a _cruche_, of wine on the produce of every half acre of vineyard. There were assessors and royal agents charged with levying such taxes and regulating the farming of them. In spite of this precaution, however, an edict of Clovis II., in the year 615, censures the mode of imposing rates and taxes; it orders that they shall only be levied in the places where they have been authorised, and forbade their being used under any pretext whatever for any other object than that for which they were imposed. [Illustration: Fig. 255.--Signature of St. Eloy (Eligius), Financier and Minister to Dagobert I.; from the Charter of Foundation of the Abbey of Solignac (Mabillon, "Da Re Diplomatica").] Under the Merovingians specie was not in common use, although the precious metals were abundant among the Gauls, as their mines of gold and silver were not yet exhausted. Money was rarely coined, except on great occasions, such as a coronation, the birth of an heir to the throne, the marriage of a prince, or the commemoration of a decisive victory. It is even probable that each time that money was used in large sums the pound or the _sou_ of gold was represented more by ingots of metal than by stamped coin. The third of the _sou_ of gold, which was coined on state occasions, seems to have been used only as a commemorative medal, to be distributed amongst the great officers of state, and this circumstance explains their extreme rarity. The general character of the coinage, whether of gold, silver, or of the baser metals, of the Burgundian, Austrasian, and Frank kings, differs little from what it had been at the time of the last of the Roman emperors, though the _Angel bearing the cross_ gradually replaced the _Renommée victorieuse_ formerly stamped on the coins. Christian monograms and symbols of the Trinity were often intermingled with the initials of the sovereign. It also became common to combine in a monogram letters thought to be sacred or lucky, such as C, M, S, T, &c.; also to introduce the names of places, which, perhaps, have since disappeared, as well as some particular mark or sign special to each mint. Some of these are very difficult to understand, and present a number of problems which have yet to be solved (Figs. 256 to 259). Unfortunately, the names of places on Merovingian coins to the number of about nine hundred, have rarely been studied by coin collectors, expert both as geographers and linguists. We find, for example, one hundred distinct mints, and, up to the present time, have not been able to determine where the greater number of them were situated. [Illustration: Merovingian Gold Coins, Struck by St. Eloy, Moneyer to Dagobert I. (628-638). Fig. 256.--Parisinna Ceve Fit.. Head of Dagobert with double diadem of pearls, hair hanging down the back of the neck. _Rev._, Dagobertvs Rex. Cross; above, omega; under the arms of the cross, Eligi. Fig. 257.--Parissin. Civ. Head of Clovis II., with diadem of pearls, hair braided and hanging down the back of the neck. _Rev._, Chlodovevs Rex. Cross with anchor; under the arms of the cross, Eligi. Fig. 258.--Parisivs Fit. Head of King. _Rev._, Eligivs Mone. Cross; above, omega; under, a ball. Fig. 259.--Mon. Palati. Head of King. _Rev._, Scolare. I. A. Cross with anchor; under the arms of the cross, Eligi. ] From the time that Clovis became a Christian, he loaded the Church with favours, and it soon possessed considerable revenues, and enjoyed many valuable immunities. The sons of Clovis contested these privileges; but the Church resisted for a time, though she was eventually obliged to give way to the iron hand of Charles Martel. In 732 this great military chieftain, after his struggle with Rainfroy, and after his brilliant victories over the Saxons, the Bavarians, the Swiss, and the Saracens, stripped the clergy of their landed possessions, in order to distribute them amongst his _Leudes_, who by this means he secured as his creatures, and who were, therefore, ever willing and eager to serve him in arms. On ascending the throne, King Pepin, who wanted to pacify the Church, endeavoured as far as possible to obliterate the recollection of the wrongs of which his father had been guilty towards her; he ordered the _dîmes_ and the _nones_ (tenth and ninth denier levied on the value of lands) to be placed to the account of the possessors of each ecclesiastical domain, on their under-taking to repair the buildings (churches, châteaux, abbeys, and presbyteries), and to restore to the owners the properties on which they held mortgages. The nobles long resented this, and it required the authority and the example of Charlemagne to soothe the contending parties, and to make Church and State act in harmony. Charlemagne renounced the arbitrary rights established by the Mayors of the Palace, and retained only those which long usage had legitimatised. He registered them clearly in a code called the _Capitulaires_, into which he introduced the ancient laws of the Ripuaires, the Burgundians, and the Franks, arranging them so as to suit the organization and requirements of his vast empire. From that time each freeman subscribed to the military service according to the amount of his possessions. The great vassal, or fiscal judge, was no longer allowed to practise extortion on those citizens appointed to defend the State. Freemen could legally refuse all servile or obligatory work imposed on them by the nobles, and the amount of labour to be performed by the serfs was lessened. Without absolutely abolishing the authority of local customs in matters of finance, or penalties which had been illegally exacted, they were suspended by laws decided at the _Champs de Mai_, by the Counts and by the _Leudes_, in presence of the Emperor. Arbitrary taxes were abolished, as they were no longer required. Food, and any articles of consumption, and military munitions, were exempted from taxation; and the revenues derived from tolls on road gates, on bridges, and on city gates, &c., were applied to the purposes for which they were imposed, namely, to the repair of the roads, the bridges, and the fortified enclosures. The _heriban_, a fine of sixty sols--which in those days would amount to more than 6,000 francs--was imposed on any holder of a fief who refused military service, and each noble was obliged to pay this for every one of his vassals who was absent when summoned to the King's banner. These fines must have produced considerable sums. A special law exempted ecclesiastics from bearing arms, and Charlemagne decreed that their possessions should be sacred and untouched, and everything was done to ensure the payment of the indemnity--_dîme_ and _none_--which was due to them. [Illustration: Fig. 260.--Toll on Markets levied by a Cleric.--From one of the Painted Windows of the Cathedral of Tournay (Fifteenth Century).] Charlemagne also superintended the coining and circulation of money. He directed that the silver sou should exactly contain the twenty-second part by weight of the pound. He also directed that money should only be coined in the Imperial palaces. He forbade the circulation of spurious coin; he ordered base coiners to be severely punished, and imposed heavy fines upon those who refused to accept the coin in legal circulation. The tithe due to the Church (Fig. 260), which was imposed at the National Assembly in 779, and disbursed by the diocesan bishops, gave rise to many complaints and much opposition. This tithe was in addition to that paid to the King, which was of itself sufficiently heavy. The right of claiming the two tithes, however, had a common origin, so that the sovereign defended his own rights in protecting those of the Church. This is set forth in the text of the _Capitulaires_, from the year 794 to 829. "What had originally been only a voluntary and pious offering of a few of the faithful," says the author of the "Histoire Financière de la France," "became thus a perpetual tax upon agriculture, custom rather than law enforcing its payment; and a tithe which was at first limited to the produce of the soil, soon extended itself to cattle and other live stock." Royal delegates (_missi dominici_), who were invested with complex functions, and with very extensive power, travelled through the empire exercising legal jurisdiction over all matters of importance. They assembled all the _placites_, or provincial authorities, and inquired particularly into the collection of the public revenue. During their tours, which took place four times a year, they either personally annulled unjust sentences, or submitted them to the Emperor. They denounced any irregularities on the part of the Counts, punished the negligences of their assessors, and often, in order to replace unworthy judges, they had to resort to a system of election of assessors, chosen from among the people. They verified the returns for the census; superintended the keeping up of the royal domains; corrected frauds in matters of taxation; and punished usurers as much as base coiners, for at that time money was not considered a commercial article, nor was it thought right that a money-lender should be allowed to carry on a trade which required a remuneration proportionate to the risk which he incurred. [Illustration: Fig. 261.--Sale by Town-Crier. _Preco_, the Crier, blowing a trumpet; _Subhastator_, public officer charged with the sale. In the background is seen another sale, by the Bellman.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Work of Josse Damhoudere, "Praxis Rerum Civilium," 4to: Antwerp, 1557.] These _missi dominici_ were too much hated by the great vassals to outlive the introduction of the feudal system. Their royal masters, as they themselves gradually lost a part of their own privileges and power, could not sustain the authority of these officers. Dukes, counts, and barons, having become magistrates, arbitrarily levied new taxes, imposed new fines, and appropriated the King's tributes to such an extent that, towards the end of the tenth century, the laws of Charlemagne had no longer any weight. We then find a number of new taxes levied for the benefit of the nobles, the very names of which have fallen into disuse with the feudal claims which they represented. Among these new taxes were those of _escorte_ and _entrée_, of _mortmain_, of _lods et ventes_, of _relief_, the _champarts_, the _taille_, the _fouage_, and the various fees for wine-pressing, grinding, baking, &c., all of which were payable without prejudice to the tithes due to the King and the Church. However, as the royal tithe was hardly ever paid, the kings were obliged to look to other means for replenishing their treasuries; and coining false money was a common practice. Unfortunately each great vassal vied with the kings in this, and to such an extent, that the enormous quantity of bad money coined during the ninth century completed the public ruin, and made this a sad period of social chaos. The freeman was no longer distinguishable from the villain, nor the villain from the serf. Serfdom was general; men found themselves, as it were, slaves, in possession of land which they laboured at with the sweat of their brow, only to cultivate for the benefit of others. The towns even--with the exception of a few privileged cities, as Florence, Paris, Lyons, Rheims, Metz, Strasburg, Marseilles, Hamburg, Frankfort, and Milan--were under the dominion of some ecclesiastical or lay lord, and only enjoyed liberty of a more or less limited character. Towards the end of the eleventh century, under Philip I., the enthusiasm for Crusades became general, and, as all the nobles joined in the holy mission of freeing the tomb of Jesus Christ from the hands of the infidels, large sums of money were required to defray the costs. New taxes were accordingly imposed; but, as these did not produce enough at once, large sums were raised by the sale of some of the feudal rights. Certain franchises were in this way sold by the nobles to the boroughs, towns, and abbeys, though, in not a few instances, these very privileges had been formerly plundered from the places to which they were now sold. Fines were exacted from any person declining to go to Palestine; and foreign merchants--especially the Jews--were required to subscribe large sums. A number of the nobles holding fiefs were reduced to the lowest expedients with a view to raising money, and even sold their estates at a low price, or mortgaged them to the very Jews whom they taxed so heavily. Every town in which the spirit of Gallo-Roman municipality was preserved took advantage of these circumstances to extend its liberties. Each monarch, too, found this a favourable opportunity to add new fiefs to the crown, and to recall as many great vassals as possible under his dominion. It was at this period that communities arose, and that the first charters of freedom which were obligatory and binding contracts between the King and the people, date their origin. Besides the annual fines due to the King and the feudal lords, and in addition to the general subsidies, such as the quit-rent and the tithes, these communities had to provide for the repair of the walls or ramparts, for the paving of the streets, the cleaning of the pits, the watch on the city gates, and the various expenses of local administration. Louis le Gros endeavoured to make a re-arrangement of the taxes, and to establish them on a definite basis. By his orders a new register of the lands throughout the kingdom was commenced, but various calamities caused this useful measure to be suspended. In 1149, Louis le Jeune, in consequence of a disaster which had befallen the Crusaders, did what none of his predecessors had dared to attempt: he exacted from all his subjects a sol per pound on their income. This tax, which amounted to a twentieth part of income, was paid even by the Church, which, for example's sake, did not take advantage of its immunities. Forty years later, at a council, or _great parliament_, called by Philip Augustus, a new crusade was decided upon; and, under the name of Saladin's tithe, an annual tax was imposed on all property, whether landed or personal, of all who did not take up the cross to go to the Holy Land. The nobility, however, so violently resisted this, that the King was obliged to substitute for it a general tax, which, although it was still more productive, was less offensive in its mode of collection. On returning to France in 1191, Philip Augustus rated and taxed every one--nobility, bourgeois, and clergy--in order to prosecute the great wars in which he was engaged, and to provide for the first paid troops ever known in France. He began by confirming the enormous confiscations of the properties of the Jews, who had been banished from the kingdom, and afterwards sold a temporary permission to some of the richest of them to return. The Jews at that time were the only possessors of available funds, as they were the only people who trafficked, and who lent money on interest. On this account the Government were glad to recall them, so as to have at hand a valuable resource which it could always make use of. As the King could not on his own authority levy taxes upon the vassals of feudal lords, on emergencies he convoked the barons, who discussed financial matters with the King, and, when the sum required was settled, an order of assessment was issued, and the barons undertook the collection of the taxes. The assessment was always fixed higher than was required for the King's wants, and the barons, having paid the King what was due to him, retained the surplus, which they divided amongst themselves. The creation of a public revenue, raised by the contributions of all classes of society, with a definite sum to be kept in reserve, thus dates from the reign of Philip Augustus. The annual income of the State at that time amounted to 36,000 marks, or 72,000 pounds' weight of silver--about sixteen or seventeen million francs of present currency. The treasury, which was kept in the great tower of the temple (Fig. 262), was under the custody of seven bourgeois of Paris, and a king's clerk kept a register of receipts and disbursements. This treasury must have been well filled at the death of Philip Augustus, for that monarch's legacies were very considerable. One of his last wishes deserves to be mentioned: and this was a formal order, which he gave to Louis VIII., to employ a certain sum, left him for that purpose, solely and entirely for the defence of the kingdom. [Illustration: Fig. 262.--The Tower of the Temple, in Paris.--From an Engraving of the Topography of Paris, in the Cabinet des Estampes, of the National Library.] [Illustration: Gold Coins of the Sixth and Seventh Centuries. Fig. 263.--Mérovée, Son of Chilperic I. Fig. 264.--Dagobert I. Fig. 265.--Clotaire III.] [Illustration: Silver Coins from the Eighth to the Eleventh Centures. Fig 266.--Pepin the Short. Fig. 267.--Charlemagne. Fig. 268.--Henri I.] [Illustration: Gold and Silver Coins of the Thirteenth Century. Fig. 269.--Gold Florin of Louis IX. Fig. 270.--Silver Gros of Tours.--Philip III.] When Louis IX., in 1242, at Taillebourg and at Saintes, had defeated the great vassals who had rebelled against him, he hastened to regulate the taxes by means of a special code which bore the name of the _Établissements_. The taxes thus imposed fell upon the whole population, and even lands belonging to the Church, houses which the nobles did not themselves occupy, rural properties and leased holdings, were all subjected to them. There were, however, two different kinds of rates, one called the _occupation_ rate, and the other the rate of _exploitation_; and they were both collected according to a register, kept in the most regular and systematic manner possible. Ancient custom had maintained a tax exceptionally in the following cases: when a noble dubbed his son a knight, or gave his daughter in marriage, when he had to pay a ransom, and when he set out on a campaign against the enemies of the Church, or for the defence of the country. These taxes were called _l'aide aux quatre cas_. At this period despotism too often overruled custom, and the good King Louis IX., by granting legal power to custom, tried to bring it back to the true principles of justice and humanity. He was, however, none the less jealous of his own personal privileges, especially as regarded coining (Figs. 263 to 270). He insisted that coining should be exclusively carried on in his palace, as in the times of the Carlovingian kings, and he required every coin to be made of a definite standard of weight, which he himself fixed. In this way he secured the exclusive control over the mint. For the various localities, towns, or counties directly under the crown, Louis IX. settled the mode of levying taxes. Men of integrity were elected by the vote of the General Assembly, consisting of the three orders--namely, of the nobility, the clergy, and the _tiers état_--to assess the taxation of each individual; and these assessors themselves were taxed by four of their own number. The custom of levying proprietary subsidies in each small feudal jurisdiction could not be abolished, notwithstanding the King's desire to do so, owing to the power still held by the nobles. Nobles were forbidden to levy a rate under any consideration, without previously holding a meeting of the vassals and their tenants. The tolls on roads, bridges (Fig. 271), fairs, and markets, and the harbour dues were kept up, notwithstanding their obstruction to commerce, with the exception that free passage was given to corn passing from one province to another. The exemptions from taxes which had been dearly bought were removed; and the nobles were bound not to divert the revenue received from tolls for any purposes other than those for which they were legitimately intended. The nobles were also required to guard the roads "from sunrise to sunset," and they were made responsible for robberies committed upon travellers within their domains. Louis IX., by refunding the value of goods which had been stolen through the carelessness of his officers, himself showed an example of the respect due to the law. Those charged with collecting the King's dues, as well as the mayors whose duty it was to take custody of the money contributed, and to receive the taxes on various articles of consumption, worked under the eye of officials appointed by the King, who exercised a financial jurisdiction which developed later into the department or office called the Chamber of Accounts. A tax, somewhat similar to the tithe on funds, was imposed for the benefit of the nobles on property held by corporations or under charter, in order to compensate the treasury for the loss of the succession duties. This tax represented about the fifth part of the value of the estate. To cover the enormous expenses of the two crusades, Louis IX., however, was obliged to levy two new taxes, called _decimes_, from his already overburdened people. It does not, however, appear that this excessive taxation alienated the affection of his subjects. Their minds were entirely taken up with the pilgrimages to the East, and the pious monarch, notwithstanding his fruitless sacrifices and his disastrous expeditions, earned for himself the title of _Prince of Peace and of Justice_. [Illustration: Fig. 271.--Paying Toll on passing a Bridge.--From a Painted Window in the Cathedral of Tournay (Fifteenth Century).] From the time of Louis IX. down to that of Philippe le Bel, who was the most extravagant of kings, and at the same time the most ingenious in raising funds for the State treasury, the financial movement of Europe took root, and eventually became centralised in Italy. In Florence was presented an example of the concentration of the most complete municipal privileges which a great flourishing city could desire. Pisa, Genoa, and Venice attracted a part of the European commerce towards the Adriatic and the Mediterranean. Everywhere the Jews and Lombards--already well initiated into the mysterious System of credit, and accustomed to lend money--started banks and pawn establishments, where jewels, diamonds, glittering arms, and paraphernalia of all kinds were deposited by princes and nobles as security for loans (Fig. 272). [Illustration: Fig. 272.--View of the ancient Pont aux Changeurs.--From an Engraving of the Topography of Paris, in the Cabinet des Estampes, of the National Library.] The tax collectors (_maltôtiers_, a name derived from the Italian _mala tolta_, unjust tax), receivers, or farmers of taxes, paid dearly for exercising their calling, which was always a dishonourable one, and was at times exercised with a great amount of harshness and even of cruelty. The treasury required a certain number of _deniers, oboles_, or _pittes_ (a small coin varying in value in each province) to be paid by these men for each bank operation they effected, and for every pound in value of merchandise they sold, for they and the Jews were permitted to carry on trades of all kinds without being subject to any kind of rates, taxes, work, military service, or municipal dues. Philippe le Bel, owing to his interminable wars against the King of Castille, and against England, Germany, and Flanders, was frequently so embarrassed as to be obliged to resort to extraordinary subsidies in order to carry them on. In 1295, he called upon his subjects for a forced loan, and soon after he shamelessly required them to pay the one-hundredth part of their incomes, and after but a short interval he demanded another fiftieth part. The king assumed the exclusive right to debase the value of the coinage, which caused him to be commonly called the _base coiner_, and no sovereign ever coined a greater quantity of base money. He changed the standard or name of current coin with a view to counterbalance the mischief arising from the illicit coinage of the nobles, and especially to baffle the base traffic of the Jews and Lombards, who occasionally would obtain possession of a great part of the coin, and mutilate each piece before restoring it to circulation; in this way they upset the whole monetary economy of the realm, and secured immense profits to themselves (Figs. 273 to 278). In 1303, the _aide au leur_, which was afterwards called the _aide de l'ost,_ or the army tax, was invented by Philippe le Bel for raising an army without opening his purse. It was levied without distinction upon dukes, counts, barons, ladies, damsels, archbishops, bishops, abbots, chapters, colleges, and, in fact, upon all classes, whether noble or not. Nobles were bound to furnish one knight mounted, equipped, and in full armour, for every five hundred marks of land which they possessed; those who were not nobles had to furnish six foot-soldiers for every hundred households. By another enactment of this king the privilege was granted of paying money instead of complying with these demands for men, and a sum of 100 livres--about 10,000 francs of present currency--was exacted for each armed knight; and two sols--about ten francs per diem--for each soldier which any one failed to furnish. An outcry was raised throughout France at this proceeding, and rebellions broke out in several provinces: in Paris the mob destroyed the house of Stephen Barbette, master of the mint, and insulted the King in his palace. It was necessary to enforce the royal authority with vigour, and, after considerable difficulty, peace was at last restored, and Philip learned, though too late, that in matters of taxation the people should first be consulted. In 1313, for the first time, the bourgeoisie, syndics, or deputies of communities, under the name of _tiers état_--third order of the state--were called to exercise the right of freely voting the assistance or subsidy which it pleased the King to ask of them. After this memorable occasion an edict was issued ordering a levy of six deniers in the pound on every sort of merchandise sold in the kingdom. Paris paid this without hesitation, whereas in the provinces there was much discontented murmuring. But the following year, the King having tried to raise the six deniers voted by the assembly of 1313 to twelve, the clergy, nobility, and _tiers état_ combined to resist the extortions of the government. Philippe le Bel died, after having yielded to the opposition of his indignant subjects, and in his last moments he recommended his son to exercise moderation in taxing and honesty in coining. [Illustration: Gold Coins of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries. Fig. 273.--Masse d'Or. Philip IV. Fig. 274.--Small Aignel d'Or. Charles IV. Fig. 275.--Large Aignel d'Or. John the Good. Fig. 276.--Franc à Cheval d'Or. Charles V. Fig. 277.--Ecu d'Or. Philip VI. Fig. 278.--Salut d'Or. Charles VI.] On the accession of Louis X., in 1315, war against the Flemish was imminent, although the royal treasury was absolutely empty. The King unfortunately, in spite of his father's advice, attempted systematically to tamper with the coinage, and he also commenced the exaction of fresh taxes, to the great exasperation of his subjects. He was obliged, through fear of a general rebellion, to do away with the tithe established for the support of the army, and to sacrifice the superintendent of finances, Enguerrand de Marigny, to the public indignation which was felt against him. This man, without being allowed to defend himself, was tried by an extraordinary commission of parliament for embezzling the public money, was condemned to death, and was hung on the gibbet of Montfauçon. Not daring to risk a convocation of the States-General of the kingdom, Louis X. ordered the seneschals to convoke the provincial assemblies, and thus obtained a few subsidies, which he promised to refund out of the revenues of his domains. The clergy even allowed themselves to be taxed, and closed their eyes to the misappropriation of the funds, which were supposed to be held in reserve for a new crusade. Taxes giving commercial franchise and of exchange were levied, which were paid by the Jews, Lombards, Tuscans, and other Italians; judiciary offices were sold by auction; the trading class purchased letters of nobility, as they had already done under Philippe le Bel; and, more than this, the enfranchisement of serfs, which had commenced in 1298, was continued on the payment of a tax, which varied according to the means of each individual. In consequence of this system, personal servitude was almost entirely abolished under Philippe de Long, brother of Louis X. Each province, under the reign of this rapacious and necessitous monarch, demanded some concession from the crown, and almost always obtained it at a money value. Normandy and Burgundy, which were dreaded more than any other province on account of their turbulence, received remarkable concessions. The base coin was withdrawn from circulation, and Louis X. attempted to forbid the right of coinage to those who broke the wise laws of St. Louis. The idea of bills of exchange arose at this period. Thanks to the peace concluded with Flanders, on which occasion that country paid into the hands of the sovereign thirty thousand florins in gold for arrears of taxes, and, above all, owing to the rules of economy and order, from which Philip V., surnamed the Long, never deviated, the attitude of France became completely altered. We find the King initiating reform by reducing the expenses of his household. He convened round his person a great council, which met monthly to examine and discuss matters of public interest; he allowed only one national treasury for the reception of the State revenues; he required the treasurers to make a half-yearly statement of their accounts, and a daily journal of receipts and disbursements; he forbad clerks of the treasury to make entries either of receipts or expenditure, however trifling, without the authority and supervision of accountants, whom he also compelled to assist at the checking of sums received or paid by the money-changers (Fig. 279). The farming of the crown lands, the King's taxes, the stamp registration, and the gaol duties were sold by auction, subject to certain regulations with regard to guarantee. The bailiffs and seneschals sent in their accounts to Paris annually, they were not allowed to absent themselves without the King's permission, and they were formally forbidden, under pain of confiscation, or even a severer penalty, to speculate with the public money. The operations of the treasury were at this period always involved in the greatest mystery. [Illustration: Fig. 279.--Hotel of the Chamber of Accounts in the Courtyard of the Palace in Paris. From a Woodcut of the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, in folio: Basle, 1552.] [Illustration: Fig. 280.--Measuring Salt.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Ordonnances de la Prevosté des Marchands de Paris," in folio: 1500.] [Illustration: Fig. 281.--Toll under the Bridges of Paris.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Ordonnances de la Prevosté des Marchands de Paris," in folio: 1500.] The establishment of a central mint for the whole kingdom, the expulsion of the money-dealers, who were mostly of Italian origin, and the confiscation of their goods if it was discovered that they had acted falsely, signalised the accession of Charles le Bel in 1332. This beginning was welcomed as most auspicious, but before long the export duties, especially on grain, wine, hay, cattle, leather, and salt, became a source of legitimate complaint (Figs. 280 and 281). Philip VI., surnamed _de Valois_, a more astute politician than his predecessor, felt the necessity of gaining the affections of the people by sparing their private fortunes. In order to establish the public revenue on a firm basis, he assembled, in 1330, the States-General, composed of barons, prelates, and deputies from the principal towns, and then, hoping to awe the financial agents, he authorised the arrest of the overseer, Pierre de Montigny, whose property was confiscated and sold, producing to the treasury the enormous sum of 1,200,000 livres, or upwards of 100,000,000 francs of present currency. The long and terrible war which the King was forced to carry on against the English, and which ended in the treaty of Bretigny in 1361, gave rise to the introduction of taxation of extreme severity. The dues on ecclesiastical properties were renewed and maintained for several years; all beverages sold in towns were taxed, and from four to six deniers in the pound were levied upon the value of all merchandise sold in any part of the kingdom. The salt tax, which Philippe le Bel had established, and which his successor, Louis X., immediately abolished at the unanimous wish of the people, was again levied by Philip VI., and this king, having caused the salt produced in his domains to be sold, "gave great offence to all classes of the community." It was on account of this that Edward III., King of England, facetiously called him the author of the _Salic_ law. Philippe de Valois, when he first ascended the throne, coined his money according to the standard weight of St. Louis, but in a short time he more or less alloyed it. This he did secretly, in order to be able to withdraw the pieces of full weight from circulation and to replace them with others having less pure metal in them, and whose weight was made up by an extra amount of alloy. In this dishonest way a considerable sum was added to the coffers of the state. King John, on succeeding his father in 1350, found the treasury empty and the resources of the kingdom exhausted. He was nevertheless obliged to provide means to continue the war against the English, who continually harassed the French on their own territory. The tax on merchandise not being sufficient for this war, the payment of public debts contracted by the government was suspended, and the State was thus obliged to admit its insolvency. The mint taxes, called _seigneuriage_, were pushed to the utmost limits, and the King levied them on the new coin, which he increased at will by largely alloying the gold with base metals. The duties on exported and imported goods were increased, notwithstanding the complaints that commerce was declining. These financial expedients would not have been tolerated by the people had not the King taken the précaution to have them approved by the States-General of the provincial states, which he annually assembled. In 1355 the States-General were convoked, and the King, who had to maintain thirty thousand soldiers, asked them to provide for this annual expenditure, estimated at 5,000,000 _livres parisis_, about 300,000,000 francs of present currency. The States-General, animated by a generous feeling of patriotism, "ordered a tax of eight deniers in the pound on the sale and transfer of all goods and articles of merchandise, with the exception of inheritances, which was to be payable by the vendors, of whatever rank they might be, whether ecclesiastics, nobles, or others, and also a salt tax to be levied throughout the whole kingdom of France." The King promised as long as this assistance lasted to levy no other subsidy and to coin good and sterling money--i.e., _deniers_ of fine gold, _white_, or silver coin, coin of _billon_, or mixed metal, and _deniers_ and _mailles_ of copper. The assembly appointed travelling agents and three inspectors or superintendents, who had under them two receivers and a considerable number of sub-collectors, whose duties were defined with scrupulous minuteness. The King at this time renounced the right of seizin, his dues over property, inherited or conveyed by sale, exchange, gift, or will, his right of demanding war levies by proclamation, and of issuing forced loans, the despotic character of which offended everybody. The following year, the tax of eight deniers having been found insufficient and expensive in its collection, the assembly substituted for it a property and income tax, varying according to the property and income of each individual. [Illustration: Fig. 282.--The Courtiers amassing Riches at the Expense of the Poor.--From a Miniature in the 'Tresor of Brunetto Latini, Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal, Paris.] The finances were, notwithstanding these additions, in a low and unsatisfactory condition, which became worse and worse from the fatal day of Poitiers, when King John fell into the hands of the English. The States-General were summoned by the Dauphin, and, seeing the desperate condition in which the country was placed, all classes freely opened their purses. The nobility, who had already given their blood, gave the produce of all their feudal dues besides. The church paid a tenth and a half, and the bourgeois showed the most noble unselfishness, and rose as one man to find means to resist the common enemy. The ransom of the King had been fixed at three millions of _écus d'or,_ nearly a thousand million francs, payable in six years, and the peace of Bretigny was concluded by the cession of a third of the territory of France. There was, however, cause for congratulation in this result, for "France was reduced to its utmost extremity," says a chronicler, "and had not something led to a reaction, she must have perished irretrievably." King John, grateful for the love and devotion shown to him by his subjects under these trying circumstances, returned from captivity with the solemn intention of lightening the burdens which pressed upon them, and in consequence be began by spontaneously reducing the enormous wages which the tax-gatherers had hitherto received, and by abolishing the tolls on highways. He also sold to the Jews, at a very high price, the right of remaining in the kingdom and of exercising any trade in it, and by this means he obtained a large sum of money. He solemnly promised never again to debase the coin, and he endeavoured to make an equitable division of the taxes. Unfortunately it was impossible to do without a public revenue, and it was necessary that the royal ransom should be paid off within six years. The people, from whom taxes might be always extorted at pleasure, paid a good share of this, for the fifth of the three millions of _écus d'or_ was realised from the tax on salt, the thirteenth part from the duty on the sale of fermented liquors, and twelve deniers per pound from the tax on the value of all provisions sold and resold within the kingdom. Commerce was subjected to a new tax called _imposition foraine_, a measure most detrimental to the trade and manufactures of the country, which were continually struggling under the pitiless oppression of the treasury. Royal despotism was not always able to shelter itself under the sanction of the general and provincial councils, and a few provinces, which forcibly protested against this excise duty, were treated on the same footing as foreign states with relation to the transit of merchandise from them. Other provinces compounded for this tax, and in this way, owing to the different arrangements in different places, a complicated system of exemptions and prohibitions existed which although most prejudicial to all industry, remained in force to a great extent until 1789. When Charles V.--surnamed the Wise--ascended the throne in 1364, France, ruined by the disasters of the war, by the weight of taxation, by the reduction in her commerce, and by the want of internal security, exhibited everywhere a picture of misery and desolation; in addition to which, famine and various epidemics were constantly breaking out in various parts of the kingdom. Besides this, the country was incessantly overrun by gangs of plunderers, who called themselves _écorcheurs, routiers, tardvenus_, &c., and who were more dreaded by the country people even than the English had been. Charles V., who was celebrated for his justice and for his economical and provident habits, was alone capable of establishing order in the midst of such general confusion. Supported by the vote of the Assembly held at Compiègne in 1367, he remitted a moiety of the salt tax and diminished the number of the treasury agents, reduced their wages, and curtailed their privileges. He inquired into all cases of embezzlement, so as to put a stop to fraud; and he insisted that the accounts of the public expenditure in its several departments should be annually audited. He protected commerce, facilitated exchanges, and reduced, as far as possible, the rates and taxes on woven articles and manufactured goods. He permitted Jews to hold funded property, and invited foreign merchants to trade with the country. For the first time he required all gold and silver articles to be stamped, and called in all the old gold and silver coins, in order that by a new and uniform issue the value of money might no longer be fictitious or variable. For more than a century coins had so often changed in name, value, and standard weight, that in an edict of King John we read, "It was difficult for a man when paying money in the ordinary course to know what he was about from one day to another." The recommencement of hostilities between England and France in 1370 unfortunately interrupted the progressive and regular course of these financial improvements. The States-General, to whom the King was obliged to appeal for assistance in order to carry on the war, decided that salt should be taxed one sol per pound, wine by wholesale a thirteenth of its value, and by retail a fourth; that a _fouage_, or hearth tax, of six francs should be established in towns, and of two francs in the country,[*] and that a duty should be levied in walled towns on the entrance of all wine. The produce of the salt tax was devoted to the special use of the King. Each district farmed its excise and its salt tax, under the superintendence of clerks appointed by the King, who regulated the assessment and the fines, and who adjudicated in the first instance in all cases of dispute. Tax-gatherers were chosen by the inhabitants of each locality, but the chief officers of finance, four in number, were appointed by the King. This administrative organization, created on a sound basis, marked the establishment of a complete financial system. The Assembly, which thus transferred the administration of all matters of taxation from the people at large to the King, did not consist of a combination of the three estates, but simply of persons of position--namely, prelates, nobles, and bourgeois of Paris, in addition to the leading magistrates of the kingdom. [Footnote *: This is the origin of the saying "smoke farthing."] The following extract from the accounts of the 15th November, 1372, is interesting, inasmuch as it represents the actual budget of France under Charles V.:-- Article 18. Assigned for the payment of men at arms ...... 50,000 francs. " 19. For payment of men at arms and crossbowmen newly formed .............................. 42,000 " " " For sea purposes ............................. 8,000 " " 20. For the King's palace ........................ 6,000 " " " To place in the King's coffers................ 5,000 " " 21. It pleases the King that the receiver-general should have monthly for matters that daily arise in the chamber ...................... 10,000 " " " For the payment of debts ..................... 10,000 " Total ..................... 131,000 " [Illustration: Settlement of Accounts by the Brothers of Cherité-Dieu of the Recovery of Roles A miniature from the "_Livre des Comptes_" of the Society (Fifteenth Century).] Thus, for the year, 131,000 francs in _écus d'or_ representing in present money about 12,000,000 francs, were appropriated to the expenses of the State, out of which the sum of 5,000 francs, equal to 275,000 francs of present money, was devoted to what we may call the _Civil List_. On the death of Charles V., in 1380, his eldest son Charles, who was a minor, was put under the guardianship of his uncles, and one of these, the Duke d'Anjou, assumed the regency by force. He seized upon the royal treasury, which was concealed in the Castle of Melun, and also upon all the savings of the deceased king; and, instead of applying them to alleviate the general burden of taxation, he levied a duty for the first time on the common food of the people. Immediately there arose a general outcry of indignation, and a formidable expression of resistance was made in Paris and in the large towns. Mob orators loudly proclaimed the public rights thus trampled upon by the regent and the King's uncles; the expression of the feelings of the masses began to take the shape of open revolt, when the council of the regency made an appearance of giving way, and the new taxes were suppressed, or, at all events, partially abandoned. The success of the insurrectionary movement, however, caused increased concessions to be demanded by the people. The Jews and tax-collectors were attacked. Some of the latter were hung or assassinated, and their registers torn up; and many of the former were ill-treated and banished, notwithstanding the price they had paid for living in the kingdom. The assembly of the States, which was summoned by the King's uncles to meet in Paris, sided with the people, and, in consequence, the regent and his brother pretended to acknowledge the justice of the claims which were made upon them in the name of the people, and, on their withdrawing the taxes, order was for a time restored. No sooner, however, was this the case than, in spite of the solemn promises made by the council of regency, the taxes were suddenly reimposed, and the right of farming them was sold to persons who exacted them in the most brutal manner. A sanguinary revolt, called that of the _Maillotins_, burst forth in Paris; and the capital remained for some time in the power of the people, or rather of the bourgeois, who led the mob on to act for them (1381-1382). The towns of Rouen, Rheims, Troyes, Orleans, and Blois, many places in Beauvoise, in Champagne, and in Normandy, followed the example of the Parisians, and it is impossible to say to what a length the revolt would have reached had it not been for the victory over the Flemish at Rosebecque. This victory enabled the King's uncles to re-enter Paris in 1383, and to re-establish the royal authority, at the same time making the _Maillotins_ and their accomplices pay dearly for their conduct. The excise duties, the hearth tax, the salt tax, and various other imposts which had been abolished or suspended, were re-established; the taxes on wine, beer, and other fermented liquors was lowered; bread was taxed twelve deniers per pound, and the duty on salt was fixed at the excessive rate of twenty francs in gold--about 1,200 francs of present money--per hogshead of sixty hundredweight. Certain concessions and compromises were made exceptionally in favour of Artois, Dauphiné, Poitou, and Saintonge, in consideration of the voluntary contributions which those provinces had made. [Illustration: Fig. 283.--Assassination of the Duke of Burgundy, John the Fearless, on the Bridge of Montereau, in 1419.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chronicles" of Monstrelet, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] Emboldened by the success of their exacting and arbitrary rule, the Dukes of Anjou, Burgundy, and Berry, under pretext of requiring money for war expenses, again increased the taxes from the year 1385 to 1388; and the salt tax was raised to forty golden francs, about 24,000 francs of present money, per hogshead. The ecclesiastics paid a half décime to the King, and several décimes to the Pope, but these did not prevent a forced loan being ordered. Happily, Charles VI. about this period attained his majority, and assumed his position as king; and his uncle, the Duke of Bourbon, who was called to the direction of affairs, re-established comparative order in financial matters; but soon after the King's brother, the Duke of Orleans, seized the reins of government, and, jointly with his sister-in-law, Isabel of Bavaria, increased the taxation far beyond that imposed by the Duke d'Anjou. The Duke of Burgundy, called John the Fearless, in order to gratify his personal hatred to his cousin, Louis of Orleans, made himself the instrument of the strong popular feeling by assassinating that prince as he was returning from an entertainment. The tragical death of the Duke of Orleans no more alleviated the ills of France than did that of the Duke of Burgundy sixteen years later--for he in his turn was the victim of a conspiracy, and was assassinated on the bridge of Montereau in the presence of the Dauphin (Fig. 283). The marriage of Isabel of France with the young king Richard of England, the ransom of the Christian prisoners in the East, the money required by the Emperor of Constantinople to stop the invasions of the Turks into Europe, the pay of the French army, which was now permanent, each necessarily required fresh subsidies, and money had to be raised in some way or other from the French people. Distress was at its height, and though the people were groaning under oppression, they continued to pay not only the increased taxes on provisions and merchandise, and an additional general tax, but to submit to the most outrageous confiscations and robbery of the public money from the public treasuries. The State Assemblies held at Auxerre and Paris in 1412 and 1413, denounced the extravagance and maladministration of the treasurers, the generals, the excisemen, the receivers of royal dues, and of all those who took part in the direction of the finances; though they nevertheless voted the taxes, and promulgated most severe regulations with respect to their collection. To meet emergencies, which were now becoming chronic, extraordinary taxes were established, the non-payment of which involved the immediate imprisonment of the defaulter; and the debasement of the coinage, and the alienation of certain parts of the kingdom, were authorised in the name of the King, who had been insane for more than fifteen years. The incessant revolts of the bourgeois, the reappearance of the English on the soil of France, the ambitious rivalry of Queen Isabel of Bavaria leagued with the Duke of Burgundy against the Dauphin, who had been made regent, at last, in 1420, brought about the humiliating treaty of Troyes, by which Henry V., king of England, was to become king of France on the death of Charles VI. This treaty of Troyes became the cause of, and the pretext for, a vast amount of extortion being practised upon the unfortunate inhabitants of the conquered country. Henry V., who had already made several exactions from Normandy before he had obtained by force the throne of France, did not spare the other provinces, and, whilst proclaiming his good intentions towards his future subjects, he added a new general impost, in the shape of a forced loan, to the taxes which already weighed so heavily on the people. He also issued a new coinage, maintained many of the taxes, especially those on salt and on liquors, even after he had announced his intention of abolishing them. At the same time the Dauphin Charles, surnamed _Roi de Bourges_, because he had retired with his court and retinue into the centre of the kingdom (1422), was sadly in want of money. He alienated the State revenues, he levied excise duties and subsidies in the provinces which remained faithful to his cause, and he borrowed largely from those members of the Church and the nobility who manifested a generous pity for the sad destiny of the King and the monarchy. Many persons, however, instead of sacrificing themselves for their king and country, made conditions with him, taking advantage of his position. The heir to the throne was obliged in many points to give way, either to a noble whose services he bargained for, or to a town or an abbey whose aid he sought. At times he bought over influential bodies, such as universities and other corporation, by granting exemptions from, or privileges in, matters of taxation, &c. So much was this the case that it may be said that Charles VII. treated by private contract for the recovery of the inheritances of his fathers. The towns of Paris and Rouen, as well as the provinces of Brittany, Languedoc, Normandy, and Guyenne, only returned to their allegiance to the King on conditions more or less advantageous to themselves. Burgundy, Picardy, and Flanders--which were removed from the kingdom of Charles VII. at the treaty of peace of Arras in 1435--cordially adopted the financial system inaugurated by the Duke of Burgundy, Philip the Good. [Illustration: Fig. 284.--The House of Jacques Coeur at Bourges, now converted into the Hôtel de Ville.] Charles VII. reconquered his kingdom by a good and wise policy as much as by arms. He, doubtless, had cause to be thankful for the valeur and devotion of his officers, but he principally owed the success of his cause to one man, namely, his treasurer, the famous Jacques Coeur, who possessed the faculty of always supplying money to his master, and at the same time of enriching himself (Fig. 284). Thus it was that Charles VII., whose finances had been restored by the genius of Jacques Coeur, was at last able to re-enter his capital triumphantly, to emancipate Guyenne, Normandy, and the banks of the Loire from the English yoke, to reattach to the crown a portion of its former possessions, or to open the way for their early return, to remove bold usurpers from high places in the State, and to bring about a real alleviation of those evils which his subjects had so courageously borne. He suppressed the fraud and extortion carried on under the name of justice, put a stop to the sale of offices, abolished a number of rates illegally levied, required that the receivers' accounts should be sent in biennially, and whilst regulating the taxation, he devoted its proceeds entirely to the maintenance and pay of the army. From that time taxation, once feudal and arbitrary, became a fixed royal due, which was the surest means of preventing the pillage and the excesses of the soldiery to which the country people had been subjected for many years. Important triumphs of freedom were thus obtained over the tyrannical supremacy of the great vassals; but in the midst of all this improvement we cannot but regret that the assessors, who, from the time of their creation by St. Louis, had been elected by the towns or the corporations, now became the nominees of the crown. [Illustration: Fig. 285.--_Amende honorable_ of Jacques Coeur before Charles VII.--Fac-simile of a Miniature of the "Chroniques" of Monstrelet, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the National Library of Paris.] Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, taxed his subjects but little: "Therefore," says Philippe de Commines, "they became very wealthy, and lived in much comfort." But Louis XI did not imitate him. His first care was to reinstate that great merchant, that clever financier, Jacques Coeur, to whom, as much as to Joan of Arc, the kingdom owed its freedom, and whom Charles VII., for the most contemptible reasons, had had the weakness to allow to be judicially condemned Louis XI. would have been very glad to entrust the care of his finances to another Jacques Coeur; for being sadly in want of money, he ran through his father's earnings, and, to refill his coffers, he increased taxation, imposed a duty on the importation of wines, and levied a tax on those holding offices, &c. A revolution broke out in consequence, which was only quenched in the blood of the insurgents. In this manner he continued, by force of arms, to increase and strengthen his own regal power at the expense of feudalism. He soon found himself opposed by the _Ligue du Bien Public_, formed by the great vassals ostensibly to get rid of the pecuniary burden which oppressed the people, but really with the secret intention of restoring feudalism and lessening the King's power. He was not powerful enough openly to resist this, and appeared to give way by allowing the leagued nobles immense privileges, and himself consenting to the control of a sort of council of "thirty-six notables appointed to superintend matters of finance." Far from acknowledging himself vanquished, however, he immediately set to work to cause division among his enemies, so as to be able to overcome them. He accordingly showed favour towards the bourgeois, whom he had already flattered, by granting new privileges, and abolishing or reducing certain vexatious taxes of which they complained. The thirty-six notables appointed to control his financial management reformed nothing. They were timid and docile under the cunning eye of the King, and practically assisted him in his designs; for in a very few years the taxes were increased from 1,800,000 écus--about 45,000,000 francs of present money--to 3,600,000 écus--about 95,000,000 francs. Towards the end of the reign they exceeded 4,700,000 écus--130,000,000 francs of present money. Louis XI. wasted nothing on luxury and pleasure; he lived parsimoniously, but he maintained 110,000 men under arms, and was ready to make the greatest sacrifices whenever there was a necessity for augmenting the territory of the kingdom, or for establishing national unity. At his death, on the 25th of August, 1483, he left a kingdom considerably increased in area, but financialty almost ruined. When Anne de Beaujeu, eldest sister of the King, who was a minor, assumed the reins of government as regent, an immediate demand was made for reparation of the evils to which the finance ministers had subjected the unfortunate people. The treasurer-general Olivier le Dain, and the attorney-general Jean Doyat, were almost immediately sacrificed to popular resentment, six thousand Swiss were subsidised, the pensions granted during the previous reign were cancelled, and a fourth part of the taxes was removed. Public opinion being thus satisfied, the States-General assembled. The bourgeois here showed great practical good sense, especially in matters of finance; they proved clearly that the assessment was illegal, and that the accounts were fictitious, inasmuch as the latter only showed 1,650,000 livres of subsidies, whereas they amounted to three times as much. It was satisfactorily established that the excise, the salt tax, and the revenues of the public lands amply sufficed for the wants of the country and the crown. The young King Charles was only allowed 1,200,000 livres for his private purse for two years, and 300,000 livres for the expenses of the festivities of his coronation. On the Assembly being dissolved, the Queen Regent found ample means of pleasing the bourgeois and the people generally by breaking through the engagements she had entered into in the King's name, by remitting taxation, and finally by force of arms destroying the power of the last remaining vassals of the crown. [Illustration: Fig. 286.--The Mint.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Translation of the Latin Work of Francis Patricius, "De l'Institution et Administration de la Chose Politique:" folio, 1520.] [Illustration: Fig. 287.--The receiver of Taxes.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in Damhoudere's "Praxis Rerum Civilium."] Charles VIII., during a reign of fourteen years, continued to waste the public money. His disastrous expedition for the conquest of the kingdom of Naples forced him to borrow at the rate of forty-two per cent. A short time previous to his death he acknowledged his errors, but continued to spend money, without consideration or restraint, in all kinds of extravagances, but especially in buildings. During his reign the annual expenditure almost invariably doubled the revenue. In 1492 it reached 7,300,000 francs, about 244,000,000 francs of present money. The deficit was made up each year by a general tax, "which was paid neither by the nobles nor the Church, but was obtained entirely from the people" (letters from the ambassadors of Venice). When the Duke of Orleans ascended the throne as Louis XII., the people were again treated with some consideration. Having chosen George d'Amboise as premier and Florimond Robertet as first secretary of the treasury, he resolutely pursued a course of strict economy; he refused to demand of his subjects the usual tax for celebrating the joyous accession, the taxes fell by successive reductions to the sum of 2,600,000 livres, about 76,000,000 francs of present money, the salt tax was entirely abolished, and the question as to what should be the standard measure of this important article was legislated upon. The tax-gatherers were forced to reside in their respective districts, and to submit their registers to the royal commissioners before beginning to collect the tax. By strict discipline pillage by soldiers was put a stop to (Fig. 288). Notwithstanding the resources obtained by the King through mortgaging a part of the royal domains, and in spite of the excellent administration of Robertet, who almost always managed to pay the public deficit without any additional tax, it was necessary in 1513, after several disastrous expeditions to Italy, to borrow, on the security of the royal domains, 400,000 livres, 10,000,000 francs of present money, and to raise from the excise and from other dues and taxes the sum of 3,300,000 livres, about 80,000,000 francs of present money. This caused the nation some distress, but it was only temporary, and was not much felt, for commerce, both domestic and foreign, much extended at the same time, and the sale of collectorships, of titles of nobility, of places in parliament, and of nominations to numerous judicial offices, brought in considerable sums to the treasury. The higher classes surnamed the king _Le Roitelet_, because he was sickly and of small stature, parsimonious and economical. The people called him their "father and master," and he has always been styled the father of the people ever since. [Illustration: Fig. 288.--A Village pillaged by Soldiers.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in Hamelmann's "Oldenburgisches Chronicon." in folio, 1599.] In an administrative and financial point of view, the reign of Francis I. was not at all a period of revival or of progress. The commencement of a sounder System of finance is rather to be dated from that of Charles V.; and good financial organization is associated with the names of Jacques Coeur, Philip the Good, Charles XI., and Florimond Robertet. As an example of this, it may be stated that financiers of that time established taxes on registration of all kinds, also on stamps, and on sales, which did not before exist in France, and which were borrowed from the Roman emperors. We must also give them the credit of having first commenced a public debt, under the name of _rentes perpetuelles_, which at that time realised eight per cent. During this brilliant and yet disastrous reign the additional taxes were enormous, and the sale of offices produced such a large revenue that the post of parliamentary counsel realised the sum of 2,000 golden écus, or nearly a million francs of present currency. It was necessary to obtain money at any price, and from any one who would lend it. The ecclesiastics, the nobility, the bourgeois, all gave up their plate and their jewels to furnish the mint, which continued to coin money of every description, and, in consequence of the discovery of America, and the working of the gold and silver mines in that country, the precious metals poured into the hands of the money-changers. The country, however, was none the more prosperous, and the people often were in want of even the commonest necessaries of life. The King and the court swallowed up everything, and consumed all the resources of the country on their luxury and their wars. The towns, the monasteries, and the corporations, were bound to furnish a certain number of troops, either infantry or cavalry. By the establishment of a lottery and a bank of deposit, by the monopoly of the mines and by the taxes on imports, exports, and manufactured articles, enormous sums were realised to the treasury, which, as it was being continually drained, required to be as continually replenished. Francis I. exhausted every source of credit by his luxury, his caprices, and his wars. Jean de Beaune, Baron de Semblançay, the old minister of finance, died a victim to false accusations of having misappropriated the public funds. Robertet, who was in office with him, and William Bochetel, who succeeded him, were more fortunate: they so managed the treasury business that, without meeting with any legal difficulty, they were enabled to centralise the responsibility in themselves instead of having it distributed over sixteen branches in all parts of the kingdom, a system which has continued to our day. In those days the office of superintendent of finance was usually only a short and rapid road to the gibbet of Montfaucon. [Illustrations: Gold and Silver Coins of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries. Fig. 289.--Royal d'Or. Charles VII Fig. 290.--Écu d'Argent à la Couronne. Louis XI. Fig. 291.--Écu d'Or à la Couronne. Charles VIII. Fig. 292.--Écu d'Or au Porc-épic. Louis XII. Fig. 293.--Teston d'Argent. Francis I. Fig. 294.--Teston d'Argent au Croissant. Henry II. ] [Illustration: Fig. 295.--Silver Franc. Henry IV.] Law and the Administration of Justice. The Family the Origin of Government.--Origin of Supreme Power amongst the Franks.--The Legislation of Barbarism humanised by Christianity.--Right of Justice inherent to the Bight of Property.--The Laws under Charlemagne.--Judicial Forms.--Witnesses.--Duels, &c.-- Organization of Royal Justice under St. Louis.--The Châtelet and the Provost of Paris.--Jurisdiction of Parliament, its Duties and its Responsibilities.--The Bailiwicks. Struggles between Parliament and the Châtelet.--Codification of the Customs and Usages.--Official Cupidity.--Comparison between the Parliament and the Châtelet. Amongst the ancient Celtic and German population, before any Greek or Roman innovations had become engrafted on to their customs, everything, even political power as well as the rightful possession of lands, appears to have been dependent on families. Julius Cæsar, in his "Commentaries," tells us that "each year the magistrates and princes assigned portions of land to families as well as to associations of individuals having a common object whenever they thought proper, and to any extent they chose, though in the following year the same authorities compelled them to go and establish themselves elsewhere." We again find families (_familiæ_) and associations of men (_cognationes hominum_) spoken of by Cæsar, in the barbaric laws, and referred to in the histories of the Middle Ages under the names of _genealogiæ, faramanni, faræ_, &c.; but the extent of the relationship (_parentela_) included under the general appellation of _families_ varied amongst the Franks, Lombards, Visigoths, and Bavarians. Generally, amongst all the people of German origin, the relationship only extended to the seventh degree; amongst the Celts it was determined merely by a common ancestry, with endless subdivisions of the tribe into distinct families. Amongst the Germans, from whom modern Europe has its origin, we find only three primary groups; namely, first, the family proper, comprising the father, mother, and children, and the collateral relatives of all degrees; secondly, the vassals (_ministeriales_) or servants of the free class; and, thirdly, the servants (_mansionarii, coloni, liti, servi_) of the servile class attached to the family proper (Fig. 296). Domestic authority was represented by the _mund_, or head of the family, also called _rex_ (the king), who exercised a special power over the persons and goods of his dependents, a guardianship, in fact, with certain rights and prerogatives, and a sort of civil and political responsibility attached to it. Thus the head of the family, who was responsible for his wife and for those of his children who lived with him, was also responsible for his slaves and domestic animals. To such a pitch did these primitive people carry their desire that justice should be done in all cases of infringement of the law, that the head was held legally responsible for any injury which might be done by the bow or the sword of any of his dependents, without it being necessary that he should himself have handled either of these weapons. Long before the commencement of the Merovingian era, the family, whose sphere of action had at first been an isolated and individual one, became incorporated into one great national association, which held official meetings at stated periods on the _Malberg_ (Parliament hill). These assemblies alone possessed supreme power in its full signification. The titles given to certain chiefs of _rex_ (king), _dux_ (duke), _graff_ (count), _brenn_ (general of the army), only defined the subdivisions of that power, and were applied, the last exclusively, to those engaged in war, and the others to those possessing judicial and administrative functions. The duty of dispensing justice was specially assigned to the counts, who had to ascertain the cause of quarrels between parties and to inflict penalties. There was a count in each district and in each important town; there were, besides, several counts attached to the sovereign, under the title of counts of the palace (_comites palatii_), an honourable position, which was much sought after and much coveted on account of its pecuniary and other contingent advantages. The counts of the palace deliberated with the sovereign on all matters and all questions of State, and at the same time they were his companions in hunting, feasting, and religious exercises; they acted as arbitrators in questions of inheritance of the crown; during the minority of princes they exercised the same authority as that which the constitution gave to sovereigns who were of full age; they confirmed the nominations of the principal functionaries and even those of the bishops; they gave their advice on the occasion of a proposed alliance between one nation and another, on matters connected with treaties of peace or of commerce, on military expeditions, or on exchanges of territory, as well as in reference to the marriage of a prince, and they incurred no responsibility beyond that naturally attached to persons in so distinguished a position among a semi-barbarous community. At first the legates (_legati_), and afterwards the King's ambassadors (_missi dominici_), the bishops and the dukes or commanders of the army were usually selected from the higher court officials, such as the counts of the palace, whereas the _ministeriales_, forming the second class of the royal officials, filled inferior though very honourable and lucrative posts of an administrative and magisterial character. [Illustration: Fig. 296.--The Familles and the Barbarians.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] Under the Merovingians the legal principle of power was closely bound up with the possession of landed property. The subdivision of that power, however, closely followed this union, and the constant ruin of some of the nobles rapidly increased the power of others, who absorbed to themselves the lost authority of their more unfortunate brethren, so much so that the Frank kings perceived that society would soon escape their rule unless they speedily found a remedy for this state of things. It was then that the _lois Salique_ and _Ripuaire_ appeared, which were subjected to successive revisions and gradual or sudden modifications, necessitated by political changes or by the increasing exigencies of the prelates and nobles. But, far from lessening the supremacy of the King, the national customs which were collected in a code extended the limits of the royal authority and facilitated its exercise. In 596, Childebert, in concert with his _leudes_, decided that in future the crime of rape should be punished with death, and that the judge of the district (_pagus_) in which it had been committed should kill the ravisher, and leave his body on the public road. He also enacted that the homicide should have the same fate. "It is just," to quote the words of the law, "that he who knows how to kill should learn how to die." Robbery, attested by seven witnesses, also involved capital punishment, and a judge convicted of having let a noble escape, underwent the same punishment that would have been inflicted on the criminal. The punishment, however, differed according to the station of the delinquent. Thus, for the non-observance of Sunday, a Salian paid a fine of fifteen sols, a Roman seven and a half sols, a slave three sols, or "his back paid the penalty for him." At this early period some important changes in the barbaric code had been made: the sentence of death when once given had to be carried out, and no arrangements between the interested parties could avert it. A crime could no longer be condoned by the payment of money; robbery even, which was still leniently regarded at that time, and beyond the Rhine even honoured, was pitilessly punished by death. We therefore cannot have more striking testimony than this of the abridgment of the privileges of the Frankish aristocracy, and of the progress which the sovereign power was making towards absolute and uncontrolled authority over cases of life and death. By almost imperceptible steps Roman legislation became more humane and perfect, Christianity engrafted itself into barbarism, licentiousness was considered a crime, crime became an offence against the King and society, and it was in one sense by the King's hand that the criminals received punishment. From the time of the baptism of Clovis, the Church had much to do with the re-arrangement of the penal code; for instance, marriage with a sister-in-law, a mother-in-law, an aunt, or a niece, was forbidden; the travelling shows, nocturnal dances, public orgies, formerly permitted at feasts, were forbidden as being profane. In the time of Clotaire, the prelates sat as members of the supreme council, which was strictly speaking the highest court of the land, having the power of reversing the decisions of the judges of the lower courts. It pronounced sentence in conjunction with the King, and from these decisions there was no appeal. The nation had no longer a voice in the election of the magistrates, for the assemblies of _Malberg_ did not meet except on extraordinary occasions, and all government and judicial business was removed to the supreme and often capricious arbitration of the King and his council. As long as the mayors of the palace of Austrasia, and of that of Burgundy, were only temporarily appointed, royal authority never wavered, and the sovereign remained supreme judge over his subjects. Suddenly, however, after the execution of Brunehaut, who was sacrificed to the hatred of the feudal lords, the mayoralty of the palace became a life appointment, and, in consequence, the person holding the office became possessed almost of supreme power, and the rightful sovereigns from that time practically became subject to the authority of the future usurpers of the crown. The edict of 615, to which the ecclesiastical and State nobility were parties, was in its laws and customs completely at variance with former edicts. In resuming their places in the French constitution, the Merovingian kings, who had been deprived both of influence and authority, were compelled by the Germanic institutions to return to the passive position which their predecessors had held in the forests of Germany, but they no longer had, like the latter, the prestige of military authority to enable them to keep the position of judges or arbitrators. The canons of the Council of Paris, which were confirmed by an edict of the King bearing date the 15th of the calends of November, 615, upset the political and legal system so firmly established in Europe since the fifth century. The royal power was shorn of some of its most valuable prerogatives, one of which was that of selecting the bishops; lay judges were forbidden to bring an ecclesiastic before the tribunals; and the treasury was prohibited from seizing intestate estates, with a view to increasing the rates and taxes; and it was decreed that Jews should not be employed in collecting the public taxes. By these canons the judges and other officers of State were made responsible, the benefices which had been withdrawn from the _leudes_ were restored, the King was forbidden from granting written orders (_præcepta_) for carrying off rich widows, young virgins, and nuns; and the penalty of death was ordered to be enforced against those who disobeyed the canons of the council. Thence sprung two new species of legislation, one ecclesiastical, the other civil, between which royalty, more and more curtailed of its authority, was compelled for many centuries to struggle. Amongst the Germanic nations the right of justice was inherent to landed property from the earliest times, and this right had reference to things as well as to persons. It was the patronage (_patrocinium_) of the proprietor, and this patronage eventually gave origin to feudal jurisdictions and to lordly and customary rights in each domain. We may infer from this that under the two first dynasties laws were made by individuals, and that each lord, so to speak, made his own. The right of jurisdiction seems to have been so inherent to the right of property, that a landed proprietor could always put an end to feuds and personal quarrels, could temporarily bring any lawsuit to a close, and, by issuing his _ban_, stop the course of the law in his own immediate neighbourhood--at least, within a given circumference of his residence. This was often done during any family festival, or any civil or religious public ceremony. On these occasions, whoever infringed the _ban_ of the master, was liable to be brought before his _court_, and to have to pay a fine. The lord who was too poor to create a court of sufficient power and importance obtained assistance from his lord paramount or relinquished the right of justice to him; whence originated the saying, "The fief is one thing, and justice another." The law of the Visigoths speaks of nobles holding local courts, similar to those of the official judge, count, or bishop. King Dagobert required the public and the private judges to act together. In the law of Lombardy landlords are mentioned who, in virtue of the double title of nobles and judges, assumed the right of protecting fugitive slaves taking shelter in their domains. By an article of the Salie law, the noble is made to answer for his vassal before the court of the count. We must hence conclude that the landlord's judgment was exercised indiscriminately on the serfs, the colons, and the vassals, and a statute of 855 places under his authority even the freemen who resided with other persons. From these various sources we discover a curious fact, which has hitherto remained unnoticed by historians--namely, that there existed an intermediate legislation between the official court of the count and his subordinates and the private courts, which was a kind of court of arbitration exercised by the neighbours (_vicini_) without the assistance of the judges of the county, and this was invested with a sort of authority which rendered its decisions binding. [Illustration: Fig. 297.--The Emperor Charlemagne holding in one hand the Globe and in the other the Sword.--After a Miniature in the Registers of the University of Paris (Archives of the Minister of Public Instruction of the University). The Motto, _In scelus exurgo, sceleris discrimina purgo, _ is written on a Scroll round the Sword.] Private courts, however, were limited in their power. They were neither absolutely independent, nor supreme and without appeal. All conducted their business much in the same way as the high, middle, and lower courts of the Middle Ages; and above all these authorities towered the King's jurisdiction. The usurpation of ecclesiastical bishops and abbots--who, having become temporal lords, assumed a domestic jurisdiction--was curtailed by the authority of the counts, and they were even more obliged to give way before that of the _missi dominici_, or the official delegates of the monarch. Charles the Bald, notwithstanding his enormous concessions to feudalism and to the Church, never gave up his right of final appeal. During the whole of the Merovingian epoch, the _mahl_ (_mallus_), the general and regular assembly of the nation, was held in the month of March. Persons of every class met there clad in armour; political, commercial, and judicial interests were discussed under the presidency of the monarch; but this did not prevent other special assemblies of the King's court (_curia regalis_) being held on urgent occasions. This court formed a parliament (_parlamentum_), which at first was exclusively military, but from the time of Clovis was composed of Franks, Burgundians, Gallo-Romans, as well as of feudal lords and ecclesiastics. As, by degrees, the feudal System became organized, the convocation of national assemblies became more necessary, and the administration of justice more complicated. Charlemagne decided that two _mahls_ should be held annually, one in the month of May, the other in the autumn, and, in addition, that in each county two annual _plaids_ should meet independently of any special _mahls_ and _plaids_ which it should please him to convoke. In 788, the emperor found it necessary to call three general _plaids_, and, besides these, he was pleased to summon his great vassals, both clerical and lay, to the four principal feasts of the year. It may be asserted that the idea of royalty being the central authority in matters of common law dates from the reign of Charlemagne (Fig. 297). The authority of royalty based on law took such deep root from that time forth, that it maintained itself erect, notwithstanding the weakness of the successors of the great Charles, and the repeated infractions of it by the Church and the great vassals of the crown (Fig. 298). [Illustration: Fig. 298.--Carlovingian King in his Palace personifying Wisdom appealing to the whole Human Race.--After a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Ninth Century in the Burgundian Library of Brussels, from a Drawing by Count Horace de Vielcastel.] The authoritative and responsible action of a tribunal which represented society (Fig. 299) thus took the place of the unchecked animosity of private feuds and family quarrels, which were often avenged by the use of the gibbet, a monument to be found erected at almost every corner. Not unfrequently, in those early times, the unchecked passions of a chief of a party would be the only reason for inflicting a penalty; often such a person would constitute himself sole judge, and, without the advice of any one, he would pass sentence, and even, with his own sword or any other available instrument, he would act as his own executioner. The tribunal thus formed denounced duelling, the pitiless warfare between man and man, and between family and family, and its first care was to protect, not each individual man's life, which was impossible in those days of blind barbarism, but at least his dwelling. Imperceptibly, the sanctuary of a man's house extended, first to towns of refuge, and then to certain public places, such as the church, the _mahlum_, or place of national assemblies, the market, the tavern, &c. It was next required that the accused, whether guilty or not, should remain unharmed from the time of the crime being committed until the day on which judgment was passed. [Illustration: Fig. 299.--The Court of the Nobles.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in an old Poetical Romance of Chivalry, Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] This right of revenge, besides being thus circumscribed as to locality, was also subject to certain rules as to time. Sunday and the principal feasts of the year, such as Advent, Christmas week, and from that time to the Epiphany, from the Ascension to the Day of Pentecost, certain vigils, &c., were all occasions upon which the right of revenge could not be exercised. "The power of the King," says a clever and learned writer, "partook to a certain degree of that of God and of the Saints; it was his province to calm human passions; by the moral power of his seal and his hand he extended peace over all the great lines of communication, through the forests, along the principal rivers, the highways and the byways, &c. The _Trêve du Dieu_ in 1035, was the logical application of these humane principles." We must not suppose that justice in those days was dispensed without formalities, and that there were no regular intervals between the various steps to be gone through before final judgment was given, and in consequence of which some guarantee was afforded that the decisions arrived at were carefully considered. No one was tried without having been previously summoned to appear before the tribunal. Under the Carlovingians, as in previous times, the periods when judicial courts were held were regulated by the moon. Preference was given to the day on which it entered the first quarter, or during the full moon; the summonses were returnable by moons or quarter moons--that is, every seventh day. The summons was issued four times, after which, if the accused did not appear, he lost the right of counterplea, or was nonsuited. The Salic law allowed but two summonses before a count, which had to be issued at an interval of forty nights the one from the other. The third, which summoned the accused before the King, was issued fourteen nights later, and if he had not put in an appearance before sunset on the fourteenth day, he was placed _hors de sa parole_, his goods were confiscated, and he forfeited the privilege of any kind of refuge. Among the Visigoths justice was equally absolute from the count to the tithe-gatherer. Each magistrate had his tribunal and his special jurisdiction. These judges called to their assistance assessors or colleagues, either _rachimbourgs_, who were selected from freemen; or provosts, or _échevins_ (_scabini_), whose appointment was of an official and permanent character. The scabins created by Charlemagne were the first elected magistrates. They numbered seven for each bench. They alone prepared the cases and arranged as to the sentence. The count or his delegate alone presided at the tribunal, and pronounced the judgment. Every vassal enjoyed the right of appeal to the sovereign, who, with his court, alone decided the quarrels between ecclesiastics and nobles, and between private individuals who were specially under the royal protection. Criminal business was specially referred to the sovereign, the _missi_, or the Count Palatine. Final appeal lay with the Count Palatine in all cases in which the public peace was endangered, such as in revolts or in armed encounters. As early as the time of the invasion, the Franks, Bavarians, and Visigoths, when investigating cases, began by an inquiry, and, previously to having recourse to trials before a judge, they examined witnesses on oath. Then, he who swore to the matter was believed, and acquitted accordingly. This system was no doubt flattering to human veracity, but, unfortunately, it gave rise to abuses; which it was thought would be avoided by calling the family and friends of the accused to take an oath, and it was then administered by requiring them to place their hands on the crucifix, on some relics, or on the consecrated Host. These witnesses, who were called _conjuratores_, came to attest before the judges not the fact itself, but the veracity of the person who invoked their testimony. [Illustration: Fig. 300.--The Judicial Duel. The Plaintiff opening his Case before the Judge.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Cérémonies des Gages des Batailles," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century in the National Library of Paris.] The number and respectability of the _conjuratores_ varied according to the importance of the case in dispute. Gregory of Tours relates, that King Gontran being suspicious as to the legitimacy of the child who afterwards became Clotaire II., his mother, Frédégonde, called in the impartial testimony of certain nobles. These, to the number of three hundred, with three bishops at their head (_tribus episcopis et trecentis viris optimis_), swore, or, as we say, made an affidavit, and the queen was declared innocent. The laws of the Burgundians and of the Anglians were more severe than those of the Germanic race, for they granted to the disputants trial by combat. After having employed the ordeal of red-hot iron, and of scalding water, the Franks adopted the judicial duel (Fig. 300). This was imposed first upon the disputing parties, then on the witnesses, and sometimes even on the judges themselves. Dating from the reign of the Emperor Otho the Great in 967, the judicial duel, which had been at first restricted to the most serious cases, was had recourse to in almost all suits that were brought before the courts. Neither women, old men, children, nor infirm persons were exempted. When a person could not himself fight he had to provide a champion, whose sole business was to take in hand the quarrels of others. [Illustration: Fig. 301.--Judicial Duel.--Combat of a Knight with a Dog.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Romance of "Macaire," of the Thirteenth Century (Library of the Arsenal of Paris).] Ecclesiastics were obliged, in the same maimer, to fight by deputy. The champion or substitute required, of course, to be paid beforehand. If the legend of the Dog of Montargis is to be believed, the judicial duel seems to have been resorted to even against an animal (Fig. 301). In the twelfth century Europe was divided, so to speak, into two vast judicial zones: the one, Southern, Gallo-Roman, and Visigoth; the other, Northern and Western, half Germanic and half Scandinavian, Anglian, or Saxon. Christianity established common ties between these different legislations, and imperceptibly softened their native coarseness, although they retained the elements of their pagan and barbaric origin. Sentences were not as yet given in writing: they were entrusted to the memory of the judges who had issued them; and when a question or dispute arose between the interested parties as to the terms of the decision which had been pronounced, an inquiry was held, and the court issued a second decision, called a _recordatum_. As long as the King's court was a movable one, the King carried about with him the original text of the law in rolls (_rotuli_). It was in consequence of the seizure of a number of these by the English, during the reign of Philip Augustus in 1194, that the idea was suggested of preserving the text of all the laws as state archives, and of opening authentic registers of decisions in civil and criminal cases. As early as the time of Charles the Bald, the inconvenience was felt of the high court of the count being movable from place to place, and having no special locality where instructions might be given as to modes of procedure, for the hearing of witnesses, and for keeping the accused in custody, &c. A former statute provided for this probable difficulty, but there seems to be no proof that previous to the twelfth century any fixed courts of justice had been established. The Kings, and likewise the counts, held courts in the open air at the entrance to the palace (Fig. 302), or in some other public place--under a large tree, for instance, as St. Louis did in the wood of Vincennes. M. Desmaze, in his valuable researches on the history of the Parliament of Paris, says--"In 1191, Philip Augustus, before starting for Palestine, established bailiwicks, which held their assizes once a month; during their sitting they heard all those who had complaints to make, and gave summary judgment. The bailiff's assize was held at stated periods from time to time, and at a fixed place; it was composed of five judges, the King deciding the number and quality of the persons who were to take part in the deliberations of the court for each session. The royal court only sat when it pleased the King to order it; it accompanied the King wherever he went, so that it had no settled place of residence." Louis IX. ordered that the courts of the nobles should be consolidated with the King's court, and succeeded in carrying out this reform. The bailiffs who were the direct delegates of the sovereign power, assumed an authority before which even the feudal lord was obliged to bend, because this authority was supported by the people, who were at that time organized in corporations, and these corporations were again bound together in communes. Under the bailiffs a system was developed, the principles of which more nearly resembled the Roman legislation than the right of custom, which it nevertheless respected, and the judicial trial by duel completely disappeared. Inquiries and appeals were much resorted to in all kinds of proceedings, and Louis IX. succeeded in controlling the power of ecclesiastical courts, which had been much abused in reference to excommunication. He also suppressed the arbitrary and ruinous confiscations which the nobles had unjustly made on their vassals. [Illustration: Fig. 302.--The Palace as it was in the Sixteenth Century.--After an Engraving of that Period, National Library of Paris (Cabinet des Estampes).] The edict of 1276 very clearly established the jurisdiction of parliaments and bailiwicks; it defined the important duties of the bailiffs, and at the same time specified the mode in which proceedings should be taken; it also regulated the duties of counsel, _maîtres des requêtes_, auditors, and advocates. To the bailiwicks already in existence Louis IX. added the four great assizes of Vermandois, of Sens, of Saint-Pierre-le-Moustier, and of Mâcon, "to act as courts of final appeal from the judgment of the nobles." Philippe le Bel went still further, for, in 1287, he invited "all those who possess temporal authority in the kingdom of France to appoint, for the purpose of exercising civil jurisdiction, a bailiff, a provost, and some serjeants, who were to be laymen, and not ecclesiastics, and if there should be ecclesiastics in the said offices, to remove them." He ordered, besides, that all those who had cases pending before the court of the King and the secular judges of the kingdom should be furnished with lay attorneys; though the chapters, as well as the abbeys and convents, were allowed to be represented by canons. M. Desmaze adds, "This really amounted to excluding ecclesiastics from judicial offices, not only from the courts of the King, but also from those of the nobles, and from every place in which any temporal jurisdiction existed." At the time of his accession, Hugh Capet was Count of Paris, and as such was invested with judicial powers, which he resigned in 987, on the understanding that his county of Paris, after the decease of the male heirs of his brother Eudes, should return to the crown. In 1032, a new magistrate was created, called the Provost of Paris, whose duty it was to give assistance to the bourgeois in arresting persons for debt. This functionary combined in his own person the financial and political chief of the capital, he was also the head of the nobility of the county, he was independent of the governor, and was placed above the bailiffs and seneschals. He was the senior of the urban magistracy and police, leader of the municipal troops, and, in a word, the prefect (_præfectus urbis_), as he was called under the Emperor Aurelian, or the first magistrate of Lutetia, as he was still called under Clotaire in 663. Assessors were associated with the provost, and together they formed a tribunal, which was afterwards known as the Châtelet (Fig. 303), because they assembled in that fortress, the building of which is attributed to Julius Caesar. The functions of this tribunal did not differ much from those of the royal _châtellenies:_ its jurisdiction embraced quarrels between individuals, assaults, revolts, disputes between the universities and the students, and improper conduct generally (_ribaudailles_), in consequence of which the provost acquired the popular surname of _Roi des Ribauds_. At first his judgment was final, but very soon those under his jurisdiction were allowed to appeal to Parliament, and that court was obliged to have certain cases sent back for judgment from the Châtelet. This was, however, done only in a few very important instances, notwithstanding frequent appeals being made to its supreme arbitration. [Illustration: Fig. 303.--The Great Châtelet of Paris.--Principal Front opposite the Pont-au-Change.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Copper by Mérian, in the "Topographia Galliae" of Zeller.] In addition to the courts of the counts and bailiffs established in certain of the large towns, aldermanic or magisterial courts existed, which rather resembled the Châtelet of Paris. Thus the _capiloulat_ of Toulouse, the senior alderman of Metz, and the burgomaster of Strasburg and Brussels, possessed in each of these towns a tribunal, which judged without appeal, and united the several functions of a civil, criminal, and simple police court. Several places in the north of France had provosts who held courts whose duties were various, but who were principally charged with the maintenance of public order, and with suppressing disputes and conflicts arising from the privileges granted to the trade corporations, whose importance, especially in Flanders, had much increased since the twelfth century. "On his return from abroad, Louis IX. took his seat upon the bench, and administered justice, by the side of the good provost of Paris." This provost was no other than the learned Estienne Boileau, out of respect to whom the provostship was declared a _charge de magistrature_. The increase of business which fell to the provost's office, especially after the boundaries of Paris were extended by Philip Augustus, caused him to be released from the duty of collecting the public taxes. He was authorised to furnish himself with competent assistants, who were employed with matters of minor detail, and he was allowed the assistance of _juges auditeurs_. "We order that they shall be eight in number," says an edict of Philippe le Bel, of February, 1324, "four of them being ecclesiastics and four laymen, and that they shall assemble at the Châtelet two days in the week, to take into consideration the suits and causes in concert with our provost...." In 1343, the provost's court was composed of one King's attorney, one civil commissioner, two King's counsel, eight councillors, and one criminal commissioner, whose sittings took place daily at the Châtelet. From the year 1340 this tribunal had to adjudicate in reference to all the affairs of the university, and from the 6th of October, 1380, to all those of the salt-fish market, which were no less numerous, so that its importance increased considerably. Unfortunately, numerous abuses were introduced into this municipal jurisdiction. In 1313 and 1320, the officers of the Châtelet were suspended, on account of the extortions which they were guilty of, and the King ordered an inquiry to be made into the matter. The provost and two councillors of the Parliament sat upon it, and Philip de Valois, adopting its decisions, prescribed fresh statutes, which were naturally framed in such a way as to show the distrust in which the Châtelet was then held. To these the officers of the Châtelet promised on oath to submit. The ignorance and immorality of the lay officers, who had been substituted for the clerical, caused much disturbance. Parliament authorised two of its principal members to examine the officers of the Châtelet. Twenty years later, on the receipt of fresh complaints, Parliament decided that three qualified councillors, chosen from its own body, should proceed with the King's attorney to the Châtelet, so as to reform the abuses and informalities of that court. [Illustration: Fig. 304.--The King's Court, or Grand Council.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chroniques" of Froissart, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (formerly in the possession of Charles V), in the Library of the Arsenal, Paris.] In the time of Philippe le Bel there existed in reality but one Parliament, and that was the _King's Court_. Its action was at once political, administrative, financial, and judicial, and was necessarily, therefore, of a most complicated character. Philippe le Bel made it exclusively a judicial court, defined the territorial limit of its power, and gave it as a judicial body privileges tending to strengthen its independence and to raise its dignity. He assigned political functions to the Great Council (_Conseil d'Etat_); financial matters to the chamber of accounts; and the hearing of cases of heresy, wills, legacies, and dowries to the prelates. But in opposition to the wise edict of 1295, he determined that Jews should be excluded from Parliament, and prelates from the palace of justice; by which latter proceeding he was depriving justice of the abilities of the most worthy representatives of the Gallican Church. But Philippe le Bel and his successors, while incessantly quarrelling either with the aristocracy or with the clergy, wanted the great judicial bodies which issued the edicts, and the urban or municipal magistrates--which, being subject to re-election, were principally recruited from among the bourgeois--to be a common centre of opposition to any attempt at usurpation of power, whether on the part of the Church, the nobility, or the crown. The Great Days of Troyes (_dies magni Trecenses_), the assizes of the ancient counts of Champagne, and the exchequer of Normandy, were also organized by Philipe le Bel; and, further, he authorised the maintenance of a Parliament at Toulouse, a court which he solemnly opened in person on the 10th of January, 1302. In times of war the Parliament of Paris sat once a year, in times of peace twice. There were, according to circumstances, during the year two, three, or four sittings of the exchequer of Normandy, and two of the Great Days of Troyes, tribunals which were annexed to the Parliament of Paris, and generally presided over by one of its delegates, and sometimes even by the supreme head of that high court. At the King's council (Fig. 304) it was decided whether a case should be reserved for the Parliament of Paris, or passed on either to the exchequer or to the Great Days of Troyes. As that advanced reformer, Philippe le Bel, died before the institutions he had established had taken root, for many years, even down to the time of Louis XI., a continual conflict for supremacy was waged between the Parliament of Paris and the various courts of the kingdom--between the counts and the Parliament, and between the latter and the King, which, without lessening the dignity of the crown, gradually tended to increase the influence which the judges possessed. Immediately on the accession of Louis le Hutin, in 1314, a reaction commenced--the higher clergy re-entered Parliament; but Philippe le Long took care that the laity should be in a majority, and did not allow that in his council of State the titled councillors should be more numerous than the lawyers. The latter succeeded in completely carrying the day on account of the services they rendered, and the influence which their knowledge of the laws of the country gave them. As for centuries the sword had ruled the gown, so, since the emancipation of the bourgeois, the lawyers had become masters of the administrative and judicial world; and, notwithstanding the fact that they were still kept in a somewhat inferior position to the peers and barons, their opinion alone predominated, and their decision frequently at once settled the most important questions. An edict issued at Val Notre-Dame on the 11th of March, 1344, increased the number of members of Parliament, which from that time consisted of three presidents, fifteen clerical councillors, fifteen lay councillors, twenty-four clergymen and sixteen laymen of the Court of Inquiry, and five clergymen and sixteen laymen of the Court of Petitions. The King filled up the vacant seats on the recommendation of the Chancellor and of the Parliament. The reporters were enjoined to write the decisions and sentences which were given by the court "in large letters, and far apart, so that they might be more easily read." The duties of police in the courts, the keeping of the doors, and the internal arrangements generally for those attending the courts and the Parliament, were entrusted to the ushers, "who divided among themselves the gratuities which were given them by virtue of their office." Before an advocate was admitted to plead he was required to take oath and to be inscribed on the register. The Parliament as then established was somewhat similar in its character to that of the old national representative government under the Germans and Franks. For centuries it protected the King against the undue interference of the spiritual power, it defended the people against despotism, but it often lacked independence and political wisdom, and it was not always remarkable for its correct appreciation of men and things. This tribunal, although supreme over all public affairs, sometimes wavered before the threats of a minister or of a court favourite, succumbed to the influence of intrigues, and adapted itself to the prejudices of the times. We see it, in moments of error and of blindness, both condemning eminent statesmen and leading citizens, such as Jacques Coeur and Robertet, and handing over to the executioner distinguished men of learning and science in advance of the times in which they lived, because they were falsely accused of witchcraft, and also doing the same towards unfortunate maniacs who fancied they had dealings with the devil. [Illustration: Fig. 305.--Trial of the Constable de Bourbon before the Peers of France (1523).--From an Engraving in "La Monarchie Françoise" of Montfauçon.] In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries all the members of Parliament formed part of the council of State, which was divided into the Smaller Council and the Greater Council. The Greater Council only assembled in cases of urgency and for extraordinary and very important purposes, the Smaller Council assembled every month, and its decisions were registered. From this arose the custom of making a similar registration in Parliament, confirming the decisions after they had been formally arrived at. The most ancient edict placed on the register of the Parliament of Paris dates from the year 1334, and is of a very important character. It concerns a question of royal authority, and decides that in spiritual matters the right of supremacy does not belong more to the Pope than to the King. Consequently Philippe de Valois ordered "his friends and vassals who shall attend the next Parliament and the keepers of the accounts, that for the perpetual record of so memorable a decision, it shall be registered in the Chambers of Parliament and kept for reference in the Treasury of the Charters." From that time "cases of complaint and other matters relating to benefices have no longer been discussed before the ecclesiastical judges, but before Parliament or some other secular court." During the captivity of King John in England, royal authority having considerably declined, the powers of Parliament and other bodies of the magistracy so increased, that under Charles VI. the Parliament of Paris was bold enough to assert that a royal edict should not become law until it had been registered in Parliament. This bold and certainly novel proceeding the kings nevertheless did not altogether oppose, as they foresaw that the time would come when it might afford them the means of repudiating a treaty extorted from them under difficult circumstances (Fig. 306). The close connection which existed between the various Parliaments and their political functions--for they had occasion incessantly to interfere between the acts of the government and the respective pretensions of the provinces or of the three orders--naturally increased the importance of this supreme magistracy. More than once the kings had cause to repent having rendered it so powerful, and this was the case especially with the Parliament of Paris. In this difficulty it is interesting to note how the kings acted. They imperceptibly curtailed the various powers of the other courts of justice, they circumscribed the power of the Parliament of Paris, and proportionately enlarged the jurisdiction of the great bailiwicks, as also that of the Châtelet. The provost of Paris was an auxiliary as well as a support to the royal power, which nevertheless held him in its grasp. The Châtelet was also a centre of action and of strength, which counteracted in certain cases parliamentary opposition. Thence arose the most implacable rivalries and dissensions between these various parties. [Illustration: Fig. 306.--Promulgation of an Edict.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in "Anciennetés des Juifs," (French Translation from Josephus), Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, executed for the Duke of Burgundy (Library of the Arsenal of Paris.)] It is curious to notice with what ingenuity and how readily Parliament took advantage of the most trifling circumstances or of charges based upon the very slightest grounds to summon the officers of the Châtelet before its bar on suspicion of prevarication or of outrages against religion, morals, or the laws. Often were these officers and the provost himself summoned to appear and make _amende honourable_ before the assembly, notwithstanding which they retained their offices. More than once an officer of the Châtelet was condemned to death and executed, but the King always annulled that part of the sentence which had reference to the confiscation of the goods of the condemned, thus proving that in reality the condemnation had been unjust, although for grave reasons the royal authority had been unable to save the victim from the avenging power of Parliament. Hugues Aubriot, the provost, was thus condemned to imprisonment for life on the most trivial grounds, and he would have undergone capital punishment if Charles V. had abandoned him at the time of his trial. During the English occupation, in the disastrous reign of Charles VI., the Châtelet of Paris, which took part with the people, gave proof of extraordinary energy and of great force of character. The blood of many of its members was shed on the scaffold, and this circumstance must ever remain a reproach to the judges and to those who executed their cruel sentences, and a lasting crown of glory to the martyrs themselves. An edict of King John, issued after his return from London in 1363, a short time before his death, clearly defined the duties of Parliament. They were to try cases which concerned peers of France, and such prelates, chapters, barons, corporations, and councils as had the privilege of appealing to the supreme court; and to hear cases relating to estates, and appeals from the provost of Paris, the bailiffs, seneschals, and other judges (Fig. 307). It disregarded minor matters, but took cognizance of all judicial debates which concerned religion, the King, or the State. We must remark here that advocates were only allowed to speak twice in the same cause, and that they were subjected to fine, or at least to remonstrance, if they were tedious or indulged in needless repetition in their replies, and especially if they did not keep carefully to the facts of the case. After pleading they were permitted to give a summary in writing of "the principal points of importance as well as their clients' grounds of defence." Charles V. confirmed these orders and regulations with respect to advocates, and added others which were no less important, among which we find a provision for giving "legal assistance to poor and destitute persons who go to law." These regulations of Charles also limited the time in which officers of justice were to get through their business under a certain penalty; they also proclaimed that the King should no longer hear minor causes, and that, whatever might be the rules of the court, they forbad the presidents from deferring their judgment or from retarding the regular course of justice. Charles VI., before he became insane, contributed no less than his father to the establishment on a better footing of the supreme court of the kingdom, as well as that of the Châtelet and the bailiwicks. [Illustration: Fig. 307.--Bailiwick.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] In the fifteenth century, the Parliament of Paris was so organized as not to require material change till 1789. There were noble, clerical, and lay councillors, honorary members, and _maîtres de requête_, only four of whom sat; a first president, who was supreme head of the Parliament, a master of the great chamber of pleas, and three presidents of the chamber, all of whom were nominated for life. There were fifteen masters (_maistres_) or clerical councillors, and fifteen who were laymen, and these were annually approved by the King on the opening of the session. An attorney-general, several advocates-general, and deputies, who formed a committee or college, constituted the active part of this court, round which were grouped consulting advocates (_consiliarii_), pleading advocates (_proponentes_), advocates who were mere listeners (_audientes_), ushers and serjeants, whose chief, on his appointment, became a member of the nobility. The official costume of the first president resembled that of the ancient barons and knights. He wore a scarlet gown lined with ermine, and a black silk cap ornamented with tassels. In winter he wore a scarlet mantle lined with ermine over his gown, on which his crest was worked on a shield. This mantle was fastened to the left shoulder by three gold cords, in order to leave the sword-side free, because the ancient knights and barons always sat in court wearing their swords. Amongst the archives of the mayoralty of London, we find in the "account of the entry of Henry V., King of England, into Paris" (on the 1st of December, 1420), that "the first president was in royal dress (_estoit en habit roial_), the first usher preceding him, and wearing a fur cap; the church dignitaries wore blue robes and hoods, and all the others in the procession scarlet robes and hoods." This imposing dress, in perfect harmony with the dignity of the office of those who wore them, degenerated towards the fifteenth century. So much was this the case, that an order of Francis I. forbad the judges from wearing pink "slashed hose" or other "rakish garments." In the early times of monarchy, the judicial functions were performed gratuitously; but it was the custom to give presents to the judges, consisting of sweetmeats, spices, sugar-plums, and preserves, until at a subsequent period, 1498, when, as the judges "preferred money to sweetmeats," says the Chancellor Etienne Pasquier, the money value of the spices, &c., was fixed by law and made compulsory. In the bills of expenses preserved among the national archives, we find that the first president of the Parliament of Paris received a thousand _livres parisis_ annually, representing upwards of one hundred thousand francs at the present rate of money; the three presidents of the chamber five hundred livres, equal to fifty thousand francs; and the other nobles of the said Parliament five _sols parisis_, or six sols three deniers--about twenty-five francs--per day for the days only on which they sat. They received, besides, two mantles annually. The prelates, princes, and barons who were chosen by the King received no salaries--_ils ne prennent nuls guaiges_ (law of 27th January, 1367). The seneschals and high bailiffs, like the presidents of the chambers, received five hundred livres--fifty thousand francs. They and the bailiffs of inferior rank were expressly forbidden from receiving money or fees from the parties in any suit, but they were allowed to accept on one day refreshment and bottles of wine. The salaries were paid monthly; but this was not always done regularly; sometimes the King was to blame for this, and sometimes it was owing to the ill-nature of the chiefs of finance, or of the receivers and payers. When the blame rested with the King, the Parliament humbly remonstrated or closed the court. When, on the contrary, an officer of finance did not pay the salaries, Parliament sent him the bailiff's usher, and put him under certain penalties until he had done so. The question of salaries was frequently arising. On the 9th of February, 1369, "the court having been requested to serve without any remuneration for one Parliament, on the understanding that the King would make up for it another time, the nobles of the court replied, after private deliberation, that they were ready to do the King's pleasure, but could not do so properly without receiving their salaries" (Register of the Parliament of Paris). At the commencement of the fifteenth century, the scale of remuneration was not increased. In 1411 it was raised for the whole Parliament to twenty-five thousand livres, which, calculated according to the present rate, amounted to nearly a million francs. In consequence of financial difficulties and the general distress, the unpleasant question in reference to claims for payment of salaries was renewed, with threats that the course of justice would be interrupted if they were not paid or not promised. On the 2nd of October, 1419, two councillors and one usher were sent to the house of one of the chiefs of finance, with orders to demand payment of the salaries of the court. In October, 1430, the government owed the magistrates two years of arrears. After useless appeals to the Regent, and to the Bishop of Thérouanne, the then Chancellor of France, the Parliament sent two of its members to the King at Rouen, who obtained, after much difficulty, "one month's pay, on the understanding that the Parliament should hold its sittings in the month of April." In the month of July, 1431, there was another deputation to the King, "in order to lay before him the necessities of the court, and that it had for some time been prorogued, and was still prorogued, on account of the non-payment of salaries." After two months of repeated remonstrance, the deputies only bringing back promises, the court assumed a menacing aspect; and on the 11th of January, 1437, it pointed out to the chancellor the evil which would arise if Parliament ceased to hold its sittings; and this time the chancellor announced that the salaries would be paid, though six months passed without any resuit or any practical step being taken in the matter. This state of affairs grew worse until the year 1443, when the King was obliged to plead with the Parliament in the character of an insolvent debtor, and, in order to obtain remission of part of his debt to the members, to guarantee to them a part of the salt duties. Charles VII, after having reconquered his states, hastened to restore order. He first occupied himself with the System of justice, the Parliament, the Châtelet, and the bailiwicks; and in April, 1453, in concert with the princes, the prelates, the council of State, the judges, and others in authority, he framed a general law, in one hundred and twenty-five articles, which was considered as the great charter of Parliament (Fig. 308). According to the terms of these articles, "the councillors are to sit after dinner, to get through the minor causes. Prisoners are to be examined without delay, and to hold no communication with any one, unless by special permission. The cases are to be carefully gone through in their proper order; for courts are instructed to do justice as promptly for the poor as for the rich, as it is a greater hardship for the poor to be kept waiting than the rich." The fees of attorneys were taxed and reduced in amount. Those of advocates were reduced "to such moderation and fairness, that there should be no cause for complaint." The judgments by commissary were forbidden. The bailiffs and seneschals were directed to reside within their districts. The councillors were ordered to abstain from all communication with the parties in private, and consultations between themselves were to be held in secret. The judgments given in lawsuits were inscribed in a register, and submitted every two months to the presidents, who, if necessary, called the reporters to account for any neglect of duty. The reporter was ordered to draw attention to any point of difficulty arising in a suit, and the execution of sentences or judgments was entrusted to the ushers of the court. In 1454 the King, in consequence of a difficulty in paying the regular instalments of the usual salaries of the Parliament, created "after-dinner fees" (_des gages d'après dînées_) of five sols parisis--more than ten francs of our money--per day, payable to those councillors who should hold a second hearing. Matters did not improve much, however; nothing seemed to proceed satisfactorily, and members of Parliament, deprived of their salaries, were compelled to contract a loan, in order to commence proceedings against the treasury for the non-payment of the amount due to them. In 1493, the annual salaries of Parliament were raised to the sum of 40,630 livres, equal to about 1,100,000 francs. [Illustration: Fig. 308.--Supreme Court, presided over by the King, who is in the act of issuing a Decree which is being registered by the Usher.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in Camareu of the "Information des Rois," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] The first president received 4 livres, 22 solis parisis--about 140 francs--per day; a clerical councillor 25 sols parisis--about 40 francs--and a lay councillor 20 sols--about 32 francs. This was an increase of a fifth on the preceding year. Charles VIII., in thus improving the remuneration of the members of the first court of the kingdom, reminded them of their duties, which had been too long neglected; he told them "that of all the cardinal virtues justice was the most noble and most important;" and he pointed out to them the line of conduct they were to pursue. The councillors were to be present daily in their respective chambers, from St. Martin's day to Easter, before seven o'clock in the morning; and from Easter to the closing of Parliament, immediately after six o'clock, without intermission, under penalty of punishment. Strict silence was enforced upon them during the debates; and they were forbidden to occupy themselves with anything which did not concern the case under discussion. Amidst a mass of other points upon which directions are given, we notice the following: the necessity of keeping secret the matters in course of deliberation; the prohibition to councillors from receiving, either directly or indirectly, anything in the shape of a douceur from the parties in any suit; and the forbidding all attorneys from receiving any bribe or claiming more than the actual expenses of a journey and other just charges. The great charter of the Parliament, promulgated in April, 1453, was thus amended, confirmed, and completed, by this code of Charles VIII., with a wisdom which cannot be too highly extolled. The magistrature of the supreme courts had been less favoured during the preceding reign. Louis XI., that cautious and crafty reformer, after having forbidden ecclesiastical judges to examine cases referring to the revenues of vacant benefices, remodelled the secular courts, but he ruthlessly destroyed anything which offended him personally. For this reason, as he himself said, he limited the power of the Parliaments of Paris and Toulouse, by establishing, to their prejudice, several other courts of justice, and by favouring the Châtelet, where he was sure always to find those who would act with him against the aristocracy. The Parliament would not give way willingly, nor without the most determined opposition. It was obliged, however, at last to succumb, and to pass certain edicts which were most repugnant to it. On the death of Louis XI., however, it took its revenge, and called those who had been his favourites and principal agents to answer a criminal charge, for no other reason than that they had exposed themselves to the resentment of the supreme court. The Châtelet, in its judicial functions, was inferior to the Parliament, nevertheless it acquired, through its provost, who represented the bourgeois of Paris, considerable importance in the eyes of the supreme court. In fact, for two centuries the provost held the privilege of ruling the capital, both politically and financially, of commanding the citizen militia, and of being chief magistrate of the city. In the court of audiences, a canopy was erected, under which he sat, a distinction which no other magistrate enjoyed, and which appears to have been exclusively granted to him because he sat in the place of _Monsieur Saint Loys_ (Saint Louis), _dispensing justice to the good people of the City of Paris_. When the provost was installed, he was solemnly escorted, wearing his cap, to the great chamber of Parliament, accompanied by four councillors. [Illustration: Fig. 309.--The Court of a Baron.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] After the ceremony of installation he gave his horse to the president, who had come to receive him. His dress consisted of a short robe, with mantle, collar turned down, sword, and hat with feathers; he also carried a staff of office, profusely ornamented with silver. Thus attired he attended Parliament, and assisted at the levees of the sovereign, where he took up his position on the lowest step of the throne, below the great Chamberlain. Every day, excepting at the vintage time, he was required to be present at the Châtelet, either personally or by deputy, punctually at nine in the morning. There he received the list of the prisoners who had been arrested the day before; after that he visited the prisons, settled business of various kinds, and then inspected the town. His jurisdiction extended to several courts, which were presided over by eight deputies or judges appointed by him, and who were created officers of the Châtelet by Louis XII. in 1498. Subsequently, these received their appointments direct from the King. Two auditing judges, one king's attorney, one registrar, and some bailiffs, completed the provost's staff. [Illustration: Fig. 310.--Sergeants-at-Arms of the Fourteenth Century, carved in Stone.--From the Church of St. Catherine du Val des Ecoliers, in Paris.] The bailiffs at the Châtelet were divided into five classes: the _king's sergeant-at-arms,_ the _sergeants de la douzaine_, the _sergeants of the mace_, or _foot sergeants,_ the _sergeants fieffés_, and the _mounted sergeants_. The establishment of these officers dated from the beginning of the fourteenth century, and they were originally appointed by the provost, but afterwards by the King himself. The King's sergeants-at-arms (Fig. 310) formed his body-guard; they were not under the jurisdiction of the high constable, but of the ordinary judges, which proves that they were in civil employ. The sergeants _de la douzaine_ were twelve in number, as their name implies, all of whom were in the service of the provost; the foot sergeants, who were civilians, were gradually increased to the number of two hundred and twenty as early as the middle of the fifteenth century. They acted only in the interior of the capital, and guarded the city, the suburbs, and the surrounding districts, whereas the mounted sergeants had "to watch over the safety of the rural parishes, and to act throughout the whole extent of the provost's jurisdiction, and of that of the viscount of Paris." In the midst of the changes of the Middle Ages, especially after the communes became free, all those kings who felt the importance of a strict system of justice, particularly St. Louis, Philippe le Bel, and Charles VIII., had seen the necessity of compiling a record of local customs. An edict of 1453 orders that "the custom shall be registered in writing, so as to be examined by the members of the great council of the Parliament." Nevertheless, this important work was never properly carried out, and to Louis XII. is due the honour of introducing a customary or usage law, and at the same time of correcting the various modes of procedure, upon which customs and usages had been based, and which had become singularly antiquated since the edict of 1302. No monarch showed more favour to Parliament than Louis XII. During his reign of seventeen years we never find complaints from the magistracy for not having been paid punctually. But in contrast with this, on the accession of Francis I., the court complained of not having been paid its first quarter's salary. From that moment claims were perpetually being made; there were continually delays, or absolute refusals; the members were expecting "remuneration for their services, in order absolutely to enable them to support their families and households." We can thus judge of the state of the various minor courts, which, being less powerful than the supreme tribunals, and especially than that of Paris, were quite unable to get their murmurings even listened to by the proper authorities. This sad state of things continued, and, in fact, grew worse, until the assembly of the League, when Mayenne, the chief of the leaguers, in order to gratify the Parliament, promised to double the salaries, although he was unable to fulfil his promise. [Illustration: Fig. 311.--Inferior Court in the Great Bailiwick. Adoption of Orphan Children.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in J. Damhoudère's "Refuge et Garand des Pupilles, Orphelins:" Antwerp, J. Bellère, 1557.] Towards the end of the sixteenth century the highest French tribunal was represented by nine superior courts--namely, the Parliament of Bordeaux, created on the 9th of June, 1642; the Parliament of Brittany, which replaced the ancient _Grands-Jours,_ in March, 1553, and sat alternately at Nantes and at Rennes; the Parliament of the Dauphiné, established at Grenoble in 1451 to replace the Delphinal Council; the Parliament of Burgundy, established at Dijon in 1477, which took the place of the _Grands-Jours_ at Beaune; the movable Parliament of Dombes, created in 1528, and consisting at the same time of a court of excise and a chamber of accounts; the Parliament of Normandy, established by Louis XII. in April, 1504, intended to replace the Exchequer of Rouen, and the ancient ducal council of the province; the Parliament of Provence, founded at Aix in July, 1501; the Parliament of Toulouse, created in 1301; and the Parliament of Paris, which took precedence of all the others, both on account of its origin, its antiquity, the extent of its jurisdiction, the number of its prerogatives, and the importance of its decrees. In 1551, Henry II. created, besides these, an inferior court in each bailiwick, the duties of which were to hear, on appeal, all matters in which sums of less than two hundred livres were involved (Fig. 311). There existed, besides, a branch of the _Grands-Jours,_ occasionally sitting at Poitiers, Bayeux, and at some other central towns, in order to suppress the excesses which at times arose from religious dissensions and political controversy. The Parliament of Paris--or _Great French Parliament_, as it was called by Philip V. and Charles V., in edicts of the 17th of November, 1318, and of the 8th of October, 1371--was divided into four principal chambers: the Grand Chamber, the Chamber of Inquiry, the Criminal Chamber, and the Chamber of Appeal. It was composed of ordinary councillors, both clerical and lay; of honorary councillors, some of whom were ecclesiastics, and others members of the nobility; of masters of inquiry; and of a considerable number of officers of all ranks (Figs. 312 to 314). It had at times as many as twenty-four presidents, one hundred and eighty-two councillors, four knights of honour, four masters of records; a public prosecutor's office was also attached, consisting of the king's counsel, an attorney-general and deputies, thus forming an assembly of from fifteen to twenty persons, called a _college_. Amongst the inferior officers we may mention twenty-six ushers, four receivers-general of trust money, three commissioners for the receipt of goods which had been seized under distress, one treasurer and paymaster, three controllers, one physician, two surgeons, two apothecaries, one matron, one receiver of fines, one inspector of estates, several keepers of refreshment establishments, who resided within the precincts of the palace, sixty or eighty notaries, four or five hundred advocates, two hundred attorneys, besides registers and deputy registers. Down to the reign of Charles VI. (1380--1422) members of Parliament held their appointment by commissions granted by the King, and renewed eaeh session. From Charles VI. to Francis I. these appointments became royal charges; but from that time, owing to the office being so often prostituted for reward, it got more and more into disrepute. [Illustration: Fig. 312.--Judge.--From a Drawing in "Proverbes, Adages, &c.," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Imperial Library of Paris.] Louis XI. made the office of member of the Parliament of Paris a permanent one, and Francis I. continued this privilege. In 1580 the supreme magistracy poured 140,000,000 francs, which now would be worth fifteen or twenty times as much, into the State treasury, so as to enable members to sit permanently _sur les fleurs de lis_, and to obtain hereditary privileges. The hereditary transmission of office from father to son dealt a heavy blow at the popularity of the parliamentary body, which had already deeply suffered through shameful abuses, the enormity of the fees, the ignorance of some of the members, and the dissolute habits of many others. [Illustration: Fig. 313.--Lawyer.--From the "Danse des Morts" of Basle, engraved by Mérian: in 4to, Frankfort, 1596.] [Illustration: Fig. 314.--Barrister.--From a Woodout in the "Danse Macabre:" Guyot's edition, 1490.] [Illustration: Fig. 315.--Assembly of the Provostship of the Merchants of Paris.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in "Ordonnances Royaux de la Jurisdiction de la Prevoté des Marchands et Eschevinage de la Ville de Paris:" in small folio, goth. edition of Paris, Jacques Nyverd, 1528.] The Châtelet, on the contrary, was less involved in intrigue, less occupied with politics, and was daily engaged in adjudicating in cases of litigation, and thus it rendered innumerable services in promoting the public welfare, and maintained, and even increased, the respect which it had enjoyed from the commencement of its existence. In 1498, Louis XII. required that the provost should possess the title of doctor _in utroque jure_, and that his officers, whom he made to hold their appointments for life, should be chosen from amongst the most distinguished counsellors at law. This excellent arrangement bore its fruits. As early as 1510, the "Usages of the City, Provosty, and Viscounty of Paris," were published _in extenso_, and were then received with much ceremony at a solemn audience held on the 8th of March in the episcopal palace, and were deposited among the archives of the Châtelet (Fig. 315). The Parliament held a very different line of policy from that adopted by the Châtelet, which only took a political part in the religious troubles of Protestantism and the League with a view to serve and defend the cause of the people. In spite of its fits of personal animosity, and its rebellious freaks, Parliament remained almost invariably attached to the side of the King and the court. It always leaned to the absolute maintenance of things as they were, instead of following progress and changes which time necessitated. It was for severe measures, for intimidation more than for gentleness and toleration, and it yielded sooner or later to the injunctions and admonitions of the King, although, at the same time, it often disapproved the acts which it was asked to sanction. [Illustration: Fig. 316.--Seal of King Chilpéric, found in his Tomb at Tournay in 1654.] Secret Tribunals. The Old Man of the Mountain and his Followers in Syria.--The Castle of Alamond, Paradise of Assassins.--Charlemagne the Founder of Secret Tribunals amongst the Saxons.--The Holy Vehme.--Organization of the Tribunal of the _Terre Rouge_, and Modes adopted in its Procedures.--Condemnations and Execution of Sentences.--The Truth respecting the Free Judges of Westphalia.--Duration and Fall of the Vehmic Tribunal.--Council of Ten in Venice; its Code and Secret Decisions.--End of the Council of Ten. During the Middle Ages, human life was generally held in small respect; various judicial institutions--if not altogether secret, at least more or less enveloped in mystery--were remarkable for being founded on the monstrous right of issuing the most severe sentences with closed doors, and of executing these sentences with inflexible rigour on individuals who had not been allowed the slightest chance of defending themselves. While passing judgment in secret, they often openly dealt blows as unexpected and terrible as they were fatal. Therefore, the most innocent and the most daring trembled at the very name of the _Free Judges of the Terre-Rouge,_ an institution which adopted Westphalia as the special, or rather as the central, region of its authority; the _Council of Ten_ exercised their power in Venice and the states of the republic; and the _Assassins_ of Syria, in the time of St. Louis, made more than one invasion into Christian Europe. We must nevertheless acknowledge that, terrible as these mysterious institutions were, the general credulity, the gross ignorance of the masses, and the love of the marvellous, helped not a little to render them even more outrageous and alarming than they really were. Marco Polo, the celebrated Venetian traveller of the thirteenth century, says, "We will speak of the Old Man of the Mountain. This prince was named Alaodin. He had a lovely garden full of all manner of trees and fruits, in a beautiful valley, surrounded by high hills; and all round these plantations were various palaces and pavilions, decorated with works of art in gold, with paintings, and with furniture of silk. Therein were to be seen rivulets of wine, as well as milk, honey, and gentle streams of limpid water. He had placed therein damsels of transcendent beauty and endowed with great charms, who were taught to sing and to play all manner of instruments; they were dressed in silk and gold, and continually walked in these gardens and palaces. The reasons for which the Old Man had these palaces built were the following. Mahomet having said that those who should obey his will should go to paradise, and there find all kinds of luxuries, this prince wished it to be believed that he was the prophet and companion of Mahomet, and that he had the power of sending whom he chose to paradise. No one could succeed in entering the garden, because an impregnable castle had been built at the entrance of the valley, and it could only be approached by a covered and secret way. The Old Man had in his court some young men from ten to twenty years of age, chosen from those inhabitants of the hills who seemed to him capable of bearing arms, and who were bold and courageous. From time to time he administered a certain drink to ten or twelve of these young men, which sent them to sleep, and when they were in deep stupor, he had them carried into the garden. When they awoke, they saw all we have described: they were surrounded by the young damsels, who sang, played instruments together, caressed them, played all sorts of games, and presented them with the most exquisite wines and meats (Fig. 317). So that these young men, satiated with such pleasures, did not doubt that they were in paradise, and would willingly have never gone out of it again. "At the end of four or five days, the Old Man sent them to sleep again, and had them removed from the garden in the same way in which they had been brought in. He then called them before him, and asked them where they had been. 'By your grace, lord,' they answered, 'we have been in paradise.' And then they related, in the presence of everybody, what they had seen there. This tale excited the astonishment of all those who heard it, and the desire that they might be equally fortunate. The Old Man would then formally announce to those who were present, as follows: 'Thus saith the law of our prophet, He causes all who fight for their Lord to enter into paradise; if you obey me you shall enjoy that happiness.' By such words and plans this prince had so accustomed them to believe in him, that he whom he ordered to die for his service considered himself lucky. All the nobles or other enemies of the Old Man of the Mountain were put to death by the assassins in his service; for none of them feared death, provided he complied with the orders and wishes of his lord. However powerful a man might be, therefore, if he was an enemy of the Old Man's, he was sure to meet with an untimely end." [Illustration: Fig. 317.--The Castle of Alamond and its Enchantments.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in "Marco Polo's Travels," Manuscript of the Fifteenth. Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] In his story, which we translate literally from the original, written in ancient French, the venerable traveller attributes the origin of this singular system of exercising power over the minds of persons to a prince who in reality did but keep up a tradition of his family; for the Alaodin herein mentioned is no other than a successor of the famous Hassan, son of Ali, who, in the middle of the eleventh century, took advantage of the wars which devastated Asia to create himself a kingdom, comprising the three provinces of Turkistan, Djebel, and Syria. Hassan had embraced the doctrine of the Ishmaelian sect, who pretended to explain allegorically all the precepts of the Mahometan religion, and who did away with public worship, and originated a creed which was altogether philosophical. He made himself the chief exponent of this doctrine, which, by its very simplicity, was sure to attract to him many people of simple and sincere minds. Attacked by the troops of the Sultan Sindgar, he defended himself vigorously and not unsuccessfully; but, fearing lest he should fall in an unequal and protracted struggle against an adversary more powerful than himself, he had recourse to cunning so as to obtain peace. He entranced, or fascinated probably, by means analogous to those related by Marco Polo, a slave, who had the daring, during Sindgar's sleep, to stick a sharp dagger in the ground by the side of the Sultan's head. On waking, Sindgar was much alarmed. A few days after, Hassan wrote to him, "If one had not good intentions towards the Sultan, one might have driven the dagger, which was stuck in the earth by his head, into his bosom." The Sultan Sindgar then made peace with the chief of the Ishmaelians, whose dynasty lasted for one hundred and seventy years. The Castle of Alamond, built on the confines of Persia, on the top of a high mountain surrounded with trees, after having been the usual residence of Hassan, became that of his successors. As in the native language the same word means both _prince_ and _old man_, the Crusaders who had heard the word pronounced confounded the two, and gave the name of _Old Man of the Mountain_ to the Ishmaelian prince at that time inhabiting the Castle of Alamond, a name which has remained famous in history since the period when the Sire de Joinville published his "Mémoires." Ancient authors call the subjects of Hassan, _Haschichini, Heississini, Assissini, Assassini_, various forms of the same expression, which, in fact, has passed into French with a signification which recalls the sanguinary exploits of the Ishmaelians. In seeking for the etymology of this name, one must suppose that Haschichini is the Latin transformation of the Arabic word Hachychy, the name of the sect of which we are speaking, because the ecstacies during which they believed themselves removed to paradise were produced by means of _haschisch_ or _haschischa_. We know that this inebriating preparation, extracted from hemp, really produces the most strange and delicious hallucinations on those who use it. All travellers who have visited the East agree in saying that its effects are very superior to those of opium. We evidently must attribute to some ecstatic vision the supposed existence of the enchanted gardens, which Marco Polo described from popular tales, and which, of course, never existed but in the imagination of the young men, who were either mentally excited after fasting and prayer, or intoxicated by the haschischa, and consequently for a time lulled in dreams of celestial bliss which they imagined awaited them under the guidance of Hassan and his descendants. [Illustration: Fig. 318.--The Old Man of the Mountain giving Orders to his Followers.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Travels of Marco Polo," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (Library of the Arsenal of Paris).] The Haschischini, whom certain contemporary historians describe to us as infatuated by the hope of some future boundless felicity, owe their melancholy celebrity solely to the blind obedience with which they executed the orders of their chiefs, and to the coolness with which they sought the favourable moment for fulfilling their sanguinary missions (Fig. 318). The Old Man of the Mountain (the master of daggers, _magister cultellorum_, as he is also called by the chronicler Jacques de Vintry), was almost continually at war with the Mussulman princes who reigned from the banks of the Nile to the borders of the Caspian Sea. He continually opposed them with the steel of his fanatical emissaries; at times, also, making a traffic and merchandise of murder, he treated for a money payment with the sultans or emirs, who were desirous of ridding themselves of an enemy. The Ishmaelians thus put to death a number of princes and Mahometan nobles; but, at the time of the Crusades, religious zeal having incited them against the Christians, they found more than one notable victim in the ranks of the Crusaders. Conrad, Marquis of Montferrat, was assassinated by them; the great Salah-Eddin (Saladin) himself narrowly escaped them; Richard Coeur de Lion and Philip Augustus were pointed out to the assassins by the Old Man, who subsequently, on hearing of the immense preparations which Louis IX. was making for the Holy War, had the daring to send two of his followers to France, and even into Paris, with orders to kill that monarch in the midst of his court. This king, after having again escaped, during his sojourn in Palestine, from the murderous attempts of the savage messengers of the Prince of Alamond, succeeded, by his courage, his firmness, and his virtues, in inspiring these fanatics with so much respect, that their chief, looking upon him as protected by heaven, asked for his friendship, and offered him presents, amongst which was a magnificent set of chessmen, in crystal, ornamented with gold and amber. The successors of Hassan, simultaneously attacked by the Moguls under Houlayon, and by the Egyptians commanded by the Sultan Bibars, were conquered and dispossessed of their States towards the middle of the thirteenth century; but, long after, the Ishmaelians, either because their chiefs sought to recover their power, or because they had placed their daggers at the disposal of some foreign foe, continued notorious in history. At last the sect became extinct, or, at least, retired into obscurity, and renounced its murderous profession, which had for so long made its members such objects of terror. We have thus seen how a legion of fanatics in the East made themselves the blind and formidable tools of a religious and political chieftain, who was no less ambitious than revengeful. If we now turn our attention to Germany, we shall here find, almost at the same period, a local institution which, although very different from the sanguinary court of the Old Man of the Mountain, was of an equally terrible and mysterious character. We must not, however, look at it from the same point of view, for, having been founded with the object of furthering and defending the establishment of a regular social state, which had been approved and sanctioned by the sovereigns, and recognised by the Church, it at times rendered great service to the cause of justice and humanity at a period when might usurped right, and when the excesses and the crimes of shameless evil-doers, and of petty tyrants, entrenched in their impregnable strongholds, were but too often made lawful from the simple fact that there was no power to oppose them. The secret tribunal of Westphalia, which held its sittings and passed sentence in private, and which carried out its decrees on the spot, and whose rules, laws, and actions were enveloped in deep mystery, must unquestionably be looked upon as one of the most remarkable institutions of the Middle Ages. [Illustration: Figs. 319 and 320.--Hermensul or Irmensul and Crodon, Idols of the Ancient Saxons.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Annales Circuli Westphaliæ," by Herman Stangefol: in 4to, 1656.--The Idol Hermensul appears to have presided over Executive Justice, the attributes of which it holds in its hands.] It would be difficult to state exactly at what period this formidable institution was established. A few writers, and amongst these Sebastian Munster, wish us to believe that it was founded by Charlemagne himself. They affirm that this monarch, having subjugated the Saxons to his sway, and having forced them to be baptized, created a secret tribunal, the duties of which were to watch over them, in order that they might not return to the errors of Paganism. However, the Saxons were incorrigible, and, although Christians, they still carried on the worship of their idols (Figs. 319 and 320); and, for this reason, it is said by these authorities that the laws of the tribunal of Westphalia were founded by Charlemagne. It is well known that from the ninth to the thirteenth century, all that part of Germany between the Rhine and the Weser suffered under the most complete anarchy. In consequence of this, and of the increase of crime which remained unpunished, energetic men established a rigorous jurisdiction, which, to a certain extent, suppressed these barbarous disorders, and gave some assurance to social intercourse; but the very mystery which gave weight to the institution was the cause of its origin being unknown. It is only mentioned, and then cursorily, in historical documents towards the early part of the fifteenth century. This court of judicature received the name of _Femgericht_, or _Vehmgericht_, which means Vehmic tribunal. The origin of the word _Fem_, _Vehm_, or _Fam_, which has given rise to many scientific discussions, still remains in doubt. The most generally accepted opinion is, that it is derived from a Latin expression--_vemi_ (_vae mihi_), "woe is me!" The special dominion over which the Vehmic tribunal reigned supreme was Westphalia, and the country which was subjected to its laws was designated as the _Terre Rouge_. There was no assembly of this tribunal beyond the limits of this Terre Rouge, but it would be quite impossible to define these limits with any accuracy. However, the free judges, assuming the right of suppressing certain crimes committed beyond their territory, on more than one occasion summoned persons living in various parts of Germany, and even in provinces far from Westphalia, to appear before them. We do not know all the localities wherein the Vehmic tribunal sat; but the most celebrated of them, and the one which served as a model for all the rest, held its sittings under a lime-tree, in front of the castle-gate of Dortmund (Fig. 321). There the chapters-general of the association usually assembled; and, on certain occasions, several thousands of the free judges were to be seen there. Each tribunal was composed of an unlimited number of free judges, under the presidency of a free count, who was charged with the higher administration of Vehmic justice. A _free county_ generally comprised several free tribunals, or _friestuhle_. The free count, who was chosen by the prince of the territory in which the tribunal sat, had two courts, one secret, the other public. The public assizes, which took place at least three times a year, were announced fourteen days beforehand, and any person living within the _county_, and who was summoned before the free count, was bound to appear, and to answer all questions which might be put to him. It was required that the free judges (who are generally mentioned as _femnoten_--that is to say, _sages_--and who are, besides, denoted by writers of the time by the most honourable epithets: such as, "serious men," "very pious," "of very pure morals," "lovers of justice," &c.) should be persons who had been born in lawful wedlock, and on German soil; they were not allowed to belong to any religions order, or to have ever themselves been summoned before the Vehmic tribunal. They were nominated by the free counts, but subject to the approval of their sovereigns. They were not allowed to sit as judges before having been initiated into the mysteries of the tribunals. [Illustration: Fig. 321.--View of the Town of Dortmund in the Sixteenth Century.--From an Engraving on Copper in P. Bertius's "Theatrum Geographicum."] The initiation of a free judge was accompanied by extraordinary formalities. The candidate appeared bareheaded; he knelt down, and, placing two fingers of his right hand on his naked sword and on a rope, he took oath to adhere to the laws and customs of the holy tribunal, to devote his five senses to it, and not to allow himself to be allured therefrom either by silver, gold, or even precious stones; to forward the interests of the tribunal "above everything illumined by the sun, and all that the rain reaches;" and to defend them "against everything which is between heaven and earth." The candidate was then given the sign by which members of the association recognised each other. This sign has remained unknown; and nothing, even in the deeds of the Vehmic archives, leads one even to guess what it was, and every hypothesis on this subject must be looked upon as uncertain or erroneous. By one of the fundamental statutes of the Terre Rouge, a member convicted of betraying the secrets of the order was condemned to the most cruel punishment; but we have every reason for asserting that this sentence was never carried out, or even issued against a free judge. [Illustration: Fig. 322.--The Landgrave of Thuringia and his Wife.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Collection of the Minnesinger, Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century.] In one case alone during the fourteenth century, was an accusation of this sort made, and that proved to be groundless. It would have been considered the height of treason to have given a relation, or a friend, the slightest hint that he was being pursued, or that he had been condemned by the Holy Vehme, in order that he might seek refuge by flight. And in consequence of this, there was a general mistrust of any one belonging to the tribunal, so much so that "a brother," says a German writer, "often feared his brother, and hospitality was no longer possible." The functions of free judges consisted in going about the country seeking out crimes, denouncing them, and inflicting immediate punishment on any evil-doer caught in the act (Figs. 323 and 324). The free judges might assemble provided there were at least seven in number to constitute a tribunal; but we hear of as many as three hundred assisting at a meeting. [Illustration: Figs. 323 and 324.--Free Judges.--Fac-simile of two Woodcuts in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, 1552.] It has been erroneously stated that the sittings of the Vehmic tribunals were held at night in the depths of forests, or in subterranean places; but it appears that all criminal business was first heard in public, and could only be subjected to a secret judgment when the accused had failed either publicly to justify himself or to appear in person. When three free judges caught a malefactor in the very act, they could seize him, judge him, and inflict the penalty on the spot. In other cases, when a tribunal considered that it should pursue an individual, it summoned him to appear before it. The summons had to be written, without erasures, on a large sheet of vellum, and to bear at least seven seals--that of the free count, and those of six free judges; and these seals generally represented either a man in full armour holding a sword, or a simple sword blade, or other analagous emblems (Figs. 325 to 327). Two free judges delivered the summons personally where a member of the association was concerned; but if the summons affected an individual who was not of the Vehmic order, a sworn messenger bore it, and placed it in the very hands of the person, or slipped it into his house. The time given for putting in an appearance was originally six weeks and three days at least, but at a later period this time was shortened. The writ of summons was repeated three times, and each time bore a greater number of seals of free judges, so as to verify the legality of the instrument. The accused, whether guilty or not, was liable to a fine for not answering the first summons, unless he could prove that it was impossible for him to have done so. If he failed to appear on the third summons, he was finally condemned _en corps et en honneur_. [Illustration: Fig. 325.--Seal of Herman Loseckin, Free Count of Medebach, in 1410.] [Illustration: Fig. 326.--Seal of the Free Count, Hans Vollmar von Twern, at Freyenhagen, in 1476-1499.] [Illustration: Fig. 327.--Seal of Johann Croppe, Free Count of Kogelnberg, in 1413.] We have but imperfect information as to the formalities in use in the Vehmic tribunals. But we know that the sittings were invested with a certain solemnity and pomp. A naked sword--emblematical of justice, and recalling our Saviour's cross in the shape of its handle--and a rope--emblematical of the punishment deserved by the guilty--were placed on the table before the president. The judges were bareheaded, with bare hands, and each wore a cloak over his shoulder, and carried no arms of any sort. [Illustration: Fig. 328.--The Duke of Saxony and the Marquis of Brandenburg.--From the "Theatrum Orbis Terrarum sive Tabula veteris Geographiae," in folio. Engraved by Wieriex, after Gérard de Jode.] The plaintiff and the defendant were each allowed to produce thirty witnesses. The defendant could either defend himself, or entrust his case to an advocate whom he brought with him. At first, any free judge being defendant in a suit, enjoyed the privilege of justifying himself on oath; but it having been discovered that this privilege was abused, all persons, of whatever station, were compelled to be confronted with the other side. The witnesses, who were subpoened by either accuser or accused, had to give their evidence according to the truth, dispassionately and voluntarily. In the event of the accused not succeeding in bringing sufficient testimony to clear himself, the prosecutor claimed a verdict in his favour from the free count presiding at the tribunal, who appointed one of the free judges to declare it. In case the free judge did not feel satisfied as to the guilt, he could, by making oath, temporarily divest himself of his office, which devolved upon a second, a third, or even a fourth free judge. If four free judges were unable to decide, the matter was referred to another sitting; for judgment had to be pronounced by the appointed free judge at the sitting. The various penalties for different crimes were left to the decision of the tribunal. The rules are silent on the subject, and simply state that the culprits will be punished "according to the authority of the secret bench." The _royale, i.e._ capital punishment, was strictly applied in all serious cases, and the manner of execution most in use was hanging (Figs. 329, 330). A person accused who did not appear after the third summons, was out-lawed by a terrible sentence, which deprived him of all rights, of common peace, and forbad him the company of all Christians; by the wording of this sentence, his wife was looked upon as a widow, his children as orphans; his neck was abandoned to the birds of the air, and his body to the beasts of the field, "but his soul was recommended to God." At the expiration of one year and a day, if the culprit had not appeared, or had not established his common rights, all his goods were confiscated, and appropriated by the King or Emperor. When the condemnation referred to a prince, a town, or a corporation (for the accusations of the tribunal frequently were issued against groups of individuals), it caused the loss of all honour, authority, and privileges. The free count, in pronouncing the sentence, threw the rope, which was before him, on to the ground; the free judges spat upon it, and the name of the culprit was inscribed on the book of blood. The sentence was kept secret; the prosecutor alone was informed of it by a written notice, which was sealed with seven seals. When the condemned was present, the execution took place immediately, and, according to the custom of the Middle Ages, its carrying out was deputed to the youngest of the free judges. The members of the Vehmic association enjoyed the privilege of being hung seven feet higher than those who were not associates. The Vehmic judgments were, however, liable to be appealed against: the accused might, at the sitting, appeal either to what was termed the imperial chamber, a general chapter of the association, which assembled at Dortmund, or (and this was the more frequent custom) to the emperor, or ruler of the country, whether he were king, prince, duke, or bishop, provided that these authorities belonged to the association. The revision of the judgment could only be entrusted to members of the tribunal, who, in their turn, could only act in Westphalia. The condemned might also appeal to the lieutenant-general of the emperor, or to the grand master of the Holy Vehme, a title which, from the remotest times, was given to the Archbishop of Cologne. There are even instances of appeals having been made to the councils and to the Popes, although the Vehmic association never had any communication or intercourse with the court of Rome. We must not forget a very curious privilege which, in certain cases, was left to the culprit as a last resource; he might appeal to the emperor, and solicit an order which required the execution of the sentence to be applied after a delay _of one hundred years, six weeks, and one day_. [Illustration: Figs. 329 and 330.--Execution of the Sentences of the Secret Tribunal.--Fac-simile of Woodcuts in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] The chapter-general of the association was generally summoned once a year by the emperor or his lieutenant, and assembled either at Dortmund or Arensberg, in order to receive the returns of causes judged by the various Vehmic tribunals; to hear the changes which had taken place among the members of the order; to receive the free judges; to hear appeals; and, lastly, to decide upon reforms to be introduced into the rules. These reforms usually had reference to the connection of imperial authority with the members of the secret jurisdiction, and were generally suggested by the emperors, who were jealous of the increasing power of the association. From what we have shown, on the authority of authentic documents, we understand how untrue is the tradition, or rather the popular idea, that the _Secret Tribunal_ was an assembly of bloodthirsty judges, secretly perpetrating acts of mere cruelty, without any but arbitrary laws. It is clear, on the contrary, that it was a regular institution, having, it is true, a most mysterious and complex organization, but simply acting in virtue of legal prescriptions, which were rigorously laid down, and arranged in a sort of code which did honour to the wisdom of those who had created it. It was towards the end of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth centuries that the Vehmic jurisdiction reached its highest degree of power; its name was only pronounced in a whisper and with trembling; its orders were received with immediate submission, and its chastisements always fell upon the guilty and those who resisted its authority. There cannot be a doubt but that the Westphalian tribunal prevented many great crimes and public misfortunes by putting a wholesome check on the nobles, who were ever ready to place themselves above all human authority; and by punishing, with pitiless severity, the audacity of bandits, who would otherwise have been encouraged to commit the most daring acts with almost the certainty of escaping with impunity. But the Holy Vehme, blinded by the terror it inspired, was not long without displaying the most extravagant assumption of power, and digressing from the strict path to which its action should have been confined. It summoned before its tribunals princes, who openly denied its authority, and cities, which did not condescend to answer to its behests. In the fifteenth century, the free judges were composed of men who could not be called of unimpeachable integrity; many persons of doubtful morals having been raised to the dignity by party influence and by money. The partiality and the spirit of revenge which at times prompted their judgments, were complained of; they were accused of being open to corruption; and this accusation appears to have been but too well founded. It is known that, according to a feudal practice established in the Vehmic system, every new free judge was obliged to make a present to the free count who had admitted him into the order; and the free counts did not hesitate to make this an important source of revenue to themselves by admitting, according to an historian, "many people as _judges_ who, in reality, deserved to be _judged_." [Illustration: Fig. 331.--View of Cologne in the Sixteenth Century.--From a Copper-plate in the "Theatrum Geographicum" of P. Bertius. The three large stars represent, it is supposed, the Three Persons of the Trinity, and the seven small ones the Electors of the Empire.] [Illustration: Fig. 332.--German Knights (Fifteenth Century).--From a Plate in the "Life of the Emperor Maximilian," engraved by Burgmayer, from Drawings by Albert Durer.] Owing to the most flagrant and most insolent abuses of power, the ancient authority of the institution became gradually more and more shaken. On one occasion, for instance, in answer to a summons issued by the Imperial Tribunal against some free judges, the tribunal of the Terre-Rouge had the daring to summon the Emperor Frederick III. before it to answer for this want of respect. On another occasion, a certain free count, jealous of one of his associates, hung him with his own hands while out on a hunting excursion, alleging that his rank of free judge authorised him to execute summary justice. From that time there was a perpetual cry of horror and indignation against a judicial institution which thus interpreted its duties, and before long the State undertook the suppression of these secret tribunals. The first idea of this was formed by the electors of the empire at the diet of Trèves in 1512. The Archbishop of Cologne succeeded, however, in parrying the blow, by convoking the chapter-general of the order, on the plea of the necessity of reform. But, besides being essentially corrupt, the Holy Vehme had really run its course, and it gradually became effete as, by degrees, a better organized and more defined social and political state succeeded to the confused anarchy of the Middle Ages, and as the princes and free towns adopted the custom of dispensing justice either in person or through regular tribunals. Its proceedings, becoming more and more summary and rigorous, daily gave rise to feelings of greater and greater abhorrence. The common saying over all Germany was, "They first hang you, and afterwards inquire into your innocence." On all sides opposition arose against the jurisdiction of the free judges. Princes, bishops, cities, and citizens, agreed instinctively to counteract this worn-out and degenerate institution. The struggle was long and tedious. During the last convulsions of the expiring Holy Vehme, there was more than one sanguinary episode, both on the side of the free judges themselves, as well as on that of their adversaries. Occasionally the secret tribunal broke out into fresh signs of life, and proclaimed its existence by some terrible execution; and at times, also, its members paid dearly for their acts. On one occasion, in 1570, fourteen free judges, whom Kaspar Schwitz, Count of Oettingen, caused to be seized, were already tied up in bags, and about to be drowned, when the mob, pitying their fate, asked for and obtained their reprieve. The death-blow to the Vehmic tribunal was struck by its own hand. It condenmed summarily, and executed without regular procedure, an inhabitant of Munster, who used to scandalize the town by his profligacy. He was arrested at night, led to a small wood, where the free judges awaited him, and condemned to death without being allowed an advocate; and, after being refused a respite even of a few hours, that he might make his peace with heaven, he was confessed by a monk, and his head was severed from his body by the executioner on the spot. [Illustration: Fig. 333.--Interior Court of the Palace of the Doges of Venice: Buildings in which are the Cells and _the Leads_.--From Cesare Vecellio.] Dating from this tragical event, which excited universal indignation, the authority of the free judges gradually declined, and, at last, the institution became almost defunct, and merely confined itself to occasionally adjudicating in simple civil matters. We must not omit to mention the Council of Ten of Venice when speaking on the subject of arbitrary executions and of tyrannical and implacable justice. In some respects it was more notorious than the Vehmic tribunal, exercising as it did a no less mysterious power, and inspiring equal terror, though in other countries. This secret tribunal was created after a revolt which burst on the republic of Venice on the 15th of June, 1310. At first it was only instituted for two months, but, after various successive prorogations, it was confirmed for five years, on the 31st of January, 1311. In 1316 it was again appointed for five years; on the 2nd of May, 1327, for ten years more; and at last was established permanently. In the fifteenth century the authority of the Council of Ten was consolidated and rendered more energetic by the creation of the Inquisitors of State. These were three in number, elected by the Council of Ten; and the citizens on whom the votes fell could not refuse the functions which were thus spontaneously, and often unexpectedly, assigned to them. The authority of Inquisitors of State was declared to be "unlimited." In order to show the power and mode of action of this terrible tribunal, it is perhaps better to make a few extracts from the code of rules which it established for itself in June, 1454. This document--several manuscript copies of which are to be found in the public libraries of Paris--says, "The inquisitors may proceed against any person whomsoever, no rank giving the right of exemption from their jurisdiction. They may pronounce any sentence, even that of death; only their final sentences must be passed unanimously. They shall have complete charge of the prisons and _the leads_ (Fig. 333). They may draw at sight from the treasury of the Council of Ten, without having to give any account of the use made of the funds placed in their hands. "The proceedings of the tribunal shall always be secret; its members shall wear no distinctive badge. No open arrests shall be made. The chief of the bailiffs (_sbirri_) shall avoid making domiciliary arrests, but he shall try to seize the culprit unawares, away from his home, and so securely get him under _the leads_ of the Palace of the Doges. When the tribunal shall deem the death of any person necessary, the execution shall never be public; the condemned shall be drowned at night in the Orfano Canal. "The tribunal shall authorise the generals commanding in Cyprus or in Candia, in the event of its being for the welfare of the Republic, to cause any patrician or other influential person in either of those Venetian provinces to disappear, or to be assassinated secretly, if such a measure should conscientiously appear to them indispensable; but they shall be answerable before God for it. [Illustration: Fig. 334.--Member of the Brotherhood of Death, whose duty it was to accompany those sentenced to death.--From Cesare Vecellio.] "If any workman shall practise in a foreign land any art or craft to the detriment of the Republic, he shall be ordered to return to his country; and should he not obey, all his nearest relatives shall be imprisoned, in order that his affection for them may bring him to obedience. Should he still persist in his disobedience, secret measures shall be taken to put him to death, wherever he may be. "If a Venetian noble reveal to the tribunal propositions which have been made to him by some foreign ambassador, the agent, excepting it should be the ambassador himself, shall be immediately carried off and drowned. "If a patrician having committed any misdeed shall take refuge under the protection of a foreign ambassador, he shall be put to death forthwith. "If any noble in full senate take upon himself to question the authority of the Council of Ten, and persist in attacking it, he shall be allowed to speak without interruption; immediately afterwards he shall be arrested, and instructions as to his trial shall be given, so that he may be judged by the ordinary tribunals; and, if this does not succeed in preventing his proceedings, he shall be put to death secretly. "In case of a complaint against one of the heads of the Council of Ten, the instructions shall be made secretly, and, in case of sentence of death, poison shall be the agent selected. "Should any dissatisfied noble speak ill of the Government, he shall first be forbidden to appear in the councils and public places for two years. Should he not obey, or should he repeat the offence after the two years, he shall be drowned as incorrigible...." &c. One can easily understand that in order to carry out these laws the most careful measures were taken to organize a system of espionage. The nobles were subjected to a rigorous supervision; the privacy of letters was not respected; an ambassador was never lost sight of, and his smallest acts were narrowly watched. Any one who dared to throw obstacles in the way of the spies employed by the Council of Ten, was put on the rack, and "made afterwards to receive the punishment which the State inquisitors might consider befitting." Whole pages of the secret statutes bear witness that lying and fraud formed the basis of all the diplomatic relations of the Venetian Government. Nevertheless the Council of Ten, which was solely instituted with the view of watching over the safety of the Republic, could not inter-meddle in civil cases, and its members were forbidden to hold any sort of communication with foreigners. [Illustration: Figs. 335 and 336.--Chiefs of Sbirri, in the Secret Service of the Council of Ten.--From Cesare Vecellio.] The list of names of Venetian nobles and distinguished persons who became victims to the suspicions tyranny of the Council of Ten, and of the State inquisitors, would be very long and of little interest. We may mention a few, however. We find that in 1385, Peter Justiniani, and, in 1388, Stephen Monalesco, were punished for holding secret transactions with the Lord of Padua; in 1413, John Nogarola, for having tried to set fire to Verona; in 1471, Borromeo Memo, for having uttered defamatory speeches against the Podestat of Padua. Not only was this Borromeo Memo punished, but three witnesses of the crime which was imputed to him were condemned to a year's imprisonment and three years' banishment, for not having denounced the deed "between evening and morning." In 1457 we find the Council of Ten attacking the Doge himself, by requiring the abdication of Francis Foscari. A century earlier it had caused the Doge, Marino Faliero, who was convicted of having taken part in a plot to destroy the influence of the nobility, to be executed on the very staircase of the ducal palace, where allegiance to the Republic was usually sworn. [Illustration: Fig. 337.--Doge of Venice. Costume before the Sixteenth Century. From Cesare Vecellio.] [Illustration: Fig. 338.--Doge of Venice in Ceremonial Costume of the Sixteenth Century. From Cesare Vecellio.] Like the Holy Vehme, the Council of Ten compromised its authority by the abuse of power. In 1540, unknown to the Senate, and in spite of the well-prescribed limit of its authority, it concluded a treaty with the Turkish Sultan, Soliman II. The Senate at first concealed its indignation at this abuse of power, but, in 1582, it took measures so as considerably to restrain the powers of the Council of Ten, which, from that date, only existed in name. [Illustration: Fig. 339.--Seal of the Free Count Heinrich Beckmann, of Medebach. (1520--1533).] Punishments. Refinements of Penal Cruelty.--Tortures for different Purposes.--Water, Screw-boards, and the Rack.--The Executioner.--Female Executioners.--Tortures.--Amende Honorable.--Torture of Fire, Real and Feigned.--Auto-da-fé.--Red-hot Brazier or Basin.--Beheading.--Quartering.--Wheel.--Garotte.--Hanging.--The Whip.--The Pillory.--The Arquebuse.--Tickling.--Flaying.--Drowning.--Imprisonment.--Regulations of Prisons.--The Iron Cage.--The Leads of Venice. "It is very sad," says the learned M. de Villegille, "to observe the infinite variety of tortures which have existed since the beginning of the world. It is, in fact, difficult to realise the amount of ingenuity exercised by men in inventing new tortures, in order to give themselves the satisfaction of seeing their fellow-creatures agonizing in the most awful sufferings." In entering upon the subject of ancient modes of punishment, we must first speak of the torture, which, according to the received phrase, might be either _previous_ or _preparatory: previous_, when it consisted of a torture which the condemned had to endure previous to capital punishment; and _preparatory_, when it was applied in order to elicit from the culprit an avowal of his crime, or of that of his accomplices. It was also called _ordinary_, or _extraordinary_, according to the duration or violence with which it was inflicted. In some cases the torture lasted five or six consecutive hours; in others, it rarely exceeded an hour. Hippolyte de Marsillis, the learned and venerable jurisconsult of Bologna, who lived at the beginning of the fifteenth century, mentions fourteen ways of inflicting torture. The compression of the limbs by special instruments, or by ropes only; injection of water, vinegar, or oil, into the body of the accused; application of hot pitch, and starvation, were the processes most in use. Other means, which were more or less applied according to the fancy of the magistrate and the tormentor or executioner, were remarkable for their singular atrocities. For instance, placing hot eggs under the arm-pits; introducing dice between the skin and flesh; tying lighted candles to the fingers, so that they might be consumed simultaneously with the wax; letting water trickle drop by drop from a great height on the stomach; and also the custom, which was, according to writers on criminal matters, an indescribable torture, of watering the feet with salt water and allowing goats to lick them. However, every country had special customs as to the manner of applying torture. In France, too, the torture varied according to the provinces, or rather according to the parliaments. For instance, in Brittany the culprit, tied in an iron chair, was gradually brought near a blazing furnace. In Normandy, one thumb was squeezed in a screw in the ordinary, and both thumbs in the extraordinary torture. At Autun, after high boots made of spongy leather had been placed on the culprit's feet, he was tied on to a table near a large fire, and a quantity of boiling water was poured on the boots, which penetrated the leather, ate away the flesh, and even dissolved the bones of the victim. At Orleans, for the ordinary torture the accused was stripped half naked, and his hands were tightly tied behind his back, with a ring fixed between them. Then by means of a rope fastened to this ring, they raised the poor man, who had a weight of one hundred and eighty pounds attached to his feet, a certain height from the ground. For the extraordinary torture, which then took the name of _estrapade_, they raised the victim, with two hundred and fifty pounds attached to his feet, to the ceiling by means of a capstan; he was then allowed to fall several times successively by jerks to the level of the ground, by which means his arms and legs were completely dislocated (Fig. 340). At Avignon, the ordinary torture consisted in hanging the accused by the wrists, with a heavy iron ball at each foot; for the extraordinary torture, which was then much in use in Italy under the name of _veglia_, the body was stretched horizontally by means of ropes passing through rings riveted into the wall, and attached to the four limbs, the only support given to the culprit being the point of a stake cut in a diamond shape, which just touched the end of the back-bone. A doctor and a surgeon were always present, feeling the pulse at the temples of the patient, so as to be able to judge of the moment when he could not any longer bear the pain. [Illustration: Fig. 340.--The Estrapade, or Question Extraordinary.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Work of J. Millaeus, "Praxis Criminis Persequendi." folio, Paris, 1541.] [Illustration: Fig. 341.--The Water Torture.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in J. Damhoudère's "Praxis Rerum Criminalium:" in 4to, Antwerp, 1556.] At that moment he was untied, hot fomentations were used to revive him, restoratives were administered, and, as soon as he had recovered a little strength, he was again put to the torture, which went on thus for six consecutive hours. In Paris, for a long time, the _water torture_ was in use; this was the most easily borne, and the least dangerous. A person undergoing it was tied to a board which was supported horizontally on two trestles. By means of a horn, acting as a funnel, and whilst his nose was being pinched, so as to force him to swallow, they slowly poured four _coquemars_ (about nine pints) of water into his mouth; this was for the ordinary torture. For the extraordinary, double that quantity was poured in (Fig. 341). When the torture was ended, the victim was untied, "and taken to be warmed in the kitchen," says the old text. At a later period, the _brodequins_ were preferred. For this torture, the victim was placed in a sitting posture on a massive bench, with strong narrow boards fixed inside and outside of each leg, which were tightly bound together with strong rope; wedges were then driven in between the centre boards with a mallet; four wedges in the ordinary and eight in the extraordinary torture. Not unfrequently during the latter operation the bones of the legs were literally burst. The _brodequins_ which were often used for ordinary torture were stockings of parchment, into which it was easy enough to get the feet when it was wet, but which, on being held near the fire, shrunk so considerably that it caused insufferable agony to the wearer. Whatever manner of torture was applied, the accused, before undergoing it, was forced to remain eight or ten hours without eating. Damhoudère, in his famous technical work, called "Practique et Enchiridion des Causes Criminelles" (1544), also recommends that the hair should be carefully shaved from the bodies of persons about to undergo examination by torture, for fear of their concealing some countercharm which would render them insensible to bodily pain. The same author also recommends, as a rule, when there are several persons "to be placed on the rack" for the same deed, to begin with those from whom it would be most probable that confession would be first extorted. Thus, for instance, when a man and a woman were to suffer one after the other, he recommended that the woman be first tortured, as being the weaker of the two; when a father and son were concerned, the son should be tortured in presence of the father, "who naturally fears more for his son than for himself." We thereby see that the judges were adepts in the art of adding moral to physical tortures. The barbarous custom of punishment by torture was on several occasions condemned by the Church. As early as 866, we find, from Pope Nicholas V.'s letter to the Bulgarians, that their custom of torturing the accused was considered contrary to divine as well as to human law: "For," says he, "a confession should be voluntary, and not forced. By means of the torture, an innocent man may suffer to the utmost without making any avowal; and, in such a case, what a crime for the judge! Or the person may be subdued by pain, and may acknowledge himself guilty, although he be not so, which throws an equally great sin upon the judge." [Illustration: Fig. 342.--Type of Executioner in the Decapitation of John the Baptist (Thirteenth Century).--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Psalm-book of St. Louis. Manuscript preserved in the Musée des Souverains.] After having endured the _previous_ torture, the different phases of which were carried out by special tormentors or executioners, the condemned was at last handed over to the _maistre des haultes oeuvres_--that is to say, the _executioner_--whose special mission was that of sending culprits to another world (Fig. 342). [Illustration: Fig. 343.--Swiss Grand Provost (Fifteenth Century).--From a Painting in the "Danse des Morts" of Basle, engraved by Mérian.] The executioner did not hold the same position in all countries. For whereas in France, Italy, and Spain, a certain amount of odium was attached to this terrible craft, in Germany, on the contrary, successfully carrying out a certain number of capital sentences was rewarded by titles and the privileges of nobility (Fig. 343). At Reutlingen, in Suabia, the last of the councillors admitted into the tribunal had to carry out the sentence with his own hand. In Franconia, this painful duty fell upon the councillor who had last taken a wife. In France, the executioner, otherwise called the _King's Sworn Tormentor,_ was the lowest of the officers of justice. His letters of appointment, which he received from the King, had, nevertheless, to be registered in Parliament; but, after having put the seal on them, it is said that the chancellor threw them under the table, in token of contempt. The executioner was generally forbidden to live within the precincts of the city, unless it was on the grounds where the pillory was situated; and, in some cases, so that he might not be mistaken amongst the people, he was forced to wear a particular coat, either of red or yellow. On the other hand, his duties ensured him certain privileges. In Paris, he possessed the right of _havage_, which consisted in taking all that he could hold in his hand from every load of grain which was brought into market; however, in order that the grain might be preserved from ignominious contact, he levied his tax with a wooden spoon. He enjoyed many similar rights over most articles of consumption, independently of benefiting by several taxes or fines, such as the toll on the Petit-Pont, the tax on foreign traders, on boats arriving with fish, on dealers in herrings, watercress, &c.; and the fine of five sous which was levied on stray pigs (see previous chapter), &c. And, lastly, besides the personal property of the condemned, he received the rents from the shops and stalls surrounding the pillory, in which the retail fish trade was carried on. It appears that, in consequence of the receipts from these various duties forming a considerable source of revenue, the prestige of wealth by degrees dissipated the unfavourable impressions traditionally attached to the duties of executioner. At least, we have authority for supposing this, when, for instance, in 1418, we see the Paris executioner, who was then captain of the bourgeois militia, coming in that capacity to touch the hand of the Duke of Burgundy, on the occasion of his solemn entry into Paris with Queen Isabel of Bavaria. We may add that popular belief generally ascribed to the executioner a certain practical knowledge of medicine, which was supposed inherent in the profession itself; and the acquaintance with certain methods of cure unknown to doctors, was attributed to him; people went to buy from him the fat of culprits who had been hung, which was supposed to be a marvellous panacea. We may also remark that, in our day, the proficiency of the executioner in setting dislocated limbs is still proverbial in many countries. [Illustration: Fig. 344.--Amende Honorable before the Tribunal.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in J. Damhoudère's "Praxis Rerum Criminalium:" in 4to, Antwerp, 1556.] More than once during the thirteenth century the duties of the executioner were performed by women, but only in those cases in which their own sex was concerned; for it is expressly stated in an order of St. Louis, that persons convicted of blasphemy shall be beaten with birch rods, "the men by men, and the women by women only, without the presence of men." This, however, was not long tolerated, for we know that a period soon arrived when women were exempted from a duty so little adapted to their physical weakness and moral sensitiveness. The learned writer on criminal cases, Josse Damhoudère, whom we have already mentioned, and whom we shall take as our special guide in the enumeration of the various tortures, specifies thirteen ways in which the executioner "carries out his executions," and places them in the following order:--"Fire"--"the sword"--"mechanical force"--"quartering"--"the wheel"--"the fork"--"the gibbet"--"drawing"--"spiking"--"cutting off the ears"--"dismembering"--"flogging or beating"--and the "pillory." [Illustration: Fig. 345.--The Punishment by Fire.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut of the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] But before entering upon the details of this revolting subject, we must state that, whatever punishment was inflicted upon a culprit, it was very rare that its execution had not been preceded by the _amende honorable_, which, in certain cases, constituted a distinct punishment, but which generally was but the prelude to the torture itself. The _amende honorable_ which was called _simple_ or _short_, took place without the assistance of the executioner in the council chamber, where the condemned, bareheaded and kneeling, had to state that "he had falsely said or done something against the authority of the King or the honour of some person" (Fig. 344). For the _amende honorable in figuris_--that is to say, in public--the condemned, in his shirt, barefooted, the rope round his neck, followed by the executioner, and holding in his hand a wax taper, with a weight, which was definitely specified in the sentence which had been passed upon him, but which was generally of two or four pounds, prostrated himself at the door of a church, where in a loud voice he had to confess his sin, and to beg the pardon of God and man. When a criminal had been condemned to be burnt, a stake was erected on the spot specially designed for the execution, and round it a pile was prepared, composed of alternate layers of straw and wood, and rising to about the height of a man. Care was taken to leave a free space round the stake for the victim, and also a passage by which to lead him to it. Having been stripped of his clothes, and dressed in a shirt smeared with sulphur, he had to walk to the centre of the pile through a narrow opening, and was then tightly bound to the stake with ropes and chains. After this, faggots and straw were thrown into the empty space through which he had passed to the stake, until he was entirely covered by them; the pile was then fired on all sides at once (Fig. 345). Sometimes, the sentence was that the culprit should only be delivered to the flames after having been previously strangled. In this case, the dead corpse was then immediately placed where the victim would otherwise have been placed alive, and the punishment lost much of its horror. It often happened that the executioner, in order to shorten the sufferings of the condemned, whilst he prepared the pile, placed a large and pointed iron bar amongst the faggots and opposite the stake breast high, so that, directly the fire was lighted, the bar was quickly pushed against the victim, giving a mortal blow to the unfortunate wretch, who would otherwise have been slowly devoured by the flames. If, according to the wording of the sentence, the ashes of the criminal were to be scattered to the winds, as soon as it was possible to approach the centre of the burning pile, a few ashes were taken in a shovel and sprinkled in the air. They were not satisfied with burning the living, they also delivered to the flames the bodies of those who had died a natural death before their execution could be carried out, as if an anticipated death should not be allowed to save them from the punishment which they had deserved. It also happened in certain cases, where a person's guilt was only proved after his decease, that his body was disinterred, and carried to the stake to be burnt. The punishment by fire was always inflicted in cases of heresy, or blasphemy. The Spanish Inquisition made such a constant and cruel use of it, that the expression _auto-da-fé_ (act of faith), strangely perverted from its original meaning, was the only one employed to denote the punishment itself. In France, in the beginning of the fourteenth century, fifty-nine Templars were burned at the same time for the crimes of heresy and witchcraft. And three years later, on the 18th March, 1314, Jacques Molay, and a few other dignitaries of the Order of the Templars, also perished in the flames at the extremity of the island of Notre Dame, on the very spot where the equestrian statue of Henry IV. now stands. Every one is acquainted with the fact that judges were found iniquitous enough to condemn Joan of Arc to death by fire as a witch and a heretic. Her execution, which took place in the market-place of Rouen, is remarkable from a circumstance which is little known, and which had never taken place on any other occasion. When it was supposed that the fire which surrounded the young heroine on all sides had reached her and no doubt suffocated her, although sufficient time had not elapsed for it to consume her body, a part of the blazing wood was withdrawn, "in order to remove any doubts from the people," and when the crowd had satisfied themselves by seeing her in the middle of the pile, "chained to the post and quite dead, the executioner replaced the fire...." It should be stated in reference to this point, that Joan having been accused of witchcraft, there was a general belief among the people that the flames would be harmless to her, and that she would be seen emerging from her pile unscathed. The sentence of punishment by fire did not absolutely imply death at the stake, for there was a punishment of this description which was specially reserved for base coiners, and which consisted in hurling the criminals into a cauldron of scalding water or oil. We must include in the category of punishment by fire certain penalties, which were, so to speak, but the preliminaries of a more severe punishment, such as the sulphur-fire, in which the hands of parricides, or of criminals accused of high treason, were burned. We must also add various punishments which, if they did not involve death, were none the less cruel, such as the red-hot brazier, _bassin ardent_, which was passed backwards and forwards before the eyes of the culprit, until they were destroyed by the scorching heat; and the process of branding various marks on the flesh, as an ineffaceable stigma, the use of which has been continued to the present day. In certain countries decapitation was performed with an axe; but in France, it was carried out usually by means of a two-handed sword or glave of justice, which was furnished to the executioner for that purpose (Fig. 346). We find it recorded that in 1476, sixty sous parisis were paid to the executioner of Paris "for having bought a large _espée à feuille_," used for beheading the condemned, and "for having the old sword done up, which was damaged, and had become notched whilst carrying out the sentence of justice upon Messire Louis de Luxembourg." [Illustration: Fig. 346.--Beheading.--Fac-simile of a Miniature on Wood in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] Originally, decapitation was indiscriminately inflicted on all criminals condemned to death; at a later period, however, it became the particular privilege of the nobility, who submitted to it without any feeling of degradation. The victim--unless the sentence prescribed that he should be blindfolded as an ignominious aggravation of the penalty--was allowed to choose whether he would have his eyes covered or not. He knelt down on the scaffold, placed his head on the block, and gave himself up to the executioner (Fig. 347). The skill of the executioner was generally such that the head was almost invariably severed from the body at the first blow. Nevertheless, skill and practice at times failed, for cases are on record where as many as eleven blows were dealt, and at times it happened that the sword broke. It was no doubt the desire to avoid this mischance that led to the invention of the mechanical instrument, now known under the name of the _guillotine_, which is merely an improvement on a complicated machine which was much more ancient than is generally supposed. As early as the sixteenth century the modern guillotine already existed in Scotland under the name of the _Maiden_, and English historians relate that Lord Morton, regent of Scotland during the minority of James VI., had it constructed after a model of a similar machine, which had long been in use at Halifax, in Yorkshire. They add, and popular tradition also has invented an analogous tale in France, that this Lord Morton, who was the inventor or the first to introduce this kind of punishment, was himself the first to experience it. The guillotine is, besides, very accurately described in the "Chronicles of Jean d'Auton," in an account of an execution which took place at Genoa at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Two German engravings, executed about 1550 by Pencz and Aldegrever, also represent an instrument of death almost identical with the guillotine; and the same instrument is to be found on a bas-relief of that period, which is still existing in one of the halls of the Tribunal of Luneburg, in Hanover. [Illustration: Decapitation of Guillaume de Pommiers. [Illustration: Fig. 347.--Public Executions.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the Latin Work of J. Millaeus, "Praxis Criminis Persequendi:" small folio, Parisis, Simon de Colines, 1541.] And his Confessor, at Bordeaux in 1377, by order of the King of England's Lieutenant. _Froissart's Chronicles._ No. 2644, Bibl. nat'le de Paris.] Possibly the invention of such a machine was prompted by the desire to curtail the physical sufferings of the victim, instead of prolonging them, as under the ancient system. It is, however, difficult to believe that the mediæval judges were actuated by any humane feelings, when we find that, in order to reconcile a respect for _propriety_ with a due compliance with the ends of justice, the punishment of burying alive was resorted to for women, who could not with decency be hung up to the gibbets. In 1460, a woman named Perette, accused of theft and of receiving stolen goods, was condemned by the Provost of Paris to be "buried alive before the gallows," and the sentence was literally carried out. _Quartering_ may in truth be considered the most horrible penalty invented by judicial cruelty. This punishment really dates from the remotest ages, but it was scarcely ever inflicted in more modern times, except on regicides, who were looked upon as having committed the worst of crimes. In almost all cases, the victim had previously to undergo various accessory tortures: sometimes his right hand was cut off, and the mutilated stump was burnt in a cauldron of sulphur; sometimes his arms, thighs, or breasts were lacerated with red-hot pincers, and hot oil, pitch, or molten lead was poured into the wounds. [Illustration: Fig. 348.--Demons applying the Torture of the Wheel.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Grand Kalendrier ou Compost des Bergers:" small folio, Troyes, Nicholas le Rouge, 1529.] After these horrible preliminaries, a rope was attached to each of the limbs of the criminal, one being bound round each leg from the foot to the knee, and round each arm from the wrist to the elbow. These ropes were then fastened to four bars, to each of which a strong horse was harnessed, as if for towing a barge. These horses were first made to give short jerks; and when the agony had elicited heart-rending cries from the unfortunate man, who felt his limbs being dislocated without being broken, the four horses were all suddenly urged on with the whip in different directions, and thus all the limbs were strained at one moment. If the tendons and ligaments still resisted the combined efforts of the four horses, the executioner assisted, and made several cuts with a hatchet on each joint. When at last--for this horrible torture often lasted several hours--each horse had drawn out a limb, they were collected and placed near the hideous trunk, which often still showed signs of life, and the whole were burned together. Sometimes the sentence was, that the body should be hung to the gibbet, and that the limbs should be displayed on the gates of the town, or sent to four principal towns in the extremities of the kingdom. When this was done, "an inscription was placed on each of the limbs, which stated the reason of its being thus exposed." The _wheel_ is the name applied to a torture of very ancient origin, but which was applied during the Middle Ages to quite a different torture from that used in olden times. The modern instrument might indeed have been called the cross, for it only served for the public exhibition of the body of the criminal whose limbs had been previously broken alive. This torture, which does not date earlier than the days of Francis I., is thus described:--The victim was first tied on his back to two joists forming a St. Andrew's cross, each of his limbs being stretched out on its arms. Two places were hollowed out under each limb, about a foot apart, in order that the joints alone might touch the wood. The executioner then dealt a heavy blow over each hollow with a square iron bar, about two inches broad and rounded at the handle, thus breaking each limb in two places. To the eight blows required for this, the executioner generally added two or three on the chest, which were called _coups de grâce_, and which ended this horrible execution. It was only after death that the broken body was placed on a wheel, which was turned round on a pivot. Sometimes, however, the sentence ordered that the condemned should be strangled before being broken, which was done in such cases by the instantaneous twist of a rope round the neck. Strangling, thus carried out, was called _garotting_. This method is still in use in Spain, and is specially reserved for the nobility. The victim is seated on a scaffold, his head leaning against a beam and his neck grasped by an iron collar, which the executioner suddenly tightens from behind by means of a screw. For several centuries, and down to the Revolution, hanging was the most common mode of execution in France; consequently, in every town, and almost in every village, there was a permanent gibbet, which, owing to the custom of leaving the bodies to hang till they crumbled into dust, was very rarely without having some corpses or skeletons attached to it. These gibbets, which were called _fourches patibulaires_ or _justices_, because they represented the authority of the law, were generally composed of pillars of stone, joined at their summit by wooden traverses, to which the bodies of criminals were tied by ropes or chains. The gallows, the pillars of which varied in number according to the will of the authorities, were always placed by the side of frequented roads, and on an eminence. [Illustration: Fig. 349.--The Gibbet of Montfaucon.--From an Engraving of the Topography of Paris, in the Collection of Engravings of the National Library.] According to prescribed rule, the gallows of Paris, which played such an important part in the political as well as the criminal history of that city, were erected on a height north of the town, near the high road leading into Germany. Montfaucon, originally the name of the hill, soon became that of the gallows itself. This celebrated place of execution consisted of a heavy mass of masonry, composed of ten or twelve layers of rough stones, and formed an enclosure of forty feet by twenty-five or thirty. At the upper part there was a platform, which was reached by a stone staircase, the entrance to which was closed by a massive door (Fig. 349). On three sides of this platform rested sixteen square pillars, about thirty feet high, made of blocks of stone a foot thick. These pillars were joined to one another by double bars of wood, which were fastened into them, and bore iron chains three feet and a half long, to which the criminals were suspended. Underneath, half-way between these and the platform, other bars were placed for the same purpose. Long and solid ladders riveted to the pillars enabled the executioner and his assistants to lead up criminals, or to carry up corpses destined to be hung there. Lastly, the centre of the structure was occupied by a deep pit, the hideous receptacle of the decaying remains of the criminals. One can easily imagine the strange and melancholy aspect of this monumental gibbet if one thinks of the number of corpses continually attached to it, and which were feasted upon by thousands of crows. On one occasion only it was necessary to replace _fifty-two_ chains, which were useless; and the accounts of the city of Paris prove that the expense of executions was more heavy than that of the maintenance of the gibbet, a fact easy to be understood if one recalls to mind the frequency of capital sentences during the Middle Ages. Montfaucon was used not only for executions, but also for exposing corpses which were brought there from various places of execution in every part of the country. The mutilated remains of criminals who had been boiled, quartered, or beheaded, were also hung there, enclosed in sacks of leather or wickerwork. They often remained hanging for a considerable time, as in the case of Pierre des Essarts, who had been beheaded in 1413, and whose remains were handed over to his family for Christian burial after having hung on Montfaucon for three years. The criminal condemned to be hanged was generally taken to the place of execution sitting or standing in a waggon, with his back to the horses, his confessor by his side, and the executioner behind him. He bore three ropes round his neck; two the size of the little finger, and called _tortouses_, each of which had a slip-knot; the third, called the _jet_, was only used to pull the victim off the ladder, and so to launch him into eternity (Fig. 350). When the cart arrived at the foot of the gallows, the executioner first ascended the ladder backwards, drawing the culprit after him by means of the ropes, and forcing him to keep pace with him; on arriving at the top, he quickly fastened the two _tortouses_ to the arm of the gibbet, and by a jerk of his knee he turned the culprit off the ladder, still holding the _jet_ in his own hand. He then placed his feet on the tied hands of the condemned, and suspending himself by his hands to the gibbet, he finished off his victim by repeated jerks, thus ensuring complete strangulation. When the words "shall be hung until death doth ensue" are to be found in a sentence, it must not be supposed that they were used merely as a form, for in certain cases the judge ordered that the sentence should be only carried out as far as would prove to the culprit the awful sensation of hanging. In such cases, the victim was simply suspended by ropes passing under the arm-pits, a kind of exhibition which was not free from danger when it was too prolonged, for the weight of the body so tightened the rope round the chest that the circulation might be stopped. Many culprits, after hanging thus an hour, when brought down, were dead, or only survived this painful process a short time. [Illustration: Fig. 350.--Hanging to Music. (A Minstrel condemned to the Gallows obtained permission that one of his companions should accompany him to his execution, and play his favourite instrument on the ladder of the Gallows.)--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in Michault's "Doctrinal du Temps Présent:" small folio, goth., Bruges, about 1490.] We have seen elsewhere (chapter on _Privileges and Rights, Feudal and Municipal_) that, when the criminal passed before the convent of the _Filles-Dieu_, the nuns of that establishment were bound to bring him out a glass of wine and three pieces of bread, and this was called _le dernier morceau des patients._ It was hardly ever refused, and an immense crowd assisted at this sad meal. After this the procession went forward, and on arriving near the gallows, another halt was made at the foot of a stone cross, in order that the culprit might receive the religions exhortations of his confessor. The moment the execution was over, the confessor and the officers of justice returned to the Châtelet, where a repast provided by the town awaited them. [Illustration: Fig. 351.--View of the Pillory in the Market-place of Paris in the Sixteenth Century, after a Drawing by an unknown Artist of 1670.] Sometimes the criminals, in consequence of a peculiar wording of the sentence, were taken to Montfaucon, whether dead or alive, on a ladder fastened behind a cart. This was an aggravation of the penalty, which was called _traîner sur la claie_. The penalty of the lash was inflicted in two ways: first, under the _custode_, that is to say within the prison, and by the hand of the gaoler himself, in which case it was simply a correction; and secondly, in public, when its administration became ignominious as well as painful. In the latter case the criminal was paraded about the town, stripped to the waist, and at each crossway he received a certain number of blows on the shoulders, given by the public executioner with a cane or a knotted rope. When it was only required to stamp a culprit with infamy he was put into the _pillory_, which was generally a kind of scaffold furnished with chains and iron collars, and bearing on its front the arms of the feudal lord. In Paris, this name was given to a round isolated tower built in the centre of the market. The tower was sixty feet high, and had large openings in its thick walls, and a horizontal wheel was provided, which was capable of turning on a pivot. This wheel was pierced with several holes, made so as to hold the hands and head of the culprit, who, on passing and repassing before the eyes of the crowd, came in full view, and was subjected to their hootings (Fig. 351). The pillories were always situated in the most frequented places, such as markets, crossways, &c. Notwithstanding the long and dreadful enumeration we have just made of mediæval punishments, we are far from having exhausted the subject; for we have not spoken of several more or less atrocious punishments, which were in use at various times and in various countries; such as the _Pain of the Cross_, specially employed against the Jews; the _Arquebusade_, which was well adapted for carrying out prompt justice on soldiers; the _Chatouillement_, which resulted in death after the most intense tortures; the _Pal_ (Fig. 352), _flaying alive_, and, lastly, _drowning_, a kind of death frequently employed in France. Hence the common expression, _gens de sac et de corde_, which was derived from the sack into which persons were tied who were condemned to die by immersion.... But we will now turn away from these horrible scenes, and consider the several methods of penal sequestration and prison arrangements. It is unnecessary to state that in barbarous times the cruel and pitiless feeling which induced legislators to increase the horrors of tortures, also contributed to the aggravation of the fate of prisoners. Each administrator of the law had his private gaol, which was entirely under his will and control (Fig. 353). Law or custom did not prescribe any fixed rules for the internal government of prisons. There can be little doubt, however, that these prisons were as small as they were unhealthy, if we may judge from that in the Rue de la Tannerie, which was the property of the provost, the merchants, and the aldermen of Paris in 1383. Although this dungeon was only eleven feet long by seven feet wide, from ten to twenty prisoners were often immured in it at the same time. [Illustration: Fig. 352.--Empalement.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] Paris alone contained twenty-five or thirty special prisons, without counting the _vade in pace_ of the various religious communities. The most important were the Grand Châtelet, the Petit Châtelet, the Bastille, the Conciergerie, and the For-l'Evêque, the ancient seat of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Bishop of Paris. Nearly all these places of confinement contained subterranean cells, which were almost entirely deprived of air and light. As examples of these may be mentioned the _Chartres basses_ of the Petit Châtelet, where, under the reign of Charles VI., it was proved that no man could pass an entire day without being suffocated; and the fearful cells excavated thirty feet below the surface of the earth, in the gaol of the Abbey of Saint Germain des Prés, the roof of which was so low that a man of middle height could not stand up in them, and where the straw of the prisoners' beds floated upon the stagnant water which had oozed through the walls. [Illustration: Fig. 353.--The Provost's Prison.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in J. Damhoudère's "Praxis Rerum Civilium."] The Grand Châtelet was one of the most ancient prisons of Paris, and probably the one which held the greatest number of prisoners. By a curious and arbitrary custom, prisoners were compelled to pay a gaol fee on entering and going out of this prison, which varied according to their rank, and which was established by a law of the year 1425. We learn from this enactment the names by which the various places of confinement composing this spacious municipal prison were known. A prisoner who was confined in the _Beauvoir, La Mate_ or _La Salle_, had the right of "having a bed brought from his own house," and only had to pay the _droit de place_ to the gaoler; any one who was placed in the _Boucherie_, in the _Beaumont_, or in the _Griseche_, "which are closed prisons," had to pay four deniers "_pour place_;" any one who was confined in the _Beauvais_, "lies on mats or on layers of rushes or straw" (_gist sur nates ou sur couche de feurre ou de paille_); if he preferred, he might be placed _au Puis_, in the _Gourdaine_, in the _Bercueil_, or in the _Oubliette_, where he did not pay more than in the _Fosse_. For this, no doubt, the smallest charge was made. Sometimes, however, the prisoner was left between two doors ("_entre deux huis_"), and he then paid much less than he would in the _Barbarie_ or in the _Gloriette_. The exact meaning of these curious names is no longer intelligible to us, notwithstanding the terror which they formerly created, but their very strangeness gives us reason to suppose that the prison system was at that time subjected to the most odious refinement of the basest cruelty. From various reliable sources we learn that there was a place in the Grand Châtelet, called the _Chausse d'Hypocras_, in which the prisoners had their feet continually in water, and where they could neither stand up nor lie down; and a cell, called _Fin d'aise_, which was a horrible receptacle of filth, vermin, and reptiles; as to the _Fosse_, no staircase being attached to it, the prisoners were lowered down into it by means of a rope and pulley. By the law of 1425, the gaoler was not permitted to put more than _two or three_ persons in the same bed. He was bound to give "bread and water" to the poor prisoners who had no means of subsistence; and, lastly, he was enjoined "to keep the large stone basin, which was on the pavement, full of water, so that prisoners might get it whenever they wished." In order to defray his expenses, he levied on the prisoners various charges for attendance and for bedding, and he was authorised to detain in prison any person who failed to pay him. The power of compelling payment of these charges continued even after a judge's order for the release of a prisoner had been issued. [Illustration: Fig. 354.--The Bastille.--From an ancient Engraving of the Topography of Paris, in the Collection of Engravings of the National Library.] The subterranean cells of the Bastille (Fig. 354) did not differ much from those of the Châtelet. There were several, the bottoms of which were formed like a sugar-loaf upside down, thus neither allowing the prisoner to stand up, nor even to adopt a tolerable position sitting or lying down. It was in these that King Louis XI., who seemed to have a partiality for filthy dungeons, placed the two young sons of the Duke de Nemours (beheaded in 1477), ordering, besides, that they should be taken out twice a week and beaten with birch rods, and, as a supreme measure of atrocity, he had one of their teeth extracted every three months. It was Louis XI., too, who, in 1476, ordered the famous _iron cage_, to be erected in one of the towers of the Bastille, in which Guillaume, Bishop of Verdun, was incarcerated for fourteen years. The Château de Loches also possessed one of these cages, which received the name of _Cage de Balue_, because the Cardinal Jean de la Balue was imprisoned in it. Philippe de Commines, in his "Mémoires," declares that he himself had a taste of it for eight months. Before the invention of cages, Louis XI. ordered very heavy chains to be made, which were fastened to the feet of the prisoners, and attached to large iron balls, called, according to Commines, the King's little daughters (_les fillettes du roy_). [Illustration: Fig. 355.--Movable Iron Cage.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster, in folio, Basle, 1552.] The prison known by the name of The Leads of Venice is of so notorious a character that its mere mention is sufficient, without its being necessary for us to describe it. To the subject of voluntary seclusions, to which certain pious persons submitted themselves as acts of extreme religious devotion, it will only be necessary to allude here, and to remark that there are examples of this confinement having been ordered by legal authority. In 1485, Renée de Vermandois, the widow of a squire, had been condemned to be burnt for adultery and for murdering her husband; but, on letters of remission from the King, Parliament commuted the sentence pronounced by the Provost of Paris, and ordered that Renée de Vermandois should be "shut up within the walls of the cemetery of the Saints-Innocents, in a small house, built at her expense, that she might therein do penance and end her days." In conformity with this sentence, the culprit having been conducted with much pomp to the cell which had been prepared for her, the door was locked by means of two keys, one of which remained in the hands of the churchwarden (_marguillier_) of the Church of the Innocents, and the other was deposited at the office of the Parliament. The prisoner received her food from public charity, and it is said that she became an object of veneration and respect by the whole town. [Illustration: Fig. 356.--Cat-o'-nine-tails.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster.] Jews. Dispersion of the Jews.--Jewish Quarters in the Mediæval Towns.--The _Ghetto_ of Rome.--Ancient Prague.--The _Giudecca_ of Venice.--Condition of the Jews.--Animosity of the People against them--Severity and vexatious Treatment of the Sovereigns.--The Jews of Lincoln.--The Jews of Blois.--Mission of the _Pastoureaux_.--Extermination of the Jews.--The Price at which the Jews purchased Indulgences.--Marks set upon them.--Wealth, Knowledge, Industry, and Financial Aptitude of the Jews.--Regulations respecting Usury as practised by the Jews.--Attachment of the Jews to their Religion. A painful and gloomy history commences for the Jewish race from the day when the Romans seized upon Jerusalem and expelled its unfortunate inhabitants, a race so essentially homogeneous, strong, patient, and religious, and dating its origin from the remotest period of the patriarchal ages. The Jews, proud of the title of "the People of God," were scattered, proscribed, and received universal reprobation (Fig. 357), notwithstanding that their annals, collected under divine inspiration by Moses and the sacred writers, had furnished a glorious prologue to the annals of all modern nations, and had given to the world the holy and divine history of Christ, who, by establishing the Gospel, was to become the regenerator of the whole human family. Their Temple is destroyed, and the crowd which had once pressed beneath its portico as the flock of the living God has become a miserable tribe, restless and unquiet in the present, but full of hope as regards the future. The Jewish _nation_ exists nowhere, nevertheless, the Jewish _people_ are to be found everywhere. They are wanderers upon the face of the earth, continually pursued, threatened, and persecuted. It would seem as if the existence of the offspring of Israel is perpetuated simply to present to Christian eyes a clear and awful warning of the Divine vengeance, a special, and at the same time an overwhelming example of the vicissitudes which God alone can determine in the life of a people. [Illustration: Fig. 357.--Expulsion of the Jews in the Reign of the Emperor Hadrian (A.D. 135): "How Heraclius turned the Jews out of Jerusalem."--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Histoire des Empereurs," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal, Paris.] M. Depping, an historian of this race so long accursed, after having been for centuries blessed and favoured by God, says, "A Jewish community in an European town during the Middle Ages resembled a colony on an island or on a distant coast. Isolated from the rest of the population, it generally occupied a district or street which was separated from the town or borough. The Jews, like a troop of lepers, were thrust away and huddled together into the most uncomfortable and most unhealthy quarter of the city, as miserable as it vas disgusting. There, in ill-constructed houses, this poor and numerous population was amassed; in some cases high walls enclosed the small and dark narrow streets of the quarter occupied by this branded race, which prevented its extension, though, at the same time, it often protected the inhabitants from the fury of the populace." In order to form a just appreciation of what the Jewish quarters were like in the mediæval towns, one must visit the _Ghetto_ of Rome or ancient Prague. The latter place especially has, in all respects, preserved its antique appearance. We must picture to ourselves a large enclosure of wretched houses, irregularly built, divided by small streets with no attempt at uniformity. The principal thoroughfare is lined with stalls, in which are sold not only old clothes, furniture, and utensils, but also new and glittering articles. The inhabitants of this enclosure can, without crossing its limits, procure everything necessary to material life. This quarter contains the old synagogue, a square building begrimed with the dirt of ages, and so covered with dirt and moss that the stone of which it is built is scarcely visible. The building, which is as mournful as a prison, has only narrow loopholes by way of windows, and a door so low that one must stoop to enter it. A dark passage leads to the interior, into which air and light can scarcely penetrate. A few lamps contend with the darkness, and lighted fires serve to modify a little the icy temperature of this cellar. Here and there pillars seem to support a roof which is too high and too darkened for the eye of the visitor to distinguish. On the sides are dark and damp recesses, where women assist at the celebration of worship, which is always carried on, according to ancient custom, with much wailing and strange gestures of the body. The book of the law which is in use is no less venerable than the edifice in which it is contained. It appears that this synagogue has never undergone the slightest repairs or changes for many centuries. The successive generations who have prayed in this ancient temple rest under thousands of sepulchral stones, in a cemetery which is of the same date as the synagogue, and is about a league in circumference. Paris has never possessed, properly speaking, a regular _Jewish quarter_; it is true that the Israelites settled down in the neighbourhood of the markets, and in certain narrow streets, which at some period or other took the name of _Juiverie_ or _Vieille Juiverie (Old Jewry_); but they were never distinct from the rest of the population; they only had a separate cemetery, at the bottom or rather on the slope of the hill of Sainte-Geneviève. On the other hand, most of the towns of France and of Europe had their _Jewry_. In certain countries, the colonies of Jews enjoyed a share of immunities and protections, thus rendering their life a little less precarious, and their occupations of a rather more settled character. In Spain and in Portugal, the Jews, in consequence of their having been on several occasions useful to the kings of those two countries, were allowed to carry on their trade, and to engage in money speculations, outside their own quarters; a few were elevated to positions of responsibility, and some were even tolerated at court. In the southern towns of France, which they enriched by commerce and taxes, and where they formed considerable communities, the Jews enjoyed the protection of the nobles. We find them in Languedoc and Provence buying and selling property like Christians, a privilege which was not permitted to them elsewhere: this is proved by charters of contracts made during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which bear the signature of certain Jews in Hebrew characters. On Papal lands, at Avignon, at Carpentras, and at Cavaillon, they had _bailes_, or consuls of their nation. The Jews of Rousillon during the Spanish rule (fifteenth century) were governed by two syndics and a scribe, elected by the community. The latter levied the taxes due to the King of Aragon. In Burgundy they cultivated the vines, which was rather singular, for the Jews generally preferred towns where they could form groups more compact, and more capable of mutual assistance. The name of _Sabath_, given to a vineyard in the neighbourhood of Mâcon, still points out the position of their synagogue. The hamlet of _Mouys_, a dependency of the communes of Prissey, owes its name to a rich Israelite, Moses, who had received that land as an indemnity for money lent to the Count Gerfroy de Mâcon, which the latter had been unable to repay. In Vienna, where the Israelites had a special quarter, still called _the Jews'_ [Illustration: Fig. 358.--Jews taking the Blood from Christian Children, for their Mystic Rites.--From a Pen-and-ink Drawing, illuminated, in the Book of the Cabala of Abraham the Jew (Library of the Arsenal, Paris).] _Square_, a special judge named by the duke was set over them. Exempted from the city rates, they paid a special poil tax, and they contributed, but on the same footing as Christian vassals, to extraordinary rates, war taxes, and travelling expenses of the nobles, &c. This community even became so rich that it eventually held mortgages on the greater part of the houses of the town. In Venice also, the Jews had their quarter--the _Giudecca_--which is still one of the darkest in the town; but they did not much care about such trifling inconveniences, as the republic allowed them to bank, that is, to lend money at interest; and although they were driven out on several occasions, they always found means to return and recommence their operations. When they were authorised to establish themselves in the towns of the Adriatic, their presence did not fail to annoy the Christian merchants, whose rivals they were; but neither in Venice nor in the Italian republics had they to fear court intrigues, nor the hatred of corporations of trades, which were so powerful in France and in Germany. It was in the north of Europe that the animosity against the Jews was greatest. The Christian population continually threatened the Jewish quarters, which public opinion pointed to as haunts and sinks of iniquity. The Jews were believed to be much more amenable to the doctrines of the Talmud than to the laws of Moses. However secret they may have kept their learning, a portion of its tenets transpired, which was supposed to inculcate the right to pillage and murder Christians; and it is to the vague knowledge of these odious prescriptions of the Talmud that we must attribute the readiness with which the most atrocious accusations against the Jews were always welcomed. Besides this, the public mind in those days of bigotry was naturally filled with a deep antipathy against the Jewish deicides. When monks and priests came annually in Holy week to relate from the pulpit to their hearers the revolting details of the Passion, resentment was kindled in the hearts of the Christians against the descendants of the judges and executioners of the Saviour. And when, on going out of the churches, excited by the sermons they had just heard, the faithful saw in pictures, in the cemeteries, and elsewhere, representations of the mystery of the death of our Saviour, in which the Jews played so odious a part, there was scarcely a spectator who did not feel an increased hatred against the condemned race. Hence it was that in many towns, even when the authorities did not compel them to do so, the Israelites found it prudent to shut themselves up in their own quarter, and even in their own houses, during the whole of Passion week; for, in consequence of the public feeling roused during those days of mourning and penance, a false rumour was quite sufficient to give the people a pretext for offering violence to the Jews. In fact, from the earliest days of Christianity, a certain number of accusations were always being made, sometimes in one country, sometimes in another, against the Israelites, which always ended in bringing down the same misfortunes on their heads. The most common, and most easily credited report, was that which attributed to them the murder of some Christian child, said to be sacrificed in Passion week in token of their hatred of Christ; and in the event of this terrible accusation being once uttered, and maintained by popular opinion, it never failed to spread with remarkable swiftness. In such cases, popular fury, not being on all occasions satisfied with the tardiness of judicial forms, vented itself upon the first Jews who had the misfortune to fall into the hands of their enemies. As soon as the disturbance was heard the Jewish quarter was closed; fathers and mothers barricaded themselves in with their children, concealed whatever riches they possessed, and listened tremblingly to the clamour of the multitude which was about to besiege them. [Illustration: Fig. 359.--Secret Meeting of the Jews at the Rabbi's House.--Fac-simile of a Miniature of the "Pèlerinage de la Vie Humaine," Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century, in the National Library of Paris.] In 1255, in Lincoln, the report was suddenly spread that a child of the name of Hughes had been enticed into the Jewish quarter, and there scourged, crucified, and pierced with lances, in the presence of all the Israelites of the district, who were convoked and assembled to take part in this horrible barbarity. The King and Queen of England, on their return from a journey to Scotland, arrived in Lincoln at the very time when the inhabitants were so much agitated by this mysterious announcement. The people called for vengeance. An order was issued to the bailiffs and officers of the King to deliver the murderer into the hands of justice, and the quarter in which the Jews had shut themselves up, so as to avoid the public animosity, was immediately invaded by armed men. The rabbi, in whose house the child was supposed to have been tortured, was seized, and at once condemned to be tied to the tail of a horse, and dragged through the streets of the town. After this, his mangled body, which was only half dead, was hung (Fig. 359). Many of the Jews ran away and hid themselves in all parts of the kingdom, and those who had the misfortune to be caught were thrown into chains and led to London. Orders were given in the provinces to imprison all the Israelites who were accused or even suspected of having taken any part, whether actively or indirectly, in the murder of the Lincoln child; and suspicion made rapid strides in those days. In a short space of time, eighteen Israelites in London shared the fate of the rabbi of their community in Lincoln. Some Dominican monks, who were charitable and courageous enough to interfere in favour of the wretched prisoners, brought down odium on their own heads, and were accused of having allowed themselves to be corrupted by the money of the Jews. Seventy-one prisoners were retained in the dungeons of London, and seemed inevitably fated to die, when the king's brother, Richard, came to their aid, by asserting his right over all the Jews of the kingdom--a right which the King had pledged to him for a loan of 5,000 silver marks. The unfortunate prisoners were therefore saved, thanks to Richard's desire to protect his securities. History does not tell what their liberty cost them; but we must hope that a sense of justice alone guided the English prince, and that the Jews found other means besides money by which to show their gratitude. There is scarcely a country in Europe which cannot recount similar tales. In 1171, we find the murder of a child at Orleans, or Blois, causing capital punishment to be inflicted on several Jews. Imputations of this horrible character were continually renewed during the Middle Ages, and were of very ancient origin; for we hear of them in the times of Honorius and Theodosius the younger; we find them reproduced with equal vehemence in 1475 at Trent, where a furious mob was excited against the Jews, who were accused of having destroyed a child twenty-nine months old named Simon. The tale of the martyrdom of this child was circulated widely, and woodcut representations of it were freely distributed, which necessarily increased, especially in Germany, the horror which was aroused in the minds of Christians against the accursed nation (Fig. 361). [Illustration: Fig. 360.--The Infant Richard crucified by the Jews, at Pontoise.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut, with Figures by Wohlgemuth, in the "Liber Chronicarum Mundi:" large folio, Nuremberg, 1493.] [Illustration: Fig. 361.--Martyrdom of Simon at Trent.--Fac-simile, reduced, of a Woodcut of Wohlgemuth, in the "Liber Chronicarum Mundi:" large folio, Nuremberg, 1493.] The Jews gave cause for other accusations calculated to keep up this hatred; such as the desecration of the consecrated host, the mutilation of the crucifix. Tradition informs us of a miracle which took place in Paris in 1290, in the Rue des Jardins, when a Jew dared to mutilate and boil a consecrated host. This miracle was commemorated by the erection of a chapel on the spot, which was afterwards replaced by the church and convent of the Billettes. In 1370, the people of Brussels were startled in consequence of the statements of a Jewess, who accused her co-religionists of having made her carry a pyx full of stolen hosts to the Jews of Cologne, for the purpose of submitting them to the most horrible profanations. The woman added, that the Jews having pierced these hosts with sticks and knives, such a quantity of blood poured from them that the culprits were struck with terror, and concealed themselves in their quarter. The Jews were all imprisoned, tortured, and burnt alive (Fig. 362). In order to perpetuate the memory of the miracle of the bleeding hosts, an annual procession took place, which was the origin of the great kermesse, or annual fair. In the event of any unforeseen misfortune, or any great catastrophe occurring amongst Christians, the odium was frequently cast on the Jews. If the Crusaders met with reverses in Asia, fanatics formed themselves into bands, who, under the name of _Pastoureaux_, spread over the country, killing and robbing not only the Jews, but many Christians also. In the event of any general sickness, and especially during the prevalence of epidemics, the Jews were accused of having poisoned the water of fountains and pits, and the people massacred them in consequence. Thousands perished in this way when the black plague made ravages in Europe in the fourteenth century. The sovereigns, who were tardy in suppressing these sanguinary proceedings, never thought of indemnifying the Jewish families which so unjustly suffered. [Illustration: Fig. 362.--The Jews of Cologne burnt alive.--From a Woodcut in the "Liber Chronicarum Mundi:" large folio, Nuremberg, 1493.] In fact, it was then most religiously believed that, by despising and holding the Jewish nation under the yoke, banished as it was from Judæa for the murder of Jesus Christ, the will of the Almighty was being carried out, so much so that the greater number of kings and princes looked upon themselves as absolute masters over the Jews who lived under their protection. All feudal lords spoke with scorn of _their Jews_; they allowed them to establish themselves on their lands, but on the condition that as they became the subjects and property of their lord, the latter should draw his best income from them. We have shown by an instance borrowed from the history of England that the Jews were often mortgaged by the kings like land. This was not all, for the Jews who inhabited Great Britain during the reign of Henry III., in the middle of the thirteenth century, were not only obliged to acknowledge, by voluntarily contributing large sums of money, the service the King's brother had rendered them in clearing them from the imputation of having had any participation in the murder of the child Richard, but the loan on mortgage, for which they were the material and passive security, became the cause of odious extortions from them. The King had pledged them to the Earl of Cornwall for 5,000 marks, but they themselves had to repay the royal loan by means of enormous taxes. When they had succeeded in cancelling the King's debt to his brother, that necessitous monarch again mortgaged them, but on this occasion to his son Edward. Soon after, the son having rebelled against his father, the latter took back his Jews, and having assembled six elders from each of their communities, he told them that he required 20,000 silver marks, and ordered them to pay him that sum at two stated periods. The payments were rigorously exacted; those who were behind-hand were imprisoned, and the debtor who was in arrear for the second payment was sued for the whole sum. On the King's death his successor continued the same system of tyranny against the Jews. In 1279 they were charged with having issued counterfeit coin, and on this vague or imaginary accusation two hundred and eighty men and women were put to death in London alone. In the counties there were also numerous executions, and many innocent persons were thrown into dungeons; and, at last, in 1290 King Edward, who wished to enrich himself by taking possession of their properties, banished the Jews from his kingdom. A short time before this, the English people had offered to pay an annual fine to the King on condition of his expelling the Jews from the country; but the Jews outbid them, and thus obtained the repeal of the edict of banishment. However, on this last occasion there was no mercy shown, and the Jews, sixteen thousand in number, were expelled from England, and the King seized upon their goods. At the same period Philippe le Bel of France gave the example of this system of persecuting the Jews, but, instead of confiscating all their goods, he was satisfied with taking one-fifth; his subjects, therefore, almost accused him of generosity. [Illustration: Fig. 363.--Jewish Conspiracy in France.--From a Miniature in the "Pèlerinage de la Vie Humaine" (Imperial Library, Paris).] The Jews often took the precaution of purchasing certain rights and franchises from their sovereign or from the feudal lord under whose sway they lived; but generally these were one-sided bargains, for not being protected by common rights, and only forming a very small part of the population, they could nowhere depend upon promises or privileges which had been made to them, even though they had purchased them with their own money. To the uncertainty and annoyance of a life which was continually being threatened, was added a number of vexatious and personal insults, even in ordinary times, and when they enjoyed a kind of normal tolerance. They were almost everywhere obliged to wear a visible mark on their dress, such as a patch of gaudy colour attached to the shoulder or chest, in order to prevent their being mistaken for Christians. By this or some other means they were continually subject to insults from the people, and only succeeded in ridding themselves of it by paying the most enormous fines. Nothing was spared to humiliate and insult them. At Toulouse they were forced to send a representative to the cathedral on every Good Friday, that he might there publicly receive a box on the ears. At Béziers, during Passion week, the mob assumed the right of attacking the Jews' houses with stones. The Jews bought off this right in 1160 by paying a certain sum to the Vicomte de Béziers, and by promising an annual poll-tax to him and to his successors. A Jew, passing on the road of Etampes, beneath the tower of Montlhéry, had to pay an obole; if he had in his possession a Hebrew book, he paid four deniers; and, if he carried his lamp with him, two oboles. At Châteauneuf-sur-Loire a Jew on passing had to pay twelve deniers and a Jewess six. It has been said that there were various ancient rates levied upon Jews, in which they were treated like cattle, but this requires authentication. During the Carnival in Rome they were forced to run in the lists, amidst the jeers of the populace. This public outrage was stopped at a subsequent period by a tax of 300 écus, which a deputation from the Ghetto presented on their knees to the magistrates of the city, at the same time thanking them for their protection. When Pope Martin IV. arrived at the Council of Constance, in 1417, the Jewish community, which was as numerous as it was powerful in that old city, came in great state to present him with the book of the law (Fig. 364). The holy father received the Jews kindly, and prayed God to open their eyes and bring them back into the bosom of his church. We know, too, how charitable the popes were to the Jews. In the face of the distressing position they occupied, it may be asked what powerful motive induced the Jews to live amongst nations who almost invariably treated them as enemies, and to remain at the mercy of sovereigns whose sole object was to oppress, plunder, and subject them to all kinds of vexations? To understand this it is sufficient to remember that, in their peculiar aptness for earning and hoarding money, they found, or at least hoped to find, a means of compensation whereby they might be led to forget the servitude to which they were subjected. There existed amongst them, and especially in the southern countries, some very learned men, who devoted themselves principally to medicine; and in order to avoid having to struggle against insuperable prejudice, they were careful to disguise their nationality and religion in the exercise of that art. [Illustration: Fig. 364.--The Jewish Procession going to meet the Pope at the Council of Constance, in 1417.--After a Miniature in the Manuscript Chronicle of Ulrie de Reichental, in the Library of the Mansion-house of Basle, in Switzerland.] They pretended, in order not to arouse the suspicion of their patients, to be practitioners from Lombardy or Spain, or even from Arabia; whether they were really clever, or only made a pretence of being so, in an art which was then very much a compound of quackery and imposture, it is difficult to say, but they acquired wealth as well as renown in its practice. But there was another science, to the study of which they applied themselves with the utmost ardour and perseverance, and for which they possessed in a marvellous degree the necessary qualities to insure success, and that science was the science of finance. In matters having reference to the recovering of arrears of taxes, to contracts for the sale of goods and produce of industry, to turning a royalty to account, to making hazardous commercial enterprises lucrative, or to the accumulating of large sums of money for the use of sovereigns or poor nobles, the Jews were always at hand, and might invariably be reckoned upon. They created capital, for they always had funds to dispose of, even in the midst of the most terrible public calamities, and, when all other means were exhausted, when all expedients for filling empty purses had been resorted to without success, the Jews were called in. Often, in consequence of the envy which they excited from being known to possess hoards of gold, they were exposed to many dangers, which they nevertheless faced, buoying themselves up with the insatiable love of gain. Few Christians in the Middle Ages were given to speculation, and they were especially ignorant of financial matters, as demanding interest on loans was almost always looked upon as usury, and, consequently, such dealings were stigmatized as disgraceful. The Jews were far from sharing these high-minded scruples, and they took advantage of the ignorance of Christians by devoting themselves as much as possible to enterprises and speculations, which were at all times the distinguishing occupation of their race. For this reason we find the Jews, who were engaged in the export trade from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, doing a most excellent business, even in the commercial towns of the Mediterranean. We can, to a certain extent, in speaking of the intercourse of the Jews with the Christians of the Middle Ages, apply what Lady Montague remarked as late as 1717, when comparing the Jews of Turkey with the Mussulmans: "The former," she says, "have monopolized all the commerce of the empire, thanks to the close ties which exist amongst them, and to the laziness and want of industry of the Turks. No bargain is made without their connivance. They are the physicians and stewards of all the nobility. It is easy to conceive the unity which this gives to a nation which never despises the smallest profits. They have found means of rendering themselves so useful, that they are certain of protection at court, whoever the ruling minister may be. Many of them are enormously rich, but they are careful to make but little outward display, although living in the greatest possible luxury." [Illustration: Fig. 365.--Costume of an Italian Jew of the Fourteenth Century.--From a Painting by Sano di Pietro, preserved in the Academy of the Fine Arts, at Sienna.] [Illustration: The Jews' Passover. Fac-simile of a miniature from a missel of fifteenth century ornamented with paintings of the School of Van Eyck. Bibl. de l'Arsenal, Th. lat., no 199.] The condition of the Jews in the East was never so precarious nor so difficult as it was in the West. From the Councils of Paris, in 615, down to the end of the fifteenth century, the nobles and the civil and ecclesiastical authorities excluded the Jews from administrative positions; but it continually happened that a positive want of money, against which the Jews were ever ready to provide, caused a repeal or modification of these arbitrary measures. Moreover, Christians did not feel any scruple in parting with their most valued treasures, and giving them as pledges to the Jews for a loan of money when they were in need of it. This plan of lending on pledge, or usury, belonged specially to the Jews in Europe during the Middle Ages, and was both the cause of their prosperity and of their misfortune. Of their prosperity, because they cleverly contrived to become possessors of all the coin; and of their misfortune, because their usurious demands became so detrimental to the public welfare, and were often exacted with such unscrupulous severity, that people not unfrequently became exasperated, and acts of violence were committed, which as often fell upon the innocent as upon the guilty. The greater number of the acts of banishment were those for which no other motive was assigned, or, at all events, no other pretext was made, than the usury practised by these strangers in the provinces and in the towns in which they were permitted to reside. When the Christians heard that these rapacious guests had harshly pressed and entirely stripped certain poor debtors, when they learned that the debtors, ruined by usury, were still kept prisoners in the house of their pitiless creditors, general indignation often manifested itself by personal attacks. This feeling was frequently shared by the authorities themselves, who, instead of dispensing equal justice to the strangers and to the citizens, according to the spirit of the law, often decided with partiality, and even with resentment, and in some cases abandoned the Jews to the fury of the people. The people's feelings of hatred against the sordid avarice of the Jews was continually kept up by ballads which were sung, and legends which were related, in the public streets of the cities and in the cottages of the villages--ballads and legends in which usurers were depicted in hideous colours (Fig. 366). The most celebrated of these popular compositions was evidently that which must have furnished the idea to Shakespeare of the _Merchant of Venice_, for in this old English drama mention is made of a bargain struck between a Jew and a Christian, who borrows money of him, on condition that, if he cannot refund it on a certain day, the lender shall have the right of cutting a pound of flesh from his body. All the evil which the people said and thought of the Jews during the Middle Ages seems concentrated in the Shylock of the English poet. The rate of interest for loans was, nevertheless, everywhere settled by law, and at all times. This rate varied according to the scarcity of gold, and was always high enough to give a very ample profit to the lenders, although they too often required a very much higher rate. In truth, the small security offered by those borrowing, and the arbitrary manner in which debts were at times cancelled, increased the risks of the lender and the normal difficulties of obtaining a loan. We find everywhere, in all ancient legislations, a mass of rules on the rate of pecuniary interest to be allowed to the Jews. [Illustration: Fig. 366.--Legend of the Jew calling the Devil from a Vessel of Blood.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in Boaistuau's "Histoires Prodigieuses:" in 4to, Paris, Annet Briere, 1560.] In some countries, especially in England, precautionary measures were taken for regulating the compacts entered into between Christians and Jews. One of the departments of the Exchequer received the register of these compacts, which thus acquired a legal value. However, it was not unfrequent for the kings of England to grant, of their own free will, letters of release to persons owing money to Jews; and these letters, which were often equivalent to the cancelling of the entire debt, were even at times actually purchased from the sovereign. Mention of sums received by the royal treasury for the liberation of debtors, or for enabling them to recover their mortgaged lands without payment, may still be found in the registers of the Exchequer of London; at the same time, Jews, on the other hand, also paid the King large sums, in order that he might allow justice to take its course against powerful debtors who were in arrear, and who could not be induced to pay. We thus see that if the Jews practised usury, the Christians, and especially kings and powerful nobles, defrauded the Jews in every way, and were too often disposed to sell to them the smallest concessions at a great price. Indeed, Christians often went so far as to persecute them, in order to obtain the greatest possible amount from them; and the Jews of the Middle Ages put up with anything provided they could enrich themselves. [Illustration: Fig. 367.--View and Plan of Jerusalem.--Fac-simile of a Woodout in the "Liber Chronicarum Mundi" large folio, Nuremberg, 1493.] It must not be supposed, however, that, great as were their capabilities, the Jews exclusively devoted themselves to financial matters. When they were permitted to trade they were well satisfied to become artisans or agriculturists. In Spain they proved themselves most industrious, and that kingdom suffered a great loss in consequence of their being expelled from it. In whatever country they established themselves, the Jews carried on most of the mechanical and manual industries with cleverness and success; but they could not hope to become landed proprietors in countries where they were in such bad odour, and where the possession of land, far from offering them any security, could not fail to excite the envy of their enemies. If, as is the case, Oriental people are of a serious turn of mind, it is easy to understand that the Jews should have been still more so, since they were always objects of hatred and abhorrence. We find a touching allegory in the Talmud. Each time that a human being is created God orders his angels to bring a soul before his throne, and orders this soul to go and inhabit the body which is about to be born on earth. The soul is grieved, and supplicates the Supreme Being to spare it that painful trial, in which it only sees sorrow and affliction. This allegory may be suitably applied to a people who have only to expect contempt, mistrust, and hatred, everywhere. The Israelites, therefore, clung enthusiastically to the hope of the advent of a Messiah who should bring back to them the happy days of the land of promise, and they looked upon their absence from Palestine as only a passing exile. "But," the Christians said to them, "this Messiah has long since come." "Alas!" they answered, "if He had appeared on earth should we still be miserable?" Fulbert, Bishop of Chartres, preached three sermons to undeceive the Jews, by endeavouring to prove to them that their Messiah was no other than Jesus Christ; but he preached to the winds, for the Jews remained obstinately attached to their illusion that the Messiah was yet to come. In any case, the Jews, who mixed up the mysteries and absurdities of the Talmud with the ancient laws and numerous rules of the religion of their ancestors, found in the practice of their national customs, and in the celebration of their mysterious ceremonies, the sweetest emotions, especially when they could devote themselves to them in the peaceful retirement of the Ghetto; for, in all the countries in which they lived scattered and isolated amongst Christians, they were careful to conceal their worship and to conduct their ceremonial as secretly as possible. The clergy, in striving to convert the Jews, repeatedly had conferences with the rabbis of a controversial character, which often led to quarrels, and aggravated the lot of the Jewish community. If Catholic proselystism succeeded in completely detaching a few individuals or a few families from the Israelitish creed, these ardent converts rekindled the horror of the people against their former co-religionists by revealing some of the precepts of the Talmud. Sometimes the conversion of whole masses of Jews was effected, but this happened much less through conviction on their part than through the fear of exile, plunder, or execution. These pretended conversions, however, did not always protect them from danger. In Spain the Inquisition kept a close watch on converted Jews, and, if they were not true to their new faith, severe punishment was inflicted upon them. In 1506, the inhabitants of Abrantès, a town of Portugal, massacred all the baptized Jews. Manoël, a king of Portugal, forbad the converts from selling their goods and leaving his dominions. The Church excluded them from ecclesiastical dignities, and, when they succeeded in obtaining civil employments, they were received with distrust. In France the Parliaments tried, with a show of justice, to prevent converted Jews from being reproached for their former condition; but Louis XII., during his pressing wants, did not scruple to exact a special tax from them. And, in 1611, we again find that they were unjustly denounced, and under the form of a _Remonstrance to the King and the Parliament of Provence, on account of the great family alliances of the new converts_, an appeal was made for the most cruel reprisals against this unfortunate race, "which deserved only to be banished and their goods confiscated." [Illustration: Fig. 368.--Jewish Ceremony before the Ark.--Fac-simile of a woodcut printed at Troyes.] Gipsies, Tramps, Beggars, and Cours des Miracles. First Appearance of Gipsies in the West.--Gipsies in Paris.--Manners and Customs of these Wandering Tribes.--Tricks of Captain Charles.--Gipsies expelled by Royal Edict.--Language of Gipsies.--The Kingdom of Slang.--The Great Coesre, Chief of the Vagrants; his Vassals and Subjects.--Divisions of the Slang People; its Decay and the Causes thereof.--Cours des Miracles.--The Camp of Rognes.--Cunning Language, or Slang.--Foreign Rogues, Thieves, and Pickpockets. In the year 1417 the inhabitants of the countries situated near the mouth of the Elbe were disturbed by the arrival of strangers, whose manners and appearance were far from pre-possessing. These strange travellers took a course thence towards the Teutonic Hanse, starting from Luneburg: they subsequently proceeded to Hamburg, and then, going from east to west along the Baltic, they visited the free towns of Lubeck, Wismar, Rostock, Stralsund, and Greifswald. These new visitors, known in Europe under the names of _Zingari, Cigani, Gipsies, Gitanos, Egyptians_, or _Bohemians_, but who, in their own language, called themselves _Romi_, or _gens mariés_, numbered about three hundred men and women, besides the children, who were very numerous. They divided themselves into seven bands, all of which followed the same track. Very dirty, excessively ugly, and remarkable for their dark complexions, these people had for their leaders a duke and a count, as they were called, who were superbly dressed, and to whom they acknowledged allegiance. Some of them rode on horseback, whilst others went on foot. The women and children travelled on beasts of burden and in waggons (Fig. 369). If we are to believe their own story, their wandering life was caused by their return to Paganism after having been previously converted to the Christian faith, and, as a punishment for their sin, they were to continue their adventurous course for a period of seven years. They showed letters of recommendation from various princes, among others from Sigismund, King of the Romans, and these letters, whether authentic or false, procured for them a welcome wherever they went. They encamped in the fields at night, because the habit they indulged in of stealing everything for which they had a fancy, caused them to fear being disturbed in the towns. It was not long, however, before many of them were arrested and put to death for theft, when the rest speedily decamped. [Illustration: Fig. 369.--Gipsies on the March.--Fifteenth Century Piece of old Tapestry in the Château d'Effiat, contributed by M.A. Jubinal.] In the course of the following year we find them at Meissen, in Saxony, whence they were driven out on account of the robberies and disturbances they committed; and then in Switzerland, where they passed through the countries of the Grisons, the cantons of Appenzell, and Zurich, stopping in Argovie. Chroniclers who mention them at that time speak of their chief, Michel, as Duke of Egypt, and relate that these strangers, calling themselves Egyptians, pretended that they were driven from their country by the Sultan of Turkey, and condemned to wander for seven years in want and misery. These chroniclers add that they were very honest people, who scrupulously followed all the practices of the Christian religion; that they were poorly clad, but that they had gold and silver in abundance; that they lived well, and paid for everything they had; and that, at the end of seven years, they went away to return home, as they said. However, whether because a considerable number remained on the road, or because they had been reinforced by others of the same tribe during the year, a troop of fifty men, accompanied by a number of hideous women and filthy children, made their appearance in the neighbourhood of Augsburg. These vagabonds gave out that they were exiles from Lower Egypt, and pretended to know the art of predicting coming events. It was soon found out that they were much less versed in divination and in the occult sciences than in the arts of plundering, roguery, and cheating. In the following year a similar horde, calling themselves Saracens, appeared at Sisteron, in Provence; and on the 18th. of July, 1422, a chronicler of Bologna mentions the arrival in that town of a troop of foreigners, commanded by a certain André, Duke of Egypt, and composed of at least one hundred persons, including women and children. They encamped inside and outside the gate _di Galiera_, with the exception of the duke, who lodged at the inn _del Re_. During the fifteen days which they spent at Bologna a number of the people of the town went to see them, and especially to see "the wife of the duke," who, it was said, knew how to foretell future events, and to tell what was to happen to people, what their fortunes would be, the number of their children, if they were good or bad, and many other things (Fig. 370). Few men, however, left the house of the so-called Duke of Egypt without having their purses stolen, and but few women escaped without having the skirts of their dresses cut. The Egyptian women walked about the town in groups of six or seven, and whilst some were talking to the townspeople, telling them their fortunes, or bartering in shops, one of their number would lay her hands on anything which was within reach. So many robberies were committed in this way, that the magistrates of the town and the ecclesiastical authorities forbad the inhabitants from visiting the Egyptians' camp, or from having any intercourse with them, under penalty of excommunication and of a fine of fifty livres. Besides this, by a strange application of the laws of retaliation, those who had been robbed by these foreigners were permitted to rob them to the extent of the value of the things stolen. In consequence of this, the Bolognians entered a stable in which several of the Egyptians' horses were kept, and took out one of the finest of them. In order to recover him the Egyptians agreed to restore what they had taken, and the restitution was made. But perceiving that they could no longer do any good for themselves in this province, they struck their tents and started for Rome, to which city they said they were bound to go, not only in order to accomplish a pilgrimage imposed upon them by the Sultan, who had expelled them from their own land, but especially to obtain letters of absolution from the Holy Father. [Illustration: Fig. 370.--Gipsies Fortune-telling.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] In 1422 the band left Italy, and we find them at Basle and in Suabia. Then, besides the imperial passports, of which they had up to that time alone boasted, they pretended to have in their possession bulls which they stated that they had obtained from the Pope. They also modified their original tale, and stated that they were descendants of the Egyptians who refused hospitality to the Holy Virgin and to St. Joseph during their flight into Egypt: they also declared that, in consequence of this crime, God had doomed their race to perpetual misery and exile. Five years later we find them in the neighbourhood of Paris. "The Sunday after the middle of August," says "The Journal of a Bourgeois of Paris," "there came to Paris twelve so-called pilgrims, that is to say, a duke, a count, and ten men, all on horseback; they said that they were very good Christians, and that they came from Lower Egypt; ... and on the 29th of August, the anniversary of the beheading of St. John, the rest of the band made their appearance. These, however, were not allowed to enter Paris, but, by order of the provost, were lodged in the Chapel of St. Denis. They did not number more than one hundred and twenty, including women and children. They stated that, when they left their own country, they numbered from a thousand to twelve hundred, but that the rest had died on the road..... Whilst they were at the chapel never was such a concourse of people collected, even at the blessing of the fair of Landit, as went from Paris, St. Denis, and elsewhere, to see these strangers. Almost all of them had their ears pierced, and in each one or two silver rings, which in their country, they said, was a mark of nobility. The men were very swarthy, with curly hair; the women were very ugly, and extremely dark, with long black hair, like a horse's tail; their only garment being an old rug tied round the shoulder by a strip of cloth or a bit of rope (Fig. 371). Amongst them were several fortune-tellers, who, by looking into people's hands, told them what had happened or what was to happen to them, and by this means often did a good deal to sow discord in families. What was worse, either by magic, by Satanic agency, or by sleight of hand, they managed to empty people's purses whilst talking to them.... So, at least, every one said. At last accounts respecting them reached the ears of the Bishop of Paris. He went to them with a Franciscan friar, called Le Petit Jacobin, who, by the bishop's order, delivered an earnest address to them, and excommunicated all those who had anything to do with them, or who had their fortunes told. He further advised the gipsies to go away, and, on the festival of Notre-Dame, they departed for Pontoise." [Illustration: Fig. 371.--A Gipsy Family.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] Here, again, the gipsies somewhat varied their story. They said that they were originally Christians; but that, in consequence of an invasion by the Saracens, they had been forced to renounce their religion; that, at a subsequent period, powerful monarchs had come to free them from the yoke of the infidels, and had decreed that, as a punishment to them for having renounced the Christian faith, they should not be allowed to return to their country before they had obtained permission from the Pope. They stated that the Holy Father, to whom they had gone to confess their sins, had then ordered them to wander about the world for seven years, without sleeping in beds, at the same time giving direction to every bishop and every priest whom they met to offer them ten livres; a direction which the abbots and bishops were in no hurry to obey. These strange pilgrims stated that they had been only five years on the road when they arrived in Paris. Enough has been said to show that, although the object of their long pilgrimage was ostensibly a pious one, the Egyptians or gipsies were not very slow in giving to the people whom they visited a true estimate of their questionable honesty, and we do not think it would be particularly interesting to follow step by step the track of this odious band, which from this period made its appearance sometimes in one country and sometimes in another, not only in the north but in the south, and especially in the centre of Europe. Suffice it to say that their quarrels with the authorities, or the inhabitants of the countries which had the misfortune to be periodically visited by them, have left numerous traces in history. On the 7th of November, 1453, from sixty to eighty gipsies, coming from Courtisolles, arrived at the entrance of the town of Cheppe, near Châlons-sur-Marne. The strangers, many of whom carried "javelins, darts, and other implements of war," having asked for hospitality, the mayor of the town informed them "that it was not long since some of the same company, or others very like them, had been lodged in the town, and had been guilty of various acts of theft." The gipsies persisted in their demands, the indignation of the people was aroused, and they were soon obliged to resume their journey. During their unwilling retreat, they were pursued by many of the inhabitants of the town, one of whom killed a gipsy named Martin de la Barre: the murderer, however, obtained the King's pardon. In 1532, at Pleinpalais, a suburb of Geneva, some rascals from among a band of gipsies, consisting of upwards of three hundred in number, fell upon several of the officers who were stationed to prevent their entering the town. The citizens hurried up to the scene of disturbance. The gipsies retired to the monastery of the Augustin friars, in which they fortified themselves: the bourgeois besieged them, and would have committed summary justice on them, but the authorities interfered, and some twenty of the vagrants were arrested, but they sued for mercy, and were discharged. [Illustration: Fig. 372.--Gipsy Encampment.--Fac-simile of a Copper-plate by Callot.] In 1632, the inhabitants of Viarme, in the Department of Lot-et-Garonne, made an onslaught upon a troop of gipsies who wanted to take up their quarters in that town. The whole of them were killed, with the exception of their chief, who was taken prisoner and brought before the Parliament of Bordeaux, and ordered to be hung. Twenty-one years before this, the mayor and magistrates of Bordeaux gave orders to the soldiers of the watch to arrest a gipsy chief, who, having shut himself up in the tower of Veyrines, at Merignac, ransacked the surrounding country. On the 21st of July, 1622, the same magistrates ordered the gipsies to leave the parish of Eysines within twenty-four hours, under penalty of the lash. It was not often that the gipsies used violence or openly resisted authority; they more frequently had recourse to artifice and cunning in order to attain their end. A certain Captain Charles acquired a great reputation amongst them for the clever trickeries which he continually conceived, and which his troop undertook to carry out. A chronicler of the time says, that by means of certain herbs which he gave to a half-starved horse, he made him into a fat and sleek animal; the horse was then sold at one of the neighbouring fairs or markets, but the purchaser detected the fraud within a week, for the horse soon became thin again, and usually sickened and died. Tallemant des Réaux relates that, on one occasion, Captain Charles and his attendants took up their quarters in a village, the curé of which being rich and parsimonious, was much disliked by his parishioners. The curé never left his house, and the gipsies could not, therefore, get an opportunity to rob him. In this difficulty, they pretended that one of them had committed a crime, and had been condemned to be hung a quarter of a league from the village, where they betook themselves with all their goods. The man, at the foot of the gibbet, asked for a confessor, and they went to fetch the curé. He, at first, refused to go, but his parishioners compelled him. During his absence some gipsies entered his house, took five hundred écus from his strong box, and quickly rejoined the troop. As soon as the rascal saw them returning, he said that he appealed to the king of _la petite Egypte_, upon which the captain exclaimed, "Ah! the traitor! I expected he would appeal." Immediately they packed up, secured the prisoner, and were far enough away from the scene before the curé re-entered his house. Tallemant relates another good trick. Near Roye, in Picardy, a gipsy who had stolen a sheep offered it to a butcher for one hundred sous (about sixty francs of our money), but the butcher declined to give more than four livres for it. The butcher then went away; whereupon the gipsy pulled the sheep from a sack into which he had put it, and substituted for it a child belonging to his tribe. He then ran after the butcher, and said, "Give me five livres, and you shall have the sack into the bargain." The butcher paid him the money, and went away. When he got home he opened the sack, and was much astonished when he saw a little boy jump out of it, who, in an instant, caught up the sack and ran off. "Never was a poor man so thoroughly hoaxed as this butcher," says Tallemant des Réaux. The gipsies had thousands of other tricks in stock as good as the ones we have just related, in proof of which we have but to refer to the testimony of one of their own tribe, who, under the name of Pechon de Ruby, published, towards the close of the sixteenth century, "La Vie Généreuse des Mattois, Guex, Bohémiens, et Cagoux." "When they want to leave a place where they have been stopping, they set out in an opposite direction to that in which they are going, and after travelling about half a league they take their right course. They possess the best and most accurate maps, in which are laid down not only all the towns, villages, and rivers, but also the houses of the gentry and others; and they fix upon places of rendezvous every ten days, at twenty leagues from the point from whence they set out.... The captain hands over to each of the chiefs three or four families to take charge of, and these small bands take different cross-roads towards the place of rendezvous. Those who are well armed and mounted he sends off with a good almanac, on which are marked all the fairs, and they continually change their dress and their horses. When they take up their quarters in any village they steal very little in its immediate vicinity, but in the neighbouring parishes they rob and plunder in the most daring manner. If they find a sum of money they give notice to the captain, and make a rapid flight from the place. They coin counterfeit money, and put it into circulation. They play at all sorts of games; they buy all sorts of horses; whether sound or unsound, provided they can manage to pay for them in their own base coin. When they buy food they pay for it in good money the first time, as they are held in such distrust; but, when they are about to leave a neighbourhood, they again buy something, for which they tender false coin, receiving the change in good money. In harvest time all doors are shut against them; nevertheless they contrive, by means of picklocks and other instruments, to effect an entrance into houses, when they steal linen, cloaks, silver, and any other movable article which they can lay their hands on. They give a strict account of everything to their captain, who takes his share of all they get, except of what they earn by fortune-telling. They are very clever at making a good bargain; when they know of a rich merchant being in the place, they disguise themselves, enter into communications with him, and swindle him, ... after which they change their clothes, have their horses shod the reverse way, and the shoes covered with some soft material lest they should be heard, and gallop away." [Illustration: Fig. 373.--The Gipsy who used to wash his Hands in Molten Lead.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Histoires Merveilleuses" of Pierre Boaistuau: in 4to, 1560.] In the "Histoire Générale des Larrons" we read that the vagabonds called gipsies sometimes played tricks with goblets, sometimes danced on the tight-rope, turned double-somersaults, and performed other feats (Fig. 373), which proves that these adventurers adopted all kinds of methods of gaining a livelihood, highway robbery not excepted. We must not, therefore, be surprised if in almost all countries very severe police measures were taken against this dangerous race, though we must admit that these measures sometimes partook of a barbarous character. After having forbidden them, with a threat of six years at the galleys, to sojourn in Spain, Charles V. ordered them to leave Flanders under penalty of death. In 1545, a gipsy who had infringed the sentence of banishment was condemned by the Court of Utrecht to be flogged till the blood appeared, to have his nostrils slit, his hair removed, his beard shaved off, and to be banished for life. "We can form some idea," says the German historian Grellman, "of the miserable condition of the gipsies from the following facts: many of them, and especially the women, have been burned by their own request, in order to end their miserable state of existence; and we can give the case of a gipsy who, having been arrested, flogged, and conducted to the frontier, with the threat that if he reappeared in the country he would be hanged, resolutely returned after three successive and similar threats, at three different places, and implored that the capital sentence might be carried out, in order that he might be released from a life of such misery. These unfortunate people," continues the historian, "were not even looked upon as human beings, for, during a hunting party, consisting of members of a small German court, the huntsmen had no scruple whatever in killing a gipsy woman who was suckling her child, just as they would have done any wild beast which came in their way." M. Francisque Michel says, "Amongst the questions which arise from a consideration of the existence of this remarkable people, is one which, although neglected, is nevertheless of considerable interest, namely, how, with a strange language, unlike any used in Europe, the gipsies could make themselves understood by the people amongst whom they made their appearance for the first time: newly arrived in the west, they could have none of those interpreters who are only to be found amongst a long-established people, and who have political and commercial intercourse with other nations. Where, then, did the gipsies obtain interpreters? The answer seems to us to be clear. Receiving into their ranks all those whom crime, the fear of punishment, an uneasy conscience, or the charm of a roaming life, continually threw in their path, they made use of them either to find their way into countries of which they were ignorant, or to commit robberies which would otherwise have been impracticable. Themselves adepts in all sorts of bad practices, they were not slow to form an alliance with profligate characters who sometimes worked in concert with them, and sometimes alone, and who always framed the model for their own organization from that of the gipsies." [Illustration: Fig. 374.--Orphans, _Callots_, and the Family of the Grand Coesre.--From painted Hangings and Tapestry from the Town of Rheims, executed during the Fifteenth Century.] This alliance--governed by statutes, the honour of compiling which has been given to a certain Ragot, who styled himself captain--was composed of _matois_, or sharpers; of _mercelots_, or hawkers, who were very little better than the former; of _gueux_, or dishonest beggars, and of a host of other swindlers, constituting the order or hierarchy of the _Argot_, or Slang people. Their chief was called the _Grand Coesre_, "a vagabond broken to all the tricks of his trade," says M. Francisque Michel, and who frequently ended his days on the rack or the gibbet. History has furnished us with the story of a "miserable cripple" who used to sit in a wooden bowl, and who, after having been Grand Coesre for three years, was broken alive on the wheel at Bordeaux for his crimes. He was called _Roi de Tunes_ (Tunis), and was drawn about by two large dogs. One of his successors, the Grand Coesre surnamed Anacréon, who suffered from the same infirmity, namely, that of a cripple, rode about Paris on a donkey begging. He generally held his court on the Port-au-Foin, where he sat on his throne dressed in a mantle made of a thousand pieces. The Grand Coesre had a lieutenant in each province called _cagou_, whose business it was to initiate apprentices in the secrets of the craft, and who looked after, in different localities, those whom the chief had entrusted to his care. He gave an account of the property he received in thus exercising his stewardship, and of the money as well as of the clothing which he took from the _Argotiers_ who refused to recognise his authority. As a remuneration for their duties, the cagoux were exempt from all tribute to their chief; they received their share of the property taken from persons whom they had ordered to be robbed, and they were free to beg in any way they pleased. After the cagoux came the _archisuppôts_, who, being recruited from the lowest dregs of the clergy and others who had been in a better position, were, so to speak, the teachers of the law. To them was intrusted the duty of instructing the less experienced rogues, and of determining the language of Slang; and, as a reward for their good and loyal services, they had the right of begging without paying any fees to their chiefs. [Illustration: Fig. 375.--The Blind and the Poor Sick of St. John.--From painted Hangings and Tapestry in the Town of Rheims, executed during the Fifteenth Century.] The Grand Coesre levied a tax of twenty-four sous per annum upon the young rogues, who went about the streets pretending to shed tears (Fig. 374), as "helpless orphans," in order to excite public sympathy. The _marcandiers_ had to pay an écu; they were tramps clothed in a tolerably good doublet, who passed themselves off as merchants ruined by war, by fire, or by having been robbed on the highway. The _malingreux_ had to pay forty sous; they were covered with sores, most of which were self-inflicted, or they pretended to have swellings of some kind, and stated that they were about to undertake a pilgrimage to St. Méen, in Brittany, in order to be cured. The _piètres_, or lame rogues, paid half an écu, and walked with crutches. The _sabouleux_, who were commonly called the _poor sick of St. John_, were in the habit of frequenting fairs and markets, or the vicinity of churches; there, smeared with blood and appearing as if foaming at the mouth by means of a piece of soap they had placed in it, they struggled on the ground as if in a fit, and in this way realised a considerable amount of alms. These consequently paid the largest fees to the Coesre (Fig. 375). [Illustration: Fig. 376.--The _Ruffes_ and the _Millards_.--From painted Hangings and Tapestry of Rheims, executed about the Fifteenth Century.] Besides these, there were the _callots_, who were either affected with a scurfy disease or pretended to be so, and who were contributors to the civil list of their chief to the amount of sevens sous; as also the _coquillards_, or pretended pilgrims of St. James or St. Michael; and the _hubins_, who, according to the forged certificate which they carried with them, were going to, or returning from, St. Hubert, after having been bitten by a mad dog. The _polissons_ paid two écus to the Coesre, but they earned a considerable amount, especially in winter; for benevolent people, touched with their destitution and half-nakedness, gave them sometimes a doublet, sometimes a shirt, or some other article of clothing, which of course they immediately sold. The _francs mitoux_, who were never taxed above five sous, were sickly members of the fraternity, or at all events pretended to be such; they tied their arms above the elbow so as to stop the pulse, and fell down apparently fainting on the public footpaths. We must also mention the _ruffés_ and the _millards_, who went into the country in groups begging (Fig. 376). The _capons_ were cut-purses, who hardly ever left the towns, and who laid hands on everything within their reach. The _courtauds de boutanche_ pretended to be workmen, and were to be met with everywhere with the tools of their craft on their back, though they never used them. The _convertis_ pretended to have been impressed by the exhortations of some excellent preacher, and made a public profession of faith; they afterwards stationed themselves at church doors, as recently converted Catholics, and in this way received liberal contributions. Lastly, we must mention the _drilles_, the _narquois_, or the people of the _petite flambe_, who for the most part were old pensioners, and who begged in the streets from house to house, with their swords at their sides (Fig. 377). These, who at times lived a racketing and luxurious life, at last rebelled against the Grand Coesre, and would no longer be reckoned among his subjects--a step which gave a considerable shock to the Argotic monarchy. [Illustration: Fig. 377.--The _Drille_ or _Narquois_.--From painted Hangings from the Town of Rheims (Fifteenth Century).] [Illustration: Fig. 378.--Perspective View of Paris in 1607.--Fac-simile of a Copper-plate by Léonard Gaultier. (Collection of M. Guénebault, Paris.)] There was another cause which greatly contributed to diminish the power as well as the prestige of this eccentric sovereign, and this was, that the cut-purses, the night-prowlers and wood-thieves, not finding sufficient means of livelihood in their own department, and seeing that the Argotiers, on the contrary, were always in a more luxurious position, tried to amalgamate robbery with mendicity, which raised an outcry amongst these sections of their community. The archisuppôts and the cagoux at first declined such an alliance, but eventually they were obliged to admit all, with the exception of the wood-thieves, who were altogether excluded. In the seventeenth century, therefore, in order to become a thorough Argotier, it was necessary not only to solicit alms like any mere beggar, but also to possess the dexterity of the cut-purse and the thief. These arts were to be learned in the places which served as the habitual rendezvous of the very dregs of society, and which were generally known as the _Cours des Miracles_. These houses, or rather resorts, had been so called, if we are to believe a writer of the early part of the seventeenth century, "Because rogues ... and others, who have all day been cripples, maimed, dropsical, and beset with every sort of bodily ailment, come home at night, carrying under their arms a sirloin of beef, a joint of veal, or a leg of mutton, not forgetting to hang a bottle of wine to their belt, and, on entering the court, they throw aside their crutches, resume their healthy and lusty appearance, and, in imitation of the ancient Bacchanalian revelries, dance all kinds of dances with their trophies in their hands, whilst the host is preparing their suppers. Can there be a greater _miracle_ than is to be seen in this court, where the maimed walk upright?" [Illustration: Fig. 379.--_Cour des Miracles_ of Paris. Talebot the Hunchback, a celebrated Scamp during the Seventeenth Century.--From an old Engraving in the Collection of Engravings in the National Library of Paris.] In Paris there were several _Cours des Miracles_, but the most celebrated was that which, from the time of Sauval, the singular historian of the "Antiquities of Paris," to the middle of the seventeenth century, preserved this generic name _par excellence_, and which exists to this day (Fig. 379). He says, "It is a place of considerable size, and is in an unhealthy, muddy, and irregular blind alley. Formerly it was situated on the outskirts of Paris, now it is in one of the worst built, dirtiest, and most out-of-the-way quarters of the town, between the Rue Montorgueil, the convent of the Filles-Dieu, and the Rue Neuve-Saint-Sauveur. To get there one must wander through narrow, close, and by-streets; and in order to enter it, one must descend a somewhat winding and rugged declivity. In this place I found a mud house, half buried, very shaky from old age and rottenness, and only eight mètres square; but in which, nevertheless, some fifty families are living, who have the charge of a large number of children, many of whom are stolen or illegitimate.... I was assured that upwards of five hundred large families occupy that and other houses adjoining.... Large as this court is, it was formerly even bigger.... Here, without any care for the future, every one enjoys the present; and eats in the evening what he has earned during the day with so much trouble, and often with so many blows; for it is one of the fundamental rules of the Cour des Miracles never to lay by anything for the morrow. Every one who lives there indulges in the utmost licentiousness; both religion and law are utterly ignored.... It is true that outwardly they appear to acknowledge a God; for they have set up in a niche an image of God the Father, which they have stolen from some church, and before which they come daily to offer up certain prayers; but this is only because they superstitiously imagine that by this means they are released from the necessity of performing the duties of Christians to their pastor and their parish, and are even absolved from the sin of entering a church for the purpose of robbery and purse-cutting." Paris, the capital of the kingdom of rogues, was not the only town which possessed a Cour des Miracles, for we find here and there, especially at Lyons and Bordeaux, some traces of these privileged resorts of rogues and thieves, which then flourished under the sceptre of the Grand Coesre. Sauval states, on the testimony of people worthy of credit, that at Sainte-Anne d'Auray, the most holy place of pilgrimage in Brittany, under the superintendence of the order of reformed Carmelite friars, there was a large field called the _Rogue's Field_. This was covered with mud huts; and here the Grand Coesre resorted annually on the principal solemn festivals, with his officers and subjects, in order "to hold his council of state," that is to say, in order to settle and arrange respecting robbery. At these _state_ meetings, which were not always held at Sainte-Anne d'Auray, all the subjects of the Grand Coesre were present, and paid homage to their lord and master. Some came and paid him the tribute which was required of them by the statutes of the craft; others rendered him an account of what they had done, and what they had earned during the year. When they had executed their work badly, he ordered them to be punished, either corporally or pecuniarily, according to the gravity of their offences. When he had not himself properly governed his people, he was dethroned, and a successor was appointed by acclamation. [Illustration: Fig. 380.--Beggar playing the Fiddle, and his Wife accompanying him with the Bones.--From an old Engraving of the Seventeenth Century.] At these assemblies, as well as in the Cours des Miracles, French was not spoken, but a strange and artificial language was used called _jargon_, _langue matoise, narquois_, &c. This language, which is still in use under the name of _argot_, or slang, had for the most part been borrowed from the jargon or slang of the lower orders. To a considerable extent, according to the learned philologist of this mysterious language, M. Francisque Michel, it was composed of French words lengthened or abbreviated; of proverbial expressions; of words expressing the symbols of things instead of the things themselves; of terms either intentionally or unintentionally altered from their true meaning; and of words which resembled other words in sound, but which had not the same signification. Thus, for mouth, they said _pantière_, from _pain_ (bread), which they put into it; the arms were _lyans_ (binders); an ox was a _cornant_ (horned); a purse, a _fouille_, or _fouillouse_; a cock, a _horloge_, or timepiece; the legs, _des quilles_ (nine-pins); a sou, a _rond_, or round thing; the eyes, _des luisants_ (sparklers), &c. In jargon several words were also taken from the ancient language of the gipsies, which testifies to the part which these vagabonds played in the formation of the Argotic community. For example, a shirt was called _lime_; a chambermaid, _limogère;_ sheets, _limans_--words all derived from the gipsy word _lima_, a shirt: they called an écu, a _rusquin_ or _rougesme_, from _rujia_, the common word for money; a rich man, _rupin_; a house, _turne_; a knife, _chourin_, from _rup, turna_, and _chori_, which, in the gipsy tongue, mean respectively silver, castle, and knife. From what we have related about rogues and the Cours des Miracles, one might perhaps be tempted to suppose that France was specially privileged; but it was not so, for Italy was far worse in this respect. The rogues were called by the Italians _bianti_, or _ceretani_, and were subdivided into more than forty classes, the various characteristics of which have been described by a certain Rafael Frianoro. It is not necessary to state that the analogue of more than one of these classes is to be found in the short description we have given of the Argotic kingdom in France. We will therefore only mention those which were more especially Italian. It must not be forgotten that in the southern countries, where religions superstition was more marked than elsewhere, the numerous family of rogues had no difficulty in practising every description of imposture, inasmuch as they trusted to the various manifestations of religions feeling to effect their purposes. Thus the _affrati_, in order to obtain more alms and offerings, went about in the garb of monks and priests, even saying mass, and pretending that it was the first time they had exercised their sacred office. So the _morghigeri_ walked behind a donkey, carrying a bell and a lamp, with their string of beads in their hands, and asking how they were to pay for the bell, which they were always "just going to buy." The _felsi_ pretended that they were divinely inspired and endowed with the gift of second sight, and announced that there were hidden treasures in certain houses under the guardianship of evil spirits. They asserted that these treasures could not be discovered without danger, except by means of fastings and offerings, which they and their brethren could alone make, in consideration of which they entered into a bargain, and received a certain sum of money from the owners. The _accatosi_ deserve mention on account of the cleverness with which they contrived to assume the appearance of captives recently escaped from slavery. Shaking the chains with which they said they had been bound, jabbering unintelligible words, telling heart-rending tales of their sufferings and privations, and showing the marks of blows which they had received, they went on their knees, begging for money that they might buy off their brethren or their friends, whom they said they had left in the hands of the Saracens or the Turks, We must mention, also, the _allacrimanti_, or weepers, who owed their name to the facility which they possessed of shedding tears at will; and the _testatori_, who, pretending to be seriously ill and about to die, extorted money from all those to whom they promised to leave their fortunes, though, of course, they had not a son to leave behind them. We must not forget the _protobianti_ (master rogues), who made no scruple of exciting compassion from their own comrades (Fig. 381), nor the _vergognosi_, who, notwithstanding their poverty, wished to be thought rich, and considered that assistance was due to them from the mere fact of their being noble. We must here conclude, for it would occupy too much time to go through the list of these Italian vagabonds. As for the German (Figs. 382 and 383), Spanish, and English rogues, we may simply remark that no type exists among them which is not to be met with amongst the Argotiers of France or the Bianti of Italy. In giving a description, therefore, of the mendicity practised in these two countries during the Middle Ages, we are sure to be representing what it was in other parts of Europe. [Illustration: Fig. 381.--Italian Beggar.--From an Engraving by Callot.] [Illustration: Figs. 382 and 383.--German Beggars.--Fac-simile of a Woodcut in the "Cosmographie Universelle" of Munster: in folio, Basle, 1552.] The history of regular robbers and highwaymen during this long period is more difficult to describe; it contains only disconnected anecdotes of a more or less interesting character. It is probable, moreover, that robbers did not always commit their depredations singly, and that they early understood the advantages of associating together. The _Tafurs_, or _Halegrins_, whom we notice as followers of Godefroy de Bouillon at the time of the Crusades, towards the end of the eleventh century, were terribly bad characters, and are actually accused by contemporary writers of violating tombs, and of living on human flesh. On this account they were looked upon with the utmost horror by the infidels, who dreaded more their savage ferocity than the valour of the Crusaders. The latter even, who had these hordes of Tafurs under their command, were not without considerable mistrust of them, and when, during their march through Hungary, under the protection of the cross, these miscreants committed depredations, Godefroy de Bouillion was obliged to ask pardon for them from the king of that country. An ancient poet has handed down to us a story in verse setting forth the exploits of Eustace the monk, who, after having thrown aside his frock, embraced the life of a robber, and only abandoned it to become Admiral of France under Philip Augustus. He was killed before Sandwich, in 1217. We have satisfactory proof that as early as the thirteenth century sharpers were very expert masters of their trade, for the ingenious and amusing tricks of which they were guilty are quite equal to the most skilled of those now recorded in our police reports. In the two following centuries the science of the _pince_ and of the _croc_ (pincers and hook), as it was then called, alone made progress, and Pathelin (a character in comedy, and an incomparable type of craft and dishonesty) never lacked disciples any more than Villon did imitators. We know that this charming poet, who was at the same time a most expert thief, narrowly escaped hanging on two occasions. His contemporaries attributed to him a poem of twelve hundred verses, entitled "Les Repues Franches," in which are described the methods in use among his companions for procuring wine, bread, meat, and fish, without having to pay for them. They form a series of interesting stories, the moral of which is to be gathered from the following lines:-- "C'est bien, disné, quand on eschappe Sans desbourcer pas ung denier, Et dire adieu an tavernier, En torchant son nez à la nappe." The meaning of this doggrel, which is somewhat broad, may be rendered--"He dines well who escapes without paying a penny, and who bids farewell to the innkeeper by wiping his nose on the tablecloth." Side by side with this poem of Yillon we ought to cite one of a later period--"La Légende de Maître Faifeu," versified by Charles Boudigné. This Faifeu was a kind of Villon of Anjou, who excelled in all kinds of rascality, and who might possibly have taught it even to the gipsies themselves. The character of Panurge, in the "Pantagruel," is no other than the type of Faifeu, immortalised by the genius of Rabelais. We must also mention one of the pamphlets of Guillaume Bouchet, written towards the end of the sixteenth century, which gives a very amusing account of thieves of every description, and also "L'Histoire Générale des Larrons," in which are related numerous wonderful tales of murders, robberies, and other atrocities, which made our admiring ancestors well acquainted with the heroes of the Grève and of Montfaucon. It must not be supposed that in those days the life of a robber who pursued his occupation with any degree of industry and skill was unattended with danger, for the most harmless cut-purses were hung without mercy whenever they were caught; the fear, however, of this fate did not prevent the _Enfants de la Matte_ from performing wonders. Brantôme relates that King Charles IX. had the curiosity to wish to "know how the cut-purses performed their arts with so much skill and dexterity," and begged Captain La Chambre to introduce to him, on the occasion of a banquet and a ball, the cleverest cut-purses, giving them full liberty to exhibit their skill. The captain went to the Cours des Miracles and fetched ten of the most expert of these thieves, whom he presented to the King. Charles, "after the dinner and the ball had taken place, wished to see all the plunder, and found that they had absolutely earned three thousand écus, either in money from purses, or in precious stones, pearls, or other jewels; some of the guests even lost their cloaks, at which the King thought he should die of laughter." The King allowed them to keep what they had thus earned at the expense of his guests; but he forbad them "to continue this sort of life," under penalty of being hung, and he had them enrolled in the army, in order to recompense them for their clever feats. We may safely assert that they made but indifferent soldiers. [Illustration: Fig. 384.--The Exhibitor of strange Animals (Twelfth Century Manuscript, Royal Library of Brussels).] Ceremonials. Origin of Modern Ceremonial.--Uncertainty of French Ceremonial up to the End of the Sixteenth Century.--Consecration of the Kings of France.--Coronation of the Emperors of Germany.--Consecration of the Doges of Venice.--Marriage of the Doge with the Sea.--State Entries of Sovereigns.--An Account of the Entry of Isabel of Bavaria into Paris.--Seats of Justice.--Visits of Ceremony between Persons of rank.--Mourning.--Social Courtesies.--Popular Demonstrations and National Commemorations.--New Year's Day.--Local Festivals.--_Vins d'Honneur._--Processions of Trades. Although society during the Middle Ages was, as a whole, closely cemented together, being animated by the same sentiments and imbued with the same spirit, it was divided, as we have already stated, into three great classes, namely, the clergy, the nobility, and the _liers-état._ These classes, each of which formed a distinct body within the State, carried on an existence peculiar to itself, and presented in its collective capacity a separate individuality. Hence there was a distinct ceremonial for each class. We will not attempt to give in detail the innumerable laws of these three kinds of ceremonial; our attention will be directed solely to their most characteristic customs, and to their most remarkable and interesting aspects taken as a whole. We must altogether lay aside matters relating specially to ceremonies of a purely religions character, as they are connected more or less with the traditions and customs of the Church, and belong to quite a distinct order of things. "When the Germans, and especially the Franks," says the learned paleographer Vallet de Viriville, "had succeeded in establishing their own rule in place of that of the Romans, these almost savage nations, and the barbarian chiefs who were at their head under the title of kings, necessarily borrowed more or less the refined practices relating to ceremonial possessed by the people whom they had conquered. The elevation of the elected chief or king on the shield and the solemn taking of arms in the midst of the tribe seem to be the only traces of public ceremonies which we can discover among the Grermans. The marvellous display and the imposing splendour of the political hierarchy of the Roman Empire, especially in its outward arrangements, must have astonished the minds of these uncultivated people. Thus we find the Frank kings becoming immediately after a victory the simple and clumsy imitators of the civilisation which they had broken up." Clovis on returning to Tours in 507, after having defeated Alaric, received the titles of _Patrician_ and _Consul_ from the Emperor Anastasius, and bedecked himself with the purple, the chlamys, and the diadem. The same principle of imitation was afterwards exhibited in the internal and external court ceremonial, in proportion as it became developed in the royal person. Charlemagne, who aimed at everything which could adorn and add strength to a new monarchy, established a regular method for the general and special administration of his empire, as also for the internal arrangement and discipline of his palace. We have already referred to this twofold organization (_vide_ chapters on Private Life and on Food), but we may here remark that, notwithstanding these ancient tendencies to the creation of a fixed ceremonial, the trifling rules which made etiquette a science and a law, were introduced by degrees, and have only very recently been established amongst us. In 1385, when King Charles VI. married the notorious Isabel of Bavaria, then scarcely fourteen years of age, he desired to arrange for her a magnificent entry into Paris, the pomp and brilliancy of which should be consistent with the rank and illustrious descent of his young bride. He therefore begged the old Queen Blanche, widow of Philippe de Valois, to preside over the ceremony, and to have it conducted according to the custom of olden times. She was consequently obliged, in the absence of any fixed rules on the subject, to consult the official records,--that is to say, the "Chronique du Monastère de Saint-Denis." The first embodiment of rules relating to these matters in use among the nobility, which had appeared in France under the title of "Honneurs de la Cour," only goes back to the end of the fifteenth century. It appears, however, that even then this was not generally admitted among the nobility as the basis of ceremonial, for in 1548 we find that nothing had been definitely settled. This is evident from the fact that when King Henri III. desired to know the rank and order of precedence of the princes of the royal blood, both dukes and counts--as also that of the other princes, the barons, the nobles of the kingdom, the constables, the marshals of France and the admirals, and what position they had held on great public occasions during the reigns of his predecessors--he commissioned Jean du Tillet, the civil registrar of the Parliament of Paris, to search among the royal archives for the various authentic documents which might throw light on this question, and serve as a precedent for the future. In fact, it was Henri III. who, in 1585, created the office of Grand Master of the Ceremonies of France, entrusting it to Guillaume Pot, a noble of Rhodes, which office for many generations remained hereditary in his family. [Illustration: Fig. 385.--Herald (Fourteenth Century).--From a Miniature in the "Chroniques de Saint-Denis" (Imperial Library of Paris).] Nevertheless the question of ceremonial, and especially that of precedence, had already more than once occupied the attention of sovereigns, not only within their own states, but also in relation to diplomatic matters. The meetings of councils, at which the ambassadors of all the Christian Powers, with the delegates of the Catholic Church, were assembled, did not fail to bring this subject up for decision. Pope Julius II. in 1504 instructed Pierre de Crassis, his Master of the Ceremonies, to publish a decree, determining the rank to be taken by the various sovereigns of Europe or by their representatives; but we should add that this Papal decree never received the sanction of the parties interested, and that the question of precedence, even at the most unimportant public ceremonies, was during the whole of the Middle Ages a perpetual source of litigation in courts of law, and of quarrels which too often ended in bloodshed. It is right that we should place at the head of political ceremonies those having reference to the coronation of sovereigns, which were not only political, but owed their supreme importance and dignity to the necessary intervention of ecclesiastical authority. We will therefore first speak of the consecration and coronation of the kings of France. Pépin le Bref, son of Charles Martel and founder of the second dynasty, was the first of the French kings who was consecrated by the religions rite of anointing. But its mode of administration for a long period underwent numerous changes, before becoming established by a definite law. Thus Pépin, after having been first consecrated in 752 in the Cathedral of Boissons, by the Archbishop of Mayence, was again consecrated with his two sons Charlemagne and Carloman, in 753, in the Abbey of St. Denis, by Pope Stephen III. Charlemagne was twice anointed by the Sovereign Pontiff, first as King of Lombardy, and then as Emperor. Louis le Débonnaire, his immediate successor, was consecrated at Rheims by Pope Stephen IV. in 816. In 877 Louis le Bègue received unction and the sceptre, at Compiègne, at the hands of the Archbishop of Rheims. Charles le Simple in 893, and Robert I. in 922, were consecrated and crowned at Rheims; but the coronation of Raoul, in 923, was celebrated in the Abbey of St. Médard de Soissons, and that of Louis d'Outremer, in 936, at Laon. From the accession of King Lothaire to that of Louis VI. (called Le Gros), the consecration of the kings of France sometimes took place in the metropolitan church of Rheims, and sometimes in other churches, but more frequently in the former. Louis VI. having been consecrated in the Cathedral of Orleans, the clergy of Rheims appealed against this supposed infraction of custom and their own special privileges. A long discussion took place, in which were brought forward the titles which the Church of Rheims possessed subsequently to the reign of Clovis to the exclusive honour of having kings consecrated in it; and King Louis le Jeune, son of Louis le Gros, who was himself consecrated at Rheims, promulgated a special decree on this question, in anticipation of the consecration of his son, Philippe Auguste. This decree finally settled the rights of this ancient church, and at the same time defined the order which was to be observed in future at the ceremony of consecration. From that date, down to the end of the reign of the Bourbons of the elder line, kings were invariably consecrated, according to legal rite, in the metropolitan church of Rheims, with the exception of Henry IV., who was crowned at Chartres by the bishop of that town, on account of the civil wars which then divided his kingdom, and caused the gates of Rheims to be closed against him. [Illustration: Fig. 386.--Coronation of Charlemagne.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chroniques de Saint-Denis," Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] The consecration of the kings of France always took place on a Sunday. On the previous day, at the conclusion of evening prayers, the custody of the cathedral devolved upon certain royal officers, assisted by the ordinary officials. During the evening the monarch came to the church for devotion, and "according to his religions feelings, to pass part of the night in prayer," an act which was called _la veillée des armes_. A large platform, surmounted by a throne, was erected between the chancel and the great nave. Upon this assembled, besides the King and his officers of State, twelve ecclesiastical peers, together with those prelates whom the King might be pleased to invite, and six lay peers, with other officers or nobles. At daybreak, the King sent a deputation of barons to the Abbey of St. Remi for the holy vial, which was a small glass vessel called _ampoule_, from the Latin word _ampulla_, containing the holy oil to be used at the royal anointing. According to tradition, this vial was brought from heaven by a dove at the time of the consecration of Clovis. Four of the nobles remained as hostages at the abbey during the time that the Abbot of St. Remi, followed by his monks and escorted by the barons, went in procession to the cathedral to place the sacred vessel upon the altar. The abbot of St. Denis in France had in a similar manner to bring from Rheims with great pomp, and deposit by the side of the holy vial, the royal insignia, which were kept in the treasury of his monastery, and had been there since the reign of Charlemagne. They consisted of the crown, the sword sheathed, the golden spurs, the gilt sceptre, the rod adorned with an ivory handle in the form of a hand, the sandals of blue silk, embroidered with fleur de lis, the chasuble or _dalmatique_, and the _surcot_, or royal mantle, in the shape of a cape without a hood. The King, immediately on rising from his bed, entered the cathedral, and forthwith took oath to maintain the Catholio faith and the privileges of the Church, and to dispense good and impartial justice to his subjects. He then walked to the foot of the altar, and divested himself of part of his dress, having his head bare, and wearing a tunic with openings on the chest, on the shoulders, at the elbows, and in the middle of the back; these openings were closed by means of silver aigulets. The Archbishop of Rheims then drew the sword from the scabbard and handed it to the King, who passed it to the principal officer in attendance. The prelate then proceeded with the religious part of the ceremony of consecration, and taking a drop of the miraculous oil out of the holy vial by means of a gold needle, he mixed it with the holy oil from his own church. This being done, and sitting in the posture of consecration, he anointed the King, who was kneeling before him, in five different parts of the body, namely, on the forehead, on the breast, on the back, on the shoulders, and on the joints of the arms. After this the King rose up, and with the assistance of his officers, put on his royal robes. The Archbishop handed to him successively the ring, the sceptre, and the rod of justice, and lastly placed the crown on his head. At this moment the twelve peers formed themselves into a group, the lay peers being in the first rank, immediately around the sovereign, and raising their hands to the crown, they held it for a moment, and then they conducted the King to the throne. The consecrating prelate, putting down his mitre, then knelt at the feet of the monarch and took the oath of allegiance, his example being followed by the other peers and their vassals who were in attendance. At the same time, the cry of "_Vive le Roi_!" uttered by the archbishop, was repeated three times outside the cathedral by the heralds-at-arms, who shouted it to the assembled multitude. The latter replied, "_Noel! Noel! Noel!_" and scrambled for the small pieces of money thrown to them by the officers, who at the same time cried out, "_Largesse, largesse aux manants_!" Every part of this ceremony was accompanied by benedictions and prayers, the form of which was read out of the consecration service as ordered by the bishop, and the proceedings terminated by the return of the civil and religious procession which had composed the _cortège_. When the sovereign was married, his wife participated with him in the honours of the consecration, the symbolical investiture, and the coronation; but she only partook of the homage rendered to the King to a limited degree, which was meant to imply that the Queen had a less extended authority and a less exalted rank. [Illustration: Fig. 387.--Dalmatica and Sandals of Charlemagne, Insignia of the Kings of France at their Coronation, preserved in the Treasury of the Abbey of St. Denis.] The ceremonies which accompanied the accessions of the emperors of Germany (Fig. 388) are equally interesting, and were settled by a decree which the Emperor Charles IX. promulgated in 1356, at the Diet of Nuremberg. According to the terms of this decree--which is still preserved among the archives of Frankfort-on-the-Main, and which is known as the _bulle d'or_, or golden bull, from the fact of its bearing a seal of pure gold--on the death of an emperor, the Archbishop of Mayence summoned, for an appointed day, the Prince Electors of the Empire, who, during the whole course of the Middle Ages, remained seven in number, "in honour," says the bull, "of the seven candlesticks mentioned in the Apocalypse." These Electors--who occupied the same position near the Emperor that the twelve peers did in relation to the King of France--were the Archbishops of Mayence, of Trèves, and of Cologne, the King of Bohemia, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, the Duke of Saxony, and the Margrave of Brandenburg. On the appointed day, the mass of the Holy Spirit was duly solemnized in the Church of St. Bartholomew of Frankfort, a town in which not only the election of the Emperor, but also his coronation, almost always took place, though one might have supposed that Aix-la-Chapelle would have been selected for such ceremonies. The Electors attended, and after the service was concluded, they retired to the sacristy of the church, accompanied by their officers and secretaries, They had thirty days for deliberation, but beyond that period they were not allowed "to eat bread or drink water" until they had agreed, at least by a majority, to give _a temporal chief to the Christian people, that is to say, a King of the Romans, who should in due time be promoted to be Emperor_, The newly-elected prince was, in fact, at first simply _King of the Romans_, and this title was often borne by persons who were merely nominated for the office by the voice of the Electors, or by political combinations. In order to be promoted to the full measure of power and authority, the King of the Romans had to receive both religions consecration and the crown. The ceremonies adopted at this solemnity were very analogous to those used at the consecrations of the kings of France, as well as to those of installation of all Christian princes. The service was celebrated by the Archbishop of Cologne, who placed the crown on the head of the sovereign-elect, whom he consecrated Emperor. The symbols of his authority were handed to him by the Electors, and then he was proclaimed, "_Cæsar, most sacred, ever august Majesty, Emperor, of the Holy Roman Empire of the nation of Germany_." [Illustration: Fig. 388.--Costume of Emperors at their Coronation since the Time of Charlemagne.--From an Engraving in a Work entitled "Insignia Sacre Majistatis Cæsarum Principum." Frankfort, 1579, in folio.] The imperial _cortége_ then came out from the Church of St. Bartholomew, and went through the town, halting at the town-hall (called the _Roemer_, in commemoration of the noble name of Rome), where a splendid banquet, prepared in the _Kaysersaal_ (hall of the Caesars), awaited the principal performers in this august ceremony. At the moment that the Emperor set foot on the threshold of the Roemer, the Elector of Saxony, Chief Marshal of the Empire, on horseback, galloped at full speed towards a heap of oats which was piled up in the middle of the square. Holding in one hand a silver measure, and in the other a scraper of the same metal, each of which weighed six marks, he filled the measure with oats, levelled it with the scraper, and handed it over to the hereditary marshal. The rest of the heap was noisily scrambled for by the people who had been witnesses of this allegorical performance. Then the Count Palatine, as chief seneschal, proceeded to perform his part in the ceremony, which consisted of placing before the Emperor, who was sitting at table, four silver dishes, each weighing three marks. The King of Bohemia, as chief butler, handed to the monarch wine and water in a silver cup weighing twelve marks; and then the Margrave of Magdeburg presented to him a silver basin of the same weight for washing his hands. The other three Electors, or arch-chancellors, provided at their own expense the silver baton, weighing twelve marks, suspended to which one of them carried the seals of the empire. Lastly, the Emperor, and with him the Empress if he was married, the princes, and the Electors, sat down to a banquet at separate tables, and were waited upon by their respective officers. On another table or stage were placed the Imperial insignia. The ceremony was concluded outside by public rejoicings: fountains were set to play; wine, beer, and other beverages were distributed; gigantic bonfires were made, at which whole oxen were roasted; refreshment tables were set out in the open air, at which any one might sit down and partake, and, in a word, every bounty as well as every amusement was provided. In this way for centuries public fêtes were celebrated on these occasions. [Illustration: Fig. 389.--Imperial Procession.--From an Engraving of the "Solemn Entry of Charles V. and Clement VII. into Bologna," by L. de Cranach, from a Fresco by Brusasorci, of Verona.] The doges of Venice, as well as the emperors of Germany, and some other heads of states, differed from other Christian sovereigns in this respect, that, instead of holding their high office by hereditary or divine right, they were installed therein by election. At Venice, a conclave, consisting of forty electors, appointed by a much more numerous body of men of high position, elected the Doge, or president of _the most serene Republic_. From the day when Laurent Tiepolo, immediately after his election in 1268, was spontaneously carried in triumph by the Venetian sailors, it became the custom for a similar ovation to take place in honour of any newly-elected doge. In order to do this, the workmen of the harbour had the new Doge seated in a splendid palanquin, and carried him on their shoulders in great pomp round the Piazza San Marco. But another still more characteristic ceremony distinguished this magisterial election. On Ascension Day, the Doge, entering a magnificent galley, called the _Bucentaur_, which was elegantly equipped, and resplendent with gold and precious stuffs, crossed the Grand Canal, went outside the town, and proceeded in the midst of a nautical _cortége_, escorted by bands of music, to the distance of about a league from the town on the Adriatic Gulf. Then the Patriarch of Venice gave his blessing to the sea, and the Doge, taking the helm, threw a gold ring into the water, saying, "O sea! I espouse thee in the name, and in token, of our true and perpetual sovereignty." Immediately the waters were strewed with flowers, and the shouts of joy, and the clapping of hands of the crowd, were intermingled with the strains of instruments of music of all sorts, whilst the glorious sky of Venice smiled on the poetic scene. The greater part of the principal ceremonies of the Middle Ages acquired, from various accessory and local circumstances, a character of grandeur well fitted to impress the minds of the populace. On these memorable occasions the exhibition of some historical memorial, of certain traditional symbols, of certain relics, &c., brought to the recollection the most celebrated events in national history--events already possessing the prestige of antiquity as well as the veneration of the people. Thus, as a memorial of the consecration of the kings of Hungary, the actual crown of holy King Stephen was used; at the consecration of the kings of England, the actual chair of Edward the Confessor was used; at the consecration of the emperors of Germany, the imperial insignia actually used by Charlemagne formed part of the display; at the consecration of the kings of France at a certain period, the hand of justice of St. Louis, which has been before alluded to, was produced. [Illustration: Fig. 390.--Standards of the Church and the Empire.--Reduced from an Engraving of the "Entry of Charles V. and Clement VII. into Bologna," by Lucas de Cranach, from a Fresco by Brusasorci, of Verona.] After their consecration by the Church and by the spiritual power, the sovereigns had simply to take actual possession of their dominions, and, so to speak, of their subjects. This positive act of sovereignty was often accompanied by another class of ceremonies, called _joyous entry_, or _public entry._ These entries, of which numerous accounts have been handed down to us by historians, and which for the most part were very varied in character, naturally took place in the capital city. We will limit ourselves to transcribing the account given by the ancient chronicler, Juvenal des Ursins, of the entry into Paris of Queen Isabel of Bavaria, wife of Charles VI., which was a curious specimen of the public fêtes of this kind. [Illustration: Fig. 391.--Grand Procession of the Doge, Venice (Sixteenth Century).--Reduced from one of fourteen Engravings representing this Ceremony, designed and engraved by J. Amman.] "In the year 1389, the King was desirous that the Queen should make a public entry into Paris, and this he made known to the inhabitants, in order that they should make preparations for it. And there were at each cross roads divers _histoires_ (historical representations, pictures, or tableaux vivants), and fountains sending forth water, wine, and milk. The people of Paris in great numbers went out to meet the Queen, with the Provost of the Merchants, crying '_Noel!_' The bridge by which she passed was covered with blue taffeta, embroidered with golden fleurs-de-lys. A man of light weight, dressed in the guise of an angel, came down, by means of some well-constructed machinery, from one of the towers of Notre-Dame, to the said bridge through an opening in the said blue taffeta, at the moment when the Queen was passing, and placed a beautiful crown on her head. After he had done this, he withdrew through the said opening by the same means, and thus appeared as if he were returning to the skies of his own accord. Before the Grand Chastelet there was a splendid court adorned with azure tapestry, which was intended to be a representation of the _lit-de-justice,_ and it was very large and richly decorated. In the middle of it was a very large pure white artificial stag, its horns gilt, and its neck encircled with a crown of gold. It was so ingeniously constructed that its eyes, horns, mouth, and all its limbs, were put in motion by a man who was secreted within its body. Hanging to its neck were the King's arms--that is to say, three gold fleur-de-lys on an azure shield.... Near the stag there was a large sword, beautiful and bright, unsheathed; and when the Queen passed, the stag was made to take the sword in the right fore-foot, to hold it out straight, and to brandish it. It was reported to the King that the said preparations were made, and he said to Savoisy, who was one of those nearest to him, 'Savoisy, I earnestly entreat thee to mount a good horse, and I will ride behind thee, and we will so dress ourselves that no one will know us, and let us go and see the entry of my wife.' And, although Savoisy did all he could to dissuade him, the King insisted, and ordered that it should be done. So Savoisy did what the King had ordered, and disguised himself as well as he could, and mounted on a powerful horse with the King behind him. They went through the town, and managed so as to reach the Chastelet at the time the Queen was passing. There was a great crowd, and Savoisy placed himself as near as he could, and there were sergeants on all sides with thick birch wands, who, in order to prevent the crowd from pressing upon and injuring the court where the stag was, hit away with their wands as hard as they could. Savoisy struggled continually to get nearer and nearer, and the sergeants, who neither knew the King nor Savoisy, struck away at them, and the King received several very hard and well-directed blows on the shoulders. In the evening, in the presence of the ladies, the matter was talked over, and they began to joke about it, and even the King himself laughed at the blows he had received. The Queen on her entry was seated on a litter, and very magnificently dressed, as were also the ladies and maids of honour. It was indeed a splendid sight; and if any one wished to describe the dresses of the ladies, of the knights and squires, and of those who escorted the Queen, it would take a long time to do so. After supper, singing and dancing commenced, which continued until daylight. The next day there were tournaments and other sports" (Fig. 392). [Illustration: Entry of Charles the Seventh into Paris A miniature from _Monstrelet the Chronicles_ in the Bibl. nat. de Paris, no 20,861 Costumes of the Sixteenth century.] [Illustration: Fig. 392.--Tournaments in honour of the Entry of Queen Isabel into Paris--From a Miniature in the "Chroniques" of Froissart, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (National Library of Paris).] [Illustration: Fig. 393.--Seat of Justice, held by King Philippe de Valois, on the 8th April, 1332, for the Trial of Robert, Comte d'Artois.--From a Pen-and-ink Sketch in an Original Manuscript (Arch. of the Empire)] In the course of this simple and graphic description mention has been made of the _lit de justice_ (seat of justice). All judicial or legislative assemblies at which the King considered it his duty to be present were thus designated; when the King came there simply as a looker-on, they were more commonly called _plaidoyers_, and, in this case, no change was made in the ordinary arrangements; but when the King presided they were called _conseils_, and then a special ceremonial was required. In fact, by _lit de justice_ (Fig. 393), or _cour des pairs_, we understand a court consisting of the high officers of the crown, and of the great executive of the State, whose duty it was to determine whether any peer of France should be tried on a criminal charge; gravely to deliberate on any political matter of special interest; or to register, in the name of the absolute sovereignty of the King, any edict of importance. We know the prominent, and, we may say, even the fatal, part played by these solemnities, which were being continually re-enacted, and on every sort of pretext, during the latter days of monarchy. These courts were always held with impressive pomp. The sovereign usually summoned to them the princes of the blood royal and the officers of his household; the members of the Parliament took their seats in scarlet robes, the presidents being habited in their caps and their mantles, and the registrars of the court also wearing their official dress. The High Chancellor, the First Chamberlain, and the Provost of Paris, sat at the King's feet. The Chancellor of France, the presidents and councillors of the Parliament, occupied the bar, and the ushers of the court were in a kneeling posture. Having thus mentioned the assemblies of persons of distinction, the interviews of sovereigns (Fig. 394), and the reception of ambassadors--without describing them in detail, which would involve more space than we have at our command--we will enter upon the subject of the special ceremonial adopted by the nobility, taking as our guide the standard book called "Honneurs de la Cour," compiled at the end of the fifteenth century by the celebrated Aliénor de Poitiers. In addition to her own observations, she gives those of her mother, Isabelle de Souza, who herself had but continued the work of another noble lady, Jeanne d'Harcourt--married in 1391 to the Count William de Namur--who was considered the best authority to be found in the kingdom of France. This collection of the customs of the court forms a kind of family diary embracing three generations, and extending back over more than a century. Notwithstanding the curious and interesting character of this book, and the authority which it possesses on this subject, we cannot, much to our regret, do more than borrow a few passages from it; but these, carefully selected, will no doubt suffice to give some idea of the manners and customs of the nobility during the fifteenth century, and to illustrate the laws of etiquette of which it was the recognised code. One of the early chapters of the work sets forth this fundamental law of French ceremonial, namely, that, "according to the traditions or customs of France, women, however exalted their position, be they even king's daughters, rank with their husbands." We find on the occasion of the marriage of King Charles VII. with Mary of Anjou, in 1413, although probably there had never been assembled together so many princes and ladies of rank, that at the banquet the ladies alone dined with the Queen, "and no gentlemen sat with them." We may remark, whilst on this subject, that before the reign of Francis I. it was not customary for the two sexes to be associated together in the ordinary intercourse of court life; and we have elsewhere remarked (see chapter on Private Life) that this departure from ancient custom exerted a considerable influence, not only on manners, but also on public affairs. [Illustration: Fig. 394.--Interview of King Charles V. with the Emperor Charles IV. in Paris in 1378.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the Description of this Interview, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century, in the Library of the Arsenal of Paris.] The authoress of the "Honneurs de la Cour" specially mentions the respect which Queen Mary of Anjou paid to the Duchess of Burgundy when she was at Châlons in Champagne in 1445: "The Duchess came with all her retinue, on horseback and in carriages, into the courtyard of the mansion where the King and Queen were, and there alighted, her first maid of honour acting as her train-bearer. M. de Bourbon gave her his right hand, and the gentlemen went on in front. In this manner she was conducted to the hall which served as the ante-chamber to the Queen's apartment. There she stopped, and sent in M. de Crequi to ask the Queen if it was her pleasure that she should enter.... When the Duchess came to the door she took the train of her dress from the lady who bore it and let it trail on the ground, and as she entered she knelt and then adyanced to the middle of the room. There she made the same obeisance, and moved straight towards the Queen, who was standing close to the foot of her throne. When the Duchess had performed a further act of homage, the Queen advanced two or three steps, and the Duchess fell on her knees; the Queen then put her hand on her shoulder, embraced her, kissed her, and commanded her to rise." The Duchess then went up to Margaret of Scotland, wife of the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XI., "who was four or five feet from the Queen," and paid her the same honours as she had done to the Queen, although the Dauphine appeared to wish to prevent her from absolutely kneeling to her. After this she turned towards the Queen of Sicily (Isabelle de Lorraine, wife of René of Anjou, brother-in-law of the King), "who was two or three feet from the Dauphine," and merely bowed to her, and the same to another Princess, Madame de Calabre, who was still more distantly connected with the blood royal. Then the Queen, and after her the Dauphine, kissed the three maids of honour of the Duchess and the wives of the gentlemen. The Duchess did the same to the ladies who accompanied the Queen and the Dauphine, "but of those of the Queen of Sicily the Duchess kissed none, inasmuch as the Queen had not kissed hers. And the Duchess would not walk behind the Queen, for she said that the Duke of Burgundy was nearer the crown of France than was the King of Sicily, and also that she was daughter of the King of Portugal, who was greater than the King of Sicily." Further on, from the details given of a similar reception, we learn that etiquette was not at that time regulated by the laws of politeness as now understood, inasmuch as the voluntary respect paid by men to the gentle sex was influenced much by social rank. Thus, at the time of a visit of Louis XI., then Dauphin, to the court of Brussels, to which place he went to seek refuge against the anger of his father, the Duchesses of Burgundy, of Charolais, and of Clèves, his near relatives, exhibited towards him all the tokens of submission and inferiority which he might have received from a vassal. The Dauphin, it is true, wished to avoid this homage, and a disussion on the subject of "more than a quarter of an hour ensued;" at last he took the Duchess of Burgundy by the arm and led her away, in order to cut short the ceremonies "about which Madame made so much to do." This, however, did not prevent the princesses, on their withdrawing, from kneeling to the ground in order to show their respect for the son of the King of France. [Illustration: Fig. 395.--The Entry of Louis XI. into Paris.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Chroniques" of Monstrelet, Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] We have already seen that the Duchess of Burgundy, when about to appear before the Queen, took her train from her train-bearer in order that she might carry it herself. In this she was only conforming to a general principle, which was, that in the presence of a superior, a person, however high his rank, should not himself receive honours whilst at the same time paying them to another. Thus a duke and a duchess amidst their court had all the things which were used at their table covered--hence the modern expression, _mettre le couvert_ (to lay the cloth)--even the wash-hand basin and the _cadenas_, a kind of case in which the cups, knives, and other table articles were kept; but when they were entertaining a king all these marks of superiority were removed, as a matter of etiquette, from the table at which they sat, and were passed on as an act of respect to the sovereign present. The book of Dame Aliénor, in a series of articles to which we shall merely allude, speaks at great length and enters into detail respecting the interior arrangements of the rooms in which princes and other noble children were born. The formalities gone through on these occasions were as curious as they were complicated; and Dame Aliénor regretted to see them falling into disuse, "owing to which," she says, "we fear that the possessions of the great houses of the nobility are getting too large, as every one admits, and chicanery or concealment of birth, so as to make away with too many children, is on the increase." Mourning is the next subject which we shall notice. The King never wore black for mourning, not even for his father, but scarlet or violet. The Queen wore white, and did not leave her apartments for a whole year. Hence the name of _château, hôtel,_ or _tour de la Reine Blanche_, which many of the buildings of the Middle Ages still bear, from the fact that widowed queens inhabited them during the first year of their widowhood. On occasions of mourning, the various reception rooms of a house were hung with black. In deep mourning, such as that for a husband or a father, a lady wore neither gloves, jewels, nor silk. The head was covered with a low black head-dress, with trailing lappets, called _chaperons, barbettes, couvre-chefs_, and _tourets_. A duchess and the wife of a knight or a banneret, on going into mourning, stayed in their apartments for six weeks; the former, during the whole of this time, when in deep mourning, remained lying down all day on a bed covered with a white sheet; whereas the latter, at the end of nine days, got up, and until the six weeks were over, remained sitting in front of the bed on a black sheet. Ladies did not attend the funerals of their husbands, though it was usual for them to be present at those of their fathers and mothers. For an elder brother, they wore the same mourning as for a father, but they did not lie down as above described. [Illustration: Fig. 396.--"How the King-at-Arms presents the Sword to the Duke of Bourbon."--From a Miniature in "Tournois du Roi René," Manuscript of the Fifteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] In their everyday intercourse with one another, kings, princes, dukes, and duchesses called one another _monsieur_ and _madame_, adding the Christian name or that of the estate. A superior speaking or writing to an inferior, might prefix to his or her title of relationship _beau_ or _belle_; for instance, _mon bel oncle, ma belle cousine_. People in a lower sphere of life, on being introduced to one another, did not say, "Monsieur Jean, ma belle tante"--"Mr. John, allow me to introduce you to my aunt"--but simply, "Jean, ma tante." The head of a house had his seat under a canopy or _dosseret_ (Fig. 396), which he only relinquished to his sovereign, when he had the honour of entertaining him. "Such," says Aliénor, in conclusion, "are the points of etiquette which are observed in Germany, in France, in Naples, in Italy, and in all other civilised countries and kingdoms." We may here remark, that etiquette, after having originated in France, spread throughout all Christian nations, and when it had become naturalised, as it were, amongst the latter, it acquired a settled position, which it retained more firmly than it did in France. In this latter country, it was only from the seventeenth century, and particularly under Louis XIV., that court etiquette really became a science, and almost a species of religions observance, whose minutiae were attended to as much as if they were sacramental rites, though they were not unfrequently of the most childish character, and whose pomp and precision often caused the most insufferable annoyance. But notwithstanding the perpetual changes of times and customs, the French nation has always been distinguished for nobility and dignity, tempered with good sense and elegance. If we now direct our attention to the _tiers état_, that class which, to quote a celebrated expression, "was destined to become everything, after having for a long time been looked upon as nothing," we shall notice that there, too, custom and tradition had much to do with ceremonies of all kinds. The presence of the middle classes not only gave, as it were, a stamp of grandeur to fêtes of an aristocratic and religions character, but, in addition, the people themselves had a number of ceremonies of every description, in which etiquette was not one whit less strict than in those of the court. The variety of civic and popular ceremonies is so great, that it would require a large volume, illustrated with numerous engravings, to explain fully their characteristic features. The simple enumeration of the various public fêtes, each of which was necessarily accompanied by a distinct ceremonial, would take up much time were we to attempt to give it even in the shortest manner. [Illustration: Fig. 397.--Entry of the Roi de l'Epinette at Lille, in the Sixteenth Century.--From a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Library of Rouen.] Besides the numerous ceremonies which were purely religious, namely, the procession of the _Fête-Dieu_, in Rogation week, and the fêtes which were both of a superstitions and burlesque character, such as _des Fous, de l'Ane, des Innocents_, and others of the same kind, so much in vogue during the Middle Ages, and which we shall describe more in detail hereafter, we should like to mention the military or gymnastic fêtes. Amongst these were what were called the processions of the _Confrères de l'Arquebuse_, the _Archers_, the _Papegaut_, the _roi de l'Epinette_, at Lille (Fig. 397), and the _Forestier_ at Bruges. There were also what may be termed the fêtes peculiar to certain places, such as those of _Béhors_, of the _Champs Galat_ at Epinal, of the _Laboureurs_ at Montélimar, of _Guy l'an neuf_ at Anjou. Also of the fêtes of _May_, of the _sheaf_, of the _spring_, of the _roses_, of the _fires of St. John_, &c. Then there were the historical or commemorative fêtes, such as those of the _Géant Reuss_ at Dunkerque, of the _Gayant_ at Douai, &c.; also of _Guet de Saint-Maxime_ at Riez in Provence, the processions of _Jeanne d'Arc_ at Orleans, of _Jeanne Hachette_ at Beauvais; and lastly, the numerous fêtes of public corporations, such as the _Écoliers_, the _Nations_, the _Universités_; also the _Lendit_, the _Saint-Charlemagne_, the _Baillée des roses au Parlement_; the literary fêtes of the _Pays et Chambres de rhetorique_ of Picardy and Flanders, of the _Clémence Isaure_ at Toulouse, and of the _Capitole_ at Rome, &c.; the fêtes of the _Serments, Métiers_, and _Devoirs_ of the working men's corporation; and lastly, the _Fêtes Patronales_, called also _Assemblées, Ducasses, Folies, Foires, Kermesses, Pardons_, &c. From this simple enumeration, it can easily be understood what a useless task we should impose upon ourselves were we merely to enter upon so wide and difficult a subject. Apart from the infinite variety of details resulting from the local circumstances under which these ceremonies had been instituted, which were everywhere celebrated at fixed periods, a kind of general principle regulated and directed their arrangement. Nearly all these fêtes and public rejoicings, which to a certain extent constituted the common basis of popular ceremonial, bore much analogy to one another. There are, however, certain peculiarities less known and more striking than the rest, which deserve to be mentioned, and we shall then conclude this part of our subject. [Illustration: Fig. 398.--Representation of a Ballet before Henri III. and his Court, in the Gallery of the Louvre.--Fac-simile of an Engraving on Copper of the "Ballet de la Royne," by Balthazar de Beaujoyeulx (folio, Paris, Mamert Patisson, 1582.)] Those rites, ceremonies, and customs, which are the most commonly observed, and which most persistently keep their place amongst us, are far from being of modern origin. Thus, the custom of jovially celebrating the commencement of the new year, or of devoting certain particular days to festivity, is still universally followed in every country in the world. The practice of sending presents on _New Year's Day_ is to be found among civilised nations in the East as well as in our own country. In the Middle Ages the intimate friends of princes, and especially of the kings of France, received Christmas gifts, for which they considered themselves bound to make an ample return. In England these interchanges of generosity also take place on Christmas Day. In Russia, on Easter Day, the people, on meeting in the street, salute one another by saying "Christ is risen." These practices, as well as many others, have no doubt been handed down to us from the early ages of Christianity. The same may be said of a vast number of customs of a more or less local character, which have been observed in various countries for centuries. In former times, at Ochsenbach, in Wurtemberg, during the carnival, women held a feast at which they were waited upon by men, and, after it was over, they formed themselves into a sort of court of plenary indulgence, from which the men were uniformly excluded, and sat in judgment on one another. At Ramerupt, a small town in Champagne, every year, on the 1st of May, twenty of the citizens repaired to the adjoining hamlet of St. Remy, hunting as they went along. They were called _the fools of Rameru_, and it was said that the greatest fool led the band. The inhabitants of St. Remy were bound to receive them gratuitously, and to supply them, as well as their horses and dogs, with what they required, to have a mass said for them, to put up with all the absurd vagaries of the captain and his troop, and to supply them with a _fine and handsome horned ram,_ which was led back in triumph. On their return into Ramerupt they set up shouts at the door of the curé, the procurator fiscal, and the collector of taxes, and, after the invention of gunpowder, fireworks were let off. They then went to the market-place, where they danced round the ram, which was decorated with ribbons. No doubt this was a relic of the feasts of ancient heathenism. A more curious ceremony still, whose origin, we think, may be traced to the Dionysian feasts of heathenism, has continued to be observed to this day at Béziers. It bears the names of the _Feast of Pepézuch_, the _Triumph of Béziers,_ or the _Feast of Caritats_ or _Charités_. At the bottom of the Rue Française at Béziers, a statue is to be seen which, notwithstanding the mutilations to which it has been subjected, still distinctly bears traces of being an ancient work of the most refined period of art. This statue represents Pepézuch, a citizen of Béziers, who, according to somewhat questionable tradition, valiantly defended the town against the Goths, or, as some say, against the English; its origin, therefore, cannot be later than the thirteenth century. On Ascension Day, the day of the Feast of Pepézuch, an immense procession went about the town. Three remarkable machines were particularly noticeable; the first was an enormous wooden camel made to walk by mechanism, and to move its limbs and jaws; the second was a galley on wheels fully manned; the third consisted of a cart on which a travelling theatre was erected. The consuls and other civic authorities, the corporations of trades having the pastors walking in front of them, the farriers on horseback, all bearing their respective insignia and banners, formed the procession. A double column, composed of a division of young men and young women holding white hoops decorated with ribbons and many-coloured streamers, was preceded by a young girl crowned with flowers, half veiled, and carrying a basket. This brilliant procession marched to the sound of music, and, at certain distances, the youthful couples of the two sexes halted, in order to perform, with the assistance of their hoops, various figures, which were called the _Danse des Treilles_. The machines also stopped from time to time at various places. The camel was especially made to enter the Church of St. Aphrodise, because it was said that the apostle had first come on a camel to preach the Gospel in that country, and there to receive the palm of martyrdom. On arriving before the statue of Pepézuch the young people decorated it with garlands. When the square of the town was reached, the theatre was stopped like the ancient car of Thespis, and the actors treated the people to a few comical drolleries in imitation of Aristophanes. From the galley the youths flung sugar-plums and sweetmeats, which the spectators returned in equal profusion. The procession closed with a number of men, crowned with green leaves, carrying on their heads loaves of bread, which, with other provisions contained in the galley, were distributed amongst the poor of the town. In Germany and in France it was the custom at the public entries of kings, princes, and persons of rank, to offer them the wines made in the district and commonly sold in the town. At Langres, for instance, these wines were put into four pewter vessels called _cimaises_, which are still to be seen. They were called the _lion, monkey, sheep_, and _pig_ wines, symbolical names, which expressed the different degrees or phases of drunkenness which they were supposed to be capable of producing: the lion, courage; the monkey, cunning; the sheep, good temper; the pig, bestiality. We will now conclude by borrowing, from the excellent work of M. Alfred Michiels on Dutch and Flemish painting, the abridged description of a procession of corporations of trades, which took place at Antwerp in 1520, on the Sunday after Ascension Day. "All the corporations of trades were present, every member being dressed in his best suit." In front of each guild a banner floated; and immediately behind an enormous lighted wax-taper was carried. March music was played on long silver trumpets, flutes, and drums. The goldsmiths, painters, masons, silk embroiderers, sculptors, carpenters, boatmen, fishermen, butchers, curriers, drapers, bakers, tailors, and men of every other trade marched two abreast. Then came crossbowmen, arquebusiers, archers, &c., some on foot and some on horseback. After them came the various monastic orders; and then followed a crowd of bourgeois magnificently dressed. A numerous company of widows, dressed in white from head to foot, particularly attracted attention; they constituted a sort of sisterhood, observing certain rules, and gaining their livelihood by various descriptions of manual work. The cathedral canons and the other priests walked in the procession in their gorgeous silk vestments sparkling with gold. Twenty persons carried on their shoulders a huge figure of the Virgin, with the infant Saviour in her arms, splendidly decorated. At the end of the procession were chariots and ships on wheels. There were various groups in the procession representing scenes from the Old and New Testament, such as the _Salutation of the Angels_, the _Visitation of the Magi_, who appeared riding on camels, the _Flight into Egypt_, and other well-known historical incidents. The last machine represented a dragon being led by St. Margaret with a magnificent bridle, and was followed by St. George and several brilliantly attired knights. [Illustration: Fig. 399.--Sandal and Buskin of Charlemagne.--From the Abbey of St. Denis.] Costumes. Influence of Ancient Costume.--Costume in the Fifth Century.--Hair.--Costumes in the Time of Charlemagne.--Origin of Modern National Dress.--Head-dresses and Beards: Time of St. Louis.--Progress of Dress: Trousers, Hose, Shoes, Coats, Surcoats, Capes.--Changes in the Fashions of Shoes and Hoods.--_Livrée_,--Cloaks and Capes.--Edicts against Extravagant Fashions.--Female Dress: Gowns, Bonnets, Head-dresses, &c.--Disappearance of Ancient Dress.--Tight-fitting Gowns.--General Character of Dress under Francis I.--Uniformity of Dress. Long garments alone were worn by the ancients, and up to the period when the barbarous tribes of the North made their appearance, or rather, until the invasion of the Roman Empire by these wandering nations, male and female dress differed but little. The Greeks made scarcely any change in their mode of dress for centuries; but the Romans, on becoming masters of the world, partially adopted the dress and arms of the people they had conquered, where they considered them an improvement on their own, although the original style of dress was but little altered (Figs. 400 and 401). Roman attire consisted of two garments--the under garment, or _tunic_, and the outer garment, or _cloak_; the latter was known under the various names of _chlamys, toga_, and _pallium_, but, notwithstanding these several appellations, there was scarcely any appreciable distinction between them. The simple tunic with sleeves, which answered to our shirt, was like the modern blouse in shape, and was called by various names. The _chiridota_ was a tunic with long and large sleeves, of Asiatic origin; the _manuleata_ was a tunic with long and tight sleeves coming to the wrists; the _talaris_ was a tunic reaching to the feet; the _palmata_ was a state tunic, embroidered with palms, which ornamentation was often found in other parts of dress. The _lacerna_, _loena_, _cucullus_, _chlamys_, _sagum_, _paludamentum_, were upper garments, more or less coarse, either full or scant, and usually short, and were analogous to our cloaks, mantles, &c., and were made both with and without hoods. There were many varieties of the tunic and cloak invented by female ingenuity, as well as of other articles of dress, which formed elegant accessories to the toilet, but there was no essential alteration in the national costume, nor was there any change in the shape of the numerous descriptions of shoes. The barbarian invasions brought about a revolution in the dress as well as in the social state of the people, and it is from the time of these invasions that we may date, properly speaking, the history of modern dress; for the Roman costume, which was in use at the same time as that of the Franks, the Huns, the Vandals, the Goths, &c., was subjected to various changes down to the ninth century. These modifications increased afterwards to such an extent that, towards the fourteenth century, the original type had altogether disappeared. [Illustration: Figs. 400 and 401.--Gallo-Roman Costumes.--From Bas-reliefs discovered in Paris in 1711 underneath the Choir of Notre-Dame.] It was quite natural that men living in a temperate climate, and bearing arms only when in the service of the State, should be satisfied with garments which they could wear without wrapping themselves up too closely. The northern nations, on the contrary, had early learned to protect themselves against the severity of the climate in which they lived. Thus the garments known by them as _braies_, and by the Parthians as _sarabara_, doubtless gave origin to those which have been respectively called by us _chausses, haut-de-chausses, trousses, grègues, culottes, pantalons_, &c. These wandering people had other reasons for preferring the short and close-fitting garments to those which were long and full, and these were their innate pugnacity, which forced them ever to be under arms, their habit of dwelling in forests and thickets, their love of the chase, and their custom of wearing armour. The ancient Greeks and Romans always went bareheaded in the towns; but in the country, in order to protect themselves from the direct rays of the sun, they wore hats much resembling our round hats, made of felt, plaited rushes, or straw. Other European nations of the same period also went bareheaded, or wore caps made of skins of animals, having no regularity of style, and with the shape of which we are but little acquainted. Shoes, and head-dresses of a definite style, belong to a much more modern period, as also do the many varieties of female dress, which have been known at all times and in all countries under the general name of _robes_. The girdle was only used occasionally, and its adoption depended on circumstances; the women used it in the same way as the men, for in those days it was never attached to the dress. The great difference in modern female costume consists in the fact of the girdle being part of the dress, thus giving a long or short waist, according to the requirements of fashion. In the same manner, a complete revolution took place in men's dress according as loose or tight, long or short sleeves were introduced. We shall commence our historical sketch from the fifth century, at which period we can trace the blending of the Roman with the barbaric costume--namely, the combination of the long, shapeless garment with that which was worn by the Germans, and which was accompanied by tight-fitting braies. Thus, in the recumbent statue which adorned the tomb of Clovis, in the Church of the Abbey of St. Geneviève, the King is represented as wearing the _tunic_ and the _toga_, but, in addition, Gallo-Roman civilization had actually given him tight-fitting braies, somewhat similar to what we now call pantaloons. Besides this, his tunic is fastened by a belt; which, however, was not a novelty in his time, for the women then wore long dresses, fastened at the waist by a girdle. There is nothing very remarkable about his shoes, since we find that the shoe, or closed sandal, was worn from the remotest periods by nearly all nations (Figs. 402 and 403). [Illustration: Fig. 402.--Costume of King Clovis (Sixth Century).--From a Statue on his Tomb, formerly in the Abbey of St. Geneviève.] [Illustration: Fig. 403.--Costume of King Childebert (Seventh Century).--From a Statue formerly placed in the Refectory of the Abbey of St. Germain-des-Prés.] The cloak claims an equally ancient origin. The principal thing worthy of notice is the amount of ornament with which the Franks enriched their girdles and the borders of their tunics and cloaks. This fashion they borrowed from the Imperial court, which, having been transferred from Rome to Constantinople during the third century, was not slow to adopt the luxury of precious stones and other rich decorations commonly in use amongst Eastern nations. Following the example of Horace de Vielcastel, the learned author of a history of the costumes of France, we may here state that it is very difficult, if not impossible, to define the exact costume during the time of the early Merovingian periods. The first writers who have touched upon this subject have spoken of it very vaguely, or not being contemporaries of the times of which they wrote, could only describe from tradition or hearsay. Those monuments in which early costume is supposed to be represented are almost all of later date, when artists, whether sculptors or painters, were not very exact in their delineations of costume, and even seemed to imagine that no other style could have existed before their time than the one with which they were daily familiar. In order to be as accurate as possible, although, after all, we can only speak hypothetically, we cannot do better than call to mind, on the one hand, what Tacitus says of the Germans, that they "were almost naked, excepting for a short and tight garment round their waists, and a little square cloak which they threw over the right shoulder," and, on the other, to carry ourselves back in imagination to the ancient Roman costume. We may notice, moreover, the curious description given of the Franks by Sidoine Apollinaire, who says, "They tied up their flaxen or light-brown hair above their foreheads, into a kind of tuft, and then made it fall behind the head like a horse's tail. The face was clean shaved, with the exception of two long moustaches. They wore cloth garments, fitting tight to the body and limbs, and a broad belt, to which they hung their swords." But this is a sketch made at a time when the Frankish race was only known among the Gauls through its marauding tribes, whose raids, from time to time, spread terror and dismay throughout the countries which they visited. From the moment when the uncultivated tribes of ancient Germany formally took possession of the territory which they had withdrawn from Roman rule, they showed themselves desirous of adopting the more gentle manners of the conquered nation. "In imitation of their chief," says M. Jules Quicherat, the eminent antiquarian, "more than once the Franks doffed the war coat and the leather Belt, and assumed the toga of Roman dignity. More than once their flaxen hair was shown to advantage by flowing over the imperial mantle, and the gold of the knights, the purple of the senators and patricians, the triumphal crowns, the fasces, and, in short, everything which the Roman Empire invented in order to exhibit its grandeur, assisted in adding to that of our ancestors." [Illustration: Figs. 404 and 405.--Saints in the Costume of the Sixth to the Eighth Centuries.--From Miniatures in old Manuscripts of the Royal Library of Brussels (Designs by Count H. de Vielcastel).] One great and characteristic difference between the Romans and the Franks should, however, be specially mentioned; namely, in the fashion of wearing the hair long, a fashion never adopted by the Romans, and which, during the whole of the first dynasty, was a distinguishing mark of kings and nobles among the Franks. Agathias, the Greek historian, says, "The hair is never cut from the heads of the Frankish kings' sons. From early youth their hair falls gracefully over their shoulders, it is parted on the forehead, and falls equally on both sides; it is with them a matter to which they give special attention." We are told, besides, that they sprinkled it with gold-dust, and plaited it in small bands, which they ornamented with pearls and precious metals. Whilst persons of rank were distinguished by their long and flowing hair, the people wore theirs more or less short, according to the degree of freedom which they possessed, and the serfs had their heads completely shaved. It was customary for the noble and free classes to swear by their hair, and it was considered the height of politeness to pull out a hair and present it to a person. Frédégaire, the chronicler, relates that Clovis thus pulled out a hair in order to do honour to St. Germer, Bishop of Toulouse, and presented it to him; upon this, the courtiers hastened to imitate their sovereign, and the venerable prelate returned home with his hand full of hair, delighted at the flattering reception he had met with at the court of the Frankish king. Durinig the Merovingian period, the greatest insult that could be offered to a freeman was to touch him with a razor or scissors. The degradation of kings and princes was carried out in a public manner by shaving their heads and sending them into a monastery; on their regaining their rights and their authority, their hair was always allowed to grow again. We may also conclude that great importance was attached to the preservation of the hair even under the kings of the second dynasty, for Charlemagne, in his Capitulaires, orders the hair to be removed as a punishment in certain crimes. The Franks, faithful to their ancient custom of wearing the hair long, gradually gave up shaving the face. At first, they only left a small tuft on the chin, but by degrees they allowed this to increase, and in the sixth and seventh centuries freemen adopted the usual form of beard. Amongst the clergy, the custom prevailed of shaving the crown of the head, in the same way as that adopted by certain monastic orders in the present day. Priests for a long time wore beards, but ceased to do so on their becoming fashionable amongst the laity (Figs. 406, 407). Painters and sculptors therefore commit a serious error in representing the prelates and monks of those times with large beards. As far as the monumental relics of those remote times allow us to judge, the dress as worn by Clovis underwent but trifing modifications during the first dvnasty; but during the reigns of Pepin and Charlemagne considerable changes were effected, which resulted from the intercourse, either of a friendly or hostile nature, between the Franks and the southern nations. About this time, silk stuffs were introduced into the kingdom, and the upper classes, in order to distinguish themselves from the lower, had their garments trimmed round with costly furs (see chapter on Commerce). [Illustration: Fig. 406 and 407.--Costume of the Prelates from the Eighth to the Tenth Centuries--After Miniatures in the "Missal of St. Gregory," in the National Library of Paris.] We have before stated (see chapter on Private Life) that Charlemagne, who always was very simple in his tastes, strenuously set his face against these novel introductions of luxury, which he looked upon as tending to do harm. "Of what use are these cloaks?" he said; "in bed they cannot cover us, on horseback they can neither protect us from the rain nor the wind, and when we are sitting they can neither preserve our legs from the cold nor the damp." He himself generally wore a large tunic made of otters' skins. On one occasion his courtiers went out hunting with him, clothed in splendid garments of southern fashion, which became much torn by the briars, and begrimed with the blood of the animals they had killed. "Oh, ye foolish men!" he said to them the next day as he showed them his own tunic, which a servant had just returned to him in perfect condition, after having simply dried it before the fire and rubbed it with his hands. "Whose garments are the more valuable and the more useful? mine, for which I have only paid a sou (about twenty-two francs of present money), or yours, which have cost so much?" From that time, whenever this great king entered on a campaign, the officers of his household, even the most rich and powerful, did not dare to show themselves in any clothes but those made of leather, wool, or cloth; for had they, on such occasions, made their appearance dressed in silk and ornaments, he would have sharply reproved them and have treated them as cowards, or as effeminate, and consequently unfit for the work in which he was about to engage. Nevertheless, this monarch, who so severely proscribed luxury in daily life, made the most magnificent display on the occasions of political or religious festivals, when the imperial dignity with which he was invested required to be set forth by pompous ceremonial and richness of attire. During the reign of the other Carlovingian kings, in the midst of political troubles, of internal wars, and of social disturbances, they had neither time nor inclination for inventing new fashions. Monuments of the latter part of the ninth century prove, indeed, that the national dress had hardly undergone any change since the time of Charlemagne, and that the influence of Roman tradition, especially on festive occasions, was still felt in the dress of the nobles (Figs. 408 to 411). In a miniature of the large MS. Bible given by the canons of Saint-Martin of Tours in 869 to Charles the Bald (National Library of Paris), we find the King sitting on his throne surrounded by the dignitaries of his court, and by soldiers all dressed after the Roman fashion. The monarch wears a cloak which seems to be made of cloth of gold, and is attached to the shoulder by a strap or ribbon sliding through a clasp; this cloak is embroidered in red, on a gold ground; the tunic is of reddish brown, and the shoes are light red, worked with gold thread. In the same manuscript there is another painting, representing four women listening to the discourse of a prophet. From this we discover that the female costume of the time consisted of two tunics, the under one being longer but less capacious than the other, the sleeves of the former coming down tight to the wrists, and being plaited in many folds, whilst those of the latter open out, and only reach to the elbow. The lower part, the neck, and the borders of the sleeves are trimmed with ornamented bands, the waist is encircled by a girdle just above the hips, and a long veil, finely worked, and fastened on the head, covers the shoulders and hangs down to the feet, completely hiding the hair, so that long plaits falling in front were evidently not then in fashion. The under dress of these four women--who all wear black shoes, which were probably made of morocco leather--are of various colours, whereas the gowns or outer tunics are white. [Illustration: Fig. 408.--Costume of a Scholar of the Carlovingian Period (St. Matthew writing his Gospel under the Inspiration of Christ).--From a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Ninth Century, in the Burgundian Library, Brussels (drawn by Count H. de Vielcastel).] Notwithstanding that under the Carlovingian dynasty it was always considered a shame and a dishonour to have the head shaved, it must not be supposed that the upper classes continued to wear the long Merovingian style of hair. After the reign of Charlemagne, it was the fashion to shave the hair from above the forehead, the parting being thus widened, and the hair was so arranged that it should not fall lower than the middle of the neck. Under Charles the Bald, whose surname proves that he was not partial to long hair, this custom fell into disuse or was abandoned, and men had the greater part of their heads shaved, and only kept a sort of cap of hair growing on the top of the head. It is at this period that we first find the _cowl_ worn. This kind of common head-dress, made from the furs of animals or from woollen stuffs, continued to be worn for many centuries, and indeed almost to the present day. It was originally only a kind of cap, light and very small; but it gradually became extended in size, and successively covered the ears, the neck, and lastly even the shoulders. No great change was made in the dress of the two sexes during the tenth century. "Nothing was more simple than the head-dress of women," says M. Jules Quicherat; "nothing was less studied than their mode of wearing their hair; nothing was more simple, and yet finer, than their linen. The elegant appearance of their garments recalls that of the Greek and Roman, women. Their dresses were at times so tight as to display all the elegance of their form, whilst at others they were made so high as completely to cover the neck; the latter were called _cottes-hardies_. The _cotte-hardie_, which has at all times been part of the dress of French women, and which was frequently worn also by men, was a long tunic reaching to the heels, fastened in at the waist and closed at the wrists. Queens, princesses, and ladies of the nobility wore in addition a long cloak lined with ermine, or a tunic with or without sleeves; often, too, their dress consisted of two tunics, and of a veil or drapery, which was thrown over the head and fell down before and behind, thus entirely surrounding the neck." [Illustration: Fig. 409.--Costume of a Scholar. Fig. 410.--Costume of a Bishop or Abbot. Fac-similes of Miniatures in a Manuscript of the Ninth Century ("Biblia Sacra"), in the Royal Library of Brussels.] We cannot find that any very decided change was made in dress before the end of the eleventh century. The ordinary dress made of thick cloths and of coarse woollen stuffs was very strong and durable, and not easily spoiled; and it was usual, as we still find in some provinces which adhere to old customs, for clothes, especially those worn on festive occasions and at ceremonials, to be handed down as heirlooms from father to son, to the third or fourth generation. The Normans, who came from Scandinavia towards the end of the tenth century, A.D. 970, with their short clothes and coats of mail, at first adopted the dress of the French, and continued to do so in all its various changes. In the following century, having found the Saxons and Britons in England clad in the garb of their ancestors, slightly modified by the Roman style of apparel, they began to make great changes in their manner of dressing themselves. They more and more discarded Roman fashions, and assumed similar costumes to those made in France at the same period. [Illustration: Fig. 411.--Costume of Charles the Simple (Tenth Century).--From a Miniature in the "Rois de France," by Du Tillet, Manuscript of the Sixteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] Before proceeding further in our history of mediæval dress, we must forestall a remark which will not fail to be made by the reader, and this is, that we seem to occupy ourselves exclusively with the dress of kings, queens, and other people of note. But we must reply, that though we are able to form tolerably accurate notions relative to the dress of the upper classes during these remote periods, we do not possess any reliable information relative to that of the lower orders, and that the written documents, as well as the sculptures and paintings, are almost useless on this point. Nevertheless, we may suppose that the dress of the men in the lowest ranks of society has always been short and tight, consisting of _braies_, or tight drawers, mostly made of leather, of tight tunics, of _sayons_ or doublets, and of capes or cloaks of coarse brown woollen. The tunic was confined at the waist by a belt, to which the knife, the purse, and sometimes the working tools were suspended. The head-dress of the people was generally a simple cap made of thick, coarse woollen cloth or felt, and often of sheep's skin. During the twelfth century, a person's rank or social position was determined by the head-dress. The cap was made of velvet for persons of rank, and of common cloth for the poor. The _cornette_, which was always an appendage to the cap, was made of cloth, with which the cap might be fastened or adjusted on the head. The _mortier_, or round cap, dates from the earliest centuries, and was altered both in shape and material according to the various changes of fashion; but lawyers of high position continued to wear it almost in its original shape, and it became like a professional badge for judges and advocates. In the miniatures of that time we find Charles the Good, Count of Flanders, who died in 1127, represented with a cap with a point at the top, to which a long streamer is attached, and a peak turned up in front. A cap very similar, but without the streamer, and with the point turned towards the left, is to be seen in a portrait of Geoffroy le Bel, Comte de Maine, in 1150. About the same period, Agnès de Baudement is represented with a sort of cap made of linen or stuff, with lappets hanging down over the shoulders; she is dressed in a robe fastened round the waist, and having long bands attached to the sleeves near the wrists. Queen Ingeburge, second wife of Philip Augustus, also wore the tight gown, fastened at the collar by a round buckle, and two bands of stuff forming a kind of necklace; she also used the long cloak, and the closed shoes, which had then begun to be made pointed. Robert, Comte de Dreux, who lived at the same period, is also dressed almost precisely like the Queen, notwithstanding the difference of sex and rank; his robe, however, only descends to the instep, and his belt has no hangings in front. The Queen is represented with her hair long and flowing, but the count has his cut short. [Illustration: Fig. 412.--Costume of King Louis le Jeune--Miniature of the "Rois de France," by Du Tillet (Sixteenth Century), in the National Library of Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 413.--Royal Costume.--From a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Twelfth Century, in the Burgundian Library, Brussels.] Women, in addition to their head-dress, often wore a broad band, which was tied under the chin, and gave the appearance of a kind of frame for the face. Both sexes wore coloured bands on their shoes, which were tied round the ankles like those of sandals, and showed the shape of the foot. The beard, which was worn in full at the beginning of the twelfth century, was by degrees modified both as to shape and length. At first it was cut in a point, and only covered the end of the chin, but the next fashion was to wear it so as to join the moustaches. Generally, under Louis le Jeune (Fig. 412), moustaches went out of fashion. We next find beards worn only by country people, who, according to contemporary historians, desired to preserve a "remembrance of their participation in the Crusades." At the end of this century, all chins were shaved. The Crusades also gave rise to the general use of the purse, which was suspended to the belt by a cord of silk or cotton, and sometimes by a metal chain. At the time of the Holy War, it had become an emblem characteristic of pilgrims, who, before starting for Palestine, received from the hands of the priest the cross, the pilgrim's staff, and the purse. We now come to the time of Louis IX. (Figs. 414 to 418), of that good king who, according to the testimony of his historians, generally dressed with the greatest simplicity, but who, notwithstanding his usual modesty and economy, did not hesitate on great occasions to submit to the pomp required by the regal position which he held. "Sometimes," says the Sire de Joinville, "he went into his garden dressed in a camel's-hair coat, a surcoat of linsey-woolsey without sleeves, a black silk cloak without a hood, and a hat trimmed with peacocks' feathers. At other times he was dressed in a coat of blue silk, a surcoat and mantle of scarlet satin, and a cotton cap." The surcoat (_sur-cotte_) was at first a garment worn only by females, but it was soon adopted by both sexes: it was originally a large wrapper with sleeves, and was thrown over the upper part of the robe (_cotte_), hence its name, _sur-cotte._ Very soon it was made without sleeves--doubtless, as M. Quicherat remarks, that the under garment, which was made of more costly material, might be seen; and then, with the same object, and in order that the due motion of the limbs might not be interfered with, the surcoat was raised higher above the hips, and the arm-holes were made very large. [Illustration: Fig. 414.--Costume of a Princess dressed in a Cloak lined with Fur.--From a Miniature of the Thirteenth Century.] [Illustration: Fig. 415.--Costume of William Malgeneste, the King's Huntsman, as represented on his Tomb, formerly in the Abbey of Long-Pont.] At the consecration of Louis IX., in 1226, the nobles wore the cap (_mortier_) trimmed with fur; the bishops wore the cope and the mitre, and carried the crosier. Louis IX., at the age of thirteen, is represented, in a picture executed in 1262 (Sainte-Chapelle, Paris), with his hair short, and wearing a red velvet cap, a tunic, and over this a cloak open at the chest, having long sleeves, which are slit up for the arms to go through; this cloak, or surcoat, is trimmed with ermine in front, and has the appearance of what we should now call a fur shawl. The young King has long hose, and shoes similar in shape to high slippers. In the same painting Queen Margaret, his wife, wears a gown with tight bodice opened out on the hips, and having long and narrow sleeves; she also has a cloak embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, the long sleeves of which are slit up and bordered with ermine; a kind of hood, much larger than her head, and over this a veil, which passes under the chin without touching the face; the shoes are long, and seem to enclose the feet very tightly. [Illustration: Fig. 416.--Costumes of the Thirteenth Century: Tristan and the beautiful Yseult.--From a Miniature in the Romance of "Tristan," Manuscript of the Fourteenth Century (Imperial Library of Paris).] From this period gowns with tight bodices were generally adopted; the women wore over them a tight jacket, reaching to a little below the hips, often trimmed with fur when the gown was richly ornamented, and itself richly ornamented when the gown was plain. They also began to plait the hair, which fell down by the side of the face to the neck, and they profusely decorated it with pearls or gold or silver ornaments. Jeanne, Queen of Navarre, wife of Philippe le Bel, is represented with a pointed cap, on the turned-up borders of which the hair clusters in thick curls on each side of the face; on the chest is a frill turned down in two points; the gown, fastened in front by a row of buttons, has long and tight sleeves, with a small slit at the wrists closed by a button; lastly, the Queen wears, over all, a sort of second robe in the shape of a cloak, the sleeves of which are widely slit in the middle. At the end of the thirteenth century luxury was at its height at the court of France: gold and silver, pearls and precious stones were lavished on dress. At the marriage of Philip III., son of St. Louis, the gentlemen were dressed in scarlet; the ladies in cloth of gold, embroidered and trimmed with gold and silver lace. Massive belts of gold were also worn, and chaplets sparkling with the same costly metal. Moreover, this magnificence and display (see chapter on Private Life) was not confined to the court, for we find that it extended to the bourgeois class, since Philippe le Bel, by his edict of 1294, endeavoured to limit this extravagance, which in the eyes of the world had an especial tendency to obliterate, or at least to conceal, all distinctions of birth, rank, and condition. Wealth strove hard at that time to be the sole standard of dress. As we approach the fourteenth century--an epoch of the Middle Ages at which, after many changes of fashion, and many struggles against the ancient Roman and German traditions, modern national costume seems at last to have assumed a settled and normal character--we think it right to recapitulate somewhat, with a view to set forth the nature of the various elements which were at work from time to time in forming the fashions in dress. In order to give more weight to our remarks, we will extract, almost word for word, a few pages from the learned and excellent work which M. Jules Quicherat has published on this subject. "Towards the year 1280," he says, "the dress of a man--not of a man as the word was then used, which meant _serf_, but of one to whom the exercise of human prerogatives was permitted, that is to say, of an ecclesiastic, a bourgeois, or a noble--was composed of six indispensable portions: the _braies_, or breeches, the stockings, the shoes, the coat, the surcoat, or _cotte-hardie,_ and the _chaperon_, or head-dress. To these articles those who wished to dress more elegantly added, on the body, a shirt; on the shoulders, a mantle; and on the head, a hat, or _fronteau_. [Illustration: Fig. 417.--Costumes of the Common People in the Fourteenth Century: Italian Gardener and Woodman.--From two Engravings in the Bonnart Collection.] "The _braies_, or _brayes_, were a kind of drawers, generally knitted, sometimes made of woollen stuff or silk, and sometimes even of undressed leather. .... Our ancestors derived this part of their dress from the ancient Gauls; only the Gallic braies came down to the ankle, whereas those of the thirteenth century only reached to the calf. They were fastened above the hips by means of a belt called the _braier_. "By _chausses_ was meant what we now call long stockings or hose. The stockings were of the same colour and material as the braies, and were kept up by the lower part of the braies being pulled over them, and tied with a string. "The shoes were made of various kinds of leather, the quality of which depended on the way in which they were tanned, and were either of common leather, or of leather which was similar to that we know as morocco, and was called _cordouan_ or _cordua_ (hence the derivation of the word _cordouannier_, which has now become _cordonnier_). Shoes were generally made pointed; this fashion of the _poulaines_, or Polish points, was followed throughout the whole of Europe for nearly three hundred years, and, when first introduced, the Church was so scandalized by it that it was almost placed in the catalogue of heresies. Subsequently, the taste respecting the exaggerated length of the points was somewhat modified, but it had become so inveterate that the tendency for pointed shoes returning to their former absurd extremes was constantly showing itself. The pointed shoes became gradually longer during the struggles which were carried on in the reign of Philippe le Bel between Church and State. "Besides the shoes, there were also the _estiviaux_, thus named from. _estiva_ (summer thing), because, being generally made of velvet, brocade, or other costly material, they could only be worn in dry weather. "The coat (_cotte_) corresponded with the tunic of the ancients, it was a blouse with tight sleeves. These sleeves were the only part of it which were exposed, the rest being completely covered by the surcoats, or _cotte-hardie,_ a name the origin of which is obscure. In shape the surcoat somewhat resembled a sack, in which, at a later period, large slits were made in the arms, as well as over the hips and on the chest, through which appeared the rich furs and satins with which it was lined.... The ordinary material of the surcoat for the rich was cloth, either scarlet, blue, or reddish brown, or two or more of these colours mixed together; and for the poor, linsey-woolsey or fustian. The nobles, princes, or barons, when holding a court, wore surcoats of a colour to match their arms, which were embroidered upon them, but the lesser nobles who frequented the houses of the great spoke of themselves as in the robes of such and such a noble, because he whose patronage they courted was obliged to provide them with surcoats and mantles. These were of their patron's favourite colour, and were called the livery (_livrée_), on account of their distribution (_livraison_), which took place twice a year. The word has remained in use ever since, but with a different signification; it is, however, so nearly akin to the original meaning that its affinity is evident." [Illustration: Fig. 418.--Costume of English Servants in the Fourteenth Century.--From Manuscripts in the British Museum.] [Illustration: Fig. 419.--Costume of Philip the Good, with Hood and "Cockade."--From a Miniature in a Manuscript of the Period.] An interesting anecdote relative to this custom is to be found in the chronicles of Matthew Paris. When St. Louis, to the dismay of all his vassals, and of his inferior servants, had decided to take up the cross, he succeeded in associating the nobles of his court with him in his vow by a kind of pious fraud. Having had a certain number of mantles prepared for Christmas-day, he had a small white cross embroidered on each above the right shoulder, and ordered them to be distributed among the nobles on the morning of the feast when they were about to go to mass, which was celebrated some time before sunrise. Each courtier received the mantle given by the King at the door of his room, and put it on in the dark without noticing the white cross; but, when the day broke, to his great surprise, he saw the emblem worn by his neighbour, without knowing that he himself wore it also. "They were surprised and amused," says the English historian, "at finding that the King had thus piously entrapped them.... As it would have been unbecoming, shameful, and even unworthy of them to have removed these crosses, they laughed heartily, and said that the good King, on starting as a pilgrim-hunter, had found a new method of catching men." "The chaperon," adds M. Quicherat, "was the national head-dress of the ancient French, as the _cucullus_, which was its model, was that of the Gauls. We can imagine its appearance by its resemblance to the domino now worn at masked balls. The shape was much varied during the reign of Philippe le Bel, either by the diminution of the cape or by the lengthening of the hood, which was always sufficiently long to fall on the shoulders. In the first of these changes, the chaperon no longer being tied round the neck, required to be held on the head by something more solid. For this reason it was set on a pad or roll, which changed it into a regular cap. The material was so stitched as to make it take certain folds, which were arranged as puffs, as ruffs, or in the shape of a cock's comb; this last fashion, called _cockade_, was especially in vogue (Fig. 419)--hence the origin of the French epithet _coquard_, which would be now expressed by the word _dandy_. "Hats were of various shapes. They were made of different kinds of felt, or of otter or goat's skin, or of wool or cotton. The expression _chapeau de fleurs_ (hat of flowers), which continually occurs in ancient works, did not mean any form of hat, but simply a coronet of forget-me-nots or roses, which was an indispensable part of dress for balls or festivities down to the reign of Philippe de Valois (1347). Frontlets (_fronteaux_), a species of fillet made of silk, covered with gold and precious stones, superseded the _chapeau de fleurs_, inasmuch as they had the advantage of not fading. They also possessed the merit of being much more costly, and were thus the means of establishing in a still more marked manner distinctions in the social positions of the wearers. [Illustration: Fig. 420.--Costumes of a rich Bourgeoise, of a Peasant-woman, and of a Lady of the Nobility, of the Fourteenth Century.--From various painted Windows in the Churches of Moulins (Bourbonnais).] [Illustration: Saint Catherine Surrounded by the Doctors of Alexandria. A miniature from the _Breviary_ of the cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Bibl. of Saint-Marc, Venice. (From a copy belonging to M. Ambroise Firmin-Didot.)] "There were two kinds of mantles; one was open in front, and fell over the back, and a strap which crossed the chest held it fixed on the shoulders; the other, enveloping the body like a bell, was slit up on the right side, and was thrown back over the left arm; it was made with a fur collar, cut in the shape of a tippet. This last has been handed down to us, and is worn by our judges under the name of _toge_ and _épitoge_. "It is a very common mistake to suppose that the shirt is an article of dress of modern invention; on the contrary, it is one of great antiquity, and its coming into general use is the only thing new about it. "Lastly, we have to mention the _chape_, which was always regarded as a necessary article of dress. The _chape_ was the only protection against bad weather at a period when umbrellas and covered carriages were unknown. It was sometimes called _chape de pluie_, on account of the use to which it was applied, and it consisted of a large cape with sleeves, and was completely waterproof. It was borne behind a master by his servant, who, on account of this service was called a _porte-chape._ It is needless to say that the common people carried it themselves, either slung over their backs, or folded under the arm." If we now turn to female attire, we shall find represented in it all the component parts of male dress, and almost all of them under the same names. It must be remarked, however, that the women's coats and surcoats often trailed on the ground; that the hat--which was generally called a _couvre-chef,_ and consisted of a frame of wirework covered over with stuff which was embroidered or trimmed with lace--was not of a conical shape; and, lastly, that the _chaperon_, which was always made with a tippet, or _chausse_, never turned over so as to form a cap. We may add that the use of the couvre-chef did not continue beyond the middle of the fourteenth century, at which time women adopted the custom of wearing any kind of head-dress they chose, the hair being kept back by a silken net, or _crépine_, attached either to a frontlet, or to a metal fillet, or confined by a veil of very light material, called a _mollequin_ (Fig. 420). With the aid of our learned guide we have now reached a period (end of the thirteenth century) well adapted for this general study of the dress of our ancestors, inasmuch as soon afterwards men's dress at least, and especially that of young courtiers, became most ridiculously and even indecently exaggerated. To such an extent was this the case, that serious calamities having befallen the French nation about this time, and its fashions having exercised a considerable influence over the whole continent of Europe, contemporary historians do not hesitate to regard these public misfortunes as a providential chastisement inflicted on France for its disgraceful extravagance in dress. [Illustration: Fig. 421.--Costumes of a young Nobleman and of a Bourgeois in the Fourteenth Century.--From a painted Window in the Church of Saint-Ouen at Rouen, and from a Window at Moulins (Bourbonnais).] "We must believe that God has permitted this as a just judgment on us for our sins," say the monks who edited the "Grande Chronique de St. Denis," in 1346, at the time of the unfortunate battle of Cressy, "although it does not belong to us to judge. But what we see we testify to; for pride was very great in France, and especially amongst the nobles and others, that is to say, pride of nobility, and covetousness. There was also much impropriety in dress, and this extended throughout the whole of France. Some had their clothes so short and so tight that it required the help of two persons to dress and undress them, and whilst they were being undressed they appeared as if they were being skinned. Others wore dresses plaited over their loins like women; some had chaperons cut out in points all round; some had tippets of one cloth, others of another; and some had their head-dresses and sleeves reaching to the ground, looking more like mountebanks than anything else. Considering all this, it is not surprising if God employed the King of England as a scourge to correct the excesses of the French people." And this is not the only testimony to the ridiculous and extravagant tastes of this unfortunate period. One writer speaks with indignation of the _goats' beards_ (with two points), which seemed to put the last finishing touch of ridicule on the already grotesque appearance of even the most serious people of that period. Another exclaims against the extravagant luxury of jewels, of gold and silver, and against the wearing of feathers, which latter then appeared for the first time as accessories to both male and female attire. Some censure, and not without reason, the absurd fashion of converting the ancient leather girdle, meant to support the waist, into a kind of heavy padded band, studded with gilded ornaments and precious stones, and apparently invented expressly to encumber the person wearing it. Other contemporary writers, and amongst these Pope Urban V. and King Charles V. (Fig. 422), inveigh against the _poulaines_, which had more than ever come into favour, and which were only considered correct in fashion when they were made as a kind of appendix to the foot, measuring at least double its length, and ornamented in the most fantastical manner. The Pope anathematized this deformity as "a mockery of God and the holy Church," and the King forbad craftsmen to make them, and his subjects to wear them. All this is as nothing in comparison with the profuse extravagance displayed in furs, which was most outrageous and ruinous, and of which we could not form an idea were it not for the items in certain royal documents, from which we gather that, in order to trim two complete suits for King John, no fewer than six hundred and seventy martens' skins were used. It is also stated that the Duke of Berry, the youngest son of that monarch, purchased nearly ten thousand of these same skins from a distant country in the north, in order to trim only five mantles and as many surcoats. We read also that a robe made for the Duke of Orleans, grandson of the same king, required two thousand seven hundred and ninety ermines' skins. It is unnecessary to state, that in consequence of this large consumption, skins could only be purchased at the most extravagant prices; for example, fifty skins cost about one hundred francs (or about six thousand of present currency), showing to what an enormous expense those persons were put who desired to keep pace with the luxury of the times (Fig. 424). [Illustration: Fig. 422.--Costume of Charles V., King of France.--From a Statue formerly in the Church of the Célestins, Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 423.--Costume of Jeanne de Bourbon, Wife of Charles V.--From a Statue formerly in the Church of the Célestins, Paris.] We have already seen that Charles V. used his influence, which was unfortunately very limited, in trying to restrain the extravagance of fashion. This monarch did more than decree laws against indelicate or unseemly and ridiculous dress; he himself never wore anything but the long and ample costume, which was most becoming, and which had been adopted in the preceding century. His example, it is true, was little followed, but it nevertheless had this happy resuit, that the advocates of short and tight dresses, as if suddenly seized with instinctive modesty, adopted an upper garment, the object of which seemed to be to conceal the absurd fashions which they had not the courage to rid themselves of. This heavy and ungraceful tunic, called a _housse_, consisted of two broad bands of a more or less costly material, which, starting from the neck, fell behind and before, thus almost entirely concealing the front and back of the person, and only allowing the under garments to be seen through the slits which naturally opened on each side of it. A fact worthy of remark is, that whilst male attire, through a depravity of taste, had extended to the utmost limit of extravagance, women's dress, on the contrary, owing to a strenuous effort towards a dignified and elegant simplicity, became of such a character that it combined all the most approved fashions of female costume which had been in use in former periods. The statue of Queen Jeanne de Bourbon, wife of Charles V., formerly placed with that of her husband in the Church of the Célestins at Paris, gives the most faithful representation of this charming costume, to which our artists continually have recourse when they wish to depict any poetical scenes of the French Middle Ages (Fig. 423). [Illustration: Fig. 424.--Costumes of Bourgeois or Merchant, of a Nobleman, and of a Lady of the Court or rich Bourgeoise, with the Head-dress (_escoffion_) of the Fifteenth Century.--From a Painted Window of the Period, at Moulins (Bourbonnais), and from a Painting on Wood of the same Period, in the Musee de Cluny.] This costume, without positively differing in style from that of the thirteenth century, inasmuch as it was composed of similar elements, was nevertheless to be distinguished by a degree of elegance which hitherto had been unknown. The coat, or under garment, which formerly only showed itself through awkwardly-contrived openings, now displayed the harmonious outlines of the figure to advantage, thanks to the large openings in the overcoat. The surcoat, kept back on the shoulders by two narrow bands, became a sort of wide and trailing skirt, which majestically draped the lower part of the body; and, lastly, the external corset was invented, which was a kind of short mantle, falling down before and behind without concealing any of the fine outlines of the bust. This new article of apparel, which was kept in its place in the middle of the chest by a steel busk encased in some rich lace-work, was generally made of fur in winter and of silk in summer. If we consult the numerous miniatures in manuscripts of this period, in which the gracefulness of the costume was heightened by the colours employed, we shall understand what variety and what richness of effect could be displayed without departing from the most rigid simplicity. One word more in reference to female head-dress. The fashion of wearing false hair continued in great favour during the middle of the fourteenth century, and it gave rise to all sorts of ingenious combinations; which, however, always admitted of the hair being parted from the forehead to the back of the head in two equal masses, and of being plaited or waved over the ears. Nets were again adopted, and head-dresses which, whilst permitting a display of masses of false hair, hid the horsehair or padded puffs. And, lastly, the _escoffion_ appeared--a heavy roll, which, being placed on a cap also padded, produced the most clumsy, outrageons, and ungraceful shapes (Fig. 424). At the beginning of the fifteenth century men's dress was still very short. It consisted of a kind of tight waistcoat, fastened by tags, and of very close-fitting breeches, which displayed the outlines of the figure. In order to appear wide at the shoulders artificial pads were worn, called _mahoitres_. The hair was allowed to fall on the forehead in locks, which covered the eyebrows and eyes. The sleeves were slashed, the shoes armed with long metal points, and the conical hat, with turned-up rim, was ornamented with gold chains and various jewels. The ladies, during the reign of Charles VI., still wore long trains to their dresses, which they carried tucked up under their arms, unless they had pages or waiting-maids (see chapter on Ceremonials). The tendency, however, was to shorten these inconvenient trains, as well as the long hanging and embroidered or fringed sleeves. On the other hand, ladies' dresses on becoming shorter were trimmed in the most costly manner. Their head-dresses consisted of very large rolls, surmounted by a high conical bonnet called a _hennin_, the introduction of which into France was attributed to Queen Isabel of Bavaria, wife of Charles VI. It was at this period that they began to uncover the neck and to wear necklaces. [Illustration: Fig. 425.--Italian Costumes of the Fifteenth Century: Notary and Sbirro.--From two Engravings in the Bonnart Collection.] [Illustration: Fig. 426.--Costumes of a Mechanic's Wife and a rich Bourgeois in the latter part of the Fifteenth Century.--From Windows in the Cathedral of Moulins (Bourbonnais).] Under Louis XI. this costume, already followed and adopted by the greatest slaves of fashion, became more general. "In this year (1487)," says the chronicler Monstrelet, "ladies ceased to wear trains, substituting for them trimmings of grebe, of martens' fur, of velvet, and of other materials, of about eighteen inches in width; some wore on the top of their heads rolls nearly two feet high, shaped like a round cap, which closed in above. Others wore them lower, with veils hanging from the top, and reaching down to the feet. Others wore unusually wide silk bands, with very elegant buckles equally wide, and magnificent gold necklaces of various patterns. "About this time, too, men took to wearing shorter clothes than ever, having them made to fit tightly to the body, after the manner of dressing monkeys, which was very shameful and immodest; and the sleeves of their coats and doublets were slit open so as to show their fine white shirts. They wore their hair so long that it concealed their face and even their eyes, and on their heads they wore cloth caps nearly a foot or more high. They also carried, according to fancy, very splendid gold chains. Knights and squires, and even the varlets, wore silk or velvet doublets; and almost every one, especially at court, wore poulaines nine inches or more in length. They also wore under their doublets large pads (_mahoitres_), in order to appear as if they had broad shoulders." Under Charles VIII. the mantle, trimmed with fur, was open in front, its false sleeves being slit up above in order to allow the arms of the under coat to pass through. The cap was turned up; the breeches or long hose were made tight-fitting. The shoes with poulaines were superseded by a kind of large padded shoe of black leather, round or square at the toes, and gored over the foot with coloured material, a fashion imported from Italy, and which was as much exaggerated in France as the poulaine had formerly been. The women continued to wear conical caps (_hennins_) of great height, covered with immense veils; their gowns were made with tight-fitting bodies, which thus displayed the outlines of the figure (Figs. 427 and 428). Under Louis XII., Queen Anne invented a low head-dress--or rather it was invented for her--consisting of strips of velvet or of black or violet silk over other bands of white linen, which encircled the face and fell down over the back and shoulders; the large sleeves of the dresses had a kind of turned-over borders, with trimmings of enormous width. Men adopted short tunics, plaited and tight at the waist. The upper part of the garments of both men and women was cut in the form of a square over the chest and shoulders, as most figures are represented in the pictures of Raphael and contemporary painters. [Illustration: Italian Lacework, in Gold Thread. The cypher and arms of Henry III. (16th century.)] [Illustration: Fig. 427.--Costume of Charlotte of Savoy, second Wife of Louis XI.--From a Picture of the Period formerly in the Castle of Bourbon-l'Archambault, M. de Quedeville's Collection, in Paris. The Arms of Louis XI. and Charlotte are painted behind the picture.] [Illustration: Fig. 428.--Costume of Mary of Burgundy, Daughter of Charles the Bold, Wife of Maximilian of Austria (end of the Fifteenth Century). From an old Engraving in the Collection of the Imperial Library, Paris.] The introduction of Italian fashions, which in reality did not much differ from those which had been already adopted, but which exhibited better taste and a greater amount of elegance, dates from the famous expedition of Charles VIII. into Italy (Figs. 429 and 430). Full and gathered or puffed sleeves, which gave considerable gracefulness to the upper part of the body, succeeded to the _mahoitres_, which had been discarded since the time of Louis XI. A short and ornamental mantle, a broad-brimmed hat covered with feathers, and trunk hose, the ample dimensions of which earned for them the name of _trousses_, formed the male attire at the end of the fifteenth century. Women wore the bodies of their dresses closely fitting to the figure, embroidered, trimmed with lace, and covered with gilt ornaments; the sleeves were very large and open, and for the most part they still adhered to the heavy and ungraceful head-dress of Queen Anne of Brittany. The principal characteristic of female dress at the time was its fulness; men's, on the contrary, with the exception of the mantle or the upper garment, was usually tight and very scanty. We find that a distinct separation between ancient and modern dress took place as early as the sixteenth century; in fact, our present fashions may be said to have taken their origin from about that time. It was during this century that men adopted clothes closely fitting to the body; overcoats with tight sleeves, felt hats with more or less wide brims, and closed shoes and boots. The women also wore their dresses closely fitting to the figure, with tight sleeves, low-crowned hats, and richly-trimmed petticoats. These garments, which differ altogether from those of antiquity, constitute, as it were, the common type from which have since arisen the endless varieties of male and female dress; and there is no doubt that fashion will thus be continually changing backwards and forwards from time to time, sometimes returning to its original model, and sometimes departing from it. [Illustration: Figs. 429 and 430.--Costumes of Young Nobles of the Court of Charles VIII., before and after the Expedition into Italy.--From Miniatures in two Manuscripts of the Period in the National Library of Paris.] During the sixteenth century, ladies wore the skirts of their dresses, which were tight at the waist and open in front, very wide, displaying the lower part of a very rich under petticoat, which reached to the ground, completely concealing the feet. This, like the sleeves with puffs, which fell in circles to the wrists, was altogether an Italian fashion. Frequently the hair was turned over in rolls, and adorned with precious stones, and was surmounted by a small cap, coquettishly placed either on one side or on the top of the head, and ornamented with gold chains, jewels, and feathers. The body of the dress was always long, and pointed in front. Men wore their coats cut somewhat after the same shape: their trunk hose were tight, but round the waist they were puffed out. They wore a cloak, which only reached as far as the hips, and was always much ornamented; they carried a smooth or ribbed cap on one side of the head, and a small upright collar adorned the coat. This collar was replaced, after the first half of the sixteenth century, by the high, starched ruff, which was kept out by wires; ladies wore it still larger, when it had somewhat the appearance of an open fan at the back of the neck. If we take a retrospective glance at the numerous changes of costume which we have endeavoured to describe in this hurried sketch, we shall find that amongst European nations, during the Middle Ages, there was but one common standard of fashion, which varied from time to time according to the particular custom of each country, and according to the peculiarities of each race. In Italy, for instance, dress always maintained a certain character of grandeur, ever recalling the fact that the influence of antiquity was not quite lost. In Germany and Switzerland, garments had generally a heavy and massive appearance; in Holland, still more so (Figs. 436 and 437). England uniformly studied a kind of instinctive elegance and propriety. It is a curious fact that Spain invariably partook of the heaviness peculiar to Germany, either because the Gothic element still prevailed there, or that the Walloon fashions had a special attraction to her owing to associations and general usage. France was then, as it is now, fickle and capricious, fantastical and wavering, but not from indifference, but because she was always ready to borrow from every quarter anything which pleased her. She, however, never failed to put her own stamp on whatever she adopted, thus making any fashion essentially French, even though she had only just borrowed it from Spain, England, Germany, or Italy. In all these countries we have seen, and still see, entire provinces adhering to some ancient costume, causing them to differ altogether in character from the rest of the nation. This is simply owing to the fact that the fashions have become obsolete in the neighbouring places, for every local costume faithfully and rigorously preserved by any community at a distance from the centre of political action or government, must have been originally brought there by the nobles of the country. Thus the head-dress of Anne of Brittany is still that of the peasant-women of Penhoét and of Labrevack, and the _hennin_ of Isabel of Bavaria is still the head-dress of Normandy. [Illustration: Fig. 431.--Costumes of a Nobleman or a very rich Bourgeois, of a Bourgeois or Merchant, and of a Noble Lady or rich Bourgeoise, of the Time of Louis XII.--From Miniatures in Manuscripts of the Period, in the Imperial Library of Paris.] [Illustration: Fig. 432.--Costume of a rich Bourgeoise, and of a Noble, or Person of Distinction, of the Time of Francis I.--From a Window in the Church of St. Ouen at Rouen, by Gaignières (National Library of Paris).] Although the subject has reached the limits we have by the very nature of this work assigned to it, we think it well to overstep them somewhat, in order briefly to indicate the last connecting link between modern fashions and those of former periods. [Illustration: Figs. 433 and 434.--Costumes of the Ladies and Damsels of the Court of Catherine de Medicis.--After Cesare Vecellio.] Under Francis I., the costumes adopted from Italy remained almost stationary (Fig. 432). Under Henri II. (Figs. 433 and 434), and especially after the death of that prince, the taste for frivolities made immense progress, and the style of dress in ordinary use seemed day by day to lose the few traces of dignity which it had previously possessed. Catherine de Medicis had introduced into France the fashion of ruffs, and at the beginning of the fourteenth century, Marie de Medicis that of small collars. Dresses tight at the waist began to be made very full round the hips, by means of large padded rolls, and these were still more enlarged, under the name of _vertugadins_ (corrupted from _vertu-gardiens),_ by a monstrous arrangement of padded whalebone and steel, which subsequently became the ridiculous _paniers_, which were worn almost down to the commencement of the present century; and the fashion seems likely to come into vogue again. [Illustration: Fig. 435.--Costume of a Gentleman of the French Court, of the End of the Sixteenth Century.--Fac-simile of a Miniature in the "Livre de Poésies," Manuscript dedicated to Henry IV.] Under the last of the Valois, men's dress was short, the jacket was pointed and trimmed round with small peaks, the velvet cap was trimmed with aigrettes; the beard was pointed, a pearl hung from the left ear, and a small cloak or mantle was carried on the shoulder, which only reached to the waist. The use of gloves made of scented leather became universal. Ladies wore their dresses long, very full, and very costly, little or no change being made in these respects during the reign of Henry IV. At this period, the men's high hose were made longer and fuller, especially in Spain and the Low Countries, and the fashion of large soft boots, made of doeskin or of black morocco, became universal, on account of their being so comfortable. We may remark that the costume of the bourgeois was for a long time almost unchanged, even in the towns. Never having adopted either the tight-fitting hose or the balloon trousers, they wore an easy jerkin, a large cloak, and a felt hat, which the English made conical and with a broad brim. Towards the beginning of the seventeenth century, the high hose which were worn by the northern nations, profusely trimmed, was transformed into the _culotte_, which was full and open at the knees. A division was thus suddenly made between the lower and the upper part of the hose, as if the garment which covered the lower limbs had been cut in two, and garters were then necessarily invented. The felt hat became over almost the whole of Europe a cap, taking the exact form of the head, and having a wide, flat brim turned up on one side. High heels were added to boots and shoes, which up to that time had been flat and with single soles.... Two centuries later, a terrible social agitation took place all over Europe, after which male attire became mean, ungraceful, plain and more paltry than ever; whereas female dress, the fashions of which were perpetually changing from day to day, became graceful and elegant, though too often approaching to the extravagant and absurd. [Illustration: Figs. 436 and 437.--Costumes of the German Bourgeoisie in the Middle of the Sixteenth Century.--Drawings attributed to Holbein.] 
44703	----	images generously made available by the Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State University Libraries.) THE EIGHTEEN CHRISTIAN CENTURIES. BY THE REV. JAMES WHITE, AUTHOR OF A "HISTORY OF FRANCE." With a Copious Index. FROM THE SECOND EDINBURGH EDITION. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 549 & 551 BROADWAY. 1878. NOTE BY THE AMERICAN PUBLISHERS. This valuable work, which has been received with much favour in Great Britain, is reprinted without abridgment from the second Edinburgh edition. The lists of names of remarkable persons in the present issue have been somewhat enlarged, and additional dates appended, thereby increasing the value of the book. CONTENTS. PAGE FIRST CENTURY. THE BAD EMPERORS 9 SECOND CENTURY. THE GOOD EMPERORS. 41 THIRD CENTURY. ANARCHY AND CONFUSION--GROWTH OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. 65 FOURTH CENTURY. THE REMOVAL TO CONSTANTINOPLE--ESTABLISHMENT OF CHRISTIANITY--APOSTASY OF JULIAN--SETTLEMENT OF THE GOTHS. 83 FIFTH CENTURY. END OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE--FORMATION OF MODERN STATES--GROWTH OF ECCLESIASTICAL AUTHORITY. 105 SIXTH CENTURY. BELISARIUS AND NARSES IN ITALY--SETTLEMENT OF THE LOMBARDS--LAWS OF JUSTINIAN--BIRTH OF MOHAMMED. 123 SEVENTH CENTURY. POWER OF ROME SUPPORTED BY THE MONKS--CONQUESTS OF THE MOHAMMEDANS. 141 EIGHTH CENTURY. TEMPORAL POWER OF THE POPES--THE EMPIRE OF CHARLEMAGNE. 171 NINTH CENTURY. DISMEMBERMENT OF CHARLEMAGNE'S EMPIRE--DANISH INVASION OF ENGLAND--WEAKNESS OF FRANCE--REIGN OF ALFRED. 193 TENTH CENTURY. DARKNESS AND DESPAIR. 219 ELEVENTH CENTURY. THE COMMENCEMENT OF IMPROVEMENT--GREGORY THE SEVENTH--FIRST CRUSADE. 241 TWELFTH CENTURY. ELEVATION OF LEARNING--POWER OF THE CHURCH--THOMAS À-BECKETT. 269 THIRTEENTH CENTURY. FIRST CRUSADE AGAINST HERETICS--THE ALBIGENSES--MAGNA CHARTA--EDWARD I. 297 FOURTEENTH CENTURY. ABOLITION OF THE ORDER OF THE TEMPLARS--RISE OF MODERN LITERATURES--SCHISM OF THE CHURCH. 325 FIFTEENTH CENTURY. DECLINE OF FEUDALISM--AGINCOURT--JOAN OF ARC--THE PRINTING-PRESS--DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 359 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. THE REFORMATION--THE JESUITS--POLICY OF ELIZABETH. 401 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. ENGLISH REBELLION AND REVOLUTION--DESPOTISM OF LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH. 447 EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. INDIA--AMERICA--FRANCE 491 INDEX 527 FIRST CENTURY. Emperors. A.D. AUGUSTUS CÆSAR. 14. TIBERIUS. 37. CAIUS CALIGULA. 41. CLAUDIUS. 54. NERO. First Persecution of the Christians. 68. GALBA. 69. OTHO. } 69. VITELLIUS.} 69. VESPASIAN.} 79. TITUS. 81. DOMITIAN. Second Persecution of the Christians. 96. NERVA. 98. TRAJAN. Authors. LIVY, OVID, TIBULLUS, STRABO, COLUMELLA, QUINTUS CURTIUS, SENECA, LUCAN, PETRONIUS, SILIUS ITALICUS, PLINY THE ELDER, MARTIAL, QUINCTILIAN, TACITUS. Christian Fathers and Writers. BARNABAS, CLEMENT OF ROME, HERMAS, IGNATIUS, POLYCARP. THE EIGHTEEN CHRISTIAN CENTURIES. THE FIRST CENTURY. THE BAD EMPERORS. Nobody disputes the usefulness of History. Many prefer it, even for interest and amusement, to the best novels and romances. But the extent of time over which it has stretched its range is appalling to the most laborious of readers. And as History is growing every day, and every nation is engaged in the manufacture of memorable events, it is pitiable to contemplate the fate of the historic student a hundred years hence. He is not allowed to cut off at one end, in proportion as he increases at the other. He is not allowed to forget Marlborough, in consideration of his accurate acquaintance with Wellington. His knowledge of the career of Napoleon is no excuse for ignorance of Julius Cæsar. All must be retained--victories, defeats--battles, sieges--knights in armour, soldiers in red; the charge at Marathon, the struggle at Inkermann--all these things, a thousand other things, at first apparently of no importance, but growing larger and larger as time develops their effects, till men look back in wonder that the acorn escaped their notice which has produced such a majestic oak,--a thousand other things still, for a moment rising in apparently irresistible power, and dying off apparently without cause, must be folded up in niches of the memory, ready to be brought forth when needed, and yet room be left for the future. And who can pretend to be qualified for so great a work? Most of us confess to rather dim recollections of things occurring in our own time,--in our own country--in our own parish; and some, contemplating the vast expanse of human history, its innumerable windings and perplexing variations, are inclined to give it up in despair, and have a sulky sort of gratification in determining to know nothing, since they cannot know all. All kings, they say, are pretty much alike, and whether he is called John in England, or Louis in France, doesn't make much difference. Nobles also are as similar as possible, and peoples are everywhere the same. Now, this, you see, though it ambitiously pretends to be ignorance, is, in fact, something infinitely worse. It is false knowledge. It might be very injurious to liberty, to honour, and to religion itself, if this wretched idea were to become common, for where would be the inducement to noble endeavour? to reform of abuses? to purity of life? Kings and nobles and peoples are not everywhere the same. They are not even _like_ each other, or like themselves in the same land at different periods. They are in a perpetual series, not only of change, but of contrast. They are "variable as the sea,"--calm and turbulent, brilliant and dark by turns. And it is this which gives us the only chance of attaining clearness and distinctness in our historic views. It is by dissimilarities that things are individualized: now, how pleasant it would be if we could simplify and strengthen our recollections of different times, by getting personal portraits, as it were, of the various centuries, so as to escape the danger of confounding their dress or features. It would be impossible in that case to mistake the Spanish hat and feather of the sixteenth century for the steel helmet and closed vizor of the fourteenth. We should be able, in the same way, to distinguish between the modes of thought and principles of action of the early ages, and those of the present time. We should be able to point out anachronisms of feeling and manners if they occurred in the course of our reading, as well as of dress and language. It is surely worth while, therefore, to make an attempt to individualize the centuries, not by affixing to them any arbitrary marks of one's own, but by taking notice of the distinguishing quality they possess, and grouping round that, as a centre, the incidents which either produce this characteristic or are produced by it. What should we call the present century, for instance? We should at once name it the Century of Invention. The great war with Napoleon ending in 1815, exciting so many passions, and calling forth such energy, was but the natural introduction to the wider efforts and amazing progress of the succeeding forty years. Battles and bulletins, alliances and quarrels, ceased, but the intellect aroused by the struggle dashed into other channels. Commerce spread its humanizing influences over hitherto closed and unexplored regions; the steamboat and railway began their wondrous career. The lightning was trained to be our courier in the electric telegraph, and the sun took our likenesses in the daguerreotype. How changed this century is in all its attributes and tendencies from its predecessor, let any man judge for himself, who compares the reigns of our first Hanoverian kings with that of our gracious queen. In nothing, indeed, is the course of European history so remarkable as in the immense differences which intervals of a few years introduce. In the old monarchies of Asia, time and the world seem almost to stand still. The Indian, the Arab, the Chinese of a thousand years ago, wore the same clothes, thought the same thoughts, and led the same life as his successor of to-day. But with us the whole character of a people is changed in a lifetime. In a few years we are whirled out of all our associations. Names perhaps remain unaltered, but the inner life is different; modes of living, states of education, religious sentiments, great national events, foreign wars, or deep internal struggles--all leave such ineffaceable marks on the history of certain periods, that their influence can be traced through all the particulars of the time. The art of printing can be followed, on its first introduction, into the recesses of private life, as well as in the intercourse of nations. The Reformation of religion so entirely altered the relations which the states of the world bore to each other, that it may be said to have put a limit between old history and new, so that human character itself received a new development; and actions, both public and private, were regulated by principles hitherto unknown. In one respect all the past centuries are alike,--that they have done their part towards the formation of this. We bear the impress, at this hour, of the great thoughts and high aspirations, the struggles, and even the crimes, of our ancestral ages; and yet they have no greater resemblance to the present, except in the unchangeable characteristics of human nature itself, than the remotest forefathers in a long line of ancestry, whose likenesses hang in the galleries of our hereditary nobles, bear to the existing owner of title and estate. The ancestor who fought in the wars of the Roses has a very different expression and dress from the other ancestor who cheated and lied (politically, of course) in the days of the early Georges. Yet from both the present proprietor is descended. He retains the somewhat rusty armour on an ostentatious nail in the hall, and the somewhat insincere memoirs in a secret drawer in the library, and we cannot deny that he is the joint production of the courage of the warrior and the duplicity of the statesman; anxious to defend what he believes to be the right, like the supporter of York or Lancaster--but trammelled by the ties of party, like the patriot of Sir Robert Walpole. If we could affix to each century as characteristic a presentment as those portraits do of the steel-clad hero of Towton, or the be-wigged, be-buckled courtier of George the Second, our object would be gained. We should see a whole history in a glance at a century's face. If it were peculiarly marked by nature or accident, so much the more easy would it be to recognise the likeness. If the century was a warlike, quarrelsome century, and had scars across its brow; if it was a learned, plodding century, and wore spectacles on nose; if it was a frivolous, gay century, and simpered forever behind bouquets of flowers, or tripped on fantastic toe with a jewelled rapier at its side, there would be no mistaking the resemblance; there would also be no chance of confusing the actions: the legal century would not fight, the dancing century would not depose its king. Taking our stand at the beginning of our era, there are only eighteen centuries with which we have to do, and how easily any of us get acquainted with the features and expression of eighteen of our friends! Not that we know every particular of their birth and education, or can enter into the minute parts of their character and feelings; but we soon know enough of them to distinguish them from each other. We soon can say of which of the eighteen such or such an action or opinion is characteristic. We shall not mistake the bold deed or eloquent statement of one as proceeding from another. "Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire. The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar: Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave: Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave. Is he a churchman? then he's fond of power: A Quaker? sly: a Presbyterian? sour: A smart free-thinker? all things in an hour." Now, though it is impossible to put the characteristics of a whole century into such terse and powerful language as this, it cannot be doubted that each century, or considerable period, has its prevailing Thought,--a thought which it works out in almost all the ramifications of its course; which it receives from its predecessor in a totally different shape, and passes on to its successor in a still more altered form. Else why do we find the faith of one generation the ridicule and laughing-stock of the next? How did knighthood rise into the heroic regions of chivalry, and then sink in a succeeding period into the domain of burlesque? How did aristocracy in one age concentrate into kingship in another? And in a third, how did the golden ring of sovereignty lose its controlling power, and republics take their rise? How did the reverence of Europe settle at one time on the sword of Edward the Third, and at another on the periwig of Louis the Fourteenth? These and similar inquiries will lead us to the real principles and motive forces of a particular age, as they distinguished it from other ages. We shall label the centuries, as it were, with their characteristic marks, and know where to look for thoughts and incidents of a particular class and type. Let us look at the first century. Throughout the civilized world there is nothing but Rome. Under whatever form of government--under consuls, or triumvirs, or dictators--that wonderful city was mistress of the globe. Her internal dissensions had not weakened her power. While her streets were running with the blood of her citizens, her eagles were flying triumphant in Farther Asia and on the Rhine. Her old constitution had finally died off almost without a blow, and unconsciously the people, still talking of Cato and Brutus, became accustomed to the yoke. For seven-and-twenty years they had seen all the power of the state concentrated in one man; but the names of the offices of which their ancestors had been so proud were retained; and when Octavius, the nephew of the conqueror Julius Cæsar, placed himself above the law, it was only by uniting in his own person all the authority which the law had created. He was consul, tribune, prætor, pontifex, imperator,--whatever denomination conferred dignity and power; and by the legal exercise of all these trusts he had no rival and no check. He was finally presented by the senate with the lofty title of Augustus, which henceforth had a mysterious significance as the seal of imperial greatness, and his commands were obeyed without a murmur from the Tigris to the Tyne. But whilst in the enjoyment of this pre-eminence, the Roman emperor was unconscious that in a village of Judea, in the lowest rank of life, among the most contemned tribe of his dominions, his Master was born. [A.D. 1.] By this event the whole current of the world's history was changed. The great became small and the small great. Rome itself ceased to be the capital of the world, for men's eyes and hearts, when the wonderful story came to be known, were turned to Jerusalem. From her, commissioned emissaries were to proceed with greater powers than those of Roman prætors or governors. From her gates went forth Peter and John to preach the gospel. Down her steep streets rode Paul and his companions, breathing anger against the Church, and ere they reached Damascus, behold, the eyes of the persecutor are blinded with lightning, and his understanding illuminated with the same flash; and henceforth he proceeds, in lowliness and humility, to convey to others the glad tidings that had been revealed to himself. Away in all directions, but all radiating from Jerusalem, travelled the messengers of the amazing dispensation. Everywhere--in all centuries--in all regions, we shall encounter the results of their ministry; and as we watch the swelling of the mighty tide, first of Christian faith and then of priestly ambition, which overspread the fairest portions of the globe, we shall wonder more and more at the apparent powerlessness of its source, and at the vast effects for good and evil which it has produced upon mankind. What were they doing at Rome during the thirty-three years of our Saviour's sojourn upon earth? For the first fourteen of them Augustus was gathering round him the wits, and poets, and sages, who have made his reign immortal. [A.D. 14.] After that date his successor, Tiberius, built up by stealthy and slow degrees the most dreadful tyranny the world had ever seen,--a tyranny the results of which lasted long after the founders of it had expired. For from this period mankind had nothing to hope but from the bounty of the emperor. It is humiliating to reflect that the history of the world for so long a period consists of the deeds and dispositions of the successive rulers of Rome. All men, wherever their country, or whatever their position, were dependent, in greater or less degree, for their happiness or misery on the good or bad temper of an individual man. If he was cruel, as so many of them were, he filled the patricians of Rome with fear, and terrified the distant inhabitants of Thrace or Gaul. His benevolence, on the other hand, was felt at the extremities of the earth. No wonder that every one was on the watch for the first glimpse of a new emperor's character and disposition. What rejoicings in Italy and Greece and Africa, and all through Europe, when a trait of goodness was reported! and what a sinking of the heart when the old story was renewed, and a monster of cruelty succeeded to a monster of deceit! For the fearfullest thing in all the descriptions of Tiberius is the duplicity of his behaviour. He withdrew to an island in the sunniest part of the Mediterranean, and covered it with gorgeous buildings, and supplied it with all the implements of luxury and enjoyment. From this magnificent retirement he uttered a whisper, or made a motion with his hand, which displaced an Eastern monarch from his throne, or doomed a senator to death. He was never seen. He lived in the dreadful privacy of some fabled deity, and was only felt at the farthest ends of his empire by the unhappiness he occasioned; by his murders, and imprisonments, and every species of suffering, men's hearts and minds were bowed down beneath this invisible and irresistible oppressor. Self-respect was at an end, and liberty was not even wished for. The emperor had swallowed up the empire, and there was no authority or influence beside. This is the main feature of the first or Imperial Century, that, wherever we look, we see but one,--one gorged and bloated brutalized man, sitting on the throne of earthly power, and all the rest of mankind at his feet. [A.D. 37.] Humanity at its flower had culminated into a Tiberius; and when at last he was slain, and the world began to breathe, the sorrow was speedily deeper than before, for it was found that the Imperial tree had blossomed again, and that its fruit was a Caligula. This was a person with much the same taste for blood as his predecessor, but he was more open in the gratification of this propensity. He did not wait for trial and sentence,--those dim mockeries of justice in which Tiberius sometimes indulged. He had a peculiar way of nodding with his head or pointing with his finger, and the executioner knew the sign. The man he nodded to died. For the more distinguished of the citizens he kept a box,--not of snuff, like some monarchs of the present day, but of some strong and instantaneous poison. Whoever refused a pinch died as a traitor, and whoever took one died of the fatal drug. [A.D. 41.] Even the degenerate Romans could not endure this long, and Chæreas, an officer of his guard, put him to death, after a sanguinary reign of four years. Still the hideous catalogue goes on. Claudius, a nephew of Tiberius, is forced upon the unwilling senate by the spoilt soldiers of the capital, the Prætorian Guards. Colder, duller, more brutal than the rest, Claudius perhaps increased the misery of his country by the apathy and stupidity of his mind. The other tyrants had some limit to their wickedness, for they kept all the powers of the State in their own hands, but this man enlisted a countless host of favourites and courtiers in his crusade against the happiness of mankind. Badly eminent among these was his wife, the infamous Messalina, whose name has become a symbol of all that is detestable in the female sex. Some people, indeed, in reading the history of this period, shut the book with a shudder, and will not believe it true. They prefer to think that authors of all lands and positions have agreed to paint a fancy picture of depravity and horror, than that such things were. But the facts are too well proved to be doubted. We see a dull, unimpassioned, moody despot; fond of blood, but too indolent to shed it himself, unless at the dictation of his fiendish partner and her friends; so brutalized that nothing amazed or disturbed him; so unobservant that, relying on his blindness, she went through the ostentatious ceremony of a public marriage with one of her paramours during the lifetime, almost under the eyes, of her husband; and yet to this frightful combination of ferocity and stupidity England owes its subjection to the Roman power, and all the blessings which Roman civilization--bringing as it did the lessons of Christianity in its train--was calculated to bestow. In the forty-fourth year of this century, and the third year of the reign of Claudius, Aulus Plautius landed in Britain at the head of a powerful army; and the tide of Victory and Settlement never subsided till the whole country, as far north as the Solway, submitted to the Eagles. The contrast between the central power at Rome, and the officials employed at a distance, continued for a long time the most remarkable circumstance in the history of the empire. Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, vied with each other in exciting the terror and destroying the happiness of the world; but in the remote extremities of their command, their generals displayed the courage and virtue of an earlier age. They improved as well as conquered. They made roads, and built bridges, and cut down woods. They established military stations, which soon became centres of education and law. They deepened the Thames, and commenced those enormous embankments of the river, to which, in fact, London owes its existence, without being aware of the labour they bestowed upon the work. If by some misfortune a great fissure took place--as has occurred on a small scale once before--in these artificial dikes, it would task the greatest skill of modern engineers to repair the damage. They superseded the blood-stained ceremonies of the Druids with the more refined worship of the heathen deities, making Claudius himself a tutelary god, with priest and temple, in the town of Colchester; and this, though in our eyes the deification of one of the worst of men, was, perhaps, in the estimation of our predecessors, only the visible embodiment of settled government and beneficent power. But murder and treachery, and unspeakable iniquity, went their way as usual in the city of the Cæsars. Messalina was put to death, and another disgrace to womanhood, in the person of Agrippina, took her place beside the phlegmatic tyrant. Thirteen years had passed, when the boundary of human patience was attained, and Rome was startled one morning with the joyful news that her master was no more. [A.D. 54.] The combined cares of his loving spouse and a favourite physician had produced this happy result,--the one presenting him with a dish of deadly mushrooms, and the other painting his throat for a hoarseness with a poisoned feather. Is there no hope for Rome or for mankind? Is there to be a perpetual succession of monster after monster, with no cessation in the dreadful line? It would be pleasant to conceal for a minute or two the name of the next emperor, that we might point to the glorious prospect now opening on the world. But the name has become so descriptive that deception is impossible. When the word Nero is said, little more is required. But it was not so at first; a brilliant sunrise never had so terrible a course, or so dark a setting. We still see in the earlier statues which remain of him the fine outline of his face, and can fancy what its expression must have been before the qualities of his heart had stamped their indelible impression on his features. For the first five years of his reign the world seemed lost as much in surprise as in admiration. Some of his actions were generous; none of them were cruel or revengeful. He was young, and seemed anxious to fulfil the duties of his position. But power and flattery had their usual effect. All that was good in him was turned into evil. He tortured the noblest of the citizens; and degraded the throne to such a degree by the expositions he made of himself, sometimes as a musician on the stage, sometimes as a charioteer in the arena, that if there had been any Romans left they would have despised the tyrant more than they feared him. But there were no Romans left. The senators, the knights, the populace, vied with each other in submission to his power and encouragement of his vices. The rage of the monster, once excited, knew no bounds. He burned the city in the mere wantonness of crime, and fixed the blame on the unoffending Christians. These, regardless of age or condition or sex, he destroyed by every means in his power. He threw young maidens into the amphitheatre, where the hungry tigers leapt out upon them; he exposed the aged professors of the gospel to fight in single combat with the trained murderers of the circus, called the Gladiators; and once, in ferocious mockery of human suffering, he enclosed whole Christian families in a coating of pitch and other inflammable materials, and, setting fire to the covering, pursued his sport all night by the light of these living flambeaux. Some of his actions it is impossible to name. It will be sufficient to say that at the end of thirteen years the purple he disgraced was again reddened with blood. Terrified at the opposition that at last rose against him--deserted, of course, by the confederates of his wickedness--shrinking with unmanly cowardice from a defence which might have put off the evil day, he fled and hid himself from his pursuers. Agonized with fear, howling with repentant horror, he was indebted to one of his attendants for the blow which his own cowardly hand could not administer, and he died the basest, lowest, and most pitiless of all the emperors. And all those hopes he had disappointed, and all those iniquities he had perpetrated, at the age of thirty-two. He was the last of the line of Cæsar; and if that conqueror had foreseen that in so few years after his death the Senate of Rome would have been so debased, and the people of Rome so brutalized, he would have pardoned to Brutus the precautionary blow which was intended to prevent so great a calamity. [A.D. 68.] Galba was elected to fill his place, and was murdered in a few months. The degraded prætorians then elevated one of the companions of Nero's guilty excesses to the throne in the person of Otho, but resistance was made to their selection. [A.D. 69.] The forces in Germany nominated Vitellius to the supreme authority; and Otho, either a voluptuary tired of life, or a craven incapable of exertion, committed suicide to save the miseries of civil war. But this calamity was averted by a nobler hand. Vitellius had only time to show that, in addition to the usual vices of the throne, he was addicted to the animal enjoyments of eating and drinking to an almost incredible degree, when he heard a voice from the walls of Jerusalem which hurled him from the seat he had so lately taken; for the legions engaged in that most memorable of sieges had decided on giving the empire of the world to the man who deserved it best, and had proclaimed their general, Flavius Vespasian, Imperator and Master of Rome. [A.D. 70.] Now we will pause, for we have come to the year seventy of this century, and a fit breathing-time to look round us and see what condition mankind has fallen into within a hundred years of the end of the Republic. We leave out of view the great empires of the farther East, where battles were won, and dynasties established on the plains of Hindostan, and within the Chinese Wall. The extent of our knowledge of Oriental affairs is limited to the circumference of the Roman power. Following that vast circle, we see it on all sides surrounded by tribes and nations who derive their sole illumination from its light, for unless the Roman conquests had extended to the confines of those barbaric states, we should have known nothing of their existence. Beyond that ring of fire it is almost matter of conjecture what must have been going on. Yet we learn from the traditions of many peoples, and can guess with some accuracy from the occurrences of a later period, what was the condition of those "outsiders," and what were their feelings and intentions with regard to the civilized portions of the world. Bend your eyes in any direction you please, and what names, what thoughts, suggest themselves to our minds! We see swarms of wild adventurers with wives and cattle traversing with no definite object the uncultivated districts beyond the Danube; occasionally pitching their tents, or even forming more permanent establishments, around the roots of Caucasus and north of the Caspian Sea, where grass was more plentiful, and hills or marshes formed an easily defended barrier against enemies as uncivilized as themselves. Coming from no certain region--that is, forgetting in a few years of wandering the precise point from which they set out, pushed forward by the advancing waves of great national migrations in their rear--moving onward across the upper fields of Europe, but keeping themselves still cautiously from actual contact with the Roman limits, from those hordes of homeless, lawless savages are derived the most polished and greatest nations of the present day. Forming into newer combinations, and taking different names, their identity is scarcely to be recognised when, three or four centuries after this, they come into the daylight of history; but nobody can doubt that, during these preliminary ages, they were gathering their power together, hereafter, under the impulse of fresh additions, to be hurled like a dammed-up river upon the prostrate realm, carrying ruin and destruction in their course, but no less certainly than the overflowing Nile leaving the germs of future fertility, and enriching with newer vegetation the fields they had so ruthlessly submerged. And year by year the mighty mass goes on accumulating. The northern plains become peopled no one knows how. The vast forests eastward of the Rhine receive new accessions of warriors, who rapidly assimilate with the old. United in one common object of retaining the wild freedom of their tribe, and the possession of the lands they have seized, they have opposed the advance of the Roman legions into the uncultivated districts they call their own; they have even succeeded in destroying the military forces which guarded the Rhine, and have with difficulty been restrained from crossing the great river by a strong line of forts and castles, of which the remains astonish the traveller of the present day, as, with Murray's Guide-Book in his hand, he gazes upon their ruins between Bingen and Aix-la-Chapelle. Repelled by these barriers, they cluster thicker than ever in the woods and valleys, to which the Romans have no means of penetrating. Southern Gaul submits, and becomes a civilized outpost of the central power; but far up in the wild regions of the north, and even to the eastward of the Gulfs of Bothnia and Finland, the assemblage goes on. Scandinavia itself becomes over-crowded by the perpetual arrival of thousands of these armed and expatriated families, and sends her teeming populations to the east and south. But all these incidents, I must remind you, are occurring in darkness. We only know that the desert is becoming peopled with crowded millions, and that among them all there floats a confused notion of the greatness of the Roman power, the wealth of the cities and plains of Italy; and that, clustering in thicker swarms on the confines of civil government, the watchful eyes of unnumbered savage warriors are fixed on the territories lying rich and beautiful within the protection of the Roman name. So the whole Roman boundary gets gradually surrounded by barbaric hosts. Their trampings may be heard as they marshal their myriads and skirt the upper boundaries of Thrace; but as yet no actual conflict has occurred. A commotion may become observable among some of the farthest distant of the half intimidated of the German tribes; or an enterprising Roman settler beyond the frontier, or travelling merchant, who has penetrated to the neighbourhood of the Baltic, may bring back amazing reports of the fresh accumulations of unknown hordes of strange and threatening aspect; but the luxurious public in Rome receive them merely as interesting anecdotes to amuse their leisure or gratify their curiosity: they have no apprehension of what may be the result of those multitudinous arrivals. They do not foresee the gradual drawing closer to their outward defences--the struggle to get within their guarded lines--the fight that is surely coming between a sated, dull, degraded civilization on the one side, and a hungry, bold, ambitious savagery on the other. They trust every thing to the dignity of the Eternal City, and the watchfulness of the Emperor: for to this, his one idea of irresistible power equally for good or evil, the heart of the Roman was sure to turn. And for the eleven years of the reigns of Vespasian and Titus, the Roman did not appeal for protection against a foreign enemy in vain. Rome itself was compensated by shows and buildings--with a triumph and an arch--for the degradation in which it was held. But prætor and proconsul still pursued their course of oppressing the lands committed to their defence; and the subject, stripped of his goods, and hopeless of getting his wrongs redressed, had only the satisfaction of feeling that the sword he trembled at was in the hand of a man and not of an incarnate demon. A poor consolation this when the blow was equally fatal. Vespasian, in fact, was fonder of money than of blood, and the empire rejoiced in having exchanged the agony of being murdered for the luxury of being fleeced. [A.D. 79.] With Titus, whom the fond gratitude of his subjects named the Delight of the human race, a new age of happiness was about to open on the world; but all the old horrors of the Cæsars were revived and magnified when he was succeeded, after a reign of two years, by his brother, the savage and cowardly Domitian. [A.D. 81.] With the exception of the brief period between the years 70 and 81, the whole century was spent in suffering and inflicting pain. The worst excesses of Nero and Caligula were now imitated and surpassed. The bonds of society became rapidly loosened. As in a shipwreck, the law of self-preservation was the only rule. No man could rely upon his neighbour, or his friend, or his nearest of kin. There were spies in every house, and an executioner at every door. An unconsidered word maliciously reported, or an accusation entirely false, brought death to the rich and great. To the unhappy class of men who in other times are called the favourites of fortune, because they are born to the possession of great ancestral names and hereditary estates, there was no escape from the jealous and avaricious hatred of the Emperor. If a patrician of this description lived in the splendour befitting his rank--he was currying favour with the mob! If he lived retired--he was trying to gain reputation by a pretence of giving up the world! If he had great talents--he was dangerous to the state! If he was dull and stupid--oh! don't believe it--he was only an imitative Brutus, concealing his deep designs under the semblance of fatuity! If a man of distinguished birth was rich, it was not a fitting condition for a subject--if he was poor, he was likely to be seduced into the wildest enterprises. So the prisons were filled by calumny and suspicion, and emptied by the executioner. A dreadful century this--the worst that ever entered into tale or history; for the memory of former glories and comparative freedom was still recent. A man who was sixty years old, in the midst of the terrors of Tiberius, had associated in his youth with the survivors of the Civil War, with men who had embraced Brutus and Cassius; he had seen the mild administration of Augustus, and perhaps had supped with Virgil and Horace in the house of Mæcenas. And now he was tortured till he named a slave or freedman of the Emperor his heir, and then executed to expedite the succession. There was a hideous jocularity in some of these imperial proceedings, which, however, was no laughing-matter at the time. When a senator was very wealthy, it was no unusual thing for Tiberius and his successors to create themselves the rich man's nearest relations by a decree of the Senate. The person so honoured by this graft upon his family tree seldom survived the operation many days. The emperor took possession of the property as heir-at-law and next of kin; and mourned for his uncle or brother--as the case might be--with the most edifying decorum. But besides giving the general likeness of a period, it is necessary to individualize it still further by introducing, in the background of the picture, some incident by which it is peculiarly known, as we find Nelson generally represented with Trafalgar going on at the horizon, and Wellington sitting thoughtful on horseback in the foreground of the fire of Waterloo. Now, there cannot be a more distinguishing mark than a certain great military achievement which happened in the year 70 of this century, and is brought home to us, not only as a great historical event in itself, but as the commencement of a new era in human affairs, and the completion of a long line of threats and prophecies. This was the capture and destruction of Jerusalem. The accounts given us of this siege transcend in horror all other records of human sorrow. It was at the great annual feast of the Passover, when Jews from all parts of the world flocked to the capital of their nation to worship in the Temple, which to them was the earthly dwelling-place of Jehovah. The time was come, and they did not know it, when God was to be worshipped in spirit and in truth. More than a million strangers were resident within the walls. There was no room in house or hall for so vast a multitude; so they bivouacked in the streets, and lay thick as leaves in the courts of the holy place. Suddenly the Roman trumpets blew. The Jews became inspired with fanatical hatred of the enemy, and insane confidence that some miracle would be wrought for their deliverance. They deliberated, and chose for their leaders the wildest and most enthusiastic of the crowd. They refused the offers of mercy and reconciliation made to them by Titus. They sent back insulting messages to the Roman general, and stood expectant on the walls to see the idolatrous legions smitten by lightning or swallowed up by an earthquake. But Titus advanced his forces and hemmed in the countless multitude of men, and women, and children--few able to resist, but all requiring to be fed. Famine and pestilence came on; but still the mad fanatics of the Temple determined to persevere. They occasionally opened a gate and rushed out with the cry of "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" and were slaughtered by the unpitying hatred of the Roman soldiers. Their cruelty to their prisoners, when they succeeded in carrying off a few of their enemies, was great; but the patience of Titus at last gave way, and he soon bettered the instruction they gave him in pitilessness and blood. He drew a line of circumvallation closer round the city, and intercepted every supply; when deserters came over, he crucified them all round the trenches; when the worn-out people came forth, imploring to be suffered to pass through his ranks, he drove them back, that they might increase the scarcity by their lives, or the pestilence by adding to the heaps of unburied dead. Dissensions were raging all this time among the defenders themselves. They fought in the streets, in the houses, and heaped the floor and outcourts of the Temple with thousands of the slain. There was no help either from heaven or earth; eleven hundred thousand people had died of plague and the sword; and the rest were doomed to perish by more lingering torments. Nearest relations--sisters, brothers, fathers, wives--all forgot the ties of natural affection under this great necessity, and fought for a handful of meal, or the possession of some reptile's body if they were lucky enough to trace it to its hiding-place; and at last--the crown of all horrors--the daughter of Eleazer killed her own child and converted it into food. The measure of man's wrong and Heaven's vengeance was now full. The daily sacrifice ceased to be offered; voices were audible to the popular ear uttering in the Holy of Holies, "Let us go hence." The Romans rushed on--climbed over the neglected walls--forced their way into the upper Temple, and the gore flowed in streams so rapid and so deep that it seemed like a purple river! Large conduits had been made for the rapid conveyance away of the blood of bulls and goats offered in sacrifice; they all became choked now with the blood of the slaughtered people. At last the city was taken; the inhabitants were either dead or dying. Many were crushed as they lay expiring in the great tramplings of the triumphant Romans; many were recovered by food and shelter, and sold into slavery. The Temple and walls were levelled with the ground, and not one stone was left upon another. The plough passed over where palace and tower had been, and the Jewish dispensation was brought to a close. History in ancient days was as exclusive as the court newsman in ours, and never published the movements of anybody below a senator or a consul. All the Browns and Smiths were left out of consideration; and yet to us who live in the days when those families--with the Joneses and Robinsons--form the great majority both in number and influence, it would be very interesting to have any certain intelligence of their predecessors during the first furies of the Empire. We have but faint descriptions even of the aristocracy, but what we hear of them shows, more clearly than any thing else, the frightful effect on morals and manliness of so uncontrolled a power as was vested in the Cæsars, and teaches us that the worst of despotisms is that which is established by the unholy union of the dregs of the population and the ruling power, against the peace and happiness and security of the middle class. You see how this combination of tyrant and mob succeeded in crushing all the layers of society which lay between them, till there were left only two agencies in all the world--the Emperor on his throne, and the millions fed by his bounty. The hereditary nobility--the safest bulwark of a people and least dangerous support of a throne--were extirpated before the end of the century, and impartiality makes us confess that they fell by their own fault. As if the restraints of shame had been thrown off with the last hope of liberty, the whole population broke forth into the most incredible licentiousness. If the luxury of Lucullus had offended the common sense of propriety in the later days of the republic, there were numbers now who looked back upon his feasts as paltry entertainments, and on the wealth of Croesus as poverty. The last of the Pompeys, in the time of Caligula, had estates so vast, that navigable rivers larger than the Thames performed the whole of their course from their fountain-head to the sea without leaving his domain. There were spendthrifts in the time of Tiberius who lavished thousands of pounds upon a supper. The pillage of the world had fallen into the hands of a few favoured families, and their example had introduced a prodigality and ostentation unheard of before. No one who regarded appearances travelled anywhere without a troop of Numidian horsemen, and outriders to clear the way. He was followed by a train of mules and sumpter-horses loaded with his vases of crystal--his richly-carved cups and dishes of silver and gold. But this profusion had its natural result in debt and degradation. The patricians who had been rivals of the imperial splendour became dependants on the imperial gifts; and the grandson of the conqueror of a kingdom, or the proconsul of the half of Asia, sold his ancestral palace, lived for a while on the contemptuous bounty of his master, and sank in the next generation into the nameless mass. Others, more skilful, preserved or improved their fortunes while they rioted in expense. By threats or promises, they prevailed on the less powerful to constitute them their heirs; they traded on the strength, or talents, or the beauty of their slaves, and lent money at such usurious interest that the borrower tried in vain to escape the shackles of the law, and ended by becoming the bondsman of the kind-hearted gentleman who had induced him to accept the loan. If these were the habits of the rich, how were the poor treated? The free and penniless citizens of the capital were degraded and gratified at the same time. The wealthy vied with each other in buying the favour of the mob by shows and other entertainments, by gifts of money and donations of food. But when these arts failed, and popularity could no longer be obtained by merely defraying the expense of a combat of gladiators, the descendants of the old patricians--of the men who had bought the land on which the Gauls were encamped outside the gates of Rome--went down into the arena themselves and fought for the public entertainment. Laws indeed were passed even in the reign of Tiberius, and renewed at intervals after that time, against this shameful degradation, and the stage was interdicted to all who were not previously declared infamous by sentence of a court. But all was in vain. Ladies of the highest rank, and the loftiest-born of the nobility, actually petitioned for a decree of defamation, that they might give themselves up undisturbed to their favourite amusement. This perhaps added a zest to their enjoyment, and rapturous applauses must have hailed the entrance of the beautiful grandchild of Anthony or Agrippa, in the character and drapery of a warlike amazon--the louder the applause and greater the admiration. Yet in order to gratify them with such a sight, she had descended to the level of the convict, and received the brand of qualifying disgrace from a legal tribunal. But the faint barrier of this useless prohibition was thrown down by the policy and example of Domitian. The emperor himself appeared in the arena, and all restraint was at an end. Rather, there was a fury of emulation to copy so great a model, and "Rome's proud dames, whose garments swept the ground," forgot more than ever their rank and sex, and were proud, like their lovers and brothers, not merely to mount the stage in the lascivious costume of nymph or dryad, but to descend into the blood-stained lists of the Coliseum and murder each other with sword and spear. There is something strangely horrible in this transaction, when we read that it occurred for the first time in celebration of the games of Flora--the goddess of flowers and gardens, who, in old times, was worshipped under the blossomed apple-trees in the little orchards surrounding each cottage within the walls, and was propitiated with children's games and chaplets hung upon the boughs. But now the loveliest of the noble daughters of the city lay dead upon the trampled sand. What was the effect upon the populace of these extraordinary shows? Always stern and cruel, the Roman was now never satisfied unless with the spectacle of death. Sometimes in the midst of a play or pantomime the fierce lust of blood would seize him, and he would cry out for a combat of gladiators or nobles, who instantly obeyed; and after the fight was over, and the corpses removed, the play would go on as if nothing had occurred. The banners of the empire still continued to bear the initial letters of the great words--the Senate and people of Rome. We have now, in this rapid survey, seen what both those great names have come to--the Senate crawling at the feet of the emperor, and the people living on charity and shows. The slaves fared worst of all, for they were despised by rich and poor. The sated voluptuary whose property they were sometimes found an excitement to his jaded spirits by having them tortured in his sight. They were allowed to die of starvation when they grew old, unless they were turned to use, as was done by one of their possessors, Vidius Pollio, who cast the fattest of his domestics into his fish-pond to feed his lampreys. The only other classes were the actors and musicians, the dwarfs and the philosophers. They contributed by their wit, or their uncouth shape, or their oracular sentences, to the amusement of their employers, and were safe. They were licensed characters, and could say what they chose, protected by the long-drawn countenance of the stoic, or the comic grimaces of the buffoon. So early as the time of Nero, the people he tyrannized and flattered were not less ruthless than himself. In his cruelty--in his vanity--in his frivolity, and his entire devotion to the gratification of his passions--he was a true representative of the men over whom he ruled. Emperor and subject had even then become fitted for each other, and flowers, we are credibly told by the historians, were hung for many years upon his tomb. Humanity itself seemed to be sunk beyond the possibility of restoration; but we see now how necessary it was that our nature should reach its lowest point of depression to give full force to the great reaction which Christianity introduced. Men were slavishly bending at the footstool of a despot, trembling for life, bowed down by fear and misery, when suddenly it was reported that a great teacher had appeared for a while upon earth, and declared that all men were equal in the sight of God, for that God was the Father of all. The slave heard this in the intervals of his torture--the captive in his dungeon--the widow and the orphan. To the poor the gospel, or good news, was preached. It was this which made the trembling courtiers of the worst of the emperors slip out noiselessly from the palace, and hear from Paul of Tarsus or his disciples the new prospect that was opening on mankind. It spread quickly among those oppressed and hopeless multitudes. The subjection of the Roman empire--its misery and degradation--were only a means to an end. The harsher the laws of the tyrant, the more gracious seemed the words of Christ. The two masters were plainly set before them, which to choose. And who could hesitate? One said, "Tremble! suffer! die!" The other said, "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!" SECOND CENTURY. Emperors. A.D. TRAJAN--(_continued._) Third Persecution of the Christians. 117. ADRIAN. Fourth Persecution of the Christians. 138. ANTONINUS PIUS. 161. MARCUS AURELIUS. 180. COMMODUS. 193. PERTINAX--DIDIUS, and NIGER--Defeated by 193. SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS. Authors. PLINY THE YOUNGER, PLUTARCH, SUETONIUS, JUVENAL, ARRIAN, ÆLIAN, PTOLEMY, (Geographer,) APPIAN, EPICTETUS, PAUSANIAS, GALEN, (Physician,) ATHENÆUS, TERTULLIAN, JUSTIN MARTYR, TATIAN, IRENÆUS, ATHENAGORAS, THEOPHILUS OF ANTIOCH, CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA, MARCION, (Heretic.) THE SECOND CENTURY. THE GOOD EMPERORS. In looking at the second century, we see a total difference in the expression, though the main features continue unchanged. There is still the central power at Rome, the same dependence everywhere else; but the central power is beneficent and wise. As if tired of the hereditary rule of succession which had ended in such a monster as Domitian, the world took refuge in a new system of appointing its chiefs, and perhaps thought it a recommendation of each successive emperor that he had no relationship to the last. We shall accordingly find that, after this period, the hereditary principle is excluded. It was remarked that, of the twelve first Cæsars, only two had died a natural death--for even in the case of Augustus the arts of the poisoner were suspected--and those two were Vespasian and Titus, men who had no claim to such an elevation in right of lofty birth. Birth, indeed, had ceased to be a recommendation. All the great names of the Republic had been carefully rooted out. Few people were inclined to boast of their ancestry when the proof of their pedigree acted as a sentence of death; for there was no surer passport to destruction in the times of the early emperors than a connection with the Julian line, or descent from a historic family. No one, therefore, took the trouble to inquire into the genealogy of Nerva, the old and generous man who succeeded the monster Domitian. [A.D. 96.] His nomination to the empire elevated him at once out of the sphere of these inquiries, for already the same superstitious reverence surrounded the name of Augustus which spreads its inviolable sanctity on the throne of Eastern monarchs. Whoever sits upon that, by whatever title, or however acquired, is the legitimate and unquestioned king. No rival, therefore, started up to contest the position either of Nerva himself, or of the stranger he nominated to succeed him. [A.D. 102.] Men bent in humble acquiescence when they knew, in the third year of this century, that their master was named Trajan,--that he was a Spaniard by birth, and the best general of Rome. For eighty years after that date the empire had rest. Life and property were comparatively secure, and society flowed on peaceably in deep and well-ascertained channels. A man might have been born at the end of the reign of Domitian, and die in extreme old age under the sway of the last of the Antonines, and never have known of insecurity or oppression-- "Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Could touch him farther!" No wonder those agreeable years were considered by the fond gratitude of the time, and the unavailing regrets of succeeding generations, the golden age of man. Nerva, Trajan, Adrian, Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus--these are still great names, and are everywhere recognised as the most wonderful succession of sovereigns the world has ever seen. They are still called the "Good Emperors," the "Wise Rulers." It is easy, indeed, to be good in comparison with Nero, and wise in comparison with Claudius; but the effect of the example of those infamous tyrants made it doubly difficult to be either good or wise. The world had become so accustomed to oppression, that it seemed at first surprised at the change that had taken place. The emperors had to create a knowledge of justice before their just acts could be appreciated. The same opposition other men have experienced in introducing bad and cruel measures was roused by their introduction of wise and salutary laws. What! no more summary executions, nor forfeitures of fortunes, nor banishments to the Danube? All men equal before the dread tribunal of the imperial judge? The world was surely coming to an end, if the emperor did not now and then poison a senator, or stab his brother, or throw half a dozen courtiers to the beasts! It is likely enough that some of the younger Romans at first lamented those days of unlimited license and perpetual excitement; but in the course of time those wilder spirits must have died out, and the world gladly acquiesced in an existence of dull security and uninteresting peace. By the end of the reign of Trajan the records of the miseries of the last century must have been studied as curiosities--as historical students now look back on the extravagances and horrors of the French Revolution. Fortunately, men could not look forward to the times, more pitiable still, when their descendants should fall into greater sorrows than had been inflicted on mankind by the worst of the Cæsars, and they enjoyed their present immunity from suffering without any misgivings about the future. But a government which does every thing for a people renders it unable to do any thing for itself. The subject stood quietly by while the emperor filled all the offices of the State--guarded him, fed him, clothed him, treated him like a child, and reduced him at last to childlike dependence. An unjust proconsul, instead of being supported and encouraged in his exactions, was dismissed from his employment and forced to refund his ill-got gains,--the population, relieved from their oppressor, saw in his punishment the hand of an avenging Providence. The wakeful eye of the governor in Rome saw the hostile preparations of a tribe of barbarians beyond the Danube; and the legions, crossing the river, dispersed and subdued them before they had time to devastate the Roman fields. The peaceful colonist saw, in the suddenness of his deliverance, the foresight and benevolence of a divinity. No words were powerful enough to convey the sentiments of admiration awakened, by such vigour and goodness, in the breast of a luxurious and effeminate people; and accordingly, if we look a little closely into the personal attributes of the five good emperors, we shall see that some part of their glory is due to the exaggerations of love and gratitude. Nerva reigned but sixteen months, and had no time to do more than display his kindness of disposition, and to name his successor. This was Trajan, a man who was not even a Roman by birth, but who was thought by his patron to have retained, in the distant province of Spain where he was born, the virtues which had disappeared in the centre and capital of the empire. The deficiency of Nerva's character had been its softness and want of force. The stern vigilance of Trajan made ample amends. He was the best-known soldier of his time, and revived once more the terror of the Roman arms. He conquered wherever he appeared; but his warlike impetuosity led him too far. He trod in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, and advanced farther eastward than any of the Roman armies had previously done. But his victories were fruitless: he attached no new country permanently to the empire, and derives all his glory now from the excellence of his internal administration. He began his government by declaring himself as subordinate to the laws as the meanest of the people. His wife, Pompeia Plotina, was worthy of such a husband, and said, on mounting the steps of the palace, that she should descend them unaltered from what she was. The emperor visited his friends on terms of equality, and had the greatness of mind, generally deficient in absolute princes, to bestow his confidence on those who deserved it. Somebody, a member perhaps of the old police who had made such fortunes in the time of Domitian by alarming the tyrant with stories of plots and assassinations, told Trajan one day to beware of his minister, who intended to murder him on the first opportunity. "Come again, and tell me all particulars to-morrow," said the emperor. In the mean time he went unbidden and supped with the accused. He was shaved by his barber--was attended for a mock illness by his surgeon--bathed in his bath--and ate his meat and drank his wine. On the following day the informer came. "Ah!" said Trajan, interrupting him in his accusation of Surenus, "if Surenus had wished to kill me, he would have done it last night." [A.D. 117.] The emperor died when returning from a distant expedition in the East, and Pompeia declared that he had long designated Adrian as his successor. This evidence was believed, and Adrian, also a Spaniard by birth, and eminent as a military commander, began his reign. Trajan had been a general--a conqueror, and had extended for a time the boundaries of the Roman power. But Adrian believed the empire was large enough already. He withdrew the eagles from the half-subdued provinces, and contented himself with the natural limits which it was easy to defend. But within those limits his activity was unexampled. He journeyed from end to end of his immense domain, and for seventeen years never rested in one spot. News did not travel fast in those days--but the emperor did. Long before the inhabitants of Syria and Egypt heard that he had left Rome on an expedition to Britain, he had rushed through Gaul, crossed the Channel, inquired into the proceedings of the government officers at York, given orders for a wall to keep out the Caledonians, (an attempt which has proved utterly vain at all periods of English history, down to the present day,) and suddenly made his appearance among the bewildered dwellers in Ephesus or Carthage, to call tax-gatherers to order and to inspect the discipline of his troops. The master's eye was everywhere, for nobody knew on what point it was fixed. And such a master no kingdom has been able to boast of since. His talents were universal. He read every thing and forgot nothing. He was a musician, a poet, a philosopher. He studied medicine and mineralogy, and plead causes like Cicero, and sang like a singer at the opera. Perhaps it is difficult to judge impartially of the qualities of a Roman emperor. One day he found fault on a point of grammar with a learned man of the name of Favorinus. Favorinus could have defended himself and justified his language, but continued silent. His friends said to him, "Why didn't you answer the emperor's objections?" "Do you think," said the sensible grammarian, "I am going to enter into disputes with a man who commands thirty legions?" But the greatness of Adrian's character is, that he _did_ command those thirty legions. He was severe and just; and Roman discipline was never more exact. The result of this was shown on the grand scale only once during this reign, and that was in the case of the revolted Jews. We have seen the state to which their Temple at Jerusalem was reduced by Titus. Fifty years had now passed, and the passionate love of the people for their native land had congregated them once more within their renovated walls, and raised up another temple on the site of the old. They still expected the Messiah, for the Messiah to them represented vengeance upon the Romans and triumph over the world. An impostor of the name of Barcho-chebas led three hundred thousand of them into the field. They were mad with national hatred, and inspired with fanatical hope. It took three years of desperate effort to quell this sedition; and then Adrian had his revenge. The country was laid waste. Fifty towns and a thousand villages were sacked and burned. The population, once more nearly exhausted by war and famine, furnished slaves, which were sold all over the East. Jerusalem itself felt the conqueror's hatred most. Its name was blotted out--it was called Ælia Capitolina; and, with ferocious mockery, over the gate of the new capital of Judea was affixed the statue of the unclean beast, the abomination of the Israelite. But nothing could keep the Jews from visiting the land of so many promises and so much glory. Whenever they had it in their power, they crept back from all quarters, if it were only to weep and die amid the ruins of their former power. Trajan and Adrian had now made the world accustomed to justice in its rulers; and as far as regards their public conduct, this character is not to be denied. Yet in their private relations they were not so faultless. Trajan the great and good was a drunkard. To such a pitch did he carry this vice, that he gave orders that after a certain hour of the day none of his commands were to be obeyed. Adrian was worse: he was regardless of life; he put men to death for very small offences. An architect was asked how he liked a certain series of statues designed by the emperor and ranged in a sitting attitude round a temple which he had built. The architect was a humourist, not a courtier. "If the goddesses," he said, "take it into their heads to rise, they will never be able to get out at the door." A poor criticism, and not a good piece of wit, but not bad enough to justify his being beheaded; yet the answer cost the poor man his life. As Adrian grew older, he grew more reckless of the pain he gave. He had a brother-in-law ninety years of age, and there was a grandson of the old man aged eighteen. He had them both executed on proof or suspicion of a conspiracy. The popular feeling was revolted by the sight of the mingled blood of two sufferers so nearly related, at the opposite extremities of life. The old man, just before he died, protested his innocence, and uttered a revengeful prayer that Adrian might wish to die and find death impossible! This imprecation was fulfilled. The emperor was tortured with disease, and longed for deliverance in vain. He called round him his physicians, and priests, and sorcerers, but they could give him no relief. He begged his slaves to kill him, and stabbed himself with a dagger; but in spite of all he could not die. Lingering on, and with no cessation of his pain, he must have had sad thoughts of the past, and no pleasant anticipations of the future, if, as we learn from the verses attributed to him, he believed in a future state. His lines still remain, but are indebted to Pope, who paraphrased them, for their Christian spirit and lofty aspiration:-- "Vital spark of heavenly flame! Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life! "Hark! they whisper! angels say, Sister spirit, come away! What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? "The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?" His wish was at last achieved. He died aged sixty-two, having reigned twenty-one years. In travelling and building his whole time was spent. Temples, theatres, bridges--wherever he went, these evidences of his wisdom or magnificence remained. He persecuted the Christians, but found persecution a useless proceeding against a sect who gloried in martyrdom, and whose martyrdoms were only followed by new conversions. He tried what an opposite course of conduct would do, and is said to have intended to erect a temple to Jesus Christ. "Take care what you do," said one of his counsellors: "if you permit an altar to the God of the Christians, those of the other gods will be deserted." [A.D. 138.] But now came to supreme authority the good and wise Antoninus Pius, who was as blameless in his private conduct as in his public acts. His fame extended farther than the Roman arms had ever reached. Distant kings, in lands of which the names were scarcely known in the Forum, took him as arbiter of their differences. The decision of the great man in Rome gave peace on the banks of the Indus. The barbarians themselves on the outskirts of his dominions were restrained by respect for a character so pure and power so wisely used. An occasional revolt in Britain was quelled by his lieutenants--an occasional conspiracy against his authority was caused by the discontent which turbulent spirits feel when restrained by law. The conspiracies were repressed, and on one occasion two of the ringleaders were put to death. The Senate was for making further inquiry into the plot. "Let us stop here," said the emperor. "I do not wish to find out how many people I have displeased." Some stories are told of him, which show how little he affected the state of a despotic ruler. A pedantic philosopher at Smyrna, of the name of Polemo, returned from a journey at a late hour, and found the proconsul of Rome lodged in his house. This proconsul was Antonine, who at that time had been appointed to the office by Adrian. Instead of being honoured by such a guest, the philosopher stormed and raged, and made so much noise, that in the middle of the night the sleepless proconsul left the house and found quarters elsewhere. When years passed on, and Antonine was on the throne, Polemo had the audacity to present himself as an old acquaintance. "Ha! I remember him," said the emperor: "let him have a room in the palace, but don't let him leave it night or day." The imprisonment was not long, for we find the same Polemo hero of another anecdote during this visit to Rome. He hissed a performer in the theatre, and stamped and screeched, and made such a disturbance that the unfortunate actor had to leave the stage. He complained of Polemo to the emperor. "Polemo!" exclaimed Antonine; "he forced you off the stage in the middle of the day, but he drove me from his house in the middle of the night, and yet I never appealed." It would be pleasant if we could learn that Polemo did not get off so easily. But the twenty-two years of this reign of mildness and probity were brought to a close, and Marcus Aurelius succeeded in 161. [A.D. 161] Marcus Aurelius did no dishonour to the discernment of his friend and adoptive father Antoninus Pius. Studying philosophy and practising self-command, he emulated and surpassed the virtues of the self-denying leaders of his sect, and only broke through the rule he imposed on himself of clemency and mildness, when he found philosophy in danger of being counted a vain deceit, and the active duties of human brotherhood preferred to the theoretic rhapsodies on the same subject with which his works were filled. Times began to change. Men were dissatisfied with the unsubstantial dream of Platonist and Stoic. There were symptoms of an approaching alteration in human affairs, which perplexed the thoughtful and gave promise of impunity to the bad. Perhaps a man who, clothed in the imperial purple, bestowed so much study on the intellectual niceties of the Sophists, and endeavoured to keep his mind in a fit state for abstract speculation by scourging and starving his body, was not so fitted for the approaching crisis as a rougher and less contemplative nature would have been. Britain was in commotion, there were tumults on the Rhine, and in Armenia the Parthians cut the Roman legions to pieces. And scarcely were those troubles settled and punished, when a worse calamity befell the Roman empire. Its inviolability became a boast of the past. The fearful passions for conquest and rapine of the border-barbarians were roused. Barbaric cohorts encamped on the fields of Italy, and the hosts of wild men from the forests of the North pillaged the heaped-up treasures of the garden of the world. The emperor flew to the scene of danger, but the fatal word had been said. Italy was accessible from the Alps and from the sea; and, though a bloody defeat at Aquileia flung back the invaders, disordered and dispirited, over the mountains they had descended with such hopes, the struggle was but begun. The barbarians felt their power, and the old institutions of Rome were insufficient to resist future attacks. But to the aid of the old Roman institutions a new institution came, an institution which was destined to repel the barbarians by overcoming barbarism itself, and save the dignity of Rome by giving it the protection of the Cross. But at present--that is, during the reign of the philosophic Marcus Aurelius--a persecution raged against the Christians which seemed to render hopeless all chance of their success. The mild laws of Trajan and Adrian, and the favourable decrees of Antoninus Pius, were set aside by the contemptuous enmity of this explorer of the mysterious heights of virtue, which occasionally carried him out of sight of the lower but more important duties of life. An unsocial tribe the Christians were, who rigorously shut their eyes to the beauties of abstract perfection, and preferred the plain orders of the gospel to the most ambitious periods of the emperor. But the persecution of a sect so small and so obscure as the Christian was at that time, is scarcely perceptible as a diminution of the sum of human happiness secured to the world by the gentleness and equity which regulated all his actions. Here is an example of the way in which he treated rebels against his authority. An insurrection broke out in Syria and the East, headed by a pretended descendant of the patriot Cassius, who had conspired against Julius Cæsar. The emperor hurried to meet him--some say to resign the empire into his hands, to prevent the effusion of blood; but the usurper died in an obscure commotion, and nothing was left but to take vengeance on his adherents. This is the letter the conqueror wrote to the Senate:--"I beseech you, conscript Fathers! not to punish the guilty with too much rigour. Let no Senator be put to death. Let the banished return to their country. I wish I could give back their lives to those who have died in this quarrel. Revenge is unworthy of an emperor. You will pardon, therefore, the children of Cassius, his son-in-law, and his wife. Pardon, did I say? Ah! what crime have they committed? Let them live in safety, let them retain all that Cassius possessed. Let them live in whatever place they choose, to be a monument of your clemency and mine." In such hands as these the fortune of mankind was safe. A pity that the father's feelings got the better of his judgment in the choice of his successor. It is the one blot on his otherwise perfect disinterestedness. In dying, with such a monster as Commodus ready to leap into his seat, he must have felt how inexpressibly valuable his life would be to the Roman people. He perhaps saw the danger to which he exposed the world; for he committed his son to the care of his wisest counsellors, and begged him to continue the same course of government he had pursued. Perhaps he was tired of life, perhaps he sought refuge in his self-denying philosophy from the prospect he saw before him of a state of perpetual struggle and eventual overthrow. When the Tribune came for the last time to ask the watchword of the day, "Go to the rising sun," he said; "for me, I am just going to set." And here the history of the Second Century should close. It is painful to go back again to the hideous scenes of anarchy and crime from which we have been delivered so long. What must the sage counsellors, the chosen companions and equals in age of the Antonines, have thought when all at once the face of affairs, which they must have believed eternal, was changed?--when the noblest and wisest in the land were again thrown heedlessly into the arena without trial?--when spies watched every meal, and the ferocious murderer on the throne seemed to gloat over the struggles of his victims? Yet, if they had reflected on the inevitable course of events, they must have seen that a government depending on the character of one man could never be relied on. Where, indeed, could any element of security be found? The very ground-work of society was overthrown. There was no independent body erect amid the general prostration at the footstool of the emperor. Local self-government had ceased except in name. All the towns which hitherto had been subordinate to Rome, but endowed at the same time with privileges which were worth defending, had been absorbed into the great whirlpool of imperial centralization, and were admitted to the rights of Roman citizenship,--now of little value, since it embraced every quarter of the empire. Jupiter and Juno, and the herd of effete gods and goddesses, if they had ever held any practical influence over the minds of men, had long sunk into contempt, except in so far as their rich establishments were defended by persons interested in their maintenance, and the processions and gaudy display of a foul and meretricious worship were pleasing to the depraved taste of the mob. But the religious principle, as a motive of action, or as a point of combination, was at an end. Augurs were still appointed, and laughed at the uselessness of their office; oracles were still uttered, and ridiculed as the offspring of ignorance and imposture; conflicting deities fought for pre-eminence, or compromised their differences by an amalgamation of their altars, and perhaps a division of their estates. It was against this state of society the early Fathers directed their warnings and denunciations. The world did certainly lie in darkness, and it was indispensable to warn the followers of Christ not to be conformed to the fashion of that fleeting time. Some, to escape the contagion of this miserable condition, when men were without hope, and without even the wretched consolation which a belief in a false god would have given them, fled to the wilds and caves. Hermits escaped equally the perils of sin and the hostility of the heathen. Believers were exhorted to flee from contamination, and some took the words in their literal meaning. But not all. Many remained, and fought the good fight in the front of the battle, as became the soldiers of the cross. In the midst of the anarchy and degradation which characterized the last years of the century, a society was surely and steadily advancing towards its full development, bound by rules in the midst of the helplessness of external law, and combined by strong faith, in a world of utter unbelief--an empire within an empire--soon to be the only specimen left either of government or mutual obligation, and finally to absorb into its fresh and still-spreading organization the withered and impotent authority which had at first seen in it its enemy and destroyer, and found it at last its refuge and support. Yet at this very time the empire had never appeared so strong. By a stroke of policy, which the event proved to be injudicious, Marcus Aurelius, in the hope of diminishing the number of his enemies, had converted many thousands of the barbarians into his subjects. They had settlements assigned them within the charmed ring. What they had not been able to obtain by the sword was now assured to them by treaty. But the unity of the Roman empire by this means was destroyed. Men were admitted within the citadel who had no reverence implanted in them from their earliest years for the majesty of the Roman name. They saw the riches contained in the stronghold, and were only anxious to open the gates to their countrymen who were still outside the walls. But before we enter on the downward course, and since we are now arrived at the period of the greatest apparent force and extent of the Roman empire, let us see what it consisted of, and what was the real amount of its power. Viewed in comparison with some of the monarchies of the present day, neither its extent of territory, nor amount of population, nor number of soldiers, is very surprising. The Queen of England reigns over more subjects, and commands far mightier fleets and armies, than any of the Roman emperors. The empire of Russia is more extensive, and yet the historians of a few generations ago are lost in admiration of the power of Rome. The whole military force of the empire amounted to four hundred and fifty thousand men. The total number of vessels did not exceed a thousand. But see what were the advantages Rome possessed in the compactness of its territory and the unity of its government. The great Mediterranean Sea, peopled and cultivated on both its shores, was but a peaceful lake, on which the Roman galley had no enemy to fear, and the merchant-ship dreaded nothing but the winds and waves. There were no fortresses to be garrisoned on what are now the boundaries of jealous or hostile kingdoms. If the great circuit of the Roman State could be protected from barbarian inroads, the internal defence of all that vast enclosure could be left to the civil power. If the Black Sea and the Sea of Azoff could be kept clear of piratical adventurers, the broad highway of the Mediterranean was safe. A squadron near Gibraltar, a squadron at the Dardanelles, and the tribes which might possibly venture in from the ocean--the tribes which, slipping down from the Don or the Dnieper, might thread their way through the Hellespont and emerge into the Egean--were caught at their first appearance; and when the wisdom of the Romans had guarded the mouths of the Danube from the descent, in canoe or coracle, of the wild settlers on its upper banks, the peace and commerce of the whole empire were secured. With modern Europe the case is very different. There are boundaries to be guarded which occupy more soldiers than the territories are worth. Lines are arbitrarily fixed across the centre of a plain, or along the summit of a mountain, which it is a case of war to pass. Belgium defends her flats with a hundred thousand men, and the marshes of Holland are secured by sixty thousand Dutch. The State of Dessau in Germany, threatens its neighbours with fifteen hundred soldiers, while Reuss guards its dignity and independence with three hundred infantry and fifty horse. But the Great Powers, as they are called, take away from the peaceable and remunerative employments of trade or agriculture an amount of labour which would be an incalculable increase to the riches and happiness of the world. The aggregate soldiery of Europe is upwards of five millions of men,--just eleven times the largest calculation of the Roman legions. The ships of Europe--to the smaller of which the greatest galleys of the ancient world would scarcely serve as tenders--amount to 2113. The number of guns they carry, against which there is nothing we can take as a measure of value in ancient warfare, but which are now the greatest and surest criterions of military power, amounts to 45,367. But this does not give so clear a view of the alteration in relative power as is yielded by an inspection of some of the separate items. Gaul, included within the Rhine, was kept in order by six or seven legions. The French empire has on foot an army of six hundred and fifty thousand men, and a fleet of four hundred sail. Britain, which was garrisoned by thirty thousand men, had, in 1855, an army at home and abroad of six hundred and sixty thousand men, and a fleet of five hundred and ninety-one ships of war, with an armament of seventeen thousand guns. The disjointed States which now constitute the Empire of Austria, and which occupied eight legions in their defence, are now in possession of an army of six hundred thousand men; and Prussia, whose array exceeds half a million of soldiers, was unheard of except in the discussions of geographers.[A] [A.D. 181.] With the death of the excellent Marcus Aurelius the golden age came to a close. Commodus sat on the throne, and renewed the wildest atrocities of the previous century. Nero was not more cruel--Domitian was not so reckless of human life. He fought in the arena against weakly-armed adversaries, and slew them without remorse. He polluted the whole city with blood, and made money by selling permissions to murder. Thirteen years exhausted the patience of the world, and a justifiable assassination put an end to his life. There was an old man of the name of Pertinax, originally a nickname derived from his obstinate or pertinacious disposition, who now made his appearance on the throne and perished in three months. It chanced that a certain rich man of the name of Didius was giving a supper the night of the murder to some friends. The dishes were rich, and the wine delicious. Inspired by the good cheer, the guests said, "Why don't you buy the empire? The soldiers have proclaimed that they will give it to the highest bidder." Didius knew the amount of his treasure, and was ambitious: he got up from table and hurried to the Prætorian camp. On the way he met the mutilated body of the murdered Pertinax, dragged through the streets with savage exultation. Nothing daunted, he arrived at the soldiers' tents. Another had been before him--Sulpician, the father-in-law and friend of the late emperor. A bribe had been offered to each soldier, so large that they were about to conclude the bargain; but Didius bade many sesterces more. The greedy soldiery looked from one to the other, and shouted with delight, as each new advance was made. [A.D. 193.] At last Sulpician was silent, and Didius had purchased the Roman world at the price of upwards of £200 to each soldier of the Prætorian guard. He entered the palace in state, and concluded the supper, which had been interrupted at his own house, on the viands prepared for Pertinax. But the excitement of the auction-room was too pleasant to be left to the troops in Rome. Offers were made to the legions in all the provinces, and Didius was threatened on every side. Even the distant garrisons of Britain named a candidate for the throne; and Claudius Albinus assumed the imperial purple, and crossed over into Gaul. More irritated still, the army in Syria elected its general, Pescennius Niger, emperor, and he prepared to dispute the prize; but quietly, steadily, with stern face and unrelenting heart, advancing from province to province, keeping his forces in strict subjection, and laying claim to supreme authority by the mere strength of his indomitable will, came forward Septimius Severus, and both the pretenders saw that their fate was sealed. Illyria and Gaul recognised his title at once. Albinus was happy to accept from him the subordinate title of Cæsar, and to rule as his lieutenant. Didius, whose bargain turned out rather ill, besought him to be content with half the empire. Severus slew the messengers who brought this proposition, and advanced in grim silence. The Senate assembled, and, by way of a pleasant reception for the Illyrian chief, requested Didius to prepare for death. The executioners found him clinging to life with unmanly tenacity, and killed him when he had reigned but seventy days. One other competitor remained, the general of the Syrian army--the closest friend of Severus, but now separated from him by the great temptation of an empire in dispute. This was Niger, from whom an obstinate resistance was expected, as he was equally famous for his courage and his skill. But fortune was on the side of Severus. Niger was conquered after a short struggle, and his head presented to the victor. Was Albinus still to live, and approach so near the throne as to have the rank of Cæsar? Assassins were employed to murder him, but he escaped their assault. The treachery of Severus brought many supporters to his rival. The Roman armies were ranged in hostile camps. Severus again was fortunate, and Albinus, dashing towards him to engage in combat, was slain before his eyes. He watched his dying agonies for some time, and then forced his horse to trample on the corpse. A man of harsh, implacable nature--not so much cruel as impenetrable to human feelings, and perhaps forming a just estimate of the favourable effect upon his fortunes of a disposition so calm, and yet so relentless. The Prætorians found they had appointed their master, and put the sword into his hand. He used it without remorse. He terrified the boldest with his imperturbable stillness; he summoned the seditious soldiery to wait on him at his camp. They were to come without arms, without their military dress, almost like suppliants, certainly not like the ferocious libertines they had been when they had sold the empire at the highest price. "Whoever of you wishes to live," said Severus, frowning coldly, "will depart from this, and never come within thirty leagues of Rome. Take their horses," he added to the other troops who had surrounded the Prætorians, "take their accoutrements, and chase them out of my sight." Did the Senate receive a milder treatment? On sending them the head of Albinus, he had written to the Conscript Fathers alarming them with the most dreadful threats. And now the time of execution had come. He made them an oration in praise of the proscriptions of Marius and Sylla, and forced them to deify the tyrant Commodus, who had hated them all his life. He then gave a signal to his train, and the streets ran with blood. All who had borne high office, all who were of distinguished birth, all who were famous for their wealth or popular with the citizens, were put to death. He crossed over to England and repressed a sedition there. His son Caracalla accompanied him, and commenced his career of warlike ardour and frightful ferocity, which can only be explained on the ground of his being mad. He tried even to murder his father, in open day, in the sight of the soldiers. He was stealing upon the old man, when a cry from the legion made him turn round. His inflexible eye fell upon Caracalla--the sword dropped from his unfilial hand--and dreadful anticipations of vengeance filled the assembly. The son was pardoned, but his accomplices, whether truly or falsely accused, perished by cruel deaths. At last the emperor felt his end approach. He summoned his sons Caracalla and Geta into his presence, recommended them to live in unity, and ended by the advice which has become the standing maxim of military despots, "Be generous to the soldiers, and trample on all beside." With this hideous incarnation of unpitying firmness on the throne--hopeless of the future, and with dangers accumulating on every side, the Second Century came to an end, leaving the amazing contrast between its miserable close and the long period of its prosperity by which it will be remembered in all succeeding time. THIRD CENTURY. Emperors. A.D. SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS--(_continued._) Fifth Persecution of the Christians. 211. CARACALLA and GETA. 217. MACRINUS. 218. HELIOGABALUS. 222. ALEXANDER SEVERUS. 235. MAXIMIN. Sixth Persecution. 238. MAXIMUS and BALBINUS 238. GORDIAN. 244. PHILIP THE ARABIAN. 249. DECIUS. Seventh Persecution. 251. VIBIUS. 251. GALLUS. 254. VALERIAN. Eighth Persecution. 260. GALLIEN. 268. CLAUDIUS THE SECOND. 270. AURELIAN. Ninth Persecution. 275. TACITUS. 276. FLORIAN. 277. PROBUS. 278. CARUS. 278. CARINUS and NUMERIAN. 284. DIOCLETIAN and MAXIMIAN. Tenth and Last Persecution. Authors. CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA, DION CASSIUS, ORIGEN, CYPRIAN, PLOTINUS, LONGINUS, HIPPOLITUS PORTUENSIS, JULIUS AFRICANUS CELSUS, ORIGEN. THE THIRD CENTURY. ANARCHY AND CONFUSION--GROWTH OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. We are now in the twelfth year of the Third Century. Septimius Severus has died at York, and Caracalla is let loose like a famished tiger upon Rome. He invites his brother Geta to meet him to settle some family feud in the apartment of their mother, and stabs him in her arms. The rest of his reign is worthy of this beginning, and it would be fatiguing and perplexing to the memory to record his other acts. Fortunately it is not required; nor is it necessary to follow minutely the course of his successors. What we require is only a general view of the proceedings of this century, and that can be gained without wading through all the blood and horrors with which the throne of the world is surrounded. Conclusive evidence was obtained in this century that the organization of Roman government was defective in securing the first necessities of civilized life. When we talk of civilization, we are too apt to limit the meaning of the word to its mere embellishments, such as arts and sciences; but the true distinction between it and barbarism is, that the one presents a state of society under the protection of just and well-administered law, and the other is left to the chance government of brute force. There was now great wealth in Rome--great luxury--a high admiration of painting, poetry, and sculpture--much learning, and probably infinite refinement of manners and address. But it was not a civilized state. Life was of no value--property was not secure. A series of madmen seized supreme authority, and overthrew all the distinctions between right and wrong. Murder was legalized, and rapine openly encouraged. It is a sort of satisfaction to perceive that few of those atrocious malefactors escaped altogether the punishment of their crimes. If Caracalla slays his brother and orders a peaceable province to be destroyed, there is a Macrinus at hand to put the monster to death. [A.D. 218.] But Macrinus, relying on the goodness of his intentions, neglects the soldiery, and is supplanted by a boy of seventeen--so handsome that he won the admiration of the rudest of the legionaries, and so gentle and captivating in his manners that he strengthened the effect his beauty had produced. He was priest of the Temple of the Sun at Emesa in Phoenicia; and by the arts of his grandmother, who was sister to one of the former empresses, and the report that she cunningly spread abroad that he was the son of their favourite Caracalla, the affection of the dissolute soldiery knew no bounds. Macrinus was soon slaughtered, and the long-haired priest of Baal seated on the throne of the Cæsars, under the name of Heliogabalus. As might be expected, the sudden alteration in his fortunes was fatal to his character. All the excesses of his predecessors were surpassed. His extravagance rapidly exhausted the resources of the empire. His floors were spread with gold-dust. His dresses, jewels, and golden ornaments were never worn twice, but went to his slaves and parasites. He created his grandmother a member of the Senate, with rank next after the consuls; and established a rival Senate, composed of ladies, presided over by his mother. Their jurisdiction was not very hurtful to the State, for it only extended to dresses and precedence of ranks, and the etiquette to be observed in visiting each other. But the evil dispositions of the emperor were shown in other ways. He had a cousin of the name of Alexander, and entertained an unbounded jealousy of his popularity with the soldiers. Attempts at poison and direct assassination were resorted to in vain. The public sympathy began to rise in his favour. The Prætorians formally took him under their protection; and when Heliogabalus, reckless of their menaces, again attempted the life of Alexander, the troops revolted, proclaimed death to the infatuated emperor, and slew him and his mother at the same time. [A.D. 222.] Alexander was now enthroned--a youth of sixteen; gifted with higher qualities than the debased century in which he lived could altogether appreciate. But the origin of his noblest sentiments is traced to the teaching he had received from his mother, in which the precepts of Christianity were not omitted. When he appointed the governor of a province, he published his name some time before, and requested if any one knew of a disqualification, to have it sent in for his consideration. "It is thus the Christians appoint their pastors," he said, "and I will do the same with my representatives." When his justice, moderation, and equity were fully recognised, the beauty of the quotation, which was continually in his mouth, was admired by all, even though they were ignorant of the book it came from: "Do unto others as you would that they should do unto you." He trusted the wisest of his counsellors, the great legalists of the empire, with the introduction of new laws to curb the wickedness of the time. But the multiplicity of laws proves the decline of states. In the ancient Rome of the kings and earlier consuls, the statutes were contained in forty decisions, which were afterwards enlarged into the laws of the Twelve Tables, consisting of one hundred and fifty texts. The profligacy of some emperors, the vanity of others, had loaded the statute-book with an innumerable mass of edicts, senatus-consultums, prætorial rescripts, and customary laws. It was impossible to extract order or regularity from such a chaos of conflicting rules. The great work was left for a later prince; at present we can only praise the goodness of the emperor's intention. But Alexander, justly called Severus, from the simplicity of his life and manners, has held the throne too long. The Prætorians have been thirteen years without the donation consequent on a new accession. Among the favourite leaders selected by Alexander for their military qualifications was one Maximin, a Thracian peasant, of whose strength and stature incredible things are told. He was upwards of eight feet high, could tire down a horse at the gallop on foot, could break its leg by a blow of his hand, could overthrow thirty wrestlers without drawing breath, and maintained this prodigious force by eating forty pounds of meat, and drinking an amphora and a half, or twelve quarts, of wine. This giant had the bravery for which his countrymen the Goths have always been celebrated. He rose to high rank in the Roman service; and when at last nothing seemed to stand between him and the throne but his patron and benefactor, ambition blinded him to every thing but his own advancement. He murdered the wise and generous Alexander, and presented for the first time in history the spectacle of a barbarian master of the Roman world. Other emperors had been born in distant portions of the empire; an African had trampled on Roman greatness in the person of Septimius Severus; a Phoenician priest had disgraced the purple in the person of Heliogabalus; Africa, however, was a Roman province, and Emesa a Roman town. But here sat the colossal representative of the terrible Goths of Thrace, speaking a language half Getic, half Latin, which no one could easily understand; fierce, haughty, and revengeful, and cherishing a ferocious hatred of the subjects who trembled before him--a hatred probably implanted in him in his childhood by the patriotic songs with which the warriors of his tribe kept alive their enmity and contempt for the Roman name. The Roman name had indeed by this time lost all its authority. The army, recruited from all parts of the empire, and including a great number of barbarians in its ranks, was no longer a bulwark against foreign invasion. Maximin, bestowing the chief commands on Pannonians and other mercenaries, treated the empire as a conquered country. He seized on all the wealth he could discover--melted all the golden statues, as valuable from their artistic beauty as for the metal of which they were composed--and was threatening an approach to Rome to exterminate the Senate and sack the devoted town. In this extremity the Senate resumed its long-forgotten power, and named as emperors two men of the name of Gordian--father and son--with instructions "to resist the enemy." But father and son perished in a few weeks, and still the terrible Goth came on. His son, a giant like himself, but beautiful as the colossal statue of a young Apollo, shared in all the feelings of his father. Terrified at its approaching doom, the Senate once more nominated two men to the purple, Maximus and Balbinus: Balbinus, the favourite, perhaps, of the aristocracy, by the descent he claimed from an illustrious ancestry; while Maximus recommended himself to the now perverted taste of the commonalty by having been a carter. Neither was popular with the army; and, to please the soldiers, a son or nephew of the younger Gordian was associated with them on the throne. But nothing could have resisted the infuriated legions of the gigantic Maximin; they were marching with wonderful expedition towards their revenge. At Aquileia they met an opposition; the town shut its gates and manned its walls, for it knew what would be the fate of a city given up to the tender mercies of the Goths. Meanwhile the approach of the destroyer produced great agitation in Rome. The people rose upon the Prætorians, and enlisted the gladiators on their side. Many thousands were slain, and at last a peace was made by the intercession of the youthful Gordian. Glad of the cessation of this civic tumult, the population of Rome betook itself to the theatres and shows. Suddenly, while the games were going on, it was announced that the army before Aquileia had mutinied and that both the Maximins were slain. [A.D. 235.] All at once the amphitheatre was emptied; by an impulse of grateful piety, the emperors and people hurried into the temples of the gods, and offered up thanks for their deliverance. The wretched people were premature in their rejoicing. In less than three months the spoiled Prætorians were offended with the precaution taken by the emperors in surrounding themselves with German guards. They assaulted the palace, and put Maximus and Balbinus to death. Gordian the Third was now sole emperor, and the final struggle with the barbarians drew nearer and nearer. Constantly crossing the frontiers, and willingly received in the Roman ranks, the communities who had been long settled on the Roman confines were not the utterly uncultivated tribes which their name would seem to denote. There was a conterminous civilization which made the two peoples scarcely distinguishable at their point of contact, but which died off as the distance from the Roman line increased. Thus, an original settler on the eastern bank of the Rhine was probably as cultivated and intelligent as a Roman colonist on the other side; but farther up, at the Weser and the Elbe, the old ferocity and roughness remained. Fresh importations from the unknown East were continually taking place; the dwellers in the plains of Pannonia, now habituated to pasturage and trade, found safety from the hordes which pressed upon them from their own original settlements beyond the Caucasus, by crossing the boundary river; and by this means the banks were held by cognate but hostile peoples, who could, however, easily be reconciled by a joint expedition against Rome. New combinations had taken place in the interior of the great expanses not included in the Roman limits. The Germans were no longer the natural enemies of the empire. They furnished many soldiers for its defence, and several chiefs to command its forces. But all round the external circuit of those half-conciliated tribes rose up vast confederacies of warlike nations. There were Cheruski, and Sicambri, and Attuarians, and Bruttuarians, and Catti, all regularly enrolled under the name of "Franks," or the brave. The Sarmatians or Sclaves performed the same part on the northeastern frontier; and we have already seen that the irresistible Goths had found their way, one by one, across the boundary, and cleared the path for their successors. The old enemies of Rome on the extreme east, the Parthians, had fallen under the power of a renovated mountain-race, and of a king, who founded the great dynasty of the Sassanides, and claimed the restoration of Egypt and Armenia as ancient dependencies of the Persian crown. To resist all these, there was, in the year 241, only a gentle-tempered youth, dressed in the purple which had so lost its original grandeur, and relying for his guidance on the wisdom of his tutors, and for his life on the forbearance of the Prætorians. The tutors were wise and just, and victory at first gave some sort of dignity to the reign of Gordian. [A.D. 244.] The Franks were conquered at Mayence; but Gordian, three years after, was murdered in the East; and Philip, an Arabian, whose father had been a robber of the desert, was acknowledged emperor by senate and army. Treachery, ambition, and murder pursued their course. There was no succession to the throne. Sometimes one general, luckier or wiser than the rest, appeared the sole governor of the State. At other times there were numberless rivals all claiming the empire and threatening vengeance on their opponents. Yet amidst this tumult of undistinguishable pretenders, fortune placed at the head of affairs some of the best and greatest men whom the Roman world ever produced. There was Valerian, whom all parties agreed in considering the most virtuous and enlightened man of his time. [A.D. 253.] Scarcely any opposition was made to his promotion; and yet, with all his good qualities, he was the man to whom Rome owed the greatest degradation it had yet sustained. He was taken prisoner by Sapor, the Persian king, and condemned, with other captive monarchs, to draw the car of his conqueror. No offers of ransom could deliver the brave and unfortunate prince. He died amid his deriding enemies, who hung up his skin as an offering to their gods. Then, after some years, in which there were twenty emperors at one time, with army drawn up against army, and cities delivered to massacre and rapine by all parties in turn, there arose one of the strong minds which make themselves felt throughout a whole period, and arrest for a while the downward course of states. [A.D. 276.] The emperor Probus, son of a man who had originally been a gardener, had distinguished himself under Aurelian, the conqueror of Palmyra, and, having survived all his competitors, had time to devote himself to the restoration of discipline and the introduction of purer laws. His victories over the encroaching barbarians were decided, but ineffectual. New myriads still pressed forward to take the place of the slain. On one occasion he crossed the Rhine in pursuit of the revolted Germans, overtook them at the Necker, and killed in battle four hundred thousand men. Nine kings threw themselves at the emperor's feet. Many thousand barbarians enlisted in the Roman army. Sixty great cities were taken, and made offerings of golden crowns. The whole country was laid waste. "There was nothing left," he boasted to the Senate, "but bare fields, as if they had never been cultivated." So much the worse for the Romans. The barbarians looked with keener eyes across the river at the rich lands which had never been ravaged, and sent messages to all the tribes in the distant forests, that, having no occasion for pruning-hooks, they had turned them into swords. But Probus showed a still more doubtful policy in other quarters. When he conquered the Vandals and Burgundians, he sent their warriors to keep the Caledonians in subjection on the Tyne. The Britons he transported to Moesia or Greece. What intermixtures of race may have arisen from these transplantations it is impossible to say; but the one feeling was common to all the barbarians, that Rome was weak and they were strong. He settled a large detachment of Franks on the shores of the Black Sea; and of these an almost incredible but well-authenticated story is told. They seized or built themselves boats. They swept through the Dardanelles, and ravaged the isles of Greece. They pursued their piratical career down the Mediterranean, passed the pillars of Hercules into the Great Sea, and, rounding Spain and France, rowed up the Elbe into the midst of their astonished countrymen, who had long given them up for dead. A fatal adventure this for the safety of the Roman shores; for there were the wild fishermen of Friesland, and the audacious Angles of Schleswig and Holstein, who heard of this strange exploit, and saw that no coast was too distant to be reached by their oar and sail. But if these forced settlements of barbarians on Roman soil were impolitic, the generous Probus did not feel their bad effect. His warlike qualities awed his foes, and his inflexible justice was appreciated by the hardy warriors of the North, who had not yet sunk under the debasing civilization of Rome. In Asia his arms were attended with equal success. He subdued the Persians, and extended his conquests into Ethiopia and the farthest regions of the East, bringing back some of its conquered natives to swell the triumph at Rome and terrify the citizens with their strange and hideous appearance. But Probus himself must yield to the law which regulated the fate of Roman emperors. He died by treachery and the sword. All that the empire could do was to join in the epitaph pronounced over him by the barbarians, "Here lies the emperor Probus, whose life and actions corresponded to his name." Three or four more fantastic figures, "which the likeness of a kingly crown have on," pass before our eyes, and at last we observe the powerful and substantial form of Diocletian, and feel once more we have to do with a real man. [A.D. 284.] A Druidess, we are told, had prophesied that he should attain his highest wish if he killed a wild boar. In all his hunting expeditions he was constantly on the look-out, spear in hand, for an encounter with the long-tusked monster. Unluckily for a man who had offended Diocletian before, and who had basely murdered his predecessor, his name was Aper; and unluckily, also, _aper_ is Latin for a boar. This fact will perhaps be thought to account for the prophecy. It accounts, at all events, for its fulfilment; for, the wretched Aper being led before the throne, Diocletian descended the steps and plunged a dagger into his chest, exclaiming, "I have killed the wild boar of the prediction." This is a painful example of how unlucky it is to have a name that can be punned upon. Determined to secure the support of what he thought the strongest body in the State, he gratified the priests by the severest of all the many persecutions to which the Christians had been exposed. By way of further showing his adhesion to the old faith, he solemnly assumed the name of Jove, and bestowed on his partner on the throne the inferior title of Hercules. In spite of these truculent and absurd proceedings, Diocletian was not altogether destitute of the softer feelings. The friend he associated with him on the throne--dividing the empire between them as too large a burden for one to sustain--was called Maximian. They had both originally been slaves, and had neither of them received a liberal education. Yet they protected the arts, they encouraged literature, and were the patrons of modest merit wherever it could be found. They each adopted a Cæsar, or lieutenant of the empire, and hoped that, by a legal division of duties among four, the ambition of their generals would be prevented. But the limits of the empire were too extended even for the vigilance of them all. In Britain, Carausius raised the standard of revolt, giving it the noble name of national independence; and, with the instinctive wisdom which has been the safeguard of our island ever since, he rested his whole chance of success upon his fleet. Invasion was rendered impossible by the care with which he guarded the shore, and it is not inconceivable that even at that early time the maritime career of Britain might have been begun and maintained, if treason, as usual, had not cut short the efforts of Carausius, who was soon after murdered by his friend Allectus. The subdivision of the empire was a successful experiment as regarded its external safety, but within, it was the cause of bitter complaining. There were four sumptuous courts to be maintained, and four imperial armies to be paid. Taxes rose, and allegiance waxed cold. The Cæsars were young, and looked probably with an evil eye on the two old men who stood between them and the name of emperor. However it may be, after many victories and much domestic trouble, Diocletian resolved to lay aside the burden of empire and retire into private life. His colleague Maximian felt, or affected to feel, the same distaste for power, and on the same day they quitted the purple; one at Nicomedia, the other at Milan. Diocletian retired to Salona, a town in his native Dalmatia, and occupied himself with rural pursuits. He was asked after a while to reassume his authority, but he said to the persons who made him the request, "I wish you would come to Salona and see the cabbages I have planted with my own hands, and after that you would never wish me to remount the throne." The characteristic of this century is its utter confusion and want of order. There was no longer the unity even of despotism at Rome to make a common centre round which every thing revolved. There were tyrants and competitors for power in every quarter of the empire--no settled authority, no government or security, left. In the midst of this relaxation of every rule of life, grew surely, but unobserved, the Christian Church, which drew strength from the very helplessness of the civil state, and was forced, in self-defence, to establish a regular organization in order to extend to its members the inestimable benefits of regularity and law. Under many of the emperors Christianity was proscribed; its disciples were put to excruciating deaths, and their property confiscated; but at that very time its inner development increased and strengthened. The community appointed its teachers, its deacons, its office-bearers of every kind; it supported them in their endeavours--it yielded to their directions; and in time a certain amount of authority was considered to be inherent in the office of pastor, which extended beyond the mere expounding of the gospel or administration of the sacraments. The chief pastor became the guide, perhaps the judge, of the whole flock. While it is absurd, therefore, in those disastrous times of weakness and persecution to talk in pompous terms of the succession of the Bishops of Rome, and make out vain catalogues of lordly prelates who sat on the throne of St. Peter, it is incontestable that, from the earliest period, the Christian converts held their meetings--by stealth indeed, and under fear of detection--and obeyed certain canons of their own constitution. These secret associations rapidly spread their ramifications into every great city of the empire. When by the friendship, or the fellowship, of the emperor, as in the case of the Arabian Philip, a pause was given to their fears and sufferings, certain buildings were set apart for their religious exercises; and we read, during this century, of basilicas, or churches, in Rome and other towns. The subtlety of the Greek intellect had already led to endless heresies and the wildest departures from the simplicity of the gospel. The Western mind was more calm, and better adapted to be the lawgiver of a new order of society composed of elements so rough and discordant as the barbarians, whose approach was now inevitably foreseen. With its well-defined hierarchy--its graduated ranks, and the fitness of the offices for the purposes of their creation; with its array of martyrs ready to suffer, and clear-headed leaders fitted to command, the Western Church could look calmly forward to the time when its organization would make it the most powerful, or perhaps the only, body in the State; and so early as the middle of this century the seeds of worldly ambition developed themselves in a schism, not on a point of doctrine, but on the possession of authority. A double nomination had made the anomalous appointment of two chief pastors at the same time. Neither would yield, and each had his supporters. All were under the ban of the civil power. They had recourse to spiritual weapons; and we read, for the first time in ecclesiastical history, of mutual excommunications. Novatian--under his breath, however, for fear of being thrown to the wild beasts for raising a disturbance--thundered his anathemas against Cornelius as an intruder, while Cornelius retorted by proclaiming Novatian an impostor, as he had not the concurrence of the people in his election. This gives us a convincing proof of the popular form of appointing bishops or presbyters in those early days, and prepares us for the energy with which the electors supported the authority of their favourite priests. But, while this new internal element was spreading life among the decayed institutions of the empire, we have, in this century, the first appearance, in great force, of the future conquerors and renovators of the body politic from without. It is pleasant to think that the centuries cast themselves more and more loose from their connection with Rome after this date, and that the barbarians can vindicate a separate place in history for themselves. In the first century, the bad emperors broke the strength of Rome by their cruelty and extravagance. In the second century, the good emperors carried on the work of weakening the empire by the softening and enervating effects of their gentle and protective policy. The third century unites the evil qualities of the other two, for the people were equally rendered incapable of defending themselves by the unheard-of atrocities of some of the tyrants who oppressed them and the mistaken measures of the more benevolent rulers, in committing the guardianship of the citizens to the swords of a foreign soldiery, leaving them but the wretched alternative of being ravaged and massacred by an irruption of savage tribes or pillaged and insulted by those in the emperor's pay. The empire had long been surrounded by its foes. [A.D. 273.] It will suffice to read the long list of captives who were led in triumph behind the car of Aurelian when he returned from foreign war, to see the fearful array of harsh-sounding names which have afterwards been softened into those of great and civilized nations. It is in following the course of some of these that we shall see how the present distribution of forces in Europe took place, and escape from the polluted atmosphere of Imperial Rome. In that memorable triumph appeared Goths, Alans, Roxolans, Franks, Sarmatians, Vandals, Allemans, Arabs, Indians, Bactrians, Iberians, Saracens, Armenians, Persians, Palmyreans, Egyptians, and ten Gothic women dressed in men's apparel and fully armed. These were, perhaps, the representatives of a large body of female warriors, and are a sign of the recent settlement of the tribe to which they belonged. They had not yet given up the habits of their march, where all were equally engaged in carrying the property and arms of the nation, and where the females encouraged the young men of the expedition by witnessing and sometimes sharing their exploits in battle. The triumph of Probus, when only seven years had passed, presents us with a list of the same peoples, often conquered but never subdued. Their defeats, indeed, had the double effect of showing to them their own ability to recruit their forces, and of strengthening the degraded people of Rome in the belief of their invincibility. After the loss of a battle, the Gothic or Burgundian chief fell back upon the confederated tribes in his rear; a portion of his army either visited Rome in the character of captives, or enlisted in the ranks of the conquerors. In either case, the wealth of the great city and the undefended state of the empire were permanently fixed in their minds; the populace, on the other hand, had the luxury of a noble show and double rations of bread--the more ambitious of the emperors acting on the professed maxim that the citizen had no duty but to enjoy the goods provided for him by the governing power, and that if he was fed by public doles, and amused with public games, the purpose of his life was attained. The idlest man was the safest subject. A triumph was, therefore, more an instrument of degradation than an encouragement to patriotic exertion. The name of Roman citizen was now extended to all the inhabitants of the empire. The freeman of York was a Roman citizen. Had he any patriotic pride in keeping the soil of Italy undivided? The nation had become too diffuse for the exercise of this local and combining virtue. The love of country, which in the small states of Greece secured the individual's affection to his native city, and yet was powerful enough to extend over the whole of the Hellenic territories, was lost altogether when it was required to expand itself over a region as wide as Europe. It is in this sense that empires fall to pieces by their own weight. The Roman power broke up from within. Its religion was a source of division, not of union--its mixture of nations, and tongues, and usages, lost their cohesion. And nothing was left at the end of this century to preserve it from total dissolution, but the personal qualities of some great rulers and the memory of its former fame. FOURTH CENTURY. Emperors. A.D. 304. GALERIUS and CONSTANTIUS. 305. MAXIMIN. 306. CONSTANTINE. 337. CONSTANTINE II., CONSTANS and CONSTANTIUS. 361. JULIAN THE APOSTATE. 363. JOVIAN. A.D. _West._ A.D. _East._ 364. VALENTINIAN. 364. VALENS. 367. GRATIAN. 375. VALENTINIAN II. 379. THEODOSIUS. 395. HONORIUS. 395. ARCADIUS. Authors. DONATUS, EUTROPIUS, ST. ATHANASIUS, AUSONIUS, CLAUDIAN, ARNOBIUS, (303,) LACTANTIUS, (306,) EUSEBIUS, (315,) ARIUS, (316,) GREGORY NAZIANZEN, (320-389,) BASIL THE GREAT, Bishop Of Cesarea, (330-379,) AMBROSE, (340-397,) AUGUSTINE (353-429,) THEODORET, (386-457,) MARTIN, Bishop of Tours. THE FOURTH CENTURY. THE REMOVAL TO CONSTANTINOPLE--ESTABLISHMENT OF CHRISTIANITY--APOSTASY OF JULIAN--SETTLEMENT OF THE GOTHS. As the memory of the old liberties of Rome died out, a nearer approach was made to the ostentatious despotisms of the East. Aurelian, in 270, was the first emperor who encircled his head with a diadem; and Diocletian, in 284, formed his court on the model of the most gorgeous royalties of Asia. On admission into his presence, the Roman Senator, formerly the equal of the ruler, prostrated himself at his feet. Titles of the most unmanly adulation were lavished on the fortunate slave or herdsman who had risen to supreme power. He was clothed in robes of purple and violet, and loaded with an incalculable wealth of jewels and gold. It was from deep policy that Diocletian introduced this system. Ceremony imposes on the vulgar, and makes intimacy impossible. Etiquette is the refuge of failing power, and compensates by external show for inherent weakness, as stiffness and formality are the refuge of dulness and mediocrity in private life. There was now, therefore, seated on the throne, which was shaken by every commotion, a personage assuming more majestic rank, and affecting far loftier state and dignity, than Augustus had ventured on while the strength of the old Republic gave irresistible force to the new empire, or than the Antonines had dreamt of when the prosperity of Rome was apparently at its height. But there was still some feeling, if not of self-respect, at least of resistance to pretension, in the populace and Senators of the capital. Diocletian visited Rome but once. He was attacked in lampoons, and ridiculed in satirical songs. His colleague established his residence in the military post of Milan. We are not, therefore, to feel surprised that an Orientalized authority sought its natural seat in the land of ancient despotisms, and that many of the emperors had cast longing eyes on the beautiful towns of Asia Minor, and even on the far-off cities of Mesopotamia, as more congenial localities for their barbaric splendours. By a sort of compromise between his European origin and Asiatic tastes, the emperor Constantine, after many struggles with his competitors, having attained the sole authority, transferred the seat of empire from Rome to a city he had built on the extreme limits of Europe, and only divided from Asia by a narrow sea. All succeeding ages have agreed in extolling the situation of this city, called, after its founder, Constantinople, as the finest that could have been chosen. All ages, from the day of its erection till the hour in which we live, have agreed that it is fitted, in the hands of a great and enterprising power, to be the metropolis and arbiter of the world; and Constantinople is, therefore, condemned to the melancholy fate of being the useless and unappreciated capital of a horde of irreclaimable barbarians. To this magnificent city Constantine removed the throne in 329, and for nearly a thousand years after that, while Rome was sacked in innumerable invasions, and all the capitals of Europe were successively occupied by contending armies, Constantinople, safe in her two narrow outlets, and rich in her command of the two continents, continued unconquered, and even unassailed. Rome was stripped, that Constantinople might be filled. All the wealth of Italy was carried across the Ægean. The Roman Senator was invited to remove with his establishment. He found, on arriving at his new home, that by a complimentary attention of the emperor, a fac-simile of his Roman palace had been prepared for him on the Propontis. The seven hills of the new capital responded to the seven hills of the old. There were villas for retirement along the smiling shores of the Dardanelles or of the Bosphorus, as fine in climate, and perhaps equal in romantic beauty, to Baiæ or Brundusium. There was a capital, as noble a piece of architecture as the one they had left, but without the sanctity of its thousand years of existence, or the glory of its unnumbered triumphs. One omission was the subject of remark and lamentation. The temples were nowhere to be seen. The images of the gods were left at Rome in the solitude of their deserted shrines, for Constantine had determined that Constantinople should, from its very foundation, be the residence of a Christian people. Churches were built, and a priesthood appointed. Yet, with the policy which characterized the Church at that time, he made as little change as possible in the external forms. There is still extant a transfer of certain properties from the old establishment to the new. There are contributions of wax for the candles, of frankincense and myrrh for the censers, and vestures for the officiating priests as before. Only the object of worship is changed, and the images of the heathen gods and heroes are replaced with statues of the apostles and martyrs. It is difficult to gather a true idea of this first of the Christian emperors from the historians of after-times. The accounts of him by contemporary writers are equally conflicting. The favourers of the old superstition describe him as a monster of perfidy and cruelty. The Church, raised to supremacy by his favour, sees nothing in him but the greatest of men--the seer of visions, the visible favourite of the Almighty, and the predestined overthrower of the powers of evil. The easy credulity of an emancipated people believed whatever the flattery of the courtiers invented. His mother Helena made a journey to Jerusalem, and was rewarded for the pious pilgrimage by the discovery of the True Cross. Chapels and altars were raised upon all the places famous in Christian story; relics were collected from all quarters, and we are early led to fear that the simplicity of the gospel is endangered by its approach to the throne, and that Constantine's object was rather to raise and strengthen a hierarchy of ecclesiastical supporters than to give full scope to the doctrine of truth. But not the less wonderful, not the less by the divine appointment, was this unhoped-for triumph of Christianity, that its advancement formed part of the ambitious scheme of a worldly and unprincipled conqueror. Rather it may be taken as one among the thousand proofs with which history presents us, that the greatest blessings to mankind are produced irrespective of the character or qualities of the apparent author. A warrior is raised in the desert when required to be let loose upon a worn-out society as the scourge of God; a blood-stained soldier is placed on the throne of the world when the time has come for the earthly predominance of the gospel. But neither is Attila to be blamed nor Constantine to be praised. It was the spirit of his system of government to form every society on a strictly monarchical model. There was everywhere introduced a clearly-defined subordination of ranks and dignities. Diocletian, we saw, surrounded the throne with a state and ceremony which kept the imperial person sacred from the common gaze. Constantine perfected his work by establishing a titled nobility, who were to stand between the throne and the people, giving dignity to the one, and impressing fresh awe upon the other. In all previous ages it had been the office that gave importance to the man. To be a member of the Senate was a mark of distinction; a long descent from a great historic name was looked on with respect; and the heroic deeds of the thousand years of Roman struggle had founded an aristocracy which owed its high position either to personal actions or hereditary claims. But now that the emperors had so long concentrated in themselves all the great offices of the State--now that the bad rulers of the first century had degraded the Senate by filling it with their creatures, the good rulers of the second century had made it merely the recorder of their decrees, and the anarchy of the third century had changed or obliterated its functions altogether--there was no way left to the ambitious Roman to distinguish himself except by the favour of the emperor. The throne became, as it has since continued in all strictly monarchical countries, the fountain of honour. It was not the people who could name a man to the consulship or appoint him to the command of an army. It was not even in the power of the emperor to find offices of dignity for all whom he wished to advance. So a method was discovered by which vanity or friendship could be gratified, and employment be reserved for the deserving at the same time. Instead of endangering an expedition against the Parthians by intrusting it to a rich and powerful courtier who desired to have the rank of general, the emperor simply named him Nobilissimus, or Patricius, or Illustris, and the gratified favourite, the "most noble," the "patrician," or the "illustrious," took place with the highest officers of the State. A certain title gave him equal rank with the Senator, the judge, or the consul. The diversity of these honorary distinctions became very great. There were the clarissimi--the perfectissimi--and the egregii--bearing the same relative dignity in the court-guide of the fourth century, as the dukes, marquises, earls, and viscounts of the peerage-books of the present day. But so much did all distinction flow from proximity to the throne, that all these high-sounding names owed their value to the fact of their being bestowed on the associates of the sovereign. The word Count, which is still the title borne by foreign nobles, comes from the Latin word which means "companion." There was a Comes, or Companion, of the Sacred Couch, or lord chamberlain--the Companion of the Imperial Service, or lord high steward--a Companion of the Imperial Stables, or lord high constable; through all these dignitaries, step above step, the glorious ascent extended, till it ended in the Companion of Private Affairs, or confidential secretary. At the head of all, sacred and unapproachable, stood the embodied Power of the Roman world, who, as he had given titles to all the magnates of his court, heaped also a great many on himself. His principal appellation, however, was not as in our degenerate days "Majesty," whether "Most Catholic," "Most Christian," or "Most Orthodox," but consisted in the rather ambitious attribute--eternity. "Your Eternity" was the phrase addressed to some miserable individual whose reign was ended in a month. It was proposed by this division of the Roman aristocracy to furnish the empire with a body for show and a body for use; the latter consisting of the real generals of the armies and administrators of the provinces. And with this view the two were kept distinct; but military discipline suffered by this partition. The generals became discontented when they saw wealth and dignities heaped upon the titular nobles of the court; and to prevent the danger arising from ill will among the legions on the frontier, the emperor withdrew the best of his soldiers from the posts where they kept the barbarians in check, and entirely destroyed their military spirit by separating them into small bodies and stationing them in towns. This exposed the empire to the foreign foes who still menaced it from the other side of the boundary, and gave fresh settlements in the heart of the country to the thousands of barbarian youth who had taken service with the eagles. In every legion there was a considerable proportion of this foreign element: in every district of the empire, therefore, there were now settled the advanced guards of the unavoidable invasion. Men with barbaric names, which the Romans could not pronounce, walked about Roman towns dressed in Roman uniforms and clothed with Roman titles. There were consulars and patricians in Ravenna and Naples, whose fathers had danced the war-dance of defiance when beginning their march from the Vistula and the Carpathian range. All these troops must be supported--all these dignitaries maintained in luxury. How was this done? The ordinary revenue of the empire in the time of Constantine has been computed at forty millions of our money a year. Not a very large amount when you consider the number of the population; but this is the sum which reached the treasury. The gross amount must have been far larger, and an ingenious machinery was invented by which the tax was rigorously collected; and this machinery, by a ludicrous perversion of terms, was made to include one of the most numerous classes of the artificial nobility created by the imperial will. In all the towns of the empire some little remains were still to be found of the ancient municipal government, of which practically they had long been deprived. There were nominal magistrates still; and among these the _Curials_ held a distinguished rank. They were the men who, in the days of freedom, had filled the civic dignities of their native city--the aldermen, we should perhaps call them, or, more nearly, the justices of the peace. They were now ranked with the peerage, but with certain duties attached to their elevation which few can have regarded in the light of privilege or favour. To qualify them for rank, they were bound to be in possession of a certain amount of land. They were, therefore, a territorial aristocracy, and never was any territorial aristocracy more constantly under the consideration of the government. It was the duty of the curials to distribute the tax-papers in their district; but, in addition to this, it was unfortunately their duty to see that the sum assessed on the town and neighbourhood was paid up to the last penny. When there was any deficiency, was the emperor to suffer? Were the nobilissimi, the patricii, the egregii, to lose their salaries? Oh, no! As long as the now ennobled curial retained an acre of his estate, or could raise a mortgage on his house, the full amount was extracted. The tax went up to Rome, and the curial, if there had been a poor's house in those days, would have gone into it--for he was stripped of all. His farm was seized, his cattle were escheated; and when the defalcation was very great, himself, his wife and children were led into the market and sold as slaves. Nothing so rapidly destroyed what might have been the germ of a middle class as this legalized spoliation of the smaller landholders. Below this rank there was absolutely nothing left of the citizenship of ancient times. Artificers and workmen formed themselves into companies; but the trades were exercised principally by slaves for the benefit of their owners. These slaves formed now by far the greatest part of the Roman population, and though their lot had gradually become softened as their numbers increased, and the domestic bondsman had little to complain of except the greatest of all sorrows, the loss of freedom, the position of the rural labourers was still very bad. There were some of them slaves in every sense of the word--mere chattels, which were not so valuable as horse or dog. But the fate of others was so far mitigated that they could not be sold separate from their family--that they could not be sold except along with the land; and at last glimpses appear of a sort of rent paid for certain portions of the lord's estate in full of all other requirements. But this process had again to be gone through when many centuries had elapsed, and a new state of society had been fully established, and it will be sufficient to remind you that in the fourth century, to which we are now come, the Roman world consisted of a monarchy where all the greatness and magnificence of the empire were concentrated on the emperor and his court; that the monarchical system was rapidly pervading the Church; and that below these two distinct but connected powers there was no people, properly so called--the country was oppressed and ruined, and the ancient dignity of Rome transplanted to new and foreign quarters, at the sacrifice of all its oldest and most elevating associations. The half-depopulated city of Romulus and the Kings--of the Consuls and Augustus, looked with ill-disguised hatred and contempt on the modern rival which denied her the name of Capital, and while fresh from the builder's hand, robbed her of the name of the Eternal City. We shall see great events spring from this jealousy of the two towns. In the mean time, we shall finish our view of Constantine by recording the greatness of his military skill, and merely protest against the enrolment in the list of _saints_ of a man who filled his family circle with blood--who murdered his wife, his son, and his nephew, encouraged the contending factions of the now disputatious Church--gave a fallacious support to the orthodox Athanasius, and died after a superstitious baptism at the hands of the heretical Arius. [A.D. 337.] An unbiassed judgment must pronounce him a great politician, who played with both parties as his tools, a Christian from expediency and not from conviction. It is a pity that the subserviency of the Greek communion has placed him in the number of its holy witnesses, for we are told by a historian that when the emperor, after the dreadful crimes he had perpetrated, applied at the heathen shrines for expiatory rites, the priests of the false gods had truly answered, "there are no purifications for such deeds as these." But nothing could be refused to the benefactor of the Church. The great ecclesiastical council of this age, (325), consisting of three hundred and eighteen bishops, and presided over by Constantine in person, gave the Nicene Creed as the result of their labours--a creed which is still the symbol of Christendom, but which consists more of a condemnation of the heresies which were then in the ascendant, than in the plain enunciation of the Christian faith. A layman, we are told, an auditor of the learned debates in this great assembly, a man of clear and simple common sense, met some of the disputants, and addressed them in these words:--"Arguers! Christ and his apostles delivered to us, not the art of disputation, nor empty eloquence, but a plain and simple rule which is maintained by faith and good works." The disputants, we are further told, were so struck with this undeniable truth that they acknowledged their error at once. But not yet firm and impregnable were the bulwarks of Christianity. [A.D. 360.] While dreaming anchorites in the deserts of Thebais were repeating the results of fasting and insanity as the manifestation of divine favour, the world was startled from its security by the appalling discovery that the emperor himself, the young and vigorous Julian, was a follower of the old philosophers, and a worshipper of the ancient gods. And a dangerous antagonist he was, even independent of his temporal power. His personal character was irreproachable, his learning and talent beyond dispute, and his eloquence and dialectic skill sharpened and improved by an education in Athens itself. Less than forty years had elapsed since Constantine pronounced the sentence of banishment on the heathen deities. It was not possible that the Christian truth was in every instance received where the old falsehood was driven away. We may therefore conclude, without the aid of historic evidence, that there must have been innumerable districts--villages in far-off valleys, hidden places up among the hills--where the name of Christ had not yet penetrated, and all that was known was, that the shrine of the local gods was overthrown, and the priests of the old ceremonial proscribed. When we remember that the heathen worship entered into almost all the changes of the social and family life--that its sanction was necessary at the wedding--that its auguries were indispensable at births--that it crowned the statue of the household god with flowers--that it kept alive the fire upon the altar of the emperor--and that it was the guardian of the tombs of the departed, as it had been the principal consolation during the funeral rites,--we shall perceive that, irrespective of absolute faith in his system of belief, the cessation of the priest's office must have been a serious calamity. The heathen establishment had been enriched by the piety or ostentation of many generations. There must have been still alive many who had been turned out of their comfortable temples, many who viewed the assumption of Christianity into the State as a political engine to strengthen the tyranny under which the nations groaned. We may see that self-interest and patriotism may easily have been combined in the effort made by the old faith to regain the supremacy it had lost. The Emperor Julian endeavoured to lift up the fallen gods. He persecuted the Christians, not with fire and sword, but with contempt. He scorned and tolerated. He preached moderation, self-denial, and purity of life, and practised all these virtues to an extent unknown upon a throne, and even then unusual in a bishop's palace. How those Christian graces, giving a charm and dignity to the apostate emperor, must have received a still higher authority from the painful contrast they presented to the agitated condition and corrupted morals of the Christian Church! Everywhere there was war and treachery, and ambition and unbelief. Half the great sees were held by Arians, who raved against the orthodox; and the other half were held by Athanasius and his followers, who accused their adversaries of being "more cruel than the Scythians, and more irreconcilable than tigers." At Rome itself there was an orthodox bishop and an Arian rival. It is not surprising that Julian, disgusted with the scenes presented to him by the mutual rage of the Christian sects, thought the surest method of restoring unity to the empire would be to silence all the contending parties and reintroduce the peaceful pageantries of the old Pantheon. If some of the fanciful annotators of the new faith had allegorized the facts of Christianity till they ceased to be facts at all, Julian performed the same office for the heathen gods. Jupiter and the rest were embodiments of the hidden powers of nature. Vulcan was the personification of human skill, and Venus the beautiful representative of connubial affection. But men's minds were now too sharpened with the contact they had had with the real to be satisfied with such fallacies as these. Eloquent teachers arose, who separated the eternal truths of revelation from the accessories with which they were temporarily combined. Ridicule was retorted on the emperor, who had sneered at the Christian services. Who, indeed, who had caught the slightest view of the spirituality of Christ's kingdom, could abstain from laughing at the laborious heathenism of the master of the world? He cut the wood for sacrifice, he slew the goat or bull, and, falling down on his knees, puffed with distended cheeks the sacred fire. He marched to the temple of Venus between two rows of dissolute and drunken worshippers, striving in vain by face and attitude to repress the shouts of riotous exultation and the jeers of the spectators. Then, wherever he went he was surrounded by pythonesses, and augurs, and fortune-tellers, magicians who could work miracles, and necromancers who could raise the dead. When he restored a statue to its ancient niche, he was rewarded by a shake of its head; when he hung up a picture of Thetis or Amphitrite, she winked in sign of satisfaction. Where miracles are not believed, the performance of them is fatal. But his expenditure of money in honouring the gods was more real, and had clearer results. He nearly exhausted the empire by the number of beasts he slew. He sent enormous offerings to the shrines of Dodona, and Delos, and Delphi. He rebuilt the temples, which time or Christian hatred had destroyed; and, by way of giving life to his new polity, he condescended to imitate the sect be despised, in its form of worship, in its advocacy of charity, peace, and good will, and in its institutions of celibacy and retirement, which, indeed, had been a portion of heathen virtue before it was admitted into the Christian Church. But his affected contempt soon degenerated into persecution. He would have no soldiers who did not serve his gods. Many resigned their swords. He called the Christians "Galileans," and robbed them of their property and despitefully used them, to try the sincerity of their faith. "Does not your law command you," he said, "to submit to injury, and to renounce your worldly goods? Well, I take possession of your riches that your march to heaven may be unencumbered." All moderation was now thrown off on both sides. Resistance was made by the Christians, and extermination threatened by the emperor. In the midst of these contentions he was called eastward to resist the aggression of Sapor, the Persian king. An arrow stretched Julian on his couch. He called round him his chief philosophers and priests. With them, in imitation of Socrates, he entered into deep discussions about the soul. [A.D. 363.] Nothing more heroic than his end, or more eloquent than his parting discourse. But death did not soften the animosity of his foes. The Christians boasted that the arrow was sent by an angel, that visions had foretold the persecutor's fall, and that so would perish all the enemies of God. The adherents of the emperor in return blamed the Galileans as his assassins, and boldly pointed to Athanasius, the leader of the Christians, as the culprit. Athanasius would certainly not have scrupled to rid the world of such an Agag and Holofernes, but it is more probable that the death occurred without either a miracle or a murder. The successors of Julian were enemies of the apostate. They speedily restored their fellow-believers to the supremacy they had lost. A ferocious hymn of exultation by Gregory of Nazianzen was chanted far and wide. Cries of joy and execration resounded in market-places, and churches, and theatres. The market-places had been closed against the Christians, their churches had been interdicted, and the theatres shut up, by the overstrained asceticism of the deceased. It was perceived that Christianity had taken deeper root than the apostate had believed, and henceforth no effort could be made to revivify the old superstition. After a nominal election of Jovian, the choice of the soldiers fell on two of their favourite leaders, Valentinian and Valens, brothers, and sufferers in the late persecutions for their faith. Named emperors of the Roman world, they came to an amicable division of the empire into East and West. Valens remained in Constantinople to guard the frontiers of the Danube and the Euphrates; while Valentinian, who saw great clouds darkening over Italy and Gaul, fixed his imperial residence in the strong city of Milan. The separation took place in 364, and henceforth the stream of history flows in two distinct and gradually diverging channels. This century has already been marked by the removal of the seat of power to Constantinople; by the attempt at the restoration of Paganism by Julian; and we have now to dwell for a little on the third and greatest incident of all, the invasion of the Goths, and final settlement of hostile warriors on the Roman soil. Names that have retained their sound and established themselves as household words in Europe now meet as at every turn. Valentinian is engaged in resisting the Saxons. The Britons, the Scots, the Germans, are pushing their claims to independence; and in the farther East, the persecutions and tyranny of the contemptible Valens are suddenly suspended by the news that a people hitherto unheard of had made their appearance within an easy march of the boundary, and that universal terror had taken possession of the soldiers of the empire. Who were those soldiers? We have seen for many years that the policy of the emperors had been to introduce the barbarians into the military service of the State, and to expose the wasted and helpless inhabitants to the rapacity of their tax-gatherers. This system had been carried to such a pitch, that it is probable there were none but mercenaries of the most varying interests in the Roman ranks. Yet such is the effect of discipline, and the pride of military combination, that all other feelings gave way before it. The Gothic chief, now invested with command in the Roman armies, turned his arms against his countrymen. The Albanian, the Saxon, the Briton, elevated to the rank of duke or count, looked back on Marius and Cæsar as their lineal predecessors in opposing and conquering the enemies of Rome. The names of the generals and magistrates, accordingly, which we encounter after this date, have a strangely barbaric sound. There are Ricimer, and Marcomir, and Arbogast--and finally, the name which overtopped and outlived them all, the name of Alaric the Goth. Now, the Goths, we have seen, had been settled for many generations on the northern side of the Danube. Much intercourse must have taken place between the inhabitants of the two banks. There must have been trade, and love, and quarrellings, and rejoicings. At shorter and shorter intervals the bravest of the tribes must have passed over into the Roman territory and joined the Legions. Occasionally a timid or despotic emperor would suddenly order his armies across, and carry fire and sword into the unsuspecting country. But on the whole, the terms on which they lived were not hostile, for the ties which united the two peoples were numerous and strong. Even the languages in the course of time must have come to be mutually intelligible, and we read of Gothic leaders who were excellent judges of Homer and seldom travelled without a few chosen books. This being the case, what was the consternation of the almost civilized Goths in the fertile levels of the present Wallachia and Moldavia to hear that an innumerable horde of dreadful savages, calling themselves Huns and Magyars, had appeared on the western shore of the Black Sea, and spread over the land, destroying, murdering, burning whatever lay in their way! Cooped up for an unknown period, it appeared, on the northeastern side of the Palus Maeotis, now better known to us as the Sea of Azof--living on fish out of the Don, and on the cattle of the long steppes which extend across the Volga, these sons of the Scythian desert had never been heard of either by the Goths or Romans. A hideous people to behold, as the perverted imagination of poet or painter could produce. They were low in stature, but broad-shouldered and strong. Their wide cheek-bones and small eyes gave them a savage and cruel expression, which was increased by their want of nose, for the only visible appearance of that indispensable organ consisted of two holes sunk into the square expanse of their faces. Fear is not a flattering painter, but from these rude descriptions it is easy to recognise the Calmuck countenance; and when we add their small horses, long spears, and prodigious lightness and activity, we shall see a very close resemblance between them and their successors in the same district, the Russian Cossacks of the Don. On, on, came the torrent of these pitiless, fearless, ugly, dirty, irresistible foes. The Goths, terrified at their aspect, and bewildered with the accounts they heard of their numbers and mode of warfare, petitioned the emperor to give them an asylum on the Roman side. Their prayer was granted on condition of depositing their children and arms in Roman hands. They had no time to squabble about terms. Every thing was agreed to. Boats manned by Roman soldiers were busy, day and night in transporting the Gothic exiles to the Roman side. Arms and jewels, and wives and children, the furniture of their tents, and idols of their gods, all got safely across the guarding river. The Huns, the Alans, and the other unsightly hordes who had gathered in the pursuit, came down to the bank, and shouted useless defiance and threats of vengeance. The broad Danube rolled between; and there rested that night on the Roman soil a whole nation, different in interest, in manners and religion, from the population they had joined, numbering upwards of a million souls, bound together by every thing that constitutes the unity of a people. The avarice and injustice of the Roman authorities negatived the clause of the agreement that stipulated for the surrender of the Gothic arms. To redeem their swords and spears, they parted with the silver and gold they had amassed in their predatory incursions on the Roman territory. They know that once in possession of their weapons they could soon reclaim all they gave--and in no long time the attempt was made. Fritigern, the leader of their name, led them against the armies of Rome. Insulted at their audacity, the Emperor Valens, at the head of three hundred thousand men, met them in the plain of Adrianople. The existence of the Gothic people was at stake. [A.D. 379.] They fought with desperation and hatred. The emperor was defeated, leaving two-thirds of his army on the field of battle. Seeking safety in a cottage at the side of the road, he was burned by the inexorable pursuers, who, gathering up their broken lines, marched steadily through the intervening levels and gazed with enraptured eyes on the glittering towers and pinnacles of Constantinople itself. But the walls were high and strongly armed. The barbarians were inveigled into a negotiation, and mastered by the unequal powers of lying at all times characteristic of the Greeks. Fritigern consented to withdraw his troops: some were embodied in the levies of the empire, and others dispersed in different provinces. Those settled in Thrace were faithful to their employers, and resisted their ancient enemies the Huns; but the great body of the discontented conquerors were ready for fresh assaults on the Roman land. Theodosius, called to the throne in 379, succeeded in staving off the evil day; but when the final partition of the empire took place between his two sons--Honorius and Arcadius--there was nothing to oppose the terrible onset of the Goths. [A.D. 394.] At their head was Alaric, the descendant of their original chiefs, and himself the bravest of his warriors. He broke into Greece, forcing his way through Thermopylæ, and devastated the native seats of poetry and the arts with fire and sword. The ruler at Constantinople heard of his advance with terror, and opposed to him the Vandal Stilicho, the greatest of his generals. But the wily Alaric declined to fight, and out-manoeuvred his enemies, escaping to the sure fastnesses of Epirus, and sat down sullen and discontented, meditating further expeditions into richer plains, and already seeing before him the prostrate cities of Italy. The terror of Arcadius tried in vain to soften his rage, or satisfy his ambition with vain titles, among others, that of Count of the Illyrian Border. The spirit of aggression was fairly roused. All the Gothic settlers in the Roman territory were ready to join their countrymen in one great and combined attack;--and with this position of the personages of the drama, the curtain falls on the fourth century, while preparations for the great catastrophe are going on. FIFTH CENTURY Emperors. A.D. _West._ HONORIUS--(_cont._) 424. VALENTINIAN III. 455. PETRONIUS MAXIMUS. 455. AVITUS. 457. MAJORIANUS. 461. SEVERUS. 467. ANTHEMIUS. 472. OLIBIUS. 473. GLYCERIUS. 474. JULIUS NEPOS. 475. AUGUSTULUS ROMULUS. A.D. _East._ ARCADIUS--(_cont._) 408. THEODOSIUS II. 450. MARCIAN. 457. LEO THE GREAT. 474. ZENO. 491. ANASTASIUS. King of the Franks. A.D. 481. CLOVIS. King of Italy. A.D. 489. THEODORIC. Authors. CHRYSOSTOM, JEROME, AUGUSTINE, PELAGIUS, (405,) SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS, PATRICIUS, MACROBIUS, VICENTIUS OF LERINS, (died 450,) CYRIL, BISHOP OF ALEXANDRIA, (412-444.) THE FIFTH CENTURY. END OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE--FORMATION OF MODERN STATES--GROWTH OF ECCLESIASTICAL AUTHORITY. We find the same actors on the stage when the curtain rises again, but circumstances have greatly changed. After his escape from Stilicho, Alaric had been "lifted on the shield," the wild and picturesque way in which the warlike Goths nominated their kings, and henceforth was considered the monarch of a separate and independent people, no longer the mere leader of a band of predatory barbarians. In this new character he entered into treaties with the emperors of Constantinople or Rome, and broke them, as if he had already been the sovereign of a civilized state. In 403 he broke up from his secure retreat on the Adriatic, and burst into Italy, spreading fire and famine wherever he went. Honorius, the Emperor of the West, fled from Milan, and was besieged in Asti by the Goths. Here would have ended the imperial dynasty, some years before its time, if it had not been for the watchful Stilicho. This Vandal chief flew to the rescue of Honorius, repulsed Alaric with great slaughter, and delivered his master from his dangerous position. The grateful emperor entered Rome in triumph, and for the last time the Circus streamed with the blood of beasts and men. [A.D. 408.] He retired after this display to the inaccessible marshes of Ravenna, at the mouths of the Po, and, secure in that fortress, sent an order to have his preserver and benefactor murdered; Stilicho, the only hope of Rome, was assassinated, and Alaric once more saw all Italy within his grasp. It was not only the Goths who followed Alaric's command. All the barbarians, of whatever name or race, who had been transplanted either as slaves or soldiers--Alans, Franks, and Germans--rallied round the advancing king, for the impolitic Honorius had issued an order for the extermination of all the tribes. There were Britons, and Saxons, and Suabians. It was an insurrection of all the manly elements of society against the indescribable depravation of the inhabitants of the Peninsula. The wildest barbarian blushed in the midst of his ignorance and rudeness to hear of the manners of the highest and most distinguished families in Rome. Nobody could hold out a hand to avert the judgment that was about to fall on the devoted city. Ambassadors indeed appeared, and bought a short delay at the price of many thousand pounds' weight of gold and silver, and of large quantities of silk; but these were only additional incitements to the cupidity of the invader. Tribe after tribe rose up with fresh fury; warriors of every hue and shape, and with every manner of equipment. The handsome Goth in his iron cuirass; the Alan with his saddle covered with human skin; the German making a hideous sound by shrieking on the sharp edge of his shield; and the countryman of Alaric himself sounding the "horn of battle," which terrified the Romans with its ominous note--all started forward on the march. At the head of each detachment rode a band, singing songs of exultation and defiance; and the Romans, stupefied with fear, saw these innumerable swarms defile towards the Milvian bridge and close up every access to the town. There was no corn from Sicily or Africa; a pest raged in every house, and hunger reduced the inhabitants to despair. The gates were thrown open, and all the pent-up animosity of the desert was poured out upon the mistress and corrupter of the world. For six days the city was given up to remorseless slaughter and universal pillage. The wealth was incalculable. The captives were sold as slaves. The palaces were overthrown, and the river choked with carcasses and the treasures of art which the barbarians could not appreciate. "The new Babylon," cries Bossuet, the great Bishop of Meaux, "rival of the old, swelled out like her with her successes, and, triumphing in her pleasures and riches, encountered as great a fall." And no man lamented her fate. [A.D. 410.] Alaric, who had thus achieved a victory denied to Hannibal and Pyrrhus, resolved to push his conquests to the end of Italy. But on his march towards the Straits of Sicily, illness overtook him. His life had been unlike that of other men, and his burial was to excite the wonder of the Bruttians, among whom he died. A large river was turned from its course, and in its channel a deep grave was dug and ornamented with monumental stone. To this the body of the barbaric king was carried, clothed in full armour, and accompanied with some of the richest spoils of Rome; and then the stream was turned on again, the prisoners who had executed the works were slaughtered to conceal the secret of the tomb, and nobody has ever found out where the Gothic king reposes. But while the Busentino flowed peaceably on, and guarded the body of the conqueror from the revenge of the Romans, new perils were gathering round the throne of the Western emperor. As if the duration of the empire had been inseparably connected with the capital, the reverence of mankind was never bestowed on Milan or Ravenna, in which the court was now established, as it had been upon Rome. Britain had already thrown off the distant yoke, and submitted to the Saxon invaders. Spain had also peaceably accepted the rule of the three kindred tribes of Sueves and Alans and Vandals. Gaul itself had given its adhesion to the Burgundians (who fixed their seat in the district which still bears their name) and offered a feeble resistance to any fresh invader. Ataulf, the brother of Alaric, came to the rescue of the empire, and of course completed the destruction. He married the sister of Honorius, and retained her as a hostage of the emperor's good faith. He promised to restore the revolted provinces to their former master, and succeeded in overthrowing some competitors who had started up to dispute with Ravenna the wrecks of former power. He then forced his way into Spain, and the hopes of the degenerate Romans were high. But murder, as usual, stopped the career of Ataulf, and all was changed. [A.D. 415.] The emperor ratified the possessions which he could not dispute, and in the first twenty years of this century three separate kingdoms were established in Europe. This was soon followed by a Vandal conquest of the shores of Africa, which raised Carthage once more to commercial importance, united Sicily, Corsica, and Sardinia to the new-founded state, and by the creation of a fleet gained the command of the Mediterranean Sea, and threatened Constantinople itself. With so many provinces not only torn from the empire, but erected into hostile kingdoms, nothing was wanting but some new irruption into the still dependent territories to put a final end to the Roman name. And a new incursion came. In the very involved relations existing between the emperors of the East and West, it is difficult to follow the course of events with any clearness. While the deluded populace of Constantinople were rejoicing in the fall of their Italian rival, they heard with amazement, in 441, that a savage potentate, who had pitched his tents in the plains of Pannonia and Thrace, and kept round him, for defence or conquest, seven hundred thousand of those hideous-featured Huns who had spread devastation and terror all over the populations of Asia, from the borders of China to the Don, had determined on stretching his conquests over the whole world, and merely hesitated with which of the doomed empires to begin his career. His name was Attila, or, according to its native pronunciation, Etzel; and it soon resounded, louder and more terrifying than that of Alaric the Goth. The Emperor of the East sent an embassy to this dreadful neighbour, a minute account of which remains, and from which we learn the barbaric pomp and ceremony of the leader of the Huns, and the perfidy and debasement of the Greeks. An attempt was made to poison the redoubtable chief, and he complained of the guilty ambassador to the very person who had given him his instructions for the deed. Unsatisfied with the result, the Hunnish monarch advanced his camp. Constantinople, anxious to ward off the blow from itself, descanted to the savage king on the exposed condition and ill-defended wealth of the Italian towns. Treachery of another kind came to his aid. An offended sister of the emperor sent to Attila her ring as a mark of espousal, and he now claimed a portion of the empire as the dowry of his bride. When this was refused, he reiterated his old claim of satisfaction for the attempt upon his life, and ravaged the fields of Belgium and Gaul, in the double character of avenger of an insult and claimant of an inheritance. It does not much matter under what plea a barbarous chieftain, with six hundred thousand warriors, makes a demand. It must be answered sword in hand, or on the knees. The newly-established Frankish and Burgundian kings gathered their forces in defence of their Christian faith and their recently-acquired dominions. Attila retired from Orleans, of which he had commenced the siege, and chose for the battle-field, which was to decide the destiny of the world, a vast plain not far from Châlons, on the Marne, where his cavalry would have room to act, and waited the assault of all the forces that France and Italy could collect. The Visigoths prepared for the decisive engagement under their king, Theodoric; the Franks of the Saal under Meroveg; the Ripuarian Franks, the Saxons, and the Burgundians were under leaders of their own. [A.D. 451.] It was a fight in which were brought face to face the two conquering races of the world, and upon its result it depended whether Europe was to be ruled by a dynasty of Calmucks or left to her free progress under her Gothic and Teutonic kings. Three hundred thousand corpses marked the severity of the struggle, but victory rested with the West. Attila retreated from Gaul, and wreaked his vengeance on the Italian cities. He destroyed Aquileia, whose terrified inhabitants hid themselves in the marshes and lagoons which afterwards bore the palaces of Venice; Vicenza, Padua, and Verona were spoiled and burned. Pavia and Milan submitted without resistance. On approaching Rome, the venerable bishop, Saint Leo, met the devastating Hun, and by the gravity of his appearance, the ransom he offered, and perhaps the mystic dignity which still rested upon the city whose cause he pleaded, prevailed on him to retire. Shortly after, the chief of this brief and terrible visitation died in his tent on the banks of the Danube, and left no lasting memorial of his irruption except the depopulation his cruelty had caused, and the ruin he had spread over some of the fairest regions of the earth. But Rome, spared by the influence of the bishop from the ravage of the Huns, could not escape the destroying enmity of Genseric and the Vandals. Dashing across from Africa, these furious conquerors destroyed for destruction's sake, and affixed the name of Vandalism on whatever is harsh and unrefined. For fourteen days the spoilers were at work in Rome, and it is only wonderful that after so many plunderings any thing worth plundering remained. When the sated Vandals crossed to Carthage again, the Gothic and Suevic kings gave the purple to whatever puppet they chose. Afraid still to invest themselves with the insignia of the Imperial power, they bestowed them or took them away, and at last rendered the throne and the crown so contemptible, that when Odoacer was proclaimed King of Italy, the phantom assembly which still called itself the Roman Senate sent back to Constantinople the tiara and purple robe, in sign that the Western Empire had passed away. Zeno, the Eastern ruler, retained the ornaments of the departed sovereignty, and sent to the Herulean Odoacer the title of "Patrician," sole emblem left of the greatness and antiquity of the Roman name. It may be interesting to remember that the last who wore the Imperial crown was a youth who would probably have escaped the recognition of posterity altogether, if he had not, by a sort of cruel mockery of his misfortunes, borne the names of Romulus Augustulus--the former recalling the great founder of the city, and the latter the first of the Imperial line. Thus, then, in 476, Rome came to her deserved and terrible end; and before we trace the influence of this great event upon the succeeding centuries, it will be worth while to devote a few words to the cause of its overthrow. These were evidently three--the ineradicable barbarity and selfishness of the Roman character, the depravation of manners in the capital, and the want of some combining influence to bind all the parts of the various empire into a whole. From the earliest incidents in the history of Rome, we gather that she was utterly regardless of human life or suffering. Her treatment of her vanquished enemies, and her laws upon parental authority, upon slaves and debtors, show the pitiless disposition of her people. Look at her citizens at any period of her career--her populace or her consuls--in the field of battle or in the forum, you will always find them the true descendants of those blood-stained refugees, who established their den of robbers on the seven hills, and pretended they were led by a man who had been suckled by a wolf. While conquest was their object, this sanguinary disposition enabled them to perform great exploits; but when victory had secured to them the blessings of peace and safety, the same thirst for excitement continued. They cried out for blood in the amphitheatre, and had no pleasure in any display which was not accompanied with pain. The rival chief who had perilled their supremacy in the field was led in ferocious triumph at the wheel of his conqueror, and beheaded or flogged to death at the gate of the Capitol. The wounded gladiator looked round the benches of the arena in hopes of seeing the thumbs of the spectators turned down--the signal for his life being spared; but matrons and maids, the high and the low, looked with unmoved faces upon his agonies, and gave the signal for his death without remorse. They were the same people, even in their amusements, who gave order for the destruction of Numantium and Carthage. But cruelty was not enough. They sank into the wildest vices of sensuality, and lost the dignity of manhood, and the last feelings of self-respect. Never was a nation so easily habituated to slavery. They licked the hand that struck them hardest. They hung garlands for a long time on the tomb of Nero. They insisted on being revenged on the murderers of Commodus, and frequently slew more citizens in broils in the street and quarrels in the theatre, than had fought at Cannæ or Zama. It might have been hoped that the cruelty which characterized the days of their military aggression would be softened down when they had become the acknowledged rulers of the world. Luxury itself, it might be thought, would be inconsistent with the sight of blood. But in this utterly detestable race the two extremes of human society seemed to have the same result. The brutal, half-clothed savage of an early age conveyed his tastes as well as his conquests to the enervated voluptuary of the empire. The virtues, such as they were, of that former period--contempt of danger, unfaltering resolution, and a certain simplicity of life--had departed, and all the bad features were exaggerated. Religion also had disappeared. Even a false religion, if sincerely entertained, is a bond of union among all who profess its faith. But between Rome and its colonies, and between man and man, there was soon no community of belief. The sweltering wretches in the Forum sneered at the existence of Bacchus in the midst of his mysteries, and imitated the actions of their gods, while they laughed at the hypocrisy of priests and augurs, who treated them as divine. A cruel, depraved, godless people--these were the Romans who had enslaved the world with their arms and corrupted it with their civilization. When their capital fell, men felt relieved from a burden and shame. The lessons of Christianity had been thrown away on a population too gross and too truculent to receive them. Some of gentler mould than others had received the Saviour; but to the mass of Romans the language of peace and justice, of forgiveness and brotherhood, was unknown. It was to be the worthier recipients of a pure and elevating faith, that the Goth was called from his wilderness and the German from his forest. But the faith had to be purified itself before it was fitted for the reception of the new conquerors of the world. The dissensions of the Christian Churches had added only a fresh element of weakness to the empire of Rome. There were heretics everywhere, supporting their opinions with bigotry and violence--Arians, Sabellians, Montanists, and fifty names besides. Torn by these parties, dishonoured by pretended conversions, the result of flattery and ambition, the Christian Church was further weakened by the effect of wealth and luxury upon its chiefs. While contending with rival sects upon some point of discipline or doctrine, they made themselves so notorious for the desire of riches, and the infamous arts they practised to get themselves appointed heirs of the rich members of their congregations, that a law was passed making a conveyance in favour of a priest invalid. And it is not from Pagan enemies or heretical rivals we learn this--it is from the letters still extant of the most honoured Fathers of the Church. One of them tells us that the Prefect Pretextatus, alluding to the luxury of the Pontiffs, and to the magnificence of their apparel, said to Pope Damasus, "Make me Bishop of Rome, and I will turn Christian." "Far, then," says a Roman Catholic historian of our own day, "from strengthening the Roman world with its virtues, the Christian society seemed to have adopted the vices it was its office to overcome." But the fall of Roman power was the resurrection of Christianity. It had a Resurrection, because it had had a Death, and a new world was now prepared for its reception. Its everlasting truths, indeed, had been full of life and vigour all through the sad period of Roman depravation, but the ground was unfitted for their growth; and the great characteristic of this century is not the conquest of Rome by Alaric the Goth, or the dreadful assault on Europe by Attila the Hun, or the final abolition of the old capital of the world by Odoacer the Herulean, but rather the ecclesiastical chaos which spread over the earth. The age of martyrs had passed--the philosophers had begun their pestiferous tamperings with the facts of revelation--and over all rioted and stormed an ambitious and worldly priesthood, who hated their opponents with more bitterness than the heathens had displayed against the Christians, and ran wild in every species of lawlessness and vice. The deserts and caves which used to give retreat to meditative worshippers or timid believers, now teemed with thousands of furious and fanatical monks, who rushed occasionally into the great cities of the empire, and filled their streets with blood and rapine. Guided by no less fanatical bishops, they spread murder and terror over whole provinces. Alexandria stood in more fear of these professed recluses than of an army of hostile soldiers. "There is a race," says Eunapius, "called monks--men indeed in form, but hogs in life, who practise and allow abominable things. Whoever wears a black robe, and is not ashamed of filthy garments, and presents a dirty face to the public view, obtains a tyrannical authority." False miracles, absurd prophecies, and ludicrous visions were the instruments with which these and other impostors established their power. Mad enthusiasts imprisoned themselves in dungeons, or exposed themselves on the tops of pillars, naked, except by the growth of their tangled hair, and the coating of filth upon their persons,--and gained credit among the ignorant for self-denial and abnegation of the world. All the high offices of the Church were so lucrative and honourable as to be the object of universal desire. To be established archbishop of a diocese cost more lives than the conquest of a province. When the Christian community needed support from without, they had recourse to some rich or powerful individual, some general of an army, or governor of a district, and begged him to assume the pastoral staff in exchange for his military sword. Sometimes the assembled crowd cried out the name of a favourite who was not even known to be a Christian, and the mitre was conveyed by acclamation to a person who had to undergo the ceremonies of baptism and ordination before he could place it on his head. Sometimes the exigencies of the congregation required a scholar or an orator for its head. It applied to a philosopher to undertake its direction. He objected that his philosophy had been declared inconsistent with the Christian faith, and his mode of life contrary to Christian precept. They forgave him his philosophy, his horses and hounds, his wife and children, and constituted him their chief. Age was of no consequence. A youth of eighteen has been saluted bishop by a cry which seemed to the multitude the direct inspiration of Heaven, and seated in the chair of his dignity almost without his knowledge. Once established on his episcopal seat, he had no superior. The Roman Bishop had not yet asserted his supremacy over the Church. Each prelate was sovereign Pontiff of his own see, and his doctrines for a long time regulated the doctrines of his flock. Under former bishops, Milan had been Arian, under Ambrose it was orthodox, and with a change of master might have been Arian again. The emperors had occasionally interfered with their authoritative decisions, but generally the dispute was left in divided dioceses to be settled by argument, when the rivals' tempers allowed such a mode of warfare, but more frequently by armed bands of the retainers of the respective creeds, and sometimes by an appeal to miracles. But with this century a new spirit of bitterness was let loose upon the Church. Councils were held, at which the doctrines of the minority were declared dangerous to the State, and the civil power was invoked to carry the sentence into effect. In Africa, where the great name of Augustin of Hippo admitted no opposition, the Donatists, though represented by no less than two hundred and seventy-nine prelates, were condemned as heretics, and given over to the persecuting sword. But in other quarters the dissidents looked for support to the civil power, when it happened to be of their opinion in Church affairs. Rome chose Clovis, the politic and energetic Frank, for its guardian and protector, and the Arians threw themselves in the same way on the support of the Visigoths and Burgundians. A difference of faith became a pretext for war. Clovis, who envied his neighbours their territories south of the Loire, led an expedition against them, crying, "It is shameful to see those Arians in possession of such goodly lands!" and everywhere a vast activity was perceptible in the Church, because its interests were now connected with those of kings and peoples. In earlier times, discussions were carried on on a great variety of doctrines which, though widely spread, were not yet authoritatively declared to be articles of faith. St. Jerome himself, and others, had had to defend their opinions against the attacks of various adversaries, who, without ceasing to be considered true members of the Church, wrote powerfully against the worship of martyrs and their relics; against the miracles professedly wrought at their tombs; against fasting, austerities, and celibacy. No appeal was made on those occasions either to the Bishop of Rome as head of the Church, or to the emperor as head of the State. Now, however, the spirit of moderation was banished, and the decrees of councils were considered superior to private or even diocesan judgment. Life and freedom of discussion were at an end under an enforced and rigid uniformity. But the struggle lasted through the century. It was the period of great convulsions in the State, and disputations, wranglings, and struggle in the Church. How these, in a State tortured by perpetual change, and a Church filled with energy and fire, acted upon each other, may easily be supposed. The doubtful and unsteady civil government had subordinated itself to the turbulent ardour of the perplexed but highly-animated Church. After the conquest of Rome, where was the barbaric conqueror to look for any guide to internal unity, or any relic of the vanished empire by which to connect himself with the past? There was only the Church, which was now not only the professed teacher of obedience, peace, and holiness, but the only undestroyed institution of the State. The old population of Rome had been wasted by the sword, and famine, and deportation. The emperors of the West had left the scene; the Roman Senate was no more. There was but one authority which had any influence on the wretched crowd who had returned to their ancient capital, or sought refuge in its ruined palaces or grass-grown streets from the pursuit of their foes; and that was the Bishop of the Christian congregation--whose palace had been given to him by Constantine--who claimed already the inheritance of St. Peter--and who carried to the new government either the support of a willing people, or the enmity of a seditious mob. [A.D. 489.] A new hero came upon the scene in the person of Theodoric, the Ostrogoth. Odoacer tried in vain to resist the two hundred thousand warriors of this tribe who poured upon Italy in 490, and, after a long resistance in Ravenna, yielded the kingdom of Italy to his rival. Theodoric, though an Arian, cultivated the good opinion of the orthodox, and gained the favour of the Roman Bishop. He had almost a superstitious veneration for the dignities of ancient Rome. He treated with respect an assembly which called itself the Senate, but did not allow his love of antiquity to blind him to the degeneracy of the present race. He interdicted arms to all men of Roman blood, and tried in vain to prevent his followers from using the appellation "Roman" as their bitterest form of contempt. Lands were distributed to his followers, and they occupied and improved a full third of Italy. Equal laws were provided for both populations, but he forbade the toga and the schools to his countrymen, and left the studies and refinements of life, and offices of civil dignity, to the native race. The hand that holds the pen, he said, becomes unfitted for the sword. But, barbarian as he was called, he restored the prosperity which the fairest region of the earth had lost under the emperors. Bridges, aqueducts, theatres, baths, were repaired; palaces and churches built. Agriculture was encouraged, attempts were made to drain the Pontine Marshes; iron-mines were worked in Dalmatia, and gold-mines in Bruttium. Large fleets protected the coasts of the Mediterranean from pirates and invaders. Population increased, taxes were diminished; and a ruler who could neither read nor write attracted to his court all the learned men of his time. Already the energy of a new and enterprising people was felt to the extremities of his dominions. A new race, also, was established in Gaul. Klodwig, leader of the Franks, received baptism at the hands of St. Remi in 496, and began the great line of French rulers, who, passing his name through the softened sound of Clovis, presented, in the different families who succeeded him, eighteen kings of the name of Louis, as if commemorative of the founder of the monarchy. In England the petty kingdoms of the Heptarchy were in the course of formation, and though, when viewed closely, we seemed a divided and even hostile collection of individual tribes, the historian combines the separate elements, and tells us that, before the fifth century expired, another branch of the barbarians had settled into form and order, and that the Anglo-Saxon race had taken possession of its place. With these newly-founded States rising with fresh vigour from among the decayed and festering remains of an older society, we look hopefully forward to what the future years will show us. SIXTH CENTURY. Kings of the Franks. A.D. CLOVIS.--(_cont._) 511. CHILDEBERT, THIERRY, CLOTAIRE, CLODOMIR. 559. CLOTAIRE (sole King). 562. CHARIBERT, GONTRAN, SIGEBERT and CHILDERIC. 584. CLOTAIRE II., (of Soissons.) 596. THIERRY II., THEODOBERT, (of Paris and Austrasia.) Emperors of the East. A.D. ANASTASIUS.--(_cont._) 518. JUSTIN. 527. JUSTINIAN I. 565. JUSTIN II. 578. TIBERIUS II. 582. MAURICE. Authors. BOETHIUS, PROCOPIUS, GILDAS, GREGORY OF TOURS, COLUMBA, (520-597,) PRISCIAN, COLUMBANUS, BENEDICT, EVAGRIUS, (SCHOLASTICUS,) FULGENTIUS, GREGORY THE GREAT. THE SIXTH CENTURY. BELISARIUS AND NARSES IN ITALY--SETTLEMENT OF THE LOMBARDS--LAWS OF JUSTINIAN--BIRTH OF MOHAMMED. Theodoric, though not laying claim to universal empire in right of his possession of Rome and Italy, exercised a sort of supremacy over his contemporaries by his wisdom and power. He also strengthened his position by family alliances. His wife was sister of Klodwig or Clovis, King of the Franks. He married his own sister to Hunric, King of the Vandals, his niece to the Thuringian king. One of his daughters he gave to Sigismund, King of the Burgundians, and the other to Alaric the Second, King of the Visigoths. Relying on the double influence which his relationship and reputation secured to him, he rebuked or praised the potentates of Europe as if they had been his children, and gave them advice in the various exigencies of their affairs, to which they implicitly submitted. He would fain have kept alive what was left of the old Roman civilization, and heaped honours on the Senator Cassiodorus, one of the last writers of Rome. "We send you this man as ambassador," he said to the King of the Burgundians, "that your people may no longer pretend to be our equals when they perceive what manner of men we have among us." But his rule, though generous, was strict. He imprisoned the Bishop of Rome for disobedience of orders in a commission he had given him, and repressed discontent and the quarrels of the factions with an unsparing hand. But the death of this great and wise sovereign showed on what unstable foundations a barbaric power is built. Frightful tragedies were enacted in his family. His daughter was murdered by her nephew, whom she had associated with her in the guardianship of her son. But vengeance overtook the wrong-doer, and a strange revolution occurred in the history of the world. The emperor reigning at Constantinople was the celebrated Justinian. He saw into what a confused condition the affairs of the new conquerors of Italy had fallen. Rallying round him all the recollections of the past--giving command of his armies to one of the great men who start up unexpectedly in the most hopeless periods of history, whose name, Belisarius, still continues to be familiar to our ears--and rousing the hostile nationalities to come to his aid, he poured into the peninsula an army with Roman discipline and the union which community of interests affords. [A.D. 535.] In a remarkably short space of time, Belisarius achieved the conquest of Italy. The opposing soldiers threw down their arms at sight of the well-remembered eagles. The nations threw off the supremacy of the Ostrogoths. Belisarius had already overthrown the kingdom of the Vandals and restored Africa to the empire of the East. He took Naples, and put the inhabitants to the sword. He advanced upon Rome, which the Goths deserted at his approach. The walls of the great city were restored, and a victory over the fugitives at Perugia seemed to secure the whole land to its ancient masters. But Witig, the Ostrogoth, gathered courage from despair. He besought assistance from the Franks, who had now taken possession of Burgundy; and volunteers from all quarters flocked to his standard, for he had promised them the spoils of Milan. Milan was immensely rich, and had espoused the orthodox faith. The assailants were Arians, and intent on plunder. Such destruction had scarcely been seen since the memorable slaughter of the Huns at Châlons on the Marne. The Ostrogoths and Burgundian Franks broke into the town, and the streets were piled up with the corpses of all the inhabitants. There were three hundred thousand put to death, and multitudes had died of famine and disease. The ferocity was useless, and Belisarius was already on the march; Witig was conquered, in open fight, while he was busy besieging Rome; Ravenna itself, his capital, was taken, and the Ostrogothic king was led in triumph along the streets of Constantinople. [A.D. 540.] But the conqueror of the Ostrogoths fell into disfavour at court. He was summoned home, and a great man, whom his presence in Italy had kept in check, availed himself of his absence. Totila seemed indeed worthy to succeed to the empire of his countryman Theodoric. He again peopled the utterly exhausted Rome; he restored its buildings, and lived among the new-comers himself, encouraging their efforts to give it once more the appearance of the capital of the world. But these efforts were in vain. There was no possibility of reviving the old fiction of the identity of the freshly-imported inhabitants and the countrymen of Scipio and Cæsar. Only one link was possible between the old state of things and the new. It was strange that it was left for the Christian Bishop to bridge over the chasm that separated the Rome of the Consulship and the Empire from the capital of the Goths. Yet so it was. While the short duration of the reigns of the barbaric kings prevented the most sanguine from looking forward to the stability of any power for the future, the immunity already granted to the clerical order, and the sanctuary afforded, in the midst of the wildest excesses of siege and storm, by their shrines and churches, had affixed a character of inviolability and permanence to the influence of the ecclesiastical chief. At Constantinople, the presence of the sovereign, who affected a grandeur to which the pretensions to divinity of the Roman emperors had been modesty and simplicity, kept the dignity of the Bishop in a very secondary place. But at Rome there was no one left to dispute his rank. His office claimed a duration of upwards of four hundred years; and though at first his predecessors had been fugitives and martyrs, and even now his power had no foundation except in the willing obedience of the members of his flock, the necessity of his position had forced him to extend his claims beyond the mere requirements of his spiritual rule. During the ephemeral occupations of the city by Vandals and Huns and Ostrogoths, and all the tribes who successively took possession of the great capital, he had been recognised as the representative of the most influential portion of the inhabitants. As it naturally followed that the higher the rank of a ruler or intercessor was, the more likely his success would be, the Christians of the orthodox persuasion had the wisdom to raise their Bishop as high as they could. He had stood between the devoted city and the Huns; he had promised obedience or threatened resistance to the Goths, according to the conduct pursued with regard to his flock by the conquerors. He had also lent to Belisarius all the weight of his authority in restoring the power of the emperors, and from this time the Bishop of Rome became a great civil as well as ecclesiastical officer. All parties in turn united in trying to win him over to their cause--the Arian kings, by kindness and forbearance to his adherents; and the orthodox, by increasing the rights and privileges of his see. And already the policy of the Roman Pontiffs began to take the path it has never deserted since. They looked out in all quarters for assistance in their schemes of ambition and conquest. Emissaries were despatched into many nations to convert them, not from heathenism to Christianity, but from independence to an acknowledgment of their subjection to Rome. It was seen already that a great spiritual empire might be founded upon the ruins of the old Roman world, and spread itself over the perplexed and unstable politics of the barbaric tribes. No means, accordingly, were left untried to extend the conquests of the spiritual Cæsar. When Clovis the Frank was converted by the entreaties of his wife from Arianism to the creed of the Roman Church, the orthodox bishops of France considered it a victory over their enemies, though these enemies were their countrymen and neighbours. And from henceforth we find the different confessions of faith to have more influence in the setting up or overthrowing of kingdoms than the strength of armies or the skill of generals. Narses, who was appointed the successor of Belisarius, was a believer in the decrees of the Council of Nice. His orthodoxy won him the support of all the orthodox Huns and Heruleans and Lombards, who formed an army of infuriated missionaries rather than of soldiers, and gained to his cause the majority of the Ostrogoths whom it was his task to fight. Totila in vain tried to bear up against this invasion. The heretical Ostrogoths, expelled from the towns by their orthodox fellow-citizens, and ill supported by the inhabitants of the lands they traversed, were defeated in several battles; and at last, when the resisting forces were reduced to the paltry number of seven thousand men, their spirits broken by defeat, and a continuance in Italy made useless by the hostile feelings of the population, they applied to Narses for some means of saving their lives. He furnished them with vessels, which carried them from the lands which, sixty years before, had been assigned them by the great Theodoric, and they found an obscure termination to so strange and checkered a career, by being lost and mingled in the crowded populations of Constantinople. This was in 553. The Ostrogoths disappear from history. The Visigoths have still a settlement at the southwest of France and in the rich regions of Spain, but they are isolated by their position, and are divided into different branches. The Franks are a great and seemingly well-cemented race between the Rhine and the sea. The Burgundians have a form of government and code of laws which keep them distinct and powerful. There are nations rising into independence in Germany. In England, Christianity has formed a bond which practically gives firmness and unity to the kingdoms of the Heptarchy; and it might be expected that, having seen so many tribes of strange and varying aspect emerge from the unknown regions of the East, we should have little to do but watch the gradual enlightenment of those various races, and see them assuming, by slow degrees, their present respective places; but the undiscovered extremities of the earth were again to pour forth a swarm of invaders, who plunged Italy back into its old state of barbarism and oppression, and established a new people in the midst of its already confused and intermixed populations. Somewhere up between the Aller and the Oder there had been settled, from some unknown period, a people of wild and uncultivated habits, who had occasionally appeared in small detachments in the various gatherings of barbarians who had forced their way into the South. Following the irresistible impulse which seems to impel all the settlers in the North, they traversed the regions already occupied by the Heruleans and the Gepides, and paused, as all previous invasions had done, on the outer boundary of the Danube. These were the Longobards or Lombards, so called from the spears, _bardi_, with which they were armed; and not long they required to wait till a favourable opportunity occurred for them to cross the stream. In the hurried levies of Narses some of them had offered their services, and had been present at the victory over Totila the Goth. They returned, in all probability, to their companions, and soon the hearts of the whole tribe were set upon the conquest of the beautiful region their countrymen had seen. If they hesitated to undertake so long an expedition, two incidents occurred which made it indispensable. Flying in wild fury and dismay from the face of a pursuing enemy, the Avars, themselves a ferocious Asiatic horde which had terrified the Eastern Empire, came and joined themselves to the Lombards. With united forces, all their tents, and wives and children, their horses and cattle, this dreadful alliance began their progress to Italy. The other incident was, that in revenge for the injustice of his master, and dreading his further malice, Narses himself invited their assistance. Alboin, the Lombard king, was chief of the expedition. He had been refused the hand of Rosamund, the daughter of Cunimond, chief of the Gepides. He poured the combined armies of Lombards and Avars upon the unfortunate tribe, slew the king with his own hand, and, according to the inhuman fashion of his race, formed his drinking-cup of his enemy's skull. He married Rosamund, and pursued his victorious career. He crossed the Julian Alps, made himself master of Milan and the dependent territories, and was lifted on the shield as King of Italy. At a festival in honour of his successes, he forced his favourite wine-goblet into the hands of his wife. She recognised the fearful vessel, and shuddered while she put her lips to the brim. But hatred took possession of her heart. She promised her hand and throne to Kilmich, one of her attendants, if he would take vengeance on the tyrant who had offered her so intolerable a wrong. The attendant was won by the bride, and slew Alboin. But justice pursued the murderers. They were discovered, and fled to Ravenna, where the Exarch held his court. Saved thus from human retribution, Rosamund brought her fate upon herself. Captivated with the prospect of marrying the Exarch, she presented a poisoned cup to Kilmich, now become her husband, as he came from the bath. The effect was immediate, and the agonies he felt told him too surely the author of his death. [A.D. 575.] He just lived long enough to stab the wretched woman with his dagger, and this frightful domestic tragedy was brought to a close. Alboin had divided his dominion into many little states and dukedoms. A kind of anarchy succeeded the strong government of the remorseless and clear-sighted king, and enemies began to arise in different directions. The Franks from the south of France began to cross the Alps. The Greek settlements began to menace the Lombards from the South. Internal disunion was quelled by the public danger, and Antharis, the son of Cleph, was nominated king. To strengthen himself against the orthodox Franks, he professed himself a Christian and joined the Arian communion. With the aid of his co-religionists he repelled the invaders, and had time, in the intervals of their assaults, to extend his conquests to the south of the peninsula. There he overthrew the settlements which owned the Empire of the East; and coming to the extreme end of Italy, the savage ruler pushed his war-horse into the water as deep as it would go, and, standing up in his stirrups, threw forward his javelin with all his strength, saying, "That is the boundary of the Lombard power." Unhappily for the unity of that distracted land, the warrior's boast was unfounded, and it has continued ever since a prey to discord and division. [A.D. 591.] Another kingdom, however, was added to the roll of European states; and this was the last settlement permanently made on the old Roman territory. The Lombards were a less civilized horde than any of their predecessors. The Ostrogoths had rapidly assimilated themselves to the people who surrounded them, but the Lombards looked with haughty disdain on the population they had subdued. By portioning the country among the chiefs of the expedition, they commenced the first experiment on a great scale of what afterwards expanded into the feudal system. There were among them, as among the other northern settlers, an elective king and an hereditary nobility, owing suit and service to their chief, and exacting the same from their dependants; and already we see the working of this similarity of constitution in the diffusion throughout the whole of Europe of the monarchical and aristocratic principle, which is still the characteristic of most of our modern states. From this century some authors date the origin of what are called the "Middle Ages," forming the great and obscure gulf between ancient and modern times. Others, indeed, wish to fix the commencement of the Middle Ages at a much earlier date--even so far back as the reign of Constantine. They found this inclination on the fact that to him we are indebted for the settlement of barbarians within the empire, and the institution of a titled nobility dependent on the crown. But many things were needed besides these to constitute the state of manners and polity which we recognise as those of the Middle Ages, and above them all the establishment of the monarchical principle in ecclesiastical government, and the recognition of a sovereign priest. This was now close at hand, and its approach was heralded by many appearances. How, indeed, could the Church deprive itself of the organization which it saw so powerful and so successful in civil affairs? A machinery was all ready to produce an exact copy of the forms of temporal administration. There were bishops to be analogous to the great feudataries of the crown; priests and rectors to represent the smaller freeholders dependent on the greater barons; but where was the monarch by whom the whole system was to be combined and all the links of the great chain held together by a point of central union? The want of this had been so felt, that we might naturally have expected a claim to universal superiority to have long ere this been made by a Pope of Rome, the ancient seat of the temporal power. But with his residence perpetually a prey to fresh inroads, a heretical king merely granting him toleration and protection, the pretension would have been too absurd during the troubles of Italy, and it was not advanced for several years. The necessity of the case, however, was such, that a voice was heard from another quarter calling for universal obedience, and this was uttered by the Patriarch of Constantinople. Rome, we must remember, had by this time lost a great portion of her ancient fame. It was reserved for this wonderful city to rise again into all her former grandeur, by the restoration of learning and the knowledge of what she had been. At this period all that was known of her by the ignorant barbarians was, that she was a fresh-repaired and half-peopled town, which had been sacked and ruined five times within a century, that her inhabitants were collected from all parts of the world, and that she was liable to a repetition of her former misfortunes. They knew nothing of the great men who had raised her to such pre-eminence. She had sunk even from being the capital of Italy, and could therefore make no intelligible claim to be considered the capital of the world. Constantinople, on the other hand, which, by our system of education, we are taught to look upon as a very modern creation compared with the Rome of the old heroic ages of the kings and consuls, was at that period a magnificent metropolis, which had been the seat of government for three hundred years. The majesty of the Roman name had transferred itself to that new locality, and nothing was more natural than that the Patriarch of the city of Constantine, which had been imperial from its origin, and had never been defiled by the presence of a Pagan temple, should claim for himself and his see a pre-eminence both in power and holiness. Accordingly, a demand was made in 588 for the recognition throughout the Christian world of the universal headship of the bishopric of Constantinople. But at that time there was a bishop of Rome, whom his successors have gratefully dignified with the epithet of Great, who stood up in defence, not of his own see only, but of all the bishoprics in Europe. Gregory published, in answer to the audacious claim of the Eastern patriarch, a vigorous protest, in which these remarkable words occur:--"This I declare with confidence, that whoso designates himself Universal Priest, or, in the pride of his heart, consents to be so named--he is the forerunner of Antichrist." It was therefore to Rome, on the broad ground of the Christian equality of all the chief pastors of the Church, that we owe this solemn declaration against the pretensions of the ambitious John of Constantinople. But Constantinople itself was about to fade from the minds of men. Dissatisfied with the opposition to its supremacy, the Eastern Church became separated in interest and discipline and doctrine from its Western branch. The intercourse between the two was hostile, and in a short time nearly ceased. The empire also was so deeply engaged in defending its boundaries against the Persians and other enemies in Asia, that it took small heed of the proceedings of its late dependencies, the newly-founded kingdoms in Europe. It is probable that the refined and ostentatious court of Justinian, divided as it was into fanatical parties about some of the deepest and some of the most unimportant mysteries of the faith, and contending with equal bitterness about the charioteers of the amphitheatre according as their colours were green or blue, looked with profound contempt on the struggles after better government and greater enlightenment of the rabble of Franks, and Lombards, and Burgundians, who had settled themselves in the distant lands of the West. The interior regulations of Justinian formed a strange contrast with the grandeur and success of his foreign policy. By his lieutenants Belisarius and Narses, he had reconquered the lost inheritance of his predecessors, and held in full sovereignty for a while the fertile shores of Africa, rescued from the debasing hold of the Vandals; he had cleared Italy of Ostrogoths, Spain even had yielded an unwilling obedience, and his name was reverenced in the great confederacy of the Germanic peoples who held the lands from the Atlantic eastward to Hungary, and from Marseilles to the mouth of the Elbe. But his home was the scene of every weakness and wickedness that can disgrace the name of man. Kept in slavish submission to his wife, he did not see, what all the rest of the world saw, that she was the basest of her sex, and a disgrace to the place he gave her. Beginning as a dancer at the theatre, she passed through every grade of infamy and vice, till the name of Theodora became a synonym for every thing vile and shameless. Yet this man, successful in war and politic in action, though contemptible in private life, had the genius of a legislator, and left a memorial of his abilities which extended its influence through all the nations which succeeded to any portion of the Roman dominion, and has shaped and modified the jurisprudence of all succeeding times. He was not so much a maker of new laws, as a restorer and simplifier of the old; and as the efforts of Justinian in this direction were one of the great features by which the sixth century is distinguished, it will be useful to devote a page or two to explain in what his work consisted. The Roman laws had become so numerous and so contradictory that the administration of justice was impossible, even where the judges were upright and intelligent. The mere word of an emperor had been considered a decree, and legally binding for all future time. No lapse of years seems to have brought a law once promulgated into desuetude. The people, therefore, groaned under the uncertainty of the statutes, which was further increased by the innumerable glosses or interpretations put upon them by the lawyers. All the decisions which had ever been given by the fifty-four emperors, from Adrian to Justinian, were in full force. All the commentaries made upon them by advocates and judges, and all the sentences delivered in accordance with them, were contained in thousands of volumes; and the result was, when Justinian came to the throne in 526, that there was no point of law on which any man could be sure. He employed the greatest jurisconsults of that time, Trebonian and others, to bring some order into the chaos; and such was the diligence of the commissioners, that in fourteen months they produced the Justinian Code in twelve books, containing a condensation of all previous constitutions. [A.D. 527.] In the course of seven years, two hundred laws and fifty judgments were added by the emperor himself, and a new edition of the Code was published in 534. [A.D. 533.] Under the name of Institutes appeared a new manual for the legal students in the great schools of Constantinople, Berytus, and Rome, where the principles of Roman law are succinctly laid down. The third of his great works was one for the completion of which he gave Trebonian and his assessors ten years. It is called the Digest or Pandects of Justinian, because in it were digested, or put in order in a general collection, the best decisions of the courts, and the opinions and treatises of the ablest lawyers. All previous codes were ransacked, and two thousand volumes of legal argument condensed; and in three years the indefatigable law-reformers published their work, wherein three million leading judgments were reduced to a hundred and fifty thousand. Future confusion was guarded against by a commandment of the emperor abolishing all previous laws and making it penal to add note or comment to the collection now completed. The sentences delivered by the emperor, after the appearance of the Pandects, were published under the name of the Novellæ; and with this great clearing-out of the Augean stable of ancient law, the salutary labours of Trebonian came to a close. In those laws are to be seen both the virtues and the vices of their origin. They sprang from the wise liberality of a despot, and handle the rights of subjects, in their relation to each other, with the equanimity and justice of a power immeasurably raised above them all. But the unlimited supremacy of the ruler is maintained as the sole foundation for the laws themselves. So we see in these collections, and in the spirit which they have spread over all the codes which have taken them for their model, a combination of humanity and probity in the civil law, with a tendency to exalt to a ridiculous excess the authority of the governing power. This has been a century of wonderful revolutions. We have seen the kingdom of the Ostrogoths take the lead in Europe under the wise government of Theodoric the Great. We have seen it overthrown by an army of very small size, consisting of the very forces they had so recently triumphed over in every battle; and finally, after the victories over them of Belisarius and Narses, we have seen the last small remnant of their name removed from Italy altogether and eradicated from history for all future time. But, strange as this reassertion of the Greek supremacy was, the rapidity of its overthrow was stranger still. A new people came upon the stage, and established the Lombard power. The empire contracted itself within its former narrow bounds, and kept up the phantom of its superiority merely by the residence of an Exarch, or provincial governor, at Ravenna. The fiction of its power was further maintained by the Emperor's official recognition of certain rulers, and his ratification of the election of the Roman bishops. But in all essentials the influence had departed from Constantinople, and the Western monarchies were separated from the East. In the Northwest, the confederacy of the Franks, which had consolidated into one immense and powerful kingdom under Clovis, became separated, weakened, and converted into open enemies under his degenerate successors. But as the century drew to a close, a circumstance occurred, far away from the scene of all these proceedings, which had a greater influence on human affairs than the reconquest of Italy or the establishment of France. This was the marriage of a young man in a town of Arabia with the widow of his former master. In 564 this young man was born in Mecca, where his family had long held the high office of custodiers and guardians of the famous Caaba, which was popularly believed to be the stone that covered the grave of Abraham. But when he was still a child his father died, and he was left to the care of his uncle. The simplicity of the Arab character is shown in the way in which the young noble was brought up. Abu Taleb initiated him in the science of war and the mysteries of commerce. He managed his horse and sword like an accomplished cavalier, and followed the caravan as a merchant through the desert. Gifted with a high poetical temperament, and soaring above the grovelling superstitions of the people surrounding him, he used to retire to meditate on the great questions of man's relation to his Maker, which the inquiring mind can never avoid. Meditation led to excitement. He saw visions and dreamed dreams. He saw great things before him, if he could become the leader and lawgiver of his race. But he was poor and unknown. His mistress Cadijah saw the aspirations of her noble servant, and offered him her hand. He was now at leisure to mature the schemes of national regeneration and religious improvement which had occupied him so long, and devoted himself more than ever to study and contemplation. This was Mohammed, the Prophet of Islam, who retired in 594 to perfect his scheme, and whose empire, before many years elapsed, extended from India to Spain, and menaced Christianity and Europe at the same time from the Pyrenees and the Danube. SEVENTH CENTURY. Kings of the Franks. A.D. THIERRY II. and THEODOBERT II.--(_cont._) 614. CLOTAIRE III. (sole king.) 628. DAGOBERT and CHARIBERT. 638. SIGEBERT and CLOVIS II. 654. CHILDERIC II. 679. THIERRY IV. 692. CLOVIS III. (PEPIN, Mayor.) 695. CHILDEBERT III. (do.) Emperors of the East. A.D. MAURICE--(_cont._) 602. PHOCAS. 611. HERACLIUS. 641. CONSTANTINE, (and others.) 642. CONSTANS. 668. CONSTANTIUS V. 685. JUSTINIAN II. 695. LEONTIUS. 697. TIBERIUS. Authors. NENNIUS, (620,) BEDE, (674-735,) ALDHELM, ADAMNANUS. THE SEVENTH CENTURY. POWER OF ROME SUPPORTED BY THE MONKS--CONQUESTS OF THE MOHAMMEDANS. This, then, is the century during which Mohammedanism and Christianity were marshalling their forces--unknown, indeed, to each other, but preparing, according to their respective powers, for the period when they were to be brought face to face. We shall go eastward, and follow the triumphant march of the warriors of the Crescent from Arabia to the shores of Africa; but first we shall cast a desponding eye on the condition and prospects of the kingdoms of the West. Conquest, spoliation, and insecurity had done their work. Wave after wave had passed over the surface of the old Roman State, and obliterated almost all the landmarks of the ancient time. The towns, to be sure, still remained, but stripped of their old magnificence, and thinly peopled by the dispossessed inhabitants of the soil, who congregated together for mutual support. Trade was carried on, but subject to the exactions, and sometimes the open robberies, of the avaricious chieftains who had reared their fortresses on the neighbouring heights. Large tracts of country lay waste and desolate, or were left to the happy fertility of nature in the growth of spontaneous woods. Marshes were formed over whole districts, and the cattle picked up an uncertain existence by browsing over great expanses of poor and unenclosed land. These flocks and herds were guarded by hordes of armed serfs, who camped beside them on the fields, and led a life not unlike that of their remote ancestors on the steppes of Tartary. A man's wealth was counted by his retainers, and there was no supreme authority to keep the dignitaries, even of the same tribe, from warring on each other and wasting their rival's country with fire and sword. Agriculture, therefore, was in the lowest state, and famines, plagues, and other concomitants of want were common in all parts of Europe. One beautiful exception must be made to this universal neglect of agriculture, in favour of the Benedictine monks, established in various parts of Italy and Gaul in the course of the preceding century. Religious reverence was a surer safeguard to those lowly men than castles or armour could have been. No marauder dared to trespass on lands which were under the protection of priest and bishop. And these Western recluses, far from imitating the slothful uselessness of the Eastern monks, turned their whole attention to the cultivation of the soil. In this they bestowed a double benefit on their fellow-men, for, in addition to the positive improvement of the land, they rescued labour from the opprobrium into which it had fallen, and raised it to the dignity of a religious duty. Slavery, we have seen, was universally practised in all the conquered territories, and as only the slaves were compelled to the drudgeries of the field, the work itself borrowed a large portion of the degradation of the unhappy beings condemned to it; and robbery, pillage, murder, and every crime, were considered far less derogatory to the dignity of free Frank or Burgundian than the slightest touch of the mattock or spade. How surprised, then, were the haughty countrymen and descendants of Clovis or Alboin to see the revered hands from which they believed the highest blessings of Heaven to flow, employed in the daily labour of digging, planting, sowing, reaping, thrashing, grinding, and baking! At first they looked incredulously on. Even the monks were disposed to consider it no part of their conventual duties. But the founder of their institution wrote to them, "to beware of idleness, as the greatest enemy of the soul," and not to be uneasy if at any time the cares of the harvest hindered them from their formal readings and regulated prayers. "No person is ever more usefully employed than when working with his hands or following the plough, providing food for the use of man." And the effects of these exhortations were rapidly seen. Wherever a monastery was placed, there were soon fertile fields all round it, and innumerable stacks of corn. Generally chosen with a view to agricultural pursuits, we find sites of abbeys at the present day which are the perfect ideal of a working farm; for long after the outburst of agricultural energy had expired among the monks of St. Benedict, the choice of situation and knowledge of different soils descended to the other ecclesiastical establishments, and skill in agriculture continued at all times a characteristic of the religious orders. What could be more enchanting than the position of their monastic homes? Placed on the bank of some beautiful river, surrounded on all sides by the low flat lands enriched by the neighbouring waters, and protected by swelling hills where cattle are easily fed, we are too much in the habit of attributing the selection of so admirable a situation to the selfishness of the portly abbot. When the traveller has admired the graces of Melrose or of Tintern--the description applies equally to almost all the foundations of an early date--and has paid due attention to the chasteness of the architecture, and beauty of "the long-resounding aisle and fretted vault," he sometimes contemplates with a sneer the matchless charm of the scenery, and exceeding richness of the haugh or strath in which the building stands. "Ah," he says, "they were knowing old gentlemen, those monks and priors. They had fish in the river, fat beeves upon the meadow, red-deer on the hill, ripe corn on the water-side, a full grange at Christmas, and snowy sheep at midsummer." And so they had, and deserved them all. The head of that great establishment was not wallowing in the fat of the land to the exclusion of envious baron or starving churl. He was, in fact, setting them an example which it would have been wise in them to follow. He merely chose the situation most fitted for his purpose, and bestowed his care on the lands which most readily yielded him his reward. It was not necessary for the monks in those days to seek out some neglected corner, and to restore it to cultivation, as an exercise of their ingenuity and strength. They were free to choose from one end of Europe to the other, for the whole of it lay useless and comparatively barren. But when these able-bodied recluses, if such they may be called, had shown the results of patient industry and skill, the peasants, who had seen their labours, or occasionally been employed to assist them, were able to convey to their lay proprietors or masters the lessons they had received. And at last something venerable was thought to reside in the act of farming itself. It was so uniformly found an accompaniment of the priestly character, that it acquired a portion of its sanctity, and the rude Lombard or half-civilized Frank looked with a kind of awe upon waving corn and rich clover, as if they were the result of a higher intelligence and purer life than he possessed. Even the highest officers in the Church were expected to attend to these agricultural conquests. In this century we find, that when kings summoned bishops to a council, or an archbishop called his brethren to a conference, care was taken to fix the time of meeting at a season which did not interfere with the labours of the farm. Privileges naturally followed these beneficial labours. The kings, in their wondering gratitude, surrounded the monasteries with fresh defences against the envy or enmity of the neighbouring chiefs. Their lands became places of sanctuary, as the altar of the Church had been. Freedmen--that is, persons manumitted from slavery, but not yet endowed with property--were everywhere put under the protection of the clergy. Immunities were heaped upon them, and methods found out of making them a separate and superior race. At the Council of Paris, in 613, it was decreed that the priest who offended against the common law should be tried by a mixed court of priests and laymen. But soon this law, apparently so just, was not considered enough, and the trial of ecclesiastics was given over to the ecclesiastical tribunals, without the admixture of the civil element. Other advantages followed from time to time. The Church was found in all the kingdoms to be so useful as the introducer of agriculture, and the preserver of what learning had survived the Roman overthrow, that the ambitious hierarchy profited by the royal and popular favour. They were the most influential, or perhaps it would be more just to say they were the only, order in the State. There was a nobility, but it was jarring and disunited; there were citizens, but they were powerless and depressed; there was a king, but he was but the first of the peers, and stood in dignified isolation where he was not subordinate to a combination of the others. The clergy, therefore, had no enemy or rival to dread, for they had all the constituents of power which the other portions of the population wanted. Their property was more secure; their lands were better cultivated; they were exempt from many of the dangers and burdens to which the lay barons were exposed; they were not liable to the risks and losses of private war; they had more intelligence than their neighbours, and could summon assistance, either in advice, or support, or money, from the farthest extremity of Europe. Nothing, indeed, added more, at the commencement of this century, to the authority of those great ecclesiastical chieftains, than the circumstance that their interests were supported, not only by their neighbouring brethren, but by mitred abbot and lordly bishop in distant lands. If a prior or his monks found themselves ill used on the banks of the Seine, their cause was taken up by all other monks and priors wherever they were placed. And the rapidity of their intercommunication was extraordinary. Each monastery seems to have had a number of active young brethren who traversed the wildest regions with letters or messages, and brought back replies, almost with the speed and regularity of an established post. A convent on Lebanon was informed in a very short time of what had happened in Provence--the letter from the Western abbot was read and deliberated on, and an answer intrusted to the messenger, who again travelled over the immense tract lying between, receiving hospitality at the different religious establishments that occurred upon his way, and everywhere treated with the kindness of a brother. Monasteries in this way became the centres of news as well as of learning, and for many hundred years the only people who knew any thing of the state of feeling in foreign nations, or had a glimpse of the mutual interests of distant kingdoms, were the cowled and gowned individuals who were supposed to have given up the world and to be totally immersed in penances and prayers. What could Hereweg of the strong hand do against a bishop or abbot, who could tell at any hour what were the political designs of conquerors or kings in countries which the astonished warrior did not know even by name; who retained by traditionary transmission the politeness of manner and elegance of accomplishment which had characterized the best period of the Roman power, when Christianized noblemen, on being promoted to an episcopal see, had retained the delicacies of their former life, and wrote love-songs as graceful as those of Catullus, and epigrams neither so witty nor so coarse as those of Martial? Intelligence asserted its superiority over brute force, and in this century the supremacy of the Church received its accomplishment in spite of the depravation of its principles. It gained in power and sank in morals. A hundred years of its beneficial action had made it so popular and so powerful that it fell into temptations, from which poverty or unpopularity would have kept it free. The sixth century was the period of its silent services, its lower officers endearing themselves by useful labour, and its dignitaries distinguishing themselves by learning and zeal. In the seventh century the fruit of all those virtues was to be gathered by very different hands. Ambitious contests began between the different orders composing the gradually rising hierarchy, from the monk in his cell to the Bishop of Rome or Constantinople on their pontifical thrones. It is very sad, after the view we have taken of the early benefits bestowed on many nations by the labours and example of the priests and monks, to see in the period we have reached the total cessation of life and energy in the Church;--of life and energy, we ought to say, in the fulfilment of its duties; for there was no want of those qualities in the gratification of its ambition. Forgetful of what Gregory had pronounced the chief sign of Antichrist, when he opposed the pretension of his rival metropolitan to call himself Universal Bishop, the Bishops of Rome were deterred by no considerations of humility or religion from establishing their temporal power. Up to this time they had humbly received the ratification of their election from the Emperors of the East, whose subjects they still remained. But the seat of their empire was far off, their power was a tradition of the past, and great thoughts came into the hearts of the spiritual chiefs, of inroads on the territory of the temporal rulers. In this design they looked round for supporters and allies, and with a still more watchful eye on the quarters from which opposition was to be feared. The bishops as a body had fallen not only into contempt but hatred. One century had sufficed to extinguish the elegant scholarship I have mentioned, at one time characteristic of the Christian prelates. Ignorance had become the badge of all the governors of the Church--ignorance and debauchery, and a tyrannical oppression of their inferiors. The wise old man in Rome saw what advantage he might derive from this, and took the monks under his peculiar protection, relieved them from the supervision of the local bishop, and made them immediately dependent on himself. By this one stroke he gained the unflinching support of the most influential body in Europe. Wherever they went they held forth the Pope as the first of earthly powers, and began already, in the enthusiasm of their gratitude, to speak of him as something more than mortal. To this the illiterate preachers and prelates had nothing to reply. They were sunk either in the grossest darkness, or involved in the wildest schemes of ambition, bishoprics being even held by laymen, and by both priest and laymen used as instruments of advancement and wealth. From these the Pontiff on the Tiber, whose weaknesses and vices were unknown, and who was held up for invidious contrast with the bishops of their acquaintance by the libellous and grateful monks, had nothing to fear. He looked to another quarter in the political sky, and perceived with satisfaction that the kingly office also had fallen into contempt. Having lost the first impulse which carried it triumphantly over the dismembered Roman world, and made it a tower of strength in the hands of warriors like Theodoric the Goth and Clovis the Frank, it had forfeited its influence altogether in the pitiful keeping of the bloodthirsty or do-nothing kings who had submitted to the tutelage of the Mayors of the Palace. One of the great supports of the royal influence was the fiction of the law by which all lands were supposed to hold of the Crown. As in ancient days, in the German or Scythian deserts, the ambitious chieftain had presented his favourite with spear or war-horse in token of approval, so in the early days of the conquest of Gaul, the leader had presented his followers with tracts of land. The war-horse, under the old arrangement, died, and the spear became rotten; but the land was subject neither to death nor decay. What, then, was to become of the warrior's holding when he died? On this question, apparently so personal to the barbaric chiefs of the time of Dagobert of Gaul, depended the whole course of European history. The kings claimed the power of re-entering on the lands in case of the demise of the proprietor, or even in case of his rebellion or disobedience. The Leud, as he was called--or feudatory, as he would have been named at a later time--disputed this, and contended for the perpetuity and inalienability of the gift. It is easy to perceive who were the winners in this momentous struggle. From the success of the leuds arose the feudal system, with limited monarchies and national nobilities. The success of the kings would have resulted in despotic thrones and enslaved populations. Foremost in the struggle for the royal supremacy had been the famous and unprincipled Brunehild, a woman more resembling the unnatural creation of a romance than a real character. She had succeeded at one time in subordinating the leuds, by exterminating the recusants with remorseless cruelty; and her triumph might have been final and irrevocable if she had not had the bad luck or impolitic hardihood to offend the Church. The Abbot Columba, a holy man from the far-distant island of Iona in the Hebrides of Scotland, had ventured to upbraid her with her crimes. She banished him from the Abbey of Luxeuil with circumstances of peculiar harshness, and there was no hope for her more. The leuds she might have overcome singly, for they were disunited and scattered; but now there was not a monastery in Europe which did not side with her foes. Clotaire, her grandson, marched against her at the instigation of priests and leuds combined. She was conquered and taken. She was tortured for three days with all the ingenuity of hatred, and on the fourth was tied to the tails of four wild horses and torn to pieces, though the mother, sister, daughter, of kings, and now more than eighty years of age. And this brings us to the institution and use of the strange officers we have already named Mayors of the Palace. To aid them in their efforts against the royal assumptions, the leuds long ago had elected one of themselves to be domestic adviser of the king, and also to command the armies in war. This soon became the recognised right of the Mayor of the Palace; and as in that state of society the wars were nearly perpetual, and bearers of arms the only wielders of power, the person invested with the command was in reality the supreme authority in the State. When the king happened to be feeble either in body or mind, the mayor supplied his place, without even the appearance of inferiority; and when Dagobert, the last active member of the Merovingian family, died in 638, his successors were merely the nominal holders of the Crown. A new race rose into importance, and it will not be very long before we meet the hereditary Mayors of the Palace as hereditary Kings of the Franks. Here, then, was the whole of Europe heaving with some inevitable change. It will be interesting to look at the position of its different parts before they settled into their new relations. The constitutions of the various kingdoms were very nearly alike at this time. There were popular assemblies in every nation. In France they were called the "Fields of May" or of "March," in England the "Wittenagemot," in Spain the "Council of Toledo." These meetings consisted of the freemen and landholders and bishops. But it was soon found inconvenient for the freemen and smaller proprietors to attend, in consequence of the length of the journey and the miserable condition of the roads; and the nobles and bishops were the sole persons who represented the State. The nobles held a parallel rank to each other in all countries, though called by different names. In France, a person in possession of any office connected with the court, or of lands presented by the Crown, was called a leud or entrustion, a count or companion, or vassal. In England he was called a royal thane. The lower order of freemen were called herimans, or inferior thanes; in Latin _liberi_, or more simply, _boni homines_, good men. Below these were the Romans, or old inhabitants of the country; below these, the serfs or bondmen attached to the soil; and far down, below them all, out of all hope or consideration, the slaves, who were the mere chattels of their lords. This, then, was the constitution of European society when the Arabian conquests began--at the head of the nation the King, at the head of the people the Church; the nobles followed according to their birth or power; the freemen, whether citizens engaged in the first infant struggles of trade, or occupying a farm, came next; and the wretched catalogue was ended by the despoiled serf, from whom every thing, even his property in himself, had been taken away. There were laws for the protection or restraint of each of these orders, and we may gather an idea of the ranks they held in public estimation by the following table of the price of blood:-- Sols. For the murder of a freeman, companion, or leud of the king, killed in his palace by an armed band 1800 A duke--among the Bavarians, a bishop 960 A relation of a duke 640 The king's leud, a count, a priest, a judge 600 A deacon 500 A freeman, of the Salians or Ripuarians 200 A freeman, of the other tribes 160 The slave--a good workman in gold 100 The man of middle station, a colon, or good workman in silver 100 The freedman 80 The slave, if a barbarian--that is, of the conquering tribe 55 The slave, a workman in iron 50 The serf of the Church or the king 45 The swineherd 30 The slave, among the Bavarians 20 Distinctions of dress pointed out still more clearly the difference of rank and station. The principal variety, however, was the method of wearing the hair. The chieftain among the Franks considered the length and profusion of his locks as the mark of his superiority. His broad flowing tresses were divided up the middle of his head, and floated over his shoulders. They were curled and oiled--not with common butter, like some other nations, says an author quoted by Chateaubriand; not twisted in little plaits, like those of the Goths, but carefully combed out to their full luxuriance. The common soldier, on the other hand, wore his hair long in front, but trimmed close behind. They swore by their hair as the most sacred of their oaths, and offered a tress to the Church on returning from a successful war. From this peculiar consideration given to the hair arose the custom, still prevalent, of shaving the heads of ecclesiastics. They were the serfs of God, and sacrificed their locks in token that they were no longer free. When a chief was dishonoured, when a king was degraded, when a rival was to be rendered incapable of opposition, he was not, as in barbarous countries, put to death: he was merely made bald. No amount of popularity, no degree of right, could rouse the people in support of a person whose head was bare. When his hair grew again, he might again become formidable; but the scissors were always at hand. A tyrannical king clipped his enemies' hair, instead of taking off their heads. They were condemned to the barber instead of the executioner, and sometimes thought the punishment more severe. The sons of Clothilde sent an emissary to her, bearing in his hand a sword and a pair of scissors. "O queen," he said, "your sons, our masters, wish to know whether you will have your grandchildren slain or clipped." The queen paused for a moment, and then said, "If my grandchildren are doomed not to mount the throne, I would rather have them dead than hairless." Distinguished thus from the lower orders, the nobility soon found that their interests differed from those of the Church. The Church placed itself at the head of the democracy in opposition to the overweening pretensions of the chiefs. It opened its ranks to the conquered races, and invested even the converted serf with dignities which placed him above the level of Thane or Count. The head of the Western Church, now by general consent recognised in the Bishop of Rome, was not slow to see the advantage of his position as leader of a combination in favour of the million. The doctrine of the equality of all men in the sight of Heaven was easily commuted into a demand of universal submission to the Holy See; and so wide was the range given to this claim to obedience that it embraced the proudest of the nobles and haughtiest of kings. It was a satisfaction to the slave in his dungeon to hear that the great man in his castle had been forced to do homage to the Church. There was one earthly power to which the oppressed could look up with the certainty of support. It was this intimate persuasion in the minds of the people which gave such undying vigour to the counsels and pretensions of the ecclesiastical power. It was a power sprung from the people, and exercised for the benefit of the people. The Popes themselves were generally selected from the lowest rank. But what did it matter to the man who led the masses of the trampled nations, and stood as a shield between them and their tyrants, whether he claimed relationship with emperors or slaves? What did it matter, on the other hand, to those hoping and trusting multitudes, whether the object of their confidence was personally a miracle of goodness and virtue, or a monster of sin and cruelty? It was his office to trample on the necks of kings and nobles, and bid the captive go free. While he continued true to the people, the people were true to him. Monarchs who governed mighty nations, and dukes who ruled in provinces the size of kingdoms, looked on with surprise at the growth of a power supported apparently by no worldly arms, but which penetrated to them through their courts and armies. There was no great mind to guide the opposition to its claims. The bishops were sunk in ignorance and sloth, and had lost the respect of their countrymen. The populations everywhere were divided. The succession to the throne was uncertain. The Franks, the leading nation, were never for any length of time under one head. Neustria, or the Western State, comprising all the land between the Meuse, the Loire, and the Mediterranean, Austrasia, or the Eastern State, comprising the land between the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Moselle, and Burgundy, extending from the Loire to the Alps, were at one time united under a common head, and at another held by hostile kings. The Visigoths were obscurely quarrelling about points of divinity within their barrier of the Pyrenees. England was the battle-field of half a dozen little chieftains who called themselves kings; Germany was only civilized on its western border. Italy was cut up into many States, Lombards looking with suspicion on the Exarchate, which was still nominally attached to the Eastern Empire, and Greeks established in the South, sighing for the restoration of their power. Over all this chaos of contending powers appeared the mitre and crozier of the Pope; always at the head of the disaffected people, supported by the monks, who felt the tyranny of the bishops as keenly as the commonalty felt the injustice of their lords; always threatening vengeance on overweening baron or refractory monarch--enhancing his influence with the glory of new miracles wrought in his support, and witnessed unblushingly by preaching friars, who were the missionaries of papal power; concentrating all authority in his hands, and gradually laying the foundation for a trampling and domination over mind and body such as the world had never seen. From this almost universal prostration before the claims of Rome, it is curious to see that the native Irish were totally free. With contemptuous independence, they for a long time rejected the arrogant assumptions of the successor of St. Peter, and were firm in their maintenance of the equality of all the Sees. It was from the newly-converted Anglo-Saxons that the chief recruits in the campaign against the liberties of the national churches were collected. Almost all the names of missionaries on behalf of the Roman pontiff in this century have the home-sound in our ears of "Wigbert," "Willibald," "Wernefried," or "Adalbert." But there are no Gaelic patronymics from the Churches of Ireland or Wales. They were sisters, they haughtily said, not daughters of the Roman See, as the Anglo-Saxon Church had been; and dwelt with pride on the antiquity of their conversion before the pretensions of the Roman Bishops had been heard of; and thus was added one more to the elements of dissension which wasted the strength of Europe at the very time when unanimity was most required. But towards the end of this period the rumours of a new power in the East drew men's attention to the defenceless state in which their internal disagreements had left them. The monasteries were filled with exaggerated reports of the progress of this vast invasion, which not only threatened the national existences of Europe, but the Christian faith. It was a hostile creed and a destroying enemy. What had the Huns been, compared with this new swarm--not of savage warriors turned aside with a bribe or won by a prayer, but enthusiasts in what they considered a holy cause, flushed with victory, armed and disciplined in a style superior to any thing the West could show? We should try to enter into the feelings of that distant time, when day by day myriads of strange and hitherto unconquerable enemies were reported to be on their march. In the year 621 of the Christian era, Mohammed made his triumphant entry into Medina, a great city of Arabia, having been expelled from Mecca by the enmity of the Jews and the tribe of Koreish. This entry is called the Hegira or Flight, and forms the commencement of the Moslem chronology. All their records are dated from this event. The persons who accompanied him were few in number--his father-in-law, some of his wives, and some of his warriors; but the procession was increased by the numerous believers in his prophetship who resided in the town. At this place began the public worship inculcated by the leader. The worshippers were summoned by a voice sounding from the highest pinnacle of the mosque or church, and pronouncing the words which to this hour are heard from every minaret in the East:--"God is great! God is great! There is no God but God. Mohammed is the apostle of God. Come to prayers, come to prayers!" and when the invitation is given at early dawn, the declaration is added, "Prayer is better than sleep! prayer is better than sleep." These exhortations were not without their intended effect. Prayer was uttered by many lips, and sleep was banished from many eyes; but the prayers were never thought so effectual as when accompanied by sword and lance. Courage and devotedness were now the great supports of the faith. Ali, the husband of Fatima the favourite daughter of the chief, fought and prayed with the same irresistible force. He conquered the unbelieving Jews and Koreishites, cleaving armed men from the crown to the chin with one blow, and wielding a city gate which eight men could not lift, as a shield. Abou Beker, whose daughter was one of the wives of Mohammed, was little inferior to Ali; and Mohammed himself saw visions which comforted and inspired his followers in the midst of battle, and shouted, "On, on! Fight and fear not! The gates of Paradise are under the shade of swords. He will assuredly find instant admission who falls fighting for the faith!" It was impossible to play the hypocrite in a religion where such strength of arm and sharpness of blade were required. Prayers might indeed be mechanical, or said for show, but the fighting was a real thing, and, as such, prevailed over all the shams which were opposed to it. Looking forth already beyond the narrow precincts of his power, Mohammed saw in the distance, across the desert, the proud empires of Persia and Constantinople. To both he wrote letters demanding their allegiance as God's Prophet, and threatening vengeance if they disobeyed. Chosroes, the Persian, tore the letter to pieces. "Even so," said Mohammed, "shall his kingdom be torn." Heraclius the Greek was more respectful. He placed the missive on his pillow, and very naturally fell asleep, and thought of it no more. But his descendants were not long of having their pillows quite so provocative of repose. The city of Medina grew too small to hold the Prophet's followers, and they went forth conquering and to conquer. There were Abou Beker the wise, and Omar the faithful, and Khaled the brave, and Ali the sword of God. Mecca fell before them, and city after city sent in its adhesion to the claims of a Prophet who had such dreadful interpreters as these. The religion he preached was comparatively true. He destroyed the idols of the land, inculcated soberness, chastity, charity, and, by some faint transmission of the precepts of the Bible, inculcated brotherly love and forgiveness of wrong. But the sword was the true gospel. Its light was spread in Syria and all the adjoining territories. People in apparently sheltered positions could never be sure for an hour that the missionaries of the new faith would not be climbing over their walls with shouts of conquest, and giving them the option of conversion or death. Power spread in gradually-widening circles, but at the centre sad things were going on. Mohammed was getting old. He lost his only son. He laid him in the grave with tears and sighs, and made his farewell pilgrimage to Mecca. Had he no relentings at the visible approach of the end? Was he to go to the grave untouched by all the calamities he had brought upon mankind? the blood he had shed, the multitudes he had beguiled? He had no touch of remorse for any of these things; rather he continued firmer in his course than ever--seemed more persuaded of the genuineness of his mission, and uttered prophecies of the universal extension of his faith. "When the angels ask thee who thou art," he said, as the body of his son was lowered into the tomb, "say, God is my Lord, the Prophet of God was my father, and my faith was Islam!" Islam continued his own faith till the last. He tottered to the mosque where Abou Beker was engaged in leading the prayers of the congregation, and addressed the people for the last time. "Every thing happens," he said, "according to the will of God, and has its appointed time, which is not to be hastened or avoided. My last command to you is that you remain united; that you love, honour, and uphold each other; that you exhort each other to faith and constancy in belief, and to the performance of pious deeds: by these alone men prosper; all else leads to destruction." A few days after this there was grief and lamentation all over the faithful lands. He died on his sixty-third birthday, in the eleventh year of the Hegira, which answers to our year 632. Great contentions arose among the chief disciples for the succession to the leadership of the faithful. Abou Beker was father-in-law of the Prophet, and his daughter supported his cause. Omar was also father-in-law of the Prophet, and his daughter supported his cause. Othman had married two of the daughters of the Prophet, but both were dead, and they had left no living child. Ali, the hero of the conquest, was cousin-german of the Prophet, and husband of his only surviving daughter. Already the practices of a court were perceptible in the Emir's tent. The courtiers caballed and quarrelled; but Ayesha, the daughter of Abou Beker, had been Mohammed's favourite wife, and her influence was the most effectual. How this influence was exercised amid the Oriental habits of the time, and the seclusion to which the women were subjected, it is difficult to decide; but, after a struggle between her and Hafya, the daughter of Omar, the widowed Othman was found to have no chance; and only Ali remained, still young and ardent, and fittest, to all ordinary judgments, to be the leader of the armies of Allah. While consulting with some friends in the tent of Fatima, his rivals came to an agreement. In a distant part of the town a meeting had been called, and the claims of the different pretenders debated. Suddenly Omar walked across to where Abou Beker stood, bent lowly before him, and kissed his hand in token of submission, saying, "Thou art the oldest companion and most secret friend of the Prophet, and art therefore worthy to rule us in his place." The example was contagious, and Abou Beker was installed as commander and chief of the believers. A resolution was come to at the same time, that any attempt at seizing the supremacy against the popular will should be punished with death. Ali was constrained to yield, but lived in haughty submission till Fatima died. He then rose up in his place, and taking his two sons with him, Hassan and Hossein, retired into the inner district of Arabia, carrying thus from the camp of the usurping caliph the only blood of the Prophetchief which flowed in human veins. Yet the spirit of the Prophet animated the whole mass. Energy equal to Ali's was exhibited in Khaled. Omar was earnest in the collection of all the separated portions of the Koran. Othman was burning to spread the new empire over the whole earth; and in this combination of courage, ambition, and fanaticism all Arabia found its interest to join, and ere a year had elapsed from the death of the Prophet, the whole of that peninsula, and all the swart warriors who travelled its sandy steppes, had accepted the great watchword of his religion--"There is no God but God, and Mohammed is the Prophet of God." Ere another year had elapsed the desert had sent forth its swarms. The plains of Asia were overflowed. The battle-cry of Zeyd, the general of the army, was heard in the great commercial cities of the East, and in the lands where the gospel of peace had first been uttered, Emasa and Damascus, and on the banks of Jordan. It was natural that the first effort of the false should be directed against the true. But not indiscriminate was the wrath of Abou Beker against the professors of Christianity. The claims of that dispensation were ever treated with respect, but the depraved priesthood were held up to contempt. "Destroy not fruit-tree nor fertile field on your path," these were the instructions of the Caliph to the leaders of the host. "Be just, and spare the feelings of the vanquished. Respect all religious persons who live in hermitages or convents, and spare their edifices. But should you meet with a class of unbelievers of a different kind, who go about with shaven crowns, and belong to the synagogue of Satan, be sure you cleave their skulls, unless they embrace the true faith or render tribute." Gentle and merciful, therefore, to the peaceful inhabitants, respectful to the gloomy anchorite and industrious monk, but breathing death and disgrace against the proud bishop and ambitious presbyter, the mighty horde moved on. Syria fell; the Persian monarchy was menaced, and its western provinces seized; a Christian kingdom called Hira, situated on the confines of Babylonia, was made tributary to Medina; and Khaled stood triumphant on the banks of the Euphrates, and sent a message to the Great King, commanding him either to receive the faith, or atone for his incredulity with half his wealth. The despot's ears were unaccustomed to such words, and the fiery deluge went on. At the end of the third year, Abou Beker died, and Omar was the successor appointed by his will. This was already a departure from the law of popular election, but Islam was busy with its conquests far from its central home, and accepted the nomination. Khaled's course continued westward and eastward, forcing his resistless wedge between the exhausted but still majestic empires of the Greeks and Persians. Blow after blow resounded as the great march went on. Constantinople, and Madayn upon the Tigris, the capitals of Christianity and Mithrism, were equally alarmed and equally powerless. Omar, the Caliph--the word means the Successor of the Apostle--determined to join the army which was encamped against the walls of Jerusalem, and added fresh vigour to the assailants by the knowledge that they fought under his eye. Heraclius, the degenerate inheritor of the throne of Constantine, and Yezdegird, the successor of Darius and Xerxes, if they had moved towards the seat of war would have been surrounded by all the pomp of their exalted stations. Battalions of guards would have encompassed their persons, and countless officers of their courts attended their progress. Omar, who saw already the world at his feet, journeyed by slow stages on a wretched camel, carrying his provisions hanging from his saddle-bow, and slept at night under the shelter of some tree, or on the margin of some well. He had but one suit, and that of worsted material, and yet his word was law to all those breathless listeners, and wherever he placed his foot from that moment became holy ground. Jerusalem and Aleppo yielded; Antioch, the chief seat of Grecian government, fell into his hands; Tyre and Tripoli submitted to his power; and the Saracenic hosts only paused when they reached the border of the sea, which they knew washed the fairest shores of Africa and Europe. It did not much matter who was in nominal command. Khaled died; Amru took his place; and yet the tide went on. The great city of Alexandria, which disputed with Constantinople the title of Capital of the World, with its almost fabulous wealth, its four thousand palaces, and five thousand baths, and four hundred theatres, was twice taken, and brought on the submission and conversion of the whole of Egypt. Amru in his hours of leisure was devoted to the cultivation of taste and genius. In John the Grammarian, a Christian student, he found a congenial spirit. Poetry, philosophy, and rhetoric were treated of in the conversations of the Arabic conqueror and the monkish scholar. At last, in reliance on his literary taste, the priest confided to the Moslem that in a certain building in the town there was a library so vast that it had no equal on earth either for number or value of the manuscripts it contained. This was too important a treasure to be dealt with without the express sanction of the Caliph. So the Christian legend is, that Omar replied to the announcement of his general, "Either what those books contain is in the Koran, or it is not. If it is, these volumes are useless; if it is not, they are wicked. Burn them." The skins and parchments heated the baths of Alexandria for many months, irrecoverable monuments of the past, and an everlasting disgrace to the Saracen name. Yet the story has been doubted; at least, the extent of the destruction. Rather, it has been supposed, the ignorant fanaticism of the illiterate monks, in covering with the legends of saints the obliterated lines of the classic authors, has been more destructive to the literary treasures of those ancient times than the furious zeal of Amru or the bigotry of Omar. If this great overflow from the desert of Arabia had consisted of nothing but armed warriors or destructive fanatics, its course would have been as transient as it was terrible. The Gothic invaders who had desolated Europe fortunately possessed the flexibility and adaptiveness of mind which fitted them for the reception of the purer faith and more refined manners of the vanquished races. They mixed with the people who submitted to their power, and in a short time adopted their habits and religion. Whatever faith they professed in their original seats, seems to have worn out in the long course of their immigration. The powers they had worshipped in their native wilds were local, and dependent on clime and soil. An easy opening, therefore, was left for Christianity into hearts where no hostile deity guarded the portal of approach. But with the Saracens the case was reversed. Incapable of assimilation with any rival belief--jealously exclusive of the commonest intercourse with the nations they subdued--unbending, contemptuous to others, and carried on by burning enthusiasm in their own cause, and confidence in the Prophet they served, there was no possibility of softening or elevating them from without. The pomps of religious worship, which so awed the wondering tribes of Franks and Lombards, were lost on a people who considered all pomp offensive both to God and man. They saw the sublimity of simple plainness both in word and life. Their caliph lived on rice, and saddled his camel with his own hands. He ordered a palace to be burned, which Seyd, who had conquered for him the capital of Persia, had built for his occupation. Unsocial, bigoted, austere, drinking no wine, accumulating no personal wealth, how was the mind of this warrior of the wilderness to be trained to the habits of civilized society, or turned aside from the rude instincts of destructiveness and domination? But the Arab intellect was subtle and active. Mohammedanism, indeed, armed the multitude in an exciting cause, and sent them forth like a destroying fire; but there was wisdom, policy, refinement, among the chiefs. While they devastated the worn-out territories of the Persian, and laid waste his ostentatious cities, which had been purposely built in useless places to show the power of the king, they founded great towns on sites so adapted for the purposes of trade and protection that they continue to the present time the emporiums and fortresses of their lands. Balsorah, at the top of the Persian Gulf, at the junction of the Tigris and the Euphrates, was as wisely selected for the commercial wants of that period as Constantinople itself. Bagdad was encouraged, Cufa built and peopled in exchange for the gorgeous but unwholesome Madayn, from which Yezdegird was driven. Many other towns rose under the protection of the Crescent; and by the same impulse which made the Saracens anxious to raise new centres of wealth and enterprise in the East, they were excited to the most amazing efforts to make themselves masters of the greatest city in the world, the seat of arts, of literature, and religion; and they pushed forward from river to river, from plain to plain, till, in the year 672, they raised their victorious standard in front of the walls of Constantinople. Here, however, a new enemy came to the encounter, and for the first time scattered dismay among the Moslem ranks. From the towers and turrets came down a shower of fire, burning, scorching, destroying, wherever it touched. Projected to great distances, and wrapping in a moment ship after ship in unextinguishable flames, these discharges appeared to the warriors of the Crescent a supernatural interference against them. This was the famous Greek fire, of which the components are not now known, but it was destructive beyond gunpowder itself. Water could not quench it, nor length of time weaken its power. For five successive years the assault was renewed by fresh battalions of the Saracens, but always with the same result. So, giving up at last their attempts against a place guarded by lightning and by the unmoved courage of the Greek population, they poured their thousands along the northern shores of Africa. Cyrene, the once glorious capital of the Pentapolis, in which Carthage saw her rival and Athens her superior, yielded to their power. Everywhere high-peaked mosques, rising where a short time before the shore had been unoccupied or in cities where the Basilicas of Christian worship had been thrown down, marked the course of conquest. Carthage received its new lords. Hippo, the bishopric of the best of ancient saints, the holy Augustine, saw its church supplanted by the temples of the Arabian impostor. A check was sustained at Tchuda, where their course was interrupted by a combined assault of Christian Greeks and the indigenous Berbers. Internal troubles also arrested their career, for there were disputes for the succession, and court intrigues and open murders, and all the usual accompaniments of a contest for an elective throne. One after another, the Caliphs had been murdered, or had died of broken hearts. The old race--the "Companions," as they were called, because they had been the contemporaries and friends of Mohammed--had died out. Ali, after three disappointments, had at last been chosen. His sons Hassan and Hossein had been put to death; and it was only in the time of the eighth successor, when Abdelmalek had overcome all competition, that the unity of the Moslem Empire was restored, and the word given for conquest as before. This was in the 77th year of the Hegira, (698 of our era,) and an army was let loose upon the great city of Carthage, at the same time that movements were again ordered across the limits of the Grecian Empire, in Asia, and advances made towards Constantinople. Carthage fell--Tripoli was occupied--and now, with their territories stretching in unbroken line from Syria along the two thousand miles of the southern shore of the great Mediterranean Sea, the conquerors rested from their labours for a while, and prepared themselves for a dash across the narrow channel, from which the hills of Atlas and the summits of Gibraltar are seen at the same time. What has Europe, with its divided peoples, its worn-out kings, its indolent Church, and exhausted fields, to oppose to this compact phalanx of united blood, burning with fanatical faith, submissive to one rule, and supported by all the wealth of Asia and Africa; whose fleets sweep the sea, and whose myriads are every day increased by the accession of fresh nations of Berbers, Mauritanians, and the nameless children of the desert? This is the hopeless century. Manhood, patriotism, Christianity itself, are all at the lowest ebb. But let us turn to the next, and see how good is worked out of evil, and acknowledge, as in so many instances the historian is obliged to do, that man can form no estimate of the future from the plainest present appearances, but that all things are in the hands of a higher intelligence than ours. EIGHTH CENTURY. Kings of the Franks. A.D. CHILDEBERT III.--(_cont._) 711. DAGOBERT III.} 716. CHILDERIC. } CHARLES MARTEL Mayor. 720. THIERRY. } 742. CHILDERIC III. _Carlovingian Line._ 751. PEPIN THE SHORT. 768. CHARLEMAGNE. Emperors of the East. A.D. TIBERIUS.--(_cont._) 711. PHILIPPICUS BARDANES. 713. ANASTASIUS II. 714. THEODOSIUS III. 716. LEO THE ISAURIAN. 741. CONSTANTINE COPRONYMUS. 775. LEO IV. 781. CONSTANTINE PORPHYROGENITUS. 802. NICEPHORUS. Authors. ALCUIN, (735-804,) BEDE, (674-735,) EGBERT, CLEMENS, DUNGAL, ACCA, JOHN DAMASCANUS. THE EIGHTH CENTURY. TEMPORAL POWER OF THE POPES--THE EMPIRE OF CHARLEMAGNE. This is indeed a great century, which has Pepin of Heristhal at its commencement and Charlemagne at its end. In this period we shall see the course of the dissolution of manners and government arrested throughout the greater part of Europe, and a new form given to its ruling powers. We must remember that up to this time the progress of what we now call civilization was very slow; or we may perhaps almost say that the extent of civilized territory was smaller than it had been at the final breaking up of the Roman Empire four hundred years before. England had lost the elevating influences which the residence of Roman generals and the presence of disciplined forces had spread from the seats of their government. Every occupied position had been a centre of life and learning; and we see still, from the discoveries which the antiquaries of the present day are continually making, that the dwellings of the Prætors and military commanders were constructed in a style of luxury and refinement which argues a high state of culture and art. All round the circumference of the Romanized portion of Britain these head-quarters of order and improvement were fixed; outside of it lay the obscure and tumultuous populations of Wales and Scotland; and if we trace the situations of the towns with terminations derived from _castra_, (a camp,) we shall see, by stretching a line from Winchester in the south to Ilchester, thence up to Gloucester, Worcester, Wroxeter, and Chester, how carefully the Western Gael were prevented from ravaging the peaceful and orderly inhabitants; and, as the same precautions were taken to the North against the Picts and Scots, we shall easily be able to estimate the effect of those numerous schools of life and manners on the country-districts in which they were placed. All these establishments had been removed. Barbarism had reasserted her ancient reign; and at the century we have now reached, the institution which alone could compete in its elevating effect with the old imperial subordination, the Christian Church, had not yet established its authority except for the benefit of ambitious bishops; and the same anarchy reigned in the ecclesiastical body as in the civil orders. The eight or nine kingdoms spread over the land were sufficiently powerful in their separate nationalities to prevent any unity of feeling among the subjects of the different crowns. A prelate of the court of Deiria had no point of union with a prelate protected by the kings of Wessex. And it was this very incapacity of combination at home, from the multiplicity of kings, which led to the astonishing spectacle in this century of the efforts of the Anglo-Saxon clergy in behalf of the Bishop of Rome in distant countries. In this great struggle to extend the power of the Popes, the regular orders particularly distinguished themselves. The fact of submitting to convent-rules, of giving up the stormy pleasures of independence for the safe placidity of unreasoning obedience, is a proof of the desire in many human minds of having something to which they can look up, something to obey, in obeying which their self-respect may be preserved, even in the act of offering up their self-will--a desire which, in civil actions and the atmosphere of a court, leads to slavery and every vice, but in a monastery conducts to the noblest sacrifices, and fills the pages of history with saints and martyrs. The Anglo-Saxon, looking out of his convent, saw nothing round him which could give him hope or comfort. Laws were unsettled, the various little principalities were either hostile or unconnected, there was no great combining authority from which orders could be issued with the certainty of being obeyed; and even the clergy, thinly scattered, and dependent on the capricious favour or exposed to the ignorant animosity of their respective sovereigns, were torn into factions, and practically without a chief. But theoretically there was the noblest chiefship that ever was dreamed of by ambition. The lowly heritage of Peter had expanded into the universal government of the Church. In France this claim had not yet been urged; in the East it had been contemptuously rejected; in Italy the Lombard kings were hostile; in Spain the Visigoths were heretic, and at war among themselves; in Germany the gospel had not yet been heard; in Ireland the Church was a rival bitterly defensive of its independence; but in England, among the earnest, thoughtful Anglo-Saxons, the majestic idea of a great family of all the Christian Churches, wherever placed, presided over by the Vicar of Christ and receiving laws from his hallowed lips, had impressed itself beyond the possibility of being effaced. Rome was to them the residence of God's vicegerent upon earth; obedience to him was worship, and resistance to his slightest wish presumption and impiety. So at the beginning of this century holy men left their monasteries in Essex, and Warwickshire, and Devon, and knelt at the footstool of the Pope, and swore fealty and submission to the Holy See. It has often been observed that the Papacy differs from other powers in the continued vitality of its members long after the life has left it at the heart. Rome was weak at the centre, but strong at the extremity of its domain. The Emperor of Constantinople looked on the Pope as his representative in Church-affairs, ratified his election, and exacted tribute on his appointment. The Exarch of Ravenna, representing as he did the civil majesty of the successor of the Cæsars, looked down on him as his subordinate. There was also a duke in Rome whose office it was to superintend the proceedings of the bishop, and another officer resident in the Grecian court to whom the bishop was responsible for the management of his delegated powers. But outside of all this depression and subordination, among tribes of half-barbaric blood, among dreamy enthusiasts contemplating what seemed to them the simple and natural scheme of an earthly judge infallible in wisdom and divinely inspired; among bewildered and trampled ecclesiastics, looking forth into the night, and seeing, far above all the storms and darkness that surrounded them in their own distracted land, a star by which they might steer their course, undimmed and unalterable--the Pope of Rome was the highest and holiest of created men. No thought is worth any thing that continues in barren speculation. Honour, then, to the brave monks of England who went forth the missionaries of the Papal kings! Better the struggles and dangers of a plunge among the untamed savages of Friesland, and the blood-stained forests of the farthest Germany, in fulfilment of the office to which they felt themselves called, than the lazy, slumbering way of life which had already begun to be considered the fulfilment of conventual vows. Soldiers of the Cross were they, though fighting for the advancement of an ambitious commander more than the success of the larger cause; and we may well exult in the virtues which their undoubting faith in the supremacy of the pontiff called forth, since it contrasts so nobly with the apathy and indifference to all high and self-denying co-operation which characterized the rest of the world. We shall see the monk Winifried penetrate, as the Pope's minister, into the darkness beyond the Rhine, and emerge, with crozier and mitre, as Boniface the Archbishop of Mayence, and converter to the Christian faith of great and populous nations which were long the most earnest supporters of the rights and pre-eminence of Rome. This is one strong characteristic of this century, the increased vigour of the Papacy by the efforts of the Anglo-Saxons on its behalf; and now we are going to another still stronger characteristic, the further increase of its influence by the part it played in the change of dynasty in France. A strange fortune, which in the old Greek mythologies would have been looked on as a fate, overshadowing the blood-stained house of Clovis, had befallen his descendants through all their generations for more than a hundred years. Feeble in mind, and even degenerated in body, the kings of that royal line had been a sight of grief and humiliation to their nominal subjects. Married at fifteen, they had all sunk into premature old age, or died before they were thirty. Too listless for work, and too ignorant for council, they had accepted the restricted sphere within which their duties were confined, and showed themselves, on solemn occasions, at the festivals of the Church, and other great anniversaries, bearing, like their ancestors, the long flowing locks which were the natural sign of their crowned supremacy, seated in a wagon drawn by oxen, and driven by a wagoner with a goad--a primitive relic of vanished times, and as much out of place in Paris in the eighth century as the state carriage of the Queen or the Lord-Mayor's coach of the present day among ourselves Strange thoughts must have passed through the minds of the spectators as they saw the successors of the rough leader of the Franks degraded to this condition; but the change had been gradual; the public sentiment had become reconciled to the apparent uselessness of the highest offices of the State; for under another title, and with much inferior rank, there was a man who held the reins of government with a hand of iron, and whose power was perhaps strengthened by the fiction which called him the servant and minister of the _fainéant_ or do-nothing king. A succession of men arose in the family of the mayors of the palace, as remarkable for policy and talent as the representatives of the royal line were for the want of these qualities. The origin of their office was conveniently forgotten, or converted by the flattery of their dependants into an equality with the monarchs. Chosen, they said, by the same elective body which nominated the king, they were as much entitled to the command of the army and the administration of the law as their nominal masters to the possession of the palace and royal name. And when for a long period this claim was allowed, who was there to stand up in opposition, either legal or forcible, to a man who appointed all the judges and commanded all the troops? The office at last became hereditary. The successive mayors left their dignity to their sons by will; and time might have been slow in bringing power and title into harmony with each by giving the name of king to the man who already exercised all the kingly power and fulfilled all the kingly duties, if Charles Martel, the mayor, had not, in 732, established such claims to the gratitude of Europe by his defeat of the Saracens, who were about to overrun the whole of Christendom, that it was impossible to refuse either to himself or his successor the highest dignity which Europe had to bestow. When other rulers and princes were willing to acknowledge his superiority, not only in power, but in rank and dignity, it was necessary that their submission should be offered, not to a mere Major-domo, or chief domestic of a court, but to a free sovereign and anointed king. The two most amazing fictions, therefore, which ever flourished on the contemptuous forbearance of mankind, were both about to expire beneath the breath of reality at this time--the kingship of the descendants of Clovis, and the pretensions of the successors of Constantine. The Saracens appeared upon the scene, and those gibbering and unsubstantial ghosts, as if they scented the morning air, immediately disappeared. The Emperors of the East, by a self-deluding process, which preserved their dignity and flattered their pride, professed still to consider themselves the lords of the Roman Empire, and took particular pains to acknowledge the kings and potentates, who established themselves in the various portions of it, as their representatives and lieutenants. They lost no time in sending the title of Patrician and the ensigns of royal rank to the successful founders of a new dynasty, and had gained their object if they received the new ruler's thanks in return. At Rome, as we have said, they protected the bishop, and gave him the investiture of his office. They retained also the territories called the Exarchate of Ravenna, but with no power of vindicating their authority if it was disputed, or of exacting revenue, except what the gratitude of the bishop or the Exarch might induce them to present to their patron on their nomination or instalment. A long-haired, sad-countenanced, decrepit young man in a wagon drawn by oxen, and a vain voluptuary, wrapped in Oriental splendour, without influence or wealth, were the representatives at this time of the irresistible power of the Frankish warriors, and the glories of Julius and Augustus. But the present had its representatives as well as the past. Charles Martel had still the Frankish sword at his command; the Roman Pontiff had thousands ready to believe and support his claims to be the spiritual ruler of the world. Something was required to unite them in one vast effort at unity and independence, and this opportunity was afforded them by the common danger to which the Saracenic invasion exposed equally the civil and ecclesiastical power. Africa, we have seen, was fringed along the whole of the Mediterranean border with the followers of the Prophet. In one generation the blood of the Arabian and Mauritanian deserts became so blended, that no distinction whatever existed between the men of Mecca and Medina and the native tribes. Where Carthaginian and Roman civilization had never penetrated, the faith of Mohammed was accepted as an indigenous growth. Fanaticism and ambition sailed across the Channel; and early in this century the hot breath of Mohammedanism had dried up the promise of Spain; countless warriors crossed to Gibraltar; their losses were supplied by the inexhaustible populations from the interior, (the ancestors of the Abd-el Kaders and Ben Muzas of modern times,) and, elate with hopes of universal conquest, the crowded tents of the Moslem army were seen on the northern slopes of the Pyrenees, and presently all the plains of Languedoc, and the central fields of France as far up as the Loire, were inundated by horse and man. Incredible accounts are given of the number and activity of the desert steeds bestrode by these turbaned apostles. A march of a hundred miles--a village set on fire, and all the males extirpated--strange-looking visages, and wild arrays of galloping battalions seen by terrified watchers from the walls of Paris itself; then, in the twinkling of an eye, nothing visible but the distant dust raised up in their almost unperceived retreat,--these were the peculiarities of this new and unheard-of warfare. And while these dashes were made from the centre of the invasion, alarming the inhabitants at the extremities of the kingdom, the host steadily moved on, secured the ground behind it before any fresh advance, and united in this way the steadiness of European settlement with the wild fury of the original mode of attack. Already the provinces abutting on the Pyrenees had owned their power. Gascony up to the Garonne, and the Narbonnais nearly to the Rhine, had submitted to the conquerors; but when the dispossessed proprietors of Novempopulania and Septimania, as those districts were then called, and the powerful Duke of Aquitaine, also fled before the advancing armies; when all the churches were filled with prayer, and all the towns were in momentary expectation of seeing the irresistible horsemen before their walls, patriotism and religion combined to call upon all the Franks and all the Christians to expel the infidel invader. So Charles, the son of Pepin, whose exploits against the Frisons and other barbaric peoples in the North had already acquired for him the complimentary name of Martel, or the Hammer, put himself at the head of the military forces of the land, and encountered the Saracenic myriads on the great plain round Tours. The East and West were brought front to front--Christianity and Mohammedanism stood face to face for the first time; and it is startling to consider for a moment what the result of an Asiatic victory might have been. If ever there was a case in which the intervention of Divine Providence may be claimed without presumption on the conquering side, it must be here, where the truths of revelation and the progress of society were dependent on the issue. The two faiths, according to all human calculation, had rested their supremacy on their respective champions. If Charles and his Franks and Germans were defeated, there was nothing to resist the march of the perpetually-increasing numbers of the Saracens till they had planted their standards on the pinnacles of Rome. The first glow of Christian belief had been exchanged, we have seen, for ambitious disputes, or died off in many of the practices of superstition. The very man in whom the Christian hope was placed was suspected of leaning to the Wodenism of his Northern ancestors, and was scarcely bought over to the defence of the Church's faith by a permission to pillage the Church's wealth. Mohammedanism, on the other hand, was fresh and young. Its promises were clear and tempting--its course triumphant, and its doctrines satisfactory equally to the pride and the indolence of the human heart. But in the former, though unperceived by the warriors at Tours and the prelates at Rome, lay the germ of countless blessings--elevating the mind by the discovery of its strength at the same moment in which it is abased by the feeling of its weakness, and gifted above all with the power of expansion and universality; themselves proofs of its divine original, to which no false religion can lay the slightest claim. Cultivate the Christian mind to the highest--fill it with all knowledge--place round it the miracles of science and art--station it in the snows of Iceland or the heats of India--Christianity, like the all-girding horizon of the sky, widens its circle so as to include the loftiest, and contain within its embrace the utmost diversities of human life and speculation. But with the Mohammedan, as with other impostures, the range is limited. When intellect expands, it bursts the cerement in which it has been involved; and with Buddhism, and Mithrism, and Hindooism, it will be as it was with Druidism, and the more elegant heathendom of Greece and Rome: there will be no safety for them but in the ignorance and barbarism of their disciples. On the result of that great day at Tours in the year 732, therefore, depended the intellectual improvement and civil freedom of the human race. Few particulars are preserved of this momentous battle; but the result showed that the light cavalry, in which the Saracens excelled, were no match for the firm line of the Franks. When confusion once began among the swarthy cavaliers of Abderachman, there was no restoration possible. In wild confusion the _mêlée_ was continued; and all that can be said is, that the slaughter of upwards of three hundred thousand of these impulsive pilgrims of the desert so weakened the Saracenic power in Europe, that in no long time their hosts were withdrawn from the soil of Gaul, and guarded with difficulty the conquest they had made behind the barrier of the Pyrenees. Could the gratitude of Church or State be too generous to the man who preserved both from the sword of the destroyer? If Charles pillaged a monastery or seized the revenues of a bishopric, nobody found any fault. It was almost just that he should have the wealth of the cathedral from which he had driven away the mufti and muezzin. But monasteries and bishops were still powerful, and did not look on the proceedings of Charles the Hammer with the equanimity of the unconcerned spectators. They perhaps thought the battle of Tours had only given them a choice of spoilers, instead of protection from spoliation. In a short time, however, the policy of the sagacious leader led him to see the necessity of gaining over the only united body in the State. He became a benefactor of the Church, and a staunch ally of the Roman bishop. Both had an object to obtain. What the phantom king was to Charles, the phantom emperor was to the Pope. If there was unison between the two dependants, it would be easy to get rid of the two superiors. Presents and compliments were interchanged, and moral support trafficked for material aid. Wherever the one sent missionaries with the Cross, the other sent warriors to their support. The Pontiff bestowed on the Mayor the keys of the sepulchre of St. Peter, and the title of Consul and Patrician, and begged him to come to his assistance against Luitprand, the Lombard king. But this was far too great an exploit to be expected by a simple Bishop, and performed by a simple Mayor of the Palace. So the next great thing we meet with in this century is the investiture of the Mayor with the title of king, and of the Bishop with the sovereignty of Rome and Ravenna. This happened in 752. Pepin the Short, as he was unflatteringly called by his subjects, succeeded Charles in the government of the Franks. The king was Childeric the Third, who lived in complete seclusion and cherished his long hair as the only evidence of monarchy left to the sons of Clovis. Wars in various regions established the reputation of Pepin as the worthy successor of Charles; and by a refinement of policy, the crown, the consummation of all his hopes, was reached in a manner which deprived it of the appearance of injustice, for it was given to him by the hands of saints and popes, and ratified by the council of the nation. He had already asked Pope Zachariah, "who had the best right to the name of king?--he who had merely the title, or he who had the power?" And in answer to this, which was rather a puzzling question, our countryman Winifried, in his new character of Boniface and archbishop, placed upon his head the golden round, and Might and Right were restored to their original combination. But St. Boniface was not enough. In two years the Pope himself clambered over the Alps and anointed the new monarch with holy oil; and by the same act stripped the long hair from the head of the Merovingian puppet, and condemned him and his descendants to the privacy of a cloister. Now then that Pepin is king, let Luitprand, or any other potentate, beware how he does injury to the Pope of Rome. Twice the Frank armies are moved into Italy in defence of the Holy See; and at last the Exarchate is torn from the hands of its Lombard oppressor, and handed over in sovereignty to the Spiritual Power. Rome itself is declared at the same time the property of the Bishop, and free forever from the suzerainty of the Emperors of the East. No wonder the gratitude of the Popes has made them call the kings of France the eldest sons of the Church. Their donations raised the bishopric to the rank of a royal state; yet it has been remarked that the generosity of the French monarchs has always been limited to the gift of other people's lands. They were extremely liberal in bestowing large tracts of country belonging to the Lombard kings or the Byzantine Cæsars; but they kept a very watchful eye on the possessions of pope and bishop within their own domain. They reserved to themselves the usufruct of vacant benefices, and the presentations to church and abbey. At almost all periods, indeed, of their history, they have seemed to retain a very clear remembrance of the position which they held towards the Papacy from the beginning, and, while encouraging its arrogance against other principalities and powers, have held a very contemptuous language towards it themselves. This, then, is the great characteristic of the present century, the restoration of the monarchical principle in the State, and its establishment in the Church. During all these wretched centuries, from the fall of the Roman Empire, the progress has been towards diffusion and separation. Kings rose up here and there, but their kingships were local, and, moreover, so recent, that they were little more than the first officer or representative of the warriors whose leaders they had been. A longing for some higher and remoter influence than this had taken possession of the chiefs of all the early invasions, and we have seen them (even while engaged in wresting whole districts from the sway of the old Roman Empire) accepting with gratitude the ensigns of Roman authority. We have seen Gothic kings glorying in the name of Senator, and Hunnish savages pacified and contented by the title of Prætor or Consul. The world had been accustomed to the oneness of Consular no less than Imperial Rome for more than a thousand years; for, however the parties might be divided at home, the great name of the Eternal City was the sole sound heard in foreign lands. The magic letters, the initials of the Senate and People, had been the ornament of their banners from the earliest times, and a division of power was an idea to which the minds of mankind found it difficult to become accustomed. It was better, therefore, to have only a fragment of this immemorial unity than the freshness of a new authority, however extensive or unquestionable. Vague traditions must have come down--magnified by distance and softened by regret--of the great days before the purple was torn in two by the transference of the seat of power to Constantinople. There were nearly five hundred years lying between the periods; and all the poetic spirits of the new populations had cast longing, lingering looks behind at the image of earthly supremacy presented to them by the existence of an acknowledged master of the world. A pedantic sophist, speaking Greek--the language of slaves and scholars--wearing the loftiest titles, and yet hemmed in within the narrow limits of a single district, assumed to be the representative of the universal "Lord of human kind," and called himself Emperor of the East and West. The common sense of Goth and Saxon, of Frank and Lombard, rebelled against this claim, when they saw it urged by a person unable to support it by fleets and armies. When, in addition to this want of power, they perceived in this century a want of orthodox belief, or even what they considered an impious profanity, in the successor of Augustus and Constantine, they were still more disinclined to grant even a titular supremacy to the Byzantine ruler. Leo, at that time wearing the purple, and zealous for the purity of the faith, issued an order for the destruction of the marble representations of saints and martyrs which had been used in worship; and within the limits of his personal authority his mandate was obeyed. But when it reached the West, a furious opposition was made to his command. The Pope stood forward as champion of the religious veneration of "storied urn and animated bust." The emperor was branded with the name of Iconoclast, or the Image-breaker, and the eloquence of all the monks in Europe was let loose upon the sacrilegious Cæsar. Interest, it is to be feared, added fresh energy to their conscientious denunciations, for the monks had attracted to themselves a complete monopoly of the manufacture of these aids to devotion--and obedience to Leo's order would have impoverished the monasteries all over the land. A Western emperor, it was at once perceived, would not have been so blind to the uses of those holy sculptures, and soon an intense desire was manifested throughout the Western nations for an emperor of their own. Already they were in possession of a spiritual chief, who claimed the inheritance of the Prince of the Apostles, and looked down on the Patriarchs of Constantinople as bishops subordinate to his throne. Why should not they also have a temporal ruler who should renew the old glories of the vanished Empire, and exercise supremacy over all the governors of the earth? Why, indeed, should not the first of those authorities exert his more than human powers in the production of the other? He had converted a Mayor of the Palace into a King of the Franks. Could he not go a step further, and convert a King of the Franks into an Emperor of the West? With this hope, not yet perhaps expressed, but alive in the minds of Pepin and the prelates of France, no attempt was made to check the Roman pontiffs in the extravagance of their pretensions. Lords of wide domains, rich already in the possession of large tracts of country and wealthy establishments in other lands, they were raised above all competition in rank and influence with any other ecclesiastic; and relying on spiritual privileges, and their exemption from active enmity, they were more powerful than many of the greatest princes of the time. Everywhere the mystic dignity of their office was dwelt upon by their supporters. For a long time, as we have seen, their omnipotence was acknowledged by the two classes who saw in the use of that spiritual dominion a counterpoise to the worldly sceptres by which they were crushed. But now the worldly sceptres came to the support of the spiritual dominion. Its limit was enlarged, and made to include the regulation of all human affairs. [A.D. 768.] It was its office to subdue kings and bind nobles in links of iron; and when the son of Pepin, Charles, justly called the Great, though travestied by French vanity into the name of Charlemagne, sat on the throne of the Franks, and carried his arms and influence into the remotest States, it was felt that the hour and the man were come; and the Western Empire was formally renewed. The curious thing is, that this longing for a restoration of the Roman Empire, and dwelling on its usefulness and grandeur, were dominant, and productive of great events, in populations which had no drop of Roman blood in their veins. The last emperor resident in Rome had never heard the names of the hordes of savages whose descendants had now seized the plains of France and Italy. Yet it seemed as if, with the territory of the Roman Empire, they had inherited its traditions and hopes. They might be Saxons, or Franks, or Burgundians, or Lombards, by national descent, but by residence they were Romans as compared with the Greeks in the East,--and by religion they were Romans as compared with the Sclaves and Saracens, who pressed on them on the North and South. It would not be difficult in this country to find the grandchildren of French refugees boasting with patriotic pride of the English triumphs at Cressy and Agincourt--or the sons of Scottish parents rejoicing in their ancestors' victory under Cromwell at Dunbar; and here, in the eighth century, the descendants of Alaric and Clovis were patriotically loyal to the memory of the old Empire, and were reminded by the victories of Charlemagne of the trophies of Scipio and Marius. These victories, indeed, were not, as is so often found to be the case, the mere efforts of genius and ambition, with no higher object than to augment the conqueror's power or reputation. They were systematically pursued with a view to an end. In one advancing tide, all things tended to the Imperial throne. Whatever nation felt the force of Charlemagne's sword felt also a portion of its humiliation lightened when its submission was perceived to be only an advancement towards the restoration of the old dominion. It might have been degrading to acknowledge the superiority of the son of Pepin--but who could offer resistance to the successor of Augustus? So, after thirty years of uninterrupted war, with campaigns succeeding each in the most distant regions, and all crowned with conquest; after subduing the Saxons beyond the Weser, the Lombards as far as Treviso, the Arabs under the walls of Saragossa, the Bavarians in the neighbourhood of Augsburg, the Sclaves on the Elbe and Oder, the Huns and Avars on the Raab and Danube, and the Greeks themselves on the coast of Dalmatia; when he looked around and saw no rebellion against his authority, but throughout the greater part of his domains a willing submission to the centralizing power which rallied all Christian states for the defence of Christianity, and all civilized nations for the defence of civilization,--nothing more was required than the mere expression in definite words of the great thing that had already taken place, and Charlemagne, at the extreme end of this century, bent before the successor of St. Peter at Rome, and stood up crowned Emperor of the West, and champion and chief of Christendom. [A.D. 786-814.] The period of Charlemagne is a great date in history; for it is the legal and formal termination of an antiquated state of society. It was also the introduction to another, totally distinct from itself and from its predecessor. It was not barbarism; it was not feudalism; but it was the bridge which united the two. By barbarism is meant the uneasy state of governments and peoples, where the tribe still predominated over the nation; where the Frank or Lombard continued an encamped warrior, without reference to the soil; and where his patriotism consisted in fidelity to the traditions of his descent, and not to the greatness or independence of the land he occupied. In the reign of Charlemagne, the land of the Frank became practically, and even territorially, France; the district occupied by the Lombards became Lombardy. The feeling of property in the soil was added to the ties of race and kindred; and at the very time that all the nations of the Invasion yielded to the supremacy of one man as emperor, the different populations asserted their separate independence of each other, as distinct and self-sufficing kingdoms--kingdoms, that is to say, without the kings, but in all respects prepared for those individualized expressions of their national life. For though Charlemagne, seated in his great hall at Aix-la-Chapelle, gave laws to the whole of his vast domains, in each country he had assumed to himself nothing more than the monarchic power. To the whole empire he was emperor, but to each separate people, such as Franks and Lombards, he was simply king. Under him there were dukes, counts, viscounts, and other dignitaries, but each limited, in function and influence, to the territory to which he belonged. A French duke had no pre-eminence in Lombardy, and a Bavarian graf had no rank in Italy. Other machinery was at times employed by the central power, in the shape of temporary messengers, or even of emissaries with a longer tenure of office; but these persons were sent for some special purpose, and were more like commissioners appointed by the Crown, than possessors of authority inherent in themselves. The term of their ambassadorship expired, their salary, or the lands they had provisionally held in lieu of salary, reverted to the monarch, and they returned to court with no further pretension to power or influence than an ambassador in our days when he returns from the country to which he is accredited. But when the great local nobility found their authority indissolubly connected with their possessions, and that ducal or princely privileges were hereditary accompaniments of their lands, the foundations of modern feudalism were already laid, and the path to national kingship made easy and unavoidable. When Charlemagne's empire broke into pieces at his death, we still find, in the next century, that each piece was a kingdom. Modern Europe took its rise from these fragmentary though complete portions; and whereas the breaking-up of the first empire left the world a prey to barbaric hordes, and desolation and misery spread over the fairest lands, the disruption of the latter empire of Charlemagne left Europe united as one whole against Saracen and savage, but separated in itself into many well-defined states, regulated in their intercourse by international law, and listening with the docility of children to the promises or threatenings of the Father of the Universal Church. For with the empire of Charlemagne the empire of the Papacy had grown. The temporal power was a collection of forces dependent on the life of one man; the spiritual power is a principle which is independent of individual aid. So over the fragments, as we have said, of the broken empire, rose higher than ever the unshaken majesty of Rome. Civil authority had shrunk up within local bounds; but the Papacy had expanded beyond the limits of time and space, and shook the dreadful keys and clenched the two-edged sword which typified its dominion over both earth and heaven. NINTH CENTURY. Emperors. A.D. _West._ 800. CHARLEMAGNE, (crowned by the Pope.) 814. LOUIS THE DEBONNAIRE. 840. CHARLES THE BALD. 877. LOUIS THE STAMMERER. 879. LOUIS III. and CARLOMAN. 884. CHARLES THE FAT. 887. ARNOLD. 899. LOUIS IV. A.D. _East._ NICEPHORUS--(_cont_.) 811. MICHAEL. 813. LEO THE ARMENIAN. 821. MICHAEL THE STAMMERER. 829. THEOPHILUS. 842. MICHAEL III. 886. LEO THE PHILOSOPHER. Kings of France. A.D. 887. EUDES, (Count of Paris.) 898. CHARLES THE SIMPLE. Kings of England. A.D. 827. EGBERT. 837. ETHELWOLF. 857. ETHELBALD. 860. ETHELBERT. 866. ETHELRED. 872. ALFRED THE GREAT. Authors. JOHN SCOTUS, (ERIGENA,) HINCMAR, HERIC, (preceded Des Cartes in philosophical investigation,) MACARIUS. THE NINTH CENTURY. DISMEMBERMENT OF CHARLEMAGNE'S EMPIRE--DANISH INVASION OF ENGLAND--WEAKNESS OF FRANCE--REIGN OF ALFRED. The first year of this century found Charlemagne with the crown of the old Empire upon his head, and the most distant parts of the world filled with his reputation. As in the case of the first Napoleon, we find his antechambers crowded with the fallen rulers of the conquered territories, and even with sovereigns of neighbouring countries. Among others, two of our Anglo-Saxon princes found their way to the great man's court at Aix-la-Chapelle. Eardulf of Northumberland pleaded his cause so well with Charlemagne and the Pope, that by their good offices he was restored to his states. But a greater man than Eardulf was also a visitor and careful student of the vanquisher and lawgiver of the Western world. Originally a Prince of Kent, he had been expelled by the superior power or arts of Beortrick, King of the West Saxons, and had betaken himself for protection, if not for restoration, to the most powerful ruler of the time. Whether Egbert joined in his expeditions or shared his councils, we do not know, but the history of the Anglo-Saxon monarchies at this date (800 to 830) shows us the exact counterpart, on our own island, of the actions of Charlemagne on the wider stage of continental Europe. Egbert, on the death of Beortrick, obtained possession of Wessex, and one by one the separate States of the British Heptarchy were subdued; some reduced to entire subjection, others only to subordinate rank and the payment of tribute, till, when all things were prepared for the change, Egbert proclaimed the unity of Southern Britain by assuming the title of Bretwalda, in the same way as his prototype had restored the unity of the empire by taking the dignity of Emperor. It is pleasant to pause over the period of Charlemagne's reign, for it is an isthmus connecting two dark and unsatisfactory states of society,--a past of disunion, barbarity, and violence, and a future of ignorance, selfishness, and crime. The present was not, indeed, exempt from some or all of these characteristics. There must have been quarrellings and brutal animosities on the outskirts of his domain, where half-converted Franks carried fire and sword, in the name of religion, among the still heathen Saxons; there must have been insolence and cruelty among the bishops and priests, whose education, in the majority of instances, was limited to learning the services of the Church by heart. Many laymen, indeed, had seized on the temporalities of the sees; and, in return, many bishops had arrogated to themselves the warlike privileges and authority of the counts and viscounts. But within the radius of Charlemagne's own influence, in his family apartments, or in the great Hall of Audience at Aix-la-Chapelle, the astonishing sight was presented of a man refreshing himself, after the fatigues of policy and war, by converting his house into a college for the advancement of learning and science. From all quarters came the scholars, and grammarians, and philosophers of the time. Chief of these was our countryman, the Anglo-Saxon monk Alcuin, and from what remains of his writings we can only regret that, in the infancy of that new civilization, his genius, which was undoubtedly great, was devoted to trifles of no real importance. Others came to fill up that noble company; and it is surely a great relief from the bloody records with which we have so long been familiar, to see Charlemagne at home, surrounded by sons and daughters, listening to readings and translations from Roman authors; entering himself into disquisitions on philosophy and antiquities, and acting as president of a select society of earnest searchers after information. To put his companions more at their ease, he hid the terrors of his crown under an assumed name, and only accepted so much of his royal state as his friends assigned to him by giving him the name of King David. The best versifier was known as Virgil. Alcuin himself was Horace; and Angelbert, who cultivated Greek, assumed the proud name of Homer. These literary discussions, however, would have had no better effect than refining the court, and making the days pass pleasantly; but Charlemagne's object was higher and more liberal than this. Whatever monastery he founded or endowed was forced to maintain a school as part of its establishment. Alcuin was presented with the great Abbey of St. Martin of Tours, which possessed on its domain twenty thousand serfs, and therefore made him one of the richest land-owners in France. There, at full leisure from worldly cares, he composed a vast number of books, of very poor philosophy and very incorrect astronomy, and perhaps looked down from his lofty eminence of wealth and fame on the humble labours of young Eginhart, the secretary of Charlemagne, who has left us a Life of his master, infinitely more interesting and useful than all the dissertations of the sage. From this great Life we learn many delightful characteristics of the great man, his good-heartedness, his love of justice, and blind affection for his children. But it is with his public works, as acting on this century, that we have now to do. Throughout the whole extent of his empire he founded Academies, both for learning and for useful occupations. He encouraged the study and practice of agriculture and trade. The fine arts found him a munificent patron; and though the objects on which the artist's skill was exercised were not more exalted than the carving of wooden tables, the moulding of metal cups, and the casting of bells, the circumstances of the time are to be taken into consideration, and these efforts may be found as advanced, for the ninth century, as the works of the sculptors and metallurgists of our own day. It is painful to observe that the practice of what is now called adulteration was not unknown at that early period. There was a monk of the name of Tancho, in the monastery of St. Gall, who produced the first bell. Its sound was so sweet and solemn, that it was at once adopted as an indispensable portion of the ornament of church and chapel, and soon after that, of the religious services themselves. Charlemagne, hearing it, and perhaps believing that an increased value in the metal would produce a richer tone, sent him a sufficient quantity of silver to form a second bell. The monk, tempted by the facility of turning the treasure to his own use, brought forward another specimen of his skill, but of a mixed and very inferior material. What the just and severe emperor might have done, on the discovery of the fraud, is not known; but the story ended tragically without the intervention of the legal sword. At the first swing of the clapper it broke the skull of the dishonest founder, who had apparently gone too near to witness the action of the tongue; and the bell was thenceforth looked on with veneration, as the discoverer and punisher of the unjust manufacturer. The monks, indeed, seem to have been the most refractory of subjects, perhaps because they were already exempted from the ordinary punishments. In order to produce uniformity in the services and chants of the Church, the emperor sent to Rome for twelve monkish musicians, and distributed them in the twelve principal bishoprics of his dominions. The twelve musicians would not consent to be musical according to order, and made the confusion greater than ever, for each of them taught different tunes and a different method. The disappointed emperor could only complain to the Pope, and the Pope put the recusant psalmodists in prison. But it appears the fate of Charlemagne, as of all persons in advance of their age, to be worthy of congratulation only for his attempts. The success of many of his undertakings was not adequate to the pains bestowed upon them. He held many assemblages, both lay and ecclesiastical, during his lengthened reign; he published many excellent laws, which soon fell into disuse; he tried many reforms of churches and monasteries, which shared the same fortune; he held the Popes of Rome and the dignitaries of his empire in perfect submission, but professed so much respect for the office of Pontiff and Bishop, that, when his own overwhelming superiority was withdrawn, the Church rebelled against the State, and claimed dominion over it. His sense of justice, as well as the custom of the time, led him to divide his states among his sons, which not only insured enmity between them, but enfeebled the whole of Christendom. Clouds, indeed, began to gather over him some time before his reign was ended. One day he was at a city of Narbonese Gaul, looking out upon the Mediterranean Sea. He saw some vessels appear before the port. "These," said the courtiers, "must be ships from the coast of Africa, Jewish merchantmen, or British traders." But Charlemagne, who had leaned a long time against the wall of the room in a passion of tears, said, "No! these are not the ships of commerce; I know by their lightness of movement. They are the galleys of the Norsemen; and, though I know such miserable pirates can do me no harm, I cannot help weeping when I think of the miseries they will inflict on my descendants and the lands they shall rule." A true speech, and just occasion for grief, for the descents of these Scandinavian rovers are the great characteristic of this century, by which a new power was introduced into Europe, and great changes took place in the career of France and England. It would perhaps be more correct to say that, by this new mixture of race and language, France and England were called into existence. England, up to this date, had been a collection of contending states; France, a tributary portion of a great Germanic empire. Slowly stretching northward, the Roman language, modified, of course, by local pronunciation, had pushed its way among the original Franks. Latin had been for many years the language of Divine Service, and of history, and of law. All westward of the Rhine had yielded to those influences, and the old Teutonic tongue which Clovis had brought with him from Germany had long disappeared, from the Alps up to the Channel. [A.D. 814.] When the death of Charlemagne, in 814, had relaxed the hold which held all his subordinate states together, the diversity of the language of Frenchman and German pointed out, almost as clearly as geographical boundaries could have done, the limits of the respective nations. From henceforward, identity of speech was to be considered a more enduring bond of union than the mere inhabiting of the same soil. But other circumstances occurred to favour the idea of a separation into well-defined communities; and among these the principal was a very long experience of the disadvantages of an encumbered and too extensive empire. Even while the sword was held by the strong hand of Charlemagne, each portion of his dominions saw with dissatisfaction that it depended for its peace and prosperity on the peace and prosperity of all the rest, and yet in this peace and prosperity it had neither voice nor influence. The inhabitants of the banks of the Loire were, therefore, naturally discontented when they found their provisions enhanced in price, and their sons called to arms, on account of disturbances on the Elbe, or hostilities in the south of Italy. These evils of their position were further increased when, towards the end of Charlemagne's reign, the outer circuit of enemies became more combined and powerful. In proportion as he had extended his dominion, he had come into contact with tribes and states with whom it was impossible to be on friendly terms. To the East, he touched upon the irreclaimable Sclaves and Avars--in the South, he came on the settlements of the Italian Greeks--in Spain, he rested upon the Saracens of Cordova. It was hard for the secure centre of the empire to be destroyed and ruined by the struggles of the frontier populations, with which it had no more sympathy in blood and language than with the people with whom they fought. Already, also, we have seen how local their government had become. They had their own dukes and counts, their own bishops and priests to refer to. The empire was, in fact, a name, and the land they inhabited the only reality with which they were concerned. We shall not be surprised, therefore, when we find that universal rebellion took place when Louis the Debonnaire, the just and saint-like successor of Charlemagne, endeavoured to carry on his father's system. Even his reforms served only to show his own unselfishness, and to irritate the grasping and avaricious offenders whom it was his object to amend. Bishops were stripped of their lay lordships--prevented from wearing sword and arms, and even deprived of the military ornament of glittering spurs to their heels. The monks and nuns, who had almost universally fallen into evil courses, were forcibly reformed by the laws of a second St. Benedict, whose regulations were harsh towards the regular orders, but useless to the community at large--a sad contrast to the agricultural and manly exhortations of the first conventual legislator of that name. Nothing turned out well with this simplest and most generous of the Carlovingian kings. His virtues, inextricably interlaced as they were with the weaknesses of his character, were more injurious to himself and his kingdom than less amiable qualities would have been. Priest and noble were equally ignorant of the real characteristics of a Christian life. When he refunded the exactions of his father, and restored the conquests which he considered illegally acquired, the universal feeling of astonishment was only lost in the stronger sentiment of disdain. An excellent monk in a cell, or judge in a court of law, Louis the Debonnaire was the most unfit man of his time to keep discordant nationalities in awe. His children were as unnatural as those of Lear, whom he resembled in some other respects: for he found what little reverence waits upon a discrowned king; and personal indignities of the most degrading kind were heaped upon him by those whose duty it was to maintain and honour him. Superstition was set to work on his enfeebled mind, and twice he did public penance for crimes of which he was not guilty; and on the last occasion, stripped of his military baldric--the lowest indignity to which a Frankish monarch could be subjected--clothed in a hair shirt by the bands of an ungrateful bishop, he was led by his triumphant son, Lothaire, through the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle. [A.D. 833.] But natural feeling was not extinguished in the hearts of the staring populace. They saw in the meek emperor's lowly behaviour, and patient endurance of pain and insult, an image of that other and holier King who carried his cross up the steeps of Jerusalem. They saw him denuded of the symbols of earthly power and of military rank, oppressed and wronged--and recognised in that down-trodden man a representation of themselves. This sentiment spread with the magic force of sympathy and remorse. All the world, we are told, left the unnatural son solitary and friendless in the very hour of his success; and Louis, too pure-minded himself to perceive that it was the virtue of his character which made him hated, persisted in pushing on his amendments as if he had the power to carry them into effect. He ordered all lands and other goods which the nobles had seized from the Church to be restored--a tenderness of conscience utterly inexplicable to the marauding baron, who had succeeded by open force, and in a fair field, in despoiling the marauding bishop of land and tower. It was arming his rival, he thought, with a two-edged sword, this silence as to the inroads of the churchman on the property of the nobles, and prevention of their just reprisals on the property of the prelate, by placing it under the safeguard of religion. The rugged warrior kept firm hold of the bishopric or abbey he had secured, and the belted bishop reimbursed himself by appropriating the wealth of his weaker neighbours. But Louis was as unfortunate in his testamentary arrangement as in all the other regulations of his life. Lothaire was to retain the eastern portion of the empire; Charles, his favourite, had France as far as the Rhine; while Louis was limited to the distant region of Bavaria. [A.D. 840.] And having made this disposition of his power, the meek and useless Louis descended into the tomb--a striking example, the French historians tell us, of the great historic truth renewed at such distant dates, that the villanies and cruelties of a race of kings bring misery on the most virtuous of their descendants. All the crimes of the three preceding reigns--the violence and disregard of life exhibited by Charlemagne himself--found their victim and expiation in his meek and gentle-minded son. The harshness of Henry VIII. of England, they add, and the despotic claims of James, were visited on the personally just and amiable Charles; and they point to the parallel case of their own Louis XVI., and see in the sad fortune of that mild and guileless sovereign the final doom of the murderous Charles IX., and the voluptuous and hypocritical Louis XIV. But these kings are still far off in the darkness of the coming centuries. It is a strange sight, in the middle of the ninth century, to see the successor of the great Emperor stealing through the confused and chaotic events of that wretched period, stripped as it were of sword and crown, but everywhere displaying the beauty of pure and simple goodness. He refused to condemn his enemies to death. He was only inexorable towards his own offences, and sometimes humbled himself for imaginary sins. A protector of the Church, a zealous supporter of Rome, it would give additional dignity to the act of canonization if the name of Louis the Debonnaire were added to the list of Saints. But we have left the empire which it had taken so long to consolidate, now legally divided into three. There is a Charles in possession of the western division; a Louis in the farther Germany; and Lothaire, the unfilial triumpher at Aix-la-Chapelle, invested with the remainder of the Roman world. But Lothaire was not to be satisfied with remainders. Once in power, he was determined to recover the empire in its undivided state. He was King of Italy; master of Rome and of the Pope; he was eldest grandson of Charlemagne, and defied the opposition of his brothers. [A.D. 842.] A battle was fought at Fontenay in 842, in which these pretensions were overthrown; and the final severance took place in the following year between the French and German populations. The treaty between the brothers still remains. It is written in duplicate--one in a tongue still intelligible to German ears, and the other in a Romanized speech, which is nearer the French of the present day than the English of Alfred, or even of Edward the Confessor, is to ours. [A.D. 843.] France, which had hitherto attained that title in right of its predominant race, held it henceforth on the double ground of language and territory. But there is a curious circumstance connected with the partition of the empire, which it may be interesting to remember. France, in gaining its name and language, lost its natural boundary of the Rhine. Up to this time, the limit of ancient Gaul had continued to define the territory of the Western Franks. In rude times, indeed, there can be no other divisions than those supplied by nature; but now that a tongue was considered a bond of nationality, the French were contented to surrender to Lothaire the Emperor a long strip of territory, running the whole way up from Italy to the North Sea, including both banks of the Rhine, and acting as a wall of partition between them and the German-speaking people on the other side,--a great price to pay, even for the easiest and most widely-spread language in Europe. Yet the most ambitious of Frenchmen would pause before he undid the bargain and reacquired the "exulting and abounding river" at the sacrifice of his inimitable tongue. Very confused and uncertain are all the events for a long time after this date. We see perpetual attempts made to restore the reality as well as the name of the Empire. These battles and competitions of the line of Charlemagne are the subject of chronicles and treaties, and might impose upon us by the grandeur of their appearance, if we did not see, from the incidental facts which come to the surface, how unavailing all efforts must be to arrest the dissociation of state from state. The principle of dissolution was at work everywhere. Kingship itself had fallen into contempt, for the great proprietors had been encouraged to exert a kind of personal power in the reign of Charlemagne, which contributed to the strength of his well-consolidated crown; but when the same individual influence was exercised under the nominal supremacy of Louis the Debonnaire or Charles the Bald, it proved a humiliating and dangerous contrast to the weakness of the throne. A combination of provincial dignitaries could at any time outweigh the authority of the king, and sometimes, even singly, the owners of extensive estates threw off the very name of subject. They claimed their lands as not only hereditary possessions, but endowed with all the rights and privileges which their personal offices had bestowed. If their commission from the emperor had given them authority to judge causes, to raise taxes, or to collect troops, they maintained from henceforth that those high powers were inherent in their lands. The dukes, therefore, invested their estates with ducal rights, independent of the Crown, and left to the holder of the kingly name no real authority except in his own domains. Brittany, and Aquitaine, and Septimania, withdrew their allegiance from the poor King of France. He could not compel the ambitious owners of those duchies to recognise his power, and condescended even to treat them as rival and acknowledged kings. Then there were other magnates who were not to be left mere subjects when dukes had risen to such rank. So the Marquises of Toulouse and Gothia, a district of Languedoc, and Auvergne, were treated more as equals than as appointed deputies recallable at pleasure. But worse enemies of kingly dignity than duke or marquis were the ambitious bishops, who looked with uneasy eyes on the rapid rise of their rivals the lay nobility. Already the hereditary title of those territorial potentates was an accomplished fact; the son of the count inherited his father's county. But the general celibacy of the clergy fortunately prevented the hereditary transmission of bishopric and abbey. To make up for the want of this advantage, they boldly determined to assert far higher claims as inherent in their rank than marquis or count could aim at. Starting from the universally-conceded ground of their right to reprimand and punish any Christian who committed sin, they logically carried their pretension to the right of deposing kings if they offended the Church. More than fifty years had passed since Charlemagne had received the imperial crown from the hands of the Pope of Rome. Dates are liable to fall into confusion in ignorant times and places, and it was easy to spread a belief that the popes had always exercised the power of bestowing the diadem upon kings. To support these astounding claims with some certain guarantee, and give them the advantage of prescriptive right by a long and legitimate possession, certain documents were spread abroad at this time, purporting to be a collection by Isidore, a saint of the sixth century, of the decretals or judicial sentences of the popes from a very early period, asserting the unquestioned spiritual supremacy of the Roman See at a date when it was in reality but one of many feeble seats of Christian authority; and to equalize its earthly grandeur with its religious pretension, the new edition of Isidore contained a donation by Constantine himself, in the beginning of the fourth century, of the city of Rome and enormous territories in Italy, to be held in sovereignty by the successors of St. Peter. These are now universally acknowledged to be forgeries and impostures of the grossest kind, but at the time they appeared they served the purpose for which they were intended, and gave a sanction to the Papal assumptions far superior to the rights of any existing crown. [A.D. 859.] Charles the Bald was a true son of Louis the Debonnaire in his devotion to the Church. When the bishops of his own kingdom, with Wenilon of Sens as their leader, offended with some remissness he had temporarily shown in advancing their worldly interests, determined to depose him from the throne, and called Louis the German to take his place, Charles fled and threw himself on the protection of the Pope. And when by submission and promises he had been permitted to re-enter France, he complained of the conduct of the prelates in language which ratified all their claims. "Elected by Wenilon and the other bishops, as well as by the lieges of our kingdom, who expressed their consent by their acclamations, Wenilon consecrated me king according to ecclesiastic tradition, in his own diocese, in the Church of the Holy Cross at Orleans. He anointed me with the holy oil; he gave me the diadem and royal sceptre, and seated me on the throne. After that consecration I could not be removed from the throne, or supplanted by any one, at least without being heard and judged by the bishops, by whose ministry I was consecrated king. It is they who are as the thrones of the Divinity. God reposes upon them, and by them he gives forth his judgments. At all times I have been ready to submit to their fatherly corrections, to their just castigations, and am ready to do so still." What more could the Church require? Its wealth was the least of its advantages, though the abbacies and bishoprics were richer than dukedoms all over the land. Their temporal power was supported by the terrors of their spiritual authority; and kings, princes, and people appeared so prone to the grossest excesses of credulity and superstition, that it needed little to throw Europe itself at the feet of the priesthood, and place sword and sceptre permanently in subordination to the crozier. Blindly secure of their position, rioting in the riches of the subject land, the bishops probably disregarded, as below their notice, the two antagonistic principles which were at work at this time in the midst of their own body--the principle of absolute submission to authority in articles of faith, and the principle of free inquiry into all religious doctrine. The first gave birth to the great mystery of transubstantiation, which now first made its appearance as an indispensable belief, and was hailed by the laity and inferior clergy as a crowning proof of the miraculous powers inherent in the Church. The second was equally busy, but was not productive of such permanent effects. At the court of Charles the Bald there was a society of learned and ingenious men, presided over by the celebrated John Scot Erigena, (or native of Ireland,) who had studied the early Fathers and the Platonic philosophy, and were inclined to admit human reason to some participation in the reception of Christian truths. There were therefore discussions on the real presence, and free-will, and predestination, which had the usual unsatisfactory termination of all questions transcending man's understanding, and only embittered their respective adherents without advancing the settlement on either side. While these exercitations of talent and dialectic quickness were carried on, filling the different dioceses with wonder and perplexity, the great body of the people in various countries of Europe were recalled to the practical business of life by disputes of a far more serious character than the wordy wars of Scotus and his foes. Michelet, the most picturesque of the recent historians of France, has given us an amazing view of the state of affairs at this time. It is the darkest period of the human mind; it is also the most unsettled period of human society. Outside of the narrowing limits of peopled Christendom, enemies are pressing upon every side. Saxons on the East are laying their hands in reverence on the manes of horses, and swearing in the name of Odin; Saracens, in the South and West, are gathering once more for the triumph of the Prophet; and suddenly France, Germany, Italy, and England, are awakened to the presence and possible supremacy of a more dreaded invader than either, for the Vikinger, or Norsemen, were abroad upon the sea, and all Christendom was exposed to their ravages. Wherever a river poured its waters into the ocean, on the coast of Narbonne, or Yorkshire, or Calabria, or Friesland, boats, small in size, but countless in number, penetrated into the inland towns, and disembarked wild and fearless warriors, who seemed inspired by the mad fanaticism of some inhuman faith, which made charity and mercy a sin. Starting from the islands and rugged mainland of the present Denmark and Norway, they swept across the stormy North Sea, shouting their hideous songs of glory and defiance, and springing to land when they reached their destination with the agility and bloodthirstiness of famished wolves. Their business was to carry slaughter and destruction wherever they went. They looked with contempt on the lazy occupations of the inhabitants of town or farm, and, above all, were filled with hatred and disdain of the monks and priests Their leaders were warriors and poets. Gliding up noiseless streams, they intoned their battle-cry and shouted the great deeds of their ancestors when they reached the walls of some secluded monastery, and rejoiced in wrapping all its terrified inmates in flames. Bards, soldiers, pirates, buccaneers, and heathens, destitute of fear, or pity, or remorse, amorous of danger, and skilful in management of ship and weapon, these were the most ferocious visitants which Southern Europe had ever seen. No storm was sufficient to be a protection against their approach. On the crest of the highest waves those frail barks were seen by the affrighted dwellers on the shore, careering with all sail set, and steering right into their port. All the people on the coast, from the Rhine to Bayonne, and from Toulouse to the Grecian Isles, fled for protection to the great proprietors of the lands. But the great proprietors of the lands were the peaceful priors of stately abbeys, and bishops of wealthy sees. Their pretensions had been submitted to by kings and nobles; they were the real rulers of France; and even in England their authority was very great. Excommunications had been their arms against recusant baron and refractory count; but the Danish Northmen did not care for bell, book, and candle. The courtly circle of scholars and divines could give no aid to the dishoused villagers and trembling cities, however ingenious the logic might be which reconciled Plato to St. Paul; and Charles the Bald, surprised, no doubt, at the inefficacy of prayers and processions, was forced to replace the influence in the hands, not which carried the crozier and cross, but which curbed the horse and couched the spear. The invasion of the Danes was, in fact, the resuscitation of the courage and manliness of the nationalities they attacked. Dreadful as the suffering was at the time, it was not given to any man then alive to see the future benefits contained in the present woe. We, with a calmer view, look back upon the whole series of those events, and in the intermixture of the new race perceive the elements of greatness and power. Priest-ridden, down-trodden populations received a fresh impulse from those untamed children of the North; and in the forcible relegation of ecclesiastics to the more peaceable offices of their calling, we see the first beginning of the gradation of ranks, and separation of employments, which gave honourable occupation to the respective leaders in Church and State; which limited the clergyman to the unostentatious discharge of his professional duties, and left the baron to command his warriors and give armed protection to all the dwellers in the land. For feudalism, as understood in the Middle Ages, was the inevitable result of the relative positions of priest and noble at the time of the Norsemen's forays. It was found that the possession of great domains had its duties as well as its rights, and the duty of defence was the most imperative of all. Men held their grounds, therefore, on the obligation of keeping their vassals uninjured by the pirates; the bishops were found unable to perform this work, and the territory passed away from their keeping. Vast estates, no doubt, still remained in their possession, but they were placed in the guardianship of the neighbouring chateaux; and though at intervals, in the succeeding centuries, we shall see the prelate dressing himself in a coat of mail, and rendering in person the military service entailed upon his lands, the public feeling rapidly revolted against the incongruity of the deed. The steel-clad bishop was looked on with slender respect, and was soon found to do more damage to his order, by the contrast between his conduct and his profession, than he could possibly gain for it by his prowess or skill in war. Feudalism, indeed, or the reciprocal obligation of protection and submission, reached its full development by the formal deposition of a descendant of Charlemagne, on the express ground of his inability to defend his people from the enemies by which they were surrounded. [A.D. 879.] A congress of six archbishops, and seventeen bishops, was held in the town of Mantela, near Vienne; and after consultation with the nobility, they came to the following resolution:--"That whereas the great qualities of the old mayors of the palace were their only rights to the throne, and Charlemagne, whom all willingly obeyed, did not transmit his talents, along with his crown, to his posterity, it was right to leave that house." They therefore sent an offer of the throne of Burgundy to Boso, Count of the Ardennes, with the conditions "that he should be a true patron and defender of high and low, accessible and friendly to all, humble before God, liberal to the Church, and true to his word." By this abnegation of temporal weapons, and dependence on the armed warrior for their defence, the prelates put themselves at the head of the unarmed peoples at the same moment that they exercised their spiritual authority over all classes alike. It was useless for them to draw the sword themselves, when they regulated every motion of the hand by which the sword was held. While this is the state of affairs on the Continent--while the great Empire of Charlemagne is falling to pieces, and the kingly office is practically reduced to a mere equality with the other dignities of the land--while this disunion in nations and weakness in sovereigns is exposing the fairest lands in Europe to the aggressions of enemies on every side--let us cast our eyes for a moment on England, and see in what condition our ancestors are placed at the middle of this century. A most dreadful and alarming condition as ever Old England was in. For many years before this, a pirate's boat or two from the North would run upon the sand, and send the crews to burn and rob a village on the coast of Berwick or Northumberland. Pirates we superciliously call them, but that is from a misconception of their point of honour, and of the very different estimate they themselves formed of their pursuits and character. They were gentleman, perhaps, "of small estate" in some outlying district of Denmark or Norway, but endowed with stout arms and a great wish to distinguish themselves--if the distinction could be accompanied with an increase of their worldly goods. They considered the sea their own domain, and whatever was found on it as theirs by right of possession. They were, therefore, lords of the manor, looking after their rights, their waifs and strays, their flotsams and jetsams. They were also persons of a strong religious turn, and united the spirit of the missionary to the courage of the warrior and the avidity of the conqueror. Odin was still their god, the doors of the Walhalla were still open to them after death, and the skulls of their enemies were foaming with intoxicating mead. The English were renegades from the true faith, a set of drivelling wretches who believed in a heaven where there was no beer, and worshipped a god who bade them pray for their enemies and bless the very people who used them ill. The remaining similarity in the language of the two peoples must have added a bitterness to the contemptuous feelings of the unreclaimed rovers of the deep; and probably, on their return, these enterprising warriors were as proud of the number of priests they had slain, as of the more valuable trophies they carried home. Denmark itself, up to this time, had been distracted with internal wars. It was only the more active spirits who had rushed across from the Sound, and solaced themselves, in the intervals of their own campaigns, with an onslaught upon an English town. But now the scene was to change. The inroads of separate crews were to be exchanged for national invasions. [A.D. 838.] Harold of the Fair Hair was seated on an undisputed throne, and repressed the outrages of these adventurous warriors by a strong and determined will. He stretched his sceptre over all the Scandinavian world, and neither the North Sea nor the Baltic were safe places for piracy and spoil. One of his countrymen had founded the royal line of Russia, and from his capital of Kieff or Novgorod was civilizing, with whip and battle-axe, the original hordes which now form the Empire of the Czars. Already, from their lurking-places on the shores of the Black Sea, the Norwegian predecessors of the men of Odessa and Sebastopol were threatening a dash upon Constantinople; while sea-kings and jarls, compelled to be quiet and peaceable at home, but backed by all the wild populations of the North, anxious for glory, and greedy of gold and corn, resolved to reduce England to their obedience, and collected an enormous fleet in the quiet recesses of the Baltic, withdrawn from the observation of Harold. It seems fated that France is always, in some sort or other, to set the fashion to her neighbours. We have seen, at the beginning of this century, how England followed the example of the Frankish peoples in consolidating itself into one dominion. Charlemagne was recognised chief potentate of many states, and Egbert was sovereign of all the Saxon lands, from Cornwall to the gates of Edinburgh. But the model was copied no less closely in the splitting-up of the central authority than in its consolidation. While Louis the Debonnaire and Charles the Bald were weakening the throne of Charlemagne, the states of Egbert became parcelled out in the same way between the descendants of the English king. Ethelwolf was the counterpart of Louis, and carried the sceptre in too gentle a hand. He still further diminished his authority by yielding to the dissensions of his court. Like the Frankish ruler, also, he left portions of his territory to his four sons; of whom it will be sufficient for us to remember that the youngest was the great Alfred--the foremost name in all mediæval history; and by an injudicious marriage with the daughter of Charles the Bald, and his unjust divorce of the mother of all his sons, he offended the feelings of the nation, and raised the animosity of his children. Ethelbald his son completed the popular discontent by marrying his father's widow, the French princess, who had been the cause of so much disagreement; and while the people were thus alienated, and the guiding hand of a true ruler of men was withdrawn, the terrible invasion of Danes and Jutlanders went on. [A.D. 839.] They sailed up the Thames and pillaged London. Winchester was given to the flames. The whole isle of Thanet was seized and permanently occupied. The magic standard, a raven, embroidered by the daughters of the famous Regner Lodbrog, (who had been stung to death by serpents in a dungeon into which he was thrown by Ella, King of Northumberland,) was carried from point to point, and was thought to be the symbol of victory and revenge. The offending Northumbrian now felt the wrath of the sons of Lodbrog. They landed with a great army, and after a battle, in which the chiefs of the English were slain, took the Northumbrian kingdom. Nottingham was soon after captured and destroyed. It was no longer a mere incursion. The nobles and great families of Denmark came over to their new conquest, and stationed themselves in strong fortresses, commanding large circles of country, and lived under their Danish regulations. The land, to be sure, was not populous at that time, and probably the Danish settlements were accomplished without the removal of any original occupiers. [A.D. 860.] But the castles they built, and the towns which rapidly grew around them, acted as outposts against the remaining British kingdoms; and at last, when fleet after fleet disembarked their thousands of warlike colonists--when Leicester, Lincoln, Stamford, York, and Chester, were all in Danish hands, and stretched a line of intrenchments round the lands they considered their own--the divided Anglo-Saxons were glad to purchase a cessation of hostilities by guaranteeing to them forever the places and territories they had secured. And there was now a Danish kingdom enclosed by the fragments of the English empire; there were Danish laws and customs, a Danish mode of pronunciation, and for a good while a still broader gulf of demarcation established between the peoples by their diversity in religious faith. [A.D. 872.] But when Alfred attained the supreme power--and although respecting the treaties between the Danes and English, yet evidently able to defend his countrymen from the aggressions of their foreign neighbour--the pacified pirate, tired of the sea, and softened by the richer soil and milder climate of his new home, began to perceive the very unsatisfactory nature of his ancient belief, and rapidly gave his adhesion to the lessons of the gospel. Guthrum, the Danish chieftain, became a zealous Christian according to his lights, and was baptized with all his subjects. Alfred acted as godfather to the neophyte, and restrained the wildest of his followers within due bounds. Perhaps, even, he was assisted by his Christianized allies in the great and final struggle against Hastings and a new swarm of Scandinavian rovers, whose defeat is the concluding act of this tumultuous century. Alfred drew up near London, and met the advancing hosts on the banks of the river Lea, about twenty miles from town. The patient angler in that suburban river seldom thinks what great events occurred upon its shore. Great ships--all things are comparative--were floating upon its waters, filled with armed Danes. Alfred cut certain openings in the banks and lowered the stream, so that the hostile navy stranded. Out sprang the Danes, astonished at the interruption to their course, and retreated across the country, nor stopped till they had placed themselves in inaccessible positions on the Severn. But the century came to a close. Opening with the great days of Charlemagne, it is right that it should close with the far more glorious reign of Alfred the patriot and sage;---a century illuminated at its two extremes, but in its middle period dark with disunion and ignorance, and not unlikely, unless controlled to higher uses, to give birth to a state of more hopeless barbarism than that from which the nations of Europe had so recently emerged. TENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. LOUIS IV.--(_cont._) 911. CONRAD. 920. HENRY THE FOWLER. 936. OTHO THE GREAT. 973. OTHO II. 983. OTHO III. Emperors of the East. A.D. LEO.--(_cont._) 911. CONSTANTINE IX. 915. CONSTANTINE and ROMANUS. 959. ROMANUS II. 963. NICEPHORUS PHOCAS. 969. JOHN ZIMISCES. 975. BASILIUS AND CONSTANTINE X. Kings of France. A.D. CHARLES THE SIMPLE.--(_cont._) 923. RODOLPH. 936. LOUIS IV., (d'Outremer.) 954. LOTHAIRE. 986. LOUIS V., (le Fainéant.) 987. HUGH CAPET, (new Dynasty.) 996. ROBERT THE WISE. Kings of England. A.D. ALFRED.--(_cont._) 901. EDWARD THE ELDER. 925. ATHELSTANE. 941. EDMUND I. 948. ELDRED. 955. EDWY. 959. EDGAR. 976. EDWARD II. 978. ETHELRED II. Authors. SUIDAS, (Lexicographer), GERBERT, ODO, DUNSTAN. THE TENTH CENTURY. DARKNESS AND DESPAIR. The tenth century is always to be remembered as the darkest and most debased of all the periods of modern history. It was the midnight of the human mind, far out of reach of the faint evening twilight left by Roman culture, and further still from the morning brightness of the new and higher civilization. If we try to catch any hope of the future, we must turn from the oppressed and enervated populations of France and Italy to the wild wanderers from the North. By following the latter detachment of Norsemen who made their settlements on the Seine, we shall see that what seemed the wedge by which the compactness of an organized kingdom was to be split up turned out to be the strengthening beam by which the whole machinery of legal government had been kept together. Romanized Gauls, effeminated Franks, Goths, and Burgundians, were found unfitted for the duties either of subjects or rulers. They were too ambitious to obey, and too ignorant to command. Religion itself had lost its efficacy, for the populations had been so fed with false legends, that they had no relish for the truths of the gospel, which, indeed, as an instrument of instruction, had fallen into complete disuse. Ship-loads of false relics, and army-rolls of imaginary saints, were poured out for the general veneration. The higher dignitaries of the Church were looked on with very different feelings, according to the point of view taken of them. When regarded merely as possessors of lands and houses, they were loved or hated according to the use they made of their power; but at the very time when cruelties and vices made them personally the objects of detestation or contempt, the sacredness of their official characters remained. Petitions were sent to the kings against the prelates being allowed to lead their retainers into battle, not entirely from a scruple as to the unlawfulness of such a proceeding, but from the more serious consideration that their death or capture would be taken as a sign of the vengeance of Heaven, and damp the ardour of the party they supported. Churches and cathedrals were filled with processionary spectacles, and their altars covered with the offerings of the faithful; and yet so brutal were the manners of the times, and so small the respect entertained for the individual priest, that laymen of the highest rank thought nothing of knocking down the dignitaries of the Church with a blow on the head, even while solemnly engaged in the offices of devotion. The Roman pontiffs, we have seen, did not scruple to avail themselves of the forgeries of their enthusiastic supporters to establish their authority on the basis of antiquity, and at the middle of this century we should find, if we inquired into it, that the sacred city and chair of St. Peter were a prey to the most violent passions. Many devout Roman Catholics have been, at various periods, so horrified with the condition of their chiefs, and of the perverted religion which had arisen from tradition and imposture, that they have claimed the mere continued existence of the Papacy as a proof of its Divine institution, and a fulfilment of the prophecy that "the gates of hell should not prevail against it." Yet even in the midst of this corruption and ignorance, there were not wanting some redeeming qualities, which soften our feelings towards the ecclesiastic power. It was at all times, in its theory, a protest against the excesses of mere strength and violence. The doctrines it professed to teach were those of kindness and charity; and in the great idea of the throned fisherman at Rome, the poorest saw a kingdom which was not of this world, and yet to which all the kingdoms of this world must bow. Temporal ranks were obliterated when the descendants of kings and emperors were seen paying homage to the sons of serfs and workmen. The immunity, also, from spoil and slaughter, which to a certain extent still adhered to episcopal and abbatial lands, reflected a portion of their sanctity on the person of the bishop and abbot. Mysterious reverence still hung round the convents, within which such ceaseless prayers were said and so many relics exposed, and whither it was also known that all the learning and scholarship of the land had fled for refuge. The doles at monastery-doors, however objected to by political economists, as encouragements of mendicancy and idleness, were viewed in a very different light by the starving crowds, who, besides being qualified by destitution and hunger for the reception of charitable food, had an incontestable right, under the founder's will, to be supported by the establishment on whose lands they lived. The abbot who neglected to feed the poor was not only an unchristian contemner of the precepts of the faith, but ran counter to the legal obligations of his place. He was administrator of certain properties left for the benefit of persons about whose claims there was no doubt; and when the rapacious methods of maintaining their adherents, which were adopted by the count and baron, were compared with the baskets of broken victuals, and the jugs of foaming beer, which were distributed at the buttery of the abbey, the decision was greatly in favour of the spiritual chief. His ambling mule, and swift hound, and hooded hawks, were not grudged, nor his less defensible occupations seriously inquired into, as long as the beef and mutton were not stinted, and the liquor flowed in reasonable streams. As to his theological tenets, or knowledge of history, either sacred or profane, the highest ecclesiastic was on the same level of utter ignorance and indifference with the lowest of his serfs. There were no books of controversial divinity in all this century. There were no studies exacted from priest or prelate. All that was required was an inordinate zeal in the discovery of holy relics, and an acquaintance with the unnumbered ceremonies performed in the celebration of the service. Morals were in as low a state as learning. Debauchery, drunkenness, and uncleanness were the universal characteristics both of monk and secular. So it is a satisfaction to turn from the wretched spectacle of the decaying and corrupt condition of an old society, to the hardier vices of a new and undegenerated people. Better the unreasoning vigour of the Normans, and their wild trust in Thor and Odin--their spirit of personal independence and pride in the manly exercises--than the creeping submission of an uneducated population, trampled on by their brutal lay superiors, and cheated out of money and labour by the artifices of their priests. Rollo, the Norman chief, had pushed his unresisted galleys up the Seine, and strongly intrenched himself in Rouen, in the first year of this century. From this citadel, so admirably selected for his purposes, whether of defence or conquest, he spread his expeditions on every side. The boats were so light that no shallowness of water hindered their progress even to the great valleys where the river was still a brook. When impediments were encountered on the way, in the form of waterfall, or, more rarely, of bridge or weir, the adventurers sprang to shore and carried their vessels along the land. When greater booty tempted them, they even crossed long tracts of country, hauling their boats along with them, and launching them in some peaceful vale far away from the sea. Every islet in the rivers was seized and fortified; so that, dotted about over all the beautiful lands between the Seine and the borders of Flanders, were stout Norman colonies, with all the pillage they had obtained securely guarded in those unassailable retreats, and ready to carry their maritime depredations wherever a canoe could swim. Their rapidity of locomotion was equal to that of the Saracenic hordes who had poured down from the Pyrenees in the days of Charles the Hammer. But the Norsemen were of sterner stuff than the light chivalry of Abderachman. Where they stopped they took root. They found it impossible to carry off all the treasure they had seized, and therefore determined to stay beside it. Rouen was at first about to be laid waste, but the policy of the bishop preserved it from destruction, while the wisdom of the rovers converted it into a fortress of the greatest strength. Strong walls were reared all round. The beautiful river was guarded night and day by their innumerable fleet, and in a short time it was recognised equally by friend and foe as the capital and headquarters of a new race. Nor were the Normans left entirely to Scandinavia for recruits. The glowing reports of their success, which successively arrived at their ancient homes, of course inspired the ambitious listeners with an irresistible desire to launch forth and share their fortune; but there were not wanting thousands of volunteers near at hand. King and duke, bishop and baron, were all unable to give protection to the cultivator of the soil and shepherd of the flock. These humble sufferers saw their cabins fired, and all their victuals destroyed. Rollo was too politic to make it a war of extermination against the unresisting inhabitants, and easily opened his ranks for their reception. The result was that, in those disastrous excursions, shouting the war-cry of Norway, and brandishing the pirate's axe, were many of the original Franks and Gauls, allured by the double inducement of escaping further injury themselves and taking vengeance on their former oppressors. Religious scruples did not stand in their way. They gave in their adhesion to the gods of the North, and proved themselves true converts to Thor and Odin, by eating the flesh of a horse that had been slain in sacrifice. It is perhaps this heathen association with horseflesh as an article of food, which has banished it from Christian consumption for so long a time. But an effort is now made in France to rescue the fattened and roasted steed from the obloquy of its first introduction; and the success of the movement would be complete if there were no other difficulty to contend against than the stigma of its idolatrous origin. Yet the recruits were not all on one side, for we read of certain sea-kings who have grown tired of their wandering life, and taken service under the kings of France. Of these the most famous was Hastings, whom we saw defeated at the end of the last century, on the banks of the river Lea. He is old now, and so far forgetful of his Scandinavian origin that some French annalists claim him as a countryman of their own, and maintain that he was the son of a husbandman near Troyes. He is now a great landed lord, Count of Chartres, and in high favour with the French king. When Rollo had established his forces on the banks of the Eure, one of the tributaries of the Seine, the ancient pirate went at the head of an embassy to see what the new-comer required. Standing on the farther bank of the little river, he raised his voice, and in good Norwegian demanded who they were, and who was their lord. "We have no lord!" they said: "we are all equal." "And why do you come into this land, and what are you going to do?" "We are going to chase away the inhabitants, and make the country our home. But who are you, who speak our language so well?" The count replied, "Did you never hear of Hastings the famous pirate, who had so many ships upon the sea, and did such evil to this realm?" "Of course," replied the Norsemen: "Hastings began well, but has ended poorly." "Have you no wish, then," said Hastings, "to submit yourselves to King Charles, who offers you land and honours on condition of fealty and service?" "Off! off!--we will submit ourselves to no man; and all we can take we shall keep, without dependence on any one. Go and tell the king so, if you like." Hastings returned from his unsuccessful embassy, and the attempt at compromise was soon after followed by a victory of Rollo, which decided the fate of the kingdom. The conquerors mounted the Seine, and laid siege to Paris; but failing in this, they retraced their course to Rouen, and made themselves masters of Bayeux, and of other places. Rollo was now raised to supreme command by the voices of his followers, and took rank as an independent chief. But he was too sagacious a leader to rely entirely on the favour or success of his countrymen. He protected the native population, and reconciled them to the absence of their ancient masters, by the increased security in life and property which his firmness produced. He is said to have hung a bracelet of gold in an exposed situation, with no defence but the terror of his justice, and no one tried to remove it. He saw, also, that however much his power might be dreaded, and his family feared, by the great nobility of France with whom he was brought into contact, his position as a heathen and isolated settler placed him in an inferior situation. The Archbishop of Rouen, who had been his ally in the peaceable occupation of the city, was beside him, with many arguments in favour of the Christian faith. The time during which the populations had been intermixed had smoothed many difficulties on either side. [A.D. 911.] The worship of Thor and Odin was felt to be out of place in the midst of great cathedrals and wealthy monasteries, and it created no surprise when, in a few years, the ambitious Rollo descended from his proud independence, did suit and service to his feeble adversary Charles the Simple, and retained all his conquests in full property as Duke of Normandy and Peer of France. Already the divinity that hedged a king placed the crown, even when destitute of real authority, at an immeasurable height above the loftiest of the nobles; and it will be well to preserve this in our memory; for to the belief in this mystical dignity of the sovereign, the monarchical principle was indebted for its triumph in all the states of Europe. No matter how powerless the anointed ruler might be--no matter how greatly a combination of vassals, or a single vassal, might excel him in men and money--the ineffable supremacy of the sacred head was never denied. This strange and ennobling sentiment had not yet penetrated the mind of Rollo and his followers, at the great ceremonial of his reception as a feudatory of the Crown. He declined to bend the knee before his suzerain, but gave him his oath of obedience and faith, standing at his full height. When a stickler for court etiquette insisted on the final ceremony of kissing the foot of the feudal superior, the duke made a sign to one of his piratical attendants to go through the form instead of him. Forth stalked the Norseman towards the overjoyed Charles, and without stooping his body laid hold of the royal boot, and, lifting it with all his strength up to his mouth, upset the unfortunate and short-legged monarch on his back, to the great consternation of his courtiers, and the hilarious enjoyment of his new subjects. But there was henceforth a new element in French society. The wanderers were unanimously converted to Christianity, and the shores of the whole kingdom perpetually guarded from piratical invaders by the contented and warlike countrymen of Hastings and Rollo. Normandy and Brittany were the appanage of the new duke, and perhaps they were more useful to the French monarch, as the well-governed territories of a powerful vassal, than if he had held them in full sovereignty in their former disorganized and helpless state. Language soon began to exert its combining influence on the peoples thus brought into contact, and in a few years the rough Norse gave place to the Romanized idiom of the rest of the kingdom, and the descendants of Rollo in the next generation required an interpreter if any of their relatives came to visit them from Denmark. But the true characteristic event of this century was the first establishment of real feudalism. The hereditary nature of lands and tenements had long been recognised; the original granter had long surrendered his right to reclaim the property on the death of the first possessor. Gradually also, and by sufferance, the offices to which, in the stronger periods of royalty, the favoured subjects had been promoted for life or a definite time were considered to belong to the descendant of the holder. But it was only now, in the weak administration of a series of nominal kings, that the rights and privileges of a titular nobility were legally recognised, and large portions of the monarchy forever conveyed away from the control of the Crown. There is a sort of natural feudalism which must always exist where there are degrees of power and influence, and which is as potent at this moment as in the time we are describing. A man who expects a favour owes and performs suit and service to the man who has the power of bestowing it. A man with land to let, with money to lend, with patronage to exert, is in a sort of way the "superior" of him who wants to take the farm, or borrow the money, or get the advancement. The obligations of these positions are mutual; and only very advanced philosophers in the theory of disunion and ingratitude would object to the reciprocal feelings of kindness and attachment they naturally produce. In a less settled state of society, such as that now existing, or which lately existed, at the Cape of Good Hope and in New Zealand, the feudal principle is fresh and vigorous, though not recognised under that name, for the peaceful or weak are glad to pay deference and respect to the wielder of the protective sword. In the tenth century there were customs, but no laws, for laws presuppose some external power able to enforce them, and the decay of the kingly authority had left the only practical government in the hands of the great and powerful. They gave protection in return for obedience. But when more closely inquired into, this assumption of authority by a nobility or upper class is found to have been purely defensive on the part of the lay proprietors, against the advancing tide of a spiritual Democracy, which threatened to submerge the whole of Europe. Already the bishops and abbots had got possession of nearly half the realm of France, and in other countries they were equally well provided. Those great officers were the leaders of innumerable priests and monks, and owed their dignities to the popular will. The Pope himself--a sovereign prince when once placed in the chair of St. Peter--was indebted for his exaltation to a plurality of votes of the clergy and people of Rome. Election was, in fact, the universal form of constituting the rule under which men were to live. But who were the electors? The appointment was still nominally in the people, but the people were almost entirely under the influence of the clerical orders. Mechanics and labourers were the serfs or dependants of the rich monasteries, and tillers of the episcopal lands. The citizens had not yet risen into wealth or intelligence, and, though subject in their persons to the baron whose castle commanded their walls, they were still under the guidance of their priests. No middle class existed to hold the balance even between the nobility and the Church; and the masses of the population were naturally disposed to throw power into the hands of persons who sprang, in most instances, from families no better than their own, and recommended themselves to popular favour by opposition (often just, but always domineering) to the proceedings of the lay aristocracy. The labouring serfs, who gave the vote, were not much inferior in education or refinement to the ordained serfs who canvassed for their favour. Abbacies, priories, bishoprics, parochial incumbencies, and all cathedral dignities, were held by a body distinct from the feudal gentry, and elevated, mediately or immediately, by universal suffrage. If some stop had not been put to the aggressions of the priesthood, all the lands in Christendom would have been absorbed by its insatiable greed--all the offices of the State would have been conveyed to sacerdotal holders; all kings would have been nominated by the clerical voice alone, and freedom and progress would never have had their birth. The monarchs--though it is almost mockery to call them so in England--were waging an unsuccessful war with the pretensions of St. Dunstan, who was an embodiment of the pitiless harshness and blind ambition of a zealot for ecclesiastic supremacy. In France a succession of imbecile rulers, whose characters are clearly enough to be guessed from the descriptive epithets which the old chroniclers have attached to their names, had left the Crown a prey to all its enemies. What was to be expected from a series of governors whose mark in history is made by such nicknames as "The Bald," "The Stammerer," "The Fat," and finally, without circumlocution, "The Fool"? Everybody tried to get as much out of the royal plunder as he could. Bishops got lands and churches. Foreign pirates, we have seen, got whole counties at a time, and in self-defence the nobility were forced to join in the universal spoil. Counties as large as Normandy were retained as rightful inheritances, independent of all but nominal adhesion to the throne. Smaller properties were kept fast hold of, on the same pretence. And by this one step the noble was placed in a position of advantage over his rival the encroaching bishop. His power was not the mere creation of a vote or the possession of a lifetime. His family had foundations on which to build through a long succession of generations. Marriage, conquest, gift, and purchase, all tended to the consolidation of his influence; and the result was, that, instead of one feeble and decaying potentate in the person of the king, to resist the aggressions of an absorbing and levelling Church, there were hundreds all over the land, democratic enough in regard to their dislike of the supremacy of the sovereign, but burning with a deep-seated aristocratic hatred of the territorial aggrandizement of the dissolute and low-born clergy. Europe was either in this century to be ruled by mailed barons or surpliced priests. Sometimes they played into each other's hands. Sometimes the warrior overwhelmed an adversary by enlisting on his side the sympathies of the Church. Sometimes the Church, in its controversies with the Crown, cast itself on the protection of the warrior, but more frequently it threw its weight into the scale of the vacillating monarch, who could reward it with such munificent donations. But those munificent donations were equivalent to aggressions on the nobles. There was no use in their trying to check the aggrandizement of the clerical power, if the Crown continued its gifts of territory and offices to the priests and churches. And at last, when the strong-handed barons of France were tired out with the fatuity of their effete kings, they gave the last proof of the supremacy they had attained, by departing from the line of Charlemagne and placing one of themselves upon the throne. Hugh Capet, the chief of the feudal nobles, was chosen to wear the crown as delegate and representative of the rest. The old Mayors of the Palace had been revived in his family for some generations; and when Louis the son of Lothaire died, after a twelvemonth's permissive reign, in 987, the warriors and land-owners turned instinctively to the strongest and most distinguished member of their body to be the guardian of the privileges they had already secured. This was an aristocratic movement against the lineal supremacy of the Crown, and in reply to the democratic policy of the Church. But the Pope was too clear-sighted to lose the chance of attaching another champion to the papal chair. [A.D. 987.] He made haste to ratify the new nomination to the throne, and pronounced Hugh Capet "King of France in right of his great deeds." Hugh Capet had been first of the feudal nobility; but from thenceforth he laboured to be "every inch a king." He tried to please both parties, and to humble them at the same time. He did not lavish crown-lands or lofty employments on the clergy; he took a new and very economical way of attaching them to his cause. He procured his election, it is not related by what means, to the highest dignities in the Church, and, although not in holy orders, was invested with the abbacies of St. Denis and St. Martin's and St. Germain's. The clergy were delighted with the increase to the respectability of their order, which had thus a king among its office-bearers. The Pope, we have seen, was first to declare his legitimacy; the bishops gave him their support, as they felt sure that, as a threefold abbot, he must have interests identical with their own. He was fortunate, also, in gaining still more venerated supporters; for while he was building a splendid tomb at St. Valery, the saint of that name appeared to him and said, with larger promise than the witches to Banquo, "Thou and thy descendants shall be kings to the remotest generations." With the nobles he proceeded in a different manner. His task, you will remember, was to regain the universal submission of the nation; and success at first seemed almost hopeless, for his real power, like that of the weakest of his immediate predecessors, extended no further than his personal holdings. In his fiefs of France proper (the small district including Paris) and Burgundy he was all-powerful; but in the other principalities and dukedoms he was looked on merely as a neighbouring potentate with some shadowy claims of suzerainty, with no right of interference in their internal administration. The other feudatories under the old monarchy, but who were in reality independent sovereigns under the new, were the Dukes of Normandy and Flanders, and Aquitaine and Toulouse. These made the six lay peerages of the kingdom, and, with the six ecclesiastical chief rulers, made the Twelve Peers of France. Of the lay peerages it will be seen that Hugh was in possession of two--the best situated and most populous of all. The extent of his possessions and the influence of his name were excellent starting-points in his efforts to restore the power of the Crown; but other things were required, and the first thing he aimed at was to place his newly-acquired dignity on the same vantage-ground of hereditary succession as his dukedoms had long been. [A.D. 989.] With great pomp and solemnity he himself was anointed with the holy oil by the hands of the Pope; and he took advantage of the self-satisfied security of the other nobles to have the ceremony of a coronation performed on his son during his lifetime, and by this arrangement the appearance of election was avoided at his death. Its due weight must be given to the universal superstition of the time, when we attribute such importance to the formal consecration of a king. Externals, in that age, were all in all. Something mystic and divine, as we have said before, was supposed to reside in the very fact of having the crown placed on the head with the sanction and prayers of the Church. Opposition to the wearer became not only treason, but impiety; and when the same policy was pursued by many generations of Hugh's successors, in always procuring the coronation of their heirs before their demise, and thus obliterating the remembrance of the elective process to which they owed their position, the royal power had the vast advantage of hereditary descent added to its unsubstantial but never-abandoned claim of paramount authority. The effects of this momentous change in the dynasty of one of the great European nations were felt in all succeeding centuries. The family connection between the house of France and the Empire was dissolved; and the struggle between the old condition of society and the rising intelligence of the peoples--which is the great characteristic of the Middle Ages--took a more defined form than before: aristocracy assumed its perfected shape of king and nobility combined for mutual defence on one side, and on the other the towns and great masses of the nations striving for freedom and privilege under the leadership of the sympathizing and democratic Church; for the Church was essentially democratic, in spite of the arrogance and grasping spirit of some of its principal leaders. From hereditary aristocracy and hereditary royalty it was equally excluded; and the celibacy of the clergy has had this good effect, if no other: Its members were recruited from the people, and derived all their influence from popular support. In Germany the same process was going on, though without the crowning consummation of making the empire non-elective. [A.D. 962.] Otho, however--worthier of the name of Great than many who have borne that ambitious title--succeeded in limiting that highest of European dignities to the possessors of the German crown, and commenced the connection between Upper Italy and the Emperors which still subsists (so uneasily for both parties) under the house of Austria. In England the misery of the population had reached its maximum. The immigration of the Norsemen had been succeeded by numberless invasions, accompanied with all the horrors of barbarism and religious hatred; for the Danes who devastated the shores in this age were as remorselessly savage, and as bitterly heathen, as their predecessors a hundred years before. No place was safe for the unhappy Christianized Saxons. Their sufferings were of the same kind as those of the inhabitants of Normandy when Rollo began his ravages. Their priest-ridden kings and impoverished nobles could give them no protection. Bribes were paid to the assailants, and only brought over increasing and hungrier hordes. The land was a prey to wretchedness of every kind, and it was slender consolation to the starving and trampled multitudes that all the world was suffering to almost the same extent. Saracens were devastating the coasts of Italy, and a wild tribe of Sclaves trying to burst through the Hungarian frontier. At Rome itself, the capital of intellect and religion, such iniquities were perpetrated on every side that Protestant authors themselves consent to draw a veil over them for the sake of human nature; and in those sketches we require to do nothing more than allude to the crimes and wickedness of the papal court as one of the features by which the century was marked. Women of high rank and infamous character placed the companions of their vices in the highest offices of the Church, and seated their sons or paramours on the papal throne. Spiritual pretensions rose almost in proportion to personal immorality, and the curious spectacle was presented of a power losing all respect at home by conduct which the heathen emperors of the first century scarcely equalled; of popes alternately dethroning and imprisoning each other--sometimes of two popes at a time--always dependent for life or influence on the will of the emperor, or whoever else might be dominant in Italy--and yet successfully claiming the submission and reverence of distant nations as "Bishop of all the world" and lineal "successors of the Prince of the Apostles." This claim had never been expressly made before, and is perhaps the most conclusive proof of the darkness and ignorance of this period. Men were too besotted to observe the incongruity between the life and profession of those blemishes of the Church, even when by travelling to the seat of government they had the opportunity of seeing the Roman pontiff and his satellites and patrons. The rest of the world had no means of learning the real state of affairs. Education had almost died out among the clergy themselves. Nobody else could write or read. Travelling monks gave perverted versions, we may believe, of every thing likely to be injurious to the interests of the Church; and the result was, that everywhere beyond the city-walls the thunder of a Boniface the Seventh, or a John the Twelfth, was considered as good thunder as if it had issued from the virtuous indignation of St. Paul. But just as this century drew to a close, various circumstances concurred to produce a change in men's minds. It was a universally-diffused belief that the world would come to an end when a thousand years from the Saviour's birth were expired. The year 999 was therefore looked upon as the last which any one would see. And if ever signs of approaching dissolution were shown in heaven and earth, the people of this century might be pardoned for believing that they were made visible to them. Even the breaking up of morals and law, and the wide deluge of sin which overspread all lands, might be taken as a token that mankind were deemed unfit to occupy the earth any more. In addition to these appalling symptoms, famines were renewed from year to year in still increasing intensity and brought plague and pestilence in their train. The land was left untilled, the house unrepaired, the right unvindicated; for who could take the useless trouble of ploughing or building, or quarrelling about a property, when so few months were to put an end to all terrestrial interests? Yet even for the few remaining days the multitudes must be fed. Robbers frequented every road, entered even into walled towns; and there was no authority left to protect the weak, or bring the wrong-doer to punishment. Corn and cattle were at length exhausted; and in a great part of the Continent the most frightful extremities were endured; and when endurance could go no further, the last desperate expedient was resorted to, and human flesh was commonly consumed. One man went so far as to expose it for sale in a populous market-town. The horror of this open confession of their needs was so great, that the man was burned, but more for the publicity of his conduct than for its inherent guilt. Despair gave a loose to all the passions. Nothing was sacred--nothing safe. Even when food might have been had, the vitiated taste made bravado of its depravation, and women and children were killed and roasted in the madness of the universal fear. Meantime the gentler natures were driven to the wildest excesses of fanaticism to find a retreat from the impending judgment. Kings and emperors begged at monastery-doors to be admitted brethren of the Order. Henry of Germany and Robert of France were saints according to the notions of the time, and even now deserve the respect of mankind for the simplicity and benevolence of their characters. Henry the Emperor succeeded in being admitted as a monk, and swore obedience on the hands of the gentle abbot who had failed in turning him from his purpose. "Sire," he said at last, "since you are under my orders, and have sworn to obey me, I command you to go forth and fulfil the duties of the state to which God has called you. Go forth, a monk of the Abbey of St. Vanne, but Emperor of the West." Robert of France, the son of Hugh Capet, placed himself, robed and crowned, among the choristers of St. Denis, and led the musicians in singing hymns and psalms of his own composition. Lower men were satisfied with sacrificing the marks of their knightly and seignorial rank, and placed baldrics and swords on the altars and before the images of saints. Some manumitted their serfs, and bestowed large sums upon charitable trusts, commencing their disposition with words implying the approaching end of all. Crowds of the common people would sleep nowhere but in the porches, or at any rate within the shadow, of the churches and other holy buildings; and as the day of doom drew nearer and nearer, greater efforts were made to appease the wrath of Heaven. Peace was proclaimed between all classes of men. From Wednesday night till Monday evening of each week there was to be no violence or enmity or war in all the land. It was to be a Truce of God; and at last, all their strivings after a better state, acknowledgments of a depraved condition, and heartfelt longings for something better, purer, nobler, received their consummation, when, in the place of the unprincipled men who had disgraced Christianity by carrying vice and incredulity into the papal chair, there was appointed to the highest of ecclesiastical dignities a man worthy of his exaltation; and the good and holy Gerbert, the tutor, guide, and friend of Robert of France, was appointed Pope in 998, and took the name of Sylvester the Second. ELEVENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. OTHO III.--(_cont_.) 1002. HENRY OF BAVARIA. 1024. CONRAD II. 1039. HENRY III. 1056. HENRY IV. Kings of England. A.D. ETHELRED II.--(_cont._) 1013. SWEYN. } 1015. CANUTE THE GREAT. } 1017. EDMUND II. } Danes. 1039. HAROLD and HARDICANUTE. } 1042. EDWARD THE CONFESSOR. 1066. HAROLD, (son of Godwin.) 1066. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 1087. WILLIAM RUFUS. Emperors of the East. A.D. BASILIUS.--(_cont._) 1028. ROMANUS III. 1042. EMPRESS ZOE and THEODORA. 1056. MICHAEL VI. 1057. ISAAC COMNENUS. 1059. CONSTANTINE X., (DUCAS.) 1067. EUDOXIA and CONSTANTINE XI. 1068. ROMANUS IV., (DIOGENES.) 1071. MICHAEL. 1078. { Two princes of the 1081. { House of the Comneni. 1081. ALEXIS I. Kings of France. A.D. ROBERT THE WISE.--(_cont._) 1031. HENRY I. 1060. PHILIP I. 1096. THE FIRST CRUSADE. Authors. ANSELM, (1003-1079,) ABELARD, (1079-1142,) BERENGARIUS, ROSCELIN, LANFRANC, THEOPHYLACT, (1077.) THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. THE COMMENCEMENT OF IMPROVEMENT--GREGORY THE SEVENTH--FIRST CRUSADE. And now came the dreaded or hoped-for year. The awful Thousand had at last commenced, and men held their breath to watch what would be the result of its arrival. "And he laid hold of the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound him for a thousand years, and cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he should deceive the nations no more, till the thousand years should be fulfilled: and after that he must be loosed a little season." (Revelation xx. 2, 3.) With this text all the pulpits in Christendom had been ringing for a whole generation. And not the pulpits only, but the refection-halls of convents, and the cottages of the starving peasantry. Into the castle also of the noble, we have seen, it had penetrated; and the most abject terror pervaded the superstitious, while despair, as in shipwrecked vessels, displayed itself amid the masses of the population in rioting and insubordination. The spirit of evil for a little season was to be let loose upon a sinful world; and when the observer looked round at the real condition of the people in all parts of Europe--at the ignorance and degradation of the multitude, the cruelty of the lords, and the unchristian ambition and unrestrained passions of the clergy--it must have puzzled him how to imagine a worse state of things even when the chain was loosened from "that old serpent," and the world placed unresistingly in his folds. Yet, as if men's minds had now reached their lowest point, there was a perpetual rise from the beginning of this date. When the first day of the thousand-and-first year shone upon the world, it seemed that in all nations the torpor of the past was to be thrown off. There were strivings everywhere after a new order of things. Coming events cast their shadows a long way before; for in the very beginning of this century, when it was reported that Jerusalem had been taken by the Saracens, Sylvester uttered the memorable words, "Soldiers of Christ, arise and fight for Zion." By a combination of all Christian powers for one object, he no doubt hoped to put an end to the party quarrels by which Europe was torn in pieces. And this great thought must have been germinating in the popular heart ever since the speech was spoken; for we shall see at the end of the period we are describing how instantaneously the cry for a crusade was responded to in all lands. In the mean time, the first joy of their deliverance from the expected destruction impelled all classes of society in a more honourable and useful path than they had ever hitherto trod. As if by universal consent, the first attention was paid to the maintenance of the churches, those holy buildings by whose virtues the wrath of Heaven had been turned away. In France, and Italy, and Germany, the fabrics had in many places been allowed to fall into ruin. They were now renovated and ornamented with the costliest materials, and with an architectural skill which, if it previously existed, had had no room for its display. Stately cathedrals took the place of the humble buildings in which the services had been conducted before. Every thing was projected on a gigantic scale, with the idea of permanence prominently brought forward, now that the threatened end of all things was seen to be postponed. The foundations were broad and deep, the walls of immense thickness, roofs steep and high to keep off the rain and snow, and square buttressed towers to sustain the church and furnish it at the same time with military defence. It was a holy occupation, and the clergy took a prominent part in the new movement. Bishops and monks were the principal members of a confraternity who devoted themselves to the science of architecture and founded all their works on the exact rules of symmetry and fitness. Artists from Italy, where Roman models were everywhere seen, and enthusiastic students from the south of France, where the great works of the Empire must have exercised an ennobling influence on their taste and fancy, brought their tribute of memory or invention to the design. Tall pillars supported the elevated vault, instead of the flat roof of former days; and gradually an approach was made to what, in after-periods, was recognised as the pure Gothic. Here, then, was at last a real science, the offspring of the highest aspirations of the human mind. Churches rising in rich profusion in all parts of the country were the centres of architectural taste. The castle of the noble was no longer to be a mere mass of stones huddled on each other, to protect its inmates from outward attack. The skill of the learned builder was called in, and on picturesque heights, safe from hostile assault by the difficulty of approach, rose turret and bartizan, arched gateway and square-flanked towers, to add new features to the landscape, and help the march of civilization, by showing to that allegorizing age the result, both for strength and beauty, of regularity and proportion. For at this time allegory, which gave an inner meaning to outward things, was in full force. There was no portion of the parish church which had not its mystical significance; and no doubt, at the end of this century, the architectural meaning of the external alteration of the structure was perceived, when the great square tower, which typified resistance to worldly aggression, was exchanged for the tall and graceful spire which pointed encouragingly to heaven. Occasions were eagerly sought for to give employment to the ruling passion. Building went on in all quarters. The beginning of this century found eleven hundred and eight monasteries in France alone. In the course of a few years she was put in possession of three hundred and twenty-six more. [A.D. 1035.] The magnificent Abbey of Fontenelle was restored in 1035 by William of Normandy; and this same William, whom we shall afterwards see in the somewhat different character of Conqueror and devastator of England, was the founder and patron of more abbeys and monasteries than any other man. Many of them are still erect, to attest the solidity of his work; the ruins of the others raise our surprise that they are not yet entire--so vast in their extent and gigantic in their materials. But the same character of permanence extended to all the works of this great builder's[B] hands--the systems of government no less than the fabrics of churches. The remains of his feudalism in our country, no less than the fragments of his masonry at Bayeux, Fecamp, and St. Michael's, attest the cyclopean scale on which his superstructures were reared. Nor were these great architectural efforts which characterize this period made only on behalf of the clergy. It gives a very narrow notion, as Michelet has observed, of the uses and purposes of those enormous buildings, to view them merely as places for public worship and the other offices of religion. The church in a district was, in those days, what a hundred other buildings are required to make up in the present. It was the town-hall, the market-place, the concert-room, the theatre, the school, the news-room, and the vestry, all in one. We are to remember that poverty was almost universal. The cottages in which the serfs and even the freemen resided were wretched hovels. They had no windows, they were damp and airless, and were merely considered the human kennels into which the peasantry retired to sleep. In contrast to this miserable den there arose a building vast and beautiful, consecrated by religion, ornamented with carving and colour, large enough to enable the whole population to wander in its aisles, with darker recesses under the shade of pillars, to give opportunity for familiar conversation or the enjoyment of the family meal. The church was the poor man's palace, where he felt that all the building belonged to him and was erected for his use. It was also his castle, where no enemy could reach him, and the love and pride which filled his heart in contemplating the massive proportions and splendid elevation of the glorious fane overflowed towards the officers of the church. The priest became glorified in his eyes as the officiating servant in that greatest of earthly buildings, and the bishop far outshone the dignity of kings when it was known that he had plenary authority over many such majestic fabrics. Ascending from the known to the unknown, the Pope of Rome, the Bishop of Bishops, shone upon the bewildered mind of the peasant with a light reflected from the object round which all his veneration had gathered from his earliest days--the scene of all the incidents of his life--the hallowed sanctuary into which he had been admitted as an infant, and whose vaults should echo to the funeral service when he should have died. But this century was distinguished for an upheaving of the human mind, which found its development in other things besides the bursting forth of architectural skill. It seemed that the chance of continued endurance, vouchsafed to mankind by the rising of the sun on the first morning of the eleventh century, gave an impulse to long-pent-up thoughts in all the directions of inquiry. The dulness of unquestioning undiscriminating belief was disturbed by the freshening breezes of dissidence and discussion. The Pope himself, the venerable Sylvester the Second, had acquired all the wisdom of the Arabians by attending the Mohammedan schools in the royal city of Cordova. There he had learned the mysteries of the secret sciences, and the more useful knowledge--which he imported into the Christian world--of the Arabic numerals. The Saracenic barbarism had long yielded to the blandishments of the climate and soil of Spain; and emirs and sultans, in their splendid gardens on the Guadalquivir, had been discussing the most abstruse or subtle points of philosophy while the professed teachers of Christendom were sunk in the depths of ignorance and credulity. Sylvester had made such progress in the unlawful learning accessible at the head-quarters of the unbelievers, that his simple contemporaries could only account for it by supposing he had sold himself to the enemy of mankind in exchange for such prodigious information. He was accused of the unholy arts of magic and necromancy; and all that orthodoxy could do to assert her superiority over such acquirements was to spread the report, which was very generally credited, that when the years of the compact were expired, the paltering fiend appeared in person and carried off his debtor from the midst of the affrighted congregation, after a severe logical discussion, in which the father of lies had the best of the argument. This was a conclusive proof of the danger of all logical acquirements. But as time passed on, and the darkness of the tenth century was more and more left behind, there arose a race of men who were not terrified by the fate of the philosophic Sylvester from cultivating their understandings to the highest pitch. Among those there were two who particularly left their marks on the genius of the time, and who had the strange fortune also of succeeding each other as Archbishops of Canterbury. These were Lanfranc and Anselm. [A.D. 1042.] When Lanfranc was still a monk at Caen, he had attracted to his prelections more than four thousand scholars; and Anselm, while in the same humble rank, raised the schools of Bec in Normandy to a great reputation. From these two men, both Italians by birth, the Scholastic Philosophy took its rise. The old unreasoning assent to the doctrines of Christianity had now new life breathed into it by the permitted application of intellect and reason to the support of truth. In the darkness and misery of the previous century, the deep and mysterious dogma of Transubstantiation had made its first authoritative appearance in the Church. Acquiesced in by the docile multitude, and accepted by the enthusiastic and imaginative as an inexpressible gift of fresh grace to mankind, and a fitting crown and consummation of the daily-recurring miracles with which the Mother and Witness of the truth proved and maintained her mission, it had been attacked by Berenger of Tours, who used all the resources of reason and ingenuity to demonstrate its unsoundness. [A.D. 1059.] But Lanfranc came to the rescue, and by the exercise of a more vigorous dialectic, and the support of the great majority of the clergy, confuted all that Berenger advanced, had him stripped of his archdeaconry of Angers and other preferments, and left him in such destitution and disfavour that the discomfited opponent of the Real Presence was forced to read his retractation at Rome, and only expiated the enormity of his fault by the rigorous seclusion of the remainder of his life. The hopeful feature in this discussion was, that though the influence of ecclesiastic power was not left dormant, in the shape of temporal ruin and spiritual threats, the exercise of those usual weapons of authority was accompanied with attempts at argument and conviction. Lanfranc, indeed, in the very writings in which he used his talents to confute the heretic, made such use of his reasoning and inductive faculties that he nearly fell under the ban of heresy himself. He had the boldness to imagine a man left to the exercise of his natural powers alone, and bringing observation, argument, and ratiocination to the discovery of the Christian dogmas; but he was glad to purchase his complete rehabilitation, as champion of the Church, by a work in which he admits reason to the subordinate position of a supporter or commentator, but by no means a foundation or inseparable constituent of an article of the faith. Any thing was better than the blindness and ignorance of the previous age; and questions of the purest metaphysics were debated with a fire and animosity which could scarcely have been excited by the greatest worldly interests. The Nominalists and Realists began their wordy and unprofitable war, which after occasional truces may at any moment break out, as it has often done before, though it would now be confined to the professorial chairs in our universities, and not exercise a preponderating influence on the course of human affairs. The dispute (as the names of the disputants import) arose upon the question as to whether universal ideas were things or only the names of things, and on this the internecine contest went on. All the subtlety of the old Greek philosophies was introduced into the scholasticisms and word-splittings of those useless arguers; and vast reputations, which have not yet decayed, were built on this very unsubstantial foundation. It shows how immeasurably the efforts of the intellect, even when misapplied, transcend the greatest triumphs of military skill, when we perceive that in this age, which was illustrated by the Conquest of England, first by the Danes, and then by William, by the marvellous rise and triumphant progress of the sons of Tancred of Hauteville, and by the startling incidents of the First Crusade,--the central figure is a meagre, hard-featured monk, who rises from rank to rank, till he governs and tramples on the world under the name of Gregory the Seventh. It may seem to some people, who look at the present condition of the Romish Church, that too prominent a place is assigned in these early centuries to the growth and aggrandizement of the ecclesiastical power; but as the object of these pages is to point out what seems the main distinguishing feature of each of the periods selected for separate notice, it would be unpardonable to pass over the Papacy, varying in extent of power and pretension at every period when it comes into view, and always impressing a distinct and individualizing character on the affairs with which it is concerned. It is the most stable, and at the same time the most flexible, of powers. Kingdoms and dynasties flourish and decay, and make no permanent mark on the succeeding age. The authority of a ruler like Charlemagne or Otho rises in a full tide, and, having reached its limits, yields to the irresistible ebb. But Roman influence knows no retrocession. Even when its pretensions are defeated and its assaults repulsed, it claims as _de jure_ what it has lost _de facto_, and, though it were reduced to the possession of a single church, would continue to issue its orders to the habitable globe. Like the last descendant of the Great Mogul, who professed to rule over Hindostan while his power was limited to the walls of his palace at Delhi, the bearer of the Tiara abates no jot of his state and dignity when every vestige of his influence has disappeared. While ridiculed as a puppet or pitied as a sufferer at home, he arrogates more than royal power in regions which have long thrown off his authority, and announces his will by the voice of blustering and brazen heralds to a deaf and rebellious generation, which looks on him with no more respect than the grotesquely-dressed conjurers before a tent-door at a fair. But the herald's voice would have been listened to with respect and obedience if it had been heard at the Pope's gate in 1073. There had never been such a pope before, and never has been such a pope since. Others have been arrogant and ambitious, but no one has ever equalled Hildebrand in arrogance and ambition. Strength of will, also, has been the ruling character of many of the pontiffs, but no one has ever equalled Hildebrand in the undying tenacity with which he pursued his object. He was like Roland, the hero of Roncesvalles, who even in defeat knew how to keep his enemies at a distance by blowing upon his horn. When Durandal foiled the vanquished Gregory, he spent his last breath in defiant blasts upon his Olifant. But there were many circumstances which not only rendered the rise of such a person possible, but made his progress easy and almost unavoidable. First of all, the crusading spirit which commenced with this century had introduced a great change in the principles and practice of the higher clergy. It is a mistake to suppose that the expedition to Jerusalem, under the preaching of Peter the Hermit, which took place in 1094, was the earliest manifestation of the aggressive spirit of the Christian, as such, against the unbeliever. A holy war was proclaimed against the Saracens of Italy at an early date. An armed assault upon the Jews, as descendants of the murderers of Christ, had taken place in 1080. Even the Norman descent on England was considered by the more devout of the Papist followers in the light of a crusade against the enemies of the Cross, as the Anglo-Saxons were not sufficiently submissive to the commands of Rome. Bishops, we saw, were held in a former century to derogate from the sanctity of their characters when they fought in person like the other occupants of fiefs. But the sacred character which expeditions like those against Sicily and Salerno gave to the struggle made a great difference in the popular estimate of a prelate's sphere of action. He was now held to be strictly in the exercise of his duty when he was slaying an infidel with the edge of the sword. He was not considered to be more in his place at the head of a procession in honour of a saint than at the head of an army of cavaliers destroying the enemies of the faith. Warlike skill and personal courage became indispensable in a bishop of the Church; and in Germany these qualities were so highly prized, that the inhabitants of a diocese in the empire, presided over by a man of peace and holiness, succeeded in getting him deposed by the Pope on the express ground of his being "placable and far from valiant." The epitaph of a popular bishop was, that he was "good priest and brave chevalier." The manners and feelings of the camp soon became disseminated among the reverend divines, who inculcated Christianity with a battle-axe in their hands. They quarrelled with neighbouring barons for portions of land. They seized the incomes of churches and abbeys. Bishop and baron strove with each other who could get most for himself out of the property of the Church. The layman forced his serfs to elect his infant son to an abbacy or bishopric, and then pillaged the estate and stripped the lower clergy in the minor's name. Other abuses followed; and though the strictness of the rule against the open marriage of priests had long ceased, and in some places the superiority of wedded incumbents had been so recognised that the appointment of a pastor was objected to unless he was accompanied by a wife--still, the letter of the Church-law, enjoining celibacy on all orders of the clergy, had never been so generally neglected as at the present time. No attempt was made to conceal the almost universal infraction of the rule. Bishops themselves brought forward their wives on occasions of state and ceremony, who disputed the place of honour with the wives of counts and barons. When strictly inquired into, however, these alliances were not allowed to have the effect of regular matrimony. They were looked upon merely as a sort of licensed and not dishonourable concubinage, and the children resulting from them were deprived of the rights of legitimacy. Yet the wealth and influence of their parents made their exclusion from the succession to land of little consequence. They were enriched sufficiently with the spoil of the diocese to be independent of the rights of heirship. This must have led, however, to many cases of hardship, when the feudal baron, tempted by the riches of the neighbouring see, had laid violent hands on the property, and by bribery or force procured his own nomination as bishop. The children of any marriage contracted after that time lost their inheritance of the barony by the episcopal incapacity of their father, and must have added to the general feeling of discontent caused by the junction of the two characters. For when the tyrannical lord became a prelate, it only added the weapons of ecclesiastic domination to the baronial armory of cruelty and extortion. He could now withhold all the blessings of the Church, as bishop, unless the last farthing were yielded up to his demands as landlord. An appalling state of things, when the refractory vassal, who had escaped the sword, could be knocked into submission by the crozier, both wielded by the same man. The Church, therefore, in its highest offices, had become as mundane and ambitious as the nobility. And it must have been evident to a far dimmer sight than Hildebrand's, that, as the power and independence of the barons had been gained at the expense of the Crown, the wealth and possessions of the bishops would weaken their allegiance to the Pope. Sprung from the lowest ranks of the people, the grim-hearted monk never for a moment was false to his order. He looked on lords and kings as tyrants and oppressors, on bishops themselves as lording it over God's heritage and requiring to be held down beneath the foot of some levelling and irresistible power, which would show them the nothingness of rank and station; and for this end he dreamed of a popedom, universal in its claims, domineering equally over all conditions of men--an incarnation of the fiercest democracy, trampling on the people, and of the bitterest republicanism, aiming at more than monarchical power. He had the wrath of generations of serfdom rankling in his heart, and took a satisfaction, sweetened by revenge, in bringing low the haughty looks of the proud. And in these strainings after the elevation of the Papacy he was assisted by several powers on which he could securely rely. The Normans, who by a wonderful fortune had made themselves masters of England under the guidance of William, were grateful to the Pope for the assistance he had given them by prohibiting all opposition to their conquest on the part of the English Church. Another branch of Normans were still more useful in their support of the papal chair. A body of pilgrims to Jerusalem, amounting to only forty men, had started from Scandinavia in 1006, and, having landed at Salerno, were turned aside from completing their journey by the equally meritorious occupation of resisting the Saracens who were besieging the town. They defeated them with great slaughter, and were amply rewarded for their prowess with goods and gear. News of their gallantry and of their reward reached their friends and relations at home. In a few years they were followed by swarms of their countrymen, who disposed of their acquisitions in Upper Italy to the highest bidder, and were remunerated by grants of land in Naples for their exertion on behalf of Sergius the king. But in 1037 a fresh body of adventurers proceeded from the neighbourhood of Coutances in Normandy, under the command of three brothers of the family of Hauteville, to the assistance of the same monarch, and, with the usual prudence of the Norman race, when they had chased the enemy from the endangered territory, made no scruple of keeping it for themselves. Robert, called Guiscard, or the Wise, was the third brother, and succeeded to the newly-acquired sovereignty in 1057. In a short time he alarmed the Pope with the prospect of so unscrupulous and so powerful a neighbour. His Holiness, therefore, demanded the assistance of the German Emperor, and boldly took the field. The Normans were no whit daunted with the opposition of the Father of Christendom, and dashed through all obstacles till they succeeded in taking him prisoner. Instead of treating him with harshness, and exacting exorbitant ransom, as would have been the action of a less sagacious politician, the Norman threw himself on his knees before the captive pontiff, bewailed his hard case in being forced to appear so contumacious to his spiritual lord and master, and humbly besought him to pardon his transgression, and accept the suzerainty of all the lands he possessed and of all he should hereafter subdue. [A.D. 1059.] It was a delightful surprise to the Pope, who immediately ratified all the proceedings of his repentant son, and in a short time was rewarded by seeing Apulia and the great island of Sicily held in homage as fiefs of St. Peter's chair. From thenceforth the Italian Normans were the bulwarks of the papal throne. But, more powerful than the Normans of England, and more devoted personally to the popes than the greedy adventurers of Apulia, the Countess Matilda was the greatest support of all the pretensions of the Holy See. Young and beautiful, the holder of the greatest territories in Italy, this lady was the most zealous of all the followers of the Pope. Though twice married, she on both occasions separated from her husband to throw herself with more undivided energy into the interests of the Church. With men and money, and all the influence that her position as a princess and her charms as a woman could give, the sovereign pontiff had no enemy to fear as long as he retained the friendship of his enthusiastic daughter. [A.D. 1060.] Hildebrand was the ruling spirit of the papal court, and was laying his plans for future action, while the world was still scarcely aware of his existence. He began, while only Archdeacon of Rome, by a forcible reformation of some of the irregularities which had crept into the practice of the clergy, as a preparatory step to making the clergy dominant over all the other orders in the State. He gave orders, in the name of Stephen the Tenth, for every married priest to be displaced and to be separated from his wife. For this end he stirred up the ignorant fanaticism of the people, and encouraged them in outrages upon the offending clergy, which frequently ended in death. The virtues of the cloister had still a great hold on the popular veneration, in spite of the notorious vices of the monastic establishments, both male and female; and Hildebrand's invectives on the wickedness of marriage, and his praises of the sanctity of a single life, were listened to with equal admiration. The secular clergy were forced to adopt the unsocial and demoralizing principles of their monkish rivals; and when all family affections were made sinful, and the feelings of the pastor concentrated on the interests of his profession, the popes had secured, in the whole body of the Church, the unlimited obedience and blind support which had hitherto been the characteristic of the monastic orders. With the assistance of the warlike Normans, the wealth and influence of the Countess Matilda, the adhesion of the Church to his schemes of aggrandizement, he felt it time to assume in public the power he had exercised so long in the subordinate position of counsellor of the popes; and the monk seated himself on what he considered the highest of earthly thrones, and immediately the contest between the temporal and spiritual powers began. [A.D. 1073.] The King of France (Philip the First) and the Emperor of Germany (Henry the Fourth) were both of disreputable life, and offered an easy mark for the assaults of the fiery pontiff. He threatened and reprimanded them for simony and disobedience, proclaimed his authority over kings and princes as a fact which no man could dispute without impiety, and had the inward pleasure of seeing the proudest of the nobles, and finally the most powerful of the sovereigns, of Europe, forced to obey his mandates. The pent-up hatred of his race and profession was gratified by the abasement of birth and power. The struggle with the Empire was on the subject of investiture. The successors of Charlemagne had always retained a voice in the appointment of the bishops and Church dignitaries in their states; they had even frequently nominated to the See of Rome, as to the other bishoprics in their dominions. The present wearer of the iron crown had displaced three contending popes, who were disturbing the peace of the city by their ferocious quarrels, and had appointed others in their room. There was no murmur of opposition to their appointment. They were pious and venerable men; and of each of them the inscrutable Hildebrand had managed to make himself the confidential adviser, and in reality the guide and master. Even in his own case he waited patiently till he had secured the emperor's legal ratification of his election, and then, armed with legitimacy, and burning with smothered indignation, he kicked down the ladder by which he had risen, and wrote an insulting letter to the emperor, commanding him to abstain from simony, and to renounce the right of investiture by the ring and cross. These, he maintained, were the signs of spiritual dignity, and their bestowal was inherent in the Pope. The time for the message was admirably chosen; for Henry was engaged in a hard struggle for life and crown with the Saxons and Thuringians, who were in open revolt. Henry promised obedience to the pontiff's wish, but when his enemies were defeated he withdrew his concession. The Pope thundered a sentence of excommunication against him, released his subjects from their oath of fealty, and pronounced him deprived of the throne. The emperor was not to be left behind in the race of objurgation. [A.D. 1076.] He summoned his nobles and prelates to a council at Worms, and pronounced sentence of deprivation on the Pope. Then arose such a storm against the unfortunate Henry as only religious differences can create. His subjects had been oppressed, his nobility insulted, his clergy impoverished, and all classes of his people were glad of the opportunity of hiding their hatred of his oppressions under the cloak of regard for the interests of religion. He was forced to yield; and, crossing the Alps in the middle of winter, he presented himself at the castle of Canossa. Here the Pope displayed the humbleness and generosity of his Christian character, by leaving the wretched man three days and nights in the outer court, shivering with cold and barefoot, while His Holiness and the Countess Matilda were comfortably closeted within. And after this unheard-of degradation, all that could be wrung from the hatred of the inexorable monk was a promise that the suppliant should be tried with justice, and that, if he succeeded in proving his innocence, he should be reinstated on his throne; but if he were found guilty, he should be punished with the utmost rigour of ecclesiastical law. Common sense and good feeling were revolted by this unexampled insolence. Friends gathered round Henry when the terms of his sentence were heard. The Romans themselves, who had hitherto been blindly submissive, were indignant at the presumption of their bishop. None continued faithful except the imperturbable Countess Matilda. He was still to her the representative of divine goodness and superhuman power. But her troops were beaten and her money was exhausted in the holy quarrel. Robert Guiscard, indeed, came to the rescue, and rewarded himself for delivering the Pope by sacking the city of Rome. Half the houses were burned, and half the population killed or sold as slaves. It was from amidst the desolation his ambition had caused that the still-unsubdued Hildebrand was guarded by the Normans to the citadel of Salerno, and there he died, issuing his orders and curses to his latest hour, and boasting with his last breath that "he had loved righteousness and hated iniquity, and that therefore he expired in exile." [A.D. 1085.] After this man's throwing off the mask of moderation under which his predecessors had veiled their claims, the world was no longer left in doubt of the aims and objects of the spiritual power. There seems almost a taint of insanity in the extravagance of his demands. In the published collection of his maxims we see the full extent of the theological tyranny he had in view. "There is but one name in the world," we read; "and that is the Pope's. He only can use the ornaments of empire. All princes ought to kiss his feet. He alone can nominate or displace bishops and assemble or dissolve councils. Nobody can judge him. His mere election constitutes him a saint. He has never erred, and never shall err in time to come. He can depose princes and release subjects from their oaths of fidelity." Yet, in spite of the wildness of this language, the ignorance of the period was so great, and the relations of European nations so hostile, that the most daring of these assumptions found supporters either in the superstitious veneration of the peoples or the enmity and interests of the princes. The propounder of those amazing propositions was apparently defeated, and died disgraced and hated; but his successors were careful not to withdraw the most untenable of his claims, even while they did not bring them into exercise. They lay in an armory, carefully stored and guarded, to be brought out according to the exigencies either of the papal chair itself, or of the king or emperor who for the moment was in possession of the person of the Pope. None of the great potentates of Europe, therefore, was anxious to diminish a power which might be employed for his own advantage, and all of them by turns encouraged the aggressions of the Papacy, with a short-sighted wisdom, to be an instrument of offence against their enemies. Little encouragement, indeed, was offered at this time to opposition to the spiritual despot. Though Hildebrand had died a refugee, it was remarked with pious awe that Henry the Fourth, his rival and opponent, was punished in a manner which showed the highest displeasure of Heaven. His children, at the instigation of the Pope, rebelled against him. He was conquered in battle and taken prisoner by his youngest son. [A.D. 1106] He was stripped of all his possessions, and at last so destitute and forsaken that he begged for a subchanter's place in a village church for the sake of its wretched salary, and died in such extremity of want and desolation that hunger shortened his days. For five years his body was left without the decencies of interment in a cellar in the town of Spires. But an immense movement was now to take place in the European mind, which had the greatest influence on the authority of Rome. [A.D. 1095] A crusade against the enemies of the faith was proclaimed in the year 1095, and from all parts of Europe a great cry of approval was uttered in all tongues, for it hit the right chord in the ferocious and superstitious heart of the world; and it was felt that the great battle of the Cross and the Crescent was most fitly to be decided forever on the soil of the Holy Land. From the very beginning of this century the thought of armed intervention in the affairs of Palestine had been present in the general mind. Religious difference had long been ready to take the form of open war. As the Church strengthened and settled into more dogmatic unity, the desire to convert by force and retain within the fold by penalty and proscription had increased. As yet some reluctance was felt to put a professing Christian to death on merely a difference of doctrine, but with the open gainsayers of the faith no parley could be held. Thousands, in addition to their religious animosities, had personal injuries to avenge; for pilgrimage to Jerusalem was already in full favour, and the weary wayfarers had to complain of the hostility of the turbaned possessors of the Holy Sepulchre, and the indignities and peril to which they were exposed the moment they came within the infidel's domain. Why should the unbelievers be allowed any longer to retain the custody of such inherently Christian territories as the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane? Why should the unbaptized followers of Mohammed, those children of perdition, pollute with hostile feet the sacred ground which had been the witness of so many miracles and still furnished so many relics which manifested superhuman power? Besides, what was the wealth of other cities--their gold and precious jewels--to the store of incalculable riches contained in the very stones and woodwork of the metropolis and cradle of the faith? Bones of martyrs--garments of saints--nails of the cross--thorns of the crown--were all lying ready to be gathered up by the faithful priesthood who would lead the expedition. And who could be held responsible, in this world or the next, for any sins, however grievous, who had washed them out by purifying the floors of Zion with the blood of slaughtered Saracens and saying prayers and kneeling in contemplation within sight of the Sepulchre itself? So Peter the Hermit, an enthusiast who preached a holy war, was listened to as if he spake with the tongues of angels. The ravings of his lunacy had a prodigious effect on all classes and in all lands; and suddenly there was gathered together a confused rabble of pilgrims, armed in every variety of fashion--princes and beggars, robbers and adventurers--the scum of great cities and the simple-hearted peasantry from distant farms--upwards of three hundred thousand in number, all pouring down towards the seaports and anxious to cross over to the land where so many high hopes were placed. Vast numbers of this multitude found their way from France through Italy; and luckily for Urban the Second--the fifth in succession from Gregory--they took the opportunity of paying a visit to the city of Rome, scarcely less venerable in their eyes than Jerusalem itself. They were the soldiers of the Cross, and in that character felt bound to pay a more immediate submission to the Chief of Christianity than to their native kings. They found the city divided between two rivals for the tiara, and, having decided in favour of Urban, chased away the anti-pope who was appointed by the Imperial choice. Terrified at the accession of such powerful supporters, the Germans were withdrawn from Italy, and Urban felt that the claims of Hildebrand were not incapable of realization if he could get quit of unruly barons and obstinate monarchs by engaging them in a distant and ruinous expedition. It needed little to spread the flame of fanaticism over the whole of Christendom. The accounts given of this first Crusade transcend the wildest imaginings of romance. An indiscriminate multitude of all nations and tongues seemed impelled by some irresistible impulse towards the East. Ostensibly engaged in a religious service, enriched with promises and absolutions from the Pope, giving up all their earthly possessions, and filled with the one idea of liberating the Holy Land, it might have been expected that the sobriety and order of their march would have been characteristic of such elevating aspirations. But the infamy of their behaviour, their debauchery, irregularity, and dishonesty, have never been equalled by the basest and most degraded of mankind. Like a flood they poured through the lands of Italy, Bohemia, and Germany, polluting the cities with their riotous lives, and poisoning the air with the festering corruption of their innumerable dead. They at last found shipping from the ports, and presented themselves, drunk with fanatical pride, and maddened with the sufferings they had undergone, before the astonished people of Constantinople. That enervated and over-civilized population looked with disgust on the unruly mass. Of the vast multitudes who had started under the guidance of Peter the Hermit, not more than 20,000 survived; and of these none found their way to the object of their search. The Turks, who had by this time obtained the mastery of Asia, cut them in pieces when they had left the shelter of Constantinople, and Alexis Comnenus, the Grecian emperor, had little hope of aid against the Mohammedan invaders from the unruly levies of Europe. But in the following year a new detachment made their appearance in his states. This was the second ban, or crusade of the knights and barons. Better regulated in its military organization than the other, it presented the same astonishing scenes of debauchery and vice; and dividing, for the sake of sustenance, into four armies, and taking four different routes, they at length, in greatly-diminished numbers, but with unabated hope and energy, presented themselves before the walls of Constantinople. This was no mob like their famished and fainting predecessors. All the gallant lords of Europe were here, inspired by knightly courage and national rivalries to distinguish themselves in fight and council. Of these the best-known were Godfrey of Bouillon, Baldwyn of Flanders, Robert of Normandy, (William the Conqueror's eldest son,) Hugh the Great, Count of Vermandois, and Raymond of St. Gilles. Six hundred thousand men had left their homes, with innumerable attendants--women, and jugglers, and servants, and workmen of all kinds. Tens of thousands perished by the way; others established themselves in the cities on their route to keep up the communication; and at last the Genoese and Pisan vessels conveyed to the Golden Horn the strength of all Europe, the hardy survivors of all the perils of that unexampled march--few indeed in number, but burning with zeal and bravery. Alexis lost no time in diverting their dangerous strength from his own realms. He let them loose upon Nicea, and when it yielded to their valour he had the cleverness to outwit the Christian warriors, and claimed the city as his possession. On pursuing their course, they found themselves, after a victory over the Turks at Dorylæum, in the great Plain of Phrygia. Hunger, thirst, the extremity of heat, and the difficulty of the march, brought confusion and dismay into their ranks. All the horses died. Knights and chevaliers were seen mounted on asses, and even upon oxen; and the baggage was packed upon goats, and not unfrequently on swine and dogs. Thirst was fatal to five hundred in a single day. Quarrels between the nationalities added to these calamities. Lorrains and Italians, the men of Normandy and of Provence, were at open feud. And yet, in spite of these drawbacks, the great procession advanced. Baldwyn and Tancred succeeded in getting possession of the town of Edessa, on the Euphrates, and opened a communication with the Christians of Armenia. [A.D. 1098.] The siege of Antioch was their next operation, and the luxuries of the soil and climate were more fatal to the Crusaders than want and pain had been. On the rich banks of the Orontes, and in the groves of Daphne, they lost the remains of discipline and self-command and gave themselves up to the wildest excesses. But with the winter their enjoyment came to an end. Their camp was flooded; they suffered the extremities of famine; and when there were no more horses and impure animals to eat, they satiated their hunger on the bodies of their slaughtered enemies. Help, however, was at hand, or they must have perished to the last man. Bohemund corrupted the fidelity of a renegade officer in Antioch, and, availing themselves of a dark and stormy night, they scaled the walls with ladders, and rushed into the devoted city, shouting the Crusaders' war-cry:--"It is the will of God!" and Antioch became a Christian princedom. But not without difficulty was this new possession retained. The Turks, under the orders of Kerboga, surrounded it with two hundred thousand men. There was neither entrance nor exit possible, and the worst of their previous sufferings began to be renewed. But Heaven came to the rescue. A monk of the name of Peter Bartholomew dreamt that under the great altar of the church would be found the spear which pierced the Saviour on the cross. The precious weapon rewarded their toil in digging, and armed with this the Christian charge was irresistible, and the Turks were cut in pieces or dispersed. Instead of making straight for Jerusalem, they lingered six months longer in Antioch, suffering from plague and the fatigues they had undergone. When at last the forward order was given, a remnant, consisting of fifty thousand men out of all the original force, began the march. As they got nearer the object of their search, and recognised the places commemorated in Holy Writ, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. The last elevation was at length surmounted, and Jerusalem lay in full view. "O blessed Jesus," cries a monk who was present, "when thy Holy City was seen, what tears fell from our eyes!" Loud shouts were raised of "Jerusalem! Jerusalem! God wills it! God wills it!" They stretched out their hands, fell upon their knees, and embraced the consecrated ground. But Jerusalem was yet in the hands of the Saracens, and the sword must open their way into its sacred bounds. The governor had offered to admit the pilgrims within the walls, but in their peaceful dress and merely as visitors. This they refused, and determined to wrest it from its unbelieving lords. On the 15th of July, 1099, they found that their situation was no longer tenable, and that they must conquer or give up the siege. The brook Kedron was dried up, the sun poured upon them with unendurable heat, their provisions were exhausted, and in agonies of despair as well as of military ardour they gave the final assault. The struggle was long and doubtful. At length the Crusaders triumphed. Tancred and Godfrey were the first to leap into the devoted town. Their soldiers followed, and filled every street with slaughter. The Mosque of Omar was vigorously defended, and an indiscriminate massacre of Mussulmans and Jews filled the whole place with blood. In the mosque itself the stream of gore was up to the saddle-girths of a horse. The onslaught was occasionally suspended for a while, to allow the pious conquerors to go barefoot and unarmed to kneel at the Holy Sepulchre; and, this act of worship done, they returned to their ruthless occupation, and continued the work of extermination for a whole week. The depopulated and reeking town was added to the domains of Christendom, and the kingdom of Jerusalem was offered to Godfrey of Bouillon. With a modesty befitting the most Christian and noble-hearted of the Crusaders, Godfrey contented himself with the humbler name of Baron of the Holy Sepulchre; and with three hundred knights--which were all that remained to him when that crowning victory had set the other survivors at liberty to revisit their native lands--he established a standing garrison in the captured city, and anxiously awaited reinforcements from the warlike spirits they had left at home. TWELFTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. HENRY IV.--(_cont._) 1106. HENRY V. _House of Suabia._ 1138. CONRAD III. 1152. FREDERICK BARBAROSSA. 1190. HENRY VI. 1198. PHILIP and OTHO IV., (of Brunswick.) Kings of England. A.D. 1100. HENRY I. 1135. STEPHEN. 1154. HENRY II. 1189. RICHARD I. 1199. JOHN. Emperors of the East. A.D. ALEXIS I.--(_cont._) 1118. JOHN. 1143. MANUEL. 1183. ANDRONICUS I. 1185. ISAAC II., (the Angel.) 1195. ALEXIS III. Kings of France. A.D. PHILIP I.--(_cont._) 1108. LOUIS VI. 1137. LOUIS VII. 1180. PHILIP AUGUSTUS. King of Scotland. A.D. 1165. WILLIAM. 1147. SECOND CRUSADE, led by Louis VII. of France. 1189. THIRD CRUSADE, led by Frederick Barbarossa, Philip Augustus, and Richard of England. Authors. BERNARD, (1091-1153,) BECKET, (1119-1170,) EUSTATHIUS, THEODORUS, BALSAMON, PETER LOMBARD, WILLIAM OF MALMESBURY, (1096-1143.) THE TWELFTH CENTURY ELEVATION OF LEARNING--POWER OF THE CHURCH--THOMAS À-BECKETT. The effect of the first Crusade had been so prodigious that Europe was forced to pause to recover from its exhaustion. More than half a million had left their homes in 1095; ten thousand are supposed to have returned; three hundred were left with Godfrey in the Christian city of Jerusalem; and what had become of all the rest? Their bones were whitening all the roads that led to the Holy Land; small parties of them must have settled in despair or weariness in towns and villages on their way; many were sold into slavery by the rapacity of the feudal lords whose lands they traversed; and when the madness of the time had originated a Crusade of Children, and ninety thousand boys of ten or twelve years of age had commenced their journey, singing hymns and anthems, and hoping to conquer the infidels with the spiritual arms of innocence and prayer, the whole band melted away before they reached the coast. Barons, and counts, and bishops, and dukes, all swooped down upon the devoted march, and before many weeks' journeying was achieved the Crusade was brought to a close. Most of the children had died of fatigue or starvation, and the survivors had been seized as legitimate prey and sold as slaves. Meantime the brave and heroic Godfrey--the true hero of the expedition, for he elevated the ordinary virtues of knighthood and feudalism into the nobler feelings of generosity and romance--gained the object of his earthly ambition. Having prayed at the sepulchre, and cleansed the temple from the pollution of the unbelievers' presence, wearied with all his labours, and feeling that his task was done, he sank into deep despondency and died. [A.D. 1100.] Volunteers in small numbers had occasionally gone eastward to support the Cross Ambition, thoughtlessness, guilt, and fanaticism sent their representatives to aid the conqueror of Judea; and his successors found themselves strong enough to bid defiance to the Turkish power. They carried all their Western ideas along with them. They had their feudal holdings and knightly quarrels. The most venerated names in Holy Writ were desecrated by unseemly disputes or the most frivolous associations. The combination, indeed, of their native habits and their new acquisitions might have moved them to laughter, if the men of the twelfth century had been awake to the ridiculous. There was a Prince of Galilee, a Marquis of Joppa, a Baron of Sidon, a Marquis of Tyre. Our own generation has renewed the strange juxtaposition of the East and West by the language employed in steamboats and railways. Trains will soon cross the Desert with warning whistles and loud jets of steam and all the phraseology of an English line. For many years the waters of the mysterious Red Sea have been dashed into foam by paddles made in Liverpool or Glasgow. But these are visitors of a very different kind from Bohemund and Baldwyn. Baldwyn, indeed, seemed less inclined than his companions to carry his European training to its full extent. He Orientalized himself in a small way, perhaps in imitation of Alexander the Great, and, dressed in the long flowing robes of the country, he made his attendants serve him with prostrations, and almost with worship. He married a daughter of the land, and in other respects endeavoured to ingratiate himself with the Saracens by treating them with kindness and consideration. The bravery of those warriors of the Desert endeared them to the rough-handed barons of the West. It was impossible to believe that men with that one pre-eminent virtue could be so utterly hateful as they had been represented; and when the intercourse between the races became more unrestrained, even the religious asperities of the Crusaders became mitigated, they found so many points of resemblance between their faiths. There was not an honour which the Christian paid to the Virgin which was not yielded by the Mohammedan to Fatima. All the doctrines of the Christian creed found their counterparts in the professions of the followers of the Law. Allah was an incarnation of the Deity; and even the mystery of the Trinity was not indistinctly seen in the legend of the three rays which darted from the idea of Mohammed in the mind of the Creator. While this community of sentiment softened the animosity of the crusading leaders towards their enemies, a still greater community of suffering and danger softened their feelings towards their followers and retainers. In that scarcity of knights and barons, the value of a serf's arm or a mechanic's skill was gratefully acknowledged. There had been many mutual kindnesses between the two classes all through those tedious and blood-stained journeys and desperate fights. A peasant had brought water to a wounded lord when he lay fainting on the burning soil; a workman had had the revelation of the true crown: they were no longer the property and slaves of the noble, who considered them beings of a different blood, but fellow-soldiers, fellow-sufferers, fellow-Christians. They were not spoken of in the insulting language of the West, and called "our thralls," "our slaves," "our bondsmen;" at the worst they were called "our poor," and lifted by that word into the quality of brothers and men. The precepts of the gospel in favour of the humble and suffering were felt for the first time to have an application to the men who had toiled on their lands and laboured in their workshops, but who were now their support in the shock of battle, and companions when the victory was won. Only they were poor; they had no lands; they had no arms upon their shields. So Baldwyn gave them large tracts of country; and they became vassals and feudatories for fertile fields near Jericho and rich farms on the Jordan. They were gentlemen by the strength of their own right hands, as the fathers of their lords and suzerains had been. But the amalgamation of race and condition was not carried on in the East more surely or more extensively than in the West. The expenses of preparing for the pilgrimage had impoverished the richest of the lords of the soil. They had been forced to borrow money and to mortgage their estates to the burghers of the great commercial towns, which, quietly and unobserved, had spread themselves in many parts of France and Italy. Genoa had already attained such a height of prosperity that she could furnish vessels for the conveyance of half the army of the Crusade. In return for her cargoes of knights and fighting-men, she brought back the wealth of the East,--silks, and precious stones, and spices, and vessels of gold and silver. The necessities of the time made the money-holder powerful, and the men who swung the hammer, and shaped the sword, and embroidered the banner, and wove the tapestry, indispensable. And what hold, except kindness, and privilege, and grants of land, had the baron on the skilful smith or the ingenious weaver who could carry his skill and energy wherever he chose? Besides, the multitudes who had been carried away from the pursuits of industry to fall at the siege of Antioch or perish by thirst in the Desert had given a greatly-increased value to their fellow-labourers left at home. While the castle became deserted, and all the pomp of feudalism retreated from its crumbling walls, the village which had grown in safety under its protection flourished as much as ever--flourished, indeed, so much that it rapidly became a town, and boasted of rich citizens who could help to pay off their suzerain's encumbrances and present him with an offering on his return. The impoverished and grateful noble could do no less, in gratitude for gift and contribution, than secure them in the enjoyment of greater franchises and privileges than they had possessed before. The Church also gained by the diminished number and power of the lords, who had seized upon tithe and offering and had looked with disdain and hostility on the aggressions of the lower clergy. True to its origin, the Church still continued the leader of the people, in opposition to the pretensions of the feudal chiefs. It was still a democratic organization for the protection of the weak against the powerful; and though we have seen that the bishops and other dignitaries frequently assumed the state and practised the cruelties of the grasping and illiterate baron, public opinion, especially in the North of Europe, was not revolted against these instances of priestly domination, for whatever was gained by the crozier was lost to the sword. It was even a consolation to the injured serf to see the truculent landlord who had oppressed him oppressed in his turn by a still more truculent bishop, especially when that bishop had sprung from the dregs of the people, and--crown and consummation of all--when the Pope, God's vicegerent upon earth, who dethroned emperors and made kings hold his stirrup as he mounted his mule, was descended from no more distinguished a family than himself. It was the effort of the Church, therefore, in all this century, to lower the noble and to elevate the poor. To gain popularity, all arts were resorted to. The clergy were the showmen and play-actors of the time. The only amusement the labourer could aim at was found for him, in rich processions and gorgeous ceremony, by the priest. How could any fault of the abbot or prelate turn away the affection of the peasant from the Church, which was in a peculiar manner his own establishment? Never had the drunkenness, the debauchery and personal indulgences of the upper ecclesiastics reached such a pitch before. The gluttony of friars and monks became proverbial. The community of certain monasteries complained of the austerity of their abbots in reducing their ordinary dinners from sixteen dishes to thirteen. The great St. Bernard describes many of the rulers of the Church as keeping sixty horses in their stables, and having so many wines upon their board that it was impossible to taste one-half of them. Yet nothing shook the attachment of the uneducated commons. Their priest got up dances and concerts and miracles for their edification, and had a right to enjoy all the luxuries of life. Once freed, therefore, from the watchful enmity of lord and king, the Church was well aware that its power would be irresistible. The people were devoted to it as their earthly defender against their earthly oppressors, the caterer of all their amusements, and as their guide in the path to heaven. Gratitude and credulity, therefore, were equally engaged in its behalf. And new influences came to its support. Romance and wonder gathered round the champions of the Faith fighting in the distant regions of the East. Every thing became magnified when seen through the medium of ignorance and fanaticism. The tales, therefore, strange enough in themselves, which were related by pilgrims returning from the Holy Land, and amplified a hundredfold by the natural exaggeration of the vulgar, raised higher than ever the glory of the Church. The fastings and self-inflicted scourgings of holy men, it was believed, effected more than the courage of Godfrey or Bohemund; and even of Godfrey it was said that his ascetic life and painful penances caused more losses to the enemy than his matchless strength and military skill. It would be delightful if we could place ourselves in the position of the breathless crowds at that time listening for the news from Palestine. No telegraphic despatch from the Crimea or Hindostan was ever waited for with such impatience or received with such emotion. The baron summoned the palmer into his hall, and heard the strange history of the march to Jerusalem, and the crowning of a Christian king, and the creation of a feudal court, with a pang, perhaps, of regret that he had not joined the pilgrimage, which might have made him Duke of Bethlehem or monarch of Tiberias. But the peasants in their workshops, or the whole village assembled in the long aisles of their church, lent far more attentive ears to the wayfaring monk who had escaped from the prison of the Saracen, and told them of the marvels accomplished by the bones of martyrs and apostles which had been revealed to holy pilgrims in their dream on the Mount of Olives. Footprints on the heights of Calvary, and portions of the manger in Bethlehem, were described in awe-struck voice; and when it was announced that in the belt of the narrator, enwrapped in a silken scarf,--itself a fabric of incalculable worth,--was a hair of an apostle's head, (which their lord had purchased for a large sum,) to be deposited upon their altar, they must have thought the sacrifices and losses of the Crusade amply repaid. And no amount of these sacred articles seemed in the least to diminish their importance. The demand was always greatly in advance of the supply, however vast it might be. And as the mines of California and Australia have hitherto deceived the prophets of evil, by having no perceptible effect on the price of the precious metals, the incalculable importation of saints' teeth, and holy personages' clothes, and fragments of the true Cross, and prickles of the real Crown of Thorns, had no depressing effect on the market-value of similar commodities with which all Christian Europe was inundated. Faith seemed to expand in proportion as relics became plentiful, as credit expands on the security of a supply of gold. And as many of those articles were actually of as clearly-recognised a pecuniary value as houses or lands, and represented in any market or banking-house a definite and very considerable sum, it is not too much to say that the capital of the West was greatly increased by these acquisitions from the East. The cup of onyx, carved in one stone, which was believed to have been that in which the wine of the Last Supper was held when our Saviour instituted the Communion, was pledged by its owner for an enormous sum, and--what is perhaps more strange--was redeemed when the term of the loan expired by the repayment of principal and interest. The intercourse, therefore, between power and money showed that each was indispensable to the other. The baron relaxed his severity, and the citizen opened his purse-strings; the Church inculcated the equality of all men in presence of the altar; and when the kings perceived what merchandise might be made of privileges and exemptions accorded to their subjects, and how at one great blow the townsman's squeezable riches would be increased and the baron's local influence diminished, there was a struggle between all the crowned heads as to which should be most favourable to the commons. It was in this century, owing to the Crusades, which made the commonalty indispensable and the nobility weak, which strengthened the Crown and the Church and made it their joint interest to restrain the exactions of the feudal proprietors, that the liberties of Europe took their rise in the establishment of the third estate. In the county of Flanders, the great towns had already made themselves so wealthy and independent that it scarcely needed a legal ratification of their franchise to make them free cities. But in Italy a step further had been made, and the great word Republic, which had been silent for so many years, had again been heard, and had taken possession of the general mind. In spite of the opposition and the military successes of Roger, the Norman king of Sicily, the spirit which animated those great trading communities was never subdued. In Venice itself--the greatest and most illustrious of those republics, the first founded and last overthrown--the original municipal form of government had never been abolished. At all times its liberties had been preserved and its laws administered by officers of its own choice, and from it proceeded at this time a feeling of social equality and an example of commercial prosperity which had a strong effect on the nascent freedom of the lower and industrious classes over all the world. Genoa was not inferior either in liberty or enterprise to any of its rivals. Its fleets traversed the Mediterranean, and, being equally ready to fight or to trade, brought wealth and glory home from the coasts of Greece and Asia. It is to be observed that the first reappearance of self-government was presented in the towns upon the coast, whose situation enabled them to compensate for smallness of territory by the command of the sea. The shores of Italy and the south of France, and the indented sea-line of Flanders, followed in this respect the example set in former ages by Greece, and Tyre, and Pentapolis, and Carthage. There can be no doubt that the sight of these powerful communities, governed by their consuls and legislated for by their parliamentary assemblies, must have put new thoughts into the heads of the serfs and labourers returning, in vessels furnished by citizens like themselves, from the conquest of Cyprus and Jerusalem, where the whole harvest of wealth and glory had been reaped by their lords. Encouraged by these examples, and by the protection of the King of France and Emperor of Germany, the towns in Central and Western Europe exerted themselves to emulate the republican cities of the South. The nearest approach they could hope to the independence they had seen in Pisa or Venice was the possession of the right of electing their own magistrates and making their own laws. These privileges, we have seen, were insured to them by the helplessness and impoverishment of the feudal aristocracy and the countenance of the Church. But the Church towards the middle of this century found that the countenance she had given to liberty in other places was used as an argument against herself in the central seat of her power. Rome, the city of consuls and tribunes, was carried away by the great idea; and under the guidance of Arnold of Brescia, a monk who believed himself a Brutus, the standard was again hoisted on the Capitol, displaying the magic letters S. P. Q. R., (Senatus Populus que Romanus.) The Pope was expelled by the population, the freedom of the city proclaimed, the separation of the spiritual and temporal powers pronounced by the unanimous voice, the government of priests abolished, and measures taken to maintain the authority the citizens had assumed. The banished Pope had died while these things were going on, and his successor was hunted down the steps of the Capitol, and the revolution was accomplished. "Throughout the peninsula," says a German historian, "except in the kingdom of Naples, from Rome to the smallest city, the republican form prevailed." Every thing had concurred to this result,--the force of arms, the rise of commerce, and the glorious remembrance of the past. St. Bernard himself acquiesced in the position now occupied by the Pope, and he wrote to his scholar Eugenius the Third, to "leave the Romans alone, and to exchange the city against the world," ("urbem pro orbe mutatam.") But the effervescence of the popular will was soon at an end. The fear of republicanism made common cause between the Pope and Emperor. Frederick Barbarossa revenged the indignities cast on the chair of St. Peter by burning the rebellious Arnold and re-establishing the ancient form of government by force. Yet the spirit of equality which was thus repressed by violence fermented in secret; nor was equality all that was aimed at amid some of the swarming seats of population and commerce. We find indeed, from this time, that in a great number of instances the original relations between the town and baron were reversed: the noble put himself under the protection of the municipality, and received its guarantee against the assaults or injuries of the prouder and less politic members of his class. It was a strange thing to see a feudal lord receive his orders from the municipal officers of a country town, and still stranger to perceive the low opinion which the courageous and high-fed burghers entertained of the pomp and circumstance of the mailed knights of whom they had been accustomed to stand in awe. Their ramparts were strong, their granaries well filled, their companions stoutly armed; and they used to lean over the wall, when a hostile champion summoned them to submit to the exactions of a great proprietor, and watch the clumsy charger staggering under his heavy armour, with shouts of derision. Men who had thus thrown off their hereditary veneration for the lords of the soil, and contentedly saw the deposition of the Roman Pope by a Roman Senate and People, were not likely to pay a blind submission to the spiritual dictation of their priests. In the towns, accordingly, a spirit of free inquiry into the mysteries of the faith began; and, while country districts still heard with awe the impossible wonders of the monkish legends, there were rash and daring scholars in several countries, who threw doubt upon the plainest statements of Revelation. Of these the best-known is the still famous Abelard, whose exertions as a religious inquirer have been thrown into the shade by his more interesting character of the hero of a love-story. The letters of Eloisa, and the unfortunate issue of their affection, have kept their names from the oblivion which has fallen upon their metaphysical triumphs. And yet during their lives the glory of Abelard did not depend on the passionate eloquence of his pupil, but arose from the unequalled sharpness of his intellect and his skill in argumentation. Of noble family, the handsomest man of his time, wonderfully gifted with talent and accomplishment, he was the first instance of a man professing the science of theology without being a priest. Wherever he went, thousands of enthusiastic scholars surrounded his chair. His eloquence was so fascinating that the listener found himself irresistibly carried away by the stream; and if an opponent was hardy enough to stand up against him, the acuteness of his logic was as infallible as the torrent of his oratory had been, and in every combat he carried away the prize. He doubted about original sin, and by implication about the atonement, and many other articles of the Christian belief. The power and constitution of the Church were endangered by the same weapons which assailed the groundworks of the faith; and yet in all Europe no sufficient champion for truth and orthodoxy could be found. Abelard was triumphant over all his gainsayers, till at length Bernard of Clairvaux, who even in his lifetime was looked on with the veneration due to a saint, who refused an archbishopric, and the popedom itself, took up the gauntlet thrown down by the lover of Eloisa, and reduced him to silence by the superiority of his reasonings and the threats of a general council. It is sufficient to remark the appearance of Abelard in this century, as the commencement of a reaction against the dogmatic authority of the Church. It was henceforth possible to reason and to inquire; and there can be no doubt that Protestantism even in this modified and isolated form had a beneficial effect on the establishment it assailed. A new armory was required to meet the assaults of dialectic and scholarship. Dialecticians and scholars were therefore, henceforth, as much valued in the Church as self-flagellating friars and miracle-performing saints. The faith was now guarded by a noble array of highly-polished intellects, and the very dogma of the total abnegation of the understanding at the bidding of the priest was supported by a show of reasoning which few other questions had called forth. With the enlargement of the clerical sphere of knowledge, refinement in taste and sentiment took place. And at this time, as philosophic discussion took its rise with Abelard, the ennobling and idealization of woman took its birth contemporaneously with the sufferings of Eloisa. Up to this period the Church had avowedly looked with disdain on woman, as inheriting in a peculiar degree the curse of our first parents, because she had been the first to break the law Knightly gallantry, indeed, had thought proper to elevate the feminine ideal and clothe with imaginary virtues the heroines of its fictitious idolatry. It made her the aim and arbiter of all its achievements. The principal seat in hall and festival was reserved for the softer sex, which hitherto had been considered scarcely worthy of reverence or companionship. Perhaps this courtesy to the ladies on the part of knights and nobles began in an opposition to the wife-secluding habits of the Orientals against whom they fought, as at an earlier date the worship of images was certainly maintained by Rome as a protest against the unadorned worship of the Saracens. Perhaps it arose from the gradual expansion of wealth and the security of life and property, which left time and opportunity for the cultivation of the female character. Ladies were constituted chiefs of societies of nuns, and were obeyed with implicit submission. Large communities of young maidens were presided over by widows who were still in the bloom of youth; and so holy and pure were these sisterhoods considered, that brotherhoods and monks were allowed to occupy the same house, and the sexes were only separated from each other, even at night, by an aged abbot sleeping on the floor between them. Though this experiment failed, the fact of its being tried proved the confidence inspired by the spotlessness of the female character. Other things conspired to give a greater dignity to what had been called the inferior sex. The death of whole families in the Crusade had left the daughters heiresses of immense possessions. In every country but France the Crown itself was open to female succession, and it was henceforth impossible to affect a superiority over a person merely because she was corporeally weak and beautiful, who was lady of strong castles and could summon a thousand retainers beneath the banners of her house. The very elevation of the women with whom they were surrounded--the peeresses, and princesses, and even the ladies of lower rank, to whom the voice of the troubadours attributed all the virtues under heaven--necessitated in the mind of the clergy a corresponding elevation in the character of the queen and representative of the female sex, whom they had already worshipped as personally without sin and endowed with superhuman power. At this time the immaculate conception of the Holy Virgin was first broached as an article of belief,--a doctrine which, after being dormant at intervals and occasionally blossoming into declaration, has finally received its full ratification by the authority of the present Pope,--Pius the Ninth. In the twelfth century it was acknowledged and propagated as a fresh increase to the glory of the mother of God; but it is now fixed forever as indispensable to the salvation of every Christian. Such, then, are the great features by which to mark this century,--the combination of rank with rank caused by the mutual danger of lord and serf in the Crusade, the rise of freedom by the commercial activity imparted by the same cause to the towns, the elevation of the idea of woman, without which no true civilization can take place. These are the leading and general characteristics: add to them what we have slightly alluded to,--the first specimens of the joyous lays and love-sonnets of the young knights returning from Palestine and pouring forth their admiration of birth and beauty in the soft language of Italy or Languedoc,--the intercourse between distant nations, which was indispensable in the combined expeditions against the common foe, so that the rough German cavalier gathered lessons in manner or accomplishment from the more polished princes of Anjou or Aquitaine,--and it will be seen that this was the century of awakening mind and softening influences. There were scholars like Abelard, introducing the hitherto unknown treasures of the Greek and Hebrew tongues, and yet presenting the finest specimens of gay and accomplished gentlemen, unmatched in sweetness of voice and mastery of the harp; and there were at the other side of the picture saints like Bernard of Clairvaux, not relying any longer on visions and the traditionary marvels of the past, but displaying the power of an acute diplomatist and wide-minded politician in the midst of the most extraordinary self-denial and the exercises of a rigorous asceticism, which in former ages had been limited to the fanatical and insane. To this man's influence was owing the Second Crusade, which occurred in 1147. [A.D. 1147.] Different from the first, which had been the result of popular enthusiasm and dependent for its success on undisciplined numbers and religious fury, this was a great European and Christian movement, concerted between the sovereigns and ratified by the peoples. Kings took the command, and whole nations bestowed their wealth and influence on the holy cause. Louis the Seventh of France led all the paladins of his land; and Conrad, the German Emperor, collected all the forces of the West to give the finishing-blow to the power of the Mohammedans and restore the struggling kingdom of Jerusalem. Seventy thousand horsemen and two hundred and fifty thousand foot-soldiers were the smallest part of the array. Whole districts were depopulated by the multitudes of artificers, shopmen, women, children, buffoons, mimics, priests, and conjurers who accompanied the march. It looked like one of the great movements which convulsed the Roman Empire when Goths or Burgundians poured into the land. But the results were nearly the same as in the days of Godfrey and Bohemund. Valour and discipline, national emulation and knightly skill, were of no avail against climate and disease. Again the West astonished the Turks with the impetuosity of its courage and the display of its hosts, but lay weakened and exhausted when the convulsive effort was past. A million perished in the useless struggle. Forty years scarcely sufficed to restore the nobility to sufficient power to undertake another suicidal attempt. [A.D. 1191.] But in 1191 the Third Crusade departed under the conduct of Richard of England, and earned the same glory and unsuccess. The century was weakened by those wretched but not fruitless expeditions, which, in round numbers, cost two millions of lives, and produced such memorable effects on the general state of Europe; yet it will be better remembered by us if we direct our attention to some of the incidents which have a more direct bearing on our own country. Of these the most remarkable is the commencement of the long-continued enmity between France and England, of the wars which lasted so many years, which made our most eminent politicians at one time believe that the countries were natural enemies, incapable of permanent union or even of mutual respect; and these took their rise, as most great wars have done, from the paltriest causes, and were continued on the most unfounded pretences. Henry the First was the son of William the Conqueror. On the death of his brother William Rufus he seized the English crown, though the eldest of the family, Robert, was still alive. Robert was fond of fighting without the responsibility of command, and delighted to be religious without the troubles of a religious life. He therefore joined the First Crusade to gratify this double desire, and mortgaged his dukedom of Normandy to Henry to supply him with horses and arms and enable him to support his dignity as a Christian prince at Jerusalem. His dukedom he never could recover, for his extravagances prevented him from repayment of the loan. He tried to reconquer it by force, but was defeated at the battle of Tinchebray, and was guarded by the zealous affection of his brother all the rest of his life in the Tower of London. He left a son, who was used as an instrument of assault against Henry by the Suzerain of Normandy, Louis the Sixth, King of France. Orders were issued to the usurping feudatory to resign his possessions into the hands of the rightful heir; but, however obedient the Duke of Normandy might profess to be to his liege lord the King of France, the King of England held a very different language, and took a different estimate of his position. [A.D. 1153.] And in the time of the second Henry a change took place in their respective situations which seemed to justify the assumptions of the English king. That grandson of Henry the First had opposed his liege lord of France by arms and arts, and at last by one great master-stroke turned his own arms upon his rival and strengthened himself on his spoils. In the Second Crusade the scrupulous delicacy of Louis the Seventh of France had been revolted by the indiscreet or guilty conduct of Eleanor his wife. He repudiated her as unworthy of his throne; and Henry, who had no delicacies of conscience when they interfered with his interest, offered the rejected Eleanor his hand; for she continued the undoubted mistress of Poitou and Guienne. No stain derived from her principles or conduct was reflected in the eyes of the ambitious Henry on those noble provinces, and from henceforth his Continental possessions far exceeded those of his suzerain. The other feudatories, encouraged by this example, owned a very modified submission to their nominal head; and the inheritors of the throne of the Capets were again reduced to the comparative weakness of their predecessors of the Carlovingian line. Yet there was one element of vitality of which the feudal barons had not deprived the king. A fief, when it lapsed for want of heirs, was reattached to the Crown; and in the turmoil and adventure of those unsettled times the extinction of a line of warriors and pilgrims was not an uncommon event. Even while a family was numerous and healthy the uncertain nature of their possession deprived it of half its value, for at the end of that gallant line of knights and cavaliers, slain as they might be in battle, carried off by the pestilences which were usual at that period, or wasted away in journeys to the Holy Land and sieges in the heats of Palestine, stood the feudal king, ready to enter into undisputed possession of the dukedoms or counties which it had cost them so much time and danger to make independent and strong. In the case of Normandy or Guienne themselves, Louis might have looked without much uneasiness on the building of castles and draining of marshes, when he reflected that but a life or two lay between him and the enriched and strengthened fief; and when those lives were such desperadoes as Richard and such cowards as John, the prospect did not seem hopeless of an immediate succession. But the French kings were still more fortunate in being opposed to such unamiable rivals as the coarse and worldly descendants of the Conqueror. The personal characters of those men, however their energy and courage might benefit them in actual war, made them feared and hated wherever they were known. They were sensual, cruel, and unprincipled to a degree unusual even in those ages of rude manners and undeveloped conscience. Their personal appearance itself was an index of the ungovernable passions within Fat, broad-shouldered, low-statured, red-haired, loud-voiced, they were frightful to look upon even in their calmest moods; but when the Conqueror stormed, no feeling of ruth or reverence stood in his way. When he was refused the daughter of the Count of Boulogne, he forced his way into the chamber of the countess, seized her by the hair of her head, dragged her round the room, and stamped on her with his feet. Robert his son was of the same uninviting exterior. William Rufus was little and very stout. Henry the Second was gluttonous and debauched. Richard the Lion-Heart was cruel as the animal that gave him name; and John was the most debased and contemptible of mankind. A race of gentle and truthful men, on the other hand, ennobled the crown of France. The kings, from Louis the Debonnaire to Louis the Seventh, or Young, were favourites of the Church and champions of the people. The harsh and violent nobility despised them, but they were venerated in the huts where poor men lie. The very scruple which induced Louis to divorce his wife, whose conduct had stained the purity of the Crusade, almost repaid the loss of her great estates by the increased love and respect of his subjects. [A.D. 1180.] And when the line of pure and honourable rulers was for a while interrupted by the appearance, upon a throne so long established in equity, of an armed warrior in the person of Philip Augustus, it was felt that the sword was at last in the hands of an avenger, who was to execute the decrees of Heaven upon the enemies whom the moderation, justice, and mercy of his predecessors had failed to move. But before we come to the personal relations of the French and English kings we must take a rapid view of one of the great incidents by which this century is marked,--an incident which for a long time attracted the notice of all Europe, and was productive of very important consequences within our own country. Hitherto England had played the part of a satellite to the Court of Rome. Previous to the quarrels with France, indeed, one great tie between her and the Continental nations was the community of their submission to the Pope. Foreigners have at all times found wealth and kind treatment here. Germans, Italians, Frenchmen, any one who could make interest with the patrons of large livings, held rank and honours in the English Church. [A.D. 1154-1159.] Little enough, it was felt, was all that could be done in behalf of foreign ecclesiastics to repay them for the condescension they showed in elevating Nicholas Breakspear, an Anglo-Saxon of St. Alban's, to the papal chair. But Nicholas, in taking another name, lost his English heart. As Adrian the Fourth, he preferred Rome to England, and maintained his authority with as high a hand as any of his predecessors. Knights and nobles, and even the higher orders of the clergy, were at length discontented with the continual exactions of the Holy See; and in 1162 the same battle which had agitated the world between Henry the Fourth of Germany and Gregory the Seventh was fought out in a still bitterer spirit between Henry the Second of England and Thomas à-Beckett. All the story-books of English history have told us the romantic incidents of the birth of the ambitious priest. It is possible the obscurity of his origin was concealed by his contemporaries under the interesting legend, which must have been a very early subject for the fancy of the poet and troubadour, of a love between a Red-Cross pilgrim and a Saracen emir's daughter. It shows a remarkable softening of the ancient hatred to the infidels, that the votaress of Mohammed should have been chosen as the mother of a saint. But whatever doubt there may arise about the reality of the deserted maiden's journey in search of her admirer, and her discovery of his abode by the mere reiteration of his name, which is beautifully said to be the only word of English she remembered, there is no doubt of the early favour which the young Anglo-Saracen attained with the king, or of the desire the sagacious Henry entertained to avail himself of the great talents which made his favourite delightful as a companion and indispensable as a chancellor, in the higher position still of Archbishop of Canterbury and Comptroller of the English Church. For high pretensions were put forward by the clergy: they insisted upon the introduction of the canon laws; they claimed exemption from trial by civil process; they were to be placed beyond the reach of the ordinary tribunals, and were to be under their own separate rulers, and directly subject in life and property to the decrees of Rome. Henry knew but one man in his dominions able to contend in talent and acuteness with the advocates of the Church, and that was his chancellor and friend, the gay and generous and affectionate à-Beckett. So one day, without giving him much time for preparation, he persuaded him to be made a priest, and at the same moment named him Archbishop of Canterbury and Primate of all England. Now, he thought, we have a champion who will do battle in our cause and stand up for the liberties of his native land. But à-Beckett had dressed himself in a hair shirt and flogged himself with an iron scourge. He had invited the holiest of the priests to favour him with their advice, and had thrown himself on his knees on the approach of the most ascetic of the monks and friars. All his fine establishments were broken up; his horses were sent away; his silver table-services sold; and the new archbishop fasted on bread and water and lay on the hard floor. Henry was astonished and uneasy; and he had soon very good cause for his uneasiness, for his favourite orator, his boon-companion, his gallant chancellor, from whom he had expected support and victory, turned against him with the most ruthless animosity, and pushed the pretensions of Rome to a pitch they had never reached before. Nobody, however he may blame the double-dealing or the ambition of à-Beckett, can deny him the praise of personal courage in making opposition to the king. The Norman blood was as hot in him as in any of his predecessors. When he got into a passion, we are told by a contemporary chronicler, his blue eyes became filled with blood. In a fit of rage he bit a page's shoulder. A favourite servant having contradicted him, he rushed after the man on the stair, and, not being able to catch him, gnawed the straw upon the boards. We may therefore guess with what feelings the injured Plantagenet received the behaviour of his newly-created primate. He stormed and raged, terrified the other prelates to join him in his measures for curbing the power of the Church, chafed himself for several years against the unconquerable firmness of the arrogant archbishop, and finally failed in every object he had aimed at. The violence of the king was met with the affected resignation of the sufferer; and at last, when the impatience of Henry gave encouragement to his followers to put the refractory priest to death, the quarrel was lifted out of the ordinary category of a dispute between the crown and the crozier: it became a combat between a wilful and irreligious tyrant and a martyred saint. It requires us to enter into the feelings of the twelfth century to be able to understand the issue of this great conflict. In our own day the assumptions of à-Beckett, and his claims of exemption from the ordinary laws, have no sympathizers among the lovers of progress or freedom. But in the time of the second Henry the only chance of either, in England, was found under the shelter of the Church. That great establishment was still the only protection against the lawless violence of the king and nobles. The Norman possessors of the land were still an army encamped on hostile soil and levying contributions by the law of the strong hand. Disunion had not yet arisen between the sovereign and his lords, except as to the division of the spoil. The Crusades had not depopulated England to the same extent as some of the other countries in Europe; and the wars of the troubled days of Stephen and Matilda, though fatal to the prosperity of the land, and destructive of many of the nobles on either side, had attracted an immense number of high-born and strong-handed adventurers, who amply supplied their place. The clergy had been forced to retain their original position as leaders of the popular mind, superintendents of the interests of their flocks, and teachers and comforters of the oppressed: à-Beckett, therefore, was not in their eyes an ambitious priest, sacrificing every thing for the elevation of his order. He was a champion fighting the battles of the poor against the rich,--a ransomer of at least one powerful body in the State from the capricious cruelty of Henry and the grasping avarice of the Norman spoliation. The down-trodden Saxons received with the transports of gratified revenge any humiliation inflicted on the proud aristocracy which had thriven on the ruin of their ancestors. The date of the Conquest was not yet so distant as to hinder the feeling of personal wrong from mingling in the conflict between the races. A man of sixty remembered the story told him by his father of his dispossession of holt and field, on which the old manor-house had stood since Alfred's days, and which now had been converted into a crenelated tower by the foreign conqueror. Nor are we to forget, in the midst of the idea of antiquity conveyed at the present time by the fact of a person's ancestor having "come in with William," that the bitterness of dispossession was increased in the eyes of the long-descended Saxon franklin by the lowness of his dispossessor's birth. Half the roll-call of the Norman army was made up of the humblest names,--barbers and smiths, and tailors and valets, and handicraftsmen of all descriptions. And yet, seated in his fortified keep, supported by the sixty thousand companions of his success, enriched by the fertile harvests of his new domain, this upstart adventurer filled the wretched cottages of the land with a distressed and starving peasantry; and where were those friendless and helpless outcasts to look for succour and consolation? They found them in the Church. Their countrymen generally filled the lower offices, speaking in good Saxon, and feeling as good Saxons should; while the lordly abbot or luxurious bishop kept high state in his monastery or palace, and gave orders in Norman French with feelings as foreign as his tongue. But à-Beckett was an Englishman; à-Beckett was Archbishop of Canterbury, and chief of all the churchmen in the land. To honour à-Beckett was to protest against the Conquest; and when the crowning glory came, and the crimes of Henry against themselves attained their full consummation in the murder of the prelate at the altar,--the patriot in his resistance to oppression,--the enthusiasm of the country knew no bounds. The penitential pilgrimage which the proudest of the Plantagenets made to the tomb of his victim was but small compensation for so enormous a wickedness, and for ages the name of à-Beckett was a household word at the hearths of the English peasantry, as their great representative and deliverer,--only completing the care he took of their temporal interests while on earth by the superintendence he bestowed on their spiritual benefit now that he was a saint in heaven. Curses fell upon the head and heart of the royal murderer, as if by a visible retribution. His children rebelled and died; the survivors were false and hostile. Richard, who had the one sole virtue of animal courage, was incited by his mother to resist his father, and was joined in his unnatural rebellion by his brother John, who had no virtue at all. His mind, before he died, had lost the energy which kept the sceptre steady; and the century went down upon the glory of England, which lay like a wreck upon the water, and was stripped gradually, and one by one, of all the possessions which had made it great, and even the traditions of military power which had made it feared. John was on the throne, and the nation in discontent. THIRTEENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. OTHO, (of Brunswick.)--(_cont._) 1212. FREDERICK II. 1247. WILLIAM, (of Holland.) 1257. RICHARD, (of Cornwall.) 1257. ALPHONSO, (of Castile.) 1273. RODOLPH, (of Hapsburg.) 1291. ADOLPH, (of Nassau.) 1298. ALBERT I., (of Austria.) Kings of France. A.D. PHILIP AUGUSTUS.--(_cont._) 1223. LOUIS VIII. 1226. LOUIS IX., (the Fat.) 1270. PHILIP III., (the Hardy.) 1285. PHILIP IV., (the Handsome.) Kings of Scotland. A.D. WILLIAM.--(_cont._) 1214. ALEXANDER II. 1249. ALEXANDER III. 1286. MARGARET. 1291. JOHN BALIOL, deposed 1296. Emperors of Constantinople. A.D. 1203. ISAAC. 1204. ALEXIS IV. 1204. DUCAS, (Usurper,) dethroned by warriors of Fourth Crusade. _Latin Empire._ 1204. BALDWYN, (of Flanders.) 1206. HENRY, (his brother.) 1216. PETER, (of Courtney.) 1219. ROBERT, (his son.) 1228. JOHN, (of Brienne.) 1231. BALDWYN. _Greek Empire of Nicæa._ 1222. JOHN DUCAS. 1255. THEODORUS II. 1261. JOHN LASCARIS--retakes Constantinople. 1261. MICHAEL. 1282. ANDRONICUS II. Kings of England. A.D. JOHN.--(_cont._) 1216. HENRY III. 1276. EDWARD I. 1201. FOURTH CRUSADE. 1217. FIFTH CRUSADE. 1228. SIXTH CRUSADE. 1248. SEVENTH CRUSADE. 1270. EIGHTH AND LAST CRUSADE, by St. Louis against Tunis. Authors. ROGER BACON, MATTHEW PARIS, ALEXANDER HALES, (Irrefragable Doctor,) THOMAS AQUINAS, (the Angelic Doctor.) THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. FIRST CRUSADE AGAINST HERETICS--THE ALBIGENSES--MAGNA CHARTA-- EDWARD I. The progress and enlightenment of Europe proceed from this period at a constantly-increasing rate. The rise of commercial cities, the weakening of the feudal aristocracy, the introduction of the learning of the Saracenic schools, and the growth of universities for the cultivation of science and language, contributed greatly to the result. Another cause used to be assigned for this satisfactory advance, in the discovery which had been made in the last century at Amalfi, of a copy of the long-forgotten Pandects of Justinian, and the reintroduction of the Roman laws, in displacement of the conflicting customs and barbarous enactments of the various states; but the fact of the continued existence of the Roman Institutes is not now denied, though it is probable that the discovery of the Amalfi manuscript may have given a fresh impulse to the improvement of the local codes. But an increase of mental activity had at first its usual regretable accompaniment in the contemporaneous rise of dangerous and unfounded opinions. Philosophy, which began with an admiration of the skill and learning of Aristotle, ended by enthroning him as the uncontrolled master of human reason. Wherever he was studied, all previous standards of faith and argument were overthrown. The cleverest intellects of the time could find themselves no higher task than to reconcile the Christian Scriptures with the decrees of the Stagyrite, for it was felt that in the case of an irreconcilable divergence between the teaching of Christ and of Aristotle the scholars of Christendom would have pronounced in favour of the Greek. A formulary, indeed, was found out for the joint reception of both; many statements were declared to be "true in philosophy though false in religion," so that the most orthodox of Churchmen could receive the doctrines of the Church by an act of belief, while he gave his whole affection to Aristotle by an act of the understanding. When teachers and preachers tamper with the human conscience, the common feelings of honour and fair play revolt at the degrading attempt. Men of simple minds, who did not profess to understand Aristotle and could not be blinded by the subtleties of logic, endeavoured to discover "the more excellent way" for themselves, but were bewildered by the novelty of their search for Truth. There were mystic dreamers who saw God everywhere and in every thing, and counted human nature itself a portion of the Deity, or maintained that it was possible for man to attain a share of the divine by the practice of virtue. This Pantheism gave rise to numerous displays of popular ignorance and impressibility. Messiahs appeared in many parts of Europe, and were followed by great multitudes. Some enthusiasts taught that a new dispensation was opening upon man; that God was the Governor of the world during the Old Testament period; that Christ had reigned till now, but that the reign of the Holy Spirit was about to commence, and all things would be renewed. Others, more hardy, declared their adhesion to the Persian principle of a duality of persons in heaven, and revived the old Manichean heresy that the spirit of Hatred was represented in the Jewish Scriptures and the spirit of Love in the Christian; that the Good god had created the soul, and the Evil god the body,--on which were justified the sufferings they voluntarily inflicted on the workmanship of Satan, and the starvings and flagellations required to bring it into subjection. This belief found few followers, and would have died out as rapidly as it had arisen; but the malignity of the enemies of any change found it convenient to identify those wild enthusiasts with a very different class of persons who at this time rose into prominent notice. The rich counties of the South of France were always distinguished from the rest of the nation by the possession of greater elegance and freedom. The old Roman civilization had never entirely deserted the shores of the Mediterranean or the valleys of Languedoc and Provence. In Languedoc a sect of strange thinkers had given voice to some startling doctrines, which at once obtained the general consent. Toulouse was the chief encourager of these new beliefs, and in its hostility to Rome was supported by its reigning sovereign, Count Raymond VI. This potentate, from the position of his States,--abutting upon Barcelona, where the Spaniards, who remembered their recent emancipation from the Mohammedan yoke, were famous for their tolerance of religious dissent,--and deriving the greater portion of his wealth from the trade and industry of the Jews and Arabs established in his seaport towns, saw no great evil in the principles professed by his people. Those principles, indeed, when stripped of the malicious additions of his enemies, were not different from the creed of Protestantism at the present time. They consisted merely of a complete denial of the sovereignty of the Pope, the power of the priesthood, the efficacy of prayers for the dead, and the existence of purgatory. The other princes of the South looked on religion as a mere instrument for the advancement of their own interests, and would have imitated the greater sovereigns of Europe, several of whom for a very slender consideration would have gone openly over to the standard of Mohammed. The inhabitants, therefore, of those opulent regions, by the favour of Raymond and the indifference of the rest, were left for a long time to their own devices, and gave intimation of a strong desire to break off their connection with the hierarchy of Rome. And no wonder they were tired of their dependence on so grasping and unprincipled a power as the Church had proved to them. More depraved and more exacting in this district than in any other part of Europe, the clergy had contrived to alienate the hearts of the common people without gaining the friendship of the nobility. Equally hated by both,--despised for their sensuality, and no longer feared for their spiritual power,--the priests could offer no resistance to the progress of the new opinions. Those opinions were in fact as much due to the vices of the clergy as to the convictions of the congregations. Any thing hostile to Rome was welcomed by the people. A musical and graceful language had grown up in Languedoc, which was universally recognised as the fittest vehicle for descriptions of beauty and declarations of love, and had been found equally adapted for the declamations of political hatred and denunciations of injustice. But now the whole guild of troubadours, ceasing to dedicate their muses to ladies' charms or the quarrels of princes, poured forth their indignation in innumerable songs on their clerical oppressors. The infamies of the whole order--the monks black and white, the deacons, the abbots, the bishops, the ordinary priests--were now married to immortal verse. Their spoiling of orphans, their swindling of widows and wards, their gluttony and drunkenness, were chronicled in every township, and were incapable of denial. Their dishonesty became proverbial. The simplest peasant, on hearing of a scandalous action, was in the habit of saying, "I would rather be a priest than be guilty of such a deed." But there were two men then alive exactly adapted to meet the exigencies of the time. One was a noble Castilian of the name of Dominic Guzman, who had become disgusted with the world, and had taken refuge from temptations and strife among the brethren of a reformed cathedral in Spain. But temptations and strife forced their way into the cells of Asma, and the eloquent friar was torn away from his prayers and penances and brought prominently forward by the backslidings of the men of Languedoc. The saturnine and self-sacrificing Spaniard had no sympathy with the joyous proceedings of the princes and merchants of the South. He saw sin in their enjoyment even of the gifts of nature,--their gracious air and beautiful scenery. How much more when the gayety of their meetings was enlivened by interludes throwing ridicule on the pretensions of the bishops, by hootings at any ecclesiastic who presented himself in the street, and by sneers and loud laughter at the predictions and miracles with which the Church resisted their attack! The unbelieving populace did not spare the personal dignity of the missionary himself. They pelted him with mud, and fixed long tails of straw at the back of his robe; they outraged all the feelings of his heart, his Castilian pride, his Christian belief, his clerical obedience. There is no denying the energy with which he exerted himself to recall those wandering sheep to the true fold. His biographer tells us of the successes of his eloquence, and of the irresistible effect of the inexhaustible fountain of tears with which he inundated his face till they formed a river down to his robes. His writings, we are assured, being found unanswerable by the heretics, were submitted to the ordeal of fire. Twice they resisted the hottest flames which could be raised by wood and brimstone, and still without converting the incredulous subjects of Count Raymond. His miracles, which were numerous and undeniable, also had no effect. Even his prayers, which seem to have moved houses and walls, had no efficacy in moving the obdurate hearts of the unbelievers; and at last, tired out with their recalcitrancy, the dreadful word was spoken. He cursed the men of Languedoc, the inhabitants of its towns, the knights and gentlemen who received his oratory with insult, and in addition to his own anathemas called in the spiritual thunder of the Pope. This was the other man peculiarly fitted for the work he had to do. His cruelty would have done no dishonour to the blood-stained scutcheon of Nero, and his ambition transcended that of Gregory the Seventh. His name was Innocent the Third. [A.D. 1207.] For one-half of the crimes alleged against those heretics, who, from their principal seat in the diocese of Albi, were known as Albigenses, he would have turned the whole of France into a desert; and when, with greedy ear, he heard the denunciations of Dominic, he declared war on the devoted peasants,--war on the consenting princes; a holy war--more meritorious than a Crusade against the Turks and infidels--where no life was to be spared, and where houses and lands were to be the reward of the assailants. All the wild spirits of the age were wakened by the call. It was a pilgrimage where all expenses were paid, without the danger of the voyage to the East or the sword of the Saracen. Foremost among those who hurried to this mingled harvest of money and blood, of religious absolution and military fame, was the notorious Simon de Montfort, a man fitted for the commission of any wickedness requiring a powerful arm and unrelenting heart. Forward from all quarters of Europe rushed the exterminating emissaries of the Pope and soldiers of Dominic. "You shall ravage every field; you shall slay every human being: strike, and spare not. The measure of their iniquity is full, and the blessing of the Church is on your heads." These words, sung in sweet chorus by the Pope and the Monk, were the instructions on which De Montfort was prepared to act; and what could the sunny Languedoc, the land of song and dance, of olive-yard and vineyard, do to repel this hostile inroad? Suddenly all the music of the troubadours was hushed in dreadful expectation. Raymond was alarmed, and tried to temporize. [A.D. 1208.] Promises were made and explanations given, but without any offer of submission to the yoke of Rome: so the infuriated warriors came on, burning, slaying, ravaging, in terms of their commission, till Dominic himself grew ashamed of such blood-stained missionaries; and when their slaughters went on, when they had murdered half the population in cold blood, and ridden down the peasantry whom despair had summoned to the defence of their houses and properties, the saintly-minded Spaniard could no longer honour their hideous butcheries with his presence. He contented himself with retiring to a church and praying for the good cause with such zeal and animation that De Montfort and eleven hundred of his ruffians put to flight a hundred thousand of the armed soldiers of the South, who felt themselves overthrown and scattered by an invisible power. Yet not even the prayers of Dominic could keep the outraged people in unresisting acquiescence. Simon de Montfort was expelled from the territories he had usurped, and found a mysterious death under the walls of Toulouse in 1218. [A.D. 1223.] The old family was restored in the person of Raymond the Seventh, and preparations made for defence. But Louis the Eighth of France came to the aid of the infuriated Pope. Two hundred thousand men followed in the holy campaign. All the atrocities of the former time were renewed and surpassed. Town after town yielded, for all the defenders had died. Pestilence broke out in the invading force, and Louis himself was carried off by fever. Champions, however, were ready in all quarters to carry on the glorious cause. Louis the Ninth was now King of France, and under the government of his mother, Blanche of Castile, the work commenced by her countryman was completed. The final victory of the crusaders and punishment of the rebellious were celebrated by the introduction of the Inquisition, of which the ferocious Dominic was the presiding spirit. The fire of persecution under his holy stirrings burnt up what the sword of the destroyer had left, and from that time the voice of rejoicing was heard no more in Languedoc: her freedom of thought and elegance of sentiment were equally crushed into silence by the heel of persecution. The "gay science" perished utterly; the very language in which the sonnets of knight and troubadour had been composed died away from the literatures of the earth; and Rome rejoiced in the destruction of poetry and the restoration of obedience. This is a very mark-worthy incident in the thirteenth century, as it is the first experiment, on a great scale, which the Church made to retain her supremacy by force of arms. The pagan and infidel, the denier of Christ and the enemies of his teaching, had hitherto been the objects of the wrath of Christendom. This is the first instance in which a difference of opinion between Christians themselves had been the ground for wholesale extermination; for those unfortunate Albigenses acknowledged the divinity of the Saviour and professed to be his disciples. It is the crowning proof of the totally-secularized nature of the established faith. Its weapons were no longer argument and proof, or even persuasion and promise. The horse up to his fetlocks in blood, the sword waved in the air, the trampling of marshalled thousands, were henceforth the supports of the religion of love and charity; and fires glowing in every market-place and dungeons gaping in every episcopal castle were henceforth the true expositors of the truth as it is in Jesus. Fires, indeed, and dungeons, were required to compensate for the incompleteness, as it appeared to the truly orthodox, of the vengeance inflicted on the rebels. The Abbot of Citeaux, who gave his spiritual and corporeal aid to the assault on Beziers, was for a moment made uneasy by the difficulty his men experienced in distinguishing between the heretics and believers at the storm of the town. At last he got out of the difficulty by saying, "Slay them all! The Lord will know his own." The same benevolent dignitary, when he wrote an account of his achievement to the Pope, lamented that he had only been able to cut the throats of twenty thousand. And Gregory the Ninth would have been better pleased if it had been twice the number. "His vast revenge had stomach for them all," and already a quarter of a million of the population were the victims of his anger. Every thing had prospered to his hand. Raymond was despoiled of the greater portion of his estates, the voice of opposition was hushed, the castles of the nobles confiscated to the Church; and yet, when the treaty of Meaux, in 1229, by which the war was concluded, came to be considered, it was perceived that the pacification of Languedoc turned not so much to the profit of Rome as of the rapidly-coalescing monarchy of France. Long before this, in 1204, Philip Augustus had found little difficulty in tearing the continental possessions of the English crown, except Guienne, from the trembling hands of John. The possession of Normandy had already made France a maritime power; and now, by the acquisition of the Narbonnais and Maguelonne from Raymond the Seventh, she not only extended her limits to the Mediterranean, but, by the extinction of two such vassals as the Count of Toulouse and the Duke of Normandy, incalculably strengthened the royal crown. Extinguished, indeed, was the power of Toulouse; for by the same treaty the unfortunate Raymond bought his peace with Rome by bestowing the county of Venaissin and half of Avignon on the Holy See. These sacrifices relieved him from the sentence of excommunication, and made him the best-loved son of the Church, and the poorest prince in Christendom. While monarchy was making such strides in France, a counterbalancing power was formed in England by the combination of the nobility and the rise of the House of Commons. The story of Magna Charta is so well known that it will be sufficient to recall some of its principal incidents, which could not with propriety be omitted in an account of the important events of the thirteenth century. No event, indeed, of equal importance occurred in any other country of Europe. However more startling a crusade or a victory might be at the time, the results of no single incident have ever been so enduring or so wide-spread as those of the meeting of the barons at Runnymede and the summoning of the burgesses to Parliament. The whole reign of John (1199-1216) is a tale of wickedness and degradation. Richard of the Lion-Heart had been cruel and unprincipled; but the sharpness of his sword threw a sort of respectability over the worst portions of his character. His practical talents, also, and the romantic incidents of his life, his confinement, and even of his death, lifted him out of the ordinary category of brutal and selfish kings and converted a very ferocious warrior into a popular hero. But John was hateful and contemptible in an equal degree. He deserted his father, he deceived his brother, he murdered his nephew, he oppressed his people. He had the pride that made enemies, and wanted the courage to fight them. A knight without truth, a king without justice, a Christian without faith,--all classes rebelled against him. Innocent the Third scented from afar the advantage he might obtain from a monarch whose nobility despised him and who was hated by his people. And when John got up a quarrel about the nomination of an archbishop to Canterbury, the Pope soon saw that though Langton was no à-Beckett, still less was John a Henry the Second. A sentence of excommunication was launched at the coward's head, and the crown of England offered to Philip Augustus of France. Philip Augustus had the modesty to refuse the splendid bribe, and contented himself with aiding to weaken a throne he did not feel inclined to fill. It is characteristic of John, that in the agonies of his fear, and of his desire to gain support against his people, he hesitated between invoking the assistance of the Miramolin of Morocco and the Pope of Rome. As good Mussulman with the one as Christian with the other, he finally decided on Innocent, and signed a solemn declaration of submission, making public resignation of the crowns of England and Ireland "to the Apostles Peter and Paul, to Innocent and his legitimate successors;" and, aided by the blessings of these new masters, and by the enforced neutrality of France, he was enabled to defeat his indignant nobles, and force them for two years to wear the same chains of submission to Rome which weighed upon himself. But in 1215 the patience of noble and peasant, of bishop and priest, was utterly exhausted. [A.D. 1215.] John fled on the first outburst of the collected storm, and thought himself fortunate in stopping its violence by signing the Great Charter, the written ratification of the liberties which had been conferred by some of his predecessors, but whose chief authority was in the traditions and customs of the land. This was not an overthrow of an old constitution and the substitution of a new and different code, but merely a formal recognition of the great and fundamental principles on which only government can be carried on,--security of person and property, and the just administration of equitable laws. All orders in the State were comprehended in this national agreement. The Church was delivered from the exactions of the king, and left to an undisturbed intercourse on spiritual matters with her spiritual head. She was to have perfect freedom of election to vacant benefices, and the king's rapacity was guarded against by a clause reducing any fine he might impose on an ecclesiastic to an accordance with his professional income, and not with the extent of his lay possessions. The barons, of course, took equal care of their own interests as they had shown for those of the Church. They corrected many abuses from which they suffered, in respect to their feudal obligations. They regulated the fines and quit-rents on succession to their fiefs, the management of crown wards, and the marriage of heiresses and widows. They insisted also on the assemblage of a council of the great and lesser barons, to consult for the general weal, and put some check on the disposal of their lands by their tenants, in order to keep their vassals from impoverishment and their military organization unimpaired. But when church and aristocracy were thus protected from the tyranny of the king, were the interests of the great mass of the people neglected? This has sometimes been argued against the legislators of Runnymede, but very unjustly; for as much attention was paid to the liberties and immunities of the municipal corporations and of ordinary subjects as to those of the prelates and lords. Every person had the right to dispose of his property by will. No arbitrary tolls could be exacted of merchants. All men might enter or leave the kingdom without restraint. The courts of law were no longer to be stationary at Westminster, to which complainants from Northumberland or Cornwall never could make their way, but were to travel about, bringing justice to every man's door. They were to be open to every one, and justice was to be neither "sold, refused, nor delayed." Circuits were to be held every year. No man was to be put on his trial from mere rumour, but on the evidence of lawful witnesses. No sentence could be passed on a freeman except by his peers in jury assembled. No fine could be imposed so exorbitant as to ruin the culprit. But the bishops and clergy, the nobility and their vassals, the corporations and freemen, were not the main bodies of the State; and the framers of Magna Charta have been blamed for neglecting the great majority of the population, which consisted of serfs or villeins. This accusation is, however, not true, even with respect to the words of the Charter; for it is expressly provided that the carts and working-implements of that class of the people shall not be seizable in satisfaction of a fine; and in its intention the accusation is more untenable still; for although the reformers of 1215 had no design of granting new privileges to any hitherto-unprivileged order and their work was limited to the legal re-establishment of privileges which John had attempted to overthrow, the large and liberal spirit of their declarations is shown by the notice they take of the hitherto-unconsidered classes. For the protection accorded to their ploughs and carts, which are specifically named in the Charter, ratified at once their right to hold property,--the first condition of personal freedom and independence,--and, by an analogy of reasoning, restrained their more immediate masters from tyranny and injustice. It could not be long before a man secured by the national voice in the possession of one species of property extended his rights over every thing else. If the law guaranteed him the plough he held, the cart he drove, the spade he plied, why not the house he occupied, the little field he cultivated? And if the poorest freeman walked abroad in the pride of independence, because the baron could no longer insult him, or the priest oppress him, or the king himself strip him of land and gear, how could he deny the same blessings to his neighbour, the rustic labourer, who was already master of cart and plough and was probably richer and better fed than himself? But a firmer barrier against the encroachments of kings and nobles than the written words of Magna Charta was still required, and people were not long in seeing how little to be trusted are legal forms when the contracting parties are disposed to evade their obligations. John indeed attempted, in the very year that saw his signature to the Charter, to expunge his name from the obligatory deed by the plenary power of the Pope. Innocent had no scruple in giving permission to his English vassal to break the oath and swerve from his engagement. But the English spirit was not so broken as the king's, and the barons took the management of the country into their own hands. When the experience of a few years of Henry the Third had shown them that there was no improvement on the personal character of his predecessor, they took effectual measures for the protection of all classes of the people. Henry began his inglorious reign in 1216, and ended it in 1272. In those fifty-six years great changes took place, but all in an upward direction, out of the darkness and unimpressionable stolidity of previous ages. The dawn of a more intellectual period seemed at hand, and already the ghosts of ignorance and oppression began to scent the morning air. In 1264 an example was set by England which it would have been well if all the other Western lands had followed, for by the institution of a true House of Commons it laid the foundation for the only possible liberal and improvable government,--the only government which can derive its strength from the consent of the governed legitimately expressed, and vary in its action and spirit with the changes in the general mind. In cases of error or temporary delusion, there is always left the most admirable machinery for retracing its steps and rectifying what is wrong. In cases of universal approval and unanimous exertion, there is no power, however skilfully wielded by autocrats or despots, which can compare with the combined energy of a whole and undivided people. [A.D. 1226-1270.] The contemporary of this Henry on the throne of France was the gentle and honest Louis the Ninth. If those epithets do not sound so high as the usual phraseology applied to kings, we are to consider how rare are the examples either of honesty or gentleness among the rulers of that time, and how difficult it was to possess or exercise those virtues. But this gentle and honest king, who was scarcely raised in rank when the Church had canonized him as a saint, achieved as great successes by the mere strength of his character as other monarchs had done by fire and sword. His love of justice enabled him to extend the royal power over his contending vassals, who chose him as umpire of their quarrels and continued to submit to him as their chief. He heard the complaints of the lower orders of his people in person, sitting, like the kings of the East, under the shade of a tree, and delivering judgment solely on the merits of the case. His undoubted zeal on behalf of his religion permitted him, without the accusation of heresy, to put boundaries to the aggressions of the Church. He resisted its more violent claims, and gave liberty to ecclesiastics as well as laymen, who were equally interested in the curtailment of the Papal power. He granted a great number of municipal charters, and published certain Establishments, as they were called, which were improvements on the old customs of the realm and were in a great measure founded on the Roman law. The spirit of the time was popular progress; and both in France and England great advances were made; deliberative national assemblies took their rise,--in France, under the conscientious monarch, with the full aid and influence of the royal authority, in England, under the feeble and selfish Henry, by the necessity of gaining the aid of the Commons against the Crown to the outraged and insulted nobility. In both nations these assemblies bore for a long time very distinguishable marks of their origin. The Parliaments of France, sprung from the royal will, were little else than the recorders of the decrees of the monarch; while the Parliaments of England, remembering their popular origin, have always had a feeling of independence, and a tendency to make rather hard bargains with our kings. Even before this time the Great Council had occasionally opposed the exactions of the Crown; but when the falsehood and avarice of Henry III. had excited the popular odium, the barons of 1263, in noble emulation of their predecessors of 1215, had risen in defence of the nation's liberties, and the last hand was put to the building up of our present constitution, by the summoning, "to consult on public affairs," of certain burgesses from the towns, in addition to the prelates, knights, and freeholders who had hitherto constituted the parliamentary body. But those barons and tenants-in-chief attended in their own right, and were altogether independent of the principle of election and representation. [A.D. 1265.] The summons issued by Simon de Montfort (son of the truculent hero of the Albigensian crusade, and brother-in-law of Henry) invested with new privileges the already-enfranchised boroughs. From this time the representatives of the Commons are always mentioned in the history of parliaments; and although this proceeding of De Montfort was only intended to strengthen his hands against his enemies, and, after his temporary object was gained, was not designed to have any further effect on the constitutional progress of our country, still, the principle had been adopted, the example was set, and the right to be represented in Parliament became one of the most valued privileges of the enfranchised commons. It is observable that this increase of civil freedom in the various countries of Europe was almost in exact proportion to the diminution of ecclesiastical power. It is equally observable that the weakening of the priestly influence rapidly followed the infamous excesses into which its intolerance and pride had hurried the princes and other supporters of its claims. Never, indeed, had it appeared in so palmy and flourishing a state as in the course of this century; and yet the downward journey was begun. The devastation it carried into Languedoc, and the depopulation of all those sunny regions near the Mediterranean Sea--the crusades against the Saracens in Asia, to which it sent the strength of Europe, and against the Moors in Africa, to which it impelled the most obedient, and also, when his religious passions were roused, the most relentless, of the Church's sons, no other than St. Louis--and the submission of the Patriarchates of Jerusalem and Alexandria to the Romish See--these and other victories of the Church were succeeded, before the century closed, by a manifest though silent insurrection against its spiritual domination. There were many reasons for this. The inferior though still dignified clergy in the different nations were alienated by the excessive exactions of their foreign head. In France the submissive St. Louis was forced to become the guardian of the privileges and income of the Gallican Church. In England the number of Italian incumbents exceeded that of the English-born; and in a few years the Pope managed to draw from the Church and State an amount equal to fifteen millions of our present coin. In Scotland, poorer and more proud, the king united himself to his clergy and nobles, and would not permit the Romish exactors to enter his dominions. The avarice and venality of Rome were repulsive equally to priest and layman. The strong support, also, which hitherto had arisen to the Holy See from the innumerable monks and friars, could no longer be furnished by the depressed and vitiated communities whom the coarsest of the common people despised for their sensuality and vice. In earlier times the worldly pretensions of the secular clergy were put to shame by the poverty and self-denial of the regular orders. Their ascetic retirement, and fastings, and scourgings, had recommended them to the peasantry round their monasteries, by the contrast their peaceful lives presented to the pomp and self-indulgence of bishops and priests. But now the character of the two classes was greatly changed. The parson of the parish, when he was not an Italian absentee, was an English clergyman, whose interests and feelings were all in unison with those of his flock; the monks were an army of mercenary marauders in the service of a foreign prince, advocating his most unpopular demands and living in the ostentatious disregard of all their vows. Even the lowest class of all, the thralls and villeins, were not so much as before in favour of their tonsured brothers, who had escaped the labours of the field by taking refuge in the abbey; for Magna Charta had given the same protection against oppression to themselves, and the enfranchisement of the boroughs had put power into the hands of citizens and freemen, who would not be so apt to abuse it as the martial baron or mitred prelate had been. The same principles were at work in France; and when the newly-established Franciscans and Dominicans were pointed to as restoring the purity and abnegation of the monks of old, the time for belief in those virtues being inherent, or even possible, in a cloister, was past, and little effect was produced in favour of Rome by the bloodthirsty brotherhood of the ferocious St. Dominic or the more amiable professions of the half-witted St. Francis of Assisi. [A.D. 1272.] The tide, indeed, had so completely turned after the commencement of the reign of Edward the First, that the Churchmen, both in England and France, preferred being taxed by their own Sovereign to being subjected to the arbitrary exactions of the Pope. Edward gave them no exemption from the obligation to support the expenses of the State in common with all the other holders of property, and pressed, indeed, rather more heavily upon the prelates and rich clergy than on the rest of the contributors, as if to drive to a decision the question, to which of the potentates--the Pope or the sovereign--tribute was lawfully due. When this object was gained, a bull was let loose upon the sacrilegious monarch by Boniface the Eighth, which positively forbids any member of the priesthood to contribute to the national exchequer on any occasion or emergency whatever. But the king made very light of the papal authority when it stood between him and the revenues of his crown, and the national clergy submitted to be taxed like other men. In France the same discussion led to the same result. The Gallican and English Churches asserted their liberties in a way which must have been peculiarly gratifying to the kings,--namely, by subsidies to the Crown, and disobedience to the fulminations of the Pope. But no surer proof of the increased wisdom of mankind can be given than the termination of the Crusades. Perhaps, indeed, it was found that religious excitement could be combined with warlike distinction by assaults on the unbelieving or disobedient at home. There seemed little use in traversing the sea and toiling through the deserts of Syria, when the same heavenly rewards were held out for a campaign against the inhabitants of Languedoc and the valleys of the Alps. Clearer views also of the political effect of those distant expeditions in strengthening the hands of the Pope, who, as spiritual head of Christendom, was _ex officio_ commander of the crusading armies, must no doubt have occurred to the various potentates who found themselves compelled to aid the very authority from whose arrogance they suffered so much. The exhaustion of riches and decrease of population were equally strong reasons for repose. But none of all these considerations had the least effect on the simple and credulous mind of Louis the Ninth. Resisting as he did the interference of the Pope in his character of King of France, no one could yield more devoted submission to the commands of the Holy Father when uttered to him in his character of Christian knight. At an early age he vowed himself to the sacred cause, and in the year 1248 the seventh and last crusade to the Holy Land took its way from Aigues-Mortes and Marseilles, under the guidance of the youthful King and the Princes of France. Disastrous to a more pitiful degree than any of its predecessors, this expedition began its course in Egypt by the conquest of Damietta, and from thenceforth sank from misery to misery, till the army, surprised by the inundations of the Nile, and hemmed in by the triumphant Mussulmans, surrendered its arms, and the nobility of France, with its king at its head, found itself the prisoner of Almohadam. An insurrection in a short time deprived their conqueror of life and crown, and a treaty for the payment of a great ransom set the captives free. Ashamed, perhaps, to return to his own country, sighing for the crown of martyrdom, zealous at all events for the privileges of a pilgrim, Louis betook himself to Palestine, and, as he was bound by the convention not to attack Jerusalem, he wasted four years in uselessly rebuilding the fortifications of Ptolemais, and Sidon, and Jaffa, and only embarked on his homeward voyage when the death of his mother and the discontent of his subjects necessitated his return. [A.D. 1254.] After an absence of six years, the enfeebled and exhausted king sat once more in the chair of judgment, and gained all hearts by his generosity and truth. Yet the old fire was not extinct. His oath was binding still, and in 1270, girt with many a baron bold, and accompanied by his brother, Charles of Anjou, and the gay Prince Edward of England, he fixed the red cross upon his shoulder and led his army to the sea-shore. The ships were all ready, but the destination of the war was changed. A new power had established itself at Tunis, more hostile to Christianity than the Moslem of Egypt, and nearer at hand. In an evil hour the King was persuaded to attack the Tunisian Caliph. He landed at Carthage, and besieged the capital of the new dominion. But Tunis witnessed the death of its besieger, for Louis, worn out with fatigue and broken with disappointment, was stricken by a contagious malady, and expired with the courage of a hero and the pious resignation of a Christian. With him the crusading spirit vanished from every heart. All the Christian armies were withdrawn. The Knights-Hospitallers, the Templars, the Teutonic Order, passed over to Cyprus, and left the hallowed spots of sacred story to be profaned by the footsteps of the Infidel. Asia and Europe henceforth pursued their separate courses; and it was left to the present day to startle the nations of both quarters of the world with the spectacle of a war about the possession of the Holy Places. The century which has the slaughter of the Albigenses, the Magna Charta, the rise of the Commons, the termination of the Crusades, to distinguish it, will not need other features to be pointed out in order to abide in our memories. Yet the reign of Edward the First, the greatest of our early kings, must be dwelt on a little longer, as it would not be fair to omit the personal merits of a man who united the virtues of a legislator to those of a warrior. Whether it was the prompting of ambition, or a far-sighted policy, which led him to attempt the conquest of Scotland, we need not stop to inquire. It might have satisfied the longings both of policy and ambition if he had succeeded in creating a compact and irresistible Great Britain out of England harassed and Scotland insecure. And if, contented with his undivided kingdom, he had devoted himself uninterruptedly to the introduction and consolidation of excellent laws, and had extended the ameliorations he introduced in England to the northern portion of his dominions, he would have earned a wider fame than the sword has given him, and would have been received with blessings as the Justinian of the whole island, instead of establishing a rankling hatred in the bosoms of one of the cognate peoples which it took many centuries to allay, if, indeed, it is altogether obliterated at the present time; for there are not wanting enthusiastic Scotchmen who show considerable wrath when treating of his assumptions of superiority over their country and his interference with their national affairs. Edward's sister had been the wife of Alexander the Third of Scotland. Two sons of that marriage had died, and the only other child, a daughter, had married Eric the Norwegian. In Margaret, the daughter of this king, the Scottish succession lay, and when her grandfather died in 1290, the Scottish states sent a squadron to bring the young queen home, and great preparations were made for the reception of the "Maid of Norway." But the Maid of Norway was weak in health; the voyage was tempestuous and long; and weary and exhausted she landed on one of the Orkney Islands, and in a short time a rumour went round the land that the hope of Scotland was dead. Edward was among the first to learn the melancholy news. He determined to assert his rights, and began by trying to extend the feudal homage which several of the Scottish kings had rendered for lands held in England, over the Scottish crown itself. When the various competitors for the vacant throne submitted their pretensions to his decision he made their acknowledgment of his supremacy an indispensable condition. Out of the three chief candidates he fixed on John Baliol, who, in addition to the most legal title, had perhaps the equal recommendation of being the feeblest personal character. Robert Bruce and Hastings, the other candidates, submitted to their disappointment, and Baliol became the mere viceroy of the English king. He obeyed a summons to Westminster as a vassal of Edward, to answer for his conduct, and was treated with disdain. [A.D. 1293.] But the Scottish barons had more spirit than their king. They forced him to resist the pretensions of his overbearing patron, and for the first time, in 1295, began the long connection between France and Scotland by a treaty concluded between the French monarch and the twelve Guardians of Scotland, to whom Baliol had delegated his authority before retiring forever to more peaceful scenes. From this time we find that, whenever war was declared by France on England, Scotland was let loose on it to distract its attention, in the same way as, whenever war was declared upon France, the hostility of Flanders was roused against its neighbour. But the benefits bestowed by England on her Low Country ally were far greater than any advantage which France could offer to Scotland. Facilities of trade and favourable tariffs bound the men of Ghent and Bruges to the interests of Edward. But the friendship of France was limited to a few bribes and the loan of a few soldiers. Scotland, therefore, became impoverished by her alliance, while Flanders grew fat on the liberality of her powerful friend. England itself derived no small benefit both from the hostility of Scotland and the alliance of the Flemings. When the Northern army was strong, and the King was hard pressed by the great Wallace, the sagacious Parliament exacted concessions and immunities from its imperious lord before it came liberally to his aid; and whenever we read in one page of a check to the arms of Edward, we read in the next of an enlargement of the popular rights. When the first glow of the apparent conquest of Scotland was past, and the nation was seen rising under the Knight of Elderslie after it had been deserted by its natural leaders, the lords and barons,--and, later, when in 1297 he gained a great victory over the English at Stirling,--the English Parliament lost no time in availing themselves of the defeat, and sent over to the king, who was at the moment in Flanders menacing the flanks of France, a parchment for his signature, containing the most ample ratification of their power of granting or withholding the supplies. It was on the 10th of October, 1297, that this important document was signed; and, satisfied with this assurance of their privileges, the "nobles, knights of the shire, and burgesses of England in parliament assembled" voted the necessary funds to enable their sovereign lord to punish his rebels in Scotland. Perhaps these contests between the sister countries deepened the patriotic feeling of each, and prepared them, at a later day, to throw their separate and even hostile triumphs into the united stock, so that, as Charles Knight says in his admirable "Popular History," "the Englishman who now reads of the deeds of Wallace and Bruce, or hears the stirring words of one of the noblest lyrics of any tongue, feels that the call to 'lay the proud usurper low' is one which stirs his blood as much as that of the born Scotsman; for the small distinctions of locality have vanished, and the great universal sympathies for the brave and the oppressed stay not to ask whether the battle for freedom was fought on the banks of the Thames or of the Forth. The mightiest schemes of despotism speedily perish. The union of nations is accomplished only by a slow but secure establishment of mutual interests and equal rights." FOURTEENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. ALBERT.--(_cont._) 1308. HENRY VII., (of Luxemburg.) 1314. LOUIS IV., (of Bavaria). } Rival 1314. FREDERICK III., (of Austria,) died 1330. } Emperors 1347. CHARLES IV., (of Luxemburg.) 1378. WENCESLAS, (of Bohemia.) Kings of France. A.D. PHILIP IV.--(_cont._) 1314. LOUIS X., (Hutin.) 1316. PHILIP V., (the Long.) 1322. CHARLES IV., (the Handsome.) 1328. PHILIP VI. 1350. JOHN II., (the Good.) 1364. CHARLES V., (the Wise.) 1380. CHARLES VI., (the Beloved.) Emperors of the East. A.D. ANDRONICUS II.--(_cont._) 1332. ANDRONICUS III. 1341. JOHN PALÆOLOGUS. 1347. JOHN CANTACUZENUS. 1355. JOHN PALÆOLOGUS, (restored.) 1391. MANUEL PALÆOLOGUS. Kings of England. A.D. EDWARD I.--(_cont._) 1307. EDWARD II. 1327. EDWARD III. 1377. RICHARD II. 1399. HENRY IV. Kings of Scotland. A.D. 1306. ROBERT BRUCE 1329. DAVID II. 1371. ROBERT II. 1390. ROBERT III. 1311. Suppression of the Knights Templars. 1343. Cannon first used. 1370. John Huss born. 1383. Bible first translated into a vulgar tongue, (Wickliff's.) Authors. DANTE, PETRARCH, BOCCACCIO, CHAUCER, FROISSART, JOHN DUNS SCOTUS, BRADWARDINE, WILLIAM OCCAM, WICKLIFF. THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. ABOLITION OF THE ORDER OF THE TEMPLARS--RISE OF MODERN LITERATURES--SCHISM OF THE CHURCH. In the year 1300 a jubilee was celebrated at Rome, when remission of sins and other spiritual indulgences were offered to all visitors by the liberal hand of Pope Boniface the Eighth. And for the thirty days of the solemn ceremonial, the crowds who poured in from all parts of Europe, and pursued their way from church to church and kissed with reverential lips the relics of the saints and martyrs, gave an appearance of strength and universality to the Roman Church which had long departed from it. Yet the downward course had been so slow, and each defection or defeat had been so covered from observation in a cloud of magnificent boasts, that the real weakness of the Papacy was only known to the wise and politic. Even in the splendours and apparent triumph of the jubilee processions it was perceived by the eyes of hostile statesmen that the day of faith was past. Dante, the great poet of Italy, was there, piercing with his Ithuriel spear the false forms under which the spiritual tyranny concealed itself. Countless multitudes deployed before him without blinding him for a moment to the unreality of all he saw. Others were there, not deriving their conclusions, like Dante, from the intuitive insight into truth with which the highest imaginations are gifted, but from the calmer premises of reason and observation. Even while the pæans were loudest and the triumph at its height, thoughts were entering into many hearts which had never been harboured before, but which in no long space bore their fruits, not only in opposition to the actual proceedings of Rome, but in undisguised contempt and ridicule of all its claims. Boniface himself, however, was ignorant of all these secret feelings. He was now past eighty years of age, and burning with a wilder personal ambition and more presumptuous ostentation than would have been pardonable at twenty. He appeared in the processions of the jubilee, dressed in the robes of the Empire, with two swords, and the globe of sovereignty carried before him. A herald cried, at the same time, "Peter, behold thy successor! Christ, behold thy vicar upon earth!" But the high looks of the proud were soon to be brought low. The King of France at that time was Philip the Handsome, the most unprincipled and obstinate of men, who stuck at no baseness or atrocity to gain his ends,--who debased the Crown, pillaged the Church, oppressed the people, tortured the Jews, and impoverished the nobility,--a self-willed, strong-handed, evil-hearted despot, and glowing with an intense desire to humble and spoil the Holy Father himself. If he could get the Pope to be his tax-gatherer, and, instead of emptying the land of all its wealth for the benefit of the Roman exchequer, pour Roman, German, English, European contributions into his private treasury, the object of his life would be gained. His coffers would be overflowing, and his principal opponent disgraced. A wonderful and apparently impossible scheme, but which nevertheless succeeded. The combatants at first seemed very equally matched. When Boniface made an extravagant demand, Philip sent him a contemptuous reply. When Boniface turned for alliances to the Emperor or to England, Philip threw himself on the sympathy of his lords and the inhabitants of the towns; for the parts formerly played by Pope and King were now reversed. The Papacy, instead of recurring to the people and strengthening itself by contact with the masses who had looked to the Church as their natural guard from the aggressions of their lords, now had recourse to the more dangerous expedient of exciting one sovereign against another, and weakened its power as much by concessions to its friends as by the hostility of its foes. The king, on the other hand, flung himself on the support of his subjects, including both the Church and Parliament, and thus raised a feeling of national independence which was more fatal to Roman preponderance than the most active personal enmity could have been. Accordingly, we find Boniface offending the population of France by his intemperate attacks on the worst of kings, and that worst of kings attracting the admiration of his people by standing up for the dignity of the Crown against the presumption of the Pope. The fact of this national spirit is shown by the very curious circumstance that while Philip and his advisers, in their quarrels with Boniface, kept within the bounds of respectful language in the letters they actually sent to Rome, other answers were disseminated among the people as having been forwarded to the Pope, outraging all the feelings of courtesy and respect. It was like the conduct of the Chinese mandarins, who publish vainglorious and triumphant bulletins among their people, while they write in very different language to the enemy at their gates. Thus, in reply to a very insulting brief of Boniface, beginning, "Ausculta, fili," (Listen, son,) and containing a catalogue of all his complaints against the French king, Philip published a version of it, omitting all the verbiage in which the insolent meaning was involved, and accompanied it in the same way with a copy of the unadorned eloquence which constituted his reply. In this he descended to very plain speaking. "Philip," he says, "by the grace of God, King of the French, to Boniface, calling himself Pope, little or no salutation. Be it known to your Fatuity that we are subject in temporals to no man alive; that the collation of churches and vacant prebends is inherent in our Crown; that their 'fruits' belong to us; that all presentations made or to be made by us are valid; that we will maintain our presentees in possession of them with all our power; and that we hold for fools and idiots whosoever believes otherwise." This strange address received the support of the great majority of the nation, and was meant as a translation into the vulgar tongue of the real intentions of the irritated monarch, which were concealed in the letter really despatched in a mist of polite circumlocutions. Boniface perceived the animus of his foe, but bore himself as loftily as ever. When a meeting of the barons, held in the Louvre, had appealed to a General Council and had passed a vote of condemnation against the Pope as guilty of many crimes, not exclusive of heresy itself, he answered, haughtily, that the summoning of a council was a prerogative of the Pope, and that already the King had incurred the danger of excommunication for the steps he had taken against the Holy Chair. To prevent the publication of the sentence, which might have been made a powerful weapon against France in the hands of Albert of Germany or Edward of England, it was necessary to give notice of an appeal to a General Council into the hands of the Pope in person. He had retired to Anagni, his native town, where he found himself more secure among his friends and relations than in the capital of his See. Colonna, a discontented Roman and sworn enemy of Boniface, and Supino, a military adventurer, whom Philip bought over with a bribe of ten thousand florins, introduced Nogaret, the French chancellor and chief adviser of the king, into Anagni, with cries from their armed attendants of "Death to the Pope!" "Long live the King of France!" The cardinals fled in dismay. The inhabitants, not being able to prevent their visitors from pillaging the shops, joined them in that occupation, and every thing was in confusion. The Pope was in despair. His own nephew had abandoned his cause and made terms for himself. Accounts vary as to his behaviour in these extremities. Perhaps they are all true at different periods of the scene. At first, overwhelmed with the treachery of his friends, he is said to have burst into tears. Then he gathered his ancient courage, and, when commanded to abdicate, offered his neck to the assailants; and at last, to strike them with awe, or at least to die with dignity, he bore on his shoulders the mantle of St. Peter, placed the crown of Constantine on his head, and grasped the keys and cross in his hands. Colonna, they say, struck him on the cheek with his iron gauntlet till the blood came. Let us hope that this is an invention of the enemy; for the Pope was eighty-six years old, and Colonna was a Roman soldier. There is always a tendency to elevate the sufferer in the cause we favour, by the introduction of ennobling circumstances. In this and other instances of the same kind there is the further temptation in orthodox historians to make the most they can of the martyrdom of one of their chiefs, and in a peculiar manner to glorify the wrongs of their hero by their resemblance to the sufferings of Christ. But the rest of the story is melancholy enough without the aggravation of personal pain. The pontiff abstained from food for three whole days. He consumed his grief in secret, and was only relieved at last from fears of the dagger or poison by an insurrection of the people. They fell upon the French escort when they perceived how weak it was, and carried the Pope into the market-place. He said, "Good people, you have seen how our enemies have spoiled me of my goods. Behold me as poor as Job. I tell you truly, I have nothing to eat or drink. If there is any good woman who will charitably bestow on me a little bread and wine, or even a little water, I will give her God's blessing and mine. Whoever will bring me the smallest thing in this my necessity, I will give him remission of all his sins." All the people cried, "Long live the Holy Father!" They ran and brought him bread and wine, and any thing they had. Everybody would enter and speak to him, just as to any other of the poor. In a short time after this he proceeded to Rome, and felt once more in safety. But his heart was tortured by anger and a thirst for vengeance. He became insane; and when he tried to escape from the restraints his state demanded, and found his way barred by the Orsini, his insanity became madness. He foamed at the mouth and ground his teeth when he was spoken to. He repelled the offers of his friends with curses and violence, and died without the sacraments or consolations of the Church. [A.D. 1303.] The people remembered the prophecy made of him by his predecessor Celestin:--"You mounted like a fox; you will reign like a lion; you will die like a dog." But the degradation of the papal chair was not yet complete, and Philip was far from satisfied. Merely to have harassed to death an old man of eighty-six was not sufficient for a monarch who wanted a servant in the Pope more than a victim. To try his power over Benedict the Eleventh, the successor of Boniface, he began a process in the Roman court against the memory of his late antagonist. Benedict replied by an anathema in general terms on the murderers of Boniface, and all Philip's crimes and schemings seemed of no avail. But one day the sister of a religious order presented His Holiness with a basket of figs, and in a short time the pontifical throne was vacant. Now was the time for the triumph of the king. He had devoted much time and money to win over a number of cardinals to his cause, and obtained a promise under their hands and seals that they would vote for whatever candidate he chose to name. He was not long in fixing on a certain Bernard de Goth, Archbishop of Bordeaux, the most greedy and unprincipled of the prelates of France, and appointed a meeting with him to settle the terms of a bargain. They met in a forest, they heard mass together, and took mutual oaths of secrecy, and then the business began. "See, archbishop," said the king: "I have it in my power to make you Pope if I choose; and if you promise me six favours which I will ask of you, I will assure you that dignity, and give you evidence of the truth of what I say." So saying, he showed the letters and delegation of both the electoral colleges. The archbishop, filled with covetousness, and seeing at once how entirely the popedom depended on the king, threw himself trembling with joy at Philip's feet. "My lord," he said, "I now perceive you love me more than any man alive, and that you render me good for evil. It is for you to command,--for me to obey; and I shall always be ready to do so." The king lifted him up, kissed him on the mouth, and said to him, "The six special favours I have to ask of you are these. First, that you will reconcile me entirely with the Church, and get me pardoned for my misdeed in arresting Pope Boniface. Second, that you will give the communion to me and all my supporters. Third, that you will give me tithes of the clergy of my realm for five years, to supply the expenses of the war in Flanders. Fourth, that you will destroy and annul the memory of Boniface the Eighth. Fifth, that you will give the dignity of Cardinal to Messer Jacopo, and Messer Piero de la Colonna, along with certain others of my friends. As for the sixth favour and promise, I reserve it for the proper time and place, for it is a great and secret thing." The archbishop promised all by oath on the Corpus Domini, and gave his brother and two nephews as hostages. The king, on the other hand, made oath to have him elected Pope. [A.D. 1305.] His Holiness Clement the Fifth was therefore the thrall and servant of Philip le Bel. No office was too lowly, or sacrifice too large, for the grateful pontiff. He carried his subserviency so far as to cross the Alps and receive the wages of his obedience, the papal tiara, at Lyons. He became in fact a citizen of France, and subject of the crown. He delivered over the clergy to the relentless hands of the king. He gave him tithes of all their livings; and as the Count of Flanders owed money to Philip which he had no means of paying, the generosity of the Pope came to the rescue, and he gave the tithes of the Flemish clergy to the bankrupt count in order to enable him to pay his debt to the exacting monarch. But the gift of these taxes was not a transfer from the Pope to the king or count: His Holiness did not reduce his own demands in consideration of the subsidies given to those powers. He completed, indeed, the ruin the royal tax-gatherers began; for he travelled in more than imperial state from end to end of France, and ate bishop and abbot, and prior and prebendary, out of house and home. Wherever he rested for a night or two, the land became impoverished; and all this wealth was poured into the lap of a certain Brunissende de Périgord, who cost the Church, it was popularly said, more than the Holy Land. But the capacity of Christian contribution was soon exhausted; and yet the interminable avarice of Pope and King went on. The honourable pair hit upon an excellent expedient, and the Jews were offered as a fresh pasture for the unimpaired appetite of the Father of Christendom and the eldest son of the Church. Philip hated their religion, but seems to have had a great respect for the accuracy of their proceedings in trade. So, to gratify the first, he stripped them of all they had, and, to prove the second, confiscated the money he found entered in their books as lent on interest to Christians. He was found to be a far more difficult creditor to deal with than the original lenders had been, and many a baron and needy knight had to refund to Philip the sums, with interest at twenty per cent., which they might have held indefinitely from the sons of Abraham and repudiated in an access of religious fervour at last. But worse calamities were hanging over the heads of knights and barons than the avarice of Philip and the dishonesty of Clement. Knighthood itself, and feudalism, were about to die,--knighthood, which had offered at all events an ideal of nobleness and virtue, and feudalism, which had replaced the expiring civilization of Rome founded on the centralization of power in one man's hands, and the degradation of all the rest, with a new form of society which derived its vitality from independent action and individual self-respect. It was by a still wider expansion of power and influence that feudalism was to be superseded. Other elements besides the possession of land were to come into the constitution of the new state of human affairs. The man henceforth was not to be the mere representative of so many acres of ground. His individuality was to be still further defined, and learning, wealth, knowledge, arts, and sciences were from this time forth to have as much weight in the commonwealth as the hoisted pennon and strong-armed followers of the steel-clad warrior. "The old order changeth, giving place to new, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world." We have already seen the prosperity of the towns, and have even heard the contemptuous laughter with which the high-fed burghers of Ghent or Bruges received the caracollings of their ponderous suzerain as, armed _cap-à-pied_, he rode up to their impregnable walls. Not less barricaded than the contemptuous city behind the steel fortifications with which he protected his person, the knight had nothing to fear so long as he bestrode his war-horse and managed to get breath enough through the openings of his cross-barred visor. He was as safe in his iron coating as a turtle in its shell; but he was nearly as unwieldy as he was safe. When galloping forward against a line of infantry, nothing could resist his weight. With heavy mace or sweeping sword he cleared his ground on either side, and the unarmoured adversary had no means of repelling his assault. A hundred knights, therefore, we may readily believe, very often have put their thousands or tens of thousands to flight. We read, indeed, of immense slaughters of the common people, accompanied with the loss of one single knight; and this must be attributed to the perfection which the armourer's art had attained, by which no opening for arrow or spear-point was left in the whole suit. But military instruments had for some time been invented, which, by projecting large stones with enormous force, flattened the solid cuirass or crushed the glittering helm. Once get the stunned or wounded warrior on the ground, there was no further danger to be apprehended. He lay in his iron prison unable to get up, unable to breathe, and with the additional misfortune of being so admirably protected that his enemies had difficulty in putting him out of his pain. This, however, was counterbalanced by the ample time he possessed, during their futile efforts to reach a vital part, to bargain for his life; and this was another element in the safety of knightly war. A ransom could at all times preserve his throat, whereas the disabled foot-soldier was pierced with relentless point or trodden down by the infuriated horse. The knight's position, therefore, was more like that of a fighter behind walls, only that he carried his wall with him wherever he went, and even when a breach was made could stop up the gap with a sum of money. Nobody had ever believed it possible for footmen to stand up against a charge of cavalry. No manoeuvres were learned like the hollow squares of modern times, which, at Waterloo and elsewhere, have stood unmoved against the best swordsmen of the world. But once, at the beginning of this century, in 1302, a dreadful event happened, which gave a different view of the capabilities of determined infantry in making head against their assailants, and commenced the lesson of the resistibility of mounted warriors which was completed by Bannockburn in Scotland, and Crecy and Poictiers. The dreadful event was the entire overthrow of the knights and gentlemen of France by the citizens of a Flemish manufacturing town at the battle of Courtrai. Impetuous valour, and contempt for smiths and weavers, blinded the fiery nobles. They rushed forward with loose bridles, and, as they had disdained to reconnoitre the scene of the display, they fell headlong, one after another, horse and plume, sword and spur, into one enormous ditch which lay between them and their enemies. On they came, an avalanche of steel and horseflesh, and floundered into the muddy hole. Hundreds, thousands, unable to check their steeds, or afraid to appear irresolute, or goggling in vain through the deep holes left for their eyes, fell, struggled, writhed, and choked, till the ditch was filled with trampled knights and tumbling horses, and the burghers on the opposite bank beat in the helmets of those who tried to climb up, with jagged clubs, and hacked their naked heads. And when the whole army was annihilated, and the spoils were gathered, it was found there were princes and lords in almost incredible numbers, and four thousand golden spurs to mark the extent of the knightly slaughter and give name to the engagement. It is called the Battle of the Spurs,--for a nobler cause than another engagement of the same name, which we shall meet with in a future century, and which derived its appellation from the fact that spurs were more in requisition than swords. Philip was at this moment in the middle of his quarrel with Boniface. He determined to compensate himself for the loss he had sustained in military fame at Courtrai by fiercer exactions on his clergy and bitterer enmity to the Pope. We have seen how he pursued the wretched Boniface to the grave, and persisted in trying to force the obsequious Clement to blacken his memory after he was dead. Clement was unwilling to expose the vices and crimes of his predecessor, and yet he had given a promise in that strange meeting in the forest to work his master's will; he was also resident in France, and knew how unscrupulous his protector was. Philip availed himself of the discredit brought on knighthood by the loss of all those golden spurs, and compounded for leaving the deceased pontiff alone, by exacting the consent of Clement to his assault on the order of the Templars, the wealthiest institution in the world, who held thousands of the best manors in France, and whose spoils would make him the richest king in Christendom. Yet the Templars were no contemptible foes. In number they were but fourteen thousand, but their castles were over all the land; they were every one of them of noble blood, and strong in the relationship of all the great houses in Europe. If they had united with their brethren, the Knights Hospitallers, no sovereign could have resisted their demands; but, fortunately for Philip, they were rivals to the death, and gave no assistance to each other when oppressed. Both, in fact, had outlived the causes of their institution, and had forfeited the respect of the masses of the people by their ostentatious abnegation of all the rules by which they professed to be bound. Poverty, chastity, and brotherly kindness were the sworn duties of the most rich, sensual, and unpitying society which ever lived. When Richard of England was dying, he made an imaginary will, and said, "I leave my avarice to the Citeaux, my luxury to the Grey Friars, and my pride to the Templars." And the Templars took possession of the bequest. When driven from the Holy Land, they settled in all the Christian kingdoms from Denmark to the south of Italy, and everywhere presented the same spectacle of selfishness and debauchery. In Paris they had got possession of a tract of ground equal to one-third of the whole city, and had covered it with towers and battlements, and within the unapproachable fortress lived a life of the most luxurious self-indulgence. Strange rumours got abroad of the unholy rites with which their initiations were accompanied. Their receptions into the order were so mysterious and sacred that an interloper (if it had been the King of France) would have been put to death for his intrusion. Frightful stories were told of their blasphemies and hideous ceremonials. Reports came even from over the sea, that while in Jerusalem they had conformed to the Mohammedan faith and had exchanged visits and friendly offices with the chiefs of the unbelievers. Against so dark and haughty an association it was easy to stir up the popular dislike. Nobody could take their part, they lived so entirely to themselves and shunned sympathy and society with so cold a disdain. They were men of religious vows without the humility of that condition, so they were hated by the nobles, who looked on priests as their natural inferiors; they were nobles without the individual riches of the barons and counts, and they were hated by the priests, who were at all times the foes of the aristocracy. Hated, therefore, by priest and noble, their policy would have been to make friends of the lower orders, rising citizens, and the great masses of the people. But they saw no necessity for altering their lofty course. They bore right onward in their haughty disregard of all the rest of the world, and were condemned by the universal feeling before any definite accusation was raised against them. Clement yielded a faint consent to the proceedings of Philip, and that honourable champion of the faith gave full loose to his covetousness and hatred. First of all he prayed meekly for admission as a brother of the order. He would wear the red cross upon his shoulder and obey their godly laws. If he had obtained his object, he would have procured the grand-mastership for himself and disposed of their wealth at his own discretion. The order might have survived, but their possessions would have been Philip's. They perhaps perceived his aim, and declined to admit him into their ranks. A rejected candidate soon changes his opinion of the former object of his ambition. He now reversed his plan, and declared they were unworthy, not only to wallow in the wealth and splendour of their commanderies, but to live in a Christian land. He said they were guilty of all the crimes and enormities by which human nature was ever disgraced. James de Molay, the grand-master, and all the knights of the order throughout France, were seized and thrown into prison. Letters were written to all other kings and princes, inciting them to similar conduct, and denouncing the doomed fraternity in the harshest terms. The promise of the spoil was tempting to the European sovereigns, but all of them resisted the inducement, or at least took gentler methods of attaining the same end. But Philip was as much pleased with the pursuit as with the catching of the game. He summoned a council of the realm, and obtained at the same time a commission of inquiry from the Pope. With these two courts to back him, it was impossible to fail. The knights were kept in noisome dungeons. They were scantily fed, and tormented with alternate promises and threats. When physically weak and mentally depressed, they were tortured in their secret cells, and under the pressure of fear and desperation confessed to whatever was laid to their charge. Relieved from their torments for a moment, they retracted their confessions; but the written words remained. [A.D. 1312.] And in one day, before the public had been prepared for such extremity of wrong, fifty-four of these Christian soldiers--now old, and fallen from their high estate--were publicly burned in the place of execution, and no further limit was placed to the rapacity of the king. Still the odious process crept on with the appearance of law, for already the forms of perverted justice were found safer and more certain than either sword or fagot; and at last, in 1314, the ruined brotherhood were allowed to join themselves to other fraternities. The name of Templar was blotted out from the knightly roll-call of all Europe; and in every nation, in England and Scotland particularly, the order was despoiled of all its possessions. Clement, however, was furious at seeing the moderation of rulers like Edward II., who merely stripped the Templars of their houses and lands, and did not dabble, as his patron Philip had done, in their blood, and rebuked them in angry missives for their coldness in the cause of religion. Now, early in this century, a Pope had been personally ill used, and his successor had become the pensioner and prisoner of one of the basest of kings; a glorious brotherhood of Christian knights had been shamelessly and bloodily destroyed. Was there no outcry from outraged piety?--no burst of indignation against the perpetrator of so foul a wrong? Pity was at last excited by the sufferings and humiliations of the brothers of the Temple; but pity is not a feeling on which knighthood can depend for vitality or strength. Perhaps, indeed, the sympathy raised for the sad ending of that once-dreaded institution was more fatal to its revival, and more injurious to the credit of all surviving chivalry, than the greatest amount of odium would have been. Speculative discussions were held about the guilt or innocence of the Templars, but the worst of their crimes was the crime of being weak. If they had continued united and strong, nobody would have heard of the excesses laid to their charge. Passing over the impossible accusations brought against them by ignorance and hatred, the offence they were charged with which raised the greatest indignation, and was least capable of disproof, was that in their reception into the order they spat upon the crucifix and trampled on the sign of our salvation. Nothing can be plainer than that this, at the first formation of the order, had been a symbol, which in the course of years had lost its significance. At first introduced as an emblem of Peter's denial and of worldly disbelief, to be exchanged, when once they were clothed with the Crusader's mantle, for unflinching service and undoubting Faith,--a passage from death unto life,--it had been retained long after its intention had been forgotten; and nothing is so striking as the confession of some of the younger knights, of the reluctance, the shame and trembling, with which, at the request of their superior, they had gone through the repulsive ceremony. This is one of the dangers of a symbolic service. The symbol supersedes the fact. The imitation of Peter becomes a falling away from Christ. But a century before this time, who can doubt that all Christendom would have rushed to the rescue of the Pope if he had been seized in his own city and maltreated as Boniface had been, and that every gentleman in Europe would have drawn sword in behalf of the noble Templars? But papacy, feudalism, and knighthood, as they had risen and flourished together, were enveloped in the same fall. The society of the Dark Ages had been perfect in its symmetry and compactness. Kings were but feudal leaders and chiefs in their own domains. Knighthood was but the countenance which feudalism turned to its enemies, while hospitality, protection, and alliance were its offerings to its friends. Over all, representative of the heavenly power which cared for the helpless multitudes, the serfs and villeins, those who had no other friend,--the Church extended its sheltering arms to the lowest of the low. Feudalism could take care of itself; knighthood made itself feared; but the multitudes could only listen and be obedient. All, therefore, who had no sword, and no broad acres, were natural subjects of the Pope. But with the rise of the masses the relations between them and the Church became changed. It was found that during the last two hundred years, since the awakening of mercantile enterprise by the Crusades and the commingling of the population in those wild and yet elevating expeditions, by the progress of the arts, by the privileges wrung from king and noble by flourishing towns or purchased from them with sterling coin, by the deterioration in the morals of priest and baron, and the rise in personal importance of burghers, who could fight like those of Courtrai or raise armies like those of Pisa and Genoa,--that the state of society had gradually been changed; that the commons were well able to defend their own interest; that the feudal proprietor had lost his relative rank; that the knight was no longer irresistible as a warrior; and that the Pope had become one of the most worldly and least scrupulous of rulers. Far from being the friend of the unprotected, the Church was the subject of all the ballads of every nation, wherein its exactions and debaucheries were sung at village fairs and conned over in chimney-corners. Cannon were first used in this century at the siege of Algesiras in 1343; and with the first discharge knighthood fell forever from the saddle. The Bible was first translated into a national tongue,[C] and Popery fell forever from its unopposed dominion. How, indeed, even without this incident, could the Papacy have retained its power? From 1305 till 1376 the wearers of the tiara were the mere puppets of the Kings of France. They lived in a nominal freedom at Avignon, but the college of electors was in the pay of the French sovereign, and the Pope was the creature of his hands. This was fatal to the notion of his independence. But a heavier blow was struck at the unity of the papal power when a double election, in 1378, established two supreme chiefs, one exacting the obedience of the faithful from his palace on the banks of the Rhone, and the other advancing the same claim from the banks of the Tiber. From this time the choice of the chief pontiff became a political struggle between the principal kings. There were French and German, and even English, parties in the conclave, and bribes were as freely administered as at a contested election or on a dubious question in the time of Sir Robert Walpole. Family interest also, from this time, had more effect on the policy of the Popes than the ambition to extend their spiritual authority. They sacrificed some portion of their claims to insure the elevation of their relations. Alliances were made, not for the benefit of the Roman chair, but for some kinsman's establishment in a principality. Dukedoms became appanages of the papal name, and every new Pope left the mark of his beneficence in the riches and influence of the favourite nephew whom he had invested with sovereign rank. Italy became filled with new dynasties created by these means, and the politics of the papal court became complicated by this diversity of motive and influence. Yet feudalism struggled on in spite of cannon and the rise of the middle orders; and Popery struggled on in spite of the spread of information and the diffusion of wealth and freedom. For some time, indeed, the decline of both those institutions was hidden by a factitious brilliancy reflected on them by other causes. The increase of refinement gave rise to feelings of romance, which were unknown in the days of darkness and suffering through which Europe had passed. A reverence for antiquity softened the harsher features by which they had been actually distinguished, and knighthood became subtilized into chivalry. [A.D. 1350.] As the hard and uninviting reality retreated into the past, the imagination clothed it in enchanting hues; and at the very time when the bowmen and yeomanry of England had shown at Crecy how unfounded were the "boast of heraldry, the pomp of power," Edward III. had instituted the Order of the Garter,--a transmutation as it were of the rude shocks of knighthood into carpet pacings in the gilded halls of a palace; as in a former age the returned Crusaders had supplied the want of the pride and circumstance of the real charge against the Saracen by introducing the bloodless imitation of it afforded by the tournament. In the same way the personal disqualification of the Pope was supplied by an elevation of the ideal of his place and office. Religion became poetry and sentiment; and though henceforth the reigning pontiff was treated with the harshness and sometimes the contempt his personal character deserved, his throne was still acknowledged as the loftiest of earthly thrones. The plaything of the present was nevertheless an idol and representative of the past; and kings who drove him from his home, or locked him up in their prisons, pretended to tremble at his anger, and received his letters on their knees. It must have been evident to any far-seeing observer that some great change was in progress during the whole of this century, not so much from the results of Courtrai, or Crecy, or Poictiers, or the migration of the Pope to Avignon, or the increasing riches of the trading and manufacturing towns, as from the great uprising of the human mind which was shown by the almost simultaneous appearance of such stars of literature as Dante, and Petrarch, and Boccaccio, and our English Chaucer. I suppose no single century since has been in possession of four such men. Great geniuses, indeed, and great discoveries, seem to come in crops, as if a certain period had been fixed for their bursting into flower; and we find the same grand ideas engaging the intellects of men widely dispersed, so that a novelty in art or science is generally disputed between contending nations. But this synchronous development of power is symptomatic of some wide-spread tendency, which alters the ordinary course of affairs; and we see in the Canterbury Tales the dawning of the Reformation; in Shakspeare and Bacon the inauguration of a new order of government and manners; in Locke and Milton a still further liberation from the chains of a worn-out philosophy; in Watt, and Fulton, and Cartwright, we see the spread of civilization and power. In Walter Scott and Wordsworth, and the wonderful galaxy of literary stars who illuminated the beginning of this century, we see Waterloo and Peace, a widening of national sympathies, and the opening of a great future career to all the nations of the world. For nothing is so true an index of the state and prospects of a people as the healthfulness and honest taste of its literature. It was in this sense that Fletcher of Saltoun said, (or quoted,) "Give me the making of the ballads of a people, and I don't care who makes the laws." While we have such pure and wholesome literature as is furnished us by Hallam, and Macaulay, and Alison, by Tennyson, Dickens, Thackeray, and the rest, philosophy like Hamilton's, and science like Herschel's and Faraday's, we have no cause to look forward with doubt or apprehension. "Naught shall make us rue If England to herself do rest but true." But those pioneers of the Fourteenth Century had dangers and difficulties to encounter from which their successors have been free. It is a very different thing for authors to write for the applause of an appreciating public, and for them to create an appreciating public for themselves. Their audience must at first have been hostile. First, the critical and scholarly part of the world was offended with the bad taste of writing in the modern languages at all. Secondly, the pitch at which they struck the national note was too high for the ears of the vulgar. A correct and dignified use of the spoken tongue, the conveyance, in ordinary and familiar words, of lofty or poetical thoughts, filled both those classes with surprise. To the scholar it seemed good materials enveloped in a very unworthy covering. To "the general" it seemed an attempt to deprive them of their vernacular phrases and bring bad grammar and coarse expressions into disrepute. Petrarch was so conscious of this that he speaks apologetically of his sonnets in Italian, and founds his hope of future fame on his Latin verses. But more important than the poems of Dante and Chaucer, or the prose of Boccaccio, was the introduction of the new literature represented by Froissart. Hitherto chronicles had for the most part consisted of the record of such wandering rumours as reached a monastery or were gathered in the religious pilgrimages of holy men. Mingled, even the best of them, with the credulity of inexperienced and simple minds, their effect was lost on the contemporary generation by the isolation of the writers. Nobody beyond the convent-walls knew what the learned historians of the establishment had been doing. Their writings were not brought out into the light of universal day, and a knowledge of European society gathered point by point, by comparing, analyzing, and contrasting the various statements contained in those dispersed repositories. But at this time there came into notice the most inquiring, enterprising, picturesque, and entertaining chronicler that had ever appeared since Herodotus read the result of his personal travels and sagacious inquiries to the assembled multitudes of Greece. John Froissart, called by the courtesy of the time Sir John, in honour of his being priest and chaplain, devoted a long life to the collection of the fullest and most trustworthy accounts of all the events and personages characteristic of his time. From 1326, when his labours commenced, to 1400, when his active pen stood still, nothing happened in any part of Europe that the Paul Pry of the period did not rush off to verify on the spot. If he heard of an assemblage of knights going on at the extremities of France or in the centre of Germany, of a tournament at Bordeaux, a court gala in Scotland, or a marriage festival at Milan, his travels began,--whether in the humble guise of a solitary horseman with his portmanteau behind his saddle and a single greyhound at his heels, as he jogged wearily across the Border, till he finally arrived in Edinburgh, or in his grander style of equipment, gallant steed, with hackney led beside him, and four dogs of high race gambolling round his horse, as he made his dignified journey from Ferrara to Rome. Wherever life was to be seen and painted, the indefatigable Froissart was to be found. Whatever he had gathered up on former expeditions, whatever he learned on his present tour, down it went in his own exquisite language, with his own poetical impression of the pomps and pageantries he beheld; and when at the end of his journey he reached the court of prince or potentate, no higher treat could be offered to the "noble lords and ladies bright" than to form a glittering circle round the enchanting chronicler and listen to what he had written. From palace to palace, from castle to castle, the unwearied "picker-up of unconsidered trifles" (which, however, were neither trifles nor unconsidered, when their true value became known, as giving life and reality to the annals of a whole period) pursued his happy way, certain of a friendly reception when he arrived, and certain of not losing his time by negligence or blindness on the road. If he overtakes a stately cavalier, attended by squires and men-at-arms, he enters into conversation, drawing out the experiences of the venerable warrior by relating to him all he knew of things and persons in which he took an interest. And when they put up at some hostelry on the road, and while the gallant knight was sound asleep on his straw-stuffed couch, and his followers were wallowing amid the rushes on the parlour floor, Froissart was busy with pen and note-book, scoring down all the old gentleman had told him, all the fights he had been present at, and the secret history (if any) of the councils of priests and kings. In this way knights in distant parts of the world became known to each other. The same voice which described to Douglas at Dalkeith the exploits of the Prince of Wales sounded the praises of Douglas in the ears of the Black Prince at Bordeaux. A community of sentiment was produced between the upper ranks of all nations by this common register of their acts and feelings; and knighthood received its most ennobling consummation in these imperishable descriptions, at the very time when its political and military influence came to a close. Froissart's Chronicles are the epitaph of feudalism, written indeed while it was yet alive, but while its strength was only the convulsive energy of approaching death. The standard of knightly virtue became raised in proportion as knightly power decayed. In the same way as the increased civilization and elevating influences of the time clothed the Church in colours borrowed from the past, while its real influence was seriously impaired, the expiring embers of knighthood occasionally flashed up into something higher; and in this century we read of Du Guesclin of France, Walter Manny and Edward the Third of England, and many others, who illustrated the order with qualifications it had never possessed in its palmiest state. Courtrai was fought and Amadis de Gaul written almost at the same time. Let us therefore mark, as a characteristic of the period we have reached, the decay of knighthood, or feudalism in its armour of proof, and the growth at the same time of a sense of honour and generosity, which contrasted strangely in its softened and sentimentalized refinement with the harshness and cruelty which still clung to the ordinary affairs of life. Thus the young conqueror of Poictiers led his captive John into London with the respectful attention of a grateful subject to a crowned king. He waited on him at table, and made him forget the humiliation of defeat and the griefs of imprisonment in the sympathy and reverence with which he was everywhere surrounded. This same prince was regardless of human life or suffering where the theatrical show of magnanimity was not within his reach, bloodthirsty and tyrannical, and is declared by the chronicler himself to be of "a high, overbearing spirit, and cruel in his hatred." It shows, however, what an advance had already been made in the influence of public opinion, when we read how generally the treatment of the noble captive, John of France, was appreciated. In former ages, and even at present in nations of a lower state of feelings, the kind treatment of a fallen enemy, or the sparing of a helpless population, would be attributed to weakness or fear. Chivalry, which was an attempt to amalgamate the Christian virtues with the rougher requirements of the feudal code, taught the duty of being pitiful as well as brave. And though at this period that feeling only existed between knight and knight, and was not yet extended to their treatment of the common herd, the principle was asserted that war could be carried on without personal animosity, and that courage, endurance, and the other knightly qualities were to be admired as much in an enemy as a friend. There was, however, another reason for this besides the natural admiration which great deeds are sure to call forth in natures capable of performing them; and that was, that Europe was divided into petty sovereignties, too weak to maintain their independence without foreign aid, too proud to submit to another government, and trusting to the support their money or influence could procure. In all countries, therefore, there existed bodies of mercenary soldiers--or Free Lances, as they were called--claiming the dignity and rank of knights and noblemen, who never knew whether the men they were fighting to-day might not be their comrades and followers to-morrow. In Italy, always a country of divisions and enmities, there were armed combatants secured on either side. Unconnected with the country they defended by any ties of kindred or allegiance, they found themselves opposed to a body, perhaps of their countrymen, certainly of their former companions; and, except so much as was required to earn their pay and preserve their reputation, they did nothing that might be injurious to their temporary foes. Battles accordingly were fought where feats of horsemanship and dexterity at their weapons were shown; where rushes were made into the vacant space between the armies by contending warriors, and horse and man acquitted themselves with the acclamations, and almost with the safety, of a charge in the amphitheatre at Astley's. But no blood was spilt, no life was taken; and a long summer day has seen a confused mêlée going on between the hired combatants of two cities or principalities, without a single casualty more serious than a cavalier thrown from his horse and unable to rise from the weight and tightness of his armour. Fights of this kind could scarcely be considered in earnest, and we are not surprised to find that the burden and heat of an engagement was thrown upon the light-armed foot: we gather, indeed, towards the end of Froissart's Chronicles, that while the cavaliers persisted in endeavouring to distinguish their individual prowess, as at the battle of Navareta in Spain, and got into confusion in their eagerness of assault, "the sharpness of the English arrows began to be felt," and the fate of the battle depended on the unflinching line and impregnable solidity of the archers and foot-soldiers. These latter took a deeper interest in the result than the more showy performers, and were not carried away by the vanities of personal display. Look at the year 1300, with the jubilee of Boniface going on. Look at 1400, with the death of Chaucer and Froissart, and the enthroning of Henry the Fourth, and what an amount of incident, of change and improvement, has been crowded into the space! The rise of national literatures, the softening of feudalism, the decline of Church power,--these--illustrated by Dante and Chaucer, by the alteration in the art of war, and above all, perhaps, by the translation of the Bible into the vulgar tongue--were not only the fruits gained for the present, but the promise of greater things to come. There will be occasional backslidings after this time, but the onward progress is steady and irresistible: the regressions are but the reflux waves in an advancing tide, caused by the very force and vitality of the great sea beyond. And after this view of some of the main features of the century, we shall take a very cursory glance at some of the principal events on which the portraiture is founded. It is a bad sign of the early part of this period that our great landmarks are still battles and invasions. [A.D. 1314.] After Courtrai in 1302, where the nobility rushed blindfold into a natural ditch, we come upon Bannockburn in 1314, where Edward the Second, not comprehending the aim of his more politic father,--whose object was to counterpoise the growing power of the French monarchy by consolidating his influence at home,--had marched rather to revenge his outraged dignity than to establish his denied authority, and was signally defeated by Robert Bruce. Is it not possible that the stratagem by which the English chivalry suffered so much by means of the pits dug for their reception in the space in front of the Scottish lines was borrowed from Courtrai,--art supplying in that dry plain near Stirling what nature had furnished to the marshy Brabant? However this may be, the same fatal result ensued. Pennon and standard, waving plume and flashing sword, disappeared in those yawning gulfs, and at the present hour very rusty spurs and fragments of broken helmets are dug from beneath the soil to mark the greatness and the quality of the slaughter. Meantime, in compact phalanx--protected by the knights and gentlemen on the flanks, but left to its own free action--the Scottish array bore on. Strong spear and sharp sword did the rest, and the English army, shorn of its cavalry, disheartened by the loss of its leaders, and finally deserted by its pusillanimous king, retreated in confusion, and all hope of retaining the country by the right of conquest was forever laid aside. Poor Edward had, in appalling consciousness of his own imperfections, applied to the Pope for permission to rub himself with an ointment that would make him brave. Either the Pope refused his consent or the ointment failed of its purpose. Nothing could rouse a brave thought in the heart of the fallen Plantagenet. Sir Giles de Argentine might have been more effectual than all the unguents in the world. He led the king by the bridle till he saw him in a place of safety. He then stopped his horse and said, "It has never been my custom to fly, and here I must take my fortune." Saying this, he put spurs to his horse, and, crying out, "An Argentine!" charged the squadron of Edward Bruce, and was borne down by the force of the Scottish spears. The fugitive king galloped in terror to the castle of Dunbar, and shipped off by sea to Berwick. The next battle is so strongly corroborative of the failing supremacy of heavy armour, and the rising importance of the well-trained citizens, that it is worth mention, although at first sight it seems to controvert both these statements; for it was a fight in which certain courageous burghers were mercilessly exterminated by gorgeously-caparisoned knights. [A.D. 1328.] The townsmen of Bruges and Ypres had grown so proud and pugnacious that in 1328 they advanced to Cassel to do battle with the young King of France, Philip of Valois, at the head of all his chivalry. There was a vast amount of mutual contempt in the two armies. The leader of the bold Flemings, who was known as Little Jack, entered the enemy's camp in disguise, and found young lords in splendid gowns proceeding from point to point, gossiping, visiting, and interchanging their invitations. Making his way back, he ordered a charge at once. The rush was nearly successful, and was only checked within a few yards of the royal tent. But the check was tremendous. The bloated burghers, filled with pride and gorged with wealth, had thought proper to ensconce their unwieldy persons in cuirasses as brilliant and embarrassing as the armour of the knights. The knights, however, were on horseback, and the embattled townsfolk were on foot. Great was the slaughter, useless the attempt to escape, and thirteen thousand were overborne and smothered. Ten thousand more were executed by some form of law, and the Bourgeoisie taught to rely for its safety on its agility and compactness, and not on "helm or hauberk's twisted mail." The crop of battles grows rich and plentiful, for Edward the Third and Philip of Valois are rival kings and warriors, and may be taken as the representatives of the two states of society which were brought at this time face to face. For Edward, though as true a knight as Amadis himself in his own person, in policy was a favourer of the new ideas. When the war broke out, Philip behaved as if no change had taken place in the seat of power and the world had still continued divided between the lords and their armed retainers. He threw himself for support on the military service of his tenants and the aristocratic spirit of his nobles. Edward, wiser but less romantic, turned for assistance to the Commons of England,--bought over their good will and copious contributions by privileges granted to their trades,--invited skilled workmen over from Flanders, which, with the freest spirit in Europe, was under the least improved of the feudal governments,--and established woollen-works at York, fustian-works at Norwich, serges at Colchester, and kerseys in Devonshire. Mills were whirling round in all the counties, and ships coming in untaxed at every harbour. Fortunately, as is always the case in this country, it was seen that the success of one class of the people was beneficial to every other class. The baron got more rent for his land and better cloth for his apparel by the prosperity of his manufacturing neighbours. Money was voted readily in support of a king who entered into alliance with their best customers, the men of Ghent and Bruges; and at the head of all the levies which the parliament's liberality enabled him to raise were the knights and gentlemen of England, totally freed now from any bias towards the French or prejudice against the Saxon; for they spoke the English tongue, dressed in English broadcloth, sang English ballads, and astonished the men of Gascony and Guienne with the vehemence of their unmistakably English oaths. Yet some of them held lands in feudal subjection to the French king. Flanders itself confessed the same sovereignty; and men of delicate consciences might feel uneasy if they lifted the sword against their liege lord. To soothe their scruples, James Van Arteveldt, the Brewer of Ghent, suggested to Edward the propriety of his assuming the title of King of France. The rebellious freeholders would then be in their duty in supporting their liege's claims. So Edward, founding upon the birth of his mother, the daughter of the last King, Philip le Bel,--who was excluded by the Salic law, or at least by French custom, from the throne,--made claim to the crown of St. Louis, and transmitted the barren title to all his successors till the reign of George the Fourth. As if in right of his property on both sides of the Channel, Edward converted it into his exclusive domain. [A.D. 1340.] He so entirely exterminated the navy of France, and impressed that chivalrous nation with the danger of the seas by the victory of Helvoet Sluys, that for several centuries the command of the strait was left undisputed to England. Philip had endeavoured to obtain the mastery of it with a fleet of a hundred and fifty ships, mounted by forty thousand men. The Genoese had furnished an auxiliary squadron, and also a commander-in-chief, of the name of Barbavara. But the French admiral was a civilian of the name of Bahuchet, who thought the safest plan was the best, and kept his whole force huddled up in the commodious harbour. Edward collected a fleet of scarcely inferior strength, and fell upon the enemy as they lay within the port. It was in fact a fight on the land, for they ranged so close that they almost touched each other, and the gallant Bahuchet preserved himself from sea-sickness at the expense of all their lives. For the English archers made an incredible havoc on their crowded decks, and the pike-men boarded with irresistible power. Twenty thousand were slain in that fearful _mêlée_; and Edward, to show how sincere he was in his claim upon the throne of France, hanged the unfortunate Bahuchet as a traitor. The man deserved his fate as a coward: so we need not waste much sympathy on the manner of his death. This success with his ships was soon followed by the better-known victory of Crecy, 1346, and the capture of Calais. [A.D. 1356.] In ten years afterwards, the crowning triumph of Poictiers completed the destruction of the military power of France, by a slaughter nearly as great as that at Sluys and Crecy. In addition to the loss of lives in these three engagements, amounting to upwards of ninety thousand men, we are to consider the impoverishment of the country by the exorbitant ransoms claimed for the release of prisoners. John, the French king, was valued at three million crowns of gold,--an immense sum, which it would have exhausted the kingdom to raise; and, in addition to those destructive fights and crushing exactions, France was further weakened by the insurrection of the peasantry and the frightful massacres by which it was put down. If to these causes of weakness we add the depopulation produced by the unequalled pestilence, called the Plague of Florence, which spread all over the world, and in the space of a year carried off nearly a third of the inhabitants of Europe, we shall be justified in believing that France was reduced to the lowest condition she has ever reached, and that only the dotage of Edward, the death of the Black Prince, and the accession of a king like Richard II., saved that noble country from being, for a while at least, tributary and subordinate to her island-conqueror. FIFTEENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. 1400. RUPERT. 1410. JOSSUS. 1410. SIGISMUND. _House of Austria._ 1438. ALBERT II. 1440. FREDERICK IV. 1493. MAXIMILIAN I. Kings of England. A.D. 1399. HENRY IV. 1413. HENRY V. 1422. HENRY VI. 1461. EDWARD IV. 1483. EDWARD V. 1483. RICHARD III. 1485. HENRY VII. Kings of Scotland. A.D. ROBERT III.--(_cont._) 1406. JAMES I. 1437. JAMES II. 1460. JAMES III. 1488. JAMES IV. Emperors of the East. A.D. MANUEL PALÆOLOGUS.--(_cont._) 1425. JOHN PALÆOLOGUS II. 1448. CONSTANTINE XIII., (PALÆOLOGUS.) 1453. Capture of Constantinople by the Turks, and close of the Eastern Empire. Sultans of Turkey. A.D. 1451. MOHAMMED II. 1481. BAJAZET II. Kings of France. A.D. CHARLES VI.--(_cont._) 1422. CHARLES VII. 1461. LOUIS XI. 1483. CHARLES VIII. 1498. LOUIS XII. Kings of Spain. A.D. 1479. Union of the Kingdom under FERDINAND and ISABELLA. 1452. INVENTION OF PRINTING. 1455. WARS OF THE ROSES BEGIN. 1483. LUTHER BORN. 1492. DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. Eminent Men. JOHN HUSS, (1370-1415,) XIMINES THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY DECLINE OF FEUDALISM--AGINCOURT--JOAN OF ARC--THE PRINTING-PRESS--DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. The whole period from the twelfth to the fifteenth century has generally been considered so unvarying in its details, one century so like another, that it has been thought sufficient to class them all under the general name of the Middle Ages. Old Monteil, indeed, the author of "The French People of Various Conditions," declines to individualize any age during that lengthened epoch, for "feudalism," he says, "is as little capable of change as the castles with which it studded the land." But a closer inspection does by no means justify this declaration. From time to time we have seen what great changes have taken place. The external walls of the baronial residence may continue the same, but vast alterations have occurred within. The rooms have got a more modern air; the moat has begun to be dried up, and turned into a bowling-green; the tilt-yard is occasionally converted into a garden; and, in short, in all the civilized countries of Europe the life of society has accumulated at the heart. Power is diffused from the courts of kings; and instead of the spirit of independence and opposition to the royal authority which characterized former centuries, we find the courtiers' arts more prevalent now than the pride of local grandeur. The great vassals of the Crown are no longer the rivals of their nominal superior, but submissively receive his awards, or endeavour to obtain the sanction of his name to exactions which they would formerly have practised in their own. Monarchy, in fact, becomes the spirit of the age, and nobility sinks willingly into the subordinate rank. This itself was a great blow to the feudal system, for the essence of that organized society was equality among its members, united to subordination of conventional rank,--a strange and beautiful style of feeling between the highest and the lowest of that manly brotherhood, which made the simple chevalier equal to the king as touching their common knighthood,--of which we have at the present time the modernized form in the feeling which makes the loftiest in the land recognise an equal and a friend in the person of an untitled gentleman. But this latter was to be the result of the equalizing effect of education and character. In the fifteenth century, feudalism, represented by the great proprietors, was about to expire, as it had already perished in the decay of its armed and mailed representatives in the field of battle. By no lower hand than its own could the nobility be overthrown either in France or England. The accident of a feeble king in both countries was the occasion of an internecine struggle,--not, as it would have been in the tenth century, for the possession of the crown, but for the custody of the wearer of it. The insanity of Charles VI. almost exterminated the lords of France; the weakness of Henry VI. and the Wars of the Roses produced the same result in England. It seemed as if in both countries an epidemic madness had burst out among the nobility, which drove them to their destruction. Wildly contending with each other, neglecting and oppressing the common people, the lords and barons were unconscious of the silent advances of a power which was about to overshadow them all. And, as if to drive away from them the sympathy which their fathers had known how to excite among the lower classes by their kindness and protection, they seemed determined to obliterate every vestige of respect which might cling to their ancient possessions and historic names, by the most unheard-of cruelty and falsehood in their treatment of each other. The leader of one of the parties which divided France was John, son of Philip the Hardy, prince of the blood royal and Duke of Burgundy. The leader of the other party was Louis of Orleans, brother of the demented king, and the gayest cavalier and most accomplished gentleman of his time. The Burgundian had many advantages in his contest for the reins of government. The wealth and population of the Low Countries made him as powerful as any of the princes of Europe, and he could at all times secure the alliance of England to the most nefarious of his schemes by the bribe of a treaty of trade and navigation. He accordingly brought his great possessions in Flanders to the aid of his French ambition, and secured the almost equally important assistance of the University of Paris, by giving in his adhesion to the Pope it had chosen and denying the authority of the Pope of his rival Orleans. Orleans had also offended the irritable population of Paris by making his vows, on some solemn occasion, by the bones of St. Denis which adorned the shrine of the town called after his name,--whereas it was well known to every Parisian that the real bones of the patron of France were those which were so religiously preserved in the treasury of Notre Dame. The clergy of the two altars took up the quarrel, and as much hostility was created by the rival relics of St. Denis and Paris as by the rival pontiffs of Avignon and Rome. Thus the Church, which in earlier times had been a bond of unity, was one of the chief causes of dissension; and the result in a few years was seen in the attempt made by France to shake off, as much as possible, the supremacy of both the divided Popes, as it managed to shake off entirely the yoke of the divided nobility. Quarrels and reconciliations among the princes, feasts and festivals among the peerage, and the most relentless treatment of the citizens, were the distinguishing marks of the opening of this century. Isabella of Bavaria, the shameless wife of the hapless Charles, added a great feature of infamy to the state of manners at the time, by the openness of her profligacy, and her neglect of all the duties of wife and queen. Rioting with the thoughtless Orleans, while her husband was left to the misery of his situation, unwashed, unshorn, and clothed in rags and filth, the abandoned woman roused every manly heart in all the land against the cause she aided. Relying on this national disgust, the wily Burgundian waited his opportunity, and revenged his private wrongs by what he afterwards called the patriotic dagger of an assassin. [A.D. 1407.] On the night of the 23d of December, 1407, the gay and handsome Louis was lured by a false message from the queen's quarters to a distant part of the town, and was walking in his satin mantle, twirling his glove in his hand, and humming the burden of a song, when he was set on by ten or twelve of the adherents of his enemy, stabbed, and beaten long after he lay dead on the pavement, and was then left motionless and uncared-for under the shade of the high house-walls of the Vieille Rue du Temple. Public conscience was not very acute at that time; and, although no man for a moment doubted the hand that had guided the blow, the Duke of Burgundy was allowed to attend the funeral of his murdered cousin, and to hold the pall in the procession, and to weep louder than any as the coffin was lowered into the vault. But the common feelings of humanity were roused at last. People remembered the handsome, kindly, merry-hearted Orleans thus suddenly struck low, and the ominous looks of the Parisians warned the powerful Burgundy that it was time to take his hypocrisy and his tears out of the sight of honest men. He slipped out of the city, and betook himself to his Flemish states. But the helm was now without a steersman; and, while all were looking for a guide out of the confusion into which the appalling incident had brought the realm, the guilty duke himself, armed _cap-à-pie_, and surrounded by a body-guard which silenced all opposition, made his solemn entry into the town, and fixed on the door of his hotel the emblematic ornament of two spears, one sharp at the point as if for immediate battle, and one blunted and guarded as if for a friendly joust. Eloquence is never long absent when power is in want of an oration. A great meeting was held, in which, by many brilliant arguments and incontrovertible examples from holy writ and other histories, John Petit proved, to the entire satisfaction of everybody who did not wish to be slaughtered on the spot, that the doing to death of the Duke of Orleans was a good deed, and that the doer was entitled to the thanks of a grateful country. The thanks were accordingly given, and the murderer was at the height of his ambition. As a warning to the worthy citizens of what they had to expect if they rebelled against his authority, he took the opportunity of hurrying northward to his states, where the men of Liege were in revolt, and, having broken their ill-formed squares, committed such slaughter upon them as only the madness of fear and hatred could have suggested. Dripping with the blood of twenty-four thousand artisans, he returned to Paris, where the citizens were hushed into silence, and perhaps admiration, by the terrors of his appearance. They called him John the Fearless,--a noble title, most inadequately acquired; but, in spite of their flattery and their submission, he did not feel secure without the presence of his faithful subjects. He therefore summoned his Flemings and Burgundians to share his triumphs, and a loose was given to all their desires. They pillaged, burned, and destroyed as if in an enemy's country, encamping outside the walls, and giving evident indications of an intention to force their way into the streets. But the sight of gore, though terrifying at first, sets the tamest of animals wild. The Parisians smelt the bloody odour and made ready for the fray. The formidable incorporation of the Butchers rose knife in hand, and at the command of their governor prepared to preserve the peace of the city. Burgundians and Orleanists were equally to be feared, and by a curious coincidence both those parties were at the gate; for the Count of Armagnac, father-in-law of the orphan Duke of Orleans, had assumed the leadership of the party, and had come up to Paris at the head of his infuriated Gascons and the men of Languedoc. North and South were again ranged in hostile ranks, and inside the walls there was a reign of terror and an amount of misery never equalled till that second reign of terror which is still the darkest spot in the memory of old men yet alive. No man could put faith in his neighbour. The murder of the Duke of Orleans had dissolved all confidence in the word of princes. One half of France was ready to draw against the other. Each half was anxious for support, from whatever quarter it came, and to gain the destruction of their rivals would sacrifice the interests of the nation. But the same spirit of disunion and extirpation of ancient landmarks was at work in England. The accession of Henry the Fourth was not effected without the opposition of the adherents of the former king and of the supporters, on general principles, of the legitimate line. There were treasons, and plots, and pitiless executions. The feudal chiefs were no longer the compact body which could give laws both to King and Parliament, but ranged themselves in opposite camps and waited for the spoils of the vanquished side. The clergy unanimously came to the aid of the usurper on his faithful promise to exempt them from taxation; and, by thus throwing their own proportion of the public burdens on the body of the people, they sundered the alliance which had always hitherto subsisted between the Church and the lower class. Another bribe was held out to the clerical order for its support to the unlineal crown by the surrender to their vengeance of any heretics they could discover. [A.D. 1401.] In the second year of this reign, accordingly, we find a law enabling the priests to burn, "on some high and conspicuous piece of ground," any who dissented from their faith. This is the first legal sanction in England to the logic of flame and fagot. How dreadfully this permission was used, we shall see ere many years elapse. In the mean time, it is worth while to remark that in proportion as the Church lost in popularity and affection it gained in legal privilege. While it was strong it did not need to be cruel; and if it had continued its care of the poor and helpless, it would have been able to leave Wickliff to his dissertations on its doctrinal errors undisturbed. A Church which is found to be nationally beneficial, and which endears itself to its adherents by the practical graces of Christianity, will never be overthrown, or even weakened, by any theoretical defects in its creeds or formularies. It was perhaps, therefore, a fortunate circumstance that the Church of Rome had departed as much by this time from the path of honesty and usefulness as from the simplicity of gospel truth. The Bible might have been looked at in vain, even in Wickliff's translation, if its meanings had not been rendered plain by the lives and principles of the clergy. Henry the Fifth, feeling the same necessity of clerical support which had thrown his father into the hands of the Church, left nothing untried to attach it to his cause. All the opposition which had been offered to its claims had hitherto been confined to men of low rank, and generally to members of its own body. Wickliff himself had been but a country vicar, and had been unnoticed and despised in his small parsonage at Lutterworth. But three-and-twenty years after he was dead, his name was celebrated far and wide as the enemy of constituted authority and a heretic of the most dangerous kind. His guilt consisted in nothing whatever but in having translated the Bible into English; but the fact of his having done so was patent to all. No witnesses were required. The bones of the old man were dug up from their resting-place in the quiet churchyard in Leicestershire, carried ignominiously to Oxford, and burned amid the howls and acclamations of an infuriated mob of priests and doctors. This was in 1409. But, in his character of heretic and unbeliever, Wickliff had high associates in this same year; for the General Council sitting at Pisa declared the two Popes--of Avignon and Rome--who still continued to divide the Christian world, to be "heretics, perjurers, and schismatics." Europe, indeed, was ripe for change in almost all the relations both of Church and State. There would seem no close connection between Bohemia and England; yet in a very short time the doctrines of Wickliff penetrated to Prague. There Huss and Jerome preached against the enormities and contradictions of the Romish system, and bitterly paid for their presumption in the fires of Constance before many years had passed. But in England the effects of the new revelation of the hidden gospel had been stronger than even at Prague. Public opinion, however, divided itself into two very different channels; and while the whole nation listened with open ear to the denunciations rising everywhere against the corruption, pride, and sensuality of the priesthood, it rushed at the same time into the wildest excesses of cruelty against the opponents of any of the doctrinal errors or superstitious beliefs in which it had been brought up. In the same year in which several persons were burnt in Smithfield as supporters of Wickliff and the Bible, the Parliament sent up addresses to the Crown, advising the king to seize the temporalities of the Church, and to apply the riches wasted on luxurious monks and nuns to the payment of his soldiers. Henry the Fifth adroitly availed himself of the double direction in which the popular feeling ran. He gained over the priesthood by exterminating the opponents of their ceremonies and faith, and rewarded himself by occasionally confiscating the revenues of a dozen or two of the more notorious monasteries. In 1417 a heavier sacrifice was demanded of him than his mere presence at the burning of a plebeian heretic like John Badby, whose execution he had attended at Smithfield in 1410. He was required to give up into the hands of the Church the great and noble Oldcastle, Lord Cobham. The Church, as if to mark its triumph, did not examine the accused on any point connected with civil or political affairs. It questioned him solely on his religious beliefs; and as it found him unconvinced of the necessity of confession to a priest, of pilgrimages to the shrines of saints, of the worship of images, and of the doctrine of transubstantiation, it delivered him over to the secular arm, and the stout old soldier was taken to St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, and suspended, by an iron chain round his body, above a fire, to die by the slowest and most painful of deaths. But, in this yielding up of a nobleman to the vengeance of the priesthood, Henry had a double motive: he terrified the proudest of the barons, and attached to himself the other bodies in the State. The people were still profoundly ignorant, and looked on the innovators as the enemies both of God and man. And nothing but this can account for the astonishing spectacle presented by Europe at this date. The Church torn by contending factions--three Popes at one time--and council arrayed against council; every nation disgusted with its own priesthood, and enthusiasm bursting out in the general confusion into the wildest excesses of fanaticism and vice,--and yet a total incapacity in any country of devising means of amendment. Great efforts were made, by wise and holy men within the Church itself, to shake off the impediments to its development and increase. Reclamations were made, more in sorrow than in anger, against the universal depravation of morals and beliefs. The Popes were not unmoved with these complaints, and gave credence to the forebodings of evil which rose from every heart. Yet the network of custom, the authority of tradition, and the unchangeableness of Roman policy marred every effort at self-reformation. An opening was apparently made for the introduction of improvement, by the declaration of the supremacy of general councils, and the cessation of the great schism of the West on the nomination of Martin the Fifth to the undisputed chair. [A.D. 1429.] But the force of circumstances was irresistible. Cardinals who approved of the declaration while members of the council repudiated its acts when, by good fortune, they succeeded to the tiara; and one of them even ventured the astounding statement that in his character of Æneas Sylvius, and approver of the decree of Basle, he was guilty of damnable sin, but was possessed of immaculate virtue in the character of Paul the Second. It was obvious that this unnatural state of things could not last. An establishment conscious of its defects, but unable to throw them off, and finally forced to the awful necessity of defending them by the foulest and most unpardonable means, might have read the inevitable result in every page of history. But worse remained behind. There sat upon the chair of St. Peter, in the year 1492, the most depraved and wicked of mankind. No earthly ruler had equalled him in profligacy and the coarser vices of cruelty and oppression since the death of the Roman Nero. This was a man of the name of Borgia, who fixed his infamous mark on the annals of the Papacy as Alexander the Sixth. While this bloodthirsty ruffian was at the summit of sacerdotal power--this poisoner of his friends, this polluter of his family circle with unimaginable crimes--as the visible representative upon earth of the Church of Christ, what hope could there be of amendment in the lower orders of the clergy, or continuance of men's belief in the popish claims? Long before this, in 1442, the falsehood of the pretended donation of Constantine, on which the Popes founded their territorial rights, was triumphantly proved by the learned Valla; and at the end of the century the reverence of mankind for the successor of the Prince of the Apostles was exposed to a trial which the authenticity of all the documents in the world could not have successfully stood, in the personal conduct of the Pope and his familiars. While this was the general state of Europe in the fifteenth century as regards the position of the clergy, high and low, the Church, in all countries, threw itself on the protection of the kings. By the middle, or towards the end, of this period, there was no other patronage to which they could have recourse. The nobility in France and England were practically eradicated. All confidence between baron and baron was at an end, and all belief in knightly faith and honour in the other classes of the people. As if the time for a new state of society was arrived, and instruments were required to clear the way for the approaching form, the nobility and gentry of England first were effectual in overthrowing their noble brethren in France, and then, with infuriate bitterness, turned their swords upon each other. The most rememberable general characteristic of this century is the consolidation of royal power. The king becomes despotic because the great nobility is overthrown and the Church stripped of its authority. Tired of hoping for aid from their ancient protector, the lowest classes cast their eyes of helplessness to the throne instead of to the crozier. They see in the reigning sovereign an ideal of personified Power. All other ideals with which the masses of the people have deluded themselves have passed away. The Church is stripped of the charm which its lofty claims and former kindness gave it. It is detected for the thing it is,--a corporation for the grinding of the poor and the support of tyranny and wrong. The nobility is stripped also of the glitter which covered its harsh outlines with the glow of Christian qualifications. It is found to be selfish, faithless, untrustworthy, and divided against itself. To the king, then, as the last refuge of the unfortunate, as the embodied State, a combination, in his own person, of the manly virtues of the knight with the Christian tenderness of the priest, the public transfers all the romantic confidence it had lavished on the other two. And, as if to prove that this idea came to its completeness without reference to the actual holder of sovereign authority, we find that in France the first really despotic king was Louis the Eleventh, and in England the first king by divine right was Henry the Seventh. Two more unchivalrous personages never disgraced the three-legged stool of a scrivener. Yet they sat almost simultaneously on two of earth's proudest thrones. No century had ever witnessed so great a change in manners and position as this. In others we have seen a gradual widening-out of thought and tendencies, all, however, subdued by the universal shadow in which every thing was carried on. But in this the progress was by a sudden leap from darkness into light. In ancient times Europe was held together by certain communities of interest and feeling, of which the chief undoubtedly was the centralization of the spiritual power in Rome. At the Papal Court all the nations were represented, and Stockholm and Saragossa were brought into contact by their common dependence on the successor of St. Peter. The courtly festivals which invited a knight of Scotland to cross blunted spears in a glittering tournament with a knight of Sicily in the court of an emperor of Germany was another bond of union between remotest regions; and in the fourteenth century the indefatigable Froissart, as we remarked, conveyed a knowledge of one nation to another in the entertaining chapters with which he delighted the listeners in the different palaces where he set up his rest. But all these lights, it will be observed, illumined only the hill-tops, and left the valleys still obscure. Ambitious Churchmen encountered their brethren of all kindreds and tongues in the court of the Vatican; tiltings were only for the high-born and rich, and Froissart himself poured forth his treasures only for the delight of lords and ladies. The ballads of the common people, on the other hand, had had a strongly disuniting effect. The songs which charmed the peasant were directed against the exacting priest and oppressive noble. In England they were generally pointed against the Norman baron, with whose harshness and pride were contrasted the kindness and liberality of Robin Hood and his peers. The French ballads were hostile to the English invader; the Scottish poems were commemorative of the heroism of Wallace and the cruelties of the Southern hordes. Literatures were thus condemned to be hostile, because they were not lofty enough to overlook the boundaries of the narrow circles in which they moved. By slow and toilsome process books were multiplied,--carefully copied in legible hand, and then chained up, like inestimable jewels, in monastery or palace, as too valuable to be left at large. A king's library was talked of as a wonder when it contained six or seven hundred volumes. The writings of controversialists were passed from hand to hand, and the publication of a volume was generally achieved by its being read aloud at the refectory-table of the college and then discussed, in angry disputations, in the University Hall. Not one man in five hundred could read, if the book had been written in the plainest text; and at length the running hand was so indistinct as to be not much plainer than hieroglyphics. The discoveries, therefore, of one age had all to be discovered over again in the next. Roger Bacon, the English monk, in the eleventh century, was acquainted with gunpowder, and had clear intimations of many of the other inventions of more recent times. But what was the use of all his genius? He could only write down his triumph in a book; the book was carefully arranged on the shelf of his monastery; clever men of his own society may have carried the report of his doings to the neighbouring establishments; but time passed on, those clever men died out, the book on the monastery shelf was gradually covered with dust, and Roger Bacon became a conjurer in popular estimation, who foretold future events and took counsel from a supernatural brazen head. But in this century the art of printing was discovered and perfected. A thousand copies now darted off in all directions, cheap enough to be bought by the classes below the highest, portable enough to be carried about the person to the most distant lands, and in a type so large and clear that a very little instruction would enable the most illiterate to master its contents. Here was the lever that lifted the century at its first appearance into the light of modern civilization. And it came at the very nick of time. Men's minds were disturbed on many subjects; for old unreasoning obedience to authority had passed away. Who was to guide them in their future voyage? Isolated works would no longer be of any use. Great scholars and acute dialecticians had been tried and found wanting. They only acted on the highly-educated class; and now it was the people in mass--the worker, the shopkeeper, the farmer, the merchant--who were anxious to be informed; and what could a monk in a cell, or even Chaucer with his harp in hand, do for the edification of such a countless host? People would no longer be fed on the dry crust of Aristotelianism or be satisfied with the intellectual jugglery of the Schoolmen. Rome had lost its guiding hand, and its restraining sword was also found of no avail. Some rest was to be found for the minds which had felt the old foundation slip away from them; and in this century, thus pining for light, thus thrusting forward eager hands to be warmed at the first ray of a new-risen sun, there were terrible displays of the aberrations of zeal without knowledge. Almost within hearing of the first motion of the press, incalculable numbers of enthusiasts revived the exploded sect of the Flagellants of former centuries, and perambulated Europe, plying the whip upon their naked backs and declaring that the whole of religion consisted in the use of the scourge. Others, more crazy still, pronounced the use of clothes to be evidence of an unconverted nature, and returned to the nakedness of our first parents as proof of their restoration to a state of innocence. Mortality lost all its terrors in this earnest search for something more than the ordinary ministrations of the faith could bestow; and in France and England the hideous spectacles called the Dance of Death were frequent. In these, under the banner of a grinning skeleton, the population danced with frantic violence, shouting, shrieking, in the exultation of the time,--a scene where the joyous appearance of the occupation contrasted shockingly with the awful place in which the orgies were held, for the catacombs of Paris, filled with the bones and carcasses of many generations, were the chosen site for these frightful exhibitions. Like the unnatural gayety that reigned in the same city when the guillotine had filled every family with terror or grief, they were but an abnormal development of the sentiment of despair. People danced the Dance of Death, because life had lost its charm. Life had lost its security in the two most powerful nations of the time. England was shaken with contending factions, and France exhausted and hopeless of restoration. [A.D. 1451.] The peasantry in both were trampled on without remorse. Jack Cade led up his famishing thousands to lay their sufferings before the throne. They asked for nothing but a slight relaxation of the burdens that oppressed them, and were condemned without mercy to the sword and gallows. The French "Jacques Bonhomme" was even in a worse condition. There was no controlling power on the throne to guard him from the tyrannies of a hundred petty superiors. The Church of his country was as much conquered by the Church of England as its soil by the English arms. A cardinal, bloated and bloody, dominated both London and Paris, and sent his commands from the Palace at Winchester, which were obeyed by both nations. [A.D. 1452.] [A.D. 1483.] [A.D. 1492.] And all this on the very eve of the introduction of the perfected printing-press, the birth of Luther, and the discovery of America! From the beginning of the century till government became assured by the accession of Henry VII. and Louis XI., the whole of Europe was unsettled and apparently on the verge of dissolution. In the absence of the controlling power of the Sovereign, each little baron asserted his own right and privileges, and aimed perhaps at the restoration of his feudal independence, when the spirit of feudalism had passed away. The nobility, even if it had been united, was not now numerous enough to present a ruling body to the State. It became despised as soon as it was seen to be powerless; and at last, in sheer exhaustion, the people, the churches, and the peerage of the two proudest nations in the world lay down helpless and unresisting at the footstool of the only authority likely to protect them from each other or themselves. When we think of the fifteenth century, let us remember it as the period when mankind grew tired of the establishments of all former ages, when feudalism resigned its sword into the hands of monarchy, and when the last days of the expiring state of society were distinguished by the withdrawal of the death-grasp by France and England from each other's throats, and the establishment of respectful if not friendly sentiments between them. By the year 1451, there was not one of all the conquests of the Edwards and Henrys left to the English except Calais. If that miserable relic had also been restored, it would have prevented many a heart-burning between the nations, and advanced, perhaps by centuries, the happy time when each can look across the narrow channel which divides them without a wish save for the glory and prosperity of the other. It is like going back to the time of the Crusades to turn our eyes from the end of this century to the beginning, so great and essential is the change that has taken place. Yet it is necessary, having given the general view of the condition of affairs, to descend to certain particulars by which the progress of the history may be more vividly defined. And of these the principal are the battle of Agincourt, the relief of Orleans, the invention of Guttenberg, and the achievement of Columbus. These are fixed on, not for their own intrinsic merits, but for the great results they produced. Agincourt unfeudalized France; Joan of Arc restored man's faith in human virtue and divine superintendence; printing preserved forever the conquests of the human intellect; and the discovery of America opened a new world to the energies of mankind. We must return to the state of France when the Duke of Orleans was so treacherously slain by the ferocious Duke of Burgundy in 1407. For a time the crime was successful in establishing the murderer's power, and the Burgundians were strengthened by obtaining the custody of the imbecile king, Charles the Sixth, and the support of his infamous consort, Isabeau of Bavaria. But authority so obtained could not be kept without plunging into greater excesses. So the populace were let loose, and no man's life was safe. In self-defence--burning with hatred of the slayer of his son-in-law and betrayer of his country--the Count of Armagnac denounced the dominant party. [A.D. 1411.] Burgundy threw himself into the arms of England, and was only outbidden in his offers of submission by the Armagnacs in the following year. Each party in turn promised to support the English king in all his claims, and before he set foot in France he already found himself in possession of the kingdom. [A.D. 1413.] Many strong places in the South were surrendered to him as pledges of the fidelity of his supporters. The whole land was the prey of faction and party hate. The Church had repudiated both Pope and Council; the towns were in insurrection in every street; and Henry the Fifth was only twenty-six years of age, full of courage and ambition, supported by the love and gratitude of the national Church, and anxious to glorify the usurpation of his family by a restoration of the triumphs of Cressy and Poictiers. He therefore sent an embassy to France, demanding his recognition by all the States as king, though he modestly waived the royal title till its present holder should be no more. He declared also that he would not be content without the hand of Catharine, the French king's daughter, with Normandy and other counties for her dowry; and when these reasonable conditions, as he had anticipated, were rejected, and all his preparations were completed, he threw off the mask of negotiation, and sailed from Southampton with an army of six thousand men-at-arms and twenty-four thousand archers. A beautiful sight it must have been that day in September, 1415, when the enormous convoy sailed or rowed down the placid Southampton water. Sails of various colours, and streamers waving from every mast, must have given it the appearance of an immense regatta; and while all France was on the watch for the point of attack, and Calais was universally regarded as the natural landing-place for an English army, the great flotilla pursued its course past the Isle of Wight, and struck out for the opposite coast, filling up the mouth of the Seine with innumerable vessels, and casting anchor off the town of Harfleur. Prayers for its success ascended from every parish in England; for the clergy looked on the youthful king as their champion against all their enemies,--against the Pope, who claimed their tithes, against the itinerant monks, who denied and resisted their authority, and against the nobles, who envied them their wealth and territories. And no wonder; for at this time the ecclesiastical possessions included more than the half of England. Of fifty-three thousand knightly holdings on the national register, twenty-eight thousand belonged to mother Church! Prayers also for its success were uttered in the workshops and markets. People were tired of the long inaction of Richard the Second's time, and longed for the stirring incidents they had heard their fathers speak of when the Black Prince was making the "Mounseers" fly. For by this time a stout feeling of mutual hatred had given vigour to the quarrel between the nations. Parliament had voted unexampled supplies, and "all the youth of England was afire." Meantime the siege of Harfleur dragged its slow length along. Succours were expected by the gallant garrison, but succour never came. Proclamations had indeed been issued, summoning the _ban_ and _arrière ban_ of France, and knights were assembling from all quarters to take part in the unavoidable engagement. But the counsels at head-quarters were divided. The masses of the people were not hearty in the cause, and the men of Harfleur, at the end of the fifth week of their resistance, sent to say they would surrender "if they were not relieved by a great army in two days." "Take four," said Henry, wishing nothing more than a decisive action under the very walls. But the time rapidly passed, and Harfleur was once more an English town. Henry might look round and triumph in the possession of streets and houses; but that was all, for his usual barbarity had banished the inhabitants. The richer citizens were put to ransom; all the rest were driven from the place,--not quite naked, nor quite penniless, for one petticoat was left to each woman, and one farthing in ready money. Generosity to the vulgar vanquished was not yet understood, either as a Christian duty or a stroke of policy. But courage, not unmixed with braggadocio, was still the character of the time. The English had lost many men from sickness during the siege. No blow had been boldly struck in open field, and a war without a battle, however successful in its results, would have been thought no better than a tournament. All the remaining chivalry of France was now collected under its chiefs and princes, and Henry determined to try what mettle they were of. He published a proclamation that he and his English would march across the country from Harfleur to Calais in spite of all opposition; and, as the expedition would occupy eight days at least, he felt sure that some attempt would be made to revenge so cutting an insult. He might easily have sent his forces, in detachments, by sea, for there was not a French flag upon all the Channel; but trumpets were sounded one day, swords drawn, cheers no doubt heartily uttered, by an enthusiastic array of fifteen thousand men, and the dangerous march began. It was the month of October, the time of the vintage: there was plenty of wine; and a French author makes the characteristic remark, "with plenty of wine the English soldier could go to the end of the world." When the English soldier, on this occasion, had got through the eight days' provisions with which he started, instead of finding himself at Calais, he was only advanced as far as Amiens, with the worst part of the journey before him. The fords of the Somme were said to be guarded; spies came over in the disguise of deserters, and told the king that all the land was up in arms, that the princes were all united, and that two hundred thousand men were hemming them hopelessly round. In the midst of these bad news, however, a ray of light broke in. A villager pointed out a marsh, by crossing which they could reach a ford in the stream. They traversed the marsh without hesitation, waded with difficulty through morass and water, and, behold! they were safe on the other side. The road was now clear, they thought, for Calais; and they pushed cheerily on. But, more dangerous than the marsh, more impassable than the river, the vast army of France blocked up their way. Closing across a narrow valley which lay between the castle of Agincourt and the village of Tramecourt, sixty thousand knights, gentlemen, and man-at-arms stood like a wall of steel. There were all the great names there of all the provinces,--Dukes of Lorraine, and Bar, and Bourbon, Princes of Orleans and Berri, and many more. Henry by this time had but twelve thousand men. He found he had miscalculated his movements, and was unwilling to sacrifice his army to the point of honour. He offered to resign the title of King of France and to surrender his recent conquest at Harfleur. But the princes were resolved not to negotiate, but to revenge. Henry then said to the prisoners he was leading in his train, "Gentlemen, go till this affair is settled. If your captors survive, present yourselves at Calais." His forces were soon arranged. Archers had ceased to be the mere appendages to a line of battle: they now constituted almost all the English army. All the night before they had been busy in preparation. They had furbished up their arms, and put now cords to their bows, and sharpened the stakes they carried to ward off the attack of cavalry. At early dawn they had confessed to the priest; and all the time no noise had been heard. Henry had ordered silence throughout the camp on pain of the severest penalties,--loss of his horse to a gentleman, and of his right ear to a common soldier. [A.D. 1415.] The 23d of October was the great, the important day. Henry put a noble helmet on his head, surmounted by a golden crown, sprang on his little gray hackney, encouraged his men with a few manly words, reminding them of Old England and how constantly they had conquered the French, and led them to a field where the grass was still green, and which the rains had not converted into mud; for the weather had long been unpropitious. And here the heroic little army expected the attack. But the enemy were in no condition to make an advance. Seated all night on their enormous war-horses, the heavy-armed cavaliers had sunk the unfortunate animals up to their knees in the adhesive soil. Old Thomas of Erpingham, seeing the decisive moment, completed the marshalling of the English as soon as possible, and, throwing his baton in the air, cried, "Now, Strike!" A great hurrah was the answer to this order; but still the French line continued unmoved. If it had been turned into stone it could not have been more inactive. Ranged thirty-two deep, and fixed to the spot they stood on, buried up in armour, and crowded in the narrow space, the knights could offer no resistance to the attack of their nimble and lightly-armed foes. A flight of ten thousand arrows poured upon the vast mass, and saddles became empty without a blow. There came, indeed, two great charges of horse from the flank of the French array; but the inevitable shaft found entrance through their coats of mail, and very few survived. Of these the greater part rushed, blind and wounded, back among their own men, crashing upon the still spell-bound line and throwing it into inextricable confusion. Horse and man rolled over in the dirt, struggling and shrieking in an undistinguishable mass. Meanwhile the archers, throwing aside their stakes and seizing the hatchets hanging round their necks, advanced at a run,--poured blows without cessation on casque and shield, completing the destruction among the crowded multitudes which their own disorder had begun; and, as the same cause which hindered their advance prevented their retreat, they sat the hopeless victims of a false position, and were slaughtered without an attempt made to resist or fly. The fate of the second line was nearly the same. Henry, forcing his way with sword and axe through the living barrier of horse and cavalier, led his compact array to the glittering body beyond. There the _mêlée_ became more animated, and prowess was shown upon either side. But the rear-guard, warned by previous experience, took flight before the middle lines were pierced, and Henry saw himself victor with very trifling loss, and only encumbered with the number of the slain, and still more with the multitude of prisoners. Almost all the surviving noblemen had surrendered their swords. They knew too well the fate of wounded or disarmed gentlemen even among their countrymen, and trusted rather to the generosity of the conqueror than the mercy of their own people. Alas that we must again confess that Henry was ignorant of the name of generosity! Alarmed for a moment at the threatening aspect of some of the fugitives who had resumed their ranks, he gave the pitiless word that every prisoner was to be slain. Not a soldier would lift his hand against his captive,--from the double motive of tenderness and cupidity. To tell an "archer good" to murder a great baron, the captive of his bow and spear, was to tell him to resign a ransom which would make him rich for life. But Henry was not to be balked. He appointed two hundred men to be executioners of his command; and thousands of the young and gay were slaughtered in cold blood. Was it hideous policy which thus led Henry to weaken his enemy's cause by diminishing the number of its knightly defenders, or was it really the result of the fear of being overcome? Whichever it was, the effect was the same. Ten thousand of the gentlemen of France were the sufferers on that day,--a whole generation of the rich and high-born swept away at one blow! It would have taken a long time in the course of nature to supply their place; but nature was not allowed to have her way. Wars and dissensions interfered with her restorative efforts. Six-and-thirty years were yet to be spent in mutual destruction, or in struggles against the English name; and when France was again left free from foreign occupation, when French chivalry again wished to assume the chief rule in human affairs, it was found that chivalry was out of place; a new state of things had arisen in Europe; the greatest exploit which had been known in their national annals had been performed by a woman; and knighthood had so lost its manliness that, when prosperity and population had again made France a powerful kingdom, the silk-clad courtiers of an unwarlike monarch thought it good taste to sneer at the relief of Orleans and the mission of Joan of Arc! Six years after Agincourt, the English conqueror and the wretched phantom of kingship called Charles the Sixth descended to their graves. [A.D. 1421.] Military honour and patriotism seemed utterly at an end among the French population, and our Henry the Sixth, the son of the man of Agincourt, succeeded in the great object of English ambition and was recognised from the Channel to the Loire as King of France. In the Southern provinces a spark of the old French gallantry was still unextinguished, but it showed itself in the gay unconcern with which the Dauphin, now Charles the Seventh, bore all the reverses of fortune, and consoled himself for the loss of the noblest crown in Europe by the enjoyments of love and festivity. Perhaps he saw that the whirligig of time would bring about its revenges, and that the curse of envious faction would vex the councils of the conquerors as it had ruined the fortunes of the subdued. The warriors of Henry still remained, but, without the controlling hand, they could direct their efforts to no common object. The uncles of the youthful king speedily quarrelled. The gallant Bedford was opposed by the treacherous Glo'ster, and both were dominated and supplanted by the haughty prelate, the Cardinal Bishop of Winchester. Offence was soon taken at the presumption of the English soldiery. Religious animosities supervened. The Churches of England and France had both made successful endeavours to establish a considerable amount of national independence, and the French bishops, who had withdrawn themselves from the absolutism of Rome, were little inclined to become subordinate to Winchester and Canterbury. A court gradually gathered round the Dauphin, which inspired him with more manly thoughts. His feasts and tournaments were suspended, and, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, he watched the proceedings of the English. These proceedings were uniformly successful when restricted to the operations of war. They defeated the men of Gascony and the reinforcements sent over by the Scotch. They held a firm grasp of Paris and all the strong places of the North, and cast down the gauntlet to the rest of France by laying siege to the beautiful city of Orleans in the winter of 1428. [A.D. 1428.] Once in possession of the Loire, they would be able at their leisure to extend their conquests southward; and all the loyal throughout the country took up the challenge and resolved on the defence of the beleaguered town. The English must have begun by this time to despise their enemy; for, in spite of the greatness of the stake, they undertook the siege with a force of less than three thousand men. To make up for the deficiency in numbers, they raised twelve large bastions all round the walls, exhausting the troops by the labour and finding it impossible to garrison them adequately when they were finished. It seems that Sebastopol was not the first occasion on which our soldiers were overworked. To surround a city of several thousand inhabitants, strongly garrisoned, and with an open country at its back for the supply of provisions, would have required a large and well-directed force. But the moral effects of Agincourt, and even of Cressy and Poictiers, were not yet obliterated. Public spirit was dead, and very few entertained a hope of saving the doomed place. Statesmen, politicians, and warriors, all calculated the chances of success and decided against the cause of France. But in the true heart of the common people far better feelings survived. They were neither statesmen, nor politicians, nor warriors; but they were loyal and devoted Frenchmen, and put their trust in God. A peasant-girl, eighteen years of age, born and bred in a little village called Domremy, in Lorraine, was famous for her religious faith and simplicity of character. Her name was Joan d'Arc,--a dreamy enthusiast, believing with full heart all the legends of saints and miracles with which the neighbourhood was full. She rested, also, with a sort of romantic interest on the personal fortunes of the young discrowned king, who had been unjustly excluded by foreigners from his rights and was now about to lose the best of his remaining possessions. She walked in the woods and heard voices telling her to be up and doing. She went to pray in the dim old church, and had glorious visions of angels who smiled upon her. One time she saw a presence with a countenance like the sun, and wings upon his shoulders, who said, "Go, Joan, to the help of the King of France." But she answered, "My lord, I cannot ride, nor command men-at-arms." The voice replied, "Go to M. de Baudricourt at Vaucouleurs: he will take thee to the king. Saint Catharine and Saint Marguerite will come to thy assistance." There was no voluntary deception here. The girl lived in a world of her own, and peopled it out of the fulness of her heart. She went to Vaucouleurs: she saw M. de Baudricourt. He took her to Poictiers, where the Dauphin resided, and when she was led into the glittering ring an attempt was made to deceive her by representing another as the prince; but she went straight up to the Dauphin and said to him, "Gentle Dauphin, my name is Joan the Maid. The King of Heaven sends to you, through me, that you shall be anointed and crowned at Rheims, and you shall be lieutenant of the King of Heaven, who is King of France." All the court was moved,--the more pure-minded, with sympathy for the girl, the more experienced, with the use that might be made of her enthusiasm to rouse the nation. Both parties conspired to aid Joan in her design; and, clothed in white armour, mounted on a war-horse, holding the banner of France in her hand, and waited on by knights and pages, she set forth on her way to Orleans. It was like a religious procession all the way. She prayed at all the shrines, and was blest by the clergy, and held on her path undismayed with all the dangers that occurred at every step. At length, on the 30th of April, she made her entry into Orleans. Her coming had long been expected; and, now that it had really happened, people looked back at the difficulties of the route and thought the whole march a miracle. Meantime Joan knelt and gave thanks in the great church, and the true defence of Orleans began. Into the hard-pressed city had gathered all the surviving chivalry of France,--Dunois, the bastard of Orleans, La Hire, Saintrailles, rough and dissolute soldiers, yet all held in awe by the purity and innocence of the Maid. With Joan at the head of the column of assault, the English intrenchments fell one after another. In spite of wounds and hardships, the peasant-girl pushed fearlessly on; the knights and gentlemen could not decline to follow where she led the way; and ten days after her arrival old Talbot and Falstaff gathered up the fragments of their troops and made a precipitate retreat from the scene of their discomfiture. But there was not yet rest for the dreamer of Domremy. She hurried off to the Dauphin. "Gentle Dauphin," she said, "till you are crowned with the old crown and bedewed with the holy oil, you can never be King of France. Come with me to Rheims. There shall no enemy hurt you on the way." The country through which they had to pass was bristling with English castles and swarming with wandering troops. Yet the counsel which appeared so hardy was in fact the wisest that could be given. The faith in the sanctity of coronations was still strong. Whoever was first crowned would in the eye of faith be true king. Winchester was bringing over the English claimant. All France would be startled at the news that the descendant of St. Louis was beforehand with his rival; and the march was successfully made. [July 17, 1429.] "Gentle king," said Joan, kneeling after the ceremony, and calling him for the first time King,--"Gentle King, Orleans is saved, the true king is crowned. My task is done. Farewell." But they would not let her leave them so soon. The people crowded round her and blest her wherever she appeared. "Oh, the good people of Rheims!" she cried: "when I die I should like to be buried here." "When do you think you shall die?" inquired the archbishop,--perhaps with a sneer upon his lips. "That I know not," she replied: "whenever it pleases God. But, for my own part, I wish to go back and keep the sheep with my sister and brothers. They will be so glad to see me again!" But this was not to be. If Talbot and Suffolk had been foiled and vanquished by Dunois and La Hire, they would have accepted their defeat as one of the mischances of war. A knightly hand ennobles the blow it gives. But to be humbled by a woman, a peasant, a prophetess, an impostor,--this was too much for the proud stomachs of our steel-clad countrymen. But far worse was it in the eyes of our stole-clad ecclesiastics. Apparitions of saints and angels vouchsafed to the recalcitrant Church of France!--voices heard from heaven denouncing the claims of the English king!--visible glories hanging round the head of a simple shepherdess! It was evident to every clergyman and monk and bishop in England that the woman was a witch or a deceiver. And almost all the clergymen in France thought the same; and after a while, when the exploit was looked back upon with calmness, almost all the soldiers on both sides were of the same opinion. Nobody could believe in the exaltation of a pure and enthusiastic mind, making its own visions, and performing its own miracles, without a tincture of deceit. It was easier and more orthodox to believe in the liquefaction of the holy oil and the wonders wrought by the bones of St. Denis: so, with a nearly universal assent of both the parties, the humbled English and delivered French, the most heroic and most feminine of women was handed over to the Church tribunals, and Joan's fate was sealed. Unmanly priests, whose law prevented them from having wives, unloving bishops, whose law prevented them from having daughters,--how were they to judge of the loving heart and trusting tenderness of a girl not twenty years of age, standing before them, with modesty not shown in blushes but in unabated simplicity of behaviour, telling the tale of all her actions as if she were pouring it into the ears of father and mother in her own old cottage at home, unconscious, or at least regardless, of scowling looks, and misleading questions, directed to her by those predetermined murderers? No one tried to save her. Charles the Seventh, with the oil of Rheims scarcely dried upon his head, made no attempt to get her from the hands of her enemies. The process took place at Rouen. Magic and heresy were the crimes laid to her charge; and as generosity was magic in the eyes of those narrow-souled inquisitors, and trust in God was heresy, there was no defence possible. Her whole life was a confession. First, she was condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and to resume the dress of her sex. Then she was exposed to every obloquy and insult which hatred and superstition could pour upon her. A gallant "Lord" accompanied the Count de Ligny in a visit to her cell. She was chained to a plank by both feet, and kept in this attitude night and day. The noble Englishman did honour to his rank and country. When Joan said, "I know the English will procure my death, in hopes of getting the realm of France; but they could not do it, no, if they had a hundred thousand _Goddams_ more than they have to-day;" the gallant visitor was so enraged by those depreciating remarks, and perhaps at the nickname thus early indicative of the national oath, that he drew his dagger, and would have struck her, if he had not been hindered by Lord Warwick. Another gentleman, on being admitted to her prison, insulted her by the grossness of his behaviour, and then overwhelmed her with blows. It was time for Joan to escape her tormentors. She put on once more the male apparel which she had thrown off, and sentence of death was passed. On the 30th of May, 1431, in the old fishmarket of Rouen, the great crime was consummated. [A.D. 1431.] The flames mounted very slowly; and when at last they enveloped her from the crowd, she was still heard calling on Jesus, and declaring, "The voices I heard were of God!--the voices I heard were of God!" The age of chivalry was indeed past, and the age of Church-domination was also about to expire. The peasant-girl of Domremy wrote the dishonoured epitaph of the first in the flame of Rouen, and a citizen of Mentz was about to give the other its death-blow with the printing-press. This is one of the inventions apparently unimportant, by which incalculable results have been produced. At first it was intended merely to simplify the process of copying the books which were already well known. And, if we may trust some of the stories told of the earliest specimens of the art, we shall see that there was some slight portion of dishonesty mingled with the talent of the Fathers of printing. These were Guttenberg of Mentz, and his apprentice or partner Faust. [A.D. 1455.] The first of their productions was a Latin Bible; and the letters of this impression were such an exact imitation of the works of the amanuensis that they passed it off as an exquisite specimen of the copyist's art. Faust sold a copy to the King of France for seven hundred crowns, and another to the Archbishop of Paris for four hundred. The prelate, enchanted with his bargain, (for the usual price was several hundred crowns above what he had given,) showed it in triumph to the king. The king compared the two, and was filled with astonishment. They were identical in every stroke and dot. How was it possible for any two scribes, or even for the same scribe, to produce so undeniable a fac-simile of his work? The capital letters of the edition were of red ink. They inquired still further, and found that many other copies had been sold, all precisely alike in form and pressure. They came to the conclusion that Faust was a wizard and had sold himself to the devil, and that the initials were of blood. The Church and State, in this case united in the persons of king and archbishop, had the magician apprehended. To save himself from the flames, the unhappy Faust had to confess the deceit, and also to discover the secret of the art. The whole mystery consisted in cutting letters upon movable metal types, and, after rubbing them with ink when they were correctly set, imprinting them upon paper by means of a screw. A simple expedient, as it appeared to everybody when the secret was spread abroad; for there had been seals stamping impressions on wax for many generations. Medals and coins had been poured forth from the dies of every nation from the dawn of history. In England, playing-cards had been produced for several years, with the figures impressed on them from wooden blocks; and in 1423 a stamped book, with wood engravings, had made its appearance, which now, with many treasures of typography, is in the library of Lord Spencer. Even in Nineveh, we learn from recent discovery, the dried bricks, while in a soft state, had been stamped with those curious-looking inscriptions, by a board in which the unsightly letters were set in high relief. Wooden letters had also long been known; and yet it was not till 1440 that Guttenberg bethought him of the process of printing, and only after ten or twelve years' labour that he brought his experiments to perfection and with one crush of the completed press opened new hopes and prospects to the whole family of mankind. But things apparently unconnected are brought together for good when the great turning-points of human history are attained. There are always pebbles of the brook within reach when the warrior-shepherd has taken the sling in his hand. Shortly before the invention of printing, a discovery was made without which Guttenberg's skill would have been of no avail. This was the applicability of linen rags to the manufacture of paper. Parchment, and preparations of straw and papyrus, had sufficed for the transcriber and author of those unliterary times, but would have been inadequate to supply the demand of the new process; and therefore we may say that, as gunpowder was essential to the use of artillery, and steam-power for the railway-train, linen paper was indispensable to the development of the press. And the development was rapid beyond all imagination. In the remaining portion of the century, eight thousand five hundred and nine books were published, of which the English Caxton and his followers supplied one hundred and forty-two,--a small contribution in actual numbers, but valuable for the insight it gives us into the favourite literature of the time. Among those volumes there are "Songs of war for gallant knight, Lays of love for lady bright;" "The Tale of Troy divine," for scholars; "Tullie, of old age," and "of Friendship," and "Virgil's Æneid," for the classical; "Lives of Our Ladie and divers Saints," for the religious; and "The Consolation of Boethius," for the afflicted. But several editions prove the popularity of the Father of English poetry; and we find the "Tales of Cauntyrburrie," and the "Book of Fame," and "Troylus and Cresyde, made by Geoffrey Chaucer," the great and fitting representatives of the native English muse. We ought to remember, in judging of the paucity of books produced in England, that the Wars of the Roses broke out at the very time when Guttenberg's labours began. In such a season of struggle and unrest as the thirty years of civil strife--for though Mr. Knight, in his very interesting sketch of this date,[D] has shown that the period of actual and open war was very short, the state of uneasiness and expectation must have endured the whole time--there was small encouragement to the peaceful triumphs of art or literature. And, moreover, the pride of station was revolted by the prospect of the spread of information among the classes to whom it had not yet reached. The noble could afford to acknowledge his inferiority in learning and research to the priest or monk, for it was their trade to be wise and learned, and their scholarship was even considered a badge of the lowness of their birth, which had given them the primer and psalter instead of the horse and sword. But those high-hearted cavaliers could ill brook the notion of educated clowns and peasants. And, strange to say, the sentiment was shared and exaggerated by the peasants and clowns themselves. Jack Cade is represented, by an anachronism of date but with perfect truth of character, as profoundly irritated at the invention of printing, and the building of a paper-mill, and the introduction of such heathenish words as nominatives and adverbs: so that the press began its career opposed by the two greatest parties of the State. Yet truth is mighty and will prevail. No nobility in Europe gives such contributions to the general stock of high and healthy thought as the descendants of the men of Towton and Bosworth, and no peasantry values more deeply, or would defend more gallantly, the gifts poured upon it by a free and sympathizing press. Warwick the King-maker, if he had lived just now, would have made speeches in Parliament and had them reported in the _Times_, and Jack Cade would have been sent to the reformatory and taught to read and write. But, with the peerages of Europe greatly thinned, with mounted feudalism overthrown, with the press rejoicing as a giant to run its course, something also was needed in order to make a wider theatre for the introduction of the new life of men. Another world lay beyond the great waters of the Atlantic. Whispers had been going round the circle of earnest inquirers, which gradually grew louder and louder till they reached the ears of kings, that great things lay hidden in the awful and mysterious solitudes of the ocean; that westward, to balance the preponderance of our used-up continent, must be solid land, equal in weight and size, so that the uninterrupted waters would conduct the adventurous mariner to the farther India by a nearer route than Bartholomew Diaz, the Portuguese, had just discovered. [A.D. 1487.] This man sailed to the southern extremity of Africa, passed round to the east without being aware of his achievement, and penetrated as far as Lagoa Bay. But the crew became discontented, and the navigator retraced his steps. Alarmed at the commotion of the vast waves of the Southern Ocean pouring its floods against the Table Mountain, he had retired from further research, and called the southern point of his pilgrimage the Cape of Storms. It is now known to us by a happier augury as the Cape of Good Hope. But, whether perpetually haunted by tempests or not, the truth was discovered that the land ceased at that promontory and left an unexplored sea beyond. This was cherished in many a heart; for in this century maritime discovery kept pace with the other triumphs of mental power. Wherever ship could swim man could venture. The Azores had been discovered in 1439 and colonized by the Portuguese in 1440. Already in possession of Cape Verd, Madeira, and the Canaries, Portugal looked forward to greater discoveries, for these were the nurseries of gallant and skilful mariners. But the glory was left for another nation,--though, by a strange caprice of fortune, the chance of it had been offered to nearly all. The life of Columbus is more wonderful than a romance. He hawked about his notion of the way to India at all the courts of Europe. By birth a Genoese, he considered the great ocean the patrimony of any person able to seize it. When his services, therefore, were rejected by his own country, he offered them successively to Portugal, to Spain, and to England. Henry the Seventh was inclined to venture a small sum in the lottery of chances; but, while still in negotiation with the brother of Columbus, the Spanish monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, closed with the navigator's terms, and on the 3d of August, 1492, the squadron of discovery, consisting of a vessel of some size, and two small pinnaces, with a crew at most of a hundred persons in all the three, sailed from the port of Palos, in Andalusia. Three weeks' constant progress to the westward took them far beyond all previous navigation. The men became disheartened, discontented, and finally rebellious. Against all, Columbus bore up with the self-relying energy of a great mind, but was driven to the compromise of promising, if they confided in him for three days longer, he would return, if the object of his voyage was yet unattained. But by this time his sagacious observation had assured him of success. Strange appearances began to be perceived from the ship's decks. A carved piece of wood floated past, then a reed newly cut, and, best sign of all, a branch with red berries still fresh. "From all these symptoms, Columbus was so confident of being near land, that on the evening of the 11th of October, after public prayers for success, he ordered the sails to be furled, and the ships to lie to, keeping strict watch, lest they should be driven ashore in the night. During this interval of suspense and expectation no man shut his eyes: all kept upon deck, gazing intently towards that quarter where they expected to discover the land, which had been so long the object of their wishes. About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing on the forecastle, observed a light at a distance, and privately pointed it out to Pedro Guttierez, a page of the queen's wardrobe. Guttierez perceiving it, and calling to Salcedo, comptroller of the fleet, all three saw it in motion, as if it were carried from place to place. A little after midnight the joyful sound of '_Land! land!_' was heard from the Pinta, which kept always ahead of the other ships. But, having been so often deceived by fallacious appearances, every man was now become slow of belief, and waited in all the anguish of uncertainty and impatience for the return of day. As soon as morning dawned, all doubts and fears were dispelled. From every ship an island was seen about two leagues to the north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with wood, and watered with many rivulets, presented the aspect of a delightful country. The crew of the Pinta instantly began the _Te Deum_ as a hymn of thanksgiving to God, and were joined by those of the other ships, with tears of joy and transports of congratulation. This office of gratitude to Heaven was followed by an act of justice to their commander. They threw themselves at the feet of Columbus, with feelings of self-condemnation mingled with reverence. They implored him to pardon their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence, which had created him so much unceasing disquiet and had so often obstructed the prosecution of his well-concerted plan; and, passing in the warmth of their admiration from one extreme to another, they now pronounced the man whom they had so lately reviled and threatened to be a person inspired by Heaven with sagacity and fortitude more than human, in order to accomplish a design so far beyond the ideas and conception of all former ages." Many excellent writers have described this wondrous incident, but none so well as the historian of America, Dr. Robertson, whose eloquent account is borrowed in the preceding lines. The great event occurred on Friday, the 12th of October, 1492, and the connection between the two worlds began. The place he first landed at was San Salvador, one of the Bahamas; and after attaching Cuba and Hispaniola to the Spanish crown, and going through imminent perils by land and sea, he achieved his glorious return to Palos on the 15th of March, 1493. He brought with him some of the natives of the different islands he had discovered, and their strange appearance and manners were vouchers for the facts he stated. The whole town, when he came into the harbour, was in an uproar of delight. "The bells were rung, the cannon fired, Columbus was received at landing with royal honours, and all the people, in solemn procession, accompanied him and his crew to the church, where they returned thanks to Heaven, which had so wonderfully conducted, and crowned with success, a voyage of greater length, and of more importance, than had been attempted in any former age."[E] SIXTEENTH CENTURY. Emperors of Germany. A.D. MAXIMILIAN I.--(_cont._) 1519. CHARLES V.,(1st of Spain.) 1558. FERDINAND I. 1564. MAXIMILIAN II. 1576. RODOLPH II. Kings of England. A.D. HENRY VII.--(_cont._) 1509. HENRY VIII. 1547. EDWARD VI. 1553. MARY. 1558. ELIZABETH. Kings of Scotland. A.D. JAMES IV. (_cont._) 1513. JAMES V. 1542. MARY. 1567. JAMES VI. Kings of France. A.D. LOUIS XII.--(_cont._) 1515. FRANCIS I. 1547. HENRY II. 1559. FRANCIS II. 1560. CHARLES IX. 1574. HENRY III. (_The Bourbons._) 1589. HENRY IV. Kings of Spain. A.D. 1512. FERDINAND V., (the Catholic.) 1516. CHARLES I., (Emperor of Germany.) 1556. PHILIP II. 1598. PHILIP III. Distinguished Men. LEONARDO DA VINCI, MICHAEL ANGELO, RAFFAELLE, CORREGGIO, TITIAN, (Painters,) SIR PHILIP SYDNEY, RALEIGH, SPENSER, SHAKSPEARE, (1564-1616,) ARIOSTO, TASSO, LOPE DE VEGA, CALDERON, CERVANTES, SCALIGER, (1484-1558,) COPERNICUS, (1473-1543,) KNOX, (1505-1572,) CALVIN, (1509-1564,) BEZA, (1519-1605,) BELLARMINE, (1542-1621,) TYCHO BRAHE, (1546-1601.) THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. THE REFORMATION--THE JESUITS--POLICY OF ELIZABETH In the last two years of the preceding century the course of maritime discovery had been accelerated by fresh success. To balance the glories of Columbus in the West, the "regions of the rising sun" had been explored by Vasco da Gama, a Portuguese. This great navigator sailed back into the harbour of Lisbon on the 16th of September, 1499, with the astonishing news that he had doubled the Cape of Storms, which had so alarmed Bartholomew Diaz, and established relations of amity and commerce with the vast continent of India, having traded with a civilized and industrious people at Calicut, a great city on the coast of Malabar. Under these reiterated widenings of men's knowledge of the globe, the human mind itself expanded. Familiar names meet us from henceforth in the most distant quarters of the world. All national or domestic history becomes mixed up with elements hitherto unknown. The balance of power, which is the new constitution of the European States, depends on circumstances and places of the most heterogeneous character. A treaty between France and Spain, or between England and either, is regulated by events occurring on the Amazon or Ganges. The whole world gets more closely connected than ever it was before, and we can look back on the proceedings of previous ages as filling a very narrow theatre, and regulated by very contracted interests, when compared with the universal policies on which public affairs have now to rest. At first, however, the great results of these stupendous discoveries were naturally not observed. Contemporaries are justly accused of magnifying the small affairs of life of which they are witnesses; but this observation does not hold good with respect to the really momentous incidents of human history. A man who saw Columbus return from his voyage, or Guttenberg pulling at his press, could not rise to the contemplation of the prodigious consequences of these two events. He thought, perhaps, a quarrel between two neighbouring potentates, or a battle between France and Spain, the greatest incident of his time. His son forgot all about the quarrel; his grandson had no recollection of the battle; but widening in a still increasing circle, expanding into still more wonderful proportions, were the Discovery of America and the Art of Printing,--showing themselves in combinations of events and changes of circumstances where they were never expected to appear,--the one threatening to overthrow the freedom of every State in Europe by the supremacy of the Spanish crown, the other in reality preventing the chance of that consummation by raising up the indomitable spirit of spiritual liberty. For there now came to the aid of national independence the far more elevating feelings of religious emancipation. Protestantism was not limited in this century to denial of the spiritual authority of popes, but embodied itself also in resistance to the political ambition of kings. America might have enabled Charles the Fifth to conquer all Europe, if the Reformation had not strengthened men's minds with a determination to stand up against oppression. But the commencement of this century gave no intimation of its tempestuous course. The first few years saw the peaceable accession to the thrones of Spain and France and England of the three sovereigns whose contemporaneous reigns, and also whose personal characters, had the most preponderating influence on the succeeding current of events. We have left Spain for a long time out of these general views of a century's condition and special notices of individual incidents which affected the condition of the world; for Spain for a long time lay obscurely between the ocean and the Pyrenees and carried on wars and policies which were limited by its territorial bounds. But, if we take a hurried retrospect of the last few years, we shall see that the different nations contained in the Peninsula had amalgamated into one mighty and strongly-cemented State. [A.D. 1497.] Ferdinand of Aragon, by marriage with Isabella of Castile, united the various nationalities under one homogeneous government, and by wisdom and magnanimity--the wisdom being the man's and the magnanimity the woman's--had rendered forever famous the joint reign of husband and wife, had reconciled the jarring factions of their respective subjects, and seen with the triumphant faith of believers and the satisfaction of sagacious rulers the reunion of the last Mohammedan State to the dominion of the Cross and of the crown. They watched the long, slow march of the Moorish king and his cavaliers as they took their way in poverty and despair from the towers and meadows of Granada, which a possession of seven hundred years had failed to make their own. This--the conquest of Granada--took place in 1491; and 1516 saw the supreme power over all united Spain descend on the head of the grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella,--inheriting, along with their royal dignity, the cautious wisdom of the one and the wider intelligence of the other. In three years from that time--it will be easy to remember that Charles's age is the same as the century's--he was elected to the Imperial crown, so that the greatest dominion ever held by one man since the days of Charlemagne now fell to the rule of a youth of nineteen years of age. Germany, the Netherlands, Naples, Sicily, and Spain, more than equalled the extent and power of Charlemagne's empire. [A.D. 1520.] But ere Charles was a year older, vaster dominions than Charlemagne had ever dreamt of acknowledged his royal sway; for Montezuma, the Emperor of Mexico, whose realm was without appreciable limit either in size or wealth, professed himself the subject and servant of the Spanish king. Henry the Eighth of England had also succeeded at an early age, being but eighteen in 1509, when the death of his father, the politic and successful founder of the Tudor dynasty, left him with a people silent if not quite satisfied, and an exchequer overflowing with what would now amount to ten or twelve millions of gold. This treasure had been accumulated by the infamous exactions of the late sovereign, who was aided in the ignoble service by two men of the names of Empson and Dudley. These were spies and informers, not, as in other climes and countries, about the religious or political sentiments of the people, but about their titles to their estates, the fines they were disposed to pay, or the bribes they would advance to the royal extortioner to avoid litigation and injustice. Henry had an admirable opportunity of showing his hatred of these practices, and availed himself of it at once. Before he had been four months on the throne, Empson and Dudley were ignominiously hanged; and with safe conscience, after this sacrifice at the shrine of legality, he entered into possession of the pilfered store. The people applauded the rapid decision of his character in both these instances, and scarcely grudged him the money when the subordinates were given up to their revenge. They could not, indeed, grudge their young king any thing; his manners were so open and sincere, his laugh so ready, and his teeth so white; for we are not to forget, in compliment to what is facetiously called the dignity of history, the immense advantages a ruler gains by the fact of being good-looking. Nobody feels inclined to find fault with a lad of eighteen, if moderately endowed with health and features; but when that lad is eminently handsome, rioting in strength and spirits, open in disposition, and, above all, a king, you need not wonder at the universal inclination to overlook his faults, to exaggerate his virtues, and even, after an interval of two hundred and fifty years, to hear the greatest tyrant of our history, and the worst man perhaps of his time, talked of by the ordinary title of Bluff King Hal. If he had been as ugly and hump-backed as his grand-uncle Richard the Third, he would have been detested from the first. But in the neighbouring land of France there reigned at the same time a prince almost as handsome as Henry, and nearly as popular with his people, with as little real cause. In 1515, Francis the First was twenty years of age, a perfect specimen of manly strength,--accomplished in all knightly exercises,--generous and magnificent in his intercourse with his nobility,--and the greatest _roué_ and debauchee in all the kingdom of France. Here, then, at the beginning of the age we have now to examine, were the three mightiest sovereigns of Europe, all arriving at their crowns before attaining their majority; and with so many years before them, and such powerful nations obeying their commands, great prospects for good or evil were opening on the world. But in the early years of the century no human eye perceived in what direction the future was going to pursue its course. People were all watching for the first indication of what was to come, and kept their eyes on the courts of Paris and London and Madrid; but nobody suspected that the real champions of the time were already marshalling their forces in far different situations. There was a thoughtful monk in a convent in Germany, and a Spanish soldier before the walls of Pampeluna. These were the true movers of men's minds, of the great thoughts by which events are created; and their names were soon to sound louder than those of Henry or Charles or Francis; for one was Martin Luther, the hero of the Reformation, and the other was Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits. Take note of them here as mere accessories to the march of general history: we shall return to them again as characteristics of the century on which they placed their indelible mark. At this time, in the gay young days of the three crowned striplings, these future combatants are totally unknown. Brother Martin is singing charming hymns to the Virgin, in a voice which it was delightful to hear; and Don Ignacio is also singing to his guitar the praises of one of the beautiful maidens of his native land. Public opinion was still stagnant with regard to home-affairs, in spite of the efforts of the infant press. People, bowed down by the claims of implicit obedience exacted from them by the Church, accepted with wondering submission the pontificate of such an atrocious murderer as Alexander the Sixth; and some even ingeniously founded an argument of the divine institution of the Papacy upon its having survived the eleven years' desecration of that monster of cruelty and unbelief. Yet now it happened by a strange coincidence that the chair of St. Peter was to be filled by a gayer and more accomplished ruler than any of the earthly thrones we have mentioned. In 1513, Leo the Tenth, the most celebrated of the family of the Medicis of Florence, put on the tiara at the age of thirty-six, a period of life which was considered as youthful for the father of Christendom as even the boyish years of the temporal kings. And Leo did not belie the promise of his juvenility. None of the dulness of age, or even the caution of maturity, was perceived in his public or private conduct. He was a patron of arts and sciences, and buffoonery, and infidelity; and it is curious to observe how the pretensions of Rome were more shaken by the frivolous magnificence of a good-hearted, graceful voluptuary than they had been by the crimes of his two immediate predecessors, the truculent Borgia and the warlike Julius the Second. This latter pontiff was intended by nature for a leader of Free Lances, to live forever in "the joy of battle," and must have felt a little out of his element as the head of the Christian Church. However, he rapidly discovered that he was a secular prince as well as a spiritual teacher, and cast his eyes in the former capacity with ominous ill will on the industrious Republic of Venice. The fishermen and fugitives of many centuries before, who had settled among the Adriatic lagoons, had risen into the position of princes and treasurers of Europe. By their possessions in the East, and their trading-factories established along the whole route from India to the Mediterranean, they had made themselves the intermediaries between the barbaric pearls and gold, the silks and spices, of the Oriental regions, and the requirements of the West. Their galleys were daily bringing them the commodities of the Levant, which they distributed at an exorbitant profit among the nations beyond the Straits of Gibraltar. Mercantile wealth and maritime enterprise elevated the taste and confidence of those Venetian traffickers, till their whole territory, amid the lifeless waters of their canals, was covered with stately palaces, and their fleets assumed the dominion of the inland seas. On the mainland they had stretched their power over Dalmatia and Trieste, and in their own peninsula over Rimini and Ferrara and a great part of the Romagna. Two ruling passions agitated the soul of Julius the Second: one was to recover whatever territory or influence had once belonged to the Holy See; the other was to expel the hated barbarian, whether Frenchman, or Swiss, or Austrian, from the soil of Italy. To achieve this last object he would sacrifice any thing except the first; and to unite the two was difficult. He made his approaches to Venice in a gentle manner at first. He asked her to restore the lands she had lately won, which he claimed as appendages of his chair, because they had been torn unjustly from the original holders by Cæsar Borgia, the son of Alexander the Infamous; and if she had agreed to this he would no doubt have proceeded with his further scheme of banishing all ultramontane invaders. But as the commercial council of the great emporium hesitated at giving up what they had entered in their books as fairly their own, he altered his note in a moment, put on the insignia of his holy office, and, denouncing the astonished republic as rebellious and ungrateful to Mother Church, he called in the aid of the very French whom he was so anxious to get quit of, to execute his judgment upon the offending State. Venice was rich, and France at that time was poor and at all times is greedy. So preparations were made for an assault with the readiness and glee with which a party of freebooters would make a descent on the Bank of England. The temptation also was too great to be resisted by other kings and princes, who were as hungry for spoil and as attached to religion as the French. So in an incredibly short space of time the league of Cambrai was joined by Maximilian, the Emperor of Germany, and Ferdinand of Spain, and dukes and marquesses of less note. There were few of the Southern potentates, indeed, who had not some cause of complaint against the haughty Venetians. [A.D. 1508.] Some (as the German Maximilian) they had humbled by defeat; others they had insulted by their purse-proud insolence; others, again, by superiority in commercial skill; and all, by the fact of being wealthy and, as they fancied, weak. Louis the Twelfth of France was first in the field. He conquered at Agnadello, and, forcing his way to the shore, alarmed the marble halls of the Venetians with the sound of his harmless cannonade. The Pope was next, and took possession of the towns he wanted. The Duke of Ferrara laid hold of some loose articles in the confusion, and the Marquis of Mantua got back some villages which his grandfather had lost. Maximilian was disconsolate at not being in time for the general pillage, and had to content himself with Padua and Vicenza and Verona. Maximilian was a gentleman in difficulties, who has the misfortune to be known in history as Max the Penniless. The Venetians sent to tell him they were ready to acknowledge his suzerainty as emperor, and to pay him a tribute of fifty thousand ducats. The man would have forgiven them a hundred times their offences for half the money, and was anxious to close with their offer. But they had made no similar proposition to the French king, nor to Ferdinand, nor even of a ten-pound note to the Mantuan Marquis or the Magnifico of Ferrara. Wherefore they all began to hate the emperor. Louis declined to give him any more assistance. Julius sent a secret message to the Venetians that Holy Church was not inexorable; and Venice, relying on the placability of Rome, hung out her flag against her secular foes in prouder defiance than ever. She knelt at the feet of the Pope, and allowed him to retain his acquisitions in Romagna and elsewhere; and as his first object, the enrichment of his domain, was accomplished, he lost no time in carrying out the second. [A.D. 1510.] By the fortunate possession of an unlimited power of loosing mankind from unpleasant oaths and obligations, he astonished his late confederates by publishing a sentence releasing the Venetians from the censures of the Church and the Allies from the covenants of the Treaty of Cambrai. He then joined the pontifical forces to the troops of Venice, and in hot haste made a rush upon the French. He bought over Ferdinand of Spain to the cause by giving him the investiture of Naples, hired a multitude of Swiss mercenaries, and, drawing the sword like a stout man-at-arms as he was, he laid siege to Mirandola. In spite of his great age,--he was now past seventy,--he performed all the offices of an active general, visited the trenches, encouraged his army, and after a two months' bombardment disdained to enter the city by the opened gate, but was triumphantly carried in military pomp through a breach in the shattered wall. His perfidy as a statesman and audacity as a soldier were too much for the Emperor and the King of France. [A.D. 1511.] They collected as many troops as they could, and threatened to summon a general council; for what excommunication as an instrument of offence was to the popes, a general council was to the civil power. The French clergy met at Tours, and supported the Crown against Julius. The German emperor was still more indignant. He published a paper of accusations, in which the bitterness of his penniless condition is not concealed. "The enormous sums daily extracted from Germany," he says, "are perverted to the purposes of luxury or worldly views, instead of being employed for the service of God or against the Infidels. So extensive a territory has been alienated for the benefit of the Pope that scarcely a florin of revenue remains to the Emperor in Italy." Louis and the French appeared triumphant in the field; but their triumphs threw them into dismay, for their protean adversary, when defeated as temporal prince, thundered against them as successor of St. Peter, and taught them that their victories were impiety and their acquisitions sacrilege. A hard case for Louis, where if he retreated his territories were seized, and if he advanced his soul was in danger. The war, which had begun as a combination against Venice, was now converted into a holy league in defence of Rome. Spaniards came to the rescue; and Henry, the youthful champion of England, and all who either thought they loved religion or who really hated France, were inspired as if for a crusade. [A.D. 1512.] And Maximilian himself, poor and friendless,--how was it possible for him to continue obstinately to reject the overtures of the Pope, the purse of the Venetians, or the far more tempting whisperings of Ferdinand of Aragon, who said to him, "Julius is very old. Would it not be possible to win over the cardinals to make your majesty his successor?" Such a golden dream had never suggested itself to the pauperized emperor before. He swallowed the bait at once. He determined to bribe the Sacred College, and, to raise the necessary funds, pawned the archducal mantle of Austria to the rich merchants, the Fuggers of Antwerp, for a large sum, and wrote to his daughter Margaret, "To-morrow I shall send a bishop to the Pope, to conclude an agreement with him that I may be appointed his coadjutor and on his death succeed to the Papacy, that you may be bound to worship me,--of which I shall be very proud." This may appear a rather jocular announcement of so serious a design; but there is no doubt that the project was entertained. Matters, however, advanced at too rapid a pace for the slow calculations of politicians. The French, by a noble victory at Ravenna, established their fame as warriors, and roused the fear of all the other powers. Maximilian grasped at last the Venetian ducats which had been offered him so long before, and turned suddenly against his ally. Ferdinand and Henry pressed forward on France itself on the side of the Pyrenees. Foot by foot the land of Italy was set free from the French invaders, and Julius the Second, dying before the emperor's plans were matured, left the tangled web of European politics to be unravelled by a younger hand. We have dwelt on this strange contest, where many sovereign states combined to overthrow a colony of traders, and failed in all their attempts, because it is the last great appearance that Venice has made in the general history of the world. From this time her power rapidly decayed. Her galleys lay rotting at their wharves, and the marriage of her Doge to the Sea was a symbol without a meaning. The discovery of a passage to India by the Cape, which we saw announced to Europe by Vasco da Gama in the last year of the late century, was a sentence of death to the carriers of the Adriatic. Commerce sought other channels and enriched other lands. Wherever the merchant-vessels crowded the harbour, whether with the commodities of the East or West, the war-ship was sure to follow, and the treasures gained in traffic to be guarded by a navy. All the ports of Spain became rallying-places of wealth and power in this century. Portugal covered every sea with her guns and galleons; Holland rose to dignity and freedom by her heavy-armed marine; and England began the career of enterprise and liberty which is still typified and assured by the preponderance of her commercial and royal fleets. Questions are asked--which the younger among us, who may live to see the answer, may amuse themselves by considering--as to the chance of Venice recovering her ancient commerce if the pathway of Eastern trade be again traced down the Mediterranean, when the Isthmus of Suez shall be cut through by a canal or curtailed by a railway. In former times the whole civilized world lay like a golden fringe round the shores of that one sea, and the nation which predominated there, either in wealth or arms, was mistress of the globe. But the case is altered now. If the Gates of Hercules were permanently closed, the commerce of the world would still go on; and, so far from a Mediterranean supremacy indicating a universal pre-eminence, it is perhaps worthy of remark that the only Mediterranean nations which have in later times been recognised as of first-rate rank in Europe have had their principal ports upon the Atlantic and in the Channel. There is a circumstance which we may observe as characteristic of many of the European states at this time,--the desire of combination and consolidation at home even more than of foreign conquest. In Spain the cessation of the oligarchy of kingships had established a national crown. The hopes of recasting the separated and mutilated limbs of ancient Latium into a gigantic Italy were rife in that sunny land of high resolves and futile acts. In Germany, the official supremacy of the emperor was insufficient to prevent the strong definement of the corporate nationalities. Holland secured its individuality by unheard-of efforts; and in England the great thought took possession of the political mind of a union of the whole island. Visions already floated before the statesmen on both sides of the Tweed of a Great Britain freed from intestine disturbance and guarded by undisputed seas. But the general intelligence was not yet sufficiently far advanced. [A.D. 1502.] The Scotch were too Scotch and the English too English to sink their national differences; and we can only pay homage to the wisdom which by a marriage between the royal houses--James the Fourth, and Margaret of England--planted the promise which came afterwards to maturity in the junction of the crowns in 1603, and the indissoluble union of the countries in 1707. Meantime, the wooing was of the harshest. The last great battle, Flodden, that marked the enmity of the kingdoms, was decided in this century, and has left a deep and sorrowful impression even to our own times. There is not a cottage in Scotland where "The Fight of Flodden" is not remembered yet. And its effects were so desolating and dispiriting that it may be considered the death-bed to the feeling of equality which had hitherto ennobled the weaker nation. From this time England held the position of a virtual superior, regulating her conduct without much regard to the dignity or self-respect of her neighbour, and employing the arts of diplomacy, and the meaner tricks of bribery and corruption, only because they were more easy and less expensive than the open method of invasion and conquest. "Scotland's shield" was indeed broken at Flodden, but her character for courage and honour remained. It was the treachery of Solway Moss, and the venality of most of the surviving nobility, that were the real causes of her weakness, and of the subordinate place which at this time she held in Europe. Thus the object which in other nations had been gained by a union of crowns was attained also in our island by the absence of opposition between the peoples. Flodden and Pinkie may therefore be looked upon with kindlier eyes if they are regarded as steps to the formation of so great a realm. No nation retained its feudal organization so long as Scotland, or so completely departed from the original spirit of feudalism. Instead of being leaders and protectors of their dependants, and attached vassals of the kings, the barons of the North were an oligarchy of armed conspirators both against the crown and the people. Few of the earlier Stuarts died in peaceful bed; for even those of them who escaped the dagger of the assassin were hunted to death by the opposition and falsehood of the chiefs. Perpetually engaged in plots against the throne or forays against each other, the Scottish nobility weakened their country both at home and abroad. Law could have no authority where mailed warriors settled everything by the sword, and no resistance could be offered to a foreign enemy by men so divided among themselves. Down to a period when the other nations of Europe were under the rule of legal tribunals, the High Street of Edinburgh was the scene of violence and bloodshed between rival lords who were too powerful for control by the civil authority. A succession of foolishly rash or unwisely lenient sovereigns left this ferocity and independence unchecked; and though poetry and patriotism now combine to cast a melancholy grace on the defeat at Flodden, from the Roman spirit with which the intelligence was received by the population of the capital, the unbiassed inquirer must confess that, with the exception of the single virtue of personal courage, the Scottish array was ennobled by no quality which would have justified its success. It was ill commanded, ill disciplined, and ill combined. The nobility, as usual, were disaffected to the king and averse to the War. But the crown-tenants and commonalty of the Lowlands were always ready for an affray with England; and James the Fourth, the most chivalrous of that line of chivalrous and unfortunate princes, merrily crossed the Border and prepared for feats of arms as if at a tournament. [A.D. 1513.] The cautious Earl of Surrey, the leader of the English army, availed himself of the knightly prepossessions of his enemy, and sent a herald, in all the frippery of tabard and cross, to challenge him to battle on a set day, when Lord Thomas Howard would run a tilt with him at the head of the English van. James fell into the snare, and regulated his movements, in fact, by the direction of his opponent. When, in a momentary glimpse of common sense, he established his quarters on the side of a hill, from which it would have been impossible to dislodge him, Surrey relied on the absurd generosity of his character, and sent a message to complain that he had placed himself on ground "more like a fortress or a camp than an ordinary battle-field." James pretended to despise the taunt, and even to refuse admission to the herald; but it worked on his susceptible and fearless nature; for we find that he allowed the English to pass through difficult and narrow ways, which were commanded by his guns, and when they were fairly marshalled on level ground he set fire to his tents and actually descended the hill to place himself on equal terms with the foe. Such a beginning had the only possible close. Strong arms and sharp swords are excellent supports of generalship, but cannot always be a substitute for it. Never did the love of fight so inherent in the Scottish character display itself more gallantly than on this day. Again and again the Scottish earls dashed forward against the English squares. These were composed of the steadiest of the pikemen flanked by the wondrous archers who had turned so many a tide of battle. Fain would the veteran warriors have kept their men in check; fain would the commanders of the French auxiliaries have restrained the Scottish advance. But the Northern blood was up. Onward they went, in spite of generalship and all the rules of discipline, and with a great crash burst upon the wall of steel. It was magnificent, as the Frenchmen said at Balaklava, but it was not war. Repelled by the recoil of their own impetuous charge, they fell into fragments and encumbered the gory plain. Very few fled, very few had the opportunity of flying; for the cloth-yard shaft never missed its aim. There was no crying for quarter or sparing of the flashing blade. Both sides were irritated to madness. James pushed on, shouting and waving his bloody sword, and was wounded by an arrow and gashed with a ponderous battle-axe when he had forced himself within a few paces of Surrey. Darkness was now closing in. The king's death was rapidly known, but still the struggle went on. At length the wearied armies ceased to kill. The Scotch retreated, and in the dawn of the next morning a compact body of them was seen still threatening on the side of a distant hill. But the day was lost and won. The chivalry of Scotland received a blow from which it never recovered. What Courtrai had been to the French, and Granson and Nanci to the Burgundians, and Towton and Tewkesbury to the English, the 9th of September, 1513, was to the peerage of the North. Thirteen earls were killed, fifteen barons, and chiefs and members of all the gentle houses in the land. Some were stripped utterly desolate by this appalling slaughter; and from many a hall, as well as from humble shieling, rose the burden of the tearful ballad, "The flowers o' the forest are a' wedd awa'." There were ten thousand slain in the field, the gallant James cut off in the prime of strength and manhood, and the sceptre which required the grasp of an Edward the First left to be the prize of an unprincipled queen-mother, or any ambitious cabal which could conspire to seize it. James the Fifth was but a year or two old, and the country discouraged and demoralized. But Henry the Eighth was destined to some other triumphs in this fortunate year. First there was the victory which his forces won at Guinegate, near Calais, where the French chivalry fled in the most ignominious manner, and struck their rowels into their horses' flanks, without remembering that they carried swords in their hands. This is known in history as the second Battle of the Spurs,--not, as at Courtrai, for the number of those knightly emblems taken off the heels of the dead, but for the amazing activity they displayed on the heels of the living. And, secondly, he could boast that the foremost man in Christendom wore his livery and pocketed his pay; for Maximilian the Penniless, successor of Charlemagne and Constantine and Augustus, enlisted and did good service as an English trooper at a hundred crowns a day. Let Henry rejoice in these achievements while he may; for the time is drawing near when the old sovereigns of Europe are to be moved out of the way and France and Spain are to be governed by younger men and more ambitious politicians than himself. Evil times indeed were at hand, when it required the strength of youth and wisdom of policy to guide the bark not only of separate states, but of settled law and Christian civilization. For, however pleasant it may be to trace Henry through his home-career and Francis and Charles in their national rivalries, we are not to forget that the real interest of this century is that it is the century of the Reformation,--a movement before whose overwhelming importance the efforts of the greatest individuals sink into insignificance,--an upheaving of hidden powers and principles, which in truth so altered all former relations between man and man that it found the most influential personage in Europe, not in the Apostolic Emperor, or the Christian King, or the Defender of the Faith, but in a burly friar at Wittenberg, whose name had never been heard before. Let us see what was the general condition of the Romish Chair before the outburst of its enemies at this time. One thing is very observable: that its claims to supremacy and obedience were, ostensibly at least, almost universally acquiesced in. From Norway to Calabria the theory of a Universal Church, divinely founded and divinely sustained, in possession of superhuman power and uncommunicated knowledge, governed by an infallible chief, and administered by an uninterrupted line of priests and bishops, who had given up the vanities of the world, satisfier of doubts, and sole instrument of salvation,--this seemed so perfect and so natural an organization that it had been accepted from time immemorial as incapable of denial. If a voice was heard here and there in an Alpine valley or in a scholastic debating-room impugning these arrangements or asking proof from history or revelation, the civil power was let loose upon the gainsayer, with the general consent of orthodox men, and the Vaudois were murdered with sword and spear and the inquiring student chained in his monkish cell. The theory and organization of the Universal Church were, in fact, never so well defined as at the moment when its reign was drawing to a close. Nobody doubted that a general Father, clothed in infallible wisdom, and armed with powers directly committed to him for the guidance or punishment of mankind, was the Heaven-sent arbiter of differences, the rewarder of faithful kings, the corrector of unruly nations; and yet the spectacle was presented, to the believers in this ideal, of a series of wicked and abandoned rulers sitting in Peter's chair, and only imitating the apostle in his furiousness and his denial; cardinals depraved and worldly beyond the example of temporal princes; a priesthood steeped, for the most part, in ignorance and vice, and monks and nuns the _opprobria_ of all nations where they were found. Never were claims and performances brought into such startling contrast before. The Pope was the representative upon earth of the Saviour of men; and he poisoned his guests, like Borgia, slew his opponents, like Julius, or led the life of an intellectual epicure, like Leo the Tenth. In former times the contrariety between doctrine and practice would have been slightly known or easily reconciled. Few comparatively visited Rome; cardinals were seldom seen; priests were not more ignorant than their parishioners, and monks not more wicked than their admirers. All believed in the miraculous efficacy of the wares in which even the lower order of the clergy dealt, and their rule in country places was so lax, their penances so easily performed or commuted, their relations with their people so friendly and on such equal terms, that in the rural districts the voice of complaint was either unheard or neglected. In Italy, the head-quarters of the faith, the excesses of priestly rule were the most glaring and wide-spread. Rome itself was always the seat of turbulence and disaffection. The lives of professedly holy men were known, and the vices of popes and prelates pressed heavily on the people, who were the first victims of their avarice or cruelty. But the utmost extent of their indignation never reached to a questioning of the foundation of the power from which they suffered. An Italian crushed to the earth by the extortion of his Church, irritated perhaps by the personal wickedness of his director, sought no escape from such inflictions in disbelieving either the temporal or spiritual authority of his oppressor. Rather he would have looked with savage satisfaction on the fagot-fire of any one who hinted that the principles of his Church required the slightest amendment; that the absolution of his sensual confessor was not altogether indispensable; that the image he bowed down to was common wood, or that the relics he worshipped were merely dead men's bones. Perhaps, indeed, in those luxurious regions, a bare and unadorned worship would not seem to be worship at all. With his impassioned mind and glowing fancy, the Spaniard or Italian must pour out his whole being on the object of his adoration. He loves his patron saint with the warmth of an earthly affection, and thinks he undervalues her virtues or her claims if he does not heap her shrine with his offerings and address her image with rapture. He must make external demonstration of his inward feelings, or nobody will believe in their existence. The crouchings and kneelings, therefore, which our colder natures stigmatize as idolatry, are to him nothing more than the outward manifestation of affection and thankfulness. He does the same to his master or his benefactor without degradation in the eyes of his countrymen. Without these bowings and genuflections his conduct would be thought ungrateful and disrespectful. That this amount of warm-hearted sincerity is wasted upon such unworthy objects as his saints and relics is greatly to be deplored; but wide allowances must be made for peculiarities of situation and disposition; and we should remember that whereas in the North a religion of forms and ceremonies would be a body without a soul, because there would be no inward exaltation answering to the outward manifestation, the Southern heart sees a meaning where there is none to us, is conscious of a sense of trust and reverence where we only see slavishness and imposture, and a feeling of divine consolation and hope in services which to us are histrionic and absurd. Religious belief, in the sense of a true and undivided faith in the doctrines of Christianity, had no recognised existence at the period we have reached. But this absence of religious belief was combined, however strange the statement may appear, with a most implicit trust in the directions and authority of the Church. Sunny skies might have shone forever over the political abasement and slightly Christianized paganism of the inhabitants of the two peninsulas and the Southeast of Europe, but a cloud was about to rise in the North which dimmed them for a time, but which, after it burst in purifying thunder, has refreshed and cleared the atmosphere of the whole world. The first book that Guttenberg published in 1451 was the Holy Bible,--in the Latin language, to be sure, and after the Vulgate edition, but still containing, to those who could gather it, the manna of the Word. Two years after that, in 1453, the capture of Constantinople by the Turks had scattered the learning of the Greeks among all the nations of the West. The universities were soon supplied with professors, who displayed the hitherto-unexplored treasures of the language of Pericles and Demosthenes. Everywhere a spirit of inquiry began to reawaken, but limited as yet to subjects of philosophy and antiquity. Christianity, indeed, had so lost its hold on the minds of scholars that it was not considered worth inquiring into. It was looked on as a fable, and only profitable as an instrument of policy. Erasmus was alarmed at the state of feeling in 1516, and expressed his belief that, if those Grecian studies were pursued, the ancient deities would resume their sway. But the Bible was already reaping its appointed harvest. Its voice, lost in the din of speculative philosophies and the dissipation of courts, was heard in obscure places, where it never had penetrated before. In 1505, Luther was twenty-two years of age. He had made himself a scholar by attendance at schools where his poverty almost debarred him from appearing. At Eisenach he gained his bread by singing at the richer inhabitants' doors. Afterwards he had gone to Erfurt, and, tired or afraid of the world, anxious for opportunities of self-examination, and dissatisfied with his spiritual state, he entered the convent of the Augustines, and in two years more, in 1507, became priest and monk. There was an amazing amount of goodness and simplicity of life among the brotherhood of this community. Learning and devout meditation were encouraged, holy ascetic lives were led, the body was kept under with fastings and stripes. A Bible was open to them all, but chained to its place in the chapel, and only to be studied by standing before the desk on which it lay. All these things were insufficient, and Brother Martin was miserable. His companions pitied and respected him. Staupitz, a man of great rank in the Church, a sort of inspector-general of a large district, visited the convent, and in a moment was attracted by the youthful monk. He conversed with him, soothed his agitated mind, not with anodynes from the pharmacopoeia of the Church, but from the fountain-head of the faith. He painted God as the forgiver of sinners, the Father of all men; and Luther took some comfort. But, on going away, the kind-hearted Staupitz gave the young man a Bible,--a Bible all to himself, his own property, to carry in his bosom, to study in his cell. His vocation was at once fixed. The Reformer felt his future all before him, like Achilles when he grasped the sword and rejected the feminine toys. The books he had taken with him into the monastery were Plautus and Virgil; but he studied plays and epics no more. Augustin and the Bible supplied their place. Hungering for better things than the works of the law,--abstinence, prayer-repetitions, scourgings, and all the wearisome routine of mechanical devotion,--he dashed boldly into the other extreme, and preached free grace,--grace without merit, the great doctrine which is called, theologically, "justification by faith alone." This had been the main theme of his master Augustin, and Luther now gave it practical shape. In 1510 he was sent on some business of his convent to Rome,--to Rome, the head-quarters of the Church, the earthly residence of the infallible! How holy will be its dwellings, how gracious the words of its inhabitants! The German monk saw nothing but sin and infidelity. In high places as in low, the taint of corruption was polluting all the air. In terror and dismay, he left the city of iniquity within a fortnight of his arrival, and hurried back to the peacefulness of his convent. "I would not for a hundred thousand florins have missed seeing Rome," he said, long afterwards. "I should always have felt an uneasy doubt whether I was not, after all, doing injustice to the Pope. As it is, I am quite satisfied on the point." The Pope was Julius the Second, whose career we followed in the League of Cambrai; and we may enter into the surprise of Luther at seeing the Father of the Faithful breathing blood and ruin to his rival neighbours. But the force of early education was still unimpaired. The Pope was Pope, and the devout German thought of him on his knees. But in the year 1517 a man of the name of Tetzel, a Dominican of the rudest manners and most brazen audacity, appeared in the market-place of Wittenberg, ringing a bell, and hawking indulgences from the Holy See to be sold to all the faithful. A new Pope was on the throne,--the voluptuous Leo the Tenth. He had resolved to carry on the building of the great Church of St. Peter, and, having exhausted his funds in riotous living, he sent round his emissaries to collect fresh treasures by the sale of these pardons for human sin. "Pour in your money," cried Tetzel, "and whatever crimes you have committed, or may commit, are forgiven! Pour in your coin, and the souls of your friends and relations will fly out of purgatory the moment they hear the chink of your dollars at the bottom of the box." Luther was Doctor of Divinity, Professor in the University, and pastoral visitor of two provinces of the empire. He felt it was his duty to interfere. He learned for the first time himself how far indulgences were supposed to go, and shuddered at the profanity of the notion of their being of any value whatever. On the festival of All Saints, in November, 1517, he read a series of propositions against them in the great church, and startled all Germany like a thunderbolt with a printed sermon on the same subject. The press began its work, and people no longer fought in darkness. Nationalities were at an end when so wide-embracing a subject was treated by so universal an agent. The monk's voice was heard in all lands, even in the walls of Rome, and crossed the sea, and came in due time to England. "Tush, tush! 'tis a quarrel of monks," said Leo the Tenth; and, with an affectation of candour, he remarked, "This Luther writes well: he is a man of fine genius." Gallant young Henry the Eighth thought it a good opportunity to show his talent, and meditated an assault on the heretic,--a curious duel between a pale recluse and the gayest prince in Christendom. But the recluse was none the worse when the book was published, and the prince earned from the gratitude of the Pope the name "Defender of the Faith," which is still one of the titles of the English crown. Penniless Maximilian looked on well pleased, and wrote to a Saxon counsellor, "All the popes I have had any thing to do with have been rogues and cheats. The game with the priests is beginning. What your monk is doing is not to be despised: take care of him. It may happen that we shall have need of him." Luther's own prince, the Elector of Saxony, was his firm friend, and on one side or other all Europe was on the gaze. Leo at last perceived the danger, and summoned the monk to Rome. He might as well have yielded in the struggle at once, for from Rome he never could have returned alive. He consented, however, to appear before the Legate at Augsburg, attended by a strong body-guard furnished by the Elector, and held his ground against the threats and promises of the Cardinal of Cajeta. But Maximilian carried his poverty and disappointment to the grave in 1519; and when Leo saw the safe accession of his successor Charles the Fifth, the faithful servant of St. Peter, he pushed matters with a higher hand against the daring innovator. Brother Martin, however, was unmoved. He would not retreat; he even advanced in his course, and wrote to the Pope himself an account of the iniquities of Rome. "You have three or four cardinals," he says, "of learning and faith; but what are these three or four in so vast a crowd of infidels and reprobates? The days of Rome are numbered, and the anger of God has been breathed forth upon her. She hates councils, she dreads reforms, and will not hear of a check being placed on her desperate impiety." This was a dangerous man to meet with such devices as bulls and interdicts. Charles determined to try harsher measures, and summoned him to appear at a Diet of the States held in Worms. The emperor was now twenty-one years old. His sceptre stretched over the half of Europe, and across the great sea to the golden realm of Mexico. Martin begged a new gown from the not very lavish Elector, and went in a sort of chariot to the appointed city,--serene and confident, for he had a safe-conduct from the emperor and various princes, and trusted in the goodness of his cause. [A.D. 1521.] Such a scene never occurred in any age of the world as was presented when the assemblage met. All the peers and potentates of the German Empire, presided over by the most powerful ruler that ever had been known in Europe, were gathered to hear the trial and condemnation of a thin, wan-visaged young man, dressed in a monk's gown and hood and worn with the fatigues and hazards of his recent life. "Yet prophet-like that lone one stood, with dauntless words and high," and answered all questions with force and modesty. But answers were not what the Diet required, and retractation was far from Luther's mind. So the Chancellor of Trèves came to him and said, "Martin, thou art disobedient to his Imperial Majesty: wherefore depart hence under the safe-conduct he has given thee." And the monk departed. As he was nearing his destination, and was passing through a wood alone, some horsemen seized his person, dressed him in military garb, and put on him a false beard. They then mounted him on a led horse and rode rapidly away. His friends were anxious about his fate, for a dreadful sentence had been uttered against him by the emperor on the day when his safe-conduct expired, forbidding any one to sustain or shelter him, and ordering all persons to arrest and bring him into prison to await the judgment he deserved. People thought he had been waylaid and killed, or at all events sent into a dungeon. Meantime he was living peaceably and comfortably in the castle of Wartburg, to which he had been conveyed in this mysterious manner by his friend the Elector,--safe from the machinations of his enemies, and busily engaged in his immortal translation of the Bible. The movement thus communicated by Luther knew no pause nor end. It soon ceased to be a merely national excitement caused by local circumstances, and became the one great overwhelming question of the time. Every thing was brought into its vortex: however distant might be its starting-point, to this great central idea it was sure to attach itself at last. Involuntarily, unconsciously, unwillingly, every government found that the Reformation formed part of its scheme and policy. One nation, and one only, had the clear eye and firm hand to make it ostensibly, and of its deliberate choice, the guide and landmark in its dangerous and finally triumphant career. This was England,--not when under the degrading domination of its Henry or the heavy hand of its Mary, but under the skilful piloting of the great Elizabeth, the first of rulers who seems to have perceived that submission to a foreign priest is a political error on the part both of kings and subjects, and that occupation by a foreign army is not more subversive of freedom and independence than the supremacy of a foreign Church. Hitherto England had been nearly divided from the whole world, and was merely one of the distant satellites that revolved on the outside of the European system, the centre of which was Rome. She was now to burn with light of her own. The Continent, indeed, at the commencement of the Reformation, seemed almost in a state of dissolution. In 1529 disunion had attained such a pitch in the Empire that the different princes were ranged on hostile sides. At the Diet of Spires, in this year, the name of Protestant had been assumed by the opponents of the excesses and errors of the Church of Rome. At the same time that the religious unity was thus finally thrown off, the Turks were thundering at the Eastern gates of Europe, and Solyman of Constantinople laid siege to Vienna. France was exhausted with her internal troubles. Spain came to the rescue of the outraged faith, and made heresy punishable with death throughout all her dominions. While the Netherlands, against which this was directed, was groaning under this new infliction, disorder seemed to extend over the solid earth itself. There were earthquakes and great storms in many lands. Lisbon was shaken into ruins, with a loss of thirty thousand inhabitants; and the dykes of Holland were overwhelmed by a prodigious rising of the sea, and four hundred thousand people were drowned. Preparations were made in all quarters for a great and momentous struggle: nobody could tell where it would break forth or where it would end. And ever and anon Luther's rallying-cry was heard in answer to the furious denunciations of cardinals and popes. Interests get parcelled out in so many separate portions that it is impossible to unravel the state of affairs with any clearness. We shall only notice that, in 1531, the famous league of Smalcalde first embodied Protestantism in its national and lay constitution by the banding together of nine of the sovereign princes of Germany, and eleven free cities, in armed defence, if needed, of their religious belief. Where is the fiery Henry of England, with his pen or sword? A very changed man from what we saw him only thirteen years ago. He has no pen now, and his sword is kept for his discontented subjects at home. In 1534, King and Lords and Commons, in Parliament assembled, threw off the supremacy of Rome, and Henry is at last a king, for his courts hold cognizance of all causes within the realm, whether ecclesiastical or civil. Everybody knows the steps by which this embodied selfishness achieved his emancipation from a dominant Church. It little concerns us now, except as a question of historic curiosity, what his motives were. Judging from the analogy of all his other actions, we should say they were bad; but by some means or other the evil deeds of this man were generally productive of benefit to his country. He cast off the Pope that he might be freed from a disagreeable wife; but as the Pope whom he rejected was the servant of Charles, (the nephew of the repudiated queen,) he found that he had freed his kingdom at the same time from its degrading vassalage to the puppet of a rival monarch. He dissolved the monasteries in England for the purpose of grasping their wealth; but the country found he had at the same time delivered it from a swarm of idle and mischievous corporations, which in no long time would have swallowed up the land. Their revenues were immense, and the extent of their domains almost incredible. Before people had recovered from their disgust at the hateful motives of their tyrant's behaviour, the results of it became apparent in the elevation of the finest class of the English population; for the "bold peasantry, their country's pride," began to establish their independent holdings on the parcelled-out territories of the monks and nuns. Vast tracts of ground were thrown open to the competition of lay proprietors. Even the poorest was not without hope of becoming an owner of the soil; nay, the released estates were so plentiful that in Elizabeth's reign an act was passed making it illegal for a man to build a cottage "unless he laid four acres of land thereto." The cottager, therefore, became a small farmer; and small farmers were the defence of England; and the defence of England was the safety of freedom and religion throughout the world. There were some hundred thousands of those landed cottagers and smaller gentry and great proprietors established by this most respectable sacrilege of Henry the Eighth, and for the sake of these excellent consequences we forgive him his pride and cruelty and all his faults. But Henry's work was done, and in January, 1547, he died. The rivals with whom he started on the race of life were still alive; but life was getting dark and dreary with both of them. Francis was no longer the hero of "The Field of the Cloth-of-Gold," conqueror of Marignano, the gallant captive of Pavia, or the winner of all hearts. He was worn out with a life of great vicissitudes, and heard with ominous foreboding the news of Henry's death. [March 11, 1547.] A fate seemed to unite them in all those years of revelry and hate and friendship, and in a few weeks the most chivalrous and generous of the Valois followed the most tyrannical of the Tudors to the tomb. A year before this, the Monk of Wittenberg, now the renowned and married Dr. Martin Luther, had left a place vacant which no man could fill; and now of all those combatants Charles was the sole survivor. Selfish as Henry, dissolute as Francis, obstinate as Martin, his race also was drawing to a close. But the play was played out before these chief performers withdrew. All Europe had changed its aspect. The England, the France, the Empire, of five-and-twenty years before had utterly passed away. New objects were filling men's minds, new principles of policy were regulating states. Protestantism was an established fact, and the Treaty of Passau in 1552 gave liberty and equality to the professors of the new faith. Charles was sagacious though heartless as a ruler, but an unredeemed bigot as an individual man. The necessities of his condition, by which he was forced to give toleration to the enemies of the Church, weighed upon his heart. A younger hand and bloodier disposition, he thought, were needed to regain the ground he had been obliged to yield; and in Philip his son he perceived all these requirements fulfilled. When he looked round, he saw nothing to give him comfort in his declining years. War was going on in Hungary against the still advancing Turks; war was raging in Lorraine between his forces and the French; Italy, the land of volcanoes, was on the eve of outbreak and anarchy; and, thundering out defiance of the Imperial power and the Christian Cross, the guns of the Ottoman fleet were heard around the shores of Sicily and up to the Bay of Naples. The emperor was faint and weary: his armies were scattered and dispirited; his fleets were unequal to their enemy: so in 1556 he resigned his pompous title of monarch of Spain and the Indies, with all their dependencies, to his son, and the empire to his brother Ferdinand, who was already King of Hungary and Bohemia and hereditary Duke of Austria; and then, with the appearance of resignation, but his soul embittered by anger and disappointment, he retired to the Convent of St. Just, where he gorged himself into insanity with gluttonies which would have disgraced Vitellius, and amused himself by interfering in state affairs which he had forsworn, and making watches which he could not regulate, and going through the revolting farce of a rehearsal of his funeral, with his body in the coffin and the monks of the monastery for mourners. Those theatrical lamentations were probably as sincere as those which followed his real demise in 1558; for when he surrendered the power which made him respected he gave evidence only of the qualities which made him disliked. The Reformation, you remember, is the characteristic of this century. We have traced it in Germany to its recognition as a separate and liberated faith. In England we are going to see Protestantism established and triumphant. But not yet; for we have first to notice a period when Protestantism seems at its last hour, when Mary, wife of the bigot Philip, and true and honourable daughter of the Church, is determined to restore her nation to the Romish chair, or die in the holy attempt. We are not going into the minutiæ of this dreadful time, or to excite your feelings with the accounts of the burnings and torturings of the dissenters from the queen's belief. None of us are ignorant of the cruelty of those proceedings, or have read unmoved the sad recital of the martyrdom of the bishops and of such men as the joyous and innocent Rowland Taylor of Hadleigh. Men's hearts did not become hardened by these sights. Rather they melted with compassion towards the dauntless sufferers; and, though the hush of terror kept the masses of the people silent, great thoughts were rising in the general mind, and toleration ripened even under the heat of the Smithfield fires. Attempts have been made to blacken Mary beyond her demerits and to whiten her beyond her deservings. Protestants have denied her the virtues she unquestionably possessed,--truthfulness, firmness, conscientiousness, and unimpeachable morals. Her panegyrists take higher ground, and claim for her the noblest qualifications both as queen and woman,--patriotism, love of her people, fulfilment of all her duties, and exquisite tenderness of disposition. It will be sufficient for us to look at her actions, and we will leave her secret sentiments alone. We shall only say that it is very doubtful whether the plea of conscientiousness is admissible in such a case. If perverted reasoning or previous education has made a Thug feel it a point of conscience to put his throttling instrument under a quiet traveller's throat, the conscientious belief of the performer that his act is for the good of the sufferer's soul will scarcely save him from the gallows. On the contrary, a conscientious persistence in what is manifestly wrong should be an aggravation of the crime, for it gives an appearance of respectability to atrocity, and, when punishment overtakes the wrong-doers, makes the Thug an honoured martyr to his opinions, instead of a convicted felon for his misdeeds. Let us hope that the rights of conscience will never be pleaded in defence of cruelty or persecution. [A.D. 1554.] The restoration of England to the obedience of the Church, the marriage of Mary, the warmest partisan of Popery, with Philip, the fanatical oppressor of the reformed,--these must have raised the hopes of Rome to an extraordinary pitch. But greater as a support, and more reliable than queens or kings, was the Society of the Jesuits, which at this time demonstrated its attachment to the Holy See, and devoted itself blindly, remorselessly, unquestioning, to the defence of the old faith. Having sketched the rise of Luther, a companion-picture is required of the fortunes of Ignatius Loyola. We hinted that a Biscayan soldier, wounded at the siege of Pampeluna in Spain, divided the notice of Europe with the poor Austin Friar of Wittenberg. Enthusiasm, rising almost into madness, was no bar, in the case of this wonderful Spaniard, to the possession of faculties for government and organization which have never been surpassed. Shut out by the lameness resulting from his wound from the struggles of worldly and soldierly ambition, he gave full way to the mystic exaltation of his Southern disposition. He devoted himself as knight and champion to the Virgin, heard with contempt and horror of the efforts made to deny the omnipotence of the Chair of Rome, and swore to be its defender. Others of similar sentiments joined him in his crusade against innovation. [A.D. 1540.] A company of self-denying, self-sacrificing men began, and, adding to the previous laws of their order a vow of unqualified submission to the Pope, they were recognised by a bull, and the Society of Jesus became the strongest and most remarkable institution of modern times. Through all varieties of fortune, in exile and imprisonment, and even in dissolution, their oath of uninquiring, unhesitating obedience to the papal command has never been broken. With Protean variety of appearance, but unvarying identity of intention, these soldiers of St. Peter are as relentless to others, and as regardless of themselves, as the body-guard of the old Assassins. No degradation is too servile, no place too distant, no action too revolting, for these unreasoning instruments of power. Wilfully surrendering the right of judgment and the feelings of conscience into the hands of their superior, there is no method by law or argument of regulating their conduct. The one principle of submission has swallowed up all the rest, and fulfilment of that duty ennobles the iniquitous deeds by which it is shown. Other societies put a clause, either by words or implication, in their promise of obedience, limiting it to things which are just and proper. This limit is ostentatiously abrogated by the followers of Loyola. The merit of obeying an order to slay an enemy of the Church more than compensates for the guilt of the murder. In other orders a homicide is looked upon with horror; in this, a Jesuit who kills a heretical king by command of his chiefs is venerated as a saint. Against practices and feelings like these you can neither reason nor be on your guard. In all kingdoms, accordingly, at some time or other, the existence of the order has been found inconsistent with the safety of the State, and it has been dissolved by the civil power. The moment, however, the Church regains its hold, the Jesuits are sure to be restored. The alliance, indeed, is indispensable, and the mutual aid of the Order and of the Papacy a necessity of their existence. Incorporated in 1540, the brothers of the Company of Jesus considered the defections of the Reformation in a fair way of being compensated when the death of our little, cold-hearted, self-willed Edward the Sixth--a Henry the Eighth in the bud--left the throne in 1553 to Mary, a Henry the Eighth full blown. [A.D. 1558.] When nearly five years of conscientious truculence had shown the earnestness of this unhappy woman's belief, the accession of Elizabeth inaugurated a new system in this country, from which it has never departed since without a perceptible loss both of happiness and power. A strictly home and national policy was immediately established by this most remarkable of our sovereigns, and pursued through good report and evil report, sometimes at the expense of her feelings--if she was so little of a Tudor as to have any--of tenderness and compassion, sometimes at the expense--and here she was Tudor enough to have very acute sensations indeed--of her personal and official dignity, but always with the one object of establishing a great united and irresistible bulwark against foreign oppression and domestic disunion. It shows how powerful was her impression upon the course of European history, that her character is as fiercely canvassed at this day as in the speech of her contemporaries. Nobody feels as if Elizabeth was a personage removed from us by three hundred years. We discuss her actions, and even argue about her looks and manners, as if she had lived in our own time. And this is the reason why such divergent judgments are pronounced on a person who, more than any other ruler, united the opinions of her subjects during the whole of her long and agitated life. Her acts remain, but her judges are different. If we could throw ourselves with the reality of circumstance as well as the vividness of feeling into the period in which she moved and governed, we should come to truer decisions on the points submitted to our view. But if we look with the refinements of the present time, and the speculative niceties permissible in questions which have no direct bearing on our prosperity and safety, we shall see much to disapprove of, which escaped the notice, or even excited the admiration, of the people who saw what tremendous arbitraments were on the scale. If we were told that a cold-blooded individual had placed on one occasion some murderous weapons on a height, and then requested a number of his friends to stand before them, while some unsuspecting persons came up in that direction, and then, suddenly telling his companions to stand on one side, had sent bullets hissing and crashing through the gentlemen advancing to him, you would shudder with disgust at such atrocious cruelty, till you were told that the cold-blooded individual was the Duke of Wellington, and the advancing gentlemen the French Old Guard at Waterloo. And in the same way, if we read of Elizabeth interfering in Scotland, domineering at home, and bellicose abroad, let us inquire, before we condemn, whether she was in her duty during those operations,--whether, in fact, she was resisting an assault, or capriciously and unjustifiably opening her batteries on the innocent and unprepared. Fiery-hearted, strong-handed Scotchmen are ready to fight at this time for the immaculate purity and sinless martyrdom of their beautiful Mary, and sturdy Englishmen start up with as bold a countenance in defence of good Queen Bess. It is not to be doubted that a roll-call as numerous as that of Bannockburn or Flodden could be mustered on this quarrel of three centuries ago; but the fight is needless. The points of view are so different that a verdict can never be given on the merits of the two personages principally engaged; but we think an unprejudiced examination of the course of Elizabeth's policy in Scotland, and her treatment of her rival, will establish certain facts which neither party can gainsay. 1st. From this it will result, that, to keep reformed England secure, it was indispensable to have reformed Scotland on her side. 2d. That, in order to have Scotland either reformed or on her side, it was indispensable to render powerless a popish queen,--a queen who was supported as legitimate inheritor of England by the Pope and Philip of Spain, and the King and princes of France. 3d. That Elizabeth had a right, by all the laws of self-preservation, to sustain by every legal and peaceable means that party in Scotland which was _de facto_ the government of the country, and which promised to be most useful to the objects she had in view. Those objects have already been named,--peace and security for the Protestant religion, and the honour and independence of the whole British realm. To gain these ends, who denies that she bribed and bullied and deceived?--that she degraded the Scottish nobles by alternate promises and threats, and weakened the Scottish crown by encouraging its enemies, both ecclesiastical and civil? In prudishly finding fault with these proceedings, we forget the Scotch, French, Spanish, popish, emissaries who were let loose upon England; the plots at home, the scowling messages from abroad; the excommunications uttered from Rome; the massacre of the Protestants gloried in in France, and the vast navies and immense armies gathering against the devoted Isle from all the coasts and provinces of Spain. In 1568, after the defeat of the queen's party at Langside, Mary threw herself on the pity and protection of Elizabeth, and was kept in honourable safety for many years. She did not allow her to collect partisans for the recovery of her kingdom, nor to cabal against the government which had expelled her. To do so would not have been to shelter a fugitive, but to declare war on Scotland. In 1848, Louis Philippe, chased by the revolutionists of Paris, came over to England. He was kept in honourable retirement. He was not allowed to cabal against his former subjects, nor to threaten their policy. To do so would not have been to shelter a fugitive, but to declare war on France. Even in the case of the earlier Bourbons, we permitted no gatherings of forces on their behalf, and did not encourage their followers to molest the settled government,--no, not when the throne of France was filled by an enemy and we were at deadly war with Napoleon. But Mary was put to death. A sad story, and very melancholy to read in quiet drawing-rooms with Britannia ruling the waves and keeping all danger from our coasts. But in 1804, if Louis the Eighteenth or Charles the Tenth, instead of eating the bread of charity in peace, had been detected in conspiracy with our enemies, in corresponding with foreign emissaries, when a thousand flat-bottomed boats were marshalling for our invasion at Boulogne, and Brest and Cherbourg and Toulon were crowded with ships and sailors to protect the flotilla, it needs no great knowledge of character to pronounce that English William Pitt and Scottish Harry Dundas would have had the royal Bourbon's head on a block, or his body on Tyburn-tree, in spite of all the romance and eloquence in the world. Mary's guilt or innocence of the charges brought against her in her relations with Darnley and Bothwell has nothing to do with the treatment she received from Elizabeth. She was not amenable to English law for any thing she did in Scotland, nor was she condemned for any thing but treasonable practices which it was impossible to deny. She certainly owed submission and allegiance to the English crown while she lived under its protection. Let us indulge our chivalrous generosity, and enjoy delightful poems in defence of an unfortunate and beautiful sovereign, by believing that the blots upon her fame were the aspersions of malignity and political baseness: the great fact remains, that it was an indispensable incident to the security of both the kingdoms that she should be deprived of authority, and finally, as the storm darkened, and derived all its perils from her conspiracies against the State and breaches of the law, that she should be deprived of life. Far more sweeping measures were pursued and defended by the enemies of Elizabeth abroad. Present forever, like a skeleton at a feast, must have been the massacre of St. Bartholomew in the thoughts of every Protestant in Europe, and most vividly of all in those of the English queen. That great blow was meant to be a warning to heretics wherever they were found, and in olden times and more revengeful dispositions might have been an excuse for similar atrocity on the other side. The Bartholomew massacre and the Armada are the two great features of the latter part of this century; and they are both so well known that it will be sufficient to recall them in a very few words. This massacre was no chance-sprung event, like an ordinary popular rising, but had been matured for many years. The Council of Trent, which met in 1545 and continued its sittings till 1563, had devoted those eighteen years to codifying the laws of the Catholic Church. A definite, clear, consistent system was established, and acknowledged as the religious and ecclesiastical faith of Christendom. Men were not now left to a painful gathering of the sentiments and rescripts of popes and doctors out of varying and scattered writings. Here were the statutes at large, minutely indexed and easy of reference. From these many texts could be gathered which justified any method of diffusing the true belief or exterminating the false. And accordingly, a short time after the close of the Council, an interview took place between two personages, of very sinister augury for the Protestant cause. Catherine de Medicis and the Duke of Alva met at Bayonne in 1565. In this consultation great things were discussed; and it was decided by the wickedest woman and harshest man in Europe that government could not be safe nor religion honoured unless by the introduction of the Inquisition and a general massacre of heretics in every land. A few months later saw the ferocious Alva beginning his bloodthirsty career in the Netherlands, in which he boasted he had put eighteen thousand Hollanders to death on the scaffold in five years. Catherine also pondered his lessons in her heart, and when seven years had passed, and the Huguenots were still unsubdued, she persuaded her son Charles the Ninth that the time was come to establish his kingdom in righteousness by the indiscriminate murder of all the Protestants. An occasion was found in 1572, when the marriage of Henry of Navarre, afterwards the best-loved king of France, with the Princess Margaret de Valois, held out a prospect of soothing the religious troubles, and also (which suited her designs better) of attracting all the heads of the Huguenot cause to Paris. Every thing turned out as she hoped. There had been feasts and gayeties, and suspicion had been thoroughly disarmed. Suddenly the tocsin was sounded, and the murderers let loose over all the town. No plea was received in extenuation of the deadly crime of favouring the new opinions. Hospitality, friendship, relationship, youth, sex, all were disregarded. The streets were red with blood, and the river choked with mutilated bodies. Upwards of seventy thousand were butchered in Paris alone, and the metropolitan example was followed in other places. The deed was so awful that for a while it silenced the whole of Europe. Some doubted, some shuddered; but Rome sprang up with a shout of joy when the news was confirmed, and uttered prayers of thanksgiving for so great a victory. If it could have been possible to put every gainsayer to death everywhere, the triumph would have been complete; but there were countries where Catherine's dagger could not reach; and whenever her name was heard, and the terrible details of the massacre were known, undying hatred of the Church which encouraged such iniquity mingled with the feelings of pity and alarm. For no one henceforth could feel safe. The Huguenots were under the highest protection known to the heart of man. They were guests, and they were taken unawares in the midst of the rejoicings of a marriage. Rome lost more by the massacre than the Protestants. People looked round and saw the butcheries in the Netherlands, the slaughters in Paris, the tortures in the Inquisition, and over all, rioting in hopes of recovered dominion, supported by his priests and Dominicans, a Pope who plainly threatened a repetition of such scenes wherever his power was acknowledged. Germany, the Netherlands, England, Scotland, and the Northern nations, were lost to the Church of Rome more surely by the scaffold and crimes which professed to bring her aid, than by any other cause. Elizabeth was now the accepted champion and leader of the Protestants, and on her all the malice of the baffled Romanists was turned. To weaken, to dethrone or murder the English heretic was the praiseworthiest of deeds. But one great means of distracting England from her onward course was now removed. In former days Scotland would have been let loose upon her unguarded flanks; but by this time the genius of Knox, running parallel with the efforts of the Southern reformers, had raised a religious feeling which responded to the English call. Scotland, freed from an oppressive priesthood, did manful battle at the side of her former enemy. Elizabeth was kept safe by the joint hatred the nations entertained to Rome, and, as regarded foreigners, the Union had already taken place. On one sure ground, however, those foreigners could still build their hopes. Mary, conscientious in her religion, and embittered in her dislike, was still alive, to be the rallying-point for every discontented cry and to represent the old causes,--the legitimate descent and the true faith. The greatest circumspection would have been required to keep her conduct from suspicion in these embarrassing circumstances. But she was still as thoughtless as in her happier days, and exposed herself to legal inquiries by the unguardedness of her behaviour. The wise counsellors of Elizabeth saw but one way to put an end to all those fears and expectations; and Mary, after due trial, was condemned and executed. [A.D. 1587.] Hope was now at an end; but revenge remained, and the great Colossus of the Papacy bestirred himself to punish the sacrilegious usurper. Philip the Second was still the most Catholic of kings. More stern and bigoted than when he had tried to restrain the burning zeal of Mary of England, he was resolved to restore by force a revolted people to the Chair of St. Peter and exact vengeance for the slights and scorns which had rankled in his heart from the date of his ill-omened visit. He prepared all his forces for the glorious attempt. Nothing could have been devised more calculated to bring all English hearts more closely to their queen. Every report of a fresh squadron joining the fleets already assembled for the invasion called forth more zeal in behalf of the reformed Church and the undaunted Elizabeth. Scotland also held some vessels ready to assist her sister in this great extremity, and lined her shores with Presbyterian spearmen. Community of danger showed more clearly than ever that safety lay in combination. Chains, we know, were brought over in those missionary galleys, and all the apparatus of torture, with smiths to set them to work. But the smiths and the chains never made good their landing on British ground. The ships covered all the narrow sea; but the wind blew, and they were scattered. It was perhaps better, as a warning and a lesson, that the principal cause of the Spaniard's disaster was a storm. If it had been fairly inflicted on them in open battle, the superior seamanship or numbers or discipline of the enemy might have been pleaded. But there must have mingled something more depressing than the mere sorrow of defeat when Philip received his discomfited admiral with the words, "We cannot blame you for what has happened: we cannot struggle against the will of God." SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. Kings of France. A.D. HENRY IV.--(_cont._) 1610. LOUIS XIII. 1643. LOUIS XIV. Emperors of Germany. A.D. RODOLPH II.--(_cont._) 1612. MATTHIAS. 1619. FERDINAND II. 1637. FERDINAND III. 1658. LEOPOLD I. Kings of England and Scotland. A.D. ELIZABETH.--(_cont._) (_House of Stuart._) 1603. JAMES I. 1625. CHARLES I. 1649. Commonwealth. 1660. CHARLES II. 1685. JAMES II. 1689. WILLIAM III. and MARY. Kings of Spain. A.D. PHILIP III.--(_cont._) 1621. PHILIP IV. 1665. CHARLES II. Distinguished Men. BACON, MILTON, LOCKE, CORNEILLE, RACINE, MOLIÈRE, KEPLER, (1571-1630,) BOYLE, (1627-1691,) BOSSUET, (1627-1704,) NEWTON, (1642-1727,) BURNET, (1643-1715,) BAYLE, (1647-1706,) CONDÉ, TURENNE, (1611-1675,) MARLBOROUGH, (1650-1722.) THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. ENGLISH REBELLION AND REVOLUTION--DESPOTISM OF LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH. We are apt to suppose that progress and innovation are so peculiarly the features of these latter times that it is only in them that a man of more than ordinary length of life has witnessed any remarkable change. We meet with men still alive who were acquainted with Franklin and Voltaire, who have been presented at the court of Louis the Sixteenth and have visited President Pierce at the White House. But the period we have now to examine is quite as varied in the contrasts presented by the duration of a lifetime as in any other age of the world. Of this we shall take a French chronicler as an example,--a man who was as greedy of news, and as garrulous in relating it, as Froissart himself, but who must take a very inferior rank to that prose minstrel of "gentle blood," as he limited his researches principally to the scandals which characterized his time. We mean the truth-speaking libeller Brantôme. [A.D. 1616.] This man died within a year or two of Shakspeare, and yet had accompanied Mary to Scotland, and given that poetical account of the voyage from Calais, when she sat in the stern of the vessel with her eyes fixed on the receding shore, and said, "Adieu, France, adieu! I shall never see you more;" and again, on the following morning, bending her looks across the water when land was no longer to be seen, and exclaiming, "Adieu, France! I shall never see you more." The mere comparison of these two things--the return of Mary to her native kingdom, torn at that time with all the struggles of anarchy and distress, and the death of the greatest of earth's poets, rich and honoured, in his well-built house at Stratford-on-Avon--suggests a strange contrast between the beginning of Brantôme's literary career and its close: the events filling up the interval are like the scarcely-discernible heavings in a dark and tumultuous sea,--a storm perpetually raging, and waves breaking upon every shore. In his own country, cruelty and demoralization had infected all orders in the State, till murder, and the wildest profligacy of manners, were looked on without a shudder. Brantôme attended the scanty and unregretted funeral of Henry the Third, the last of the house of Valois, who was stabbed by the monk Jacques Clement for faltering in his allegiance to the Church. A sentence had been pronounced at Rome against the miserable king, and the fanatic's dagger was ready. Sixtus the Fifth, in full consistory, declared that the regicide was "comparable, as regards the salvation of the world, to the incarnation and the resurrection, and that the courage of the youthful Jacobin surpassed that of Eleazar and Judith." "That Pope," says Chateaubriand, the Catholic historian of France, "had too little political conviction, and too much genius, to be sincere in these sacrilegious comparisons; but it was of importance to him to encourage the fanatics who were ready to murder kings in the name of the papal power." Brantôme had seen the issuing of a bull containing the same penalties against Elizabeth, the death of Mary on the scaffold, and the failure of the Armada. After the horrors of the religious wars, from the conspiracy of Amboise in 1560 to the publication of the edict of toleration given at Nantes in 1598, he had seen the comparatively peaceful days of Henry the Fourth, till fanaticism again awoke a suspicion of a return to his original Protestant leanings, as shown in his opposition to the house of Austria, and Ravaillac renewed the meritorious work of Clement in 1610. Last of all, the spectator of all these changes saw England and Scotland forever united under one crown, and the first rise of the master of the modern policy of Europe, for in the year of Brantôme's death a young priest was appointed Secretary of State in France, whom men soon gazed on with fear and wonder as the great Cardinal Richelieu. In England the alterations were as great and striking. After the troubled years from Elizabeth's accession to the Armada, a period of rest and progress came. Interests became spread over the whole nation, and did not depend so exclusively on the throne. Wisdom and good feeling made Elizabeth's crown, in fact, what laws and compacts have made her successors',--a constitutional sovereign's. She ascertained the sentiments of her people almost without the intervention of Parliament, and was more a carrier-through of the national will than the originator of absolute decrees. The moral battles of a nation in pursuit of some momentous object like religious or political freedom bring forth great future crops, as fields are enriched on which mighty armies have been engaged. The fertilizing influence extends in every direction, far and near. If, therefore, the intellectual harvest that followed the final rejection of the Pope and crowning defeat of the Spaniard included Shakspeare and Bacon, and a host of lesser but still majestic names, we may venture also to remark, on the duller and more prosaic side of the question, that in the first year of the seventeenth century a patent was issued by which a commercial speculation attained a substantive existence, for the East India Company was founded, with a stock of seventy-two thousand pounds, and a fleet of four vessels took their way from the English harbours, on their first voyage to the realm where hereafter their employers, who thus began as merchant adventurers, were to rule as kings. The example set by these enterprising men was followed by high and low. During the previous century people had been too busy with their domestic and religious disputes to pay much attention to foreign exploration. They were occupied with securing their liberties from the tyranny of Henry the Eighth and their lives from the truculence of Mary. Then the plots perpetually formed against Elizabeth, by domestic treason and foreign levy, kept their attention exclusively on home-affairs. But when the State was settled and religion secure, the long-pent-up activity of the national mind found vent in distant expeditions. A chivalrous contempt of danger, and poetic longing for new adventure, mingled with the baser attractions of those maritime wanderings. The families of gentle blood in England, instead of sending their sons to waste their lives in pursuit of knightly fame in the service of foreign states, equipped them for far higher enterprises, and sent them forth to gather the riches of unknown lands beyond the sea. Romantic rumours were rife in every manor-house of the strange sights and inexhaustible wealth to be gained by undaunted seamanship and judicious treatment of the natives of yet-unexplored dominions. Spain and Portugal had their kingdoms, but the extent of America was great enough for all. Islands were everywhere to be found untouched as yet by the foot of European; and many a winter's night was spent in talking over the possible results of sailing up some of the vast rivers that came down like bursting oceans from the far-inland regions to which nobody had as yet ascended,--the people and cities that lay upon their banks, the gold and jewels that paved the common soil. Towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, these imaginings had grown into sufficing motives of action, and gentlemen were ready from all the ports of the kingdom to sail on their adventurous voyages. In addition to the chance those gallant mariners had of realizing their day-dreams by the tedious methods of discovery and exploration, there was always the prospect of making prize of a galleon of Spain; for at all times, however friendly the nations might be in the European waters, a war was carried on beyond the Azores. Not altogether lost, therefore, was the old knightly spirit of peril-seeking and adventure in those commercial and geographical speculations. There were articles of merchandise in the hold, gaudy-coloured cloths, and bead ornaments, and wretched looking-glasses, besides brass and iron; but all round the captain's cabin were arranged swords and pistols, boarding-pikes, and other implements of fight. Guns also of larger size peeped out of the port-holes, and the crew were chosen as much with a view to warlike operations as to the ordinary duties of the ship. The Spaniards had made their way into the Pacific, and had established large settlements on the shores of Chili and Peru. Scenes which have been reacted at the diggings in modern times took place where the Europeans fixed their seat, and ships loaded with the precious metals found their way home, exposed to all the perils of storm and war. Drake had pounced upon several of their galleys and despoiled them of their precious cargo. Cavendish, a gentleman of good estate in Suffolk, had followed in his wake, and, after forcing his way through the Straits of Magellan, had reached the shores of California itself and there captured a Spanish vessel freighted with a vast amount of gold. All these adventures of the expiring sixteenth century became traditions and ballads of the young seventeenth. Raleigh, the most accomplished gentleman of his time, gave the glory of his example to the maritime career, and all the oceans were alive with British ships. While Raleigh and others of the upper class were carrying on a sort of cultivated crusade against the monopoly of the Spaniards, others of a less aristocratic position were busied in the more regular paths of commerce. We have seen the formation of the India Company in 1600. Our competitors, the Dutch, fitted out fleets on a larger scale, and established relations of trade and friendship with the natives of Polynesia and New Holland, and even of Java and India. But the zeal of the public in trading-speculations was not only shown in those well-conducted expeditions to lands easily accessible and already known: a company was established for the purpose of opening out the African trade, and a commercial voyage was undertaken to no less a place than Timbuctoo by a gallant pair of seamen of the names of Thomson and Jobson. It was not long before these efforts at honest international communication, and even the exploits of the Drakes and Cavendishes, who acted under commissions from the queen, degenerated into lawless piracy and the golden age of the Buccaneers. The policy of Spain was complete monopoly in her own hands, and a refusal of foreign intercourse worthy of the potentates of China and Japan. All access was prohibited to the flags of foreign nations, and the natural result followed. Adventurous voyagers made their appearance with no flag at all, or with the hideous emblem of a death's head emblazoned on their standard, determined to trade peaceably if possible, but to trade whether peaceably or not. The Spanish colonists were not indisposed to exchange their commodities with those of the new-comers, but the law was imperative. The Buccaneers, therefore, proceeded to help themselves to what they wanted by force, and at length came to consider themselves an organized estate, governed by their own laws, and qualified to make treaties like any other established and recognised power. Cuba had been nearly depopulated by the cruelties and fanaticism of its Spanish masters, and was seized on by the Buccaneers. From this rich and beautiful island the pirate-barks dashed out upon any Spanish sail which might be leaving the mainland. Commanding the Gulf of Mexico, and with the power of crossing the Isthmus of Panama by a rapid march, those redoubtable bandits held the treasure-lands of the Spaniards in terrible subjection. And up to the commencement even of the eighteenth century the frightful spectacle was presented of a powerful confederacy of the wildest and most dissolute villains in Europe domineering over the most frequented seas in the world, and filling peaceful voyagers, and even well-armed men-of-war, with alarm by their unsparing cruelty, and atrocities which it curdles the blood to think of. Eastward as far as China, westward to the islands and shores of the great Pacific, up the rivers of Africa, and even among the forests of New Holland and Tasmania, the swarms of European adventurers succeeded each other without cessation. The marvel is, that, with such ceaseless activity, any islands, however remote or small, were left for the discovery of after-times. But the tide of English emigration rolled towards the mainland of North America with a steadier flow than to any other quarter. The idea of a northwest passage to India had taken possession of men's minds, and hardy seamen had already braved the horrors of a polar winter, and set examples of fortitude and patience which their successors, from Behrens to Kane, have so nobly followed. But the fertile plains of Virginia, and the navigable streams of the eastern shore, were more alluring to the peaceful and unenterprising settlers, whose object was to find a new home and carry on a lucrative trade with the native Indians. In 1607, a colony, properly so called,--for it had made provision for permanent settlement, and consisted of a hundred and ten persons, male and female,--arrived at the mouth of the Chesapeake. The river Powhatan was eagerly explored; and at a point sufficiently far up to be secure from sudden attack from the sea, and on an isthmus easily defended from native assault, they pitched their tents on a spot which was hereafter known as Jamestown and is still honoured as the earliest of the American settlements. Our neighbour Holland was not behindhand either in trade or colonization, and equally with England was excited to fresh efforts by its recovered liberty and independence. In all directions of intellectual and physical employment those two States went boundingly forward at the head of the movement. The absolute monarchies lay lazily by, and relied on the inertness of their mass for their defence against those active competitors; and Spain, an unwieldy bulk, showed the intimate connection there will always exist between liberal institutions at home and active progress abroad. The sun never set on the dominions of the Spanish crown, but the life of the people was crushed out of them by the weight of the Inquisition and despotism. The United Provinces and combined Great Britain had shaken off both those petrifying institutions, and Englishmen, Scotchmen, and Dutchmen were ploughing up every sea, presenting themselves at the courts of strange-coloured potentates, in regions whose existence had been unknown a few years before, and gradually accustoming the wealth and commerce of the world to find their way to London and Amsterdam. To go from these views of hardihood and enterprise, from the wild heaving of unruly vigour which animated the traffickers and tyrants of the main, to the peaceful and pedantic domestic reign of James the First, shows the two extremes of European character at this time. The English people were not more than four millions in number, but they were the happiest and most favoured of all the nations. This was indeed the time, "Ere England's woes began, When every rood of land maintain'd its man;" for we have seen how the division of the great monastic properties had created a new order in the State. All accounts concur in describing the opening of this century as the period of the greatest physical prosperity of the body of the people. A great deal of dulness and unrefinement there must still have been in the boroughs, where such sage officials as Dogberry displayed their pomp and ignorance,--a great deal of clownishness and coarseness in country-places, where Audreys and Autolycuses were to be found; but among townsmen and peasantry there was none of the grinding poverty which a more unequal distribution of national wealth creates. There were great Whitsun ales, and dancings round the Maypole; feasts on village greens, and a spirit of rude and personal independence, which became mellowed into manly self-respect when treated with deference by the higher ranks, the old hereditary gentry and the retired statesmen of Queen Bess, but bristled up in insolence and rebellion when the governing power thwarted its wishes, or fanaticism soured it with the bitter waters of polemic strife. The sturdy Englishman who doffed his hat to the squire, and joined his young lord in sports upon the green, in the beginning of James's reign, was the same stout-hearted, strong-willed individual who stiffened into Puritanism and contempt of all earthly authorities in the unlovely, unloving days of the Rump and Cromwell. Nor should we miss the great truth which lies hidden under the rigid forms of that period,--that the same noble qualities which characterized the happy yeoman and jocund squire of 1620--their earnestness, energy, and intensity of home affections--were no less existent in their ascetic short-haired descendants of 1650. The brimfulness of life which overflowed into expeditions against the Spaniards in Peru, and unravellings of the tangled rivers of Africa, and trackings of the wild bears among the ice-floes of Hudson's Bay, took a new direction when the century reached the middle of its course, and developed itself in the stormy discussions of the contending sects and the blood and misery of so many battle-fields. How was this great change worked on the English mind? How was it that the long-surviving soldier, courtier, landholder, of Queen Elizabeth saw his grandson grow up into the hard-featured, heavy-browed, keen-sworded Ironside of Oliver? A squire who ruined himself in loyal entertainments to King James on his larder-and-cellar-emptying journey from Edinburgh to London in 1603 may have lived to see his son, and son's son, rejoicing with unholy triumph over the victory of Naseby in 1644 and the death of Charles in 1649. Great causes must have been at work to produce this astonishing change, and some of them it will not be difficult to point out. Perhaps, indeed, the prosperity we have described may itself have contributed to the alteration in the English ways of thought. While the nation was trampled on by Henry the Eighth, with property and life insecure and poverty universally diffused, or even while it was guided by the strong hand of Elizabeth, it had neither power nor inclination to examine into its rights. The rights of a starving and oppressed population are not very great, even in its own eyes. It is the well-fed, law-protected, enterprising citizen who sees the value of just and settled government, because the blessings he enjoys depend upon its continuance. The mind of the nation had been pauperized along with its body by the life of charitable dependence it had led at the doors of church and monastery in the olden time. It little mattered to a gaping crowd expecting the accustomed dole whether the great man in London was a tyrannical king or not. They did not care whether he dismissed his Parliaments or cut off the heads of his nobility. They still found their "bit and sup," and saw the King, and Parliament, and nobility, united in obedience to the Church. But when this debasing charity was discontinued, independence came on. The idle hanger-on of the religious house became a cottager, and worked on his own land; by industry he got capital enough to take some additional acres; and the man of the next generation had forgotten the low condition he sprang from, and had so sharpened his mind by the theological quarrels of the time that he began to be able to comprehend the question of general politics. He saw, as every population and potentate in Europe saw with equal clearness, that the question of civil freedom was indissolubly connected with the relation between Church and State; he perceived that the extent of divergence from the old faith regulated in a great measure the spirit, and even the constitution, of government where it took place,--that adhesion to Rome meant absolutism and dependence, that Calvinism had a strong bias towards the republican form, and that the Church he had helped to establish was calculated to fill up the ground between those two extremes, and be the religious representative of a State as liberal as Geneva by its attention to the interests of all, and as monarchical as Spain by its loyalty to an hereditary crown. Now, the middle ground in great and agitating affairs is always the most difficult to maintain. Both sides make it their battle-field, and try to win it to themselves; and according as one assailant seems on the point of carrying his object, the defender of that disputed territory has to lean towards the other. Both parties are offended at the apparent inconsistency; and we are therefore not to be surprised if we find the Church accused of looking to both the hostile camps in turn. James was a fatal personage to every cause he undertook to defend. He had neither the strength of will of Henry, nor the proud consistency of Elizabeth; but he had the arrogance and presumption of both. Questions which the wise queen was afraid to touch, and left to the ripening influence of time, this blustering arguer dragged into premature discussion, stripped them of all their dignity by the frivolousness of the treatment he gave them, and disgusted all parties by the harshness and rapidity of his partial decisions. Every step he took in the quelling of religious dissension by declarations in favour of proscription and authority which would have endeared him to Gregory the Seventh, he accompanied with some frightful display of his absolutist tendencies in civil affairs. The same man who roared down the modest claims of a thousand of the clergy who wished some further modification of the Book of Common Prayer threw recusant members of Parliament into prison, persecuted personal enemies to death, with scarcely a form of law, punished refractory towns with loss of franchises and privileges, and made open declaration of his unlimited power over the lives and properties of all his subjects. People saw this unvarying alliance between his polemics and his politics, and began to consider seriously whether the comforts their trade and industry had given them could be safe under a Church calling itself reformed, but protected by such a king. If he was only suspected in England, in his own country he was fully known. Dearer to James would have been a hundred bishops and cardinals seated in conclave in Holyrood than a Presbyterian Synod praying against his policy in the High Kirk. He had even written to the Pope with offers of accommodation and reconcilement, and made no secret of his individual and official disgust at the levelling ideas of those grave followers of Knox and Calvin. Those grave followers of Knox and Calvin, however, were not unknown on the south side of the Tweed. The intercourse between the countries was not limited to the hungry gentry who followed James on his accession. A community of interest and feeling united the more serious of the Reformers, and visits and correspondence were common between them. But, while a regard for their personal freedom and the security of their wealth attracted the attention of the English middle class to the proceedings of King James, events were going on in foreign lands which had an immense effect on the development of the anti-monarchic, anti-episcopal spirit at home. These events have not been sufficiently considered in this relation, and we have been too much in the habit of looking at our English doings in those momentous years,--from the end of James's reign to the Restoration,--as if Britain had continued as isolated from her Continental neighbours as before the Norman Conquest. But a careful comparison of dates and actions will show how intimate the connection had become between the European States, and how instantaneously the striking of a chord at Prague or Vienna thrilled through the general heart in Edinburgh and London. The Reformation, after achieving its independence and equality at the Treaty of Augsburg in 1555, had made great though silent progress. Broken off in Germany into two parties, the Lutheran and the Calvinist, who hated each other, as usual, in exact proportion to the smallness of their difference, the union was still kept up between them as regarded their antagonism to the Papists. With all three denominations, the religious part of the question had fallen into terrible abeyance. It was now looked on by the leaders entirely as a matter of personal advancement and political rule. In this pursuit the fanaticism which is generally limited to theology took the direction of men's political conduct; and there were enthusiasts among all the sects, who saw visions, and dreamed dreams, about the succession to thrones and the raising of armies, as used to happen in more ancient times about the bones of martyrs and the beatification of saints. The great object of Protestants and Catholics was to obtain a majority in the college of the Prince Electors by whom the Empire was bestowed. This consisted of the seven chief potentates of Germany, of whom four were secular,--the King of Bohemia, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, the Duke of Saxony, and the Marquis of Brandenburg; and three ecclesiastic,--the Archbishops of Mentz, Trèves, and Cologne. The majority was naturally secured to the Romanists by the official adhesion of these last. But it chanced that the Elector of Cologne fell violently in love with Agnes of Mansfeldt, a canoness of Gerrestein; and having of course studied the history of our Henry the Eighth and Anne Boleyn, he determined to follow his example, and offered the fair canoness his hand. He was unwilling, however, to offer his hand without the Electoral crozier, and, by the advice of his friends, and with the promised support of many of the Protestant rulers, he retained his ecclesiastical dignity and made the beautiful Agnes his wife. This would not have been of much consequence in a lower rank, for many of the cathedral dignitaries in Cologne and other places had retained their offices after changing their faith; but all Germany was awake to the momentous nature of this transaction, for it would have conveyed a majority of the Electoral voices to the Protestants and opened the throne of the empire itself to a Protestant prince. Such, however, was the strength at that time of the opposition to Rome, that all the efforts of the Catholics would have been ineffectual to prevent this ruinous arrangement but for a circumstance which threw division into the Protestant camp. Gebhard had adhered to the Calvinistic branch of the Reformation, and the Lutherans hated him with a deadlier hatred than the Pope himself. With delight they saw him outlawed by the Emperor and excommunicated by Rome, his place supplied by a Prince of Bavaria, who was elected by the Chapter of Cologne to protect them from their apostate archbishop, and the head of the house of Austria strengthened by the consolidation of his Electoral allies and the unappeasable dissensions of his enemies. While petty interests and the narrowest quarrels of sectarianism divided the Protestants, and while the Electors and other princes who had adopted their theological opinions were doubtful of the political results of religious freedom, and many had waxed cold, and others were discontented with the small extent of the liberation from ancient trammels they had yet obtained, a very different spectacle was presented on the other side. Popes and Jesuits were heartily and unhesitatingly at work. "No cold, faint-hearted doubtings teased them." Their object was incommoded by no refinements or verbal differences; they were determined to assert their old supremacy,--to trample out every vestige of resistance to their power; and they entered upon the task without scruple or remorse. Ferdinand the Emperor, the prop and champion of the Romish cause, was as sincere and as unpitying as Dominic. When he had been nominated King Elect of Bohemia, in 1598, while yet in his twentieth year, his first thought was the future use he might make of his authority in the extermination of the Protestant faith. The Jesuits, by whom he was trained from his earliest years, never turned out a more hopeful pupil. His ambition would have been, if he had had it in his power, to become a follower of Loyola himself; but, as he was condemned by fate to the lower office of the first of secular princes, he determined to employ all its power at the dictation of his teachers. He went a pilgrimage to Loretto, and, bowing before the miraculous image of the Virgin, promised to reinstate the true Church in its unquestioned supremacy, and bent all his thoughts to the fulfilment of his vow. Two-thirds of his subjects in his hereditary states were Protestant, but he risked all to attain his object. He displaced their clergy, and banished all who would not conform. He introduced Catholics from foreign countries to supply the waste of population, and sent armed men to destroy the newly-erected schools and churches of the hateful heretics. This man was crowned King of Bohemia in 1618, and Emperor of Germany in the following year. The attention of the British public had been particularly directed to German interests for the six years preceding this date, by the marriage of Frederick, Elector Palatine of the Rhine, with Elizabeth, the graceful and accomplished daughter of King James. Frederick was young and ambitious, and was endeared to the English people as leader of the Protestant cause against the overweening pretensions of the house of Austria. That house was still the most powerful in Europe; for though the Spanish monarchy was held by another branch, for all the purposes of despotism and religion its weight was thrown into the same scale. Spanish soldiers, and all the treasures of America, were still at the command of the Empire; and perhaps Catholicism was rather strengthened than weakened by the adherence of two of the greatest sovereigns in the world, instead of having the personal influence of only one, as in the reign of Charles the Fifth. All the Elector's movements were followed with affectionate interest by the subjects of his father-in-law; but James himself disapproved of opposition being offered to the wildest excesses of royal prerogative either in himself or any other anointed ruler. Besides this, he was particularly hostile to the young champion's religious principles, for the latter was attached to the Calvinistic or unepiscopal party. [A.D. 1619.] James declined to give him any aid in maintaining his right to the crown of Bohemia, to which he was elected by the Protestant majority of that kingdom on the accession of Ferdinand to the Empire, and managed to show his feelings in the most offensive manner, by oppressing such of Frederick's co-religionists as he found in any part of his dominions. The advocates of peace at any price have praised the behaviour of the king in this emergency; but it may be doubted whether an energetic display of English power at this time might not have prevented the great and cruel reaction against freedom and Protestantism which the victory of the bigoted Ferdinand over his neglected competitor introduced. A riot, accompanied with violence against the Catholic authorities, was the beginning of the troubles in Bohemia; and Ferdinand, as if to explain his conduct to the satisfaction of James, published a manifesto, which might almost be believed to have been the production of that Solomon of the North. "If sovereign power," he says, "emanates from God, these atrocious deeds must proceed from the devil, and therefore must draw down divine punishment." This logic was unanswerable at Whitehall, and the work of extermination went on. Feeble efforts were forced upon the unwilling father-in-law; for all the chivalry of England was wild with sympathy and admiration of the Bohemian queen. Hundreds of gallant gentlemen passed over to swell the Protestant ranks; and when they returned and told the tale of all the horrors they had seen, the remorseless vengeance of the triumphant Church, and all the threatenings with which Rome and the Empire endeavoured to terrify the nations which had rebelled against their yoke, Puritanism, or resistance to the slightest approach towards Popery either in essentials or externals, became patriotism and self-defence; and at this very time, while men's minds were inflamed with the descriptions of the torturings and executions which followed the battle of Prague in 1620, and the devastation and depopulation of Bohemia, James took the opportunity of forcing the Episcopal form of government on the Scottish Presbyterians. "The greatest matter," he says, in an address to the prelates of the reluctant dioceses,--"the greatest matter the Puritans had to object against the Church government was, that your proceedings were warranted by no law, which now by this last Parliament is cutted short. The sword is now put in your hands. Go on, therefore, to use it, and let it rest no longer till ye have perfected the service trusted to you; or otherwise we must use it both against you and them." While the people of both nations were willing to sink their polemic differences of Calvinist and Anglican in one great attempt to deliver the Protestants in Germany from the power of the house of Austria,--while for this purpose they would have voted taxes and raised armies with the heartiest good will,--the king's whole attention was bestowed on a set of manoeuvres for the obtaining a Spanish-Austrian bride for his son. To gain this he would have humbled himself to the lowest acts. At a whisper from Madrid, he interfered with the German war, to the detriment of his own daughter; and England perceived that his ineradicable love of power and hatred of freedom had blinded him to national interests and natural affections. If we follow the whole career of James, and a great portion of his successor's, we shall see the same remarkable coincidence between the events in England and abroad,--unpopularity of the king, produced by his apparent lukewarmness in the general Protestant cause as much as by his arbitrary acts at home. Whatever the nation desired, the king opposed. When Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, began his triumphant career in 1630, and re-established the fallen fortunes of Protestantism, Charles concluded a dishonourable peace with Spain, without a single provision in favour of the Protestants of the German States, and allowed the Popish Cardinal Richelieu first to consolidate his forces by an unsparing oppression of the Huguenots in France, and then to almost compensate for his harshness by a gallant support of the Swedish hero in his struggle against the Austrian power. There was no longer the same content and happiness in the towns and country districts as there had been at the commencement of the century. Men had looked with contempt and dislike on the proceedings of James's court,--his coarse buffoonery, and disgraceful patronage of a succession of worthless favourites; and they continued to look, not indeed with contempt, but with increased dislike and suspicion, on the far purer court and dignified manners of his unfortunate son. A French princess, though the daughter of Henry the Fourth, was regarded as an evil omen for the continuance of good government or religious progress. Her attendants, lay and clerical, were not unjustly considered spies, and advisers with interests hostile to the popular tendencies. And all this time went on the unlucky coincidences which distinguished this reign,--of Catholic cruelties in foreign lands, and approaches to the Catholic ceremonial in the reformed Church. While Tilly, the remorseless general of the Emperor, was letting loose the most ferocious army which ever served under a national standard upon the inhabitants of Magdeburg, heaping into the history of that miserable assault all the sufferings that "horror e'er conceived or fancy feigned,"--and while the echo of that awful butchery, which has not yet died out of the German heart, was making sorrowful every fireside in what was once merry England,--the king's advisers pursued their blind way, torturing their opponents with knife and burning-brand upon the pillory, flogging gentlemen nearly to death upon the streets, and consecrating churches with an array of surplice, and censer, and processions, and organ-blowings, which would have done honour to St. Peter's at Rome. People saw a lamentable connection between the excesses of Catholic cruelty and the tendency in our sober establishment to Catholic traditions, and became fanatical in their detestation of the simplest forms. In ordinary times the wise man considers mere forms as almost below his notice; but there are periods when the emblem is of as much importance as the thing it typifies. Church ceremonies, and gorgeous robes, and magnificent worship, were accepted by both parties as the touchstone of their political and religious opinions. Laud pushed aside the Archbishop of Glasgow, who stood at Charles's right hand on his visit to Scotland in 1633, on the express ground that he had not the orthodox fringe upon his habit,--a ridiculous ground for so open an insult, if it had not had an inner sense. The Archbishop of Glasgow professed himself a moderate Churchman by the plainness of his dress, and Laud accepted it as a defiance. Meanwhile the essential insignificance of the symbol threw an air of ridicule over the importance attached to it. Dull-minded men, who had not the faculty of seeing how deep a question may lie in a simple exposition of it, or frivolous men, who could not rise to the real earnestness which enveloped those discussions, were scandalized at the persistency of Laud in enforcing his fancies, and the obstinacy of a great portion of the clergy and people in resisting them. But the Puritans, with clearer eyes, saw that a dance, according to proclamation, on the village green on Sunday, meant not a mere desecration of the Sabbath, but a crusade against the rights of conscience and an assertion of arbitrary power. Altars instead of communion-tables in churches meant not merely a restoration of the Popish belief in the real sacrifice of the mass, but a placing of the king above the law, and the abrogation of all liberty. They could not at this time persuade the nation of these things. The nation, for the most part, saw nothing more than met their bodily eyes; and, in despair of escaping the slavery which they saw the success of Ferdinand in Germany was likely to spread over Europe, they began the long train of voyages to the Western World, which times of suffering and uncertainty have continued at intervals to the present day. It is said that a vessel was stopped by royal warrant when it was on the point of sailing from the Thames with emigrants to America in 1637. On board were various persons whose names would probably never have been heard of if they had been allowed in peace and safety to pursue their way to Boston, but with which in a few years "all England rang from side to side." They were Oliver Cromwell, and Hampden, and Haselrig, Lord Brook, and Lord Saye. Affairs had now reached such a crisis that they could no longer continue undecided. A Parliament was called in 1640, after an unexampled interval of eleven years, and, after a few days' session, was angrily dissolved. Another, however, was indispensable in the same year, and on the 3d of November the Long Parliament met. The long-repressed indignation of the Commons broke forth at once. Laud and Wentworth, the principal advisers of the king, were tried and executed, and precautions taken, by stringent acts, to prevent a recurrence of arbitrary government. Everywhere there seemed a rally in favour of the Protestant or liberal cause. The death of Richelieu, the destroyer of French freedom, opened a prospect of recovered independence to the Huguenots; the victories of Torstenson the Swede, worthy successor of Gustavus Adolphus, brought down the pride of the Austrian Catholics; and Puritans, Independents, and other outraged sects and parties, by the restoration of the Parliament, got a terrible instrument of vengeance against their oppressors. A dreadful time, when on both sides the forms of law were perverted to the most lawless purposes; when peacefully-inclined citizens must have been tormented with sad misgivings by the contending claims of Parliament and King,--a Parliament correctly constituted and in the exercise of its recognised authority, a King with no flaw to his title, and professing his willingness to limit himself to the undoubted prerogatives of his place. [A.D. 1642.] It was probably a relief to the undecided when the arbitrament was removed from the court of argument to the field of battle. All the time of that miserable civil war, the other states of Europe were in nearly as great confusion as ourselves. France was torn to pieces by factions which contended for the mantle of the departed cardinal; Germany was traversed from end to end by alternately retreating and advancing armies. But still the simultaneousness of events abroad and at home is worthy of remark. The great fights which decided the quarrel in England were answered by victories of the Protestant arms in Germany and the apparent triumph of the discontented in France. The young king, Louis the Fourteenth, carried from town to town, and disputed between the parties, gave little augury of the despotism and injustice of his future throne. There were barricades in Paris, and insurrections all over the land. But at last, and at the same time, all the combatants in England, and France, and Germany--Huguenot, Puritan, Calvinist, Protestant, and Papist--were tired out with the length and bitterness of the struggle. So in 1648 the long Thirty Years' War was brought to a close by the Peace of Westphalia. Kingly power in France was curtailed, the house of Austria was humbled; and Charles was carried prisoner to Windsor. The Protestants of Germany, by the terms of the peace, were replaced in their ancient possessions. They had freedom of worship and equality of civil rights secured. A general law preserved them from the injustice or aggressions of their local masters; and the compromise guaranteed by so many divergent interests, and guarded by such equally-divided numbers, has endured to the present time. The English conquerors would be contented with no less than their foreign friends had obtained. But the blot upon their conduct, the blood of the misguided and humbled Charles, hindered the result of their wisest deliberations. Moderate men were revolted by the violence of the act, and old English loyalty, delivered from the fear of foreign or domestic oppression, was awakened by the sad end of a crowned and anointed King. [A.D. 1649.] Nothing compensates in an old hereditary monarchy for the want of high descent in its ruler. Not all Cromwell's vigour and genius, his glory abroad and energetic government at home, attracted the veneration of English squires, whose forefathers had fought at Crecy, to the grandson of a city knight, or, at most, to the descendant of a minister of Henry the Eighth. Charles the Second rose before them with the transmitted dignity of a hundred kings. He counted back to Scottish monarchs before the Norman Conquest, and traced by his mother's side his lineal ancestry up to Charlemagne and Clovis. English history presents no instance of the intrusion of an unroyal usurper in her list of sovereigns. Cromwell stands forth the solitary instance of a man of the people virtually seizing the crown; and the ballads and pamphlets of the time show how the comparative humility of his birth excited the scorn of his contemporaries. And this feeling was not limited to ancient lords and belted cavaliers: it permeated the common mind. There was something ennobling for the humblest peasant to die for King and Cause; but, however our traditions and the lapse of two hundred years may have elevated the conqueror at Worcester and Dunbar, we are not to forget that, in the estimation of those who had drunk his beer at Huntingdon or listened to his tedious harangues in Parliament, there would be neither patriotism nor honour in dying for bluff Old Noll. But there were more dangerous enemies to bluff Old Noll than the newness of his name. The same cause which had made the nation dissatisfied with the arbitrary pretensions of James and Charles was at work in making it intolerant of the rule of the usurpers. The great soldier and politician, who had overthrown an ancient dynasty and crushed the seditions of the sects, had increased the commercial prosperity of the three kingdoms. Wealth poured in at all the ports, and was rapidly diffused over the land; internal improvements kept pace with foreign enterprise; and the England which long ago had been too rich to be arbitrarily governed was now again too rich to be kept in durance by the sour-faced hypocrisies of the Puritans. Those lank-haired gentlemen, whose conduct had not quite answered to the self-denying proclamations with which they had begun, were no longer able to persuade the well-to-do citizen, and the high-waged mechanic, and the prosperous farmer, that religion consisted in speaking through the nose and forswearing all innocent enjoyment. The great battle had been fought, and the fruits of it, they thought, were secure. Were people to be debarred from social meetings and merry-makings at Christmas, and junketings at fairs, by act of Parliament? Acts of Parliament would first have been required strong enough to do away with youth and health, and the power of admiring beauty, and the hopes of marriage. [A.D. 1641-49.] The troubles had lasted seven or eight years; and all through that period, and for some time before, while the thick cloud was gathering, all gayety had disappeared from the land. But by the middle of Cromwell's time there was a new generation, in the first flush of youth,--lads and lasses who had been too young to know any thing of the dark days of Laud and Wentworth. They were twenty years of age now. Were they to have no cakes and ale because their elders were so prodigiously virtuous? They had many years of weary restraint and formalism to make up for, and in 1660 the accumulated tide of joyousness and delight burst all barriers. A flood of dancing and revelry, and utter abandonment to happiness, spread over the whole country; and merriest of the dancers, loudest of the revellers, happiest of the emancipated, was the young and brilliant king. Never since the old times of the Feasts of Fools and the gaudy processions of the Carnival had there been such a riotous jubilee as inaugurated the Restoration. The reaction against Puritanism carried the nation almost beyond Christianity and landed it in heathenism again. The saturnalia of Rome were renewed in the banquetings of St. James's. Nothing in those first days of relaxation seemed real. King and courtiers and cavaliers in courtly palaces, and enthusiastic townsfolk and madly loyal husbandmen, seemed like mummers at a play; and it was not till the candles were burned out, and the scenes grew dingy, and daylight poured upon that ghastly imitation of enjoyment, that England came to its sober senses again. Then it saw how false was the parody it had been playing. It had not been happy; it had only been drunk; and already, while Charles was in the gloss of his recovered crown, the second reaction began. Cromwell became respectable by comparison with the sensual debauchee who sold the dignity of his country for a little present enjoyment and soothed the reproaches of his people with a joke. Give us a Man to rule over us, the English said, and not a sayer of witty sayings and a juggler with such sleight of hand. And yet the example of the court was so contagious, and the fashion of enjoyment so wide-spread, that on the surface every thing appeared prosperous and happy. The stern realities of the first recusants had been so travestied by the exaggerated imitation of their successors that no faith was placed in the serious earnestness of man or woman. Frivolity was therefore adopted as a mark of sense; and if the popular literature of a period is to be accepted as a mirror held up to show the time its image, the old English character had undergone a perfect change. Thousands flocked every day to the playhouses to listen to dialogues, and watch the evolvement of plots, where all the laws of decency and honour were held up to ridicule. Comus and his crew, which long ago had held their poetic festival in the pure pages of Milton, were let loose, without the purity or the poetry, in every family circle. And the worst and most disgusting feature of the picture is that those wassailers who were thus the missionaries of vice were persecutors for religion. While one royal brother was leading the revels at Whitehall, surrounded by luxury and immorality as by an atmosphere without which he could not live, the other, as luxurious, but more moodily depraved, listened to the groans of tortured Covenanters at Holyrood House. Charles and James were like the two executioners of Louis the Eleventh: one laughed, and the other groaned, but both were pitilessly cruel. A recurrence to the dark days of the Sects, the godly wrestlings in prayer of illiterate horsemen, and the sincere fanaticism of the Fifth-Monarchy men, would have been a change for the better from the filth and foulness of the reign of the Merry Monarch and the blood and misery of that of the gloomy bigot. But happier times were almost within view, though still hid behind the glare of those orgies of the unclean. From 1660 to 1688 does not seem a very long time in the annals of a nation, nor even in the life of one of ourselves. Twenty-eight years have elapsed since the Revolution in Paris which placed Louis Philippe upon the throne; and the young man of twenty at that time is not very old yet. But when men or nations are cheated in the object of their hopes, it does not take long to turn disappointment into hatred. The Restoration of 1660 was to bring back the golden age of the first years of James,--the prosperity without the tyranny, the old hereditary rule without its high pretensions, the manliness of the English yeoman without his tendency to fanatical innovation. And instead of this Arcadia there was nothing to be seen but a kingdom without dignity, a king without honesty, and a people without independence. England was no longer the arbiter of European differences, as in the earlier reigns, nor dominator of all the nations, as when the heavy sword of Cromwell was uneasy in its sheath. It was not even a second-rate power: its capital had been insulted by the Dutch; its monarch was pensioned by the French; its religion was threatened by the Pope; the old animosities between England and Scotland were unarranged; and the point to be remembered in your review of the Seventeenth Century is that in the years from the Restoration to the Revolution we had touched the basest string of humility. We were neither united at home nor respected abroad. We had few ships, little commerce, and no public spirit. France revenged Crecy and Poictiers and Agincourt, by dressing our kings in her livery; and the degraded monarchs pocketed their wages without feeling their humiliation. Therefore, as the highest point we have hitherto stood upon was when Elizabeth saw the destruction of the Armada, the lowest was undoubtedly that when we submitted to the buffoonery of Charles and the bloodthirstiness of James. But far more remarkable, as a characteristic of this century, than the lowering of the rank of England in relation to foreign states, is the rise, for the first time in Europe, of a figure hitherto unknown,--a true, unshackled, and absolute king, and that in the least likely of all positions and in the person of the least likely man. This was the appearance on the throne of France of Louis the Fourteenth. Other monarchs, both in England and France, had attained supreme power,--supreme, but not independent. No one had hitherto been irresponsible to some other portions of the State. The strongest of the feudal kings was held in check by his nobility,--the greatest of the Tudors by Parliament and people. Declarations, indeed, had frequently been made that God's anointed were answerable to God alone. But of the two loudest of these declaimers, John, who said,-- "What earthly power to interrogatory Can tax the free breath of a Christian king?" had shortly after this magnificent oration surrendered his crown to the Pope; and James the First, who blustered more fiercely (if possible) about his superiority to human law, was glad to bend before his Lords and Commons in anticipation of a subsidy, and eat his leek in peace. But this phenomenon of a king above all other authority occurred, we have observed, in the most unlikely country to present so strange a sight; for nowhere was a European throne so weak and unstable as the throne of the house of Bourbon after the murder of Henry the Fourth. The moment that strong hand was withdrawn from the government, all classes broke loose. The nobles conspired against the queen, Marie de Medicis, who relied upon foreign favourites and irritated the nation to madness. Paris rose in insurrection, and tore the wretched Concini, her counsellor, whom she had created Marshal D'Ancre, to pieces; and, to glut their vengeance still more, the judges condemned his innocent wife to be burned as a sorceress. Louis the Thirteenth, the unworthy son of the great Henry, rejoiced in these atrocities, which he thought freed him from all restraint. But he found it impossible to quell the wild passions by which he profited for a while. Civil war raged between the court and country factions, and soon became embittered into religious animosities. [A.D. 1622.] The sight of a king marching at the head of a Catholic army against a portion of his Reformed subjects was looked upon by the rapidly-increasing malcontents in England with anxious curiosity. For year by year the strange spectacle was unrolled before their eyes of what might yet be their fate at home. Perhaps, indeed, the success of the royal arms, and the policy of strength and firmness introduced by Cardinal Richelieu, may have contributed in no slight degree to the measures pursued by Wentworth and Laud in their treatment of the English recusants. With an anticipative interest in our Hull and Exeter, the Puritans of England looked on the resistance made by Rochelle; and we can therefore easily imagine with what feelings the future soldiers of Marston Moor received the tidings that the Popish cardinal had humbled the capital of the Huguenots by the help of fleets furnished to them by Holland and England! Richelieu, indeed, knew how to make his enemies weaken each other throughout his whole career. [A.D. 1627.] Those enemies were the nobility of France, the house of Austria, and the Reformed Faith. When Rochelle was attacked the second time, and England pretended to arm for its defence, he contrived to win Buckingham, the chief of the expedition, to his cause, and procured a letter from King Charles, placing the fleet, which apparently went to the support of the Huguenots, at the service of the King of France! After a year's siege, and the most heroic resistance, Rochelle fell at last, in 1628. And, now that the Huguenots were destroyed as a dangerous party, the eyes of the great minister were turned against his other foes. He divided the nobles into hostile ranks, degraded them by petty annoyances, terrified them by unpitying executions of the chiefs of the oldest families, showed their weakness by arresting marshals at the head of their armies, and during the remaining years of his authority monopolized all the powers of the state. To weaken Spain and Austria, we have seen how he assisted the Protestants in the Thirty Years' War; to weaken England, which was only great when it assumed its place as bulwark and champion of the Protestant faith, he encouraged the court in its suicidal policy and the oppressed population in resistance. Ever stirring up trouble abroad, and ever busy in repressing liberty at home, the ministry of Richelieu is the triumph of unprincipled skill. But when he died, in 1643, there was no man left to lift up the burden he threw off. The king himself, Louis the Thirteenth, as much a puppet as the old descendants of Clovis under their Mayors of the Palace, left the throne he had nominally filled, vacant in the same year; and the heir to the dishonoured crown and exhausted country was a boy of five years of age, under the tutelage of an unprincipled mother, and with the old hereditary counsellors and props of his throne decimated by the scaffold or impoverished by confiscation. The tyranny of Richelieu had at least attained something noble by the high-handed insolence of all his acts. If people were to be trampled on, it was a kind of consolation to them that their oppressor was feared by others as well as themselves. But the oppression of the doomed French nation was to be continued by a more ignoble hand. The Cardinal Mazarin brought every thing into greater confusion than ever. In twenty millions of men there will always be great and overmastering spirits, if only an opportunity is found for their development; but civil commotion is not the element in which greatness lives. All sense of honour disappears when conduct is regulated by the shifting motives of party politics. [A.D. 1648-1654.] The dissensions of the Fronde, accordingly, produced no champion to whom either side could look with unmingled respect. The Great Condé and the famous Turenne showed military talent of the highest order, but a want of principle and a flighty frivolity of character counterbalanced all their virtues. The scenes of those six years are like a series of dissolving views, or the changing combinations of a kaleidoscope: Condé and Turenne, always on opposite sides,--for each changed his party as often as the other; battles prepared for by masquerades and theatricals, and celebrated on both sides with epigrams and songs; the wildest excesses of debauchery and vice practised by both sexes and all ranks in the State; archbishops fighting like gladiators and intriguing like the vulgarest conspirators; princes imprisoned with a jest, and executions attended with cheers and laughter; and over all an Italian ecclesiastic, grinning with satisfaction at the increase of his wealth,--caballing, cheating, and lying, but keeping a firm grasp of power:--no country was ever so split into faction or so denuded of great men. It seemed, indeed, like a demoniacal caricature of our British troubles: no sternness, no reality; love-letters and witty verses supplying the place of the Biblical language and awful earnestness of the words and deeds of the Covenanters and Independents; the gentlemen of France utterly debased and frivolized; religion ridiculed; nothing left of the old landmarks; and no Cromwell possible. But, while all these elements of confusion were heaving and tumbling in what seemed an inextricable chaos, Mazarin, the vainest and most selfish of charlatans, died, and the young king, whom he had kept in distressing dependence and the profoundest political inactivity, found himself delivered from a master and free to choose his path. This was in 1661. Charles and Louis were equally on their recovered thrones; for what exile had been to the one, Mazarin had been to the other. [A.D. 1641-1660.] Charles had had the experience of nineteen years and of various fortunes to guide him. He had seen many men and cities, and he deceived every expectation. Louis had been studiously brought up by his mother and her Italian favourite in the abasement of every lofty aspiration. He was only encouraged in luxury and vice, and kept in such painful vassalage that his shyness and awkwardness revealed the absence of self-respect to the very pages of his court; and he, no less than Charles, deceived all the expectations that had been formed of his career. He found out, as if by intuition, how brightly the monarchical principle still burned in the heart of all the French. Even in their fights and quarrellings there was a deep reverence entertained for the ideal of the throne. The King's name was a tower of strength; and when the nation, in the course of the miserable years from 1610 to 1661, saw the extinction of nobility, religion, law, and almost of civilized society, it caught the first sound that told it it still had a king, as an echo from the past assuring it of its future. It forgot Louis the Thirteenth and Anne of Austria, and only remembered that its monarch was the grandson of Henry the Fourth. Nobody remembered that circumstance so vividly as Louis himself; but he remembered also that his line went upwards from the Bourbons, and included the Saint Louis of the thirteenth century and the renewer of the Roman Empire of the ninth. He let the world know, therefore, that his title was Most Christian King as well as foremost of European powers. He forced Spain to yield him precedence, and, for the first time in history, exacted a humiliating apology from the Pope. The world is always apt to take a man at his own valuation. Louis, swelling with pride, ambitious of fame, and madly fond of power, declared himself the greatest, wisest, and most magnificent of men; and everybody believed him. Every thing was soon changed throughout the land. Ministers had been more powerful than the crown, and had held unlimited authority in right of their appointment. A minister was nothing more to Louis than a _valet-de-chambre_. He gave him certain work to do, and rewarded him if he did it; if he neglected it, he discharged him. At first the few relics of the historic names of France, the descendants of the great vassals, who carried their heads as lofty as the Capets or Valois, looked on with surprise at the new arrangements in camp and court. But the people were too happy to escape the oligarchic confederacy of those hereditary oppressors to encourage them in their haughty disaffection. Before Louis had been three years on the unovershadowed throne, the struggle had been fairly entered on by all the orders of the State, which should be most slavish in its submission. Rank, talent, beauty, science, and military fame all vied with each other in their devotion to the king. He would have been more than mortal if he had retained his senses unimpaired amid the intoxicating fumes of such incense. Success in more important affairs came to the support of his personal assumptions. Victories followed his standards everywhere. Generals, engineers, and administrators, of abilities hitherto unmatched in Europe, sprang up whenever his requirements called them forth. Colbert doubled his income without increasing the burdens on his people. Turenne, Condé, Luxembourg, and twenty others, led his armies. Vauban strengthened his fortifications or conducted his sieges, and the dock-yards of Toulon and Brest filled the Mediterranean and the Atlantic with his fleets. Poets like Molière, Corneille, and Racine ennobled his stage; while the genius of Bossuet and Fénélon inaugurated the restoration of religion. For eight-and-twenty years his fortunes knew no ebb. He was the object of all men's hopes and fears, and almost of their prayers. Nothing was too great or too minute for his decision. He was called on to arbitrate (with the authority of a master) between sovereign States, and to regulate a point of precedence between the duchesses of his court. Oh, the weary days and nights of that uneasy splendour at Versailles! when his steps were watched by hungry courtiers, and his bed itself surrounded by applicants for place and favour. No galley-slave ever toiled harder at his oar than this monarch of all he surveyed at the management of his unruly family. It was the day of etiquette and form. The rights of princesses to arm-chairs or chairs with only a back were contested with a vigour which might have settled the succession to a throne. The rank which entitled to a seat in the king's coach or an invitation to Marly was disputed almost with bloodshed, and certainly with scandal and bitterness. The depth of the bows exacted by a prince of the blood, the number of attendants necessary for a legitimated son of La Vallière or Montespan, put the whole court into a turmoil of angry parties; and all these important points, and fifty more of equal magnitude, were formally submitted to the king and decided with a gravity befitting a weightier cause. Nothing is more remarkable in the midst of these absurd inanities than the great fund of good common sense that is found in all the king's judgments. He meditates, and temporizes, and reasons; and only on great occasions, such as a quarrel about dignity between the wife of the dauphin and the Duchess of Maine, does he put on the terrors of his kingly frown and interpose his irresistible command. It would have been some consolation to the foreign potentates he bullied or protected--the Austrian and Spaniard, or Charles in Whitehall--if they had known what a wretched and undignified life their enslaver and insulter lived at home. It was whispered, indeed, that he was tremendously hen-pecked by Madame de Maintenon, whom he married without having the courage to elevate her to the throne; but none of them knew the pettinesses, the degradations, and the miseries of his inner circle. They thought, perhaps, he was planning some innovation in the order of affairs in Europe,--the destruction of a kingdom, or the change of a dynasty. He was devoting his deepest cogitations to the arrangement of a quarrel between his sons and his daughters-in-law, the invitations to a little supper-party in his private room, or the number of steps it was necessary to advance at the reception of a petty Italian sovereign. The quarrels between his children became more bitter; the little supper-parties became more dull. Death came into the gilded chambers, and he was growing old and desolate. Still the torturing wheel of ceremony went round, and the father, with breaking heart, had to leave the chamber of his deceased son, and act the part of a great king, and go through the same tedious forms of grandeur and routine which he had done before the calamity came. Fancy has never drawn a personage more truly pitiable than Louis growing feeble and friendless in the midst of all that magnificence and all that heartless crowd. You pardon him for retiring for consolation and sympathy to the quiet apartment where Madame de Maintenon received him without formality and continued her needlework or her reading while he was engaged in council with his ministers. He must have known that to all but her he was an Office and not a Man. He yearned for somebody that he could trust in and consult with, as entering into his thoughts and interests; and that calm-blooded, meek-mannered, narrow-hearted woman persuaded him that in her he had found all that his heart thirsted for in the desert of his royalty. But in that little apartment he was now to find refuge from more serious calamities than the falsehood of courtiers or the quarrels of women. Even French loyalty was worn out at last. Victories had glorified the monarch, but brought poverty and loss to the population. Complaints arose in all parts of the country of the excess of taxation, the grasping dishonesty of the collectors, the extravagance of the court, and even--but this was not openly whispered--the selfishness of the king. He had lavished ten millions sterling on the palace and gardens of Versailles; he had enriched his sycophants with pensions on the Treasury; he had gratified the Church with gorgeous donations, and with the far more fatal gift of vengeance upon its opponents. The Huguenots were in the peaceful enjoyment of the rights secured to them by the Edict of Nantes, granted by Henry the Fourth in 1598. But those rights included the right of worshipping God in a different manner from the Church, and denying the distinguishing doctrines of the Holy Catholic faith. [A.D. 1685.] The Edict of Toleration was repealed as a blot on the purity of the throne of the Most Christian King. Thousands of the best workmen in France were banished by this impolitic proceeding, and Louis thought he had shown his attachment to his religion by sending the ingenuity and wealth, and glowing animosity, of the most valuable portion of his subjects into other lands. Germany calculated that the depopulation caused by his wars was more than compensated by the immigration. England could forgive him his contemptuous behaviour to her king and Parliament when she saw the silk-mills of Spitalfields supplied by the skilled workmen of Lyons. Eight hundred thousand people left their homes in consequence of this proscription of their religion, and Germany and Switzerland grew rich with the stream of fugitives. It is said that only five thousand found their way to this country,--enough to set the example of peaceful industry and to introduce new methods of manufacture. But the full benefit of the measures of Louis and Maintenon was denied us, by the distrust with which the Protestant exiles looked on the accession to our throne of a narrower despot and more bigoted persecutor than Louis; for in this same year James the Second succeeded Charles. Relying on each other's support, and gratified with the formal approval of the repeal of the Edict of Nantes pronounced by the Pope, the two champions of Christendom pursued their way,--dismissals from office, exclusion from promotion, proscription from worship in France, and assaults on the Church, and bloody assizes, in England,--till all the nations felt that a great crisis was reached in the fortunes both of England and France, and Protestant and Romanist alike looked on in expectation of the winding-up of so strange a history. Judicial blindness was equally on the eyes of the two potentates chiefly interested. James remained inactive while William Prince of Orange, the avowed chief of the new opinions, was getting ready his ships and army, and congratulated himself on the silence of his people, which he thought was the sign of their acquiescence instead of the hush of expectation. All the other powers--the Papal Chair included--were not sorry to see a counterpoise to the predominance of France; and when William appeared in England as the deliverer from Popery and oppression, the battle was decided without a blow. [A.D. 1688.] James was a fugitive in his turn, and found his way to Versailles. It is difficult to believe that any of the blood of Scotland or Navarre flowed in the veins of the pusillanimous king. He begged his protector, through whose councils he had lost his kingdom, to give it him back again; and the opportunity of a theatrical display of grandeur and magnanimity was too tempting to be thrown away. Louis promised to restore him his crown, as if it were a broken toy. It was a strange sight, during the remainder of their lives, to see those two monarchs keeping up the dignity of their rank by exaggerations of their former state. No mimic stage ever presented a more piteous spectacle of poverty and tinsel than the royal pair. Punctilios were observed at their meetings and separations, as if a bow more or less were of as much consequence as the bestowal or recovery of Great Britain; and in the estimation of those professors of manners and deportment a breach of etiquette would have been more serious than La Hogue or the Boyne. In that wondrous palace of Versailles all things had long ceased to be real. Speeches were made for effect, and dresses and decorations had become a part of the art of governing, and for some years the system seemed to succeed. When the king required to show that he was still a conqueror like Alexander the Great, preparations were made for his reception at the seat of war, and a pre-arranged victory was attached lo his arrival, as Cleopatra wished to fix a broiled fish to Anthony's hook. He entered the town of Mons in triumph when Luxembourg had secured its fall. He appeared also with unbounded applause at the first siege of Namur, and carried in person the news of his achievement to Versailles. Every day came couriers hot and tired with intelligence of fresh successes. Luxembourg conquered at Fleurus, 1690; Catinat conquered Savoy, 1691; Luxembourg again, in 1692, had gained the great day of Steinkirk, and Nerwinde in 1693. But the tide now turned. William the Third was the representative at that time of the stubbornness of his new subjects' character, who have always found it difficult to see that they were defeated. He was generally forced to retire after a vigorously-contested fight; but he was always ready to fight again next day, always calm and determined, and as confident as ever in the firmness of his men. Reports very different from the glorious bulletins of the earlier years of the Great Monarch now came pouring in. Namur was retaken, Dieppe and Havre bombarded, all the French establishments in India seized by the Dutch, their colony at St. Domingo captured by the English, Luxembourg dead, and the whole land again, for the second time, exhausted of men and money. It was another opportunity for the display of his absolute power. France prayed him to grant peace to Europe, and the earthly divinity granted France's prayer. Europe itself, which had rebelled against him, accepted the pacification it had won by its battles and combinations, as if it were a gift from a superior being. [A.D. 1697.] He surrendered his conquests with such grandeur, and looked so dignified while he withdrew his pretensions, acknowledging the Prince of Orange to be King of England, and the King of England to have no claim on the crown he had promised to restore to him, that it took some time to perceive that the terms of the Peace of Ryswick were proofs of weakness and not of magnanimity. But the object of his life had been gained. He had abased every order in the State for the aggrandizement of the Crown, and, for the first time since the termination of the Roman Empire, had concentrated the whole power of a nation into the will of an individual. And this strange spectacle of a possessor of unlimited authority over the lives and fortunes of all his subjects was presented in an age that had seen Charles the First of England brought to the block and James the Second driven into exile! The chance of France's peacefully rising again from this state of depression into liberty would have been greater if Louis, in displacing the other authorities, had not disgraced them. He dissolved his Parliament, not with a file of soldiers, like Cromwell or Napoleon, but with a riding-whip in his hand. He degraded the nobility by making them the satellites of his throne and creatures of his favour. He humbled the Church by secularizing its leaders; so that Bossuet, bishop and orator as he was, was proud to undertake the office of peacemaker between him and Madame de Montespan in one of their lovers' quarrels. And the Frenchmen of the next century looked in vain for some rallying-point from which to begin their forward course towards constitutional improvement. They found nothing but parliaments contemned, nobles dishonoured, and priests unchristianized. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. Kings of France. A.D. LOUIS XIV.--(_cont._) 1715. LOUIS XV. 1774. LOUIS XVI. 1793. LOUIS XVII. Emperors of Germany. A.D. LEOPOLD I.--(_cont._) 1705. JOSEPH I. 1711. CHARLES VI. 1740. MARIA-THERESA. 1742. CHARLES VII. 1745. FRANCIS I. 1765. JOSEPH II. 1790. LEOPOLD II. 1792. FRANCIS II. Kings of England and Scotland. A.D. WILLIAM III. and MARY.--(_cont._) 1702. ANNE. (_Great Britain_, 1707.) 1714. GEORGE I. } 1727. GEORGE II. } House of Hanover. 1760. GEORGE III. } Kings of Spain. A.D. 1700. PHILIP V. 1724. LOUIS I. 1724. PHILIP V. again. 1745. FERDINAND VI. 1759. CHARLES III. 1788. CHARLES IV. Distinguished Men. ADDISON, STEELE, SWIFT, POPE, ROBERTSON, HUME, GIBBON, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU, LESAGE, MARMONTEL, MONTESQUIEU, FRANKLIN, (1706-1790,) JOHNSON, (1709-1784,) GOLDSMITH, (1728-1774,) WOLFE, (1726-1759,) WASHINGTON, (1732-1799.) THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. INDIA--AMERICA--FRANCE. The characteristic feature of this period is constant change on the greatest scale. Hitherto changes have occurred in the internal government of nations: the monarchic or popular feeling has found its expression in the alternate elevation of the Kingly or Parliamentary power. But in this most momentous of the centuries, nations themselves come into being or disappear. Russia and Prussia for the first time play conspicuous parts in the great drama of human affairs. France, which begins the century with the despotic Louis the Fourteenth at its head, leaves it as a vigorous Republic, with Napoleon Buonaparte as its First Consul. The foundations of a British empire were laid in India, which before the end of the period more than compensated for the loss of that other empire in the West, which is now the United States of America. It was the century of the breaking of old traditions, and of the introduction of new systems in life and government,--more complete in its transformations than the splitting up into hitherto unheard-of nationalities of the old Roman world had been; for what Goth and Vandal, and Frank and Lombard, were to the political geography of Europe in the earlier time, new modes of thought, both religious and political, were to the moral constitution of that later date. The barbarous invasions of the early centuries were the overflowing of rivers by the breaking down of the embankments; the revolutionary madness of France was the sudden detachment of an avalanche which had been growing unobserved, but which at last a voice or a footstep was sufficient to set in motion. In all nations it was a period of doubt and uneasiness. Something was about to happen, but nobody could say what. The political sleight-of-hand men, who considered the safety of the world to depend on the balance of power, where a weight must be cast into one scale, exactly sufficient, and not more than sufficient, to keep the other in equilibrio, were never so much puzzled since the science of balancing began. A vast country, hitherto omitted from their calculations, or only considered as a make-weight against Sweden or Denmark, suddenly came forward to be a check, and sometimes an over-weight, to half the states in Europe. Something had therefore to be found to be a counterpoise to the twenty millions of men and illimitable dominions of the Russian Czars. This was close at the conjurer's hand in Prussia and her Austrian neighbour. Counties were added,--populations fitted in,--Silesia given to the one, Gallicia added to the other; and at last the whole of Poland, which had ceased to be of any importance in its separate existence, was cut up into such portions as might be required, with here a fragment and there a fragment, till the scales stood pretty even, and the three contiguous kingdoms were satisfied with their respective shares of infamy and plunder. If you hear, therefore, of robberies upon a gigantic scale,--no longer the buccaneering exploits of a few isolated adventurers in the Western seas, but of kingdoms deliberately stolen, or imperiously taken hold of by the right of the strong hand; of the same Titanic magnitude distinguishing almost all other transactions; colonies throwing off their allegiance, and swelling out into hostile empires, instead of the usual discontent and occasional quarrellings between the mother-country and her children; of whole nations breaking forth into anarchy, instead of the former local efforts at reformation ending in temporary civil strife; of commercial speculations reaching the sublime of swindling and credulity, and involving whole populations in ruin; and of commercial establishments, on the other hand, vaster even in their territorial acquisitions than all the conquests of Alexander,--you are to remember that these things can only have happened in the Eighteenth Century; the century when the trammels of all former experiences were thrown off, and when wealth, power, energy, and mental aspirations were pushed to an unexampled excess. This exaggerated action of the age is shown in the one great statement which nearly comprehends all the rest. The Debt of this country, which at the beginning of this century was sixteen millions and a half and tormented our forefathers with fears of bankruptcy, had risen at the end of it, in the heroic madness of conquest and national pride, to the sum of three hundred and eighty millions, without a doubt of our perfect competency to sustain the burden. If the tendency of affairs on the other side of our encircling sea was to pull down, to destroy, to modify, and to redistribute, the tendency at home was to build up and consolidate; so that in almost exact proportion to the wild experiments and frantic strugglings of other nations after something new--new principles of government, new theories of society--there arose in this country a dogged spirit of resistance to all alterations, and a persistence in old paths and old opinions. The charms which constitution-mongers saw in untried novelties and philosophic systems existed for John Bull only in what had stood the wear and tear of hundreds of years. The Prussians, Austrians, Americans, and finally the French, were groping after vague abstractions; and Frederick the Soldier, and Joseph the Philanthropist, and Citizen Franklin, and Lafayette and Mirabeau, were each in their own way carried away with the delusion of a golden age; but the English statesmen clung rigidly to the realities of life,--declared the universal fraternity of nations to be a cry of knaves or hypocrites,--and answered all exclamations about the dignity of humanity and the sovereignty of the people with "Rule Britannia," and "God save the King." How deeply this sentiment of loyalty and traditionary Toryism is seated in the national mind is proved by nothing so much as by the dreadful ordeal it had to go through in the days of the first two Georges. It certainly was a faith altogether independent of external circumstances, which saw the divinity that hedges kings in such vulgar, gossiping, and undignified individuals. And yet through all the troubled years of their reigns the great British heart beat true with loyalty to the throne, though it was grieved with the proceedings of the sovereigns; and when the third George gave it a man to rally round--as truly native-born as the most indigenous of the people, as stubborn, as strong-willed, and as determined to resist innovation as the most consistent of the squires and most anti-foreign of the citizens--the nation attained a point of union which had never been known in all their previous history, and looked across the Channel, at the insanity of the perplexed populations and the threats of their furious leaders, with a growl of contempt and hatred which warned their democrats and incendiaries of the fate that awaited them here. There are times in all national annals when the narrowest prejudices have an amazing resemblance to the noblest virtues. When Hannibal was encamped at the gates of Rome, the bigoted old Patricians in the forum carried on their courts of law as usual, and would not deduct a farthing from the value of the lands they set up for sale, though the besieger was encamped upon them. When a king of Sicily offered a great army and fleet for the defence of Greece against the Persians, the Athenian ambassador said, "Heaven forefend that a man of Athens should serve under a foreign admiral!" The Lacedemonian ambassador said the Spartans would put him to death if he proposed any man but a Spartan to command their troops; and those very prejudiced and narrow-minded patriots were reduced to the necessity of exterminating the invaders by themselves. Great Britain, in the year 1800, was also of opinion that she was equal to all the world,--that she could hold her own whatever powers might be gathered against her,--and would not have exchanged her Hood, and Jervis, and Nelson, for the assistance of all the fleets of Europe. Nothing seems to die out so rapidly as the memory of martial achievements. The military glory of this country is a thing of fits and starts. Cressy and Poictiers left us at a pitch of reputation which you might have supposed would have lasted for a long time. But in a very few years after those victories the English name was a byword of reproach. All the conquests of the Edwards were wrenched away, and it needed only the short period of the reign of Richard the Second to sink the recollection of the imperturbable line and inevitable shaft. Henry the Fifth and Agincourt for a moment brought the previous triumphs into very vivid remembrance. But civil dissensions between York and Lancaster blunted the English sword upon kindred helmets, and peaceful Henry the Seventh loaded the subject with intolerable taxes, and his son wasted his treasures in feasts and tournaments. The long reigns of Elizabeth and James were undistinguished by British armies performing any separate achievements on the Continent; and again civil war lavished on domestic fields an amount of courage and conduct which would have eclipsed all previous actions if exhibited on a wider scene. We need not, therefore, be surprised, if, after the astonishing course of Louis the Fourteenth's arms, the discomfiture of his adversaries, the constant repulses of the English contingent which fought under William in Flanders, and at last the quiet, looking so like exhaustion, which ushered in the Eighteenth Century, the British forces were despised, and we were confessed, in the ludicrous cant which at intervals becomes fashionable still, to be not a military nation. How this astounding proposition agrees with the fact that we have met in battle every single nation, and tribe, and kindred, and tongue, on the face of the whole earth, in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, and have beaten them all; how it further agrees with the fact that no civilized power was ever engaged in such constant and multitudinous wars, so that there is no month or week in the history of the last two hundred years in which it can be said we were not interchanging shot or sabre-stroke somewhere or other on the surface of the globe; how, further still, the statement is to be reconciled with the fact, perceptible to all mankind, that the result of these engagements is an unexampled growth of influence and empire,--the acquisition of kingdoms defended by millions of warriors in Hindostan, of colonies ten times the extent of the conqueror's realm, defended by Montcalm and the armies of France,--we must leave to the individuals who make it: the truth being that the British people is not only the most military nation the world has ever seen, not excepting the Roman, but the most warlike. It is impossible to say when these pages may meet the reader's eye; but, at whatever time it may be, he has only to look at the "Times" newspaper of that morning, and he will see that either in the East or the West, in China or the Cape, or the Persian Gulf, or on the Indus, or the Irrawaddy, the meteor flag is waved in bloody advance. And this seems an indispensable part of the British position. She is so ludicrously small upon the map, and so absorbed in speculation, so padded with cotton, and so sunk in coal-pits, that it is only constant experience of her prowess that keeps the world aware of her power. The other great nations can repose upon their size, and their armies of six or seven hundred thousand men. Nobody would think France or Russia weak because they were inactive. But with us the case is different: we must fight or fall. Twice in the century we are now engaged on, we rose to be first of the military states in Europe, and twice, by mere inaction, we sank to the rank of Portugal or Naples. Charles the Second of Spain died in November, 1700,--a person so feeble in health and intellect that in a lower state of life he would have been put in charge of guardians and debarred from the management of his affairs. As he was a king, these duties were performed on his behalf by the priests, and the wretched young man--he succeeded at three years old--was nothing but the slave and plaything of his confessor. Yet, though his existence was of no importance, his decease set all Europe in turmoil. By his testament, obtained from him on his death-bed, he appointed the grandson of Louis the Fourteenth his heir. A previous will had nominated Charles of Austria. A previous treaty between Louis and William of England and the States of Holland had arranged a partition of the Spanish monarchy for the benefit of the contracting parties and the maintenance of the balance of power. But now, when a choice was to be made between the wills and the treaty, between the balance of power and his personal ambition, the temptation was too great for the cupidity of the Grand Monarque. He accepted the throne of Spain and the Indies for his grandson Philip of Anjou, and sent him over the Pyrenees to take possession of his dignity. The stroke was so sudden that people were silent from surprise. A French prince at Madrid, at Milan, and Naples, was only the lieutenant in those capitals for the French king. The preponderance of the house of Bourbon was dangerous to the liberties of Europe, and when the house of Bourbon was represented by the haughtiest, and vainest, and most insulting of men, the dignity of the remaining sovereigns was offended by his ostentatious superiority; and the house of Austria, which in the previous century had been the terror of statesmen and princes, was turned to as a shelter from its successful rival, and all the world prepared to defend the cause of the Austrian Charles. The affairs of Europe, which were disturbed by the death of an imbecile king in Spain, were further complicated by the death of a still more imbecile king at St. Germain's. James the Second brought his strange life to a close in 1701; and, though the advisers of Louis pointed out the consequence of offending England at that particular time by recognising the Prince of Wales as inheritor of the English crown, the vanity of the old man who could not forego the luxury of having a crowned king among his attendants prevailed over his better knowledge, and one day, to the amazement of courtiers and council, he gave the royal reception to James the Third, and threw down the gauntlet to William and England, which they were not slow to take up. William of Orange was not popular among his new subjects, and was always looked on as a foreigner. Perhaps the memory of Ruyter and Van Tromp was still fresh enough to make him additionally disliked because he was a Dutchman. But when it was known over the country that the bigoted and insulting despot in Paris had nominated a King of England, while the man the nation had chosen was still alive in Whitehall, the indignation of all classes was roused, and found its expression in loyalty and attachment to their deliverer from Popery and persecution. Great exertions were made to conduct the war on a scale befitting the importance of the interests at stake. Addresses poured in, with declarations of devotion to the throne; troops were raised, and taxes voted; and in the midst of these preparations, the King, prematurely old, in the fifty-third year of his age, died of a fall from his horse at Kensington, in March, 1702, and the powers of Europe felt that the best soldier they possessed was lost to the cause. Rather it was a fortunate thing for the confederated princes that William died at this time; for he never rose to the rank of a first-rate commander, and was so ambitious of glory and power that he would not have left the way clear for a greater than himself. This was found in Marlborough. Military science was the characteristic of this illustrious general; and no one before his time had ever possessed in an equal degree the power of attaching an army to its chief, or of regulating his strategic movements by the higher consideration of policy and statesmanship. For the first time, in English history at least, a march was equivalent to a battle. A change of his camp, or even a temporary retreat, was as effectual as a victory; and it was seen by the clearer observers of the time that a campaign was a game of skill, and not of the mere dash and intrepidity which appeal to the vulgar passions of our nature. Not so, however, the general public: their idea of war was a succession of hard knocks, with enormous lists of the killed and wounded. A manoeuvre, without a charge of bayonets at the end of it, was little better than cowardice; and complaints were loud and common against the inactivity of a man who, by dint of long-prepared combinations, compelled the enemy to retreat by a mere shift of position and cleared the Low Countries of its invaders without requiring to strike a blow. "Let them see how we can fight," cried all the corporations in the realm: "anybody can march and pitch his camp." And it is not impossible that the foreign populations who had never seen the red-coats, or, at most, who had only known them acting as auxiliaries to the Dutch and often compelled to retire before the numbers and impetuosity of the French, had no expectation of success when they should be fairly brought opposite their former antagonists. Friends and foes alike were prepared for a renewal of the days of Luxembourg and Turenne. In this they were not disappointed; for a pupil of Turenne renewed, in a very remarkable manner, the glories of his master. Marlborough had served under that great commander, and profited by his lessons. He had fifty thousand British soldiers under his undivided command; and, to please the grumblers at home and the doubters abroad, he made the reign of Anne the most glorious in the English military annals by thick-coming fights, still unforgotten, though dimmed by the exploits of the more illustrious Wellington. The first of these was Blenheim, against the French and Bavarians, in 1704. How different this was from the hand-to-hand thrust and parry of ancient times is shown by the fate of a strong body of French, who were so posted on this occasion that the duke saw they were in his power without requiring to fire a gun. He sent his aid-de-camp, Lord Orkney, to them to point out the hopelessness of their position; and when he rode up, accompanied by a French officer, to act, perhaps, as his interpreter, a shout of gratulation broke from the unsuspecting Frenchmen. "Is it a prisoner you have brought us?" they asked their countryman. "Alas! no," he replies: "Lord Orkney has come from Marlborough to tell you you are his prisoners. His lordship offers you your lives." A glance at the contending armies confirmed the truth of this appalling communication, and the brigade laid down its arms. The tide of victory, once begun, knew no ebb till the grandeur of Louis the Fourteenth was overwhelmed. Disgraces followed quickly one upon the other,--marshals beaten, towns taken, conquests lost, his wealth exhausted, his people discontented, and the bravest of his generals hopeless of success. Prince Eugene of Savoy, equal to Marlborough in military genius, was more embittered against the French monarch, to whom he had offered his services, and who had had the folly to reject them. France, on the side of Germany and the Low Countries, was pressed upon by the triumphant invaders. In Spain, the affairs of the new king were more desperate still. Gibraltar was taken in 1704. Lord Peterborough, a wiser Quixote, of whose victories it is difficult to say whether they were the result of madness or skill, marched through the kingdom at the head of six or seven thousand English and conquered wherever he went. When the war had lasted eight or nine years, the reputation of Marlborough and the British arms was at its height. Our fleets were masters of the sea, and the Grand Monarque sent humble petitions to the opposing powers for peace upon any terms. People tell us that Marlborough rejected all overtures which might have deprived him of the immense emoluments he received for carrying on the war. [A.D. 1711.] Perhaps, also, he was inspired by the love of fame; but, whether meanness or ambition was his motive, his warlike propensities were finally overcome,--for his wife, the imperious duchess, quarrelled with Queen Anne,--the ministry was changed, and the jealousies of Whitehall interfered with the campaigns in Flanders. [A.D. 1713.] Marlborough was displaced, and a peace patched up, which, under the name of the Peace of Utrecht, is quoted as showing what small fruits British diplomacy sometimes derives from British valour. Louis the Fourteenth, conquered at all points, his kingdom exhausted, and all his reputation gone, saw his grandson in possession of the crown which had been the original cause of the war, and Great Britain rewarded for all her struggles by the empty glory of filling up the harbour of Dunkirk, and the scarcely more substantial advantage, as many considered it at the time, of retaining Gibraltar, a barren rock, and Minorca, a useless island. After this, we find a long period of inaction on the continent produce its usual effect. When thirty years had passed without the foreign populations having sight of the British grenadiers, they either forgot their existence altogether, or had persuaded themselves that the new generation had greatly deteriorated from the old.[A.D. 1743.] [A.D. 1745.] It needed the victory of Dettingen, and the more glorious repulse of Fontenoy, to recall the soldiers of Oudenarde and Malplaquet. In the interval, amazing things had been going on. Even while the career of Marlborough was attended with such glory in arms, a peaceful achievement was accomplished of far more importance than all his victories. An Act of Union between the two peoples who occupied the Isle was passed by both their Parliaments in 1707, and England and Scotland disappeared in their separate nationalities, to receive the more dignified appellation of the Kingdom of Great Britain. This was a statesman's triumph; for the popular feeling on both sides of the Tweed was against it. Scotland considered herself sold; and England thought she was cheated. Clauses were introduced to preserve, as far as possible, the distinctions which each thought it for its honour to keep up. National peculiarities exaggerated themselves to prevent the chance of being obliterated; and Scotchmen were never as Scotch, nor Englishmen ever so English, as at the time when these denominations were about to cease. As neighbours, with the mere tie between them of being subjects of the same crown, they were on amicable and respectful terms. But when the alliance was proposed to be more intimate, their interests to be considered identical and the Parliaments to be merged in one, both parties took the alarm. "The preponderating number of English members would scarcely be affected by the miserable forty-five votes reserved for the Scotch representatives," said Caledonia, stern and wild. "The compact phalanx of forty-five determined Scotchmen will give them the decision of every question brought before Parliament," replied England, with equal fear,--and equal misapprehension, as it happily turned out. When eight years had elapsed after this great event in our domestic history, with just sufficient experience of the new machinery to find out some of its defects, it was put to the proof by an incident which might have been fatal to a far longer established system of government. This was a rebellion in favour of the exiled Stuarts. James the Third, whom we saw recognised by Louis the Fourteenth on the death of his father in 1701, made his appearance among the Highlanders of the North in 1714, and summoned them to support his family claims. But the memory of his ancestors was too recent. Men of middle age remembered James the Second in his tyrannical supremacy at Holyrood. The time was not sufficiently remote for romance to have gathered round the harsh reality and hidden its repulsive outlines. A few months showed the Pretender the hopelessness of his attempt; and the tranquillity of the country was considered to be re-established when the adherents of the losing cause were visited with the harshest penalties. The real result of these vindictive punishments was, that they added the spirit of revenge for private wrong to the spirit of loyalty to the banished line. Many circumstances concurred to favour the defeated candidate, who seemed to require to do nothing but bide his time. The throne was no longer held, even under legalized usurpation, as the discontented expressed it, by one of the ancient blood. [A.D. 1714.] A foreigner, old and stupid, had come over from Hanover and claimed the Parliamentary crown, and the few remaining links of attachment which kept the high-prerogative men and the Roman Catholics inactive in the reign of Queen Anne, the daughter of their rightful king, lost all their power over them on the advent of George the First, who had to trace up through mother and grandmother till he struck into the royal pedigree in the reign of James the First. It was thought hard that descent from that champion of monarchic authority and hereditary right should be pleaded as a title to a crown dependent on the popular choice. As years passed on, the number of the discontented was of course increased. Whoever considered himself neglected by the intrusive government turned instinctively to the rival house. A courtier offended by the brutal manners of the Hanoverian rulers looked longingly across the sea to the descendant of his lineal kings. The foreign predilections, and still more foreign English, of the coarse-minded Georges, made them unpopular with the weak or inconsiderate, who did not see that a very inelegant pronunciation might be united with a true regard for the interests of their country. The commercial passions of the nations succeeded to the military enthusiasm of the past age, and brought their usual fruits of selfish competition and social degradation. Money became the most powerful principle of public and private life: Sir Robert Walpole, a man of perfect honesty himself, founded his ministry on the avowed disbelief of personal honesty among all classes of the people; and there were many things which appeared to justify his incredulity. [A.D. 1720.] There was the South-Sea Bubble, a swindling speculation, to which our own railway-mania is the only parallel, where lords and ladies, high ecclesiastics and dignified office-bearers, the highest and the lowest, rushed into the wildest excesses of gambling and false play, and which caused a greater loss of character and moral integrity than even of money to its dupes and framers. There was the acknowledged system of rewarding a ministerial vote with notes for five hundred or a thousand pounds. There were the party libels of the time, all imputing the greatest iniquities to the object of their vituperation, and left uncontradicted except by savage proceedings at law or by similar insinuations against the other side. There were philosophers like Bolingbroke and clergymen like Swift. But let us distinguish between the performers on the great scenes of life, the place hunter at St. James's, and the great body of the English and Scottish gentry, and their still undepraved friends and neighbours, whom it is the fashion to involve in the same condemnation of recklessness and dishonour. We are to remember that the dregs of the former society were not yet cleared away. The generation had been brought up at the feet of the professors of morality and religion as they were practised in the days of Charles and James, with Congreve and Wycherly for their exponents on the stage and Dryden for their poet-laureate. It seems a characteristic of literature that it becomes pure in proportion as it becomes powerful. While it is the mere vehicle for amusement or the exercise of wit and fancy, it does not care in what degrading quarters its materials are found. But when it feels that its voice is influential and its lessons attended to by a wider audience, it rises to the height of the great office to which it is called, and is dignified because it is conscious of its authority. In the incontestable amendment visible in the writings of the period of Anne and the Georges, we find a proof that the vices of the busy politicians and gambling speculators were not shared by the general public. The papers of the _Spectator_ and _Tatler_, the writings of Pope and Arbuthnot, were not addressed to a depraved or sensualized people, as the works of Rochester and Sedley had been. When we talk, therefore, of the Augustan age of Anne, we are to remember that its freedom from grossness and immorality is still more remarkable than its advance in literary merit, and we are to look on the conduct of intriguing directors and bribed members of Parliament as the relics of a time about to pass away and to give place to truer ideas of commercial honesty and public duty. The country, in spite of coarseness of manners and language, was still sound at heart. The jolly squire swore at inconvenient seasons and drank beyond what was right, but he kept open house to friend and tenant, administered justice to the best of his ability, had his children Christianly and virtuously brought up, and was a connecting link in his own neighbourhood between the great nobles who affected almost a princely state, and the snug merchant in the country town, or retired citizen from London, whom he met at the weekly club. The glimpses we get of the social status of the country gentlemen of Queen Anne make us enamoured of their simple ways and patriarchal position. For the argument to be drawn from the character and friends of Sir Roger de Coverly and the delightful Lady Lizard and her daughters, is that the great British nation was still the home of the domestic affections, that the behaviour was pure though the grammar was a little faulty, and the ideas modest and becoming though the expression might be somewhat unadorned. Hence it was that, when the trial came, the heart of all the people turned to the uninviting but honest man who filled the British throne. George the Second became a hero, because the country was healthy at the core. A son of the old Pretender, relying on the lax morality of the statesmen and the venality of the courtiers, forgot the unshaken firmness and dogged love of the right which was yet a living principle among the populations of both the nations, and landed in the North of Scotland in 1745, to recover the kingdom of his ancestors by force of arms. The kingdoms, however, had got entirely out of the habit of being recovered by any such means. The law had become so powerful, and was so guarded by forms and precedents, that Prince Charles Edward would have had a better chance of obtaining his object by an action of ejectment, or a suit of recovery, than by the aid of sword and bayonet. Everybody knows the main incidents of this romantic campaign,--the successful battles which gave the insurgents the apparent command of the Lowlands,--the advance into England,--the retreat from Derby,--the disasters of the rebel army, and its final extinction at Culloden. But, although to us it appears a very serious state of affairs,--a crown placed on the arbitrament of war, battles in open field, surprise on the part of the Hanoverians, and loud talking on the part of their rivals,--the tranquillity of all ranks and in all quarters is the most inexplicable thing in the whole proceeding. When the landing was first announced, alarm was of course felt, as at a fair when it is reported that a tiger has broken loose from the menagerie. But in a little time every thing resumed its ordinary appearance. George himself cried, "Pooh! pooh! Don't talk to me of such nonsense." His ministers, who probably knew the state of public feeling, were equally unconcerned. A few troops were brought over from the Continent, to show that force was not wanting if the application of it was required. But in other respects no one appeared to believe that the assumed fears of the disaffected, and the no less assumed exultation of the Jacobites, had any foundation in fact. Trade, law, buying and selling, writing and publishing, went on exactly as before. The march of the Pretender was little attended to, except perhaps in the political circles in London. In the great towns it passed almost unheeded. Quiet families within a few miles of the invaders' march posted or walked across to see the uncouth battalions pass. Their strange appearance furnished subjects of conversation for a month; but nowhere does there seem to have been the terror of a real state of war,--the anxious waiting for intelligence, "the pang, the agony, the doubt:" no one felt uneasy as to the result. England had determined to have no more Stuart kings, and Scotland was beginning to feel the benefit of the Union, and left the defence of the true inheritor to the uninformed, discontented, disunited inhabitants of the hills. When the tribes emerged from their mountains, they seemed to melt like their winter snows. No squadrons of stout-armed cavaliers came to join them from holt and farm, as in the days of the Great Rebellion, when the royal flag was raised at Nottingham. Puritans and Independents took no heed, and cried no cries about "the sword of the Lord and of Gideon." They had turned cutlers at Sheffield and fustian-makers at Manchester. The Prince found not only that he created no enthusiasm, but no alarm,--a most painful thing for an invading chief; and, in fact, when they had reached the great central plains of England they felt lost in the immensity of the solitude that surrounded them. If they had met enemies they would have fought; if they had found friends they would have hoped; but they positively wasted away for lack of either confederate or opponent. The expedition disappeared like a small river in sand. What was the use of going on? If they reached London itself, they would be swallowed up in the vastness of the population, and, instead of meeting an army, they would be in danger of being taken up by the police. So they reversed their steps. Donald had stolen considerably in the course of the foray, and was anxious to go and invest his fortune in his native vale. An English guinea--a coin hitherto as fabulous as the _Bodach glas_--would pay the rent of his holding for twenty years; five pounds would make him a cousin of the Laird. But Donald never got back to display the spoils of Carlisle or Derby. He loitered by the road, and was stripped of all his booty. [A.D. 1746.] He was imprisoned, and hanged, and starved, and beaten, and finally, after the strange tragi-comedy of his fight at Falkirk, had the good fortune, on that bare expanse of Drummossie Moor, to hide some of the ludicrous features of his retreat in the glory of a warrior's death. Justice became revenge by its severity after the insurrection was quelled. The followers of the Prince were punished as traitors; but treason means rebellion against an acknowledged government, which extends to its subjects the securities of law. These did not exist in the Highlands. All those distant populations knew of law was the edge of its sword, not the balance of its scales. They saw their chiefs depressed, they remembered the dismal massacre of Glencoe in William's time, and the legal massacres of George the First's. They spoke another language, were different in blood, and manners, and religion, and should have been treated as prisoners of war fighting under a legal banner, and not drawn and quartered as revolted subjects. It is doubtful if one man in the hundred knew the name of the king he was trying to displace, or the position of the prince who summoned him to his camp. Poor, gallant, warm-hearted, ignorant, trusting Gael! His chieftain told him to follow and slay the Saxons, and he required no further instruction. He was not cruel or bloodthirsty in his strange advance. He had no personal enmity to Scot or Englishman, and, with the simple awe of childhood, soon looked with reverence on the proofs of wealth and skill which met him in the crowded cities and cultivated plains. He was subdued by the solemn cathedrals and grand old gentlemen's seats that studded all the road, as some of his ancestors, the ancient Gauls, had been at the sight of the Roman civilization. And, for all these causes, the incursion of the Jacobites left no lasting bitterness among the British peoples. Pity began before long to take the place of opposition; and when all was quite secure, and the Highlanders were fairly subdued, and the Pretender himself was sunk in sloth and drunkenness, a sort of morbid sympathy with the gallant adventurers arose among the new generation. Tender and romantic ballads, purporting to be "Laments for Charlie," and declarations of attachment to the "Young Chevalier," were composed by comfortable ladies and gentlemen, and sung in polished drawing-rooms in Edinburgh and London with immense applause. Macaulay's "Lays of Ancient Rome," or Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," have as much right to be called the contemporary expression of the sacrifice of Virginia or the burial of Dundee as the Jacobite songs to be the living voice of the Forty-Five. Who was there in the Forty-Five, or Forty-Six, or for many years after that date, to write such charming verses? The Highlanders themselves knew not a word of English; the blue bonnets in Scotland were not addicted to the graces of poetry and music. The citizens of England were too busy, the gentlemen of England too little concerned in the rising, to immortalize the landing at Kinloch-Moidart or the procession to Holyrood. The earliest song which commemorates the Pretender's arrival, or laments his fall, was not written within twenty years of his attempt. By that time George the Third was on the safest throne in Europe, and Great Britain was mistress of the trade of India and the illimitable regions of America. It was easy to sing about having our "rightful King," when we were in undisputed possession of the Ganges and the Hudson and had just planted the British colours on Quebec and Montreal. This rebellion of Forty-Five, therefore, is remarkable as a feature in this century, not for the greatness of the interest it excited, but for the small effect it had upon either government or people. It showed on what firm foundations the liberties and religion of the nations rested, that the appearance of armed enemies upon our soil never shook our justly-balanced state. The courts sat at Westminster, and the bells rang for church. People read Thomson's "Seasons," and wondered at Garrick in "Hamlet" at Drury Lane. Meantime, a great contest was going on abroad, which, after being hushed for a while by the peace of 1748, broke out with fiercer vehemence than ever in what is called the Seven Years' War. [A.D. 1756-1763.] The military hero of this period was Frederick the Second of Prussia, by whose genius and skill the kingdom he succeeded to--a match for Saxony or Bavaria--rapidly assumed its position as a first-rate power. A combination of all the old despotisms was formed against him,--not, however, without cause; for a more unprincipled remover of his neighbour's landmarks, and despiser of generosity and justice, never appeared in history. But when he was pressed on one side by Russia and Austria, and on the other by France, and all the little German potentates were on the watch to pounce on the unprotected State and get their respective shares in the general pillage, Frederick placed his life upon the cast, and stood the hazard of the die in many tremendous combats, crushed the belligerents one by one, made forced marches which caught them unawares, and, though often defeated, conducted his retreats so that they yielded him all the fruits of victory. In his extremity he sought and found alliances in the most unlikely quarters. Though a self-willed despot in his own domains, he won the earnest support and liberal subsidies of the freedom-loving English; and though a philosopher of the most amazing powers of unbelief, he awakened the sympathy of all the religious Protestants in our land. All his faults were forgiven--his unchivalrous treatment of the heroic _King_ of Hungary, Maria-Theresa, the Empress-Queen, his assaults upon her territory, and general faithlessness and ambition--on the one strong ground that he opposed Catholics and tyrants, and, though irreligious and even scoffing himself, was at the head of a true-hearted Protestant people. It is not unlikely the instincts of a free nation led us at that time to throw our moral weight, if nothing more, into the scale against the intrusion of a new and untried power which began to take part in the conflicts of Europe; for at this period we find the ill-omened announcement that the Russians have issued from their deserts a hundred thousand strong, and made themselves masters of most of the Prussian provinces. [A.D. 1758.] Though defeated in the great battle of Zorndorf, they never lost the hope of renewing the march they had made eleven years before, when thirty-five thousand of them had rested on the Rhine. But Britain was not blind either to the past or future. At the head of our affairs was a man whose fame continues as fresh at the present hour as in the day of his greatness. William Pitt had been a cornet of horse, and even in his youth had attracted the admiration and hatred of old Sir Robert Walpole by an eloquence and a character which the world has agreed in honouring with the epithet of majestic; and when war was again perplexing the nations, and Britain, as usual, had sunk to the lowest point in the military estimate of the Continent, the Great Commoner, as he was called, took the government into his hands, and the glories of the noblest periods of our annals were immediately renewed or cast into the shade. Wherever the Great Commoner pointed with his finger, success was certain. His fleets swept the seas. Howe and Hawke and Boscawen executed his plans. In the East he was answered by the congenial energy of Clive, and in the West by the heroic bravery of Wolfe. For, though the war in which we were now engaged had commenced nominally for European interests, the crash of arms between France and England extended to all quarters of the world. In India and America equally their troops and policies were opposed, and, in fact, the battle of the two nations was fought out in those distant realms. Our triumph at Plassey and on the Heights of Abraham had an immense reaction on both the peoples at home. And a very cursory glance at those regions, from the middle of the century, will be a fitting introduction to the crowning event of the period we have now reached,--namely, the French Revolution of 1789. The rise of the British Empire in the East, no less than the loss of our dominion in the West, will be found to contribute to that grand catastrophe, of which the results for good and evil will be felt "to the last syllable of recorded time." The first commercial adventure to India was in the bold days of Elizabeth, in 1591. In the course of a hundred years from that time various companies had been established by royal charter, and a regular trade had sprung up. In 1702 all previous charters were consolidated into one, and the East India Company began its career. Its beginning was very quiet and humble. It was a trader, and nothing more; but when it saw a convenient harbour, a favourable landing-place, and an industrious population, it bent as lowly as any Oriental slave at the footstool of the unsuspecting Rajah, and obtained permission to build a storehouse, to widen the wharf, and, finally, to erect a small tower, merely for the defence of its property from the dangerous inhabitants of the town. The storehouses became barracks, the towers became citadels; and by the year 1750 the recognised possessions of the inoffensive and unambitious merchants comprised mighty states, and were dotted at intervals along the coast from Surat and Bombay on the west to Madras and Calcutta on the east and far north. The French also had not been idle, and looked out ill pleased, from their domains at Pondicherry and Chandernagore, on the widely-diffused settlements and stealthy progress of their silent rivals. They might have made as rapid progress, and secured as extensive settlements, if they had imitated their rivals' stealthiness and silence. But power is nothing in the estimation of a Frenchman unless he can wear it like a court suit and display it to all the world. The governors, therefore, of their factories, obtained honours and ornaments from the native princes. One went so far as to forge a gift of almost regal power from the Great Mogul, and sat on a musnud, and was addressed with prostration by his countrymen and the workmen in the warerooms. Wherever the British wormed their way, the French put obstacles in their path. Whether there was peace between Paris and London or not, made no difference to the rival companies on the Coromandel shore. They were always at war, and only cloaked their national hatred under the guise of supporters of opposite pretenders to some Indian throne. Great men arose on both sides. The climate or policies of Hindostan, which weaken the native inhabitant, only call forth the energies and manly virtues of the intrusive settler. No kingdom has such a bead-roll of illustrious names as the British occupation. That one century of "work and will" has called forth more self-reliant heroism and statesmanlike sagacity than any period of three times the extent since the Norman Conquest. From Clive, the first of the line, to the Lawrences and Havelocks of the present day, there has been no pause in the patriotic and chivalrous procession. Clive came just at the proper time. A born general, though sent out in an humble mercantile situation, he retrieved the affairs of his employers and laid the foundation of a new empire for the British crown. Calcutta had been seized by a native ruler, instigated by the French, in 1756. The British residents, to the number of one hundred and forty-six, were packed in a frightful dungeon without a sufficiency of light or air, and, after a night which transcends all nights of suffering and despair, when the prison-doors were thrown open, but twenty-two of the whole number survived. But these were twenty-two living witnesses to the tyranny and cruelty of Surajah Dowlat. Clive was on his track ere many months had passed. Calcutta was recovered, other places were taken, and the battle of Plassey fought. In this unparalleled exploit, Clive, with three thousand soldiers, principally Sepoys, revenged the victims of the Black Hole, by defeating their murderer at the head of sixty thousand men. This was on the 23d of June, 1757; and when in that same year the news of the great European war between the nations came thundering up the Ganges, the victors enlarged their plans. They determined to expel the French from all their possessions in the East; and Admiral Pococke and Colonel Coote were worthy rivals of the gallant Clive. Great fleets encountered in the Indian seas, and victory was always with the British flag. Battles took place by land, and uniformly with the same result. Closer and closer the invading lines converged upon the French; and at last, in 1761, Pondicherry, the last remaining of all their establishments, was taken, after a vigorous defence, and the French influence was at an end in India. These four years, from 1757 to 1761, had been scarcely less prolific of distinguished men on the French side than our own. The last known of these was Lally Tollendal, a man of a furious courage and headstrong disposition, against whom his enemies at home had no ground of accusation except his want of success and savageness of manner. Yet when he returned, after the loss of Pondicherry and a long imprisonment in England, he was attacked with all the vehemence of personal hatred. He was tried for betraying the interests of the king, tortured, and executed. The prosecution lasted many years, and the public rage seemed rather to increase. [A.D. 1766.] Long after peace was concluded between France and England, the tragedy of the French expulsion from India received its final scene in the death of the unfortunate Count Lally. Quebec and its dependencies, during the same glorious administration, were conquered and annexed by Wolfe; and already the throes of the great Revolution were felt, though the causes remained obscure. Cut off from the money-making regions of Hindostan and the patriarchal settlements of Canada, the Frenchman, oppressed at home, had no outlet either for his ambition or discontent. The feeling of his misery was further aggravated by the sight of British prosperity. The race of men called Nabobs, mercantile adventurers who had gone out to India poor and came back loaded with almost incredible wealth, brought the ostentatious habits of their Oriental experience with them to Europe, and offended French and English alike by the tasteless profusion of their expense. Money wrung by extortion from native princes was lavished without enjoyment by the denationalized _parvenu_. A French duke found himself outglittered by the equipage of the over-enriched clove-dealer,--and hated him for his presumption. The Frenchman of lower rank must have looked on him as the lucky and dishonourable rival who had usurped his place, and hated him for the opportunity he had possessed of winning all that wealth. Ground to the earth by taxes and toil, without a chance of rising in the social scale or of escaping from the ever-growing burden of his griefs, the French peasant and small farmer must have listened with indignation to the accounts of British families of their own rank emerging from a twenty years' residence in Madras or Calcutta with more riches than half the hereditary nobles. It was therefore with a feeling of unanimous satisfaction that all classes of Frenchmen heard, in 1773, that the old English colonies in America were filled with disaffection,--that Boston had risen in insurrection, and that a spirit of resistance to the mother-country was rife in all the provinces. The quarrel came to a crisis between the Crown and the colonies within fourteen years of the conquest of Canada. It seemed as if the British had provided themselves with a new territory to compensate for the approaching loss of the old; and bitter must have been the reflection of the French when they perceived that the loyalty of that recent acquisition remained undisturbed throughout the succeeding troubles. Taxation, the root of all strength and the cause of all weakness, had been pushed to excess, not in the amount of its exaction, but in the principle of its imposition; and the British blood had not been so colonialized as to submit to what struck the inhabitants of all the towns as an unjustifiable exercise of power. The cry at first, therefore, was, No tax without representation; but the cry waxed louder and took other forms of expression. The cry was despised, whether gentle or loud,--then listened to,--then resented. The passions of both countries became raised. America would not submit to dictation; Britain would not be silenced by threats. Feelings which would have found vent at home in angry speeches in Parliament, and riots at a new election, took a far more serious shape when existing between populations separated indeed by a wide ocean, but identical in most of their qualities and aspirations. The king has been blamed. "George the Third lost us the colonies by his obstinacy: he would not yield an inch of his royal dignity, and behold the United States our rivals and enemies,--perhaps some day our conquerors and oppressors!" Now, we should remember that the Great Britain of 1774 was a very narrow-minded, self-opinionated, pig-headed Great Britain, compared to the cosmopolitan, philanthropical, and altogether disinterested Great Britain we call it now. If the king had bated his breath for a moment, or even spoken respectfully and kindly of the traitors and rebels who were firing upon his flags, he would have been the most unpopular man in his dominions. Many, no doubt, held aloof, and found excuses for the colonists' behaviour; but the influence of those meditative spirits was small; their voice was drowned in the chorus of indignation at what appeared revolt and mutiny more than resistance to injustice. And when other elements came into the question,--when the French monarch, ostensibly at peace with Britain, permitted his nobles and generals and soldiers to volunteer in the patriot cause,--the sentiments of this nation became embittered with its hereditary dislike to its ancient foe. We turned them out of India: were they going to turn us out of America? We had taken Canada: are they going to take New York? We might have offered terms to our own countrymen, made concessions, granted exemptions from imperial burdens, or even a share in imperial legislation; but with Lafayette haranguing about abstract freedom, and all the young counts and marquises of his expedition declaring against the House of Lords, the thing was impossible. [A.D. 1778-1780.] War was declared upon France, and upon Spain, and upon Holland. We fought everywhere, and lavished blood and treasure in this great quarrel. And yet the nation had gradually accustomed itself to the new view of American wrongs. The Ministry, by going so far in their efforts at accommodation, had confessed the original injustice of their cause. So we fought with a blunted sword, and hailed even our victories with misgivings as to our right to win them. But it was the season of vast changes in the political distribution of all the world. Prussia was a foremost kingdom. Russia was a European Empire. India had risen into a compact dominion under the shield of Britain. Why should not America take a substantive place in the great family of nations, and play a part hereafter in the old game of statesmen, called the Balance of Power? In 1783 this opinion prevailed. France, Spain, and Holland sheathed their swords. The Independence of the United States was acknowledged at the Peace of Versailles, and everybody believed that the struggle against established governments was over. France seemed elevated by the results of the American War, and Great Britain humiliated. Prophecies were frequent about our rapid fall and final extinction. Our own orators were, as usual, the loudest in confessions of our powerlessness and decay. Our institutions were held up to dislike; and if you had believed the speeches and pamphlets of discontented patriots, you would have thought we were the most spiritless and down-trodden, the most unmerciful and dishonest, nation in the world. The whole land was in a fury of self-abasement at the degradation brought upon our name and standing by the treachery and iniquities of Warren Hastings in India; our European glory was crushed by the surrender at Paris. It must be satisfactory to all lovers of their country to know that John Bull has no such satisfaction as in proving that he is utterly exhausted,--always deceived by his friends, always overreached by his enemies, always disappointed in his aims. In this self-depreciating spirit he conducts all his wars and all his treaties; yet somehow it always happens that he gets what he wanted, and the overreaching and deceiving antagonist gives it up. His power is over a sixth of the human race, and he began a hundred years ago with a population of less than fourteen millions; and all the time he has been singing the most doleful ditties of the ill success that always attends him,--of his ruinous losses and heart-breaking disappointments. The men at the head of affairs in the trying years from the Peace of Versailles to 1793 were therefore quite right not to be taken in by the querulous lamentations of the nation. We had lost three millions of colonists, and gained three million independent customers. We were trading to India, and building up and putting down the oldest dynasties of Hindostan. Ships and commerce increased in a remarkable degree; the losses of the war were compensated by the gains of those peaceful pursuits in a very few years; and we were contented to leave to Paris the reputation of the gayest city in the world, and to the French the reputation of the happiest and best-ruled people. But Paris was the wretchedest of towns, and the French the most miserable of peoples. When anybody asks us in future what was the cause of the French Revolution, we need not waste time to discuss the writings of Voltaire, or the unbelief of the clergy, or the immorality of the nobles. We must answer at once by naming the one great cause by which all revolutions are produced,--over-taxation. The French peasant, sighing for liberty, had no higher object than an escape from the intolerable burden of his payments. He cared no more for the rights of man, or the happiness of the human race, than for the quarrels of Achilles and Agamemnon. He wanted to get rid of the "taille," the "corvée," and twenty other imposts which robbed him of his last penny. If he had had a chicken in his pot, and could do as he liked with his own spade and pick-axe, he never would have troubled his head about codes and constitutions. But life had become a burden to him. Everybody had turned against him. The grand old feudal noble, who would have protected and cherished him under the shadow of his castle-wall, was a lord-chamberlain at court. The kind old priest, who would have attended to his wants and fed him, if required, at the church-door, was dancing attendance in the antechamber of a great lady in Paris, or singing improper songs at a jolly supper-party at Versailles. There were intendants and commissaries visiting his wretched hovel at rapidly-decreasing intervals of time, to collect his contributions to the revenue. These men farmed the taxes, and squeezed out the last farthing like a Turkish pasha. But while the small land-owner--and they were already immensely numerous--and the serf--for he was no better--were oppressed by these exactions, the gentry were exempt. The seigneur visited his castle for a month or two in the year, but it was to embitter the countryman's lot by the contrast. His property had many rights, but no duties. In ancient times in France, and at all times in England, those two qualities went together. Our upper classes lived among their tenants and dependants. They had no alleviation of burdens in consequence of their wealth, but they took care that their poorer neighbours should have alleviation in consequence of their poverty. Cottages had no window-tax. The pressure of the public burdens increased with the power to bear them. But in France the reverse was the case. Poverty paid the money, and wealth and luxury spent it. The evil was too deep-rooted to be remedied without pulling up the tree. The wretched millions were starving, toiling, despairing, and the thousands were rioting in extravagance and show. The same thing occurred in 1789 as had occurred in the last glimmer of the Roman civilization in the time of Clovis. The Roman Emperor issued edicts for the collection of his revenue. Commissioners spread over the land; the miserable Gaul saw the last sheaf of his corn torn away, and the last lamb of his flock. But when the last property of the poorest was taken away, the imperial exchequer could not remain unfilled. You remember the unhappy men called Curials,--holders of small estates in the vicinity of towns. They were also endowed with rank, and appointed to office. Their office was to make up from their own resources, or by extra severity among their neighbours, for any deficiency in the sum assessed. Peasant, land-owner, curial,--all sank into hopeless misery by the crushing of this gold-producing machinery. They looked across the Rhine to Clovis and the Franks, and hailed the ferocious warriors as their deliverers from an intolerable woe. They could not be worse off by the sword of the stranger than by the ledger of the tax-collector. In 1789 the system of the old Roman extortion was revived. The village or district was made a curial, and became responsible in its aggregate character for the individual payments. If the number of payers diminished, the increase fell upon the few who were not yet stripped. The Clovis of the present day who was to do away with their oppressors, though perhaps to immolate themselves, was a Revolution,--a levelling of all distinctions, ranks, rights, exemptions, privileges. This was the "liberty, equality, fraternity" that were to overflow the worn-out world and fertilize it as the Nile does Egypt. Great pity has naturally been expressed for the nobility (or gentry) and clergy of France; but, properly considered, France had at that time neither a nobility nor a clergy. A nobility with no status independent of the king--with no connection with its estates beyond the reception of their rents--with no weight in the legislature; with ridiculously exaggerated rank, and ridiculously contracted influence; with no interest in local expenditure or voice in public management; a gentry, in short, debarred from active life, except as officers of the army--shut out by monarchic jealousy from interference in affairs, and by the pride of birth from the pursuits of commerce--is not a gentry at all. A clergy, in the same way, is a priesthood only in right of its belief in the doctrines it professes to hold, and the attention it bestows on its parishioners. Except in some few instances, the Christianity both of faith and practice had disappeared from France. It was time, therefore, that nobility and clergy should also disappear. The excesses of the Revolution which broke out in 1789, and reached their climax in the murder of the king in 1793, showed the excesses of the misgovernment of former years. If there had been one redeeming feature of the ancient system, it would have produced its fruits in the milder treatment of the victims of the reaction. In one or two provinces, indeed, we are told that hereditary attachment still bound the people to their superiors, and in those provinces, the philosophic chronicler of the fact informs us, the centralizing system had not completed its authority. The gentry still performed some of the duties of their station, and the priests, of their profession. Everywhere else blind hatred, unreasoning hope, and bloody revenge. The century, which began with the vainglorious egotism of Louis the Fourteenth and the war of the Spanish Succession,--which progressed through the British masterdom of India and the self-sustaining republicanism of America,--died out in the convulsive strugglings of thirty-one millions of souls on the soil of France to breathe a purer political air and shake off the trammels which had gradually been riveted upon them for three hundred years. Great Britain had preceded them by a century, and has ever since shown the bloodless and legal origin of her freedom by the bloodless and legal use she has made of it. We emerged from the darkness of 1688 with all the great landmarks of our country not only erect, but strengthened. We had king, lords, and commons, and a respect for law, and veneration for precedents, which led the great Duke of Wellington to say, in answer to some question about the chance of a British revolution, that "no man could foresee whether such a thing might occur or not, but, when it did, he was sure it would be done by Act of Parliament." War with France began in 1793. Our military reputation was at the lowest, for Wolfe and Clive had had time to be forgotten; and even our navy was looked on without dismay, for the laurels of Howe and Boscawen were sere from age. But in the remaining years of the century great things were done, and Britannia had the trident firmly in her hand. Jervis, and Duncan, and Nelson, were answering with victories at sea the triumphs of Napoleon in Italy. And while fame was blowing the names of those champions far and wide, a blast came across also from India, where Wellesley had begun his wondrous career. [A.D. 1798.] Equally matched the belligerents, and equally favoured with mighty men of valour to conduct their forces, the feverish energy of the newly-emancipated France being met by the healthful vigour of the matured and self-respecting Britain, the world was uncertain how the great drama would close. But the last year of the century seemed to incline the scale to the British side. [A.D. 1799.] Napoleon, after a dash at Egypt, had been checked by the guns of Nelson in the great battle of the Nile. He secretly withdrew from his dispirited army, and made his appearance in Paris as much in the character of a fugitive as of a candidate for power. But all the fruits of his former battles had been torn from his countrymen in his absence. Italy was delivered from their grasp; Russia was pouring her hordes into the South; confusion was reigning everywhere, and the fleets of Great Britain were blocking up every harbour in France. Napoleon was created First Consul, and the Century went down upon the final preparations of the embittered rivals. Both parties felt now that the struggle was for life or death, and "the boldest held his breath for a time," when he thought of what awful events the Nineteenth Century would be the scene. FOOTNOTES. [A] The following is a carefully compiled table of the forces of Europe in the year 1854-55. Since that time the Russian fleet has been destroyed, but the diminution has been more than counterbalanced by the increased navies of the other powers. Military Forces of Europe in 1855. Men. Ships. Guns. Austria 650,000 102 752 Bavaria 239,886 ... ... Belgium 100,000 ... ... Denmark 75,169 120 880 France 650,000 407 11,773 Germany 452,473 ... ... Great Britain 265,000[1] 591 17,291 Greece 10,226 25 143 Ionian Isles 3,000 4 ... Modena and Parma 6,302 ... ... Netherlands 58,647 84 2,000 Papal States 11,274 ... ... Portugal 33,000 44 404 Prussia 525,000 50 250 Russia 699,000 207 9,000 Sardinia 48,088 40 900 Sicilies 106,264 29 444 Spain 75,000 410 1530 Sweden 167,000 ... ... Switzerland 108,000 ... ... Tuscany 16,930 ... ... Turkey 310,970 ... ... ---------- ---- ------- 4,611,229 2113 45,367[2] [1] Indian army 250,000, and militia 145,000, not included; making a total of 660,000 [2] Taking an average of ten men to each gun, the sailors will be 453,670; which gives a total of fighting-men, 5,064,899!!! [B] He was called Le Grand Bâtisseur. [C] Wickliff's English Bible, 1383. [D] Popular History--Henry VI. [E] Dr. Robertson. INDEX. Abdelmalek the caliph, 167. À-Beckett, the elevation and career of, 290 _et seq._ Abelard, rise of free inquiry with, 280. Abou Beker, the exploits, &c. of, 157, 158 --chosen Mohammed's successor, 160 --his exploits, 161. Absolutism, rise of, in France under Louis XIV., 475 _et seq._ Abu Taleb, uncle of Mohammed, 138. Academies, establishment of, by Charlemagne, 196. Adrian, the emperor, accession and reign of, 45 _et seq._ --his death, 48. Adrian IV., Pope, 289. Africa, progress of the Saracens in, 166 --trading-company to, 452. Agincourt, battle of, 381. Agriculture, state of, in seventh century, 142. Agrippina, the empress, 22. Alans, the, 100. Alaric the Goth, first appearance of, 98 --hostilities with, 101 --sack of Rome, 106 --his death and burial, 107. Albigenses, tenets, &c. of the, 299 --the crusade against them, 302 _et seq._ Albinus, a candidate for the empire, 60. Alboin, King of the Lombards, 129. Alcuin at the court of Charlemagne, 194 --as Abbot of Tours, 195. Aleppo taken by the Saracens, 163. Alexander VI., character, &c. of, 389, 406. Alexandria, the monks of, 115 --taken by the Saracens, and destruction of the library, 163. Alexis, the emperor, and the Crusaders, 263. Alfred, rise and exploits of, 215. Ali becomes caliph, 167 --the exploits &c. of, 157, 158, 160. Alva, the Duke of, the St. Bartholomew massacre planned with, 441 --his cruelties in the Netherlands, 441. Amadis de Gaul, the romance of, 349. America, the discovery of, 396 --growing importance of its discovery, 402 --progress of British power in, 517. Amru, the Saracen conqueror, 163. Anagni, the arrest of Boniface VIII. at, 329. Anglican Church, the, under Henry II., 289 _et seq._ Anglo-Saxons, establishment of the, 120. Anne, the literature of the reign of, 506. Anselm, learning, &c. of, 247. Antharis, conquest of Italy by, 130. Antioch, the capture of, by the Crusaders, 264 --the battle of, 265. Antoninus Pius, the emperor, his character and reign, 49. Aquileia, siege of, by Maximin, 70 --taken by Attila, 110. Aquitaine, power of the Dukes of, 204, 232. Arcadius, the emperor, 101. Architecture, advancement of, during the eleventh century, 242, 243. Argentine, Sir Giles d', death of, 353. Arians, enmity between, and the orthodox, 94 --quarrels between, and the Athanasians, 117. Aristocracy, the Roman, their decay, 32 _et seq._ Aristotle, supremacy given to, 297. Armagnac, the Count of, 364 --struggle between, and Burgundy, 377. Armies, the modern, of Europe, 57. Arnold of Brescia, the revolt of, 278 --his death, 279. Arteveldt, James Van, 355. Asia, stationary condition of, 14. Asti, siege of, by Alaric, 105 Ataulf the Goth, career of, 108. Athanasians, division between the, and the Arians, 117. Attila the Hun, career of, 109 _et seq._ Augustin, influence of, on Luther, 424. Augustus, the supremacy of, 17 --his reign, 18. Aulus Plautius, landing of, in England, 21. Aurelian, the emperor, 72 --his triumph, 79. Austrasia, kingdom of, 155. Austria, the power of, in the seventeenth century, 463 --the seven years' war, 512. Auvergne, the Marquises of, 205. Avars, junction of the Lombards with the, 129. Avignon, acquired by the Pope, 306 --the residence of the Popes at, 342. Azores, discovery of the, 395. Bacon, Roger, gunpowder known to, 372. Badby, John, martyrdom of, 367. Bahuchet, a French admiral, 355. Balbinus, appointment of, 69 --his death, 70. Baldwyn, Count of Flanders, 263 --habits of, in the East, 270. Baliol, maintained by Edward I., 319. Ballads, influence of, on the common people, 372. Bannockburn, the battle of, 352. Barbarians, first appearance of the, 25 --their increased incursions, 51 --their continued progress, 71 --their increasing strength, 79 _et seq._ Barbavara, a Genoese admiral, 355. Barcho-chebas, the rebellion of the Jews under, 47. Bedford, the Duke of, in France, 384. Belisarius, exploits of, 124 --disgraced, 125. Bells, the invention of, 196. Benedict. _See_ St. Benedict. Benedict XI. poisoned, 331. Benedictine monks, industry, &c. of the, 142. Berenger, transubstantiation assailed by, 247. Bernard de Goth, elevated to the papacy as Clement V., 331 _et seq._ Beziers, massacre of Albigenses in, 305. Bible, Wickliff's translation of the, 342 --the first book printed by Guttenberg, 422. Bishops, increasing alarm of the, in the ninth century, 205 --warlike, of the eleventh century, 251. Black Hole of Calcutta, the tragedy of the, 515. Blanche, mother of Louis IX., urges the persecution of the Albigenses, 304. Blenheim, the battle of, 500. Boccaccio, the works of, 344. Bohemund, the Crusader, 265. Boniface VII., Pope, 236. Boniface VIII., bull against Edward I. by, 315 --jubilee celebrated by, 325 --contest with Philip le Bel, 326 _et seq._ --his arrest, 329 _et seq._ --his death, 330. Boniface, Archbishop of Mayence, 175. Books, early value of, 372 --multiplied by printing, 373. Borgia, elevation of, to the Papacy, 369. Brantôme, the memoirs of, 447. Bribery, prevalence of, under Walpole, 505. Brittany, power of the Dukes of, 204 --acquired by Rollo the Norman, 226. Bruce, the victory of, at Bannockburn, 352. Bruges, defeat of the townsmen of, at Cassel, 353. Brunehild, cruelties and career of, 150 --her death, 150. Brunissende de Périgord, mistress of Clement V., 332. Buccaneers, rise of the, 452. Burghers, increasing importance of the, 279. Burgundians, conquest of Gaul by the, 108. Burgundy, kingdom of, 155. Busentino, burial of Alaric in the, 107. Cade, the insurrection of, 374. Cadijah, wife of Mohammed, 138. Calais, taken by Edward III., 356. Caligula, the character, &c. of, 19. Caliphs, habits of the, 165. Calvinists and Lutherans, hatred between, 460. Cambrai, the league of, 409 _et seq._ Canada, the conquest of, by the British, 517. Cannon, first employment of, 342. Capetian line, commencement of the, 231. Caracalla, character of, 62 --his accession and reign, 65. Carausius, the revolt of, 75. Carlovingian line, close of the, 231. Carthage, subdued by the Saracens, 166. Cassel, the battle of, 353. Cassius, the rebellion of, 52. Cathedrals, building of, during the eleventh century, 242. Catherine de Medicis, the massacre of St. Bartholomew planned by, 441. Catholicism, resemblances between, and Mohammedanism, 271. Cavendish, the naval exploits of, 451. Caxton, books printed by, 393. Celibacy, priestly, neglect of, during the eleventh century, 252 --enforced by Hildebrand, 256. Centuries, characters of different, 13, 15, _et seq._ Chæreas, assassination of Caligula by, 20. Châlons, the battle of, 110. Change, prevalence of, during eighteenth century, 491. Charlemagne, accession and reign of, 186 _et seq._ --his conquests, 187 --crowned Emperor of the West, 188 --his era, 188 _et seq._ --his polity, &c., 189 --his court, &c., 193, 194 _et seq._ --his encouragement of literature, &c., 195 _et seq._ --his death, and disruption of his empire, 198, 201 _et seq._ Charles, son of Louis the Debonnaire, 201 --character and reign of, 206. Charles the Simple and Rollo the Norman, 225, 226, 227. Charles VI., decline of the French nobility under, 360 _et seq._ --death of, 384. Charles VII., accession of, 384 --the Maid of Orleans, 386 _et seq._ --his desertion of her, 389. Charles IX., the massacre of St. Bartholomew, 442. Charles V., the emperor, extent of his dominions, 404 --and Luther, 427 --close of his career, 431, 432. Charles I., unpopularity of, 465 --the execution of, 470. Charles II., England under, 472 _et seq._ Charles II. of Spain, death of, and his will, 497. Charles Edward, the rising under, 507. Charles Martel, the defeat of the Saracens by, 176, 179, _et seq._ Chatham, the ministry of, 513. Chaucer, the works of, 344. Childeric III., the last of the Merovingians, 182. Chivalry, rise of the orders of, 344 --principles inculcated by, 349. Chosroes, King of Persia, 158. Christ, the birth of and its influence, 17. Christian Church, progressive development of the, 76 --its organization, 78 --corruption of the, 114 --divisions in it, 116 --persecutions, 118. Christians, persecution of the, by Nero, 23 --policy of Adrian towards, 49. Christianity, influence of, 17 --the first effects of, 36 --progress of, 55 --establishment of, by Constantine, 85 --commencing struggle of, with Mohammedanism, 141. Church, the privileges conferred on, and its advantages, 145 --corruptions, 147, 148 --at variance with the nobility, 153 --its unity, 155 --state of, in England during eighth century, 172, 173 --monarchical principle established in the, 183 --effects of the Crusades on, 273 --increasing pretensions and power of, 206, 207 --possessions, &c. of, in France in the tenth century, 228 --resistance to it, 230 --policy of Hugh Capet, 231 --state of, during the tenth century, 219 --during the eleventh century, 253 --in England under Henry II., 292 _et seq._ --conditions of Magna Charta regarding, 308 --changed position of, 342 --state of, in the fifteenth century, 368 _et seq._ --before the Reformation, 419 _et seq._ Church of England, the, and its influence and tendencies, 457. Churches, schism between the Eastern and Western, 133 --rebuilding, &c. of the, in the eleventh century, 242 --their objects, &c., 244 _et seq._ Churchmen, warlike, during the eleventh century, 251. Citeaux, the Abbot of, 305. Claudius, reign and character of, 20 --his death, 22. Clement V., election of, 331, 332 --his rapacity, &c., 332 --the persecution of the Templars, 337 _et seq._ Clergy, the, privileges conferred on, 145 --corruption of the higher, 148 --increasing claims of, in the ninth century, 204 _et seq._ --claims of, in the tenth century, and resistance to them, 229 --policy of Hugh Capet, 232 --the higher character of, during the twelfth century, 274 --character of, in Provence, 300 --taxed in England by Edward I., 315 --support Henry IV. in England, 365 --the French at the time of the Revolution, 523. Clive, the exploits of, 515. Clotaire, overthrow of Brunehild by, 150. Clothilde, anecdote of, 153. Clovis, accession of, in France, 119 --the descendants of, 175 --set aside, 182. Cobham, Lord, martyrdom of, 367. Colonies, the first English and Dutch, 454. Colonna, the arrest of Boniface VIII. by, 329. Columbus, the career of, and his discovery of America, 395. Commerce, progress of, in England under Elizabeth, 449 _et seq._ Commodus, accession and character of, 58 _et seq._ Commons, rise of the, in England, 306 --House of, first constituted in England, 311. Condé, the Great, 478, 481. Conrad, the emperor, heads the second Crusade, 284. Conservatism, strength of, in England during eighteenth century, 494. Constantine, accession of, and removal to Constantinople, 84 --his character, 85 --establishes Christianity, 85 --his system of government, 86 --nobility founded by him, 87 --his system of taxation, 89 --death, 92. Constantinople, removal of the seat of empire to, 84 --subordination of the Bishop of, 125 --supremacy claimed for the Bishop of, 132, 133 --assailed by the Saracens, 166 --early subordination of the Popes to, 174 --pretensions of the emperors, 176, 177 --the Crusaders at, 262, 263 --diffusion of learning by capture of, 422. Convents, state of the, during the tenth century, 221. Coote, Sir Eyre, 516. Cornelius and Novatian, the schism between, 78. Council of Toledo, the, 151. Count, origin of the title of, 88. Courtrai, the battle of, 335. Covenanters, persecutions of the, in Scotland, 473. Crecy, battle of, 356. Cromwell, the rise &c. of, 470 --England under, 471. Crown, position of the, in England and France during the tenth century, 230 --new position given to the, under Hugh Capet, 233 _et seq._ --its increasing power, 359 _et seq._ Crusades, first suggestion of the, 242 --the first, 260 _et seq._ --losses in it, and its effects on Europe, 269 --of children, 269 --the second, 284 --the third, 285 --influence of, on the distribution of wealth, &c., 272 --end of, 316. Crusading spirit, first rise of the, 250 Cuba, the buccaneers at, 453. Culloden, the battle of, 507, 509. Cunimond, defeat and death of, 129. Curials, the, under the Roman emperors, 90, 523. Cyrene, conquest of, by the Saracens, 166. Dagobert, King, 151. Dance of Death, the, 374. Danes, the invasions of the, 209, 210 --their invasions of England, 212 _et seq._ --their settlements, 214, 215 --continued incursions into England, 234. Dante, the works of, 325, 344. Democracy, early alliance of the Church with, 154. Dettingen, the battle of, 502. Diaz, Bartholomew, discovery of the Cape of Good Hope by, 395. Didius, purchase of the empire by, 59 --his death, 60. Diocletian, accession and reign of, 74 --abdicates, 76 --system introduced by him, 83. Dominic, originates the crusade against the Albigenses, 301 _et seq._ --establishment of the Inquisition under, 304. Domitian, the reign of, 28, 34. Dorylæum, the battle of, 264. Drake, the expeditions of, 451. Dress, distinctions from, among the Franks, 152. Dudley, the informer, 404. Duncan, the victories of, 525. Dunois, bastard of Orleans, 387. Dutch, the maritime settlements of the, 452. East India Company, founding of the, 450. Eastern Church, schism of the, 133. Eastern empire, falling supremacy of the, 185. Ecclesiastical power, decay of, in the thirteenth century, 313. Edessa, the Crusaders at, 264. Education, measures of Charlemagne for, 195. Edward I., taxation of the clergy by, 315 --character of the reign of, 318 --his attempts on Scotland, 319 _et seq._ Edward II., the defeat of, at Bannockburn, 352. Edward III., the Garter instituted by, 344 --policy of, his alliance with Flanders, &c., 354 _et seq._ --war with France, 355 _et seq._ --battles of Helvoet Sluys and Crecy, 355 --of Poictiers, 356. Edward the Black Prince, his treatment of John, 349 --his character, 349 --his victory at Poictiers, 356. Egbert, subjugation of the Heptarchy by, 193, 194. Eginhart, the life of Charlemagne by, 195. Egypt, surrender of Louis IX. in, 317. Eleanor, wife of Louis VII., 286. Elizabeth, policy of, with regard to the Reformation, 428 --the policy and measures of, and their results, 436 _et seq._ --the Armada, 444 --papal bull against, 448 --changes in England under, 449. Elizabeth, daughter of James I., married to the Elector of Palatine, 462. Ella, King of Northumberland, 214. Eloisa, influence of, 282. Empire of the West, restoration of, under Charlemagne, 188. Empson, the creature of Henry VII., 404. England, conquest of, by the Romans, and its effects, 21 --severance of, from the Roman Empire, 107 --formation of the Heptarchy in, 120 --state of, in the sixth century, 128 --divided state of, 155 --state of, in the eighth century, 171 --the Church and clergy, 172, 173 --union of, under Egbert, 193, 194 --state of, in the ninth century, 211 _et seq._ --the invasions of the Danes, 212 --its divided state, 213, 214 --settlements of the Danes, 215 --rise and career of Alfred, 215 --the Church and the Crown in, during the tenth century, 229 --state of, during the tenth century, 234 --origin of the wars with France, 285 _et seq._ --subservience to the papacy in, 289 --position of the Church, and feeling towards the Normans, 292 --state of, under John, 294 --rise of the Commons, &c. in, 306 --Magna Charta and its effects, 308 _et seq._ --reign of Henry III., 311 --supremacy of the papacy in, 314 --independence of the Church, 316 --the reign of Edward I. in, 318 --the battle of Bannockburn, 352 --the policy of Edward III., 354 --decline of the nobility in, 360 --divided state of, on accession of Henry IV., 365 --the ballads of, 372 --state of, during fifteenth century, 374 --loss of her French possessions, 376 --conquests of Henry V. in France, 378 _et seq._ --accession of Henry VIII., 404 --increasing commerce of, 413 --first idea of union with Scotland, 414 --battle of Flodden, 414 --the reformation in, 428 --the reign of Mary in, 433 --the policy of Elizabeth and its results, 436 --progress of, under Elizabeth, 450 --the colonization of America by, 454 --under James I., 455 _et seq._ --state of parties, &c. on accession of Charles I., 465 _et seq._ --political and religious parties, 466 --the great rebellion, 468 --the reaction against Puritanism in, 472 --under Charles II., 472 --its degraded position, 473 --ingress of French Protestants into, 484 --reign of James II., 484 --William III., 486 --state, &c. of, during eighteenth century, 493 --state of, under the Georges, 494 --is she a military nation? 496 --the war of the succession, 498 _et seq._ --the peace of Utrecht, 502 --the ministry of Walpole, &c., 505 --the Pretender in, 509 --supports Frederick the Great, 512 --the rise of her Indian empire, 514 _et seq._ --the revolt of the United States, 518 _et seq._ --her progress, 520, 521 --her revolution and freedom contrasted with those of France, 525. Episcopacy, James's attempt to force, on Scotland, 464. Ethelbald, the reign of, 214. Ethelwolf, the reign of, 214. Etiquette, supremacy of, under Louis XIV., 481. Eugene, Prince, 501. Eugenius III., Pope, 279. Eunapius, character of the early monks by, 115. Europe, modern, compared with ancient Rome, 56 _et seq._ --state of, in the seventh century, 167 --in the eighth, 171 --rise of the modern kingdoms of, 190 --state of, during the tenth century, 219 --effects of the first Crusade on, 269 --progressive advances of, 297 --state of, during fifteenth century, 375 --changed aspect of, in sixteenth century, 431 --sensation caused by massacre of St. Bartholomew, 442 --changes in, during eighteenth century, 491, 492 --the seven years' war, 512. Famines, frequency of, during the tenth century, 236. Faust and the mention of printing, 391. Favorinus the Grammarian, anecdote of, 46. Ferdinand of Spain, a party to the league of Cambrai, 409 --declares war against France, 412. Ferdinand, the emperor, character and policy of, 462. Ferdinand and Isabella, union of Spain under, 403. Feudal organization, long retention of, in Scotland, 415. Feudal system, origin of the, 149. Feudalism, progress of, in the ninth century, 210 --full establishment of, 279 --decay of, 333, 341 --continued decline of, 359. Fields of May or March in France, the, 151. Fine arts, encouragement of, by Charlemagne, 196. Flagellants, tenets, &c. of the, 374. Flanders, power of the Dukes of, 232 --rise of the towns of, 277 --the alliance of Edward III. with, 354. Flodden, battle of, and its effects, 414, 415, _et seq._ Fontenelle, the abbey of, 244. Fontenoy, the battle of, 502. France, accession of Clovis in, 119 --accession of Pepin to crown of, 183 --position of, under Charlemagne, 198 --loses the boundary of the Rhine, 203 --power of the great nobles, 204 --state of, during the tenth century, 219 --settlement of Rollo in, 222 _et seq._ --possessions of the clergy in, 228 --accession of Hugh Capet, 231 --his policy, 232 _et seq._ --its separation from the empire, 233 --monasteries in, 244 --origin of the English wars, 285 _et seq._ --the kings of, contrasted with the Plantagenets, 288 --acquisitions of, in Languedoc, &c., 305 --reign of Louis IX. in, 311 _et seq._ --the parliaments of, 312 --supremacy of the papacy in, 314 --degeneracy of the clergy, 315 --independence of the church, 316 --subserviency of the Popes to, 342 --title of King of, assumed by Edward III., 355 --depressed state of, at close of fourteenth century, 356 --decline, of the nobility in, 360 --state of, during fifteenth century, 374, 375 --expulsion of the English from, 376 --its history during the century, 376 --career of Joan of Arc, 386 --accession of Francis I., 405 --a party to the league of Cambrai, 409 --the massacre of St. Bartholomew in, 442 --changes witnessed by Brantôme in, 448 --rise of absolutism under Louis XIV. in, 475 et seq. --policy of Richelieu and reign of Louis XIII., 476 _et seq._ --the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, 483 --changes in, during eighteenth century, 491 --contests in India and America with, 513 --the policy and overthrow of, in India, 514 _et seq._ --depression and discontent before the Revolution, 517 --aids the North American colonies, 519 --causes of the Revolution, 522 --general discontent, 523 --the Revolution, 524 _et seq._ Francis I., accession and character of, 405 --death of, 431. Franks, tribes composing the, 71 --state of the, in the sixth century, 128 --institutions, &c. of the, 151 --divisions of their kingdom, 155. Frederick the Great, the career of, 512. Frederick, Elector Palatine, marriage of, to Elizabeth of England, 462. Frederick Barbarossa, capture, &c. of Rome by, 279. Free lances, the rise, &c. of the, 350 _et seq._ Freedom, rise of, in England, 306 _et seq._ French ballads, the early, 372. French Revolution, the, 524 _et seq._ Fritigern, defeat of Valens by, 100. Froissart, the writings of, and their influence, 347. Fronde, the wars of the, 478. Galba, the emperor, 24. Garter, institution of order of, 344. Gaul, severance of, from the Roman empire, 108. Gebhard, Elector of Cologne, 460. Genoa, prosperity of, during the Crusades, 272 --greatness of, 277. Genseric, sack of Rome by, 111. George I. and II., characters of, 494. George III., loyalty to, in England, 494 --the alleged loss of the United States by his obstinacy, 518. Georges, England under the, 494. Germans, defeat of the, by Probus, 73. Germany, state of, in the sixth century, 128 --divided state of, 155 --separation between France and the Empire, and reign of Otho the Great, 234 --progress, &c. of the Reformation in, 460 --ingress of French Huguenots into, 484. Geta, murder of, 65. Gibraltar, cession of, to England, 501. Gladiatorial shows, passion of the Romans for, 34 _et seq._ Glo'ster, the Duke of, uncle of Henry VI., 384. Godfrey of Bouillon, 263 --chosen King of Jerusalem, 266 --his death, 270. Good Hope, Cape of, discovered, 395. Gordian, appointed emperor, 69 --his reign, 70 --his death, 72. Goths, first appearance of the, 98 --admitted within the empire, 99. Gothia, the Marquises of, 205. Granada, loss of, by the Moors, 403. Great Britain, the union of, 502, _See_ England. Great Rebellion, origin and history of the, 467 _et seq._ Greek fire, the, 166. Gregory the Great, Pope, 133. Gregory VII., (Hildebrand,) career, &c. of, 249 _et seq._, 255 _et seq._ _See_ Hildebrand. Gregory IX., persecution of the Albigenses under, 305. Guienne, how acquired by England, 286. Guinegate, the battle of, 418. Gunpowder, influence of discovery of, 342. Guthrum, alliance of, with Alfred, 215. Guttenberg, the invention of printing by, 390 --printing of the Bible by, 422. Hadrian. _See_ Adrian. Hair, distinction from the, among the Franks, 152. Harfleur, siege of, by Henry V., 378. Harold of the Fair Hair, the reign of, 213. Hastings the Dane, defeated by Alfred, 216 --enters the service of France, 224. Heathenism, Julian's attempt to restore, 95 _et seq._ Hegira, the, 157. Helena, the mother of Constantine, 86. Heliogabalus, the reign of, 66. Helvoet Sluys, battle of, 355. Henrietta Maria, unpopularity of, 466. Henry I., acquisition of Normandy by, 285. Henry II., claims of, on France, 286 --character of, 288 --and À-Beckett, 289 _et seq._ --his death, 294. Henry III., reign of, in England, 311. Henry IV., divided state of England under, 365. Henry V., persecution of the Lollards under, 365, 366 --invasion of France by, 377 --captures Harfleur, 378 --battle of Agincourt, 381 --his death, 384. Henry VI. recognised as King of France, 384. Henry VII., character, &c. of, 371 --treasure accumulated by, and how, 404. Henry VIII., accession and character of, 404 --declares war against France, 412 --triumphs of, in 1513, 418 --controversy of, with Luther, 426 --throws off the papal supremacy, 430 --death of, 431. Henry III. of France, the murder of, 448. Henry, the emperor, 237. Henry IV. of Germany, attacks of Hildebrand on, 256 --the struggle between them, 257 _et seq._ --the death of, 260. Heptarchy, the, 120 --subjugation of the, by Egbert, 193, 194. Heraclius, Emperor of the East, 158. Heresies, various, of the thirteenth century, 298. Heretics, first crusade against the, 302 _et seq._ --first law against, in England, 365. Highlanders, the, in the Forty-Five, 510. Hildebrand, the career, &c. of, 249 et seq., 255 _et seq._ --his struggle with the emperor, 257 _et seq._ --his death, 259. Hippo subdued by the Saracens, 166. Hira subjugated by the Mohammedans, 162. History, uses of, and difficulties of studying it from its extent, 11. Holland, increasing commerce of, 412 --the colonies of, 454. Holy Land, the first Crusade to the, 262 --and last, 317. Honorius, the emperor, 101 --besieged by Alaric, 105 --murders Stilicho, 106. Hugh Capet, accession of, to the French throne, 231 --his policy, 232. Hugh the Great, Count of Vermandois, 263. Huguenots, the, the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, 483. Huns, first appearance of the, 99. Huss, the martyrdom of, 367. Iconoclast emperor, the, 185. Images, defence, &c. of, 185 _et seq._ Immaculate conception, dogma of the, 283. India, Vasco da Gama's voyage to, 401 --effect of the new route to, on Venice, 412 --rise of the British power in, 491, 514 _et seq._ Indulgences, protest of Luther against, 425. Innocent III., originates the crusade against the Albigenses, 302 _et seq._ --excommunication of John by, 307, 310. Innovation, general tendency to, during eighteenth century, 493 _et seq._ Inquiry, commencement of, with Scotus Erigena, 207 --rise of, with the Crusades, 280. Inquisition, the, established under Dominic, 304. Intellect, direction of, in the present century, 13. Invention, the present century distinguished by, 13. Investiture, claims of Hildebrand regarding, 257 _et seq._ Irish Church, the early, its state, &c., 156. Isabella, queen of Charles VI., profligacy of, 362. Italy, ravaged by Attila, 110 --irruption of the Lombards into, 129 --state of, in seventh century, 141 --divided state of, 155 --state of, during the tenth Century, 235 --conquests of the Normans in, 254 --rise of the republics of, 277 --state of, before the Reformation, 420. Jacobite songs, the, 510. Jacques de Molay, death of, 339. James I., England under, 455 --influence of his character, &c., 458 --his conduct towards the Elector Palatine, 464 --his attempt to introduce Episcopacy into Scotland, 464. James II., persecution of the Covenanters by, 473 --accession of, in England, and his dethronement, 485 --death of, 498. James III., the rebellion in favour of, 503. James IV. of Scotland married to Margaret of England, 414 --the battle of Flodden, 416. Jamestown, the first English settlement in America, 454. Jerome, the martyrdom of, 367. Jerusalem, importance given by Christianity to, 17 --the capture and destruction of, 30 _et seq._ --named Ælia Capitolina by Adrian, 47 --taken by the Saracens, 162 --commencement of pilgrimage to, 260 --the capture of, by the Crusaders, 266 --the kingdom of, 266. Jervis, the victories of, 525. Jesuits, institution and influence of the, 435. Jews, the dispersion of the, 30 _et seq._ --their rebellion against Adrian, 46 --crusade against the, 251 --spoliation of, by Philip le Bel, 333. Joan of Arc, history of, 386 _et seq._ --her death, 390. John, (of England,) character of, 288 --state of England under, 294 --excommunication, &c. of, 307 --signs Magna Charta, 308 --his attempt to evade the charter, 310. John, (of France,) the treatment of, by Edward the Black Prince, 349 --his capture at Poictiers and ransom, 356. John XII., Pope, 236. John, Duke of Burgundy, 361 --murders Louis of Orleans, 362 --assumes the regency, 363 --rule of, in France, 376. John, Bishop of Constantinople, supremacy claimed by, 133. Jovian, the emperor, 97. Jubilee, the, in 1300, 325. Julian the Apostate, reign and character of, 93 _et seq._ Julius II., character of, 408 --acquisitions from Venice, 410 --declares war against France, &c., 410 --impression made on Luther by, 424. Justinian, efforts of, to recover Italy, 124 --internal government of, 134 --his law-reforms, 135 _et seq._ --re-introduction of code of, 297. Khaled, the lieutenant of Mohammed, 158 --his exploits, 162 --and death, 163. Kieff, the kingdom of, 213. Kilmich, murder of Alboin by, 130. Kingdoms, modern, rise of, 190. Klodwig or Clovis, accession of, in France, 119. _See_ Clovis. Knight, position, &c. of the, 334, 335. Knighthood, decay of, 333, 341. Lally, Count, the execution of, 516. Land, grants of, and system these originate, 149. Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury, 247 --defends transubstantiation, 247. Languedoc, the Albigenses in, 299 --extirpation of the Albigenses in, 304 --peace of, 305. Laud, Archbishop, 467 --execution of, 468. Law, the reform of, by Justinian, 135. Laws, great increase of, in Rome, 67. Lea, defeat of the Danes at the, 216. Learning, advancement of, during the eleventh century, 246 _et seq._ Leo the Iconoclast, 185. Leo, Pope, Rome saved from Attila by, 110. Leo X., character of, 407 --influence of, on the Reformation, 425. Leuds or Feudatories, the, 149 --their struggle with the crown, 150 _et seq._ Libraries, early, 372. Liege, massacre at, by John the Fearless, 363. Literature, revival of, with Dante, &c., 344 --the modern, of England, 345 --slow diffusion of, before printing, 372 --French, under Louis XIV., 481 --English, during the eighteenth century, 506. Lombards, or Longobards, irruption of the, 129 _et seq._ --character and polity of the, 131 _et seq._ Long Parliament, the, 468. Lothaire, son of Louis the Debonnaire, 201, 202, 203 --emperor, 204. Louis, origin of name of, 120. Louis the Debonnaire, reign of, 200. Louis, son of Louis the Debonnaire, 201. Louis VII. heads the second Crusade, 284 --divorces his wife, 286. Louis VIII., crusade against the Albigenses under, 304. Louis IX., crusade against the Albigenses under, 304 --character and reign of, 311 _et seq._ --seventh Crusade under, 317 --prisoner and ransomed, 317 --his death, 318. Louis XI., first despotic King of France, 371. Louis XII., a party to the league of Cambrai, 409 --war with the Pope, 411 --expelled from Italy, 412. Louis XIII., reign of, in France, 476. Louis XIV., accession of, 469 --rise of, as the absolute King, 475 _et seq._ --the accession, policy, and reign of, 479 --private life of, 482 --the revocation or the Edict of Nantes, 483 --his reception, &c. of James II., 485, 486 --his successes in war, 486 --peace of Ryswick, 487 --the war of the Succession, 489 _et seq._ --the peace of Utrecht, 502. Louis XVI., the execution of, 524. Louis of Orleans, struggle of, with John of Burgundy, 361 --his murder, 362. Lower classes, how regarded by the Crusaders, 271. Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits, 406 --character of, and institution of the Jesuits by, 434. Luitprand, King of Lombardy, 182, 183. Luther, early life of, 406 --the rise and career of, 423 _et seq._ --death of, 431. Lutherans and Calvinists, hatred between, 460. Luxembourg, the marshal, 481 --the victories of, 486. Macrinus, the emperor, 66. Magdeburg, the sack of, 466. Magna Charta, effects of, 306, 308 --its conditions, 308 _et seq._ Magyars, first appearance of the, 99. Mahomet. _See_ Mohammed. Maid of Norway, the, 319. Maintenon, Madame de, married to Louis XIV., 482. Marcus Aurelius, accession and reign of, 50 _et seq._ Marlborough, the victories of, 499 _et seq._ Martin V., Pope, 368. Mary, the reign of, in England, 433. Mary of Scotland, policy of Elizabeth toward, 437 _et seq._ --defence of her execution, 439, 443. Mary de Medicis, position of, in France, 475. Matilda, the countess, 255, 258. Maximilian, the emperor, a party to the league of Cambrai, 409 --hostilities with the Pope, 411 --proposed as his successor, 411 --turns against the French, 412 --in the pay of Henry VIII., 418 --and Luther, 426. Maximian, the emperor, 75 --abdicates, 76. Maximin, the accession and reign of, 68. Maximus, appointment of, 69 --his death, 70. Mayors of the palace, origin of the, 150 --powers, &c. of the, 176. Mazarin, the cardinal, the policy, &c. of, 478 --his death, 479. Mecca, capture of, by Mohammed, 158. Mediterranean, supremacy of Rome over the, 56 --diminished importance of the, 413. Meroveg, King of the Franks, 110. Messalina, the empress, 20 --her death, 22. Mexico, conquest of, by the Spaniards, 404. Michelet, picture of France in the ninth century by, 208. Middle Ages, commencement of the, 131. Middle class, destruction of the, under the Roman emperors, 90. Milan, sack of, by the Franks, &c., 124. Military spirit, strength of the, in England, 496. Military strength, the, of ancient Rome and modern Europe, 56 _et seq._ Minorca ceded to England, 502. Mirandola, Julius II. at siege of, 410. Mohammed, birth and career of, 138 --death of, 159 --his successors, 159 _et seq._ Mohammedanism, commencing struggle of, with Christianity, 141 --progress of, 157 _et seq._ --first arrested by battle of Tours, 179 --resemblances between, and Catholicism, 271. Monarchical principle, restoration of the, with Pepin, 183. Monasteries, influence of, on agriculture, 143 --their intelligence, &c., 146 --commencement of corruption, 147 --the early English, 173 --reformation of, by St. Benedict, 200 --state of the, during the tenth century, 221 --number of, in France, 244 --dissolution of the, in England, 430. Monks, the early, 115 --industry, &c. of, 142 _et seq._ --the early English, 172, 173 --gluttony, &c. of the, 274 --degeneracy of in the thirteenth century, 314. Moors, final loss of Spain by the, 403. Municipalities, rise of the 277 --their growing importance, 279. Murder, fines for, among the Franks, 152. Music, encouragement of, by Charlemagne, 197. Nantes, edict of, its revocation, 483. Napoleon, the rise, &c. of, 525. Narses, exploits of, in Italy, 127. National debt, the English, its growth, 493. Navareta, the battle of, 351. Navies of Modern Europe, the, 57 _et seq._ Nelson, the victories of, 525. Netherlands, Alva's cruelties in the, 441. Nero, character and reign of, 22. Nerva, the emperor, 42, 44. Neustria, kingdom of, 155. Nice, the Council of, 92. Nicea taken by the Crusaders, 264. Nicene creed, the, 92. Nicholas Breakspear becomes pope, 289. Niger, a candidate for the empire, 60. Nobility, new, originated by Constantine, 87 --collision between, and the Church, 153 --policy of Hugh Capet towards the, 232 --effects of the Crusades on the, 276 --conditions of Magna Charta regarding the, 308 --decline of the, 359 _et seq._ --policy of Richelieu against the, 476 _et seq._ --the French, at the time of the Revolution, 523. Nogaret, Chancellor of France, 329. Nominalists, rise of the, 248. Normans, the conquest of England by the, 253 --feeling against the, in England, 292. Norman kings, character of the, 288. Normandy, settlement of the Normans in, 222 _et seq._ --power of the dukes, 232. Norsemen, Charlemagne's prescience regarding the, 197 --progress of the, in the ninth century, 208 --their invasions of England, 212 _et seq._ --results of the settlements of the, in France, 219 --settlement under Rollo, 222 _et seq._ North America, the English colonization of, 454. Novellæ of Justinian, the, 136. Novatian and Cornelius, the schism between, 78. Novgorod, the kingdom of, 213. Nunneries, reformation of, by St. Benedict, 200 --of the twelfth century, the, 283. Odoacer, King of Italy, 111 --overthrow of, 118. Omar, the lieutenant of Mohammed, 158, 160 --chosen caliph, 162 --destruction of the Alexandrian library, 164 --his habits, 163, 165. Orleans, the siege of, 385 --relieved by Joan of Arc, 387 _et seq._ Ostrogoths, overthrow of the, in Italy, 127. Otho, the emperor, 24. Otho the Great, the emperor, 234. Padua, destroyed by Attila, 110. Palos, the return of Columbus to, 397. Palestine, eagerness for news from, during the Crusades, 275. Pandects of Justinian, the, 136. Pantheism, form of, in the thirteenth century, 298. Papacy, the, state of, during the tenth century, 220, 235 --supremacy of, under Hildebrand, 250 _et seq._ --general subjection to, 289 --triumphs of, in the thirteenth century, 314 --diminished consideration of, 325 --struggle of Philip the Handsome with, 326 _et seq._ --the schism in, 342 --state of, in the fifteenth century, 369. Papal supremacy, the, abjured by England, 430. Paper, first manufacture of, from rags, 392. Paris, state of, under John the Fearless, 364 --the massacre of St. Bartholomew in, 442. Parliament, first summoned in England, 313 --concessions wrung from Edward I. by, 320. Parliaments, the French, what, 312. Party libels, prevalence of, under Walpole, 505. Passau, the treaty of, 431. Peasantry, the, insurrection of, during fourteenth century, 356 --state of, during fifteenth century, 374 _et seq._ --the French, before the Revolution, 521. People, state of the, under the early emperors, 34 _et seq._ --conditions of Magna Charta regarding the, 309. Pepin, accession of, 182 --crowned king, 183. Persia, new monarchy of, 71 --subdued by the Mohammedans, 165. Pertinax, accession and murder of, 59. Pestilence, frequency of, during the tenth century, 236. Peter the Hermit, preaches the first Crusade, 262. Peterborough, Lord, the victories of, in Spain, 501. Petrarch, the works of, 344, 346. Philip, the emperor, 72. Philip I. of France, attacks of Hildebrand on, 256. Philip le Bel, struggle of, with Boniface VIII., 326 _et seq._ --arrests the latter, 329 _et seq._ --poisons Benedict XI., 331 --secures election of Bernard de Goth, 331 --the persecution of the Templars, 337 _et seq._ Philip VI., war with Edward III., 355. Philip II., accession of, 432 --the Spanish Armada, 444. Philip of Valois, the victory of, at Cassel, 353. Philip Augustus, conquest of the English possessions by, 305. Pinkie, the battle of, 415. Pitt, (Lord Chatham,) the ministry of, 513. Plague of Florence, the, 356. Plantagenets, character of the, 288. Plassey, the battle of, 513, 516. Pococke, Admiral, exploits of, in the East, 516. Poictiers, the battle of, 356. Poitou, how acquired by England, 286. Poland, the partition of, 492. Polemo, a philosopher, anecdote of, 50. Pompeia Plotina, wife of Trajan, 45. Pondicherry, the capture of, by the English, 516. Poor, relations of the Church to the, 274. Pope, the claims to supremacy of, 132 _et seq._ --efforts of the early English monks on behalf of, 172, 173 --his position in the eighth century, 174, 175 --alliance, &c. between Charles Martel and, 182 --crowns Pepin, 183 --supremacy of, after Hildebrand, 259 --the revolt of Arnold of Brescia against, 278 --his supremacy denied by the Albigenses, 299 --position, &c. of, before the Reformation, 420. Popes, the, the claims of supremacy by, 148 --increasing supremacy of, 133 --increasing pretensions of, 186, 190 --subservience of, to France, 342 --the rival, 342. Popular assemblies, early, 151. Portugal, maritime discoveries of, 395 --increasing naval power of, 412. Prætorian Guards, sale of the empire by the, 59. Printing, influences of, 14 --discovery of, and its effects, 373, 391 --growing importance of discovery of, 402. Probus, the emperor, 72 --his conquests and policy, 73. Protestantism, influence of, 402 --establishment of, by treaty of Passau, 431 --established in England under Elizabeth, 436 _et seq._ Protestants, the, expelled from France, 484. Provençal dialect, disappearance of the, 304. Prussia, rise of, during eighteenth century, 491, 492 --the seven years' war, 512. Puritanism, origin, &c. of, in England, 456 _et seq._, 464 --growing tendency to, 466. Quebec, the battle of, 513. Raleigh, the naval exploits of, 452. Ravenna, the Exarch of, 137 --the exarchate of, 177 --transferred to the Pope, 183. Raymond of Toulouse, the leader of the Albigenses, 299. Raymond VII., Count of Toulouse, 303 --deprived of his possessions, 306. Realists, rise of the, 248. Rebellion of 1715, the, 504 --and of 1745, 507. Reformation, influences of the, 14 --supreme importance of, 419 --state of the Church before it, 419 _et seq._ --the rise of the, 422 _et seq._ Regner Lodbrog, 214. Relics, the system of, 262 --passion for, during the Crusades, 276. Religion, state of, during the tenth century, 219 --in the thirteenth century, 298 --before the reformation, 422. Republics, the Italian, rise of, 277. Revolution of 1688, the, 485. Rheims, coronation of Charles VII. at, 388. Richard Coeur de Lion, character of, 288 --heads the third Crusade, 285. Richelieu, Cardinal, 449 --the policy of, and its results, 476 _et seq._ --the death of, 468. Robert of Normandy, the Crusader, 263 --loss of Normandy by, 285 --a prisoner in England, 286. Robert, son of Hugh Capet, 237. Robert Guiscard, conquests of, in Italy, 254 --sack of Rome by, 258. Rochelle, the capture of, from the Huguenots, 476, 477. Rois fainéants, the 175, 176. Rollo, settlement of, in Normandy, 222 _et seq._ --created Duke of Normandy, 225 _et seq._ Romans, the conquest of England by, and its effects, 21 --passion of, for gladiatorial shows, 34. Roman empire, first broken in on by the barbarians, 51 --its extent and forces, 56 --compared with modern Europe, 57 _et seq._ --divided into East and West, 97. Roman law, reintroduction of, in Europe, 297. Rome, the supremacy of, the characteristic of the first century, 16 --power of the emperor, 20 --state of, during the first century, 35 --increasing weakness of, 79 _et seq._ --removal of the seat of empire from, 84 --the sack of, by Alaric, 106 --sacked by the Vandals, 111 --causes of her fall, 111 _et seq._ --recovered by Belisarius, 124 --taken, &c. by Totila, 125 --supremacy of the Bishop of, 126 _et seq._ --fallen state of, in the sixth century, 133 --the Bishops of, claim supremacy, 148 --influence of the unity of, 184 --state of during the tenth century, 235 --sack of, by the Normans, 258 --the Crusaders at, 262 --Arnold of Brescia in, 278 --jubilee at, 1300, 325 --state of, before the Reformation, 420 --Luther at, 424. Romish Church, influence of the Jesuits on, 434 _et seq._ --rejoicings of, on massacre of St. Bartholomew, 442. Romulus Augustulus, the emperor, 111. Rosamund, wife of Alboin, 129. Roses, the wars of the, 393 --effect of, on the nobility, 360. Rouen, occupied by the Normans, 222 --execution of Joan of Arc at, 390. Royal power, general consolidation of, in the fifteenth century, 370. Russia, the Danes in, 213 --rise of, during eighteenth century, 491, 492 --the seven years' war, 512. St. Bartholomew, the massacre of, 442 --its effects, 442. St. Benedict, industry, &c. inculcated by, 142, 143 --the second, 200. St. Bernard on the luxury, &c. of the clergy, 274 --discussions of, with Abelard, 281 --the second Crusade originated by, 284. St. Boniface, coronation of Pepin by, 183. St. Columba, and Brunehild, 150. St. Dominic. _See_ Dominic. St. Francis of Assisi, 315. St. Louis. _See_ Louis IX. St. Remi, Clovis baptized by, 119. Sapor, the capture of Valerian by, 72 --death of Julian in war with, 96. Saracens, the, the conquests of, 162 _et seq._ --their defeat by Charles Martel, 176, 179 _et seq._ --in Spain, 246 --crusade against, in Italy, 251 --in Palestine, 270, 271. Sarmatians, the, 71. Sassanides, dynasty of, 71. Saxons, feeling of the, towards the Normans in England, 292. Saxony, the Elector of, and Luther, 426, 428. Scholastic philosophy, rise of the, 247. Schools, establishment of, under Charlemagne, 195. Scotland, state of, in the eighth century, 171, 172 --resistance to the papacy in, 314 --Edward I.'s attempt on, 319 _et seq._ --the battle of Bannockburn, 352 --the ballads of, 372 --effects of battle of Flodden in, 414, 418 --its subsequent state, 415 _et seq._ --the policy of Elizabeth in, 437 _et seq._ --James's attempt to force Episcopacy on, 464 --persecution of the Covenanters in, 473 --the Union Act, 502 --the rebellion of 1715, 504 --and of 1745, 507. Scotus Erigena, career, &c. of, 207. Septimania, power of the Dukes of, 204. Serfs, conditions of Magna Charta regarding the, 309. Seven years' war, the, 512. Severus, Alexander, accession and reign of, 67. Severus, Septimius, accession and reign of, 60 _et seq._ Sicily, conquest of, by the Normans, 255. Simon de Montfort, the crusade against the Albigenses under, 302 --his death, 303. Simon de Montfort, summoning of parliament by, 313. Sixtus V., approval of the murder of Henry III. by, 448. Slaves, state of the, under the Romans, 35, 90. Smalcalde, the Protestant league of, 429. Society, state of, under James I., 455. Solway Moss, the battle of, 414. South Sea bubble, the, 505. Spain, severance of, from the Roman empire, 108 --the Saracens in, 246 --threatened predominance of, in sixteenth century, 402 --its increasing importance, 403 --increasing naval power of, 412 --consolidation of, in the sixteenth century, 413 --continued hostilities with, at sea, 451 --the attacks of the buccaneers on her colonies, &c., 452. Spanish Armada, the, and its defeat, 444. Spanish Succession, the war of the, 498 _et seq._ Spurs, the battle of the, at Courtrai, 336 --at Guinegate, 418. Staupitz, connection of, with Luther, 423. Stephen, the wars of, in England, 292. Stilicho, opposed to Alaric, 101, 105 --his murder, 106. Strafford, execution of, 468. Succession, the war of the, 498 _et seq._ Sulpician, a candidate for the empire, 59. Supino, betrayal of Anagni by, 328. Surenus, minister of Trajan, 45. Surrey, the Earl of, at Flodden, 416. Switzerland, ingress of French Protestants into, 484. Sylvester II., Pope, 238, 242 --his character, &c., 246. Syria, progress of Mohammedanism in, 158, 161. Talbot, raises the siege of Orleans, 387. Tancho, the invention of bells by, 196. Taxes, system of collecting, under Constantine, 89. Taylor, Rowland, the martyr, 433. Tchuda, check of the Saracens at, 166. Templars, the destruction of the, 337 _et seq._ --the charges against them, 340. Tetzel, the sale of indulgences by, 425. Theodora, wife of Justinian, 134. Theodoric the Goth, at the battle of Châlons, 110. Theodoric, the reign of, 119 --his supremacy, 123 --his death, 123. Theodosius, the emperor, 101. Tiberius, the reign of, 18 --his character, 19. Tilly, the sack of Magdeburg by, 466. Timbuctoo, expedition by Englishmen to, 452. Tinchebray, the battle of, 286. Titus, the reign of, 28 --the siege and capture of Jerusalem, 30 _et seq._ Torstenson, the victories of, 468. Totila, King of the Goths, 125, 127. Toulouse, the Marquises of, 205 --power of the Dukes of, 232 --the Albigenses in, 299. Tours, the battle of, 179 _et seq._ Towns, effect of the Crusades on the, 273, 277 --increasing power of the, in the fourteenth century, 334. Trajan, the accession and reign of, 42, 44 _et seq._ Transubstantiation, doctrine of, 247. Trebonian, the Justinian code drawn up by, 136. Tripoli, conquered by the Saracens, 167. Troubadours, attacks on the clergy by the, 300. Truce of God, the, 238. Tunis, crusade of Louis IX. against, 318. Turenne, the victories of, 478, 481. Union Act, passing of the, 502. United States, the revolt of the, 518 _et seq._ Universal church, belief in a, before the Reformation, 419. Urban II. and the first Crusaders, 262. Utrecht, thy peace of, 502. Valens, the emperor, 97 --his defeat and death, 100. Valentinian, the emperor, 97. Valerian, the emperor, 72. Vandals, conquest of Africa by the, 108 --sack of Rome by the, 111 --overthrow of the, by Belisarius, 124. Vasco da Gama, the discovery of the route to India by, 401. Venaissin, acquisition of, by the Pope, 306. Venice, rise of, 277 --power, &c. of, 407 --attacked by Julius II., 408 --league of Cambrai, 409 --decay of the power of, 412. Verona destroyed by Attila, 110. Versailles, Louis XIV. at, 481 --its cost, 483 --the peace of, 520. Vespasian, accession of, 24. Vicenza, taken by Attila, 110. Vidius Pollio, anecdote of, 36. Vikinger, the, 208. Virginia, settlement of, by the English, 454. Visigoths, settlements of the, in Spain, &c., 128. Vitellius, the emperor, 24. Wales, early state of, 171, 172. Wallace, the victories, &c. of, 320. Walpole, Sir R., the ministry of, 505. Wartburg, seclusion of Luther at, 428. Wealth, influence of the Crusades on, 272. Wellington, the victories of, in India, 525. Wenilon, Bishop of Sens, 206. Wentworth, execution of, 468. Western Church, severance of the Eastern from, 133. Wickliff, his translation of the Bible, 342. Wickliffites, persecution of the, 365. William of Normandy, churches, &c. erected by, 244 --the conquest of England by, 253 --character of, 288. William Rufus, character of, 288. William III., accession of, in England, 485 --his reign, 486 --the death of, 499. Winchester, the Bishop of, 384. Winifried, the monk, 175. Witig, King of the Ostrogoths, 124 --his overthrow, 125. Wittenagemot, the, 151. Wolfe, the conquest of Canada by, 517. Woman, increased respect paid to, 283. Worms, the Diet of, Luther before, 427. Yeomanry, rise of, in England, 431. Yezdegird, King of Persia, 162, 165. Zorndorf, the battle of, 513. THE END. "_A great and noble work, rich in information, eloquent and scholarly in style, earnestly devout in feeling._"--LONDON LITERARY WORLD. D. APPLETON & CO., NEW YORK, HAVE JUST PUBLISHED The Life and Words of Christ. _By CUNNINGHAM GEIKIE, D.D._ With Twelve Engravings on Steel. In 2 vols. Price, $8.00. _From Dr. DELITZSCH, the Commentator._ "A work of gigantic industry, noble in outward form, of the highest rank in its contents, and, what is the chief point, it breathes the spirit of true faith in Christ. I have read enough of it to rejoice at such a magnificent creation, and especially to wonder at the extent of reading it shows. When I shall have occasion to revise my Hebrew New Testament, I hope to get much help from it." _From Bishop BECKWITH, of Georgia._ "The book is of value not merely to the theological student or student of history, but the family. It furnishes information which every one should possess, and which thoughtful people will be glad to gain from so agreeable a teacher." _From Dr. JOHN HALL._ "The author has aimed at producing book of continuous, easy narrative, in which the reader may, as far as possible, see the Saviour of men live and move, and may hear the words he utters with the most vivid attainable idea of his circumstances and surroundings. The result is a work to which all Christian hearts will respond." _From Bishop LITTLEJOHN, of Long Island._ "Dr. Geikie has performed his task--the most difficult in biographical literature--with great ability. His pages evince abundant and accurate learning, and, what is of even more consequence, a simple and cordial faith in the Gospel narratives. The more the work shall circulate, the more it will be regarded as a most valuable addition to a branch of sacred literature which ought in every age to absorb the best fruits of sacred scholarship, and to command the highest gifts of human genius." _From Rev. Dr. ADAMS, President of the Union Theological Seminary._ "Another invaluable contribution in proof of historical Christianity. It is a beautiful specimen of typography, and we anticipate for it an extensive circulation, to which it is entitled for its substantial worth, its erudition, its brilliant style, and its fervent devotion." _From the Rev. W. LINDSAY ALEXANDER, D.D., S.T.P., Edinburgh, Member of the Old Testament Company of Revision, Editor of Kitto's "Cyclopædia of Biblical Literature," etc._ "Dr. Geikie's work is the result of much thought, research, and learning, and it is adorned with many literary excellences. It cannot fail to become a standard, for its merits are substantial, and its utility great." _From the Rev. Dr. CURRY._ "A careful examination of Dr. Geikie's work seems to prove, what might before have been doubted, that just such a work was needed to meet a real want; it successfully indicates its own right to be, by responding to the necessity that it discovers." Dr. Geikie's Life and Words of Christ. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. "These fresh volumes are marked throughout by a humane and devout spirit. The work is sure to make for itself a place in popular literature."--_New York Times._ "In Dr. Geikie's volumes the person and works of Christ receive the chief attention, of course; but the background is so faithfully and vividly drawn, that the reader is given a fresher idea of the central figure."--_New York Independent._ "A monument of industry and a mine of learning. The students of our theological colleges, ministers, and others, will find much of the information here given of great worth and novelty."--_Nonconformist._ "Dr. Geikie's paraphrases are generally most excellent commentaries. "An encyclopædia upon the life and times of Jesus Christ, but an encyclopædia which has an organic unity, pulsating with a true and devout spirituality of thought and feeling."--_London Christian World._ "His style is always clear, rising sometimes into majestic beauty. His most steady point of view is the relation of Christ to the elevation of the race, and he struggles to make clear the amazing richness of Christ's new things--the profound character of his philosophy, and the practical humanity that wells up out of these great deeps."--_New York Methodist._ "The 'Life of Christ' may be fitly compared to a diamond with many facets. From every point of view, the light that streams forth upon us is beneficent. No two observers will probable ever catch precisely the same ray, but, for all who look with unclouded eye (whatever their angle of vision may be), there shines forth 'the light of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.' Without disparaging in any sense the noble labors of his predecessors, we think Dr. Geikie has caught a new ray from the 'Mountain of Light,' and has added a new page to our Christology which many will delight to read."--_New York Evangelist._ "The chief merit of Dr. Geikie's volumes lies in the attention paid to the surroundings of our Saviour's earthly life; so that the reader is presented with a picture of the Jewish people, national characteristics, social customs, and religious belief and ritual. "It is with reluctance that we take leave of these splendid volumes, for it is an enjoyment to examine and a pleasant duty and privilege to commend them. We feel sure we could desire no more valuable and useful addition to Christian libraries."--_Episcopal Recorder_ (Philadelphia). "If any one desires a reliable and intelligent guide in the study of the Gospel history, he cannot, we think, do better than take the graphic pages of Dr. Geikie. The American edition is got up most elegantly; the binding is very handsome, the paper good, the type large and clear; the engravings and maps are excellent. They are, indeed, two beautiful volumes."--_Evangelical Churchman_ (Toronto). "Of all that has been written hitherto on that life, nothing seems to us to equal in beauty that which we find in the two magnificent volumes before us. They bring to view the social conditions in which Jesus made his appearance. They give us a vivid portraiture of those who were about him--both the friends and the enemies--the parties, the customs, the influences that prevailed."--_Episcopal Register_ (Philadelphia). _D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers,_ 549 & 551 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. Transcriber's Note Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original document have been preserved. Sidenotes have been enclosed in brackets and moved to the beginning of the respective sentence. 
42824	----	Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original 182 illustrations. See 42824-h.htm or 42824-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42824/42824-h/42824-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42824/42824-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/scenescharacters00cuttuoft Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by curly brackets is superscripted (example: o{r} Lady). SCENES AND CHARACTERS OF THE MIDDLE AGES [Illustration: _King Henry the Eighth's Army._] SCENES & CHARACTERS OF THE MIDDLE AGES by THE REV. EDWARD L. CUTTS, B.A. Late Hon. Sec. of the Essex Archæolocical Society With One Hundred and Eighty-Two Illustrations THIRD EDITION London: Alexander Moring Limited The De La More Press 32 George Street Hanover Square W 1911 CONTENTS. THE MONKS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAP. PAGE I. THE ORIGIN OF MONACHISM 1 II. THE BENEDICTINE ORDERS 6 III. THE AUGUSTINIAN ORDER 18 IV. THE MILITARY ORDERS 26 V. THE ORDERS OF FRIARS 36 VI. THE CONVENT 54 VII. THE MONASTERY 70 THE HERMITS AND RECLUSES OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. THE HERMITS 93 II. ANCHORESSES, OR FEMALE RECLUSES 120 III. ANCHORAGES 132 IV. CONSECRATED WIDOWS 152 THE PILGRIMS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. PILGRIMS 157 II. OUR LADY OF WALSINGHAM AND ST. THOMAS OF CANTERBURY 176 THE SECULAR CLERGY OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. THE PAROCHIAL CLERGY 195 II. CLERKS IN MINOR ORDERS 214 III. THE PARISH PRIEST 222 IV. CLERICAL COSTUME 232 V. PARSONAGE HOUSES 252 THE MINSTRELS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. 267 II. SACRED MUSIC 284 III. GUILDS OF MINSTRELS 298 THE KNIGHTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. SAXON ARMS AND ARMOUR 311 II. ARMS AND ARMOUR, FROM THE NORMAN CONQUEST DOWNWARDS 326 III. ARMOUR OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 338 IV. THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY 353 V. KNIGHTS-ERRANT 369 VI. MILITARY ENGINES 380 VII. ARMOUR OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 394 VIII. THE KNIGHT'S EDUCATION 406 IX. ON TOURNAMENTS 423 X. MEDIÆVAL BOWMEN 439 XI. FIFTEENTH CENTURY AND LATER ARMOUR 452 THE MERCHANTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. I. BEGINNINGS OF BRITISH COMMERCE 461 II. THE NAVY 475 III. THE SOCIAL POSITION OF THE MEDIÆVAL MERCHANTS 487 IV. MEDIÆVAL TRADE 503 V. COSTUME 518 VI. MEDIÆVAL TOWNS 529 THE MONKS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. THE ORIGIN OF MONACHISM. We do not aim in these chapters at writing general history, or systematic treatises. Our business is to give a series of sketches of mediæval life and mediæval characters, looked at especially from the artist's point of view. And first we have to do with the monks of the Middle Ages. One branch of this subject has already been treated in Mrs. Jameson's "Legends of the Monastic Orders." This accomplished lady has very pleasingly narrated the traditionary histories of the founders and saints of the orders, which have furnished subjects for the greatest works of mediæval art; and she has placed monachism before her readers in its noblest and most poetical aspect. Our humbler task is to give a view of the familiar daily life of ordinary monks in their monasteries, and of the way in which they enter into the general life without the cloister;--such a sketch as an art-student might wish to have who is about to study that picturesque mediæval period of English history for subjects for his pencil. The religious orders occupied so important a position in mediæval society, that they cannot be overlooked by the historical student; and the flowing black robe and severe intellectual features of the Benedictine monk, or the coarse frock and sandalled feet of the mendicant friar, are too characteristic and too effective, in contrast with the gleaming armour and richly-coloured and embroidered robes of the sumptuous civil costumes of the period, to be neglected by the artist. Such an art-student would desire first to have a general sketch of the whole history of monachism, as a necessary preliminary to the fuller study of any particular portion of it. He would wish for a sketch of the internal economy of the cloister; how the various buildings of a monastery were arranged; and what was the daily routine of the life of its inmates. He would seek to know under what circumstances these recluses mingled with the outer world. He would require accurate particulars of costumes and the like antiquarian details, that the accessories of his picture might be correct. And, if his monks are to be anything better than representations of monkish habits hung upon "lay figures," he must know what kind of men the Middle Age monks were intellectually and morally. These particulars we proceed to supply as fully as the space at our command will permit. Monachism arose in Egypt. As early as the second century we read of men and women who, attracted by the charms of a peaceful, contemplative life, far away from the fierce, sensual, persecuting heathen world, betook themselves to a life of solitary asceticism. The mountainous desert on the east of the Nile valley was their favourite resort; there they lived in little hermitages, rudely piled up of stones, or hollowed out of the mountain side, or in the cells of the ancient Egyptian sepulchres, feeding on pulse and herbs, and water from the neighbouring spring. One of the frescoes in the Campo Santo, at Pisa, by Pietro Laurati, engraved in Mrs. Jameson's "Legendary Art," gives a curious illustration of this phase of the eremitical life. It gives us a panorama of the desert, with the Nile in the foreground, and the rock caverns, and the little hermitages built among the date-palms, and the hermits at their ordinary occupations: here is one angling in the Nile, and another dragging out a net; there is one sitting at the door of his cell shaping wooden spoons. Here, again, we see them engaged in those mystical scenes in which an over-wrought imagination pictured to them the temptations of their senses in visible demon-shapes--beautiful to tempt or terrible to affright; or materialised the spiritual joys of their minds in angelic or divine visions: Anthony driving out with his staff the beautiful demon from his cell, or rapt in ecstasy beneath the Divine apparition.[1] Such pictures of the early hermits are not infrequent in mediæval art--one, from a fifteenth century MS. Psalter in the British Museum (Domit. A. xvii. f. 4 v), will be found in a subsequent chapter of this book. We can picture to ourselves how it must have startled the refined Græco-Egyptian world of Alexandria when occasionally some man, long lost to society and forgotten by his friends, reappeared in the streets and squares of the city, with attenuated limbs and mortified countenance, with a dark hair-cloth tunic for his only clothing, with a reputation for exalted sanctity and spiritual wisdom, and vague rumours of supernatural revelations of the unseen world; like another John Baptist sent to preach repentance to the luxurious citizens; or fetched, perhaps, by the Alexandrian bishop to give to the church the weight of his testimony to the ancient truth of some doctrine which began to be questioned in the schools. Such men, when they returned to the desert, were frequently accompanied by numbers of others, whom the fame of their sanctity and the persuasion of their preaching had induced to adopt the eremitical life. It is not to be wondered at that these new converts should frequently build, or select, their cells in the neighbourhood of that of the teacher whom they had followed into the desert, and should continue to look up to him as their spiritual guide. Gradually, this arrangement became systematised; a number of separate cells, grouped round a common oratory, contained a community of recluses who agreed to certain rules and to the guidance of a chosen head; an enclosure wall was generally built around this group, and the establishment was called a _laura_. The transition from this arrangement of a group of anchorites occupying the anchorages of a laura under a spiritual head, to that of a community living together in one building under the rule of an abbot, was natural and easy. The authorship of this coenobite system is attributed to St. Anthony, who occupied a ruined castle in the Nile desert, with a community of disciples, in the former half of the fourth century. The coenobitical institution did not supersede the eremitical; both continued to flourish together in every country of Christendom.[2] The first written code of laws for the regulation of the lives of these communities was drawn up by Pachomius, a disciple of Anthony's. Pachomius is said to have peopled the island of Tabenne, in the Nile, with coenobites, divided into monasteries, each of which had a superior, and a dean to every ten monks; Pachomius himself being the general director of the whole group of monasteries, which are said to have contained eleven hundred monks. The monks of St. Anthony are represented in ancient Greek pictures with a black or brown robe, and often with a tau cross of blue upon the shoulder or breast. St. Basil, afterwards bishop of Cesaræa, who died A.D. 378, introduced monachism into Asia Minor, whence it spread over the East. He drew up a code of laws founded upon the rule of Pachomius, which was the foundation of all succeeding monastic institutions, and which is still the rule followed by all the monasteries of the Greek Church. The rule of St. Basil enjoins poverty, obedience, and chastity, and self-mortification. The habit both of monks and nuns was, and still is, universally in the Greek Church, a plain, coarse, black frock with a cowl, and a girdle of leather, or cord. The monks went barefooted and barelegged, and wore the Eastern tonsure, in which the hair is shaved in a crescent off the fore part of the head, instead of the Western tonsure, in which it is shaved in a circle off the crown. Hilarion is reputed to have introduced the Basilican institution into Syria; St. Augustine into Africa; St. Martin of Tours into France; St. Patrick into Ireland, in the fifth century. The early history of the British Church is enveloped in thick obscurity, but it seems to have derived its Christianity (indirectly perhaps) from an Eastern source, and its monastic system was probably derived from that established in France by St. Martin, the abbot-bishop of Tours. One remarkable feature in it is the constant union of the abbatical and episcopal offices; this conjunction, which was foreign to the usage of the church in general, seems to have obtained all but universally in the British, and subsequently in the English Church. The British monasteries appear to have been very large; Bede tells us that there were no less than two thousand one hundred monks in the monastic establishment of Bangor in the sixth century, and there is reason to believe that the number is not overstated. They appear to have been schools of learning. The vows do not appear to have been perpetual; in the legends of the British saints we constantly find that the monks quitted the cloister without scruple. The legends lead us to imagine that a provost, steward, and deans, were the officers under the abbot; answering, perhaps, to the prior, cellarer, and deans of Benedictine institutions. The abbot-bishop, at least, was sometimes a married man. CHAPTER II. THE BENEDICTINE ORDERS. In the year 529 A.D., St. Benedict, an Italian of noble birth and great reputation, introduced into his new monastery on Monte Cassino--a hill between Rome and Naples--a new monastic rule. To the three vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity, which formed the foundation of most of the old rules, he added another, that of manual labour (for seven hours a day), not only for self-support, but also as a duty to God and man. Another important feature of his rule was that its vows were perpetual. And his rule lays down a daily routine of monastic life in much greater detail than the preceding rules appear to have done. The rule of St. Benedict speedily became popular, the majority of the existing monasteries embraced it; nearly all new monasteries for centuries afterwards adopted it; and we are told, in proof of the universality of its acceptation, that when Charlemagne caused inquiries to be made about the beginning of the eighth century, no other monastic rule was found existing throughout his wide dominions. The monasteries of the British Church, however, do not appear to have embraced the new rule. St. Augustine, the apostle of the Anglo-Saxons, was prior of the Benedictine monastery which Gregory the Great had founded upon the Celian Hill, and his forty missionaries were monks of the same house. It cannot be doubted that they would introduce their order into those parts of England over which their influence extended. But a large part of Saxon England owed its Christianity to missionaries of the native church sent forth from the great monastic institution at Iona and afterwards at Lindisfarne, and these would doubtless introduce their own monastic system. We find, in fact, that no uniform rule was observed by the Saxon monasteries; some seem to have kept the rule of Basil, some the rule of Benedict, and others seem to have modified the ancient rules, so as to adapt them to their own circumstances and wishes. We are not surprised to learn that under such circumstances some of the monasteries were lax in their discipline; from Bede's accounts we gather that some of them were only convents of secular clerks, bound by certain rules, and performing divine offices daily, but enjoying all the privileges of other clerks, and even sometimes being married. Indeed, in the eighth century the primitive monastic discipline appears to have become very much relaxed, both in the East and West, though the popular admiration and veneration of the monks was not diminished. In the illuminations of Anglo-Saxon MSS. of the ninth and tenth centuries, we find the habits of the Saxon monks represented of different colours, viz., white, black, dark brown, and grey.[3] In the early MS. Nero C. iv., in the British Museum, at f. 37, occurs a very clearly drawn group of monks in white habits; another group occurs at f. 34, rather more stiffly drawn, in which the margin of the hood and the sleeves is bordered with a narrow edge of ornamental work. About the middle of the ninth century, however, Archbishop Dunstan reduced all the Saxon monasteries to the rule of St. Benedict; not without opposition on the part of some of them, and not without rather peremptory treatment on his part; and thus the Benedictine rule became universal in the West. The habit of the Benedictines consisted of a white woollen cassock, and over that an ample black gown and a black hood. We give here an excellent representation of a Benedictine monk, from a book which formerly belonged to St. Alban's Abbey, and now is preserved in the British Museum (Nero D. vii. f. 81). The book is the official catalogue which each monastery kept of those who had been benefactors to the house, and who were thereby entitled to their grateful remembrance and their prayers. In many cases the record of a benefaction is accompanied by an illuminated portrait of the benefactor. In the present case, he is represented as holding a golden tankard in one hand and an embroidered cloth in the other, gifts which he made to the abbey, and for which he is thus immortalised in their _Catalogus Benefactorum_. Other illustrations of Benedictine monks, of early fourteenth century date, may be found in the Add. MS. 17,687, at f. 3; again at f. 6, where a Benedictine is preaching; and again at f. 34, where one is preaching to a group of nuns of the same order; and at f. 41, where one is sitting writing at a desk (as in the scriptorium, probably). Yet again in the MS. Royal 20 D. vii., is a picture of St. Benedict preaching to a group of his monks. A considerable number of pictures of Benedictine monks, illustrating a mediæval legend of which they are the subject, occur in the lower margin of the MS. Royal 10 E. iv., which is of late thirteenth or early fourteenth century date. A drawing of Abbot Islip of Westminster, who died A.D. 1532, is given in the "Vetusta Monumenta," vol. iv. Pl. xvi. In working and travelling they wore over the cossack a black sleeveless tunic of shorter and less ample dimensions. [Illustration: _Benedictine Monk._] The female houses of the order had the same regulations as those of the monks; their costume too was the same, a white under garment, a black gown and black veil, with a white wimple around the face and neck. They had in England, at the dissolution of the monasteries, one hundred and twelve monasteries and seventy-four nunneries.[4] For illustration of an abbess see the fifteenth century MS. Royal 16 F. ii. at f. 137. The Benedictine rule was all but universal in the West for four centuries; but during this period its observance gradually became relaxed. We cannot be surprised if it was found that the seven hours of manual labour which the rule required occupied time which might better be devoted to the learned studies for which the Benedictines were then, as they have always been, distinguished. We should have anticipated that the excessive abstinence, and many other of the mechanical observances of the rule, would soon be found to have little real utility when simply enforced by a rule, and not practised willingly for the sake of self-discipline. We are not therefore surprised, nor should we in these days attribute it as a fault, that the obligation to labour appears to have been very generally dispensed with, and some humane and sensible relaxations of the severe ascetic discipline and dietary of the primitive rule to have been very generally adopted. Nor will any one who has any experience of human nature expect otherwise than that among so large a body of men--many of them educated from childhood[5] to the monastic profession--there would be some who were wholly unsuited for it, and some whose vices brought disgrace upon it. The Benedictine monasteries, then, at the time of which we are speaking, had become different from the poor retired communities of self-denying ascetics which they were originally. Their general character was, and continued throughout the Middle Ages to be, that of wealthy and learned bodies; influential from their broad possessions, but still more influential from the fact that nearly all the literature, and art, and science of the period was to be found in their body. They were good landlords to their tenants, good cultivators of their demesnes; great patrons of architecture, and sculpture, and painting; educators of the people in their schools; healers of the sick in their hospitals; great almsgivers to the poor; freely hospitable to travellers; they continued regular and constant in their religious services; but in housing, clothing, and diet, they lived the life of temperate gentlemen rather than of self-mortifying ascetics. Doubtless, as we have said, in some monasteries there were evil men, whose vices brought disgrace upon their calling; and there were some monasteries in which weak or wicked rulers had allowed the evil to prevail. The quiet, unostentatious, every-day virtues of such monastics as these were not such as to satisfy the enthusiastical seeker after monastical perfection. Nor were they such as to command the admiration of the unthinking and illiterate, who are always more prone to reverence fanaticism than to appreciate the more sober virtues, who are ever inclined to sneer at religious men and religious bodies who have wealth, and are accustomed to attribute to a whole class the vices of its disreputable members. The popular disrepute into which the monastics had fallen through their increased wealth, and their departure from primitive monastical austerity, led, during the next two centuries, viz., from the beginning of the tenth to the end of the eleventh, to a series of endeavours to revive the primitive discipline. The history of all these attempts is very nearly alike. Some young monk of enthusiastic disposition, disgusted with the laxity or the vices of his brother monks, flies from the monastery, and betakes himself to an eremitical life in a neighbouring forest or wild mountain valley. Gradually a few men of like earnestness assemble round him. He is at length induced to permit himself to be placed at their head as their abbot, requires his followers to observe strictly the ancient rule, and gives them a few other directions of still stricter life. The new community gradually becomes famous for its virtues; the Pope's sanction is obtained for it; its followers assume a distinctive dress and name; and take their place as a new religious order. This is in brief the history of the successive rise of the Clugniacs, the Carthusians, the Cistercians, and the orders of Camaldoli and Vallombrosa and Grandmont; they all sprang thus out of the Benedictine order, retaining the rule of Benedict as the groundwork of their several systems. Their departures from the Benedictine rule were comparatively few and trifling, and need not be enumerated in such a sketch as this: they were in fact only reformed Benedictines, and in a general classification may be included with the parent order, to which these rivals imparted new tone and vigour. The following account of the foundation of Clairvaux by St. Bernard will illustrate these general remarks. It is true that the founding of Clairvaux was not technically the founding of a new order, for it had been founded fifteen years before in Citeaux; but St. Bernard was rightly esteemed a second founder of the Cistercians, and his going forth from the parent house to found the new establishment at Clairvaux was under circumstances which make the narrative an excellent illustration of the subject. "Twelve monks and their abbot," says his life in the "Acta Sanctorum," "representing our Lord and his apostles, were assembled in the church. Stephen placed a cross in Bernard's hands, who solemnly, at the head of his small band, walked forth from Citeaux.... Bernard struck away to the northward. For a distance of nearly ninety miles he kept this course, passing up by the source of the Seine, by Chatillon, of school-day memories, till he arrived at La Ferté, about equally distant between Troyes and Chaumont, in the diocese of Langres, and situated on the river Aube. About four miles beyond La Ferté was a deep valley opening to the east. Thick umbrageous forests gave it a character of gloom and wildness; but a gushing stream of limpid water which ran through it was sufficient to redeem every disadvantage. In June, A.D. 1115, Bernard took up his abode in the valley of Wormwood, as it was called, and began to look for means of shelter and sustenance against the approaching winter. The rude fabric which he and his monks raised with their own hands was long preserved by the pious veneration of the Cistercians. It consisted of a building covered by a single roof, under which chapel, dormitory, and refectory were all included. Neither stone nor wood hid the bare earth, which served for floor. Windows scarcely wider than a man's hand admitted a feeble light. In this room the monks took their frugal meals of herbs and water. Immediately above the refectory was the sleeping apartment. It was reached by a ladder, and was, in truth, a sort of loft. Here were the monks' beds, which were peculiar. They were made in the form of boxes or bins of wooden planks, long and wide enough for a man to lie down in. A small space, hewn out with an axe, allowed room for the sleeper to get in or out. The inside was strewn with chaff, or dried leaves, which, with the woodwork, seem to have been the only covering permitted.... The monks had thus got a house over their heads; but they had very little else. They had left Citeaux in June. Their journey had probably occupied them a fortnight, their clearing, preparations, and building, perhaps two months; and thus they would be near September when this portion of their labour was accomplished. Autumn and winter were approaching, and they had no store laid by. Their food during the summer had been a compound of leaves intermixed with coarse grain. Beech-nuts and roots were to be their main support during the winter. And now to the privations of insufficient food was added the wearing out of their shoes and clothes. Their necessities grew with the severity of the season, till at last even salt failed them; and presently Bernard heard murmurs. He argued and exhorted; he spoke to them of the fear and love of God, and strove to rouse their drooping spirits by dwelling on the hopes of eternal life and Divine recompense. Their sufferings made them deaf and indifferent to their abbot's words. They would not remain in this valley of bitterness; they would return to Citeaux. Bernard, seeing they had lost their trust in God, reproved them no more; but himself sought in earnest prayer for release from their difficulties. Presently a voice from heaven said, 'Arise, Bernard, thy prayer is granted thee.' Upon which the monks said, 'What didst thou ask of the Lord?' 'Wait, and ye shall see, ye of little faith,' was the reply; and presently came a stranger who gave the abbot ten livres." William of St. Thierry, the friend and biographer of St. Bernard, describes the external aspect and the internal life of Clairvaux. We extract it as a sketch of the highest type of monastic life, and as a corrective of the revelations of corrupter life among the monks which find illustration in these pages. "At the first glance as you entered Clairvaux by descending the hill you could see it was a temple of God; and the still, silent valley bespoke, in the modest simplicity of its buildings, the unfeigned humility of Christ's poor. Moreover, in this valley full of men, where no one was permitted to be idle, where one and all were occupied with their allotted tasks, a silence deep as that of night prevailed. The sounds of labour, or the chants of the brethren in the choral service, were the only exceptions. The order of this silence, and the fame that went forth of it, struck such a reverence even into secular persons that they dreaded breaking it--I will not say by idle or wicked conversation, but even by pertinent remarks. The solitude, also, of the place--between dense forests in a narrow gorge of neighbouring hills--in a certain sense recalled the cave of our father St. Benedict, so that while they strove to imitate his life, they also had some similarity to him in their habitation and loneliness.... Although the monastery is situated in a valley, it has its foundations on the holy hills, whose gates the Lord loveth more than all the dwellings of Jacob. Glorious things are spoken of it, because the glorious and wonderful God therein worketh great marvels. There the insane recover their reason, and although their outward man is worn away, inwardly they are born again. There the proud are humbled, the rich are made poor, and the poor have the Gospel preached to them, and the darkness of sinners is changed into light. A large multitude of blessed poor from the ends of the earth have there assembled, yet have they one heart and one mind; justly, therefore, do all who dwell there rejoice with no empty joy. They have the certain hope of perennial joy, of their ascension heavenward already commenced. In Clairvaux they have found Jacob's ladder, with angels upon it; some descending, who so provide for their bodies that they faint not on the way; others ascending, who so rule their souls that their bodies hereafter may be glorified with them. "For my part, the more attentively I watch them day by day, the more do I believe that they are perfect followers of Christ in all things. When they pray and speak to God in spirit and in truth, by their friendly and quiet speech to Him, as well as by their humbleness of demeanour, they are plainly seen to be God's companions and friends. When, on the other hand, they openly praise God with psalmody, how pure and fervent are their minds, is shown by their posture of body in holy fear and reverence, while by their careful pronunciation and modulation of the psalms, is shown how sweet to their lips are the words of God--sweeter than honey to their mouths. As I watch them, therefore, singing without fatigue from before midnight to the dawn of day, with only a brief interval, they appear a little less than the angels, but much more than men.... "As regards their manual labour, so patiently and placidly, with such quiet countenances, in such sweet and holy order, do they perform all things, that although they exercise themselves at many works, they never seem moved or burdened in anything, whatever the labour may be. Whence it is manifest that that Holy Spirit worketh in them who disposeth of all things with sweetness, in whom they are refreshed, so that they rest even in their toil. Many of them, I hear, are bishops and earls, and many illustrious through their birth or knowledge; but now, by God's grace, all acceptation of persons being dead among them, the greater any one thought himself in the world, the more in this flock does he regard himself as less than the least. I see them in the garden with hoes, in the meadows with forks or rakes, in the fields with scythes, in the forest with axes. To judge from their outward appearance, their tools, their bad and disordered clothes, they appear a race of fools, without speech or sense. But a true thought in my mind tells me that their life in Christ is hidden in the heavens. Among them I see Godfrey of Peronne, Raynald of Picardy, William of St. Omer, Walter of Lisle, all of whom I knew formerly in the old man, whereof I now see no trace, by God's favour. I knew them proud and puffed up; I see them walking humbly under the merciful hand of God." The first of these reformed orders was the CLUGNIAC, so called because it was founded, in the year 927, at Clugny, in Burgundy, by Odo the Abbot. The Clugniacs formally abrogated the requirement of manual labour required in the Benedictine rule, and professed to devote themselves more sedulously to the cultivation of the mind. The order was first introduced into England in the year 1077 A.D., at Lewes, in Sussex; but it never became popular in England, and never had more than twenty houses here, and they small ones, and nearly all of them founded before the reign of Henry II. Until the fourteenth century they were all priories dependent on the parent house of Clugny; though the prior of Lewes was the High Chamberlain, and often the Vicar-general, of the Abbot of Clugny, and exercised a supervision over the English houses of the order. The English houses were all governed by foreigners, and contained more foreign than English monks, and sent large portions of their surplus revenues to Clugny. Hence they were often seized, during war between England and France, as alien priories. But in the fourteenth century many of them were made denizen, and Bermondsey was made an abbey, and they were all discharged from subjection to the foreign abbeys. The Clugniacs retained the Benedictine habit. At Cowfold Church, Sussex, still remains a monumental brass of Thomas Nelond, who was prior of Lewes at his death, in 1433 A.D., in which he is represented in the habit of his order.[6] [Illustration: _Carthusian Monk._] In the year 1084 A.D., the CARTHUSIAN order was founded by St. Bruno, a monk of Cologne, at Chartreux, near Grenoble. This was the most severe of all the reformed Benedictine orders. To the strictest observance of the rule of Benedict they added almost perpetual silence; flesh was forbidden even to the sick; their food was confined to one meal of pulse, bread, and water, daily. It is remarkable that this the strictest of all monastic rules has, even to the present day, been but slightly modified; and that the monks have never been accused of personally deviating from it. The order was numerous on the Continent, but only nine houses of the order were ever established in England. The principal of these was the Charterhouse (Chartreux), in London, which, at the dissolution, was rescued by Thomas Sutton to serve one at least of the purposes of its original foundation--the training of youth in sound religious learning. There were few nunneries of the order--none in England. The Carthusian habit consisted of a white cassock and hood, over that a white scapulary--a long piece of cloth which hangs down before and behind, and is joined at the sides by a band of the same colour, about six inches wide; unlike the other orders, they shaved the head entirely. The representation of a Carthusian monk, on previous page, is reduced from one of Hollar's well-known series of prints of monastic costumes. Another illustration may be referred to in a fifteenth century book of Hours (Add.), at f. 10, where one occurs in a group of religious, which includes also a Benedictine and a Cistercian abbot, and others. [Illustration: _Cistercian Monk._] In 1098 A.D., arose the CISTERCIAN order. It took the name from Citeaux (Latinised into Cistercium), the house in which the new order was founded by Robert de Thierry. Stephen Harding, an Englishman, the third abbot, brought the new order into some repute; but it is to the fame of St. Bernard, who joined it in 1113 A.D., that the speedy and widespread popularity of the new order is to be attributed. The order was introduced into England at Waverly, in Surrey, in 1128 A.D. The Cistercians professed to observe the rule of St. Benedict with rigid exactness, only that some of the hours which were devoted by the Benedictines to reading and study, the Cistercians devoted to manual labour. They affected a severe simplicity; their houses were to be simple, with no lofty towers, no carvings or representation of saints, except the crucifix; the furniture and ornaments of their establishments were to be in keeping--chasubles of fustian, candlesticks of iron, napkins of coarse cloth, the cross of wood, and only the chalice might be of precious metal. The amount of manual labour prevented the Cistercians from becoming a learned order, though they did produce a few men distinguished in literature; they were excellent farmers and horticulturists, and are said in early times to have almost monopolised the wool trade of the kingdom. They changed the colour of the Benedictine habit, wearing a white gown and hood over a white cassock; when they went beyond the walls of the monastery they also wore a black cloak. St. Bernard of Clairvaux is the great saint of the order. They had seventy-five monasteries and twenty-six nunneries in England, including some of the largest and finest in the kingdom. The cut represents a group of Cistercian monks, from a MS. (Vitellius A. 13) in the British Museum. It shows some of them sitting with hands crossed and concealed in their sleeves--an attitude which was considered modest and respectful in the presence of superiors; some with the cowl over the head. It will be observed that some are and some are not bearded. [Illustration: _Group of Cistercian Monks._] The Cistercian monk, whom we give in the opposite woodcut, is taken from Hollar's plate. Other reformed Benedictine orders which arose in the eleventh century, viz., the order of CAMALDOLI, in 1027 A.D., and that of VALLOMBROSA, in 1073 A.D., did not extend to England. The order of the GRANDMONTINES had one or two alien priories here. The preceding orders differ among themselves, but the rule of Benedict is the foundation of their discipline, and they are so far impressed with a common character, and actuated by a common spirit, that we may consider them all as forming the Benedictine family. CHAPTER III. THE AUGUSTINIAN ORDERS. We come next to another great monastic family which is included under the generic name of Augustinians. The Augustinians claim the great St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, as their founder, and relate that he established the monastic communities in Africa, and gave them a rule. That he did patronise monachism in Africa we gather from his writings, but it is not clear that he founded any distinct order; nor was any order called after his name until the middle of the ninth century. About that time all the various denominations of clergy who had not entered the ranks of monachism--priests, canons, clerks, &c.--were incorporated by a decree of Pope Leo III. and the Emperor Lothaire into one great order, and were enjoined to observe the rule which was then known under the name of St. Augustine, but which is said to have been really compiled by Ivo de Chartres from the writings of St. Augustine. It was a much milder rule than the Benedictine. The Augustinians were divided into Canons Secular and Canons Regular. The CANONS SECULAR OF ST. AUGUSTINE were in fact the clergy of cathedral and collegiate churches, who lived in community on the monastic model; their habit was a long black cassock (the parochial clergy did not then universally wear black); over which, during divine service, they wore a surplice and a fur tippet, called an _almuce_, and a four-square black cap, called a _baret_; and at other times a black cloak and hood with a leather girdle. According to their rule they might wear their beards, but from the thirteenth century downwards we find them usually shaven. In the Canon's Yeoman's tale, from which the following extract is taken, Chaucer gives us a pen-and-ink sketch of a canon, from which it would seem that even on a journey he wore the surplice and fur hood under the black cloak:-- "Ere we had ridden fully five mile, At Brighton under Blee us gan atake [overtake] A man that clothed was in clothes blake, And underneath he wered a surplice. * * * * * And in my hearte wondren I began What that he was, till that I understood How that his cloak was sewed to his hood,[7] For which when I had long avised me, I deemed him some chanon for to be. His hat hung at his back down by a lace." The hat which hung behind may have been like that of the abbot in a subsequent woodcut; but he wore his hood; and Chaucer, with his usual humour and life-like portraiture, tells us how he had put a burdock leaf under his hood because of the heat:-- "A clote-leaf he had laid under his hood For sweat, and for to keep his head from heat." Chaucer rightly classes the canons rather with priests than monks:-- "All be he monk or frere, Priest or chanon, or any other wight." The canon whom we give in the wood-cut over-leaf, from one of Hollar's plates, is in ordinary costume. An engraving of a semi-choir of canons in their furred tippets from the MS. Domitian xvii, will be found in a subsequent chapter on the Secular Clergy. There are numerous existing monumental brasses in which the effigies of canons are represented in choir costume, viz., surplice and amice, and often with a cope over all; they are all bareheaded and shaven. We may mention specially that of William Tannere, first master of Cobham College (died 1418 A.D.), in Cobham Church, Kent, in which the almuce, with its fringe of bell-shaped ornaments, over the surplice, is very distinctly shown; it is fastened at the throat with a jewel. The effigy of Sir John Stodeley, canon, in Over Winchendon Church, Bucks (died 1505), is in ordinary costume, an under garment reaching to the heels, over that a shorter black cassock, girded with a leather girdle, and over all a long cloak and hood. The CANONS REGULAR OF ST. AUGUSTINE were perhaps the least ascetic of the monastic orders. Enyol de Provins, a minstrel (and afterwards a monk) of the thirteenth century, says of them: "Among them one is well shod, well clothed, and well fed. They go out when they like, mix with the world, and talk at table." They were little known till the tenth or eleventh century, and the general opinion is, that they were first introduced into England, at Colchester, in the reign of Henry I., where the ruins of their church, of Norman style, built of Roman bricks, still remain. Their habit was like that of the secular canons--a long black cassock, cloak and hood, and leather girdle, and four-square cap; they are distinguished from the secular canons by not wearing the beard. According to Tanner, they had one hundred and seventy-four houses in England--one hundred and fifty-eight for monks, and sixteen for nuns; but the editors of the last edition of the "Monasticon" have recovered the names of additional small houses, which make up a total of two hundred and sixteen houses of the order. [Illustration: _Canon of St. Augustine._] The Augustinian order branches out into a number of denominations; indeed, it is considered as the parent rule of all the monastic orders and religious communities which are not included under the Benedictine order; and retrospectively it is made to include all the distinguished recluses and clerics before the institution of St. Benedict, from the fourth to the sixth century. The most important branch of the Regular Canons is the PREMONSTRATENSIAN, founded by St. Norbert, a German nobleman, who died in 1134 A.D.; his first house, in a barren spot in the valley of Coucy, in Picardy, called Pré-montre, gave its name to the order. The rule was that of Augustine, with a severe discipline superadded; the habit was a coarse black cassock, with a white woollen cloak and a white four-square cap. Their abbots were not to use any episcopal insignia. The Premonstratensian nuns were not to sing in choir or church, and to pray in silence. They had only thirty-six houses in England, of which Welbeck was the chief; but the order was very popular on the Continent, and at length numbered one thousand abbeys and five hundred nunneries. Under this rule are also included the GILBERTINES, who were founded by a Lincolnshire priest, Gilbert of Sempringham, in the year 1139 A.D. There were twenty-six houses of the order, most of them in Lincolnshire and Yorkshire; they were all priories dependent upon the house of Sempringham, whose head, as prior-general, appointed the priors of the other houses, and ruled absolutely the whole order. All the houses of this order were double houses, that is, monks and nuns lived in the same enclosure, though with a rigid separation between their two divisions. The monks followed the Augustinian rule; the nuns followed the rule of the Cistercian nuns. The habit was a black cassock, a white cloak, and hood lined with lambskin. The "Monasticon" gives very effective representations (after Hollar) of the Gilbertine monk and nun. The NUNS OF FONTEVRAUD was another female order of Augustinians, of which little is known. It was founded at Fontevraud in France, and three houses of the order were established in England in the time of Henry II.; they had monks and nuns within the same enclosure, and all subject to the rule of an abbess. The BONHOMMES were another small order of the Augustinian rule, of little repute in England; they had only two houses here, which, however, were reckoned among the greater abbeys, viz., Esserug in Bucks, and Edindon in Wilts. The female ORDER OF OUR SAVIOUR, or, as they are usually called, the BRIGITTINES, were founded by St. Bridget of Sweden, in 1363 A.D. They were introduced into England by Henry V., who built for them the once glorious nunnery of Sion House. At the dissolution, the nuns fled to Lisbon, where their successors still exist. Some of the relics and vestments which they carried from Sion House have been carefully preserved ever since, and are now in the possession of the Earl of Shrewsbury.[8] Their habit was like that of the Benedictine nuns--a black tunic, white wimple and veil, but is distinguished by a black band on the veil across the forehead. Other small offshoots of the great Augustinian tree were those which observed the rule of St. Austin according to the regulations of St. Nicholas of Arroasia, which had four houses here; and those which observed the order of St. Victor, which had three houses. We may refer the reader to two MS. illuminations of groups of religious for further illustration of their costumes. One is in the beautiful fourteenth century MS. of Froissart in the British Museum (Harl. 4,380, at f. 18 v). It represents a dying pope surrounded by a group of representative religious, cardinals, &c. Among them are one in a brown beard, and with no appearance of tonsure (? a hermit); another in a white scapular and hood (? a Carthusian); another in a black cloak and hood over a white frock (? a Cistercian); another in a brown robe and hood, tonsured. Again, in the MS. Tiberius B iii. article 3, f. 6, the text speaks of "Convens of monkys, chanons and chartreus, celestynes, freres and prestes, palmers, pylgreymys, hermytes, and reclus," and the illuminator has illustrated it with a row of religious--first a Benedictine abbot; then a canon with red cassock and almuce over surplice; then a monk with white frock and white scapular banded at the sides, as in Hollar's cut given above, is clearly the Carthusian; then comes a man in brown, with a knotted girdle, holding a cross staff and a book, who is perhaps a friar; then one in white surplice over red cassock, who is the priest; then a hermit, in brown cloak over dark grey gown; and in the background are partly seen two pilgrims and a monk. Other illustrations of monks are frequent in the illuminated MSS. The HOSPITALS of the Middle Ages deserve a more extended notice than we can afford them here. Some were founded at places of pilgrimage and along the high roads, for the entertainment of poor pilgrims and travellers. Thus at St. Edmund's Bury there was St. John's Hospital, or God's House, without the south gate; and St. Nicholas Hospital, without the east gate; and St. Peter's Hospital, without the Risley gate; and St. Saviour's Hospital, without the north gate--all founded and endowed by abbots of St. Edmund. At Reading there was the Hospital of St. Mary Magdalene, for twelve leprous persons and chaplains; and the Hospital of St. Lawrence, for twenty-six poor people and for the entertainment of strangers and pilgrims--both founded by abbots of Reading; one at the gate of Fountains Abbey, for poor persons and travellers; one at Glastonbury, under the care of the almoner, for poor and infirm persons; &c., &c. Indeed, they were scattered so profusely up and down the country that the last edition of the "Monasticon" enumerates no less than three hundred and seventy of them. Those for the poor had usually a little chamber for each person, a common hall in which they took their meals, a chapel in which they attended daily service. They usually were under the care and government of one or more clergymen; sometimes in large hospitals of a prior and bretheren, who were Augustinian canons. The canons of some of these hospitals had special statutes in addition to the general rules, and were distinguished by some peculiarity of habit; for example, the canons of the Hospital of St. John Baptist at Coventry wore a cross on the breast of their black cassock, and a similar one on the shoulder of their cloak. The poor people were also under a simple rule, and were regarded as part of the community. The accompanying woodcut enables us to place a group of them before the eye of the reader. It is from one of the initial letters of the deed (Harl. 1,498) by which Henry VII. founded a fraternity of thirteen poor men (thirteen was a favourite number for such hospitals) in Westminster Abbey, who were to be under the governance of the monks, and to repay the king's bounty by their prayers. The group represents the abbot and some of the monks, and behind them some of the bedesmen, each of whom has the royal badge--the rose and crown--on the shoulder of his habit, and holds in his hand his rosary, the symbol of his prayers. Happily some of these ancient foundations have continued to the present day, and the brethren may be seen yet in coats of antique fashion, with a cross or other badge on the sleeve. Examples of the architecture of the buildings may be seen in the Bede Houses in Higham Ferrers Churchyard, built by Archbishop Chechele in 1422; St. Thomas's Hospital, Northampton; Wyston's Hospital, Leicester; Ford's Hospital, Coventry; the Alms Houses at Sherborne; the Leicester Hospital at Warwick, &c. Mr. Turner, in the "Domestic Architecture," says that there exists a complete chronological series from the twelfth century downwards. [Illustration: _Bedesmen. Temp. Hen. VII._] Hospitals were also established for the treatment of the sick, of which St. Bartholomew's Hospital is perhaps our most illustrious instance. It was founded to be an infirmary for the sick and infirm poor, a lying-in hospital for women--there were sisters on the hospital staff, and if the women happened to die in hospital their children were taken care of till seven years of age. The staff usually consisted of a community living under monastic vows and rule, viz., a prior and a number of brethren who were educated and trained to the treatment of sickness and disease, and one or more of whom were also priests; a college, in short, of clerical physicians and surgeons and hospital dressers, who devoted themselves to the service of the sick poor as an act of religion, and had always in mind our Lord's words, "Inasmuch as ye do it to one of the least of these my brethren, ye do it unto me." In the still existing church of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in Smithfield, is a monument of the founder "Rahere, first canon and prior," which is, however, of much later date, probably of about 1410 A.D.; his recumbent effigy, and the kneeling figures of two of his canons beside him, afford good authorities for costume. They have been engraved in the "Vetusta Monumenta," vol. ii. Pl. xxxvi. The building usually consisted of a great hall in which the sick lay, a chapel for their worship, apartments for the hospital staff, and other apartments for guests. We are not aware of any examples in England so perfect as some which exist in other countries, and we shall therefore borrow some foreign examples in illustration of the subject. The commonest form of these hospitals seems to have been a great hall divided by pillars into a centre and aisles, in which rows of beds were arranged; with a chapel in a separate building at one end of the hall, and other buildings irregularly disposed in a courtyard; as at the Hôtel Dieu of Chartres, a building of 1153 A.D.,[9] and the Salle des Morts at Ourscamp.[10] At Tonerre we find a modification of the above plan. The hospital is still a vast hall, but is divided by timber partitions along the side walls into little separate cells. Above these cells, against the side walls, and projecting partly over the cells, are two galleries, along which the attendants might walk and look down into the cells. At the east end of this hall two bays were screened off for the chapel, so that they who were able might go up into the chapel, and they who could not rise from their beds could still take part in the service.[11] At Tartoine, near Laon la Fère, is a hospital on a different plan: a hall, with cells on one side of it, is placed on one side of a square courtyard, and the chapel and lodgings for the brethren on another side of the court.[12] CHAPTER IV. THE MILITARY ORDERS. We have already sketched the history of the rise of monachism in the fourth century out of the groups of Egyptian eremites, and the rapid spread of the institution, under the rule of Basil, over Christendom; the adoption in the west of the new rule of Benedict in the sixth century; the rise of the reformed orders of Benedictines in the tenth and eleventh centuries; and the institution in the eleventh and twelfth centuries of a new group of orders under the milder discipline of the Augustinian rule. We come now to a class of monastics who are included under the Augustinian rule, since that rule formed the basis of their discipline, but whose striking features of difference from all other religious orders entitle them to be reckoned as a distinct class, under the designation of the Military Orders. When the history of the mendicant orders which arose in the thirteenth century has been read, it will be seen that these military orders had anticipated the active religious spirit which formed the characteristic of the friars, as opposed to the contemplative religious spirit of the monks. But that which peculiarly characterises the military orders, is their adoption of the chivalrous crusading spirit of the age in which they arose: they were half friars, half crusaders. The order of the KNIGHTS OF THE TEMPLE was founded at Jerusalem in 1118 A.D., during the interval between the first and second crusades, and in the reign of Baldwin I. Hugh de Payens, and eight other brave knights, in the presence of the king and his barons, and in the hands of the Patriarch, bound themselves into a fraternity which embraced the fundamental monastic vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity; and, in addition, as the special object of the fraternity, they undertook the task of escorting the companies of pilgrims from the coast up to Jerusalem, and thence on the usual tour to the Holy Places. For the open country was perpetually exposed to the incursions of irregular bands of Saracen and Turkish horsemen, and death or slavery was the fate which awaited any caravan of helpless pilgrims whom the infidel descried as they swept over the plains, or whom they could waylay in the mountain passes. The new knights undertook besides to wage a continual war in defence of the Cross against the infidel. The canons of the Temple at Jerusalem gave the new fraternity a piece of ground adjoining the Temple for the site of their home, and hence they took their name of Knights of the Temple; and they gradually acquired dependent houses, which were in fact strong castles, whose ruins may still be seen, in many a strong place in Palestine. Ten years after, when Baldwin II. sent envoys to Europe to implore the aid of the Christian powers in support of his kingdom against the Saracens, Hugh de Payens was sent as one of the envoys. His order received the approval of the Council of Troyes, and of Pope Eugene III., and the patronage of St. Bernard, who became the great preacher of the second crusade; and when Hugh de Payens returned to Palestine, he was at the head of three hundred knights of the noblest houses of Europe, who had become members of the order. Endowments, too, for their support flowed in abundantly; and gradually the order established dependent houses on its estates in nearly every country of Europe. The order was introduced into England in the reign of King Stephen; at first its chief house, "the Temple,"[13] was on the south side of Holborn, London, near Southampton Buildings; afterwards it was removed to Fleet Street, where the establishment still remains, long since converted to other uses; but the original church, with its round nave, after the form of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem,[14] still continues a monument of the wealth and grandeur of the ancient knights. They had only five other houses in England, which were called Preceptories, and were dependent upon the Temple in London. The knights wore the usual armour of the period; but while other knights wore the flowing surcoat of the twelfth or thirteenth centuries, or the tight-fitting jupon of the fourteenth, or the tabard of the fifteenth, of any colour which pleased their taste, and often embroidered with their armorial bearings, the Knights of the Temple were distinguished by wearing this portion of their equipment of white, with a red cross over the breast; and over all a long flowing white mantle, with a red cross on the shoulder; they also wore the monastic tonsure. In the early fourteenth century MS. in the British Museum, Royal 1,696, at f. 335, is a representation of Eracles, Prior at Jerusalem, the Prior of the Hospital, and the Master of the Temple, sent to France to ask for succour. The illumination shows us the King of France sitting on his throne, and before him is standing a religious in mitre and crozier, who is no doubt Eracles, and another in a peculiarly shaped black robe, with a cross patee on the left shoulder, who is either Hugh de Payens the Templar, or Raymond de Puy the Hospitaller, but which it is difficult to determine. Again, in the fine fourteenth century MS., Nero E. 2, at f. 345 v, is a representation of the trial of the Templars: there are three of them standing before the Pope and the King of France, dressed in a grey tunic, and over that a black mantle with a red cross on the left breast, and a pointed hood over the shoulders. Folio 350 represents the Master of the Temple being burnt to death in presence of the king and nobles. Again, in the fine MS. Royal 20, c. viii., of the time of our Richard II., at f. 42 and f. 48, are representations of the same scenes. Folio 42 is a group of Templars habited in long black coat, fitting close up to the neck, like the ordinary civil robes of the time, with a pointed hood (like that with which we are familiar in the portraits of Dante), with a cross patee on the right shoulder; the hair is tonsured. At f. 45 is the burning of a group of Templars (not tonsured), and at f. 48 the burning of the Master of the Temple and another (tonsured). Their banner was of a black and white striped cloth, called _beauseant_, which word they adopted as a war-cry. The rule allowed three horses and a servant to each knight. Married knights were admitted, but there were no sisters of the order. The order was suppressed with circumstances of gross injustice and cruelty in the fourteenth century, and the bulk of their estates was given to the Hospitallers. The knight here given, from Hollar's plate, is a prior of the order, in armour of the thirteenth century. [Illustration: _A Knight Templar._] The KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN OF JERUSALEM, or the Knights Hospitallers, originally were not a military order; they were founded about 1092 by the merchants of Amalfi, in Italy, for the purpose of affording hospitality to pilgrims in the Holy Land. Their chief house, which was called the Hospital, was situated at Jerusalem, over against the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; and they had independent hospitals in other places in the Holy Land, which were frequented by the pilgrims. Their kindness to the sick and wounded soldiers of the first crusade made them popular, and several of the crusading princes endowed them with estates; while many of the crusaders, instead of returning home, laid down their arms, and joined the brotherhood of the Hospital. During this period of their history their habit was a plain black robe, with a linen cross upon the left breast. At length their endowments having become greater than the needs of their hospitals required, and incited by the example of the Templars, a little before established, Raymond de Puy, the then master of the hospital, offered to King Baldwin II. to reconstruct the order on the model of the Templars. From this time the two military orders formed a powerful standing army for the defence of the kingdom of Jerusalem. When Palestine was finally lost to the Christians, the Knights of St. John passed into the Isle of Cyprus, afterwards to the Isle of Rhodes, and, finally, to the Isle of Malta,[15] maintaining a constant warfare against the infidel, and doing good service in checking the westward progress of the Mohammedan arms. In the latter part of their history, and down to a recent period, they conferred great benefits by checking the ravages of the corsairs of North Africa on the commerce of the Mediterranean and the coast towns of Southern Europe. They patrolled the sea in war-galleys, rowed by galley-slaves, each of which carried a force of armed soldiers--inferior brethren of the order, officered by its knights. They are not even now extinct. The order was first introduced into England in the reign of Henry I., at Clerkenwell; which continued the principal house of the order in England, and was styled the Hospital. The Hospitallers had also dependent houses, called Commanderies, on many of their English estates, to the number of fifty-three in all. The houses of the military knights in England were only cells, erected on the estates with which they had been endowed, in order to cultivate those estates for the support of the order, and to form depôts for recruits; _i.e._ for novices, where they might be trained, not in learning like Benedictines, or agriculture like Cistercians, or preaching like Dominicans, but in piety and in military exercises. A plan and elevation of the Commandery of Chabburn, Northumberland, are engraved in Turner's "Domestic Architecture," vol. iii. p. 197. The superior of the order in England sat in Parliament, and was accounted the first lay baron. When on military duty the knights wore the ordinary armour of the period, with a red surcoat marked with a white cross on the breast, and a red mantle with a white cross on the shoulder. Some of their churches in England possibly had circular naves, like the church of the Temple in Jerusalem; out of the four "round churches," which remain, one belonged to the Knights of the Hospital. The chapel at Chabburn is a rectangular building. There were many sisters of the order, but only one house of them in England. One of two earlier representations of knights of the order may be noted here. In a MS. in the Library at Ghent, of the date of our Edward IV., is a picture of John Lonstrother, prior of the order; he wears a long sleeveless gown over armour. It is engraved in the "Archælogia," xiii. 14. The MS. Add. 18,143 in the British Museum is said in a note at the beginning of the volume to have been the missal of Phillippe de Villiers de l'Isle Adam, the famous Grand Master of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem from 1521 to 1534. In the frontispiece is a portrait of the Grand Master in a black robe lined with fur, and a cross patee on the breast. On the opposite page is another portrait of him in a robe of different fashion, with a cross rather differently shaped. The monument of the last English Prior, Sir Thomas Tresham, in his robes as prior of the order, still remains in Rushton Church, Northants. A fine portrait of a Knight of Malta is in the National Gallery. The Hospitaller given on the preceding page, from Hollar's plate, is a (not very good) representation of one in the armour of the early part of the fourteenth century, with the usual knight's _chapeau_, instead of the mail hood or the basinet, on his head. [Illustration: _A Knight Hospitaller._] It will be gathered from the authorities of the costume of the Knights of the Temple and of the Hospital here noted, that when we picture to ourselves the knights on duty in the Holy Land or elsewhere, it should be in the armour of their period with the uniform surcoat of their order; but when we desire to realise their appearance as they were to be ordinarily seen, in chapel or refectory, or about their estates, or forming part of any ordinary scene of English life, it must be in the long cassock-like gown, with the cross on the shoulder, and the tonsured head, described in the above authorities, which would make their appearance resemble that of other religious persons. Other military orders, which never extended to England, were the order of TEUTONIC KNIGHTS, a fraternity similar to that of the Templars, but consisting entirely of Germans; and the order of OUR LADY OF MERCY, a Spanish knightly order in imitation of that of the Trinitarians. One other order of religious--the TRINITARIANS--we have reserved for this place, because while by their rule they are classed among the Augustinian orders, the object of their foundation gives them an affinity with the military orders, and their mode of pursuing that object makes their organisation and life resemble that of friars. The moral interest of their work, and its picturesque scenes and associations, lead us to give a little larger space to them than we have been able to do to most of the other orders. It is difficult for us to realise that the Mohammedan power seemed at one time not unlikely to subjugate all Europe; and that after their career of conquest had been arrested, the Mohammedan states of North Africa continued for centuries to be a scourge to the commerce of Europe, and a terror to the inhabitants of the coasts of the Mediterranean. They scoured the Great Sea with their galleys, and captured ships; they made descents on the coasts, and plundered towns and villages; and carried off the captives into slavery, and retreated in safety with their booty, to their African harbours. It is only within quite recent times that the last of these strongholds was destroyed by an English fleet, and that the Greek and Italian feluccas have ceased to fear the Algerine pirates. We have already briefly stated how the Hospitallers, after their original service was ended by the expulsion of the Christians from the Holy Land, settled first at Cyprus, then at Rhodes, and did good service as a bulwark against the Mohammedan progress; and lastly, as Knights of Malta, acted as the police of the Mediterranean, and did their best to oppose the piracies of the Corsairs. But in spite of the vigilance and prowess of the knights, many a merchant ship was captured, many a fishing village was sacked, and many captives, men, women, and children of all ranks of society, were carried off into slavery; and their slavery was a cruel one, exaggerated by the scorn and hatred bred of antagonism in race and religion, and made ruthless by the recollection of ages of mutual injuries. The relations and friends of the unhappy captives, where they were people of wealth and influence, used every exertion to rescue those who were dear to them, and their captors were ordinarily willing to set them to ransom; but hopeless indeed was the lot of those--and they, of course, were the great majority--who had no friends rich enough to help them. The miserable fate of these helpless ones moved the compassion of some Christ-like souls. John de Matha, born, in 1154, of noble parents in Provence, with Felix de Valois, retired to a desert place, where, at the foot of a little hill, a fountain of cold water issued forth; a white hart was accustomed to resort to this fountain, and hence it had received the name of Cervus Frigidus, represented in French by (or representing the French?) Cerfroy. There, about A.D. 1197, these two good men--the Clarkson and Wilberforce of their time--arranged the institution of a new Order for the Redemption of Captives. The new order received the approval of the Pope Innocent III., and took its place among the recognised orders of the church. This Papal approval of their institution constituted an authorisation from the head of the church to seek alms from all Christendom in furtherance of their object. Their rules directed that one-third of their income only should be reserved for their own maintenance, one-third should be given to the poor, and one-third for the special object of redeeming captives. The two philanthropists preached throughout France, collecting alms, and recruiting men who were willing to join them in their good work. In the first year they were able to send two brethren to Africa, to negotiate the redemption of a hundred and eighty-six Christian captives; next year, John himself went, and brought back a thankful company of a hundred and ten; and on a third voyage, a hundred and twenty more; and the order continued to flourish,[16] and established a house of the order in Africa, as its agent with the infidel. They were introduced into England by Sir William Lucy of Charlecote, on his return from the Crusade; who built and endowed for them Thellesford Priory in Warwickshire; and subsequently they had eleven other houses in England. St. Rhadegunda was their tutelary saint. Their habit was white, with a Greek cross of red and blue on the breast--the three colours being taken to signify the three persons of the Holy Trinity, viz., the white, the Eternal Father; the blue, which was the transverse limb of the cross, the Son; and the red, the charity of the Holy Spirit. The order were called TRINITARIANS, from their devotion to the Blessed Trinity, all their houses being so dedicated, and hence the significance of their badge; they were commonly called MATHURINS, after the name of their founder; and BRETHREN OF THE ORDER OF THE HOLY TRINITY FOR THE REDEMPTION OF CAPTIVES, from their object. * * * * * Before turning from the monks to the friars, we must devote a brief sentence to the ALIEN PRIORIES. These were cells of foreign abbeys, founded upon estates which English proprietors had given to the foreign houses. After the expenses of the establishment had been defrayed, the surplus revenue, or a fixed sum in lieu of it, was remitted to the parent house abroad. There were over one hundred and twenty of them when Edward I., on the breaking out of the war with France, seized upon them, in 1285, as belonging to the enemy. Edward II. appears to have pursued the same course; and, again, Edward III., in 1337. Henry IV. only reserved to himself, in time of war, what these houses had been accustomed to pay to the foreign abbeys in time of peace. But at length they were all dissolved by act of Parliament in the second year of Henry V., and their possessions were devoted for the most part to religious and charitable uses. CHAPTER V. THE ORDERS OF FRIARS. We have seen how for three centuries, from the beginning of the tenth to the end of the twelfth, a series of religious orders arose, each aiming at a more successful reproduction of the monastic ideal. The thirteenth century saw the rise of a new class of religious orders, actuated by a different principle from that of monachism. The principle of monachism, we have said, was seclusion from mankind, and abstraction from worldly affairs, for the sake of religious contemplation. To this end monasteries were founded in the wilds, far from the abodes of men; and he who least often suffered his feet or his thoughts to wander beyond the cloister was so far the best monk. The principle which inspired the FRIARS was that of devotion to the performance of active religious duties among mankind. Their houses were built in or near the great towns; and to the majority of the brethren the houses of the order were mere temporary resting-places, from which they issued to make their journeys through town and country, preaching in the parish churches, or from the steps of the market-crosses, and carrying their ministrations to every castle and every cottage. "I speke of many hundred years ago, For now can no man see non elves mo; For now the great charity and prayers Of lymytours and other holy freres That serchen every land and every stream As thick as motis in the sunne-beam, Blessing halls, chambers, kitchens, and bowers, Cities and burghs, castles high and towers, Thorps and barns, shippons and dairies, This maketh that there been no fairies. For there as wont to walken was an elf, There walketh now the lymytour himself In undermeles and in morwenings,[17] And sayeth his matins and his holy things, As he goeth in his lymytacioun."--_Wife of Bath's Tale._ They were, in fact, home missionaries; and the zeal and earnestness of their early efforts, falling upon times when such an agency was greatly needed, produced very striking results. "Till the days of Martin Luther," says Sir James Stephen, "the church had never seen so great and effectual a reform as theirs.... Nothing in the histories of Wesley or of Whitefield can be compared with the enthusiasm which everywhere welcomed them, or with the immediate visible result of their labours." In the character of St. Francis, notwithstanding its superstition and exaggerated asceticism, there is something specially attractive: in his intense sympathy with the sorrows and sufferings of the poor, his tender and respectful love for them as members of Christ, his heroic self-devotion to their service for Christ's sake, in his vivid realisation of the truth that birds, beasts, and fishes are God's creatures, and our fellow-creatures. In the work of both Francis and Dominic there is much which is worth careful study at the present day. Now, too, there is a mass of misery in our large towns huge and horrible enough to kindle the Christ-like pity of another Francis; in country as well as town there are ignorance and irreligion enough to call forth the zeal of another Dominic. In our Sisters of Mercy we see among women a wonderful rekindling of the old spirit of self-sacrifice, in a shape adapted to our time; we need not despair of seeing the same spirit rekindled among men, freed from the old superstitions and avoiding the old blunders, and setting itself to combat the gigantic evils which threaten to overwhelm both religion and social order. Both these reformers took great pains to fit their followers for the office of preachers and teachers, sending them in large numbers to the universities, and founding colleges there for the reception of their students. With an admirable largeness of view, they did not confine their studies to theology, but cultivated the whole range of Science and Art, and so successful were they, that in a short time the professional chairs of the universities of Europe were almost monopolised by the learned members of the mendicant orders.[18] The constitutions required that no one should be licensed as a general preacher until he had studied theology for three years; then a provincial or general chapter examined into his character and learning; and, if these were satisfactory, gave him his commission, either limiting his ministry to a certain district (whence he was called in English a _limitour_, like Chaucer's Friar Hubert), or allowing him to exercise it where he listed (when he was called a _lister_). This authority to preach, and exercise other spiritual functions, necessarily brought the friars into collision with the parochial clergy;[19] and while a learned and good friar would do much good in parishes which were cursed with an ignorant, or slothful, or wicked pastor, on the other hand, the inferior class of friars are accused of abusing their position by setting the people against their pastors whose pulpits they usurped, and interfering injuriously with the discipline of the parishes into which they intruded. For it was not very long before the primitive purity and zeal of the mendicant orders began to deteriorate. This was inevitable; zeal and goodness cannot be perpetuated by a system; all human societies of superior pretensions gradually deteriorate, even as the Apostolic Church itself did. But there were peculiar circumstances in the system of the mendicant orders which tended to induce rapid deterioration. The profession of mendicancy tended to encourage the use of all those little paltry arts of popularity-hunting which injure the usefulness of a minister of religion, and lower his moral tone: the fact that an increased number of friars was a source of additional wealth to a convent, since it gave an increased number of collectors of alms for it, tended to make the convents less scrupulous as to the fitness of the men whom they admitted. So that we can believe the truth of the accusations of the old satirists, that dissolute, good-for-nothing fellows sought the friar's frock and cowl, for the license which it gave to lead a vagabond life, and levy contributions on the charitable. Such men could easily appropriate to themselves a portion of what was given them for the convent; and they had ample opportunity, away from the control of their ecclesiastical superiors, to spend their peculations in dissolute living.[20] We may take, therefore, Chaucer's Friar John, of the Sompnour's Tale, as a type of a certain class of friars; but we must remember that at the same time there were many earnest, learned, and excellent men in the mendicant orders; even as Mawworm and John Wesley might flourish together in the same body. [Illustration: _Costumes of the Four Orders of Friars._] The convents of friars were not independent bodies, like the Benedictine and Augustinian abbeys; each order was an organised body, governed by the general of the order, and under him, by provincial priors, priors of the convents, and their subordinate officials. There are usually reckoned four orders of friars--the Dominicans, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Augustines. "I found there freres, All the foure orders, Techynge the peple To profit of themselves." _Piers Ploughman_, l. 115. The four orders are pictured together in the woodcut on the preceding page from the thirteenth century MS. Harl. 1,527. They were called _Friars_ because, out of humility, their founders would not have them called _Father_ and _Dominus_, like the monks, but simply _Brother_ (_Frater, Frère, Friar_). The DOMINICANS and FRANCISCANS arose simultaneously at the beginning of the thirteenth century. Dominic, an Augustinian canon, a Spaniard of noble birth, was seized with a zeal for converting heretics, and having gradually associated a few ecclesiastics with himself, he at length conceived the idea of founding an order of men who should spend their lives in preaching. Simultaneously, Francis, the son of a rich Italian merchant, was inspired with a design to establish a new order of men, who should spend their lives in preaching the Gospel and doing works of charity among the people. These two men met in Rome in the year 1216 A.D., and some attempt was made to induce them to unite their institutions in one; but Francis was unwilling, and the Pope sanctioned both. Both adopted the Augustinian rule, and both required not only that their followers personally should have no property, but also that they should not possess any property collectively as a body; their followers were to work for a livelihood, or to live on alms. The two orders retained something of the character of their founders: the Dominicans that of the learned, energetic, dogmatic, and stern controversialist; they were defenders of the orthodox faith, not only by argument, but by the terrors of the Inquisition, which was in their hands; even as their master is, rightly or wrongly, said to have sanctioned the cruelties which were used against the Albigenses when his preaching had failed to convince them. The Franciscans retained something of the character of the pious, ardent, fanciful enthusiast from whom they took their name. [Illustration: _S. Dominic and S. Francis._] Dominic gave to his order the name of Preaching Friars; more commonly they were styled Dominicans, or, from the colour of their habits, Black Friars[21]--their habit consisting of a white tunic, fastened with a white girdle, over that a white scapulary, and over all a black mantle and hood, and shoes; the lay brethren wore a black scapulary. The woodcut which we give on the preceding page of two friars, with their names, DOMINIC and FRANCIS, inscribed over them, is taken from a representation in a MS. of the end of the thirteenth century (Sloan 346), of a legend of a vision of Dominic related in the "Legenda Aurea," in which the Virgin Mary is deprecating the wrath of Christ, about to destroy the world for its iniquity, and presenting to him Dominic and Francis, with a promise that they will convert the world from its wickedness. The next woodcut is from Hollar's print in the "Monasticon." An early fifteenth century illustration of a Dominican friar, in black mantle and brown hood over a white tunic, may be found on the last page of the Harleian MS., 1,527. A fine picture of St. Dominic, by Mario Zoppo (1471-98), in the National Gallery, shows the costume admirably; he stands preaching, with book and rosary in his left hand. The Dominican nuns wore the same dress with a white veil. They had, according to the last edition of the "Monasticon," fifty-eight houses in England. [Illustration: _A Dominican Friar._] The Franciscans were styled by their founder Fratri Minori--lesser brothers, Friars Minors; they were more usually called Grey Friars, from the colour of their habits, or Cordeliers, from the knotted cord which formed their characteristic girdle. Their habit was originally a grey tunic with long loose sleeves (but not quite so loose as those of the Benedictines), a knotted cord for a girdle, and a black hood; the feet always bare, or only protected by sandals. In the fifteenth century the colour of the habit was altered to a dark brown. The woodcut is from Hollar's print. A picture of St. Francis, by Felippino Lippi (1460-1505), in the National Gallery shows the costume very clearly. Piers Ploughman describes the irregular indulgences in habit worn by less strict members of the order:-- "In cutting of his cope Is more cloth y-folden Than was in Frauncis' froc, When he them first made. And yet under that cope A coat hath he, furred With foyns or with fichews Or fur of beaver, And that is cut to the knee, And quaintly y-buttoned Lest any spiritual man Espie that guile. Fraunceys bad his brethren Barefoot to wenden. Now have they buckled shoon For blenying [blistering] of ther heels, And hosen in harde weather Y-hamled [tied] by the ancle." A beautiful little picture of St. Francis receiving the stigmata may be found in a Book of Offices of the end of the fourteenth century (Harl. 2,897, f. 407 v.). Another fifteenth-century picture of the same subject is in a Book of Hours (Harl. 5,328, f. 123). Some fine sixteenth-century authorities for Franciscan costumes are in the MS. life of St. Francis (Harl. 3,229, f. 26). The principal picture represents St. Bonaventura, a saint of the order, in a gorgeous cope over his brown frock and hood, seated writing in his cell; through the open door is seen a corridor with doors opening off it to other cells. In the corners of the page are other pictures of St. Anthony of Padua, and St. Bernardine, and another saint, and St. Clare, foundress of the female order of Franciscans. A very good illumination of two Franciscans in grey frocks and hoods, girded with rope and barefooted, will be found in the MS. Add. 17,687 of date 1498. The Franciscan nuns, or Minoresses, or Poor Clares, as they were sometimes called, from St. Clare, the patron saint and first nun of the order, wore the same habit as the monks, only with a black veil instead of a hood. For another illustration of minoresses see MS. Royal 1,696, f. 111, v. The Franciscans were first introduced into England, at Canterbury, in the year 1223 A.D., and there were sixty-five houses of the order in England, besides four of minoresses. [Illustration: _A Franciscan Friar._] While the Dominicans retained their unity of organisation to the last, the Franciscans divided into several branches, under the names of Minorites, Capuchins, Minims, Observants, Recollets, &c. The CARMELITE FRIARS had their origin, as their name indicates, in the East. According to their own traditions, ever since the days of Elijah, whom they claim as their founder, the rocks of Carmel have been inhabited by a succession of hermits, who have lived after the pattern of the great prophet. Their institution as an order of friars, however, dates from the beginning of the thirteenth century, when Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem, gave them a rule, founded upon, but more severe than, that of St. Basil; and gave them a habit of white and red stripes, which, according to tradition, was the fashion of the wonder-working mantle of their prophet-founder. The order immediately spread into the West, and Pope Honorius III. sanctioned it, and changed the habit to a white frock over a dark brown tunic; and very soon after, the third general of the order, an Englishman, Simon Stock, added the scapulary, of the same colour as the tunic, by which they are to be distinguished from the Premonstratensian canons, whose habit is the same, except that it wants the scapulary. From the colour of the habit the popular English name for the Carmelites was the White Friars. Sir John de Vesci, an English crusader, in the early part of the thirteenth century, made the ascent of Mount Carmel, and found these religious living there, claiming to be the successors of Elijah. The romantic incident seems to have interested him, and he brought back some of them to England, and thus introduced the order here, where it became more popular than elsewhere in Europe, but it was never an influential order. They had ultimately fifty houses in England. [Illustration: _A Carmelite Friar._] The AUSTIN FRIARS were founded in the middle of the thirteenth century. There were still at that time some small communities which were not enrolled among any of the great recognised orders, and a great number of hermits and solitaries, who lived under no rule at all. Pope Innocent IV. decreed that all these hermits, solitaries, and separate communities, should be incorporated into a new order, under the rule of St. Augustine, with some stricter clauses added, under the name of Ermiti Augustini, Hermits of St. Augustine, or, as they were popularly called, Austin Friars. Their exterior habit was a black gown with broad sleeves, girded with a leather belt, and black cloth hood. There were forty-five houses of them in England. There were also some minor orders of friars, who do not need a detailed description. The Crutched (crossed) Friars, so called because they had a red cross on the back and breast of their blue habit, were introduced into England in the middle of the thirteenth century, and had ten houses here. The Friars de Poenitentiâ, or the Friars of the Sack, were introduced a little later, and had nine houses. And there were six other friaries of obscure orders. But all these minor mendicant orders--all except the four great orders, the Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians, and Carmelites--were suppressed by the Council of Lyons, A.D. 1370. Chaucer lived in the latter half of the fourteenth century, when, after a hundred and forty years' existence, the orders of friars, or at least many individuals of the orders, had lost much of their primitive holiness and zeal. His avowed purpose is to satirise their abuses; so that, while we quote him largely for the life-like pictures of ancient customs and manners which he gives us, we must make allowance for the exaggerations of a satirist, and especially we must not take the faulty or vicious individuals, whom it suits his purpose to depict, as fair samples of the whole class. We have a nineteenth-century satirist of the failings and foibles of the clergy, to whom future generations will turn for illustrations of the life of cathedral towns and country parishes. We know how wrongly they would suppose that Dr. Proudie was a fair sample of nineteenth-century bishops, or Dr. Grantley of archdeacons "of the period," or Mr. Smylie of the evangelical clergy; we know there is no real bishop, archdeacon, or incumbent among us of whom those characters, so cleverly and amusingly, and in one sense so truthfully, drawn, are anything but exaggerated likenesses. With this caution, we do not hesitate to borrow illustrations of our subject from Chaucer and other contemporary writers. In his description of Friar Hubert, who was one of the Canterbury pilgrims, he tells us how-- "Full well beloved and familiar was he With frankelins over all in his countrie; And eke with worthy women of the town,[22] For he had power of confession, As said himself, more than a curate, For of his order he was licenciate. Full sweetely heard he confession, And pleasant was his absolution. He was an easy man to give penance There as he wist to have a good pittance, For unto a poor order for to give, Is signe that a man is well y-shrive. * * * * * His tippet was aye farsed[23] full of knives And pinnés for to give to fairé wives. And certainly he had a merry note, Well could he sing and playen on a rote.[24] * * * * * And over all there as profit should arise, Courteous he was, and lowly of service. There was no man no where so virtuous, He was the beste beggar in all his house, And gave a certain ferme for the grant None of his brethren came in his haunt." As to his costume:-- "For there was he not like a cloisterer, With threadbare cope, as is a poor scholar, But he was like a master or a pope, Of double worsted was his semi-cope,[25] That round was as a bell out of the press." In the Sompnour's tale the character, here merely sketched, is worked out in detail, and gives such a wonderfully life-like picture of a friar, and of his occupation, and his intercourse with the people, that we cannot do better than lay considerable extracts from it before our readers:-- "Lordings there is in Yorkshire, as I guess, A marsh country y-called Holderness, In which there went a limitour[26] about To preach, and eke to beg, it is no doubt. And so befel that on a day this frere Had preached at a church in his mannére, And specially aboven every thing Excited he the people in his preaching To trentals,[27] and to give for Goddé's sake, Wherewith men mighten holy houses make, There as divine service is honoured, Not there as it is wasted and devoured.[28] 'Trentals,' said he, 'deliver from penance Ther friendés' soules, as well old as young, Yea, when that they are speedily y-sung. Not for to hold a priest jolly and gay, He singeth not but one mass[29] of a day, Deliver out,' quoth he, 'anon[30] the souls. Full hard it is, with flesh-hook or with owles To be y-clawed, or to burn or bake: Now speed you heartily, for Christé's sake.' And when this frere had said all his intent, With _qui cum patre_[31] forth his way he went; When folk in church had given him what they lest He went his way, no longer would he rest." Then he takes his way through the village with his brother friar (it seems to have been the rule for them to go in couples) and a servant after them to carry their sack, begging at every house. "With scrippe and tipped staff, y-tucked high, In every house he gan to pore and pry; And begged meal or cheese, or ellés corn. His fellow had a staff tipped with horn, A pair of tables all of ivory, And a pointel y-polished fetisly, And wrote always the namés, as he stood, Of allé folk that gave them any good, As though that he woulde for them pray. 'Give us a bushel of wheat, or malt, or rye, A Goddé's kichel,[32] or a trippe of cheese; Or ellés what you list, we may not chese;[33] A Godde's halfpenny, or a mass penny, Or give us of your bran, if ye have any, A dagon[34] of your blanket, dearé dame, Our sister dear (lo! here I write your name): Bacon or beef, or such thing as you find.' A sturdy harlot[35] went them aye behind, That was their hosté's man, and bare a sack, And what men gave them laid it on his back. And when that he was out at door, anon He planed away the names every one, That he before had written on his tables; He served them with triffles[36] and with fables." At length he comes to a house in which, the goodwife being _devôte_, he has been accustomed to be hospitably received:-- "So along he went, from house to house, till he Came to a house where he was wont to be Refreshed more than in a hundred places. Sick lay the husbandman whose that the place is; Bedrid upon a couché low he lay: '_Deus hic_,' quoth he, 'O Thomas, friend, good day' Said this frere, all courteously and soft. 'Thomas,' quoth he, 'God yield[37] it you, full oft Have I upon this bench fared full well, Here have I eaten many a merry meal.' And from the bench he drove away the cat, And laid adown his potent[38] and his hat, And eke his scrip, and set himself adown: His fellow was y-walked into town Forth with his knave, into that hostlery Where as he shope him thilké night to lie 'O deré master,' quoth this sické man, 'How have ye fared since that March began? I saw you not this fourteen night and more.' 'God wot,' quoth he, 'laboured have I full sore; And specially for thy salvation Have I sayd many a precious orison, And for our other friendes, God them bless. I have this day been at your church at messe, And said a sermon to my simple wit. * * * * * And there I saw our dame. Ah! where is she?' 'Yonder I trow that in the yard she be,' Saidé this man, 'and she will come anon.' 'Eh master, welcome be ye, by St. John!' Saide this wife; 'how fare ye heartily?' This friar ariseth up full courteously, And her embraceth in his armés narwe,[39] And kisseth her sweet, and chirketh as a sparrow With his lippes: 'Dame,' quoth he, 'right well. As he that is your servant every deal.[40] Thanked be God that you gave soul and life, Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife In all the churché, God so save me.' 'Yea, God amendé defaults, sire,' quoth she: 'Algates welcome be ye, by my fay.' '_Graunt mercy_, dame; that have I found alway. But of your great goodness, by your leve, I wouldé pray you that ye not you grieve, I will with Thomas speak a little throw; These curates be so negligent and slow To searchen tenderly a conscience. In shrift, in preaching, is my diligence, And study, on Peter's words and on Paul's, I walk and fishen Christian menne's souls, To yield our Lord Jesu his proper rent; To spread his word is set all mine intent.' 'Now, by your faith, dere sir,' quoth she, 'Chide him well for Seinté Charitee. He is as angry as a pissemire,'" &c. Whereupon the friar begins at once to scold the goodman:-- "'O Thomas, _je vous die_, Thomas, Thomas, This maketh the fiend, this must be amended. Ire is a thing that high God hath defended,[41] And therefore will I speak a word or two.' 'Now, master,' quoth the wife, 'ere that I go, What will ye dine? I will go thereabout.' 'Now, dame,' quoth he, '_je vous dis sans doubte_, Have I not of a capon but the liver, And of your white bread but a shiver, And after that a roasted piggé's head (But I ne would for me no beast were dead), Then had I with you homely suffisance; I am a man of little sustenance, My spirit hath his fostering in the Bible. My body is aye so ready and so penible To waken, that my stomach is destroyed. I pray you, dame, that ye be not annoyed, Though I so friendly you my counsel shew. By God! I n'old[42] have told it but a few.' 'Now, sir,' quoth she, 'but one word ere I go. My child is dead within these weekés two, Soon after that ye went out of this town.'[43] 'His death saw I by revelation,' Said this frere, 'at home in our dortour.[44] I dare well say that ere that half an hour After his death, I saw him borne to blisse In mine vision, so God me wisse. So did our sexton and our fermerere,[45] That have been trué friars fifty year; They may now, God be thanked of his loan, Make their jubilee and walke alone.'"[46] We do not care to continue the blasphemous lies with which he plays upon the mother's tenderness for her dead babe. At length, addressing the sick goodman, he continues:-- "'Thomas, Thomas, so might I ride or go, And by that lord that cleped is St. Ive, N'ere[47] thou our brother, shouldest thou not thrive, In our chapter pray we[48] day and night To Christ that he thee send hele and might[49] Thy body for to welden hastily.' 'God wot,' quoth he, 'I nothing thereof feel, So help me Christ, as I in fewé years Have spended upon divers manner freres Full many a pound, yet fare I never the bet.' The frere answered, 'O Thomas, dost thou so? What need have you diverse friars to seche? What needeth him that hath a perfect leech[50] To seeken other leches in the town? Your inconstancy is your confusion. Hold ye then me, or elles our convent, To pray for you is insufficient? Thomas, that jape is not worth a mite; Your malady is for we have too lite.[51] Ah! give that convent half a quarter of oates; And give that convent four and twenty groats; And give that friar a penny and let him go; Nay, nay, Thomas, it may nothing be so; What is a farthing worth parted in twelve?" And so he takes up the cue the wife had given him, and reads him a long sermon on anger, quoting Seneca, and giving, for instances, Cambyses and Cyrus, and at length urges him to confession. To this-- "'Nay,' quoth the sick man, 'by Saint Simon, I have been shriven this day by my curate.' * * * * * 'Give me then of thy gold to make our cloister,'" and again he proclaims the virtues and morals of his order. "'For if ye lack our predication,[52] Then goth this world all to destruction. For whoso from this world would us bereave, So God me save, Thomas, by your leave, He would bereave out of this world the sun,'" &c. And so ends with the ever-recurring burden:-- "'Now, Thomas, help for Sainte Charitee.' This sicke man wax well nigh wood for ire,[53] He woulde that the frere had been a fire, With his false dissimulation;" and proceeds to play a practical joke upon him, which will not bear even hinting at, but which sufficiently shows that superstition did not prevent men from taking great liberties, expressing the utmost contempt of these men. Moreover,-- "His mennie which had hearden this affray, Came leaping in and chased out the frere." Thus ignominiously turned out of the goodman's house, the friar goes to the court-house of the lord of the village:-- "A sturdy pace down to the court he goth, Whereat there woned[54] a man of great honour, To whom this friar was alway confessour; This worthy man was lord of that village. This frere came, as he were in a rage, Whereas this lord sat eating at his board. * * * * * This lord gan look, and saide, '_Benedicite!_ What, frere John! what manner of world is this? I see well that something there is amiss.'" We need only complete the picture by adding the then actors in it:-- "The lady of the house aye stille sat, Till she had herde what the friar said." And "Now stood the lorde's squire at the board, That carved his meat, and hearde every word Of all the things of which I have you said." And it needs little help of the imagination to complete this contemporary picture of an English fourteenth-century village, with its lord and its well-to-do farmer, and its villagers, its village inn, its parish church and priest, and the fortnightly visit of the itinerant friars. * * * * * We have now completed our sketch of the rise of the religious orders, and of their general character; we have only to conclude this portion of our task with a brief history of their suppression in England. Henry VIII. had resolved to break with the pope; the religious orders were great upholders of the papal supremacy; the friars especially were called "the pope's militia;" the king resolved, therefore, upon the destruction of the friars. The pretext was a reform of the religious orders. At the end of the year 1535 a royal commission undertook the visitation of all the religious houses, above one thousand three hundred in number, including their cells and hospitals. They performed their task with incredible celerity--"the king's command was exceeding urgent;" and in ten weeks they presented their report. The small houses they reported to be full of irregularity and vice; while "in the great solemne monasteries, thanks be to God, religion was right well observed and kept up." So the king's decree went forth, and parliament ratified it, that all the religious houses of less than £200 annual value should be suppressed. This just caught all the friaries, and a few of the less powerful monasteries for the sake of impartiality. Perhaps the monks were not greatly moved at the destruction which had come upon their rivals; but their turn very speedily came. They were not suppressed forcibly; but they were induced to surrender. The patronage of most of the abbacies was in the king's hands, or under his control. He induced some of the abbots by threats or cajolery, and the offer of place and pension, to surrender their monasteries into his hand; others he induced to surrender their abbatial offices only, into which he placed creatures of his own, who completed the surrender. Some few intractable abbots--like those of Reading, Glastonbury, and St. John's, Colchester, who would do neither one nor the other--were found guilty of high treason--no difficult matter when it had been made high treason by act of Parliament to "publish in words" that the king was an "heretic, schismatic, or tyrant"--and they were disposed of by hanging, drawing, and quartering. The Hospitallers of Clerkenwell were still more difficult to deal with, and required a special act of Parliament to suppress them. Those who gave no trouble were rewarded with bishoprics, livings, and pensions; the rest were turned adrift on the wide world, to dig, or beg, or starve. We are not defending the principle of monasticism; it may be that, with the altered circumstances of the church and nation, the day of usefulness of the monasteries had passed. But we cannot restrain an expression of indignation at the shameless, reckless manner of the suppression. The commissioners suggested, and Bishop Latimer entreated in vain, that two or three monasteries should be left in every shire for religious, and learned, and charitable uses; they were all shared among the king and his courtiers. The magnificent churches were pulled down; the libraries, of inestimable value, were destroyed; the alms which the monks gave to the poor, the hospitals which they maintained for the old and impotent, the infirmaries for the sick, the schools for the people--all went in the wreck; and the tithes of parishes which were in the hands of the monasteries, were swallowed up indiscriminately--they were not men to strain at such gnats while they were swallowing camels--some three thousand parishes, including those of the most populous and important towns, were left impoverished to this day. No wonder that the fountains of religious endowment in England have been dried up ever since;--and the course of modern legislation is not calculated to set them again a-flowing. CHAPTER VI. THE CONVENT. Having thus given a sketch of the history of the various monastic orders in England, we proceed to give some account of the constitution of a convent, taking that of a Benedictine monastery as a type, from which the other orders departed only in minor particulars. The _convent_ is the name especially appropriate to the body of individuals who composed a religious community. These were the body of cloister monks, lay and clerical; the professed brethren, who were also lay and clerical; the clerks; the novices; and the servants and artificers. The servants and artificers were of course taken from the lower ranks of society; all the rest were originally of the most various degrees of rank and social position. We constantly meet with instances of noble men and women, knights and ladies, minstrels and merchants, quitting their secular occupations at various periods of their life, and taking the religious habit; some of them continuing simply professed brethren, others rising to high offices in their order. Scions of noble houses were not infrequently entered at an early age as novices, either devoted to the religious life by the piety of their parents, or, with more worldly motives, thus provided with a calling and a maintenance; and sometimes considerable interest was used to procure the admittance of novices into the great monasteries. Again, the children of the poor were received into the monastic schools, and such as showed peculiar aptitude were sometimes at length admitted as monks,[55] and were eligible, and were often chosen, to the highest ecclesiastical dignities. The whole convent was under the government of the _abbot_, who, however, was bound to govern according to the rule of the order. Sometimes he was elected by the convent; sometimes the king or some patron had a share in the election. Frequently there were estates attached to the office, distinct from those of the convent; sometimes the abbot had only an allowance out of the convent estates; but always he had great power over the property of the convent, and bad abbots are frequently accused of wasting the property of the house, and enriching their relatives and friends out of it. The abbots of some of the more important houses were mitred abbots, and were summoned to Parliament. In the time of Henry VIII. twenty-four abbots and the prior of Coventry had seats in the House of Peers.[56] The abbot did not live in common with his monks; he had a separate establishment of his own within the precincts of the house, sometimes over the entrance gate, called the Abbot's Lodgings.[57] He ate in his own hall, slept in his own chamber, had a chapel, or oratory, for his private devotions, and accommodation for a retinue of chaplains and servants. His duty was to set to his monks an example of observance of the rule, to keep them to its observance, to punish breaches of it, to attend the services in church when not hindered by his other duties, to preach on holy days to the people, to attend chapter and preach on the rule, to act as confessor to the monks. But an abbot was also involved in many secular duties; there were manors of his own, and of the convent's, far and near, which required visiting; and these manors involved the abbot in all the numerous duties which the feudal system devolved upon a lord towards his tenants, and towards his feudal superior. The greater abbots were barons, and sometimes were thus involved in such duties as those of justices in eyre, military leaders of their vassals, peers of Parliament. Hospitality was one of the great monastic virtues. The usual regulation in convents was that the abbot should entertain all guests of gentle degree, while the convent entertained all others. This again found abundance of occupation for my lord abbot in performing all the offices of a courteous host, which seems to have been done in a way becoming his character as a lord of wealth and dignity; his table was bountifully spread, even if he chose to confine himself to pulse and water; a band of wandering minstrels was always welcome to the abbot's hall to entertain his gentle and fair guests; and his falconer could furnish a cast of hawks, and his forester a leash of hounds, and the lord abbot would not decline to ride by the river or into his manor parks to witness and to share in the sport. In the Harl. MS. 1,527, at fol. 108 (?), is a picture of an abbot on horseback casting off a hawk from his fist. A pretty little illustration of this abbatial hospitality occurs in Marie's "Lay of Ywonec."[58] A baron and his family are travelling in obedience to the royal summons, to keep one of the high festivals at Caerleon. In the course of their journey they stop for a night at a spacious abbey, where they are received with the greatest hospitality. "The good abbot, for the sake of detaining his guests during another day, exhibited to them the whole of the apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in which last they beheld a splendid tomb covered with a superb pall fringed with gold, surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled the air with fumes of incense." [Illustration: _A Benedictine Abbot._] An abbot's ordinary habit was the same as that of his monks. In the processions which were made on certain great feasts he held his crosier, and, if he were a mitred abbot, he wore his mitre: this was also his parliamentary costume. We give on the opposite page a beautiful drawing of a Benedictine abbot of St. Alban's, thus habited, from the _Catalogus Benefactorum_ of that abbey. When the abbot celebrated high mass on certain great festivals he wore the full episcopal costume. Thomas Delamere, abbot of St. Alban's, is so represented in his magnificent sepulchral brass in that abbey, executed in his lifetime, circa 1375 A.D. Richard Bewferest, abbot of the Augustine canons of Dorchester, Oxfordshire, has a brass in that church, date circa 1520 A.D., representing him in episcopal costume, bareheaded, with his staff; and in the same church is an incised gravestone, representing Abbot Roger, circa 1510 A.D., in full episcopal vestments. Abbesses bore the crosier in addition to the ordinal costume of their order; the sepulchral brass of Elizabeth Harvey, abbess of the Benedictine Abbey of Elstow, Bedfordshire, circa 1530 A.D., thus represents her, in the church of that place. Our representation of a Benedictine abbess on the previous page is from the fourteenth century MS. Royal, 2 B. vii. [Illustration: _Benedictine Abbess and Nun._] Under the abbot were a number of officials (_obedientiarii_), the chief of whom were the Prior, Precentor, Cellarer, Sacrist, Hospitaller, Infirmarer, Almoner, Master of the Novices, Porter, Kitchener, Seneschal, &c. It was only in large monasteries that all these officers were to be found; in the smaller houses one monk would perform the duties of several offices. The officers seem to have been elected by the convent, subject to the approval of the abbot, by whom they might be deposed. Some brief notes of the duties of these obedientiaries will serve to give a considerable insight into the economy of a convent. And first for the _Prior_:-- In some orders there was only one abbey, and all the other houses were priories, as in the Clugniac, the Gilbertine, and in the Military and the Mendicant orders. In all the orders there were abbeys, which had had distant estates granted to them, on which either the donor had built a house, and made it subject to the abbey; or the abbey had built a house for the management of the estates, and the celebration of divine and charitable offices upon them. These priories varied in size, from a mere cell containing a prior and two monks, to an establishment as large as an abbey; and the dignity and power of the prior varied from that of a mere steward of the distant estate of the parent house, to that of an autocratic head, only nominally dependent on the parent house, and himself in everything but name an abbot. The majority of the female houses of the various orders (except those which were especially female orders, like the Brigittines, &c.) were kept subject to some monastery, so that the superiors of these houses usually bore only the title of prioress, though they had the power of an abbess in the internal discipline of the house. One cannot forbear to quote at least a portion of Chaucer's very beautiful description of his prioress, among the Canterbury pilgrims:-- "That of her smiling ful simple was and coy." She sang the divine service sweetly; she spoke French correctly, though with an accent which savoured of the Benedictine convent at Stratford-le-Bow, where she had been educated, rather than of Paris; she behaved with lady-like delicacy at table; she was cheerful of mood, and amiable; with a pretty affectation of courtly breeding, and a care to exhibit a reverend stateliness becoming her office:-- "But for to speken of her conscience, She was so charitable and so piteous, She would wepe if that she saw a mouse Caught in a trappe, if it were dead or bled; Of smalé houndés had she that she fed With rosted flesh, and milk, and wastel bread; But sore wept she if one of them were dead, Or if men smote it with a yerdé smerte; And all was conscience and tendre herte. Ful semély her wimple y-pinched was; Her nose tretis,[59] her eyen grey as glass, Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red, And sickerly she had a fayre forehed-- It was almost a spanné broad I trow, And hardily she was not undergrow."[60] Her habit was becoming; her beads were of red coral gauded with green, to which was hung a jewel of gold, on which was-- "Written a crowned A, And after, _Amor vincit omnia_. Another nun also with her had she, That was her chapelleine, and priestés three." But in abbeys the chief of the obedientiaries was styled prior; and we cannot, perhaps, give a better idea of his functions than by borrowing a naval analogy, and calling him the abbot's first lieutenant; for, like that officer in a ship, the prior at all times carried on the internal discipline of the convent, and in the abbot's absence he was his vicegerent; wielding all the abbot's powers, except those of making or deposing obedientiaries and consecrating novices. He had a suite of apartments of his own, called the prior's chamber, or the prior's lodging; he could leave the house for a day or two on the business of the house, and had horses and servants appropriated to his use; whenever he entered the monks present rose out of respect; some little license in diet was allowed him in refectory, and he might also have refreshment in his own apartments; sometimes he entertained guests of a certain condition in his prior's chamber. Neither the prior, nor any of the obedientiaries, wore any distinctive dress or badge of office. In large convents he was assisted by a sub-prior. The _Sub-prior_ was the prior's deputy, sharing his duties in his residence, and fulfilling them in his absences. The especial functions appropriated to him seem to have been to say grace at dinner and supper, to see that all the doors were locked at five in the evening, and keep the keys until five next morning; and, by sleeping near the dormitory door, and by making private search, to prevent wandering about at night. In large monasteries there were additional sub-priors. The _Chantor_, or _Precentor_, appears to come next in order and dignity, since we are told that he was censed after the abbot and prior. He was choir-master; taught music to the monks and novices; and arranged and ruled everything which related to the conduct of divine service. His place in church was in the middle of the choir on the right side; he held an instrument in his hand, as modern leaders use a bâton; and his side of the choir commenced the chant. He was besides librarian, and keeper of the archives, and keeper of the abbey seal. He was assisted by a _Succentor_, who sat on the left side of the choir, and led that half of the choir in service. He assisted the chantor, and in his absence undertook his duties. The _Cellarer_ was in fact the steward of the house; his modern representative is the bursar of a college. He had the care of everything relating to the provision of the food and vessels of the convent. He was exempt from the observance of some of the services in church; he had the use of horses and servants for the fulfilment of his duties, and sometimes he appears to have had separate apartments. The cellarer, as we have said, wore no distinctive dress or badge; but in the _Catalogus Benefactorum_ of St. Alban's there occurs a portrait of one "Adam Cellarius," who for his distinguished merit had been buried among the abbots in the chapter-house, and had his name and effigy recorded in the _Catalogus_; he is holding two keys in one hand and a purse in the other, the symbols of his office; and in his quaint features--so different from those of the dignified abbot whom we have given from the same book--the limner seems to have given us the type of a business-like and not ungenial cellarer. [Illustration: _Adam the Cellarer._] The _Sacrist_, or _Sacristan_ (whence our word sexton), had the care and charge of the fabric, and furniture, and ornaments of the church, and generally of all the material appliances of divine service. He, or some one in his stead, slept in a chamber built for him in the church, in order to protect it during the night. There is such a chamber in St. Alban's Abbey Church, engraved in the _Builder_ for August, 1856. There was often a sub-sacrist to assist the sacrist in his duties. The duty of the _Hospitaller_ was, as his name implies, to perform the duties of hospitality on behalf of the convent. The monasteries received all travellers to food and lodging for a day and a night as of right, and for a longer period if the prior saw reason to grant it.[61] A special hall was provided for the entertainment of these guests, and chambers for their accommodation. The hospitaller performed the part of host on behalf of the convent, saw to the accommodation of the guests who belonged to the convent, introduced into the refectory strange priests or others who desired and had leave to dine there, and ushered guests of degree to the abbot to be entertained by him. He showed the church and house at suitable times to guests whose curiosity prompted the desire. Every abbey had an infirmary, which was usually a detached building with its own kitchen and chapel, besides suitable apartments for the sick, and for aged monks, who sometimes took up their permanent residence in the infirmary, and were excused irksome duties, and allowed indulgences in food and social intercourse. Not only the sick monks, but other sick folk were received into the infirmary; it is a very common incident in mediæval romances to find a wounded knight carried to a neighbouring monastery to be healed. The officer who had charge of everything relating to this department was styled the _Infirmarer_. He slept in the infirmary, was excused from some of the "hours;" in the great houses had two brethren to assist him besides the necessary servants, and often a clerk learned in pharmacy as physician. The _Almoner_ had charge of the distribution of the alms of the house. Sometimes money was left by benefactors to be distributed to the poor annually at their obits; the distribution of this was confided to the almoner. One of his men attended in the abbot's chamber when he had guests, to receive what alms they chose to give to the poor. Moneys belonging to the convent were also devoted to this purpose; besides food and drink, the surplus of the convent meals. He had assistants allowed him to go and visit the sick and infirm folk of the neighbourhood. And at Christmas he provided cloth and shoes for widows, orphans, poor clerks, and others whom he thought to need it most. The _Master of the Novices_ was a grave and learned monk, who superintended the education of the youths in the schools of the abbey, and taught the rule to those who were candidates for the monastic profession. The _Porter_ was an officer of some importance; he was chosen for his age and gravity; he had an apartment in the gate lodge, an assistant, and a lad to run on his messages. But sometimes the porter seems to have been a layman. And, in small houses and in nunneries, his office involved other duties, which we have seen in great abbeys distributed among a number of officials. Thus, in Marie's "Lay le Fraine," we read of the porter of an abbey of nuns:-- "The porter of the abbey arose, And did his office in the close; Rung the bells, and tapers light, Laid forth books and all ready dight. The church door he undid," &c.; and in the sequel it appears that he had a daughter, and therefore in all probability was a layman. The _Kitchener_, or _Cook_, was usually a monk, and, as his name implies, he ruled in the kitchen, went to market, provided the meals of the house, &c. [Illustration: _Alan Middleton._] The _Seneschal_ in great abbeys was often a layman of rank, who did the secular business which the tenure of large estates, and consequently of secular offices, devolved upon abbots and convents; such as holding manorial courts, and the like. But there was, Fosbroke tells us, another officer with the same name, but of inferior dignity, who did the convent business of the prior and cellarer which was to be done out of the house; and, when at home, carried a rod and acted as marshal of the guest-hall. He had horses and servants allowed for the duties of his office; and at the Benedictine Abbey of Winchcombe he had a robe of clerk's cloth once a year, with lamb's fur for a supertunic, and for a hood of budge fur; he had the same commons in hall as the cellarer, and £2 every year at Michaelmas. Probably an officer of this kind was Alan Middleton, who is recorded in the _Catalogus_ of St. Alban's as "collector of rents of the obedientiaries of that monastery, and especially of those of the bursar." _Prudenter in omnibus se agebat_, and so, deserving well of the house, they put a portrait of him among their benefactors, clothed in a blue robe, of "clerk's cloth" perhaps, furred at the wrists and throat with "lamb's fur" or "budge fur;" a small tonsure shows that he had taken some minor order, the penner and inkhorn at his girdle denote the nature of his office; and he is just opening the door of one of the abbey tenants to perform his unwelcome function. They were grateful men, these Benedictines of St. Alban's; they have immortalised another of their inferior officers, _Walterus de Hamuntesham, fidelis minister hujus ecclesiæ_, because on one occasion he received a beating at the hands of the rabble of St. Alban's--_inter villanos Sci Albani_--while standing up for the rights and liberties of the church. [Illustration: _Walter of Hamuntesham attacked by a Mob._] Next in dignity after the obedientiaries come the _Cloister Monks_; of these some had received holy orders at the hands of the bishop, some not. Their number was limited. A cloister monk in a rich abbey seems to have been something like in dignity to the fellow of a modern college, and a good deal of interest was sometimes employed to obtain the admission of a youth as a novice, with a view to his ultimately arriving at this dignified degree. Next in order come the _Professed Brethren_. These seem to be monks who had not been elected to the dignity of cloister monks; some of them were admitted late in life. Those monks who had been brought up in the house were called _nutriti_, those who came later in life _conversi_; the lay brothers were also sometimes called _conversi_. There were again the _Novices_, who were not all necessarily young, for a _conversus_ passed through a noviciate; and even a monk of another order, or of another house of their own order, and even a monk from a cell of their own house, was reckoned among the novices. There were also the _Chaplains_ of the abbot and other high officials; and frequently there were other clerics living in the monastery, who served the chantries in the abbey church, and the churches and chapels which belonged to the monastery and were in its neighbourhood. Again, there were the _Artificers and Servants_ of the monastery: millers, bakers, tailors, shoemakers, smiths, and similar artificers, were often a part of a monastic establishment. And there were numerous men-servants, grooms, and the like: these were all under certain vows, and were kept under discipline. In the Cistercian abbey of Waverley there were in 1187 A.D. seventy monks and one hundred and twenty _conversi_, besides priests, clerks, servants, &c. In the great Benedictine abbey of St. Edmund's Bury, in the time of Edward I., there were eighty monks; fifteen chaplains attendant on the abbot and chief officers; about one hundred and eleven servants in the various offices, chiefly residing within the walls of the monastery; forty priests, officiating in the several chapels, chantries, and monastic appendages in the town; and an indefinite number of professed brethren. The following notes will give an idea of the occupations of the servants. In the time of William Rufus the servants at Evesham numbered--five in the church, two in the infirmary, two in the cellar, five in the kitchen, seven in the bakehouse, four brewers, four menders, two in the bath, two shoemakers, two in the orchard, three gardeners, one at the cloister gate, two at the great gate, five at the vineyard, four who served the monks when they went out, four fishermen, four in the abbot's chamber, three in the hall. At Salley Abbey, at the end of the fourteenth century, there were about thirty-five servants, among whom are mentioned the shoemaker and barber, the prior's chamberlain, the abbot's cook, the convent cook and baker's mate, the baker, brewers, tailor, cowherd, waggoners, pages of the kitchen, poultry-keeper, labourers, a keeper of animals and birds, bailiffs, foresters, shepherds, smiths: there are others mentioned by name, without a note of their office. But it was only a few of the larger houses which had such numerous establishments as these; the majority of the monasteries contained from five to twenty cloister monks. Some of the monasteries were famous as places of education, and we must add to their establishment a number of children of good family, and the learned clerks or ladies who acted as tutors; thus the abbey of St. Mary, Winchester, in 1536, contained twenty-six nuns, five priests, thirteen lay sisters, thirty-two officers and servants, and twenty-six children, daughters of lords and knights, who were brought up in the house. Lastly, there were a number of persons of all ranks and conditions who were admitted to "fraternity." Among the Hospitallers (and probably it was the same with the other orders) they took oath to love the house and brethren, to defend the house from ill-doers, to enter that house if they did enter any, and to make an annual present to the house. In return, they were enrolled in the register of the house, they received the prayers of the brethren, and at death were buried in the cemetery. Chaucer's Dominican friar (p. 48), writes the names of those who gave him donations in his "tables." In the following extract from Piers Ploughman's Creed, an Austin friar promises more definitely to have his donors enrolled in the fraternity of his house:-- "And gyf thou hast any good, And will thyself helpen, Help us herblich therewith. And here I undertake, Thou shalt ben brother of oure hous, And a book habben, At the next chapetre, Clerliche enseled. And then our provincial Hath power to assoylen Alle sustren and brethren That beth of our ordre." _Piers Ploughman's Creed_, p. 645. In the book of St. Alban's, which we have before quoted, there is a list of many persons, knights and merchants, ladies and children, vicars and rectors, received _ad fraternitatem hujus monasterii_. In many cases portraits of them are given: they are in the ordinary costume of their time and class, without any badge of their monastic fraternisation. Chaucer gives several sketches which enable us to fill out our realisation of the monks, as they appeared outside the cloister associating with their fellow-men. He includes one among the merry company of his Canterbury pilgrims; and first in the Monk's Prologue, makes the Host address the monk thus:-- "'My lord, the monk,' quod he ... 'By my trothe I can not tell youre name. Whether shall I call you my Lord Dan John, Or Dan Thomas, or elles Dan Albon? Of what house be ye by your father kin? I vow to God thou hast a full fair skin; It is a gentle pasture ther thou goest, Thou art not like a penaunt[62] or a ghost. Upon my faith thou art some officer, Some worthy sextern or some celerer. For by my father's soul, as to my dome, Thou art a maister when thou art at home; No poure cloisterer, ne non novice, But a governor both ware and wise.'" Chaucer himself describes the same monk in his Prologue thus:-- "A monk there was, a fayre for the maisterie, An out-rider that lovered venerie,[63] A manly man to be an abbot able. Ful many a dainty horse had he in stable; And when he rode men might his bridle hear Gingling in a whistling wind as clear, And eke as loud as doth the chapel bell, Whereas this lord was keeper of the cell. The rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet, Because that it was old and somedeal strait, This ilke monk let olde thinges pace, And held after the newe world the trace. He gave not of the text a pulled hen, That saith, that hunters been not holy men; Ne that a monk, when he is regneless,[64] Is like a fish that is waterless; That is to say, a monk out of his cloister: This ilke text he held not worth an oyster. And I say his pinion was good. Why should he study, and make himselven wood, Upon a book in cloister alway to pore, Or swinkin with his handis, and labour, As Austin bid? How shall the world be served? Therefore he was a prickasoure aright: Greyhounds he had as swift as fowls of flight; Of pricking and of hunting for the hare Was all his lust, for no cost would he spare. I saw his sleeves purfled at the hand With gris, and that the finest of the land. And for to fasten his hood under his chin He had of gold y-wrought a curious pin: A love-knot in the greater end there was. * * * * * His bootis supple, his horse in great estate; Now certainly he was a fair prelate." Again, in the "Shipman's Tale" we learn that such an officer had considerable freedom, so that he was able to pay very frequent visits to his friends. The whole passage is worth giving:-- "A marchant whilom dwelled at St. Denise, That riche was, for which men held him wise. * * * * * This noble marchant held a worthy house, For which he had all day so great repair For his largesse, and for his wife was fair. What wonder is? but hearken to my tale. Amonges all these guestes great and small There was a monk, a fair man and a bold, I trow a thirty winters he was old, That ever anon was drawing to that place. This youngé monk that was so fair of face, Acquainted was so with this goodé man, Sithen that their firste knowledge began, That in his house as familiar was he As it possible is any friend to be. And for as mochel as this goodé man, And eke this monk, of which that I began, Were bothé two y-born in one village, The monk him claimeth as for cosinage; And he again him said not onés nay, But was as glad thereof, as fowl of day; For to his heart it was a great plesaunce; Thus ben they knit with eterne alliance, And eche of them gan other for to ensure Of brotherhood, while that life may endure." Notwithstanding his vow of poverty, he was also able to make presents to his friends, for the tale continues:-- "Free was Dan John, and namely of despence As in that house, and full of diligence To don plesaunce, and also great costage; He not forgat to give the leaste page In all that house, but, after their degree, He gave the lord, and sithen his mennie, When that he came, some manner honest thing; For which they were as glad of his coming As fowl is fain when that the sun upriseth." Chaucer does not forget to let us know how it was that this monk came to have such liberty and such command of means:-- "This noble monk, of which I you devise, Hath of his abbot, as him list, licence (Because he was a man of high prudence, And eke an officer), out for to ride To see their granges and their barnés wide." CHAPTER VII. THE MONASTERY. We proceed next to give some account of the buildings which compose the fabric of a monastery. And first as to the site. The orders of the Benedictine family preferred sites as secluded and remote from towns and villages as possible. The Augustinian orders did not cultivate seclusion so strictly; their houses are not unfrequently near towns and villages, and sometimes a portion of their conventual church--the nave, generally--formed the parish church. The Friaries, Colleges of secular canons, and Hospitals, were generally in or near the towns. There is a popular idea that the monks chose out the most beautiful and fertile spots in the kingdom for their abodes. A little reflection would show that the choice of the site of a new monastery must be confined within the limits of the lands which the founder was pleased to bestow upon the convent. Sometimes the founder gave a good manor, and gave money besides, to help to build the house upon it; sometimes what was given was a tract of unreclaimed land, upon which the first handful of monks squatted like settlers in a new country. Even the settled land, in those days, was only half cultivated; and on good land, unreclaimed or only half reclaimed, the skill and energy of a company of first-rate farmers would soon produce great results; barren commons would be dotted over with sheep, and rushy valleys would become rich pastures covered with cattle, and great clearings in the forest would grow green with rye and barley. The revenues of the monastic estates would rapidly augment; little of them would be required for the coarse dress and frugal fare of the monks; they did not, like the lay landowners, spend them on gilded armour and jewelled robes, and troops of armed retainers, and tournaments, and journeys to court; and so they had enough for plentiful charity and unrestricted hospitality, and the surplus they spent upon those magnificent buildings whose very ruins are among the architectural glories of the land. The Cistercians had an especial rule that their houses should be built on the lowest possible sites, in token of humility; but it was the general custom in the Middle Ages to choose low and sheltered sites for houses which were not especially intended as strongholds, and therefore it is that we find nearly all monasteries in sheltered spots. To the monks the neighbourhood of a stream was of especial importance: when headed up it supplied a pond for their fish, and water-power for their corn-mill. If, therefore, there were within the limits of their domain a quiet valley with a rivulet running through it, that was the site which the monks would select for their house. And here, beside the rivulet, in the midst of the green pasture land of the valley dotted with sheep and kine, shut in from the world by the hills, whose tops were fringed with the forest which stretched for miles around, the stately buildings of the monastery would rise year after year; the cloister court, and the great church, and the abbot's lodge, and the numerous offices, all surrounded by a stone wall with a stately gate-tower, like a goodly walled town, and a suburban hamlet of labourers' and servants' cottages sheltering beneath its walls. There was a certain plan for the arrangement of the principal buildings of a monastery, which, with minor variations, was followed by nearly all the monastic orders, except the Carthusians. These latter differed from the other orders in this, that each monk had his separate cell, in which he lived, and ate, and slept apart from the rest, the whole community meeting only in church and chapter.[65] Our limits will not permit us to enter into exceptional arrangements. The nucleus of a monastery was the cloister court. It was a quadrangular space of green sward, around which were arranged the cloister buildings, viz., the church, the chapter-house, the refectory, and the dormitory.[66] The court was called the Paradise--the blessed garden in which the inmates passed their lives of holy peace. A porter was often placed at the cloister-gate, and the monks might not quit its seclusion, nor strangers enter to disturb its quiet, save under exceptional circumstances. The cloister-court had generally, though it is doubtful whether it was always the case, a covered ambulatory round its four sides. The ambulatories of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have usually an open arcade on the side facing the court, which supports the groined roof. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, instead of an open arcade, we usually find a series of large traceried windows, tolerably close together; in many cases they were glazed, sometimes with painted glass, and formed doubtless a grand series of scriptural or historical paintings. The blank wall opposite was also sometimes painted. This covered ambulatory was not merely a promenade for the monks; it was the place in which the convent assembled regularly every day, at certain hours, for study and meditation; and in some instances (_e.g._, at Durham) a portion of it was fitted up with little wooden closets for studies for the elder monks, with book-cupboards in the wall opposite for books. The monks were sometimes buried in the cloister, either under the turf in the open square, or beneath the pavement of the ambulatory. There was sometimes a fountain at the corner of the cloister, or on its south side near the entrance to the refectory, at which the monks washed before meals. The church was always the principal building of a monastery. Many of them remain entire, though despoiled of their shrines, and tombs, and altars, and costly furniture, and many more remain in ruins, and they fill us with astonishment at their magnitude and splendour. Our existing cathedrals were, in fact, abbey churches; nine or ten of them were the churches of Benedictine monasteries, the remainder of secular Augustines. But these, the reader may imagine, had the wealth of bishops and the offerings of dioceses lavished upon them, and may not be therefore fair examples of ordinary abbey churches. But some of them originally were ordinary abbey churches, and were subsequently made Episcopal sees, such as Beverley, Gloucester, Christ Church Oxford, and Peterborough, which were originally Benedictine abbey churches; Bristol was the church of a house of regular canons; Ripon was the church of a college of secular canons. The Benedictine churches of Westminster and St. Alban's, and the collegiate church of Southwell, are equal in magnitude and splendour to any of the cathedrals; and the ruins of Fountains, and Tintern, and Netley, show that the Cistercians equalled any of the other orders in the magnitude and beauty of their churches. It is indeed hard to conceive that communities of a score or two of monks should have built such edifices as Westminster and Southwell as private chapels attached to their monasteries. And this, though it is one aspect of the fact, is not the true one. They did not build them for private chapels to say their daily prayers in; they built them for temples in which they believed that the Eternal and Almighty condescended to dwell; to whose contemplation and worship they devoted their lives. They did not think of the church as an appendage to their monastery, but of their monastery as an appendage to the church. The cloister, under the shadow and protection of the church, was the court of the Temple, in which its priests and Levites dwelt. The church of a monastery was almost always a cross church, with a nave and aisles; a central tower (in Cistercian churches the tower was only to rise one story above the roof); transepts, which usually have three chapels on the north side of each transept, or an aisle divided into three chapels by parclose screens; a choir with or without aisles; a retro-choir or presbytery; and often a Lady chapel, east of the presbytery, or in some instances parallel with the choir. The entrance for the monks was usually on the south side opposite to the eastern alley of the cloisters; there was also in Cistercian churches, and in some others, a newel stair in the south transept, by means of which the monks could descend from their dormitory (which was in the upper story of the east side of the cloister court) into the church for the night services, without going into the open air. The principal entrance for the laity was on the north side, and was usually provided with a porch. The great western entrance was chiefly used for processions; the great entrance gate in the enclosure wall of the abbey being usually opposite to it or nearly so. In several instances stones have been found, set in the pavements of the naves of conventual churches, to mark the places where the different members of the convent were to stand before they issued forth in procession, amidst the tolling of the great bell, with cross and banner, and chanted psalms, to meet the abbot at the abbey-gate, on his return from an absence, or any person to whom it was fitting that the convent should show such honour. [Illustration: _A Semi-choir of Franciscan Friars._] The internal arrangements of an abbey-church were very nearly like those of our cathedrals. The convent occupied the stalls in the choir; the place of the abbot was in the first stall on the right-hand (south) side to one entering from the west--it is still appropriated to the dean in cathedrals; in the corresponding stall on the other side sat the prior; the precentor sat in the middle stall on the right or south side; the succentor in the middle stall on the north side. The beautiful little picture of a semi-choir of Franciscan friars on the opposite page is from a fourteenth-century psalter in the British Museum (Domitian, A. 17). It is from a large picture, which gives a beautiful representation of the interior of the choir of the church. The picture is worth careful examination for the costume of the friars--grey frock and cowl, with knotted cord girdle and sandalled feet; some wearing the hood drawn over the head, some leaving it thrown back on the neck and shoulders; one with his hands folded under his sleeves like the Cistercians at p. 17. The precentor may be easily distinguished in the middle stall beating time, with an air of leadership. There is much character in all the faces and attitudes--_e.g._, in the withered old face on the left, with his cowl pulled over his ears to keep off the draughts, or the one on the precentor's left, a rather burly friar, evidently singing bass.[67] On the next page is an engraving from the same MS. of a similar semi-choir of minoresses, which also is only a portion of a large church interior. [Illustration: _A Semi-choir of Minoresses._] When there was a shrine of a noted saint[68] it was placed in the presbytery, behind the high-altar; and here, and in the choir aisles, were frequently placed the monuments of the abbots, and of founders and distinguished benefactors of the house; sometimes heads of the house and founders were buried in the chapter-house. It would require a more elaborate description than our plan will admit to endeavour to bring before the mind's-eye of the reader one of these abbey churches before its spoliation;--when the sculptures were unmutilated and the paintings fresh, and the windows filled with their stained glass, and the choir hung with hangings, and banners and tapestries waved from the arches of the triforium, and the altar shone gloriously with jewelled plate, and the monuments[69] of abbots and nobles were still perfect, and the wax tapers burned night and day[70] in the hearses, throwing a flickering light on the solemn effigies below, and glancing upon the tarnished armour and the dusty banners[71] which hung over the tombs, while the cowled monks sat in their stalls and prayed. Or when, on some high festival, the convent walked round the lofty aisles in procession, two and two, clad in rich copes over their coarse frocks, preceded by cross and banner, with swinging censers pouring forth clouds of incense, while one of those angelic boy's voices which we still sometimes hear in cathedrals chanted the solemn litany--the pure sweet ringing voice floating along the vaulted aisles, until it was lost in the swell of the chorus of the whole procession--_Ora! Ora! Ora! pro nobis!_ * * * * * The Cloister was usually situated on the south side of the nave of the church, so that the nave formed its north side, and the south transept a part of its eastern side; but sometimes, from reasons of local convenience, the cloister was on the north side of the nave, and then the relative positions of the other buildings were similarly transposed. The Chapter-house was always on the east side of the court. In establishments of secular canons it seems to have been always multi-sided[72] with a central pillar to support its groining, and a lofty, conical, lead-covered roof. In these instances it is placed in the open space eastward of the cloister, and is usually approached by a passage from the east side of the cloister court. In the houses of all the other orders[73] the chapter-house is rectangular, even where the church is a cathedral. Usually, then, the chapter-house is a rectangular building on the east side of the cloister, and its longest axis is east and west; at Durham it has an eastern apse.[74] It was a large and handsome room, with a good deal of architectural ornament;[75] often the western end of it is divided off as a vestibule or ante-room; and generally it is so large as to be divided into two or three aisles by rows of pillars. Internally, rows of stalls or benches were arranged round the walls for the convent; there was a higher seat at the east end for the abbot or prior, and a desk in the middle from which certain things were read. Every day after the service called Terce, the convent walked in procession from the choir to the chapter-house, and took their proper places. When the abbot had taken his place, the monks descended one step and bowed; he returned their salutation, and all took their seats. A sentence of the rule of the order was read by one of the novices from the desk, and the abbot, or in his absence the prior, delivered an explanatory or hortatory sermon upon it; then from another portion of the book was read the names of brethren, and benefactors, and persons who had been received into fraternity, whose decease had happened on that day of the year; and the convent prayed a _requiescant in pace_ for their souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed this life. Then members of the convent who had been guilty of slight breaches of discipline confessed them, kneeling upon a low stool in the middle, and on a bow from the abbot, intimating his remission of the breach, they resumed their seats. If any had a complaint to make against any brother, it was here made and adjudged.[76] Convent business was also transacted. The woodcut gives an example of the kind. Henry VII. had made grants to Westminster Abbey, on condition that the convent should perform certain religious services on his behalf;[77] and in order that the services should not fall into disuse, he directed that yearly, at a certain period, the chief-justice, or the king's attorney, or the recorder of London, should attend in chapter, and the abstract of the grant and agreement between the king and the convent should be read. The grant which was thus to be read still exists in the British Museum; it is written in a volume superbly bound, with the royal seals attached in silver cases; it is from the illuminated letter at the head of one of the deeds in this book[78] that our woodcut is taken. It rudely represents the chapter-house, with the chief-justice and a group of lawyers on one side, the abbot and convent on the other, and a monk reading the grant from the desk in the middle. [Illustration: _Monks and Lawyers in Chapter-house._] Lydgate's "Life of St. Edmund" (Harl. 2,278) was written A.D. 1433, by command of his abbot--he was a monk of St. Edmund's Bury--on the occasion of King Henry VI. being received-- "Of their chapter a brother for to be;" that is, to the fraternity of the house. An illumination on f. 6 seems to represent the king sitting in the abbot's place in the chapter-house, with royal officers behind him, monks in their places on each side of the chapter-house, the lectern in the middle, and a group of clerks at the west end. It is probably intended as a picture of the scene of the king's being received to fraternity. Adjoining the south transept is usually a narrow apartment; the description of Durham, drawn up soon after the Dissolution, says that it was the "Locutory." Another conjecture is that it may have been the vestry. At Netley it has a door at the west, with a trefoil light over it, a two-light window at the east, two niches, like monumental niches, in its north and south walls, and a piscina at the east end of its south wall. Again, between this and the chapter-house is often found a small apartment, which some have conjectured to be the penitential cell. In other cases it seems to be merely a passage from the cloister-court to the space beyond; in which space the abbot's lodging is often situated, so that it may have been the abbot's entrance to the church and chapter. In Cistercian houses there is usually another long building south of the chapter-house, its axis running north and south. This was perhaps in its lower story the Frater-house, a room to which the monks retired after refection to converse, and to take their allowance of wine, or other indulgences in diet which were allowed to them; and some quotations in Fosbroke would lead us to imagine that the monks dined here on feast days. It would answer to the great chamber of mediæval houses, and in some respects to the Combination-room[79] of modern colleges. The upper story of this building was probably the Dormitory. This was a long room, with a vaulted or open timber roof, in which the pallets were arranged in rows on each side against the wall. The prior or sub-prior usually slept in the dormitory, with a light burning near him, in order to maintain order. The monks slept in the same habits[80] which they wore in the day-time. About the middle of the south side of the court, in Cistercian houses, there is a long room, whose longer axis lies north and south, with a smaller room on each side of it, which was probably the Refectory. In other houses, the refectory forms the south side of the cloister court, lying parallel with the nave of the church. Very commonly it has a row of pillars down the centre, to support the groined roof. It was arranged, like all mediæval halls, with a dais at the upper end and a screen at the lower. In place of the oriel window of mediæval halls, there was a pulpit, which was often in the embrasure of a quasi-oriel window, in which one of the brethren read some edifying book during meals. The remaining apartments of the cloister-court it is more difficult to appropriate. In some of the great Cistercian houses whose ground-plan can be traced--as Fountains, Salley, Netley, &c.--possibly the long apartment which is found on the west side of the cloister was the hall of the Hospitium, with chambers over it. Another conjecture is, that it was the house of the lay brethren. In the uncertainty which at present exists on these points of monastic arrangement, we cannot speak with any degree of certainty; but we throw together some data on the subject in the subjoined note.[81] The Scriptorium is said to have been usually over the chapter-house. It was therefore a large apartment, capable of containing many persons, and, in fact, many persons did work together in it in a very business-like manner at the transcription of books. For example, William, Abbot of Herschau, in the eleventh century, as stated by his biographer: "Knowing, what he had learned by laudable experience, that sacred reading is the necessary food of the mind, made twelve of his monks very excellent writers, to whom he committed the office of transcribing the holy Scriptures, and the treatises of the Fathers. Besides these, there were an indefinite number of other scribes, who wrought with equal diligence on the transcription of other books. Over them was a monk well versed in all kinds of knowledge, whose business it was to appoint some good work as a task for each, and to correct the mistakes of those who wrote negligently."[82] The general chapter of the Cistercian order, held in A.D. 1134, directs that the same silence should be maintained in the scriptorium as in the cloister. Sometimes perhaps little separate studies of wainscot were made round this large apartment, in which the writers sat at their desks. Sometimes this literary work was carried on in the cloister, which, being glazed, would be a not uncomfortable place in temperate weather, and a very comfortable place in summer, with its coolness and quiet, and the peep through its windows on the green court and the fountain in the centre, and the grey walls of the monastic buildings beyond; the slow footfall of a brother going to and fro, and the cawing of the rooks in the minster tower, would add to the dreamy charm of such a library.[83] Odo, Abbot of St. Martin's, at Tournay, about 1093, "used to exult in the number of writers the Lord had given him; for if you had gone into the cloister you might in general have seen a dozen young monks sitting on chairs in perfect silence, writing at tables carefully and artificially constructed. All Jerome's commentaries on the Prophets, all the works of St. Gregory, and everything that he could find of St. Augustine, Ambrose, Isodore, Bede, and the Lord Anselm, then Abbot of Bec, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, he caused to be transcribed. So that you would scarcely have found such a monastery in that part of the country, and everybody was begging for our copies to correct their own." Sometimes little studies of wainscot were erected in the cloisters for the monks to study or transcribe in. At Gloucester Cathedral, at Beaulieu, and at Melrose, for example, there are traces of the way in which the windows of the cloisters were enclosed and turned into such studies.[84] [Illustration: _Monk in Scriptorium._] There are numerous illuminations representing monks and ecclesiastics writing; they sit in chairs of various kinds, some faldstools, some armed chairs, some armed backed; and they have desks and bookstands before them of various shapes, commonly a stand with sloping desk like a Bible lectern, not unfrequently a kind of dumb-waiter besides on which are several books. We see also in these illuminations the forms of the pens, knives, inkstands, &c., which were used. We will only mention two of unusual interest. One is in a late fourteenth-century Psalter, Harl. 2,897, at p. 186, v., where St. Jude sits writing his Epistle in a canopied chair, with a shelf across the front of the chair to serve as a desk; a string with a weight at the end holds his parchment down, and there is a bench beside, on which lies a book. A chair with a similar shelf is at f. 12 of the MS. Egerton, 1,070. Our woodcut on the preceding page is from a MS. in the Library of Soissons. We also find representations of ecclesiastics writing in a small cell which may represent the enclosed scriptoria--_e.g._ St. Bonaventine writing, in the MS. Harl. 3,229; St. John painting, in the late fifteenth-century MS. Add. 15,677, f. 35. The Abbot's Lodging sometimes formed a portion of one of the monastic courts, as at St. Mary, Bridlington, where it formed the western side of the cloister-court; but more usually it was a detached house, precisely similar to the contemporary unfortified houses of laymen of similar rank and wealth. No particular site relative to the monastic buildings was appropriated to it; it was erected wherever was most convenient within the abbey enclosure. The principal rooms of an abbot's house are the Hall, the Great Chamber, the Kitchen, Buttery, Cellars, &c., the Chambers, and the Chapel. We must remember that the abbots of the greater houses were powerful noblemen; the abbots of the smaller houses were equal in rank and wealth to country gentlemen. They had a very constant succession of noble and gentle guests, whose entertainment was such as their rank and habits required. This involved a suitable habitation and establishment; and all this must be borne in mind when we endeavour to picture to ourselves an abbot's lodging. To give an idea of the magnitude of some of the abbots' houses, we may record that the hall of the Abbot of Fountains was divided by two rows of pillars into a centre and aisles, and that it was 170 feet long by 70 feet wide.[85] Half a dozen noble guests, with their retinues of knights and squires, and men-at-arms and lacqueys, and all the abbot's men to boot, would be lost in such a hall. On the great feast-days it might, perhaps, be comfortably filled. But even such a hall would hardly contain the companies who were sometimes entertained, on such great days for instance as an abbot's installation-day, when it is on record that an abbot of one of the greater houses would give a feast to three or four thousand people. Of the lodgings of the superiors of smaller houses, we may take that of the Prior of St. Mary's, Bridlington, as an example. It is very accurately described by King Henry's commissioners; it formed the west side of the cloister-court; it contained a hall with an undercroft, eighteen paces long from the screen to the dais,[86] and ten paces wide; on its north side a great chamber, twenty paces long and nineteen wide; at the west end of the great chamber the prior's sleeping-chamber, and over that a garret; on the east side of the same chamber a little chamber and a closet; at the south end of the hall the buttery and pantry, and a chamber called the Auditor's Chamber; at the same end of the hall a fair parlour, called the Low Summer Parlour; and over it another fair chamber; and adjoining that three little chambers for servants; at the south end of the hall the Prior's Kitchen, with three houses covered with lead, and adjoining it a chamber called the South Cellarer's Chamber.[87] [Illustration: _A Present of Fish._] There were several other buildings of a monastery, which were sometimes detached, and placed as convenience dictated. The Infirmary especially seems to have been more commonly detached; in many cases it had its own kitchen, and refectory, and chapel, and chambers, which sometimes were arranged round a court, and formed a complete little separate establishment. The Hospitium, or Guest-house, was sometimes detached; but more usually it seems to have formed a portion of an outer court, westward of the cloister-court, which court was entered from the great gates, or from one of the outer gates of the abbey. In Cistercian houses, as we have said, the guest-house, with its hall below and its chambers above, perhaps occupied the west side of the cloister-court, and would therefore form the eastern range of buildings of this outer court. At St. Mary's, Bridlington, where the prior's lodging occupied this position, the "lodgings and stables for strangers" were on the north side of this outer court. The guest-houses were often of great extent and magnificence. The Guesten-hall of St. Augustine's, Canterbury, still remains, and is a very noble building, 150 feet long by 50 broad, of Norman date, raised on an undercroft. The Guesten-hall of Worcester also remains, a very noble building on an undercroft, with a fine carved timber roof, and portions of the painting which decorated the wall behind the dais still visible.[88] Besides the hall, the guest-house contained often a great-chamber (answering to our modern drawing-room) and sleeping-chambers, and a chapel, in which service was performed for guests--for in those days it was the custom always to hear prayers before dinner and supper. Thus, at Durham, we are told that "a famous house of hospitality was kept within the abbey garth, called the Guest-hall, and was situate in the west side, towards the water. The sub-prior of the house was the master thereof, as one appointed to give entertainment to all estates, noble, gentle, or what other degree soever, came thither as strangers. Their entertainment was not inferior to that of any place in England, both for the goodness of their diet, the clean and neat furniture of their lodgings, and generally all things necessary for travellers; and, with this entertainment, no man was required to depart while he continued honest and of good behaviour. This hall was a stately place, not unlike the body of a church, supported on each side by very fine pillars, and in the midst of the hall a long range for the fire. The chambers and lodgings belonging to it were kept very clean and richly furnished." At St. Albans, the Guest-house was an enormous range of rooms, with stabling for three hundred horses. There is a passage in the correspondence of Coldingham Priory (published by the Surties Society, 1841, p. 52) which gives us a graphic sketch of the arrival of guests at a monastery:--"On St. Alban's-day, June 17 [year not given--it was towards the end of Edward III.], two monks, with a company of certain secular persons, came riding into the gateway of the monastery about nine o'clock in the morning. This day happened to be Sunday, but they were hospitably and reverently received, had lodgings assigned them, a special mass service performed for them, and after a refection and washing their feet, it being supposed that they were about to pursue their journey to London the next morning, they were left at an early hour to take repose. While the bell was summoning the rest of the brotherhood to vespers, the monk who had been in attendance upon them (the hospitaller) having gone with the rest to sing his chant in the choir, the secular persons appear to have asked the two monks to take a walk with them to look at the Castle of Durham," &c.[89] There could hardly have been any place in the Middle Ages which could have presented such a constant succession of picturesque scenes as the Hospitium of a monastery. And what a contrast must often have existed between the Hospitium and the Cloister. Here a crowd of people of every degree--nobles and ladies, knights and dames, traders with their wares, minstrels with their songs and juggling tricks, monks and clerks, palmers, friars, beggars--bustling about the court or crowding the long tables of the hall; and, a few paces off, the dark-frocked monks, with faces buried in their cowls, pacing the ambulatory in silent meditation, or sitting at their meagre refection, enlivened only by the monotonous sound of the novice's voice reading a homily from the pulpit! Many of the remaining buildings of the monastery were arranged around this outer court. Ingulphus tells us that the second court of the Saxon monastery of Croyland (about 875 A.D.) had the gate on the north, and the almonry near it--a very usual position for it; the shops of the tailors and shoe-makers, the hall of the novices, and the abbot's lodgings on the east; the guest-hall and its chambers on the south; and the stable-house, and granary, and bake-house on the west. The Gate-house was usually a large and handsome tower, with the porter's lodge on one side of the arched entrance; and often a strong room on the other, which served as the prison of the manor-court of the convent; and often a handsome room over the entrance, in which the manorial court was held. In the middle of the court was often a stone cross, round which markets and fairs were often held. In the "Vision of Piers Ploughman" an interesting description is given of a Dominican convent of the fourteenth century. We will not trouble the reader with the very archaic original, but will give him a paraphrase of it. The writer says that, on approaching, he was so bewildered by their magnitude and beauty, that for a long time he could distinguish nothing certainly but stately buildings of stone, pillars carved and painted, and great windows well wrought. In the quadrangle he notices the cross standing in the centre, surrounded with tabernacle-work: he enters the minster (church), and describes the arches carved and gilded, the wide windows full of shields of arms and merchants' marks on stained glass, the high tombs under canopies, with armed effigies in alabaster, and lovely ladies lying by their sides in many gay garments. He passes into the cloister and sees it pillared and painted, and covered with lead and paved with tiles, and conduits of white metal pouring their water into latten (bronze) lavatories beautifully wrought. The chapter-house he says was wrought like a great church, carved and painted like a parliament-house. Then he went into the fratry, and found it a hall fit for a knight and his household, with broad boards (tables) and clean benches, and windows wrought as in a church. Then he wandered all about-- "And seigh halles ful heigh, and houses ful noble, Chambres with chymneys, and chapeles gaye, And kychenes for an high kynge in castels to holden, And their dortoure ydight with dores ful stronge, Fermerye, and fraitur, with fele more houses, And all strong stone wall, sterne opon heithe, With gay garites and grete, and ich whole yglazed, And other houses ynowe to herberwe the queene." The churches of the friars differed from those of monks. They were frequently composed either of a nave only or a nave and two (often very narrow) aisles, without transepts, or chapels, or towers; they were adapted especially for preaching to large congregations--_e.g._ the Austin Friars' Church in the City of London, lately restored; St. Andrew's Hall, Norwich. In Viollet le Duc's "Dictionary of Architecture" is given a bird's-eye view of the monastery of the Augustine Friars of St. Marie des Vaux Verts, near Brussels, which is a complete example of one of these houses.[90] Every monastery had a number of dependent establishments of greater or less size: cells on its distant estates; granges on its manors; chapels in places where the abbey tenants were at a distance from a church; and often hermitages under its protection. A ground-plan and view of one of these cells, the Priory of St. Jean-les-Bons-hommes, of the end of the twelfth century, still remaining in a tolerably perfect state, is given by Viollet le Duc (Dict Arch., i. 276, 277). It is a miniature monastery, with a little cloistered court, surrounded by the usual buildings: an oratory on the north side; on the east a sacristy, and chapter-house, and long range of buildings, with dormitory over; on the south side the refectory and kitchen; and another exterior court, with stables and offices. The preceptory of Hospitallers at Chibburn, Northumberland, which remains almost as the knights left it, is another example of these small rural houses. It is engraved in Turner's "Domestic Architecture," vol. ii. p. 197. It also consists of a small court, with a chapel about forty-five feet long, on the west side; and other buildings, which we cannot appropriate, on the remaining sides. Of the monastic cells we have already spoken in describing the office of prior. The one or two brethren who were placed in a cell to manage the distant estates of the monastery would probably be chosen rather for their qualities as prudent stewards than for their piety. The command of money which their office gave them, and their distance from the supervision of their ecclesiastical superiors, brought them under temptation, and it is probably in these cells, and among the brethren who superintended the granges, and the officials who could leave the monastery at pleasure on the plea of convent business, that we are to look for the irregularities of which the Middle-Age satirists speak. The monk among Chaucer's "Canterbury Pilgrims" was prior of a cell, for we read that-- "When he rode, men might his bridel here Gingeling in a whistling sound, as clere And eke as loud _as doth the chapelle belle, Ther as this lord was keeper of the celle_." The monk on whose intrigue "The Shipman's Tale" is founded, was probably the cellarer of his convent:-- "This noble monk of which I you devise, Had of his abbot, as him list, licence; Because he was a man of high prudence, And eke an officer, out for to ride To seen his granges and his bernes wide." [Illustration: _An Abbot travelling._] The abbot, too, sometimes gave license to the monks to go and see their friends, or to pass two or three days at one or other of the manors of the house for recreation; and sometimes he took a monk with him on his own journeys. In a MS. romance, in the British Museum (Add. 10,293, f. 11), is a representation of a monk with his hood on, journeying on horseback. We give here, from the St. Alban's Book (Nero, D. vii.), a woodcut of an abbot on horseback, with a hat over his hood--"an abbot on an ambling pad;" he is giving his benediction in return to the salute of some passing traveller. Hermitages or anchorages sometimes depended on a monastery, and were not necessarily occupied by brethren of the monastery, but by any one desirous to embrace this mode of life whom the convent might choose. The hermit, however, probably, usually wore the habit of the order. The monastery often supplied the hermit with his food. In a picture in the MS. romance, before quoted (Add. 10,292, f. 98), is a representation of a knight-errant on horseback, conversing by the way with a clerk, who is carrying bread and wine to a hermitage. The woodcut with which we conclude, from the Harleian MS., 1,527, represents the characteristic costume of three orders of religious with whom we have been concerned--a bishop, an abbot, and a clerk. [Illustration: _Bishop, Abbot, and Clerk._] THE HERMITS AND RECLUSES OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. THE HERMITS. We have already related, in a former chapter (p. 3), that the ascetics who abandoned the stirring world of the Ægypto-Greek cities, and resorted to the Theban desert to lead a life of self-mortification and contemplation, frequently associated themselves into communities, and thus gave rise to the coenobitical orders of Christendom. But there were others who still preferred the solitary life; and they had their imitators in every age and country of the Christian world. We have not the same fulness of information respecting these solitaries that we have respecting the great orders of monks and friars; but the scattered notices which remain of them, when brought together, form a very curious chapter in the history of human nature, well worthy of being written out in full. The business of the present paper, however, is not to write the whole chapter, but only to select that page of it which relates to the English solitaries, and to give as distinct a picture as we can of the part which the Hermits and Recluses played on the picturesque stage of the England of the Middle Ages. We have to remember, at the outset, that it was not all who bore the name of Eremite who lived a solitary life. We have already had occasion to mention that Innocent IV., in the middle of the thirteenth century, found a number of small religious communities and solitaries, who were not in any of the recognised religious orders, and observed no authorised rule; and that he enrolled them all into a new order, with the rule of St. Augustine, under the name of Eremiti Augustini. The new order took root, and flourished, and gave rise to a considerable number of large communities, very similar in every respect to the communities of friars of the three orders previously existing. The members of these new communities did not affect seclusion, but went about among the people, as the Dominicans, and Franciscans, and Carmelites did. The popular tongue seems to have divided the formal title of the new order, and to have applied the name of _Augustine_, or, popularly, _Austin Friars_, to these new communities of friars; while it reserved the distinctive name of _Eremites_, or Hermits, for the religious, who, whether they lived absolutely alone, or in little aggregations of solitaries, still professed the old eremitical principle of seclusion from the world. These hermits may again be subdivided into Hermits proper, and Recluses. The difference between them was this: that the hermit, though he professed a general seclusion from the world, yet, in fact, held communication with his fellow-men as freely as he pleased, and might go in and out of his hermitage as inclination prompted, or need required; the recluse was understood to maintain a more strict abstinence from unnecessary intercourse with others, and had entered into a formal obligation not to go outside the doors of his hermitage. In the imperfect notices which we have of them, it is often impossible to determine whether a particular individual was a hermit or a recluse; but we incline to the opinion that of the male solitaries few had taken the vows of reclusion; while the female solitaries appear to have been all recluses. So that, practically, the distinction almost amounts to this--that the male solitaries were hermits, and the females recluses. Very much of what we have to say of the mediæval solitaries, of their abodes, and of their domestic economy, applies both to those who had, and to those who had not, made the further vow of reclusion. We shall, therefore, treat first of those points which are common to them, and then devote a further paper to those things which are peculiar to the recluses. * * * * * The popular idea of a hermit is that of a man who was either a half-crazed enthusiast, or a misanthrope--a kind of Christian Timon--who abandoned the abodes of men, and scooped out for himself a cave in the rocks, or built himself a rude hut in the forest; and lived there a half-savage life, clad in sackcloth or skins,[91] eating roots and wild fruits, and drinking of the neighbouring spring; visited occasionally by superstitious people, who gazed and listened in fear at the mystic ravings, or wild denunciations, of the gaunt and haggard prophet. This ideal has probably been derived from the traditional histories, once so popular,[92] of the early hermit-saints; and there may have been, perhaps, always an individual or two of whom this traditional picture was a more or less exaggerated representation. But the ordinary English hermit of the Middle Ages was a totally different type of man. He was a sober-minded and civilised person, who dressed in a robe very much like the robes of the other religious orders; lived in a comfortable little house of stone or timber; often had estates, or a pension, for his maintenance, besides what charitable people were pleased to leave him in their wills, or to offer in their lifetime; he lived on bread and meat, and beer and wine, and had a chaplain to say daily prayers for him, and a servant or two to wait upon him; his hermitage was not always up in the lonely hills, or deep-buried in the shady forests--very often it was by the great high roads, and sometimes in the heart of great towns and cities. This summary description is so utterly opposed to all the popular notions, that we shall take pains to fortify our assertions with sufficient proofs; indeed, the whole subject is so little known that we shall illustrate it freely from all the sources at our command. And first, as it is one of our especial objects to furnish authorities for the pictorial representation of these old hermits, we shall inquire what kind of dress they did actually wear in place of the skins, or the sackcloth, with which the popular imagination has clothed them. We should be inclined to assume _a priori_ that the hermits would wear the habit prescribed by Papal authority for the Eremiti Augustini, which, according to Stevens, consisted of "a white garment, and a white scapular over it, when they are in the house; but in the choir, and when they go abroad, they put on, over all, a sort of cowl and a large hood, both black, the hood round before, and hanging down to the waist in a point, being girt with a black leather thong." And in the rude woodcuts which adorn Caxton's "Vitas Patrum," or "Lives of the Hermits," we do find some of the religious men in a habit which looks like a gown, with the arms coming through slits, which may be intended to represent a scapular, and with hoods and cowls of the fashion described; while others, in the same book, are in a loose gown, in shape more like that of a Benedictine. Again, in Albert Durer's "St. Christopher," as engraved by Mrs. Jameson, in her "Sacred and Legendary Art," p. 445, the hermit is represented in a frock and scapular, with a cowl and hood. But in the majority of the representations of hermits which we meet with in mediæval paintings and illuminated manuscripts, the costume consists of a frock, sometimes girded, sometimes not, and over it an ample gown, like a cloak, with a hood; and in the cases where the colour of the robe is indicated, it is almost always indicated by a light brown tint.[93] It is not unlikely that there were varieties of costume among the hermits. Perhaps those who were attached to the monasteries of monks and friars, and who seem to have been usually admitted to the fraternity of the house,[94] may have worn the costume of the order to which they were attached; while priest-hermits serving chantries may have worn the usual costume of a secular priest. Bishop Poore, who died 1237, in his "Ancren Riewle," speaks of the fashion of the dress to be worn, at least by female recluses, as indifferent. Bilney, speaking especially of the recluses in his day, just before the Reformation, says, "their apparell is indifferent, so it be dissonant from the laity." In the woodcuts, from various sources, which illustrate this paper, the reader will see for himself how the hermits are represented by the mediæval artists, who had them constantly under their observation, and who at least tried their best to represent faithfully what they saw. The best and clearest illustration which we have been able to find of the usual costume in which the hermits are represented, we here give to the reader. It is from the figure of St. Damasus, one of the group in the fine picture of "St. Jerome," by Cosimo Roselli (who lived from 1439 to 1506), now in the National Gallery. The hermit-saint wears a light-brown frock, and scapular, with no girdle, and, over all, a cloak and hood of the same colour, and his naked feet are protected by wooden clogs. [Illustration: _St. Damasus, Hermit._] Other illustrations of hermits may be found in the early fourteenth century MS. Romances Additional 10,293 f. 335, and 10,294 f. 95. In the latter case there are two hermits in one hermitage; also in Royal 16 G. vi. Illustrations of St. Anthony, which give authorities for hermit costume, and indications of what hermitages were, abound in the later MSS.; for example, in King René's "Book of Hours" (Egerton 1,070), at f. 108, the hermit-saint is habited in a grey frock and black cloak with a T-cross on the breast; he holds bell and book and staff in his hands. In Egerton 1,149, of the middle of the fifteenth century. In Add. 15,677, of the latter part of the fifteenth century, at f. 150, is St. Anthony in brown frock and narrow scapulary, with a grey cloak and hood and a red skull cap; he holds a staff and book; his hermitage, in the background, is a building like a little chapel with a bell-cot on the gable, within a grassy enclosure fenced with a low wattled fence. Add. 18,854, of date 1525 A.D., f. 146, represents St. Anthony in a blue-grey gown and hood, holding bell, rosary, and staff, entering his hermitage, a little building with a bell-cot on the gable. A man could not take upon himself the character of a hermit at his own pleasure. It was a regular order of religion, into which a man could not enter without the consent of the bishop of the diocese, and into which he was admitted by a formal religious service. And just as bishops do not ordain men to holy orders until they have obtained a "title," a place in which to exercise their ministry, so bishops did not admit men to the order of Hermits until they had obtained a hermitage in which to exercise their vocation. The form of the vow made by a hermit is here given, from the Institution Books of Norwich, lib. xiv. fo. 27a ("East Anglian," No. 9, p. 107). "I, John Fferys, nott maridd, promyt and avowe to God, o{r} Lady Sent Mary, and to all the seynts in heven, in the p'sence of you reverend fadre in God, Richard bishop of Norwich, the wowe of chastite, after the rule of sent paule the heremite. In the name of the fadre, sone, and holy gost. JOHN FFERERE. xiij. meii, anno dni. MLVCIIIJ. in capella de Thorpe." We summarize the service for habiting and blessing a hermit[95] from the pontifical of Bishop Lacy of Exeter, of the fourteenth century.[96] It begins with several psalms; then several short prayers for the incepting hermit, mentioning him by name.[97] Then follow two prayers for the benediction of his vestments, apparently for different parts of his habit; the first mentioning "hec indumenta humilitatem cordis et mundi contemptum significancia,"--these garments signifying humility of heart, and contempt of the world; the second blesses "hanc vestem pro conservande castitatis signo,"--this vestment the sign of chastity. The priest then delivers the vestments to the hermit kneeling before him, with these words, "Brother, behold we give to thee the eremitical habit (_habitum heremiticum_), with which we admonish thee to live henceforth chastely, soberly, and holily; in holy watchings, in fastings, in labours, in prayers, in works of mercy, that thou mayest have eternal life, and live for ever and ever." And he receives them saying, "Behold, I receive them in the name of the Lord; and promise myself so to do according to my power, the grace of God, and of the saints, helping me." Then he puts off his secular habit, the priest saying to him, "The Lord put off from thee the old man with his deeds;" and while he puts on his hermit's habit, the priest says, "The Lord put on thee the new man, which, after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness." Then follow a collect and certain psalms, and finally the priest sprinkles him with holy water, and blesses him. Men of all ranks took upon them the hermit life, and we find the popular writers of the time sometimes distinguishing among them; one is a "hermit-priest,"[98] another is a "gentle hermit," not in the sense of the "gentle hermit of the dale," but meaning that he was a man of gentle birth. The hermit in whose hermitage Sir Launcelot passed long time is described as a "gentle hermit, which sometime was a noble knight and a great lord of possessions, and for great goodness he hath taken him unto wilful poverty, and hath forsaken his possessions, and his name is Sir Baldwin of Britain, and he is a full noble surgeon, and a right good leech." This was the type of hermit who was venerated by the popular superstition of the day: a great and rich man who had taken to wilful poverty, or a man who lived wild in the woods--a St. Julian, or a St. Anthony. A poor man who turned hermit, and lived a prosaic, pious, useful life, showing travellers the way through a forest, or over a bog, or across a ferry, and humbly taking their alms in return, presented nothing dramatic and striking to the popular mind; very likely, too, many men adopted the hermit life for the sake of the idleness and the alms,[99] and deserved the small repute they had. It is _àpropos_ of Sir Launcelot's hermit above-mentioned that the romancer complains "for in those days it was not with the guise of hermits as it now is in these days. For there were no hermits in those days, but that they have been men of worship and prowess, and those hermits held great households, and refreshed people that were in distress." We find the author of "Piers Ploughman" making the same complaint. We have, as in other cases, a little modernised his language:-- "But eremites that inhabit them by the highways, And in boroughs among brewers, and beg in churches, All that holy eremites hated and despised, (As riches, and reverences, and rich men's alms), These lollers,[100] latche drawers,[101] lewd eremites, Covet on the contrary. Nor live holy as eremites, That lived wild in woods, with bears and lions. Some had livelihood from their lineage[102] and of no life else; And some lived by their learning, and the labour of their hands. Some had foreigners for friends, that their food sent; And birds brought to some bread, whereby they lived. All these holy eremites were of high kin, Forsook land and lordship, and likings of the body. But these eremites that edify by the highways Whilome were workmen--webbers, and tailors, And carter's knaves, and clerks without grace. They held a hungry house. And had much want, Long labour, and light winnings. And at last espied That lazy fellows in friar's clothing had fat cheeks. Forthwith left they their labour, these lewd knaves, And clothed them in copes as they were clerks, Or one of some order [of monks or friars], or else prophets [eremites]." This curious extract from "Piers Ploughman" leads us to notice the localities in which hermitages were situated. Sometimes, no doubt, they were in lonely and retired places among the hills, or hidden in the depths of the forests which then covered so large a portion of the land. On the next page is a very interesting little picture of hermit life, from a MS. Book of Hours, executed for Richard II. (British Museum, Domitian, A. xvii., folio 4 v.) The artist probably intended to represent the old hermits of the Egyptian desert, Piers Ploughman's-- "Holy eremites, That lived wild in woods With bears and lions;" but, after the custom of mediæval art, he has introduced the scenery, costume, and architecture of his own time. Erase the bears, which stand for the whole tribe of outlandish beasts, and we have a very pretty bit of English mountain scenery. The stags are characteristic enough of the scenery of mediæval England. The hermitage on the right seems to be of the ruder sort, made in part of wattled work. On the left we have the more usual hermitage of stone, with its little chapel bell in a bell-cot on the gable. The venerable old hermit, coming out of the doorway, is a charming illustration of the typical hermit, with his venerable beard, and his form bowed by age, leaning with one hand on his cross-staff, and carrying his rosary in the other. The hermit in the illustration hereafter given from the "History of Launcelot," on page 114, leans on a similar staff; it would seem as if such a staff was a usual part of the hermit's equipment.[103] The hermit in Albert Dürer's "St. Christopher." already mentioned, also leans on a staff, but of rather different shape. Here is a companion-picture, in pen and ink, from the "Morte d'Arthur:"--"Then he departed from the cross [a stone cross which parted two ways in waste land, under which he had been sleeping], on foot, into a wild forest. And so by prime he came unto an high mountain, and there he found an hermitage, and an hermit therein, which was going to mass. And then Sir Launcelot kneeled down upon both his knees, and cried out, 'Lord, mercy!' for his wicked works that he had done. So when mass was done, Sir Launcelot called the hermit to him, and prayed him for charity to hear his confession. 'With a good will,' said the good man." [Illustration: _Hermits and Hermitages._] But many of the hermitages were erected along the great highways of the country, and especially at bridges and fords,[104] apparently with the express view of their being serviceable to travellers. One of the hermit-saints set up as a pattern for their imitation was St. Julian, who, with his wife, devoted his property and life to showing hospitality to travellers; and the hermit who is always associated in the legends and pictures with St. Christopher, is represented as holding out his torch or lantern to light the giant ferryman, as he transports his passengers across the dangerous ford by which the hermitage was built. When hostelries, where the traveller could command entertainment for hire, were to be found only in the great towns, the religious houses were the chief resting-places of the traveller; not only the conventual establishments, but the country clergy also were expected to be given to hospitality.[105] But both monasteries and country parsonages often lay at a distance of miles of miry and intricate by-road off the highway. We must picture this state of the country and of society to ourselves, before we can appreciate the intentions of those who founded these hospitable establishments; we must try to imagine ourselves travellers, getting belated in a dreary part of the road, where it ran over a bleak wold, or dived through a dark forest, or approached an unknown ford, before we can appreciate the gratitude of those who suddenly caught the light from the hermit's window, or heard the faint tinkle of his chapel bell ringing for vespers. Such incidents occur frequently in the romances. Here is an example:--"Sir Launcelot rode all that day and all that night in a forest; and at the last, he was ware of an hermitage and a chapel that stood between two cliffs; and then he heard a little bell ring to mass, and thither he rode, and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard mass." Again: "Sir Gawayne rode till he came to an hermitage, and there he found the good man saying his even-song of our Lady. And there Sir Gawayne asked harbour for charity, and the good man granted it him gladly." We shall, perhaps, most outrage the popular idea of a hermit, when we assert that hermits sometimes lived in towns. The extract from "Piers Ploughman's Vision," already quoted, tells us of-- "Eremites that inhabit them In boroughs among brewers." The difficulty of distinguishing between hermits proper and recluses becomes very perplexing in this part of our subject. There is abundant proof, which we shall have occasion to give later, that recluses, both male and female, usually lived in towns and villages, and these recluses are sometimes called hermits, as well as by their more usual and peculiar name of anchorites and anchoresses. But we are inclined to the opinion, that not all the male solitaries who lived in towns were recluses. The author of "Piers Ploughman's Vision" speaks of the eremites who inhabited in boroughs as if they were of the same class as those who lived by the highways, and who ought to have lived in the wildernesses, like St. Anthony. The theory under which it was made possible for a solitary, an eremite, a man of the desert, to live in a town, was, that a churchyard formed a solitary place--a desert--within the town. The curious history which we are going to relate, seems to refer to hermits, not to recluses. The Mayor of Sudbury, under date January 28, 1433, petitioned the Bishop of Norwich, setting forth that the bishop had refused to admit "Richard Appleby, of Sudbury, conversant with John Levynton, of the same town, heremyte, to the order of Hermits, unless he was sure to be inhabited in a solitary place where virtues might be increased, and vice exiled;" and that therefore "we have granted hym, be the assent of all the sayd parish and cherch reves, to be inhabited with the sayd John Levynton in his solitary place and hermytage, whych y{t} is made at the cost of the parysh, in the cherchyard of St. Gregory Cherche, to dwellen togedyr as (long as) yey liven, or whiche of them longest liveth;" and thereupon the mayor prays the bishop to admit Richard Appleby to the order. This curious incident of two solitaries living together has a parallel in the romance of "King Arthur." When the bold Sir Bedivere had lost his lord King Arthur, he rode away, and, after some adventures, came to a chapel and an hermitage between two hills, "and he prayed the hermit that he might abide there still with him, to live with fasting and prayers. So Sir Bedivere abode there still with the hermit; and there Sir Bedivere put upon him poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers." And afterwards (as we have already related) Sir Launcelot "rode all that day and all that night in a forest. And at the last he was ware of an hermitage and a chapel that stood between two cliffs, and then he heard a little bell ring to mass; and thither he rode, and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate and heard mass." He had stumbled upon the hermitage in which Sir Bedivere was living. And when Sir Bedivere had made himself known, and had "told him his tale all whole," "Sir Launcelot's heart almost burst for sorrow, and Sir Launcelot threw abroad his armour, and said,--'Alas! who may trust this world?' And then he kneeled down on his knees, and prayed the hermit for to shrive him and assoil him. And then he besought the hermit that he might be his brother. And he put an habit upon Sir Launcelot, and there he served God day and night with prayers and fastings." And afterwards Sir Bors came in the same way. And within half a year there was come Sir Galahad, Sir Galiodin, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Villiers, Sir Clarus, and Sir Gahalatine. "So these seven noble knights abode there still: and when they saw that Sir Launcelot had taken him unto such perfection, they had no list to depart, but took such an habit as he had. Thus they endured in great penance six years, and then Sir Launcelot took the habit of priesthood, and twelve months he sung the mass; and there was none of these other knights but that they read in books, and helped for to sing mass, and ring bells, and did lowly all manner of service. And so their horses went where they would, for they took no regard in worldly riches." And after a little time Sir Launcelot died at the hermitage: "then was there weeping and wringing of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made man. And on the morrow the bishop-hermit sung his mass of requiem." The accompanying wood-cut, from one of the small compartments at the bottom of Cosimo Roselli's picture of St. Jerome, from which we have already taken the figure of St. Damasus, may serve to illustrate this incident. It represents a number of hermits mourning over one of their brethren, while a priest in the robes proper to his office, stands at the head of the bier and says prayers, and his deacon stands at the foot, holding a processional cross. The contrast between the robes of the priest and those of the hermits is lost in the woodcut; in the original the priest's cope and amys are coloured red, while those of the hermits are tinted with light brown. [Illustration: _Funeral Service of a Hermit._] If the reader has wondered how the one hermitage could accommodate these seven additional habitants, the romancer does not forget to satisfy his curiosity: a few pages farther we read--"So at the season of the night they went all to their beds, for they all lay in one chamber." It was not very unusual for hermitages to be built for more than one occupant; but probably, in all such cases, each hermit had his own cell, adjoining their common chapel. This was the original arrangement of the hermits of the Thebais in their laura. The great difference between a hermitage with more than one hermit, and a small cell of one of the other religious orders, was that in such a cell one monk or friar would have been the prior, and the others subject to him; but each hermit was independent of any authority on the part of the other; he was subject only to the obligation of his rule, and the visitation of his bishop. The life[106] of the famous hermit, Richard of Hampole, which has lately been published for the first time by the Early English Text Society, will enable us to realise in some detail the character and life of a mediæval hermit of the highest type. Saint Richard was born[107] in the village of Thornton, in Yorkshire. At a suitable age he was sent to school by the care of his parents, and afterwards was sent by Richard Neville, Archdeacon of Durham, to Oxford, where he gave himself specially to theological study. At the age of nineteen, considering the uncertainty of life and the awfulness of judgment, especially to those who waste life in pleasure or spend it in acquiring wealth, and fearing lest he should fall into such courses, he left Oxford and returned to his father's house. One day he asked of his sister two of her gowns (tunicas), one white, the other grey, and a cloak and hood of his father's. He cut up the two gowns, and fashioned out of them and of the hooded cloak an imitation of a hermit's habit, and next day he went off into a neighbouring wood bent upon living a hermit life. Soon after, on the vigil of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, he went to a certain church, and knelt down to pray in the place which the wife of a certain worthy knight, John de Dalton, was accustomed to occupy. When the lady came to church, her servants would have turned out the intruder, but she would not permit it. When vespers were over and he rose from his knees, the sons of Sir John, who were students at Oxford, recognised him as the son of William Rolle, whom they had known at Oxford. Next day Richard again went to the same church, and without any bidding put on a surplice and sang mattins and the office of the mass with the rest. And when the gospel was to be read at mass, he sought the blessing of the priest, and then entered the pulpit and preached a sermon to the people of such wonderful edification that many were touched with compunction even to tears, and all said they had never heard before a sermon of such power and efficacy. After mass Sir John Dalton invited him to dinner. When he entered into the manor he took his place in a ruined building, and would not enter the hall, according to the evangelical precept, "When thou art bidden to a wedding sit down in the lowest room, and when he that hath bidden thee shall see it he will say to thee, Friend, go up higher;" which was fulfilled in him, for the knight made him sit at table with his own sons. But he kept such silence at dinner that he did not speak one word; and when he had eaten sufficiently he rose before they took away the table and would have departed, but the knight told him this was contrary to custom, and made him sit down again. After dinner the knight had some private conversation with him, and being satisfied that he was not a madman, but really seemed to have the vocation to a hermit's life, he clothed him at his own cost in a hermit's habit, and retained him a long time in his own house, giving him a solitary chamber (_locum mansionis solitariæ_)[108] and providing him with all necessaries. Our hermit then gave himself up to ascetic discipline and a contemplative life. He wrote books; he counselled those who came to him. He did both at the same time; for one afternoon the lady of the house came to him with many other persons and found him writing very rapidly, and begged him to stop writing and speak some words of edification to them; and he began at once and continued to address them for two hours with admirable exhortations to cultivate virtue and to put away worldly vanities, and to increase the love of their hearts for God; but at the same time he went on writing as fast as before. He used to be so absorbed in prayer that his friends took off his torn cloak, and when it had been mended put it on him again, without his knowing it. Soon we hear of his having temptations like those which assailed St. Anthony, the devil tempting him in the form of a beautiful woman. He was specially desirous to help recluses and those who required spiritual consolation, and who were vexed by evil spirits. At length Lady Dalton died, and (whether as a result of this is not stated) the hermit left his cell and began to move from place to place. One time he came near the cell of Dame Margaret, the recluse of Anderby in Richmondshire, and was told that she was dumb and suffering from some strange disease, and went to her. And he sat down at the window of the house of the recluse,[109] and when they had eaten, the recluse felt a desire to sleep; and being oppressed with sleep her head fell towards the window at which St. Richard was reclined. And when she had slept a little, leaning somewhat on Richard, suddenly she was seized with a convulsion, and awoke with her power of speech restored. He wrote many works of ascetic and mystical divinity which were greatly esteemed. The Early English Text Society has published some specimens in the work from which these notices are gathered, which show that his reputation as a devotional writer was not undeserved. At length he settled at Hampole, where was a Cistercian nunnery. Here he died, and in the church of the nunnery he was buried. We are indebted for the Officium and Legenda from which we have gathered this outline of his life to the pious care of the nuns of Hampole, to whom the fame of Richard's sanctity was a source of great profit and honour. That he had a line of successors in his anchorage is indicated by the fact hereafter stated (p. 128), that in 1415 A.D., Lord Scrope left by will a bequest to Elizabeth, late servant to the anchoret of Hampole. [Illustration: _Sir Launcelot and a Hermit._] There are indications that these hermitages were sometimes mere bothies of branches; there is a representation of one, from which we here give a woodcut, in an illuminated MS. romance of Sir Launcelot, of early fourteenth-century date (British Museum, Add. 10,293, folio 118 v., date 1316): we have already noticed another of wattled work.[110] There are also caves[111] here and there in the country which are said by tradition to have been hermitages: one is described in the _Archæological Journal_, vol. iv., p. 150. It is a small cave, not easy of access, in the side of a hill called Carcliff Tor, near Rowsley, a little miserable village not far from Haddon Hall. In a recess, on the right side as you enter the cave, is a crucifix about four feet high, sculptured in bold relief in the red grit rock out of which the cave is hollowed; and close to it, on the right, is a rude niche, perhaps to hold a lamp. St. Robert's Chapel, at Knaresborough, Yorkshire, is a very excellent example of a hermitage.[112] It is hewn out of the rock, at the bottom of a cliff, in the corner of a sequestered dell. The exterior, a view of which is given below, presents us with a simply arched doorway at the bottom of the rough cliff, with an arched window on the left, and a little square opening between, which looks like the little square window of a recluse. Internally we find the cell sculptured into the fashion of a little chapel, with a groined ceiling, the groining shafts and ribs well enough designed, but rather rudely executed. There is a semi-octagonal apsidal recess at the east end, in which the altar stands; a piscina and a credence and stone seat in the north wall; a row of sculptured heads in the south wall, and a grave-stone in the middle of the floor. This chapel appears to have been also the hermit's living room. The view of the exterior, and of the interior and ground-plan, are from Carter's "Ancient Architecture," pl. lxvii. Another hermitage, whose chapel is very similar to this, is at Warkworth. It is half-way up the cliff, on one side of a deep, romantic valley, through which runs the river Coquet, overhung with woods. The chapel is hewn out of the rock, 18 feet long by 7-1/2 wide, with a little entrance-porch on the south, also hewn in the rock; and, on the farther side, a long, narrow apartment, with a small altar at the east end, and a window looking upon the chapel altar. This long apartment was probably the hermit's living room; but when the Earls of Northumberland endowed the hermitage for a chantry priest, the priest seems to have lived in a small house, with a garden attached, at the foot of the cliff. The chapel is groined, and has Gothic windows, very like that of Knaresborough. A minute description of this hermitage, and of the legend connected with it, is given in a poem called "The History of Warkworth" (4to, 1775), and in a letter in Grose's "Antiquities," vol. iii., is a ground-plan of the chapel and its appurtenances. A view of the exterior, showing its picturesque situation, will be found in Herne's "Antiquities of Great Britain," pl. 9. [Illustration: _Exterior View of St. Robert's Chapel, Knaresborough._] [Illustration: _Interior View of St. Robert's Chapel._] There is a little cell, or oratory, called the hermitage, cut out of the face of a rock near Dale Abbey, Derbyshire. On the south side are the door and three windows; at the east end, an altar standing upon a raised platform, both cut out of the rock; there are little niches in the walls, and a stone seat all round.[113] There is another hermitage of three cells at Wetheral, near Carlisle, called Wetheral Safeguard, or St. Constantine's Cells--Wetheral Priory was dedicated to St. Constantine, and this hermitage seems to have belonged to the priory. It is not far from Wetheral Priory, in the face of a rock standing 100 feet perpendicularly out of the river Eden, which washes its base; the hill rising several hundred feet higher still above this rocky escarpment. The hermitage is at a height of 40 feet from the river, and can only be approached from above by a narrow and difficult path down the face of the precipice. It consists of three square cells, close together, about 10 feet square and 8 feet high; each with a short passage leading to it, which increases its total length to about 20 feet. These passages communicate with a little platform of rock in front of the cells. At a lower level than this platform, by about 7 feet, there is a narrow gallery built up of masonry; the door to the hermitage is at one end of it, so that access to the cells can only be obtained by means of a ladder from this gallery to the platform of rock 7 feet above it. In the front of the gallery are three windows, opposite to the three cells, to give them light, and one chimney. An engraving will be found in Hutchinson's "History of Cumberland," vol. i. p. 160, which shows the picturesque scene--the rocky hill-side, with the river washing round its base, and the three windows of the hermitage, half-way up, peeping through the foliage; there is also a careful plan of the cells in the letterpress. [Illustration: _Ground-Plan of St. Robert's Chapel._] A chapel, and a range of rooms--which communicate with one another, and form a tolerably commodious house of two floors, are excavated out of a rocky hill-side, called Blackstone Rock, which forms the bank of the Severn, near Bewdley, Worcestershire. A view of the exterior of the rock, and a plan and section of the chambers, are given both in Stukeley's "Itinerarium Curiosum," pls. 13 and 14, and in Nash's "History of Worcestershire," vol. ii. p. 48. [Illustration] At Lenton, near Nottingham, there is a chapel and a range of cells excavated out of the face of a semicircular sweep of rock, which crops out on the bank of the river Leen. The river winds round the other semicircle, leaving a space of greensward between the rock and the river, upon which the cells open. Now, the whole place is enclosed, and used as a public garden and bowling-green, its original features being, however, preserved with a praiseworthy appreciation of their interest. In former days this hermitage was just within the verge of the park of the royal castle of Nottingham; it was doubtless screened by the trees of the park; and its inmates might pace to and fro on their secluded grass-plot, fenced in by the rock and the river from every intruding foot, and yet in full view of the walls and towers of the castle, with the royal banner waving from its keep, and catch a glimpse of the populous borough, and see the parties of knights and ladies prance over the level meadows which stretched out to the neighbouring Trent like a green carpet, embroidered in spring and autumn by the purple crocus, which grows wild there in myriads. Stukeley, in his "Itinerarium Curiosum," pl. 39, gives a view and ground-plan of these curious cells. Carter also figures them in his "Ancient Architecture," pl. 12, and gives details of a Norman shaft and arch in the chapel. But nearly all the hermitages which we read of in the romances, or see depicted in the illuminations and paintings, or find noticed in ancient historical documents, are substantial buildings of stone or timber. Here is one from folio 56 of the "History of Launcelot" (Add. 10,293): the hermit stands at the door of his house, giving his parting benediction to Sir Launcelot, who, with his attendant physician, is taking his leave after a night's sojourn at the hermitage. In the paintings of the Campo Santo, at Pisa (engraved in Mrs. Jameson's "Sacred and Legendary Art"), which represent the hermits of the Egyptian desert, some of the hermitages are caves, some are little houses of stone. In Caxton's "Vitas Patrum" the hermitages are little houses; one has a stepped gable; another is like a gateway, with a room over it.[114] They were founded and built, and often endowed, by the same men who founded chantries, and built churches, and endowed monasteries; and from the same motives of piety, charity, or superstition. And the founders seem often to have retained the patronage of the hermitages, as of valuable benefices, in their own hands.[115] A hermitage was, in fact, a miniature monastery, inhabited by one religious, who was abbot, and prior, and convent, all in one: sometimes also by a chaplain,[116] where the hermit was not a priest, and by several lay brethren, _i.e._ servants. It had a chapel of its own, in which divine service was performed daily. It had also the apartments necessary for the accommodation of the hermit, and his chaplain--when one lived in the hermitage--and his servants, and the necessary accommodation for travellers besides; and it had often, perhaps generally, its court-yard and garden. The chapel of the hermitage seems not to have been appropriated solely to the performance of divine offices, but to have been made useful for other more secular purposes also. Indeed, the churches and chapels in the Middle Ages seem often to have been used for great occasions of a semi-religious character, when a large apartment was requisite, _e.g._ for holding councils, for judicial proceedings, and the like. Godric of Finchale, a hermit who lived about the time of Henry II.,[117] had two chapels adjoining his cell; one he called by the name of St. John Baptist, the other after the Blessed Virgin. He had a kind of common room, "communis domus," in which he cooked his food and saw visitors; but he lived chiefly, day and night, in the chapel of St. John, removing his bed to the chapel of St. Mary at times of more solemn devotion. In an illumination on folio 153 of the "History of Launcelot," already quoted (British Mus., Add. 10,293), is a picture of King Arthur taking counsel with a hermit in his hermitage. The building in which they are seated has a nave and aisles, a rose-window in its gable, and a bell-turret, and seems intended to represent the chapel of the hermitage. Again, at folio 107 of the same MS. is a picture of a hermit talking to a man, with the title,--"Ensi y come une hermites prole en une chapele de son hermitage,"--"How a hermit conversed in the chapel of his hermitage." It may, perhaps, have been in the chapel that the hermit received those who sought his counsel on spiritual or on secular affairs. In addition to the references which have already been given to illustrations of the subject in the illuminations of MSS., we call the special attention of the student to a series of pictures illustrating a mediæval story of which a hermit is the hero, in the late thirteenth century MS. Royal 10 E IV.; it begins at folio 113 v., and runs on for many pages, and is full of interesting passages. We also add a few lines from Lydgate's unpublished "Life of St Edmund," as a typical picture of a hermit, drawn in the second quarter of the fifteenth century:-- "--holy Ffremund though he were yonge of age, And ther he bilte a litel hermitage Be side a ryver with al his besy peyne, He and his fellawis that were in nombre tweyne. "A litel chapel he dide ther edifie, Day be day to make in his praiere, In the reverence only off Marie And in the worshipe of her Sone deere, And the space fully off sevene yeere Hooly Ffremund, lik as it is founde, Leved be frut and rootes off the grounde. "Off frutes wilde, his story doth us telle, Was his repast penance for t' endure, To stanch his thurst drank water off the welle And eet acorns to sustene his nature, Kernelles off notis [nuts] when he myhte hem recure. To God alway doying reverence, What ever he sent took it in patience." And in concluding this chapter let us call to mind Spenser's description of a typical hermit and hermitage, while the originals still lingered in the living memory of the people:-- "At length they chaunst to meet upon the way An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, His feet all bare, his head all hoarie gray, And by his belt his booke he hanging had; Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad; And all the way he prayed as he went, And often knockt his brest as one that did repent. "He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as that courteous was; And after asked him if he did know Of strange adventures which abroad did pas. 'Ah! my dear sonne,' quoth he, 'how should, alas! Silly[118] old man, that lives in hidden cell, Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, Tidings of war and worldly trouble tell? With holy father sits not with such things to mell.'[119] * * * * * Quoth then that aged man, 'The way to win Is wisely to advise. Now day is spent, Therefore with me ye may take up your in For this same night.' The knight was well content; So with that godly father to his home he went. "A little lowly hermitage it was, Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side, Far from resort of people that did pass In traveill to and froe; a little wyde There was an holy chappell edifyde, Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say His holy things, each morne and eventyde; Hereby a chrystall streame did gently play, Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway. "Arrived there, the little house they fill; Ne look for entertainment where none was; Rest is their feast, and all things at their will: The noblest mind the best contentment has. With fair discourse the evening so they pas; For that old man of pleasing words had store, And well could file his tongue as smooth as glas; He told of saintes and popes, and evermore He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before."[120] _Faery Queen_, i. 1, 29, 33, 34, 35. CHAPTER II. ANCHORESSES, OR FEMALE RECLUSES. And now we proceed to speak more particularly of the recluses. The old legend tells us that John the Hermit, the contemporary of St. Anthony, would hold communication with no man except through the window of his cell.[121] But the recluses of more modern days were not content to quote John the Egyptian as their founder. As the Carmelite friars claimed Elijah, so the recluses, at least the female recluses, looked up to Judith as the foundress of their mode of life, and patroness of their order. Mabillon tells us that the first who made any formal rule for recluses was one Grimlac, who lived about 900 A.D. The principal regulations of his rule are, that the candidate for reclusion, if a monk, should signify his intention a year beforehand, and during the interval should continue to live among his brethren. If not already a monk, the period of probation was doubled. The leave of the bishop of the diocese was to be first obtained, and if the candidate were a monk, the leave of his abbot and convent also. When he had entered his cell, the bishop was to put his seal upon the door, which was never again to be opened,[122] unless for the help of the recluse in time of sickness or on the approach of death. Successive councils published canons to regulate this kind of life. That of Millo, in 692, repeats in substance the rule of Grimlac. That of Frankfort, in 787, refers to the recluses. The synod of Richard de la Wich, Bishop of Chichester, A.D. 1246, makes some canons concerning them: "Also we ordain to recluses that they shall not receive or keep any person in their houses concerning whom any sinister suspicion might arise. Also that they have narrow and proper windows; and we permit them to have secret communication with those persons only whose gravity and honesty do not admit of suspicion."[123] Towards the end of the twelfth century a rule for anchorites was written by Bishop Richard Poore[124] of Chichester, and afterwards of Salisbury, who died A.D. 1237, which throws abundant light upon their mode of life; for it is not merely a brief code of the regulations obligatory upon them, but it is a book of paternal counsels, which enters at great length, and in minute detail, into the circumstances of the recluse life, and will be of great use to us in the subsequent part of this chapter. There were doubtless different degrees of austerity among the recluses; but, on the whole, we must banish from our minds the popular[125] idea that they inhabited a living grave, and lived a life of the extremest mortification. Doubtless there were instances in which religious enthusiasm led the recluse into frightful and inhuman self-torture, like that of Thaysis, in the "Golden Legend:" "She went to the place whiche th' abbot had assygned to her, and there was a monasterye of vyrgyns; and there he closed her in a celle, and sealed the door with led. And the celle was lytyll and strayte, and but one lytell wyndowe open, by whyche was mynistred to her poor lyvinge; for the abbot commanded that they shold gyve to her a lytell brede and water."[126] Thaysis submitted to it at the command of Abbot Pafnucius, as penance for a sinful life, in the early days of Egyptian austerity; and now and then throughout the subsequent ages the self-hatred of an earnest, impassioned nature, suddenly roused to a feeling of exceeding sinfulness; the remorse of a wild, strong spirit, conscious of great crimes; or the enthusiasm of a weak mind and morbid conscience, might urge men and women to such self-revenges, to such penances, as these. Bishop Poore gives us episodically a pathetic example, which our readers will thank us for repeating here. "Nothing is ever so hard that love doth not make tender, and soft, and sweet. Love maketh all things easy. What do men and women endure for false love, and would endure more! And what is more to be wondered at is, that love which is faithful and true, and sweeter than any other love, doth not overmaster us as doth sinful love! Yet I know a man who weareth at the same time both a heavy cuirass[127] and haircloth, bound with iron round the middle too, and his arms with broad and thick bands, so that to bear the sweat of it is severe suffering. He fasteth, he watcheth, he laboureth, and, Christ knoweth, he complaineth, and saith that it doth not oppress him; and often asks me to teach him something wherewith he might give his body pain. God knoweth that he, the most sorrowful of men, weepeth to me, and saith that God hath quite forgotten him, because He sendeth him no great sickness; whatever is bitter seems sweet to him for our Lord's sake. God knoweth love doth this, because, as he often saith to me, he could never love God the less for any evil thing that He might do to him, even were He to cast him into hell with those that perish. And if any believe any such thing of him, he is more confounded than a thief taken with his theft. I know also a woman of like mind that suffereth little less. And what remaineth but to thank God for the strength that He giveth them; and let us humbly acknowledge our own weakness, and love their merit, and thus it becomes our own. For as St. Gregory says, love is of so great power that it maketh the merit of others our own, without labour." But though powerful motives and great force of character might enable an individual here and there to persevere with such austerities, when the severities of the recluse life had to be reduced to rule and system, and when a succession of occupants had to be found for the vacant anchorholds, ordinary human nature revolted from these unnatural austerities, and the common sense of mankind easily granted a tacit dispensation from them; and the recluse life was speedily toned down in practice to a life which a religiously-minded person, especially one who had been wounded and worsted in the battle of life, might gladly embrace and easily endure. Usually, even where the cell consisted of a single room, it was large enough for the comfortable abode of a single inmate, and it was not destitute of such furnishing as comfort required. But it was not unusual for the cell to be in fact a house of several apartments, with a garden attached: and it would seem that the technical "cell" within which the recluse was immured, included house and garden, and everything within the boundary wall.[128] It is true that many of the recluses lived entirely, and perhaps all partly, upon the alms of pious and charitable people. An alms-box was hung up to receive contributions, as appears from "Piers Ploughman,"-- "In ancres there a box hangeth." And in the extracts hereafter given from the "Ancren Riewle," we shall find several allusions to the giving of alms to recluses as a usual custom. But it was the bishop's duty, before giving license for the building of a reclusorium, to satisfy himself that there would be, either from alms or from an endowment, a sufficient maintenance for the recluse. Practically, they do not seem often to have been in want; they were restricted as to the times when they might eat flesh-meat, but otherwise their abstemiousness depended upon their own religious feeling on the subject; and the only check upon excess was in their own moderation. They occupied themselves, besides their frequent devotions, in reading, writing, illuminating, and needlework; and though the recluses attached to some monasteries seem to have been under an obligation of silence, yet in the usual case the recluse held a perpetual levee at the open window, and gossiping and scandal appear to have been among her besetting sins. It will be our business to verify and further to illustrate this general sketch of the recluse life. [Illustration: _Sir Percival at the Reclusorium._] And, first, let us speak more in detail of their habitations. The reclusorium, or anchorhold, seems sometimes to have been, like the hermitage, a house of timber or stone, or a grotto in a solitary place. In Sir T. Mallory's "Prince Arthur" we are introduced to one of these, which afforded all the appliances for lodging and entertaining even male guests. We read:--"Sir Percival returned again unto the recluse, where he deemed to have tidings of that knight which Sir Launcelot followed. And so he kneeled at her window, and anon the recluse opened it, and asked Sir Percival what he would. 'Madam,' said he, 'I am a knight of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Percival de Galis.' So when the recluse heard his name, she made passing great joy of him, for greatly she loved him before all other knights of the world; and so of right she ought to do, for she was his aunt. And then she commanded that the gates should be opened to him, and then Sir Percival had all the cheer that she might make him, and all that was in her power was at his commandment." But it does not seem that she entertained him in person; for the story continues that "on the morrow Sir Percival went unto the recluse," _i.e._, to her little audience-window, to propound his question, "if she knew that knight with the white shield." Opposite is a woodcut of a picture in the MS. "History of Sir Launcelot" (Royal 14, E. III. folio 101 v.), entitled, "Ensi q Percheva retourna à la rencluse qui estait en son hermitage."[129] In the case of these large remote anchorholds, the recluse must have had a chaplain to come and say mass for her every day in the chapel of her hermitage.[130] But in the vast majority of cases, anchorholds were attached to a church either of a religious house, or of a town, or of a village; and in these situations they appear to have been much more numerous than is at all suspected by those who have not inquired into this little-known portion of our mediæval antiquities. Very many of our village churches had a recluse living within or beside them, and it will, perhaps, especially surprise the majority of our readers to learn that these recluses were specially numerous in the mediæval towns.[131] The proofs of this fact are abundant; here are some. Henry, Lord Scrope, of Masham, by will, dated 23rd June, 1415, bequeathed to every anchoret[132] and recluse dwelling in London or its suburbs 6_s._ 8_d._; also to every anchoret and recluse dwelling in York and its suburbs 6_s._ 8_d._ From other sources we learn more about these York anchorets and recluses. The will of Adam Wigan, rector of St. Saviour, York (April 20, 1433, A.D.)[133], leaves 3_s._ 4_d._ to Dan John, who dwelt in the Chapel of St. Martin, within the parish of St. Saviour. The female recluses of York were three in number in the year 1433, as we learn from the will of Margaret, relict of Nicholas Blackburne:[134] "Lego tribus reclusis Ebor.," ij_s._ Where their cells were situated we learn from the will of Richard Rupell (A.D. 1435[135]), who bequeaths to the recluse in the cemetery of the Church of St. Margaret, York, five marks; and to the recluse in the cemetery of St. Helen, in Fishergate, five marks; and to the recluse in the cemetery of All Saints, in North Street, York, five marks. They are also all three mentioned in the will of Adam Wigan, who leaves to the anchorite enclosed in Fishergate 2_s._; to her enclosed near the church of St. Margaret 2_s._; to her enclosed in North Street, near the Church of All Saints, 2_s._ The will of Lady Margaret Stapelton, 1465 A.D.,[136] mentions anchorites in Watergate and Fishergate, in the suburbs of York, and in another place the anchorite of the nunnery of St. Clement, York. At Lincoln, also, we are able to trace a similar succession of anchoresses. In 1383 A.D., William de Belay, of Lincoln, left to an anchoress named Isabella, who dwelt in the Church of the Holy Trinity, in Wigford, within the city of Lincoln, 13_s._ 4_d._ In 1391, John de Sutton left her 20_s._; in 1374, John de Ramsay left her 12_d._ Besides these she had numerous other legacies from citizens. In 1453, an anchoress named Matilda supplied the place of Isabella, who we may suppose had long since gone to her reward. In that year John Tilney--one of the Tilneys of Boston--left "Domine Matilde incluse infra ecclesiam sanctæ Trinitatis ad gressus in civitate Lincoln, vj_s._ viij_d._" In 1502, Master John Watson, a chaplain in Master Robert Flemyng's chantry, left xij_d._ to the "ankers" at the Greese foot. This Church of the Holy Trinity "ad gressus" seems to have been for a long period the abode of a female recluse.[137] The will of Roger Eston, rector of Richmond, Yorkshire, A.D. 1446, also mentions the recluses in the city of York and its suburbs. The will of Adam Wilson also mentions Lady Agnes, enclosed at (_apud_) the parish church of Thorganby, and anchorites (female) at Beston and Pontefract. Sir Hugh Willoughby, of Wollaton, in 1463 bequeathed 6_s._ 5_d._ to the anchoress of Nottingham.[138] The will of Lady Joan Wombewell, A.D. 1454,[139] also mentions the anchoress of Beyston. The will of John Brompton, of Beverley, A.D. 1444,[140] bequeaths 3_s._ 4_d._ to the recluse by the Church of St. Giles, and 1_s._ 6_d._ to anchorite at the friary of St. Nicholas of Beverley. Roger Eston also leaves a bequest to the anchorite of his parish of Richmond, respecting whom the editor gives a note whose substance is given elsewhere. In a will of the fifteenth century[141] we have a bequest "to the ancher in the wall beside Bishopsgate, London."[142] In the will of St. Richard, Bishop of Chichester,[143] we have bequests to Friar Humphrey, the recluse of Pageham, to the recluse of Hogton, to the recluse of Stopeham, to the recluse of Herringham; and in the will of Walter de Suffield, Bishop of Norwich, bequests to "anchers" and recluses in his diocese, and especially to his niece Ela, _in reclusorio_ at Massingham.[144] Among the other notices which we have of solitaries living in towns, Lydgate mentions one in the town of Wakefield. Morant says there was one in Holy Trinity churchyard, Colchester. The episcopal registers of Lichfield show that there was an anchorage for several female recluses in the churchyard of St. George's Chapel, Shrewsbury. The will of Henry, Lord Scrope, already quoted, leaves 100_s._ and the pair of beads which the testator was accustomed to use to the anchorite of Westminster: it was his predecessor, doubtless, who is mentioned in the time of Richard II.: when the young king was going to meet Wat Tyler in Smithfield, he went to Westminster Abbey, "then to the church, and so to the high altar, where he devoutedly prayed and offered; after which he spake with the anchore, to whom he confessed himself."[145] Lord Scrope's will goes on to bequeath 40_s._ to Robert, the recluse of Beverley; 13_s._ 4_d._ each to the anchorets of Stafford, of Kurkebeck, of Wath, of Peasholme, near York, of Kirby, Thorganby, near Colingworth, of Leek, near Upsale, of Gainsburgh, of Kneesall, near South Well, of Dartford, of Stamford, living in the parish church there; to Thomas, the chaplain dwelling continually in the church of St. Nicholas, Gloucester; to Elizabeth, late servant to the anchoret of Hamphole; and to the recluse in the house of the Dominicans at Newcastle; and also 6_s._ 8_d._ to every other anchorite and anchoritess that could be easily found within three months of his decease. We have already had occasion to mention that there were several female recluses, in addition to the male solitaries, in the churchyards of the then great city of Norwich. The particulars which that laborious antiquary, Blomfield, has collected together respecting several of them will throw a little additional light upon our subject, and fill up still further the outlines of the picture which we are engaged in painting. There was a hermitage in the churchyard of St. Julian, Norwich, which was inhabited by a succession of anchoresses, some of whose names Blomfield records:--Dame Agnes, in 1472; Dame Elizabeth Scot, in 1481; Lady Elizabeth, in 1510; Dame Agnes Edrigge, in 1524. The Lady Julian, who was the anchoress in 1393, is said to have had two servants to attend her in her old age. "She was esteemed of great holiness. Mr. Francis Peck had a vellum MS. containing an account of her visions." Blomfield says that the foundations of the anchorage might still be seen in his time, on the east side of St. Julian's churchyard. There was also an anchorage in St. Ethelred's churchyard, which was rebuilt in 1305, and an anchor continually dwelt there till the Reformation, when it was pulled down, and the grange, or tithe-barn, at Brakendale was built with its timber; so that it must have been a timber house of some magnitude. Also in St. Edward's churchyard, joining to the church on the north side, was a cell, whose ruins were still visible in Blomfield's time, and most persons who died in Norwich left small sums towards its maintenance. In 1428 Lady Joan was anchoress here, to whom Walter Ledman left 20_s._, and 40_d._ to each of her servants. In 1458, Dame Anneys Kite was the recluse here; in 1516, Margaret Norman, widow, was buried here, and gave a legacy to the lady anchoress by the church. St. John the Evangelist's Church, in Southgate, was, about A.D. 1300, annexed to the parish of St. Peter per Montergate, and the Grey Friars bought the site; they pulled down the whole building, except a small part left for an anchorage, in which they placed an anchor, to whom they assigned part of the churchyard for his garden. Also there used anciently to be a recluse dwelling in a little cell joining to the north side of the tower of St. John the Baptist's Church, Timber Hill, but it was down before the Dissolution. Also there was an anchor, or hermit, who had an anchorage in or adjoining to All Saints' Church. Also in Henry III.'s time a recluse dwelt in the churchyard of St. John the Baptist, and the Holy Sepulchre, in Ber Street. In the monastery of the Carmelites, or White Friars, at Norwich, there were two anchorages--one for a man, who was admitted brother of the house, and another for a woman, who was admitted sister thereof. The latter was under the chapel of the Holy Cross, which was still standing in Blomfield's time, though converted into dwelling-houses. The former stood by St. Martin's Bridge, on the east side of the street, and had a small garden to it, which ran down to the river. In 1442, December 2nd, the Lady Emma, recluse, or anchoress, and religious sister of the Carmelite order, was buried in their church. In 1443, Thomas Scroope was anchorite in this house. In 1465, Brother John Castleacre, a priest, was anchorite. In 1494 there were legacies given to the anchor of the White Friars. This Thomas Scroope was originally a Benedictine monk; in 1430 he became anchorite here (being received a brother of the Carmelite order), and led an anchorite's life for many years, seldom going out of his cell but when he preached; about 1446 Pope Eugenius made him Bishop of Down, which see he afterwards resigned, and came again to his convent, and became suffragan to the Bishop of Norwich. He died, and was buried at Lowestoft, being near a hundred years old. The document which we are about to quote from Whittaker's "History of Whalley" (pp. 72 and 77), illustrates many points in the history of their anchorholds. The anchorage therein mentioned was built in a parish churchyard, it depended upon a monastery, and was endowed with an allowance in money and kind from the monastery; it was founded for two recluses; they had a chaplain and servants; and the patronage was retained by the founder. The document will also give us some very curious and minute details of the domestic economy of the recluse life; and, lastly, it will give us an historical proof that the assertions of the contemporary satirists, of the laxity[146] with which the vows were sometimes kept, were not without foundation. "In 1349, Henry, Duke of Lancaster, granted in trust to the abbot and convent of Whalley rather large endowments to support two recluses (women) in a certain place within the churchyard of the parish church of Whalley, and two women servants to attend them, there to pray for the soul of the duke, &c.; to find them seventeen ordinary loaves, and seven inferior loaves, eight gallons of better beer, and 3_d._ per week; and yearly ten large stock-fish, one bushel of oatmeal, one of rye, two gallons of oil for lamps, one pound of tallow for candles, six loads of turf, and one load of faggots; also to repair their habitations; and to find a chaplain to say mass in the chapel of these recluses daily; their successors to be nominated by the duke and his heirs. On July 6, 15th Henry VI., the king nominated Isole de Heton, widow, to be an _anachorita_ for life, _in loco ad hoc ordinato juxta ecclesiam parochialem de Whalley_. Isole, however, grew tired of the solitary life, and quitted it; for afterwards a representation was made to the king that 'divers that had been anchores and recluses in the seyd place aforetyme, have broken oute of the seyd place wherein they were reclusyd, and departyd therefrom wythout any reconsilyation;' and that Isole de Heton had broken out two years before, and was not willing to return; and that divers of the women that had been servants there had been with child. So Henry VI. dissolved the hermitage, and appointed instead two chaplains to say mass daily, &c." Whittaker thinks that the hermitage occupied the site of some cottages on the west side of the churchyard, which opened into the churchyard until he had the doors walled up. There was a similar hermitage for several female recluses in the churchyard of St. Romauld, Shrewsbury, as we learn from a document among the Bishop of Lichfield's registers,[147] in which he directs the Dean of St. Chadd, or his procurator, to enclose Isolda de Hungerford an anchorite in the houses of the churchyard of St. Romauld, where the other anchorites dwell. Also in the same registry there is a precept, dated Feb. 1, 1310, from Walter de Langton, Bishop, to Emma Sprenghose, admitting her an anchorite in the houses of the churchyard of St. George's Chapel, Salop, and he appoints the archdeacon to enclose her. Another license from Roger, Bishop of Lichfield, dated 1362, to Robert de Worthin, permitting him, on the nomination of Queen Isabella, to serve God in the reclusorium built adjoining (_juxta_) the chapel of St. John Baptist in the city of Coventry, has been published _in extenso_ by Dugdale, and we transcribe it for the benefit of the curious.[148] Thomas Hearne has printed an Episcopal Commission, dated 1402, for enclosing John Cherde, a monk of Ford Abbey. Burnett's "History of Bristol" mentions a commission opened by Bishop William of Wykham, in August, 1403, for enclosing Lucy de Newchurch, an anchoritess in the hermitage of St. Brendon in Bristol. Richard Francis, an ankret, is spoken of as _inter quatuor parietes pro christi inclusus_ in Langtoft's "Chronicle," ij. 625. CHAPTER III. ANCHORAGES. Just as in a monastery, though it might be large or small in magnitude, simple or gorgeous in style, with more or fewer offices and appendages, according to the number and wealth of the establishment, yet there was always a certain suite of conventual buildings, church, chapter refectory, dormitory, &c., arranged in a certain order, which formed the cloister; and this cloister was the nucleus of all the rest of the buildings of the establishment; so, in a reclusorium, or anchorhold, there was always a "cell" of a certain construction, to which all things else, parlours or chapels, apartments for servants and guests, yards and gardens, were accidental appendages. Bader's rule for recluses in Bavaria[149] describes the dimensions and plan of the cell minutely; the _domus inclusi_ was to be 12 feet long by as many broad, and was to have three windows--one towards the choir (of the church to which it was attached), through which he might receive the Holy Sacrament; another on the opposite side, through which he might receive his victuals; and a third to give light, which last ought always to be closed with glass or horn. The reader will have already gathered from the preceding extracts that the reclusorium was sometimes a house of timber or stone within the churchyard, and most usually adjoining the church itself. At the west end of Laindon Church, Essex, there is a unique erection of timber, of which we here give a representation. It has been modernised in appearance by the insertion of windows and doors; and there are no architectural details of a character to reveal with certainty its date, but in its mode of construction--the massive timbers being placed close together--and in its general appearance, there is an air of considerable antiquity. It is improbable that a house would be erected in such a situation after the Reformation, and it accords generally with the descriptions of a recluse house. Probably, however, many of the anchorholds attached to churches were of smaller dimensions; sometimes, perhaps, only a single little timber apartment on the ground floor, or sometimes probably raised upon an under croft, according to a common custom in mediæval domestic buildings. Very probably some of those little windows which occur in many of our churches, in various situations, at various heights, and which, under the name of "low side windows," have formed the subject of so much discussion among ecclesiologists, may have been the windows of such anchorholds. The peculiarity of these windows is that they are sometimes merely a square opening, which originally was not glazed, but closed with a shutter; sometimes a small glazed window, in a position where it was clearly not intended to light the church generally; sometimes a window has a stone transom across, and the upper part is glazed, while the lower part is closed only by a shutter. It is clear that some of these may have served to enable the anchorite, living in a cell _outside_ the church, to see the altar. It seems to have been such a window which is alluded to in the following incident from Mallory's "Prince Arthur:"--"Then Sir Launcelot armed him and took his horse, and as he rode that way he saw a chapel where was a recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar; and all aloud she called Sir Launcelot, because he seemed a knight arrant.... And (after a long conversation) she commanded Launcelot to dinner." In the late thirteenth-century MS., Royal 10 E. IV. at f. 181, is a representation of a recluse-house, in which, besides two two-light arched windows high up in the wall, there is a smaller square "low side window" very distinctly shown. Others of these low side windows may have been for the use of wooden anchorholds built _within_ the church, combining two of the usual three windows of the cell, viz., the one to give light, and the one through which to receive food and communicate with the outer world. There is an anchorhold still remaining in a tolerably unmutilated state at Rettenden, Essex. It is a stone building of fifteenth-century date, of two stories, adjoining the north side of the chancel. It is entered by a rather elaborately moulded doorway from the chancel. The lower story is now used as a vestry, and is lighted by a modern window broken through its east wall; but it is described as having been a dark room, and there is no trace of any original window. In the north wall, and towards the east, is a bracket, such as would hold a small statue or a lamp. In the west side of this room, on the left immediately on entering it from the chancel, is the door of a stone winding stair (built up in the nave aisle, but now screened towards the aisle by a very large monument), which gives access to the upper story. This story consists of a room which very exactly agrees with the description of a recluse's cell (see opposite woodcut). On the south side are two arched niches, in which are stone benches, and the back of the easternmost of these niches is pierced by a small arched window, now blocked up, which looked down upon the altar. On the north side is a chimney, now filled with a modern fireplace, but the chimney is a part of the original building; and westward of the chimney is a small square opening, now filled with modern glazing, but the hook upon which the original shutter hung still remains. This window is not splayed in the usual mediæval manner, but is recessed in such a way as to allow the head of a person to look out, and especially down, with facility. On the exterior this window is about 10 feet from the ground. In this respect it resembles the situation of a low side window in Prior Crawden's Chapel, Ely Cathedral,[150] which is on the first floor, having a room, lighted only by narrow slits, beneath it; and at the Sainte Chapelle, in Paris, which also has an undercroft, there is a similar example of a side window, at a still greater height from the ground. The east side of the Rettenden reclusorium has now a modern window, probably occupying the place of the original window which gave light to the cell. The stair-turret at the top of the winding staircase, seems to have been intended to serve for a little closet: it obtained some light through a small loop which looked out into the north aisle of the church; the wall on the north side of it is recessed so as to form a shelf, and a square slab of stone, which looks like a portion of a thirteenth-century coffin-stone, is laid upon the top of the newel, and fitted into the wall, so as to form another shelf or little table. [Illustration: _Laindon Church, Essex._] [Illustration: _Reclusorium, or Anchorhold, at Rettenden, Essex._] At East Horndon Church, Essex, there are two transept-like projections from the nave. In the one on the south there is a monumental niche in the south wall, upon the back of which are the indents of the brasses of a man and wife and several children; and there is a tradition, with which these indents are altogether inconsistent, that the heart of the unfortunate Queen Anne Bullen is interred therein. Over this is a chamber, open to the nave, and now used as a gallery, approached by a modern wooden stair; and there is a projection outside which looks like a chimney, carried out from this floor upwards. The transeptal projection on the north side is very similar in plan. On the ground floor there is a wide, shallow, cinque-foil headed niche (partly blocked) in the east wall; and there is a wainscot ceiling, very neatly divided into rectangular panels by moulded ribs of the date of about Henry VIII. The existence of the chamber above was unknown until the present rector discovered a doorway in the east wall of the ground floor, which, on being opened, gave access to a stone staircase behind the east wall, which led up into a first-floor chamber, about 12 feet from east to west, and 8 feet from north to south: the birds had had access to it through an unglazed window in the north wall for an unknown period, and it was half filled with their nests; the floor planks were quite decayed. There is no trace of a chimney here. It is now opened out to the nave to form a gallery. Though we do not find in these two first-floor chambers the arrangements which could satisfy us that they were recluse cells, yet it is very probable that they were habitable chambers, inhabited, if not by recluses, perhaps by chantry priests, serving chantry chapels of the Tyrrells. Mr. M. H. Bloxam, in an interesting paper in the Transactions of the Lincoln Diocesan Architectural Society, mentions several other anchorholds:--"Adjoining the little mountain church of S. Patricio, about five miles from Crickhowel, South Wales, is an attached building or cell. It contains on the east side a stone altar, above which is a small window, now blocked up, which looked towards the altar of the church; but there was no other internal communication between this cell and the church, to the west end of which it is annexed; it appears as if destined for a recluse who was also a priest." Mr. Bloxam mentions some other examples, very much resembling the one described at Rettenden. The north transept of Clifton Campville Church, Staffordshire, a structure of the fourteenth century, is vaulted and groined with stone; it measures 17 feet from north to south, and 12 feet from east to west. Over this is a loft or chamber, apparently an anchorhold or _domus inclusi_, access to which is obtained by means of a newell staircase in the south-east angle, from a doorway at the north-east angle of the chancel. A small window on the south side of this chamber, now blocked up, afforded a view into the interior of the church. The roof of this chamber has been lowered, and all the windows blocked up. "On the north side of the chancel of Chipping Norton Church, Oxfordshire, is a revestry which still contains an ancient stone altar, with its appurtenances, viz., a piscina in the wall on the north side, and a bracket for an image projecting from the east wall, north of the altar. Over this revestry is a loft or chamber, to which access is obtained by means of a staircase in the north-west angle. Apertures in the wall enabled the recluse, probably a priest, here dwelling, to overlook the chancel and north aisle of the church. "Adjoining the north side of the chancel of Warmington Church, Warwickshire, is a revestry, entered through an ogee-headed doorway in the north wall of the chancel, down a descent of three steps. This revestry contains an ancient stone altar, projecting from a square-headed window in the east wall, and near the altar, in the same wall, is a piscina. In the south-west angle of this revestry is a flight of stone steps, leading up to a chamber or loft. This chamber contains, in the west wall, a fire-place, in the north-west angle a retiring-closet, or jakes, and in the south wall a small pointed window, of decorated character, through which the high-altar in the chancel might be viewed. In the north wall there appears to have been a pointed window, filled with decorated tracery, and in the east wall is another decorated window. This is one of the most interesting and complete specimens of the _domus inclusi_ I have met with."[151] The chamber which is so frequently found over the porch of our churches, often with a fireplace, and sometimes with a closet within it, may probably have sometimes been inhabited by a recluse. Chambers are also sometimes found in the towers of churches.[152] Mr. Bloxam mentions a room, with a fire-place, in the tower of Upton Church, Nottinghamshire. Again, at Boyton Church, Wiltshire, the tower is on the north side of the church, "and adjoining the tower on the west side, and communicating with it, is a room which appears to have been once permanently inhabited, and in the north-east angle of this room is a fire-place." At Newport, Salop, the first floor of the tower seems to have been a habitable chamber, and has a little inner chamber corbelled out at the north-west angle of the tower. We have already hinted that it is not improbable that timber anchorholds were sometimes erected inside our churches. Or perhaps the recluse lived in the church itself, or, more definitely, in a par-closed chantry chapel, without any chamber being purposely built for him. The indications which lead us to this supposition are these: there is sometimes an ordinary domestic fire-place to be found inside the church. For instance, in the north aisle of Layer Marney Church, Essex, the western part of the aisle is screened off for the chantry of Lord Marney, whose tomb has the chantry altar still remaining, set crosswise at the west end of the tomb; in the eastern division of the aisle there is an ordinary domestic fire-place in the north wall. There is a similar fire-place, of about the same date, in Sir Thomas Bullen's church of Hever, in Kent. Again, we sometimes find beside the low side-windows already spoken of, an arrangement which shows that it was intended for some one habitually to sit there. Thus, at Somerton, Oxfordshire, on the north side of the chancel, is a long and narrow window, with decorated tracery in the head; the lower part is divided by a thick transom, and does not appear to have been glazed. In the interior the wall is recessed beside the window, with a sort of shoulder, exactly adapted to give room for a seat, in such a position that its occupant would get the full benefit of the light through the glazed upper part of the little window, and would be in a convenient position for conversing through the unglazed lower portion of it. At Elsfield Church, Oxfordshire, there is an early English lancet window, similarly divided by a transom, the lower part, now blocked up, having been originally unglazed, and the sill of the window in the interior has been formed into a stone seat and desk. We reproduce here a view of the latter from the "Oxford Architectural Society's Guide to the Neighbourhood of Oxford." Perhaps in such instances as these, the recluse may have been a priest serving a chantry altar, and licensed, perhaps, to hear confessions,[153] for which the seat beside the little open window would be a convenient arrangement. Lord Scrope's will has already told us of a chaplain dwelling continually (_commoranti continuo_) in the Church of St. Nicholas, Gloucester, and of an anchorite living in the parish church of Stamford. There is a low side-window at Mawgan Church, Cornwall. In the south-east angle between the south transept and the chancel, the inner angle at the junction of the transept and chancel walls is cut away, from the floor upwards, to the height of six feet, and laterally about five feet in south and east directions from the angle. A short octagonal pillar, six feet high, supports all that remains of the angle of these walls, whilst the walls themselves rest on two flat segmental arches of three feet span. A low diagonal wall is built across the angle thus exposed, and a small lean-to roof is run up from it into the external angle enclosing a triangular space within. In this wall the low side-window is inserted. The sill of the window is four feet from the pavement. Further eastward a priest's door seems to have formed part of the arrangement. The west jamb of the doorway is cut away so that from this triangular space and from the transept beyond a view is obtained of the east window. [Illustration: _Window, Elsfield Church._] The position of the low side-windows at Grade, Cury, and Landewednack is the same as that of Mawgan, but the window itself is different in form, those at Grade and at Cury being small oblong openings, the former 1 ft. 9 in. by 1 ft. 4 in., the sill only 1 ft. 9 in. from the ground; the latter is 1 ft. by 11 in., the sill 3 ft. 4 in. from ground. At Landewednack the window has two lights, square headed, 2 ft. 6 in. by 1 ft. 4 in., sill 4 ft. 3-1/2 in. from ground. A large block of serpentine rock is fixed in the ground beneath the window in a position convenient for a person standing but not kneeling at the window.[154] Knighton gives us some particulars of a recluse priest who lived at Leicester. "There was," he says, "in those days at Leicester, a certain priest, hight William of Swynderby, whom they commonly called William the Hermit, because, for a long time, he had lived the hermitical life there; they received him into a certain chamber within the church, because of the holiness they believed to be in him, and they procured for him victuals and a pension, after the manner of other priests."[155] In the "Test. Ebor.," p. 244, we find a testator leaving "to the chantry chapel of Kenby my red vestment, ... also the great missal and the great portifer, which I bought of Dominus Thomas Cope, priest and anchorite in that chapel." Blomfield also (ii. 75) tells us of a hermit, who lived in St. Cuthbert's Church, Thetford, and performed divine service therein. Who has not, at some time, been deeply impressed by the solemn stillness, the holy calm, of an empty church? Earthly passions, and cares, and ambitions, seemed to have died away; one's soul was filled with a spiritual peace. One stood and listened to the wind surging against the walls outside, as the waves of the sea may beat against the walls of an ingulfed temple; and one felt as effectually secluded from the surge and roar of the worldly life outside the sacred walls, as if in such a temple at the bottom of the sea. One gazed upon the monumental effigies, with their hands clasped in an endless prayer, and their passionless marble faces turned for ages heavenward, and read their mouldering epitaphs, and moralized on the royal preacher's text--"All is vanity and vexation of spirit." And then one felt the disposition--and, perhaps, indulged it--to kneel before the altar, all alone with God, in that still and solemn church, and pour out one's high-wrought thoughts before Him. At such times one has probably tasted something of the transcendental charm of the life of a recluse priest. One could not sustain the tension long. Perhaps the old recluse, with his experience and his aids, could maintain it for a longer period. But to him, too, the natural reaction must have come in time; and then he had his mechanical occupations to fell back upon--trimming the lamps before the shrines, copying his manuscript, or illuminating its initial letters; perhaps, for health's sake, he took a daily walk up and down the aisle of the church, whose walls re-echoed his measured footfalls; then he had his oft-recurring "hours" to sing, and his books to read; and, to prevent the long hours which were still left him in his little par-closed chapel from growing too wearily monotonous, there came, now and then, a tap at the shutter of his "parlour" window, which heralded the visit of some poor soul, seeking counsel or comfort in his difficulties of this world or the next, or some pilgrim bringing news of distant lands, or some errant knight seeking news of adventures, or some parishioner come honestly to have a dish of gossip with the holy man, about the good and evil doings of his neighbours. There is a pathetic anecdote in Blomfield's "Norfolk," which will show that the spirit and the tradition of the old recluse priests survived the Reformation. The Rev. Mr. John Gibbs, formerly rector of Gessing, in that county, was ejected from his rectory in 1690 as a non-juror. "He was an odd but harmless man, both in life and conversation. After his ejection he dwelt in the north porch chamber, and laid on the stairs that led up to the rood-loft, between the church and chancel, having a window at his head, so that he could lie in his couch, and see the altar. He lived to be very old, and was buried at Frenze." * * * * * Let us turn again to the female recluse, in her anchor-house outside the church. How was her cell furnished? It had always a little altar at the east end, before which the recluse paid her frequent devotions, hearing, besides, the daily mass in church through her window, and receiving the Holy Sacrament at stated times. Bishop Poore advises his recluses to receive it only fifteen times a year. The little square unglazed window was closed with a shutter, and a black curtain with a white cross upon it also hung before the opening, through which the recluse could converse without being seen. The walls appear to have been sometimes painted--of course with devotional subjects. To complete the scene add a comfortable carved oak chair, and a little table, an embroidery frame, and such like appliances for needlework; a book of prayers, and another of saintly legends, not forgetting Bishop Poore's "Ancren Riewle;" a fire on the hearth in cold weather, and the cat, which Bishop Poore expressly allows, purring beside it; and lastly paint in the recluse, in her black habit and veil, seated in her chair; or prostrate before her little altar; or on her knees beside her church window listening to the chanted mass; or receiving her basket of food from her servant, through the open parlour window; or standing before its black curtain, conversing with a stray knight-errant; or putting her white hand through it, to give an alms to some village crone or wandering beggar. A few extracts from Bishop Poore's "Ancren Riewle," already several times alluded to, will give life to the picture we have painted. Though intended for the general use of recluses, it seems to have been specially addressed, in the first instance, to three sisters, who, in the bloom of youth, forsook the world, and became the tenants of a reclusorium. It would seem that in such cases each recluse had a separate cell, and did not communicate, except on rare occasions, with her fellow inmates; and each had her own separate servant to wait upon her. Here are some particulars as to their communication with the outer world. "Hold no conversation with any man out of a church window, but respect it for the sake of the Holy Sacrament which ye see there through;[156] and at other times (other whiles) take your women to the window of the house (huses thurle), other men and women to the parlour-window to speak when necessary; nor ought ye (to converse) but at these two windows." Here we have three windows; we have no difficulty in understanding which was the church-window, and the parlour-window--the window _pour parler_; but what was the house-window, through which the recluse might speak to her servant? Was it merely the third glazed window, through which she might, if it were convenient, talk with her maid, but not with strangers, because she would be seen through it? or was it a window in the larger anchorholds, between the recluse cell, and the other apartment in which her maid lived, and in which, perhaps, guests were entertained? The latter seems the more probable explanation, and will receive further confirmation when we come to the directions about the entertainment of guests. The recluse was not to give way to the very natural temptation to put her head out of the open window, to get sometimes a wider view of the world about her. "A peering anchoress, who is always thrusting her head outward," he compares to "an untamed bird in a cage"--poor human bird! In another place he gives a more serious exhortation on the same subject "Is not she too forward and foolhardy who holds her head boldly forth on the open battlements while men with crossbow bolts without assail the castle? Surely our foe, the warrior of hell, shoots, as I ween, more bolts at one anchoress than at seventy and seven secular ladies. The battlements of the castle are the windows of their houses; let her not look out at them, lest she have the devil's bolts between her eyes before she even thinks of it." Here are directions how to carry on her "parlements":--"First of all, when you have to go to your parlour-window, learn from your maid who it is that is come; ... and when you must needs go forth, go forth in the fear of God to a priest, ... and sit and listen, and not cackle." They were to be on their guard even with religious men, and not even confess, except in presence of a witness. "If any man requests to see you (_i.e._ to have the black curtain drawn aside), ask him what good might come of it.... If any one become so mad and unreasonable that he puts forth his hand toward the window-cloth (curtain), shut the window (_i.e._ close the shutter) quickly, and leave him; ... and as soon as any man falls into evil discourse, close the window, and go away with this verse, that he may hear it, 'The wicked have told me foolish tales, but not according to thy law;' and go forth before your altar, and say the 'Miserere.'" Again, "Keep your hands within your windows, for handling or touching between a man and an anchoress is a thing unnatural, shameful, wicked," &c. The bishop adds a characteristic piece of detail to our picture when he speaks of the fair complexions of the recluses because not sunburnt, and their white hands through not working, both set in strong relief by the black colour of the habit and veil. He says, indeed, that "since no man seeth you, nor ye see any man, ye may be content with your clothes white or black." But in practice they seem usually to have worn black habits, unless, when attached to the church of any monastery, they may have worn the habit of the order. They were not to wear rings, brooches, ornamented girdles, or gloves. "An anchoress," he says, "ought to take sparingly (of alms), only that which is necessary (_i.e._ she ought not to take alms to give away again). If she can spare any fragments of her food, let her send them away (to some poor person) privately out of her dwelling. For the devil," he says elsewhere, "tempts anchoresses, through their charity, to collect to give to the poor, then to a friend, then to make a feast." "There are anchoresses," he says, "who make their meals with their friends without; that is too much friendship." The editor thinks this to mean that some anchoresses left their cells, and went to dine at the houses of their friends; but the word is _gistes_ (guests), and, more probably, it only means that the recluse ate her dinner in her cell while a guest ate hers in the guest-room of the reclusorium, with an open window between, so that they could see and converse with one another. For we find in another place that she was to maintain "silence always at meals; ... and if any one hath a guest whom she holds dear, she may cause her maid, as in her stead, to entertain her friend with glad cheer, and she shall have leave to open her window once or twice, and make signs to her of gladness." But "let no _man_ eat in your presence, except he be in great need." The narrative already given at p. 109, of the visit of St. Richard the hermit to Dame Margaret the recluse of Anderby, also shows that in exceptional cases a recluse ate with men. The incident of the head of the recluse, in her convulsive sleep, falling at the window at which the hermit was reclining, and leaning partly upon him,[157] is explained by the theory that they were sitting in separate apartments, each close by this house window, which was open between them. As we have already seen, in the case of Sir Percival, a man might even sleep in the reclusorium; and so the Rule says, "let no man sleep within your walls" as a general rule; "if, however, great necessity should cause your house to be used" by travellers, "see that ye have a woman of unspotted life with you day and night." As to their occupations, he advises them to make "no purses and blodbendes of silk, but shape and sew and mend church vestments, and poor people's clothes, and help to clothe yourselves and your domestics." "An anchoress must not become a school-mistress, nor turn her house into a school for children. Her maiden may, however, teach any little girl concerning whom it might be doubtful whether she should learn among the boys."[158] Doubtless, we are right in inferring from the bishop's advice not to do certain things, that anchoresses were in the habit of doing them. From this kind of evidence we glean still further traits. He suggests to them that in confession they will perhaps have to mention such faults as these, "I played or spoke thus in the church; went to the play in the churchyard;[159] looked on at this, or at the wrestling, or other foolish sports; spoke thus, or played, in the presence of secular men, or of religious men, in a house of anchorites, and at a different window than I ought; or, being alone in the church, I thought thus." Again he mentions, "Sitting too long at the parlour-window, spilling ale, dropping crumbs." Again we find, "Make no banquetings, nor encourage any strange vagabonds about the gate." But of all their failings, gossiping seems to have been the besetting sin of anchoresses. "People say of anchoresses that almost every one hath an old woman to feed her ears, a prating gossip, who tells her all the tales of the land, a magpie that chatters to her of everything that she sees or hears; so that it is a common saying, from mill and from market, from smithy and from anchor-house, men bring tidings." Let us add the sketch drawn of them by the unfavourable hand of Bilney the Reformer, in his "Reliques of Rome," published in 1563, and we have done:--"As touching the monastical sect of recluses, and such as be shutte up within walls, there unto death continuall to remayne, giving themselves to the mortification of carnal effects, to the contemplation of heavenly and spirituall thinges, to abstinence, to prayer, and to such other ghostly exercises, as men dead to the world, and havyng their lyfe hidden with Christ, I have not to write. Forasmuch as I cannot fynde probably in any author whence the profession of anckers and anckresses had the beginning and foundation, although in this behalf I have talked with men of that profession which could very little or nothing say of the matter. Notwithstanding, as the Whyte Fryers father that order on Helias the prophet (but falsely), so likewise do the ankers and ankresses make that holy and virtuous matrone Judith their patroness and foundress; but how unaptly who seeth not? Their profession and religion differeth as far from the manners of Judith as light from darknesse, or God from the devill, as shall manifestly appere to them that will diligentlye conferre the history of Judith with their life and conversation. Judith made herself a privy chamber where she dwelt (sayth the scripture), being closed in with her maydens. Our recluses also close themselves within the walls, but they suffer no man to be there with them. Judith ware a smoche of heare, but our recluses are both softly and finely apparalled. Judith fasted all the days of her lyfe, few excepted. Our recluses eate and drinke at all tymes of the beste, being of the number of them _qui curios simulant et Bacchanalia vivunt_. Judith was a woman of a very good report. Our recluses are reported to be superstitious and idolatrous persons, and such as all good men flye their company. Judith feared the Lord greatly, and lyved according to His holy word. Our recluses fear the pope, and gladly doe what his pleasure is to command them. Judith lyved of her own substance and goods, putting no man to charge. Our recluses, as persons only borne to consume the good fruits of the erth, lyve idely of the labour of other men's handes. Judith, when tyme required, came out of her closet, to do good unto other. Our recluses never come out of their lobbies, sincke or swimme the people. Judith put herself in jeopardy for to do good to the common countrye. Our recluses are unprofitable clods of the earth, doing good to no man. Who seeth not how farre our ankers and ankresses differe from the manners and life of this vertuous and godly woman Judith, so that they cannot justly claime her to be their patronesse? Of some idle and superstitious heremite borrowed they their idle and superstitious religion. For who knoweth not that our recluses have grates of yron in theyr spelunckes, and dennes out of the which they looke, as owles out of an yvye todde, when they will vouchsafe to speake with any man at whose hand they hope for advantage? So reade we in 'Vitis Patrum,' that John the Heremite so enclosed himself in his hermitage that no person came in unto him; to them that came to visite him he spoke through a window onely. Our ankers and ankresses professe nothing but a solitary lyfe in their hallowed house, wherein they are inclosed wyth the vowe of obedience to the pope, and to their ordinary bishop. Their apparel is indifferent, so it be dissonant from the laity. No kind of meates they are forbidden to eat. At midnight they are bound to say certain prayers. Their profession is counted to be among other professions so hardye and so streight that they may by no means be suffered to come out of their houses except it be to take on them an harder and streighter, which is to be made a bishop." It is not to be expected that mediæval paintings should give illustrations of persons who were thus never visible in the world. In the pictures of the hermits of the Egyptian desert, on the walls of the Campo Santo at Pisa, we see a representation of St. Anthony holding a conversation with St. John the Hermit, who is just visible through his grated window, "like an owl in an ivy tod," as Bilney says; and we have already given a picture of Sir Percival knocking at the door of a female recluse. Bilney says, that they wore any costume, "so it were dissonant from the laity;" but in all probability they commonly wore a costume similar in colour to that of the male hermits. The picture which we here give of an anchoress, is taken from a figure of St. Paula, one of the anchorite saints of the desert, in the same picture of St. Jerome, which has already supplied us, in the figure of St. Damasus, with our best picture of the hermit's costume. [Illustration: _St. Paula._] The service for enclosing a recluse[160] may be found in some of the old Service Books. We derive the following account of it from an old black-letter _Manuale ad usum percelebris ecclesie Sarisburiensis_ (London, 1554), in the British Museum. The rubric before the service orders that no one shall be enclosed without the bishop's leave; that the candidate shall be closely questioned as to his motives; that he shall be taught not to entertain proud thoughts, as if he merited to be set apart from intercourse with common men, but rather on account of his own infirmity it was good that he should be removed from contact with others, that he might be kept out of sin himself, and not contaminate them. So that the recluse should esteem himself to be condemned for his sins, and shut up in his solitary cell as in a prison, and unworthy, for his sins, of the society of men. There is a note, that this office shall serve for both sexes. On the day before the ceremony of inclusion, the _Includendus_--the person about to be inclosed--was to confess, and to fast that day on bread and water; and all that night he was to watch and pray, having his wax taper burning, in the monastery,[161] near his inclusorium. On the morrow, all being assembled in church, the bishop, or priest appointed by him, first addressed an exhortation to the people who had come to see the ceremony, and to the includendus himself, and then began the service with a response, and several appropriate psalms and collects. After that, the priest put on his chasuble, and began mass, a special prayer being introduced for the includendus. After the reading of the gospel, the includendus stood before the altar, and offered his taper, which was to remain burning on the altar throughout the mass; and then, standing before the altar-step, he read his profession, or if he were a layman (and unable to read), one of the chorister boys read it for him. And this was the form of his profession:--"I, brother (or sister) N, offer and present myself to serve the Divine Goodness in the order of Anchorites, and I promise to remain, according to the rule of that order, in the service of God, from henceforth, by the grace of God, and the counsel of the Church." Then he signed the document in which his profession was written with the sign of the cross, and laid it upon the altar on bended knees. Then the bishop or priest said a prayer, and asperged with holy water the habit of the includendus; and he put on the habit, and prostrated himself before the altar, and so remained, while the priest and choir sang over him the hymn _Veni Creator Spiritus_, and then proceeded with the mass. First the priest communicated, then the includendus, and then the rest of the congregation; and the mass was concluded. Next his wax taper, which had all this time been burning on the altar, was given to the includendus, and a procession was formed; first the choir; then the includendus, clad in his proper habit, and carrying his lighted taper; then the bishop or priest, in his mass robes; and then the people following; and so they proceeded, singing a solemn litany, to the cell. And first the priest entered alone into the cell, and asperged it with holy water, saying appropriate sentences; then he consecrated and blessed the cell, with prayers offered before the altar of its chapel. The third of these short prayers may be transcribed: "Benedic domine domum istam et locum istum, ut sit in eo sanitas, sanctitas, castitas, virtus, victoria, sanctimonia, humilitas, lenitas, mansuetudo, plenitudo, legis et obedientæ Deo Patre et Filio et Spiritui Sancto et sit super locum istum et super omnes habitantes in eo tua larga benedictio, ut in his manufactis habitaculis cum solemtate manentes ipsi tuum sit semper habitaculum. Per dominum," &c. Then the bishop or priest came out, and led in the includendus, still carrying his lighted taper, and solemnly blessed him. And then--a mere change in the tense of the rubric has an effect which is quite pathetic; it is no longer the _includendus_, the person to be enclosed, but the _inclusus_, the enclosed one, he or she upon whom the doors of the cell have closed for ever in this life--then the enclosed is to maintain total and solemn silence throughout, while the doors are securely closed, the choir chanting appropriate psalms. Then the celebrant causes all the people to pray for the inclusus privately, in solemn silence, to God, for whose love he has left the world, and caused himself to be inclosed in that strait prison. And after some concluding prayers, the procession left the inclusus to his solitary life, and returned, chanting, to the church, finishing at the step of the choir. One cannot read this solemn--albeit superstitious--service, in the quaint old mediæval character, out of the very book which has, perhaps, been used in the actual enclosing of some recluse, without being moved. Was it some frail woman, with all the affections of her heart and the hopes of her earthly life shattered, who sought the refuge of this living tomb? was it some man of strong passions, wild and fierce in his crimes, as wild and fierce in his penitence? or was it some enthusiast, with the over-excited religious sensibility, of which we have instances enough in these days? We can see them still, in imagination, prostrate, "in total and solemn silence," before the wax taper placed upon the altar of the little chapel, and listening while the chant of the returning procession grows fainter and fainter in the distance. Ah! we may scornfully smile at it all as a wild superstition, or treat it coldly as a question of mere antiquarian interest; but what broken hearts, what burning passions, have been shrouded under that recluse's robe, and what wild cries of human agony have been stifled under that "total and solemn silence!" When the processional chant had died away in the distance, and the recluse's taper had burnt out on his little altar, was that the end of the tragedy, or only the end of the first act? Did the broken heart find repose? Did the wild spirit grow tame? Or did the one pine away and die like a flower in a dungeon, and the other beat itself to death against the bars of its self-made cage? CHAPTER IV. CONSECRATED WIDOWS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. Besides all other religious people living under vows, in community in monasteries, or as solitaries in their anchorages, there were also a number of Widows vowed to that life and devoted to the service of God, who lived at home in their own houses or with their families. This was manifestly a continuation, or imitation, of the primitive Order of Widows, of whom St. Paul speaks in his first Epistle to Timothy (ch. v.). For although religious women, from an early period (fourth century), were usually nuns, the primitive Orders of Deaconesses and Widows did not altogether cease to exist in the Church. The Service Books[162] contain offices for their benediction; and though it is probable that in fact a deaconess was very rarely consecrated in the Western Church, yet the number of allusions to widows throughout the Middle Ages leads us to suspect that there may have been no inconsiderable number of them. A common form of commission[163] to a suffragan bishop includes the consecrating of widows. From the Pontifical of Edmund Lacey, Bishop of Exeter, of the fourteenth century, we give a sketch of the service.[164] It is the same in substance as those in the earlier books. First, a rubric states that though a widow may be blessed on any day, it is more fitting that she be blessed on a holy day, and especially on the Lord's day. Between the Epistle and the Gospel, the bishop sitting on a faldstool facing the people, the widow kneeling before the bishop is to be interrogated if she desires, putting away all carnal affections, to be joined as a spouse to Christ. Then she shall publicly in the vulgar tongue profess herself, in the bishop's hands, resolved to observe perpetual continence. Then the bishop blesses her habit (clamidem), saying a collect. Then the bishop, genuflecting, begins the hymn _Veni Creator Spiritus_; the widow puts on the habit and veil, and the bishop blesses and gives her the ring; and with a final prayer for appropriate virtues and blessings, the ordinary service of Holy Communion is resumed, special mention of the widow being made therein. These collects are of venerable age, and have much beauty of thought and expression. The reader may be glad to see one of them as an example, and as an indication of the spirit in which people entered into these religious vows: "O God, the gracious inhabiter of chaste bodies and lover of uncorrupt souls, look we pray Thee, O Lord, upon this Thy servant, who humbly offers her devotion to Thee. May there be in her, O Lord, the gift of Thy spirit, a prudent modesty, a wise graciousness, a grave gentleness, a chaste freedom; may she be fervent in charity and love nothing beside Thee (_extra te_); may she live praiseworthy and not desire praise; may she fear Thee and serve Thee with a chaste love; be Thou to her, O Lord, honour, Thou delight; be Thou in sorrow her comfort, in doubt her counsellor; be Thou to her defence in injury, in tribulation patience, in poverty abundance, in fasting food, in sickness medicine. By Thee, whom she desires to love above all things, may she keep what she has vowed; so that by Thy help she may conquer the old enemy, and cast out the defilements of sin; that she may be decorated with the gift of fruit sixty fold,[165] and adorned with the lamps of all virtues, and by Thy grace may be worthy to join the company of the elect widows. This we humbly ask through Jesus Christ our Lord." In a paper in the "Surrey Transactions," vol. iii. p. 208, Mr. Baigent, the writer of it, finds two, and only two, entries of the consecration of widows in the Episcopal Registers of Winchester, which go back to the early part of the reign of Edward I. The first of these is on May 4, 1348, of the Lady Aleanor Giffard, probably, says Mr. Baigent, the widow of John Giffard, of Bowers Giffard, in Essex. The other entry, on October 18, 1379, is of the Benediction of Isabella Burgh, the widow of a citizen of London (whose will is given by Mr. Baigent), and of Isabella Golafre, widow of Sir John Golafre. The profession of the widow is given in old French, and a translation of it in old English, as follows: "In ye name of God, Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost. Iche Isabelle Burghe, that was sometyme wyfe of Thomas Burghe, wyche that is God be taught helpynge the grace of God [the parallel French is, Quest à Dieu commande ottriaunte la grace de Dieu] behote [promise] conversione of myn maners, and make myn avows to God, and to is swete moder Seynte Marie and to alle seintz, into youre handes leve [dear] fader in God, William be ye grace of God Bisshope of Wynchestre, that fro this day forward I schal ben chaste of myn body and in holy chastite kepe me treweliche and devouteliche all ye dayes of myn life." Another form of profession is written on the lower margin of the Exeter Pontifical, and probably in the handwriting of Bishop Lacy: "I, N., wedowe, avowe to God perpetuall chastite of my body from henceforward, and in the presence of the honorable fadyr in God, my Lord N., by the grace of God, Bishop of N., I promyth sabilly to leve in the Church, a wedowe. And this to do, of myne own hand I subscribe this writing: _Et postea faciat signum crucis_." Another example of a widow in the Winchester registers is that of Elizabeth de Julien, widow of John Plantagenet, Earl of Kent, who made that vow to Bishop William de Edyndon, but afterwards married Sir Eustache Dabrichecourt, September 29, 1360, whereupon proceedings were commenced against her by the Archbishop of Canterbury, who imposed on her a severe and life-long penance. She survived her second husband many years, and dying in 1411, was buried in the choir of the Friars Minor at Winchester, near the tomb of her first husband. The epitaph on the monumental brass of Joanna Braham, A.D. 1519, at Frenze, in Norfolk, describes her as "Vidua ac Deo devota." In the Book of the Knight of La Tour-Landry is a description of a lady who, if she had not actually taken the vows of widowhood, lived the life we should suppose to be that of a vowess. "It is of a good lady whiche longe tyme was in wydowhode. She was of a holy lyf, and moste humble and honourable, as the whiche every yere kepte and held a feste upon Crystemasse-day of her neyghbours bothe farre and nere, tyll her halle was ful of them. She served and honoured eche one after his degree, and specially she bare grete reverence to the good and trewe wymmen, and to them whiche has deservyd to be worshipped. Also she was of suche customme that yf she knewe any poure gentyll woman that shold be wedded she arayed her with her jewels. Also she wente to the obsequye of the poure gentyll wymmen, and gaf there torches, and all such other lumynary as it neded thereto. Her dayly ordenaunce was that she rose erly ynough, and had ever freres, and two or three chappellayns whiche sayd matyns before her within her oratorye; and after she herd a hyhe masse and two lowe, and sayd her servyse full devoutely; and after this she wente and arayed herself, and walked in her gardyn, or else aboute her plase, sayenge her other devocions and prayers. And as tyme was she wente to dyner; and after dyner, if she wyste and knewe ony seke folke or wymmen in theyr childbedde, she went to see and vysited them, and made to be brought to them of her best mete. And then, as she myght not go herself, she had a servant propyer therefore, whiche rode upon a lytell hors, and bare with him grete plente of good mete and drynke for to gyve to the poure and seke folk there as they were. And after she had herd evensonge she went to her souper, yf she fasted not. And tymely she wente to bedde; made her styward to come to her to wete what mete sholde be had the next daye, and lyved by good ordenaunce, and wold be purveyed byfore of alle such thynge that was nedefull for her household. She made grete abstynence, and wered the hayre[166] upon the Wednesday and upon the Fryday.... And she rose everye night thre tymes, and kneled downe to the ground by her bedde, and redryd thankynges to God, and prayd for al Crysten soules, and dyd grete almes to the poure. This good lady, that wel is worthy to be named and preysed, had to name my lady Cecyle of Ballavylle.... She was the most good and curtoys lady that ever I knewe or wyste in ony countrey, and that lesse was envious, and never she wold here say ony evyll of no body, but excused them, and prayd to God that they myght amende them, and that none was that knewe what to hym shold happe.... She had a ryhte noble ende, and as I wene ryht agreable to God; and as men say commonely, of honest and good lyf cometh ever a good ende." In post-Reformation times there are biographies of holy women which show that the idea of consecrated widowhood was still living in the minds of the people. Probably the dress commonly worn by widows throughout their widowhood is a remnant of the mediæval custom. THE PILGRIMS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. The fashion of going on pilgrimage seems to have sprung up in the fourth century. The first object of pilgrimage was the Holy Land. Jerome said, at the outset, the most powerful thing which can be said against it; viz., that the way to heaven is as short from Britain as from Jerusalem--a consolatory reflection to those who were obliged, or who preferred, to stay at home; but it did not succeed in quenching the zeal of those many thousands who desired to see, with their own eyes, the places which had been hallowed by the presence and the deeds of their Lord--to tread, with their own footsteps, "Those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet, Which "eighteen" hundred years ago were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross;"[167] to kneel down and pray for pardon for their sins upon that very spot where the Great Sacrifice for sin was actually offered up; to stand upon the summit of Mount Olivet, and gaze up into that very pathway through the sky by which He ascended to His kingdom in Heaven. We should, however, open up too wide a field if we were to enter into the subject of the early pilgrims to the Holy Land;[168] to trace their route from Britain, usually _viâ_ Rome, by sea and land; to describe how a pilgrim passenger-traffic sprung up, of which adventurous ship-owners took advantage; how hospitals[169] were founded here and there along the road, to give refuge to the weary pilgrims, until they reached the Hospital _par excellence_, which stood beside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre; how Saxon kings made treaties to secure their safe conduct through foreign countries;[170] how the Order of the Knights of the Temple was founded to escort the caravans of pilgrims from one to another of the holy places, and protect them from marauding Saracens and Arabs; how the Crusades were organised partly, no doubt, to stem the course of Mahommedan conquest, but ostensibly to wrest the holy places from the hands of the infidel: this part of the subject of pilgrimage would occupy too much of our space here. Our design is to give a sketch of the less known portion of the subject, which relates to the pilgrimages which sprung up in after-times, when the veneration for the holy places had extended to the shrines of saints; and when, still later, veneration had run wild into the grossest superstition, and crowds of sane men and women flocked to relic-worships, which would be ludicrous if they were not so pitiable and humiliating. This part of the subject forms a chapter in the history of the manners of the Middle Ages, which is little known to any but the antiquarian student; but it is an important chapter to all who desire thoroughly to understand what were the modes of thought and habits of life of our English forefathers in the Middle Ages. [Illustration: _Thirteenth Century Pilgrims (the two Disciples at Emmaus)._] The most usual foreign pilgrimages were to the Holy Land, the scene of our Lord's earthly life; to Rome, the centre of western Christianity; and to the shrine of St. James at Compostella.[171] The number of pilgrims to these places must have been comparatively limited; for a man who had any regular business or profession could not well undertake so long an absence from home. The rich of no occupation could afford the leisure and the cost; and the poor who chose to abandon their lawful occupation could make these pilgrimages at the cost of others; for the pilgrim was sure of entertainment at every hospital, or monastery, or priory, probably at every parish priest's rectory and every gentleman's hall,[172] on his way; and there were not a few poor men and women who indulged a vagabond humour in a pilgrim's life. The poor pilgrim repaid his entertainer's hospitality by bringing the news of the countries[173] through which he had passed, and by amusing the household after supper with marvellous saintly legends, and traveller's tales. He raised a little money for his inevitable travelling expenses by retailing holy trifles and curiosities, such as were sold wholesale at all the shrines frequented by pilgrims, and which were usually supposed to have some saintly efficacy attached to them. Sometimes the pilgrim would take a bolder flight, and carry with him some fragment of a relic--a joint of a bone, or a pinch of dust, or a nail-paring, or a couple of hairs of the saint, or a rag of his clothing; and the people gladly paid the pilgrim for thus bringing to their doors some of the advantages of the holy shrines which he had visited. Thus Chaucer's Pardoner--"That strait was comen from the Court of Rome"-- "In his mail[174] he had a pilwebere,[175] Which as he saidé was oure Lady's veil; He said he had a gobbet of the sail Thatte St. Peter had whan that he went Upon the sea, till Jesu Christ him hent.[176] He had a cross of laton full of stones;[177] And in a glass he haddé piggés bones.[178] But with these relics whanné that he fond A poure parson dwelling upon lond, Upon a day he gat him more monie Than that the parson gat in monthes tweie. And thus with feined flattering and japes, He made the parson and the people his apes." In a subsequent chapter, on the Merchants of the Middle Ages, will be found some illustrations of mediæval shipping, which also illustrate the present subject. One is a representation of Sir John Mandeville and his companions in mantle, hat, and staff, just landed at a foreign town on their pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Another represents Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, in mantle, hat, and staff, embarking in his own ship on his departure for a similar pilgrimage. Another illustration in the subsequent chapter on Secular Clergy represents Earl Richard at Rome, being presented to the Pope. But those who could not spare time or money to go to Jerusalem, or Rome, or Compostella, could spare both for a shorter expedition; and pilgrimages to English shrines appear to have been very common. By far the most popular of our English pilgrimages was to the shrine of St. Thomas-à-Becket, at Canterbury, and it was popular not only in England, but all over Europe. The one which stood next in popular estimation, was the pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham. But nearly every cathedral and great monastery, and many a parish church besides, had its famous saint to whom the people resorted. There was St. Cuthbert at Durham, and St. William at York, and little St. William at Norwich, and St. Hugh at Lincoln, and St. Edward Confessor at Westminster, and St. Erkenwald in the cathedral of London, and St. Wulstan at Worcester, and St. Swithin at Winchester, and St. Edmund at Bury, and SS. Etheldreda and Withburga at Ely, and many more, whose remains were esteemed holy relics, and whose shrines were frequented by the devout. Some came to pray at the tomb for the intercession of the saint in their behalf; or to seek the cure of disease by the touch of the relic; or to offer up thanks for deliverance believed to have been vouchsafed in time of peril through the saint's prayers; or to obtain the number of days' pardon--_i.e._ of remission of their time in purgatory--offered by Papal bulls to those who should pray at the tomb. Then there were famous roods, the Rood of Chester and of Bromholme; and statues of the Virgin, as Our Lady of Wilsden, and of Boxley, and of this, that, and the other place. There were scores of holy wells besides, under saintly invocations, of which St. Winifred's well with her chapel over it still remains an excellent example.[179] Some of these were springs of medicinal water, and were doubtless of some efficacy in the cures for which they were noted; in others a saint had baptized his converts; others had simply afforded water to a saint in his neighbouring cell.[180] Before any man[181] went on pilgrimage, he first went to his church, and received the Church's blessing on his pious enterprise, and her prayers for his good success and safe return. The office of pilgrims (_officium peregrinorum_) may be found in the old service-books. We give a few notes of it from a Sarum missal, date 1554, in the British Museum.[182] The pilgrim is previously to have confessed. At the opening of the service he lies prostrate before the altar, while the priest and choir sing over him certain appropriate psalms, viz. the 24th, 50th, and 90th. Then follow some versicles, and three collects, for safety, &c., in which the pilgrim is mentioned by name, "thy servant, N." Then he rises, and there follows the benediction of his scrip and staff; and the priest sprinkles the scrip with holy water, and places it on the neck of the pilgrim, saying, "In the name of, &c., take this scrip, the habit of your pilgrimage, that, corrected and saved, you may be worthy to reach the thresholds of the saints to which you desire to go, and, your journey done, may return to us in safety." Then the priest delivers the staff, saying, "Take this staff, the support of your journey, and of the labour of your pilgrimage, that you may be able to conquer all the bands of the enemy, and to come safely to the threshold of the saints to which you desire to go, and, your journey obediently performed, return to us with joy." If any one of the pilgrims present is going to Jerusalem, he is to bring a habit signed with the cross, and the priest blesses it:--"... we pray that Thou wilt vouchsafe to bless this cross, that the banner of the sacred cross, whose figure is signed upon him, may be to Thy servant an invincible strength against the evil temptations of the old enemy, a defence by the way, a protection in Thy house, and may be to us everywhere a guard, through our Lord, &c." Then he sprinkles the habit with holy water, and gives it to the pilgrim, saying, "Take this habit, signed with the cross of the Lord our Saviour, that by it you may come safely to his sepulchre, who, with the Father," &c. Then follows mass; and after mass, certain prayers over the pilgrims, prostrate at the altar; then, "let them communicate, and so depart in the name of the Lord." The service runs in the plural, as if there were usually a number of pilgrims to be dispatched together. [Illustration: _Lydgate's Pilgrim._] There was a certain costume appropriate to the pilgrim, which old writers speak of under the title of pilgrims' weeds; the illustrations of this paper will give examples of it. It consisted of a robe and hat, a staff and scrip. The robe called _sclavina_ by Du Cange, and other writers, is said to have been always of wool, and sometimes of shaggy stuff, like that represented in the accompanying woodcut of the latter part of the fourteenth century, from the Harleian MS., 4,826. It seems intended to represent St. John Baptist's robe of camel's hair. Its colour does not appear in the illuminations, but old writers speak of it as grey. The hat seems to be commonly a round hat, of felt, and, apparently, does not differ from the hats which travellers not uncommonly wore over their hoods in those days.[183] The pilgrim who was sent on pilgrimage as a penance seems usually to have been ordered to go barefoot, and probably many others voluntarily inflicted this hardship upon themselves in order to heighten the merit and efficacy of their good deed. They often also made a vow not to cut the hair or beard until the pilgrimage had been accomplished. But the special insignia of a pilgrim were the staff and scrip. In the religious service with which the pilgrims initiated their journey, we have seen that the staff and scrip are the only insignia mentioned, except in the case of one going to the Holy Land, who has a robe signed with the cross; the staff and the scrip were specially blessed by the priest, and the pilgrim formally invested with them by his hands. The staff, or bourdon, was not of an invariable shape. On a fourteenth-century grave-stone at Haltwhistle, Northumberland, it is like a rather long walking-stick, with a natural knob at the top. In the cut from Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," which forms the frontispiece of Mr. Nichols's "Pilgrimages of Canterbury and Walsingham," it is a similar walking-stick; but, usually, it was a long staff, some five, six, or seven feet long, turned in the lathe, with a knob at the top, and another about a foot lower down. Sometimes a little below the lower knob there is a hook, or a staple, to which we occasionally find a water-bottle or a small bundle attached. The hook is seen on the staff of Lydgate's pilgrim (p. 163). Sir John Hawkins tells us[184] that the staff was sometimes hollowed out into a kind of flute, on which the pilgrim could play. The same kind of staff we find in illuminated MSS. in the hands of beggars and shepherds, as well as pilgrims. The scrip was a small bag, slung at the side by a cord over the shoulder, to contain the pilgrim's food and his few necessaries.[185] Sometimes it was made of leather; but probably the material varied according to the taste and wealth of the pilgrim. We find it of different shape and size in different examples. In the monumental effigy of a pilgrim of rank at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, the scrip is rather long, widest at bottom, and is ornamented with three tassels at the bottom, something like the bag in which the Lord Chancellor carries the great seal, and it has scallop shells fixed upon its front. In the grave-stone of a knight at Haltwhistle, already alluded to, the knight's arms, sculptured upon the shield on one side of his grave cross, are a _fess_ between three _garbs_ (_i.e._ wheat-sheaves); and a _garb_ is represented upon his scrip, which is square and otherwise plain. The tomb of Abbot Chillenham, at Tewkesbury, has the pilgrim's staff and scrip sculptured upon it as an architectural ornament; the scrip is like the mediæval purse, with a scallop shell on the front of it, very like that on p. 163.[186] The pilgrim is sometimes represented with a bottle, often with a rosary, and sometimes with other conveniences for travelling or helps to devotion. There is a very good example in Hans Burgmaier's "Images de Saints, &c., of the Familly of the Emp. Maximilian I." fol. 112. [Illustration: _Pilgrim, from Erasmus's "Praise of Folly."_] But though the conventional pilgrim is always represented with robe, and hat, and staff, and scrip, the actual pilgrim seems sometimes to have dispensed with some, if not with all, of these insignia. For example, Chaucer minutely describes the costume of the principal personages in his company of Canterbury Pilgrims, and he not only does not describe what would have been so marked and picturesque features in their appearance, but his description seems to preclude the pilgrim's robe and hat. His knight is described in the ordinary jupon, "Of fustian he wered a jupon." And the squire-- "Short was his gowne with sleves long and wide." And the yeoman-- "Was clad in cote and hood of green." And the serjeant of the law-- "Rode but homely in a medlee cote, Girt with a seint[187] of silk with barres small." The merchant was in motley-- "And on his hed a Flaundrish bever hat." And so with all the rest, they are clearly described in the ordinary dress of their class, which the pilgrim's robe would have concealed. It seems very doubtful whether they even bore the especial insignia of staff and scrip. Perhaps when men and women went their pilgrimage on horseback, they did not go through the mere form of carrying a long walking-staff. The equestrian pilgrim, of whom we shall give a woodcut hereafter, though he is very correctly habited in robe and hat, with pilgrim signs on each, and his rosary round his neck, does not carry the bourdon. The only trace of pilgrim costume about Chaucer's Pilgrims, is in the Pardoner-- "A vernicle hadde he sewed in his cappe"-- but that was a sign of a former pilgrimage to Rome; and it is enough to prove--if proof were needed--that Chaucer did not forget to clothe his personages in pilgrim weeds, but that they did not wear them. But besides the ordinary insignia of pilgrimage, every pilgrimage had its special signs, which the pilgrim on his return wore conspicuously upon his hat or his scrip, or hanging round his neck, in token that he had accomplished that particular pilgrimage. The pilgrim who had made a long pilgrimage, paying his devotions at every shrine in his way, might come back as thickly decorated with signs as a modern soldier, who has been through a stirring campaign, with medals and clasps. The pilgrim to the Holy Land had this distinction above all others, that he wore a special sign from the very hour that he took the vow upon him to make that most honourable pilgrimage. This sign was a cross, formed of two strips of coloured cloth sewn upon the shoulder of the robe; the English pilgrim wore the cross of white, the French of red, the Flemish of green. Some, in their fierce earnestness, had the sacred sign cut into their flesh; in the romance of "Sir Isumbras," we read-- "With a sharpe knyfe he share A cross upon his shoulder bare." Others had it branded upon them with a hot iron; one pilgrim in the "Mirac. de S. Thomæ" of Abbot Benedict gives the obvious reason, that though his clothes should be torn away, no one should be able to tear the cross from his breast. At the end of the _Officium peregrinorum_, which we have described, we find a rubric calling attention to the fact, that burning the cross in the flesh is forbidden by the canon law on pain of the greater excommunication; the prohibition is proof enough that at one time it was a not uncommon practice. But when the pilgrim reached the Holy Land, and had visited the usual round of the holy places, he became entitled to wear the palm in token of his accomplishment of that great pilgrimage; and from this badge he derived the name of Palmer. How the palm was borne does not quite certainly appear; some say that it was a branch of palm, which the returning pilgrim bore in his hand or affixed to the top of his staff;[188] but probably in the general case it was in the shape of sprigs of palm sewn crosswise upon the hat and scrip. The Roman pilgrimage seems always to have ranked next in popular estimation to that of the Holy Land;[189] and with reason, for Rome was then the great centre of the religion and the civilization of Western Christendom. The plenary indulgence which Boniface VIII. published in 1300, to all who should make the Jubilee pilgrimage to Rome, no doubt had its effect in popularizing this pilgrimage _ad limina apostolorum_. Two hundred thousand pilgrims, it is said, visited Rome in one month during the first Jubilee; and succeeding popes shortened the interval between these great spiritual fairs, first to fifty, then to thirty-three, and lastly to twenty-five years. The pilgrim to Rome doubtless visited many shrines in that great Christian capital, and was entitled to wear as many signs; but the chief signs of the Roman pilgrimage were a badge with the effigies of St. Peter and St. Paul, the cross-keys, and the vernicle. Concerning the first, there is a grant from Innocent III. to the arch-priest and canons of St. Peter's at Rome,[190] which confirms to them (or to those to whom they shall concede it) the right to cast and to sell the lead or pewter signs, bearing the effigies of the Apostles Peter and Paul, with which those who have visited their threshold decorate themselves for the increase of their devotion and a testimony of their pilgrimage. Dr. Rock says[191] "that a friend of his has one of these Roman pilgrim signs, which was dug up at Launde Abbey, Leicestershire. It is of copper, in the shape of a quatrefoil, one and three-quarter inches in diameter, and has the cross-keys on one side, the other side being plain." An equestrian pilgrim represented in Hans Burgmaier's "Der Weise Koenige," seems to bear on his cloak and his hat the cross-keys. The vernicle was the kerchief of Veronica, with which, said a very popular legend, she wiped the brow of the Saviour, when he fainted under His cross in the Via Dolorosa, and which was found to have had miraculously transferred to it an imprint of the sacred countenance. Chaucer's Pardoner, as we have already seen-- "Strait was comen from the Court of Rome," and, therefore, "A vernicle had he sewed upon his cap." The sign of the Compostella pilgrimage was the scallop shell.[192] The legend which the old Spanish writers give in explanation of the badge is this:--When the body of the saint was being miraculously conveyed in a ship without sails or oars, from Joppa to Galicia, it passed the village of Bonzas, on the coast of Portugal, on the day that a marriage had been celebrated there. The bridegroom with his friends were amusing themselves on horseback on the sands, when his horse became unmanageable and plunged into the sea; whereupon the miraculous ship stopped in its voyage, and presently the bridegroom emerged, horse and man, close beside it. A conversation ensued between the knight and the saint's disciples on board, in which they apprised him that it was the saint who had saved him from a watery grave, and explained the Christian religion to him. He believed, and was baptized there and then. And immediately the ship resumed its voyage, and the knight came galloping back over the sea to rejoin his astonished friends. He told them all that had happened, and they too were converted, and the knight baptized his bride with his own hand. Now, when the knight emerged from the sea, both his dress and the trappings of his horse were covered with scallop shells; and, therefore, the Galicians took the scallop shell as the sign of St. James. The legend is found represented in churches dedicated to St. James, and in ancient illuminated MSS.[193] The scallop shell is not unfrequently found in armorial bearings. It is hardly probable that it would be given to a man merely because he had made the common pilgrimage to Compostella; perhaps it was earned by service under the banner of Santiago, against the Moors in the Spanish crusades. The Popes Alexander III., Gregory IX., and Clement V., granted a faculty to the Archbishops of Compostella, to excommunicate those who sell these shells to pilgrims anywhere except in the city of Santiago, and they assign this reason, because the shells are the badge of the Apostle Santiago.[194] The badge was not always an actual shell, but sometimes a jewel made in the shape of a scallop shell. In the "Journal of the Archæological Association," iii. 126, is a woodcut of a scallop shell of silver gilt, with a circular piece of jet set in the middle, on which is carved an equestrian figure of Santiago. The chief sign of the Canterbury pilgrimage was an ampul (_ampulla_, a flask); we are told all about its origin and meaning by Abbot Benedict, who wrote a book on the miracles of St. Thomas.[195] The monks had carefully collected from the pavement the blood of the martyr which had been shed upon it, and preserved it as one of the precious relics. A sick lady who visited the shrine, begged for a drop of this blood as a medicine; it worked a miraculous cure, and the fame of the miracle spread far and wide, and future pilgrims were not satisfied unless they too might be permitted the same high privilege. A drop of it used to be mixed with a chalice full of water, that the colour and flavour might not offend the senses, and they were allowed to taste of it. It wrought, says the abbot, miraculous cures; and so, not only vast crowds came to take this strange and unheard-of medicine, but those who came were anxious to take some of it home for their sick friends and neighbours. At first they put it into wooden vessels, but these were split by the liquid; and many of the fragments of these vessels were hung up about the martyr's tomb in token of this wonder. At last it came into the head of a certain young man to cast little flasks--_ampullæ_--of lead and pewter. And then the miracle of the breaking ceased, and they knew that it was the Divine will that the Canterbury medicine should be carried in these ampullæ throughout the world, and that these ampullæ should be recognised by all the world as the sign of this pilgrimage and these wonderful cures. At first the pilgrims had carried the wooden vases concealed under their clothes; but these ampullæ were carried suspended round the neck; and when the pilgrims reached home, says another authority,[196] they hung these ampullæ in their churches for sacred relics, that the glory of the blessed martyr might be known throughout the world. Some of these curious relics still exist. They are thin, flat on one side, and slightly rounded on the other, with two little ears or loops through which a cord might be passed to suspend them. The mouth might have been closed by solder, or even by folding over the edges of the metal. There is a little flask figured in Gardner's "History of Dunwich," pl. iii., which has a T upon the side of it, and which may very probably have been one of these ampullæ. But one of a much more elaborate and interesting type is here engraved, from an example preserved in the museum at York. The principal figure is a somewhat stern representation of the blessed archbishop; above is a rude representation of his shrine; and round the margin is the rhyming legend--"Optimus egrorum: Medicus fit Thoma bonorum" ("Thomas is the best physician for the pious sick"). On the reverse of the ampul is a design whose intention is not very clear; two monks or priests are apparently saying some service out of a book, and one of them is laying down a pastoral staff; perhaps it represents the shrine with its attendants. From the style of art, this design may be of the early part of the thirteenth century. But though this ampul is clearly designated by the monkish writers, whom we have quoted, as the special sign of the Canterbury pilgrimage, there was another sign which seems to have been peculiar to it, and that is a bell. Whether these bells were hand-bells, which the pilgrims carried in their hands, and rang from time to time, or whether they were little bells, like hawks' bells, fastened to their dress--as such bells sometimes were to a canon's cope--does not certainly appear. W. Thorpe, in the passage hereafter quoted at length from Fox, speaks of "the noise of their singing and the sound of their piping, and the jangling of their Canterbury bells," as a body of pilgrims passed through a town. One of the prettiest of our wild-flowers, the _Campanula rotundifolia_, which has clusters of blue, bell-like flowers, has obtained the common name of Canterbury Bells.[197] There were other religious trinkets also sold and used by pilgrims as mementoes of their visit to the famous shrine. The most common of them seems to have been the head of St. Thomas,[198] cast in various ornamental devices, in silver or pewter; sometimes it was adapted to hang to a rosary,[199] more usually, in the examples which remain to us, it was made into a brooch to be fastened upon the cap or hood, or dress. In Mr. C. R. Smith's "Collectanea Antiqua," vol. i. pl. 31, 32, 33, and vol. ii. pl. 16, 17, 18, there are representations of no less than fifty-one English and foreign pilgrims' signs, of which a considerable proportion are heads of St. Thomas. The whole collection is very curious and interesting.[200] [Illustration: _The Canterbury Ampulla._] The ampul was not confined to St. Thomas of Canterbury. When his ampuls became so very popular, the guardians of the other famous shrines adopted it, and manufactured "waters," "aquæ reliquiarum," of their own. The relic of the saint, which they were so fortunate as to possess, was washed with or dipped in holy water, which was thereupon supposed to possess--diluted--the virtues of the relic itself. Thus there was a "Durham water," being the water in which the incorruptible body of St. Cuthbert had been washed at its last exposure; and Reginald of Durham, in his book on the admirable virtues of the blessed Cuthbert,[201] tells us how it used to be carried away in ampuls, and mentions a special example in which a little of this pleasant medicine poured into the mouth of a sick man, cured him on the spot. The same old writer tells us how the water held in a bowl that once belonged to Editha, queen and saint, in which a little bit of rag, which had once formed part of St. Cuthbert's garments, was soaked, acquired from these two relics so much virtue that it brought back health and strength to a dying clerk who drank it. In Gardner's "History of Dunwich" (pl. iii.) we find drawings of ampullæ like those of St. Thomas, one of which has upon its front a W surmounted by a crown, which it is conjectured may be the pilgrim sign of Our Lady of Walsingham, and contained, perhaps, water from the holy wells at Walsingham, hereinafter described. Another has an R surmounted by one of the symbols of the Blessed Virgin, a lily in a pot; the author hazards a conjecture that it may be the sign of St. Richard of Chichester. The pilgrim who brought away one of these flasks of medicine, or one of these blessed relics, we may suppose, did not always hang it up in church as an _ex voto_, but sometimes preserved it carefully in his house for use in time of sickness, and would often be applied to by a sick neighbour for the gift of a portion of the precious fluid out of his ampul, or for a touch of the trinket which had touched the saint. In the "Collectanea Antiqua," is a facsimile of a piece of paper bearing a rude woodcut of the adoration of the Magi, and an inscription setting forth that "Ces billets ont touché aux troi testes de saints Rois a Cologne: ils sont pour les voyageurs contre les malheurs des chemins, maux de teste, mal caduque, fièures, sorcellerie, toute sorte de malefice, et morte soubite." It was found upon the person of one William Jackson, who having been sentenced for murder in June, 1748-9, was found dead in prison a few hours before the time of his execution. It was the charmed billet, doubtless, which preserved him from the more ignominious death. We find a description of a pilgrim in full costume, and decorated with signs, in "Piers Ploughman's Vision." He was apparelled-- "In pilgrym's wise. He bare a burdoun[202] y-bounde with a broad list, In a withwinde-wise y-wounden about; A bolle[203] and a bagge he bare by his side, An hundred of ampulles; on his hat seten Signes of Synay[204] and shells of Galice,[205] And many a crouche[206] on his cloke and keys of Rome, And the vernicle before, for men sholde knowe, And se bi his signes, whom he sought hadde. These folk prayed[207] hym first fro whence he came? 'From Synay,' he seide, 'and from our Lordes Sepulcre: In Bethlem and in Babiloyne I have ben in bothe; In Armonye[208] and Alesaundre, in many other places. Ye may se by my signes, that sitten in my hat, That I have walked ful wide in weet and in drye, And sought good seintes for my soules helthe.'" The little bit of satire, for the sake of which this model pilgrim is introduced, is too telling--especially after the wretched superstitions which we have been noticing--to be omitted here. "Knowest thou?" asks the Ploughman-- "'Kondest thou aught a cor-saint[209] that men calle Truthe? Canst thou aught weten[210] us the way where that wight dwelleth?'" "Nay," replies the much-travelled pilgrim-- "'Nay, so me God helpe, I saw nevere palmere with pyke and with scrippe Ask after hym, ever til now in this place.'" CHAPTER II. OUR LADY OF WALSINGHAM AND ST. THOMAS OF CANTERBURY. We shall not wonder that these various pilgrimages were so popular as they were, when we learn that there were not only physical panaceas to be obtained, and spiritual pardons and immunities to be procured at the shrines of the saints, but that moreover the journey to them was often made a very pleasant holiday excursion. Far be it from us to deny that there was many a pilgrim who undertook his pilgrimage in anything but a holiday spirit, and who made it anything but a gay excursion; many a man who sought, howbeit mistakenly, to atone for wrong done, by making himself an outcast upon earth, and submitting to the privations of mendicant pilgrimage; many a one who sought thus to escape out of reach of the stings of remorse; many a one who tore himself from home and the knowledge of friends, and went to foreign countries to hide his shame from the eyes of those who knew him. Certainly, here and there, might have been met a man or a woman, whose coarse sackcloth robe, girded to the naked skin, and unshod feet, were signs of real if mistaken penitence; and who carried grievous memories and a sad heart through every mile of his weary way. We give here, from Hans Burgmaier's "Images de Saints, &c., de la Famille de l'Empereur Maximilian I.," a very excellent illustration of a pilgrim of this class. But this was not the general character of the home pilgrimages of which we are especially speaking. In the great majority of cases they seem to have been little more than a pleasant religious holiday.[211] No doubt the general intention was devotional; very likely it was often in a moment of religious fervour that the vow was taken; the religious ceremony with which the journey was begun, must have had a solemnising effect; and doubtless when the pilgrim knelt at the shrine, an unquestioning faith in all the tales which he had heard of its sanctity and occasional miraculous power, and the imposing effect of the scene, would affect his mind with an unusual religious warmth and exaltation. But between the beginning and the end of the pilgrimage there was a long interval, which we say--not in a censorious spirit--was usually occupied by a very pleasant excursion. The same fine work which has supplied us with so excellent an illustration of an ascetic pilgrim, affords another equally valuable companion-picture of a pilgrim of the more usual class. He travels on foot, indeed, staff in hand, but he is comfortably shod and clad; and while the one girds his sackcloth shirt to his bare body with an iron chain, the other has his belt well furnished with little conveniences of travel. It is quite clear that the journey was not necessarily on foot, the voluntary pilgrims might ride if they preferred it.[212] Nor did they beg their bread as penitential pilgrims did; but put good store of money in their purse at starting, and ambled easily along the green roads, and lived well at the comfortable inns along their way. [Illustration: _Pilgrim in Hair Shirt and Cloak._] In many instances when the time of pilgrimage is mentioned, we find that it was the spring; Chaucer's pilgrims started-- "When that April with his showerés sote The drouth of March had perced to the root;" and Fosbroke "apprehends that Lent was the usual time for these pilgrimages." It was the custom for the pilgrims to associate in companies; indeed, since they travelled the same roads, about the same time of year, and stopped at the same inns and hospitals, it was inevitable; and they seem to have taken pains to make the journey agreeable to one another. Chaucer's "hoste of the Tabard" says to his guests:-- "Ye go to Canterbury: God you speed, The blisful martyr quité you your mede; And well I wot, as ye go by the way, Ye shapen you to talken and to play; For trewely comfort and worthe is none, To riden by the way dumb as a stone." Even the poor penitential pilgrim who travelled barefoot did not travel, all the way at least, on the hard and rough highway. Special roads seem to have been made to the great shrines. Thus the "Pilgrim's Road" may still be traced across Kent, almost from London to Canterbury; and if the Londoner wishes for a pleasant and interesting home excursion, he may put a scrip on his back, and take a bourdon in his hand, and make a summer's pilgrimage on the track of Chaucer's pilgrims. The pilgrim's road to Walsingham is still known as the "Palmer's Way" and the "Walsingham Green Way." It may be traced along the principal part of its course for sixty miles in the diocese of Norwich. The common people used to call the Milky Way the Walsingham Way. Dr. Rock tells us[213] that "besides its badge, each pilgrimage had also its gathering cry, which the pilgrims shouted out as, at the grey of morn, they slowly crept through the town or hamlet where they had slept that night." By calling aloud upon God for help, and begging the intercession of that saint to whose shrine they were wending, they bade all their fellow pilgrims to come forth upon their road and begin another day's march.[214] After having said their prayers and told their beads, occasionally did they strive to shorten the weary length of the way by song and music. As often as a crowd of pilgrims started together from one place, they seem always to have hired a few singers and one or two musicians to go with them. Just before reaching any town, they drew themselves up into a line, and thus walked through its streets in procession, singing and ringing their little hand-bells, with a player on the bagpipes at their head. They ought in strictness, perhaps, to have been psalms which they sung, and the tales with which they were accustomed to lighten the way ought to have been saintly legends and godly discourses; but in truth they were of very varied character, according to the character of the individual pilgrims. The songs were often love-songs; and though Chaucer's poor parson of a town preached a sermon and was listened to, yet the romances of chivalry or the loose faiblieux which were current probably formed the majority of the real "Canterbury tales." In Foxe's "Acts and Monuments," we have a very graphic and amusing little sketch of a company of pilgrims passing through a town:-- W. Thorpe tells Archbishop Arundel, "When diverse men and women will go thus after their own willes, and finding out one pilgrimage, they will order with them before to have with them both men and women that can well synge wanton songs; and some other pilgrims will have with them bagge-pipes, so that every towne they come throwe, what with the noyse of their singing and with the sound of their pipyng, and with the jingling of their Canterbury belles, and with barking out of dogges after them, that they make more noise than if the kinge came there awaye with all his clarions, and many other minstrelles. And if these men and women be a moneth on their pilgrimage, many of them shall be an half year after great janglers, tale-tellers, and liars." The archbishop defends the fashion, and gives us further information on the subject, saying "that pilgremys have with them both syngers and also pipers, that when one of them that goeth barefoote striketh his toe upon a stone, and hurteth him sore, and maketh him to blede, it is well done that he or his fellow begyn than a songe, or else take out of his bosom a bagge-pipe, for to drive away with such myrthe the hurte of his fellow; for with soche solace the travell and weriness of pylgremes is lightly and merily broughte forth." Erasmus's colloquy entitled "Peregrinatio Religionis ergo," enables us to accompany the pilgrim to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, and to join him in his devotions at the shrine. We shall throw together the most interesting portions of the narrative from Mr. J. G. Nichols's translation of it. "It is," he says, "the most celebrated place throughout all England,[215] nor could you easily find in that island the man who ventures to reckon on prosperity unless he yearly salute her with some small offering according to his ability." "The town of Walsingham," he says, "is maintained by scarcely anything else but the number of its visitors." The shrine of Our Lady was not within the priory church; but on the north side was the wooden chapel dedicated to "Our Lady," about twenty-three feet by thirteen, enclosed within a chapel of stone forty-eight feet by thirty, which Erasmus describes as unfinished. On the west of the church was another wooden building, in which were two holy wells also dedicated to the Virgin. Erasmus describes these "holy places." "Within the church, which I have called unfinished, is a small chapel made of wainscot, and admitting the devotees on each side by a narrow little door. The light is small, indeed scarcely any but from the wax lights. A most grateful fragrance meets the nostrils. When you look in, you would say it was the mansion of the saints, so much does it glitter on all sides with jewels, gold, and silver. In the inner chapel one canon attends to receive and take charge of the offerings," which the pilgrims placed upon the altar. "To the east of this is a chapel full of wonders. Thither I go. Another guide receives me. There we worshipped for a short time. Presently the joint of a man's finger is exhibited to us, the largest of three; I kiss it; and then I ask whose relics were these? He says, St. Peter's. The Apostle? I ask. He said, Yes. Then observing the size of the joint, which might have been that of a giant, I remarked, Peter must have been a man of very large size. At this, one of my companions burst into a laugh; which I certainly took ill, for if he had been quiet the attendant would have shown us all the relics. However, we pacified him by offering a few pence. Before the chapel was a shed, which they say was suddenly, in the winter season, when everything was covered with snow, brought thither from a great distance. Under this shed are two wells full to the brink; they say the spring is sacred to the Holy Virgin. The water is wonderfully cold, and efficacious in curing the pains of the head and stomach. We next turned towards the heavenly milk of the Blessed Virgin" (kept apparently in another chapel); "that milk is kept on the high-altar; in the centre of which is Christ; at his right hand for honour's sake, his mother; for the milk personifies the mother. As soon as the canon in attendance saw us, he rose, put on his surplice, added the stole to his neck, prostrated himself with due ceremony, and worshipped; anon he stretched forth the thrice-holy milk to be kissed by us. On this, we also, on the lowest step of the altar, religiously fell prostrate; and having first called upon Christ, we addressed the Virgin with a little prayer like this, which I had prepared for the purpose.... "'A very pious prayer; what reply did she make?' "Each appeared to assent, if my eyes were not deceived. For the holy milk seemed to leap a little, and the Eucharist shone somewhat brighter. Meanwhile the ministering canon approached us, saying nothing, but holding out a little box, such as are presented by the toll collectors on the bridges in Germany. I gave a few pence, which he offered to the Virgin." The visitor on this occasion being a distinguished person, and performing a trifling service for the canons, was presented by the sub-prior with a relic. "He then drew from a bag a fragment of wood, cut from a beam on which the Virgin Mother had been seen to rest. A wonderful fragrance at once proved it to be a thing extremely sacred. For my part, having received so distinguished a present, prostrate and with uncovered head, I kissed it three or four times with the highest veneration, and placed it in my purse. I would not exchange that fragment, small as it is, for all the gold in the Tagus. I will enclose it in gold, but so that it may shine through crystal." He is also shown some relics not shown to ordinary visitors. "Several wax candles are lighted, and a small image is produced, neither excelling in material nor workmanship; but in virtue most efficacious. He then exhibited the golden and silver statues. 'This one,' says he, 'is entirely of gold; this is silver gilt; he added the weight of each, its value, and the name of the donor.[216] Then he drew forth from the altar itself, a world of admirable things, the individual articles of which, if I were to proceed to describe, this day would not suffice for the relation. So that pilgrimage terminated most fortunately for me. I was abundantly gratified with sights; and I bring away this inestimable gift, a token bestowed by the Virgin herself. "'Have you made no trial of the powers of your wood?' "I have: in an inn, before the end of three days, I found a man afflicted in mind, for whom charms were then in preparation. This piece of wood was placed under his pillow, unknown to himself; he fell into a sleep equally deep and prolonged; in the morning he rose of whole mind." * * * * * Chaucer left his account of the Canterbury Pilgrimage incomplete; but another author, soon after Chaucer's death, wrote a supplement to his great work, which, however inferior in genius to the work of the great master, yet admirably serves our purpose of giving a graphic contemporary picture of the doings of a company of pilgrims to St. Thomas, when arrived at their destination. Erasmus, too, in the colloquy already so largely quoted, enables us to add some details to the picture. The pilgrims of Chaucer's continuator arrived in Canterbury at "mydmorowe." Erasmus tells us what they saw as they approached the city. "The church dedicated to St. Thomas, erects itself to heaven with such majesty, that even from a distance it strikes religious awe into the beholders.... There are two vast towers that seem to salute the visitor from afar, and make the surrounding country far and wide resound with the wonderful booming of their brazen bells." Being arrived, they took up their lodgings at the "Chequers."[217] "They toke their In and loggit them at midmorowe I trowe Atte Cheker of the hope, that many a man doth know." And mine host of the "Tabard," in Southwark, their guide, having given the necessary orders for their dinner, they all proceeded to the cathedral to make their offerings at the shrine of St. Thomas. At the church door they were sprinkled with holy water as they entered. The knight and the better sort of the company went straight to their devotions; but some of the pilgrims of a less educated class, began to wander about the nave of the church, curiously admiring all the objects around them. The miller and his companions entered into a warm discussion concerning the arms in the painted glass windows. At length the host of the "Tabard" called them together and reproved them for their negligence, whereupon they hastened to make their offerings:-- "Then passed they forth boystly gogling with their hedds Kneeled down to-fore the shrine, and hertily their beads They prayed to St. Thomas, in such wise as they couth; And sith the holy relikes each man with his mouth Kissed, as a goodly monk the names told and taught. And sith to other places of holyness they raught, And were in their devocioune tyl service were al done." Erasmus gives a very detailed account of these "holy relikes," and of the "other places of holiness":-- "On your entrance [by the south porch] the edifice at once displays itself in all its spaciousness and majesty. To that part any one is admitted. There are some books fixed to the pillars, and the monument of I know not whom. The iron screens stop further progress, but yet admit a view of the whole space, from the choir to the end of the church. To the choir you mount by many steps, under which is a passage leading to the north. At that spot is shown a wooden altar, dedicated to the Virgin, but mean, nor remarkable in any respect, unless as a monument of antiquity, putting to shame the extravagance of these times. There the pious old man is said to have breathed his last farewell to the Virgin when his death was at hand. On the altar is the point of the sword with which the head of the most excellent prelate was cleft, and his brain stirred, that he might be the more instantly despatched. The sacred rust of this iron, through love of the martyr, we religiously kissed. Leaving this spot, we descended to the crypt. It has its own priests. There was first exhibited the perforated skull of the martyr, the forehead is left bare to be kissed, while the other parts are covered with silver. At the same time is shown a slip of lead, engraved with his name _Thomas Acrensis_.[218] There also hang in the dark the hair shirts, the girdles and bandages with which that prelate subdued his flesh; striking horror with their very appearance, and reproaching us with our indulgence and our luxuries. From hence we returned into the choir. On the north side the aumbrics were unlocked. It is wonderful to tell what a quantity of bones was there brought out: skulls, jaw-bones, teeth, hands, fingers, entire arms; on all which we devoutly bestowed our kisses; and the exhibition seemed likely to last for ever, if my somewhat unmanageable companion in that pilgrimage had not interrupted the zeal of the showman. "'Did he offend the priest?' "When an arm was brought forward which had still the bloody flesh adhering, he drew back from kissing it, and even betrayed some weariness. The priest presently shut up his treasures. We next viewed the table of the altar, and its ornaments, and then the articles which are kept under the altar, all most sumptuous; you would say Midas and Croesus were beggars if you saw that vast assemblage of gold and silver. After this we were led into the sacristy. What a display was there of silken vestments, what an array of golden candlesticks!... From this place we were conducted back to the upper floor, for behind the high-altar you ascend again as into a new church. There, in a little chapel, is shown the whole figure of the excellent man, gilt and adorned with many jewels. Then the head priest (prior) came forward. He opened to us the shrine in which what is left of the body of the holy man is said to rest. A wooden canopy covers the shrine, and when that is drawn up with ropes, inestimable treasures are opened to view. The least valuable part was gold; every part glistened, shone, and sparkled with rare and very large jewels, some of them exceeding the size of a goose's egg. There some monks stood around with much veneration; the cover being raised we all worshipped. The prior with a white rod pointed out each jewel, telling its name in French, its value, and the name of its donor, for the principal of them were offerings sent by sovereign princes.... From hence we returned to the crypt, where the Virgin Mother has her abode, but a somewhat dark one, being edged in by more than one screen. "'What was she afraid of?' "Nothing, I imagine, but thieves; for I have never seen anything more burdened with riches. When lamps were brought, we beheld a more than royal spectacle.... Lastly we were conducted back to the sacristy; there was brought out a box covered with black leather; it was laid upon the table and opened; immediately all knelt and worshipped. "'What was in it?' "Some torn fragments of linen, and most of them retaining marks of dirt.... After offering us a cup of wine, the prior courteously dismissed us." When Chaucer's pilgrims had seen such of this magnificence as existed in their earlier time, noon approaching, they gathered together and went to their dinner. Before they left the church, however, they bought signs "as the manner was," to show to all men that they had performed this meritorious act. "There as manere and custom is, signes there they bought For men of contre' should know whom they had sought. Each man set his silver in such thing as they liked, And in the meen while the miller had y-piked His bosom full of signys of Canterbury broches. Others set their signys upon their hedes, and some upon their cap, And sith to dinner-ward they gan for to stapp." The appearance of these shrines and their surroundings is brought before our eyes by the pictures in a beautiful volume of Lydgate's "History of St. Edmund" in the British Museum (Harl. 2,278). At f. 40 is a representation of the shrine of St. Edmund in the abbey church of St. Edmund's Bury. At f. 9 a still better representation of it, showing the iron grille which enclosed it, a monk worshipping at it, and a clerk with a wand, probably the custodian whose duty it was to show the various jewels and relics--as the prior did to Erasmus at Canterbury. At f. 47 is another shrine, with some people about it who have come in the hope of receiving miraculous cures; still another at f. 100 v., with pilgrims praying round it. At f. 109 a shrine, with two monks in a stall beside it saying an office, a clerk and others present. At f. 10 v. a shrine with a group of monks. Other representations of shrines (all no doubt intended to represent the one shrine of St. Edmund, but differing in details) are to be found at f. 108 v., 117, &c. In the MS. Roman "D'Alexandre," of the latter half of the fourteenth century, in the Bodleian Library, at f. 2,660, is a very good representation of the shrine of St. Thomas the Apostle, with several people about it, and in front are two pilgrims in rough habits, a broad hat slung over the shoulder, and a staff. We have hitherto spoken of male pilgrims; but it must be borne in mind that women of all ranks were frequently to be found on pilgrimage;[219] and all that has been said of the costume and habits of the one sex applies equally to the other. We give here a cut of a female pilgrim with scrip, staff, and hat, from Pl. 134 of Strutt's "Dresses and Habits of the People of England," who professes to take it from the Harleian MS. 621. We also give a picture of a pilgrim monk (Cotton. MS. Tiberius, A. 7.) who bears the staff and scrip, but is otherwise habited in the proper costume of his order. [Illustration: _Female Pilgrim._ (Strutt, pl. 134.)] [Illustration: _Pilgrim Monk._] When the pilgrim had returned safely home, it was but natural and proper that as he had been sent forth with the blessing and prayers of the church, he should present himself again in church to give thanks for the accomplishment of his pilgrimage and his safe return. We do not find in the service-books--as we might have expected--any special service for this occasion, but we find sufficient indications that it was the practice. Knighton tells us, for example, of the famous Guy, Earl of Warwick, that on his return from his pilgrimage to the Holy Land, before he took any refreshment, he went to all the churches in the city to return thanks. Du Cange tells us that palmers were received on their return home with ecclesiastical processions; but perhaps this was only in the case of men of some social importance. We have the details of one such occasion on record:[220] William de Mandeville, Earl of Essex, assumed the cross, and after procuring suitable necessaries, took with him a retinue, and among them a chaplain to perform divine offices, for all of whom he kept a daily table. Before he set out he went to Gilbert, Bishop of London, for his license and benediction. He travelled by land as far as Rome, over France, Burgundy, and the Alps, leaving his horse at Mantua. He visited every holy place in Jerusalem and on his route; made his prayers and offerings at each; and so returned. Upon his arrival, he made presents of silk cloths to all the churches of his see, for copes or coverings of the altars. The monks of Walden met him in procession, in albes and copes, singing, "Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord;" and the earl coming to the high-altar, and there prostrating himself, the prior gave him the benediction. After this he rose, and kneeling, offered some precious relics in an ivory box, which he had obtained in Jerusalem and elsewhere. This offering concluded, he rose, and stood before the altar; the prior and convent singing the _Te Deum_. Leaving the church he went to the chapter, to give and receive the kiss of peace from the prior and monks. A sumptuous entertainment followed for himself and his suite; and the succeeding days were passed in visits to relatives and friends, who congratulated him on his safe return. [Illustration: From "Le Pélerinage de la Vie Humaine" (French National Library).] Du Cange says that palmers used to present their scrips and staves to their parish churches. And Coryatt[221] says that he saw cockle and mussel shells, and beads, and other religious relics, hung up over the door of a little chapel in a nunnery, which, says Fosbroke, were offerings made by pilgrims on their return from Compostella. The illuminated MS., Julius E. VI., illustrates, among other events of the life of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, various scenes of his pilgrimage to Rome and to Jerusalem. In an illumination (subsequently engraved in the chapter on Merchants) he is seen embarking in his own ship; in another, he is presented to the Pope and cardinals at Rome[222] (subsequently engraved in the chapter on Secular Clergy); in another, he is worshipping at the Holy Sepulchre, where he hung up his shield in remembrance of his accomplished vow. The additional MS. 24,189, is part of St. John Mandeville's history of his travels, and its illuminations in some respects illustrate the voyage of a pilgrim of rank. Hans Burgmaier's "Images de Saints," &c.,--from which we take the figure on the next page,--affords us a very excellent contemporary illustration of a pilgrim of high rank, with his attendants, all in pilgrim costume, and wearing the signs which show us that their pilgrimage has been successfully accomplished. Those who had taken any of the greater pilgrimages would probably be regarded with a certain respect and reverence by their untravelled neighbours, and the agnomen of Palmer or Pilgrim, which would naturally be added to their Christian name--as William the Palmer, or John the Pilgrim--is doubtless the origin of two sufficiently common surnames. The tokens of pilgrimage sometimes even accompanied a man to his grave, and were sculptured on his monument. Shells have not unfrequently been found in stone coffins, and are taken with great probability to be relics of the pilgrimage, which the deceased had once taken to Compostella, and which as sacred things, and having a certain religious virtue, were strewed over him as he was carried upon his bier in the funeral procession, and were placed with him in his grave. For example, when the grave of Bishop Mayhew, who died in 1516, in Hereford Cathedral, was opened some years ago, there was found lying by his side, a common, rough, hazel wand, between four and five feet long, and about as thick as a man's finger; and with it a mussel and a few oyster-shells. Four other instances of such hazel rods, without accompanying shells, buried with ecclesiastics, had previously been observed in the same cathedral.[223] The tomb of Abbot Cheltenham, at Tewkesbury, has the spandrels ornamented with shields charged with scallop shells, and the pilgrim staff and scrip are sculptured on the bosses of the groining of the canopy over the tomb. There is a gravestone at Haltwhistle, Northumberland, to which we have already more than once had occasion to refer,[224] on which is the usual device of a cross sculptured in relief, and on one side of the shaft of the cross are laid a sword and shield, charged with the arms of Blenkinsop, a fess between three garbs, indicating, we presume, that the deceased was a knight; on the other side of the shaft of the cross are laid a palmer's staff, and a scrip, bearing also garbs, and indicating that the knight had been a pilgrim. [Illustration: _Pilgrim on Horseback._] In the church of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicestershire, there is, under a monumental arch in the wall of the north aisle, a recumbent effigy, a good deal defaced, of a man in pilgrim weeds. A tunic or gown reaches half-way down between the knee and ankle, and he has short pointed laced boots; a hat with its margin decorated with scallop-shells lies under his head, his scrip tasselled and charged with scallop-shells is at his right side, and his rosary on his left, and his staff is laid diagonally across the body. The costly style of the monument,[225] the lion at his feet, and above all a collar of SS. round his neck, prove that the person thus commemorated was a person of distinction. In the churchyard of Llanfihangel-Aber-Cowen, Carmarthenshire, there are three graves,[226] which are assigned by the local tradition to three holy palmers, "who wandered thither in poverty and distress, and being about to perish for want, slew each other: the last survivor buried his fellows and then himself in one of the graves which they had prepared, and pulling the stone over him, left it, as it is, ill adjusted." Two of the headstones have very rude demi-effigies, with a cross patée sculptured upon them. In one of the graves were found, some years ago, the bones of a female or youth, and half-a-dozen scallop-shells. There are also, among the curious symbols which appear on mediæval coffin-stones, some which are very likely intended for pilgrim staves. There is one at Woodhorn, Northumberland, engraved in the "Manual of Sepulchral Slabs and Crosses," and another at Alnwick-le-Street, Yorkshire, is engraved in Gough's "Sepulchral Monuments," vol. i. It may be that these were men who had made a vow of perpetual pilgrimage, or who died in the midst of an unfinished pilgrimage, and therefore the pilgrim insignia were placed upon their monuments. If every man and woman who had made a pilgrimage had had its badges carved upon their tombs, we should surely have found many other tombs thus designated; but, indeed, we have the tombs of men who we know had accomplished pilgrimages to Jerusalem, but have no pilgrim insignia upon their tombs. Other illustrations of pilgrim costume may be found scattered throughout the illuminated MSS. References to some of the best of them are here added. In the Royal, 1,696, at f. 163, is a good drawing of St. James as a pilgrim. In the Add. MS. 17,687, at f. 33, another of the pilgrim saints with scrip and staff; in the MS. Nero E 2, a half-length of the saint with a scallop-shell in his hat; in the MS. 18,143, of early sixteenth-century date, at f. 57 v., another. In Lydgate's "History of St. Edmund," already quoted for its pictures of shrines, there are also several good pictures of pilgrims. On f. 79 is a group of three pilgrims, who appear again in different parts of the history, twice on page 80, and again at 84 and 85. At f. 81 the three pilgrims have built themselves a hermitage and chapel, surrounded by a fence of wicker-work. In Henry VII.'s chapel, Westminster, the figure of a pilgrim is frequently introduced in the ornamental sculpture of the side chapels and on the reredos, in allusion, no doubt, to the pilgrims who figure in the legendary history of St. Edmund the Confessor. Having followed the pilgrim to his very tomb, there we pause. We cannot but satirise the troops of mere religious holiday-makers, who rode a pleasant summer's holiday through the green roads of merry England, feasting at the inns, singing amorous songs, and telling loose stories by the way; going through a round of sight-seeing at the end of it; and drinking foul water in which a dead man's blood had been mingled, or a dead man's bones had been washed. But let us be allowed to indulge the hope that every act of real, honest, self-denial--however mistaken--in remorse for sin, for the sake of purity, or for the honour of religion, did benefit the honest, though mistaken devotee. Is _our_ religion so perfect and so pure, and is _our_ practice so exactly accordant with it, that we can afford to sit in severe judgment upon honest, self-denying error? THE SECULAR CLERGY OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. THE PAROCHIAL CLERGY. The present organisation of the Church of England dates from the Council of Hertford, A.D. 673. Before that time the Saxon people were the object of missionary operations, carried on by two independent bodies, the Italian mission, having its centre at Canterbury, and the Celtic mission, in Iona. The bishops who had been sent from one or other of these sources into the several kingdoms of the Heptarchy, gathered a body of clergy about them, with whom they lived in common at the cathedral town; thence they made missionary progresses through the towns and villages of the Saxon "bush;" returning always to the cathedral as their head-quarters and home. The national churches which sprang from these two sources were kept asunder by some differences of discipline and ceremonial rather than of doctrine. These differences were reconciled at the Council of Hertford, and all the churches there and then recognised Theodore, Archbishop of Canterbury, as the Metropolitan of all England. To the same archbishop we owe the establishment of the parochial organisation of the Church of England, which has ever since continued. He pointed out to the people the advantage of having the constant ministrations of a regular pastor, instead of the occasional visits of a missionary. He encouraged the thanes to provide a dwelling-house and a parcel of glebe for the clergyman's residence; and permitted that the tithe of each manor--which the thane had hitherto paid into the common church-fund of the bishop--should henceforth be paid to the resident pastor, for his own maintenance and the support of his local hospitalities and charities; and lastly, he permitted each thane to select the pastor for his own manor out of the general body of the clergy. Thus naturally grew the whole establishment of the Church of England; thus each kingdom of the Heptarchy became, in ecclesiastical language, a diocese, each manor a parish; and thus the patronage of the benefices of England became vested in the lords of the manors. At the same time that a rector was thus gradually settled in every parish, with rights and duties which soon became defined, and sanctioned by law, the bishop continued to keep a body of clergy about him in the cathedral, whose position also gradually became defined and settled. The number of clergy in the cathedral establishment became settled, and they acquired the name of canons; they were organised into a collegiate body, with a dean and other officers. The estates of the bishops were distinguished from those of the body of canons. Each canon had his own house within the walled space about the cathedral, which was called the Close, and a share in the common property of the Chapter. Besides the canons, thus limited in number, there gradually arose a necessity for other clergymen to fulfil the various duties of a cathedral. These received stipends, and lodged where they could in the town; but in time these additional clergy also were organised into a corporation, and generally some benefactor was found to build them a quadrangle of little houses within, or hard by, the Close, and often to endow their corporation with lands and livings. The Vicars' Close at Wells is a very good and well-known example of these supplementary establishments. It is a long quadrangle, with little houses on each side, a hall at one end, and a library at the other, and a direct communication with the cathedral. There also arose in process of time many collegiate churches in the kingdom, which, resembled the cathedral establishments of secular canons in every respect, except that no bishop had his see within their church. Some of the churches of these colleges of secular canons were architecturally equal to the cathedrals. Southwell Minster, for example, is not even equalled by many of the cathedral churches. It would occupy too much space to enter into any details of the constitution of these establishments. These canons may usually be recognised in pictures by their costume. The most characteristic features were the square cap and the furred amys. The amys was a fur cape worn over the shoulders, with a hood attached, and usually has a fringe of the tails of the fur or sometimes of little bells, and two long ends in front. In the accompanying very beautiful woodcut we have a semi-choir of secular canons, seated in their stalls in the cathedral, with the bishop in his stall at the west end. They are habited in surplices, ornamented with needlework, beneath which may be seen their robes, some pink, some blue in colour.[227] One in the subsellæ seems to have his furred amys thrown over the arm of his stall; his right-hand neighbour seems to have his hanging over his shoulder. He, and one in the upper stalls, have round skull caps (birettas); others have the hood on their heads, where it assumes a horned shape, which may be seen in other pictures of canons. The woodcut is part of a full-page illumination of the interior of a church, in the Book of Hours of Richard II., in the British Museum (Domit. xvii.). [Illustration] These powerful ecclesiastical establishments continued to flourish throughout the Middle Ages; their histories must be sought in Dugdale's "Monasticon," or Britton's or Murray's "Cathedrals," or the monographs of the several cathedrals. In the registers of the cathedrals there exists also a vast amount of unpublished matter, which would supply all the little life-like details that historians usually pass by, but which we need to enable us really to enter into the cathedral life of the Middle Ages. The world is indebted to Mr. Raine for the publication of some such details from the registry of York, in the very interesting "York Fabric Rolls," which he edited for the Surtees Society. To return to the Saxon rectors. By the end of the Saxon period of our history we find the whole kingdom divided into parishes, and in each a rector resident. Probably the rectors were often related to the lords of the manors, as is natural in the case of family livings; they were not a learned clergy; speaking generally they were a married clergy; in other respects, too, they did not affect the ascetic spirit of monasticism; they ate and drank like other people; farmed their own glebes; spent a good deal of their leisure in hawking and hunting, like their brothers, and cousins, and neighbours; but all their interests were in the people and things of their own parishes; they seem to have performed their clerical functions fairly well; and they were bountiful to the poor; in short, they seem to have had the virtues and failings of the country rectors of a hundred years ago. After the Norman conquest several causes concurred to deprive a large majority of the parishes of the advantage of the cure of well-born, well-endowed rectors, and to supply their places by ill-paid vicars and parochial chaplains. First among these causes we may mention the evil of impropriations, from which so many of our parishes are yet suffering, and of which this is a brief explanation. Just before the Norman conquest there was a great revival of the monastic principle; several new orders of monks had been founded; and the religious feeling of the age set in strongly in favour of these religious communities which then, at least, were learned, industrious, and self-denying. The Normans founded many new monasteries in England, and not only endowed them with lands and manors, but introduced the custom of endowing them also with the rectories of which they were patrons. They gave the benefice to the convent, and the convent, as a religious corporation, took upon itself the office of rector, and provided a vicar to perform the spiritual duties of the cure. The apportionment of the temporalities of the benefice usually was, that the convent took the great tithe, which formed the far larger portion of the benefice, and gave the vicar the small tithe, and (if it were not too large) the rectory-house and glebe for his maintenance. The position of a poor vicar, it is easy to see, was very different in dignity and emolument, and in prestige in the eyes of his parishioners, and the means of conferring temporal benefits upon them, from that of the old rectors his predecessors in the cure. By the time of the Reformation, about half of the livings of England and Wales had thus become impropriate to monasteries, cathedral chapters, corporations, guilds, &c.; and since the great tithe was not restored to the parishes at the dissolution of the religious houses, but granted to laymen together with the abbey-lands, about half the parishes of England are still suffering from this perversion of the ancient Saxon endowments. Another cause of the change in the condition of the parochial clergy was the custom of papal provisors. The popes, in the thirteenth century, gradually assumed a power of nominating to vacant benefices. Gregory IX. and Innocent IV., who ruled the church in the middle of this century, are said to have presented Italian priests to all the best benefices in England. Many of these foreigners, having preferment in their own country, never came near their cures, but employed parish chaplains to fulfil their duties, and sometimes neglected to do even that. Edward III. resisted this invasion of the rights of the patrons of English livings, and in the time of Richard II. it was finally stopped by the famous statute of Præmunire (A.D. 1392). The custom of allowing one man to hold several livings was another means of depriving parishes of a resident rector, and handing them over to the care of a curate. The extent to which this system of Pluralities was carried in the Middle Ages seems almost incredible; we even read of one man having from four to five hundred benefices. Another less known abuse was the custom of presenting to benefices men who had taken only the minor clerical orders. A glance at the lists of incumbents of benefices in any good county history will reveal the fact that rectors of parishes were often only deacons, sub-deacons, or acolytes.[228] It is clear that in many of these cases--probably in the majority of them--the men had taken a minor order only to qualify themselves for holding the temporalities of a benefice, and never proceeded to the priesthood at all; they employed a chaplain to perform their spiritual functions for them, while they enjoyed the fruits of the benefice as if it were a lay fee, the minor order which they had taken imposing no restraint upon their living an entirely secular life.[229] It is clear that a considerable number of priests were required to perform the duties of the numerous parishes whose rectors were absent or in minor orders, who seem to have been called parochial chaplains. The emolument and social position of these parochial chaplains were not such as to make the office a desirable one; and it would seem that the candidates for it were, to a great extent, drawn from the lower classes of the people. Chaucer tells us of his poor parson of a town, whose description we give below, that "With him there was a _ploughman_ was his brother." In the Norwich corporation records of the time of Henry VIII. (1521 A.D.), there is a copy of the examination of "Sir William Green," in whose sketch of his own life, though he was only a pretended priest, we have a curious history of the way in which many a poor man's son did really attain the priesthood. He was the son of a labouring man, learned grammar at the village grammar school for two years, and then went to day labour with his father. Afterwards removing to Boston, he lived with his aunt, partly labouring for his living, and going to school as he had opportunity. Being evidently a clerkly lad, he was admitted to the minor orders, up to that of acolyte, at the hands of "Friar Graunt," who was a suffragan bishop in the diocese of Lincoln. After that he went to Cambridge, where, as at Boston, he partly earned a livelihood by his labour, and partly availed himself of the opportunities of learning which the university offered, getting his meat and drink of alms. At length, having an opportunity of going to Rome, with two monks of Whitby Abbey (perhaps in the capacity of attendant, one Edward Prentis being of the company, who was, perhaps, his fellow-servant to the two monks), he there endeavoured to obtain the order of the priesthood, which seems to have been conferred rather indiscriminately at Rome, and without a "title;" but in this he was unsuccessful. After his return to England he laboured for his living, first with his brother in Essex, then at Cambridge, then at Boston, then in London. At last he went to Cambridge again, and, by the influence of Mr. Coney, obtained of the Vice-Chancellor a licence under seal to collect subscriptions for one year towards an exhibition to complete his education in the schools, as was often done by poor scholars.[230] Had he obtained money enough, completed his education, and obtained ordination in due course, it would have completed the story in a regular way. But here he fell into bad hands, forged first a new poor scholar's licence, and then letters of orders, and then wandered about begging alms as an unfortunate, destitute priest; he may furnish us with a type of the idle and vagabond priests, of whom there were only too many in the country, and of whom Sir Thomas More says, "the order is rebuked by the priests' begging and lewd living, which either is fain to walk at rovers and live upon trentals (thirty days' masses), or worse, or to serve in a secular man's house."[231] The original of this sketch is given at length in the note below.[232] This custom of poor scholars gaining their livelihood and the means of prosecuting their studies by seeking alms was very common. It should be noticed here that the Church in the Middle Ages was the chief ladder by which men of the lower ranks were able to climb up--and vast numbers did climb up--into the upper ranks of society, to be clergymen, and monks, and abbots, and bishops, statesmen, and popes. Piers Ploughman, in a very illiberal strain, makes it a subject of reproach-- "Now might each sowter[233] his son setten to schole, And each beggar's brat in the book learne, And worth to a writer and with a lorde dwelle, Or falsly to a frere the fiend for to serven. So of that beggar's brat a Bishop that worthen, Among the peers of the land prese to sythen; And lordes sons lowly to the lorde's loute, Knyghtes crooketh hem to, and coucheth ful lowe; And his sire a sowter y-soiled with grees,[234] His teeth with toyling of lether battered as a sawe." The Church was the great protector and friend of the lower classes of society, and that on the highest grounds. In this very matter of educating the children of the poor, and opening to such as were specially gifted a suitable career, we find so late as the date of the Reformation, Cranmer maintaining the rights of the poor on high grounds. For among the Royal Commissioners for reorganising the cathedral establishment at Canterbury "were more than one or two who would have none admitted to the Grammar School but sons or younger brothers of gentlemen. As for others, husbandmen's children, they were more used, they said, for the plough and to be artificers than to occupy the place of the learned sort. Whereto the Archbishop said that poor men's children are many times endowed with more singular gifts of nature, which are also the gifts of God, as eloquence, memory, apt pronunciation, sobriety, and such like; and also commonly more apt to study than is the gentleman's son, more delicately educated. Hereunto it was, on the other part, replied that it was for the ploughman's son to go to plough, and the artificer's son to apply to the trade of his parent's vocation; and the gentleman's children are used to have the knowledge of government and rule of the commonwealth. 'I grant,' replied the Archbishop, 'much of your meaning herein as needful in a commonwealth; but yet utterly to exclude the ploughman's son and the poor man's son from the benefit of learning, as though they were unworthy to have the gifts of the Holy Ghost bestowed upon them as well as upon others, was much as to say as that Almighty God should not be at liberty to bestow his great gifts of grace upon any person, but as we and other men shall appoint them to be employed according to our fancy, and not according to his most goodly will and pleasure, who giveth his gifts of learning and other perfections in all sciences unto all kinds and states of people indifferently." * * * * * Besides the rectors and vicars of parishes, there was another class of beneficed clergymen in the middle ages, who gradually became very numerous, viz., the chantry priests. By the end of the ante-Reformation period there was hardly a church in the kingdom which had not one or more chantries founded in it, and endowed for the perpetual maintenance of a chantry priest, to say mass daily for ever for the soul's health of the founder and his family. The churches of the large and wealthy towns had sometimes ten or twelve such chantries. The chantry chapel was sometimes built on to the parish church, and opening into it; sometimes it was only a corner of the church screened off from the rest of the area by openwork wooden screens. The chantry priest had sometimes a chantry-house to live in, and estates for his maintenance, sometimes he had only an annual income, charged on the estate of the founder. The chantries were suppressed, and their endowments confiscated, in the reign of Edward VI., but the chantry chapels still remain as part of our parish churches, and where the parclose screens have long since been removed, the traces of the chantry altar are still very frequently apparent to the eye of the ecclesiastical antiquary. Sometimes more than one priest was provided for by wealthy people. Richard III. commenced the foundation of a chantry of one hundred chaplains, to sing masses in the cathedral church of York; the chantry-house was begun, and six altars were erected in York Minster, when the king's death at Bosworth Field interrupted the completion of the magnificent design.[235] We have next to add to our enumeration of the various classes of the mediæval clergy another class of chaplains, whose duties were very nearly akin to those of the chantry priests. These were the guild priests. It was the custom throughout the middle ages for men and women to associate themselves in religious guilds, partly for mutual assistance in temporal matters, but chiefly for mutual prayers for their welfare while living, and for their soul's health when dead. These guilds usually maintained a chaplain, whose duty it was to celebrate mass daily for the brethren and sisters of the guild. These guild priests must have been numerous, _e.g._, we learn from Blomfield's "Norfolk," that there were at the Reformation ten guilds in Windham Church, Norfolk, seven at Hingham, seven at Swaffham, seventeen at Yarmouth, &c. Moreover, a guild, like a chantry, had sometimes more than one guild priest. Leland tells us the guild of St. John's, in St. Botolph's Church, Boston, had ten priests, "living in a fayre house at the west end of the parish church yard." In St. Mary's Church, Lichfield, was a guild which had five priests.[236] The rules of some of these religious guilds may be found in Stow's "Survey of London," _e.g._, of St. Barbara's guild in the church of St. Katherine, next the Tower of London (in book ii. p. 7 of Hughes's edition.) We find bequests to the guild priests, in common with other chaplains, in the ancient wills, _e.g._, in 1541, Henry Waller, of Richmond, leaves "to every gyld prest of thys town, vi{d}. y{t} ar at my beryall."[237] Dr. Rock says,[238] "Besides this, every guild priest had to go on Sundays and holy days, and help the priests in the parochial services of the church in which his guild kept their altar. All chantry priests were bidden by our old English canons to do the same." The brotherhood priest of the guild of the Holy Trinity, at St. Botolph's, in London, was required to be "meke and obedient unto the qu'er in alle divine servyces duryng hys time, as custome is in the citye amonge alle other p'sts." Sometimes a chantry priest was specially required by his foundation deed to help in the cure of souls in the parish, as in the case of a chantry founded in St. Mary's, Maldon, and Little Bentley, Essex;[239] sometimes the chantry chapel was built in a hamlet at a distance from the parish church, and was intended to serve as a chapel of ease, and the priest as an assistant curate, as at Foulness Island and Billericay, both in Essex. But it is very doubtful whether the chantry priests generally considered themselves bound to take any share in the parochial work of the parish.[240] In the absence of any cure of souls, the office of chantry or guild priest was easy, and often lucrative; and we find it a common subject of complaint, from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries, that it was preferred to a cure of souls; and that even parochial incumbents were apt to leave their parishes in the hands of a parochial chaplain, and seek for themselves a chantry or guild, or one of the temporary engagements to celebrate annals, of which there were so many provided by the wills of which we shall shortly have to speak. Thus Chaucer reckons, among the virtues of his poore parson, that-- "He set not his benefice to hire, And let his shepe accomber in the mire, And runne to London to Saint Poule's, To seken him a chauntrie for soules, Or with a brotherhood to be with-held, But dwelt at home, and kepte well his fold." So also Piers Ploughman-- "Parsons and parisshe preistes, pleyned hem to the bisshope, That hire parishes weren povere sith the pestilence tyme, To have a licence and leve at London to dwelle And syngen ther for symonie, for silver is swete." Besides the chantry priests and guild priests, there was a great crowd of priests who gained a livelihood by taking temporary engagements to say masses for the souls of the departed. Nearly every will of the period we are considering provides for the saying of masses for the soul of the testator. Sometimes it is only by ordering a fee to be paid to every priest who shall be present at the funeral, sometimes by ordering the executors to have a number of masses, varying from ten to ten thousand, said as speedily as may be; sometimes by directing that a priest shall be engaged to say mass for a certain period, varying from thirty days to forty or fifty years. These casual masses formed an irregular provision for a large number of priests, many of whom performed no other clerical function, and too often led a dissolute as well as an idle life. Archbishop Islip says in his "Constitutions:"[241]--"We are certainly informed, by common fame and experience, that modern priests, through covetousness and love of ease, not content with reasonable salaries, demand excessive pay for their labours, and receive it; and do so despise labour and study pleasure, that they wholly refuse, as parish priests, to serve in churches or chapels, or to attend the cure of souls, though fitting salaries are offered them, that they may live in a leisurely manner, by celebrating annals for the quick and dead; and so parish churches and chapels remain unofficiated, destitute of parochial chaplains, and even proper curates, to the grievous danger of souls." Chaucer has introduced one of this class into the Canon's Yeoman's tale:-- "In London was a priest, an annueller,[242] That therein dwelled hadde many a year, Which was so pleasant and so serviceable Unto the wife there as he was at table That she would suffer him no thing to pay For board ne clothing, went he never so gay, And spending silver had he right ynoit."[243] Another numerous class of the clergy were the domestic chaplains. Every nobleman and gentleman had a private chapel in his own house, and an ecclesiastical establishment attached, proportionate to his own rank and wealth. In royal houses and those of the great nobles, this private establishment was not unfrequently a collegiate establishment, with a dean and canons, clerks, and singing men and boys, who had their church and quadrangle within the precincts of the castle, and were maintained by ample endowments. The establishment of the royal chapel of St. George, in Windsor Castle, is, perhaps, the only remaining example. The household book of the Earl of Northumberland gives us very full details of his chapel establishment, and of their duties, and of the emoluments which they received in money and kind. They consisted of a dean, who was to be a D.D. or LL.D. or B.D., and ten other priests, and eleven gentlemen and six children, who composed the choir.[244] But country gentlemen of wealth often maintained a considerable chapel establishment. Henry Machyn, in his diary,[245] tells us, in noticing the death of Sir Thomas Jarmyn, of Rushbrooke Hall, Suffolk, in 1552, that "he was the best housekeeper in the county of Suffolk, and kept a goodly chapel of singing men." Knights and gentlemen of less means, or less love of goodly singing men, were content with a single priest as chaplain.[246] Even wealthy yeomen and tradesmen had their domestic chaplain. Sir Thomas More says,[247] there was "such a rabel [of priests], that every mean man must have a priest in his house to wait upon his wife, which no man almost lacketh now." The chapels of the great lords were often sumptuous buildings, erected within the precincts, of which St. George's, Windsor, and the chapel within the Tower of London may supply examples. Smaller chapels erected within the house were still handsome and ecclesiastically-designed buildings, of which examples may be found in nearly every old castle and manor house which still exists; _e.g._, the chapel of Colchester Castle of the twelfth century, of Ormsbro Castle of late twelfth century, of Beverstone Castle of the fourteenth century, engraved in Parker's "Domestic Architecture," III. p. 177; that at Igtham Castle of the fifteenth century, engraved in the same work, III. p. 173; that at Haddon Hall of the fifteenth century. In great houses, besides the general chapel, there was often a small oratory besides for the private use of the lord of the castle, in later times called a closet; sometimes another oratory for the lady, as in the case of the Earl of Northumberland.[248] In some of these domestic chapels we find a curious internal arrangement; the western part of the apartment is divided into two stories by a wooden floor. This is the case also with the chapel of the preceptory of Chobham, Northumberland, of the Coyston Almshouses at Leicester (Parker's "Dom. Arch."). It is the case in one of the chapels in Tewkesbury Abbey Church, and in the case of a priory church in Norway. In some cases it was probably to accommodate the tenants of different stories of the house. The frequency with which in later times the lord of the house had a private gallery in the chapel (a similar arrangement occasionally occurs in parish churches) leads us to conjecture that in these cases of two floors the upper floor was for the members of the family, and the lower for the servants of the house. These chapels were thoroughly furnished with vessels, books, robes, and every usual ornament, and every object and appliance necessary for the performance of the offices of the church, with a splendour proportioned to the means of the master of the house. From the Household Book of the Earl of Northumberland, we gather that the chapel had three altars, and that my lord and my lady had each a closet, _i.e._, an oratory, in which there were other altars. The chapel was furnished with hangings, and had a pair of organs. There were four antiphoners and four grails--service books--which were so famous for their beauty, that, at the earl's death, Wolsey intimated his wish to have them. We find mention, too, of the suits of vestments and single vestments, and copes and surplices, and altar-cloths for the five altars. All these things were under the care of the yeoman of the vestry, and were carried about with the earl at his removals from one to another of his houses. Minute catalogues and descriptions of the furniture of these domestic chapels may also be found in the inventories attached to ancient wills.[249] We shall give hereafter a picture of one of these domestic chaplains, viz., of Sir Roger, chaplain of the chapel of the Earl of Warwick at Flamstead. There is a picture of another chaplain of the Earl of Warwick in the MS. Life of R. Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick (Julius E. IV.), where the earl and his chaplain are represented sitting together at dinner. Besides the clergy who were occupied in these various kinds of spiritual work, there were also a great number of priests engaged in secular occupations. Bishops were statesmen, generals, and ambassadors, employing suffragan bishops[250] in the work of their dioceses. Priests were engaged in many ways in the king's service, and in that of noblemen and others. Piers Ploughman says:-- "Somme serven the kyng, and his silver tellen, In cheker and in chauncelrie, chalangen his dettes, Of wardes and of wardemotes, weyves and theyves. And some serven as servantz, lordes and ladies, And in stede of stywardes, sitten and demen." The domestic chaplains were usually employed more or less in secular duties. Thus such services are regularly allotted to the eleven priests in the chapel of the Earls of Northumberland; one was surveyor of my lord's lands, and another my lord's secretary. Mr. Christopher Pickering, in his will (A.D. 1542), leaves to "my sarvands John Dobson and Frances, xx{s}. a-pece, besydes ther wages; allso I gyve unto Sir James Edwarde my sarvand," &c.; and one of the witnesses to the will is "Sir James Edwarde, preste," who was probably Mr. Pickering's chaplain.[251] Sir Thomas More says, every man has a priest to wait upon his wife; and in truth the chaplain seems to have often performed the duties of a superior gentleman usher. Nicholas Blackburn, a wealthy citizen of York, and twice Lord Mayor, leaves (A.D. 1431-2) a special bequest to his wife "to find her a gentlewoman, and a priest, and a servant."[252] Lady Elizabeth Hay leaves bequests in this order, to her son, her chaplain, her servant, and her maid.[253] CHAPTER II. CLERKS IN MINOR ORDERS. It is necessary, to a complete sketch of the subject of the secular clergy, to notice, however briefly, the minor orders, which have so long been abolished in the reformed Church of England, that we have forgotten their very names. There were seven orders through which the clerk had to go, from the lowest to the highest step in the hierarchy. The Pontifical of Archbishop Ecgbert gives us the form of ordination for each order; and the ordination ceremonies and exhortations show us very fully what were the duties of the various orders, and by what costume and symbols of office we may recognise them. But these particulars are brought together more concisely in a document of much later date, viz., in the account of the degradation from the priesthood of Sir William Sawtre, the first of the Lollards who died for heresy, in the year 1400 A.D., and a transcript of it will suffice for our present purpose. The archbishop, assisted by several bishops, sitting on the bishop's throne in St. Paul's--Sir William Sawtre standing before him in priestly robes--proceeded to the degradation as follows:--"In the name, &c., we, Thomas, &c., degrade and depose you from the order of priests, and in token thereof we take from you the paten and the chalice, and deprive you of all power of celebrating mass; we also strip you of the chasuble, take from you the sacerdotal vestment, and deprive you altogether of the dignity of the priesthood. Thee also, the said William, dressed in the habit of a deacon, and having the book of the gospels in thy hands, do we degrade and depose from the order of deacons, as a condemned and relapsed heretic; and in token hereof we take from thee the book of the gospels, and the stole, and deprive thee of the power of reading the gospels. We degrade thee from the order of subdeacons, and in token thereof take from thee the albe and maniple. We degrade thee from the order of an acolyte, taking from thee in token thereof this small pitcher and taper staff. We degrade thee from the order of an exorcist, and take from thee in token thereof the book of exorcisms. We degrade thee from the order of reader, and take from thee in token thereof the book of divine lessons. Thee also, the said William Sawtre, vested in a surplice as an ostiary,[254] do we degrade from that order, taking from thee the surplice and the keys of the church. Furthermore, as a sign of actual degradation, we have caused the crown and clerical tonsure to be shaved off in our presence, and to be entirely obliterated like a layman; we have also caused a woollen cap to be put upon thy head, as a secular layman." The word _clericus_--clerk--was one of very wide and rather vague significance, and included not only the various grades of clerks in orders, of whom we have spoken, but also all men who followed any kind of occupation which involved the use of reading and writing; finally, every man who could read might claim the "benefit of clergy," _i.e._, the legal immunities of a clerk. The word is still used with the same comprehensiveness and vagueness of meaning. Clerk in Orders is still the legal description of a clergyman; and men whose occupation is to use the pen are still called clerks, as lawyers' clerks, merchants' clerks, &c. Clerks were often employed in secular occupations; for example, Alan Middleton, who was employed by the convent of St. Alban's to collect their rents, and who is represented on page 63 ante in the picture from their "Catalogus Benefactorum" (Nero D. vii., British Museum), is tonsured, and therefore was a clerk. Chaucer gives us a charming picture of a poor clerk of Oxford, who seems to have been a candidate for holy orders, and is therefore germane to our subject:-- "A clerke there was of Oxenforde also, That unto logike hadde long ygo, As lene was his horse as is a rake, And he was not right fat, I undertake, But looked holwe and thereto soberly. Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy,[255] For he hadde getten him yet no benefice, Ne was nought worldly to have an office.[256] For him was lever han at his beddes hed A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel or sautrie. But all be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but little gold in cofre, But all that he might of his frendes hente,[257] On bokes and on lerning he it spente; And besely gan for the soules praye Of hem that yave him wherewith to scholaie,[258] Of studie toke he moste cure and hede. Not a word spake he more than was nede, And that was said in forme and reverence, And short and quike, and ful of high sentence. Souning in moral vertue was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche." In the Miller's Tale Chaucer gives us a sketch of another poor scholar of Oxford. He lodged with a carpenter, and "A chambre had he in that hostelerie, Alone withouten any compaynie, Ful fetisly 'ydight with herbés sweet." His books great and small, and his astrological apparatus "On shelvés couched at his beddé's head, His press ycovered with a falding red, And all about there lay a gay sautrie On which he made on nightés melodie So swetély that all the chamber rung, And _Angelus ad Virginem_ he sung." We give a typical illustration of the class from one of the characters in a Dance of Death at the end of a Book of the Hours of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in the British Museum. It is described beneath as "Un Clerc."[259] [Illustration: _A Clerk._] One of this class was employed by every parish to perform certain duties on behalf of the parishioners, and to assist the clergyman in certain functions of his office. The Parish Clerk has survived the revolution which swept away the other minor ecclesiastical officials of the middle ages, and still has his legal status in the parish church. Probably many of our readers will be surprised to hear that the office is an ancient one, and will take interest in a few original extracts which throw light on the subject. In the wills he frequently has a legacy left, together with the clergy--_e.g._, "Item I leave to my parish vicar iij{s.} iiij{d.} Item I leave to my parish clerk xij{d.} Item I leave to every chaplain present at my obsequies and mass iiij{d.}" (Will of John Brompton, of Beverley, merchant, 1443.)[260] Elizabeth del Hay, in 1434, leaves to "every priest ministering at my obsequies vi{d.}; to every parish clerk iiij{d.}; to minor clerks to each one ij{d.}"[261] Hawisia Aske, of York, in 1450-1 A.D., leaves to the "parish chaplain of St. Michael iij{s.} iiij{d.}; to every chaplain of the said church xx{d.}; to the parish clerk of the said church xx{d.}; to the sub-clerk of the same church x{d.}"[262] John Clerk, formerly chaplain of the chapel of the Blessed Mary Magdalen, near York, in 1449, leaves to "the parish clerk of St. Olave, in the suburbs of York, xij{d.}; to each of the two chaplains of the said church being present at my funeral and mass iiij{d.}; to the parish clerk of the said church iiij{d.}; to the sub-clerk of the said church ij{d.}; among the little boys of the said church wearing surplices iiij{d.}, to be distributed equally."[263] These extracts serve to indicate the clerical staff of the several churches mentioned. From other sources we learn what his duties were. In 1540 the parish of Milend, near Colchester, was presented to the archdeacon by the rector, because in the said church there was "nother clerke nor sexten to go withe him in tyme of visitacion [of the sick], nor to helpe him say masses, nor to rynge to servyce."[264] And in 1543 the Vicar of Kelveden, Essex, complains that there is not "caryed holy water,[265] nor ryngyng to evensonge accordyng as the clerke shuld do, with other dutees to him belongyng."[266] In the York presentations we find a similar complaint at Wyghton in 1472; they present that the parish clerk does not perform his services as he ought, because when he ought to go with the vicar to visit the sick, the clerk absents himself, and sends a boy with the vicar.[267] The clerk might be a married man, for in 1416 Thomas Curtas, parish clerk of the parish of St. Thomas the Martyr, is presented, because with his wife he has hindered, and still hinders, the parish clerk of St. Mary Bishophill, York [in which parish he seems to have lived] from entering his house on the Lord's days with holy water, as is the custom of the city. Also it is complained that the said Thomas and his wife refuse to come to hear divine service at their parish church, and withdraw their oblations.[268] In the Royal MS., 10, E iv., is a series of illustrations of a mediæval tale, which turns on the adventures of a parish clerk, as he goes through the parish aspersing the people with holy water. Two of the pictures will suffice to show the costume and the holy water-pot and aspersoir, and to indicate how he went into all the rooms of the house--now into the kitchen sprinkling the cook, now into the hall sprinkling the lord and lady who are at breakfast. In the woodcut on p. 241, will be seen how he precedes an ecclesiastical procession, sprinkling the people on each side as he goes. The subsequent description (p. 221) of the parish clerk Absolon, by Chaucer, indicates that sometimes--perhaps on some special festivals--the clerk went about censing the people instead of sprinkling them. [Illustration: _The Parish Clerk sprinkling the Cook._] [Illustration: _The Parish Clerk sprinkling the Knight and Lady._] To continue the notes of a parish clerk's duties, gathered from the churchwardens' presentations: at Wyghton, in 1510, they find "a faut with our parish clerk yt he hath not done his dewtee to ye kirk, yt is to say, ryngyng of ye morne bell and ye evyn bell; and also another fawt [which may explain the former one], he fyndes yt pour mene pays hym not his wages."[269] At Cawood, in 1510 A.D., we find it the duty of the parish clerk "to keepe ye clok and ryng corfer [curfew] at dew tymes appointed by ye parrish, and also to ryng ye day bell."[270] He had his desk in church near the clergyman, perhaps on the opposite side of the chancel, as we gather from a presentation from St. Maurice, York, in 1416, that the desks in the choir on both sides, especially where the parish chaplain and parish clerk are accustomed to sit, need repair.[271] A story in Matthew Paris[272] tells us what his office was worth: "It happened that an agent of the pope met a petty clerk of a village carrying water in a little vessel, with a sprinkler and some bits of bread given him for having sprinkled some holy water, and to him the deceitful Roman thus addressed himself: 'How much does the profit yielded to you by this church amount to in a year?' To which the clerk, ignorant of the Roman's cunning, replied, 'To twenty shillings I think;' whereupon the agent demanded the per-centage the pope had just demanded on all ecclesiastical benefices. And to pay that small sum this poor man was compelled to hold schools for many days, and by selling his books in the precincts, to drag on a half-starved life." The parish clerks of London formed a guild, which used to exhibit miracle plays at its annual feast, on the green, in the parish of St. James, Clerkenwell. The parish clerks always took an important part in the conduct of the miracle plays; and it was natural that when they united their forces in such an exhibition on behalf of their guild the result should be an exhibition of unusual excellence. Stow tells us that in 1391 the guild performed before the king and queen and whole court three days successively, and that in 1409 they produced a play of the creation of the world, whose representation occupied eight successive days. The Passion-play, still exhibited every ten years at Ober-Ammergau, has made all the world acquainted with the kind of exhibition in which our forefathers delighted. These miracle-plays still survive also in Spain, and probably in other Roman Catholic countries. Chaucer has not failed to give us, in his wonderful gallery of contemporary characters (in the Miller's Tale), a portrait of the parish clerk:-- "Now was ther of that churche a parish clerk, The which that was ycleped Absolon. Crulle was his here,[273] and as the gold it shon, And strouted as a fanne large and brode; Ful streight and even lay his jolly shode. His rode[274] was red, his eyen grey as goos, With Poules windowes carven on his shoos, In hosen red he went ful fetisly,[275] Yclad he was ful smal and proprely, All in a kirtle of a light waget,[276] Ful faire and thicke ben the pointes set. An' therupon he had a gay surplise, As white as is the blossome upon the rise.[277] A mery child he was, so God me save, Wel coud he leten blod, and clippe, and shave, And make a chartre of lond and a quitance; In twenty manere could he trip and dance, (After the scole of Oxenforde tho) And playen songes on a smal ribible.[278] Therto he song, sometime a loud quinible.[278] And as wel could he play on a giterne. In all the toun n'as brewhouse ne taverne That he ne visited with his solas, Ther as that any galliard tapstere was. This Absolon, that joly was and gay, Goth with a censor on the holy day, Censing the wives of the parish faste,[279] And many a lovely loke he on hem caste. * * * * * Sometime to shew his lightnesse and maistrie, He plaieth Herode on a skaffold hie." CHAPTER III. THE PARISH PRIEST. We shall obtain further help to a comprehension of the character, and position, and popular estimation of the mediæval seculars--the parish priests--if we compare them first with the regulars--the monks and friars--and then with their modern representatives the parochial clergy. One great point of difference between the regulars and the seculars was that the monks and friars affected asceticism, and the parish priests did not. The monks and friars had taken the three vows of absolute poverty, voluntary celibacy, and implicit obedience to the superior of the convent. The parish priests, on the contrary, had their benefices and their private property; they long resisted the obligations of celibacy, which popes and councils tried to lay upon them; they were themselves spiritual rulers in their own parishes, subject only to the constitutional rule of the bishop. The monks professed to shut themselves up from the world, and to mortify their bodily appetites in order the better, as they considered, to work out their own salvation. The friars professed to be the schools of the prophets, to have the spirit of Nazariteship, to be followers of Elijah and John Baptist, to wear sackcloth, and live hardly, and go about as preachers of repentance. The secular clergy had no desire and felt no need to shut themselves up from the world like monks; they did not feel called upon, with the friars, to imitate John Baptist, "neither eating nor drinking," seeing that a greater than he came "eating and drinking" and living the common life of men. They rather looked upon Christian priests and clerks as occupying the place of the priests and Levites of the ancient church, set apart to minister in holy things like them, but not condemned to poverty or asceticism any more than they were. The difference told unfavourably for the parish clergy in the popular estimation; for the unreasoning crowd is always impressed by the dramatic exhibition of austerity of life and the profession of extraordinary sanctity, and undervalues the virtue which is only seen in the godly regulation of a life of ordinary every-day occupations. The lord monks were the aristocratic order of the clergy. Their convents were wealthy and powerful, their minsters and houses were the glory of the land, their officials ranked with the nobles, and the greatness of the whole house reflected dignity upon each of its monks. The friars were the popular order of the clergy. The Four Orders were great organizations of itinerant preachers; powerful through their learning and eloquence, their organization, and the Papal support; cultivating the favour of the people by which they lived by popular eloquence and demagogic arts. Between these two great classes stood the secular clergy, upon whom the practical pastoral work of the country fell. A numerous body, but disorganized; diocesan bishops acting as statesmen, and devolving their ecclesiastical duties on suffragans; rectors refusing to take priests' orders, and living like laymen; the majority of the parishes practically served by parochial chaplains; every gentleman having his own chaplain dependent on his own pleasure; hundreds of priests engaged in secular occupations. Between the secular priests and the friars, as we have seen, pp. 46 _et seq._, there was a direct rivalry and a great deal of bitter feeling. The friars accused the parish priests of neglect of duty and ignorance in spiritual things and worldliness of life, and came into their parishes whenever they pleased, preaching and visiting from house to house, hearing confessions and prescribing penances, and carrying away the offerings of the people. The parish priests looked upon the friars as intruders in their parishes, and accused them of setting their people against them and undermining their spiritual influence; of corrupting discipline, by receiving the confessions of those who were ashamed to confess to their pastor who knew them, and enjoining light penances in order to encourage people to come to them; and lastly, of using all the arts of low popularity-seeking in order to extract gifts and offerings from their people. We have already given one contemporary illustration of this from Chaucer, at p. 46 _ante_. We add one or two extracts from Piers Ploughman's Vision. In one place of his elaborate allegory he introduces Wrath, saying:-- "I am Wrath, quod he, I was sum tyme a frere, And the convent's gardyner for to graff impes[280] On limitoures and listers lesyngs I imped Till they bere leaves of low speech lordes to please And sithen thier blossomed abrode in bower to hear shriftes. And now is fallen therof a fruite, that folk have well liever Shewen her shriftes to hem than shryve hem to ther parsones. And now, parsons have perceyved that freres part with hem, These possessioners preache and deprave freres, And freres find hem in default, as folk beareth witness."--v. 143. And again on the same grievance of the friars gaining the confidence of the people away from their parish priests-- "And well is this y-holde: in parisches of Engelonde, For persones and parish prestes: that shulde the peple shryve, Ben curatoures called: to know and to hele. Alle that ben her parishens: penaunce to enjoine, And shulden be ashamed in her shrifte: an shame maketh hem wende, And fleen to the freres: as fals folke to Westmynstere, That borwith and bereth it thider."[281] When we compare the mediæval seculars with the modern clergy, we find that the modern clergy form a much more homogeneous body. In the mediæval seculars the bishop was often one who had been a monk or friar; the cathedral clergy in many dioceses were regulars. Then, besides the parsons and parochial chaplains, who answer to our incumbents and curates, there were the chantry and gild priests, and priests who "lived at rovers on trentals;" the great number of domestic chaplains must have considerably affected the relations of the parochial clergy to the gentry. Of the inferior ecclesiastical people, deacons, sub-deacons, acolytes, readers, exorcists, and ostiaries it is probable that in an ordinary parish there would be only a parish clerk and a boy-acolyte; in larger churches an ostiary besides, answering to our verger, and in cathedrals a larger staff of minor officials; but it is doubtful whether there was any real working staff of sub-deacons, readers, exorcists, any more than we in these days have a working order of deacons; men passed through those orders on their way upwards to the priesthood, but made no stay in them. But a still greater difference between the mediæval secular clergy and the modern parochial clergy is in their relative position with respect to society generally. The homogeneous body of "the bishops and clergy" are the only representatives of a clergy in the eyes of modern English society; the relative position of the secular clergy in the eyes of the mediæval world was less exclusive and far inferior. The seculars were only one order of the clergy, sharing the title with monks and friars, and they were commonly held as inferior to the one in wealth and learning, and to the other in holiness and zeal. Another difference between the mediæval seculars and the modern clergy is in the superior independence of the latter. The poor parochial chaplain was largely dependent for his means of living on the fees and offerings of his parishioners. The domestic chaplain was only an upper servant. Even the country incumbent, in those feudal days when the lord of the manor was a petty sovereign, was very much under the influence of the local magnate. In some primitive little villages, where the lord of the manor continues to be the sovereign of his village, it is still the fashion for the clergyman not to begin service till the squire comes. The Book of the Knight of La Tour Landry gives two stories which serve to show that the deference of the clergyman to the squire was sometimes carried to very excessive lengths in the old days of which we are writing. "I have herde of a knight and of a lady that in her youthe delited hem to rise late. And so they used longe, tille many tymes that thei lost her masse, and made other of her parisshe to lese it, for the knight was lorde and patron of the chirche, and therfor the priest durst not disobeye hym. And so it happed that on a Sunday the knight sent unto the chirche that thei shulde abide hym. And whane he come, it was passed none, wherfor thir might not that day have no masse, for every man saide it was passed tyme of the day, and therfor thei durst not singe. And so that Sunday the knight, the lady, and alle the parisshe was without masse, of the whiche the pepelle were sori, but thir must needs suffre." And on a night there came a vision to the parson, and the same night the knight and lady dreamed a dream. And the parson came to the knight's house, and he told him his vision, and the priest his, of which they greatly marvelled, for their dreams were like. "And the priest said unto the knight, 'There is hereby in a forest an holy ermyte that canne telle us what this avision menithe.' And than thei yede to hym, and tolde it hym fro point to point, and as it was. And the wise holi man, the which was of blessed lyff, expounded and declared her avision." The other story is of "a ladi that dwelled faste by the chirche, that toke every day so long time to make her redy that it made every Sunday the person of the chirche and the parisshenes to abide after her. And she happed to abide so longe on a Sunday that it was fer dayes, and every man said to other, 'This day we trow shall not this lady be kemed and arraied.'" * * * * * The condition of the parochial clergy being such as we have sketched, it might seem as if the people stood but a poor chance of being Christianly and virtuously brought up. But when we come to inquire into that part of the question the results are unexpectedly satisfactory. The priests in charge of parishes seem, on the whole, to have done their duty better than we should have anticipated; and the people generally had a knowledge of the great truths of religion, greater probably than is now generally possessed--it was taught to them by the eye in sculptures, paintings, stained glass, miracle plays; these religious truths were probably more constantly in their minds and on their lips than is the case now--they occur much more frequently in popular literature; and though the people were rude and coarse and violent and sensual enough, yet it is probable that religion was a greater power among them generally than it is now; there was probably more crime, but less vice; above all, an elevated sanctity in individuals was probably more common in those times than in these. One interesting evidence of the actual mode of pastoral ministrations in those days is the handbooks, which were common enough, teaching the parish priest his duties. The Early English Text Society has lately done us a service by publishing one of these manuals of "Instructions for Parish Priests," which will enable us to give some notes on the subject. "Great numbers," says the editor, "of independent works of this nature were produced in the Middle Ages. There is probably not a language or dialect in Europe that has not now, or had not once, several treatises of this nature among its early literature. The growth of languages, the Reformation, and the alteration in clerical education consequent on that great revolution, have caused a great part of them to perish or become forgotten. A relic of this sort fished up from the forgotten past is very useful to us as a help towards understanding the sort of life our fathers lived. To many it will seem strange that these directions, written without the least thought of hostile criticism, when there was no danger in plain speaking, and no inducements to hide or soften down, should be so free from superstition. We have scarcely any of the nonsense which some people still think made up the greater part of the religion of the Middle Ages, but instead thereof good sound morality, such as it would be pleasant to hear preached at the present day." The book in question is by John Myrk, a canon regular of St. Austin, of Lilleshall, in Shropshire; the beautiful ruins of his monastery may still be seen in the grounds of the Duke of Sutherland's shooting-box at Lilleshall. He tells us that he translated it from a Latin book called "Pars Oculi." It is worthy of note that a former prior of Lilleshall, Johannes Miræus, had written a work on the same subject, called "Manuale Sacerdotis," to which John Myrk's bears much resemblance, both in subject and treatment. The editor's sketch of the argument of the "Instructions to Parish Priests" will help us to give a sufficient idea of its contents for our present purpose. The author begins by telling the parish priest what sort of man he himself should be. Not ignorant, because "Whenne the blynde ledeth the blynde Into the dyche they fallen both." He must himself be an example to his people:-- "What thee nedeth hem to teche And whyche thou muste thy self be, For lytel is worth thy prechynge If thou be of evyle lyvynge." He must be chaste, eschew lies and oaths, drunkenness, gluttony, pride, sloth, and envy. Must keep from taverns, trading, wrestling, and shooting, and the like manly sports; from hunting, hawking, and dancing. Must not wear cutted clothes or pyked shoes, or dagger, but wear becoming clothes, and shave his crown and beard. Must be given to hospitality, both to poor and rich, read his psalter, and remember doomsday; return good for evil, eschew jesting and ribaldry, despise the world, and follow after virtue. The priest must not be content with knowing his own duties. He must be prepared to teach those under his charge all that Christian men and women should do and believe. We are told that when any one has done a sin he must not continue long with it on his conscience, but go straight to the priest and confess it, lest he should forget before the great shriving time at Eastertide. Pregnant women, especially, are to go to their shrift, and receive the Holy Communion at once. Our instructor is very strict on the duties of midwives--women they were really in those days, and properly licensed to their office by the ecclesiastical authorities. They are on no account to permit children to die unbaptized. If there be no priest at hand, they are to administer that sacrament themselves if they see danger of death. They must be especially careful to use the right form of words, such as our Lord taught; but it does not matter whether they say them in Latin or English, or whether the Latin be good or bad, so that the intention be to use the proper words. The water, and the vessel that contained it, are not to be again employed in domestic use, but to be burned or carried to the church and cast into the font. If no one else be at hand, the parents themselves may baptize their children. All infants are to be christened at Easter and Whitsuntide in the newly-blessed fonts, if there have not been necessity to administer the Sacrament before. Godparents are to be careful to teach their godchildren the _Pater Noster_, _Ave Maria_, and _Credo_; and are not to be sponsors to their godchildren at their Confirmation, for they have already contracted a spiritual relationship. Before weddings banns are to be asked on three holidays, and all persons who contract irregular marriages, and the priests, clerks, and others that help thereat, are cursed for the same. The real presence of the body and blood of our Saviour in the Sacrament of the Altar is to be fully held; but the people are to bear in mind that the wine and water given them after they have received Communion is not a part of the Sacrament. It is an important thing to behave reverently in church, for the church is God's house, not a place for idle prattle. When people go there they are not to jest, or loll against the pillars and walls, but kneel down on the floor and pray to their Lord for mercy and grace. When the Gospel is read they are to stand up, and sign themselves with the cross; and when they hear the Sanctus bell ring, they are to kneel and worship their Maker in the Blessed Sacrament. All men are to show reverence when they see the priest carrying the Host to the sick. He is to teach them the "Our Father," and "Hail, Mary," and "I believe," of which metrical versions are given, with a short exposition of the Creed. The author gives some very interesting instructions about churchyards, which show that they were sometimes treated with shameful irreverence. It was not for want of good instructions that our ancestors, in the days of the Plantagenets, played at rustic games, and that the gentry held their manorial courts, over the sleeping-places of the dead. Of witchcraft we hear surprisingly little. Myrk's words are such that one might almost think he had some sceptical doubts on the subject. Not so with usury: the taking interest for money, or lending anything to get profit thereby, is, we are shown, "a synne full grevus." After these and several more general instructions of a similar character, the author gives a very good commentary on the Creed, the Sacraments, the Commandments, and the deadly sins. The little tract ends with a few words of instruction to priests as to the "manner of saying mass, and of giving Holy Communion to the sick." On several subjects the author gives very detailed instructions and advice as to the best way of dealing with people, and his counsels are so right and sensible, that they might well be read now, not out of mere curiosity, but for profit. Here is his conclusion, as a specimen of the English and versification:-- "Hyt ys I-made hem[282] to schonne That have no bokes of here[283] owne, And other that beth of mene lore That wolde fayn conne[284] more, And those that here-in learnest most, Thonke yerne the Holy Gost, That geveth wyt to eche mon To do the gode that he con, And by hys travayle and hys dede Geveth hym heven to hys mede; The mede and the joye of heven lyht God us graunte for hys myht. Amen." That these instructions were not thrown away upon the mediæval parish priests we may infer from Chaucer's beautiful description of the poor parson of a town, who was one of his immortal band of Canterbury Pilgrims, which we here give as a fitting conclusion of this first part of our subject:-- "A good man there was of religioun, That was a poure persone of a toun; But riche he was of holy thought and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Criste's gospel trewely wolde preche, His parishens devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was and wonder diligent, And in adversite ful patient; And such he was yproved often sithes. Full loth were he to cursen for his tithes, But rather wolde he given out of doubte Unto his poure parishens about, Of his offering and eke of his substance. He could in litel thing have suffisance. Wide was his parish, and houses fer asunder, But he ne left nought for no rain ne thunder, In sikenesse and in mischief to visite The farthest in his parish much and lite,[285] Upon his fete, and in his hand a staff. This noble ensample to his sheep he gaf[286] That first he wrought, and afterward he taught. Out of the gospel he the wordes caught, And this figure he added yet thereto, That if gold rusté what should iren do? For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust, No wonder is a léwéd man to rust; Well ought a preest ensample for to give, By his clenenesse how his shepe shulde live. He sette not his benefice to hire, And lefte his sheep accumbered in the mire, And ran unto London, unto Seint Poules, To seeken him a chanterie for souls, Or with a brotherhede to be withold, But dwelt at home and kepté well his fold. He was a shepherd and no mercenare; And though he holy were and vertuous, He was to sinful men not despitous,[287] Ne of his speché dangerous ne digne,[288] But in his teaching discrete and benigne. To drawen folk to heaven with fairénesse, By good ensample was his businesse. But it were any persone obstinat, What so he were of highe or low estate, Him wolde he snibben[289] sharply for the nones, A better preest I trow that nowhere none is. He waited after no pomp ne reverence, Ne maked him no spiced[290] conscience, But Christés lore, and his apostles twelve, He taught, but first he followed it himselve." Thus, monk, and friar, and hermit, and recluse, and rector, and chantry priest, played their several parts in mediæval society, until the Reformation came and swept away the religious orders and their houses, the chantry priests and their superstitions, and the colleges of seculars, with all their good and evil, and left only the parish churches and the parish priests remaining, stripped of half their tithe, and insufficient in number, in learning, and in social _status_ to fulfil the office of the ministry of God among the people. Since then, for three centuries the people have multiplied, and the insufficiency of the ministry has been proportionately aggravated. It has been left to our day to complete the work of the Reformation by multiplying bishops and priests, and creating an order of deacons, re-distributing the ancient revenues and supplying what more is needed, and by effecting a general reorganization of the ecclesiastical establishment to adapt it to the actual spiritual needs of the people. CHAPTER IV. CLERICAL COSTUME. We proceed to give some notes on the costume of the secular clergy; first the official costume which they wore when performing the public functions of their order, and next the ordinary costume in which they walked about their parishes and took part in the daily affairs of the mediæval society of which they formed so large and important a part. The first branch of this subject is one of considerable magnitude; it can hardly be altogether omitted in such a series of papers as this, but our limited space requires that we should deal with it as briefly as may be. Representations of the pope occur not infrequently in ancient paintings. His costume is that of an archbishop, only that instead of the usual mitre he wears a conical tiara. In later times a cross with three crossbars has been used by artists as a symbol of the pope, with two crossbars of a patriarch, and with one crossbar of an archbishop; but Dr. Rock assures us that the pope never had a pastoral staff of this shape, but of one crossbar only; that patriarchs of the Eastern Church used the cross of two bars, but never those of the Western Church; and that the example of Thomas-à-Becket with a cross of two bars, in Queen Mary's Psalter (Royal, 2 B. vii.) is a unique example (and possibly an error of the artist's). A representation of Pope Leo III. from a contemporary picture is engraved in the "Annales Archæologique," vol. viii. p. 257; another very complete and clear representation of the pontifical costume of the time of Innocent III. is engraved by Dr. Rock ("Church of our Fathers," p. 467) from a fresco painting at Subiaco, near Rome. Another representation, of late thirteenth-century date, is given in the famous MS. called the "Psalter of Queen Mary," in the British Museum (Royal, 2 B. vii.); there the pope is in nothing more than ordinary episcopal costume--alb, tunic, chasuble, without the pall--and holds his cross-staff of only one bar in his right hand, and his canonical tiara has one crown round the base. Beside him stands a bishop in the same costume, except that he wears the mitre and holds a crook. A good fourteenth-century representation of a pope and cardinals is in the MS. August. V. f. 459. We give a woodcut of the fifteenth century, from a MS. life of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, in the British Museum (Julius E. iv. f. 207); the subject is the presentation of the pilgrim earl to the pope, and it enables us to bring into one view the costumes of pope, cardinal, and bishop. A later picture of considerable artistic merit may be found in Hans Burgmair's "Der Weise König," where the pope, officiating at a royal marriage, is habited in a chasuble, and has the three crowns on his tiara. [Illustration: _Pope, Cardinal, and Bishop._] The cardinalate is not an ecclesiastical "order." Originally the name was applied to the priests of the chief churches of Rome, who formed the chapter of the Bishop of Rome. In later times they were the princes of the papal sovereignty, and the dignity was conferred not only upon the highest order of the hierarchy, but upon priests, deacons,[291] and even upon men who had only taken minor orders to qualify themselves for holding office in the papal kingdom. The red hat, which became their distinctive symbol, is said to have been given them first by Innocent VI. at the Council of Lyons in 1245; and De Curbio says they first wore it in 1246, at the interview between the pope and Louis IX. of France. A representation of it may be seen in the MS. Royal, 16 G. vi., which is engraved in the "Pictorial History of England," vol. i. 869. Another very clear and good representation of the costume of a cardinal is in the plate in Hans Burgmair's "Der Weise König," already mentioned; a group of them is on the right side of the drawing, each with a fur-lined hood on his head, and his hat over the hood. It is not the hat which is peculiar to cardinals, but the colour of it, and the number of its tassels. Other ecclesiastics wore the hat of the same shape, but only a cardinal wears it of scarlet. Moreover, a priest wore only one tassel to each string, a bishop three, a cardinal seven. It was not the hat only which was scarlet. Wolsey, we read, was in the habit of dressing entirely in scarlet for his ordinary costume. In the Decretals of Pope Gregory, Royal, 10 E. iv. f. 3 v., are representations of cardinals in red gown and hood and hat. On the following page they are represented, in _pontificalibus_. The archbishop wore the habit of a bishop, his differences being in the crosier and pall.[292] His crozier had a cross head instead of a curved head like the bishop's. Over the chasuble he wore the pall, which was a flat circular band, or collar, placed loosely round the shoulders, with long ends hanging down behind and before, made of lambs' wool, and marked with a number of crosses. Dr. Rock has engraved[293] two remarkably interesting early representations of archbishops of Ravenna, in which a very early form of the pontifical garments is given, viz., the sandals, alb, stole, tunic, chasuble, pall, and tonsure. They are not represented with either mitre or staff. Other representations of archbishops may be found of the eleventh century in the Bayeux tapestry, and of the thirteenth in the Royal MS., 2 B. vii. In the Froissart MS., Harl. 4,380, at f. 170, is a fifteenth-century representation of the Archbishop of Canterbury in ordinary dress--a lavender-coloured gown and red liripipe. The bishop wore the same habit as the priest, with the addition of sandals, gloves, a ring, the pastoral staff with a curved head, and the mitre. The chasuble was only worn when celebrating the Holy Communion; on any other ceremonial occasion the cope was worn, _e.g._, when in choir, as in the woodcut on p. 197: or when preaching, as in a picture in the Harl. MS. 1319, engraved in the "Pictorial History of England," vol. i. 806; or when attending parliament. In illuminated MSS. bishops are very commonly represented dressed in alb and cope only, and this seems to have been their most usual habit. If the bishop were a monk or friar he wore the cope over the robe proper to his order. We might multiply indefinitely references to representations of bishops and other ecclesiastics in the illuminated MS. We will content ourselves with one reference to a beautifully drawn figure in the psalter of the close of the 14th century (Harl. 2,897, f. 380). In the early fourteenth-century MS. (Royal, 14 E. iii. at ff. 16 and 25), we find two representations of a bishop in what we may suppose was his ordinary unofficial costume; he wears a blue-grey robe and hood with empty falling sleeves, through which appear the blue sleeves of his under robe; it is the ordinary civil and clerical costume of the period, but he is marked out as a bishop by a white mitre. In the Pontifical of the middle of the fifteenth century, already referred to (Egerton, 1067) at f. 186 in the representation of the ceremony of the feet-washing, the bishop in a long black sleeveless robe[294] over a white alb, and a biretta. The earliest form of the mitre was that of a simple cap, like a skull-cap, of which there is a representation, giving in many respects a clear and elaborate picture of the episcopal robes, in a woodcut of St. Dunstan in the MS. Cotton, Claudius A. iii.[295] In this early shape it has already the infulæ--two narrow bands hanging down behind. In the twelfth century it is in the form of a large cap, with a depression in the middle, which produces two blunt horns at the sides. There is a good representation of this in the MS. Cotton, Nero C. iv. f. 34, which has been engraved by Strutt, Shaw, and Dr. Rock. In the Harl. MS. 5,102, f. 17, is a picture of the entombment of an archbishop, in which is well shown the transition shape of the mitre from the twelfth century, already described, to the cleft and pointed shape which was used in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The depression is here deepened into a partial cleft, and the mitre is put on so that the horns come before and behind, instead of at the sides, but the horns are still blunt and rounded. The archbishop's gloves in this picture are white, like the mitre, and in shape are like mittens, _i.e._, not divided into fingers. The shape in the thirteenth and fourteenth century presented a stiff low triangle in front and behind, with a gap between them. It is well shown in a MS. of the close of the twelfth century, Harl. 2,800, f. 6, and, in a shape a little further developed, in the pictures in the Royal MS., 2 B. vii., already noticed. In the fifteenth century the mitre began to be made taller, and with curved sides, as seen in the beautiful woodcut of a bishop and his canons in choir given in our last chapter, p. 197. The latest example in the English Church is in the brass of Archbishop Harsnett, in Chigwell Church, in which also occur the latest examples of the alb, stole, dalmatic, and cope. The pastoral staff also varied in shape at different times. The earliest examples of it are in the representations of St. Mark and St. Luke,[296] in the "Gospels of MacDurnan," in the Lambeth Library, a work of the middle of the ninth century. St. Luke's staff is short, St. Mark's longer than himself; in both cases the staff terminates with a plain, slightly reflexed curve of about three-fourths of a circle. Some actual examples of the metal heads of these Celtic pastoral staves remain; one is engraved in the "Archæologia Scotica," vol. ii., another is in the British Museum; that of the abbots of Clonmacnoise, and that of the ancient bishops of Waterford, are in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire. They were all brought together in 1863 in the Loan Exhibition at South Kensington. One of the earliest English representations of the staff is in the picture of the consecration of a church, in a MS. of the ninth century, in the Rouen Library, engraved in the "Archæologia," vol xxv. p. 17, in the "Pictorial History of England," and by Dr. Rock, ii. p. 24. Here the staff is about the length of an ordinary walking-stick, and is terminated by a round knob. Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, is represented on his great seal with a short staff, with a tau-cross or crutch head. An actually existing staff of this shape, which belonged to Gerard, Bishop of Limoges, who died in 1022, is engraved in the "Annales Archæologique," vol. x. p. 176. The staves represented in illuminations of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have usually a plain spiral curve of rather more than a circle;[297] in later times they were ornamented with foliage, and sometimes with statuettes, and were enamelled and jewelled. Numerous representations and actual examples exist; some may be seen in the South Kensington Museum. From early in the fourteenth century downward, a napkin of linen or silk is often found attached by one corner to the head of the staff, whose origin and meaning seem to be undetermined. The official costume of the remaining orders, together with the symbols significant of their several offices, are well brought out in the degradation of W. Sawtre, already given at p. 214. Some of the vestments there mentioned may need a few words of explanation. The alb was a kind of long coat with close fitting sleeves made of white[298] linen, and usually, at least during the celebration of divine service, ornamented with four to six square pieces of cloth of gold, or other rich stuff, or of goldsmith's work, which were placed on the skirt before and behind, on the wrist of each sleeve, and on the back and breast. The dalmatic of the deacon was a kind of tunic, reaching generally a little below the knees, and slit some way up the sides, and with short, broad sleeves; it was usually ornamented with a broad hem, which passed round the side slits. The sub-deacon's tunicle was like the dalmatic, but rather shorter, and less ornamented. The cope was a kind of cloak, usually of rich material, fastened across the chest by a large brooch; it was worn by priests in choir and in processions, and on other occasions of state and ceremony. The chasuble was the Eucharistic vestment; originally it was a circle of rich cloth with a slit in the middle, through which the head was passed, and then it fell in ample folds all round the figure. Gradually it was made oval in shape, continually decreasing in width, so as to leave less of the garment to encumber the arms. In its modern shape it consists of two stiff rectangular pieces of cloth, one piece falling before, the other behind, and fastened together at the shoulders of the wearer. The ancient inventories of cathedrals, abbeys, and churches show us that the cope and chasuble were made in every colour, of every rich material, and sometimes embroidered and jewelled. Indeed, all the official robes of the clergy were of the costliest material and most beautiful workmanship which could be obtained. England was celebrated for its skill in the arts employed in their production, and an anecdote of the time of Henry III. shows us that the English ecclesiastical vestments excited admiration and cupidity even at Rome. Their richness had nothing to do with personal pride or luxury on the part of the priests. They were not the property of the clergy, but were generally presented to the churches, to which they belonged in perpetuity; and they were made thus costly on the principle of honouring the divine worship. As men gave their costliest material and noblest Art for the erection of the place in which it was offered, so also for the appliances used in its ministration, and the robes of the ministrants. In full sacerdotal habit the priests wore the apparelled alb, and stole, and over that the dalmatic, and either the cope or the chasuble over all, with the amys thrown back like a hood over the cope or chasuble. Representations of priests _in pontificalibus_ abound in illuminated MSS., and in their monumental effigies, to such an extent that we need hardly quote any particular examples. Representations of the inferior orders are comparatively rare. Examples of deacons may be found engraved in Dr. Rock's "Church of our Fathers," i. 376, 378, 379, 443, and 444. Two others of early fourteenth-century date may be found in the Add. MS. 10,294, f. 72, one wearing a dalmatic of cloth of gold, the other of scarlet, over the alb. Two others of the latter part of the fourteenth century are seen in King Richard II.'s Book of Hours (Dom. A. xvii. f. 176), one in blue dalmatic embroidered with gold, the other red embroidered with gold. A monumental effigy of a deacon under a mural arch at Avon Dassett, Warwickshire, was referred to by Mr. M. H. Bloxam, in a recent lecture at the Architectural Museum, South Kensington. The effigy, which is of the thirteenth century, is in alb, stole, and dalmatic. We are indebted to Mr. Bloxam for a note of another mutilated effigy of a deacon of the fourteenth century among the ruins of Furness Abbey; he is habited in the alb only, with a girdle round the middle, whose tasselled knobs hang down in front. The stole is passed across the body from the left shoulder, and is fastened together at the right hip. Dr. Rock, vol. i. p. 384, engraves a very good representation of a ninth-century sub-deacon in his tunicle, holding a pitcher in one hand and an empty chalice in the other; and in vol. ii. p. 89, an acolyte, in what seems to be a surplice, with a scarlet hood--part of his ordinary costume--over it, the date of the drawing being _cir._ 1395 A.D. We have already noted the costume of an ostiary at p. 215. In the illuminations we frequently find an inferior minister attending upon a priest when engaged in his office, but in many cases it is difficult to determine whether he is deacon, sub-deacon, or acolyte, _e.g._--in the early fourteenth-century MS., Add. 10,294, at f. 72, is a priest officiating at a funeral, attended by a minister, who is habited in a pink under robe--his ordinary dress--and over it a short white garment with wide loose sleeves, which may be either a deacon's dalmatic, or a sub-deacon's tunic, or an acolyte's surplice. In the Add. MS. 10,293, at f. 154, is a representation of a priest celebrating mass in a hermitage, with a minister kneeling behind him, habited in a white alb only, holding a lighted taper. Again, in the MS. Royal, 14 E. iii. f. 86, is a picture of a prior dressed like some of the canons in our woodcut from Richard II.'s Book of Hours, in a blue under robe, white surplice, and red stole crossed over the breast, and his furred hood on his head; he is baptizing a heathen king, and an attendant minister, who is dressed in the ordinary secular habit of the time, stands beside, holding the chrismatory. In the same history of Richard Earl of Warwick which we have already quoted, there is at f. 213 v., a boy in a short surplice with a censer. In the early fourteenth-century MS., Royal, 14 E. iii. at f. 84 v., is a picture of a bishop anointing a king; an attendant minister, who carries a holy water vessel and aspersoir, is dressed in a surplice over a pink tunic. The surplice is found in almost as many and as different shapes in the Middle Ages as now; sometimes with narrow sleeves and tight up to the neck; sometimes with shorter and wider sleeves and falling low at the neck; sometimes longer and sometimes shorter in the skirt; never, however, so long as altogether to hide the cassock beneath. In addition to the references already given, it may be sufficient to name as further authorities for ecclesiastical costumes generally:--for Saxon times, the Benedictional of St. Ethelwold, engraved in the Archæologia; for the thirteenth century, Queen Mary's Psalter, Royal, 2 B. vii.; for the fourteenth, Royal, 20, c. vii.; for the fifteenth century, Lydgate's "Life of St. Edmund;" for the sixteenth century, Hans Burgmaier's "Der Weise König," and the various works on sepulchral monuments and monumental brasses. [Illustration: _Coronation Procession of Charles V. of France._] The accompanying woodcut from Col. Johnes's Froissart, vol. i. p. 635, representing the coronation procession of Charles V. of France, will help us to exhibit some of the orders of the clergy with their proper costume and symbols. First goes the aquabajalus, in alb, sprinkling holy water; then a cross-bearer in cassock and surplice; then two priests, in cassock, surplice, and cope; then follows a canon in his cap (biretta), with his furred amys over his arm.[299] * * * * * But the clergy wore these robes only when actually engaged in some official act. What was their ordinary costume is generally little known, and it is a part of the subject in which we are especially interested in these papers. From the earliest times of the English Church downwards it was considered by the rulers of the Church that clergymen ought to be distinguished from laymen not only by the tonsure, but also by their dress. We do not find that any uniform habit was prescribed to them, such as distinguished the regular orders of monks and friars from the laity, and from one another; but we gather from the canons of synods, and the injunctions of bishops, that the clergy were expected to wear their clothes not too gay in colour, and not too fashionably cut; that they were to abstain from wearing ornaments or carrying arms; and that their horse furniture was to be in the same severe style. We also gather from the frequent repetition of canons on the subject, and the growing earnestness of their tone, that these injunctions were very generally disregarded. We need not take the reader through the whole series of authorities which may be found in the various collections of councils; a single quotation from the injunctions of John (Stratford) Archbishop of Canterbury, A.D. 1342, will suffice to give us a comprehensive sketch of the general contents of the whole series. "The external costume often shows the internal character and condition of persons; and though the behaviour of clerks ought to be an example and pattern of the laity, yet the abuse of clerks, which has gained ground more than usually in these days in tonsures, in garments, in horse trappings, and other things, has now generated an abominable scandal among the people, while persons holding ecclesiastical dignities, rectories, honourable prebends, and benefices with cure of souls, even when ordained to holy orders, scorn to wear the crown (which is the token of the heavenly kingdom and of perfection), and, using the distinction of hair extended almost to the shoulders like effeminate persons, walk about clothed in a military rather than a clerical outer habit, viz., short, or notably scant, and with excessively wide sleeves, which do not cover the elbows, but hang down, lined, or, as they say, turned up with fur or silk, and hoods with tippets of wonderful length, and with long beards; and rashly dare, contrary to the canonical sanctions, to use rings indifferently on their fingers; and to be girt with zones, studded with precious stones of wonderful size, with purses engraved with various figures, enamelled and gilt, and attached to them (_i.e._ to the girdle), with knives, hanging after the fashion of swords, also with buskins red and even checked, green shoes and peaked and cut[300] in many ways, with cruppers (_croperiis_) to their saddles, and horns hanging to their necks, capes and cloaks furred openly at the edges to such an extent, that little or no distinction appears of clerks from laymen, whereby they render themselves, through their demerits, unworthy of the privilege of their order and profession. "We therefore, wishing henceforward to prevent such errors, &c., command and ordain, that whoever obtain ecclesiastical benefices in our province, especially if ordained to holy orders, wear clerical garments and tonsure suitable to their status; but if any clerks of our province go publicly in an outer garment short, or notably scant, or in one with long or excessively wide sleeves, not touching the elbow round about, but hanging, with untonsured hair and long beard, or publicly wear their rings on their fingers, &c., if, on admonition, they do not reform within six months, they shall be suspended, and shall only be absolved by their diocesan, and then only on condition that they pay one-fifth of a year's income to the poor of the place through the diocesan," &c., &c. The authorities tried to get these canons observed. Grostête sent back a curate who came to him for ordination "dressed in rings and scarlet like a courtier."[301] Some of the vicars of York Cathedral[302] were presented in 1362 A.D. for being in the habit of going through the city in short tunics, ornamentally trimmed, with knives and baselards[303] hanging at their girdles. But the evidence before us seems to prove that it was not only the acolyte-rectors, and worldly-minded clerics, who indulged in such fashions, but that the secular clergy generally resisted these endeavours to impose upon them anything approaching to a regular habit like those worn by the monks and friars, and persisted in refusing to wear sad colours, or to cut their coats differently from other people, or to abstain from wearing a gold ring or an ornamented girdle. In the drawings of the secular clergy in the illuminated MSS., we constantly find them in the ordinary civil costume. Even in representations of the different orders and ranks of the secular clergy drawn by friendly hands, and intended to represent them _comme il faut_, we find them dressed in violation of the canons. We have already had occasion to notice a bishop in a blue-grey gown and hood, over a blue under-robe; and a prior performing a royal baptism, and canons performing service under the presidency of their bishop, with the blue and red robes of every-day life under their ritual surplices. The MSS. furnish us with an abundance of other examples, _e.g._--In the early fourteenth-century MS., Add. 10,293, at f. 131 v., is a picture showing "how the priests read before the barony the letter which the false queen sent to Arthur." One of the persons thus described as priests has a blue gown and hood and black shoes, the other a claret-coloured gown and hood and red shoes. [Illustration: _Dns. Ricardus de Threton, Sacerdos._] But our best examples are those in the book (Cott. Nero D. vii.) before quoted, in which the grateful monks of St. Alban's have recorded the names and good deeds of those who had presented gifts or done services to the convent. In many cases the scribe has given us a portrait of the benefactor in the margin of the record; and these portraits supply us with an authentic gallery of typical portraits of the various orders of society of the time at which they were executed. From these we have taken the three examples we here present to the reader. On f. 100 v. is a portrait of one Lawrence, a clerk, who is dressed in a brown robe; another clerk, William by name, is in a scarlet robe and hood; on f. 93 v., Leofric, a deacon, is in a blue robe and hood. The accompanying woodcut, from folio 105, is Dns. Ricardus de Threton, sacerdos,--Sir Richard de Threton, priest,--who was executor of Sir Robert de Thorp, knight, formerly chancellor of the king, and who gave twenty marks to the convent. Our woodcut gives only the outlines of the full-length portrait. In the original the robe and hood are of full bright blue, lined with white; the under sleeves, which appear at the wrists, are of the same colour; and the shoes are red. At f. 106 v. is Dns. Bartholomeus de Wendone, rector of the church of Thakreston, and the character of the face leads us to think that it may have been intended for a portrait. His robe and hood and sleeves are scarlet, with black shoes. Another rector, Dns. Johannes Rodland (at f. 105), rector of the church of Todyngton, has a green robe and scarlet hood. Still another rector, of the church of Little Waltham, is represented half-length in pink gown and purple hood. On f. 108 v. is the full-length portrait which is here represented. It is of Dns. Rogerus, chaplain of the chapel of the Earl of Warwick, at Flamsted. Over a scarlet gown, of the same fashion as those in the preceding pictures, is a pink cloak lined with blue; the hood is scarlet, of the same suit as the gown; the buttons at the shoulder of the cloak are white, the shoes red. It will be seen also that all three of these clergymen wear the moustache and beard. [Illustration: _Dns. Barth. de Wendone, Rector._] [Illustration: _Dns. Rogerus, Capellanus._] Dominus Robertus de Walsham, precentor of Sarum (f. 100 v.), is in his choir habit, a white surplice, and over it a fur amys fastened at the throat with a brooch. Dns. Robertus de Hereforde, Dean of Sarum (f. 101), has a lilac robe and hood fastened by a gold brooch. There is another dean, Magister Johnnes Appleby, Dean of St. Paul's, at f. 105, whose costume is not very distinctly drawn. It may be necessary to assure some of our readers, that the colours here described were not given at the caprice of a limner wishing to make his page look gay. The portraits were perhaps imaginary, but the personages are habited in the costume proper to their rank and order. The series of Benedictine abbots and monks in the same book are in black robes; other monks introduced are in the proper habit of their order; a king in his royal robes; a knight sometimes in armour, sometimes in the civil costume of his rank, with a sword by his side, and a chaplet round his flowing hair; a lady in the fashionable dress of the time; a burgher in his proper habit, with his hair cut short. And so the clergy are represented in the dress which they usually wore; and, for our purpose, the pictures are more valuable than if they were actual portraits of individual peculiarities of costume, because we are the more sure that they give us the usual and recognised costume of the several characters. Indeed, it is a rule, which has very rare exceptions, that the mediæval illuminators represented contemporary subjects with scrupulous accuracy. We give another representation from the picture of John Ball, the priest who was concerned in Wat Tyler's rebellion, taken from a MS. of Froissart's Chronicle, in the Bibliothèque Impériale at Paris. The whole picture is interesting; the background is a church, in whose churchyard are three tall crosses. Ball is preaching from the pulpit of his saddle to the crowd of insurgents who occupy the left side of the picture. In the Froissart MS. Harl. 4,380, at f. 20, is a picture of _un vaillant homme et clerque nommé Maistre Johan Warennes_, preaching against Pope Boniface; he is in a pulpit panelled in green and gold, with a pall hung over the front, and the people sit on benches before him; he is habited in a blue robe and hood lined with white. [Illustration: _John Ball, Priest._] The author of Piers Ploughman, carping at the clergy in the latter half of the fourteenth century, says it would be better "If many a priest bare for their baselards and their brooches, A pair of beads in their hand, and a book under their arm. Sire[304] John and Sire Geffrey hath a girdle of silver, A baselard and a knife, with botons overgilt." A little later, he speaks of proud priests habited in patlocks,--a short jacket worn by laymen,--with peaked shoes and large knives or daggers. And in the poems of John Audelay, in the fifteenth century, a parish priest is described in "His girdle harnesched with silver, his baselard hangs by." In the wills of the clergy they themselves describe their "togas" of gay colours, trimmed with various furs, and their ornamented girdles and purses, and make no secret of the objectionable knives and baselards. In the Bury St. Edmunds Wills, Adam de Stanton, a chaplain, A.D. 1370, bequeaths one girdle, with purse and knife, valued at 5_s._--a rather large sum of money in those days. In the York wills, John Wynd-hill, Rector of Arnecliffe, A.D. 1431, bequeaths a pair of amber beads, such as Piers Ploughman says a priest ought "to bear in his hand, and a book under his arm;" and, curiously enough, in the next sentence he leaves "an English book of Piers Ploughman;" but he does not seem to have been much influenced by the popular poet's invectives, for he goes on to bequeath two green gowns and one of murrey and one of sanguine colour, besides two of black, all trimmed with various furs; also, one girdle of sanguine silk, ornamented with silver, and gilded, and another zone of green and white, ornamented with silver and gilded; and he also leaves behind him--_proh pudor_--his best silver girdle, and a baselard with ivory and silver handle. John Gilby, Rector of Knesale, 1434-5, leaves a red toga, furred with byce, a black zone of silk with gilt bars, and a zone ornamented with silver. J. Bagule, Rector of All Saints, York, A.D. 1438, leaves a little baselard, with a zone harnessed with silver, to Sir T. Astell, a chaplain. W. Duffield, a chantry priest at York, A.D. 1443, leaves a black zone silvered, a purse called a "gypsire," and a white purse of "Burdeux." W. Siverd, chaplain, leaves to H. Hobshot a hawk-bag; and to W. Day, parochial chaplain of Calton, a pair of hawk-bag rings; and to J. Sarle, chaplain, "my ruby zone, silvered, and my toga, furred with 'bevers;'" and to the wife of J. Bridlington, "a ruby purse of satin." R. Rolleston, provost of the church of Beverley, A.D. 1450, leaves a "toga lunata" with a red hood, a toga and hood of violet, a long toga and hood of black, trimmed with martrons, and a toga and hood of violet. J. Clyft, chaplain, A.D. 1455, leaves a zone of silk, ornamented with silver. J. Tidman, chaplain, A.D. 1458, a toga of violet and one of meld. C. Lassels, chaplain, A.D. 1461, a green toga and a white zone, silvered. T. Horneby, rector of Stokesley, A.D. 1464, a red toga and hood; and, among the Richmondshire Wills, we find that of Sir Henry Halled, Lady-priest of the parish of Kirby-in-Kendal, in 1542 A.D. (four years before the suppression of the chantries), who leaves a short gown and a long gown, whose colour is not specified, but was probably black, which seems by this time to have been the most usual clerical wear. The accompanying woodcut will admirably illustrate the ornamented girdle, purse, and knife, of which we have been reading. It is from a MS. of Chaucer's poem of the Romaunt of the Rose (Harl. 4,425, f. 143), and represents a priest confessing a lady in a church. The characters in the scene are, like the poem, allegorical; the priest is Genius, and the lady is Dame Nature; but it is not the less an accurate picture of a confessional scene of the latter part of the fourteenth century. The priest is habited in a robe of purple, with a black cap and a black liripipe attached to it, brought over the shoulder to the front, and falling over the arm. The tab, peeping from beneath the cap above the ear, is red; the girdle, purse, and knife, are, in the original illumination, very clearly represented. In another picture of the same person, at f. 106, the black girdle is represented as ornamented with little circles of gold. [Illustration: _A Priest Confessing a Lady._] Many of these clergymen had one black toga with hood _en suite_--not for constant use in divine service, for, as we have already seen, they are generally represented in the illuminations with coloured "togas" under their surplices,--but perhaps, for wear on mourning occasions. Thus, in the presentations of York Cathedral, A.D. 1519, "We thynke it were convenient that whene we fetche a corse to the churche, that we shulde be in our blak abbettes [habits] mornyngly, w{t} our hodes of the same of our hedes, as is used in many other places."[305] At the time of the Reformation, when the English clergy abandoned the mediæval official robes, they also desisted from wearing the tonsure, which had for many centuries been the distinguishing mark of a cleric, and they seem generally to have adopted the academical dress, for the model both of their official and their ordinary dress. The Puritan clergy adopted a costume which differed little, if at all, from that of the laity of the same school. But it is curious that this question of clerical dress continued to be one of complaint on one side, and resistance on the other, down to the end of our ecclesiastical legislation. The 74th canon of 1603 is as rhetorical in form, and as querulous in tone, and as minute in its description of the way in which ecclesiastical persons should, and the way in which they should not, dress, as is the Injunction of 1342, which we have already quoted. "The true, ancient, and flourishing churches of Christ, being ever desirous that their prelacy and clergy might be had as well in outward reverence, as otherwise regarded for the worthiness of their ministry, did think it fit, by a prescript form of decent and comely apparel, to have them known to the people, and thereby to receive the honour and estimation due to the special messengers and ministers of Almighty God: we, therefore, following their grave judgment and the ancient custom of the Church of England, and hoping that in time new fangleness of apparel in some factious persons will die of itself, do constitute and appoint, that the archbishops and bishops shall not intermit to use the accustomed apparel of their degree. Likewise, all deans, masters of colleges, archdeacons, and prebendaries, in cathedrals and collegiate churches (being priests or deacons), doctors in divinity, law, and physic, bachelors in divinity, masters of arts, and bachelors of law, having any ecclesiastical living, shall wear gowns with standing collars, and sleeves straight at the hands, or wide sleeves, as is used in the universities, with hoods or tippets of silk or sarcenet, and square caps; and that all other ministers admitted, or to be admitted, into that function, shall also usually wear the like apparel as is aforesaid, except tippets only. We do further in like manner ordain, that all the said ecclesiastical persons above mentioned shall usually wear on their journeys cloaks with sleeves, commonly called Priests' Cloaks, without guards, welts, long buttons, or cuts. And no ecclesiastical person shall wear any coif, or wrought night-cap, but only plain night caps of black silk, satin, or velvet. In all which particulars concerning the apparel here prescribed, our meaning is not to attribute any holiness or special worthiness to the said garments, but for decency, gravity, and order, as is before specified. In private houses and in their studies the said persons ecclesiastical may use any comely and scholarlike apparel, provided that it be not cut or pinkt; and that in public they go not in their doublet and hose without coats or cassocks; and that they wear not any light-coloured stockings. Likewise, poor beneficed men and curates (not being able to provide themselves long gowns) may go in short gowns of the fashion aforesaid." The portraits prefixed to the folio works of the great divines of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries have made us familiar with the fact, that at the time of the Reformation the clergy wore the beard and moustache. They continued to wear the cassock and gown as their ordinary out-door costume until as late as the time of George II.; but in the fashion of doublet and hose, hats, shoes, and hair, they followed the custom of other gentlemen. Mr. Fairholt, in his "Costume in England," p. 327, gives us a woodcut from a print of 1680 A.D., which admirably illustrates the ordinary out-door dress of a clergyman of the time of William and Mary. CHAPTER V. PARSONAGE HOUSES. When, in our endeavour to realise the life of these secular clergymen of the Middle Ages, we come to inquire, What sort of houses did they live in? how were these furnished? what sort of life did their occupants lead? what kind of men were they? it is curious how little seems to be generally known on the subject, compared with what we know about the houses and life and character of the regular orders. Instead of gathering together what others have said, we find ourselves engaged in an original investigation of a new and obscure subject. The case of the cathedral and collegiate clergy, and that of the isolated parochial clergy, form two distinct branches of the subject. The limited space at our disposal will not permit us to do justice to both; the latter branch of the subject is less known, and perhaps the more generally interesting, and we shall therefore devote the bulk of our space to it. We will only premise a few words on the former branch. The bishop of a cathedral of secular canons had his house near his cathedral, in which he maintained a household equal in numbers and expense to that of the secular barons among whom he took rank; the chief difference being, that the spiritual lord's family consisted rather of chaplains and clerks than of squires and men-at-arms. The bishop's palace at Wells is a very interesting example in an unusually perfect condition. Britton gives an engraving of it as it appeared before the reign of Edward VI. The bishop besides had other residences on his manors, some of which were castles like those of the other nobility. Farnham, the present residence of the see of Winchester, is a noble example, which still serves its original purpose. Of the cathedral closes many still remain sufficiently unchanged to enable us to understand their original condition. Take Lincoln for example. On the north side of the church, in the angle between the nave and transept, was the cloister, with the polygonal chapter-house on the east side. The lofty wall which enclosed the precincts yet remains, with its main entrance in the middle of the west wall, opposite the great doors of the cathedral. This gate, called the Exchequer Gate, has chambers over it, devoted probably to the official business of the diocese. There are two other smaller gates at the north-east and south-east corners of the close, and there is a postern on the south side. The bishop's palace, whose beautiful and interesting ruins and charming grounds still remain, occupied the slope of the southern hill outside the close. The vicar's court is in the corner of the close near the gateway to the palace grounds. A fourteenth-century house, which was the official residence of the chaplain of one of the endowed chantries, still remains on the south side of the close, nearly opposite the choir door. On the east side of the close the fifteenth-century houses of several of the canons still remain, and are interesting examples of the domestic architecture of the time. It is not difficult from these data to picture to ourselves the original condition of this noble establishment when the cathedral, with its cloister and chapter-house, stood isolated in the middle of the green sward, and the houses of the canons and chaplains formed a great irregular quadrangle round it, and the close walls shut them all in from the outer world, and the halls and towers of the bishop's palace were still perfect amidst its hanging gardens enclosed within their own walls, the quadrangle of houses which had been built for the cathedral vicars occupying a corner cut out of the bishop's grounds beside his gateway. And we can repeople the restored close. Let it be on the morning of one of the great festivals; let the great bells be ringing out their summons to high mass; and we shall see the dignified canons in amice and cap crossing the green singly on their way from their houses to their stalls in the choir; the vicars conversing in a little group as they come across from their court; the surpliced chorister boys under the charge of their schoolmaster; a band of minstrels with flutes, and hautboys, and viols, and harps, and organs, coming in from the city, to use their instruments in the rood-loft to aid the voices of the choir; scattered clerks and country clergy, and townspeople, are all converging to the great south door; and last of all the lord bishop, in cope and mitre, emerges from his gateway, preceded by his cross-bearer, attended by noble or royal guests, and followed by a suite of officials and clerks; while over all the great bells ring out their joyous peal to summon the people to the solemn worship of God in the mother church of the vast diocese. * * * * * But we must turn to our researches into the humbler life of the country rectors and vicars. And first, what sort of houses did they live in? We have not been able to find one of the parsonage houses of an earlier date than the Reformation still remaining in a condition sufficiently unaltered to enable us to understand what they originally were. There is an ancient rectory house of the fourteenth century at West Deane, Sussex,[306] of which we give a ground-plan and north-east view on the following page; but the rectory belonged to the prior and convent of Benedictine Monks of Wilmington, and this house was probably their grange, or cell, and may have been inhabited by two of their monks, or by their tenant, and not by the parish priest. Again, there is a very picturesque rectory house, of the fifteenth century, at Little Chesterton, near Cambridge,[307] but this again is believed to have been a grange, or cell, of a monastic house. In the absence of actual examples, we are driven to glean what information we can from other sources. There remain to us a good many of the deeds of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, by which, on the impropriation of the benefices, provision was made for the permanent endowment of vicarages in them. In the majority of cases the old rectory house was assigned as the future vicarage house, and no detailed description of it was necessary; but in the deed by which the rectories of Sawbridgeworth, in Herts, and Kelvedon, in Essex, were appropriated to the convent of Westminster, we are so fortunate as to find descriptions of the fourteenth-century parsonage houses, one of which is so detailed as to enable any one who is acquainted with the domestic architecture of the time to form a very definite picture of the whole building. In the case of Sawbridgeworth, the old rectory house was assigned as the vicarage house, and is thus described--"All the messuage which is called the priest's messuage, with the houses thereon built, that is to say, one hall with two chambers, with a buttery, cellar, kitchen, stable, and other fitting and decent houses, with all the garden as it is enclosed with walls to the said messuage belonging." The description of the parsonage house at Kelvedon is much more definite and intelligible. For this the deed tells us the convent assigned--"One hall situate in the manor of the said abbot and convent near the said church, with a chamber and soler at one end of the hall and with a buttery and cellar at the other. Also one other house in three parts, that is to say, for a kitchen with a convenient chamber in the end of the said house for guests, and a bakehouse. Also one other house in two parts, next the gate at the entrance of the manor, for a stable and cowhouse. He (the vicar) shall also have a convenient grange, to be built within a year at the expense of the prior and convent. He shall also have the curtilage with the garden adjoining to the hall on the north side, as it is enclosed with hedges and ditches." The date of the deed is 1356 A.D., and it speaks of these houses as already existing. Now the common arrangement of a small house at that date, and for near a century before and after, was this, "a hall in the centre, with a soler at one end and offices at the other."[308] A description which exactly agrees with the account of the Kelvedon house, and enables us to say with great probability that in the Sawbridgeworth "priest's messuage" also, the two chambers were at one end of the hall, and the buttery, cellar, and kitchen at the other, the stable and other fitting and decent houses being detached from and not forming any portion of the dwelling house. [Illustration: _Rectory House, West Deane, Sussex._] [Illustration: A Entrance door. B Windows. C Cellar window. D Entrance to stair. E A recess. F Fire-place. ft. in. Length of exterior 35 6 Width of interior 14 10 Thickness of wall 2 6 Height of rooms 8 0] Confining ourselves, however, to the Kelvedon house, a little study will enable us to reconstruct it conjecturally with a very high probability of being minutely accurate in our conjectures. First of all, a house of this character in the county of Essex would, beyond question, be a timber house. To make our description clearer we have given a rough diagram of our conjectural arrangement. Its principal feature was, of course, the "one hall" (A). We know at once what the hall of a timber house of this period of architecture would be. It would be a rather spacious and lofty apartment, with an open timber roof; the principal door of the house would open into the "screens" (D), at the lower end of the hall, and the back door of the house would be at the other end of the screens. At the upper end of the hall would be the raised dais (B), at which the master of the house sat with his family. The fireplace would either be an open hearth in the middle of the hall, like that which still exists in the fourteenth-century hall at Penshurst Place, Kent, or it would be an open fireplace, under a projecting chimney, at the further side of the hall, such as is frequently seen in MS. illuminations of the small houses of the period. There was next "a chamber and soler at one end of the hall." The soler of a mediæval house was the chief apartment after the hall, it answered to the "great chamber" of the sixteenth century, and to the parlour or drawing-room of more modern times. It was usually adjacent to the upper end of the hall, and built on transversely to it, with a window at each end. It was usually raised on an undercroft, which was used as a storeroom or cellar, so that it was reached by a stair from the upper end of the hall. Sometimes, instead of a mere undercroft, there was a chamber under the soler, which was the case here, so that we have added these features to our plan (C). Next there was "a buttery and cellar at the other" end of the hall. In the buttery in those days were kept wine and beer, table linen, cups, pots, &c.: and in the cellar the stores of eatables which, it must be remembered, were not bought in weekly from the village shop, or the next market town, but were partly the produce of the glebe and tithe, and partly were laid in yearly or half-yearly at some neighbouring fair. The buttery and cellar--they who are familiar with old houses, or with our colleges, will remember--are always at the lower end of the hall, and open upon the screens, with two whole or half doors side by side; we may therefore add them thus upon our plan (H, I). [Illustration: _Conjectural Plan of Rectory-House at Kelvedon, Essex._] The deed adds, "Also one other house in three parts." In those days the rooms of a house were not massed compactly together under one roof, but were built in separate buildings more or less detached, and each building was called a house; "One other house in three parts, that is to say, a kitchen with a convenient chamber at one end of the said house for guests, and a bakehouse." "The kitchen," says Mr. Parker, in his "Domestic Architecture," "was frequently a detached building, often connected with the hall by a passage or alley leading from the screens;" and it was often of greater relative size and importance than modern usage would lead us to suppose; the kitchens of old monasteries, mansion houses, and colleges often have almost the size and architectural character of a second hall. In the case before us it was a section of the "other house," and probably occupied its whole height, with an open timber roof (G). In the disposition of the bakehouse and convenient chamber for guests which were also in this other house, we meet with our first difficulty; the "chamber" might possibly be over the bakehouse, which took the usual form of an undercroft beneath the guest chamber; but the definition that the house was divided "in three parts" suggests that it was divided from top to bottom into three distinct sections. Inclining to the latter opinion, we have so disposed these apartments in our plan (F, E). The elevation of the house may be conjectured with as much probability as its plan. Standing in front of it we should have the side of the hall towards us, with the arched door at its lower end, and perhaps two windows in the side with carved wood tracery[309] in their heads. To the right would be the gable end of the chamber with soler over it; the soler would probably have a rather large arched and traceried window in the end, the chamber a smaller and perhaps square-headed light. On the left would be the building, perhaps a lean-to, containing the buttery and cellar, with only a small square-headed light in front. The accompanying wood-cut of a fourteenth-century house, from the Add. MSS. 10,292, will help to illustrate our conjectural elevation of Kelvedon Rectory. It has the hall with its great door and arched traceried window, and at the one end a chamber and soler over it. It only wants the offices at the other end to make the resemblance complete.[310] [Illustration: _A Fourteenth Century House._] Of later date probably and greater size, resembling a moated manor house, was the rectory of Great Bromley, Essex, which is thus described in the terrier of 1610 A.D.: "A large parsonage house compass'd with a Mote, a Gate-house, with a large chamber, and a substantial bridge of timber adjoining to it, a little yard, an orchard, and a little garden, all within the Mote, which, together with the Circuit of the House, contains about half an Acre of Ground; and without the Mote there is a Yard, in which there is another Gate-house and a stable, and a hay house adjoining; also a barn of 25 yards long and 9 yards wide, and about 79 Acres and a-half of glebeland."[311] The outbuildings were perhaps arranged as a courtyard outside the moat to which the gate-house formed an entrance, so that the visitor would pass through this outer gate, through the court of offices, over the bridge, and through the second gate-house into the base court of the house. This is the arrangement at Ightham Mote, Kent. The parish chaplains seem to have had houses of residence provided for them. The parish of St. Michael-le-Belfry, York, complained in its visitation presentment, in the year 1409, that there was no house assigned for the parish chaplain or for the parish clerk. That they were small houses we gather from the fact that in some of the settlements of vicarages it is required that a competent house shall be built for the vicar where the parish chaplain has been used to live; _e.g._ at Great Bentley, Essex, it was ordered in 1323, that the vicars "shall have one competent dwelling-house with a sufficient curtilage, where the parish chaplain did use to abide, to be prepared at the cost of the said prior and convent."[312] And at the settlement of the vicarage of St. Peter's, Colchester, A.D. 1319, it was required that "the convent of St. Botolph's, the impropriators, should prepare a competent house for the vicar in the ground of the churchyard where a house was built for the parish chaplain of the said church." At Radwinter, Essex, we find by the terrier of 1610 A.D., that there were two mansions belonging to the benefice, "on the south side of the church, towards the west end, one called the great vicarage, and in ancient time the Domus Capellanorum, and the other the less vicarage," which latter "formerly served for the ease of the Parson, and, as appears by evidence, first given to the end that if any of the parish were sick, the party might be sure to find the Parson or his curate near the church ready to go and visit him." At the south-west corner of the churchyard of Doddinghurst, Essex, there still exists a little house of fifteenth-century date, which may have been such a curate's house. From a comparison of these parsonages with the usual plan and arrangement of the houses of laymen of the fourteenth century, may be made the important deduction that the houses of the parochial clergy had no ecclesiastical peculiarities of arrangement; they were not little monasteries or great recluse houses, they were like the houses of the laity; and this agrees with the conclusions to which we have arrived already by other roads, that the secular clergy lived in very much the same style as laymen of a similar degree of wealth and social standing. The poor clerk lived in a single chamber of a citizen's house; the town priest had a house like those of the citizens; the country rector or vicar a house like the manor houses of the smaller gentry. As to the furniture of the parsonage, the wills of the clergy supply us with ample authorities. We will select one of about the date of the Kelvedon parsonage house which we have been studying, to help us to conjecturally furnish the house which we have conjecturally built. Here is an inventory of the goods of Adam de Stanton, a chaplain, date 1370 A.D., taken from Mr. Tymms's collection of Bury wills. "Imprimis, in money vi{s.} viii{d.} and i seal of silver worth ijs." The money will seem a fair sum to have in hand when we consider the greater value of money then and especially the comparative scarcity of actual coin. The seal was probably his official seal as chaplain of an endowed chantry; we have extant examples of such seals of the beneficed clergy. "Item, iij brass pots and i posnet worth xj{s.} vj{d.} Item, in plate, xxij{d.} Item, a round pot with a laver, j{s.} vj{d.,}" probably an ewer and basin for washing the hands, like those still used in Germany, &c. "Item, in iron instruments, vj{s.} viiij{d.} and vj{d.,}" perhaps fire-dogs and poker, spit, and pothook. "Item, in pewter vessels, iiij{s.} ij{d.,}" probably plates, dishes, and spoons. "Item, of wooden utensils," which, from comparison with other inventories of about the same period, we suppose may be boards and trestles for tables, and benches, and a chair, and perhaps may include trenchers and bowls. "Item, i portiforum, x{s.,}" a book of church service so called, which must have been a handsome one to be worth ten shillings, perhaps it was illuminated. "Item, j book de Lege and j Par Statutorum, and j Book of Romances.[313] Item, j girdle with purse and knife, v{s.}" on which we have already commented in our last chapter. "Item, j pair of knives for the table, xij{d.} Item, j saddle with bridle and spurs, iij{s.} Item, of linen and woollen garments, xxviij{s.} and xij{d.} Item, of chests and caskets, vj{s.} ij{d.,}" Chests and caskets then served for cupboards and drawers.[314] If we compare these clerical inventories with those of contemporary laymen of the same degree, we shall find that a country parson's house was furnished like a small manor house, and that his domestic economy was very like that of the gentry of a like income. Matthew Paris tells us an anecdote of a certain handsome clerk, the rector of a rich church, who surpassed all the knights living around him in giving repeated entertainments and acts of hospitality.[315] But usually it was a rude kind of life which the country squire or parson led, very like that which was led by the substantial farmers of a few generations ago, when it was the fashion for the unmarried farm labourers to live in the farm-house, and for the farmer and his household all to sit down to meals together. These were their hours:-- "Rise at five, dine at nine, Sup at five, and bed at nine, Will make a man live to ninety-and-nine." The master of the house sat in the sole arm-chair, in the middle of the high table on the dais, with his family on either side of him; and his men sat at the movable tables of boards and trestles, with a bench on each side, which we find mentioned in the inventories: or the master sat at the same table with his men, only he sat above the salt and they below; he drank his ale out of a silver cup while they drank it out of horn; he ate white bread while they ate brown, and he a capon out of his curtilage while they had pork or mutton ham; he retired to his great chamber when he desired privacy, which was not often perhaps; and he slept in a tester bed in the great chamber, while they slept on truckle beds in the hall. One item in the description of the Kelvedon parsonage requires special consideration, and opens up a rather important question as to the domestic economy of the parochial clergy over and above what we have hitherto gleaned. "The convenient chamber for guests" there mentioned was not a best bedroom for any friend who might pay him a visit. It was a provision for the efficient exercise of the hospitality to which the beneficed parochial clergy were bound. It is a subject which perhaps needs a little explanation. In England there were no inns where travellers could obtain food and lodging until the middle of the fourteenth century; and for long after that period they could only be found in the largest and most important towns; and it was held to be a part of the duty of the clergy to "entertain strangers," and be "given to hospitality." It was a charity not very likely to be abused; for, thanks to bad roads, unbridged fords, no inns, wild moors, and vast forests haunted by lawless men, very few travelled, except for serious business; and it was a real act of Christian charity to afford to such travellers the food and shelter which they needed, and would have been hard put to it to have obtained otherwise. The monasteries, we all know, exercised this hospitality on so large a scale, that in order to avoid the interruption a constant succession of guests would have made in the seclusion and regularity of conventual life, they provided special buildings for it, called the hospitium or guest house, a kind of inn within the walls, and they appointed one of the monks, under the name of the hospitaller or guest master, to represent the convent in entertaining the guests. Hermitages also, we have seen, were frequently built along the high roads, especially near bridges and fords, for the purpose of aiding travellers. Along the road which led towards some famous place of pilgrimage hospitals, which were always religious foundations, were founded especially for the entertainment of poor pilgrims. And the parochial clergy were expected to exercise a similar hospitality. Thus in the replies of the rectors of Berkshire to the papal legate, in 1240 A.D., they say that "their churches were endowed and enriched by their patrons with lands and revenues for the especial purpose that the rectors of them should receive guests, rich as well as poor, and show hospitality to laity as well as clergy, according to their means, as the custom of the place required."[316] Again, in 1246, the clergy, on a similar occasion, stated that "a custom has hitherto prevailed, and been observed in England, that the rectors of parochial churches have always been remarkable for hospitality, and have made a practice of supplying food to their parishioners who were in want, ... and if a portion of their benefices be taken away from them, they will be under the necessity of refusing their hospitality, and abandoning their accustomed offices of piety. And if these be withdrawn, they will incur the hatred of those subject to them [their parishioners], and will lose the favour of passers-by [travellers] and their neighbours."[317] Again, in 1253 A.D., Bishop Grostête, in his remonstrance to the Pope, says of the foreigners who were intruded into English benefices, that they "could not even take up their residence, to administer to the wants of the poor, and to receive travellers."[318] There is an interesting passage illustrative of the subject quoted in Parker's "Domestic Architecture," i. p. 123. Æneus Sylvius, afterwards Pope Pius II., describing his journey from Scotland into England, in the year 1448, says that he entered a large village in a wild and barbarous part of the country, about sunset, and "alighted at a rustic's house, and supped there with the priest of the place and the host." The special mention of the priest in the first place almost leads us to conjecture that the foreign ecclesiastic had first gone to the priest of the place for the usual hospitality, and had been taken on by him to the manor house--for the "rustic" seems to have been a squire--as better able to afford him a suitable hospitality. Sundry pottages, and fowls, and geese, were placed on the table, but there was neither bread nor wine. He had, however, brought with him a few loaves and a roundel of wine, which he had received at a certain monastery. Either a stranger was a great novelty, or the Italian ecclesiastic had something remarkable in his appearance, for he says all "the people of the place ran to the house to stare at him." Kelvedon being on one of the great high roads of the country, its parson would often be called upon to exercise his duty of hospitality, hence the provision of a special guest chamber in the parsonage house. And so in our picture of the domestic economy and ordinary life of a mediæval country parson we must furnish his guest chamber, and add a little to the contents of buttery and cellar, to provide for his duty of hospitality; and we must picture him not always sitting in solitary dignity at his high table on the dais, but often playing the courteous host to knight and lady, merchant, minstrel, or pilgrim; and after dinner giving the broken meat to the poor, who in the days when there was no poor law were the regular dependants on his bounty. THE MINSTRELS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. It would carry us too far a-field to attempt to give a sketch of the early music of the principal nations of antiquity, such as might be deduced from the monuments of Egypt and Nineveh and Greece. We may, however, briefly glance at the most ancient minstrelsy of the Israelites; partly for the sake of the peculiar interest of the subject itself, partly because the early history of music is nearly the same in all nations, and this earliest history will illustrate and receive illustration from a comparison with the history of music in mediæval England. Musical instruments, we are told by the highest of all authorities, were invented in the eighth generation of the world--that is in the third generation before the flood--by Tubal, "the Father of all such as handle the harp and organ, both stringed and wind instruments." The ancient Israelites used musical instruments on the same occasions as the mediæval Europeans--in battle; in their feasts and dances; in processions, whether of religious or civil ceremony; and in the solemnising of divine worship. The trumpet and the horn were then, as always, the instruments of warlike music--"If ye go to war then shall ye blow an alarm with the silver trumpets."[319] The trumpet regulated the march of the hosts of Israel through the wilderness. When Joshua compassed Jericho, the seven priests blew trumpets of rams' horns. Gideon and his three hundred discomfited the host of the Midianites with the sound of their trumpets. The Tabret was the common accompaniment of the troops of female dancers, whether the occasion were religious or festive. Miriam the prophetess took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances, singing a solemn chorus to the triumphant song of Moses and of the Children of Israel over the destruction of Pharaoh in the Red Sea,-- "Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea."[320] Jephthah's daughter went to meet her victorious father with timbrels and dances:-- "The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, From Mizpeh's tower'd gate with welcome light, With timbrel and with song." And so, when King Saul returned from the slaughter of the Philistines, after the shepherd David had killed their giant champion in the valley of Elah, the women came out of all the cities to meet the returning warriors "singing and dancing to meet King Saul, with tabrets, with joy, and with instruments of music;" and the women answered one another in dramatic chorus-- "Saul hath slain his thousands, And David his ten thousands."[321] Laban says that he would have sent away Jacob and his wives and children, "with mirth and with songs, with tabret and with harp." And Jeremiah prophesying that times of ease and prosperity shall come again for Israel, says: "O Virgin of Israel, thou shalt again be adorned with thy tabrets, and shalt go forth in the dances of them that make merry."[322] In their feasts these and many other instruments were used. Isaiah tells us[323] that they had "the harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine in their feasts;" and Amos tells us of the luxurious people who lie upon beds of ivory, and "chant to the sound of the viol, and invent to themselves instruments of music like David," and drink wine in bowls, and anoint themselves with the costliest perfumes. Instruments of music were used in the colleges of Prophets, which Samuel established in the land, to accompany and inspire the delivery of their prophetical utterances. As Saul, newly anointed, went up the hill of God towards the city, he met a company of prophets coming down, with a psaltery, and a tabret, and a pipe, and a harp before them, prophesying; and the spirit of the Lord came upon Saul when he heard, and he also prophesied.[324] When Elisha was requested by Jehoram to prophesy the fate of the battle with the Moabites, he said: "Bring me a minstrel; and when the minstrel played, the hand of the Lord came upon him, and he prophesied." When David brought up the ark from Gibeah, he and all the house of Israel played before the Lord on all manner of instruments made of firwood, even on harps, psalteries, timbrels, cornets, and cymbals.[325] And in the song which he himself composed to be sung on that occasion,[326] he thus describes the musical part of the procession:-- "It is well seen how thou goest, How thou, my God and King, goest to the sanctuary; The singers go before, the minstrels follow after, In the midst are the damsels playing with the timbrels." The instruments appointed for the regular daily service of the Temple "by David, and Gad the king's seer, and Nathan the prophet, for so was the commandment of the Lord by his prophets," were cymbals, psalteries, and harps, which David made for the purpose, and which were played by four thousand Levites. Besides the instruments already mentioned,--the harp, tabret, timbrel, psaltery, trumpet, cornet, cymbal, pipe, and viol,--they had also the lyre, bag-pipes, and bells; and probably they carried back with them from Babylon further additions, from the instruments of "all peoples, nations, and languages" with which they would become familiarised in that capital of the world. But from the time of Tubal down to the time when the royal minstrel of Israel sang those glorious songs which are still the daily solace of thousands of mankind, and further down to the time when the captive Israelites hanged their unstrung harps upon the willows of Babylon, and could not sing the songs of Zion in a strange land, the harp continued still the fitting accompaniment of the voice in all poetical utterance of a dignified and solemn character:--the recitation of the poetical portions of historical and prophetical Scripture, for instance, would be sustained by it, and the songs of the psalmists of Zion were accompanied by its strains. And thus this sketch of the history of the earliest music closes, with the minstrel harp still in the foreground; while in the distance we hear the sound of the fanfare of cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music, which were concerted on great occasions; such as that on which they resounded over the plain of Dura, to bow that bending crowd of heads, as the ripe corn bends before the wind, to the great Image of Gold:--an idolatry, alas! which the peoples, nations, and languages still perform almost as fervently as of old. * * * * * The northern Bard, or Scald, was the father of the minstrels of mediæval Europe. Our own early traditions afford some picturesque anecdotes, proving the high estimation in which the character was held by the Saxons and their kindred Danes; and showing that they were accustomed to wander about to court, and camp, and hall; and were hospitably received, even though the Bard were of a race against which his hosts were at that very time encamped in hostile array. We will only remind the reader of the Royal Alfred's assumption of the character of a minstrel, and his visit in that disguise to the Danish camp (A.D. 878); and of the similar visit, ten years after, of Anlaff the Danish king to the camp of Saxon Athelstane. But the earliest anecdote of the kind we shall have hereafter to refer to, and may therefore here detail at length. It is told us by Geoffrey of Monmouth, that Colgrin, the son of Ella, who succeeded Hengist in the leadership of the invading Saxons, was shut up in York, and closely besieged by King Arthur and his Britons. Baldulf, the brother of Colgrin, wanted to gain access to him, to apprise him of a reinforcement which was coming from Germany. In order to accomplish this design, he assumed the character of a minstrel. He shaved his head and beard; and dressing himself in the habit of that profession, took his harp in his hand. In this disguise he walked up and down the trenches without suspicion, playing all the while upon his instrument as a harper. By little and little he approached the walls of the city; and, making himself known to the sentinels, was in the night drawn up by a rope. The harper continued throughout the Middle Ages to be the most dignified of the minstrel craft, the reciter, and often the composer, of heroic legend and historical tale, of wild romance and amorous song. Frequently, and perhaps especially in the case of the higher class of harpers, he travelled alone, as in the cases which we have already seen of Baldulf, and Alfred, and Anlaff. But he also often associated himself with a band of minstrels, who filled up the intervals of his recitations and songs with their music, much as vocal and instrumental pieces are alternated in our modern concerts. With a band of minstrels there was also very usually associated a mime, who amused the audience with his feats of agility and leger-de-main. The association appears at first sight somewhat undignified--the heroic harper and the tumbler--but the incongruity was not peculiar to the Middle Ages; the author of the "Iliad" wrote the "Battle of the Frogs,"--the Greeks were not satisfied without a satiric drama after their grand heroic tragedy; and in these days we have a farce or a pantomime after Shakspeare. We are not all Heraclituses, to see only the tragic side of life, or Democrituses, to laugh at everything; the majority of men have faculties to appreciate both classes of emotion; and it would seem, from universal experience, that, as the Russian finds a physical delight in leaping from a vapour-bath into the frozen Neva, so there is some mental delight in the sudden alternate excitation of the opposite emotions of tragedy and farce. If we had time to philosophise, we might find the source of the delight deeply seated in our nature:--alternate tears and laughter--it is an epitome of human life! In the accompanying woodcut from a Late Saxon MS. in the British Museum (Cott. Tiberius C. vi.) we have a curious evidence of the way in which custom blinded men to any incongruity there may be in the association of the harper and the juggler, for here we have David singing his Psalms and accompanying himself on the harp, the dove reminding us that he sang and harped under the influence of inspiration. He is accompanied by performers who must be Levites; and yet the Saxon illuminator was so used to see a mime form one of a minstrel band, that he has introduced one playing the common feat of tossing three knives and three balls. [Illustration: _Saxon Band of Minstrels._] The Saxons were a musical people. We learn from Bede's anecdote of the poet Cædmon, that it was usual at their feasts to pass the harp round from hand to hand, and every man was supposed to be able to sing in his turn, and accompany himself on the instrument. They had a considerable number of musical instruments. In a MS. in the British Museum, Tiberius C. vi., folios 16 v., 17 v., 18, are a few leaves of a formal treatise on the subject, which give us very carefully drawn pictures of different instruments, with their names and descriptions. There are also illustrations of them in the Add. 11,695, folios 86, 86 v., 164, 170 v., 229, and in Cleopatra E. viii. Among them are the Psaltery of various shapes, the Sambuca or sackbut, the single and double Chorus, &c. Other instruments we find in Saxon MSS. are the lyre, viol, flute, cymbals, organ, &c. A set of hand-bells (carillons) which the player struck with two hammers, was a favourite instrument. We often find different instruments played together. At folio 93 v. of the MS. Claudius B iv. there is a group of twelve female harpists playing together; one has a small instrument, probably a kind of lyre, the rest have great harps of the same pattern. They probably represent Miriam and the women of Israel joining in the triumphal song of Moses over the destruction of the Egyptians in the Red Sea. [Illustration: _Saxon Organ._] The organ, already introduced into divine service, became, under the hands of St. Dunstan, a large and important instrument. William of Malmesbury says that Dunstan gave many to churches which had pipes of brass and were inflated with bellows. In a MS. psalter in Trinity College, Cambridge, is a picture of one of considerable size, which has no less than four bellows played by four men. It is represented in the accompanying wood-cut. The Northmen who invaded and gave their name to Normandy, took their minstrels with them; and the learned assert that it was from them that the troubadours of Provence learned their art, which ripened in their sunny clime into _la joyeuse science_, and thence was carried into Italy, France, and Spain. It is quite certain that minstrelsy was in high repute among the Normans at the period of the Conquest. Every one will remember how Taillefer, the minstrel-knight, commenced the great battle of Hastings. Advancing in front of the Norman host, he animated himself and them to a chivalric daring by chanting the heroic tale of Charlemagne and his Paladins, at the same time showing feats of skill in tossing his sword into the air; and then rushed into the Saxon ranks, like a divinely-mad hero of old, giving in his own self-sacrifice an augury of victory to his people. From the period of the Conquest, authorities on the subject of which we are treating, though still not so numerous as could be desired, become too numerous to be all included within the limits to which our space restricts us. The reader may refer to Wharton's "History of English Poetry," to Bishop Percy's introductory essay to the "Reliques of Early English Poetry," and to the introductory essay to Ellis's "Early English Metrical Romances," for the principal published authorities. For a series of learned essays on mediæval musical instruments he may consult M. Didron's "Annales Archæologiques," vol. iii. pp. 76, 142, 260; vol. iv. pp. 25, 94; vol. vi. p. 315; vol. vii. pp. 92, 157, 244, 325; vol. viii. p. 242; vol. ix. pp. 289, 329.[327] We propose only from these and other published and unpublished materials to give a popular sketch of the subject. Throughout this period minstrelsy was in high estimation with all classes of society. The king himself, like his Saxon[328] predecessors, had a king's minstrel, or king of the minstrels, who probably from the first was at the head of a band of royal minstrels.[329] This fashion of the royal court, doubtless, like all its other fashions, obtained also in the courts of the great nobility (several instances will be observed in the sequel), and in their measure in the households of the lesser nobility. Every gentleman of estate had probably his one, two, or more minstrels as a regular part of his household. It is not difficult to discover their duties. In the representations of dinners, which occur plentifully in the mediæval MSS., we constantly find musicians introduced; sometimes we see them preceding the servants, who are bearing the dishes to table--a custom of classic usage, and which still lingers to this day at Queen's College, Oxford, in the song with which the choristers usher in the boar's head on Christmas-day, and at our modern public dinners, when the band strikes up "Oh the Roast Beef of Old England," as that national dish is brought to table. We give here an illustration of such a scene from a very fine MS. of the early part of the fourteenth century, in the British Museum (marked Royal 2 B vii., f. 184 v. and 185). A very fine representation of a similar scene occurs at the foot of the large Flemish Brass of Robert Braunche and his two wives in St. Margaret's Church, Lynn; the scene is intended as a delineation of a feast given by the corporation of Lynn to King Edward III. Servants from both sides of the picture are bringing in that famous dish of chivalry, the peacock with his tail displayed; and two bands of minstrels are ushering in the banquet with their strains: the date of the brass is about 1364 A.D. In the fourteenth-century romance of "Richard Coeur de Lion," we read of some knights who have arrived in presence of the romance king whom they are in quest of; dinner is immediately prepared for them; "trestles," says Ellis in his abstract of it, "were immediately set; a table covered with a silken cloth was laid; a rich repast, ushered in by the sound of trumpets and shalms, was served up."[330] [Illustration: _A Royal Dinner._] Having introduced the feast, the minstrels continued to play during its progress. We find numerous representations of dinners in the illuminations, in which one or two minstrels are standing beside the table, playing their instruments during the progress of the meal. In a MS. volume of romances of the early part of the fourteenth century in the British Museum (Royal 14 E iii.), the title-page of the romance of the "Quête du St. Graal" (at folio 89 of the MS.) is adorned with an illumination of a royal banquet; a squire on his knee (as in the illustration given on opposite page) is carving, and a minstrel stands beside the table playing the violin; he is dressed in a parti-coloured tunic of red and blue, and wears his hat. In the Royal MS. 2 B vii., at folio 168, is a similar representation of a dinner, in which a minstrel stands playing the violin; he is habited in a red tunic, and is bareheaded. At folio 203 of the same MS. (Royal 2 B vii.), is another representation of a dinner, in which two minstrels are introduced; one (wearing his hood) is playing a cittern, the other (bareheaded) is playing a violin: and these references might be multiplied. [Illustration: _Royal Dinner of the time of Edward IV._] We reproduce here, in further illustration of the subject, engravings of a royal dinner of about the time of our Edward IV., "taken from an illumination of the romance of the Compte d'Artois, in the possession of M. Barrois, a distinguished and well-known collector in Paris."[331] The other is an exceedingly interesting representation of a grand imperial banquet, from one of the plates of Hans Burgmair, in the volume dedicated to the exploits of the Emperor Maximilian, contemporary with our Henry VIII. It represents the entrance of a masque, one of those strange entertainments, of which our ancestors, in the time of Henry and Elizabeth, were so fond, and of which Mr. C. Kean some years ago gave the play-going world of London so accurate a representation in his _mise en scene_ of Henry VIII. at the Princess's Theatre. The band of minstrels who have been performing during the banquet, are seen in the left corner of the picture. [Illustration: _Imperial Banquet._] So in "The Squier's Tale" of Chaucer, where Cambuscan is "holding his feste so solempne and so riche." "It so befel, that after the thridde cours, While that this king sat thus in his nobley,[332] Harking his ministralles her[333] thinges play, Beforne him at his bord deliciously," &c. The custom of having instrumental music as an accompaniment of dinner is still retained by her Majesty and by some of the greater nobility, by military messes, and at great public dinners. But the musical accompaniment of a mediæval dinner was not confined to instrumental performances. We frequently find a harper introduced, who is doubtless reciting some romance or history, or singing chansons of a lighter character. He is often represented as sitting upon the floor, as in the accompanying illustration, from the Royal MS., 2 B vii., folio 71 b. Another similar representation occurs at folio 203 b of the same MS. In the following very charming picture, from a MS. volume of romances of early fourteenth century date in the British Museum (Additional MS., 10,292, folio 200), the harper is sitting upon the table. [Illustration: _Harper._] Gower, in his "Confessio Amantis," gives us a description of a scene of the kind. Appolinus is dining in the hall of King Pentapolin, with the king and queen and their fair daughter, and all his "lordes in estate." Appolinus was reminded by the scene of the royal estate from which he is fallen, and sorrowed and took no meat; therefore the king bade his daughter take her harp and do all that she can to enliven that "sorry man." "And she to dou her fader's hest, Her harpe fette, and in the feste Upon a chaire which thei fette, Her selve next to this man she sette." [Illustration: _Royal Harper._] Appolinus in turn takes the harp, and proves himself a wonderful proficient, and "When he hath harped all his fille, The kingis hest to fulfille, A waie goth dishe, a waie goth cup, Doun goth the borde, the cloth was up, Thei risen and gone out of the halle." In the sequel, the interesting stranger was made tutor to the princess, and among other teachings, "He taught hir till she was certeyne Of harpe, citole, and of riote, With many a tewne and many a note, Upon musike, upon measure, And of her harpe the temprure, He taught her eke, as he well couth." Another occasion on which their services would be required would be for the dance. Thus we read in the sequel of "The Squire's Tale," how the king and his "nobley," when dinner was ended, rose from table, and, preceded by the minstrels, went to the great chamber for the dance:-- "Wan that this Tartar king, this Cambuscán, Rose from his bord ther as he sat ful hie; Beforne him goth the loudé minstralcie, Til he come to his chambre of parements,[334] Theras they sounden divers instruments, That it is like an Heaven for to here. Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere," &c. In the tale of Dido and Æneas, in the legend of "Good Women," he calls it especially the dancing chamber:-- "To dauncing chambers full of paraments, Of riché bedés[335] and of pavements, This Eneas is ledde after the meat." [Illustration: _Mediæval Dance._] But the dance was not always in the great chamber. Very commonly it took place in the hall. The tables were only movable boards laid upon trestles, and at the signal from the master of the house, "A hall! a hall!" they were quickly put aside; while the minstrels tuned their instruments anew, and the merry folly at once commenced. In the illustration, of early fourteenth-century date, which we give on the preceding page, from folio 174 of the Royal MS., 2 B vii., the scene of the dance is not indicated; the minstrels themselves appear to be joining in the saltitation which they inspire. In the next illustration, reproduced from Mr. Wright's "Domestic Manners of the English," we have a curious picture of a dance, possibly in the gallery, which occupied the whole length of the roof of most fifteenth-century houses; it is from M. Barrois's MS. of the "Compte D'Artois," of fifteenth-century date. In all these instances the minstrels are on the floor with the dancers, but in the latter part of the Middle Ages they were probably--especially on festal occasions--placed in the music gallery over the screens, or entrance-passage, of the hall. [Illustration: _A Dance in the Gallery._] Marriage processions were, beyond doubt, attended by minstrels. An illustration of a band consisting of tabor, bagpipes, regal, and violin, heading a marriage procession, may be seen in the Roman d'Alexandre (Bodleian Library) at folio 173; and at folios 173 and 174 the wedding feast is enlivened by a more numerous band of harp, gittern, violin, regal, tabor, bagpipes, hand-bells, cymbals, and kettle-drums--which are carried on a boy's back.[336] CHAPTER II. SACRED MUSIC. Every nobleman and gentleman in the Middle Ages, we have seen, had one or more minstrels as part of his household, and among their other duties they were required to assist at the celebration of divine worship. Allusions occur perpetually in the old romances, showing that it was the universal custom to hear mass before dinner, and even-song before supper, _e.g._: "And so they went home and unarmed them, and so to even-song and supper.... And on the morrow they heard mass, and after went to dinner, and to their counsel, and made many arguments what were best to do."[337] "The Young Children's Book," a kind of mediæval "Chesterfield's Letters to his Son," published by the Early English Text Society, from a MS. of about 1500 A.D., in the Bodleian Library, bids its pupils-- "Aryse be tyme oute of thi bedde, And blysse[338] thi brest and thi forhede, Then wasche thi handes and thi face, Keme thi hede and ask God grace The to helpe in all thi workes; Thou schalt spede better what so thou carpes. Then go to the chyrche and here a massé, There aske mersy for thi trespasse. When thou hast done go breke thy faste With mete and drynk a gode repast." In great houses the service was performed by the chaplain in the chapel of the hall or castle, and it seems probable that the lord's minstrels assisted in the musical part of the service. The organ doubtless continued to be, as we have seen it in Saxon times, the most usual church instrument. Thus the King of Hungary in "The Squire of Low Degree," tells his daughter:-- "Then shal ye go to your even song, With tenours and trebles among; * * * * Your quere nor organ song shal want With countre note and dyscant; The other half on organs playing, With young children ful fayn synging." And in inventories of church furniture in the Middle Ages we find organs enumerated:[339] Not only the organ, but all instruments in common use, were probably also used in the celebration of divine worship. We meet with repeated instances in which David singing the psalms is accompanied by a band of musicians, as in the Saxon illumination on p. 272, and again in the initial letter of this chapter, which is taken from a psalter of early thirteenth-century date in the British Museum (Harl. 5,102). The men of those days were in some respects much more real and practical, less sentimental and transcendental, than we in religious matters. We must have everything relating to divine worship of different form and fashion from ordinary domestic appliances, and think it irreverent to use things of ordinary domestic fashion for religious uses, or to have domestic things in the shapes of what we call religious art. They had only one art, the best they knew, for all purposes; and they were content to apply the best of that to the service of God. Thus to their minds it would not appear at all unseemly that the minstrels who had accompanied the divine service in chapel should walk straight out of chapel into the hall, and tune their instruments anew to play symphonies, or accompany chansons during dinner, or enliven the dance in the great chamber in the evening--no more unseemly than that their master and his family should dine and dance as well as pray. The chapel royal establishment of Edward IV. consisted of trumpets, shalms, and pipes, as well as voices; and we may be quite sure that the custom of the royal chapel was imitated by noblemen and gentlemen of estate. A good fifteenth-century picture of the interior of a church, showing the organ in a gallery, is engraved in the "Annales Archæologiques," vol. xii., p. 349. A very good representation of an organ of the latter part of the sixteenth century (1582) is in the fine MS. Plut. 3,469, folio 27.[340] An organ of about this date is still preserved in that most interesting old Manor House, Igtham Mote, in Kent. They were sometimes placed at the side of the chancel, sometimes in the rood-loft, which occupied the same relative position in the choir which the music gallery did in the hall. In the MSS. we not unfrequently find the ordinary musical instruments placed in the hands of the angels; _e.g._, in the early fourteenth-century MS. Royal 2 B. vii., in a representation of the creation, with the morning stars singing together, and all the sons of God shouting for joy, an angelic choir are making melody on the trumpet, violin, cittern, shalm (or psaltery), and harp. There is another choir of angels at p. 168 of the same MS., two citterns and two shalms, a violin and trumpet. Similar representations occur very significantly in churches. On the arch of the Porta Della Gloria of Saragossa Cathedral, of the eleventh century, from which there is a cast at the entrance to the South Kensington Museum, are a set of angel minstrels with musical instruments. In the bosses of the ceiling of Tewkesbury Abbey Church we find angels playing the cittern (with a plectrum), the harp (with its cover seen enveloping the lower half of the instrument)[341] and the cymbals. A set of angel musicians is sculptured on the rood loft of York Minster. In the triforum of the nave of Exeter Cathedral is a projecting gallery for the minstrels, with sculptures of them on the front playing instruments.[342] In the choir of Lincoln Cathedral, some of the noble series of angels which fill the spandrels of its arcades, and which have given to it the name of the Angel Choir, are playing instruments, viz., the trumpet, double pipe, pipe and tabret, dulcimer, viol and harp. They represent the heavenly choir attuning their praises in harmony with the human choir below: "Therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name." There is a band of musicians sculptured on the grand portal of the Cathedral at Rheims; a sculptured capital from the church of St. Georges de Bocherville, now in the Museum at Rouen, represents eleven crowned figures playing different instruments.[343] On the chasse of St. Ursula at Bruges are angels playing instruments beautifully painted by Hemling.[344] We cannot resist the temptation to introduce here another charming little drawing of an angelic minstrel, playing a psaltery, from the Royal MS. 14 E iii.; others occur at folio 1 of the same MS. The band of village musicians with flute, violin, clarinet, and bass-viol, whom most of us have seen occupying the singing-gallery of some country church, are the representatives of the band of minstrels who occupied the rood-lofts in mediæval times. [Illustration: _The Morning Stars singing together._] [Illustration: _An Angel Minstrel._] Clerical censors of manners during the Middle Ages frequently denounce the dissoluteness of minstrels, and the minstrels take their revenge by lampooning the vices of the clergy. Like all sweeping censures of whole classes of men, the accusations on both sides must be received cautiously. However, it is certain that the minstrels were patronised by the clergy. We shall presently find a record of the minstrels of the Bishop of Winchester in the fourteenth century; and the Ordinance of Edward II., quoted at p. 296, tells us that minstrels flocked to the houses of prelates as well as of nobles and gentlemen. In the thirteenth century, that fine sample of an English bishop, Grostête of Lincoln, was a great patron of minstrel science: he himself composed an allegorical romance, the Chasteau d'Amour. Robert de Brunne, in his English paraphrase of Grostête's Manuel de Peches (begun in 1303), gives us a charming anecdote of the Bishop's love of minstrelsy. "Y shall yow telle as y have herde, Of the bysshope seyut Robérde, Hys to-name ys Grostet. Of Lynkolne, so seyth the gest He loved moche to here the harpe, For mannys witte hyt makyth sharpe. Next hys chaumber, besyde his stody, Hys harpers chaumbre was fast therby. Many tymes be nyght and dayys, He had solace of notes and layys. One askede hym onys resun why He hadde delyte in mynstralsy? He answered hym on thys manere Why he helde the harper so dere. The vertu of the harpe, thurghe skylle and ryght, Wyl destroy the fendes myght; And to the croys by gode skylle Ys the harpe lykened weyle. Tharfor gode men, ye shul lere Whan ye any gleman here, To wurschep Gode al youre powére, As Dauyde seyth yn the sautére." We know that the abbots lived in many respects as other great people did; they exercised hospitality to guests of gentle birth in their own halls, treated them to the diversions of hunting and hawking over their manors and in their forests, and did not scruple themselves to partake in those amusements; possibly they may have retained minstrels wherewith to solace their guests and themselves. It is quite certain at least that the wandering minstrels were welcome guests at the religious houses; and Warton records many instances of the rewards given to them on those occasions. We may record two or three examples. The monasteries had great annual feasts, on the ecclesiastical festivals, and often also in commemoration of some saint or founder; there was a grand service in church, and a grand dinner afterwards in the refectory. The convent of St. Swithin, in Winchester, used thus to keep the anniversary of Alwyne the Bishop; and in the year A.D. 1374 we find that six minstrels, accompanied by four harpers, performed their minstrelsies at dinner, in the hall of the convent, and during supper sang the same gest in the great arched chamber of the prior, on which occasion the chamber was adorned, according to custom on great occasions, with the prior's great dorsal (a hanging for the wall behind the table), having on it a picture of the three kings of Cologne. These minstrels and harpers belonged partly to the Royal household in Winchester Castle, partly to the Bishop of Winchester. Similarly at the priory of Bicester, in Oxfordshire, in the year A.D. 1432, the treasurer of the monastery gave four shillings to six minstrels from Buckingham, for singing in the refectory, on the Feast of the Epiphany, a legend of the Seven Sleepers. In A.D. 1430 the brethren of the Holie Crosse at Abingdon celebrated their annual feast; twelve priests were hired for the occasion to help to sing the dirge with becoming solemnity, for which they received four pence each; and twelve minstrels, some of whom came from the neighbouring town of Maidenhead, were rewarded with two shillings and four pence each, besides their share of the feast and food for their horses. At Mantoke Priory, near Coventry, there was a yearly obit; and in the year A.D. 1441, we find that eight priests were hired from Coventry to assist in the service, and the six minstrels of their neighbour, Lord Clinton, of Mantoke Castle, were engaged to sing, harp, and play, in the hall of the monastery, at the grand refection allowed to the monks on the occasion of that anniversary. The minstrels amused the monks and their guests during dinner, and then dined themselves in the painted chamber (_camera picta_) of the monastery with the sub-prior, on which occasion the chamberlain furnished eight massy tapers of wax to light their table. These are instances of minstrels formally invited by abbots and convents to take part in certain great festivities; but there are proofs that the wandering minstrel, who, like all other classes of society, would find hospitality in the guest-house of the monastery, was also welcomed for his minstrel skill, and rewarded for it with guerdon of money, besides his food and lodging. Warton gives instances of entries in monastic accounts for disbursements on such occasions; and there is an anecdote quoted by Percy of some dissolute monks who one evening admitted two poor priests whom they took to be minstrels, and ill-treated and turned them out again when they were disappointed of their anticipated gratification. On the next page is a curious illumination from the Royal MS. 2 B vii., representing a friar and a nun themselves making minstrelsy. [Illustration: _Nun and Friar with Musical Instruments._] At tournaments the scene was enlivened by the strains of minstrels, and horses and men inspirited to the charge by the loud fanfare of their instruments. Thus in "The Knight's Tale," at the tournament of Palamon and Arcite, as the king and his company rode to the lists:-- "Up gon the trumpets and the melodie, And to the listés ride the companie." And again:-- "Then were the gates shut, and cried was loude Now do your devoir youngé knightés proud. The heralds left their pricking up and down, Now ringen trumpets loud and clarioun. There is no more to say, but East and West In go the spearés sadly in the rest; In goeth the sharpé spur into the side; There see men who can just and who can ride. Men shiveren shaftés upon shieldés thick, He feeleth thro the hearte-spoon the prick." In actual war only the trumpet and horn and tabor seem to have been used. In "The Romance of Merlin" we read of "Trumpés beting, tambours classing" in the midst of a battle; and again, in Chaucer's "Knight's Tale"-- "Pipes, trumpets, nakeres,[345] and clariouns That in the battle blowen bloody sounds;" and again, on another occasion-- "The trumping and the tabouring, Did together the knights fling." There are several instances in the Royal MS., 2 B vii., in which trumpeters are sounding their instruments in the rear of a company of charging chevaliers. Again, when a country knight and his neighbour wished to keep their spears in practice against the next tournament, or when a couple of errant knights happened to meet at a manor-house, the lists were rudely staked out in the base-court of the castle, or in the meadow under the castle-walls; and, while the ladies looked on and waved their scarfs from the windows or the battlements, and the vassals flocked round the ropes, the minstrels gave animation to the scene. In the illustration on p. 414 from the title-page of the Royal MS., 14 E iii., a fine volume of romances of early fourteenth-century date, we are made spectators of a scene of the kind; the herald is arranging the preliminaries between the two knights who are about to joust, while a band of minstrels inspire them with their strains. Not only at these stated periods, but at all times, the minstrels were liable to be called upon to enliven the tedium of their lord or lady with music and song; the King of Hungary (in "The Squire of Low Degree"), trying to comfort his daughter for the loss of her lowly lover by the promise of all kinds of pleasures, says that in the morning-- "Ye shall have harpe, sautry, and songe, And other myrthes you among." And again a little further on, after dinner-- "When you come home your menie amonge, Ye shall have revell, daunces, and songe; Lytle children, great and smale, Shall syng as doth the nightingale." And yet again, when she is gone to bed-- "And yf ye no rest can take, All night mynstrels for you shall wake." Doubtless many of the long winter evenings, when the whole household was assembled round the blazing wood fire in the middle of the hall, would be passed in listening to those interminable tales of chivalry which my lord's chief harper would chant to his harp, while his fellows would play a symphony between the "fyttes." Of other occasions on which the minstrels would have appropriate services to render, an entry in the Household Book of the Percy family in A.D. 1512 gives us an indication: There were three of them at their castle in the north, a tabret, a lute, and a rebec; and we find that they had a new-year's gift, "xx_s._ for playing at my lordes chamber doure on new yeares day in the mornynge; and for playing at my lordes sone and heire's chamber doure, the lord Percy, ii_s._; and for playing at the chamber dours of my lord's yonger sonnes, my yonge masters, after viii. the piece for every of them." * * * * * But besides the official minstrels of kings, nobles, and gentlemen, bishops, and abbots, and corporate towns, there were a great number of "minstrels unattached," and of various grades of society, who roamed abroad singly or in company, from town to town, from court to camp, from castle to monastery, flocking in great numbers to tournaments and festivals and fairs, and welcomed everywhere. The summer-time was especially the season for the wanderings of these children of song,[346] as it was of the knight-errant[347] and of the pilgrim[348] also. No wonder that the works of the minstrels abound as they do with charming outbursts of song on the return of the spring and summer, and the delights which they bring. All winter long the minstrel had lain in some town, chafing at its miry and unsavoury streets, and its churlish, money-getting citizens; or in some hospitable castle or manor-house, perhaps, listening to the wind roaring through the broad forests, and howling among the turrets overhead, until he pined for freedom and green fields; his host, perchance, grown tired of his ditties, and his only occupation to con new ones; this, from the "Percy Reliques," sounds like a verse composed at such a time:-- "In time of winter alange[349] it is! The foules lesen[350] her bliss! The leves fallen off the tree; Rain alangeth[351] the countree." No wonder they welcomed the return of the bright, warm days, when they could resume their gay, adventurous, open-air life, in the fresh, flowery meadows, and the wide, green forest glades; roaming to town and village, castle and monastery, feast and tournament; alone, or in company with a band of brother minstrels; meeting by the way with gay knights adventurous, or pilgrims not less gay--if they were like those of Chaucer's company; welcomed everywhere by priest and abbot, lord and loon. These are the sort of strains which they carolled as they rested under the white hawthorn, and carelessly tinkled an accompaniment on their harps:-- "Merry is th' enté of May; The fowles maketh merry play; The time is hot, and long the day. The joyful nightingale singeth, In the grene mede flowers springeth. * * * * "Merry it is in somer's tide; Fowles sing in forest wide; Swaines gin on justing ride, Maidens liffen hem in pride." The minstrels were often men of position and wealth. Rayer, or Raherus, the first of the king's minstrels whom we meet with after the Conquest, founded the Priory and Hospital of St. Bartholomew, in Smithfield, London, in the third year of Henry I., A.D. 1102, and became the first prior of his own foundation. He was not the only minstrel who turned religious. Foulquet de Marseille, first a merchant, then a minstrel of note--some of his songs have descended to these days--at length turned monk, and was made abbot of Tournet, and at length Archbishop of Toulouse, and is known in history as the persecutor of the Albigenses: he died in 1231 A.D. It seems to have been no unusual thing for men of family to take up the wandering, adventurous life of the minstrel, much as others of the same class took up the part of knight adventurous; they frequently travelled on horseback, with a servant to carry their harp; flocking to courts and tournaments, where the graceful and accomplished singer of chivalrous deeds was perhaps more caressed than the large-limbed warrior who achieved them; and obtained large rewards, instead of huge blows, for his guerdon. There are some curious anecdotes showing the kind of people who became minstrels, their wandering habits, their facility of access to all companies and places, and the uses which were sometimes made of their privileges. All our readers will remember how Blondel de Nesle, the minstrel of Richard Coeur de Lion, wandered over Europe in search of his master. There is a less known instance of a similar kind and of the same period. Ela, the heiress of D'Evereux, Earl of Salisbury, had been carried abroad and secreted by her French relations in Normandy. To discover the place of her concealment, a knight of the Talbot family spent two years in exploring that province; at first under the disguise of a pilgrim; then, having found where she was confined, in order to gain admittance, he assumed the dress and character of a harper; and being a jocose person, exceedingly skilled in the Gests of the ancients, he was gladly received into the family. He succeeded in carrying off the lady, whom he restored to her liege lord the king, who bestowed her in marriage, not upon the adventurous knight-minstrel, as ought to have been the ending of so pretty a novelet, but upon his own natural brother, William Longespée, to whom she brought her earldom of Salisbury in dower. Many similar instances, not less valuable evidences of the manners of the times because they are fiction, might be selected from the romances of the Middle Ages; proving that it was not unusual for men of birth and station[352] to assume, for a longer or shorter time, the character and life of the wandering minstrel. But besides these gentle minstrels, there were a multitude of others of the lower classes of society, professors of the joyous science; descending through all grades of musical skill, and of respectability of character. We find regulations from time to time intended to check their irregularities. In 1315 King Edward II. issued an ordinance addressed to sheriffs, &c., as follows: "Forasmuch as ... many idle persons under colour of mynstrelsie, and going in messages[353] and other faigned busines, have been and yet be receaved in other men's houses to meate and drynke, and be not therwith contented yf they be not largely considered with gyftes of the Lordes of the Houses, &c.... We wyllyng to restrayne such outrageous enterprises and idlenes, &c., have ordeyned ... that to the houses of Prelates, Earls, and Barons, none resort to meate and drynke unless he be a mynstrell, and of these mynstrels that there come none except it be three or four mynstrels of honour at most in one day unless he be desired of the Lorde of the House. And to the houses of meaner men, that none come unlesse he be desired; and that such as shall come so holde themselves contented with meate and drynke, and with such curtesie as the Master of the House wyl shewe unto them of his owne good wyll, without their askyng of any thyng. And yf any one do against this ordinaunce at the first tyme he to lose his minstrelsie, and at the second tyme to forsweare his craft, and never to be received for a minstrell in any house." This curious ordinance gives additional proof of several facts which we have before noted, viz., that minstrels were well received everywhere, and had even become exacting in their expectations; that they used to wander about in bands; and the penalties seem to indicate that the minstrels were already incorporated in a guild. The first positive evidence of such a guild is in the charter (already alluded to) of 9th King Edward IV., A.D. 1469, in which he grants to Walter Haliday, _Marshall_, and seven others, his own minstrels, a charter by which he restores a Fraternity or perpetual Guild (such as he understands the brothers and sisters of the Fraternity of Minstrels had in times past), to be governed by a marshall, appointed for life, and by two wardens, to be chosen annually, who are empowered to admit brothers and sisters into the guild, and are authorised to examine the pretensions of all such as affect to exercise the minstrel profession; and to regulate, govern, and punish them throughout the realm--those of Chester excepted. It seems probable that the King's Minstrel, or the King of the Minstrels, had long previously possessed an authority of this kind over all the members of the profession, and that the organization very much resembled that of the heralds. The two are mentioned together in the Statute of Arms for Tournaments, passed in the reign of Edward I., A.D. 1295. "E qe nul Roy de Harraunz ne Menestrals[354] portent privez armez:" that no King of the Heralds or of the Minstrels shall carry secret weapons. That the minstrels attended all tournaments we have already mentioned. The heralds and minstrels are often coupled in the same sentence; thus Froissart tells us that at a Christmas entertainment given by the Earl of Foix, there were many minstrels, as well his own as strangers, "and the Earl gave to Heraulds and Minstrelles the sum of fyve hundred frankes; and gave to the Duke of Tourayne's mynstreles gowns of cloth of gold furred with ermine, valued at 200 frankes."[355] CHAPTER III. GUILDS OF MINSTRELS. It is not unlikely that the principal minstrel of every great noble exercised some kind of authority over all minstrels within his lord's jurisdiction. There are several famous instances of something of this kind on record. The earliest is that of the authority granted by Ranulph, Earl of Chester, to the Duttons over all minstrels of his jurisdiction; for the romantic origin of the grant the curious reader may see the Introductory Essay to Percy's "Reliques," or the original authorities in Dugdale's "Monasticon," and D. Powel's "History of Cambria." The ceremonies attending the exercise of this authority are thus described by Dugdale, as handed down to his time:--viz., "That at Midsummer fair there, all the minstrels of that countrey resorting to Chester, do attend the heir of Dutton from his lodging to St. John's Church (he being then accompanied by many gentlemen of the countrey), one of the minstrels walking before him in a surcoat of his arms, depicted on taffeta; the rest of his fellows proceeding two and two, and playing on their several sorts of musical instruments. And after divine service ended, gave the like attendance on him back to his lodging; where a court being kept by his (Mr. Dutton's) steward, and all the minstrels formally called, certain orders and laws are usually made for the better government of that society, with penalties on those that transgress." This court, we have seen, was exempted from the jurisdiction of the King of the Minstrels by Edward IV., as it was also from the operation of all Acts of Parliament on the subject down to so late a period as the seventeenth year of George II., the last of them. In the fourth year of King Richard II., John[356] of Gaunt created a court of minstrels at Tutbury, in Staffordshire, similar to that at Chester; in the charter (which is quoted in Dr. Plott's "History of Staffordshire," p. 436) he gives them a King of the Minstrels and four officers, with a legal authority over the men of their craft in the five adjoining counties of Stafford, Derby, Notts, Leicester, and Warwick. The form of election, as it existed at a comparatively late period, is fully detailed by Dr. Plott. [Illustration: _The Beverley Minstrels._] Another of these guilds was the ancient company or fraternity of minstrels in Beverley, of which an account is given in Poulson's "Beverlac" (p. 302). When the fraternity originated we do not know; but they were of some consideration and wealth in the reign of Henry VI., when the Church of St. Mary's, Beverley, was built; for they gave a pillar to it, on the capital of which a band of minstrels are sculptured, of whom we here re-produce a drawing from Carter's "Ancient Painting and Sculpture," to which we shall have presently to ask the reader's further attention. The oldest existing document of the fraternity is a copy of laws of the time of Philip and Mary. They are similar to those by which all trade guilds were governed: their officers were an alderman and two stewards or sears (_i.e._ seers, searchers); the only items in their laws which throw much additional light upon our subject are the one already partly quoted, that they should not take "any new brother except he be mynstrell to some man of honour or worship (proving that men of honour and worship still had minstrels), or waite[357] of some towne corporate or other ancient town, or else of such honestye and conyng as shall be thought laudable and pleasant to the hearers there." And again, "no myler, shepherd, or of other occupation, or husbandman, or husbandman servant, playing upon pype or other instrument, shall sue any wedding, or other thing that pertaineth to the said science, except in his own parish." We may here digress for a moment to say that the shepherds, throughout the Middle Ages, seem to have been as musical as the swains of Theocritus or Virgil; in the MS. illuminations we constantly find them represented playing upon instruments; we give a couple of goatherds from the MS. Royal 2 B vii. folio 83, of early fourteenth-century date. [Illustration: _Goatherds playing Musical Instruments._] [Illustration: _Shepherd with Bagpipes._] Besides the pipe and horn, the bagpipe was also a rustic instrument. There is a shepherd playing upon one in folio 112 of the same MS.; and again, in the early fourteenth-century MS. Royal 2 B vi., on the reverse of folio 8, is a group of shepherds, one of whom plays a small pipe, and another the bagpipes. Chaucer (3rd Book of the "House of Fame") mentions-- "Pipes made of greené corne, As have these little herd gromes, That keepen beastés in the bromes." It is curious to find that even at so late a period as the time of Queen Mary, the shepherds still officiated at weddings and other merrymakings in their villages, so as to excite the jealousy of the professors of the joyous science. The accompanying wood-cut, from a MS. in the French National library, may represent such a rustic merry-making. [Illustration: _Rustic Merry-making._] One might, perhaps, have been disposed to think that the good minstrels of Beverley were only endeavouring to revive usages which had fallen into desuetude; but we find that in the time of Elizabeth the profession of minstrelsy was sufficiently universal to call for the inquiry, in the Injunctions of 1559, "Whether any minstrells, or any other persons, do use to sing any songs or ditties that be vile or unclean." Ben Jonson gives us numerous allusions to them: _e.g._, in the "Tale of a Tub," old Turve talks of "old Father Rosin, the chief minstrel here--chief minstrel, too, of Highgate; she has hired him, and all his two boys, for a day and a half." They were to be dressed in bays, rosemary, and ribands, to precede the bridal party across the fields to church and back, and to play at dinner. And so in "Epicoene," act iii. sc. 1:-- "Well, there be guests to meat now; how shall we do for music?" [for Morose's wedding.] _Clerimont._--The smell of the venison going thro' the street will invite one noise of fiddlers or other. _Dauphine._--I would it would call the trumpeters hither! _Clerimont._--Faith, there is hope: they have intelligence of all feasts. There's a good correspondence betwixt them and the London cooks: 'tis twenty to one but we have them. And Dryden, so late as the time of William III., speaks of them-- "These fellows Were once the minstrels of a country show, Followed the prizes through each paltry town, By trumpet cheeks and bloated faces known." There were also female minstrels throughout the Middle Ages; but, as might be anticipated from their irregular wandering life, they bore an indifferent reputation. The romance of "Richard Coeur de Lion" says that it was a female minstrel, and, still worse, an Englishwoman, who recognised and betrayed the knight-errant king and his companions, on their return from the Holy Land, to his enemy, the "King of Almain." The passage is worth quoting, as it illustrates several of the traits of minstrel habits which we have already recorded. After Richard and his companions had dined on a goose, which they cooked for themselves at a tavern-- "When they had drunken well afin, A minstralle com therin, And said 'Gentlemen, wittily, Will ye have any minstrelsey?' Richard bade that she should go. That turned him to mickle woe! The minstralle took in mind,[358] And saith, 'Ye are men unkind; And if I may, ye shall for-think[359] Ye gave neither meat nor drink. For gentlemen should bede[360] To minstrels that abouten yede[361] Of their meat, wine, and ale; For los[362] rises of minstrale.' She was English, and well true By speech, and sight, and hide, and hue." Stow tells that in 1316, while Edward II. was solemnizing his Feast of Pentecost in his hall at Westminster, sitting royally at table, with his peers about him, there entered a woman adorned like a minstrel, sitting on a great horse, trapped as minstrels then used, who rode round about the tables showing her pastime. The reader will remember the use which Sir E. B. Lytton has made of a troop of tymbesteres in "The Last of the Barons," bringing them in at the epochs of his tale with all the dramatic effect of the Greek chorus: the description which he gives of their habits is too sadly truthful. The daughter of Herodias dancing before Herod is scornfully represented by the mediæval artists as a female minstrel performing the tumbling tricks which were part of their craft. We give a representation of a female minstrel playing the tambourine from the MS. Royal, 2 B vii. folio 182. [Illustration: _Female Minstrel._] A question of considerable interest to artists, no less than to antiquaries, is whether the minstrels were or not distinguished by any peculiar costume or habit. Bishop Percy[363] and his followers say that they were, and the assertion is grounded on the following evidences: Baldulph, the Saxon, in the anecdote already related, when assuming the disguise of a minstrel, is described as shaving his head and beard, and dressing himself in the habit of that profession. Alfred and Aulaff were known at once to be minstrels. The two poor priests who were turned out of the monastery by the dissolute monks were at first mistaken for minstrels. The woman who entered Westminster Hall at King Edward the Second's Pentecost feast was adorned like a minstrel, sitting on a great horse, trapped as minstrels then used. The Knight of La Tour-Landry (chap. xvii) tells a story which shows that the costume of minstrels was often conspicuous for richness and fashion: "As y have herde telle, Sir Piere de Luge was atte the feste where as were gret foyson of lordes, ladies, knightes, and squieres, and gentilwomen, and so there came in a yonge squier before hem that was sette atte dyner and salued the companie, and he was clothed in a cote-hardy[364] upon the guyse of Almayne, and in this wise he come further before the lordes and ladies, and made hem goodly reverence. And so the said Sir Piere called this yonge squier with his voys before alle the statis, and saide unto hym and axed hym, where was his fedylle or hys ribible, or suche an instrument as longethe unto a mynstralle. 'Syr,' saide the squier, 'I canne not medille me of such thinge, it is not my craft nor science.' 'Sir,' saide the knight, 'I canne not trowe that ye saye, for ye be counterfait in youre araye and lyke unto a mynstralle; for I have knowe herebefore alle youre aunsetours, and the knightes and squiers of youre kin, which were alle worthie men; but I sawe never none of hem that were [wore] counterfait, nor that clothed hem in such array.' And thanne the yonge squier answered the knight and saide, 'Sir, by as moche as it mislykithe you it shalle be amended,' and cleped a pursevant and gave him the cote-hardy. And he abled hym selff in an other gowne, and come agen into the halle, and thanne the anncyen knight saide openly, 'This yonge squier shalle have worshipe for he hath trowed and do bi the counsaile of the elder withoute ani contraryenge.'" In the time of Henry VII. we read of nine ells of _tawny_ cloth for three minstrels; and in the "History of Jack of Newbury," of "a noise [_i.e._ band] of musicians in _townie_ coats, who, putting off their caps, asked if they would have music." And lastly, there is a description of the person who personated "an ancient mynstrell" in one of the pageants which were played before Queen Elizabeth at her famous visit to Kenilworth, which is curious enough to be quoted. "A person, very meet seemed he for the purpose, of a forty-five years old, apparalled partly as he would himself. His cap off; his head seemly rounded tonsterwise;[365] fair kembed, that with a sponge daintily dipped in a little capon's grease was finely smoothen, to make it shine like a mallard's wing. His beard smugly shaven; and yet his shirt after the new trick, with ruffs fair starched, sleeked and glistering like a paire of new shoes, marshalled in good order with a setting stick and strut, that every ruff stood up like a wafer. A side (_i.e._ long) gown of Kendal Green, after the freshness of the year now, gathered at the neck with a narrow gorget, fastened afore with white clasp and keeper close up to the chin; but easily, for heat to undo when he list. Seemly begirt in a red caddis girdle: from that a pair of capped Sheffield knives hanging a' two sides. Out of his bosom drawn forth a lappel of his napkin (_i.e._ handkerchief) edged with a blue lace, and marked with a true love, a heart, and a D. for Damian, for he was but a batchelor yet. His gown had side (_i.e._ long) sleeves down to midleg, slit from the shoulder to the hand, and lined with white cotton. His doublet sleeves of black worsted: upon them a pair of paynets (perhaps points) of tawny chamlet laced along the wrist with blue threaden points, a weall towards the hand of fustian-a-napes. A pair of red neather socks. A pair of pumps on his feet, with a cross cut at the toes for corns: not new, indeed, yet cleanly blackt with soot, and shining as a shoeing horn. About his neck a red ribband suitable to his girdle. His harp in good grace dependant before him. His wrest tyed to a green lace, and hanging by; under the gorget of his gown a fair flaggon chain (pewter for) silver, as a squire-minstrel[366] of Middlesex that travelled the country this summer season, unto fairs and worshipful men's houses. From this chain hung a scutcheon, with metal and colour resplendant upon his breast, of the ancient arms of Islington," to which place he is represented as belonging. From these authorities Percy would deduce that the minstrels were tonsured and apparelled very much after the same fashion as priests. The pictorial authorities do not bear out any such conclusion. There are abundant authorities for the belief that the dress of the minstrels was remarkable for a very unclerical sumptuousness; but in looking through the numerous ancient representations of minstrels we find no trace of the tonsure, and no peculiarity of dress; they are represented in the ordinary costume of their time; in colours blue, red, grey, particoloured, like other civilians; with hoods, or hats, or without either; frequently the different members of the same band of minstrels present all these differences of costume, as in the instance here given, from the title-page of the fourteenth century MS. Add., 10,293; proving that the minstrels did not affect any uniformity of costume whatever. [Illustration: _A Band of Minstrels._] The household minstrels probably wore their master's badge[367] (liveries were not usual until a late period); others the badge of their guild. Thus in the Morte Arthur, Sir Dinadan makes a reproachful lay against King Arthur, and teaches it an harper, that hight Elyot, and sends him to sing it before King Mark and his nobles at a great feast. The king asked, "Thou harper, how durst thou be so bold to sing this song before me?" "Sir," said Elyot, "wit you well I am a minstrell, and I must doe as I am commanded of these lords that _I bear the armes of_;" and in proof of the privileged character of the minstrel we find the outraged king replying, "Thou saiest well, I charge thee that thou hie thee fast out of my sight." So the squire-minstrel of Middlesex, who belonged to Islington, had a chain round his neck, with a scutcheon upon it, upon which were blazoned the arms of Islington. And in the effigies of the Beverley minstrels, which we have given on page 298, we find that their costume is the ordinary costume of the period, and is not alike in all; but that each of them has a chain round his neck, to which is suspended what is probably a scutcheon, like that of the Islington minstrel. In short, a careful examination of a number of illustrations in illuminated MSS. of various dates, from Saxon downwards, leaves the impression that minstrels wore the ordinary costume of their period, more or less rich in material, or fashionable in cut, according to their means and taste; and that the only distinctive mark of their profession was the instrument which each bore, or, as in the case of the Kenilworth minstrel, the tuning wrest hung by a riband to his girdle; and in the case of a household minstrel the badge of the lord whom he served. [Illustration: _Cymbals and Trumpets._] [Illustration: _Regals and Double Pipe_ (Royal 2 B vii).] [Illustration: _Regals or Organ_ (Royal, 14 E iii).] The forms of the most usual musical instruments of various periods may be gathered from the illustrations which have already been given. The most common are the harp, fiddle, cittern or lute, hand-organ, the shalm or psaltery, the pipe and tabor, pipes of various sizes played like clarionets, but called flutes, the double pipe, hand-bells, trumpets and horns, bagpipes, tambourine, tabret, drum, and cymbals. Of the greater number of these we have already incidentally given illustrations; we add, on the last page, other illustrations, from the Royal MS., 2 B vii., and Royal MS. 14 E iii. In the fourteenth century new instruments were invented. Guillaume de Marhault in his poem of "Le Temps Pastour," gives us an idea of the multitude of instruments which composed a grand concert of the fifteenth century; he says[368]-- "Là je vis tout en un cerne Viole, rubebe, guiterne, L'enmorache, le micamon, Citole et Psalterion, Harpes, tabours, trompes, nacaires, Orgues, cornes plus de dix paires, Cornemuse, flajos et chevrettes Douceines, simbales, clochettes, Tymbre, la flauste lorehaigne, Et le grand cornet d'Allemayne, Flacos de sans, fistule, pipe, Muse d'Aussay, trompe petite, Buisine, eles, monochorde, Ou il n'y a qu'une corde; Et muse de blet tout ensemble. Et certainment il me semble Qu' oncques mais tèle mélodie Ne feust oncques vene ne oye; Car chascun d'eux, selon l'accort De son instrument sans descort, Vitole, guiterne, citole, Harpe, trompe, corne, flajole, Pipe, souffle, muse, naquaire, Taboure et qu cunque ou put faire De dois, de peune et à l'archet, Ois et vis en ce porchet." In conclusion we give a group of musical instruments from one of the illustrations of "Der Weise König," a work of the close of the fifteenth century. [Illustration: _Musical Instruments of the 15th Century._] THE KNIGHTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. SAXON ARMS AND ARMOUR. We proceed, in this division of our work, to select out of the inexhaustible series of pictures of mediæval life and manners contained in illuminated MSS., a gallery of subjects which will illustrate the armour and costume, the military life and chivalric adventures, of the Knights of the Middle Ages; and to append to the pictures such explanations as they may seem to need, and such discursive remarks as the subjects may suggest. For the military costume of the Anglo-Saxon period we have the authority of the descriptions in their literature, illustrated by drawings in their illuminated MSS.; and if these leave anything wanting in definiteness, the minutest details of form and ornamentation may often be recovered from the rusted and broken relics of armour and weapons which have been recovered from their graves, and are now preserved in our museums. Saxon freemen seem to have universally borne arms. Tacitus tells us of their German ancestors, that swords were rare among them, and the majority did not use lances, but that spears, with a narrow, sharp and short head, were the common and universal weapon, used either in distant or close fight; and that even the cavalry were satisfied with a shield and one of these spears. The law in later times seems to have required freemen to bear arms for the common defence; the laws of Gula, which are said to have been originally established by Hacon the Good in the middle of the eighth century, required every man who possessed six marks besides his clothes to furnish himself with a red shield and a spear, an axe or a sword; he who was worth twelve marks was to have a steel cap also; and he who was worth eighteen marks a byrnie, or shirt of mail, in addition. Accordingly, in the exploration of Saxon graves we find in those of men "spears and javelins are extremely numerous," says Mr. C. Roach Smith, "and of a variety of shapes and sizes."... "So constantly do we find them in the Saxon graves, that it would appear no man above the condition of a serf was buried without one. Some are of large size, but the majority come under the term of javelin or dart." The rusty spear-head lies beside the skull, and the iron boss of the shield on his breast; the long, broad, heavy, rusted sword is comparatively seldom found beside the skeleton; sometimes, but rarely, the iron frame of a skull-cap or helmet is found about the head. [Illustration: _Saxon Soldiers._] An examination of the pictures in the Saxon illuminated MSS. confirms the conclusion that the shield and spear were the common weapons. Their bearers are generally in the usual civil costume, and not infrequently are bare-headed. The spear-shaft is almost always spoken of as being of ash-wood; indeed, the word _æsc_ (ash) is used by metonymy for a spear; and the common poetic name for a soldier is _æsc-berend_, or _æsc-born_, a spear-bearer; just as, in later times, we speak of him as a swordsman. We learn from the poets that the shield--"the broad war disk"--was made of linden-wood, as in Beowulf:-- "He could not then refrain, but grasped his shield the yellow linden, drew his ancient sword." From the actual remains of shields, we find that the central boss was of iron, of conical shape, and that a handle was fixed across its concavity by which it was held in the hand. The helmet is of various shapes; the commonest are the three represented in our first four wood-cuts. The most common is the conical shape seen in the large wood-cut on p. 316. [Illustration: _Saxon Horse Soldiers._] The Phrygian-shaped helmet, seen in the single figure on p. 314 is also a very common form; and the curious crested helmet worn by all the warriors in our first two wood-cuts of Saxon soldiers is also common. In some cases the conical helmet was of iron, but perhaps more frequently it was of leather, strengthened with a frame of iron. In the group of four foot soldiers in our first wood-cut, it will be observed that the men wear tunics, hose, and shoes; the multiplicity of folds and fluttering ends in the drapery is a characteristic of Saxon art, but the spirit and elegance of the heads is very unusual and very admirable. Our first three illustrations are taken from a beautiful little MS. of Prudentius in the Cottonian Library, known under the press mark, Cleopatra C. IV. The illuminations in this MS. are very clearly and skilfully drawn with the pen; indeed, many of them are designed with so much spirit and skill and grace, as to make them not only of antiquarian interest, but also of high artistic merit. The subjects are chiefly illustrations of Scripture history or of allegorical fable; but, thanks to the custom which prevailed throughout the Middle Ages of representing all such subjects in contemporary costume, and according to contemporary manners and customs, the Jewish patriarchs and their servants afford us perfectly correct representations of Saxon thanes and their _cheorls_; Goliath, a perfect picture of a Saxon warrior, armed _cap-à-pied_; and Pharaoh and his nobles of a Saxon Basileus and his witan. Thus, our second wood-cut is an illustration of the incident of Lot and his family being carried away captives by the Canaanitish kings after their successful raid against the cities of the plain; but it puts before our eyes a group of the armed retainers of a Saxon king on a military expedition. It will be seen that they wear the ordinary Saxon civil costume, a tunic and cloak; that they are all armed with the spear, all wear crested helmets; and the last of the group carries a round shield suspended at his back. The variety of attitude, the spirit and life of the figures, and the skill and gracefulness of the drawing, are admirable. Another very valuable series of illustrations of Saxon military costume will be found in a MS. of Ælfric's Paraphrase of the Pentateuch and Joshua, in the British Museum (Cleopatra B. IV.); at folio 25, for example, we have a representation of Abraham pursuing the five kings in order to rescue Lot: in the version of the Saxon artist the patriarch and his Arab servants are translated into a Saxon thane and his house carles, who are represented marching in a long array which takes up two bands of drawing across the vellum page. [Illustration: _Saxon Soldier, in Leather Armour._] The Anglo-Saxon poets let us know that chieftains and warriors wore a body defence, which they call a byrnie or a battle-sark. In the illuminations we find this sometimes of leather, as in the wood-cut here given from the Prudentius which has already supplied us with two illustrations. It is very usually Vandyked at the edges, as here represented. But the epithets, "iron byrnie," and "ringed byrnie," and "twisted battle-sark," show that the hauberk was often made of iron mail. In some of the illuminations it is represented as if detached rings of iron were sewn flat upon it: this may be really a representation of a kind of jazerant work, such as was frequently used in later times, or it may be only an unskilful way of representing the ordinary linked mail. A document of the early part of the eighth century, given in Mr. Thorpe's Anglo-Saxon Laws, seems to indicate that at that period the mail hauberk was usually worn only by the higher ranks. In distinguishing between the eorl and the cheorl it says, if the latter thrive so well that he have a helmet and byrnie and sword ornamented with gold, yet if he have not five hydes of land, he is only a cheorl. By the time of the end of the Saxon era, however, it would seem that the men-at-arms were usually furnished with a coat of fence, for the warriors in the battle of Hastings are nearly all so represented in the Bayeux tapestry. In Ælfric's Paraphrase, already mentioned (Cleopatra B. IV.), at folio 64, there is a representation of a king clothed in such a mail shirt, armed with sword and shield, attended by an armour-bearer, who carries a second shield but no offensive weapon, his business being to ward off the blows aimed at his lord. We should have given a wood-cut of this interesting group, but that it has already been engraved in the "Pictorial History of England" (vol. i.) and in Hewitt's "Ancient Armour" (vol. i. p. 60). This king with his shield-bearer does not occur in an illustration of Goliath and the man bearing a shield who went before him, nor of Saul and his armour-bearer, where it would be suggested by the text; but is one of the three kings engaged in battle against the cities of the plain; it seems therefore to indicate a Saxon usage. Another of the kings in the same picture has no hauberk, but only the same costume as the warrior in the wood-cut on the next page. In the Additional MS. 11,695, in the British Museum, a work of the eleventh century, there are several representations of warriors thus fully armed, very rude and coarse in drawing, but valuable for the clearness with which they represent the military equipment of the time. At folio 194 there is a large figure of a warrior in a mail shirt, a conical helmet, strengthened with iron ribs converging to the apex, the front rib extending downwards, into what is called a nasal, _i.e._, a piece of iron extending downwards over the nose, so as to protect the face from a sword-cut across the upper part of it. At folio 233 of the same MS. is a group of six warriors, two on horseback and four on foot. We find them all with hauberk, iron helmets, round shields, and various kinds of leg defences; they have spears, swords, and one of the horsemen bears a banner of characteristic shape, _i.e._, it is a right-angled triangle, with the shortest side applied to the spear-shaft, so that the right angle is at the bottom. [Illustration: No. 4.] A few extracts from the poem of Beowulf, a curious Saxon fragment, which the best scholars concur in assigning to the end of the eighth century, will help still further to bring these ancient warriors before our mind's eye. Here is a scene in King Hrothgar's hall: "After evening came and Hrothgar had departed to his court, guarded the mansion countless warriors, as they oft ere had done, they bared the bench-floor it was overspread with beds and bolsters, they set at their heads their disks of war, their shield-wood bright; there on the bench was over the noble, easy to be seen, his high martial helm, his ringed byrnie and war-wood stout." Beowulf's funeral pole is said to be-- "with helmets, war brands, and bright byrnies behung." And in this oldest of Scandinavian romances we have the natural reflections-- "the hard helm shall adorned with gold from the fated fall; mortally wounded sleep those who war to rage by trumpet should announce; in like manner the war shirt which in battle stood over the crash of shields the bite of swords shall moulder after the warrior; the byrnie's ring may not after the martial leader go far on the side of heroes; there is no joy of harp no glee-wood's mirth, no good hawk swings through the hall, nor the swift steed tramps the city place. Baleful death has many living kinds sent forth." Reflections which Coleridge summed up in the brief lines-- "Their swords are rust, Their bones are dust, Their souls are with the saints, we trust." The wood-cut on page 316 is taken from a collection of various Saxon pictures in the British Museum, bound together in the volume marked Tiberius C. VI., at folio 9. Our wood-cut is a reduced copy. In the original the warrior is seven or eight inches high, and there is, therefore, ample room for the delineation of every part of his costume. From the embroidery of the tunic, and the ornamentation of the shield and helmet, we conclude that we have before us a person of consideration, and he is represented as in the act of combat; but we see his armour and arms are only those to which we have already affirmed that the usual equipment was limited. The helmet seems to be strengthened with an iron rim and converging ribs, and is furnished with a short nasal. The figure is without the usual cloak, and therefore the better shows the fashion of the tunic. The banding of the legs was not for defence, it is common in civil costume. The quasi-banding of the forearm is also sometimes found in civil costume; it seems not to be an actual banding, still less a spiral armlet, but merely a fashion of wearing the tunic sleeve. We see how the sword is, rather inartificially, slung by a belt over the shoulder; how the shield is held by the iron handle across its hollow spiked umbo; and how the barbed javelin is cast. On the preceding page of this MS. is a similar figure, but without the sword. There were some other weapons frequently used by the Saxons which we have not yet had occasion to mention. The most important of these is the axe. It is not often represented in illuminations, and is very rarely found in graves, but it certainly was extensively in use in the latter part of the Anglo-Saxon period, and was perhaps introduced by the Danes. The house carles of Canute, we are expressly told, were armed with axes, halberds, and swords, ornamented with gold. In the ship which Godwin presented to Hardicanute, William of Malmesbury tells us the soldiers wore two bracelets of gold on each arm, each bracelet weighing sixteen ounces; they had gilt helmets; in the right hand they carried a spear of iron, and in the left a Danish axe, and they wore swords hilted with gold. The axe was also in common use by the Saxons at the battle of Hastings. There are pictorial examples of the single axe in the Cottonian MS., Cleopatra C. VIII.; of the double axe--the bipennis--in the Harleian MS., 603; and of various forms of the weapon, including the pole-axe, in the Bayeux tapestry. The knife or dagger was also a Saxon weapon. There is a picture in the Anglo-Saxon MS. in the Paris Library, called the Duke de Berri's Psalter, in which a combatant is armed with what appears to be a large double-edged knife and a shield, and actual examples of it occur in Saxon graves. The _seax_, which is popularly believed to have been a dagger and a characteristic Saxon weapon, seems to have been a short single-edged slightly curved weapon, and is rarely found in England. It is mentioned in Beowulf:--he-- "drew his deadly seax, bitter and battle sharp, that he on his byrnie bore." The sword was usually about three feet long, two-edged and heavy in the blade. Sometimes, especially in earlier examples, it is without a guard. Its hilt was sometimes of the ivory of the walrus, occasionally of gold, the blade was sometimes inlaid with gold ornaments and runic verses. Thus in Beowulf-- "So was on the surface of the bright gold with runic letters rightly marked, set and said, for whom that sword, costliest of irons, was first made, with twisted hilt and serpent shaped." The Saxons indulged in many romantic fancies about their swords. Some swordsmiths chanted magical verses as they welded them, and tempered them with mystical ingredients. Beowulf's sword was a-- "tempered falchion that had before been one of the old treasures; its edge was iron tainted with poisonous things hardened with warrior blood; never had it deceived any man of those who brandished it with hands." Favourite swords had names given them, and were handed down from father to son, or passed from champion to champion, and became famous. Thus, again, in Beowulf, we read-- "He could not then refrain, but grasped his shield, the yellow linden, drew his ancient sword that among men was a relic of Eanmund, Ohthere's son, of whom in conflict was, when a friendless exile, Weohstan the slayer with falchions edges, and from his kinsmen bore away the brown-hued helm, the ringed byrnie, the old Eotenish[369] sword which him Onela had given." There is a fine and very perfect example of a Saxon sword in the British Museum, which was found in the bed of the river Witham, at Lincoln. The sheath was usually of wood, covered with leather, and tipped, and sometimes otherwise ornamented with metal. The spear was used javelin-wise, and the warrior going into battle sometimes carried several of them. They are long-bladed, often barbed, as represented in the woodcut on p. 316, and very generally have one or two little cross-bars below the head, as in cuts on pp. 313 and 314. The Saxon artillery, besides the javelin, was the bow and arrows. The bow is usually a small one, of the old classical shape, not the long bow for which the English yeomen afterwards became so famous, and which seems to have been introduced by the Normans. In the latest period of the Saxon monarchy, the armour and weapons were almost identical with those used on the Continent. We have abundant illustrations of them in the Bayeux tapestry. In that invaluable historical monument, the minutest differences between the Saxon and Norman knights and men-at-arms seem to be carefully observed, even to the national fashions of cutting the hair; and we are therefore justified in assuming that there were no material differences in the military equipment, since we find none indicated, except that the Normans used the long bow and the Saxons did not. We have abstained from taking any illustrations from the tapestry, because the whole series has been several times engraved, and is well known, or, at least, is easily accessible, to those who are interested in the subject. We have preferred to take an illustration from a MS. in the British Museum, marked Harleian 2,895, from folio 82 v. The warrior, who is no less a person than Goliath of Gath, has a hooded hauberk, with sleeves down to the elbow, over a green tunic. The legs are tinted blue in the drawing, but seem to be unarmed, except for the green boots, which reach half way to the knee. He wears an iron helmet with a nasal, and the hood appears to be fastened to the nasal, so as to protect the lower part of the face. The large shield is red, with a yellow border, and is hung from the neck by a chain. The belt round his waist is red. The well-armed giant leans upon his spear, looking down contemptuously on David, whom it has not been thought necessary to include in our copy of the picture. The group forms a very appropriate filling-in of the great initial letter B of the Psalm _Benedictus Dns. Ds. Ms. qui docet manus meas ad prælium et digitos meos ad bellum_ (Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight). In the same MS., at folio 70, there are two men armed with helmet and sword, and at folio 81 v. a group of armed men on horseback, in sword, shield, and spurs. It may be convenient to some of our readers, if we indicate here where a few other examples of Saxon military costume may be found which we have noted down, but have not had occasion to refer to in the above remarks. [Illustration] In the MS. of Prudentius (Cleopatra C. VIII.), from which we have taken our first three woodcuts, are many other pictures well worth study. On the same page (folio 1 v.) as that which contains our wood-cut p. 312, there is another very similar group on the lower part of the page; on folio 2 is still another group, in which some of the faces are most charming in drawing and expression. At folio 15 v. there is a spirited combat of two footmen, armed with sword and round shield, and clad in short leather coats of fence, vandyked at the edges. At folio 24 v. is an allegorical female figure in a short leather tunic, with shading on it which seems to indicate that the hair of the leather has been left on, and is worn outside, which we know from other sources was one of the fashions of the time. In the MS. of Ælfric's Paraphrase (Claud. B. iv.) already quoted, there are, besides the battle scene at folio 24 v., in which occurs the king and his armour-bearer, at folio 25 two long lines of Saxon horsemen marching across the page, behind Abraham, who wears a crested Phrygian helm. On the reverse of folio 25 there is another group, and also on folios 62 and 64. On folio 52 is another troop, of Esau's horsemen, marching across the page in ranks of four abreast, all bareheaded and armed with spears. At folio 96 v. is another example of a warrior, with a shield-bearer. The pictures in the latter part of this MS. are not nearly so clearly delineated as in the former part, owing to their having been tinted with colour; the colour, however, enables us still more completely to fill in to the mind's eye the distinct forms which we have gathered from the former part of the book. The large troops of soldiers are valuable, as showing us the style of equipment which was common in the Saxon militia. There is another MS. of Prudentius in the British Museum of about the same date, and of the same school of art, though not quite so finely executed, which is well worth the study of the artist in search of authorities for Saxon military (and other) costume, and full of interest for the amateur of art and archæology. Its press mark is Cottonian, Titus D. XVI. On the reverse of folio 2 is a group of three armed horsemen, representing the confederate kings of Canaan carrying off Lot, while Abraham, at the head of another group of armed men, is pursuing them. On folio 3 is another group of armed horsemen. After these Scripture histories come some allegorical subjects, conceived and drawn with great spirit. At folio 6 v., "_Pudicitia pugnat contra Libidinem_," Pudicitia being a woman armed with hauberk, helmet, spear, and shield. On the opposite page Pudicitia--in a very spirited attitude--is driving her spear through the throat of Libido. On folio 26 v., "_Discordia vulnerat occulte Concordium_." Concord is represented as a woman armed with a loose-sleeved hauberk, helmet, and sword. Discord is lifting up the skirt of Concord's hauberk, and thrusting a sword into her side. In the Harleian MS. 2,803, is a Vulgate Bible, of date about 1170 A.D.; there are no pictures, only the initial letters of the various books are illuminated. But while the illuminator was engaged upon the initial of the Second Book of Kings, his eye seems to have been caught by the story of Saul's death in the last chapter of the First Book, which happens to come close by in the parallel column of the great folio page:--_Arripuit itaqu, gladium et erruit sup. eum_ (Therefore Saul took a sword, and fell upon it); and he has sketched in the scene with pen-and-ink on the margin of the page, thus affording us another authority for the armour of a Saxon king when actually engaged in battle. He wears a hauberk, with an ornamented border, has his crown on his head, and spurs on his heels; has placed his sword-hilt on the ground, and fallen upon it. In the Additional MS. 11,695, on folio 102 v., are four armed men on horseback, habited in hauberks without hoods. Two of them have the sleeves extending to the wrist, two have loose sleeves to the elbow only, showing that the two fashions were worn contemporaneously. They all have mail hose; one of them is armed with a bow, the rest with the sword. There are four men in similar armour on folio 136 v. of the same MS. Also at folio 143, armed with spear, sword, and round ornamented shield. At folio 222 v. are soldiers manning a gate-tower. When the soldiers so very generally wore the ordinary citizen costume, it becomes necessary, in order to give a complete picture of the military costume, to say a few words on the dress which the soldier wore in common with the citizen. The tunic and mantle composed the national costume of the Saxons. The tunic reached about to the knee: sometimes it was slit up a little way at the sides, and it often had a rich ornamented border round the hem, extending round the side slits, making the garment almost exactly resemble the ecclesiastical tunic or Dalmatic. It had also very generally a narrower ornamental border round the opening for the neck. The tunic was sometimes girded round the waist. The Saxons were famous for their skill in embroidery, and also in metal-work; and there are sufficient proofs that the tunic was often richly embroidered. There are indications of it in the wood-cut on p. 316; and in the relics of costume found in the Saxon graves are often buckles of elegant workmanship, which fastened the belt with which the tunic was girt. The mantle was in the form of a short cloak, and was usually fastened at the shoulder, as in the wood-cuts on pp. 312, 313, 314, so as to leave the right arm unencumbered by its folds. The brooch with which this cloak was fastened formed a very conspicuous item of costume. They were of large size, some of them of bronze gilt, others of gold, beautifully ornamented with enamels; and there is this interesting fact about them, they seem to corroborate the old story, that the Saxon invaders were of three different tribes--the Jutes, Angles, and Saxons--who subdued and inhabited different portions of Britain. For in Kent and the Isle of Wight, the settlements of the Jutes, brooches are found of circular form, often of gold and enamelled. In the counties of Yorkshire, Derby, Leicester, Nottingham, Northampton, and in the eastern counties, a large gilt bronze brooch of peculiar form is very commonly found, and seems to denote a peculiar fashion of the Angles, who inhabited East Anglia, Mercia, and Northumbria. Still another variety of fashion, shaped like a saucer, has been discovered in the counties of Gloucester, Oxford, and Buckingham, on the border between the Mercians and West Saxons. It is curious to find these peculiar fashions thus confirming the ancient and obscure tradition about the original Saxon settlements. The artist will bear in mind that the Saxons seem generally to have settled in the open country, not in the towns, and to have built timber halls and cottages after their own custom, and to have avoided the sites of the Romano-British villas, whose blackened ruins must have thickly dotted at least the southern and south-eastern parts of the island. They appear to have built no fortresses, if we except a few erected at a late period, to check the incursions of the Danes. But they had the old Roman towns left, in many cases with their walls and gates tolerably entire. In the Saxon MS. Psalter, Harleian 603, are several illuminations in which walled towns and gates are represented. But we do not gather that they were very skilful either in the attack or defence of fortified places. Indeed, their weapons and armour were of a very primitive kind, and their warfare seems to have been conducted after a very unscientific fashion. Little chance had their rude Saxon hardihood against the military genius of William the Norman and the disciplined valour of his bands of mercenaries. CHAPTER II. ARMS AND ARMOUR, FROM THE NORMAN CONQUEST DOWNWARDS. The Conquest and subsequent confiscations put the land of England so entirely into the hands of William the Conqueror, that he was able to introduce the feudal system into England in a more simple and symmetrical shape than that in which it obtained in any other country of Europe. The system was a very intelligible one. The king was supposed to be the lord of all the land of the kingdom. He retained large estates in his own hands, and from these estates chiefly he derived his personal followers and his royal revenues. The rest of the land he let in large lordships to his principal nobles, on condition that they should maintain for the defence of the kingdom a certain number of men armed after a stipulated fashion, and should besides aid him on certain occasions with money payments, with which we have at present no concern. These chief tenants of the crown followed the example of the sovereign. Each retained a portion of the land in his own hands, and sub-let the rest in estates of larger or smaller size, on condition that each noble or knight who held of him should supply a proportion of the armed force he was required to furnish to the royal standard, and contribute a proportion of the money payments for which he was liable to be called upon. Each knight let the farms on his manor to his copyholders, on condition that they provided themselves with the requisite arms, and assembled under his banner when called upon for military suit and service; and they rendered certain personal services, and made certain payments in money or in kind besides, in lieu of rent. Each manor, therefore, furnished its troop of soldiers; the small farmers, perhaps, and the knight's personal retainers fighting on foot, clad in leather jerkins, and armed with pike or bow; two or three of his greater copyholders in skull caps and coats of fence; his younger brothers or grown-up sons acting as men-at-arms and esquires, on horseback, in armour almost or quite as complete as his own; while the knight himself, on his war horse, armed from top to toe--_cap-à-pied_--with shield on arm and lance in hand, with its knight's pennon fluttering from the point, was the captain of the little troop. The troops thus furnished by his several manors made up the force which the feudal lord was bound to furnish the king, and the united divisions made up the army of the kingdom. Besides this feudal army bound to render suit and service at the call of its sovereign, the laws of the kingdom also required all men of fit age--between sixteen and sixty--to keep themselves furnished with arms, and made them liable to be called out _en masse_ in great emergencies. This was the _Posse Comitatus_, the force of the county, and was under the command of the sheriff. We learn some particulars on the subject from an assize of arms of Henry II., made in 1181, which required all his subjects being free men to be ready in defence of the realm. Whosoever holds one knight's fee, shall have a hauberk, helmet, shield and lance, and every knight as many such equipments as he has knight's fees in his domain. Every free layman having ten marks in chattels shall have a habergeon, iron cap, and lance. All burgesses and the whole community of freemen shall have each a coat of fence (padded and quilted, a _wambeys_), iron cap, and lance. Any one having more arms than those required by the statute, was to sell or otherwise dispose of them, so that they might be utilised for the king's service, and no one was to carry arms out of the kingdom. There were two great points of difference between the feudal system as introduced into England and as established on the Continent. William made all landowners owe fealty to himself, and not only the tenants _in capite_. And next, though he gave his chief nobles immense possessions, these possessions were scattered about in different parts of the kingdom. The great provinces which had once been separate kingdoms of the Saxon heptarchy, still retained, down to the time of the Confessor, much of their old political feeling. Kentish men, for example, looked on one another as brothers, but Essex men, or East Anglians, or Mercians, or Northumbrians, were foreigners to them. If the Conqueror had committed the blunder of giving his great nobles all their possessions together, Rufus might have found the earls of Mercia or Northumbria semi-independent, as the kings of France found their great vassals of Burgundy, and Champagne, and Normandy, and Bretagne. But, by the actual arrangement, every county was divided; one powerful noble had a lordship here, and another had half-a-dozen manors there, and some religious community had one or two manors between. The result was, that though a combination of great barons was powerful enough to coerce John or Henry III., or a single baron like Warwick was powerful enough, when the nobility were divided into two factions, to turn the scale to one side or the other, no one was ever able to set the power of the crown at defiance, or to establish a semi-independence; the crown was always powerful enough to enforce a sufficiently arbitrary authority over them all. The consequence was that there was little of the clannish spirit among Englishmen. They rallied round their feudal superior, but the sentiment of loyalty was warmly and directly towards the crown. We must not, however, pursue the general subject further than we have done, in order to obtain some apprehension of the position in the body politic occupied by the class of persons with whom we are specially concerned. Of their social position we may perhaps briefly arrive at a correct estimate, if we call to mind that nearly all our rural parishes are divided into several manors, which date from the Middle Ages, some more, some less remotely; for as population increased and land increased in value, there was a tendency to the subdivision of old manors and the creation of new ones out of them. Each of these manors, in the times to which our researches are directed, maintained a family of gentle birth and knightly rank. The head of the family was usually a knight, and his sons were eligible for, and some of them aspirants to, the same rank in chivalry. So that the great body of the knightly order consisted of the country gentlemen--the country _squires_ we call them now, then they were the country _knights_--whose wealth and social importance gave them a claim to the rank; and to these we must add such of their younger brothers and grown-up sons as had ambitiously sought for and happily achieved the chivalric distinction by deeds of arms. The rest of the brothers and sons who had not entered the service of the Church as priest or canon, monk or friar, or into trade, continued in the lower chivalric and social rank of squires. When we come to look for authorities for the costume and manners of the knights of the Middle Ages, we find a great scarcity of them for the period between the Norman Conquest and the beginning of the Edwardian era. The literary authorities are not many; there are as yet few of the illuminated MSS., from which we derive such abundant material in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries;[370] the sepulchral monuments are not numerous; the valuable series of monumental brasses has not begun; the Bayeux tapestry, which affords abundant material for the special time to which it relates, we have abstained from drawing upon; and there are few subjects in any other class of pictorial art to help us out. The figure of Goliath, which we gave in our last chapter (p. 322), will serve very well for a general representation of a knight of the twelfth century. In truth, from the Norman Conquest down to the introduction of plate armour at the close of the thirteenth century, there was wonderfully little alteration in the knightly armour and costume. It would seem that the body armour consisted of garments of the ordinary fashion, either quilted in their substance to deaden the force of a blow, or covered with _mailles_ (rings) on the exterior, to resist the edge of sword or point of lance. The ingenuity of the armourer showed itself in various ways of quilting, and various methods of applying the external defence of metal. Of the quilted armours we know very little. In the illuminations is often seen armour covered over with lines arranged in a lozenge pattern, which perhaps represents garments stuffed and sewn in this commonest of all patterns of quilting; but it has been suggested that it may represent lozenged-shaped scales, of horn or metal, fastened upon the face of the garments. In the wood-cut here given from the MS. Caligula A. vii., we have one of the clearest and best extant illustrations of this quilted armour. In the mail armour there seem to have been different ways of applying the _mailles_. Sometimes it is represented as if the rings were sewn by one edge only, and at such a distance that each overlapped the other in the same row, but the rows do not overlap one another. Sometimes they look as if each row of rings had been sewn upon a strip of linen or leather and then the strips applied to the garment. Sometimes the rings were interlinked, as in a common steel purse, so that the garment was entirely of steel rings. Very frequently we find a surcoat or chausses represented, as if rings or little discs of metal were sewn flat all over the garment. It is possible that this is only an artistic way of indicating that the garment was covered with rings, after one of the methods above described; but it is also possible that a light armour was composed of rings thus sparely sewn upon a linen or leather garment. It is possible also that little round plates of metal or horn were used in this way for defence, for we have next to mention that _scale_ armour is sometimes, though rarely, found; it consisted of small scales, usually rectangular, and probably usually of horn, though sometimes of metal, attached to a linen or leather garment. [Illustration: _Quilted Armour._] The shield and helmet varied somewhat in shape at various times. The shield in the Bayeux tapestry was kite-shaped, concave, and tolerably large, like that of Goliath on p. 322. The tendency of its fashion was continually to grow shorter in proportion to its width, and flatter. The round Saxon target continued in use throughout the Middle Ages, more especially for foot-soldiers. The helmet, at the beginning of the period, was like the old Saxon conical helmet, with a nasal; and this continued in occasional use far into the fourteenth century. About the end of the twelfth century, the cylindrical helmet of iron enclosing the whole head, with horizontal slits for vision, came into fashion. Richard I. is represented in one on his second great seal. A still later fashion is seen in the next woodcut, p. 334. William Longespée, A.D. 1227, has a flat-topped helmet. The only two inventions of the time seem to be, first, the surcoat, which began to be worn over the hauberk about the end of the twelfth century. The seal of King John is the first of the series of great seals in which we see it introduced. It seems to have been of linen or silk. The other great invention of this period was that of armorial bearings, properly so called. Devices painted upon the shield were common in classical times. They are found ordinarily on the shields in the Bayeux tapestry, and were habitually used by the Norman knights. In the Bayeux tapestry they seem to be fanciful or merely decorative; later they were symbolical or significant. But it was only towards the close of the twelfth century that each knight assumed a fixed device, which was exclusively appropriated to him, by which he was known, and which became hereditary in his family. The offensive weapons used by the knights were most commonly the sword and spear. The axe and mace are found, but rarely. The artillery consisted of the crossbow, which was the most formidable missile in use, and the long bow, which, however, was not yet the great arm of the English yeomanry which it became at a later period; but these were hardly the weapons of knights and gentlemen, though men-at-arms were frequently armed with the crossbow, and archers were occasionally mounted. The sling was sometimes used, as were other very rude weapons, by the half-armed crowd who were often included in the ranks of mediæval armies. We have said that there is a great scarcity of pictorial representations of the military costume of the thirteenth century, and of the few which exist the majority are so vague in their definition of details, that they add nothing to our knowledge of costume, and have so little of dramatic character, as to throw no light on manners and customs. Among the best are some knightly figures in the Harleian Roll, folio 6, which contains a life of St. Guthlac of about the end of the twelfth century. The figures are armed in short-sleeved and hooded hauberk; flat-topped iron helmet, some with, some without, the nasal; heater-shaped shield and spear; the legs undefended, except by boots like those of the Goliath on p. 322. The Harleian MS. 4,751, a MS. of the beginning of the thirteenth century, shows at folio 8 a group of soldiers attacking a fortification; it contains hints enough to make one earnestly desire that the subject had been more fully and artistically worked out. The fortification is represented by a timber projection carried on brackets from the face of the wall. Its garrison is represented by a single knight, whose demi-figure only is seen; he is represented in a short-sleeved hauberk, with a surcoat over it having a cross on the breast. He wears a flat-topped cylindrical helmet, and is armed with a crossbow. The assailants would seem to be a rabble of half-armed men; one is bareheaded, and armed only with a sling; others have round hats, whether of felt or iron does not appear; one is armed in a hooded hauberk and carries an axe, and a cylindrical helmet also appears amidst the crowd. In the Harleian MS. 5,102, of the beginning of the thirteenth century, at folio 32, there is a representation of the martyrdom of St. Thomas of Canterbury, which gives us the effigies of the three murderers in knightly costume. They all wear long-sleeved hauberks, which have the peculiarity of being slightly slit up the sides, and the tunic flows from beneath them. Fitzurse (known by the bear on his shield) has leg defences fastened behind, like those in our next woodcut, p. 334, and a circular iron helmet. One of the others wears a flat-topped helmet, and the third has the hood of mail fastened on the cheek, like that in the same woodcut. The drawing is inartistic, and the picture of little value for our present purposes. The Harleian MS. 3,244 contains several MSS. bound together. The second of these works is a Penitential, which has a knightly figure on horseback for its frontispiece. It has an allegorical meaning, and is rather curious. The inscription over the figure is _Milicia est vita hominis super terram_. (The life of man upon the earth is a warfare.) The knightly figure represents the Christian man in the spiritual panoply of this warfare; and the various items of armour and arms have inscriptions affixed to tell us what they are. Thus over the helmet is _Spes futuri gaudii_ (For a helmet the hope of salvation); his sword is inscribed, _Verbum di_; his spear, _Persevancia_; its pennon, _Regni cælesti desiderium_, &c. &c. The shield is charged with the well-known triangular device, with the enunciation of the doctrine of the Trinity, _Pater est Deus_, &c., _Pater non est Filius_, &c. The knight is clad in hauberk, with a rather long flowing surcoat; a helmet, in general shape like that in the next woodcut, but not so ornamental; he has chausses of mail; shield, sword, and spear with pennon, and prick spurs; but there is not sufficient definiteness in the details, or character in the drawing, to make it worth while to reproduce it. But there is one MS. picture which fully atones for the absence of others by its very great merit. It occurs in a small quarto of the last quarter of the thirteenth century, which contains the Psalter and Ecclesiastical Hymns. Towards the end of the book are several remarkably fine full-page drawings, done in outline with a pen, and partially tinted with colour; large, distinct, and done with great spirit and artistic skill. The first on the verso of folio 218 is a king; on the opposite page is the knight, who is here given on a reduced scale; on the opposite side of the page is St. Christopher, and on the next page an archbishop. The figure of the knight before us shows very clearly the various details of a suit of thirteenth-century armour. In the hauberk will be noticed the mode in which the hood is fastened at the side of the head, and the way in which the sleeves are continued into gauntlets, whose palms are left free from rings, so as to give a firmer grasp. The thighs, it will be seen, are protected by haut-de-chausses, which are mailed only in the exposed parts, and not on the seat. The legs have chausses of a different kind of armour. In the MS. drawings we often find various parts of the armour thus represented in different ways, and, as we have already said, we are sometimes tempted to think the unskilful artist has only used different modes of representing the same kind of mail. But here the drawing is so careful, and skilful, and self-evidently accurate, that we cannot doubt that the defence of the legs is really of a different kind of armour from the mail of the hauberk and haut-de-chausses. The surcoat is of graceful fashion, and embroidered with crosses, which appear also on the pennon, and one of them is used as an ornamental genouillière on the shoulder. The helmet is elaborately and very elegantly ornamented. The attitude of the figure is spirited and dignified, and the drawing unusually good. Altogether we do not know a finer representation of a knight of this century. [Illustration: _Knight of the latter part of the Thirteenth Century._] A few, but very valuable, authorities are to be found in the sculptural monumental effigies of this period. The best of them will be found in Stothard's "Monumental Effigies," and his work not only brings these examples together, and makes them easily accessible to the student, but it has this great advantage, that Stothard well understood his subject, and gives every detail with the most minute accuracy, and also elucidates obscure points of detail. Those in the Temple Church, that of William Longespée in Salisbury Cathedral, and that of Aymer de Valence in Westminster Abbey, are the most important of the series. Perhaps, after all, the only important light they add to that already obtained from the MSS. is, they help us to understand the fabrication of the mail-armour, by giving it in fac-simile relief. There are also a few foreign MSS., easily accessible, in the library of the British Museum, which the artist student will do well to consult; but he must remember that some of the peculiarities of costume which he will find there are foreign fashions, and are not to be introduced in English subjects. For example, the MS. Cotton, Nero, c. iv., is a French MS. of about 1125 A.D., which contains some rather good drawings of military subjects. The Additional MS. 14,789, of German execution, written in 1128 A.D., contains military subjects; among them is a figure of Goliath, in which the Philistine has a hauberk of chain mail, and chausses of jazerant work, like the knight in the last woodcut. The Royal MS. 20 D. i., is a French MS., very full of valuable military drawings, executed probably at the close of the thirteenth century, belonging, however, in the style of its Art and costume, rather to the early part of the next period than to that under consideration. The MS. Addit. 17,687, contains fine and valuable German drawings, full of military authorities, of about the same period as the French MS. last mentioned. [Illustration: _Knight and Men-at-Arms of the end of the Thirteenth Century._] The accompanying wood-cut represents various peculiarities of the armour in use towards the close of the thirteenth century. It is taken from the Sloane MS. 346, which is a metrical Bible. In the original drawing a female figure is kneeling before the warrior, and there is an inscription over the picture, _Abygail placet iram regis David_ (Abigail appeases the anger of King David). So that this group of a thirteenth-century knight and his men-at-arms is intended by the mediæval artist to represent David and his followers on the march to revenge the churlishness of Nabal. The reader will notice the round plates at the elbows and knees, which are the first _visible_ introduction of plate armour--breastplates, worn under the hauberk, had been occasionally used from Saxon times. He will observe, too, the leather gauntlets which David wears, and the curious defences for the shoulders called _ailettes_: also that the shield is hung round the neck by its strap (_guige_), and the sword-belt round the hips, while the surcoat is girded round the waist by a silken cord. The group is also valuable for giving us at a glance three different fashions of helmet. David has a conical bascinet, with a movable visor. The man immediately behind him wears an iron hat, with a wide rim and a raised crest, which is not at all unusual at this period. The other two men wear the globular helmet, the most common head-defence of the time. [Illustration: _Knight of the end of the Thirteenth Century._] The next cut is a spirited little sketch of a mounted knight, from the same MS. The horse, it may be admitted, is very like those which children draw nowadays, but it has more life in it than most of the drawings of that day; and the way in which the knight sits his horse is much more artistic. The picture shows the equipment of the knight very clearly, and it is specially valuable as an early example of horse trappings, and as an authority for the shape of the saddle, with its high pommel and croupe. The inscription over the picture is, _Tharbis defendit urbem Sabea ab impugnanti Moysi_; and over the head of this cavalier is his name _Moyses_--Moses, as a knight of the end of the thirteenth century! CHAPTER III. ARMOUR OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. In arriving at the fourteenth century, we have reached the very heart of our subject. For this century was the period of the great national wars with France and Scotland; it was the time when the mercenaries raised in the Italian wars first learnt, and then taught the world, the trade of soldier and trained their captains in the art of war; it was the period when the romantic exploits and picturesque trappings of chivalry were in their greatest vogue; the period when Gothic art was at its highest point of excellence. It was a period, too, of which we have ample knowledge from public records and serious histories, from romance writers in poetry and prose, from Chaucer and Froissart, from MS. illuminations and monumental effigies. Our difficulty amid such a profusion of material is to select that which will be most serviceable to our special purpose. Let us begin with some detailed account of the different kinds and fashions of armour and equipment. In the preceding period, it has been seen, the most approved knightly armour was of mail. The characteristic feature of the armour of the fourteenth century is the intermixture of mail and plate. We see it first in small supplementary defences of plate introduced to protect the elbow and knee-joints. Probably it was found that the rather heavy and unpliable sleeve and hose of mail pressed inconveniently upon these joints; therefore the armourer adopted the expedient which proved to be the "thin end of the wedge" which gradually brought plate armour into fashion. He cut the mail hose in two; the lower part, which was then like a modern stocking, protected the leg, and the upper part protected the thigh, each being independently fastened below and above the knee, leaving the knee unprotected. Then he hollowed a piece of plate iron so as to form a cap for the knee, called technically a _genouillière_, within which the joint could work freely without chafing or pressure; perhaps it was padded or stuffed so as to deaden the effect of a blow; and it was fashioned so as effectually to cover all the part left undefended by the mail. The sleeve of the hauberk was cut in the same way, and the elbow was defended by a cap of plate-iron called a _coudière_. Early examples of these two pieces of plate armour will be seen in the later illustrations of our last chapter, for they were introduced a little before the end of the thirteenth century. The two pieces of plate were introduced simultaneously, and they appear together in the woodcut of David and his men in our last chapter; but we often find the genouillière used while the arm is still defended only by the sleeve of the hauberk, as in the first woodcut in the present chapter, and again in the cut on p. 348. It is easy to see that the pressure of the chausses of mail upon the knee in riding would be constant and considerable, and a much more serious inconvenience than the pressure upon the elbow in the usual attitude of the arm. [Illustration: _Men-at-Arms, Fourteenth Century._] Next, round plates of metal, called _placates_ or _roundels_, were applied to shield the armpits from a thrust; and sometimes they were used also at the elbow to protect the inner side of the joint where, for the convenience of motion, it was destitute of armour. An example of a roundel at the shoulder will be seen in one of the men-at-arms in the woodcut on p. 339. Another curious fashion which very generally prevailed at this time--that is, at the close of the thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth century--was the _ailette_. It was a thin, oblong plate of metal, which was attached behind the shoulder. It would to some extent deaden the force of a blow directed at the neck, but it would afford so inartificial and ineffective a defence, that it is difficult to believe it was intended for anything more than an ornament. It is worn by the foremost knight in the cut on p. 335. Perhaps the next great improvement was to protect the foot by a shoe made of plates of iron overlapping, like the shell of a lobster, the sole being still of leather. Then plates of iron, made to fit the limb, were applied to the shin and the upper part of the forearm, and sometimes a small plate is applied to the upper part of the arm in the place most exposed to a blow. Then the shin and forearm defences were enlarged so as to enclose the limb completely, opening at the side with a hinge, and closing with straps or rivets. Then the thigh and the upper arm were similarly enclosed in plate. It is a little difficult to trace exactly the changes which took place in the body defences, because all through this period it was the fashion to wear a surcoat of some kind, which usually conceals all that was worn beneath it. It is however probable that at an early period of the introduction of plate a breastplate was introduced, which was worn over the hauberk, and perhaps fastened to it. Then, it would seem, a back plate was added also, worn over the hauberk. Next, the breast and back plate were made to enclose the whole of the upper part of the body, while only a skirt of mail remained; _i.e._ a garment of the same shape as the hauberk was worn, unprotected with mail, where the breast and back plate would come upon it, but still having its skirt covered with rings. In an illumination in the MS., is a picture of a knight putting off his jupon, in which the "pair of plates," as Chaucer calls them in a quotation hereafter given, is seen, tinted blue (steel colour), with a skirt of mail. At this time the helmet had a fringe of mail, called the _camail_, attached to its lower margin, which fell over the body armour, and defended the neck. It is clearly seen in the hindermost knight of the group in the woodcut on p. 339, and in the effigy of John of Eltham, on p. 342. It is not difficult to see the superiority of defence which plate afforded over mail. The edge of sword or axe would bite upon the mail; if the rings were unbroken, still the blow would be likely to bruise; and in romances it is common enough to hear of huge cantles of mail being hewn out by their blows, and the doughty champions being spent with loss of blood. But many a blow would glance off quite harmless from the curved and polished, and well-tempered surface of plate; so that it would probably require not only a more dexterous blow to make the edge of the weapon bite at all on the plate, but also a harder blow to cut into it so as to wound. In "Prince Arthur" we read of Sir Tristram and Sir Governale--"they avoided their horses, and put their shields before them, and they strake together with bright swords like men that were of might, and either wounded other wondrous sore, so that the blood ran upon the grass, and of their harness they had hewed off many pieces." And again, in a combat between Sir Tristram and Sir Elias, after a course in which "either smote other so hard that both horses and knights went to the earth," "they both lightly rose up and dressed their shields on their shoulders, with naked swords in their hands, and they dashed together like as there had been a flaming fire about them. Thus they traced and traversed, and hewed on helms and hauberks, and cut away many pieces and cantles of their shields, and either wounded other passingly sore, so that the hot blood fell fresh upon the earth." We have said that a surcoat of some kind was worn throughout this period, but it differed in shape at different times, and had different names applied to it. In the early part of the time of which we are now speaking, _i.e._ when the innovation of plate armour was beginning, the loose and flowing surcoat of the thirteenth century was still used, and is very clearly seen in the nearest of the group of knights in woodcut on p. 339. It was usually of linen or silk, sleeveless, reached halfway between the knee and ankle, was left unstiffened to fall in loose folds, except that it was girt by a silk cord round the waist, and its skirts flutter behind as the wearer gallops on through the air. The change of taste was in the direction of shortening the skirts of the surcoat, and making it scantier about the body, and stiffening it so as to make it fit the person without folds; at last it was tightly fitted to the breast and back plate, and showed their outline; and it was not uncommonly covered with embroidery, often of the armorial bearings of the wearer. The former garment is properly called a surcoat, and the latter a jupon; the one is characteristic of the greater part of the thirteenth century, the latter of the greater part of the fourteenth. But the fashion did not change suddenly from the one to the other; there was a transitional phase called the _cyclas_, which may be briefly described. The cyclas opened up the sides instead of in front, and it had this curious peculiarity, that the front skirt was cut much shorter than the hind skirt--behind it reached to the knees, but in front not very much below the hips. The fashion has this advantage for antiquarians, that the shortness of the front skirt allows us to see a whole series of military garments beneath, which are hidden by the long surcoat and even by the shorter jupon, A suit of armour of this period is represented in the Roman d'Alexandre (Bodleian Library), at folio 143 v., and elsewhere in the MS. The remainder of the few examples of the cyclas which remain, and which, so far as our observation extends, are all in sepulchral monuments, range between the years 1325 and 1335, the shortening of the cyclas enables us to see. We have chosen for our illustration the sepulchral effigy in Westminster Abbey of John of Eltham, the second son of King Edward II., who died in 1334. Here we see first and lowest the hacqueton; then the hauberk of chain mail, slightly pointed in front, which was one of the fashions of the time, as we see it also in the monumental brasses of Sir John de Creke, at Westley-Waterless, Cambridgeshire, and of Sir J. D'Aubernoun, the younger, at Stoke D'Abernon, Surrey; over the hauberk we see the ornamented gambeson; and over all the cyclas. It is a question whether knights generally wore this whole series of defences, but the monumental effigies are usually so accurate in their representations of actual costume, that we must conclude that at least on occasions of state solemnity they were all worn. In the illustration it will be seen that the cyclas is confined, not by a silk cord, but by a narrow belt, while the sword-belt of the thirteenth century is still worn in addition. The jupon is seen in the two knights tilting, in the woodcut on p. 348. In the knight on the left will be seen how it fits tightly, and takes the globular shape of the breastplate. It will be noticed that on this knight the skirt of the jupon is scalloped, on the other it is plain. The jupon was not girded with a silk cord or a narrow belt; it was made to fit tight without any such fastening. The sword-belt worn with it differs in two important respects from that worn previously. It does not fall diagonally across the person, but horizontally over the hips; and it is not merely a leather belt ornamented, but the leather foundation is completely concealed by plates of metal in high relief, chased, gilt, and filled with enamels, forming a gorgeous decoration. The general form will be seen in the woodcut on p. 350, but its elaboration and splendour are better understood on an examination of some of the sculptured effigies, in which the forms of the metal plates are preserved in facsimile, with traces of their gilding and colour still remaining. [Illustration: _John of Eltham._] It would be easy, from the series of sculptured effigies in relief and monumental brasses, to give a complete chronological view of these various changes which were continually progressing throughout the fourteenth century. But this has already been done in the very accessible works by Stothard, the Messrs. Waller, Mr. Boutell, and Mr. Haines, especially devoted to monumental effigies and brasses. It will be more in accordance with the plan we have laid down for ourselves, if we take from the less known illuminations of MSS. some subjects which will perhaps be less clear and fine in detail, but will have more life and character than the formal monumental effigies. We must, however, pause to mention some other kinds of armour which were sometimes used in place of armour of steel. And first we may mention leather. Leather was always more or less used as a cheap kind of defence, from the Saxon leather tunic with the hair left on it, down to the buff jerkin of the time of the Commonwealth, and even to the thick leather gauntlets and jack boots of the present Life Guardsman. But at the time of which we are speaking pieces of armour of the same shape as those we have been describing were sometimes made, for the sake of lightness, of _cuir bouilli_ instead of metal. Cuir bouilli was, as its name implies, leather which was treated with hot water, in such a way as to make it assume a required shape; and often it was also impressed, while soft, with ornamental devices. It is easy to see that in this way armour might be made possessing great comparative lightness, and yet a certain degree of strength, and capable, by stamping, colouring, and gilding, of a high degree of ornamentation. It was a kind of armour very suitable for occasions of mere ceremonial, and it was adopted in actual combat for parts of the body less exposed to injury; for instance, it seems to be especially used for the defence of the lower half of the legs. We shall find presently, in the description of Chaucer's Sire Thopas, the knight adventurous, that "his jambeux were of cuirbouly." In external form and appearance it would be so exactly like metal armour that it may be represented in some of the ornamental effigies and MSS. drawings, where it has the appearance of, and is usually assumed to be, metal armour. Another form of armour, of which we often meet with examples in drawings and effigies, is one in which the piece of armour appears to be studded, at more or less distant regular intervals, with small round plates. There are two suggestions as to the kind of armour intended. One is, that the armour thus represented was a garment of cloth, silk, velvet, or other textile material, lined with plates of metal, which are fastened to the garment with metal rivets, and that the heads of these rivets, gilt and ornamented, were allowed to be seen powdering the coloured face of the garment by way of ornament. Another suggestion is that the garment was merely one of the padded and quilted armours which we shall have next to describe, in which, as an additional precaution, metal studs were introduced, much as an oak door is studded with iron bolts. An example of it will be seen in the armour of the forearms of King Meliadus in the woodcut on p. 350. Chaucer seems to speak of this kind of defence, in his description of Lycurgus at the great tournament in the "Knight's Tale," under the name of coat armour:-- "Instede of cote-armure on his harnais, With nayles yelwe and bryght as any gold, He had a bere's skin cole-blake for old." Next we come to the rather large and important series of quilted defences. We find the names of the _gambeson_, _hacqueton_, and _pourpoint_, and sometimes the _jacke_. It is a little difficult to distinguish one from the other in the descriptions; and in fact they appear to have greatly resembled one another, and the names seem often to have been used interchangeably. The gambeson was a sleeved tunic of stout coarse linen, stuffed with flax and other common material, and sewn longitudinally. The hacqueton was a similar garment, only made of buckram, and stuffed with cotton; stiff from its material, but not so thick and clumsy as the gambeson. The pourpoint was very like the hacqueton, only that it was made of finer material, faced with silk, and stitched in ornamental patterns. The gambeson and hacqueton were worn under the armour, partly to relieve its pressure upon the body, partly to afford an additional defence. Sometimes they were worn, especially by the common soldiers, without any other armour. The pourpoint was worn over the hauberk, but sometimes it was worn alone, the hauberk being omitted for the sake of lightness. The jacke, or jacque, was a tunic of stuffed leather, and was usually worn by the common soldiers without other armour, but sometimes as light armour by knights. In the first wood-cut on the next page, from the Romance of King Meliadus, we have a figure which appears to be habited in one of these quilted armours, perhaps the hacqueton. There is another figure in the same group, in a similar dress, with this difference--in the first the skirt seems to fall loose and light, in the second the skirt seems to be stuffed and quilted like the body of the garment. At folio 214 of the same Romance is a squire, attendant upon a knight-errant, who is habited in a similar hacqueton to that we have represented; the squires throughout the MS. are usually quite unarmed. In the monumental effigy of Sir Robert Shurland, who was made a knight-banneret in 1300, we seem to have a curious and probably unique effigy of a knight in the gameson. We give a woodcut of it, reduced from Stothard's engraving. The smaller figure of the man placed at the feet of the effigy is in the same costume, and affords us an additional example. Stothard conjectures that the garment in the effigy of John of Eltham (1334 A.D.), whose vandyked border appears beneath his hauberk, is the buckram of the hacqueton left unstuffed, and ornamentally scalloped round the border. In the MS. of King Meliadus, at f. 21, and again on the other side of the leaf, is a knight, whose red jupon, slit up at the sides, is thrown open by his attitude, so that we see the skirt of mail beneath, which is silvered to represent metal; and beneath that is a scalloped border of an under habit, which is left white, and, if Stothard's conjecture be correct, is another example of the hacqueton under the hauberk. But the best representation which we have met with of the quilted armours is in the MS. of the Romance of the Rose (Harleian, 4,425), at folio 133, where, in a battle scene, one knight is conspicuous among the blue steel and red and green jupons of the other knights by a white body armour quilted in small squares, with which he wears a steel bascinet and ringed camail. He is engraved on p. 389. [Illustration: _Squire in Hacqueton._] [Illustration: _Sir Robert Shurland._] And now to turn to a description of some of the MS. illuminations which illustrate this chapter. That on p. 339 is a charming little subject from a famous MS. (Royal 2 B. VII.) of the beginning of the Edwardian period, which will illustrate half-a-dozen objects besides the mere suit of knightly armour. First of all there is the suit of armour on the knight in the foreground, the hooded hauberk and chausses of mail and genouillières, the chapeau de fer, or war helm, and the surcoat, and the shield. But we get also a variety of helmets, different kinds of weapons, falchion and axe, as well as sword and spear, and the pennon attached to the spear; and, in addition, the complete horse trappings, with the ornamental crest which was used to set off the arching neck and tossing head. Moreover, we learn that this variety of arms and armour was to be found in a single troop of men-at-arms; and we see the irregular but picturesque effect which such a group presented to the eyes of the monkish illuminator as it pranced beneath the gateway into the outer court of the abbey, to seek the hospitality which the hospitaller would hasten to offer on behalf of the convent. This mixture of armour and weapons is brought before us by Chaucer in his description of Palamon's party in the great tournament in the "Knight's Tale:"-- "And right so ferden they with Palamon, With him ther wenten knights many one, Som wol ben armed in an habergeon, And in a brestplate and in a gipon; And some wol have a pair of plates large; And some wol have a Pruce shield or a targe; And some wol ben armed on his legge's wele, And have an axe, and some a mace of stele, Ther was no newe guise that it was old, Armed they weren, as I have you told, Everich after his opinion." The illustration here given and that on p. 350 are from a MS. which we cannot quote for the first time without calling special attention to it. It is a MS. of one of the numerous romances of the King Arthur cycle, the Romance of the King Meliadus, who was one of the Companions of the Round Table. The book is profusely illustrated with pictures which are invaluable to the student of military costume and chivalric customs. They are by different hands, and not all of the same date, the earlier series being probably about 1350, the later perhaps as late as near the end of the century. In both these dates the MS. gives page after page of large-sized pictures drawn with great spirit, and illustrating every variety of incident which could take place in single combat and in tournament, with many scenes of civil and domestic life besides. Especially there is page after page in which, along the lower portion of the pages, across the whole width of the book, there are pictures of tournaments. There is a gallery of spectators along the top, and in some of these--especially in those at folio 151 v. and 152, which are sketched in with pen and ink, and left uncoloured--there are more of character and artistic drawing than the artists of the time are usually believed to have possessed. Beneath this gallery is a confused mêlée of knights in the very thickest throng and most energetic action of a tournament. The wood-cut on p. 348 represents one out of many incidents of a single combat. It does not do justice to the drawing, and looks tame for want of the colouring of the original; but it will serve to show the armour and equipment of the time. The victor knight is habited in a hauberk of banded mail, with gauntlets of plate, and the legs are cased entirely in plate. The body armour is covered by a jupon; the tilting helmet has a knight's chapeau and drapery carrying the lion crest. The armour in the illumination is silvered to represent metal. The knight's jupon is red, and the trappings of his helmet red, with a golden lion; his shield bears gules, a lion rampant argent; the conquered knight's jupon is blue, his shield argent, two bandlets gules. We see here the way in which the shield was carried, and the long slender spear couched, in the charge. [Illustration: _Jousting._] The next wood-cut hardly does credit to the charming original. It represents the royal knight-errant himself sitting by a fountain, talking with his squire. The suit of armour is beautiful, and the face of the knight has much character, but very different from the modern conventional type of a mediæval knight-errant. His armour deserves particular examination. He wears a hauberk of banded mail; whether he wears a breastplate, or pair of plates, we are unable to see for the jupon, but we can see the hauberk which protects the throat above the jupon, and the skirt of it where the attitude of the wearer throws the skirt of the jupon open at the side. It will be seen that the sleeves of the hauberk are not continued, as in most examples, over the hands, or even down to the wrist; but the forearm is defended by studded armour, and the hands by gauntlets which are probably of plate. The leg defences are admirably exhibited; the hose of banded mail, the knee cap, and shin pieces of plate, and the boots of overlapping plates. The helmet also, with its royal crown and curious double crest, is worth notice. In the original drawing the whole suit of armour is brilliantly executed. The armour is all silvered to represent steel, the jupon is green, the military belt gold, the helmet silvered, with its drapery blue powdered with gold fleurs-de-lis, and its crown, and the fleur-de-lis which terminate its crest, gold. The whole dress and armour of a knight of the latter half of the fourteenth century are described for us by Chaucer in a few stanzas of his Rime of Sire Thopas:-- "He didde[371] next his white lere Of cloth of lake fine and clere A breche and eke a sherte; And next his shert an haketon, And over that an habergeon, For percing of his herte. And over that a fine hauberk, Was all ye wrought of Jewes werk, Full strong it was of plate; And over that his coat armoure, As white as is the lily floure, In which he could debate.[372] His jambeux were of cuirbouly,[373] His swerde's sheth of ivory, His helm of latoun[374] bright, His sadel was of rewel bone, His bridle as the sonne shone, Or as the mone-light[375] His sheld was all of gold so red, And therein was a bore's hed, A charboncle beside; And then he swore on ale and bred, How that the geaunt shuld be ded, Betide what so betide. His spere was of fine cypres, That bodeth warre and nothing pees, The hed ful sharpe yground. His stede was all of dapper gray. It goth an amble in the way, Ful softely in londe." [Illustration: _A Knight-Errant._] There is so much of character in his squire's face in the same picture, and that character so different from our conventional idea of a squire, that we are tempted to give a sketch of it on p. 352, as he leans over the horse's back talking to his master. This MS. affords us a whole gallery of squires attendant upon their knights. At folio 66 v. is one carrying his master's spear and shield, who has a round cap with a long feather, like that in the woodcut. In several other instances the squire rides bareheaded, but has his hood hanging behind on his shoulders ready for a cold day or a shower of rain. In another place the knight is attended by two squires, one bearing his master's tilting helmet on his shoulder, the other carrying his spear and shield. In all cases the squires are unarmed, and mature men of rather heavy type, different from the gay and gallant youths whom we are apt to picture to ourselves as the squires of the days of chivalry attendant on noble knights adventurous. In other cases we see the squires looking on very phlegmatically while their masters are in the height of a single combat; perhaps a knight adventurous was not a hero to his squire. But again we see the squire starting into activity to catch his master's steed, from which he has been unhorsed by an antagonist of greater strength or skill, or good fortune. We see him also in the lists at a tournament, handing his master a new spear when he has splintered his own on an opponent's shield; or helping him to his feet when he has been overthrown, horse and man, under the hoofs of prancing horses. [Illustration: _The Knight-Errant's Squire._] CHAPTER IV. THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY. We have no inclination to deny that life is more safe and easy in these days than it was in the Middle Ages, but it certainly is less picturesque, and adventurous, and joyous. This country then presented the features of interest which those among us who have wealth and leisure now travel to foreign lands to find. There were vast tracts of primeval forest, and wild unenclosed moors and commons, and marshes and meres. The towns were surrounded by walls and towers, and the narrow streets of picturesque, gabled, timber houses were divided by wide spaces of garden and grove, above which rose numerous steeples of churches full of artistic wealth. The villages consisted of a group of cottages scattered round a wide green, with a village cross in the middle, and a maypole beside it. And there were stately monasteries in the rich valleys; and castles crowned the hills; and moated manor-houses lay buried in their woods; and hermitages stood by the dangerous fords. The high roads were little more than green lanes with a narrow beaten track in the middle, poached into deep mud in winter; and the by-roads were bridle-paths winding from village to village; and the costumes of the people were picturesque in fashion, bright in colour, and characteristic. The gentleman pranced along in silks and velvets, in plumed hat, and enamelled belt, and gold-hilted sword and spurs, with a troop of armed servants behind him; the abbot, in the robe of his order, with a couple of chaplains, all on ambling palfreys; the friar paced along in serge frock and sandals; the minstrel, in gay coat, sang snatches of lays as he wandered along from hall to castle, with a lad at his back carrying his harp or gittern; the traders went from fair to fair, taking their goods on strings of pack horses; a pilgrim, passed now and then, with staff and scrip and cloak; and, now and then, a knight-errant in full armour rode by on his war-horse, with a squire carrying his helm and spear. It was a wild land, and the people were rude, and the times lawless; but every mile furnished pictures for the artist, and every day offered the chance of adventures. The reader must picture to himself the aspect of the country and the manners of the times, before he can appreciate the spirit of knight-errantry, to which it is necessary that we should devote one of these chapters on the Knights of the Middle Ages. The knight-errant was usually some young knight who had been lately dubbed, and who, full of courage and tired of the monotony of his father's manor-house, set out in search of adventures. We could envy him as, on some bright spring morning, he rode across the sounding drawbridge, followed by a squire in the person of some young forester as full of animal spirits and reckless courage as himself; or, perhaps, by some steady old warrior practised in the last French war, whom his father had chosen to take care of him. We sigh for our own lost youth as we think of him, with all the world before him--the mediæval world, with all its possibilities of wild adventure and romantic fortune; with caitiff knights to overthrow at spear-point, and distressed damsels to succour; and princesses to win as the prize of some great tournament; and rank and fame to gain by prowess and daring, under the eye of kings, in some great stricken field. The old romances enable us to follow such an errant knight through all his travels and adventures; and the illuminations leave hardly a point in the history unillustrated by their quaint but naïve and charming pictures. Tennyson has taken some of the episodes out of these old romances, and filled up the artless but suggestive stories with the rich detail and artistic finish which adapt them to our modern taste, and has made them the favourite subjects of modern poetry. But he has left a hundred others behind; stories as beautiful, with words and sentences here and there full of poetry, destined to supply material for future poems and new subjects for our painters. It is our business to quote from these romances some of the scenes which will illustrate our subject, and to introduce some of the illuminations that will present them to the eye. In selecting the literary sketches, we shall use almost exclusively the translation which Sir Thomas Mallory made, and Caxton printed, of the cycle of Prince Arthur romances, because it comprises a sufficient number for our purpose, and because the language, while perfectly intelligible and in the best and most vigorous English, has enough of antique style to give the charm which would be wanting if we were to translate the older romances into modern phraseology. In the same way we shall content ourselves with selecting pictorial illustrations chiefly from MSS. of the fourteenth century, the date at which many of these romances were brought into the form in which they have descended to us. [Illustration: _A Squire._] A knight was known to be a knight-errant by his riding through the peaceful country in full armour, with a single squire at his back, as surely as a man is now recognised as a fox-hunter who is seen riding easily along the strip of green sward by the roadside in a pink coat and velvet cap. "Fair knight," says Sir Tristram, to one whom he had found sitting by a fountain, "ye seem for to be a knight-errant by your arms and your harness, therefore dress ye to just with one of us:" for this was of course inevitable when knights-errant met; the whole passage is worth transcribing:--"Sir Tristram and Sir Kay rode within the forest a mile or more. And at the last Sir Tristram saw before him a likely knight and a well-made man, all armed, sitting by a clear fountain, and a mighty horse near unto him tied to a great oak, and a man [his squire] riding by him, leading an horse that was laden with spears. Then Sir Tristram rode near him, and said, 'Fair knight, why sit ye so drooping, for ye seem to be an errant knight by your arms and harness, and therefore dress ye to just with one of us or with both.' Therewith that knight made no words, but took his shield and buckled it about his neck, and lightly he took his horse and leaped upon him, and then he took a great spear of his squire, and departed his way a furlong." And so we read in another place:--"Sir Dinadan spake on high and said, 'Sir Knight, make thee ready to just with me, for it is the custom of all arrant knights one for to just with another.' 'Sir,' said Sir Epinogris, 'is that the rule of your arrant knights, for to make a knight to just whether he will or not?' 'As for that, make thee ready, for here is for me.' And therewith they spurred their horses, and met together so hard that Sir Epinogris smote down Sir Dinadan"--and so taught him the truth of the adage "that it is wise to let sleeping dogs lie." But they did not merely take the chance of meeting one another as they journeyed. A knight in quest of adventures would sometimes station himself at a ford or bridge, and mount guard all day long, and let no knight-errant pass until he had jousted with him. Thus we read "then they rode forth all together, King Mark, Sir Lamorake, and Sir Dinadan, till that they came unto a bridge, and at the end of that bridge stood a fair tower. Then saw they a knight on horseback, well armed, brandishing a spear, crying and proffering himself to just." And again, "When King Mark and Sir Dinadan had ridden about four miles, they came unto a bridge, whereas hoved a knight on horseback, and ready to just. 'So,' said Sir Dinadan unto King Mark, 'yonder hoveth a knight that will just, for there shall none pass this bridge but he must just with that knight.'" And again: "They rode through the forest, and at the last they were ware of two pavilions by a priory with two shields, and the one shield was renewed with white and the other shield was red. 'Thou shalt not pass this way,' said the dwarf, 'but first thou must just with yonder knights that abide in yonder pavilions that thou seest.' Then was Sir Tor ware where two pavilions were, and great spears stood out, and two shields hung on two trees by the pavilions." In the same way a knight would take up his abode for a few days at a wayside cross where four ways met, in order to meet adventures from east, west, north, and south. Notice of adventures was sometimes affixed upon such a cross, as we read in "Prince Arthur": "And so Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week ere they found any adventure. And then upon a Sunday, in the morning, as they were departed from an abbey, they came unto a cross which departed two ways. And on that cross were letters written which said thus: _Now ye knights-errant that goeth forth for to seek adventures, see here two ways_," &c. Wherever they went, they made diligent inquiry for adventures. Thus "Sir Launcelot departed, and by adventure he came into a forest. And in the midst of a highway he met with a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and either saluted other: 'Fair damsel,' said Sir Launcelot, 'know ye in this country any adventures?' 'Sir Knight,' said the damsel, 'here are adventures near at hand, an thou durst prove them.' 'Why should I not prove adventures,' said Sir Launcelot, 'as for that cause came I hither?'" And on another occasion, we read, Sir Launcelot passed out of the (King Arthur's) court to seek adventures, and Sir Ector made him ready to meet Sir Launcelot, and as he had ridden long in a great forest, he met with a man that was like a forester.--These frequent notices of "riding long through a great forest" are noticeable as evidences of the condition of the country in those days.--"Fair fellow," said Sir Ector, "knowest thou in this country any adventures which be here nigh at hand?" "Sir," said the forester, "this country know I well, and here within this mile is a strong manor and well ditched"--not well walled; it was the fashion of the Middle Ages to choose low sites for their manor-houses, and to surround them with moats--such moats are still common round old manor-houses in Essex--"and by that manor on the left hand is a fair ford for horses to drink, and over that ford there groweth a fair tree, and thereon hangeth many fair shields that belonged some time unto good knights; and at the hole of the tree hangeth a bason of copper and laten; and strike upon that bason with the end of the spear thrice, and soon after thou shalt hear good tidings, and else hast thou the fairest grace that many a year any knight had that passed through this forest." [Illustration: _Preliminaries of Combat in Green Court of Castle._] Every castle offered hope, not only of hospitality, but also of a trial of arms; for in every castle there would be likely to be knights and squires glad of the opportunity of running a course with bated spears with a new and skilful antagonist. Here is a picture from an old MS. which represents the preliminaries of such a combat on the green between the castle walls and the moat. In many castles there was a special tilting-ground. Thus we read, "Sir Percivale passed the water, and when he came unto the castle gate, he said to the porter, 'Go thou unto the good knight within the castle, and tell him that here is came an errant knight to just with him.' 'Sir,' said the porter, 'ride ye within the castle, and there shall ye find a common place for justing, that lords and ladies may behold you.'" At Carisbrook Castle, in the Isle of Wight, the tilting-ground remains to this day; a plot of level green sward, with raised turfed banks round it, that at the same time served as the enclosure of the lists, and a vantage-ground from which the spectators might see the sport. At Gawsworth, also, the ancient tilting-ground still remains. But in most castles of any size, the outer court afforded room enough for a course, and at the worst there was the green meadow outside the castle walls. In some castles they had special customs; just as in old-fashioned country-houses one used to be told it was "the custom of the house" to do this and that; so it was "the custom of the castle" for every knight to break three lances, for instance, or exchange three strokes of sword with the lord--a quondam errant knight be sure, thus creating adventures for himself at home when marriage and cares of property forbade him to roam in search of them. Thus, in the Romance:--"Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan rode forth their way till they came to some shepherds and herdsmen, and there they asked if they knew any lodging or harbour thereabout." "Forsooth, fair lords," said the herdsmen, "nigh hereby is a good lodging in a castle, but such a custom there is that there shall no knight be lodged but if he first just with two knights, and if ye be beaten, and have the worse, ye shall not be lodged there, and if ye beat them, ye shall be well lodged." The Knights of the Round Table easily vanquished the two knights of the castle, and were hospitably received; but while they were at table came Sir Palomides, and Sir Gaheris, "requiring to have the custom of the castle." "And now," said Sir Tristram, "must we defend the custom of the castle, inasmuch as we have the better of the lord of the castle." Here is the kind of invitation they were sure to receive from gentlemen living peaceably on their estates, but sympathising with the high spirit and love of adventure which sent young knights a-wandering through their woods and meadows, and under their castle walls:--Sir Tristram and Sir Gareth "were ware of a knight that came riding against [towards] them unarmed, and nothing about him but a sword; and when this knight came nigh them he saluted them, and they him again. 'Fair knights,' said that knight, 'I pray you, inasmuch as ye are knights errant, that ye will come and see my castle, and take such as ye find there, I pray you heartily.' And so they rode with him to his castle, and there they were brought to the hall that was well appareled, and so they were unarmed and set at a board." We have already heard in these brief extracts of knights lodging at castles and abbeys: we often find them received at manor-houses. Here is one of the most graphic pictures:--"Then Sir Launcelot mounted upon his horse and rode into many strange and wild countries, and through many waters and valleys, and evil was he lodged. And at the last, by fortune, it happened him against a night to come to a poor courtilage, and therein he found an old gentleman, which lodged him with a good will, and there he and his horse were well cheered. And when time was, his host brought him to a fair garret over a gate to his bed. There Sir Launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell in sleep. So, soon after, there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. And when Sir Launcelot heard this, he arose up and looked out at the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights that came riding after that one man, and all three lashed upon him at once with their swords, and that one knight turned on them knightly again, and defended himself." And Sir Launcelot, like an errant knight, "took his harness and went out at the window by a sheet," and made them yield, and commanded them at Whit Sunday to go to King Arthur's court, and there yield them unto Queen Guenever's grace and mercy; for so errant knights gave to their lady-loves the evidences of their prowess, and did them honour, by sending them a constant succession of vanquished knights, and putting them "unto her grace and mercy." Very often the good knight in the midst of forest or wild found a night's shelter in a friendly hermitage, for hermitages, indeed, were established partly to afford shelter to belated travellers. Here is an example. Sir Tor asks the dwarf who is his guide, "'Know ye any lodging?' 'I know none,' said the dwarf; 'but here beside is an hermitage, and there ye must take such lodging as ye find.' And within a while they came to the hermitage and took lodging, and there was grass and oats and bread for their horses. Soon it was spread, and full hard was their supper; but there they rested them all the night till on the morrow, and heard a mass devoutly, and took their leave of the hermit, and Sir Tor prayed the hermit to pray for him, and he said he would, and betook him to God; and so he mounted on horseback, and rode towards Camelot." But sometimes not even a friendly hermitage came in sight at the hour of twilight, when the forest glades darkened, and the horse track across the moor could no longer be seen, and the knight had to betake himself to a soldier's bivouac. It is an incident often met with in the Romances. Here is a more poetical description than usual:--"And anon these knights made them ready, and rode over holts and hills, through forests and woods, till they came to a fair meadow full of fair flowers and grass, and there they rested them and their horses all that night." Again, "Sir Launcelot rode into a forest, and there he met with a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and she asked him, 'Sir Knight, whither ride ye?' 'Certainly, damsel,' said Sir Launcelot, 'I wot not whither I ride, but as fortune leadeth me.'... Then Sir Launcelot asked her where he might be harboured that night. 'Ye shall none find this day nor night, but to-morrow ye shall find good harbour.' And then he commended her unto God. Then he rode till he came to a cross, and took that for his host as for that night. And he put his horse to pasture, and took off his helm and shield, and made his prayers to the cross, that he might never again fall into deadly sin, and so he laid him down to sleep, and anon as he slept it befel him that he had a vision," with which we will not trouble the reader; but we commend the incident to any young artist in want of a subject for a picture: the wayside cross where the four roads meet in the forest, the gnarled tree-trunks with their foliage touched with autumn tints, and the green bracken withering into brown and yellow and red, under the level rays of the sun which fling alternate bars of light and shade across the scene; and the noble war-horse peacefully grazing on the short sweet forest grass, and the peerless knight in glorious gilded arms, with his helmet at his feet, and his great spear leaned against a tree-trunk, kneeling before the cross, with his grave noble face, and his golden hair gleaming in the sun-light, "making his prayers that he might never again fall into deadly sin." In the old monumental brasses in which pictures of the knightly costume are preserved to us with such wonderful accuracy and freshness, it is very common to find the knight represented as lying with his tilting helm under his head by way of pillow. One would take it for a mere artistic arrangement for raising the head of the recumbent figure, and for introducing this important portion of his costume, but that the Romances tell us that knights did actually make use of their helm for a pillow; a hard pillow, no doubt--but we have all heard of the veteran who kicked from under his son's head the snowball which he had rolled together for a pillow at his bivouac in the winter snow, indignant at his degenerate effeminacy. Thus we read of Sir Tristram and Sir Palomides, "They mounted upon their horses, and rode together into the forest, and there they found a fair well with clear water burbelling. 'Fair Sir,' said Sir Tristram, 'to drink of that water have I a lust.' And then they alighted from their horses, and then were they ware by them where stood a great horse tied to a tree, and ever he neighed, and then were they ware of a fair knight armed under a tree, lacking no piece of harness, save his helm lay under his head. Said Sir Tristram, 'Yonder lieth a fair knight, what is best to do?' 'Awake him,' said Sir Palomides. So Sir Tristram waked him with the end of his spear." They had better have let him be, for the knight, thus roused, got him to horse and overthrew them both. Again, we read how "Sir Launcelot bad his brother, Sir Lionel, to make him ready, for we two, said he, will seek adventures. So they mounted upon their horses, armed at all points, and rode into a deep forest, and after they came into a great plain, and then the weather was hot about noon, and Sir Launcelot had great lust to sleep. Then Sir Lionel espied a great apple-tree that stood by a hedge, and said, 'Brother, yonder is a fair shadow; there may we rest us, and our horses.' 'It is well said, fair brother,' said Sir Launcelot, 'for all the seven year I was not so sleepy as I am now.' And so they alighted there, and tied their horses unto sundry trees, and so Sir Launcelot laid him down under an apple-tree, and laid his helm under his head. And Sir Lionel waked while he slept." [Illustration: _Knights, Damsel, and Squire._] The knight did not, however, always trust to chance for shelter, and risk a night in the open air. Sometimes we find he took the field in this mimic warfare with a baggage train, and had his tent pitched for the night wherever night overtook him, or camped for a few days wherever a pleasant glade, or a fine prospect, or an agreeable neighbour, tempted him to prolong his stay. And he would picket his horse hard by, and thrust his spear into the ground beside the tent door, and hang his shield upon it. Thus we read:--"Now turn we unto Sir Launcelot, that had long been riding in a great forest, and at last came into a low country, full of fair rivers and meadows, and afore him he saw a long bridge, and three pavilions stood thereon of silk and sendal of divers hue, and without the pavilions hung three white shields on truncheons of spears, and great long spears stood upright by the pavilions, and at every pavilion's door stood three fresh squires, and so Sir Launcelot passed by them, and spake not a word." We may say here that it was not unusual for people in fine weather to pitch a tent in the courtyard or garden of the castle, and live there instead of indoors, or to go a-field and pitch a little camp in some pleasant place, and spend the time in justing and feasting, and mirth and minstrelsy. We read in one of the Romances how "the king and queen--King Arthur and Queen Guenever, to wit--made their pavilions and their tents to be pitched in the forest, beside a river, and there was daily hunting, for there were ever twenty knights ready for to just with all them that came in at that time." And here, in the woodcut below, is a picture of the scene. Usually, perhaps, there was not much danger in these adventures of a knight-errant. There was a fair prospect of bruises, and a risk of broken bones if he got an awkward fall, but not more risk perhaps than in the modern hunting-field. Even if the combat went further than the usual three courses with bated spears, if they did draw swords and continue the combat on foot, there was usually no more real danger than in a duel of German students. But sometimes cause of anger would accidentally rise between two errant knights, or the combat begun in courtesy would fire their hot blood, and they would resolve "worshipfully to win worship, or die knightly on the field," and a serious encounter would take place. There were even some knights of evil disposition enough to take delight in making every combat a serious one; and some of the adventures in which we take most interest relate how these bloodthirsty bullies, attacking in ignorance some Knight of the Round Table, got a well-deserved bloodletting for their pains. [Illustration: _King, &c., in Pavilion before Castle._] We must give one example of a combat--rather a long one, but it combines many different points of interest. "So as they (Merlin and King Arthur) went thus talking, they came to a fountain, and a rich pavilion by it. Then was King Arthur aware where a knight sat all armed in a chair. 'Sir Knight,' said King Arthur, 'for what cause abidest thou here, that there may no knight ride this way, but if he do just with thee; leave that custom.' 'This custom,' said the knight, 'have I used, and will use maugre who saith nay, and who is grieved with my custom, let him amend it that will.' 'I will amend it,' saith King Arthur. 'And I shall defend it,' saith the knight. Anon he took his horse, and dressed his shield, and took a spear; and they met so hard either on other's shield, that they shivered their spears. Therewith King Arthur drew his sword. 'Nay, not so,' saith the knight, 'it is fairer that we twain run more together with sharp spears.' 'I will well,' said King Arthur, 'an I had any more spears.' 'I have spears enough,' said the knight. So there came a squire, and brought two good spears, and King Arthur took one, and he another; so they spurred their horses, and came together with all their might, that either break their spears in their hands. Then King Arthur set hand to his sword. 'Nay,' said the knight, 'ye shall do better; ye are a passing good juster as ever I met withal; for the love of the high order of knighthood let us just it once again.' 'I assent me,' said King Arthur. Anon there were brought two good spears, and each knight got a spear, and therewith they ran together, that King Arthur's spear broke to shivers. But the knight hit him so hard in the middle of the shield, that horse and man fell to the earth, wherewith King Arthur was sore angered, and drew out his sword, and said, 'I will assay thee, Sir Knight, on foot, for I have lost the honour on horseback.' 'I will be on horseback,' said the knight. Then was King Arthur wrath, and dressed his shield towards him with his sword drawn. When the knight saw that, he alighted for him, for he thought it was no worship to have a knight at such advantage, he to be on horseback, and the other on foot, and so alighted, and dressed himself to King Arthur. Then there began a strong battle with many great strokes, and so hewed with their swords that the cantels flew on the field, and much blood they bled both, so that all the place where they fought was all bloody; and thus they fought long and rested them, and then they went to battle again, and so hurtled together like two wild boars, that either of them fell to the earth. So at the last they smote together, that both their swords met even together. But the sword of the knight smote King Arthur's sword in two pieces, wherefore he was heavy. Then said the knight to the king, 'Thou art in my danger, whether me list to slay thee or save thee; and but thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die.' 'As for death,' said King Arthur, 'welcome be it when it cometh, but as to yield me to thee as recreant, I had liever die than be so shamed.' And therewithal the king leapt upon Pelinore, and took him by the middle, and threw him down, and rased off his helmet. When the knight felt that he was a dread, for he was a passing big man of might; and anon he brought King Arthur under him, and rased off his helmet, and would have smitten off his head. Therewithal came Merlin, and said, 'Knight, hold thy hand.'" [Illustration: _Knights Justing._] Happy for the wounded knight if there were a religious house at hand, for there he was sure to find kind hospitality and such surgical skill as the times afforded. King Bagdemagus had this good fortune when he had been wounded by Sir Galahad. "I am sore wounded," said he, "and full hardly shall I escape from the death. Then the squire fet [fetched] his horse, and brought him with great pain to an abbey. Then was he taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked into, for he lay there long and escaped hard with his life." So Sir Tristram, in his combat with Sir Marhaus, was so sorely wounded, "that unneath he might recover, and lay at a nunnery half a year." Such adventures sometimes, no doubt, ended fatally, as in the case of the unfortunate Sir Marhaus, and there was a summary conclusion to his adventures; and there was nothing left but to take him home and bury him in his parish church, and hang his sword and helmet over his tomb.[376] Many a knight would be satisfied with the series of adventures which finished by laying him on a sick bed for six months, with only an ancient nun for his nurse; and as soon as he was well enough he would get himself conveyed home on a horse litter, a sadder and a wiser man. The modern romances have good mediæval authority, too, for making marriage a natural conclusion of their three volumes of adventures; we have no less authority for it than that of Sir Launcelot:--"Now, damsel," said he, at the conclusion of an adventure, "will ye any more service of me?" "Nay, sir," said she at this time, "but God preserve you, wherever ye go or ride, for the courtliest knight thou art, and meekest to all ladies and gentlewomen that now liveth. But, Sir Knight, one thing me thinketh that ye lack, ye that are a knight wifeless, that ye will not love some maiden or gentlewoman, for I could never hear say that ye loved any of no manner degree, wherefore many in this country of high estate and low make great sorrow." "Fair damsel," said Sir Launcelot, "to be a wedded man I think never to be, for if I were, then should I be bound to tarry with my wife, and leave arms and tournaments, battles and adventures." We have only space left for a few examples of the quaint and poetical phrases that, as we have said, frequently occur in these Romances, some of which Tennyson has culled, and set like uncut mediæval gems in his circlet of "Idyls of the King." In the account of the great battle between King Arthur and his knights against the eleven kings "and their chivalry," we read "they were so courageous, that many knights shook and trembled for eagerness," and "they fought together, that the sound rang by the water and the wood," and "there was slain that morrow-tide ten thousand of good men's bodies." The second of these expressions is a favourite one; we meet with it again: "when King Ban came into the battle, he came in so fiercely, that the stroke resounded again from the water and the wood." Again we read, King Arthur "commanded his trumpets to blow the bloody sounds in such wise that the earth trembled and dindled." He was "a mighty man of men;" and "all men of worship said it was merry to be under such a chieftain, that would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did." CHAPTER V. KNIGHTS-ERRANT. In the British Museum are two volumes containing a rather large number of illuminated pictures which have been cut out of MSS., chiefly of the early fourteenth century, by some collector who did not understand how much more valuable they would have been, even as pictures, if left each by itself in the appropriate setting of its black letter page, than when pasted half-a-dozen together in a scrap-book. That they are severed from the letterpress which they were intended to illustrate is of the less importance, because they seem all to be illustrations of scenes in romances, and it is not difficult to one who is well versed in those early writings either to identify the subjects or to invent histories for them. Each isolated picture affords a subject in which an expert, turning the book over and explaining it to an amateur, would find material for a little lecture on mediæval art and architecture, costume, and manners. In presenting to the reader the subjects which illustrate this chapter, we find ourselves placed by circumstances in the position of being obliged to treat them like those scrap-book pictures of which we have spoken, viz., as isolated pictures, illustrating generally our subject of the Knights of the Middle Ages, needing each its independent explanation. The first subject represents a scene from some romance, in which the good knight, attended by his squire, is guided by a damsel on some adventure. As in the scene which we find in Caxton's "Prince Arthur": "And the good knight, Sir Galahad, rode so long, till that he came that night to the castle of Carberecke; and it befel him that he was benighted in an hermitage. And when they were at rest there came a gentlewoman knocking at the door, and called Sir Galahad, and so the hermit came to the door to ask what she would. Then she called the hermit, Sir Ulfric, 'I am a gentlewoman that would speak with the knight that is with you.' Then the good man awaked Sir Galahad, and bade him rise and speak 'with a gentlewoman which seemeth hath great need of you.' Then Sir Galahad went to her, and asked what she would. 'Sir Galahad,' said she, 'I will that you arm you and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I will show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever knight saw.' Anon, Sir Galahad armed him, and took his horse and commended him to God, and bade the gentlewoman go, and he would follow her there as she liked. So the damsel rode as fast as her palfrey might gallop till that she came to the sea." [Illustration: _Lady, Knight, and Squire._] Here then we see the lady ambling through the forest, and she rides as ladies rode in the middle ages, and as they still ride, like female centaurs, in the Sandwich Islands. She turns easily in her saddle, though going at a good pace, to carry on an animated conversation with the knight. He, it will be seen, is in hauberk and hood of banded mail, with the curious ornaments called _ailettes_--little wings--at his shoulders. He seems to have _genouillières_--knee-pieces of plate; but it is doubtful whether he has also plate armour about the leg, or whether the artist has omitted the lines which would indicate that the legs were, as is more probably the case, also protected by banded mail. He wears the prick spur; and his body-armour is protected from sun and rain by the surcoat. Behind him prances his squire. The reader will not fail to notice the character which the artist has thrown into his attitude and the expression of his features. It will be seen that he is not armed, but wears the ordinary civil costume, with a hood and hat; he carries his master's spear, and the shield is suspended at his back by its guige or strap; its hollow shape and the rampant lion emblazoned on it will not be overlooked. Romance writers are sometimes accused of forgetting that their heroes are human, and need to eat and drink and sleep. But this is hardly true of the old romancers, who, in relating knightly adventures, did not draw upon their imagination, but described the things which were continually happening about them; and the illuminators in illustrating the romances drew from the life--the life of their own day--and this it is which makes their pictures so naive and truthful in spite of their artistic defects, and so valuable as historical authorities. In the engraving above is a subject which would hardly have occurred to modern romancer or illustrator. The crowd of tents tells us that the scene is cast in the "tented field," either of real war or of the mimic war of some great tournament. The combat of the day is over. The modern romancer would have dropped the curtain for the day, to be drawn up again next morning when the trumpets of the heralds called the combatants once more to the field. Our mediæval illuminator has given us a charming episode in the story. He has followed the good knight to his pavilion pitched in the meadow hard by. The knight has doffed his armour, and taken his bath, and put on his robes of peace, and heard vespers, and gone to supper. The lighted candles show that it is getting dusk. It is only by an artistic license that the curtains of the tent are drawn aside to display the whole interior; in reality they were close drawn; these curtains are striped of alternate breadths of gay colours--gold and red and green and blue. Any one who has seen how picturesque a common bell tent, pitched on the lawn, looks from the outside, when one has been tempted by a fine summer evening to stay out late and "have candles," will be able to perceive how picturesque the striped curtains of this pavilion would be, how eminently picturesque the group of such pavilions here indicated, with the foliage of trees overhead and the grey walls and towers of a mediæval town in the background, with the stars coming out one by one among the turrets and spires sharply defined against the fading sky. [Illustration: _Knight at Supper._] The knight, like a good chevalier and humane master, has first seen his war-horse groomed and fed. And what a sure evidence that the picture is from the life is this introduction of the noble animal sharing the shelter of the tent of his master, who waits for supper to be served. The furniture of the table is worth looking at--the ample white table-cloth, though the table is, doubtless, only a board on trestles; and the two candlesticks of massive and elegant shape, show that the candlesticks now called altar-candlesticks are only of the ordinary domestic mediæval type, obsolete now in domestic use, but still retained, like so many other ancient fashions, in ecclesiastical use. There, too, are the wine flagon and cup, and the salt between them; the knife is at the knight's right hand. We almost expect to see the squire of the last picture enter from behind, bearing aloft in both hands a fat capon on an ample pewter platter. The little subject which is next engraved will enable us to introduce from the Romance of Prince Arthur a description of an adventure and a graphic account of the different turns and incidents of a single combat, told in language which is rich in picturesque obsolete words. "And so they rode forth a great while till they came to the borders of that country, and there they found a full fair village, with a strong bridge like a fortress.[377] And when Sir Launcelot and they were at the bridge, there start forth before them many gentlemen and yeomen, which said, 'Fair lord, ye may not pass over this bridge and this fortress but one of you at once, therefore choose which of you shall enter within this bridge first.' Then Sir Launcelot proffered himself first to enter within this bridge. 'Sir,' said Sir La Cote Male Taile, 'I beseech you let me enter first within this fortress, and if I speed well I will send for you, and if it happen that I be slain there it goeth; and if so be that I am taken prisoner then may ye come and rescue me.' 'I am loath,' said Sir Launcelot, 'to let you take this passage.' 'Sir,' said he, 'I pray you let me put my body in this adventure.' 'Now go your way,' said Sir Launcelot, 'and God be your speed.' So he entered, and anon there met with him two brethren, the one hight Sir Pleine de Force and that other hight Sir Pleine de Amours; and anon they met with Sir La Cote Male Taile, and first Sir La Cote Male Taile smote down Sir Pleine de Force, and soon after he smote down Sir Pleine de Amours; and then they dressed themselves to their shields and swords, and so they bade Sir La Cote Male Taile alight, and so he did, and there was dashing and foining with swords. And so they began full hard to assay Sir La Cote Male Taile, and many great wounds they gave him upon his head and upon his breast and upon his shoulders. And as he might ever among he gave sad strokes again. And then the two brethren traced and traversed for to be on both hands of Sir La Cote Male Taile. But by fine force and knightly prowess he got them afore him. And so then when he felt himself so wounded he doubled his strokes, and gave them so many wounds that he felled them to the earth, and would have slain them had they not yielded them. And right so Sir La Cote Male Taile took the best horse that there was of them two, and so rode forth his way to that other fortress and bridge, and there he met with the third brother, whose name was Sir Plenorius, a full noble knight, and there they justed together, and either smote other down, horse and man, to the earth. And then they two avoided their horses and dressed their shields and drew their swords and gave many sad strokes, and one while the one knight was afore on the bridge and another while the other. And thus they fought two hours and more and never rested. Then Sir La Cote Male Taile sunk down upon the earth, for what for wounds and what for blood he might not stand. Then the other knight had pity of him, and said, 'Fair young knight, dismay you not, for if ye had been fresh when ye met with me, as I was, I know well I should not have endured so long as ye have done, and therefore for your noble deeds and valiantness I shall show you great kindness and gentleness in all that ever I may.' And forthwith the noble knight, Sir Plenorius, took him up in his arms and led him into his tower. And then he commended him the more and made him for to search him and for to stop his bleeding wounds. 'Sir,' said Sir La Cote Male Taile, 'withdraw you from me, and hie you to yonder bridge again, for there will meet you another manner knight than ever I was.' Then Sir Plenorius gat his horse and came with a great spear in his hand galloping as the hurl wind had borne him towards Sir Launcelot, and then they began to feutre[378] their spears, and came together like thunder, and smote either other so mightily that their horses fell down under them; and then they avoided their horses and drew out their swords, and like two bulls they lashed together with great strokes and foins; but ever Sir Launcelot recovered ground upon him, and Sir Plenorius traced to have from about him, and Sir Launcelot would not suffer that, but bore him backer and backer, till he came nigh the gate tower, and then said Sir Launcelot, 'I know thee well for a good knight, but wot thou well thy life and death is in my hands, and therefore yield thou to me and thy prisoners.' The other answered not a word, but struck mightily upon Sir Launcelot's helm that fire sprang out of his eyes; then Sir Launcelot doubled his strokes so thick and smote at him so mightily that he made him to kneel upon his knees, and therewith Sir Launcelot lept upon him, and pulled him down grovelling; then Sir Plenorius yielded him and his tower and all his prisoners at his will, and Sir Launcelot received him and took his troth." We must tell briefly the chivalrous sequel. Sir Launcelot offered to Sir La Cote Male Taile all the possessions of the conquered knight, but he refused to receive them, and begged Sir Launcelot to let Sir Plenorius retain his livelihood on condition he would be King Arthur's knight,--"'Full well,' said Sir Launcelot, 'so that he will come to the court of King Arthur and become his man and his three brethren. And as for you, Sir Plenorius, I will undertake, at the next feast, so there be a place void, that ye shall be Knight of the Round Table.' Then Sir Launcelot and Sir La Cote Male Taile rested them there, and then they had merry cheer and good rest and many good games, and there were many fair ladies." In the woodcut we see Sir La Cote Male Taile, who has just overthrown Sir Pleine de Force at the foot of the bridge, and the gentlemen and yeomen are looking on out of the windows and over the battlements of the gate tower. [Illustration: _Defending the Bridge._] The illuminators are never tired of representing battles and sieges; and the general impression which we gather from them is that a mediæval combat must have presented to the lookers-on a confused _melée_ of rushing horses and armoured men in violent action, with a forest of weapons overhead--great swords, and falchions, and axes, and spears, with pennons fluttering aloft here and there in the breeze of the combat. We almost fancy we can see the dust caused by the prancing horses, and hear the clash of weapons and the hoarse war-cries, and sometimes can almost hear the shriek which bursts from the maddened horse, or the groan of the man who is wounded and helpless under the trampling hoofs. The woodcut introduced represents such a scene in a very spirited way. But it is noticeable among a hundred similar scenes for one incident, which is very unusual, and which gives us a glimpse of another aspect of mediæval war. It will be seen that the combat is taking place outside a castle or fortified town; and that, on a sudden, in the confusion of the combat, a side gate has been opened, and the bridge lowered, and a solid column of men-at-arms, on foot, is marching in military array across the bridge, in order to turn the flank of the assailant chivalry. We do not happen to know a representation of this early age of anything so thoroughly soldierly in its aspect as this sally. The incident itself indicates something more like regular war than the usual confused mingling of knights so well represented on the left side of the picture. The fact of men-at-arms, armed _cap-a-pied_, acting on foot, is not very usual at this period; their unmistakable military order, as they march two and two with shields held in the same attitude and spears sloped at the same angle, speaks of accurate drill. The armorial bearings on the shield of one of the foremost rank perhaps point out the officer in command. [Illustration: _A Sally across the Drawbridge._] It seems to be commonly assumed that the soldiers of the Middle Ages had little, if anything, like our modern drill and tactics; that the men were simply put into the field in masses, according to some rude initial plan of the general, but that after the first charge the battle broke up into a series of chance-medley combats, in which the leaders took a personal share; and that the only further piece of generalship consisted in bringing up a body of reserve to strengthen a corps which was giving ground, or to throw an overwhelming force upon some corps of the enemy which seemed to waver. It is true that we find very little information about the mediæval drill or tactics, but it is very possible that there was more of both than is commonly supposed. Any man whose duty it was to marshal and handle a body of troops would very soon, even if left to his own wit, invent enough of drill to enable him to move his men about from place to place, and to put them into the different formations necessary to enable them effectively to act on the offensive or defensive under different circumstances. A leader whose duty it was to command several bodies of troops would invent the elements of tactics, enough to enable him to combine them in a general plan of battle, and to take advantage of the different turns of the fight. Experience would rapidly ripen the knowledge of military men, and of experience they had only too much. It is true that the armies of mediæval England consisted chiefly of levies of men who were not professional soldiers, and the officers and commanders were marked out for leadership by their territorial possessions, not by their military skill. But the men were not unaccustomed to their weapons, and were occasionally mustered for feudal display; and the country gentlemen who officered them were trained to military exercises as a regular part of their education, and, we may assume, to so much of military skill as was necessary to fulfil their part as knights. Then there were mercenary captains, who by continuous devotion to war acquired great knowledge and experience in all military affairs; and the men who had to do with them, either as friends or foes, learnt from them. We need only glance down the line of our kings to find abundance of great captains among them--William the Conqueror, and Stephen, and Richard I., and Edward I. and III., and Henry IV. and V., and Edward IV., and Richard III. And military skill equal to the direction of armies was no less common among the nobility; and ability to take command of his own contingent was expected of every one who held his lands on condition of being always ready and able to follow his lord's banner to the field. In the Saxon days the strength of the army seems to have consisted of footmen, and their formation was generally in close and deep ranks, who, joining their shoulders together, formed an impenetrable defence; wielding long heavy swords and battle-axes, they made a terrible assault. Some insight into the tactics of the age is given by William of Malmesbury's assertion that at Hastings the Normans made a feigned flight, which drew the Saxons from their close array, and then turning upon them, took them at advantage; and repeated this manoeuvre more than once at the word of command. The strength of the Norman armies, on the other hand, consisted of knights and mounted men-at-arms. The military engines were placed in front, and commenced the engagement with their missiles; the archers and slingers were placed on the wings. The crowd of half-armed footmen usually formed the first line; the mounted troops were drawn up behind them in three lines, whose successive charges formed the main attack of the engagement. Occasionally, however, dismounted men-at-arms seem to have been used by some skilful generals with great effect. In several of the battles of Stephen's reign, this unusual mode appears to have been followed, under the influence of the foreign mercenary captains in the king's pay. Generals took pains to secure any possible advantage from the nature of the ground, and it follows that the plan of the battle must have turned sometimes on the defence or seizure of some commanding point which formed the key of the position. Ambuscades were a favourite device of which we not unfrequently read, and night surprises were equally common. We read also occasionally of stratagems, especially in the capture of fortresses, which savour rather of romance than of the stem realities of war. In short, perhaps the warfare of that day was not so very inferior in military skill to that of our own times as some suppose. In our last war the charge at Balaklava was as chivalrous a deed as ever was done in the Middle Ages, and Inkerman a fight of heroes; but neither of them displayed more military science than was displayed by the Norman chivalry who charged at Hastings, or the Saxon billmen whose sturdy courage all but won the fatal day. CHAPTER VI. MILITARY ENGINES. To attempt to represent the knights in their manor-houses and castles would be to enter upon an essay on the domestic and military architecture of the Middle Ages, which would be beyond the plan of these sketches of the mediæval chivalry. The student may find information on the subject in Mr. Parker's "Domestic Architecture," in Grose's "Military Antiquities," in Viollet le Duc's "Architecture du Moyen Age," and scattered over the publications of the various antiquarian and architectural societies. We must, however, say a few words as to the way in which the knight defended his castle when attacked in it, and how he attacked his neighbour's castle or his enemy's town, in private feud or public war. It seems to be a common impression that the most formidable aspect of mediæval war was a charge of knights with vizor down and lance in rest; and that these gallant cavaliers only pranced their horses round and round the outer margin of the moat of a mediæval castle, or if they did dismount and try to take the fortress by assault, would rage in vain against its thick walls and barred portcullis; as in the accompanying woodcut from a MS. romance of the early part of the 14th century (Add. 10,292, f. v., date A.D. 1316), where the king on his curveting charger couches his lance against the castle wall, and has only his shield to oppose to the great stone which is about to be hurled down upon his head. The impression is, no doubt, due to the fact that many people have read romances, ancient and modern, which concern themselves with the personal adventures of their heroes, but have not read mediæval history, which tells--even more than enough--of battles and sieges. They have only had the knight put before them--as in the early pages of these chapters--in the pomp and pageantry of chivalry. They have not seen him as the captain and soldier, directing and wielding the engines of war. Suppose the king and his chivalry in the following woodcut to be only summoning the castle; and suppose them, on receiving a refusal to surrender, to resolve upon an assault. They retire a few hundred yards and dismount, and put their horses under the care of a guard. Presently they return supported by a strong body of archers, who ply the mail-clad defenders with such a hail of arrows that they are driven to seek shelter behind the battlements. Seizing that moment, a party of camp followers run forward with a couple of planks, which they throw over the moat to make a temporary bridge. They are across in an instant, and place scaling-ladders against the walls. The knights, following close at their heels, mount rapidly, each man carrying his shield over his head, so that the bare ladder is converted into a covered stair, from whose shield-roof arrows glint and stones roll off innocuous. It is easy to see that a body of the enemy might thus, in a few minutes, effect a lodgment on the castle-wall, and open a way for the whole party of assailants into the interior. [Illustration: _Summoning the Castle._] But the assailed may succeed in throwing down the ladders; or in beating the enemy off them by hurling down great stones ready stored against such an emergency, or heaving the coping-stones off the battlements; or they may succeed in preventing the assailants from effecting a lodgment on the wall by a hand to hand encounter; and thus the assault may be foiled and beaten off. Still our mediæval captain has other resources; he will next order up his "gyns," _i.e._ engines of war. The name applies chiefly to machines constructed for the purpose of hurling heavy missiles. The ancient nations of antiquity possessed such machines, and the knowledge of them descended to mediæval times. There seems, however, to be this great difference between the classical and the mediæval engines, that the former were constructed on the principle of the bow, the latter on the principle of the sling. The classical _ballista_ was, in fact, a huge cross-bow, made in a complicated way and worked by machinery. The mediæval _trebuchet_ was a sling wielded by a gigantic arm of wood. In mediæval Latin the ancient name of the ballista is sometimes found, but in the mediæval pictures the principle of the engines illustrated is always that which we have described. We meet also in mediæval writings with the names of the _mangona_ and _mangonella_ and the _catapult_, but they were either different names for the same engine, or names for different species of the same genus. The woodcut here introduced from the MS. Add. 10,294, f. 81 V., gives a representation of a trebuchet. A still earlier representation--viz., of the thirteenth century--of machines of the same kind is to be found in the Arabic MS. quoted in a treatise, "Du feu Grégois," by MM. Favé and Reinaud, and leads to the supposition that the sling principle in these machines may have been introduced from the East. There are other representations of a little later date than that in the text (viz., about A.D. 1330) in the Royal MS. 16 G. VI., which are engraved in Shaw's "Dresses and Decorations." We also possess a contemporary description of the machine in the work of Gilles Colonne (who died A.D. 1316), written for Philip the Fair of France.[379] "Of _perriers_," he says, "there are four kinds, and in all these machines there is a beam which is raised and lowered by means of a counterpoise, a sling being attached to the end of the beam to discharge the stone. Sometimes the counterpoise is not sufficient, and then they attach ropes to it to move the beam." This appears to be the case in our illustration. The rope seems to be passed through a ring in the platform of the engine, so that the force applied to the rope acts to the greater advantage in aid of the weight of the beam. "The counterpoise may either be fixed or movable, or both at once. In the fixed counterpoise a box is fastened to the end of the beam, and filled with stones or sand, or any heavy body." One would not, perhaps, expect such a machine to possess any precision of action, but according to our author the case was far otherwise. "These machines," he continues, "anciently called _trabutium_, cast their missiles with the utmost exactness, because the weight acts in a uniform manner. Their aim is so sure, that one may, so to say, hit a needle. If the gyn carries too far, it must be drawn back or loaded with a heavier stone; if the contrary, then it must be advanced or a smaller stone supplied; for without attention to the weight of the stone, one cannot hope to reach the given mark." "Others of these machines have a movable counterpoise attached to the beam, turning upon an axis. This variety the Romans called _biffa_. The third kind, which is called _tripantum_, has two weights, one fixed to the beam and the other movable round it. By this means it throws with more exactness than the _biffa_, and to a greater distance than the trebuchet. The fourth sort, in lieu of weights fixed to the beam, has a number of ropes, and is discharged by means of men pulling simultaneously at the cords. This last kind does not cast such large stones as the others, but it has the advantage that it may be more rapidly loaded and discharged than they. In using the perriers by night it is necessary to attach a lighted body to the projectile. By this means one may discover the force of the machine, and regulate the weight of the stone accordingly."[380] This, then, is the engine which our captain, repulsed in his attempt to take the place by a _coup de main_, has ordered up, adjusting it, no doubt, like a good captain, with his own eye and hand, until he has got it, "so to say, to hit a needle," on the weak points of the place. It was usual in great sieges to have several of them, so that a whole battery might be set to work to overmaster the defence. [Illustration: _The Assault._] We must bear in mind that similar engines were, it is probable, usually mounted on the towers of the castle. We should judge from the roundness of the stones which the defenders in both the preceding woodcuts are throwing down by hand upon the enemy immediately beneath, that they are the stones provided for the military engines. We find that, as in modern times cannon is set to silence the cannon of the enemy, so that a battle becomes, for a time at least, an artillery duel, so engine was set to silence engine. In the account which Guillaume des Ormes gives of his defence of the French town of Carcasonne in 1240 A.D., he says: "They set up a mangonel before our barbican, when we lost no time in opposing to it from within an excellent Turkish petrary, which played upon the mangonel and those about it, so that when they essayed to cast upon us, and saw the beam of our petrary in motion, they fled, utterly abandoning their mangonel." There was also an engine called an _arbalast_, or _spurgardon_, or _espringale_, which was a huge cross-bow mounted on wheels, so as to be movable like a field-piece; it threw great pointed bolts with such force as to pass successively through several men. If the engines of the besiegers were silenced, or failed to produce any decisive impression on the place, the captain of the assailants might try the effect of the ram. We seldom, indeed, hear of its use in the Middle Ages, but one instance, at least, is recorded by Richard of Devizes, who says that Richard I., at the siege of Messina, forced in the gates of the city by the application of the battering-ram, and so won his way into the place, and captured it. The walls of mediæval fortifications were so immensely thick, that a ram would be little likely to break them. The gates, too, of a castle or fortified gate-tower were very strong. If the reader will look at the picture of a siege of a castle, given on page 373, he will see a representation of a castle-gate, which will help him to understand its defences. First he will see that the drawbridge is raised, so that the assailant has to bridge the moat before he can bring his battering-ram to bear. Suppose the yawning gulf bridged with planks or filled in with fascines, and the ram brought into position, under fire from the loops of the projecting towers of the gate as well as from the neighbouring battlements, then the bridge itself forms an outer door which must first be battered down. Behind it will be found the real outer-door, made as strong as oak timber and iron bolts can make it. That down, there is next the grated portcullis seen in two previous woodcuts, against which the ram would rattle with a great clang of iron; but the grating, with its wide spaces, and having plenty of "play" in its stone groove, would baffle the blows by the absence of a solid resistance, and withstand them by the tenacity of wrought-iron. Even if the bars were bent and torn till they afforded a passage, the assailants would find themselves in the narrow space within the gate-tower confronted by another door, and exposed to missiles poured upon them from above. It is, perhaps, no wonder that we hear little of the use of the ram in mediæval times; though it might be useful occasionally to drive in some ill-defended postern. The use of the regular mine for effecting a breach in the wall of a fortified place was well known, and often brought to bear. The miners began their work at some distance, and drove a shaft underground towards the part of the fortifications which seemed most assailable; they excavated beneath the foundations of the wall, supporting the substructure with wooden props until they had finished their work. Then they set fire to the props, and retired to see the unsupported weight of the wall bringing it down in a heap of ruins. The operation of mining was usually effected under the protection of a temporary pent-house, called a _cat_ or _sow_. William of Malmesbury describes the machine as used in the siege of Jerusalem, at the end of the eleventh century. "It is constructed," he says, "of slight timbers, the roof covered with boards and wicker-work, and the sides protected with undressed hides, to protect those who are within, who proceed to undermine the foundations of the walls." Our next woodcut gives a very clear illustration of one of these machines, which has been moved on its wheels up to the outer wall of a castle, and beneath its protection a party of men-at-arms are energetically plying their miner's tools, to pick away the foundation, and so allow a portion of the wall to settle down and leave an entrance. The methods in which this mode of attack was met were various. We all remember the Border heroine, who, when her castle was thus attacked, declared she would make the sow farrow, viz., by casting down a huge fragment of stone upon it. That this was one way of defence is shown in the woodcut, where one of the defenders, with energetic action, is casting down a huge stone upon the sow. That the roof was made strong enough to resist such a natural means of offence is shown by the stones which are represented as lodged all along it. Another more subtle counteraction, shown in the woodcut, was to pour boiling water or boiling oil upon it, that it might fall through the interstices of the roof, and make the interior untenable. No doubt means were taken to make the roof liquid-tight, for the illustration represents another mode of counteraction (of which we have met with no other suggestion), by driving sharp-pointed piles into the roof, so as to make holes and cracks through which the boiling liquid might find an entrance. If these means of counteracting the work of the cat seemed likely to be unavailing, it still remained to throw up an inner line of wall, which, when the breach was made, should extend from one side to the other of the unbroken wall, and so complete the circumvallation. This, we have evidence, was sometimes done with timber and planks, and a sort of scaffolding was erected on the inner side, which maintained the communication along the top of the walls, and enabled the soldiers to man the top of this wooden wall and offer a new resistance to the besiegers as they poured into the breach. The mine was also, in ancient as in modern times, met by a counter-mine. [Illustration: _The Cat._ (Royal, 16 G VI.)] Another usual machine for facilitating the siege of fortified places was a movable tower. Such an engine was commonly prepared beforehand, and taken to pieces and transported with the army as a normal part of the siege-train. When arrived at the scene of operations, it was put together at a distance, and then pushed forward on wheels, until it confronted the walls of the place against which it was to operate. It was intended to put the besiegers on a level and equality with the besieged. From the roof the assailants could command the battlements and the interior of the place, and by their archers could annoy the defence. A movable part of the front of the tower suddenly let fall upon the opposite battlements, at once opened a door and formed a bridge, by which the besiegers could make a rush upon the walls and effect a lodgment if successful, or retreat if unsuccessful to their own party. Such a tower was constructed by Richard I. in Cyprus, as part of his preparation for his Crusade. An illustration of a tower thus opposed to a castle--not a very good illustration--is to be found in the Royal MS., 16 G. VI., at folio 278 v. Another, a great square tower, just level with the opposing battlements, with a kind of sloping roof to ward off missiles, is shown in the MS. _Chroniques d'Angleterres_ (Royal 16, E. IV.), which was illuminated for Edward IV. Again, at f. 201 of the same MS., is another representation of wooden towers opposed to a city. If the besieged could form a probable conjecture as to the point of the walls towards which the movable tower, whose threatening height they saw gradually growing at a bow-shot from their walls, would be ultimately directed, they sometimes sent out under cover of night and dug pitfalls, into which, as its huge bulk was rolled creaking forward, its fore wheels might suddenly sink, and so the machine fall forward, and remain fixed and useless. As it approached, they also tried to set it on fire by missiles tipped with combustibles. If it fairly attained its position, they assailed every loop and crevice in it with arrows and crossbow bolts, and planted a strong body of men-at-arms on the walls opposite to it, and in the neighbouring towers, to repel the "boarders" in personal combat. A bold and enterprising captain did not always wait for the approach of these engines of assault, but would counter-work them as he best could from the shelter of his walls. He would sometimes lower the drawbridge, and make a sudden sally upon the unfinished tower or the advancing sow, beat off the handful of men who were engaged about it, pile up the fragments and chips lying about, pour a few pots of oil or tar over the mass, and set fire to it, and return in triumph to watch from his battlements how his fiery ally would, in half an hour, destroy his enemy's work of half a month. In the early fourteenth century MS. Add. 10,294, at fol. 740, we have a small picture of a fight before a castle or town, in which we see a column of men-at-arms crossing the drawbridge on such an expedition. And again, in the plates in which Hans Burgmaier immortalised the events of the reign of the Emperor Maximilian, a very artistic representation of a body of men-at-arms, with their long lances, crowding through the picturesque gate and over the drawbridge, brings such an incident vividly before us. The besiegers on their part did not neglect to avail themselves of such shelter as they could find or make from the shot and from the sallies of the enemy, so as to equalise as much as practicable the conditions of the contest. The archers of the castle found shelter behind the merlons of the battlements, and had the windows from which they shot screened by movable shutters; as may be seen in the next woodcut of the assault on a castle. It would have put the archers of the assailants at a great disadvantage if they had had to stand out in the open space, exposed defenceless to the aim of the foe; all neighbouring trees which could give shelter were, of course, cut down, in order to reduce them to this defenceless condition, and works were erected so as to command every possible coigne of vantage which the nooks and angles of the walls might have afforded. But the archers of the besiegers sought to put themselves on more equal terms with their opponents by using the _pavis_ or _mantelet_. The pavis was a tall shield, curved so as partly to envelop the person of the bearer, broad at the top and tapering to the feet. We sometimes see cross-bowmen carrying it slung at their backs (as in Harl. 4,379, and Julius E. IV., f. 219, engraved on p. 294), so that after discharging a shot they could turn round and be sheltered by the great shield while they wound up their instrument for another shot. Sometimes this shield seems to have been simply three planks of wood nailed together, which stood upright on the ground, and protected the soldier effectively on three sides. There are illustrations of it in the MS. Royal 20 C vii. (temp. Rich. II.), at f. 19, f. 24 v., and f. 29 v., and in the MS. Harl. 4,382, f. 133 v. and f. 154 v. The mantelet was a shield still more ample, and capable of being fixed upright by a prop, so that it formed a kind of little movable fort which the bowman, or man-at-arms, could carry out and plant before the walls, and thence discharge his missiles, or pursue any other operation, in comparative safety from the smaller artillery of the enemy. The most interesting example which we have met of the employment of the pavis and mantelet, is in a picture in the Harl. MS. 4,425, at f. 133. The woodcut on the previous page represents only a portion of the picture, the whole of which is well worth study. The reader will see at once that we have here the work of a draughtsman of far superior skill to that of the limners of the rude illuminations which we have previously given. The background really gives us some adequate idea of the appearance of an Edwardian castle with its barbican and drawbridge, its great tower with the heads of the defenders just peeping over the battlements. We must call attention to the right-hand figure in the foreground, who is clad in a _pourpoint_, one of the quilted armours which we have formerly described, because it is the best illustration of this species of armour we have met with. But the special point for which we give the woodcut here, is to illustrate the use of the mantelet. It will be seen--though somewhat imperfectly, from the fragment of the engraving introduced--that these defences have been brought up to the front of the attacking party in such numbers as to form an almost continuous wall, behind which the men-at-arms are sheltered; on the right are great fixed mantelets, with a hole in the middle of each, through which the muzzle of a gun is thrust; while the cannoniers work their guns as behind the walls of a fort. [Illustration: _Use of the Pavis, etc._] [Illustration: _Cannon and Mortar._] Similar movable defences, variously constructed, continued to be used down to a very late period. For example, in some large plans of the array of the army of Henry VIII., preserved in the British Museum (Cottonian MS., Augustus III., f. 1 v.), the cannon are flanked by huge mantelets of timber, which protect the cannoniers. In the one engraved between pp. 454 and 455, we see a representation of the commencement of the battle, showing some of the mantelets overthrown by the assault of soldiers armed with poleaxes. In modern warfare the sharpshooter runs out into the open, carrying a sand-bag by way of pavis, behind which he lies and picks off the enemy, and the artillery throw up a little breastwork, or mantelet, of sand-bags. Sometimes the besieging army protected itself by works of a still more permanent kind. It threw up embankments with a pallisade at top, or sometimes constructed a breastwork, or erected a fort, of timber. For example, in the Royal MS. 14 E. IV., at f. 14, we have a picture of an assault upon a fortified place, in which the besiegers have strengthened their position by a timber breastwork. It is engraved at p. 443; the whole picture is well worth study. Again, in the Cottonian MS., Augustus V., at folio 266, is a camp with a wooden fence round it. An army in the field often protected its position in a similar way. So far back as the eleventh century the historians tell us that William the Conqueror brought over a timber fort with him to aid his operations. The plan of surrounding the camp with the waggons and baggage of the army is perhaps one of the most primitive devices of warfare, and we find it used down to the end of the period which is under our consideration. In the MS. already mentioned, Augustus III., on the reverse of folio 4, is a picture of an army of the time of Henry VIII. encamped by a river, and enclosed on the open sides by the baggage, and by flat-bottomed boats on their carriages, which we suppose have been provided for the passage of the stream. The siege of Bedford Castle, as described by Roger Wendover, in the year 1224, gives a good historical instance of the employment of these various modes of attacking a stronghold at that period. The castle was being held against the king, who invested it in person. Two towers of wood were raised against the walls, and filled with archers; seven mangonels cast ponderous stones from morning to night; sappers approached the walls under the cover of the cat. First the barbican, then the outer bailey was taken. A breach in the second wall soon after gave the besiegers admission to the inner bailey. The donjon still held out, and the royalists proceeded to approach it by means of their sappers. A sufficient portion of the foundations having been removed, the stancheons were set on fire, one of the angles sank deep into the ground, and a wide rent laid open the interior of the keep. The garrison now planted the royal standard on the walls, and sent the women to implore mercy. But a severe example was made of the defenders, in order to strike terror among the disaffected in other parts of the realm.[381] [Illustration: _Cannon._] Among the occasional warlike contrivances, stinkpots were employed to repel the enemy, and the Greek fire was also occasionally used. A representation of the use of stinkpots, and also of the mode of using the Greek fire, may be seen in the Royal MS. 18 E. V., at f. 207 (date 1473 A.D.). Those more terrible engines of war which ultimately revolutionised the whole art of warfare, which made the knight's armour useless, and the trebuchet and arbalest the huge toys of an unscientific age, were already introduced; though they were yet themselves so immature, that for a time military men disputed whether the old long bow or the new fire-arm was the better weapon, and the trebuchet still held its place beside the cannon. In the old illuminations we find mediæval armour and fire-arms together in incongruous conjunction. The subject of the use of gunpowder is one of so much interest, that it deserves to be treated in a separate chapter. CHAPTER VII. ARMOUR OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. In former papers we have seen the characteristic feature of the armour of Saxon, Norman, and Early English times, down to the latter part of the thirteenth century, was that of mail armour--_i.e._ composed of rings sewn upon garments of something like the ordinary shape--tunic, hose, and hood--or linked together into the shape of such garments. The fourteenth century was a period of transition from mail armour to plate. First it was found convenient to protect the elbow and knee with conical caps made out of a plate of steel; then the upper arm and fore arm, the thigh and leg, were encased in separate pieces of armour made to fit to the limbs; in place of the old helmet worn over the mail hood, a globular bascinet of plate was used, with a fringe of mail attached to it, falling over the shoulders; in place of the hauberk of mail, a globular plate to protect the breast, and another the back, connected at the sides, with a deep skirt of mail attached to them, falling over the hips. In the old days of mail armour a flowing surcoat was worn over it, to protect it from wet, dust, and the heat of the sun; in the fourteenth century the body-armour was covered with a close-fitting jupon of rich material and colour, embroidered with the arms of the wearer, and girded by a rich enamelled horizontal belt. The characteristic of the armour of the fifteenth century was that it consisted of a complete suit of plate; the fringe of the bascinet being replaced by a gorget of plate, the skirt of mail by horizontal overlapping plates; and for some time no covering was worn over the armour, but the knightly vanity of the time delighted in the glittering splendour of the burnished steel. Later in the century, however, mail came again into considerable use, in short sleeves for the protection of the upper arm, and in skirts, which were doubtless found more convenient to the horseman than the solid plates of overlapping steel. It also seems to have been found practically inconvenient to dispense with some textile covering over the armour; and a considerable variety of such coverings was used, according to the caprice of the wearer. Numerous diversified experiments in the construction of armour were tried, and we commonly find in pictures of the time a great variety of fashions, both of armour and weapons, brought together in the same troop of warriors. It is a matter of interest to the antiquary to trace out the rise of all these various fashions and to determine when they went out of fashion again; but for our present purpose it is enough to point out the salient features of the military costume of the century, and, as varieties are brought before us in the illustrations from ancient MSS. which we proceed to introduce to our readers, to point out their meaning and interest. Let us begin, then, with a picture which will afford us, in the left-hand figure, a typical illustration of the complete plate-armour of the century, and proceed to describe the various pieces of which it is composed. His head is protected by a bascinet of steel, without visor to protect the face, though the picture represents him as actually engaged in the thick of a battle; but the steel gorget is brought up so as to protect the lower part of the face. It is not unfrequent to find the knights of this period with the face similarly exposed. Probably the heat and the difficulty of breathing caused by the visor were considered to outweigh the additional safety which it afforded. The neck is protected by a gorget of plate; and instead of the globular breastplate and skirt of mail worn under the gay jupon of the fourteenth century, the body is cased in two pairs of plates, which open with hinges at the sides, the lower plates coming to a point at the back and breast. In this illustration the whole suit of armour presents an unrelieved surface of burnished steel, the outlines of the various pieces of armour being marked by a narrow line of gold. But it was very usual for one of the two breastplates to be covered with silk or velvet embroidered. This will be seen in the armour of the archer from the same picture, in which the upper plate is covered with blue, powdered with gold spots arranged in trefoils. So in the woodcut on p. 399 the upper breastplate of the knight nearest to the spectator is blue with gold spots, while in the further knight the upper plate is red. Turning again to the knight before us, his shoulders are protected by pauldrons. These portions of the armour differ much in different examples; they were often ridged, so as to prevent a blow from glancing off to the neck, and sometimes they have a kind of standing collar to protect the neck from a direct stroke. Sometimes the pauldron of the left shoulder is elaborately enlarged and strengthened to resist a blow, while the right shoulder is more simply and lightly armed, so as to offer as little hindrance as possible to the action of the sword arm. The upper arm is protected by brassarts, and the fore arm by vambraces, the elbows by coudières, while the gussets at the armpit and elbow are further guarded by roundels of plate. It will be seen that the gauntlets are not divided into fingers, but three or four plates are attached, like the plates of a lobster, to the outside of a leathern gauntlet, to protect the hand without interfering with the tenacity of its grasp of the weapon. The lower part of the body is protected by a series of overlapping plates, called taces. In most of the examples which we give of this period, the taces have a mail skirt or fringe attached to the lowest plate. Sometimes the taces came lower down over the thighs and rendered any further defence unnecessary; sometimes, as in the example before us, separate plates, called tuilles, were attached by straps to the lowest tace, so as to protect the front of the thigh without interfering with the freedom of motion. The legs are cased in cuissarts and jambarts, and the knee protected by genouillières; and as the tuilles strengthen the defence of the thigh, the shin has an extra plate for its more efficient defence. The feet seem in this example to be simply clothed with shoes, like those of the archer, instead of being defended by pointed sollerets of overlapping plates, like those seen in our other illustrations. [Illustration: _Man-at-Arms and Archer of the Fifteenth Century._] It will be noticed that in place of the broad military belt of the fourteenth century, enriched with enamelled plates, the sword is now suspended by a narrow strap, which hangs diagonally across the body. The knight is taken from a large picture in the MS. _Chroniques d'Angleterre_ (Royal 14, E. IV., f. 192 v.), which represents a party of French routed by a body of Portuguese and English. In front of the knight lies his horse pierced with several arrows, and the dismounted rider is preparing to continue the combat on foot with his formidable axe. The archer is introduced from the same picture, to show the difference between his half armour and the complete panoply of the knight. In the archer's equipment the body is protected by plates of steel and a skirt of mail, the upper arm by a half-sleeve of mail, and the head by a visored helmet; but the rest of the body is unarmed. Our next illustration is from a fine picture in the same MS. (at f. ccxv.), which represents how the Duke of Lancaster and his people attacked the forts that defended the harbour of Brest. The background represents a walled and moated town--Brest--with the sea and ships in the distance; on the left of the picture the camp of the duke, defended by cannon; and in the foreground a skirmish of knights. It is a curious illustration of the absence of rigid uniformity in the military equipment of these times, that each suit of armour in this picture differs from every other; so that this one picture supplies the artist with fourteen or fifteen different examples of military costume, all clearly delineated with a gorgeous effect of colouring. Some of these suits are sufficiently represented in others of our illustrations. We have again selected one which stands in contrast with all the rest from the absence of colour; most of the others have the upper breastplate coloured, and the helmet unvisored, or with the visor raised. This gives us a full suit of armour unrelieved by colour, except in the helmet-feather, sword-belt, and sheath, which are all gilt. The unusual shape of the helmet will be noticed, and it will be seen that there is a skirt or fringe of mail below the taces. The horse is a grey, with trappings of red and gold, his head protected by a steel plate. In the cut on p. 403 one of the horses will be found to have the neck also defended by overlapping plates of steel. The shape of the deep military saddle is also well seen in this illustration. [Illustration: _Knight of the Fifteenth Century._] The next woodcut is also only a part of a large picture which forms the frontispiece of the second book of the same MS. (f. lxii.). It represents a sally of the garrison of Nantes on the English, who are besieging it. Like the preceding picture, it is full of interesting examples of different armours. Our illustration selects several of them. The knight nearest to us has the upper plate of his breastplate covered with a blue covering powdered with gold spots, and riveted to the steel plate beneath by the two steel studs on the shoulder-blades. Between the series of narrow taces and the vandyked fringe of mail is a skirt of blue drapery, which perhaps partially hides the skirt of mail, allowing only its edge to appear. The gorget is also of mail; and the gusset of mail at the armpit is left very visible by the action of the arm. The further knight has his upper breastplate and skirt red. The horses are also contrasted in colour; the nearer horse is grey, with red and gold trappings; the further horse black, with blue and gold trappings. The man-at-arms who lies prostrate under the horse-hoofs is one of the garrison, who has been pierced by the spear whose truncheon lies on the ground beside him. His equipment marks him out as a man of the same military grade as the archer on p. 396, though the axe which he wields indicates that he is a man-at-arms. His body-armour is covered by a surcoat of blue, laced down the front; he wears a gorget and skirt of mail. His feet, like those of the men on p. 396, seem not to be covered with armour, and his hands are undefended by gloves. [Illustration: _Group of English Knights and French Men-at-Arms._] The unarmed man on the left is one of the English party, in ordinary civil costume, apparently only a spectator of the attack. His hose are red, his long-pointed shoes brown, his short-skirted but long-sleeved gown is blue, worn over a vest of embroidered green and gold, which is seen at the sleeves and the neck; the cuffs are red, and he wears a gold chain and gilded sword-belt and sheath, and carries a walking staff. The contrast which he affords to the other figures adds interest and picturesqueness to the group. The illustration on the next page from the Royal MS., 18 E. V., f. 310 v., forms the frontispiece to a chapter of Roman History, and is a mediæval representation of no less a personage than Julius Cæsar crossing the Rubicon. The foremost figure is Cæsar. He is in a complete suit of plate-armour; over his armour he wears a very curious drapery like a short tabard without sleeves; it is of a yellow brown colour, but of what material it is not possible to determine. There is great diversity in the fashion of the surcoat worn over the armour at this time. One variety is seen in the fallen man-at-arms in the preceding woodcut; and a similar surcoat, loosely fastened by three or four buttons down the front, instead of tightly laced all the way down, is not uncommon. In another picture, a knight in full plate-armour wears a short gown, with hanging sleeves, of the ordinary civilian fashion, like that worn by the gentleman on the left-hand side of the preceding cut. Out of a whole troop of Roman soldiers who follow Cæsar, we have taken only two as sufficient for our purpose of showing varieties of equipment. The first has the fore arm protected by a vambrace, but instead of pauldrons and brassarts the shoulders and arms are protected by sleeves of mail. The taces also are short, with a deep skirt of mail below them. The head defence looks in the woodcut like one of the felt hats that knights frequently wore when travelling, to relieve the head of the weight of the helmet, which was borne behind by a squire; but it is coloured blue, and seems to be of steel, with a white bandeau round it. The reader will notice the "rest" in which the lance was laid to steady it in the charge, screwed to the right breast of the breastplate; he will notice also the long-pointed solleret, the long neck of the spur, and the triangular stirrup, and the fashion of riding with a long stirrup, the foot thrust home into the stirrup, and the toe pointed downwards. The third figure wears a gorget with a chin-piece, and a visored bascinet; the whole of his body armour is covered by a handsome pourpoint, which is red, powdered with gold spots; the pauldrons are of a different fashion from those of Cæsar, and the coudière is finished with a spike. [Illustration: _Julius Cæsar crossing the Rubicon._] The next woodcut does less justice than usual to the artistic merits of the illumination from which it is taken. It is from a fine MS. of the Romance of the Rose (Harl. 4,925, folio cxxx. v.); the figures are allegorical. The great value of the painting is in the rounded form of the breastplates and helmets, and the play of light and shade, and variety of tint, upon them; the solid heavy folds of the mail skirts and sleeves are also admirably represented; and altogether the illuminations of this MS give an unusually life-like idea of the actual pictorial effect of steel armour and the accompanying trappings. The arms and legs of these two figures are unarmed; those of the figure in the foreground are painted red, those of the other figure blue; the shield is red, with gold letters. The deep mail skirts, with taces and tuilles, were in common wear at the close of the fifteenth century, and on into the sixteenth. [Illustration: _Allegorical Figures._] [Illustration: _A Knight at the hall-door._] The little woodcut of a knight at the hall-door illustrates another variety of skirt; in place of taces and mail skirt, we have a skirt covered with overlapping plates, probably of horn or metal. This knight wears gloves of leather, undefended by armour. The last illustration in this chapter is from the valuable MS. Life and Acts of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick (Julius E. IV.), from which we shall hereafter give some other more important subjects. The present is part of a fight before Calais, in which Philip Duke of Burgundy was concerned on one side, and Humphrey Duke of Gloucester, Richard Earl of Warwick, and Humphrey Earl of Stafford on the other. In the background of the picture is a view of Calais, with its houses, walls, and towers, washed by the sea. The two figures are taken from the foreground of the battle-scene, which occupies the major part of the picture. The helmets, it will be seen, are iron hats with a wide brim which partially protects the face; they have a considerable amount of ornament about them. Both warriors are armed in a single globular breastplate (the combination of two plates went out of fashion towards the end of the fifteenth century); one has short taces and a deep mail skirt, the other has deeper taces and tuilles besides. The knight on the left side has his left shoulder protected by a pauldron, which covers the shoulder and partially overlaps the breastplate, and has a high collar to protect the neck and face from a sweeping horizontal blow. It will be seen that the sollerets have lost the long-pointed form, though they have not yet reached the broad-toed shape which became fashionable with Henry VIII. The equipment of the horses deserves special examination. They are fully caparisoned, and armed on the face and neck, with plumes of feathers and magnificent bridles; it will be seen, also, that the point of the saddle comes up very high, and is rounded so as partly to enclose the thigh, and form a valuable additional defence. At a period a little later, this was developed still further in the construction of the tilting saddles, so as to make them a very important part of the system of defence. [Illustration: _The Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Warwick._] How perfect the armour at length became may be judged from the fact that in many battles very few of the completely armed knights were killed--sometimes not one; their great danger was in getting unhorsed and ridden over and stifled in the press. Another danger to the unhorsed knight is pointed out in a graphic passage of the History of Philip de Comines, with which we will conclude this chapter. After one of the battles at which he was himself present, he says: "We had a great number of stragglers and servants following us, all of which flocked about the men-of-arms being overthrown, and slew the most of them. For the greatest part of the said stragglers had their hatchets in their hands, wherewith they used to cut wood to make our lodgings, with the which hatchets they brake the vizards of their head-pieces and then clave their heads; for otherwise they could hardly have been slain, they were so surely armed, so that there were ever three or four about one of them." It is not necessary to infer that these unfortunate men-at-arms who were thus cracked, as if they were huge crustaceans, were helpless from wounds, or insensible from their fall. It was among the great disadvantages of plate-armour, that when a man was once in it he could not get out again without help; nay, he was sometimes so securely fastened in it that the aid must come in the shape of an armourer's tools; and the armour was sometimes so cumbrous that when he was once down he could not get up again--a castle of steel on his war-horse, a helpless log when overthrown. CHAPTER VIII. THE KNIGHT'S EDUCATION. The manner of bringing up a youth of good family in the Middle Ages was not to send him to a public school and the university, nor to keep him at home under a private tutor, but to put him into the household of some nobleman or knight of reputation to be trained up in the principles and practices of chivalry.[382] First, as a page, he attended on the ladies of the household, and imbibed the first principles of that high-bred courtesy and transcendental devotion to the sex which are characteristic of the knight. From the chaplain of the castle he gained such knowledge of book-learning as he was destined to acquire--which was probably more extensive than is popularly supposed. He learnt also to sing a romance, and accompany himself on the harp, from the chief of the band of minstrels who wore his lord's livery. As a squire he came under the more immediate supervision of his lord; was taught by some experienced old knight or squire to back a horse and use his weapons; and was stirred to emulation by constant practice with his fellow-squires. He attended upon his lord in time of peace, carved his meat and filled his cup, carried his shield or helmet on a journey, gave him a fresh lance in the tournament, raised him up and remounted him when unhorsed, or dragged him out of the press if wounded; followed him to battle, and acted as subaltern officer of the troop of men-at-arms who followed their lord's banner. It is interesting to see how the pictures in the illuminated MSS. enable us to follow the knight's history step by step. In the following woodcut we see him as a child in long clothes, between the knight his father, and his lady mother, who sit on a bench with an embroidered _banker_[383] thrown over its seat, making an interesting family group. [Illustration] The woodcut on the next page shows us a group of pages imbibing chivalrous usages even in their childish sports, for they are "playing at jousting." It is easy to see the nature of the toy. A slip of wood forms the foundation, and represents the lists; the two wooden knights are movable on their horses by a pin through the hips and saddle; when pushed together in mimic joust, either the spears miss, and the course must be run again, or each strikes the other's breast, and one or other gives way at the shock, and is forced back upon his horse's back, and is vanquished. This illustration is from Hans Burgmair's famous illustrations of the life of the Emperor Maximilian. A similar illustration is given in Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes." A third picture, engraved in the _Archæological Journal_, vol. ii. p. 173, represents a squire carving before his lord at a high feast, and illustrates a passage in Chaucer's description of his squire among the Canterbury Pilgrims, which we here extract (with a few verbal alterations, to make it more intelligible to modern ears) as a typical picture of a squire, even more full of life and interest than the pictorial illustrations:-- "With him ther was his son, a younge squire, A lover and a lusty bacheler; His lockes crull as they were laide in presse, Of twenty yere of age he was I guess. Of his stature he was of even lengthe, And wonderly deliver, and grete of strengthe. He hadde be some time in chevachie, In Flanders, in Artois, and in Picardie, And borne him wel, as of so litel space, In hope to standen in his ladies grace. Embroidered was he, as it were a mede Alle ful of freshe flowres, white and rede. Singing he was or floyting alle the day, He was as freshe as is the moneth of May. Short was his gowne, with sleves long and wide, Wel coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride. He coude songes make, and wel endite, Juste and eke dance, and wel poutraie and write. So hot he loved that by nightertale He slep no more than doth a nightingale. Curteis he was, lowly and servisable, And carf before his fader at the table." [Illustration] Young noblemen and eldest sons of landed gentlemen were made knights, as a matter of course, when they had attained the proper age. Many others won for themselves this chivalric distinction by their deeds of arms in the field, and sometimes in the lists. The ceremony was essentially a religious one, and the clergy used sometimes to make a knight. In the Royal 14. E. IV. f. 89, we see a picture of Lancelot being made a knight, in which an abbess even is giving him the accolade by a stroke of the hand. But usually, though religious ceremonies accompanied the initiation, and the office for making a knight still remains in the Roman Office Book, some knight of fame actually conferred "the high order of knighthood." It was not unusual for young men of property who were entitled to the honour by birth and heirship to be required by the king to assume it, for the sake of the fine which was paid to the crown on the occasion. Let us here introduce, as a pendant to Chaucer's portrait of the squire already given, his equally beautiful portrait of a knight; not a young knight-errant, indeed, but a grave and middle-aged warrior, who has seen hard service, and is valued in council as well as in field:-- "A knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That from the time that he firste began To riden out, he loved chivalry, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthie was he in his lorde's werre, And thereto hadde he ridden, no man ferre, As wel in Christendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse. At Alesandre he was when it was wonne, Ful oftentime he hadde the bord begonne, Aboven all nations in Pruce. * * * * * At many a noble army hadde he be, At mortal batailles had he been fiftene, And foughten for our faith in Tramisene In listes thries, and ever slaine his fo. * * * * * And tho that he was worthy he was wise, And of his port as meke as is a mayde: He never yet no vilanie had sayde In alle his lif unto any manere wyht. He was a very parfit gentle knight. But for to tellen you of his arraie, His hors was good, but he was not gaie; Of fustian he wered a jupon, All besmotred with his habergeon. For he was late ycom fro his viage, And wente for to don his pilgrimage." Men who are in the constant habit of bearing arms are certain to engage in friendly contests with each other; it is the only mode in which they can acquire skill in the use of their weapons, and it affords a manly pastime. That such men should turn encounters with an enemy into trials of skill, subject to certain rules of fairness and courtesy, though conducted with sharp weapons and in deadly earnest, is also natural.[384] And thus we are introduced to a whole series of military exercises and encounters, from the mere holiday pageant in which the swords are of parchment and the spears headless, to the wager of battle, in which the combatants are clad in linen, while their weapons are such as will lop off a limb, and the gallows awaits the vanquished. Homer shows us how the Greek battles were little else than a series of single combats, and Roman history furnishes us with sufficient examples of such combats preluding the serious movements of opposing armies, and affording an augury, it was believed, of their issue. Sacred history supplies us with examples of a similar kind. In the story of Goliath we have the combat of two champions in the face of the hosts drawn up in battle array. A still more striking incident is that where Abner and the servants of Ishbosheth, and Joab and the servants of David, met accidentally at the pool of Gibeon. "And they sat down the one on the one side of the pool, and the other on the other. And Abner said to Joab, Let the young men now arise and play before us. And Joab said, Let them arise." So twelve men on each side met, "and they caught every one his fellow by the head, and thrust his sword in his fellow's side, so they fell down together." And afterwards the lookers-on took to their arms, and "there was a very sore battle that day; and Abner was beaten, and the men of Israel, before the servants of David."[385] Our own history contains incidents enough of the same kind, from Tailefer the minstrel-warrior, who rode ahead of the army of Duke William at Hastings, singing the song of Roland and performing feats of dexterity in the use of horse and weapons, and then charging alone into the ranks of the Saxon men, down to the last young aide-de-camp who has pranced up to the muzzle of the guns to "show the way" to a regiment to which he had brought an order to carry a battery. In the Middle Ages these combats, whether they were mere pageants[386] or sportive contests with more or less of the element of danger, or were waged in deadly earnest, were, in one shape or other, of very common occurrence, and were reduced to system and regulated by legislation. When only two combatants contended, it was called jousting. If only a friendly trial of skill was contemplated, the lances were headed with a small coronal instead of a sharp point; if the sword were used at all it was with the edge only, which would very likely inflict no wound at all on a well-armed man, or at most only a flesh wound, not with the point, which might penetrate the opening of the helmet or the joints of the armour, and inflict a fatal hurt. This was the _joute à plaisance_. If the combatants were allowed to use sharp weapons, and to put forth all their force and skill against one another, this was the _joute à l'outrance_, and was of common enough occurrence. When many combatants fought on each side, it was called a tournament. Such sports were sometimes played in gorgeous costumes, but with weapons of lath, to make a spectacle in honour of a festal occasion. Sometimes the tournament was with bated weapons, but was a serious trial of skill and strength. And sometimes the tournament was even a mimic battle, and then usually between the adherents of hostile factions which sought thus to gratify their mutual hatreds, or it was a chivalrous incident in a war between two nations. With these general introductory remarks, we shall best fulfil our purpose by at once proceeding to bring together a few illustrations from ancient sources, literary and pictorial, of these warlike scenes. A MS. in the Egerton Collection, in the British Museum, gives us a contemporary account of the mode in which it was made known to knights ambitious of honour and their ladies' praise when and where opportunities of winning them were to be found. The heralds-at-arms of the king, or lord, or noble, or knight, or lady who designed to give a joust, went forth on horseback to castle and town, and sometimes from court to court of foreign countries, clad in their gay insignia of office, attended by a trumpeter; and in every castle court they came to, and at every market cross, first the trumpeter blew his blast and then the herald-at-arms made his proclamation as follows:--"Wee herawldes of armes beryng shields of devise, here we yeve in knowledge unto all gentilmen of name and of armys, that there bee VI gentilmen of name and of armes that for the gret desire and woorship that the seide VI gentilmen have, have taken upon them to bee the third day of May next coomyng before the high and mighty redowtid ladyes and gentilwoomen in this high and most honourable court. And in their presence the seide six gentilmen there to appear at IX of the clock before noone, and to juste aginst all coomers without, the seide day unto VI of the clok at aftir noone, and then, by the advyse of the seide ladyes and gentel women, to give unto the best juster withoute[387] a dyamaunde of xl{li}, and unto the nexte beste juster a rubie of xx{li}, and to the third well juster a saufir of x{li}. And on the seide day there beyng officers of armys shewyng their mesure of theire speris garneste, that is, cornal, vamplate, and grapers all of acise, that they shall just with. And that the comers may take the length of the seide speirs with the avise of the seide officers of armes that shall be indifferent unto all parties unto the seide day."[388] Then we have a description of the habiliments required for a knight's equipment for such an occasion, which includes a suit of armour and a horse with his trappings; an armourer with hammer and pincers to fasten the armour; two servants on horseback well beseen, who are his two squires; and six servants on foot all in one suit. As the day approaches knights and ladies begin to flock in from all points of the compass. Some are lodged in the castle, some find chambers in the neighbouring town, and some bring tents with them and pitch them under the trees in the meadows without the castle. At length the day has arrived, and the knights are up with sunrise and bathe, and then are carefully armed by their squires and armourers. This is so important a matter that it is no wonder we find several minute descriptions of the way in which every article of clothing and armour is to be put on and fastened, illustrated with pictures of the knight in the several stages of the process. Two such descriptions with engravings are given in the twenty-ninth volume of the "Archæologia," taken from the work of a master of fence, of date 1400. Another description, "How a man shall be armyed at his ease when he shall fight on foot," is given in the Lansdowne MS. under our notice. The same description is given in the tenth volume of the _Archæological Journal_, p. 226, from a MS. in the possession of Lord Hastings of the date of Henry VI., accompanied by an engraving from an illumination in the MS. showing the knight with his legs fully armed, his body clothed in the undergarment on which the gussets of mail are sewed, while the rest of his armour and his weapons are arranged on a bench beside him. The weapons are a glaive and a pole-axe, which were the usual weapons assigned to the combatants in serious duels on foot. When all is ready, and the company are assembled, the MS. tells us what next takes place:--"The VI gentilmen must come into the felde unharnsyd, and their helmys borne before them, and their servants on horseback berying either of them a spere garneste, that is the VI speres which the seide VI servaunts shall ride before them into the felde, and as the seide VI gentilmen be coomyn before the ladyes and gentilwoomen. Then shall be sent an herowde of armys up unto the ladyes and gentilwoomen, saying on this wise: High and mighty, redowtyd, and right worchyfull ladyes and gentilwoomen, theis VI gentilmen hav coome into your presence and recommende them all unto your gode grace in as lowly wise as they can, besechyng you for to geve unto the iii best justers without a diamonde, and a rubie, and a saufir unto them that ye think best can deserve it. Then this message is doone. Then the VI gentilmen goth into the tellwys[389] and doth on their helmys." [Illustration: _Preliminaries of a Combat._] [Illustration: _Termination of the Combat._] Then comes the jousting. Probably, first of all, each of the six champions in turn runs one or more courses with a stranger knight; then, perhaps, they finish by a miniature tournament, all six together against six of the strangers. Each strange knight who comes into the field has to satisfy the officer-at-arms that he is a "gentilman of name and of arms," and to take oath that he has no secret weapons or unfair advantage. The woodcut represents this moment of the story. This being ascertained, they take their places at the opposite ends of the lists, the presiding herald cries to let go, and they hurl together in the midst, with a clang of armour, and a crash of broken spears, amidst the shouts of the spectators and the waving of kerchiefs and caps. If the course be successfully run, each breaks his lance full on the breastplate or helm of his adversary, but neither is unhorsed; they recover their steeds with rein and spur, and prance away amidst applause. If one knight is unhorsed, or loose his stirrup, he is vanquished, and retires from the game. If the jousting were not the mere sport which the MS. puts before us, but were a _joute à l'outrance_, the next woodcut represents a very probable variation in this point of the game. At length, when all have run their courses, the MS. resumes its directions: "And when the heraldes cry _à lóstel! à lóstel!_ then shall all the VI. gentlemen within unhelme them before the seide ladies, and make their obeisaunce, and goo home unto their lodgings and change them." Then, continues the MS.: "The gentilmen[390] without comyn into the presence of the ladies. Then comys foorth a lady by the advise of all the ladyes and gentilwomen, and gives the diamounde unto the best juster withoute, saying in this wise:--'Sir, theis ladyes and gentilwomen thank you for your disporte and grete labour that ye have this day in their presence. And the saide ladyes and gentilwomen seyn that ye have best just this day; therefore the seide ladyes and gentilwomen geven you this diamounde, and send you much joy and worship of your lady.' Thus shall be doone with the rubie and with the saufre unto the other two next the best justers. This doon, then shall the heralde of armys stande up all on hygh, and shall sey withall in high voice:--'John hath well justed, Ric. hath justed better, and Thomas hath justed best of all.' Then shall he that the diamound is geve unto take a lady by the hande and bygene the daunce, and when the ladyes have dauncid as long as them liketh, then spyce wyne and drynk, and then avoide."[391] [Illustration: _Spectators of a Tournament._] The last woodcut, greatly reduced from one of the fine tournament scenes in the MS. history of the Roi Meliadus, already several times quoted in this work, shows the temporary gallery erected for the convenience of the ladies and other spectators to witness the sports. The tent of one of the knights is seen in the background, and an indication of the hurly-burly of the combat below. A larger illustration of a similar scene from this fine MS. will be given hereafter. The next woodcut is from the MS. Life and Acts of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick (Julius E. IV., folio 217). It represents "howe a mighty Duke chalenged Erle Richard for his lady sake, and in justyng slewe the Duke and then the Empresse toke the Erle's staff and bear from a knight shouldre, and for great love and fauv{r} she sette it on her shouldre. Then Erle Richard made one of perle and p'cious stones, and offered her that, and she gladly and lovynglee reseaved it." The picture shows the Duke and Earl in the crisis of the battle. It would seem from the pieces of splintered spears, which already lie on the ground, that a previous course had been run with equal fortune; but in this second course the doughty Earl has just driven his lance half a yard through his unfortunate challenger's breast. In the background we see the Emperor Sigismund, and the Empress taking the Earl's badge from the neck of the Earl's knight. The whole incident, so briefly told and so naïvely illustrated, is very characteristic of the spirit of chivalry. As we close the page the poor nameless Duke's life-blood seems to be smeared, not only over his own magnificent armour, but over the hand of the Empress and the Emperor's purple who presided over the scene; and while we seem to hear the fanfaronade with which the trumpeters are cracking their cheeks, we hear mingling with it the groan of the mighty Duke thus slain "for his lady sake." [Illustration: _How a mighty Duke fought Earl Richard for his Lady's sake._] A whole chapter might be well dedicated to the special subject of judicial combats. We must, however, content ourselves with referring the reader to authorities both literary and artistic, and to some anecdotes illustrative of the subject. In the Lansdowne MS. 285, copied for Sir John Paxton, will be found directions for the complete arming of a man who is to engage on foot in a judicial combat, with a list of the things, such as tent, table, chair, &c., which he should take into the field with him. The same MS. contains (article 8) the laws of the combat--"the ordinance and forme of fighting within listes," as settled by Thomas Duke of Gloucester, Constable of England, in the time of Richard II. Also in Tiberius E. VIII. there are directions for making a duel before the king. There are other similar documents in the same book, _e.g._ Of the order of knighthood, justs and prizes to be given thereat: The Earl of Worcester's orders for jousts and triumphs: Declaration of a combat within lists. The MS. Tiberius B. VIII. contains the form of benediction of a man about to fight, and of his shield, club, and sword. For a picture of a combat on foot in lists see Royal 16 E. IV. (MS. "Chronique d'Angleterre," written for King Edward IV.) at f. 264.[392] In the "Archæologia," vol. xxix., p. 348-361, will be found a paper on Judicial Duels in Germany, with a series of curious drawings of about the year 1400 A.D., representing the various phases of the combat. Plate 31, fig. 5, shows the combatant in the act of being armed; fig. 6, receiving Holy Communion in church before the combat. Plate 32, fig. 2, the oath in the lists, the combatant seated armed in an arm-chair with his attendants about him, his weapons around, and--ominously enough--a bier standing by, covered with a pall, ready to carry him off the ground if slain. Plate 34, fig. 2, shows the vanquished actually being laid in his coffin; and fig. 3 shows the victor returning thanks in church for his victory. Plate 37 is another series of subjects showing the different positions of attack and defence with the pole-axe. Several very good and spirited representations of these duels of the time of our Henry VIII. may be found in the plates of Hans Burgmaier's Der Weise Könige. As an example of the wager of battle we will take an account of one related by Froissart between a squire called Jaques de Grys and a knight, Sir John of Carougne. It is necessary to the understanding of some of the incidents of the narrative to state what was the origin of the duel. The knight and the squire were friends, both of the household of the Earl of Alençon. Sir John de Carougne went over sea for the advancement of his honour, leaving his lady in his castle. On his return his lady informed him that one day soon after his departure his friend Jaques de Grys paid a visit to her, and made excuses to be alone with her, and then by force dishonoured her. The knight called his and her friends together, and asked their counsel what he should do. They advised that he should make his complaint to the Earl. The Earl called the parties before him, when the lady repeated her accusation; but the squire denied it, and called witnesses to prove that at four o'clock on the morning of the day on which the offence was stated to have been committed he was at his lord the Earl's house, while the Earl himself testified that at nine o'clock he was with himself at his levée. It was impossible for him between those two hours--that is, four hours and a half--to have ridden twenty-three leagues. "Whereupon the Erl sayd to the lady that she dyd but dreame it, wherefore he wolde maynteyne his squyre, and commanded the lady to speke noe more of the matter. But the knyght, who was of great courage, and well trusted and byleved his wife, would not agree to that opinion, but he wente to Parys and shewed the matter there to the parlyament, and there appeled Jaques de Grys, who appered and answered to his appele." The plea between them endured more than a year and a half. At length "the parlyament determined that there shold be batayle at utterance between them.... And the Kynge sent to Parys, commandynge that the journey and batayle bytwene the squyer and the knight sholde be relonged tyl his comynge to Parys: and so his commaundement was obeyed.... "Then the lystes were made in a place called Saynt Katheryne, behynde the Temple. There was so moche people that it was mervayle to beholde; and on the one syde of the lystes there was made grete scaffoldes, that the lordes myght the better se the battayle of the ij champions; and so they bothe came to the felde, armed at all places, and there eche of them was set in theyr chayre."[393] "The Erie of Saynt Poule governed John of Carougne, and the Erle of Alanson's company with Jaques de Guys. And when the knyght entered into the felde, he came to his wyfe who was there syttinge in a chayre, covered in blacke, and he seyd to her thus,--Dame, by your enformacyon and in your quarele I do put my lyfe in adventure as to fyght with Jaques le Grys; ye knowe if the cause be just and true. Syr, sayd the lady, it is as I have sayd; wherfore ye may fyght surely, the cause is good and true. With those wordes the knyghte kyssed the lady and toke her by the hande, and then blessyd her, and so entered into the felde. The lady sate styll in the blacke chayre in her prayers to God and to the Vyrgyne Mary, humbly prayenge them, by theyr specyall grace, to sende her husbande the vyctory accordynge to the ryght he was in. The lady was in grete hevynes, for she was not sure of her lyfe; for yf her husbande sholde have been discomfyted she was judged without remedy to be brente and her husbande hanged. I cannot say whether she repented her or not yt the matter was so forwarde, that bothe she and her husbande were in grete peryle; howbeit fynally she must as then abyde the adventure. Then these two champyons were set one agaynst another, and so mounted on theyr horses and behaved them nobly, for they knew what pertayned to deades of armes. There were many lordes and knyghtes of France that were come thyder to se that batayle: ye two champyons parted at theyr first metyng, but none of them dyd hurte other; and upon the justes they lyghted on foote to performe their batayle, and soe fought valyauntly; and fyrst John of Carougne was hurt in the thyghe, whereby al his friendes were in grete fear; but after that he fought so valyauntly that he bette down his adversary to the erthe, and thruste his sworde in his body, and so slew hym on the felde; and then he demaunded yf he had done his devoyre or not; and they answered that he had valyauntly acheved his batayle. Then Jaques le Grys was delyvered to the hangman of Parys, and he drew him to the gybet of Mount Faucon and there hanged hym up. Then John of Carougne came before the Kynge and kneeled downe and ye Kynge made hym to stand up before hym, and the same day the kynge caused to be delyvered to hym a thousand frankes, and reteyned hym to be of his chambre with a pencyon of ij hundred poundes by the yere durynge the term of his lyfe; then he thanked the Kynge and the lordes, and wente to his wyfe and kyssed her, and then they wente togyder to the churche of Our Lady in Parys, and made theyr offerynge and then retourned to theyr lodgynges. Then this Syr John of Carougne taryed not long in France, but wente to vysyte the Holy Sepulture." CHAPTER IX. ON TOURNAMENTS. The romances, confirmed as they are by such documents as we have referred to in our last paper, may be taken as perfectly safe authorities on all that relates to the subject of tournaments, and they seize upon their salient features, and offer them in a picturesque form very suitable to our purpose. We will take all our illustrations, as in former chapters, from Malory's "History of Prince Arthur." Here is a statement of the way in which a tournament was arranged and published: "So it befel, that Sir Galahalt the haughty Prince was lord of the country of Surluse, whereof came many good knights. And this noble prince was a passing good man of arms, and ever he held a noble fellowship together. And he came unto King Arthur's court, and told him all his intent, how he would let do cry a justs in the country of Surluse, the which country was within the lands of King Arthur, and that he asked leave for to let cry a justs. 'I will well give you leave,' said King Arthur, 'but wot you well that I may not be there.' So in every good town and castle of this land was made a cry, that in the country of Surluse Sir Galahalt the haughty prince should make justs that should last eight days, and how the haughty prince, with the help of Queen Guenever's knights, should just against all manner of men that would come. When the cry was known kings, princes, dukes, and earls, barons, and many noble knights made them ready to be at that justs." So we read in another place how as Sir Tristram was riding through the country in search of adventures, "he met with pursevants, and they told him that there was made a great cry of a tournament between King Carados of Scotland and the King of Northgales, and either should just against other at the Castle of Maidens. And these pursevants sought all the country for the good knights, and in especial King Carados let seek for Sir Launcelot, and the King of Northgales let seek for Sir Tristram." Then we find how all the reckless knights-errant suddenly become prudent, in order to keep themselves fresh and sound for this great tournament. Thus: "Sir Kay required Sir Tristram to just; and Sir Tristram in a manner refused him, because he would not go hurt nor bruised to the Castle of Maidens; and therefore he thought to have kept him fresh and to rest him." But his prudence was not proof against provocation, for when Sir Kay persisted, he rode upon him and "smote down Sir Kay, and so rode on his way." So Sir Palomides said, "Sir, I am loth to do with that knight, and the cause why for as to-morrow the great tournament shall be, and therefore I will keep me fresh, by my will." But being urged he consented: "Sir, I will just at your request, and require that knight to just with me, and often I have seen a man have a fall at his own request;" a sage reflection which was prophetic. It was Sir Launcelot in disguise whom he was moved thus to encounter; and Sir Launcelot "smote him so mightily that he made him to avoid his saddle, and the stroke brake his shield and hawberk, and had he not fallen he had been slain." No doubt a great company would be gathered on the eve of the tournament, and there would be much feasting and merriment, and inquiry what knights were come to just, and what prospects had this man and the other of honour and lady's grace, or of shame and a fall. Here is such an incident:--"Then Sir Palomides prayed Queen Guenever and Sir Galahalt the haughty prince to sup with him, and so did both Sir Launcelot and Sir Lamorake and many good knights; and in the midst of their supper in came Sir Dinadan, and he began to rail. 'Well,' said Sir Dinadan unto Sir Launcelot, 'what the devil do you in this country, for here may no mean knights win no worship for thee; and I ensure thee that I shall never meet thee no more, nor thy great spear, for I may not sit in my saddle when that spear meet me; I shall beware of that boisterous spear that thou bearest.' Then laughed Queen Guenever and the haughty prince that they might not sit at table. Thus they made great joy till the morrow; and then they heard mass, and blew to the field. And Queen Guenever and all their estates were set, and judges armed clean with their shields for to keep the right." [Illustration: _State Carriage of the Fourteenth Century._] It would take up too much space to transcribe the account of the tournament; the romancers and chroniclers dwell on every stroke, and prolong the narrative through page after page. We leave the reader to imagine to himself the crowd of meaner knights "hurtling together like wild boars," and "lashing at each other with great strokes"; and can only tell one or two unusual deeds which caused most talk among the knights and ladies, and supplied new matter for the heralds and minstrels to record. How Sir Launcelot rushed against Sir Dinadan with the "boisterous spear" he had deprecated, and bore him back on his horse croup, that he lay there as dead, and had to be lifted off by his squires; and how Sir Lamorake struck Sir Kay on the helm with his sword, that he swooned in the saddle; and how Sir Tristram avoided Sir Palomides' spear, and got him by the neck with both his hands, and pulled him clean out of his saddle, and so bore him before him the length of ten spears, and then, in the presence of them all, let him fall at his adventure; "until at last the haughty prince cried 'Hoo!' and then they blew to lodging, and every knight unarmed him and went to the great feast." We may, however, quote one brief summary of a tournament which gives us several pictures worth adding to our story:--"Sir Launcelot mounted his horse and rode into a forest and held no high way. And as he looked afore him he saw a fair plain, and beside that plain stood a fair castle, and before that castle were many pavilions of silk and of divers hue; and him seemed that he saw there five hundred knights riding on horseback; and there was two parties; they that were of the castle were all in black, their horses and their trappings black; and they that were without were all upon white horses with white trappours. And every each hurled to other, whereof Sir Launcelot marvelled greatly. And at the last him thought that they of the castle were put unto the worst; and then thought Sir Launcelot for to help the weaker part in increasing of his chivalry. And so Sir Launcelot thrust in among the parties of the castle, and smote down a knight, both horse and man, to the earth: and then he rushed here and there and did marvellous deeds of arms; but always the white knights held them nigh about Sir Launcelot, for to weary him and win him. And at the last, as a man may not ever endure, Sir Launcelot waxed so faint of fighting, and was so weary of great deeds, that he might not lift up his arms for to give one stroke." [Illustration: _Cabriolet of the Fourteenth Century._] Now for some extracts to illustrate the prize of the tournament: "Turn we unto Ewaine, which rode westward with his damsel, and she brought him there as was a tournament nigh the march of Wales. And at that tournament Sir Ewaine smote down thirty knights, wherefore the prize was given him, and the prize was a jerfawcon and a white steed trapped with a cloth of gold." Sir Marhaus was equally fortunate under similar circumstances:--"He departed, and within two days his damsel brought him to where as was a great tournament, that the Lady de Vaux had cried; and who that did best should have a rich circlet of gold worth a thousand besants. And then Sir Marhaus did so nobly that he was renowned to have smitten down forty knights, and so the circlet of gold was rewarded to him." Again:--"There was cried in this country a great just three days. And all the knights of this country were there, and also the gentlewomen. And who that proved him the best knight should have a passing good sword and a circlet of gold, and the circlet the knight should give to the fairest lady that was at those justs. And this knight Sir Pelleas was the best knight that was there, and there were five hundred knights, but there was never man that Sir Pelleas met withal but that he struck him down or else from his horse. And every day of the three days he struck down twenty knights; therefore they gave him the prize. And forthwithal he went there as the Lady Ettarde was, and gave her the circlet, and said openly that she was the fairest lady that was there, and that he would prove upon any knight that would say nay." [Illustration: _A Tournament._] The accompanying woodcut is a reduced copy of the half of one of the many tournament scenes which run along the lower part of the double page of the MS. romance of "Le Roi Meliadus," already so often alluded to. They are, perhaps, the most spirited of all the contemporary pictures of such scenes, and give every variety of incident, not out of the imagination of a modern novelist, but out of the memory of one who had frequented deeds of arms and noted their incidents with an artist's eye. For an actual historical example of the tournament in which a number of knights challengers undertake to hold the field against all comers, we will take the passage of arms at St. Inglebert's, near Calais, in the days of Edward III., because it is very fully narrated by Froissart, and because the splendid MS. of Froissart in the British Museum (Harl. 4,379) supplies us with a magnificent picture of the scene. Froissart tells that it happened in this wise:--"In ye dayes of King Charles there was an Englisshe knyght called Sir Peter Courteney, a valyaunt knight in armes, came out of Englande into Fraunce to Paris, and demanded to do armes with Sir Guy of Tremoyle[394] in the presence of the king or of suche as wolde se them. Sir Guy wolde not refuce his offre, and in the presence of the kyng and of other lordes they were armed on a daye and ran togeyder one course; and then the kyng wolde not suffre them to ryn agayne togeyther, wherwith the English knyght was ryt evyl content, for, as he shewed, he wolde have furnysshed his chalenge to the uttrance; but he was apeased with fayre wordes, and it was sayde to hym that he had done ynough and ought to be content therewith. The kyng and the duke of Burgoyne gave hym fayre gyftes and presentes. Than he returned agayne towardes Calays, and the lorde of Clary, who was a friscay and a lusty knyght, was charged to convey hym." One night they lodged at Lucen, where lived the Countess of St. Paul, sister to King Richard of England, whose first wife had been a cousin of Sir Peter's, and who therefore received them gladly. In the course of the evening the countess asked Sir Peter whether he was content with the entertainment he had met with in France. Whereupon the knight complained of the interruption of his combat, swore he should say wherever he went that he could find none in France to do armes with him; that had a French knight, for example the Lord of Clary then present, come into England and desired to do armes, he would have found enough to answer his challenge. The Lord of Clary having Sir Peter then placed under his safe conduct by the king, held his tongue till he had brought him within the English territory about Calais; then he challenged Sir Peter, and next day they met. "Then they toke their speares with sharpe heades wel fyled, and spurred their horses and rune togeyder. The fyrst course fayled, wherwith they were bothe sore displeased. At the seconde juste they mette so togeyder, that the Lord of Clary struke the Englysshe knyght throughe the targe and throughe the shoulder a handfull, and therwith he fell from his horse to the erthe.... Then the Lord of Clary departed with his company, and the Englysshemen led Sir Peter Courtney to Calays to be healed of his hurtes." This incident stirred up several young French knights to undertake some feat of arms. "There was thre gentylmen of highe enterprise and of great valure, and that they well shewed as ye shall here. Fyrst there was the yonge Sir Bouciquaut, the other Sir Raynold of Roy, and the thirde the Lorde of Saynt Pye. These thre knyghtes were chamberleyns with the kyng, and well-beloved of hym. These thre being at Mountpellier among the ladyes and damosels, they toke on them to do armes on the fronter beside Calais the next somer after ... abyding all knyghtes and squiers straungers the terme of xxx dayes whosoever wolde juste with them in justes of peace or of warre. And because the enterprise of these thre knyghtes seemed to the French kyng and his counsalye to be an high enterprice, then it was said to them that they shulde putte it into writyng, because the kyng wolde se the artycles thereof, that if they were to high or to outraygous that the kyng might amende them; bycause the kyng nor his counsalye wolde not sustayne any thynge that shoulde be unresonable. These thre knyghtes answered and said, 'It is but reson that we do this; it shall be done.' Then they toke a clerk and caused him to write as forthwith:--'For the great desyre that we have to come to the knowledge of noble gentlemen, knights and squires, straungers as well of the realme of France, as elsewhere of farre countreys, we shall be at Saynt Inglebertes, in the marches of Calays, the twenty day of the month of May next commying, and there contynewe thirtye dayes complete, the Frydayes onely excepte; and to delyver all manner of knyghtes and squyers, gentlemen, straungers of any manner of nacyon whatsoever they be, that wyll come thyder for the breakynge of fiyve speares, outher sharpe or rokettes at their pleasure,'" &c. The challenge was "openly declared and publyshed, and especially in the realme of Englande," for it was in truth specially intended at English knights, and they alone appear to have accepted the challenge. "For in England knyghtes and squiers were quyckened to the mater, and ware in gret imagynacions to know what they might best do. Some said it shulde be greatly to their blame and reproche such an enterprise taken so nere to Calays without they passed the see and loke on those knyghtes that shulde do arms there. Such as spake most of the mater was, first, Syr Johan of Holande Erle of Huntyngdon, who had great desyre to go thyder, also Sir Johan Courtney ... and dyvers others, more than a hundred knyghtes and squiers, all then sayed, 'Let us provyde to go to Calays, for the knyghtes of Fraunce hath not ordayned that sporte so nere our marches but to the entent to see us there; and surely they have done well and do lyke good companions, and we shall not fayle them at their busynes.' This mater was so publisshed abrode in Englande, that many such as had no desyn to do dedes of armes ther on self, yet they sayd they wolde be there to loke on them that shulde. So at the entryng in of ye joly fresshe month of May these thre young knyghtes of Fraunce come to the Abbay of Saynt Ingilbertes, and they ordayned in a fayre playne between Calays and Saynt Ingilbertes thre fresh grene pavilyons to be pyght up, and at the entre of every pavylyon there hanged two sheldes with the armes of the knyghtes, one shelde of peace, another of warre; and it was ordayned that such as shulde ryn and do dedes of armes shulde touche one of the sheldes or cause it to be touched. And on the xxi day of the moneth of May, accordyng as it had been publisshed, there the French knyghtes were redy in the place to furnish their enterprise. And the same day knyghtes and squiers issued out of Calays, suche as wolde just, and also such other as had pleasure to regarde that sporte; and they came to the place appoynted and drew all on the one parte: the place to juste in was fayre green and playne. Sir Johan Hollande first sent to touche the shelde of warre of Syr Bociquaut, who incontinent issued out of his pavylyon redy mounted, with shelde and speare: these two knyghtes drew fro other a certayne space, and when each of them had well advysed other, they spurred their horses and came together rudely, and Bociquaut struke the Erle of Huntingdon through the shelde, and the speare head glente over his arme and dyd hym no hurt; and so they passed further and turned and rested at their pease. This course was greatly praysed. The second course they met without any hurt doygne; and the third course their horses refused and wolde not cope." And so Froissart goes on to describe, in page after page, how the English knights, one after another, encountered the three challengers with various fortune, till at last "they ran no more that day, for it was nere night. Then the Englysshmen drew togeder and departed, and rode to Calays, and there devysed that night of that had been done that day; in likewyse the Frenchmen rode to Saint Ingilbertes and communed and devysed of yt had been done ye same day." "The Tuesday, after masse, all suche as shulde just that day or wolde gyve the lookyng on, rode out of Calis and came to the place appoynted, and the Frenchmen were redy there to recyve them: the day was fayre and hot." And so for four days the sports continued. In many cases the course failed through fault of horse or man; the commonest result of a fair course was that one or both the justers were unhelmed; a few knights were unhorsed; one knight was wounded, the spear passing through the shield and piercing the arm, where "the spere brake, and the trunchon stucke styll in the shelde and in the knyhte's arme; yet for all yt the knyght made his turn and came to his place fresshly." The illuminator has bestowed two large and beautiful pictures on this famous deed of arms. One at folio 230 represents the knights parading round the lists to show themselves before the commencement of the sports. Our woodcut on page 434 is reduced from another picture at folio 43, which represents the actual combat. There are the three handsome pavilions of the knights challengers, each with its two shields--the shield of peace and the shield of war--by touching which each juster might indicate whether he chose to fight "in love or in wrath." There are the galleries hung with tapestries, in which sit the knights and ladies "as had pleasure to regard that sporte." There are the groups of knights, and the judges of the field; and there in the foreground are two of the gallant knights in full career, attended by their squires. It will be interesting to the artist to know something of the colours of the knightly costumes. The knight on this side the barrier has his horse trapped in housings of blue and gold, lined with red, and the bridle to match; the saddle is red. The knight is in armour of steel, his shield is emblazoned _or_, three hearts _gules_; he bears as a crest upon his helmet two streamers of some transparent material like lawn. His antagonist's horse is trapped with red and gold housings, and bridle to match. He wears a kind of cape on his shoulders of cloth of gold; his shield is blue. Of the knights on the (spectator's) left of the picture, one has horse trappings of gold and red embroidery lined with plain red, his shield yellow (not gold) with black bearings; another has blue and gold trappings, with shield red, with white bearings. Of the knights on the right, one has horse-trappings blue and gold laced with red, and shield red and white; the other trappings red and gold, shield yellow. The squires are dressed thus: the limbs encased in armour, the body clothed in a jupon, which is either green embroidery on red ground or red embroidery on green ground. The pavilions are tinted red, with stripes of a darker red. The shields of the challengers are--on the left tent, _azure_, three hearts _argent_; on the middle, _vert_, three hearts _or_; on the right, _or_, three hearts _gules_. [Illustration: _The Feat of Arms at St. Inglebert's._] We have drawn upon the romancer and the historian to illustrate the subject; we have cited ancient documents, and copied contemporary pictures; we will call upon the poet to complete our labour. Chaucer, in the Knight's Tale, gives a long account of a just _à l'outrance_ between Palamon and Arcite and a hundred knights a-side, which came to pass thus: Palamon and Arcite, two cousins and sworn brothers-in-arms, had the misfortune both to fall in love with Emily, the younger sister of Ipolyta, the Queen of Theseus Duke-regnant of Athens. Theseus found the two young men, one May morning, in the wood engaged in a single combat. "This Duke his courser with his spurres smote, And at a start he was betwixt them two, And pulled out his sword and cried Ho! No more, up pain of losing of your head." After discovering the cause of their enmity, the Duke ordained that that day fifty weeks each should bring a hundred knights ready to fight in the lists on his behalf-- "And whether he or thou Shall with his hundred as I speak of now Slay his contrary or out of listes drive, Him shall I given Emilie to wive." Each of the rivals rode through the country far and near during the fifty weeks, to enlist valiant knights to make up his hundred; and on the eve of the appointed day each party rode into Athens; and, says Chaucer, "never did so small a band comprise so noble a company of knights":-- "For every wight that loved chevalrie, And wolde, his thankes, have a lasting name, Hath praied that he might ben of that game, And well was he that thereto chosen was." And the poet goes on with this testimony to the chivalrous feeling of his own time:-- "For if there fell to-morrow such a case, Ye knowen well that every lusty knyght That loveth par amour, and hath his might, Were it in Engleland or elleswhere, They wolde, hir thankes, willen to be there." At length the day arrives:-- "Gret was the feste in Athens thilke day. * * * * * And on the morrow when the day gan spring, Of horse and harness, noise and clattering There was in all the hostelries about: And to the palace rode there many a rout Of lordes upon stedes and palfries. There mayst thou see devising of harness So uncouth and so riche, and wrought so well, Of goldsmithry, of brouding, and of steel; The shieldes bright, testeres, and trappours; Gold-hewen helms, hawberks, cote-armures; Lordes in parements on their coursers, Knyghts of retenue and eke squires, Nailing the speares and helms buckeling, Gniding of shields with lainers lacing; There, as need is, they were nothing idle. The foaming steedes on the golden bridle Gnawing, and fast the armourers also With file and hammer pricking to and fro; Yeomen on foot, and commons many a one, With shorte staves thick as they may gon; Pipes, trompes, nakeres, and clariouns, That in the battaille blowen bloody sounes. The palais full of people up and down. * * * * * Duke Theseus is at a window sette, Arraied right as he were a god in throne; The people presseth thitherward full soon Him for to see, and do him reverence, And eke to hearken his heste and his sentence. An herauld on a scaffold made an O[395] Till that the noise of the people was ydo; And when he saw the people of noise all still, Thus shewed he the mighty Dukes will." The Duke's will was, that none of the combatants should use any shot (_i.e._ any missile), or poleaxe, or short knife, or short pointed sword, but they were to run one course with sharp spears and then-- "With long sword or with mace to fight their fill." However, any one who was forcibly drawn to a stake--of which one was planted at each end of the lists--should be _hors de combat_; and if either of the leaders was slain or disabled or drawn to the stake, the combat should cease. "Up goe the trumpets and the melodie And to the listes rode the compaynie. By ordinance throughout the city large Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with serge. * * * * * And thus they passen through the citie And to the listes comen they be-time It was not of the day yet fully prime, When set was Theseus full rich and high, Ipolita the queen and Emilie, And other ladies in degrees about, Unto the seates presseth all the rest." Then Arcite and his hundred knights enter through the western side of the lists under a red banner, and Palamon and his company at the same moment, under a white banner, enter by the eastern gates. "And in two ranges fayre they hem dresse, When that their names read were every one, That in their number guile were there none. Then were the gates shut, and cried was loud, 'Do now your devoir, young knyghtes proud.' The herauldes left there pricking up and down; Then ringen trompes loud and clarioun; There is no more to say, but east and west, In go the speres quickly into rest, In goeth the sharpe spur into the side; There see men who can juste and who can ride; There shiver shafts upon sheldes thick, He feeleth through the herte-spoon the prick. Up springen speres, twenty foot in hyhte, Out go the swords as the silver bright The helmes they to-hewen and to-shred; Out bursts the blood with sterne streames red. With mighty maces the bones they to-brest. He through the thickest of the throng gan thrust, There stumble steedes strong, and down goth all. He rolleth under foot as doth a ball! He foineth on his foe with a truncheon, And he him hurteth, with his horse adown; He through the body is hurt and sith ytake, Maugre his head, and brought unto the stake." At last it happened to Palamon-- "That by the force of twenty is he take Unyolden, and drawen to the stake. And when that Theseus had seen that sight, Unto the folk that foughten thus eche one He cried 'Ho! no more, for it is done!' The troumpors with the loud minstralcie, The herauldes that so loude yell and crie, Been in their joy for wele of Don Arcite. * * * * * This fierce Arcite hath off his helm ydone, And on a courser, for to show his face, He pusheth endilong the large place, Looking upward upon this Emilie, And she towards him cast a friendly eye;" when, alas! his horse started, fell, and crushed the exulting victor, so that he lay bruised to death in the listes which had seen his victory. After a decent time of mourning, by Theseus's good offices, Emily accepts her surviving lover: "And thus with alle blisse and melodie Hath Palamon ywedded Emelie." The two curious woodcuts[396] on pages 425 and 426 show the style of carriage associated--grotesquely associated, it seems to our eyes--with the armour and costume of the Middle Ages. No. 1 might represent Duke Theseus going in state through the streets of Athens, hung with tapestry and cloth of gold, to the solemn deed of arms of Palamon and Arcite. No. 2 may represent to us the merry Sir Dinadan driving to the tournament of the Castle of Maidens. CHAPTER X. MEDIÆVAL BOWMEN. The archers of England were so famous during the Middle Ages that we feel special interest in knowing something about them. As early as the Conquest we find the Norman archers giving the invader a great advantage over the Saxons, who had not cultivated this arm with success. Their equipment and appearance may be seen in the Bayeux tapestry; most of them are evidently unarmed, but some are in armour like that of the men-at-arms. Usually the quiver hangs at the side; yet occasionally at the back, so that the arrows are drawn out over the shoulder; both fashions continued in later times. In one case, at least, an archer, in pursuit of the flying Saxons, is seen on horseback; but it may be doubted whether at this period, as was the case subsequently, some of the archers were mounted, or whether an archer has leaped upon a riderless horse to pursue the routed enemy. The bow was of the simplest construction, not so long as it afterwards became; the arrows were barbed and feathered. Each archer--in later times, at least--commonly carried two dozen arrows "under his belt." He also frequently bore a stake sharpened at both ends, so that in the field, when the front ranks fixed their stakes in the ground with their points sloping outward, and the rear rank fixed theirs in the intermediate spaces, they formed a _cheval de frise_ against cavalry, and, with the flanks properly cared for, they could hold their ground even against the steel-clad chivalry. Latterly also the archers were sometimes protected by a great movable shield; this they fixed upright by a rest, and behind it were sheltered from the adverse bowmen. The archer also carried a sword, so that he could defend himself, if attacked, hand to hand; or act on the offensive with the main body of foot when his artillery was expended. By the twelfth century there are stories on record which show that the English bowmen had acquired such skill as to make their weapon a very formidable one. Richard of Devizes tells us that at the siege of Messina the Sicilians were obliged to leave their walls unmanned, "because no one could look abroad but he would have an arrow in his eye before he could shut it." In the thirteenth century the archer became more and more important. He always began the battle at a distance, as the artillery do in modern warfare, before the main bodies came up to actual hand-to-hand fighting. We find in this century a regular use of mounted corps of bowmen and cross-bowmen; and the knights did not scorn to practise the use of this weapon, and occasionally to resort to it on a special occasion in the field. Some of the bowmen continue to be found, in the MS. illustrations, more or less fully armed, but the majority seem to have worn only a helmet of iron, and perhaps half armour of leather, or often nothing more than a woollen jerkin. The cross-bow, or arbalest, does not appear to have been used in war until the close of the twelfth century. It was not equal to the long-bow in strong and skilful hands, because a powerful and skilful bowman, while he could probably send his shaft with as much force as a cross-bow, could shoot half-a-dozen arrows while the cross-bow was being wound up to discharge a second bolt; but still, once introduced, the mechanical advantage which the cross-bow gave to men of ordinary strength and of inferior skill caused it to keep its ground, until the invention of fire-arms gradually superseded both long-bow and arbalest. The bow of the cross-bow seems to have been usually of steel; some of them were strung by putting the foot into a loop at the end of the stock, and pulling the cord up to its notch by main force: an illustration of this early form appears in the arbalester shooting from the battlement of the castle in the early fourteenth-century illumination on p. 381, and another at p. 382; but the more powerful bows required some mechanical assistance to bring the string to its place. In a picture in the National Gallery of the Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Antonio Pollajuolo, of Florence, A.D. 1475, an arbalester has a cord attached to his belt, and a pulley running on it, with a hook to catch the bow-string, so that, putting his foot into the loop at the end of the stock, looping the end of the cord on to a hook at its butt, and catching the bow-string by the pulley, he could, by straightening himself, apply the whole force of his body to the stringing of his weapon. More frequently, however, a little winch was used, by which the string was wound into its place with little expenditure of strength. One of the men in the cut on the next page is thus stringing his bow, and it is seen again in the cut on p. 449. The arrow shot by the cross-bow was called a bolt or quarrel; it was shorter and stouter than an ordinary arrow, with a heavier head. The arbalester seems to have carried fifty bolts into the field with him; the store of bolts was carried by waggons which followed the army. We have already said that there were, from the thirteenth century, bodies of mounted arbalesters. But the far larger proportion of archers, of both arms, were footmen, who were usually placed in front of the array to commence the engagement. The arbalest, however, was more used on the Continent than in England; and hence the long-bow came to be especially considered the national arm of the English, while the Genoese became famous as arbalesters. The superior rapidity of fire gave the English archer the same advantage over his foemen that the needle-gun gave to the Prussians in the late war. Later on, in the fourteenth century, the battle seems to have been usually begun by the great machines for throwing stones and darts which then played the part of modern cannon, while the bowmen were placed on the flanks. Frequently, also, archers were intermixed with the horsemen, so that a body of spearmen with archers among them would play the part which a body of dragoons did in more modern warfare, throwing the opposing ranks into confusion with missiles, before charging upon them hand to hand. In the fourteenth century the bow had attained the climax of its reputation as a weapon, and in the French wars many a battle was decided by the strength and skill and sturdy courage of the English bowmen. Edward III. conferred honour on the craft by raising a corps of archers of the King's Guard, consisting of 120 men, the most expert who could be found in the kingdom. About the same period the French kings enrolled from their allies of Scotland the corps of Scottish Archers of the Guard, who were afterwards so famous. We have already given a good illustration of the long-bowman from the Royal MS. 14, E. IV., a folio volume illustrated with very fine pictures executed for our King Edward IV. From the same MS. we now take an illustration of the cross-bow. The accompanying cut is part of a larger picture which represents several interesting points in a siege. On the right is a town surrounded by a moat; the approach to the bridge over the moat is defended by an outwork, and the arbalesters in the cut are skirmishing with some bowmen on the battlements and angle-turrets of this outwork. On the left of the picture are the besiegers. They have erected a wooden castle with towers, surrounded by a timber breast-work. In front of this breast-work is an elaborate cannon of the type of that represented in the cut on page 392. At a little distance is a battery of one cannon elevated on a wooden platform, and screened by a breast-work of basket-work, which was a very usual way of concealing cannon down to the time of Henry VIII. [Illustration: _Bowmen and Arbalesters._] The man on the right of the cut wears a visored helmet, but it has no amail; his body is protected by a skirt of mail, which appears at the shoulders and hips, and at the openings of his blue surcoat; the legs are in brown hose, and the feet in brown shoes. The centre figure has a helmet and camail, sleeves of mail, and iron breastplate of overlapping plates; the upper plate and the skirt are of red spotted with gold; his hose and shoes are of dark grey. The third man has a helmet with camail, and the body protected by mail, which shows under the arm, but he has also shoulder-pieces and elbow-pieces of plate; his surcoat is yellow, and his hose red. The artist has here admirably illustrated the use of the crossbow. In one case we see the archer stringing it by help of a little winch; in the next he is taking a bolt out of the quiver at his side with which to load his weapon; in the third we have the attitude in which it was discharged. [Illustration: _Arbalesters._] The illustration above, from a fourteenth-century MS. (Cott. Julius, E. IV. f. 219), represents a siege. A walled town is on the right, and in front of the wall, acting on the part of the town, are the cross-bowmen in the cut, protected by great shields which are kept upright by a rest. The men seem to be preparing to fire, and the uniformity of their attitude, compared with the studied variety of attitude of groups of bowmen in other illustrations, suggests that they are preparing to fire a volley. On the left of the picture is sketched a group of tents representing the camp of the besiegers, and in front of the camp is a palisade which screens a cannon of considerable length. The whole picture is only sketched in with pen and ink. The woodcut here given (Royal 14, E. IV. f. xiv.) forms part of a large and very interesting picture. In the middle of the picture is a castle with a bridge, protected by an advanced tower, and a postern with a drawbridge drawn up. Archers, cross-bowmen, and men-at-arms man the battlements. In front is a group of men-at-arms and tents, with archers and cross-bowmen shooting up at the defenders. On the right is a group of men-at-arms who seem to be meditating an attack by surprise upon the postern. On the left, opposed to the principal gate, is the timber fort shown in the woodcut. Its construction, of great posts and thick slabs of timber strengthened with stays and cross-beams, is well indicated. There seem to be two separate works: one is a battery of two cannon, the cannon having wheeled carriages; the other is manned by archers. It is curious to see the mixture of arms--long-bow, cross-bow, portable fire-arm, and wheeled cannon, all used at the same time; indeed, it may be questioned whether the earlier fire-arms were very much superior in effect to the more ancient weapons which they supplanted. No doubt many an archer preferred the long-bow, with which he could shoot with truer aim than with a clumsy hand-gun; and perhaps a good catapult was only inferior to one of the early cannon in being a larger and heavier engine. [Illustration: _Timber Fort._] At fol. l v. of the same MS., a wooden tower and lofty breast-work have been thrown up in front of a town by the defenders as an additional protection to the usual stone tower which defends the approach to the bridge. The assailants are making an assault on this breast-work, and need ladders to scale it; so that it is evident the defenders stand on a raised platform behind their timber defence. See a similar work at f. xlviij., which is mounted with cannon. The practice of archery by the commonalty of England was protected and encouraged by a long series of legislation. As early as Henry I. we find an enactment--which indicates that such accidents happened then as do unhappily in these days, when rifle-shooting is become a national practice--that if any one practising with arrows or with darts should by accident slay another, it was not to be punished as a crime. In the fourteenth century, when the archer had reached the height of his importance in the warfare of the time, many enactments were passed on the subject. Some were intended to encourage, and more than encourage, the practice by the commonalty of what had become the national arm. In 1363, and again in 1388, statutes were passed calling upon the people to leave their popular amusements of ball and coits and casting the stone and the like, on their festivals and Sundays, and to practise archery instead. "Servants and labourers shall have bows and arrows, and use the same the Sundays and holidays, and leave all playing at tennis or foot-ball, and other games called coits, dice, casting the stone, kailes, and other such inopportune games." In 1482 a statute says that the dearness of bows has driven the people to leave shooting, and practise unlawful games, though the king's subjects are perfectly disposed to shoot; and it therefore regulates the price of bows. This crude legislation, of course, failed to remedy the evil, for if the bowyers could not sell them at a profit, they would cease to make them, or rather to import the wood of which they were made, since the best yew for bows came from abroad, English yew not supplying pieces sufficiently long without knots. Accordingly, in 1483, another statute required all merchants sending merchandise to England from any place from which bow-staves were usually exported, to send four bow-staves for every ton of merchandise, and two persons were appointed at each port to inspect the staves so sent, and mark and reject those which were not good and sufficient. Still later the erection of butts was encouraged in every parish to prevent the accidents which the statute of Henry I. had directed justice to wink at; and traces of them still remain in the names of places, as in Newington Butts; and still more frequently in the names of fields, as the "butt-field." Our history of ancient artillery would be imperfect without a few words on the modern artillery of metal balls propelled from hollow tubes by the explosive force of gunpowder, which superseded the slings and bows and darts, the catapults and trebuchets and mangonels and battering-rams, which had been used from the beginning of warfare in the world, and also drove out of use the armour, whether of leather, bone, or steel, which failed to pay in security of person against shot and cannon-ball for its weight and encumbrance to the wearer. A good deal of curious inquiry has been bestowed upon the origin of this great agent in the revolution of modern warfare. The Chinese and Arabs are generally regarded as the first inventors of gunpowder; among Europeans its invention has been attributed to Marcus Graecus, Albertus Magnus, Barthold Schwaletz, and Roger Bacon. The first written evidence relating to the existence of cannon is in the ordinances of Florence, in the year 1326, wherein authority is given to the Priors Gonfalionieri and twelve good men to appoint persons to superintend the manufacture of cannons and iron balls for the defence of the Commune Camp and territory of the Republic. J. Barbour, the poet, is usually quoted as an authority for the use of cannon "crakeys of war," by Edward III., in his Scottish campaign, in the year 1327. But since Barbour was not born till about that year, and did not write till 1375, his authority was not contemporary and may be doubted, especially since there is strong negative evidence to the contrary: _e.g._ that all the army accounts of this campaign still remain, and no mention of guns or gunpowder is to be found in them. In 1338, however, there is unquestionable evidence that cannon of both iron and brass were employed on board English ships of war. In an inventory of things delivered that year by John Starling, formerly clerk of the king's vessels, to Helmyng, keeper of the same, are noted "un canon de fer ov ii chambers, un autre de bras ove une chamber, iii canons de fer of v chambres, un handgonne," &c. In explanation of the two and five chambers, it appears that these earliest cannon were breechloaders, and each cannon had several movable chambers to contain the charges. The same year, 1338, gives the first French document relating to cannon. It is doubly interesting; first because it relates to the provision made for an expedition against Southampton in that year, and secondly because it was a curious attempt to combine the cannon and the arbalest, in other words, to make use of the force of gunpowder for propelling the old short quarrel. It was an iron fire-arm provided with forty-eight bolts (carreaux) made of iron and feathered with brass. We learn that a tube received the arrow, which was wrapped round with leather at the butt to make it fit closely, and this tube fitted to a box, or chamber, which contained the charge and was kept in its place by a wedge.[397] In 1339 it is recorded that the English used cannon at the siege of Cambray. In 1346 experiments on improved cannon were made by Peter of Bruges, a famous maker, before the consuls of Tournay. At the siege of Calais, in 1347, the English built a castle of wood, and armed it with bombards. In the household expenses of Edward III., commencing 1344, are payments to "engyners lvii., artillers vi., gunners vi.," who each received sixpence a day. The date of the first appearance of cannon in the field is still disputed; some say they were used at Crecy in the year 1346. Certainly, in 1382, the men of Ghent carried guns into the field against the Brugeois; and at the combat of Pont-de-Comines, in the same year, we read _bombardes portatives_ were used. [Illustration: _Long-bow, Arquebus, Cannon, and Greek Fire._] We have already given several illustrations of cannon. Siege cannon for throwing heavy balls which did not need very great accuracy of aim, soon superseded entirely the more cumbrous military engines which were formerly used for the same purpose. But hand-guns were not at first so greatly superior to bows, and did not so rapidly come into exclusive use. And yet a good deal of inventive ingenuity was bestowed upon their improvement and development. The "Brown Bess" of our great continental war was a clumsy weapon after all, and it may fairly be doubted whether a regiment armed with it could have stood against a row of Robin Hood's men with their long-bows. It was really left to our day to produce a portable fire-arm which would fire as rapidly, as far, and with as accurate an aim as Robin Hood's men could shoot their cloth-yard shafts six hundred years ago; and yet it is curious to find some of the most ingenious inventions of the present day anticipated long since: there are still preserved in the Tower armoury breech-loaders and revolving chambers and conical shot of the time of Henry VIII. The woodcut on the preceding page, which is from the MS. Royal 14, E. IV., contains several figures taken from one of the large illuminations that adorn the MS.; it affords another curious illustration of the simultaneous use of various forms of projectiles. On the right side is an archer, with his sheaf at his belt and his sword by his side. On the left is a man-at-arms in a very picturesque suit of complete armour, firing a hand-gun of much more modern form than those in the former woodcut. A small wheeled cannon on the ground shows the contemporary form of that arm, while the pikes beside it help to illustrate the great variety of weapons in use. The cross-bowman here introduced is from the same illumination; he is winding up his weapon with a winch, like the cross-bowman on p. 442; his shield is slung at his back. [Illustration: _Cross-bow._] But we have specially to call attention to the two men who are throwing shells, which are probably charged with Greek fire. This invention, which inspired such terror in the Middle Ages, seems to have been discovered in the east of Europe, and to have been employed as early as the seventh century. We hear much of its use in the Crusades, by the Greeks, who early possessed the secret of its fabrication. They used it either by ejecting it through pipes to set fire to the shipping or military engines, or to annoy and kill the soldiers of the enemy; or they cast it to a distance by means of vessels charged with it affixed to javelins; or they hurled larger vessels by means of the great engines for casting stones; or they threw the fire by hand in a hand-to-hand conflict; or used hollow maces charged with it, which were broken over the person of the enemy, and the liquid fire poured down, finding its way through the crevices of his armour. It was, no doubt, a terrible sight to see a man-at-arms or a ship wrapped in an instant in liquid flames; and what added to the terror it inspired was that the flames could not be extinguished by water or any other available appliance. On the introduction of the use of gunpowder in European warfare, Greek fire seems also to have been experimented upon, and we find several representations of its use in the MS. drawings where it is chiefly thrown by hand to set fire to shipping; in the present example, however, it is used in the field. [Illustration: _Battering-ram._] Lastly, in the above cut we give a representation of the battering-ram from an interesting work which illustrates all the usual military engines.[398] It contains curious contrivances for throwing up scaling-ladders and affixing them to the battlements, from which the inventors of our fire-escapes may have borrowed suggestions; and others for bridging wide moats and rivers with light scaffolding, which could be handled and fixed as easily and quickly as the scaling-ladders. The drawing of the ram only indicates that the machine consists of a heavy square beam of timber, provided, probably, with a metal head, which is suspended by a rope from a tall frame, and worked by manual strength. The cut is especially interesting as an illustration of the style of armour of the latter part of the fifteenth century. It gives the back as well as the front of the figure, and also several varieties of helmet. CHAPTER XI. FIFTEENTH CENTURY ARMOUR. As the fifteenth century advanced the wars of the Roses gave urgent reason for attention to the subject of defensive armour; and we find, accordingly, that the fashions of armour underwent many modifications, in the attempt to give the wearer more perfect protection for life and limb. It would be tedious to enter into the minute details of these changes, and the exact date of their introduction; we must limit ourselves to a brief history of the general character of the new fashions. The horizontal bands of armour called _taces_, depending from the corslet, became gradually narrower; while the pieces which hung down in front of the thighs, called _tuilles_, became proportionately larger. In the reigns of Richard III. and Henry VII. the knightly equipment reached its strangest forms. Besides the usual close-fitting pieces which protected the arms, the elbow-piece was enlarged into an enormous fan-like shape that not only protected the elbow itself, but overlapped the fore arm, and by its peculiar shape protected the upper arm up to the shoulder. The shoulder-pieces also were strengthened, sometimes by several super-imposed overlapping plates, sometimes by hammering it out into ridges, sometimes by the addition of a _passe garde_--a kind of high collar which protected the neck from a sweeping side blow. The breastplate is globular in shape, and often narrow at the waist; from it depend narrow _taces_ and _tuilles_, and under the _tuilles_ we often find a deep skirt of mail. When broad-toed shoes came into fashion, the iron shoes of the knight followed the fashion; and at the same time, in place of the old gauntlet in which the fingers were divided, and each finger protected by several small plates of metal, the leather glove was now furnished at the back of the hand with three or four broad over-lapping plates, like those of a lobster, each of which stretched across the whole hand. These alterations may have added to the strength of the armour, but it was at the cost of elegance of appearance. A suit of armour embossed with ornamental patterns, partially covered with a blue mantle, may be seen in the fifteenth-century Book of Hours, Harl. 5,328, f. 77. In the time of Henry VIII., in place of the _taces_ and _tuilles_ for the defence of the body and thighs, a kind of skirt of steel, called _lamboys_, was introduced, which was fluted and ribbed vertically, so as to give it very much the appearance of a short petticoat. Henry VIII. is represented in this costume in the equestrian figure on his great seal. And a suit of armour of this kind, a very magnificent one, which was presented to the king by the Emperor Maximilian on the occasion of his marriage to Katharine of Arragon, is preserved in the Tower armoury. A good sketch of a suit of this kind will be seen in one of the pikemen--the fifth from the right hand--in the nearest rank of the army in the engraving of King Henry VIII.'s army, which faces page 455. The armour of this reign was sometimes fashioned in exact imitation of the shape of the ordinary garments of a gentleman of the time, and engraved and inlaid in imitation of their woven or embroidered ornamentation. In the tournament armour of the time the defences were most complete, but unwieldy and inelegant. The front of the saddle had a large piece of armour attached, which came up to protect the trunk, and was bent round to encase each thigh. A clearly drawn representation of this will be found in a tilting scene in the illumination on f. 15 v. of the MS. Add. 24,189, date _circa_ 1400 A.D. There are several examples of it in the Tower armoury. The shield was also elaborately shaped and curved, to form an outer armour for the defence of the whole of the left side. Instead of the shield there was sometimes an additional piece of armour, called the _grand garde_, screwed to the breastplate, to protect the left side and shoulder; while the great spear had also a piece of armour affixed in front of the grasp, which not only protected the hand, but was made large enough to make a kind of shield for the right arm and breast. There was also sometimes a secondary defence affixed to the upper part of the breastplate, which stood out in front of the face. These defences for thigh and breast will be observed in the woodcut of the "playing at tournament," on p. 408; and in the combat of the Earl of Warwick, p. 418, will be seen how the _grande garde_ is combined with the _volante_ piece which came in front of the face. Behind such defences the tilter must have been almost invulnerable. On the other hand, his defences were so unwieldy that he must have got into his saddle first, and then have been packed securely into his armour; and when there, he could do nothing but sit still and hold his spear in rest--it seems impossible for him even to have struck a single sword stroke. James I.'s remark on armour was especially true of such a suit: "It was an admirable invention which preserved a man from being injured, and made him incapable of injuring any one else." [Illustration: _Combat on Foot._] There are several very good authorities for the military costume of the reign of Henry VIII. easily accessible to the student and artist. The roll preserved in the College of Arms which represents the tournament held at Westminster, A.D. 1510, in honour of the birth of the son of Henry and Katharine of Arragon, has been engraved in the "Vetusta Monumenta." The painting of the Field of the Cloth of Gold at Hampton Court is another contemporary authority full of costumes of all kinds. The engravings of Hans Burgmaier, in the _Triumphs of Maximilian_ and the _Weise Könige_ contain numerous authorities very valuable for the clearness and artistic skill with which the armour is depicted. We have given an illustration, on the preceding page, reduced from one of the plates of the latter work, which represents a combat of two knights, on foot. The armour is partly covered by a surcoat; in the left-hand figure it will be seen that it is fluted. The shields will be noticed as illustrating one of the shapes then in use. But our best illustration is from a contemporary drawing in the British Museum (Aug. III., f. 4), which represents Henry VIII.'s army, and gives us, on a small scale, and in very sketchy but intelligible style, a curious and valuable picture of the military equipment of the period. We have two armies drawn up in battle array, and the assault is just commenced. The nearer army has its main body of pikemen, who, we know from contemporary writers, formed the main strength of an army at this time, and for long after. In front of them are two lines of arquebusiers. Their front is protected by artillery, screened by great _mantelets_ of timber. The opposing army has similarly its main body of pikemen, and its two lines of arquebusiers; the first line engaged in an assault upon the enemy's artillery. On the left flank of its main body is the cavalry; and there seems to be a reserve of pikemen a little distance in the rear, behind a rising ground. Tents pitched about a village represent the head-quarters of the army, and baggage waggons on the left of the picture show that the artist has overlooked nothing. A fortress in the distance seems to be taking part in the engagement with its guns. There are other similar pictures in the same volume, some of which supply details not here given, or not so clearly expressed. At folio 1 are two armies, each with a van of musketeers three deep, a main body of pikemen eleven deep, and a third line of musketeers three deep. The cavalry are more distinctly shown than in the picture before us, as being men-at-arms in full armour, with lances. At folio 3 the drummers, fifers, and baggage and camp followers are shown. In the _Weise Könige_,[399] on plate 44, is a representation of a camp surrounded by the baggage waggons; on plates 91 and 96 a square fort of timber in the field of battle; on plates 57, 84, &c., are cannons surrounded by mantelets, some of wicker probably filled with earth; on plate 60 is a good representation of a column of troops defiling out of the gate of a city. The following account, from Grafton's Chronicle, of the array in which Henry VIII. took the field when he marched to the siege of Boulogne, will illustrate the picture:-- "The xxj. day of July (1513), when all thinges by counsayle had bene ordered concernyng the order of battaile, the king passed out of the town of Calice in goodly array of battaile, and toke the field. And notwithstandyng that the forewarde and the rerewarde of the kinges great armye were before Tyrwin, as you have heard, yet the king of his own battaile made three battailes after the fassion of the warre. The Lord Lisle, marshall of the hoste, was captain of the foreward, and under him three thousand men; Sir Rychard Carew, with three hundred men, was the right-hand wing to the foreward; and the Lord Darcy, with three hundred men, was wing on the left hande; the scowrers and fore-ryders of this battaile were the Northumberland men on light geldings. The Erle of Essex was lieutenaunt-generall of the speres, and Sir John Pechy was vice-governour of the horsemen. Before the king went viij. hundred Almaynes, all in a plump by themselves. After them came the standard with the red dragon, next the banner of our ladie, and next after the banner of the Trinitie: under the same were all the kinges housholde servauntes. Then went the banner of the armes of Englande, borne by Sir Henry Guilforde, under which banner was the king himselfe, with divers noblemen and others, to the number of three thousand men. The Duke of Buckyngham, with sixe hundred men, was on the kinges left hande, egall with the Almaynes; in like wise on the right hande was Sir Edward Pournynges, with other sixe hundred men egall with the Almaynes. The Lord of Burgoynie, with viij. hundred men, was wing on the right hande; Sir William Compton, with the retinue of the Bishop of Winchester, and Master Wolsey, the king's almoner,[400] to the number of viij. hundred, was in manner of a rereward. Sir Anthony Oughtred and Sir John Nevell, with the kinges speres that followed, were foure hundred; and so the whole armie were xj. thousand and iij. hundred men. The Mayster of the Ordinaunce set forth the kinges artillerie, as fawcons, slinges, bombardes, cartes with powder, stones, bowes, arrowes, and suche other thinges necessary for the fielde; the whole number of the carriages were xiij. hundreth; the leaders and dryvers of the same were xix hundreth men; and all these were rekened in the battaile, but of good fightyng men there were not full ix. thousande. Thus in order of battayle the king rode to Sentreyla." [Illustration: _Pikeman._] A little after we have a description of the king's camp, which will illustrate the other pictures above noted. "Thursedaie, the fourth daye of Auguste, the king, in good order of battaile, came before the city of Tyrwyn, and planted his siege in most warlike wise; his camp was environed with artillerie, as fawcons, serpentines, crakys, hagbushes, and tryed harowes, spien trestyles, and other warlike defence for the savegard of the campe. The king for himselfe had a house of timber, with a chimney of iron; and for his other lodgings he had great and goodlye tents of blewe waterworke, garnished with yellow and white, and divers romes within the same for all officers necessarie. On the top of the pavalions stoode the kinges bestes, holding fanes, as the lion, the dragon, the greyhound, the antelope, the Done Kowe.[401] Within, all the lodginge was paynted full of the sunnes rising: the lodginge was a hundred xxv. foote in length." At folio 5 of the MS. already referred to (Aug. III.) is a connected arrangement of numerous tents, as if to form some such royal quarters. But at folio 8 are two gorgeous _suites_ of tents, which can hardly have been constructed for any other than a very great personage. One _suite_ is of red, watered, with gold ornamentation; the other is of green and white stripes (or rather gores), with a gilded cresting along the ridge, and red and blue fringe at the eaves. Our next engravings are from coloured drawings at f. 9, in the same MS., and respectively represent very clearly the half-armour worn by the pikeman and the arquebusier, and the weapons from which they took their name. In the reign of Elizabeth and James I. armour was probably very little worn; but every country knight and esquire possessed a suit of armour, which usually hung in his hall over his chair of state, surrounded by corslets and iron hats, pikes and halberts, cross-bows and long-bows, wherewith to arm his serving-men and tenants, if civil troubles or foreign invasion should call the fighting-men of the country into the field.[402] The knights and esquires of these times are also commonly represented in armour, kneeling at the prayer-desk, in their monumental effigies. The fashion of the armour differs from that of preceding reigns. The elaborate ingenuities of the latter part of the fifteenth century have been dispensed with, and the extravagant caprices also by which the armour of Henry VIII.'s time imitated in steel the fashion of the ordinary costume of the day are equally abandoned. The armour is simply made to fit the breast, body, arms, and legs; the thighs being protected by a modification of the _tuilles_ in the form of a succession of overlapping plates (_tassets_ or _cuisses_) which reach from the corslet to the knee. [Illustration: _Arquebusier._] The civil war of the Great Rebellion offers a tempting theme, but we must limit ourselves to the notice that few, except great noblemen when acting as military leaders, ever wore anything like a complete suit of armour. A beautiful suit, inlaid with gold, which belonged to Charles I., is in the Tower armoury. But knights are still sometimes represented in armour in their monumental effigies. A breast and back-plate over a leather coat, and a round iron cap, were commonly worn both by cavalry and infantry. In the time of Charles II. and James II., and William and Mary, officers still wore breastplates, and military leaders were sometimes painted in full armour, though it may be doubted whether they ever actually wore it. As late as the present century, officers, in some regiments at least, wore a little steel gorget, rather as a distinction than a defence. But even yet our horse-guards remain with their breast and back-plates and helmets, and their thick leather boots, to show us how bright steel and scarlet, waving plumes and embroidered banners, trained chargers and gay trappings, give outward bravery and chivalric grace to the holiday aspect of the sanguinary trade of war. THE MERCHANTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNINGS OF BRITISH COMMERCE. In the remotest antiquity, before European civilisation dawned in Greece, Britain was already of some commercial importance. In those days, before the art of tempering iron was discovered, copper occupied the place which iron now fills. But an alloy of tin was requisite to give to copper the hardness and edge needed to fit it for useful tools for the artisan, for arrow and spear heads for the hunter, and for the warrior's sword and shield; and there were only two places known in the world where this valuable metal could be obtained--Spain and Britain. For ages the Phoenician merchants and their Carthaginian colonists had a monopoly of this commerce, as they only had the secret of the whereabouts of the "Isles of Tin." It is very difficult for us to realise to ourselves how heroic was the daring of those early adventurers. We, who have explored the whole earth, and by steam and telegraph brought every corner of it within such easy reach; we, to whom it is a very small matter to make a voyage with women and children to the other side of the world; we, who walk down to the pier to see the ships return from the under world, keeping their time as regularly as the Minster clock--we cannot comprehend what it was to them, to whom the tideless sunny Mediterranean was "The Great Sea," about which they groped cautiously from one rocky headland to another in fine weather, and laid up in harbour for the winter; to whom the Pillars of Hercules were the western boundary of the world, beyond which the weird ocean with its great tides and mountain-waves stretched without limit towards the sunset; we cannot comprehend the heroic daring of the men who, in those little ships, without compass, came from the easternmost shores of the Great Sea, ventured through its western portal into this outer waste, and steered boldly northwards towards the unknown regions of ice and darkness. Our readers will remember that Strabo tells us how, when Rome became the rival of Carthage, the Romans tried to discover the route to these mysterious islands. He relates how the master of a Carthaginian vessel, finding himself pursued by one whom the Romans had appointed to watch him, purposely ran his vessel aground, and thus sacrificing ship and cargo to the preservation of the national secret, was repaid on his return out of the public treasury. The trade, which included lead and hides as well as tin, when it left the hands of the Phoenicians, did not, however, fall into those of the Romans, but took quite a different channel. The Greek colony of Marseilles became then the emporium from which the world was supplied; but the scanty accounts we have received imply that it was not conveyed there direct on ship-board, but that the native ships and traders of the Gallic towns on the coasts of the Continent conveyed the British commerce across the Channel, and thence transported it overland to Marseilles. The Britons, however, had ships, and it is interesting to know of what kind were the prototypes of the vast and magnificent vessels which in later days have composed the mercantile navy of Great Britain. They were a kind of large basket of wickerwork, in shape like a walnut shell, strengthened by ribs of wood, covered on the outside with hides.[403] Such constructions seem very frail, but they were capable of undertaking considerable voyages. Pliny quotes the old Greek historian Timæus as affirming that the Britons used to make their way to an island at the distance of six days' sail in boats made of osiers and covered with skins. Solinus states that in his time the communication between Britain and Ireland was kept up on both sides by means of these vessels. Two passages in Adamson, quoted by Macpherson,[404] tell us that the people sailed in them from Ireland as far as Orkney, and on one occasion we hear of one of these frail vessels advancing as far into the Northern Ocean as fourteen days with full sail before a south wind. The common use of such vessels, and the fact of this intercommunication between England and Ireland and the islands farther north, seem to imply, at least, some coasting and inter-insular traffic: ships are the instruments either of war or commerce. The invasion of Julius Cæsar opened up the island to the knowledge of the civilised world, and there are indications that in the interval of a hundred years between his brief campaign and the actual conquest under Claudius, a commerce sprang up between the south and south-east of Britain and the opposite coasts of the Continent. In this interval the first British coinage was struck, and London became the chief emporium of Britain. When the island became a province of the Roman empire, active commercial intercourse was carried on between it and the rest of the empire. Its chief production was corn, of which large quantities were exported, so that Britain was to the northern part of the empire what Sicily was to the southern. Besides, the island exported cattle, hides, and slaves; British hunting dogs were famous, and British oysters and pearls. The imports would include all the articles of convenience and luxury used by the civilised inhabitants. We do not know with certainty whether this foreign commerce was carried on by British vessels or not. History has only preserved the record of the military navy. But when we know that the British fleet, which had been raised to control the piratical enterprises of the Saxons and Northmen, was so powerful that its admiral, Carausius, was able to seize upon a share of the empire, and that his successor in command, Allectus, was able, though for a shorter period, to repeat the exploit, we may conclude that the natives of the island must have acquired considerable knowledge and experience of maritime affairs, and were very likely to turn their acquirements in the direction of commerce. Many of the representations of Roman ships, to be found in works on Roman antiquities, would illustrate this part of the subject; we may content ourselves with referring the reader to a representation, in Witsen's "Sheeps Bouw," of a Roman ship being laden with merchandise: a half-naked porter is just putting on board a sack, probably of corn, which is being received by a man in Roman armour; it brings the salient features of the trade at once before our eyes. The Saxon invasion overwhelmed the civilisation which was then widely spread over Britain; and of the history of the country for a long time after that great event we are profoundly ignorant. It appears that the Saxons after their settlement in England completely neglected the sea, and it was not until the reign of Alfred, towards the end of the ninth century, that they again began to build ships, and not until some years later that foreign commerce was carried on in English vessels. In these later Saxon times, however, considerable intercourse took place with the Continent. There was a rage among Saxon men, and women too, for foreign pilgrimages; and thousands of persons were continually going and coming between England and the most famous shrines of Europe, especially those of Rome, the capital city of Western Christendom. Among these travellers were some whose object was traffic, probably in the portable articles of jewellery for which the Saxon goldsmiths were famous throughout Europe. It seems probable that some of these merchants were accustomed to adopt the pilgrims' character and habit in order to avail themselves of the immunities and hospitalities accorded to them; and, perhaps, on the other hand, some of those whose first object was religion, carried a few articles for sale to eke out their expenses. This, probably, is the explanation of the earliest extant document bearing on Saxon commerce, which is a letter from the Emperor Charlemagne to Offa, King of the Mercians, in which he says: "Concerning the strangers, who, for the love of God and the salvation of their souls, wish to repair to the thresholds of the blessed Apostles, let them travel in peace without any trouble; nevertheless, if any are found among them not in the service of religion, but in the pursuit of gain, let them pay the established duties at the proper places. We also will that merchants shall have lawful protection in our kingdom; and if they are in any place unjustly aggrieved, let them apply to us or our judges, and we shall take care that ample justice be done them." The latter clause seems clearly to imply that English merchants in their acknowledged character were also to be found in the dominions of the great Emperor. The next notice we find of Saxon foreign commerce is equally picturesque, and far more important. It is a law passed in the reign of King Athelstan, between 925 and 950, which enacts that every merchant who shall have made three voyages over the sea in a ship and cargo of his own should have the rank of a thane, or nobleman. It will throw light upon this law, if we mention that it stands side by side with another which gives equally generous recognition to success in agricultural pursuits: every one who had so prospered that he possessed five hides of land, a hall, and a church, was also to rank as a thane. The law indicates the usual way in which foreign commerce was carried on by native merchants. The merchant owned his own ship, and laded it with his own cargo, and was his own captain, though he might, perhaps, employ some skilful mariner as his ship-master; and, no doubt, his crew was well armed for protection from pirates. In these days a ship is often chartered to carry a cargo to a particular port, and there the captain obtains another cargo, such as the market affords him, to some other port, and so he may wander over the world in the most unforeseen manner before he finds a profitable opportunity of returning to his starting-place. So, probably, in those times the spirited merchant would not merely oscillate between home and a given foreign point, but would carry on a traffic of an adventurous and hazardous but exciting kind, from one of the great European ports to another. From a volume of Saxon dialogues in the British Museum (Tiberius, A. III.), apparently intended for a school-book, which gives information of various kinds in the form of question and answer, Mr. S. Turner quotes a passage that illustrates our subject in a very interesting way. The merchant is introduced as one of the characters, to give an account of his occupation and way of life. "I am useful," he says, "to the king and to ealdormen, and to the rich, and to all people. I ascend my ship with my merchandise, and sail over the sea-like places, and sell my things, and buy dear things which are not produced in this land, and I bring them to you here with great danger over the sea; and sometimes I suffer shipwreck with the loss of all my things, scarcely escaping myself." The question, "What do you bring us?" demands an account of the imports, to which he answers, "Skins, silks, costly gems, and gold; various garments, pigment, wine, oil, ivory, and onchalcus (perhaps brass); copper, tin, silver, glass, and such like." The author has omitted to make his merchant tell us what things he exported, but from other sources we gather that they were chiefly wool, slaves, probably some of the metals, viz., tin and lead, and the goldsmith's work and embroidery for which the Saxons were then famous throughout Europe. The dialogue brings out the principle which lies at the bottom of commerce by the next question, "Will you sell your things here as you bought them there?" "I will not, because what would my labour profit me? I will sell them here, dearer than I bought them there, that I may get some profit to feed me, my wife, and children." For the silks and ivory, our merchant would perhaps have to push his adventurous voyage as far as Marseilles or Italy. Corn, which used to be the chief export in British and Roman times, appears never to have been exported by the Saxons; they were a pastoral, rather than an agricultural, people. The traffic in slaves seems to have been regular and considerable. The reader will remember how the sight of a number of fair English children exposed for sale in the Roman market-place excited Gregory's interest, and led ultimately to Augustine's mission. The contemporary account of Wolfstan, Bishop of Worcester, at the time of the Conquest, speaks of similar scenes to be witnessed in Bristol, from which port slaves were exported to Ireland--probably to the Danes, who were then masters of the east coast. "You might have seen with sorrow long ranks of young people of both sexes, and of the greatest beauty, tied together with ropes, and daily exposed to sale: nor were these men ashamed--O horrid wickedness--to give up their nearest relations, nay their own children, to slavery." The good bishop induced them to abandon the trade, "and set an example to all the rest of England to do the same." Nevertheless, William of Malmesbury, who wrote nearly a century later, says that the practice of selling even their nearest relations into slavery had not been altogether abandoned by the people of Northumberland in his own memory. Already, on the death of Ethelbert, in 1016, the citizens of London had arrived at such importance, that, in conjunction with the nobles who were in the city, they chose a king for the whole English nation, viz., Edmund Ironside; and again on the death of Canute, in 1036, they took a considerable part in the election of Harold. At the battle of Hastings the burgesses of London formed Harold's body-guard. A few years previously, Canute, on his pilgrimage to Rome, met the Emperor Conrade and other princes, from whom he obtained for all his subjects, whether merchants or pilgrims, exemption from the heavy tolls usually exacted on the journey to Rome. During the peaceful reign of Edward the Confessor a much larger general intercourse seems to have sprung up with the Continent, and the commerce of England to have greatly increased. For this we have the testimony of William of Poictiers, William the Conqueror's chaplain, who says, speaking of the time immediately preceding the Conquest, "The English merchants to the opulence of their country, rich in its own fertility, added still greater riches and more valuable treasures. The articles imported by them, notable both for their quantity and their quality, were to have been hoarded up for the gratification of their avarice, or to have been dissipated in the indulgence of their luxurious inclinations. But William seized them, and bestowed part on his victorious army, and part on the churches and monasteries, while to the Pope and the Church of Rome he sent an incredible mass of money in gold and silver, and many ornaments that would have been admired even in Constantinople." We are not able to give any authentic contemporary illustration of the shipping of this period. Those which are given by Strutt are not really representations of the ships of the period: Byzantine Art still exercised a powerful influence over Saxon Art, and the illuminators frequently gave traditional forms; and the ships introduced by Strutt, though executed by a Saxon artist, are probably copied from Byzantine authorities. The Bayeux tapestry is probably our earliest trustworthy authority for a British ship, and it gives a considerable number of illustrations of them, intended to represent in one place the numerous fleet which William the Conqueror gathered for the transport of his army across the Channel; in another place the considerable fleet with which Harold hoped to bar the way. The one we have chosen is the duke's own ship; it displays at its mast-head the banner which the Pope had blessed, and the trumpeter on the high poop is also an evidence that it is the commander's ship. In the present case the trumpeter is known, from contemporary authority, to have been only wood gilded; but in many of the subsequent illustrations we shall also find a trumpeter, or usually two, who were part of the staff of the commander, and perhaps were employed in signalling to other ships of the fleet. [Illustration: _William the Conqueror's Ship._] The Conquest checked this thriving commerce. William's plunder of the Saxon merchants, which was probably not confined to London, must have gone far to ruin those who were then engaged in it; the general depression of Saxon men for a long time after would prevent them or others from reviving it; and the Normans themselves were averse from mercantile pursuits. In the half-century after the Conquest we really know little or nothing of the history of commerce. The charters of the first Norman kings make no mention of it. Stephen's troubled reign must have been very unfavourable to it. Still foreign merchants would seek a market where they could dispose of their goods, and the long and wise reign of Henry II. enabled English commerce, not only to recover, but to surpass its ancient prosperity. An interesting account of London, given by William FitzStephen, about 1174, in the introduction to a Life of à Becket, gives much information on our subject: he says that "no city in the world sent out its wealth and merchandise to so great a distance," but he does not enumerate the exports. Among the articles brought to London by foreign merchants he mentions gold, spices, and frankincense from Arabia; precious stones from Egypt; purple cloths from Bagdad; furs and ermines from Norway and Russia; arms from Scythia; and wines from France. The citizens he describes as distinguished above all others in England for the elegance of their manners and dress, and the magnificence of their tables. There were in the city and suburbs thirteen large conventual establishments and 120 parish churches. He adds that the dealers in the various sorts of commodities, and the labourers and artizans of every kind, were to be found every day stationed in their several distinct places throughout the city, and that a market was held every Friday in Smithfield for the sale of horses, cows, hogs, &c.; the citizens were distinguished from those of other towns by the appellation of barons; and Malmesbury, an author of the same age, also tells us that from their superior opulence, and the greatness of the city, they were considered as ranking with the chief people or nobility of the kingdom. The great charter of King John provided that all merchants should have protection in going out of England and in coming back to it, as well as while residing in the kingdom or travelling about in it, without any impositions or payments such as to cause the destruction of their trade. During the thirteenth century, it seems probable that much of the foreign commerce of the country was carried on by foreign merchants, who imported chiefly articles of luxury, and carried back chiefly wool, hides, and leather, and the metals found in England. But there were various enactments to prevent foreign merchants from engaging in the domestic trade of the country. In the fourteenth century commerce received much attention from government, and many regulations were made in the endeavour to encourage it, or rather to secure as much of its profits as possible to English, and leave as little as possible to foreign, merchants. Our limits do not allow us to enter into details on the subject, and our plan aims only at giving broad outside views of the life of the merchants of the Middle Ages. Let us introduce here an illustration of the ships in which the commerce was conducted. Perhaps the only illustration to be derived from the MS. illuminations of the thirteenth century is one in the Roll of St. Guthlac, which is early in the century, and gives a large and clear picture of St. Guthlac in a ship with a single mast and sail, steered by a paddle consisting of a pole with a short cross handle at the top, like the poles with which barges are still punted along, and expanding at bottom into a short spade-like blade. Some of the seals of this century also give rude representations of ships: one of H. de Neville gives a perfectly crescent-shaped hull with a single mast supported by two stays; that of Hugo de Burgh has a very high prow and stern, which reminds us of the build of modern _prahus_. Another, of the town of Monmouth, has a more artistic representation of a ship of similar shape, but the high prow and stern are both ornamented with animals' heads, like the prow of William the Conqueror's ship. The Psalter of Queen Mary, which is of early fourteenth-century date, gives an illustration of the building of Noah's ark, which is a ship of the shape found in the Bayeux tapestry, with a sort of house within it. The illustration we give opposite from the Add. MS. 3,983, f. 6, was also executed early in the fourteenth century, and though rude it is valuable as one of the earliest examples of a ship with a rudder of the modern construction; it also clearly indicates the fact that these early vessels used oars as well as sails. The usual mode of steering previous to, and for some time subsequent to, this time was with a large broad oar at the ship's counter, worked in a noose of rope (a _gummet_) or through a hole in a piece of wood attached to the vessel's side. The first mode will be found illustrated in the Add. MS. 24,189, at f. 30, and the second at f. 5 in the same MS. The men of this period were not insensible to the value of a means of propelling a vessel independently of the wind; and employed human muscle as their motive power. Some of the great trading cities of the Mediterranean used galleys worked by oars, not only for warfare, but for commercial purposes: _e.g._ in 1409 A.D., King Henry granted to the merchants of Venice permission to bring their carracks, galleys, and other vessels, laden with merchandise, to pass over to Flanders, return and sell their cargoes without impediment, and sail again with English merchandise and go back to their own country. [Illustration: _A Ship, Early Fourteenth Century._] A very curious and interesting MS. (Add. 27,695) recently acquired by the British Museum, which appears to be of Genoese Art, and of date about A.D. 1420, enables us to give a valuable illustration of our subject. It occupies the whole page of the MS.; we have only given the lower half, of the size of the original. It appears to represent the siege of Tripoli. The city is in the upper part of the page; our cut represents the harbour and a suburb of the town. It is clearly indicated that it is low water, and the high-water mark is shown in the drawing by a different colour. Moreover, a timber pier will be noticed, stretching out between high and low-water mark, and a boat left high and dry by the receding tide. In the harbour are ships of various kinds, and especially several of the galleys of which we have spoken. The war-galley may be found fully illustrated in Witsen's "Sheep's Bouw," p. 186. [Illustration: _A Harbour in the Fourteenth Century._] [Illustration: _An Early Representation of the Whale Fishery._] The same MS., in the lower margin of folio 9 v., has an exceedingly interesting picture of a whaling scene, which we are very glad to introduce as a further illustration of the commerce and shipping of this early period. It will be seen that the whale has been killed, and the successful adventurers are "cutting out" the blubber very much after the modern fashion. CHAPTER II. THE MERCHANT NAVY. The history of the merchant navy in the Middle Ages is very much mixed up with that of the military navy. In the time of the earlier Norman kings we seem not to have had any war-ships. The king had one or two ships for his own uses, and hired or impressed others when he needed them; but they were only ships of burden, transports by which soldiers and munitions of war were conveyed to the Continent and back, as occasion required. If hostile vessels encountered one another at sea, and a fight ensued, it seems to have been a very simple business: the sailors had nothing to do with the fighting, they only navigated the ships; the soldiers on board discharged their missiles at one another as the ships approached, and when the vessels were laid alongside, they fought hand to hand. The first ships of war were a revival of the classical war-galleys. We get the first clear description of them in the time of Richard I., from Vinesauf, the historian of the second Crusade. He compares them with the ancient galleys, and says the modern ones were long, low in the water, and slightly built, rarely had more than two banks of oars, and were armed with a "spear" at the prow for "ramming." Gallernes were a smaller kind of galleys with only one bank of oars. From this reign the sovereign seems to have always maintained something approaching to a regular naval establishment, and to have aimed at keeping the command of the narrow seas. In the reign of John we find the king had galleys and galliases, and another kind of vessels which were probably also a sort of galley, called "long ships," used to guard the coasts, protect the ports, and maintain the police of the seas. The accompanying drawing, from one of the illuminations in the famous MS. of Froissart's Chronicle, in the British Museum (Harl. 4,379), is perhaps one of the clearest and best contemporary illustrations we have of these mediæval galleys. It will be seen that it consists of a long low open boat, with outrigger galleries for the rowers, while the hold is left free for merchandise, or, as in the present instance, for men-at-arms. It has a forecastle like an ordinary ship; the shields of the men-at-arms who occupy it are hung over the bulwarks; the commander stands at the stern under a pent-house covered with tapestry, bearing his shield, and holding his leader's truncheon. A close examination of the drawing seems to show that there are two men to each oar; we know from other sources that several men were sometimes put to each oar. The difference in costume between the soldiers and the sailors is conspicuous. The former are men-at-arms in full armour--one on the forecastle is very distinctly shown; the sailors are entirely unarmed, except the man at the stroke-oar, probably an officer, who wears an ordinary hat of the period, the rest wear the hood drawn over the head. The ship in the same illustration is an ordinary ship of burden, filled with knights and men-at-arms; the trumpeters at the stern indicate that the commander of the fleet is on board this ship; he will be seen amidships, with his visor raised and his face towards the spectator, with shield on arm and truncheon in hand. [Illustration: _Ship and Galley._] If the reader is curious to see illustrations of the details of a naval combat, there are a considerable number to be found in the illuminated MSS.; as in MS. Nero, D. iv., at folio 214, of the latter part of the thirteenth century; in some tolerably clearly drawn in the "Chronique de S. Denis" (Royal, 20, cvii.), of the time of our Richard II., at folio 18, and again at folio 189 v. Other representations of ships occur at folios 25, 26 v., 83, 136 v. (a bridge of boats), 189 v., and 214 of the same MS. These ships continued to a late period to be small compared with our notion of a ship, and most rude in their arrangements. They were great undecked boats, with a cabin only in the bows, beneath the raised platform which formed the forecastle; and the crew of the largest ships was usually from twenty-five to thirty men. An illumination in the MS. of Froissart's Chronicle (Harl. 4,379), folio 104 v., shows a ship, in which a king and his suite are about to embark, from such a point of view that we see the interior of the ship in the perspective, and find that there is a cabin only in the prow. The earliest notice of cabins occurs in the year A.D. 1228, when a ship was sent to Gascony with some effects of the king's, and 4_s._ 6_d._ was paid for making a chamber in the same ship for the king's wardrobe, &c. In A.D. 1242 the king and queen went to Gascony; and convenient chambers were ordered to be built in the ship for their majesties' use, which were to be wainscoted--like that probably in Earl Richard of Warwick's ship in the present woodcut. This engraving, taken from Rouse's MS. Life of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick (British Museum, Julius, E. IV.), of the latter part of the fourteenth century, gives a very clear representation of a ship and its boat. The earl is setting out on his pilgrimage to the Holy Land. In the foreground we see him with his pilgrim's staff in hand, stepping into the boat which is to carry him to his ship lying at anchor in the harbour. The costume of the sailors is illustrated by the men in the boat. The vessel is a ship of burden, but such a one as kings and great personages had equipped for their own uses; resembling an ordinary merchant-ship in all essentials, but fitted and furnished with more than usual convenience and sumptuousness. In Earl Richard's ship the sail is emblazoned with his arms, and the pennon, besides the red cross of England, has his badges of the bear and ragged staff; the ragged staff also appears on the castle at the mast-head. The castle, which all ships of this age have at the stern, is in this case roofed in and handsomely ornamented, and no doubt formed the state apartment of the earl. There is also a castle at the head of the ship, though it is not very plainly shown in the drawing. It consists of a raised platform, the round-headed entrance to the cabin beneath it is seen in the picture; the two bulwarks also which protect it at the sides are visible, though their meaning is not at first sight obvious. A glance at the forecastle of the other ships in our illustrations will enable the reader to understand its construction and use. Besides the boat which is to convey the earl on board, another boat will be seen hanging at the ship's quarter. [Illustration: _Ship of Richard Earl of Warwick._] The next woodcut is taken from the interesting MS. in the British Museum (Add. 24,189, f. 3 v.), from which we have borrowed other illustrations, containing pictures of subjects from the travels of Sir John Mandeville. We have introduced it to illustrate two peculiarities: the first is the way of steering by a paddle passed through a gummet of rope, still, we see, in use in the latter part of the fourteenth century, long after the rudder had been introduced; and the use of lee-boards to obviate the lee-way of the ship, and make it hold its course nearer to the wind. The high, small, raised castle in the stern is here empty, and the forecastle is curiously defended by a palisade, instead of the ordinary bulwarks. Another representation of the use of lee-boards occurs at folio 5 of the same MS. [Illustration: _Sir J. Mandeville on his Voyage to Palestine._] But though the royal navy was small, as we have said, in case of need there was a further naval force available. The ancient ports of Kent and Sussex, called the Cinque Ports, with their members (twelve neighbouring ports incorporated with them), were bound by their tenure, upon forty days' notice, to supply the king with fifty-seven ships, containing twenty-one men and a boy in each ship, for fifteen days, once in the year, at their own expense, if their service was required. Thus _e.g._ a mandate of the 18th Rich. II., addressed to John de Beauchamp, Constable of Dover Castle, and Warden of the Cinque Ports, after reciting this obligation, requires fifty-seven ships, each having a master and twenty men well armed and arrayed to meet him at Bristol; stating further, that at the expiration of the fifteen days the ships and men should be at the king's own charges and pay, so long as he should have the use of them, viz., the master of each ship to have 6_d._, the constable 6_d._, and each of the other men 3_d._, per day. In the year A.D. 1205 we have a list of royal galleys and vessels of war ready for service; and it is instructive to see where they were stationed: there were at London 5, Newhaven 2, Sandwich 3, Romney 4, Rye 2, Winchelsea 2, Shoreham 5, Southampton 2, Exeter 2, Bristol 3, Ipswich 2, Dunwich 5, Lyme 5, Yarmouth 3, in Ireland 5, at Gloucester 1--total 51; and the Cinque Ports furnished 52; so that there were ready for sea more than 100 galleys or "men-of-war." If the occasion required a greater force than that which the Cinque Ports were required to furnish, the king was at liberty to issue his royal mandate, and impress merchant ships. Thus, in May, 1206 A.D., the Barons of the Cinque Ports were commanded to be at Portsmouth by a certain date with all the service they owed; and writs were also issued to all such merchants, masters, and seamen, as might meet the king's messengers on the sea, to repair to Portsmouth, and enter the king's service; and the royal galleys were sent to cruise at sea to arrest ships and send them in. Again, in A.D. 1442, the Commons in Parliament stated the necessity of having an armed force upon the sea, and pointed out the number of ships and men that it would be proper to employ: viz., eight ships with fore-stages carrying 150 men each, and that there should be attendant upon each ship a barge carrying eighty men, and a balynfer carrying forty men; and that four spynes, or pinnaces, carrying twenty-five men each, would be necessary. The Commons also pointed out the individual ships which it recommended to be obtained to compose this force: viz., at Bristol the _Nicholas of the Tower_, and _Katherine of Burtons_; at Dartmouth the Spanish ship that was the Lord Poyntz's, and Sir Philip Courtenay's great ship. In the port of London two great ships, one called _Trinity_, and the other _Thomas_. At Hull a great ship called Taverner's, the name _Grace-dieu_. At Newcastle a great ship called _The George_. They also state where the barges, balynfers, and pinnaces may be obtained. Some of these may have been royal ships, but not all of them. Of the _Grace-dieu_ of Hull, we know from Rymer (xi., 258) that John Taverner of Hull, mariner, having made a ship as large as a great carrack, or larger, had granted to him that the said ship, by reason of her unusual magnitude, should be named the _Grace-dieu_ carrack, and enjoy certain privileges in trade. On a great emergency, a still more sweeping impressment of the mercantile fleet was made: _e.g._, Henry V., in his third year, directed Nicholas Manslyt, his sergeant-at-arms, to arrest all ships and vessels in every port in the kingdom, of the burden of twenty tons and upwards, for the king's service; and Edward IV., in his fourteenth year, made a similar seizure of all ships of over sixteen tons burden. On the other hand, the king hired out his ships to merchants when they were not in use. Thus, in 1232 A.D., John Blancboilly had the custody of King Henry III.'s great ship called the _Queen_, for his life, to trade wherever he pleased, paying an annual rent of eighty marks; and all his lands in England were charged with the fulfilment of the contract. In 1242 directions were given to surrender the custody of the king's galleys in Ireland to the sailors of Waterford, Drogheda, and Dungaroon, to trade with in what way they could, taking security for their rent and restoration. The royal ships, however, maintained the police of the seas very inefficiently, and a _petite guerre_ seems to have been carried on continually between the ships of different countries, and even between the ships of different seaports; while downright piracy was not at all uncommon. When these injuries were inflicted by the ships of another nation, the injured men often sought redress through their own government from the government of the people who had injured them, and the mediæval governments generally took up warmly any such complaints. But the merchants not unfrequently took the law into their own hands. In the twelfth century, _e.g._, it happened to a merchant of Berwick, Cnut by name, that one of his ships, having his wife on board, was seized by a piratical Earl of Orkney, and burnt. Cnut spent 100 marks in having fourteen stout vessels suitably equipped to go out and punish the offender. And so late as 1378 a sort of private naval war was carried on between John Mercer, a merchant of Perth, and John Philpott of London. Mercer's father had for some time given assistance to the French by harassing the merchant ships of England; and in 1377, being driven by foul weather on the Yorkshire coast, he was caught, and imprisoned in Scarborough Castle. Thereupon the son carried on the strife. Collecting a little fleet of Scottish, French, and Spanish ships, he captured several English merchantmen off Scarborough, slaying their commanders, putting their crews in chains, and appropriating their cargoes. Philpott, the mayor of London, at his own cost, collected a number of vessels, put in them 1,000 armed men, and sailed for the north. Within a few weeks he had retaken the captured vessels, had effectually beaten their captors, and, in his turn, had seized fifteen Spanish ships laden with wine, which came in his way. On his return to London he was summoned before the council to answer for his conduct in taking an armed force to sea without the king's leave. But he boldly told the council: "I did not expose myself, my money, and my men to the dangers of the sea that I might deprive you and your colleagues of your knightly fame, nor that I might win any for myself, but in pity for the misery of the people and the country, which from being a noble realm with dominion over other nations, has through your supineness become exposed to the ravages of the vilest race, and since you would not lift a hand in its defence, I exposed myself and my property for the safety and deliverance of our country." The ships of the Cinque Ports seem to have been at frequent feud with those of the other ports of the kingdom (see Matthew Paris under A.D. 1242). For example, in 1321 Edward II. complained of the great dissension and discord which existed between the people of the privileged Cinque Ports and the men and mariners of the western towns of Poole, Weymouth, Melcombe, Lyme, Southampton, &c.; and of the homicide, depredation, ship-burning, and other evil acts resulting therefrom. But in place of taking vigorous measures to repress these disorders, the king did not apparently find himself able to do more than issue a proclamation against them. When so loose a morality prevailed among seafaring men, and the police of the seas was so badly maintained, it follows almost as a matter of course that piracy should flourish. The people of Brittany, and especially the men of St. Malo, at one time were accustomed to roam the sea as the old sea-kings did, plundering merchant-ships, making descents on the coasts of England, exacting contributions and ransoms from the towns. In the time of Alfred it would seem by one of his laws as if English vessels sometimes pillaged their own coasts.[405] About the year 1242 a Sir William de Marish, who was accused of murder and treason, took refuge in the Isle of Lundy, whence he robbed the merchantmen passing to and fro, and made descents on the coast. He was building a galley in which to carry on his piracies when he was taken and hanged. The spirit that lingered to very recent times among the "wreckers" of remote spots on our coast seems to have prevailed largely in the days of which we are writing. A foreigner was regarded as a "natural enemy," and his ships and goods as a legitimate prize, when they could be seized with impunity. So in 1227 A.D. we find a mariner named Dennis committed to Newgate for being present when a Spanish ship was plundered and her crew slain at Sandwich. In the same year the inhabitants of some towns in Norfolk were accused of robbing a Norwegian ship. And, to give a later example, in 1470 some Spanish merchants applied to King Edward IV. for compensation for the loss of seven vessels, alleged to have been piratically taken from them by the people of Sandwich, Dartmouth, Plymouth, and Jersey. Yet there is a Saxon law as early as King Ethelred, which gives immunities to merchant ships, even in time of war, which the Council of Paris a few years ago hardly equalled:--"If a merchant ship, even if it belonged to an enemy, entered any port in England, she was to have 'frith,' that is peace, and freedom from molestation, provided it was not driven or chased into port; but even if it were chased, and it reached any frith burgh, and the crew escaped into the burgh, then the crew and whatever they brought with them were to have 'frith.'" The shipping of the time of Henry VIII. is admirably illustrated in Holbein's famous painting at Hampton Court. The great vessel of his reign, the _Henri Grace à Dieu_, is also illustrated in the _Archæologia_. Both these subjects are so well-known, or so easily accessible, that we do not think it necessary to reproduce them here. In the MS. Aug. 1, will be found a large size drawing of a galley intended to be built for King Henry VIII. The discovery of the sea-passage to India, and of the new world, opened up to commerce a new career of heroic adventure and the prospect of fabulous wealth. England was not backward in entering upon this course. In truth, although Sebastian Cabot was not an Englishman by birth, we claim the honour of his discoveries for England, inasmuch as he was resident among us, and was fitted out from Bristol, at the cost of English merchants, on his voyages of discovery. It was in this career--which was part discover, part conquest, part commerce--that our Hawkinses, and Drakes, and Frobishers, and Raleighs were trained. And besides those historic names, there were scores of men who fitted out ships and entered upon the roads these pioneers had opened up, and completed their discoveries, and created the commerce whose possibility they had indicated. The limitation of our subject to the mediæval period forbids us to enter further upon this tempting theme. But we may complete our brief series of illustrations of merchant shipping by giving a picture of one of the gallant little ships--little, indeed, compared with the ships which are now employed in our great lines of sea-traffic--in which those heroes accomplished their daring voyages. The woodcut is a reproduction from the frontispiece of one of Hulsius' curious tracts on naval affairs, and represents the ship _Victoria_, in which Magellan sailed round the world, passing through the straits to which he gave his name. The epitaph that the author has subjoined to the engraving tells briefly the story of the famous ship:-- "Prima ego velivolvis ambivi cursibus orbem Magellane novo te duce ducta freto. Ambivi meritoque dicor _Victoria_: Sunt mihi Vela, alæ, precium, gloria, pugna, mare." The ship, it will be seen, is not very different in general features from those of the Middle Ages which we have been considering. It has the high prow and stern with their castles, it has shields outside the bulwarks, in imitation of the way in which, as we have seen in former illustrations, the mediæval men-at-arms hung their shields over the bulwark of the ship in which they sailed. But it has decks (apparently two), and is armed with cannon at the bows and stern. [Illustration: _The Ship Victoria._] CHAPTER III. THE SOCIAL POSITION OF THE MEDIÆVAL MERCHANTS. Though the commerce of England has now attained to such vast dimensions, and forms so much larger a proportion of the national wealth and greatness than at any former period, yet we are inclined to think that, in the times of which we write, the pursuit of commerce held a higher and more honourable place in the esteem of all classes than it does with us. It is true that one class was then more distinctly separated from another, by costume and some external habits of life; the knight and the franklin, the monk and the priest, the trader and the peasant, always carried the badges of their position upon them; and we, with our modern notions, are apt to think that the man who was marked out by his very costume as a trader must have been "looked down upon" by what we call the higher classes of society. No doubt something of this feeling existed; but not, we think, to the same extent as now. Trade itself was not then so meanly considered. Throughout the Middle Ages the upper classes were themselves engaged in trade in various ways. In the disposal of the produce of his estates the manorial lord engaged in trade, and purchased at fairs and markets the stores he needed for himself and his numerous dependants. Noblemen and bishops, abbots and convents, nay kings themselves, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, had ships which, commanded and manned by their servants, traded for their profit with foreign countries. In the thirteenth century the Cistercian monks had become the greatest wool-merchants in the kingdom. In the fifteenth century Edward IV. carried on a considerable commerce for his own profit. Just as now, when noblemen and gentlemen commonly engage in agriculture, and thus farming comes to be considered less vulgar than trade, so, then, when dignified ecclesiastics, noblemen, and kings engaged in trade, it must have helped to soften caste prejudices against the professional pursuit of commerce.[406] A considerable number of the traders of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were cadets of good families. Where there were half a dozen sons in a knightly family, the eldest succeeded to the family estate and honours: of the rest, one might become a lawyer; another might have a religious vocation, and, as a secular priest, take the family living, or obtain a stall in the choir of the neighbouring monastery; a third might prefer the profession of arms, and enter into the service of some great lord or of the king, or find employment for his sword and lance, and pay for himself and the dozen men who formed the "following of his lance," in the wars which seldom ceased in one part of Europe or another; another son might engage in trade, either in a neighbouring town or in one of the great commercial cities of the time, as Bristol, Norwich, or London.[407] The leading men of the trading class stood side by side with the leading men of the other classes. They were consulted by the king on the affairs of the kingdom, were employed with bishops and nobles on foreign embassies, were themselves ennobled. And the greatness which men attain in any class reflects honour on the whole class. The Archbishop of Canterbury's high position gives social consideration to the poor curate, who may one day also be archbishop; and the Lord Chancellor's to the now briefless barrister who may attain to the woolsack. The great free towns of the German Empire reflected honour on every town of Europe; and the merchant princes of Venice and Florence and the Low Countries on the humblest member of their calling. But what, perhaps, more than anything else tended to maintain the social consideration of traders, was their incorporation into wealthy and powerful guilds; and the civil freedom and political weight of the towns. The rather common-looking man, in a plain cloth gown and flat cap, jogging along the high road on a hack, with great saddle-bags, is not to be compared in appearance with the knight who prances past him on a spirited charger, with a couple of armed servants at his heels; and the trader pulls his horse to the side of the road, and touches his bonnet as the cavalcade passes him in a cloud of dust; but the knight glances at his fellow-traveller's hood as he passes, and recognises in him a member of the great Guild of Merchants of the Staple, and returns his courtesy. The nobleman, jostling at court against a portly citizen in a furred gown with a short dagger and inkhorn at his belt, sees in him an alderman of one of those great towns by whose help the king maintains the balance of power against the feudal aristocracy. Yet, after all, why should the merchant be "a rather common-looking man," and the alderman a "portly citizen"? We are all apt to let our sober sense be fooled by our imagination. Thus we are apt to have in our minds abstract types of classes of men: our ideal knight is gallant in bearing, gay in apparel, chivalrous in character; while our ideal merchant is prosaic and closefisted in character, plain and uncourtly in manner and speech. A moment's thought would be enough to remind us that Nature does not anticipate or adapt herself to class distinctions: the knight and the merchant, we have seen, might be brothers, reared up in the same old manor-house; and the elder son might be naturally a clown, though fortune made him Sir Hugh; while the cadet might be full of intelligence and spirit, dignified and courteous, though fortune had put a flat cap instead of a helmet on his head, and a pen instead of a lance into his hand. Our plan limits us to mere glances at the picturesque outside aspect of things. Let us travel across England, and see what we can learn on our subject from the experiences of our journey. A right pleasant journey, too, in the genial spring-time or early summer. It must be taken on horseback; for, though sometimes we shall find ourselves on a highway between one great town and another, yet, for the most part, our road is along bridle-paths, across heath and moor; through miles of "greenwood;" across fords; over wide unenclosed wolds and downs dotted with sheep; through valleys where oxen feed in the deep meadowland; with comparatively little arable, covered with the green blades of rye and barley, oats, and a little wheat-- "Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky." Now and then we ride through a village of cottages scattered about the village-green; and see, perhaps, the parish-priest, in cassock and biretta, coming out of the village-church from his mass. Further on we pass the moated manor-house of a country knight, or the substantial old timber-built house of a franklin, with the blue wood-smoke puffing in a volume out of the louvre of the hall, and curling away among the great oak-trees which overshadow it. We may stay there and ask for luncheon, and be sure of a hearty welcome: Chaucer tells us, "His table dormant in the hall alway Stands ready covered, all the longe day." Then a strong castle comes in sight on a rising ground, with its picturesque group of walls and towers, and the donjon-tower rising high in the midst, surmounted by the banner of its lord. We seek out the monasteries for their hospitable shelter at nights: they are the inns of mediæval England; and we gaze in admiration as we approach them and enter their courts. From outside we see a great enclosure-wall, over which rise the clerestories and towers of a noble minster-church; and when we have entered through the gate-house we find the cloister court, with its convent buildings for the monks, and another court of offices, and the guest-house for the entertainment of travellers, and the abbot's-house--a separate establishment, with a great hall and chambers and chapel, like the manor-house of a noble; so that, surrounded by its wall, with strong entrance-towers, the monastery looks like a great castle or a little town; and we doff our hats to the dignified-looking monk who is ambling out of the great gate on his mule, as to the representative of the noble community which has erected so grand a house, and maintains there its hospitalities and charities, schools and hospitals, and offers up, seven times a day in the choir, a glorious service of praise to Almighty God, and of prayer for the welfare of His church and people. But from time to time, also, we approach and ride through the towns, which are studded as thickly over the land as castles or monasteries. Each surrounded by a fair margin of common meadowland, out of which rise the long line of strong walls with angle towers, with picturesque machicolations and overhanging pent-houses; and the great gate-towers with moat, drawbridge, and barbican. Over the wall numerous church-towers and spires are seen rising from a forest of gables, making a goodly show. We enter, and find wide streets of handsome picturesque houses, with abundance of garden and orchard ground behind them, and guildhalls and chapels, the head-quarters of the various guilds and companies. The traders are wealthy, and indulge in conveniences which are rare in the franklin's house, and even the lord's castle; and live a more refined mode of life than the old rude, if magnificent, feudal life. Look at the extent of the town, at its strong defences; estimate the wealth it contains; think of the clannish spirit of its guilds; see the sturdy burghers, who turn out at the sound of the town-bell, in half armour, with pike and bow, to man the walls; consider the chiefs of the community, men of better education, wider experience of the world, deeper knowledge of political affairs, than most of their countrymen, many of them of the "gentleman" class by birth and breeding, men of perfect self-respect, and of high public spirit. If our journey terminates at one of the seaports, as Hull, or Lynn, or Dover, or Hythe, or Bristol, we find--in addition to the usual well-walled town, with houses and noble churches and guildhalls--a harbour full of merchant-ships, and exchanges full of foreign merchants; and we soon learn that these are the links which join England to the rest of the world in a period of peace, and enable her in time of war to make her power felt beyond the seas. Many of these towns have inherited their walls and their civic freedom from Roman times: they stood like islands amid the flood of the Saxon invasion; they received their charters from Norman kings, and maintained them against Norman barons. Each of them is a little republic amidst the surrounding feudalism; each citizen is a freeman, when everybody else is the sworn liege-man of some feudal lord. These experiences of our ride across England will have left their strong impressions on our minds. The castles will have impressed our minds with a sense of the feudal power and chivalric state of the territorial class; and the monasteries with admiration of the grandeur and learning and munificence and sanctity of the religious orders; and the towns with a feeling of solid respect for the wealth and power and freedom and civilisation of the trader class of the people. [Illustration: _Entry of Queen Isabel of Bavaria into Paris_, A.D. 1389.] Our first illustration forms part of a large picture in the great Harleian MS. of Froissart's Chronicle (Harl. 2,397, f. 3), and represents Isabel of Bavaria, Queen of Charles VII., making her entry into Paris attended by noble dames and lords of France, on Sunday, 20th of August, in the year of our Lord 1389. There was a great crowd of spectators, Froissart tells us, and the _bourgeois_ of Paris, twelve hundred, all on horseback, were ranged in pairs on each side of the road, and clothed in a livery of gowns of baudekyn green and red. The Queen, seated in her canopied litter, occupies the middle of the picture, in robe and mantle of blue powdered with _fleur-de-lis_, three noblemen walking on each side in their robes and coronets. The page and ladies, who follow on horseback, are not given in our woodcut. The Queen has just arrived at the gate of the city; through the open door may be seen a bishop (? the Archbishop of Paris) in a cope of blue powdered with gold _fleur-de-lis_, holding a gold and jewelled box, which perhaps contains the chrism for her coronation. On the wall overlooking the entrance is the king with ladies of the court, and perched on the angle of the wall is the court jester in his cap and bauble. On the left of the picture are the burgesses of Paris; their short gowns are of green and red as described; the hats, which hang over their shoulders, are black. On the opposite side of the road (not represented in the cut) is another party of burgesses, who wear their hats, the bands falling on each side of the face. In the background are the towers and spires of the city, and the west front of Notre-Dame, rising picturesquely above the city-wall. Some of the merchant-princes of the Middle Ages have left a name which is still known in history, or popular in legend. First, there is the De la Pole family, whose name is connected with the history of Hull. Wyke-upon-Hull was a little town belonging to the convent of Selby, when Edward III. saw its capabilities and bought it of the monks, called it Kingston-upon-Hull, and, by granting trading and civil privileges to it, induced merchants to settle there. De la Pole, a merchant of the neighbouring port of Ravensern, was one of the earliest of these immigrants; and Hull owes much of its greatness to his commercial genius and public spirit. Under his inspiration bricks were introduced from the Low Countries to build its walls and the great church: much of the latter yet remains. He rose to be esteemed the greatest merchant in England. Edward III. honoured him by visiting him at his house in Hull, and in time made him Chief Baron of his Exchequer, and a Knight Banneret. In the following reign we find him engaged, together with the most distinguished men in the kingdom, in affairs of state and foreign embassies. His son, who also began life as a merchant at Hull, was made by Richard II. Earl of Suffolk and Lord Chancellor. In the end a royal alliance raised the merchant's children to the height of power; and designs of a still more daring ambition at length brought about their headlong fall and ruin. William Cannynges, of Bristol, was another of these great merchants. On his monument in the magnificent church of St. Mary Redcliffe, of which he was the founder, it is recorded that on one occasion Edward IV. seized shipping of his to the amount of 2,470 tons, which included ships of 400, 500, and even 900 tons. Richard Whittington, the hero of the popular legend, was a London merchant, thrice Lord Mayor. He was not, however, of the humble origin stated by the legend, but a cadet of the landed family of Whittington, in Gloucestershire. What is the explanation of the story of his cat has not been satisfactorily made out by antiquaries. Munificence was one of the characteristics of these great merchants. De la Pole, we have seen, built the church at Hull; Cannynges founded one of the grandest parish churches yet remaining in all England; Whittington founded the College of the Holy Spirit and St. Mary, a charitable foundation which has long ceased to exist. Sir John Crosby was an alderman of London in the reign of Edward IV., and allied his family with the highest nobility. His house still remains in Bishopsgate, the only one left of the great city merchants' houses: Stowe describes it as very large and beautiful, and the highest at that time in London. Richard III. took up his residence and received his adherents there, when preparing for his usurpation of the crown. Monuments remaining to this day keep alive the memory of other great merchants, which would otherwise have perished. In the series of monumental brasses, several of the earliest and most sumptuous are memorials of merchants. There was an engraver of these monuments living in England in the middle of the fourteenth century, whose works in that style of art have not been subsequently surpassed: Gough calls him the "Cellini of the fourteenth century." He executed a grand effigy for Thomas Delamere, abbot of St. Alban's Abbey; and the same artist executed two designs, no less sumptuous and meritorious as works of art, for two merchants of the then flourishing town of Lynn, in Norfolk. One is to Adam de Walsokne, "formerly burgess of Lynn," who died in 1349 A.D., and Margaret his wife; it contains very artistically drawn effigies of the two persons commemorated, surmounted by an ornamental canopy on a diapered field. The other monumental brass represents Robert Braunche, A.D. 1364, and his two wives. A feature of peculiar interest in this design is a representation, running along the bottom, of an entertainment which Braunche, when mayor of Lynn, gave to King Edward III. There was still a third brass at Lynn, of similar character, of Robert Attelathe--now, alas! lost. Another monument, apparently by the same artist, exists at Newark, to the memory of Alan Fleming, a merchant, who died in 1361 A.D. Hundreds of churches yet bear traces of the munificence of these mediæval traders. The noble churches which still exist in what are now comparatively small places, in Lincolnshire, Norfolk, and Suffolk, are monuments of the merchants of the staple who lived in those eastern counties; and monuments, and merchants' marks, and sometimes inscriptions cut in stone or worked in flint-work in the fabrics themselves, afford data from which the local antiquary may glean something of their history. Many interesting traces of mediæval traders' houses remain too in out-of-the-way places, where they seem quite overlooked. The little town of Coggeshall, for example, is full of interesting bits of domestic architecture--the traces of the houses of the "Peacockes" and other families, merchants of the staple and clothmakers, who made it a flourishing town in the fifteenth century; the monumental brasses of some of them remain in the fine perpendicular church, which they probably rebuilt. Or, to go to the other side of the kingdom, at the little town of Northleach, among the Cotswold Hills, is a grand church, with evidences in the sculpture and monuments that the wool-merchants there contributed largely to its building. It contains an interesting series of small monumental brasses, which preserve their names and costumes, and those of their wives and children; and the merchants' marks which were painted on their woolpacks appear here as honourable badges on their monuments. There are traces of their old houses in the town. A general survey of all these historical facts and all these antiquarian remains will confirm the assertion with which we began this chapter, that at least from the early part of the fourteenth century downwards, the mediæval traders earned great wealth and spent it munificently, possessed considerable political influence, and occupied an honourable social position beside the military and ecclesiastical orders. We must not omit to notice the illustrations which our subject may derive from Chaucer's ever-famous gallery of characters. Here is the merchant of the Canterbury cavalcade of merry pilgrims:-- "A merchant was there with a forked beard, In mottély, and high on horse he sat, And on his head a Flaundrish beaver hat, His bote's clapsed fayre and fetisly,[408] His reasons spake he full solempnely, Sounding alway the increase of his winning, He would the sea were kept, for any thing, Betwixen Middleburgh and Orewell. Well could he in exchanges sheldes[409] sell, This worthy man full well his wit beset; There weste no wight that he was in debt, So steadfastly didde he his governance With his bargeines and with his chevisance,[410] Forsooth he was a worthy man withal; But, sooth to say, I n'ot how men him call."[411] Of the trader class our great author gives us also some examples:-- "An haberdasher and a carpenter, A webber, a dyer, and a tapiser, Were all yclothed in one livery, Of a solempne and great fraternitie, Full fresh and new their gear y-piked was Their knives were ychaped, not with brass. But all with silver wrought full clene and well, Their girdles and their pouches every deal. Well seemed each of them a fair burgess To sitten in a gild-hall on the dais. Each one for the wisdom that he can, Was likely for to be an alderman. For chattles hadden they enough and rent, And eke their wives would it well assent, And elles certainly they were to blame, It is full fair to be ycleped madame, And for to go to vigils all before, And have a mantle royally upbore." The figures on the next page from a monument to John Field, Alderman of London, and his son, are interesting and characteristic. Mr. Waller, from whose work on monumental brasses the woodcut is taken, has been able to discover something of the history of Alderman Field. John Field, senior, was born about the beginning of the fifteenth century, but nothing is known of his early life. In 1449 he had clearly risen to commercial eminence in London, since he was in that year appointed one of fifteen commissioners to treat with those of the Duke of Burgundy concerning the commercial interests of the two countries in general, and specially to frame regulations for the traffic in wool and wool-fells brought to the staple at Calais. Of these commissioners five were of London, three of Boston, three of Hull, and one of Ipswich. These names, says Mr. Waller, probably comprise the chief mercantile wealth and intelligence in the eastern ports of the kingdom at this period. In 1454 he was made sheriff, and subsequently was elected alderman, but never served the office of mayor; which, says the writer, may be accounted for by the fact that in the latter part of his life he was afflicted with bodily sickness, and on that ground in 1463 obtained a grant from the then lord mayor, releasing him from all civic services. The alderman acquired large landed estates in Kent and Hertfordshire, in which he was succeeded by his eldest son John, the original of the second effigy, who only survived his father the short term of three years. The brasses have been inlaid with colour; the alderman's gown of the father with red enamel, and its fur-lining indicated by white metal; the tabard of arms of the son is also coloured according to its proper heraldic blazoning--_gules_, between three eagles displayed _argent_, _guetté de sangue_, a fesse _or_. The unfinished inscription runs, "Here lyeth John Feld, sometyme alderman of London, a merchant of the stapull of Caleys, the which deceased the xvj day of August, in the yere of our Lord God mcccclxxiiij. Also her' lyeth John his son, squire, y{e} which deceased y{e} iiij day of May y{e} yere of".... The monumental slab is ornamented with four shields of arms: the first of the city of London, the second of the merchants of the staple, the third bears the alderman's merchant's-mark, and the fourth the arms which appear on the tabard of his son, the esquire, to whom, perhaps, they had been specially granted by the College of Arms. The father's costume is a long gown edged with fur, a leather girdle from which hang his gypcire (or purse) and rosary, over which is worn his alderman's gown. The son wears a full suit of armour of the time of Edward IV., with a tabard of his arms. The execution of the brass is unusually careful and excellent. [Illustration: _Monumental Brass of Alderman Field and his Son_, A.D. 1474.] The third woodcut, from the Harleian MS. 4,379, f. 64, represents the execution, in Paris, of a famous captain of robbers, Aymerigol Macel. The scaffold is enclosed by a hoarding; at the nearer corners are two friars, one in brown and one in black, probably a Franciscan and a Dominican; the official, who stands with his hands resting on his staff superintending the executioner, has a gown of red with sleeves lined with white fur, his bonnet is black turned up also with white fur. In the background are the timber houses on one side of the place, with the people looking out of their windows; a signboard will be seen standing forth from one of the houses. The groups of people in the distance and those in the foreground give the costumes of the ordinary dwellers in a fourteenth-century city. The man on the left has a pink short gown, trimmed with white fur; his hat, the two ends of a liripipe hanging over his shoulders, and his purse and his hose, are black. The man on his right has a long blue gown and red hat and liripipe; the man between them and a little in front, a brown long gown and black hat. The man on horseback on the left wears a very short green gown, red hose, and black hat; the footman on his left, a short green gown and red hat and liripipe; and the man on his left, a black jacket and black hat fringed. The man on horseback, with a foot-boy behind holding on by the horse's tail, has a pink long gown, black hat and liripipe, purse, and girdle; the one on the right of the picture, a long blue gown with red hat, liripipe, and purse. Just behind him (unhappily not included in the woodcut) is a touch of humour on the part of the artist. His foot-boy is stealing an apple out of the basket of an apple-woman, who wears a blue gown and red hood, with the liripipe tucked under her girdle; she has a basket of apples on each arm, and another on her head. Still further to the right is a horse whose rider has dismounted, and the foot-boy is sitting on the crupper behind the saddle holding the reins. [Illustration: _An Execution in Paris._] The last cut is taken from the painted glass at Tournay of the fifteenth century, and represents _marchands en gros_. This illustration of a warehouse with the merchant and his clerk, and the men and the casks and bales, and the great scales, in full tide of business, is curious and interesting. Chaucer once more, in the "Shipman's Tale," gives us an illustration of our subject. Speaking of a merchant of St. Denys, he says:-- "Up into his countour house goth he, To reken with himselvin, wel may be, Of thilke yere how that it with him stood, And how that he dispended had his good, And if that he encreased were or non. His bookes and his bagges many one He layeth before him on his counting bord. Ful riche was his tresor and his hord; For which ful fast his countour done he shet, And eke he n'olde no man shuld him let Of his accountes for the mene time; And thus he sat till it was passed prime." [Illustration: _Marchands en Gros, Fifteenth Century._] The counting-board was a board marked with squares, on which counters were placed in such a way as to facilitate arithmetical operations. We have also a picture of him setting out on a business journey attended by his apprentice:-- "But so bifell this marchant on a day Shope him to maken ready his array Toward the town of Brugges for to fare To byen there a portion of ware. * * * * * The morrow came, and forth this marchant rideth To Flaundersward, his prentis wel him gideth. Til he came into Brugges merily. Now goth this marchant fast and bisily About his nede, and bieth and creanceth; He neither playeth at the dis ne danceth, But as a marchant shortly for to tell He ledeth his lif, and ther I let him dwell." CHAPTER IV. MEDIÆVAL TRADE. It is difficult at first to believe it possible that the internal trade of mediæval England was carried on chiefly at great annual fairs for the wholesale business, at weekly markets for the chief towns, and by means of itinerant traders, of whom the modern pedlar is the degenerate representative, for the length and breadth of the country. In order to understand the possibility, we must recall to our minds how small comparatively was the population of the country. It was about two millions at the Norman Conquest, it had hardly increased to four millions by the end of the fifteenth century, it was only five millions in the time of William III. Nearly every one of our towns and villages then existed; but the London, and Bristol, and Norwich, and York of the fourteenth century, though they were relatively important places in the nation, were not one-tenth of the size of the towns into which they have grown. Manchester, and Leeds, and Liverpool, and a score of other towns, existed then, but they were mere villages; and the country population was thinly scattered over a half-reclaimed, unenclosed, pastoral country. To begin with the fairs. The king exercised the sole power of granting the right to hold a fair. It was sought by corporations, monasteries, and manorial lords, in order that they might profit, first by the letting of ground to the traders who came to dispose of their wares, next by the tolls which were levied on all merchandise brought for sale, and on the sales themselves; and then indirectly by the convenience of getting a near market for the produce the neighbourhood had to sell, and for the goods it desired to buy. The annexed woodcut, from the MS. Add. 24,189, represents passengers paying toll on landing at a foreign port, and perhaps belongs in strictness to an earlier part of our subject. The reader will notice the picturesque custom-house officers, the landing-places, and the indications of town architecture. The next illustration, from painted glass at Tournay (from La Croix and Seré's "Moyen Age et la Renaissance") shows a group of people crossing the bridge into a town, and the collector levying the toll. The oxen and pigs, the country-wife on horseback, with a lamb laid over the front of her saddle, represent the country-people and their farm-produce; the pack-horse and mule on the left, with their flat-capped attendant, are an interesting illustration of the itinerant trader bringing in his goods. The toll-collector seems to be, from his dress and bearing, a rather dignified official, and the countryman recognises it by touching his hat to him. The river and its wharves, and the boats moored alongside, and the indication of the town gates and houses, make up a very interesting sketch of mediæval life. [Illustration: _Passengers paying Toll._] [Illustration: _Traders entering a Town._] There were certain great fairs to which traders resorted from all parts of the country. The great fair at Nijni Novgorod, and in a lesser degree the fair of Leipsic, remain to help us to realise such gatherings as Bartholomew Fair used to be. Even now the great horse-fair at Horncastle, and the stock-fair at Barnet, may help us to understand how it answered the purpose of buyers and sellers to meet annually at one general rendezvous. The gathering into one centre of the whole stock on sale and the whole demand for it, was not only in other ways a convenience to buyers and sellers, but especially it regulated the general prices current of all vendibles, and checked the capricious variations which a fluctuating local supply and demand would have created in the then condition of the country and of commerce. The king sometimes, by capricious exercises of his authority in the subject of fairs, seriously interfered with the interests of those who frequented them--_e.g._ by granting license to hold a new fair which interfered with one already established; by licensing a temporary fair, and forbidding trade to be carried on elsewhere during its continuance. Thus in 1245 A.D. Henry II. proclaimed a fair at Westminster to be held for fifteen days, and required all the London traders to shut up their shops and bring their goods to the fair. It happened that the season was wet; few consequently came to the fair, and the traders' goods were injured by the rain which penetrated into their temporary tents and stalls. He repeated the attempt to benefit Westminster four years afterwards, with a similar result. Of course when great crowds were gathered together for days in succession, and money was circulating abundantly, there would be others who would seek a profitable market besides the great dealers in woolfels and foreign produce. The sellers of ribbands and cakes would be there, purveyors of food and drink for the hungry and thirsty multitude, caterers for the amusement of the people, minstrels and jugglers, exhibitors of morality-plays and morrice-dancers, and still less reputable people. And so, besides the men who came for serious business, there would be a mob of pleasure-seekers also. The crowd of people of all ranks and classes from every part of the country, with the consequent variety of costume in material, fashion, and colour--the knight's helm and coat of mail, or embroidered _jupon_ and plumed bonnet, the lady's furred gown and jewels, the merchant's sober suit of cloth, the minstrel's gay costume and the jester's motley, the monk's robe and cowl, and the peasant's smockfrock, continually in motion up and down the streets of the temporary canvas town, the music of the minstrels, the cries of the traders, the loud talk and laughter of the crowd--must have made up a picturesque scene, full of animation. When the real business of the country had found other channels, the fairs still continued--and in many places still continue--as mere "pleasure-fairs;" still the temporary stalls lining the streets, and the drinking-booths and shows, preserve something of the old usages and outward aspect, though, it must be confessed, they are dreary, desolate relics of what the mediæval fairs used to be. The fair was usually proclaimed by sound of trumpet, before which ceremony it was unlawful to begin traffic, or after the conclusion of the legal term for which the fair was granted. A court of _pie-poudre_ held its sittings for the cognizance of offences committed in the fair. Many of our readers will remember the spirited description of such a fair in Sir Walter Scott's novel of "The Betrothed." In the great towns were shops in which retail trade was daily carried on, but under very different conditions from those of modern times. The various trades seem to have been congregated together, and the trading parts of the town were more concentrated than is now the case; in both respects resembling the bazaars of Eastern towns. Thus in London the tradesmen had shops in the Cheap, which resembled sheds, and many of them were simply stalls. But they did not limit themselves to their dealings there; they travelled about the country also. The mercers dealt in toys, drugs, spices, and small wares generally; their stocks being of the same miscellaneous description as that of a village-shop of the present day. The station of the mercers of London was between Bow Church and Friday Street, and here round the old cross of Cheap they sold their goods at little standings or stalls, surrounded by those belonging to other trades. The trade of the modern grocer was preceded by that of the pepperer, which was often in the hands of Lombards and Italians, who dealt also in drugs and spices. The drapers were originally manufacturers of cloth; to drape meaning to make cloth. The trade of the fishmonger was divided into two branches, one of which dealt exclusively in dried fish, then a very common article of food. The goldsmiths had their shops in the street of Cheap; but fraudulent traders of their craft, and not members of their guild, set up shops in obscure lanes, where they sold goods of inferior metal. A list of the various trades and handicrafts will afford a general idea of the trade of the town. Before the 50th of Edward III. (1376 A.D.) the "mysteries" or trades of London, who elected the Common Council of the city, were thirty-two in number; but they were increased by an ordinance of that year to forty-eight, which were as follows:--grocers, masons, ironmongers, mercers, brewers, leather-dressers, drapers, fletchers, armourers, fishmongers, bakers, butchers, goldsmiths, skinners, cutlers, vintners, girdlers, spurriers, tailors, stainers, plumbers, saddlers, cloth-measurers, wax-chandlers, webbers, haberdashers, barbers, tapestry-weavers, braziers, painters, leather-sellers, salters, tanners, joiners, cappers, pouch-makers, pewterers, chandlers, hatters, woodmongers, fullers, smiths, pinners, curriers, horners. As a specimen of a provincial town we may take Colchester. A detailed description of this town in the reign of Edward III. shows that it contained only 359 houses, some built of mud, others of timber. None of the houses had any but latticed windows. The town-hall was of stone, with handsome Norman doorway. It had also a royal castle, three or more religious houses--one a great and wealthy abbey--several churches, and was surrounded by the old Roman wall. The number of inhabitants was about three thousand. Yet Colchester was the capital of a large district of country, and there were only about nine towns in England of greater importance. In the year 1301 all the movable property of the town, including the furniture and clothing of the inhabitants, was estimated, for the purpose of a taxation, to be worth £518, and the details give us a curious picture of the times. The tools of a carpenter consisted of a broad axe, value 5_d._, another 3_d._, an adze 2_d._, a square 1_d._, a _noveyn_ (probably a spokeshave) 1_d._, making the total value of his tools 1_s._ The tools and stock of a blacksmith were valued at only a few shillings, the highest being 12_s._ The stock-in-trade and household goods of a tanner were estimated at £9 17_s._ 10_d._ A mercer's stock was valued at £3, his household property at £2 9_s._ The trades carried on there were the twenty-nine following:--Baker, barber, blacksmith, bowyer, brewer, butcher, carpenter, carter, cobbler, cook, dyer, fisherman, fuller, furrier, girdler, glass-seller, glover, linen-draper, mercer and spice-seller, miller, mustard and vinegar seller, old clothes-seller, tailor, tanner, tiler, weaver, wood-cutter, and wool-comber. Our woodcut, from the MS. Add. 27,695, which has already supplied us with several valuable illustrations, represents a mediæval shop of a high class, probably a goldsmith's. The shopkeeper eagerly bargaining with his customer is easily recognised, the shopkeeper's clerk is making an entry of the transaction, and the customer's servant stands behind him, holding some of his purchases; flagons and cups and dishes seem to be the principal wares; heaps of money lie on the table, which is covered with a handsome tablecloth, and in the background are hung on a "perch," for sale, girdles, a hand-mirror, a cup, a purse, and sword. [Illustration: _A Goldsmith's Shop._] Here, from "Le Pélerinage de la Vie Humaine," in the French National Library,[412] is another illustration of a mediæval shop. This is a mercer's, and the merceress describes her wares in the following lines:-- "Quod sche, 'Gene[413] I schal the telle Mercerye I have to selle In boystes,[414] soote oynementes,[415] Therewith to don allegementes[416] To ffolkes which be not gladde, But discorded and malade. I have kyves, phylletys, callys, At ffestes to hang upon walles; Kombes no mo than nyne or ten, Bothe for horse and eke ffor men; Mirrours also, large and brode, And ffor the syght wonder gode; Off hem I have ffull greet plenté, For ffolke that haven volunté Byholde himselffe therynne.'" In some provincial towns, as Nottingham, the names of several of the streets bear witness to an aggregation of traders of the same calling. Bridlesmith Gate was clearly the street in which the knights and yeomen of the shire resorted for their horse-furniture and trappings, and in the open stalls of Fletcher Gate sheaves of arrows were hung up for sale to the green-coated foresters of neighbouring Sherwood. The only trace of the custom we have left is in the butcheries and shambles which exist in many of our towns, where the butchers' stalls are still gathered together in one street or building. [Illustration: _French National Library._] But the greater part of the trade of the towns was transacted on market-days. Then the whole neighbourhood flocked in, the farmers to sell their farm produce, their wives and daughters with their poultry and butter and eggs for the week's consumption of the citizens, and to carry back with them their town-purchases. In every market-town there was usually a wide open space--the market-place--for the accommodation of this weekly traffic; in the principal towns were several market-places, appropriated to different kinds of produce: _e.g._ at Nottingham, besides the principal market-place--a vast open space in the middle of the town, surrounded by overhanging houses supported on pillars, making open colonnades like those of an Italian town--there was a "poultry" adjoining the great market, and a "butter-cross" in the middle of a small square, in which it is assumed the women displayed their butter. In an old-fashioned provincial market-town, the market-day is still the one day in the week on which the streets are full of bustle and the shops of business, while on the other days of the week the town stagnates; it must have been still more the case in the old times of which we write. In some instances there seems reason to think a weekly market was held in places which had hardly any claim to be called towns--mere villages, on whose green the neighbourhood assembled for the weekly market. Round the green, perhaps, a few stalls and booths were erected for the day; pedlars probably supplied the shop element; and artificers from neighbouring towns came in for the day, as in some of our villages now the saddler and the shoemaker and the watchmaker attend once a week to do the makings and mendings which are required. There are still to be seen in a few old-fashioned towns and remote country places market-crosses in the market-place or on the village-green. They usually consist of a tall cross of stone, round the lower part of whose shaft a penthouse of stone or wood has been erected to shelter the market-folks from rain and sun. There is such a cross at Salisbury; a good example of a village market-cross at Castle Combe, in Gloucestershire, one of wood at Shelford, in Cambridgeshire, and many others up and down the country, well worthy of being collected and illustrated by the antiquary before they are swept away. Our illustration, from the painted glass at Tournay, represents a market scene, the women sitting on their low stools, with their baskets of goods displayed on the ground before them. The female on the left seems to be filling up her time by knitting; the woman on the right is paying her market dues to the collector, who, as in the cut on p. 505, is habited as a clerk. The background appears to represent a warehouse, where transactions of a larger kind are going on. [Illustration: _A Market Scene._] But the inhabitants of rural districts were not altogether dependent on a visit to the nearest market for their purchases. The pursuit of gain enlisted the services of numerous itinerant traders, who traversed the land in all directions, calling at castle and manor house, monastery, grange, and cottage; and by the tempting display of pretty objects, and the handy supply of little wants, brought into healthy circulation many a silver penny which would otherwise have jingled longer in the owner's _gypcire_, or rested in the hoard in the homely stocking-foot. An entry in that mine of curious information, the York Fabric Rolls, reveals an incident in the pedlar's mode of dealing. It is a presentation, that is, a complaint, made to the Archbishop by the churchwardens of the parish of Riccall, in Yorkshire, under the date 1519 A.D. They represent, in the dog-Latin of the time: "_Item, quod Calatharii_ (_Anglice_ Pedlars), _veniunt diebus festis in porticum ecclesiæ et ibidem vendunt mercimonium suum_." That _Calatharii_--that is to say, Pedlars--come into the church-porch on feast-days, and there sell their merchandise. From another entry in the same records it seems that sometimes the chapmen congregated in such numbers that the gathering assumed the proportions of an irregular weekly market. Thus among the presentations in 1416, is one from St. Michael de Berefredo, St. Michael-le-Belfry, in the city of York, which states, "The parishioners say that a common market of vendibles is held in the churchyard on Sundays and holidays, and divers things and goods and rushes are exposed there for sale." The complaint is as early as the fourth century; for we find St. Basil mentioning as one abuse of the great church-festivals, that men kept markets at these times and places under colour of making better provision for the feasts which were kept thereat. The presentation from Riccall carries us back into the old times, and enables us to realise a picturesque and curious incident in their primitive mode of life. A little consideration will enable us to see how such a practice arose, and how it could be tolerated by people who had at least so much respect for religion as to come to church on Sundays and holidays. When we call to mind the state of the country districts, half reclaimed, half covered with forest and marsh and common, traversed chiefly by footpaths and bridle-roads, we shall understand how isolated a life was led by the inhabitants of the country villages and hamlets, and farmhouses and out-lying cottages. It was only on Sundays and holidays that neighbours met together. On those days the goodman mounted one of his farm-horses, put his dame behind him on a pillion, and jogged through deep and miry ways to church, while the younger and poorer came sauntering along the footpaths. One may now stand in country churchyards on a Sunday afternoon, and watch the people coming in all directions, across the fields, under copse, and over common, climbing the rustic styles, crossing the rude bridge formed by a tree-trunk thrown over the sparkling trout-stream, till all the lines converge at the church porch. And one has felt that those paths--many of them ploughed up every year and made every year afresh by the feet of the wayfarer--are among the most venerable relics of ancient times. And here among the ancient laws of Wales is one which assures us that our conjecture is true: "Every habitation," it says, "ought to have two good paths (convenient right of road), one to its church, and one to its watering-place." Very pleasant in summer these church-paths to the young folks who saunter along them in couples or in groups, but very disagreeable in wet wintery weather, and in difficult at all times to the old and infirm. Another presentation out of the York Fabric Rolls, gives us a contemporary picture of these church paths, seen under a gloomy aspect: In A.D. 1472, the people of Haxley complain to the Archdeacon that they "inhabit so unresonablie fer from ther parisch cherche that the substaunce (majority) of the said inhabitauntes for impotensaye and feblenes, farrenes (farness == distance) of the way, and also for grete abundance of waters and perlouse passages at small brigges for peple in age and unweldye, between them and ther next parische cherche, they may not come with ese or in seasonable tyme at ther saide parische cherche as Cristen people should, and as they wold," and so they pray for leave and help for a chaplain of their own. We must remember, too, that our ante-Reformation forefathers did not hold modern doctrines concerning the proper mode of observing Sundays and holydays. They observed them more in the way which makes us still call a day of leisure and recreation a "holiday;" they observed them all in much the same spirit as we still observe some of them, such as Christmas-day and Whitsuntide. When they had duly served God at _matins_ and mass, they thought it no sin to spend the rest of the day in lawful occupations, and rather laudable than otherwise to spend it in innocent recreations. The Riccall presentation gives us a picture which, no doubt, might have been seen in many another country-place on a Sunday or saint-day. The pedlar lays down his pack in the church-porch--and we will charitably suppose assists at the service--and then after service he is ready to spread out his wares on the bench of the porch before the eyes of the assembled villagers and make his traffickings, ecclesiastical canons to the contrary notwithstanding, and so save himself many a weary journey along the devious ways by which his customers have to return in the evening to their scattered homes. The complaint of the churchwardens does not seem to be directed against the traffic so much as against its being conducted in the consecrated precincts. Let the pedlar transfer his wares to the steps of the village-cross, and probably no one would have complained; but then, though they who wanted anything might have sought him there, he would have lost the chance of catching the eye of those who did not want anything, and tempting them to want and buy--a course for which we must not blame our pedlar too much, since we are told it is the essence of commerce, on a large as on a small scale, to create artificial wants and supply them. In the late thirteenth-century MS. Royal, 10 Ed. IV., are some illuminations of a mediæval story, which afford us very curious illustrations of a pedlar and his pack. At f. 149, the pedlar is asleep under a tree, and monkeys are stealing his pack, which is a large bundle, bound across and across with rope, with a red strap attached to the rope by which it is slung over the shoulder. On the next page the monkeys have opened the wrapper, showing that it covered a kind of box, and the mischievous creatures are running off with the contents, among which we can distinguish a shirt and some circular mirrors. On f. 150, the monkeys have conveyed their spoil up into the tree, and we make out a purse and belt, a musical pipe, a belt and dagger, a pair of slippers, a hood and gloves, and a mirror. On the next page, a continuation of the same subject, we see a pair of gloves, a man's hat, a woman's head-kerchief; and again, on p. 151, we have, in addition, hose, a mirror, a woman's head-dress, and a man's hood. These curious illuminations sufficiently indicate the usual contents of a pedlar's pack. [Illustration: _Pack-horses._] In the Egerton MS., 1,070, of the fourteenth century, at f. 380, is a representation of the flight into Egypt, in which Joseph is represented carrying a round pack by a stick over the shoulder, which probably illustrates the usual mode of carrying a pack or a pedestrian's personal luggage. Other illustrations of the pedlar of the latter part of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries will be found in the series of the Dance of Death. A former illustration has shown us a pack-horse and mule, the means by which those itinerant traders chiefly carried their merchandise over the country. But some kinds of goods would not bear packing into ordinary bundles of the kind there shown; for such goods, boxes or trunks, slung on each side of a pack-saddle, were used. We are able to give an illustration of them from an ancient tapestry figured in the fine work on "Anciennes Tapisseries" by Achille Jubinal. It is only a minor incident in the background of the picture, but is represented with sufficient clearness. Another mode of carrying personal baggage is represented in the fifteenth-century MS. Royal, 15 E. V., where a gentleman travelling on horseback is followed by two servants, each with a large roll of baggage strapped to the croupe of his saddle. The use of pack-horses has not even yet (or had not a few years ago) utterly died out of England. The writer saw a string of them in the Peak of Derbyshire, employed in carrying ore from the mines. The occasional occurrence of the pack-horse as the sign of a roadside inn also helps to keep alive the remembrance of this primitive form of "luggage-train." Many of our readers may have travelled with a valise at their saddle-bow and a cloak strapped to the croupe; the fashion, even now, is not quite out of date. CHAPTER V. COSTUME. We have, in a former chapter, given some pictures from illuminated MSS., in illustration of the costume and personal appearance of the merchants of the Middle Ages; but they are on such a scale as not to give much characteristic portraiture--except in the example of the bourgeoise of Paris, in the illumination from Froissart, on page 492--and they inadequately represent the minute details of costume. We shall endeavour in this chapter to bring our men more vividly before the eye of the reader in dress and feature. The "Catalogus Benefactorum" of St. Alban's Abbey, to which we have been so often indebted, will again help us with some pictures of unusual character. They are of the fourteenth century, and illustrate people of the burgess class who were donors to the abbey; the peculiarity of the representation is, that they are half-length portraits on an unusually large scale for MS. illuminations. When we call them portraits, we do not mean absolutely to assert that the originals sat for their pictures, and that the artist tried to make as accurate a portrait as he could; but it is probable that the donations were recorded and the pictures executed soon after the gifts were made, therefore, presumedly, in the lifetime of the donors. It is, moreover, probable that the artist was resident in the monastery or in the dependent town, and was, consequently, acquainted with the personal appearance of his originals; and in that case, even if the artist had not his subjects actually before his eyes at the time he painted these memorials, it is likely that he would, at least from recollection, give a general _vraisemblance_ to his portrait. The faces are very dissimilar, and all have a characteristic expression, which confirms us in the idea that they are not mere conventional portraits. They seem to be chiefly tradespeople rather than merchants of the higher class, and of the latter half of the fourteenth century. Here, for example, are William Cheupaign and his wife Johanna, who gave to the Abbey-church two tenements in the Halliwelle Street. One of the tenements is represented in the picture, a single-storied house of timber, thatched, with a carved stag's head as a finial to its gable. This William also gave, for the adornment of the church, several frontals, with gold, roses embroidered on a black ground; also he gave a belt to make a _morse_ (fastening or brooch) for the principal copes, with a figure of a swan in the _morse_, beautifully made of goldsmith's work; also he gave to the refectory a wooden drinking-bowl or cup, handsomely ornamented with silver, with a cover of the same wood. He wears a green hood lined with red; his wife is habited in a white hood. [Illustration: _William and Johanna Cheupaign._] The next picture represents Johanna de Warn, who also gave what is described as a well-built house, with a louvre, in St. Alban's town. This house, again, is of timber, with traceried windows, an arched doorway with ornamental hinges to the door, and an unusually large and handsome louvre. This louvre was doubtless in the roof of the hall, and probably over a fire-hearth in the middle of the hall, such as that which still exists in the fourteenth-century hall at Pevensey, Kent. The lady's face is strong corroboration of the theory that these are portraits. [Illustration: _Johanna de Warn._] Next is the portrait of a man in a robe, fastened in front with great buttons, and a hood drawn round a strongly marked face, reminding us altogether of the portraits of Dante. [Illustration: _A Gentleman in Civilian Dress._] The last which we take from this curious series is the picture of William de Langley, who gave to the monastery a well-built house in Dagnale Street, in the town of St. Alban's, for which the monastery received sixty shillings per annum, which Geoffrey Stukeley held at the time of writing. William de Langley is a man of regular features, partly bald, with pointed beard and moustache, the kind of face that might so easily have been merely conventional, but which has really much individuality of expression. The house--his benefaction--represented beside him, is a two-storied house; three of the square compartments just under the eaves are seen, by the colouring of the illumination, to be windows; it is timber-built and tiled, and the upper story overhangs the lower. The gable is finished with a weather-vane, which, in the original, is carried beyond the limits of the picture. The dots in the empty spaces of all these pictures are the diapering of the coloured background. [Illustration: _William de Langley._] But curious as these early portraits are, and interesting for their character and for their costume, as far as they go, they still fail to give us complete illustrations of the dresses of the people. For these we shall have to resort to a class of illustrations which we have hitherto, for the most part, avoided--that of monumental brasses. Now we recur to them because they give us what we want--the _minutiæ_ of costume--in far higher perfection than we can find it elsewhere. Again, instead of selecting one from one part of the country and another from another, we have thought that it would add interest to the series of illustrations to take as many as possible from one church, whose grave-stones happen to furnish us with a continuous series at short intervals of the effigies of the men who once inhabited the old houses of the town of Northleach, in Gloucestershire. This series, however, does not go back so far as the earliest extant monumental brass of a merchant; we therefore take a first example from another source. We have already mentioned the three grand effigies of Robert Braunche and Adam Walsokne of Lynne, and Alan Fleming of Newark; we select from them the effigy of Robert Braunche, merchant of Lynn, of date 1367 A.D. We have taken his single figure out of the grand composition which forms, perhaps, the finest monumental brass in existence. The costume is elegantly simple. A tunic reaches to the ankle, with a narrow line of embroidery at the edges; the sleeves do not reach to the elbow, but fall in two hanging lappets, while the arm is seen to be covered by the tight sleeves of an under garment, ornamented rather than fastened by a close row of buttons from the elbow to the wrist. Over the tunic is a hood, which covers the upper part of the person, while the head part falls behind. The hood in this example fits so tightly to the figure that the reader might, perhaps, think it doubtful whether it is really a second garment over the tunic; but in the contemporary and very similar effigy of Adam de Walsokne, it is quite clear that it is a hood. The plain leather shoes laced across the instep will also be noticed. If the reader should happen to compare this woodcut with the engraving of the same figure in Boutell's "Monumental Brasses," he will, perhaps, be perplexed by finding that the head here given is different from that which he will find there. We beg to assure him that our woodcut is correct. Mr. Boutell's artist, by some curious error, has given to his drawing of Braunche the head of Alan Fleming of Newark; and to Fleming he has given Braunche's head. We feel quite sure that every one of artistic feeling will be thankful for being made acquainted with the accompanying effigy of a merchant of Northleach, whose inscription is lost, and his name, therefore, unknown. The brass is of the highest merit as a work of art, and has been very carefully and accurately engraved, and is worthy of minute examination. The costume, which is of about the year 1400 A.D., it will be seen, consists of a long robe buttoned down the front, girded with a highly-ornamented belt; the enlarged plate at the end of the strap is ornamented with a T, probably the initial of the wearer's Christian name. By his side hangs the _anlace_, or dagger, which was worn by all men of the middle class who did not wear a sword, even by the secular clergy. Over all is a cloak, which opens at the right side, so as to give as much freedom as possible to the right arm, and to this cloak is attached a hood, which falls over the shoulders. The hands are covered with half gloves. The wool-pack at his feet shows his trade of wool-merchant. Over the effigy is an elegant canopy, which it is not necessary for our purpose to give, but it adds very much to the beauty and sumptuousness of the monument. [Illustration: _Robert Braunche, of Lynn._] [Illustration: _Wool Merchant from Northleach Church._] Next in the series is John Fortey, A.D. 1458, whose costume is not so elegant as that of the last figure, but it is as distinctly represented. The tunic is essentially the same, but shorter, reaching only to the mid-leg; with sleeves of a peculiar shape which, we know from other contemporary monuments, was fashionable at that date. It is fastened with a girdle, though a less ornamental one than that of the preceding figure, and is lined and trimmed at the wrists with fur. Very similar figures of Hugo Bostock and his wife, in Wheathamstead Church, Herts, are of date 1435; these latter effigies are specially interesting as the parents of John de Wheathamstede, the thirty-third abbot of St. Alban's. [Illustration: _John Fortey, from Northleach Church._] The next is an interesting figure, though far inferior in artistic merit and beauty to those which have gone before. The name here again is lost, but a fragment remaining of the inscription gives the date MCCCC., with a blank for the completion of the date; the same is the case with the date of his wife's death, so that both effigies may have been executed in the lifetime of the persons. The date is probably a little later than 1400. The face is so different from the previous ones that it may not be unnecessary to say that great pains have been taken to make it an accurate copy of the original, and it has been drawn and engraved by the same hand as the others. The manifest endeavour to indicate that the deceased was an elderly man, induces us to suspect that some of its peculiarity may arise from its being not a mere conventional brass, such as the monumental brass artists doubtless "kept to order," but one specially executed with a desire to make it more nearly resemble the features of the deceased. If, as we have conjectured, it was executed in his lifetime, this, perhaps, may account for its differing from the conventional type. His dress is the gown worn by civilians at the period, with a _gypcire_, or purse, hung at one side of his girdle, and his rosary at the other. [Illustration: _Wool Merchants from Northleach Church._] Lastly, we give the effigy of another nameless wool-merchant of Northleach, who is habited in a gown of rather stiffer material than the robes of his predecessors, trimmed with fur at the neck and feet and wrists. The inscription recording his name and date of death is lost, but a curious epitaph, also engraved on the brass, remains, as follows:-- "Farewell my frends, the tyde abideth no man, I am departed from hence, and so shall ye; But in this passage the best songe that I can Is requiem eternam. Now then graunte it me, When I have ended all myn adversitie, Graunte me in Puradise to have a mansion, That shed thy blode for my redemption." The mention of fur in these effigies suggests the restrictions in this matter imposed by the sumptuary laws by which the king and his advisers sought from time to time to restrain the extravagance of the lieges. By the most important of these acts, passed in 1362, the Lord Mayor of London and his wife were respectively allowed to wear the array of knights bachelors and their wives; the aldermen and recorder of London, and the mayors of other cities and towns, that of esquires and gentlemen having property to the yearly value of £40. No man having less than this, or his wife or daughter, shall wear any fur of martrons (martin's?) letuse, pure grey, or pure miniver. Merchants, citizens, and burgesses, artificers and people of handicraft, as well within the City of London as elsewhere, having goods and chattels of the clear value of £500, are allowed to dress like esquires and gentlemen of £100 a year; and those possessing property to the amount of £1,000, like landed proprietors of £200 a year. There are some further features in these monumental brasses worth notice. Knightly effigies often have represented at their feet lions, the symbols of their martial courage. Some of our wool-merchants have a sheep at their feet, as the symbol of their calling: one is given in the woodcut accompanying. In another, in the same church, the merchant has one foot on a sheep and the other on a wool-pack; here the two significant symbols are combined--the sheep stands on the wool-pack. In both examples the wool-pack has a mark upon it; in the former case it is something like the usual "merchant's mark," in the latter it is two shepherds' crooks, which seem to be his badge, for another crook is laid beside the wool-pack. At the feet of the effigy of John Fortey, p. 523, is also his merchant's mark enclosed in an elegant wreath, here represented. The initials I and F are the initials of his name; the remainder of the device is his trade-mark. We give two other merchants' marks of the two last of our series of effigies. If the reader cares to see other examples of these marks, and to learn all the little that is known about them, he may refer to a paper by Mr. Ewing, in vol. iii. of "Norfolk Archæology." [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] We have in a former chapter (p. 498) given from his monumental brass a figure of Alderman Field, of the date 1574, habited in a tunic edged with fur, girded at the waist, with a _gypcire_ and rosary at the girdle, and over all an alderman's gown. In St. Paul's Church, Bedford, is another brass of Sir William Harper, Knight, Alderman, and Lord Mayor of London,[417] who died in A.D. 1573; he wears a suit of armour of that date, with an alderman's robe forming a drapery about the figure, but thrown back so as to conceal as little of the figure as possible. In the Abbey Church at Shrewsbury is an effigy of a mayor of that town in armour, with a mayor's gown of still more modern shape. The brasses of Sir M. Rowe, Lord Mayor of London, 1567, and Sir H. Rowe, Lord Mayor 1607, both kneeling figures, formerly in Hackney Church, are engraved in Robinson's history of that parish. And in many of the churches in and about London, and other of the great commercial towns of the Middle Ages, monumental effigies exist, with which, were it necessary, we might extend these notes of illustrations of civic costume. In further explanation of civil costume from MSS. illuminations we refer the artist to the Harleian "Romance of the Rose" (Harl. 4,425, f. 47), where he will find a beautiful drawing, in which appears a man in a long blue gown, open a little at the breast and showing a pink under-robe, a black hat, and a liripipe of the kind already given in the citizens of Paris p. 54; he wears his purse by his side, and is presenting money to a beggar. At f. 98 is another in similar costume, with a "penner" at his belt in addition to his purse. There is nothing to prove that these men are merchants, except that they are represented in the streets of a town, and that their costume is such as was worn by merchants of the time. With these costumes of civilians before our eyes we wish to use them in illustration of a subject which was touched upon in a former section of this work, viz., the Secular Clergy of the Middle Ages. We there devoted some pages to a discussion of the ordinary every-day costume of the clergy, and stated that there was no professional peculiarity about it, but that it was in shape like that worn by contemporary civilians of the better class, and in colour blue and red and other colours, but seldom black. If the reader will turn back to pp. 244, 245, and 246, he will find some woodcuts of the clergy in ordinary costume; let him compare them now with these costumes of merchants. For example, take the woodcut of Roger the Chaplain, on p. 245, and compare it with the brass from Northleach, p. 522. The style of art is very different, but in spite of this the resemblance in costume will be readily seen; the gown reaching to the ankle, and over it the cloak fastened with three buttons at the right shoulder, with the hood falling back over the shoulders; the half-gloves are the same in both, and the shoes with their latchet over the instep. Then turn to the priest on p. 246, and it will be seen that he wears the gown girded at the waist, with a purse hung at the girdle, and the flat cap with long liripipe, which we have described in the costumes of these merchants. Lastly, let the reader look at these brasses of wool-staplers, and compare the gown they wore with the cassock now adopted by the clergy, and it will be seen that they are identical--_i.e._ the clergy continue to wear the gown which all civilians wore three or four hundred years ago; and in the same manner the academic gown which the clergy wear, in common with all university men, is only the gown which all respectable citizens wore in the time of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. CHAPTER VI. MEDIÆVAL TOWNS. Mediæval towns in England had one of four origins; some were those of ancient Roman foundation, which had lived through the Saxon invasion, like Lincoln, Chester, and Colchester. Others again grew up gradually in the neighbourhood of a monastery. The monastery was founded in a wilderness, but it had a number of artisans employed about it; travellers resorted to its _hospitium_ as to an inn; it was perhaps a place of pilgrimage; the affairs of the Lord Abbot, and the business of the large estates of the convent, brought people constantly thither; and so gradually a town grew up, as at St. Alban's, St. Edmundsbury, &c. In other cases it was not a religious house, but a castle of some powerful and wealthy lord, which drew a population together under the shelter of its walls--as at Norwich, where the lines of the old streets follow the line of the castle-moat; or Ludlow, on the other side of the kingdom, which gathered round the Norman Castle of Ludlow. But there is a third category of mediæval towns which did not descend from ancient times, or grow by accidental accretion in course of time, but were deliberately founded and built in the mediæval period for specific purposes; and in these we have a special interest from our present point of view. There was a period, beginning in the latter part of the eleventh and extending to the close of the fourteenth century, when kings and feudal lords, from motives of high policy, fostered trade with anxious care; encouraged traders with countenance, protection, and grants of privileges; and founded commercial towns, and gave them charters which made them little independent, self-governing republics, in the midst of the feudal lords and ecclesiastical communities which surrounded them. In England we do not find so many of these newly founded towns as on the Continent; here towns were already scattered abundantly over the land, and what was needed was to foster their growth; but our English kings founded such towns in their continental dominions. Edward I. planted numerous free towns, especially in Guienne and Aquitaine, in order to raise up a power in his own interest antagonistic to that of the feudal lords. Other continental sovereigns did the same, _e.g._ Alphonse of Poitiers, the brother of St. Louis, in his dominion of Toulouse. But in England we have a few such cases. The history of the foundation of Hull will afford us an example. When Edward I. was returning from Scotland after the battle of Dunbar, he visited Lord Wakes of Barnard Castle. While hunting one day, he was led by the chase to the hamlet of Wyke-upon-Hull, belonging to the convent of Meaux. The king perceived at once the capabilities of the site for a fortress for the security of the kingdom, and a port for the extension of commerce. He left the hunt to take its course, questioned the shepherds who were on the spot about the depth of the river, the height to which the tides rose, the owner of the place, and the like. He sent for the Abbot of Meaux, and exchanged with him other lands for Wyke. Then he issued a proclamation offering freedom and great commercial privileges to all merchants who would build and inhabit there. He erected there a manor-house for himself; incorporated the town as a free borough in 1299 A.D.; by 1312 the great church was built; by 1322 the town was fortified with a wall and towers; and the king visited it from time to time on his journeys to the north. The family of De la Pole, who settled there from the first, ably seconded the king's intentions. Kingston-upon-Hull became one of the great commercial towns of the kingdom. The De la Poles rose rapidly to wealth and the highest rank. Michael de la Pole "builded a goodly-house of brick, against the west end of St. Mary's Church, like a palace, with a goodly orchard and garden at large, enclosed with brick. He builded also three houses in the town besides, whereof every one hath a tower of brick." Leland the antiquary, of the time of Queen Elizabeth, has left us a description and bird's-eye plan of the town in his day, which is highly interesting. Of our English towns, those which are of Roman origin were laid out at first on a comprehensive plan, and they have the principal streets tolerably straight, and crossing at right angles. The great majority of the towns which grew as above described are exceedingly irregular; but this irregularity, so important an element in the picturesqueness of mediæval towns, is quite an accidental one. When the mediæval builders laid out a town _de novo_, they did it in the most methodical manner; laying out the streets wide, straight, at equal distances, and crossing rectangularly; appropriating proper sites for churches, town-halls, and other public purposes, and regulating the size and plan of the houses. It is to the continental towns we must especially look for examples; but we find when Edward I. was building his free towns there, he sent for Englishmen to lay them out for him. A similar opportunity occurred at Winchelsea, where the same plan was pursued. The old town of Winchelsea was destroyed by the sea in 1287, and the king determined to rebuild this cinque-port. The chief owners of the new site were a knight, Sir J. Tregoz, one Maurice, and the owners of Battle Abbey. The king compounded with them for their rights over seventy acres of land, and sent down the Bishop of Ely, who was Lord Treasurer, to lay out the new town. The monarch accorded the usual privileges to settlers, and gave help towards the fortifications. The town was laid out in streets which divided the area into rectangular blocks; two blocks were set apart for churches, and there were two colleges of friars within the town. Somehow the place did not flourish; it was harried by incursions of the French before the fortifications were completed, people were not attracted to it, the whole area was never taken up, and it continues to this day shrunk up into one corner of its walled area. Three of the old gates, and part of the walls, and portions of three or four houses, are all that remain of King Edward's town. [Illustration: _View of Jerusalem._] [Illustration: _The Canterbury Pilgrims._] The woodcut on the preceding page, from a MS. of Lydgate's "Storie of Thebes" (Royal 18 D. II.), gives a general view of a town. The travellers in the foreground are a group of Canterbury pilgrims. In these mediæval times the population of these towns was not so diverse as it afterwards became; the houses were of various classes, from that of the wealthy merchant, which was a palace--like that of Michael de la Pole at Hull, or that of Sir John Crosby in London--down to the cottage of the humble craftsman, but the mediæval town possessed no such squalid quarters as are to be found in most of our modern towns. The inhabitants were chiefly merchants, manufacturers, and craftsmen of the various guilds. Just as in the military order, all who were permanently attached to the service of a feudal lord were lodged in his castle or manor and its dependencies; as all who were attached to a religious community were lodged in and about the monastery; as in farm-houses, a century ago, the labouring men lived in the house; so in towns all the clerks, apprentices, and work-people lodged in the house of their master; the apprentices of every craftsman formed part of his family; there were no lodgings in the usual sense of the word. In the great towns, and especially in the suburbs, were hostelries which received travellers, adventurers, minstrels, and all the people who had no fixed establishment; and often in the outskirts of the town without the walls, houses of inferior kind sprang up like parasites, and harboured the poor and dangerous classes. The bird's-eye views of the county towns in the corners of Speed's _Maps of the most famous Places of the World_, are well worth study. They give representations of the condition of many of our towns in the time of Elizabeth, while they were still for the most part in their ancient condition, with walls and gates, crosses, pillories, and maypoles still standing, and indicated in the engravings. Perhaps one of the most perfect examples we have left of a small mediæval town is Conway; it is true, no very old houses appear to be left in it, but the streets are probably on their old lines, and the walls and gates are perfect--the latter, especially, giving us some picturesque features which we do not find remaining in the gates of other towns. Taken in combination with the adjoining castle it is architecturally one of the most unchanged corners of England. We have also a few old houses still left here and there, sufficient to form a series of examples of various dates, from the twelfth century downwards. We must refer the reader to Turner's "Domestic Architecture" for notices of them. A much greater number of examples, and in much more perfect condition, exist in the towns of the Continent, for which reference should be made to Viollet le Duc's "Dictionary of Architecture." All that our plan requires, and our space admits, is to give a general notion of what a citizen's house in a mediæval town was like. The houses of wealthy citizens were no doubt mansions comparable with the unembattled manor-houses of the country gentry. We have already quoted Leland's description of that of Michael de la Pole at Hull, of the fourteenth century, and Crosby Hall in Bishopsgate Street. St. Mary's Hall, at Coventry, is a very perfect example of the middle of the fifteenth century. Norwich also possesses one or more houses of this character. The house of an ordinary citizen had a narrow frontage, and usually presented its gable to the street; it had very frequently a basement story, groined, which formed a cellar, and elevated the first floor of the house three or four feet above the level of the street. At Winchelsea the vaulted basements of three or four of the old houses remain, and show that the entrance to the house was by a short stone stair alongside the wall; under these stairs was the entrance into the cellar, beside the steps a window to the cellar, and over that the window of the first floor. Here, as was usually the case, the upper part of the house was probably of wood, and it was roofed with tiles. On the first floor was the shop, and beside it an alley leading to the back of the house, and to a straight stair which gave access to the building over the shop, which was a hall or common living-room occupying the whole of the first floor. The kitchen was at the back, near the hall, or sometimes the cooking was done in the hall itself. A private stair mounted to the upper floor, which was the sleeping apartment, and probably was often left in one undivided garret; the great roof of the house was a wareroom or storeroom, goods being lifted to it by a crane which projected from a door in the gable. The town of Cluny possesses some examples, very little modernised, of houses of this description of the twelfth century. Others of the thirteenth century are at St. Antonin, and in the Rue St. Martin, Amiens. Others of subsequent date will be found in the Dictionary of Viollet le Duc, vol. vi., pp. 222-271, who gives plans, elevations, and perspective sketches which enable us thoroughly to understand and realise these picturesque old edifices. Our own country will supply us with abundance of examples of houses, both of timber and stone, of the fifteenth century. Nowhere, perhaps, are there better examples than at Shrewsbury, where they are so numerous, in some parts (_e.g._ in the High Street and in Butcher Row), as to give a very good notion of the picturesque effect of a whole street--of a whole town of them. But it must be admitted that the continental towns very far exceed ours in their antiquarian and artistic interest. In the first place, the period of great commercial prosperity occurred in these countries in the Middle Ages, and their mediæval towns were in consequence larger and handsomer than ours. In the second place, there has been no great outburst of prosperity in these countries since to encourage the pulling down the mediæval houses to make way for modern improvements; while in England our commercial growth, which came later, has had the result of clearing away nearly all of our old town-houses, except in a few old-fashioned places which were left outside the tide of commercial innovations. In consequence, a walk through some of the towns of Normandy will enable the student and the artist better to realise the picturesque effect of an old English town, than any amount of diligence in putting together the fragments of old towns which remain to us. In some of the German towns, also, we find the old houses still remaining, apparently untouched, and the ancient walls, mural towers, and gateways still surrounding them. The illuminations in MSS. show that English towns were equally picturesque, and that the mediæval artists appreciated them. The illustrations in our last chapter on pp. 519, 520, give an idea of the houses inhabited by citizens in such a town as St. Alban's. In the "Roman d'Alexandre," in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, a whole street of such houses is rudely represented, some with the gable to the street, some with the side, all with the door approached by an exterior stair, most of them with the windows apparently unglazed, and closed at will by a shutter. We might quote one MS. after another, and page after page. We will content ourselves with noting, for exterior views, the Royal MS. 18 E. V. (dated 1473 A.D.), at 3 E. V., f. 117 v., a town with bridge and barbican, and the same still better represented at f. 179; and we refer also to Hans Burgmaier's "Der Weise Könige," which abounds in picturesque bits of towns in the backgrounds of the pictures. For exteriors the view of Venice in the "Roman d'Alexandre" is full of interest, especially as we recognise that it gives some of the remaining features--the Doge's Palace, the Cathedral, the columns in the Piazzeta--and it is therefore not merely a fancy picture, as many of the town-views in the MS. are, which are supposed to represent Jerusalem,[418] Constantinople, and other cities mentioned in the text. This Venice view shows us that at that time the city was lighted by lanterns hung at the end of poles extended over the doors of the houses. It gives us a representation of a butcher's shop and other interesting features. [Illustration: _A Mediæval Street and Town Hall._] The illustration on the preceding page is also a very interesting street-view of the fifteenth century, from a plate in Le Croix and Seré's "Moyen Age," vol. Corporations et Metiers, Plate 8. Take first the right-hand side of the engraving, remove the forest of picturesque towers and turrets with their spirelets and vanes which appear over the roofs of the houses (in which the artist has probably indulged his imagination as to the effect of the other buildings of the town beyond), and we have left a sober representation of part of a mediæval street--a row of lofty timber houses with their gables turned to the street. We see indications of the usual way of arranging the timber frame-work in patterns; there are also indications of pargeting (_e.g._ raised plaster ornamentation) and of painting in some of the panels. On the ground-floor we have a row of shops protected by a projecting pent-house; the shop-fronts are open unglazed arches, with a bench across the lower part of the arch for a counter, while the goods are exposed above. In the first shop the tradesman is seen behind his counter ready to cry "what d'ye lack" to every likely purchaser; at the second shop is a customer in conversation with the shopkeeper; at the third the shopkeeper and his apprentice seem to be busy displaying their goods. Some of the old houses in Shrewsbury, as those in Butcher Row, are not unlike these, and especially their shops are exactly of this character. When we turn to the rest of the engraving we find apparently some fine building in which, perhaps, again the artist has drawn a little upon vague recollections of civic magnificence, and his perspective is not quite satisfactory. Perhaps it is some market-house or guildhall, or some such building, which is represented; with shops on the ground-floor, and halls and chambers above. The entrance-door is ornamented with sculpture, the panels of the building are filled with figures, which are either painted or executed in plaster, in relief. The upper part of the building is still unfinished, and we see the scaffolds, and the cranes conveying mortar and timber, and the masons yet at work. In the shop on the right of the building, we note the usual open shop-front with its counter, and the tradesman with a pair of scales; in the interior of the shop is an assistant who seems to be, with vigorous action, pounding something in a mortar, and so we conjecture the shop to be that of an apothecary. The costume of the man crossing the street, in long gown girded at the waist, may be compared with the merchants given in our last chapter, and with those in an engraving of a market-place at p. 499. The figure at a bench in the left-hand corner of the engraving may perhaps be one of the workmen engaged upon the building; not far off another will be seen hauling up a bucket of mortar, by means of a pulley, to the upper part of the building; the first mason seems to wear trousers, probably overalls to protect his ordinary dress from the dirt of his occupation. Of later date are the pair of views given opposite from the margin of one of the pictures in "The Alchemy Book" (Plut. 3,469) a MS. in the British Museum of early sixteenth-century date. The nearest house in the left-hand picture shows that the shops were still of the mediæval character; several of the houses have signs on projecting poles. There are other examples of shops in the nearest house of the right-hand picture, a public fountain opposite, and a town-gate at the end of the street. We see in the two pictures, a waggon, horsemen, and carts, a considerable number of people standing at the shops, at the doors of their houses, and passing along the street, which has no foot pavement. [Illustration: _Mediæval Streets._] The accompanying cut from Barclay's "Shippe of Fools," gives a view in the interior of a mediæval town. The lower story of the houses is of stone, the upper stories of timber, projecting. The lower stories have only small, apparently unglazed windows, while the living rooms with their oriels and glazed lattices are in the first floor. The next cut, from a MS. in the French National Library, gives the interior of the courtyard of a great house. We notice the portion of one of the towers on the left, the draw-well, the external stair to the principal rooms on the first floor, the covered unglazed gallery which formed the mode of communication from the different apartments of the first floor, and the dormer windows. [Illustration: _A Town, from Barclay's Shippe of Fools._] A whole chapter might be written on the inns of mediæval England. We must content ourselves with giving references to pictures of the exterior of two country ale-houses--one in the Royal MS. 10 E. IV., at f. 114 v., which has a broom projecting over the door by way of sign; and another in the "Roman d'Alexandre" in the Bodleian--and with reproducing here two pictures of the interiors of hostelries from Mr. Wright's "Domestic Manners and Customs of the Middle Ages." They represent the sleeping accommodation of these ancient inns. In the first, from the "Quatre Fils d'Aymon," a MS. romance of the latter part of the fourteenth century, in the French National Library, the beds are arranged at the side of the apartment in separate berths, like those of a ship's cabin, or like the box beds of the Highlands of Scotland. It is necessary, perhaps, to explain that the artist has imagined one side of the room removed, so as to introduce into his illustration both the mounted traveller outside and the interior of the inn. [Illustration: _Courtyard of a House._ (French National Library.)] In the next woodcut, from Royal MS. 18 D. II., the side of the hostelry next to the spectator is supposed to be removed, so as to bring under view both the party of travellers approaching through the corn-fields, and the same travellers tucked into their truckle beds and fast asleep. The sign of the inn will be noticed projecting over the door, with a brush hung from it. Many houses displayed signs in the Middle Ages; the brush was the general sign of a house of public entertainment. On the bench in the common dormitory will be seen the staves and scrips of the travellers, who are pilgrims. [Illustration: _An Inn._ (French National Library.)] A fragment of a romance of "Floyre and Blanchefleur," published by the Early English Text Society, illustrates the mediæval inn. We have a little modernised the very ancient original. Floris is travelling with a retinue of servants, in the hope of finding his Blanchefleur:-- "To a riche city they bothe ycome, Whaire they have their inn ynome[419] At a palais soothe riche; The lord of their inn has non his liche,[420] Him fell gold enough to honde, Bothe in water and in lande, He hadde yled his life ful wide." _i.e._ he had travelled much, had great experience of life, and had gained gold both by sea and land. Besides houses entirely devoted to the entertainment of travellers, it was usual for citizens to take travellers into their houses, and give them entertainment for profit; it would seem that Floris and his servants had "taken up their inn" at the house of a burgess; he is called subsequently, "a burgess that was wel kind and curteis:"-- "This Child he sette next his side, Glad and blithe they weren alle So many as were in the halle; But Floris not ne drank naught, Of Blanchefleur was all his thought." [Illustration: _An Inn._] The lady of the inn perceiving his melancholy, speaks to her husband about him:-- "Sire takest thou no care How this child mourning sit Mete ne drink he nabit, He net[421] mete ne he ne drinketh Nis[422] he no marchaunt as me thinketh." From which we gather that their usual guests were merchants. The host afterwards tells Floris that Blanchefleur had been at his house a little time before, and that-- "Thus therein this other day Sat Blanchefleur that faire may, In halle, ne in bower, ne at board Of her ne herde we never a word But of Floris was her mone He hadde in herte joie none." Floris was so rejoiced at the news, that he caused to be brought a cup of silver and a robe of minever, which he offered to his host for his news. In the morning-- "He took his leave and wende his way, And for his nighte's gesting He gaf his host an hundred schillinge." One feature of a town which requires special mention is the town-hall. As soon as a town was incorporated, it needed a large hall in which to transact business and hold feasts. The wealth and magnificence of the corporation were shown partly in the size and magnificence of its hall. Trade-guilds similarly had their guildhalls; when there was one great guild in a town, its hall was often the town-hall; when there were several, the guilds vied with one another in the splendour of their halls, feasts, pageants, &c. The town-halls on the Continent exceed ours in size and architectural beauty. That at St. Antoine, in France, is an elegant little structure of the thirteenth century. The Belgian town-halls at Bruges, &c., are well known from engravings. We are not aware of the existence of any town-halls in England of a date earlier than the fifteenth century. That at Leicester is of the middle of the fifteenth century. The town-hall at Lincoln, over the south gate, is of the latter half of the century; that at Southampton, over the north gate, about the same date: it was not unusual for the town-hall to be over one of the gates. Of the early part of the sixteenth century we have many examples. They are all of the same type--a large oblong hall, of stone or timber, supported on pillars, the open colonnade beneath being the market-place. That at Salisbury is of stone; at Wenlock (which has been lately restored), of timber. There are others at Hereford, Ross, Leominster, Ashburton, Guildford, &c. The late Gothic Bourse at Antwerp is an early example of the cloistered, or covered courts, which, at the end of the fifteenth century, began to be built for the convenience of the merchants assembling at a certain hour to transact business. The covered bridge of the Rialto was used as the Exchange at Venice. None of our towns have the same relative importance which belonged to them in the Middle Ages. In the latter part of the period of which we write it was very usual for the county families to have town-houses in the county town, or some other good neighbouring town, and there they came to live in the winter months. When the fashion began we hardly know. Some of the fine old timber houses remaining in Shrewsbury are said to have been built by Shropshire families for their town-houses. The gentry did not in those times go to London for "the season." The great nobility only used to go to court, which was held three times a year; then parliament sat, the king's courts of law were open, and the business of the nation was transacted. They had houses at the capital for their convenience on these occasions, which were called inns, as Lincoln's Inn, &c. But it is only from a very recent period, since increased facilities of locomotion made it practicable, that it has been the fashion for all people in a certain class of society to spend "the season" in London. As a consequence the country gentry no longer have houses in the provincial towns; even the better classes of those whose occupation lies in them live in their suburbs, and the towns are rapidly changing their character, physically, socially, and morally, for the worse. London is becoming rapidly the one great town in England. The great manufacturers have agencies in London; if people are going to furnish a house or to buy a wedding outfit they come up to London; the very artisans and rustics in search of a day's holiday are whirled up to London in an excursion train. While London in consequence is extending so widely as to threaten to convert all England into a mere suburb of the metropolis of the British empire. INDEX. Abbesses, costume of, 57 Abbey, infirmary of, 61 Abbey-church, internal arrangement of, 75 Abbot, duties of, 55; his habit, 57 Abbot-bishop, 5 Abbot's lodgings, 55, 84 Alien Priories, 34 Ampulla, the Canterbury, 171-73 Anchorages, 132 Anchoresses, bequests to, 129; Judith the foundress and patroness of the order of, 120; sketch of, 146 Anchorholds, 130, 134, 138 Anchorites, bequests to, 125-27; rule for, 121; their mode of life, 121 Angel minstrels, 286-88 Anglo-Saxons, St. Augustine the Apostle of the, 6 Arbalesters, the Genoese famous as, 441 Archers, 438; corps of enrolled as body guards by Edward III. and French kings, 412; importance of in battle, 440; mounted corps of, _ib._; Norman, equipment of at time of Conquest, 438; skill of English, 440 Archery, practice of by commonality of England protected and encouraged by legislation, 445, 446 Armorial bearings, date of invention of, 331 Armour, details of a suit of thirteenth century, 333; differences in suits of mediæval, 398, 399; little worn in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I., 458; many modifications of in fifteenth century, 452; of King Henry VIII.'s reign, 453; of the fourteenth century, 338 _et seq._; of the fifteenth century, 394 _et seq._; various kinds of early, 329, 330, 335, 336 Arquebusier, 458 Artillery, ancient, 446; date of first appearance in field disputed, 447; first evidence as to the existence of, 440, 447 Augustinians, order of the, 18 Austin friars, order of, 44, 94 Banker, the mediæval, 407 Bard, anecdotes concerning the, 271-73; the father of the minstrels of mediæval Europe, 270 Basilican Institution, introduction of into Africa by St. Augustine, 4; into France by St. Martin of Tours, _ib._; into Ireland by St. Patrick, _ib._; into Syria by Hilarion, _ib._ Battering-ram, 385, 450, 451 Bede houses, 24 Benedictine monks, habit of, 1-7; orders, 17 Benefices, abuses in connection with, 200 Bonhommes, the, 21 Brigittines (female Order of Our Saviour), 21 Britain, exports of when a Roman province, 463 British Church, early history of the, 4 coinage, date of fast, 463 commerce, the beginnings of, 461 Camaldoli, order of, 17 Canons, Secular, cathedral establishments of, 196; their costume, 197, 198 Canterbury pilgrimage, chief sign of the, its origin and meaning, 170 _et seq._ Carmelite friars, order of, 43 Carthusian order, founded by St. Bruno, 15; Charterhouse (Chartreux) principal house of in England, 15 Carthusians, Cistercians, Clugniacs, and the orders of Camaldoli and Vallambrosa and Grandmont, history of the successive rise of the, 10 Castle, mode of assaulting a, 381; various methods of attacking a, 392 Castles, counter-mines used by defenders of mediæval, 387; Greek fire and stinkpots employed in repelling assailants of, 392; mines used for effecting breaches in walls of, 385; places of hospitality as well as of trials of arms, 358 Cells, monastic, 89 Chantry chapels, bequests to, 140 priests, 136, 204, 206 Chapels, private, curious internal arrangement of, 211; establishments of, 208-10 Chaplains, domestic, 208, 210, 212 Christendom, coenobitical orders of, 93 Church of England, date of present organization of, 195 Cinque Ports, 480; ships of the, frequently at war with those of other ports of the kingdom, 483 Cistercian order, founded by Robert de Thierry, 16; introduced into England A.D. 1128, _ib._; St. Bernard of Clairvaux the great saint of the, 17 Clairvaux, external aspect and internal life of, 12; founded by St. Bernard, 11 Clergy, comparison between mediæval seculars and modern, 224, 225; extracts from injunctions of John, Archbishop of Canterbury, on robes of the, 242, 243, 250, 251; form of degradation for heresy, 214, 215; friars a popular order of, 223; parochial, cause of change in condition of the, 193; rivalry between friars and secular, 223; secular, 214; stories illustrating deference of for squire in olden days, 225, 226; wills of the, 248, 249 Clerical costume of archbishop, 234-236; of bishop, 235; of cardinal, 234; of minor orders, 214, 215; of pope, 232, 233 _Clericus_, meaning of the word, 215 Clugniac, order of, 14 Coffin-stones, mediæval, curious symbols on, 193 Combat, a mediæval, 375, 376 Commerce, checked by the Conquest, 468; discovery of sea-passage to India opens up to a career of adventure, 485; earliest extant document bearing on Saxon, 464; of England greatly increased during reign of Edward the Confessor, 467; receives much attention from Government during fourteenth century, 470; recovers and surpasses its ancient prosperity in reign of Henry II., 469; the pioneers of, 485 Compostella pilgrimage, legend in connection with badge of the, 169; offerings made by pilgrims on return from, 190 Convent, the, officials of: abbot, 55; almoner, 62; artificers and servants, 65; cellarer, 60; chantor, _ib._; chaplains, 65; cloister monks, 64; hospitaller, 61; infirmarer, 62; kitchener, 63; master of the novices, 62; novices, 65; porter, 62; precentor, 58; prior, 58; Professed Brethren, 65; sacrist, 61; seneschal, 63; subprior, 60; succentor, _ib._ Council of Hertford, 195; differences affecting parochial clergy reconciled at, _ib._ Council of Lyons, suppression of minor mendicant orders by, 44; red hat of cardinal first given by Innocent VI. at, 234 Counting-board, the, 501 Cross-bow, not used in war till close of twelfth century, 440; various forms of, _ib._ Croyland, monastery of, 87 Crusades, objects for which they were organised, 159 Crutched friars, order of, 44 Deaconesses, order of, 152 De Poenetentia friars, order of, 44 Dominican friar, Chaucer's, 46 friars, order of, 40 Dunstan, Archbishop, reduces all Saxon monasteries to rule of St. Benedict, 7 Education, monasteries famous places of, 66 Edwardian period, armour and arms of the, 347 Egyptian Desert, hermits of the, 148 Eremeti Augustini, order of, 94, 96; their habit, 96 Eremetical life, curious illustration of, 2 Fairs, sole power of granting right to hold exercised by king, 503; great, 506 Feudal system, introduction of into England by William the Conqueror, 326; points of difference between Continental and English, 327 Fontevraud, nuns of, 21 Franciscan friars, order of, 40; the several branches of, 43 nuns, habit of the, 43 Free towns, mediæval, 530; Hull an example of one of the, _ib._; manner of laying out, 531-38 Friars, orders of: Austin, 44; Carmelites, 43; Crutched, 44; de Poenetentia, 44; Dominicans, 40; Franciscans, 40 Chaucer's type of a certain class of, 39; convents of, _ib._; pictures of ancient customs and manners of, 45; the principle which inspired them, 36 Gilbertines, founded by Gilbert of Sempringham, 21 Godrie of Finchale, 116 Grandmontines, order of, 17 Greek Church, costume of monks and nuns in the, 4; rule of St. Basil followed by all monasteries of, _ib._ fire, 449; used in the Crusades, _ib._ Grimlac, rule of, 120, 121 Guesten-halls, 86, 87 Guild priests, 205; bequests to, 206; duties of, _ib._ Guilds of minstrels, 298; laws regulating them, 299, 300 Hampton Court, shipping of time of Henry VIII. illustrated at, 484 Harper, the mediæval, 271 _et seq._ Henry VIII.'s army, 455; account of its taking the field, 456; description of the king's camp, 458 Heresy, form of degradation for, 214, 215 Hermit, a modern, 119; form of vow made by mediæval, 98; popular idea of a, 95; service for habiting and blessing a, 99; superstition with regard to a, 100; typical pictures of a, 117-19 Hermitages, localities of, 101; descriptions of, 111-17 Hermit-saints, traditional histories of the early, 95 n.; their costume, 98 Hermits, curious history relating to, 104 Holy Land, early pilgrims to the, 158; pilgrim entitled to wear palm on accomplishment of pilgrimage to, 167; special sign worn by pilgrims to, _ib._ "Holy Reliques," an account of, 185-87 Horses, equipment of in fifteenth century, 404; trappings of at tournaments, 433 Hospitals of the Middle Ages, 23, 24; foreign examples of, 25 Hospitium, contrast between the Cloister and the, 87; resorted to by travellers, 529 Houses, description of, given by mediæval traders to various churches and monasteries, 519 Impropriation, evil of, 199 Iona, monastic institution at, 6 Inventories, clerical, 261, 262; of church furniture, 285 "Isles of Tin," 461 Jewellery, portable, Saxon goldsmiths famous for, 464 Jousting, 348, 349, 365, 411, 415 Judicial combats, anecdotes illustrative of, 419; various authorities on the subject of, _ib._ Kelvedon Parsonage, 261, 263, 265 Knight, manner of bringing up a, 406; Chaucer's portrait of a, 409, 410 Knight-errant, armour and costume of a royal, 349, 350; graphic account of incidents in single combat of a, 373-75; squire of a, 352 Knight-errantry, romances of, 354 _et seq._ Knighthood, won by deeds of arms in the field and in the lists, 409 Knight Hospitaller, a, 31 Knights of Malta, 33 of St. John of Jerusalem, order of, 29-32 of the Temple, order of, 26, 29, 159 Knights, noblemen and eldest sons of landed gentry made, 408; ceremony of making essentially a religious one, 409; equipment of reached its strangest form in reigns of Richard III. and Henry VII. 452 Knights-errant, 369 _et seq._ Knights of the Middle Ages, armour, arms, and costume of the, 311 _et seq._; scarcity of authorities for costume and manners of the, 329; quaint and poetic phrases in romances of the, 367, 368 Laura, the, 3; original arrangement of the hermits in their, 107 Lindisfarne, monastic institution at, 6 Long-bow, the national arm of the English, 441; attains climax of its reputation during fourteenth century, 441 London, burgesses of at battle of Hastings, 467; date of its becoming chief emporium of Britain, 463; importance of its citizens previous to Conquest, 467; interesting account of mediæval, 469; "mysteries," or trades of, 508; regulations as to dress of merchants, citizens, and burgesses of the city of, 525 Lord-monks, 223 Marseilles, as a Greek colony, the chief emporium of the world, 462 Mediæval dance, a, 281, 282 England, inns of and their signs, 540-44; picturesque aspect of, 489-92; population of, 503; town-halls of, 545; town houses of county families of, _ib._ life and characters, sketches of, from an artist's point of view, 1 shops, descriptions of, 509, 510 towns, 529; best specimens of to be found in Normandy and Germany, 535; Conway a perfect example of one of the, 534; gradual growth of, 529; houses of, 534, 535; inhabitants of, 533; mode of lodging of population of, _ib._; numerous on the Continent from eleventh to fourteenth centuries, 530; picturesque views of streets and shops of, 537-40; some built for specific purposes, 529 trade, 503 _et seq._ Merchant, mediæval, an account of his occupation and way of life, 465, 466; curious epitaph on a brass relating to a, 525; effigy of a at Northleach, 523 Merchant guilds, 489 navy, the, 475 ships, early, 470, 471; king at liberty to impress, 481, 482 Merchants, commerce of England, during thirteenth century, carried on by foreign, 470; details of dresses worn by mediæval, 521; early English, 465; law conferring rank on, 465; munificence of the mediæval, 495; private naval wars carried on between, 482, 483; provision in charter of King John as to, 469; social position of the mediæval, 487, 488; various classes of distinguished by costume, 487 Middle Ages, armour of the, 329-36; archers of England famous during the, 439; combats of the, 411; consecrated widows of the, 152; costume of tradespeople of the, 519; description of the combat between King Arthur and a knight of the, 365, 366; drill and tactics of the soldiers of the, 377-79; engines of war of the, 382, 383; habitations of secular clergy in the, 252-54; harper the most dignified of the minstrel craft throughout the, 271; hermits and recluses of the, 93 _et seq._; hospitals of the, 23-25; hospitium of a monastery in the, 87; houses of the, 519, 520; itinerant traders of the, 513, 517; manner of bringing up a youth of good family in the, 406; merchant navy of the, 475; merchant princes of the, 493, 494; merchants of the, 461 _et seq._; minstrels part of regular establishment of nobles and gentry of the, 275; monks of the, 1 _et seq._; primitive mode of life of rural English population of the, 513; ships of the, 470-71; sketch of life led by a country parson in the, 262, 263; sumptuary laws regulating dress of merchants of the, 525; system of Pluralities in the, 200 Military engines, 382 _et seq._ exercises and encounters, 410 _et seq._ orders: Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, 29; Knights of the Temple, 26; Our Lady of Mercy, 32; Teutonic Knights, _ib._; Trinitarians, 32-34 Minstrels, mediæval, assist in musical part of divine service, 285; costume of, 304-309; curious anecdotes concerning, 294, 295; duties of, 275 _et seq._; female, 302, 303; incorporated in a guild, 297; marriage processions attended by, 282, 283; often men of position and worth, 294, 295; part of regular establishment of nobles and gentry, 275-77; patronised by the clergy, 288; singular ordinance relating to, 296; tournaments enlivened by the strains of, 291, 292; welcome guests at the religious houses, 289, 290 "Minstrels unattached," 293, 294 Miracle-plays, parish clerks took an important part in, 220; survival of in Spain, 221 Minstrelsy, in high repute among the Normans, 274; Grostête of Lincoln a great patron of, 288; Israelitish compared with music of mediæval England, 267 Mitre, earliest form of the, 236; transition shape of the from twelfth century, _ib._ Monachism, origin of, 1-5 Monasteries, Benedictine, 9; British, 5; Saxon, 7; suppression of, 52 Monastery, arrangement of a Carthusian, 71; description of a, 72 _et seq._; graphic sketch of the arrival of guests at a, 87 Monastic orders, traditionary histories of the founders and saints of, 1 _et seq._; their suppression in England, 52 Monk, cell of a Carthusian, 123; pilgrim, 188 Monks, abodes of, 70; lord, 223 Monumental brasses, 19, 57, 276, 494, 495, 497, 521, 527; _minutiæ_ of costume of middle ages supplied from, 521; peculiar features in, 526 Movable tower, a, 387 Music, sketch of the earliest history of, 267-70 Musical instruments, date of invention of, 267; occasions when used, _ib._; names of, _ib._ _et seq._; used in the colleges of the prophets, 269; Saxon, 273; learned essays on mediæval, 274; used in celebration of divine worship, 285; forms of, 309, 310 Order for the Redemption of Captives, 33, 34; their habit, 34; their rules, _ib._ Ostiary, costume of an, 215 n. Our Lady of Mercy, order of, 32 Our Lady of Walsingham, shrine of, 180, 181; a relic from, _ib._ Pachomius, written code of laws by, 4 Palmers, 189, 190; graves of three holy, 193 Parish clerk, frequently the recipient of a legacy, 217; his duties, 218, 220; office of an ancient, _ib._; worth of his office, 220 priests, early handbooks for, 227; instructions for, 162 n.; points of difference between monks and friars and the, 222 Parochial clergy, 195, 196; domestic economy of the early, 263-65; organization of the established by Archbishop of Canterbury, 195 Parsonage houses, early, 254 _et seq._; description of, 259; furniture of, 261, 262 Pastoral staff, earliest examples of the, 237 Pedlars, their mode of dealing in mediæval times, 513, 515, 517 Pilgrim, an equestrian, 168; the female, 188; the penitential, 178 Pilgrimage, chief sign of the Canterbury, 170; chief signs of the Roman, 168; Holy Land first object of, 175; mendicant, 176; palmers, on return from, received with ecclesiastical processions, 189; practice to return thanks on returning from, 189; relics of, 191, 192; saying of Jerome as to, 157; special roads to the great shrines of, 178; sign of the Compostella, 169; usual places for, 159 Pilgrimages, a pleasant religious holiday, 176; gathering cry of, 178; popular English, 161, 162 Pilgrims, 159, 160; costume of, 164, 177; description of staff and scrip of, 164-66; graphic sketch of a company of passing through a town, 179; insignia of, 164, 192, 193; office of, 162-64; special signs of, 167; singers and musicians employed by, 179; vow made by, 164 Pioneers of commerce, the, 485 Piracy, prevalence of in mediæval times, 483, 484 Plate armour, first introduction of, 336 "Pleasure fairs," 507 Priest-hermits, costume of, 97 Priesthood, curious history of way in which many poor men's sons attained to the, 201 Prior, functions of, 59 Prioress, Chaucer's description of a, 58 Recluse, service for enclosing a, 148, 150 Recluses, bequests to, 128, 129; canons concerning, 121; cells of female, 142; curious details of the life of, 130; dress of female, 97; giving of alms to, 123; hermitages for female, 130, 131; popular idea as to the life of, 121; sketch of, 146-48 Reclusorium, the, 124, 125, 132 Rectors, Saxon, 198, 199 Reformed Benedictine orders, 17 Regular Canons, Premonstratensian branch of, founded by St. Norbert, 21 Rettenden, reclusorium at, 135, 137 Richard of Hampole, life of, 107-10 Rome, pilgrimage to, 168; number of pilgrims visiting, 168; description of relics at, 182, 183 n. Sacred music, 284 Salby abbey, staff of servants at, 66 Saxon soldiers, costume of, 312-18, 322-24; ornaments of, 324, 325; romantic fancies in connection with swords of, 320; weapons used by, 316, 318, 319, 321 Saxons, the, a musical people, 272; a pastoral rather than an agricultural race, 466; corn not exported by the, _ib._; famous throughout Europe for goldsmiths' work and embroidery, _ib._; rage among the for foreign pilgrimages, 464; traffic in slaves considerable during time of the, 466 Scottish Archers of the Guard, enrolment of the, 442 Secular clergy, comparison between costume of and that of mediæval merchants, 528; costume of the, 232 _et seq._ Shrines, pictures of, 187 Siege, interesting points in a mediæval, 442 Solitaries, mediæval, 94; curious incident relating to two, 105 Spenser's description of a typical hermit and hermitage, 118, 119 Squires, duties of, 352 St. Anthony, coenobite system attributed to, 4; monks of, _ib._ St. Augustine, Canons Secular of, 18; their costume, _ib._; Canons Regular of, 20; Chaucer's pen-and-ink sketch of one of the order, 19 St. Basil, abuse of great church festivals mentioned by, 513; introduction of Monachism into Asia Minor by, 4; rule of, _ib._ St. Benedict, his rule, 6, 7; Archbishop Dunstan reduces all Saxon monasteries to rule of, 7 St. Clare, foundress of the female order of Franciscans, 43 St. Edmund's Bury, abbey of, 65 St. Francis, character of, 37 St. Jean-les-Bons-hommes, priory of, 89 St. John the Hermit, 148 St. Mary, Winchester, abbey of, 66 Sumptuary laws, 525; civil costume regulated by, 527, 528 Teutonic Knights, order of, 32 Tilting-ground, remains of, to be seen at Carisbrook Castle, 359 Timber fort, 444; used by William the Conqueror, 391 Tournament, 412; a miniature, 415; an historical example of the, 429, 430; description of encounter between French and English knights at a, 432; directions for the, 415-17; form of challenge for a, 431; form of proclamation inviting to a, 412, 413; habiliments required by knights at a, _ib._; incidents relating to a, 424, 430; manner of arranging a, 423; mode of arming knights for the, 413; pictures illustrating various scenes of the, 432, 433; prizes of the, 427; the _joute à outrance_, 412; the _joute à plaisance_, _ib._; weapons used at a, 415 Tournaments, feasting and merriment usual at, 424; the mediæval romances safe authorities on all relating to the subject of, 423; unusual deeds performed at, 426, 427 Town-halls, architectural beauty of continental, 544; date of earliest English, 545 Towns, provincial, market-days in mediæval, 511, 572; specimens of various in time of Edward III., 508-10 Traveller, religious houses chiefly the resting-places of the, 103, 490 Trinitarians, order of, 32-34 Vallombrosa, order of, 17 Vestments, mediæval official, description of, 237-241; abandoned at time of Reformation, 250 Wager of Battle, account of a mediæval, 420-22 Walter of Hamuntesham, beating of by rabble, 64 War-ships, cannon of both iron and brass employed on board English, A.D. 1338, 447; costume of sailors and soldiers of mediæval, 477; description of early, 475 _et seq._; list of English, A.D. 1205, and where stationed, 481 Waverley, Cistercian abbey of, 65 Westminster Abbey, grants made by Henry VIII. to, 79 Whale fishing, early, 474 Widowhood, description of a lady who took the vows of, 155, 156 Widows, order of, 152; dress worn by, 156; profession or vow of, 154; service for consecration of, 152, 153 William of Swynderby, 140 Wills, inventories attached to ancient, 211, 212 n. Wool merchants, costume of mediæval, 523, 525 THE END. THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH FOOTNOTES: [1] We cannot put down all these supernatural tales as fables or impostures; similar tales abound in the lives of the religious people of the Middle Ages, and they are not unknown in modern days: _e.g._, Luther's conflict with Satan in the Wartzburg, and Colonel Gardiner's vision of the Saviour. Which of them (if any) are to be considered true supernatural visions, which may be put down as the natural results of spiritual excitement on the imagination, which are mere baseless legends, he would be a very self-confident critic who professed in all cases to decide. [2] Besides consulting the standard authorities on the archæology of the subject, the student will do well to read Mr. Kingsley's charming book, "The Hermits of the Desert." [3] Strutt's "Dress and Habits of the People of England." [4] This is the computation of Tanner in his "Notitia Monastica;" but the editors of the last edition of Dugdale's "Monasticon," adding the smaller houses or cells, swell the number of Benedictine establishments in England to a total of two hundred and fifty-seven. [5] If a child was to be received his hand was wrapped in the hanging of the altar, "and then," says the rule of St. Benedict, "let them offer him." The words are "Si quas forte de nobilibus offert filium suum Deo in monasterio, si ipse puer minore ætate est, parentes ejus faciant petitionem et manum pueri involvant in pallu altaris, et sic eum offerunt" (c. 59). The Abbot Herman tells us that in the year 1055 his mother took him and his brothers to the monastery of which he was afterwards abbot. "She went to St. Martin's (at Tournay), and delivered over her sons to God, placing the little one in his cradle upon the altar, amidst the tears of many bystanders" (Maitland's "Dark Ages," p. 78). The precedents for such a dedication of an infant to an ascetic life are, of course, the case of Samuel dedicated by his mother from infancy, and of Samson and John Baptist, who were directed by God to be consecrated as Nazarites from birth. A law was made prohibiting the dedication of children at an earlier age than fourteen. At f. 209 of the MS. Nero D. vii., is a picture of St. Benedict, to whom a boy in monk's habit is holding a book, and he is reading or preaching to a group of monks. [6] Engraved in Boutell's "Monumental Brasses." [7] Probably this means that he had "clocks"--little bell-shaped ornaments--sewn to the lower margin of his tippet or hood. [8] Mrs. Jameson, "Legends of the Monastic Orders," p. 137. [9] Viollet le Duc's "Dictionary of Architecture," vol. vi. p. 104. [10] Ibid. vi. 107. [11] Ibid. vi. 112. [12] Ibid. vi. 112. [13] All its houses were called Temples, as all the Carthusian houses were called Chartereux (corrupted in England into Charterhouse). [14] Of the four round churches in England, popularly supposed to have been built by the Templars, the Temple Church in London was built by them; that of Maplestead, in Essex, by the Hospitallers; that of Northampton by Simon de St. Liz, first Norman Earl of Northampton, twice a pilgrim to the Holy Land; and that of Cambridge by some unknown individual. [15] The order was divided into nations--the English knights, the French knights, &c.--each nation having a separate house, situated at different points of the island, for its defence. These houses, large and fine buildings, still remain, and many unedited records of the order are said to be still preserved on the island. [16] An order, called our Lady of Mercy, was founded in Spain in 1258, by Peter Nolasco, for a similar object, including in its scope not only Christian captives to the infidel, but also all slaves, captives, and prisoners for debt. [17] Afternoons and mornings. [18] As an indication of their zeal in the pursuit of science it is only necessary to mention the names of Friar Roger Bacon, the Franciscan, and Friar Albert-le-Grand (Albertus Magnus), the Dominican. The Arts were cultivated with equal zeal--some of the finest paintings in the world were executed for the friars, and their own orders produced artists of the highest excellence. Fra Giacopo da Turrita, a celebrated artist in mosaic of the thirteenth century, was a Franciscan, as was Fra Antonio da Negroponti, the painter; Fra Fillippo Lippi, the painter, was a Carmelite; Fra Bartolomeo, and Fra Angelico da Fiesole--than whom no man ever conceived more heavenly visions of spiritual loveliness and purity--were Dominicans. [19] "By his (_i.e._ Satan's) queyntise they comen in, The curates to helpen, But that harmed hem hard And help them ful littel."--_Piers Ploughman's Creed._ [20] The extract from Chaucer on p. 46, lines 4, 5, 6, seem to indicate that an individual friar sometimes "farmed" the alms of a district, paying the convent a stipulated sum, and taking the surplus for himself. [21] In France, Jacobins. [22] Wives of burgesses. [23] Stuffed. [24] Musical instrument so called. [25] Piers Ploughman (creed 3, line 434), describing a burly Dominican friar, describes his cloak or cope in the same terms, and describes the under gown, or kirtle, also:-- "His cope that beclypped him Wel clean was it folden, Of double worsted y-dyght Down to the heel. His kirtle of clean white, Cleanly y-served, It was good enough ground Grain for to beren." [26] A limitour, as has been explained above, was a friar whose functions were limited to a certain district of country; a lister might exercise his office wherever he listed. [27] Thirty masses for the repose of a deceased person. [28] Viz., in convents of friars, not in monasteries of monks and by the secular clergy. [29] He was forbidden to say more. [30] A convent of friars used to undertake masses for the dead, and each friar saying one the whole number of masses was speedily completed, whereas a single priest saying his one mass a day would be very long completing the number, and meantime the souls were supposed to be in torment. [31] The usual way of concluding a sermon, in those days as in these, was with an ascription of praise, "Who with the Father," &c. [32] Cake. [33] Choose. [34] Slip or piece. [35] Hired man. [36] Trifles. [37] Requite. [38] Staff. [39] Closely. [40] Part. [41] Forbidden. [42] Would not. [43] The good man also said he had not seen the friar "this fourteen nights:"--Did a limitour go round once a fortnight? [44] The dormitory of the convent. [45] Infirmarer. [46] Aged monks and friars lived in the Infirmary, and had certain privileges. [47] Wert thou not. [48] Implying, whether truly or not, that he had been enrolled in the fraternity of the house, and was prayed for, with other benefactors, in chapter. [49] Health and strength. [50] Doctor. [51] Little. [52] Preaching; he was probably a preaching friar--_i.e._, a Dominican. [53] Waxed nearly mad. [54] Lived. [55] "On the foundation," as we say now of colleges and endowed schools. [56] "Maysters of divinite Her matynes to leve, And cherliche [richly] as a cheveteyn His chaumbre to holden, With chymene and chaple, And chosen whom him list, And served as a sovereyn, And as a lord sytten." _Piers Ploughman_, l. 1,157. [57] Just as heads of colleges now have their Master's, or Provost's, or Principal's Lodge. The constitution of our existing colleges will assist those who are acquainted with them in understanding many points of monastic economy. [58] Ellis's "Early English Romances." [59] Long and well proportioned. [60] She was of tall stature. [61] "And as touching the almesse that they (the monks) delt, and the hospitality that they kept, every man knoweth that many thousands were well received of them, and might have been better, if they had not so many great men's horse to fede, and had not bin overcharged with such idle gentlemen as were never out of the abaies (abbeys)."--_A complaint made to Parliament not long after the dissolution, quoted in Coke's Institutes._ [62] A person doing penance. [63] Hunting. [64] Without state. [65] A plan of the Chartreuse of Clermont is given by Viollet le Duc (Dict. of Architec., vol. i. pp. 308, 309), and the arrangements of a Carthusian monastery were nearly the same in all parts of Europe. It consists of a cloister-court surrounded by about twenty square enclosures. Each enclosure, technically called a "cell," is in fact a little house and garden, the little house is in a corner of the enclosure, and consists of three apartments. In the middle of the west side of the cloister-court is the oratory, whose five-sided apsidal sanctuary projects into the court. In a small outer court on the west is the prior's lodgings, which is a "cell" like the others, and a building for the entertainment of guests. See also a paper on the Carthusian priory of Mount Grace, near Thirsk, read by Archdeacon Churton before the Yorkshire Architectural Society, in the year 1850. [66] A bird's-eye view of Citeaux, given in Viollet le Duc's "Dictionary of Architecture," vol. i. p. 271, will give a very good notion of a thirteenth-century monastery. Of the English monasteries Fountains was perhaps one of the finest, and its existing remains are the most extensive of any which are left in England. A plan of it will be found in Mr. Walbran's "Guide to Ripon." See also plan of Furness, _Journal of the Archæological Association_, vi. 309; of Newstead (an Augustinian house), ibid. ix. p. 30; and of Durham (Benedictine), ibid. xxii. 201. [67] A double choir of the fifteenth century is in King René's Book of Hours (Egerton, 1,070), at folio 54. Another semi-choir of Religious of late fifteenth and early sixteenth century date, very well drawn, may be found in Egerton, 2,125, f. 117, v. [68] Lydgate's Life of St. Edmund, a MS. executed in 1473 A.D., preserved in the British Museum (Harl. 2,278), gives several very good representations of the shrine of that saint at St. Edmund's Bury, with the attendant monks, pilgrims worshipping, &c. [69] "Tombes upon tabernacles, tiled aloft, * * * * * Made of marble in many manner wise, Knights in their conisantes clad for the nonce, All it seemed saints y-sacred upon earth, And lovely ladies y-wrought lyen by their sides In many gay garments that were gold-beaten." _Piers Ploughman's Creed._ [70] Henry VII. agreed with the Abbot and Convent of Westminster that there should be four tapers burning continually at his tomb--two at the sides, and two at the ends, each eleven feet long, and twelve pounds in weight; thirty tapers, &c., in the hearse; and four torches to be held about it at his weekly obit; and one hundred tapers nine feet long, and twenty-four torches of twice the weight, to be lighted at his anniversary. [71] "For though a man in their mynster a masse wolde heren, His sight shal so be set on sundrye werkes, The penons and the pornels and poyntes of sheldes Withdrawen his devotion and dusken his heart." _Piers Ploughman's Vision._ [72] The chapter-houses attached to the cathedrals of York, Salisbury, and Wells, are octagonal; those of Hereford and Lincoln, decagonal; Lichfield, polygonal; Worcester is circular. All these were built by secular canons. [73] There are only two exceptions hitherto observed: that of the Benedictine Abbey of Westminster, which is polygonal, and that of Thornton Abbey, of regular canons, which is octagonal. [74] And at Norwich it appears to have had an eastern apse. See ground-plan in Mr. Mackenzie E. C. Walcott's "Church and Conventual Arrangement," p. 85. [75] Piers Ploughman describes the chapter-house of a Benedictine convent:-- "There was the chapter-house, wrought as a great church, Carved and covered and quaintly entayled [sculptured]; With seemly selure [ceiling] y-set aloft, As a parliament house y-painted about." [76] In the "Vision of Piers Ploughman" one of the characters complains that if he commits any fault-- "They do me fast fridays to bread and water, And am challenged in the chapitel-house as I a child were;" and he is punished in a childish way, which is too plainly spoken to bear quotation. [77] See note on p. 76. [78] The woodcut on a preceding page (23) is from another initial letter of the same book. [79] A room adjoining the hall, to which the fellows retire after dinner to take their wine and converse. [80] The ordinary fashion of the time was to sleep without any clothing whatever. [81] In the plan of the ninth-century Benedictine monastery of St. Gall, published in the _Archæological Journal_ for June, 1848, the dormitory is on the east, with the calefactory under it; the refectory on the south, with the clothes-store above; the cellar on the west, with the larders above. In the plan of Canterbury Cathedral, a Benedictine house, as it existed in the latter half of the twelfth century, the church was on the south, the chapter-house and dormitory on the east, the refectory, parallel with the church, on the north, and the cellar on the west. At the Benedictine monastery at Durham, the church was on the north, the chapter-house and locutory on the east, the refectory on the south, and the dormitory on the west. At the Augustinian Regular Priory of Bridlington, the church was on the north, the fratry (refectory) on the south, the chapter-house on the east, the dortor also on the east, up a stair twenty steps high, and the west side was occupied by the prior's lodgings. At the Premonstratensian Abbey of Easby, the church is on the north, the transept, passage, chapter-house, and small apartments on the east, the refectory on the south, and on the west two large apartments, with a passage between them. The Rev. J. F. Turner, Chaplain of Bishop Cozin's Hall, Durham, describes these as the common house and kitchen, and places the dormitory in a building west of them, at a very inconvenient distance from the church. [82] Maitland's "Dark Ages." [83] At Winchester School, until a comparatively recent period, the scholars in the summer time studied in the cloisters. [84] For much curious information about scriptoria and monastic libraries, see Maitland's "Dark Ages," quoted above. [85] The hall of the Royal Palace of Winchester, erected at the same period, was 111 feet by 55 feet 9 inches. [86] Its total length would perhaps be about twenty-four paces. [87] The above woodcut, from the Harleian MS. 1,527, represents, probably, the cellarer of a Dominican convent receiving a donation of a fish. It curiously suggests the scene depicted in Sir Edwin Landseer's "Bolton Abbey in the Olden Time." [88] See an account of this hall, with pen-and-ink sketches by Mr. Street, in the volume of the Worcester Architectural Society for 1854. [89] Quoted by Archdeacon Churton in a paper read before the Yorkshire Architectural Society in 1853. [90] Ground-plans of the Dominican Friary at Norwich, the Carmelite Friary at Hulne and the Franciscan Friary at Kilconnel, may be found in Walcott's "Church and Conventual Arrangement." [91] In the National Gallery is a painting by Fra Angelico, in which is a hermit clad in a dress woven of rushes or flags. [92] "The Wonderful and Godly History of the Holy Fathers Hermits," is among Caxton's earliest-printed books. Piers Ploughman ("Vision") speaks of-- "Anthony and Egidius and other holy fathers Woneden in wilderness amonge wilde bestes In spekes and in spelonkes, seldom spoke together. Ac nobler Antony ne Egedy ne hermit of that time Of lions ne of leopards no livelihood ne took, But of fowles that fly, thus find men in books." And again-- "In prayers and in penance putten them many, All for love of our Lord liveden full strait, In hope for to have heavenly blisse As ancres and heremites that holden them in their cells And coveten not in country to kairen [walk] about For no likerous lifelihood, their liking to please." And yet again-- "Ac ancres and heremites that eaten not but at nones And no more ere morrow, mine almesse shall they have, And of my cattle to keep them with, that have cloisters and churches, Ac Robert Run-about shall nought have of mine." _Piers Ploughman's Vision._ [93] Piers Ploughman ("Vision") describes himself at the beginning of the poem as assuming the habit of a hermit-- "In a summer season when soft was the sun In habit as a hermit unholy of works, Went wild in this world, wonders to hear, All on a May morning on Malvern Hills," &c. And at the beginning of the eighth part he says-- "Thus robed in _russet_ I roamed about All a summer season." [94] For the custom of admitting to the fraternity of a religious house, see p. 66. [95] "Officium induendi et benedicendi heremitam." [96] We are indebted to Mr. M. H. Bloxam for a copy of it. [97] "_Famulus tuus N._" It is noticable that the masculine gender is used all through, without any such note as we find in the Service for Inclosing (which we shall have to notice hereafter), that this service shall serve for both sexes. [98] The hermit who interposed between Sir Lionel and Sir Bors, and who was killed by Sir Lionel for his interference (Malory's "Prince Arthur," III, lxxix.), is called a "hermit-priest." Also, in the Episcopal Registry of Lichfield, we find the bishop, date 10th February, 1409, giving to Brother Richard Goldeston, late Canon of Wombrugge, now recluse at Prior's Lee, near Shiffenall, license to hear confessions. [99] "Great loobies and long, that loath were to swink [work], Clothed them in copes to be known from others, And shaped them hermits their ease to have." [100] Wanderers. [101] Breakers out of their cells. [102] Kindred. [103] In "Piers Ploughman" we read that-- "Hermits with hoked staves Wenden to Walsingham;" These hooked staves may, however, have been pilgrim staves, not hermit staves. The pastoral staff on the official seal of Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, was of the same shape as the staff above represented. A staff of similar shape occurs on an early grave-stone at Welbeck Priory, engraved in the Rev. E. L. Cutts's "Manual of Sepulchral Slabs and Crosses," plate xxxv. [104] Blomfield, in his "History of Norfolk," 1532, says, "It is to be observed that hermitages were erected, for the most part, near great bridges (see _Mag. Brit._, On Warwickshire, p. 597, Dugdale, &c., and Badwell's 'Description of Tottenham') and high roads, as appears from this, and those at Brandon, Downham, Stow Bardolph, in Norfolk, and Erith, in the Isle of Ely, &c." [105] In the settlement of the vicarage of Kelvedon, Essex, when the rectory was impropriated to the abbot and convent of Westminster, in the fourteenth century, it was expressly ordered that the convent, besides providing the vicar a suitable house, should also provide a hall for receiving guests. See subsequent chapter on the Secular Clergy. [106] From the "Officium et Legenda de Vita Ricardi Rolle." [107] When is not stated; he died in 1349. [108] Afterwards it is described as a cell at a distance from the family, where he was accustomed to sit solitary and to pass his time in contemplation. In doing this Sir John Dalton and his wife were, according to the sentiment of the time, following the example of the Shunammite and her husband, who made for Elisha a little chamber on the wall, and set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool, and a candlestick (2 Kings iv. 10). The Knight of La Tour Landry illustrates this when in one of his tales (ch. xcv.) he describes the Shunammite's act in the language of mediæval custom: "This good woman had gret devocion unto this holy man, and required and praied hym for to come to her burghe and loged in her hous, and her husbonde and she made a chambre solitaire for this holy man, where as he might use his devocions and serve God." [109] Either the little window through which she communicated with the outer world, or perhaps (as suggested further on) a window between her cell and a guest-chamber in which she received visitors. [110] A hermitage, partly of stone, partly of timber, may be seen in the beautiful MS. Egerton 1,147, f. 218 v. [111] A very good representation of a cave hermitage may be found in the late MS. Egerton, 2,125, f. 206 v. Also in the Harl. MS. 1,527, at f. 14 v., is a hermit in a cave; and in Royal 10 E IV. f. 130, here a man is bringing the hermit food and drink. [112] Eugene Aram's famous murder was perpetrated within it. See Sir E. L. Bulwer's description of the scene in his "Eugene Aram." [113] See view in Stukeley's "Itin. Curios.," pl. 14. [114] Suggesting the room so often found over a church porch. [115] In the year 1490, a dispute having arisen between the abbot and convent of Easby and the Grey Friars of Richmond, on the one part, and the burgesses of Richmond, on the other part, respecting the disposition of the goods of Margaret Richmond, late anchoress of the same town, it was at length settled that the goods should remain with the warden and brethren of the friars, after that her debts and the repair of the anchorage were defrayed, "because the said anchoress took her habit of the said friars," and that the abbot and convent should have the disposition of the then anchoress, Alison Comeston, after her decease; and so to continue for evermore between the said abbot and warden, as it happens that the anchoress took her habit of religion. And that the burgesses shall have the nomination and free election of the said anchoress for evermore from time to time when it happens to be void, as they have had without time of mind. (Test. Ebor. ii. 115.) [116] In June 5, 1356, Edward III. granted to brother Regnier, hermit of the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalen, without Salop, a certain plot of waste called Shelcrosse, contiguous to the chapel, containing one acre, to hold the same to him and his successors, hermits there, for their habitation, and to find a chaplain to pray in the chapel for the king's soul, &c. (Owen and Blakeway's "History of Shrewsbury," vol. ii. p. 165). "Perhaps," say our authors, "this was the eremitical habitation in the wood of Suttona (Sutton being a village just without Salop), which is recorded elsewhere to have been given by Richard, the Dapifer of Chester, to the monks of Salop." [117] "Vita S. Godrici," published by the Surtees Society. [118] Simple. [119] Meddle. [120] Since the above was written, the writer has had an opportunity of visiting a hermitage very like those at Warkworth, Wetheral, Bewdley, and Lenton, still in use and habitation. It is in the parish of Limay, near Mantes, a pretty little town on the railway between Rouen and Paris. Nearly at the top of a vine-clad hill, on the north of the valley of the Seine, in which Mantes is situated, a low face of rock crops out. In this rock have been excavated a chapel, a sacristy, and a living-room for the hermit; and the present hermit has had a long refectory added to his establishment, in which to give his annual dinner to the people who come here, one day in the year, in considerable numbers, on pilgrimage. The chapel differs from those which we have described in the text in being larger and ruder; it is so wide that its rocky roof is supported by two rows of rude pillars, left standing for that purpose by the excavators. There is an altar at the east end. At the west end is a representation of the Entombment; the figure of our Lord, lying as if it had become rigid in the midst of the writhing of his agony, is not without a rude force of expression. One of the group of figures standing about the tomb has a late thirteenth-century head of a saint placed upon the body of a Roman soldier of the Renaissance period. There is a grave-stone with an incised cross and inscription beside the tomb; and in the niche on the north side is a recumbent monumental effigy of stone, with the head and hands in white glazed pottery. But whether these things were originally placed in the hermitage, or whether they are waifs and strays from neighbouring churches, brought here as to an ecclesiastical peep-show, it is hard to determine; the profusion of other incongruous odds and ends of ecclesiastical relics and fineries, with which the whole place is furnished, inclines one to the latter conjecture. There is a bell-turret built on the rock over the chapel, and a chimney peeps through the hill-side, over the sacristy fireplace. The platform in front of the hermitage is walled in, and there is a little garden on the hill above. The curé of Limay performs service here on certain days in the year. The hermit will disappoint those who desire to see a modern example of "An aged sire, in long black weedes yclad, His feet all bare, his beard all hoarie gray." He is an aged sire, seventy-four years old; but for the rest, he is simply a little, withered, old French peasant, in a blue blouse and wooden sabots. He passes his days here in solitude, unless when a rare party of visitors ring at his little bell, and, after due inspection through his _grille_, are admitted to peep about his chapel and his grotto, and to share his fine view of the valley shut in by vine-clad hills, and the Seine winding through the flat meadows, and the clean, pretty town of Mantes _le jolie_ in the middle, with its long bridge and its cathedral-like church. Whether he spends his time "Bidding his beades all day for his trespas," we did not inquire; but he finds the hours lonely. The good curé of Limay wishes him to sleep in his hermitage, but, like the hermit-priest of Warkworth, he prefers sleeping in the village at the foot of the hill. [121] One of the little hermitages represented in the Campo Santo series of paintings of the old Egyptian hermit-saints (engraved in Mrs. Jameson's "Legends of the Monastic Orders") has a little grated window, through which the hermit within (probably this John) is talking with another outside. [122] That recluses did, however, sometimes quit their cells on a great emergency, we learn from the Legenda of Richard of Hampole already quoted, where we are told that at his death Dame Margaret Kyrkley, the recluse of Anderby, on hearing of the saint's death, hastened to Hampole to be present at his funeral. [123] Wilkins's "Concilia," i. 693. [124] Several MSS. of this rule are known under different names. Fosbroke quotes one as the rule of Simon de Gandavo (or Simon of Ghent), in Cott. MS. Nero A xiv.; another in Bennet College, Cambridge; and another under the name of Alfred Reevesley. See Fosbroke's "British Monachism," pp. 374-5. The various copies, indeed, seem to differ considerably, but to be all derived from the work ascribed to Bishop Poore. All these books are addressed to female recluses, which is a confirmation of the opinion which we have before expressed, that the majority of the recluses were women. [125] Thus the player-queen in _Hamlet_, iii. 2:-- "Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light! Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night! To desperation turn my trust and hope! An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope! Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, Meet what I would have well, and it destroy," &c. [126] A cell in the north-west angle of Edington Abbey Church, Wilts, seems to be of this kind. [127] The wearing a cuirass, or hauberk of chain mail, next the skin became a noted form of self-torture; those who undertook it were called _Loricati_. [128] The cell of a Carthusian monk, as we have stated, consisted of a little house of three apartments and a little garden within an inclosure wall. [129] This very same picture is given also in another MS. of about the same date, marked Add. 10,294, at folio 14. [130] As was probably the case at Warkworth, the hermit living in the hermitage, while the chantry priest lived in the house at the foot of the hill. [131] "Eremites that inhabiten By the highways, And in boroughs among brewers." _Piers Ploughman's Vision._ [132] Probably "anchoret" means male, and "recluse" female recluse. [133] Test. Vetust., ii. 25. [134] Ibid. ii. 47. [135] Ibid. ii. 56. [136] Ibid. ii. 271. [137] Note p. 87 to "Instructions for Parish Priests," Early English Text Society. [138] Test. Vetust., ii. 131. [139] Ibid. 178. [140] Ibid. ii. 98. [141] Ibid. 356. [142] Other bequests to recluses occur in the will of Henry II., to the recluses (_incluses_) of Jerusalem, England, and Normandy. [143] Sussex Archæol. Coll., i. p. 174. [144] Blomfield's "Norfolk," ii. pp. 347-8. See also the bequests to the Norwich recluses, _infra_. [145] Stow's Chronicle, p. 559. [146] In the "Ancren Riewle," p. 129, we read, "Who can with more facility commit sin than the false recluse?" [147] Owen and Blakeway's "History of Shrewsbury." [148] "Rogerus, &c., delecto in Christo filio Roberto de Worthin, cap. salutem, &c. Precipue devotionis affectum, quem ad serviendum Deo in reclusorio juxta capellam Sancti Joh. Babtiste in civitate Coventriensi constructo, et spretis mundi deliciis et ipsius vagis discurribus contemptis, habere te asseres, propensius intuentes, ac volentes te, consideratione nobilis domine, domine Isabelle Regine Anglie nobis pro te supplicante in hujus laudabili proposito confovere, ut in prefato reclusorio morari possis, et recludi et vitam tuam in eodam ducere in tui laudibus Redemptoris, licentiam tibi quantum in nobis est concedi per presentes, quibus sigillum nostrum duximus apponendum. Dat apud Heywood, 5 Kal. Dec. M.D. A.D. MCCCLXII, et consecrationis nostræ tricessimo sexto."--DUGDALE'S _Warwickshire_, 2nd Edit., p. 193. [149] Fosbroke's "British Monachism," p. 372. [150] Engraved in the _Archæological Journal_, iv. p. 320. [151] Reports of the Lincoln Diocesan Archæological Society for 1853, pp. 359-60. [152] Peter, Abbot of Clugny, tells us of a monk and priest of that abbey who had for a cell an oratory in a very high and remote steeple-tower, consecrated to the honour of St. Michael the archangel. "Here, devoting himself to divine meditation night and day, he mounted high above mortal things, and seemed with the angels to be present at the nearer vision of his Maker." [153] In the Lichfield Registers we find that, on February 10, 1409, the bishop granted to Brother Richard Goldestone, late canon of Wombrugge, now recluse at Prior's Lee, near Shiffenale, license to hear confessions. (History of Whalley, p. 55.) [154] Paper by J. J. Rogers, _Archæological Journal_, xi. 33. [155] Twysden's "Henry de Knighton," vol. ii. p. 2665. [156] The translator of this book for the Camden Society's edition of it, says "therein," but the word in the original Saxon English is "ther thurgh." It refers to the window looking into the church, through which the recluse looked down daily upon the celebration of the mass. [157] "Caput suum decidit ad fenestram ad quam se reclinabit sanctus Dei Ricardus." [158] In one of the stories of Reginald of Durham we learn that a school, according to a custom then "common enough," was kept in the church of Norham on Tweed, the parish priest being the teacher. (Wright's "Domestic Manners of the Middle Ages," p. 117.) [159] These two expressions seem to imply that recluses sometimes went out of their cell, not only into the church, but also into the churchyard. We have already noticed that the technical word "cell" seems to have included everything within the enclosure wall of the whole establishment. Is it possible that in the case of anchorages adjoining churches, the churchyard wall represented this enclosure, and the "cell" included both church and churchyard? [160] A commission given by William of Wykham, Bishop of Winchester, for enclosing Lucy de Newchurch as an anchoritess in the hermitage of St. Brendun, at Bristol, is given in Burnett's "History and Antiquities of Bristol," p. 61. [161] "In monasterio inclusorio suo vicino;" it seems as if the writer of the rubric were specially thinking of the inclusoria within monasteries. [162] The Ordo Romanus. The Pontifical of Egbert. The Pontifical of Bishop Lacey. [163] _Guardian_ newspaper, Feb. 7, 1870. [164] Surrey Society's Transactions, vol. iii. p. 218. [165] The same collect, with a few variations, was used also in the consecration of nuns. Virgin chastity was held to bring forth fruit a hundred fold; widowed chastity, sixty fold; married chastity, thirty fold. [166] Hair-cloth garment worn next the skin for mortification. [167] King Henry IV., Pt. I., Act i. Sc. 1. [168] There have come down to us a series of narratives of pilgrimages to the Holy Land. One of a Christian of Bordeaux as early as 333 A.D.; that of S. Paula and her daughter, about 386 A.D., given by St. Jerome; of Bishop Arculf, 700 A.D.; of Willebald, 725 A.D.; of Sæwulf, 1102 A.D.; of Sigurd the Crusader, 1107 A.D.; of Sir John de Mandeville, 1322-1356.--_Early Travels in Palestine_ (Bohn's Antiq. Lib.). [169] At the present day, the Hospital of the Pellegrini at Rome is capable of entertaining seven thousand guests, women as well as men; to be entitled to the hospitality of the institution, they must have walked at least sixty miles, and be provided with a certificate from a bishop or priest to the effect that they are _bonâ-fide_ pilgrims. (Wild's "Last Winter in Rome." Longmans: 1865.) [170] In the latter part of the Saxon period of our history there was a great rage for foreign pilgrimage; thousands of persons were continually coming and going between England and the principal shrines of Europe, especially the threshold of the Apostles at Rome. They were the subject of a letter from Charlemagne to King Offa:--"Concerning the strangers who, for the love of God and the salvation of their souls, wish to repair to the thresholds of the blessed Apostles, let them travel in peace without any trouble." Again, in the year 1031 A.D., King Canute made a pilgrimage to Rome (as other Saxon kings had done before him) and met the Emperor Conrad and other princes, from whom he obtained for all his subjects, whether merchants or pilgrims, exemptions from the heavy tolls usually exacted on the journey to Rome. [171] At the marriage of our Edward I., in 1254, with Leonora, sister of Alonzo of Castile, a protection to English pilgrims was stipulated for; but they came in such numbers as to alarm the French, and difficulties were thrown in the way. In the fifteenth century, Rymer mentions 916 licences to make the pilgrimage to Santiago granted in 1428, and 2,460 in 1434. [172] King Horn, having taken the disguise of a palmer--"Horn took bourden and scrip"--went to the palace of Athulf and into the hall, and took his place among the beggars "in beggar's row," and sat on the ground.--_Thirteenth Century Romance of King Horn_ (Early English Text Society). That beggars and such persons did usually sit on the ground in the hall and wait for a share of the food, we learn also from the "Vision of Piers Ploughman," xii. 198-- "Right as sum man gave me meat, and set me amid the floor, I have meat more than enough, and not so much worship As they that sit at side table, or with the sovereigns of the hall, But sit as a beggar boardless by myself on the ground." [173] In the romance of King Horn, the hero meets a palmer and asks his news-- "A palmere he there met And fair him grette [greeted]: Palmer, thou shalt me tell All of thine spell." [174] Wallet. [175] Pillow covering. [176] Called or took. [177] _i.e._ Latten (a kind of bronze) set with (mock) precious stones. [178] Pretending them to be relics of some saint. [179] See "Archæological Journal," vol. iii. p. 149. [180] Mr. Taylor, in his edition of "Blomfield's Norfolk," enumerates no less than seventy places of pilgrimage in Norfolk alone. [181] A man might not go without his wife's consent, nor a wife without her husband's:-- "To preche them also thou might not wonde [fear, hesitate], Both to wyf and eke husbande, That nowther of hem no penance take, Ny non a vow to chastity make, Ny no pylgrimage take to do But if bothe assente thereto. * * * * * Save the vow to Jherusalem, That is lawful to ether of them." _Instructions for Parish Priests._ (Early English Text Society.) [182] Marked 3,395 d. 4to. The footnote on a previous page (p. 158) leads us to conjecture that in ancient as in modern times the pilgrim may have received a certificate of his having been blessed as a pilgrim, as now we give certificates of baptism, marriage, and holy orders. [183] See woodcut on p. 90. [184] "History of Music." [185] "Conscience then with Patience passed, Pilgrims as it were, Then had Patience, as pilgrims have, in his poke vittailes." _Piers Ploughman's Vision_, xiii. 215. [186] Grose's "Gloucestershire," pl. lvii. [187] Girdle. [188] One of the two pilgrims in our first cut, p. 158, carries a palm branch in his hand; they represent the two disciples at Emmaus, who were returning from Jerusalem. [189] The existence of several accounts of the stations of Rome in English prose and poetry as early as the thirteenth century (published by the Early English Text Society), indicates the popularity of this pilgrimage. [190] Innocente III., Epist. 536, lib. i., t. c., p. 305, ed. Baluzio. (Dr. Rock's "Church of our Fathers.") [191] "Church of our Fathers," vol. iii. p. 438, note. [192] It is seen on the scrip of Lydgate's Pilgrim in the woodcut on p. 163. See a paper on the Pilgrim's Shell, by Mr. J. E. Tennant, in the _St. James's Magazine_, No. 10, for Jan., 1862. [193] "Anales de Galicia," vol. i. p. 95. Southey's "Pilgrim to Compostella." [194] "Anales de Galicia," vol. i. p. 96, quoted by Southey, "Pilgrim to Compostella." [195] Dr. Rock's "Church of our Fathers," iii. 424. [196] "Vita S. Thomæ apud Willebald," folio Stephani, ed. Giles, i. 312. [197] The lily of the valley was another Canterbury flower. It is still plentiful in the gardens in the precincts of the cathedral. [198] The veneration of the times was concentrated upon the blessed head which suffered the stroke of martyrdom; it was exhibited at the shrine and kissed by the pilgrims; there was an abbey in Derbyshire dedicated to the Beauchef (beautiful head), and still called Beauchief Abbey. [199] The late T. Caldecot, Esq., of Dartford, possessed one of these. [200] A very beautiful little pilgrim sign of lead found at Winchester is engraved in the "Journal of the British Archæological Association," No. 32, p. 363. [201] Dr. Rock's "Church of our Fathers," vol. iii. p. 430. [202] Fosbroke has fallen into the error of calling this a burden bound to the pilgrim's back with a list: it is the bourdon, the pilgrim's staff, round which a list, a long narrow strip of cloth, was wound cross-wise. We do not elsewhere meet with this list round the staff, and it does not appear what was its use or meaning. We may call to mind the list wound cross-wise round a barber's pole, and imagine that this list was attached to the pilgrim's staff for use, or we may remember that a vexillum, or banner, is attached to a bishop's staff, and that a long, narrow riband is often affixed to the cross-headed staff which is placed in our Saviour's hand in mediæval representations of the Resurrection. The staff in our cut, p. 163, looks as if it might have such a list wound round it. [203] Fosbrooke, and Wright, and Dr. Rock, all understand this to be a bowl. Was it a bottle to carry drink, shaped something like a gourd, such as we not unfrequently find hung on the hook of a shepherd's staff in pictures of the annunciation to the shepherds, and such as the pilgrim from Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," bears on his back? [204] Sinai. [205] Galice--Compostella in Galicia. [206] Cross. [207] Asked: people ask him first of all from whence he is come. [208] Armenia. [209] Holy body, object of pilgrimage. [210] Tell us. [211] The Knight of La Tour Landry, in one of his stories, tells us: "There was a young lady that had her herte moche on the worlde. And there was a squier that loved her and she hym. And for because that she might have better leiser to speke with hym, she made her husbande to understande that she had vowed in diverse pilgrimages; and her husband, as he that thought none evelle and wolde not displese her, suffered and held hym content that she should go wherin her lust.... Alle thei that gone on pilgrimage to a place for foul plesaunce more than devocion of the place that thei go to, and covereth thaire goinge with service of God, fowlethe and scornethe God and our Ladie, and the place that thei goo to."--_Book of La Tour Landry_, chap. xxxiv. [212] "I was a poor pilgrim," says one ("History of the Troubadours," p. 300), "when I came to your court; and have lived honestly and respectably in it on the wages you have given me; restore to me my mule, my wallet, and my staff, and I will return in the same manner as I came." [213] "Church of our Fathers," vol. iii. p. 442. [214] Thus Pope Calixtus tells us ("Sermones Bib. Pat.," ed. Bignio, xv. 330) that the pilgrims to Santiago were accustomed before dawn, at the top of each town, to cry with a loud voice, "Deus Adjuva!" "Sancte Jacobe!" "God Help!" "Santiago!" [215] Surely he should have excepted St. Thomas's shrine? [216] In the _Guardian_ newspaper of Sept. 5, 1860, a visitor to Rome gives a description of the exhibition of relics there, which forms an interesting parallel with the account in the text: "Shortly before Ash-Wednesday a public notice ('Invito Sagro') is issued by authority, setting forth that inasmuch as certain of the principal relics and 'sacra immagini' are to be exposed during the ensuing season of Lent, in certain churches specified, the confraternities of Rome are exhorted by the pope to resort in procession to those churches.... The ceremony is soon described. The procession entered slowly at the west door, moved up towards the altar, and when the foremost were within a few yards of it, all knelt down for a few minutes on the pavement of the church to worship. At a signal given by one of the party, they rose, and slowly defiled off in the direction of the chapel wherein is preserved the column of the flagellation (?). By the way, no one of the other sex may ever enter that chapel, except on one day in the year--the very day of which I am speaking; and on _that_ day men are as rigorously excluded. Well, all knelt again for a few minutes, then rose, and moved slowly towards the door, departing as they came, and making way for another procession to enter. It was altogether a most interesting and agreeable spectacle. Utterly alien to our English tastes and habits certainly; but the institution evidently suited the tastes of the people exactly, and I dare say may be conducive to piety, and recommend itself to their religious instincts. Coming from their several parishes, and returning, they chant psalms. "It follows naturally to speak a little more particularly about the adoration of relics, for this is just another of those many definite religious acts which make up the sum of popular devotion, and supply the void occasioned by the entire discontinuance of the old breviary offices. In the 'Diario Romano' (a little book describing what is publicly transacted, of a religious character, during every day in the year), daily throughout Lent, and indeed on every occasion of unusual solemnity (of which, I think, there are eighty-five in all), you read 'Stazione' at such a church. This (whatever it may imply beside) denotes that relics are displayed for adoration in that church on the day indicated. The pavement is accordingly strewed with box, lights burn on the altar, and there is a constant influx of visitors to that church throughout the day. For example, at St. Prisca's, a little church on the Aventine, there was a 'Stazione,' 3rd April. In the Romish Missal you will perceive that on the Feria tertia Majoris hebdomadæ (this year April 3), there is _Statio ad S. Priscam_. A very interesting church, by the way, it proved, being evidently built on a site of immense antiquity--traditionally said to be the house of Prisca. You descend by thirty-one steps into the subterranean edifice. At this little out-of-the-way church, there were strangers arriving all the time we were there. Thirty young Dominicans from S. Sabina, hard by, streamed down into the crypt, knelt for a time, and then repaired to perform a similar act of worship above, at the altar. The friend who conducted me to the spot, showed me, in the vineyard immediately opposite, some extraordinary remains of the wall of Servius Tullius. On our return we observed fresh parties straggling towards the church, bent on performing their 'visits.' It should, perhaps, be mentioned that prayers have been put forth by authority, to be used on such occasions. "I must not pass by this subject of relics so slightly, for it evidently occupies a considerable place in the public devotions of a Roman Catholic. Thus the 'Invito Sagro,' already adverted to, specifies _which_ relics will be displayed in each of the six churches enumerated--(_e.g._ the heads of SS. Peter and Paul, their chains, some wood of the cross, &c.)--granting seven years of indulgence for every visit, by whomsoever paid; and promising plenary indulgence to every person who, after confessing and communicating, shall thrice visit each of the aforesaid churches, and pray for awhile on behalf of holy church. There are besides, on nine chief festivals, as many great displays of relics at Rome, the particulars of which may be seen in the 'Année Liturgique,' pp. 189-206. I witnessed _one_, somewhat leisurely, at the Church of the Twelve Apostles, on the afternoon of the 1st of May. There was a congregation of about two or three hundred in church, while somebody in a lofty gallery displayed the relics, his companion proclaiming with a loud voice what each was: 'Questo e il braccio,' &c., &c., which such an one gave to this 'alma basilica,'--the formula being in every instance very sonorously intoned. There was part of the arm of S. Bartholomew and of S. James the Less; part of S. Andrew's leg, arm, and cross; part of one of S. Paul's fingers; one of the nails with which S. Peter was crucified; S. Philip's right foot; liquid blood of S. James; some of the remains of S. John the Evangelist, of the Baptist, of Joseph, and of the Blessed Virgin; together with part of the manger, cradle, cross, and tomb of our Lord, &c., &c.... I have dwelt somewhat disproportionally on relics, but they play so conspicuous a part in the religious system of the country, that in enumerating the several substitutes which have been invented for the old breviary services, it would not be nearly enough to have discussed the subject in a few lines. A visit paid to a church where such objects are exposed, is a distinct as well as popular religious exercise; and it always seemed to me to be performed with great reverence and devotion." [217] From Mr. Wright's "Archæological Album," p. 19. [218] This slip of lead had probably been put into his coffin. He is sometimes called Thomas of Acre. [219] Of Chaucer's Wife of Bath we read:-- "Thrice had she been at Jerusalem, And haddé passed many a strangé stream; At Rome she haddé been, and at Boloyne, In Galice, at St. James, and at Coloyne." [220] Dugdale's "Monasticon." [221] "Crudities," p. 18. [222] In Lydgate's "Life of St. Edmund" (Harl. 2,278) is a picture of King Alkmund on his pilgrimage, at Rome, receiving the Pope's blessing, in which the treatment of the subject is very like that of the illumination in the text. [223] The shells indicate a pilgrimage accomplished, but the rod may not have been intended to represent the pilgrim's bourdon. In the Harl. MS. 5,102, fol. 68, a MS. of the beginning of the thirteenth century, is a bishop holding a slender rod (not a pastoral staff), and at fol. 17 of the same MS. one is putting a similar rod into a bishop's coffin. The priors of small cathedrals bore a staff without crook, and had the privilege of being arrayed in pontificals for mass; choir-rulers often bore staves. Dr. Rock, in the "Church of our Fathers," vol. iii., pt. II, p. 224, gives a cut from a late Flemish Book of Hours, in which a priest, sitting at confession, bears a long rod. [224] It is engraved in Mr. Boutell's "Christian Monuments in England and Wales," p. 79. [225] Engraved in Nichols's "Leicestershire," vol. iii., pl. ii., p. 623. [226] Engraved in the "Manual of Sepulchral Slabs and Crosses," by the Rev. E. L. Cutts, pl. lxxiii. [227] It will be shown hereafter that secular priests ordinarily wore dresses of these gay colours, all the ecclesiastical canons to the contrary notwithstanding. [228] Here is a good example from Baker's "Northamptonshire:"--"Broughton Rectory: Richard Meyreul, sub-deacon, presented in 1243. Peter de Vieleston, deacon, presented in 1346-7. Though still only a deacon, he had previously been rector of Cottisbrook from 1342 to 1345." Matthew Paris tells us that, in 1252, the beneficed clergy in the diocese of Lincoln were urgently persuaded and admonished by their bishop to allow themselves to be promoted to the grade of priesthood, but many of them refused. The thirteenth Constitution of the second General Council of Lyons, held in 1274, ordered curates to reside and to take priests' orders within a year of their promotion; the lists above quoted show how inoperative was this attempt to remedy the practice against which it was directed. [229] A writer in the _Christian Remembrancer_ for July, 1856, says:--"During the fourteenth century it would seem that half the number of rectories throughout England were held by acolytes unable to administer the sacrament of the altar, to hear confessions, or even to baptise. Presented to a benefice often before of age to be ordained, the rector preferred to marry and to remain a layman, or at best a clerk in minor orders.... In short, during the time to which we refer, rectories were looked upon and treated as lay fees." [230] See Chaucer's poor scholar, hereinafter quoted, who-- "busily gan for the soulis pray Of them that gave him wherewith to scholaie." [231] "Dialogue on Heresies," book iii. c. 12. [232] "Norwich Corporation Records." Sessions Book of 12th Henry VII. Memorand.--That on Thursday, Holyrood Eve, in the xijth of King Henry the VIIJ., Sir William Grene, being accused of being a spy, was examined before the mayor's deputy and others, and gave the following account of himself:--"The same Sir William saieth that he was borne in Boston, in the countie of Lincoln, and about xviij yeres nowe paste or there about, he dwellyd with Stephen at Grene, his father at Wantlet, in the saide countie of Lincolne, and lerned gramer by the space of ij yeres; after that by v or vj yeres used labour with his said father, sometyme in husbandrie and other wiles with the longe sawe; and after that dwelling in Boston at one Genet a Grene, his aunte, used labour and other wiles goyng to scole by the space of ij years, and in that time receyved benet and accolet [the first tonsure and acolytate] in the freres Austens in Boston of one frere Graunt, then beying suffragan of the diocese of Lincoln ["Frere Graunt" was William Grant, titular Bishop of Pavada, in the province of Constantinople. He was Vicar of Redgewell, in Essex, and Suffragan of Ely, from 1516 to 1525.--_Stubbs's Registrum Sacrum Anglicanum_]; after that dwelling within Boston wt. one Mr. Williamson, merchaunt, half a yere, and after that dwellinge in Cambridge by the space of half a yere, used labour by the day beryng of ale and pekynge of saffron, and sometyme going to the colleges, and gate his mete and drynke of almes; and aft that the same Sir William, with ij monks of Whitby Abbey, and one Edward Prentis, went to Rome, to thentent for to have ben made p'st, to which order he could not be admitted; and after abiding in Larkington, in the countie of Essex, used labour for his levyng wt. one Thom. Grene his broder; and after that the same Sr. Will. cam to Cambridge, and ther teried iiij or v wekes, and gate his levynge of almes; and after, dwelling in Boston, agen laboured with dyvs persones by vij or viij wekes; and after that dwelling in London, in Holborn, with one Rickerby, a fustian dyer, about iij wekes, and after that the same William resorted to Cambridge, and ther met agen wt. the said Edward Prentise; and at instance and labour of one Mr. Cony, of Cambridge, the same Will. Grene and Edward Prentise obteyned a licence for one year of Mr. Cappes, than being deputee to the Chancellor of the said univ'sitie, under his seal of office, wherby the same Will. and Edward gathered toguether in Cambridgeshire releaff toward their exhibicon to scole by the space of viij weks, and after that the said Edward departed from the company of the same William. And shortly after that, one Robert Draper, scoler, borne at Feltham, in the countee of Lincoln, accompanyed wt. the same Willm., and they forged and made a newe licence, and putte therin ther bothe names, and the same sealed wt. the seale of the other licence granted to the same Will. and Edward as is aforeseid, by which forged licence the same Will. and Robt. gathered in Cambridgeshire and other shires. At Coventre the same Will. and Robt. caused one Knolles, a tynker, dwelling in Coventre, to make for them a case of tynne mete for a seale of a title which the same Robt. Draper holdde of Makby Abbey. And after that the same Willm. and Robt. cam to Cambridge, and ther met wt. one Sr. John Manthorp, the which hadde ben lately before at Rome, and ther was made a prest; and the same Robert Draper copied out the bulle of orders of deken, subdeken, and p'stehod for the same Willm.; and the same Willm. toke waxe, and leyed and p'st it to the prynte of the seale of the title that the said Robert had a Makby aforeseid, and led the same forged seale in the casse of tynne aforeseid, and with labels fastned ye same to his said forged bull. And sithen the same Willm. hath gathered in dyvers shires, as Northampton, Cambridge, Suffolk, and Norfolk, alway shewyng and feyning hymself that he hadde ben at Rome, and ther was made preste, by means whereof he hath receyved almes of dyvers and many persones."--_Norfolk Archæology_, vol. iv. p. 342. [233] Cobbler. [234] Grease. [235] York Fabric Rolls, p. 87, note. [236] "Church of our Fathers," ii. 441. [237] Richmond Wills. [238] "Church of our Fathers," ii. 408, note. [239] Newcourt's "Repertorium." [240] Johnson's "Canons," ii. 421. Ang. Cath. Lib. Edition. [241] Johnson's "Canons," ii. 421. [242] One who sang annual or yearly masses for the dead. [243] Enough. [244] Chapel of Earl of Northumberland, from the Household Book of Henry Algernon, fifth Earl of Northumberland, born 1477, and died 1527. ("Antiq. Repertory," iv. 242.); First, a preist, a doctour of divinity, a doctor of law, or a bachelor of divinitie, to be dean of my lord's chapell. _It._ A preist for to be surveyour of my lorde's landes. _It._ A preist for to be secretary to my lorde. _It._ A preist for to be amner to my lorde. _It._ A preist for to be sub-dean for ordering and keaping the queir in my lorde's chappell daily. _It._ A preist for a riding chaplein for my lorde. _It._ A preist for a chaplein for my lorde's eldest son, to waite uppon him daily. _It._ A preist for my lorde's clark of the closet. _It._ A preist for a maister of gramer in my lorde's hous. _It._ A preist for reading the Gospell in the chapel daily. _It._ A preist for singing of our Ladies' mass in the chapell daily. The number of these persons as chapleins and preists in houshould are xi. The gentlemen and children of my lorde's chappell which be not appointed to attend at no time, but only in exercising of Godde's service in the chapell daily at matteins, Lady-mass, hyhe-mass, evensong, and compeynge:-- First, a bass. _It._ A second bass. Third bass. A maister of the childer, or counter-tenor. Second and third counter-tenor. A standing tenour. A second, third, and fourth standing tenor. The number of theis persons, as gentlemen of my lorde's chapell, xi. Children of my lorde's chappell:-- Three trebles and three second trebles. In all six. A table of what the Earl and Lady were accustomed to offer at mass on all holydays "if he keep chappell," of offering and annual lights paid for at Holy Blood of Haillis (Hales, in Gloucestershire), our Lady of Walsingham, St. Margaret in Lincolnshire, our Lady in the Whitefriars, Doncaster, of my lord's foundation:-- Presents at Xmas to Barne, Bishop of Beverley and York, when he comes, as he is accustomed, yearly. Rewards to the children of his chapell when they do sing the responde called Exaudivi at the mattynstime for xi. in vespers upon Allhallow Day, 6_s._ 8_d._ On St. Nicholas Eve, 6_s._ 8_d._ To them of his lordshipe's chappell if they doe play the play of the Nativitie upon Xmas Day in the mornynge in my lorde's chapell before his lordship, xx_s._ For singing "Gloria in Excelsis" at the mattens time upon Xmas Day in the mg. To the Abbot of Miserewle (Misrule) on Xmas. To the yeoman or groom of the vestry for bringing him the hallowed taper on Candlemas Day. To his lordship's chaplains and other servts. that play the Play before his lordship on Shrofetewsday at night, xx_s._ That play the Play of Resurrection upon Estur Daye in the mg. in my lorde's chapell before his lordship. To the yeoman or groom of the vestry on Allhallows Day for syngynge for all Cristynne soles the saide nyhte to it be past mydnyght, 3_s._ 4_d._ The Earl and Lady were brother and sister of St. Christopher Gilde of Yorke, and pd. 6_s._ 8_d._ each yearly, and when the Master of the Gild brought my lord and my lady for their lyverays a yard of narrow violette cloth and a yard of narrow rayed cloth, 13_s._ 4_d._ (_i.e._, a yard of each to each). And to Procter of St. Robert's of Knasbrughe, when my lord and lady were brother and sister, 6_s._ 8_d._ each. At pp. 272-278, is an elaborate programme of the ordering of my lord's chapel for the various services, from which it appears that there were organs, and several of the singing men played them in turn. At p. 292 is an order about the washing of the linen for the chapel for a year. Surplices washed sixteen times a year against the great feasts--eighteen surplices for men, and six for children--and seven albs to be washed sixteen times a year, and "five aulter-cloths for covering of the alters" to be washed sixteen times a year. Page 285 ordered that the vestry stuff shall have at every removal (from house to house) one cart for the carrying the nine antiphoners, the four grailles, the hangings of the three altars in the chapel, the surplices, the altar-cloths in my lord's closet and my ladie's, and the sort (suit) of vestments and single vestments and copes "accopeed" daily, and all other my lord's chapell stuff to be sent afore my lord's chariot before his lordship remove. [Cardinal Wolsey, after the Earl's death, intimated his wish to have the books of the Earl's chapel, which a note speaks of as fine service books.--P. 314.] [245] Edited by Mr. Gough Nichols for the Camden Society. [246] Richard Burré, a wealthy yeoman and "ffarmer of the parsonage of Sowntyng, called the Temple, which I holde of the howse of St. Jonys," in 19 Henry VIII. wills that Sir Robert Bechton, "my chaplen, syng ffor my soule by the span of ix. yers;" and further requires an obit for his soul for eleven years in Sompting Church.--("Notes on Wills," by M. A. Lower, "Sussex Archæological Collections," iii. p. 112.) [247] "Dialogue of Heresies," iii. c. 12. [248] See note on previous page, "the altar-cloths in my lord's closet and my ladie's." [249] Of the inventories to be found in wills, we will give only two, of the chapels of country gentlemen. Rudulph Adirlay, Esq. of Colwick ("Testamenta Eboracensia," p. 30), Nottinghamshire, A.D. 1429, leaves to Alan de Cranwill, his chaplain, a little missal and another book, and to Elizabeth his wife "the chalice, vestment, with two candelabra of laton, and the little missal, with all other ornaments belonging to my chapel." In the inventories of the will of John Smith, Esq., of Blackmore, Essex, A.D. 1543, occur: "In the chappell chamber--Item a long setle yoyned. In the chappell--Item one aulter of yoyner's worke. Item a table with two leaves of the passion gilt. Item a long setle of waynscott. Item a bell hanging over the chapel. Chappell stuff: Copes and vestments thre. Aulter fronts foure. Corporall case one; and dyvers peces of silk necessary for cusshyons v. Thomas Smith (to have) as moche as wyll serve his chappell, the resydue to be solde by myn executours." The plate and candlesticks of the chapel are not specially mentioned; they are probably included among the plate which is otherwise disposed of, and "the xiiiij latyn candlestyckes of dyvers sorts," elsewhere mentioned.--_Essex Archæological Society's Transactions_, vol. iii. p. 60. [250] See the Rev. W. Stubbs's learned and laborious "Registrum Sacrum Anglicanum," which gives lists of the suffragan (as well as the diocesan) bishops of the Church of England. [251] "Richmondshire Wills," p. 34. [252] "Test. Ebor.," 220. [253] Ibid., p. 39. [254] In a pontifical of the middle of the fifteenth century, in the British Museum, (Egerton, 1067) at f. 19, is an illumination at the beginning of the service for ordering an ostiary, in which the act is represented. The bishop, habited in a green chasuble and white mitre, is delivering the keys to the clerk, who is habited in a surplice over a black cassock, and is tonsured. At f. 35 of the same MS. is a pretty little picture, showing the ordination of priests; and at f. 44 v., of the consecration of bishops. Other episcopal acts are illustrated in the same MS.: confirmation at f. 12; dedication of a church, f. 100; consecration of an altar, f. 120; benediction of a cemetery, f. 149 v.; consecration of chalice and paten, f. 163; reconciling penitents, f. 182 and f. 186 v.; the "feet-washing," f. 186. [255] Outer short cloak. [256] Was not sufficiently a man of the world to be fit for a secular occupation. [257] Obtain. [258] To pursue his studies. [259] For another good illustration of a clerk of time of Richard II. see the illumination of that king's coronation in the frontispiece of the MS. Royal, 14, E iv., where he seems to be in attendance on one of the bishops. He is habited in blue cassock, red liripipe, black purse, with penner and inkhorn. [260] "Test. Ebor.," vol. ii. p. 98. [261] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 38. [262] "Test. Ebor.," vol. ii. p. 143. [263] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 149. [264] Archdeacon Hale's "Precedents in Criminal Causes," p. 113. [265] From the duty of carrying holy water, mentioned here and in other extracts, the clerk derived the name of _aqua bajulus_, by which he is often called, _e.g._, in many of the places in Archdeacon Hale's "Precedents in Criminal Causes." [266] Ibid., p. 122. [267] York Fabric Rolls, p. 257. [268] Ibid., p. 248. [269] York Fabric Rolls, p. 265. [270] Ibid., p. 266. [271] Ibid., p. 248. [272] Bohn's Edition, ii. 388. [273] Hair. [274] Complexion. [275] Neatly. [276] _Watchet_, a kind of cloth. [277] Small twigs or trees. [278] Musical instruments. [279] As the parish clerk of St. Mary, York, used to go to the people's houses with holy water on Sundays. [280] Grafted lies. [281] As debtors flee to sanctuary at Westminster, and live on what they have borrowed, and set their creditors at defiance. [282] Them. [283] Their. [284] Know. [285] Great and little. [286] Gave. [287] Angry. [288] Difficult nor proud. [289] Smite, rebuke. [290] Scrupulous. [291] Cardinal Otho, the Papal legate in England in the time of Henry III., was a deacon (Matthew Paris, Sub. Ann. 1237); Cardinal Pandulph, in King John's time, was a sub-deacon (R. Wendover, Sub. Ann. 1212). [292] There is a very fine drawing of an archbishop in _pontificalibus_ of the latter part of the thirteenth century in the MS. Royal, 2 A. f. 219 v. [293] "Church of our Fathers," i. 319. [294] In a Spanish Book of Hours (Add. 1819-3), at f. 86 v., is a representation of an ecclesiastic in a similar robe of dark purple with a hood, he wears a cardinal's hat and holds a papal tiara in his hand. [295] Engraved by Dr. Rock, ii. 97. [296] Engraved in the _Archæological Journal_, vii. 17 and 19. [297] A plain straight staff is sometimes seen in illuminations being put into a bishop's grave; such staves have been actually found in the coffins of bishops. [298] The alb was often of coloured materials. We find coloured albs in the mediæval inventories. In Louandre's "Arts Somptuaires," vol. i. xi. siecle, is a picture of the canons of St. Martin of Tours in blue albs. Their costume is altogether worth notice. [299] For another ecclesiastical procession which shows very clearly the costume of the various orders of clergy, see Achille Jubinal's "Anciennes Tapisseries," plate ii. [300] _Incisis_, cut and slashed so as to show the lining. [301] Monumenta Franciscana, lxxxix. Master of the Rolls' publications. [302] York Fabric Rolls, p. 243. [303] This word, which will frequently occur, means a kind of ornamental dagger, which was worn hanging at the girdle in front by civilians, and knights when out of armour. The instructions to parish priests, already quoted, says-- In honeste clothes thow muste gon Baselard ny bawdryke were thou non. [304] The honorary title of Sir was given to priests down to a late period. A law of Canute declared a priest to rank with the second order of thanes--_i.e._, with the landed gentry. "By the laws, armorial, civil, and of arms, a priest in his place in civil conversation is always before any esquire, as being a knight's fellow by his holy orders, and the third of the three Sirs which only were in request of old (no baron, viscount, earl, nor marquis being then in use), to wit, Sir King, Sir Knight, and Sir Priest.... But afterwards Sir in English was restrained to these four,--Sir Knight, Sir Priest, and Sir Graduate, and, in common speech, Sir Esquire; so always, since distinction of titles were, Sir Priest was ever the second."--A Decacordon of Quodlibetical Questions concerning Religion and State, quoted in Knight's Shakespeare, Vol. I. of Comedies, note to Sc. I, Act i. of "Merry Wives of Windsor." In Shakespeare's characters we have _Sir Hugh Evans_ and _Sir Oliver Martext_, and, at a later period still, "Sir John" was the popular name for a priest. Piers Ploughman (Vision XI. 304) calls them "God's knights," And also in the Psalter says David to overskippers, _Psallite Deo nostro, psallite; quoniam rex terre Deus Israel; psallite sapienter_. The Bishop shall be blamed before God, as I leve [believe] That crowneth such goddes knightes that conneth nought _sapienter_ Synge ne psalmes rede ne segge a masse of the day. Ac never neyther is blameless the bisshop ne the chapleyne, For her either is endited; and that of _ignorancia Non excusat episcopos, nec idiotes prestes_. [305] York Fabric Rolls, p. 268. [306] Described and engraved in the Sussex Archæological Collections, vii. f. 13. [307] Described and engraved in Mr. Parker's "Domestic Architecture." [308] Parker's "Domestic Architecture," ii. p. 87. [309] There are numerous curious examples of fifteenth-century timber window-tracery in the Essex churches. [310] The deed of settlement of the vicarage of Bulmer, in the year 1425, gives us the description of a parsonage house of similar character. It consisted of one hall with two chambers annexed, the bakehouse, kitchen, and larder-house, one chamber for the vicar's servant, a stable, and a hay-soller (_Soler_, loft), with a competent garden. Ingrave rectory house was a similar house; it is described, in a terrier of 1610, as "a house containing a hall, a parlour, a buttery, two lofts, and a study, also a kitchen, a milk-house, and a house for poultry, a barn, a stable and a hay-house."--_Newcourt_, ii. p. 281. Ingatestone rectory, in the terrier of 1610, was "a dwelling-house with a hall, a parlour, and a chamber within it; a study newly built by the then parson; a chamber over the parlour, and another within that with a closet; without the dwelling-house a kitchen and two little rooms adjoining to it, and a chamber over them; two little butteries over against the hall, and next them a chamber, and one other chamber over the same; without the kitchen there is a dove-house, and another house built by the then parson; a barn and a stable very ruinous."--_Newcourt_, ii. 348. Here, too, we seem to have an old house with hall in the middle, parlour and chamber at one end and two butteries at the other, in the midst of successive additions. There is also a description of the rectory house of West Haningfield, Essex, in Newcourt, ii. 309, and of North Bemfleet, ii. 46. [311] Newcourt's "Repertorum," ii. 97. [312] Newcourt, ii. 49. [313] George Darell, A.D. 1432, leaves one book of statutes, containing the statutes of Kings Edward III., Richard II., and Henry IV.; one book of law, called "Natura Brevium;" one Portus, and one Par Statutorum Veterum.--_Testamenta Eboracensia_, ii. p. 27. [314] There are other inventories of the goods of clerics, which will help to throw light upon their domestic economy at different periods, _e.g._, of the vicar of Waghen, A.D. 1462, in the York Wills, ii. 261, and of a chantry priest, A.D. 1542, in the Sussex Archæological Collections, iii. p. 115. [315] Bohn's Edition, vol. ii. p. 278. [316] Matthew Paris, vol. i. p. 285 (Bohn's edition). [317] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 193. [318] Ibid., vol iii. p. 48. [319] Numb. x. 9. [320] Exod. xv. 21. [321] 1 Sam. xviii. 7. [322] Jer. xxxi. 4. [323] Is. v. 12. [324] 1 Sam. x. 5. [325] 2 Sam. vi. 5. [326] Psalm lxviii. [327] Also a paper read before the London and Middlesex Architectural Society in June, 1871. [328] The king's minstrel of the last Saxon king is mentioned in Domesday Book as holding lands in Gloucestershire. [329] In the reign of Henry I., Rayer was the King's Minstrel. Temp. Henry II., it was Galfrid, or Jeffrey. Temp. Richard I., Blondel, of romantic memory. Temp. Henry III., Master Ricard. It was the Harper of Prince Edward (afterwards King Edward I.) who brained the assassin who attempted the Prince's life, when his noble wife Eleanor risked hers to extract the poison from the wound. In Edward I.'s reign we have mention of a King Robert, who may be the impetuous minstrel of the Prince. Temp. Edward II., there occur two: a grant of houses was made to William de Morley, the King's Minstrel, which had been held by his predecessor, John de Boteler. At St. Bride's, Glamorganshire, is the insculpt effigy of a knightly figure, of the date of Edward I., with an inscription to John le Boteler; but there is nothing to identify him with the king of the minstrels. Temp. Richard II., John Camuz was the king of his minstrels. When Henry V. went to France, he took his fifteen minstrels, and Walter Haliday, their Marshal, with him. After this time the chief of the royal minstrels seems to have been styled _Marshal_ instead of King; and in the next reign but one we find a _Sergeant_ of the Minstrels. Temp. Henry VI., Walter Haliday was still Marshal of the Minstrels; and this king issued a commission for _impressing_ boys to supply vacancies in their number. King Edward IV. granted to the said long-lived Walter Haliday, Marshal, and to seven others, a charter for the restoration of a Fraternity or Gild, to be governed by a marshal and two wardens, to regulate the minstrels throughout the realm (except those of Chester). The minstrels of the royal chapel establishment of this king were thirteen in number; some trumpets, some shalms, some small pipes, and other singers. The charter of Edward IV. was renewed by Henry VIII. in 1520, to John Gilman, his then marshal, on whose death Hugh Wodehouse was promoted to the office. [330] Ellis's "Early English Metrical Romances" (Bohn's edition), p. 287. [331] From Mr. T. Wright's "Domestic Manners of the English." [332] Among his nobles. [333] Their. [334] Great chamber, answering to our modern drawing-room. [335] Couches. [336] For other illustrations of musical instruments see a good representation of Venus playing a rote, with a plectrum in the right hand, pressing the strings with the left, in the Sloane MS. 3,985, f. 44 v. Also a band, consisting of violin, organistrum (like the modern hurdy-gurdy), harp, and dulcimer, in the Harl. MS. 1,527; it represents the feast on the return of the prodigal son. In the Arundel MS. 83, f. 155, is David with a band of instruments of early fourteenth-century date, and other instruments at f. 630. In the early fourteenth-century MS. 28,162, at f. 6 v., David is tuning his harp with a key; at f. 10 v. is Dives faring sumptuously, with carver and cup-bearer, and musicians with lute and pipe. [337] Mallory's "History of Prince Arthur," vol. i. p. 44. [338] Viz., by making the sign of the cross upon them. [339] Edward VI.'s commissioners return a pair of organs in the church of St. Peter Mancroft, Norwich, which they value at 40_s._, and in the church of St. Peter, Parmentergate, in the same city, a pair of organs which they value at £10 (which would be equal to about £70 or £80 in these days), and soon after we find that 8_d._ were "paied to a carpenter for makyng of a plaunche (a platform of planks) to sette the organs on." [340] Another, with kettle-drums and trumpets, in the MS. Add. 27,675, f. 13. [341] A harp with its case about the lower part is in the Add. MS. 18,854, f. 91. [342] There are casts of these in the Mediæval Court of the Crystal Palace. [343] "Annales Archæologiques," vol. vi. p. 315. [344] Ibid., vol. ix. p. 329. [345] Kettle-drums. [346] In the account of the minstrel at Kenilworth, subsequently given, he is described as "a squiere minstrel of Middlesex, that travelled the country this summer time." [347] "Miri it is in somer's tide Swainés gin on justing ride." [348] "Whanne that April with his shourés sote," &c. "Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages." [349] Tedious, irksome. [350] Lose their. [351] Renders tedious. [352] Fontenelle ("Histoire du Théâtre," quoted by Percy) tells us that in France, men, who by the division of the family property had only the half or the fourth part of an old seignorial castle, sometimes went rhyming about the world, and returned to acquire the remainder of their ancestral castle. [353] In the MS. illuminations of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the messenger is denoted by peculiarities of equipment. He generally bears a spear, and has a very small, round target (or, perhaps, a badge of his lord's arms) at his girdle--_e.g._, in the MS. Add. 11,639 of the close of the thirteenth century, folio 203 v. In the fifteenth century we see messengers carrying letters openly, fastened in the cleft of a split wand, in the MS. of about the same date, Harl. 1,527, folio 1,080, and in the fourteenth century MS. Add. 10,293, folio 25; and in Hans Burgmaier's Der Weise Könige. [354] It is right to state that one MS. of this statute gives Mareschans instead of Menestrals; but the reading in the text is that preferred by the Record Commission, who have published the whole of the interesting document. [355] In the romance of Richard Coeur de Lion we read that, after the capture of Acre, he distributed among the "heralds, disours, tabourers, and trompours," who accompanied him, the greater part of the money, jewels, horses, and fine robes which had fallen to his share. We have many accounts of the lavish generosity with which chivalrous lords propitiated the favourable report of the heralds and minstrels, whose good report was fame. [356] May we infer from the exemption of the jurisdiction of the Duttons, and not of that of the court of Tutbury and the guild of Beverley, that the jurisdiction of the King of the Minstrels over the whole realm was established after the former, and before the latter? The French minstrels were incorporated by charter, and had a king in the year 1330, forty-seven years before Tutbury. In the ordonnance of Edward II., 1315, there is no allusion to such a general jurisdiction. [357] One of the minstrels of King Edward the Fourth's household (there were thirteen others) was called the _wayte_; it was his duty to "pipe watch." In the romance of "Richard Coeur de Lion," when Richard, with his fleet, has come silently in the night under the walls of Jaffa, which was besieged on the land side by the Saracen army:-- "They looked up to the castel, They heard no pipe, ne flagel,[A] They drew em nigh to land, If they mighten understand, And they could ne nought espie, Ne by no voice of minstralcie, That quick man in the castle were." And so they continued in uncertainty until the spring of the day, then "A wait there came, in a kernel,[B] And piped a nott in a flagel." And when he recognised King Richard's galleys, "Then a merrier note he blew, And piped, 'Seigneurs or sus! or sus! King Richard is comen to us!'" [A] Flageolet. [B] Battlement. [358] Was offended. [359] Repent. [360] Give. [361] Travel. [362] Praise. [363] Introduction to his "Reliques of Early English Poetry." [364] The close-fitting outer garment worn in the fourteenth century, shown in the engravings on p. 350. [365] Which Percy supposes to mean "tonsure-wise," like priests and monks. [366] Percy supposes from this expression that there were inferior orders, as yeomen-minstrels. May we not also infer that there were superior orders, as knight-minstrels, over whom was the king-minstrel? for we are told "he was but a batchelor (whose chivalric signification has no reference to matrimony) yet." We are disposed to believe that this was a real minstrel. Langham tells us that he was dressed "partly as he would himself:" probably, the only things which were not according to his wont, were that my Lord of Leicester may have given him a new coat; that he had a little more capon's grease than usual in his hair; and that he was set to sing "a solemn song, warranted for story, out of King Arthur's Acts," instead of more modern minstrel ware. [367] Heralds in the fourteenth century bore the arms of their lord on a small scutcheon fastened at the side of their girdle. [368] "Annales Archæologiques," vii. p. 323. [369] "Eoten," a giant; "Eotenish," made by or descended from the giants. [370] The Harl. MS. 603, of the close of the eleventh century, contains a number of military subjects rudely drawn, but conveying suggestions which the artist will be able to interpret and profit by. In the Add. MS. 28,107, of date A.D. 1096, at f. 25 v., is a Goliath; and at f. 1,630 v., a group of soldiers. [371] _Didde_--did on next his white skin. [372] _Debate_--contend. [373] _Cuirbouly_--stamped leather. [374] _Latoun_--brass. [375] Compare Tennyson's description of Sir Lancelot, in the "Lady of Shalot." "His gemmy bridle glittered free, Like to some branch of stars we see; Hung in the golden galaxy, As he rode down to Camelot." [376] In the MS. Royal, 1,699, is a picture in which are represented a sword and hunting-horn hung over a tomb. The helmet, sword, and shield of Edward the Black Prince still hang over his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral; Henry IV.'s saddle and helmet over his tomb in Westminster Abbey; and in hundreds of parish churches helmets, swords, gauntlets, spurs, &c., still hang over the tombs of mediæval knights. [377] Probably a bridge with a tower to defend the approach to it. [378] Couch. [379] Hewitt's "Ancient Armour," i. p. 349. [380] The album of Villars de Honnecourt, of the thirteenth century, contains directions for constructing the trebuchet. [381] Hewitt's "Ancient Armour," i. 361. [382] For much curious detail on this subject see "The Babee's Book," published by the Early English Text Society. [383] A cover for a bench. [384] In illustration of the way in which actual warfare was sometimes treated as if it were a chivalrous trial of skill, take the following anecdote from Froissart; on the occasion when the French had bribed Amery de Puy, the governor, to betray Calais, and fell into the ambush which Edward III. set for them, and the king himself fought under the banner of Sir Walter Murray:--"The Kyng lyht on the Lord Eustace of Rybemount, who was a strong and a hardy knyht; there was a long fyht bytwene hym and the kyng that it was joy to beholde them.... The knight strake the kyng the same day two tymes on his knees; but finally the kynge himself toke hym prisoner, and so he yelded his sword to the kyng and sayd, Sir Knyght, I yeled me as your prisoner, he knewe not as then that it was the kyng." In the evening the king gave a supper in the castle, at which the French prisoners sat as guests; and, "when supper was done and the tables take away, the kyng taryed styll in the hall with his knyghtes and with the Frenchmen, and he was bare-heeded, savyng a chapelet of fyne perles that he ware on his heed. Than the kyng went fro one to another of the Frenchmen.... Than the kyng come to Sir Eustace of Rybamont, and joyously to hym he said, 'Sir Eustace, ye are the knyht in the worlde that I have sene moost valyant assayle his ennemyes and defende hymselfe, nor I never founde knyght that ever gave me so moche ado, body to body, as ye have done this day; wherefore I give you the price above all the knyghtes of my court by ryht sentence.' Then the kyng took the chapelet that was upon his heed, beying bothe faire, goodly, and ryche, and sayd, 'Sir Eustace, I gyve you this chapelet for the best doar in armes in this journey past of either party, and I desire you to bere it this yere for the love of me; say whersover ye come that I dyd give it you; and I quyte you your prison and ransom, and ye shall depart to-morowe if it please you.'" [385] 2 Samuel ii. [386] Such as that which took place at Windsor Park in the sixth year of Edward I., for which, according to a document in the Record Office at the Tower (printed in the "Archælogia," vol. xvii. p. 297), it appears that the knights were armed in a tunic and surcoat, a helmet of leather gilt or silvered, with crests of parchment, a wooden shield, and a sword of parchment, silvered and strengthened with whalebone, with gilded hilts. [387] _i.e._, of the strangers. The challengers are afterwards called the gentlemen within. [388] For other forms of challenge, and some very romantic challenges at full length, see the Lansdowne MS. 285. [389] Probably the tilt-house (the shed or tent which they have in the field at one end of the lists). [390] The Lansdowne MS. says "gentlewomen," an obvious error; it is correctly given as above in the Hastings MS. [391] Dugdale, in his "History of Warwickshire," gives a curious series of pictures of the famous combat between John Astle and Piers de Massie in the year 1438, showing the various incidents of the combat. [392] The Harleian MS. No. 69, is a book of certain triumphs, containing proclamations of tournaments, statutes of arms for their regulation, and numerous other documents relating to the subject. From folio 20 and onwards are given pictures of combats; folio 22 v. represents spear-play at the barriers; folio 23, sword-play at the barriers, &c. [393] In the picture given by Dugdale of the combat between John Astle and Piers de Massie, the combatants are represented each sitting in his chair--a great carvad chair, something like the coronation chair in Westminster Abbey. [394] Tremouille. [395] "Oyez!" or perhaps "Ho!" [396] From Mr. Wright's "Domestic Manners and Customs of the Middle Ages." [397] "Ancient Cannon in Europe," by Lieut. Brackenbury. [398] See also Viollet le Duc's "Dictionary of Architecture." [399] The British Museum does not possess this fine work, but a copy of it is accessible to the public in the Library of the South Kensington Museum. [400] Afterwards cardinal. [401] Dun Cow. [402] "He is so hung round," says Truewit, in Ben Jonson's _Epicoene_, "with pikes, halberds, petronels, calivers, and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's hall." Clement Sysley, of Eastbury House, near Barking, bequeathed in his will the "gonnes, pikes, cross-bows, and other weapons, to Thomas Sysley, to go with the house, and remain as standards for ever in Eastbury Hall." [403] A sketch illustrating their construction may be found in Witsen's "Sheeps Bouw." Appendix, Plate 10. [404] "History of Commerce." [405] Sir Harris Nicholas' "History of the British Navy," vol. i. p. 21. [406] In our own day we see the scorn of trade being rapidly softened down. Many of our commercial houses are almost as important as a department of State, and are conducted in much the same way. The principals of these houses are often considerable landholders besides, have been educated at the public schools and universities, and are frankly received as equals in all societies. On the other hand, the nobility are putting their younger sons into trade. At this moment, we believe, the brother-in-law of a princess of England is in a mercantile house. [407] _Avarice_, in "Piers Ploughman's Vision," v. 255, says:-- "I have ymade many a knyht both mercer and draper That payed nevere for his prentishode not a paire of gloves." [408] Neatly, properly. [409] Shields, _i.e._ _écus_, French crowns. [410] Agreement for borrowing money. [411] Know not his name. [412] From Mr. Wright's "Domestic Manners and Customs of the Middle Ages." [413] If. [414] Boxes. [415] Sweet ointments. [416] To give relief. [417] Engraved in Fisher's Bedfordshire Collections, and in the London and Middlesex Archæological Society's Proceedings for 1870, p. 66. [418] Take the woodcut on p. 531, from MS. Royal, 15 E. I., f. 436. [419] Taken. [420] Like. [421] N'et, _i.e._ does not eat. [422] N'is, _i.e._ is not. 
39227	----	available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/sourcebookofmedi00oggfuoft Transcriber's note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). A SOURCE BOOK OF MEDIÆVAL HISTORY Documents Illustrative of European Life and Institutions from the German Invasions to the Renaissance Edited by FREDERIC AUSTIN OGG, A.M. Assistant in History in Harvard University and Instructor in Simmons College [Illustration] New York .:. Cincinnati .:. Chicago American Book Company Copyright, 1907, by Frederic Austin Ogg Entered at Stationers' Hall, London W. P. 4 PREFACE This book has been prepared in consequence of a conviction, derived from some years of teaching experience, (1) that sources, of proper kind and in carefully regulated amount, can profitably be made use of by teachers and students of history in elementary college classes, in academies and preparatory schools, and in the more advanced years of the average high school, and (2) that for mediæval history there exists no published collection which is clearly adapted to practical conditions of work in such classes and schools. It has seemed to me that a source book designed to meet the requirements of teachers and classes in the better grade of secondary schools, and perhaps in the freshman year of college work, ought to comprise certain distinctive features, first, with respect to the character of the selections presented, and, secondly, in regard to general arrangement and accompanying explanatory matter. In the choice of extracts I have sought to be guided by the following considerations: (1) that in all cases the materials presented should be of real value, either for the historical information contained in them or for the more or less indirect light they throw upon mediæval life or conditions; (2) that, for the sake of younger students, a relatively large proportion of narrative (annals, chronicles, and biography) be introduced and the purely documentary material be slightly subordinated; (3) that, despite this principle, documents of vital importance, such as _Magna Charta_ and _Unam Sanctam_, which cannot be ignored in even the most hasty or elementary study, be presented with some fulness; and (4) that, in general, the rule should be to give longer passages from fewer sources, rather than more fragmentary ones from a wider range. With respect to the manner of presenting the selections, I have sought: (1) to offer careful translations--some made afresh from the printed originals, others adapted from good translations already available--but with as much simplification and modernization of language as close adherence to the sense will permit. Literal, or nearly literal, translations are obviously desirable for maturer students, but, because of the involved character of mediæval writings, are rarely readable, and are as a rule positively repellent to the young mind; (2) to provide each selection, or group of selections, with an introductory explanation, containing the historical setting of the extract, with perhaps some comment on its general significance, and also a brief sketch of the writer, particularly when he is an authority of exceptional importance, as Einhard, Joinville, or Froissart; and (3) to supply, in foot-notes, somewhat detailed aid to the understanding of obscure allusions, omitted passages, and especially place names and technical terms. For permission to reprint various translations, occasionally verbatim but usually in adapted form, I am under obligation to the following: Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Co., publishers of Miss Henry's translation of Dante's _De Monarchia_; Messrs. Henry Holt and Co., publishers of Lee's _Source Book of English History_; Messrs. Ginn and Co., publishers of Robinson's _Readings in European History_; Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, publishers of Thatcher and McNeal's _Source Book for Mediæval History_; Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, publishers of Robinson and Rolfe's _Petrarch_; and Professor W. E. Lingelbach, of the University of Pennsylvania, representing the University of Pennsylvania _Translations and Reprints from the Original Sources of European History_. In the preparation of the book I have received invaluable assistance from numerous persons, among whom the following, at least, should be named: Professor Samuel B. Harding, of the University of Indiana, who read the entire work in manuscript and has followed its progress from the first with discerning criticism; Professor Charles H. Haskins, of Harvard University, who has read most of the proof-sheets, and whose scholarship and intimate acquaintance with the problems of history teaching have contributed a larger proportion of whatever merits the book possesses than I dare attempt to reckon up; and Professors Charles Gross and Ephraim Emerton, likewise of Harvard, whose instruction and counsel have helped me over many hard places. The final word must be reserved for my wife, who, as careful amanuensis, has shared the burden of a not altogether easy task. FREDERIC AUSTIN OGG. CAMBRIDGE, MASS. INTRODUCTION THE NATURE AND USE OF HISTORICAL SOURCES [Sidenote: The question of authority in a book of history] If one proposes to write a history of the times of Abraham Lincoln, how shall one begin, and how proceed? Obviously, the first thing needed is information, and as much of it as can be had. But how shall information, accurate and trustworthy, be obtained? Of course there are plenty of books on Lincoln, and histories enough covering the period of his career to fill shelf upon shelf. It would be quite possible to spread some dozens of these before one's self and, drawing simply from them, work out a history that would read well and perhaps have a wide sale. And such a book might conceivably be worth while. But if you were reading it, and were a bit disposed to query into the accuracy of the statements made, you would probably find yourself wondering before long just where the writer got his authority for this or that assertion; and if, in foot-note or appendix, he should seem to satisfy your curiosity by citing some other biography or history, you would be quite justified in feeling that, after all, your inquiry remained unanswered,--for whence did this second writer get _his_ authority? If you were thus persistent you would probably get hold of the volume referred to and verify, as we say, the statements of fact or opinion attributed to it. When you came upon them you might find it there stated that the point in question is clearly established from certain of Lincoln's own letters or speeches, which are thereupon cited, and perhaps quoted in part. At last you would be satisfied that the thing must very probably be true, for there you would have the words of Lincoln himself upon it; or, on the other hand, you might discover that your first writer had merely adopted an opinion of somebody else which did not have behind it the warrant of any first-hand authority. In either case you might well wonder why, instead of using and referring only to books of other later authors like himself, he did not go directly to Lincoln's own works, get his facts from them, and give authority for his statements at first hand. And if you pushed the matter farther it would very soon occur to you that there are some books on Lincoln and his period which are not carefully written, and therefore not trustworthy, and that your author may very well have used some of these, falling blindly into their errors and at times wholly escaping the correct interpretation of things which could be had, in incontrovertible form, from Lincoln's own pen, or from the testimony of his contemporaries. In other words, you would begin to distrust him because he had failed to go to the "sources" for his materials, or at least for a verification of them. [Sidenote: The superiority of direct sources of knowledge] How, then, shall one proceed in the writing of history in order to make sure of the indispensable quality of accuracy? Clearly, the first thing to be borne in mind is the necessity of getting information through channels which are as direct and immediate as possible. Just as in ascertaining the facts regarding an event of to-day it would be desirable to get the testimony of an eye-witness rather than an account after it had passed from one person to another, suffering more or less distortion at every step, so, in seeking a trustworthy description of the battle of Salamis or of the personal habits of Charlemagne, the proper course would be to lay hold first of all of whatever evidence concerning these things has come down from Xerxes's or Charlemagne's day to our own, and to put larger trust in this than in more recent accounts which have been played upon by the imagination of their authors and perhaps rendered wholly misleading by errors consciously or unconsciously injected into them. The writer of history must completely divest himself of the notion that a thing is true simply because he finds it in print. He may, and should, read and consider well what others like himself have written upon his subject, but he should be wary of accepting what he finds in such books without himself going to the materials to which these writers have resorted and ascertaining whether they have been used with patience and discrimination. If his subject is Lincoln, he should, for example, make sure above everything else, of reading exhaustively the letters, speeches, and state papers which have been preserved, in print or in manuscript, from Lincoln's pen. Similarly, he should examine with care all letters and communications of every kind transmitted to Lincoln. Then he should familiarize himself with the writings of the leading men of Lincoln's day, whether in the form of letters, diaries, newspaper and magazine articles, or books. The files, indeed, of all the principal periodicals of the time should be gone through in quest of information or suggestions not to be found in other places. And, of course, the vast mass of public and official records would be invaluable--the journals of the two houses of Congress, the dispatches, orders, and accounts of the great executive departments, the arguments before the courts, with the resulting decisions, and the all but numberless other papers which throw light upon the practical conditions and achievements of the governing powers, national, state, and local. However much one may be able to acquire from the reading of later biographies and histories, he ought not to set about the writing of a new book of the sort unless he is willing to toil patiently through all these first-hand, contemporary materials and get some warrant from them, as being nearest the events themselves, for everything of importance that he proposes to say. This rule is equally applicable and urgent whatever the subject in hand--whether the age of Pericles, the Roman Empire, the Norman conquest of England, the French Revolution, or the administrations of George Washington--though, obviously, the character and amount of the contemporary materials of which one can avail himself varies enormously from people to people and from period to period. [Sidenote: Indirect character of all historical knowledge] History is unlike many other subjects of study in that our knowledge of it, at best, must come to us almost wholly through indirect means. That is to say, all our information regarding the past, and most of it regarding our own day, has to be obtained, in one form or another, through other people, or the remains that they have left behind them. No one of us can know much about even so recent an event as the Spanish-American War, except by reading newspapers, magazines and books, talking with men who had part in it, or listening to public addresses concerning it--all indirect means. And, of course, when we go back of the memory of men now living, say to the American Revolution, nobody can lay claim to an iota of knowledge which he has not acquired through indirect channels. In physics or chemistry, if a student desires, he can reproduce in the laboratory practically any phenomenon which he finds described in his books; he need not accept the mere word of his text or of his teacher, but can actually behold the thing with his own eyes. Such experimentation, however, has no place in the study of history, for by no sort of art can a Roman legion or a German comitatus or the battle of Hastings be reproduced before mortal eye. [Sidenote: An "historical source" defined] [Sidenote: Written sources] For our knowledge of history we are therefore obliged to rely absolutely upon human testimony, in one form or another, the value of such testimony depending principally upon the directness with which it comes to us from the men and the times under consideration. If it reaches us with reasonable directness, and represents a well authenticated means of studying the period in question from the writings or other traces left by that period, it is properly to be included in the great body of materials which we have come to call historical sources. An historical source may be defined as any product of human activity or existence that can be used as direct evidence in the study of man's past life and institutions. A moment's thought will suggest that there are "sources" of numerous and widely differing kinds. Roughly speaking, at least, they fall into two great groups: (1) those in writing and (2) those in some form other than writing. The first group is by far the larger and more important. Foremost in it stand annals, chronicles, and histories, written from time to time all along the line of human history, on the cuneiform tablets of the Assyrians or the parchment rolls of the mediæval monks, in the polished Latin of a Livy or the sprightly French of a Froissart. Works of pure literature also--epics, lyrics, dramas, essays--because of the light that they often throw upon the times in which they were written, possess a large value of the same general character. Of nearly equal importance is the great class of materials which may be called documentary--laws, charters, formulæ, accounts, treaties, and official orders or instructions. These last are obviously of largest value in the study of social customs, land tenures, systems of government, the workings of courts, ecclesiastical organizations, and political agencies--in other words, of _institutions_--just as chronicles and histories are of greatest service in unraveling the _narrative_ side of human affairs. [Sidenote: Sources other than in writing] Of sources which are not in the form of writing, the most important are: (1) implements of warfare, agriculture, household economy, and the chase, large quantities of which have been brought to light in various parts of the world, and which bear witness to the manner of life prevailing among the peoples who produced and used them; (2) coins, hoarded up in treasuries or buried in tombs or ruins of one sort or another, frequently preserving likenesses of important sovereigns, with dates and other materials of use especially in fixing chronology; (3) works of art, surviving intact or with losses or changes inflicted by the ravages of weather and human abuse--the tombs of the Egyptians, the sculpture of the Greeks, the architecture of the Middle Ages, or the paintings of the Renaissance; (4) other constructions of a more practical character, particularly dwelling-houses, roads, bridges, aqueducts, walls, gates, fortresses, and ships,--some well preserved and surviving as they were first fashioned, others in ruins, and still others built over and more or less obscured by modern improvement or adaptation. [Sidenote: Various ways of using sources] These are some of the things to which the writer of history must go for his facts and for his inspiration, and it is to these that the student, whose business is to learn and not to write, ought occasionally to resort to enliven and supplement what he finds in the books. As there are many kinds of sources, so there are many ways in which such materials may be utilized. If, for example, you are studying the life of the Greeks and in that connection pay a visit to a museum of fine arts and scrutinize Greek statuary, Greek vases, and Greek coins, you are very clearly using sources. If your subject is the church life of the later Middle Ages and you journey to Rheims or Amiens or Paris to contemplate the splendid cathedrals in these cities, with their spires and arches and ornamentation, you are, in every proper sense, using sources. You are doing the same thing if you make an observation trip to the Egyptian pyramids, or to the excavated Roman forum, or if you traverse the line of old Watling Street--nay, if you but visit Faneuil Hall, or tramp over the battlefield of Gettysburg. Many of these more purely "material" sources can be made use of only after long and sometimes arduous journeys, or through the valuable, but somewhat less satisfactory, medium of pictures and descriptions. Happily, however, the art of printing and the practice of accumulating enormous libraries have made possible the indefinite duplication of _written_ sources, and consequently the use of them at almost any time and in almost any place. There is but one Sphinx, one Parthenon, one Sistine Chapel; there are not many Roman roads, feudal castles, or Gothic cathedrals; but scarcely a library in any civilized country is without a considerable number of the monumental _documents_ of human history--the funeral oration of Pericles, the laws of Tiberius Gracchus, Magna Charta, the theses of Luther, the Bill of Rights, the Constitution of the United States--not to mention the all but limitless masses of histories, biographies, poems, letters, essays, memoirs, legal codes, and official records of every variety which are available for any one who seriously desires to make use of them. [Sidenote: The value of sources to the student] But why should the younger student trouble himself, or be troubled, with any of these things? Might he not get all the history he can be expected to know from books written by scholars who have given their lives to exploring, organizing, and sifting just such sources? There can be no question that schools and colleges to-day have the use of better text-books in history than have ever before been available, and that truer notions of the subject in its various relations can be had from even the most narrow devotion to these texts than could be had from the study of their predecessors a generation ago. If the object of studying history were solely to acquire facts, it would, generally speaking, be a waste of time for high school or younger college students to wander far from text-books. But, assuming that history is studied not alone for the mastery of facts but also for the broadening of culture, and for certain kinds of mental training, the properly regulated use of sources by the student himself is to be justified on at least three grounds: (1) Sources help to an understanding of the point of view of the men, and the spirit of the age under consideration. The ability to dissociate one's self from his own surroundings and habits of thinking and to put himself in the company of Cæsar, of Frederick Barbarossa, or of Innocent III., as the occasion may require, is the hardest, but perhaps the most valuable, thing that the student of history can hope to get. (2) Sources add appreciably to the vividness and reality of history. However well-written the modern description of Charlemagne, for example, the student ought to find a somewhat different flavor in the account by the great Emperor's own friend and secretary, Einhard; and, similarly, Matthew Paris's picture of the raving and fuming of Frederick II. at his excommunication by Pope Gregory ought to bring the reader into a somewhat more intimate appreciation of the character of the proud German-Sicilian emperor. (3) The use of sources, in connection with the reading of secondary works, may be expected to train the student, to some extent at least, in methods of testing the accuracy of modern writers, especially when the subject in hand is one that lends itself to a variety of interpretations. In the sources the makers of history, or those who stood close to them, are allowed to speak for themselves, or for their times, and the study of such materials not only helps plant in the student's mind the conception of fairness and impartiality in judging historical characters, but also cultivates the habit of tracing things back to their origins and verifying what others have asserted about them. So far as practicable the student of history, from the age of fourteen and onwards, should be encouraged to develop the critical or judicial temperament along with the purely acquisitive. [Sidenote: Simplicity of many mediæval sources] In preparing a source book, such as the present one, the purpose is to further the study of the most profitable sources by removing some of the greater difficulties, particularly those of accessibility and language. Clearly impracticable as anything like historical "research" undoubtedly is for younger students, it is none the less believed that there are abundant first-hand materials in the range of history which such students will not only find profitable but actually enjoy, and that any acquaintance with these things that may be acquired in earlier studies will be of inestimable advantage subsequently. It is furthermore believed, contrary to the assertions that one sometimes hears, that the history of the Middle Ages lends itself to this sort of treatment with scarcely, if any, less facility than that of other periods. Certainly Gregory's Clovis, Asser's Alfred, Einhard's Charlemagne, and Joinville's St. Louis are living personalities, no less vividly portrayed than the heroes of a boy's storybook. Tacitus's description of the early Germans, Ammianus's account of the crossing of the Danube by the Visigoths and his pictures of the Huns, Bede's narrative of the Saxon invasion of Britain, the affectionate letter Stephen of Blois to his wife and children, the portrayal of the sweet-spirited St. Francis by the Three Companions, and Froissart's free and easy sketch of the battle of Crécy are all interesting, easily comprehended, and even adapted to whet the appetite for a larger acquaintance with these various people and events. Even solid documents, like the Salic law, the Benedictine Rule, the Peace of Constance, and the Golden Bull, if not in themselves exactly attractive, may be made to have a certain interest for the younger student when he realizes that to know mediæval history at all he is under the imperative necessity of getting much of the framework of things either from such materials or from text-books which essentially reproduce them. It is hoped that at least a reasonable proportion of the selections herewith presented may serve in some measure to overcome for the student the remote and intangible character which the Middle Ages have much too commonly, though perhaps not unnaturally, been felt to possess. CONTENTS SECTION PAGE CHAPTER I.--THE EARLY GERMANS 1. A Sketch by Cæsar 19 2. A Description by Tacitus 23 CHAPTER II.--THE VISIGOTHIC INVASION 3. The Visigoths Cross the Danube (376) 32 4. The Battle of Adrianople (378) 37 CHAPTER III.--THE HUNS 5. Description by a Græco-Roman Poet and a Roman Historian 42 CHAPTER IV.--THE EARLY FRANKS 6. The Deeds of Clovis as Related by Gregory of Tours 47 7. The Law of the Salian Franks 59 CHAPTER V.--THE ANGLES AND SAXONS IN BRITAIN 8. The Saxon Invasion (cir. 449) 68 9. The Mission of Augustine (597) 72 CHAPTER VI.--THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH 10. Pope Leo's Sermon on the Petrine Supremacy 78 11. The Rule of St. Benedict 83 12. Gregory the Great on the Life of the Pastor 90 CHAPTER VII.--THE RISE OF MOHAMMEDANISM 13. Selections from the Koran 97 CHAPTER VIII.--THE BEGINNINGS OF THE CAROLINGIAN DYNASTY OF FRANKISH KINGS 14. Pepin the Short Takes the Title of King (751) 105 CHAPTER IX.--THE AGE OF CHARLEMAGNE 15. Charlemagne the Man 108 16. The War with the Saxons (772-803) 114 17. The Capitulary Concerning the Saxon Territory (cir. 780) 118 18. The Capitulary Concerning the Royal Domains (cir. 800) 124 19. An Inventory of one of Charlemagne's Estates 127 20. Charlemagne Crowned Emperor (800) 130 21. The General Capitulary for the _Missi_ (802) 134 22. A Letter of Charlemagne to Abbot Fulrad 141 23. The Carolingian Revival of Learning 144 CHAPTER X.--THE ERA OF THE LATER CAROLINGIANS 24. The Oaths of Strassburg (842) 149 25. The Treaty of Verdun (843) 154 26. A Chronicle of the Frankish Kingdom in the Ninth Century 157 27. The Northmen in the Country of the Franks 163 28. Later Carolingian Efforts to Preserve Order 173 29. The Election of Hugh Capet (987) 177 CHAPTER XI.--ALFRED THE GREAT IN WAR AND IN PEACE 30. The Danes in England 181 31. Alfred's Interest in Education 185 32. Alfred's Laws 194 CHAPTER XII.--THE ORDEAL 33. Tests by Hot Water, Cold Water, and Fire 196 CHAPTER XIII.--THE FEUDAL SYSTEM 34. Older Institutions Involving Elements of Feudalism 203 35. The Granting of Fiefs 214 36. The Ceremonies of Homage and Fealty 216 37. The Mutual Obligations of Lords and Vassals 220 38. Some of the More Important Rights of the Lord 221 39. The Peace and the Truce of God 228 CHAPTER XIV.--THE NORMAN CONQUEST 40. The Battle of Hastings: the English and the Normans 233 41. William the Conqueror as Man and as King 241 CHAPTER XV.--THE MONASTIC REFORMATION OF THE TENTH, ELEVENTH, AND TWELFTH CENTURIES 42. The Foundation Charter of the Monastery of Cluny (910) 245 43. The Early Career of St. Bernard and the Founding of Clairvaux 250 44. A Description of Clairvaux 258 CHAPTER XVI.--THE CONFLICT OVER INVESTITURE 45. Gregory VII.'s Conception of the Papal Authority 261 46. Letter of Gregory VII. to Henry IV. (1075) 264 47. Henry IV.'s Reply to Gregory's Letter (1076) 269 48. Henry IV. Deposed by Gregory (1076) 272 49. The Penance of Henry IV. at Canossa (1077) 273 50. The Concordat of Worms (1122) 278 CHAPTER XVII.--THE CRUSADES 51. Speech of Pope Urban II. at the Council of Clermont (1095) 282 52. The Starting of the Crusaders (1096) 288 53. A Letter from a Crusader to his Wife 291 CHAPTER XVIII.--THE GREAT CHARTER 54. The Winning of the Great Charter 297 55. Extracts from the Charter 303 CHAPTER XIX.--THE REIGN OF SAINT LOUIS 56. The Character and Deeds of the King as Described by Joinville 311 CHAPTER XX.--MUNICIPAL ORGANIZATION AND ACTIVITY 57. Some Twelfth Century Town Charters 325 58. The Colonization of Eastern Germany 330 59. The League of Rhenish Cities (1254) 334 CHAPTER XXI.--UNIVERSITIES AND STUDENT LIFE 60. Privileges Granted to Students and Masters 340 61. The Foundation of the University of Heidelberg (1386) 345 62. Mediæval Students' Songs 351 CHAPTER XXII.--THE FRIARS 63. The Life of St. Francis 362 64. The Rule of St. Francis 373 65. The Will of St. Francis 376 CHAPTER XXIII.--THE PAPACY AND THE TEMPORAL POWERS IN THE LATER MIDDLE AGES 66. The Interdict Laid on France by Innocent III. (1200) 380 67. The Bull "Unam Sanctam" of Boniface VIII. (1302) 383 68. The Great Schism and the Councils of Pisa and Constance 389 69. The Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges (1438) 393 CHAPTER XXIV.--THE EMPIRE IN THE TWELFTH, THIRTEENTH, AND FOURTEENTH CENTURIES 70. The Peace of Constance (1183) 398 71. Current Rumors Concerning the Life and Character of Frederick II. 402 72. The Golden Bull of Charles IV. (1356) 409 CHAPTER XXV.--THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR 73. An Occasion of War between the Kings of England and France 418 74. Edward III. Assumes the Arms and Title of the King of France 421 75. The Naval Battle of Sluys (1340) 424 76. The Battle of Crécy (1346) 427 77. The Sack of Limoges (1370) 436 78. The Treaties of Bretigny (1360) and Troyes (1420) 439 CHAPTER XXVI.--THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE 79. Dante's Defense of Italian as a Literary Language 445 80. Dante's Conception of the Imperial Power 452 81. Petrarch's Love of the Classics 462 82. Petrarch's Letter to Posterity 469 CHAPTER XXVII.--FORESHADOWINGS OF THE REFORMATION 83. The Reply of Wyclif to the Summons of Pope Urban VI. (1384) 474 A SOURCE BOOK OF MEDIÆVAL HISTORY CHAPTER I. THE EARLY GERMANS 1. A Sketch by Cæsar One of the most important steps in the expansion of the Roman Republic was the conquest of Gaul by Julius Cæsar just before the middle of the first century B.C. Through this conquest Rome entered deliberately upon the policy of extending her dominion northward from the Mediterranean and the Alps into the regions of western and central Europe known to us to-day as France and Germany. By their wars in this direction the Romans were brought into contact with peoples concerning whose manner of life they had hitherto known very little. There were two great groups of these peoples--the Gauls and the Germans--each divided and subdivided into numerous tribes and clans. In general it may be said that the Gauls occupied what we now call France and the Germans what we know as Belgium, Holland, Denmark, Germany, and Austria. The Rhine marked a pretty clear boundary between them. During the years 58-50 B.C., Julius Cæsar, who had risen to the proconsulship through a long series of offices and honors at Rome, served the state as leader of five distinct military expeditions in this country of the northern barbarians. The primary object of these campaigns was to establish order among the turbulent tribes of Gauls and to prepare the way for the extension of Roman rule over them. This great task was performed very successfully, but in accomplishing it Cæsar found it necessary to go somewhat farther than had at first been intended. In the years 55 and 54 B.C., he made two expeditions to Britain to punish the natives for giving aid to their Celtic kinsfolk in Gaul, and in 55 and 53 he crossed the Rhine to compel the Germans to remain on their own side of the river and to cease troubling the Gauls by raids and invasions, as they had recently been doing. When (about 51 B.C.) he came to write his _Commentaries on the Gallic War_, it is very natural that he should have taken care to give a brief sketch of the leading peoples whom he had been fighting, that is, the Gauls, the Britons, and the Germans. There are two places in the _Commentaries_ where the Germans are described at some length. At the beginning of Book IV. there is an account of the particular tribe known as the Suevi, and in the middle of Book VI. there is a longer sketch of the Germans in general. This latter is the passage translated below. Of course we are not to suppose that Cæsar's knowledge of the Germans was in any sense thorough. At no time did he get far into their country, and the people whose manners and customs he had an opportunity to observe were only those who were pressing down upon, and occasionally across, the Rhine boundary--a mere fringe of the great race stretching back to the Baltic and, at that time, far eastward into modern Russia. We may be sure that many of the more remote German tribes lived after a fashion quite different from that which Cæsar and his legions had an opportunity to observe on the Rhine-Danube frontier. Still, Cæsar's account, vague and brief as it is, has an importance that can hardly be exaggerated. These early Germans had no written literature and but for the descriptions of them left by a few Roman writers, such as Cæsar, we should know almost nothing about them. If we bear in mind that the account in the _Commentaries_ was based upon very keen, though limited, observation, we can get out of it a good deal of interesting information concerning the early ancestors of the great Teutonic peoples of the world to-day. Source--Julius Cæsar, _De Bello Gallico_ ["The Gallic War"], Bk. VI., Chaps. 21-23. [Sidenote: Their religion] =21.= The customs of the Germans differ widely from those of the Gauls;[1] for neither have they Druids to preside over religious services,[2] nor do they give much attention to sacrifices. They count in the number of their gods those only whom they can see, and by whose favors they are clearly aided; that is to say, the Sun, Vulcan,[3] and the Moon. Of other deities they have never even heard. Their whole life is spent in hunting and in war. From childhood they are trained in labor and hardship.... [Sidenote: Their system of land tenure] =22.= They are not devoted to agriculture, and the greater portion of their food consists of milk, cheese, and flesh. No one owns a particular piece of land, with fixed limits, but each year the magistrates and the chiefs assign to the clans and the bands of kinsmen who have assembled together as much land as they think proper, and in whatever place they desire, and the next year compel them to move to some other place. They give many reasons for this custom--that the people may not lose their zeal for war through habits established by prolonged attention to the cultivation of the soil; that they may not be eager to acquire large possessions, and that the stronger may not drive the weaker from their property; that they may not build too carefully, in order to avoid cold and heat; that the love of money may not spring up, from which arise quarrels and dissensions; and, finally, that the common people may live in contentment, since each person sees that his wealth is kept equal to that of the most powerful. [Sidenote: Leaders and officers in war and peace] =23.= It is a matter of the greatest glory to the tribes to lay waste, as widely as possible, the lands bordering their territory, thus making them uninhabitable.[4] They regard it as the best proof of their valor that their neighbors are forced to withdraw from those lands and hardly any one dares set foot there; at the same time they think that they will thus be more secure, since the fear of a sudden invasion is removed. When a tribe is either repelling an invasion or attacking an outside people, magistrates are chosen to lead in the war, and these are given the power of life and death. In times of peace there is no general magistrate, but the chiefs of the districts and cantons render justice among their own people and settle disputes.[5] Robbery, if committed beyond the borders of the tribe, is not regarded as disgraceful, and they say that it is practised for the sake of training the youth and preventing idleness. When any one of the chiefs has declared in an assembly that he is going to be the leader of an expedition, and that those who wish to follow him should give in their names, they who approve of the undertaking, and of the man, stand up and promise their assistance, and are applauded by the people. Such of these as do not then follow him are looked upon as deserters and traitors, and from that day no one has any faith in them. [Sidenote: German hospitality] To mistreat a guest they consider to be a crime. They protect from injury those who have come among them for any purpose whatever, and regard them as sacred. To them the houses of all are open and food is freely supplied. 2. A Description by Tacitus Tacitus (54-119),[6] who is sometimes credited with being the greatest of Roman historians, published his treatise on the _Origin, Location, Manners, and Inhabitants of Germany_ in the year 98. This was about a century and a half after Cæsar wrote his _Commentaries_. During this long interval we have almost no information as to how the Germans were living or what they were doing. There is much uncertainty as to the means by which Tacitus got his knowledge of them. We may be reasonably sure that he did not travel extensively through the country north of the Rhine; there is, in fact, not a shred of evidence that he ever visited it at all. He tells us that he made use of Cæsar's account, but this was very meager and could not have been of much service. We are left to surmise that he drew most of his information from books then existing but since lost, such as the writings of Posidonius of Rhodes (136-51 B.C.) and Pliny the Elder (23-79). These sources were doubtless supplemented by the stories of officials and traders who had been among the Germans and were afterwards interviewed by the historian. Tacitus's essay, therefore, while written with a desire to tell the truth, was apparently not based on first-hand information. The author nowhere says that he had _seen_ this or that feature of German life. We may suppose that what he really did was to gather up all the stories and reports regarding the German barbarians which were already known to Roman traders, travelers, and soldiers, sift the true from the false as well as he could, and write out in first class Latin the little book which we know as the _Germania_. The theory that the work was intended as a satire, or sermon in morals, for the benefit of a corrupt Roman people has been quite generally abandoned, and this for the very good reason that there is nothing in either the treatise's contents or style to warrant such a belief. Tacitus wrote the book because of his general interest in historical and geographical subjects, and also, perhaps, because it afforded him an excellent opportunity to display a literary skill in which he took no small degree of pride. That it was published separately instead of in one of his larger histories may have been due to public interest in the subject during Trajan's wars in the Rhine country in the years 98 and 99. The first twenty-seven chapters, from which the selections below are taken, treat of the Germans in general--their origin, religion, family life, occupations, military tactics, amusements, land system, government, and social classes; the last nineteen deal with individual tribes and are not so accurate or so valuable. It will be found interesting to compare what Tacitus says with what Cæsar says when both touch upon the same topic. In doing so it should be borne in mind that there was a difference in time of a century and a half between the two writers, and also that while Tacitus probably did not write from experience among the Germans, as Cæsar did, he nevertheless had given the subject a larger amount of deliberate study. Source--C. Cornelius Tacitus, _De Origine, Situ, Moribus, ac Populis Germanorum_ [known commonly as the "Germania"], Chaps. 4-24, _passim_. Adapted from translation by Alfred J. Church and William J. Brodribb (London, 1868), pp. 1-16. Text in numerous editions, as that of William F. Allen (Boston, 1882) and that of Henry Furneau (Oxford, 1894). [Sidenote: Physical characteristics] =4.= For my own part, I agree with those who think that the tribes of Germany are free from all trace of intermarriage with foreign nations, and that they appear as a distinct, unmixed race, like none but themselves. Hence it is that the same physical features are to be observed throughout so vast a population. All have fierce blue eyes, reddish hair, and huge bodies fit only for sudden exertion. They are not very able to endure labor that is exhausting. Heat and thirst they cannot withstand at all, though to cold and hunger their climate and soil have hardened them. [Sidenote: Their weapons and mode of fighting] =6.= Iron is not plentiful among them, as may be inferred from the nature of their weapons.[7] Only a few make use of swords or long lances. Ordinarily they carry a spear (which they call a _framea_), with a short and narrow head, but so sharp and easy to handle that the same weapon serves, according to circumstances, for close or distant conflict. As for the horse-soldier, he is satisfied with a shield and a spear. The foot-soldiers also scatter showers of missiles, each man having several and hurling them to an immense distance, and being naked or lightly clad with a little cloak. They make no display in their equipment. Their shields alone are marked with fancy colors. Only a few have corselets,[8] and just one or two here and there a metal or leather helmet.[9] Their horses are neither beautiful nor swift; nor are they taught various wheeling movements after the Roman fashion, but are driven straight forward so as to make one turn to the right in such a compact body that none may be left behind another. On the whole, one would say that the Germans' chief strength is in their infantry. It fights along with the cavalry, and admirably adapted to the movements of the latter is the swiftness of certain foot-soldiers, who are picked from the entire youth of their country and placed in front of the battle line.[10] The number of these is fixed, being a hundred from each _pagus_,[11] and from this they take their name among their countrymen, so that what was at the outset a mere number has now become a title of honor. Their line of battle is drawn up in the shape of a wedge. To yield ground, provided they return to the attack, is regarded as prudence rather than cowardice. The bodies of their slain they carry off, even when the battle has been indecisive. To abandon one's shield is the basest of crimes. A man thus disgraced is not allowed to be present at the religious ceremonies, or to enter the council. Many, indeed, after making a cowardly escape from battle put an end to their infamy by hanging themselves.[12] [Sidenote: The Germans in battle] =7.= They choose their kings[13] by reason of their birth, but their generals on the ground of merit. The kings do not enjoy unlimited or despotic power, and even the generals command more by example than by authority. If they are energetic, if they take a prominent part, if they fight in the front, they lead because they are admired. But to rebuke, to imprison, even to flog, is allowed to the priests alone, and this not as a punishment, or at the general's bidding, but by the command of the god whom they believe to inspire the warrior. They also carry with them into battle certain figures and images taken from their sacred groves.[14] The thing that most strengthens their courage is the fact that their troops are not made up of bodies of men chosen by mere chance, but are arranged by families and kindreds. Close by them, too, are those dearest to them, so that in the midst of the fight they can hear the shrieks of women and the cries of children. These loved ones are to every man the most valued witnesses of his valor, and at the same time his most generous applauders. The soldier brings his wounds to mother or wife, who shrinks not from counting them, or even demanding to see them, and who provides food for the warriors and gives them encouragement. [Sidenote: Their popular assemblies] =11.= About matters of small importance the chiefs alone take counsel, but the larger questions are considered by the entire tribe. Yet even when the final decision rests with the people the affair is always thoroughly discussed by the chiefs. Except in the case of a sudden emergency, the people hold their assemblies on certain fixed days, either at the new or the full moon; for these they consider the most suitable times for the transaction of business. Instead of counting by days, as we do, they count by nights, and in this way designate both their ordinary and their legal engagements. They regard the night as bringing on the day. Their freedom has one disadvantage, in that they do not all come together at the same time, or as they are commanded, but two or three days are wasted in the delay of assembling. When the people present think proper, they sit down armed. Silence is proclaimed by the priests who, on these occasions, are charged with the duty of keeping order. The king or the leader speaks first, and then others in order, as age, or rank, or reputation in war, or eloquence, give them right. The speakers are heard more because of their ability to persuade than because of their power to command. If the speeches are displeasing to the people, they reject them with murmurs; if they are pleasing, they applaud by clashing their weapons together, which is the kind of applause most highly esteemed.[15] [Sidenote: The chiefs and their companions] =13.= They transact no public or private business without being armed, but it is not allowable for any one to bear arms until he has satisfied the tribe that he is fit to do so. Then, in the presence of the assembly, one of the chiefs, or the young man's father, or some kinsman, equips him with a shield and a spear. These arms are what the toga is with the Romans, the first honor with which a youth is invested. Up to this time he is regarded as merely a member of a household, but afterwards as a member of the state. Very noble birth, or important service rendered by the father, secures for a youth the rank of chief, and such lads attach themselves to men of mature strength and of fully tested valor. It is no shame to be numbered among a chief's companions.[16] The companions have different ranks in the band, according to the will of the chief; and there is great rivalry among the companions for first place in the chief's favor, as there is among the chiefs for the possession of the largest and bravest throng of followers. It is an honor, as well as a source of strength, to be thus always surrounded by a large body of picked youths, who uphold the rank of the chief in peace and defend him in war. The fame of such a chief and his band is not confined to their own tribe, but is spread among foreign peoples; they are sought out and honored with gifts in order to secure their alliance, for the reputation of such a band may decide a whole war. [Sidenote: The German love of war] =14.= In battle it is considered shameful for the chief to allow any of his followers to excel him in valor, and for the followers not to equal their chief in deeds of bravery. To survive the chief and return from the field is a disgrace and a reproach for life. To defend and protect him, and to add to his renown by courageous fighting is the height of loyalty. The chief fights for victory; the companions must fight for the chief. If their native state sinks into the sloth of peace and quiet, many noble youths voluntarily seek those tribes which are waging some war, both because inaction is disliked by their race and because it is in war that they win renown most readily; besides, a chief can maintain a band only by war, for the men expect to receive their war-horse and their arms from their leader. Feasts and entertainments, though not elegant, are plentifully provided and constitute their only pay. The means of such liberality are best obtained from the booty of war. Nor are they as easily persuaded to plow the earth and to wait for the year's produce as to challenge an enemy and earn the glory of wounds. Indeed, they actually think it tame and stupid to acquire by the sweat of toil what they may win by their blood.[17] [Sidenote: Life in times of peace] =15.= When not engaged in war they pass much of their time in the chase, and still more in idleness, giving themselves up to sleep and feasting. The bravest and most warlike do no work; they give over the management of the household, of the home, and of the land to the women, the old men, and the weaker members of the family, while they themselves remain in the most sluggish inactivity. It is strange that the same men should be so fond of idleness and yet so averse to peace.[18] It is the custom of the tribes to make their chiefs presents of cattle and grain, and thus to give them the means of support.[19] The chiefs are especially pleased with gifts from neighboring tribes, which are sent not only by individuals, but also by the state, such as choice steeds, heavy armor, trappings, and neck-chains. The Romans have now taught them to accept money also. [Sidenote: Lack of cities and towns] =16.= It is a well-known fact that the peoples of Germany have no cities, and that they do not even allow buildings to be erected close together.[20] They live scattered about, wherever a spring, or a meadow, or a wood has attracted them. Their villages are not arranged in the Roman fashion, with the buildings connected and joined together, but every person surrounds his dwelling with an open space, either as a precaution against the disasters of fire, or because they do not know how to build. They make no use of stone or brick, but employ wood for all purposes. Their buildings are mere rude masses, without ornament or attractiveness, although occasionally they are stained in part with a kind of clay which is so clear and bright that it resembles painting, or a colored design.... [Sidenote: Their food and drink] =23.= A liquor for drinking is made out of barley, or other grain, and fermented so as to be somewhat like wine. The dwellers along the river-bank[21] also buy wine from traders. Their food is of a simple variety, consisting of wild fruit, fresh game, and curdled milk. They satisfy their hunger without making much preparation of cooked dishes, and without the use of any delicacies at all. In quenching their thirst they are not so moderate. If they are supplied with as much as they desire to drink, they will be overcome by their own vices as easily as by the arms of an enemy. [Sidenote: German amusements] =24.= At all their gatherings there is one and the same kind of amusement. This is the dancing of naked youths amid swords and lances that all the time endanger their lives. Experience gives them skill, and skill in turn gives grace. They scorn to receive profit or pay, for, however reckless their pastime, its reward is only the pleasure of the spectators. Strangely enough, they make games of chance a serious employment, even when sober, and so venturesome are they about winning or losing that, when every other resource has failed, on the final throw of the dice they will stake even their own freedom. He who loses goes into voluntary slavery and, though the younger and stronger of the players, allows himself to be bound and sold. Such is their stubborn persistency in a bad practice, though they themselves call it honor. Slaves thus acquired the owners trade off as speedily as possible to rid themselves of the scandal of such a victory. FOOTNOTES: [1] In chapters 11-20, immediately preceding the present passage, Cæsar gives a comparatively full and minute description of Gallic life and institutions. He knew more about the Gauls than about the Germans, and, besides, it was his experiences among them that he was writing about primarily. [2] The Druids were priests who formed a distinct and very influential class among the Gauls. They ascertained and revealed the will of the gods and were supreme in the government of the tribes. Druids existed also among the Britons. [3] By Vulcan Cæsar means the German god of fire. [4] Of the Suevi, a German tribe living along the upper course of the Danube, Cæsar says: "They consider it their greatest glory as a nation that the lands about their territories lie unoccupied to a very great extent, for they think that by this it is shown that a great number of nations cannot withstand their power; and thus on one side of the Suevi the lands are said to lie desolate for about six hundred miles."--_Gallic War_, Bk. IV., Chap. 3. [5] This statement is an instance of Cæsar's vagueness, due possibly to haste in writing, but more likely to lack of definite information. How large these districts and cantons were, whether they had fixed boundaries, and how the chiefs rendered justice in them are things we should like to know but are not told. [6] All dates from this point, unless otherwise indicated, are A.D. [7] In reality iron ore was abundant in the Germans' territory, but it was not until long after the time of Tacitus that much use began to be made of it. By the fifth century iron swords were common. [8] Coats of mail. [9] Defensive armor for the head and neck. [10] See Cæsar's description of this mode of fighting.--_Gallic War_, Bk. I., Chap. 48. [11] The canton was known to the Romans as a _pagus_ and to the Germans themselves as a _gau_. It was made up of a number of districts, or townships (Latin _vicus_, German _dorf_), and was itself a division of a tribe or nation. [12] A later law of the Salian Franks imposed a fine of 120 _denarii_ upon any man who should accuse another of throwing down his shield and running away, without being able to prove it [see p. 64]. [13] Many of the western tribes at the time Tacitus wrote did not have kings, though in eastern Germany the institution of kingship seems to have been quite general. The office, where it existed, was elective, but the people rarely chose a king outside of a privileged family, assumed to be of divine origin. [14] Evidently these were not images of their gods, for in another place (Chap. 9) Tacitus tells us that the Germans deemed it a dishonor to their deities to represent them in human form. The images were probably those of wild beasts, as the wolf of Woden (or Odin), or the ram of Tyr, and were national standards preserved with religious care in the sacred groves, whence they were brought forth when the tribe was on the point of going to war. [15] The German popular assembly was simply the periodical gathering of free men in arms for the discussion and decision of important points of tribal policy. It was not a legislative body in the modern sense. Law among the Germans was immemorial custom, which, like religion, could be changed only by a gradual shifting of popular belief and practice. It was not "made" by any process of deliberate and immediate choice. Nevertheless, the assembly constituted an important democratic element in the government, which operated in a measure to offset the aristocratic element represented by the _principes_ and _comitatus_ [see p. 28]. Its principal functions were the declaring of war and peace, the election of the kings, and, apparently, the hearing and deciding of graver cases at law. [16] This relation of _principes_ (chiefs) and _comites_ (companions) is mentioned by Cæsar [see p. 22]. The name by which the Romans designated the band of companions, or followers, of a German chieftain was _comitatus_. [17] Apparently the Germans did not now care much more for agriculture than in the time of Cæsar. The women, slaves, and old men sowed some seeds and gathered small harvests, but the warrior class held itself above such humble and unexciting employment. The raising of cattle afforded a principal means of subsistence, though hunting and fishing contributed considerably. [18] Compare the Germans and the North American Indians in this respect. The great contrast between these two peoples lay in the capacity of the one and the comparative incapacity of the other for development. [19] The Germans had no system of taxation on land or other property, such as the Romans had and such as we have to-day. It was not until well toward the close of the Middle Ages that the governments of kingdoms built up by Germanic peoples in western Europe came to be maintained by anything like what we would call taxes in the modern sense. [20] The lack of cities and city life among the Germans struck Tacitus with the greater force because of the complete dominance of city organization to which he, as a Roman, was accustomed. The Greek and Roman world was made up, in the last analysis, of an aggregation of _civitates_, or city states. Among the ancient Greeks these had usually been independent; among the Romans they were correlated under the greater or lesser control of a centralized government; but among the Germans of Tacitus's time, and long after, the mixed agricultural and nomadic character of the people effectually prevented the development of anything even approaching urban organization. Their life was that of the forest and the pasture, not that of forum, theatre, and circus. [21] That is, on the Rhine, where traders from the south brought in wines and other Roman products. The drink which the Germans themselves manufactured was, of course, a kind of beer. CHAPTER II. THE VISIGOTHIC INVASION 3. The Visigoths Cross the Danube (376) The earliest invasion of the Roman Empire which resulted in the permanent settlement of a large and united body of Germans on Roman soil was that of the Visigoths in the year 376. This invasion was very far, however, from marking the first important contact of the German and Roman peoples. As early as the end of the second century B.C. the incursions of the Cimbri and Teutones (113-101) into southern Gaul and northern Italy had given Rome a suggestion of the danger which threatened from the northern barbarians. Half a century later, the Gallic campaigns of Cæsar brought the two peoples into conflict for the first time in the region of the later Rhine boundary, and had the very important effect of preventing the impending Germanization of Gaul and substituting the extension of Roman power and civilization in that quarter. Roman imperial plans on the north then developed along ambitious lines until the year 9 A.D., when the legions of the Emperor Augustus, led by Varus, were defeated, and in large part annihilated, in the great battle of the Teutoberg Forest and the balance was turned forever against the Romanization of the Germanic countries. Thereafter for a long time a state of equilibrium was preserved along the Rhine-Danube frontier, though after the Marcomannic wars in the latter half of the second century the scale began to incline more and more against the Romans, who were gradually forced into the attitude of defense against a growing disposition of the restless Germans to push the boundary farther south. During the more than three and a half centuries intervening between the battle of the Teutoberg and the crossing of the Danube by the Visigoths, the intermingling of the two peoples steadily increased. On the one hand were numerous Roman travelers and traders who visited the Germans living along the frontier and learned what sort of people they were. The soldiers of the legions stationed on the Rhine and Danube also added materially to Roman knowledge in this direction. But much more important was the influx of Germans into the Empire to serve as soldiers or to settle on lands allotted to them by the government. Owing to a general decline of population, and especially to the lack of a sturdy middle class, Rome found it necessary to fill up her army with foreigners and to reward them with lands lying mainly near the frontiers, but often in the very heart of the Empire. The over-population of Germany furnished a large class of excellent soldiers who were ready enough to accept the pay of the Roman emperor for service in the legions, even if rendered, as it often was, against their kinsmen who were menacing the weakened frontier. From this source the Empire had long been receiving a large infusion of German blood before any considerable tribe came within its bounds to settle in a body. Indeed, if there had occurred no sudden and startling overflows of population from the Germanic countries, such as the Visigothic invasion, it is quite possible that the Roman Empire might yet have fallen completely into the hands of the Germans by the quiet and gradual processes just indicated. As it was, the pressure from advancing Asiatic peoples on the east was too great to be withstood, and there resulted, between the fourth and sixth centuries, a series of notable invasions which left almost the entire Western Empire parceled out among new Germanic kingdoms established by force on the ruins of the once invincible Roman power. The breaking of the frontier by the West Goths (to whom the Emperor Aurelian, in 270, had abandoned the rich province of Dacia), during the reign of Gratian in the West and of Valens in the East, was the first conspicuous step in this great transforming movement. The ferocious people to whose incursions Ammianus refers as the cause of the Visigothic invasion were the Huns [see p. 42], who had but lately made their first appearance in Europe. Already by 376 the Ostrogothic kingdom of Hermaneric, to the north of the Black Sea, had fallen before their onslaught, and the wave of conquest was spreading rapidly westward toward Dacia and the neighboring lands inhabited by the Visigoths. The latter people were even less able to make effectual resistance than their eastern brethren had been. Part of them had become Christians and were recognizing Fridigern as their leader, while the remaining pagan element acknowledged the sway of Athanaric. On the arrival of the Huns, Athanaric led his portion of the people into the Carpathian Mountains and began to prepare for resistance, while the Christians, led by Fridigern and Alaf (or Alavivus), gathered on the Danube and begged permission to take refuge across the river in Roman territory. Athanaric and his division of the Visigoths, having become Christians, entered the Empire a few years later and settled in Moesia. Ammianus Marcellinus, author of the account of the Visigothic invasion given below, was a native of Antioch, a soldier of Greek ancestry and apparently of noble birth, and a member of the Eastern emperor's bodyguard. Beyond these facts, gleaned from his _Roman History_, we have almost no knowledge of the man. The date of his birth is unknown, likewise that of his death, though from his writings it appears that he lived well toward the close of the fourth century. His _History_ began with the accession of Nerva, 96 A.D., approximately where the accounts by Tacitus and Suetonius end, and continued to the death of his master Valens in the battle of Adrianople in 378. It was divided into thirty-one books; but of these thirteen have been lost, and some of those which survive are imperfect. Although the narrative is broken into rather provokingly here and there by digressions on earthquakes and eclipses and speculations on such utterly foreign topics as the theory of the destruction of lions by mosquitoes, it nevertheless constitutes an invaluable source of information on the men and events of the era which it covers. Its value is greatest, naturally, on the period of the Visigothic invasion, for in dealing with these years the author could describe events about which he had direct and personal knowledge. Ammianus is to be thought of as the last of the old Roman school of historians. Source--Ammianus Marcellinus, _Rerum Gestarum Libri qui Supersunt_, Bk. XXXI., Chaps. 3-4. Translated by Charles D. Yonge under the title of _Roman History during the Reigns of the Emperors Constantius, Julian, Jovianus, Valentinian, and Valens_ (London, 1862), pp. 584-586. Text in edition of Victor Gardthausen (Leipzig, 1875), Vol. II., pp. 239-240. [Sidenote: Visigoths ask permission to settle within the Empire] In the meantime a report spread extensively through the other nations of the Goths [i.e., the Visigoths], that a race of men, hitherto unknown, had suddenly descended like a whirlwind from the lofty mountains, as if they had risen from some secret recess of the earth, and were ravaging and destroying everything that came in their way. Then the greater part of the population (which, because of their lack of necessities, had deserted Athanaric), resolved to flee and to seek a home remote from all knowledge of the barbarians; and after a long deliberation as to where to fix their abode, they resolved that a retreat into Thrace was the most suitable, for these two reasons: first of all, because it is a district most abundant in grass; and in the second place, because, by the great breadth of the Danube, it is wholly separated from the barbarians [i.e., the Goths], who were already exposed to the thunderbolts of foreign warfare. And the whole population of the tribe adopted this resolution unanimously. Accordingly, under the command of their leader Alavivus, they occupied the banks of the Danube; and having sent ambassadors to Valens,[22] they humbly entreated that they might be received by him as his subjects, promising to live peaceably and to furnish a body of auxiliary troops, if any necessity for such a force should arise. [Sidenote: Rumors of Gothic movements reach Rome] While these events were passing in foreign countries, a terrible rumor arose that the tribes of the north were planning new and unprecedented attacks upon us,[23] and that over the whole region which extends from the country of the Marcomanni and Quadi to Pontus,[24] a barbarian host composed of various distant nations which had suddenly been driven by force from their own country, was now, with all their families, wandering about in different directions on the banks of the river Danube. [Sidenote: Their coming represented as a blessing to the Empire] At first this intelligence was treated lightly by our people, because they were not in the habit of hearing of any wars in those remote regions until after they had been terminated either by victory or by treaty. But presently the belief in these occurrences grew stronger, being confirmed, moreover, by the arrival of the foreign ambassadors who, with prayers and earnest entreaties, begged that the people thus driven from their homes and now encamped on the other side of the river might be kindly received by us. The affair seemed a cause of joy rather than of fear, according to the skilful flatterers who were always extolling and exaggerating the good fortune of the Emperor; congratulating him that an embassy had come from the farthest corners of the earth unexpectedly, offering him a large body of recruits, and that, by combining the strength of his own nation with these foreign forces, he would have an army absolutely invincible; observing farther that, by the payment for military reinforcements which came in every year from the provinces, a vast treasure of gold might be accumulated in his coffers. [Sidenote: The crossing of the Danube] Full of this hope, he sent several officers to bring this ferocious people and their wagons into our territory. And such great pains were taken to gratify this nation, which was destined to overthrow the empire of Rome, that not one was left behind, not even of those who were stricken with mortal disease. Moreover, having obtained permission of the Emperor to cross the Danube and to cultivate some districts in Thrace, they crossed the stream day and night, without ceasing, embarking in troops on board ships and rafts, and canoes made of the hollow trunks of trees. In this enterprise, since the Danube is the most difficult of all rivers to navigate, and was at that time swollen with continual rains, a great many were drowned, who, because they were too numerous for the vessels, tried to swim across, and in spite of all their exertions were swept away by the stream. [Sidenote: Number of the invaders] In this way, through the turbulent zeal of violent people, the ruin of the Roman Empire was brought on. This, at all events, is neither obscure nor uncertain, that the unhappy officers who were intrusted with the charge of conducting the multitude of the barbarians across the river, though they repeatedly endeavored to calculate their numbers, at last abandoned the attempt as useless; and the man who would wish to ascertain the number might as well attempt to count the waves in the African sea, or the grains of sand tossed about by the zephyr.[25] 4. The Battle of Adrianople (378) Before crossing the Danube the Visigoths had been required by the Romans to give up their arms, and also a number of their children to be held as hostages. In return it was understood that the Romans would equip them afresh with arms sufficient for their defense and with food supplies to maintain them until they should become settled in their new homes. So far as our information goes, it appears that the Goths fulfilled their part of the contract, or at least were willing to do so. But the Roman officers in Thrace saw an opportunity to enrich themselves by selling food to the famished barbarians at extortionate prices, and a few months of such practices sufficed to arouse all the rage and resentment of which the untamed Teuton was capable. In the summer of 378 the Goths broke out in open revolt and began to avenge themselves by laying waste the Roman lands along the lower Danube frontier. The Eastern emperor, Valens, hastened to the scene of insurrection, but only to lose the great battle of Adrianople, August 9, 378, and to meet his own death. "The battle of Adrianople," says Professor Emerton, "was one of the decisive battles of the world. It taught the Germans that they could beat the legions in open fight and that henceforth it was for them to name the price of peace. It broke once for all the Rhine-Danube frontier." Many times thereafter German armies, and whole tribes, were to play the rôle of allies of Rome; but neither German nor Roman could be blinded to the fact that the decadent empire of the south lay at the mercy of the stalwart sons of the northern wilderness. Source--Ammianus Marcellinus, _Rerum Gestarum Libri qui Supersunt_, Bk. XXXI., Chaps. 12-14. Translated by Charles D. Yonge [see p. 34], pp. 608-615 _passim_. Text in edition of Victor Gardthausen (Leipzig, 1875), Vol. II., pp. 261-269. [Sidenote: The Goths approach the Roman army] He [Valens] was at the head of a numerous force, neither unwarlike nor contemptible, and had united with them many veteran bands, among whom were several officers of high rank--especially Trajan, who a little while before had been commander of the forces. And as, by means of spies and observation, it was ascertained that the enemy was intending to blockade with strong divisions the different roads by which the necessary supplies must come, he sent a sufficient force to prevent this, dispatching a body of the archers of the infantry and a squadron of cavalry with all speed to occupy the narrow passes in the neighborhood. Three days afterwards, when the barbarians, who were advancing slowly because they feared an attack in the unfavorable ground which they were traversing, arrived within fifteen miles from the station of Nice[26] (which was the aim of their march), the Emperor, with wanton impetuosity, resolved on attacking them instantly, because those who had been sent forward to reconnoitre (what led to such a mistake is unknown) affirmed that the entire body of the Goths did not exceed ten thousand men....[27] [Sidenote: The battle begins] When the day broke which the annals mark as the fifth of the Ides of August [Aug. 9] the Roman standards were advanced with haste. The baggage had been placed close to the walls of Adrianople, under a sufficient guard of soldiers of the legions. The treasures and the chief insignia of the Emperor's rank were within the walls, with the prefect and the principal members of the council.[28] Then, having traversed the broken ground which divided the two armies, as the burning day was progressing towards noon, at last, after marching eight miles, our men came in sight of the wagons of the enemy, which had been reported by the scouts to be all arranged in a circle. According to their custom, the barbarian host raised a fierce and hideous yell, while the Roman generals marshalled their line of battle. The right wing of the cavalry was placed in front; the chief portion of the infantry was kept in reserve....[29] And while arms and missiles of all kinds were meeting in fierce conflict, and Bellona,[30] blowing her mournful trumpet, was raging more fiercely than usual, to inflict disaster on the Romans, our men began to retreat; but presently, aroused by the reproaches of their officers, they made a fresh stand, and the battle increased like a conflagration, terrifying our soldiers, numbers of whom were pierced by strokes of the javelins hurled at them, and by arrows. [Sidenote: The fury of the conflict] Then the two lines of battle dashed against each other, like the beaks of ships and, thrusting with all their might, were tossed to and fro like the waves of the sea. Our left wing had advanced actually up to the wagons, with the intent to push on still farther if properly supported; but they were deserted by the rest of the cavalry, and so pressed upon by the superior numbers of the enemy that they were overwhelmed and beaten down like the ruin of a vast rampart. Presently our infantry also was left unsupported, while the various companies became so huddled together that a soldier could hardly draw his sword, or withdraw his hand after he had once stretched it out. And by this time such clouds of dust arose that it was scarcely possible to see the sky, which resounded with horrible cries; and in consequence the darts, which were bearing death on every side, reached their mark and fell with deadly effect, because no one could see them beforehand so as to guard against them. The barbarians, rushing on with their enormous host, beat down our horses and men and left no spot to which our ranks could fall back to operate. They were so closely packed that it was impossible to escape by forcing a way through them, and our men at last began to despise death and again taking to their swords, slew all they encountered, while with mutual blows of battle-axes, helmets and breastplates were dashed in pieces. [Sidenote: The Romans put to flight] Then you might see the barbarian, towering in his fierceness, hissing or shouting, fall with his legs pierced through, or his right hand cut off, sword and all, or his side transfixed, and still, in the last gasp of life, casting around him defiant glances. The plain was covered with corpses, showing the mutual ruin of the combatants; while the groans of the dying, or of men fearfully wounded, were intense and caused much dismay on all sides. Amid all this great tumult and confusion our infantry were exhausted by toil and danger, until at last they had neither strength left to fight nor spirits to plan anything. Their spears were broken by the frequent collisions, so that they were forced to content themselves with their drawn swords, which they thrust into the dense battalions of the enemy, disregarding their own safety, and seeing that every possibility of escape was cut off from them.... The sun, now high in the heavens (having traversed the sign of Leo and reached the abode of the heavenly Virgo[31]) scorched the Romans, who were emaciated by hunger, worn out with toil, and scarcely able to support even the weight of their armor. At last our columns were entirely beaten back by the overpowering weight of the barbarians, and so they took to disorderly flight, which is the only resource in extremity, each man trying to save himself as best he could.... Scarcely one third of the whole army escaped. Nor, except the battle of Cannæ, is so destructive a slaughter recorded in our annals;[32] though, even in the times of their prosperity, the Romans have more than once been called upon to deplore the uncertainty of war, and have for a time succumbed to evil Fortune. FOOTNOTES: [22] Valens was the Eastern emperor from 364 until his death in the battle of Adrianople in 378. His brother Valentinian was emperor in the West from 364 to 375. Gratian, son of Valentinian, was the real sovereign in the West when the Visigoths crossed the Danube. [23] That is, upon the writer's people, the Romans. [24] The Marcomanni and Quadi occupied a broad stretch of territory along the upper Danube in what is now the northernmost part of Austria-Hungary. Pontus was a province in northern Asia Minor. [25] Moeller (_Histoire du Moyen Age_, p. 58), estimates that the Goths who now entered Thrace numbered not fewer than 200,000 grown men, accompanied by their wives and children. The Italian Villari, in his _Barbarian Invasions of Italy_, Vol. I., p. 49, gives the same estimate. The tendency of contemporary chroniclers to exaggerate numbers has misled many older writers. Even Moeller's and Villari's estimate would mean a total of upwards of a million people. That there were so many may well be doubted. The Vandals played practically as important a part in the history of their times as did the Visigoths; yet it is known that when the Vandals passed through Spain, in the first half of the fifth century, they numbered not more than 20,000 fighting men, with their wives and children. [26] Nice was about thirty miles east of Adrianople. [27] The Visigoths under Fridigern finally took their position near Adrianople and Valens led his army into that vicinity and pitched his camp, fortifying it with a rampart of palisades. From the Western emperor, Gratian, a messenger came asking that open conflict be postponed until the army from Rome could join that from Constantinople. But Valens, easily flattered by some of his over-confident generals, foolishly decided to bring on a battle at once. Apparently he did not dream that defeat was possible. [28] After the battle here described, which occurred in the open plain, the victorious Goths proceeded to the siege of the city itself, in which, however, they were unsuccessful. The taking of fortified towns was an art in which the Germans were not skilled. [29] When both armies were in position Fridigern, "being skilful in divining the future," says Ammianus, "and fearing a doubtful struggle," sent a herald to Valens with the promise that if the Romans would give hostages to the Goths the latter would cease their depredations and even aid the Romans in their wars. Richomeres, the Roman cavalry leader, was chosen by Valens to serve as a hostage; but as he was proceeding to the Gothic camp the soldiers who accompanied him made a rash attack upon a division of the enemy and precipitated a battle which soon spread to the whole army. [30] The goddess of war, regarded in Roman mythology as the sister of Mars. [31] Signs of the zodiac, sometimes employed by the Romans to give figurative expression to the time of day. [32] The number of Romans killed at Cannæ (216 B.C.) is variously estimated, but it can hardly have been under 50,000. CHAPTER III. THE HUNS 5. Descriptions by a Graeco-Roman Poet and a Roman Historian The Huns, a people of Turanian stock, were closely related to the ancestors of the Magyars, or the modern Hungarians. Their original home was in central Asia, beyond the great wall of China, and they were in every sense a people of the plains rather than of the forest or of the sea. From the region of modern Siberia they swept westward in successive waves, beginning about the middle of the fourth century, traversed the "gateway of the nations" between the Caspian Sea and the Ural Mountains, and fell with fury upon the German tribes (mainly the Goths) settled in eastern and southern Europe. The descriptions of them given by Claudius Claudianus and Ammianus Marcellinus set forth their characteristics as understood by the Romans a half-century or more before the invasion of the Empire by Attila. There is no reason to suppose that either of these authors had ever seen a Hun, or had his information at first hand. When both wrote the Huns were yet far outside the Empire's bounds. Tales of soldiers and travelers, which doubtless grew as they were told, must have supplied both the poet and the historian with all that they knew regarding the strange Turanian invaders. This being the case, we are not to accept all that they say as the literal truth. Nevertheless the general impressions which one gets from their pictures cannot be far wrong. Claudius Claudianus, commonly regarded as the last of the Latin classic poets, was a native of Alexandria who settled at Rome about 395. For ten years after that date he occupied a position at the court of the Emperor Honorius somewhat akin to that of poet-laureate. Much of his writing was of a very poor quality, but his descriptions were sometimes striking, as in the stanza given below. On Ammianus Marcellinus see p. 34. Sources--(a) Claudius Claudianus, _In Rufinum_ ["Against Rufinus"], Bk. I., 323-331. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Auctores Antiquissimi_, Vol. X., pp. 30-31. Translated in Thomas Hodgkin, _Italy and Her Invaders_ (Oxford, 1880), Vol. II., p. 2. (b) Ammianus Marcellinus, _Rerum Gestarum Libri qui Supersunt_, Bk. XXXI., Chaps. 2-4 [see p. 34]. Translated in Hodgkin, _ibid._, pp. 34-38. (a) There is a race on Scythia's[33] verge extreme Eastward, beyond the Tanais'[34] chilly stream. The Northern Bear[35] looks on no uglier crew: Base is their garb, their bodies foul to view; Their souls are ne'er subdued to sturdy toil Or Ceres' arts:[36] their sustenance is spoil. With horrid wounds they gash their brutal brows, And o'er their murdered parents bind their vows. Not e'en the Centaur-offspring of the Cloud[37] Were horsed more firmly than this savage crowd. Brisk, lithe, in loose array they first come on, Fly, turn, attack the foe who deems them gone. [Sidenote: Physical appearance of the Huns] (b) The nation of the Huns, little known to ancient records, but spreading from the marshes of Azof to the Icy Sea,[38] surpasses all other barbarians in wildness of life. In the first days of infancy, deep incisions are made in the cheeks of their boys, in order that when the time comes for whiskers to grow there, the sprouting hairs may be kept back by the furrowed scars; and hence they grow to maturity and to old age beardless. They all, however, have strong, well-knit limbs and fine necks. Yet they are of portentous ugliness and so crook-backed that you would take them for some sort of two-footed beasts, or for the roughly-chipped stakes which are used for the railings of a bridge. And though they do just bear the likeness of men (of a very ugly type), they are so little advanced in civilization that they make no use of fire, nor of any kind of relish, in the preparation of their food, but feed upon the roots which they find in the fields, and the half-raw flesh of any sort of animal. I say half-raw, because they give it a kind of cooking by placing it between their own thighs and the backs of their horses. They never seek the shelter of houses, which they look upon as little better than tombs, and will enter only upon the direst necessity; nor would one be able to find among them even a cottage of wattled rushes; but, wandering at large over mountain and through forest, they are trained to endure from infancy all the extremes of cold, of hunger, and of thirst. [Sidenote: Their dress] They are clad in linen raiment, or in the skins of field-mice sewed together, and the same suit serves them for use in-doors and out. However dingy the color of it may become, the tunic which has once been hung around their necks is never laid aside nor changed until through long decay the rags of it will no longer hold together. Their heads are covered with bent caps, their hairy legs with the skins of goats; their shoes, never having been fashioned on a last, are so clumsy that they cannot walk comfortably. On this account they are not well adapted to encounters on foot; but on the other hand they are almost welded to their horses, which are hardy, though of ugly shape, and on which they sometimes ride woman's fashion. On horseback every man of that nation lives night and day; on horseback he buys and sells; on horseback he takes his meat and drink, and when night comes on he leans forward upon the narrow neck of his horse and there falls into a deep sleep, or wanders into the varied fantasies of dreams. [Sidenote: Their mode of fighting] When a discussion arises upon any matter of importance they come on horseback to the place of meeting. No kingly sternness overawes their deliberations, but being, on the whole, well-contented with the disorderly guidance of their chiefs, they do not scruple to interrupt the debates with anything that comes into their heads. When attacked, they will sometimes engage in regular battle. Then, going into the fight in order of columns, they fill the air with varied and discordant cries. More often, however, they fight in no regular order of battle, but being extremely swift and sudden in their movements, they disperse, and then rapidly come together again in loose array, spread havoc over vast plains and, flying over the rampart, pillage the camp of their enemy almost before he has become aware of their approach. It must be granted that they are the nimblest of warriors. The missile weapons which they use at a distance are pointed with sharpened bones admirably fastened to the shaft. When in close combat they fight without regard to their own safety, and while the enemy is intent upon parrying the thrusts of their swords they throw a net over him and so entangle his limbs that he loses all power of walking or riding. [Sidenote: Their nomadic character] Not one among them cultivates the ground, or ever touches a plow-handle. All wander abroad without fixed abodes, without home, or law, or settled customs, like perpetual fugitives, with their wagons for their only habitations. If you ask them, not one can tell you what is his place of origin. They are ruthless truce-breakers, fickle, always ready to be swayed by the first breath of a new desire, abandoning themselves without restraint to the most ungovernable rage. Finally, like animals devoid of reason, they are utterly ignorant of what is proper and what is not. They are tricksters with words and full of dark sayings. They are never moved by either religious or superstitious awe. They burn with unquenchable thirst for gold, and they are so changeable and so easily moved to wrath that many times in the day they will quarrel with their comrades on no provocation, and be reconciled, having received no satisfaction. FOOTNOTES: [33] A somewhat indefinite region north and east of the Caspian Sea. [34] The modern Don, flowing into the Sea of Azof. [35] One of two constellations in the northern hemisphere, called respectively the Great Bear and the Lesser Bear, or _Ursa Major_ and _Ursa Minor_. The Great Bear is commonly known as the Dipper. [36] That is, agriculture. The Huns were even less settled in their mode of life than were the early Germans described by Tacitus. [37] A strange creature of classical mythology, represented as half man and half horse. [38] The White Sea. It is hardly to be believed that the Huns dwelt so far north. This was, of course, a matter of sheer speculation with the Romans. CHAPTER IV. THE EARLY FRANKS 6. The Deeds of Clovis as Related by Gregory of Tours The most important historical writer among the early Franks was a bishop whose full name was Georgius Florentius Gregorius, but who has commonly been known ever since his day as Gregory of Tours. The date of his birth is uncertain, but it was probably either 539 or 540. He was not a Frank, but a man of mixed Roman and Gallic descent, his parentage being such as to rank him among the nobility of his native district, Auvergne. At the age of thirty-four he was elected bishop of Tours, and this important office he held until his death in 594. During this long period of service he won distinction as an able church official, as an alert man of affairs, and as a prolific writer on ecclesiastical subjects. Among his writings, some of which have been lost, were a book on the Christian martyrs, biographies of several holy men of the Church, a commentary on the Psalms, and a treatise on the officers of the Church and their duties. But by far his largest and most important work was his _Ecclesiastical History of the Franks_, in ten books, written well toward the end of his life. It is indeed to be regarded as one of the most interesting pieces of literature produced in any country during the Middle Ages. For his starting point Gregory went back to the Garden of Eden, and what he gives us in his first book is only an amusing but practically worthless account of the history of the world from Adam to St. Martin of Tours, who died probably in 397. In the second book, however, he comes more within the range of reasonable tradition, if not of actual information, and brings the story down to the death of Clovis in 511. In the succeeding eight books he reaches the year 591, though it is thought by some that the last four were put together after the author's death by some of his associates. However that may be, we may rest assured that the history grows in accuracy as it approaches the period in which it was written. Naturally it is at its best in the later books, where events are described that happened within the writer's lifetime, and with many of which he had a close connection. Gregory was a man of unusual activity and of wide acquaintance among the influential people of his day. He served as a counselor of several Frankish kings and was a prominent figure at their courts. The shrine of St. Martin of Tours[39] was visited by pilgrims from all parts of the Christian world and by conversation with them Gregory had an excellent opportunity to keep informed as to what was going on among the Franks, and among more distant peoples as well. He was thus fortunately situated for one who proposed to write the history of his times. As a bishop of the orthodox Church he had small regard for Arians and other heretics, and so was in some ways less broad-minded than we could wish; and of course he shared the superstition and ignorance of his age, as will appear in some of the selections below. Still, without his extensive history we should know far less than we now do concerning the Frankish people before the seventh century. He mixes legend with fact in a most confusing manner, but with no intention whatever to deceive. The men of the earlier Middle Ages knew no other way of writing history and their readers were not critical as we are to-day. The passages quoted below from Gregory's history give some interesting information concerning the Frankish conquerors of Gaul, and at the same time show something of the spirit of Gregory himself and of the people of his times. Particularly interesting is the account of the conversion of Clovis and of the Franks to Christianity. When the Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Vandals, Lombards, and Burgundians crossed the Roman frontiers and settled within the bounds of the old Empire they were all Christians in name, however much their conduct might be at variance with their profession. The Franks, on the other hand, established themselves in northern Gaul, as did the Saxons in Britain, while they were yet pagans, worshipping Woden and Thor and the other strange deities of the Germans. It was about the middle of the reign of King Clovis, or, more definitely, in the year 496, that the change came. In his _Ecclesiastical History_ Gregory tells us how up to this time all the influence of the Christian queen, Clotilde, had been exerted in vain to bring her husband to the point of renouncing his old gods. In his wars and conquests the king had been very successful and apparently he was pretty well satisfied with the favors these old gods had showered upon him and was unwilling to turn his back upon such generous patrons. But there came a time, in 496, in the course of the war with the Alemanni, when the tide of fortune seemed to be turning against the Frankish king. In the great battle of Strassburg the Franks were on the point of being beaten by their foe, and Clovis in desperation made a vow, as the story goes, that if Clotilde's God would grant him a victory he would immediately become a Christian. Whatever may have been the reason, the victory was won and the king, with characteristic German fidelity to his word, proceeded to fulfill his pledge. Amid great ceremony he was baptized, and with him three thousand of his soldiers the same day. The great majority of Franks lost little time in following the royal example. Two important facts should be emphasized in connection with this famous incident. The first is the peculiar character of the so-called "conversion" of Clovis and his Franks. We to-day look upon religious conversion as an inner experience of the individual, apt to be brought about by personal contact between a Christian and the person who is converted. It was in no such sense as this, however, that the Franks--or any of the early Germans, for that matter--were made Christian. They looked upon Christianity as a mere portion of Roman civilization to be adopted or let alone as seemed best; but if it were adopted, it must be by the whole tribe or nation, not by individuals here and there. In general, the German peoples took up Christianity, not because they became convinced that their old religions were false, but simply because they were led to believe that the Christian faith was in some ways better than their own and so might profitably be taken advantage of by them. Clovis believed he had won the battle of Strassburg with the aid of the Christian God when Woden and Thor were about to fail him; therefore he reasoned that it would be a good thing in the future to make sure that the God of Clotilde should always be on his side, and obviously the way to do this was to become himself a Christian. He did not wholly abandon the old gods, but merely considered that he had found a new one of superior power. Hence he enjoined on all his people that they become Christians; and for the most part they did so, though of course we are not to suppose that there was any very noticeable change in their actual conduct and mode of life, at least for several generations. The second important point to observe is that, whereas all of the other Germanic peoples on the continent had become Christians of the Arian type, the Franks accepted Christianity in its orthodox form such as was adhered to by the papacy. This was sheer accident. The Franks took the orthodox rather than the heretical religion simply because it was the kind that was carried to them by the missionaries, not at all because they were able, or had the desire, to weigh the two creeds and choose the one they liked the better. But though they became orthodox Christians by accident, the fact that they became such is of the utmost importance in mediæval history, for by being what the papacy regarded as true Christians rather than heretics they began from the start to be looked to by the popes for support. Their kings in time became the greatest secular champions of papal interests, though relations were sometimes far from harmonious. This virtual alliance of the popes and the Frankish kings is a subject which will repay careful study. Source--Gregorius Episcopus Turonensis, _Historia Ecclesiastica Francorum_ [Gregory of Tours, "Ecclesiastical History of the Franks"], Bk. II., Chaps. 27-43 _passim_. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum_, Vol. I., Part 1, pp. 88-89, 90-95, 98-100, 158-159. [Sidenote: The battle of Soissons (486)] =27.= After all these things Childeric[40] died and his son Clovis ruled in his stead. In the fifth year of the new reign Syagrius, son of Ægidius, was governing as king of the Romans in the town of Soissons, where his father had held sway before him.[41] Clovis now advanced against him with his kinsman Ragnachar, who also held a kingdom, and gave him an opportunity to select a field of battle. Syagrius did not hesitate, for he was not at all afraid to risk an encounter. In the conflict which followed, however, the Roman soon saw that his army was doomed to destruction; so, turning and fleeing from the field, he made all haste to take refuge with King Alaric at Toulouse.[42] Clovis then sent word to Alaric that he must hand over the defeated king at once if he did not wish to bring on war against himself. Fearing the anger of the Franks, therefore, as the Goths continually do, Alaric bound Syagrius with chains and delivered him to the messengers of King Clovis. As soon as the latter had the prisoner in his possession he put him under safe guard and, after seizing his kingdom, had him secretly slain.[43] [Sidenote: The story of the broken vase] At this time the army of Clovis plundered many churches, for the king was still sunk in the errors of idolatry. Upon one occasion the soldiers carried away from a church, along with other ornaments of the sacred place, a remarkably large and beautiful vase. The bishop of that church sent messengers to the king to ask that, even if none of the other holy vessels might be restored, this precious vase at least might be sent back. To the messengers Clovis could only reply: "Come with us to Soissons, for there all the booty is to be divided. If when we cast lots the vase shall fall to me, I will return it as the bishop desires." When they had reached Soissons and all the booty had been brought together in the midst of the army the king called attention to the vase and said, "I ask you, most valiant warriors, to allow me to have the vase in addition to my rightful share." Then even those of his men who were most self-willed answered: "O glorious king, all things before us are thine, and we ourselves are subject to thy control. Do, therefore, what pleases thee best, for no one is able to resist thee." But when they had thus spoken, one of the warriors, an impetuous, jealous, and vain man, raised his battle-ax aloft and broke the vase in pieces, crying as he did so, "Thou shalt receive no part of this booty unless it fall to you by a fair lot." And at such a rash act they were all astounded. [Sidenote: Clovis's revenge] The king pretended not to be angry and seemed to take no notice of the incident, and when it happened that the broken vase fell to him by lot he gave the fragments to the bishop's messengers; nevertheless he cherished a secret indignation in his heart. A year later he summoned all his soldiers to come fully armed to the Campus Martius, so that he might make an inspection of his troops.[44] After he had reviewed the whole army he finally came across the very man who had broken the vase at Soissons. "No one," cried out the king to him, "carries his arms so awkwardly as thou; for neither thy spear nor thy sword nor thy ax is ready for use," and he struck the ax out of the soldier's hands so that it fell to the ground. Then when the man bent forward to pick it up the king raised his own ax and struck him on the head, saying, "Thus thou didst to the vase at Soissons." Having slain him, he dismissed the others, filled with great fear....[45] [Sidenote: Clovis decides to become a Christian (496)] =30.= The queen did not cease urging the king to acknowledge the true God and forsake idols, but all her efforts failed until at length a war broke out with the Alemanni.[46] Then of necessity he was compelled to confess what hitherto he had wilfully denied. It happened that the two armies were in battle and there was great slaughter.[47] The army of Clovis seemed about to be cut in pieces. Then the king raised his hands fervently toward the heavens and, breaking into tears, cried: "Jesus Christ, who Clotilde declares to be the son of the living God, who it is said givest help to the oppressed and victory to those who put their trust in thee, I invoke thy marvellous help. If thou wilt give me victory over my enemies and I prove that power which thy followers say they have proved concerning thee, I will believe in thee and will be baptized in thy name; for I have called upon my own gods and it is clear that they have neglected to give me aid. Therefore I am convinced that they have no power, for they do not help those who serve them. I now call upon thee, and I wish to believe in thee, especially that I may escape from my enemies." When he had offered this prayer the Alemanni turned their backs and began to flee. And when they learned that their king had been slain, they submitted at once to Clovis, saying, "Let no more of our people perish, for we now belong to you." When he had stopped the battle and praised his soldiers for their good work, Clovis returned in peace to his kingdom and told the queen how he had won the victory by calling on the name of Christ. These events took place in the fifteenth year of his reign.[48] =31.= Then the queen sent secretly to the blessed Remigius, bishop of Rheims, and asked him to bring to the king the gospel of salvation. The bishop came to the court where, little by little, he led Clovis to believe in the true God, maker of heaven and earth, and to forsake the idols which could help neither him nor any one else. "Willingly will I hear thee, O holy father," declared the king at last, "but the people who are under my authority are not ready to give up their gods. I will go and consult them about the religion concerning which you speak." When he had come among them, and before he had spoken a word, all the people, through the influence of the divine power, cried out with one voice: "O righteous king, we cast off our mortal gods and we are ready to serve the God who Remigius tells us is immortal." [Sidenote: The baptism of Clovis and his warriors] When this was reported to the bishop he was beside himself with joy, and he at once ordered the baptismal font to be prepared. The streets were shaded with embroidered hangings; the churches were adorned with white tapestries, exhaling sweet odors; perfumed tapers gleamed; and all the temple of the baptistry was filled with a heavenly odor, so that the people might well have believed that God in His graciousness showered upon them the perfumes of Paradise. Then Clovis, having confessed that the God of the Trinity was all-powerful, was baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, and was anointed with the holy oil with the sign of the cross. More than three thousand of his soldiers were baptized with him.... =35.= Now when Alaric, king of the Goths, saw that Clovis was conquering many nations, he sent messengers to him, saying, "If it please my brother, let us, with the favor of God, enter into an alliance." Clovis at once declared his willingness to do as Alaric suggested and the two kings met on an island in the Loire, near the town of Amboise in the vicinity of Tours.[49] There they talked, ate, and drank together, and after making mutual promises of friendship they departed in peace. [Sidenote: Clovis resolves to take the Visigoths' lands in Gaul] =37.= But Clovis said to his soldiers: "It is with regret that I see the Arian heretics in possession of any part of Gaul. Let us, with the help of God, march against them and, after having conquered them, bring their country under our own control." This proposal was received with favor by all the warriors and the army started on the campaign, going towards Poitiers, where Alaric was then staying. As a portion of the troops passed through the territory about Tours, Clovis, out of respect for the holy St. Martin, forbade his soldiers to take anything from the country except grass for the horses. One soldier, having come across some hay which belonged to a poor man said, "Has, then, the king given us permission to take only grass? O well! hay is grass. To take it would not be to violate the command." And by force he took the hay away from the poor man. When, however, the matter was brought to the king's attention he struck the offender with his sword and killed him, saying, "How, indeed, may we hope for victory if we give offense to St. Martin?" This was enough thereafter to prevent the army from plundering in that country. [Sidenote: Miraculous incidents of the campaign] When Clovis arrived with his forces at the banks of the Vienne he was at a loss to know where to cross, because the heavy rains had swollen the stream. During the night he prayed that the Lord would reveal to him a passage. The following morning, under the guidance of God, a doe of wondrous size entered the river in plain sight of the army and crossed by a ford, thus pointing out the way for the soldiers to get over. When they were in the neighborhood of Poitiers the king saw at some distance from his tent a ball of fire, which proceeded from the steeple of the church of St. Hilary[50] and seemed to him to advance in his direction, as if to show that by the aid of the light of the holy St. Hilary he would triumph the more easily over the heretics against whom the pious priest had himself often fought for the faith. Clovis then forbade his army to molest any one or to pillage any property in that part of the country. [Sidenote: The Visigoths defeated by Clovis (507)] Clovis at length engaged in battle with Alaric, king of the Goths, in the plain of Vouillé at the tenth mile-stone from Poitiers.[51] The Goths fought with javelins, but the Franks charged upon them with lances. Then the Goths took to flight, as is their custom,[52] and the victory, with the aid of God, fell to Clovis. He had put the Goths to flight and killed their king, Alaric, when all at once two soldiers bore down upon him and struck him with lances on both sides at once; but, owing to the strength of his armor and the swiftness of his horse, he escaped death. After the battle Amalaric, son of Alaric, took refuge in Spain and ruled wisely over the kingdom of his father.[53] Alaric had reigned twenty-two years. Clovis, after spending the winter at Bordeaux and carrying from Toulouse all the treasure of the king, advanced on Angoulême. There the Lord showed him such favor that at his very approach the walls of the city fell down of their own accord.[54] After driving out the Goths he brought the place under his own authority. Thus, crowned with victory, he returned to Tours and bestowed a great number of presents upon the holy church of the blessed Martin.[55] [Sidenote: Other means by which Clovis extended his power] =40.= Now while Clovis was living at Paris he sent secretly to the son of Sigibert,[56] saying: "Behold now your father is old and lame. If he should die his kingdom would come to you and my friendship with it." So the son of Sigibert, impelled by his ambition, planned to slay his father. And when Sigibert set out from Cologne and crossed the Rhine to go through the Buchonian forest,[57] his son had him slain by assassins while he was sleeping in his tent, in order that he might gain the kingdom for himself. But by the judgment of God he fell into the pit which he had digged for his father. He sent messengers to Clovis to announce the death of his father and to say: "My father is dead and I have his treasures, and likewise the kingdom. Now send trusted men to me, that I may give them for you whatever you would like out of his treasury." Clovis replied: "I thank you for your kindness and will ask you merely to show my messengers all your treasures, after which you may keep them yourself." And when the messengers of Clovis came, the son of Sigibert showed them the treasures which his father had collected. And while they were looking at various things, he said: "My father used to keep his gold coins in this little chest." And they said, "Put your hand down to the bottom, that you may show us everything." But when he stooped to do this, one of the messengers struck him on the head with his battle-ax, and thus he met the fate which he had visited upon his father. Now when Clovis heard that both Sigibert and his son were dead, he came to that place and called the people together and said to them: "Hear what has happened. While I was sailing on the Scheldt River, Cloderic, son of Sigibert, my relative, attacked his father, pretending that I had wished him to slay him. And so when his father fled through the Buchonian forest, the assassins of Cloderic set upon him and slew him. But while Cloderic was opening his father's treasure chest, some man unknown to me struck him down. I am in no way guilty of these things, for I could not shed the blood of my relatives, which is very wicked. But since these things have happened, if it seems best to you, I advise you to unite with me and come under my protection." And those who heard him applauded his speech, and, raising him on a shield, acknowledged him as their king. Thus Clovis gained the kingdom of Sigibert and his treasures, and won over his subjects to his own rule. For God daily confounded his enemies and increased his kingdom, because he walked uprightly before Him and did that which was pleasing in His sight. [Sidenote: The removal of remaining rivals] =42.= Then Clovis made war on his relative Ragnachar.[58] And when the latter saw that his army was defeated, he attempted to flee; but his own men seized him and his brother Richar and brought them bound before Clovis. Then Clovis said: "Why have you disgraced our family by allowing yourself to be taken prisoner? It would have been better for you had you been slain." And, raising his battle-ax, he slew him. Then, turning to Richar, he said, "If you had aided your brother he would not have been taken;" and he slew him with the ax also. Thus by their death Clovis took their kingdom and treasures. And many other kings and relatives of his, who he feared might take his kingdom from him, were slain, and his dominion was extended over all Gaul. [Sidenote: The death of Clovis (511)] =43.= And after these things he died at Paris and was buried in the basilica of the holy saints which he and his queen, Clotilde, had built. He passed away in the fifth year after the battle of Vouillé, and all the days of his reign were thirty years. 7. The Law of the Salian Franks When the Visigoths, Lombards, and other Germanic peoples settled within the bounds of the Roman Empire they had no such thing as written law. They had laws, and a goodly number of them, but these laws were handed down from generation to generation orally, having never been enacted by a legislative body or decreed by a monarch in the way that laws are generally made among the civilized peoples of to-day. In other words, early Germanic law consisted simply of an accumulation of the immemorial custom of the tribe. When, for example, a certain penalty had been paid on several occasions by persons who had committed a particular crime, men came naturally to regard that penalty as the one regularly to be paid by _any one_ proved guilty of the same offense; so that what was at first only habit gradually became hardened into law--unwritten indeed, but none the less binding. The law thus made up, moreover, was personal rather than territorial like that of the Romans and like ours to-day. That is, the same laws did not apply to all the people throughout any particular country or region. If a man were born a Visigoth he would be subject to Visigothic law throughout life, no matter where he might go to live. So the Burgundian would always have the right to be judged by Burgundian law, and the Lombard by the Lombard law. Obviously, in regions where several peoples dwelt side by side, as in large portions of Gaul, Spain, and northern Italy, there was no small amount of confusion and the courts had to be conducted in a good many different ways. After the Germans had been for some time in contact with the Romans they began to be considerably influenced by the customs and ways of doing things which they found among the more civilized people. They tried to master the Latin language, though, on the whole, they succeeded only so well as to create the new "Romance" tongues which we know as French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. They adopted the Roman religion, i.e., Christianity. And, among the most important things of all, they took up the Roman idea of having their law written out rather than in the uncertain shape of mere tradition. In this work of putting the old customary law in written form the way was led by the Salian branch of the Franks. Just when the Salic code was drawn up is not known, but the work was certainly done at some time during the reign of Clovis, probably about the year 496. The portions of this code which are given below will serve to show the general character of all the early Germanic systems of law--Visigothic, Lombard, Burgundian, and Frisian, as well as Frankish; for among them all there was much uniformity in principles, though considerable variation in matters of detail. Like the rest, the Salic law was fragmentary. The codes were not intended to embrace the entire law of the tribe, but simply to bring together in convenient form those portions which were most difficult to remember and which were most useful for ready reference. In the Salic code, for instance, we find a large amount of criminal law and of the law of procedure, but only a few touches of the law of property, or indeed of civil law of any sort. There is practically nothing in the way of public or administrative law. Many things are not mentioned which we should expect to find treated and, on the other hand, some things are there which we should not look for ordinarily in a code of law. The greater portion is taken up with an enumeration of penalties for various crimes and wrongful acts. These are often detailed so minutely as to be rather amusing from our modern point of view. Yet every one of the sixty-five chapters of the code has its significance and from the whole law can be gleaned an immense amount of information concerning the manner of life which prevailed in early Frankish Gaul. For the Merovingian period in general the Salic law is our most valuable documentary source of knowledge, just as for the same epoch the _Ecclesiastical History_ of Gregory of Tours is our most important narrative source. Source--Text in Heinrich Geffcken, _Lex Salica_ ["The Salic Law"], Leipzig, 1898; also Heinrich Gottfried Gengler, _Germanische Rechtsdenkmäler_ ["Monuments of German Law"], Erlangen, 1875, pp. 267-303. Adapted from translation in Ernest F. Henderson, _Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1896), pp. 176-189. I. =1.= If any one be summoned before the _mallus_[59] by the king's law, and do not come, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_.[60] [Sidenote: Summonses to the meetings of the local courts] =2.= But he who summons another, and does not come himself, if a lawful impediment have not delayed him, shall be sentenced to 15 _solidi_, to be paid to him whom he summoned. =3.= And he who summons another shall go with witnesses to the home of that man, and, if he be not at home, shall enjoin the wife, or any one of the family, to make known to him that he has been summoned to court. =4.= But if he be occupied in the king's service he cannot summon him. =5.= And if he shall be inside the hundred attending to his own affairs, he can summon him in the manner just explained. XI. =1.= If any freeman steal, outside of a house, something worth 2 _denarii_, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_. [Sidenote: Theft by a slave] =2.= But if he steal, outside of a house, something worth 40 _denarii_, and it be proved on him, he shall be sentenced, besides the amount and the fines for delay, to 1,400 _denarii_, which make 35 _solidi_. =3.= If a freeman break into a house and steal something worth 2 _denarii_, and it be proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 15 _solidi_. =4.= But if he shall have stolen something worth more than 5 _denarii_, and it be proved on him, he shall be sentenced, besides the value of the object and the fines for delay, to 1,400 _denarii_, which make 35 _solidi_. =5.= But if he shall have broken, or tampered with, the lock, and thus have entered the house and stolen anything from it, he shall be sentenced, besides the value of the object and the fines for delay, to 1,800 _denarii_, which make 45 _solidi_. =6.= And if he shall have taken nothing, or have escaped by flight, he shall, for the housebreaking alone, be sentenced to 1,200 _denarii_, which make 30 _solidi_. XII. [Sidenote: Theft by a freeman] =1.= If a slave steal, outside of a house, something worth 2 _denarii_, besides paying the value of the object and the fines for delay, he shall be stretched out and receive 120 blows. =2.= But if he steal something worth 40 _denarii_, he shall pay 6 _solidi_. The lord of the slave who committed the theft shall restore to the plaintiff the value of the object and the fines for delay. XIV. [Sidenote: Robbery with assault] =1.= If any one shall have assaulted and robbed a freeman, and it be proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 2,500 _denarii_, which make 63 _solidi_. =2.= If a Roman shall have robbed a Salian Frank, the above law shall be observed. =3.= But if a Frank shall have robbed a Roman, he shall be sentenced to 35 _solidi_. XV. [Sidenote: The crime of incendiarism] =1.= If any one shall set fire to a house in which people were sleeping, as many freemen as were in it can make complaint before the _mallus_; and if any one shall have been burned in it, the incendiary shall be sentenced to 2,500 _denarii_, which make 63 _solidi_.[61] XVII. =1.= If any one shall have sought to kill another person, and the blow shall have missed, he on whom it was proved shall be sentenced to 2,500 _denarii_, which make 63 _solidi_. [Sidenote: Various deeds of violence] =2.= If any person shall have sought to shoot another with a poisoned arrow, and the arrow has glanced aside, and it shall be proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 2,500 _denarii_, which make 63 _solidi_. 5. If any one shall have struck a man so that blood falls to the floor, and it be proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_. =6.= But if a freeman strike a freeman with his fist so that blood does not flow, he shall be sentenced for each blow--up to 3 blows--to 120 _denarii_, which make 3 _solidi_.[62] XIX. [Sidenote: Use of poison or witchcraft] =1.= If any one shall have given herbs to another, so that he die, he shall be sentenced to 200 _solidi_, or shall surely be given over to fire. =2.= If any person shall have bewitched another, and he who was thus treated shall escape, the author of the crime, having been proved guilty of it, shall be sentenced to 2,500 _denarii_, which make 63 _solidi_. XXX. [Sidenote: Punishment for slander] =6.= If any man shall have brought it up against another that he has thrown away his shield, and shall not have been able to prove it, he shall be sentenced to 120 _denarii_, which make 3 _solidi_.[63] =7.= If any man shall have called another "gossip" or "perjurer," and shall not have been able to prove it, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_. XXXIV. =1.= If any man shall have cut 3 staves by which a fence is bound or held together, or shall have stolen or cut the heads of 3 stakes, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_. [Sidenote: The offense of trespass] =2.= If any one shall have drawn a harrow through another's field of grain after the seed has sprouted, or shall have gone through it with a wagon where there was no road, he shall be sentenced to 120 _denarii_, which make 3 _solidi_. =3.= If any one shall have gone, where there is no road or path, through another's field after the grain has grown tall, he shall be sentenced to 600 _denarii_, which make 15 _solidi_. XLI. =1.= If any one shall have killed a free Frank, or a barbarian living under the Salic law, and it shall have been proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 8,000 _denarii_. [Sidenote: Punishments for homicide] =2.= But if he shall have thrown him into a well or into the water, or shall have covered him with branches or anything else, to conceal him, he shall be sentenced to 24,000 _denarii_, which make 600 _solidi_. =3.= If any one shall have slain a man who is in the service of the king, he shall be sentenced to 24,000 _denarii_, which make 600 _solidi_.[64] =4.= But if he shall have put him in the water, or in a well, and covered him with anything to conceal him, he shall be sentenced to 72,000 _denarii_, which make 1,000 _solidi_. =5.= If any one shall have slain a Roman who eats in the king's palace, and it shall have been proved on him, he shall be sentenced to 12,000 _denarii_, which make 300 _solidi_.[65] =6.= But if the Roman shall not have been a landed proprietor and table companion of the king, he who killed him shall be sentenced to 4,000 _denarii_, which make 100 _solidi_. =7.= If he shall have killed a Roman who was obliged to pay tribute, he shall be sentenced to 63 _solidi_. =9.= If any one shall have thrown a freeman into a well, and he has escaped alive, he [the criminal] shall be sentenced to 4,000 _denarii_, which make 100 _solidi_. XLV. [Sidenote: Right of migration] =1.= If any one desires to migrate to another village, and if one or more who live in that village do not wish to receive him--even if there be only one who objects--he shall not have the right to move there. =3.= But if any one shall have moved there, and within 12 months no one has given him warning, he shall remain as secure as the other neighbors. L. [Sidenote: Enforcement of debt] 1. If any freeman or leet[66] shall have made to another a promise to pay, then he to whom the promise was made shall, within 40 days, or within such time as was agreed upon when he made the promise, go to the house of that man with witnesses, or with appraisers. And if he [the debtor] be unwilling to make the promised payment, he shall be sentenced to 15 _solidi_ above the debt which he had promised. LIX. =1.= If any man die and leave no sons, the father and mother shall inherit, if they survive. [Sidenote: Rights of inheritance] =2.= If the father and mother do not survive, and he leave brothers or sisters, they shall inherit. =3.= But if there are none, the sisters of the father shall inherit. =4.= But if there are no sisters of the father, the sisters of the mother shall claim the inheritance. =5.= If there are none of these, the nearest relatives on the father's side shall succeed to the inheritance. =6.= Of Salic land no portion of the inheritance shall go to a woman; but the whole inheritance of the land shall belong to the male sex.[67] LXII. [Sidenote: Payment of wergeld] =1.= If any one's father shall have been slain, the sons shall have half the compounding money [wergeld]; and the other half, the nearest relatives, as well on the mother's as on the father's side, shall divide among themselves.[68] =2.= But if there are no relatives, paternal or maternal, that portion shall go to the fisc.[69] FOOTNOTES: [39] St. Martin was born in Pannonia somewhat before the middle of the fourth century. For a time he followed his father's profession as a soldier in the service of the Roman emperor, but later he went to Gaul with the purpose of aiding in the establishment of the Christian Church in that quarter. In 372 he was elected bishop of Tours and shortly afterwards he founded the monastery with which his name was destined to be associated throughout the Middle Ages. This monastery, which was one of the earliest in western Europe, became a very important factor in the prolonged combat with Gallic paganism, and subsequently a leading center of ecclesiastical learning. [40] Childeric I., son of the more or less mythical Merovius, was king from 457 to 481. Clovis became ruler of the Salian branch of the Franks in this latter year. The tomb of Childeric was discovered at Tournai in 1653. [41] Ægidius and his son Syagrius were the last official representatives of the Roman imperial power in Gaul; and since the fall of the Empire in the West even they had taken the title of "king of the Romans" and had been practically independent sovereigns in the territory between the Somme and the Loire, with their capital at Soissons, northeast of Paris. [42] Alaric II., king of the Visigoths, 485-507. [43] The battle of Soissons in 486, with the defeat and death of Syagrius, insured for the Franks undisputed possession southward to the Loire, which was the northern frontier of the Visigothic kingdom. [44] The Campus Martius was the "March-field," i.e., the assembling place of the Frankish army. It was not regularly in any one locality but wherever the king might call the soldiers together, as he did every spring for purposes of review. In the eighth century the month of May was substituted for March as the time for the meeting. [45] In the words of Hodgkin (_Charles the Great_, p. 12), "the well-known story of the vase of Soissons illustrates at once the German memories of freedom and the Merovingian mode of establishing a despotism. As a battle comrade the Frankish warrior protests against Clovis receiving an ounce beyond his due share of the spoils. As a battle leader Clovis rebukes his henchman for the dirtiness of his accoutrements, and cleaves his skull to punish him for his independence." [46] The Alemanni were a German people occupying a vast region about the upper waters of the Rhine and Danube. They had been making repeated efforts to acquire territory west of the Rhine--an encroachment which Clovis resolved not to tolerate. [47] The battle was fought near Strassburg, in the upper Rhine valley. [48] The ultimate result of the defeat of the Alemanni was that the Frankish kingdom was enlarged by the annexation of the great region known in the later Middle Ages as Suabia, comprising modern Alsace, Baden, Würtemberg, the western part of Bavaria, and the northern part of Switzerland. The Alemanni as a people disappeared speedily from history, being absorbed by their more powerful neighbors. Their only monument to-day is the name by which the French have always known the people of Germany--_Allemands_. [49] The Loire was the boundary between the dominions of the two kings. There have been many famous instances in history of two sovereigns coming together to confer at some point on the common border of the territories controlled by them, notably the interview of Napoleon and Tsar Alexander I. on the Niemen River in 1807. The Franks and the Visigoths had been enemies ever since by Clovis's defeat of Syagrius their dominions had been brought into contact (486), and the present jovial interview of the two kings did not long keep them at peace with each other. [50] St. Hilary was bishop of Poitiers in the later fourth century. He was a contemporary of St. Martin of Tours and a co-worker with him in the organization of Gallic Christianity. [51] The plain of Vouillé was ten miles west of Poitiers. [52] This amusing comment of Gregory was due largely to his prejudice in favor of the Franks and against the heretical Visigoths. [53] The Visigothic kingdom in Spain, with its capital at Toledo, endured until the Saracen conquest of that country in 711 and the years immediately following, but it did not give evidence of much strength. It stood so long only because the Pyrenees made a natural boundary against the Franks and because, after Clovis, for two hundred years the Franks produced no great conqueror who cared to crowd the Visigoths into still closer quarters. [54] Clovis, particularly after his conversion to Christianity in 496, was the hero of Gregory's history and apparently the enthusiastic old bishop did not lose an opportunity to glorify his career. At any rate it would certainly be difficult to relate anything more remarkable about him than this legend of the walls of Angoulême falling down before him at his mere approach. [55] This notable campaign had advanced Frankish territory to the Pyrenees, except for the strip between these mountains and the Rhone, known as Septimania, which the Visigoths were able to retain by the aid of the Ostrogoths from Italy. No great number of Franks settled in this broad territory south of the Loire, and to this day the inhabitants of south France show a much larger measure of Roman descent than do those of the north. It may be added that Septimania was conquered by Clovis's son Childebert in 531, and thus the last bit of old Gaul--practically modern France--was brought under Frankish control. [56] This was Cloderic, son of Sigibert the Lame, king of a tribe of Franks living along the middle Rhine. Sigibert was one of the numerous independent and rival princes whom Clovis used every expedient to put out of the way. [57] Along the Upper Weser, near the monastery of Fulda. [58] Ragnachar's kingdom was in the region about Cambrai. [59] The _mallus_ was the local court held about every six weeks in each community or hundred. In early German law the state has small place and the principle of self-help by the individual is very prominent. To bring a suit one summons his opponent himself and gets him to appear at court if he can. Ordinarily the court merely determines the method by which the guilt or innocence of the accused may be tested. Execution of the sentence rests again with the plaintiff, or with his family or clan group. [60] "The monetary system of the Salic law was taken from the Romans. The basis was the gold _solidus_ of Constantine, 1/72 of a pound of gold. The small coin was the silver _denarius_, forty of which made a _solidus_. This system was adopted as a monetary reform by Clovis, and the statement of the sum in terms of both coins is probably due to the newness of the system at the time of the appearance of the law."--Thatcher and McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_, p. 17. The gold _solidus_ was worth somewhere from two and a half to three dollars, but its purchasing power was perhaps equal to that of twenty dollars to-day, because gold and silver were then so much scarcer and more valuable. Such estimates of purchasing power, however, involve so great uncertainty as to be practically worthless. [61] The Burgundian law (Chap. 41) contained a provision that if a man made a fire on his own premises and it spread to fences or crops belonging to another person, and did damage, the man who made the fire should recompense his neighbor for his loss, provided it could be shown that there was no wind to drive the fire beyond control. If there was such a wind, no penalty was to be exacted. [62] The law of the Lombards had a more elaborate system of fines for wounds than did the Salic code. For example, knocking out a man's front teeth was to be paid for at the rate of sixteen _solidi_ per tooth; knocking out back teeth at the rate of eight _solidi_ per tooth; fracturing an arm, sixteen _solidi_; cutting off a second finger, seventeen _solidi_; cutting off a great toe, six _solidi_; cutting off a little toe, two _solidi_; giving a blow with the fist, three _solidi_; with the palm of the hand, six _solidi_; and striking a person on the head so as to break bones, twelve _solidi_ per bone. In the latter case the broken bones were to be counted "on this principle, that one bone shall be found large enough to make an audible sound when thrown against a shield at twelve feet distance on the road; the said feet to be measured from the foot of a man of moderate stature." [63] The man who had "thrown away his shield" was the coward who had fled from the field of battle. How the Germans universally regarded such a person appears in the _Germania_ of Tacitus, Chap. 6 (see p. 25). To impute this ignominy to a man was a serious matter. [64] This was the so-called "triple wergeld." That is, the lives of men in the service of the king were rated three times as high as those of ordinary free persons. [65] Here is an illustration of the personal character of Germanic law. There is one law for the Frank and another for the Roman, though both peoples were now living side by side in Gaul. The price put upon the life of the Frankish noble who was in the king's service was 600 _solidi_ (§ 3), but that on the life of the Roman noble in the same service was but half that amount. The same proportion held for the ordinary freemen, as will be seen by comparing §§ 1 and 6. [66] A leet was such a person as we in modern times commonly designate as a serf--a man only partially free. [67] This has been alleged to be the basis of the misnamed "Salic Law" by virtue of which no woman, in the days of the French monarchy, was permitted to inherit the throne. As a matter of fact, however, the exclusion of women from the French throne was due, not to this or to any other early Frankish principle, but to later circumstances which called for stronger monarchs in France than women have ordinarily been expected to be. The history of the modern "Salic Law" does not go back of the resolution of the French nobles in 1317 against the general political expediency of female sovereigns [see p. 420]. [68] The wergeld was the value put by the law upon every man's life. Its amount varied according to the rank of the person in question. The present section specifies how the wergeld paid by a murderer should be divided among the relatives of the slain man. [69] That is, to the king's treasury. CHAPTER V. THE ANGLES AND SAXONS IN BRITAIN 8. The Saxon Invasion (cir. 449) The Venerable Bede, the author of the passage given below, was born about 673 in Northumberland and spent most of his life in the Benedictine abbey of Jarrow on the Tyne, where he died in 735. He was a man of broad learning and untiring industry, famous in all parts of Christendom by reason of the numerous scholarly books that he wrote. The chief of these was his _Ecclesiastical History of the English People_, covering the period from the first invasion of Britain by Cæsar (B.C. 55) to the year 731. In this work Bede dealt with many matters lying properly outside the sphere of church history, so that it is exceedingly valuable for the light which it throws on both the military and political affairs of the early Anglo-Saxons in Britain. As an historian Bede was fair-minded and as accurate as his means of information permitted. The Angle and Saxon seafarers from the region we now know as Denmark and Hanover had infested the shores of Britain for two centuries or more before the coming of Hengist and Horsa which Bede here describes. The withdrawal of the Roman garrisons about the year 410 left the Britons at the mercy of the wilder Picts and Scots of the north and west, and as a last resort King Vortigern decided to call in the Saxons to aid in his campaign of defense. Such, at least, is the story related by Gildas, a Romanized British chronicler who wrote about the year 560, and this was the view adopted by Bede. Recent writers, as Mr. James H. Ramsay in his _Foundations of England_, are inclined to cast serious doubts upon the story because it seems hardly probable that any king would have taken so foolish a step as that attributed to Vortigern.[70] At any rate, whether by invitation or for pure love of seafaring adventure, certain it is that the Saxons and Angles made their appearance at the little island of Thanet, on the coast of Kent, and found the country so much to their liking that they chose to remain rather than return to the over-populated shores of the Baltic. There are many reasons for believing that people of Germanic stock had been settled more or less permanently in Britain long before the traditional invasion of Hengist and Horsa. Yet we are justified in thinking of this interesting expedition as, for all practical purposes, the beginning of the long and stubborn struggle of Germans to possess the fruitful British isle. While Visigoths and Ostrogoths, Vandals and Lombards were breaking across the Rhine-Danube frontier and finding new homes in the territories of the Roman Empire, the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes from the farther north were led by their seafaring instincts to make their great movement, not by land, but by water, and into a country which the Romans had a good while before been obliged to abandon. There they were free to develop their own peculiar Germanic life and institutions, for the most part without undergoing the changes which settlement among the Romans produced in the case of the tribes whose migrations were towards the Mediterranean. Source--Bæda, _Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum_ [Bede, "Ecclesiastical History of the English People"], Bk. I., Chaps. 14-15. Translated by J. A. Giles (London, 1847), pp. 23-25. [Sidenote: The Britons decide to call in the Saxons] They consulted what was to be done,[71] and where they should seek assistance to prevent or repel the cruel and frequent incursions of the northern nations. And they all agreed with their king, Vortigern, to call over to their aid, from the parts beyond the sea, the Saxon nation; which, as the outcome still more plainly showed, appears to have been done by the inspiration of our Lord Himself, that evil might fall upon them for their wicked deeds. [Sidenote: The Saxons settle in the island] In the year of our Lord 449,[72] Martian, being made emperor with Valentinian, the forty-sixth from Augustus, ruled the Empire seven years. Then the nation of the Angles, or Saxons, being invited by the aforesaid king, arrived in Britain with three long ships, and had a place assigned them to reside in by the same king, in the eastern part of the island,[73] that they might thus appear to be fighting for their country, while their real intentions were to enslave it. Accordingly they engaged with the enemy, who were come from the north to give battle, and obtained the victory; which, being known at home in their own country, as also the fertility of the islands and the cowardice of the Britons, a larger fleet was quickly sent over, bringing a still greater number of men, who, being added to the former, made up an invincible army. The newcomers received from the Britons a place to dwell, upon condition that they should wage war against their enemies for the peace and security of the country, while the Britons agreed to furnish them with pay. Those who came over were of the three most powerful nations of Germany--Saxons, Angles, and Jutes. From the Jutes are descended the people of Kent and of the Isle of Wight, and those also in the province of the West Saxons who are to this day called Jutes, seated opposite to the Isle of Wight. From the Saxons, that is, the country which is now called Old Saxony, came the East Saxons, the South Saxons, and the West Saxons. From the Angles, that is, the country which is called Anglia, and which is said, from that time, to remain desert to this day, between the provinces of the Jutes and the Saxons, are descended the East Angles, the Midland Angles, Mercians, all the race of the Northumbrians, that is, of those nations that dwell on the north side of the River Humber, and the other nations of the English. [Sidenote: Hengist and Horsa] [Sidenote: The Saxons turn against the Britons] The first two commanders are said to have been Hengist and Horsa. Horsa, being afterwards slain in battle by the Britons,[74] was buried in the eastern part of Kent, where a monument bearing his name is still in existence. They were the sons of Victgilsus, whose father was Vecta, son of Woden; from whose stock the royal races of many provinces trace their descent. In a short time swarms of the aforesaid nations came over into the island, and they began to increase so much that they became a terror to the natives themselves who had invited them. Then, having on a sudden entered into a league with the Picts, whom they had by this time repelled by the force of their arms, they began to turn their weapons against their confederates. At first they obliged them to furnish a greater quantity of provisions; and, seeking an occasion to quarrel, protested that unless more plentiful supplies were brought them they would break the confederacy and ravage all the island; nor were they backward in putting their threats in execution. [Sidenote: Their devastation of the country] They plundered all the neighboring cities and country, spread the conflagration from the eastern to the western sea without any opposition, and covered almost every part of the island. Public as well as private structures were overturned; the priests were everywhere slain before the altars; the prelates and the people, without any respect of persons, were destroyed with fire and sword; nor were there any to bury those who had been thus cruelly slaughtered. Some of the miserable remainder, being taken in the mountains, were butchered in heaps. Others, driven by hunger, came forth and submitted themselves to the enemy for food, being destined to undergo perpetual servitude, if they were not killed upon the spot. Some, with sorrowful hearts, fled beyond the seas. Others, continuing in their own country, led a miserable life among the woods, rocks, and mountains, with scarcely enough food to support life, and expecting every moment to be their last.[75] 9. The Mission of Augustine (597) How or when the Christian religion was first introduced into Britain cannot now be ascertained. As early as the beginning of the third century the African church father Tertullian referred to the Britons as a Christian people, and in 314 the British church was recognized by the Council of Arles as an integral part of the church universal. Throughout the period of Roman control in the island Christianity continued to be the dominant religion. When, however, in the fifth century and after, the Saxons and Angles invaded the country and the native population was largely killed off or driven westward (though not so completely as some books tell us), Christianity came to be pretty much confined to the Celtic peoples of Ireland and Wales. The invaders were still pagans worshiping the old Teutonic deities Woden, Thor, Freya, and the rest, and though an attempt at their conversion was made by a succession of Irish monks, their pride as conquerors seems to have kept them from being greatly influenced. At any rate, the conversion of the Angles and Saxons was a task which called for a special evangelistic movement from no less a source than the head of the Church. This movement was set in operation by Pope Gregory I. (Gregory the Great) near the close of the sixth century. It is reasonable to suppose that the impulse came originally from Bertha, the Frankish queen of King Ethelbert of Kent, who was an ardent Christian and very desirous of bringing about the conversion of her adopted people. In 596 Augustine (not to be confused with the celebrated bishop of Hippo in the fifth century) was sent by Pope Gregory at the head of a band of monks to proclaim the religion of the cross to King Ethelbert, and afterwards to all the Angles and Saxons and Jutes in the island. On Whitsunday, June 2, 597, Ethelbert renounced his old gods and was baptized into the Christian communion. The majority of his people soon followed his example and four years later Augustine was appointed "Bishop of the English." After this encouraging beginning the Christianizing of the East, West, and South Saxons went steadily forward. Source--Bæda, _Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum_, Bk. I., Chaps. 23, 25-26. Adapted from translation by J. A. Giles (London, 1847), pp. 34-40 _passim_. [Sidenote: Pope Gregory I. sends missionaries to Britain] [Sidenote: They become frightened at the outlook] In the year of our Lord 582, Maurice, the fifty-fourth from Augustus, ascended the throne,[76] and reigned twenty-one years. In the tenth year of his reign, Gregory, a man renowned for learning and piety, was elected to the apostolical see of Rome, and presided over it thirteen years, six months and ten days.[77] He, being moved by divine inspiration, in the fourteenth year of the same emperor, and about the one hundred and fiftieth after the coming of the English into Britain, sent the servant of God, Augustine,[78] and with him several other monks who feared the Lord, to preach the word of God to the English nation. They, in obedience to the Pope's commands, having undertaken that work, were on their journey seized with a sudden fear and began to think of returning home, rather than of proceeding to a barbarous, fierce, and unbelieving nation, to whose very language they were strangers; and this they unanimously agreed was the safest course.[79] In short, they sent back Augustine, who had been appointed to be consecrated bishop in case they were received by the English, that he might, by humble entreaty, obtain consent of the holy Gregory, that they should not be compelled to undertake so dangerous, toilsome, and uncertain a journey. The Pope, in reply, sent them an encouraging letter, persuading them to proceed in the work of the divine word, and rely on the assistance of the Almighty. The substance of this letter was as follows: [Sidenote: Gregory's letter of encouragement] "Gregory, the servant of the servants of God, to the servants of our Lord. Forasmuch as it had been better not to begin a good work than to think of abandoning that which has been begun, it behooves you, my beloved sons, to fulfill the good work which, by the help of our Lord, you have undertaken. Let not, therefore, the toil of the journey nor the tongues of evil-speaking men deter you. With all possible earnestness and zeal perform that which, by God's direction, you have undertaken; being assured that much labor is followed by an eternal reward. When Augustine, your chief, returns, whom we also constitute your abbot,[80] humbly obey him in all things; knowing that whatsoever you shall do by his direction will, in all respects, be helpful to your souls. Almighty God protect you with his grace, and grant that I, in the heavenly country, may see the fruits of your labor; inasmuch as, though I cannot labor with you, I shall partake in the joy of the reward, because I am willing to labor. God keep you in safety, my most beloved sons. Dated the 23rd of July, in the fourteenth year of the reign of our pious and most august lord, Mauritius Tiberius, the thirteenth year after the consulship of our said lord." [Sidenote: Augustine and his companions arrive in Kent] Augustine, thus strengthened by the confirmation of the blessed Father Gregory, returned to the work of the word of God, with the servants of Christ, and arrived in Britain. The powerful Ethelbert was at that time king of Kent. He had extended his dominions as far as the great River Humber, by which the Southern Saxons are divided from the Northern.[81] On the east of Kent is the large isle of Thanet containing according to the English reckoning 600 families, divided from the other land by the River Wantsum, which is about three furlongs over and fordable only in two places, for both ends of it run into the sea.[82] In this island landed the servant of our Lord, Augustine, and his companions, being, as is reported, nearly forty men. By order of the blessed Pope Gregory, they had taken interpreters of the nation of the Franks,[83] and sending to Ethelbert, signified that they were come from Rome and brought a joyful message, which most undoubtedly assured to all that took advantage of it everlasting joys in heaven and a kingdom that would never end, with the living and true God. The king, having heard this, ordered that they stay in that island where they had landed, and that they be furnished with all necessaries, until he should consider what to do with them. For he had before heard of the Christian religion, having a Christian wife of the royal family of the Franks, called Bertha;[84] whom he had received from her parents upon condition that she should be permitted to practice her religion with the Bishop Luidhard, who was sent with her to preserve her faith.[85] [Sidenote: Augustine preaches to King Ethelbert] Some days after, the king came to the island, and sitting in the open air, ordered Augustine and his companions to be brought into his presence. For he had taken precaution that they should not come to him in any house, lest, according to an ancient superstition, if they practised any magical arts, they might impose upon him, and so get the better of him. But they came furnished with divine, not with magic virtue, bearing a silver cross for their banner, and the image of our Lord and Savior painted on a board; and singing the litany, they offered up their prayers to the Lord for the eternal salvation both of themselves and of those to whom they were come. When Augustine had sat down, according to the king's commands, and preached to him and his attendants there present the word of life, the king answered thus: "Your words and promises are very fair, but as they are new to us, and of uncertain import, I cannot approve of them so far as to forsake that which I have so long followed with the whole English nation. But because you are come from afar into my kingdom, and, as I conceive, are desirous to impart to us those things which you believe to be true and most beneficial, we will not molest you, but give you favorable entertainment and take care to supply you with necessary sustenance; nor do we forbid you to preach and win as many as you can to your religion." Accordingly he permitted them to reside in the city of Canterbury, which was the metropolis of all his dominions, and, according to his promise, besides allowing them sustenance, did not refuse them liberty to preach. It is reported that, as they drew near to the city, after their manner, with the holy cross and the image of our sovereign Lord and King, Jesus Christ, they sang this litany together: "We beseech thee, O Lord, in all Thy mercy, that Thy anger and wrath be turned away from this city, and from Thy holy house, because we have sinned. Hallelujah." [Sidenote: The life of the missionaries at Canterbury] As soon as they entered the dwelling-place assigned them, they began to imitate the course of life practised in the primitive Church; applying themselves to frequent prayer, watching, and fasting; preaching the word of life to as many as they could; despising all worldly things as not belonging to them; receiving only their necessary food from those they taught; living themselves in all respects in conformity with what they prescribed for others, and being always disposed to suffer any adversity, and even to die for that truth which they preached. In short, several believed and were baptized, admiring the simplicity of their innocent life, and the sweetness of their heavenly doctrine. There was, on the east side of the city, a church dedicated to the honor of St. Martin, built whilst the Romans were still in the island, wherein the queen, who, as has been said before, was a Christian, used to pray.[86] In this they first began to meet, to sing, to pray, to say mass, to preach, and to baptize, until the king, being converted to the faith, allowed them to preach openly, and build or repair churches in all places. [Sidenote: Ethelbert converted] When he, among the rest, induced by the unspotted life of these holy men, and their pleasing promises, which by many miracles they proved to be most certain, believed and was baptized, greater numbers began daily to flock together to hear the word, and forsaking their heathen rites, to associate themselves, by believing, to the unity of the church of Christ. Their conversion the king encouraged in so far that he compelled none to embrace Christianity, but only showed more affection to the believers, as to his fellow-citizens in the heavenly kingdom. For he had learned from his instructors and guides to salvation that the service of Christ ought to be voluntary, not by compulsion. Nor was it long before he gave his teachers a settled residence in his metropolis of Canterbury, with such possessions of different kinds as were necessary for their subsistence.[87] FOOTNOTES: [70] James H. Ramsay, _The Foundations of England_ (London, 1898), I., p. 121. [71] Bede has just been describing a plague which rendered the Britons at this time even more unable than usual to withstand the fierce invaders from the north; also lamenting the luxury and crime which a few years of relief from war had produced among his people. [72] This date is evidently incorrect. Martian and Valentinian III. became joint rulers of the Empire in 450; hence this is the year that Bede probably meant. [73] That is, Thanet, which practically no longer exists as an island. In Bede's day it was separated from the rest of Kent by nearly half a mile of water, but since then the coast line has changed so that the land is cut through by only a tiny rill. The intervening ground, however, is marshy and only partially reclaimed. [74] This battle was fought between Hengist and Vortimer, the eldest son of Vortigern, at Aylesford, in Kent. [75] It is by no means probable that the invasion of Britain by the Saxons was followed by such wholesale extermination of the natives as is here represented, though it is certain that everywhere, except in the far west (Wales) and north (Scotland), the native population was reduced to complete subjection. [76] That is, the throne of the Eastern Empire at Constantinople. [77] Gregory was a monk before he was elected pope. He held the papal office from 590 to 604 [see p. 90]. [78] Augustine at the time (596) was prior of a monastery dedicated to St. Andrew in Rome. [79] The missionaries had apparently gone as far as Arles in southern Provence when they reached this decision. [80] An abbot was the head of a monastery. Should such an establishment be set up in Britain, Augustine was to be its presiding officer. [81] The Germanic peoples north of the Humber were more properly Angles, but of course they were in all essential respects like the Saxons. Ethelbert was not actually king in that region, but was recognized as "bretwalda," or over-lord, by the other rulers. [82] For later changes in this part of the coast line, see p. 70, note 1. [83] This was possible because the Franks and Saxons, being both German, as yet spoke languages so much alike that either people could understand the other without much difficulty. [84] Bertha was a daughter of the Frankish king Charibert. The Franks had been nominally a Christian people since the conversion of Clovis in 496 [see p. 53]--just a hundred years before Augustine started on his mission to the Angles and Saxons. [85] Luidhard had been bishop of Senlis; a town not many miles northeast of Paris. Probably Augustine and his companions profited not a little by the influence which Luidhard had already exerted at the Kentish court. [86] "The present church of St. Martin near Canterbury is not the old one spoken of by Bede, as it is generally thought to be, but is a structure of the thirteenth century, though it is probable that the materials of the original church were worked up in the masonry in its reconstruction, the walls being still composed in part of Roman bricks."--J. A. Giles, _Bede's Ecclesiastical History_, p. 39. [87] Thus was established the "primacy," or ecclesiastical leadership, of Canterbury, which has continued to this day. CHAPTER VI. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH 10. Pope Leo's Sermon on the Petrine Supremacy In tracing the history of the great ecclesiastical institution known as the papacy, the first figure that stands out with considerable clearness is that of Leo I., or Leo the Great, who was elected bishop of Rome in the year 440. Leo is perhaps the first man who, all things considered, can be called "pope" in the modern sense of the term, although certain of his predecessors in the bishop's seat at the imperial capital had long claimed and exercised a peculiar measure of authority over their fellow bishops throughout the Empire. Almost from the earliest days of Christianity the word _papa_ (pope) seems to have been in common use as an affectionate mode of addressing any bishop, but after the fourth century it came to be applied in a peculiar manner to the bishop of Rome, and in time this was the only usage, so far as western Europe was concerned, which survived. The causes of the special development of the Roman bishopric into the powerful papal office were numerous. Rome's importance as a city, and particularly as the political head of the Mediterranean world, made it natural that her bishop should have something of a special dignity and influence. Throughout western Europe the Roman church was regarded as a model and its bishop was frequently called upon for counsel and advice. Then, when the seat of the imperial government was removed to the East by Constantine, the Roman bishop naturally took up much of the leadership in the West which had been exercised by the emperor, and this added not a little in the way of prestige. On the whole the Roman bishops were moderate, liberal, and sensible in their attitude toward church questions, thereby commending themselves to the practical peoples of the West in a way that other bishops did not always do. The growth of temporal possessions, especially in the way of land, also made the Roman bishops more independent and able to hold their own. And the activity of such men as Leo the Great in warding off the attacks of the German barbarians, and in providing popular leadership in the absence of such leadership on the part of the imperial authorities, was a not unimportant item. After all, however, these are matters which have always been regarded by the popes themselves as circumstances of a more or less transitory and accidental character. It is not upon any or all of them that the papacy from first to last has sought to base its high claims to authority. The fundamental explanation, from the papal standpoint, for the peculiar development of the papal power in the person of the bishops of Rome is contained in the so-called theory of the "Petrine Supremacy," which will be found set forth in Pope Leo's sermon reproduced in part below. The essential points in this theory are: (1) that to the apostle Peter, Christ committed the keys of the kingdom of heaven and the supremacy over all other apostles on earth; (2) that Peter, in the course of time, became the first bishop of Rome; and (3) that the superior authority given to Peter was transmitted to all his successors in the Roman bishopric. It was fundamentally on _these_ grounds that the pope, to quote an able Catholic historian, was believed to be "the visible representative of ecclesiastical unity, the supreme teacher and custodian of the faith, the supreme legislator, the guardian and interpreter of the canons, the legitimate superior of all bishops, the final judge of councils--an office which he possessed in his own right, and which he actually exercised by presiding over all ecumenical synods, through his legates, and by confirming the acts of the councils as the Supreme Head of the Universal Catholic Church."[88] Modern Protestants discard certain of the tenets which go to make up the Petrine theory, but it is essential that the student of history bear in mind that the people of the Middle Ages never doubted its complete and literal authenticity, nor questioned that the authority of the papal office rested at bottom upon something far more fundamental than a mere fortunate combination of historical circumstances. Whatever one's personal opinions on the issues involved, the point to be insisted upon is that in studying mediæval church life and organization the universal acceptance of these beliefs and conclusions be never lost to view. Leo was pope from 440 to 461 and it has been well maintained that he was the first occupant of the office to comprehend the wide possibilities of the papal dignity in the future. In his sermons and letters he vigorously asserted the sovereign authority of his position, and in his influence on the events of his time, as for example the Council of Chalcedon in 451, he sought with no little success to bring men to a general acknowledgment of this authority. Source--Text in Jacques Paul Migne, _Patroligiæ Cursus Completus_ ["Complete Collection of Patristic Literature"], First Series, Vol. LIV., cols. 144-148. Translated in Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, _Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church_ (New York, 1895), Second Series, Vol. XII., pp. 117-118. [Sidenote: The apostle Peter still with his Church] Although, therefore, dearly beloved, we be found both weak and slothful in fulfilling the duties of our office, because, whatever devoted and vigorous action we desire to undertake, we are hindered in by the frailty of our nature, yet having the unceasing propitiation of the Almighty and perpetual Priest [Christ], who being like us and yet equal with the Father, brought down His Godhead even to things human, and raised His Manhood even to things Divine, we worthily and piously rejoice over His dispensation, whereby, though He has delegated the care of His sheep to many shepherds, yet He has not Himself abandoned the guardianship of His beloved flock. And from His overruling and eternal protection we have received the support of the Apostle's aid also, which assuredly does not cease from its operation; and the strength of the foundation, on which the whole superstructure of the Church is reared, is not weakened by the weight of the temple that rests upon it. For the solidity of that faith which was praised in the chief of the Apostles is perpetual; and as that remains which Peter believed in Christ, so that remains which Christ instituted in Peter. [Sidenote: Christ's commission to Peter] For when, as has been read in the Gospel lesson,[89] the Lord had asked the disciples whom they believed Him to be amid the various opinions that were held, and the blessed Peter had replied, saying, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God," the Lord said, "Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona, because flesh and blood hath not revealed it to thee, but My Father, which is in heaven. And I say to thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build My church, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth, shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth, shall be loosed also in heaven." [Matt. xvi. 16-19.] [Sidenote: Peter properly rules the Church through his successors at Rome] The dispensation of Truth therefore abides, and the blessed Peter persevering in the strength of the Rock, which he has received, has not abandoned the helm of the Church, which he undertook. For he was ordained before the rest in such a way that from his being called the Rock, from his being pronounced the Foundation, from his being constituted the Doorkeeper of the kingdom of heaven, from his being set as the Umpire to bind and to loose, whose judgments shall retain their validity in heaven--from all these mystical titles we might know the nature of his association with Christ. And still to-day he more fully and effectually performs what is intrusted to him, and carries out every part of his duty and charge in Him and with Him, through whom he has been glorified. And so if anything is rightly done and rightly decreed by us, if anything is won from the mercy of God by our daily supplications, it is of his work and merits whose power lives and whose authority prevails in his see....[90] [Sidenote: Leo claims to be only Peter's representative] And so, dearly beloved, with becoming obedience we celebrate to-day's festival[91] by such methods, that in my humble person he may be recognized and honored, in whom abides the care of all the shepherds, together with the charge of the sheep commended to him, and whose dignity is not belittled even in so unworthy an heir. And hence the presence of my venerable brothers and fellow-priests, so much desired and valued by me, will be the more sacred and precious, if they will transfer the chief honor of this service in which they have deigned to take part to him whom they know to be not only the patron of this see, but also the primate of all bishops. When therefore we utter our exhortations in your ears, holy brethren, believe that he is speaking whose representative we are. Because it is his warning that we give, and nothing else but his teaching that we preach, beseeching you to "gird up the loins of your mind," and lead a chaste and sober life in the fear of God, and not to let your mind forget his supremacy and consent to the lusts of the flesh. [Sidenote: An exhortation to Christian constancy] [Sidenote: The peculiar privilege of the church at Rome] Short and fleeting are the joys of this world's pleasures which endeavor to turn aside from the path of life those who are called to eternity. The faithful and religious spirit, therefore, must desire the things which are heavenly and, being eager for the divine promises, lift itself to the love of the incorruptible Good and the hope of the true Light. But be assured, dearly-beloved, that your labor, whereby you resist vices and fight against carnal desires, is pleasing and precious in God's sight, and in God's mercy will profit not only yourselves but me also, because the zealous pastor makes his boast of the progress of the Lord's flock. "For ye are my crown and joy," as the Apostle says, if your faith, which from the beginning of the Gospel has been preached in all the world, has continued in love and holiness. For though the whole Church, which is in all the world, ought to abound in all virtues, yet you especially, above all people, it becomes to excel in deeds of piety, because, founded as you are on the very citadel of the Apostolic Rock, not only has our Lord Jesus Christ redeemed you in common with all men, but the blessed Apostle Peter has instructed you far beyond all men. 11. The Rule of St. Benedict A very important feature of the church life of the early Middle Ages was the tendency of devout men to withdraw from the active affairs of the world and give themselves up to careers of self-sacrificing piety. Sometimes such men went out to live alone in forests or other obscure places and for this reason were called anchorites or hermits; but more often they settled in groups and formed what came to be known as monasteries. The idea that seclusion is helpful to the religious life was not peculiar to Christianity, for from very early times Brahmins and Buddhists and other peoples of the Orient had cherished the same view; and in many cases they do so still. Monasticism among Christians began naturally in the East and at first took the form almost wholly of hermitage, just as it had done among the adherents of other Oriental religions, though by the fourth century the Christian monks of Syria and Egypt and Asia Minor had come in many cases to dwell in established communities. In general the Eastern monks were prone to extremes in the way of penance and self-torture which the more practical peoples of the West were not greatly disposed to imitate. Monasticism spread into the West, but not until comparatively late--beginning in the second half of the fourth century--and the character which it there assumed was quite unlike that prevailing in the East. The Eastern ideal was the life of meditation with as little activity as possible, except perhaps such as was necessary in order to impose hardships upon one's self. The Western ideal, on the other hand, while involving a good deal of meditation and prayer, put much emphasis on labor and did not call for so complete an abstention of the monk from the pursuits and pleasures of other men. In the later fifth century, and earlier sixth, several monasteries of whose history we know little were established in southern Gaul, especially in the pleasant valley of the Rhone. Earliest of all, apparently, and destined to become the most influential was the abbey of St. Martin at Tours, founded soon after St. Martin was made bishop of Tours in 372. But the development of Western monasticism is associated most of all with the work of St. Benedict of Nursia, who died in 543. Benedict was the founder of several monasteries in the vicinity of Rome, the most important being that of Monte Cassino, on the road from Rome to Naples, which exists to this day. One should guard, however, against the mistake of looking upon St. Benedict as the introducer of monasticism in the West, of even as the founder of a new monastic _order_ in the strict sense of the word. The great service which he rendered to European monasticism consisted in his working out for his monasteries in Italy an elaborate system of government which was found so successful in practice that, in the form of the Benedictine Rule (_regula_), it came to be the constitution under which for many centuries practically all the monks of Western countries lived. That it was so widely adopted was due mainly to its definite, practical, common-sense character. Its chief injunctions upon the monks were poverty, chastity, obedience, piety, and labor. All these were to be attained by methods which, although they may seem strange to us to-day, were at least natural and wholesome when judged by the ideas and standards prevailing in early mediæval times. Granted the ascetic principle upon which the monastic system rested, the Rule of St. Benedict must be regarded as eminently moderate and sensible. It sprang from an acute perception of human nature and human needs no less than from a lofty ideal of religious perfection. The following extracts will serve to show its character. Source--Text in Jacques Paul Migne, _Patrologiæ Cursus Completus_, First Series, Vol. LXVI., cols. 245-932 _passim_. Adapted from translation in Ernest F. Henderson, _Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1896), pp. 274-314. _Prologue...._ We are about to found, therefore, a school for the Lord's service, in the organization of which we trust that we shall ordain nothing severe and nothing burdensome. But even if, the demands of justice dictating it, something a trifle irksome shall be the result, for the purpose of amending vices or preserving charity, thou shalt not therefore, struck by fear, flee the way of salvation, which cannot be entered upon except through a narrow entrance. [Sidenote: Responsibility of the abbot for the character and deeds of the monks] [Sidenote: He must teach by example as well as by precept] =2.= _What the abbot should be like._ An abbot who is worthy to preside over a monastery ought always to remember what he is called, and carry out with his deeds the name of a Superior. For he is believed to be Christ's representative, since he is called by His name, the apostle saying: "Ye have received the spirit of adoption of sons, whereby we call Abba, Father" [Romans viii. 15]. And so the abbot should not (grant that he may not) teach, or decree, or order, anything apart from the precept of the Lord; but his order or teaching should be characterized by the marks of divine justice in the minds of his disciples. Let the abbot always be mindful that, at the terrible judgment of God, both things will be weighed in the balance, his teaching and the obedience of his disciples. And let the abbot know that whatever of uselessness the father of the family finds among the sheep is laid to the fault of the shepherd. Only in a case where the whole diligence of their pastor shall have been bestowed on an unruly and disobedient flock, and his whole care given to their wrongful actions, shall that pastor, absolved in the judgment of the Lord, be free to say to the Lord with the prophet: "I have not hid Thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared Thy faithfulness and Thy salvation, but they, despising, have scorned me" [Psalms xl. 10]. And then let the punishment for the disobedient sheep under his care be that death itself shall prevail against them. Therefore, when any one receives the name of abbot, he ought to rule over his disciples with a double teaching; that is, let him show forth all good and holy things by deeds more than by words. So that to ready disciples he may set forth the commands of God in words; but to the hard-hearted and the more simple-minded, he may show forth the divine precepts by his deeds. [Sidenote: His duty to encourage, to admonish, and to punish] He shall make no distinction of persons in the monastery. One shall not be more cherished than another, unless it be the one whom he finds excelling in good works or in obedience. A free-born man shall not be preferred to one coming from servitude, unless there be some other reasonable cause. But if, by the demand of justice, it seems good to the abbot, he shall do this, no matter what the rank shall be. But otherwise they shall keep their own places. For whether we be bond or free, we are all one in Christ; and, under one God, we perform an equal service of subjection. For God is no respecter of persons. Only in this way is a distinction made by Him concerning us, if we are found humble and surpassing others in good works. Therefore let him [the abbot] have equal charity for all. Let the same discipline be administered in all cases according to merit.... He should, that is, rebuke more severely the unruly and the turbulent. The obedient, moreover, and the gentle and the patient, he should exhort, that they may progress to higher things. But the negligent and scorners, we warn him to admonish and reprove. Nor let him conceal the sins of the erring; but, in order that he may prevail, let him pluck them out by the roots as soon as they begin to spring up. And let him know what a difficult and arduous thing he has undertaken--to rule the souls and uplift the morals of many. And in one case indeed with blandishments, in another with rebukes, in another with persuasion--according to the quality or intelligence of each one--he shall so conform and adapt himself to all that not only shall he not allow injury to come to the flock committed to him, but he shall rejoice in the increase of a good flock. Above all things, let him not, deceiving himself or undervaluing the safety of the souls committed to him, give more heed to temporary and earthly and passing things; but let him always reflect that he has undertaken to rule souls for which he is to render account. [Sidenote: The monks to be consulted by the abbot] [Sidenote: The Rule to be followed by every one as a guide] =3.= _About calling in the brethren to take counsel._ Whenever anything of importance is to be done in the monastery, the abbot shall call together the whole congregation,[92] and shall himself explain the matter in question. And, having heard the advice of the brethren, he shall think it over by himself, and shall do what he considers most advantageous. And for this reason, moreover, we have said that all ought to be called to take counsel, because often it is to a younger person that God reveals what is best. The brethren, moreover, with all subjection of humility, ought so to give their advice that they do not presume boldly to defend what seems good to them; but it should rather depend on the judgment of the abbot, so that, whatever he decides to be best, they should all agree to it. But even as it behooves the disciples to obey the master, so it is fitting that he should arrange all matters with care and justice. In all things, indeed, let every one follow the Rule as his guide; and let no one rashly deviate from it. Let no one in the monastery follow the inclination of his own heart. And let no one boldly presume to dispute with his abbot, within or without the monastery. But, if he should so presume, let him be subject to the discipline of the Rule. [Sidenote: No property to be owned by the monks individually] =33.= _Whether the monks should have anything of their own._ More than anything else is this special vice to be cut off root and branch from the monastery, that one should presume to give or receive anything without the order of the abbot, or should have anything of his own. He should have absolutely not anything, neither a book, nor tablets, nor a pen--nothing at all. For indeed it is not allowed to the monks to have their own bodies or wills in their own power. But all things necessary they must expect from the Father of the monastery; nor is it allowable to have anything which the abbot has not given or permitted. All things shall be held in common; as it is written, "Let not any man presume to call anything his own." But if any one shall have been discovered delighting in this most evil vice, being warned once and again, if he do not amend, let him be subjected to punishment.[93] [Sidenote: Daily schedule for the summer season] =48.= _Concerning the daily manual labor._ Idleness is the enemy of the soul.[94] And therefore, at fixed times, the brothers ought to be occupied in manual labor; and again, at fixed times, in sacred reading.[95] Therefore we believe that both seasons ought to be arranged after this manner,--so that, from Easter until the Calends of October,[96] going out early, from the first until the fourth hour they shall do what labor may be necessary. From the fourth hour until about the sixth, they shall be free for reading. After the meal of the sixth hour, rising from the table, they shall rest in their beds with all silence; or, perchance, he that wishes to read may read to himself in such a way as not to disturb another. And the _nona_ [the second meal] shall be gone through with more moderately about the middle of the eighth hour; and again they shall work at what is to be done until Vespers.[97] But, if the emergency or poverty of the place demands that they be occupied in picking fruits, they shall not be grieved; for they are truly monks if they live by the labors of their hands, as did also our fathers and the apostles. Let all things be done with moderation, however, on account of the faint-hearted. [Sidenote: Reading during Lent] In days of Lent they shall all receive separate books from the library, which they shall read entirely through in order. These books are to be given out on the first day of Lent. Above all there shall be appointed without fail one or two elders, who shall go round the monastery at the hours in which the brothers are engaged in reading, and see to it that no troublesome brother be found who is given to idleness and trifling, and is not intent on his reading, being not only of no use to himself, but also stirring up others. If such a one (may it not happen) be found, he shall be reproved once and a second time. If he do not amend, he shall be subject under the Rule to such punishment that the others may have fear. Nor shall brother join brother at unsuitable hours. Moreover, on Sunday all shall engage in reading, excepting those who are assigned to various duties. But if any one be so negligent and lazy that he will not or can not read, some task shall be imposed upon him which he can do, so that he be not idle. On feeble or delicate brothers such a task or art is to be imposed, that they shall neither be idle nor so oppressed by the violence of labor as to be driven to take flight. Their weakness is to be taken into consideration by the abbot. [Sidenote: Hospitality enjoined] =53.= _Concerning the reception of guests._ All guests who come shall be received as though they were Christ. For He Himself said, "I was a stranger and ye took me in" [Matt. xxv. 35]. And to all fitting honor shall be shown; but, most of all, to servants of the faith and to pilgrims. When, therefore, a guest is announced, the prior or the brothers shall run to meet him, with every token of love. And first they shall pray together, and thus they shall be joined together in peace. [Sidenote: Power of abbot to dispose of articles sent to the monks] =54.= _Whether a monk should be allowed to receive letters or anything._ By no means shall it be allowed to a monk--either from his relatives, or from any man, or from one of his fellows--to receive or to give, without order of the abbot, letters, presents, or any gift, however small. But even if, by his relatives, anything has been sent to him, he shall not presume to receive it, unless it has first been shown to the abbot. But if the latter order it to be received, it shall be in the power of the abbot to give it to whomsoever he wishes. And the brother to whom it happened to have been sent shall not be displeased; that an opportunity be not given to the devil. Whoever, moreover, presumes to do otherwise shall be subject to the discipline of the Rule. 12. Gregory the Great on the Life of the Pastor Gregory the Great, whose papacy extended from 590 to 604, was a Roman of noble and wealthy family, and in many ways the ablest man who had yet risen to the papal office. The date of his birth is not recorded, but it was probably about 540, some ten years after St. Benedict of Nursia had established his monastery at Monte Cassino. He was therefore a contemporary of the historian Gregory of Tours [see p. 47]. The education which he received was that which was usual with young Romans of his rank in life, and it is said that in grammar, rhetoric, logic, and law he became well versed, though without any claim to unusual scholarship. He entered public life and in 570 was made prætor of the city of Rome. All the time, however, he was struggling with the strange attractiveness which the life of the monk had for him, and in the end, upon the death of his father, he decided to forego the career to which his wealth and rank entitled him and to seek the development of his higher nature in seclusion. With the money obtained from the sale of his great estates he established six monasteries in Sicily and that of St. Andrew at Rome. In Gregory's case, however, retirement to monastic life did not mean oblivion, for soon he was selected by Pope Pelagius II., as resident minister (_apocrisiarius_) at Constantinople and in this important position he was maintained for five or six years. After returning to Rome he became abbot of St. Andrews, and in 590, as the records say, he was "demanded" as pope. Gregory was a man of very unusual ability and the force of his strong personality made his reign one of the great formative epochs in papal history. Besides his activity in relation to the affairs of the world in general, he has the distinction of being a literary pope. His letters and treatises were numerous and possessed a quality of thought and style which was exceedingly rare in his day. The most famous of his writings, and justly so, is the _Liber Regulæ Pastoralis_, known commonly to English readers as the "Pastoral Care," or the "Pastoral Rule." This book was written soon after its author became pope (590) and was addressed to John, bishop of Ravenna, in reply to inquiries received from him respecting the duties and obligations of the clergy. Though thus put into form for a special purpose, there can be no doubt that it was the product of long thought, and in fact in his _Magna Moralia_, or "Commentary on the Book of Job," written during his residence at Constantinople, Gregory declared his purpose some day to write just such a book. Everywhere throughout Europe the work was received with the favor it deserved, and in Spain, Gaul, and Italy its influence upon the life and manners of the clergy was beyond estimate. Even in Britain, after King Alfred's paraphrase of it in the Saxon tongue had been made, three hundred years later [see p. 193], it was a real power for good. The permanent value of Gregory's instructions regarding the life of the clergy arose not only from the lofty spirit in which they were conceived and the clear-cut manner in which they were expressed, but from their breadth and adaptation to all times and places. There are few books which the modern pastor can read with greater profit. The work is in four parts: (1) on the selection of men for the work of the Church; (2) on the sort of life the pastor ought to live; (3) on the best methods of dealing with the various types of people which every pastor will be likely to encounter; and (4) on the necessity that the pastor guard himself against egotism and personal ambition. The passages below are taken from the second and third parts. Source--Gregorius Magnus, _Liber Regulæ Pastoralis_ [Gregory the Great, "The Book of the Pastoral Rule"]. Text in Jacques Paul Migne, _Patroligiæ Cursus Completus_, First Series, Vol. LXXVII., cols. 12-127 _passim_. Adapted from translation in Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, _Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church_ (New York, 1895), Second Series, Vol. XII., pp. 9-71 _passim_. [Sidenote: The qualities which ought to be united in the pastor] The conduct of a prelate[98] ought so far to be superior to the conduct of the people as the life of a shepherd is accustomed to exalt him above the flock. For one whose position is such that the people are called his flock ought anxiously to consider how great a necessity is laid upon him to maintain uprightness. It is necessary, then, that in thought he should be pure, in action firm; discreet in keeping silence, profitable in speech; a near neighbor to every one in sympathy, exalted above all in contemplation; a familiar friend of good livers through humility, unbending against the vices of evil-doers through zeal for righteousness; not relaxing in his care for what is inward by reason of being occupied in outward things, nor neglecting to provide for outward things in his anxiety for what is inward. [Sidenote: Purity of heart essential] The ruler should always be pure in thought, inasmuch as no impurity ought to pollute him who has undertaken the office of wiping away the stains of pollution in the hearts of others also; for the hand that would cleanse from dirt must needs be clean, lest, being itself sordid with clinging mire, it soil all the more whatever it touches. [Sidenote: He must teach by example] The ruler should always be a leader in action, that by his living he may point out the way of life to those who are put under him, and that the flock, which follows the voice and manners of the shepherd, may learn how to walk rather through example than through words. For he who is required by the necessity of his position to _speak_ the highest things is compelled by the same necessity to _do_ the highest things. For that voice more readily penetrates the hearer's heart, which the speaker's life commends, since what he commands by speaking he helps the doing by showing. The ruler should be discreet in keeping silence, profitable in speech; lest he either utter what ought to be suppressed or suppress what he ought to utter. For, as incautious speaking leads into error, so indiscreet silence leaves in error those who might have been instructed. [Sidenote: He must be able to distinguish virtues and vices] The ruler ought also to understand how commonly vices pass themselves off as virtues. For often niggardliness excuses itself under the name of frugality, and on the other hand extravagance conceals itself under the name of liberality. Often inordinate carelessness is believed to be loving-kindness, and unbridled wrath is accounted the virtue of spiritual zeal. Often hasty action is taken for promptness, and tardiness for the deliberation of seriousness. Whence it is necessary for the ruler of souls to distinguish with vigilant care between virtues and vices, lest stinginess get possession of his heart while he exults in seeming frugality in expenditure; or, while anything is recklessly wasted, he glory in being, as it were, compassionately liberal; or, in overlooking what he ought to have smitten, he draw on those that are under him to eternal punishment; or, in mercilessly smiting an offense, he himself offend more grievously; or, by rashly anticipating, mar what might have been done properly and gravely; or, by putting off the merit of a good action, change it to something worse. [Sidenote: No one kind of teaching adapted to all men] Since, then, we have shown what manner of man the pastor ought to be, let us now set forth after what manner he should teach. For, as long before us Gregory Nazianzen,[99] of reverend memory, has taught, one and the same exhortation does not suit all, inasmuch as all are not bound together by similarity of character. For the things that profit some often hurt others; seeing that also, for the most part, herbs which nourish some animals are fatal to others; and the gentle hissing that quiets horses incites whelps; and the medicine which abates one disease aggravates another; and the food which invigorates the life of the strong kills little children. Therefore, according to the quality of the hearers ought the discourse of teachers to be fashioned, so as to suit all and each for their several needs, and yet never deviate from the art of common edification. For what are the intent minds of hearers but, so to speak, a kind of harp, which the skilful player, in order to produce a tune possessing harmony, strikes in various ways? And for this reason the strings render back a melodious sound, because they are struck indeed with one quill, but not with one kind of stroke. Whence every teacher also, that he may edify all in the one virtue of charity, ought to touch the hearts of his hearers out of one doctrine, but not with one and the same exhortation. [Sidenote: Various classes of hearers to be distinguished] Differently to be admonished are these that follow: Men and women. The poor and the rich. The joyful and the sad. Prelates and subordinates. Servants and masters. The wise of this world and the dull. The impudent and the bashful. The forward and the faint-hearted. The impatient and the patient. The kindly disposed and the envious. The simple and the insincere. The whole and the sick. Those who fear scourges, and therefore live innocently; and those who have grown so hard in iniquity as not to be corrected even by scourges. The too silent, and those who spend time in much speaking. The slothful and the hasty. The meek and the passionate. The humble and the haughty. The obstinate and the fickle. The gluttonous and the abstinent. Those who mercifully give of their own, and those who would fain seize what belongs to others. Those who neither seize the things of others nor are bountiful with their own; and those who both give away the things they have, and yet cease not to seize the things of others. Those who are at variance, and those who are at peace. Lovers of strife and peacemakers. Those who understand not aright the words of sacred law; and those who understand them indeed aright, but speak them without humility. Those who, though able to preach worthily, are afraid through excessive humility; and those whom imperfection or age debars from preaching, and yet rashness impels to it. [Sidenote: How the wise and the dull are to be admonished] (Admonition 7)[100]. Differently to be admonished are the wise of this world and the dull. For the wise are to be admonished that they leave off knowing what they know[101]; the dull also are to be admonished that they seek to know what they know not. In the former this thing first, that they think themselves wise, is to be overcome; in the latter, whatsoever is already known of heavenly wisdom is to be built up; since, being in no wise proud, they have, as it were, prepared their hearts for supporting a building. With those we should labor that they become more wisely foolish[102], leave foolish wisdom, and learn the wise foolishness of God: to these we should preach that from what is accounted foolishness they should pass, as from a nearer neighborhood, to true wisdom. [Sidenote: Emphasis on the importance of setting a right example] But in the midst of these things we are brought back by the earnest desire of charity to what we have already said above; that every preacher should give forth a sound more by his deeds than by his words, and rather by good living imprint footsteps for men to follow than by speaking show them the way to walk in. For that cock, too, whom the Lord in his manner of speech takes to represent a good preacher, when he is now preparing to crow, first shakes his wings, and by smiting himself makes himself more awake; since it is surely necessary that those who give utterance to words of holy preaching should first be well awake in earnestness of good living, lest they arouse others with their voice while themselves torpid in performance; that they should first shake themselves up by lofty deeds, and then make others solicitous for good living; that they should first smite themselves with the wings of their thoughts; that whatsoever in themselves is unprofitably torpid they should discover by anxious investigation, and correct by strict self-discipline, and then at length set in order the life of others by speaking; that they should take heed to punish their own faults by bewailings, and then denounce what calls for punishment in others; and that, before they give voice to words of exhortation, they should proclaim in their deeds all that they are about to speak. FOOTNOTES: [88] John Alzog. _Manual of Universal Church History_ (trans, by F. J. Pabisch and T. S. Byrne), Cincinnati, 1899, Vol. I., p. 668. [89] That is, the passage of Scripture read just before the sermon. [90] "See" is a term employed to designate a bishop's jurisdiction. According to common belief Peter had been bishop of Rome; his see was therefore that which Leo now held. [91] The anniversary of Leo's elevation to the papal office. [92] That is, the body of monks residing in the monastery. [93] The vow of poverty which must be taken by every Benedictine monk meant only that he must not acquire property individually. By gifts of land and by their own labor the monks became in many cases immensely rich, but their wealth was required to be held in common. No one man could rightfully call any part of it his own. [94] The converse of this principle was often affirmed by Benedictines in the saying, "To work is to pray." [95] The Bible and the writings of such Church fathers as Lactantius, Tertullian, Origen, St. Augustine, St. Chrysostom, Eusebius, and St. Jerome. [96] The first day of the month. [97] Thus the ordinary daily programme during the spring and summer months would be: from six o'clock until ten, manual labor; from ten until twelve, reading; at twelve, the midday meal; after this meal until the second one about half past two, rest and reading; and from the second meal until evening, labor. Manual labor was principally agricultural. [98] Gregory's remarks and instructions in the _Pastoral Rule_ were intended to apply primarily to the local priests--the humble pastors of whom we hear little, but upon whose piety and diligence ultimately depended the whole influence of the Church upon the masses of the people. The general principles laid down, however, were applicable to all the clergy, of whatever rank. [99] Gregory, bishop of Nazianzus (in Cappadocia), was a noted churchman of the fourth century. [100] After enumerating quite a number of other contrasted groups in the foregoing fashion Gregory proceeds in a series of "admonitions" to take up each pair and tell how persons belonging to it should be dealt with by the pastor. One of these admonitions is here given as a specimen. [101] Gregory's attitude toward the "learning of the world," especially the classical languages and literatures, was that of the typical Christian ascetic. He had no use for it personally and regarded its influence as positively harmful. It must be said that there was little such learning in his day, for the old Latin and Greek culture had now reached a very low stage. Gregory took the ground that the churches should have learned bishops, but their learning was to consist exclusively in a knowledge of the Scriptures, the writings of the Church fathers, and the stories of the martyrs. As a matter of fact not only were the people generally quite unable to understand the Latin services of the Church, but great numbers of the clergy themselves stumbled blindly through the ritual without knowing what they were saying; and this condition of things prevailed for centuries after Gregory's day. [See Charlemagne's letter _De Litteris Colendis_, p. 146.] [102] That is, more simple and less self-satisfied in their own knowledge. CHAPTER VII. THE RISE OF MOHAMMEDANISM 13. Selections from the Koran The Koran comprises all of the recorded speeches and sayings of the prophet Mohammed and it has for nearly fifteen centuries been the absolute law and gospel of the Mohammedan religion. The teachings and revelations which are contained in it are believed by Mohammedans to have proceeded directly from God. They were delivered orally by Mohammed from time to time in the presence of his followers and until after the prophet's death in 632 no attempt was made to put them in organized written form. Many of the disciples, however, remembered the words their master had uttered, at least until they could inscribe them on palm leaves, bits of wood, bleached bones, or other such articles as happened to be at hand. In the reign of Abu-Bekr (632-634), Mohammed's successor, it became apparent that unless some measure was adopted to bring these scattered sayings together they were in a fair way to be lost for all time to come. Hence the caliph intrusted to a certain young man by the name of Zaid the task of collecting and putting in some sort of system all the teachings that had survived, whether in written form or merely in the minds of men. Zaid had served Mohammed in a capacity which we should designate perhaps as that of secretary, and so should have been well qualified for the work. In later years (about 660) the Koran, or "the reading," as the collection began to be called, was again thoroughly revised. Thereafter all older copies were destroyed and no farther changes in any respect were ever made. The Koran is made up of one hundred and fourteen chapters, called _surahs_, arranged loosely in the order of their length, beginning with the longest. This arrangement does not correspond either to the dates at which the various passages were uttered by the prophet or to any sequence of thought and meaning, so that when one takes up the book to read it as it is ordinarily printed it seems about as confused as anything can well be. Scholars, however, have recently discovered the chronological order of the various parts and this knowledge has already come to be of no little assistance in the work of interpretation. Like all sacred books, the Koran abounds in repetitions; yet, taken all in all, it contains not more than two-thirds as many verses as the New Testament, and, as one writer has rather curiously observed, it is not more than one-third as lengthy as the ordinary Sunday edition of the New York _Herald_. The teachings which are most emphasized are (1) the unity and greatness of God, (2) the sin of worshipping idols, (3) the certainty of the resurrection of the body and the last judgment, (4) the necessity of a belief in the Scriptures as revelations from God communicated through angels to the line of prophets, (5) the luxuries of heaven and the torments of hell, (6) the doctrine of predestination, (7) the authoritativeness of Mohammed's teachings, and (8) the four cardinal obligations of worship (including purification and prayer), fasting, pilgrimages, and alms-giving. Intermingled with these are numerous popular legends and sayings of the Arabs before Mohammed's day, stories from the Old and New Testaments derived from Jewish and Christian settlers in Arabia, and certain definite and practical rules of everyday conduct. The book is not only thus haphazard in subject-matter but it is also very irregular in interest and elegance. Portions of it abound in splendid imagery and lofty conceptions, and represent the literary quality of the Arabian language at its best, though of course this quality is very largely lost in translation. The later surahs--those which appear first in the printed copy--are largely argumentative and legislative in character and naturally fall into a more prosaic and monotonous strain. From an almost inexhaustible maze of precepts, exhortations, and revelations, the following widely separated passages have been selected in the hope that they will serve to show something of the character of the Koran itself, as well as the nature of some of the more important Mohammedan beliefs and ideals. It will be found profitable to make a comparison of Christian beliefs on the same points as drawn from the New Testament. Source--Text in Edward William Lane, _Selections from the Kur-án_, edited by Stanley Lane-Poole (London, 1879), _passim_. In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. [Sidenote: The opening prayer[103]] Praise be to God, the Lord of the Worlds, The Compassionate, the Merciful, The King of the day of judgment. Thee do we worship, and of Thee seek we help. Guide us in the right way, The way of those to whom Thou hast been gracious, Not of those with whom Thou art wroth, nor of the erring.[104] Say, He is God, One [God]; God, the Eternal. He begetteth not nor is begotten, And there is none equal unto Him.[105] [Sidenote: The "throne verse"] God! There is no God but He, the _Ever_-living, the Ever-Subsisting. Slumber seizeth Him not, nor sleep. To Him belongeth whatsoever is in the Heavens and whatsoever is in the Earth. Who is he that shall intercede with Him, unless by His permission? He knoweth what [hath been] before them and what [shall be] after them, and they shall not compass aught of His knowledge save what He willeth. His Throne comprehendeth the Heavens and the Earth, and the care of them burdeneth Him not. And He is the High, The Great.[106] [Sidenote: The day of resurrection] When the earth is shaken with her shaking, And the earth hath cast forth her dead, And man shall say, 'What aileth her?' On that day shall she tell out her tidings, Because thy Lord hath inspired her, On that day shall men come one by one to behold their works, And whosoever shall have wrought an ant's weight of good shall behold it, And whosoever shall have wrought an ant's weight of ill shall behold it. [Sidenote: The coming judgment] When the heaven shall be cloven asunder, And when the stars shall be scattered, And when the seas shall be let loose, And when the graves shall be turned upside-down,[107] _Every_ soul shall know what it hath done and left undone. O man! what hath seduced thee from thy generous Lord, Who created thee and fashioned thee and disposed thee aright? In the form which pleased Him hath He fashioned thee. Nay, but ye treat the Judgment as a lie. Verily there are watchers over you, Worthy recorders, Knowing what ye do. Verily in delight shall the righteous dwell; And verily the wicked in Hell [-Fire]; They shall be burnt at it on the day of doom, And they shall not be hidden from it. And what shall teach thee what the Day of Judgment is? Again: What shall teach thee what is the Day of Judgment? _It is_ a day when one soul shall be powerless for another soul; and all on that day shall be in the hands of God. [Sidenote: The reward of the righteous] When one blast shall be blown on the trumpet, And the earth shall be raised and the mountains, and be broken to dust with one breaking, On that day the Calamity shall come to pass: And the heavens shall cleave asunder, being frail on that day, And the angels on the sides thereof; and over them on that day eight _of the angels_ shall bear the throne of thy Lord. On that day ye shall be presented _for the reckoning_; none of your secrets shall be hidden. And as to him who shall have his book[108] given to him in his right hand, he shall say, 'Take ye, read my book;' Verily I was sure I should come to my reckoning. And his [shall be] a pleasant life In a lofty garden, Whose clusters [shall be] near at hand. 'Eat ye and drink with benefit on account of that which ye paid beforehand in the past days.' [Sidenote: The fate of the wicked] But as to him who shall have his book given to him in his left hand, he shall say, 'O would that I had not had my book given to me, Nor known what [was] my reckoning! O would that _my death_ had been the ending _of me_! My wealth hath not profited me! My power is passed from me!' 'Take him and chain him, Then cast him into hell to be burnt, Then in a chain of seventy cubits bind him: For he believed not in God, the Great, Nor urged to feed the poor; Therefore he shall not have here this day a friend, Nor any food save filth Which none but the sinners shall eat.' [Sidenote: "The preceders"] When the Calamity shall come to pass There shall not be _a soul_ that will deny its happening, [It will be] an abaser _of some_, an exalter _of others_; When the earth shall be shaken with a _violent_ shaking, And the mountains shall be crumbled with a violent crumbling, And shall become fine dust scattered abroad; And ye shall be three classes.[109] And the people of the right hand, what shall be the people of the right hand! And the people of the left hand, what the people of the left hand! And the Preceders, the Preceders![110] These [shall be] the brought-nigh [unto God] In the gardens of delight,-- A crowd of the former generations, And a few of the latter generations, Upon inwrought couches, Reclining thereon, face to face. Youths ever-young shall go unto them round about With goblets and ewers and a cup of flowing wine, Their [heads] shall ache not with it, neither shall they be drunken; And with fruits of the [sorts] which they shall choose, And the flesh of birds of the [kinds] which they shall desire. And damsels with eyes like pearls laid up _We will give them_ as a reward for that which they have done. Therein shall they hear no vain discourse nor accusation of sin, But [only] the saying, 'Peace! Peace!' [Sidenote: The pleasures of paradise] And the people of the right hand--what [shall be] the people of the right hand! [They shall dwell] among lote-trees without thorns And bananas loaded with fruit, And a shade _ever-spread_, And water _ever_-flowing, And fruits abundant Unstayed and unforbidden,[111] And couches raised.[112] Verily we have created them[113] by a [peculiar] creation, And have made them virgins, Beloved of their husbands, of equal age [with them], For the people of the right hand, A crowd of the former generations And a crowd of the latter generations. [Sidenote: The torments of hell] And the people of the left hand--what [shall be] the people of the left hand! [They shall dwell] amidst burning wind and scalding water, And a shade of blackest smoke, Not cool and not grateful. For before this they were blest with worldly goods, And they persisted in heinous sin, And said, 'When we shall have died and become dust and bones, shall we indeed be raised to life, And our fathers the former generations?' Say, verily the former and the latter generations Shall be gathered together for the appointed time of a known day. Then ye, O ye erring, belying [people], Shall surely eat of the tree of Ez-Zakkoom,[114] And fill therewith [your] stomachs, And drink thereon boiling water, And ye shall drink as thirsty camels drink.-- This [shall be] their entertainment on the day of retribution. FOOTNOTES: [103] This prayer of the Mohammedans corresponds in a way to the Lord's Prayer of Christian peoples. It is recited several times in each of the five daily prayers, and on numerous other occasions. [104] The petition is for guidance in the "right way" of the Mohammedan, marked out in the Koran. By those with whom God is "wroth," and by the "erring," is meant primarily the Jews. Mohammed regarded the Jews and Christians as having corrupted the true religion. [105] "This chapter is held in particular veneration by the Mohammedans and is declared, by a tradition of their prophet, to be equal in value to a third part of the whole Koran."--Sale, quoted in Lane, _Selections from the Kur-án_, p. 5. [106] This passage, known as the "throne verse," is regarded by Mohammedans as one of the most precious in the Koran and is often recited at the end of the five daily prayers. It is sometimes engraved on a precious stone or an ornament of gold and worn as an amulet. [107] These are all to be signs of the day of judgment. [108] The record of his deeds during life on earth. [109] The three classes are: (1) the "preceeders," (2) the people of the right hand, i.e., the good, and (3) the people of the left hand, i.e., the evil. The future state of each of the three is described in the lines that follow. [110] "Either the first converts to Mohammedanism, or the prophets, who were the respective leaders of their people, or any persons who have been eminent examples of piety and virtue, may be here intended. The original words literally rendered are, _The Leaders, The Leaders_: which repetition, as some suppose, was designed to express the dignity of these persons and the certainty of their future glory and happiness."--Sale, quoted in Wherry, _Comprehensive Commentary on the Qur-án_, Vol. IV., pp. 109-110. [111] The luxuries of paradise--the flowing rivers, the fragrant flowers, the delicious fruits--are sharply contrasted with the conditions of desert life most familiar to Mohammed's early converts. Such a description of the land of the blessed must have appealed strongly to the imaginative Arabs. It should be said that in the modern Mohammedan idea of heaven the spiritual element has a rather more prominent place. [112] Lofty beds. [113] The "damsels of paradise." [114] A scrubby bush bearing fruit like almonds, and extremely bitter. It was familiar to Arabs and hence was made to stand as a type of the tree whose fruit the wicked must eat in the lower world. CHAPTER VIII. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE CAROLINGIAN DYNASTY OF FRANKISH KINGS 14. Pepin the Short Takes the Title of King (751) During the seventh and eighth centuries the Merovingian line of Frankish kings degenerated to a condition of weakness both pitiable and ridiculous. As the royal family became less worthy, the powers of government gradually slipped from its hands into those of a series of ministers commonly known by the title of Mayor of the Palace (_Maior Domus_). The most illustrious of these uncrowned sovereigns was Charles Martel, the victor over the Saracens near Poitiers, in whose time the Frankish throne for four years had no occupant at all. Martel contrived to make his peculiar office hereditary, and at his death in 741 left it to be filled jointly by his two elder sons, Karlmann and Pepin the Short. They decided that it would be to their interest to keep up the show of Merovingian royalty a little longer and in 743 allowed Childeric III. to mount the throne--a weakling destined to be the last of his family to wear the Frankish crown. Four years later Karlmann renounced his office and withdrew to the monastery of Monte Cassino, southeast of Rome, leaving Pepin sole "mayor" and the only real ruler of the Franks. Before many more years had passed, the utter uselessness of keeping up a royal line whose members were notoriously unfit to govern had impressed itself upon the nation to such an extent that when Pepin proceeded to put young Childeric in a monastery and take the title of king for himself, nobody offered the slightest objection. The sanction of the Pope was obtained for the act because Pepin thought that his course would thus be made to appear less like an outright usurpation. The Pope's reward came four years later when Pepin bestowed upon him the lands in northern and central Italy which eventually constituted, in the main, the so-called States of the Church. In later times, after the reign of Pepin's famous son Charlemagne, the new dynasty established by Pepin's elevation to the throne came to be known as the Carolingian (from _Karolus_, or Charles). The following account of the change from the Merovingian to the Carolingian line is taken from the so-called _Lesser Annals of Lorsch_. At the monastery of Lorsch, as at nearly every other such place in the Middle Ages, records or "annals" of one sort or another were pretty regularly kept. They were often very inaccurate and their writers had a curious way of filling up space with matters of little importance, but sometimes, as in the present instance, we can get from them some very interesting information. The monastery of Lorsch was about twelve miles distant from Heidelberg, in southern Germany. Source--_Annales Laurissenses Minores_ ["Lesser Annals of Lorsch"]. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., p. 116. In the year 750[115] of the Lord's incarnation Pepin sent ambassadors to Rome to Pope Zacharias,[116] to inquire concerning the kings of the Franks who, though they were of the royal line and were called kings, had no power in the kingdom, except that charters and privileges were drawn up in their names. They had absolutely no kingly authority, but did whatever the Major Domus of the Franks desired.[117] But on the first day of March in the Campus Martius,[118] according to ancient custom, gifts were offered to these kings by the people, and the king himself sat in the royal seat with the army standing round him and the Major Domus in his presence, and he commanded on that day whatever was decreed by the Franks; but on all other days thenceforward he remained quietly at home. Pope Zacharias, therefore, in the exercise of his apostolic authority, replied to their inquiry that it seemed to him better and more expedient that the man who held power in the kingdom should be called king and be king, rather than he who falsely bore that name. Therefore the aforesaid pope commanded the king and people of the Franks that Pepin, who was exercising royal power, should be called king, and should be established on the throne. This was therefore done by the anointing of the holy archbishop Boniface in the city of Soissons. Pepin was proclaimed king, and Childeric, who was falsely called king, was shaved and sent into a monastery. FOOTNOTES: [115] The date is almost certainly wrong. Pepin was first acknowledged king by the Frankish nobles assembled at Soissons in November, 751. It was probably in 751 (possibly 752) that Pope Zacharias was consulted. In 754 Pepin was crowned king by Pope Stephen III., successor of Zacharias, who journeyed to France especially for the purpose. [116] Zacharias was pope from 741 to 752. [117] Einhard, the secretary of Charlemagne [see p. 108], in writing a biography of his master, described the condition of Merovingian kingship as follows: "All the resources and power of the kingdom had passed into the control of the prefects of the palace, who were called the 'mayors of the palace,' and who exercised the supreme authority. Nothing was left to the king. He had to content himself with his royal title, his flowing locks, and long beard. Seated in a chair of state, he was wont to display an appearance of power by receiving foreign ambassadors on their arrival, and, on their departure, giving them, as if on his own authority, those answers which he had been taught or commanded to give. Thus, except for his empty title, and an uncertain allowance for his sustenance, which the prefect of the palace used to furnish at his pleasure, there was nothing that the king could call his own, unless it were the income from a single farm, and that a very small one, where he made his home, and where such servants as were needful to wait on him constituted his scanty household. When he went anywhere he traveled in a wagon drawn by a yoke of oxen, with a rustic oxherd for charioteer. In this manner he proceeded to the palace, and to the public assemblies of the people held every year for the dispatch of the business of the kingdom, and he returned home again in the same sort of state. The administration of the kingdom, and every matter which had to be undertaken and carried through, both at home and abroad, was managed by the mayor of the palace."--Einhard, _Vita Caroli Magni_, Chap. 1. [118] See p. 52, note 1. CHAPTER IX. THE AGE OF CHARLEMAGNE 15. Charlemagne the Man Biographical writings make up a not inconsiderable part of mediæval literature, but unfortunately the greater portion of them are to be trusted in only a limited degree by the student of history. Many biographies, especially the lives of the saints and other noted Christian leaders, were prepared expressly for the purpose of giving the world concrete examples of how men ought to live. Their authors, therefore, were apt to relate only the good deeds of the persons about whom they wrote, and these were often much exaggerated for the sake of effect. The people of the time generally were superstitious and easily appealed to by strange stories and the recital of marvelous events. They were not critical, and even such of them as were able to read at all could be made to believe almost anything that the writers of books cared to say. And since these writers themselves shared in the superstition and credulousness of the age, naturally such biographies as were written abounded in tales which anybody to-day would know at a glance could not be true. To all this Einhard's _Life of Charles the Great_ stands as a notable exception. It has its inaccuracies, but it still deserves to be ranked almost in a class of its own as a trustworthy biographical contribution to our knowledge of the earlier Middle Ages. Einhard (or Eginhard) was a Frank, born about 770 near the Odenwald in Franconia. After being educated at the monastery of Fulda he was presented at the Frankish court, some time between 791 and 796, where he remained twenty years as secretary and companion of the king, and later emperor, Charlemagne. He was made what practically corresponds to a modern minister of public works and in that capacity is thought to have supervised the building of the palace and basilica of the temple at Aachen, the palace of Ingelheim, the bridge over the Rhine at Mainz, and many other notable constructions of the king, though regarding the precise work of this sort which he did there is a general lack of definite proof. Despite the fact that he was a layman, he was given charge of a number of abbeys. His last years were spent at the Benedictine monastery of Seligenstadt, where he died about 840. There is a legend that Einhard's wife, Emma, was a daughter of Charlemagne, but this is to be regarded as merely a twelfth-century invention. The _Vita Caroli Magni_ was written as an expression of the author's gratitude to his royal friend and patron, though it did not appear until shortly after the latter's death in 814. "It contains the history of a very great and distinguished man," says Einhard in his preface, "but there is nothing in it to wonder at, besides his deeds, except the fact that I, who am a barbarian, and very little versed in the Roman language, seem to suppose myself capable of writing gracefully and respectably in Latin." It is considered ordinarily that Einhard endeavored to imitate the style of the Roman Suetonius, the biographer of the first twelve Cæsars, though in reality his writing is perhaps superior to that of Suetonius and there are scholars who hold that if he really followed a classical model at all that model was Julius Cæsar. Aside from the matter of literary style, there can be no reasonable doubt that the idea of writing a biography of his master was suggested to Einhard by the biographies of Suetonius, particularly that of the Emperor Augustus. Despite his limitations, says Mr. Hodgkin, the fact remains that "almost all our real, vivifying knowledge of Charles the Great is derived from Einhard, and that the _Vita Caroli_ is one of the most precious literary bequests of the early Middle Ages."[119] Certainly few mediæval writers had so good an opportunity as did Einhard to know the truth about the persons and events they undertook to describe. Source--Einhard, _Vita Caroli Magni_ ["Life of Charles the Great"], Chaps. 22-27. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., pp. 455-457. Adapted from translation by Samuel Epes Turner in "Harper's School Classics" (New York, 1880), pp. 56-65. [Sidenote: Personal appearance] =22.= Charles was large and strong, and of lofty stature, though not excessively tall. The upper part of his head was round, his eyes very large and animated, nose a little long, hair auburn, and face laughing and merry. His appearance was always stately and dignified, whether he was standing or sitting, although his neck was thick and somewhat short and his abdomen rather prominent. The symmetry of the rest of his body concealed these defects. His gait was firm, his whole carriage manly, and his voice clear, but not so strong as his size led one to expect. His health was excellent, except during the four years preceding his death, when he was subject to frequent fevers; toward the end of his life he limped a little with one foot. Even in his later years he lived rather according to his own inclinations than the advice of physicians; the latter indeed he very much disliked, because they wanted him to give up roasts, to which he was accustomed, and to eat boiled meat instead. In accordance with the national custom, he took frequent exercise on horseback and in the chase, in which sports scarcely any people in the world can equal the Franks. He enjoyed the vapors from natural warm springs, and often indulged in swimming, in which he was so skilful that none could surpass him; and hence it was that he built his palace at Aix-la-Chapelle, and lived there constantly during his later years....[120] [Sidenote: Manner of dress] =23.= His custom was to wear the national, that is to say, the Frankish, dress--next his skin a linen shirt and linen breeches, and above these a tunic fringed with silk; while hose fastened by bands covered his lower limbs, and shoes his feet. In winter he protected his shoulders and chest by a close-fitting coat of otter or marten skins. Over all he flung a blue cloak, and he always had a sword girt about him, usually one with a gold or silver hilt and belt. He sometimes carried a jeweled sword, but only on great feast-days or at the reception of ambassadors from foreign nations. He despised foreign costumes, however handsome, and never allowed himself to be robed in them, except twice in Rome, when he donned the Roman tunic, chlamys,[121] and shoes; the first time at the request of Pope Hadrian,[122] the second to gratify Leo, Hadrian's successor.[123] On great feast-days he made use of embroidered clothes, and shoes adorned with precious stones; his cloak was fastened with a golden buckle, and he appeared crowned with a diadem of gold and gems; but on other days his dress differed little from that of ordinary people. [Sidenote: Every-day life] =24.= Charles was temperate in eating, and especially so in drinking, for he abhorred drunkenness in anybody, much more in himself and those of his household; but he could not easily abstain from food, and often complained that fasts injured his health. He gave entertainments but rarely, only on great feast-days, and then to large numbers of people. His meals consisted ordinarily of four courses, not counting the roast, which his huntsmen were accustomed to bring in on the spit; he was more fond of this than of any other dish. While at table, he listened to reading or music. The subjects of the readings were the stories and deeds of olden time. He was fond, too, of St. Augustine's books, and especially of the one entitled _The City of God_.[124] He was so moderate in the use of wine and all sorts of drink that he rarely allowed himself more than three cups in the course of a meal. In summer, after the midday meal, he would eat some fruit, drain a single cup, put off his clothes and shoes, just as he did for the night, and rest for two or three hours. While he was dressing and putting on his shoes, he not only gave audience to his friends, but if the Count of the Palace[125] told him of any suit in which his judgment was necessary, he had the parties brought before him forthwith, heard the case, and gave his decision, just as if he were sitting in the judgment-seat. This was not the only business that he transacted at this time, but he performed any duty of the day whatever, whether he had to attend to the matter himself, or to give commands concerning it to his officers. [Sidenote: Education and accomplishments] =25.= Charles had the gift of ready and fluent speech, and could express whatever he had to say with the utmost clearness. He was not satisfied with ability to use his native language merely, but gave attention to the study of foreign ones, and in particular was such a master of Latin that he could speak it as well as his native tongue; but he could understand Greek better than he could speak it. He was so eloquent, indeed, that he might have been taken for a teacher of oratory. He most zealously cherished the liberal arts, held those who taught them in great esteem, and conferred great honors upon them. He took lessons in grammar of the deacon Peter of Pisa, at that time an aged man.[126] Another deacon, Albin of Britain, surnamed Alcuin, a man of Saxon birth, who was the greatest scholar of the day, was his teacher in other branches of learning.[127] The king spent much time and labor with him studying rhetoric, dialectic, and especially astronomy. He learned to make calculations, and used to investigate with much curiosity and intelligence the motions of the heavenly bodies. He also tried to write, and used to keep tablets and blanks in bed under his pillow, that at leisure hours he might accustom his hand to form the letters; however, as he began his efforts late in life, and not at the proper time, they met with little success. [Sidenote: Interest in religion and the Church] =26.= He cherished with the greatest fervor and devotion the principles of the Christian religion, which had been instilled into him from infancy. Hence it was that he built the beautiful basilica at Aix-la-Chapelle, which he adorned with gold and silver and lamps, and with rails and doors of solid brass. He had the columns and marbles for this structure brought from Rome and Ravenna, for he could not find such as were suitable elsewhere.[128] He was a constant worshipper at this church as long as his health permitted, going morning and evening, even after nightfall, besides attending mass. He took care that all the services there conducted should be held in the best possible manner, very often warning the sextons not to let any improper or unclean thing be brought into the building, or remain in it. He provided it with a number of sacred vessels of gold and silver, and with such a quantity of clerical robes that not even the door-keepers, who filled the humblest office in the church, were obliged to wear their everyday clothes when in the performance of their duties. He took great pains to improve the church reading and singing, for he was well skilled in both, although he neither read in public nor sang, except in a low tone and with others. [Sidenote: Generosity and charities] =27.= He was very active in aiding the poor, and in that open generosity which the Greeks call alms; so much so, indeed, that he not only made a point of giving in his own country and his own kingdom, but when he discovered that there were Christians living in poverty in Syria, Egypt, and Africa, at Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Carthage, he had compassion on their wants, and used to send money over the seas to them. The reason that he earnestly strove to make friends with the kings beyond seas was that he might get help and relief to the Christians living under their rule. He cared for the Church Of St. Peter the Apostle at Rome above all other holy and sacred places, and heaped high its treasury with a vast wealth of gold, silver, and precious stones. He sent great and countless gifts to the popes;[129] and throughout his whole reign the wish that he had nearest his heart was to re-establish the ancient authority of the city of Rome under his care and by his influence, and to defend and protect the Church of St. Peter, and to beautify and enrich it out of his own store above all other churches. Nevertheless, although he held it in such veneration, only four times[130] did he repair to Rome to pay his vows and make his supplications during the whole forty-seven years that he reigned.[131] 16. The War with the Saxons (772-803) When Charlemagne became sole ruler of the Franks, in 771, he found his kingdom pretty well hemmed in by a belt of kindred, though more or less hostile, Germanic peoples. The most important of these were the Visigoths in northern Spain, the Lombards in the Po Valley, the Bavarians in the region of the upper Danube, and the Saxons between the Rhine and the Elbe. The policy of the new king, perhaps only dimly outlined at the beginning of the reign but growing ever more definite as time went on, was to bring all of these neighboring peoples under the Frankish dominion, and so to build up a great state which should include the whole Germanic race of western and northern continental Europe. Most of the king's time during the first thirty years, or two-thirds, of the reign was devoted to this stupendous task. The first great step was taken in the conquest of the Lombards in 774, after which Charlemagne assumed the title of King of the Lombards. In 787 Bavaria was annexed to the Frankish kingdom, the settlement in this case being in the nature of a complete absorption rather than a mere personal union such as followed the Lombard conquest. The next year an expedition across the Pyrenees resulted in the annexation of the Spanish March--a region in which the Visigoths had managed to maintain some degree of independence against the Saracens. In all these directions little fighting was necessary and for one reason or another the sovereignty of the Frankish king was recognized without much delay or resistance. The problem of reducing the Saxons was, however, a very different one. The Saxons of Charlemagne's day were a people of purest Germanic stock dwelling in the land along the Rhine, Ems, Weser, and Elbe, and inland as far as the low mountains of Hesse and Thuringia--the regions which now bear the names of Hanover, Brunswick, Oldenburg, and Westphalia. The Saxons, influenced as yet scarcely at all by contact with the Romans, retained substantially the manner of life described seven centuries earlier by Tacitus in the _Germania_. They lived in small villages, had only the loosest sort of government, and clung tenaciously to the warlike mythology of their ancestors. Before Charlemagne's time they had engaged in frequent border wars with the Franks and had shown capacity for making very obstinate resistance. And when Charlemagne himself undertook to subdue them he entered upon a task which kept him busy much of the time for over thirty years, that is, from 772 to 803. In all not fewer than eighteen distinct campaigns were made into the enemy's territory. The ordinary course of events was that Charlemagne would lead his army across the Rhine in the spring, the Saxons would make some little resistance and then disperse or withdraw toward the Baltic, and the Franks would leave a garrison and return home for the winter. As soon as the enemy's back was turned the Saxons would rally, expel or massacre the garrison, and assert their complete independence of Frankish authority. The next year the whole thing would have to be done over again. There were not more than two great battles in the entire contest; the war consisted rather of a monotonous series of "military parades," apparent submissions, revolts, and re-submissions. As Professor Emerton puts it, "From the year 772 to 803, a period of over thirty years, this war was always on the programme of the Frankish policy, now resting for a few years, and now breaking out with increased fury, until finally the Saxon people, worn out with the long struggle against a superior foe, gave it up and became a part of the Frankish Empire."[132] It is to be regretted that we have no Saxon account of the great contest except the well-meant, but very inadequate, history by Widukind, a monk of Corbie, written about the middle of the tenth century. However, the following passage from Einhard, the secretary and biographer of Charlemagne, doubtless describes with fair accuracy the conditions and character of the struggle. A few of the writer's strongest statements regarding Saxon perfidy should be accepted only with some allowance for Frankish prejudice. Source--Einhard, _Vita Caroli Magni_, Chap. 7. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., pp. 446-447. Adapted from translation by Samuel Epes Turner in "Harper's School Classics" (New York, 1880), pp. 26-28. [Sidenote: Lack of a natural frontier] No war ever undertaken by the Frankish nation was carried on with such persistence and bitterness, or cost so much labor, because the Saxons, like almost all the tribes of Germany, were a fierce people, given to the worship of devils and hostile to our religion, and did not consider it dishonorable to transgress and violate all law, human and divine. Then there were peculiar circumstances that tended to cause a breach of peace every day. Except in a few places, where large forests or mountain-ridges intervened and made the boundaries certain, the line between ourselves and the Saxons passed almost in its whole extent through an open country, so that there was no end to the murders, thefts, and arsons on both sides. In this way the Franks became so embittered that they at last resolved to make reprisals no longer, but to come to open war with the Saxons. [Sidenote: Faithlessness of the Saxons] [Sidenote: Charlemagne's settlement of Saxons in Gaul and Germany] [Sidenote: The terms of peace] Accordingly, war was begun against them, and was waged for thirty-three successive years[133] with great fury; more, however, to the disadvantage of the Saxons than of the Franks. It could doubtless have been brought to an end sooner, had it not been for the faithlessness of the Saxons. It is hard to say how often they were conquered, and, humbly submitting to the king, promised to do what was enjoined upon them, gave without hesitation the required hostages, and received the officers sent them from the king. They were sometimes so much weakened and reduced that they promised to renounce the worship of devils and to adopt Christianity; but they were no less ready to violate these terms than prompt to accept them, so that it is impossible to tell which came easier to them to do; scarcely a year passed from the beginning of the war without such changes on their part. But the king did not suffer his high purpose and steadfastness--firm alike in good and evil fortune--to be wearied by any fickleness on their part, or to be turned from the task that he had undertaken; on the contrary, he never allowed their faithless behavior to go unpunished, but either took the field against them in person, or sent his counts with an army to wreak vengeance and exact righteous satisfaction.[134] At last, after conquering and subduing all who had offered resistance, he took ten thousand of those who lived on the banks of the Elbe, and settled them, with their wives and children, in many different bodies here and there in Gaul and Germany. The war that had lasted so many years was at length ended by their acceding to the terms offered by the king; which were renunciation of their national religious customs and the worship of devils, acceptance of the sacraments of the Christian religion,[135] and union with the Franks to form one people. 17. The Capitulary Concerning the Saxon Territory (cir. 780) Just as the Saxons were the most formidable of Charlemagne's foes to meet and defeat in open battle, so were they the most difficult to maintain in anything like orderly allegiance after they had been tentatively conquered. This was true in part because of their untamed, freedom-loving character, but also in no small measure because of the thoroughgoing revolution which the Frankish king sought to work in their conditions of life, and especially in their religion. Before the Saxon war was far advanced it had very clearly assumed the character of a crusade of the Christian Franks against the "pagans of the north." And when the Saxon had been brought to give sullen promise of submission, it was his dearest possession--his fierce, heroic mythology--that was first to be swept away. By the stern decree of the conqueror Woden and Thor and Freya must go. In their stead was to be set up the Christian religion with its churches, its priests, its fastings, its ceremonial observances. Death was to be the penalty for eating meat during Lent, if done "out of contempt for Christianity," and death also for "causing the body of a dead man to be burned in accordance with pagan rites." Even for merely scorning "to come to baptism," or "wishing to remain a pagan," a man was to forfeit his life. The selections which follow are taken from the capitulary _De Partibus Saxoniæ_, which was issued by Charlemagne probably at the Frankish assembly held at Paderborn in 780. If this date is correct (and it cannot be far wrong) the regulations embodied in the capitulary were established for the Saxon territories when there perhaps seemed to be a good prospect of peace but when, as later events showed, there yet remained twenty-three years of war before the final subjugation. From the beginning of the struggle the Church had been busy setting up new centers of influence--some abbeys and especially the great bishoprics of Bremen, Minden, Paderborn, Verden, Osnabrück, and Halberstadt--among the Saxon pagans, and the primary object of Charlemagne in this capitulary was to give to these ecclesiastical foundations the task of civilizing the country and to protect them, together with his counts or governing agents, while they should be engaged in this work. The severity of the Saxon war was responsible for the unusually stringent character of this body of regulations. In 797, at a great assembly at Aix-la-Chapelle, another capitulary for the Saxons was issued, known as the _Capitulum Saxonicum_, and in this the harsh features of the earlier capitulary were considerably relaxed. By 797 the resistance of the Saxons was pretty well broken, and it had become Charlemagne's policy to give his conquered subjects a government as nearly as possible like that the Franks themselves enjoyed. The chief importance of Charlemagne's conquests toward the east lies in the fact that by them broad stretches of German territory were brought for the first time within the pale of civilization. These capitularies, like the hundreds of others that were issued by the various kings of the Franks, were edicts or decrees drawn up under the king's direction, discussed and adopted in the assembly of the people, and published in the local districts of the kingdom by the counts and bishops. They were of a less permanent and fixed character than the so-called "leges," or laws established by long usage and custom. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. I., No. 26, pp. 68-70. Translated by Dana C. Munro in _University of Pennsylvania Translations and Reprints_, Vol. VI., No. 5, pp. 2-5. First, concerning the greater chapters it has been enacted:[136] It is pleasing to all that the churches of Christ, which are now being built in Saxony and consecrated to God, should not have less, but greater and more illustrious honor than the shrines of the idols have had. [Sidenote: The churches as a place of refuge] =2.= If any one shall have fled to a church for refuge, let no one presume to expel him from the church by violence, but he shall be left in peace until he shall be brought to the judicial assemblage; and on account of the honor due to God and the saints, and the reverence due to the church itself, let his life and all his members be granted to him. Moreover, let him plead his cause as best he can and he shall be judged; and so let him be led to the presence of the lord king, and the latter shall send him where it shall seem fitting to his clemency. =3.= If any one shall have entered a church by violence and shall have carried off anything in it by force or theft, or shall have burned the church itself, let him be punished by death.[137] [Sidenote: Offenses against the Church] =4.= If any one, out of contempt for Christianity, shall have despised the holy Lenten feast and shall have eaten flesh, let him be punished by death. But, nevertheless, let it be taken into consideration by a priest, lest perchance any one from necessity has been led to eat flesh.[138] =5.= If any one shall have killed a bishop or priest or deacon let him likewise be punished capitally. =6.= If any one, deceived by the devil, shall have believed, after the manner of the pagans, that any man or woman is a witch and eats men, and on this account shall have burned the person, or shall have given the person's flesh to others to eat, or shall have eaten it himself, let him be punished by a capital sentence. =7.= If any one, in accordance with pagan rites, shall have caused the body of a dead man to be burned, and shall have reduced his bones to ashes, let him be punished capitally. [Sidenote: Refusal to be baptized] =8.= If any one of the race of the Saxons hereafter, concealed among them, shall have wished to hide himself unbaptized, and shall have scorned to come to baptism, and shall have wished to remain a pagan, let him be punished by death. =9.= If any one shall have sacrificed a man to the devil, and, after the manner of the pagans, shall have presented him as a victim to the demons, let him be punished by death. [Sidenote: Conspiracy against Christians] =10.= If any one shall have formed a conspiracy with the pagans against the Christians, or shall have wished to join with them in opposition to the Christians, let him be punished by death; and whosoever shall have consented fraudulently to this same against the king and the Christian people, let him be punished by death. =11.= If any one shall have shown himself unfaithful to the lord king, let him be punished with a capital sentence. =13.= If any one shall have killed his lord or lady, let him be punished in a like manner. =14.= If, indeed, for these mortal crimes secretly committed any one shall have fled of his own accord to a priest, and after confession shall have wished to do penance, let him be freed by the testimony of the priest from death....[139] [Sidenote: Observance of the Sabbath and of festival days] =18.= On the Lord's day no meetings or public judicial assemblages shall be held, unless perchance in a case of great necessity, or when war compels it, but all shall go to church to hear the word of God, and shall be free for prayers or good works. Likewise, also, on the special festivals they shall devote themselves to God and to the services of the Church, and shall refrain from secular assemblies. [Sidenote: Baptism of infants] =19.= Likewise, it has been pleasing to insert in these decrees that all infants shall be baptized within a year; and we have decreed this, that if any one shall have refused to bring his infant to baptism within the course of a year, without the advice or permission of the priest, if he is a noble he shall pay 120 _solidi_[140] to the treasury; if a freeman, 60; if a _litus_, 30.[141] =20.= If any one shall have contracted a prohibited or illegal marriage, if a noble, 60 _solidi_; if a freeman, 30; if a _litus_, 15. [Sidenote: Keeping up heathen rites] =21.= If any one shall have made a vow at springs or trees or groves,[142] or shall have made an offering after the manner of the heathen and shall have partaken of a repast in honor of the demons, if he shall be a noble, 60 _solidi_; if a freeman, 30; if a _litus_, 15. If, indeed, they have not the means of paying at once, they shall be given into the service of the Church until the _solidi_ are paid. =22.= We command that the bodies of Saxon Christians shall be carried to the church cemeteries, and not to the mounds of the pagans. =23.= We have ordered that diviners and soothsayers shall be handed over to the churches and priests. [Sidenote: Fugitive criminals] =24.= Concerning robbers and malefactors who shall have fled from one county to another, if any one shall receive them into his protection and shall keep them with him for seven nights,[143] except for the purpose of bringing them to justice, let him pay our ban.[144] Likewise, if a count[145] shall have concealed them, and shall be unwilling to bring them forward so that justice may be done, and is not able to excuse himself for this, let him lose his office. =26.= No one shall presume to impede any man coming to us to seek justice; and if anyone shall have attempted to do this, he shall pay our ban. [Sidenote: Public assemblies] =34.= We have forbidden that Saxons shall hold public assemblies in general, unless perchance our _missus_[146] shall have caused them to come together in accordance with our command; but each count shall hold judicial assemblies and administer justice in his jurisdiction. And this shall be cared for by the priests, lest it be done otherwise.[147] 18. The Capitulary Concerning the Royal Domains (cir. 800) The revenues which came into Charlemagne's treasury were derived chiefly from his royal domains. There was no system of general taxation, such as modern nations maintain, and the funds realized from gifts, fines, rents, booty, and tribute money, were quite insufficient to meet the needs of the court, modest though they were. Charlemagne's interest in his villas, or private farms, was due therefore not less to his financial dependence upon them than to his personal liking for thrifty agriculture and thoroughgoing administration. The royal domains of the Frankish kingdom, already extensive at Charlemagne's accession, were considerably increased during his reign. It has been well said that Charlemagne was doubtless the greatest landed proprietor of the realm and that he "supervised the administration of these lands as a sovereign who knows that his power rests partly on his riches."[148] He gave the closest personal attention to his estates and was always watchful lest he be defrauded out of even the smallest portion of their products which was due him. The capitulary _De Villis_, from which the following passages have been selected, is a lengthy document in which Charlemagne sought to prescribe clearly and minutely the manifold duties of the stewards in charge of these estates. We may regard it, however, as in the nature of an ideal catalogue of what the king would like to have on his domains rather than as a definite statement of what was always actually to be found there. From it may be gleaned many interesting facts regarding rural life in western Europe during the eighth and ninth centuries. Its date is uncertain, but it was about 800--possibly somewhat earlier. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. I., No. 32, pp. 82-91. Translated by Roland P. Falkner in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. III., No. 2, pp. 2-4. [Sidenote: Report to be made to the king by his stewards each Christmas-tide] =62.=[149] We desire that each steward shall make an annual statement of all our income, with an account of our lands cultivated by the oxen which our plowmen drive, and of our lands which the tenants of farms ought to plow;[150] an account of the pigs, of the rents,[151] of the obligations and fines; of the game taken in our forests without our permission; of the various compositions;[152] of the mills, of the forest, of the fields, and of the bridges and ships; of the freemen and the districts under obligations to our treasury; of markets, vineyards, and those who owe wine to us; of the hay, fire-wood, torches, planks, and other kinds of lumber; of the waste-lands; of the vegetables, millet, and panic;[153] and of the wool, flax, and hemp; of the fruits of the trees; of the nut trees, larger and smaller; of the grafted trees of all kinds; of the gardens; of the turnips; of the fish-ponds; of the hides, skins, and horns; of the honey and wax; of the fat, tallow and soap; of the mulberry wine, cooked wine, mead, vinegar, beer, wine new and old; of the new grain and the old; of the hens and eggs; of the geese; of the number of fishermen, smiths, sword-makers, and shoe-makers; of the bins and boxes; of the turners and saddlers; of the forges and mines, that is iron and other mines; of the lead mines; of the colts and fillies. They shall make all these known to us, set forth separately and in order, at Christmas, in order that we may know what and how much of each thing we have. [Sidenote: Domestic animals] =23.= On each of our estates our stewards are to have as many cow-houses, pig-sties, sheep-folds, stables for goats, as possible, and they ought never to be without these. And let them have in addition cows furnished by our serfs[154] for performing their service, so that the cow-houses and plows shall be in no way diminished by the service on our demesne. And when they have to provide meat, let them have steers lame, but healthy, and cows and horses which are not mangy, or other beasts which are not diseased and, as we have said, our cow-houses and plows are not to be diminished for this. [Sidenote: Cleanliness enjoined] =34.= They must provide with the greatest care that whatever is prepared or made with the hands, that is, lard, smoked meat, salt meat, partially salted meat, wine, vinegar, mulberry wine, cooked wine, _garns_,[155] mustard, cheese, butter, malt, beer, mead, honey, wax, flour, all should be prepared and made with the greatest cleanliness. =40.= That each steward on each of our domains shall always have, for the sake of ornament, swans, peacocks, pheasants, ducks, pigeons, partridges, turtle-doves. [Sidenote: Household furniture] =42.= That in each of our estates, the chambers shall be provided with counterpanes, cushions, pillows, bed-clothes, coverings for the tables and benches; vessels of brass, lead, iron and wood; andirons, chains, pot-hooks, adzes, axes, augers, cutlasses, and all other kinds of tools, so that it shall never be necessary to go elsewhere for them, or to borrow them. And the weapons, which are carried against the enemy, shall be well-cared for, so as to keep them in good condition; and when they are brought back they shall be placed in the chamber. =43.= For our women's work they are to give at the proper time, as has been ordered, the materials, that is the linen, wool, woad,[156] vermilion, madder,[157] wool-combs, teasels,[158] soap, grease, vessels, and the other objects which are necessary. [Sidenote: Supplies to be furnished the king] =44.= Of the food products other than meat, two-thirds shall be sent each year for our own use, that is of the vegetables, fish, cheese, butter, honey, mustard, vinegar, millet, panic, dried and green herbs, radishes, and in addition of the wax, soap and other small products; and they shall tell us how much is left by a statement, as we have said above; and they shall not neglect this as in the past; because from those two-thirds, we wish to know how much remains. [Sidenote: Workmen on the estates] =45.= That each steward shall have in his district good workmen, namely, blacksmiths, gold-smith, silver-smith, shoe-makers, turners, carpenters, sword-makers, fishermen, foilers, soap-makers, men who know how to make beer, cider, berry, and all the other kinds of beverages, bakers to make pastry for our table, net-makers who know how to make nets for hunting, fishing and fowling, and the others who are too numerous to be designated. 19. An Inventory of One of Charlemagne's Estates In the following inventory we have a specimen of the annual statements required by Charlemagne from the stewards on his royal domains. The location of Asnapium is unknown, but it is evident that this estate was one of the smaller sort. Like all the rest, it was liable occasionally to become the temporary abiding place of the king. The detailed character of the inventory is worthy of note, as is also the number of industries which must have been engaged in by the inhabitants of the estate and its dependent villas. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., pp. 178-179. [Sidenote: Buildings on the estate of Asnapium] We found in the imperial estate of Asnapium a royal house built of stone in the very best manner, having 3 rooms. The entire house was surrounded with balconies and it had 11 apartments for women. Underneath was 1 cellar. There were 2 porticoes. There were 17 other houses built of wood within the court-yard, with a similar number of rooms and other fixtures, all well constructed. There was 1 stable, 1 kitchen, 1 mill, 1 granary, and 3 barns. The yard was enclosed with a hedge and a stone gateway, and above was a balcony from which distributions can be made. There was also an inner yard, surrounded by a hedge, well arranged, and planted with various kinds of trees. Of vestments: coverings for 1 bed, 1 table-cloth, and 1 towel. Of utensils: 2 brass kettles; 2 drinking cups; 2 brass cauldrons; 1 iron cauldron; 1 frying-pan; 1 gramalmin; 1 pair of andirons; 1 lamp; 2 hatchets; 1 chisel; 2 augers; 1 axe; 1 knife; 1 large plane; 1 small plane; 2 scythes; 2 sickles; 2 spades edged with iron; and a sufficient supply of utensils of wood. [Sidenote: Supplies of various sorts] Of farm produce: old spelt[159] from last year, 90 baskets which can be made into 450 weight[160] of flour; and 100 measures[161] of barley. From the present year, 110 baskets of spelt, of which 60 baskets had been planted, but the rest we found; 100 measures of wheat, 60 sown, the rest we found; 98 measures of rye all sown; 1,800 measures of barley, 1,100 sown, the rest we found; 430 measures of oats; 1 measure of beans; 12 measures of peas. At 5 mills were found 800 measures of small size. At 4 breweries, 650 measures of small size, 240 given to the prebendaries,[162] the rest we found. At 2 bridges, 60 measures of salt and 2 shillings. At 4 gardens, 11 shillings. Also honey, 3 measures; about 1 measure of butter; lard, from last year 10 sides; new sides, 200, with fragments and fats; cheese from the present year, 43 weights. [Sidenote: Kinds and number of animals] Of cattle: 51 head of larger cattle; 5 three-year olds; 7 two-year olds; 7 yearlings; 10 two-year old colts; 8 yearlings; 3 stallions; 16 cows; 2 asses; 50 cows with calves; 20 young bulls; 38 yearling calves; 3 bulls; 260 hogs; 100 pigs; 5 boars; 150 sheep with lambs; 200 yearling lambs; 120 rams; 30 goats with kids; 30 yearling kids; 3 male goats; 30 geese; 80 chickens; 22 peacocks. Also concerning the manors[163] which belong to the above mansion. In the villa of Grisio we found domain buildings, where there are 3 barns and a yard enclosed by a hedge. There were, besides, 1 garden with trees, 10 geese, 8 ducks, 30 chickens. In another villa we found domain buildings and a yard surrounded by a hedge, and within 3 barns; 1 arpent[164] of vines; 1 garden with trees; 15 geese; 20 chickens. In a third villa, domain buildings, with 2 barns; 1 granary; 1 garden and 1 yard well enclosed by a hedge. We found all the dry and liquid measures just as in the palace. We did not find any goldsmiths, silversmiths, blacksmiths, huntsmen, or persons engaged in other services. [Sidenote: Vegetables and trees] The garden herbs which we found were lily, putchuck,[165] mint, parsley, rue, celery, libesticum, sage, savory, juniper, leeks, garlic, tansy, wild mint, coriander, scullions, onions, cabbage, kohlrabi,[166] betony.[167] Trees: pears, apples, medlars, peaches, filberts, walnuts, mulberries, quinces.[168] 20. Charlemagne Crowned Emperor (800) The occasion of Charlemagne's presence in Rome in 800 was a conflict between Pope Leo III. and a faction of the populace led by two nephews of the preceding pope, Hadrian I. It seems that in 799 Leo had been practically driven out of the papal capital and imprisoned in a neighboring monastery, but that through the planning of a subordinate official he had soon contrived to escape. At any rate he got out of Italy as speedily as he could and made his way across the Alps to seek aid at the court of Charlemagne. The Frankish king was still busy with the Saxon war and did not allow the prospect of a papal visit to interfere with his intended campaign; but at Paderborn, in the very heart of the Saxon country, where he could personally direct the operations of his troops, he established his headquarters and awaited the coming of the refugee pope. The meeting of the two dignitaries resulted in a pledge of the king once more to take up the burden of defending the Roman Church and the Vicar of Christ, this time not against outside foes but against internal disturbers. After about a year Charlemagne repaired to Rome and called upon the Pope and his adversaries to appear before him for judgment. When the leaders of the hostile faction refused to comply, they were summarily condemned to death, though it is said that through the generous advice of Leo they were afterwards released on a sentence of exile. During the ceremonies which followed in celebration of Christmas occurred the famous coronation which is described in the two passages given below. Although the coronation has been regarded as so important as to have been called "the central event of the Middle Ages,"[169] it is by no means an easy task to determine precisely what significance it was thought to have at the time. We can look back upon it now and see that it marked the beginning of the so-called "Holy Roman Empire"--a creation that endured in _fact_ only a very short time but whose name and theory survived all the way down to Napoleon's reorganization of the German states in 1806. One view of the matter is that Charlemagne's coronation meant that a Frankish king had become the successor of Emperor Constantine VI., just deposed at Constantinople, and that therefore the universal Roman Empire was again to be ruled from a western capital as it had been before the time of the first Constantine. It will be observed that extract (a), taken from the Annals of Lauresheim, and therefore of German origin, at least suggests this explanation. But, whether or not precisely this idea was in the mind of those who took part in the ceremony, in actual fact no such transfer of universal sovereignty from Constantinople to the Frankish capital ever took place. The Eastern Empire lived right on under its own line of rulers and, so far as we know, aside from some rather vague negotiations for a marriage of Charlemagne and the Empress Irene, the new western Emperor seems never to have contemplated the extension of his authority over the East. His great aspiration had been to consolidate all the Germanic peoples of western continental Europe under the leadership of the Franks; that, by 800, he had practically done; he had no desire to go farther. His dominion was always limited strictly to the West, and at the most he can be regarded after 800 as not more than the reviver of the old western half of the Empire, and hence as the successor of Romulus Augustulus. But even this view is perhaps somewhat strained. The chroniclers of the time liked to set up fine theories of the sort, and later it came to be to the interest of papal and imperial rivals to make large use, in one way or another, of such theories. But we to-day may look upon the coronation as nothing more than a formal recognition of a condition of things already existing. By his numerous conquests Charlemagne had drawn under his control such a number of peoples and countries that his position had come to be that which we think of as an emperor's rather than that of simple king of the Franks. The Pope did not give Charlemagne his empire; the energetic king had built it for himself. At the most, what Leo did was simply to bestow a title already earned and to give with it presumably the blessing and favor of the Church, whose devoted servant Charlemagne repeatedly professed to be. That the idea of imperial unity still survived in the West is certain, and without doubt many men looked upon the ceremony of 800 as re-establishing such unity; but as events worked out it was not so much Charlemagne's empire as the papacy itself that was the real continuation of the power of the Cæsars. Conditions had so changed that it was impossible in the nature of things for Charlemagne to be a Roman emperor in the old sense. The coronation gave him a new title and new prestige, but no new subjects, no larger army, no more princely income. The basis of his power continued to be, in every sense, his Frankish kingdom. The structural element in the revived empire was Frankish; the Roman was merely ornamental. Sources--(a) _Annales Laureshamensis_ ["Annals of Lauresheim"], Chap. 34. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., p. 38. (b) _Vitæ Pontificorum Romanorum_ ["Lives of the Roman Pontiffs"]. Text in Muratori, _Rerum Italicarum Scriptores_, Vol. III., pp. 284-285. (a) And because the name of emperor had now ceased among the Greeks, and their empire was possessed by a woman,[170] it seemed both to Leo the pope himself, and to all the holy fathers who were present in the self-same council,[171] as well as to the rest of the Christian people, that they ought to take to be emperor Charles, king of the Franks, who held Rome herself, where the Cæsars had always been wont to sit, and all the other regions which he ruled through Italy and Gaul and Germany; and inasmuch as God had given all these lands into his hand, it seemed right that with the help of God, and at the prayer of the whole Christian people, he should have the name of emperor also. [The Pope's] petition King Charles willed not to refuse,[172] but submitting himself with all humility to God, and at the prayer of the priests, and of the whole Christian people, on the day of the nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, he took on himself the name of emperor, being consecrated by the Pope Leo.... For this also was done by the will of God ... that the heathen might not mock the Christians if the name of emperor should have ceased among them. (b) After these things, on the day of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, when all the people were assembled in the Church of the blessed St. Peter,[173] the venerable and gracious Pope with his own hands crowned him [Charlemagne] with an exceedingly precious crown. Then all the faithful Romans, beholding the choice of such a friend and defender of the holy Roman Church, and of the pontiff, did by the will of God and of the blessed Peter, the key-bearer of the heavenly kingdom, cry with a loud voice, "To Charles, the most pious Augustus, crowned of God, the great and peace-giving Emperor, be life and victory." While he, before the altar of the church, was calling upon many of the saints, it was proclaimed three times, and by the common voice of all he was chosen to be emperor of the Romans. Then the most holy high priest and pontiff anointed Charles with holy oil, and also his most excellent son to be king,[174] upon the very day of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. 21. The General Capitulary for the Missi (802) Throughout the larger part of Charlemagne's dominion the chief local unit of administration was the county, presided over by the count. The count was appointed by the Emperor, generally from among the most important landed proprietors of the district. His duties included the levy of troops, the publication of the royal decrees or capitularies, the administration of justice, and the collection of revenues. On the frontiers, where the need of defense was greatest, these local officers exercised military functions of a special character and were commonly known as "counts of the march," or dukes, or sometimes as margraves. In order that these royal officials, in whatever part of the country, might not abuse their authority as against their fellow-subjects, or engage in plots against the unity of the empire, Charlemagne devised a plan of sending out at stated intervals men who were known as _missi dominici_ ("the lord's messengers") to visit the various counties, hear complaints of the people, inquire into the administration of the counts, and report conditions to the Emperor. They were to serve as connecting links between the central and local governments and as safeguards against the ever powerful forces of disintegration. Such itinerant royal agents had not been unknown in Merovingian times, and they had probably been made use of pretty frequently by Charles Martel and Pepin the Short. But it was Charlemagne who reduced the employment of _missi_ to a system and made it a fixed part of the governmental machinery of the Frankish kingdom. This he did mainly by the _Capitulare Missorum Generale_, promulgated early in 802 at an assembly at the favorite capital Aix-la-Chapelle. The whole empire was divided into districts, or _missaticæ_, and each of these was to be visited annually by two of the _missi_. A churchman and a layman were usually sent out together, probably because they were to have jurisdiction over both the clergy and the laity, and also that they might restrain each other from injustice or other misconduct. They were appointed by the Emperor, at first from his lower order of vassals, but after a time from the leading bishops, abbots, and nobles of the empire. They were given power to depose minor officials for misdemeanors, and to summon higher ones before the Emperor. By 812, at least, they were required to make four rounds of inspection each year. In the capitulary for the _missi_ Charlemagne took occasion to include a considerable number of regulations and instructions regarding the general character of the local governments, the conduct of local officers, the manner of life of the clergy, the management of the monasteries, and other things of vital importance to the strength of the empire and the well-being of the people. The capitulary may be regarded as a broad outline of policy and conduct which its author, lately become emperor, wished to see realized throughout his vast dominion. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. I., No. 33, pp. 91-99. Translated by Dana C. Munro in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. VI., No. 5, pp. 16-27. [Sidenote: The missi sent out] =1.= Concerning the embassy sent out by the lord emperor. Therefore, the most serene and most Christian lord emperor Charles has chosen from his nobles the wisest and most prudent men, both archbishops and some of the other bishops also, and venerable abbots and pious laymen, and has sent them throughout his whole kingdom, and through them he would have all the various classes of persons mentioned in the following chapters live in accordance with the correct law. Moreover, where anything which is not right and just has been enacted in the law, he has ordered them to inquire into this most diligently and to inform him of it. He desires, God granting, to reform it. And let no one, through his cleverness or craft, dare to oppose or thwart the written law, as many are wont to do, or the judicial sentence passed upon him, or to do injury to the churches of God, or the poor, or the widows, or the wards, or any Christian. But all shall live entirely in accordance with God's precept, honestly and under a just rule, and each one shall be admonished to live in harmony with his fellows in his business or profession; the canonical clergy[175] ought to observe in every respect a canonical life without heeding base gain; nuns ought to keep diligent watch over their lives; laymen and the secular clergy[176] ought rightly to observe their laws without malicious fraud; and all ought to live in mutual charity and perfect peace. [Sidenote: The duties of the missi] And let the _missi_ themselves make a diligent investigation whenever any man claims that an injustice has been done him by any one, just as they desire to deserve the grace of omnipotent God and to keep their fidelity promised to Him, so that in all cases, in accordance with the will and fear of God, they shall administer the law fully and justly in the case of the holy churches of God and of the poor, of wards and widows, and of the whole people. And if there be anything of such a nature that they, together with the provincial counts, are not able of themselves to correct it and to do justice concerning it, they shall, without any reservation, refer it, together with their reports, to the judgment of the emperor; and the straight path of justice shall not be impeded by any one on account of flattery or gifts, or on account of any relationship, or from fear of the powerful.[177] [Sidenote: Oath to be taken to Charlemagne as emperor] =2.= Concerning the fidelity to be promised to the lord emperor. He has commanded that every man in his whole kingdom, whether ecclesiastic or layman, and each one according to his vow and occupation, should now promise to him as emperor the fidelity which he had previously promised to him as king; and all of those who had not yet made that promise should do likewise, down to those who were twelve years old. And that it shall be announced to all in public, so that each one might know, how great and how many things are comprehended in that oath; not merely, as many have thought hitherto, fidelity to the lord emperor as regards his life, and not introducing any enemy into his kingdom out of enmity, and not consenting to or concealing another's faithlessness to him; but that all may know that this oath contains in itself the following meaning: [Sidenote: What the new oath was to mean] =3.= First, that each one voluntarily shall strive, in accordance with his knowledge and ability, to live completely in the holy service of God, in accordance with the precept of God and in accordance with his own promise, because the lord emperor is unable to give to all individually the necessary care and discipline. =4.= Secondly, that no man, either through perjury or any other wile or fraud, or on account of the flattery or gift of any one, shall refuse to give back or dare to take possession of or conceal a serf of the lord emperor, or a district, or land, or anything that belongs to him; and that no one shall presume, through perjury or other wile, to conceal or entice away his fugitive fiscaline serfs[178] who unjustly and fraudulently say that they are free. =5.= That no one shall presume to rob or do any injury fraudulently to the churches of God, or widows, or orphans, or pilgrims;[179] for the lord emperor himself, under God and His saints, has constituted himself their protector and defender. =6.= That no one shall dare to lay waste a benefice[180] of the lord emperor, or to make it his own property. =7.= That no one shall presume to neglect a summons to war from the lord emperor; and that no one of the counts shall be so presumptuous as to dare to excuse any one of those who owe military service, either on account of relationship, or flattery, or gifts from any one. =8.= That no one shall presume to impede at all in any way a ban[181] or command of the lord emperor, or to tamper with his work, or to impede, or to lessen, or in any way to act contrary to his will or commands. And that no one shall dare to neglect to pay his dues or tax. [Sidenote: Justice to be rendered in the courts] =9.= That no one, for any reason, shall make a practice in court of defending another unjustly, either from any desire of gain when the cause is weak, or by impeding a just judgment by his skill in reasoning, or by a desire of oppressing when the cause is weak. But each one shall answer for his own cause or tax or debt, unless any one is infirm or ignorant of pleading;[182] for these the _missi_, or the chiefs who are in the court, or the judge who knows the case in question, shall plead before the court; or, if it is necessary, such a person may be allowed as is acceptable to all and knows the case well; but this shall be done wholly according to the convenience of the chiefs or _missi_ who are present. But in every case it shall be done in accordance with justice and the law; and no one shall have the power to impede justice by a gift, reward, or any kind of evil flattery, or from any hindrance of relationship. And no one shall unjustly consent to another in anything, but with all zeal and good-will all shall be prepared to carry out justice. For all the above mentioned ought to be observed by the imperial oath.[183] =10.= [We ordain] that bishops and priests shall live according to the canons[184] and shall teach others to do the same. [Sidenote: Obligations of the clergy] =11.= That bishops, abbots, and abbesses who are in charge of others, with the greatest veneration shall strive to surpass their subjects in this diligence and shall not oppress their subjects with a harsh rule or tyranny, but with a sincere love shall carefully guard the flock committed to them with mercy and charity, or by the examples of good works. =14.= That bishops, abbots and abbesses, and counts shall be mutually in accord, following the law in order to render a just judgment with all charity and unity of peace, and that they shall live faithfully in accordance with the will of God, so that always everywhere through them and among them a just judgment shall be rendered. The poor, widows, orphans, and pilgrims shall have consolation and defense from them; so that we, through the good-will of these, may deserve the reward of eternal life rather than punishment. =19.= That no bishops, abbots, priests, deacons, or other members of the clergy shall presume to have dogs for hunting, or hawks, falcons, and sparrow-hawks, but each shall observe fully the canons or rule of his order.[185] If any one shall presume to do so, let him know that he shall lose his office. And in addition he shall suffer such punishment for his misconduct that the others will be afraid to possess such things for themselves. =27.= And we command that no one in our whole kingdom shall dare to deny hospitality to rich, or poor, or pilgrims; that is, let no one deny shelter and fire and water to pilgrims traversing our country in God's name, or to any one traveling for the love of God, or for the safety of his own soul. [Sidenote: The missi to be helped on their way] =28.= Concerning embassies coming from the lord emperor. That the counts and _centenarii_[186] shall provide most carefully, as they desire the good-will of the lord emperor, for the _missi_ who are sent out, so that they may go through their territories without any delay; and the emperor commands all everywhere that they see to it that no delay is encountered anywhere, but they shall cause the _missi_ to go on their way in all haste and shall provide for them in such a manner as they may direct. [Sidenote: The crime of murder] =32.= Murders, by which a multitude of the Christian people perish, we command in every way to be shunned and to be forbidden.... Nevertheless, lest sin should also increase, in order that the greatest enmities may not arise among Christians, when by the persuasions of the devil murders happen, the criminal shall immediately hasten to make amends and with all speed shall pay to the relatives of the murdered man the fitting composition for the evil done. And we forbid firmly that the relatives of the murdered man shall dare in any way to continue their enmities on account of the evil done, or shall refuse to grant peace to him who asks it, but, having given their pledges, they shall receive the fitting composition and shall make a perpetual peace; moreover, the guilty one shall not delay to pay the composition....[187] But if any one shall have scorned to make the fitting composition, he shall be deprived of his property until we shall render our decision.[188] [Sidenote: Theft of game from the royal forests] =39.= That in our forests no one shall dare to steal our game, which we have already many times forbidden to be done; and now we again strictly forbid that any one shall do so in the future; just as each one desires to preserve the fidelity promised to us, so let him take heed to himself.... =40.= Lastly, therefore, we desire all our decrees to be known in the whole kingdom through our _missi_ now sent out, either among the men of the Church, bishops, abbots, priests, deacons, canons, all monks or nuns, so that each one in his ministry or profession may keep our ban or decree, or where it may be fitting to thank the citizens for their good-will, or to furnish aid, or where there may be need still of correcting anything.... Where we believe there is anything unpunished, we shall so strive to correct it with all our zeal and will that with God's aid we may bring it to correction, both for our own eternal glory and that of all our faithful. 22. A Letter of Charlemagne to Abbot Fulrad In Charlemagne's governmental and military system the clergy, both regular and secular, had a place of large importance. From early Frankish times the bishoprics and monasteries had been acquiring large landed estates on which they enjoyed peculiar political and judicial privileges. These lands came to the church authorities partly by purchase, largely by gift, and not infrequently through concessions by small land-holders who wished to get the Church's favor and protection without actually moving off the little farms they had been accustomed to cultivate. However acquired, the lands were administered by the clergy with larger independence than was apt to be allowed the average lay owner. Still, they were as much a part of the empire as before and the powerful bishops and abbots were expected to see that certain services were forthcoming when the Emperor found himself in need of them. Among these was the duty of leading, or sending, a quota of troops under arms to the yearly assembly. In the selection below we have a letter written by Charlemagne some time between 804 and 811 to Fulrad, abbot of St. Quentin (about sixty miles northeast of Paris), respecting the fulfilment of this important obligation. The closing sentence indicates very clearly the price exacted by the Emperor in return for concessions of temporal authority to ecclesiastical magnates. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. I., No. 75, p. 168. [Sidenote: The troops to be brought: their equipment] In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Charles, most serene, august, crowned of God, great pacific Emperor, who, by God's mercy, is King of the Franks and Lombards, to Abbot Fulrad. Let it be known to you that we have determined to hold our general assembly[189] this year in the eastern part of Saxony, on the River Bode, at the place which is known as Strassfurt.[190] Therefore, we enjoin that you come to this meeting-place, with all your men well armed and equipped, on the fifteenth day before the Kalends of July, that is, seven days before the festival of St. John the Baptist.[191] Come, therefore, so prepared with your men to the aforesaid place that you may be able to go thence well equipped in any direction in which our command shall direct; that is, with arms and accoutrements also, and other provisions for war in the way of food and clothing. Each horseman will be expected to have a shield, a lance, a sword, a dagger, a bow, and quivers with arrows; and in your carts shall be implements of various kinds, that is, axes, planes, augers, boards, spades, iron shovels, and other utensils which are necessary in an army. In the wagons also should be supplies of food for three months, dating from the time of the assembly, together with arms and clothing for six months. And furthermore we command that you see to it that you proceed peacefully to the aforesaid place, through whatever part of our realm your journey shall be made; that is, that you presume to take nothing except fodder, wood, and water. And let the followers of each one of your vassals march along with the carts and horsemen, and let the leader always be with them until they reach the aforesaid place, so that the absence of a lord may not give to his men an opportunity to do evil. [Sidenote: Gifts for the Emperor] Send your gifts,[192] which you ought to present to us at our assembly in the middle of the month of May, to the place where we then shall be. If it happens that your journey shall be such that on your march you are able in person to present these gifts of yours to us, we shall be greatly pleased. Be careful to show no negligence in the future if you care to have our favor. 23. The Carolingian Revival of Learning One of Charlemagne's chief claims to distinction is that his reign, largely through his own influence, comprised the most important period of the so-called Carolingian renaissance, or revival of learning. From the times of the Frankish conquest of Gaul until about the middle of the eighth century, education in western Europe, except in Ireland and Britain, was at a very low ebb and literary production quite insignificant. The old Roman intellectual activity had nearly ceased, and two or three centuries of settled life had been required to bring the Franks to the point of appreciating and encouraging art and letters. Even by Charlemagne's time people generally were far from being awake to the importance of education, though a few of the more far-sighted leaders, and especially Charlemagne himself, had come to lament the gross ignorance which everywhere prevailed and were ready to adopt strong measures to overcome it. Charlemagne was certainly no scholar, judged even by the standards of his own time; but had he been the most learned man in the world his interest in education could not have been greater. Before studying the selection given below, it would be well to read what Einhard said about his master's zeal for learning and the amount of progress he made personally in getting an education [see pp. 112--113]. The most conspicuous of Charlemagne's educational measures was his enlarging and strengthening of the Scola Palatina, or Palace School. This was an institution which had existed in the reign of his father Pepin, and probably even earlier. It consisted of a group of scholars gathered at the Frankish court for the purpose of studying and writing literature, educating the royal household, and stimulating learning throughout the country. It formed what we to-day might call an academy of sciences. Under Charlemagne's care it came to include such men of distinction as Paul the Deacon, historian of the Lombards, Paulinus of Aquileia, a theologian, Peter of Pisa, a grammarian, and above all Alcuin, a skilled teacher and writer from the school of York in England. Its history falls into three main periods: (1) from the middle of the eighth century to the year 782--the period during which it was dominated by Paul the Deacon and his Italian colleagues; (2) from 782 to about 800, when its leading spirit was Alcuin; and (3) from 800 to the years of its decadence in the later ninth century, when Frankish rather than foreign names appear most prominently in its annals. It was Charlemagne's ideal that throughout his entire dominion opportunity should be open to all to obtain at least an elementary education and to carry their studies as much farther as they liked. To this end a regular system of schools was planned, beginning with the village school, in charge of the parish priest for the most elementary studies, and leading up through monastic and cathedral schools to the School of the Palace. In the intermediate stages, corresponding to our high schools and academies to-day, the subjects studied were essentially the same as those which received attention in the Scola Palatina. They were divided into two groups: (1) the _trivium_, including grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic (or philosophy), and (2) the _quadrivium_, including geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and music. The system thus planned was never fully put in operation throughout Frankland, for after Charlemagne's death the work which he had so well begun was seriously interfered with by the falling off in intellectual aggressiveness of the sovereigns, by civil war, and by the ravages of the Hungarian and Norse invaders [see p. 163]. A capitulary of Louis the Pious in 817, for example, forbade the continuance of secular education in monastic schools. Still, much of what had been done remained, and never thereafter did learning among the Frankish people fall to quite so low a stage as it had passed through in the sixth and seventh centuries. Charlemagne's interest in education may be studied best of all in his capitularies. In the extract below we have the so-called letter _De Litteris Colendis_, written some time between 780 and 800, which, though addressed personally to Abbot Baugulf, of the monastery of Fulda, was in reality a capitulary establishing certain regulations regarding education in connection with the work of the monks. To the Church was intrusted the task of raising the level of intelligence among the masses, and the clergy were admonished to bring together the children of both freemen and serfs in schools in which they might be trained, even as the sons of the nobles were trained at the royal court. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. I., No. 29, pp. 78-79. Adapted from translation by Dana C. Munro in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. VI., No. 5, pp. 12-14. Charles, by the grace of God, king of the Franks and Lombards and Patrician of the Romans.[193] To Abbot Baugulf, and to all the congregation--also to the faithful placed under your care--we have sent loving greetings by our ambassadors in the name of all-powerful God. [Sidenote: Men of the Church charged with the work of education] [Sidenote: Even the clergy often unable to speak and write correctly] Be it known, therefore, to you, devoted and acceptable to God, that we, together with our faithful, have deemed it expedient that the bishoprics and monasteries intrusted by the favor of Christ to our control, in addition to the order of monastic life and the relationships of holy religion, should be zealous also in the cherishing of letters, and in teaching those who by the gift of God are able to learn, according as each has capacity. So that, just as the observance of the rule[194] adds order and grace to the integrity of morals, so also zeal in teaching and learning may do the same for sentences, to the end that those who wish to please God by living rightly should not fail to please Him also by speaking correctly. For it is written, "Either from thy words thou shall be justified or from thy words thou shalt be condemned" [Matt., xii. 37]. Although right conduct may be better than knowledge, nevertheless knowledge goes before conduct. Therefore each one ought to study what he desires to accomplish, in order that so much the more fully the mind may know what ought to be done. as the tongue speeds in the praises of all-powerful God without the hindrances of mistakes. For while errors should be shunned by all men, so much the more ought they to be avoided, as far as possible, by those who are chosen for this very purpose alone.[195] They ought to be the specially devoted servants of truth. For often in recent years when letters have been written to us from monasteries, in which it was stated that the brethren who dwelt there offered up in our behalf sacred and pious prayers, we have recognized, in most cases, both correct thoughts and uncouth expressions; because what pious devotion dictated faithfully to the mind, the tongue, uneducated on account of the neglect of study, was not able to express in the letter without error. Whence it happened that we began to fear lest perchance, as the skill in writing was less, so also the wisdom for understanding the Holy Scriptures might be much less than it rightly ought to be. And we all know well that, although errors of speech are dangerous, far more dangerous are errors of the understanding. [Sidenote: Education essential to an understanding of the Scriptures] Therefore, we exhort you not only not to neglect the study of letters, but also with most humble mind, pleasing to God, to study earnestly in order that you may be able more easily and more correctly to penetrate the mysteries of the divine Scriptures. Since, moreover, images [similes], tropes[196] and like figures are found in the sacred pages, nobody doubts that each one in reading these will understand the spiritual sense more quickly if previously he shall have been fully instructed in the mastery of letters. Such men truly are to be chosen for this work as have both the will and the ability to learn and a desire to instruct others. And may this be done with a zeal as great as the earnestness with which we command it. For we desire you to be, as the soldiers of the Church ought to be, devout in mind, learned in discourse, chaste in conduct, and eloquent in speech, so that when any one shall seek to see you, whether out of reverence for God or on account of your reputation for holy conduct, just as he is edified by your appearance, he may also be instructed by the wisdom which he has learned from your reading or singing, and may go away gladly, giving thanks to Almighty God. FOOTNOTES: [119] Thomas Hodgkin, _Charles the Great_ (London, 1903), p. 222. [120] The German name for Aix-la-Chapelle was Aachen. From Roman times the place was noted throughout Europe for its warm sulphur springs and for centuries before Charlemagne's day it had been a favorite resort for health-seekers. It was about the middle of his reign that Charlemagne determined to have the small palace already existing rebuilt, together with its accompanying chapel. Marbles and mosaics were obtained at Rome and Ravenna, and architects and artisans were brought together for the work from all Christendom. The chapel was completed in 805 and was dedicated by Pope Leo III. Both palace and chapel were destroyed a short time before the Emperor's death, probably as the result of an earthquake. The present town-house of Aix-la-Chapelle has been constructed on the ruins of this palace. The chapel, rebuilt on the ancient octagonal plan in 983, contains the tomb of Charlemagne, marked by a stone bearing the inscription "Carolo Magno." Besides Aachen, Charlemagne had many other residences, as Compiègne, Worms, Attigny, Mainz, Paderborn, Ratisbon, Heristal, and Thionville. [121] A loose, flowing outer garment, or cloak. It was a feature of ancient Greek dress. [122] Hadrian I., 772-775. Charlemagne's first visit to Rome was in 774. [123] Leo III., 795-816. The Roman dress was donned by Charlemagne during his visit in 800 [see p. 130]. [124] St. Augustine, the greatest of the Church fathers, was born in Numidia in 354. He spent a considerable part of his early life studying in Rome and other Italian cities. The _De Civitate Dei_ ("City of God"), generally regarded as his most important work, was completed in 426, its purpose being to convince the Romans that even though the supposedly eternal city of Rome had recently been sacked by the barbarian Visigoths, the true "city of God" was in the hearts of men beyond the reach of desecrating invaders. When he wrote the book Augustine was bishop of Hippo, an important city of northern Africa. His death occurred in 430, during the siege of Hippo by Gaiseric and his horde of Vandals. [125] The Count of the Palace was one of the coterie of officials by whose aid Charlemagne managed the affairs of the state. He was primarily an officer of justice, corresponding in a way to the old Mayor of the Palace, but with very much less power. [126] When Charlemagne captured Pavia, the Lombard capital, in 774, he found Peter the Pisan teaching in that city. With characteristic zeal for the advancement of education among his own people he proceeded to transfer the learned deacon to the Frankish Palace School [see p. 144]. [127] Alcuin was born at York in 735. He took up his residence at Charlemagne's court about 782, and died in the office of abbot of St. Martin of Tours in 804. [128] During the Napoleonic period many of these columns were taken possession of by the French and transported to Paris. Only recently have they been replaced in the Aix-la-Chapelle cathedral. Most of them came originally from the palace of the Exarch of Ravenna. [129] These statements of Einhard respecting the lavishness of Charlemagne's gifts must be taken with some allowance. They were doubtless considerable for the day, but Charlemagne's revenues were not such as to enable him to display wealth which in modern times would be regarded as befitting a monarch of so exalted rank. [130] In 774, 781, 787, and 800. [131] Charlemagne became joint ruler of the Franks with his brother Karlmann in 768; hence when he died, in 814, he had reigned only forty-six years instead of forty-seven. [132] Ephraim Emerton, _Introduction to the Study of the Middle Ages_ (Boston, 1903), p. 189. [133] The war really lasted only thirty, or at the most thirty-one, years. [134] The only notable act of vengeance during the war was the beheading of 4,500 Saxons in a single day at Verden, on the Weser. It was occasioned by a great Saxon revolt in 782, led by the chieftain Widukind. [135] The formula of renunciation and confession generally employed in the Christianizing of the Germans, and therefore in all probability in the conversion of the Saxons, was as follows: Question. Forsakest thou the devil? Answer. I forsake the devil. Ques. And all the devil's service? Ans. And I forsake all the devil's service. Ques. And all the devil's works? Ans. And I forsake all the devil's works and words. Thor and Woden and Saxnot and all the evil spirits that are their companions. Ques. Believest thou in God the Almighty Father? Ans. I believe in God the Almighty Father. Ques. Believest thou in Christ the Son of God? Ans. I believe in Christ the Son of God. Ques. Believest thou in the Holy Ghost? Ans. I believe in the Holy Ghost. "Accepting Christianity was to the German very much like changing of allegiance from one political sovereign to another. He gave up Thor and Woden (Odin) and Saxnot, and in their place took the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost."--Emerton, _Introduction to the Study of the Middle Ages_, pp. 155-156. Text of these "Interrogationes et Responsiones Baptismales" is in the _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. II., No. 107. [136] That is, the more important offenses, involving capital punishment, as contrasted with the later "lesser chapters" dealing with minor misdemeanors. [137] The Saxons were to be won to the Church through the protection it afforded, but they were likewise to be made to stand in awe of the sanctity of its property. [138] The apparent harshness of this whole body of regulations was considerably diminished in practice by the large discretion left to the priests, as in this case. They were exhorted to exercise care and to take circumstances into account in judging a man's guilt or innocence. [139] From this point the capitulary deals with the "lesser chapters," i.e., non-capital offenses. [140] For the value of the _solidus_, see p. 61. [141] Three classes of society are distinguished--nobles, freemen, and serfs. The ordinary freeman pays half as much as the noble, and the serf half as much as the freeman. [142] A prominent characteristic of the early Teutonic religion was that its ceremonies were invariably conducted out of doors. Tacitus, in the _Germania_ (Chap. 9), tells us that the Germans had no temples or other buildings for religious purposes, but worshipped in sacred groves. The "Irmensaule," probably a giant tree-trunk, was the central shrine of the Saxon people, and Charlemagne's destruction of it in 772 was the most serious offense that could have been committed against them. [143] The Germans reckoned by nights rather than by days, as explained by Tacitus, _Germania_, Chap. 11 [see p. 27]. [144] A sum assessed by the king, in this case against the illegal harboring of criminals. [145] The counts, together with the bishops, were the local representatives or agents of the king. They presided over judicial assemblies, collected revenues, and preserved order. There were about three hundred of them in Charlemagne's empire when at its greatest extent. [146] An officer sent out by the king to investigate the administration of the counts and render judgment in certain cases. As a rule two were sent together, a layman and an ecclesiastic [see p. 134]. [147] Under ordinary circumstances the priests were thus charged with the responsibility of seeing that local government in their various communities was just and legal. [148] Bémont and Monod, _Mediæval Europe_ (New York, 1902), p. 202. [149] Chapter 62 is here given out of order because it contains a comprehensive survey of the products and activities upon which the royal stewards were expected to report. The other chapters are more specific. It is likely that they have not come down to us in their original order. [150] The ordinary estate in this period, whether royal or not, consisted of two parts. One was the demesne, which the owner kept under his immediate control; the other was the remaining lands, which were divided among tenants who paid certain rentals for their use and also performed stated services on the lord's demesne. Charlemagne instructs his stewards to report upon both sorts of land. [151] Probably payments for the right to keep pigs in the woods. The most common meat in the Middle Ages was pork and the use of the oak forests as hog pasture was a privilege of considerable value. [152] Fines imposed upon offenders to free them from crime or to repair damages done. [153] Panic was a kind of grass, the seeds of which were not infrequently used for food. [154] The serfs were a semi-free class of country people. They did not own the land on which they lived and were not allowed to move off it without the owner's consent. They cultivated the soil and paid rents of one kind or another to their masters--in the present case, to the agents of the king. [155] A variety of fermented liquor made of salt fish. [156] A blue coloring matter derived from the leaves of a plant of the same name. [157] A red coloring matter derived from a plant of the same name. [158] Burrs of the teasel plant, stiff and prickly, with hooked bracts; used in primitive manufacturing for raising a nap on woolen cloth. [159] A kind of grain still widely cultivated for food in Germany and Switzerland; sometimes known as German wheat. [160] The unit of weight was the pound. Charlemagne replaced the old Gallic pound by the Roman, which was a tenth less. [161] The unit of measure was the _muid_. Charlemagne had a standard measure (_modius publicus_) constructed and in a number of his capitularies enjoined that it be taken as a model by all his subjects. It contained probably a little less than six pecks. A smaller measure was the _setier_, containing about five and two-thirds pints. [162] Clergymen attached to the church on or near the estate. [163] "Attached to the royal villa, in the center of which stood the palace or manse, were numerous dependent and humbler dwellings, occupied by mechanics, artisans, and tradesmen, or rather manufacturers and craftsmen, in great numbers. The dairy, the bakery, the butchery, the brewery, the flour-mill were there.... The villa was a city in embryo, and in due course it grew into one, for as it supplied in many respects the wants of the surrounding country, so it attracted population and became a center of commerce."--Jacob I. Mombert, _Charles the Great_ (New York, 1888), pp. 401-402. [164] An ancient Gallic land measure, equivalent to about half a Roman _jugerum_ (the _jugerum_ was about two-thirds of an acre). The arpent in modern France has varied greatly in different localities. In Paris it is 4,088 square yards. [165] The same as "pachak." The fragrant roots of this plant are still exported from India to be used for burning as incense. [166] A kind of cabbage. The edible part is a large turnip-like swelling of the stem above the surface of the ground. [167] A plant used both as a medicine and as a dye. [168] "All the cereals grown in the country were cultivated. The flower gardens were furnished with the choicest specimens for beauty and fragrance, the orchards and kitchen gardens produced the richest and best varieties of fruit and vegetables. Charles specified by name not less than seventy-four varieties of herbs which he commanded to be cultivated; all the vegetables still raised in Central Europe, together with many herbs now found in botanical gardens only, bloomed on his villas; his orchards yielded a rich harvest in cherries, apples, pears, prunes, peaches, figs, chestnuts, and mulberries. The hill-sides were vineyards laden with the finest varieties of grapes."--Mombert, _Charles the Great_, p. 400. [169] James Bryce, _The Holy Roman Empire_ (new ed., New York, 1904), p. 50. [170] Irene, the wife of Emperor Leo IV. After the death of her husband in 780 she became regent during the minority of her son, Constantine VI., then only nine years of age. In 790 Constantine succeeded in taking the government out of her hands; but seven years afterwards she caused him to be blinded and shut up in a dungeon, where he soon died. The revolting crimes by which Irene established her supremacy at Constantinople were considered, even in her day, a disgrace to Christendom. [171] This expression has given rise to a view which will be found in some books that Pope Leo convened a general council of Frankish and Italian clergy to consider the advisability of giving the imperial title to Charlemagne. The whole matter is in doubt, but it does not seem likely that there was any such formal deliberation. Leo certainly ascertained that the leading lay and ecclesiastical magnates would approve the contemplated step, but that a definite election in council took place may be pretty confidently denied. The writer of the Annals of Lauresheim was interested in making the case of Charlemagne, and therefore of the later emperors, as strong as possible. [172] Einhard, Charlemagne's biographer, says that the king at first had such aversion to the titles of Emperor and Augustus "that he declared he would not have set foot in the church the day that they were conferred, although it was a great feast-day, if he could have foreseen the design of the Pope" (_Vita Caroli Magni_, Chap. 28). Despite this statement, however, we are not to regard the coronation as a genuine surprise to anybody concerned. In all probability there had previously been a more or less definite understanding between the king and the Pope that in due time the imperial title should be conferred. It is easy to believe, though, that Charlemagne had had no idea that the ceremony was to be performed on this particular occasion and it is likely enough that he had plans of his own as to the proper time and place for it, plans which Leo rather rudely interfered with, but which the manifest good-will of everybody constrained the king to allow to be sacrificed. It may well be that Charlemagne had decided simply to assume the imperial crown without a papal coronation at all, in order that the whole question of papal supremacy, which threatened to be a troublesome one, might be kept in the background. [173] The celebration of the Nativity was by far the greatest festival of the Church. At this season the basilica of St. Peter at Rome was the scene of gorgeous ceremonials, and to its sumptuous shrine thronged the devout of all Christendom. Its magnificence on the famous Christmas of 800 was greater than ever, for only recently Charlemagne had bestowed the most costly of all his gifts upon it--the spoils of the Avar wars. [174] Charles, the eldest son, since 789 king of Maine. In reality, of course, he was but an under-king, since Maine was an integral part of Charlemagne's dominion. He was anointed by Pope Leo in 800 as heir-apparent to the new imperial dignity of his father. [175] The term "canonical" was applied more particularly to the clergy attached to a cathedral church, the clergy being known individually as "canons," collectively as a "chapter." In the present connection, however, it probably refers to the monks, who, living as they did by "canons" or rules, were in that sense "canonical clergy." [176] The secular clergy were the bishops, priests, deacons, and other church officers, who lived with the people in the _sæculum_, or world, as distinguished from the monks, ascetics, cenobites, anchorites, and others, who dwelt in monasteries or other places of seclusion. [177] This is really as splendid a guarantee of equality before the law as is to be found in Magna Charta or the Constitution of the United States. Unfortunately there was not adequate machinery in the Frankish government to enforce it, though we may suppose that while the _missi_ continued efficient (which was not more than a hundred years) considerable progress was made in this direction. [178] Serfs who worked on the fiscal lands, or, in other words, on the royal estates. [179] Compare chapters 14 and 27. [180] A benefice, as the term is here used, was land granted by the Emperor to a friend or dependent. The holder was to use such land on stated terms for his own and the Emperor's gain, but was in no case to claim ownership of it. [181] The word has at least three distinct meanings--a royal edict, a judicial fine, and a territorial jurisdiction. It is here used in the first of these senses. [182] There was little room under Charlemagne's system for professional lawyers or advocates. [183] In other words, when the oath of allegiance is taken, as it must be by every man and boy above the age of twelve, all the obligations mentioned from Chap. 3 to Chap. 9 are to be considered as assumed along with that of fidelity to the person and government of the Emperor. [184] That is, the laws of the Church. [185] One of the greatest temptations of the mediæval clergy was to spend time in hunting, to the neglect of religious duties. Apparently this evil was pretty common in Charlemagne's day. [186] The _centenarii_ were minor local officials, subordinate to the counts, and confined in authority to their particular district or "hundred." [187] In the Frankish kingdom, as commonly among Germanic peoples of the period, murder not only might be, but was expected to be, atoned for by a money payment to the slain man's relatives. The payment, known as the _wergeld_, would vary according to the rank of the man killed. If it were properly made, such "composition" was bound to be accepted as complete reparation for the injury. In this regulation we can discern a distinct advance over the old system of blood-feud under which a murder almost invariably led to family and clan wars. Plainly the Franks were becoming more civilized. [188] If a murderer refused to pay the required composition his property was to be taken possession of by the Emperor's officers and the case must be laid before the Emperor himself. If the latter chose, he might order the restoration of the property, but this he was not likely to do. [189] Beginning with the reign of Charlemagne there were really two assemblies each year--one in the spring, the other in the autumn; but the one in the spring, the so-called "May-field," was much the more important. All the nobles and higher clergy attended, and if a campaign was in prospect all who owed military service would be called upon to bring with them their portion of the war-host, with specified supplies. Charlemagne proposed all measures, the higher magnates discussed them with him, and the lower ones gave a perfunctory sanction to acts already determined upon. The meeting place was changed from year to year, being rotated irregularly among the royal residences, as Aix-la-Chapelle, Paderborn, Ingelheim, and Thionville; occasionally they were held, as in this instance, in places otherwise almost unknown. [190] Strassfurt was some distance south of Magdeburg. [191] The date of the festival of St. John the Baptist was June 22. [192] From earliest Germanic times we catch glimpses of this practice of requiring gifts from a king's subjects. By Charlemagne's day it had crystallized into an established custom and was a very important source of revenue, though other sources had been opened up which were quite unknown to the German sovereigns of three or four hundred years before. Ordinarily these gifts, in money, jewels, or provisions, were presented to the sovereign each year at the May assembly. [193] The title "Patricius of Rome" was conferred on Charlemagne by Pope Hadrian I., in 774. Its bestowal was a token of papal appreciation of the king's renewal of Pepin's grant of lands to the papacy. In practice the title had little or no meaning. It was dropped in 800 when Charlemagne was crowned emperor [see p. 130]. [194] That is, the law of the Church; in case of the monasteries, more especially the regulations laid down for their order, e.g., the Benedictine Rule. [195] In the Middle Ages it was assumed that churchmen were educated; few other men had any claim to learning. Charlemagne here says that it is bad indeed when men who have been put in ecclesiastical positions because of their supposed education fall into errors which ought to be expected only from ordinary people. [196] In rhetoric a trope is ordinarily defined as the use of a word or expression in a different sense from that which properly belongs to it. The most common varieties are metaphor, metonomy, synechdoche, and irony. CHAPTER X. THE ERA OF THE LATER CAROLINGIANS 24. The Oaths of Strassburg (842) The broad empire of Germanic peoples built up by Charlemagne was extremely difficult to hold together. Even before the death of its masterful creator, in 814, it was already showing signs of breaking up, and after that event the process of dissolution set in rapidly. It will not do to look upon this falling to pieces as caused entirely by the weakness of Charlemagne's successors. The trouble lay deeper, in the natural love of independence common to all the Germans, in the wide differences that had come to exist among Saxons, Lombards, Bavarians, Franks, and other peoples in the empire, and finally in the prevailing ill-advised principle of royal succession by which the territories making up the empire, like those composing the old Frankish kingdom, were regarded as personal property to be divided among the sovereign's sons, just as was the practice respecting private possessions. As a consequence of these things the generation following the death of Charlemagne was a period of much confusion in western Europe. The trouble first reached an acute stage in 817 when Emperor Louis the Pious, Charlemagne's son and successor, was constrained to make a division of the empire among his three sons, Lothair, Pepin, and Louis. The Emperor expressly stipulated that despite this arrangement there was to be still "one sole empire, and not three"; but it is obvious that the imperial unity was at least pretty seriously threatened, and when, in 823, Louis's second wife, Judith of Bavaria, gave birth to a son and immediately set up in his behalf an urgent demand for a share of the empire, civil war among the rival claimants could not be averted. In the struggle that followed the distracted Emperor completely lost his throne for a time (833). Thereafter he was ready to accept almost any arrangement that would enable him to live out his remaining days in peace. When he died, in 840, two of the sons, Louis the German and Judith's child, who came to be known as Charles the Bald, combined against their brother Lothair (Pepin had died in 838) with the purpose of wresting from him the imperial crown, which the father, shortly before his death, had bestowed upon him. At least they were determined that this mark of favor from the father should not give the older brother any superiority over them. In the summer of 841 the issue was put to the test in a great battle at Fontenay, a little distance east of Orleans, with the result that Lothair was badly defeated. In February of the following year Louis and Charles, knowing that Lothair was still far from regarding himself as conquered, bound themselves by oath at Strassburg, in the valley of the Rhine, to keep up their joint opposition until they should be entirely successful. The pledges exchanged on this occasion are as interesting to the student of language as to the historian. The army which accompanied Louis was composed of men of almost pure Germanic blood and speech, while that with Charles was made up of men from what is now southern and western France, where the people represented a mixture of Frankish and old Roman and Gallic stocks. As a consequence Louis took the oath in the _lingua romana_ for the benefit of Charles's soldiers, and Charles reciprocated by taking it in the _lingua teudisca_, in order that the Germans might understand it. Then the followers of the two kings took oath, each in his own language, that if their own king should violate his agreement they would not support him in acts of hostility against the other brother, provided the latter had been true to his word. The _lingua romana_ employed marks a stage in the development of the so-called Romance languages of to-day--French, Spanish, and Italian--just as the _lingua teudisca_ approaches the character of modern Teutonic languages--German, Dutch, and English. The oaths and the accompanying address of the kings are the earliest examples we have of the languages used by the common people of the early Middle Ages. Latin was of course the language of literature, records, and correspondence, matters with which ordinary people had little or nothing to do. The necessity under which the two kings found themselves of using two quite different modes of speech in order to be understood by all the soldiers is evidence that already by the middle of the ninth century the Romance and Germanic languages were becoming essentially distinct. It was prophetic, too, of the fast approaching cleavage of the northern and southern peoples politically. Nithardus, whose account of the exchange of oaths at Strassburg is translated below, was an active participant in the events of the first half of the ninth century. He was born about 790, his mother being Charlemagne's daughter Bertha and his father the noted courtier and poet Angilbert. In the later years of Charlemagne's reign, and probably under Louis the Pious and Charles the Bald, he was in charge of the defense of the northwest coasts against the Northmen. He fought for Charles the Bald at Fontenay and was frequently employed in those troublous years between 840 and 843 in the fruitless negotiations among the rival sons of Louis. Neither the date nor the manner of his death is known. There are traditions that he was killed in 858 or 859 while fighting the Northmen; but other stories just as well founded tell us that he became disgusted with the turmoil of the world, retired to a monastery, and there died about 853. His history of the wars of the sons of Louis the Pious (covering the period 840-843) was undertaken at the request of Charles the Bald. The first three books were written in 842, the fourth in 843. Aside from a rather too favorable attitude toward Charles, the work is very trustworthy, and the claim is even made by some that among all of the historians of the Carolingian period, not even Einhard excepted, no one surpassed Nithardus in spirit, method, and insight. It may further be noted that Nithardus was the first historical writer of any importance in the Middle Ages who was not some sort of official in the Church. Source--Nithardus, _Historiarum Libri IV._ ["Four Books of Histories"], Bk. III., Chaps. 4-5. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., pp. 665-666. [Sidenote: Movements of the hostile parties in 841-842] Lothair was given to understand that Louis and Charles were supporting each other with considerable armies.[197] Seeing that his plans were crushed in every direction, he made a long but profitless expedition and abandoned the country about Tours. At length he returned into France,[198] worn out with fatigue, as was also his army. Pepin,[199] bitterly repenting that he had been on Lothair's side, withdrew into Aquitaine. Charles, learning that Otger, bishop of Mainz, objected to the proposed passage of Louis by way of Mainz to join his brother, set out by way of the city of Toul[200] and entered Alsace at Saverne. When Otger heard of this, he and his supporters abandoned the river and sought places where they might hide themselves as speedily as possible. On the fifteenth of February Louis and Charles came together in the city formerly called Argentoratum, now known as Strassburg, and there they took the mutual oaths which are given herewith, Louis in the _lingua romana_ and Charles in the _lingua teudisca_. Before the exchange of oaths they addressed the assembled people, each in his own language, and Louis, being the elder, thus began: [Sidenote: The speech of Louis the German] "How often, since the death of our father, Lothair has pursued my brother and myself and tried to destroy us, is known to you all. So, then, when neither brotherly love, nor Christian feeling, nor any reason whatever could bring about a peace between us upon fair conditions, we were at last compelled to bring the matter before God, determined to abide by whatever issue He might decree. And we, as you know, came off victorious;[201] our brother was beaten, and with his followers got away, each as best he could. Then we, moved by brotherly love and having compassion on our Christian people, were not willing to pursue and destroy them; but, still, as before, we begged that justice might be done to each. He, however, after all this, not content with the judgment of God, has not ceased to pursue me and my brother with hostile purpose, and to harass our peoples with fire, plunder, and murder. Wherefore we have been compelled to hold this meeting, and, since we feared that you might doubt whether our faith was fixed and our alliance secure, we have determined to make our oaths thereto in your presence. And we do this, not from any unfair greed, but in order that, if God, with your help, shall grant us peace, we may the better provide for the common welfare. But if, which God forbid, I shall dare to violate the oath which I shall swear to my brother, then I absolve each one of you from your allegiance and from the oath which you have sworn to me." After Charles had made the same speech in the _lingua romana_, Louis, as the elder of the two, swore first to be faithful to his alliance: [Sidenote: The oath of Louis] _Pro Deo amur et pro christian poblo et nostro commun salvament, dist di in avant, in quant Deus savir et podir me dunat, si salvaraeio cist meon fradre Karlo et in adiudha et in cadhuna cosa, si cum om per dreit son fradra salvar dist, in o quid il mi altresi fazet; et ab Ludher nul plaid numquam prindrai, qui meon vol cist meon fradre Karle in damno sit._[202] When Louis had taken this oath, Charles swore the same thing in the _lingua teudisca_: [Sidenote: The oath of Charles] _In Godes minna ind in thes christianes folches ind unser bedhero gealtnissi, fon thesemo dage frammordes, so fram so mir Got gewizci indi madh furgibit, so haldih tesan minan bruodher, soso man mit rehtu sinan bruodher scal, in thiu, thaz er mig sosoma duo; indi mit Ludheren in nohheiniu thing ne gegango, the minan willon imo ce scadhen werhen._ The oath which the subjects of the two kings then took, each [people] in its own language, reads thus in the _lingua romana_: [Sidenote: The oath taken by the subjects of the two kings] _Si Lodhwigs sagrament qua son fradre Karlo jurat, conservat, et Karlus meos sendra, de suo part, non lo stanit, si io returnar non lint pois, ne io ne neuls cui eo returnar int pois, in nulla aiudha contra Lodhuwig nun li iver._[203] And in the _lingua teudisca_: _Oba Karl then eid then, er sineno bruodher Ludhuwige gesuor, geleistit, indi Ludhuwig min herro then er imo gesuor, forbrihchit, obih ina es irwenden ne mag, noh ih no thero nohhein then ih es irwended mag, widhar Karle imo ce follusti ne wirdhic._ 25. The Treaty of Verdun (843) After the meeting at Strassburg, Charles and Louis advanced against Lothair, who now abandoned Aachen and retreated southward past Châlons-sur-Marne toward Lyons. When the brothers had come into the vicinity of Châlons-sur-Saône, they were met by ambassadors from Lothair who declared that he was weary of the struggle and was ready to make peace if only his imperial dignity should be properly recognized and the share of the kingdom awarded to him should be somewhat the largest of the three. Charles and Louis accepted their brother's overtures and June 15, 842, the three met on an island in the Saône and signed preliminary articles of peace. It was agreed that a board of a hundred and twenty prominent men should assemble October 1 at Metz, on the Moselle, and make a definite division of the kingdom. This body, with the three royal brothers, met at the appointed time, but adjourned to Worms, and subsequently to Verdun, on the upper Meuse, in order to have the use of maps at the latter place. The treaty which resulted during the following year was one of the most important in all mediæval times. Unfortunately the text of it has not survived, but all its more important provisions are well known from the writings of the chroniclers of the period. Two such accounts of the treaty, brief but valuable, are given below. Louis had been the real sovereign of Bavaria for sixteen years and to his kingdom were now added all the German districts on the right bank of the Rhine (except Friesland), together with Mainz, Worms, and Speyer on the left bank, under the general name of _Francia Orientalis_. Charles retained the western countries--Aquitaine, Gascony, Septimania, the Spanish March, Burgundy west of the Saône, Neustria, Brittany, and Flanders--designated collectively as _Francia Occidentalis_.[204] The intervening belt of lands, including the two capitals Rome and Aachen, and extending from Terracina in Italy to the North Sea, went to Lothair.[205] With it went the more or less nominal imperial dignity. In general, Louis's portion represented the coming Germany and Charles's the future France. But that of Lothair was utterly lacking in either geographical or racial unity and was destined not long to be held together. Parts of it, particularly modern Alsace and Lorraine, have remained to this day a bone of contention between the states on the east and west. "The partition of 843," says Professor Emerton, "involved, so far as we know, nothing new in the relations of the three brothers to each other. The theory of the empire was preserved, but the meaning of it disappeared. There is no mention of any actual superiority of the Emperor (Lothair) over his brothers, and there is nothing to show that the imperial name was anything but an empty title, a memory of something great which men could not quite let die, but which for a hundred years to come was to be powerless for good or evil."[206] The empire itself was never afterwards united under the rule of one man, except for two years (885-887) in the time of Charles the Fat. Sources--(a) _Annales Bertiniani_ ["Annals of Saint Bertin"]. Translated from text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., p. 440. (b) _Rudolfi Fuldensis Annales_ ["Annals of Rudolph of Fulda"]. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., p. 362. [Sidenote: A statement from the annals of Saint Bertin] (a) Charles set out to find his brothers, and they met at Verdun. By the division there made Louis received for his share all the country beyond the Rhine,[207] and on this side Speyer, Worms, Mainz, and the territories belonging to these cities. Lothair received that which is between the Scheldt and the Rhine toward the sea, and that lying beyond Cambrésis, Hainault, and the counties adjoining on this side of the Meuse, down to the confluence of the Saône and Rhone, and thence along the Rhone to the sea, together with the adjacent counties. Charles received all the remainder, extending to Spain. And when the oath was exchanged they went their several ways. [Sidenote: Another from those of Rudolph of Fulda] (b) The realm had from early times been divided in three portions, and in the month of August the three kings, coming together at Verdun in Gaul, redivided it among themselves. Louis received the eastern part, Charles the western. Lothair, who was older than his brothers, received the middle portion. After peace was firmly established and oaths exchanged, each brother returned to his dominion to control and protect it. Charles, presuming to regard Aquitaine as belonging properly to his share, was given much trouble by his nephew Pepin,[208] who annoyed him by frequent incursions and caused great loss. 26. A Chronicle of the Frankish Kingdom in the Ninth Century The following passages from the Annals of Xanten are here given for two purposes--to show something of the character of the period of the Carolingian decline, and to illustrate the peculiar features of the mediæval chronicle. Numerous names, places, and events neither very clearly understood now, nor important if they were understood, occur in the text, and some of these it is not deemed worth while to attempt to explain in the foot-notes. The selection is valuable for the general impressions it gives rather than for the detailed facts which it contains, though some of the latter are interesting enough. Annals as a type of historical writing first assumed considerable importance in western Europe in the time of Charles Martel and Charlemagne. Their origin, like that of most forms of mediæval literary production, can be traced directly to the influence of the Church. The annals began as mere occasional notes jotted down by the monks upon the "Easter tables," which were circulated among the monasteries so that the sacred festival might not fail to be observed at the proper date. The Easter tables were really a sort of calendar, and as they were placed on parchment having a broad margin it was very natural that the monks should begin to write in the margin opposite the various years some of the things that had happened in those years. An Easter table might pass through a considerable number of hands and so have events recorded upon it by a good many different men. All sorts of things were thus made note of--some important, some unimportant--and of course it is not necessary to suppose that everything written down was actually true. Many mistakes were possible, especially as the writer often had only his memory, or perhaps mere hearsay, to rely upon. And when, as frequently happened, these scattered Easter tables were brought together in some monastery and there revised, fitted together, and written out in one continuous chronicle, there were chances at every turn for serious errors to creep in. The compilers were sometimes guilty of wilful misrepresentation, but more often their fault was only their ignorance, credulity, and lack of critical discernment. In these annals there was no attempt to write history as we now understand it; that is, the chroniclers did not undertake to work out the causes and results and relations of things. They merely recorded year by year such happenings as caught their attention--the succession of a new pope, the death of a bishop, the coronation of a king, a battle, a hail-storm, an eclipse, the birth of a two-headed calf--all sorts of unimportant, and from our standpoint ridiculous, items being thrown in along with matters of world-wide moment. Heterogeneous as they are, however, the large collections of annals that have come down to us have been used by modern historians with the greatest profit, and but for them we should know far less than we do about the Middle Ages, and especially about the people and events of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. The Annals of Xanten here quoted are the work originally of a number of ninth century monks. The fragments from which they were ultimately compiled are thought to have been brought together at Cologne, or at least in that vicinity. They cover especially the years 831-873. Source--_Annales Xantenses_ ["Annals of Xanten"]. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., p. 227. Adapted from translation in James H. Robinson, _Readings in European History_ (New York, 1904), Vol. I., pp. 158-162. =844.= Pope Gregory departed this world and Pope Sergius followed in his place.[209] Count Bernhard was killed by Charles. Pepin, king of Aquitaine, together with his son and the son of Bernhard, routed the army of Charles,[210] and there fell the abbot Hugo. At the same time King Louis advanced with his army against the Wends,[211] one of whose kings, Gestimus by name, was killed; the rest came to Louis and pledged him their fidelity, which, however, they broke as soon as he was gone. Thereafter Lothair, Louis, and Charles came together for council in Diedenhofen, and after a conference they went their several ways in peace. [Sidenote: The Northmen in Frisia and Gaul] =845.= Twice in the canton of Worms there was an earthquake; the first in the night following Palm Sunday, the second in the holy night of Christ's Resurrection. In the same year the heathen[212] broke in upon the Christians at many points, but more than twelve thousand of them were killed by the Frisians. Another party of invaders devastated Gaul; of these more than six hundred men perished. Yet, owing to his indolence, Charles agreed to give them many thousand pounds of gold and silver if they would leave Gaul, and this they did. Nevertheless the cloisters of most of the saints were destroyed and many of the Christians were led away captive. After this had taken place King Louis once more led a force against the Wends. When the heathen had learned this they sent ambassadors, as well as gifts and hostages, to Saxony, and asked for peace. Louis then granted peace and returned home from Saxony. Thereafter the robbers were afflicted by a terrible pestilence, during which the chief sinner among them, by the name of Reginheri, who had plundered the Christians and the holy places, was struck down by the hand of God. They then took counsel and threw lots to determine from which of their gods they should seek safety; but the lots did not fall out happily, and on the advice of one of their Christian prisoners that they should cast their lot before the God of the Christians, they did so, and the lot fell happily. Then their king, by the name of Rorik, together with all the heathen people, refrained from meat and drink for fourteen days, when the plague ceased, and they sent back all their Christian prisoners to their country. [Sidenote: The Northmen again in Frisia] =846.= According to their custom, the Northmen plundered eastern and western Frisia and burned the town of Dordrecht, with two other villages, before the eyes of Lothair, who was then in the castle of Nimwegen, but could not punish the crime. The Northmen, with their boats filled with immense booty, including both men and goods, returned to their own country. In the same year Louis sent an expedition from Saxony against the Wends across the Elbe. He personally, however, went with his army against the Bohemians, whom we call Beuwinitha, but with great risk.... Charles advanced against the Britons, but accomplished nothing. [Sidenote: Rome attacked by the Saracens] At this same time, as no one can mention or hear without great sadness, the mother of all churches, the basilica of the apostle Peter, was taken and plundered by the Moors, or Saracens, who had already occupied the region of Beneventum.[213] The Saracens, moreover, slaughtered all the Christians whom they found outside the walls of Rome, either within or without this church. They also carried men and women away prisoners. They tore down, among many others, the altar of the blessed Peter, and their crimes from day to day bring sorrow to Christians. Pope Sergius departed life this year. =847.= After the death of Sergius no mention of the apostolic see has come in any way to our ears. Rabanus [Maurus], master and abbot of Fulda,[214] was solemnly chosen archbishop as the successor of Bishop Otger, who had died. Moreover, the Northmen here and there plundered the Christians and engaged in a battle with the counts Sigir and Liuthar. They continued up the Rhine as far as Dordrecht, and nine miles farther to Meginhard, when they turned back, having taken their booty. [Sidenote: An outbreak of heresy repressed] =848.= On the fourth of February, towards evening, it lightened and there was thunder heard. The heathen, as was their custom, inflicted injury on the Christians. In the same year King Louis held an assembly of the people near Mainz. At this synod a heresy was brought forward by a few monks in regard to predestination. These were convicted and beaten, to their shame, before all the people. They were sent back to Gaul whence they had come, and, thanks be to God, the condition of the Church remained uninjured. =849.= While King Louis was ill, his army of Bavaria took its way against the Bohemians. Many of these were killed and the remainder withdrew, much humiliated, into their own country. The heathen from the North wrought havoc in Christendom as usual and grew greater in strength; but it is painful to say more of this matter. [Sidenote: Further ravages by the Northmen and the Saracens] =850.= On January 1st of that season, in the octave of the Lord,[215] towards evening, a great deal of thunder was heard and a mighty flash of lightning seen; and an overflow of water afflicted the human race during this winter. In the following summer an all too great heat of the sun burned the earth. Leo, pope of the apostolic see, an extraordinary man, built a fortification around the church of St. Peter the apostle. The Moors, however, devastated here and there the coast towns in Italy. The Norman Rorik, brother of the above-mentioned younger Heriold, who earlier had fled dishonored from Lothair, again took Dordrecht and did much evil treacherously to the Christians. In the same year so great a peace existed between the two brothers--Emperor Lothair and King Louis--that they spent many days together in Osning [Westphalia] and there hunted, so that many were astonished thereat; and they went each his way in peace. [Sidenote: The Northmen again in Frisia and Saxony] =851.= The bodies of certain saints were sent from Rome to Saxony--that of Alexander, one of seven brethren, and those of Romanus and Emerentiana. In the same year the very noble Empress, Irmingard by name, wife of the Emperor Lothair, departed this world. The Normans inflicted much harm in Frisia and about the Rhine. A mighty army of them collected by the River Elbe against the Saxons, and some of the Saxon towns were besieged, others burned, and most terribly did they oppress the Christians. A meeting of our kings took place on the Maas [Meuse]. =852.= The steel of the heathen glistened; excessive heat; a famine followed. There was not fodder enough for the animals. The pasturage for the swine was more than sufficient. =853.= A great famine in Saxony, so that many were forced to live on horse meat. [Sidenote: The Northmen burn the church of St. Martin at Tours] =854.= The Normans, in addition to the very many evils which they were everywhere inflicting upon the Christians, burned the church of St. Martin, bishop of Tours, where his body rests. =855.= In the spring Louis, the eastern king, sent his son of the same name to Aquitaine to obtain possession of the heritage of his uncle Pepin. =856.= The Normans again chose a king of the same name as the preceding one, and related to him, and the Danes made a fresh incursion by sea, with renewed forces, against the Christians. =857.= A great sickness prevailed among the people. This produced a terrible foulness, so that the limbs were separated from the body even before death came. =858.= Louis, the eastern king, held an assembly of the people of his territory in Worms. =859.= On the first of January, as the early Mass was being said, a single earthquake occurred in Worms and a triple one in Mainz before daybreak. =860.= On the fifth of February thunder was heard. The king returned from Gaul after the whole empire had gone to destruction, and was in no way bettered. [Sidenote: Sacred relics brought together at the Freckenhorst] =861.= The holy bishop Luitbert piously furnished the cloister which is called the Freckenhorst with many relics of the saints, namely, of the martyrs Boniface and Maximus, and of the confessors Eonius and Antonius, and added a portion of the manger of the Lord and of His grave, and likewise of the dust of the Lord's feet as He ascended to heaven. In this year the winter was long and the above-mentioned kings again had a secret consultation on the island near Coblenz, and they laid waste everything round about. 27. The Northmen in the Country of the Franks. Under the general name of Northmen in the ninth and tenth centuries were included all those peoples of pure Teutonic stock who inhabited the two neighboring peninsulas of Denmark and Scandinavia. In this period, and after, they played a very conspicuous part in the history of western Europe--at first as piratical invaders along the Atlantic coast, and subsequently as settlers in new lands and as conquerors and state-builders. _Northmen_ was the name by which the people of the continent generally knew them, but to the Irish they were known as _Ostmen_ or _Eastmen_, and to the English as _Danes_, while the name which they applied to themselves was _Vikings_ ["Creekmen"]. Their prolonged invasions and plunderings, which fill so large a place in the ninth and tenth century chronicles of England and France, were the result of several causes and conditions: (1) their natural love of adventure, common to all early Germanic peoples; (2) the fact that the population of their home countries had become larger than the limited resources of these northern regions would support; (3) the proximity of the sea on every side, with its fiords and inlets inviting the adventurer to embark for new shores; and (4) the discontent of the nobles, or jarls, with the growing rigor of kingly government. In consequence of these and other influences large numbers of the people became pirates, with no other occupation than the plundering of the more civilized and wealthier countries to the east, west, and south. Those from Sweden visited most commonly the coasts of Russia, those from Norway went generally to Scotland and Ireland, and those from Denmark to England and France. In fast-sailing vessels carrying sixty or seventy men, and under the leadership of "kings of the sea" who never "sought refuge under a roof, nor emptied their drinking-horns at a fireside," they darted along the shores, ascended rivers, converted islands into temporary fortresses, and from thence sallied forth in every direction to burn and pillage and carry off all the booty upon which they could lay hands. So swift and irresistible were their operations that they frequently met with not the slightest show of opposition from the terrified inhabitants. It was natural that Frankland, with its numerous large rivers flowing into the ocean and leading through fertile valleys dotted with towns and rich abbeys, should early have attracted the marauders; and in fact they made their appearance there as early as the year 800. Before the end of Charlemagne's reign they had pillaged Frisia, and a monkish writer of the time tells us that upon one occasion the great Emperor burst into tears and declared that he was overwhelmed with sorrow as he looked forward and saw what evils they would bring upon his offspring and people. Whether or not this story is true, certain it is that before the ninth century was far advanced incursions of the barbarians--"the heathen," as the chroniclers generally call them--had come to be almost annual events. In 841 Rouen was plundered and burned; in 843 Nantes was besieged, the bishop killed, and many captives carried off; in 845 the invaders appeared at Paris and were prevented from attacking the place only by being bribed; and so the story goes, until by 846 we find the annalists beginning their melancholy record of the year's events with the matter-of-course statement that, "according to their custom," the Northmen plundered such and such a region [see p. 159]. Below are a few passages taken from the Annals of Saint-Bertin, the poem of Abbo on the siege of Paris, and the Chronicle of Saint-Denys, which show something of the character of the Northmen's part in early French history, first as mere invaders and afterwards as permanent settlers. The Annals of Saint-Bertin are so called because they have been copied from an old manuscript found in the monastery of that name. The period which they cover is 741-882. Several writers evidently had a hand in their compilation. The portion between the dates 836 and 861 is attributed to Prudence, bishop of Troyes, and that between 861 and 882 to Hincmar, archbishop of Rheims. Abbo, the author of the second selection given below, was a monk of St. Germain des Prés, at Paris. He wrote a poem in which he undertook to give an account of the siege of Paris by the Northmen in 885 and 886, and of the struggles of the Frankish people with the invaders to the year 896. As literature the poem has small value, but for the historian it possesses some importance. The account of Rollo's conversion comes from a history of the Normans written in the twelfth century by William of Jumièges. The work covers the period 851-1137, its earlier portions (to 996) being based on an older history written by Dudo, dean of St. Quentin, in the eleventh century. The Chronicle of St.-Denys was composed at a later time and served to preserve most of the history recorded by Dudo and William of Jumièges. Sources--(a) _Annales Bertiniani_ ["Annals of St. Bertin"]. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. I., pp. 439-454. (b) Abbonis Monachi S. Germani Parisiensis, _De Bellis Parisiacæ Urbis, et Odonis Comitis, post Regis, adversus Northmannos urbem ipsam obsidentes, sub Carolo Crasso Imp. ac Rege Francorum_ [Abbo's "Wars of Count Odo with the Northmen in the Reign of Charles the Fat"]. Text in Bouquet, _Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France_, Vol. VIII., pp. 4-26. (c) _Chronique de Saint-Denys d'après Dudo et Guillaume de Jumièges_ ["Chronicle of St. Denys based on Dudo and William of Jumièges"], Vol. III., p. 105. (a) THE EARLIER RAVAGES OF THE NORTHMEN =843=. Pirates of the Northmen's race came to Nantes, killed the bishop and many of the clergy and laymen, both men and women, and pillaged the city. Thence they set out to plunder the lands of lower Aquitaine. At length they arrived at a certain island[216] and carried materials thither from the mainland to build themselves houses; and they settled there for the winter, as if that were to be their permanent dwelling-place. =844.= The Northmen ascended the Garonne as far as Toulouse and pillaged the lands along both banks with impunity. Some, after leaving this region went into Galicia[217] and perished, part of them by the attacks of the cross-bowmen who had come to resist them, part by being overwhelmed by a storm at sea. But others of them went farther into Spain and engaged in long and desperate combats with the Saracens; defeated in the end, they withdrew. [Sidenote: The Northmen bought off at Paris] =845.= The Northmen with a hundred ships entered the Seine on the twentieth of March and, after ravaging first one bank and then the other, came without meeting any resistance to Paris. Charles[218] resolved to hold out against them; but seeing the impossibility of gaining a victory, he made with them a certain agreement and by a gift of 7,000 livres he bought them off from advancing farther and persuaded them to return. Euric, king of the Northmen, advanced, with six hundred vessels, along the course of the River Elbe to attack Louis of Germany.[219] The Saxons prepared to meet him, gave battle, and with the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ won the victory. The Northmen returned [from Paris] down the Seine and coming to the ocean pillaged, destroyed, and burned all the regions along the coast. =846.= The Danish pirates landed in Frisia.[220] They were able to force from the people whatever contributions they wished and, being victors in battle, they remained masters of almost the entire province. =847.= The Northmen made their appearance in the part of Gaul inhabited by the Britons[221] and won three victories. Noménoé,[222] although defeated, at length succeeded in buying them off with presents and getting them out of his country. [Sidenote: The burning of Tours] =853-854.= The Danish pirates, making their way into the country eastward from the city of Nantes, arrived without opposition, November eighth, before Tours. This they burned, together with the church of St. Martin and the neighboring places. But that incursion had been foreseen with certainty and the body of St. Martin had been removed to Cormery, a monastery of that church, and from there to the city of Orleans. The pirates went on to the château of Blois[223] and burned it, proposing then to proceed to Orleans and destroy that city in the same fashion. But Agius, bishop of Orleans, and Burchard, bishop of Chartres,[224] had gathered soldiers and ships to meet them; so they abandoned their design and returned to the lower Loire, though the following year [855] they ascended it anew to the city of Angers.[225] =855.= They left their ships behind and undertook to go overland to the city of Poitiers;[226] but the Aquitanians came to meet them and defeated them, so that not more than 300 escaped. [Sidenote: Orleans pillaged] =856.= On the eighteenth of April, the Danish pirates came to the city of Orleans, pillaged it, and went away without meeting opposition. Other Danish pirates came into the Seine about the middle of August and, after plundering and ruining the towns on the two banks of the river, and even the monasteries and villages farther back, came to a well located place near the Seine called Jeufosse, and, there quietly passed the winter. =859.= The Danish pirates having made a long sea-voyage (for they had sailed between Spain and Africa) entered the Rhone, where they pillaged many cities and monasteries and established themselves on the island called Camargue.... They devastated everything before them as far as the city of Valence.[227] Then after ravaging all these regions they returned to the island where they had fixed their habitation. Thence they went on toward Italy, capturing and plundering Pisa and other cities. [Sidenote: The Northmen arrive at the city] (b) THE SIEGE OF PARIS =885.= The Northmen came to Paris with 700 sailing ships, not counting those of smaller size which are commonly called barques. At one stretch the Seine was lined with the vessels for more than two leagues, so that one might ask in astonishment in what cavern the river had been swallowed up, since it was not to be seen. The second day after the fleet of the Northmen arrived under the walls of the city, Siegfred, who was then king only in name[228] but who was in command of the expedition, came to the dwelling of the illustrious bishop. He bowed his head and said: "Gauzelin, have compassion on yourself and on your flock. We beseech you to listen to us, in order that you may escape death. Allow us only the freedom of the city. We will do no harm and we will see to it that whatever belongs either to you or to Odo shall be strictly respected." Count Odo, who later became king, was then the defender of the city.[229] The bishop replied to Siegfred, "Paris has been entrusted to us by the Emperor Charles, who, after God, king and lord of the powerful, rules over almost all the world. He has put it in our care, not at all that the kingdom may be ruined by our misconduct, but that he may keep it and be assured of its peace. If, like us, you had been given the duty of defending these walls, and if you should have done that which you ask us to do, what treatment do you think you would deserve?" Siegfred replied, "I should deserve that my head be cut off and thrown to the dogs. Nevertheless, if you do not listen to my demand, on the morrow our war machines will destroy you with poisoned arrows. You will be the prey of famine and of pestilence and these evils will renew themselves perpetually every year." So saying, he departed and gathered together his comrades. [Sidenote: The attack upon the tower] [Sidenote: Fierce fighting] [Sidenote: The bravery of Count Odo] In the morning the Northmen, boarding their ships, approached the tower and attacked it.[230] They shook it with their engines and stormed it with arrows. The city resounded with clamor, the people were aroused, the bridges trembled. All came together to defend the tower. There Odo, his brother Robert,[231] and the Count Ragenar distinguished themselves for bravery; likewise the courageous Abbot Ebolus,[232] the nephew of the bishop. A keen arrow wounded the prelate, while at his side the young warrior Frederick was struck by a sword. Frederick died, but the old man, thanks to God, survived. There perished many Franks; after receiving wounds they were lavish of life. At last the enemy withdrew, carrying off their dead. The evening came. The tower had been sorely tried, but its foundations were still solid, as were also the narrow _baies_ which surmounted them. The people spent the night repairing it with boards. By the next day, on the old citadel had been erected a new tower of wood, a half higher than the former one. At sunrise the Danes caught their first glimpse of it. Once more the latter engaged with the Christians in violent combat. On every side arrows sped and blood flowed. With the arrows mingled the stones hurled by slings and war-machines; the air was filled with them. The tower which had been built during the night groaned under the strokes of the darts, the city shook with the struggle, the people ran hither and thither, the bells jangled. The warriors rushed together to defend the tottering tower and to repel the fierce assault. Among these warriors two, a count and an abbot [Ebolus], surpassed all the rest in courage. The former was the redoubtable Odo who never experienced defeat and who continually revived the spirits of the worn-out defenders. He ran along the ramparts and hurled back the enemy. On those who were secreting themselves so as to undermine the tower he poured oil, wax, and pitch, which, being mixed and heated, burned the Danes and tore off their scalps. Some of them died; others threw themselves into the river to escape the awful substance....[233] Meanwhile Paris was suffering not only from the sword outside but also from a pestilence within which brought death to many noble men. Within the walls there was not ground in which to bury the dead.... Odo, the future king, was sent to Charles, emperor of the Franks,[234] to implore help for the stricken city. [Sidenote: Odo's mission to Emperor Charles the Fat] One day Odo suddenly appeared in splendor in the midst of three bands of warriors. The sun made his armor glisten and greeted him before it illuminated the country around. The Parisians saw their beloved chief at a distance, but the enemy, hoping to prevent his gaining entrance to the tower, crossed the Seine and took up their position on the bank. Nevertheless Odo, his horse at a gallop, got past the Northmen and reached the tower, whose gates Ebolus opened to him. The enemy pursued fiercely the comrades of the count who were trying to keep up with him and get refuge in the tower. [The Danes were defeated in the attack.] [Sidenote: Terms of peace arranged by Charles] Now came the Emperor Charles, surrounded by soldiers of all nations, even as the sky is adorned with resplendent stars. A great throng, speaking many languages, accompanied him. He established his camp at the foot of the heights of Montmartre, near the tower. He allowed the Northmen to have the country of Sens to plunder;[235] and in the spring he gave them 700 pounds of silver on condition that by the month of March they leave France for their own kingdom.[236] Then Charles returned, destined to an early death.[237] [Sidenote: Rollo receives Normandy from Charles the Simple] (c) THE BAPTISM OF ROLLO AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE NORMANS IN FRANCE[238] The king had at first wished to give to Rollo the province of Flanders, but the Norman rejected it as being too marshy. Rollo refused to kiss the foot of Charles when he received from him the duchy of Normandy. "He who receives such a gift," said the bishops to him, "ought to kiss the foot of the king." "Never," replied he, "will I bend the knee to any one, or kiss anybody's foot." Nevertheless, impelled by the entreaties of the Franks, he ordered one of his warriors to perform the act in his stead. This man seized the foot of the king and lifted it to his lips, kissing it without bending and so causing the king to tumble over backwards. At that there was a loud burst of laughter and a great commotion in the crowd of onlookers. King Charles, Robert, Duke of the Franks,[239] the counts and magnates, and the bishops and abbots, bound themselves by the oath of the Catholic faith to Rollo, swearing by their lives and their bodies and by the honor of all the kingdom, that he might hold the land and transmit it to his heirs from generation to generation throughout all time to come. When these things had been satisfactorily performed, the king returned in good spirits into his dominion, and Rollo with Duke Robert set out for Rouen. [Sidenote: Rollo becomes a Christian] In the year of our Lord 912 Rollo was baptized in holy water in the name of the sacred Trinity by Franco, archbishop of Rouen. Duke Robert, who was his godfather, gave to him his name. Rollo devotedly honored God and the Holy Church with his gifts.... The pagans, seeing that their chieftain had become a Christian, abandoned their idols, received the name of Christ, and with one accord desired to be baptized. Meanwhile the Norman duke made ready for a splendid wedding and married the daughter of the king [Gisela] according to Christian rites. [Sidenote: His work in Normandy] Rollo gave assurance of security to all those who wished to dwell in his country. The land he divided among his followers, and, as it had been a long time unused, he improved it by the construction of new buildings. It was peopled by the Norman warriors and by immigrants from outside regions. The duke established for his subjects certain inviolable rights and laws, confirmed and published by the will of the leading men, and he compelled all his people to live peaceably together. He rebuilt the churches, which had been entirely ruined; he restored the temples, which had been destroyed by the ravages of the pagans; he repaired and added to the walls and fortifications of the cities; he subdued the Britons who rebelled against him; and with the provisions obtained from them he supplied all the country that had been granted to him. 28. Later Carolingian Efforts to Preserve Order The ninth century is chiefly significant in Frankish history as an era of decline of monarchy and increase of the powers and independence of local officials and magnates. Already by Charlemagne's death, in 814, the disruptive forces were at work, and under the relatively weak successors of the great Emperor the course of decentralization went on until by the death of Charles the Bald, in 877, the royal authority had been reduced to a condition of insignificance. This century was the formative period _par excellence_ of the feudal system--a type of social and economic organization which the conditions of the time rendered inevitable and under which great monarchies tended to be dissolved into a multitude of petty local states. Large landholders began to regard themselves as practically independent; royal officials, particularly the counts, refused to be parted from their positions and used them primarily to enhance their own personal authority; the churches and monasteries stretched their royal grants of immunity so far as almost to refuse to acknowledge any obligations to the central government. In these and other ways the Carolingian monarchy was shorn of its powers, and as it was quite lacking in money, lands, and soldiers who could be depended on, there was little left for it to do but to legislate and ordain without much prospect of being able to enforce its laws and ordinances. The rapidity with which the kings of the period were losing their grip on the situation comes out very clearly from a study of the capitularies which they issued from time to time. In general these capitularies, especially after about 840, testify to the disorder everywhere prevailing, the usurpations of the royal officials, and the popular contempt of the royal authority, and reiterate commands for the preservation of order until they become fairly wearisome to the reader. Royalty was at a bad pass and its weakness is reflected unmistakably in its attempts to govern by mere edict without any backing of enforcing power. In 843, 853, 856, 857, and many other years of Charles the Bald's reign, elaborate decrees were issued prohibiting brigandage and lawlessness, but with the tell-tale provision that violators were to be "admonished with Christian love to repent," or that they were to be punished "as far as the local officials could remember them," or that the royal agents were themselves to take oath not to become highway robbers! Sometimes the king openly confessed his weakness and proceeded to implore, rather than to command, his subjects to obey him. The capitulary quoted below belongs to the last year of the short reign of Carloman (882-884), son of Louis the Stammerer and grandson of Charles the Bald. It makes a considerable show of power, ordaining the punishment of criminals as confidently as if there had really been means to assure its enforcement. But in truth all the provisions in it had been embodied in capitularies of Carloman's predecessors with scarcely perceptible effect, and there was certainly no reason to expect better results now. With the nobles practicing, if not asserting, independence, the churches and monasteries heeding the royal authority hardly at all, the country being ravaged by Northmen and the people turning to the great magnates for the protection they could no longer get from the king, and the counts and _missi dominici_ making their lands and offices the basis for hereditary local authority, the king had come to be almost powerless in the great realm where less than a hundred years before Charlemagne's word, for all practical purposes, was law. Even Charlemagne himself, however, could have done little to avert the state of anarchy which conditions too strong for any sovereign to cope with had brought about. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Boretius ed.), Vol. II., pp. 371-375. [Sidenote: The keeping of the peace enjoined] =1.= According to the custom of our predecessors, we desire that in our palace shall prevail the worship of God, the honor of the king, piety, concord, and a condition of peace; and that that peace established in our palace by the sanction of our predecessors shall extend to, and be observed throughout, our entire kingdom. =2.= We desire that all those who live at our court, and all who come there, shall live peaceably. If any one, in breach of the peace, is guilty of violence, let him be brought to a hearing at our palace, by the authority of the king and by the order of our _missus_, as it was ordained by the capitularies of our predecessors, that he may be punished according to a legal judgment and may pay a triple composition with the royal ban.[240] =3.= If the offender has no lord, or if he flees from our court, our _missus_ shall go to find him and shall order him, in our name, to appear at the palace.[241] If he should be so rash as to disdain to come, let him be brought by force. If he spurns both us and our _missus_, and while refusing to obey summons is killed in resisting, and any of his relatives or friends undertake to exercise against our agents who have killed him the right of vengeance,[242] we will oppose them there and will give our agents all the aid of our royal authority. [Sidenote: The bishop's part in repressing crime] =5.= The bishop of the diocese in which the crime shall have been committed ought, through the priest of the place, to give three successive invitations to the offender to repent and to make reparation for his fault in order to set himself right with God and the church that he has injured. If he scorns and rejects this summons and invitation, let the bishop wield upon him the pastoral rod, that is to say, the sentence of excommunication; and let him separate him from the communion of the Holy Church until he shall have given the satisfaction that is required. [Sidenote: Obligations of lay officials to restrain violence] =9.= In order that violence be entirely brought to an end and order restored, it is necessary that the bishop's authority should be supplemented by that of the public officials. Therefore we and our faithful have judged it expedient that the _missi dominici_ should discharge faithfully the duties of their office.[243] The count shall enjoin to the viscount,[244] to his _vicarii_ and _centenarii_,[245] and to all the public officials, as well as to all Franks who have a knowledge of the law, that all should give as much aid as they can to the Church, both on their own account and in accord with the requests of the clergy, every time they shall be called upon by the bishop, the officers of the bishop, or even by the needy. They should do this for the love of God, the peace of the Holy Church, and the fidelity that they owe to us. 29. The Election of Hugh Capet (987). The election of Hugh Capet as king of France in 987 marked the establishment of the so-called Capetian line of monarchs, which occupied the French throne in all not far from eight centuries--a record not equaled by any other royal house in European history. The circumstances of the election were interesting and significant. For more than a hundred years there had been keen rivalry between the Carolingian kings and one of the great ducal houses of the Franks, known as the Robertians. In the disorder which so generally prevailed in France in the ninth and tenth centuries, powerful families possessing extensive lands and having large numbers of vassals and serfs were able to make themselves practically independent of the royal power. The greatest of these families was the Robertians, the descendants of Robert the Strong, father of the Odo who distinguished himself at the siege of Paris in 885-886 [see p. 170]. Between 888 and 987 circumstances brought it about three different times that members of the Robertian house were elevated to the Frankish throne (Odo, 888-898; Robert I., 922-923; and Rudolph--related to the Robertians by marriage only,--923-936). The rest of the time the throne was occupied by Carolingians (Charles the Simple, 898-922; Louis IV., 936-954; Lothair, 954-986; and Louis V., 986-987). With the death of the young king Louis V., in 987, the last direct descendant of Charlemagne passed away and the question of the succession was left for solution by the nobles and higher clergy of the realm. As soon as the king was dead, such of these magnates as were assembled at the court to attend the funeral bound themselves by oath to take no action until a general meeting could be held at Senlis (a few miles north of Paris) late in May, 987. The proceedings of this general meeting are related in the passage below. Apparently it had already been pretty generally agreed that the man to be elected was Hugh Capet, great-grandson of Robert the Strong and the present head of the famous Robertian house, and the speech of Adalbero, archbishop of Rheims, of which Richer gives a resumé, was enough to ensure this result. There was but one other claimant of importance. That was the late king's uncle, Charles of Lower Lorraine. He was not a man of force and Adalbero easily disposed of his candidacy, though the rejected prince was subsequently able to make his successful rival a good deal of trouble. Hugh owed his election to his large material resources, the military prestige of his ancestors, the active support of the Church, and the lack of direct heirs of the Carolingian dynasty. Richer, the chronicler whose account of the election is given below, was a monk living at Rheims at the time when the events occurred which he describes. His "Four Books of Histories," discovered only in 1833, is almost our only considerable source of information on Frankish affairs in the later tenth century. In his writing he endeavored to round out his work into a real history and to give more than the bare outline of events characteristic of the mediæval annalists. In this he was only partially successful, being at fault mainly in indulging in too much rhetoric and in allowing partisan motives sometimes to guide him in what he said. His partisanship was on the side of the fallen Carolingians. The period covered by the "Histories" is 888-995; they are therefore roughly continuous chronologically with the Annals of Saint Bertin [see p. 164]. Source--Richer, _Historiarum Libri IV._ ["Four Books of Histories"], Bk. IV., Chaps. 11-12. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. III., pp. 633-634. Meanwhile, at the appointed time the magnates of Gaul who had taken the oath came together at Senlis. When they had all taken their places in the assembly and the duke[246] had given the sign, the archbishop[247] spoke to them as follows:[248] [Sidenote: Adalbero's speech at Senlis] "King Louis, of divine memory, having been removed from the world, and having left no heirs, it devolves upon us to take serious counsel as to the choice of a successor, so that the state may not suffer any injury through neglect and the lack of a leader. On a former occasion[249] we thought it advisable to postpone that deliberation in order that each of you might be able to come here and, in the presence of the assembly, voice the sentiment which God should have inspired in you, and that from all these different expressions of opinion we might be able to find out what is the general will. [Sidenote: Election, not heredity, the true basis of Frankish kingship] "Here we are assembled. Let us see to it, by our prudence and honor, that hatred shall not destroy reason, that love shall not interfere with truth. We are aware that Charles[250] has his partisans, who claim that the throne belongs to him by right of birth. But if we look into the matter, the throne is not acquired by hereditary right, and no one ought to be placed at the head of the kingdom unless he is distinguished, not only by nobility of body, but also by strength of mind--only such a one as honor and generosity recommend.[251] We read in the annals of rulers of illustrious descent who were deposed on account of their unworthiness and replaced by others of the same, or even lesser, rank.[252] [Sidenote: Objections to Charles of Lorraine] [Sidenote: Election of Hugh Capet urged] "What dignity shall we gain by making Charles king? He is not guided by honor, nor is he possessed of strength. Then, too, he has compromised himself so far as to have become the dependent of a foreign king[253] and to have married a girl taken from among his own vassals. How could the great duke endure that a woman of the low rank of vassal should become queen and rule over him? How could he tender services to this woman, when his equals, and even his superiors, in birth bend the knee before him and place their hands under his feet? Think of this seriously and you will see that Charles must be rejected for his own faults rather than on account of any wrong done by others. Make a decision, therefore, for the welfare rather than for the injury of the state. If you wish ill to your country, choose Charles to be king; if you have regard for its prosperity, choose Hugh, the illustrious duke.... Elect, then, the duke, a man who is recommended by his conduct, by his nobility, and by his military following. In him you will find a defender, not only of the state, but also of your private interests. His large-heartedness will make him a father to you all. Who has ever fled to him for protection without receiving it? Who that has been deserted by his friends has he ever failed to restore to his rights?" [Sidenote: The beginning of his reign] This speech was applauded and concurred in by all, and by unanimous consent the duke was raised to the throne. He was crowned at Noyon[254] on the first of June[255] by the archbishop and the other bishops as king of the Gauls, the Bretons, the Normans, the Aquitanians, the Goths, the Spaniards and the Gascons.[256] Surrounded by the nobles of the king, he issued decrees and made laws according to royal custom, judging and disposing of all matters with success. FOOTNOTES: [197] After the battle of Fontenay, June 25, 841, Charles and Louis had separated and Lothair had formed the design of attacking and conquering first one and then the other. He made an expedition against Charles, but was unable to accomplish anything before his two enemies again drew together at Strassburg. [198] The name "Francia" was as yet confined to the country lying between the Loire and the Scheldt. [199] This Pepin was a son of Pepin, the brother of Charles, Louis, and Lothair. Upon the death of the elder Pepin in 838 his part of the empire--the great region between the Loire and the Pyrenees, known as Aquitaine--had been taken possession of by Charles, without regard for the two surviving sons. It was natural, therefore, that in the struggle which ensued between Charles and Louis on the one side and Lothair on the other, young Pepin should have given such aid as he could to the latter. [200] On the upper Moselle. [201] This refers to the battle of Fontenay. [202] The translation of this oath is as follows: "For the love of God, and for the sake as well of our peoples as of ourselves, I promise that from this day forth, as God shall grant me wisdom and strength, I will treat this my brother as one's brother ought to be treated, provided that he shall do the same by me. And with Lothair I will not willingly enter into any dealings which may injure this my brother." [203] This oath, taken by the followers of the two kings, may be thus translated: "If Louis [or Charles] shall observe the oath which he has sworn to his brother Charles [or Louis], and Charles [or Louis], our lord, on his side, should be untrue to his oath, and we should be unable to hold him to it, neither we nor any whom we can deter, shall give him any support." The oath taken by the two armies was the same, with only the names of the kings interchanged. [204] This name in the course of time became simply "Francia," then "France." In the eastern kingdom, "Francia" gradually became restricted to the region about the Main, or "Franconia." [205] It was commonly known as "Lotharii regnum," later as "Lotharingia," and eventually (a fragment of the kingdom only) as "Lorraine." [206] Emerton, _Mediæval Europe_ (Boston, 1903), p. 30. [207] This statement is only approximately true. In reality Friesland (Frisia) and a strip up the east bank of the Rhine almost to the mouth of the Moselle went to Lothair. [208] See p. 152, note 2. [209] Gregory IV. (827-844) was succeeded in the papal office by Sergius II. (844-847). [210] By the treaty of Verdun in 843 Charles the Bald had been given Aquitaine, along with the other distinctively Frankish regions of western Europe. His nephew Pepin, however, who had never been reconciled to Charles's taking possession of Aquitaine in 838, called himself king of that country and made stubborn resistance to his uncle's claims of sovereignty [see p. 156]. [211] The Wends were a Slavonic people living in the lower valley of the Oder. [212] By "the heathen" are meant the Norse pirates from Denmark and the Scandinavian peninsula. On their invasions see p. 163. [213] This Saracen attack upon Rome was made by some Arab pirates who in the Mediterranean were playing much the same rôle of destruction as were the Northmen on the Atlantic coasts. A league of Naples, Gaeta, and Amalfi defeated the pirates in 849, and delivered Rome from her oppressors long enough for new fortifications to be constructed. Walls were built at this time to include the quarter of St. Peter's--a district known to this day as the "Leonine City" in memory of Leo IV., who in 847 succeeded Sergius as pope [see above text under date 850]. [214] Fulda was an important monastery on one of the upper branches of the Weser, northeast of Mainz. [215] An octave, in the sense here meant, is the week (strictly eight days) following a church festival; in this case, the eight days following the anniversary of Christ's birth, or Christmas. [216] The isle of Rhé, near Rochelle, north of the mouth of the Garonne. [217] Galicia was a province in the extreme northwest of the Spanish peninsula. [218] Charles the Bald, who by the treaty of Verdun in 843, had obtained the western part of the empire built up by Charlemagne [see p. 154]. [219] Louis, a half-brother of Charles the Bald, who had received the eastern portion of Charlemagne's empire by the settlement of 843. [220] Frisia, or Friesland, was the northernmost part of the kingdom of Lothair. [221] That is, in Brittany. [222] Noménoé was a native chief of the Britons. Charles the Bald made many efforts to reduce him to obedience, but with little success. In 848 or 849 he took the title of king. During his brief reign (which ended in 851) he invaded Charles's dominions and wrought almost as much destruction as did the Northmen themselves. [223] Tours, Blois, and Orleans were all situated within a range of a hundred miles along the lower Loire. [224] Chartres was some eighty miles northwest of Orleans. [225] About midway between Nantes and Tours. [226] Poitiers was about seventy miles southwest of Tours. [227] Valence was on the Rhone, nearly a hundred and fifty miles back from the Mediterranean coast. [228] The Northmen who ravaged France really had no kings, but only military chieftains. [229] Odo, or Eudes, was chosen king by the Frankish nobles and clergy in 888, to succeed the deposed Charles the Fat. He was not of the Carolingian family but a Robertian (son of Robert the Strong), and hence a forerunner of the Capetian line of kings regularly established on the French throne in 987 [see p. 177]. His election to the kingship was due in a large measure to his heroic conduct during the siege of Paris by the Northmen. [230] The tower blocked access to the city by the so-called "Great Bridge," which connected the right bank of the Seine with the island on which the city was built. The tower stood on the present site of the Châtelet. [231] In time Robert also became king. He reigned only from 922 to 923. [232] Abbot Ebolus was head of the monastery of St. Germain des Prés. [233] The Northmen were finally compelled to abandon their efforts against the tower. They then retired to the bank of the Seine near the abbey of Saint-Denys and from that place as a center ravaged all the country lying about Paris. In a short time they renewed the attack upon the city itself. [234] Charles the Fat, under whom during the years 885-887 the old empire of Charlemagne was for the last time united under a single sovereign. When Odo went to find him in 886 he was at Metz in Germany. German and Italian affairs interested him more than did those of the Franks. [235] Sens was about a hundred miles southeast of Paris. Charles abandoned the region about Sens to the Northmen to plunder during the winter of 886-887. His very lame excuse for doing this was that the people of the district did not properly recognize his authority and were deserving of such punishment. [236] The twelve month siege of Paris thus brought to an end had many noteworthy results. Chief among these was the increased prestige of Odo as a national leader and of Paris as a national stronghold. Prior to this time Paris had not been a place of importance, even though Clovis had made it his capital. In the period of Charlemagne it was distinctly a minor city and it gained little in prominence under Louis the Pious and Charles the Bald. The great Carolingian capitals were Laon and Compiègne. The siege of 885-886, however, made it apparent that Paris occupied a strategic position, commanding the valley of the Seine, and that the inland city was one of the true bulwarks of the kingdom. Thereafter the place grew rapidly in population and prestige, and when Odo became king (in 888) it was made his capital. As time went on it grew to be the heart of the French kingdom and came to guide the destinies of France as no other city of modern times has guided a nation. [237] He was deposed in 887, largely because of his utter failure to take any active measures to defend the Franks against their Danish enemies. From Paris he went to Germany where he died, January 13, 888, at a small town on the Danube. [238] After the famous siege of Paris in 885-886 the Northmen, or Normans as they may now be called, continued to ravage France just as they had done before that event. In 910 one of their greatest chieftains, Rollo, appeared before Paris and prepared to take the city. In this project he was unsuccessful, but his warriors caused so much devastation in the surrounding country that Charles the Simple, who was now king, decided to try negotiations. A meeting was held at Saint-Clair-sur-Epte where, in the presence of the Norman warriors and the Frankish magnates, Charles and Rollo entered into the first treaty looking toward a permanent settlement of Northmen on Frankish territory. Rollo promised to desist from his attacks upon Frankland and to become a Christian. Charles agreed to give over to the Normans a region which they in fact already held, with Rouen as its center, and extending from the Epte River on the east to the sea on the west. The arrangement was dictated by good sense and proved a fortunate one for all parties concerned. [239] Robert was Odo's brother. "Duke of the Franks" was a title, at first purely military, but fast developing to the point where it was to culminate in its bearer becoming the first Capetian king [see p. 177]. [240] See p. 138, note 4. [241] If the offender had a lord, this lord would be expected to produce his accused vassal at court. [242] That is, the old blood-feud of the Germans. [243] The office of _missus_ had by this time fallen pretty much into decay. Many of the _missi_ were at the same time counts--a combination of authority directly opposed to the earlier theory of the administrative system. The _missus_ had been supposed to supervise the counts and restrain them from disloyalty to the king and from indulgence in arbitrary or oppressive measures of local government. [244] The viscount (_vicecomes_) was the count's deputy. By Carloman's time there were sometimes several of these in a county. They were at first appointed by the count, but toward the end of the ninth century they became hereditary. [245] The _vicarii_ and _centenarii_ were local assistants of the count in administrative and judicial affairs. In Merovingian times their precise duties are not clear, but under the Carolingians the two terms tended to become synonyms. The _centenarius_, or hundredman, was charged mainly with the administration of justice in the smallest local division, i.e., the hundred. In theory he was elected by the people of the hundred, but in practice he was usually appointed by the count. [246] Hugh Capet, whose title prior to 987 was "Duke of the Franks." [247] Adalbero, archbishop of Rheims. [248] We are not to suppose that Richer here gives a literal reproduction of Adalbero's speech, but so far as we can tell the main points are carefully stated. [249] At the funeral of Louis. [250] Charles of Lower Lorraine, uncle of Louis V. [251] The elective principle here asserted had prevailed in the choice of French and German kings for nearly a century. The kings chosen, however, usually came from one family, as the Carolingians in France. [252] Almost exactly a century earlier there had been such a case among the Franks, when Charles the Fat was deposed and Odo, the defender of Paris, elevated to the throne (888). [253] Charles had been made duke of Lower Lorraine by the German emperor. This passage in Adalbero's speech looks like something of an appeal to Frankish pride, or as we would say in these days, to national sentiment. Still it must be remembered that while a sense of common interest was undoubtedly beginning to develop among the peoples represented in the assembly at Senlis, these peoples were still far too diverse to be spoken of accurately as making up a unified nationality. Adalbero was indulging in a political harangue and piling up arguments for effect, without much regard for their real weight. [254] Noyon was a church center about fifty miles north of Paris. That the coronation really occurred at this place has been questioned by some, but there seems to be small reason for doubting Richer's statement in the matter. [255] M. Pfister in Lavisse, _Histoire de France_, Vol. II., p. 412, asserts that the coronation occurred July 3, 987. [256] This method of describing the extent of the new king's dominion shows how far from consolidated the so-called Frankish kingdom really was. The royal domain proper, that is, the land over which the king had immediate control, was limited to a long fertile strip extending from the Somme to a point south of Orléans, including the important towns of Paris, Orléans, Étampes, Senlis, and Compiègne. Even this was not continuous, but was cut into here and there by the estates of practically independent feudal lords. By far the greater portion of modern France (the name in 987 was only beginning to be applied to the whole country) consisted of great counties and duchies, owing comparatively little allegiance to the king and usually rendering even less than they owed. Of these the most important was the county (later duchy) of Normandy, the county of Bretagne (Brittany), the county of Flanders, the county of Anjou, the county of Blois, the duchy of Burgundy, the duchy of Aquitaine, the county of Toulouse, the county of Gascony, and the county of Barcelona (south of the Pyrenees). The "Goths" referred to by Richer were the inhabitants of the "march," or border county, of Gothia along the Mediterranean coast between the lower Rhone and the Pyrenees (old Septimania). CHAPTER XI. ALFRED THE GREAT IN WAR AND IN PEACE 30. The Danes in England The earliest recorded visit of the Danes, or Northmen, to England somewhat antedates the appearance of these peoples on the Frankish coast in the year 800. In 787 three Danish vessels came to shore at Warham in Dorset and their sailors slew the unfortunate reeve who mistook them for ordinary foreign merchants and tried to collect port dues from them. Thereafter the British coasts were never free for many years at a time from the depredations of the marauders. In 793 the famous church at Lindisfarne, in Northumberland, was plundered; in 795 the Irish coasts began to suffer; in 833 a fleet of twenty-five vessels appeared at the mouth of the Thames; in 834 twelve hundred pillagers landed in Dorset; in 842 London and Rochester were sacked and their population scattered; in 850 a fleet of 350 ships carrying perhaps ten or twelve thousand men, wintered at the mouth of the Thames and in the spring caused London again to suffer; and from then on until the accession of King Alfred, in 871, destructive raids followed one another with distressing frequency. The account of the Danish invasions given below is taken from a biography of King Alfred commonly attributed to Asser, a monk of Welsh origin connected with the monastery of St. David (later bishop of Sherborne) and a close friend and adviser of the great king. It gives us some idea of the way in which Alfred led his people through the darkest days in their history, and of the settlement known as the "Peace of Alfred and Guthrum" by which the Danish leader became a Christian and the way was prepared for the later division of the English country between the two contending peoples. Source--Johannes Menevensis Asserius, _De rebus gestis Ælfredi Magni_ [Asser, "The Deeds of Alfred the Great"], Chaps. 42-55 _passim_. Adapted from translation by J. A. Giles in _Six Old English Chronicles_ (London, 1866), pp. 56-63. [Sidenote: Alfred becomes king (871)] [Sidenote: The struggle with the Danes] In the year 871 Alfred, who up to that time had been of only secondary rank, while his brothers were alive, by God's permission, undertook the government of the whole kingdom, welcomed by all the people. Indeed, if he had cared to, he might have done so earlier, even while his brother was still alive;[257] for in wisdom and other qualities he excelled all of his brothers, and, moreover, he was courageous and victorious in all his wars. He became king almost against his will, for he did not think that he could alone withstand the numbers and the fierceness of the pagans, though even during the lifetime of his brothers he had carried burdens enough for many men. And when he had ruled one month, with a small band of followers and on very unequal terms, he fought a battle with the entire army of the pagans. This was at a hill called Wilton, on the south bank of the River Wily, from which river the whole of that district is named.[258] And after a long and fierce engagement the pagans, seeing the danger they were in, and no longer able to meet the attacks of their enemies, turned their backs and fled. But, oh, shame to say, they deceived the English, who pursued them too boldly, and, turning swiftly about, gained the victory. Let no one be surprised to learn that the Christians had only a small number of men, for the Saxons had been worn out by eight battles with the pagans in one year. In these they had slain one king, nine dukes, and innumerable troops of soldiers. There had also been numberless skirmishes, both by day and by night, in which Alfred, with his ministers and chieftains and their men, were engaged without rest or relief against the pagans. How many thousands of pagans fell in these skirmishes God only knows, over and above the numbers slain in the eight battles before mentioned. In the same year the Saxons made peace with the invaders, on condition that they should take their departure, and they did so. [Sidenote: Alfred's plan to meet the pagans on the sea] In the year 877 the pagans, on the approach of autumn, partly settled in Exeter[259] and partly marched for plunder into Mercia.[260] The number of that disorderly horde increased every day, so that, if thirty thousand of them were slain in one battle, others took their places to double the number. Then King Alfred commanded boats and galleys, i.e., long ships, to be built throughout the kingdom, in order to offer battle by sea to the enemy as they were coming.[261] On board these he placed sailors, whom he commanded to keep watch on the seas. Meanwhile he went himself to Exeter, where the pagans were wintering and, having shut them up within the walls, laid siege to the town. He also gave orders to his sailors to prevent the enemy from obtaining any supplies by sea. In a short time the sailors were encountered by a fleet of a hundred and twenty ships full of armed soldiers, who were on their way to the relief of their countrymen. As soon as the king's men knew that the ships were manned by pagan soldiers they leaped to their arms and bravely attacked those barbaric tribes. The pagans, who had now for almost a month been tossed and almost wrecked among the waves of the sea, fought vainly against them. Their bands were thrown into confusion in a very short time, and all were sunk and drowned in the sea, at a place called Swanwich.[262] In 878, which was the thirtieth year of King Alfred's life, the pagan army left Exeter and went to Chippenham. This latter place was a royal residence situated in the west of Wiltshire, on the eastern bank of the river which the Britons called the Avon. They spent the winter there and drove many of the inhabitants of the surrounding country beyond the sea by the force of their arms, and by the want of the necessities of life. They reduced almost entirely to subjection all the people of that country. [Sidenote: Alfred in refuge at Athelney] [Sidenote: The battle of Ethandune and the establishment of peace (878)] The same year, after Easter, King Alfred, with a few followers, made for himself a stronghold in a place called Athelney,[263] and from thence sallied, with his companions and the nobles of Somersetshire, to make frequent assaults upon the pagans. Also, in the seventh week after Easter, he rode to Egbert's stone, which is in the eastern part of the wood that is called Selwood.[264] Here he was met by all the folk of Somersetshire and Wiltshire and Hampshire, who had not fled beyond the sea for fear of the pagans; and when they saw the king alive after such great tribulation they received him, as he deserved, with shouts of joy, and encamped there for one night. At dawn on the following day the king broke camp and went to Okely, where he encamped for one night. The next morning he moved to Ethandune[265] and there fought bravely and persistently against the whole army of the pagans. By the help of God he defeated them with great slaughter and pursued them flying to their fortification. He at once slew all the men and carried off all the booty that he could find outside the fortress, which he immediately laid siege to with his entire army. And when he had been there fourteen days the pagans, driven by famine, cold, fear, and finally by despair, asked for peace on the condition that they should give the king as many hostages as he should ask, but should receive none from him in return. Never before had they made a treaty with any one on such terms. The king, hearing this, took pity upon them and received such hostages as he chose. Then the pagans swore that they would immediately leave the kingdom, and their king, Guthrum, promised to embrace Christianity and receive baptism at Alfred's hands. All of these pledges he and his men fulfilled as they had promised.[266] 31. Alfred's Interest in Education As an epoch of literary and educational advancement the reign of Alfred in England (871-901) was in many respects like that of Charlemagne among the Franks (768-814). Like Charlemagne, Alfred grew up with very slight education, at least of a literary sort; but both sovereigns were strongly dissatisfied with their ignorance, and both made earnest efforts to overcome their own defects and at the same time to raise the standard of intelligence among their people at large. When one considers how crowded were the reigns of both with wars and the pressing business of administration, such devotion to the interests of learning appears the more deserving of praise. In the first passage below, taken from Asser's life of Alfred, the anxiety of the king for the promotion of his own education and that of his children is clearly and strongly stated. We find him following Charlemagne's plan of bringing scholars from foreign countries. He brought them, too, from parts of Britain not under his direct control, and used them at the court, or in bishoprics, to perform the work of instruction. Curiously enough, whereas Charlemagne had found the chief of his Palace School, Alcuin, in England, Alfred was glad to secure the services of two men (Grimbald and John) who had made their reputations in monasteries situated within the bounds of the old Frankish empire. Aside from some native songs and epic poems, all the literature known to the Saxon people was in Latin, and but few persons in the kingdom knew Latin well enough to read it. The king himself did not, until about 887. It was supposed, of course, that the clergy were able to use the Latin Bible and the Latin ritual of the Church, but when Alfred came to investigate he found that even these men were often pretty nearly as ignorant as the people they were charged to instruct. What the king did, then, was to urge more study on the part of the clergy, under the direction of such men as Plegmund, Asser, Grimbald, John, and Werfrith. The people in general could not be expected to master a foreign language; hence, in order that they might not be shut off entirely from the first-hand use of books, Alfred undertook the translation of certain standard works from the Latin into the Saxon. Those thus translated were Boethius's _Consolations of Philosophy_, Orosius's _Universal History of the World_, Bede's _Ecclesiastical History of England_, and Pope Gregory the Great's _Pastoral Rule_. The second passage given below is Alfred's preface to his Saxon edition of the last-named book, taking the form of a letter to the scholarly Bishop Werfrith of Worcester. The _Pastoral Rule_ [see p. 90] was written by Pope Gregory the Great (590-604) as a body of instructions in doctrine and conduct for the clergy. Alfred's preface, as a picture of the ruin wrought by the long series of Danish wars, is of the utmost importance in the study of ninth and tenth century England, as well as a most interesting revelation of the character of the great king. Sources--(a) Asser, _De rebus gestis Ælfredi Magni_, Chaps. 75-78. Adapted from translation by J. A. Giles in _Six Old English Chronicles_ (London, 1866), pp. 68-70. (b) King Alfred's West-Saxon Version of Pope Gregory's _Pastoral Rule_. Edited by Henry Sweet in the Publications of the Early English Text Society (London, 1871), p. 2. [Sidenote: The education of Alfred's children] (a) Ethelwerd, the youngest [of Alfred's children],[267] by the divine counsels and the admirable prudence of the king, was consigned to the schools of learning, where, with the children of almost all the nobility of the country, and many also who were not noble, he prospered under the diligent care of his teachers. Books in both languages, namely, Latin and Saxon, were read in the school.[268] They also learned to write, so that before they were of an age to practice manly arts, namely, hunting and such pursuits as befit noblemen, they became studious and clever in the liberal arts. Edward[269] and Ælfthryth[270] were reared in the king's court and received great attention from their attendants and nurses; nay, they continue to this day with the love of all about them, and showing friendliness, and even gentleness, towards all, both natives and foreigners, and in complete subjection to their father. Nor, among their other studies which pertain to this life and are fit for noble youths, are they suffered to pass their time idly and unprofitably without learning the liberal arts; for they have carefully learned the Psalms and Saxon books, especially the Saxon poems, and are continually in the habit of making use of books. [Sidenote: The varied activities of the king] [Sidenote: His devout character] In the meantime the king, during the frequent wars and other hindrances of this present life, the invasions of the pagans, and his own infirmities of body, continued to carry on the government, and to practice hunting in all its branches; to teach his workers in gold and artificers of all kinds, his falconers, hawkers and dog-keepers; to build houses, majestic and splendid, beyond all the precedents of his ancestors, by his new mechanical inventions; to recite the Saxon books, and especially to learn by heart the Saxon poems, and to make others learn them.[271] And he alone never desisted from studying most diligently to the best of his ability. He attended the Mass and other daily services of religion. He was diligent in psalm-singing and prayer, at the hours both of the day and of the night. He also went to the churches, as we have already said, in the night-time to pray, secretly and unknown to his courtiers. He bestowed alms and gifts on both natives and foreigners of all countries. He was affable and pleasant to all, and curiously eager to investigate things unknown. Many Franks, Frisians, Gauls, pagans, Britons, Scots, and Armoricans,[272] noble and low-born, came voluntarily to his domain; and all of them, according to their nation and deserving, were ruled, loved, honored and enriched with money and power.[273] Moreover, the king was in the habit of hearing the divine Scriptures read by his own countrymen, or, if by any chance it so happened, in company with foreigners, and he attended to it with care and solicitude. His bishops, too, and all ecclesiastics, his earls and nobles, ministers[274] and friends, were loved by him with wonderful affection, and their sons, who were reared in the royal household, were no less dear to him than his own. He had them instructed in all kinds of good morals, and, among other things, never ceased to teach them letters night and day. [Sidenote: Regret at his lack of education] But, as if he had no consolation in all these things, and though he suffered no other annoyance, either from within or without, he was harassed by daily and nightly affliction, so that he complained to God and to all who were admitted to his intimate fondness, that Almighty God had made him ignorant of divine wisdom, and of the liberal arts--in this emulating the pious, the wise, and wealthy Solomon, king of the Hebrews, who at first, despising all present glory and riches, asked wisdom of God and found both, namely, wisdom and worldly glory; as it is written: "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." But God, who is always the observer of the thoughts of the mind within and the author of all good intentions, and a most plentiful helper that good desires may be formed (for He would not prompt a man to good intentions, unless He also amply supplied that which the man justly and properly wishes to have) stimulated the king's mind within: as it is written, "I will hearken what the Lord God will say concerning me." He would avail himself of every opportunity to procure co-workers in his good designs, to aid him in his strivings after wisdom that he might attain to what he aimed at. And, like a prudent bee, which, going forth in summer with the early morning from its cell, steers its rapid flight through the uncertain tracks of ether and descends on the manifold and varied flowers of grasses, herbs, and shrubs, discovering that which pleases most, that it may bear it home, so did he direct his eyes afar and seek without that which he had not within, that is, in his own kingdom.[275] [Sidenote: Learned men from Mercia brought to the English court] But God at that time, as some relief to the king's anxiety, yielding to his complaint, sent certain lights to illuminate him, namely, Werfrith, bishop of the church of Worcester, a man well versed in divine Scripture, who, by the king's command, first turned the books of the Dialogues of Pope Gregory and Peter, his disciple, from Latin into Saxon, and sometimes putting sense for sense, interpreted them with clearness and elegance. After him was Plegmund,[276] a Mercian by birth, archbishop of the church of Canterbury, a venerable man, and endowed with wisdom; Ethelstan also,[277] and Werwulf,[278] his priests and chaplains,[279] Mercians by birth and learned. These four had been invited from Mercia by King Alfred, who exalted them with many honors and powers in the kingdom of the West Saxons, besides the privileges which Archbishop Plegmund and Bishop Werfrith enjoyed in Mercia. By their teaching and wisdom the king's desires increased unceasingly, and were gratified. Night and day, whenever he had leisure, he commanded such men as these to read books to him, for he never suffered himself to be without one of them; wherefore he possessed a knowledge of every book, though of himself he could not yet understand anything of books, for he had not yet learned to read anything.[280] [Sidenote: Grimbald and John brought from the continent] But the king's commendable desire could not be gratified even in this; wherefore he sent messengers beyond the sea to Gaul, to procure teachers, and he invited from thence Grimbald,[281] priest and monk, a venerable man and good singer, adorned with every kind of ecclesiastical training and good morals, and most learned in holy Scripture. He also obtained from thence John,[282] also priest and monk, a man of most energetic talents, and learned in all kinds of literary science, and skilled in many other arts. By the teaching of these men the king's mind was much enlarged, and he enriched and honored them with much influence. [Sidenote: Alfred writes to Bishop Werfrith on the state of learning in England] (b) King Alfred greets Bishop Werfrith with loving words and with friendship. I let it be known to thee that it has very often come into my mind what wise men there formerly were throughout England, both within the Church and without it; also what happy times there were then and how the kings who had power over the nation in those days obeyed God and His ministers; how they cherished peace, morality, and order at home, and at the same time enlarged their territory abroad; and how they prospered both in war and in wisdom. Often have I thought, also, of the sacred orders, how zealous they were both in teaching and learning, and in all the services they owed to God; and how foreigners came to this land in search of wisdom and instruction, which things we should now have to get from abroad if we were to have them at all. So general became the decay of learning in England that there were very few on this side of the Humber[283] who could understand the rituals[284] in English, or translate a letter from Latin into English; and I believe that there were not many beyond the Humber who could do these things. There were so few, in fact, that I cannot remember a single person south of the Thames when I came to the throne. Thanks be to Almighty God that we now have some teachers among us. And therefore I enjoin thee to free thyself, as I believe thou art ready to do, from worldly matters, that thou mayst apply the wisdom which God has given thee wherever thou canst. Consider what punishments would come upon us if we neither loved wisdom ourselves nor allowed other men to obtain it. We should then care for the name only of Christian, and have regard for very few of the Christian virtues. [Sidenote: Learning in the days before the Danish invasions] When I thought of all this I remembered also how I saw the country before it had been all ravaged and burned; how the churches throughout the whole of England stood filled with treasures and books. There was also a great multitude of God's servants, but they had very little knowledge of books, for they could not understand anything in them because they were not written in their own language.[285] When I remembered all this I wondered extremely that the good and wise men who were formerly all over England and had learned perfectly all the books, did not wish to translate them into their own language. But again I soon answered myself and said: "Their own desire for learning was so great that they did not suppose that men would ever become so indifferent and that learning would ever so decay; and they wished, moreover, that wisdom in this land might increase with our knowledge of languages." Then I remembered how the law was first known in Hebrew and when the Greeks had learned it how they translated the whole of it into their own tongue,[286] and all other books besides. And again the Romans, when they had learned it, translated the whole of it into their own language.[287] And also all other Christian nations translated a part of it into their languages. [Sidenote: Plan to translate Latin books into English] Therefore it seems better to me, if you agree, for us also to translate some of the books which are most needful for all men to know into the language which we can all understand. It shall be your duty to see to it, as can easily be done if we have tranquility enough,[288] that all the free-born youth now in England, who are rich enough to be able to devote themselves to it, be set to learn as long as they are not fit for any other occupation, until they are well able to read English writing. And let those afterwards be taught more in the Latin language who are to continue learning and be promoted to a higher rank. [Sidenote: The translation of Pope Gregory's Pastoral Care] When I remembered how the knowledge of Latin had decayed through England, and yet that many could read English writing, I began, among other various and manifold troubles of this kingdom, to translate into English the book which is called in Latin _Pastoralis_, and in English _The Shepherd's Book_, sometimes word for word, and sometimes according to the sense, as I had learned it from Plegmund, my archbishop, and Asser, my bishop, and Grimbald, my mass-priest, and John, my mass-priest. And when I had learned it, as I could best understand it and most clearly interpret it, I translated it into English. I will send a copy of this book to every bishopric in my kingdom, and on each copy there shall be a clasp worth fifty mancuses.[289] And I command in God's name that no man take the clasp from the book, or the book from the minster.[290] It is uncertain how long there may be such learned bishops as, thanks be to God, there now are almost everywhere; therefore, I wish these copies always to remain in their places, unless the bishop desires to take them with him, or they be loaned out anywhere, or any one wishes to make a copy of them. 32. Alfred's Laws Here are a few characteristic laws included by Alfred in the code which he drew up on the basis of old customs and the laws of some of the earlier Saxon kings. On the nature of the law of the early Germanic peoples, see p. 59. Source--Text in Benjamin Thorpe, _The Ancient Laws and Institutes of England_ (London, 1840), pp. 20-44 _passim_. If any one smite his neighbor with a stone, or with his fist, and he nevertheless can go out with a staff, let him get him a physician and do his work as long as he himself cannot. If an ox gore a man or a woman, so that they die, let it be stoned, and let not its flesh be eaten. The owner shall not be liable if the ox were wont to push with its horns for two or three days before, and he knew it not; but if he knew it, and would not shut it in, and it then shall have slain a man or a woman, let it be stoned; and let the master be slain, or the person killed be paid for, as the "witan"[291] shall decree to be right. Injure ye not the widows and the stepchildren, nor hurt them anywhere; for if ye do otherwise they will cry unto me and I will hear them, and I will slay you with my sword; and I will cause that your own wives shall be widows, and your children shall be stepchildren. If a man strike out another's eye, let him pay sixty shillings, and six shillings, and six pennies, and a third part of a penny, as 'bot.'[292] If it remain in the head, and he cannot see anything with it, let one-third of the 'bot' be remitted. [Sidenote: Penalties for various crimes of violence] If a man strike out another's tooth in the front of his head, let him make 'bot' for it with eight shillings; if it be the canine tooth, let four shillings be paid as 'bot.' A man's grinder is worth fifteen shillings. If the shooting finger be struck off, the 'bot' is fifteen shillings; for its nail it is four shillings. If a man maim another's hand outwardly, let twenty shillings be paid him as 'bot,' if he can be healed; if it half fly off, then shall forty shillings be paid as 'bot.' FOOTNOTES: [257] That is, Ethelred I., whom Alfred succeeded. [258] Wiltshire, on the southern coast, west of the Isle of Wight. [259] The same as the modern city of the name. [260] Mercia was one of the seven old Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. It lay east of Wales. [261] This marked a radical departure in methods of fighting the invaders. On the continent, and hitherto in England, there had been no effort to prevent the enemy from getting into the country they proposed to plunder. Alfred's creation of a navy was one of his wisest acts. Although the English had by this time grown comparatively unaccustomed to seafaring life they contrived to win their first naval encounter with the enemy. [262] In Dorsetshire. [263] Athelney was in Somersetshire, northeast of Exeter, in the marshes at the junction of the Tone and the Parret. [264] The modern Brixton Deverill, in Wiltshire, near Warminster. [265] In Wiltshire, a little east of Westbury. In January the Danes had removed from Exeter to Chippenham. Edington (or Ethandune) was eight miles from the camp at the latter place. The Danes were first defeated in an open battle at Edington, and then forced to surrender after a fourteen days' siege at Chippenham. [266] This so-called "Peace of Alfred and Guthrum" in 878 provided only for the acceptance of Christianity by the Danish leader. It is sometimes known as the treaty of Chippenham and is not to be confused with the treaty of Wedmore, of a few weeks later, by which Alfred and Guthrum divided the English country between them. The text of this second treaty will be found in Lee's _Source-Book of English History_ (pp. 98-99), though the introductory statement there given is somewhat misleading. This assignment of the Danelaw to Guthrum's people may well be compared with the yielding of Normandy to Rollo by Charles the Simple in 911 [see p. 172]. [267] Ethelwerd was Alfred's fifth living child. [268] This was, of course, not a school in the modern sense of the word. All that is meant is simply that young Ethelwerd, along with sons of nobles and non-nobles, received instruction from the learned men at the court. It had been customary before Alfred's day for the young princes and sons of nobles to receive training at the court, but not in letters. [269] This was Edward the Elder who succeeded Alfred as king and reigned from 901 to 925. He was Alfred's eldest son. [270] Ælfthryth was Alfred's fourth child. She became the wife of Baldwin II. of Flanders. [271] Among other labors in behalf of learning, Alfred made a collection of the ancient epics and lyrics of the Saxon people. Unfortunately, except in the case of the epic Beowulf, only fragments of these have survived. Beowulf was, so far as we know, the earliest of the Saxon poems, having originated before the migration to Britain, though it was probably put in its present form by a Christian monk of the eighth century. [272] Armorica was the name applied in Alfred's time to the region southward from the mouth of the Seine to Brittany. [273] There is a good deal of independent evidence that Alfred was peculiarly hospitable to foreigners. He delighted in learning from them about their peoples and experiences. [274] The word in the original is _ministeriales_. It is not Saxon but Franco-Latin and is an instance of the Frankish element in Asser's vocabulary. Here, as among the Franks, the _ministeriales_ were the officials of second-rate importance surrounding the king, the highest being known as the _ministri_. [275] This comparison of the gathering of learning to the operations of a bee in collecting honey is very common among classical writers and also among those of the Carolingian renaissance. It occurs in Lucretius, Seneca, Macrobius, Alcuin, and the poet Candidus. [276] Plegmund became archbishop of Canterbury in 890, but it is probable that he was with Alfred some time before his election to the primacy. [277] This Ethelstan was probably the person of that name who was consecrated bishop of Ramsbury in 909. [278] From another document it appears that Werwulf was a friend of Bishop Werfrith in Mercia before either took up residence at Alfred's court. [279] In Chap. 104 of Asser's biography the _capellani_ are described as supplying the king with candles, by whose burning he measured time. The word _capellanus_ is of pure Frankish origin and was originally applied to the clerks (_clerici capellani_) who were charged with the custody of the cope (_cappa_) of St. Martin, which was kept in the _capella_. From this the term _capella_ came to mean a room especially devoted to religious uses, that is, a chapel. It was used in this sense as early as 829 in Frankland. Whether by _capellanus_ Asser meant mere clerks, or veritable "chaplains" in the later sense, cannot be known, though his usage was probably the latter. [280] Chapter 87 of Asser informs us that Alfred mastered the art of reading in the year 887. [281] Grimbald came from the Flemish monastery of St. Bertin at St. Omer. He was recommended to Alfred by Fulco, archbishop of Rheims, who had once been abbot of St. Bertin. We do not know in what year Grimbald went to England, though there is some evidence that it was not far from 887. [282] John the Old Saxon is mentioned by Alfred as his mass-priest. It is probable that he came from the abbey of Corbei on the upper Weser. Not much is known about the man, but if he was as learned as Asser says he was, he must have been a welcome addition to Alfred's group of scholars particularly as the language which he used was very similar to that of the West Saxons in England. [283] That is, south of the Humber. [284] The service of the Church. [285] They were written, of course, in Latin. [286] By the middle of the third century A.D. as many as three different translations of the Old Testament into Greek had been made--those of Aquila, Theodotion, and Symmochus. These eventually took fixed shape in the so-called Septuagint version of the Old Testament. [287] About the year 385 St. Jerome revised the older Latin translation of the New Testament and translated the Old Testament directly from the Hebrew. This complete version gradually superseded all others for the whole Latin-reading Church, being known as the "Vulgate," that is, the version commonly accepted. It was in the form of the Vulgate that the Scriptures were known to the Saxons and all other peoples of western Europe. [288] In other words, sufficient relief from the Danish incursions. [289] The _mancus_ was a Saxon money value equivalent to a mark. [290] A minster was a church attached to a monastery. [291] The witan was the gathering of "wisemen"--members of the royal family, high officials in the Church, and leading nobles--about the Anglo-Saxon king to assist in making ordinances and supervising the affairs of state. [292] Compensation rendered to an injured person. CHAPTER XII. THE ORDEAL 33. Tests by Hot Water, Cold Water, and Fire Among the early Germans the settling of disputes and the testing of the guilt or innocence of an accused person were generally accomplished through the employment of one or both of two very interesting judicial practices--compurgation and the ordeal. According to the German conception of justice, when one person was accused of wrongdoing by another and chose to defend himself, he was not under obligation to prove directly that he did not commit the alleged misdeed; rather it was his business to produce, if he could, a sufficient number of persons who would take oath that they believed the accused to be a trustworthy man and that he was telling the truth when he denied that he was guilty. The persons brought forward to take this oath were known as compurgators, or "co-swearers," and the legal act thus performed was called compurgation. The number of compurgators required to free a man was usually from seven to twelve, though it varied greatly among different tribes and according to the rank of the parties involved. Naturally they were likely to be relatives or friends of the accused man, though it was not essential that they be such. It was in no wise expected that they be able to give facts or evidence regarding the case; in other words, they were not to serve at all as witnesses, such as are called in our courts to-day. If the accused succeeded in producing the required number of compurgators, and they took the oath in a satisfactory manner, the defendant was usually declared to be innocent and the case was dropped. If, however, the compurgators were not forthcoming, or there appeared some irregularity in their part of the procedure, resort would ordinarily be had to the ordeal. The ordeal was essentially an appeal to the gods for decision between two contending parties. It was based on the belief that the gods would not permit an innocent person to suffer by reason of an unjust accusation and that when the opportunity was offered under certain prescribed conditions the divine power would indicate who was in the right and who in the wrong. The ordeal, having its origin far back in the times when the Germans were pagans and before their settlements in the Roman Empire, was retained in common usage after the Christianizing and civilizing of the barbarian tribes. The administering of it simply passed from the old pagan priests to the Christian clergy, and the appeals were directed to the Christian's God instead of to Woden and Thor. Under Christian influence, the wager of battle (or personal combat to settle judicial questions), which had been exceedingly common, was discouraged as much as possible, and certain new modes of appeal to divine authority were introduced. Throughout the earlier Middle Ages the chief forms of the ordeal were: (1) the ordeal by walking through fire; (2) the ordeal by hot iron, in which the accused either carried a piece of hot iron a certain distance in his hands or walked barefoot over pieces of the same material; (3) the ordeal by hot water, in which the accused was required to plunge his bared arm into boiling water and bring forth a stone or other object from the bottom; (4) the ordeal by cold water, in which the accused was thrown, bound hand and foot, into a pond or stream, to sink if he were innocent, to float if he were guilty; (5) the ordeal of the cross, in which the accuser and accused stood with arms outstretched in the form of a cross until one of them could endure the strain of the unnatural attitude no longer; (6) the ordeal of the sacrament, in which the accused partook of the sacrament, the idea being that divine vengeance would certainly fall upon him in so doing if he were guilty; (7) the ordeal of the bread and cheese, in which the accused, made to swallow morsels of bread and cheese, was expected to choke if he were guilty; and (8) the judicial combat, which was generally reserved for freemen, and which, despite the opposition of the Church, did not die out until the end of the mediæval period. The three passages quoted below illustrate, respectively, the ordeal by hot water, by cold water, and by fire. The first (a) is a story told by the Frankish historian Gregory of Tours [see p. 46]. The second (b) is an explanation of the cold water ordeal written by Hincmar, an archbishop of Rheims in the ninth century. The third (c) is an account, by Raymond of Agiles, of how Peter Bartholomew was put to the test by the ordeal of fire. This incident occurred at Antioch during the first crusade. Peter Bartholomew had just discovered a lance which he claimed was the one thrust into the side of Christ at the crucifixion and, some of the crusaders being skeptical as to the genuineness of the relic, the discoverer was submitted to the ordeal by fire to test the matter. Sources--(a) Gregorius Episcopus Turonensis, _Libri Miraculorum_ [Gregory of Tours, "Books of Miracles"], Chap. 80. Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Scriptores Merovingicarum_, Vol. I., p. 542. Translated by Arthur C. Howland in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 4, pp. 10-11. (b) Hincmari Archiepiscopi Rhemensis, _De divortio Lotharii regis et Tetbergæ reginæ_ [Hincmar, Archbishop of Rheims, "The Divorce of King Lothair and Queen Teutberga"], Chap. 6. Text in Migne, _Patroligiæ Cursus Completus_, Second Series, Vol. CXXV., cols. 668-669. Translated by Arthur C. Howland, _ibid_. (c) Raimundus de Agiles, _Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Jerusalem_ [Raimond of Agiles, "History of the Franks who captured Jerusalem"], Chap. 18. Text in Migne, _Patrologiæ Cursus Completus_, Second Series, Vol. CLV., cols. 619-621. [Sidenote: A challenge to the ordeal by hot water] [Sidenote: Preparations for the ordeal] [Sidenote: Result of the ordeal] An Arian presbyter, disputing with a deacon of our religion, made venomous assertions against the Son of God and the Holy Ghost, as is the habit of that sect.[293] But when the deacon had discoursed a long time concerning the reasonableness of our faith, and the heretic, blinded by the fog of unbelief, continued to reject the truth (according as it is written, "Wisdom shall not enter the mind of the wicked") the former said: "Why weary ourselves with long discussions? Let acts demonstrate the truth. Let a kettle be heated over the fire and some one's ring be thrown into the boiling water. Let him who shall take it from the heated liquid be approved as a follower of the truth, and afterwards let the other party be converted to the knowledge of this truth. And do thou understand, O heretic, that this our party will fulfill the conditions with the aid of the Holy Ghost; thou shalt confess that there is no inequality, no dissimilarity, in the Holy Trinity." The heretic consented to the proposition and they separated, after appointing the next morning for the trial. But the fervor of faith in which the deacon had first made this suggestion began to cool through the instigation of the enemy [i.e., Satan]. Rising with the dawn, he bathed his arm in oil and smeared it with ointment. But nevertheless he made the round of the sacred places and called in prayer on the Lord. What more shall I say? About the third hour they met in the market place. The people came together to see the show. A fire was lighted, the kettle was placed upon it, and when it grew very hot the ring was thrown into the boiling water. The deacon invited the heretic to take it out of the water first. But he promptly refused, saying, "Thou who didst propose this trial art the one to take it out." The deacon, all of a tremble, bared his arm. And when the heretic presbyter saw it besmeared with ointment he cried out: "With magic arts thou hast thought to protect thyself, that thou hast made use of these salves, but what thou hast done will not avail." While they were thus quarreling, there came up a deacon from Ravenna named Iacinthus, who inquired what the trouble was about. When he learned the truth, he drew his arm out from under his robe at once and plunged his right hand into the kettle. Now the ring that had been thrown in was a little thing and very light, so that it was tossed about by the water as chaff would be blown about by the wind; and, searching for it a long time, he found it after about an hour. Meanwhile the flame beneath the kettle blazed up mightily, so that the greater heat might make it difficult for the ring to be followed by the hand; but the deacon extracted it at length and suffered no harm, protesting rather that at the bottom the kettle was cold while at the top it was just pleasantly warm. When the heretic beheld this, he was greatly confused and audaciously thrust his hand into the kettle saying, "My faith will aid me." As soon as his hand had been thrust in, all the flesh was boiled off the bones clear up to the elbow. And so the dispute ended. [Sidenote: How the ordeal of cold water is to be conducted] (b) Now the one about to be examined is bound by a rope and cast into the water because, as it is written, "each one shall be holden with the cords of his iniquity." And it is manifest that he is bound for two reasons, namely, that he may not be able to practice any fraud in connection with the judgment, and that he may be drawn out at the right time if the water should receive him as innocent, so that he perish not. For as we read that Lazarus, who had been dead four days (by whom is signified each one buried under a load of crimes), was buried wrapped in bandages and, bound by the same bands, came forth from the sepulchre at the word of the Lord and was loosed by the disciples at His command; so he who is to be examined by this judgment is cast into the water bound, and is drawn forth again bound, and is either immediately set free by the decree of the judges, being purged, or remains bound until the time of his purgation and is then examined by the court.... And in this ordeal of cold water whoever, after the invocation of God, who is the Truth, seeks to hide the truth by a lie, cannot be submerged in the waters above which the voice of the Lord God has thundered; for the pure nature of the water recognizes as impure, and therefore rejects as inconsistent with itself, such human nature as has once been regenerated by the waters of baptism and is again infected by falsehood. [Sidenote: Preparations for the ordeal by fire] (c) All these things were pleasing to us and, having enjoined on him a fast, we declared that a fire should be prepared upon the day on which the Lord was beaten with stripes and put upon the cross for our salvation. And the fourth day thereafter was the day before the Sabbath. So when the appointed day came round, a fire was prepared after the noon hour. The leaders and the people to the number of 60,000 came together. The priests were there also with bare feet, clothed in ecclesiastical garments. The fire was made of dry olive branches, covering a space thirteen feet long; and there were two piles, with a space about a foot wide between them. The height of these piles was four feet. Now when the fire had been kindled so that it burned fiercely, I, Raimond, in the presence of the whole multitude, said: "If Omnipotent God has spoken to this man face to face, and the blessed Andrew has shown him our Lord's lance while he was keeping his vigil,[294] let him go through the fire unharmed. But if it is false, let him be burned, together with the lance, which he is to carry in his hand." And all responded on bended knees, "Amen." [Sidenote: Peter Bartholomew passes through the flames] The fire was growing so hot that the flames shot up thirty cubits high into the air and scarcely any one dared approach it. Then Peter Bartholomew, clothed only in his tunic and kneeling before the bishop of Albar,[295] called God to witness that "he had seen Him face to face on the cross, and that he had heard from Him those things above written."... Then, when the bishop had placed the lance in his hand, he knelt and made the sign of the cross and entered the fire with the lance, firm and unterrified. For an instant's time he paused in the midst of the flames, and then by the grace of God passed through.... But when Peter emerged from the fire so that neither his tunic was burned nor even the thin cloth with which the lance was wrapped up had shown any sign of damage, the whole people received him, after he had made over them the sign of the cross with the lance in his hand and had cried, "God help us!" All the people, I say, threw themselves upon him and dragged him to the ground and trampled on him, each one wishing to touch him, or to get a piece of his garment, and each thinking him near some one else. And so he received three or four wounds in the legs where the flesh was torn away, his back was injured, and his sides bruised. Peter had died on the spot, as we believe, had not Raimond Pelet, a brave and noble soldier, broken through the wild crowd with a band of friends and rescued him at the peril of their lives.... After this, Peter died in peace at the hour appointed to him by God, and journeyed to the Lord; and he was buried in the place where he had carried the lance of the Lord through the fire.[296] FOOTNOTES: [293] The principal difference between Arian and orthodox Christians arose out of the much discussed problem as to whether Jesus was of the same substance as God and co-eternal with Him. The Arians maintained that while Jesus was truly the Son of God, He must necessarily have been inferior to the Father, else there would be two gods. Arianism was formally condemned by the Council of Nicaea in 325, but it continued to be the prevalent belief in many parts of the Roman Empire; and when the Germans became Christians, it was Christianity of the Arian type (except in the case of the Franks) that they adopted--because it happened to be this creed that the missionaries carried to them. The Franks became orthodox Christians, which in part explains their close relations with the papacy in the earlier Middle Ages [see p. 50]. Of course Gregory of Tours, who relates the story of the Arian presbyter, as a Frank, was a hater of Arianism, and therefore we need not be surprised at the expressions of contempt which he employs in referring to "the heretic." [294] The story as told by Raimond of Agiles was that Peter Bartholomew had been visited by Andrew the Apostle, who had revealed to him the spot where the lance lay buried beneath the Church of St. Peter in Antioch. [295] Albar, or Albara, was a town southeast of Antioch, beyond the Orontes. [296] Owing to Peter's early death after undergoing the ordeal, a serious controversy arose as to whether he had really passed through it without injury from the fire. His friends ascribed his death to the wounds he had received from the enthusiastic crowd, but his enemies declared that he died from burns. CHAPTER XIII. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM 34. Older Institutions Involving Elements of Feudalism The history of the feudal system in Europe makes up a very large part of the history of the Middle Ages, particularly of the period between the ninth and the fourteenth centuries. This is true because feudalism, in one way or another, touched almost every phase of the life of western Europe during this long era. More than anything else, it molded the conditions of government, the character and course of war, the administration of justice, the tenure of land, the manner of everyday life, and even the relations of the Church with sovereigns and people. "Coming into existence," says a French historian, "in the obscure period that followed the dissolution of the Carolingian empire, the feudal régime developed slowly, without the intervention of a government, without the aid of a written law, without any general understanding among individuals; rather only by a gradual transformation of customs, which took place sooner or later, but in about the same way, in France, Italy, Christian Spain, and Germany. Then, toward the end of the eleventh century, it was transplanted into England and into southern Italy, in the twelfth and thirteenth into the Latin states of the East, and beginning with the fourteenth into the Scandinavian countries. This régime, established thus not according to a general plan but by a sort of natural growth, never had forms and usages that were everywhere the same. It is impossible to gather it up into a perfectly exact picture, which would not be in contradiction to several cases."[297] The country in which feudalism reached its fullest perfection was France and most of the passages here given to illustrate the subject have to do with French life and institutions. In France, speaking generally, feudalism took shape during the ninth and tenth centuries, developed steadily until the thirteenth, and then slowly declined, leaving influences on society which have not yet all disappeared. When the system was complete--say by the tenth century--we can see in it three essential elements which may be described as the personal, the territorial, and the governmental. The personal element, in brief, was the relation between lord and vassal under which the former gave protection in return for the latter's fidelity. The territorial element was the benefice, or fief, granted to the vassal by the lord to be used on certain conditions by the former while the title to it remained with the latter. The governmental element was the rights of jurisdiction over his fief usually given by a lord to his vassal, especially if the fief were an important one. At one time it was customary to trace back all these features of the feudal system to the institutions of Rome. Later it became almost as customary to trace them to the institutions of the early Germans. But recent scholarship shows that it is quite unnecessary, in fact very misleading, to attempt to ascribe them wholly to either Roman or German sources, or even to both together. All that we can say is that in the centuries preceding the ninth these elements all existed in the society of western Europe and that, while something very like them ran far back into old Roman and German times, they existed in sixth and seventh century Europe primarily because conditions were then such as to _demand_ their existence. Short extracts to illustrate the most important of these old feudal elements are given below. It should constantly be borne in mind that no one of these things--whether vassalage, the benefice, or the immunity--was in itself feudalism. Most of them could, and did, exist separately, and it was only when they were united, as commonly became the case in the ninth and tenth centuries, that the word feudalism can properly be brought into use, and then only as applied to the complete product. (1) VASSALAGE For the personal element in feudalism it is possible to find two prototypes, one Roman and the other German. The first was the institution of the later Empire known as the _patrocinium_--the relation established between a powerful man (patron) and a weak one (client) when the latter pledged himself to perform certain services for the former in return for protection. The second was the German _comitatus_--a band of young warriors who lived with a prince or noble and went on campaigns under his leadership. The _patrocinium_ doubtless survived in Roman Gaul long after the time of the Frankish invasion, but it is not likely that the _comitatus_ ever played much part in that country. It seems that, with the exception of the king, the Frankish men of influence did not have bands of personal followers after the settlement on Roman soil. But, wholly aside from earlier practices, the conditions which the conquest, and the later struggles of the rival kings, brought about made it still necessary for many men who could not protect themselves or their property to seek the favor of some one who was strong enough to give them aid. The name which came to be applied to the act of establishing this personal relation was _commendation_. The man who promised the protection was the lord, and the man who pledged himself to serve the lord and be faithful to him was the _homo_, after the eighth century known as the vassal (_vassus_). In the eighth century, when the power of the Merovingian kings was ebbing away and the people were left to look out for themselves, large numbers entered into the vassal relation; and in the ninth century, when Carolingian power was likewise running low and the Northmen, Hungarians, and Saracens were ravaging the country, scarcely a free man was left who did not secure for himself the protection of a lord. The relation of vassalage was first recognized as legal in the capitularies of Charlemagne. Here is a Frankish formula of commendation dating from the seventh century--practically a blank application in which the names of the prospective lord and vassal could be inserted as required. Source--Eugene de Rozière, _Recueil Général des Formules usitées dans l'Empire des Francs du Ve au Xe siècle_ ["General Collection of Formulae employed in the Frankish Empire from the Fifth to the Tenth Century"], Vol. I., p. 69. Translated by Edward P. Cheyney in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 3, pp. 3-4. To that magnificent lord ----, I, ----. Since it is well known to all how little I have wherewith to feed and clothe myself, I have therefore petitioned your piety, and your good-will has decreed to me, that I should hand myself over, or commend myself, to your guardianship, which I have thereupon done; that is to say, in this way, that you should aid and succor me, as well with food as with clothing, according as I shall be able to serve you and deserve it. And so long as I shall live I ought to provide service and honor to you, compatible with my free condition;[298] and I shall not, during the time of my life, have the right to withdraw from your control or guardianship; but must remain during the days of my life under your power or defense. Wherefore it is proper that if either of us shall wish to withdraw himself from these agreements, he shall pay ---- shillings to the other party, and this agreement shall remain unbroken.[299] (Wherefore it is fitting that they should make or confirm between themselves two letters drawn up in the same form on this matter; which they have thus done.) (2) THE BENEFICE The benefice, or grant of land to a vassal by a lord, by the Church, or by the king, had its origin among the Franks in what were known as the _precaria_ of the Church. At the time of the Frankish settlement in Gaul, it was quite customary for the Church to grant land to men in answer to _preces_ ("prayers," or requests), on condition that it might be recalled at any time and that the temporary holder should be unable to enforce any claims as against the owner. For the use of such land a small rent in money, in produce, or in service was usually paid. This form of tenure among the Franks was at first restricted to church lands, but by the eighth century lay owners, even the king himself, had come to employ it. The term _precarium_ dropped out of use and all such grants, by whomsoever made, came to be known as benefices ("benefits," or "favors"). The ordinary vassal might or might not once have had land in his own name, but if he had such he was expected to give over the ownership of it to his lord and receive it back as a benefice to be used on certain prescribed conditions. In time it became common, too, for lords to grant benefices out of their own lands to landless vassals. A man could be a vassal without having a benefice, but rarely, at least after the eighth century, could he have a benefice without entering into the obligations of vassalage. Benefices were at first granted by the Church with the understanding that they might be recalled at any time; later they were granted by Church, kings, and seigniors for life, or for a certain term of years; and finally, in the ninth and tenth centuries, they came generally to be regarded as hereditary. By the time the hereditary principle had been established, the name "fief" (_feodum_, _feudum_--whence our word feudal) had supplanted the older term "benefice." The tendency of the personal element of vassalage and the territorial element of the benefice, or fief, to merge was very strong, and by the tenth century nearly every vassal was also a fief-holder. The following formulæ belong to the seventh century. The first (a) is for the grant of lands to a church or monastery; the second (b) for their return to the grantor as a _precarium_--or what was known a century later as a benefice. Source--Eugène de Rozière, _Recueil Général des Formules_, Vol. I., p. 473. Translated by E. P. Cheyney in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 3, pp. 6-8. [Sidenote: Description of property yielded to a church or monastery] [Sidenote: Terms of the contract] [Sidenote: Penalty for faithlessness] (a) I, ----, in the name of God. I have settled in my mind that I ought, for the good of my soul, to make a gift of something from my possessions, which I have therefore done. And this is what I hand over, in the district named ----, in the place of which the name is ----, all those possessions of mine which there my father left me at his death, and which, as against my brothers, or as against my co-heirs, the lot legitimately brought me in the division,[300] or those which I was able afterward to add to them in any way, in their whole completeness, that is to say, the courtyard with its buildings, with slaves, houses, lands (cultivated and uncultivated), meadows, woods, waters, mills, etc. These, as I have said before, with all the things adjacent or belonging to them, I hand over to the church, which was built in honor of Saint ----, to the monastery which is called ----, where the Abbot ---- is acknowledged to rule regularly over God's flock. On these conditions: that so long as life remains in my body, I shall receive from you as a benefice for usufruct the possessions above described, and the due payment I will make to you and your successors each year, that is ---- [amount named]. And my son shall have the same possessions for the days of his life, and shall make the above-named payment; and if my children should survive me, they shall have the same possessions during the days of their lives and shall make the same payment; and if God shall give me a son from a legitimate wife, he shall have the same possessions for the days of his life only, after the death of whom the same possessions, with all their improvements, shall return to your hands to be held forever; and if it should be my chance to beget sons from a legitimate marriage, these shall hold the same possessions after my death, making the above-named payment, during the time of their lives. If not, however, after my death, without subterfuge of any kind, by right of your authority, the same possessions shall revert to you, to be retained forever. If any one, however (which I do not believe will ever occur)--if I myself, or any other person--shall wish to violate the firmness and validity of this grant, the order of truth opposing him, may his falsity in no degree succeed; and for his bold attempt may he pay to the aforesaid monastery double the amount which his ill-ordered cupidity has been prevented from abstracting; and moreover let him be indebted to the royal authority for ---- solidi of gold; and, nevertheless, let the present charter remain inviolate with all that it contains, with the witnesses placed below. Done in ----, publicly, those who are noted below being present, or the remaining innumerable multitude of people. [Sidenote: The property again described] [Sidenote: Returned to the original owner to be used by him] (b) In the name of God, I, Abbot ----, with our commissioned brethren. Since it is not unknown how you, ----, by the suggestion of divine exhortation, did grant to ---- [monastery named], to the church which is known to be constructed in honor of Saint ----, where we by God's authority exercise our pastoral care, all your possessions which you seemed to have in the district named, in the vill [village] named, which your father on his death bequeathed to you there, or which by your own labor you were able to gain there, or which, as against your brother or against ----, a co-heir, a just division gave you, with courtyard and buildings, gardens and orchards, with various slaves, ---- by name, houses, lands, meadows, woods (cultivated and uncultivated), or with all the dependencies and appurtenances belonging to it, which it would be extremely long to enumerate, in all their completeness; but afterwards, at your request, it has seemed proper to us to cede to you the same possessions to be held for usufruct; and you will not neglect to pay at annual periods the due _census_ [i.e., the rental] hence, that is ---- [amount named]. And if God should give you a son by your legal wife, he shall have the same possessions for the days of his life only, and shall not presume to neglect the above payment, and similarly your sons which you are seen to have at present, shall do for the days of their lives; after the death of whom, all the possessions above-named shall revert to us and our successors perpetually. Moreover, if no sons shall have been begotten by you, immediately after your death, without any harmful contention, the possessions shall revert to the rulers or guardians of the above-named church, forever. Nor may any one, either ourselves or our successors, be successful in a rash attempt inordinately to destroy these agreements, but just as the time has demanded in the present _precaria_, may that be sure to endure unchanged which we, with the consent of our brothers, have decided to confirm. Done in ----, in the presence of ---- and of others whom it is not worth while to enumerate. [Seal of the same abbot who has ordered this _precaria_ to be made.] (3) THE IMMUNITY The most important element in the governmental phase of feudalism was what was known as the immunity. In Roman law immunity meant exemption from taxes and public services and belonged especially to the lands owned personally by the emperors. Such exemptions were, however, sometimes allowed to the lands of imperial officers and of men in certain professions, and in later times to the lands held by the Church. How closely this Roman immunity was connected with the feudal immunity of the Middle Ages is not clear. Doubtless the institution survived in Gaul, especially on church lands, long after the Frankish conquest. It is best, however, to look upon the typical Frankish immunity as of essentially independent origin. From the time of Clovis, the kings were accustomed to make grants of the sort to land-holding abbots and bishops, and by the time of Charlemagne nearly all such prelates had been thus favored. But such grants were not confined to ecclesiastics. Even in the seventh and eighth centuries lay holders of royal benefices often received the privileges of the immunity also. Speaking generally, the immunity exempted the lands to which it applied from the jurisdiction of the local royal officials, especially of the counts. The lands were supposed to be none the less ultimately subject to the royal authority, but by the grant of immunity the sovereign took their financial and judicial administration from the counts, who would ordinarily have charge, and gave it to the holders of the lands. The counts were forbidden to enter the specified territories to collect taxes or fines, hold courts, and sometimes even to arrange for military service. The layman, or the bishop, or the abbot, who held the lands performed these services and was responsible only to the crown for them. The king's chief object in granting the immunity was to reward or win the support of the grantees and to curtail the authority of his local representatives, who in many cases threatened to become too powerful for the good of the state; but by every such grant the sovereign really lost some of his own power, and this practice came to be in no small measure responsible for the weakness of monarchy in feudal times. The first of the extracts below (a) is a seventh-century formula for the grant of an immunity by the king to a bishop. The second (b) is a grant made by Charlemagne, in 779, confirming an old immunity enjoyed by the monastery at Châlons-sur-Saône. Sources--(a) Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Legum Sectio V., Formulæ_, Part I., pp. 43-44. (b) Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., p. 287. Adapted from translation in Ephraim Emerton, _Introduction to the Study of the Middle Ages_ (new ed., Boston, 1903), p. 246. [Sidenote: A formula for a grant of immunity] (a) We believe that we give our royal authority its full splendor if, with benevolent intentions, we bestow upon churches--or upon any persons--the favors which they merit, and if, with the aid of God, we give a written assurance of the continuance of these favors. We wish, then, to make known that at the request of a prelate, lord of ---- [the estate named] and bishop of ---- [the church named], we have accorded to him, for the sake of our eternal salvation, the following benefits: that in the domains of the bishop's church, both those which it possesses to-day and those which by God's grace it may later acquire, no public official shall be permitted to enter, either to hold courts or to exact fines, on any account; but let these prerogatives be vested in full in the bishop and his successors. We ordain therefore that neither you nor your subordinates,[301] nor those who come after you, nor any person endowed with a public office, shall ever enter the domains of that church, in whatever part of our kingdom they may be situated, either to hold trials or to collect fines. All the taxes and other revenues which the royal treasury has a right to demand from the people on the lands of the said church, whether they be freemen or slaves, Romans or barbarians, we now bestow on the said church for our future salvation, to be used by the officials of the church forever for the best interests of the church. (b) Charles, by the grace of God King of the Franks and Lombards and Patrician of the Romans, to all having charge of our affairs, both present and to come: By the help of the Lord, who has raised us to the throne of this kingdom, it is the chief duty of our clemency to lend a gracious ear to the need of all, and especially ought we devoutly to regard that which we are persuaded has been granted by preceding kings to church foundations for the saving of souls, and not to deny fitting benefits, in order that we may deserve to be partakers of the reward, but to confirm them in still greater security. [Sidenote: The old immunity enjoyed by the monastery at Châlons] Now the illustrious Hubert, bishop and ruler of the church of St. Marcellus, which lies below the citadel of Châlons,[302] where the precious martyr of the Lord himself rests in the body, has brought it to the attention of our Highness that the kings who preceded us, or our lord and father of blessed memory, Pepin, the preceding king, had by their charters granted complete immunities to that monastery, so that in the towns or on the lands belonging to it no public judge, nor any one with power of hearing cases or exacting fines, or raising sureties, or obtaining lodging or entertainment, or making requisitions of any kind, should enter. Moreover, the aforesaid bishop, Hubert, has presented the original charters of former kings, together with the confirmations of them, to be read by us, and declares the same favors to be preserved to the present day; but desiring the confirmation of our clemency, he prays that our authority may confirm this grant anew to the monastery. [Sidenote: =The immunity confirmed=] Wherefore, having inspected the said charters of former kings, we command that neither you, nor your subordinates, nor your successors, nor any person having judicial powers, shall presume to enter into the villages which may at the present time be in possession of that monastery, or which hereafter may have been bestowed by God-fearing men [or may be about to be so bestowed].[303] Let no public officer enter for the hearing of cases, or for exacting fines, or procuring sureties, or obtaining lodging or entertainment, or making any requisitions; but in full immunity, even as the favor of former kings has been continued down to the present day, so in the future also shall it, through our authority, remain undiminished. And if in times past, through any negligence of abbots, or luke-warmness of rulers, or the presumption of public officers, anything has been changed or taken away, removed or withdrawn, from these immunities, let it, by our authority and favor, be restored. And, further, let neither you nor your subordinates presume to infringe upon or violate what we have granted. [Sidenote: Penalties for its violation] But if there be any one, _dominus_,[304] _comes_ [count], _domesticus_,[305] _vicarius_,[306] or one vested with any judicial power whatsoever, by the indulgence of the good or by the favor of pious Christians or kings, who shall have presumed to infringe upon or violate these immunities, let him be punished with a fine of six hundred _solidi_,[307] two parts to go to the library of this monastery, and the third part to be paid into our treasury, so that impious men may not rejoice in violating that which our ancestors, or good Christians, may have conceded or granted. And whatever our treasury may have had a right to expect from this source shall go to the profit of the men of this church of St. Marcellus the martyr, to the better establishment of our kingdom and the good of those who shall succeed us. And that this decree may firmly endure we have ordered it to be confirmed with our own hand under our seal. 35. The Granting of Fiefs The most obvious feature of feudalism was a peculiar divided tenure of land under which the title was vested in one person and the use in another. The territorial unit was the fief, which in extent might be but a few acres, a whole county, or even a vast region like Normandy or Burgundy. Fiefs were granted to vassals by contracts which bound both grantor and grantee to certain specific obligations. The two extracts below are examples of the records of such feudal grants, bearing the dates 1167 and 1200 respectively. It should be remembered, however, that fiefs need not necessarily be land. Offices, payments of money, rights to collect tolls, and many other valuable things might be given by one man to another as fiefs in just the same way that land was given. Du Cange, in his _Glossarium Mediæ et Infimæ Latinitatis_, mentions eighty-eight different kinds of fiefs, and it has been said that this does not represent more than one-fourth of the total number. Nevertheless, the typical fief consisted of land. The term might therefore be defined in general as the land for which the vassal, or hereditary possessor, rendered to the lord, or hereditary proprietor, services of a special character which were considered honorable, such as military aid and attendance at courts. Sources--(a) Nicolas Brussel, _Nouvel Examen de l'Usage général des Fiefs en France pendant le XI, le XII, le XIII, et le XIVe Siècle_ ["New Examination of the Customs of Fiefs in the 11th, the 12th, the 13th, and the 14th Century"], Paris, 1727, Vol. I., p. 3, note. Translated by Edward P. Cheyney in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 3, pp. 15-16. (b) Maximilien Quantin, _Recueil de Pièces du XIIIe Siècle_ ["Collection of Documents of the Thirteenth Century"], Auxerre, 1873, No. 2, pp. 1-2. Translated by Cheyney, _ibid._ [Sidenote: The count of Champagne grants a fief to the bishop of Beauvais] (a) In the name of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, Amen. I, Louis,[308] by the grace of God king of the French, make known to all present as well as to come, that at Mante in our presence, Count Henry of Champagne[309] conceded the fief of Savigny to Bartholomew, bishop of Beauvais,[310] and his successors. And for that fief the said bishop has made promise and engagement for one knight and justice and service to Count Henry;[311] and he also agreed that the bishops who shall come after him will do likewise. In order that this may be understood and known to posterity we have caused the present charter to be attested by our seal. Done at Mante, in the year of the Incarnate Word, 1167; present in our palace those whose names and seals are appended: seal of Thiebault, our steward; seal of Guy, the butler; seal of Matthew, the chamberlain; seal of Ralph, the constable. Given by the hand of Hugh, the chancellor. [Sidenote: A grant by Count Thiebault] (b) I, Thiebault, count palatine of Troyes,[312] make known to those present and to come that I have given in fee[313] to Jocelyn d'Avalon and his heirs the manor which is called Gillencourt,[314] which is of the castellanerie[315] of La Ferté-sur-Aube; and whatever the same Jocelyn shall be able to acquire in the same manor I have granted to him and his heirs in enlargement of that fief. I have granted, moreover, to him that in no free manor of mine will I retain men who are of this gift.[316] The same Jocelyn, moreover, on account of this has become my liege man, saving, however, his allegiance to Gerad d'Arcy, and to the lord duke of Burgundy, and to Peter, count of Auxerre.[317] Done at Chouaude, by my own witness, in the year of the Incarnation of our Lord 1200, in the month of January. Given by the hand of Walter, my chancellor. 36. The Ceremonies of Homage and Fealty The personal relation between lord and vassal was established by the double ceremony of homage and fealty. Homage was the act by which the vassal made himself the man (_homo_) of the lord, while fealty was the oath of fidelity to the obligations which must ordinarily be assumed by such a man. The two were really distinct, though because they almost invariably went together they finally became confounded in the popular mind. The details of the ceremonies varied much in different times and places, but, in general, when homage was to be performed, the prospective vassal presented himself before his future seigneur bareheaded and without arms; knelt, placed his hands in those of the seigneur, and declared himself his man; then he was kissed by the seigneur and lifted to his feet. In the act of fealty, the vassal placed his hand upon sacred relics, or upon the Bible, and swore eternal faithfulness to his seigneur. The so-called "act of investiture" generally followed, the seigneur handing over to the vassal a bit of turf, a stick, or some other object symbolizing the transfer of the usufruct of the property in question. The whole process was merely a mode of establishing a binding contract between the two parties. Below we have: (_a_) a mediæval definition of homage, taken from the customary law of Normandy; (_b_) an explanation of fealty, given in an old English law-book; (_c_) a French chronicler's account of the rendering of homage and fealty to the count of Flanders in the year 1127; and (_d_) a set of laws governing homage and fealty, written down in a compilation of the ordinances of Saint Louis (king of France, 1226-1270), but doubtless showing substantially the practice in France for a long time before King Louis's day. Sources--(a) _L'Ancienne Coutume de Normandie_ ["The Old Custom of Normandy"], Chap. 29. (b) Sir Thomas Lyttleton, _Treatise of Tenures in French and English_ (London, 1841), Bk. II., Chap. 2, p. 123. (c) Galbert de Bruges, _De Multro, Traditione, et Occisione gloriosi Karoli comitis Flandriarum_ ["Concerning the Murder, Betrayal, and Death of the glorious Charles, Count of Flanders"]. Text in Henri Pirenne, _Histoire du Meurtre de Charles le Bon, comte de Flandre, par Galbert de Bruges_ (Paris, 1891). Translated by Edward P. Cheyney in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 3, p. 18. (d) _Les Établissements de Saint Louis_ ["The Ordinances of St. Louis"], Bk. II., Chap. 19. Text in Paul Viollet's edition (Paris, 1881), Vol. II., pp. 395-398. [Sidenote: A Norman definition of homage] (a) Homage is a pledge to keep faith in respect to matters that are right and necessary, and to give counsel and aid. He who would do homage ought to place his hands between those of the man who is to be his lord, and speak these words: "I become your man, to keep faith with you against all others, saving my allegiance to the duke of Normandy." [Sidenote: The oath of fealty] (b) And when a free tenant shall swear fealty to his lord, let him place his right hand on the book[318] and speak thus: "Hear thou this, my lord, that I will be faithful and loyal to you and will keep my pledges to you for the lands which I claim to hold of you, and that I will loyally perform for you the services specified, so help me God and the saints." Then he shall kiss the book; but he shall not kneel when he swears fealty, nor take so humble a posture as is required in homage. (c) Through the whole remaining part of the day those who had been previously enfeoffed by the most pious count Charles, did homage to the count,[319] taking up now again their fiefs and offices and whatever they had before rightfully and legitimately obtained. On Thursday, the seventh of April, homages were again made to the count, being completed in the following order of faith and security: [Sidenote: The rendering of homage and fealty to the count of Flanders] First they did their homage thus. The count asked if he was willing to become completely his man, and the other replied, "I am willing"; and with clasped hands, surrounded by the hands of the count, they were bound together by a kiss. Secondly, he who had done homage gave his fealty to the representative of the count in these words, "I promise on my faith that I will in future be faithful to Count William, and will observe my homage to him completely, against all persons, in good faith and without deceit." Thirdly, he took his oath to this upon the relics of the saints. Afterwards, with a little rod which the count held in his hand, he gave investitures to all who by this agreement had given their security and homage and accompanying oath. [Sidenote: An ordinance of St. Louis on homage and fealty] (d) If any one would hold from a lord in fee, he ought to seek his lord within forty days. And if he does not do it within forty days, the lord may and ought to seize his fief for default of homage, and the things which are found there he should seize without compensation; and yet the vassal should be obliged to pay to his lord the redemption.[320] When any one wishes to enter into the fealty of a lord, he ought to seek him, as we have said above, and should speak as follows: "Sir, I request you, as my lord, to put me in your fealty and in your homage for such and such a thing situated in your fief, which I have bought." And he ought to say from what man, and this one ought to be present and in the fealty of the lord;[321] and whether it is by purchase or by escheat[322] or by inheritance he ought to explain; and with his hands joined, to speak as follows: "Sir, I become your man and promise to you fealty for the future as my lord, towards all men who may live or die, rendering to you such service as the fief requires, making to you your relief as you are the lord." And he ought to say whether for guardianship,[323] or as an escheat, or as an inheritance, or as a purchase. The lord should immediately reply to him: "And I receive you and take you as my man, and give you this kiss as a sign of faith, saving my right and that of others," according to the usage of the various districts. 37. The Mutual Obligations of Lords and Vassals The feudal relation was essentially one of contract involving reciprocal relations between lord and vassal. In the following letter, written in the year 1020 by Bishop Fulbert of Chartres[324] to the duke of Aquitaine, we find laid down the general principles which ought to govern the discharge of these mutual obligations. It is affirmed that there were six things that no loyal vassal could do, and these are enumerated and explained. Then comes the significant statement that these negative duties must be supplemented with positive acts for the service and support of the lord. What some of these acts were will appear in the extracts in §38. Bishop Fulbert points out also that the lord is himself bound by feudal law not to do things detrimental to the safety, honor, or prosperity of his vassal. The letter is an admirable statement of the spirit of the feudal system at its best. Already by 1020 a considerable body of feudal customs having the force of law had come into existence and it appears that Fulbert had made these customs the subject of some special study before answering the questions addressed to him by Duke William. Source--Text in Martin Bouquet, _Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France_ ["Collection of the Historians of Gaul and of France"], Vol. X., p. 463. To William, most illustrious duke of the Aquitanians, Bishop Fulbert, the favor of his prayers: [Sidenote: What the vassal owes the lord] Requested to write something regarding the character of fealty, I have set down briefly for you, on the authority of the books, the following things. He who takes the oath of fealty to his lord ought always to keep in mind these six things: what is harmless, safe, honorable, useful, easy, and practicable.[325] _Harmless_, which means that he ought not to injure his lord in his body; _safe_, that he should not injure him by betraying his confidence or the defenses upon which he depends for security; _honorable_, that he should not injure him in his justice, or in other matters that relate to his honor; _useful_, that he should not injure him in his property; _easy_, that he should not make difficult that which his lord can do easily; and _practicable_, that he should not make impossible for the lord that which is possible. However, while it is proper that the faithful vassal avoid these injuries, it is not for doing this alone that he deserves his holding: for it is not enough to refrain from wrongdoing, unless that which is good is done also. It remains, therefore, that in the same six things referred to above he should faithfully advise and aid his lord, if he wishes to be regarded as worthy of his benefice and to be safe concerning the fealty which he has sworn. [Sidenote: The obligations of the lord] The lord also ought to act toward his faithful vassal in the same manner in all these things. And if he fails to do this, he will be rightfully regarded as guilty of bad faith, just as the former, if he should be found shirking, or willing to shirk, his obligations would be perfidious and perjured.[326] I should have written to you at greater length had I not been busy with many other matters, including the rebuilding of our city and church, which were recently completely destroyed by a terrible fire. Though for a time we could not think of anything but this disaster, yet now, by the hope of God's comfort, and of yours also, we breathe more freely again. 38. Some of the More Important Rights of the Lord The obligations of vassals to lords outlined in the preceding selection were mainly of a moral character--such as naturally grew out of the general idea of loyalty and fidelity to a benefactor. They were largely negative and were rather vague and indefinite. So far as they went, they were binding upon lords and vassals alike. There were, however, several very definite and practical rights which the lords possessed with respect to the property and persons of their dependents. Some of these were of a financial character, some were judicial, and others were military. Five of the most important are illustrated by the passages given below. (_a_) AIDS Under the feudal system the idea prevailed that the vassal's purse as well as his body was to be at the lord's service. Originally the right to draw upon his vassals for money was exercised by the lord whenever he desired, but by custom this ill-defined power gradually became limited to three sorts of occasions when the need of money was likely to be especially urgent, i.e., when the eldest son was knighted, when the eldest daughter was married, and when the lord was to be ransomed from captivity. In the era of the crusades, the starting of the lord on an expedition to the Holy Land was generally regarded as another emergency in which an aid might rightfully be demanded. The following extract from the old customary law of Normandy represents the practice in nearly all feudal Europe. Source--_L'Ancienne Coutume de Normandie_, Chap. 35. [Sidenote: The three aids] In Normandy there are three chief aids. The first is to help make the lord's eldest son a knight; the second is to marry his eldest daughter; the third is to ransom the body of the lord from prison when he shall be taken captive during a war for the duke.[327] By this it appears that the _aide de chevalerie_ [knighthood-aid] is due when the eldest son of the lord is made a knight. The eldest son is he who has the dignity of primogeniture.[328] The _aide de mariage_ [marriage-aid] is due when the eldest daughter is married. The _aide de rançon_ [ransom-aid] is due when it is necessary to deliver the lord from the prisons of the enemies of the duke. These aids are paid in some fiefs at the rate of half a relief, and in some at the rate of a third.[329] (_b_) MILITARY SERVICE From whatever point of view feudalism is regarded--whether as a system of land tenure, as a form of social organization, or as a type of government--the military element in it appears everywhere important. The feudal period was the greatest era of war the civilized world has ever known. Few people between the tenth and fourteenth centuries, except in the peasant classes, were able to live out their lives entirely in peace. Of greatest value to kings and feudal magnates, greater even than money itself, was a goodly following of soldiers; hence the almost universal requirement of military service by lords from their vassals. Fiefs were not infrequently granted out for no other purpose than to get the military service which their holders would owe. The amount of such service varied greatly in different times and places, but the following arrangement represents the most common practice. Source--_Les Établissements de Saint Louis_, Bk. I., Chap. 65. Text in Paul Viollet's edition (Paris, 1881), Vol. II., pp. 95-96. [Sidenote: The conditions of military service] The baron and the vassals of the king ought to appear in his army when they shall be summoned, and ought to serve at their own expense for forty days and forty nights, with whatever number of knights they owe.[330] And he possesses the right to exact from them these services when he wishes and when he has need of them. If, however, the king shall wish to keep them more than forty days and forty nights at their own expense, they need not remain unless they desire.[331] But if he shall wish to retain them at his cost for the defense of the kingdom, they ought lawfully to remain. But if he shall propose to lead them outside of the kingdom, they need not go unless they are willing, for they have already served their forty days and forty nights. (_c_) WARDSHIP AND MARRIAGE Very important among the special prerogatives of the feudal lord was his right to manage, and enjoy the profits of, fiefs inherited by minors. When a vassal died, leaving an heir who was under age, the lord was charged with the care of the fief until the heir reached his or her majority. On becoming of age, a young man was expected to take control of his fief at once. But a young woman remained under wardship until her marriage, though if she married under age she could get possession of her fief immediately, just as she would had she waited until older. The control of the marriage of heiresses was largely in the hands of their lords, for obviously it was to the lord's interest that no enemy of his, nor any shiftless person, should become the husband of his ward. The lord could compel a female ward to marry and could oblige her to accept as a husband one of the candidates whom he offered her; but it was usually possible for the woman to purchase exemption from this phase of his jurisdiction. After the thirteenth century the right of wardship gradually declined in France, though it long continued in England. The following extract from the customs of Normandy sets forth the typical feudal law on the subject. Source--_L'Ancienne Coutume de Normandie_, Chap. 33. Heirs should be placed in guardianship until they reach the age of twenty years; and those who hold them as wards should give over to them all the fiefs which came under their control by reason of wardship, provided they have not lost anything by judicial process.... When the heirs pass out of the condition of wardship, their lords shall not impose upon them any reliefs for their fiefs, for the profits of wardship shall be reckoned in place of the relief. [Sidenote: The marriage of a female ward] When a female ward reaches the proper age to marry, she should be married by the advice and consent of her lord, and by the advice and consent of her relatives and friends, according as the nobility of her ancestry and the value of her fief may require; and upon her marriage the fief which has been held in guardianship should be given over to her. A woman cannot be freed from wardship except by marriage; and let it not be said that she is of age until she is twenty years old. But if she be married at the age at which it is allowable for a woman to marry, the fact of her marriage makes her of age and delivers her fief from wardship. [Sidenote: The lord's obligation to care for the fief of his ward] The fiefs of those who are under wardship should be cared for attentively by their lords, who are entitled to receive the produce and profits.[332] And in this connection let it be known that the lord ought to preserve in their former condition the buildings, the manor-houses, the forests and meadows, the gardens, the ponds, the mills, the fisheries, and the other things of which he has the profits. And he should not sell, destroy, or remove the woods, the houses, or the trees. (_d_) RELIEFS A relief was a payment made to the lord by an heir before entering upon possession of his fief. The history of reliefs goes back to the time when benefices were not hereditary and when, if a son succeeded his father in the usufruct of a piece of property, it was regarded as an unusual thing--a special favor on the part of the owner to be paid for by the new tenant. Later, when fiefs had become almost everywhere hereditary, the custom of requiring reliefs still survived. The amount was at first arbitrary, being arranged by individual bargains; but in every community, especially in France, the tendency was toward a fixed custom regarding it. Below are given some brief extracts from English Treasury records which show how men in England between the years 1140 and 1230 paid the king for the privilege of retaining the fiefs held by their fathers. Source--Thomas Madox, _History and Antiquities of the Exchequer of the Kings of England_ (London, 1769), Vol. I., pp. 312-322 _passim_. Walter Hait renders an account of 5 marks of silver for the relief of the land of his father. Walter Brito renders an account of £66, 13s. and 4d. for the relief of his land. Richard of Estre renders an account of £15 for the relief for 3 knights' fees which he holds from the honor of Mortain. Walter Fitz Thomas, of Newington, owes 28s. 4d. for having a fourth part of one knight's fee which had been seized into the hand of the king for default of relief. John of Venetia renders an account of 300 marks for the fine of his land and for the relief of the land which was his father's which he held from the king _in capite_.[333] John de Balliol owes £150 for the relief of 30 knights' fees which Hugh de Balliol, his father, held from the king _in capite_, that is 100s. for each fee. Peter de Bruce renders an account of £100 for his relief for the barony which was of Peter his father. (_e_) FORFEITURE The lord's most effective means of compelling his vassals to discharge their obligations was his right to take back their fiefs for breach of feudal contract. Such a breach, or felony, as it was technically called, might consist in refusal to render military service or the required aids, ignoring the sovereign authority of the lord, levying war against the lord, dishonoring members of the lord's family, or, as in the case below, refusing to obey the lord's summons to appear in court. In practice the lords generally found it difficult to enforce the penalty of forfeiture and after the thirteenth century the tendency was to substitute money fines for dispossession, except in the most aggravated cases. The following is an account of the condemnation of Arnold Atton, a nobleman of south France, by the feudal court of Raymond, count of Toulouse, in the year 1249. The penalty imposed was the loss of the valuable château of Auvillars. Source--Teulet, _Layettes du Trésor des Cartes_ ["Bureau of Treasury Accounts "], No. 3778, Vol. III., p. 70. Translated by Edward P. Cheyney in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 3. pp. 33-34. Raymond, by the grace of God count of Toulouse, marquis of Provence, to the nobleman Arnold Atton, viscount of Lomagne, greeting: [Sidenote: The court's sentence upon Arnold Atton] Let it be known to your nobility by the tenor of these presents what has been done in the matter of the complaints which we have made about you before the court of Agen; that you have not taken the trouble to keep or fulfill the agreements sworn by you to us, as is more fully contained in the instrument drawn up there, sealed with our seal by the public notary; and that you have refused contemptuously to appear before the said court for the purpose of doing justice, and have otherwise committed multiplied and great delinquencies against us. As your faults have required, the aforesaid court of Agen has unanimously and concordantly pronounced sentence against you, and for these matters have condemned you to hand over and restore to us the château of Auvillars and all that land which you hold from us in fee, to be had and held by us by right of the obligation by which you have bound it to us for fulfilling and keeping the said agreements. Likewise it has declared that we are to be put into possession of the said land and that it is to be handed over to us, on account of your contumacy, because you have not been willing to appear before the same court on the days which were assigned to you. Moreover, it has declared that you shall be held and required to restore the said land in whatsoever way we wish to receive it, with few or many, in peace or in anger, in our own person, by right of lordship. Likewise it has declared that you shall restore to us all the expenses which we have incurred, or the court itself has incurred, on those days which were assigned to you, or because of those days, and has condemned you to repay these to us.[334] Moreover, it has declared that the nobleman Gerald d'Armagnac, whom you hold captive, you shall liberate, and deliver him free to us. We demand, moreover, by right of our lordship that you liberate him. We call, therefore, upon your discretion in this matter, strictly enjoining you and commanding that you obey the aforesaid sentences in all things and fulfill them in all respects and in no way delay the execution of them. 39. The Peace and the Truce of God War rather than peace was the normal condition of feudal society. Peasants were expected to settle their disputes in the courts of law, but lords and seigneurs possessed a legal right to make war upon their enemies and were usually not loath to exercise it. Private warfare was indeed so common that it all the time threatened seriously the lives and property of the masses of the people and added heavily to the afflictions which flood, drought, famine, and pestilence brought repeatedly upon them. The first determined efforts to limit, if not to abolish, the ravages of private war were made by the Church, partly because the Church itself often suffered by reason of them, partly because its ideal was that of peace and security, and partly because it recognized its duty as the protector of the poor and oppressed. Late in the tenth century, under the influence of the Cluniacs [see p. 245], the clergy of France, both secular and regular, began in their councils to promulgate decrees which were intended to establish what was known as the Peace of God. These decrees, which were enacted by so many councils between 989 and 1050 that they came to cover pretty nearly all France, proclaimed generally that any one who should use violence toward women, peasants, merchants, or members of the clergy should be excommunicated. The principle was to exempt certain classes of people from the operations of war and violence, even though the rest of the population should continue to fight among themselves. It must be said that these decrees, though enacted again and again, had often little apparent effect. Effort was then made in another direction. From about 1027 the councils began to proclaim what was known as the Truce of God, sometimes alone and sometimes in connection with the Peace. The purport of the Truce of God was that all men should abstain from warfare and violence during a certain portion of each week, and during specified church festivals and holy seasons. At first only Sunday was thus designated; then other days, until the time from Wednesday night to Monday morning was all included; then extended periods, as Lent, were added, until finally not more than eighty days remained of the entire year on which private warfare was allowable. As one writer has stated it, "the Peace of God was intended to protect certain classes at all times and the Truce to protect all classes at certain times." It was equally difficult to secure the acquiescence of the lawless nobles in both, and though the efforts of the Church were by no means without result, we are to think of private warfare as continuing quite common until brought gradually to an end by the rise of strong monarchies, by the turning of men to commerce and trade, and by the drawing off of military energies into foreign and international wars. The decree given below, which combines features of both the Peace and the Truce, was issued by the Council of Toulouges (near Perpignan) in 1041, or, as some scholars think, in 1065. Its substance was many times reënacted, notably by the Council of Clermont, in 1095, upon the occasion of the proclamation of the first Crusade. It should have procured about 240 days of peace in every year and reduced war to about 120 days, but, like the others, it was only indifferently observed. Source--Text in Martin Bouquet, _Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France_ ["Collection of the Historians of Gaul and of France"], Paris, 1876, Vol. XI., pp. 510-511. [Sidenote: Acts of violence forbidden in or near churches] =1.= This Peace has been confirmed by the bishops, by the abbots, by the counts and viscounts and the other God-fearing nobles in this bishopric, to the effect that in the future, beginning with this day, no man may commit an act of violence in a church, or in the space which surrounds it and which is covered by its privileges, or in the burying-ground, or in the dwelling-houses which are, or may be, within thirty paces of it. =2.= We do not include in this measure the churches which have been, or which shall be, fortified as châteaux, or those in which plunderers and thieves are accustomed to store their ill-gotten booty, or which give them a place of refuge. Nevertheless we desire that such churches be under this protection until complaint of them shall be made to the bishop, or to the chapter. If the bishop or chapter[335] act upon such information and lay hold of the malefactors, and if the latter refuse to give themselves up to the justice of the bishop or chapter, the malefactors and all their possessions shall not be immune, even within the church. A man who breaks into a church, or into the space within thirty paces around it, must pay a fine for sacrilege, and double this amount to the person wronged. [Sidenote: Attacks upon the clergy prohibited] =3.= Furthermore, it is forbidden that any one attack the clergy, who do not bear arms, or the monks and religious persons, or do them any wrong; likewise it is forbidden to despoil or pillage the communities of canons, monks, and religious persons, the ecclesiastical lands which are under the protection of the Church, or the clergy, who do not bear arms; and if any one shall do such a thing, let him pay a double composition.[336] [Sidenote: Protection extended to the peasantry] =5.= Let no one burn or destroy the dwellings of the peasants and the clergy, the dove-cotes and the granaries. Let no man dare to kill, to beat, or to wound a peasant or serf, or the wife of either, or to seize them and carry them off, except for misdemeanors which they may have committed; but it is not forbidden to lay hold of them in order to bring them to justice, and it is allowable to do this even before they shall have been summoned to appear. Let not the raiment of the peasants be stolen; let not their ploughs, or their hoes, or their olive-fields be burned. =6.= ... Let any one who has broken the peace, and has not paid his fines within a fortnight, make amends to him whom he has injured by paying a double amount, which shall go to the bishop and to the count who shall have had charge of the case. [Sidenote: The Truce of God confirmed] [Sidenote: Penalties for violations of the Truce] =7.= The bishops of whom we have spoken have solemnly confirmed the Truce of God, which has been enjoined upon all Christians, from the setting of the sun of the fourth day of the week, that is to say, Wednesday, until the rising of the sun on Monday, the second day.... If any one during the Truce shall violate it, let him pay a double composition and subsequently undergo the ordeal of cold water.[337] When any one during the Truce shall kill a man, it has been ordained, with the approval of all Christians, that if the crime was committed intentionally the murderer shall be condemned to perpetual exile, but if it occurred by accident the slayer shall be banished for a period of time to be fixed by the bishops and the canons. If any one during the Truce shall attempt to seize a man or to carry him off from his château, and does not succeed in his purpose, let him pay a fine to the bishop and to the chapter, just as if he had succeeded. It is likewise forbidden during the Truce, in Advent and Lent, to build any château or fortification, unless it was begun a fortnight before the time of the Truce. It has been ordained also that at all times disputes and suits on the subject of the Peace and Truce of God shall be settled before the bishop and his chapter, and likewise for the peace of the churches which have before been enumerated. When the bishop and the chapter shall have pronounced sentences to recall men to the observance of the Peace and the Truce of God, the sureties and hostages who show themselves hostile to the bishop and the chapter shall be excommunicated by the chapter and the bishop, with their protectors and partisans, as guilty of violating the Peace and the Truce of the Lord; they and their possessions shall be excluded from the Peace and the Truce of the Lord. FOOTNOTES: [297] Charles Seignobos, _The Feudal Régime_ (translated in "Historical Miscellany" series), New York, 1904, p. 1. [298] A man was not supposed in any way to sacrifice his freedom by becoming a vassal and the lord's right to his service would be forfeited if this principle were violated. [299] The relation of lord and vassal was, at this early time, limited to the lifetime of the two parties. When one died, the other was liberated from his contract. But in the ninth and tenth centuries vassalage became generally hereditary. [300] Casting lots for the property of a deceased father was not uncommon among the Franks. All sons shared in the inheritance, but particular parts of the property were often assigned by lot. [301] The grant of immunity was thus brought to the attention of the count in whose jurisdiction the exempted lands lay. [302] Châlons-sur-Saône was about eighty miles north of the junction of the Saône with the Rhone. It should not be confused with Châlons-sur-Marne where the battle was fought with Attila's Huns in 451. [303] There is some doubt at this point as to the correct translation. That given seems best warranted. [304] _Dominus_ was a common name for a lord. [305] A member of the king's official household. [306] A subordinate officer under the count [see p. 176, note 3]. [307] See p. 61. note 2. [308] Louis VII., king of France, 1137-1180. [309] The county of Champagne lay to the east of Paris. It was established by Charlemagne and, while at first insignificant, grew until by the twelfth and thirteenth centuries it was one of the most important in France. [310] Beauvais was about sixty miles northwest of Paris. [311] That is, the bishop of Beauvais was bound to furnish his lord, the count of Champagne, the service of one knight for his army, besides ordinary feudal obligations. [312] The county of Troyes centered about the city of that name on the upper Seine. It was eventually absorbed by Champagne. [313] As a fief. [314] A manor, in the general sense, was a feudal estate. [315] A castellanerie was a feudal holding centering about a castle. [316] That is, Count Thiebault promises Jocelyn not to deprive him of the services of men who rightfully belong on the manor which is being granted. [317] Here is an illustration of the complexity of the feudal system. Count Thiebault is Jocelyn's _fourth_ lord, and loyalty and service are owed to all of the four at the same time. Accordingly, Thiebault must be content with only such allegiance of his new vassal as will not involve a breach of the contracts which Jocelyn has already entered into with his other lords. For example, Thiebault could not expect Jocelyn to aid him in war against the duke of Burgundy, for Jocelyn is pledged to fidelity to that duke. In general, when a man had only one lord he owed him full and unconditional allegiance (_liege homage_), but when he became vassal to other lords he could promise them allegiance only so far as would not conflict with contracts already entered into. It was by no means unusual for a man to have several lords, and it often happened that A was B's vassal for a certain piece of land while at the same time B was A's vassal for another piece. Not infrequently the king himself was thus a vassal of one or more of his own vassals. [318] The Bible. Sometimes only the Gospels were used. [319] Charles, count of Flanders, had just died and had been succeeded by his son William. All persons who had received fiefs from the deceased count were now brought together to renew their homage and fealty to the new count. [320] Such a case as this would be most apt to arise when a lord died and a vassal failed to renew his homage to the successor; or when a vassal died and his heir failed to do homage as was required. [321] This law would apply also to a case where a man who is already a vassal of a lord should acquire from another vassal of the same lord some additional land and so become indebted to the lord for a new measure of fealty. [322] Reversion to the original proprietor because of failure of heirs. [323] Such land might be acquired for temporary use only i.e., for guardianship, during the absence or disability of its proprietor. [324] Chartres was somewhat less than twenty miles southwest of Paris. [325] The terms used in the original are _incolume_, _tutum_, _honestum_, _utile_, _facile_, _et possibile_. [326] In the English customary law of the twelfth century we read that, "it is allowable to any one, without punishment, to support his lord if any one assails him, and to obey him in all legitimate ways, except in theft, murder, and in all such things as are not conceded to any one to do and are reckoned infamous by the laws;" also that, "the lord ought to do likewise equally with counsel and aid, and he may come to his man's assistance in his vicissitudes in all ways."--Thorpe, _Ancient Laws and Institutes_, Vol. I., p. 590. [327] The duke of Normandy. Outside of Normandy, of course, other feudal princes would be substituted. [328] It was the feudal system that first gave the eldest son in France a real superiority over his brothers. This may be seen most clearly in the change wrought by feudalism whereby the old Frankish custom of allowing all the sons to inherit their father's property equally was replaced by the mediæval rule of primogeniture (established by the eleventh century) under which the younger sons were entirely, or almost entirely, excluded from the inheritance. [329] Relief is the term used to designate the payment made to the lord by the son of the deceased vassal before taking up the inheritance [see p. 225]. The "custom" says that sometimes the amount paid as an aid to the lord was equal to half that paid as relief and sometimes it was only a third. [330] The number of men brought by a vassal to the royal army depended on the value of his fief and the character of his feudal contract. Greater vassals often appeared with hundreds of followers. [331] This provision rendered the ordinary feudal army much more inefficient than an army made up of paid soldiers. Under ordinary circumstances, when their forty days of service had expired, the feudal troops were free to go home, even though their doing so might force the king to abandon a siege or give up a costly campaign only partially completed. By the thirteenth century it had become customary for the king to accept extra money payments instead of military service from his vassals. With the revenues thus obtained, soldiers could be hired who made war their profession and who were willing to serve indefinitely. [332] Every fief-holder was supposed to render some measure of military service. As neither a minor nor a woman could do this personally, it was natural that the lord should make up for the deficiency by appropriating the produce of the estate during the period of wardship. [333] Tenants _in capite_ in England were those who held their land by direct royal grant. [334] Apparently the king's court had been assembled several times to consider the charges against Viscount Atton, but had been prevented from taking action because of the latter's failure to appear. At last the court decided that it was useless to delay longer and proceeded to condemn the guilty noble and send him a statement of what had been done. He was not only to lose his château of Auvillars but also to reimburse the king for the expenses which the court had incurred on his account. [335] The chapter was the body of clergy attached to a cathedral church. Its members were known as canons. [336] That is, the penalty for using violence against peaceful churchmen, or despoiling their property was to be twice that demanded by the law in case of similar offenses committed against laymen. [337] The ordeal of cold water was designed to test a man's guilt or innocence. The accused person was thrown into a pond and if he sank he was considered innocent; if he floated, guilty, on the supposition that the pure water would refuse to receive a person tainted with crime [see p. 200]. CHAPTER XIV. THE NORMAN CONQUEST 40. The Battle of Hastings: the English and the Normans The Northmen, under the leadership of the renowned Rollo, got their first permanent foothold in that important part of France since known as Normandy in the year 911 [see p. 171]. Almost from the beginning the new county (later duchy) increased rapidly both in territorial extent and in political influence. The Northmen, or Normans, were a vigorous, ambitious, and on the whole very capable people, and they needed only the polishing which peaceful contact with the French could give to make them one of the most virile elements in the population of western Europe. They gave up their old gods and accepted Christianity, ceased to speak their own language and began the use of French, and to a considerable extent became ordinary soldiers and traders instead of the wild pirates their forefathers had been. The spirit of unrest, however, and the love of adventure so deeply ingrained in their natures did not die out, and we need not be surprised to learn that they continued still to enjoy nothing quite so much as war, especially if it involved hazardous expeditions across seas. Some went to help the Christians of Spain against the Saracens; some went to aid the Eastern emperors against the Turks; others went to Sicily and southern Italy, where they conquered weak rulers and set up principalities of their own; and finally, under the leadership of Duke William the Bastard, in 1066, they entered upon the greatest undertaking of all, i.e., the conquest of England and the establishment of a Norman chieftain upon the throne of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom. Duke William was one of the greatest and most ambitious feudal lords of France--more powerful really than the French king himself. He had overcome practically all opposition among his unruly vassals in Normandy, and by 1066, when the death of King Edward the Confessor occurred in England, he was ready to engage in great enterprises which gave promise of enhanced power and renown. He had long cherished a claim to the English throne, and when he learned that in utter disregard of this claim the English witan had chosen Harold, son of the West Saxon Earl Godwin, to be Edward's successor, he prepared to invade the island kingdom and force an acknowledgment of what he pretended at least to believe were his rights. Briefly stated, William claimed the English throne on the ground (1) that through his wife Matilda, a descendant of Emma, Edward the Confessor's mother, he was a nearer heir than was Harold, who was only the late king's brother-in-law; (2) that on the occasion of a visit to England in 1051 Edward had promised him the inheritance; and (3) that Harold himself, when some years before he had been shipwrecked on the coast of Normandy, had sworn on sacred relics to help him gain the crown. There is some doubt as to the actual facts in connection with both of these last two points, but the truth is that all of William's claims taken together were not worth much, since the recognized principle of the English government was that the king should be chosen by the wisemen, or witan. Harold had been so chosen and hence was in every way the legitimate sovereign. William, however, was determined to press his claims and, after obtaining the blessing of the Pope (Alexander II.), he gathered an army of perhaps 65,000 Normans and adventurers from all parts of France and prepared a fleet of some 1,500 transports at the mouth of the Dive to carry his troops across the Channel. September 28, 1066, the start was made and the following day the host landed at Pevensey in Sussex. Friday, the 29th, Hastings was selected and fortified to serve as headquarters. The English were taken at great disadvantage. Only two days before the Normans crossed the Channel Harold with all the troops he could muster had been engaged in a great battle at Stamford Bridge, in Northumberland, with Harold Hardrada, king of Norway, who was making an independent invasion. The English had won the fight, but they were not in a position to meet the Normans as they might otherwise have been. With admirable energy, however, Harold marched his weary army southward to Senlac, a hill near the town of Hastings, and there took up his position to await an attack by the duke's army. The battle came on Saturday, October 14, and after a very stubborn contest, in which Harold was slain, it resulted in a decisive victory for the Normans. Thereafter the conquest of the entire kingdom, while by no means easy, was inevitable. William of Malmesbury, from whose _Chronicle of the Kings of England_ our account of the battle and of the two contending peoples is taken, was a Benedictine monk, born of a Norman father and an English mother. He lived about 1095-1150 and hence wrote somewhat over half a century after the Conquest. While thus not strictly a contemporary, he was a man of learning and discretion and there is every reason to believe that he made his history as accurate as he was able, with the materials at his command. His parentage must have enabled him to understand both combatants in an unusual degree and, though his sympathies were with the conquerors, we may take his characterizations of Saxon and Norman alike to be at least fairly reliable. His _Chronicle_ covers the period 449-1135, and for the years after 1066 it is the fullest, most carefully written, and most readable account of English affairs that we have. Source--Guilielmus Monachi Malmesburiensis, _De gestis regum Anglorum_ [William of Malmesbury, "Chronicle of the Kings of England"], Bk. III. Adapted from translation by John Sharpe (London, 1815), pp. 317-323. [Sidenote: How the English prepared for battle] The courageous leaders mutually prepared for battle, each according to his national custom. The English passed the night[338] without sleep, in drinking and singing, and in the morning proceeded without delay against the enemy. All on foot, armed with battle-axes, and covering themselves in front by joining their shields, they formed an impenetrable body which would assuredly have secured their safety that day had not the Normans, by a pretended flight, induced them to open their ranks, which until that time, according to their custom, had been closely knit together. King Harold himself, on foot, stood with his brothers near the standard in order that, so long as all shared equal danger, none could think of retreating. This same standard William sent, after his victory, to the Pope. It was richly embroidered with gold and precious stones, and represented the figure of a man fighting. [Sidenote: How the Normans prepared] On the other hand, the Normans passed the whole night in confessing their sins, and received the communion of the Lord's body in the morning. Their infantry, with bows and arrows, formed the vanguard, while their cavalry, divided into wings, was placed in the rear. The duke, with serene countenance, declaring aloud that God would favor his as being the righteous side, called for his arms; and when, through the haste of his attendants, he had put on his hauberk[339] the rear part before, he corrected the mistake with a laugh, saying, "The power of my dukedom shall be turned into a kingdom." Then starting the song of Roland,[340] in order that the warlike example of that hero might stimulate the soldiers, and calling on God for assistance, the battle commenced on both sides, and was fought with great ardor, neither side yielding ground during the greater part of the day. [Sidenote: William's strategem] Observing this, William gave a signal to his troops, that, pretending flight, they should withdraw from the field.[341] By means of this device the solid phalanx of the English opened for the purpose of cutting down the fleeing enemy and thus brought upon itself swift destruction; for the Normans, facing about, attacked them, thus disordered, and compelled them to fly. In this manner, deceived by stratagem, they met an honorable death in avenging their country; nor indeed were they at all without their own revenge, for, by frequently making a stand, they slaughtered their pursuers in heaps. Getting possession of a higher bit of ground, they drove back the Normans, who in the heat of pursuit were struggling up the slope, into the valley beneath, where, by hurling their javelins and rolling down stones on them as they stood below, the English easily destroyed them to a man. Besides, by a short passage with which they were acquainted, they avoided a deep ditch and trod underfoot such a multitude of their enemies in that place that the heaps of bodies made the hollow level with the plain. This alternating victory, first of one side and then of the other, continued as long as Harold lived to check the retreat; but when he fell, his brain pierced by an arrow, the flight of the English ceased not until night.[342] [Sidenote: The valor of Harold] In the battle both leaders distinguished themselves by their bravery. Harold, not content with the duties of a general and with exhorting others, eagerly assumed himself the work of a common soldier. He was constantly striking down the enemy at close quarters, so that no one could approach him with impunity, for straightway both horse and rider would be felled by a single blow. So it was at long range, as I have said, that the enemy's deadly arrow brought him to his death. One of the Norman soldiers gashed his thigh with a sword, as he lay prostrate; for which shameful and cowardly action he was branded with ignominy by William and expelled from the army. [Sidenote: William's bravery and ardor] William, too, was equally ready to encourage his soldiers by his voice and by his presence, and to be the first to rush forward to attack the thickest of the foe. He was everywhere fierce and furious. He lost three choice horses, which were that day killed under him. The dauntless spirit and vigor of the intrepid general, however, still held out. Though often called back by the thoughtful remonstrance of his bodyguard, he still persisted until approaching night crowned him with complete victory. And no doubt the hand of God so protected him that the enemy could draw no blood from his person, though they aimed so many javelins at him. This was a fatal day to England, and melancholy havoc was wrought in our dear country during the change of its lords.[343] For it had long before adopted the manners of the Angles, which had indeed altered with the times; for in the first years of their arrival they were barbarians in their look and manner, warlike in their usages, heathen in their rites. [Sidenote: Religious zeal of the Saxons before the Conquest] After embracing the faith of Christ, by degrees and, in process of time, in consequence of the peace which they enjoyed, they consigned warfare to a secondary place and gave their whole attention to religion. I am not speaking of the poor, the meanness of whose fortune often restrains them from overstepping the bounds of justice; I omit, too, men of ecclesiastical rank, whom sometimes respect for their profession and sometimes the fear of shame suffers not to deviate from the true path; I speak of princes, who from the greatness of their power might have full liberty to indulge in pleasure. Some of these in their own country, and others at Rome, changing their habit, obtained a heavenly kingdom and a saintly fellowship. Many others during their whole lives devoted themselves in outward appearance to worldly affairs, but in order that they might expend their treasures on the poor or divide them amongst monasteries. What shall I say of the multitudes of bishops, hermits, and abbots? Does not the whole island blaze with such numerous relics of its own people that you can scarcely pass a village of any consequence without hearing the name of some new saint? And of how many more has all remembrance perished through the want of records? [Sidenote: Recent decline of learning and religion] Nevertheless, the attention to literature and religion had gradually decreased for several years before the arrival of the Normans. The clergy, contented with a little confused learning, could scarcely stammer out the words of the sacraments; and a person who understood grammar was an object of wonder and astonishment.[344] The monks mocked the rule of their order by fine vestments and the use of every kind of food. The nobility, given up to luxury and wantonness, went not to church in the morning after the manner of Christians, but merely, in a careless manner, heard matins and masses from a hurrying priest in their chambers, amid the blandishments of their wives. The community, left unprotected, became a prey to the most powerful, who amassed fortunes, either by seizing on their property or by selling their persons into foreign countries; although it is characteristic of this people to be more inclined to reveling than to the accumulation of wealth. [Sidenote: The English people described] Drinking in parties was an universal practice, in which occupation they passed entire nights as well as days. They consumed their whole substance in mean and despicable houses, unlike the Normans and French, who live frugally in noble and splendid mansions. The vices attendant on drunkenness, which enervate the human mind, followed; hence it came about that when they resisted William, with more rashness and precipitate fury than military skill, they doomed themselves and their country to slavery by a single, and that an easy, victory.[345] For nothing is less effective than rashness; and what begins with violence quickly ceases or is repelled. The English at that time wore short garments, reaching to the mid-knee; they had their hair cropped, their beards shaven, their arms laden with golden bracelets, their skin adorned with tattooed designs. They were accustomed to eat until they became surfeited, and to drink until they were sick. These latter qualities they imparted to their conquerors; as for the rest, they adopted their manners. I would not, however, have these bad characteristics ascribed to the English universally; I know that many of the clergy at that day trod the path of sanctity by a blameless life. I know that many of the laity, of all ranks and conditions, in this nation were well-pleasing to God. Be injustice far from this account; the accusation does not involve the whole, indiscriminately. But as in peace the mercy of God often cherishes the bad and the good together, so, equally, does His severity sometimes include them both in captivity. [Sidenote: A description of the Normans] The Normans--that I may speak of them also--were at that time, and are even now, exceedingly particular in their dress and delicate in their food, but not so to excess. They are a race accustomed to war, and can hardly live without it; fierce in rushing against the enemy, and, where force fails to succeed, ready to use stratagem or to corrupt by bribery. As I have said, they live in spacious houses with economy, envy their superiors, wish to excel their equals, and plunder their subjects, though they defend them from others; they are faithful to their lords, though a slight offense alienates them. They weigh treachery by its chance of success, and change their sentiments for money. The most hospitable, however, of all nations, they esteem strangers worthy of equal honor with themselves; they also intermarry with their vassals. They revived, by their arrival, the rule of religion which had everywhere grown lifeless in England.[346] You might see churches rise in every village, and monasteries in the towns and cities, built after a style unknown before; you might behold the country flourishing with renewed rites; so that each wealthy man accounted that day lost to him which he had neglected to signalize by some beneficent act. 41. William the Conqueror as Man and as King In the following passage, taken from the Saxon Chronicle, we have an interesting summary of the character of the Conqueror and of his conduct as king of England. Both the good and bad sides of the picture are clearly brought out and perhaps it is not quite easy to say which is given the greater prominence. On the one hand there is William's devotion to the Church, his establishment of peace and order, his mildness in dealing with all but those who had antagonized him, and the virtue of his personal life; on the other is his severity, rapacity, and pride, his heavy taxes and his harsh forest laws. As one writer says, "the Conquest was bad as well as good for England; but the harm was only temporary, the good permanent." It is greatly to the credit of the English chronicler that he was able to deal so fairly with the character of one whom he had not a few patriotic reasons for maligning. Source--_The Saxon Chronicle._ Translated by J. A. Giles (London, 1847), pp. 461-462. [Sidenote: William's religious zeal] If any one would know what manner of man King William was, the glory that he obtained, and of how many lands he was lord, then will we describe him as we have known him, we who have looked upon him and who once lived at his court. This King William, of whom we are speaking, was a very wise and a great man, and more honored and more powerful than any of his predecessors. He was mild to those good men who loved God, but severe beyond measure towards those who withstood his will. He founded a noble monastery on the spot where God permitted him to conquer England, and he established monks in it, and he made it very rich.[347] In his days the great monastery at Canterbury was built,[348] and many others also throughout England; moreover, this land was filled with monks who lived after the rule of St. Benedict; and such was the state of religion in his days that all who would might observe that which was prescribed by their respective orders. [Sidenote: His strong government] King William was also held in much reverence. He wore his crown three times every year when he was in England: at Easter he wore it at Winchester,[349] at Pentecost at Westminster,[350] and at Christmas at Gloucester.[351] And at these times all the men of England were with him, archbishops, bishops, abbots and earls, thanes[352] and knights.[353] So also was he a very stern and a wrathful man, so that none durst do anything against his will, and he kept in prison those earls who acted against his pleasure. He removed bishops from their sees[354] and abbots from their offices, and he imprisoned thanes, and at length he spared not his own brother Odo. This Odo was a very powerful bishop in Normandy. His see was that of Bayeux,[355] and he was foremost to serve the king. He had an earldom in England, and when William was in Normandy he [Odo] was the first man in this country [England], and him did William cast into prison.[356] [Sidenote: The extent of his power] Amongst other things, the good order that William established is not to be forgotten. It was such that any man, who was himself aught, might travel over the kingdom with a bosom full of gold unmolested; and no man durst kill another, however great the injury he might have received from him. He reigned over England, and being sharp-sighted to his own interest, he surveyed the kingdom so thoroughly that there was not a single hide of land throughout the whole of which he knew not the possessor, and how much it was worth, and this he afterwards entered in his register.[357] The land of the Britons [Wales] was under his sway, and he built castles therein; moreover he had full dominion over the Isle of Man;[358] Scotland also was subject to him, from his great strength; the land of Normandy was his by inheritance, and he possessed the earldom of Maine;[359] and had he lived two years longer, he would have subdued Ireland by his prowess, and that without a battle.[360] [Sidenote: His faults as a ruler] Truly there was much trouble in these times, and very great distress. He caused castles to be built and oppressed the poor. The king was also of great sternness, and he took from his subjects many marks of gold, and many hundred pounds of silver, and this, either with or without right, and with little need. He was given to avarice, and greedily loved gain.[361] He made large forests for the deer, and enacted laws therewith, so that whoever killed a hart or a hind should be blinded. As he forbade killing the deer, so also the boars; and he loved the tall stags as if he were their father. He also commanded concerning the hares, that they should go free.[362] The rich complained and the poor murmured, but he was so sturdy that he recked nought of them; they must will all that the king willed, if they would live, or would keep their lands, or would hold their possessions, or would be maintained in their rights. Alas that any man should so exalt himself, and carry himself in his pride over all! May Almighty God show mercy to his soul, and grant him the forgiveness of his sins! We have written concerning him these things, both good and bad, that virtuous men may follow after the good, and wholly avoid the evil, and may go in the way that leadeth to the kingdom of heaven. FOOTNOTES: [338] Friday night, October 13. [339] A long coat of mail made of interwoven metal rings. [340] Roland, count of Brittany, was slain at the pass of Roncesvalles in the famous attack of the Gascons upon Charlemagne's retreating army in 778. One of the chronicles says simply, "In this battle Roland, count of Brittany, was slain," and we have absolutely no other historical knowledge of the man. His career was taken up by the singers of the Middle Ages, however, and employed to typify all that was brave and daring and romantic. It was some one of the many "songs of Roland" that William used at Hastings to stimulate his men. [341] In a battle so closely contested this was a dangerous stratagem and its employment seems to indicate that William despaired of defeating the English by direct attack. His main object, in which he was altogether successful, was to entice the English into abandoning their advantageous position on the hilltop. [342] After the Norman victory was practically assured, William sought to bring the battle to an end by having his archers shoot into the air, that their arrows might fall upon the group of soldiers, including the king, who were holding out in defense of the English standard. It was in this way that Harold was mortally wounded; he died immediately from the blows inflicted by Norman knights at close hand. [343] The victory at Hastings did not at once make William king, but it revealed to both himself and the English people that the crown was easily within his grasp. After the battle he advanced past London into the interior of the country. Opposition melted before him and on Christmas day, 1066, the Norman duke, having already been regularly elected by the witan, was crowned at London by the archbishop of York. In the early years of his reign he succeeded in making his power recognized in the more turbulent north. [344] The work of Alfred had not been consistently followed up during the century and a half since his death [see p. 185]. [345] The conquest of England by the Normans was really far from an enslavement. Norman rule was strict, but hardly more so than conditions warranted. [346] It seems to be true, as William of Malmesbury says, that the century preceding the Norman Conquest had been an era of religious as well as literary decline among the English. After 1066 the native clergy, ignorant and often grossly immoral, were gradually replaced by Normans, who on the whole were better men. By 1088 there remained only one bishop of English birth in the entire kingdom. One should be careful, however, not to exaggerate the moral differences between the two peoples. [347] The story goes that just before entering the battle of Hastings in 1066 William made a vow that if successful he would establish a monastery on the site where Harold's standard stood. The vow was fulfilled by the founding of the Abbey of St. Martin, or Battle Abbey, in the years 1070-1076. The monastery was not ready for consecration until 1094. [348] Christchurch. This cathedral monastery had been organized before the Conqueror's day, but it was much increased in size and in importance by Lanfranc, William's archbishop of Canterbury; and the great building which it occupied in the later Middle Ages was constructed at this time. [349] In Hampshire, in the southern part of the kingdom. [350] In Middlesex, near London. [351] On the Severn, in the modern county of Gloucester. [352] A thane (or thegn) was originally a young warrior; then one who became a noble by serving the king in arms; then the possessor of five hides of land. A hide was a measure of arable ground varying in extent at the time of William the Conqueror, but by Henry II.'s reign (1154-1189) fixed at about 100 acres. The thane before the Conquest occupied nearly the same position socially as the knight after it. [353] This assembly of dignitaries, summoned by the king three times a year, was the so-called Great Council, which in Norman times superseded the old Saxon witan. Its duties were mainly judicial. It acted also as an advisory body, but the king was not obliged to consult it or to carry out its recommendations [see p. 307, note 2]. [354] The _see_ of a bishop is his ecclesiastical office; the area over which his authority extends is more properly known as his diocese. [355] On the Orne River, near the English Channel. [356] Odo, though a churchman, was a man of brutal instincts and evil character. Through his high-handed course, both as a leading ecclesiastical dignitary in Normandy and as earl of Kent and vicegerent in England, he gave William no small amount of trouble. The king finally grew tired of his brother's conduct and had him imprisoned in the town of Rouen where he was left for four years, or until the end of the reign (1087). [357] This was the famous Domesday Survey, begun in 1085. [358] In the Irish Sea. [359] Maine lay directly to the south of Normandy. [360] This statement is doubtful, though it is true that Lanfranc made a beginning by consecrating a number of bishops in Ireland. [361] All of the early Norman kings were greedy for money and apt to bear heavily upon the people in their efforts to get it. Englishmen were not accustomed to general taxation and felt the new régime to be a serious burden. There was consequently much complaint, but, as our historian says, William was strong enough to be able to ignore it. [362] Most of William's harsh measures can be justified on the ground that they were designed to promote the ultimate welfare of his people. This is not true, however, of his elaborate forest laws, which undertook to deprive Englishmen of their accustomed freedom of hunting when and where they pleased. William's love of the chase amounted to a passion and he was not satisfied with merely enacting such stringent measures as that the slayer of a hart or a hind in his forests should be blinded, but also set apart a great stretch of additional country, the so-called New Forest, as his own exclusive hunting grounds. CHAPTER XV. THE MONASTIC REFORMATION OF THE TENTH, ELEVENTH, AND TWELFTH CENTURIES 42. The Foundation Charter of the Monastery of Cluny (910) Throughout the earlier Middle Ages the Benedictine Rule [see p. 83] was the code under which were governed practically all the monastic establishments of western Europe. There was a natural tendency, however, for the severe and exacting features of the Rule to be softened considerably in actual practice. As one writer puts it, "the excessive abstinence and many other of the mechanical observances of the rule were soon found to have little real utility when simply enforced by a rule, and not practiced willingly for the sake of self-discipline." The obligation of manual labor, for example, was frequently dispensed with in order that the monks might occupy themselves with the studies for which the Benedictines have always been famous. Too often such relaxation was but a pretext for the indulgence of idleness or vice. The disrepute into which such tendencies brought the monastics in the tenth and eleventh centuries gave rise to numerous attempts to revive the primitive discipline, the most notable of which was the so-called "Cluniac movement." The monastery of Cluny, on the borders of Aquitaine and Burgundy, was established under the terms of a charter issued by William the Pious, duke of Aquitaine and count of Auvergne, September 11, 910. The conditions of its foundation, set forth in the text of the charter given below, were in many ways typical. The history of the monastery was, however, quite exceptional. During the invasions and civil wars of the latter half of the ninth century, many of the monasteries of western Europe had fallen under the control of unscrupulous laymen who used them mainly to satisfy their greed or ambition, and in consequence by the time that Cluny was founded the standard of monastic life and service had been seriously impaired. The monks had grown worldly, education was neglected, and religious services had become empty formalities. Powerful nobles used their positions of advantage to influence, and often to dictate, the election of bishops and abbots, and the men thus elected were likely enough to be unworthy of their offices in both character and ability. The charter of the Cluny monastery, however, expressly provided that the abbot should be chosen by canonical election, i.e., by the monks, and without any sort of outside interference. The life of the monastery was to be regulated by the Benedictine Rule, though with rather less stress on manual labor and rather more on religious services and literary employment. Cluny, indeed, soon came to be one of the principal centers of learning in western Europe, as well as perhaps the greatest administrator of charity. Another notable achievement of Cluny was the building up of the so-called "Cluny Congregation." Hitherto it had been customary for monasteries to be entirely independent of one another, even when founded by monks sent out from a parent establishment. Cluny, however, kept under the control of her own abbot all monasteries founded by her agents and made the priors of these monasteries directly responsible to him. Many outside abbeys were drawn into the new system, so that by the middle of the twelfth century the Cluny congregation was comprised of more than two thousand monasteries, all working harmoniously under a single abbot-general. The majority of these were in France, but there were many also in Spain, Italy, Poland, Germany, and England. It was the Cluny monks who gave the Pope his chief support in the struggle to free the Church from lay investiture and simony and to enforce the ideal of a celibate clergy. This movement for reform may properly be said, indeed, to have originated with the Cluniacs and to have been taken up only later by the popes, chiefly by Gregory VII. By the end of the eleventh century Cluniac discipline had begun to grow lax and conditions were gradually shaped for another wave of monastic reform, which came with the establishment of the Carthusians (in 1084) and of the Cistercians (in 1098). Source--Text in Martin Bouquet, _Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France_ ["Collection of the Historians of Gaul and of France"] (Paris, 1874), Vol. IX., pp. 709-711. [Sidenote: Motives for Duke William's benefaction] To all who think wisely it is evident that the providence of God has made it possible for rich men, by using well their temporal possessions, to be able to merit eternal rewards.... I, William, count and duke, after diligent reflection, and desiring to provide for my own safety while there is still time, have decided that it is advisable, indeed absolutely necessary, that from the possessions which God has given me I should give some portion for the good of my soul. I do this, indeed, in order that I who have thus increased in wealth may not at the last be accused of having spent all in caring for my body, but rather may rejoice, when fate at length shall snatch all things away, in having preserved something for myself. I cannot do better than follow the precepts of Christ and make His poor my friends. That my gift may be durable and not transitory I will support at my own expense a congregation of monks. And I hope that I shall receive the reward of the righteous because I have received those whom I believe to be righteous and who despise the world, although I myself am not able to despise all things.[363] [Sidenote: The land and other property ceded] Therefore be it known to all who live in the unity of the faith and who await the mercy of Christ, and to those who shall succeed them and who shall continue to exist until the end of the world, that, for the love of God and of our Saviour Jesus Christ, I hand over from my own rule to the holy apostles, namely, Peter and Paul, the possessions over which I hold sway--the town of Cluny, with the court and demesne manor, and the church in honor of St. Mary, the mother of God, and of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles, together with all the things pertaining to it, the villas, the chapels, the serfs of both sexes, the vines, the fields, the meadows, the woods, the waters and their outlets, the mills, the incomes and revenues, what is cultivated and what is not, all without reserve. These things are situated in or about the county of Mâcon[364], each one marked off by definite bounds. I give, moreover, all these things to the aforesaid apostles--I, William, and my wife Ingelberga--first for the love of God; then for the soul of my lord King Odo, of my father and my mother; for myself and my wife,--for the salvation, namely, of our souls and bodies; and not least, for that of Ava, who left me these things in her will; for the souls also of our brothers and sisters and nephews, and of all our relatives of both sexes; for our faithful ones who adhere to our service; for the advancement, also, and integrity of the Catholic religion. Finally, since all of us Christians are held together by one bond of love and faith, let this donation be for all--for the orthodox, namely, of past, present, or future times. [Sidenote: A monastery to be established.] [Sidenote: Election of abbots to be "canonical"] I give these things, moreover, with this understanding, that in Cluny a monastery shall be constructed in honor of the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and that there the monks shall congregate and live according to the rule of St. Benedict, and that they shall possess and make use of these same things for all time. In such wise, however, that the venerable house of prayer which is there shall be faithfully frequented with vows and supplications, and that heavenly conversations shall be sought after with all desire and with the deepest ardor; and also that there shall be diligently directed to God prayers and exhortations, as well for me as for all, according to the order in which mention has been made of them above. And let the monks themselves, together with all aforesaid possessions, be under the power and dominion of the abbot Berno, who, as long as he shall live, shall preside over them regularly according to his knowledge and ability.[365] But after his death, those same monks shall have power and permission to elect any one of their order whom they please as abbot and rector, following the will of God and the rule promulgated by St. Benedict--in such wise that neither by the intervention of our own or of any other power may they be impeded from making a purely canonical election. Every five years, moreover, the aforesaid monks shall pay to the church of the apostles at Rome ten shillings to supply them with lights; and they shall have the protection of those same apostles and the defense of the Roman pontiff; and those monks may, with their whole heart and soul, according to their ability and knowledge, build up the aforesaid place. [Sidenote: Works of charity enjoined] We will, further, that in our times and in those of our successors, according as the opportunities and possibilities of that place shall allow, there shall daily, with the greatest zeal, be performed works of mercy towards the poor, the needy, strangers, and pilgrims.[366] It has pleased us also to insert in this document that, from this day, those same monks there congregated shall be subject neither to our yoke, nor to that of our relatives, nor to the sway of the royal might, nor to that of any earthly power. And, through God and all His saints, and by the awful day of judgment, I warn and admonish that no one of the secular princes, no count, no bishop, not even the pontiff of the aforesaid Roman see, shall invade the property of these servants of God, or alienate it, or diminish it, or exchange it, or give it as a benefice to any one, or set up any prelate over them against their will.[367] 43. The Early Career of St. Bernard and the Founding of Clairvaux The most important individual who had part in the twelfth century movement for monastic reform was unquestionably St. Bernard, of whom indeed it has been said with reason that for a quarter of a century there was no more influential man in Europe. Born in 1091, he came upon the scene when times were ripe for great deeds and great careers, whether with the crusading hosts in the East or in the vexed swirl of secular and ecclesiastical affairs in the West. Particularly were the times ripe for a great preacher and reformer--one who could avail himself of the fresh zeal of the crusading period and turn a portion of it to the regeneration of the corrupt and sluggish spiritual life which in far too great a measure had crept in to replace the earlier purity and devotion of the clergy. The need of reform was perhaps most conspicuous in the monasteries, for many monastic establishments had not been greatly affected by the Cluniac movement of the previous century, and in many of those which had been touched temporarily the purifying influences had about ceased to produce results. It was as a monastic reformer that St. Bernard rendered greatest service to the Church of his day, though he was far more than a mere zealot. He was, says Professor Emerton, more than any other man, representative of the spirit of the Middle Ages. "The monastery meant to him, not a place of easy and luxurious retirement, where a man might keep himself pure from earthly contact, nor even a home of learning, from which a man might influence his world. It meant rather a place of pitiless discipline, whereby the natural man should be reduced to the lowest terms and thus the spiritual life be given its largest liberty. The aim of Bernard was nothing less than the regeneration of society through the presence in it of devoted men, bound together by a compact organization, and holding up to the world the highest types of an ideal which had already fixed itself in the imagination of the age."[368] The founding of Clairvaux by St. Bernard, in 1115, was not the beginning of a new monastic order; the Cistercians, to whom the establishment properly belonged, had originated at Cîteaux seventeen years before. But in later times St. Bernard was very properly regarded as a second founder of the Cistercians, and the story of his going forth from the parent house to establish the new one affords an excellent illustration of the spirit which dominated the leaders in monastic reform in the eleventh and twelfth centuries and of the methods they employed to keep alive the lofty ideals of the old Benedictine system; and, although individual monasteries were founded under the most diverse circumstances, the story is of interest as showing us the precise way in which one monastic house took its origin. By the time of St. Bernard's death (1153) not fewer than a hundred and fifty religious houses had been regenerated under his inspiration. We are fortunate in possessing a composite biography of the great reformer which is practically contemporary. It is in five books, the first of which was written by William, abbot of St. Thierry of Rheims; the second by Arnold, abbot of Bonneval, near Chartres; and the third, fourth, and fifth by Geoffrey, a monk of Clairvaux and a former secretary of St. Bernard. William of St. Thierry (from whose portion of the biography selection "a" below is taken) wrote about 1140, Arnold and Geoffrey soon after Bernard's death in 1153. Sources--(a) Guillaume de Saint-Thierry, _Bernardus Clarævallensis_ [William of Saint Thierry, "Life of St. Bernard"], Bk. I., Chaps. 1-4. (b) The _Acta Sanctorum_. Translated in Edward L. Cutts, _Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1872), pp. 11-12. [Sidenote: Bernard's parents] (a) Saint Bernard was born at Fontaines in Burgundy [near Dijon], at the castle of his father. His parents were famed among the famous of that age, most of all because of their piety. His father, Tescelin, was a member of an ancient and knightly family, fearing God and scrupulously just. Even when engaged in holy war he plundered and destroyed no one; he contented himself with his worldly possessions, of which he had an abundance, and used them in all manner of good works. With both his counsel and his arms he served temporal lords, but so as never to neglect to render to the sovereign Lord that which was due Him. Bernard's mother, Alith, of the castle Montbar, mindful of holy law, was submissive to her husband and, with him, governed the household in the fear of God, devoting herself to deeds of mercy and rearing her children in strict discipline. She bore seven children, six boys and one girl, not so much for the glory of her husband as for that of God; for all the sons became monks and the daughter a nun....[369] [Sidenote: His early characteristics] As soon as Bernard was of sufficient age his mother intrusted his education to the teachers in the church at Châtillon[370] and did everything in her power to enable him to make rapid progress. The young boy, abounding in pleasing qualities and endowed with natural genius, fulfilled his mother's every expectation; for he advanced in his study of letters at a speed beyond his age and that of other children of the same age. But in secular matters he began already, and very naturally, to humble himself in the interest of his future perfection, for he exhibited the greatest simplicity, loved to be in solitude, fled from people, was extraordinarily thoughtful, submitted himself implicitly to his parents, had little desire to converse, was devoted to God, and applied himself to his studies as the means by which he should be able to learn of God through the Scriptures.... [Sidenote: He decides to become a monk at Cîteaux] Determined that it would be best for him to abandon the world, he began to inquire where his soul, under the yoke of Christ, would be able to find the most complete and sure repose. The recent establishment of the order of Cîteaux[371] suggested itself to his thought. The harvest was abundant, but the laborers were few, for hardly any one had sought happiness by taking up residence there, because of the excessive austerity of life and the poverty which there prevailed, but which had no terrors for the soul truly seeking God. Without hesitation or misgivings, he turned his steps to that place, thinking that there he would be able to find seclusion and, in the secret of the presence of God, escape the importunities of men; wishing particularly there to gain a refuge from the vain glory of the noble's life, and to win purity of soul, and perhaps the name of saint. [Sidenote: His struggle and his victory] When his brothers, who loved him according to the flesh, discovered that he intended to become a monk, they employed every means to turn him to the pursuit of letters and to attach him to the secular life by the love of worldly knowledge. Without doubt, as he has himself declared, he was not a little moved by their arguments. But the memory of his devout mother urged him importunately to take the step. It often seemed to him that she appeared before him, reproaching him and reminding him that she had not reared him for frivolous things of that sort, and that she had brought him up in quite another hope. Finally, one day when he was returning from the siege of a château called Grancey, and was coming to his brothers, who were with the duke of Burgundy, he began to be violently tormented by these thoughts. Finding by the roadside a church, he went in and there prayed, with flooded eyes, lifting his hands toward Heaven and pouring out his heart like water before the Lord. That day fixed his resolution irrevocably. From that hour, even as the fire consumes the forests and the flame ravages the mountains, seizing everything, devouring first that which is nearest but advancing to objects farther removed, so did the fire which God had kindled in the heart of his servant, desiring that it should consume it, lay hold first of his brothers (of whom only the youngest, incapable yet of becoming a monk, was left to console his old father), then his parents, his companions, and his friends, from whom no one had ever expected such a step.... [Sidenote: Bernard and his companions at Châtillon] The number of those who decided to take upon themselves monastic vows increased and, as one reads of the earliest sons of the Church, "all the multitude of those who believed were of one mind and one heart" [Acts v. 32]. They lived together and no one else dared mingle with them. They had at Châtillon a house which they possessed in common and in which they held meetings, dwelt together, and held converse with one another. No one was so bold as to enter it, unless he were a member of the congregation. If any one entered there, seeing and hearing what was done and said (as the Apostle declared of the Christians of Corinth), he was convinced by their prophecies and, adoring the Lord and perceiving that God was truly among them, he either joined himself to the brotherhood or, going away, wept at his own plight and their happy state.... [Sidenote: They enter Cîteaux] At that time, the young and feeble establishment at Cîteaux, under the venerable abbot Stephen,[372] began to be seriously weakened by its paucity of numbers and to lose all hope of having successors to perpetuate the heritage of holy poverty, for everybody revered the life of these monks for its sanctity but held aloof from it because of its austerity. But the monastery was suddenly visited and made glad by the Lord in a happy and unhoped-for manner. In 1113, fifteen years after the foundation of the monastery, the servant of God, Bernard, then about twenty-three years of age, entered the establishment under the abbot Stephen, with his companions to the number of more than thirty, and submitted himself to the blessed yoke of Christ. From that day God prospered the house, and that vine of the Lord bore fruit, putting forth its branches from sea to sea. Such were the holy beginnings of the monastic life of that man of God. It is impossible to any one who has not been imbued as he with the spirit of God to recount the illustrious deeds of his career, and his angelic conduct, during his life on earth. He entered the monastery poor in spirit, still obscure and of no fame, with the intention of there perishing in the heart and memory of men, and hoping to be forgotten and ignored like a lost vessel. But God ordered it otherwise, and prepared him as a chosen vessel, not only to strengthen and extend the monastic order, but also to bear His name before kings and peoples to the ends of the earth.... [Sidenote: Bernard prays for and obtains the ability to reap] [Sidenote: His devotion and knowledge of the Scriptures] At the time of harvest the brothers were occupied, with the fervor and joy of the Holy Spirit, in reaping the grain. Since he [Bernard] was not able to have part in the labor, they bade him sit by them and take his ease. Greatly troubled, he had recourse to prayer and, with much weeping, implored the Lord to grant him the strength to become a reaper. The simplicity of his faith did not deceive him, for that which he asked he obtained. Indeed from that day he prided himself in being more skilful than the others at that task; and he was the more given over to devotion during that labor because he realized that the ability to perform it was a direct gift from God. Refreshed by his employments of this kind, he prayed, read, or meditated continuously. If an opportunity for prayer in solitude offered itself, he seized it; but in any case, whether by himself or with companions, he preserved a solitude in his heart, and thus was everywhere alone. He read gladly, and always with faith and thoughtfulness, the Holy Scriptures, saying that they never seemed to him so clear as when read in the text alone, and he declared his ability to discern their truth and divine virtue much more readily in the source itself than in the commentaries which were derived from it. Nevertheless, he read humbly the saints and orthodox commentators and made no pretense of rivaling their knowledge; but, submitting his to theirs, and tracing it faithfully to its sources, he drank often at the fountain whence they had drawn. It is thus that, full of the spirit which has divinely inspired all Holy Scripture, he has served God to this day, as the Apostle says, with so great confidence, and such ability to instruct, convert, and sway. And when he preaches the word of God, he renders so clear and agreeable that which he takes from Scripture to insert in his discourse, and he has such power to move men, that everybody, both those clever in worldly matters and those who possess spiritual knowledge, marvel at the eloquent words which fall from his lips. [Sidenote: Site selected for the new monastery] (b) Twelve monks and their abbot, representing our Lord and His apostles, were assembled in the church. Stephen placed a cross in Bernard's hands, who solemnly, at the head of his small band, walked forth from Cîteaux.... Bernard struck away to the northward. For a distance of nearly ninety miles he kept this course, passing up by the source of the Seine, by Châtillon, of school-day memories, until he arrived at La Ferté, about equally distant between Troyes and Chaumont, in the diocese of Langres, and situated on the river Aube.[373] About four miles beyond La Ferté was a deep valley opening to the east. Thick umbrageous forests gave it a character of gloom and wildness; but a gushing stream of limpid water which ran through it was sufficient to redeem every disadvantage. [Sidenote: The first building constructed] In June, 1115, Bernard took up his abode in the "Valley of Wormwood," as it was called, and began to look for means of shelter and sustenance against the approaching winter. The rude fabric which he and his monks raised with their own hands was long preserved by the pious veneration of the Cistercians. It consisted of a building covered by a single roof, under which chapel, dormitory, and refectory were all included. Neither stone nor wood hid the bare earth, which served for a floor. Windows scarcely wider than a man's head admitted a feeble light. In this room the monks took their frugal meals of herbs and water. Immediately above the refectory was the sleeping apartment. It was reached by a ladder, and was, in truth, a sort of loft. Here were the monks' beds, which were peculiar. They were made in the form of boxes, or bins, of wooden planks, long and wide enough for a man to lie down in. A small space, hewn out with an axe, allowed room for the sleeper to get in or out. The inside was strewn with chaff, or dried leaves, which, with the woodwork, seem to have been the only covering permitted.... [Sidenote: Hardships encountered] The monks had thus got a house over their heads; but they had very little else. They had left Cîteaux in June. Their journey had probably occupied them a fortnight; their clearing, preparations, and building, perhaps two months; and thus they were near September when this portion of their labor was accomplished. Autumn and winter were approaching, and they had no store laid by. Their food during the summer had been a compound of leaves intermixed with coarse grain. Beech-nuts and roots were to be their main support during the winter. And now to the privations of insufficient food was added the wearing out of their shoes and clothes. Their necessities grew with the severity of the season, until at last even salt failed them; and presently Bernard heard murmurs. He argued and exhorted; he spoke to them of the fear and love of God, and strove to rouse their drooping spirits by dwelling on the hopes of eternal life and Divine recompense. Their sufferings made them deaf and indifferent to their abbot's words. They would not remain in this valley of bitterness; they would return to Cîteaux. Bernard, seeing they had lost their trust in God, reproved them no more; but himself sought in earnest prayer for release from their difficulties. Presently a voice from heaven said, "Arise, Bernard, thy prayer is granted thee." Upon which the monks said, "What didst thou ask of the Lord?" "Wait, and ye shall see, ye of little faith," was the reply; and presently came a stranger who gave the abbot ten livres. 44. A Description of Clairvaux The following is an interesting description of the abbey of Clairvaux, written by William of St. Thierry, the friend and biographer of Bernard. After giving an account of the external appearance and surroundings of the monastery, the writer goes on to portray the daily life and devotion of the monks who resided in it. In reading the description it should be borne in mind that Clairvaux was a new establishment, founded expressly to further the work of monastic reform, and that therefore at the time when William of St. Thierry knew it, it exhibited a state of piety and industry considerably above that to be found in the average abbey of the day. Source--Guillaume de Saint-Thierry, _Bernardus Clarævallensis_ [William of Saint Thierry, "Life of St. Bernard"], Bk. I., Chap. 7. Translated in Edward L. Cutts, _Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1872), pp. 12-14. [Sidenote: The solitude of Clairvaux] At the first glance as you entered Clairvaux by descending the hill you could see that it was a temple of God; and the still, silent valley bespoke, in the modest simplicity of its buildings, the unfeigned humility of Christ's poor. Moreover, in this valley full of men, where no one was permitted to be idle, where one and all were occupied with their allotted tasks, a silence deep as that of night prevailed. The sounds of labor, or the chants of the brethren in the choral service, were the only exceptions. The orderliness of this silence, and the report that went forth concerning it, struck such a reverence even into secular persons that they dreaded breaking it,--I will not say by idle or wicked conversation, but even by proper remarks. The solitude, also, of the place--between dense forests in a narrow gorge of neighboring hills--in a certain sense recalled the cave of our father St. Benedict,[374] so that while they strove to imitate his life, they also had some similarity to him in their habitation and loneliness.... [Sidenote: Marvelous works accomplished there] Although the monastery is situated in a valley, it has its foundations on the holy hills, whose gates the Lord loveth more than all the dwellings of Jacob. Glorious things are spoken of it, because the glorious and wonderful God therein worketh great marvels. There the insane recover their reason, and although their outward man is worn away, inwardly they are born again. There the proud are humbled, the rich are made poor, and the poor have the Gospel preached to them, and the darkness of sinners is changed into light. A large multitude of blessed poor from the ends of the earth have there assembled, yet have they one heart and one mind; justly, therefore, do all who dwell there rejoice with no empty joy. They have the certain hope of perennial joy, of their ascension heavenward already commenced. In Clairvaux, they have found Jacob's ladder, with angels upon it; some descending, who so provide for their bodies that they faint not on the way; others ascending, who so rule their souls that their bodies hereafter may be glorified with them. [Sidenote: The piety of the monks] For my part, the more attentively I watch them day by day, the more do I believe that they are perfect followers of Christ in all things. When they pray and speak to God in spirit and in truth, by their friendly and quiet speech to Him, as well as by their humbleness of demeanor, they are plainly seen to be God's companions and friends. When, on the other hand, they openly praise God with psalms, how pure and fervent are their minds, is shown by their posture of body in holy fear and reverence, while by their careful pronunciation and modulation of the psalms, is shown how sweet to their lips are the words of God--sweeter than honey to their mouths. As I watch them, therefore, singing without fatigue from before midnight to the dawn of day, with only a brief interval, they appear a little less than the angels, but much more than men.... [Sidenote: Their manual labor] As regards their manual labor, so patiently and placidly, with such quiet countenances, in such sweet and holy order, do they perform all things, that although they exercise themselves at many works, they never seem moved or burdened in anything, whatever the labor may be. Whence it is manifest that that Holy Spirit worketh in them who disposeth of all things with sweetness, in whom they are refreshed, so that they rest even in their toil. Many of them, I hear, are bishops and earls, and many illustrious through their birth or knowledge; but now, by God's grace, all distinction of persons being dead among them, the greater any one thought himself in the world, the more in this flock does he regard himself as less than the least. I see them in the garden with hoes, in the meadows with forks or rakes, in the fields with scythes, in the forest with axes. To judge from their outward appearance, their tools, their bad and disordered clothes, they appear a race of fools, without speech or sense. But a true thought in my mind tells me that their life in Christ is hidden in the heavens. Among them I see Godfrey of Peronne, Raynald of Picardy, William of St. Omer, Walter of Lisle, all of whom I knew formerly in the old man, whereof I now see no trace, by God's favor. I knew them proud and puffed up; I see them walking humbly under the merciful hand of God. FOOTNOTES: [363] In other words, it is Duke William's hope that, though not himself willing to be restricted to the life of a monk, he may secure substantially an equivalent reward by patronizing men who _are_ thus willing. [364] Mâcon, the seat of the diocese in which Cluny was situated, was on the Saône, a short distance to the southeast. [365] Berno served as abbot of Cluny from 910 until 927. [366] That the charitable side of the monastery's work was well attended to is indicated by the fact that in a single year, late in the eleventh century, seventeen thousand poor were given assistance by the monks. [367] The remainder of the charter consists of a series of imprecations of disaster and punishment upon all who at any time and in any way should undertake to interfere with the vested rights just granted. These imprecations were strictly typical of the mediæval spirit-so much so that many of them came to be mere formulæ, employed to give documents due solemnity, but without any especially direful designs on the part of the writer who used them. [368] Emerton, _Mediæval Europe_, p. 458. [369] Bernard was the third son. [370] About sixty miles southeast of Troyes. [371] Cîteaux (established by Odo, duke of Burgundy, in 1098) was near Dijon in Burgundy. [372] Stephen Harding, an Englishman, succeeded Alberic as abbot of Cîteaux in 1113. [373] Châtillon was about twelve miles south of La Ferté. The latter was fifty miles southeast of Troyes and only half as far from Chaumont, despite the author's statement that, it lay midway between the two places. The Aube is an important tributary of the upper Seine. [374] The famous founder of the monastery of Monte Cassino and the compiler of the Benedictine Rule [see p. 83]. CHAPTER XVI. THE CONFLICT OVER INVESTITURE 45. Gregory VII.'s Conception of the Papal Authority Hildebrand, who as pope was known as Gregory VII., was born about the year 1025 in the vicinity of the little Tuscan town of Soana. His education was received in the rich monastery of Saint Mary on the Aventine, of which one of his uncles was abbot. At the age of twenty-five he became chaplain to Pope Gregory VI., after whose fall from power he sought seclusion in the monastery at Cluny. In 1049, however, he again appeared in Italy, this time in the rôle of companion to the new pontiff, Leo IX. In a few years he became sub-deacon and cardinal and was intrusted with the municipal affairs and financial interests of the Holy See. He served as papal legate in France and in 1057 was sent to Germany to obtain the consent of Empress Agnes to the hurried election of Stephen IX. While in these countries he became convinced that the evil conditions--simony, lay investiture, and non-celibacy of the clergy--which the Cluniacs were seeking to reform would never be materially improved by the temporal powers, and consequently that the only hope of betterment lay in the establishing of an absolute papal supremacy before which kings, and even emperors, should be compelled to bow in submission. In April, 1073, Hildebrand himself was made pope, nominally by the vote of the College of Cardinals, but really by the enthusiastic choice of the Roman populace. His whole training and experience had fitted him admirably for the place and had equipped him with the capacity to make of his office something more than had any of his predecessors. When he became pope it was with a very lofty ideal of what the papacy should be, and the surprising measure in which he was able to realize this ideal entitles him without question to be regarded as the greatest of all mediæval popes. In the document given below, the so-called _Dictatus Papæ_, Pope Gregory's conception of the nature of the papal power and its proper place in the world is stated in the form of a clear and forcible summary. Until recently the _Dictatus_ was supposed to have been written by Gregory himself, but it has been fairly well demonstrated that it was composed not earlier than 1087 and was therefore the work of some one else (Gregory died in 1085). It conforms very closely to a collection of the laws of the Church published in 1087 by a certain cardinal by the name of Deusdedit. The document loses little or none of its value by reason of this uncertainty as to its authorship, for it represents Pope Gregory's views as accurately as if he were known to have written it. In judging Gregory's theories it should be borne in mind (1) that it was not personal ambition, but sincere conviction, that lay beneath them; (2) that the temporal states which existed in western Europe in Gregory's day were rife with feudal anarchy and oppression and often too weak to be capable of rendering justice; and (3) that Gregory claimed, not that the Church should actually assume the management of the civil government throughout Europe, but only that in cases of notorious failure of temporal sovereigns to live right and govern well, the supreme authority of the papacy should be brought to bear upon them, either to depose them or to compel them to mend their ways. It is worthy of note, however, that Gregory was careful to lay the foundations of a formidable political power in Italy, chiefly by availing himself of the practices of feudalism, as seen, for example, in the grant of southern Italy to the Norman Robert Guiscard to be held as a fief of the Roman see. Source--Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_ (München, 1889), Vol. III., p. 17. =1.= That the Roman Church was founded by God alone. =2.= That the Roman bishop alone is properly called universal.[375] =3.= That he alone has the power to depose bishops and reinstate them. =4.= That his legate, though of inferior rank, takes precedence of all bishops in council, and may give sentence of deposition against them. =5.= That the Pope has the power to depose [bishops] in their absence.[376] =6.= That we should not even stay in the same house with those who are excommunicated by him. =8.= That he alone may use the imperial insignia.[377] =9.= That the Pope is the only person whose feet are kissed by all princes. =11.= That the name which he bears belongs to him alone.[378] =12.= That he has the power to depose emperors.[379] =13.= That he may, if necessity require, transfer bishops from one see to another. =16.= That no general synod may be called without his consent. =17.= That no action of a synod, and no book, may be considered canonical without his authority.[380] =18.= That his decree can be annulled by no one, and that he alone may annul the decrees of any one. =19.= That he can be judged by no man. =20.= That no one shall dare to condemn a person who appeals to the apostolic see. =22.= That the Roman Church has never erred, nor ever, by the testimony of Scripture, shall err, to all eternity.[381] =26.= That no one can be considered Catholic who does not agree with the Roman Church. =27.= That he [the Pope] has the power to absolve the subjects of unjust rulers from their oath of fidelity. 46. Letter of Gregory VII. to Henry IV. (December, 1075) The high ideal of papal supremacy over temporal sovereigns which Gregory cherished when he became pope in 1073, and which is set forth so forcibly in the _Dictatus_, was one whose validity no king or emperor could be brought to recognize. It involved an attitude of inferiority and submissiveness which monarchs felt to be quite inconsistent with the complete independence which they claimed in the management of the affairs of their respective states. Perhaps one may say that the theory in itself, as a mere expression of religious sentiment, was not especially obnoxious; many an earlier pope had proclaimed it in substance without doing the kings and emperors of Europe material injury. It was the firm determination and the aggressive effort of Gregory to reduce the theory to an actual working system that precipitated a conflict. The supreme test of Gregory's ability to make the papal power felt in the measure that he thought it should be came early in the pontificate in the famous breach with Henry IV. of Germany. Henry at the time was not emperor in name, but only "king of the Romans," the imperial coronation not yet having taken place.[382] For all practical purposes, however, he may be regarded as occupying the emperor's position, since all that was lacking was the performance of a more or less perfunctory ceremony. Henry's specific grievances against the Pope were that the latter had declared it a sin for an ecclesiastic to be invested with his office by a layman, though this was almost the universal practice in Germany, and that he had condemned five of the king's councilors for simony,[383] suspended the archbishop of Bremen, the bishops of Speyer and Strassburg, and two Lombard bishops, and deposed the bishop of Florence. Half of the land and wealth of Germany was in the hands of bishops and abbots who, if the Pope were to have his way, would be released from all practical dependence upon the king and so would be free to encourage and take part in the feudal revolts which Henry was exerting himself so vigorously to crush. June 8, 1075, on the banks of the Unstrutt, the king won a signal victory over the rebellious feudal lords, after which he felt strong enough to defy the authority of Gregory with impunity. He therefore continued to associate with the five condemned councilors and, in contempt of recent papal declarations against lay investiture, took it upon himself to appoint and invest a number of bishops and abbots, though always with extreme care that the right kind of men be selected. Pope Gregory was, of course, not the man to overlook such conduct and at once made vigorous protest. The letter given below was written in December, 1075, and is one of a considerable series which passed back and forth across the Alps prior to the breaking of the storm in 1076-1077. At this stage matters had not yet got beyond the possibility of compromise and reconciliation; in fact Gregory writes as much as anything else to get the king's own statement regarding the reports of his conduct which had come to Rome. The tone of the letter is firm, it is true, but conciliatory. The thunder of subsequent epistles to the recreant Henry had not yet been brought into play. Source--Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_ (München, 1889), Vol. III., pp. 18-22. Adapted from translation in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 147-150. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Henry, the king, greeting and apostolic benediction,--that is, if he be obedient to the apostolic see as is becoming in a Christian king: [Sidenote: Henry exhorted to confess his sins] It is with some hesitation that we have sent you our apostolic benediction, knowing that for all our acts as pope we must render an account to God, the severe judge. It is reported that you have willingly associated with men who have been excommunicated by decree of the Pope and sentence of a synod.[384] If this be true, you are very well aware that you can receive the blessing neither of God nor of the Pope until you have driven them from you and have compelled them to do penance, and have also yourself sought absolution and forgiveness for your transgressions with due repentance and good works. Therefore we advise you that, if you realize your guilt in this matter, you immediately confess to some pious bishop, who shall absolve you with our permission, prescribing for you penance in proportion to the fault, and who shall faithfully report to us by letter, with your permission, the nature of the penance required. [Sidenote: The Pope's claim to authority over temporal princes] We wonder, moreover, that you should continue to assure us by letter and messengers of your devotion and humility; that you should call yourself our son and the son of the holy mother Church, obedient in the faith, sincere in love, diligent in devotion; and that you should commend yourself to us with all zeal of love and reverence--whereas in fact you are constantly disobeying the canonical and apostolic decrees in important matters of the faith.... Since you confess yourself a son of the Church, you should treat with more honor the head of the Church, that is, St. Peter, the prince of the apostles. If you are one of the sheep of the Lord, you have been entrusted to him by divine authority, for Christ said to him: "Peter, feed my sheep" [John, xxi. 16]; and again: "And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of Heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" [Matt., xvi. 19]. And since we, although an unworthy sinner, exercise his authority by divine will, the words which you address to us are in reality addressed directly to him. And although we read or hear only the words, he sees the heart from which the words proceed. Therefore your highness should be very careful that no insincerity be found in your words and messages to us; and that you show due reverence, not to us, indeed, but to omnipotent God, in those things which especially make for the advance of the Christian faith and the well-being of the Church. For our Lord said to the apostles and to their successors: "He that heareth you heareth me, and he that despiseth you despiseth me" [Luke, x. 16]. For no one will disregard our admonitions if he believes that the decrees of the Pope have the same authority as the words of the apostle himself....[385] [Sidenote: Abuses in the Church to be corrected] Now in the synod held at the apostolic seat to which the divine will has called us (at which some of your subjects also were present) we, seeing that the Christian religion had been weakened by many attacks and that the chief and proper motive, that of saving souls, had for a long time been neglected and slighted, were alarmed at the evident danger of the destruction of the flock of the Lord, and had recourse to the decrees and the doctrine of the holy fathers. We decreed nothing new, nothing of our invention; but we decided that the error should be abandoned and the single primitive rule of ecclesiastical discipline and the familiar way of the saints should be again sought out and followed.[386] For we know that no other door to salvation and eternal life lies open to the sheep of Christ than that which was pointed out by Him who said: "I am the door: by me if any man enter in he shall be saved, and find pasture" [John, x. 9]; and this, we learn from the gospels and from the sacred writings, was preached by the apostles and observed by the holy fathers. And we have decided that this decree--which some, placing human above divine honor, have called an unendurable weight and an immense burden, but which we call by its proper name, that is, the truth and light necessary to salvation--is to be received and observed not only by you and your subjects, but also by all princes and peoples of the earth who confess and worship Christ; for it is greatly desired by us, and would be most fitting to you, that as you are greater than others in glory, in honor, and in virtue, so you should be more distinguished in devotion to Christ. [Sidenote: Gregory disposed to treat Henry fairly] Nevertheless, that this decree may not seem to you beyond measure grievous and unjust, we have commanded you by your faithful ambassadors to send to us the wisest and most pious men whom you can find in your kingdom, so that if they can show or instruct us in any way how we can temper the sentence promulgated by the holy fathers without offense to the eternal King or danger to our souls, we may consider their advice. But, even if we had not warned you in so friendly a manner, it would have been only right on your part, before you violated the apostolic decrees, to ask justice of us in a reasonable manner in any matter in which we had injured or affected your honor. But from what you have since done and decreed it is evident how little you care for our warnings, or for the observance of justice. [Sidenote: Henry's obligation to serve and obey the papacy] But since we hope that, while the long-suffering patience of God still invites you to repent, you may become wiser and your heart may be turned to obey the commands of God, we warn you with fatherly love that, knowing the rule of Christ to be over you, you should consider how dangerous it is to place your honor above His, and that you should not interfere with the liberty of the Church which He has deigned to join to Himself by heavenly union, but rather with faithful devotion you should offer your assistance to the increasing of this liberty to omnipotent God and St. Peter, through whom also your glory may be enhanced. You ought to recognize what you undoubtedly owe to them for giving you victory over your enemies,[387] that as they have gladdened you with great prosperity, so they should see that you are thereby rendered more devout. And in order that the fear of God, in whose hands is all power and all rule, may affect your heart more than these our warnings, you should recall what happened to Saul, when, after winning the victory which he gained by the will of the prophet, he glorified himself in his triumph and did not obey the warnings of the prophet, and how God reproved him; and, on the other hand, what grace King David acquired by reason of his humility, as well as his other virtues. 47. Henry IV.'s Reply to Gregory's Letter (January, 1076) In 1059, when Nicholas II. was pope and Hildebrand was yet only a cardinal, a council assembled at the Lateran decreed that henceforth the right of electing the sovereign pontiff should be vested exclusively in the college of cardinals, or in other words, in seven cardinal bishops in the vicinity of Rome and a certain number of cardinal priests and deacons attached to the parishes of the city. The people and clergy generally were deprived of participation in the election, except so far as merely to give their consent. Hildebrand seems to have been the real author of the decree. Nevertheless, in 1073, when he was elevated to the papal chair, the decree of 1059 was in a measure ignored, for he was elected by popular vote and his choice was only passively sanctioned by the cardinals. When, therefore, the quarrel between him and Henry IV. came on, the latter was not slow to make use of the weapon which Hildebrand's (or Gregory's) uncanonical election placed in his hands. In replying, January 24, 1076, to the papal letter of December, 1075, he bluntly addresses himself to "Hildebrand, not pope, but false monk," and writes a stinging epistle in the tone thus assumed in his salutation. In his arraignment of Gregory the king doubtless went far beyond the truth; but the fact remains that Gregory's dominating purposes in the interest of the papal authority threatened to cut deeply into the independence of all temporal sovereigns, and therefore rendered such resistance as Henry offered quite inevitable. In the interim between receiving the Pope's letter and dispatching his reply Henry had convened at Worms a council of the German clergy, and this body had decreed that Gregory, having wrongfully ascended the papal throne, should be compelled forthwith to abdicate it. Source--Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_ (München, 1889), Vol. III., pp. 24-25. Translated in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 151-152. Henry, king not by usurpation, but by the holy ordination of God, to Hildebrand, not pope, but false monk. [Sidenote: Gregory declared to be only a demagogue] [Sidenote: The papal claim to temporal supremacy rejected] [Sidenote: Henry also cites Scripture] This is the salutation which you deserve, for you have never held any office in the Church without making it a source of confusion and a curse to Christian men, instead of an honor and a blessing. To mention only the most obvious cases out of many, you have not only dared to lay hands on the Lord's anointed, the archbishops, bishops, and priests, but you have scorned them and abused them, as if they were ignorant servants not fit to know what their master was doing. This you have done to gain favor with the vulgar crowd. You have declared that the bishops know nothing and that you know everything; but if you have such great wisdom you have used it not to build but to destroy. Therefore we believe that St. Gregory, whose name you have presumed to take, had you in mind when he said: "The heart of the prelate is puffed up by the abundance of subjects, and he thinks himself more powerful than all others." All this we have endured because of our respect for the papal office, but you have mistaken our humility for fear, and have dared to make an attack upon the royal and imperial authority which we received from God. You have even threatened to take it away, as if we had received it from you, and as if the Empire and kingdom were in your disposal and not in the disposal of God. Our Lord Jesus Christ has called us to the government of the Empire, but He never called you to the rule of the Church. This is the way you have gained advancement in the Church: through craft you have obtained wealth; through wealth you have obtained favor; through favor, the power of the sword; and through the power of the sword, the papal seat, which is the seat of peace; and then from the seat of peace you have expelled peace. For you have incited subjects to rebel against their prelates by teaching them to despise the bishops, their rightful rulers. You have given to laymen the authority over priests, whereby they condemn and depose those whom the bishops have put over them to teach them. You have attacked me, who, unworthy as I am, have yet been anointed to rule among the anointed of God, and who, according to the teaching of the fathers, can be judged by no one save God alone, and can be deposed for no crime except infidelity. For the holy fathers in the time of the apostate Julian[388] did not presume to pronounce sentence of deposition against him, but left him to be judged and condemned by God. St. Peter himself said, "Fear God, honor the king" [1 Pet., ii. 17]. But you, who fear not God, have dishonored me, whom He hath established. St. Paul, who said that even an angel from heaven should be accursed who taught any other than the true doctrine, did not make an exception in your favor, to permit you to teach false doctrines. For he says, "But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed" [Gal., i. 8]. Come down, then, from that apostolic seat which you have obtained by violence; for you have been declared accursed by St. Paul for your false doctrines, and have been condemned by us and our bishops for your evil rule. Let another ascend the throne of St. Peter, one who will not use religion as a cloak of violence, but will teach the life-giving doctrine of that prince of the apostles. I, Henry, king by the grace of God, with all my bishops, say unto you: "Come down, come down, and be accursed through all the ages." 48. Henry IV. Deposed by Pope Gregory (1076) The foregoing letter of Henry IV. was received at Rome with a storm of disapproval and the envoys who bore it barely escaped with their lives. A council of French and Italian bishops was convened in the Lateran (Feb. 24, 1076), and the king's haughty epistle, together with the decree of the council at Worms deposing Gregory, were read and allowed to have their effect. With the assent of the bishops, the Pope pronounced the sentence of excommunication against Henry and formally released all the latter's Christian subjects from their oath of allegiance. Naturally the action of Gregory aroused intense interest throughout Europe. In Germany it had the intended effect of detaching many influential bishops and abbots from the imperial cause and stirring the political enemies of the king to renewed activity. The papal ban became a pretext for the renewal of the hostility on part of his dissatisfied subjects which Henry had but just succeeded in suppressing. In the first part of the papal decree Gregory seeks to defend himself against the charges brought by Henry and the German clergy to the effect that he had mounted the papal throne through personal ambition and the employment of unbecoming means. It was indisputable that his election had not been strictly in accord with the decree of 1059, but it seems equally true that, as Gregory declares, he was placed at the helm of the Church contrary to his personal desires. Source--Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_ (München, 1889), Vol. III., p. 26. Translated in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 155-156. [Sidenote: Gregory denies that he ever sought the papal office] [Sidenote: Henry deposed by papal decree] St. Peter, prince of the apostles, incline thine ear unto me, I beseech thee, and hear me, thy servant, whom thou hast nourished from mine infancy and hast delivered from mine enemies that hate me for my fidelity to thee. Thou art my witness, as are also my mistress, the mother of God, and St. Paul thy brother, and all the other saints, that the Holy Roman Church called me to its government against my own will, and that I did not gain thy throne by violence; that I would rather have ended my days in exile than have obtained thy place by fraud or for worldly ambition. It is not by my efforts, but by thy grace, that I am set to rule over the Christian world which was especially intrusted to thee by Christ. It is by thy grace, and as thy representative that God has given to me the power to bind and to loose in heaven and in earth. Confident of my integrity and authority, I now declare in the name of the omnipotent God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that Henry, son of the Emperor Henry,[389] is deprived of his kingdom of Germany and Italy. I do this by thy authority and in defense of the honor of thy Church, because he has rebelled against it. He who attempts to destroy the honor of the Church should be deprived of such honor as he may have held. He has refused to obey as a Christian should; he has not returned to God from whom he had wandered; he has had dealings with excommunicated persons; he has done many iniquities; he has despised the warnings which, as thou art witness, I sent to him for his salvation; he has cut himself off from thy Church, and has attempted to rend it asunder; therefore, by thy authority, I place him under the curse. It is in thy name that I curse him, that all people may know that thou art Peter, and upon thy rock the Son of the living God has built his Church, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. 49. The Penance of Henry IV. at Canossa (1077) In his contest with the Pope, Henry's chances of winning were from the outset diminished by the readiness of his subjects to take advantage of his misfortunes to recover political privileges they had lost under his vigorous rule. In October, 1076, the leading German nobles, lay and clerical, encouraged by the papal decree of the preceding February, assembled at Tribur, near Mainz, and proceeded to formulate a plan of action. Henry, with the few followers who remained faithful, awaited the result at Oppenheim, just across the Rhine. The magnates at last agreed that unless Henry could secure the removal of the papal ban within a year he should be deposed from the throne. By the Oppenheim Convention he was forced to promise to revoke his sentence of deposition against Gregory and to offer him his allegiance. The promise was executed in a royal edict of the same month. Seeing that there remained no hope in further resistance, and hearing that Gregory was about to present himself in Germany to compel a final adjustment of the affair, Henry fled from Speyer, where he had been instructed by the nobles to remain, and by a most arduous winter journey over the Alps arrived at last at the castle of Canossa, in Tuscany,[390] where the Pope, on his way to Germany, was being entertained by one of his allies, the Countess Matilda. Gregory might indeed already have been on the Rhine but that he had heard of the move Henry was making and feared that he was proposing to stir up revolt in the papal dominions. The king was submissive, apparently conquered; yet Gregory was loath to end the conflict at this point. He had hoped to establish a precedent by entering German territory and there disposing of the crown according to his own will. But it was a cardinal rule of the Church that a penitent sincerely seeking absolution could not be denied, and in his request Henry was certainly importunate enough to give every appearance of sincerity. Accordingly, the result of the meeting of king [Emperor] and Pope at Canossa was that the ban of excommunication was revoked by the latter, while the former took an oath fully acknowledging the papal claims. Inasmuch as he had saved his crown and frustrated the design of Gregory to cross the mountains into Germany, Henry may be said to have won a temporary advantage; and this was followed within a few years, when the struggle broke out again, by the practical expulsion of Gregory from Rome and his death in broken-hearted exile (1085). Nevertheless the moral effect of the Canossa episode, and of the events which followed, in the long run operated decidedly against the king's position and the whole imperial theory. The document below is a letter of Gregory to the German magnates giving an account of the submission of the king at Canossa, and including the text of the oath which he there took. Source--Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_ (München, 1889), Vol. III., pp. 33-34. Adapted from translation in Ernest F. Henderson, _Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1896), pp. 385-388. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to all the archbishops, bishops, dukes, counts, and other princes of the realm of the Germans who defend the Christian faith, greeting and apostolic benediction. Inasmuch as for love of justice you assumed common cause and danger with us in the struggle of Christian warfare, we have taken care to inform you, beloved, with sincere affection, how the king, humbled to penance, obtained the pardon of absolution and how the whole affair has progressed from his entrance into Italy to the present time. [Sidenote: Gregory's advance into Tuscany] As had been agreed with the legates who had been sent to us on your part,[391] we came into Lombardy about twenty days before the date on which one of the commanders was to come over the pass to meet us, awaiting his advent that we might cross over to the other side. But when the period fixed upon had already passed, and we were told that at this time on account of many difficulties--as we can readily believe--an escort could not be sent to meet us, we were involved in no little perplexity as to what would be best for us to do, having no other means of coming to you. [Sidenote: Henry at Canossa] Meanwhile, however, we learned that the king was approaching. He also, before entering Italy, sent to us suppliant legates, offering in all things to render satisfaction to God, to St. Peter, and to us. And he renewed his promise that, besides amending his way of living, he would observe all obedience if only he might deserve to obtain from us the favor of absolution and the apostolic benediction. When, after long postponing a decision and holding frequent consultations, we, through all the envoys who passed, had severely taken him to task for his excesses, he came at length of his own accord, with a few followers, showing nothing of hostility or boldness, to the town of Canossa where we were tarrying. And there, having laid aside all the belongings of royalty, wretchedly, with bare feet and clad in wool, he continued for three days to stand before the gate of the castle. Nor did he desist from imploring with many tears, the aid and consolation of the apostolic mercy until he had moved all of those who were present there, and whom the report of it reached, to such pity and depth of compassion that, interceding for him with many prayers and tears, all wondered indeed at the unaccustomed hardness of our heart, while some actually cried out that we were exercising, not the dignity of apostolic severity, but the cruelty, as it were, of a tyrannical madness. Finally, won by the persistency of his suit and by the constant supplications of all who were present, we loosed the chain of the anathema[392] and at length received him into the favor of communion and into the lap of the holy mother Church, those being accepted as sponsors for him whose names are written below. [Sidenote: Gregory's purpose to visit Germany] Having thus accomplished these matters, we desire at the first opportunity to cross over to your country in order that, by God's aid, we may more fully arrange all things for the peace of the Church and the concord of the kingdom, as has long been our wish. For we desire, beloved, that you should know beyond a doubt that the whole question at issue is as yet so little cleared up--as you can learn from the sponsors mentioned--that both our coming and the concurrence of your counsels are extremely necessary. Wherefore strive ye all to continue in the faith in which you have begun and in the love of justice; and know that we are not otherwise committed to the king save that, by word alone, as is our custom, we have said that he might have hopes from us in those matters in which, without danger to his soul or to our own, we might be able to help him to his salvation and honor, either through justice or through mercy. OATH OF KING HENRY I, King Henry, on account of the murmuring and enmity which the archbishops and bishops, dukes, counts and other princes of the realm of the Germans, and others who follow them in the same matter of dissension, bring to bear against me, will, within the term which our master Pope Gregory has constituted, either do justice according to his judgment or conclude peace according to his counsels--unless an absolute impediment should stand in his way or in mine. And on the removal of this impediment I shall be ready to continue in the same course. Likewise, if that same lord Pope Gregory shall wish to go beyond the mountains [i.e., into Germany], or to any other part of the world, he himself, as well as those who shall be in his escort or following, or who are sent by him, or come to him from any parts of the world whatever, shall be secure while going, remaining, or returning, on my part, and on the part of those whom I can constrain, from every injury to life or limb, or from capture. Nor shall he, by my consent, meet any other hindrance that is contrary to his dignity; and if any such be placed in his way I will aid him according to my ability. So help me God and this holy gospel. 50. The Concordat of Worms (1122) The veteran Emperor Henry IV. died at Liège in 1106 and was succeeded by his son, Henry V. The younger Henry had some months before been prompted by Pope Paschal II. to rebel against his father and, succeeding in this, had practically established himself on the throne before his legitimate time. Pope Paschal expected the son to be more submissive than the father had been and in 1106 issued a decree renewing the prohibition of lay investiture. Outside of Germany this evil had been brought almost to an end and, now that the vigorous Henry IV. was out of the way, the Pope felt that the time had come to make the reform complete throughout Christendom. But in this he was mistaken, for Henry V. proved almost as able and fully as determined a power to contend with as had been his father. In fact, the new monarch could command a much stronger army, and he was in no wise loath to use it. In 1110 he led a host of thirty thousand men across the Alps, compelled the submission of the north Italian towns, and marched on Rome. The outcome was a secret compact (February 4, 1111) by which the king, on the one hand, was to abandon all claim to the right of investiture and the Pope, on the other, was to see that the ecclesiastical princes of the Empire (bishops and abbots holding large tracts of land) should give up all the lands which they had received by royal grant since the days of Charlemagne. The abandonment of investiture looked like a surrender on the part of Henry, but in reality all that he wanted was direct control over all the lands of the Empire, and if the ecclesiastical princes were to be dispossessed of these he cared little or nothing about having a part in the mere religious ceremony. This settlement was rendered impossible, however, by the attitude of the princes themselves, who naturally refused to be thus deprived of their landed property and chief source of income. The Pope was then forced to make a second compact surrendering the full right of investiture to the imperial authority, and Henry also got the coveted imperial coronation. But his triumph was short-lived. Rebellions among the German nobles robbed him of his strength and after years of wearisome bickerings and petty conflicts he again came to the point where he was willing to compromise. Calixtus II., who became pope in 1119, was similarly inclined. Accordingly, in a diet at Worms, in 1122, the whole problem was taken up for settlement, and happily this time with success. The documents translated below contain the concessions made mutually by the two parties. Calixtus, in brief, grants that the elections of bishops and abbots may take place in the presence of the Emperor, or of his agents, and that the Emperor should have the right to invest them with the scepter, i.e., with their dignity as princes of the Empire. Henry, on his side, agrees to give up investiture with the ring and staff, i.e., with spiritual functions, to allow free elections, and to aid in the restoration of church property which had been confiscated during the long struggle now drawing to a close. The settlement was in the nature of a compromise; but on the whole the papacy came off the better. In its largest aspects the great fifty-year struggle over the question of investiture was ended, though minor features of it remained to trouble all parties concerned for a long time to come. Sources--(a) Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., pp. 75-76. (b) Text in Michael Doeberl, _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica Selecta_, Vol. III., p. 60. [Sidenote: The provision for elections] (a) I, Bishop Calixtus, servant of the servants of God, do grant to thee, by the grace of God august Emperor of the Romans, the right to hold the elections of the bishops and abbots of the German realm who belong to the kingdom, in thy presence, without simony, and without any resort to violence; it being agreed that, if any dispute arise among those concerned, thou, by the counsel and judgment of the metropolitan [i.e., the archbishop] and the suffragan bishops, shalt extend favor and support to the party which shall seem to you to have the better case. Moreover, the person elected may receive from thee the _regalia_ through the scepter, without any exaction being levied;[393] and he shall discharge his rightful obligations to thee for them.[394] [Sidenote: Investiture with the scepter] He who is consecrated in other parts of the Empire[395] shall receive the _regalia_ from thee through the scepter, within six months, and without any exaction, and shall discharge his rightful obligations to thee for them; those rights being excepted, however, which are known to belong to the Roman Church. In whatever cases thou shalt make complaint to me and ask my aid I will support thee according as my office requires. To thee, and to all those who are on thy side, or have been, in this period of strife, I grant a true peace. [Sidenote: Investiture with ring and staff] (b) In the name of the holy and indivisible Trinity, I, Henry, by the grace of God august Emperor of the Romans, for the love of God and of the holy Roman Church and of our lord Pope Calixtus, and for the saving of my soul, do give over to God, and to the holy apostles of God, Peter and Paul, and the holy Catholic Church, all investiture through ring and staff; and do concede that in all the churches that are in my kingdom or empire there shall be canonical election and free consecration. [Sidenote: Restoration of confiscated property] All the property and _regalia_ of St. Peter which, from the beginning of this conflict until the present time, whether in the days of my father or in my own, have been confiscated, and which I now hold, I restore to the holy Roman Church. And as for those things which I do not now hold, I will faithfully aid in their restoration. The property also of all other churches and princes and of every one, whether lay or ecclesiastical, which has been lost in the struggle, I will restore as far as I hold it, according to the counsel of the princes, or according to considerations of justice. I will also faithfully aid in the restoration of those things which I do not hold. And I grant a true peace to our lord Pope Calixtus, and to the holy Roman Church, and to all those who are, or have been, on its side. In matters where the holy Roman Church shall seek assistance, I will faithfully render it, and when it shall make complaint to me I will see that justice is done. FOOTNOTES: [375] The incumbent of the papal office was at the same time bishop of Rome, temporal sovereign of the papal lands, and head of the church universal. In earlier times there was always danger that the third of these functions be lost and that the papacy revert to a purely local institution, but by Gregory VII.'s day the universal headship was clearly recognized throughout the West as inherent in the office. It was only when there arose the question as to how far this headship justified the Pope in attempting to control the affairs of the world that serious disagreement manifested itself. [376] That is, without giving them a hearing at a later date. [377] On the basis of the forged Donation of Constantine the Pope claimed the right here mentioned. There was no proper warrant for it. [378] "This is the first distinct assertion of the exclusive right of the bishop of Rome to the title of pope, once applied to all bishops." Robinson, _Readings in European History_, Vol. I., p. 274. The word pope is derived from _papa_ (father). It is still used as the common title of all priests in the Greek Church. [379] This, with the letter given on page 265, sets forth succinctly the papacy's absolute claim of authority as against the highest temporal power in Europe. [380] That is, pronounced by the canons of the Church to be divinely inspired. [381] This is, of course, not a claim of _papal_ infallibility. The assertion is merely that in the domain of faith and morals the Roman church, judged by Scriptural principles, has never pursued a course either improper or unwarranted. [382] It did not occur until 1084. Henry had inherited the office at the death of his father, Henry III., in 1056. [383] The sin of simony comprised the employment of any corrupt means to obtain appointment or election to an ecclesiastical office. For the origin of the term see the incident recorded in Acts, viii. 18-24. The five councilors had been condemned by a synod at Rome in February, 1075. [384] The five condemned councillors. [385] This portion of the letter comprises a clear assertion of the "Petrine Supremacy," i.e., the theory that Peter, as the first bishop of Rome, transmitted his superiority over all other bishops to his successors in the Roman see, who in due time came to constitute the line of popes [see p. 78]. [386] This refers to a decree of a Roman synod in 1074 against simony and the marriage of the clergy. [387] In the battle on the Unstrutt, June 8, 1075. [388] Julian succeeded Constantine's son Constantius as head of the Roman Empire in 361. He was known as "the Apostate" because of his efforts to displace the Christian religion and to restore the old pagan worship. He died in battle with the Persians in 363. [389] Henry III., emperor from 1039 to 1056. [390] The castle of Canossa stood on one of the northern spurs of the Apennines, about ten miles southwest of Reggio. Some remains of it may yet be seen. [391] The German princes who were hostile to Henry had kept in close touch with the Pope. In the Council of Tribur a legate of Gregory took the most prominent part, and the members of that body had invited the Pope to come to Augsburg and aid in the settling of Henry's crown upon a successor. [392] Revoked the ban of excommunication. The anathema was a solemn curse by an ecclesiastical authority. [393] That is, the Emperor was to be allowed to invest the new bishop or abbot with the fiefs and secular powers by a touch of the scepter, but his old claim to the right of investment with the spiritual emblems of ring and crozier was denied. [394] This means that the ecclesiastical prince--the bishop or abbot--in the capacity of a landholder was to render the ordinary feudal obligations to the Emperor. [395] Burgundy and Italy. CHAPTER XVII. THE CRUSADES 51. Speech of Pope Urban II. at the Council of Clermont (1095) Within a short time after the death of Mohammed (632) the whole country of Syria, including Palestine, was overrun by the Arabs, and the Holy City of Jerusalem passed out of Christian hands into the control of the infidels. The Arabs, however, shared the veneration of the Christians for the places associated with the life of Christ and did not greatly interfere with the pilgrims who flocked thither from all parts of the Christian world. In the tenth century the strong emperors of the Macedonian dynasty at Constantinople succeeded in winning back all of Syria except the extreme south, and the prospect seemed fair for the permanent possession by a Christian power of all those portions of the Holy Land which were regarded as having associations peculiarly sacred. This prospect might have been realized but for the invasions and conquests of the Seljuk Turks in the latter part of the eleventh century. These Turks came from central Asia and are to be carefully distinguished from the Ottoman Turks of more modern times. They had recently been converted to Mohammedanism and were now the fiercest and most formidable champions of that faith in its conflict with the Christian East. In 1071 Emperor Romanus Diogenes was defeated at Manzikert, in Armenia, and taken prisoner by the sultan Alp Arslan, and as a result not only Asia Minor, but also Syria, was forever lost to the Empire. The Holy City of Jerusalem was definitely occupied in 1076. The invaders established a stronghold at Nicæa, less than a hundred miles across the Sea of Marmora from Constantinople, and even threatened the capital itself, although they did not finally succeed in taking it until 1453. No sooner were the Turks in possession of Jerusalem and the approaches thither, than pilgrims returning to western Europe began to tell tales, not infrequently as true as they were terrifying, regarding insults and tortures suffered at the hand of the pitiless conquerors. The Emperor Alexius Comnenus (1081-1118) put forth every effort to expel the intruders from Asia Minor, hoping to be able to regain the territories, including Syria, which they had stripped from the Empire; but his strength proved unequal to the task. Accordingly, in 1095, he sent an appeal to Pope Urban II. to enlist the Christian world in a united effort to save both the Empire and the Eastern Church. It used to be thought that Pope Sylvester II., about the year 1000, had suggested a crusade against the Mohammedans of the East, but it now appears that the first pope to advance such an idea was Gregory VII. (1073-1085), who in response to an appeal of Alexius's predecessor in 1074, had actually assembled an army of 50,000 men for the aid of the Emperor and had been prevented from carrying out the project only by the severity of the investiture controversy with Henry IV. of Germany. At any rate, it was not a difficult task for the ambassadors of Alexius to convince Pope Urban that he ought to execute the plan of Gregory. The plea for aid was made at the Council of Piacenza in March, 1095, and during the next few months Urban thought out the best method of procedure. At the Council of Clermont, held in November, 1095, the crusade was formally proclaimed through the famous speech which the Pope himself delivered after the regular business of the assembly had been transacted. Urban was a Frenchman and he knew how to appeal to the emotions and sympathies of his hearers. For the purpose of stirring up interest in the enterprise he dropped the Latin in which the work of the Council had been transacted and broke forth in his native tongue, much to the delight of his countrymen. There are four early versions of the speech, differing widely in contents, and none, of course, reproducing the exact words used by the speaker. The version given by Robert the Monk, a resident of Rheims, in the opening chapter of his history of the first crusade seems in most respects superior to the others. It was written nearly a quarter of a century after the Council of Clermont, but the writer in all probability had at least heard the speech which he was trying to reproduce; in any event we may take his version of it as a very satisfactory representation of the aspirations and spirit which impelled the first crusaders to their great enterprise. It has been well said that "many orations have been delivered with as much eloquence, and in as fiery words as the Pope used, but no other oration has ever been able to boast of as wonderful results." Source--Robertus Monachus, _Historia Iherosolimitana_ [Robert the Monk, "History of the Crusade to Jerusalem"], Bk. I., Chap. 1. Reprinted in _Recueildes Historiens des Croisades: Historiens Occidentaux_ (Paris, 1866), Vol. III., pp. 727-728. Adapted from translation by Dana C. Munro in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. I., No. 2, pp. 5-8. [Sidenote: The Council of Clermont] In the year of our Lord's Incarnation one thousand and ninety-five, a great council was convened within the bounds of Gaul, in Auvergne, in the city which is called Clermont. Over this Pope Urban II. presided, with the Roman bishops and cardinals. This council was a famous one on account of the concourse of both French and German bishops, and of princes as well. Having arranged the matters relating to the Church, the lord Pope went forth into a certain spacious plain, for no building was large enough to hold all the people. The Pope then, with sweet and persuasive eloquence, addressed those present in words something like the following, saying: [Sidenote: Pope Urban appeals to the French] "Oh, race of Franks, race beyond the mountains [the Alps], race beloved and chosen by God (as is clear from many of your works), set apart from all other nations by the situation of your country, as well as by your Catholic faith and the honor you render to the holy Church: to you our discourse is addressed, and for you our exhortations are intended. We wish you to know what a serious matter has led us to your country, for it is the imminent peril threatening you and all the faithful that has brought us hither. [Sidenote: The ravages of the Turks] "From the confines of Jerusalem and from the city of Constantinople a grievous report has gone forth and has been brought repeatedly to our ears; namely, that a race from the kingdom of the Persians, an accursed race, a race wholly alienated from God, 'a generation that set not their heart aright, and whose spirit was not steadfast with God' [Ps., lxxviii. 8], has violently invaded the lands of those Christians and has depopulated them by pillage and fire. They have led away a part of the captives into their own country, and a part they have killed by cruel tortures. They have either destroyed the churches of God or appropriated them for the rites of their own religion. They destroy the altars, after having defiled them with their uncleanness.... The kingdom of the Greeks [the Eastern Empire] is now dismembered by them and has been deprived of territory so vast in extent that it could not be traversed in two months' time. [Sidenote: Urban recalls the zeal and valor of the earlier Franks] "On whom, therefore, rests the labor of avenging these wrongs and of recovering this territory, if not upon you--you, upon whom, above all other nations, God has conferred remarkable glory in arms, great courage, bodily activity, and strength to humble the heads of those who resist you? Let the deeds of your ancestors encourage you and incite your minds to manly achievements--the glory and greatness of King Charlemagne, and of his son Louis [the Pious], and of your other monarchs, who have destroyed the kingdoms of the Turks[396] and have extended the sway of the holy Church over lands previously pagan. Let the holy sepulcher of our Lord and Saviour, which is possessed by the unclean nations, especially arouse you, and the holy places which are now treated with ignominy and irreverently polluted with the filth of the unclean. Oh most valiant soldiers and descendants of invincible ancestors, do not degenerate, but recall the valor of your ancestors. [Sidenote: The crusade as a desirable remedy for over population] "But if you are hindered by love of children, parents, or wife, remember what the Lord says in the Gospel, 'He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me' [Matt., x. 37]. 'Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundred-fold, and shall inherit everlasting life' [Matt., xix. 29]. Let none of your possessions restrain you, nor anxiety for your family affairs. For this land which you inhabit, shut in on all sides by the seas and surrounded by the mountain peaks, is too narrow for your large population; nor does it abound in wealth; and it furnishes scarcely food enough for its cultivators. Hence it is that you murder and devour one another, that you wage war, and that very many among you perish in civil strife.[397] [Sidenote: Syria, a rich country] "Let hatred, therefore, depart from among you; let your quarrels end; let wars cease; and let all dissensions and controversies slumber. Enter upon the road of the Holy Sepulcher; wrest that land from the wicked race, and subject it to yourselves. That land which, as the Scripture says, 'floweth with milk and honey' [Num., xiii. 27] was given by God into the power of the children of Israel. Jerusalem is the center of the earth; the land is fruitful above all others, like another paradise of delights. This spot the Redeemer of mankind has made illustrious by His advent, has beautified by His sojourn, has consecrated by His passion, has redeemed by His death, has glorified by His burial. "This royal city, however, situated at the center of the earth, is now held captive by the enemies of Christ and is subjected, by those who do not know God, to the worship of the heathen. She seeks, therefore, and desires to be liberated, and ceases not to implore you to come to her aid. From you especially she asks succor, because, as we have already said, God has conferred upon you, above all other nations, great glory in arms. Accordingly, undertake this journey eagerly for the remission of your sins, with the assurance of the reward of imperishable glory in the kingdom of heaven." [Sidenote: Response to the appeal] When Pope Urban had skilfully said these and very many similar things, he so centered in one purpose the desires of all who were present that all cried out, "It is the will of God! It is the will of God!" When the venerable Roman pontiff heard that, with eyes uplifted to heaven, he gave thanks to God and, commanding silence with his hand, said: [Sidenote: "Deus vult," the war cry] "Most beloved brethren, to-day is manifest in you what the Lord says in the Gospel, 'Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them' [Matt., xviii. 20]. For unless God had been present in your spirits, all of you would not have uttered the same cry; since, although the cry issued from numerous mouths, yet the origin of the cry was one. Therefore I say to you that God, who implanted this in your breasts, has drawn it forth from you. Let that, then, be your war cry in battle, because it is given to you by God. When an armed attack is made upon the enemy, let this one cry be raised by all the soldiers of God: 'It is the will of God! It is the will of God!' [Sidenote: Who should go and who should remain] "And we neither command nor advise that the old or feeble, or those incapable of bearing arms, undertake this journey. Nor ought women to set out at all without their husbands, or brothers, or legal guardians. For such are more of a hindrance than aid, more of a burden than an advantage. Let the rich aid the needy; and according to their wealth let them take with them experienced soldiers. The priests and other clerks [clergy], whether secular or regular, are not to go without the consent of their bishop; for this journey would profit them nothing if they went without permission. Also, it is not fitting that laymen should enter upon the pilgrimage without the blessing of their priests. "Whoever, therefore, shall decide upon this holy pilgrimage, and shall make his vow to God to that effect, and shall offer himself to Him for sacrifice, as a living victim, holy and acceptable to God, shall wear the sign of the cross of the Lord on his forehead or on his breast. When he shall return from his journey, having fulfilled his vow, let him place the cross on his back between his shoulders. Thus shall ye, indeed, by this twofold action, fulfill the precept of the Lord, as He commands in the Gospel, 'He that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me'" [Luke, xiv. 27]. 52. The Starting of the Crusaders (1096) The appeals of Pope Urban at Clermont and elsewhere met with ready response, especially among the French, but also to a considerable extent among Italians, Germans, and even English. A great variety of people were attracted by the enterprise, and from an equal variety of motives. Men whose lives had been evil saw in the crusade an opportunity of doing penance; criminals who perhaps cared little for penance but much for their own personal safety saw in it an avenue of escape from justice; merchants discovered in it a chance to open up new and valuable trade; knights hailed it as an invitation to deeds of valor and glory surpassing any Europe had yet known; ordinary malcontents regarded it as a chance to mend their fortunes; and a very large number of people looked upon it as a great spiritual obligation laid upon them and necessary to be performed in order to insure salvation in the world to come. By reason of all these incentives, some of them weighing much more in the mediæval mind than we can understand to-day, the crusade brought together men, women, and children from every part of Christendom. Both of the accounts given below of the assembling and starting of the crusaders are doubtless more or less exaggerated at certain points, yet in substance they represent what must have been pretty nearly the actual facts. William of Malmesbury was an English monk who lived in the first half of the twelfth century and wrote a very valuable _Chronicle of the Kings of England_, which reached the opening of the reign of Stephen (1135). He thus had abundant opportunity to learn of the first crusade from people who had actually participated in it. His rather humorous picture of the effects of Pope Urban's call is thus well worth reading. Better than it, however, is the account by the priest Fulcher of Chartres (1058-1124)--better because the writer himself took part in the crusade and so was a personal observer of most of the things he undertook to describe. Fulcher, in 1096, set out upon the crusade in the company of his lord, Etienne, count of Blois and Chartres, who was a man of importance in the army of Robert of Normandy. With the rest of Robert's crusaders he spent the winter in Italy and arrived at Durazzo in the spring of 1097. He had a part in the siege of Nicæa and in the battle of Dorylæum, but not in the siege of Antioch. Before reaching Jerusalem, in 1099, he became chaplain to a brother of Godfrey of Bouillon and was already making progress on his "history of the army of God." Sources--(a) Guilielmus Monachi Malmesburiensis, _De gestis regum Anglorum_ [William of Malmesbury, "Chronicle of the Kings of England"], Bk. IV., Chap. 2. Adapted from translation by John Sharpe (London, 1815), p. 416. (b) Fulcherius Carnotensis, _Historia Iherosolimitana: gesta Francorum Iherusalem peregrinantium_ [Fulcher of Chartres, "History of the Crusade to Jerusalem: the Deeds of the French Journeying Thither"], Chap. 6. Text in _Recueil des Historiens des Croisades: Historiens Occidentaux_ (Paris, 1866), Vol. III., p. 328. [Sidenote: Universal interest in the crusade] (a) Immediately the fame of this great event,[398] being spread through the universe, penetrated the minds of Christians with its mild breath, and wherever it blew there was no nation, however distant and obscure, that did not send some of its people. This zeal animated not only the provinces bordering on the Mediterranean, but all who had ever even heard of the name Christian in the most remote isles, and among barbarous nations. Then the Welshman abandoned his forests and neglected his hunting; the Scotchman deserted the fleas with which he is so familiar; the Dane ceased to swallow his intoxicating draughts; and the Norwegian turned his back upon his raw fish. The fields were left by the cultivators, and the houses by their inhabitants; all the cities were deserted. People were restrained neither by the ties of blood nor the love of country; they saw nothing but God. All that was in the granaries, or was destined for food, was left under the guardianship of the greedy agriculturist. The journey to Jerusalem was the only thing hoped for or thought of. Joy animated the hearts of all who set out; grief dwelt in the hearts of all who remained. Why do I say "of those who remained"? You might have seen the husband setting forth with his wife, with all his family; you would have laughed to see all the _penates_[399] put in motion and loaded upon wagons. The road was too narrow for the passengers, and more room was wanted for the travelers, so great and numerous was the crowd.[400] [Sidenote: The multitude of crusaders] (b) Such, then, was the immense assemblage which set out from the West. Gradually along the march, and from day to day, the army grew by the addition of other armies, coming from every direction and composed of innumerable people. Thus one saw an infinite multitude, speaking different languages and coming from divers countries. All did not, however, come together into a single army until we had reached the city of Nicæa.[401] What shall I add? The isles of the sea and the kingdoms of the whole earth were moved by God, so that one might believe fulfilled the prophecy of David, who said in his Psalm: "All nations whom Thou hast made shall come and worship before Thee, O Lord, and shall glorify Thy name;" and so that those who reached the holy places afterwards said justly: "We will worship where His feet have stood." Concerning this journey we read very many other predictions in the prophets, which it would be tedious to recall. [Sidenote: Mingled sorrow and joy of the crusaders] Oh, how great was the grief, how deep the sighs, what weeping, what lamentations among the friends, when the husband left the wife so dear to him, his children also, and all his possessions of any kind, father, mother, brethren, or kindred! And yet in spite of the floods of tears which those who remained shed for their friends about to depart, and in their very presence, the latter did not suffer their courage to fail, and, out of love for the Lord, in no way hesitated to leave all that they held most precious, believing without doubt that they would gain an hundred-fold in receiving the recompense which God has promised to those who love Him. Then the husband confided to his wife the time of his return and assured her that, if he lived, by God's grace he would return to her. He commended her to the Lord, gave her a kiss, and, weeping, promised to return. But the latter, who feared that she would never see him again, overcome with grief, was unable to stand, fell as if lifeless to the ground, and wept over her dear one whom she was losing in life, as if he were already dead. He, then, as if he had no pity (nevertheless he was filled with pity) and was not moved by the grief of his friends (and yet he was secretly moved), departed with a firm purpose. The sadness was for those who remained, and the joy for those who departed. What more can we say? "This is the Lord's doings, and it is marvelous in our eyes." 53. A Letter from a Crusader to his Wife One of the most important groups of sources on the crusades is the large body of letters which has come down to us, written by men who had an actual part in the various expeditions. These letters, addressed to parents, wives, children, vassals, or friends, are valuable alike for the facts which they contain and for the revelation they give of the spirit and motives of the crusaders. A considerable collection of the letters, in English translation, may be found in Roger de Hoveden's _Annals of English History_, Roger of Wendover's _Flowers of History_, and Matthew Paris's _English History_ (all in the Bohn Library); also in Michaud's _History of the Crusades_, Vol. III., Appendix. In many respects the letter given below, written at Antioch by Count Stephen of Blois to his wife Adele, under date of March 29, 1098, is unexcelled in all the records of mediæval letter-writing. Count Stephen (a brother-in-law of Robert of Normandy, who was a son of William the Conqueror) was one of the wealthiest and most popular French noblemen who responded to Pope Urban's summons at Clermont. At least three of his letters to his wife survive, of which the one here given is the third in order of time. It discloses the ordinary human sentiments of the crusader and makes us feel that, unlike the modern man as he was, he yet had very much in common with the people of to-day and of all ages. He was at the same time a bold fighter and a tender husband, a religious enthusiast and a practical man of affairs. When the letter was written, the siege of Antioch had been in progress somewhat more than five months; it continued until the following June, when it ended in the capture of the city by the crusaders. Count Stephen was slain in the battle of Ramleh in 1102. Source--D'Achery, _Spicilegium_ ["Gleanings"], 2d edition, Vol. III., pp. 430-433. Adapted from translation by Dana C. Munro in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. I., No. 4, pp. 5-8. Count Stephen to Adele, his sweetest and most amiable wife, to his dear children, and to all his vassals of all ranks,--his greeting and blessing. [Sidenote: Count Stephen reports prosperity] You may be very sure, dearest, that the messenger whom I sent to give you pleasure left me before Antioch safe and unharmed and, through God's grace, in the greatest prosperity. And already at that time, together with all the chosen army of Christ, endowed with great valor by Him, we have been continually advancing for twenty-three weeks toward the home of our Lord Jesus. You may know for certain, my beloved, that of gold, silver, and many other kind of riches I now have twice as much as your love had assigned to me when I left you. For all our princes, with the common consent of the whole army, though against my own wishes, have made me up to the present time the leader, chief, and director of their whole expedition. [Sidenote: Early achievements of the crusaders] Doubtless you have heard that after the capture of the city of Nicæa we fought a great battle with the treacherous Turks and, by God's aid, conquered them.[402] Next we conquered for the Lord all Romania, and afterwards Cappadocia.[403] We had learned that there was a certain Turkish prince, Assam, dwelling in Cappadocia; so we directed our course thither. We conquered all his castles by force and compelled him to flee to a certain very strong castle situated on a high rock. We also gave the land of that Assam to one of our chiefs, and in order that he might conquer the prince we left there with him many soldiers of Christ. Thence, continually following the wicked Turks, we drove them through the midst of Armenia,[404] as far as the great river Euphrates. Having left all their baggage and beasts of burden on the bank, they fled across the river into Arabia. [Sidenote: The arrival at Antioch (1097)] The bolder of the Turkish soldiers, indeed, entering Syria, hastened by forced marches night and day, in order to be able to enter the royal city of Antioch before our approach.[405] Hearing of this, the whole army of God gave due praise and thanks to the all-powerful Lord. Hastening with great joy to this chief city of Antioch, we besieged it and there had a great number of conflicts with the Turks; and seven times we fought with the citizens of the city and with the innumerable troops all the time coming to their aid. The latter we rushed out to meet and fought with the fiercest courage under the leadership of Christ. And in all these seven battles, by the aid of the Lord God, we conquered and most assuredly killed an innumerable host of them. In those battles, indeed, and in very many attacks made upon the city, many of our brethren and followers were killed and their souls were borne to the joys of paradise. [Sidenote: The beginning of the siege] We found the city of Antioch very extensive, fortified with the greatest strength and almost impossible to be taken. In addition, more than 5,000 bold Turkish soldiers had entered the city, not counting the Saracens, Publicans, Arabs, Turcopolitans, Syrians, Armenians, and other different races of whom an infinite multitude had gathered together there. In fighting against these enemies of God and of us we have, by God's grace, endured many sufferings and innumerable hardships up to the present time. Many also have already exhausted all their means in this most holy enterprise. Very many of our Franks, indeed, would have met a bodily death from starvation, if the mercy of God and our money had not come to their rescue. Lying before the city of Antioch, indeed, throughout the whole winter we suffered for our Lord Christ from excessive cold and enormous torrents of rain. What some say about the impossibility of bearing the heat of the sun in Syria is untrue, for the winter there is very similar to our winter in the West. [Sidenote: The Christians defeated near the seashore] I delight to tell you, dearest, what happened to us during Lent. Our princes had caused a fortress to be built before a certain gate which was between our camp and the sea. For the Turks, coming out of this gate daily, killed some of our men on their way to the sea. The city of Antioch is about five leagues distant from the sea. For this purpose they sent the excellent Bohemond and Raymond, count of St. Gilles,[406] to the sea with only sixty horsemen, in order that they might bring mariners to aid in this work. When, however, they were returning to us with these mariners, the Turks collected an army, fell suddenly upon our two leaders, and forced them to a perilous flight. In that unexpected fight we lost more than 500 of our foot-soldiers--to the glory of God. Of our horsemen, however, we lost only two, for certain. On that same day, in order to receive our brethren with joy, and entirely ignorant of their misfortunes, we went out to meet them. When, however, we approached the above-mentioned gate of the city, a mob of foot-soldiers and horsemen from Antioch, elated by the victory which they had won, rushed upon us in the same manner. Seeing these, our leaders went to the camp of the Christians to order all to be ready to follow us into battle. In the meantime our men gathered together and the scattered leaders, namely, Bohemond and Raymond, with the remainder of their army came up and told of the great misfortune which they had suffered. [Sidenote: A notable victory over the Turks] Our men, full of fury at these most evil tidings, prepared to die for Christ and, deeply grieved for their brethren, rushed upon the wicked Turks. They, enemies of God and of us, hastily fled before us and attempted to enter the city. But by God's grace the affair turned out very differently; for, when they tried to cross a bridge built over the great river Moscholum,[407] we followed them as closely as possible, killed many before they reached the bridge, forced many into the river, all of whom were killed, and we also slew many upon the bridge and very many at the narrow entrance to the gate. I am telling you the truth, my beloved, and you may be assured that in this battle we killed thirty emirs, that is, princes, and three hundred other Turkish nobles, not counting the remaining Turks and pagans. Indeed the number of Turks and Saracens killed is reckoned at 1230, but of ours we did not lose a single man. On the following day (Easter), while my chaplain Alexander was writing this letter in great haste, a party of our men lying in wait for the Turks fought a successful battle with them and killed sixty horsemen, whose heads they brought to the army. These which I write to you are only a few things, dearest, of the many which we have done; and because I am not able to tell you, dearest, what is in my mind, I charge you to do right, to watch carefully over your land, and to do your duty as you ought to your children and your vassals. You will certainly see me just as soon as I can possibly return to you. Farewell. FOOTNOTES: [396] The term Turks is here used loosely and inaccurately for Asiatic pagan invaders in general. The French had never destroyed any "kingdoms of the Turks" in the proper sense of the word, though from time to time they had made successful resistance to Saracens, Avars and Hungarians. [397] Among the acts of the Council of Clermont had been a solemn confirmation of the Truce of God, with the purpose of restraining feudal warfare [see p. 228]. In the version of Urban's speech given by Fulcher of Chartres, the Pope is reported as saying that in some parts of France "hardly any one can venture to travel upon the highways, by night or day, without danger of attack by thieves or robbers; and no one is sure that his property at home or abroad will not be taken from him by the violence or craft of the wicked." [398] Pope Urban's appeal at the Council of Clermont. [399] The _penates_ of the Romans were household gods. William of Malmesbury here uses the term half-humorously to designate the various sorts of household articles which the crusaders thought they could not do without on the expedition, and hence undertook to carry with them. [400] This was in the summer of 1097. The whole body of crusaders, including monks, women, children, and hangers-on, may then have numbered three or four hundred thousand, but the effective fighting force was not likely over one hundred thousand men. [401] The crusaders reached Nicæa May 6, 1097. After a long siege the city surrendered, although to the Emperor Alexius rather than to the French. [402] This battle--the first pitched contest between the crusader and the Turk--was fought at Dorylæum, southeast of Nicæa. [403] Romania (or the sultanate of Roum) and Cappadocia were regions in northern Asia Minor. [404] The country immediately southeast of the Black Sea. [405] Antioch was one of the largest and most important cities of the East. It had been girdled with enormous walls by Justinian and was a strategic position of the greatest value to any power which would possess Syria and Palestine. The siege of the city by the crusaders began October 21, 1097. [406] Bohemond of Tarentum was the son of Robert Guiscard and the leader of the Norman contingent from Italy. Raymond of St. Gilles, count of Toulouse, was leader of the men from Languedoc in south France. [407] The modern Orontes. CHAPTER XVIII. THE GREAT CHARTER 54. The Winning of the Charter The reign of King John (1199-1216) was an era of humiliation, though in the end one of triumph, for all classes of the English people. The king himself was perhaps the most unworthy sovereign who has ever occupied the English throne and one after another of his deeds and policies brought deep shame to every patriotic Englishman. His surrender to the papacy (1213) and his loss of the English possessions on the continent (1214) were only two of the most conspicuous results of his weakness and mismanagement. Indeed it was not these that touched the English people most closely, for after all it was rather their pride than their real interests that suffered by the king's homage to Innocent III. and his bitter defeat at Bouvines. Worse than these things were the heavy taxes and the illegal extortions of money, in which John went far beyond even his unscrupulous brother and predecessor, Richard. The king's expenses were very heavy, the more so by reason of his French wars, and to meet them he devised all manner of schemes for wringing money from his unwilling subjects. Land taxes were increased, scutage (payments in lieu of military service) was nearly doubled, levies of a thirteenth, a seventh, and other large fractions of the movable property of the realm were made, excessive fines were imposed, old feudal rights were revived and exercised in an arbitrary fashion, and property was confiscated on the shallowest of pretenses. Even the Church was by no means immune from the king's rapacity. The result of these high-handed measures was that all classes of the people--barons, clergy, and commons--were driven into an attitude of open protest. The leadership against the king fell naturally to the barons and it was directly in consequence of their action that John was brought, in 1215, to grant the Great Charter and to pledge himself to govern thereafter according to the ancient and just laws of the kingdom. The account of the winning of the Charter given below comes from the hand of Roger of Wendover, a monk of St. Albans, a monastery in Hertfordshire which was famous in the thirteenth century for its group of historians and annalists. It begins with the meeting of the barons at St. Edmunds in Suffolk late in November, 1214, and tells the story to the granting of the Charter at Runnymede, June 15, 1215. On this subject, as well as on the entire period of English history from 1189 to 1235, Roger of Wendover is our principal contemporary authority. Source--Rogerus de Wendover, _Chronica Majora, sive Liber qui dicitur Flores Historiarum_ [Roger of Wendover, "Greater Chronicle, or the Book which is called the Flowers of History"]. Translated by J. A. Giles (London, 1849), Vol. II., pp. 303-324 _passim_. [Sidenote: A conference held by the barons against King John] About this time the earls and barons of England assembled at St. Edmunds, as if for religious duties, although it was for another reason;[408] for after they had discoursed together secretly for a time, there was placed before them the charter of King Henry the First, which they had received, as mentioned before, in the city of London from Stephen, archbishop of Canterbury.[409] This charter contained certain liberties and laws granted to the holy Church as well as to the nobles of the kingdom, besides some liberties which the king added of his own accord. All therefore assembled in the church of St. Edmund, the king and martyr, and, commencing with those of the highest rank, they all swore on the great altar that, if the king refused to grant these liberties and laws, they themselves would withdraw from their allegiance to him, and make war on him until he should, by a charter under his own seal, confirm to them everything that they required; and finally it was unanimously agreed that, after Christmas, they should all go together to the king and demand the confirmation of the aforesaid liberties to them, and that they should in the meantime provide themselves with horses and arms, so that if the king should endeavor to depart from his oath they might, by taking his castles, compel him to satisfy their demands; and having arranged this, each man returned home.... [Sidenote: They demand a confirmation of the old liberties] [Sidenote: A truce arranged] In the year of our Lord 1215, which was the seventeenth year of the reign of King John, he held his court at Winchester at Christmas for one day, after which he hurried to London, and took up his abode at the New Temple;[410] and at that place the above-mentioned nobles came to him in gay military array, and demanded the confirmation of the liberties and laws of King Edward, with other liberties granted to them and to the kingdom and church of England, as were contained in the charter, and above-mentioned laws of Henry the First. They also asserted that, at the time of his absolution at Winchester,[411] he had promised to restore those laws and ancient liberties, and was bound by his own oath to observe them. The king, hearing the bold tone of the barons in making this demand, much feared an attack from them, as he saw that they were prepared for battle. He, however, made answer that their demands were a matter of importance and difficulty, and he therefore asked a truce until the end of Easter, that, after due deliberation, he might be able to satisfy them as well as the dignity of his crown. After much discussion on both sides, the king at length, although unwillingly, procured the archbishop of Canterbury, the bishop of Ely, and William Marshal, as his sureties that on the day agreed upon he would, in all reason, satisfy them all; on which the nobles returned to their homes. The king, however, wishing to take precautions against the future, caused all the nobles throughout England to swear fealty to him alone against all men, and to renew their homage to him; and, the better to take care of himself, on the day of St. Mary's purification, he assumed the cross of our Lord, being induced to this more by fear than devotion....[412] [Sidenote: The truce at an end] [Sidenote: The preliminary demands of the barons] In Easter week of this same year, the above-mentioned nobles assembled at Stamford,[413] with horses and arms. They had now induced almost all the nobility of the whole kingdom to join them, and constituted a very large army; for in their army there were computed to be two thousand knights, besides horse-soldiers, attendants, and foot-soldiers, who were variously equipped.... The king at this time was awaiting the arrival of his nobles at Oxford.[414] On the Monday next after the octave of Easter,[415] the said barons assembled in the town of Brackley.[416] And when the king learned this, he sent the archbishop of Canterbury and William Marshal, earl of Pembroke, with some other prudent men, to them to inquire what the laws and liberties were which they demanded. The barons then delivered to the messengers a paper, containing in great measure the laws and ancient customs of the kingdom, and declared that, unless the king immediately granted them and confirmed them under his own seal, they, by taking possession of his fortresses, would force him to give them sufficient satisfaction as to their before-named demands. The archbishop, with his fellow messengers, then carried the paper to the king, and read to him the heads of the paper one by one throughout. The king, when he heard the purport of these heads, said derisively, with the greatest indignation, "Why, amongst these unjust demands, did not the barons ask for my kingdom also? Their demands are vain and visionary, and are unsupported by any plea of reason whatever." And at length he angrily declared with an oath that he would never grant them such liberties as would render him their slave. The principal of these laws and liberties which the nobles required to be confirmed to them are partly described above in the charter of King Henry,[417] and partly are extracted from the old laws of King Edward,[418] as the following history will show in due time. [Sidenote: The castle of Northampton besieged by the barons] As the archbishop and William Marshal could not by any persuasion induce the king to agree to their demands, they returned by the king's order to the barons, and duly reported to them all that they had heard from the king. And when the nobles heard what John said, they appointed Robert Fitz-Walter commander of their soldiers, giving him the title of "Marshal of the Army of God and the Holy Church," and then, one and all flying to arms, they directed their forces toward Northampton.[419] On their arrival there they at once laid siege to the castle, but after having stayed there for fifteen days, and having gained little or no advantage, they determined to move their camp. Having come without _petrariæ_[420] and other engines of war, they, without accomplishing their purpose, proceeded in confusion to the castle of Bedford....[421] [Sidenote: The city of London given over to the barons] When the army of the barons arrived at Bedford, they were received with all respect by William de Beauchamp.[422] Messengers from the city of London also came to them there, secretly telling them, if they wished to get into that city, to come there immediately. The barons, encouraged by the arrival of this agreeable message, immediately moved their camp and arrived at Ware. After this they marched the whole night and arrived early in the morning at the city of London, and, finding the gates open, on the 24th of May (which was the Sunday next before our Lord's ascension) they entered the city without any tumult while the inhabitants were performing divine service; for the rich citizens were favorable to the barons, and the poor ones were afraid to murmur against them. The barons, having thus got into the city, placed their own guards in charge of each of the gates, and then arranged all matters in the city at will.[423] They then took security from the citizens, and sent letters through England to those earls, barons, and knights who appeared to be still faithful to the king (though they only pretended to be so) and advised them with threats, as they had regard for the safety of all their property and possessions, to abandon a king who was perjured and who made war against his barons, and together with them to stand firm and fight against the king for their rights and for peace; and that, if they refused to do this, they, the barons, would make war against them all, as against open enemies, and would destroy their castles, burn their houses and other buildings, and pillage their warrens, parks, and orchards.... The greatest part of these, on receiving the message of the barons, set out to London and joined them, abandoning the king entirely.... [Sidenote: The conference between the king and the barons] [Sidenote: The charter granted at Runnymede] King John, when he saw that he was deserted by almost all, so that out of his regal superabundance of followers he retained scarcely seven knights, was much alarmed lest the barons should attack his castles and reduce them without difficulty, as they would find no obstacle to their so doing. He deceitfully pretended to make peace for a time with the aforesaid barons, and sent William Marshal, earl of Pembroke, with other trustworthy messengers, to them, and told them that, for the sake of peace and for the exaltation and honor of the kingdom, he would willingly grant them the laws and liberties they demanded. He sent also a request to the barons by these same messengers that they appoint a suitable day and place to meet and carry all these matters into effect. The king's messengers then came in all haste to London, and without deceit, reported to the barons all that had been deceitfully imposed on them. They in their great joy appointed the fifteenth of June for the king to meet them, at a field lying between Staines and Windsor.[424] Accordingly, at the time and place agreed upon the king and nobles came to the appointed conference, and when each party had stationed itself some distance from the other, they began a long discussion about terms of peace and the aforesaid liberties.... At length, after various points on both sides had been discussed, King John, seeing that he was inferior in strength to the barons, without raising any difficulty, granted the underwritten laws and liberties, and confirmed them by his charter as follows:-- [Here ensues the Charter.] 55. Extracts from the Charter No document in the history of any nation is more important than the Great Charter; in the words of Bishop Stubbs, the whole of the constitutional history of England is only one long commentary upon it. Its importance lay not merely in the fact that it was won from an unwilling sovereign by the united action of nobles, clergy, and people, but also in the admirable summary which it embodies of the fundamental principles of English government, so far as they had ripened by the early years of the thirteenth century. The charter contained almost nothing that was not old. It was not even an instrument, like the Constitution of the United States, providing for the creation of a new government. It merely sought to gather up within a single reasonably brief document all the important principles which the best of the English sovereigns had recognized, but which such rulers as Richard and John had lately been improving every opportunity to evade. The primary purpose of the barons in forcing the king to grant the charter was not to get a new form of government or code of laws, but simply to obtain a remedy for certain concrete abuses, to resist the encroachments of the crown upon the traditional liberties of Englishmen, and to get a full and definite confirmation of these liberties in black and white. Not a new constitution was wanted, but good government in conformity with the old one. Naturally enough, therefore, the charter of 1215 was based in most of its important provisions upon that granted by Henry I. in 1100, even as this one was based on the righteous laws of the good Edward the Confessor. And after the same manner the charter of King John, in its turn, became the foundation for all future resistance of Englishmen to the evils of misgovernment, so that very soon it came naturally to be called _Magna Charta_--the Great Charter--by which designation it is known to this day. King John was in no true sense the author of the charter. Many weeks before the meeting at Runnymede the barons had drawn up their demands in written form, and when that meeting occurred they were ready to lay before the sovereign a formal document, in forty-nine chapters, to which they simply requested his assent. This preliminary document was discussed and worked over, the number of chapters being increased to sixty-two, but the charter as finally agreed upon differed from it only in minor details. It is a mistake to think of John as "signing" the charter after the fashion of modern sovereigns. There is no evidence that he could write, and at any rate he acquiesced in the terms of the charter only by having his seal affixed to the paper. The original "Articles of the Barons" is still preserved in the British Museum, but there is no _one_ original Magna Charta in existence. Duplicate copies of the document were made for distribution among the barons, and papers which are generally supposed to represent four of these still exist, two being in the British Museum. The charter makes a lengthy document and many parts of it are too technical to be of service in this book; hence only a few of the most important chapters are here given. Translations of the entire document from the original Latin may be found in many places, among them the University of Pennsylvania _Translations and Reprints_, Vol. I., No. 6; Lee, _Source Book of English History_, 169-180; Adams and Stephens, _Select Documents Illustrative of English Constitutional History_, pp. 42-52; and the _Old South Leaflets_, No. 5. Source--Text in William Stubbs, _Select Charters Illustrative of English Constitutional History_ (8th ed., Oxford, 1895), pp. 296-306. Adapted from translation in Sheldon Amos, _Primer of the English Constitution and Government_ (London, 1895), pp. 189-201 _passim_. John, by the grace of God, king of England, lord of Ireland, duke of Normandy, Aquitane, and count of Anjou, to his archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, barons, justiciaries, foresters, sheriffs, governors, officers, and to all bailiffs, and his faithful subjects, greeting. Know ye, that we, in the presence of God, and for the salvation of our soul, and the souls of all our ancestors and heirs, and unto the honor of God and the advancement of Holy Church, and amendment of our Realm, ... have, in the first place, granted to God, and by this our present Charter confirmed, for us and our heirs forever: [Sidenote: Liberties of the English Church guaranteed] =1.= That the Church of England shall be free, and have her whole rights, and her liberties inviolable; and we will have them so observed that it may appear thence that the freedom of elections, which is reckoned chief and indispensable to the English Church, and which we granted and confirmed by our Charter, and obtained the confirmation of the same from our Lord Pope Innocent III., before the discord between us and our barons, was granted of mere free will; which Charter we shall observe, and we do desire it to be faithfully observed by our heirs forever.[425] [Sidenote: The rate of reliefs] =2.= We also have granted to all the freemen of our kingdom, for us and for our heirs forever, all the underwritten liberties, to be had and holden by them and their heirs, of us and our heirs forever. If any of our earls, or barons, or others who hold of us in chief by military service,[426] shall die, and at the time of his death his heir shall be of full age, and owe a relief, he shall have his inheritance by the ancient relief--that is to say, the heir or heirs of an earl, for a whole earldom, by a hundred pounds; the heir or heirs of a knight, for a whole knight's fee, by a hundred shillings at most; and whoever oweth less shall give less, according to the ancient custom of fees.[427] =3.= But if the heir of any such shall be under age, and shall be in ward, when he comes of age he shall have his inheritance without relief and without fine.[428] [Sidenote: The three aids] =12.= No scutage[429] or aid shall be imposed in our kingdom, unless by the general council of our kingdom;[430] except for ransoming our person, making our eldest son a knight, and once for marrying our eldest daughter; and for these there shall be paid no more than a reasonable aid. In like manner it shall be concerning the aids of the City of London.[431] [Sidenote: The Great Council] =14.= And for holding the general council of the kingdom concerning the assessment of aids, except in the three cases aforesaid, and for the assessing of scutage, we shall cause to be summoned the archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and greater barons of the realm, singly by our letters. And furthermore, we shall cause to be summoned generally, by our sheriffs and bailiffs, all others who hold of us in chief, for a certain day, that is to say, forty days before their meeting at least, and to a certain place. And in all letters of such summons we will declare the cause of such summons. And summons being thus made, the business shall proceed on the day appointed, according to the advice of such as shall be present, although all that were summoned come not.[432] =15.= We will not in the future grant to any one that he may take aid of his own free tenants, except to ransom his body, and to make his eldest son a knight, and once to marry his eldest daughter; and for this there shall be paid only a reasonable aid.[433] =36.= Nothing from henceforth shall be given or taken for a writ of inquisition of life or limb, but it shall be granted freely, and not denied.[434] =39.= No freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or disseised,[435] or outlawed,[436] or banished, or in any way destroyed, nor will we pass upon him, nor will we send upon him,[437] unless by the lawful judgment of his peers,[438] or by the law of the land.[439] =40.= We will sell to no man, we will not deny to any man, either justice or right.[440] [Sidenote: Freedom of commercial intercourse] =41.= All merchants shall have safe and secure conduct to go out of, and to come into, England, and to stay there and to pass as well by land as by water, for buying and selling by the ancient and allowed customs, without any unjust tolls, except in time of war, or when they are of any nation at war with us. And if there be found any such in our land, in the beginning of the war, they shall be detained, without damage to their bodies or goods, until it be known to us, or to our chief justiciary, how our merchants be treated in the nation at war with us; and if ours be safe there, the others shall be safe in our dominions.[441] =42.= It shall be lawful, for the time to come, for any one to go out of our kingdom and return safely and securely by land or by water, saving his allegiance to us (unless in time of war, by some short space, for the common benefit of the realm), except prisoners and outlaws, according to the law of the land, and people in war with us, and merchants who shall be treated as is above mentioned.[442] =51.= As soon as peace is restored, we will send out of the kingdom all foreign knights, cross-bowmen, and stipendiaries, who are come with horses and arms to the molestation of our people.[443] =60.= All the aforesaid customs and liberties, which we have granted to be holden in our kingdom, as much as it belongs to us, all people of our kingdom, as well clergy as laity, shall observe, as far as they are concerned, towards their dependents.[444] [Sidenote: How the charter was to be enforced] =61.= And whereas, for the honor of God and the amendment of our kingdom, and for the better quieting the discord that has arisen between us and our barons, we have granted all these things aforesaid. Willing to render them firm and lasting, we do give and grant our subjects the underwritten security, namely, that the barons may choose five and twenty barons of the kingdom, whom they think convenient, who shall take care, with all their might, to hold and observe, and cause to be observed, the peace and liberties we have granted them, and by this our present Charter confirmed....[445] =63.= ... It is also sworn, as well on our part as on the part of the barons, that all the things aforesaid shall be observed in good faith, and without evil duplicity. Given under our hand, in the presence of the witnesses above named, and many others, in the meadow called Runnymede, between Windsor and Staines, the 15th day of June, in the 17th year of our reign. FOOTNOTES: [408] The barons attended the meeting under the pretense of making a religious pilgrimage. [409] This charter, granted at the coronation of Henry I. in 1100, contained a renunciation of the evil practices which had marked the government of William the Conqueror and William Rufus. It was from this document mainly that the barons in 1215 drew their constitutional programme. [410] The Knights Templars, having purchased all that part of the banks of the Thames lying between Whitefriars and Essex Street, erected on it a magnificent structure which was known as the New Temple, in distinction from the Old Temple on the south side of Holborn. Meetings of Parliament and of the king's council were frequently held in the New Temple; here also were kept the crown jewels. Ultimately, after the suppression of the Templars by Edward II., the Temple became one of England's most celebrated schools of law. [411] This refers to the king's absolution at the hands of Stephen Langton, archbishop of Canterbury, July 20, 1213, after his submission to the papacy. At that time John took an oath on the Bible to the effect that he would restore the good laws of his forefathers and render to all men their rights. [412] The exact day upon which John took the crusader's vow is uncertain. It was probably Ash Wednesday (March 4), 1215. The king's object was in part to get the personal protection which the sanctity of the vow carried with it and in part to enlist the sympathies of the Pope and make it appear that the barons were guilty of interfering with a crusade. [413] On the southern border of Lincolnshire. [414] On the Thames in Oxfordshire. This statement of the chronicler is incorrect. John was yet in London. [415] Octave means the period of eight days following a religious festival. This Monday was April 27. [416] Brackley is about twenty-two miles north of Oxford. [417] Henry I.'s charter, 1100. [418] Edward the Confessor, king from 1042 to 1066. [419] In the county of Northampton, in central England. [420] Engines for hurling stones. [421] About twenty miles southeast of Northampton. [422] The commander of Bedford Castle. [423] The loss of London by the king was a turning point in the contest. Thereafter the barons' party gained rapidly and its complete success was only a question of time. [424] Runnymede, on the Thames. [425] The charter referred to, in which the liberties of the Church were confirmed, was granted in November, 1214, and renewed in January, 1215. It was in the nature of a bribe offered the clergy by the king in the hope of winning their support in his struggle with the barons. The liberty granted was particularly that of "canonical election," i.e., the privilege of the cathedral chapters to elect bishops without being dominated in their choice by the king. Henry I.'s charter (1100) contained a similar provision, but it had not been observed in practice. [426] Tenants _in capite_, i.e., men holding land directly from the king on condition of military service. [427] The object of this chapter is, in general, to prevent the exaction of excessive reliefs. The provision of Henry I.'s charter that reliefs should be just and reasonable had become a dead letter. [428] During the heir's minority the king received the profits of the estate; in consequence of this the payment of relief by such an heir was to be remitted. [429] Scutage (from _scutum_, shield) was payment made to the king by persons who owed military service but preferred to give money instead. Scutage levied by John had been excessively heavy. [430] The General, or Great, Council was a feudal body made up of the king's tenants-in-chief, both greater and lesser lords. This chapter puts a definite, even though not very far-reaching, limitation upon the royal power of taxation, and so looks forward in a way to the later regime of taxation by Parliament. [431] London had helped the barons secure the charter and was rewarded by being specifically included in its provisions. [432] Here we have a definite statement as to the composition of the Great Council. The distinction between greater and lesser barons is mentioned as early as the times of Henry I. (1100-1135). In a general way it may be said that the greater barons (together with the greater clergy) developed into the House of Lords and the lesser ones, along with the ordinary free-holders, became the "knights of the shire," who so long made up the backbone of the Commons. In the thirteenth century comparatively few of the lesser barons attended the meetings of the Council. Attendance was expensive and they were not greatly interested in the body's proceedings. It should be noted that the Great Council was in no sense a legislative assembly. [433] It is significant that the provisions of the charter which prohibit feudal exactions were made by the barons to apply to themselves as well as to the king. [434] This is an important legal enactment whose purpose is to prevent prolonged imprisonment, without trial, of persons accused of serious crime. A person accused of murder, for example, could not be set at liberty under bail, but he could apply for a writ _de odio et âtia_ ("concerning hatred and malice") which directed the sheriff to make inquest by jury as to whether the accusation had been brought by reason of hatred and malice. If the jury decided that the accusation had been so brought, the accused person could be admitted to bail until the time for his regular trial. This will occur to one as being very similar to the principle of _habeas corpus_. John had been charging heavy fees for these writs _de odio et âtia_, or "writs of inquisition of life and limb," as they are called in the charter; henceforth they were to be issued freely. [435] To disseise a person is to dispossess him of his freehold rights. [436] Henceforth a person could be outlawed, i.e., declared out of the protection of the law, only by the regular courts. [437] That is, use force upon him, as John had frequently done. [438] The term "peers," as here used, means simply equals in rank. The present clause does not yet imply trial by jury in the modern sense. It comprises simply a narrow, feudal demand of the nobles to be judged by other nobles, rather than by lawyers or clerks. Jury trial was increasingly common in the thirteenth century, but it was not guaranteed in the Great Charter. [439] This chapter is commonly regarded as the most important in the charter. It undertakes to prevent arbitrary imprisonment and to protect private property by laying down a fundamental principle of government which John had been constantly violating and which very clearly marked the line of distinction between a limited and an absolute monarchy. [440] The principle is here asserted that justice in the courts should be open to all, and without the payment of money to get judgment hastened or delayed. Extortions of this character did not cease in 1215, but they became less exorbitant and arbitrary. [441] The object of this chapter is to encourage commerce by guaranteeing foreign merchants the same treatment that English merchants received in foreign countries. The tolls imposed on traders by the cities, however, were not affected and they continued a serious obstacle for some centuries. [442] This chapter provides that, except under the special circumstances of war, any law-abiding Englishman might go abroad freely, provided only he should remain loyal to the English crown. The rule thus established continued in effect until 1382, when it was enacted that such privileges should belong only to lords, merchants, and soldiers. [443] During the struggle with the barons, John had brought in a number of foreign mercenary soldiers or "stipendiaries." All classes of Englishmen resented this policy and the barons improved the opportunity offered by the charter to get a promise from the king to dispense with his continental mercenaries as quickly as possible. [444] This chapter provides that the charter's regulation of feudal customs should apply to the barons just as to the king. The barons' tenants were to be protected from oppression precisely as were the barons themselves. These tenants had helped in the winning of the charter and were thus rewarded for their services. [445] The chapter goes on at considerable length to specify the manner in which, if the king should violate the terms of the charter, the commission of twenty-five barons should proceed to bring him to account. Even the right of making war was given them, in case it should become necessary to resort to such an extreme measure. CHAPTER XIX. THE REIGN OF SAINT LOUIS 56. The Character and Deeds of the King as Described by Joinville Louis IX., or St. Louis, as he is commonly called, was the eldest son of Louis VIII. and a grandson of Philip Augustus. He was born in 1214 and upon the death of his father in 1226 he succeeded to the throne of France while yet but a boy of twelve. The recent reign of Philip Augustus (1180-1223) had been a period marked by a great increase in the royal power and by a corresponding lessening of the independent authority of the feudal magnates. The accession of a boy-king was therefore hailed by the discontented nobles as an opportunity to recover something at least of their lost privileges. It would doubtless have been such but for the vigilance, ability, and masculine aggressiveness of the young king's mother, Blanche of Castile. Aided by the clergy and the loyal party among the nobles, she, in the capacity of regent, successfully defended her son's interests against a succession of plots and uprisings, with the result that when Louis gradually assumed control of affairs in his own name, about 1236, the realm was in good order and the dangers which once had been so threatening had all but disappeared. The king's education and moral training had been well attended to, and he arrived at manhood with an equipment quite unusual among princes of his day. His reign extended to 1270 and became in some respects the most notable in all French history. In fact, whether viewed from the standpoint of his personal character or his practical achievements, St. Louis is generally admitted to have been one of the most remarkable sovereigns of mediæval Europe. He was famous throughout Christendom for his piety, justice, wisdom, and ability, being recognized as at once a devoted monk, a brave knight, and a capable king. In him were blended two qualities--vigorous activity and proneness to austere meditation--rarely combined in such measure in one person. His character may be summed up by saying that he had all the virtues of his age and few of its vices. No less cynical a critic than Voltaire has declared that he went as far in goodness as it is possible for a man to go. Saint Louis being thus so interesting a character in himself, it is very fortunate that we have an excellent contemporary biography of him, from the hand of a friend and companion who knew him well. Sire de Joinville's _Histoire de Saint Louis_ is a classic of French literature and in most respects the best piece of biographical writing that has come down to us from the Middle Ages. Joinville, or more properly John, lord of Joinville, was born in Champagne, in northern France, probably in 1225. His family was one of the most distinguished in Champagne and he himself had all the advantages that could come from being brought up at the refined court of the count of this favored district. In 1248, when St. Louis set out on his first crusading expedition, Joinville, only recently become of age, took the cross and became a follower of the king, joining him in Cyprus and there first definitely entering his service. During the next six years the two were inseparable companions, and even after Joinville, in 1254, retired from the king's service in order to manage his estates in Champagne he long continued to make frequent visits of a social character to the court. Joinville's memoirs of St. Louis were completed about 1309--probably nine years before the death of the author--and they were first published soon after the death of Philip the Fair in 1314. They constitute by far the most important source of information on the history of France in the middle portion of the thirteenth century. Joinville had the great advantage of intimate acquaintance and long association with King Louis and, what is equally important, he seems to have tried to write in a spirit of perfect fairness and justice. He was an ardent admirer of Louis, but his biography did not fall into the tempting channel of mere fulsome and indiscriminate praise. Moreover, the work is a biography of the only really satisfactory type; it is not taken up with a bare recital of events in the life of the individual under consideration, but it has a broad background drawn from the general historical movements and conditions of the time. Its most obvious defects arise from the fact that it comprises largely the reminiscences of an old man, which are never likely to be entirely accurate or well-balanced. In his dedication of the treatise to Louis, eldest son of Philip IV., the author relates that it had been written at the urgent solicitation of the deceased king's widow. The biography in print makes a good-sized volume and it is possible, of course, to reproduce here but a few significant passages from it. But these are perhaps sufficient to show what sort of man the saint-king really was, and it is just this insight into the character of the men of the Middle Ages that is most worth getting--and the hardest thing, as a rule, to get. Incidentally, the extract throws some light on the methods of warfare employed by the crusaders and the Turks. Source--Jean, Sire de Joinville, _Histoire de Saint Louis_. Text edited by M. Joseph Noël (Natalis de Wailly) and published by the Société de l'Histoire de France (Paris, 1868). Translated by James Hutton under title of _Saint Louis, King of France_ (London, 1868), _passim_. [Sidenote: The king's birth] As I have heard him say, he [Saint Louis] was born on the day of St. Mark the Evangelist,[446] shortly after Easter. On that day the cross is carried in procession in many places, and in France they are called black crosses. It was therefore a sort of prophecy of the great numbers of people who perished in those two crusades, i.e., in that to Egypt, and in that other, in the course of which he died at Carthage;[447] for many great sorrows were there on that account in this world, and many great joys are there now in Paradise on the part of those who in those two pilgrimages died true crusaders. [Sidenote: His early training] God, in whom he put his trust, preserved him ever from his infancy to the very last; and especially in his infancy did He preserve him when he stood in need of help, as you will presently hear. As for his soul, God preserved it through the pious instructions of his mother, who taught him to believe in God and to love Him, and placed about him none but ministers of religion. And she made him, while he was yet a child, attend to all his prayers and listen to the sermons on saints' days. He remembered that his mother used sometimes to tell him that she would rather he were dead than that he should commit a deadly sin. [Sidenote: Difficulties at the beginning of his reign] Sore need of God's help had he in his youth, for his mother, who came out of Spain, had neither relatives nor friends in all the realm of France. And because the barons of France saw that the king was an infant, and the queen, his mother, a foreigner, they made the count of Boulogne, the king's uncle, their chief, and looked up to him as their lord.[448] After the king was crowned, some of the barons asked of the queen to bestow upon them large domains; and because she would do nothing of the kind all the barons assembled at Corbei.[449] And the sainted king related to me how neither he nor his mother, who were at Montlhéri,[450] dared to return to Paris, until the citizens of Paris came, with arms in their hands, to escort them. He told me, too, that from Montlhéri to Paris the road was filled with people, some with and some without weapons, and that all cried unto our Lord to give him a long and happy life, and to defend and preserve him from his enemies.... [Sidenote: Louis takes the cross] After these things it chanced, as it pleased God, that great illness fell upon the king at Paris, by which he was brought to such extremity that one of the women who watched by his side wanted to draw the sheet over his face, saying that he was dead; but another woman, who was on the other side of the bed, would not suffer it, for the soul, she said, had not yet left the body. While he was listening to the dispute between these two, our Lord wrought upon him and quickly sent him health; for before that he was dumb, and could not speak. He demanded that the cross should be given to him, and it was done. When the queen, his mother, heard that he had recovered his speech, she exhibited as much joy as could be; but when she was told by himself that he had taken the cross, she displayed as much grief as if she had seen him dead. [Sidenote: Prominent Frenchmen who followed his example] After the king put on the cross, Robert, count of Artois, Alphonse, count of Poitiers, Charles, count of Anjou, who was afterwards king of Sicily--all three brothers of the king--also took the cross; as likewise did Hugh, duke of Burgundy, William, count of Flanders (brother to Count Guy of Flanders, the last who died), the good Hugh, count of Saint Pol, and Monseigneur Walter, his nephew, who bore himself right manfully beyond seas, and would have been of great worth had he lived. There was also the count of La Marche, and Monseigneur Hugh le Brun, his son; the count of Sarrebourg, and Monseigneur d'Apremont, his brother, in whose company I myself, John, Seigneur de Joinville, crossed the sea in a ship we chartered, because we were cousins; and we crossed over in all twenty knights, nine of whom followed the count of Sarrebourg, and nine were with me.... The king summoned his barons to Paris, and made them swear to keep faith and loyalty towards his children if anything happened to himself on the voyage. He asked the same of me, but I refused to take any oath, because I was not his vassal.... [Sidenote: Embarking on the Mediterranean] In the month of August we went on board our ships at the Rock of Marseilles. The day we embarked the door of the vessel was opened, and the horses that we were to take with us were led inside. Then they fastened the door and closed it up tightly, as when one sinks a cask, because when the ship is at sea the whole of the door is under water. When the horses were in, our sailing-master called out to his mariners who were at the prow: "Are you all ready?" And they replied: "Sir, let the clerks and priests come forward." As soon as they had come nigh, he shouted to them; "Chant, in God's name!" And they with one voice chanted, "_Veni, Creator Spiritus._" Then the master called out to his men: "Set sail, in God's name!" And they did so. And in a little time the wind struck the sails and carried us out of sight of land, so that we saw nothing but sea and sky; and every day the wind bore us farther away from the land where we were born. And thereby I show you how foolhardy he must be who would venture to put himself in such peril with other people's property in his possession, or while in deadly sin; for when you fall asleep at night you know not but that ere the morning you may be at the bottom of the sea. [Sidenote: Preparations made in Cyprus] When we reached Cyprus, the king was already there, and we found an immense supply of stores for him, i.e., wine-stores and granaries. The king's wine-stores consisted of great piles of casks of wine, which his people had purchased two years before the king's arrival and placed in an open field near the seashore. They had piled them one upon the other, so that when seen from the front they looked like a farmhouse. The wheat and barley had been heaped up in the middle of the field, and at first sight looked like hills; for the rain, which had long beaten upon the corn, had caused it to sprout, so that nothing was seen but green herbage. But when it was desired to transport it to Egypt, they broke off the outer coating with the green herbage, and the wheat and barley within were found as fresh as if they had only just been threshed out. [Sidenote: An embassy from the Khan] The king, as I have heard him say, would gladly have pushed on to Egypt without stopping, had not his barons advised him to wait for his army, which had not all arrived. While the king was sojourning in Cyprus, the great Khan of Tartary[451] sent envoys to him, the bearers of very courteous messages. Among other things, he told him that he was ready to aid him in conquering the Holy Land and in delivering Jerusalem out of the hands of the Saracens. The king received the messengers very graciously, and sent some to the Khan, who were two years absent before they could return. And with his messengers the king sent to the Khan a tent fashioned like a chapel, which cost a large sum of money, for it was made of fine rich scarlet cloth. And the king, in the hope of drawing the Khan's people to our faith, caused to be embroidered inside the chapel, pictures representing the Annunciation of Our Lady, and other articles of faith. And he sent these things to them by the hands of two friars, who spoke the Saracen language, to teach and point out to them what they ought to believe.... [Sidenote: The departure from Cyprus] As soon as March came round, the king, and, by his command, the barons and other pilgrims, gave orders that the ships should be laden with wine and provisions, to be ready to sail when the king should give the signal. It happened that when everything was ready, the king and queen withdrew on board their ship on the Friday before Whitsunday, and the king desired his barons to follow in his wake straight towards Egypt. On Saturday[452] the king set sail, and all the other vessels at the same time, which was a fine sight to behold, for it seemed as if the whole sea, as far as the eye could reach, was covered with sails, and the number of ships, great and small, was reckoned at 1,800....[453] [Sidenote: Decision to proceed against Cairo] Upon the arrival of the count of Poitiers, the king summoned all the barons of the army to decide in what direction he should march, whether towards Alexandria, or towards Babylon.[454] It resulted that the good Count Peter of Brittany, and most of the barons of the army, were of the opinion that the king should lay siege to Alexandria, because that city is possessed of a good port where the vessels could lie that should bring provisions for the army. To this the count of Artois was opposed. He said that he could not advise going anywhere except to Babylon, because that was the chief town in all the realm of Egypt; he added, that whosoever wished to kill a serpent outright should crush its head. The king set aside the advice of his barons, and held to that of his brother. At the beginning of Advent, the king set out with his army to march against Babylon, as the count of Artois had counseled him. Not far from Damietta we came upon a stream of water which issued from the great river [Nile], and it was resolved that the army should halt for a day to dam up this branch, so that it might be crossed. The thing was done easily enough, for the arm was dammed up close to the great river. At the passage of this stream the sultan sent 500 of his knights, the best mounted in his whole army, to harass the king's troops, and retard our march. [Sidenote: A skirmish between the Saracens and the Templars] On St. Nicholas's day[455] the king gave the order to march and forbade that any one should be so bold as to sally out upon the Saracens who were before us. So it chanced that when the army was in motion to resume the march and the Turks saw that no one would sally out against them, and learned from their spies that the king had forbidden it, they became emboldened and attacked the Templars,[456] who formed the advance-guard. And one of the Turks hurled to the ground one of the knights of the Temple, right before the feet of the horse of Reginald de Bichiers, who was at that time Marshal of the Temple. When the latter saw this, he shouted to the other brethren: "Have at them, in God's name! I cannot suffer any more of this." He dashed in his spurs, and all the army did likewise. Our people's horses were fresh, while those of the Turks were already worn out. Whence it happened, as I have heard, that not a Turk escaped, but all perished, several of them having plunged into the river, where they were drowned....[457] One evening when we were on duty near the cat castles, they brought against us an engine called _pierrière_,[458] which they had never done before, and they placed Greek fire[459] in the sling of the engine. When Monseigneur Walter de Cureil, the good knight, who was with me, saw that, he said to us: "Sirs, we are in the greatest peril we have yet been in; for if they set fire to our towers, and we remain here, we are dead men, and if we leave our posts which have been intrusted to us, we are put to shame; and no one can rescue us from this peril save God. It is therefore my opinion and my advice to you that each time they discharge the fire at us we should throw ourselves upon our elbows and knees, and pray our Lord to bring us out of this danger." [Sidenote: The Saracens make use of Greek fire] As soon as they fired we threw ourselves upon our elbows and knees, as he had counseled us. The first shot they fired came between our two cat castles, and fell in front of us on the open place which the army had made for the purpose of damming the river. Our men whose duty it was to extinguish fires were all ready for it; and because the Saracens could not aim at them on account of the two wings of the sheds which the king had erected there, they fired straight up towards the clouds, so that their darts came down from above upon the men. The nature of the Greek fire was in this wise, that it rushed forward as large around as a cask of verjuice,[460] and the tail of the fire which issued from it was as big as a large-sized spear. It made such a noise in coming that it seemed as if it were a thunderbolt from heaven and looked like a dragon flying through the air. It cast such a brilliant light that in the camp they could see as clearly as if it were daytime, because of the light diffused by such a bulk of fire. Three times that night they discharged the Greek fire at us, and four times they sent it from the fixed cross-bows. Each time that Our sainted king heard that they had discharged the Greek fire at us, he dressed himself on his bed and stretched out his hands towards our Lord, and prayed with tears: "Fair Sire God, preserve me my people!" And I verily believe that his prayers stood us in good stead in our hour of need. That evening, every time the fire fell, he sent one of his chamberlains to inquire in what state we were and if the fire had done us any damage. One time when they threw it, it fell close to the cat castle which Monseigneur de Courtenay's people were guarding, and struck on the river-bank. Then a knight named Aubigoiz called to me and said: "Sir, if you do not help us we are all burnt, for the Saracens have discharged so many of their darts dipped in Greek fire that there is of them, as it were, a great blazing hedge coming towards our tower." We ran forward and hastened thither and found that he spoke the truth. We extinguished the fire, but before we had done so the Saracens covered us with the darts they discharged from the other side of the river. [Sidenote: Progress of the conflict] The king's brothers mounted guard on the roof of the cat castles to fire bolts from cross-bows against the Saracens, and which fell into their camp. The king had commanded that when the king of Sicily[461] mounted guard in the daytime at the cat castles, we were to do so at night. One day when the king of Sicily was keeping watch, which we should have to do at night, we were in much trouble of mind because the Saracens had shattered our cat castles. The Saracens brought out the _pierrière_ in the daytime, which they had hitherto done only at night, and discharged the Greek fire at our towers. They had advanced their engines so near to the causeway which the army had constructed to dam the river that no one dared to go to the towers, because of the huge stones which the engines flung upon the road. The consequence was that our two towers were burned, and the king of Sicily was so enraged about it that he came near flinging himself into the fire to extinguish it. But if he were wrathful, I and my knights, for our part, gave thanks to God; for if we had mounted guard at night, we should all have been burned....[462] It came to pass that the sainted king labored so much that the king of England, his wife, and children, came to France to treat with him about peace between him and them. The members of his council were strongly opposed to this peace, and said to him: [Sidenote: The treaty of Paris, 1259] "Sire, we greatly marvel that it should be your pleasure to yield to the king of England such a large portion of your land, which you and your predecessors have won from him, and obtained through forfeiture. It seems to us that if you believe you have no right to it, you do not make fitting restitution to the king of England unless you restore to him all the conquests which you and your predecessors have made; but if you believe that you have a right to it, it seems to us that you are throwing away all that you yield to him." To this the sainted king replied after this fashion: "Sirs, I am certain that the king of England's predecessors lost most justly the conquests I hold; and the land which I give up to him I do not give because I am bound either towards himself or his heirs, but to create love between his children and mine, who are first cousins. And it seems to me that I am making a good use of what I give to him, because before he was not my vassal, but now he has to render homage to me."...[463] After the king's return from beyond sea, he lived so devoutly that he never afterwards wore furs of different colors, nor minnever,[464] nor scarlet cloth, nor gilt stirrups or spurs. His dress was of camlet[465] and of a dark blue cloth; the linings of his coverlets and garments were of doeskin or hare-legs. [Sidenote: The king's personal traits] When rich men's minstrels entered the hall after the repast, bringing with them their viols, he waited to hear grace until the minstrel had finished his chant; then he rose and the priests who said grace stood before him. When we were at his court in a private way,[466] he used to sit at the foot of his bed, and when the Franciscans and Dominicans[467] who were there spoke of a book that would give him pleasure, he would say to them: "You shall not read to me, for, after eating, there is no book so pleasant as _quolibets_,"--that is, that every one should say what he likes. When men of quality dined with him, he made himself agreeable to them.... [Sidenote: His primitive method of dispensing justice] Many a time it happened that in the summer he would go and sit down in the wood at Vincennes,[468] with his back to an oak, and make us take our seats around him. And all those who had complaints to make came to him, without hindrance from ushers or other folk. Then he asked them with his own lips: "Is there any one here who has a cause?"[469] Those who had a cause stood up, when he would say to them: "Silence all, and you shall be dispatched one after the other." Then he would call Monseigneur de Fontaines, or Monseigneur Geoffrey de Villette, and would say to one of them: "Dispose of this case for me." When he saw anything to amend in the words of those who spoke for others, he would correct it with his own lips. Sometimes in summer I have seen him, in order to administer justice to the people, come into the garden of Paris dressed in a camlet coat, a surcoat of woollen stuff, without sleeves, a mantle of black taffety around his neck, his hair well combed and without coif, a hat with white peacock's feathers on his head. Carpets were spread for us to sit down upon around him, and all the people who had business to dispatch stood about in front of him. Then he would have it dispatched in the same manner as I have already described in the wood of Vincennes. FOOTNOTES: [446] April 25, 1215. [447] Louis started on his first crusade in August, 1248. After a series of disasters in Egypt he managed to reach the Holy Land, where he spent nearly four years fortifying the great seaports. He returned to France in July, 1254. Sixteen years later, in July, 1270, he started on his second crusade. He had but reached Carthage when he was suddenly taken ill and compelled to halt the expedition. He died there August 25, 1270. Louis was as typical a crusader as ever lived, but in his day men of his kind were few; the great era of crusading enterprise was past. [448] This was Philip, son of Philip Augustus. The lands of the count of Boulogne lay on the coast of the English Channel north of the Somme. [449] An important church center about seventy miles north of Paris. [450] A town a few miles south of Paris. [451] In the early years of the thirteenth century, an Asiatic chieftain by the name of Genghis Khan built up a vast empire of Mongol or Tartar peoples, which for a time stretched all the way from China to eastern Germany. The rise and westward expansion of this barbarian power spread alarm throughout Christendom, and with good reason, for it was with great difficulty that the Tartar sovereigns were prevented from extending their dominion over Germany and perhaps over all western Europe. After the first feeling of terror had passed, however, it began to be considered that possibly the Asiatic conquerors might yet be made to serve the interests of Christendom. They were not Mohammedans, and Christian leaders saw an opportunity to turn them against the Saracen master of the coveted Holy Land. Louis IX.'s reception of an embassy from Ilchikadai, one of the Tartar khans, or sovereigns, was only one of several incidents which illustrate the efforts made in this direction. After this episode the Tartars advanced rapidly into Syria, taking the important cities of Damascus and Aleppo; but a great defeat, September 3, 1260, by the sultan Kutuz at Ain Talut stemmed the tide of invasion and compelled the Tartars to retire to their northern dominions. [452] May 21, 1249. [453] Joinville here gives an account of the first important undertaking of the crusaders--the capture of Damietta. After this achievement the king resolved to await the arrival of his brother, the count of Poitiers, with additional troops. The delay thus occasioned was nearly half a year in length, i.e., until October. [454] This was a common designation of Cairo, the Saracen capital of Egypt. [455] December 6. [456] The order of the Templars was founded in 1119 to afford protection to pilgrims in Palestine. The name was taken from the temple of Solomon, in Jerusalem, near which the organization's headquarters were at first established. The Templars, in their early history, were a military order and they had a prominent part in most of the crusading movements after their foundation. [457] At this point Joinville gives an extended description of the Nile and its numerous mouths. King Louis found himself on the bank of one of the streams composing the delta, with the sultan's army drawn up on the other side to prevent the Christians from crossing. Louis determined to construct an embankment across the stream, so that his troops might cross and engage in battle with the enemy. To protect the men engaged in building the embankment, two towers, called cat castles (because they were in front of two cats, or covered galleries) were erected. Under cover of these, the work of constructing a passageway went on, though the Saracens did not cease to shower missiles upon the laborers. [458] An instrument intended primarily for the hurling of stones. [459] Greek fire was made in various ways, but its main ingredients were sulphur, Persian gum, pitch, petroleum, and oil. It was a highly inflammable substance and when once ignited could be extinguished only by the use of vinegar or sand. It was used quite extensively by the Saracens in their battles with the crusaders, being usually projected in the form of fire-balls from hollow tubes. [460] An acid liquor made from sour apples or grapes. [461] Charles, count of Anjou--a brother of Saint Louis. [462] Joinville's story of the remainder of the campaign in Egypt is a long one. Enough has been given to show something of the character of the conflicts between Saracen and crusader. In the end Louis was compelled to withdraw his shattered army. He then made his way to the Holy Land in the hope of better success, but the four years he spent there were likewise a period of disappointment. [463] The treaty here referred to is that of Paris, negotiated by Louis IX. and Henry III. in 1259. By it the English king renounced his claim to Normandy, Maine, Anjou, Touraine, and Poitou, while Louis IX. ceded to Henry the Limousin, Périgord, and part of Saintonge, besides the reversion of Agenais and Quercy. The territories thus abandoned by the French were to be annexed to the duchy of Guienne, for which Henry III. was to render homage to the French king, just as had been rendered by the English sovereigns before the conquests of Philip Augustus. Manifestly Louis IX.'s chief motive in yielding possession of lands he regarded as properly his was to secure peace with England and to get the homage of the English king for Guienne. For upwards of half a century the relations of England and France had been strained by reason of the refusal of Henry III. to recognize the conquests of Philip Augustus and to render the accustomed homage. The treaty of Paris was important because it regulated the relations of France and England to the outbreak of the Hundred Years' War. It undertook to perpetuate the old division of French soil between the English and French monarchs--an arrangement always fruitful of discord and destined, more than anything else, to bring on the great struggle of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries between the two nations [see p. 417 ff.]. [464] A fur much esteemed in the Middle Ages. It is not known whether it was the fur of a single animal or of several kinds combined. [465] A woven fabric made of camel's hair. [466] After his retirement from the royal service in 1254 Joinville frequently made social visits at Louis's court. [467] On the Franciscans and Dominicans [see p. 360]. [468] To the east from Paris--now a suburb of that city. The chateau of Vincennes was one of the favorite royal residences. [469] That is, a case in law. CHAPTER XX. MUNICIPAL ORGANIZATION AND ACTIVITY 57. Some Twelfth Century Town Charters In the times of the Carolingians the small and scattered towns and villages of western Europe, particularly of France, were inhabited mainly by serfs and villeins, i.e., by a dependent rather than an independent population. With scarcely an exception, these urban centers belonged to the lords of the neighboring lands, who administered their affairs through mayors, provosts, bailiffs, or other agents, collected from them seigniorial dues as from the rural peasantry, and, in short, took entire charge of matters of justice, finance, military obligations, and industrial arrangements. There was no local self-government, nothing in the way of municipal organization separate from the feudal régime, and no important burgher class as distinguished from the agricultural laborers. By the twelfth century a great transformation is apparent. France has come to be dotted with strong and often largely independent municipalities, and a powerful class of bourgeoisie, essentially anti-feudal in character, has risen to play an increasing part in the nation's political and economic life. In these new municipalities there is a larger measure of freedom of person, security of property, and rights of self-government than Europe had known since the days of Charlemagne, perhaps even since the best period of the Roman Empire. The reason for this transformation--in other words, the origin of these new municipal centers--has been variously explained. One theory is that the municipal system of the Middle Ages was essentially a survival of that which prevailed in western Europe under the fostering influence of Rome. The best authorities now reject this view, for there is every reason to believe that, speaking generally, the barbarian invasions and feudalism practically crushed out the municipal institutions of the Empire. Another theory ascribes the origin of mediæval municipal government to the merchant and craft guilds, particularly the former; but there is little evidence to support the view. Undeniably the guild was an important factor in drawing groups of burghers together and forming centers of combination against local lords, but it was at best only one of several forces tending to the growth of municipal life. Other factors of larger importance were the military and the commercial. On the one hand, the need of protection led people to flock to fortified places--castles or monasteries--and settle in the neighborhood; on the other, the growth of commerce and industry, especially after the eleventh century, caused strategic places like the intersection of great highways and rivers to become seats of permanent and growing population. The towns which thus sprang up in response to new conditions and necessities in time took on a political as well as a commercial and industrial character, principally through the obtaining of charters from the neighboring lords, defining the measure of independence to be enjoyed and the respective rights of lord and town. Charters of the sort were usually granted by the lord, not merely because requested by the burghers, but because they were paid for and constituted a valuable source of revenue. Not infrequently, however, a charter was wrested from an unwilling lord through open warfare. It was in the first half of the twelfth century that town charters became common. As a rule they were obtained by the larger towns (it should be borne in mind that a population of 10,000 was large in the twelfth century), but not necessarily so, for many villages of two or three hundred people secured them also. The two great classes of towns were the _villes libres_ (free towns) and the _villes franches_, or _villes de bourgeoisie_ (franchise, or chartered, towns). The free towns enjoyed a large measure of independence. In relation to their lords they occupied essentially the position of vassals, with the legislative, financial, and judicial privileges which by the twelfth century all great vassals had come to have. The burghers elected their own officers, constituted their own courts, made their own laws, levied taxes, and even waged war. The leading types of free cities were the communes of northern France (governed by a provost and one or more councils, often essentially oligarchical) and the consulates of southern France and northern Italy (distinguished from the communes by the fact that the executive was made up of "consuls," and by the greater participation of the local nobility in town affairs). A typical free town of the commune type, was Laon, in the region of northern Champagne. In 1109 the bishop of Laon, who was lord of the city, consented to the establishment of a communal government. Three years later he sought to abolish it, with the result that an insurrection was stirred up in which he lost his life. King Louis VI. intervened and the citizens were obliged to submit to the authority of the new bishop, though in 1328 fear of another uprising led this official to renew the old grant. The act was ratified by Louis VI. in the text (a) given below. The other great class of towns--the franchise towns--differed from the free towns in having a much more limited measure of political and economic independence. They received grants of privileges, or "franchises," from their lord, especially in the way of restrictions of rights of the latter over the persons and property of the inhabitants, but they remained politically subject to the lord and their government was partly or wholly under his control. Their charters set a limit to the lord's arbitrary authority, emancipated such inhabitants as were not already free, gave the citizens the right to move about and to alienate property, substituted money payments for the corvée, and in general made old regulations less burdensome; but as a rule no political rights were conferred. Paris, Tours, Orleans, and other more important cities on the royal domain belonged to this class. The town of Lorris, on the royal domain a short distance east of Orleans, became the common model for the type. Its charter, received from Louis VII. in 1155, is given in the second selection (b) below. Sources--(a) Text in Vilevault and Bréquigny, _Ordonnances des Rois de France de la Troisième Race_ ["Ordinances of the Kings of France of the Third Dynasty"], Paris, 1769, Vol. XI., pp. 185-187. (b) Text in Maurice Prou, _Les Coutumes de Lorris et leur Propagation aux XIIe et XIIIe Siècles_ ["The Customs of Lorris and their Spread in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries"], Paris, 1884, pp. 129-141. (a) =1.= Let no one arrest any freeman or serf for any offense without due process of law.[470] [Sidenote: Provisions of the charter of Laon] =2.= But if any one do injury to a clerk, soldier, or merchant, native or foreign, provided he who does the injury belongs to the same city as the injured person, let him, summoned after the fourth day, come for justice before the mayor and jurats.[471] =7.= If a thief is arrested, let him be brought to him on whose land he has been arrested; but if justice is not done by the lord, let it be done by the jurats.[472] =12.= We entirely abolish mortmain.[473] =18.= The customary tallages we have so reformed that every man owing such tallages, at the time when they are due, must pay four pence, and beyond that no more.[474] =19.= Let men of the peace not be compelled to resort to courts outside the city.[475] (b) =1.= Every one who has a house in the parish of Lorris shall pay as _cens_ sixpence only for his house, and for each acre of land that he possesses in the parish.[476] =2.= No inhabitant of the parish of Lorris shall be required to pay a toll or any other tax on his provisions; and let him not be made to pay any measurage fee on the grain which he has raised by his own labor.[477] =3.= No burgher shall go on an expedition, on foot or on horseback, from which he cannot return the same day to his home if he desires.[478] =4.= No burgher shall pay toll on the road to Étampes, to Orleans, to Milly (which is in the Gâtinais), or to Melun.[479] [Sidenote: The charter of Lorris] =5.= No one who has property in the parish of Lorris shall forfeit it for any offense whatsoever, unless the offense shall have been committed against us or any of our _hôtes_.[480] =6.= No person while on his way to the fairs and markets of Lorris, or returning, shall be arrested or disturbed, unless he shall have committed an offense on the same day.[481] =9.= No one, neither we nor any other, shall exact from the burghers of Lorris any tallage, tax, or subsidy.[482] =12.= If a man shall have had a quarrel with another, but without breaking into a fortified house, and if the parties shall have reached an agreement without bringing a suit before the provost, no fine shall be due to us or our provost on account of the affair.[483] =15.= No inhabitant of Lorris is to render us the obligation of _corvée_, except twice a year, when our wine is to be carried to Orleans, and not elsewhere.[484] =16.= No one shall be detained in prison if he can furnish surety that he will present himself for judgment. =17.= Any burgher who wishes to sell his property shall have the privilege of doing so; and, having received the price of the sale, he shall have the right to go from the town freely and without molestation, if he so desires, unless he has committed some offense in it. =18.= Any one who shall dwell a year and a day in the parish of Lorris, without any claim having pursued him there, and without having refused to lay his case before us or our provost, shall abide there freely and without molestation.[485] =35.= We ordain that every time there shall be a change of provosts in the town the new provost shall take an oath faithfully to observe these regulations; and the same thing shall be done by new sergeants[486] every time that they are installed. 58. The Colonization of Eastern Germany In the time of Charlemagne the Elbe River marked a pretty clear boundary between the Slavic population to the east and the Germanic to the west. There were many Slavs west of the Elbe, but no Germans east of it. There had been a time when Germans occupied large portions of eastern Europe, but for one reason or another they gradually became concentrated toward the west, while Slavic peoples pushed in to fill the vacated territory. Under Charlemagne and his successors we can discern the earlier stages of a movement of reaction which has gone on in later times until the political map of all north central Europe has been remodeled. During the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries large portions of the "sphere of influence" (to use a modern phrase) which Charlemagne had created eastward from the Elbe were converted into German principalities and dependencies. German colonists pushed down the Danube, well toward the Black Sea, along the Baltic, past the Oder and toward the Vistula, and up the Oder into the heart of modern Poland. The Slavic population was slowly brought under subjection, Christianized, and to a certain extent Germanized. In the tenth century Henry I. (919-936) began a fresh forward movement against the Slavs, or Wends, as the Germans called them. Magdeburg, on the Elbe, was established as the chief base of operations. The work was kept up by Henry's son, Otto I. (936-973), but under his grandson, Otto II. (973-983), a large part of what had been gained was lost for a time through a Slavic revolt called out by the Emperor's preoccupation with affairs in Italy. Thereafter for a century the Slavs were allowed perforce to enjoy their earlier independence, and upon more than one occasion they were able to assume the aggressive against their would-be conquerors. In 1066 the city of Hamburg, on the lower Elbe, was attacked and almost totally destroyed. The imperial power was fast declining and the Franconian sovereigns had little time left from their domestic conflicts and quarrels with the papacy to carry on a contest on the east. The renewed advance which the Germans made against the Slavs in the later eleventh and earlier twelfth centuries was due primarily to the energy of the able princes of Saxony and to the pressure for colonization, which increased in spite of small encouragement from any except the local authorities. The document given below is a typical charter of the period, authorizing the establishment of a colony of Germans eastward from Hamburg, on the border of Brandenburg. It was granted in 1106 by the bishop of Hamburg, who as lord of the region in which the proposed settlement was to be made exercised the right not merely of giving consent to the undertaking, but also of prescribing the terms and conditions by which the colonists were to be bound. As appears from the charter, the colony was expected to be a source of profit to the bishop; and indeed it was financial considerations on the part of lords, lay and spiritual, who had stretches of unoccupied land at their disposal, almost as much as regard for safety in numbers and the absolute dominance of Germanic peoples, that prompted these local magnates of eastern Germany so ardently to promote the work of colonization. Source--Text in Wilhelm Altmann and Ernst Bernheim, _Ausgewählte Urkunden zur Erlauterung der Verfassungsgeschichte Deutschlands im Mittelalter_ ["Select Documents Illustrative of the Constitutional History of Germany in the Middle Ages"], 3rd ed., Berlin, 1904, pp. 159-160. Translated in Thatcher and McNeal, _A Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 572-573. =1.= In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by the grace of God bishop of Hamburg, to all the faithful in Christ, gives a perpetual benediction. We wish to make known to all the agreement which certain people living this side of the Rhine, who are called Hollanders,[487] have made with us. [Sidenote: The Hollanders ask land for a colony] =2.= These men came to us and earnestly begged us to grant them certain lands in our bishopric, which are uncultivated, swampy, and useless to our people. We have consulted our subjects about this and, feeling that this would be profitable to us and to our successors, have granted their request. =3.= The agreement was made that they should pay us every year one _denarius_ for every hide of land. We have thought it necessary to determine the dimensions of the hide, in order that no quarrel may thereafter arise about it. The hide shall be 720 royal rods long and thirty royal rods wide. We also grant them the streams which flow through this land. =4.= They agreed to give the tithe according to our decree, that is, every eleventh sheaf of grain, every tenth lamb, every tenth pig, every tenth goat, every tenth goose, and a tenth of the honey and of the flax. For every colt they shall pay a _denarius_ on St. Martin's day [Nov. 11], and for every calf an obol [penny]. [Sidenote: Obedience promised to the bishop of Hamburg] =5.= They promised to obey me in all ecclesiastical matters, according to the decrees of the holy fathers, the canonical law, and the practice in the diocese of Utrecht.[488] [Sidenote: Judicial immunity] =6.= They agreed to pay every year two marks for every 100 hides for the privilege of holding their own courts for the settlement of all their differences about secular matters. They did this because they feared they would suffer from the injustice of foreign judges.[489] If they cannot settle the more important cases, they shall refer them to the bishop. And if they take the bishop with them for the purpose of deciding one of their trials,[490] they shall provide for his support as long as he remains there by granting him one third of all the fees arising from the trial; and they shall keep the other two thirds. =7.= We have given them permission to found churches wherever they may wish on these lands. For the support of the priests who shall serve God in these churches we grant a tithe of our tithes from these parish churches. They promised that the congregation of each of these churches should endow their church with a hide for the support of their priest.[491] The names of the men who made this agreement with us are: Henry, the priest, to whom we have granted the aforesaid churches for life; and the others are laymen, Helikin, Arnold, Hiko, Fordalt, and Referic. To them and to their heirs after them we have granted the aforesaid land according to the secular laws and to the terms of this agreement. 59. The League of Rhenish Cities (1254) About the middle of the thirteenth century the central authority of the Holy Roman Empire was for a time practically dissolved. Frederick II., the last strong ruler of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, died in 1250, and even he was so largely Italian in character and interests that he could bring himself to give little attention to German affairs. During the stormy period of the Interregnum (1254-1273) there was no universally recognized emperor at all. Germany had reached an advanced stage of political disintegration and it is scarcely conceivable that even a Henry IV. or a Frederick Barbarossa could have made the imperial power much more than a shadow and a name. But while the Empire was broken up into scores of principalities, independent cities, and other political fragments, its people were enjoying a vigorous and progressive life. The period was one of great growth of industry in the towns, and especially of commerce. The one serious disadvantage was the lack of a central police authority to preserve order and insure the safety of person and property. Warfare was all but ceaseless, robber-bands infested the rivers and highways, and all manner of vexatious conditions were imposed upon trade by the various local authorities. The natural result was the formation of numerous leagues and confederacies for the suppression of anarchy and the protection of trade and industry. The greatest of these was the Hanseatic League, which came to comprise one hundred and seventy-two cities, and the history of whose operations runs through more than three centuries. An earlier organization, which may be considered in a way a forerunner of the Hansa, was the Rhine League, established in 1254. At this earlier date Conrad IV., son of Frederick II., was fighting his half-brother Manfred for their common Sicilian heritage; William of Holland, who claimed the imperial title, was recognized in only a small territory and was quite powerless to affect conditions of disorder outside; the other princes, great and small, were generally engaged in private warfare; and the difficulties and dangers of trade and industry were at their maximum. To establish a power strong enough, and with the requisite disposition, to suppress the robbers and pirates who were ruining commerce, the leading cities of the Rhine valley--Mainz, Cologne, Worms, Speyer, Strassburg, Basel, Trier, Metz, and others--entered into a "league of holy peace," to endure for a period of ten years, dating from July 13, 1254. The more significant terms of the compact are set forth in the selection below. Source--Text in Wilhelm Altmann and Ernst Bernheim, _Ausgewählte Urkunden zur Erlauterung der Verfassungsgeschichte Deutschlands im Mittelalter_ ["Select Documents Illustrative of the Constitutional History of Germany in the Middle Ages"], 3rd ed., Berlin, 1904, pp. 251-254. Translated in Thatcher and McNeal, _A Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 606-609. [Sidenote: The league formed at Worms] In the name of the Lord, amen. In the year of our Lord 1254, on the octave of St. Michael's day [a week after Sept. 29] we, the cities of the upper and lower Rhine, leagued together for the preservation of peace, met in the city of Worms. We held a conference there and carefully discussed everything pertaining to a general peace. To the honor of God, and of the holy mother Church, and of the holy Empire, which is now governed by our lord, William, king of the Romans,[492] and to the common advantage of all, both rich and poor alike, we made the following laws. They are for the benefit of all, both poor and great, the secular clergy, monks, laymen, and Jews. To secure these things, which are for the public good, we will spare neither ourselves nor our possessions. The princes and lords who take the oath are joined with us. =1.= We decree that we will make no warlike expeditions, except those that are absolutely necessary and determined on by the wise counsel of the cities and communes. We will mutually aid each other with all our strength in securing redress for our grievances. [Sidenote: No dealings to be had with enemies of the league] =2.= We decree that no member of the league, whether city or lord, Christian or Jew, shall furnish food, arms, or aid of any kind, to any one who opposes us or the peace. =3.= And no one in our cities shall give credit, or make a loan, to them. =4.= No citizen of any of the cities in the league shall associate with such, or give them counsel, aid, or support. If any one is convicted of doing so, he shall be expelled from the city and punished so severely in his property that he will be a warning to others not to do such things. [Sidenote: A warning to enemies] =5.= If any knight, in trying to aid his lord who is at war with us, attacks or molests us anywhere outside of the walled towns of his lord, he is breaking the peace, and we will in some way inflict due punishment on him and his possessions, no matter who he is. If he is caught in any of the cities, he shall be held as a prisoner until he makes proper satisfaction. We wish to be protectors of the peasants, and we will protect them against all violence if they will observe the peace with us. But if they make war on us, we will punish them, and if we catch them in any of the cities, we will punish them as malefactors. =6.= We wish the cities to destroy all the ferries except those in their immediate neighborhood, so that there shall be no ferries except those near the cities which are in the league. This is to be done in order that the enemies of the peace may be deprived of all means of crossing the Rhine. =7.= We decree that if any lord or knight aids us in promoting the peace, we will do all we can to protect him. Whoever does not swear to keep the peace with us, shall be excluded from the general peace. =10.= Above all, we wish to affirm that we desire to live in mutual peace with the lords and all the people of the province, and we desire that each should preserve all his rights. =11.= Under threat of punishment we forbid any citizen to revile the lords, although they may be our enemies. For although we wish to punish them for the violence they have done us, yet before making war on them we will first warn them to cease from injuring us. [Sidenote: Mainz and Worms to be the capitals of the league] =12.= We decree that all correspondence about this matter with the cities of the lower Rhine shall be conducted from Mainz, and from Worms with the cities of the upper Rhine. From these two cities all our correspondence shall be carried on and all who have done us injury shall be warned. Those who have suffered injury shall send their messengers at their own expense. [Sidenote: The governing body of the league] =13.= We also promise, both lords and cities, to send four official representatives to whatever place a conference is to be held, and they shall have full authority from their cities to decide on all matters. They shall report to their cities all the decisions of the meeting. All who come with the representatives of the cities, or who come to them while in session, shall have peace, and no judgment shall be enforced against them. =14.= No city shall receive non-residents, who are commonly called "pfahlburgers," as citizens.[493] =15.= We firmly declare that if any member of the league breaks the peace, we will proceed against him at once as if he were not a member, and compel him to make proper satisfaction. =16.= We promise that we will faithfully keep each other informed by letter about our enemies and all others who may be able to do us damage, in order that we may take timely counsel to protect ourselves against them. =17.= We decree that no one shall violently enter the house of monks or nuns, of whatever order they may be, or quarter themselves upon them, or demand or extort food or any kind of service from them, contrary to their will. If any one does this, he shall be held as a violator of the peace. [Sidenote: The league to be enlarged] =18.= We decree that each city shall try to persuade each of its neighboring cities to swear to keep the peace. If they do not do so, they shall be entirely cut off from the peace, so that if any one does them an injury, either in their persons or their property, he shall not thereby break the peace. =19.= We wish all members of the league, cities, lords, and all others, to arm themselves properly and prepare for war, so that whenever we call upon them we shall find them ready. [Sidenote: Military preparations of the league] =20.= We decree that the cities between the Moselle and Basel shall prepare 100 war boats, and the cities below the Moselle shall prepare 500, well equipped with bowmen, and each city shall prepare herself as well as she can and supply herself with arms for knights and foot-soldiers. FOOTNOTES: [470] Such guarantees of personal liberty were not peculiar to the charters of communes; they are often found in those of franchise towns. [471] The chief magistrate of Laon was a mayor, elected by the citizens. In judicial matters he was assisted by twelve "jurats." [472] This is intended to preserve the judicial privileges of lords of manors. [473] The citizens of the town were to have freedom to dispose of their property as they chose. [474] This provision was intended to put an end to arbitrary taxation by the bishop. In the earlier twelfth century serfs were subject to the arbitrary levy of the taille (tallage) and this indeed constituted one of their most grievous burdens. Arbitrary tallage was almost invariably abolished by the town charters. [475] By "men of the peace" is meant the citizens of the commune. The term "commune" is scrupulously avoided in the charter because of its odious character in the eyes of the bishop. Suits were to be tried at home in the burgesses' own courts, to save time and expense and insure better justice. [476] This trifling payment of sixpence a year was made in recognition of the lordship of the king, the grantor of the charter. Aside from it, the burgher had full rights over his land. [477] The burghers, who were often engaged in agriculture as well as commerce, are to be exempt from tolls on commodities bought for their own sustenance and from the ordinary fees due the lord for each measure of grain harvested. [478] The object of this provision is to restrict the amount of military service due the king. The burghers of small places like Lorris were farmers and traders who made poor soldiers and who were ordinarily exempted from service by their lords. The provision for Lorris practically amounted to an exemption, for such service as was permissible under chapter 3 of the charter was not worth much. [479] The Gâtinais was the region in which Lorris was situated. Étampes, Milly, and Melun all lay to the north of Lorris, in the direction of Paris. Orleans lay to the west. The king's object in granting the burghers the right to carry goods to the towns specified without payment of tolls was to encourage commercial intercourse. [480] This protects the landed property of the burghers against the crown and crown officials. With two exceptions, fine or imprisonment, not confiscation of land, is to be the penalty for crime. _Hôtes_ denotes persons receiving land from the king and under his direct protection. [481] This provision is intended to attract merchants to Lorris by placing them under the king's protection and assuring them that they would not be molested on account of old offenses. [482] This chapter safeguards the personal property of the burghers, as chapter 5 safeguards their land. Arbitrary imposts are forbidden and any of the inhabitants who as serfs had been paying arbitrary tallage are relieved of the burden. The nominal _cens_ (Chap. 1) was to be the only regular payment due the king. [483] An agreement outside of court was allowable in all cases except when there was a serious breach of the public peace. The provost was the chief officer of the town. He was appointed the crown and was charged chiefly with the administration of justice and the collection of revenues. All suits of the burghers were tried in his court. They had no active part in their own government, as was generally true of the franchise towns. [484] Another part of the charter specifies that only those burghers who owned horses and carts were expected to render the king even this service. [485] This clause, which is very common in the town charters of the twelfth century (especially in the case of towns on the royal domain) is intended to attract serfs from other regions and so to build up population. As a rule the towns were places of refuge from seigniorial oppression and the present charter undertakes to limit the time within which the lord might recover his serf who had fled to Lorris to a year and a day--except in cases where the serf should refuse to recognize the jurisdiction of the provost's court in the matter of the lord's claim. [486] The sergeants were deputies of the provost, somewhat on the order of town constables. [487] These "Hollanders" inhabited substantially the portion of Europe now designated by their name. [488] This was the diocese from which the colonists proposed to remove. [489] That is, judges representing any outside authority. [490] In other words, if the bishop should go from his seat at Hamburg to the colony. [491] In each parish of the colony, therefore, the priest would be supported by the income of the hide of land set apart for his use and by the tenth of the regular church tithes which the bishop conceded for the purpose. [492] All that this means is that the members of the Rhine League recognized William of Holland as emperor. Most of the Empire did not so recognize him. He died in 1256, two years after the league was formed. [493] These "pfahlburgers" were subjects of ecclesiastical or secular princes who, in order to escape the burdens of this relation, contrived to get themselves enrolled as citizens of neighboring cities. While continuing to dwell in regions subject to the jurisdiction of their lords, they claimed to enjoy immunity from that jurisdiction, because of their citizenship in those outside cities. The pfahlburgers were a constant source of friction between the towns and the territorial princes. The Golden Bull of Emperor Charles IV. (1356) decreed that pfahlburgers should not enjoy the rights and privileges of the cities unless they became actual residents of them and discharged their full obligations as citizens. CHAPTER XXI. UNIVERSITIES AND STUDENT LIFE The modern university is essentially a product of the Middle Ages. The Greeks and Romans had provisions for higher education, but nothing that can properly be termed universities, with faculties, courses of study, examinations, and degrees. The word "universitas" in the earlier mediæval period was applied indiscriminately to any group or body of people, as a guild of artisans or an organization of the clergy, and only very gradually did it come to be restricted to an association of teachers and students--the so-called _universitas societas magistrorum discipulorumque_. The origins of mediæval universities are, in most cases, rather obscure. In the earlier Middle Ages the interests of learning were generally in the keeping of the monks and the work of education was carried on chiefly in monastic schools, where the subjects of study were commonly the seven liberal arts inherited from Roman days.[494] By the twelfth century there was a relative decline of these monastic schools, accompanied by a marked development of cathedral schools in which not only the seven liberal arts but also new subjects like law and theology were taught. The twelfth century renaissance brought a notable revival of Roman law, medicine, astronomy, and philosophy; by 1200 the whole of Aristotle's writings had become known; and the general awakening produced immediate results in the larger numbers of students who flocked to places like Paris and Bologna where exceptional teachers were to be found. Out of these conditions grew the earliest of the universities. No definite dates for the beginnings of Paris, Bologna, Oxford, etc., can be assigned, but the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are to be considered their great formative period. Bologna was specifically the creation of the revived study of the Roman law and of the fame of the great law teacher Irnerius. The university sprang from a series of organizations effected first by the students and later by the masters, or teachers, and modeled after the guilds of workmen. It became the pattern for most of the later Italian and Spanish universities. Paris arose in a different way. It grew directly out of the great cathedral school of Notre Dame and, unlike Bologna, was an organization at the outset of masters rather than of students. It was presided over by the chancellor, who had had charge of education in the cathedral and who retained the exclusive privilege of granting licenses to teach (the _licentia docendi_), or, in other words, degrees.[495] Rising to prominence in the twelfth century, especially by virtue of the teaching of Abelard (1079-1142), Paris became in time the greatest university of the Middle Ages, exerting profound influence not only on learning, but also on the Church and even at times on political affairs. The universities of the rest of France, as well as the German universities and Oxford and Cambridge in England, were copied pretty closely after Paris. 60. Privileges Granted to Students and Masters Throughout the Middle Ages numerous special favors were showered upon the universities and their students by the Church. Patronage and protection from the secular authorities were less to be depended on, though the courts of kings were not infrequently the rendezvous of scholars, and the greater seats of learning after the eleventh century generally owed their prosperity, if not their origin, to the liberality of monarchs such as Frederick Barbarossa or Philip Augustus. The recognition of the universities by the temporal powers came as a rule earlier than that by the Church. The edict of the Emperor Frederick I., which comprises selection (a) below, was issued in 1158 and is not to be considered as limited in its application to the students of any particular university, though many writers have associated it solely with the University of Bologna. That the statute was decreed at the solicitation of the Bologna doctors of law admits of little doubt, but, as Rashdall observes, it was "a general privilege conferred on the student class throughout the Lombard kingdom."[496] By some writers it is said to have been the earliest formal grant of privileges for university students, but this cannot be true as Salerno (notable chiefly for medical studies) received such grants from Robert Guiscard and his son Roger before the close of the eleventh century. Until the year 1200 the students of Paris enjoyed no privileges such as those conferred upon the Italian institutions by Frederick. In that year a tavern brawl occurred between some German students and Parisian townspeople, in which five of the students lost their lives. The provost of the city, instead of attempting to repress the disorder, took sides against the students and encouraged the populace. Such laxity stirred the king, Philip Augustus, to action. Fearing that the students would decamp _en masse_, he hastened to comply with their appeal for redress. The provost and his lieutenants were arrested and a decree was issued [given, in part, in selection (b)] exempting the scholars from the operation of the municipal law in criminal cases. Pope Innocent III. at once confirmed the privileges and on his part relaxed somewhat the vigilance of the Church. Such liberal measures, however, did not insure permanent peace. In less than three decades another conflict with the provost occurred which was so serious as to result in a total suspension of the university's activities for more than two years. Sources--(a) Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica, Leges_ (Pertz ed.), Vol. II., p. 114. Adapted from translation by Dana C. Munro in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. II., No. 3, pp. 2-4. (b) Text in _Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis_ ["Cartulary of the University of Paris"], No. 1., p. 59. Adapted from translation in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, _ibid._, pp. 4-7. [Sidenote: Security of travel and residence for scholars] (a) After a careful consideration of this subject by the bishops, abbots, dukes, counts, judges, and other nobles of our sacred palace, we, from our piety, have granted this privilege to all scholars who travel for the sake of study, and especially to the professors of divine and sacred laws,[497] namely, that they may go in safety to the places in which the studies are carried on, both they themselves and their messengers, and may dwell there in security. For we think it fitting that, during good behavior, those should enjoy our praise and protection, by whose learning the world is enlightened to the obedience of God and of us, his ministers, and the life of the subject is molded; and by a special consideration we defend them from all injuries. [Sidenote: Regulation concerning the collection of debts] For who does not pity those who exile themselves through love for learning, who wear themselves out in poverty in place of riches, who expose their lives to all perils and often suffer bodily injury from the vilest men? This must be endured with vexation. Therefore, we declare by this general and perpetual law, that in the future no one shall be so rash as to venture to inflict any injury on scholars, or to occasion any loss to them on account of a debt owed by an inhabitant of their province--a thing which we have learned is sometimes done by an evil custom.[498] And let it be known to the violators of this constitution, and also to those who shall at the time be the rulers of the places, that a fourfold restitution of property shall be exacted from all and that, the mark of infamy being affixed to them by the law itself, they shall lose their office forever. [Sidenote: Judicial privileges of scholars] Moreover, if any one shall presume to bring a suit against them on account of any business, the choice in this matter shall be given to the scholars, who may summon the accusers to appear before their professors or the bishop of the city, to whom we have given jurisdiction in this matter.[499] But if, indeed, the accuser shall attempt to drag the scholar before another judge, even if his cause is a very just one, he shall lose his suit for such an attempt. (b) Concerning the safety of the students at Paris in the future, by the advice of our subjects we have ordained as follows: [Sidenote: Protection for scholars against crimes of violence] We will cause all the citizens of Paris to swear that if any one sees an injury done to any student by any layman,[500] he will testify truthfully to this, nor will any one withdraw in order not to see [the act]. And if it shall happen that any one strikes a student, except in self-defense, especially if he strikes the student with a weapon, a club, or a stone, all laymen who see [the act] shall in good faith seize the malefactor, or malefactors, and deliver them to our judge; nor shall they run away in order not to see the act, or seize the malefactor, or testify to the truth. Also, whether the malefactor is seized in open crime or not, we will make a legal and full examination through clerks, or laymen, or certain lawful persons; and our count and our judges shall do the same. And if by a full examination we, or our judges, are able to learn that he who is accused, is guilty of the crime, then we, or our judges, shall immediately inflict a penalty, according to the quality and nature of the crime; notwithstanding the fact that the criminal may deny the deed and say that he is ready to defend himself in single combat, or to purge himself by the ordeal by water.[501] [Sidenote: Scholars to be tried and punished under ecclesiastical authority] Also, neither our provost nor our judges shall lay hands on a student for any offense whatever; nor shall they place him in our prison, unless such a crime has been committed by the student, that he ought to be arrested. And in that case, our judge shall arrest him on the spot, without striking him at all, unless he resists, and shall hand him over to the ecclesiastical judge,[502] who ought to guard him in order to satisfy us and the one suffering the injury. And if a serious crime has been committed, our judge shall go or shall send to see what is done with the student. If, indeed, the student does not resist arrest and yet suffers any injury, we will exact satisfaction for it, according to the aforesaid examination and the aforesaid oath. Also our judges shall not lay hands on the chattels of the students of Paris for any crime whatever. But if it shall seem that these ought to be sequestrated, they shall be sequestrated and guarded after sequestration by the ecclesiastical judge, in order that whatever is judged legal by the Church may be done with the chattels.[503] But if students are arrested by our count at such an hour that the ecclesiastical judge cannot be found and be present at once, our provost shall cause the culprits to be guarded in some student's house without any ill-treatment, as is said above, until they are delivered to the ecclesiastical judge. [Sidenote: The oath required of the provost and people of Paris] In order, moreover, that these [decrees] may be kept more carefully and may be established forever by a fixed law, we have decided that our present provost and the people of Paris shall affirm by an oath, in the presence of the scholars, that they will carry out in good faith all the above-mentioned [regulations]. And always in the future, whosoever receives from us the office of provost in Paris, among the inaugural acts of his office, namely, on the first or second Sunday, in one of the churches of Paris--after he has been summoned for the purpose--shall affirm by an oath, publicly in the presence of the scholars, that he will keep in good faith all the above-mentioned [regulations].[504] And that these decrees may be valid forever, we have ordered this document to be confirmed by the authority of our seal and by the characters of the royal name signed below. 61. The Foundation of the University of Heidelberg (1386) Until the middle of the fourteenth century Germany possessed no university. In the earlier mediæval period, when palace and monastic schools were multiplying in France, Italy, and England, German culture was too backward to permit of a similar movement beyond the Rhine; and later, when in other countries universities were springing into prosperity, political dissensions long continued to thwart such enterprises among the Germans. Germany was not untouched by the intellectual movements of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but her young men were obliged to seek their learning at Oxford or Paris or Bologna. The first German university was that of Prague, in Bohemia, founded by Emperor Charles IV., a contemporary of Petrarch, and chartered in 1348. Once begun, the work of establishing such institutions went on rapidly, until ere long every principality of note had its own university. Vienna was founded in 1365, Erfurt was given papal sanction in 1379, Heidelberg was established in 1386, and Cologne followed in 1388. The document given below is the charter of privileges issued for Heidelberg in October, 1386, by the founder, Rupert I., Count Palatine of the Rhine. Marsilius Inghen became the first rector of the university. He and two other masters began lecturing October 19, 1386--one on logic, another on the epistle to Titus, the third on the philosophy of Aristotle. Within four years over a thousand students had been in attendance at the university. Source--Text in Edward Winkelmann, _Urkundenbuch der Universität Heidelberg_ ["Cartulary of the University of Heidelberg"], Heidelberg, 1886, Vol. I., pp. 5-6. Translated in Ernest F. Henderson, _Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1896), pp. 262-266. [Sidenote: The university to be organized on the model of Paris] =1.= We, Rupert the elder, by the grace of God count palatine of the Rhine, elector of the Holy Empire,[505] and duke of Bavaria,--lest we seem to abuse the privilege conceded to us by the apostolic see of founding a place of study at Heidelberg similar to that at Paris, and lest, for this reason, being subjected to the divine judgment, we should deserve to be deprived of the privilege granted--do decree, with provident counsel (which decree is to be observed unto all time), that the University of Heidelberg shall be ruled, disposed, and regulated according to the modes and manners accustomed to be observed in the University of Paris.[506] Also that, as a handmaid of Paris--a worthy one let us hope--the latter's steps shall be imitated in every way possible; so that, namely, there shall be four faculties in it: the first, of sacred theology and divinity; the second, of canon and civil law, which, by reason of their similarity, we think best to comprise under one faculty; the third, of medicine; the fourth, of liberal arts--of the three-fold philosophy, namely, primal, natural, and moral, three mutually subservient daughters.[507] We wish this institution to be divided and marked out into four nations, as it is at Paris;[508] and that all these faculties shall make one university, and that to it the individual students, in whatever of the said faculties they are, shall unitedly belong like lawful sons to one mother. [Sidenote: The obligations of the masters] Likewise [we desire] that this university shall be governed by one rector,[509] and that the various masters and teachers, before they are admitted to the common pursuits of our institution, shall swear to observe the statutes, laws, privileges, liberties, and franchises of the same, and not reveal its secrets, to whatever grade they may rise. Also that they will uphold the honor of the rector and the rectorship of our university, and will obey the rector in all things lawful and honest, whatever be the grade to which they may afterwards happen to be promoted. Moreover, that the various masters and bachelors shall read their lectures and exercise their scholastic functions and go about in caps and gowns of a uniform and similar nature, according as has been observed at Paris up to this time in the different faculties. [Sidenote: Internal government of the university further provided for] And we will that if any faculty, nation, or person shall oppose the aforesaid regulations, or stubbornly refuse to obey them, or any one of them--which God forbid--from that time forward that same faculty, nation, or person, if it do not desist upon being warned, shall be deprived of all connection with our aforesaid institution, and shall not have the benefit of our defense or protection. Moreover, we will and ordain that as the university as a whole may do for those assembled here and subject to it, so each faculty, nation, or province of it may enact lawful statutes, such as are suitable to its needs, provided that through them, or any one of them, no prejudice is done to the above regulations and to our institution, and that no kind of impediment arise from them. And we will that when the separate bodies shall have passed the statutes for their own observance, they may make them perpetually binding on those subject to them and on their successors. And as in the University of Paris the various servants of the institution have the benefit of the various privileges which its masters and scholars enjoy, so in starting our institution in Heidelberg, we grant, with even greater liberality, through these presents, that all the servants, i.e., its pedells,[510] librarians, lower officials, preparers of parchment, scribes, illuminators and others who serve it, may each and all, without fraud, enjoy in it the same privileges, franchises, immunities and liberties with which its masters or scholars are now or shall hereafter be endowed. [Sidenote: The jurisdiction of the bishop of Worms] [Sidenote: Conditions of imprisonment] =2.= Lest in the new community of the city of Heidelberg, their misdeeds being unpunished, there be an incentive to the scholars of doing wrong, we ordain, with provident counsel, by these presents, that the bishop of Worms, as judge ordinary of the clerks of our institution, shall have and possess, now and hereafter while our institution shall last, prisons, and an office in our town of Heidelberg for the detention of criminal clerks. These things we have seen fit to grant to him and his successors, adding these conditions: that he shall permit no clerk to be arrested unless for a misdemeanor; that he shall restore any one detained for such fault, or for any light offense, to his master, or to the rector if the latter asks for him, a promise having been given that the culprit will appear in court and that the rector or master will answer for him if the injured parties should go to law about the matter. Furthermore, that, on being requested, he will restore a clerk arrested for a crime on slight evidence, upon receiving a sufficient pledge--sponsors if the prisoner can obtain them, otherwise an oath if he cannot obtain sponsors--to the effect that he will answer in court the charges against him; and in all these things there shall be no pecuniary exactions, except that the clerk shall give satisfaction, reasonably and according to the rule of the aforementioned town, for the expenses which he incurred while in prison. And we desire that he will detain honestly and without serious injury a criminal clerk thus arrested for a crime where the suspicion is grave and strong, until the truth can be found out concerning the deed of which he is suspected. And he shall not for any cause, moreover, take away any clerk from our aforesaid town, or permit him to be taken away, unless the proper observances have been followed, and he has been condemned by judicial sentence to perpetual imprisonment for a crime. [Sidenote: Limitations upon power to arrest students] We command our advocate and bailiff and their servants in our aforesaid town, under pain of losing their offices and our favor, not to lay a detaining hand on any master or scholar of our said institution, nor to arrest him or allow him to be arrested, unless the deed be such that that master or scholar ought rightly to be detained. He shall be restored to his rector or master, if he is held for a slight cause, provided he will swear and promise to appear in court concerning the matter; and we decree that a slight fault is one for which a layman, if he had committed it, ought to have been condemned to a light pecuniary fine. Likewise, if the master or scholar detained be found gravely or strongly suspected of the crime, we command that he be handed over by our officials to the bishop or to his representative in our said town, to be kept in custody. [Sidenote: Students exempted from various imposts] =3.= By the tenor of these presents we grant to each and all the masters and scholars that, when they come to the said institution, while they remain there, and also when they return from it to their homes, they may freely carry with them, both coming and going, throughout all the lands subject to us, all things which they need while pursuing their studies, and all the goods necessary for their support, without any duty, levy, imposts, tolls, excises, or other exactions whatever. And we wish them and each one of them, to be free from the aforesaid imposts when purchasing corn, wines, meat, fish, clothes and all things necessary for their living and for their rank. And we decree that the scholars from their stock in hand of provisions, if there remain over one or two wagonloads of wine without their having practised deception, may, after the feast of Easter of that year, sell it at wholesale without paying impost. We grant to them, moreover, that each day the scholars, of themselves or through their servants, may be allowed to buy in the town of Heidelberg, at the accustomed hour, freely and without impediment or hurtful delay, any eatables or other necessaries of life. [Sidenote: How rates for lodging should be fixed] 4. Lest the masters and scholars of our institution of Heidelberg may be oppressed by the citizens, moved by avarice, through extortionate prices of lodgings, we have seen fit to decree that henceforth each year, after Christmas, one expert from the university on the part of the scholars, and one prudent, pious, and circumspect citizen on the part of the citizens, shall be authorized to determine the price of the students' lodgings. Moreover, we will and decree that the various masters and scholars shall, through our bailiff, our judge and the officials subject to us, be defended and maintained in the quiet possession of the lodgings given to them free or of those for which they pay rent. Moreover, by the tenor of these presents, we grant to the rector and the university, or to those designated by them, entire jurisdiction concerning the payment of rents for the lodgings occupied by the students, concerning the making and buying of books, and the borrowing of money for other purposes by the scholars of our institution; also concerning the payment of assessments, together with everything that arises from, depends upon, and is connected with these. In addition, we command our officials that, when the rector requires our and their aid and assistance for carrying out his sentences against scholars who try to rebel, they shall assist our clients and servants in this matter; first, however, obtaining lawful permission to proceed against clerks from the lord bishop of Worms, or from one deputed by him for this purpose. 62. Mediæval Students' Songs "When we try to picture to ourselves," says Mr. Symonds in one of his felicitous passages, "the intellectual and moral state of Europe in the Middle Ages, some fixed and almost stereotyped ideas immediately suggest themselves. We think of the nations immersed in a gross mental lethargy; passively witnessing the gradual extinction of arts and sciences which Greece and Rome had splendidly inaugurated; allowing libraries and monuments of antique civilization to crumble into dust; while they trembled under a dull and brooding terror of coming judgment, shrank from natural enjoyment as from deadly sin, or yielded themselves with brutal eagerness to the satisfaction of vulgar appetites. Preoccupation with the other world in this long period weakens man's hold upon the things that make his life desirable.... Prolonged habits of extra-mundane contemplation, combined with the decay of real knowledge, volatilize the thoughts and aspirations of the best and wisest into dreamy unrealities, giving a false air of mysticism to love, shrouding art in allegory, reducing the interpretation of texts to an exercise of idle ingenuity, and the study of nature to an insane system of grotesque and pious quibbling. The conception of man's fall and of the incurable badness of this world bears poisonous fruit of cynicism and asceticism, that two-fold bitter almond hidden in the harsh monastic shell. Nature is regarded with suspicion and aversion; the flesh, with shame and loathing, broken by spasmodic outbursts of lawless self-indulgence."[511] All of these ideas are properly to be associated with the Middle Ages, but it must be borne in mind that they represent only one side of the picture. They are drawn very largely from the study of monastic literature and produce a somewhat distorted impression. Though many conditions prevailing in mediæval times operated strongly to paralyze the intellects and consciences of men, the fundamental manifestations and expressions of human instinct and vitality were far from crushed out. The life of many people was full and varied and positive--not so different, after all, from that of men and women to-day. That this was true is demonstrated by a wealth of literature reflecting the jovial and exuberant aspects of mediæval life, which has come down to us chiefly in two great groups--the poetry of the troubadours and the songs of the wandering students. "That so bold, so fresh, so natural, so pagan a view of life," continues Mr. Symonds in the passage quoted, "as the Latin songs of the Wandering Students exhibit, should have found clear and artistic utterance in the epoch of the Crusades, is indeed enough to bid us pause and reconsider the justice of our stereotyped ideas about that period. This literature makes it manifest that the ineradicable appetites and natural instincts of men and women were no less vigorous in fact, though less articulate and self-assertive, than they had been in the age of Greece and Rome, and than they afterwards displayed themselves in what is known as the Renaissance. The songs of the Wandering Students were composed for the most part in the twelfth century. Uttering the unrestrained emotions of men attached by a slender tie to the dominant clerical class and diffused over all countries, they bring us face to face with a body of opinion which finds in studied chronicle or labored dissertation of the period no echo. On the one side, they express that delight in life and physical enjoyment which was a main characteristic of the Renaissance; on the other, they proclaim that revolt against the corruption of Papal Rome which was the motive force of the Reformation. Who were these Wandering Students? As their name implies, they were men, and for the most part young men, traveling from university to university in search of knowledge. Far from their homes, without responsibilities, light of purse and light of heart, careless and pleasure-seeking, they ran a free, disreputable course, frequenting taverns at least as much as lecture-rooms, more capable of pronouncing judgment upon wine or woman than upon a problem of divinity or logic. These pilgrims to the shrines of knowledge formed a class apart. According to tendencies prevalent in the Middle Ages, they became a sort of guild, and with pride proclaimed themselves an Order."[512] Our knowledge of the mediæval students' songs is derived from two principal sources: (1) a richly illuminated thirteenth-century manuscript now preserved at Munich and edited in 1847 under the title _Carmina Burana_; and (2) another thirteenth-century manuscript published (with other materials) in 1841 under the title _Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes_. Many songs occur in both collections. The half-dozen given in translation below very well illustrate the subjects, tone, and style of these interesting bits of literature. Source--Texts in Edélestand du Méril, _Poésies Populaires Latines du Moyen Age_ ["Popular Latin Poetry of the Middle Ages"], Paris, 1847, _passim_. Translated in John Addington Symonds, _Wine, Women, and Song: Mediæval Latin Students' Songs_ (London, 1884), pp. 12-136, _passim_. The first is a tenth century piece, marked by an element of tenderness in sentiment which is essentially modern. It is the invitation of a young man to his mistress, bidding her to a little supper at his home. "Come therefore now, my gentle fere, Whom as my heart I hold full dear; Enter my little room, which is Adorned with quaintest rarities: There are the seats with cushions spread, The roof with curtains overhead: The house with flowers of sweetest scent And scattered herbs is redolent: A table there is deftly dight With meats and drinks of rare delight; There too the wine flows, sparkling, free; And all, my love, to pleasure thee. There sound enchanting symphonies; The clear high notes of flutes arise; A singing girl and artful boy Are chanting for thee strains of joy; He touches with his quill the wire, She tunes her note unto the lyre: The servants carry to and fro Dishes and cups of ruddy glow; But these delights, I will confess, Than pleasant converse charm me less; Nor is the feast so sweet to me As dear familiarity. Then come now, sister of my heart, That dearer than all others art, Unto mine eyes thou shining sun, Soul of my soul, thou only one! I dwelt alone in the wild woods, And loved all secret solitudes; Oft would I fly from tumults far, And shunned where crowds of people are. O dearest, do not longer stay! Seek we to live and love to-day! I cannot live without thee, sweet! Time bids us now our love complete." The next is a begging petition, addressed by a student on the road to some resident of the place where he was temporarily staying. The supplication for alms, in the name of learning, is cast in the form of a sing-song doggerel. I, a wandering scholar lad, Born for toil and sadness, Oftentimes am driven by Poverty to madness. Literature and knowledge I Fain would still be earning, Were it not that want of pelf Makes me cease from learning. These torn clothes that cover me Are too thin and rotten; Oft I have to suffer cold, By the warmth forgotten. Scarce I can attend at church, Sing God's praises duly; Mass and vespers both I miss, Though I love them truly. Oh, thou pride of N----,[513] By thy worth I pray thee Give the suppliant help in need, Heaven will sure repay thee. Take a mind unto thee now Like unto St. Martin;[514] Clothe the pilgrim's nakedness Wish him well at parting. So may God translate your soul Into peace eternal, And the bliss of saints be yours In His realm supernal. The following jovial _Song of the Open Road_ throbs with exhilaration and even impudence. Two vagabond students are drinking together before they part. One of them undertakes to expound the laws of the brotherhood which bind them together. The refrain is intended apparently to imitate a bugle call. We in our wandering, Blithesome and squandering, Tara, tantara, teino! Eat to satiety, Drink to propriety; Tara, tantara, teino! Laugh till our sides we split, Rags on our hides we fit; Tara, tantara, teino! Jesting eternally, Quaffing infernally. Tara, tantara, teino! Craft's in the bone of us, Fear 'tis unknown of us; Tara, tantara, teino! When we're in neediness, Thieve we with greediness: Tara, tantara, teino! Brother catholical, Man apostolical, Tara, tantara, teino! Say what you will have done, What you ask 'twill be done! Tara, tantara, teino! Folk, fear the toss of the Horns of philosophy! Tara, tantara, teino! Here comes a quadruple Spoiler and prodigal![515] Tara, tantara, teino! License and vanity Pamper insanity: Tara, tantara, teino! As the Pope bade us do, Brother to brother's true: Tara, tantara, teino! Brother, best friend, adieu! Now, I must part from you! Tara, tantara, teino! When will our meeting be? Glad shall our greeting be! Tara, tantara, teino! Vows valedictory Now have the victory: Tara, tantara, teino! Clasped on each other's breast, Brother to brother pressed, Tara, tantara, teino! Here is a song entitled _The Vow to Cupid_. Winter, now thy spite is spent, Frost and ice and branches bent! Fogs and furious storms are o'er, Sloth and torpor, sorrow frore, Pallid wrath, lean discontent. Comes the graceful band of May! Cloudless shines the limpid day, Shine by night the Pleiades; While a grateful summer breeze Makes the season soft and gay. Golden Love! shine forth to view! Souls of stubborn men subdue! See me bend! what is thy mind? Make the girl thou givest kind, And a leaping ram's thy due![516] O the jocund face of earth, Breathing with young grassy birth! Every tree with foliage clad, Singing birds in greenwood glad, Flowering fields for lovers' mirth! Here is another song of exceedingly delicate sentiment. It is entitled _The Love-Letter in Spring_. Now the sun is streaming, Clear and pure his ray; April's glad face beaming On our earth to-day. Unto love returneth Every gentle mind; And the boy-god burneth Jocund hearts to bind. All this budding beauty, Festival array, Lays on us the duty To be blithe and gay. Trodden ways are known, love! And in this thy youth, To retain thy own love Were but faith and truth. In faith love me solely, Mark the faith of me, From thy whole heart wholly, From the soul of thee. At this time of bliss, dear, I am far away; Those who love like this, dear, Suffer every day! Next to love and the springtime, the average student set his affections principally on the tavern and the wine-bowl. From his proneness to frequent the tavern's jovial company of topers and gamesters naturally sprang a liberal supply of drinking songs. Here is a fragment from one of them. Some are gaming, some are drinking, Some are living without thinking; And of those who make the racket, Some are stripped of coat and jacket; Some get clothes of finer feather, Some are cleaned out altogether; No one there dreads death's invasion, But all drink in emulation. Finally may be given, in the original Latin, a stanza of a drinking song which fell to such depths of irreverence as to comprise a parody of Thomas Aquinas's hymn on the Lord's Supper. _Bibit hera, bibit herus, Bibit miles, bibit clerus, Bibit ille, bibit illa, Bibit servus cum ancilla, Bibit velox, bibit piger, Bibit albus, bibit niger, Bibit constans, bibit vagus, Bibit rudis, bibit magus._ FOOTNOTES: [494] That is, the _trivium_ (Latin grammar, rhetoric, and logic) and the _quadrivium_ (arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music). [495] The earliest degrees granted at Bologna, Paris, etc., were those of master of arts and doctor of philosophy. "Master" and "Doctor" were practically equivalent terms and both signified simply that the bearer, after suitable examinations, had been recognized as sufficiently proficient to be admitted to the guild of teachers. The bachelor's degree grew up more obscurely. It might be taken somewhere on the road to the master's degree, but was merely an incidental stamp of proficiency up to a certain stage of advancement. Throughout mediæval times the master's, or doctor's, degree, which carried the right to become a teacher, was the normal goal and few stopped short of its attainment. [496] Hastings Rashdall, _The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages_ (Oxford, 1895), Vol. I., p. 146. [497] Evidently, from other passages, including students of law as well as teachers. [498] Greedy creditors sometimes compelled students to pay debts owed by the fellow-countrymen of the latter--a very thinly disguised form of robbery. This abuse was now to be abolished. [499] That is, in any legal proceedings against a scholar the defendant was to choose whether he would be tried before his own master or before the bishop. In later times this right of choice passed generally to the plaintiff. [500] The students of the French universities were regarded as, for all practical purposes, members of the clergy (_clerici_) and thus to be distinguished from laymen. They were not clergy in the full sense, but were subject to a special sort of jurisdiction closely akin to that applying to the clergy. [501] The law on this point was exceptionally severe. The privilege of establishing innocence by combat or the ordeal by water was denied, though even the provost and his subordinates who had played false in the riot of 1200 had been given the opportunity of clearing themselves by such means if they chose and could do so. [502] A further recognition of the clerical character of the students. [503] The property, as the persons, of the scholars was protected from seizure except by the church authorities. [504] In this capacity the provost of Paris came to be known as the "Conservator of the Royal Privileges of the University." [505] For an explanation of the phrase "elector of the Holy Empire" see p. 409. [506] Rupert had sent sums of money to Rome to induce Pope Urban VI. to approve the foundation of the university. The papal bull of 1385, which was the reward of his effort, specifically enjoined that the university be modeled closely after that of Paris. [507] The mediæval "three philosophies" were introduced by the rediscovery of some of Aristotle's writings in the twelfth century. Primal philosophy was what we now know as metaphysics; natural philosophy meant the sciences of physics, botany, etc.; and moral philosophy denoted ethics and politics. [508] At Paris the students were divided into four groups, named from the nationality which predominated in each of them at the time of its formation--the French, the Normans, the Picards, and the English. [509] The rector at Paris was head of the faculty of arts. [510] Equivalent to bedel. All mediæval universities had their bedels, who bore the mace of authority before the rectors on public occasions, made announcements of lectures, book sales, etc., and exercised many of the functions of the modern bedel of European universities. [511] John Addington Symonds, _Wine, Women and Song: Mediæval Latin Students' Songs_ (London, 1884), pp. 1-3. [512] Symonds, _Wine, Women, and Song_, pp. 5-20 _passim_. [513] This is the only indication of the name of the place where the suppliant student was supposed to be making his petition. [514] St. Martin was the founder of the monastery at Tours [see p. 48]. [515] "Honest folk are jeeringly bidden to beware of the _quadrivium_ [see p. 339], which is apt to form a fourfold rogue instead of a scholar in four branches of knowledge."--Symonds, _Wine, Women, and Song_, p. 57. [516] That is, as a sacrifice. CHAPTER XXII. THE FRIARS From the twelfth century onwards one of the most conspicuous features of the internal development of the mediæval Church was the struggle to combat worldliness among ecclesiastics and to preserve the purity of doctrine and uprightness of living which had characterized the primitive Christian clergy. As the Middle Ages advanced to their close, unimpeachable evidence accumulates that the Church was increasingly menaced by grave abuses. This evidence appears not only in contemporary records and chronicles but even more strikingly in the great protesting movements which spring up in rapid succession--particularly the rise of heretical sects, such as the Waldenses and the Albigenses, and the inauguration of systematic efforts to regenerate the church body without disrupting its unity. These latter efforts at first took the form of repeated revivals of monastic enthusiasm and self-denial, marked by the founding of a series of new orders on the basis of the Benedictine Rule--the Cluniacs, the Carthusians, the Cistercians, and others of their kind [see p. 245]. This resource proving ineffective, the movement eventually came to comprise the establishment of wholly new and independent organizations--the mendicant orders--on principles better adapted than were those of monasticism to the successful propagation of simplicity and purity of Christian living. The chief of these new orders were the Franciscans, known also as Gray Friars and as Minorites, and the Dominicans, sometimes called Black Friars or Preaching Friars. Both were founded in the first quarter of the thirteenth century, the one by St. Francis of Assisi; the other by the Spanish nobleman, St. Dominic. The friars, of whatsoever type, are clearly to be distinguished from the monks. In the first place, their aims were different. The monks, in so far as they were true to their principles, lived in more or less seclusion from the rest of the world and gave themselves up largely to prayer and meditation; the fundamental purpose of the friars, on the other hand, was to mingle with their fellow-men and to spend their lives in active religious work among them. Whereas the old monasticism had been essentially selfish, the new movement was above all of a missionary and philanthropic character. In the second place, the friars were even more strongly committed to a life of poverty than were the monks, for they renounced not only individual property, as did the monks, but also collective property, as the monks did not. They were expected to get their living either by their own labor or by begging. They did not dwell in fixed abodes, but wandered hither and thither as inclination and duty led. Their particular sphere of activity was the populous towns; unlike the monks, they had no liking for rural solitudes. As one writer has put it, "their houses were built in or near the great towns; and to the majority of the brethren the houses of the orders were mere temporary resting-places from which they issued to make their journeys through town and country, preaching in the parish churches, or from the steps of the market-crosses, and carrying their ministrations to every castle and every cottage." Both the Franciscans and the Dominicans were exempt from control by the bishops in the various dioceses and were ardent supporters of the papacy, which showered privileges upon them and secured in them two of its strongest allies. The organization of each order was elaborate and centralized. At the head was a master, or general, who resided at Rome and was assisted by a "chapter." All Christendom was divided into provinces, each of which was directed by a prior and provincial chapter. And over each individual "house" was placed a prior, or warden, appointed by the provincial chapter. In their earlier history the zeal and achievements of the friars were remarkable. Nearly all of the greatest men of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries--as Roger Bacon, Thomas Aquinas, Dun Scotus, and Albertus Magnus--were members of one of the mendicant orders. Unfortunately, with the friars as with the monks, prosperity brought decadence; and by the middle of the fourteenth century their ardor had cooled and their boasted self-denial had pretty largely given place to self-indulgence. 63. The Life of St. Francis Saint Francis, the founder of the Franciscan order, was born, probably in 1182, at Assisi, a small town in central Italy. His boyhood was unpromising, but when he was about twenty years of age a great change came over him, the final result of which was the making of one of the most splendid and altogether lovable characters of the entire Middle Ages. From a wild, reckless, although cultured, youth he developed into a sympathetic, self-denying, sweet-spirited saint. Finding himself, after his conversion, possessed of a natural loathing for the destitute and diseased, especially lepers, he disciplined himself until he could actually take a certain sort of pleasure in associating with these outcasts of society. When his father, a wealthy and aristocratic cloth-merchant, protested against this sort of conduct, the young man promptly cast aside his gentlemanly raiment, clad himself in the worn-out garments of a gardener, and adopted the life of the wandering hermit. In 1209, in obedience to what he conceived to be a direct commission from heaven, he began definitely to imitate the early apostles in his manner of living and to preach the gospel of the older and purer Christianity. By 1210 he had a small body of followers, and in that year he sought and obtained Pope Innocent III.'s sanction of his work, though the papal approval was expressed only orally and more than a decade was to elapse before the movement received formal recognition. About 1217 Francis and his companions took up missionary work on a large scale. Members of the brotherhood were dispatched to England, Germany, France, Spain, Hungary, and several other countries, with instructions to spread the principles which by this time were coming to be recognized as peculiarly Franciscan. The success of these efforts was considerable, though in some places the brethren were ill treated and an appeal had to be made to the Pope for protection. The several selections given below have been chosen to illustrate the principal features of the life and character of St. Francis. We are fortunate in possessing a considerable amount of literature, contemporary or nearly so, relating to the personal career of this noteworthy man. In the first place, we have some writings of St. Francis himself--the Rule (p. 373), the Will (p. 376), some poems, some reported sermons, and fragments of a few letters. Then we have several biographies, of which the most valuable, because not only the earliest but also the least conventional, are the _Mirror of Perfection_ and the _Legend of the Three Companions_. These were written by men who knew St. Francis intimately and who could avow "we who were with him have heard him say" or "we who were with him have seen," such and such things. The "three companions" were Brothers Leo, Rufinus, and Angelo--all men of noble birth, the last-named being the first soldier to be identified with the order. The _Mirror of Perfection_ was written in 1227 by Brother Leo, who of all men probably knew St. Francis best. It is a vivid and fascinating portrait drawn from life. The _Legend of the Three Companions_ was written in 1246. The later biographies, such as the official _Life_ by St. Bonaventura (1261) and the _Little Flowers of St. Francis_ (written probably in the fourteenth century), though until recently the best known of the group, are relatively inferior in value. In them the real St. Francis is conventionalized and much obscured. The first passage here reproduced (a) comes from the _Legend of the Three Companions_; the others (b) are taken from the _Mirror of Perfection_. Sources--(a) _Legenda S. Francisci Assisiensis quæ dicitur Legenda trium sociorum._ Adapted from translation by E. G. Salter, under title of "The Legend of the Three Companions," in the Temple Classics (London, 1902), pp. 8-24, _passim_. (b) _Speculum Perfectionis._ Translated by Constance, Countess de la Warr, under title of "The Mirror of Perfection," (London, 1902), _passim_. [Sidenote: His youthful vanities and waywardness] (a) Francis, born in the city of Assisi, which lies in the confines of the Vale of Spoleto, was at first named John by his mother. Then, when his father, in whose absence he had been born, returned from France, he was afterward named Francis[517]. After he was grown up, and had become of a subtle wit, he practiced the art of his father, that is, trade. But [he did so] in a very different manner, for he was a merrier man than was his father, and more generous, given to jests and songs, going about the city of Assisi day and night in company with his kind, most free-handed in spending; insomuch that he consumed all his income and his profits in banquets and other matters. On this account he was often rebuked by his parents, who told him he ran into so great expense on himself and on others that he seemed to be no son of theirs, but rather of some mighty prince. Nevertheless, because his parents were rich and loved him most tenderly, they bore with him in such matters, not being disposed to chastise him. Indeed, his mother, when gossip arose among the neighbors concerning his prodigal ways, made answer: "What think ye of my son? He shall yet be the son of God by grace." But he himself was free-handed, or rather prodigal, not only in these things, but even in his clothes he was beyond measure sumptuous, using stuffs more costly than it befitted him to wear. So wayward was his fancy that at times on the same coat he would cause a costly cloth to be matched with one of the meanest sort. [Sidenote: His redeeming qualities] [Sidenote: A lesson in charity] Yet he was naturally courteous, in manner and word, after the purpose of his heart, never speaking a harmful or shameful word to any one. Nay, indeed, although he was so gay and wanton a youth, yet of set purpose would he make no reply to those who said shameful things to him. And hence was his fame so spread abroad throughout the whole neighborhood that it was said by many who knew him that he would do something great. By these steps of godliness he progressed to such grace that he would say in communing with himself: "Seeing that thou art bountiful and courteous toward men, from whom thou receivest naught save a passing and empty favor, it is just that thou shouldst be courteous and bountiful toward God, who is Himself most bountiful in rewarding His poor." Wherefore thenceforward did he look with goodwill upon the poor, bestowing alms upon them abundantly. And although he was a merchant, yet was he a most lavish dispenser of this world's riches. One day, when he was standing in the warehouse in which he sold goods, and was intent on business, a certain poor man came to him asking alms for the love of God. Nevertheless, he was held back by the covetousness of wealth and the cares of merchandise, and denied him the alms. But forthwith, being looked upon by the divine grace, he rebuked himself of great churlishness, saying, "Had this poor man asked thee aught in the name of a great count or baron, assuredly thou wouldst have given him what he had asked. How much more then oughtest thou to have done it for the King of Kings and Lord of all?" By reason whereof he thenceforth determined in his heart never again to deny anything asked in the name of so great a Lord.... [Sidenote: A vision in the midst of revelry] Now, not many days after he returned to Assisi,[518] he was chosen one evening by his comrades as their master of the revels, to spend the money collected from the company after his own fancy. So he caused a sumptuous banquet to be made ready, as he had often done before. And when they came forth from the house, and his comrades together went before him, going through the city singing while he carried a wand in his hand as their master, he was walking behind them, not singing, but meditating very earnestly. And lo! suddenly he was visited by the Lord, and his heart was filled with such sweetness that he could neither speak nor move; nor was he able to feel and hear anything except that sweetness only, which so separated him from his physical senses that--as he himself afterward said--had he then been pricked with knives all over at once, he could not have moved from the spot. But when his comrades looked back and saw him thus far off from them, they returned to him in fear, staring at him as one changed into another man. And they asked him, "What were you thinking about, that you did not come along with us? Perchance you were thinking of taking a wife." To them he replied with a loud voice: "Truly have you spoken, for I thought of taking to myself a bride nobler and richer and fairer than ever you have seen." And they mocked at him. But this he said not of his own accord, but inspired of God; for the bride herself was true Religion, whom he took unto him, nobler, richer, and fairer than others in her poverty. [Sidenote: His increasing zeal in charity] And so from that hour he began to grow worthless in his own eyes, and to despise those things he had formerly loved, although not wholly so at once, for he was not yet entirely freed from the vanity of the world. Nevertheless, withdrawing himself little by little from the tumult of the world, he made it his study to treasure up Jesus Christ in his inner man, and, hiding from the eyes of mockers the pearl that he would fain buy at the price of selling his all, he went oftentimes, and as it were in secret, daily to prayer, being urged thereto by the foretaste of that sweetness that had visited him more and more often, and compelled him to come from the streets and other public places to prayer. Although he had long done good unto the poor, yet from this time forth he determined still more firmly in his heart never again to deny alms to any poor man who should ask it for the love of God, but to give alms more willingly and bountifully than had been his practice. Whenever, therefore, any poor man asked of him an alms out of doors, he would supply him with money if he could; if he had no ready money, he would give him his cap or girdle rather than send the poor man away empty. And if it happened that he had nothing of this kind, he would go to some hidden place, and strip off his shirt, and send the poor man thither that he might take it, for the sake of God. He also would buy vessels for the adornment of churches, and would send them in all secrecy to poor priests.... [Sidenote: He begs alms at Rome] So changed, then, was he by divine grace (although still in the secular garb) that he desired to be in some city where he might, as one unknown, strip off his own clothes and exchange them for those of some beggar, so that he might wear his instead and make trial of himself by asking alms for the love of God. Now it happened that at that time he had gone to Rome on a pilgrimage. And entering the church of St. Peter, he reflected on the offerings of certain people, seeing that they were small, and spoke within himself: "Since the Prince of the Apostles should of right be magnificently honored, why do these folk make such sorry offerings in the church wherein his body rests?" And so in great fervency he put his hand into his purse and drew it forth full of money, and flung it through the grating of the altar with such a crash that all who were standing by marveled greatly at so splendid an offering. Then, going forth in front of the doors of the church, where many beggars were gathered to ask alms, he secretly borrowed the rags of one among the neediest and donned them, laying aside his own clothing. Then, standing on the church steps with the other beggars, he asked an alms in French, for he loved to speak the French tongue, although he did not speak it correctly. Thereafter, putting off the rags, and taking again his own clothes, he returned to Assisi, and began to pray the Lord to direct his way. For he revealed unto none his secret, nor took counsel of any in this matter, save only of God (who had begun to direct his way) and at times of the bishop of Assisi. For at that time no true Poverty was to be found anywhere, and she it was that he desired above all things of this world, being minded in her to live--yea, and to die.... [Sidenote: Francis and the leper] Now when on a certain day he was praying fervently unto the Lord, answer was made unto him: "Francis, all those things that thou hast loved after the flesh, and hast desired to have, thou must needs despise and hate, if thou wouldst do My will, and after thou shalt have begun to do this the things that aforetime seemed sweet unto thee and delightful shall be unbearable unto thee and bitter, and from those that aforetime thou didst loathe thou shalt drink great sweetness and delight unmeasured." Rejoicing at these words, and consoled in the Lord, when he had ridden nigh unto Assisi, he met one that was a leper. And because he had been accustomed greatly to loathe lepers, he did violence to himself, and dismounted from his horse, gave him money, and kissed his hand. And receiving from him the kiss of peace, he remounted his horse and continued his journey. Thenceforth he began more and more to despise himself, until by the grace of God he had attained perfect mastery over himself. A few days later, he took much money and went to the quarter of the lepers, and, gathering all together, gave to each an alms, kissing his hand. As he departed, in very truth that which had aforetime been bitter to him, that is, the sight and touch of lepers, was changed into sweetness. For, as he confessed, the sight of lepers had been so grievous to him that he had been accustomed to avoid not only seeing them, but even going near their dwellings. And if at any time he happened to pass their abodes, or to see them, although he was moved by compassion to give them an alms through another person, yet always would he turn aside his face, stopping his nostrils with his hand. But, through the grace of God, he became so intimate a friend of the lepers that, even as he recorded in his Will,[519] he lived with them and did humbly serve them. [Sidenote: How St. Francis would not dwell in an adorned cell] [Sidenote: Or in a cell called his own] (b) A very spiritual friar, who was familiar with Blessed Francis, erected at the hermitage where he lived a little cell in a solitary spot, where Blessed Francis could retire and pray when he came thither. When he arrived at this place the friar took him to the cell, and Blessed Francis said, "This cell is too splendid"--it was, indeed, built only of wood, and smoothed with a hatchet--"if you wish me to remain here, make it within and without of branches of trees and clay." For the poorer the house or cell, the more was he pleased to live therein. When the friar had done this, Blessed Francis remained there several days. One day he was out of the cell when a friar came to see him, who, coming thereafter to the place where Blessed Francis was, was asked, "Whence came you, Brother?" He answered, "I come from your cell." Then said Blessed Francis: "Since you have called it mine, let another dwell there and not I." And, in truth, we who were with him often heard him say: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have their nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." And again he would say: "When the Lord remained in the desert, and fasted forty days and forty nights, He did not make for Himself a cell or a house, but found shelter amongst the rocks of the mountain." For this reason, and to follow His example, he would not have it said that a cell or house was his, nor would he allow such to be constructed.... When he was nigh unto death he caused it to be written in his Testament[520] that all the cells and houses of the friars should be of wood and clay, the better to safeguard poverty and humility. * * * * * [Sidenote: A lazy friar] At the beginning of the Order, when the friars were at Rivo-Torto,[521] near Assisi, there was among them one friar who would not pray, work, nor ask for alms, but only eat. Considering this, Blessed Francis knew by the Holy Spirit that he was a carnal man, and said to him, "Brother Fly, go your way, since you consume the labor of the brethren, and are slothful in the work of the Lord, like the idle and barren drone who earns nothing and does not work, but consumes the labor and earnings of the working bee." He, therefore, went his way, and as he was a carnally-minded man he neither sought for mercy nor obtained it. * * * * * [Sidenote: Public humiliation inflicted upon himself] Having at a time suffered greatly from one of his serious attacks of illness, when he felt a little better he began to think that during his sickness he had exceeded his usual allowance of food, whereas he had really eaten very little. Though not quite recovered from the ague, he caused the people of Assisi to be called together in the public square to listen to a sermon. When he had finished preaching, he told the people to remain where they were until he came back to them, and entered the cathedral of St. Rufinus with many friars and Brother Peter of Catana, who had been a canon of that church, and was now the first Minister-General[522] appointed by Blessed Francis. To Brother Peter Francis spoke, enjoining him under obedience not to contradict what he was about to say. Brother Peter replied: "Brother, neither is it possible, as between you and me, nor do I wish to do anything save what is pleasing to you." Then, taking off his tunic, Blessed Francis bade him place a rope around his neck and drag him thus before the people to the place where he had preached. At the same time he ordered another friar to carry a bowlful of ashes to the place, and when he got there to throw the ashes into his face. But this order was not obeyed by the friar out of the pity and compassion he felt for him. Brother Peter, taking the rope, did as he had been told; but he and all the other friars shed tears of compassion and bitterness. When he [Francis] stood thus bared before the people in the place where he had preached, he cried: "You, and all those who by my example have been induced to abandon the world and enter Religion to lead the lives of friars, I confess before God and you that in my illness I have eaten meat and broths made of meat." And all the people could not refrain from weeping, especially as at that time it was very cold and he had scarcely recovered from the fever. Beating their breasts where they stood, they exclaimed, "If this saint, for just and manifest necessity, with shame of body thus accuses himself, whose life we know to be holy, and who has imposed on himself such great abstinence and austerity since his first conversion to Christ (whom we here, as it were, see in the flesh), what will become of us sinners who all our lifetime seek to follow our carnal appetites?" * * * * * [Sidenote: St. Francis and the larks] Blessed Francis, wholly wrapped up in the love of God, discerned perfectly the goodness of God not only in his own soul, now adorned with the perfection of virtue, but in every creature. On account of which he had a singular and intimate love of creatures, especially of those in which was figured anything pertaining to God or the Order. Wherefore above all other birds he loved a certain little bird which is called the lark, or by the people, the cowled lark. And he used to say of it: "Sister Lark hath a cowl like a Religious; and she is a humble bird, because she goes willingly by the road to find there any food. And if she comes upon it in foulness, she draws it out and eats it. But, flying, she praises God very sweetly, like a good Religious, despising earthly things, whose conversation is always in the heavens, and whose intent is always to the praise of God. Her clothes (that is, her feathers), are like to the earth and she gives an example to Religious that they should not have delicate and colored garments, but common in price and color, as earth is commoner than the other elements." And because he perceived this in them, he looked on them most willingly. Therefore it pleased the Lord, that these most holy little birds should show some sign of affection towards him in the hour of his death. For late in the Sabbath day after vespers, before the night in which he passed away to the Lord, a great multitude of that kind of birds called larks came on the roof of the house where he was lying, and, flying about, made a wheel like a circle around the roof, and, sweetly singing, seemed likewise to praise the Lord. * * * * * [Sidenote: His desire that birds and animals be fed on Christmas day] We who were with Blessed Francis and write these things, testify that many times we heard him say: "If I could speak with the Emperor,[523] I would supplicate and persuade him that, for the love of God and me, he would make a special law that no man should snare or kill our sisters, the larks, nor do them any harm. Also, that all chief magistrates of cities and lords of castles and villages should, every year, on the day of the Lord's Nativity, compel men to scatter wheat and other grain on the roads outside cities and castles, that our Sister Larks and all other birds might have to eat on that most solemn day; and that, out of reverence for the Son of God, who on that night was laid by the most Blessed Virgin Mary in a manger between an ox and an ass, all who have oxen and asses should be obliged on that night to provide them with abundant and good fodder; and also that on that day the poor should be most bountifully fed by the rich." For Blessed Francis held in higher reverence than any other the Feast of the Lord's Nativity, saying, "After the Lord was born, our salvation became a necessity." Therefore he desired that on this day all Christians should rejoice in the Lord, and, for the love of Him who gave Himself for us, should generously provide not only for the poor, but also for the beasts and birds. * * * * * [Sidenote: His regard for trees, stones, and all created things] Next to fire he most loved water, which is the symbol of holy penance and tribulation, whereby the stains are washed from the soul, and by which the first cleansing of the soul takes place in holy baptism. Hence, when he washed his hands, he would select a place where he would not tread the water underfoot. When he walked over stones he would tread on them with fear and reverence, for the love of Him who is called the Rock, and when reciting the words of the Psalm, _Thou hast exalted me on a rock_, would add with great reverence and devotion, "beneath the foot of the rock hast thou exalted me." In the same way he would tell the friars who cut and prepared the wood not to cut down the whole tree, but only such branches as would leave the tree standing, for love of Him who died for us on the wood of the Cross. So, also, he would tell the friar who was the gardener not to cultivate all the ground for vegetables and herbs for food, but to set aside some part to produce green plants which should in their time bear flowers for the friars, for love of Him who was called "The Flower of the Field," and "The Lily of the Valley." Indeed he would say the Brother Gardener should always make a beautiful little garden in some part of the land, and plant it with sweet-scented herbs bearing lovely flowers, which in the time of their blossoming invited men to praise Him who made all herbs and flowers. For every creature cries aloud: "God has made me for thee, O man!" 64. The Rule of St. Francis There is every reason for believing that St. Francis set out upon his mission with no idea whatever of founding a new religious order. His fundamental purpose was to revive what he conceived to be the purer Christianity of the apostolic age, and so far as this involved the announcement of any definite principles or rules he was quite content to draw them solely from the Scriptures. We have record, for example, of how when (in 1209) St. Francis had yet but two followers, he led them to the steps of the church of St. Nicholas at Assisi and there read to them three times the words of Jesus sending forth his disciples,[524] adding, "This, brethren, is our life and our rule, and that of all who may join us. Go, then, and do as you have heard." As his field of labor expanded, however, and the number of the friars increased, St. Francis decided to write out a definite Rule for the brotherhood and go to Rome to procure its approval by the Pope. The Rule as thus formulated, in 1210, has not come down to us. We know only that it was extremely simple and that it was composed almost wholly of passages from the Bible (doubtless those read to the companions at Assisi), with a few precepts about the occupations and manner of living of the brethren. This first Rule indeed proved too simple and brief to satisfy the demands of the growing order. A general injunction, such as "be poor," was harder to apply and to live up to than a more specific set of instructions explaining just what was to be considered poverty and what was not. The brethren, moreover, were soon preaching and laboring in all the countries of western Europe and questions were continually coming up regarding their relations with the temporal powers in those countries, with the local clergy, with the papal government, and also among themselves. Reluctantly, and with a heart-felt warning against the insidious influences of ambition and organization, the founder finally brought himself to the task of drawing up a constitution for the order which had surprised him, and in a certain sense grieved him, by the very elaborateness of its development. During the winter of 1220-21, when physical infirmities were foreshadowing the end, Francis worked out the document generally known as the Rule of 1221, which became the basis for the Rule of 1223, quoted in part below. Before the Rule took its final form, the influence of the Church was brought to bear through the papacy, with the result that most of the freshness and vigor that St. Francis put into the earlier effort was crushed out in the interest of ecclesiastical regularity. Only a small portion of the document can be reproduced here, but enough, perhaps, to show something as to what the manner of life of the Franciscan friar was expected to be. The extract may profitably be compared with the Benedictine Rule governing the monks [see p. 83]. Source--_Bullarium Romanum_ ["Collection of Papal Bulls"], editio Taurinensis, Vol. III., p. 394. Adapted from translation in Ernest F. Henderson, _Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages_ (London, 1896), pp. 344-349 _passim_. =1.= This is the rule and way of living of the Minorite brothers, namely, to observe the holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, living in obedience, without personal possessions, and in chastity. Brother Francis promises obedience and reverence to our lord Pope Honorius,[525] and to his successors who canonically enter upon their office, and to the Roman Church. And the other brothers shall be bound to obey Brother Francis and his successors. [Sidenote: Money in no case to be received by the brothers] =4.= I firmly command all the brothers by no means to receive coin or money, of themselves or through an intervening person. But for the needs of the sick and for clothing the other brothers, the ministers alone and the guardians shall provide through spiritual friends, as it may seem to them that necessity demands, according to time, place and the coldness of the temperature. This one thing being always borne in mind, that, as has been said, they receive neither coin nor money. [Sidenote: The obligation to labor] =5.= Those brothers to whom God has given the ability to labor shall labor faithfully and devoutly, in such manner that idleness, the enemy of the soul, being averted, they may not extinguish the spirit of holy prayer and devotion, to which other temporal things should be subservient. As a reward, moreover, for their labor, they may receive for themselves and their brothers the necessities of life, but not coin or money; and this humbly, as becomes the servants of God and the followers of most holy poverty. =6.= The brothers shall appropriate nothing to themselves, neither a house, nor a place, nor anything; but as pilgrims and strangers in this world, in poverty and humility serving God, they shall confidently go seeking for alms. Nor need they be ashamed, for the Lord made Himself poor for us in this world. 65. The Will of St. Francis The will which St. Francis prepared just before his death (1226) contains an admirable statement of the principles for which he labored, as well as a notable warning to his successors not to allow the order to fall away from its original high ideals. Among the later Franciscans the Will acquired a moral authority superior even to that of the Rule. Source--Text in Amoni, _Legenda Trium Sociorum_ ["Legend of the Three Companions"], Appendix, p. 110. Translation adapted from Paul Sabatier, _Life of St. Francis of Assisi_ (New York, 1894), pp. 337-339. God gave it to me, Brother Francis, to begin to do penance in the following manner: when I was yet in my sins it seemed to me too painful to look upon the lepers, but the Lord Himself led me among them, and I had compassion upon them. When I left them, that which had seemed to me bitter had become sweet and easy. A little while after, I left the world,[526] and God gave me such faith that I would kneel down with simplicity in any of his churches, and I would say, "We adore thee, Lord Jesus Christ, here and in all thy churches which are in the world, and we bless thee that by Thy holy cross Thou hast ransomed the world." [Sidenote: St. Francis not hostile to the existing Church] Afterward the Lord gave me, and still gives me, so great a faith in priests who live according to the form of the holy Roman Church, because of their sacerdotal character, that even if they persecuted me I would have recourse to them, and even though I had all the wisdom of Solomon, if I should find poor secular priests, I would not preach in their parishes against their will.[527] I desire to respect them like all the others, to love them and honor them as my lords. I will not consider their sins, for in them I see the Son of God, and they are my lords. I do this because here below I see nothing, I perceive nothing physically of the most high Son of God, except His most holy body and blood, which the priests receive and alone distribute to others.[528] I desire above all things to honor and venerate all these most holy mysteries and to keep them precious. Wherever I find the sacred name of Jesus, or his words, in unsuitable places, I desire to take them away and put them in some decent place; and I pray that others may do the same. We ought to honor and revere all the theologians and those who preach the most holy word of God, as dispensing to us spirit and life. When the Lord gave me the care of some brothers, no one showed me what I ought to do, but the Most High himself revealed to me that I ought to live according to the model of the holy gospel. I caused a short and simple formula to be written and the lord Pope confirmed it for me.[529] [Sidenote: Poverty and labor enjoined] Those who volunteered to follow this kind of life distributed all they had to the poor. They contented themselves with one tunic, patched within and without, with the cord and breeches, and we desired to have nothing more.... We loved to live in poor and abandoned churches, and we were ignorant and were submissive to all. I worked with my hands and would still do so, and I firmly desire also that all the other brothers work, for this makes for goodness. Let those who know no trade learn one, not for the purpose of receiving wages for their toil, but for their good example and to escape idleness. And when we are not given the price of our work, let us resort to the table of the Lord, begging our bread from door to door. The Lord revealed to me the salutation which we ought to give: "God give you peace!" [Sidenote: No further privileges to be sought from the Pope] Let the brothers take great care not to accept churches, dwellings, or any buildings erected for them, except as all is in accordance with the holy poverty which we have vowed in the Rule; and let them not live in them except as strangers and pilgrims. I absolutely forbid all the brothers, in whatsoever place they may be found, to ask any bull from the court of Rome, whether directly or indirectly, in the interest of church or convent, or under pretext of preaching, or even for the protection of their bodies. If they are not received anywhere, let them go of themselves elsewhere, thus doing penance with the benediction of God.... And let the brothers not say, "This is a new Rule"; for this is only a reminder, a warning, an exhortation. It is my last will and testament, that I, little Brother Francis, make for you, my blessed brothers, in order that we may observe in a more Catholic way the Rule which we promised the Lord to keep. [Sidenote: No additions to be made to the Rule or the Will] Let the ministers-general, all the other ministers, and the custodians be held by obedience to add nothing to and take nothing away from these words. Let them always keep this writing near them beside the Rule; and in all the assemblies which shall be held, when the Rule is read, let these words be read also. I absolutely forbid all the brothers, clerics and laymen, to introduce comments in the Rule, or in this Will, under pretext of explaining it. But since the Lord has given me to speak and to write the Rule and these words in a clear and simple manner, so do you understand them in the same way without commentary, and put them in practice until the end. And whoever shall have observed these things, may he be crowned in heaven with the blessings of the heavenly Father, and on earth with those of his well-beloved Son and of the Holy Spirit, the Consoler, with the assistance of all the heavenly virtues and all the saints. And I, little Brother Francis, your servant, confirm to you, so far as I am able, this most holy benediction. Amen. FOOTNOTES: [517] The father's name was Pietro Bernardone. As a cloth-merchant he was probably accustomed to make frequent journeys to northern France, particularly Champagne, which was the principal seat of commercial exchange between northern and southern Europe. [518] Aspiring to become a knight and to win distinction on the field of battle, Francis had gone to Spoleto with the intention of joining an expedition about to set out for Apulia. While there he was stricken with fever and compelled to abandon his purpose. Returning to Assisi, he redoubled his works of charity and sought to keep aloof from the people of the town. His old companions, however, flocked around him, expecting still to profit by his prodigality, and for a time, being himself uncertain as to the course he would take, he acceded to their desires. [519] See p. 376. [520] Brief portions of this testament, or will, are given on p. 376. [521] This was in the latter part of 1210 and the early part of 1211. Rivo-Torto was an abandoned cottage in the plain of Assisi, an hour's walk from the town and near the highway between Perugia and Rome. The building had once served as a leper hospital. Francis and his companions selected it as a temporary place of abode, probably because of its proximity to the _carceri_, or natural grottoes, of Mount Subasio to which the friars resorted for solitude, and because it was at the same time sufficiently near the Umbrian towns to permit of frequent trips thither for preaching and charity. [522] Practically, St. Francis's successor in the headship of the order. With the idea of realizing entire humility in his own life, St. Francis had resigned his position of authority into the hands of Brother Peter and had pledged the implicit obedience of himself and the others to the new prelate. [523] That is, the sovereign of the Holy Roman Empire. [524] The passage (Luke ix. 1-6) is as follows: "Jesus, having called to Him the Twelve, gave them power and authority over all devils and to cure diseases. And He sent them to preach the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick. And He said unto them, Take nothing for your journey, neither staves, nor scrip, neither bread, neither money; neither have two coats apiece. And whatsoever house ye enter into, there abide, and thence depart. And whosoever will not receive you, when ye go out of that city shake off the very dust from your feet for a testimony against them. And they departed and went through the towns, preaching the gospel and healing everywhere." [525] Honorius III., 1216-1227. [526] That is, abandoned the worldly manner of living. [527] Despite the willingness of St. Francis here expressed to get on peaceably with the secular clergy, i.e., the bishops and priests, the history of the mendicant orders is filled with the records of strife between the seculars and friars. This was inevitable, since such friars as had taken priestly orders were accustomed to hear confessions, preside at masses, preach in parish churchyards, bury the dead, and collect alms--all the proper functions of the parish priests but permitted to the friars by special papal dispensations. The priests very naturally regarded the friars as usurpers. [528] That is, in the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. [529] The Rule of 1210, approved by Innocent III., is here meant [see p. 374]. CHAPTER XXIII. THE PAPACY AND THE TEMPORAL POWERS IN THE LATER MIDDLE AGES 66. The Interdict Laid on France by Innocent III. (1200) Two of the most effective weapons at the service of the mediæval Church were excommunication and the interdict. By the ban of excommunication the proper ecclesiastical authorities could exclude a heretic or otherwise objectionable person from all religious privileges, thereby cutting him off from association with the faithful and consigning him irrevocably (unless he repented) to Satan. The interdict differed from excommunication in being less sweeping in its condemnatory character, and also in being applied to towns, provinces, or countries rather than to individuals. As a rule the interdict undertook to deprive the inhabitants of a specified region of the use of certain of the sacraments, of participation in the usual religious services, and of the right of Christian burial. It did not expel men from church membership, as did excommunication, but it suspended most of the privileges and rights flowing from such membership. The interdict was first employed by the clergy of north France in the tenth and eleventh centuries. In the twelfth it was adopted by the papacy on account of its obvious value as a means of disciplining the monarchs of western Europe. Because of its effectiveness in stirring up popular indignation against sovereigns who incurred the papal displeasure, by the time of Innocent III. (1198-1216) it had come to be employed for political as well as for purely religious purposes, though generally the two considerations were closely intertwined. A famous and typical instance of its use was that of the year 1200, described below. In August, 1193, Philip Augustus, king of France, married Ingeborg, second sister of King Knut VI. of Denmark. At the time Philip was contemplating an invasion of England and hoped through the marriage to assure himself of Danish aid. Circumstances soon changed his plans, however, and almost immediately he began to treat his new wife coldly, with the obvious purpose of forcing her to return to her brother's court. Failing in this, he convened his nobles and bishops at Compiègne and got from them a decree of divorce, on the flimsy pretext that the marriage with Ingeborg had been illegal on account of the latter's distant relationship to Elizabeth of Hainault, Philip's first wife. Ingeborg and her brother appealed to Rome, and Pope Celestine III. dispatched letter after letter and legate after legate to the French court, but without result. Indeed, after three years, Philip, to clinch the matter, as he thought, married Agnes of Meran, daughter of a Bavarian nobleman, and shut up Ingeborg in a convent at Soissons. In 1198, while the affair stood thus, Celestine died and was succeeded by Innocent III., under whom the papal power was destined to attain a height hitherto unknown. Innocent flatly refused to sanction the divorce or to recognize the second marriage, although he was not pope, of course, until some years after both had occurred. On the ground that the whole subject of marriage lay properly within the jurisdiction of the Church, Innocent demanded that Philip cast off the beautiful Agnes and restore Ingeborg to her rightful place. This Philip promptly refused to do. The threat of an interdict failing to move him, the Pope proceeded to put his threat into execution. In January, 1200, the interdict was pronounced and, though the king's power over the French clergy was so strong that many refused to heed the voice from Rome, gradually the discontent and indignation of the people grew until after nine months it became apparent that the king must yield. He did so as gracefully as he could, promising to take back Ingeborg and submit the question of a divorce to a council presided over by the papal legate. This council, convened in 1201 at Soissons, decided against the king and in favor of Ingeborg; but Philip had no intention to submit in good faith and, until the death of Agnes in 1204, he maintained his policy of procrastination and double-dealing. Even in the later years of the reign the unfortunate Ingeborg had frequent cause to complain of harshness and neglect at the hand of her royal husband. The following are the principal portions of Innocent's interdict. Source--Martène, Edmond, and Durand, Ursin, _Thesaurus novus Anecdotorum_ ["New Collection of Unpublished Documents"], Paris, 1717, Vol. IV., p. 147. Adapted from translation by Arthur C. Howland in _Univ. of Pa. Translations and Reprints_, Vol. IV., No. 4, pp. 29-30. [Sidenote: Partial suspension of the services and offices of the Church] Let all the churches be closed; let no one be admitted to them, except to baptize infants; let them not be otherwise opened, except for the purpose of lighting the lamps, or when the priest shall come for the Eucharist and holy water for the use of the sick. We permit Mass to be celebrated once a week, on Friday, early in the morning, to consecrate the Host[530] for the use of the sick, but only one clerk is to be admitted to assist the priest. Let the clergy preach on Sunday in the vestibules of the churches, and in place of the Mass let them deliver the word of God. Let them recite the canonical hours[531] outside the churches, where the people do not hear them; if they recite an epistle or a gospel, let them beware lest the laity hear them; and let them not permit the dead to be interred, nor their bodies to be placed unburied in the cemeteries. Let them, moreover, say to the laity that they sin and transgress grievously by burying bodies in the earth, even in unconsecrated ground, for in so doing they assume to themselves an office pertaining to others. [Sidenote: How Easter should be observed] [Sidenote: Arrangements for confession] Let them forbid their parishioners to enter churches that may be open in the king's territory, and let them not bless the wallets of pilgrims, except outside the churches. Let them not celebrate the offices in Passion week, but refrain even until Easter day, and then let them celebrate in private, no one being admitted except the assisting priest, as above directed; let no one communicate, even at Easter, unless he be sick and in danger of death. During the same week, or on Palm Sunday, let them announce to their parishioners that they may assemble on Easter morning before the church and there have permission to eat flesh and consecrated bread.... Let the priest confess all who desire it in the portico of the church; if the church have no portico, we direct that in bad or rainy weather, and not otherwise, the nearest door of the church may be opened and confessions heard on its threshold (all being excluded except the one who is to confess), so that the priest and the penitent can be heard by those who are outside the church. If, however, the weather be fair, let the confession be heard in front of the closed doors. Let no vessels of holy water be placed outside the church, nor shall the priests carry them anywhere; for all the sacraments of the Church beyond these two which are reserved[532] are absolutely prohibited. Extreme unction, which is a holy sacrament, may not be given.[533] 67. The Bull "Unam Sanctam" of Boniface VIII. (1302) In the history of the mediæval Church at least three great periods of conflict between the papacy and the temporal powers can be distinguished. The first was the era of Gregory VII. and Henry IV. of Germany [see p. 261]; the second was that of Innocent III. and John of England and Philip Augustus of France [see p. 380]; the third was that of Boniface VIII. and Philip the Fair of France. In many respects the most significant document pertaining to the last of these struggles is the papal bull, given below, commonly designated by its opening words, _Unam Sanctam_. The question at issue in the conflict of Boniface VIII. and Philip the Fair was the old one as to whether the papacy should be allowed to dominate European states in temporal as well as in spiritual matters. The Franconian emperors, in the eleventh century, made stubborn resistance to such domination, but the immediate result was only partial success, while later efforts to keep up the contest practically ruined the power of the house of Hohenstaufen. Even Philip Augustus, at the opening of the thirteenth century, had been compelled to yield, at least outwardly, to the demands of the papacy respecting his marriages and his national policies. With the revival of the issue under Boniface and Philip, however, the tide turned, for at last there had arisen a nation whose sovereign had so firm a grip upon the loyalty of his subjects that he could defy even the power of Rome with impunity. The quarrel between Boniface and Philip first assumed importance in 1296--two years after the accession of the former and eleven after that of the latter. The immediate subject of dispute was the heavy taxes which Philip was levying upon the clergy of France and the revenues from which he was using in the prosecution of his wars with Edward I. of England; but royal and papal interests were fundamentally at variance and as both king and pope were of a combative temper, a conflict was inevitable, irrespective of taxes or any other particular cause of controversy. In 1096 Boniface issued the famous bull _Clericis Laicos_, forbidding laymen (including monarchs) to levy subsidies on the clergy without papal consent and prohibiting the clergy to pay subsidies so levied. Philip the Fair was not mentioned in the bull, but the measure was clearly directed primarily at him. He retaliated by prohibiting the export of money, plate, etc., from the realm, thereby cutting off the accustomed papal revenues from France. In 1297 an apparent reconciliation was effected, the Pope practically suspending the bull so far as France was concerned, though only to secure relief from the conflict with Philip while engaged in a struggle with the rival Colonna family at Rome. In 1301 the contest was renewed, mainly because of the indiscretion of a papal legate, Bernard Saisset, bishop of Pamiers, who vilified the king and was promptly imprisoned for his violent language. Boniface took up the cause of Saisset and called an ecclesiastical council to regulate the affairs of church and state in France and to rectify the injuries wrought by King Philip. The claim to papal supremacy in temporal as well as spiritual affairs, which Boniface proposed thus to make good, was boldly stated in a new bull--that of _Ausculta Fili_--in 1301. At the same time the bull _Clericis Laicos_ was renewed for France. Philip knew that the Franconians and his own Capetian predecessors had failed in their struggles with Rome chiefly for the reason that they had been lacking in consistent popular support. National feeling was unquestionably stronger in the France of 1301 than in the Germany of 1077, or even in the France of 1200; but to make doubly sure, Philip, in 1302, caused the first meeting of a complete States General to be held, and from this body, representing the various elements of the French people, he got reliable pledges of support in his efforts to resist the temporal aggressions of the papacy. It was at this juncture that Boniface issued the bull _Unam Sanctam_, which has well been termed the classic mediæval expression of the papal claims to universal temporal sovereignty. In 1303 an assembly of French prelates and magnates, under the inspiration of Philip, brought charges of heresy and misconduct against Boniface and called for a meeting of a general ecclesiastical council to depose him. Boniface decided to issue a bull excommunicating and deposing Philip. But before the date set for this step (September, 1303) a catastrophe befell the papacy which resulted in an unexpected termination of the episode. On the day before the bull of deposition was to be issued William of Nogaret, whom Philip had sent to Rome to force Boniface to call a general council to try the charges against himself, led a band of troops to Anagni and took the Pope prisoner with the intention of carrying him to France for trial. After three days the inhabitants of Anagni attacked the Frenchmen and drove them out and Boniface, who had barely escaped death, returned to Rome. The unfortunate Pope never recovered, however, from the effects of the outrage and his death in October (1303) left Philip, by however unworthy means, a victor. From this point the papacy passes under the domination of the French court and in 1309 began the dark period of the so-called Babylonian Captivity, during most of which the popes dwelt at Avignon under conditions precisely the reverse of the ideal which Boniface so clearly asserted in _Unam Sanctam_. Source--Text based upon the papal register published by P. Mury in _Revue des Questions Historiques_, Vol. XLVI. (July, 1889), pp. 255-256. Translated in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York), 1905, pp. 314-317. [Sidenote: An assertion of the unity of the Church] The true faith compels us to believe that there is one holy Catholic Apostolic Church, and this we firmly believe and plainly confess. And outside of her there is no salvation or remission of sins, as the Bridegroom says in the Song of Solomon: "My dove, my undefiled, is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her" [Song of Sol., vi. 9]; which represents the one mystical body, whose head is Christ, but the head of Christ is God [1 Cor., xi. 3]. In this Church there is "one Lord, one faith, one baptism" [Eph., iv. 5]. For in the time of the flood there was only one ark, that of Noah, prefiguring the one Church, and it was "finished above in one cubit" [Gen., vi. 16], and had but one helmsman and master, namely, Noah. And we read that all things on the earth outside of this ark were destroyed. This Church we venerate as the only one, since the Lord said by the prophet: "Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog" [Ps., xxii. 20]. He prayed for his soul, that is, for himself, the head; and at the same time for the body, and he named his body, that is, the one Church, because there is but one Bridegroom [John, iii. 29], and because of the unity of the faith, of the sacraments, and of his love for the Church. This is the seamless robe of the Lord which was not rent but parted by lot [John, xix. 23]. [Sidenote: An allusion to the Petrine Supremacy] [Sidenote: The proper relation of spiritual and temporal powers] Therefore there is one body of the one and only Church, and one head, not two heads, as if the Church were a monster. And this head is Christ, and his vicar, Peter and his successor; for the Lord himself said to Peter: "Feed my sheep" [John, xxi. 16]. And he said "my sheep," in general, not these or those sheep in particular; from which it is clear that all were committed to him. If, therefore, Greeks [i.e., the Greek Church] or any one else say that they are not subject to Peter and his successors, they thereby necessarily confess that they are not of the sheep of Christ. For the Lord says, in the Gospel of John, that there is one fold and only one shepherd [John, x. 16]. By the words of the gospel we are taught that the two swords, namely, the spiritual authority and the temporal, are in the power of the Church. For when the apostles said "Here are two swords" [Luke, xxii. 38]--that is, in the Church, since it was the apostles who were speaking--the Lord did not answer, "It is too much," but "It is enough." Whoever denies that the temporal sword is in the power of Peter does not properly understand the word of the Lord when He said: "Put up thy sword into the sheath" [John, xviii. 11]. Both swords, therefore, the spiritual and the temporal, are in the power of the Church. The former is to be used by the Church, the latter for the Church; the one by the hand of the priest, the other by the hand of kings and knights, but at the command and permission of the priest. Moreover, it is necessary for one sword to be under the other, and the temporal authority to be subjected to the spiritual; for the apostle says, "For there is no power but of God: and the powers that be are ordained of God" [Rom., xiii. 1]; but they would not be ordained unless one were subjected to the other, and, as it were, the lower made the higher by the other. [Sidenote: The superiority of the spiritual] For, according to St. Dionysius,[534] it is a law of divinity that the lowest is made the highest through the intermediate. According to the law of the universe all things are not equally and directly reduced to order, but the lowest are fitted into their order through the intermediate, and the lower through the higher. And we must necessarily admit that the spiritual power surpasses any earthly power in dignity and honor, because spiritual things surpass temporal things. We clearly see that this is true from the paying of tithes, from the benediction, from the sanctification, from the receiving of the power, and from the governing of these things. For the truth itself declares that the spiritual power must establish the temporal power and pass judgment on it if it is not good. Thus the prophecy of Jeremiah concerning the Church and the ecclesiastical power is fulfilled: "See, I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant" [Jer., i. 10]. [Sidenote: The highest spiritual power (the papacy) responsible to God alone] Therefore if the temporal power errs, it will be judged by the spiritual power, and if the lower spiritual power errs, it will be judged by its superior. But if the highest spiritual power errs, it cannot be judged by men, but by God alone. For the apostle says: "But he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man" [1 Cor., ii. 15]. Now this authority, although it is given to man and exercised through man, is not human, but divine. For it was given by the word of the Lord to Peter, and the rock was made firm to him and his successors, in Christ himself, whom he had confessed. For the Lord said to Peter: "Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" [Matt., xvi. 19]. [Sidenote: Submission to the papacy essential to salvation] Therefore, whosoever resisteth this power thus ordained of God resisteth the ordinance of God [Rom., xiii. 2], unless there are two principles [beginnings], as Manichæus[535] pretends there are. But this we judge to be false and heretical. For Moses says that, not in the beginnings, but in the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth [Gen., i. 1]. We therefore declare, say, and affirm that submission on the part of every man to the bishop of Rome is altogether necessary for his salvation. 68. The Great Schism and the Councils of Pisa and Constance The "Babylonian Captivity"--begun in 1305, or perhaps more properly in 1309, when the French Pope, Clement V., took up his residence regularly at Avignon--lasted until 1377. During these sixty or seventy years the College of Cardinals consisted chiefly of Frenchmen, all of the seven popes were of French nationality, and for the most part the papal authority was little more than a tool in the hands of the aggressive French sovereigns. In 1377, at the solicitation of the Italian clergy and people, Pope Gregory XI. removed to Rome, where he died in 1378. In the election that followed the Roman populace, determined to bring the residence of the popes at Avignon to an end once for all, demanded a Roman, or at least an Italian, pope. The majority of the cardinals were French, but they could not agree upon a French candidate and, intimidated by the threats of the mob, they at last chose a Neapolitan who took the name Urban VI. A few months of Urban's obstinate administration convinced the cardinals that they had made a serious mistake, and, on the ground that their choice had been unduly influenced by popular clamor, they sought to nullify the election and to replace Urban by a Genevan who took the title Clement VII. Urban utterly refused thus to be put aside, so that there were now two popes, each duly elected by the College of Cardinals and each claiming the undivided allegiance of Christendom. This was the beginning of the Great Schism, destined to work havoc in the Church for a full generation, or until finally ended in 1417. Clement VII. fixed his abode at Avignon and French influence secured for him the support of Spain, Scotland, and Sicily. The rest of Europe, displeased with the subordination of the papacy to France and French interests, declared for Urban, who was pledged to maintain the papal capital at Rome. France must be held responsible in the main for the evils of the Great Schism--a breach in the Church which she deliberately created and for many years maintained; but she herself suffered by it more than any other nation of Europe because of the annates,[536] the _décime_,[537] and other taxes which were imposed upon the French clergy and people to support the luxurious and at times extravagant papal court at Avignon, or which were exacted by ambitious monarchs under the cover of papal license. In the course of time the impossible situation created by the Schism demanded a remedy and in fairness it should be observed that in the work of adjustment the leading part was taken by the French. After the death of Clement VII., in 1394, the French court sincerely desired to bring the Schism to an end on terms that would be fair to all. Already in 1393 King Charles VI. had laid the case before the University of Paris and asked for an opinion as to the best course to be pursued. The authorities of the university requested each member of the various faculties to submit his idea of a solution of the problem and from the mass of suggestions thus brought together a committee of fifty-four professors, masters, and doctors worked out the three lines of action set forth in selection (a) below. The first plan, i.e., that both popes should resign as a means of restoring harmony, was accepted as the proper one by an assembly of the French clergy convened in 1395. It was doomed to defeat, however, by the vacillation of both Benedict XIII. at Avignon and Boniface IX. at Rome, and in the end it was agreed to fall back upon the third plan which the University of Paris had proposed, i.e., the convening of a general council. There was no doubt that such a council could legally be summoned only by the pope, but finally the cardinals attached to both popes deserted them and united in issuing the call in their own name. The council met at Pisa in 1409 and proceeded to clear up the question of its own legality and authority by issuing the unequivocal declaration comprised in (b) below. It furthermore declared both popes deposed and elected a new one, who took the name Alexander V. Neither of the previous popes, however, recognized the council's action, so now there were three rivals instead of two and the situation was only so much worse than before. In 1410 Alexander V. died and the cardinals chose as his successor John XXIII., a man whose life was notoriously wicked, but who was far from lacking in political sagacity. Three years later the capture of Rome by the king of Naples forced John to appeal for assistance to the Emperor Sigismund; and Sigismund demanded, before extending the desired aid, that a general church council be summoned to meet on German soil for the adjustment of the tangled papal situation. The result was the Council of Constance, whose sessions extended from November, 1414, to April, 1418, and which, because of its general European character, was able to succeed where the Council of Pisa had failed. In the decree _Sacrosancta_ given below (c), issued in April, 1415, we have the council's notable assertion of its supreme authority in ecclesiastical matters, even as against the pope himself. The Schism was healed with comparative facility. Gregory XII., who had been the pope at Rome, but who was now in exile, sent envoys to offer his abdication. Benedict XIII., likewise a fugitive, was deposed and found himself without supporters. John XXIII. was deposed for his unworthy character and had no means of offering resistance. The cardinals, together with representatives of the five "nations" into which the council was divided, harmoniously selected for pope a Roman cardinal, who assumed the name of Martin V. This was in 1417. The Schism was at an end, though the work of combating heresy and of propagating reform within the Church went on in successive councils, notably that of Basel (1431-1449). Sources--(a) Lucæ d'Achery, _Spicilegium, sive Collectio veterum aliquot Scriptorum qui in Galliæ Bibliothecis Delituerant_ ["Gleanings, or a Collection of some Early Writings, which survive in Gallic Libraries"], Paris, 1723, Vol. I., p. 777. Translated in Thatcher and McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 326-327. (b) Raynaldus, _Annales, anno 1409_ ["Annals, year 1409"], §71. (c) Von der Hardt, _Magnum Constantiense Concilium_ ["Great Council of Constance"], Vol. II., p. 98. (a) _The first way._ Now the first way to end the Schism is that both parties should entirely renounce and resign all rights which they may have, or claim to have, to the papal office. [Sidenote: Three possible solutions of the Schism offered by the University of Paris] _The second way._ But if both cling tenaciously to their rights and refuse to resign, as they have thus far done, we would propose a resort to arbitration. That is, that they should together choose worthy and suitable men, or permit such to be chosen in a regular and canonical way, and these should have full power and authority to discuss the case and decide it, and if necessary and expedient and approved by those who, according to the canon law, have the authority [i.e., the cardinals], they might also have the right to proceed to the election of a pope. _The third way._ If the rival popes, after being urged in a brotherly and friendly manner, will not accept either of the above ways, there is a third way which we propose as an excellent remedy for this sacrilegious schism. We mean that the matter should be left to a general council. This general council might be composed, according to canon law, only of prelates; or, since many of them are very illiterate, and many of them are bitter partisans of one or the other pope, there might be joined with the prelates an equal number of masters and doctors of theology and law from the faculties of approved universities. Or, if this does not seem sufficient to any one, there might be added, besides, one or more representatives from cathedral chapters and the chief monastic orders, to the end that all decisions might be rendered only after most careful examination and mature deliberation. [Sidenote: Declarations of the Council of Pisa (1409)] (b) This holy and general council, representing the universal Church, decrees and declares that the united college of cardinals was empowered to call the council, and that the power to call such a council belongs of right to the aforesaid holy college of cardinals, especially now when there is a detestable schism. The council further declares that this holy council, representing the universal Church, caused both claimants of the papal throne to be cited in the gates and doors of the churches of Pisa to come and hear the final decision [in the matter of the Schism] pronounced, or to give a good and sufficient reason why such sentence should not be rendered. [Sidenote: The Council of Constance asserts its superiority to even the papacy] (c) This holy synod of Constance, being a general council, and legally assembled in the Holy Spirit for the praise of God and for ending the present schism, and for the union and reformation of the Church of God in its head and in its members, in order more easily, more securely, more completely, and more fully to bring about the union and reformation of the Church of God, ordains, declares, and decrees as follows: First it declares that this synod, legally assembled, is a general council, and represents the Catholic church militant and has its authority directly from Christ; and everybody, of whatever rank or dignity, including also the pope, is bound to obey this council in those things which pertain to the faith, to the ending of this schism, and to a general reformation of the Church in its head and members. Likewise it declares that if any one, of whatever rank, condition, or dignity, including also the pope, shall refuse to obey the commands, statutes, ordinances, or orders of this holy council, or of any other holy council properly assembled, in regard to the ending of the Schism and to the reformation of the Church, he shall be subject to the proper punishment, and, unless he repents, he shall be duly punished, and, if necessary, recourse shall be had to other aids of justice. 69. The Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges (1438) The Council of Basel, convened in 1431, had for its object a thoroughgoing reformation of the Church, "in its head and its members," from papacy to parish priest. Like all of the councils of the period, its spirit was distinctly anti-papal and for this reason Pope Eugene IV. sought to bring it under his control by transferring it to Bologna and, failing in this, to turn its deliberations into channels other than criticism of the papacy. While the negotiations of Eugene and the council were in progress a step fraught with great significance was taken in France in the promulgation of the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges.[538] France was the only country in which the principles laid down by the councils--Pisa, Constance, Basel, and the rest--had taken firm hold. In 1438 Charles VII. convened at Bourges an assembly composed of leading prelates, councillors, and princes of the royal blood, to which the Pope and the Council of Basel both sent delegates. This assembly proceeded to adapt the decrees of the council to the conditions and needs of France, on the evident assumption that the will of the French magnates in such matters was superior to that of both pope and council, so far as France was concerned. The action at Bourges well illustrates the growing spirit of French nationality which had sprung up since the recent achievements of Joan of Arc. The Pragmatic Sanction dealt in the main with four subjects--the authority of church councils, the diminishing of papal patronage, the restriction of papal taxation, and the limitation of appeals to Rome. Together these matters are commonly spoken of as the "Gallican liberties," i.e., the liberties of the Gallic or French church, and they implied the right of the national church to administer its own affairs with only the slightest interference from the pope or other outside powers; in other words, they were essentially anti-papal. Louis XI., the successor of Charles VII., for diplomatic reasons, sought to revoke the Pragmatic Sanction, but the Parlement of Paris refused to register the ordinance and for all practical purposes the Pragmatic was maintained until 1516. In that year Francis I. established the relations of the papacy and the French clergy on the basis of a new "concordat," which, however, was not very unlike the Pragmatic. The Pragmatic is of interest to the student of French history mainly because of the degree in which it enhanced the power of the crown, particularly in respect to the ecclesiastical affairs of the realm, and because of the testimony it bears to the declining influence of the papacy in the stronger nations like France and England. The text printed below represents only an abstract of the document, which in all included thirty-three chapters. Source.--Text in Vilevault et Bréquigny, _Ordonnances des Rois de France de la Troisième Race_ (Paris, 1772), Vol. XIII., pp. 267-291. [Sidenote: Charles VII. recognizes the obligations of the king to the Church] [Sidenote: Abuses prevalent in the French church] The king declares that, according to the oath taken at their coronation, kings are bound to defend and protect the holy Church, its ministers and its sacred offices, and zealously to guard in their kingdoms the decrees of the holy fathers. The general council assembled at Basel to continue the work begun by the councils of Constance and Siena,[539] and to labor for the reform of the Church, in both its head and members, having had presented to it numerous decrees and regulations, with the request that it accept them and cause them to be observed in the kingdom, the king has convened an assembly composed of prelates and other ecclesiastics representing the clergy of France and of the Dauphiné.[540] He has presided in person over its deliberations, surrounded by his son, the princes of the blood, and the principal lords of the realm. He has listened to the ambassadors of the Pope and the council. From the examination of prelates and the most renowned doctors, and from the thoroughgoing discussions of the assembly, it appears that, from the falling into decay of the early discipline, the churches of the kingdom have been made to suffer from all sorts of insatiable greed; that the _réserve_ and the _grâce_ _expectative_[541] have given rise to grievous abuses and unbearable burdens; that the most notable and best endowed benefices have fallen into the hands of unknown men, who do not conform at all to the requirement of residence and who do not understand the speech of the people committed to their care, and consequently are neglectful of the needs of their souls, like mercenaries who dream of nothing whatever but temporal gain; that thus the worship of Christ is declining, piety is enfeebled, the laws of the Church are violated, and buildings for religious uses are falling in ruin. The clergy abandon their theological studies, because there is no hope of advancement. Conflicts without number rage over the possession of benefices, plurality of which is coveted by an execrable ambition. Simony is everywhere glaring; the prelates and other collators[542] are pillaged of their rights and their ministry; the rights of patrons are impaired; and the wealth of the kingdom goes into the hands of foreigners, to the detriment of the clergy. [Sidenote: The decrees of Basel accepted with some modifications] Since, in the judgment of the prelates and other ecclesiastics, the decrees of the holy council of Basel seemed to afford a suitable remedy for all these evils, after mature deliberation, we have decided to accept them--some without change, others with certain modifications--without wishing to cast doubt upon the power and authority of the council, but at the same time taking account of the necessities of the occasion and of the customs of the nation. =1.= General councils shall be held every ten years, in places to be designated by the pope. =2.= The authority of the general council is superior to that of the pope in all that pertains to the faith, the extirpation of schism, and the reform of the Church in both head and members.[543] =3.= Election is reëstablished for ecclesiastical offices; but the king, or the princes of his kingdom, without violating the canonical rules, may make recommendations when elections are to occur in the chapters or the monasteries.[544] =4.= The popes shall not have the right to reserve the collation of benefices, or to bestow any benefice before it becomes vacant. =5.= All grants of benefices made by the pope in virtue of the _droit d'expectative_ are hereby declared null. Those who shall have received such benefices shall be punished by the secular power. The popes shall not have the right to interfere by the creation of canonships.[545] =6.= Appeals to Rome are prohibited until every other grade of jurisdiction shall have been exhausted. =7.= Annates are prohibited.[546] FOOTNOTES: [530] The consecrated wafer, believed to be the body of Christ, which in the Mass is offered as a sacrifice; also the bread before consecration. [531] Certain periods of the day, set apart by the laws of the Church, for the duties of prayer and devotion; also certain portions of the Breviary to be used at stated hours. The seven canonical hours are matins and lauds, the first, third, sixth, and ninth hours, vespers, and compline. [532] That is, infant baptism and the _viaticum_ (the Lord's Supper when administered to persons in immediate danger of death). [533] Extreme unction is the sacrament of anointing in the last hours,--the application of consecrated oil by a priest to all the senses, i.e., to eyes, ears, nostrils, etc., of a person when in immediate danger of death. The sacrament is performed for the remission of sins. [534] St. Dionysius was bishop of Alexandria about the middle of the third century. He was a pupil of the great theologian Origen and himself a writer of no small ability on the doctrinal questions which vexed the early Church. [535] Manichæus was a learned Persian who, in the third century, worked out a system of doctrine which sought to combine the principles of Christianity with others taken over from the Persian and kindred Oriental religions. The most prominent feature of the resulting creed was the conception of an absolute dualism running throughout the universe--light and darkness, good and evil, soul and body--which existed from the beginning and should exist forever. The Manichæan sect spread from Persia into Asia Minor North Africa, Sicily, and Italy. Though persecuted by Diocletian, and afterwards by some of the Christian emperors, it had many adherents as late as the sixth century, and certain of its ideas appeared under new names at still later times, notably among the Albigenses in southern France in the twelfth century. [536] Annates were payments made to the pope by newly elected or appointed ecclesiastical officials of the higher sort. They were supposed to comprise the first year's income from the bishop's or abbot's benefice. [537] The _décime_ was an extraordinary royal revenue derived from the payment by the clergy of a tenth of the annual income from their benefices. Its prototype was the Saladin tithe, imposed by Philip Augustus (1180-1223) for the financing of his crusade. In the latter half of the thirteenth century, and throughout the fourteenth, the _décime_ was called for by the kings with considerable frequency, often ostensibly for crusading purposes, and it was generally obtained by a more or less compulsory vote of the clergy, or without their consent at all. [538] Pragmatic, in the general sense, means any sort of decree of public importance; in its more special usage it denotes an ordinance of the crown regulating the relations of the national clergy with the papacy. The modern equivalent is "concordat." [539] When the Council of Constance came to an end, in April, 1418, it was agreed between this body and Pope Martin V. that a similar council should be convened at Pavia in 1423. When the time arrived, conditions were far from favorable, but the University of Paris pressed the Pope to observe his pledge in the matter and the council was duly convened. Very few members appeared at Pavia, and, the plague soon breaking out there, the meeting was transferred to Siena. Even there only five German prelates were present, six French, and not one Spanish. Small though it was, the council entered upon a course so independent and self-assertive that in the following year the Pope was glad to take advantage of its paucity of numbers to declare it dissolved. [540] The Dauphiné was a region on the east side of the Rhone which, in 1349, was purchased of Humbert, Dauphin of Vienne, by Philip VI., and ceded by the latter to his grandson Charles, the later Charles V. (1364-1380). Charles assumed the title of "the Dauphin," which became the established designation of the heir-apparent to the French throne. [541] Under the _grâce expectative_ the pope conferred upon a prelate a benefice which at the time was filled, to be assumed as soon as it should fall vacant. Benefices of larger importance, such as the offices of bishop and abbot, were often subject to the _réserve_; that is, the pope regularly reserved to himself the right of filling them, sometimes before, sometimes after, the vacancy occurred. These acts constituted clear assumptions by the popes of power which under the law of the Church was not theirs, and, though the framers of the Pragmatic Sanction had motives which were more or less selfish for combatting the _réserve_ and the _grâce expectative_, there can be no question that the abuses aimed at were as real as they were represented to be. [542] Those who presented and installed men in benefices. [543] These first two chapters reproduce without change the decrees of the Council of Basel. The second reiterates, in substance, the declaration of the Council of Constance [see p. 393]. [544] That is, the "canonical" system of election of bishops by the chapters and of abbots by the monks. The Pragmatic differs in this clause from the decree of the Council of Basel in allowing temporal princes to recommend persons for election. [545] This means that the pope is not to add to the number of canons in any cathedral chapter as a means of influencing the composition and deliberations of that body. [546] Annates were ordinarily the first year's revenues of a benefice which, under the prevailing system, were supposed to be paid by the incumbent to the pope. The Pragmatic goes on to provide that during the lifetime of Pope Eugene one-fifth of the accustomed annates should continue to be paid. CHAPTER XXIV. THE EMPIRE IN THE TWELFTH, THIRTEENTH, AND FOURTEENTH CENTURIES 70. The Peace of Constance (1183) With the election of Frederick Barbarossa as emperor, in 1152, a new stage of the great papal-imperial combat was entered upon, though under conditions quite different from those surrounding the contest in the preceding century [see Chap. XVI]. The Empire was destined to succumb in the end to the papacy, but with a sovereign of Frederick's energy and ability at its head it was able at least to make a stubborn fight and to meet defeat with honor. The new reign was inaugurated by a definite announcement of the Emperor's intention to consolidate and strengthen the imperial government throughout all Germany and Italy. The task in Germany was far from simple; in Italy it was the most formidable that could have been conceived, and this for the reason that the Italian population was largely gathered in cities with strong political and military organization, with all the traditions of practical independence, and with no thought of submitting to the government of an emperor or any other claimant to more than merely nominal sovereignty. Trouble began almost at once between Frederick and the free commune of Milan, though war was averted for a time by the oaths taken to the Emperor on the occasion of his first expedition across the Alps in 1154. Between that date and 1158 the consuls of the city were detected in treacherous conduct and, the people refusing to disavow them, in the latter year the Emperor again crossed the Alps, bent on nothing less than the annihilation of the commune and the dispersion of its inhabitants. He carried with him a larger army than a head of the Holy Roman Empire had ever led into Italy. The Milanese submitted, under conditions extremely humiliating, and Frederick, after being assured by the doctors of law at the new university of Bologna that he was acting quite within the letter of the Roman law, proceeded to lay claim to the _regalia_ (royal rights, such as tolls from roads and rivers, products of mines, and the estates of criminals), to the right to levy an extraordinary war tax, and to that of appointing the chief civic magistrates. Disaffection broke out at once in many of the communes, but chiefly at Milan; whereupon Frederick came promptly to the conclusion that the time had arrived to rid himself of this irreconcilable opponent of his measures. The city was besieged and, after its inhabitants had been starved into surrender, almost completely destroyed (1162). Only temporarily did the barbarous act have its intended effect; the net result was a widespread revival of the communal spirit, which expressed itself in the formation of a sturdy confederacy known as the Lombard League. One of the League's first acts was to rebuild Milan, under whose leadership the struggle with the Emperor was actively renewed. In 1168 a new city was founded at the foot of the Alps near Pavia to serve as a base of operations in the campaign which the League proposed to wage against the common enemy. It was given the name Alessandria (or Alexandria) in honor of Pope Alexander III., who was friendly to the cause of the cities. In 1174 Frederick began an open attack on the League, but in 1176, at Legnano, he suffered an overwhelming defeat, due largely to his failure to receive reinforcements from Germany. The adjustment of peace was intrusted to an assembly at Venice in which all parties were represented. The result was the treaty of Venice (1177), the advantages of which were wholly against the Empire. A truce of six years was granted the cities, with the understanding that all details were to be arranged within, or at the expiration of, that time. When the close of the period arrived, in 1183, Frederick no longer dreamed of subduing and punishing the rebellious Italians, but instead was quite ready to agree to a permanent peace. The result was the Peace of Constance, which has been described as the earliest international agreement of the kind in modern history. By this instrument the theoretical overlordship of the Emperor in Italy was reasserted, though in fact it had never been denied. Beyond this, however, the communes were recognized as essentially independent. Those who had enjoyed the right to choose their own magistrates retained it; their financial obligations to the Emperor were clearly defined; and the League was conceded to be a legitimate and permanent organization. By yielding on numerous vital points the Empire had vindicated its right to exist, but its administrative machinery, so far as Italy was concerned, was still further impaired. This machinery, it must be said, had never been conspicuously effective south of the Alps. As for Frederick, he set out in 1189 upon the Third Crusade, during the course of which he met his death in Asia Minor without being permitted to see the Holy Land. Source--Text in _Monumenta Germaniæ Historica_, Legum Sectio IV. (Weiland ed.), Vol. I., pp. 411-418. Adapted from translation in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905,) pp. 199-202. [Sidenote: Concessions to the cities of the League] =1.= We, Frederick, emperor of the Romans, and our son Henry, king of the Romans,[547] hereby grant to you, the cities, territories, and persons of the League, the _regalia_ and other rights within and without the cities, as you have been accustomed to hold them; that is, each member of the League shall have the same rights as the city of Verona has had in the past, or has now. =2.= The members of the League shall exercise freely and without interference from us all the rights which they have exercised of old. =3.= These are the rights which are guaranteed to you: the _fodrum_,[548] forests, pastures, bridges, streams, mills, fortifications of the cities, criminal and civil jurisdiction, and all other rights which concern the welfare of the city. [Sidenote: How the regalia remaining to the Emperor were to be determined] =4.= The _regalia_ which are not to be granted to the members of the League shall be determined in the following manner: in the case of each city, certain men shall be chosen for this purpose from both the bishopric and the city; these men shall be of good repute, capable of deciding these questions, and such as are not prejudiced against either party. Acting with the bishop of the diocese, they shall swear to inquire into the questions of the _regalia_ and to set aside those that by right belong to us. If, however, the cities do not wish to submit to this inquisition, they shall pay to us an annual tribute of 2,000 marks in silver as compensation for our _regalia_. If this sum seems excessive, it may be reduced. =5.= If anyone appeals to us in regard to matters which are by this treaty admitted to be under your jurisdiction, we agree not to hear such an appeal. =8.= All privileges, gifts, and concessions made in the time of the war by us or our representatives to the prejudice or injury of the cities, territories, or members of the League are to be null and void. [Sidenote: The consuls] =9.= Consuls[549] of cities where the bishop holds the position of count from the king or emperor shall receive their office from the bishop, if this has been the custom before. In all other cities the consuls shall receive their office from us, in the following manner: after they have been elected by the city they shall be invested with office by our representative in the city or bishopric, unless we are ourselves in Lombardy, in which case they shall be invested by us. At the end of every five years each city shall send its representative to us to receive the investiture. =10.= This arrangement shall be observed by our successor, and all such investitures shall be free. =11.= After our death, the cities shall receive investiture in the same way from our son and from his successors. [Sidenote: Appeals to the Emperor] =12.= The Emperor shall have the right of hearing appeals in cases involving more than 25 pounds, saving the right of the church of Brescia to hear appeals. The appellant shall not, however, be compelled to come to Germany, but he shall appeal to the representative of the Emperor in the city or bishopric. This representative shall examine the case fairly and shall give judgment according to the laws and customs of that city. The decision shall be given within two months from the time of appeal, unless the case shall have been deferred by reason of some legal hindrance or by the consent of both parties. =13.= The consuls of cities shall take the oath of allegiance to the Emperor before they are invested with office. [Sidenote: The oath of fidelity] =14.= Our vassals shall receive investiture from us and shall take the vassal's oath of fidelity. All other persons between the ages of 15 and 70 shall take the ordinary oath of fidelity to the Emperor unless there be some good reason why this oath should be omitted. =17.= All injuries, losses, and damages which we or our followers have sustained from the League, or any of its members or allies, are hereby pardoned, and all such transgressors are hereby received back into our favor. =18.= We will not remain longer than is necessary in any city or bishopric. =19.= It shall be permitted to the cities to erect fortifications within or without their boundaries. [Sidenote: Recognition of the League's right to exist] =20.= It shall be permitted to the League to maintain its organization as it now is, or to renew it as often as it desires. 71. Current Rumors Concerning the Life and Character of Frederick II. Frederick II. (1194-1250), king of Naples and Sicily and emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, was a son of Emperor Henry VI. and a grandson of Frederick Barbarossa. When his father died (1197) it was intended that the young child's uncle, Philip of Hohenstaufen, should occupy the imperial throne temporarily as regent. Philip, however, proceeded to assume the position as if in his own right and became engaged in a deadly conflict with a rival claimant, Otto IV., during which the Pope, Innocent III., fanned the flames of civil war and made the situation contribute chiefly to the aggrandizement of papal authority in temporal affairs. In 1208 Philip was assassinated and in the following year Otto received the imperial crown at Rome. Almost immediately, however, disagreement broke out between the Pope and the new Emperor, chiefly because of the latter's ambition to become king of Sicily. Repenting that he had befriended Otto, Innocent promptly excommunicated him and set on foot a movement--in which he enlisted the services of Philip Augustus of France--to supplant the obnoxious Emperor by Frederick of Sicily (the later Frederick II.). Otto was a nephew of Richard I. and John of England and the latter was easily persuaded to enter into an alliance with him against the papal-French-Sicilian combination. The result was the battle of Bouvines [see p. 297], in 1214, in which John and Otto were hopelessly defeated. Meanwhile, in 1212, Frederick had received a secret embassy from Otto's discontented subjects in Germany, offering him the imperial crown if he would come and claim it. In response he had gathered an army and, with the approval of Innocent and of Philip Augustus, had crossed the Alps for the purpose of winning over the German people from Otto to himself. The battle of Bouvines (in which Frederick was not engaged, but from which he profited immensely) was the death-blow to Otto's cause and Frederick was soon recognized universally as head of the Empire. The reign of Frederick II. (1212-1250) was a period of large importance in European history. The Emperor's efforts and achievements--his crusade, his great quarrel with Gregory IX. and Innocent IV., his legislation, his struggles with the Lombard League--were full of interest and significance, but, after all, not more so than the purely personal aspects of his career. Mr. Bryce has a passage which states admirably the position of Frederick with reference to his age and its problems. A portion of it is as follows: "Out of the long array of the Germanic successors of Charles [Charlemagne], he is, with Otto III.,[550] the only one who comes before us with a genius and a frame of character that are not those of a Northern or a Teuton. There dwelt in him, it is true, all the energy and knightly valor of his father Henry and his grandfather Frederick I. But along with these, and changing their direction, were other gifts, inherited perhaps from his half Norman, half Italian mother and fostered by his education in Sicily, where Mussulman and Byzantine influences were still potent, a love of luxury and beauty, an intellect refined, subtle, philosophical. Through the mist of calumny and legend it is but dimly that the truth of the man can be discerned, and the outlines that appear serve to quicken rather than appease the curiosity with which we regard one of the most extraordinary personages in history. A sensualist, yet also a warrior and a politician; a profound law-giver and an impassioned poet; in his youth fired by crusading fervor, in later life persecuting heretics while himself accused of blasphemy and unbelief; of winning manners and ardently beloved by his followers, but with the stain of more than one cruel deed upon his name, he was the marvel of his own generation, and succeeding ages looked back with awe, not unmingled with pity, upon the inscrutable figure of the last emperor who had braved all the terrors of the Church and died beneath her ban, the last who had ruled from the sands of the ocean to the shores of the Ionian Sea. But while they pitied they condemned. The undying hatred of the papacy threw round his memory a lurid light; him and him alone of all the imperial line, Dante, the worshipper of the empire, must perforce deliver to the flames of hell."[551] The following selections from the _Greater Chronicle_ of Matthew Paris comprise some of the stories which were current in Frederick's day regarding his manners, ideas, and deeds. Frederick was far ahead of his age and it was inevitable that the qualities in him which men could not understand or appreciate should become the grounds for dark rumors and unsavory suspicions. Matthew Paris was an English monk of St. Albans. It is thought that he was called _Parisiensis_, "the Parisian," because of having been born or educated in the capital of France. He seems to have confined his attention wholly to the study of history, and mainly to the history of his own country. His _Chronicle_ takes up the story of English and continental affairs in detail with the year 1235 (where Roger of Wendover had stopped in his _Flowers of History_) and continues to the year 1259. His book has been described as "probably the most generally useful historical production of the thirteenth century."[552] Source--Matthæus Parisiensis, _Chronica Majora_ [Matthew Paris, "Greater Chronicle"]. Adapted from translation by J. A. Giles (London, 1852), Vol. I., pp. 157-158, 166-167, 169-170; Vol. II., pp. 84-85, 103. [Sidenote: Frederick suspected of heresy] [Sidenote: Accusation of friendly relations with the Saracens] In the course of the same year [1238] the fame of the Emperor Frederick was clouded and marred by his jealous enemies and rivals; for it was imputed to him that he was wavering in the Catholic faith, or wandering from the right way, and had given utterance to some speeches, from which it could be inferred and suspected that he was not only weak in the Catholic faith, but--what was a much greater and more serious crime--that there was in him an enormity of heresy, and the most dreadful blasphemy, to be detested and execrated by all Christians. For it was reported that the Emperor Frederick had said (although it may not be proper to mention it) that three imposters had so craftily deceived their contemporaries as to gain for themselves the mastery of the world: these were Moses, Jesus, and Mahomet [Mohammed]; and that he had impiously given expression to some wicked and incredible ravings and blasphemies respecting the most holy Eucharist. Far be it from any discreet man, much less a Christian, to employ his tongue in such raving blasphemy. It was also said by his rivals that the Emperor agreed with and believed in the law of Mahomet more than that of Jesus Christ. A rumor also crept amongst the people (which God forbid to be true of such a great prince) that he had been for a long time past in alliance with the Saracens, and was more friendly to them than to the Christians; and his rivals, who were endeavoring to blacken his fame, attempted to establish this by many proofs. Whether they sinned or not, He alone knows who is ignorant of nothing.... [Sidenote: Frederick's seizure of the lands belonging to a bishop] [Sidenote: Refusing to restore them, he is excommunicated] In Lent, of the same year [1239], seeing the rash proceedings of the Emperor, and that his words pleaded excuse for his sins,--namely, that by the assistance of some of the nobles and judges of Sardinia he had taken into his own possession, and still held, the land and castles of the bishop of Sardinia, and constantly declared that they were a portion of the Empire, and that he by his first and chief oath would preserve the rights of the Empire to the utmost of his power, and would also collect the scattered portions of it,--the Pope[553] was excited to the most violent anger against him. He set forth some very serious complaints and claims against the Emperor and wrote often boldly and carefully to him, advising him repeatedly by many special messengers, whose authority ought to have obtained from him the greatest attention, to restore the possessions he had seized, and to desist from depriving the Church of her possessions, of which she was endowed by long prescription. And, like a skilful physician, who at one time makes use of medicines, at another of the knife, and at another of the cauterizing instrument, he mixed threats with entreaties, friendly messages with fearful denunciations. As the Emperor, however, scornfully rejected his requests, and excused his actions by arguments founded on reason, his holiness the Pope, on Palm Sunday, in the presence of a great many of the cardinals, in the spirit of glowing anger, solemnly excommunicated the said Emperor Frederick, as though he would at once have hurled him from his imperial dignity, consigning him with terrible denunciations to the possession of Satan at his death; and, as it were, thundering forth the fury of his anger, he excited terror in all his hearers....[554] [Sidenote: Frederick accuses the Pope of ingratitude and jealousy] The Emperor, on hearing of this, was inflamed with violent anger, and with oft-repeated reproaches accused the Church and its rulers of ingratitude to him, and of returning evil for good. He recalled to their recollection how he had exposed himself and his property to the billows and to a thousand kinds of danger for the advancement of the Church's welfare and the increase of the Catholic faith, and affirmed that whatever honors the Church possessed in the Holy Land had been acquired by his toil and industry. "But," said he, "the Pope, jealous at such a happy increase being acquired for the Church by a layman, and who desires gold and silver rather than an increase of the faith (as witness his proceedings), and who extorts money from all Christendom in the name of tithes, has, by all the means in his power, done his best to supplant me, and has endeavored to disinherit me while fighting for God, exposing my body to the weapons of war, to sickness, and to the snares of his enemies, after encountering the dangers of the unsparing billows. See what sort of protection is this of our father's! What kind of assistance in difficulties is this afforded by the vicar of Jesus Christ"!...[555] [Sidenote: Further accusation of an alliance with the Saracens] [Sidenote: His neglect of pious and charitable works] "Besides, he is united by a detestable alliance with the Saracens,--has ofttimes sent messages and presents to them, and in turn received the same from them with respect and alacrity...; and what is a more execrable offense, he, when formerly in the country beyond sea, made a kind of arrangement, or rather collusion, with the sultan, and allowed the name of Mahomet to be publicly proclaimed in the temple of the Lord day and night; and lately, in the case of the sultan of Babylon [Cairo], who, by his own hands, and through his agents, had done irreparable mischief and injury to the Holy Land and its Christian inhabitants, he caused that sultan's ambassadors, in compliment to their master, as is reported, to be honorably received and nobly entertained in his kingdom of Sicily. He also, in opposition to the Christians, abuses the pernicious and horrid rites of other infidels, and, entering into an alliance of friendship with those who wickedly pay little respect to and despise the Apostolic See, and have seceded from the unity of the Church, he, laying aside all respect for the Christian religion, caused, as is positively asserted, the duke of Bavaria, of illustrious memory, a special and devoted ally of the Roman Church, to be murdered by the assassins. He has also given his daughter in marriage to Battacius, an enemy of God and the Church, who, together with his aiders, counsellors, and abettors, was solemnly expelled from the communion of the Christians by sentence of excommunication. Rejecting the proceedings and customs of Catholic princes, neglecting his own salvation and the purity of his fame, he does not employ himself in works of piety; and what is more (to be silent on his wicked and dissolute practices), although he has learned to practice oppression to such a degree, he does not trouble himself to relieve those oppressed by injuries, by extending his hand, as a Christian prince ought, to bestow alms, although he has been eagerly aiming at the destruction of the churches, and has crushed religious men and other ecclesiastical persons with the burden and persecution of his yoke. And it is not known that he ever built or founded either churches, monasteries, hospitals, or other pious places. Now these are not light, but convincing, grounds for suspicions of heresy being entertained against him."... [Sidenote: Frederick's wrath at his excommunication] When the Emperor Frederick was made fully aware of all these proceedings [i.e., his excommunication at Lyons] he could not contain himself, but burst into a violent rage and, darting a scowling look on those who sat around him, he thundered forth: "The Pope in his synod has disgraced me by depriving me of my crown. Whence arises such great audacity? Whence proceeds such rash presumption? Where are my chests which contain my treasures?" And on their being brought and unlocked before him, by his order, he said, "See if my crowns are lost now;" then finding one, he placed it on his head and, being thus crowned, he stood up, and, with threatening eyes and a dreadful voice, unrestrainable from passion, he said aloud, "I have not yet lost my crown, nor will I be deprived of it by any attacks of the Pope or the council, without a bloody struggle. Does his vulgar pride raise him to such heights as to enable him to hurl from the imperial dignity me, the chief prince of the world, than whom none is greater--yea, who am without an equal? In this matter my condition is made better: in some things I _was_ bound to obey, at least to respect, him; but now I am released from all ties of affection and veneration, and also from the obligation of any kind of peace with him." From that time forth, therefore, he, in order to injure the Pope more effectually and perseveringly, did all kinds of harm to his Holiness, in his money, as well as in his friends and relatives. 72. The Golden Bull of Charles IV. (1356) The century following the death of Frederick II. (1250) was a period of unrest and turbulence in German history, the net result of which politically was the almost complete triumph of the princes, lay and clerical, over the imperial power. By 1350 the local magnates had come to be virtually sovereign throughout their own territories. They enjoyed the right of legislation and the privileges of coining money and levying taxes, and in many cases they had scarcely so much as a feudal bond to remind them of their theoretical allegiance to the Empire. The one principle of action upon which they could agree was that the central monarchy should be kept permanently in the state of helplessness to which it had been reduced. The power of choosing a successor when a vacancy arose in the imperial office had fallen gradually into the hands of seven men, who were known as the "electors" and who were recognized in the fourteenth century as possessing collective importance far greater than that of the emperor. Three of these seven--the archbishops of Mainz, Trier, and Cologne--were great ecclesiastics; the other four--the king of Bohemia, the margrave of Brandenburg, the duke of Saxony, and the count palatine of the Rhine--were equally influential laymen. This electoral college first came into prominence at the election of Rudolph I. (of the House of Hapsburg) at the end of the Interregnum in 1273. From that time until the termination of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806 these seven men (eight after 1648 and nine after 1692) played a part in German history not inferior to that of the emperors. They imposed upon their candidates such conditions as they chose, and when the bearer of the imperial title grew restive and difficult to control they did not hesitate to make war upon him, or even in extreme cases to depose him. It has been well said that never in all history have worse scandals been connected with any sort of elections than were associated repeatedly with the actions of these German electors. The central document in German constitutional history in the Middle Ages is the Golden Bull of Emperor Charles IV. (1347-1378), promulgated in 1356. For a century prior to the reign of Charles the question of the imperial succession had been one of extreme perplexity. The electoral college had grown up to assume the responsibility, but this body rested on no solid legal basis and its acts were usually regarded as null by all whom they displeased, with the result that a civil war succeeded pretty nearly every election. Charles was shrewd enough to see that the existing system could not be set aside; the electors were entirely too powerful to permit of that. But he also saw that it might at least be improved by giving it the quality of legality which it had hitherto lacked. The result of his efforts in this direction was the Golden Bull, issued and confirmed at the diets of Nürnberg (Nuremberg) and Metz in 1356. The document, thenceforth regarded as the fundamental law of the Empire, dealt with a wide variety of subjects. It confirmed the electorship in the person of the king of Bohemia which had long been disputed by a rival branch of the family;[556] it made elaborate provision for the election of the emperor by the seven magnates; it defined the social and political prerogatives of these men and prescribed the relations which they should bear to their subjects, to other princes, and to the emperor; and it made numerous regulations regarding conspiracies, coinage, immunities, the forfeiture of fiefs, the succession of electoral princes, etc. In a word, as Mr. Bryce has put it, the document "confessed and legalized the independence of the Electors and the powerlessness of the crown."[557] Only a few selections from it can be given here, particularly those bearing on the methods of electing the emperor. Source--Text in Wilhelm Altmann und Ernst Bernheim, _Ausgewählte Urkunden zur Erläuterung der Verfassungsgeschichte Deutschlands im Mittelalter_ ["Select Documents Illustrative of the Constitutional History of Germany in the Middle Ages"], 3rd ed., Berlin, 1904, pp. 54-83. Adapted from translation in Oliver J. Thatcher and Edgar H. McNeal, _Source Book for Mediæval History_ (New York, 1905), pp. 284-295 _passim_. [Sidenote: Guarantee of safety of travel for the electors] I. =1.= We decree and determine by this imperial edict that, whenever the electoral princes are summoned according to the ancient and praiseworthy custom to meet and elect a king of the Romans and future emperor, each one of them shall be bound to furnish on demand an escort and safe-conduct to his fellow electors or their representatives, within his own lands and as much farther as he can, for the journey to and from the city where the election is to be held. Any electoral prince who refuses to furnish escort and safe-conduct shall be liable to the penalties for perjury and to the loss of his electoral vote for that occasion. [Sidenote: Penalties for violation of the safe-conduct of the electors] =2.= We decree and command also that all other princes who hold fiefs from the Empire, by whatever title, and all counts, barons, knights, clients, nobles, commoners, citizens, and all corporations of towns, cities, and territories of the Empire, shall furnish escort and safe-conduct for this occasion to every electoral prince or his representatives, on demand, within their own lands and as much farther as they can. Violators of this decree shall be punished as follows: princes, counts, barons, knights, clients, and all others of noble rank, shall suffer the penalties of perjury, and shall lose the fiefs which they hold of the emperor or any other lord, and all their possessions; citizens and corporations shall also suffer the penalty for perjury, shall be deprived of all the rights, liberties, privileges, and graces which they have received from the Empire, and shall incur the ban of the Empire against their persons and property. Those whom we deprive of their rights for this offense may be attacked by any man without appealing to a magistrate, and without danger of reprisal; for they are rebels against the state and the Empire, and have attacked the honor and security of the prince, and are convicted of faithlessness and perfidy. [Sidenote: Supplies for the use of the electors] =3.= We also command that the citizens and corporations of cities shall furnish supplies to the electoral princes and their representatives on demand at the regular price and without fraud, whenever they arrive at, or depart from, the city on their way to or from the election. Those who violate this decree shall suffer the penalties described in the preceding paragraph for citizens and corporations. If any prince, count, baron, knight, client, noble, commoner, citizen, or city shall attack or molest in person or goods any of the electoral princes or their representatives, on their way to or from an election, whether they have safe-conduct or not, he and his accomplices shall incur the penalties above described, according to his position and rank. [Sidenote: The electors to be summoned by the archbishop of Mainz] =16.= When the news of the death of the king of the Romans has been received at Mainz, within one month from the date of receiving it the archbishop of Mainz shall send notices of the death and the approaching election to all the electoral princes. But if the archbishop neglects or refuses to send such notices, the electoral princes are commanded on their fidelity to assemble on their own motion and without summons at the city of Frankfort,[558] within three months from the death of the emperor, for the purpose of electing a king of the Romans and future emperor. =17.= Each electoral prince or his representatives may bring with him to Frankfort at the time of the election a retinue of 200 horsemen, of whom not more than 50 shall be armed. [Sidenote: How a vote might be forfeited] =18.= If any electoral prince, duly summoned to the election, fails to come, or to send representatives with credentials containing full authority, or if he (or his representatives) withdraws from the place of the election before the election has been completed, without leaving behind substitutes fully accredited and empowered, he shall lose his vote in that election. [Sidenote: The oath taken by the electors] II. =2.=[559] "I, archbishop of Mainz, archchancellor of the Empire for Germany,[560] electoral prince, swear on the holy gospels here before me, and by the faith which I owe to God and to the Holy Roman Empire, that with the aid of God, and according to my best judgment and knowledge, I will cast my vote, in this election of the king of the Romans and future emperor, for a person fitted to rule the Christian people. I will give my voice and vote freely, uninfluenced by any agreement, price, bribe, promise, or anything of the sort, by whatever name it may be called. So help me God and all the saints." [Sidenote: Provision to ensure an election] =3.= After the electors have taken this oath, they shall proceed to the election, and shall not depart from Frankfort until the majority have elected a king of the Romans and future emperor, to be ruler of the world and of the Christian people. If they have not come to a decision within thirty days from the day on which they took the above oath, after that they shall live upon bread and water and shall not leave the city until the election has been decided. [Sidenote: Order of precedence of the three archbishops] III. =1.= To prevent any dispute arising between the archbishops of Trier, Mainz, and Cologne, electoral princes of the Empire, as to their priority and rank in the diet,[561] it has been decided and is hereby decreed, with the advice and consent of all the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, that the archbishop of Trier shall have the seat directly opposite and facing the emperor; that the archbishop of Mainz shall have the seat at the right of the emperor when the diet is held in the diocese or province of Mainz, or anywhere in Germany except in the diocese of Cologne; that the archbishop of Cologne shall have the seat at the right of the emperor when the diet is held in the diocese or province of Cologne, or anywhere in Gaul or Italy. This applies to all public ceremonies--court sessions, conferring of fiefs, banquets, councils, and all occasions on which the princes meet with the emperor for the transaction of imperial business. This order of seating shall be observed by the successors of the present archbishops of Cologne, Trier, and Mainz, and shall never be questioned. [Sidenote: Seating arrangement at table] IV. =1.= In the imperial diet, at the council-board, table, and all other places where the emperor or king of the Romans meets with the electoral princes, the seats shall be arranged as follows: On the right of the emperor, first, the archbishop of Mainz, or of Cologne, according to the province in which the meeting is held, as arranged above; second, the king of Bohemia, because he is a crowned and anointed prince; third, the count palatine of the Rhine; on the left of the emperor, first, the archbishop of Cologne, or of Mainz; second, the duke of Saxony; third, the margrave of Brandenburg. [Sidenote: The order of voting] =2.= When the imperial throne becomes vacant, the archbishop of Mainz shall have the authority, which he has had from of old, to call the other electors together for the election. It shall be his peculiar right also, when the electors have convened for the election, to collect the votes, asking each of the electors separately in the following order: first, the archbishop of Trier, who shall have the right to the first vote, as he has had from of old; then the archbishop of Cologne, who has the office of first placing the crown upon the head of the king of the Romans; then the king of Bohemia, who has the priority among the secular princes because of his royal title; fourth, the count palatine of the Rhine; fifth, the duke of Saxony; sixth, the margrave of Brandenburg. Then the princes shall ask the archbishop of Mainz in turn to declare his choice and vote. At the diet, the margrave of Brandenburg shall offer water to the emperor or king, to wash his hands; the king of Bohemia shall have the right to offer him the cup first, although, by reason of his royal dignity, he shall not be bound to do this unless he desires; the count palatine of the Rhine shall offer him food; and the duke of Saxony shall act as his marshal in the accustomed manner. [Sidenote: Judicial privileges of the electors confirmed and enlarged] XI. =1.= We decree also that no count, baron, noble, vassal, burggrave,[562] knight, client, citizen, burgher, or other subject of the churches of Cologne, Mainz, or Trier, of whatever status, condition, or rank, shall be cited, haled, or summoned to any authority before any tribunal outside of the territories, boundaries, and limits of these churches and their dependencies, or before any judge, except the archbishop and their judges.... We refuse to hear appeals based upon the authority of others over the subjects of these princes; if these princes are accused by their subjects of injustice, appeal shall lie to the imperial diet, and shall be heard there and nowhere else. =2.= We extend this right by the present law to the secular electoral princes, the count palatine of the Rhine; the duke of Saxony, and the margrave of Brandenburg, and to their heirs, successors, and subjects forever. [Sidenote: The electors to meet annually] XII. =1.= It has been decided in the general diet held at Nürnberg[563] with the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, and other princes and magnates, by their advice and with their consent, that in the future, the electoral princes shall meet every year in some city of the Empire four weeks after Easter. This year they are to meet at that date in the imperial city of Metz.[564] On that occasion, and on every meeting thereafter, the place of assembling for the following year shall be fixed by us, with the advice and consent of the princes. This ordinance shall remain in force as long as it shall be pleasing to us and to the princes; and as long as it is in effect, we shall furnish the princes with safe-conduct for that assembly, going, staying, and returning. FOOTNOTES: [547] Henry VI. succeeded his father as emperor, reigning from 1190 to 1197. [548] The term (meaning literally "fodder") designates the obligation to furnish provisions for the royal army. The right of demanding such provisions was now given up by the Emperor. [549] The consuls--often twelve in number--were the chief magistrates of the typical Italian commune. [550] Otto III., emperor 983-1002. Otto is noted chiefly for his visionary project of renewing the imperial splendor of Rome and making her again the capital of a world-wide empire. [551] James Bryce, _The Holy Roman Empire_ (new ed., New York, 1904), pp. 207-208. For the reference to Dante see the _Inferno_, Canto X. [552] James H. Robinson, _Readings in European History_ (Boston, 1904), Vol. I., p. 244. [553] Gregory IX., (1227-1241). [554] Frederick was excommunicated and anathematized on sixteen different charges, which the Pope carefully enumerated. All who were bound to him by oath of fealty were declared to be absolved from their allegiance. [555] At the Council of Lyons, in 1245, the Emperor was again excommunicated. The ensuing paragraph comprises a portion of Pope Innocent IV.'s denunciation of him upon that occasion. [556] Charles IV. was himself king of Bohemia, so that for the present the Emperor was also one of the seven imperial electors. [557] James Bryce, _The Holy Roman Empire_ (new ed., New York, 1904), p. 234. [558] Frankfort lay on the river Main, a short distance east of Mainz. "It was fixed as the place of election, as a tradition dating from East Frankish days preserved the feeling that both election and coronation ought to take place on Frankish soil."--James Bryce, _The Holy Roman Empire_ (new ed., New York, 1904), p. 243. [559] The preceding section specifies that Mass should be celebrated the day following the arrival of the electors at Frankfort, and that the archbishop of Mainz should administer to his six colleagues the oath which he himself has taken, as specified in section 2. [560] The three archbishops were "archchancellors" of the Empire for Germany, Gaul and Burgundy, and Italy respectively. The king of Bohemia was designated as cupbearer, the margrave of Brandenburg as chamberlain, the count palatine as seneschal, and the duke of Saxony as marshal. [561] The diet was the Empire's nearest approach to a national assembly. It was made up of three orders--the electors, the princes, and the representatives of the cities. [562] An official representative of a king or overlord in a city. [563] Nürnberg (or Nuremberg) is situated in Bavaria, in south central Germany. [564] Metz lay on the Moselle, above Trier. Apparently this clause providing for a regular annual meeting of the electors was inserted by Charles in the hope that he might be able to make use of the body as an advisory council in the affairs of the Empire. The provision remained a dead letter, for the reason that the electors were indifferent to the Emperor's purposes in the matter. CHAPTER XXV. THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR Our chief contemporary source of information on the history of the Hundred Years' War is Jean Froissart's _Chronicles of England, France, and the Adjoining Countries, from the Latter Part of the Reign of Edward II. to the Coronation of Henry IV._,[565] and it is from this important work that all of the extracts (except texts of treaties) which are included in this chapter have been selected. Froissart was a French poet and historian, born at Beaumont, near Valenciennes in Hainault, in 1337, when the Hundred Years' War was just beginning. He lived until the early part of the fifteenth century, 1410 being one of the conjectural dates of his death. He was a man of keen mental faculties and had enjoyed the advantages of an unusually thorough education during boyhood. This native ability and training, together with his active public life and admirable opportunities for observation, constituted his special qualification for the writing of a history of his times. Froissart represents a type of mediæval chronicler which was quite rare, in that he was not a monk living in seclusion but a practical man of affairs, accustomed to travel and intercourse with leading men in all the important countries of western Europe. He lived for five years at the English court as clerk of the Queen's Chamber; many times he was sent by the French king on diplomatic missions to Scotland, Italy, and other countries; and he made several private trips to various parts of Europe for the sole purpose of acquiring information. Always and everywhere he was observant and quick to take advantage of opportunities to ascertain facts which he could use, and we are told that after it came to be generally known that he was preparing to write an extended history of his times not a few kings and princes took pains to send him details regarding events which they desired to have recorded. The writing of the _Chronicles_ was a life work. When only twenty years of age Froissart submitted to Isabella, wife of King Edward III. of England, an account of the battle of Poitiers, in which the queen's son, the famous Black Prince, had won distinction in the previous year. Thereafter the larger history was published book by book, until by 1373 it was complete to date. Subsequently it was extended to the year 1400 (it had begun with the events of 1326), while the earlier portions were rewritten and considerably revised. And, in deed, when death came to the author he was still working at his arduous but congenial task. "As long as I live," he wrote upon one occasion, "by the grace of God I shall continue it; for the more I follow it and labor thereon, the more it pleases me. Even as a gentle knight or esquire who loves arms, while persevering and continuing develops himself therein, thus do I, laboring and striving with this matter, improve and delight myself." The _Chronicles_ as they have come down to us are written in a lively and pleasing style. It need hardly be said that they are not wholly accurate; indeed, on the whole, they are quite inaccurate, measured even by mediæval standards. Froissart was obliged to rely for a large portion of his information upon older chronicles and especially upon conversations and interviews with people in various parts of Europe. Such sources are never wholly trustworthy and it must be admitted that our author was not as careful to sift error from truth as he should have been. His credulity betrayed him often into accepting what a little investigation would have shown to be false, and only very rarely did he make any attempt, as a modern historian would do, to increase and verify his knowledge by a study of documents. Still, the _Chronicles_ constitute an invaluable history of the period they cover. The facts they record, the events they explain, the vivid descriptions they contain, and the side-lights they throw upon the life and manners of an interesting age unite to give them a place of peculiar importance among works of their kind. And, wholly aside from their historical value, they constitute one of the monuments of mediæval French literature. 73. An Occasion of War between the Kings of England and France The causes, general and specific, of the Hundred Years' War were numerous. The most important were: (1) The long-standing bad feeling between the French and English regarding the possession of Normandy and Guienne. England had lost the former to France and she had never ceased to hope for its recovery; on the other hand, the French were resolved upon the eventual conquest of the remaining English continental possession of Guienne and were constantly asserting themselves there in a fashion highly irritating to the English; (2) the assistance and general encouragement given the rebellious Scots by the French; (3) the pressure brought to bear upon the English crown by the popular party in Flanders to claim the French throne and to resort to war to obtain it. The Flemish wool trade was a very important item in England's economic prosperity and it was felt to be essential at all hazards to prevent the extension of French influence in Flanders, which would inevitably mean the checking, if not the ruin, of the commercial relations of the Flemish and the English; and (4) the claim to the throne of France which Edward III., king of England, set up and prepared to defend. It is this last occasion of war that Froissart describes in the passage below. Source--Text in Siméon Luce (ed.), _Chroniques de Jean Froissart_ [published for the Société de l'Histoire de France], Paris, 1869, Chap. I. Translated in Thomas Johnes, _Froissart's Chronicles_ (London, 1803), Vol. I., pp. 6-7. [Sidenote: The succession to the French throne in 1328] History tells us that Philip, king of France, surnamed the Fair,[566] had three sons, besides his beautiful daughter Isabella, married to the king of England.[567] These three sons were very handsome. The eldest, Louis, king of Navarre, during the lifetime of his father, was called Louis Hutin; the second was named Philip the Great, or the Long; and the third, Charles. All these were kings of France, after their father Philip, by legitimate succession, one after the other, without having by marriage any male heirs.[568] Yet on the death of the last king, Charles, the twelve peers and barons of France[569] did not give the kingdom to Isabella, the sister, who was queen of England, because they said and maintained, and still insist, that the kingdom of France is so noble that it ought not to go to a woman; consequently neither to Isabella nor to her son, the king of England; for they held that the son of a woman cannot claim any right of succession where that woman has none herself.[570] For these reasons the twelve peers and barons of France unanimously gave the kingdom of France to the lord Philip of Valois, nephew of King Philip,[571] and thus put aside the queen of England (who was sister to Charles, the late king of France) and her son. Thus, as it seemed to many people, the succession went out of the right line, which has been the occasion of the most destructive wars and devastations of countries, as well in France as elsewhere, as you will learn hereafter; the real object of this history being to relate the great enterprises and deeds of arms achieved in these wars, for from the time of good Charlemagne, king of France, never were such feats performed. 74. Edward III. Assumes the Arms and Title of the King of France Due to causes which have been mentioned, the relations of England and France at the accession of Philip VI. in 1328 were so strained that only a slight fanning of the flames was necessary to bring on an open conflict. Edward III.'s persistent demand to be recognized as king of France sufficed to accomplish this result. The war did not come at once, for neither king felt himself ready for it; but it was inevitable and preparations for it were steadily pushed on both sides from 1328 until its formal declaration by Edward nine years later. These preparations were not merely military and naval but also diplomatic. The primary object of both sovereigns was to secure as many and as strong foreign alliances as possible. In pursuit of this policy Philip soon assured himself of the support of Louis de Nevers, count of Flanders, King John of Bohemia, Alphonso XI. of Castile, and a number of lesser princes of the north. Edward was even more successful. In Spain and the Scandinavian countries many local powers allied themselves with him; in the Low Countries, especially Flanders and Brabant, the people and the princes chose generally to identify themselves with his cause; and the climax came in July, 1337, when a treaty of alliance was concluded with the Emperor, Louis of Bavaria. War was begun in this same year, and in 1338 Edward went himself to the continent to undertake a direct attack on France from Flanders as a base. The years 1338 and 1339 were consumed with ineffective operations against the walled cities of the French frontier, Philip steadily refusing to be drawn into an open battle such as Edward desired. The following year the English king resolved to declare himself sovereign of France. The circumstances attending this important step are detailed in the passage from Froissart given below. Heretofore Edward had merely protested that by reason of his being a grandson of Philip the Fair he should have been awarded the throne by the French barons in 1328; now, at the instigation of his German and Flemish allies, he flatly announces that he _is_ of right the king and that Philip VI. is to be deposed as an usurper. Of course this was a declaration which Edward could make good only by victory in the war upon which he had entered. But the claim thus set up rendered it inevitable that the war should be waged to the bitter end on both sides. Source--_Chroniques de Jean Froissart_ (Société de l'Histoire de France edition), Chap. XXXI. Translated in Thomas Johnes, _Froissart's Chronicles_, Vol. I., pp. 110-112. [Sidenote: The conference at Brussels] When King Edward had departed from Flanders and arrived at Brabant he set out straight for Brussels, whither he was attended by the duke of Gueldres, the duke of Juliers, the marquis of Blanckenburg, the earl of Mons, the lord John of Hainault, the lord of Fauquemont, and all the barons of the Empire who were allied to him, as they wished to consider what was next to be done in this war which they had begun. For greater expedition, they ordered a conference to be held in the city of Brussels, and invited James van Arteveld[572] to attend it, who came thither in great array, and brought with him all the councils from the principal towns of Flanders. At this parliament the king of England was advised by his allies of the Empire to solicit the Flemings to give him their aid and assistance in this war, to challenge the king of France, and to follow King Edward wherever he should lead them, and in return he would assist them in the recovery of Lisle, Douay, and Bethune.[573] The Flemings heard this proposal with pleasure; but they requested of the king that they might consider it among themselves and in a short time they would give their answer. [Sidenote: Proposition made by the Flemings to King Edward] The king consented and soon after they made this reply: "Beloved sire, you formerly made us a similar request; and we are willing to do everything in reason for you without prejudice to our honor and faith. But we are pledged by promise on oath, under a penalty of two millions of florins, to the apostolical chamber,[574] not to act offensively against the king of France in any way, whoever he may be, without forfeiting this sum, and incurring the sentence of excommunication. But if you will do what we will tell you, you will find a remedy, which is, that you take the arms of France, quarter them with those of England, and call yourself king of France. We will acknowledge your title as good, and we will demand of you quittance for the above sum, which you will grant us as king of France. Thus we shall be absolved and at liberty to go with you wherever it pleases you." [Sidenote: The agreement concluded] The king summoned his council, for he was loath to take the title and arms of France, seeing that at present he had not conquered any part of that kingdom and that it was uncertain whether he ever should. On the other hand, he was unwilling to lose the aid and assistance of the Flemings, who could be of greater service to him than any others at that period. He consulted, therefore, with the lords of the Empire, the lord Robert d'Artois,[575] and his most privy councilors, who, after having duly weighed the good and bad, advised him to make for answer to the Flemings, that if they would bind themselves under their seals, to an agreement to aid him in carrying on the war, he would willingly comply with their conditions, and would swear to assist them in the recovery of Lisle, Douay, and Bethune. To this they willingly consented. A day was fixed for them to meet at Ghent,[576] where the king and the greater part of the lords of the Empire, and in general the councils from the different towns in Flanders, assembled. The above-mentioned proposals and answers were then repeated, sworn to, and sealed; and the king of England bore the arms of France, quartering them with those of England. He also took the title of king of France from that day forward. 75. The Naval Battle of Sluys (1340) In the spring of 1340 Edward returned to England to secure money and supplies with which to prosecute the war. The French king thought he saw in this temporary withdrawal of his enemy an opportunity to strike him a deadly blow. A fleet of nearly two hundred vessels was gathered in the harbor of Sluys, on the Flemish coast, with a view to attacking the English king on his return to the continent and preventing him from again securing a foothold in Flanders. Edward, however, accepted the situation and made ready to fight his way back to the country of his allies. June 24, 1340, he boldly attacked the French at Sluys. The sharp conflict which ensued resulted in a brilliant victory for the English. Philip's fleet found itself shut up in the harbor and utterly unable to withstand the showers of arrows shot by the thousands of archers who crowded the English ships. The French navy was annihilated, England was relieved from the fear of invasion, and the whole French coast was laid open to attack. Source--_Chroniques de Jean Froissart_ (Société de l'Histoire de France edition), Chap. XXXVII. Translated in Thomas Johnes, _Froissart's Chronicles_, Vol. I., pp. 141-143. He [King Edward] and his whole navy sailed from the Thames the day before the eve of St. John the Baptist, 1340,[577] and made straight for Sluys. Sir Hugh Quiriel, Sir Peter Bahucet, and Barbenoir, were at that time lying between Blankenburg and Sluys with upwards of one hundred and twenty large vessels, without counting others. These were manned with about forty thousand men, Genoese and Picards, including mariners. By the orders of the king of France, they were there at anchor, awaiting the return of the king of England, to dispute his passage. [Sidenote: Edward determines to fight at Sluys] When the king's fleet had almost reached Sluys, they saw so many masts standing before it that they looked like a wood. The king asked the commander of his ship what they could be. The latter replied that he imagined they must be that armament of Normans which the king of France kept at sea, and which had so frequently done him much damage, had burned his good town of Southampton and taken his large ship the _Christopher_. The king replied, "I have for a long time desired to meet them, and now, please God and St. George, we will fight with them; for, in truth, they have done me so much mischief that I will be revenged on them if it be possible." The king then drew up all his vessels, placing the strongest in front, and his archers on the wings. Between every two vessels with archers there was one of men-at-arms. He stationed some detached vessels as a reserve, full of archers, to assist and help such as might be damaged. There were in this fleet a great many ladies from England, countesses, baronesses, and knights' and gentlemen's wives, who were going to attend on the queen at Ghent.[578] These the king had guarded most carefully by three hundred men-at-arms and five hundred archers. [Sidenote: The French make ready] When the king of England and his marshals had properly divided the fleet, they hoisted their sails to have the wind on their quarter, as the sun shone full in their faces (which they considered might be of disadvantage to them) and stretched out a little, so that at last they got the wind as they wished. The Normans, who saw them tack, could not help wondering why they did so, and remarked that they took good care to turn about because they were afraid of meddling with them. They perceived, however, by his banner, that the king was on board, which gave them great joy, as they were eager to fight with him. So they put their vessels in proper order, for they were expert and gallant men on the seas. They filled the _Christopher_, the large ship which they had taken the year before from the English, with trumpets and other warlike instruments, and ordered her to fall upon the English. [Sidenote: The battle rages] The battle then began very fiercely. Archers and cross-bowmen shot with all their might at each other, and the men-at-arms engaged hand to hand. In order to be more successful, they had large grapnels and iron hooks with chains, which they flung from ship to ship to moor them to each other. There were many valiant deeds performed, many prisoners made, and many rescues. The _Christopher_, which led the van, was recaptured by the English, and all in her taken or killed. There were then great shouts and cries, and the English manned her again with archers, and sent her to fight against the Genoese. This battle was very murderous and horrible. Combats at sea are more destructive and obstinate than upon land, for it is not possible to retreat or flee--every one must abide his fortune, and exert his prowess and valor. Sir Hugh Quiriel and his companions were bold and determined men; they had done much mischief to the English at sea and destroyed many of their ships. The combat, therefore, lasted from early in the morning until noon,[579] and the English were hard pressed, for their enemies were four to one, and the greater part men who had been used to the sea. [Sidenote: The English triumph] The king, who was in the flower of his youth, showed himself on that day a gallant knight, as did the earls of Derby, Pembroke, Hereford, Huntingdon, Northampton, and Gloucester; the lord Reginald Cobham, lord Felton, lord Bradestan, sir Richard Stafford, the lord Percy, sir Walter Manny, sir Henry de Flanders, sir John Beauchamp, sir John Chandos, the lord Delaware, Lucie lord Malton, and the lord Robert d'Artois, now called earl of Richmond. I cannot remember the names of all those who behaved so valiantly in the combat. But they did so well that, with some assistance from Bruges and those parts of the country, the French were completely defeated, and all the Normans and the others were killed or drowned, so that not one of them escaped.[580] After the king had gained this victory, which was on the eve of St. John's day,[581] he remained all that night on board his ship before Sluys, and there were great noises with trumpets and all kinds of other instruments. 76. The Battle of Crécy (1346) In July, 1346, Edward III. landed on the northwest coast of Normandy with a splendid army of English, Irish, and Welsh, including ten thousand men skilled in the use of the long bow. He advanced eastward, plundering and devastating as he went, probably with the ultimate intention of besieging Calais. Finding the passage of the Seine impossible at Rouen, he ascended the river until he came into the vicinity of Paris, only to learn that Philip with an army twice the size of that of the English had taken up a position on the Seine to turn back the invasion. The French king allowed himself to be outwitted, however, and Edward got out of the trap into which he had fallen by marching northward to the village of Crécy in Ponthieu. With an army that had grown to outnumber the English three to one Philip advanced in the path of the enemy, first to Abbeville on the Somme, and later to Crécy, slightly to the east of which Edward had taken his stand for battle. The English arrived at Crécy about noon on Friday, August 25. The French were nearly a day behind, having spent the night at Abbeville and set out thence over the roads to Crécy before sunrise Saturday morning. The army of the English numbered probably about 14,000, besides an uncertain reserve of Welsh and Irish troops; that of the French numbered about 70,000, including 15,000 Genoese cross-bowmen. The course of the battle is well described by Froissart in the passage below. Doubtless the account is not accurate in every particular, yet it must be correct in the main and it shows very vividly the character of French and English warfare in this period. Despite the superior numbers of the French, the English had small difficulty in winning a decisive victory. This was due to several things. In the first place, the French army was a typical feudal levy and as such was sadly lacking in discipline and order, while the English troops were under perfect control. In the next place, the use of the long-bow gave the English infantry a great advantage over the French knights, and even over the Genoese mercenaries, who could shoot just once while an English long-bowman was shooting twelve times. In the third place, Philip's troops were exhausted before entering the battle and it was a grievous error on the part of the king to allow the conflict to begin before his men had an opportunity for rest.[582] The greatest significance of the English victory lay in the blow it struck at feudalism, and especially the feudal type of warfare. It showed very clearly that the armored knight was no match for the common foot-soldier, armed simply with his long-bow, and that feudal methods and ideals had come to be inconsistent with success in war. Source--_Chroniques de Jean Froissart_ (Société de l'Histoire de France edition), Chap. LX. Translated in Thomas Johnes, _Froissart's Chronicles_, Vol. I., pp. 320-329 _passim_. The king of England, as I have mentioned before, encamped this Friday in the plain,[583] for he found the country abounding in provisions; but if they should have failed, he had an abundance in the carriages which attended him. The army set about furbishing and repairing their armor; and the king gave a supper that evening to the earls and barons of his army, where they made good cheer. On their taking leave, the king remained alone with the lord of his bed-chamber. He retired into his oratory and, falling on his knees before the altar, prayed to God, that if he should fight his enemies on the morrow he might come off with honor. About midnight he went to his bed and, rising early the next day, he and the Prince of Wales[584] heard Mass and communicated. The greater part of his army did the same, confessed, and made proper preparations. [Sidenote: The English prepare for battle] After Mass the king ordered his men to arm themselves and assemble on the ground he had before fixed on. He had enclosed a large park near a wood, on the rear of his army, in which he placed all his baggage-wagons and horses; and this park had but one entrance. His men-at-arms and archers remained on foot. The king afterwards ordered, through his constable and his two marshals, that the army should be divided into three battalions.... The king then mounted a small palfrey, having a white wand in his hand and, attended by his two marshals on each side of him, he rode through all the ranks, encouraging and entreating the army, that they should guard his honor. He spoke this so gently, and with such a cheerful countenance, that all who had been dejected were immediately comforted by seeing and hearing him. When he had thus visited all the battalions, it was near ten o'clock. He retired to his own division and ordered them all to eat heartily afterwards and drink a glass. They ate and drank at their ease; and, having packed up pots, barrels, etc., in the carts, they returned to their battalions, according to the marshals' orders, and seated themselves on the ground, placing their helmets and bows before them, that they might be the fresher when their enemies should arrive. [Sidenote: The French advance from Abbeville to Crécy] [Sidenote: Philip's knights advise delay] That same Saturday, the king of France arose betimes and heard Mass in the monastery of St. Peter's in Abbeville,[585] where he was lodged. Having ordered his army to do the same, he left that town after sunrise. When he had marched about two leagues from Abbeville and was approaching the enemy, he was advised to form his army in order of battle, and to let those on foot march forward, that they might not be trampled on by the horses. The king, upon this, sent off four knights--the lord Moyne of Bastleberg, the lord of Noyers, the lord of Beaujeu, and the lord of Aubigny--who rode so near to the English that they could clearly distinguish their position. The English plainly perceived that they were come to reconnoitre. However, they took no notice of it, but suffered them to return unmolested. When the king of France saw them coming back, he halted his army, and the knights, pushing through the crowds, came near the king, who said to them, "My lords, what news?" They looked at each other, without opening their mouths; for no one chose to speak first. At last the king addressed himself to the lord Moyne, who was attached to the king of Bohemia, and had performed very many gallant deeds, so that he was esteemed one of the most valiant knights in Christendom. The lord Moyne said, "Sir, I will speak, since it pleases you to order me, but with the assistance of my companions. We have advanced far enough to reconnoitre your enemies. Know, then, that they are drawn up in three battalions and are awaiting you. I would advise, for my part (submitting, however, to better counsel), that you halt your army here and quarter them for the night; for before the rear shall come up and the army be properly drawn out, it will be very late. Your men will be tired and in disorder, while they will find your enemies fresh and properly arrayed. On the morrow, you may draw up your army more at your ease and may reconnoitre at leisure on what part it will be most advantageous to begin the attack; for, be assured, they will wait for you." [Sidenote: Confusion in the French ranks] The king commanded that it should be so done; and the two marshals rode, one towards the front, and the other to the rear, crying out, "Halt banners, in the name of God and St. Denis." Those that were in the front halted; but those behind said they would not halt until they were as far forward as the front. When the front perceived the rear pushing on, they pushed forward; and neither the king nor the marshals could stop them, but they marched on without any order until they came in sight of their enemies.[586] As soon as the foremost rank saw them, they fell back at once in great disorder, which alarmed those in the rear, who thought they had been fighting. There was then space and room enough for them to have passed forward, had they been willing to do so. Some did so, but others remained behind. All the roads between Abbeville and Crécy were covered with common people, who, when they had come within three leagues of their enemies, drew their swords, crying out, "Kill, kill;" and with them were many great lords who were eager to make show of their courage. There is no man, unless he had been present, who can imagine, or describe truly, the confusion of that day; especially the bad management and disorder of the French, whose troops were beyond number. [Sidenote: The English prepare for battle] The English, who were drawn up in three divisions and seated on the ground, on seeing their enemies advance, arose boldly and fell into their ranks. That of the prince[587] was the first to do so, whose archers were formed in the manner of a portcullis, or harrow, and the men-at-arms in the rear. The earls of Northampton and Arundel, who commanded the second division, had posted themselves in good order on his wing to assist and succor the prince, if necessary. You must know that these kings, dukes, earls, barons, and lords of France did not advance in any regular order, but one after the other, or in any way most pleasing to themselves. As soon as the king of France came in sight of the English his blood began to boil, and he cried out to his marshals, "Order the Genoese forward, and begin the battle, in the name of God and St. Denis." There were about fifteen thousand Genoese cross-bowmen; but they were quite fatigued, having marched on foot that day six leagues, completely armed, and with their cross-bows. They told the constable that they were not in a fit condition to do any great things that day in battle. The earl of Alençon, hearing this, said, "This is what one gets by employing such scoundrels, who fail when there is any need for them." During this time a heavy rain fell, accompanied by thunder and a very terrible eclipse of the sun; and before this rain a great flight of crows hovered in the air over all those battalions, making a loud noise. Shortly afterwards it cleared up and the sun shone very brightly; but the Frenchmen had it in their faces, and the English at their backs. When the Genoese were somewhat in order they approached the English and set up a loud shout in order to frighten them; but the latter remained quite still and did not seem to hear it. They then set up a second shout and advanced a little forward; but the English did not move. They hooted a third time, advancing with their cross-bows presented, and began to shoot. The English archers then advanced one step forward and shot their arrows with such force and quickness that it seemed as if it snowed. [Sidenote: The Genoese mercenaries repulsed] When the Genoese felt these arrows, which pierced their arms, heads, and through their armor, some of them cut the strings of their cross-bows, others flung them on the ground, and all turned about and retreated, quite discomfited. The French had a large body of men-at-arms on horseback, richly dressed, to support the Genoese. The king of France, seeing them thus fall back, cried out, "Kill me those scoundrels; for they stop up our road, without any reason." You would then have seen the above-mentioned men-at-arms lay about them, killing all that they could of these runaways. [Sidenote: Slaughter by the Cornish and Welsh] The English continued shooting as vigorously and quickly as before. Some of their arrows fell among the horsemen, who were sumptuously equipped and, killing and wounding many, made them caper and fall among the Genoese, so that they were in such confusion they could never rally again. In the English army there were some Cornish and Welshmen on foot who had armed themselves with large knives. These, advancing through the ranks of the men-at-arms and archers, who made way for them, came upon the French when they were in this danger and, falling upon earls, barons, knights and squires, slew many, at which the king of England was afterwards much exasperated. [Sidenote: Death of the king of Bohemia] The valiant king of Bohemia was slain there. He was called Charles of Luxemburg, for he was the son of the gallant king and emperor, Henry of Luxemburg.[588] Having heard the order of the battle, he inquired where his son, the lord Charles, was. His attendants answered that they did not know, but believed that he was fighting. The king said to them: "Sirs, you are all my people, my friends and brethren at arms this day; therefore, as I am blind, I request of you to lead me so far into the engagement that I may strike one stroke with my sword." The knights replied that they would lead him forward immediately; and, in order that they might not lose him in the crowd, they fastened the reins of all their horses together, and put the king at their head, that he might gratify his wish, and advanced towards the enemy. The king rode in among the enemy, and made good use of his sword; for he and his companions fought most gallantly. They advanced so far that they were all slain; and on the morrow they were found on the ground, with their horses all tied together. Early in the day, some French, Germans, and Savoyards had broken through the archers of the prince's battalion, and had engaged with the men-at-arms, upon which the second battalion came to his aid; and it was time, for otherwise he would have been hard pressed. The first division, seeing the danger they were in, sent a knight[589] in great haste to the king of England, who was posted upon an eminence, near a windmill. On the knight's arrival, he said, "Sir, the earl of Warwick, the lord Stafford, the lord Reginald Cobham, and the others who are about your son are vigorously attacked by the French; and they entreat that you come to their assistance with your battalion for, if the number of the French should increase, they fear he will have too much to do." [Sidenote: Edward gives the Black Prince a chance to win his spurs] The king replied: "Is my son dead, unhorsed, or so badly wounded that he cannot support himself?" "Nothing of the sort, thank God," rejoined the knight; "but he is in so hot an engagement that he has great need of your help." The king answered, "Now, Sir Thomas, return to those who sent you and tell them from me not to send again for me this day, or expect that I shall come, let what will happen, as long as my son has life; and say that I command them to let the boy win his spurs; for I am determined, if it please God, that all the glory and honor of this day shall be given to him, and to those into whose care I have entrusted him." The knight returned to his lords and related the king's answer, which greatly encouraged them and made them regret that they had ever sent such a message. [Sidenote: King Philip abandons the field of battle] Late after vespers, the king of France had not more about him than sixty men, every one included. Sir John of Hainault, who was of the number, had once remounted the king; for the latter's horse had been killed under him by an arrow. He said to the king, "Sir, retreat while you have an opportunity, and do not expose yourself so needlessly. If you have lost this battle, another time you will be the conqueror." After he had said this, he took the bridle of the king's horse and led him off by force; for he had before entreated him to retire. The king rode on until he came to the castle of La Broyes, where he found the gates shut, for it was very dark. The king ordered the governor of it to be summoned. He came upon the battlements and asked who it was that called at such an hour. The king answered, "Open, open, governor; it is the fortune of France." The governor, hearing the king's voice, immediately descended, opened the gate, and let down the bridge. The king and his company entered the castle; but he had with him only five barons--Sir John of Hainault, the lord Charles of Montmorency, the lord of Beaujeu, the lord of Aubigny, and the lord of Montfort. The king would not bury himself in such a place as that, but, having taken some refreshments, set out again with his attendants about midnight, and rode on, under the direction of guides who were well acquainted with the country, until, about daybreak, he came to Amiens, where he halted. [Sidenote: The English after the battle] This Saturday the English never quitted their ranks in pursuit of any one, but remained on the field, guarding their position and defending themselves against all who attacked them. The battle was ended at the hour of vespers. When, on this Saturday night, the English heard no more hooting or shouting, nor any more crying out to particular lords, or their banners, they looked upon the field as their own and their enemies as beaten. They made great fires and lighted torches because of the darkness of the night. King Edward then came down from his post, who all that day had not put on his helmet, and, with his whole battalion, advanced to the Prince of Wales, whom he embraced in his arms and kissed, and said, "Sweet son, God give you good preference. You are my son, for most loyally have you acquitted yourself this day. You are worthy to be a sovereign." The prince bowed down very low and humbled himself, giving all honor to the king his father. The English, during the night, made frequent thanksgivings to the Lord for the happy outcome of the day, and without rioting; for the king had forbidden all riot or noise. 77. The Sack of Limoges (1370) As a single illustration of the devastation wrought by the Hundred Years' War, and of the barbarity of the commanders and troops engaged in it, Froissart's well-known description of the sack of Limoges in 1370 by the army of the Black Prince is of no small interest. In some respects, of course, circumstances in connection with this episode were exceptional, and we are not to imagine that such heartless and indiscriminate massacres were common. Yet the evidence which has survived all goes to show that the long course of the war was filled with cruelty and destruction in a measure almost inconceivable among civilized peoples in more modern times. Source--_Chroniques de Jean Froissart_ (Société de l'Histoire de France edition), Chap. XCVII. Translated in Thomas Johnes, _Froissart's Chronicles_, Vol. II., pp. 61-68 _passim_. [Sidenote: The Black Prince resolves to retake Limoges] When word was brought to the prince that the city of Limoges[590] had become French, that the bishop, who had been his companion and one in whom he had formerly placed great confidence, was a party to all the treaties and had greatly aided and assisted in the surrender, he was in a violent passion and held the bishop and all other churchmen in very low estimation, in whom formerly he had put great trust. He swore by the soul of his father, which he had never perjured, that he would have it back again, that he would not attend to anything before he had done this, and that he would make the inhabitants pay dearly for their treachery....[591] All these men-at-arms were drawn out in battle-array and took the field, when the whole country began to tremble for the consequences. At that time the Prince of Wales was not able to mount his horse, but was, for his greater ease, carried in a litter. They followed the road to the Limousin,[592] in order to get to Limoges, where in due time they arrived and encamped all around it. The prince swore he would never leave the place until he had regained it. [Sidenote: The town to be undermined] The bishop of the place and the inhabitants found that they had acted wickedly and had greatly incensed the prince, for which they were very repentant, but that was now of no avail, as they were not the masters of the town.[593] When the prince and his marshals had well considered the strength and force of Limoges, and knew the number of people that were in it, they agreed that they could never take it by assault, but said they would attempt it by another manner. The prince was always accustomed to carry with him on his expeditions a large body of miners. These were immediately set to work and made great progress. The knights who were in the town soon perceived that they were undermining them, and on that account began to countermine to prevent the effect.... The Prince of Wales remained about a month, and not more, before the city of Limoges. He would not allow any assaults or skirmishing, but kept his miners steadily at work. The knights in the town perceived what they were about and made countermines to destroy them, but they failed in their attempt. When the miners of the prince (who, as they found themselves countermined, kept changing the line of direction of their own mine) had finished their business, they came to the prince and said, "My lord, we are ready, and will throw down, whenever it pleases you, a very large part of the wall into the ditch, through the breach of which you may enter the town at your ease and without danger." [Sidenote: The English assault] This news was very agreeable to the prince, who replied: "I desire, then, that you prove your words to-morrow morning at six o'clock." The miners set fire to the combustibles in the mine, and on the morrow morning, as they had foretold the prince, they flung down a great piece of wall which filled the ditches. The English saw this with pleasure, for they were armed and prepared to enter the town. Those on foot did so and ran to the gate, which they destroyed, as well as the barriers, for there were no other defenses; and all this was done so suddenly that the inhabitants had not time to prevent it. [Sidenote: Barbarity of the sack] The prince, the duke of Lancaster, the earls of Cambridge and of Pembroke, sir Guiscard d'Angle and the others, with their men, rushed into the town. You would then have seen pillagers, active to do mischief, running through the town, slaying men, women, and children, according to their orders. It was a most melancholy business; for all ranks, ages, and sexes cast themselves on their knees before the prince, begging for mercy; but he was so inflamed with passion and revenge that he listened to none. But all were put to the sword, wherever they could be found, even those who were not guilty. For I know not why the poor were not spared, who could not have had any part in the treason; but they suffered for it, and indeed more than those who had been the leaders of the treachery. There was not that day in the city of Limoges any heart so hardened, or that had any sense of religion, that did not deeply bewail the unfortunate events passing before men's eyes; for upwards of three thousand men, women, and children were put to death that day. God have mercy on their souls, for they were truly martyrs.... The entire town was pillaged, burned, and totally destroyed. The English then departed, carrying with them their booty and prisoners. 78. The Treaties of Bretigny (1360) and Troyes (1420) The most important documents in the diplomatic history of the Hundred Years' War are the texts of the treaty of London (1359), the treaty of Bretigny (1360), the truce of Paris (1396), the treaty of Troyes (1420), the treaty of Arras (1435), and the truce of Tours (1444). Brief extracts from two of these are given below. The treaty of Bretigny was negotiated soon after the refusal of the French to ratify the treaty of London. In November, 1359, King Edward III., with his son, Edward, the Black Prince, and the duke of Lancaster, crossed the Channel, marched on Rheims, and threatened Paris. Negotiations for a new peace were actively opened in April, 1360, after the English had established themselves at Montlhéri, south from Paris. The French king, John II., who had been taken prisoner at Poitiers (1356), gave full powers of negotiation to his son Charles, duke of Normandy and regent of the kingdom. For some time no definite conclusions were reached, owing chiefly to Edward's unwillingness to renounce his claim to the French throne. Late in April the negotiations were transferred to Chartres, subsequently to Bretigny. Finally, on the eighth of May, representatives of the two parties signed the so-called treaty of Bretigny. Although the instrument was promptly ratified by the French regent and by the Black Prince (and, if we may believe Froissart, by the two kings themselves), it was afterwards revised and accepted in a somewhat different form by the monarchs and their following assembled at Calais (October 24, 1360). The most important respect in which the second document differed from the first was the omission of Article 12 of the first treaty, in which Edward renounced his claim to the throne of France and the sovereignty of Normandy, Maine, Anjou, Touraine, Brittany, and Flanders; nevertheless Edward, at Calais, made this renunciation in a separate convention, which for all practical purposes was regarded as a part of the treaty. The passages printed below are taken from the Calais text. Most of the thirty-nine articles composing the document are devoted to mere details. The war was renewed after a few years, and within two decades the English had lost all the territory guaranteed to them in 1360, except a few coast towns. The treaty of Troyes (1420) belongs to one of the most stormy periods in all French history. The first two decades of the fifteenth century were marked by a cessation of the war with England (until its renewal in 1415), but also unfortunately by the outbreak of a desperate civil struggle between two great factions of the French people, the Burgundians and the Armagnacs. The Burgundians, led by Philip the Bold and John the Fearless (successive dukes of Burgundy), stood for a policy of friendship with England, while the Armagnacs, comprising the adherents of Charles, duke of Orleans, whose wife was a daughter of the count of Armagnac, advocated the continuation of the war with the English; though, in reality, the forces which kept the two factions apart were jealousy and ambition rather than any mere question of foreign relations. The way was prepared for a temporary Burgundian triumph by the notable victory of the English at Agincourt in 1415 and by the assassination of John the Fearless at Paris in 1419, which made peace impossible and drove the Burgundians openly into the arms of the English. Philip the Good, the new duke of Burgundy, became the avowed ally of the English king Henry V., who since 1417 had been slowly but surely conquering Normandy and now had the larger portion of it in his possession. Philip recognized Henry as the true heir to the French throne and in 1419 concluded with him two distinct treaties on that basis. Charles VI., the reigning king of France, was mentally unbalanced and the queen, who bitterly hated the Armagnacs (with whom her son, the Dauphin Charles, was actively identified), was easily persuaded by Duke Philip to acquiesce in a treaty by which the succession should be vested in the English king upon the death of Charles VI. The result was the treaty of Troyes, signed May 21, 1420. According to agreements already entered into by Philip and Henry, the latter was to marry Catherine, daughter of Charles VI. (the marriage was not mentioned in the treaty of Troyes, but it was clearly assumed), and he was to act as regent of France until Charles VI.'s death and then become king in his own name. Most of the thirty-one articles of the treaty were taken up with a definition of Henry's position and obligations as regent and prospective sovereign of France. In due time the marriage of Henry and Catherine took place and Henry assumed the regency, though the Armagnacs, led by the Dauphin, refused absolutely to accept the settlement. War broke out, in the course of which (in 1422) Henry V. died and was succeeded by his infant son, Henry VI. In the same year Charles VI. also died, which meant that the young Henry would become king of France. With such a prospect the future of the country looked dark. Nevertheless, the death of Charles VI. and of Henry V. came in reality as a double blessing. Henry V. might long have kept the French in subjection and his position as Charles VI.'s son-in-law gave him some real claim to rule in France. But with the field cleared, as it was in 1422, opportunity was given for the Dauphin Charles (Charles VII.) to retrieve the fallen fortunes of his country--a task which, with more or less energy and skill, he managed in the long run to accomplish. Sources--(a) Text in Eugène Cosneau, _Les Grands Traités de la Guerre de Cent Ans_ ["The Great Treaties of the Hundred Years' War"], Paris, 1889, pp. 39-68 _passim_. (b) Text in Cosneau, _ibid._ pp. 102-115 _passim_. [Sidenote: Territories conceded to the English by the treaty of Bretigny] (a) =1.= The king of England shall hold for himself and his heirs, for all time to come, in addition to that which he holds in Guienne and Gascony, all the possessions which are enumerated below, to be held in the same manner that the king of France and his sons, or any of their ancestors, have held them....[594] =7.= And likewise the said king and his eldest son[595] shall give order, by their letters patent to all archbishops and other prelates of the holy Church, and also to counts, viscounts, barons, nobles, citizens, and others of the cities, lands, countries, islands, and places before mentioned, that they shall be obedient to the king of England and to his heirs and at their ready command, in the same manner in which they have been obedient to the kings and to the crown of France. And by the same letters they shall liberate and absolve them from all homage, pledges, oaths, obligations, subjections, and promises made by any of them to the kings and to the crown of France in any manner. =13.= It is agreed that the king of France shall pay to the king of England three million gold crowns, of which two are worth an obol of English money.[596] [Sidenote: Provision regarding alliances] =30.= It is agreed that honest alliances, friendships, and confederations shall be formed by the two kings of France and England and their kingdoms, not repugnant to the honor or the conscience of one king or the other. No alliances which they have, on this side or that, with any person of Scotland or Flanders, or any other country, shall be allowed to stand in the way.[597] [Sidenote: The Treaty of Troyes fixes the succession upon Henry V] (b) =6.= After our death,[598] and from that time forward, the crown and kingdom of France, with all their rights and appurtenances, shall be vested permanently in our son [son-in-law], King Henry, and his heirs. =7.= ... The power and authority to govern and to control the public affairs of the said kingdom shall, during our life-time, be vested in our son, King Henry, with the advice of the nobles and the wise men who are obedient to us, and who have consideration for the advancement and honor of the said kingdom.... [Sidenote: Henry's title] =22.= It is agreed that during our life-time we shall designate our son, King Henry, in the French language in this fashion, _Notre très cher fils Henri, roi d'Angleterre, héritier de France_; and in the Latin language in this manner, _Noster præcarissimus filius Henricus, rex Angliæ, heres Franciæ_. [Sidenote: Union of France and England to be through the crown only] =24.= ... [It is agreed] that the two kingdoms shall be governed from the time that our said son, or any of his heirs, shall assume the crown, not divided between different kings at the same time, but under one person, who shall be king and sovereign lord of both kingdoms, observing all pledges and all other things, to each kingdom its rights, liberties or customs, usages and laws, not submitting in any manner one kingdom to the other.[599] =29.= In consideration of the frightful and astounding crimes and misdeeds committed against the kingdom of France by Charles, the said Dauphin, it is agreed that we, our son Henry, and also our very dear son Philip, duke of Burgundy, will never treat for peace or amity with the said Charles.[600] FOOTNOTES: [565] This is the title employed by Thomas Johnes in his translation of the work a hundred years ago. Froissart himself called his book, in the French of his day, _Chroniques de France, d'Engleterre, d'Escoce, de Bretaigne, d'Espaigne, d'Italie, de Flandres et d'Alemaigne_. [566] Philip IV., king of France, 1285-1314. [567] Isabella was the wife of Edward II., who reigned in England from 1307 until his deposition in 1327. [568] Louis X. (the Quarrelsome) reigned 1314-1316; Philip V. (the Long), 1316-1322; and Charles IV. (the Fair), 1322-1328. Louis and Charles were very weak kings, though Philip was vigorous and able. [569] The French Court of Twelve Peers did not constitute a distinct organization, but was merely a high rank of baronage. In the earlier Middle Ages, the number of peers was generally twelve, including the most powerful lay vassals of the king and certain influential prelates. In later times the number was frequently increased by the creation of peers by the crown. [570] In 1317, after the accession of Philip IV., an assembly of French magnates (such as that which disposed of the crown in 1328) laid down the general rule that no woman should succeed to the throne of France. This rule has come to be known as the Salic Law of France, though it has no historical connection with the law of the Salian Franks against female inheritance of property, with which older writers have generally confused it [see p. 67, note 1]. The rule of 1317 was based purely on grounds of political expediency. It was announced at this particular time because the death of Louis X. had left France without a male heir to the throne for the first time since Hugh Capet's day and the barons thought it not best for the realm that a woman reign over it. Between 1316 and 1328 daughters of kings were excluded from the succession three times, and though in 1328, when Charles IV. died, there had been no farther legislation on the subject, the principle of the misnamed Salic Law had become firmly established in practice. In 1328, however, when the barons selected Philip of Valois to be regent first and then king, they went a step farther and declared not only that no woman should be allowed to inherit the throne of France but that the inheritance could not pass through a woman to her son; in other words, she could not transmit to her descendants a right which she did not herself possess. This was intended to cover any future case such as that of Edward III.'s claim to inherit through his mother Isabella, daughter of Philip IV. The action of the barons was supported by public opinion in practically all France--especially since it appeared that only through this expedient could the realm be saved from the domination of an alien sovereign. [571] Philip of Valois was a son of Charles of Valois, who was a brother of Philip IV. The line of direct Capetian descent was now replaced by the branch line of the Valois. The latter occupied the French throne until the death of Henry III. in 1589. [572] James van Arteveld, a brewer of Ghent, was the leader of the popular party in Flanders--the party which hated French influence, which had expelled the count of Flanders on account of his services to Philip VI., and which was the most valuable English ally on the continent. Arteveld was murdered in 1345 during the civil discord which prevailed in Flanders throughout the earlier part of the Hundred Years' War. [573] These were towns situated near the Franco-Flemish frontier. They had been lost by Flanders to France and assistance in their recovery was rightly considered by the German advisers of Edward as likely to be more tempting to the Flemish than any other offer he could make them. [574] That is, the papal court. [575] Robert of Artois was a prince who had not a little to do with the outbreak of the Hundred Years' War. After having lost a suit for the inheritance of the county of Artois (the region about the Somme River) and having been proved guilty of fabricating documents to support his claims, he had fled to England and there as an exile had employed every resource to influence Edward to claim the French throne and to go to war to secure it. [576] In northeastern Flanders. [577] That is, June 23. The English fleet was composed of two hundred and fifty vessels, carrying 11,000 archers and 4,000 men-at-arms. [578] Edward III.'s queen was Philippa, daughter of the count of Hainault. [579] In reality, until five o'clock in the evening, or about nine hours in all. [580] The tide of battle was finally turned in favor of the English by the arrival of reinforcements in the shape of a squadron of Flemish vessels. The contest was not so one-sided or the French defeat so complete as Froissart represents, yet it was decisive enough, as is indicated by the fact that only thirty of the French ships survived and 20,000 French and Genoese were slain or taken prisoners, as against an English loss of about 10,000. [581] June 24, 1340. [582] As appears from Froissart's account (see p. 431), the king, on the advice of some of his knights, decided at one time to postpone the attack until the following day; but, the army falling into hopeless confusion and coming up unintentionally within sight of the English, he recklessly gave the order to advance to immediate combat. Perhaps, however, it is only fair to place the blame upon the system which made the army so unmanageable, rather than upon the king personally. [583] That is, the plain east of the village of Crécy. [584] The king's eldest son, Edward, generally known as the Black Prince. [585] Abbeville was on the Somme about fifteen miles south of Crécy. [586] This incident very well illustrates the confusion and lack of discipline prevailing in a typical feudal army. [587] Edward, the Black Prince, eldest son of the English king. [588] The Emperor Henry VII., 1308-1314. [589] Sir Thomas Norwich. [590] Limoges, besieged by the duke of Berry and the great French general, Bertrand du Guesclin, had just been forced to surrender. It was a very important town and its capture was the occasion of much elation among the French. Treaties were entered into between the duke of Berry on the one hand and the bishop and citizens of Limoges on the other, whereby the inhabitants recognized the sovereignty of the French king. It was the news of this surrender that so angered the Black Prince. [591] A force of 3,200 men was led by the Black Prince from the town of Cognac to undertake the siege of Limoges. Froissart here enumerates a large number of notable knights who went with the expedition. [592] The Limousin was a district in south central France, southeast of Poitou. [593] Limoges was now in the hands of three commanders representing the French king. Their names were John de Villemur, Hugh de la Roche, and Roger de Beaufort. [594] Here follows a minute enumeration of the districts, towns, and castles conceded to the English. The most important were Poitou, Limousin, Rouergne, and Saintonge in the south, and Calais, Guines, and Ponthieu in the north. [595] That is, King John II. and the regent Charles. [596] The enormous ransom thus specified for King John was never paid. The three million gold crowns would have a purchasing power of perhaps forty or forty-five million dollars to-day. On the strength of the treaty provision John was immediately released from captivity. With curious disregard of the bad conditions prevailing in France as the result of foreign and civil war he began preparations for a crusade, which, however, he was soon forced to abandon. In 1364, attracted by the gayety of English life as contrasted with the wretchedness and gloom of his impoverished subjects, he went voluntarily to England, where he died before the festivities in honor of his coming were completed. [597] Throughout the Hundred Years' War the English had maintained close relations with the Flemish enemies of France, just as France, in defiance of English opposition, had kept up her traditional friendship with Scotland. The treaty of Bretigny provided for a mutual reshaping of foreign policy, to the end that these obstacles to peace might be removed. [598] That is, the death of King Charles VI. [599] France was not to be dealt with as conquered territory. This article comprises the only important provision in the treaty for safeguarding the interests of the French people. [600] Charles VI., Henry V., and Philip the Good bind themselves not to come to any sort of terms with the Dauphin, which compact reveals the irreconcilable attitude characteristic of the factional and dynastic struggles of the period. Chapter 6 of the treaty disinherits the Dauphin; chapter 29 proclaims him an enemy of France. CHAPTER XXVI. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE The question as to when the Middle Ages came to an end cannot be answered with a specific date, or even with a particular century. The transition from the mediæval world to the modern was gradual and was accomplished at a much earlier period in some lines than in others. Roughly speaking, the change fell within the two centuries and a half from 1300 to 1550. This transitional epoch is commonly designated the Age of the Renaissance, though if the term is taken in its most proper sense as denoting the flowering of an old into a new culture it scarcely does justice to the period, for political and religious developments in these centuries were not less fundamental than the revival and fresh stimulus of culture. But in the earlier portion of the period, particularly the fourteenth century, the intellectual awakening was the most obvious feature of the movement and, for the time being, the most important. The renaissance of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was not the first that Europe had known. There had been a notable revival of learning in the time of Charlemagne--the so-called Carolingian renaissance; another at the end of the tenth century, in the time of the Emperor Otto III. and Pope Sylvester II.; and a third in the twelfth century, with its center in northern France. The first two, however, had proved quite transitory, and even the third and most promising had dried up in the fruitless philosophy of the scholastics. Before there could be a vital and permanent intellectual revival it was indispensable that the mediæval attitude of mind undergo a fundamental change. This attitude may be summed up in the one phrase, the absolute dominance of "authority"--the authority, primarily, of the Church, supplemented by the writings of a few ancients like Aristotle. The scholars of the earlier Middle Ages busied themselves, not with research and investigation whereby to increase knowledge, but rather with commenting on the Scriptures, the writings of the Church fathers, and Aristotle, and drawing conclusions and inferences by reasoning from these accepted authorities. There was no disposition to question what was found in the books, or to supplement it with fresh information. Only after about 1300 did human interests become sufficiently broadened to make men no longer altogether content with the mere process of threshing over the old straw. Gradually there began to appear scholars who suggested the idea, novel for the day, that the books did not contain all that was worth knowing, and also that perchance some things that had long gone unquestioned just because they were in the books were not true after all. In other words, they proposed to investigate things for themselves and to apply the tests of observation and impartial reason. The most influential factor in producing this change of attitude was the revival of classical literature and learning. The Latin classics, and even some of the Greek, had not been unknown in the earlier Middle Ages, but they had not been read widely, and when read at all they had been valued principally as models of rhetoric rather than as a living literature to be enjoyed for the ideas that were contained in it and the forms in which they were expressed. These ideas were, of course, generally pagan, and that in itself was enough to cause the Church to look askance at the use of classical writings, except for grammatical or antiquarian purposes. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, however, due to a variety of causes, the reading of the classics became commoner than since Roman days, and men, bringing to them more open minds, were profoundly attracted by the fresh, original, human ideas of life and the world with which Vergil and Horace and Cicero, for example, overflowed. It was all a new discovery of the world and of man, and from the _humanitas_ which the scholars found set forth as the classical conception of culture they themselves took the name of "humanists," while the subjects of their studies came to be known as the _litteræ humaniores_. This first great phase of the Renaissance--the birth of humanism--found its finest expression in Dante and Petrarch, and it cannot be studied with better effect than in certain of the writings of these two men. 79. Dante's Defense of Italian as a Literary Language Dante Alighieri was born at Florence in 1265. Of his early life little is known. His family seems to have been too obscure to have much part in the civil struggles with which Florence, and all Italy, in that day were vexed. The love affair with Beatrice, whose story Boccaccio relates with so much zest, is the one sharply-defined feature of Dante's youth and early manhood. It is known that at the age of eighteen the young Florentine was a poet and was winning wide recognition for his sonnets. Much time was devoted by him to study of literature and the arts, but the details of his employments, intellectual and otherwise, are impossible to make out. In 1290 occurred the death of Beatrice, which event marked an epoch in the poetical lover's life. In his sorrow he took refuge in the study of such books as Boëthius's _Consolations of Philosophy_ and Cicero's _Friendship_, and became deeply interested in literary, and especially philosophical, problems. In 1295 he entered political life, taking from the outset a prominent part in the deliberations of the Florentine General Council and the Council of Consuls of the Arts. He assumed a firm attitude against all forms of lawlessness and in resistance to any external interference in Florentine affairs. Owing to conditions which he could not influence, however, his career in this direction was soon cut short and most of the remainder of his life was spent as a political exile, at Lucca, Verona, Ravenna, and other Italian cities, with a possible visit to Paris. He died at Ravenna, September 14, 1321, in his fifty-seventh year. Dante has well been called "the Janus-faced," because he stood at the threshold of the new era and looked both forward and backward. His _Divine Comedy_ admirably sums up the mediæval spirit, and yet it contains many suggestions of the coming age. His method was essentially that of the scholastics, but he knew many of the classics and had a genuine respect for them as literature. He was a mediævalist in his attachment to the Holy Roman Empire, yet he cherished the purely modern ambition of a united Italy. It is deeply significant that he chose to write his great poem--one of the most splendid in the world's literature--in the Italian tongue rather than the Latin. Aside from the fact that this, more than anything else, caused the Tuscan dialect, rather than the rival Venetian and Neapolitan dialects, to become the modern Italian, it evidenced the new desire for the popularization of literature which was a marked characteristic of the dawning era. Not content with putting his greatest effort in the vernacular, Dante undertook formally to defend the use of the popular tongue for literary purposes. This he did in _Il Convito_ ("The Banquet"), a work whose date is quite uncertain, but which was undoubtedly produced at some time while its author was in exile. It is essentially a prose commentary upon three _canzoni_ written for the honor and glory of the "noble, beautiful, and most compassionate lady, Philosophy." In it Dante sought to set philosophy free from the schools and from the heavy disputations of the scholars and to render her beauty visible even to the unlearned. It was the first important work on philosophy written in the Italian tongue, an innovation which the author rightly regarded as calling for some explanation and defense. The passage quoted from it below comprises this defense. Similar views on the nobility of the vulgar language, as compared with the Latin, were later set forth in fuller form in the treatise _De Vulgari Eloquentia_. Source--Dante Alighieri, _Il Convito_ ["The Banquet"], Bk. I., Chaps. 5-13 _passim_. Translated by Katharine Hillard (London, 1889), pp. 17-47 _passim_. [Sidenote: Reasons for using the Italian] V. =1.= This bread being cleansed of its accidental impurities,[601] we have now but to free it from one [inherent] in its substance, that is, its being in the vulgar tongue, and not in Latin; so that we might metaphorically call it made of oats instead of wheat. And this [fault] may be briefly excused by three reasons, which moved me to prefer the former rather than the latter [language]. The first arises from care to avoid an unfit order of things; the second, from a consummate liberality; the third, from a natural love of one's own tongue. And I intend here in this manner to discuss, in due order, these things and their causes, that I may free myself from the reproach above named. [Sidenote: The Latin fixed, the Italian changeable] =3.= For, in the first place, had it [the commentary] been in Latin, it would have been sovereign rather than subject, by its nobility, its virtue, and its beauty. By its nobility, because Latin is enduring and incorruptible, and the vulgar tongue is unstable and corruptible. For we see that the ancient books of Latin tragedy and comedy cannot be changed from the form we have to-day, which is not the case with the vulgar tongue, as that can be changed at will. For we see in the cities of Italy, if we take notice of the past fifty years, how many words have been lost, or invented, or altered; therefore, if a short time can work such changes, how much more can a longer period effect! So that I think, should they who departed this life a thousand years ago return to their cities, they would believe them to be occupied by a foreign people, so different would the language be from theirs. Of this I shall speak elsewhere more fully, in a book which I intend to write, God willing, on _Vulgar Eloquence_.[602] [Sidenote: Translations cannot preserve the literary splendor of the originals] VII. =4.= ... The Latin could only have explained them [the _canzoni_] to scholars; for the rest would not have understood it. Therefore, as among those who desire to understand them there are many more illiterate than learned, it follows that the Latin would not have fulfilled this behest as well as the vulgar tongue, which is understood both by the learned and the unlearned. Also the Latin would have explained them to people of other nations, such as Germans, English, and others; in doing which it would have exceeded their order.[603] For it would have been against their will I say, speaking generally, to have explained their meaning where their beauty could not go with it. And, moreover, let all observe that nothing harmonized by the laws of the Muses[604] can be changed from its own tongue to another one without destroying all its sweetness and harmony. And this is the reason why Homer is not turned from Greek into Latin like the other writings we have of theirs [the Greeks];[605] and this is why the verses of the Psalter[606] lack musical sweetness and harmony; for they have been translated from Hebrew to Greek, and from Greek to Latin, and in the first translation all this sweetness perished. IX. =1.= ... The Latin would not have served many; because, if we recall to mind what has already been said, scholars in other languages than the Italian could not have availed themselves of its service.[607] And of those of this speech (if we should care to observe who they are) we shall find that only to one in a thousand could it really have been of use; because they would not have received it, so prone are they to base desires, and thus deprived of that nobility of soul which above all desires this food. And to their shame I say that they are not worthy to be called scholars, because they do not pursue learning for its own sake, but for the money or the honors that they gain thereby; just as we should not call him a lute-player who kept a lute in the house to hire out, and not to play upon. [Sidenote: The Italian of more solid excellence than other tongues] X. =5.= Again, I am impelled to defend it [the vulgar tongue] from many of its accusers, who disparage it and commend others, above all the language of _Oco_,[608] saying that the latter is better and more beautiful than the former, wherein they depart from the truth. Wherefore by this commentary shall be seen the great excellence of the vulgar tongue of _Si_,[609] because (although the highest and most novel conceptions can be almost as fittingly, adequately, and beautifully expressed in it as in the Latin) its excellence in rhymed pieces, on account of the accidental adornments connected with them, such as rhyme and rhythm, or ordered numbers, cannot be perfectly shown; as it is with the beauty of a woman, when the splendor of her jewels and her garments draw more admiration than her person.[610] Wherefore he who would judge a woman truly looks at her when, unaccompanied by any accidental adornment, her natural beauty alone remains to her; so shall it be with this commentary, wherein shall be seen the facility of its language, the propriety of its diction, and the sweet discourse it shall hold; which he who considers well shall see to be full of the sweetest and most exquisite beauty. But because it is most virtuous in its design to show the futility and malice of its accuser, I shall tell, for the confounding of those who attack the Italian language, the purpose which moves them to do this; and upon this I shall now write a special chapter, that their infamy may be the more notorious. [Sidenote: Why people of Italy affect to despise their native tongue] XI. =1.= To the perpetual shame and abasement of those wicked men of Italy who praise the language of others and disparage their own, I would say that their motive springs from five abominable causes. The first is intellectual blindness; the second, vicious excuses; the third, greed of vain-glory; the fourth, an argument based on envy; the fifth and last, littleness of soul, that is, pusillanimity. And each of these vices has so large a following, that few are they who are free from them.... [Sidenote: The unskilful attribute their faults to the language] =3.= The second kind work against our language by vicious excuses. These are they who would rather be considered masters than be such; and, to avoid the reverse (that is, not to be considered masters), they always lay the blame upon the materials prepared for their art, or upon their tools; as the bad smith blames the iron given him, and the bad lute-player blames the lute, thinking thus to lay the fault of the bad knife or the bad playing upon the iron or the lute, and to excuse themselves. Such are they (and they are not few) who wish to be considered orators; and in order to excuse themselves for not speaking, or for speaking badly, blame and accuse their material, that is, their own language, and praise that of others in which they are not required to work. And whoever wishes to see wherein this tool [the vulgar tongue] deserves blame, let him look at the work that good workmen have done with it, and he will recognize the viciousness of those who, laying the blame upon it, think they excuse themselves. Against such does Tullius exclaim, in the beginning of one of his books called _De Finibus_,[611] because in his time they blamed the Latin language and commended the Greek, for the same reasons that these people consider the Italian vile and the Provençal precious. [Sidenote: People should use their own language, as being most natural to them] XII. =3.= That thing is nearest to a person which is, of all things of its kind, the most closely related to himself; thus of all men the son is nearest to the father, and of all arts medicine is nearest to the doctor, and music to the musician, because these are more closely related to them than any others; of all countries, the one a man lives in is nearest to him, because it is most closely related to him. And thus a man's own language is nearest to him, because most closely related, being that one which comes alone and before all others in his mind, and not only of itself is it thus related, but by accident, inasmuch as it is connected with those nearest to him, such as his kinsmen, and his fellow-citizens, and his own people. And this is his own language, which is not only near, but the very nearest, to every one. Because if proximity be the seed of friendship, as has been stated above, it is plain that it has been one of the causes of the love I bear my own language, which is nearer to me than the others. The above-named reason (that is, that we are most nearly related to that which is first in our mind) gave rise to that custom of the people which makes the firstborn inherit everything, as the nearest of kin; and, because the nearest, therefore the most beloved. [Sidenote: The Italian fulfils the highest requirement of a language] =4.= And again, its goodness makes me its friend. And here we must know that every good quality properly belonging to a thing is lovable in that thing; as men should have a fine beard, and women should have the whole face quite free from hair; as the foxhound should have a keen scent, and the greyhound great speed. And the more peculiar this good quality, the more lovable it is, whence, although all virtue is lovable in man, that is most so which is most peculiarly human.... And we see that, of all things pertaining to language, the power of adequately expressing thought is the most loved and commended; therefore this is its peculiar virtue. And as this belongs to our own language, as has been proved above in another chapter, it is plain that this was one of the causes of my love for it; since, as we have said, goodness is one of the causes that engender love. 80. Dante's Conception of the Imperial Power The best known prose work of Dante, the _De Monarchia_, is perhaps the most purely idealistic political treatise ever written. Its quality of idealism is so pronounced, in fact, that there is not even sufficient mention of contemporary men or events to assist in solving the wholly unsettled problem of the date of its composition. The _De Monarchia_ is composed of three books, each of which is devoted to a fundamental question in relation to the balance of temporal and spiritual authority. The first question is whether the temporal monarchy is necessary for the well-being of the world. The answer is, that it is necessary for the preservation of justice, freedom, and unity and effectiveness of human effort. The second question is whether the Roman people took to itself this dignity of monarchy, or empire, by right. By a survey of Roman history from the days of Æneas to those of Cæsar it is made to appear that it was God's will that the Romans should rule the world. The third question is the most vital of all and its answer constitutes the pith of the treatise. In brief it is, does the authority of the Roman monarch, or emperor, who is thus by right the monarch of the world, depend immediately upon God, or upon some vicar of God, the successor of Peter? This question Dante answers first negatively by clearing away the familiar defenses of spiritual supremacy, and afterwards positively, by bringing forward specific arguments for the temporal superiority. The selection given below comprises the most suggestive portions of Dante's treatment of this aspect of his subject. The method, it will be observed, is quite thoroughly scholastic. Whenever the _De Monarchia_ was composed, it remained all but unknown until after the author's death (1321); but with the renewal of conflict between papacy and imperial power the imperialists were not slow to make use of the treatise, and by the middle of the fourteenth century it had become known throughout Europe, being admired by one party as much as it was abhorred by the other. At various times copies of it were burned as heretical and in the sixteenth century it was placed by the Roman authorities upon the Index of Prohibited Books. Few literary productions of the later Middle Ages exercised greater influence upon contemporary thought and politics. Source--Dante Alighieri, _De Monarchia_ ["Concerning Monarchy"], Bk. III., Chaps. 1-16 _passim_. Translated by Aurelia Henry (Boston, 1904), pp. 137-206 _passim_. [Sidenote: The problem to be considered] I. =2.= The question pending investigation, then, concerns two great luminaries, the Roman Pontiff [Pope] and the Roman Prince [Emperor]; and the point at issue is whether the authority of the Roman monarch, who, as proved in the second book, is rightful monarch of the world, is derived from God directly, or from some vicar or minister of God, by whom I mean the successor of Peter, indisputable keeper of the keys of the kingdom of heaven. IV. =1.= Those men to whom the entire subsequent discussion is directed assert that the authority of the Empire depends on the authority of the Church, just as the inferior artisan depends on the architect. They are drawn to this by divers opposing arguments, some of which they take from Holy Scripture, and some from certain acts performed by the chief pontiff, and by the Emperor himself; and they endeavor to make their conviction reasonable. [Sidenote: The analogy of the sun and moon] =2.= For, first, they maintain that, according to Genesis, God made two mighty luminaries, a greater and a lesser, the former to hold supremacy by day and the latter by night [Gen., i. 15, 16]. These they interpret allegorically to be the two rulers--spiritual and temporal.[612] Whence they argue that as the lesser luminary, the moon, has no light but that gained from the sun, so the temporal ruler has no authority but that gained from the spiritual ruler. =8.= I proceed to refute the above assumption that the two luminaries of the world typify its two ruling powers. The whole force of their argument lies in the interpretation; but this we can prove indefensible in two ways. First, since these ruling powers are, as it were, accidents necessitated by man himself, God would seem to have used a distorted order in creating first accidents, and then the subject necessitating them. It is absurd to speak thus of God, but it is evident from the Word that the two lights were created on the fourth day, and man on the sixth. [Sidenote: An abstruse bit of mediæval reasoning] =9.= Secondly, the two ruling powers exist as the directors of men toward certain ends, as will be shown further on. But had man remained in the state of innocence in which God made him, he would have required no such direction. These ruling powers are therefore remedies against the infirmity of sin. Since on the fourth day man was not only not a sinner, but was not even existent, the creation of a remedy would have been purposeless, which is contrary to divine goodness. Foolish indeed would be the physician who should make ready a plaster for the abscess of a man not yet born. Therefore it cannot be asserted that God made the two ruling powers on the fourth day; and consequently the meaning of Moses cannot have been what it is supposed to be. =10.= Also, in order to be tolerant, we may refute this fallacy by distinction. Refutation by distinction deals more gently with an adversary, for it shows him to be not absolutely wrong, as does refutation by destruction. I say, then, that although the moon may have abundant light only as she receives it from the sun, it does not follow on that account that the moon herself owes her existence to the sun. It must be recognized that the essence of the moon, her strength, and her function, are not one and the same thing. Neither in her essence, her strength, nor her function taken absolutely, does the moon owe her existence to the sun, for her movement is impelled by her own force and her influence by her own rays. Besides, she has a certain light of her own, as is shown in eclipse. It is in order to fulfill her function better and more potently that she borrows from the sun abundance of light, and works thereby more effectively. [Sidenote: Why the argument from the sun and moon fails] =11.= In like manner, I say, the temporal power receives from the spiritual neither its existence, nor its strength, which is its authority, nor even its function, taken absolutely. But well for her does she receive therefrom, through the light of grace which the benediction of the chief pontiff sheds upon it in heaven and on earth, strength to fulfill her function more perfectly. So the argument was at fault in form, because the predicate of the conclusion is not a term of the major premise, as is evident. The syllogism runs thus: The moon receives light from the sun, which is the spiritual power; the temporal ruling power is the moon; therefore the temporal receives authority from the spiritual. They introduce "light" as the term of the major, but "authority" as predicate of the conclusion, which two things we have seen to be diverse in subject and significance. [Sidenote: Argument from the prerogative of the keys committed to Peter] VIII. =1.= From the same gospel they quote the saying of Christ to Peter, "Whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" [Matt., xvi. 19], and understand this saying to refer alike to all the Apostles, according to the text of Matthew and John [Matt., xviii. 18 and John, xx. 23]. They reason from this that the successor of Peter has been granted of God power to bind and loose all things, and then infer that he has power to loose the laws and decrees of the Empire, and to bind the laws and decrees of the temporal kingdom. Were this true, their inference would be correct. =2.= But we must reply to it by making a distinction against the major premise of the syllogism which they employ. Their syllogism is this: Peter had power to bind and loose all things; the successor of Peter has like power with him; therefore the successor of Peter has power to loose and bind all things. From this they infer that he has power to loose and bind the laws and decrees of the Empire. =3.= I concede the minor premise, but the major only with distinction. Wherefore I say that "all," the symbol of the universal which is implied in "whatsoever," is never distributed beyond the scope of the distributed term. When I say, "All animals run," the distribution of "all" comprehends whatever comes under the genus "animal." But when I say, "All men run," the symbol of the universal refers only to whatever comes under the term "man." And when I say, "All grammarians run," the distribution is narrowed still further. =4.= Therefore we must always determine what it is over which the symbol of the universal is distributed; then, from the recognized nature and scope of the distributed term, will be easily apparent the extent of the distribution. Now, were "whatsoever" to be understood absolutely when it is said, "Whatsoever thou shalt bind," he would certainly have the power they claim; nay, he would have even greater power--he would be able to loose a wife from her husband, and, while the man still lived, bind her to another--a thing he can in nowise do. He would be able to absolve me, while impenitent--a thing which God Himself cannot do. [Sidenote: Dante's interpretation of the Scripture in question] =5.= So it is evident that the distribution of the term under discussion is to be taken, not absolutely, but relatively to something else. A consideration of the concession to which the distribution is subjoined will make manifest this related something. Christ said to Peter, "I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven;" that is, I will make thee doorkeeper of the kingdom of heaven. Then He adds, "and whatsoever," that is, "everything which," and He means thereby, "Everything which pertains to that office thou shalt have power to bind and loose." And thus the symbol of the universal which is implied in "whatsoever" is limited in its distribution to the prerogative of the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Understood thus, the proposition is true, but understood absolutely, it is obviously not. Therefore I conclude that, although the successor of Peter has authority to bind and loose in accordance with the requirements of the prerogative granted to Peter, it does not follow, as they claim, that he has authority to bind and loose the decrees or statutes of empire, unless they prove that this also belongs to the office of the keys. But further on we shall demonstrate that the contrary is true. XIII. =1.= Now that we have stated and rejected the errors on which those chiefly rely who declare that the authority of the Roman Prince is dependent on the Roman Pontiff,[613] we must return and demonstrate the truth of that question which we propounded for discussion at the beginning. The truth will be evident enough if it can be shown, under the principle of inquiry agreed upon, that imperial authority derives immediately from the summit of all being, which is God. And this will be shown, whether we prove that imperial authority does not derive from that of the Church (for the dispute concerns no other authority), or whether we prove simply that it derives immediately from God. [Sidenote: The Church (or papacy) is not the source of imperial authority] =2.= That ecclesiastical authority is not the source of imperial authority is thus verified. A thing non-existent, or devoid of active force, cannot be the cause of active force in a thing possessing that quality in full measure. But before the Church existed, or while it lacked power to act, the Empire had active force in full measure. Hence the Church is the source, neither of acting power nor of authority in the Empire, where power to act and authority are identical. Let A be the Church, B the Empire, and C the power or authority of the Empire. If, A being non-existent, C is in B, the cause of C's relation to B cannot be A, since it is impossible that an effect should exist prior to its cause. Moreover, if, A being inoperative, C is in B, the cause of C's relation to B cannot be A, since it is indispensable for the production of effect that the cause should be in operation previously, especially the efficient cause which we are considering here. [Sidenote: Early Christian recognition of the authority of the Emperor] =3.= The major premise of this demonstration is intelligible from its terms; the minor is confirmed by Christ and the Church. Christ attests it, as we said before, in His birth and death. The Church attests it in Paul's declaration to Festus in the Acts of the Apostles: "I stand at Cæsar's judgment seat, where I ought to be judged" [Acts, xxv. 10]; and in the admonition of God's angel to Paul a little later: "Fear not, Paul; thou must be brought before Cæsar" [Acts, xxvii. 24]; and again, still later, in Paul's words to the Jews dwelling in Italy: "And when the Jews spake against it, I was constrained to appeal unto Cæsar; not that I had aught to accuse my nation of," but "that I might deliver my soul from death" [Acts, xxviii. 19]. If Cæsar had not already possessed the right to judge temporal matters, Christ would not have implied that he did, the angel would not have uttered such words, nor would he who said, "I desire to depart and be with Christ" [Phil., i. 23], have appealed to an unqualified judge. XIV. =1.= Besides, if the Church has power to confer authority on the Roman Prince, she would have it either from God, or from herself, or from some Emperor, or from the unanimous consent of mankind, or, at least, from the consent of the most influential. There is no other least crevice through which the power could have diffused itself into the Church. But from none of these has it come to her, and therefore the aforesaid power is not hers at all. XVI. =1.= Although by the method of reduction to absurdity it has been shown in the foregoing chapter that the authority of empire has not its source in the Chief Pontiff, yet it has not been fully proved, save by an inference, that its immediate source is God, seeing that if the authority does not depend on the vicar of God, we conclude that it depends on God Himself. For a perfect demonstration of the proposition we must prove directly that the Emperor, or Monarch, of the world has immediate relationship to the Prince of the universe, who is God. [Sidenote: Positive argument that the authority of the emperor is derived directly from God] =2.= In order to realize this, it must be understood that man alone of all beings holds the middle place between corruptibility and incorruptibility, and is therefore rightly compared by philosophers to the horizon which lies between the two hemispheres. Man may be considered with regard to either of his essential parts, body or soul. If considered in regard to the body alone, he is perishable; if in regard to the soul alone, he is imperishable. So the Philosopher[614] spoke well of its incorruptibility when he said in the second book, _On the Soul_, "And this only can be separated as a thing eternal from that which perishes." =3.= If man holds a middle place between the perishable and the imperishable, then, inasmuch as every man shares the nature of the extremes, man must share both natures. And inasmuch as every nature is ordained for a certain ultimate end, it follows that there exists for man a two-fold end, in order that as he alone of all beings partakes of the perishable and the imperishable, so he alone of all beings should be ordained for two ultimate ends. One end is for that in him which is perishable, the other for that which is imperishable. [Sidenote: Double aspect of human life] =4.= Omniscient Providence has thus designed two ends to be contemplated by man: first, the happiness of this life, which consists in the activity of his natural powers, and is prefigured by the terrestrial Paradise; and then the blessedness of life everlasting, which consists in the enjoyment of the countenance of God, to which man's natural powers may not obtain unless aided by divine light, and which may be symbolized by the celestial Paradise.[615] =5.= To these states of blessedness, just as to diverse conclusions, man must come by diverse means. To the former we come by the teachings of philosophy, obeying them by acting in conformity with the moral and intellectual virtues; to the latter, through spiritual teachings which transcend human reason, and which we obey by acting in conformity with the theological virtues, faith, hope, and charity. Now the former end and means are made known to us by human reason, which the philosophers have wholly explained to us; and the latter by the Holy Spirit, which has revealed to us supernatural but essential truth through the prophets and sacred writers, through Jesus Christ, the coëternal Son of God, and through His disciples. Nevertheless, human passion would cast these behind, were not man, like horses astray in their brutishness, held to the road by bit and rein. =6.= Wherefore a twofold directive agent was necessary to man, in accordance with the twofold end; the Supreme Pontiff to lead the human race to life eternal by means of revelation, and the Emperor to guide it to temporal well-being by means of philosophic instruction. And since none or few--and these with exceeding difficulty--could attain this port, were not the waves of seductive desire calmed, and mankind made free to rest in the tranquillity of peace, therefore this is the goal which he whom we call the guardian of the earth and Roman Prince should most urgently seek; then would it be possible for life on this mortal threshing-floor to pass in freedom and peace. The order of the world follows the order inherent in the revolution of the heavens. To attain this order it is necessary that instruction productive of liberality and peace should be applied by the guardian of the realm, in due place and time, as dispensed by Him who is the ever-present Watcher of the whole order of the heavens. And He alone foreordained this order, that by it, in His providence, He might link together all things, each in its own place. [Sidenote: The proper functions of Pope and Emperor] =7.= If this is so, and there is none higher than He, only God elects and only God confirms. Whence we may further conclude that neither those who are now, nor those who in any way whatsoever have been, called electors[616] have the right to be so called; rather should they be entitled heralds of Divine Providence. Whence it is that those in whom is vested the dignity of proclamation suffer dissension among themselves at times, when, all or part of them being shadowed by the clouds of passion, they discern not the face of God's dispensation. =8.= It is established, then, that the authority of temporal monarchy descends without mediation from the fountain of universal authority. And this fountain, one in its purity of source, flows into multifarious channels out of the abundance of its excellence. [Sidenote: The ideal relation of the two powers] =9.= I believe I have now approached sufficiently close to the goal I had set myself, for I have taken the kernels of truth from the husks of falsehood, in that question which asked whether the office of monarchy was essential to the welfare of the world, and in the next which made inquiry whether the Roman people rightfully appropriated the empire, and in the last which sought whether the authority of the monarch derived from God directly, or from some other. But the truth of this final question must not be restricted to mean that the Roman Prince shall not be subject in some degree to the Roman Pontiff, for well-being that is mortal is ordered in a measure after well-being that is immortal. Wherefore let Cæsar honor Peter as a first-born son should honor his father, so that, brilliant with the light of paternal grace, he may illumine with greater radiance the earthly sphere over which he has been set by Him who alone is Ruler of all things spiritual and temporal.[617] 81. Petrarch's Love of the Classics Francesco Petrarca was born at Arezzo in northern Italy in July, 1304. His father was a Florentine notary who had been banished by the same decree with Dante in 1302, and who finally settled at Avignon in 1313 to practice his profession in the neighborhood of the papal court. Petrarch was destined by his father for the law and was sent to study that subject at Montpellier and subsequently at Bologna. But from the moment when he first got hold of the Latin classics, notably Cicero and Vergil, he found his interest in legal subjects absolutely at an end. He was charmed by the literary power of the ancients, as he certainly was not by the logic and learning of the jurists, and though his father endeavored to discourage what he regarded as a sheer waste of time by burning the young enthusiast's precious Latin books, the love of the classics, once aroused, was never crushed out and the literary instinct remained dominant. The beginnings of the Renaissance spirit, which are so discernible in Dante, become in Petrarch the full expression of the new age. In the words of Professor Adams, "In him we clearly find, as controlling personal traits, all those specific features of the Renaissance which give it its distinguishing character as an intellectual revolution, and from their strong beginning in him they have never ceased among men. In the first place, he felt as no other man had done since the ancient days the beauty of nature and the pleasure of mere life, its sufficiency for itself; and he had also a sense of ability and power, and a self-confidence which led him to plan great things, and to hope for an immortality of fame in this world. In the second place, he had a most keen sense of the unity of past history, of the living bond of connection between himself and men of like sort in the ancient world. That world was for him no dead antiquity, but he lived and felt in it and with its poets and thinkers, as if they were his neighbors. His love for it amounted almost, if we may call it so, to an ecstatic enthusiasm, hardly understood by his own time, but it kindled in many others a similar feeling which has come down to us. The result is easily recognized in him as a genuine culture, the first of modern men in whom this can be found.... Finally, Petrarch first put the modern spirit into conscious opposition to the mediæval. The Renaissance meant rebellion and revolution. It meant a long and bitter struggle against the whole scholastic system, and all the follies and superstitions which flourished under its protection. Petrarch opened the attack along the whole line. Physicians, lawyers, astrologers, scholastic philosophers, the universities--all were enemies of the new learning, and so his enemies. And these attacks were not in set and formal polemics alone, his letters and almost all his writings were filled with them. It was the business of his life."[618] In the latter part of his life Petrarch enjoyed the highest renown throughout Europe. The cities of Italy, especially, vied with one another in showering honors upon him. A decree of the Venetian senate affirmed that no Christian poet or philosopher could be compared with him. Arezzo, the town of his birth, awarded him a triumphal procession. Florence bought the estates once confiscated from his father and begged him to accept them as a meager gift to one "who for centuries had no equal and could scarcely find one in the ages to come." The climax came in 1341 when both the University of Paris and the Roman Senate invited him to present himself and receive the poet's crown, in revival of an old and all but forgotten ceremony of special honor. The invitation from Rome was accepted and the celebration attending the coronation was one of the most splendid of the age. In 1350 Petrarch became acquainted with Boccaccio and thenceforth there existed the warmest friendship between these two great exponents of Renaissance ideals and achievement. In 1369 he retired to Arquà, near Padua, where he died in 1374. Besides his poems Petrarch wrote a great number of letters, some in Latin and some in Italian. Letter-writing was indeed a veritable passion with him; and he not only wrote freely but was careful to preserve copies of what he wrote. His prose correspondence has been classified in four divisions. The largest one comprises three hundred forty-seven letters, written between the years 1332 and 1362, and given the general title of _De Rebus Familiaribus_, because in them only topics presumably of everyday interest were discussed and without particular attention to style. The second group, the so-called _Epistolæ Variæ_, numbers about seventy. The third, the _Epistolæ de Rebus Senilibus_ ("Letters of Old Age"), includes one hundred twenty-four letters written during the last twelve years of the poet's life. The fourth, comprising about twenty letters, was made up of epistles containing such sharp criticism of the papal régime at Avignon that the author thought it best to suppress the names of those to whom they were addressed. Their general designation, therefore, is _Epistolæ sine Titulo_. The following passages are taken from a letter found in the _Epistolæ Variæ_. It was written to a literary friend, August 18, 1360, while Petrarch was at Milan, uncertain whither the political storms of the period would finally drive him. In the portion which precedes that given below the writer has been commenting on various invitations which had reached him from friends in Padua, Florence, and even beyond the Alps. This gives him occasion to lament the unsettled conditions of his times and to voice the longing of the scholar for peace and quiet. Thence he proceeds to speak of matters which reveal in an interesting way his passionate love for the beauties of classical literature and his sympathy with its dominant ideas. Cicero was his favorite Latin author; after him, Vergil and Ovid. Greek literature, unfortunately, it was impossible for him to know at first hand. In spite of a lifelong desire, and at least one determined effort (which is referred to in the letter below), he never acquired even a rudimentary reading knowledge of the Greek language. At best he could only read fragments of Homer, Plato, and Aristotle in extremely faulty Latin translations.[619] Source--Franciscus Petrarca, _Epistolæ de Rebus Familiaribus et Variæ_ ["Letters of Friendly Intercourse, and Miscellaneous Letters"], edited by J. Fracassetti (Florence, 1869), Vol. III., pp. 364-371. Adapted from translation in Merrick Whitcomb, _Source Book of the Italian Renaissance_ (Philadelphia, 1903), pp. 14-21 _passim_. [Sidenote: Petrarch's longing for peace and seclusion] If you should ask me, in the midst of these opinions of my friends, what I myself think of the matter, I can only reply that I long for a place where solitude, leisure, repose, and silence reign, however far from wealth and honors, power and favors. But I confess I know not where to find it. My own secluded nook, where I have hoped not only to live, but even to die, has lost all the advantages it once possessed, even that of safety. I call to witness thirty or more volumes, which I left there recently, thinking that no place could be more secure, and which, a little later, having escaped from the hands of robbers and returned, against all hope, to their master, seem yet to blanch and tremble and show upon their foreheads the troubled condition of the place whence they have escaped. Therefore I have lost all hope of revisiting this charming retreat, this longed-for country spot. Still, if the opportunity were offered me, I should seize it with both hands and hold it fast. I do not know whether I still possess a glimmer of hope, or am feigning it for self-deception, and to feed my soul's desire with empty expectation. [Sidenote: Drawbacks of even Milan and Padua] But I proceed, remembering that we had much conversation on this point last year, when we lived together in the same house, in this very city [Milan]; and that after having examined the matter most carefully, in so far as our light permitted, we came to the conclusion that while the affairs of Italy, and of Europe, remain in this condition, there is no place safer and better for my needs than Milan, nor any place that suits me so well. We made exception only of the city of Padua, whither I went shortly after and whither I shall soon return; not that I may obliterate or diminish--that I should not wish--but that I may soften the regret which my absence causes the citizens of both places. I know not whether you have changed your opinion since that time; but for me I am convinced that to exchange the tumult of this great city and its annoyances for the annoyances of another city would bring me no advantage, perhaps some inconvenience, and beyond a doubt, much fatigue. Ah, if this tranquil solitude, which, in spite of all my seeking, I never find, as I have told you, should ever show itself on any side, you will hear, not that I have gone, but that I have flown, to it.... In the succeeding paragraph of your letter you jest with much elegance, saying that I have been wounded by Cicero without having deserved it, on account of our too great intimacy.[620] "Because," you say, "those who are nearest to us most often injure us, and it is extremely rare that an Indian does an injury to a Spaniard." True it is. It is on this account that in reading of the wars of the Athenians and Lacedaemonians, and in contemplating the troubles of our own people with our neighbors, we are never struck with astonishment; still less so at the sight of the civil wars and domestic troubles which habit has made of so little account that concord itself would more easily cause surprise. But when we read that the king of Scythia has come to blows with the king of Egypt, and that Alexander of Macedonia has penetrated to the ends of India, we experience a sensation of astonishment which the reading of our histories, filled as they are with the deeds of Roman bravery in their distant expeditions, does not afford. You bring me consolation, in representing me as having been wounded by Cicero, to whom I am fondly attached, a thing that would probably never happen to me, at the hands of either Hippocrates[621] or Albumazar....[622] [Sidenote: Common indifference to people and events near at hand] You ask me to lend you the copy of Homer that was on sale at Padua, if, as you suppose, I have purchased it (since, you say, I have for a long time possessed another copy) so that our friend Leo[623] may translate it from Greek into Latin for your benefit and for the benefit of our other studious compatriots. I saw this book, but neglected the opportunity of acquiring it, because it seemed inferior to my own. It can easily be had with the aid of the person to whom I owe my friendship with Leo; a letter from that source would be all-powerful in the matter, and I will myself write him. [Sidenote: A request for a copy of Homer] [Sidenote: Fondness for Greek literature] If by chance the book escape us, which seems to be very unlikely, I will let you have mine. I have been always fond of this particular translation and of Greek literature in general, and if fortune had not frowned upon my beginnings, in the sad death of my excellent master, I should be perhaps to-day something more than a Greek still at his alphabet. I approve with all my heart and strength your enterprise, for I regret and am indignant that an ancient translation, presumably the work of Cicero, the commencement of which Horace inserted in his _Ars Poetica_,[624] should have been lost to the Latin world, together with many other works. It angers me to see so much solicitude for the bad and so much neglect of the good. But what is to be done? We must be resigned.... [Sidenote: Difficulty of translating works of literature] [Sidenote: Longing for the translation of Homer] I wish to take this opportunity of warning you of one thing, lest later on I should regret having passed it over in silence. If, as you say, the translation is to be made literally in prose, listen for a moment to the opinion of St. Jerome as expressed in his preface to the book, _De Temporibus_, by Eusebius of Cæsarea, which he translated into Latin.[625] Here are the very words of this great man, well acquainted with these two languages, and indeed with many others, and of special fame for his art of translating: _If any one_, he says, _refuses to believe that translation lessens the peculiar charm of the original, let him render Homer into Latin, word for word; I will say further, let him translate it into prose in his own tongue, and he will see a ridiculous array and the most eloquent of poets transformed into a stammerer._ I tell you this for your own good, while it is yet time, in order that so important a work may not prove useless. As for me, I wish the work to be done, whether well or ill. I am so famished for literature that just as he who is ravenously hungry is not inclined to quarrel with the cook's art, so I await with a lively impatience whatever dishes are to be set before my soul. And in truth, the morsel in which the same Leo, translating into Latin prose the beginning of Homer, has given me a foretaste of the whole work, although it confirms the sentiment of St. Jerome, does not displease me. It possesses, in fact, a secret charm, as certain viands, which have failed to take a moulded shape, although they are lacking in form, preserve nevertheless their taste and odor. May he continue with the aid of Heaven, and may he give us Homer, who has been lost to us! [Sidenote: A loan of a volume of Plato] In asking of me the volume of Plato which I have with me, and which escaped the fire at my transalpine country house, you give me proof of your ardor, and I shall hold this book at your disposal, whenever the time shall come. I wish to aid with all my power such noble enterprises. But beware lest it should be unbecoming to unite in one bundle these two great princes of Greece, lest the weight of these two spirits should overwhelm mortal shoulders. Let your messenger undertake, with God's aid, one of the two, and first him who has written many centuries before the other. Farewell. 82. Petrarch's Letter to Posterity The following is a letter of Petrarch addressed, by a curious whim, to Posterity. It gives an excellent idea of the poet's opinion of himself and reveals the sort of things that interested the typical man of culture in the early Renaissance period. It is supposed to have been written in the year 1370, when Petrarch had completed the sixty-sixth year of his life. The letter betrays a longing for individual fame which was common in classical times and during the Renaissance, but not in the Middle Ages. Source--Franciscus Petrarca, _Epistolæ de Rebus Familiaribus et Variæ_ ["Letters of Friendly Intercourse, and Miscellaneous Letters"], edited by J. Fracassetti (Florence, 1869), Vol. I., pp. 1-11. Translated in James H. Robinson and Henry W. Rolfe, _Petrarch, the First Modern Scholar and Man of Letters_ (New York, 1898), pp. 59-76 _passim_. _Francis Petrarch, to Posterity, greeting_: It is possible that some word of me may have come to you, though even this is doubtful, since an insignificant and obscure name will scarcely penetrate far in either time or space. If, however, you should have heard of me, you may desire to know what manner of man I was, or what was the outcome of my labors, especially those of which some description or, at any rate, the bare titles may have reached you. [Sidenote: Petrarch's early life] To begin, then, with myself. The utterances of men concerning me will differ widely, since in passing judgment almost every one is influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil report alike know no bounds. I was, in truth, a poor mortal like yourself, neither very exalted in my origin, nor, on the other hand, of the most humble birth, but belonging, as Augustus Cæsar says of himself, to an ancient family. As to my disposition, I was not naturally perverse or wanting in modesty, however the contagion of evil associations may have corrupted me. My youth was gone before I realized it; I was carried away by the strength of manhood. But a riper age brought me to my senses and taught me by experience the truth I had long before read in books, that youth and pleasure are vanity--nay, that the Author of all ages and times permits us miserable mortals, puffed up with emptiness, thus to wander about, until finally, coming to a tardy consciousness of our sins, we shall learn to know ourselves. [Sidenote: Physical appearance] In my prime I was blessed with a quick and active body, although not exceptionally strong; and while I do not lay claim to remarkable personal beauty, I was comely enough in my best days. I was possessed of a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for long years a keen vision, which, however, deserted me, contrary to my hopes, after I reached my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, to my great annoyance, to resort to glasses.[626] Although I had previously enjoyed perfect health, old age brought with it the usual array of discomforts. [Sidenote: Preference for plain and sensible living] My parents were honorable folk, Florentine in their origin, of medium fortune, or, I may as well admit it, in a condition verging upon poverty. They had been expelled from their native city,[627] and consequently I was born in exile, at Arezzo, in the year 1304 of this latter age, which begins with Christ's birth, July the 20th, on a Monday, at dawn. I have always possessed an extreme contempt for wealth; not that riches are not desirable in themselves, but because I hate the anxiety and care which are invariably associated with them. I certainly do not long to be able to give gorgeous banquets. I have, on the contrary, led a happier existence with plain living and ordinary fare than all the followers of Apicius,[628] with their elaborate dainties. So-called convivia, which are but vulgar bouts, sinning against sobriety and good manners, have always been repugnant to me. I have ever felt that it was irksome and profitless to invite others to such affairs, and not less so to be bidden to them myself. On the other hand, the pleasure of dining with one's friends is so great that nothing has ever given me more delight than their unexpected arrival, nor have I ever willingly sat down to table without a companion. Nothing displeases me more than display, for not only is it bad in itself and opposed to humility, but it is troublesome and distracting. [Sidenote: Intimacy with renowned men] In my familiar associations with kings and princes, and in my friendship with noble personages, my good fortune has been such as to excite envy. But it is the cruel fate of those who are growing old that they can commonly only weep for friends who have passed away. The greatest kings of this age have loved and courted me. They may know why; I certainly do not. With some of them I was on such terms that they seemed in a certain sense my guests rather than I theirs; their lofty position in no way embarrassing me, but, on the contrary, bringing with it many advantages. I fled, however, from many of those to whom I was greatly attached; and such was my innate longing for liberty that I studiously avoided those whose very name seemed incompatible with the freedom that I loved. I possessed a well-balanced rather than a keen intellect--one prone to all kinds of good and wholesome study, but especially inclined to moral philosophy and the art of poetry. The latter, indeed, I neglected as time went on, and took delight in sacred literature. Finding in that a hidden sweetness which I had once esteemed but lightly, I came to regard the works of the poets as only amenities. [Sidenote: Admiration for antiquity] Among the many subjects that interested me, I dwelt especially upon antiquity, for our own age has always repelled me, so that, had it not been for the love of those dear to me, I should have preferred to have been born in any other period than our own. In order to forget my own time, I have constantly striven to place myself in spirit in other ages, and consequently I delighted in history. The conflicting statements troubled me, but when in doubt I accepted what appeared most probable, or yielded to the authority of the writer. [Sidenote: Attitude toward literary style] My style, as many claimed, was clear and forcible; but to me it seemed weak and obscure. In ordinary conversation with friends, or with those about me, I never gave thought to my language, and I have always wondered that Augustus Cæsar should have taken such pains in this respect. When, however, the subject itself, or the place or the listener, seemed to demand it, I gave some attention to style, with what success I cannot pretend to say; let them judge in whose presence I spoke. If only I have lived well, it matters little to me how I talked. Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.... FOOTNOTES: [601] Dante represents the commentaries composing the _Convito_ as in the nature of a banquet, the "meats" of which were to be set forth in fourteen courses, corresponding to the fourteen _canzoni_, or lyric poems, which were to be commented upon. As a matter of fact, for some unknown reason, the "banquet" was broken off at the end of the third course. "At the beginning of every well-ordered banquet" observes the author in an earlier passage (Bk. II., Chap. 1) "the servants are wont to take the bread given out for it, and cleanse it from every speck." Dante has just cleansed his viands from the faults of egotism and obscurity,--the "accidental impurities"; he now proceeds to clear them of a less superficial difficulty, i.e., the fact that in serving them use is made of the Italian rather than the Latin language. [602] The date of the composition of the _De Vulgari Eloquentia_ is unknown, but there are reasons for assigning the work to the same period in the author's life as the _Convito_. Like the _Convito_, it was left incomplete; four books were planned, but only the first and a portion of the second were written. In it an effort was made to establish the dominance of a perfect and imperial Italian language over all the dialects. The work itself was written in Latin, probably to command the attention of scholars whom Dante hoped to convert to the use of the vernacular. [603] The author conceives of the _canzoni_ as masters and the commentaries as servants. [604] That is, any poetical composition. [605] Some students of Dante hold that this phrase about Homer should be rendered "does not admit of being turned"; but others take it in the absolute sense and base on it an argument against Dante's knowledge of Greek literature. [606] The Book of Psalms. [607] The _canzoni_ were in Italian and a Latin commentary would have been useless to scholars of other nations, because they could not have understood the _canzoni_ to which it referred. [608] The Provençal language--the peculiar speech of southeastern France, whence comes the name Languedoc. _Oc_ is the affirmative particle "yes." [609] _Si_ is the Italian affirmative particle. In the _Inferno_ Dante refers to Italy as "that lovely country where the _si_ is sounded" (XXX., 80). [610] That is, prose shows the true beauty of a language more effectively than poetry, in which the attention is distracted by the ornaments of verse. [611] The author refers to Cicero's philosophical treatise _De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum_. [612] For example, Pope Innocent IV. (1243-1254) declared: "Two lights, the sun and the moon, illumine the globe; two powers, the papal and the royal, govern it; but as the moon receives her light from the more brilliant star, so kings reign by the chief of the Church, who comes from God." [613] The arguments disposed of by the author, in addition to those treated in the passages here presented, are: the precedence of Levi over Judah (Gen., xxix. 34, 35), the election and deposition of Saul by Samuel (1 Sam., x. 1; xv. 23; xv. 28), the oblation of the Magi (Matt., ii. 11), the two swords referred to by Peter (Luke, xxii. 38), the donation of Constantine, the summoning of Charlemagne by Pope Hadrian, and finally the argument from pure reason. [614] This was the common mediæval designation of Aristotle. [615] For Dante's conception of the terrestrial and the celestial paradise see the _Paradiso_ in the _Divina Commedia_. [616] These were the lay and ecclesiastical princes in whom was vested the right of choosing the Emperor. The electoral college was first clearly defined in the Golden Bull issued by Charles IV. in 1356 [see p. 409]. Its composition in Dante's time is uncertain. [617] Dante's ideal solution was the harmonious rule of the two powers by the acknowledgment of filial relationship between pope and emperor, on the basis of a recognition of the different and essentially irreconcilable character of their functions. [618] George B. Adams, _Mediæval Civilization_ (New York, 1904), pp. 375-377. [619] "There was no apparatus for the study of Greek at that time. Oral instruction from Greek or Byzantine scholars was the only possible means of access to the great writers of the past. Such instruction was difficult to secure, as Petrarch's efforts and failure prove."--Robinson and Rolfe, _Petrarch_, p. 237. [620] This is a humorous allusion to the fact that Petrarch had recently received an injury from the fall of a heavy volume of Cicero's _Letters_. [621] A renowned Greek physician of the fifth century B.C. [622] A famous Arabian astronomer of the ninth century A.D. [623] Leo Pilatus, a translator. [624] Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 B.C.), one of the literary lights of the Augustan Age, was a younger contemporary of Cicero. His _Ars Poetica_ was a didactic poem setting forth the correct principles of poetry as an art. [625] Eusebius, bishop of Cæsarea in Palestine, is noted chiefly as the author of an Ecclesiastical History which is in many ways our most important source of information on the early Christian Church. He lived about 250-339. St. Jerome was a great Church father of the later fourth century. His name is most commonly associated with the translation of the Bible from the original Hebrew and Greek into the Latin language. The resulting form of the Scriptures was the _Editio Vulgata_ (the Edition Commonly Received), whence our English term "Vulgate." [626] Eyeglasses were but beginning to come into use in Petrarch's day. [627] Petrarch's father and Dante were banished from Florence upon the same day, January 27, 1302 [see p. 446]. [628] Marcus Gavius Apicius was a celebrated epicure of the time of Augustus and Tiberius. He was the author of a famous cook-book intended for the gratification of high-livers. Though worth a fortune, he was haunted by a fear of starving to death and eventually poisoned himself to escape such a fate. There was another Apicius in the third century who compiled a well-known collection of recipes for cooking, in ten books, entitled _De Re Coquinaria_. It is not quite clear which Apicius Petrarch had in mind. CHAPTER XXVII. FORESHADOWINGS OF THE REFORMATION 83. The Reply of Wyclif to the Summons of Pope Urban VI. (1384) The fourteenth century was an era of religious decline in England, as indeed more or less generally throughout western Europe. The papacy was at its lowest ebb, unable to command either respect or obedience, except among the clergy and certain of the common people; bishops and abbots had grown wealthy and worldly and were often utterly neglectful of their religious obligations; and among the masses the services of worship had frequently become mere hollow formalities. There were still many good men in the Church, men who in an unpretentious way sought to do their duty faithfully; but of large numbers--possibly the majority--of both the higher and lower clergy this could not be said. The dissatisfaction of the people with industrial conditions which prompted the uprising of 1381 was accompanied by an almost equal discontent with the shortcomings of the selfish and avaricious clergy. It was harder, of course, to arouse men to an active hostility to the existing ecclesiastical system than to the industrial régime, because the Church still maintained a very close hold upon the sentiments and attachments of the average individual. Still, there were people here and there who were outspoken for reform, and chief among these was John Wyclif. Wyclif was born in Yorkshire about 1320 and was educated at Oxford, where in time he became a leading teacher. He was one of those who saw clearly the evils of the times and did not lack the courage to speak out plainly against them. As early as 1366 he had denounced the claims of the papacy, in a pamphlet, _De Dominio Divino_, declaring that the pope ought to have no authority whatsoever over states and governments. This position he never yielded and it became one of the cardinal features of his teaching. He attacked the clergy for their wealth, their self-seeking, and their subservience to the pope, and hurled denunciation at the whole body of friars and vendors of indulgences with whom England was thronged. He even assailed the doctrines of the Church, particularly as to transubstantiation, the efficacy of confession to priests, and the nature of the sacraments. His teachings were very acceptable to large numbers of people who were disgusted with existing conditions, and hence he soon came to have a considerable body of followers, known as the Lollards, who, though not regularly organized into a sect, carried on in later times the work which Wyclif and his "poor priests" had begun. In 1377 Pope Gregory XI. issued a bull in which he roundly condemned Wyclif and reproved the University of Oxford for not taking active steps to suppress the growing heresy; but it had little or no effect. In 1378 Gregory died and two popes were elected to succeed him--Clement VII. at Avignon and Urban VI. at Rome [see p. 389]. The Schism that resulted prevented further action for a time against Wyclif. In England, however, the uprising of 1381 aroused the government to the expediency of suppressing popular agitators, and in a church council at London, May 19, 1382, Wyclif's doctrines were formally condemned. In 1383 Oxford was compelled to banish all the Lollards from her walls and by the time of Wyclif's death in 1384 the new belief seemed to be pretty thoroughly suppressed. In reality it lived on by the more or less secret attachment of thousands of people to it, and became one of the great preparatory forces for the English Reformation a century and a half later. The document given below is a modernized version of a letter written by Wyclif to Pope Urban VI. in 1384 in response to a summons to appear at Rome to be tried for heresy. The letter was written in Latin and the English translation (given below) prepared by the writer's followers for distribution among Englishmen represents somewhat of an enlargement of the original document. When Wyclif wrote the letter he was in the last year of his life and was so disabled by paralysis that a journey to Rome was quite impossible. Source--Text in Thomas Arnold, _Select English Works of John Wyclif_ (Oxford, 1869), Vol. III., pp. 504-506. Adapted, with modernized spelling, in Guy Carleton Lee, _Source Book of English History_ (New York, 1900), pp. 212-214. I have joyfully to tell what I hold, to all true men that believe, and especially to the pope; for I suppose that if my faith be rightful and given of God, the pope will gladly confirm it; and if my faith be error, the pope will wisely amend it. I suppose over this that the gospel of Christ be heart of the corps [body] of God's law; for I believe that Jesus Christ, that gave in His own person this gospel, is very God and very man, and by this heart passes all other laws. [Sidenote: The pope's high obligation] I suppose over this that the pope be most obliged to the keeping of the gospel among all men that live here; for the pope is highest vicar that Christ has here in earth. For moreness of Christ's vicar is not measured by worldly moreness, but by this, that this vicar follows more Christ by virtuous living; for thus teacheth the gospel, that this is the sentence of Christ. [Sidenote: Christ's earthly poverty] And of this gospel I take as believe, that Christ for time that He walked here, was most poor man of all, both in spirit and in having [possessions]; for Christ says that He had nought for to rest His head on. And Paul says that He was made needy for our love. And more poor might no man be, neither bodily nor in spirit. And thus Christ put from Him all manner of worldly lordship. For the gospel of John telleth that when they would have made Christ king, He fled and hid Him from them, for He would none such worldly highness. [Sidenote: How far men ought to follow the pope] [Sidenote: The pope exhorted to give up temporal authority] And over this I take it as believe, that no man should follow the pope, nor no saint that now is in heaven, but in as much as he [the pope] follows Christ. For John and James erred when they coveted worldly highness; and Peter and Paul sinned also when they denied and blasphemed in Christ; but men should not follow them in this, for then they went from Jesus Christ. And this I take as wholesome counsel, that the pope leave his worldly lordship to worldly lords, as Christ gave them,--and more speedily all his clerks [clergy] to do so. For thus did Christ, and taught thus His disciples, till the fiend [Satan] had blinded this world. And it seems to some men that clerks that dwell lastingly in this error against God's law, and flee to follow Christ in this, been open heretics, and their fautors [supporters] been partners. [Sidenote: The pope should not demand what is contrary to the divine will] And if I err in this sentence, I will meekly be amended [corrected], yea, by the death, if it be skilful [necessary], for that I hope were good to me. And if I might travel in mine own person, I would with good will go to the pope. But God has needed me to the contrary, and taught me more obedience to God than to men. And I suppose of our pope that he will not be Antichrist, and reverse Christ in this working, to the contrary of Christ's will; for if he summon against reason, by him or by any of his, and pursue this unskilful summoning, he is an open Antichrist. And merciful intent excused not Peter, that Christ should not clepe [call] him Satan; so blind intent and wicked counsel excuses not the pope here; but if he ask of true priests that they travel more than they may, he is not excused by reason of God, that he should not be Antichrist. For our belief teaches us that our blessed God suffers us not to be tempted more than we may; how should a man ask such service? And therefore pray we to God for our Pope Urban the Sixth, that his old [early] holy intent be not quenched by his enemies. And Christ, that may not lie, says that the enemies of a man been especially his home family; and this is sooth of men and fiends. INDEX [Note--The numbers refer to pages.] Aachen, Charlemagne's capital, 108, 110; basilica at, 113; assembly at, 119; capitulary for the _missi_ promulgated from, 135; in territory assigned to Lothair, 155. Abbeville, English and French armies at, 427. Abbo, account of siege of Paris, 165, 168-171. Abbot, character and duties of, defined in Benedictine Rule, 84-86. Abelard, at Paris, 340. Abu-Bekr, Mohammed's successor, 97. _Acta Sanctorum_, quoted, 256-258. Adalbero, archbishop of Rheims, 177; speech at Senlis, 178-179; urges election as true basis of Frankish kingship, 179; opposes candidacy of Charles of Lower Lorraine, 179-180; speaks in behalf of Hugh Capet, 180. Adrianople, battle of, importance, 37-38; described by Ammianus Marcellinus, 38-41. Ægidius, "king of the Romans," 50-51. Ælfthryth, daughter of Alfred the Great, 187. Agincourt, English victory at, 440. Agius, bishop of Orleans, 167. Agriculture, among the early Germans, 21, 29. Aids, nature of, 222; defined by Norman custom, 222-223; specified in Great Charter, 306-307. Ain Tulut, battle of, 317. Aix-la-Chapelle (see Aachen). Alaf [Alavivus], a Visigothic chieftain, 34. Alaric, king of the Visigoths, 51; Syagrius takes refuge with, 51; delivers Syagrius to Clovis, 51; interview with Clovis, 54-55; defeated and slain by Clovis near Poitiers, 56. Albar, 201. Alcuin, brought to Charlemagne's court, 113; in the Palace School, 144. Alemanni, defeated by Clovis at Strassburg, 53. Alessandria, founded, 399. Alexander II., approves William the Conqueror's project to invade England, 234. Alexander III., 399. Alexander V., elected pope, 390. Alexius Comnenus, appeals to Urban II., 283. Alfonso XI., of Castile, 421. Alfred the Great, biography by Asser, 181; becomes king of the English, 182; fights the Danes at Wilton, 182; constructs a navy, 183; defeats Danes at Swanwich, 183; in refuge at Athelney, 184; meets English people at Egbert's stone, 184; defeats Danes at Ethandune, 184; peace of Guthrum and, 185; negotiates treaty of Wedmore, 185; interest in education, 185; literary activity, 186, 193; care for his children, 187; varied pursuits, 187; piety, 188; regret at lack of education, 189; search for learned men, 190-191; letter to Bishop Werfrith, 191-194; laws, 194-195. Alith, mother of St. Bernard, 251-252. Alp Arslan, defeats Eastern emperor at Manzikert, 282. Amalric, king of the Visigoths, 56. Amboise, 55. Ammianus Marcellinus, author of a Roman History, 34; facts concerning life, 34; quoted, 34-37, 38-41, 43-46. Amusements, of the early Germans, 30-31. Anagni, Boniface VIII. taken captive at, 385. Angelo, companion of St. Francis, 363. Angers, Northmen at, 167. Angilbert, a Carolingian poet, 151. Angoulême, captured by Clovis, 56-57. _Annales Bertiniani_, scope, 165; quoted, 156, 165-168. _Annales Laureshamensis_, quoted, 132-133. _Annales Laurissenses Minores_, quoted, 106-107. _Annales Xantenses_, quoted, 158-163. Annals, origin and character of, 157-158. Annates, defined, 389. Antioch, crusaders arrive at, 293; siege and capture of, 293-296. Apicius, Marcus Gavius, 471. Arabs, overrun Syria, 282. Arezzo, Petrarch born at, 461, 464, 471. Arianism, adopted by Germans, 50; refuted by ordeal of hot water, 198-200. Aristotle, Dante cites, 460. Arles, Council of, 72. Armagnacs, in later Hundred Years' War, 440. Armenia, crusaders in, 293. Arnold Atton, forfeiture of fief, 227-228. Arnold of Bonneval, 251. Arpent, a land measure, 129. Arras, treaty of, 439. Arteveld, James van, connection with Hundred Years' War, 422. Articles of the Barons, relation to the Great Charter, 304. Asnapium, inventory of, 127-129. Assam, conquered by the crusaders, 293. Assembly, the German, 26-27; the Saxon, 123. Asser, biography of Alfred the Great, 181, 186. Assisi, birth-place of St. Francis, 362-363. Athanaric, a Visigothic chieftain, 33-34. Athelney, Alfred in refuge at, 184. Augustine, sent to Britain by Pope Gregory, 72-73; constituted abbot, 74; lands at Thanet, 75; preaches to King Ethelbert, 76; life at Canterbury, 77. Augustus, 32. Aurelian, cedes Dacia to the Visigoths, 33. _Ausculta Fili_, issued by Boniface VIII., 384. Auvillars, forfeited by Arnold Atton, 227. Avignon, popes resident at, 389. Aylesford, Horsa slain in battle at, 71. Babylon (Cairo), St. Louis advances on, 318. Babylonian Captivity, begins, 385, 389. Ban, of the emperor, 138. Basel, Council of, 391, 393. Battle Abbey, founded by William the Conqueror, 242. Baugulf, Charlemagne's letter to, 145-148. Bavaria, annexed to Charlemagne's kingdom, 115. Bayeux, Odo, bishop of, imprisoned, 243. Beatrice, Dante's love affair with, 446. Beauchamp, William de, 302. Beaumont, birth of Froissart at, 418. Bede, facts regarding life of, 68; "Ecclesiastical History of the English People," 68; account of the Saxon invasion, 69-72; account of Augustine's mission to Britain, 73-77. Bedford, castle of, English barons at, 301-302. Bellona, Roman goddess of war, 39. Benedict XIII., deposed from papacy, 391. Benedictine Rule, nature and purpose, 84; translation of, 84; quoted, 84-90; character and duties of the abbot, 84-86, 89; the monks to be called in council, 87; the Rule always to be obeyed, 87; monks to own no property individually, 87-88; daily manual labor, 88; reading during Lent, 89; hospitality, 89. Benefice, origin and development, 206; relation to vassalage, 207; example of grant, 207-210. Beowulf, 188. Bernardone, Pietro, father of St. Francis, 363. _Bernardus Clarævallensis_ (by William of St. Thierry), quoted, 251-256, 258-260. Berno, abbot of Cluny, 248. Bertha, queen of Kent, 72, 75. Bertha, daughter of Charlemagne, 151. Biography, character of, in Middle Ages, 108. Blanche of Castile, mother of St. Louis, 311, 313-314. Boccaccio, Petrarch's acquaintance with, 464. Boëthius, 186. Bohemia, king of, an elector of the Empire, 410. Bohemians, Louis the German makes expedition against, 160-161. Bohemond of Tarentum, 294-295. Bologna, University of, 340. Boniface, anoints Pepin the Short, 107. Boniface VIII., conflict with Philip the Fair, 383-384; issues bull _Clericis Laicos_, 384; issues bull _Unam Sanctam_, 385; death, 385. Boulogne, count of, uncle of St. Louis, 314. Bourges, Pragmatic Sanction of, promulgated, 394; quoted, 395-397. Bouvines, King John's defeat at, 297, 403. Brackley, English barons meet at, 300. Bretigny, treaty of, negotiated, 439; provisions of, 441-442. Britain, Saxon invasion of, 68-72; shores infested by Angle and Saxon seafarers, 68; Roman garrisons withdrawn from, 68; Saxons invited into, 69; Saxon settlement in, 70; Saxons conquer, 71-72; Christianity in, 72; Augustine sent to, 73-74; conversion of Saxon population begins, 75-77. Britons, menaced by Picts and Scots, 68; decide to call in the Saxons, 68-69; conquered by the Saxons, 71-72; early Christianization of, 72. Brittany, Northmen in, 166. Brussels, conference at, 422-423. Buchonian Forest, 57, 58. Burchard, bishop of Chartres, 167. Burgundians, faction in Hundred Years' War, 440. Cæsar, Julius, describes the Germans in his "Commentaries," 19-22; conquest of Gaul, 19, 32. Calais, treaty of Bretigny revised at, 439-440. Calixtus II., concessions made by, in Concordat of Worms, 279-280. Camargue, Northmen establish themselves at, 168. Campus Martius, 52; Merovingian kings at, 106-107. Cannæ, battle of, 41. Canossa, Henry IV. arrives at, 274; Henry IV.'s penance at, 276; oath taken by Henry IV. at, 277-278. Canterbury, capital of Kent, 76; life of Augustine's band at, 77; Plegmund archbishop of, 190; Christchurch monastery built at, 242. _Capellani_, functions of, 190. _Capitulare Missorum Generale_, promulgated by Charlemagne, 135; scope, 135; translation of, 135; quoted, 135-141; character and functions of the _missi_, 135-137; new oath to Charlemagne as emperor, 137; administration of justice, 138-139; obligations of the clergy, 139; murder, 140. Capitulary, Charlemagne's concerning the Saxon territory, 118-123; nature of, 119-120; Charlemagne's concerning the royal domains, 124-127; Charlemagne's for the _missi_, 134-141; nature of, in ninth century, 174; Carloman's concerning the preservation of order, 174-176. _Capitulum Saxonicum_, issued by Charlemagne, 119. Cappadocia, crusaders in, 293. Cardinals, college of, instituted, 269; and Great Schism, 389-391. Carloman, capitulary concerning the preservation of order, 174-176; functions of the _missi_, 175; obligations of officials, 176. _Carmina Burana_, source for mediæval students' songs, 352. Carolingians, origin of, 105-106; age of Charlemagne, 108-148; disorders in reigns of, 149-163; menaced by Norse invasions, 163-173; efforts to preserve order, 173-176; growing inability to cope with conditions, 174; replaced by Capetian dynasty, 177-180. Carthusians, 246. _Castellanerie_, defined, 216. Celestine III., 381. _Cens_, payment of, in Lorris, 328. _Census_, 209. _Centenarius_, functions of, 176. Chalcedon, Council of, 80. Châlons-sur-Saône, immunity of monastery at, confirmed by Charlemagne, 212-214. Champagne, county of, 215; Joinville's residence in, 312. Charibert, 75. Charlemagne, employs Einhard at court, 108; biography of, 109; personal appearance, 109-110; manner of dress, 111; fondness for St. Augustine's _De Civitate Dei_, 111; everyday life, 112; education, 112-113; interest in religion, 113; charities, 114; policy of Germanic consolidation, 115; conquers Lombardy, Bavaria, and the Spanish March, 115; war with the Saxons, 115-118; transplants Saxons into Gaul, 117-118; peace with Saxons, 118; issues capitularies concerning the Saxon territory, 119; capitulary concerning the royal domains, 124-127; revenues, 124; interest in agriculture, 124; inventory of a royal estate, 127-129; appealed to by Pope Leo III., 130; goes to Rome, 130; crowned emperor by Leo, 130, 132-134; significance of the coronation, 131-133; issues capitulary for the _missi_, 134; new oath to, as emperor, 137; provisions for administration of justice, 138-139; legislation for clergy, 139-140; letter to Abbot Fulrad, 142-144; builds up Palace School, 144-145; provides for elementary and intermediate education, 145; confirms immunity of monastery of Châlons-sur-Saône, 212-214. Charles Martel, victor at Tours, 105; Frankish mayor of the palace, 105; makes office hereditary, 105. Charles the Fat, Emperor, 168; Odo's mission to, 170-171; buys off the Northmen, 171; deposition and death, 171. Charles, son of Charlemagne, anointed by Leo, 134. Charles the Bald, of France, birth, 149; combines with Louis against Lothair, 150-151; takes oath of Strassburg, 152-154; lands received by treaty of Verdun, 155-156; buys off the Northmen, 159; capitularies, 174. Charles the Simple, of France, yields Normandy to Rollo, 172. Charles of Lower Lorraine, claimant to French throne, 177; candidacy opposed by Adalbero, 179-180. Charles IV., Emperor, founds University of Prague, 345; promulgates Golden Bull, 410. Charles IV. (the Fair), of France, 419. Charles VI. of France, 440; and the Great Schism, 390. Charles VII. of France, convenes council at Bourges, 394; dauphin of France, 440-441. Charles, count of Anjou, 321. Charles, of Luxemburg, slain at Crécy, 433. Charter, conditions of grant to towns, 326; of Laon, 327-328; of Lorris, 328-330. (See _Magna Charta_.) Châtillon, St. Bernard educated at, 252; begins monastic career at, 254. Childebert, conquers Septimania, 57 Childeric I., father of Clovis, 50. Childeric III., last Merovingian king, 105; deposed, 107. Chippenham, Danes winter at, 184; siege of, 184; treaty of, 185. _Chronica Majora_ (by Roger of Wendover), scope of, 298; quoted, 298-303. _Chronica Majora_ (by Matthew Paris), value of, 404; quoted, 405-409. _Chroniques_ (by Froissart), character of, 418; quoted, 418-439. Church, development of, 78-96; origin of papacy, 78-79; Pope Leo's sermon on the Petrine supremacy, 80-83; rise of monasticism, 83-84; the Benedictine Rule, 84-90; papacy of Gregory the Great, 90-91; Gregory's description of the functions of the secular clergy, 91-96; Charlemagne's zeal for promotion of, 113; Charlemagne's extension into Saxony, 118-123; influence on development of annalistic writings, 157; education intrusted to, by Charlemagne, 146; to aid in suppressing disorder, 175-176; illiteracy of English clergy in Alfred's day, 190-192; influence on use of ordeals, 197; use of _precarium_, 206-207; favored by grants of immunity, 210; efforts to discourage private warfare, 228-229; decrees the Peace of God, 229; decrees the Truce of God, 229; reform through Cluniac movement, 246; conditions in St. Bernard's day, 250; Gregory VII.'s conception of the papal authority, 262-264; Gregory VII. avows purpose to correct abuses in, 267; college of cardinals instituted, 269; issue of lay investiture, 265-278; Concordat of Worms, 278-281; liberties in England granted in Great Charter, 305; patronage of universities, 340; menaced by abuses, 360; rise of the mendicant orders, 360; St. Francis's attitude toward, 375, 377-378; use of excommunication and interdict, 380; _Unam Sanctam_, 383-388; Great Schism, 389-390; Council of Pisa, 390-391; Council of Constance, 391, 393; Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, 393-397; decline in England in fourteenth century, 474; Wyclif's efforts to regenerate, 475-477. Cicero, Dante cites, 451; Petrarch's reading of, 466. _Cimbri_, 32. Cistercians, 246, 250. Cîteaux, 246; St. Bernard decides to join, 252, 254; St. Bernard goes forth from, 256. Cities (see Towns), Frederick Barbarossa and Lombard, 398-399; rights of guaranteed by Peace of Constance, 400-402. Clairvaux, St. Bernard founds monastery at, 256-257; description of by William of St. Thierry, 258-260; marvelous works accomplished at, 259; piety of monks at, 259. Claudius Claudianus, at the court of Honorius, 42; description of the Huns, 43. Clement VII., elected pope, 389; dies, 390. Clergy (see Church), Charlemagne's general legislation for, 139-140; Pope Gregory I.'s exhortation to, 91-96; Charlemagne's provisions for, in Saxony, 120-123; temporal importance in Charlemagne's empire, 141-142; work of education committed to by Charlemagne, 146; illiteracy in Alfred's day, 186, 191-192; grants of immunity to, 210-214; protected by Peace of God, 230-231; worldliness of, in England before the Conquest, 239. _Clericis Laicos_, issued by Boniface VIII., 384. Clermont, Council of, confirms Peace and Truce of God, 229; Pope Urban's speech at, 283-288; first crusade proclaimed at, 287-288. Cloderic, receives deputation from Clovis, 57; has his father slain, 57; himself slain, 58. Clotilde, wife of Clovis, 49; labors for his conversion, 53; calls Remigius to the court, 54. Clovis, conversion of, 49; becomes king of the Salian Franks, 50; advances against Syagrius, 51; defeats him at Soissons, 51; requests King Alaric to surrender the refugee, 51; has Syagrius put to death, 51; episode of the broken vase, 51-52; decides to become a Christian, 53; wins battle of Strassburg, 53; baptized with his warriors, 54; interview with Alaric, 54-55; resolves to conquer southern Gaul, 55; campaign against Alaric, 55-57; victory at Vouillé, 56; takes possession of southern Gaul, 56; captures Angoulême, 57; sends deputation to Cloderic, 57; takes Cloderic's kingdom, 58; slays Ragnachar and Richar, 58-59; death at Paris, 59. Cluny, establishment of monastery at, 245; growth and influence, 246; charter issued for, 247-249; land and other property yielded to, 247-248; Berno to be abbot, 248; relations with the papacy, 249; charitable activity, 249. Cologne, 57; university founded at, 345. _Comitatus_, among the early Germans, 27-28; a prototype of vassalage, 205. Commendation, defined, 205; Frankish formula for, 205-206. Commerce, freedom guaranteed by Great Charter, 308-309; encouraged in charter of Lorris, 329. Commune (see Towns), 326. Compiègne, 171. Compurgation, defined, 196. Conrad IV., 334. Constance, Council of, assembles, 391; declarations of, 393. Constance, Peace of, 398-402. Constantine, 78. Constantine VI., deposed at Constantinople, 131-132. Constantinople, threatened by Seljuk Turks, 282. Corbei, 191; French barons assemble at, 314. _Corvée_, provision for in charter of Lorris, 330. Councils, Church, powers of declared at Pisa and Constance, 392-393; provisions for in Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, 396-397. Count, duties, 123, 134; restrictions on by grants of immunity, 211. Count of the Palace, 112. Crécy, English take position at, 427-428; French advance to, 427, 430-431; English prepare for battle, 431-432; the French defeated at, 433-436. Crime, in the Salic law, 62-65; in Charlemagne's _De Partibus Saxoniæ_, 123; in Charlemagne's _Capitulare Missorum Generale_, 140-141; Carloman's regulations for suppression of, 175-176; in Alfred's legislation, 194-195; penalties for in Peace and Truce of God, 230-232; protection of scholars against, 343. Crusade, Gregory VII.'s plan for, 283; Urban II.'s speech in behalf of, 284-288; first crusade proclaimed, 287-288; motives for, 288; starting of the crusaders, 289-291; letters of crusaders, 291-292; Stephen of Blois to his wife, 292-296; early achievements of, 293; of St. Louis to Egypt, 313, 318-322. Cyprus, St. Louis in, 316; departs from, 317. Dacia, ceded to the Visigoths, 33. Danelaw, 185. Danes (see Northmen), earliest visits to England, 181; defeat Alfred the Great at Wilton, 182; winter at Exeter, 183; defeated by Alfred at Swanwich, 183; winter at Chippenham, 184; defeated by Alfred at Ethandune, 184; treaties of peace with Alfred, 185. Dante, career of, 446; attachment to Holy Roman Empire, 446; relation to Renaissance, 446-447; defends Italian as a literary language, 447-452; conception of imperial power, 452-453; _De Monarchia_ quoted, 453-462. Danube, Visigoths cross, 34-37. Dauphiné, origin of, 395. _De Bello Gallico_ (by Julius Cæsar), character of, 20; quoted, 20-22; used by Tacitus, 23. Debt, in the Salic law, 66; collection of among students, 342. _Décime_, defined, 389. _De Civitate Dei_ (by St. Augustine), Charlemagne's regard for, 111. _De Divortio Lotharii regis et Tetbergæ reginæ_ (by Hincmar), quoted, 200-201. _De Domino Divino_ (by Wyclif), nature of, 474. _De Gestis Regum Anglorum_ (by William of Malmesbury), scope, 235; quoted, 235-241, 289-290. Degrees, university, 340. _De Litteris Colendis_, addressed by Charlemagne to Abbot Baugulf, 145; quoted, 146-148; work of education committed to the clergy, 146-147; education essential to interpretation of Scriptures, 147. Demesne, 125. _De Monarchia_ (by Dante), nature of, 452-453; quoted, 453-462. _De odio et âtia_, writ of, 307-308. _De Partibus Saxoniæ_, capitulary issued by Charlemagne, 119; quoted, 120-123; churches as places of refuge, 120; offenses against the Church, 121; penalties for persistence in paganism, 122; fugitive criminals, 123; public assemblies, 123. _De Rebus Familiaribus_ (by Petrarch), quoted, 465-473. _De Rebus Gestis Ælfredi Magni_ (by Asser), quoted, 182-185, 186-191. _De Temporibus_ (by Eusebius), preface to, cited by Petrarch, 468. _De Villis_, capitulary issued by Charlemagne, 124; translation of, 124; quoted, 124-127; reports to be made by the stewards, 125; equipment, 125-127; produce due the king, 127. _De Vulgari Eloquentia_ (by Dante), 447-448. Deusdedit, 262. _Dictatus Papæ_, authorship of, 262; quoted, 262-264. Diedenhofen, Louis, Lothair, and Charles meet at, 158. _Divina Commedia_ (by Dante), 446. Domains, Charlemagne's capitulary concerning, 124-127; specimen inventory of property, 127-129. Domesday Survey, 243. Dominicans, founded, 360. Dordrecht, burned by the Northmen, 159; again taken, 161. Dorset, Danes land in, 181. Dorylæum, Turks defeated at, 293. Druids, among the Gauls, 20-21. Dudo, dean of St. Quentin, 165. Easter tables, origin of mediæval annals, 157. Eastern Empire, menaced by Seljuk Turks, 282-283, 285. Ebolus, abbot of St. Germain des Près, 169-170. Edington (see Ethandune). Education, decline among the Franks, 144-147; Charlemagne's provisions for, 145-148; the Palace School, 144; decline after Charlemagne, 145; entrusted by Charlemagne to the clergy, 146; Alfred's interest in, 185; of Alfred's children, 187; Alfred's labors in behalf of, 189-191; Alfred laments decline of, 192; universities in the Middle Ages, 339-359. Edward the Elder, son of Alfred the Great, 187. Edward the Confessor, death of, 233. Edward III., claim to French throne, 421; takes title of king of France, 421-424; wins battle of Sluys, 424-427; takes position at Crécy, 427; prepares for battle, 429; defeats French army, 433-436; new invasion of France, 439; concludes treaty of Bretigny, 439-442. Edward, the Black Prince, wins his spurs at Crécy, 434-435; besieges and sacks Limoges, 436-439. Egbert's stone, Alfred meets English people at, 184. Einhard, describes weakness of later Merovingians, 106-107; career of, 108; author of _Vita Caroli Magni_, 109; sketch of Charlemagne, 109-114; account of the Saxon war, 116-118; statement regarding Charlemagne's coronation, 133. Elbe, German boundary in Charlemagne's day, 330. Electors, of Holy Roman Empire, provisions of Golden Bull regarding, 409-416. Ely, bishop of, 300. Empire (see Eastern Empire; Holy Roman Empire, and the names of emperors). England, ravaged by the Danes, 181; Alfred the Great becomes king, 182; Alfred's wars with the Danes, 182-185; navy founded by Alfred, 183; treaty of Wedmore, 185; decadence of learning, 186; Alfred brings learned men to, 190-191; Alfred writes to Bishop Werfrith on state of learning in, 191-194; William the Conqueror's claim to throne of, 234; Harold becomes king of, 234; William the Conqueror prepares to invade, 234; battle of Hastings, 235-238; Saxons and Normans, 238-241; William the Conqueror's government of, 241-244; reign of King John, 297-298; the winning of the Great Charter, 298-303; provisions of the Charter, 305-310; Edward III. claims French throne, 421-423; naval battle of Sluys, 424-427; battle of Crécy, 427-436; the Black Prince sacks Limoges, 436-439; treaty of Bretigny, 439, 441-442; treaty of Troyes, 440, 443; religious decline in fourteenth century, 474; Wyclif's career, 474-475. _Epistolæ de Rebus Senilibus_ (by Petrarch), 464. _Epistolæ sine Titulo_ (by Petrarch), 464. _Epistolæ Variæ_ (by Petrarch), 464. Erfurt, University of, founded, 345. _Établissements de St. Louis_, quoted, 217, 223-224. Ethandune, Alfred defeats Danes at, 184. Ethelbert, king of Kent, 72; accepts Christianity, 73, 77; power of, 74; receives Augustine, 76; encourages missionary effort, 77. Ethelred I., king of the English, 182. Ethelstan, of Mercia, 190. Ethelwerd, son of Alfred the Great, 186. Eugene IV., and Council of Basel, 393. Eurie, king of the Northmen, 166; defeated by Louis the German, 166. Eusebius, author of _De Temporibus_, 468. Excommunication, nature of, 380; of Henry IV. by Gregory VII., 272; of Frederick II. by Gregory IX., 406. Exeter, Danes winter at, 183. Fealty, ceremony of, 216-217; described in an English law book, 218; rendered to count of Flanders, 218-219; ordinance of St. Louis on, 219. Feudalism, importance of, in mediæval history, 203; most perfectly developed in France, 203-204; essential elements, 204; origins of vassalage, 204-205; formula for commendation, 205-206; development of the benefice, 206-207; example of grant of a benefice, 207-210; origins and nature of the immunity, 210-211; formula for grant of immunity, 211-212; an immunity confirmed by Charlemagne, 212-214; nature of the fief, 214; specimen grants of fiefs, 215-216; complexity of the system, 216; ceremonies of homage and fealty, 216-217; homage defined, 217; fealty described, 218; homage and fealty illustrated, 218-219; ordinance of St. Louis on homage and fealty, 219; obligations of lords and vassals, 220-221; rights of the lord, 221-228; aids, 222-223; military service involved, 223-224; wardship and marriage, 224-225; reliefs, 225-226; forfeiture, 226-228; militant character of feudal period, 228-229; efforts to reduce private war, 229; the Peace and Truce of God, 229-232; provisions of Great Charter concerning, 306-307. Fief, relation to benefice, 207; nature, 214; specimen grants, 215-216. Fitz-Walter, Robert, besieges castle of Northampton, 301. Flanders, influence on Hundred Years' War, 419; allied with Edward III., 421-423. Flanders, William, count of, homage and fealty to, 218-219. Florence, Dante born at, 445. Fontaines, St. Bernard born at, 251. Fontenay, Charles and Louis defeat Lothair at, 150. Forfeiture, nature, 226-227; case of Arnold Atton, 227-228. Formula, for commendation, 205-206; for grant of a benefice, 207-210; for grant of immunity to a bishop, 211-212. France, Hugh Capet becomes king, 177-180; geographical extent in 987, 180; feudalism most perfectly developed in, 203-204; over-population of described by Pope Urban, 286; in times of Louis IX., 311-324; treaty of Paris (1229), 322; rise of municipalities in, 325-326; interdict laid on by Innocent III., 380-383; Philip the Fair's contest with Boniface VIII., 383-388; States General meets, 385; responsibility for Great Schism, 389-390; Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, 393-397; disputed succession in 1328, 419-420; Edward III. takes title of king, 421-423; naval battle of Sluys, 424-427; battle of Crécy, 427-436; siege and sack of Limoges, 436-439; treaty of Bretigny, 439, 441-442; treaty of Troyes, 440, 443. _Francia Occidentalis_, 155. _Francia Orientalis_, 155. _Francia_, territorial extent, 152, 155. Francis I., Concordat of, 394. Franciscans, founded, 360, 361; life of St. Francis, 363-373; Rule of St. Francis, 373-376; Will of St. Francis, 376-378. Frankfort, electors of Empire to assemble at, 412. Franks, conquer northern Gaul, 49; become Christians, 49, 54; character of conversion, 50; close relations with papacy, 50; Clovis becomes king of the Salians, 50; defeat Syagrius at Soissons, 51; defeat Alaric near Poitiers, 56; Salic law, 59-67; decadence of Merovingians, 105; rise of Mayor of the Palace, 105; early mayors, 105; Pepin the Short becomes king, 105-107; the age of Charlemagne, 108-148; the war with the Saxons, 114-118; Charlemagne's capitularies, 118-127, 134-141; Charlemagne crowned emperor, 130-134; decay of learning among, 144; Carolingian Renaissance, 144-148; disorder among in ninth century, 157-163; menaced by invasions of Northmen, 160-163; decline of monarchy in ninth century, 173; rise of feudalism among, 173-174. Freckenhorst, sacred relics brought to, 163. Frederick, bishop of Hamburg, issues charter for a colony, 332-333. Frederick Barbarossa, grants privileges to students and masters, 341-343; and the Italian communes, 398-399; destroys Milan, 399; defeated at Legnano, 399; agrees to Peace of Constance, 399-400. Frederick II., accession of, 402-403; character, 403-404; suspected of heresy, 405; excommunicated, 406, 408-409. Friars, conditions determining rise of, 360; unlike monks, 360-361; relations with papacy and local clergy, 361; system of organization, 361; career of St. Francis, 362-378; Rule of St. Francis, 373-376; Will of St. Francis, 376-378. Fridigern, leader of branch of Visigoths, 33-34, 38, 39. Friesland (see Frisia). Frisia, Northmen in, 159, 162, 166. Froissart, Sire de, "Chronicles" of, 417-418. Fulbert of Chartres, letter to William of Aquitaine, 220-221. Fulcher of Chartres, version of Pope Urban's speech, 286; account of starting of crusaders, 290-291. Fulda, Einhard educated at, 108, 145. Fulrad, Charlemagne's letter to, 142-144; summoned to assembly at Strassfurt, 143; troops and equipment to be brought, 143; gifts for the Emperor, 143-144. Gaiseric, 112. Galicia, Northmen visit, 166. Gâtinais, 329. _Gau_, 25. Gaul, conquered by Julius Cæsar, 19, 32; invaded by Cimbri and Teutons, 32; Syagrius's kingdom in, 51; the Franks take possession in the north, 51; Clovis overthrows Visigothic power in south, 55-57; monasteries established in, 83; Charlemagne transplants Saxons into, 117-118; Northmen devastate, 159; survival of Roman immunity in, 210. Geoffrey of Clairvaux, 251. _Germania_ (by Tacitus), nature and purpose, 23; contents, 24; translation and editions, 24; quoted, 24-31. Germans, described by Cæsar, 19-22; religion, 21; system of land tenure, 21; magistrates and war leaders, 22; hospitality, 22; described by Tacitus, 23-31; location in Cæsar's day, 20; physical characteristics, 24; use of iron, 24; weapons, 24-25; mode of fighting, 25-26, 40; ideas of military honor, 25, 64; kingship, 26; tribal assemblies, 26-27; investment with arms, 27; the _princeps_ and _comitatus_, 27, 28; love of war, 28-29; agriculture, 21, 29; life in times of peace, 29; absence of tax systems, 29; lack of cities and city life, 29; villages, 30; food and drink, 30; amusements, 30; slavery, 31; early contact with the Romans, 32-33; defeat Varus, 32; put Romans on the defensive, 32; filter into the Empire, 33; invasions begin, 33; generally Christianized before invasion of Empire, 48; character of their conversion, 49-50; ideas of law, 59-60; influenced by contact with Romans, 60; codification of law, 60; legal ideas and methods, 196; compurgation,196; use of the ordeal, 196-197. Germany, Henry IV.'s position in, 264-265; Henry V.'s government of, 278; question of lay investiture in, 265-281; colonization toward the east, 331-332; colony chartered by bishop of Hamburg, 331-333; decline of imperial power, 334; chaotic conditions, 334; rise of municipal leagues, 334; the Rhine League, 335-338; rise of universities in, 345; in Frederick Barbarossa's period, 398-399; under Frederick II., 402-409; conditions after Frederick II., 409-410; Golden Bull of Charles IV., 410-416. Genghis Khan, empire of, 316. Ghent, Council at, 423-424. Gildas, story of Saxon invasion of Britain, 68. Gillencourt, granted to Jocelyn d'Avalon, 216. Gisela, 173. Gloucester, William the Conqueror wears crown at, 242. Godfrey of Bouillon, 289. Golden Bull, promulgated by Charles IV., 409; character of, 409. Gozlin, bishop of Paris, 168. _Grâce expectative_, nature of, 396. Gratian, 35, 38. Great Council, in William the Conqueror's time, 242; provisions of Great Charter concerning, 306; composition, 307. Greek fire, nature of, 319; used by the Saracens, 319-321. Gregory of Nazianzus, cited by Pope Gregory, 93. Gregory of Tours, facts regarding career, 47; author of _Ecclesiastical History of the Franks_, 47-48; opportunities for knowledge, 48; account of Frankish affairs quoted, 50-59; account of ordeal by hot water quoted, 198-200. Gregory I. (the Great), plans conversion of Saxons, 72; sends Augustine to Britain, 72-73; becomes pope, 73, 90; letter of encouragement to Augustine's band, 74; early career, 90; qualifications, 90-91; author of the _Pastoral Rule_, 91; describes the functions of the secular clergy, 91-96; attitude toward worldly learning, 95; _Pastoral Rule_ translated by Alfred, 186, 193. Gregory IV., 158. Gregory VI., 261. Gregory VII., early career, 261; becomes pope, 261, 269; conceptions of papal authority, 262-264; breach with Henry IV., 264; letter to Henry IV., 265-269; claim to authority over temporal princes, 266; avows purpose to correct abuses in the Church, 267; disposed to treat Henry IV. fairly, 268; letter to, from Henry IV., 269-272; charges against, by Henry IV., 272; deposes him, 272-273; meets Henry IV. at Canossa, 274, 275; absolves him, 276; project for a crusade, 283. Gregory IX., 403, 406. Gregory XI., removes to Rome, 389; bull concerning Lollards, 475. Gregory XII., abdicates papacy, 391. Grimbald, brought from Gaul by Alfred, 190. Guienne, English and French dispute possession of, 419. Guiscard, Roger, 341. Guthrum, peace of Alfred and, 185; becomes a Christian, 185. Hadrian, I., 111, 130. Hamburg, pillaged by the Slavs, 331; bishop of, grants charter for a colony, 331-333. Hanseatic League, 334. Harold Hardrada, defeated at Stamford Bridge, 234. Harold, son of Godwin, chosen king of England, 234; position disputed by William the Conqueror, 234; defeats Harold Hardrada, 234; takes station at Hastings, 234; valor and death, 237. Hastings, English take position at, 234; they prepare for battle, 235; the Normans prepare, 236; William's strategem, 236-237. Heidelberg, University of, founded, 345; charter of, 345-350; modelled on University of Paris, 346; internal government, 347-348; jurisdiction of bishop of Worms, 348; exemptions enjoyed by students, 349; rates for lodgings, 350. Hell, portrayed in the Koran, 103-104. Hengist, legendary leader of Saxons, 71; ancestry, 71. Henry of Champagne, grants fief to bishop of Beauvais, 215. Henry I. of England, charter of, 298, 304, 306. Henry III. of England, concludes treaty of Paris with St. Louis, 322. Henry V. of England, in Hundred Years' War, 440; marries daughter of Charles VI., 441; awarded French crown by treaty of Troyes, 443. Henry I. of Germany, movement against the Slavs, 331. Henry III. of Germany, 273. Henry IV. of Germany, controversy opens with Gregory VII., 264; wins battle on the Unstrutt, 265; letter of Gregory VII. to, 265-269; exhorted to confess and repent sins, 266, 268; reply to letter of Gregory VII., 269-272; rejects papal claim to temporal supremacy, 270; excommunicated by Gregory VII., 272; deposed by him, 272-273; penance at Canossa, 273-277; oath of, 277-278. Henry V. of Germany, succeeds Henry IV., 278; his spirit of independence, 278; invasion of Italy, 278; compact with Paschal II., 278; party to Concordat of Worms, 279-281. Henry VI. of Germany, 400, 402. Henry VII. of Germany, 433. Hermaneric, king of the Ostrogoths, 33. Hide, a land measure, 242. Hildebrand (see Gregory VII.). Hincmar, archbishop of Rheims, 165; description of ordeal by cold water, 200-201. Hippo, St. Augustine bishop of, 112. _Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum_ (by the Venerable Bede), scope and character, 68; quoted, 69-72, 73-77; translation of, 69. _Historia Ecclesiastica Francorum_ (by Gregory of Tours), scope and character, 48-49; quoted, 50-59. _Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Jerusalem_ (by Raimond of Agiles), quoted, 201-202. _Historia Iherosolimitana_ (by Robert the Monk), quoted, 284-288. _Historia Iherosolimitana_ (by Fulcher of Chartres), quoted, 290-291. _Historiarum Libri IV._ (by Nithardus), scope, 151; quoted, 151-154. _Historiarum Libri IV._ (by Richer), scope, 178; quoted, 178-180. _Histoire de Saint Louis_ (by Joinville), character, 312; quoted, 313-324. Hollanders, receive charter from bishop of Hamburg, 332-333; fiscal obligations, 332; judicial immunity, 333. Holy Roman Empire, coronation of Charlemagne, 130-134; character and significance, 131-132; difficulty of holding together, 149; disordered condition in ninth century, 157-163; Henry IV.'s position in, 264-265; question of lay investiture in, 265-281; Henry V., emperor, 278; Concordat of Worms, 278-281; weakening of central authority, 334; chaotic condition, 334; rise of municipal leagues, 334; the Rhine League, 335-338; in 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries, 398-416; Frederick Barbarossa at head of, 398; Peace of Constance, 399-402; accession of Frederick II., 403; II., 403; Dante's attachment to, 446; Dante's defense of in _De Monarchia_, 452-462. Homage, ceremony of, 216-217; a Norman definition of, 217; rendered to count of Flanders, 218-219; ordinance of St. Louis on, 219. Homer, Dante's knowledge of, 449; Petrarch interested in, 467. Homicide, in the Salic law, 65. Honorius III., St. Francis promises allegiance to, 375. Horace, alluded to by Petrarch, 468. Horsa, legendary leader of Saxons, 71; death, 71; ancestry, 71. _Hôte_, defined, 329. House of Commons, origin of, 307. House of Lords, origin of, 307. Hugh Capet, establishes Capetian dynasty, 177; Adalbero urges election as king, 178-180; crowned at Noyon, 180; extent of dominions, 180. Humanism, rise of, 445; Petrarch's love of the classics, 465-469. Humber River, 71, 74, 191. Hundred Years' War, causes, 418-419; Edward III. and the Flemings, 421-424; naval battle of Sluys, 424-427; battle of Crécy, 427-436; siege and sack of Limoges, 436-439; treaty of Bretigny, 439, 441-442; treaty of Troyes, 440, 443. Huns, threaten the Goths, 33-34, 42; characterized by Claudius Claudianus, 43; described by Ammianus Marcellinus, 43-46; physical appearance, 44; dress, 44; mode of fighting, 45; nomadic character, 45; greed and quarrelsomeness, 46. Iacinthus, 199. _Il Convito_ (by Dante), character of, 447; quoted, 447-452. Immunity, in Roman law, 210; feudal, 210-211; formula for grant to bishop, 211-212; grant to a monastery confirmed by Charlemagne, 212-214; in an East German colony, 333. Incendiarism, in the Salic law, 63; in the Burgundian law, 63. Ingeborg, wife of Philip Augustus, 380-381. Ingelheim, 108. Inghen, Marsilius, rector of University of Heidelberg, 345. Inheritance, in the Salic law, 66. Innocent III., King John's surrender to, 297; confirms privileges of University of Paris, 341; approves work of St. Francis, 362; lays interdict on France, 380-383. Innocent IV., 403, 454. _In Rufinum_ (by Claudius Claudianus), quoted, 43. Interdict, nature of, 380; laid on France, 380-383. Interregnum, 334; end of, 409-410. Investiture, lay, 261; Henry IV.'s disregard of Gregory VII.'s decrees concerning, 265; Paschal II.'s decree prohibiting, 278; agreement of 1111 concerning, 278; settlement of by Concordat of Worms, 279-281. Ireland, Christianity in, 72. Irene, deposes Constantine VI., 132. Irmensaule, destroyed by Charlemagne, 122. Irnerius, teacher of law at Bologna, 340. Isabella, mother of Edward III., 418-419; excluded from French throne, 420. Islam (see Koran, Mohammed). Italian (language), Dante's defense of, 446-452. Italy, Frederick Barbarossa and communes of, 398-399. Jerusalem, captured by Arabs, 282; by the Seljuk Turks, 282. Jeufosse, Northmen winter at, 167. Jocelyn d'Avalon, receives fief from Thiebault of Troyes, 216. John, bishop of Ravenna, 91. John the Old Saxon, brought from Gaul by Alfred, 191. John, of England, character of reign, 297; conference of magnates in opposition to, 298; arranges truce with them, 299; takes the cross, 300; scorns the demands of the barons, 301; loses London, 302; consents to terms of Great Charter, 303. John XXIII., elected pope, 390; deposed, 391. John, king of Bohemia, 421. John II. of France, taken captive at Poitiers, 439; later career, 442. John the Fearless, duke of Burgundy, 440. Joinville, Sire de, sketch of, 312; biographer of St. Louis, 312. Judith of Bavaria, 149. Julian the Apostate, 271. Jurats, in Laon, 328. Jury, not provided for in Great Charter, 308. Justice, among the early Germans, 22; among the Franks, 61-67; among the Saxons, 121-123; Charlemagne's provision for in capitulary for the _missi_, 138-139; compurgation, 196; ordeal, 196-197; administration of in the universities, 342, 344, 349. Jutes, settle in Kent, 70. Karlmann, son of Charles Martel, 105. Kent, Saxons and Jutes settle in, 70; Ethelbert, king of, 72, 74. Kingship, among the early Germans, 26. Knut VI., king of Denmark, 380. Koran, origin of, 97; scope and character, 98; essential teachings, 98; translation, 99; quoted, 99-104; opening prayer, 99; unity of God, 99; the resurrection, 100; the coming judgment, 100; reward of the righteous, 101; fate of the wicked, 101; pleasures of paradise, 102-103; torments of hell, 103-104. Kutuz, defeats Tartars, 317. La Broyes, Philip VI. at castle of, 435. La Ferté-sur-Aube, 216; St. Bernard at, 256. _L'Ancienne Coutume de Normandie_, quoted, 217, 222-223, 224-225. Laon, 171; charter of, 327-328. Law, character of among the early Germans, 27, 59-60; codification under Roman influence, 60; the Salic code, 60-67; of Alfred the Great, 194-195; revival of Roman, 339-340; study of at University of Bologna, 340. Learning, revival under Charlemagne, 144-148; decline after Charlemagne, 145; Alfred on state of in England, 191-194; decadence in England before the Conquest, 239; revival in thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, 445; Petrarch's love of the classics, 465-469. _Legend of the Three Companions_, quoted, 363-368, 376-378. Legnano, Frederick Barbarossa defeated at, 399. Leo I. (the Great), elected pope, 78; sermon on the Petrine supremacy, 80-83. Leo III., 111; driven from Rome, 130; appeals to Charlemagne, 130; crowns Charlemagne emperor, 130, 132-134. Leo IV., 160. Leo IX., 261. Leo, author of the _Mirror of Perfection_, 363. Liberal Arts, place in Charlemagne's system of education, 145; Alfred laments his ignorance of, 189, 339. _Liber Regulæ Pastoralis_ (by Pope Gregory I.), nature and value, 91; translation of, 91; quoted, 91-96; qualities of the ideal pastor, 91-93, 96; admonitions for various sorts of people, 94-95; translated by Alfred, 186, 193. _Libri Miraculorum_ (by Gregory of Tours), quoted, 198-200. Liège, Henry IV. dies at, 278. Limoges, siege of by the Black Prince, 436-439. Limousin, 437. Lindisfarne, plundered by Danes, 181. _Little Flowers of St. Francis_, 363. Loire, Clovis and Alaric meet on, 55; Clovis's campaign beyond, 55-56; Northmen on, 167. Lollards, tenets of, 475. Lombard League, formation of, 399; Frederick Barbarossa's war upon, 399; provisions of Peace of Constance regarding, 400-402. Lombards, conquered by Charlemagne, 112, 115. London, sacked by Danes, 181; King John at, 299; army of the barons arrives at, 302; surrendered to the barons, 302; treaty of, 439; Wyclif's doctrines condemned in council at, 475. Lorris, model of franchise towns, 327; charter of, 328-330. Lorsch, monastery at, 106; _Lesser Annals_ of, 106. Lothair, Charles and Louis combine against, 150; defeated at Fontenay, 150; oaths of Strassburg directed against, 151-154; makes overtures for peace, 154; lands received by treaty of Verdun, 155-156. Lotharingia, 155. Louis the Pious, capitulary on education, 145; divides the Empire, 149. Louis the German, combines with Charles the Bald against Lothair, 150-151; takes oath at Strassburg, 152-153; lands received by treaty of Verdun, 155-156; advances against the Wends, 158, 159, 160; expeditions against the Bohemians, 160-161; defeats the Northmen, 166. Louis the Stammerer, 174. Louis V., last direct Carolingian, 177. Louis VI. of France, ratifies charter of Laon, 327. Louis VII. of France, 215; grants charter to Lorris, 327. Louis IX. of France, early career, 311, 313-314; character, 311-312; difficulties at beginning of reign, 314; takes the cross, 314-315; emulated by prominent nobles, 315; in Cyprus, 316; receives deputation from Khan of Tartary, 316-317; arrival in Egypt, 318; advances on Babylon (Cairo), 318; operations on the lower Nile, 318-322; negotiates treaty of Paris, 322; personal traits, 323; methods of dispensing justice, 323-324. Louis X. of France, 419. Louis XI. of France, seeks to revoke Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, 394. Louis IV., Emperor, allied with Edward III., 421. Luidhard, 75. Luitbert, brings sacred relics to the Freckenhorst, 163. Lyons, Council of, Frederick II. excommunicated at, 407. Mâcon, 248. Magdeburg, established, 331. _Magna Charta_, the winning of, 298-303; agreed to at Runnymede, 303; importance and character, 303-304; translations, 305; quoted, 305-310; liberties of the English church, 305; rate of reliefs, 306; aids, 306; the Great Council, 307; writ _de odio et âtia_, 307-308; personal liberties and prerogatives, 308; freedom of commercial intercourse, 308-309; means of enforcement, 309. _Magna Moralia_, written by Pope Gregory, 91. Mainz, a capital of Rhine League, 337; archbishop of, to summon electors of the Empire, 412. _Mallus_, character, 61; summonses to, 61; complaint to be made before, 63. Manichæus, 388. Manzikert, Eastern emperor defeated at, 282. Mapes, Walter, _Latin Poems_ attributed to, a source for mediæval students' songs, 352. Marcomanni, 32, 35. Marriage, of heiresses, right of lord to control, 224-225. Marseilles, St. Louis's companions embark at, 315. Marshall, William, surety for King John, 300-301. Martian, 69. Martin V., elected pope, 391; and Council of Siena, 395. Matilda, wife of William the Conqueror, 234. Matilda, Countess, ally of Gregory VII., 274. Matthew Paris, 292; _Greater Chronicle_ of, quoted, 405-409. Maurice, 73. May-field, character of in Charlemagne's time, 142. Mayor of the Palace, rise of, 105; office made hereditary, 105; accession of Pepin the Short, 105; latter becomes king, 107. Merovingians, decadence of, 105-106; end with Childeric III., 105. Merovius, ancestor of Clovis, 50. Metz, 154; diet of, 410; electors of Empire to meet at, 416. Milan, Frederick Barbarossa destroys, 398-399. _Ministeriales_, functions of, 188. _Missaticæ_, 135. _Missi dominici_, 123; Charlemagne's capitulary for, 134; character and functions, 134-137; employed by Charles Martel and Pepin the Short, 135; to promulgate royal decrees, 141; abuses of, 175-176; in ninth century, 175-176. Moesia, Visigoths settle in, 34. Mohammed, sayings comprised in Koran, 97; principal teachings, 98. Monastery, formula for grant of _precarium_ by, 209-210; grant of immunity confirmed to, 212-214. Monasticism, rise of, 83-84; character of in the East and West, 83; abbey of St. Martin established, 83; Monte Cassino established by St. Benedict, 84; the Benedictine rule, 84-90; character and functions of the abbot, 84-86; prohibition of individual property-holding, 87; manual labor, 88; reading and study, 89; hospitality, 89; decadence in eighth and ninth centuries, 245; the Cluniac reform, 245-246; St. Bernard's reformation of, 250; founding of Clairvaux, 256-258. Monotheism, set forth in the Koran, 99. Monte Cassino, monastery founded at, 84; Karlmann withdraws to, 105. Montlhéri, St. Louis at, 314; English army at, 439. Mortmain, prohibited by charter of Laon, 328. Murder, Charlemagne's legislation on, 141. Nantes, pillaged by Northmen, 165. Nazianzus, Gregory, bishop of, 93. Nerva, 34. New Forest, of William the Conqueror, 244. Nicæa, Council of, 198; Seljuk Turks established at, 282; crusaders converge at, 290. Nice, Visigoths advance toward, 38. Nicholas II., 269. Nile, St. Louis's operations on, 318. Nithardus, author of _Historiarum Libri IV._, 151; career, 151. Nogaret, William of, captures Boniface VIII., 385. Noménoé, conflicts with Charles the Bald, 167. Normans, rapid civilization of, 233; retain adventuresome disposition, 233; in battle of Hastings, 236-238; described by William of Malmesbury, 238-241. Normandy, ceded by Charles the Simple to Rollo, 172; improvement under Norman régime, 173; William the Bastard becomes duke of, 233-234; English and French dispute possession of, 419. Northampton, castle of, besieged by the English barons, 301. Northmen, in Frisia and Gaul, 159-160; in Frisia and Saxony, 162; burn church of St. Martin at Tours, 162, 167; motives of the Norse invasions, 163; pillage, Nantes, 165; winter at Rhé, 165; ascend Garonne, 166; in Spain, 166; at Paris, 166; in Frisia and Brittany, 166; threaten Orleans, 167; at Angers, 167; pillage Orleans, 167; plunder Pisa, 168; besiege Paris, 168-171; bought off by Charles the Fat, 171; receive Normandy from Charles the Simple, 172; become Christians, 173. (See Danes.) Notre Dame, cathedral school of, 340. Noyon, Hugh Capet crowned at, 180. Nuremberg, diet of, 410. Odo, becomes king of France, 168, 177; defense of Paris, 169-170; mission to Charles the Fat, 170-171. Odo, bishop of Bayeux, imprisoned by William the Conqueror, 243. Oppenheim, convention of, 274. Ordeal, nature of, 197; use among Germanic peoples, 197; various forms, 197; an Arian presbyter tested by, 198-200; by cold water described, 200-201; Peter Bartholomew subjected to by fire, 201-202. Origen, 387. Orleans, threatened by the Northmen, 167; pillaged by them, 167. Orosius, 186. Ostrogoths, fall before the Huns, 33. Otger, archbishop of Mainz, 152, 160. Otto I. of Germany, 331. Otto II. of Germany, loses ground to the Slavs, 331. Otto III. of Germany, 403. Otto IV. of Germany, 401; crowned at Rome, 403; defeated at Bouvines, 403. Oxford, Wyclif educated at, 474; banishes Lollards, 475. Paderborn, Frankish assembly at, 119; Pope Leo III. meets Charlemagne at, 130. _Pagus_, 25. Paradise, portrayed in the Koran, 102-103. Palace School, origin of, 144; enlargement by Charlemagne, 112-113, 144-145. Papacy, views on origin of, 78-79; reasons for growth, 78-79; theory of Petrine supremacy, 79; Pope Leo's sermon, 80-83; Gregory becomes pope, 73, 90; his literary efforts, 91; describes functions of secular clergy, 91-96; Pope Zacharias sanctions deposition of Merovingian line, 107; Pope Leo III. crowns Charlemagne emperor, 130-134; Cluny's relations with, 249; Gregory VII.'s conception of, 262-264; Gregory VII.'s claim to authority over temporal princes, 266; Henry IV.'s rejection of claim of, 270; Calixtus II. agrees to Concordat of Worms, 278-281; relations of friars with, 361; St. Francis's attitude towards, 375, 377-378; and temporal powers in later Middle Ages, 380-397; contest of Innocent III. and Philip Augustus, 380-383; Boniface VIII.'s bull _Unam Sanctam_, 383-388; Babylonian Captivity, 383, 389; Great Schism, 389-390; declarations of Councils of Pisa and Constance, 390-393; provisions of Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges regarding powers of, 395-397; conflicts with Frederick II., 405-409; Dante enumerates theories in defense of, 453-455; defines true position of, 456-462; Wyclif's ideas concerning, 475-477. Paris, Clovis's capital, 57; his death at, 59; Northmen at, 166; Northmen prepare to besiege, 168; attack upon, 169-171; importance of siege, 171; treaty of (1259), 322; treaty of (1396), 439. Paris, University of, origin, 340; privileges granted to students by Philip Augustus, 341, 343-345; Heidelberg modelled on, 346; case of Great Schism laid before, 390; proposals regarding Schism, 371-392. Paschal II., accession to papacy, 278; decree prohibiting lay investiture, 278; relations with Henry V., 278. _Patrocinium_, a prototype of vassalage, 204. Paul the Deacon, in Charlemagne's Palace School, 144. Paulinus of Aquileia, in Charlemagne's Palace School, 144. Pavia, taken by Charlemagne, 112. Peace of God, decreed by Church councils, 229; decree of Council of Toulouges, 229-232. Pelagius II., sends Gregory to Constantinople, 90. Penalties, in the Salic law, 62-65; in Charlemagne's _De Partibus Saxoniæ_, 121-123; in Alfred's legislation, 194-195; for violation of an immunity, 214; for violation of Peace and Truce of God, 230-232. Pepin the Short, son of Charles Martel, 105; mayor of the palace, 105; sends deputation to Pope Zacharias, 106; crowned by Pope Stephen III., 106; advised to take title of king, 107; anointed by Boniface at Soissons, 107. Pepin, grandson of Louis the Pious, 152, 158. Peter Bartholomew, subjected to ordeal by fire, 198, 201-202. Peter of Catana, minister-general of Franciscans, 370. Peter of Pisa, brought to Charlemagne's court, 112; in the Palace School, 144. Petrarch, career of, 462-463; part in the Renaissance, 463; writings, 464-465; love of the classics, 465-469; letter to Posterity, 469-473. Petrine Supremacy, theory of, 79; Pope Leo's sermon on, 80-83; mediæval acceptance of, 79; theory of stated by Gregory VII., 267; allusion to in _Unam Sanctam_, 386; Dante's conception of, 456-457. Pfahlburgers, provision of Rhine League concerning, 337. Philip II. (Augustus) of France, privileges granted to students by, 343-345; contest with Innocent III., 380-383; imposes Saladin tithe, 390. Philip IV. (the Fair) of France, contest with Boniface VIII., 383-385; convenes States General, 385; sons of, 419. Philip V. of France, 419. Philip VI. of France, acquires the Dauphiné, 395; accession of, 420; advances with army to Crécy, 430-431; defeated at Crécy, 433-436. Philip of Hohenstaufen, 402-403. Philip the Bold, duke of Burgundy, 440. Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, 440. Philippa, wife of Edward III., 425. Piacenza, Council of, 283. Picts, menace the Britons, 68; Saxons called in against, 69; Saxons ally with, 71. Pilgrimages, to Jerusalem, 282-283. Pisa, Council of, convened, 390; declarations of, 392-393. Plato, Petrarch loans a volume of, 469. Plegmund, archbishop of Canterbury, 190. Pliny the Elder, probably used by Tacitus, 23. Poitiers, 55, 56; battle of, 418. Pontus, 35. Posidonius of Rhodes, probably used by Tacitus, 23. Prague, University of founded, 345. _Precarium_, nature of, 206; prototype of the benefice, 206-207; example of grant, 207-210. _Principes_, among the early Germans, 27-28; conduct in battle, 28. Prudence, bishop of Troyes, 165. Quadi, 35. _Quadrivium_, 145, 339. Ragnachar, kinsman of Clovis, 51; slain, 58-59. Raymond of Agiles, account of ordeal by fire, 201-202. Raymond, count of Toulouse, letter to Arnold Atton, 227-228. Raymond of St. Gilles, 294-295. Ravenna, Dante's death at, 446. Reformation, foreshadowings of, 474-477. _Regalia_, in Concordat of Worms, 279-280; claimed by Frederick Barbarossa, 398; grant of to Lombard cities, 400-401. Relief, defined, 223, 225; origin, 225-226; examples, 226; rate fixed by Great Charter, 306. Religion, of the early Germans, 21; rise of Mohammedanism, 97-104; the Koran quoted, 99-104; Charlemagne's zeal for, 113. Remigius, bishop of Rheims, 54. Renaissance (Carolingian), conditions preceding, 144; Charlemagne's part in, 145-146. Renaissance (Italian), nature of, 444-445; career of Dante, 446-447; Dante's defense of Italian as literary language, 446-452; Dante's conception of the imperial power, 452-462; career and writings of Petrarch, 462-465; Petrarch's love of the classics, 465-469; his letter to Posterity, 469-473. _Rerum Gestarum Libri qui Supersunt_ (by Ammianus Marcellinus), quoted, 34-37, 38-41, 43-46. _Reserve_, nature of, 396. Resurrection, portrayed in the Koran, 100. Rhé, Northmen winter at, 165. Rhine, the Roman frontier, 19-20; trade in vicinity of, 30, 32. Rhine League, conditions influencing formation, 334; instituted at Worms, 335; restrictions imposed on members, 335; treatment of enemies of, 335-336; capitals, 337; governing body, 337; military preparations, 338. Richar, slain by Clovis, 59. Richer, author of _Four Books of Histories_, 178. Rivo Torto, St. Francis at, 369. Robert I., 169, 177. Robert the Strong, 168, 177. Robert the Monk, version of Pope Urban's speech, 283-288. Robert of Artois, connection with Hundred Years' War, 423. Robertians, 168; rivalry with Carolingians, 177. Roger de Hoveden, 292. Roger of Wendover, account of the winning of the Great Charter, 298-303, 404. Roland, Song of, 236. Rollo, receives Normandy from Charles the Simple, 172; baptized, 172; improvement of Normandy, 173. Romans, conquest of Gaul by, 19; travelers and traders in Germany, 23, 32; defeat of Varus, 32; put on the defensive, 32; early contact with the Germans, 32-33; alarmed by reports of Gothic restlessness, 35; mistreat the Visigoths, 37; defeated at Adrianople, 39-41; withdraw garrisons from Britain, 68. Roman Empire, filtration of Germans into, 33; efforts to enlarge to the northward, 19, 32; Visigoths desire to enter, 34; Visigoths settle in, 36-37; relation of Charlemagne's empire to, 131-132. Romanus Diogenes, defeated at Manzikert, 282. Rome, development of papacy at, 78-79; Pepin the Short sends deputation to, 106; Charlemagne's visits to, 111, 114; Charlemagne crowned at, 130, 132-134; plundered by the Saracens, 160. Romulus Augustulus, 131. Roncesvalles, Count Roland slain at, 236. Rorik, leader of Northmen, 161. Rouen, Odo, bishop of Bayeux, imprisoned at, 243. Rudolph I., of Hapsburg, elected emperor, 409. _Rudolfi Fuldensis Annales_, quoted, 156. Rufinus, companion of St. Francis, 363. Rule, of St. Francis, drawn up, 373-374; quoted, 375-376. Runnymede, Great Charter promulgated at, 303. Rupert I., founds University of Heidelberg, 345. _Sacrosancta_, decree of, 391. St. Albans, 298. St. Andrew, monastery of, established, 90. St. Augustine, author of _De Civitate Dei_, 111. St. Benedict, career of, 84; service to European monasticism, 84; Rule of, 84-90. St. Bernard, times of, 250; founds Clairvaux, 250; biography of, 251; birth and parentage, 251; early traits, 252; decides to become a monk, 252-253; at Châtillon, 254; enters Cîteaux,254; obtains ability to reap, 255; piety and knowledge of Scriptures, 255-256; goes forth from Cîteaux, 256; founds monastery at Clairvaux, 256-257. St. Bonaventura, author of official life of St. Francis, 363. Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, treaty of, 172. St. David, 181. St. Dionysius, 387. St. Dominic, founder of Dominican order, 360. St. Edmund's, magnates of England assemble at, 298. St. Francis, early career, 362; sources of information on, 362; youthful follies, 364; redeeming qualities, 364; change in manner of life, 365-366; zeal in charity, 366-367; begs alms at Rome, 367; overcomes aversion to lepers, 368; refuses to dwell in an adorned cell, 369; humiliates himself publicly, 370-371; love for the larks, 371-372; regard for all created things, 372-373; draws up his Rule, 373-374; the Rule quoted, 375; the will of, 376-378; attitude toward the existing Church, 375, 377-378; enjoins poverty and labor, 377-379. St. Germain des Prés, 165, 169. St. Hilary, bishop of Poitiers, 56. St. Jerome, translation of Scriptures, 193; cited by Petrarch, 468. St. Louis (see Louis IX.). St. Marcellus, Church of, 212. St. Martin (of Tours), career of, 48; shrine of visited by pilgrims, 48; Clovis's respect for, 55, 57; church at Canterbury dedicated to, 77; monastery at Tours dedicated to, 83; church of burned by Northmen, 162, 167. St. Peter, Christ's commission to, 79, 81. St. Peter, Church of, Charlemagne's gifts to, 114; Charlemagne crowned in, 133; fortified, 161. St. Quentin, Fulrad abbot of, 142; Dudo, dean of, 165. Savigny, granted as fief to bishop of Beauvais, 215. Saisset, Bernard, offends Philip the Fair, 384. Salerno, University of, 341. Salic law, cited, 25; date, 60; character, 60; editions and translation, 61; monetary system in, 61; summonses to meetings of the local courts, 61; theft, 62; robbery with assault, 63; incendiarism, 63; deeds of violence, 63; use of poison or witchcraft, 64; slander, 64; trespass, 65; homicide, 65; right of migration, 66; debt, 66; inheritance, 66-67; wergeld, 67. Saracens, plunder Rome, 160; Italian league against, 160; renew devastation, 161; in possession of the Holy Land, 282; combats with crusaders, 292-296; project to turn the Tartars against, 317; operations against St. Louis, 318-322; Frederick II. accused of friendly relations with, 405-407. Saxon Chronicle, quoted, 241-244. Saxons, conquer Britain while yet pagans, 49; infest British coasts, 68; appear at Thanet, 69; called in by Britons, 69; settlement in Britain, 70; ally with Picts, 71; conquest of Britain, 71-72; pagan character, 72; Christianization begun, 73-77; in Charlemagne's day, 115-117; problem of conquest, 115-116; lack of natural frontier, 117; faithlessness, 117; transplanted in part to Gaul, 117; Charlemagne's peace with, 118; massacre at Verden, 117; formula for acceptance of Christianity, 118; Charlemagne's capitularies concerning, 118-123; provisions for establishment of Christianity among, 120-122; penalties for persistence in paganism, 122; fugitive criminals, 123; public assemblies, 123. Scheldt River, 58. Schism, Great, origin, 389-390; plans of University of Paris to end, 391-392; Councils of Pisa and Constance, 390-393; stops proceedings against Wyclif, 475. Schools (see Education). Scots, menace the Britons, 68; Saxons called in against, 69. Scutage, increased by King John, 297; method of raising specified in Great Charter, 306. Scythia, 43. Seine, Northmen on, 166, 168. Seligenstadt, Einhard at, 109. Selwood, Alfred at, 184. Senlis, meeting of Frankish magnates at, 178. Sens, given over to Northmen to plunder, 171. Septimania, conquered by Childebert, 57. Septuagint, 192. Serfs, fugitive, 138. Sergius II., 158. Senlac (see Hastings). Siegfred, leads siege of Paris, 168. Siena, Council of, 395. Sigibert the Lame, slain by son's agents, 57. Sigismund, appealed to by John XXIII., 391. Simony, 261; Henry IV.'s councilors condemned for, 264. Slander, in the Salic law, 64. Slavery, among the early Germans, 31. Slavs, location in Charlemagne's day, 330; German encroachment upon, 331. Sluys, naval battle of, 424-427. Soana, Hildebrand born at, 261. Soissons, capital of Syagrius's kingdom, 51; Clovis defeats Syagrius at, 51; episode of the broken vase, 51-52; Pepin the Short anointed at, 107; council at, 381. _Solidus_, value, 61. Spain, invaded by Northmen, 166. Spanish March, annexed to Charlemagne's kingdom, 115. _Speculum Perfectionis_ (by Brother Leo), quoted, 368-373. Speyer, Henry IV. flees from, 274. Stamford, English barons meet at, 300. Stamford Bridge, Harold Hardrada defeated at, 234. Stephen, abbot of Cîteaux, 254. Stephen III., crowns Pepin the Short, 106. Stephen IX., 261. Stephen of Blois, sketch of, 292; letter to his wife, 292-296; recounts experiences of crusaders, 293; describes siege of Antioch, 293-296. Stephen Langton, archbishop of Canterbury, 298, 299. Strassburg, battle of won by Clovis, 49, 50, 53; results, 53-54; oaths of Charles and Louis at, 150, 152-154; linguistic and historical significance, 150-151. Strassfurt, Frankish assembly at, 142. Students, privileges granted to by Frederick I., 341-343; by Philip Augustus, 343-345; itinerant character of, 351-352; songs of, 353-359. Subasio, Mount, St. Francis seeks seclusion at, 370. Suetonius, 34; as model for Einhard, 109. Suevi, described by Cæsar, 21. Swanwich, Danes defeated at, 183. Syagrius, "king of the Romans," 50-51; defeated by Clovis at Soissons, 51; takes refuge with Alaric, 51; surrendered and put to death, 51. Sylvester II. (Gerbert), 283. Syria, overrun by Arabs, 282; partially recovered, 282; conquered by Seljuk Turks, 282; described by Pope Urban, 286; crusaders in, 293-296. Tacitus, describes the Germans in his _Germania_, 23-31; sources of information, 23; object in writing, 23-24. Tartary, Khan of, sends deputation to St. Louis, 316-317. Taxation, not developed among the early Germans, 29. Templars, in England, 299; Turks attack, 319. Tertullian, 72. Tescelin, father of St. Bernard, 251. Teutoberg Forest, Varus defeated at, 32. _Teutones_, 32. Thames, Danes appear on, 181. Thanet, Saxons appear at, 69; conceded to them by Vortigern, 70; population, 75; Augustine lands at, 75. Theft, in the Salic law, 62; Charlemagne's legislation on, 141. Thiebault, count palatine of Troyes, grants fief to Jocelyn d'Avalon, 216. Thrace, selected as a haven by the Visigoths, 35; conceded to them by Valens, 36. Toulouges, Council of, decrees Peace and Truce of God, 229-232. Toulouse, Visigothic capital, 51; Syagrius takes refuge at, 51. Tours, Gregory, bishop of, 47-48; monastery and shrine of St. Martin at, 48; Alaric and Clovis meet near, 55; monastery at dedicated to St. Martin, 83; truce of, 439. Towns, lack of among the early Germans, 29; prevalence in Græco-Roman world, 29; use of in France, 325; origins of, 325-326; classes of, 326-327; charter of Laon, 327-328; charter of Lorris, 328-330. Trajan, wars in the Rhine country, 23. Trespass, in the Salic law, 65. Tribur, conference of German nobles at, 274-275. _Trivium_, 145, 339. Troyes, county of, 215. Troyes, treaty of, negotiated, 440-441; provisions of, 443. Truce of God, decreed by church councils, 229; decree of Council of Toulouges, 229-232; reissued by Council of Clermont, 286. Turks, Seljuk, invasions of, 282; ravages depicted by Pope Urban, 285; defeated by crusaders, 293; attack the Templars, 318; operations against St. Louis, 318-322. _Unam Sanctam_, issued by Boniface VIII., 383-385; quoted, 385-388. Universities, origins of in Middle Ages, 339; patronage of by Church and temporal powers, 340; privileges granted to students by Frederick I., 341-343; by Philip Augustus, 343-345; rise in Germany, 345; charter of Heidelberg, 345-350; student songs, 351-359. Unstrutt, Henry IV.'s victory at, 265. Urban II., appealed to by Alexius Comnenus, 283; speech at Clermont, 283-288; appeal to the French, 284-285; enumerates reasons for a crusade, 285-287; results of speech, 287-288. Urban VI., approves foundation of University of Heidelberg, 346; elected pope, 389; Wyclif's letter to, 475-477. Valens, Visigoths send embassy to, 35; flattered into acceding to their request, 36; seeks to quell Visigothic uprising, 37-38; rash resolve to attack, 38; defeat, 41. Valentinian I., 35. Valentinian III., 69. Varus, defeated at the Teutoberg Forest, 32. Vassalage, origins, 204-205; relations with _patrocinium_ and _comitatus_, 205; commendation defined, 205; formula for commendation, 205-206; relation to benefice, 207; obligations of, 220-221. Vecta, 71. Venice, treaty of, 399. Verden, massacre of Saxons at, 117. Verdun, treaty of, 154-156; territorial division by, 155. _Vicarius_, functions, 176. Victgilsus, 71. Vienna, University of, founded, 345. Villages, among the early Germans, 30. _Villes franches_, nature of, 326-327. _Villes libres_, nature of, 326; Laon as an example, 327-328. Vincennes, 323. Viscount, functions, 176. Visigoths, invasion of the Roman Empire described by Ammianus Marcellinus, 32-41; receive Dacia from Aurelian, 33; threatened by the Huns, 33; select Thrace as a haven, 35; send embassy to Valens, 35; receive the desired permission, 36; cross the Danube, 36-37; terms of the settlement, 37; mistreated by the Romans, 37; rise in revolt, 37; Valens resolves to attack, 38; advance toward Nice, 38; defeat the Romans at Adrianople, 39-41; Alaric, king of, 51, 54-55; defeated by Clovis, 56; Amalaric, king of, retreats to Spain, 56; new capital at Toledo, 56. _Vita Caroli Magni_ (by Einhard), purpose, 109; value, 109; translation of, 109, 116; quoted, 109-114, 116-118. _Vitæ Pontificorum Romanorum_, quoted, 133-134. Vortigern, king of the Britons, 68; invites Saxons into Britain, 69. Vortimer, 71. Vulcan, worshipped by the Germans, 21, 26. Vouillé, Clovis defeats Alaric at, 56. Vulgate, 193; origin of, 468. Wager of battle, discouraged by the Church, 197. Wales, Christianity in, 72. Wardship, nature of, 224; conditions of prescribed by Norman custom, 224-225; conditions of defined in Great Charter, 306. Warfare, of the early Germans, 22, 25-26, 28-29; of the Huns, 45; prevalence in feudal times, 228-229; efforts to restrict, 229; decline of feudal, 428. Weapons, of the early Germans, 24; of the Huns, 45. Wedmore, treaty of, 185. Wends, 158, 159, 160. Werfrith, bishop of Worcester, 189; Alfred's letter to, 191-194. Wergeld, 65; in the Salic law, 67, 141. Werwulf, of Mercia, 190. Westminster, William the Conqueror wears crown at, 242. Widukind, account of Saxon conquest, 116. William of Aquitaine, letter of Fulbert of Chartres to, 220-221. William the Conqueror, power as duke of Normandy, 233; claims to throne of England, 234; prepares to invade England, 234; makes ready for battle, 236; his strategem at Hastings, 236-237; his valor in battle, 237; his government described in the Saxon Chronicle, 241-244; religious zeal, 242; extent of his authority, 243; forest laws, 244. William, count of Flanders, homage and fealty to, 218-219. William of Holland, claimant to imperial title, 334. William of Jumièges, 165. William of Malmesbury, sketch of, 235; author of _Chronicle of the Kings of England_, 235, 288. William the Pious, issues charter for monastery at Cluny, 245; motives for benefaction, 247; land and other property ceded, 247-248. William of St. Thierry, biographer of St. Bernard, 251, 258. Wilton, Alfred fights the Danes at, 182. Winchester, William the Conqueror wears crown at, 242; King John holds court at, 299. Witan, 194. Witchcraft, in the Salic law, 64. Woden, 26, 49, 50, 71, 72, 119, 197. Worcester, Werfrith, bishop of, 189. Worms, 154; council at decrees that Gregory VII. should abdicate, 270; diet at, 279; Concordat of, 279-281; Rhine League formed at, 335; with Mainz, to be League's capital, 337; jurisdiction of bishop of over University of Heidelberg, 348, 350. Wyclif, career of, 474-475. Zacharias, consulted by Pepin the Short, 106; advises him to take title of king, 107. Zaid, collects sayings of Mohammed, 97. ESSENTIALS IN MEDIAEVAL AND MODERN HISTORY From Charlemagne to the Present Day By SAMUEL BANNISTER HARDING, Ph.D., Professor of European History, Indiana University, in consultation with ALBERT BUSHNELL HART, LL.D., Professor of History, Harvard University. $1.50 Essentials in Mediaeval History $1.00 The difficulties usually encountered in treating mediaeval and modern history are here overcome by an easy and satisfactory method. By this plan Italy, France, Germany, and England are taken up in turn as each becomes the central figure on the world's stage. The first part of the book is devoted to the period previous to the Reformation; the second to modern history from the Reformation to the French Revolution; and the remainder to the century and a quarter since the occurrence of that great event. This arrangement gives an opportunity to discuss the greatness of England, the unification of Italy and of Germany, and the present organization of Europe under control of the concert of powers, on the same plane as the Crusades, or the Thirty Years' War, or the age of Louis XIV. ¶ The three most difficult problems in mediaeval history--the feudal state, the church, and the rivalry between the empire and the church--are here discussed with great clearness and brevity. The central idea of the book is the development of the principle of national independence in both politics and religion from the earlier condition of a world empire. ¶ For the convenience of those wishing a text-book on Mediaeval History alone, the period from Charlemagne to the close of the fifteenth century is issued in separate form. FISHER'S BRIEF HISTORY OF THE NATIONS By GEORGE PARK FISHER, LL.D., Emeritus Professor in Yale University $1.50 This is an entirely independent work, written, expressly to meet the demand for a compact and acceptable text-book on General History for secondary schools and lower classes in colleges. Some of the distinctive qualities which will commend this book to teachers and students are as follows: ¶ It narrates in fresh, vigorous, and attractive style the most important facts of history in their due order and connection. It explains the nature of historical evidence, and records only well established judgments respecting persons and events. It delineates the progress of peoples and nations in civilization as well as the rise and succession of dynasties. ¶ It connects, in a single chain of narration, events related to each other in the contemporary history of different nations and countries. It is written from the standpoint of the present, and incorporates the latest discoveries of historical explorers and writers. ¶ It is illustrated by numerous colored maps, genealogical tables, and artistic reproductions of architecture, sculpture, painting, and portraits of celebrated men, representing every period of the world's history. FISHER'S OUTLINES OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY Revised, $2.40 Also published in three parts, price, each, $1.00. Part I, Ancient History. Part II, Mediaeval History. Part III, Modern History. A new and revised edition of this standard work. Soon after the publication of the first edition of this history the author was honored by the University of Edinburgh with the degree of Doctor of Laws, in recognition of his services in the cause of historical research. In this edition the book is brought fully up to date in all particulars. ESSENTIALS IN ANCIENT HISTORY From the Earliest Records to Charlemagne. By ARTHUR MAYER WOLFSON, Ph.D., First Assistant in History, DeWitt Clinton High School, New York. In consultation with ALBERT BUSHNELL HART, LL.D., Professor of History, Harvard University $1.50 This volume belongs to the Essentials in History Series, which follows the plan recommended by the Committee of Seven, and adopted by the College Entrance Examination Board, and by the New York State Education Department. The pedagogic apparatus is amply sufficient for any secondary school. ¶ The essentials in ancient history are presented as a unit, beginning with the earliest civilization in the East, and ending with the establishment of the Western Empire by Charlemagne. More attention is paid to civilization than to mere constitutional development, the latter being brought out in the narrative, rather than as a series of separate episodes. ¶ A departure has been made from the time-honored method of carrying the subject down to the end of Greek political life before beginning the story of Rome. The history of the two civilizations is not entirely distinct; hence, it has seemed wise, after completing the account of the life and work of Alexander, to tell the story of the beginnings of Rome. Afterwards the history of the East is resumed, and carried on to the point where it merges into that of Rome. Should any teacher, however, prefer the old method of treating the two nations, he has only to take up Chapters XXIV and XXV before Chapters XVIII to XXIII. The Roman Empire, a very important but much neglected period of history, is brought out in its just proportions, and with reference to the events which had the greatest influence. ESSENTIALS IN AMERICAN HISTORY From the Discovery to the Present Day. By ALBERT BUSHNELL HART, LL.D., Professor of History, Harvard University $1.50 Professor Hart was a member of the Committee of Seven, and consequently is exceptionally qualified to supervise the preparation of a series of text-books which carry out the ideas of that Committee. The needs of secondary schools, and the entrance requirements to all colleges, are fully met by the Essentials in History Series. ¶ This volume reflects in an impressive manner the writer's broad grasp of the subject, his intimate knowledge of the relative importance of events, his keen insight into the cause and effect of each noteworthy occurrence, and his thorough familiarity with the most helpful pedagogical features--all of which make the work unusually well suited to students. ¶ The purpose of the book is to present an adequate description of all essential things in the upbuilding of the country, and to supplement this by good illustrations and maps. Political geography, being the background of all historical knowledge, is made a special topic, while the development of government, foreign relations, the diplomatic adjustment of controversies, and social and economic conditions have been duly emphasized. ¶ All sections of the Union, North, East, South, West, and Far West, have received fair treatment. Much attention is paid to the causes and results of our various wars, but only the most significant battles and campaigns have been described. The book aims to make distinct the character and public services of some great Americans, brief accounts of whose lives are given in special sections of the text. Towards the end a chapter sums up the services of America to mankind. ESSENTIALS IN ENGLISH HISTORY From the Earliest Records to the Present Day. By ALBERT PERRY WALKER, A.M., Master in History, English High School, Boston. In consultation with ALBERT BUSHNELL HART, LL.D., Professor of History, Harvard University $1.50 Like the other volumes of the Essentials in History Series, this text-book is intended to form a year's work in secondary schools, following out the recommendation of the Committee of Seven, and meeting the requirements of the College Entrance Examination Board, and of the New York State Education Department. It contains the same general features, the same pedagogic apparatus, and the same topical method of treatment. The text is continuous, the sectional headings being placed in the margin. The maps and illustrations are worthy of special mention. ¶ The book is a model of good historical exposition, unusually clear in expression, logical and coherent in arrangement, and accurate in statement. The essential facts in the development of the British Empire are vividly described, and the relation of cause and effect is clearly brought out. ¶ The treatment begins with a brief survey of the whole course of English history, deducing therefrom three general movements: (1) the fusing of several races into the English people; (2) the solution by that people of two great problems: free and democratic home government, and practical, enlightened government of foreign dependencies; and (3) the extreme development of two great fields of industry, commerce and manufacture. The narrative follows the chronological order, and is full of matter which is as interesting as it is significant, ending with a masterly summary of England's contribution to civilization. NINETEENTH CENTURY ENGLISH PROSE Critical Essays Edited with Introductions and Notes by THOMAS H. DICKINSON, Ph.D., and FREDERICK W. ROE, A.M., Assistant Professors of English, University of Wisconsin. $1.00 This book for college classes presents a series of ten selected essays, which are intended to trace the development of English criticism in the nineteenth century. The choice of material has been influenced by something more than mere style. An underlying coherence in content, typical of the thought of the era in question, may be traced throughout. With but few exceptions the selections are given in their entirety. ¶ The essays cover a definite period, and exhibit the individuality of each author's method of criticism. In each case they are those most typical of the author's critical principles, and at the same time representative of the critical tendencies of his age. The subject-matter provides interesting material for intensive study and class room discussion, and each essay is an example of excellent, though varying, style. ¶ They represent not only the authors who write, but the authors who are treated. The essays provide the best things that have been said by England's critics on Swift, on Scott, on Macaulay, and on Emerson. ¶ The introductions and notes provide the necessary biographical matter, suggestive points for the use of the teacher in stimulating discussion of the form or content of the essays, and such aids as will eliminate those matters of detail that might prove stumbling blocks to the student. Though the essays are in chronological order, they may be treated at random according to the purposes of the teacher. INTRODUCTION TO POLITICAL SCIENCE By JAMES WILFORD GARNER, Ph.D., Professor of Political Science, University of Illinois $2.50 This systematic treatise on the science of government covers a wider range of topics on the nature, origin, organization, and functions of the state than is found in any other college textbook published in the English language. The unusually comprehensive treatment of the various topics is based on a wide reading of the best literature on the subject in English, German, French, and Italian, and the student has opportunity to profit by this research work through the bibliographies placed at the head of each chapter, as well as by means of many additional references in the footnotes. ¶ An introductory chapter is followed by chapters on the nature and essential elements of the state; on the various theories concerning the origin of the state; on the forms of the state; on the forms of government, including a discussion of the elements of strength and weakness of each; on sovereignty, its nature, its essential characteristics, and its abiding place in the state; on the functions and sphere of the state, including the various theories of state activity; and on the organization of the state. In addition there are chapters on constitutions, their nature, forms, and development; on the distribution of the powers of government; on the electorate; and on citizenship and nationality. ¶ Before stating his own conclusions the author gives an impartial discussion of the more important theories of the origin, nature, and functions of the state, and analyzes and criticises them in the light of the best scientific thought and practice. Thus the pupil becomes familiar with the history of the science as well as with its principles as recognized to-day. DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE OF HIGH SCHOOL AND COLLEGE TEXT-BOOKS Published Complete and in Sections We issue a Catalogue of High School and College Text-Books, which we have tried to make as valuable and as useful to teachers as possible. In this catalogue are set forth briefly and clearly the scope and leading characteristics of each of our best text-books. In most cases there are also given testimonials from well-known teachers, which have been selected quite as much for their descriptive qualities as for their value as commendations. ¶ For the convenience of teachers this Catalogue is also published in separate sections treating of the various branches of study. These pamphlets are entitled: English, Mathematics, History and Political Science, Science, Modern Languages, Ancient Languages, and Philosophy and Education. ¶ In addition we have a single pamphlet devoted to Newest Books in every subject. ¶ Teachers seeking the newest and best books for their classes are invited to send for our Complete High School and College Catalogue, or for such sections as may be of greatest interest. ¶ Copies of our price lists, or of special circulars, in which these books are described at greater length than the space limitations of the catalogue permit, will be mailed to any address on request. ¶ All correspondence should be addressed to the nearest of the following offices of the company: New York, Cincinnati, Chicago, Boston, Atlanta, San Francisco. AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 
37848	----	BOHN'S ANTIQUARIAN LIBRARY. Old English Chronicles. ETHELWERD--ASSER'S LIFE OF ALFRED--GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH--GILDAS--NENNIUS--AND RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER. GEORGE BELL AND SONS LONDON: PORTUGAL ST., LINCOLN'S INN. CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CO. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. BOMBAY: A.H. WHEELER AND CO. Old English Chronicles, INCLUDING ETHELWERD'S CHRONICLE. ASSER'S LIFE OF ALFRED. GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH'S BRITISH HISTORY. GILDAS. NENNIUS. TOGETHER WITH THE SPURIOUS CHRONICLE OF RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER. EDITED, WITH ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES, BY J.A. GILES, D.C.L., LATE FELLOW OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, OXFORD. [Illustration] LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS 1906 [_Reprinted from Stereotype plates._] EDITOR'S PREFACE. Of the present volume it will be sufficient to inform the reader that it contains Six Chronicles, all relating to the history of this country before the Norman Conquest, and all of essential importance to those who like to study history in the very words of contemporary writers. We will at once proceed to enumerate them severally. CHAP. I.--ETHELWERD'S CHRONICLE. The short chronicle, which passes under the name of Ethelwerd, contains few facts which are not found in the Saxon Chronicle its precursor. Of the author we know no more than he has told us in his work. "Malmesbury calls him 'noble and magnificent' with reference to his rank; for he was descended from king Alfred: but he forgets his peculiar praise--that of being the only Latin historian for two centuries; though, like Xenophon, Cæsar, and Alfred, he wielded the sword as much as the pen."[1] Ethelwerd dedicated his work to, and indeed wrote it for the use of his relation Matilda, daughter of Otho the Great, emperor of Germany, by his first empress Edgitha or Editha; who is mentioned in the Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 925, though not by name, as given to Otho by her brother, king Athelstan. Ethelwerd adds, in his epistle to Matilda, that Athelstan sent _two_ sisters, in order that the emperor might take his choice; and that he preferred the mother of Matilda. The chronology of Ethelwerd is occasionally a year or two at variance with other authorities. The reader will be guided in reckoning the dates, not by the heading of each paragraph, A.D. 891, 975, &c., but by the actual words of the author inserted in the body of the text. I have translated this short chronicle from the original text as well as I was able, and as closely as could be to the author's text; but I am by no means certain of having always succeeded in hitting on his true meaning, for such is the extraordinary barbarism of the style, that I believe many an ancient Latin classic, if he could rise from his grave, would attempt in vain to interpret it. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Ingram, p. viii. note] CHAP. II.--ASSER'S LIFE OF ALFRED. This work is ascribed, on its own internal authority, to Asser, who is said to have been bishop of St. David's, of Sherborne or of Exeter, in the time of king Alfred. Though most of the public events recorded in this book are to be found in the Saxon Chronicle, yet for many interesting circumstances in the life of our great Saxon king we are indebted to this biography alone. But, as if no part of history is ever to be free from suspicion, or from difficulty, a doubt has been raised concerning the authenticity of this work.[2] There is also another short treatise called the Annals of Asser, or the Chronicle of St. Neot, different from the present: it is published in vol. iii. of Gale and Fell's Collection of Historians. And it has been suspected by a living writer that both of these works are to be looked upon as compilations of a later date. The arguments upon which this opinion is founded are drawn principally from the abrupt and incoherent character of the work before us. But we have neither time nor space to enter further into this question. As the work has been edited by Petrie, so has it been here translated, and the reader, taking it upon its own merits, will find therein much of interest about our glorious king, concerning whom he will lament with me that all we know is so little, so unsatisfying. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 2: See Wright's Biographia Literaria Anglo-Saxonica, p. 405. Dr. Lingard, however, in his recent work on the History and Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon Church, vol. ii. pp. 424-428, has replied to Mr. Wright's objections, and vindicated the authenticity of Asser's Life.] CHAP. III.--GILDAS. Of Gildas, the supposed author of the third work contained in this volume, little or nothing is known. Mr. Stevenson, in the preface to his edition of the original Latin, lately published by the English Historical Society, says: "We are unable to speak with certainty as to his parentage, his country, or even his name, the period when he lived, or the works of which he was the author." Such a statement is surely sufficient to excuse us at present from saying more on the subject, than that he is supposed to have lived, and to have written what remains under his name, during some part of the sixth century. There are two legends[3] of the life of St. Gildas, as he is termed, but both of them abound with such absurdities that they scarcely deserve to be noticed in a serious history. Of the present translation, the first or historic half is entirely new; in the rest, consisting almost entirely of texts from Scripture, the translator has thought it quite sufficient to follow the old translation of Habington, correcting whatever errors he could detect, and in some degree relieving the quaint and obsolete character of the language. It has been remarked by Polydore Virgil, that Gildas quotes no other book but the Bible; and it may be added, that his quotations are in other words than those of the Vulgate or common authorized translation. The title of the old translation is as follows: "The Epistle of Gildas the most ancient British Author: who flourished in the yeere of our Lord, 546. And who by his great erudition, sanctitie, and wisdome, acquired the name of _Sapiens_. Faithfully translated out of the originall Latine." London, 12mo. 1638. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 3: Both these works are given in the appendix to the editor's "History of the Ancient Britons."] CHAP. IV.--NENNIUS. The History of the Britons, which occupies the fourth place in this volume is generally ascribed to Nennius, but so little is known about the author, that we have hardly any information handed down to us respecting him except this mention of his name. It is also far from certain at what period the history was written, and the difference is no less than a period of two hundred years, some assigning the work to seven hundred and ninety-six, and others to nine hundred and ninety-four. The recent inquiries of Mr. Stevenson, to be found in the Preface to his new edition of the original Latin, render it unnecessary at present to delay the reader's attention from the work itself. The present translation is substantially that of the Rev. W. Gunn, published with the Latin original in 1819, under the following title: "The 'Historia Britonum,' commonly attributed to Nennius; from a manuscript lately discovered in the library of the Vatican Palace at Rome: edited in the tenth century, by Mark the Hermit; with an English version, facsimile of the original, notes and illustrations." The kindness of that gentleman has enabled the present editor to reprint the whole, with only a few corrections of slight errata, which inadvertency alone had occasioned, together with the two prologues and several pages of genealogies, which did not occur in the MS. used by that gentleman. CHAP. V.--GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. Geoffrey, surnamed of Monmouth, is celebrated in English literature as the author, or at least the translator, of _Historia Britonum_, a work from which nearly all our great vernacular poets have drawn the materials for some of their noblest works of fiction and characters of romance. He lived in the early part of the twelfth century, and in the year 1152 was raised to the bishopric of St. Asaph. The first of his writings, in point of time, was a Latin translation of the Prophecies of Merlin, which he undertook at the request of Alexander bishop of Lincoln. His next work was that on which his fame principally rests, the _Historia Britonum_, dedicated to Robert, duke of Gloucester, who died in 1147. Into this second work he inserted the Latin translation above-mentioned, which now appears as the seventh book of _Historia Britonum_. A third composition has also been ascribed to Geoffrey, entitled _Vita Merlini_, in Latin hexameter verse: but the internal evidence which it affords, plainly proves that it is the work of a different author. Although the list of our Chroniclers may be considered as complete, without the addition of this work, yet we have thought it worthy of a place in our series for many reasons. It is not for historical accuracy that the book before us is valuable; for the great mass of scholars have come to the decided conviction that it is full of fables. But it is the romantic character which pervades the narrative, together with its acknowledged antiquity, which make it desirable that the book should not sink into oblivion. Those who desire to possess it as a venerable relic of an early age, will now have an opportunity of gratifying their wish; whilst others, who despise it as valueless, in their researches after historic truth, may, nevertheless, find some little pleasure in the tales of imagination which it contains. The value of this work is best evinced by the attention which was paid to it for many centuries; Henry of Huntingdon made an abstract of it, which he subjoined as an appendix to his history: and Alfred of Beverley, a later writer, in his abridgment of this work which still exists, has omitted Geoffrey's name, though he calls the author of the original, Britannicus. An English translation of the work was first published by Aaron Thompson, of Queen's College, Oxford, [8vo. Lond. 1718.] and lately revised and reprinted by the editor of this volume, [8vo. Lond. 1842.] A long preface is prefixed to that translation, wherein the author endeavoured to prove Geoffrey of Monmouth to be a more faithful historian than he is generally considered to be. His words are as follow:--"I am not unsensible that I expose myself to the censures of some persons, by publishing this translation of a book, which they think had better been suppressed and buried in oblivion, as being at present generally exploded for a groundless and fabulous story, such as our modern historians think not worthy relating, or at least mention with contempt. And though it is true, several men, and those of learning too, censure this book who have but little considered it, and whose studies no ways qualify them to judge of it; yet, I own this consideration has for a long time deterred me from publishing it: and I should not at last have been able to surmount this difficulty, without the importunity and encouragement of others, to whom I owe a singular regard. I had indeed before I entered upon the work perused the principal writers both for and against this history, the effect of which upon my own judgment, as to the swaying it to the one side more than the other, was but very small; and I must confess, that I find the most learned antiquaries the most modest in their opinions concerning it, and that it seems to me to be a piece of great rashness, to judge peremptorily upon a matter, whereof at this great distance of time there are no competent witnesses on either side. At least I cannot but think it a sufficient apology for my publishing this book, to consider only, that though it seems to suffer under a general prejudice at present, yet it has not long done so; but that upon its first appearing in the world, it met with a universal approbation, and that too, from those who had better opportunities of examining the truth of it, as there were then more monuments extant, and the traditions more fresh and uncorrupted concerning the ancient British affairs, than any critics of the present age can pretend to; that it had no adversary before William of Newburgh about the end of the reign of Richard the First, whose virulent invective against it, we are told, proceeded from a revenge he thought he owed the Welsh for an affront they had given him; that his opposition was far from shaking the credit of it with our succeeding historians, who have, most of them, till the beginning of the last century, confirmed it with their testimonies, and copied after it, as often as they had occasion to treat of the same affairs: that its authority was alleged by king Edward the First and all the nobility of the kingdom, in a controversy of the greatest importance, before Boniface the Eighth; that even in this learned age, that is so industrious to detect any impostures, which through the credulity of former times had passed upon the world, the arguments against this history are not thought so convincing, but that several men of equal reputation for learning and judgment with its adversaries, have written in favour of it; that very few have at last spoken decisively against it, or absolutely condemned it; and that it is still most frequently quoted by our most learned historians and antiquaries. All these considerations, I say, if they do not amount to an apology for the history itself, show at least that it deserves to be better known than at present it is; which is sufficient to justify my undertaking the publishing of it." It is unnecessary in the present day to prove that king Brute is a shadowy personage, who never existed but in the regions of romance: but as the reader may justly expect to find in this place some account of the controversy which has existed respecting this work, the following remarks will not be deemed inappropriate. There seems no good reason for supposing that Geoffrey of Monmouth intended to deceive the world respecting the history of which he professed to be the translator; and it may be readily conceived that he did no more than fulfil the task which he had undertaken, of rendering the book into Latin out of the original language. But those who, even as late as the beginning of the last century, supported the authenticity of the history, have grounded their opinions on such arguments as the following:-- 1. That, upon its first appearance in the world, the book met with universal approbation, and that too from those who had better opportunities of examining the truth of it, as there were then more monuments extant, and the traditions were more fresh and uncorrupted, concerning the ancient British affairs, than any critics of the present age can pretend to. 2. That except William of Newburgh, about the end of the reign of Richard I, it met with no opponents even down to the seventeenth century, but was, on the contrary, quoted by all, in particular by Edward I, in a controversy before Boniface the Eighth. 3. That we see in this history the traces of venerable antiquity. 4. That the story of Brute, and the descent of the Britons from the Trojans, was universally allowed by Giraldus Cambrensis and others, and was opposed for the first time by John of Wethamstede, [Nicolson's Eng. Hist. Lit. 2nd ed. p. 1, c. v.] who lived in the 15th century: that Polydore Virgil's contempt for it proceeded from his wish to preserve unimpaired the glory of the Romans, and Buchanan's observations betray his ignorance of the story. 5. That Leland, who lived under Henry the Eighth, Humphrey Lhwyd, Sir John Price, Dr. Caius, Dr. Powel, and others, have supported the story of Brute, etc. Such arguments may have satisfied the credulous students of the seventeenth century, but the more enlightened criticism of the present day will no longer listen to them. It may not, however, be uninteresting to hear the account which Thompson, the English translator gives of this work, which in his own words, and with his additional remarks upon it, is as follows:--"The story, as collected from himself, Leland, Bale, and Pitts, is that Walter Mapes, _alias_ Calenius, archdeacon of Oxford, who flourished in the reign of Henry I, and of whom Henry of Huntingdon, and other historians as well as Geoffrey himself, make honourable mention, being a man very curious in the study of antiquity, and a diligent searcher into ancient libraries, and especially after the works of ancient authors, happened while he was in Armorica to light upon a History of Britain, written in the British tongue, and carrying marks of great antiquity. And being overjoyed at it, as if he had found a vast treasure, he in a short time after came over to England; where inquiring for a proper person to translate this curious but hitherto unknown book, he very opportunely met with Geoffrey of Monmouth, a man profoundly versed in the history and antiquities of Britain, excellently skilled in the British tongue, and withal (considering the time,) an elegant writer both in verse and prose; and so recommended this task to him. Accordingly, Geoffrey, being incredibly delighted with this ancient book, undertook the translating of it into Latin, which he performed, with great diligence, approving himself, according to Matthew Paris, a faithful translator. At first he divided it into four books, written in a plain simple style, and dedicated it to Robert, earl of Gloucester, a copy whereof is said[4] to be at Bennet College, in Cambridge, which was never yet published; but afterwards he made some alterations and divided it into eight books, to which he added the book of Merlin's Prophecies, which he had also translated from British verse into Latin prose, prefixing to it a preface, and a letter to Alexander, bishop of Lincoln. A great many fabulous and trifling stories are inserted in the history: but that was not his fault; his business as a translator was to deliver them faithfully such as they were, and leave them to the judgment of the learned to be discussed. "To prove the truth of this relation, and to answer at once all objections against Geoffrey's integrity, one needs no other argument than an assurance that the original manuscript which Geoffrey translated, of whose antiquity the curious are able to judge in a great measure by the character, or any ancient and authentic copy of it, is yet extant. And indeed, archbishop Usher[5] mentions an old Welsh Chronicle in the Cottonian Library, that formerly was in the possession of that learned antiquary, Humphrey Lhwyd, which he says is thought to be that which Geoffrey translated. But if that be the original manuscript, it must be acknowledged that Geoffrey was not merely a translator, but made some additions of his own: since, as that most learned prelate informs us, the account that we have in this History of the British Flamens, and Archflamens, is nowhere to be found in it. But besides this, there are several copies of it in the Welsh tongue, mentioned by the late ingenious and learned Mr. Lhwyd in his 'Archæologia Britannica.' And I myself have met with a manuscript history of our British affairs, written above a hundred years ago by Mr. John Lewis, and shortly to be published, wherein the author says, that he had the original of the British History in parchment written in the British tongue before Geoffrey's time, as he concludes from this circumstance, that in his book Geoffrey's preface was wanting, and the preface to his book was the second chapter of that published by Geoffrey. My ignorance of the Welsh tongue renders me unqualified for making any search into these matters; and though the search should be attended with never so much satisfaction, to those who are able to judge of the antiquity of manuscripts, yet to the generality of readers, other arguments would perhaps be more convincing." The passages which we have here quoted at length, will give the reader the most ample information concerning the nature of the question, and it only remains to inform the reader what is my own opinion on this long-agitated literary controversy. To those who have read the plain and simple statements of Julius Cæsar and the other classic historians who have described the early state of Britain, it will be morally certain that all such accounts as we have in Geoffrey of Monmouth are purely fabulous. The uncertainty of every thing, save the bare fact, connected with the siege of Troy, is so great, that to connect its fortunes with those of a distant and at that time unheard-of island like Britain, can be admissible only in the pages of romance. But in the latter part of the work which contains the history of Britain, during its conquest by the Saxons, we may possibly find the germs of facts unnoticed elsewhere. This view does not militate against the veracity of Geoffrey, who professes to have translated from an original in the British language, but whether any manuscript copy of this original now exists, is a point which has not been satisfactorily ascertained. In 1811, the Rev. Peter Roberts published the Chronicle of the Kings of Britain, translated from Welsh manuscripts, and being in substance almost identically the same as Geoffrey's History of the Britons,--but it is most likely that these Welsh MSS., which are all comparatively modern, are themselves re-translations from the Latin of Geoffrey. If no other arguments could be adduced to prove the utter incredibility of the earlier parts of this history, the following Chronological Table would furnish quite sufficient arguments to establish it, by the extraordinary anachronisms which it contains. For instance, between the reigns of Brutus and Leil, is an interval of 156 years; and yet Geoffrey makes the capture of the ark contemporaneous with the reign of Brutus, and the building of Solomon's temple with that of Leil. Now the interval between these two events cannot by any possibility be extended beyond eighty years. It is, moreover, impossible to bring the chronology of the British kings themselves into harmony with the dates before Christ, as there is no mention made of the exact interval between the taking of Troy and Brutus's landing in Britain. Geoffrey inscribes his work to Robert, earl of Gloucester, son of Henry the Second. GENEALOGICAL SUMMARY. LATINUS __________ | | = Æneas = Lavinia (----) | | Ascanius | | | Sylvius = (Niece of Lavinia). I. 3. Pandrasus | | | Ignoge = 1. Brutus at the age of 15 kills his father (I. 3.) Reigns | twenty-four years. (II. 1.) | At this time Eli governed Israel, and the ark was taken | by the Philistines, and the sons of Hector reigned in | Troy and Sylvius Æneas, uncle of Brutus, in Italy. | (I. 17.) -------------------------------- | | | | Corinæus Albanact Kamber II. 1. | | 2. Locrin = 3. Guendoloena { Locrin by Estrildis has Sabre, who r. 10 yrs. | 15 years. { being drowned in the Severn, gives | { name to that river. | 4. Maddan. II. 6. { At this time Samuel governed Israel, 40 yrs. { and Homer flourished. | ------------- | | 5. Mempricius Malim { Saul reigns in Judæa, Eurystheus in 20 yrs. { Lacedæmon. | 6. Ebraucus { King David--Sylvius 40 yrs. { Latinus--Gad--Nathanand Asaph. (or 60, _quære_, II. 7, 8) | 7. Brutus II., 12 yrs. and 19 other sons and 30 daughters, II. 8. | 8. Leil { Solomon--Queen of Sheba--Sylvius 25 yrs. { Epitus. | 9. Hudibras Capys--Haggai--Amos--Joel--Azariah. 39 yrs. | 10. Bladud Elijah. 20 yrs. II. 10. | 11. Leir 60 yrs. II. 11. | ---------------------------------------------- | | | 12. Gonorilla = Maglaunus, Regan = Henuinus, Cordeilla = Aganippus, 5 yrs. | D. of | D. of K. of | Albania. | Cornwall. Gaul. | | Margan 13. Cunedagius { Isaiah--Hosea--Rome built 33 yrs. { by Romulus and Remus. | 14. Rivallo | ---------------- | | 15. Gurgustius (----) | | 16. Sisilius 17. Jago | | 18. Kinmarcus | 19. Gorbogudo = Widen | ----------------- | | Ferrex Porrex Long civil wars. At length arose Dunwallo Molmutius, son of Cloten, king of Cornwall. II. 17. 20. Dunwallo Molmutius = Conwenna 40 yrs. | ------------------------------ | | 21. Belinus Brennius 5 yrs. in concert with Brennius. | 22. Gurgiunt Brabtruc. III. 11. | 23. Guithelin = Martia | 24. Sisillius | ------------------- | | 25. Kimarus 26. Danius = Tangustela | 27. Morvidus | ----------------------------------------------------- | | | | | 28. Gorbonian 29. Arthgallo 30. Elidure 31. Vigenius 32. Peredure | | | | | | Arthgallo was deposed in favour of Elidure, who, after a | reign of five years, restored his brother, who reigned | 10 years afterwards. Elidure then reigned a second time | but was deposed by Vigenius and Peredure: after whose | deaths he reigned a third time. 33. Gorbonian's | | | | son, III. 19. | | | | ---------------- | | | | | | | | 34. Margan 35. Enniaunus | 36. Idwallo 37. Runno | 38. Geruntius | 39. Catellus 40. Coillus 41. Porrex 42. Cherin | ---------------------------------------- | | | 43. Fulgenius 44. Eldadus 45. Andragius | 46. Urianus 47. Eliud 48. Cledaucus 49. Cletonus 50. Gurgintius 51. Merianus 52. Bleduno 53. Cap 54. Oenus 55. Sisillius ---------------------- | | 56. Blegabred 57. Arthmail 58. Eldol 59. Redion 60. Rederchius 61. Samuilpenissel 62. Pir 63. Capoir III. 19. | 64. Cligueillus | 65. Heli | ------------------------------------------- | | | 66. Lud. III. 20 67. Cassibellaun Nennius Cæsar's invasion took place during Cassibellaun's reign. 68. Tenuantius | { Jesus Christ is born in 69. Kymbelinus { the reign of Kymbelinus | { or Cymbeline. | Claudius -------------------------------- | | | | 70. Guiderius 71. Arviragus = Genuissa | 72. Marius | 73. Coillus | 74. Lucius IV. 19. Lucius embraces Christianity: he dies, A.D. 156. 75. Severus | 76. Bassianus or Caracalla 77. Carausius, V. 3. 78. Allectus 79. Asclepiodotus 80. Coel | Helena = 81. Constantius | r. 11 yrs. | 82. Constantine, emperor of Rome 83. Octavius assumes the crown of Britain. | (Daughter) = 84. Maximian, V. 11. 85. Gratian Municeps At this time the Picts and Scots harass the Britons, who apply to the Romans. 86. Constantine, prince of Armorica, comes to assist the Britons. | ------------------------------------------ | | | 87. Constans 89. Aurelius Ambrosius 90. Utherpendragon = Igerna VIII. 2. VIII. 17. | VIII. 19. | 88. Vortigern usurps the throne (VI. 9) and calls in | the Saxons. | ----------------- | | 91. Arthur IX. 1. Anne King Arthur dies, A.D. 542 (XI. 3.) 92. Constantine 93. Aurelius Conan 94. Wortiporius 95. Malgo 96. Careticus 97. Cadwan ---------- | | | | Peanda (sister) = 98. Cadwallo | 99. Cadwallader Cadwallader goes to Rome, where he is confirmed in the faith of Christ by pope Sergius, and dies A.D. 689. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 4: See Pitts and Voss.] [Footnote 5: Brit. Eccl. Prim. cap. 5] CHAP. VI.--RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER. The supposed chronicle of Richard of Cirencester was first brought before the public by Charles Julius Bertram, Professor of the English Language in the Royal Marine Academy, at Copenhagen, in the year 1757. Since the publication of the volume, it has been conclusively proved to be a modern forgery. The editor's remarks on that portion of the volume are therefore omitted, though the document is retained on the supposition that it may be convenient to some readers to have the text of a composition which was extensively used before its spurious character was ascertained. THE CHRONICLE OF FABIUS ETHELWERD, FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE WORLD TO THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 975. IN FOUR BOOKS. To Matilda, the most eloquent and true handmaid of Christ, Ethelwerd the patrician, health in the Lord! I have received, dearest sister, your letter which I longed for, and I not only read it with kisses, but laid it up in the treasury of my heart. Often and often do I pray the grace of the Most High, to preserve you in safety during this life present, and after death to lead you to his everlasting mansions. But as I once before briefly hinted to you by letter, I now, with God's help, intend to begin in the way of annals from the beginning of the world, and explain to you more fully about our common lineage and descent, to the end that the reader's task may be lightened, and the pleasure of the hearer may be augmented, whilst he listens to it. Concerning the coming of our first parents out of Germany into Britain, their numberless wars and slaughters, and the dangers which they encountered on ship-board among the waves of the ocean, in the following pages you will find a full description. In the present letter therefore I have written, without perplexity of style, of our modern lineage and relationship, who were our relations, and how, and where they came from: as far as our memory can go, and according as our parents taught us. For instance king Alfred was son of king Ethelwulf, from whom we derive our origin, and who had five sons, one of whom was king Ethelred[6] my ancestor, and another king Alfred who was yours. This king Alfred sent his daughter Ethelswitha into Germany to be the wife of Baldwin,[7] who had by her two sons Ethelwulf and Arnulf, also two daughters Elswid and Armentruth. Now from Ethelswitha is descended count Arnulf,[8] your neighbour. The daughter of king Edward son of the above-named king Alfred was named Edgiva, and was sent by your aunt into Gaul to marry Charles the Simple. Ethilda also was sent to be the wife of Hugh, son of Robert: and two others were sent by king Athelstan to Otho that he might choose which of them he liked best to be his wife. He[9] chose Edgitha, from whom you derive your lineage; and united the other in marriage to a certain king[10] near the Jupiterean Mountains, of whose family no memorial has reached us, partly from the distance and partly from the confusion of the times. It is your province to inform us of these particulars, not only from your relationship, but also because no lack of ability or interval of space prevents you.[11] HERE ENDS THE PROLOGUE. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 6: Ethelred died and Alfred succeeded him A.D. 871.] [Footnote 7: Baldwin, count of Flanders died A.D. 918. See Malmesbury, p. 121.] [Footnote 8: Arnulf, count of Flanders, A.D. 965.] [Footnote 9: The emperor Otho married Edgitha A.D. 930.] [Footnote 10: Lewis the blind.] [Footnote 11: The writer adds the barbarous verse, "Esto mihi valens cunctis perhenniter horis," which is as easy to construe as to scan.] BOOK THE FIRST BEGINS. The beginning of the world comes first. For on the first day God, in the apparition of the light, created the angels: on the second day, under the name of the firmament he created the heavens; &c. &c.[12] Rome was destroyed by the Goths in the eleven hundred and forty-sixth year after it was built. From that time the Roman authority ceased in the island of Britain, and in many other countries which they had held under the yoke of slavery. For it was now four hundred and eighty-five years, beginning with Caius Julius Cæsar, that they had held the island above-mentioned, wherein they had built cities and castles, bridges and streets of admirable construction, which are seen among us even to the present day. But whilst the people of Britain were living carelessly within the wall, which had been built by Severus to protect them, there arose two nations, the Picts in the north and the Scots in the west, and leading an army against them, devastated their country, and inflicted many sufferings upon them for many years. The Britons being unable to bear their misery, by a wise device send to Rome a mournful letter[13] ... the army returned victorious to Rome. But the Scots and Picts, hearing that the hostile army was gone, rejoiced with no little joy. Again they take up arms, and like wolves attack the sheepfold which is left without a protector: they devastate the northern districts as far as the ditch of Severus: the Britons man the wall and fortify it with their arms; but fortune denied them success in the war. The cunning Scots, knowing what to do against the high wall and the deep trench, contrive iron goads with mechanical art, and dragging down those who were standing on the wall, slay them without mercy: they remain victors both within and without; they at once plunder and take possession; and a slaughter is made worse than all that had been before. Thus ended the four hundred and forty-fourth year since the incarnation of our Lord. The Britons, seeing themselves on every side vanquished, and that they could have no more hopes from Rome, devise, in their agony and lamentations, a plan to adopt. For in those days they heard, that the race of the Saxons were active, in piratical enterprises, throughout the whole coast, from the river Rhine to the Danish city,[14] which is now commonly called Denmark, and strong in all matters connected with war. They therefore send to them messengers, bearing gifts, and ask assistance, promising them their alliance when they should be at peace. But the mind of that degraded race was debased by ignorance, and they saw not that they were preparing for themselves perpetual slavery, which is the stepmother of all misfortune. The person who especially gave this counsel was Vurthern,[15] who at that time was king over all, and to him all the nobility assented. They preferred to procure assistance to them from Germany. Already two young men, Hengist and Horsa, were pre-eminent. They were the grandsons of Woden, king of the barbarians, whom the pagans have since raised to an abominable dignity, and honouring him as a god, offer sacrifice to him for the sake of victory or valour, and the people, deceived, believe what they see, as is their wont. The aforesaid youths therefore arrive, according to the petition of the king and his senate, with three vessels, loaded with arms, and prepared with every kind of warlike stores: the anchor is cast into the sea, and the ships come to land. Not long afterwards they are sent against the Scots to try their mettle, and without delay they sheathe their breasts in arms, and engage in a novel mode of battle. Man clashes with man, now falls a German and now a Scot: on both sides is a most wretched scene of slaughter: at length the Saxons remain masters of the field. For this the king aforesaid honours them with a triumph; and they privately send home messengers, to tell their countrymen of the fertility of the country and the indolence of its cowardly people. Their countrymen, without delay, listen to their representations, and send to them a large fleet and army. Forthwith they were magnificently received by the king of the Britons, and contracted a league of hospitality with the natives. The Britons promise peace, worthy gifts of alliance and honours, provided that they might remain in ease under their protection from the attacks of their enemies, and pay them immense stipends. Thus much of the alliance and promises of the Britons: now let us speak of their discord and ill fortune. For seeing the cunningness of the new people, they partly feared and partly despised them. They break their compact, and no longer render them the honours of alliance, but instead thereof, they try to drive them from their shores. These being their designs, the thing is made public, the treaty is openly set aside, all parties fly to arms: the Britons give way, and the Saxons keep possession of the country. Again they send to Germany, not secretly as before, but by a public embassy, as victors are wont to do, and demand reinforcements. A large multitude joined them from every province of Germany; and they carried on war against the Britons, driving them from their territories with great slaughter, and ever remaining masters of the field. At last the Britons bend their necks to the yoke, and pay tribute. This migration is said to have been made from the three provinces of Germany, which are said to have been the most distinguished, namely, from Saxony, Anglia, and Giota. The Cantuarians derived their origin from the Giotæ [Jutes], and also the Uuhtii, who took their name from the island Wihta [Isle of Wight], which lies on the coast of Britain. For out of Saxony, which is now called Ald-Sexe, or Old Saxony, came the tribes which are still called so among the English, the East Saxons, South Saxons, and West Saxons; that is, those who are called in Latin, the Oriental, Austral, and Occidental Saxons. Out of the province of Anglia came the East Anglians, Middle Anglians, Mercians, and all the race of the Northumbrians. Moreover Old Anglia is situated between the Saxons and Jutes, having a capital town, which in Saxon is called Sleswig, but in Danish Haithaby. Britain, therefore, is now called Anglia [England], because it took the name of its conquerors: for their leaders aforesaid were the first who came thence to Britain; namely, Hengist and Horsa, sons of Wyhrtels:[16] their grandfather was Wecta, and their great-grandfather Withar, whose father was Woden, who also was king of a multitude of barbarians. For the unbelievers of the North are oppressed by such delusion that they worship him as a god even to this day, namely the Danes, the North-men, and the Suevi; of whom Lucan says, "Pours forth the yellow Suevi from the North." So greatly did the invasion of those nations spread and increase, that they by degrees obliterated all memory of the inhabitants who had formerly invited them with gifts. They demand their stipends: the Britons refuse: they take up arms, discord arises, and as we have before said, they drive the Britons into certain narrow isthmuses of the island, and themselves hold possession of the island from sea to sea even unto the present time. A. 418. In the ninth year also after the sacking of Rome by the Goths, those of Roman race who were left in Britain, not bearing the manifold insults of the people, bury their treasures in pits thinking that hereafter they might have better fortune, which never was the case; and taking a portion, assemble on the coast, spread their canvas to the winds, and seek an exile on the shores of Gaul. A. 430. Twelve years after, bishop Palladius is sent by the holy pope Celestinus to preach the gospel of Christ to the Scots. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 12: Here follow several pages, in which the writer, like other annalists, deduces his history from the creation. It is now universally the custom with modern writers and translators to omit such preliminary matter.] [Footnote 13: There is evidently a hiatus in this passage, but see Bede i. 13, p. 22.] [Footnote 14: Urbs, "city," seems here rather to designate _country_ or _territory_.] [Footnote 15: Otherwise called Vortigern.] [Footnote 16: More commonly called Wihtgila.] CHAPTER[17] A. 449. When, therefore, nineteen years had elapsed, Maurice and Valentine[18] became emperors of Rome; in whose reign Hengist and Horsa at the invitation of Vortigern king of the Britons arrive at the place called Wipped's-fleet, at first on the plea of assisting the Britons: but afterwards they rebelled and became their enemies, as we have already said. Now the number of years, completed since the marvellous incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, was four hundred and forty-nine. A. 455. In the sixth year after, Hengist and Horsa fought a battle against Vortigern in the plain of Ægelsthrep. There Horsa was killed, and Hengist obtained the kingdom. A. 457. But after two years, Hengist and Æsc his son renewed the war against the Britons; and there fell in that day on the side of the Britons four thousand men. Then the Britons, leaving Cantia, which is commonly called Kent, fled to the city of London. A. 465. About eight years after, the same men took up arms against the Britons, and there was a great slaughter made on that day: twelve chiefs of the Britons fell near a place called Wipped's-fleet; there fell a soldier of the Saxons called Wipped, from which circumstance that place took its name; in the same way as the Thesean sea was so called from Theseus, and the Ægæan sea from Ægeus who was drowned in it. A. 473. After eight years were completed, Hengist with his son Æsc, a second time make war against the Britons, and having slaughtered their army, remain victors on the field of battle, and carry off immense spoils. A. 477. In the fourth year Ælla landed in Britain from Germany with his three sons, at a place called Cymenes-Ora, and defeated the Britons at Aldredes-leage.[19] A. 485. After eight years, the same people fight against the Britons, near a place called Mearcrædsburn. A. 488. After this, at an interval of three years, Æsc, son of Hengist, began to reign in Kent. A. 492. After three years, Ælla and Assa besieged a town called Andreds-cester, and slew all its inhabitants, both small and great, leaving not a single soul alive. A. 495. After the lapse of three more years, Cerdic and his son Cynric sailed to Britain with five ships, to a port called Cerdic's-ore, and on the same day fought a battle against the Britons, in which they were finally victorious. A. 500. Six years after their arrival, they sailed round the western part of Britain, which is now called Wessex. A. 501. Also after a year Port landed in Britain with his son Bieda. A. 508. Seven years after his arrival, Cerdic with his son Cynric slay Natan-Leod, king of the Britons, and five thousand men with him. A. 514. Six years after, Stuf and Wihtgar landed in Britain at Cerdic's-ore, and suddenly make war on the Britons, whom they put to flight, and themselves remain masters of the field. Thus was completed the fifty-sixth[20] year since Hengist and Horsa first landed in Britain. A. 519. Five years after, Cerdic and Cynric fought a battle against the Britons at Cerdic's-ford,[21] on the river Avene, and that same year nominally began to reign. A. 527. Eight years after, they renew the war against the Britons. A. 530. After three years, they took the Isle of Wight, the situation of which we have mentioned above: but they did not kill many of the Britons. A. 534. Four years after, Cerdic with his son Cenric gives up the Isle of Wight into the hands of their two cousins Stuf and Wihtgar. In the course of the same year Cerdic died, and Cenric his son began to reign after him, and he reigned twenty-seven years. A. 538. When he had reigned four years, the sun was eclipsed from the first hour of the day to the third.[22] A. 540. Again, two years after, the sun was eclipsed for half-an-hour after the third hour, so that the stars were everywhere visible in the sky. A. 547. In the seventh year after this, Ida began to reign over the province of Northumberland, whose family derive their kingly title and nobility from Woden. A. 552. Five years after, Cenric fought against the Britons near the town of Scarburh [Old Sarum], and, having routed them, slew a large number. A. 556. The same, four years afterwards, fought with Ceawlin against the Britons, near a place called Berin-byrig [Banbury?] A. 560. At the end of about four years, Ceawlin began to reign over the western part of Britain, which is now commonly called Wessex. Moreover, Ella the Iffing is sent to the race of Northumbria, whose ancestry extends up to the highest, namely to Woden. A. 565. Five years afterwards, Christ's servant Columba came from Scotia [Ireland] to Britain, to preach the word of God to the Picts. A. 568. Three years after his coming, Ceawlin and Cutha stirred up a civil war against Ethelbert, and having defeated him, pursued him into Kent, and slew his two chiefs, Oslaf and Cnebba, in Wubbandune.[23] A. 571. After three years, Cuthulf fought against the Britons at Bedanford [Bedford], and took four royal cities, namely Liganburh [Lenbury], Eglesburh [Aylesbury], Bensingtun [Benson], and Ignesham [Eynsham]. A. 577. After the lapse of six years, Cuthwin and Ceawlin fight against the Britons, and slay three of their kings, Comail, Condidan, and Farinmail, at a place called Deorhamme [Derham?]; and they took three of their most distinguished cities, Gloucester, Cirencester, and Bath. A. 584. After seven years, Ceawlin and Cutha fought against the Britons, at a place called Fethanleage [Frethern?]: there Cutha fell; but Ceawlin reduced a multitude of cities, and took immense spoils. A. 592. In the eighth year there was a great slaughter on both sides, at a place called Wodnesbyrg [Wemborow?], so that Ceawlin was put to flight, and died at the end of one more year. A. 593. After him, Cwichelm, Crida, and Ethelfrid, succeeded to the kingdom. HERE ENDS BOOK THE FIRST. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 17: Capitulum in the original: but no number is annexed.] [Footnote 18: This should be Marcian and Valentinian.] [Footnote 19: Perhaps an error for Andredes-leage, formerly Anderida, in Sussex.] [Footnote 20: This number should be sixty-six.] [Footnote 21: Charford, near Fordingbridge, Hants.] [Footnote 22: That is, from seven till nine o'clock in the morning.] [Footnote 23: Wimbledon, or Worplesdon, Surrey.] HERE BEGINS THE PROLOGUE TO BOOK THE SECOND. In the beginning of this book it will not be necessary to make a long preface, my dearest sister; for I have guided my pen down through many perplexed subjects from the highest point, and, omitting those things extracted from sacred and profane history, on which most persons have fixed their attention, have left higher matters to the skilful reader. And now I must turn my pen to the description of those things which properly concern our ancestors; and though a pupil is not properly called a member, yet it yields no little service to the other members. We therefore entreat in God's name that our words may not be despised by the malevolent, but rather that they may give abundant thanks to the King of heaven, if they seem to speak things of high import. HERE ENDS THE PROLOGUE; AND THE SECOND BOOK BEGINS. CHAP. I.--_Of the coming of Augustine, who was sent by the blessed Pope Gregory._ [A.D. 596.] As Divine Providence, mercifully looking down upon all things from all eternity, is accustomed to rule them, not by necessity, but by its powerful superintendence, and remaining always immoveable in itself, and disposing the different elements by its word, and the human race to come to the knowledge of the truth by the death of his only begotten Son, by whose blood the four quarters of the world are redeemed, so now by his servant doth it dispel the darkness in the regions of the west. Whilst therefore the blessed pope Gregory sat on the episcopal seat, and sowed the seeds of the gospel of Christ, there stood by him some men of unknown tongue and very comely to look on. The holy man admiring the beauty of their countenances, asked of them with earnestness from what country they came. The young men with downcast looks replied, that they were Angles. "Are you Christians," said the holy man, "or heathens?" "Certainly not Christians," said they, "for no one has yet opened our ears." Then the holy man, lifting up his eyes, replied, "What man, when there are stones at hand, lays a foundation with reeds?" They answer, "No man of prudence." "You have well said," answered he; and he straightway took them into a room, where he instructed them in the divine oracles, and afterwards washed them with the baptism of Christ: and further he arranged with them, that he would go with them into their country. When the Romans heard of this they opposed his words, and were unwilling to allow their pastor to go so far from home. The blessed pope Gregory, therefore, seeing that the people were opposed to him, sent with the men aforesaid one of his disciples, who was well instructed in the divine oracles, by name Augustine, and with him a multitude of brethren. When these men arrived, the English received the faith and erected temples, and our Saviour Jesus Christ exhibited innumerable miracles to his faithful followers through the prayers of the bishop, St. Augustine; at whose tomb, even to the present day, no small number of miracles are wrought, with the assistance of our Lord. CHAP. II.--_Of king Ethelbert, and of his baptism._ [A.D. 597.] When the man aforesaid arrived, Ethelbert bore rule over Kent, and receiving the faith, submitted to be baptized with all his house. He was the first king among the English who received the word of Christ. Lastly Ethelbert was the son of Ermenric, whose grandfather was Ochta, who bore the prænomen of Eisc,[24] from which the kings of Kent were afterwards named Esings, as the Romans from Romulus, the Cecropidæ from Cecrops, and the Tuscans from Tuscus. For Eisc was the father of Hengist, who was the first consul and leader of the Angles out of Germany; whose father was Wihtgils, his grandfather Witta, his great-grandfather Wecta, his great-grandfather's father Woden, who also was king of many nations, whom some of the pagans now still worship as a god. And the number of years that was completed from the incarnation of our Lord was four years less, than six hundred.[25] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 24: See William of Malmesbury, b. i. c. 1, p. 12, note.] [Footnote 25: A.D. 596.] CHAP. III.--_Of Ceolwulf, king of the West-Saxons, and of his continued wars._ A. 597. At the end of one year, Ceolwulf began to reign over the Western English.[26] His family was derived from Woden; and so great was his ferocity that he is said to have been always at war, either with his own nation or with the Britons, or the Picts or Scots. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 26: West-Saxons is the more correct term; but Ethelwerd often uses the more general name Angles or English, for all the tribes settled in England.] CHAP. IV.--_Concerning Augustine's pall of apostleship sent him by pope Gregory._ A. 601. When he had reigned four years, pope Gregory sent to Augustine the pall of apostleship. CHAP. V.--_Of the faith of the East-Saxons, and of the decease of the blessed pope Gregory._ A. 604. After three years, the eastern English[27] also received baptism in the reign of Sigebert [Sabert] their king. A. 606. Two years afterwards, the blessed pope Gregory departed this world, in the eleventh year after he had bestowed baptism on the English by sending among them Christ's servant Augustine. And the number of years that was completed from the beginning of the world was more than five thousand and eight hundred.[28] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 27: _Orientales Angli_ is the expression of Ethelwerd, but it should be _Orientales Saxones_, whose king's name is generally written Sabert. See preceding note.] [Footnote 28: Ethelwerd adopts that system of chronology which makes 5300 to have elapsed before Christ.] CHAP. VI.--_Of the reign of king Cynegils, his wars; and of the coming of bishop Birinus, of the baptism of the king, and the faith of the East-Saxons,[29] and of the baptism of Cuthred._ [A.D. 615-639.] Afterwards Cynegils received the kingdom of the West-Angles, and, in conjunction with Cuichelm, he fought against the Britons at a place called Beandune,[30] and having defeated their army, slew more than two thousand and forty of them. A. 629. Fourteen years after, Cynegils and Cuichelm fought against Penda at Cirencester. A. 635. After six years bishop Birinus came among the Western Angles, preaching to them the gospel of Christ. And the number of years that elapsed since their arrival in Britain out of Germany, was about one hundred and twenty. At that time Cynegils received baptism from the holy bishop Birinus, in a town called Dorchester. A. 639. He baptized Cuthred also four years after in the same city, and adopted him as his son in baptism. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 29: Should be West-Saxons.] [Footnote 30: Most probably Bampton in Oxfordshire. This battle took place in 614. See the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for that year.] CHAP. VII.--_Of the reign of Kenwalk, and of his actions._ A. 648. When nine years were fulfilled, Kenwalk gave to his relation, Cuthred, out of his farms, three thousand measures, adjacent to a hill named Esc's dune, [Aston?] A. 652. Four years after, he fought a battle against his own people, at a place called Bradford, on the river Afene.[31] A. 655. Three years afterwards king Penda died, and the Mercians were baptized. A. 658. After three years more, the kings Kenwalk and Pionna[32] renewed the war against the Britons, and pursued them to a place called Pederydan.[33] A. 661. After three years, Kenwalk again fought a battle near the town of Pontesbury, and took prisoner Wulfhere, son of Penda, at Esc's-dune [Ashdown], when he had defeated his army. A. 664. Three years afterwards there was an eclipse of the sun. A. 670. When six years were fulfilled, Oswy, king of Northumberland, died, and Egfrid succeeded him. A. 671. After one year more, there was a great pestilence among the birds, so that there was an intolerable stench by sea and land, arising from the carcasses of birds, both small and great. A. 672. Twelve months after Kenwalk, king of the West-Angles, died; and his wife, Sexburga, succeeded him in the kingdom, and reigned twelve months. A. 673. After her Escwin succeeded to the throne, and two years were fulfilled. His family traces to Cerdic. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 31: Avon.] [Footnote 32: This should be "at Pionna," [Pen]. See Saxon Chronicle.] [Footnote 33: Petherton.] CHAP. VIII.--_Of Wulfhere and Cenwulf,[A] and of the council held by the holy father Theodore._ A. 674. After one year, Wulfhere son of Penda, and Cenwalh[34] fought a battle among themselves in a place called Beadanhead [Bedwin]. A. 677. After three years a comet was seen. A. 680. At the end of two years a council was held at Hethlege,[35] by the holy archbishop Theodore, to instruct the people in the true faith. In the course of the same year died Christ's servant, Hilda, abbess of the monastery called Streaneshalch [Whitby]. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 34: These names are both wrong; we must read Escwin.] [Footnote 35: Heathfield or Hatfield.] CHAP. IX.--_Of king Kentwin and his wars._ A. 682. After two years king Kentwin drove the Britons out of their country to the sea. A. 684. After he had reigned two years[36] Ina became king of the western English. A hundred and eighty-eight years were then fulfilled from the time that Cerdic, his sixth ancestor, received the western part of the island from the Britons. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 36: There is an error here: Cædwalla is omitted, and three years are lost in the chronology.] CHAP. X.--_Of Cædwalla's conversion to the faith of Christ._ A. 684. In the course of the same year Cædwalla went to Rome, and received baptism and the faith of Christ; after his baptism the pope of that year gave him the surname of Peter. A. 694. About six years afterwards, the Kentish men remembered the cause which they had against king Ina when they burnt his relation[37] with fire; and they gave him thirty thousand shillings at a fixed rate of sixteen pence each. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 37: His name was Mull: the passage is obscure. See the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.] CHAP. XI.--_Of the acts of Ethelred king of the Mercians._ A. 704. After ten years, Ethelred son of Penda and king of the Mercians assumed the monastic habit, when he had completed twenty-nine years of his reign. A. 705. After twelve months died Alfrid king of Northumberland. And the number of years that was then fulfilled from the beginning of the world was five thousand nine hundred. A. 709. Four years afterwards died the holy bishop Aldhelm, by whose wonderful art were composed the words which are now read, and his bishopric was the province which is now called Selwoodshire [Sherborne]. CHAP. XII.--_Of the reign of Ina, and of his acts._ A. 710. After a year, the kings and Ina made war against king Wuthgirete;[38] also duke Bertfrid against the Picts. A. 714. After four years died Christ's servant Guthlac. A. 715. After a year Ina and Ceolred fought against those who opposed them in arms at Wothnesbeorghge [Wanborough.] A. 721. After seven years Ina slew Cynewulf, and after six months made war against the Southern English. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 38: Called Gerent in the Saxon Chronicle, and Gerentius in Aldhelm's works.] CHAP. XIII.--_Of king Ethelard._ A. 728. When six years were fulfilled he went to Rome, and Ethelard received the kingdom of the West Saxons. In the first year of his reign he made war against Oswy.[39] A. 729. At the end of one year a comet appeared, and the holy bishop Egbert died. A. 731. After two years, Osric king of Northumberland died and Ceolwulf succeeded to the kingdom. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 39: Should be Oswald king of Northumberland.] CHAP. XIV.--_Of the acts of king Ethelbald._ A. 733. Two years after these things, king Ethelbald received under his dominion the royal vill which is called Somerton. The same year the sun was eclipsed. A. 734. After the lapse of one year, the moon appeared as if stained with spots of blood, and by the same omen Tatwine and Bede[40] departed this life. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 40: It is doubtful whether Bede died in 734 or 735.] CHAP. XV.--_Of the reign of Eadbert and of his deeds._ A. 738. After four years, Eadbert succeeded to the kingdom of the Northumbrians, and his brother Egbert discharged the archiepiscopal office; and now they both lie buried in the city of York, under the shade of the same porch. CHAP. XVI.--_Of the rule of king Cuthred._ A. 750. After twelve years king Cuthred began to make war against duke Ethelhun, for some state-jealousy. A. 752. Again after two years he drew his sword against king Ethelbald at a place called Beorgforda.[41] A. 753. After another year he gratified the fierce propensities of his nature by making war against the Britons: and after another year he died, A.D. 754. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 41: Without doubt this is Burford in Oxfordshire.] CHAP. XVII.--_Of the acts of king Sigebert and of his reign._ Furthermore Sigebert received the kingdom of the western English. A. 756. At the end of one year after Sigebert began to reign, Cynewulf, invading his kingdom, took it from him, and drew away all the wise men of the west country, in consequence of the perverse deeds of the aforesaid king; nor was any part of his kingdom left to him except one province only, named Hamptonshire [Hampshire]. And he remained there no long time; for, instigated by an old affront, he slew a certain duke, and Cynewulf drove him into the wilds of Andred: and so he fled from thicket to thicket, until he was at last slain by a herdsman at a place named Pryffetesflodan,[42] and so the blood of duke Cumbra was avenged. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 42: Privett, Hampshire.] CHAP. XVIII.--_Of the reign of Cynewulf, his war and deeds._ A. 755. These things having been premised, Cynewulf frequently fought no slight battles against the Britons. For when thirty-one years had passed, he tried to expel from his territories a certain chief named Cyneard, brother to Sigebert, whose deeds have been related above. He was afterwards besieged by this prince, for it was told him that he was in company of a certain courtezan at a place called Meranton [Merton], and though he had with him only a few men, who knew nothing of the matter, he surrounded the house with arms. The king, seeing how he was situated, leaped to the door, and bravely repelled their weapons; but making up his mind he rushed upon the prince, and inflicted no slight wounds upon him; his companions, not forgetting his threats, raised their weapons and slew the king. The report being spread, the king's soldiers, who had been in his company, each for himself, as was their custom, made an attack, uttering shouts. But the prince, soothing them, promised them gifts and ample honours. They desire death, now that their lord is dead; nor do they attend to his promises, but rush with one accord upon death. None of them escaped with life except one British hostage, and he had received severe wounds. When, therefore, the day dawned, it became known to the soldiers, who had remained behind the king's back, they assembled together and set forth, and with them Osric the duke and Wigferth the knight. They found the prince in the house, where their master was lying dead. The doors are beleaguered on both sides. Within are the one party, and the other party are without. The prince asks a truce, and makes ample promises; his object is future sovereignty. The king's friends spurn these offers, and rather seek to separate from the prince their relations who were in his company. These reject their proposals; on the contrary they answer their friends thus:[43] "No tie is so powerful as that which binds us to our lord; and whereas you ask us to depart, we tell you that we made the same proposal to those who were slain with your king, and they would not accede to it." To this the other party rejoined, "But you will remain unhurt, if you only depart, nor share in the vengeance which we shall inflict for those who were slain with the king." They returned no answer to this, but silently begin the battle; shield punishes shield, and arms are laced in bucklers, relation falls by his kinsman; they smash the doors, one pursues after another, and a lamentable fight ensues. Alas! they slay the prince; all his companions are laid low before his face, except one, and he was the baptismal son of duke Osric, but half alive, and covered with wounds. Now Cynewulf reigned thirty-one years, and his body lies entombed in the city of Winchester. The above-named prince also reposes in the church commonly called Axanminster.[44] Both their families trace to Cerdic. A. 755. In the same year Ethelbald, king of Mercia, was slain at a place called Seccandune,[45] and his body rests in a monastery called Reopandune.[46] Bernred succeeded to the kingdom, and not long after he also died. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 43: This is a sort of paraphrase rather than a translation: the original is not only bad in style and ungrammatical, but exceedingly corrupt and very obscure.] [Footnote 44: Now Axminster. The syllable _an_ or _en_ occurs similarly in many ancient Saxon towns; thus Bedanford, Oxenford, &c., and Seccandune, Reopandune below.] [Footnote 45: Now Seckington.] [Footnote 46: Now Repton.] CHAP. XIX.--_Of the reign of king Offa and of his deeds._ A. 756. In the revolution of the same year, Offa succeeded to the kingdom, a remarkable man, son of Thingferth; his grandfather was Enwulf, his great-grandfather Osmod, his great-grandfather's father Pybba, his great-grandfather's grandfather was Icel, his sixth ancestor Eomær, the seventh Angeltheow, the eighth Offa, the ninth Wærmund, the tenth Wihtlæg, the eleventh Woden. A. 773. Also after seventeen years, from the time that Cynewulf took the kingdom from Sigebert, the sign of our Lord's cross appeared in the heavens after sun-set, and in the same year a civil contest[47] took place between the people of Kent and Mercia, at a place called Cittanford:[48] and in those days some monstrous serpents were seen in the country of the Southern Angles, which is called Sussex. A. 777. About four years after, Cynewulf and Offa fought a battle near the town of Bensington, which was gained by Offa. A. 779. Two years afterwards, the Gauls and Saxons stirred up no slight contests with one another. A. 783. In short, after four years, Cyneard slays king Cynewulf, and is himself also slain there. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 47: The term 'civile bellum'--_civil war_ is used by Ethelwerd, to denote a battle between the kindred Anglo-Saxon kingdoms; the classical reader will also note the use of the word 'bellum' for 'proelium.'] [Footnote 48: This should be Ottanford, or Otford, in Kent, a place of great antiquity.] CHAP. XX.--_Of the acts of Bertric, king of the West-Saxons._ A. 783. In the same year Bertric received the kingdom of the West-Angles, whose lineage traces up to Cerdic. A. 786. After three years, he took in marriage Offa's daughter Eadburga. HERE ENDS BOOK THE SECOND, AND THE PROLOGUE OF BOOK THE THIRD BEGINS. After what has been written in the foregoing pages, it remains that we declare the contents of our third book. We exhort you, therefore, most beloved object of my desire, that the present work may not be thought tedious by you for its length of reading, since to thee especially I dedicate this. Wherefore, the farther my mind digresses, the more does my affectionate love generate and expand itself. HERE ENDS THE PROLOGUE, AND THE BOOK BEGINS. Whilst the pious king Bertric was reigning over the western parts of the English, and the innocent people spread through their plains were enjoying themselves in tranquillity and yoking their oxen to the plough, suddenly there arrived on the coast a fleet of Danes, not large, but of three ships only: this was their first arrival. When this became known, the king's officer, who was already stopping in the town of Dorchester, leaped on his horse and gallopped forwards with a few men to the port, thinking that they were merchants rather than enemies, and, commanding them in an authoritative tone, ordered them to be made to go to the royal city; but he was slain on the spot by them, and all who were with him. The name of the officer was Beaduherd. A. 787. And the number of years that was fulfilled was above three hundred and thirty-four, from the time that Hengist and Horsa arrived in Britain, in which also Bertric married the daughter of king Offa. A. 792. Moreover, it was after five years that Offa king of the Mercians commanded the head of king Ethelbert to be struck off. A. 794. After two years Offa also died, and Egfert his son succeeded to the kingdom, and died in the same year. Pope Adrian also departed this life. Ethelred, king of the Northumbrians, was slain by his own people. CHAP. I.--_Of Kenulf, king of the Mercians, and of his wars._ A. 796. After two years, Kenulf, king of the Mercians, ravaged Kent and the province which is called Merscwari,[49] and their king Pren was taken, whom they loaded with chains, and led as far as Mercia. A. 797. Then after a year, the enraged populace of Rome cut out the tongue of the blessed pope Leo, and tore out his eyes, and drove him from his apostolical seat. But suddenly, by the aid of Christ, who is always wonderful in his works, his sight was restored, and his tongue regifted with speech, and he resumed his seat of apostleship as before. A. 800. After three years, king Bertric died. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 49: The Merscwari are thought to have been the inhabitants of Romney, in Kent, and its vicinity.] CHAP. II.--_Of the reign of Egbert, and his deeds._ Therefore Egbert is raised to the kingdom of the West Saxons. On the very same day, as king Ethelmund was passing through a farm, Wiccum, intending to go to a ford called Cynemæresford [Kempsford], duke Woxstan met him there with the centuries of the inhabitants of the province of Wilsætum [Wiltshire]. Both of them fell in the battle, but the Wilsætæ remained the victors. Also, down to the time that Egbert received the kingdom, there were completed from the beginning of the world 5995 years, from the incarnation of our Lord 800 years, from the coming of Hengist and Horsa into Britain 350 years, from the reign of Cerdic, the tenth ancestor of king Egbert, when he subdued the western part of Britain, 300 years, and from the coming of Augustine, who was sent by the blessed pope Gregory to baptize the English nation, 204 years: and in the tenth year afterwards the holy father Gregory died. A. 805. After king Egbert had reigned five years, was the death of Cuthred king of Kent. A. 812. In the seventh year Charles, king of the Franks, departed this life. A. 814. After two years, the blessed pope Leo passed from one virtue to another. A. 819. After five years, Kenulf king of the Mercians died. A. 821. His successor was Ceolwulf, who was deprived of the kingdom two years afterwards. A. 822. A year afterwards a great synod was held at a place called Cloveshoo,[50] and two dukes were there slain Burhelm and Mucca. A. 823. After one year a battle was fought against the Britons in the province of Defna [Devonshire], at a place called Camelford. In the same year king Egbert fought a battle against Bernulf king of the Mercians at Ellandune,[51] and Egbert gained the victory: but there was a great loss on both sides; and Hun duke of the province of Somerset was there slain: he lies buried in the city of Winchester. Lastly, king Egbert sent his son Ethelwulf with an army into Kent, and with him bishop Ealstan and duke Wulfherd. They defeated the Kentish army, and pursued their king Baldred into the northern parts beyond the Thames. To whom the men of Kent are afterwards subjected, and also the provinces of Surrey and Sussex, that is, the midland and southern Angles. A. 824. For in the course of the same year the king of the East-Angles with the wise men of his realm, visits king Egbert, for the sake of peace and protection, on account of his fear of the Mercians. A. 825. In the course of that year the aforesaid East-Angles made war against Bernulf king of the Mercians, and having defeated his army they slew him and five dukes with him. His successor was Withlaf. A. 827. Two years afterwards, the moon was eclipsed on the very night of Christ's nativity. And in the same year king Egbert reduced under his power all that part of the kingdom which lies to the south of the river Humber: he was the eighth king in Britain who was famous for his great power. For the first was Ælla king of the South-Angles, who possessed the same dominions as Egbert; the second was Ceawlin king of the West-Angles; the third Ethelbert king of Kent; the fourth Redwald king of the East-Angles; the fifth Edwin king of Northumbria; the sixth Oswald; the seventh Oswy brother of Oswald; after whom the eighth Egbert, of whom we have made mention above. He led his army against the Northumbrians, who also bent their necks and submitted to him. A. 828. At the end of a year therefore, Withlaf again received the kingdom. At that time also, king Egbert led his army against the northern Britons, and when he had subdued all of them, he returned in peace. A. 832. After four years therefore the pagans devastated the territories of a place called Sceapige.[52] A. 833. After one year Egbert fought against the pagan fleet, in number thirty-five vessels, at a place called Carrum [Charmouth]: and the Danes obtained the victory. A. 836. Lastly after three years, a large army of Britons approached the frontiers of the West-Saxons: without delay they form themselves into a compact body, and carry their arms against Egbert king of the Angles. Egbert therefore having ascertained the state of things beforehand, assembled his army and twice imbued their weapons in the blood of the Britons at Hengeston,[53] and put them to flight. A. 837. At the end of a year the powerful king Egbert died. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 50: Near Rochester, Kent.] [Footnote 51: Wilton.] [Footnote 52: The Isle of Sheppey.] [Footnote 53: Hengston-hill, Cornwall.] CHAP. III.--_Of the reign of Ethelwulf and of his deeds._ After his death, Athulf[54] succeeded to the throne of his father Egbert, and he delivered up the kingdom of Kent to his son Athelstan, together with East-Saxony, South-Saxony, and Surrey, i.e. the eastern, southern and midland parts. A. 838. After one year, duke Wulfherd fought with the pagan fleet near the town of Hamptun [Southampton], and having slain many of them gained the victory: the number of ships in the fleet was thirty-three. After this exploit the duke himself died in peace. The same year duke Ethelhelm, with the people of the province of Dorset, fought another battle against the pagan army at Port, and pursued them some distance: but afterwards the Danes were victorious, and slew the duke and his companions with him. A. 839. After one year duke Herebert was slain by the Danes at Merswarum;[55] and the same year a great slaughter was made by that army in the city of Lindsey, and in the province of Kent, and in East Anglia. A. 840. Also after one year, the same thing took place in the city of London, in Quintanwic [Canterbury], and in the town of Rochester. A. 841. Meanwhile, after one year king Ethelwulf fought against the Danes at a place called Charmouth, by whom also he was vanquished, and the victors kept possession of the ground. A. 844. Three years afterwards duke Eanwulf, who governed the province of Somerset, and bishop Ealstan also, and Osric duke of Dorset, fought a battle against the pagans at the mouth of the Parret before-mentioned; where they gained the victory, having defeated the Danish army. Also in the same year king Athelstan and duke Elchere fought against the army of the above-mentioned nation in the province of Kent, near the town of Sandwich, where they slew many of them, put their troops to flight, and took nine ships. A. 851. After seven years Ceorl duke of Devon fought a battle against the pagans at Wembury,[56] where they slew many of the Danes and gained the victory. In the course of the same year, the barbarians wintered first in the isle of Thanet, which lies not far from Britain, and has fruitful but not large corn fields. That year was not yet finished, when a large fleet of pagans arrived, 350 ships, at the mouth of the river Thames, commonly called Thames-mouth, and destroyed the city of Canterbury and the city of London, and put to flight Berthwulf king of Mercia, having defeated his army. After the battle they returned beyond the river Thames towards the south through the province of Surrey, and there king Ethelwulf with the Western Angles met them: an immense number was slain on both sides, nor have we ever heard of a more severe battle before that day: these things happened near Ockley Wood. A. 854. After three years king Burhred asked assistance from king Ethelwulf to subdue the Northern Britons: he granted it, and having collected his army, passed through the Mercian kingdom to go against the Britons: whom he subdued and made tributary. In the same year king Ethelwulf sent his son Alfred to Rome, in the days of our lord pope Leo,[57] who consecrated him king and named him his son in baptism, when we are accustomed to name little children, when we receive them from the bishop's hand. In the same year were fought battles in the isle of Thanet against the pagans; and there was a great slaughter made on both sides, and many were drowned in the sea. The same year also after Easter king Ethelwulf gave his daughter in marriage to king Burhred. A. 855. After a year the pagans wintered in Sheppey. In the same year king Ethelwulf gave the tenth of all his possessions to be the Lord's portion, and so appointed it to be in all the government of his kingdom. In the same year he set out to Rome with great dignity, and stayed there twelve months. As he returned home, therefore, to his country, Charles, king of the Franks, gave him his daughter in marriage, and he took her home with him to his own country. A. 857. Lastly, after a year king Ethelwulf died, and his body reposes in the city of Winchester. Now the aforesaid king was son of king Egbert, and his grandfather was Elmund, his great-grandfather Eafa, his great-grandfather's father was Eoppa, and his great-grandfather's grandfather was Ingild, brother of Ina, king of the Western-Angles, who ended his life at Rome; and the above-named kings derived their origin from king Kenred. Kenred was the son of Ceolwald, son of Cuthwin, son of Ceawlin, son of Cynric, son of Cerdic, who also was the first possessor of the western parts of Britain, after he had defeated the armies of the Britons: his father was Elesa, son of Esla, son of Gewis, son of Wig, son of Freawin, son of Frithogar, son of Brond, son of Beldeg, son of Woden, son of Frithowald, son of Frealaf, son of Frithuwulf, son of Finn, son of Godwulf, son of Geat, son of Tætwa, son of Beaw, son of Sceldi, son of Sceaf. This Sceaf came with one ship to an island of the ocean named Scani, sheathed in arms, and he was a young boy, and unknown to the people of that land; but he was received by them, and they guarded him as their own with much care, and afterwards chose him for their king. It is from him that king Ethelwulf derives his descent. And then was completed the fiftieth year from the beginning of king Egbert's reign. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 54: Generally called Ethelwulf by modern writers.] [Footnote 55: Romney Marsh.] [Footnote 56: Near Plymouth.] [Footnote 57: Leo the Fourth.] HERE ENDS THE THIRD BOOK, AND THE PROLOGUE OF THE FOURTH BOOK HERE BEGINS. Three books are now finished, and it remains to guide my pen to the fourth, in which also will be found greater gain, and the origin of our race is more clearly intimated. And, although I may seem to send you a load of reading, dearest sister of my desire, do not judge me harshly, but as my writings were in love to you, so may you read them. And may God Almighty, who is praised both in Trinity and in Unipotence ever preserve you under the shadow of his wings, and your companions with you. Amen! HERE ENDS THE PROLOGUE. CHAP. I.--_Of the reign of the sons of king Ethelwulf, namely Ethelbald and Ethelbert._ Meanwhile, after the death of king Ethelwulf, his sons were raised to the kingdom, namely Ethelbald over the Western Angles, and Ethelbert over the men of Kent, and the Eastern, Southern, and Midland Angles. A. 861. When five years were completed, king Ethelbald died, and his brother Ethelbert succeeded to the possessions of both. In those days a large fleet of pagans came to land, and destroyed the royal city which is called Winton. They were encountered by Osric duke of Hampshire, and Ethelwulf duke of Berkshire: a battle ensued; the pagans were routed, and the English gained the victory. A. 865. After four years, from the death of king Ethelbald, the pagans strengthened their position in the isle of Thanet, and promise to be at peace with the men of Kent, who on their part prepare money, ignorant of the future. But the Danes break their compact, and sallying out privately by night, lay waste all the eastern coast of Kent. A. 866. After one year king Ethelbert died, and his body rests peaceably in the monastery named Sherborne. CHAP. II.--_Of the reign of king Ethelred._ Ethelred succeeded to the throne after the death of his brother Ethelbert. In the same year the fleets of the tyrant Hingwar arrived in England from the north, and wintered among the East Angles, and having established their arms there, they get on their horses, and make peace with all the inhabitants in their own neighbourhood. A. 867. After one year that army, leaving the eastern parts, crossed the river Humber into Northumberland to the city of Evoric, which is now commonly called the city of Eoferwic [York]. For there was then a great civil dissension between the inhabitants of that land, and they were so enraged that they also expelled their king Osbert from his seat; and having confirmed their resolves, they chose an obscure person for their king; and after some delay they turned their thoughts to raise an army and repulse those who were advancing. They collected together no small bodies of troops, and reconnoitred the enemy: their rage was excited: they joined battle, a miserable slaughter took place on both sides, and the kings were slain. Those of them who were left made peace with the hostile army. In the same year died Eanwulf, duke of Somerset; also bishop Ealstan, fifty years after his succession to the bishopric, in the diocese called Sherborne. There also his body now reposes; and that of the above-named duke in the monastery called Glastonbury. A. 868. After one year therefore, the army of the pagans, of whose arrival we have spoken above, measured out their camp in a place called Snotingaham [Nottingham], and there they passed the winter, and Burhred king of the Mercians, with his nobles, consented to their remaining there without reproach. A. 869. At the end of a year therefore, the army was transported to York, and there also they measured out their camp in the winter season. A. 870. Again after a year they departed, and passed through Mercia into East-Anglia, and there measured out their camp for the winter at Thetford. King Edmund carried on war against them for a short time, but he was slain there by them, and his body lies entombed at a place called Beodoricsworthe,[58] and the barbarians obtained the victory, but with the loss of their king soon afterwards: for king Hingwar died the same year; archbishop Ceolnoth also died that same year, and is buried in the city of Canterbury. A. 871. After one year therefore the army of the barbarians above-mentioned set out for Reading, and the principal object of the impious crew was to attack the West-Saxons; and three days after they came, their two consuls, forgetting that they were not on board their fleet, rode proudly through fields and meadows on horseback, which nature had denied to them.[59] But duke Ethelwulf met them, and though his troops were few, their hearts resided in brave dwellings: they point their darts, they rout the enemy, and triumph in abundant spoils. At length four days after their meeting, Ethelred arrives with his army; an indescribable battle is fought, now these, now those urge on the fight with spears immoveable; duke Ethelwulf falls, who a short time before had obtained the victory: the barbarians at last triumph. The body of the above-named duke is privately withdrawn, and carried into the province of the Mercians, to a place called Northworthig, but Derby in the language of the Danes. Four days after king Ethelred with his brother Alfred fought again with all the army of the Danes at Æscendune;[60] and there was great slaughter on both sides: but at last king Ethelred obtained the victory. But it is proper that I should declare the names of those chiefs who fell there: Bagsac king, the veteran Sidrac their consul, the younger Sidrac also, the consul Osbern, the consul Frene, the consul Harold; and, so to speak, all the flower of the barbarian youth was there slain, so that neither before nor since was ever such destruction known since the Saxons first gained Britain by their arms. Fourteen days after, they again took courage and a second battle was fought at a place called Basing: the barbarians came and took part over against them; the fight began, and hope passed from the one side to the other; the royal army was deceived, the enemy had the victory, but gained no spoils. Furthermore after two months the aforesaid king Ethelred renewed the battle, and with him was his brother Alfred, at Merton, against all the army of the barbarians, and a large number was slain on both sides. The barbarians obtained the victory; bishop Heahmund there fell by the sword, and his body lies buried at Cægineshamme.[61] Many others also fell or fled in that battle, concerning whom it seems to be a loss of time to speak more minutely at present. Lastly, after the above-mentioned battle, and after the Easter of the same year, died king Ethelred, from whose family I derive my origin. And now I have followed up my plan, dear cousin Matilda, and will begin to consolidate my subject; and like a ship which, having sailed a long way over the waves, already occupies the port, to which in her patient voyage she had been tending: so we, like sailors, are already entering, and as I briefly intimated to you in my former epistle, so also in the prefaces to this present book, and without any impropriety I again remind you, and though I cut short the course of that which is visionary, not impelled by necessity, but through love of your affection, I now send it you again more fully to be meditated upon concerning the origin of our family, and sufficiently embrace the study of your sincerity.[62] Thus far then: I will now leave obscurity and begin to speak concerning the sons of Ethelwulf. They were five in number: the first was Ethelstan, who also shared the kingdom with his father: the second was Ethelbald, who also was king of the Western English: the third was Ethelbert, king of Kent: the fourth was Ethelred, who after the death of Ethelbert succeeded to the kingdom, and was also my grandfather's grandfather: the fifth was Alfred, who succeeded after all the others to the whole sovereignty, and was your grandfather's grandfather. Wherefore I make known to you, my beloved cousin Matilda, that I receive these things from ancient tradition, and have taken care in most brief style to write the history of our race down to these two kings, from whom we have taken our origin. To you therefore, most beloved, I devote this work, compelled by the love of our relationship: if others receive them with haughtiness, they will be judged unworthy of the feast; if otherwise, we advise all in charity to gather what is set before them. Let us return then to the story that we broke off, and to the death of the above-named Ethelred. His reign lasted five years, and he is buried in the monastery which goes by the name of Wimborne. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 58: Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk.] [Footnote 59: I shall be glad if my readers will find a better translation for this obscure and inflated passage.] [Footnote 60: See William of Malmesbury, b. ii. c. 3, p. 111, note.] [Footnote 61: Keynsham.] [Footnote 62: I must again request the reader to pardon the obscurity which so frequently occurs in our author's style, and my inability to deal with such passages; the above is a tolerably close translation of the original.] CHAP. III.--_Of the reign of king Alfred._ A. 871. After these things, Alfred obtained the kingdom when his brothers were dead,--he also was the youngest son of king Ethelwulf--over all the provinces of Britain. There came a summer-army innumerable to Reading, and were eager to fight against the army of the West-Angles: to their aid also came those who had already long time been ravaging. But the army of the Angles at that time was small on account of the king's absence, who at the same time had performed his brother's obsequies, and although their ranks were not full, yet their hearts were firm in their breasts, they rejoice in the fight, and repel the enemy: but at length oppressed with fatigue, they cease from the fight. The barbarians hold possession of a sterile field of battle: afterwards also they spread themselves and ravage the country. During their foul domination, there were three battles fought by the Angles, besides the battles before-mentioned, and eleven of their consuls, whom they call "earls," were slain, and one of their kings. Lastly, in the same year the Eastern Angles made peace with them. And the number of years to the encamping of the barbarian army in Reading and to the death of king Ethelred and the succession of his brother Alfred was the seventy-first from the time that Egbert had first consolidated the kingdom, and forty-seven from the time that the Mercians and Western Angles carried on civil wars at the place called Ellandune,[63] and king Egbert received the name of victor twenty-six years from the time that the battle was fought in Pedredan [Petherton]; and twenty years after the contest which was waged near the wood called Ockley, and lastly five years from the arrival of the pagans in the country of the East Angles: and without long delay, they then went to Reading. A. 872. After a year had elapsed from the time of their coming to Reading, they measured out their camp in the neighbourhood of the city of London. But the Mercians ratify a treaty with them, and pay a stipend. A. 873. After one year the barbarians change their position to the neighbourhood of the city of Lindsey in a place called Torksey. The Mercian people renew their treaty with them. A. 874. After the lapse of a year, the barbarians at length remove to a place called Repton, and drive king Burhred from the kingdom beyond the sea. Twenty and two years are enumerated from the time that he first occupied his father's kingdom. They now break the peace, and devastate the lands of the Mercians. The above-named king did not abandon his hope in Christ, but made a journey to Rome and died there, and his body, laid in a worthy mausoleum, reposes in the temple of Christ's blessed mother, which is now called the school of the English. At the same time Ceolwulf possessed the kingdom of the Mercians. A. 875. Lastly after a year, the barbarians divide the kingdom into two parts: and Halfdene the leader of the barbarians took one part, namely the kingdom of the Northumbrians, and there he chose his winter-quarters near the river called the Tyne, and they ravaged the country there on every side. But they also made frequent wars on the Picts and the men of Cumberland. Oskytel also, and Gothrun, and Anwiund, their three kings, with an immense army, came from Repton to a place called Grantabridge [Cambridge], and there remained twelve months. Furthermore in the summer of the same year, king Alfred came out with his army on board a fleet by sea, and the barbarians met them with seven tall vessels. A battle ensues, and the Danes are routed: the king takes one of their ships. A. 876. After one year, the tyrant Halfdene obtained the kingdom of the Northumbrians, all of whom he reduced to subjection. And in the course of the same year, the army which had been at Cambridge made a junction with the western army, a thing which they had not done before, near the town which is called Wareham, and ravaged the greater part of that province. Also the king ratified a treaty of peace with them and gave them money. But they gave him hostages chosen out of their army, and made oath to him on their sacred bracelet which they had never done to the kings of the other districts, that they would quickly leave their territories. A. 877. But they broke the peace and contravened their engagements, and the following year extended their troops into the province of Devon, where they passed the winter at Exeter. Lastly their fleets put to sea and spread their sails to the wind: but a lamentable storm came on, and the greatest part of them, namely a hundred of their chief ships, were sunk near the rock which is called Swanwich. The barbarians renew their fraud and offer peace: hostages were given, more than were demanded, to the effect that they would withdraw out of the territories of king Alfred; and they did so. They devastate the kingdom of the Mercians and drive out all the free men. They erect their huts in the town of Gloucester. A. 878. At the end of that year therefore this foul mob broke the compact which they had before solemnly made with the Western Angles, and they take up their winter-quarters at Chippenham. The people were everywhere unable to resist: some of them were driven by the impious wretches over the sea into Gaul. King Alfred was at this time straitened more than was becoming. Ethelnoth also duke of Somerset lived with a narrow retinue in a certain wood, and they built a stronghold in the island of Athelingay,[64] which seems to have been situated in a marsh. But the aforesaid king fought daily battles against the barbarians, having with him the province of Somerset only; no others assisted him, except the servants who made use of the king's pastures. In the same year arrived Halfdene brother of the tyrant Hingwar with thirty galleys, in the western parts of the Angles, and besieged Odda duke of Devon in a certain castle, and war was stirred up on all sides. The king of the barbarians fell, and eighty decads with him. At last the Danes obtain the victory. Meanwhile, after the Easter[65] of that year, king Alfred fought against the army that was in Chippenham, at a place called Ethandune,[66] and they obtain the victory. But after the decision of the battle, the barbarians promise peace, ask a truce, give hostages, and bind themselves by oath: their king submits to be baptized, and Alfred the king receives him from the laver in the marshy isle of Alney.[67] Duke Ethelnoth also purified the same at a place called Wedmore, and king Alfred there bestowed upon him magnificent honors. A. 879. After a year from the time of the pagan army leaving Gloucester, they marched to Cirencester, and there wintered. In the course of the same year the sun was eclipsed. A. 880. A year after the eclipse, the aforesaid army struck their tents, and leaving Cirencester went into the country of the East Angles, and pitching their camp, reduced all the inhabitants of those parts to subjection. And it was now fourteen years since the barbarians first wintered in the country aforesaid, and ravaged it. In the same year, when they had reduced the district aforesaid, they went in a vessel to Gaul and took up a position at a place called Ghent: the same men who had formerly measured out their camp at a place called Fulham. A. 881. After a year, they attempt to proceed further; but the armies of the Franks assail them and gain the victory; the barbarians were put to flight. A. 882. After a year the aforesaid army passed into the upper districts of the Maese and measured out their camp at a place called Escelum.[68] In the same year king Alfred put to sea and fell in with four ships; which he defeated, and destroyed two, the others surrendered. A. 883. The next year the aforesaid army entered the parishes of the Scald,[69] to a place called Cundath;[70] and there measured out their camp for the winter. A. 884. After one year had expired, that pestilential army aforesaid removed to the higher districts of the Somme, to a place called Embenum,[71] and there wintered. A. 885. After a year they divide themselves into two parts: one to Sofenum,[72] the other to Rochester; and they laid siege to those towns. They also construct other smaller camps. Defeat prevails among the inhabitants until the arrival of king Alfred with an army. The foul plague was vanquished, and sought reinforcement....[73] Some of them made for the sea-coasts. The same year they renewed their league, and gave hostages to the English, and twice in the year they counted the spoil which they had obtained by fraud, in the land which borders on the southern bank of the Thames. The filthy crew which were then in possession of the East Angles, suddenly removed to a place called Bamfleet; and there the allied band divided; some of them remained, and some of them went beyond the sea. In the same year, therefore, the aforesaid king Alfred sent his fleet into the country of the East Angles, and immediately on their arrival, there met them at a place called Stourmouth sixteen ships, which they forthwith ravaged, and slew the captains with the sword. The rest of the pirate-crew met them; they ply their oars, their armour shines over the constrained waters, the barbarians obtain the victory. In the same year died Charles the Magnificent king of the Franks, cut off by death before the revolution of one year; after him came his uterine brother who ruled over the western coasts of Gaul. Both were sons of Louis, who had formerly possessed the sole sovereignty: his life had reached its termination during the eclipse of the sun aforesaid. He was son of the great king Charles, whose daughter Ethelwulf king of the English had taken to wife. In the course of that year, a great number of barbarians landed and filled the coasts of the Old Saxons; two battles were fought soon after: the Saxons were the victors, and the Frisons also were present in the contest. In the same year Charles the Younger succeeded to the sovereignty of all the western parts of Gaul as far as the Tyrrhenian sea, and, if I may so speak, of the dominions of his grandfather, except the province of the Lidwiccas.[74] His father was Lodwicus, brother of the middle Charles whose daughter was married to Ethelwulf king of the English. And both of these were sons of Lodwicus, namely, Lodwicus was son of Charlemagne who was the son of Pepin. In the same year died the blessed pope Martin,[75] who also gave freedom to the school of the English, by the appointment of king Alfred, and sent as a present part of the thrice blessed cross of Christ, who is the salvation of the world. In the course of that year, the above-named pestilential crew broke their engagements, and marched in arms against king Alfred. Lastly, after a year, they went to the lower parts of Gaul, and fixed on a place to winter near the river Seine. Meanwhile, the city of London was fortified by king Alfred, whom no civil discord could subdue, either by cunning or by force: all men received him as a saviour, and particularly the Saxons--except the barbarians--and those who were then held prisoners in their hands. Also, after his army was strengthened, Ethered was appointed leader there by the aforesaid king, to guard the citadel. A. 887. Now the army which were at that time ravaging the country of Gaul cut their way through the bridge of the citadel of Paris, and devastated the whole country along the Seine, as far as the Marne, and above its vertex, as far as Catsig [Chezy], where they thrice fixed their winter quarters. In the same year also died Charles, king of the Franks, and his cousin Arnulf succeeded to the kingdom, seven years before his uncle's death. The kingdom was then divided into five, and so many kings in the same: but all things are done by the permission of king Arnulf, and they promised to be all under his subjection, because they were not like him, descended from the paternal stock; and he lived after this on the eastern side of the river Rhine. But Rodulf occupied the middle parts of the kingdom, Oda the western parts, and Beorngar with Witha held the kingdom of the Lombards from the division of the Jovian mountain.[76] There they began a civil war; people assailed people; the lands of both were continually disturbed, nor was there any hope of quiet. The same year, in which the barbarians had settled on the bridge of Paris, duke Ethelhelm received no small part of the money paid from the diocese of the English by the king for the people, and went to Rome. In the same year died queen Ethelswitha. A. 888. In the lapse of the same year also, archbishop Athelred deceased, and Ethelwold, commander in Kent. A. 889. After one year, abbat Bernhelm carried to Rome the alms for the people, and principally those of the western English and of king Alfred. Then also Gothrun, king of the northern English, yielded his breath to Orcus; he had taken the name of Athelstan, as he came out of the baptismal laver, from his godfather, king Alfred, and had his seat among the East-Angles, since he there also had held the first station. In the same year, the aforesaid army of barbarians removed from the river Seine to a place called Santlaudah,[77] situated between the Bretons and the Franks; but the Bretons met them in arms, and obtained the victory, and followed them to the windings of a certain river, and there not a few of them were drowned in the waters. A. 891. One year afterwards, the bands of the aforesaid army visited the eastern parts of France; king Arnulf met them; a fight of cavalry took place before the fleets arrived. An army of eastern Franks came up, Saxons and Bavarians; the pagans spread their sails to flee. In the same year, three chosen men of Hibernian race, burning with piety, leave their country: they privately form a boat by sewing ox-hides; they put into it provisions for a week; they sail seven days and seven nights, and arrive on the shores of Cornwall: here they left their fleet, which had been guided, not by the strength of their arms, but by the power of Him who rules all things, and set out for the court of king Alfred, who with his senate rejoice in their coming. From thence they proceed to Rome, and, as is customary with teachers of Christ, they essay to go thence to Jerusalem:[78] ... Their names were, Dubslane, the first; Macbeth, the second; Maelinmun, the third, flourishing in the arts, skilled in letters, and a distinguished master of the Scots. Also in the same year, after Easter a comet appeared, which some think to be an omen of foul times, which have already past; but it is the most approved theory of philosophers, that they foretel future things, as has been tried in many ways. A. 893. One year after the barbarians fought against king Arnulf, they go to Boulogne, and there build a fleet, and pass over into England. There they station their fleet in the Limnean port, at a place called Apoldre [Appledore, in the eastern part of Kent,] and destroy an ancient castle, because there was but a small band of rustics within, and there they make their winter camp. In the course of this year, a large fleet belonging to Hasten arrives on the banks of the river Thames, and found a citadel on the coasts of Kent, at a place called Middleton [Milton]: they encamp there the whole winter; and the number of years that had elapsed from the glorious nativity of our Saviour was nine hundred, all but seven. After the Easter of that year, the army which had come from Gaul leave their camp, and trace the intricacies of a certain immense wood, which is called Andred, and they extend as far as the Western Angles. Slowly as they go, they ravage the adjoining provinces, Hampshire and Berkshire: these things were told to the heir of Edward, son of king Alfred, who had been exercising himself in the southern parts of England. After this they reach the Western Angles, who meet them with threatening arms and dense array at Farnham: they exult, freed by the arrival of the prince, like sheep under the protection of the shepherd; the tyrant is wounded, and his troops are driven across the river Thames into the northern countries. Meanwhile, the Danes are held besieged in Thorney isle. Earl Ethered, setting out from the city of London, lent his aid to the prince. The barbarians asked peace and a treaty: hostages are given, they promise by oath to leave the kingdom of the aforesaid king; their words and deeds agree together without delay. Lastly, they set out for the country of the East-Angles, formerly governed by the king Saint Edmund, and their ships fly round to them from the Limnean port to Meresige [Mersey], a place in Kent. In the course of the same year, Hasten breaks away with his band from Bamfleet, and devastates all Mercia, until they arrive at the end of Britain. The army, which was then in the eastern part of the country, supplied them with reinforcements, and the Northumbrian, in the same way. The illustrious duke Ethelm, with a squadron of cavalry, and duke Ethelnoth, with an army of Western-Angles, followed behind them, and Ethered, earl of the Mercians, pressed after them with great impetuosity. The youth of both people join battle, and the Angles obtain the victory. These things are said by ancient writers to have been done at Buttington, and the exertions of the Danes appeared futile; they again ratify peace, give hostages, and promise to leave that part of the country. In the same year Danaasuda,[79] in Bamfleet, was destroyed by the people, and they divide the treasure among them. After this, Sigeferth, the pirate, lands from his fleet in Northumbria, and twice devastates the coast, after which he returns home. A. 895. When two years were completed, from the time that an immense fleet came from Boulogne to Limnæ, a town of the Angles, duke Ethelnoth set out from the western parts of the Angles, and goes from the city of York against the enemy, who devastate no small tracts of land in the kingdom of the Mercians, on the west of Stanford; _i.e._ between the courses of the river Weolod[80] and a thick wood, called Ceoftefne. A. 896. In the course of one year also, died Guthfrid, king of the Northumbrians, on the birthday of Christ's apostle, St. Bartholomew, whose body is buried at York, in the high church. A. 900. Meanwhile, after four years, from the time that the above-named king died, there was a great discord among the English, because the foul bands of the Danes still remained throughout Northumberland. Lastly, in the same year, king Alfred departed out of this world, that immoveable pillar of the Western Saxons, that man full of justice, bold in arms, learned in speech, and, above all other things, imbued with the divine instructions. For he had translated into his own language, out of Latin, unnumbered volumes, of so varied a nature, and so excellently, that the sorrowful book of Boethius seemed, not only to the learned, but even to those who heard it read, as it were, brought to life again. The monarch died on the seventh day before the solemnity of All Saints, and his body rests in peace in the city of Winton. Pray, O reader, to Christ our Redeemer, that he will save his soul! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 63: Allington, Wiltshire.] [Footnote 64: Athelney, no longer an island, is situated near Borough-bridge in Somersetshire.] [Footnote 65: Easter Day was the 23rd of March in the year 878.] [Footnote 66: Heddington.] [Footnote 67: Some suppose that this is Aller near Athelingay, or Athelney; but Athelney itself is called Alney by the common people; it is therefore more likely that Athelingay and Alney were the same place, as they are at present.] [Footnote 68: Aschloha, or Ascloha, is on the Maese, about fourteen miles from the Rhine.] [Footnote 69: The Scheldt.] [Footnote 70: Condé.] [Footnote 71: More commonly Ambiani, now Amiens.] [Footnote 72: Louvain.] [Footnote 73: I acknowledge my inability to translate this and many other passages of this obscure author. The events which here follow for the next half page are referred by the Saxon Chronicle to the year 894.] [Footnote 74: Armorica, or Bretagne.] [Footnote 75: This should be Marinus, not Martinus.] [Footnote 76: Mount St. Barnard.] [Footnote 77: Saint Lo.] [Footnote 78: I omit this obscure passage rather than run the risk of misleading the reader by an inaccurate translation of it.] [Footnote 79: This must be the fortress which Hasten's men built in Bamfleet.] [Footnote 80: Welland, Northamptonshire.] CHAP. IV.--_Of the reign of king Edward, and of his wars._ A. 901. The successor to the throne was Edward, son of the above-named king. He was elected by the nobles, and crowned with the royal crown on Whitsunday, one hundred years having elapsed since his great grandfather, Egbert, had gained his present territories. In the same year Ethelbald received, in the city of London, the bishopric of the city of York; and, it appears, that the number of years completed, since Christ came in the flesh, was nine hundred full. A. 902. After two years was the battle of Holme.[81] ... Five days after the festival of the blessed mother, they lock together their shields, brandish their swords, and vibrate their lances in both hands. There fell duke Siwulf and Sigelm, and almost all the Kentish nobility: and Eohric, king of the barbarians, there descended to Orcus: two princes of the English, in the flower of their youth, there yield up the breath of life, and explore the foreign regions, under the waves of Acheron, and numbers of full-grown men fall on both sides. The barbarians remain victors, and triumph on the field of battle. A. 905. At length, after three years, the number of years completed since the beginning of the world, was six thousand and one hundred. A. 908. After three years archbishop Plegmund inaugurized, in the city of Winchester, a lofty tower, which had been recently founded in honour of Mary, the mother of God. The pontiff aforesaid, in the course of the same year carried to Rome the alms for the people, and for king Edward. A. 909. After one year the barbarians break their compact with king Edward, and with earl Ethered, who then ruled the provinces of Northumberland and Mercia. The lands of the Mercians are laid waste on all sides by the hosts aforesaid, as far as the streams of the Avon, where begins the frontier of the West-Saxons and the Mercians. Thence they pass over the river Severn into the western regions, and gained by their devastations no little booty. But when they had withdrawn homewards, rejoicing in their rich spoils, they passed over a bridge on the eastern side of the river Severn, at a place commonly called Cantabridge,[82] the troops of the Mercians and West-Saxons met them: a battle ensued, and in the plain of Wodnesfield the English obtained the victory: the Danish army fled, overwhelmed by the darts of their enemies: these things are said to have been done on the fifth day of August; and their three kings fell there in that turmoil or battle, namely, Halfdene, Ecwils, and Hingwar: they lost their sovereignty, and descended to the court of the infernal king, and their elders and nobles with them. A. 910. After one year, Ethered, who survived of the Mercians, departed this life, and was buried peacefully in the city of Gloucester. A. 912. After two years, died Athulf in Northumbria; he was at that time commander of the town called Bebbanburgh.[83] A. 913. After a year, a fleet entered the mouth of the river Severn, but no severe battle was fought there that year. Lastly, the greater part of that army go to Ireland, formerly called Bretannis by the great Julius Cæsar. A. 914. After one year, the day of Christ's nativity fell on a Sunday; and so great was the tranquillity of that winter, that no one can remember anything like it either before or since. A. 917. After three years, Ethelfled the king's sister departed this life, and her body lies buried at Gloucester. A. 926. Also in the ninth year died Edward, king of the English. This was the end; his name and his pertinacity here ceased. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 81: The particulars recorded in this passage, concerning the battle of Holme, are ascribed, by Florence of Worcester and the Saxon Chronicle, to another battle, fought three years later. This caused Petrie to suppose, that the paragraph in question had slipped out of its real place.] [Footnote 82: Cambridge, in Gloucestershire.] [Footnote 83: Bambrough.] CHAP. V.--_Of the reign of king Athelstan, his wars and deeds._ A. 926. The year in which the stout king Athelstan gained the crown of the kingdom, was the nine hundred and twenty-sixth from the glorious incarnation of our Saviour. A. 939. Therefore, after thirteen years, a fierce battle was fought against the barbarians at Brunandune,[84] wherefore that fight is called great even to the present day: then the barbarian tribes are defeated and domineer no longer; they are driven beyond the ocean: the Scots and Picts also bow the neck; the lands of Britain are consolidated together, on all sides is peace, and plenty of all things, nor ever did a fleet again come to land except in friendship with the English. A. 941. Two years afterwards the venerated king Athelstan died. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 84: Brumby, Lincolnshire.] CHAP. VI.--_Of the reign of king Edmund._ After him Edmund succeeded to the neglected kingdom. A. 948. After seven years, therefore, bishop Wulfstan and the duke of the Mercians expelled certain deserters, namely, Reginald and Anlaf from the city of York, and gave them into the king's hand. In the same year died also queen Elfgiva, wife of king Edmund, and afterwards was canonized. In her tomb, with God's assistance, even to the present day, miracles are performed in the monastery called Shaftesbury. In the same period also died king Edmund on the solemnity of Augustine the Less, who also was the apostle of the English: and he held the kingdom six years and a half. CHAP. VII.--_Of the reign of king Edred._ Edmund's successor was Edred his brother, to whom all the Northumbrians became subject; and the Scots also give oaths of allegiance and immutable fidelity. Not long after these things he also departed in peace, on the birthday of the blessed pope and martyr Clement. He had held the kingdom nine years and half. CHAP. VIII.--_Of king Edwy._ His successor to the throne was Edwy, who, on account of his great personal beauty, was called Pankalus by the people. He held the sovereignty four years, and was much beloved. CHAP. IX.--_Of the reign of king Edgar._ A. 959. After this, Edgar was crowned, and he was an admirable king.[85] Moreover from the nativity of our Lord and Saviour was then completed the number of 973 years.[85] HERE HAPPILY ENDS THE FOURTH BOOK OF FABIUS ETHELWERD, QUESTOR AND PATRICIAN. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 85: Here follow two sets of Latin verses, of a most obscure and angrammatical character, and altogether untranslatable.] ANNALS OF THE REIGN OF ALFRED THE GREAT. ANNALS OF THE REIGN OF ALFRED THE GREAT, FROM A.D. 849 TO A.D. 887. BY ASSER OF SAINT DAVID'S. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 849, was born Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, at the royal village of Wanating,[86] in Berkshire, which country has its name from the wood of Berroc, where the box-tree grows most abundantly. His genealogy is traced in the following order. King Alfred was the son of king Ethelwulf, who was the son of Egbert, who was the son of Elmund, was the son of Eafa, who was the son of Eoppa, who the son of Ingild. Ingild, and Ina, the famous king of the West-Saxons, were two brothers. Ina went to Rome, and there ending this life honourably, entered the heavenly kingdom, to reign there for ever with Christ. Ingild and Ina were the sons of Coenred, who was the son of Ceolwald, who was the son of Cudam, who was the son of Cuthwin, who was the son of Ceawlin, who was the son of Cynric, who was the son of Creoda, who was the son of Cerdic, who was the son of Elesa, who was the son of Gewis, from whom the Britons name all that nation Gegwis,[87] who was the son of Brond, who was the son of Beldeg, who was the son of Woden, who was the son of Frithowald, who was the son of Frealaf, who was the son of Frithuwulf, who was the son of Finn of Godwulf, who was the son of Geat, which Geat the pagans long worshipped as a god. Sedulius makes mention of him in his metrical Paschal poem, as follows:-- When gentile poets with their fictions vain, In tragic language and bombastic strain, To their god Geat, comic deity, Loud praises sing, &c. Geat was the son of Tætwa, who was the son of Beaw, who was the son of Sceldi, who was the son of Heremod, who was the son of Iterinon, who was the son of Hathra, who was the son of Guala, who was the son of Bedwig, who was the son of Shem, who was the son of Noah, who was the son of Lamech, who was the son of Methusalem, who was the son of Enoch, who was the son of Malaleel, who was the son of Cainan, who was the son of Enos, who was the son of Seth, who was the son of Adam. The mother of Alfred was named Osburga, a religious woman, noble both by birth and by nature; she was daughter of Oslac, the famous butler of king Ethelwulf, which Oslac was a Goth by nation, descended from the Goths and Jutes, of the seed, namely, of Stuf and Wihtgar, two brothers and counts: who, having received possession of the Isle of Wight from their uncle, king Cerdic, and his son Cynric their cousin, slew the few British inhabitants whom they could find in that island, at a place called Gwihtgaraburgh;[88] for the other inhabitants of the island had either been slain or escaped into exile. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 851, which was the third after the birth of king Alfred, Ceorl, earl of Devon, fought with the men of Devon against the pagans at a place called Wicgambeorg;[89] and the Christians gained the victory; and that same year the pagans first wintered in the island called Sheppey, which means the Sheep-isle, and is situated in the river Thames between Essex and Kent, but is nearer to Kent than to Essex; it has in it a fine monastery.[90] The same year also a great army of the pagans came with three hundred and fifty ships to the mouth of the river Thames, and sacked Dorobernia,[91] which is the city of the Cantuarians, and also the city of London, which lies on the north bank of the river Thames, on the confines of Essex and Middlesex; but yet that city belongs in truth to Essex; and they put to flight Berthwulf, king of Mercia, with all the army, which he had led out to oppose them. After these things, the aforesaid pagan host went into Surrey, which is a district situated on the south bank of the river Thames, and to the west of Kent. And Ethelwulf, king of the West-Saxons, and his son Ethelbald, with all their army, fought a long time against them at a place called Ac-lea,[92] i.e. the Oak-plain, and there, after a lengthened battle, which was fought with much bravery on both sides, the greater part of the pagan multitude was destroyed and cut to pieces, so that we never heard of their being so defeated, either before or since, in any country, in one day; and the Christians gained an honourable victory, and were triumphant over their graves. In the same year king Athelstan, son of king Ethelwulf, and earl Ealhere slew a large army of pagans in Kent, at a place called Sandwich, and took nine ships of their fleet; the others escaped by flight. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 853, which was the fifth of king Alfred, Burhred, king of the Mercians, sent messengers, and prayed Ethelwulf, king of the West-Saxons, to come and help him in reducing the midland Britons, who dwell between Mercia and the western sea, and who struggled against him most immoderately. So without delay, king Ethelwulf, having received the embassy, moved his army, and advanced with king Burhred against Britain,[93] and immediately, on entering that country, he began to ravage it; and having reduced it under subjection to king Burhred, he returned home. In the same year, king Ethelwulf sent his son Alfred, above-named, to Rome, with an honourable escort both of nobles and commoners. Pope Leo [the fourth] at that time presided over the apostolic see, and he anointed for king the aforesaid Alfred, and adopted him as his spiritual son. The same year also, earl Ealhere, with the men of Kent, and Huda with the men of Surrey, fought bravely and resolutely against an army of the pagans, in the island, which is called in the Saxon tongue, Tenet,[94] but Ruim in the British language. The battle lasted a long time, and many fell on both sides, and also were drowned in the water; and both the earls were there slain. In the same year also, after Easter, Ethelwulf, king of the West-Saxons, gave his daughter to Burhred, king of the Mercians, and the marriage was celebrated royally at the royal vill of Chippenham.[95] In the year of our Lord's incarnation 855, which was the seventh after the birth of the aforesaid king, Edmund the most glorious king of the East-Angles began to reign, on the eighth day before the kalends of January, i.e. on the birthday of our Lord, in the fourteenth year of his age. In this year also died Lothaire, the Roman emperor, son of the pious Lewis Augustus. In the same year the aforesaid venerable king Ethelwulf released the tenth part of all his kingdom from all royal service and tribute, and with a pen never to be forgotten, offered it up to God the One and the Three in One, in the cross of Christ, for the redemption of his own soul and of his predecessors. In the same year he went to Rome with much honour; and taking with him his son, the aforesaid king Alfred, for a second journey thither, because he loved him more than his other sons, he remained there a whole year; after which he returned to his own country, bringing with him Judith, daughter of Charles, the king of the Franks. In the meantime, however, whilst king Ethelwulf was residing beyond the sea, a base deed was done, repugnant to the morals of all Christians, in the western part of Selwood. For king Ethelbald [son of king Ethelwulf] and Ealstan, bishop of the church of Sherborne, with Eanwulf, earl of the district of Somerton, are said to have made a conspiracy together, that king Ethelwulf, on his return from Rome, should never again be received into his kingdom. This crime, unheard-of in all previous ages, is ascribed by many to the bishop and earl alone, as resulting from their counsels. Many also ascribe it solely to the insolence of the king, because that king was pertinacious in this matter, and in many other perversities, as we have heard related by certain persons; as also was proved by the result of that which follows. For as he was returning from Rome, his son aforesaid, with all his counsellors, or, as I ought to say, his conspirators, attempted to perpetrate the crime of repulsing the king from his own kingdom; but neither did God permit the deed, nor would the nobles of all Saxony consent to it. For to prevent this irremediable evil to Saxony, of a son warring against his father, or rather of the whole nation carrying on civil war either on the side of the one or the other, the extraordinary mildness of the father, seconded by the consent of all the nobles, divided between the two the kingdom which had hitherto been undivided; the eastern parts were given to the father, and the western to the son; for where the father ought by just right to reign, there his unjust and obstinate son did reign; for the western part of Saxony is always preferable to the eastern. When Ethelwulf, therefore, was coming from Rome, all that nation, as was fitting, so delighted in the arrival of the old man, that, if he permitted them, they would have expelled his rebellious son Ethelbald, with all his counsellors, out of the kingdom. But he, as we have said, acting with great clemency and prudent counsel, so wished things to be done, that the kingdom might not come into danger; and he placed Judith, daughter of king Charles, whom he had received from his father, by his own side on the regal throne, without any controversy or enmity from his nobles, even to the end of his life, contrary to the perverse custom of that nation. For the nation of the West-Saxons do not allow a queen to sit beside the king, nor to be called a queen, but only the king's wife; which stigma the elders of that land say arose from a certain obstinate and malevolent queen of the same nation, who did all things so contrary to her lord, and to all the people, that she not only earned for herself exclusion from the royal seat, but also entailed the same stigma upon those who came after her; for in consequence of the wickedness of that queen, all the nobles of that land swore together, that they would never let any king reign over them, who should attempt to place a queen on the throne by his side. And because, as I think, it is not known to many whence this perverse and detestable custom arose in Saxony, contrary to the custom of all the Theotiscan nations, it seems to me right to explain a little more fully what I have heard from my lord Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, as he also had heard it from many men of truth, who in great part recorded that fact. There was in Mercia, in recent times, a certain valiant king, who was feared by all the kings and neighbouring states around. His name was Offa, and it was he who had the great rampart made from sea to sea between Britain[96] and Mercia. His daughter, named Eadburga, was married to Bertric, king of the West-Saxons; who immediately, having the king's affections, and the control of almost all the kingdom, began to live tyrannically like her father, and to execrate every man whom Bertric loved, and to do all things hateful to God and man, and to accuse all she could before the king, and so to deprive them insidiously of their life or power; and if she could not obtain the king's consent, she used to take them off by poison: as is ascertained to have been the case with a certain young man beloved by the king, whom she poisoned, finding that the king would not listen to any accusation against him. It is said, moreover, that king Bertric unwittingly tasted of the poison, though the queen intended to give it to the young man only, and so both of them perished. Bertric therefore being dead, the queen could remain no longer among the West-Saxons, but sailed beyond the sea with immense treasures, and went to the court of the great and famous Charles, king of the Franks. As she stood before the throne, and offered him money, Charles said to her, "Choose, Eadburga, between me and my son, who stands here with me." She replied, foolishly, and without deliberation, "If I am to have my choice, I choose your son, because he is younger than you." At which Charles smiled and answered, "If you had chosen me, you would have had my son; but as you have chosen him, you shall not have either of us." However, he gave her a large convent of nuns, in which, having laid aside the secular habit and taken the religious dress, she discharged the office of abbess during a few years; for, as she is said to have lived irrationally in her own country, so she appears to have acted still more so in that foreign country; for being convicted of having had unlawful intercourse with a man of her own nation, she was expelled from the monastery by king Charles's order, and lived a vicious life of reproach in poverty and misery until her death; so that at last, accompanied by one slave only, as we have heard from many who saw her, she begged her bread daily at Pavia, and so miserably died. Now king Ethelwulf lived two years after his return from Rome; during which, among many other good deeds of this present life, reflecting on his departure according to the way of all flesh, that his sons might not quarrel unreasonably after their father's death, he ordered a will or letter of instructions to be written, in which he ordered that his kingdom should be divided between his two eldest sons, his private inheritance between his sons, his daughters, and his relations, and the money which he left behind him between his sons and nobles, and for the good of his soul. Of this prudent policy we have thought fit to record a few instances out of many for posterity to imitate; namely, such as are understood to belong principally to the needs of the soul; for the others, which relate only to human dispensation, it is not necessary to insert in this work, lest prolixity should create disgust in those who read or wish to hear my work. For the benefit of his soul, then, which he studied to promote in all things from the first flower of his youth, he directed through all his hereditary dominions, that one poor man in ten, either native or foreigner, should be supplied with meat, drink, and clothing, by his successors, until the day of judgment; supposing, however, that the country should still be inhabited both by men and cattle, and should not become deserted. He commanded also a large sum of money, namely, three hundred mancuses, to be carried to Rome for the good of his soul, to be distributed in the following manner: namely, a hundred mancuses in honour of St. Peter, specially to buy oil for the lights of the church of that apostle on Easter eve, and also at the cock-crow: a hundred mancuses in honour of St. Paul, for the same purpose of buying oil for the church of St. Paul the apostle, to light the lamps on Easter eve and at the cock-crow; and a hundred mancuses for the universal apostolic pontiff. But when king Ethelwulf was dead, and buried at Stemrugam,[97] his son Ethelbald, contrary to God's prohibition and the dignity of a Christian, contrary also to the custom of all the pagans, ascended his father's bed, and married Judith, daughter of Charles, king of the Franks, and drew down much infamy upon himself from all who heard of it. During two years and a half of licentiousness after his father he held the government of the West-Saxons. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 856, which was the eighth after Alfred's birth, the second year of king Charles III, and the eighteenth year of the reign of Ethelwulf, king of the West-Saxons, Humbert, bishop of the East-Angles, anointed with oil and consecrated as king the glorious Edmund, with much rejoicing and great honour in the royal town called Burva, in which at that time was the royal seat, in the fifteenth year of his age, on a Friday, the twenty-fourth moon, being Christmas-day. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 860, which was the twelfth of king Alfred's age, died Ethelbald, king of the West-Saxons, and was buried at Sherborne. His brother Ethelbert, as was fitting, joined Kent, Surrey, and Sussex also to his dominion. In his days a large army of pagans came from the sea, and attacked and destroyed the city of Winchester. As they were returning laden with booty to their ships, Osric, earl of Hampshire, with his men, and earl Ethelwulf, with the men of Berkshire, confronted them bravely; a severe battle took place, and the pagans were slain on every side; and, finding themselves unable to resist, took to flight like women, and the Christians obtained a triumph. Ethelbert governed his kingdom five years in peace, with the love and respect of his subjects, who felt deep sorrow when he went the way of all flesh. His body was honourably interred at Sherborne by the side of his brothers. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 864, the pagans wintered in the isle of Thanet, and made a firm treaty with the men of Kent, who promised them money for adhering to their covenant; but the pagans, like cunning foxes, burst from their camp by night, and setting at naught their engagements, and spurning at the promised money, which they knew was less than they could get by plunder, they ravaged all the eastern coast of Kent. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 866, which was the eighteenth of king Alfred, Ethelred, brother of Ethelbert, king of the West Saxons, undertook the government of the kingdom for five years; and the same year a large fleet of pagans came to Britain from the Danube, and wintered in the kingdom of the Eastern-Saxons, which is called in Saxon East-Anglia; and there they became principally an army of cavalry. But, to speak in nautical phrase, I will no longer commit my vessel to the power of the waves and of its sails, or keeping off from land steer my round-about course through so many calamities of wars and series of years, but will return to that which first prompted me to this task; that is to say, I think it right in this place briefly to relate as much as has come to my knowledge about the character of my revered lord Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, during the years that he was an infant and a boy. He was loved by his father and mother, and even by all the people, above all his brothers, and was educated altogether at the court of the king. As he advanced through the years of infancy and youth, his form appeared more comely than that of his brothers; in look, in speech, and in manners he was more graceful than they. His noble nature implanted in him from his cradle a love of wisdom above all things; but, with shame be it spoken, by the unworthy neglect of his parents and nurses, he remained illiterate even till he was twelve years old or more; but he listened with serious attention to the Saxon poems which he often heard recited, and easily retained them in his docile memory. He was a zealous practiser of hunting in all its branches, and hunted with great assiduity and success; for skill and good fortune in this art, as in all others, are among the gifts of God, as we also have often witnessed. On a certain day, therefore, his mother[98] was showing him and his brother a Saxon book of poetry, which she held in her hand, and said, "Whichever of you shall the soonest learn this volume shall have it for his own." Stimulated by these words, or rather by the Divine inspiration, and allured by the beautifully illuminated letter at the beginning of the volume, he spoke before all his brothers, who, though his seniors in age, were not so in grace, and answered, "Will you really give that book to one of us, that is to say, to him who can first understand and repeat it to you?" At this his mother smiled with satisfaction, and confirmed what she had before said. Upon which the boy took the book out of her hand, and went to his master to read it, and in due time brought it to his mother and recited it. After this he learned the daily course, that is, the celebration of the hours, and afterwards certain psalms, and several prayers, contained in a certain book which he kept day and night in his bosom, as we ourselves have seen, and carried about with him to assist his prayers, amid all the bustle and business of this present life. But, sad to say, he could not gratify his most ardent wish to learn the liberal arts, because, as he said, there were no good readers at that time in all the kingdom of the West-Saxons. This he confessed, with many lamentations and sighs, to have been one of his greatest difficulties and impediments in this life, namely, that when he was young and had the capacity for learning, he could not find teachers; but, when he was more advanced in life, he was harassed by so many diseases unknown to all the physicians of this island, as well as by internal and external anxieties of sovereignty, and by continual invasions of the pagans, and had his teachers and writers also so much disturbed, that there was no time for reading. But yet among the impediments of this present life, from infancy up to the present time, and, as I believe, even until his death, he continued to feel the same insatiable desire of knowledge, and still aspires after it. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 867, which was the nineteenth of the life of the aforesaid king Alfred, the army of pagans before mentioned removed from the East-Angles to the city of York, which is situated on the north bank of the river Humber. At that time a violent discord arose, by the instigation of the devil, among the inhabitants of Northumberland; as always is used to happen among a people who have incurred the wrath of God. For the Northumbrians at that time, as we have said, had expelled their lawful king Osbert, and appointed a certain tyrant named Ælla, not of royal birth, over the affairs of the kingdom; but when the pagans approached, by divine Providence, and the union of the nobles for the common good, that discord was a little appeased, and Osbert and Ælla uniting their resources, and assembling an army, marched to York. The pagans fled at their approach, and attempted to defend themselves within the walls of the city. The Christians, perceiving their flight and the terror they were in, determined to destroy the walls of the town, which they succeeded in doing; for that city was not surrounded at that time with firm or strong walls, and when the Christians had made a breach as they had purposed, and many of them had entered into the town, the pagans, urged by despair and necessity, made a fierce sally upon them, slew them, routed them, and cut them down on all sides, both within and without the walls. In that battle fell almost all the Northumbrian warriors, with both the kings and a multitude of nobles; the remainder, who escaped, made peace with the pagans. In the same year, Ealstan, bishop of the church of Sherborne, went the way of all flesh, after he had honourably ruled his see four years, and he was buried at Sherborne. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 868, which was the twentieth of king Alfred's life, there was a severe famine. Then the aforesaid revered king Alfred, but at that time occupying a subordinate station, asked and obtained in marriage a noble Mercian lady, daughter of Athelred, surnamed Mucil,[99] earl of the Gaini.[100] The mother of this lady was named Edburga, of the royal line of Mercia, whom we have often seen with our own eyes a few years before her death. She was a venerable lady, and after the decease of her husband, she remained many years a widow, even till her own death. In the same year, the above-named army of pagans, leaving Northumberland, invaded Mercia and advanced to Nottingham, which is called in the British tongue, "Tiggocobauc," but in Latin, the "House of Caves," and they wintered there that same year. Immediately on their approach, Burhred, king of Mercia, and all the nobles of that nation, sent messengers to Ethelred, king of the West-Saxons, and his brother Alfred, suppliantly entreating them to come and aid them in fighting against the aforesaid army. Their request was easily obtained; for the brothers, as soon as promised, assembled an immense army from all parts of their dominions, and entering Mercia, came to Nottingham, all eager for battle, and when the pagans, defended by the castle, refused to fight, and the Christians were unable to destroy the wall, peace was made between the Mercians and pagans, and the two brothers, Ethelred and Alfred, returned home with their troops. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 869, which was the twenty-first of king Alfred's life, there was a great famine and mortality of men, and a pestilence among the cattle. And the aforesaid army of the pagans, galloping back to Northumberland, went to York, and there passed the winter. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 870, which was the twenty-second of king Alfred's life, the above-named army of pagans, passed through Mercia into East-Anglia, and wintered at Thetford. In the same year Edmund, king of the East-Angles, fought most fiercely against them; but, lamentable to say, the pagans triumphed, Edmund was slain in the battle, and the enemy reduced all that country to subjection. In the same year Ceolnoth, archbishop of Canterbury, went the way of all flesh, and was buried peaceably in his own city. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 871, which was the twenty-third of king Alfred's life, the pagan army, of hateful memory, left the East-Angles, and entering the kingdom of the West-Saxons, came to the royal city, called Reading, situated on the south bank of the Thames, in the district called Berkshire; and there, on the third day after their arrival, their earls, with great part of the army, scoured the country for plunder, while the others made a rampart between the rivers Thames and Kennet on the right side of the same royal city. They were encountered by Ethelwulf, earl of Berkshire, with his men, at a place called Englefield;[101] both sides fought bravely, and made long resistance. At length one of the pagan earls was slain, and the greater part of the army destroyed; upon which the rest saved themselves by flight, and the Christians gained the victory. Four days afterwards, Ethelred, king of the West-Saxons, and his brother Alfred, united their forces and marched to Reading, where, on their arrival, they cut to pieces the pagans whom they found outside the fortifications. But the pagans, nevertheless, sallied out from the gates, and a long and fierce engagement ensued. At last, grief to say, the Christians fled, the pagans obtained the victory, and the aforesaid earl Ethelwulf was among the slain. Roused by this calamity, the Christians, in shame and indignation, within four days, assembled all their forces, and again encountered the pagan army at a place called Ashdune,[102] which means the "Hill of the Ash." The pagans had divided themselves into two bodies, and began to prepare defences, for they had two kings and many earls, so they gave the middle part of the army to the two kings, and the other part to all their earls. Which the Christians perceiving, divided their army also into two troops, and also began to construct defences. But Alfred, as we have been told by those who were present, and would not tell an untruth, marched up promptly with his men to give them battle; for king Ethelred remained a long time in his tent in prayer, hearing the mass, and said that he would not leave it, till the priest had done, or abandon the divine protection for that of men. And he did so too, which afterwards availed him much with the Almighty, as we shall declare more fully in the sequel. Now the Christians had determined that king Ethelred, with his men, should attack the two pagan kings, but that his brother Alfred, with his troops, should take the chance of war against the two earls. Things being so arranged, the king remained a long time in prayer, and the pagans came up rapidly to fight. Then Alfred, though possessing a subordinate authority, could no longer support the troops of the enemy, unless he retreated or charged upon them without waiting for his brother. At length he bravely led his troops against the hostile army, as they had before arranged, but without awaiting his brother's arrival; for he relied in the divine counsels, and forming his men into a dense phalanx, marched on at once to meet the foe. But here I must inform those who are ignorant of the fact, that the field of battle was not equally advantageous to both parties. The pagans occupied the higher ground, and the Christians came up from below. There was also a single thorn-tree, of stunted growth, and we have with our own eyes seen it. Around this tree the opposing armies came together with loud shouts from all sides, the one party to pursue their wicked course, the other to fight for their lives, their dearest ties, and their country. And when both armies had fought long and bravely, at last the pagans, by the divine judgment, were no longer able to bear the attacks of the Christians, and having lost great part of their army, took to a disgraceful flight. One of their two kings, and five earls were there slain, together with many thousand pagans, who fell on all sides, covering with their bodies the whole plain of Ashdune. There fell in that battle king Bagsac, earl Sidrac the elder, and earl Sidrac the younger, earl Osbern, earl Frene, and earl Harold; and the whole pagan army pursued its flight, not only until night but until the next day, even until they reached the stronghold from which they had sallied. The Christians followed, slaying all they could reach, until it became dark. After fourteen days had elapsed, king Ethelred, with his brother Alfred, again joined their forces and marched to Basing to fight with the pagans. The enemy came together from all quarters, and after a long contest gained the victory. After this battle, another army came from beyond the sea, and joined them. The same year, after Easter, the aforesaid king Ethelred, having bravely, honourably, and with good repute, governed his kingdom five years, through much tribulation, went the way of all flesh, and was buried in Wimborne Minster, where he awaits the coming of the Lord, and the first resurrection with the just. The same year, the aforesaid Alfred, who had been up to that time only of secondary rank, whilst his brothers were alive, now, by God's permission, undertook the government of the whole kingdom, amid the acclamations of all the people; and if he had chosen, he might have done so before, whilst his brother above-named was still alive; for in wisdom and other qualities he surpassed all his brothers, and moreover, was warlike and victorious in all his wars. And when he had reigned one month, almost against his will, for he did not think he could alone sustain the multitude and ferocity of the pagans, though even during his brothers' lives, he had borne the woes of many,--he fought a battle with a few men, and on very unequal terms, against all the army of the pagans, at a hill called Wilton, on the south bank of the river Wily, from which river the whole of that district is named, and after a long and fierce engagement, the pagans, seeing the danger they were in, and no longer able to bear the attack of their enemies, turned their backs and fled. But, oh, shame to say, they deceived their too audacious pursuers, and again rallying, gained the victory. Let no one be surprised that the Christians had but a small number of men, for the Saxons had been worn out by eight battles in one year, against the pagans, of whom they had slain one king, nine dukes, and innumerable troops of soldiers, besides endless skirmishes, both by night and by day, in which the oft-named Alfred, and all his chieftains, with their men, and several of his ministers, were engaged without rest or cessation against the pagans. How many thousand pagans fell in these numberless skirmishes God alone knows, over and above those who were slain in the eight battles above-mentioned. In the same year the Saxons made peace with the pagans, on condition that they should take their departure, and they did so. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 872, the twenty-fourth of king Alfred's life, the above-named army of pagans went to London, and there wintered. The Mercians made peace with them. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 873, the twenty-fifth of king Alfred, the above-named army, leaving London, went into the country of the Northumbrians, and there wintered in the district of Lindsey; and the Mercians again made treaty with them. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 874, the twenty-sixth since the birth of king Alfred, the army before so often mentioned left Lindsey and marched to Mercia, where they wintered at Repton. Also they compelled Burhred, king of Mercia, against his will, to leave his kingdom and go beyond the sea to Rome, in the twenty-second year of his reign. He did not long live after his arrival, but died there, and was honourably buried in the school of the Saxons, in St. Mary's church, where he awaits the Lord's coming and the first resurrection with the just. The pagans also, after his expulsion, subjected the whole kingdom of the Mercians to their dominion; but by a most miserable arrangement, gave it into the custody of a certain foolish man, named Ceolwulf, one of the king's ministers, on condition that he should restore it to them, whenever they should wish to have it again; and to guarantee this agreement, he gave them hostages, and swore that he would not oppose their will, but be obedient to them in every respect. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 875, which was the 27th of king Alfred, the above-named army leaving Repton, divided into two bodies, one of which went with Halfdene into Northumbria, and having wintered there near the Tyne, reduced all Northumberland to subjection; they also ravaged the Picts and the Strath-Clydensians.[103] The other division, with Gothrun, Oskytel, and Anwiund, three kings of the pagans, went to a place called Grantabridge,[104] and there wintered. In the same year, king Alfred fought a battle by sea against six ships of the pagans, and took one of them; the rest escaped by flight. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 876, being the twenty-eighth year of king Alfred's life, the aforesaid army of the pagans, leaving Grantabridge by night, entered a castle called Wareham, where there is a monasterium of holy virgins between the two rivers Fraun[105] and Trent, in the district which is called in British _Durngueis_, but in Saxon _Thornsæta_, placed in a most secure situation, except that it was exposed to danger on the western side from the nature of the ground. With this army Alfred made a solemn treaty, to the effect that they should depart out of the kingdom, and for this they made no hesitation to give as many hostages as he named; also they swore an oath over the Christian relics,[106] which with king Alfred were next in veneration after the Deity himself, that they would depart speedily from the kingdom. But they again practised their usual treachery, and caring nothing for the hostages or their oaths, they broke the treaty, and sallying forth by night, slew all the horsemen that the king had round him, and turning off into Devon, to another place called in Saxon _Exanceaster_,[107] but in British _Caer-wisc_, which means in Latin, the city of Ex, situated on the eastern bank of the river Wisc, they directed their course suddenly towards the south sea, which divides Britain and Gaul, and there passed the winter. In the same year, Halfdene, king of those parts, divided out the whole country of Northumberland between himself and his men, and settled there with his army. In the same year, Rollo with his followers penetrated into Normandy. This same Rollo, duke of the Normans, whilst wintering in Old Britain, or England, at the head of his troops, enjoyed one night a vision revealing to him the future. See more of this Rollo in the Annals.[108] In the year 877, the pagans, on the approach of autumn, partly settled in Exeter, and partly marched for plunder into Mercia. The number of that disorderly crew increased every day, so that, if thirty thousand of them were slain in one battle, others took their places to double the number. Then king Alfred commanded boats and galleys, i.e. long ships, to be built throughout the kingdom, in order to offer battle by sea to the enemy as they were coming. On board of these he placed seamen, and appointed them to watch the seas. Meanwhile he went himself to Exeter, where the pagans were wintering, and having shut them up within the walls, laid siege to the town. He also gave orders to his sailors to prevent them from obtaining any supplies by sea; and his sailors were encountered by a fleet of a hundred and twenty ships full of armed soldiers, who were come to help their countrymen. As soon as the king's men knew that they were fitted with pagan soldiers, they leaped to their arms, and bravely attacked those barbaric tribes: but the pagans, who had now for almost a month been tossed and almost wrecked among the waves of the sea, fought vainly against them; their bands were discomfited in a moment, and all were sunk and drowned in the sea, at a place called Suanewic.[109] In the same year the army of pagans, leaving Wareham, partly on horseback and partly by water, arrived at Suanewic, where one hundred and twenty of their ships were lost;[110] and king Alfred pursued their land-army as far as Exeter; there he made a covenant with them, and took hostages that they would depart. The same year, in the month of August, that army went into Mercia, and gave part of that country to one Ceolwulf, a weak-minded man, and one of the king's ministers; the other part they divided among themselves. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 878, which was the thirtieth of king Alfred's life, the army above-mentioned left Exeter, and went to Chippenham, a royal villa, situated in the west of Wiltshire, and on the eastern bank of the river, which is called in British, the Avon. There they wintered, and drove many of the inhabitants of that country beyond the sea by the force of their arms, and by want of the necessaries of life. They reduced almost entirely to subjection all the people of that country. At the same time the above-named Alfred, king of the West-Saxons, with a few of his nobles, and certain soldiers and vassals, used to lead an unquiet life among the woodlands[111] of the county of Somerset, in great tribulation; for he had none of the necessaries of life, except what he could forage openly or stealthily, by frequent sallies, from the pagans, or even from the Christians who had submitted to the rule of the pagans, and as we read in the Life of St. Neot, at the house of one of his cowherds. But it happened on a certain day, that the countrywoman, wife of the cowherd, was preparing some loaves to bake, and the king, sitting at the hearth, made ready his bow and arrows and other warlike instruments. The unlucky woman espying the cakes burning at the fire, ran up to remove them, and rebuking the brave king, exclaimed:-- Ca'sn thee mind the ke-aks, man, an' doossen zee 'em burn? I'm boun thee's eat 'em vast enough, az zoon az 'tiz the turn.[112] The blundering woman little thought that it was king Alfred, who had fought so many battles against the pagans, and gained so many victories over them. But the Almighty not only granted to the same glorious king victories over his enemies, but also permitted him to be harassed by them, to be sunk down by adversities, and depressed by the low estate of his followers, to the end that he might learn that there is one Lord of all things, to whom every knee doth bow, and in whose hand are the hearts of kings; who puts down the mighty from their seat and exalteth the humble; who suffers his servants when they are elevated at the summit of prosperity to be touched by the rod of adversity, that in their humility they may not despair of God's mercy, and in their prosperity they may not boast of their honours, but may also know, to whom they owe all the things which they possess. We may believe that the calamity was brought upon the king aforesaid, because, in the beginning of his reign, when he was a youth, and influenced by youthful feelings, he would not listen to the petitions which his subjects made to him for help in their necessities, or for relief from those who oppressed them; but he repulsed them from him, and paid no heed to their requests. This particular gave much annoyance to the holy man St. Neot, who was his relation, and often foretold to him, in the spirit of prophecy, that he would suffer great adversity on this account; but Alfred neither attended to the reproof of the man of God, nor listened to his true prediction. Wherefore, seeing that a man's sins must be corrected either in this world or the next, the true and righteous Judge was willing that his sin should not go unpunished in this world, to the end that he might spare him in the world to come. From this cause, therefore, the aforesaid Alfred often fell into such great misery, that sometimes none of his subjects knew where he was or what had become of him. In the same year the brother[113] of Hingwar and Halfdene, with twenty-three ships, after much slaughter of the Christians, came from the country of Demetia,[114] where he had wintered, and sailed to Devon, where, with twelve hundred others, he met with a miserable death, being slain while committing his misdeeds, by the king's servants, before the castle of Cynuit (Kynwith[115]), into which many of the king's servants, with their followers, had fled for safety. The pagans, seeing that the castle was altogether unprepared and unfortified, except that it had walls in our own fashion, determined not to assault it, because it was impregnable and secure on all sides, except on the eastern, as we ourselves have seen, but they began to blockade it, thinking that those who were inside would soon surrender either from famine or want of water, for the castle had no spring near it. But the result did not fall out as they expected; for the Christians, before they began to suffer from want, inspired by Heaven, judging it much better to gain victory or death, attacked the pagans suddenly in the morning, and from the first cut them down in great numbers, slaying also their king, so that few escaped to their ships; and there they gained a very large booty, and amongst other things the standard called Raven; for they say that the three sisters of Hingwar and Hubba, daughters of Lodobroch, wove that flag and got it ready in one day. They say, moreover, that in every battle, wherever that flag went before them, if they were to gain the victory a live crow would appear flying on the middle of the flag; but if they were doomed to be defeated it would hang down motionless, and this was often proved to be so. The same year, after Easter, king Alfred, with a few followers, made for himself a stronghold in a place called Athelney, and from thence sallied with his vassals and the nobles of Somersetshire, to make frequent assaults upon the pagans. Also, in the seventh week after Easter, he rode to the stone of Egbert,[116] which is in the eastern part of the wood which is called Selwood,[117] which means in Latin Silva Magna, the Great Wood, but in British Coit-mawr. Here he was met by all the neighbouring folk of Somersetshire, and Wiltshire, and Hampshire, who had not, for fear of the pagans, fled beyond the sea; and when they saw the king alive after such great tribulation, they received him, as he deserved, with joy and acclamations, and encamped there for one night. When the following day dawned, the king struck his camp, and went to Okely,[118] where he encamped for one night. The next morning he removed to Edington, and there fought bravely and perseveringly against all the army of the pagans, whom, with the divine help, he defeated with great slaughter, and pursued them flying to their fortification. Immediately he slew all the men, and carried off all the booty that he could find without the fortress, which he immediately laid siege to with all his army; and when he had been there fourteen days, the pagans, driven by famine, cold, fear, and last of all by despair, asked for peace, on the condition that they should give the king as many hostages as he pleased, but should receive none of him in return, in which form they had never before made a treaty with any one. The king, hearing that, took pity upon them, and received such hostages as he chose; after which the pagans swore, moreover, that they would immediately leave the kingdom; and their king, Gothrun, promised to embrace Christianity, and receive baptism at king Alfred's hands. All of which articles he and his men fulfilled as they had promised. For after seven weeks Gothrun, king of the pagans, with thirty men chosen from the army, came to Alfred at a place called Aller, near Athelney, and there king Alfred, receiving him as his son by adoption, raised him up from the holy laver of baptism on the eighth day, at a royal villa named Wedmore,[119] where the holy chrism was poured upon him.[120] After his baptism he remained twelve nights with the king, who, with all his nobles, gave him many fine houses. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 879, which was the thirty-first of king Alfred, the aforesaid army of pagans leaving Chippenham, as they had promised, went to Cirencester, which is called in British _Cair Cori_, and is situate in the southern part of the Wiccii,[121] and there they remained one year. In the same year, a large army of pagans sailed from foreign parts into the river Thames, and joined the army which was already in the country. They wintered at Fulham near the river Thames. In the same year an eclipse of the sun took place, between three o'clock and the evening, but nearer to three o'clock. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 880, which was the thirty-second of king Alfred, the above-named army of pagans left Cirencester, and went among the East Angles, where they divided out the country and began to settle. The same year the army of pagans, which had wintered at Fulham, left the island of Britain, and sailed over the sea to the eastern part of France, where they remained a year at a place called Ghent. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 881, which was the thirty-third of king Alfred's life, the aforesaid army went higher up into France; and the French fought against them; and after the battle the pagans obtained horses and became an army of cavalry. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 882, the thirty-fourth of king Alfred's life, the above-named army steered their ships up into France by a river called the Mese [Meuse] and there wintered one year. In the same year Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, fought a battle by sea against the pagan fleet, of which he captured two ships, having slain all who were on board; and the two commanders of two other ships, with all their crews, distressed by the battle and the wounds which they had received, laid down their arms and submitted to the king. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 883, which was the thirty-fifth of king Alfred's life, the aforesaid army went up the river called Scald [Scheldt] to a convent of nuns called Cundoht [Condé] and there remained a year. In the year of our Lord's incarnation 884, which was the thirty-sixth of king Alfred's life, the aforesaid army divided into two parts; one body of them went into East France, and the other coming to Britain entered Kent, where they besieged a city called in Saxon Rochester, and situated on the eastern bank of the river Medway. Before the gate of the town the pagans suddenly erected a strong fortress, but yet they were unable to take the city, because the citizens defended themselves bravely, until king Alfred came up to help them with a large army. Then the pagans abandoned their fortress, and all their horses which they had brought with them out of France, and leaving behind them in the fortress the greater part of their prisoners, on the arrival of the king, fled immediately to their ships, and the Saxons immediately seized on the prisoners and horses left by the pagans; and so the pagans, compelled by stern necessity, returned the same summer to France. In the same year Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, led his fleet, full of fighting men, out of Kent to the country of the East Angles, for the sake of plunder;[122] and, when they had arrived at the mouth of the river Stour,[123] immediately thirteen ships of the pagans met them, prepared for battle; a fierce fight ensued, and all the pagans, after a brave resistance, were slain; all the ships, with all their money, were taken. After this, while the royal fleet were reposing, the pagans, who lived in the eastern part of England, assembled their ships, met the same royal fleet at sea in the mouth of the same river, and, after a naval battle, the pagans gained the victory. In the same year, also, Carloman, king of the Western Franks, whilst hunting a wild boar, was miserably killed by a large animal of that species, which inflicted a dreadful wound on him with its tusk. His brother Louis [III], who had also been king of the Franks, died the year before. These two brothers were sons of Louis, king of the Franks, who had died in the year above-mentioned, in which the eclipse of the sun took place; and it was he whose daughter Judith was given by her father's wish in marriage to Ethelwulf, king of the West Saxons. In the same year also a great army of the pagans came from Germany into the country of the ancient Saxons, which is called in Saxon Ealdseaxum.[124] To oppose them the said Saxons and Frisons joined their forces, and fought bravely twice in that same year. In both those battles the Christians, with the merciful aid of the Lord, obtained the victory. In the same year also, Charles, king of the Almains, received, with universal consent, all the territories which lie between the Tyrrhenian sea and that gulf which runs between the old Saxons and the Gauls, except the kingdom of Armorica, i.e. Lesser Britain. This Charles was the son of king Louis, who was brother of Charles, king of the Franks, father of the aforesaid queen Judith; these two brothers were sons of Louis, but Louis was the son of the great, the ancient, and wise Charlemagne, who was the son of Pepin. In the same year pope Martin, of blessed memory, went the way of all flesh; it was he who, in regard for Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, and at his request, freed the school of the Anglo-Saxons resident at Rome from all tribute and tax. He also sent many gifts on that occasion, among which was no small portion of the holy and venerable cross on which our Lord Jesus Christ was suspended, for the general salvation of mankind. In the same year also the army of pagans, which dwelt among the East Angles, disgracefully broke the peace which they had concluded with king Alfred. Wherefore, to return to that from which I digressed, that I may not be compelled by my long navigation to abandon the port of rest which I was making for, I propose, as far as my knowledge will enable me, to speak of the life and character and just conduct of my lord Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, after he married the above-named respected lady of Mercian race, his wife; and, with God's blessing, I will despatch it succinctly and briefly, as I promised, that I may not offend the delicate minds of my readers by prolixity in relating each new event. His nuptials were honourably celebrated in Mercia, among innumerable multitudes of people of both sexes; and after continual feasts, both by night and by day, he was immediately seized, in presence of all the people, by sudden and overwhelming pain, as yet unknown to all the physicians; for it was unknown to all who were then present, and even to those who daily see him up to the present time,--which, sad to say! is the worst of all, that he should have protracted it so long from the twentieth to the fortieth year of his life, and even more than that through the space of so many years,--from what cause so great a malady arose. For many thought that this was occasioned by the favour and fascination of the people who surrounded him; others, by some spite of the devil, who is ever jealous of the good; others, from an unusual kind of fever. He had this sort of severe disease from his childhood; but once, divine Providence so ordered it, that when he was on a visit to Cornwall for the sake of hunting, and had turned out of the road to pray in a certain chapel, in which rests the body of Saint Guerir,[125] and now also St. Neot[126] rests there,--for king Alfred was always from his infancy a frequent visitor of holy places for the sake of prayer and almsgiving,--he prostrated himself for private devotion, and, after some time spent therein, he entreated of God's mercy, that in his boundless clemency he would exchange the torments of the malady which then afflicted him for some other lighter disease; but with this condition, that such disease should not show itself outwardly in his body, lest he should be an object of contempt, and less able to benefit mankind; for he had great dread of leprosy or blindness, or any such complaint, as makes men useless or contemptible when it afflicts them. When he had finished his prayers, he proceeded on his journey, and not long after he felt within him that by the hand of the Almighty he was healed, according to his request, of his disorder, and that it was entirely eradicated, although he had first had even this complaint in the flower of his youth, by his devout and pious prayers and supplications to Almighty God. For if I may be allowed to speak briefly, but in a somewhat preposterous order, of his zealous piety to God, in the flower of his youth, before he entered the marriage state, he wished to strengthen his mind in the observance of God's commandments, for he perceived that he could with difficulty abstain from gratifying his carnal desires; and, because he feared the anger of God, if he should do anything contrary to his will, he used often to rise in the morning at the cock-crow, and go to pray in the churches and at the relics of the saints. There he prostrated himself on the ground, and prayed that God in his mercy would strengthen his mind still more in his service by some infirmity such as he might bear, but not such as would render him imbecile and contemptible in his worldly duties; and when he had often prayed with much devotion to this effect, after an interval of some time, Providence vouchsafed to afflict him with the above-named disease, which he bore long and painfully for many years, and even despaired of life, until he entirely got rid of it by his prayers; but, sad to say! it was replaced, as we have said, at his marriage by another which incessantly tormented him, night and day, from the twentieth to the forty-fourth year of his life. But if ever, by God's mercy, he was relieved from this infirmity for a single day or night, yet the fear and dread of that dreadful malady never left him, but rendered him almost useless, as he thought, for every duty, whether human or divine. The sons and daughters, which he had by his wife above mentioned were Ethelfled the eldest, after whom came Edward, then Ethelgiva, then Ethelswitha, and Ethelwerd, besides those who died in their infancy, one of whom was Edmund. Ethelfled, when she arrived at a marriageable age, was united to Ethered, earl of Mercia; Ethelgiva also was dedicated to God, and submitted to the rules of a monastic life. Ethelwerd the youngest, by the divine counsels and the admirable prudence of the king, was consigned to the schools of learning, where, with the children of almost all the nobility of the country, and many also who were not noble, he prospered under the diligent care of his teachers. Books in both languages, namely, Latin and Saxon, were both read in the school. They also learned to write; so that before they were of an age to practice manly arts, namely, hunting and such pursuits as befit noblemen, they became studious and clever in the liberal arts. Edward and Ethelswitha were bred up in the king's court and received great attention from their attendants and nurses; nay, they continue to this day, with the love of all about them, and showing affability, and even gentleness towards all, both natives and foreigners, and in complete subjection to their father; nor, among their other studies which appertain to this life and are fit for noble youths, are they suffered to pass their time idly and unprofitably without learning the liberal arts; for they have carefully learned the Psalms and Saxon books, especially the Saxon poems, and are continually in the habit of making use of books. In the meantime, the king, during the frequent wars and other trammels of this present life, the invasions of the pagans, and his own daily infirmities of body, continued to carry on the government, and to exercise hunting in all its branches; to teach his workers in gold and artificers of all kinds, his falconers, hawkers and dog-keepers; to build houses, majestic and good, beyond all the precedents of his ancestors, by his new mechanical inventions; to recite the Saxon books, and especially to learn by heart the Saxon poems, and to make others learn them; and he alone never desisted from studying, most diligently, to the best of his ability; he attended the mass and other daily services of religion; he was frequent in psalm-singing and prayer, at the hours both of the day and the night. He also went to the churches, as we have already said, in the night-time to pray, secretly, and unknown to his courtiers; he bestowed alms and largesses on both natives and foreigners of all countries; he was affable and pleasant to all, and curiously eager to investigate things unknown. Many Franks, Frisons, Gauls, pagans, Britons, Scots, and Armoricans, noble and ignoble, submitted voluntarily to his dominion; and all of them, according to their nation and deserving, were ruled, loved, honoured, and enriched with money and power. Moreover, the king was in the habit of hearing the divine scriptures read by his own countrymen, or, if by any chance it so happened, in company with foreigners, and he attended to it with sedulity and solicitude. His bishops, too, and all ecclesiastics, his earls and nobles, ministers and friends, were loved by him with wonderful affection, and their sons, who were bred up in the royal household, were no less dear to him than his own; he had them instructed in all kinds of good morals, and among other things, never ceased to teach them letters night and day; but as if he had no consolation in all these things, and suffered no other annoyance either from within or without, yet he was harassed by daily and nightly affliction, that he complained to God, and to all who were admitted to his familiar love, that Almighty God had made him ignorant of divine wisdom, and of the liberal arts; in this emulating the pious, the wise, and wealthy Solomon, king of the Hebrews, who at first, despising all present glory and riches, asked wisdom of God, and found both, namely, wisdom and worldly glory; as it is written, "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you." But God, who is always the inspector of the thoughts of the mind within, and the instigator of all good intentions, and a most plentiful aider, that good desires may be formed,--for he would not instigate a man to good intentions, unless he also amply supplied that which the man justly and properly wishes to have,--instigated the king's mind within; as it is written, "I will hearken what the Lord God will say concerning me." He would avail himself of every opportunity to procure coadjutors in his good designs, to aid him in his strivings after wisdom, that he might attain to what he aimed at; and, like a prudent bird, which rising in summer with the early morning from her beloved nest, steers her rapid flight through the uncertain tracks of ether, and descends on the manifold and varied flowers of grasses, herbs, and shrubs, essaying that which pleases most, that she may bear it to her home, so did he direct his eyes afar, and seek without, that which he had not within, namely, in his own kingdom. But God at that time, as some consolation to the king's benevolence, yielding to his complaint, sent certain lights to illuminate him, namely, Werefrith, bishop of the church of Worcester, a man well versed in divine scripture, who, by the king's command, first turned the books of the Dialogues of pope Gregory and Peter, his disciple, from Latin into Saxon, and sometimes putting sense for sense, interpreted them with clearness and elegance. After him was Plegmund, a Mercian by birth, archbishop of the church of Canterbury, a venerable man, and endowed with wisdom; Ethelstan also, and Werewulf, his priests and chaplains, Mercians by birth, and erudite. These four had been invited out of Mercia by king Alfred, who exalted them with many honours and powers in the kingdom of the West-Saxons, besides the privileges which archbishop Plegmund and bishop Werefrith enjoyed in Mercia. By their teaching and wisdom the king's desires increased unceasingly, and were gratified. Night and day, whenever he had leisure, he commanded such men as these to read books to him; for he never suffered himself to be without one of them, wherefore he possessed a knowledge of every book, though of himself he could not yet understand anything of books, for he had not yet learned to read any thing. But the king's commendable avarice could not be gratified even in this; wherefore he sent messengers beyond the sea to Gaul, to procure teachers, and he invited from thence Grimbald,[127] priest and monk, a venerable man, and good singer, adorned with every kind of ecclesiastical discipline and good morals, and most learned in holy scripture. He also obtained from thence John,[128] also priest and monk, a man of most energetic talents, and learned in all kinds of literary science, and skilled in many other arts. By the teaching of these men the king's mind was much enlarged, and he enriched and honoured them with much influence. In these times, I also came into Saxony out of the furthest coasts of Western Britain; and when I had proposed to go to him through many intervening provinces, I arrived in the country of the Saxons, who live on the right hand, which in Saxon is called Sussex, under the guidance of some of that nation; and there I first saw him in the royal vill, which is called Dene.[129] He received me with kindness, and among other familiar conversation, he asked me eagerly to devote myself to his service and become his friend, to leave every thing which I possessed on the left, or western bank of the Severn, and he promised he would give more than an equivalent for it in his own dominions. I replied that I could not incautiously and rashly promise such things; for it seemed to me unjust, that I should leave those sacred places in which I had been bred, educated, and crowned,[130] and at last ordained, for the sake of any earthly honour and power, unless by compulsion. Upon this, he said, "If you cannot accede to this, at least, let me have your service in part: spend six months of the year with me here, and the other six in Britain." To this, I replied, "I could not even promise that easily or hastily without the advice of my friends." At length, however, when I perceived that he was anxious for my services, though I knew not why, I promised him that, if my life was spared, I would return to him after six months, with such a reply as should be agreeable to him as well as advantageous to me and mine. With this answer he was satisfied, and when I had given him a pledge to return at the appointed time, on the fourth day we left him and returned on horseback towards our own country. After our departure, a violent fever seized me in the city of Winchester, where I lay for twelve months and one week, night and day, without hope of recovery. At the appointed time, therefore, I could not fulfil my promise of visiting him, and he sent messengers to hasten my journey, and to inquire the cause of my delay. As I was unable to ride to him, I sent a second messenger to tell him the cause of my delay, and assure him that, if I recovered from my infirmity, I would fulfil what I had promised. My complaint left me, and by the advice and consent of all my friends, for the benefit of that holy place, and of all who dwelt therein, I did as I had promised to the king, and devoted myself to his service, on the condition that I should remain with him six months in every year, either continuously, if I could spend six months with him at once, or alternately, three months in Britain and three in Saxony.[131] For my friends hoped that they should sustain less tribulation and harm from king Hemeid.[132] who often plundered that monastery and the parish of St. Deguus,[133] and sometimes expelled the prelates, as they expelled archbishop Novis,[134] my relation, and myself; if in any manner I could secure the notice and friendship of the king. At that time, and long before, all the countries on the right hand side of Britain belonged to king Alfred and still belong to him. For instance, king Hemeid, with all the inhabitants of the region of Demetia, compelled by the violence of the six sons of Rotri, had submitted to the dominion of the king. Howel also, son of Ris, king of Gleguising, and Brocmail and Fernmail, sons of Mouric, kings of Gwent, compelled by the violence and tyranny of earl Ethered and of the Mercians, of their own accord sought king Alfred, that they might enjoy his government and protection from him against their enemies. Helised, also, son of Tendyr, king of Brecon, compelled by the force of the same sons of Rotri, of his own accord sought the government of the aforesaid king; and Anarawd, son of Rotri, with his brother, at length abandoning the friendship of the Northumbrians, from which he received no good but harm, came into king Alfred's presence and eagerly sought his friendship. The king received him honourably, received him as his son by confirmation from the bishop's hand, and presented him with many gifts. Thus he became subject to the king with all his people, on the same condition, that he should be obedient to the king's will in all respects, in the same way as Ethered with the Mercians. Nor was it in vain that all these princes gained the friendship of the king. For those who desired to augment their worldly power, obtained power; those who desired money, gained money; and in like way, those who desired his friendship, or both money and friendship, succeeded in getting what they wanted. But all of them gained his love and guardianship and defence from every quarter, even as the king with his men could protect himself. When therefore I had come into his presence at the royal vill, called Leonaford, I was honourably received by him, and remained that time with him at his court eight months; during which I read to him whatever books he liked, and such as he had at hand; for this is his most usual custom, both night and day, amid his many other occupations of mind and body, either himself to read books, or to listen whilst others read them. And when I frequently asked his leave to depart, and could in no way obtain it, at length when I had made up my mind by all means to demand it, he called me to him at twilight, on Christmas eve, and gave me two letters, in which was a long list of all the things which were in two monasteries, called in Saxon, Ambresbury[135] and Banwell;[136] and on that same day he delivered to me those two monasteries with all the things that were in them, and a silken pall of great value, and a load for a strong man, of incense, adding these words, that he did not give me these trifling presents, because he was unwilling hereafter to give me greater; for in the course of time he unexpectedly gave me Exeter, with all the diocese which belonged to him in Saxony[137] and in Cornwall, besides gifts every day, without number, in every kind of worldly wealth, which it would be too long to enumerate here, lest they should make my reader tired. But let no one suppose that I have mentioned these presents in this place for the sake of glory or flattery, or to obtain greater honour. I call God to witness, that I have not done so; but that I might certify to those who are ignorant, how profuse he is in giving. He then at once gave me permission to ride to those two rich monasteries and afterwards to return to my own country. In the year of our Lord's incarnation, 886, which was the thirty-eighth since the birth of Alfred, the army so often before-mentioned again fled the country, and went into the country of the Western Franks, directing their ships to the river called the Seine, and sailed up it as far as the city of Paris, and there they wintered and measured out their camp. They besieged that city a whole year, as far as the bridge, that they might prevent the inhabitants from making use of it; for the city is situated on a small island in the middle of the river; but by the merciful favour of God, and the brave defence of citizens, the army could not force their way inside the walls. In the same year, Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, after the burning of cities and the slaying of the people, honourably rebuilt the city of London, and made it again habitable. He gave it into the custody of his son-in-law, Ethered, earl of Mercia, to which king all the Angles and Saxons, who before had been dispersed everywhere, or were in captivity with the pagans, voluntarily turned and submitted themselves to his dominion. [138] [In the same year there arose a foul and deadly discord at Oxford, between Grimbald, with those learned men whom he had brought with him, and the old scholars whom he had found there, who, on his arrival, refused altogether to embrace the laws, modes, and forms of prælection instituted by the same Grimbald. During three years there had been no great dissension between them, but there was a secret enmity, which afterwards broke out with great atrocity, clearer than the light itself. To appease this quarrel, that invincible king Alfred, having been informed of the strife by a messenger from Grimbald, went to Oxford to put an end to the controversy, and endured much trouble in hearing the arguments and complaints which were brought forwards on both sides. The substance of the dispute was this: the old scholars contended, that literature had flourished at Oxford before the coming of Grimbald, although the number of scholars was smaller than in ancient time, because several had been driven away by the cruelty and tyranny of the pagans. They also proved and showed, by the undoubted testimony of ancient annals, that the orders and institutions of that place had been sanctioned by certain pious and learned men, as for instance by Saint Gildas, Melkinus, Nennius, Kentigern, and others, who had all grown old there in literature, and happily administered everything there in peace and concord; and also, that Saint Germanus had come to Oxford, and stopped there half a year, at the time when he went through Britain to preach against the Pelagian heresy; he wonderfully approved of the customs and institutions above-mentioned. The king, with unheard-of humility, listened to both sides carefully, and exhorted them again and again with pious and wholesome admonitions to cherish mutual love and concord. He therefore left them with this decision, that each party should follow their own counsel, and preserve their own institutions. Grimbald, displeased at this, immediately departed to the monastery at Winchester,[139] which had been recently founded by king Alfred, and ordered a tomb to be carried to Winchester, in which he proposed, after this life, that his bones should be laid in the vault which had been made under the chancel of St. Peter's church in Oxford; which church the same Grimbald had built from its foundations, of stone polished with great care.] In the year of our Lord's incarnation 887, which was the thirty-ninth of king Alfred's life, the above-mentioned army of the pagans, leaving the city of Paris uninjured, because they could not succeed against it, sailed up the river Seine under the bridge, until they reached the mouth of the river Materne [Marne]; where they left the Seine, and, following for a long time the course of the Marne, at length, but not without much labour, they arrived at a place called Chezy, a royal vill, where they wintered one year. In the following year they entered the mouth of the river Ionna [Yonne], not without doing much damage to the country, and there remained one year. In the same year Charles, king of the Franks, went the way of all flesh; but Arnulf, his brother's son, six weeks before he died, had expelled him from his kingdom. After his death five kings were appointed, and the kingdom was split into five parts; but the principal rank in the kingdom justly and deservedly devolved on Arnulf, save only that he committed an unworthy offence against his uncle. The other four kings promised fidelity and obedience to Arnulf, as was proper; for none of these four kings was hereditary on his father's side in his share of the kingdom, as was Arnulf; therefore, though the five kings were appointed immediately on the death of Charles, yet the empire remained in the hands of Arnulf. Such, then, was the division of the kingdom; Arnulf received the countries on the east of the river Rhine; Rodulf the inner parts of the kingdom; Oda the western part; Beorngar and Guido, Lombardy, and those countries which are in that part of the mountains; but they did not keep these large dominions in peace, for they twice fought a pitched battle, and often mutually ravaged their kingdoms, and drove each other out of their dominions. In the same year in which that [pagan] army left Paris and went to Chezy, Ethelhelm, earl of Wiltshire, carried to Rome the alms of king Alfred and of the Saxons. In the same year also Alfred, king of the Anglo-Saxons, so often before mentioned, by divine inspiration, began, on one and the same day, to read and to interpret; but that I may explain this more fully to those who are ignorant, I will relate the cause of this long delay in beginning. On a certain day we were both of us sitting in the king's chamber, talking on all kinds of subjects, as usual, and it happened that I read to him a quotation out of a certain book. He heard it attentively with both his ears, and addressed me with a thoughtful mind, showing me at the same moment a book which he carried in his bosom, wherein the daily courses and psalms, and prayers which he had read in his youth, were written, and he commanded me to write the same quotation in that book. Hearing this, and perceiving his ingenuous benevolence, and devout desire of studying the words of divine wisdom, I gave, though in secret, boundless thanks to Almighty God, who had implanted such a love of wisdom in the king's heart. But I could not find any empty space in that book wherein to write the quotation, for it was already full of various matters; wherefore I made a little delay, principally that I might stir up the bright intellect of the king to a higher acquaintance with the divine testimonies. Upon his urging me to make haste and write it quickly, I said to him, "Are you willing that I should write that quotation on some leaf apart? For it is not certain whether we shall not find one or more other such extracts which will please you; and if that should so happen, we shall be glad that we have kept them apart." "Your plan is good," said he, and I gladly made haste to get ready a sheet, in the beginning of which I wrote what he bade me; and on that same day, I wrote therein, as I had anticipated, no less than three other quotations which pleased him; and from that time we daily talked together, and found out other quotations which pleased him, so that the sheet became full, and deservedly so; according as it is written, "The just man builds upon a moderate foundation, and by degrees passes to greater things." Thus, like a most productive bee, he flew here and there, asking questions, as he went, until he had eagerly and unceasingly collected many various flowers of divine Scriptures, with which he thickly stored the cells of his mind. Now when that first quotation was copied, he was eager at once to read, and to interpret in Saxon, and then to teach others; even as we read of that happy robber, who recognized his Lord, aye, the Lord of all men, as he was hanging on the blessed cross, and, saluting him with his bodily eyes only, because elsewhere he was all pierced with nails, cried, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom!" for it was only at the end of his life that he began to learn the rudiments of the Christian faith. But the king, inspired by God, began to study the rudiments of divine Scripture on the sacred solemnity of St. Martin [Nov. 11], and he continued to learn the flowers collected by certain masters, and to reduce them into the form of one book, as he was then able, although mixed one with another, until it became almost as large as a psalter. This book he called his ENCHIRIDION or MANUAL, because he carefully kept it at hand day and night, and found, as he told me, no small consolation therein. But as has already been written by a certain wise man, "Of watchful minds are they whose pious care It is to govern well," so must I be watchful, in that I just now drew a kind of comparison or similarity, though in dissimilar manner, between that happy robber and the king; for the cross is hateful to every one, wherever there is suffering. But what can he do, if he cannot save himself or escape thence? or by what art can he remain there and improve his cause? He must, therefore, whether he will or no, endure with pain and sorrow that which he is suffering. Now the king was pierced with many nails of tribulation, though placed in the royal seat; for from the twentieth year of his age to the present year, which is his fortieth,[140] he has been constantly afflicted with most severe attacks of an unknown complaint, so that he has not a moment's ease either from suffering the pain which it causes, or from the gloom which is thrown over him by the apprehension of its coming. Moreover, the constant invasions of foreign nations, by which he was continually harassed by land and sea, without any interval of quiet, were a just cause of disquiet. What shall I say of his repeated expeditions against the pagans, his wars, and incessant occupations of government? Of the daily embassies sent to him by foreign nations, from the Tyrrhenian sea to the farthest end of Ireland?[141] For we have seen and read letters, accompanied with presents, which were sent to him by Abel the patriarch of Jerusalem. What shall I say of the cities and towns which he restored, and of others which he built, where none had been before? of the royal halls and chambers, wonderfully erected by his command, with stone and wood? of the royal vills constructed of stone, removed from their old site, and handsomely rebuilt by the king's command in more fitting places? Besides the disease above-mentioned, he was disturbed by the quarrels of his friends, who would voluntarily endure little or no toil, though it was for the common necessity of the kingdom; but he alone, sustained by the divine aid, like a skilful pilot, strove to steer his ship, laden with much wealth, into the safe and much desired harbour of his country, though almost all his crew were tired, and suffered them not to faint or hesitate, though sailing amid the manifold waves and eddies of this present life. For all his bishops, earls, nobles, favourite ministers, and prefects, who, next to God and the king, had the whole government of the kingdom, as is fitting, continually received from him instruction, respect, exhortation, and command; nay, at last, when they were disobedient, and his long patience was exhausted, he would reprove them severely, and censure at pleasure their vulgar folly and obstinacy; and in this way he directed their attention to the common interests of the kingdom. But, owing to the sluggishness of the people, these admonitions of the king were either not fulfilled, or were begun late at the moment of necessity, and so ended less to the advantage of those who put them in execution; for I will say nothing of the castles which he ordered to be built, but which, being begun late, were never finished, because the hostile troops broke in upon them by land and sea, and, as often happened, the thwarters of the royal ordinances repented when it was too late, and blushed at their non-performance of his commands. I speak of repentance when it is too late, on the testimony of Scripture, whereby numberless persons have had cause for too much sorrow when many insidious evils have been wrought. But though by these means, sad to say, they may be bitterly afflicted and roused to sorrow by the loss of fathers, wives, children, ministers, servant-men, servant-maids, and furniture and household stuff, what is the use of hateful repentance when their kinsmen are dead, and they cannot aid them, or redeem those who are captive from captivity? for they are not able even to assist those who have escaped, as they have not wherewith to sustain even their own lives. They repented, therefore, when it was too late, and grieved at their incautious neglect of the king's commands, and they praised the royal wisdom with one voice, and tried with all their power to fulfil what they had before refused, namely, concerning the erection of castles, and other things generally useful to the whole kingdom. Of his fixed purpose of holy meditation, which, in the midst of prosperity and adversity he never neglected, I cannot with advantage now omit to speak. For, whereas he often thought of the necessities of his soul, among the other good deeds to which his thoughts were night and day turned, he ordered that two monasteries should be built, one for monks at Athelney, which is a place surrounded by impassable marshes and rivers, where no one can enter but by boats, or by a bridge laboriously constructed between two other heights; at the western end of which bridge was erected a strong tower, of beautiful work, by command of the aforesaid king; and in this monastery he collected monks of all kinds, from every quarter, and placed them therein. For at first, because he had no one of his own nation, noble and free by birth, who was willing to enter the monastic life, except children, who could neither choose good nor avoid evil in consequence of their tender years, because for many previous years the love of a monastic life had utterly decayed from that nation as well as from many other nations, though many monasteries still remain in that country; yet, as no one directed the rule of that kind of life in a regular way, for what reason I cannot say, either from the invasions of foreigners which took place so frequently both by sea and land, or because that people abounded in riches of every kind, and so looked with contempt on the monastic life. It was for this reason that king Alfred sought to gather monks of different kinds to place in the same monastery. First he placed there as abbat, John[142] the priest and monk, an old Saxon by birth, then certain priests and deacons from beyond the sea; of whom, finding that he had not as large a number as he wished, he procured as many as possible of the same Gallic race, some of whom, being children, he ordered to be taught in the same monastery, and at a later period to be admitted to the monastic habit. I have myself seen a young lad of pagan birth who was educated in that monastery, and by no means the hindmost of them all. There was also a deed done once in that monastery, which I would utterly consign to oblivion, although it is an unworthy deed; for throughout the whole of Scripture the base deeds of the wicked are interspersed among the blessed deeds of the just, as tares and darnel are sown among the wheat: good deeds are recorded that they may be praised and imitated, and that their imitators may be held in all honour; wicked deeds are there related, that they may be censured and avoided, and their imitators be reproved with all odium, contempt, and vengeance. For once upon a time, a certain priest and a deacon, Gauls by birth, and two of the aforesaid monks, by the instigation of the devil, and excited by some secret jealousy, became so embittered in secret against their abbat, the above mentioned John, that, like Jews, they circumvented and betrayed their master. For whereas he had two servants, whom he had hired out of Gaul, they taught these such wicked practices, that in the night, when all men were enjoying the sweet tranquillity of sleep, they should make their way into the church armed, and shutting it behind them as usual, hide themselves therein, and wait for the moment when the abbat should enter the church alone. At length, when he should come alone to pray, and, bending his knees, bow before the holy altar, the men should rush on him with hostility, and try to slay him on the spot. They then should drag his lifeless body out of the church, and throw it down before the house of a certain harlot, as if he had been slain whilst on a visit to her. This was their machination, adding crime to crime, as it is said, "The last error shall be worse than the first." But the divine mercy, which always delights to aid the innocent, frustrated in great part the wicked design of the wicked men, so that it should not turn out in every respect as they had proposed. When, therefore, the whole of the evil counsel had been explained by those wicked teachers to their wicked agents, and the night which had been fixed on as most fit was come, the two armed ruffians were placed, with a promise of impunity, to await in the church for the arrival of the abbat. In the middle of the night John, as usual, entered the church to pray, without any one's knowing of it, and knelt before the altar. The two ruffians rushed upon him with drawn swords, and dealt him some severe wounds. But he, being a man of a brave mind, and, as we have heard say, not unacquainted with the art of self-defence, if he had not been a follower of a better calling, no sooner heard the sound of the robbers, before he saw them, than he rose up against them before he was wounded, and, shouting as loud as he could, struggled against them, crying out that they were devils and not men; for he himself knew no better, as he thought that no men would dare to attempt such a deed. He was, however, wounded before any of his people could come to his help. His attendants, roused by the noise, were frightened when they heard the word devils, and both those two who, like Jews, sought to betray their master, and the others who knew nothing of the matter, rushed together to the doors of the church; but before they got there those ruffians escaped, leaving the abbat half dead. The monks raised the old man, in a fainting condition, and carried him home with tears and lamentations; nor did those two deceitful monks shed tears less than the innocent. But God's mercy did not allow so bold a deed to pass unpunished; the ruffians who perpetrated it, and all who urged them to it, were taken and put in prison, where, by various tortures, they came to a disgraceful end. Let us now return to our narrative. Another monastery, also, was built by the same king as a residence for nuns, near the eastern gate of Shaftesbury; and his own daughter, Ethelgiva, was placed in it as abbess. With her many other noble ladies bound by the rules of the monastic life, dwell in that monastery. These two edifices were enriched by the king with much land, as well as personal property. These things being thus disposed of, the king began, as was his practice, to consider within himself, what more he could do to augment and show forth his piety; what he had begun wisely, and thoughtfully conceived for the public benefit, was adhered to with equally beneficial result; for he had heard it out of the book of the law, that the Lord had promised to restore to him tenfold; and he knew that the Lord had kept his promise, and had actually restored to him tenfold. Encouraged by this example, and wishing to exceed the practices of his predecessors, he vowed humbly and faithfully to devote to God half his services, both day and night, and also half of all his wealth, such as lawfully and justly came annually into his possession; and this vow, as far as human discretion can perceive and keep, he skilfully and wisely endeavoured to fulfil. But, that he might, with his usual caution, avoid that which scripture warns us against: "If you offer aright, but do not divide aright, you sin," he considered how he might divide aright that which he had vowed to God; and as Solomon had said, "The heart of the king is in the hand of God," that is, his counsel he ordered with wise policy, which could come only from above, that his officers should first divide into two parts the revenues of every year. When this division was made, he assigned the first part to worldly uses, and ordered that one-third of it should be paid to his soldiers, and also to his ministers, the nobles who dwelt at court where they discharged divers duties; for so the king's family was arranged at all times into three classes. The king's attendants were most wisely distributed into three companies, so that the first company should be on duty at court for one month, night and day, at the end of which they returned to their homes, and were relieved by the second company. At the end of the second month, in the same way, the third company relieved the second, who returned to their homes, where they spent two months, until their services were again wanted. The third company also gave place to the first in the same way, and also spent two months at home. Thus was the threefold division of the companies arranged at all times in the royal household. To these therefore was paid the first of the three portions aforesaid, to each according to their respective dignities and peculiar services; the second to the operatives, whom he had collected from every nation, and had about him in large numbers, men skilled in every kind of construction; the third portion was assigned to foreigners who came to him out of every nation far and near, whether they asked money of him or not, he cheerfully gave to each with wonderful munificence according to their respective merits, according to what is written: "God loveth a cheerful giver." But the second part of all his revenues, which came yearly into his possession, and was included in the receipts of the exchequer, as we mentioned a little before, he, with ready devotion, gave to God, ordering his ministers to divide it carefully into four parts, on the condition that the first part should be discreetly bestowed on the poor of every nation who came to him; and on this subject he said that, as far as human discretion could guarantee, the remark of pope St. Gregory should be followed: "Give not much to whom you should give little, nor little to whom much, nor something to whom nothing, nor nothing to whom something." The second of the four portions was given to the two monasteries which he had built, and to those who therein had dedicated themselves to God's service, as we have mentioned above. The third portion was assigned to the school, which he had studiously collected together, consisting of many of the nobility of his own nation. The fourth portion was for the use of all the neighbouring monasteries in all Saxony and Mercia, and also during some years, in turn, to the churches and servants of God dwelling in Britain [Wales], Cornwall, Gaul, Armorica, Northumbria, and sometimes also in Ireland; according to his means, he either distributed to them beforehand, or afterwards, if life and success should not fail him. When the king had arranged these matters, he remembered that sentence of divine scripture, "Whosoever will give alms, ought to begin from himself," and prudently began to reflect what he could offer to God from the service of his body and mind; for he proposed to consecrate to God no less out of this than he had done of things external to himself. Moreover, he promised, as far as his infirmity and his means would allow, to give up to God the half of his services, bodily and mental, by night and by day, voluntarily, and with all his might; but, inasmuch as he could not equally distinguish the lengths of the hours by night, on account of the darkness, and ofttimes of the day, on account of the storms and clouds, he began to consider, by what means and without any difficulty, relying on the mercy of God, he might discharge the promised tenor of his vow until his death. After long reflection on these things, he at length, by a useful and shrewd invention, commanded his chaplains to supply wax in a sufficient quantity, and he caused it to be weighed in such a manner that when there was so much of it in the scales, as would equal the weight of seventy-two pence,[143] he caused the chaplains to make six candles thereof, each of equal length, so that each candle might have twelve divisions[144] marked longitudinally upon it. By this plan, therefore, those six candles burned for twenty-four hours, a night and day, without fail, before the sacred relics of many of God's elect, which always accompanied him wherever he went; but sometimes when they would not continue burning a whole day and night, till the same hour that they were lighted the preceding evening, from the violence of the wind, which blew day and night without intermission through the doors and windows of the churches, the fissures of the divisions, the plankings, or the wall, or the thin canvass of the tents, they then unavoidably burned out and finished their course before the appointed time; the king therefore considered by what means he might shut out the wind, and so by a useful and cunning invention, he ordered a lantern to be beautifully constructed of wood and white ox-horn, which, when skilfully planed till it is thin, is no less transparent than a vessel of glass. This lantern, therefore, was wonderfully made of wood and horn, as we before said, and by night a candle was put into it, which shone as brightly without as within, and was not extinguished by the wind; for the opening of the lantern was also closed up, according to the king's command, by a door made of horn. By this contrivance, then, six candles, lighted in succession, lasted four and twenty hours, neither more nor less, and, when these were extinguished, others were lighted. When all these things were properly arranged, the king, eager to give up to God the half of his daily service, as he had vowed, and more also, if his ability on the one hand, and his malady on the other, would allow him, showed himself a minute investigator of the truth in all his judgments, and this especially for the sake of the poor, to whose interest, day and night, among other duties of this life, he ever was wonderfully attentive. For in the whole kingdom the poor, besides him, had few or no protectors; for all the powerful and noble of that country had turned their thoughts rather to secular than to heavenly things: each was more bent on secular matters, to his own profit, than on the public good. He strove also, in his own judgments, for the benefit of both the noble and the ignoble, who often perversely quarrelled at the meetings of his earls and officers, so that hardly one of them admitted the justice of what had been decided by the earls and prefects, and in consequence of this pertinacious and obstinate dissension, all desired to have the judgment of the king, and both sides sought at once to gratify their desire. But if any one was conscious of injustice on his side in the suit, though by law and agreement he was compelled, however reluctant, to go before the king, yet with his own good will he never would consent to go. For he knew, that in the king's presence no part of his wrong would be hidden; and no wonder, for the king was a most acute investigator in passing sentence, as he was in all other things. He inquired into almost all the judgments which were given in his own absence, throughout all his dominion, whether they were just or unjust. If he perceived there was iniquity in those judgments, he summoned the judges, either through his own agency, or through others of his faithful servants, and asked them mildly, why they had judged so unjustly; whether through ignorance or malevolence; i.e., whether for the love or fear of any one, or hatred of others; or also for the desire of money. At length, if the judges acknowledged they had given judgment because they knew no better, he discreetly and moderately reproved their inexperience and folly in such terms as these: "I wonder truly at your insolence, that, whereas by God's favour and mine, you have occupied the rank and office of the wise, you have neglected the studies and labours of the wise. Either, therefore, at once give up the discharge of the temporal duties which you hold, or endeavour more zealously to study the lessons of wisdom. Such are my commands." At these words the earls and prefects would tremble and endeavour to turn all their thoughts to the study of justice, so that, wonderful to say, almost all his earls, prefects, and officers, though unlearned from their cradles, were sedulously bent upon acquiring learning, choosing rather laboriously to acquire the knowledge of a new discipline than to resign their functions; but if any one of them from old age or slowness of talent was unable to make progress in liberal studies, he commanded his son, if he had one, or one of his kinsmen, or, if there was no other person to be had, his own freedman or servant, whom he had some time before advanced to the office of reading, to recite Saxon books before him night and day, whenever he had any leisure, and they lamented with deep sighs, in their inmost hearts, that in their youth they had never attended to such studies; and they blessed the young men of our days, who happily could be instructed in the liberal arts, whilst they execrated their own lot, that they had not learned these things in their youth, and now, when they are old, though wishing to learn them, they are unable. But this skill of young and old in acquiring letters, we have explained to the knowledge of the aforesaid king.[145] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 86: Wantage.] [Footnote 87: The Gewissæ, generally understood to be the West-Saxons.] [Footnote 88: Carisbrooke, as may be conjectured from the name, which is a combination of Wight and Caraburgh.] [Footnote 89: Wembury.] [Footnote 90: Minster.] [Footnote 91: Canterbury.] [Footnote 92: Ockley, in Surrey.] [Footnote 93: This is one the few instances to be met with of the name Britannia applied to Wales.] [Footnote 94: Thanet.] [Footnote 95: Wilts.] [Footnote 96: Offa's dyke, between Wales and England.] [Footnote 97: Ingram supposes this to be Stonehenge. Stæningham, however, is the common reading, which Camden thinks is Steyning, in Sussex. The Saxon Chronicle, A.D. 855, states, that Ethelwulf was buried at Winchester.] [Footnote 98: We must understand this epithet as denoting his mother-in-law, Judith, rather than his own mother, who was dead in A.D. 856, when Alfred was not yet seven years old. When his father brought Judith from France Alfred was thirteen years old.] [Footnote 99: This nobleman occurs as a witness [Mucil, dux] to many Mercian charters, dated from A.D. 814 to 866.] [Footnote 100: Inhabitants of Gainsborough.] [Footnote 101: Englefield Green is about four miles from Windsor] [Footnote 102: Aston, in Berkshire.] [Footnote 103: Stratclyde Britons.] [Footnote 104: Cambridge.] [Footnote 105: The Frome.] [Footnote 106: They swore oaths to Alfred on the holy ring, says the Saxon Chronicle, p. 355. The most solemn manner of swearing among the Danes and other northern nations was by their arms. Olaus Magnus, lib. viii. c. 2.] [Footnote 107: Exeter.] [Footnote 108: It is necessary to inform the reader that many passages of this work are modern interpolations, made in the old MS. by a later hand. The "Annals" referred to in the text are supposed not to be a genuine work of Asser.] [Footnote 109: Swanwich, in Dorsetshire.] [Footnote 110: This clause is a mere repetition of the preceding. See a former note in this page.] [Footnote 111: Athelney, a morass formed by the conflux of the Thone and the Parret. See Saxon Chron. p. 356, and Chronicle of Ethelwerd, p 31.] [Footnote 112: The original here is in Latin verse, and may therefore be rendered into English verse, but such as every housewife in Somersetshire would understand.] [Footnote 113: Probably the sanguinary Hubba.] [Footnote 114: Or South Wales.] [Footnote 115: Kynwith castle stood on the river Taw. Camden, p. 35.] [Footnote 116: Now called Brixton Deverill, in Wilts.] [Footnote 117: Selwood Forest extended from Frome to Burham, and was probably much larger at one time.] [Footnote 118: Or Iglea. Supposed to be Leigh, now Westbury, Wilts.] [Footnote 119: Wedmore is four miles and three quarters from Axbridge, in Somersetshire.] [Footnote 120: In the Saxon Chronicle (A.D. 878) it is said, that Gothrun was baptized at Aller, and his _chrism-loosing_ was at Wedmore. The _chrismal_ was a white linen cloth put on the head at the administration of baptism, which was taken off at the expiration of eight days.] [Footnote 121: Inhabitants of Gloucester, Worcester, and part of Warwickshire.] [Footnote 122: This expression paints in strong colours the unfortunate and divided state of England at this period, for it shows that the Danes had settled possession of parts of it. In fact, all traces of the heptarchy, or ancient division of the island into provinces, did not entirely disappear until some years after the Norman conquest.] [Footnote 123: Not the river Stour, in Kent; but the Stour which divides Essex from Suffolk. Lambard fixes the battle at Harwich haven.] [Footnote 124: Or, Old Saxons.] [Footnote 125: St. Guerir's church was at Ham Stoke, in Cornwall.] [Footnote 126: An interesting account of St. Neot will be found in Gorham's History And Antiquities of Eynesbury and St. Neot's.] [Footnote 127: Grimbald was provost of St. Omer's.] [Footnote 128: John had been connected with the monastery of Corbie.] [Footnote 129: East Dene [or Dean] and West Dene are two villages near Chichester. There are also other villages of the same name near East Bourne.] [Footnote 130: This expression alludes to the tonsure, which was undergone by those who became clerks. For a description of the ecclesiastical tonsure see Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 160] [Footnote 131: The original Latin continues, "Et illa adjuvaretur per rudimenta Sancti Degui in omni causa, tamen pro viribus," which I do not understand, and therefore cannot translate.] [Footnote 132: A petty prince of South Wales.] [Footnote 133: Or St. Dewi. Probably by the _parish_ of St. Deguus is meant the _diocese_ of St. David's. Hence it is said, that Alfred gave to Asser the whole parish (omnis parochia) of Exeter.] [Footnote 134: Archbishop of St. David's.] [Footnote 135: Amesbury, in Wilts.] [Footnote 136: In Somersetshire.] [Footnote 137: Wessex.] [Footnote 138: The whole of this paragraph concerning Oxford is thought to be an interpolation, because it is not known to have existed in more than one MS. copy.] [Footnote 139: Hyde Abbey.] [Footnote 140: This must consequently have been written in A.D. 888.] [Footnote 141: Wise conjectures that we ought to read Hiberiæ, _Spain_, and not Hiberniæ, _Ireland_, in this passage.] [Footnote 142: Not the celebrated John Scotus Eregina.] [Footnote 143: Denarii.] [Footnote 144: Unciæ pollicis.] [Footnote 145: Some of the MSS. record, in a note or appendix written by a later hand, that king Alfred died on the 26th of October, A.D. 900, in the thirtieth of his reign. "The different dates assigned to the death of Alfred," says Sir Francis Palgrave, "afford a singular proof of the uncertainty arising from various modes of computation. The Saxon Chronicle and Florence of Worcester agree in placing the event in 901. The first 'six nights before All Saints;' the last, with more precision, 'Indictione quarta, et Feria quarta, 5 Cal. Nov.' Simon of Durham, in 889, and the Saxon Chronicle, in another passage, in 900. The concurrents of Florence of Worcester seem to afford the greatest certainty, and the date of 901 has therefore been preferred."] GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH'S BRITISH HISTORY. GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH'S BRITISH HISTORY. BOOK I. CHAP. I.--_The epistle dedicatory to Robert earl of Gloucester._[146] Whilst occupied on many and various studies, I happened to light upon the History of the Kings of Britain, and wondered that in the account which Gildas and Bede, in their elegant treatises, had given of them, I found nothing said of those kings who lived here before the Incarnation of Christ, nor of Arthur, and many others who succeeded after the Incarnation; though their actions both deserved immortal fame, and were also celebrated by many people in a pleasant manner and by heart, as if they had been written. Whilst I was intent upon these and such like thoughts, Walter, archdeacon of Oxford,[147] a man of great eloquence, and learned in foreign histories, offered me a very ancient book in the British tongue, which, in a continued regular story and elegant style, related the actions of them all, from Brutus the first king of the Britons, down to Cadwallader the son of Cadwallo. At his request, therefore, though I had not made fine language my study, by collecting florid expressions from other authors, yet contented with my own homely style, I undertook the translation of that book into Latin. For if I had swelled the pages with rhetorical flourishes, I must have tired my readers, by employing their attention more upon my words than upon the history. To you, therefore, Robert earl of Gloucester, this work humbly sues for the favour of being so corrected by your advice, that it may not be thought to be the poor offspring of Geoffrey of Monmouth, but when polished by your refined wit and judgment, the production of him who had Henry the glorious king of England for his father, and whom we see an accomplished scholar and philosopher, as well as a brave soldier and expert commander; so that Britain with joy acknowledges, that in you she possesses another Henry. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 146: Robert, earl of Gloucester was the natural son of king Henry I, by whose command he swore fealty to the empress Matilda, daughter of that monarch. To prove his fidelity, he rebelled against king Stephen, and mainly contributed to the success of Henry son of the empress, afterwards Henry II.] [Footnote 147: Thought to be Walter Mapes the poet, author of several ludicrous and satirical compositions.] CHAP. II.--_The first inhabitants of Britain._ Britain, the best of islands, is situated in the Western Ocean, between France and Ireland, being eight hundred miles long, and two hundred broad. It produces every thing that is useful to man, with a plenty that never fails. It abounds with all kinds of metal, and has plains of large extent, and hills fit for the finest tillage, the richness of whose soil affords variety of fruits in their proper seasons. It has also forests well stored with all kinds of wild beasts; in its lawns cattle find good change of pasture, and bees variety of flowers for honey. Under its lofty mountains lie green meadows pleasantly situated, in which the gentle murmurs of crystal springs gliding along clear channels, give those that pass an agreeable invitation to lie down on their banks and slumber. It is likewise well watered with lakes and rivers abounding with fish; and besides the narrow sea which is on the Southern coast towards France, there are three noble rivers, stretching out like three arms, namely, the Thames, the Severn, and the Humber; by which foreign commodities from all countries are brought into it. It was formerly adorned with eight and twenty cities,[148] of which some are in ruins and desolate, others are still standing, beautified with lofty church-towers, wherein religious worship is performed according to the Christian institution. It is lastly inhabited by five different nations, the Britons, Romans, Saxons, Picts, and Scots; whereof the Britons before the rest did formerly possess the whole island from sea to sea, till divine vengeance, punishing them for their pride, made them give way to the Picts and Saxons. But in what manner, and from whence, they first arrived here, remains now to be related in what follows.[149] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 148: The names of thirty-three cities will be found in Nennius's History of the Britons, § 7.] [Footnote 149: This brief description of Britain is taken almost word for word from the more authentic historians, Bede, Orosius, &c.] CHAP. III.--_Brutus, being banished after the killing of his parents, goes into Greece._ After the Trojan war, Æneas, flying with Ascanius from the destruction of their city, sailed to Italy. There he was honourably received by king Latinus, which raised against him the envy of Turnus, king of the Rutuli, who thereupon made war against him. Upon their engaging in battle, Æneas got the victory, and having killed Turnus, obtained the kingdom of Italy, and with it Lavinia the daughter of Latinus. After his death, Ascanius, succeeding in the kingdom, built Alba upon the Tiber, and begat a son named Sylvius, who, in pursuit of a private amour, took to wife a niece of Lavinia. The damsel soon after conceived, and the father Ascanius, coming to the knowledge of it, commanded his magicians to consult of what sex the child should be. When they had satisfied themselves in the matter, they told him she would give birth to a boy, who would kill his father and mother, and after travelling over many countries in banishment, would at last arrive at the highest pitch of glory. Nor were they mistaken in their prediction; for at the proper time the woman brought forth a son, and died of his birth; but the child was delivered to a nurse and called Brutus. At length, after fifteen years were expired, the youth accompanied his father in hunting, and killed him undesignedly by the shot of an arrow. For, as the servants were driving up the deer towards them, Brutus, in shooting at them, smote his father under the breast. Upon his death, he was expelled from Italy, his kinsmen being enraged at him for so heinous a deed. Thus banished he went into Greece, where he found the posterity of Helenus, son of Priamus, kept in slavery by Pandrasus, king of the Greeks. For, after the destruction of Troy, Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, had brought hither in chains Helenus and many others; and to revenge on them the death of his father, had given command that they should be held in captivity. Brutus, finding they were by descent his old countrymen, took up his abode among them, and began to distinguish himself by his conduct and bravery in war, so as to gain the affection of kings and commanders, and above all the young men of the country. For he was esteemed a person of great capacity both in council and war, and signalized his generosity to his soldiers, by bestowing among them all the money and spoil he got. His fame, therefore, spreading over all countries, the Trojans from all parts began to flock to him, desiring under his command to be freed from subjection to the Greeks; which they assured him might easily be done, considering how much their number was now increased in the country, being seven thousand strong, besides women and children. There was likewise then in Greece a noble youth named Assaracus, a favourer of their cause. For he was descended on his mother's side from the Trojans, and placed great confidence in them, that he might be able by their assistance to oppose the designs of the Greeks. For his brother had a quarrel with him for attempting to deprive him of three castles which his father had given him at his death, on account of his being only the son of a concubine; but as the brother was a Greek, both by his father's and mother's side, he had prevailed with the king and the rest of the Greeks to espouse his cause. Brutus, having taken a view of the number of his men, and seen how Assaracus's castles lay open to him, complied with their request.[150] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 150: It is unnecessary to remind the classical reader that the historians of Greece and Italy make no mention of Brutus and his adventures. The minuteness of detail, so remarkable in the whole story, as related by Geoffrey, is an obvious objection to its authenticity.] CHAP. IV.--_Brutus's letter to Pandrasus._ Being, therefore, chosen their commander, he assembled the Trojans from all parts, and fortified the towns belonging to Assaracus. But he himself, with Assaracus and the whole body of men and women that adhered to him, retired to the woods and hills, and then sent a letter to the king in these words:-- "Brutus, general of the remainder of the Trojans, to Pandrasus, king of the Greeks, sends greeting. As it was beneath the dignity of a nation descended from the illustrious race of Dardanus, to be treated in your kingdom otherwise than the nobility of their birth required, they have betaken themselves to the protection of the woods. For they have preferred living after the manner of wild beasts, upon flesh and herbs, with the enjoyment of liberty, to continuing longer in the greatest luxury under the yoke of slavery. If this gives your majesty any offence, impute it not to them, but pardon it; since it is the common sentiment of every captive, to be desirous of regaining his former dignity. Let pity therefore move you to bestow on them freely their lost liberty, and permit them to inhabit the thickest of the woods, to which they have retired to avoid slavery. But if you deny them this favour, then by your permission and assistance let them depart into some foreign country." CHAP. V.--_Brutus falling upon the forces of Pandrasus by surprise, routs them, and takes Antigonus, the brother of Pandrasus, with Anacletus, prisoner._ Pandrasus, perceiving the purport of the letter, was beyond measure surprised at the boldness of such a message from those whom he had kept in slavery; and having called a council of his nobles, he determined to raise an army in order to pursue them. But while he was upon his march to the deserts, where he thought they were, and to the town of Sparatinum, Brutus made a sally with three thousand men, and fell upon him unawares. For having intelligence of his coming, he had got into the town the night before, with a design to break forth upon them unexpectedly, while unarmed and marching without order. The sally being made, the Trojans briskly attack them, and endeavour to make a great slaughter. The Greeks, astonished, immediately give way on all sides, and with the king at their head, hasten to pass the river Akalon,[151] which runs near the place; but in passing are in great danger from the rapidity of the stream. Brutus galls them in their flight, and kills some of them in the stream, and some upon the banks; and running to and fro, rejoices to see them in both places exposed to ruin. But Antigonus, the brother of Pandrasus, grieved at this sight, rallied his scattered troops, and made a quick return upon the furious Trojans; for he rather chose to die making a brave resistance, than to be drowned in a muddy pool in a shameful flight. Thus attended with a close body of men, he encouraged them to stand their ground, and employed his whole force against the enemy with great vigour, but to little or no purpose; for the Trojans had arms, but the others none; and from this advantage they were more eager in the pursuit, and made a miserable slaughter; nor did they give over the assault till they had made nearly a total destruction, and taken Antigonus, and Anacletus his companion prisoners. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 151: The Achelous, or perhaps the Acheron.] CHAP. VI.--_The town of Sparatinum besieged by Pandrasus._ Brutus, after the victory, reinforced the town with six hundred men, and then retired to the woods, where the Trojan people were expecting his protection. In the meantime Pandrasus, grieving at his own flight and his brother's captivity, endeavoured that night to re-assemble his broken forces, and the next morning went with a body of his people which he had got together, to besiege the town, into which he supposed Brutus had put himself with Antigonus and the rest of the prisoners that he had taken. As soon as he was arrived at the walls, and had viewed the situation of the castle, he divided his army into several bodies, and placed them round it in different stations. One party was charged not to suffer any of the besieged to go out; another to turn the courses of the rivers; and a third to beat down the walls with battering rams and other engines. In obedience to those commands, they laboured with their utmost force to distress the besieged; and night coming on, made choice of their bravest men to defend their camp and tents from the incursions of the enemy, while the rest, who were fatigued with labour, refreshed themselves with sleep. CHAP. VII.--_The besieged ask assistance of Brutus._ But the besieged, standing on the top of the walls, were no less vigorous to repel the force of the enemies' engines, and assault them with their own, and cast forth darts and firebrands with a unanimous resolution to make a valiant defence. And when a breach was made through the wall, they compelled the enemy to retire, by throwing upon them fire and scalding water. But being distressed through scarcity of provision and daily labour, they sent an urgent message to Brutus, to hasten to their assistance, for they were afraid they might be so weakened as to be obliged to quit the town. Brutus, though desirous of relieving them, was under great perplexity, as he had not men enough to stand a pitched battle, and therefore made use of a stratagem, by which he proposed to enter the enemies' camp by night, and having deceived their watch to kill them in their sleep. But because he knew this was impracticable without the concurrence and assistance of some Greeks, he called to him Anacletus, the companion of Antigonus, and with a drawn sword in his hand, spake to him after this manner:-- "Noble youth! your own and Antigonus's life is now at an end, unless you will faithfully perform what I command you. This night I design to invade the camp of the Greeks, and fall upon them unawares, but am afraid of being hindered in the attempt if the watch should discover the stratagem. Since it will be necessary, therefore, to have them killed first, I desire to make use of you to deceive them, that I may have the easier access to the rest. Do you therefore manage this affair cunningly. At the second hour of the night go to the watch, and with fair speeches tell them that you have brought away Antigonus from prison, and that he is come to the bottom of the woods, where he lies hid among the shrubs, and cannot get any farther, by reason of the fetters with which you shall pretend that he is bound. Then you shall conduct them, as if it were to deliver him, to the end of the wood, where I will attend with a band of men ready to kill them." CHAP. VIII.--_Anacletus, in fear of death, betrays the army of the Greeks._ Anacletus, seeing the sword threatening him with immediate death while these words were being pronounced, was so terrified as to promise upon oath, that on condition he and Antigonus should have longer life granted them, he would execute his command. Accordingly, the agreement being confirmed, at the second hour of the night he directs his way towards the Grecian camp, and when he was come near to it, the watch, who were then narrowly examining all the places where any one could hide, ran out from all parts to meet him, and demanded the occasion of his coming, and whether it was not to betray the army. He, with a show of great joy, made the following answer:--"I come not to betray my country, but having made my escape from the prison of the Trojans, I fly thither to desire you would go with me to Antigonus, whom I have delivered from Brutus's chains. For being not able to come with me for the weight of his fetters, I have a little while ago caused him to lie hid among the shrubs at the end of the wood, till I could meet with some one whom I might conduct to his assistance." While they were in suspense about the truth of this story, there came one who knew him, and after he had saluted him, told them who he was; so that now, without any hesitation, they quickly called their absent companions, and followed him to the wood where he had told them Antigonus lay hid. But at length, as they were going among the shrubs, Brutus with his armed bands springs forth, and falls upon them, while under the greatest astonishment, with a most cruel slaughter. From thence he marches directly to the siege, and divides his men into three bands, assigning to each of them a different part of the camp, and telling them to advance discreetly, and without noise; and when entered, not to kill any body till he with his company should be possessed of the king's tent, and should cause the trumpet to sound for a signal. CHAP. IX.--_The taking of Pandrasus._ When he had given them these instructions, they forthwith softly entered the camp in silence, and taking their appointed stations, awaited the promised signal, which Brutus delayed not to give as soon as he had got before the tent of Pandrasus, to assault which was the thing he most desired. At hearing the signal, they forthwith draw their swords, enter in among the men in their sleep, make quick destruction of them, and allowing no quarter, in this manner traverse the whole camp. The rest, awaked at the groans of the dying, and seeing their assailants, were like sheep seized with a sudden fear; for they despaired of life, since they had neither time to take arms, nor to escape by flight. They run up and down without arms among the armed, whithersoever the fury of the assault hurries them, but are on all sides cut down by the enemy rushing in. Some that might have escaped, were in the eagerness of flight dashed against rocks, trees, or shrubs, and increased the misery of their death. Others, that had only a shield, or some such covering for their defence, in venturing upon the same rocks to avoid death, fell down in the hurry and darkness of the night, and broke either legs or arms. Others, that escaped both these disasters, but did not know whither to fly, were drowned in the adjacent rivers; and scarcely one got away without some unhappy accident befalling him. Besides, the garrison in the town, upon notice of the coming of their fellow soldiers, sallied forth, and redoubled the slaughter. CHAP. X.--_A consultation about what is to be asked of the captive king._ But Brutus, as I said before, having possessed himself of the king's tent, made it his business to keep him a safe prisoner; for he knew he could more easily attain his ends by preserving his life than by killing him; but the party that was with him, allowing no quarter, made an utter destruction in that part which they had gained. The night being spent in this manner, when the next morning discovered to their view so great an overthrow of the enemy, Brutus, in transports of joy, gave full liberty to his men to do what they pleased with the plunder, and then entered the town with the king, to stay there till they had shared it among them; which done, he again fortified the castle, gave orders for burying the slain, and retired with his forces to the woods in great joy for the victory. After the rejoicings of his people on this occasion, their renowned general summoned the oldest of them and asked their advice, what he had best desire of Pandrasus, who, being now in their power, would readily grant whatever they would request of him, in order to regain his liberty. They, according to their different fancies, desired different things; some urged him to request that a certain part of the kingdom might be assigned them for their habitation; others that he would demand leave to depart, and to be supplied with necessaries for their voyage. After they had been a long time in suspense what to do, one of them, named Mempricius, rose up, and having made silence, spoke to them thus:-- "What can be the occasion of your suspense, fathers, in a matter which I think so much concerns your safety? The only thing you can request, with any prospect of a firm peace and security to yourselves and your posterity, is liberty to depart. For if you make no better terms with Pandrasus for his life than only to have some part of the country assigned you to live among the Greeks, you will never enjoy a lasting peace while the brothers, sons, or grandsons of those whom you killed yesterday shall continue to be your neighbours. So long as the memory of their fathers' deaths shall remain, they will be your mortal enemies, and upon the least trifling provocation will endeavour to revenge themselves. Nor will you be sufficiently numerous to withstand so great a multitude of people. And if you shall happen to fall out among yourselves, their number will daily increase, yours diminish. I propose, therefore, that you request of him his eldest daughter, Ignoge, for a wife for our general, and with her, gold, silver, corn, and whatever else shall be necessary for our voyage. If we obtain this, we may with his leave remove to some other country." CHAP. XI.--_Pandrasus gives his daughter Ignoge in marriage to Brutus, who, after his departure from Greece, falls upon a desert island, where he is told by the oracle of Diana what place he is to inhabit._ When he had ended his speech, in words to this effect, the whole assembly acquiesced in his advice, and moved that Pandrasus might be brought in among them, and condemned to a most cruel death unless he would grant this request. He was immediately brought in, and being placed in a chair above the rest, and informed of the tortures prepared for him unless he would do what was commanded him, he made them this answer:-- "Since my ill fate has delivered me and my brother Antigonus into your hands, I can do no other than grant your request, lest a refusal may cost us our lives, which are now entirely in your power. In my opinion life is preferable to all other considerations; therefore, wonder not that I am willing to redeem it at so great a price. But though it is against my inclination that I obey your commands, yet it seems matter of comfort to me that I am to give my daughter to so noble a youth, whose descent from the illustrious race of Priamus and Anchises is clear, both from that greatness of mind which appears in him, and the certain accounts we have had of it. For who less than he could have released from their chains the banished Trojans, when reduced under slavery to so many great princes? Who else could have encouraged them to make head against the Greeks? or with so small a body of men vanquished so numerous and powerful an army, and taken their king prisoner in the engagement? And, therefore, since this noble youth has gained so much glory by the opposition which he has made to me, I give him my daughter Ignoge, and also gold, silver, ships, corn, wine, and oil, and whatever you shall find necessary for your voyage. If you shall alter your resolution, and think fit to continue among the Greeks, I will grant you the third part of my kingdom for your habitation; if not, I will faithfully perform my promise, and for your greater security will stay as a hostage among you till I have made it good." Accordingly he held a council, and directed messengers to all the shores of Greece, to get ships together; which done, he delivered them to the Trojans, to the number of three hundred and twenty-four, laden with all kinds of provision, and married his daughter to Brutus. He made also a present of gold and silver to each man according to his quality. When everything was performed the king was set at liberty; and the Trojans, now released from his power, set sail with a fair wind. But Ignoge, standing upon the stern of the ship, swooned away several times in Brutus's arms, and with many sighs and tears lamented the leaving her parents and country, nor ever turned her eyes from the shore while it was in sight. Brutus, meanwhile, endeavoured to assuage her grief by kind words and embraces intermixed with kisses, and ceased not from these blandishments till she grew weary of crying and fell asleep. During these and other accidents, the winds continued fair for two days and a night together, when at length they arrived at a certain island called Leogecia, which had been formerly wasted by the incursions of pirates, and was then uninhabited. Brutus, not knowing this, sent three hundred armed men ashore to see who inhabited it; but they finding nobody, killed several kinds of wild beasts which they met with in the groves and woods, and came to a desolate city, in which they found a temple of Diana, and in it a statue of that goddess which gave answers to those that came to consult her. At last, loading themselves with the prey which they had taken in hunting, they return to their ships, and give their companions an account of this country and city. Then they advised their leader to go to the city, and after offering sacrifices, to inquire of the deity of the place, what country was allotted them for their place of settlement. To this proposal all assented; so that Brutus, attended with Gerion, the augur, and twelve of the oldest men, set forward to the temple, with all things necessary for the sacrifice. Being arrived at the place, and presenting themselves before the shrine with garlands about their temples, as the ancient rites required, they made three fires to the three deities, Jupiter, Mercury, and Diana, and offered sacrifices to each of them. Brutus himself, holding before the altar of the goddess a consecrated vessel filled with wine, and the blood of a white hart, with his face looking up to the image, broke silence in these words:-- "Diva potens nemorum, terror sylvestribus apris; Cui licet amfractus ire per æthereos, Infernasque domos; terrestria jura resolve, Et dic quas terras nos habitare velis? Dic certam sedem qua te venerabor in ævum, Qua tibi virgineis templa dicabo choris?" Goddess of woods, tremendous in the chase To mountain boars, and all the savage race! Wide o'er the ethereal walks extends thy sway, And o'er the infernal mansions void of day! Look upon us on earth! unfold our fate, And say what region is our destined seat? Where shall we next thy lasting temples raise? And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise? These words he repeated nine times, after which he took four turns round the altar, poured the wine into the fire, and then laid himself down upon the hart's skin, which he had spread before the altar, where he fell asleep. About the third hour of the night, the usual time for deep sleep, the goddess seemed to present herself before him, and foretell his future success as follows:-- "Brute! sub occasum solis trans Gallica regna Insula in oceano est undique clausa mari: Insula in oceano est habitata gigantibus olim, Nunc deserta quidem, gentibus apta tuis. Hanc pete, namque tibi sedes erit illa perennis: Sic fiet natis altera Troja tuis. Sic de prole tua reges nascentur: et ipsis Totius terræ subditus orbis erit." Brutus! there lies beyond the Gallic bounds An island which the western sea surrounds, By giants once possessed; now few remain To bar thy entrance, or obstruct thy reign. To reach that happy shore thy sails employ; There fate decrees to raise a second Troy, And found an empire in thy royal line, Which time shall ne'er destroy, nor bounds confine. Awakened by the vision, he was for some time in doubt with himself, whether what he had seen was a dream or a real appearance of the goddess herself, foretelling to what land he should go. At last he called to his companions, and related to them in order the vision he had in his sleep, at which they very much rejoiced, and were urgent to return to their ships, and while the wind favoured them, to hasten their voyage towards the west, in pursuit of what the goddess had promised. Without delay, therefore, they returned to their company, and set sail again, and after a course of thirty days came to Africa, being ignorant as yet whither to steer. From thence they came to the Philenian altars, and to a place called Salinæ, and sailed between Ruscicada and the mountains of Azara,[152] where they underwent great danger from pirates, whom, notwithstanding, they vanquished, and enriched themselves with their spoils. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 152: It is probably impossible to discover whether these names describe existing places, or are purely the invention of the author.] CHAP. XII.--_Brutus enters Aquitaine with Corineus._ From thence, passing the river Malua, they arrived at Mauritania, where at last, for want of provisions, they were obliged to go ashore; and, dividing themselves into several bands, they laid waste the whole country. When they had well stored their ships, they steered to the Pillars of Hercules, where they saw some of those sea monsters, called Syrens, which surrounded their ships, and very nearly overturned them. However, they made a shift to escape, and came to the Tyrrhenian Sea, upon the shores of which they found four several nations descended from the banished Trojans, that had accompanied Antenor[153] in his flight. The name of their commander was Corineus, a modest man in matters of council, and of great courage and boldness, who, in an encounter with any person, even of gigantic stature, would immediately overthrow him, as if he were a child. When they understood from whom he was descended, they joined company with him and those under his government, who from the name of their leader were afterwards called the Cornish people, and indeed were more serviceable to Brutus than the rest in all his engagements. From thence they came to Aquitaine, and entering the mouth of the Loire, cast anchor. There they stayed seven days and viewed the country. Goffarius Pictus, who was king of Aquitaine at that time, having an account brought him of the arrival of a foreign people with a great fleet upon his coasts, sent ambassadors to them to demand whether they brought with them peace or war. The ambassadors, on their way towards the fleet, met Corineus, who was come out with two hundred men, to hunt in the woods. They demanded of him, who gave him leave to enter the king's forests, and kill his game; (which by an ancient law nobody was allowed to do without leave from the prince.) Corineus answered, that as for that matter there was no occasion for asking leave; upon which one of them, named Imbertus, rushing forward, with a full drawn bow levelled a shot at him. Corineus avoids the arrow and immediately runs up to him, and with his bow in his hand breaks his head. The rest narrowly escaped, and carried the news of this disaster to Goffarius. The Pictavian general was struck with sorrow for it, and immediately raised a vast army, to revenge the death of his ambassador. Brutus, on the other hand, upon hearing the rumour of his coming, sends away the women and children to the ships, which he took care to be well guarded, and commands them to stay there, while he, with the rest that were able to bear arms, should go to meet the army. At last an assault being made, a bloody fight ensued: in which after a great part of the day had been spent, Corineus was ashamed to see the Aquitanians so bravely stand their ground, and the Trojans maintaining the fight without victory. He therefore takes fresh courage, and drawing off his men to the right wing, breaks in upon the very thickest of the enemies, where he made such slaughter on every side, that at last he broke the line and put them all to flight. In this encounter he lost his sword, but by good fortune, met with a battle-axe, with which he clave down to the waist every one that stood in his way. Brutus and every body else, both friends and enemies, were amazed at his courage and strength, for he brandished about his battle-axe among the flying troops, and terrified them not a little with these insulting words, "Whither fly ye, cowards? whither fly ye, base wretches? stand your ground, that ye may encounter Corineus. What! for shame! do so many thousands of you fly one man? However, take this comfort for your flight, that you are pursued by one, before whom the Tyrrhenian giants could not stand their ground, but fell down slain in heaps together." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 153: See Virgil's Æneid i, 241.] CHAP. XIII.--_Goffarius routed by Brutus._ At these words one of them, named Subardus, who was a consul, returns with three hundred men to assault him; but Corineus with his shield wards off the blow, and lifting up his battle-axe gave him such a stroke upon the top of his helmet, that at once he clave him down to the waist; and then rushing upon the rest he made terrible slaughter by wheeling about his battle-axe among them, and, running to and fro, seemed more anxious to inflict blows on the enemy than careful to avoid those which they aimed at him. Some had their hands and arms, some their very shoulders, some again their heads, and others their legs cut off by him. All fought with him only, and he alone seemed to fight with all. Brutus seeing him thus beset, out of regard to him, runs with a band of men to his assistance: at which the battle is again renewed with vigour and with loud shouts, and great numbers slain on both sides. But now the Trojans presently gain the victory, and put Goffarius with his Pictavians to flight. The king after a narrow escape went to several parts of Gaul, to procure succours among such princes as were related or known to him. At that time Gaul was subject to twelve princes, who with equal authority possessed the whole country. These receive him courteously, and promise with one consent to expel the foreigners from Aquitaine. CHAP. XIV.--_Brutus, after his victory with Goffarius, ravages Aquitaine with fire and sword._ Brutus, in joy for the victory, enriches his men with the spoils of the slain, and then, dividing them into several bodies, marches into the country with a design to lay it waste, and load his fleet with the spoil. With this view he sets the cities on fire, seizes the riches that were in them, destroys the fields, and makes dreadful slaughter among the citizens and common people, being unwilling to leave so much as one alive of that wretched nation. While he was making this destruction over all Aquitaine, he came to a place where the city of Tours now stands, which he afterwards built, as Homer testifies. As soon as he had looked out a place convenient for the purpose, he pitched his camp there, for a place of safe retreat, when occasion should require. For he was afraid on account of Goffarius's approach with the kings and princes of Gaul, and a very great army, which was now come near the place, ready to give him battle. Having therefore finished his camp, he expected to engage with Goffarius in two days' time, placing the utmost confidence in the conduct and courage of the young men under his command. CHAP. XV.--_Goffarius's fight with Brutus._ Goffarius, being informed that the Trojans were in those parts, marched day and night, till he came within a close view of Brutus's camp; and then with a stern look and disdainful smile, broke out into these expressions, "Oh wretched fate! Have these base exiles made a camp also in my kingdom? Arm, arm, soldiers, and march through their thickest ranks: we shall soon take these pitiful fellows like sheep, and disperse them throughout our kingdom for slaves." At these words they prepared their arms, and advanced in twelve bodies towards the enemy. Brutus, on the other hand, with his forces drawn up in order, went forth boldly to meet them, and gave his men directions for their conduct, where they should assault and where they should be upon the defensive. At the beginning of the attack, the Trojans had the advantage, and made a rapid slaughter of the enemy, of whom there fell near two thousand, which so terrified the rest, that they were on the point of running away. But, as the victory generally falls to that side which has very much the superiority in numbers, so the Gauls, being three to one in number, though overpowered at first, yet at last joining in a great body together, broke in upon the Trojans, and forced them to retire to their camp with much slaughter. The victory thus gained, they besieged them in their camp, with a design not to suffer them to stir out until they should either surrender themselves prisoners, or be cruelly starved to death with a long famine. In the meantime, Corineus the night following entered into consultation with Brutus, and proposed to go out that night by by-ways, and conceal himself in an adjacent wood till break of day; and while Brutus should sally forth upon the enemy in the morning twilight, he with his company would surprise them from behind and put them to slaughter. Brutus was pleased with this stratagem of Corineus, who according to his engagement got out cunningly with three thousand men, and put himself under the covert of the woods. As soon as it was day Brutus marshalled his men and opened the camp to go out to fight. The Gauls meet him and begin the engagement: many thousands fall on both sides, neither party giving quarter. There was present a Trojan, named Turonus, the nephew of Brutus, inferior to none but Corineus in courage and strength of body. He alone with his sword killed six hundred men, but at last was unfortunately slain himself by the number of Gauls that rushed upon him. From him the city of Tours derived its name, because he was buried there. While both armies were thus warmly engaged, Corineus came upon them unawares, and fell fiercely upon the rear of the enemy, which put new courage into his friends on the other side, and made them exert themselves with increased vigour. The Gauls were astonished at the very shout of Corineus's men, and thinking their number to be much greater than it really was, they hastily quitted the field; but the Trojans pursued them, and killed them in the pursuit, nor did they desist till they had gained a complete victory. Brutus, though in joy for this great success, was yet afflicted to observe the number of his forces daily lessened, while that of the enemy increased more and more. He was in suspense for some time, whether he had better continue the war or not, but at last he determined to return to his ships while the greater part of his followers was yet safe, and hitherto victorious, and to go in quest of the island which the goddess had told him of. So without further delay, with the consent of his company, he repaired to the fleet, and loading it with the riches and spoils he had taken, set sail with a fair wind towards the promised island, and arrived on the coast of Totness. CHAP. XVI.--_Albion divided between Brutus and Corineus._ The island was then called Albion,[154] and was inhabited by none but a few giants. Notwithstanding this, the pleasant situation of the places, the plenty of rivers abounding with fish, and the engaging prospect of its woods, made Brutus and his company very desirous to fix their habitation in it. They therefore passed through all the provinces, forced the giants to fly into the caves of the mountains, and divided the country among them according to the directions of their commander. After this they began to till the ground and build houses, so that in a little time the country looked like a place that had been long inhabited. At last Brutus called the island after his own name Britain, and his companions Britons; for by these means he desired to perpetuate the memory of his name. From whence afterwards the language of the nation, which at first bore the name of Trojan, or rough Greek, was called British. But Corineus, in imitation of his leader, called that part of the island which fell to his share, Corinea, and his people Corineans, after his name; and though he had his choice of the provinces before all the rest, yet he preferred this country, which is now called in Latin Cornubia, either from its being in the shape of a horn (in Latin Cornu), or from the corruption of the said name.[155] For it was a diversion to him to encounter the said giants, which were in greater numbers there than in all the other provinces that fell to the share of his companions. Among the rest was one detestable monster, named Goëmagot, in stature twelve cubits, and of such prodigious strength that at one shake he pulled up an oak as if it had been a hazel wand. On a certain day, when Brutus was holding a solemn festival to the gods, in the port where they at first landed, this giant with twenty more of his companions came in upon the Britons, among whom he made a dreadful slaughter. But the Britons at last assembling together in a body, put them to the rout, and killed them every one but Goëmagot. Brutus had given orders to have him preserved alive, out of a desire to see a combat between him and Corineus, who took a great pleasure in such encounters. Corineus, overjoyed at this, prepared himself, and throwing aside his arms, challenged him to wrestle with him. At the beginning of the encounter, Corineus and the giant, standing, front to front, held each other strongly in their arms, and panted aloud for breath; but Goëmagot presently grasping Corineus with all his might, broke three of his ribs, two on his right side and one on his left. At which Corineus, highly enraged, roused up his whole strength, and snatching him upon his shoulders, ran with him, as fast as the weight would allow him, to the next shore, and there getting upon the top of a high rock, hurled down the savage monster into the sea; where falling on the sides of craggy rocks, he was torn to pieces, and coloured the waves with his blood. The place where he fell, taking its name from the giant's fall, is called Lam Goëmagot, that is, Goëmagot's Leap, to this day.[156] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 154: The earliest real notice of Albion occurs in a work attributed to Aristotle [De Mundo, sec. 3], who wrote, before Christ 340, "Beyond the Pillars of Hercules is the ocean which flows round the earth. In it are two very large islands, called Britannic; these are Albion and Ierne," &c.] [Footnote 155: The etymology of the word Cornwall, as if Cornu-Galliæ or Walliæ, is equally imaginary.] [Footnote 156: It is now called the Haw, and is near Plymouth.] CHAP. XVII.--_The building of new Troy by Brutus, upon the river Thames._ Brutus, having thus at last set eyes upon his kingdom, formed a design of building a city, and with this view, travelled through the land to find out a convenient situation, and coming to the river Thames, he walked along the shore, and at last pitched upon a place very fit for his purpose. Here, therefore, he built a city, which he called New Troy; under which name it continued a long time after, till at last, by the corruption of the original word, it come to be called Trinovantum. But afterwards when Lud, the brother of Cassibellaun, who made war against Julius Cæsar, obtained the government of the kingdom, he surrounded it with stately walls, and towers of admirable workmanship, and ordered it to be called after his name, Kaer-Lud, that is, the City of Lud.[157] But this very thing became afterwards the occasion of a great quarrel between him and his brother Nennius, who took offence at his abolishing the name of Troy in this country. Of this quarrel Gildas the historian has given a full account; for which reason I pass it over, for fear of debasing by my account of it, what so great a writer has so eloquently related. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 157: This is the city now called London, and it is evident that the writer wishes it to be supposed that the modern name is derived from the ancient, as if it were Lud-ton or Lud-don. The first notice of London found in authentic history occurs in Tacitus, Annal. lib. xiv. c. 33, the second notice in Ptolemy, A.D. 120, lib. i. 15.] CHAP. XVIII.--_New Troy being built, and laws made for the government of it, it is given to the citizens that were to inhabit it._ After Brutus had finished the building of the city, he made choice of the citizens that were to inhabit it, and prescribed them laws for their peaceable government. At this time Eli the priest governed in Judea, and the ark of the covenant was taken by the Philistines. At the same time, also, the sons of Hector, after the expulsion of the posterity of Antenor, reigned in Troy; as in Italy did Sylvius Æneas, the son of Æneas, the uncle of Brutus, and the third king of the Latins.[158] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 158: From this statement it would follow that the arrival of Brutus in Britain is to be placed about the year 1100 before Christ.] BOOK II. CHAP. I.--_After the death of Brutus, his three sons succeed him in the kingdom._ During these transactions, Brutus had by his wife Ignoge three famous sons, whose names were Locrin, Albanact, and Kamber. These, after their father's death, which happened in the twenty-fourth year after his arrival, buried him in the city which he had built, and then having divided the kingdom of Britain among them, retired each to his government. Locrin, the eldest, possessed the middle part of the island, called afterwards from his name, Loegria. Kamber had that part which lies beyond the river Severn, now called Wales, but which was for a long time named Kambria; and hence that people still call themselves in their British tongue Kambri. Albanact, the younger brother, possessed the country he called Albania, now Scotland. After they had a long time reigned in peace together, Humber, king of the Huns, arrived in Albania, and having killed Albanact in battle, forced his people to fly to Locrin for protection. CHAP. II.--_Locrin, having routed Humber, falls in love with Estrildis._ Locrin, at hearing this news, joined his brother Kamber, and went with the whole strength of the kingdom to meet the king of the Huns, near the river now called Humber, where he gave him battle, and put him to the rout. Humber made towards the river in his flight, and was drowned in it, on account of which it has since borne his name. Locrin, after the victory, bestowed the plunder of the enemy upon his own men, reserving for himself the gold and silver which he found in the ships, together with three virgins of admirable beauty, whereof one was the daughter of a king in Germany, whom with the other two Humber had forcibly brought away with him, after he had ruined their country. Her name was Estrildis, and her beauty such as was hardly to be matched. No ivory or new-fallen snow, no lily could exceed the whiteness of her skin. Locrin, smitten with love, would have gladly married her, at which Corineus was extremely incensed, on account of the engagement which Locrin had entered into with him to marry his daughter. CHAP. III.--_Corineus resents the affront put upon his daughter._ He went, therefore, to the king, and wielding a battle-axe in his right hand, vented his rage against him in these words: "Do you thus reward me, Locrin, for the many wounds which I have suffered under your father's command in his wars with strange nations, that you must slight my daughter, and debase yourself to marry a barbarian? While there is strength in this right hand, that has been destructive to so many giants upon the Tyrrhenian coasts, I will never put up with this affront." And repeating this again and again with a loud voice, he shook his battle-axe as if he was going to strike him, till the friends of both interposed, and after they had appeased Corineus, obliged Locrin to perform his agreement. CHAP. IV.--_Locrin at last marries Guendoloena, the daughter of Corineus._ Locrin therefore married Corineus's daughter, named Guendoloena, yet still retained his love for Estrildis, for whom he made apartments under ground, in which he entertained her, and caused her to be honourably attended. For he was resolved at least to carry on a private amour with her, since he could not live with her openly for fear of Corineus. In this manner he concealed her, and made frequent visits to her for seven years together, without the privity of any but his most intimate domestics; and all under a pretence of performing some secret sacrifices to his gods, by which he imposed on the credulity of every body. In the meantime Estrildis became with child, and was delivered of a most beautiful daughter, whom she named Sabre. Guendoloena was also with child, and brought forth a son, who was named Maddan, and put under the care of his grandfather Corineus to be educated. CHAP. V.--_Locrin is killed; Estrildis and Sabre are thrown into a river._ But in process of time, when Corineus was dead, Locrin divorced Guendoloena, and advanced Estrildis to be queen. Guendoloena, provoked beyond measure at this, retired into Cornwall, where she assembled together all the forces of that kingdom, and began to raise disturbances against Locrin. At last both armies joined battle near the river Sture, where Locrin was killed by the shot of an arrow. After his death, Guendoloena took upon her the government of the whole kingdom, retaining her father's furious spirit. For she commanded Estrildis and her daughter Sabre to be thrown into the river now called the Severn, and published an edict through all Britain, that the river should bear the damsel's name, hoping by this to perpetuate her memory, and by that the infamy of her husband. So that to this day the river is called in the British tongue Sabren, which by the corruption of the name is in another language Sabrina. CHAP. VI.--_Guendoloena delivers up the kingdom to Maddan, her son, after whom succeeds Mempricius._ Guendoloena reigned fifteen years after the death of Locrin, who had reigned ten, and then advanced her son Maddan (whom she saw now at maturity) to the throne, contenting herself with the country of Cornwall for the remainder of her life. At this time Samuel the prophet governed in Judæa, Sylvius Æneas was yet living, and Homer was esteemed a famous orator and poet.[159] Maddan, now in possession of the crown, had by his wife two sons, Mempricius and Malim, and ruled the kingdom in peace and with care forty years. As soon as he was dead, the two brothers quarrelled for the kingdom, each being ambitious of the sovereignty of the whole island. Mempricius, impatient to attain his ends, enters into treaty with Malim, under colour of making a composition with him, and, having formed a conspiracy, murdered him in the assembly where their ambassadors were met. By these means he obtained the dominion of the whole island, over which he exercised such tyranny, that he left scarcely a nobleman alive in it, and either by violence or treachery oppressed every one that he apprehended might be likely to succeed him, pursuing his hatred to his whole race. He also deserted his own wife, by whom he had a noble youth named Ebraucus, and addicted himself to sodomy, preferring unnatural lust to the pleasures of the conjugal state. At last, in the twentieth year of his reign, while he was hunting, he retired from his company into a valley, where he was surrounded by a great multitude of ravenous wolves, and devoured by them in a horrible manner. Then did Saul reign in Judæa, and Eurystheus in Lacedæmonia. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 159: It is only necessary to compare such passages as these with the Grecian or Roman Histories, and we cannot avoid perceiving the legendary character of Geoffrey of Monmouth's History.] CHAP. VII.--_Ebraucus, the successor of Mempricius, conquers the Gauls, and builds the towns Kaerebrauc, &c._ Mempricius being dead, Ebraucus, his son, a man of great stature and wonderful strength, took upon him the government of Britain, which he held forty years. He was the first after Brutus who invaded Gaul with a fleet, and distressed its provinces by killing their men and laying waste their cities; and having by these means enriched himself with an infinite quantity of gold and silver, he returned victorious. After this he built a city on the other side of the Humber, which, from his own name, he called Kaerebrauc, that is, the city of Ebraucus,[160] about the time that David reigned in Judæa, and Sylvius Latinus in Italy; and that Gad, Nathan, and Asaph prophesied in Israel. He also built the city of Alclud[161] towards Albani, and the town of mount Agned,[162] called at this time the Castle of Maidens, or the Mountain of Sorrow. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 160: York seems to be a corruption of Ebrauc. It is first mentioned by Ptolemy (ii. 3.) A.D. 120.] [Footnote 161: Alclud or Alcluith is unknown to the classic writers: it is first mentioned by Gildas, and is thought to be the modern Dumbarton.] [Footnote 162: Edinburgh.] CHAP. VIII.--_Ebraucus's twenty sons go to Germany, and his thirty daughters to Sylvius Alba, in Italy._ This prince had twenty sons and thirty daughters by twenty wives, and with great valour governed the kingdom of Britain sixty years. The names of his sons were, Brutus surnamed Greenshield, Margadud, Sisillius, Regin, Morivid, Bladud, Lagon, Bodloan, Kincar, Spaden, Gaul, Darden, Eldad, Ivor, Gangu, Hector, Kerin, Rud, Assarach, Buel. The names of his daughters were, Gloigni, Ignogni, Oudas, Guenliam, Gaudid, Angarad, Guendoloe, Tangustel, Gorgon, Medlan, Methahel, Ourar, Malure, Kambreda, Ragan, Gael, Ecub, Nest, Cheum, Stadud, Gladud, Ebren, Blagan, Aballac, Angaes, Galaes, (the most celebrated beauty at that time in Britain or Gaul,) Edra, Anaor, Stadial, Egron. All these daughters their father sent into Italy to Sylvius Alba, who reigned after Sylvius Latinus, where they were married among the Trojan nobility, the Latin and Sabine women refusing to associate with them. But the sons, under the conduct of their brother Assaracus, departed in a fleet to Germany, and having, with the assistance of Sylvius Alba, subdued the people there, obtained that kingdom. CHAP. IX.--_After Ebraucus reigns Brutus his son, after him Leil, and after Leil, Hudibras._ But Brutus, surnamed Greenshield, stayed with his father, whom he succeeded in the government, and reigned twelve years. After him reigned Leil, his son, a peaceful and just prince, who, enjoying a prosperous reign, built in the north of Britain a city, called by his name, Kaerleil;[163] at the same time that Solomon began to build the temple of Jerusalem, and the queen of Sheba came to hear his wisdom; at which time also Sylvius Epitus succeeded his father Alba, in Italy. Leil reigned twenty-five years, but towards the latter end of his life grew more remiss in his government, so that his neglect of affairs speedily occasioned a civil dissension in the kingdom. After him reigned his son, Hudibras, thirty-nine years, and composed the civil dissension among his people. He built Kaerlem or Canterbury, Kaerguen or Winchester, and the town of Mount Paladur, now Shaftesbury. At this place an eagle spoke, while the wall of the town was being built; and indeed I should have transmitted the speech to posterity, had I thought it true, as the rest of the history. At this time reigned Capys, the son of Epitus; and Haggai, Amos, Joel, and Azariah, were prophets in Israel. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 163: Now Carlisle.] CHAP. X.--_Bladud succeeds Hudibras in the kingdom, and practises magical operations._ Next succeeded Bladud, his son, and reigned twenty years. He built Kaerbadus, now Bath, and made hot baths in it for the benefit of the public, which he dedicated to the goddess Minerva; in whose temple he kept fires that never went out nor consumed to ashes, but as soon as they began to decay were turned into balls of stone. About this time the prophet Elias prayed that it might not rain upon earth; and it did not rain for three years and six months. This prince was a very ingenious man, and taught necromancy in his kingdom, nor did he leave off pursuing his magical operations, till he attempted to fly to the upper region of the air with wings which he had prepared, and fell down upon the temple of Apollo, in the city of Trinovantum, where he was dashed to pieces. CHAP. XI.--_Leir the son of Bladud, having no son, divides his kingdom among his daughters._ After this unhappy fate of Bladud, Leir,[164] his son was advanced to the throne, and nobly governed his country sixty years. He built upon the river Sore a city, called in the British tongue, Kaerleir, in the Saxon, Leircestre.[165] He was without male issue, but had three daughters, whose names were Gonorilla, Regau, and Cordeilla, of whom he was dotingly fond, but especially of his youngest, Cordeilla. When he began to grow old, he had thoughts of dividing his kingdom among them, and of bestowing them on such husbands as were fit to be advanced to the government with them. But to make trial who was worthy to have the best part of his kingdom, he went to each of them to ask which of them loved him most. The question being proposed, Gonorilla, the eldest, made answer, "That she called heaven to witness, she loved him more than her own soul." The father replied, "Since you have preferred my declining age before your own life, I will marry you, my dearest daughter, to whomsoever you shall make choice of, and give with you the third part of my kingdom." Then Regau, the second daughter, willing, after the example of her sister, to prevail upon her father's good nature, answered with an oath, "That she could not otherwise express her thoughts, but that she loved him above all creatures." The credulous father upon this made her the same promise that he did to her eldest sister, that is, the choice of a husband, with the third part of his kingdom. But Cordeilla, the youngest, understanding how easily he was satisfied with the flattering expressions of her sisters, was desirous to make trial of his affection after a different manner. "My father," said she, "is there any daughter that can love her father more than duty requires? In my opinion, whoever pretends to it, must disguise her real sentiments under the veil of flattery. I have always loved you as a father, nor do I yet depart from my purposed duty; and if you insist to have something more extorted from me, hear now the greatness of my affection, which I always bear you, and take this for a short answer to all your questions; look how much you have, so much is your value, and so much do I love you." The father, supposing that she spoke this out of the abundance of her heart, was highly provoked, and immediately replied, "Since you have so far despised my old age as not to think me worthy the love that your sisters express for me, you shall have from me the like regard, and shall be excluded from any share with your sisters in my kingdom. Notwithstanding, I do not say but that since you are my daughter, I will marry you to some foreigner, if fortune offers you any such husband; but will never, I do assure you, make it my business to procure so honourable a match for you as for your sisters; because, though I have hitherto loved you more than them, you have in requital thought me less worthy of your affection than they." And, without further delay, after consultation with his nobility, he bestowed his two other daughters upon the dukes of Cornwall and Albania, with half the island at present, but after his death, the inheritance of the whole monarchy of Britain. It happened after this, that Aganippus, king of the Franks, having heard of the fame of Cordeilla's beauty, forthwith sent his ambassadors to the king to demand her in marriage. The father, retaining yet his anger towards her, made answer, "That he was very willing to bestow his daughter, but without either money or territories; because he had already given away his kingdom with all his treasure to his eldest daughters, Gonorilla and Regau." When this was told Aganippus, he, being very much in love with the lady, sent again to king Leir, to tell him, "That he had money and territories enough, as he possessed the third part of Gaul, and desired no more than his daughter only, that he might have heirs by her." At last the match was concluded; Cordeilla was sent to Gaul, and married to Aganippus. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 164: King Lear, the hero of Shakespeare's drama.] [Footnote 165: Leicester.] CHAP. XII.--_Leir, finding the ingratitude of his two eldest daughters, betakes himself to his youngest, Cordeilla, in Gaul._ A long time after this, when Leir came to be infirm through old age, the two dukes, on whom he had bestowed Britain with his two daughters, fostered an insurrection against him, and deprived him of his kingdom, and of all regal authority, which he had hitherto exercised with great power and glory. At length, by mutual agreement, Maglaunus, duke of Albania, one of his sons-in-law, was to allow him a maintenance at his own house, together with sixty soldiers, who were to be kept for state. After two years' stay with his son-in-law, his daughter Gonorilla grudged the number of his men, who began to upbraid the ministers of the court with their scanty allowance; and, having spoken to her husband about it, she gave orders that the numbers of her father's followers should be reduced to thirty, and the rest discharged. The father, resenting this treatment, left Maglaunus, and went to Henuinus, duke of Cornwall, to whom he had married his daughter Regau. Here he met with an honourable reception, but before the year was at an end, a quarrel happened between the two families, which raised Regau's indignation; so that she commanded her father to discharge all his attendants but five, and to be contented with their service. This second affliction was insupportable to him, and made him return again to his former daughter, with hopes that the misery of his condition might move in her some sentiments of filial piety, and that he, with his family, might find a subsistence with her. But she, not forgetting her resentment, swore by the gods he should not stay with her, unless he would dismiss his retinue, and be contented with the attendance of one man; and with bitter reproaches she told him how ill his desire of vain-glorious pomp suited his age and poverty. When he found that she was by no means to be prevailed upon, he was at last forced to comply, and, dismissing the rest, to take up with one man only. But by this time he began to reflect more sensibly with himself upon the grandeur from which he had fallen, and the miserable state to which he was now reduced, and to enter upon thoughts of going beyond sea to his youngest daughter. Yet he doubted whether he should be able to move her commiseration, because (as was related above) he had treated her so unworthily. However, disdaining to bear any longer such base usage, he took ship for Gaul. In his passage he observed he had only the third place given him among the princes that were with him in the ship, at which, with deep sighs and tears, he burst forth into the following complaint:-- "O irreversible decrees of the Fates, that never swerve from your stated course! why did you ever advance me to an unstable felicity, since the punishment of lost happiness is greater than the sense of present misery? The remembrance of the time when vast numbers of men obsequiously attended me in the taking the cities and wasting the enemy's countries, more deeply pierces my heart than the view of my present calamity, which has exposed me to the derision of those who were formerly prostrate at my feet. Oh! the enmity of fortune! Shall I ever again see the day when I may be able to reward those according to their deserts who have forsaken me in my distress? How true was thy answer, Cordeilla, when I asked thee concerning thy love to me, 'As much as you have, so much is your value, and so much do I love you.' While I had anything to give they valued me, being friends, not to me, but to my gifts: they loved me then, but they loved my gifts much more: when my gifts ceased, my friends vanished. But with what face shall I presume to see you, my dearest daughter, since in my anger I married you upon worse terms than your sisters, who, after all the mighty favours they have received from me, suffer me to be in banishment and poverty?" As he was lamenting his condition in these and the like expressions, he arrived at Karitia,[166] where his daughter was, and waited before the city while he sent a messenger to inform her of the misery he was fallen into, and to desire her relief for a father who suffered both hunger and nakedness. Cordeilla was startled at the news, and wept bitterly, and with tears asked how many men her father had with him. The messenger answered, he had none but one man, who had been his armour-bearer, and was staying with him without the town. Then she took what money she thought might be sufficient, and gave it to the messenger, with orders to carry her father to another city, and there give out that he was sick, and to provide for him bathing, clothes, and all other nourishment. She likewise gave orders that he should take into his service forty men, well clothed and accoutred, and that when all things were thus prepared he should notify his arrival to king Aganippus and his daughter. The messenger quickly returning, carried Leir to another city, and there kept him concealed, till he had done every thing that Cordeilla had commanded. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 166: Calais.] CHAP. XIII.--_He is very honourably received by Cordeilla and the king of Gaul._ As soon as he was provided with his royal apparel, ornaments, and retinue, he sent word to Aganippus and his daughter, that he was driven out of his kingdom of Britain by his sons-in-law, and was come to them to procure their assistance for recovering his dominions. Upon which they, attended with their chief ministers of state and the nobility of the kingdom, went out to meet him, and received him honourably, and gave into his management the whole power of Gaul, till such time as he should be restored to his former dignity. CHAP. XIV.--_Leir, being restored to the kingdom by the help of his son-in-law and Cordeilla, dies._ In the meantime Aganippus sent officers over all Gaul to raise an army, to restore his father-in-law to his kingdom of Britain. Which done, Leir returned to Britain with his son and daughter and the forces which they had raised, where he fought with his sons-in-law and routed them. Having thus reduced the whole kingdom to his power, he died the third year after. Aganippus also died; and Cordeilla, obtaining the government of the kingdom, buried her father in a certain vault, which she ordered to be made for him under the river Sore, in Leicester, and which had been built originally under the ground to the honour of the god Janus. And here all the workmen of the city, upon the anniversary solemnity of that festival, used to begin their yearly labours. CHAP. XV.--_Cordeilla, being imprisoned, kills herself. Margan, aspiring to the whole kingdom, is killed by Cunedagius._ After a peaceful possession of the government for five years, Cordeilla began to meet with disturbances from the two sons of her sisters, being both young men of great spirit, whereof one, named Margan, was born to Maglaunus, and the other, named Cunedagius, to Henuinus. These, after the death of their fathers, succeeding them in their dukedoms, were incensed to see Britain subject to a woman, and raised forces in order to raise a rebellion against the queen; nor would they desist from hostilities, till, after a general waste of her countries, and several battles fought, they at last took her and put her in prison, where for grief at the loss of her kingdom she killed herself. After this they divided the island between them; of which the part that reaches from the north side of the Humber to Caithness, fell to Margan; the other part from the same river westward was Cunedagius's share. At the end of two years, some restless spirits that took pleasure in the troubles of the nation, had access to Margan, and inspired him with vain conceits, by representing to him how mean and disgraceful it was for him not to govern the whole island, which was his due by right of birth. Stirred up with these and the like suggestions, he marched with an army through Cunedagius's country, and began to burn all before him. The war thus breaking out, he was met by Cunedagius with all his forces, who attacked Margan, killing no small number of his men, and, putting him to flight, pursued him from one province to another, till at last he killed him in a town of Kambria, which since his death has been by the country people called Margan to this day. After the victory, Cunedagius gained the monarchy of the whole island, which he governed gloriously for three and thirty years. At this time flourished the prophets Isaiah and Hosea, and Rome was built upon the eleventh before the Kalends of May by the two brothers, Romulus and Remus.[167] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 167: About the year before Christ, 753.] CHAP. XVI.--_The successors of Cunedagius in the kingdom. Ferrex is killed by his brother Porrex, in a dispute for the government._ At last Cunedagius dying, was succeeded by his son Rivallo, a fortunate youth, who diligently applied himself to the affairs of the government. In his time it rained blood three days together, and there fell vast swarms of flies, followed by a great mortality among the people. After him succeeded Gurgustius his son; after him Sisillius; after him Jago, the nephew of Gurgustius; after him Kinmarcus the son of Sisillius; after him Gorbogudo, who had two sons, Ferrex and Porrex. When their father grew old they began to quarrel about the succession; but Porrex, who was the most ambitious of the two, forms a design of killing his brother by treachery, which the other discovering, escaped, and passed over into Gaul. There he procured aid from Suard king of the Franks, with which he returned and made war upon his brother; coming to an engagement, Ferrex was killed and all his forces cut to pieces. When their mother, whose name was Widen, came to be informed of her son's death, she fell into a great rage, and conceived a mortal hatred against the survivor. For she had a greater affection for the deceased than for him, so that nothing less would appease her indignation for his death, than her revenging it upon her surviving son. She took therefore her opportunity when he was asleep, fell upon him, and with the assistance of her women tore him to pieces. From that time a long civil war oppressed the people, and the island became divided under the power of five kings, who mutually harassed one another. CHAP. XVII.--_Dunwallo Molmutius gains the sceptre of Britain, from whom came the Molmutine laws._ At length arose a youth of great spirit, named Dunwallo Molmutius, who was the son of Cloten king of Cornwall, and excelled all the kings of Britain in valour and gracefulness of person. When his father was dead, he was no sooner possessed of the government of that country, than he made war against Ymner king of Loegria, and killed him in battle. Hereupon Rudaucus king of Kambria, and Staterius king of Albania, had a meeting, wherein they formed an alliance together, and marched thence with their armies into Dunwallo's country to destroy all before them. Dunwallo met them with thirty thousand men, and gave them battle; and when a great part of the day was spent in the fight, and the victory yet dubious, he drew off six hundred of his bravest men, and commanded them to put on the armour of the enemies that were slain, as he himself also did, throwing aside his own. Thus accoutred he marched up with speed to the enemy's ranks, as if he was of their party, and approaching the very place where Rudaucus and Staterius were, commanded his men to fall upon them. In this assault the two kings were killed and many others with them. But Dunwallo Molmutius, fearing lest in this disguise his own men might fall upon him, returned with his companions to put off the enemy's armour, and take his own again; and then encouraged them to renew the assault, which they did with great vigour, and in a short time got the victory, by dispersing and putting to flight the enemy. From hence he marched into the enemy's countries, destroyed their towns and cities, and reduced the people under his obedience. When he had made an entire reduction of the whole island, he prepared for himself a crown of gold, and restored the kingdom to its ancient state. This prince established what the Britons call the Molmutine laws, which are famous among the English to this day. In these, among other things, of which St. Gildas wrote a long time after, he enacted, that the temples of the gods, as also cities, should have the privilege of giving sanctuary and protection to any fugitive or criminal, that should flee to them from his enemy. He likewise enacted, that the ways leading to those temples and cities, as also husbandman's ploughs, should be allowed the same privilege. So that in his day, the murders and cruelties committed by robbers were prevented, and every body passed safe without any violence offered him. At last, after a reign of forty years spent in these and other acts of government, he died, and was buried in the city of Trinovantum, near the temple of Concord, which he himself built, when he first established his laws. BOOK III. CHAP. I.--_Brennius quarrels with Belinus his brother, and in order to make war against him, marries the daughter of the king of the Norwegians._ After this a violent quarrel happened between his two sons Belinus and Brennius, who were both ambitious of succeeding to the kingdom. The dispute was, which of them should have the honour of wearing the crown. After a great many sharp conflicts that passed between them, the friends of both interposed, and brought them to agree on the division of the kingdom on these terms: that Belinus should enjoy the crown of the island, with the dominions of Loegria, Kambria, and Cornwall, because, according to the Trojan constitution, the right of inheritance would come to him as the elder: and Brennius, as being the younger, should be subject to his brother, and have for his share Northumberland, which extended from the river Humber to Caithness. The covenant therefore being confirmed upon these conditions, they ruled the country for five years in peace and justice. But such a state of prosperity could not long stand against the endeavours of faction. For some lying incendiaries gained access to Brennius and addressed him in this manner:-- "What sluggish spirit has possessed you, that you can bear subjection to Belinus, to whom by parentage and blood you are equal; besides your experience in military affairs, which you have gained in several engagements, when you so often repulsed Cheulphus, general of the Morini, in his invasions of our country, and drove him out of your kingdom? Be no longer bound by a treaty which is a reproach to you, but marry the daughter of Elsingius, king of the Norwegians, that with his assistance you may recover your lost dignity." The young man, inflamed with these and the like specious suggestions, hearkened to them, and went to Norway, where he married the king's daughter, as his flatterers had advised him. CHAP. II.--_Brennius's sea-fight with Guichthlac, king of the Dacians. Guichthlac and Brennius's wife are driven ashore and taken by Belinus._ In the meantime his brother, informed of this, was violently incensed, that without his leave he had presumed to act thus against him. Whereupon he marched into Northumberland, and possessed himself of that country and the cities in it, which he garrisoned with his own men. Brennius, upon notice given him of what his brother had done, prepared a fleet to return to Britain with a great army of Norwegians. But while he was under sail with a fair wind, he was overtaken by Guichthlac, king of the Dacians,[168] who had pursued him. This prince had been deeply in love with the young lady that Brennius had married, and out of mere grief and vexation for the loss of her, had prepared a fleet to pursue Brennius with all expedition. In the sea-fight that happened on this occasion, he had the fortune to take the very ship in which the lady was, and brought her in among his companions. But during the engagement, contrary winds arose on a sudden, which brought on a storm, and dispersed the ships upon different shores: so that the king of the Dacians, being driven up and down, after a course of five days, arrived with the lady at Northumberland, under dreadful apprehensions, as not knowing upon what country this unforeseen casualty had thrown him. When this came to be known to the country people, they took them and carried them to Belinus, who was upon the sea-coast, expecting the arrival of his brother. There were with Guichthlac's ship three others, one of which had belonged to Brennius's fleet. As soon as they had declared to the king who they were, he was overjoyed at this happy accident, while he was endeavouring to revenge himself on his brother. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 168: The Danes.] CHAP. III.--_Belinus in a battle routs Brennius, who thereupon flees to Gaul._ A few days after appeared Brennius, with his fleet again got together, and arrived in Albania; and having received information of the capture of his wife and others, and that his brother had seized the kingdom of Northumberland in his absence, he sent his ambassadors to him, to demand the restitution of his wife and kingdom; and if he refused them, to declare that he would destroy the whole island from sea to sea, and kill his brother whenever he could come to an engagement with him. On the other hand, Belinus absolutely refused to comply with his demands, and assembling together the whole power of the island, went into Albania to give him battle. Brennius, upon advice that he had suffered a repulse, and that his brother was upon his march against him, advanced to meet him in a wood called Calaterium, in order to attack him. When they were arrived on the field of battle, each of them divided his men into several bodies, and approaching one another, began the fight. A great part of the day was spent in it, because on both sides the bravest men were engaged; and much blood was shed by reason of the fury with which they encountered each other. So great was the slaughter, that the wounded fell in heaps, like standing corn cut down by reapers. At last the Britons prevailing, the Norwegians fled with their shattered troops to their ships, but were pursued by Belinus, and killed without mercy. Fifteen thousand men fell in the battle, nor were there a thousand of the rest that escaped unhurt. Brennius with much difficulty securing one ship, went as fortune drove him to the coasts of Gaul; but the rest that attended him, were forced to sculk up and down wherever their misfortunes led them. CHAP. IV.--_The king of Dacia, with Brennius's wife, is released out of prison._ Belinus, after this victory, called a council of his nobility, to advise with them what he should do with the king of the Dacians, who had sent a message to him out of prison, that he would submit himself and the kingdom of Dacia to him, and also pay a yearly tribute, if he might have leave to depart with his mistress. He offered likewise to confirm this covenant with an oath, and the giving of hostages. When this proposal was laid before the nobility, they unanimously gave their assent that Belinus should grant Guichthlac his petition upon the terms offered. Accordingly he did grant it, and Guichthlac was released from prison, and returned with his mistress into Dacia. CHAP. V.--_Belinus revives and confirms the Molmutine laws, especially about the highways._ Belinus now finding no body in the kingdom of Britain able to make head against him, and being possessed of the sovereignty of the whole island from sea to sea, confirmed the laws his father had made, and gave command for a settled execution of justice through his kingdom. But above all things he ordered that cities, and the roads leading to them, should enjoy the same privilege of peace that Dunwallo had established. But there arose a controversy about the roads, because the limits determining them were unknown. The king, therefore, willing to clear the law of all ambiguities, summoned all the workmen of the island together, and commanded them to pave a causeway of stone and mortar, which should run the whole length of the island, from the sea of Cornwall, to the shores of Caithness, and lead directly to the cities that lay along that extent. He commanded another to be made over the breadth of the kingdom, leading from Menevia, that was situated upon the Demetian Sea, to Hamo's Port, and to pass through the interjacent cities. Other two he also made obliquely through the island, for a passage to the rest of the cities.[169] He then confirmed to them all honours and privileges, and prescribed a law for the punishment of any injury committed upon them. But if any one is curious to know all that he decreed concerning them, let him read the Molmutine laws, which Gildas the historian translated from British into Latin, and king Alfred into English. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 169: This seems to be a false account of the Roman roads in Britain.] CHAP. VI.--_Brennius, being made duke of the Allobroges, returns to Britain to fight with his brother._ While Belinus was thus reigning in peace and tranquillity, his brother Brennius, who (as we said before) was driven upon the coasts of Gaul, suffered great torments of mind. For it was a great affliction to him to be banished from his country, and to have no power of returning to retrieve his loss. Being ignorant what course to take, he went among the princes of Gaul, accompanied only with twelve men; and when he had related his misfortune to every one of them, but could procure assistance from none, he went at last to Seginus, duke of the Allobroges, from whom he had an honourable reception. During his stay here, he contracted such an intimacy with the duke, that he became the greatest favourite in the court. For in all affairs, both of peace and war, he showed a great capacity, so that this prince loved him with a paternal affection. He was besides of a graceful aspect, tall and slender in stature, and expert in hunting and fowling, as became his princely birth. So great was the friendship between them, that the duke resolved to give him his only daughter in marriage; and in case he himself should have no male issue, he appointed him and his daughter to succeed him in his dukedom of the Allobroges after his death. But if he should yet have a son, then he promised his assistance to advance him to the kingdom of Britain. Neither was this the desire of the duke only, but of all the nobility of his court, with whom he had very much ingratiated himself. So then without farther delay the marriage was solemnized, and the princes of the country paid their homage to him, as the successor to the throne. Scarcely was the year at an end before the duke died; and then Brennius took his opportunity of engaging those princes of the country firmly in his interest, whom before he had obliged with his friendship. And this he did by bestowing generously upon them the duke's treasure, which had been hoarded up from the times of his ancestors. But that which the Allobroges most esteemed him for, was his sumptuous entertainments, and keeping an open house for all. CHAP. VII.--_Belinus and Brennius being made friends by the mediation of their mother, propose to subdue Gaul._ When he had thus gained universal affection, he began to consult with himself how he might take revenge upon his brother Belinus. And when he had signified his intentions concerning it to his subjects, they unanimously concurred with him, and expressed their readiness to attend him to whatever kingdom he pleased to conduct them. He therefore soon raised a vast army, and having entered into a treaty with the Gauls for a free passage through their country into Britain, fitted out a fleet upon the coast of Neustria, in which he set sail, and with a fair wind arrived at the island. Upon hearing the rumour of his coming, his brother Belinus, accompanied with the whole strength of the kingdom, marched out to engage him. But when the two armies were drawn out in order of battle, and just ready to begin the attack, Conwenna, their mother, who was yet living, ran in great haste through the ranks, impatient to see her son, whom she had not seen for a long time. As soon, therefore, as she had with trembling steps reached the place where he stood, she threw her arms about his neck, and in transports kissed him; then uncovering her bosom, she addressed herself to him, in words interrupted with sighs, to this effect:-- "My son, remember these breasts which gave you suck, and the womb wherein the Creator of all things formed you, and from whence he brought you forth into the world, while I endured the greatest anguish. By the pains then which I suffered for you, I entreat you to hear my request: pardon your brother, and moderate your anger. You ought not to revenge yourself upon him who has done you no injury. As for what you complain of,--that you were banished your country by him,--if you duly consider the result, in strictness can it be called injustice? He did not banish you to make your condition worse, but forced you to quit a meaner that you might attain a higher dignity. At first you enjoyed only a part of a kingdom, and that in subjection to your brother. As soon as you lost that, you became his equal, by gaining the kingdom of the Allobroges. What has he then done, but raised you from a vassal to be a king? Consider farther, that the difference between you began not through him, but through yourself, who, with the assistance of the king of Norway, raised an insurrection against him." Moved by these representations of his mother, he obeyed her with a composed mind, and putting off his helmet of his own accord, went straight with her to his brother. Belinus, seeing him approach with a peaceable countenance, threw down his arms, and ran to embrace him; so that now, without more ado, they again became friends; and disarming their forces marched with them peaceably together to Trinovantum. And here, after consultation what enterprise to undertake, they prepared to conduct their confederate army into the provinces of Gaul, and reduce that entire country to their subjection. CHAP. VIII.--_Belinus and Brennius, after the conquest of Gaul, march with their army to Rome._ They accordingly passed over into Gaul the year after, and began to lay waste that country. The news of which spreading through those several nations, all the petty kings of the Franks entered into a confederacy, and went out to fight against them. But the victory falling to Belinus and Brennius, the Franks fled with their broken forces; and the Britons and Allobroges, elevated with their success, ceased not to pursue them till they had taken their kings, and reduced them to their power. Then fortifying the cities which they had taken, in less than a year they brought the whole kingdom into subjection. At last, after a reduction of all the provinces, they marched with their whole army towards Rome, and destroyed the cities and villages as they passed through Italy. CHAP. IX.--_The Romans make a covenant with Brennius, but afterwards break it, for which reason Rome is besieged and taken by Brennius._ In those days the two consuls of Rome were Gabius and Porsena,[170] to whose care the government of the country was committed. When they saw that no nation was able to withstand the power of Belinus and Brennius, they came, with the consent of the senate to them, to desire peace and amity. They likewise offered large presents of gold and silver, and to pay a yearly tribute, on condition that they might be suffered to enjoy their own in peace. The two kings therefore, taking hostages of them, yielded to their petition, and drew back their forces into Germany. While they were employing their arms in harassing that people, the Romans repented of their agreement, and again taking courage, went to assist the Germans. This step highly enraged the kings against them, who concerted measures how to carry on a war with both nations. For the greatness of the Italian army was a terror to them. The result of their council was, that Belinus with the Britons stayed in Germany, to engage with the enemy there; while Brennius and his army marched to Rome, to revenge on the Romans their breach of treaty. As soon as the Italians perceived their design, they quitted the Germans, and hastened to get before Brennius, in his march to Rome. Belinus had intelligence of it, and speedily marched with his army the same night, and possessing himself of a valley through which the enemy was to pass, lay hid there in expectation of their coming. The next day the Italians came in full march to the place; but when they saw the valley glittering with the enemy's armour, they were struck with confusion, thinking Brennius and the Galli Senones were there. At this favourable opportunity, Belinus on a sudden rushed forth, and fell furiously upon them: the Romans on the other hand, thus taken by surprise, fled the field, since they neither were armed, nor marched in any order. But Belinus gave them no quarter, and was only prevented by night coming on, from making a total destruction of them. With this victory he went straight to Brennius, who had now besieged Rome three days. Then joining their armies, they assaulted the city on every side, and endeavoured to level the walls: and to strike a greater terror into the besieged, erected gibbets before the gates of the city, and threatened to hang up the hostages whom they had given, unless they would surrender. But the Romans, nothing moved by the sufferings of their sons and relations, continued inflexible, and resolute to defend themselves. They therefore sometimes broke the force of the enemy's engines, by other engines of their own, sometimes repulsed them from the walls with showers of darts. This so incensed the two brothers, that they commanded four and twenty of their noblest hostages to be hanged in the sight of their parents. The Romans, however, were only more hardened at the spectacle, and having received a message from Gabius and Porsena, their consuls, that they would come the next day to their assistance, they resolved to march out of the city, and give the enemy battle. Accordingly, just as they were ranging their troops in order, the consuls appeared with their re-assembled forces, marching up to the attack, and advancing in a close body, fell on the Britons and Allobroges by surprise, and being joined by the citizens that sallied forth, killed no small number. The brothers, in great grief to see such destruction made of their fellow soldiers, began to rally their men, and breaking in upon the enemy several times, forced them to retire. In the end, after the loss of many thousands of brave men on both sides, the brothers gained the day, and took the city, not however till Gabius was killed and Porsena taken prisoner. This done, they divided among their men all the hidden treasure of the city. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 170: The absurdity of describing Porsena king of Etruria, as one of the Roman consuls, must be apparent to every reader. No less evident is it that the whole of this fictitious account is founded upon the known fact that Rome was taken by the Gauls commanded by one Brennus.] CHAP. X.--_Brennius oppresses Italy in a most tyrannical manner. Belinus returns to Britain._ After this complete victory, Brennius stayed in Italy, where he exercised unheard-of tyranny over the people. But the rest of his actions and his death, seeing that they are given in the Roman histories, I shall here pass over, to avoid prolixity and meddling with what others have treated of, which is foreign to my design. But Belinus returned to Britain, which he governed during the remainder of his life in peace; he repaired the cities that were falling to ruin, and built many new ones. Among the rest he built one upon the river Uske, near the sea of the Severn, which was for a long time called Caer-osc, and was the metropolis of Dimetia;[171] but after the invasion of the Romans it lost its first name, and was called the City of Legions, from the Roman legions which used to take up their winter quarters in it. He also made a gate of wonderful structure in Trinovantum, upon the bank of the Thames, which the citizens call after his name Billingsgate to this day. Over it he built a prodigiously large tower, and under it a haven or quay for ships. He was a strict observer of justice, and re-established his father's laws everywhere throughout the kingdom. In his days there was so great an abundance of riches among the people, that no age before or after is said to have shown the like. At last, when he had finished his days, his body was burned, and the ashes put up in a golden urn, which they placed at Trinovantum, with wonderful art, on the top of the tower above-mentioned. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 171: Newport, the principal town of South Wales.] CHAP. XI.--_Gurgiunt Brabtruc, succeeding his father Belinus, reduces Dacia, which was trying to shake off his yoke._ He was succeeded by Gurgiunt Brabtruc, his son, a sober prudent prince, who followed the example of his father in all his actions, and was a lover of peace and justice. When some neighbouring provinces rebelled against him, inheriting with them the bravery of his father, he repressed their insolence in several fierce battles, and reduced them to a perfect subjection. Among many other things it happened, that the king of the Dacians, who paid tribute in his father's time, refused not only tribute, but all manner of homage to him. This he seriously resented, and passed over in a fleet to Dacia, where he harassed the people with a most cruel war, slew their king, and reduced the country to its former dependence. CHAP. XII.--_Ireland is given to be inhabited by the Barclenses, who had been banished out of Spain._ At that time, as he was returning home from his conquest through the Orkney islands, he found thirty ships full of men and women; and upon his inquiring of them the occasion of their coming thither, their leader, named Partholoim, approached him in a respectful and submissive manner, and desired pardon and peace, telling him that he had been driven out of Spain, and was sailing round those seas in quest of a habitation. He also desired some small part of Britain to dwell in, that they might put an end to their tedious wanderings; for it was now a year and a half since he had been driven from his country, all of which time he and his company had been out at sea. When Gurgiunt Brabtruc understood that they came from Spain, and were called Barclenses, he granted their petition, and sent men with them to Ireland, which was then wholly uninhabited, and assigned it to them. There they grew up and increased in number, and have possessed that island to this very day. Gurgiunt Brabtruc after this ended his days in peace, and was buried in the City of Legions, which, after his father's death, he ornamented with buildings and fortified with walls. CHAP. XIII.--_Guithelin, reigning after Gurgiunt Brabtruc, the Martian law is instituted by Martia, a noble woman._ After him Guithelin wore the crown, which he enjoyed all his life, treating his subjects with mildness and affection. He had for his wife a noble lady named Martia, accomplished in all kinds of learning. Among many other admirable productions of her wit, she was the author of what the Britons call the Martian law. This also among other things king Alfred translated, and called it in the Saxon tongue, _Pa Marchitle Lage_. Upon the death of Guithelin, the government of the kingdom remained in the hands of this queen and her son Sisilius, who was then but seven years old, and therefore unfit to take the government upon himself alone. CHAP. XIV.--_Guithelin's successors in the kingdom._ For this reason the mother had the sole management of affairs committed to her, out of a regard to her great sense and judgment. But on her death, Sisilius took the crown and government. After him reigned Kimarus his son, to whom succeeded Danius his brother. After his death the crown came to Morvidus, whom he had by his concubine Tangustela. He would have been a prince of extraordinary worth, had he not been addicted to immoderate cruelty, so far that in his anger he spared nobody, if any weapon were at hand. He was of a graceful aspect, extremely liberal, and of such vast strength as not to have his match in the whole kingdom. CHAP. XV.--_Morvidus, a most cruel tyrant, after the conquest of the king of the Morini, is devoured by a monster._ In his time a certain king of the Morini[172] arrived with a great force in Northumberland, and began to destroy the country. But Morvidus, with all the strength of the kingdom, marched out against him, and fought him. In this battle he alone did more than the greatest part of his army, and after the victory, suffered none of the enemy to escape alive. For he commanded them to be brought to him one after another, that he might satisfy his cruelty in seeing them killed; and when he grew tired of this, he gave orders that they should be flayed alive and burned. During these and other monstrous acts of cruelty, an accident happened which put a period to his wickedness. There came from the coasts of the Irish sea, a most cruel monster, that was continually devouring the people upon the sea-coasts. As soon as he heard of it, he ventured to go and encounter it alone; when he had in vain spent all his darts upon it, the monster rushed upon him, and with open jaws swallowed him up like a small fish. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 172: The people who lived near Boulogne.] CHAP. XVI.--_Gorbonian, a most just king of the Britons._ He had five sons, whereof the eldest, Gorbonian, ascended the throne. There was not in his time a greater lover of justice and equity, or a more careful ruler of the people. The performance of due worship to the gods, and doing justice to the common people, were his continual employments. Through all the cities of Britain, he repaired the temples of the gods, and built many new ones. In all his days, the island abounded with riches, more than all the neighbouring countries. For he gave great encouragement to husbandmen in their tillage, by protecting them against any injury or oppression of their lords; and the soldiers he amply rewarded with money, so that no one had occasion to do wrong to another. Amidst these and many other acts of his innate goodness, he paid the debt of nature, and was buried at Trinovantum. CHAP. XVII.--_Arthgallo is deposed by the Britons, and is succeeded by Elidure, who restores him again his kingdom._ After him Arthgallo, his brother, was dignified with the crown, and in all his actions he was the very reverse of his brother. He everywhere endeavoured to depress the nobility, and advance the baser sort of the people. He plundered the rich, and by those means amassed vast treasures. But the nobility, disdaining to bear his tyranny any longer, made an insurrection against him, and deposed him; and then advanced Elidure, his brother, who was afterwards surnamed the pious, on account of his commiseration to Arthgallo in distress. For after five years' possession of the kingdom, as he happened to be hunting in the wood Calaterium, he met his brother that had been deposed. For he had travelled over several kingdoms, to desire assistance for the recovery of his lost dominions, but had procured none. And being now no longer able to bear the poverty to which he was reduced, he returned back to Britain, attended only by ten men, with a design to repair to those who had been formerly his friends. It was at this time, as he was passing through the wood, his brother Elidure, who little expected it, got sight of him, and forgetting all injuries, ran to him, and affectionately embraced him. Now as he had long lamented his brother's affliction, he carried him with him to the city Alclud, where he hid him in his bed-chamber. After this, he feigned himself sick, and sent messengers over the whole kingdom, to signify to all his prime nobility that they should come to visit him. Accordingly, when they were all met together at the city where he lay, he gave orders that they should come into his chamber one by one, softly, and without noise: his pretence for which was, that their talk would be a disturbance to his head, should they all crowd in together. Thus, in obedience to his commands, and without the least suspicion of any design, they entered his house one after another. But Elidure had given charge to his servants, who were set ready for the purpose, to take each of them as they entered, and cut off their heads, unless they would again submit themselves to Arthgallo his brother. Thus did he with every one of them apart, and compelled them, through fear, to be reconciled to Arthgallo. At last the agreement being ratified, Elidure conducted Arthgallo to York, where he took the crown from his own head, and put it on that of his brother. From this act of extraordinary affection to his brother, he obtained the surname of Pious. Arthgallo after this reigned ten years, and made amends for his former mal-administration, by pursuing measures of an entirely opposite tendency, in depressing the baser sort, and advancing men of good birth; in suffering every one to enjoy his own, and exercising strict justice towards all men. At last sickness seizing him, he died and was buried in the city Kaerleir. CHAP. XVIII.--_Elidure is imprisoned by Peredure, after whose death he is a third time advanced to the throne._ Then Elidure was again advanced to the throne, and restored to his former dignity. But while in his government he followed the example of his eldest brother Gorbonian, in performing all acts of grace; his two remaining brothers, Vigenius and Peredure, raised an army, and made war against him, in which they proved victorious; so that they took him prisoner, and shut him up in the tower[173] at Trinovantum, where they placed a guard over him. They then divided the kingdom betwixt them; that part which is from the river Humber westward falling to Vigenius's share, and the remainder with all Albania to Peredure's. After seven years Vigenius died, and so the whole kingdom came to Peredure, who from that time governed the people with generosity and mildness, so that he even excelled his other brothers who had preceded him, nor was any mention now made of Elidure. But irresistible fate at last removed him suddenly, and so made way for Elidure's release from prison, and advancement to the throne the third time; who finished the course of his life in just and virtuous actions, and after death left an example of piety to his successors. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 173: The tower of London was built or at least repaired and enlarged by William Rufus. The story of its having been originally constructed by Julius Cæsar is an absurd fiction irreconcilable with the Commentaries of that general. See William of Malmesbury, p. 341.] CHAP. XIX.--_The names of Elidure's thirty-three successors._ Elidure being dead, Gorbonian's son enjoyed the crown, and imitated his uncle's wise and prudent government. For he abhorred tyranny, and practised justice and mildness towards the people, nor did he ever swerve from the rule of equity. After him reigned Margan, the son of Arthgallo, who, being instructed by the examples of his immediate predecessors, held the government in peace. To him succeeded Enniaunus, his brother, who took a contrary course, and in the sixth year of his reign was deposed, for having preferred a tyrannical to a just and legal administration. In his room was placed his kinsman Idwallo, the son of Vigenius, who, being admonished by Enniaunus's ill success, became a strict observer of justice and equity. To him succeeded Runno, the son of Peredure, whose successor was Geruntius, the son of Elidure. After him reigned Catellus, his son; after Catellus, Coillus; after Coillus, Porrex; after Porrex, Cherin. This prince had three sons, Fulgenius, Eldadus, and Andragius, who all reigned one after another. Then succeeded Urianus, the son of Andragius; after whom reigned in order, Eliud, Cledaucus, Cletonus, Gurgintius, Merianus, Bleduno, Cap, Oenus, Sisilius, Blegabred. This last prince, in singing and playing upon musical instruments, excelled all the musicians that had been before him, so that he seemed worthy of the title of the God of Jesters. After him reigned Arthmail, his brother; after Arthmail, Eldol; to whom succeeded in order, Redion, Rederchius, Samuilpenissel, Pir, Capoir, and Cligueillus the son of Capoir, a man prudent and mild in all his actions, and who above all things made it his business to exercise true justice among his people. CHAP. XX.--_Heli's three sons; the first of whom, viz. Lud, gives name to the city of London._ Next to him succeeded his son Heli, who reigned forty years. He had three sons, Lud, Cassibellaun,[174] and Nennius; of whom Lud, being the eldest, succeeded to the kingdom after his father's death. He became famous for the building of cities, and for rebuilding the walls of Trinovantum, which he also surrounded with innumerable towers. He likewise commanded the citizens to build houses, and all other kinds of structures in it, so that no city in all foreign countries to a great distance round could show more beautiful palaces. He was withal a warlike man, and very magnificent in his feasts and public entertainments. And though he had many other cities, yet he loved this above them all, and resided in it the greater part of the year; for which reason it was afterwards called Kaerlud, and by the corruption of the word, Caerlondon; and again by change of languages, in process of time, London; as also by foreigners who arrived here, and reduced this country under their subjection, it was called Londres. At last, when he was dead, his body was buried by the gate which to this time is called in the British tongue after his name, Parthlud,[175] and in the Saxon, Ludesgata. He had two sons, Androgeus and Tenuantius, who were incapable of governing on account of their age: and therefore their uncle Cassibellaun was preferred to the kingdom in their room. As soon as he was crowned, he began to display his generosity and magnificence to such a degree, that his fame reached to distant kingdoms; which was the reason that the monarchy of the whole kingdom came to be invested in him, and not in his nephews. Notwithstanding Cassibellaun, from an impulse of piety, would not suffer them to be without their share in the kingdom, but assigned a large part of it to them. For he bestowed the city of Trinovantum, with the dukedom of Kent, on Androgeus; and the dukedom of Cornwall on Tenuantius. But he himself, as possessing the crown, had the sovereignty over them, and all the other princes of the island. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 174: The British name of this prince is probably Caswallon.] [Footnote 175: In Latin _Porta Lud_.] BOOK IV. CHAP. I.--_Julius Cæsar invades Britain._ About this time it happened, (as is found in the Roman histories,) that Julius Cæsar, having subdued Gaul, came to the shore of the Ruteni. And when from thence he had got a prospect of the island of Britain, he inquired of those about him what country it was, and what people inhabited it. Then fixing his eyes upon the ocean, as soon as he was informed of the name of the kingdom and the people, he said:[176] "In truth we Romans and the Britons have the same origin, since both are descended from the Trojan race. Our first father, after the destruction of Troy, was Æneas; theirs, Brutus, whose father was Sylvius, the son of Ascanius, the son of Æneas. But I am deceived, if they are not very much degenerated from us, and know nothing of the art of war, since they live separated by the ocean from the whole world. They may be easily forced to become our tributaries, and subjects to the Roman state. But before the Romans offer to invade or assault them, we must send them word that they pay tribute as other nations do, and submit themselves to the senate; for fear we should violate the ancient nobility of our father Priamus, by shedding the blood of our kinsmen." All which he accordingly took care to signify in writing to Cassibellaun; who in great indignation returned him an answer in the following letter. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 176: It is ridiculous to suppose that Cæsar said any thing of the kind, for he knew well the slender historical evidence on which the Trojan story depended.] CHAP. II.--_Cassibellaunus's letter to Julius Cæsar._ "Cassibellaun, king of the Britons, to Caius Julius Cæsar. We cannot but wonder, Cæsar, at the avarice of the Roman people, since their insatiable thirst for money cannot let us alone, though the dangers of the ocean have placed us in a manner out of the world; but they must have the presumption to covet our substance, which we have hitherto enjoyed in quiet. Neither is this indeed sufficient: we must also choose subjection and slavery to them, before the enjoyment of our native liberty. Your demand, therefore, Cæsar, is scandalous, since the same vein of nobility flows from Æneas in both Britons and Romans, and one and the same chain of consanguinity unites us: which ought to be a band of firm union and friendship. It was that, which you should have demanded of us, and not slavery: we have learned to admit of the one, but never to bear the other. And so much have we been accustomed to liberty, that we are perfectly ignorant what it is to submit to slavery. And if even the gods themselves should attempt to deprive us of our liberty, we would, to the utmost of our power, resist them in defence of it. Know then, Cæsar, that we are ready to fight for that and our kingdom, if, as you threaten, you shall attempt to invade Britain." CHAP. III.--_Cæsar is routed by Cassibellaun._ On receiving this answer, Cæsar made ready his fleet, and waited for a fair wind to execute his threats against Cassibellaun. As soon as the wind stood fair, he hoisted his sails, and arrived with his army at the mouth of the river Thames. The ships were now just come close to land, when Cassibellaun with all his forces appeared on his march against them, and coming to the town of Dorobellum, he consulted with his nobility how to drive out the enemy. There was present with him Belinus, general of his army, by whose counsel the whole kingdom was governed. There were also his two nephews, Androgeus, duke of Trinovantum, and Tenuantius, duke of Cornwall, together with three inferior kings, Cridious, king of Albania, Guerthaeth of Venedotia, and Britael of Dimetia, who, as they had encouraged the rest to fight the enemy, gave their advice to march directly to Cæsar's camp, and drive them out of the country before they could take any city or town. For if he should possess himself of any fortified places, they said it would be more difficult to force him out, because he would then know whither to make a retreat with his men. To this proposal they all agreed, and advanced towards the shore where Julius Cæsar had pitched his camp. And now both armies drew out in order of battle, and began the fight, wherein both bows and swords were employed. Immediately the wounded fell in heaps on each side, and the ground was drenched with the blood of the slain, as much as if it had been washed with the sudden return of the tide. While the armies were thus engaged, it happened that Nennius and Androgeus, with the citizens of Canterbury and Trinovantum, whom they commanded, had the fortune to meet with the troop in which Cæsar himself was present. And upon an assault made, the general's cohort was very nearly routed by the Britons falling upon them in a close body. During this action, fortune gave Nennius an opportunity of encountering Cæsar. Nennius therefore boldly made up to him, and was in great joy that he could but give so much as one blow to so great a man. On the other hand, Cæsar being aware of his design, stretched out his shield to receive him, and with all his might struck him upon the helmet with his drawn sword, which he lifted up again with an intention to finish his first blow, and make it mortal; but Nennius carefully prevented him with his shield, upon which Cæsar's sword glancing with great force from the helmet, became so firmly fastened therein, that when by the intervention of the troops they could no longer continue the encounter, the general was not able to draw it out again. Nennius, thus becoming master of Cæsar's sword, threw away his own, and pulling the other out, made haste to employ it against the enemy. Whomsoever he struck with it, he either cut off his head, or left him wounded without hopes of recovery. While he was thus exerting himself, he was met by Labienus, a tribune, whom he killed in the very beginning of the encounter. At last, after the greatest part of the day was spent, the Britons poured in so fast, and made such vigorous efforts, that by the blessing of God they obtained the victory, and Cæsar, with his broken forces, retired to his camp and fleet. The very same night, as soon as he had got his men together again, he went on board his fleet, rejoicing that he had the sea for his camp. And upon his companions dissuading him from continuing the war any longer, he acquiesced in their advice, and returned back to Gaul. CHAP. IV.--_Nennius, the brother of Cassibellaun, being wounded in battle by Cæsar, dies._ Cassibellaun, in joy for this triumph, returned solemn thanks to God; and calling the companions of his victory together, amply rewarded every one of them, according as they had distinguished themselves. On the other hand, he was very much oppressed with grief for his brother Nennius, who lay mortally wounded, and at the very point of death. For Cæsar had wounded him in the encounter, and the blow which he had given him proved incurable; so that fifteen days after the battle he died, and was buried at Trinovantum, by the North Gate. His funeral obsequies were performed with regal pomp, and Cæsar's sword put into the tomb with him, which he had kept possession of, when struck into his shield in the combat. The name of the sword was _Crocea Mors_ (Yellow Death), as being mortal to every body that was wounded with it. CHAP. V.--_Cæsar's inglorious return to Gaul._ After this flight of Cæsar, and his arrival on the Gallic coast, the Gauls attempted to rebel and throw off his yoke. For they thought he was so much weakened, that his forces could be no longer a terror to them. Besides, a general report was spread among them, that Cassibellaun was now out at sea with a vast fleet to pursue him in his flight; on which account the Gauls, growing still more bold, began to think of driving him from their coasts. Cæsar, aware of their designs, was not willing to engage in a doubtful war with a fierce people, but rather chose to go to all their first nobility with open treasures, and reconcile them with presents. To the common people he promised liberty, to the dispossessed the restitution of their estates, and to the slaves their freedom. Thus he that had insulted them before with the fierceness of a lion, and plundered them of all, now, with the mildness of a lamb, fawns on them with submissive abject speeches, and is glad to restore all again. To these acts of meanness he was forced to condescend till he had pacified them, and was able to regain his lost power. In the meantime not a day passed without his reflecting upon his flight, and the victory of the Britons. CHAP. VI.--_Cassibellaun forms a stratagem for sinking Cæsar's ships._ After two years were expired, he prepared to cross the sea again, and revenge himself on Cassibellaun, who having intelligence of his design, everywhere fortified his cities, repaired the ruined walls, and placed armed men at all the ports. In the river Thames, on which Cæsar intended to sail up to Trinovantum, he caused iron and leaden stakes, each as thick as a man's thigh, to be fixed under the surface of the water, that Cæsar's ships might founder. He then assembled all the forces of the island, and took up his quarters with them near the sea-coasts, in expectation of the enemy's coming. CHAP. VII.--_Cæsar a second time vanquished by the Britons._ After he had furnished himself with all necessaries, the Roman general embarked with a vast army, eager to revenge himself on a people that had defeated him; in which he undoubtedly would have succeeded, if he could but have brought his fleet safe to land; but this he was not able to do. For in sailing up the Thames to Trinovantum, the ships struck against the stakes, which so endangered them all on a sudden, that many thousands of the men were drowned, while the ships being pierced sank into the river. Cæsar, upon this, employed all his force to shift his sails, and hastened to get back again to land. And so those that remained, after a narrow escape, went on shore with him. Cassibellaun, who was present upon the bank, with joy observed the disaster of the drowned, but grieved at the escape of the rest; and upon his giving a signal to his men, made an attack upon the Romans, who, notwithstanding the danger they had suffered in the river, when landed, bravely withstood the Britons; and having no other fence to trust to but their own courage, they made no small slaughter; but yet suffered a greater loss themselves, than that which they were able to give the enemy. For their number was considerably diminished by their loss in the river; whereas the Britons being hourly increased with new recruits, were three times their number, and by that advantage defeated them. Cæsar, seeing he could no longer maintain his ground, fled with a small body of men to his ships, and made the sea his safe retreat; and as the wind stood fair, he hoisted his sails, and steered to the shore of the Morini. From thence he repaired to a certain tower, which he had built at a place called Odnea, before this second expedition into Britain. For he durst not trust the fickleness of the Gauls, who he feared would fall upon him a second time, as we have said already they did before, after the first flight he was forced to make before the Britons. And on that account he had built this tower for a refuge to himself, that he might be able to maintain his ground against a rebellious people, if they should make insurrection against him. CHAP. VIII.--_Evelinus kills Hirelglas. Androgeus desires Cæsar's assistance against Cassibellaun._ Cassibellaun, elevated with joy for this second victory, published a decree, to summon all the nobility of Britain with their wives to Trinovantum, in order to perform solemn sacrifices to their tutelary gods who had given them the victory over so great a commander. Accordingly, they all appeared, and prepared a variety of sacrifices, for which there was a great slaughter of cattle. At this solemnity they offered forty thousand cows, and a hundred thousand sheep, and also fowls of several kinds without number, besides thirty thousand wild beasts of several kinds. As soon as they had performed these solemn honours to their gods, they feasted themselves on the remainder, as was usual at such sacrifices, and spent the rest of the day and night in various plays and sports. Amidst these diversions, it happened that two noble youths, whereof one was nephew to the king, the other to duke Androgeus, wrestled together, and afterwards had a dispute about the victory. The name of the king's nephew was Hirelglas, the other's Evelinus. As they were reproaching each other, Evelinus snatched up his sword and cut off the head of his rival. This sudden disaster put the whole court into a consternation, upon which the king ordered Evelinus to be brought before him, that he might be ready to undergo such punishment as the nobility should determine, and that the death of Hirelglas might be revenged upon him, if he were unjustly killed. Androgeus, suspecting the king's intentions, made answer that he had a court of his own, and that whatever should be alleged against his own men, ought to be determined there. If, therefore, he was resolved to demand justice of Evelinus, he might have it at Trinovantum, according to ancient custom. Cassibellaun, finding he could not attain his ends, threatened Androgeus to destroy his country with fire and sword, if he would not comply with his demands. But Androgeus, now incensed, scorned all compliance with him. On the other hand, Cassibellaun, in a great rage, hastened to make good his threats, and ravage the country. This forced Androgeus to make use of daily solicitations to the king, by means of such as were related to him, or intimate with him, to divert his rage. But when he found these methods ineffectual, he began in earnest to consider how to oppose him. At last, when all other hopes failed, he resolved to request assistance from Cæsar, and wrote a letter to him to this effect:-- "Androgeus, duke of Trinovantum, to Caius Julius Cæsar, instead of wishing death as formerly, now wishes health. I repent that ever I acted against you, when you made war against the king. Had I never been guilty of such exploits, you would have vanquished Cassibellaun, who is so swollen with pride since his victory, that he is endeavouring to drive me out of his coasts, who procured him that triumph. Is this a fit reward for my services? I have settled him in an inheritance; and he endeavours to disinherit me. I have a second time restored him to the kingdom: and he endeavours to destroy me. All this have I done for him in fighting against you. I call the gods to witness I have not deserved his anger, unless I can be said to deserve it for refusing to deliver up my nephew, whom he would have condemned to die unjustly. Of which, that you may be better able to judge, hear this account of the matter. It happened that for joy of the victory we performed solemn honours to our tutelary gods, in which after we had finished our sacrifices, our youth began to divert themselves with sports. Among the rest our two nephews, encouraged by the example of the others, entered the lists; and when mine had got the better, the other without any cause was incensed, and just going to strike him: but he avoided the blow, and taking him by the hand that held the sword, strove to wrest it from him. In this struggle the king's nephew happened to fall upon the sword's point, and died upon the spot. When the king was informed of it, he commanded me to deliver up the youth, that he might be punished for murder. I refused do it; whereupon he invaded my provinces with all his forces, and has given me very great disturbance; flying, therefore, to your clemency, I desire your assistance, that by you I may be restored to my dignity, and by me you may gain possession of Britain. Let no doubts or suspicion of treachery in this matter detain you. Be influenced by the common motive of mankind; let past enmities beget a desire of friendship; and after defeat make you more eager for victory." CHAP. IX.--_Cassibellaun, being put to flight, and besieged by Cæsar, desires peace._ Cæsar, having read the letter, was advised by his friends not to go into Britain upon a bare verbal invitation of the duke, unless he would send such hostages as might be for his security. Without delay, therefore, Androgeus sent his son Scæva with thirty young noblemen nearly related to him. Upon delivery of the hostages, Cæsar, relieved from his suspicion, re-assembled his forces, and with a fair wind arrived at the port of Rutupi. In the meantime Cassibellaun had begun to besiege Trinovantum and ravage the country towns; but finding that Cæsar was arrived, he raised the siege and hastened to meet him. As soon as he entered a valley near Dorobernia,[177] he saw the Roman army preparing their camp: for Androgeus had conducted them to this place, for the convenience of making a sudden assault upon the city. The Romans, seeing the Britons advancing towards them, quickly flew to their arms, and ranged themselves in several bodies. The Britons also put on their arms, and placed themselves in their ranks. But Androgeus with five thousand men lay hid in a wood hard by, to be ready to assist Cæsar, and spring forth on a sudden upon Cassibellaun and his party. Both armies now approached to begin the fight, some with bows and arrows, some with swords, so that much blood was shed on both sides, and the wounded fell down like leaves in autumn. While they were thus engaged, Androgeus sallied forth from the wood, and fell upon the rear of Cassibellaun's army, upon which the hopes of the battle entirely depended. And now, what with the breach which the Romans had made through them just before, what with the furious irruption of their own countrymen, they were no longer able to stand their ground, but were obliged with their broken forces to quit the field. Near the place stood a rocky mountain, on the top of which was a thick hazel wood. Hither Cassibellaun fled with his men after he found himself worsted; and having climbed up to the top of the mountain, bravely defended himself and killed the pursuing enemy. For the Roman forces with those of Androgeus pursued him to disperse his flying troops, and climbing up the mountain after them made many assaults, but all to little purpose; for the rockiness of the mountain and great height of its top was a defence to the Britons, and the advantage of higher ground gave them an opportunity of killing great numbers of the enemy. Cæsar hereupon besieged the mountain that whole night, which had now overtaken them, and shut up all the avenues to it; intending to reduce the king by famine, since he could not do it by force of arms. Such was the wonderful valour of the British nation in those times, that they were able to put the conqueror of the world twice to flight; and being ready to die for the defence of their country and liberty, they, even though defeated, withstood him whom the whole world could not withstand. Hence Lucan in their praise says of Cæsar, "Territa quæsitis ostendit terga Britannis." With pride he sought the Britons, but when found, Dreaded their force, and fled the hostile ground. Two days were now passed, when Cassibellaun having consumed all his provision, feared famine would oblige him to surrender himself prisoner to Cæsar. For this reason he sent a message to Androgeus to make his peace with Julius, lest the honour of the nation might suffer by his being taken prisoner. He likewise represented to him, that he did not deserve to be pursued to death for the annoyance which he had given him. As soon as the messengers had told this to Androgeus, he made answer:--"That prince deserves not to be loved, who in war is mild as a lamb, but in peace cruel as a lion. Ye gods of heaven and earth! Does my lord then condescend to entreat me now, whom before he took upon him to command? Does he desire to be reconciled and make his submission to Cæsar, of whom Cæsar himself had before desired peace? He ought therefore to have considered, that he who was able to drive so great a commander out of the kingdom, was able also to bring him back again. I ought not to have been so unjustly treated, who had then done him so much service, as well as now so much injury. He must be mad who either injures or reproaches his fellow soldiers by whom he defeats the enemy. The victory is not the commander's, but theirs who lose their blood in fighting for him. However, I will procure him peace if I can, for the injury which he has done me is sufficiently revenged upon him, since he sues for mercy to me." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 177: Canterbury] CHAP. X.--_Androgeus's speech to Cæsar._ Androgeus after this went to Cæsar, and after a respectful salutation addressed him in this manner:--"You have sufficiently revenged yourself upon Cassibellaun; and now let clemency take place of vengeance. What more is there to be done than that he make his submission and pay tribute to the Roman state?" To this Cæsar returned him no answer: upon which Androgeus said again; "My whole engagement with you, Cæsar, was only to reduce Britain under your power, by the submission of Cassibellaun. Behold! Cassibellaun is now vanquished, and Britain by my assistance become subject to you. What further service do I owe you? God forbid that I should suffer my sovereign, who sues to me for peace, and makes me satisfaction for the injury which he has done me, to be in prison or in chains. It is no easy matter to put Cassibellaun to death while I have life; and if you do not comply with my demand, I shall not be ashamed to give him my assistance." Cæsar, alarmed at these menaces of Androgeus, was forced to comply, and entered into peace with Cassibellaun, on condition that he should pay a yearly tribute of three thousand pounds of silver. So then Julius and Cassibellaun from this time became friends, and made presents to each other. After this, Cæsar wintered in Britain, and the following spring returned into Gaul.[178] At length he assembled all his forces, and marched towards Rome against Pompey. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 178: "Cæsar's expedition against the Britons was of singular boldness; for he was the first who proceeded with a fleet to the Western Ocean, and sailed over the Atlantic Sea, conducting an army to war; and being desirous of possessing an island, for its size hardly believed in, and giving occasion for much controversy to various writers, as if a name and a tale had been invented of a place which never had been nor was yet in existence, he advanced the dominion of the Romans beyond the limits of the known world; and having twice sailed over to the island from the opposite coast of Gaul, and having rather worsted his enemies in many battles, than advantaged his own soldiers, for there was nothing worth taking from men who had a bare subsistence and were poor, he terminated the war not in the way he wished; but taking hostages from the king, and appointing tributes, he departed from the island."--PLUTARCH. This is the language of a writer favourable to the reputation of Cæsar, and may teach us how worthless are the old British or rather Welsh legends in comparison with the classic historians. But the classic historians deal sometimes in fables. Witness the following quotation from Polyænus: "Cæsar attempting to pass a large river in Britain, Cassolaulus, king of the Britons, obstructed him with many horsemen and chariots. Cæsar had in his train a very large elephant, an animal hitherto unseen by the Britons. Having armed him with scales of iron, and put a large tower upon him, and placed therein archers and slingers, he ordered them to enter the stream. The Britons were amazed at beholding a beast till then unseen, and of an extraordinary nature. As to the horses, what need to write of them! since even among the Greeks, horses fly on seeing elephants even without harness, but thus towered and armed, and casting darts and slinging, they could not endure even to look upon the sight. The Britons therefore fled with their horses and chariots. Thus the Romans passed the river without molestation, having terrified the enemy by a single animal."] CHAP. XI.--_Tenuantius is made king of Britain after Cassibellaun._ After seven years had expired, Cassibellaun died and was buried at York. He was succeeded by Tenuantius, duke of Cornwall, and brother of Androgeus: for Androgeus was gone to Rome with Cæsar. Tenuantius therefore, now wearing the crown, governed the kingdom with diligence. He was a warlike man, and a strict observer of justice. After him Kymbelinus his son was advanced to the throne, being a great soldier, and brought up by Augustus Cæsar. He had contracted so great a friendship with the Romans, that he freely paid them tribute when he might have very well refused it. In his days was born our Lord Jesus Christ, by whose precious blood mankind was redeemed from the devil, under whom they had been before enslaved. CHAP. XII.--_Upon Guiderius's refusing to pay tribute to the Romans, Claudius Cæsar invades Britain._ Kymbelinus, when he had governed Britain ten years, begat two sons, the elder named Guiderius, the other Arviragus. After his death the government fell to Guiderius. This prince refused to pay tribute to the Romans; for which reason Claudius, who was now emperor, marched against him. He was attended in this expedition by the commander of his army, who was called in the British tongue, Leuis Hamo, by whose advice the following war was to be carried on. This man, therefore, arriving at the city of Portcester, [Portchester,] began to block up the gates with a wall, and denied the citizens all liberty of passing out. For his design was either to reduce them to subjection by famine, or kill them without mercy. CHAP. XIII.--_Leuis Hamo, a Roman, by wicked treachery kills Guiderius._ Guiderius, upon the news of Claudius's coming, assembled all the soldiery of the kingdom, and went to meet the Roman army. In the battle that ensued, he began the assault with great eagerness, and did more execution with his own sword than the greater part of his army. Claudius was now on the point of retreating to his ships, and the Romans very nearly routed, when the crafty Hamo, throwing aside his own armour, put on that of the Britons, and as a Briton fought against his own men. Then he exhorted the Britons to a vigorous assault, promising them a speedy victory. For he had learned their language and manners, having been educated among the British hostages at Rome. By these means he approached by little and little to the king, and seizing a favourable opportunity, stabbed him while under no apprehension of danger, and then escaped through the enemy's ranks to return to his men with the news of his detestable exploit. But Arviragus, his brother, seeing him killed, forthwith put off his own and put on his brother's habiliments, and, as if he had been Guiderius himself, encouraged the Britons to stand their ground. Accordingly, as they knew nothing of the king's disaster, they made a vigorous resistance, fought courageously, and killed no small number of the enemy. At last the Romans gave ground, and dividing themselves into two bodies, basely quitted the field. Cæsar with one part, to secure himself, retired to his ships; but Hamo fled to the woods, because he had not time to get to the ships. Arviragus, therefore, thinking that Claudius fled along with him, pursued him with all speed, and did not leave off harassing him from place to place, till he overtook him upon a part of the sea-coast, which, from the name of Hamo, is now called Southampton. There was at the same place a convenient haven for ships, and some merchant-ships at anchor. And just as Hamo was attempting to get on board them, Arviragus came upon him unawares, and forthwith killed him. And ever since that time the haven has been called Hamo's port. CHAP. XIV.--_Arviragus, king of Britain, makes his submission to Claudius, who with his assistance conquers the Orkney islands._ In the meantime, Claudius, with his remaining forces, assaulted the city above-mentioned, which was then called Kaerperis, now Portcestre, and presently levelled the walls, and having reduced the citizens to subjection, went after Arviragus, who had entered Winchester. Afterwards he besieged that city, and employed a variety of engines against it. Arviragus, seeing himself in these straits, called his troops together, and opened the gates, to march out and give him battle. But just as he was ready to begin the attack, Claudius, who feared the boldness of the king and the bravery of the Britons, sent a message to him with a proposal of peace; choosing rather to reduce them by wisdom and policy, than run the hazard of a battle. To this purpose he offered a reconciliation with him, and promised to give him his daughter, if he would only acknowledge the kingdom of Britain subject to the Roman state. The nobility hereupon persuaded him to lay aside thoughts of war, and be content with Claudius's promise; representing to him at the same time, that it was no disgrace to be subject to the Romans, who enjoyed the empire of the whole world. By these and many other arguments he was prevailed upon to hearken to their advice, and make his submission to Cæsar. After which Claudius sent to Rome for his daughter, and then, with the assistance of Arviragus, reduced the Orkney and the provincial islands to his power.[179] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 179: Claudius never was in Orkney; he spent only sixteen days altogether in Britain. Of certain sacred isles in the neighbourhood of Britain, Plutarch gives the following account, showing how little the Greeks knew of Britain eighty years after the reign of Claudius: "A short time before Callistratus celebrated the Pythian games, two holy men from the opposite parts of the habitable earth came to us at Delphos, Demetrius the grammarian from Britain, returning home to Tarsus, and Cleombrotus the Lacedæmonian.... But Demetrius said, that there are many desert islands scattered around Britain, some of which have the name of being the islands of genii and heroes: that he had been sent by the emperor, for the sake of describing and viewing them, to that which lay nearest to the desert isles, and which had but few inhabitants; all of whom were esteemed by the Britons sacred and inviolable. Very soon after his arrival there was great turbulence in the air, and many portentous storms; the winds became tempestuous, and fiery whirlwinds rushed forth. When these ceased, the islanders said that the departure of some one of the superior genii had taken place. For as a light when burning, say they, has nothing disagreeable, but when extinguished is offensive to many; so likewise lofty spirits afford an illumination benignant and mild, but their extinction and destruction frequently, as at the present moment, excite winds and storms, and often infect the atmosphere with pestilential evils. Moreover, that there was one island there, wherein Saturn was confined by Briareus in sleep: for that sleep had been devised for his bonds; and that around him were many genii as his companions and attendants. "Asclepiades asserts, that after their thirtieth year the Ethiopians, being scorched by the sun, quickly grow old, in consequence of their bodies being overheated; whereas in Britain they advance to an hundred and twenty years, in consequence of the coldness of the place and their retaining within themselves the vital heat: for the bodies of the Ethiopians are more slender from their being relaxed by the sun, whereas the inhabitants of the north are thick set in their persons, and on this account longer lived."] CHAP. XV.--_Claudius gives his daughter Genuissa for a wife to Arviragus, and returns to Rome._ As soon as the winter was over, those that were sent for Claudius's daughter returned with her, and presented her to her father. The damsel's name was Genuissa, and so great was her beauty, that it raised the admiration of all that saw her. After her marriage with the king, she gained so great an ascendant over his affections, that he in a manner valued nothing but her alone: insomuch that he was desirous to have the place honoured where the nuptials were solemnized, and moved Claudius to build a city upon it, for a monument to posterity of so great and happy a marriage. Claudius consented to it, and commanded a city to be built, which after his name is called Kaerglou, that is Gloucester, to this day, and is situated on the confines of Dimetia and Loegria, upon the banks of the Severn. But some say that it derived its name from Duke Gloius, a son that was born to Claudius there, and to whom, after the death of Arviragus, fell the dukedom of Dimetia. The city being finished, and the island now enjoying peace, Claudius returned to Rome, leaving to Arviragus the government of the British islands. At the same time the apostle Peter founded the Church of Antioch; and afterwards coming to Rome, was bishop there, and sent Mark, the evangelist, into Egypt to preach the gospel which he had written. CHAP. XVI.--_Arviragus revolting from the Romans, Vespasian is sent into Britain._ After the departure of Claudius, Arviragus began to show his wisdom and courage, to rebuild cities and towns, and to exercise so great authority over his own people, that he became a terror to the kings of remote countries. But this so elevated him with pride that he despised the Roman power, disdained any longer subjection to the senate, and assumed to himself the sole authority in every thing. Upon this news Vespasian was sent by Claudius to procure a reconciliation with Arviragus, or to reduce him to the subjection of the Romans. When, therefore, Vespasian arrived at the haven of Rutupi,[180] Arviragus met him, and prevented his entering the port. For he brought so great an army along with him, that the Romans, for fear of his falling upon them, durst not come ashore. Vespasian upon this withdrew from that port, and shifting his sails arrived at the shore of Totness. As soon as he was landed, he marched directly to besiege Kaerpenhuelgoit, now Exeter; and after lying before it seven days, was overtaken by Arviragus and his army, who gave him battle. That day great destruction was made in both armies, but neither got the victory. The next morning, by the mediation of queen Genuissa, the two leaders were made friends, and sent their men over to Ireland. As soon as winter was over, Vespasian returned to Rome, but Arviragus continued still in Britain. Afterwards, when he grew old, he began to show much respect to the senate, and to govern his kingdom in peace and tranquillity. He confirmed the old laws of his ancestors, and enacted some new ones, and made very ample presents to all persons of merit. So that his fame spread over all Europe, and he was both loved and feared by the Romans, and became the subject of their discourse more than any king in his time. Hence Juvenal relates how a certain blind man, speaking of a turbot that was taken, said:-- "Regem aliquem capies, aut de temone Britanno Decidet Arviragus."[181] Arviragus shall from his chariot fall, Or thee his lord some captive king shall call. In war none was more fierce than he, in peace none more mild, none more pleasing, or in his presents more magnificent. When he had finished his course of life, he was buried at Gloucester, in a certain temple which he had built and dedicated to the honour of Claudius.[182] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 180: Richborough.] [Footnote 181: Juven. Sat. iv. 26.] [Footnote 182: Although this narrative of the reign of Arviragus is purely imaginative, yet it is not impossible that Gloucester may have been a station founded by Claudius, and hence called Claudii Castrum, or Caer Glan.] CHAP. XVII.--_Rodric, leader of the Picts, is vanquished by Marius._ His son Marius, a man of admirable prudence and wisdom, succeeded him in the kingdom. In his reign a certain king of the Picts, named Rodric, came from Scythia with a great fleet, and arrived in the north part of Britain, which is called Albania, and began to ravage that country. Marius therefore raising an army went in quest of him, and killed him in battle, and gained the victory; for a monument of which he set up a stone in the province, which from his name was afterwards called Westmoreland, where there is an inscription retaining his memory to this day. He gave the conquered people that came with Rodric liberty to inhabit that part of Albania which is called Caithness, that had been a long time desert and uncultivated. And as they had no wives, they desired to have the daughters and kinswomen of the Britons. But the Britons refused, disdaining to unite with such a people. Having suffered a repulse here, they sailed over into Ireland, and married the women of that country, and by their offspring increased their number. But let thus much suffice concerning them, since I do not propose to write the history of this people, or of the Scots, who derived their original from them and the Irish. Marius, after he had settled the island in perfect peace, began to love the Roman people, paying the tribute that was demanded of him; and in imitation of his father's example practised justice, law, peace, and every thing that was honourable in his kingdom. CHAP. XVIII.--_Marius dying, is succeeded by Coillus._ As soon as he had ended his days, his son Coillus took upon him the government of the kingdom. He had been brought up from his infancy at Rome, and having been taught the Roman manners, had contracted a most strict amity with them. He likewise paid them tribute, and declined making them any opposition, because he saw the whole world subject to them, and that no town or country was out of the limits of their power. By paying therefore what was required of him, he enjoyed his kingdom in peace: and no king ever showed greater respect to his nobility, not only permitting them to enjoy their own with quiet, but also binding them to him by his continual bounty and munificence. CHAP. XIX.--_Lucius is the first British king that embraces the Christian faith, together with his people._ Coillus had but one son, named Lucius, who, obtaining the crown after his father's decease, imitated all his acts of goodness, and seemed to his people to be no other than Coillus himself revived. As he had made so good a beginning, he was willing to make a better end: for which purpose he sent letters to pope Eleutherius, desiring to be instructed by him in the Christian religion. For the miracles which Christ's disciples performed in several nations wrought a conviction in his mind; so that being inflamed with an ardent love of the true faith, he obtained the accomplishment of his pious request. For that holy pope, upon receipt of this devout petition, sent to him two most religious doctors, Faganus and Duvanus, who, after they had preached concerning the incarnation of the Word of God, administered baptism to him, and made him a proselyte to the Christian faith. Immediately upon this, people from all countries, assembling together, followed the king's example, and being washed in the same holy laver, were made partakers of the kingdom of heaven. The holy doctors, after they had almost extinguished paganism over the whole island, dedicated the temples, that had been founded in honour of many gods, to the one only God and his saints, and filled them with congregations of Christians. There were then in Britain eight and twenty flamens, as also three archflamens, to whose jurisdiction the other judges and enthusiasts were subject. These also, according to the apostolic command, they delivered from idolatry, and where they were flamens made them bishops, where archflamens, archbishops. The seats of the archflamens were at the three noblest cities, viz. London,[183] York, and the City of Legions, which its old walls and buildings show to have been situated upon the river Uske in Glamorganshire. To these three, now purified from superstition, were made subject twenty-eight bishops, with their dioceses. To the metropolitan of York were subject Deira and Albania, which the great river Humber divides from Loegria. To the metropolitan of London were subject Loegria and Cornwall. These two provinces the Severn divides from Kambria or Wales, which was subject to the City of Legions. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 183: This fabulous story of the flamens and archflamens, and of the substitution of bishops and archbishops in their places, led, in later years, to serious disputes between the bishops of Canterbury, York, and London.] CHAP. XX.--_Faganus and Duvanus give an account at Rome, of what they had done in Britain._ At last, when they had made an entire reformation here, the two prelates returned to Rome, and desired the pope to confirm what they had done. As soon as they had obtained a confirmation, they returned again to Britain, accompanied with many others, by whose doctrine the British nation was in a short time strengthened in the faith. Their names and acts are recorded in a book which Gildas wrote concerning the victory of Aurelius Ambrosius; and what is delivered in so bright a treatise, needs not to be repeated here in a meaner style.[184] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 184: This treatise has not been preserved, and most probably never was written. The only information which has come down to us about king Lucius, at all likely to be of an authentic character, is a brief notice of him in Bede's Ecclesiastical History, p. 10.] BOOK V. CHAP. I.--_Lucius dies without issue, and is a benefactor to the churches._ In the meantime, the glorious king Lucius highly rejoiced at the great progress which the true faith and worship had made in his kingdom, and permitted the possessions and territories which formerly belonged to the temples of the gods, to be converted to a better use, and appropriated to Christian churches. And because a greater honour was due to them than to the others, he made large additions of lands and manor-houses, and all kinds of privileges to them. Amidst these and other acts of his great piety, he departed this life in the city of Gloucester, and was honourably buried in the cathedral church, in the hundred and fifty-sixth year after our Lord's incarnation. He had no issue to succeed him, so that after his decease there arose a dissension among the Britons, and the Roman power was much weakened. CHAP. II.--_Severus, a senator, subdues part of Britain: his war with Fulgenius._ When this news was brought to Rome, the senate despatched Severus, a senator, with two legions, to reduce the country to subjection. As soon as he was arrived, he came to a battle with the Britons, part of whom he obliged to submit to him, and the other part which he could not subdue he endeavoured to distress in several cruel engagements, and forced them to fly beyond Deira into Albania. Notwithstanding which they opposed him with all their might under the conduct of Fulgenius, and often made great slaughter both of their own countrymen and of the Romans. For Fulgenius, brought to his assistance all the people of the islands that he could find, and so frequently gained the victory. The emperor, not being able to resist the irruptions which he made, commanded a wall to be built between Deira and Albania, to hinder his excursions upon them; they accordingly made one at the common charge from sea to sea, which for a long time hindered the approach of the enemy. But Fulgenius, when he was unable to make any longer resistance, made a voyage into Scythia, to desire the assistance of the Picts towards his restoration. And when he had got together all the forces of that country, he returned with a great fleet into Britain, and besieged York. Upon this news being spread through the country, the greatest part of the Britons deserted Severus, and went over to Fulgenius. However this did not make Severus desist from his enterprise: but calling together the Romans, and the rest of the Britons that adhered to him, he marched to the siege, and fought with Fulgenius; but the engagement proving very sharp, he was killed with many of his followers: Fulgenius also was mortally wounded. Afterwards Severus was buried at York, which city was taken by his legions.[185] He left two sons, Bassianus and Geta, whereof Geta had a Roman for his mother, but Bassianus[186] a Briton. Therefore upon the death of their father the Romans made Geta king, favouring him on account of his being a Roman by both his parents: but the Britons rejected him, and advanced Bassianus, as being their countryman by his mother's side. This proved the occasion of a battle between the two brothers, in which Geta was killed; and so Bassianus obtained the sovereignty. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 185: The following is an extract from the true account of the expedition of Severus into Britain taken from Herodian: "[Severus] received letters from the præfect of Britain relating that the barbarians there were in a state of insurrection, overrunning the country, driving off booty, and laying every thing waste; so that for the defence of the island there was need either of greater force, or of the presence of the emperor himself. Severus heard this with pleasure, by nature a lover of glory, and anxious, after his victories in the east and north and his consequent titles, to obtain a trophy from the Britons: moreover, willing to withdraw his sons from Rome, that they might grow up in the discipline and sobriety of a military life, far removed from the blandishments and luxury prevalent in Rome, he orders an expedition against Britain, although now old and labouring under an arthritic affection; but as to his mind, he was vigorous beyond any youth. For the most part he performed the march carried in a litter, nor did he ever continue long in one place. Having completed the journey with his sons, and crossed over the sea more quickly than could be described or expected, he advanced against the Britons, and having drawn together his soldiers from all sides, and concentrated a vast force, he prepared for the war. "The Britons, much struck with the sudden arrival of the emperor, and learning that such a mighty force was collected against them, sent ambassadors, sued for peace, and were willing to excuse their past transgressions. But Severus, purposely seeking delay that he might not again return to Rome without his object, and, moreover, desirous to obtain from Britain a victory and a title, sent away their ambassadors without effecting their purpose, and prepared all things for the contest. He more especially endeavoured to render the marshy places stable by means of causeways, that his soldiers, treading with safety, might easily pass them, and, having firm footing, fight to advantage. For many parts of the British country, being constantly flooded by the tides of the ocean, become marshy. In these the natives are accustomed to swim and traverse about being immersed as high as their waists: for going naked as to the greater part of their bodies, they contemn the mud. Indeed they know not the use of clothing, but encircle their loins and necks with iron; deeming this an ornament and an evidence of opulence, in like manner as other barbarians esteem gold. But they puncture their bodies with pictured forms of every sort of animals; on which account they wear no clothing, lest they should hide the figures on their body. They are a most warlike and sanguinary race, carrying only a small shield and a spear, and a sword girded to their naked bodies. Of a breast-plate or an helmet they know not the use, esteeming them an impediment to their progress through the marshes; from the vapours and exhalations of which the atmosphere in that country always appears dense. "Against such things, therefore, Severus prepared whatever could be serviceable to the Roman army, but hurtful and detrimental to the designs of the barbarians. And when every thing appeared to him sufficiently arranged for the war, leaving his younger son, named Geta, in that part of the island which was subjugated to the Romans, for the purpose of administering justice and directing other civil matters of the government, giving him as assessors the more aged of his friends; and taking Antoninus with himself, he led the way against the barbarians. His army having passed beyond the rivers and fortresses which defended the Roman territory, there were frequent attacks and skirmishes and retreats on the side of the barbarians. To these, indeed, flight was an easy matter, and they lay hidden in the thickets and marshes through their local knowledge; all which things being adverse to the Romans, served to protract the war."] [Footnote 186: Otherwise called Caracalla.] CHAP. III.--_Carausius advanced to be king of Britain._ At that time there was in Britain one Carausius, a young man of mean birth, who, having given proof of his bravery in many engagements, went to Rome, and solicited the senate for leave to defend with a fleet the maritime coasts of Britain, from the incursions of barbarians; which if they would grant him, he promised to do more for the honour and service of the commonwealth, than by delivering up to them the kingdom of Britain. The senate, deluded by his specious promises, granted him his request, and so, with his commission sealed, he returned to Britain. Then by wicked practices getting a fleet together, he enlisted into his service a body of the bravest youths, and putting out to sea, sailed round the whole kingdom, causing very great disturbance among the people. In the meantime he invaded the adjacent islands, where he destroyed all before him, countries, cities, and towns, and plundered the inhabitants of all they had. By this conduct he encouraged all manner of dissolute fellows to flock to him in hope of plunder, and in a very short time was attended by an army which no neighbouring prince was able to oppose. This made him begin to swell with pride, and to propose to the Britons, that they should make him their king; for which consideration he promised to kill and banish the Romans, and free the whole island from the invasions of barbarous nations. Accordingly obtaining his request, he fell upon Bassianus and killed him, and then took upon him the government of the kingdom. For Bassianus was betrayed by the Picts, whom Fulgenius his mother's brother had brought with him into Britain, and who being corrupted by the promises and presents of Carausius, instead of assisting Bassianus, deserted him in the very battle, and fell upon his men; so that the rest were put into a consternation, and not knowing their friends from their foes, quickly gave ground, and left the victory to Carausius. Then he, to reward the Picts for this success, gave them a habitation in Albania, where they continued afterwards mixed with the Britons. CHAP. IV.--_Allectus kills Carausius, but is afterwards himself slain in flight by Asclepiodotus._ When the news of these proceedings of Carausius arrived at Rome, the senate commissioned[187] Allectus, with three legions, to kill the tyrant, and restore the kingdom of Britain to the Roman power. No sooner was he arrived, than he fought with Carausius, killed him, and took upon himself the government. After which he miserably oppressed the Britons, for having deserted the commonwealth, and adhered to Carausius. But the Britons, not enduring this, advanced Asclepiodotus, duke of Cornwall, to be their king, and then unanimously marched against Allectus, and challenged him to battle. He was then at London, celebrating a feast to his tutelary gods; but being informed of the coming of Asclepiodotus, he quitted the sacrifice, and went out with all his forces to meet him, and engaged with him in a sharp fight. But Asclepiodotus had the advantage, and dispersed and put to flight Allectus's troops, and in the pursuit killed many thousands, as also king Allectus himself. After this victory, Livius Gallus, the colleague of Allectus, assembled the rest of the Romans, shut the gates of the city, and placed his men in the towers and other fortifications, thinking by these means either to make a stand against Asclepiodotus, or at least to avoid imminent death. But Asclepiodotus seeing this laid siege to the city, and sent word to all the dukes of Britain, that he had killed Allectus with a great number of his men, and was besieging Gallus and the rest of the Romans in London; and therefore earnestly entreated them to hasten to his assistance, representing to them withal, how easy it was to extirpate the whole race of the Romans out of Britain, provided they would all join their forces against the besieged. At this summons came the Dimetians, Venedotians, Deirans, Albanians, and all others of the British race. And as soon as they appeared before the duke, he commanded vast numbers of engines to be made, to beat down the walls of the city. Accordingly every one readily executed his orders with great bravery, and made a violent assault upon the city, the walls of which were in a very short time battered down, and a passage made into it. After these preparations, they began a bloody assault upon the Romans, who, seeing their fellow soldiers falling before them without intermission, persuaded Gallus to offer a surrender on the terms of having quarter granted them, and leave to depart: for they were now all killed except one legion, which still held out. Gallus consented to the proposal, and accordingly surrendered himself and his men to Asclepiodotus, who was disposed to give them quarter; but he was prevented by a body of Venedotians, who rushed upon them, and the same day cut off all their heads upon a brook within the city, which from the name of the commander was afterwards called in the British tongue Nautgallim, and in the Saxon Gallembourne. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 187: Roman history must have been very little known in England, when such a statement as this could be put forth as true. Eutropius [ix. 22] says "Carausius, after seven years, was murdered by his companion Allectus, who after him held the government three years longer."] CHAP. V.--_Asclepiodotus obtains the crown. Diocletian's massacre of the Christians in Britain._ The Romans being thus defeated, Asclepiodotus,[188] with the consent of the people, placed the crown upon his own head, and governed the country in justice and peace ten years, and curbed the insolence and outrages committed by plunderers and robbers. In his days began the persecution of the emperor Diocletian; and Christianity, which from the time of king Lucius had continued fixed and undisturbed, was almost abolished over the whole island. This was principally owing to Maximianus Herculius, general of that tyrant's army, by whose command all the churches were pulled down, and all the copies of the Holy Scriptures that could be found, were burned in the public markets. The priests also, with the believers under their care, were put to death, and with emulation pressed in crowds together for a speedy passage to the joys of heaven, as their proper dwelling place. God therefore magnified his goodness to us, forasmuch as he did, in that time of persecution, of his mere grace, light up the bright lamps of the holy martyrs, to prevent the spreading of gross darkness over the people of Britain; whose sepulchres and places of suffering might have been a means of inflaming our minds with the greatest fervency of divine love, had not the deplorable impiety of barbarians deprived us of them. Among others of both sexes who continued firm in the army of Christ, and suffered, were Alban of Verulam, and Julius and Aaron, both of the City of Legions. Of these, Alban, out of the fervour of his charity, when his confessor, Amphibalus, was pursued by the persecutors, and just ready to be apprehended, first hid him in his house, and then offered himself to die for him; imitating in this Christ himself, who laid down his life for his sheep. The other two, after being torn limb from limb, in a manner unheard of, received the crown of martyrdom, and were elevated up to the gates of the heavenly Jerusalem. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 188: Asclepiodotus is hardly mentioned in the authentic history of this period. He was præfectus prætorio under Constantius Chlorus, who was the general that really recovered Britain from Allectus.] CHAP. VI.--_An insurrection against Asclepiodotus, by Coel, whose daughter Helena Constantius marries._ In the meantime Coel,[189] duke of Kaercolvin or Colchester, made an insurrection against king Asclepiodotus, and in a pitched battle killed him, and took possession of his crown. The senate, hearing this, rejoiced at the king's death, who had given such disturbance to the Roman power: and reflecting on the damage which they had sustained by the loss of this kingdom, they sent Constantius the senator, a man of prudence and courage, who had reduced Spain under their subjection, and who was above all the rest industrious to promote the good of the commonwealth. Coel, having information of his coming, was afraid to engage him in battle, on account of a report, that no king was able to stand before him. Therefore, as soon as Constantius was arrived at the island, Coel sent ambassadors to him with offers of peace and submission, on condition that he should enjoy the kingdom of Britain, and pay no more than the usual tribute to the Roman state. Constantius consented to this proposal, and so, upon their giving hostages, peace was confirmed between them. The month after Coel was seized with a very great sickness, of which he died within eight days. After his decease, Constantius himself was crowned, and married the daughter of Coel, whose name was Helena. She surpassed all the ladies of the country in beauty, as she did all others of the time in her skill in music and the liberal arts. Her father had no other issue to succeed him on the throne; for which reason he was very careful about her education, that she might be better qualified to govern the kingdom. Constantius, therefore, having made her partner of his bed, had a son by her called Constantine.[190] After eleven years were expired, he died at York, and bestowed the kingdom upon his son, who, within a few years after he was raised to this dignity, began to give proofs of heroic virtue, undaunted courage, and strict observance of justice towards his people. He put a stop to the depredations of robbers, suppressed the insolence of tyrants, and endeavoured everywhere to restore peace. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 189: This king seems to be the same as the hero of the old popular ditty, "Old king Coel was a merry old soul," &c.] [Footnote 190: Constantine was born long before Constantius Chlorus went to Britain. See the Roman Historians.] CHAP. VII.--_The Romans desire Constantine's assistance against the cruelty of Maxentius._ At that time there was a tyrant at Rome, named Maxentius,[191] who made it his endeavour to confiscate the estates of all the best of the nobility, and oppressed the commonwealth with his grievous tyranny. Whilst he, therefore, was proceeding in his cruelty, those that were banished fled to Constantine in Britain, and were honourably entertained by him. At last, when a great many such had resorted to him, they endeavoured to raise in him an abhorrence of the tyrant, and frequently expostulated with him after this manner:--"How long, Constantine, will you suffer our distress and banishment? Why do you delay to restore us to our native country? You are the only person of our nation that can restore to us what we have lost, by driving out Maxentius. For what prince is to be compared with the king of Britain, either for brave and gallant soldiers, or for large treasures? We entreat you to restore us to our estates, wives, and children, by conducting us with an army to Rome." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 191: Maxentius was son of Maximian who abdicated. The skeleton of this part of the history is taken from the authentic writers: but the details are entirely fictitious.] CHAP. VIII.--_Constantine, having reduced Rome, obtains the empire of the world. Octavius, duke of the Wisseans, is put to flight by Trahern._ Constantine, moved with these and the like speeches, made an expedition to Rome, and reduced it under his power, and afterwards obtained the empire of the whole world. In this expedition he carried along with him three uncles of Helena, viz. Leolin, Trahern, and Marius, and advanced them to the degree of senators. In the meantime Octavius, duke of the Wisseans, rebelled against the Roman proconsuls, to whom the government of the island had been committed, and having killed them, took possession of the throne. Constantine, upon information of this, sent Trahern, the uncle of Helena, with three legions to reduce the island. Trahern came to shore near the city, which in the British tongue is called Kaerperis, and having assailed it, took it in two days. This news spreading over the whole country, king Octavius assembled all the forces of the land, and went to meet him not far from Winchester, in a field called in the British tongue Maisuriam, where he engaged with him in battle, and routed him. Trahern, upon this loss, betook himself with his broken forces to his ships, and in them made a voyage to Albania, in the provinces of which he made great destruction. When Octavius received intelligence of this, he followed him with his forces, and encountered him in Westmoreland, but fled, having lost the victory. On the other hand, Trahern, when he found the day was his own, pursued Octavius, nor ever suffered him to be at rest till he had dispossessed him both of his cities and crown. Octavius, in great grief for the loss of his kingdom, went with his fleet to Norway, to obtain assistance from king Gombert. In the meantime he had given orders to his most intimate adherents to watch carefully all opportunities of killing Trahern, which accordingly was not long after done by the magistrate of a certain privileged town, who had a more than ordinary love for him. For as Trahern was one day upon a journey from London, he lay hid with a hundred men in the vale of a wood, through which he was to pass, and there fell upon him unawares, and killed him in the midst of his men. This news being brought to Octavius, he returned back to Britain, where he dispersed the Romans, and recovered the throne. In a short time after this, he arrived to such greatness and wealth that he feared nobody, and possessed the kingdom until the reign of Gratian and Valentinian. CHAP. IX.--_Maximian is desired for a king of Britain._ At last, in his old age, being willing to settle the government, he asked his council which of his family they desired to have for their king after his decease. For he had no son, and only one daughter, to whom he could leave the crown. Some, therefore, advised him to bestow his daughter with the kingdom upon some noble Roman, to the end that they might enjoy a firmer peace. Others were of opinion that Conan Meriadoc, his nephew, ought to be preferred to the throne, and the daughter married to some prince of another kingdom with a dowry in money. While these things were in agitation among them, there came Caradoc, duke of Cornwall, and gave his advice to invite over Maximian[192] the senator, and to bestow the lady with the kingdom upon him, which would be a means of securing to them a lasting peace. For his father Leolin, the uncle of Constantine, whom we mentioned before, was a Briton, but by his mother and place of birth he was a Roman, and by both parents he was descended of royal blood. And there was a sure prospect of a firm and secure peace under him, on account of the right which he had to Britain by his descent from the emperors, and also from the British blood. But the duke of Cornwall, by delivering this advice, brought upon himself the displeasure of Conan, the king's nephew, who was very ambitious of succeeding to the kingdom, and put the whole court into confusion about it. However, Caradoc, being unwilling to recede from his proposal, sent his son Mauricius to Rome to acquaint Maximian with what had passed. Mauricius was a person of large and well-proportioned stature, as well as great courage and boldness, and could not bear to have his judgment contradicted without a recourse to arms and duelling. On presenting himself before Maximian, he met with a reception suitable to his quality, and had the greatest honours paid him of any that were about him. There happened to be at that time a great contest between Maximian and the two emperors, Gratian and Valentinian, on account of his being refused the third part of the empire, which he demanded. When, therefore, Mauricius saw Maximian ill-treated by the emperors, he took occasion from thence to address him in this manner: "Why need you, Maximian, stand in fear of Gratian, when you have so fair an opportunity of wresting the empire from him? Come with me into Britain, and you shall take possession of that crown. For king Octavius, being now grown old and infirm, desires nothing more than to find some such proper person, to bestow his kingdom and daughter upon. He has no male issue, and therefore has asked the advice of his nobility, to whom he should marry his daughter with the kingdom; and they to his satisfaction have past a decree, that the kingdom and lady be given to you, and have sent me to acquaint you with it. So that if you go with me, and accomplish this affair, you may with the treasure and forces of Britain be able to return back to Rome, drive out the emperors, and gain the empire to yourself. For in this manner did your kinsman Constantius, and several others of our kings who raised themselves to the empire." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 192: Maximus is the correct name of this usurper.] CHAP. X.--_Maximian, coming into Britain, artfully declines fighting with Conan._ Maximian was pleased with the offer, and took his journey to Britain; but in his way subdued the cities of the Franks, by which he amassed a great treasure of gold and silver, and raised men for his service in all parts. Afterwards he set sail with a fair wind, and arrived at Hamo's Port; the news of which struck the king with fear and astonishment, who took this to be a hostile invasion. Whereupon he called to him his nephew Conan, and commanded him to raise all the forces of the kingdom, and go to meet the enemy. Conan, having made the necessary preparations, marched accordingly to Hamo's Port, where Maximian had pitched his tents; who, upon seeing the approach of so numerous an army, was under the greatest perplexities what course to take. For as he was attended with a smaller body of men, and had no hopes of being entertained peaceably, he dreaded both the number and courage of the enemy. Under these difficulties he called a council of the oldest men, together with Mauricius, to ask their advice what was to be done at this critical juncture. "It is not for us," said Mauricius, "to hazard a battle with such a numerous and powerful army: neither was the reduction of Britain by arms the end of our coming. Our business must be to desire peace and a hospitable treatment, till we can learn the king's mind. Let us say that we are sent by the emperors upon an embassy to Octavius, and let us with artful speeches pacify the people." When all had shown themselves pleased with this advice, he took with him twelve aged men with grey hairs, eminent beyond the rest for their quality and wisdom, and bearing olive-branches in their right hands, and went to meet Conan. The Britons, seeing they were men of a venerable age, and that they bore olive-branches as a token of peace, rose up before them in a respectful manner, and opened a way for their free access to their commander. Then presenting themselves before Conan Meriadoc, they saluted him in the name of the emperors and the senate, and told him, that Maximian was sent to Octavius upon an embassy from Gratian and Valentinian. Conan made answer: "Why is he then attended with so great a multitude? This does not look like the appearance of ambassadors, but the invasion of enemies." To which Mauricius replied: "It did not become so great a man to appear abroad in a mean figure, or without soldiers for his guard; especially considering, that by reason of the Roman power, and the actions of his ancestors, he is become obnoxious to many kings. If he had but a small retinue, he might have been killed by the enemies of the commonwealth. He is come in peace, and it is peace which he desires. For, from the time of our arrival, our behaviour has been such as to give no offence to any body. We have bought necessaries at our own expenses, as peaceable people do, and have taken nothing from any by violence." While Conan was in suspense, whether to give them peace, or begin the battle, Caradoc, duke of Cornwall, with others of the nobility, came to him, and dissuaded him from proceeding in the war after this representation; whereupon, though much against his will, he laid down his arms, and granted them peace. Then he conducted Maximian to London, where he gave the king an account of the whole proceeding. CHAP. XI.--_The kingdom of Britain is bestowed on Maximian._ Caradoc, after this, taking along with him his son Mauricius, commanded everybody to withdraw from the king's presence, and then addressed him in these words: "Behold, that which your more faithful and loyal subjects have long wished for, is now by the good providence of God brought about. You commanded your nobility to give their advice, how to dispose of your daughter and kingdom, as being willing to hold the government no longer on account of your great age. Some, therefore, were for having the kingdom delivered up to Conan your nephew, and a suitable match procured for your daughter elsewhere; as fearing the ruin of our people, if any prince that is a stranger to our language should be set over us. Others were for granting the kingdom to your daughter and some nobleman of our own country, who should succeed you after your death. But the greater number recommended some person descended of the family of the emperors, on whom you should bestow your daughter and crown. For they promised themselves a firm and lasting peace, as the consequence of such a marriage, since they would be under the protection of the Roman state. See then! God has vouchsafed to bring to you a young man, who is both a Roman, and also of the royal family of Britain; and to whom, if you follow my advice, you will not delay to marry your daughter. And indeed, should you refuse him, what right could you plead to the crown of Britain against him? For he is the cousin of Constantine, and the nephew of king Coel, whose daughter Helena possessed the crown by an undeniable hereditary right." When Caradoc had represented these things to him, Octavius acquiesced, and with the general consent of his people bestowed the kingdom and his daughter upon him. Conan Meriadoc, finding how things went, was beyond expression incensed, and, retiring into Albania, used all his interest to raise an army, that he might give disturbance to Maximian. And when he had got a great body of men together, he passed the Humber, and wasted the provinces on each side of it. At the news whereof, Maximian hastened to assemble his forces against him, and then gave him battle, and returned with victory. But this proved no decisive blow to Conan, who with his re-assembled troops still continued to ravage the provinces, and provoked Maximian to return again and renew the war, in which he had various success, being sometimes victorious, sometimes defeated. At last, after great damages done on both sides, they were brought by the mediation of friends to a reconciliation. CHAP. XII.--_Maximian overthrows the Armoricans: his speech to Conan._ Five years after this, Maximian, proud of the vast treasures that daily flowed in upon him, fitted out a great fleet, and assembled together all the forces in Britain. For this kingdom was now not sufficient for him; he was ambitious of adding Gaul also to it. With this view he set sail, and arrived first at the kingdom of Armorica, now called Bretagne, and began hostilities upon the Gallic people that inhabited it. But the Gauls, under the command of Imbaltus, met him, and engaged him in battle, in which the greater part being in danger, they were forced to fly, and leave Imbaltus with fifteen thousand men killed, all of them Armoricans. This severe overthrow was matter of the greatest joy to Maximian, who knew the reduction of that country would be very easy, after the loss of so many men. Upon this occasion he called Conan aside from the army, and smiling said:--"See, we have already conquered one of the best kingdoms in Gaul: we may now have hopes of gaining all the rest. Let us make haste to take the cities and towns, before the rumour of their danger spread to the remoter parts of Gaul, and raise all the people up in arms. For if we can but get possession of this kingdom, I make no doubt of reducing all Gaul under our power. Be not therefore concerned that you have yielded up the island of Britain to me, notwithstanding the hopes you once had of succeeding to it; because whatever you have lost in it, I will restore to you in this country. For my design is to advance you to the throne of this kingdom; and this shall be another Britain, which we will people with our own countrymen, and drive out the old inhabitants. The land is fruitful in corn, the rivers abound with fish, the woods afford a beautiful prospect, and the forests are everywhere pleasant; nor is there in my opinion anywhere a more delightful country." Upon this, Conan, with a submissive bow, gave him his thanks, and promised to continue loyal to him as long as he lived. CHAP. XIII.--_Redonum taken by Maximian._ After this they marched with their forces to Redonum,[193] and took it the same day. For the citizens, hearing of the bravery of the Britons, and what slaughter they had made, fled away with haste, leaving their wives and children behind them. And the rest of the cities and towns soon followed their example; so that there was an easy entrance into them for the Britons, who wherever they entered killed all they found left of the male sex, and spared only the women. At last, when they had wholly extirpated the inhabitants of all those provinces, they garrisoned the cities and towns with British soldiers, and made fortifications in several places. The fame of Maximian's exploits spreading over the rest of the provinces of Gaul, all their dukes and princes were in a dreadful consternation, and had no other hopes left but in their prayers to their gods. Maximian, finding that he had struck terror into them, began to think of still bolder attempts, and by profusely distributing presents, augmented his army. For all persons that he knew to be eager for plunder, he enlisted into his service, and by plentifully bestowing his money and other valuable things among them, kept them firm to his interest. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 193: Rennes.] CHAP. XIV.--_Maximian, after the conquest of Gaul and Germany, makes Triers the seat of his empire._ By these means he raised such a numerous army, as he thought would be sufficient for the conquest of all Gaul. Notwithstanding which he suspended his arms for a time, till he had settled the kingdom which he had taken, and peopled it with Britons. To this end he published a decree, for the assembling together of a hundred thousand of the common people of Britain, who were to come over to settle in the country; besides thirty thousand soldiers, to defend them from hostile attack. As soon as the people were arrived according to his orders, he distributed them through all the countries of Armorica, and made another Britain of it, and then bestowed it on Conan Meriadoc. But he himself, with the rest of his fellow soldiers, marched into the further part of Gaul, which, after many bloody battles, he subdued, as he did also all Germany, being everywhere victorious. But the seat of his empire he made at Triers, and fell so furiously upon the two emperors, Gratian and Valentinian, that he killed the one, and forced the other to flee from Rome. CHAP. XV.--_A fight between the Aquitanians and Conan._ In the meantime, the Gauls and Aquitanians gave disturbance to Conan and the Armorican Britons, and harassed them with their frequent incursions; but he as often defeated them, and bravely defended the country committed to him. After he had entirely vanquished them, he had a mind to bestow wives on his fellow soldiers, by whom they might have issue to keep perpetual possession of the country; and to avoid all mixture with the Gauls, he sent over to the island of Britain for wives for them. In order to accomplish this, messengers were sent to recommend the management of this affair to Dianotus, king of Cornwall, who had succeeded his brother Caradoc in that kingdom. He was a very noble and powerful prince, and to him Maximian had committed the government, while he was employed in affairs abroad. He had also a daughter of wonderful beauty, named Ursula, with whom Conan was most passionately in love. CHAP. XVI.--_Guanius and Melga murder eleven thousand virgins. Maximian is killed at Rome._ Dianotus, upon this message sent him by Conan, was very ready to execute his orders, and summoned together the daughters of the nobility from all provinces, to the number of eleven thousand; but of the meaner sort, sixty thousand; and commanded them all to appear together in the city of London. He likewise ordered ships to be brought from all shores, for their transportation to their future husbands. And though in so great a multitude many were pleased with this order, yet it was displeasing to the greater part, who had a greater affection for their relations and native country. Nor, perhaps, were there wanting some who, preferring virginity to the married state, would have rather lost their lives in any country, than enjoyed the greatest plenty in wedlock. In short, most of them had views and wishes different from one another, had they been left to their own liberty. But now the ships being ready, they went on board, and sailing down the Thames, made towards the sea. At last, as they were steering towards the Armorican coast, contrary winds arose and dispersed the whole fleet. In this storm the greater part of the ships foundered; but the women that escaped the danger of the sea, were driven upon strange islands, and by a barbarous people either murdered or made slaves. For they happened to fall into the hands of the cruel army of Guanius and Melga, who, by the command of Gratian,[194] were making terrible destruction in Germany, and the nations on the sea-coast. Guanius was king of the Huns, and Melga of the Picts, whom Gratian had engaged in his party, and had sent him into Germany to harass those of Maximian's party along the sea-coasts. While they were thus exercising their barbarous rage, they happened to light upon these virgins, who had been driven on those parts, and were so inflamed with their beauty, that they courted them to their brutish embraces; which, when the women would not submit to, the Ambrons fell upon them, and without remorse murdered the greatest part of them. This done, the two wicked leaders of the Picts and Huns, Guanius and Melga, being the partizans of Gratian and Valentinian, when they had learned that the island of Britain was drained of all its soldiers, made a speedy voyage towards it; and, taking into their assistance the people of the adjacent islands, arrived in Albania. Then joining in a body, they invaded the kingdom, which was left without either government or defence, and made miserable destruction among the common people. For Maximian, as we have already related, had carried away with him all the warlike youth that could be found, and had left behind him only the husbandmen, who had neither sense nor arms, for the defence of their country. Guanius and Melga, finding that they were not able to make the least opposition, began to domineer most insolently, and to lay waste their cities and countries, as if they had only been pens of sheep. The news of this grievous calamity, coming to Maximian, he sent away Gratian Municeps,[195] with two legions, to their assistance; who, as soon as they arrived, fought with the enemy, and after a most bloody victory over them, forced them to fly over into Ireland. In the meantime, Maximian was killed at Rome by Gratian's friends;[196] and the Britons whom he had carried with him were also slain or dispersed. Those of them that could escape, went to their countrymen in Armorica, which was now called the other Britain. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 194: That is, Gratian the emperor, and brother of Valentinian, not Gratian Municeps.] [Footnote 195: This Gratian was called Municeps, because he was a citizen of Britain.] [Footnote 196: Maximus was besieged in Aquileia, and slain by Theodosius, emperor of the East, A.D. 388.] BOOK VI. CHAP. I.--_Gratian, being advanced to the throne, is killed by the common people. The Britons desire the Romans to defend them against Guanius and Melga._ But Gratian Municeps,[197] hearing of the death of Maximian, seized the crown, and made himself king. After this he exercised such tyranny that the common people fell upon him in a tumultuous manner, and murdered him. When this news reached other countries, their former enemies returned back from Ireland, and bringing with them the Scots, Norwegians, and Dacians, made dreadful devastations with fire and sword over the whole kingdom, from sea to sea. Upon this most grievous calamity and oppression, ambassadors are despatched with letters to Rome, to beseech, with tears and vows of perpetual subjection, that a body of men might be sent to revenge their injuries, and drive out the enemy from them. The ambassadors in a short time prevailed so far, that, unmindful of past injuries, the Romans granted them one legion, which was transported in a fleet to their country, and there speedily encountered the enemy. At last, after the slaughter of a vast multitude of them, they drove them entirely out of the country, and rescued the miserable people from their outrageous cruelty. Then they gave orders for a wall to be built between Albania and Deira, from one sea to the other, for a terror to the enemy, and safeguard to the country. At that time Albania was wholly laid waste, by the frequent invasions of barbarous nations; and whatever enemies made an attempt upon the country, met with a convenient landing-place there. So that the inhabitants were diligent in working upon the wall,[198] which they finished partly at the public, partly upon private charge. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 197: There was also one Marcus at this time, whom the soldiers in Britain advanced to the sovereignty; but he was soon got rid of.] [Footnote 198: It was unnecessary for the Britons to build a wall, because there was one built for them by Severus 200 years before.] CHAP. II.--_Guethelin's speech to the Britons when the Romans left them._ The Romans, after this, declared to the Britons, that they should not be able for the future to undergo the fatigue of such laborious expeditions; and that it was beneath the dignity of the Roman state to harass so great and brave an army, both by land and sea, against base and vagabond robbers; but that they ought to apply themselves to the use of arms, and to fight bravely in defending to the utmost of their power, their country, riches, wives, children, and, what is dearer than all these, their liberty and lives. As soon as they had given them this exhortation, they commanded all the men of the island that were fit for war, to appear together at London, because the Romans were about to return home. When, therefore, they were all assembled, Guethelin, the metropolitan of London, had orders to make a speech to them, which he did in these words:-- "Though I am appointed by the princes here present to speak to you, I find myself rather ready to burst into tears, than to make an eloquent oration. It is a most sensible affliction to me to observe the weak and destitute state into which you are fallen since Maximian drew away with him all the forces and youth of this kingdom. You that were left were people wholly inexperienced in war, and occupied with other employments, as tilling the ground, and several kinds of mechanical trades. So that when your enemies from foreign countries came upon you, as sheep wandering without a shepherd, they forced you to quit your folds, till the Roman power restored you to them again. Must your hopes, therefore, always depend upon foreign assistance? And will you never use yourselves to handle arms against a band of robbers, that are by no means stronger than yourselves, if you are not dispirited by sloth and cowardice? The Romans are now tired with the continual voyages wherewith they are harassed to defend you against your enemies: they rather choose to remit to you the tribute you pay them, than undergo any longer this fatigue by land and sea. Because you were only the common people at the time when we had soldiers of our own, do you therefore think that manhood has quite forsaken you? Are not men in the course of human generation often the reverse of one another? Is not a ploughman often the father of a soldier, and a soldier of a ploughman? Does not the same diversity happen in a mechanic and a soldier? Since then, in this manner, one produces another, I cannot think it possible for manhood to be lost among them. As then you are men, behave yourselves like men: call upon the name of Christ, that he may inspire you with courage to defend your liberties." No sooner had he concluded his speech, than the people raised such a shout, that one would have thought them on a sudden inspired with courage from heaven. CHAP. III.--_The Britons are again cruelly harassed by Guanius and Melga._ After this the Romans encouraged the timorous people as much as they could, and left them patterns of their arms. They likewise commanded towers, having a prospect towards the sea, to be placed at proper distances along all the south coast, where their ships were, and from whence they feared the invasions of the barbarians. But, according to the proverb, "It is easier to make a hawk of a kite, than a scholar of a ploughman;" all learning to him is but as a pearl thrown before swine. Thus, no sooner had the Romans taken their farewell of them, than the two leaders, Guanius and Melga, issued forth from their ships, in which they had fled over into Ireland, and with their bands of Scots, Picts, Norwegians, Dacians, and others, whom they had brought along with them, seized upon all Albania as far as the very wall. Understanding, likewise, that the Romans were gone, never to return any more, they now, in a more insolent manner than before, began their devastations in the island. Hereupon the country fellows upon the battlements of the walls sat night and day with quaking hearts, not daring to stir from their seats, and readier for flight than making the least resistance. In the meantime the enemies ceased not with their hooks to pull them down headlong, and dash the wretched herd to pieces upon the ground; who gained at least this advantage by their speedy death, that they avoided the sight of that most deplorable calamity, which forthwith threatened their relations and dearest children. Such was the terrible vengeance of God for that most wicked madness of Maximian, in draining the kingdom of all its forces, who, had they been present, would have repulsed any nation that invaded them; an evident proof of which they gave, by the vast conquests they made abroad, even in remote countries; and also by maintaining their own country in peace, while they continued here. But thus it happens when a country is left to the defence of country clowns. In short, quitting their high wall and their cities, the country people were forced again to fly, and to suffer a more fatal dispersion, a more furious pursuit of the enemy, a more cruel and more general slaughter than before; and like lambs before wolves, so was that miserable people torn to pieces by the merciless barbarians. Again, therefore, the wretched remainder send letters to Agitius, a man of great power among the Romans, to this effect. "To Agitius,[199] thrice consul, the groans of the Britons." And after some few other complaints they add: "The sea drives us to the barbarians, and the barbarians drive us back to the sea: thus are we tossed to and fro between two kinds of death, being either drowned or put to the sword." Notwithstanding this most moving address, they procured no relief, and the ambassadors returning back in great heaviness, declared to their countrymen the repulse which they had suffered. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 199: Ætius is the name of this general in the classic writers.] CHAP. IV.--_Guethelin desires succours of Aldroen._ Hereupon, after a consultation together, Guethelin, archbishop of London, passed over into Lesser Britain, called then Armorica, or Letavia, to desire assistance of their brethren. At that time Aldroen reigned there, being the fourth king from Conan, to whom, as has been already related, Maximian had given that kingdom. This prince, seeing a prelate of so great dignity arrive, received him with honour, and inquired after the occasion of his coming. To whom Guethelin:-- "Your majesty can be no stranger to the misery which we, your Britons, have suffered (which may even demand your tears), since the time that Maximian drained our island of its soldiers, to people the kingdom which you enjoy, and which God grant you may long enjoy in peace. For against us the poor remains of the British race, all the people of the adjacent islands, have risen up, and made an utter devastation in our country, which then abounded with all kinds of riches; so that the people now are wholly destitute of all manner of sustenance, but what they can get in hunting. Nor had we any power or knowledge of military affairs left among us to encounter the enemy. For the Romans are tired of us, and have absolutely refused their assistance. So that now, deprived of all other hope, we come to implore your clemency, that you would furnish us with forces, and protect a kingdom, which is of right your own, from the incursions of barbarians. For who but yourself, ought, without your consent, to wear the crown of Constantine and Maximian, since the right your ancestors had to it is now devolved upon you? Prepare then your fleet, and go with me. Behold! I deliver the kingdom of Britain into your hands." To this Aldroen made answer: "There was a time formerly when I would not have refused to accept of the island of Britain, if it had been offered me; for I do not think there was anywhere a more fruitful country while it enjoyed peace and tranquillity. But now, since the calamities that have befallen it, it is become of less value, and odious both to me and all other princes. But above all things the power of the Romans was so destructive to it, that nobody could enjoy any settled state or authority in it, without loss of liberty, and bearing the yoke of slavery under them. And who would not prefer the possession of a lesser country with liberty, to all the riches of that island in servitude? The kingdom that is now under my subjection I enjoy with honour, and without paying homage to any superior; so that I prefer it to all other countries, since I can govern it without being controlled. Nevertheless, out of respect to the right that my ancestors for many generations have had to your island, I deliver to you my brother Constantine with two thousand men, that with the good providence of God, he may free your country from the inroads of barbarians, and obtain the crown for himself. For I have a brother called by that name, who is an expert soldier, and in all other respects an accomplished man. If you please to accept of him, I will not refuse to send him with you, together with the said number of men; for indeed a larger number I do not mention to you, because I am daily threatened with disturbance from the Gauls." He had scarcely done speaking before the archbishop returned him thanks, and when Constantine was called in, broke out into these expressions of joy: "Christ conquers; Christ commands; Christ reigns: behold the king of desolate Britain! Be Christ only present, and behold our defence, our hope and joy." In short, the ships being got ready, the men who were chosen out from all parts of the kingdom, were delivered to Guethelin. CHAP. V.--_Constantine, being made king of Britain, leaves three sons._ When they had made all necessary preparations, they embarked, and arrived at the port of Totness; and then without delay assembled together the youth that was left in the island, and encountered the enemy; over whom, by the merit of the holy prelate, they obtained the victory. After this the Britons, before dispersed, flocked together from all parts, and in a council held at Silchester, promoted Constantine to the throne, and there performed the ceremony of his coronation. They also married him to a lady, descended from a noble Roman family, whom archbishop Guethelin had educated, and by whom the king had afterwards three sons, Constans, Aurelius Ambrosius, and Uther Pendragon. Constans, who was the eldest, he delivered to the church of Amphibalus in Winchester, that he might there take upon him the monastic order. But the other two, viz. Aurelius and Uther, he committed to the care of Guethelin for their education. At last, after ten years were expired, there came a certain Pict, who had entered in his service, and under pretence of holding some private discourse with him, in a nursery of young trees where nobody was present, stabbed him with a dagger. CHAP. VI.--_Constans is by Vortigern crowned king of Britain._ Upon the death of Constantine, a dissension arose among the nobility, about a successor to the throne. Some were for setting up Aurelius Ambrosius; others Uther Pendragon; others again some other persons of the royal family. At last, when they could come to no conclusion, Vortigern, consul of the Gewisseans, who was himself very ambitious of the crown, went to Constans the monk,[200] and thus addressed himself to him: "You see your father is dead, and your brothers on account of their age are incapable of the government; neither do I see any of your family besides yourself, whom the people ought to promote to the kingdom. If you will therefore follow my advice, I will, on condition of your increasing my private estate, dispose the people to favour your advancement, and free you from that habit, notwithstanding that it is against the rule of your order." Constans, overjoyed at the proposal, promised, with an oath, that upon these terms he would grant him whatever he would desire. Then Vortigern took him, and investing him in his regal habiliments, conducted him to London, and made him king, though not with the free consent of the people. Archbishop Guethelin was then dead, nor was there any other that durst perform the ceremony of his unction, on account of his having quitted the monastic order. However, this proved no hindrance to his coronation, for Vortigern himself performed the ceremony instead of a bishop. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 200: It is true that Constans, the son of Constantine, entered into the sacerdotal profession, but both he and his father Constantine were slain in Gaul, which they had made the seat of their empire, to the entire neglect of Britain.] CHAP. VII.--_Vortigern treacherously contrives to get king Constans assassinated._ Constans, being thus advanced, committed the whole government of the kingdom to Vortigern, and surrendered himself up so entirely to his counsels, that he did nothing without his order. His own incapacity for government obliged him to do this, for he had learned any thing else rather than state affairs within his cloister. Vortigern became sensible of this, and therefore began to deliberate with himself what course to take to obtain the crown, of which he had been before extremely ambitious. He saw that now was his proper time to gain his end easily, when the kingdom was wholly intrusted to his management; and Constans, who bore the title of king, was no more than the shadow of one; for he was of a soft temper, a bad judge in matters of right, and not in the least feared, either by his own people, or by the neighbouring states. And as for his two brothers, Uther Pendragon and Aurelius Ambrosius, they were only children in their cradles, and therefore incapable of the government. There was likewise this farther misfortune, that all the older persons of the nobility were dead, so that Vortigern seemed to be the only man surviving, that had craft, policy, and experience in matters of state; and all the rest in a manner children, or raw youths, who only inherited the honours of their parents and relations that had been killed in the former wars. Vortigern, finding a concurrence of so many favourable circumstances, contrived how he might easily and cunningly depose Constans the monk, and immediately establish himself in his place. But in order to do this, he waited until he had first well established his power and interest in several countries. He therefore petitioned to have the king's treasures, and his fortified cities, in his own custody; pretending there was a rumour, that the neighbouring islanders designed an invasion of the kingdom. This being granted him, he placed his own creatures in those cities, to secure them for himself. Then having formed a scheme how to execute his treasonable designs, he went to the king, and represented to him the necessity of augmenting the number of his domestics, that he might more safely oppose the invasion of the enemy. "Have not I left all things to your disposal?" said Constans. "Do what you will as to that, so that they be but faithful to me." Vortigern replied, "I am informed that the Picts are going to bring the Dacians and Norwegians in upon us, with a design to give us very great annoyance. I would therefore advise you, and in my opinion it is the best course you can take, that you maintain some Picts in your court, who may do you good service among those of that nation. For if it is true that they are preparing to begin a rebellion, you may employ them as spies upon their countrymen in their plots and stratagems, so as easily to escape them." This was the dark treason of a secret enemy; for he did not recommend this out of regard to the safety of Constans, but because he knew the Picts to be a giddy people, and ready for all manner of wickedness; so that, in a fit of drunkenness or passion, they might easily be incensed against the king, and make no scruple to assassinate him. And such an accident, when it should happen, would make an open way for his accession to the throne, which he so often had in view. Hereupon he despatched messengers into Scotland, with an invitation to a hundred Pictish soldiers, whom accordingly he received into the king's household; and when admitted, he showed them more respect than all the rest of the domestics, by making them several presents, and allowing them a luxurious table, insomuch that they looked upon him as the king. So great was the regard they had for him, that they made songs of him about the streets, the subject of which was, that Vortigern deserved the government, deserved the sceptre of Britain; but that Constans was unworthy of it. This encouraged Vortigern to show them still more favour, in order the more firmly to engage them in his interest; and when by these practices he had made them entirely his creatures, he took an opportunity, when they were drunk, to tell them, that he was going to retire out of Britain, to see if he could get a better estate; for the small revenue he had then, he said, would not so much as enable him to maintain a retinue of fifty men. Then putting on a look of sadness, he withdrew to his own apartment, and left them drinking in the hall. The Picts at this sight were in inexpressible sorrow, as thinking what he had said was true, and murmuring said one to another, "Why do we suffer this monk to live? Why do not we kill him, that Vortigern may enjoy his crown? Who is so fit to succeed as he? A man so generous to us is worthy to rule, and deserves all the honour and dignity that we can bestow upon him." CHAP. VIII.--_Aurelius Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon flee from Vortigern, and go to Lesser Britain._ After this, breaking into Constans' bed-chamber, they fell upon him and killed him, and carried his head to Vortigern. At the sight of it, he put on a mournful countenance, and burst forth into tears, though at the same time he was almost transported with joy. However, he summoned together the citizens of London, (for there the fact was committed,) and commanded all the assassins to be bound, and their heads to be cut off for this abominable parricide. In the meantime there were some who had a suspicion, that this piece of villany was wholly the contrivance of Vortigern, and that the Picts were only his instruments to execute it. Others again as positively asserted his innocence. At last the matter being left in doubt, those who had the care of the two brothers, Aurelius Ambrosius, and Uther Pendragon, fled over with them into Lesser Britain, for fear of being killed by Vortigern. There they were kindly received by king Budes, who took care to give them an education suitable to their royal birth. CHAP. IX.--_Vortigern makes himself king of Britain._ Now Vortigern, seeing nobody to rival him in the kingdom, placed the crown on his own head, and thus gained the pre-eminence over all the rest of the princes. At last his treason being discovered, the people of the adjacent islands, whom the Picts had brought into Albania, made insurrection against him. For the Picts were enraged on account of the death of their fellow soldiers, who had been slain for the murder of Constans, and endeavoured to revenge that injury upon him. Vortigern therefore was daily in great distress, and lost a considerable part of his army in a war with them. He had likewise no less trouble from another quarter, for fear of Aurelius Ambrosius, and his brother Uther Pendragon, who, as we said before, had fled, on his account, into Lesser Britain. For he heard it rumoured, day after day, that they had now arrived at man's estate, and had built a vast fleet, with a design to return back to the kingdom, which was their undoubted right. CHAP. X.--_Vortigern takes the Saxons that were new-comers, to his assistance._ In the meantime there arrived in Kent three brigandines, or long galleys, full of armed men, under the command of two brothers, Horsa and Hengist.[201] Vortigern was then at Dorobernia, now Canterbury, which city he used often to visit; and being informed of the arrival of some tall strangers in large ships, he ordered that they should be received peaceably, and conducted into his presence. As soon as they were brought before him, he cast his eyes upon the two brothers, who excelled all the rest both in nobility and gracefulness of person; and having taken a view of the whole company, asked them of what country they were, and what was the occasion of their coming into his kingdom. To whom Hengist (whose years and wisdom entitled him to a precedence), in the name of the rest, made the following answer:-- "Most noble king, Saxony, which is one of the countries of Germany, was the place of our birth; and the occasion of our coming was to offer our service to you or some other prince. For we were driven out of our native country, for no other reason, but that the laws of the kingdom required it. It is customary among us, that when we come to be overstocked with people, our princes from all the provinces meet together, and command all the youths of the kingdom to assemble before them; then casting lots, they make choice of the strongest and ablest of them, to go into foreign nations, to procure themselves a subsistence, and free their native country from a superfluous multitude of people. Our country, therefore, being of late overstocked, our princes met, and after having cast lots, made choice of the youth which you see in your presence, and have obliged us to obey the custom which has been established of old. And us two brothers, Hengist and Horsa, they made generals over them, out of respect to our ancestors, who enjoyed the same honour. In obedience, therefore, to the laws so long established, we put out to sea, and under the good guidance of Mercury have arrived in your kingdom." The king, at the name of Mercury, looking earnestly upon them, asked them what religion they professed. "We worship," replied Hengist, "our country's gods, Saturn and Jupiter, and the other deities that govern the world, but especially Mercury, whom in our language we call Woden, and to whom our ancestors consecrated the fourth day of the week, still called after his name Wodensday. Next to him we worship the powerful goddess, Frea, to whom they also dedicated the sixth day, which after her name we call Friday." Vortigern replied, "For your credulity, or rather incredulity, I am much grieved, but I rejoice at your arrival, which, whether by God's providence or some other agency, happens very seasonably for me in my present difficulties. For I am oppressed by my enemies on every side, and if you will engage with me in my wars, I will entertain you honourably in my kingdom, and bestow upon you lands and other possessions." The barbarians readily accepted his offer, and the agreement between them being ratified, they resided at his court. Soon after this, the Picts, issuing forth from Albania, with a very great army, began to lay waste the northern parts of the island. When Vortigern had information of it, he assembled his forces, and went to meet them beyond the Humber. Upon their engaging, the battle proved very fierce on both sides, though there was but little occasion for the Britons to exert themselves, for the Saxons fought so bravely, that the enemy, formerly so victorious, were speedily put to flight. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 201: It is the generally received opinion that Hengist and Horsa landed in Britain A.D. 449.] CHAP. XI.--_Hengist brings over great numbers of Saxons into Britain, his crafty petition to Vortigern._ Vortigern, therefore, as he owed the victory to them, increased his bounty to them, and gave their general, Hengist, large possessions of land in Lindesia,[202] for the subsistence of himself and his fellow soldiers. Hereupon Hengist, who was a man of experience and subtilty, finding how much interest he had with the king, addressed him in this manner:--"Sir, your enemies give you disturbance from all quarters, and few of your subjects love you. They all threaten you, and say, they are going to bring over Aurelius Ambrosius from Armorica, to depose you, and make him king. If you please, let us send to our country to invite over some more soldiers, that with our forces increased we may be better able to oppose them. But there is one thing which I would desire of your clemency, if I did not fear a refusal." Vortigern made answer, "Send your messengers to Germany, and invite over whom you please, and you shall have no refusal from me in whatever you shall desire." Hengist, with a low bow, returned him thanks, and said, "The possessions which you have given me in land and houses are very large, but you have not yet done me that honour which becomes my station and birth, because, among other things, I should have had some town or city granted me, that I might be entitled to greater esteem among the nobility of your kingdom. I ought to have been made a consul or prince, since my ancestors enjoyed both those dignities." "It is not in my power," replied Vortigern, "to do you so much honour, because you are strangers and pagans; neither am I yet so far acquainted with your manners and customs, as to set you upon a level with my natural born subjects. And, indeed, if I did esteem you as my subjects, I should not be forward to do so, because the nobility of my kingdom would strongly dissuade me from it." "Give your servant," said Hengist, "only so much ground in the place you have assigned me, as I can encompass with a leathern thong, for to build a fortress upon, as a place of retreat if occasion should require. For I will always be faithful to you, as I have been hitherto, and pursue no other design in the request which I have made." With these words the king was prevailed upon to grant him his petition; and ordered him to despatch messengers into Germany, to invite more men over speedily to his assistance. Hengist immediately executed his orders, and taking a bull's hide, made one thong out of the whole, with which he encompassed a rocky place that he had carefully made choice of, and within that circuit began to build a castle, which, when finished, took its name from the thong wherewith it had been measured; for it was afterwards called, in the British tongue, Kaercorrei; in Saxon, Thancastre, that is, Thong Castle.[203] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 202: Or Lindsey. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 99, note.] [Footnote 203: Now called Caistor, twenty-three miles N.N.E. from Lincoln.] CHAP. XII.--_Vortigern marries Rowen,[204] the daughter of Hengist._ In the meantime, the messengers returned from Germany, with eighteen ships full of the best soldiers they could get. They also brought along with them Rowen, the daughter of Hengist, one of the most accomplished beauties of that age. After their arrival, Hengist invited the king to his house, to view his new buildings, and the new soldiers that were come over. The king readily accepted of his invitation, but privately, and having highly commended the magnificence of the structure, enlisted the men into his service. Here he was entertained at a royal banquet; and when that was over, the young lady came out of her chamber bearing a golden cup full of wine, with which she approached the king, and making a low courtesy, said to him, "Lauerd[205] king wacht heil!" The king, at the sight of the lady's face, was on a sudden both surprised and inflamed with her beauty; and calling to his interpreter, asked him what she said, and what answer he should make her. "She called you, 'Lord king,'" said the interpreter, "and offered to drink your health. Your answer to her must be, 'Drinc heil!'" Vortigern accordingly answered, "Drinc heil!" and bade her drink; after which he took the cup from her hand, kissed her, and drank himself. From that time to this, it has been the custom in Britain, that he who drinks to any one says, "Wacht heil!" and he that pledges him, answers "Drinc heil!" Vortigern being now drunk with the variety of liquors, the devil took this opportunity to enter into his heart, and to make him in love with the damsel, so that he became suitor to her father for her. It was, I say, by the devil's entering into his heart, that he, who was a Christian, should fall in love with a pagan. By this example, Hengist, being a prudent man, discovered the king's levity, and consulted with his brother Horsa and the other ancient men present, what to do in relation to the king's request. They unanimously advised him to give him his daughter, and in consideration of her to demand the province of Kent. Accordingly the daughter was without delay delivered to Vortigern, and the province of Kent to Hengist, without the knowledge of Gorangan, who had the government of it. The king the same night married the pagan lady, and became extremely delighted with her; by which he quickly brought upon himself the hatred of the nobility, and of his own sons. For he had already three sons, whose names were Vortimer, Catigern, and Pascentius. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 204: More commonly and elegantly called Rowena; Ronwen and Ronwenna occur in some of the MSS.] [Footnote 205: That is, Lord.] CHAP. XIII.--_The bishops, Germanus and Lupus, restore the Christian faith that had been corrupted in Britain. Octa and Ebissa are four times routed by Vortimer._ At that time came St. Germanus, bishop of Auxerre, and Lupus, bishop of Troyes, to preach the gospel to the Britons. For the Christian faith had been corrupted among them, partly by the pagans whom the king had brought into society with them, partly by the Pelagian heresy, with the poison whereof they had been a long time infected. But by the preaching of these holy men, the true faith and worship was again restored, the many miracles they wrought giving success to their labours. Gildas has in his elegant treatise given an account of the many miracles God wrought by them. The king being now, as we have said, possessed of the lady, Hengist said to him: "As I am your father, I claim the right of being your counsellor: do not therefore slight my advice, since it is to my countrymen you must owe the conquest of all your enemies. Let us invite over my son Octa and his brother Ebissa, who are brave soldiers, and give them the countries that are in the northern parts of Britain, by the wall, between Deira and Albania. For they will hinder the inroads of the barbarians, and so you shall enjoy peace on the other side of the Humber." Vortigern complied with his request, and ordered them to invite over whomsoever they knew able to assist him. Immediately upon the receipt of this message, came Octa, Ebissa, and Cherdich, with three hundred ships filled with soldiers, who were all kindly received by Vortigern, and had ample presents made them. For by their assistance he vanquished his enemies, and in every engagement proved victorious. Hengist in the meantime continued to invite over more and more ships, and to augment his numbers daily. Which when the Britons observed, they were afraid of being betrayed by them, and moved the king to banish them out of his coasts. For it was contrary to the rule of the gospel that Christians should hold fellowship, or have any intercourse, with pagans. Besides which, the number of those that were come over was now so great, that they were a terror to his subjects; and nobody could now know who was a pagan, or who a Christian, since pagans married the daughters and kinswomen of Christians. These things they represented to the king, and endeavoured to dissuade him from entertaining them, lest they might, by some treacherous conspiracy, prove an overmatch for the native inhabitants. But Vortigern, who loved them above all other nations on account of his wife, was deaf to their advice. For this reason the Britons quickly desert him, and unanimously set up Vortimer his son for their king; who at their instigation began to drive out the barbarians, and to make dreadful incursions upon them. Four battles he fought with them, and was victorious in all: the first upon the river Dereuent;[206] the second upon the ford of Epsford, where Horsa and Catigern, another son of Vortigern, met and, after a sharp encounter, killed each other;[207] the third upon the sea-shore, where the enemies fled shamefully to their ships, and betook themselves for refuge to the Isle of Thanet. But Vortimer besieged them there, and daily distressed them with his fleet. And when they were no longer able to bear the assaults of the Britons, they sent king Vortigern, who was present with them in all those wars, to his son Vortimer, to desire leave to depart, and return back safe to Germany. And while a conference upon this subject was being held, they in the meantime went on board their long galleys, and, leaving their wives and children behind them, returned back to Germany. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 206: The Dereuent seems to be the Darent, a stream which gives its name to Dartford.] [Footnote 207: The very remarkable monument, called Kit Cotty's house, is traditionally supposed to mark the grave of Catigern.] CHAP. XIV.--_Vortimer's kindness to his soldiers at his death._ Vortimer, after this great success, began to restore his subjects to their possessions which had been taken from them, and to show them all marks of his affection and esteem, and at the instance of St. Germanus to rebuild their churches. But his goodness quickly stirred up the enmity of the devil against him, who entering into the heart of his stepmother Rowen, excited her to contrive his death. For this purpose she consulted with the poisoners, and procured one who was intimate with him, whom she corrupted with large and numerous presents, to give him a poisonous draught; so that this brave soldier, as soon as he had taken it, was seized with a sudden illness, that deprived him of all hopes of life. Hereupon he forthwith ordered all his men to come to him, and having shown them how near he was to his end, distributed among them all the treasure his predecessors had heaped up, and endeavoured to comfort them in their sorrow and lamentation for him, telling them, he was only going the way of all flesh. But he exhorted those brave and warlike young men, who had attended him in all his victories, to persist courageously in the defence of their country against all hostile invasion; and with wonderful greatness of mind, commanded a brazen pyramid to be placed in the port where the Saxons used to land, and his body when dead to be buried on the top of it, that the sight of his tomb might frighten back the barbarians to Germany. For he said none of them would dare approach the country, that should but get a sight of his tomb. Such was the admirable bravery of this great man, who, as he had been a terror to them while living, endeavoured to be no less so when dead. Notwithstanding which, he was no sooner dead, than the Britons had no regard to his orders, but buried him at London. CHAP. XV.--_Hengist, having wickedly murdered the princes of Britain, keeps Vortigern prisoner._ Vortigern, after the death of his son, was again restored to the kingdom, and at the request of his wife sent messengers into Germany to Hengist, with an invitation to return into Britain, but privately, and with a small retinue, to prevent a quarrel between the barbarians and his subjects. But Hengist, hearing that Vortimer was dead, raised an army of no less than three hundred thousand men, and fitting out a fleet returned with them to Britain. When Vortigern and the nobility heard of the arrival of so vast a multitude, they were immoderately incensed, and, after consultation together, resolved to fight them, and drive them from their coasts. Hengist, being informed of their design by messengers sent from his daughter, immediately entered into deliberation what course to pursue against them. After several stratagems had been considered, he judged it most feasible, to impose upon the nation by making show of peace. With this view he sent ambassadors to the king, to declare to him, that he had not brought so great a number of men for the purpose either of staying with him, or offering any violence to the country. But the reason why he brought them, was because he thought Vortimer was yet living, and that he should have occasion for them against him, in case of an assault. But now since he no longer doubted of his being dead, he submitted himself and his people to the disposal of Vortigern; so that he might retain as many of them as he should think fit, and whomsoever he rejected Hengist would allow to return back without delay to Germany. And if these terms pleased Vortigern, he desired him to appoint a time and place for their meeting, and adjusting matters according to his pleasure. When these things were represented to the king, he was mightily pleased, as being very unwilling to part with Hengist; and at last ordered his subjects and the Saxons to meet upon the kalends of May, which were now very near, at the monastery of Ambrius,[208] for the settling of the matters above-mentioned. The appointment being agreed to on both sides, Hengist, with a new design of villany in his head, ordered his soldiers to carry every one of them a long dagger under their garments; and while the conference should be held with the Britons, who would have no suspicion of them, he would give them this word of command, "Nemet oure Saxas;" at which moment they were all to be ready to seize boldly every one his next man, and with his drawn dagger stab him. Accordingly they all met at the time and place appointed, and began to treat of peace; and when a fit opportunity offered for executing his villany, Hengist cried out, "Nemet oure Saxas," and the same instant seized Vortigern, and held him by his cloak. The Saxons, upon the signal given, drew their daggers, and falling upon the princes, who little suspected any such design, assassinated them to the number of four hundred and sixty barons and consuls; to whose bodies St. Eldad afterwards gave Christian burial, not far from Kaercaradoc, now Salisbury, in a burying-place near the monastery of Ambrius, the abbat, who was the founder of it. For they all came without arms, having no thoughts of anything but treating of peace; which gave the others a fairer opportunity of exercising their villainous design against them. But the pagans did not escape unpunished while they acted this wickedness; a great number of them being killed during this massacre of their enemies. For the Britons, taking up clubs and stones from the ground, resolutely defended themselves, and did good execution upon the traitors. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 208: Ambresbury.] CHAP. XVI.--_Eldol's valiant exploit. Hengist forces Vortigern to yield up the strongest fortifications in Britain, in consideration of his release._ There was present one Eldol, consul[209] of Gloucester, who, at the sight of this treachery, took up a stake which he happened to find, and with that made his defence. Every blow he gave carried death along with it; and by breaking either the head, arms, shoulders, or legs of a great many, he struck no small terror into the traitors, nor did he move from the spot before he had killed with that weapon seventy men. But being no longer able to stand his ground against such numbers, he made his escape from them, and retired to his own city. Many fell on both sides, but the Saxons got the victory; because the Britons, having no suspicion of treachery, came unarmed, and therefore made a weaker defence. After the commission of this detestable villany, the Saxons would not kill Vortigern; but having threatened him with death and bound him, demanded his cities and fortified places in consideration of their granting him his life. He, to secure himself, denied them nothing; and when they had made him confirm his grants with an oath, they released him from his chains, and then marched first to London, which they took, as they did afterwards York, Lincoln, and Winchester; wasting the countries through which they passed, and destroying the people, as wolves do sheep when left by their shepherds. When Vortigern saw the desolation which they made, he retired into the parts of Cambria, not knowing what to do against so barbarous a people. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 209: This term must be considered as equivalent to _comes_, count, or earl.] CHAP. XVII.--_Vortigern, after consultation with magicians, orders a youth to be brought that never had a father._ At last he had recourse to magicians for their advice, and commanded them to tell him what course to take. They advised him to build a very strong tower for his own safety, since he had lost all his other fortified places. Accordingly he made a progress about the country, to find out a convenient situation, and came at last to Mount Erir, where he assembled workmen from several countries, and ordered them to build the tower. The builders, therefore, began to lay the foundation; but whatever they did one day the earth swallowed up the next, so as to leave no appearance of their work. Vortigern being informed of this again consulted with his magicians concerning the cause of it, who told him that he must find out a youth that never had a father, and kill him, and then sprinkle the stones and cement with his blood; for by those means, they said, he would have a firm foundation. Hereupon messengers were despatched away over all the provinces, to inquire out such a man. In their travels they came to a city, called afterwards Kaermerdin, where they saw some young men, playing before the gate, and went up to them; but being weary with their journey, they sat down in the ring, to see if they could meet with what they were in quest of. Towards evening, there happened on a sudden a quarrel between two of the young men, whose names were Merlin and Dabutius. In the dispute, Dabutius said to Merlin: "You fool, do you presume to quarrel with me? Is there any equality in our birth? I am descended of royal race, both by my father and mother's side. As for you, nobody knows what you are, for you never had a father." At that word the messengers looked earnestly upon Merlin, and asked the by-standers who he was. They told him, it was not known who was his father; but that his mother was daughter to the king of Dimetia, and that she lived in St. Peter's church among the nuns of that city. CHAP. XVIII.--_Vortigern inquires of Merlin's mother concerning her conception of him._ Upon this the messengers hastened to the governor of the city, and ordered him, in the king's name, to send Merlin and his mother to the king. As soon as the governor understood the occasion of their message, he readily obeyed the order, and sent them to Vortigern to complete his design. When they were introduced into the king's presence, he received the mother in a very respectful manner, on account of her noble birth; and began to inquire of her by what man she had conceived. "My sovereign lord," said she, "by the life of your soul and mine, I know nobody that begot him of me. Only this I know, that as I was once with my companions in our chambers, there appeared to me a person in the shape of a most beautiful young man, who often embraced me eagerly in his arms, and kissed me; and when he had stayed a little time, he suddenly vanished out of my sight. But many times after this he would talk with me when I sat alone, without making any visible appearance. When he had a long time haunted me in this manner, he at last lay with me several times in the shape of a man, and left me with child. And I do affirm to you, my sovereign lord, that excepting that young man, I know no body that begot him of me." The king full of admiration at this account, ordered Maugantius to be called, that he might satisfy him as to the possibility of what the woman had related. Maugantius, being introduced, and having the whole matter repeated to him, said to Vortigern: "In the books of our philosophers, and in a great many histories, I have found that several men have had the like original. For, as Apuleius informs us in his book concerning the Demon of Socrates, between the moon and the earth inhabit those spirits, which we will call incubuses. These are of the nature partly of men, and partly of angels, and whenever they please assume human shapes, and lie with women. Perhaps one of them appeared to this woman, and begot that young man of her." CHAP. XIX.--_Merlin 's speech to the king's magicians, and advice about the building of the tower._ Merlin in the meantime was attentive to all that had passed, and then approached the king, and said to him, "For what reason am I and my mother introduced into your presence?"--"My magicians," answered Vortigern, "advised me to seek out a man that had no father, with whose blood my building is to be sprinkled, in order to make it stand."--"Order your magicians," said Merlin, "to come before me, and I will convict them of a lie." The king was surprised at his words, and presently ordered the magicians to come, and sit down before Merlin, who spoke to them after this manner: "Because you are ignorant what it is that hinders the foundation of the tower, you have recommended the shedding of my blood for cement to it, as if that would presently make it stand. But tell me now, what is there under the foundation? For something there is that will not suffer it to stand." The magicians at this began to be afraid, and made him no answer. Then said Merlin, who was also called Ambrose, "I entreat your majesty would command your workmen to dig into the ground, and you will find a pond which causes the foundation to sink." This accordingly was done, and then presently they found a pond deep under ground, which had made it give way. Merlin after this went again to the magicians, and said, "Tell me ye false sycophants, what is there under the pond." But they were silent. Then said he again to the king, "Command the pond to be drained, and at the bottom you will see two hollow stones, and in them two dragons asleep." The king made no scruple of believing him, since he had found true what he said of the pond, and therefore ordered it to be drained: which done, he found as Merlin had said; and now was possessed with the greatest admiration of him. Nor were the rest that were present less amazed at his wisdom, thinking it to be no less than divine inspiration. BOOK VII. CONCERNING THE PROPHECIES OF MERLIN. CHAP. I.--_Geoffrey of Monmouth's preface to Merlin's prophecy._ I had not got thus far in my history, when the subject of public discourse happening to be concerning Merlin, I was obliged to publish his prophecies at the request of my acquaintance, but especially of Alexander, bishop of Lincoln, a prelate of the greatest piety and wisdom. There was not any person, either among the clergy or laity, that was attended with such a train of knights and noblemen, whom his settled piety and great munificence engaged in his service. Out of a desire, therefore, to gratify him, I translated these prophecies, and sent them to him with the following letter. CHAP. II.--_Geoffrey's letter to Alexander, bishop of Lincoln._ "The regard which I owe to your great worth, most noble prelate, has obliged me to undertake the translation of Merlin's prophecies out of British into Latin, before I had made an end of the history which I had begun concerning the acts of the British kings. For my design was to have finished that first, and afterwards to have taken this work in hand; lest by being engaged on both at once, I should be less capable of attending with any exactness to either. Notwithstanding, since the deference which is paid to your penetrating judgment will screen me from censure, I have employed my rude pen, and in a coarse style present you with a translation out of a language with which you are unacquainted. At the same time, I cannot but wonder at your recommending this matter to one of my low genius, when you might have caused so many men of greater learning, and a richer vein of intellect, to undertake it; who, with their sublime strains, would much more agreeably have entertained you. Besides, without any disparagement to all the philosophers in Britain, I must take the liberty to say, that you yourself, if the business of your high station would give you leisure, are capable of furnishing us with loftier productions of this kind than any man living. However, since it was your pleasure that Geoffrey of Monmouth should be employed in this prophecy, he hopes you will favourably accept of his performance, and vouchsafe to give a finer turn to whatever you shall find unpolished, or otherwise faulty in it." CHAP. III.--_The prophecy of Merlin._ As Vortigern, king of the Britons, was sitting upon the bank of the drained pond, the two dragons, one of which was white, the other red, came forth, and, approaching one another, began a terrible fight, and cast forth fire with their breath. But the white dragon had the advantage, and made the other fly to the end of the lake. And he, for grief at his flight, renewed the assault upon his pursuer, and forced him to retire. After this battle of the dragons, the king commanded Ambrose Merlin to tell him what it portended. Upon which he, bursting into tears, delivered what his prophetical spirit suggested to him, as follows:--[210] "Woe to the red dragon, for his banishment hasteneth on. His lurking holes shall be seized by the white dragon, which signifies the Saxons whom you invited over; but the red denotes the British nation, which shall be oppressed by the white. Therefore shall its mountains be levelled as the valleys, and the rivers of the valleys shall run with blood. The exercise of religion shall be destroyed, and churches be laid open to ruin. At last the oppressed shall prevail, and oppose the cruelty of foreigners. For a boar of Cornwall shall give his assistance, and trample their necks under his feet. The islands of the ocean shall be subject to his power, and he shall possess the forests of Gaul. The house of Romulus shall dread his courage, and his end shall be doubtful. He shall be celebrated in the mouths of the people; and his exploits shall be food to those that relate them. Six of his posterity shall sway the sceptre, but after them shall arise a German worm. He shall be advanced by a sea-wolf, whom the woods of Africa shall accompany. Religion shall be again abolished, and there shall be a translation of the metropolitan sees. The dignity of London shall adorn Dorobernia, and the seventh pastor of York shall be resorted to in the kingdom of Armorica. Menevia shall put on the pall of the City of Legions, and a preacher of Ireland shall be dumb on account of an infant growing in the womb. It shall rain a shower of blood, and a raging famine shall afflict mankind. When these things happen, the red one shall be grieved; but when his fatigue is over, shall grow strong. Then shall misfortunes hasten upon the white one, and the buildings of his gardens shall be pulled down. Seven that sway the sceptre shall be killed, one of whom shall become a saint. The wombs of mothers shall be ripped up, and infants be abortive. There shall be a most grievous punishment of men, that the natives may be restored. He that shall do these things shall put on the brazen man, and upon a brazen horse shall for a long time guard the gates of London. After this, shall the red dragon return to his proper manners, and turn his rage upon himself. Therefore shall the revenge of the Thunderer show itself, for every field shall disappoint the husbandmen. Mortality shall snatch away the people, and make a desolation over all countries. The remainder shall quit their native soil, and make foreign plantations. A blessed king shall prepare a fleet, and shall be reckoned the twelfth in the court among the saints. There shall be a miserable desolation of the kingdom, and the floors of the harvests shall return to the fruitful forests. The white dragon shall rise again, and invite over a daughter of Germany. Our gardens shall be again replenished with foreign seed, and the red one shall pine away at the end of the pond. After that, shall the German worm be crowned, and the brazen prince buried. He has his bounds assigned him, which he shall not be able to pass. For a hundred and fifty years he shall continue in trouble and subjection, but shall bear sway three hundred. Then shall the north wind rise against him, and shall snatch away the flowers which the west wind produced. There shall be gilding in the temples, nor shall the edge of the sword cease. The German dragon shall hardly get to his holes, because the revenge of his treason shall overtake him. At last he shall flourish for a little time, but the decimation of Neustria shall hurt him. For a people in wood and in iron coats shall come, and revenge upon him his wickedness. They shall restore the ancient inhabitants to their dwellings, and there shall be an open destruction of foreigners. The seed of the white dragon shall be swept out of our gardens, and the remainder of his generation shall be decimated. They shall bear the yoke of slavery, and wound their mother with spades and ploughs. After this shall succeed two dragons, whereof one shall be killed with the sting of envy, but the other shall return under the shadow of a name. Then shall succeed a lion of justice, at whose roar the Gallican towers and the island dragons shall tremble. In those days gold shall be squeezed from the lily and the nettle, and silver shall flow from the hoofs of bellowing cattle. The frizzled shall put on various fleeces, and the outward habit denote the inward parts. The feet of barkers shall be cut off; wild beasts shall enjoy peace; mankind shall be grieved at their punishment; the form of commerce shall be divided; the half shall be round. The ravenousness of kites shall be destroyed, and the teeth of wolves blunted. The lion's whelps shall be transformed into sea-fishes; and an eagle shall build her nest upon Mount Aravius. Venedotia shall grow red with the blood of mothers, and the house of Corineus kill six brethren. The island shall be wet with night tears; so that all shall be provoked to all things. Woe to thee, Neustria, because the lion's brain shall be poured upon thee: and he shall be banished with shattered limbs from his native soil. Posterity shall endeavour to fly above the highest places; but the favour of new comers shall be exalted. Piety shall hurt the possessor of things got by impiety, till he shall have put on his Father: therefore, being armed with the teeth of a boar, he shall ascend above the tops of mountains, and the shadow of him that wears a helmet. Albania shall be enraged, and, assembling her neighbours, shall be employed in shedding blood. There shall be put into her jaws a bridle that shall be made on the coast of Armorica. The eagle of the broken covenant shall gild it over, and rejoice in her third nest. The roaring whelps shall watch, and, leaving the woods, shall hunt within the walls of cities. They shall make no small slaughter of those that oppose them, and shall cut off the tongues of bulls. They shall load the necks of roaring lions with chains, and restore the times of their ancestors. Then from the first to the fourth, from the fourth to the third, from the third to the second, the thumb shall roll in oil. The sixth shall overturn the walls of Ireland, and change the woods into a plain. He shall reduce several parts to one, and be crowned with the head of a lion. His beginning shall lay open to wandering affection, but his end shall carry him up to the blessed, who are above. For he shall restore the seats of saints in their countries, and settle pastors in convenient places. Two cities he shall invest with two palls, and shall bestow virgin-presents upon virgins. He shall merit by this the favour of the Thunderer, and shall be placed among the saints. From him shall proceed a lynx penetrating all things, who shall be bent upon the ruin of his own nation; for, through him, Neustria shall lose both islands, and be deprived of its ancient dignity. Then shall the natives return back to the island; for there shall arise a dissension among foreigners. Also a hoary old man, sitting upon a snow-white horse, shall turn the course of the river Periron, and shall measure out a mill upon it with a white rod. Cadwallader shall call upon Conan, and take Albania into alliance. Then shall there be a slaughter of foreigners; then shall the rivers run with blood. Then shall break forth the fountains of Armorica, and they shall be crowned with the diadem of Brutus. Cambria shall be filled with joy; and the oaks of Cornwall shall flourish. The island shall be called by the name of Brutus: and the name given it by foreigners shall be abolished. From Conan shall proceed a warlike boar, that shall exercise the sharpness of his tusks within the Gallic woods. For he shall cut down all the larger oaks, and shall be a defence to the smaller. The Arabians and Africans shall dread him; for he shall pursue his furious course to the farther part of Spain. There shall succeed the goat of the Venereal castle, having golden horns and a silver beard, who shall breathe such a cloud out of his nostrils, as shall darken the whole surface of the island. There shall be peace in his time; and corn shall abound by reason of the fruitfulness of the soil. Women shall become serpents in their gait, and all their motions shall be full of pride. The camp of Venus shall be restored; nor shall the arrows of Cupid cease to wound. The fountain of a river shall be turned into blood; and two kings shall fight a duel at Stafford for a lioness. Luxury shall overspread the whole ground; and fornication not cease to debauch mankind. All these things shall three ages see; till the buried kings shall be exposed to public view in the city of London. Famine shall again return; mortality shall return; and the inhabitants shall grieve for the destruction of their cities. Then shall come the board of commerce, who shall recall the scattered flocks to the pasture they had lost. His breast shall be food to the hungry, and his tongue drink to the thirsty. Out of his mouth shall flow rivers, that shall water the parched jaws of men. After this shall be produced a tree upon the Tower of London, which, having no more than three branches, shall overshadow the surface of the whole island with the breadth of its leaves. Its adversary, the north wind, shall come upon it, and with its noxious blast shall snatch away the third branch; but the two remaining ones shall possess its place, till they shall destroy one another by the multitude of their leaves; and then shall it obtain the place of those two, and shall give sustenance to birds of foreign nations. It shall be esteemed hurtful to native fowls; for they shall not be able to fly freely for fear of its shadow. There shall succeed the ass of wickedness, swift against the goldsmiths, but slow against the ravenousness of wolves. In those days the oaks of the forests shall burn, and acorns grow upon the branches of teil trees. The Severn sea shall discharge itself through seven mouths, and the river Uske burn seven months. Fishes shall die with the heat thereof; and of them shall be engendered serpents. The baths of Badon shall grow cold, and their salubrious waters engender death. London shall mourn for the death of twenty thousand; and the river Thames shall be turned into blood. The monks in their cowls shall be forced to marry, and their cry shall be heard upon the mountains of the Alps." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 210: The prophecy which follows has been commented on by various writers, who have taken the trouble to point out the events in English history which answer to the various predictions which it contains. Such labour seems to be altogether superfluous in the present day: the prophecy may be allowed to remain as an illustration of the absurd credulity of former times.] CHAP. IV.--_The continuation of the prophecy._ "Three springs shall break forth in the city of Winchester, whose rivulets shall divide the island into three parts. Whoever shall drink of the first, shall enjoy long life, and shall never be afflicted with sickness. He that shall drink of the second, shall die of hunger, and paleness and horror shall sit in his countenance. He that shall drink of the third, shall be surprised with sudden death, neither shall his body be capable of burial. Those that are willing to escape so great a surfeit, will endeavour to hide it with several coverings, but whatever bulk shall be laid upon it, shall receive the form of another body. For earth shall be turned into stones; stones into water; wood into ashes; ashes into water, if cast over it. Also a damsel shall be sent from the city of the forest of Canute to administer a cure, who, after she shall have practised all her arts, shall dry up the noxious fountains only with her breath. Afterwards, as soon as she shall have refreshed herself with the wholesome liquor, she shall bear in her right hand the wood of Caledon, and in her left the forts of the walls of London. Wherever she shall go, she shall make sulphureous steps, which will smoke with a double flame. That smoke shall rouse up the city of Ruteni, and shall make food for the inhabitants of the deep. She shall overflow with rueful tears, and shall fill the island with her dreadful cry. She shall be killed by a hart with ten branches, four of which shall bear golden diadems; but the other six shall be turned into buffalo's horns, whose hideous sound shall astonish the three islands of Britain. The Daneian wood shall be stirred up, and breaking forth into a human voice, shall cry: Come, O Cambria, and join Cornwall to thy side, and say to Winchester, the earth shall swallow thee up. Translate the seat of thy pastor to the place where ships come to harbour, and the rest of the members will follow the head. For the day hasteneth, in which thy citizens shall perish on account of the guilt of perjury. The whiteness of wool has been hurtful to thee, and the variety of its tinctures. Woe to the perjured nation, for whose sake the renowned city shall come to ruin. The ships shall rejoice at so great an augmentation, and one shall be made out of two. It shall be rebuilt by Eric, loaden with apples, to the smell whereof the birds of several woods shall flock together. He shall add to it a vast palace, and wall it round with six hundred towers. Therefore shall London envy it, and triply increase her walls. The river Thames shall encompass it round, and the fame of the work shall pass beyond the Alps. Eric shall hide his apples within it, and shall make subterraneous passages. At that time shall the stones speak, and the sea towards the Gallic coast be contracted into a narrow space. On each bank shall one man hear another, and the soil of the island shall be enlarged. The secrets of the deep shall be revealed, and Gaul shall tremble for fear. After these things shall come forth a hern from the forest of Calaterium, which shall fly round the island for two years together. With her nocturnal cry she shall call together the winged kind, and assemble to her all sorts of fowls. They shall invade the tillage of husbandmen, and devour all the grain of the harvests. Then shall follow a famine upon the people, and a grievous mortality upon the famine. But when this calamity shall be over, a detestable bird shall go to the valley of Galabes, and shall raise it to be a high mountain. Upon the top thereof it shall also plant an oak, and build its nest in its branches. Three eggs shall be produced in the nest, from whence shall come forth a fox, a wolf, and a bear. The fox shall devour her mother, and bear the head of an ass. In this monstrous form shall she frighten her brothers, and make them fly into Neustria. But they shall stir up the tusky boar, and returning in a fleet shall encounter with the fox; who at the beginning of the fight shall feign herself dead, and move the boar to compassion. Then shall the boar approach her carcass, and standing over her, shall breathe upon her face and eyes. But she, not forgetting her cunning, shall bite his left foot, and pluck it off from his body. Then shall she leap upon him, and snatch away his right ear and tail, and hide herself in the caverns of the mountains. Therefore shall the deluded boar require the wolf and bear to restore him his members; who, as soon as they shall enter into the cause, shall promise two feet of the fox, together with the ear and tail, and of these they shall make up the members of a hog. With this he shall be satisfied, and expect the promised restitution. In the meantime shall the fox descend from the mountains, and change herself into a wolf, and under pretence of holding a conference with the boar, she shall go to him, and craftily devour him. After that she shall transform herself into a boar, and feigning a loss of some members, shall wait for her brothers; but as soon as they are come, she shall suddenly kill them with her tusks, and shall be crowned with the head of a lion. In her days shall a serpent be brought forth, which shall be a destroyer of mankind. With its length it shall encompass London, and devour all that pass by it. The mountain ox shall take the head of a wolf, and whiten his teeth in the Severn. He shall gather to him the flocks of Albania and Cambria, which shall drink the river Thames dry. The ass shall call the goat with the long beard, and shall borrow his shape. Therefore shall the mountain ox be incensed, and having called the wolf, shall become a horned bull against them. In the exercise of his cruelty he shall devour their flesh and bones, but shall be burned upon the top of Urian. The ashes of his funeral-pile shall be turned into swans, that shall swim on dry ground as on a river. They shall devour fishes in fishes, and swallow up men in men. But when old age shall come upon them, they shall become sea-wolves, and practise their frauds in the deep. They shall drown ships, and collect no small quantity of silver. The Thames shall again flow, and assembling together the rivers, shall pass beyond the bounds of its channel. It shall cover the adjacent cities, and overturn the mountains that oppose its course. Being full of deceit and wickedness, it shall make use of the fountain Galabes. Hence shall arise factions provoking the Venedotians to war. The oaks of the forest shall meet together, and encounter the rocks of the Gewisseans. A raven shall attend with the kites, and devour the carcasses of the slain. An owl shall build her nest upon the walls of Gloucester, and in her nest shall be brought forth an ass. The serpent of Malvernia shall bring him up, and put him upon many fraudulent practices. Having taken the crown, he shall ascend on high, and frighten the people of the country with his hideous braying. In his days shall the Pachaian mountains tremble, and the provinces be deprived of their woods. For there shall come a worm with a fiery breath, and with the vapour it sends forth shall burn up the trees. Out of it shall proceed seven lions deformed with the heads of goats. With the stench of their nostrils they shall corrupt women, and make wives turn common prostitutes. The father shall not know his own son, because they shall grow wanton like brute beasts. Then shall come the giant of wickedness, and terrify all with the sharpness of his eyes. Against him shall arise the dragon of Worcester, and shall endeavour to banish him. But in the engagement the dragon shall be worsted, and oppressed by the wickedness of the conqueror. For he shall mount upon the dragon, and putting off his garment shall sit upon him naked. The dragon shall bear him up on high, and beat his naked rider with his tail erected. Upon this the giant rousing up his whole strength, shall break his jaws with his sword. At last the dragon shall fold itself up under its tail, and die of poison. After him shall succeed the boar of Totness, and oppress the people with grievous tyranny. Gloucester shall send forth a lion, and shall disturb him in his cruelty, in several battles. He shall trample him under his feet, and terrify him with open jaws. At last the lion shall quarrel with the kingdom, and get upon the backs of the nobility. A bull shall come into the quarrel, and strike the lion with his right foot. He shall drive him through all the inns in the kingdom, but shall break his horns against the walls of Oxford. The fox of Kaerdubalem shall take revenge on the lion, and destroy him entirely with her teeth. She shall be encompassed by the adder of Lincoln, who with a horrible hiss shall give notice of his presence to a multitude of dragons. Then shall the dragons encounter, and tear one another to pieces. The winged shall oppress that which wants wings, and fasten its claws into the poisonous cheeks. Others shall come into the quarrel, and kill one another. A fifth shall succeed those that are slain, and by various stratagems shall destroy the rest. He shall get upon the back of one with his sword, and sever his head from his body. Then throwing off his garment, he shall get upon another, and put his right and left hand upon his tail. Thus being naked shall he overcome him, whom when clothed he was not able to deal with. The rest he shall gall in their flight, and drive them round the kingdom. Upon this shall come a roaring lion dreadful for his monstrous cruelty. Fifteen parts shall he reduce to one, and shall alone possess the people. The giant of the snow-white colour shall shine, and cause the white people to flourish. Pleasures shall effeminate the princes, and they shall suddenly be changed into beasts. Among them shall arise a lion swelled with human gore. Under him shall a reaper be placed in the standing corn, who, while he is reaping, shall be oppressed by him. A charioteer of York shall appease them, and having banished his lord, shall mount upon the chariot which he shall drive. With his sword unsheathed shall he threaten the East, and fill the tracks of his wheels with blood. Afterwards he shall become a sea-fish, who, being roused up with the hissing of a serpent, shall engender with him. From hence shall be produced three thundering bulls, who having eaten up their pastures shall be turned into trees. The first shall carry a whip of vipers, and turn his back upon the next. He shall endeavour to snatch away the whip, but shall be taken by the last. They shall turn away their faces from one another, till they have thrown away the poisoned cup. To him shall succeed a husbandman of Albania, at whose back shall be a serpent. He shall be employed in ploughing the ground, that the country may become white with corn. The serpent shall endeavour to diffuse his poison, in order to blast the harvest. A grievous mortality shall sweep away the people, and the walls of cities shall be made desolate. There shall be given for a remedy the city of Claudius, which shall interpose the nurse of the scourger. For she shall bear a dose of medicine, and in a short time the island shall be restored. Then shall two successively sway the sceptre, whom a horned dragon shall serve. One shall come in armour, and shall ride upon a flying serpent. He shall sit upon his back with his naked body, and cast his right hand upon his tail. With his cry shall the seas be moved and he shall strike terror into the second. The second therefore shall enter into confederacy with the lion; but a quarrel happening, they shall encounter one another. They shall distress one another, but the courage of the beast shall gain the advantage. Then shall come one with a drum, and appease the rage of the lion. Therefore shall the people of the kingdom be at peace, and provoke the lion to a dose of physic. In his established seat he shall adjust the weights, but shall stretch out his hands into Albania. For which reason the northern provinces shall be grieved, and open the gates of the temples. The sign-bearing wolf shall lead his troops, and surround Cornwall with his tail. He shall be opposed by a soldier in a chariot, who shall transform that people into a boar. The boar shall therefore ravage the provinces, but shall hide his head in the depth of Severn. A man shall embrace a lion in wine, and the dazzling brightness of gold shall blind the eyes of beholders. Silver shall whiten in the circumference, and torment several wine presses. Men shall be drunk with wine, and, regardless of heaven, shall be intent upon the earth. From them shall the stars turn away their faces, and confound their usual course. Corn will wither at their malign aspects; and there shall fall no dew from heaven. The roots and branches will change their places, and the novelty of the thing shall pass for a miracle. The brightness of the sun shall fade at the amber of Mercury, and horror shall seize the beholders. Stilbon of Arcadia shall change his shield; the helmet of Mars shall call Venus. The helmet of Mars shall make a shadow; and the rage of Mercury pass his bounds. Iron Orion shall unsheath his sword: the marine Phoebus shall torment the clouds; Jupiter shall go out of his lawful paths; and Venus forsake her stated lines. The malignity of the star Saturn shall fall down in rain, and slay mankind with a crooked sickle. The twelve houses of the star shall lament the irregular excursions of their guests; and Gemini omit their usual embraces, and call the urn to the fountains. The scales of Libra shall hang obliquely, till Aries puts his crooked horns under them. The tail of Scorpio shall produce lightning, and Cancer quarrel with the Sun. Virgo shall mount upon the back of Sagittarius, and darken her virgin flowers. The chariot of the Moon shall disorder the zodiac, and the Pleiades break forth into weeping. No offices of Janus shall hereafter return, but his gate being shut shall lie hid in the chinks of Ariadne. The seas shall rise up in the twinkling of an eye, and the dust of the ancients shall be restored. The winds shall fight together with a dreadful blast, and their sound shall reach the stars." BOOK VIII. CHAP. I.--_Vortigern asks Merlin concerning his own death._ Merlin, by delivering these and many other prophecies, caused in all that were present an admiration at the ambiguity of his expressions. But Vortigern above all the rest both admired and applauded the wisdom, and prophetical spirit of the young man: for that age had produced none that ever talked in such a manner before him. Being therefore curious to learn his own fate, he desired the young man to tell him what he knew concerning that particular. Merlin answered:--"Fly the fire of the sons of Constantine, if you are able to do it: already are they fitting out their ships: already are they leaving the Armorican shore: already are they spreading out their sails to the wind. They will steer towards Britain: they will invade the Saxon nation: they will subdue that wicked people; but they will first burn you being shut up in a tower. To your own ruin did you prove a traitor to their father, and invite the Saxons into the island. You invited them for your safeguard; but they came for a punishment to you. Two deaths instantly threaten you; nor is it easy to determine, which you can best avoid. For on the one hand the Saxons shall lay waste your country, and endeavour to kill you: on the other shall arrive the two brothers, Aurelius Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon, whose business will be to revenge their father's murder upon you. Seek out some refuge if you can: to-morrow they will be on the shore of Totness. The faces of the Saxons shall look red with blood, Hengist shall be killed, and Aurelius Ambrosius shall be crowned. He shall bring peace to the nation; he shall restore the churches; but shall die of poison. His brother Uther Pendragon shall succeed him, whose days also shall be cut short by poison. There shall be present at the commission of this treason your own issue, whom the boar of Cornwall shall devour." Accordingly the next day early, arrived Aurelius Ambrosius and his brother, with ten thousand men. CHAP. II.--_Aurelius Ambrosius, being anointed king of Britain, burns Vortigern besieged in a tower._ As soon as the news of his coming was divulged, the Britons, who had been dispersed by their great calamities, met together from all parts, and gaining this new accession of strength from their countrymen, displayed unusual vigour. Having assembled together the clergy, they anointed Aurelius king, and paid him the customary homage. And when the people were urgent to fall upon the Saxons, he dissuaded them from it, because his desire was to pursue Vortigern first. For the treason committed against his father so very much affected him, that he thought nothing done till that was first avenged. In pursuance therefore of this design, he marched with his army into Cambria, to the town of Genoreu, whither Vortigern had fled for refuge. That town was in the country of Hergin, upon the river Gania, in the mountain called Cloarius. As soon as Ambrosius was arrived there, bearing in his mind the murder of his father and brother, he spake thus to Eldol, duke of Gloucester. "See, most noble duke, whether the walls of this city are able to protect Vortigern against my sheathing this sword in his bowels. He deserves to die, and you cannot, I suppose, be ignorant of his desert. Oh most villainous of men, whose crimes deserve inexpressible tortures! First he betrayed my father Constantine, who had delivered him and his country from the inroads of the Picts; afterwards my brother Constans whom he made king on purpose to destroy him. Again, when by his craft he had usurped the crown, he introduced pagans among the natives, in order to abuse those who continued stedfast in their loyalty to me: but by the good providence of God, he unwarily fell into the snare, which he had laid for my faithful subjects. For the Saxons, when they found him out in his wickedness, drove him from the kingdom; for which nobody ought to be concerned. But this I think matter of just grief, that this odious people, whom that detestable traitor invited over, has expelled the nobility, laid waste a fruitful country, destroyed the holy churches, and almost extinguished Christianity over the whole kingdom. Now, therefore, my countrymen, show yourselves men; first revenge yourselves upon him that was the occasion of all these disasters; then let us turn our arms against our enemies, and free our country from their brutish tyranny." Immediately, therefore, they set their engines to work, and laboured to beat down the walls. But at last, when all other attempts failed, they had recourse to fire, which meeting with proper fuel ceased not to rage, till it had burned down the tower and Vortigern in it. CHAP. III.--_The praise of Aurelius's valour. The levity of the Scots exposed. Forces raised against Hengist._ Hengist, with his Saxons, was struck with terror at this news, for he dreaded the valour of Aurelius. Such was the bravery and courage this prince was master of, that while he was in Gaul, there was none that durst encounter with him. For in all encounters he either dismounted his adversary, or broke his spear. Besides, he was magnificent in his presents, constant at his devotions, temperate in all respects, and above all things hated a lie. A brave soldier on foot, a better on horseback, and expert in the discipline of an army. Reports of these his noble accomplishments, while he yet continued in Armorican Britain, were daily brought over into the island. Therefore, the Saxons, for fear of him, retired beyond the Humber, and in those parts fortified the cities and towns; for that country always was a place of refuge to them; their safety lying in the neighbourhood of Scotland, which used to watch all opportunities of distressing the nation; for that country being in itself a frightful place to live in, and wholly uninhabited, had been a safe retreat for strangers. By its situation it lay open to the Picts, Scots, Dacians, Norwegians, and others, that came to plunder the island. Being, therefore, secure of a safe reception in this country, they fled towards it, that, if there should be occasion, they might retreat into it as into their own camp. This was good news to Aurelius, and made him conceive greater hopes of victory. So assembling his people quickly together, he augmented his army, and made an expeditious march towards the north. In his passage through the countries, he was grieved to see the desolation made in them, but especially that the churches were levelled with the ground; and he promised to rebuild them, if he gained the victory. CHAP. IV.--_Hengist marches with his army against Aurelius, into the field of Maisbeli._ But Hengist, upon his approach, took courage again, and chose out the bravest of his men, whom he exhorted to make a gallant defence, and not be daunted at Aurelius, who, he told them, had but few Armorican Britons with him, since their number did not exceed ten thousand. And as for the native Britons, he made no account of them, since they had been so often defeated by him. He therefore promised them the victory, and that they should come off safely, considering the superiority of their number, which amounted to two hundred thousand men in arms. After he had in this manner animated his men, he advanced with them towards Aurelius, into a field called Maisbeli, through which Aurelius was to pass. For his intention was to make a sudden assault by a surprise, and fall upon the Britons before they were prepared. But Aurelius perceived the design, and yet did not, on that account, delay going to the field, but rather pursued his march with more expedition. When he was come within sight of the enemy, he put his troops in order, commanding three thousand Armoricans to attend the cavalry, and drew out the rest together with the islanders into line of battle. The Dimetians he placed upon the hills, and the Venedotians in the adjacent woods. His reason for which was, that they might be there ready to fall upon the Saxons, in case they should flee in that direction. CHAP. V.--_A battle between Aurelius and Hengist._ In the meantime, Eldol, duke of Gloucester, went to the king, and said, "This one day should suffice for all the days of my life, if by good providence I could but get an opportunity to engage with Hengist; for one of us should die before we parted. I still retain deeply fixed in my memory the day appointed for our peaceably treating together, but which he villainously made use of to assassinate all that were present at the treaty, except myself only, who stood upon my defence with a stake which I accidentally found, until I made my escape. That very day proved fatal, through his treachery, to no less than four hundred and sixty barons and consuls, who all went unarmed. From that conspiracy God was pleased to deliver me, by throwing a stake in my way, wherewith I defended myself and escaped." Thus spoke Eldol. Then Aurelius exhorted his companions to place all their hope in the Son of God, and to make a brave assault with one consent upon the enemy, in defence of their country. Nor was Hengist less busy on the other hand in forming his troops, and giving them directions how to behave themselves in the battle; and he walked himself through their several ranks, the more to spirit them up. At last, both armies, being drawn out in order of battle, began the attack, which they maintained with great bravery, and no small loss of blood, both to the Britons and Saxons. Aurelius animated the Christians, Hengist the pagans; and all the time of the engagement, Eldol's chief endeavour was to encounter Hengist, but he had no opportunity for it. For Hengist, when he found that his own men were routed, and that the Christians, by the especial favour of God, had the advantage, fled to the town called Kaerconan, now Cunungeburg. Aurelius pursued him, and either killed or made slaves of all he found in the way. When Hengist saw that he was pursued by Aurelius, he would not enter the town, but assembled his troops, and prepared them to stand another engagement. For he knew the town would not hold out against Aurelius, and that his whole security now lay in his sword. At last Aurelius overtook him, and after marshalling his forces, began another most furious fight. And here the Saxons steadily maintained their ground, notwithstanding the numbers that fell. On both sides there was a great slaughter, the groans of the dying causing a greater rage in those that survived. In short, the Saxons would have gained the day, had not a detachment of horse from the Armorican Britons come in upon them. For Aurelius had appointed them the same station which they had in the former battle; so that, upon their advancing, the Saxons gave ground, and when once a little dispersed, were not able to rally again. The Britons, encouraged by this advantage, exerted themselves, and laboured with all their might to distress the enemy. All the time Aurelius was fully employed, not only in giving commands, but encouraging his men by his own example; for with his own hand he killed all that stood in his way, and pursued those that fled. Nor was Eldol less active in all parts of the field, running to and fro to assault his adversaries; but still his main endeavour was to find opportunity of encountering Hengist. CHAP. VI.--_Hengist, in a duel with Eldol, is taken by him. The Saxons are slain by the Britons without mercy._ As there were therefore several movements made by the parties engaged on each side, an opportunity occurred for their meeting, and briskly engaging each other. In this encounter of the two greatest champions in the field, the fire sparkled with the clashing of their arms, and every stroke in a manner produced both thunder and lightning. For a long time was the victory in suspense, as it seemed sometimes to favour the one, sometimes the other. While they were thus hotly engaged, Gorlois, duke of Cornwall, came up to them with the party he commanded, and did great execution upon the enemies' troops. At the sight of him, Eldol, assured of victory, seized on the helmet of Hengist, and by main force dragged him in among the Britons, and then in transports of joy cried out with a loud voice, "God has fulfilled my desire! My brave soldiers, down, down, with your enemies the Ambrons.[211] The victory is now in your hands: Hengist is defeated, and the day is your own." In the meantime the Britons failed not to perform every one his part against the pagans, upon whom they made many vigorous assaults; and though they were obliged sometimes to give ground, yet their courage did not fail them in making a good resistance; so that they gave the enemy no respite till they had vanquished them. The Saxons therefore fled whithersoever their consternation hurried them, some to the cities, some to the woods upon the hills, and others to their ships. But Octa, the son of Hengist, made his retreat with a great body of men to York: and Eosa, his kinsman, to the city of Alclud, where he had a very large army for his guard. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 211: The meaning of this word is doubtful; it is applied to the Saxons, probably is descriptive of their fierce and savage character.] CHAP. VII.--_Hengist is beheaded by Eldol._ Aurelius, after this victory, took the city of Conan above-mentioned, and stayed there three days. During this time he gave orders for the burial of the slain, for curing the wounded, and for the ease and refreshment of his forces that were fatigued. Then he called a council of his principal officers, to deliberate what was to be done with Hengist. There was present at the assembly Eldad, bishop of Gloucester, and brother of Eldol, a prelate of very great wisdom and piety. As soon as he beheld Hengist standing in the king's presence, he demanded silence, and said, "Though all should be unanimous for setting him at liberty, yet would I cut him to pieces. The prophet Samuel is my warrant, who, when he had Agag, king of Amalek, in his power, hewed him in pieces, saying, As thy sword hath made women childless, so shall thy mother be childless among women. Do therefore the same to Hengist, who is a second Agag." Accordingly Eldol took his sword, and drew him out of the city, and then cut off his head. But Aurelius, who showed moderation in all his conduct, commanded him to be buried, and a heap of earth to be raised over his body, according to the custom of the pagans. CHAP. VIII.--_Octa, being besieged in York, surrenders himself to the mercy of Aurelius._ From hence Aurelius conducted his army to York, to besiege Octa, Hengist's son. When the city was invested, Octa was doubtful whether he should give him any opposition, and stand a siege against such a powerful army. After consultation upon it, he went out with his principal nobility that were present, carrying a chain in his hand, and sand upon his head, and presented himself to the king with this address: "My gods are vanquished, and I doubt not that the sovereign power is in your God, who has compelled so many noble persons to come before you in this suppliant manner. Be pleased therefore to accept of us, and of this chain. If you do not think us fit objects of your clemency, we here present ourselves ready to be fettered, and to undergo whatever punishment you shall adjudge us to." Aurelius was moved with pity at the spectacle, and demanded the advice of his council what should be done with them. After various proposals upon this subject, Eldad the bishop rose up, and delivered his opinion in these words: "The Gibeonites came voluntarily to the children of Israel to desire mercy, and they obtained it. And shall we Christians be worse than the Jews, in refusing them mercy? It is mercy which they beg, and let them have it. The island of Britain is large, and in many places uninhabited. Let us make a covenant with them, and suffer them at least to inhabit the desert places, that they may be our vassals for ever." The king acquiesced in Eldad's advice, and suffered them to partake of his clemency. After this Eosa and the rest that fled, being encouraged by Octa's success, came also, and were admitted to the same favour. The king therefore granted them the country bordering upon Scotland, and made a firm covenant with them. CHAP. IX.--_Aurelius, having entirely routed the enemies, restores all things in Britain, especially ecclesiastical affairs, to their ancient state._ The enemies being now entirely reduced,[212] the king summoned the consuls and princes of the kingdom together at York, where he gave orders for the restoration of the churches, which the Saxons had destroyed. He himself undertook the rebuilding of the metropolitan church of that city, as also the other cathedral churches in that province. After fifteen days, when he had settled workmen in several places, he went to London, which city had not escaped the fury of the enemy. He beheld with great sorrow the destruction made in it, and recalled the remainder of the citizens from all parts, and began the restoration of it. Here he settled the affairs of the whole kingdom, revived the laws, restored the right heirs to the possessions of their ancestors; and those estates, whereof the heirs had been lost in the late grievous calamity, he distributed among his fellow soldiers. In these important concerns, of restoring the nation to its ancient state, repairing the churches, re-establishing peace and law, and settling the administration of justice, was his time wholly employed. From hence he went to Winchester, to repair the ruins of it, as he did of other cities; and when the work was finished there, he went, at the instance of bishop Eldad, to the monastery near Kaercaradoc, now Salisbury, where the consuls and princes, whom the wicked Hengist had treacherously murdered, lay buried. At this place was a convent that maintained three hundred friars, situated on the mountain of Ambrius, who, as is reported, had been the founder of it. The sight of the place where the dead lay, made the king, who was of a compassionate temper, shed tears, and at last enter upon thoughts, what kind of monument to erect upon it. For he thought something ought to be done to perpetuate the memory of that piece of ground, which was honoured with the bodies of so many noble patriots, that died for their country. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 212: The conquest of England was achieved slowly by the Saxons, yet it was sure and permanent: the assertion in the text is untrue. There was no expulsion or subjugation of the invaders when they were once landed.] CHAP. X.--_Aurelius is advised by Merlin to remove the Giant's Dance from the mountain Killaraus._ For this purpose he summoned together several carpenters and masons, and commanded them to employ the utmost of their art, in contriving some new structure, for a lasting monument to those great men. But they, in diffidence of their own skill, refusing to undertake it, Tremounus, archbishop of the City of Legions, went to the king, and said, "If any one living is able to execute your commands, Merlin, the prophet of Vortigern, is the man. In my opinion there is not in all your kingdom a person of a brighter genius, either in predicting future events, or in mechanical contrivances. Order him to come to you, and exercise his skill in the work which you design." Whereupon Aurelius, after he had asked a great many questions concerning him, despatched several messengers into the country to find him out, and bring him to him. After passing through several provinces, they found him in the country of the Gewisseans, at the fountain of Galabes, which he frequently resorted to. As soon as they had delivered their message to him, they conducted him to the king, who received him with joy, and, being curious to hear some of his wonderful speeches, commanded him to prophesy. Merlin made answer: "Mysteries of this kind are not to be revealed but when there is the greatest necessity for it. If I should pretend to utter them for ostentation or diversion, the spirit that instructs me would be silent, and would leave me when I should have occasion for it." When he had made the same refusal to all the rest present, the king would not urge him any longer about his predictions, but spoke to him concerning the monument which he designed. "If you are desirous," said Merlin, "to honour the burying-place of these men with an everlasting monument, send for the Giant's Dance, which is in Killaraus, a mountain in Ireland. For there is a structure of stones there, which none of this age could raise, without a profound knowledge of the mechanical arts. They are stones of a vast magnitude and wonderful quality; and if they can be placed here, as they are there, round this spot of ground, they will stand for ever." CHAP. XI.--_Uther Pendragon is appointed with Merlin to bring over the Giant's Dance._ At these words of Merlin, Aurelius burst into laughter, and said, "How is it possible to remove such vast stones from so distant a country, as if Britain was not furnished with stones fit for the work?" Merlin replied, "I entreat your majesty to forbear vain laughter; for what I say is without vanity. They are mystical stones, and of a medicinal virtue. The giants of old brought them from the farthest coast of Africa, and placed them in Ireland, while they inhabited that country. Their design in this was to make baths in them, when they should be taken with any illness. For their method was to wash the stones, and put their sick into the water, which infallibly cured them. With the like success they cured wounds also, adding only the application of some herbs. There is not a stone there which has not some healing virtue." When the Britons heard this, they resolved to send for the stones, and to make war upon the people of Ireland if they should offer to detain them. And to accomplish this business, they made choice of Uther Pendragon, who was to be attended with fifteen thousand men. They chose also Merlin himself, by whose direction the whole affair was to be managed. A fleet being therefore got ready, they set sail, and with a fair wind arrived in Ireland. CHAP. XII.--_Gillomanius being routed by Uther, the Britons bring over the Giant's dance into Britain._ At that time Gillomanius, a youth of wonderful valour, reigned in Ireland; who, upon the news of the arrival of the Britons in his kingdom, levied a vast army, and marched out against them. And when he had learned the occasion of their coming, he smiled, and said to those about him, "No wonder a cowardly race of people were able to make so great a devastation in the island of Britain, when the Britons are such brutes and fools. Was ever the like folly heard of? What are the stones of Ireland better than those of Britain, that our kingdom must be put to this disturbance for them? To arms, soldiers, and defend your country; while I have life they shall not take from us the least stone of the Giant's Dance." Uther, seeing them prepared for a battle, attacked them; nor was it long ere the Britons had the advantage, who, having dispersed and killed the Irish, forced Gillomanius to flee. After the victory they went to the mountain Killaraus, and arrived at the structure of stones, the sight of which filled them both with joy and admiration. And while they were all standing round them, Merlin came up to them and said, "Now try your forces, young men, and see whether strength or art can do the most towards taking down these stones." At this word they all set to their engines with one accord, and attempted the removing of the Giant's Dance. Some prepared cables, others small ropes, others ladders for the work, but all to no purpose. Merlin laughed at their vain efforts, and then began his own contrivances. When he had placed in order the engines that were necessary, he took down the stones with an incredible facility, and gave directions for carrying them to the ships, and placing them therein. This done, they with joy set sail again, to return to Britain; where they arrived with a fair gale, and repaired to the burying-place with the stones. When Aurelius had notice of it, he sent messengers to all parts of Britain, to summon the clergy and people together to the mount of Ambrius, in order to celebrate with joy and honour the erection of the monument. Upon this summons appeared the bishops, abbats, and people of all other orders and qualities; and upon the day and place appointed for their general meeting, Aurelius placed the crown upon his head, and with royal pomp celebrated the feast of Pentecost, the solemnity whereof he continued the three following days. In the meantime, all places of honour that were vacant, he bestowed upon his domestics as rewards for their good services. At that time the two metropolitan sees of York and Legions were vacant; and with the general consent of the people, whom he was willing to please in this choice, he granted York to Sanxo, a man of great quality, and much celebrated for his piety; and the City of Legions to Dubricius, whom divine providence had pointed out as a most useful pastor in that place. As soon as he had settled these and other affairs in the kingdom, he ordered Merlin to set up the stones brought over from Ireland, about the sepulchre; which he accordingly did, and placed them in the same manner as they had been in the mountain Killaraus, and thereby gave a manifest proof of the prevalence of art above strength.[213] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 213: This is the venerable monument of antiquity, now called Stonehenge, of the origin of which we know no more than we know of the solid framework of the globe itself. It was certainly erected by a people who lived long before the beginning of authentic history.] CHAP. XIII.--_Pascentius brings in the Saxons against the Britons._ At the same time Pascentius, the son of Vortigern, who had fled over into Germany, was levying all the forces of that kingdom against Aurelius Ambrosius, with a design to revenge his father's death; and promised his men an immense treasure of gold and silver, if with their assistance he could succeed in reducing Britain under his power. When he had at last corrupted all the youth of the country with his large promises, he prepared a vast fleet, and arrived in the northern parts of the island, upon which he began to make great devastations. The king, on the other hand, hearing this news, assembled his army, and marching against them challenged the enraged enemy to a battle; the challenge was accepted, and by the blessing of God the enemy was defeated and put to flight. CHAP. XIV.--_Pascentius, assisted by the king of Ireland, again invades Britain. Aurelius dies by the treachery of Eopa, a Saxon._ Pascentius, after this flight, durst not return to Germany, but shifting his sails, went over to Gillomanius, in Ireland, by whom he was well received. And when he had given him an account of his misfortune, Gillomanius, in pity to him, promised him his assistance, and at the same time vented his complaint of the injuries done him by Uther, the brother of Aurelius, when he came for the Giant's Dance. At last, entering into confederacy together, they made ready their fleet, in which they embarked, and arrived at the city of Menevia. This news caused Uther Pendragon to levy his forces, and march into Cambria to fight them. For his brother Aurelius then lay sick at Winchester, and was not able to go himself. When Pascentius, Gillomanius, and the Saxons heard of it, they highly rejoiced, flattering themselves, that his sickness would facilitate to them the conquest of Britain. While this occurrence was the subject of the people's discourse, one of the Saxons, named Eopa, came to Pascentius, and said, "What reward will you give the man that shall kill Aurelius Ambrosius for you?" To whom Pascentius answered, "O that I could find a man of such resolution! I would give him a thousand pounds of silver, and my friendship for life; and if by good fortune I can but gain the crown, I promise upon oath to make him a centurion." To this Eopa replied, "I have learned the British language, and know the manners of the people, and have skill in physic. If, therefore, you will perform this promise, I will pretend to be a Christian and a Briton, and when, as a physician, I shall be admitted into the king's presence, I will make him a potion that shall despatch him. And to gain the readier access to him, I will put on the appearance of a devout and learned monk." Upon this offer, Pascentius entered into covenant with him, and confirmed what he had promised with an oath. Eopa, therefore, shaved his beard and head, and in the habit of a monk hastened to Winchester, loaded with vessels full of medical preparations. As soon as he arrived there, he offered his service to those that attended about the king, and was graciously received by them; for to them nobody was now more acceptable than a physician. Being introduced into the king's presence, he promised to restore him to his health, if he would but take his potions. Upon which he had his orders forthwith to prepare one of them, into which when he had secretly conveyed a poisonous mixture, he gave it the king. As soon as Aurelius had drunk it up, the wicked Ambron ordered him presently to cover himself close up, and fall asleep, that the detestable potion might the better operate. The king readily obeyed his prescriptions, and in hopes of his speedy recovery fell asleep. But the poison quickly diffused itself through all the pores and veins of his body, so that the sleep ended in death. In the meantime the wicked traitor, having cunningly withdrawn himself first from one and then from another, was no longer to be found in the court. During these transactions at Winchester, there appeared a star of wonderful magnitude and brightness, darting forth a ray, at the end of which was a globe of fire in form of a dragon, out of whose mouth issued forth two rays; one of which seemed to stretch out itself beyond the extent of Gaul, the other towards the Irish Sea, and ended in seven lesser rays. CHAP. XV.--_A comet presignifies the reign of Uther._ At the appearance of this star, a general fear and amazement seized the people; and even Uther, the king's brother, who was then upon his march with his army into Cambria, being not a little terrified at it, was very curious to know of the learned men, what it portended. Among others, he ordered Merlin to be called, who also attended in this expedition to give his advice in the management of the war; and who, being now presented before him, was commanded to discover to him the signification of the star. At this he burst out into tears, and with a loud voice cried out, "O irreparable loss! O distressed people of Britain! Alas! the illustrious prince is departed! The renowned king of the Britons, Aurelius Ambrosius, is dead! whose death will prove fatal to us all, unless God be our helper. Make haste, therefore, most noble Uther, make haste to engage the enemy: the victory will be yours, and you shall be king of all Britain. For the star, and the fiery dragon under it, signifies yourself, and the ray extending towards the Gallic coast, portends that you shall have a most potent son, to whose power all those kingdoms shall be subject over which the ray reaches. But the other ray signifies a daughter, whose sons and grandsons shall successively enjoy the kingdom of Britain." CHAP. XVI.--_Pascentius and Gillomanius are killed in battle._ Uther, though he doubted of the truth of what Merlin had declared, pursued his march against the enemy, for he was now come within half a day's march of Menevia. When Gillomanius, Pascentius, and the Saxons were informed of his approach, they went out to give him battle. As soon as they were come within sight of each other, both armies began to form themselves into several bodies, and then advanced to a close attack, in which both sides suffered a loss of men, as usually happens in such engagements. At last, towards the close of the day, the advantage was on Uther's side, and the death of Gillomanius and Pascentius made a way for complete victory. So that the barbarians, being put to flight, hastened to their ships, but were slain by their pursuers. Thus, by the favour of Christ, the general had triumphant success, and then with all possible expedition, after so great a fatigue, returned back to Winchester: for he had now been informed, by messengers that arrived, of the king's sad fate, and of his burial by the bishops of the country, near the convent of Ambrius, within the Giant's Dance, which in his lifetime he had commanded to be made. For upon hearing the news of his death, the bishops, abbats, and all the clergy of that province, had met together at Winchester, to solemnize his funeral. And because in his lifetime he had given orders for his being buried in the sepulchre which he had prepared, they therefore carried his corpse thither, and performed his exsequies with royal magnificence. CHAP. XVII.--_Uther Pendragon is made king of Britain._ But Uther his brother, having assembled the clergy of the kingdom, took the crown, and by universal consent was advanced to the kingdom. And remembering the explanation which Merlin had made of the star above-mentioned, he commanded two dragons to be made of gold, in likeness of the dragon which he had seen at the ray of the star. As soon as they were finished, which was done with wonderful nicety of workmanship, he made a present of one to the cathedral church of Winchester, but reserved the other for himself, to be carried along with him to his wars. From this time, therefore, he was called Uther Pendragon, which in the British tongue signifies the dragon's head; the occasion of this appellation being Merlin's predicting, from the appearance of a dragon, that he should be king. CHAP. XVIII.--_Octa and Eosa are taken in battle._ In the meantime Octa the son of Hengist, and his kinsman Eosa, seeing they were no longer bound by the treaty which they had made with Aurelius Ambrosius, began to raise disturbances against the king, and infest his countries. For they were now joining with the Saxons whom Pascentius had brought over, and sending messengers into Germany for the rest. Being therefore attended with a vast army, he invaded the northern provinces, and in an outrageous manner destroyed all the cities and fortified places, from Albania to York. At last, as he was beginning the siege of that city, Uther Pendragon came upon him with the whole power of the kingdom, and gave him battle. The Saxons behaved with great gallantry, and, having sustained the assaults of the Britons, forced them to fly; and upon this advantage pursued them with slaughter to the mountain Damen, which was as long as they could do it with daylight. The mountain was high, and had a hazel-wood upon the top of it, and about the middle broken and cavernous rocks, which were a harbour to wild beasts. The Britons made up to it, and stayed there all night among the rocks and hazel-bushes. But as it began to draw towards day, Uther commanded the consuls and princes to be called together, that he might consult with them in what manner to assault the enemy. Whereupon they forthwith appeared before the king, who commanded them to give their advice; and Gorlois, duke of Cornwall, had orders to deliver his opinion first, out of regard to his years and great experience. "There is no occasion," said he, "for ceremonies or speeches, while we see that it is still night: but there is for boldness and courage, if you desire any longer enjoyment of your life and liberty. The pagans are very numerous, and eager to fight, and we much inferior to them in number; so that if we stay till daybreak, we cannot, in my opinion, attack them to advantage. Come on, therefore, while we have the favour of the night, let us go down in a close body, and surprise them in their camp with a sudden assault. There can be no doubt of success, if with one consent we fall upon them boldly, while they think themselves secure, and have no expectation of our coming in such a manner." The king and all that were present, were pleased with his advice, and pursued it. For as soon as they were armed and placed in their ranks, they made towards the enemies' camp, designing a general assault. But upon approaching to it, they were discovered by the watch, who with sound of trumpet awaked their companions. The enemies being hereupon put into confusion and astonishment, part of them hastened towards the sea, and part ran up and down whithersoever their fear or precipitation drove them. The Britons, finding their coming discovered, hastened their march, and keeping still close together in their ranks, assailed the camp; into which when they had found an entrance, they ran with their drawn swords upon the enemy; who in this sudden surprise made but a faint defence against their vigorous and regular attack; and pursuing this blow with great eagerness they destroyed some thousands of the pagans, took Octa and Eosa prisoners, and entirely dispersed the Saxons. CHAP. XIX.--_Uther, falling in love with Igerna, enjoys her by the assistance of Merlin's magical operations._ After this victory Uther repaired to the city of Alclud, where he settled the affairs of that province, and restored peace everywhere. He also made a progress round all the countries of the Scots, and tamed the fierceness of that rebellious people, by such a strict administration of justice, as none of his predecessors had exercised before: so that in his time offenders were everywhere under great terror, since they were sure of being punished without mercy. At last, when he had established peace in the northern provinces, he went to London, and commanded Octa and Eosa to be kept in prison there. The Easter following he ordered all the nobility of the kingdom to meet at that city, in order to celebrate that great festival; in honour of which he designed to wear his crown. The summons was everywhere obeyed, and there was a great concourse from all cities to celebrate the day. So the king observed the festival with great solemnity, as he had designed, and very joyfully entertained his nobility, of whom there was a very great muster, with their wives and daughters, suitably to the magnificence of the banquet prepared for them. And having been received with joy by the king, they also expressed the same in their deportment before him. Among the rest was present Gorlois, duke of Cornwall, with his wife Igerna, the greatest beauty in all Britain. No sooner had the king cast his eyes upon her among the rest of the ladies, than he fell passionately in love with her, and little regarding the rest, made her the subject of all his thoughts. She was the only lady that he continually served with fresh dishes, and to whom he sent golden cups by his confidants; on her he bestowed all his smiles, and to her addressed all his discourse. The husband, discovering this, fell into a great rage, and retired from the court without taking leave: nor was there any body that could stop him, while he was under fear of losing the chief object of his delight. Uther, therefore, in great wrath commanded him to return back to court, to make him satisfaction for this affront. But Gorlois refused to obey; upon which the king was highly incensed, and swore he would destroy his country, if he did not speedily compound for his offence. Accordingly, without delay, while their anger was hot against each other, the king got together a great army, and marched into Cornwall, the cities and towns whereof he set on fire. But Gorlois durst not engage with him, on account of the inferiority of his numbers; and thought it a wiser course to fortify his towns, till he could get succour from Ireland. And as he was under more concern for his wife than himself, he put her into the town of Tintagel,[214] upon the sea-shore, which he looked upon as a place of great safety. But he himself entered the castle of Dimilioc, to prevent their being both at once involved in the same danger, if any should happen. The king, informed of this, went to the town where Gorlois was, which he besieged, and shut up all the avenues to it. A whole week was now past, when, retaining in mind his love to Igerna, he said to one of his confidants, named Ulfin de Ricaradoch: "My passion for Igerna is such, that I can neither have ease of mind, nor health of body, till I obtain her: and if you cannot assist me with your advice how to accomplish my desire, the inward torments I endure will kill me."--"Who can advise you in this matter," said Ulfin, "when no force will enable us to have access to her in the town of Tintagel? For it is situated upon the sea, and on every side surrounded by it; and there is but one entrance into it, and that through a straight rock, which three men shall be able to defend against the whole power of the kingdom. Notwithstanding, if the prophet Merlin would in earnest set about this attempt, I am of opinion, you might with his advice obtain your wishes." The king readily believed what he was so well inclined to, and ordered Merlin, who was also come to the siege, to be called. Merlin, therefore, being introduced into the king's presence, was commanded to give his advice, how the king might accomplish his desire with respect to Igerna. And he, finding the great anguish of the king, was moved by such excessive love, and said, "To accomplish your desire, you must make use of such arts as have not been heard of in your time. I know how, by the force of my medicines, to give you the exact likeness of Gorlois, so that in all respects you shall seem to be no other than himself. If you will therefore obey my prescriptions, I will metamorphose you into the true semblance of Gorlois and Ulfin into Jordan of Tintagel, his familiar friend; and I myself, being transformed into another shape, will make the third in the adventure; and in this disguise you may go safely to the town where Igerna is, and have admittance to her." The king complied with the proposal, and acted with great caution in this affair; and when he had committed the care of the siege to his intimate friends, underwent the medical applications of Merlin, by whom he was transformed into the likeness of Gorlois; as was Ulfin also into Jordan, and Merlin himself into Bricel; so that nobody could see any remains now of their former likeness. They then set forward on their way to Tintagel, at which they arrived in the evening twilight, and forthwith signified to the porter, that the consul was come; upon which the gates were opened, and the men let in. For what room could there be for suspicion, when Gorlois himself seemed to be there present? The king therefore stayed that night with Igerna, and had the full enjoyment of her, for she was deceived with the false disguise which he had put on, and the artful and amorous discourses wherewith he entertained her. He told her he had left his own place besieged, purely to provide for the safety of her dear self, and the town she was in; so that believing all that he said, she refused him nothing which he desired. The same night therefore she conceived of the most renowned Arthur, whose heroic and wonderful actions have justly rendered his name famous to posterity. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 214: The ruins of this castle denote that it must have been a place of great strength.] CHAP. XX.--_Gorlois being killed, Uther marries Igerna._ In the meantime, as soon as the king's absence was discovered at the siege, his army unadvisedly made an assault upon the walls, and provoked the besieged count to a battle; who himself also, acting as inconsiderately as they, sallied forth with his men, thinking with such a small handful to oppose a powerful army; but happened to be killed in the very first brunt of the fight, and had all his men routed. The town also was taken; but all the riches of it were not shared equally among the besiegers, but every one greedily took what he could get, according as fortune or his own strength favoured him. After this bold attempt, came messengers to Igerna, with the news both of the duke's death, and of the event of the siege. But when they saw the king in the likeness of the consul, sitting close by her, they were struck with shame and astonishment at his safe arrival there, whom they had left dead at the siege; for they were wholly ignorant of the miracles which Merlin had wrought with his medicines. The king therefore smiled at the news, and embracing the countess, said to her: "Your own eyes may convince you that I am not dead, but alive. But notwithstanding, the destruction of the town, and the slaughter of my men, is what very much grieves me; so that there is reason to fear the king's coming upon us, and taking us in this place. To prevent which, I will go out to meet him, and make my peace with him, for fear of a worse disaster." Accordingly, as soon as he was out of the town, he went to his army, and having put off the disguise of Gorlois, was now Uther Pendragon again. When he had a full relation made to him how matters had succeeded, he was sorry for the death of Gorlois, but rejoiced that Igerna was now at liberty to marry again. Then he returned to the town of Tintagel, which he took, and in it, what he impatiently wished for, Igerna herself. After this they continued to live together with much affection for each other, and had a son and daughter, whose names were Arthur and Anne. CHAP. XXI.--_Octa and Eosa renew the war. Lot, a consul, marries the king's daughter._ In process of time the king was taken ill of a lingering distemper; and meanwhile the keepers of the prison, wherein Octa and Eosa (as we related before) led a weary life, had fled over with them into Germany, and occasioned great fear over the kingdom. For there was a report of their great levies in Germany, and the vast fleet which they had prepared for their return to destroy the island: which the event verified. For they returned in a great fleet, and with a prodigious number of men, and invaded the parts of Albania, where they destroyed both cities and inhabitants with fire and sword. Wherefore, in order to repulse the enemies, the command of the British army was committed to Lot of Londonesia, who was a consul, and a most valiant knight, and grown up to maturity both of years and wisdom. Out of respect to his eminent merits, the king had given him his daughter Anne, and entrusted him with the care of the kingdom, during his illness. In his expedition against the enemies he had various success, being often repulsed by them, and forced to retreat to the cities; but he oftener routed and dispersed them, and compelled them to flee sometimes into the woods, sometimes to their ships. So that in a war attended with so many turns of fortune, it was hard to know which side had the better. The greatest injury to the Britons was their own pride, in disdaining to obey the consul's commands; for which reason all their efforts against the enemy were less vigorous and successful. CHAP. XXII.--_Uther, being ill, is carried in a horse-litter against the enemy._ The island being by this conduct now almost laid waste, the king, having information of the matter, fell into a greater rage than his weakness could bear, and commanded all his nobility to come before him, that he might reprove them severely for their pride and cowardice. And as soon as they were all entered into his presence, he sharply rebuked them in menacing language, and swore he himself would lead them against the enemy. For this purpose he ordered a horse-litter to be made, in which he designed to be carried, for his infirmity would not suffer him to use any other sort of vehicle; and he charged them to be all ready to march against the enemy on the first opportunity. So, without delay, the horse-litter and all his attendants were got ready, and the day arrived which had been appointed for their march. CHAP. XXIII.--_Octa and Eosa, with a great number of their men, are killed._ The king, therefore, being put into his vehicle, they marched directly to Verulam, where the Saxons were grievously oppressing the people. When Octa and Eosa had intelligence that the Britons were come, and that the king was brought in a horse-litter, they disdained to fight with him, saying, it would be a shame for such brave men to fight with one that was half dead. For which reason they retired into the city, and, as it were in contempt of any danger from the enemy, left their gates wide open. But Uther, upon information of this, instantly commanded his men to lay siege to the city, and assault the walls on all sides; which orders they strictly executed; and were just entering the breaches which they had made in the walls, and ready to begin a general assault, when the Saxons, seeing the advantages which the Britons had gained, and being forced to abate somewhat of their haughty pride, condescended so far as to put themselves into a posture of defence. They therefore mounted the walls, from whence they poured down showers of arrows, and repulsed the Britons. On both sides the contest continued till night released them from the fatigue of their arms, which was what many of the Britons desired, though the greater part of them were for having the matter quickly decided with the enemy. The Saxons, on the other hand, finding how prejudicial their own pride had been to them, and that the advantage was on the side of the Britons, resolved to make a sally at break of day, and try their fortune with the enemy in the open field; which accordingly was done. For no sooner was it daylight, than they marched out with this design, all in their proper ranks. The Britons, seeing them, divided their men into several bodies, and advancing towards them, began the attack first, their part being to assault, while the others were only upon the defensive. However, much blood was shed on both sides, and the greatest part of the day spent in the fight, when at last, Octa and Eosa being killed, the Saxons turned their backs, and left the Britons a complete victory. The king at this was in such an ecstasy of joy, that whereas before he could hardly raise up himself without the help of others, he now without any difficulty sat upright in his horse-litter of himself, as if he was on a sudden restored to health; and said with a laughing and merry countenance, "These Ambrons called me the half-dead king, because my sickness obliged me to lie on a horse-litter; and indeed so I was. Yet victory to me half dead, is better than to be safe and sound and vanquished. For to die with honour, is preferable to living with disgrace." CHAP. XXIV.--_Uther, upon drinking spring water that was treacherously poisoned by the Saxons, dies._ The Saxons, notwithstanding this defeat, persisted still in their malice, and entering the northern provinces, without respite infested the people there. Uther's purpose was to have pursued them; but his princes dissuaded him from it because his illness had increased since the victory. This gave new courage to the enemy, who left nothing unattempted to make conquest of the kingdom. And now they have recourse to their former treacherous practices, and contrive how to compass the king's death by secret villainy. And because they could have no access to him otherwise, they resolved to take him off by poison; in which they succeeded. For while he was lying ill at Verulam, they sent away some spies in a poor habit, to learn the state of the court; and when they had thoroughly informed themselves of the posture of affairs, they found out an expedient by which they might best accomplish their villainy. For there was near the court a spring of very clear water, which the king used to drink of, when his distemper had made all other liquors nauseous to him. This the detestable conspirators made use of to destroy him, by so poisoning the whole mass of water which sprang up, that the next time the king drank of it, he was seized with sudden death, as were also a hundred other persons after him, till the villainy was discovered, and a heap of earth thrown over the well. As soon as the king's death was divulged, the bishops and clergy of the kingdom assembled, and carried his body to the convent of Ambrius, where they buried it with regal solemnity, close by Aurelius Ambrosius, within the Giant's Dance. BOOK IX. CHAP. I.--_Arthur succeeds Uther his father in the kingdom of Britain, and besieges Colgrin._ Uther Pendragon being dead, the nobility from several provinces assembled together at Silchester, and proposed to Dubricius, archbishop of Legions, that he should consecrate Arthur, Uther's son, to be their king. For they were now in great straits, because, upon hearing of the king's death, the Saxons had invited over their countrymen from Germany, and, under the command of Colgrin, were attempting to exterminate the whole British race. They had also entirely subdued all that part of the island which extends from the Humber to the sea of Caithness. Dubricius, therefore, grieving for the calamities of his country, in conjunction with the other bishops, set the crown upon Arthur's head. Arthur was then fifteen years old, but a youth of such unparalleled courage and generosity, joined with that sweetness of temper and innate goodness, as gained him universal love. When his coronation was over, he, according to usual custom, showed his bounty and munificence to the people. And such a number of soldiers flocked to him upon it, that his treasury was not able to answer that vast expense. But such a spirit of generosity, joined with valour, can never long want means to support itself. Arthur, therefore, the better to keep up his munificence, resolved to make use of his courage, and to fall upon the Saxons, that he might enrich his followers with their wealth. To this he was also moved by the justice of the cause, since the entire monarchy of Britain belonged to him by hereditary right. Hereupon assembling the youth under his command, he marched to York, of which, when Colgrin had intelligence, he met him with a very great army, composed of Saxons, Scots, and Picts, by the river Duglas; where a battle happened, with the loss of the greater part of both armies. Notwithstanding, the victory fell to Arthur, who pursued Colgrin to York, and there besieged him. Baldulph, upon the news of his brother's flight, went towards the siege with a body of six thousand men, to his relief; for at the time of the battle he was upon the sea-coast, waiting the arrival of duke Cheldric with succours from Germany. And being now no more than ten miles distant from the city, his purpose was to make a speedy march in the night-time, and fall upon the enemy by way of surprise. But Arthur, having intelligence of his design, sent a detachment of six hundred horse, and three thousand foot, under the command of Cador, duke of Cornwall, to meet him the same night. Cador, therefore, falling into the same road along which the enemy was passing, made a sudden assault upon them, and entirely defeated the Saxons, and put them to flight. Baldulph was excessively grieved at this disappointment in the relief which he intended for his brother, and began to think of some other stratagem to gain access to him; in which if he could but succeed, he thought they might concert measures together for their safety. And since he had no other way for it, he shaved his head and beard, and put on the habit of a jester with a harp, and in this disguise walked up and down in the camp, playing upon his instrument as if he had been a harper. He thus passed unsuspected, and by a little and little went up to the walls of the city, where he was at last discovered by the besieged, who thereupon drew him up with cords, and conducted him to his brother. At this unexpected, though much desired meeting, they spent some time in joyfully embracing each other, and then began to consider various stratagems for their delivery. At last, just as they were considering their case desperate, the ambassadors returned from Germany, and brought with them to Albania a fleet of six hundred sail, laden with brave soldiers, under the command of Cheldric. Upon this news, Arthur was dissuaded by his council from continuing the siege any longer, for fear of hazarding a battle with so powerful and numerous an army. CHAP. II.--_Hoel sends fifteen thousand men to Arthur's assistance._ Arthur complied with their advice, and made his retreat to London, where he called an assembly of all the clergy and nobility of the kingdom, to ask their advice, what course to take against the formidable power of the pagans. After some deliberation, it was agreed that ambassadors should be despatched into Armorica, to king Hoel, to represent to him the calamitous state of Britain. Hoel was the son of Arthur's sister by Dubricius, king of the Armorican Britons; so that, upon advice of the disturbances his uncle was threatened with, he ordered his fleet to be got ready, and, having assembled fifteen thousand men, he arrived with the first fair wind at Hamo's Port,[215] and was received with all suitable honour by Arthur, and most affectionately embraced by him. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 215: Southampton.] CHAP. III.--_Arthur makes the Saxons his tributaries._ After a few days they went to relieve the city Kaerlindcoit, that was besieged by the pagans; which being situated upon a mountain, between two rivers in the province of Lindisia, is called by another name Lindocolinum.[216] As soon as they arrived there with all their forces, they fought with the Saxons, and made a grievous slaughter of them, to the number of six thousand; part of whom were drowned in the rivers, part fell by the hands of the Britons. The rest in a great consternation quitted the siege and fled, but were closely pursued by Arthur, till they came to the wood of Celidon, where they endeavoured to form themselves into a body again, and make a stand. And here they again joined battle with the Britons, and made a brave defence, whilst the trees that were in the place secured them against the enemies' arrows. Arthur, seeing this, commanded the trees that were in that part of the wood to be cut down, and the trunks to be placed quite round them, so as to hinder their getting out; resolving to keep them pent up here till he could reduce them by famine. He then commanded his troops to besiege the wood, and continued three days in that place. The Saxons, having now no provisions to sustain them, and being just ready to starve with hunger, begged for leave to go out; in consideration whereof they offered to leave all their gold and silver behind them, and return back to Germany with nothing but their empty ships. They promised also that they would pay him tribute from Germany, and leave hostages with him. Arthur, after consultation, about it, granted their petition; allowing them only leave to depart, and retaining all their treasures, as also hostages for payment of the tribute. But as they were under sail on their return home, they repented of their bargain, and tacked about again towards Britain, and went on shore at Totness. No sooner were they landed, than they made an utter devastation of the country as far as the Severn sea, and put all the peasants to the sword. From thence they pursued their furious march to the town of Bath, and laid siege to it. When the king had intelligence of it, he was beyond measure surprised at their proceedings, and immediately gave orders for the execution of the hostages. And desisting from an attempt which he had entered upon to reduce the Scots and Picts, he marched with the utmost expedition to raise the siege; but laboured under very great difficulties, because he had left his nephew Hoel sick at Alclud. At length, having entered the province of Somerset, and beheld how the siege was carried on, he addressed himself to his followers in these words: "Since these impious and detestable Saxons have disdained to keep faith with me, I, to keep faith with God, will endeavour to revenge the blood of my countrymen this day upon them. To arms, soldiers, to arms, and courageously fall upon the perfidious wretches, over whom we shall, with Christ assisting us, undoubtedly obtain the victory." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 216: Lincoln.] CHAP. IV.--_Dubricius's speech against the treacherous Saxons. Arthur with his own hand kills four hundred and seventy Saxons in one battle. Colgrin and Baldulph are killed in the same._ When he had done speaking, St. Dubricius, archbishop of Legions, going to the top of a hill, cried out with a loud voice, "You that have the honour to profess the Christian faith, keep fixed in your minds the love which you owe to your country and fellow subjects, whose sufferings by the treachery of the pagans will be an everlasting reproach to you, if you do not courageously defend them. It is your country which you fight for, and for which you should, when required, voluntarily suffer death; for that itself is victory and the cure of the soul. For he that shall die for his brethren, offers himself a living sacrifice to God, and has Christ for his example, who condescended to lay down his life for his brethren. If therefore any of you shall be killed in this war, that death itself, which is suffered in so glorious a cause, shall be to him for penance and absolution of all his sins." At these words, all of them, encouraged with the benediction of the holy prelate, instantly armed themselves, and prepared to obey his orders. Also Arthur himself, having put on a coat of mail suitable to the grandeur of so powerful a king, placed a golden helmet upon his head, on which was engraven the figure of a dragon; and on his shoulders his shield called Priwen; upon which the picture of the blessed Mary, mother of God, was painted, in order to put him frequently in mind of her. Then girding on his Caliburn, which was an excellent sword made in the isle of Avallon, he graced his right hand with his lance, named Ron, which was hard, broad, and fit for slaughter. After this, having placed his men in order, he boldly attacked the Saxons, who were drawn out in the shape of a wedge, as their manner was. And they, notwithstanding that the Britons fought with great eagerness, made a noble defence all that day; but at length, towards sunsetting, climbed up the next mountain, which served them for a camp: for they desired no larger extent of ground, since they confided very much in their numbers. The next morning Arthur, with his army, went up the mountain, but lost many of his men in the ascent, by the advantage which the Saxons had in their station on the top, from whence they could pour down upon him with much greater speed, than he was able to advance against them. Notwithstanding, after a very hard struggle, the Britons gained the summit of the hill, and quickly came to a close engagement with the enemy, who again gave them a warm reception, and made a vigorous defence. In this manner was a great part of that day also spent; whereupon Arthur, provoked to see the little advantage he had yet gained, and that victory still continued in suspense, drew out his Caliburn, and, calling upon the name of the blessed Virgin, rushed forward with great fury into the thickest of the enemy's ranks; of whom (such was the merit of his prayers) not one escaped alive that felt the fury of his sword; neither did he give over the fury of his assault until he had, with his Caliburn alone, killed four hundred and seventy men. The Britons, seeing this, followed their leader in great multitudes, and made slaughter on all sides; so that Colgrin, and Baldulph his brother, and many thousands more, fell before them. But Cheldric, in this imminent danger of his men, betook himself to flight. CHAP. V.--_The Saxons, after their leader Cheldric was killed, are all compelled by Cador to surrender._ The victory being thus gained, the king commanded Cador, duke of Cornwall, to pursue them, while he himself should hasten his march into Albania: from whence he had advice that the Scots and Picts were besieging Alclud, in which, as we said before, Hoel lay sick. Therefore he hastened to his assistance, for fear he might fall into the hands of the barbarians. In the meantime the duke of Cornwall, who had the command of ten thousand men, would not as yet pursue the Saxons in their flight, but speedily made himself master of their ships, to hinder their getting on board, and manned them with his best soldiers, who were to beat back the pagans in case they should flee thither: after this he hastily pursued the enemy, according to Arthur's command, and allowed no quarter to those he could overtake. So that they whose behaviour before was so cruel and insolent, now with timorous hearts fled for shelter, sometimes to the coverts of the woods, sometimes to mountains and caves, to prolong a wretched life. At last, when none of these places could afford them a safe retreat, they entered the Isle of Thanet with their broken forces; but neither did they there get free from the duke of Cornwall's pursuit, for he still continued slaughtering them, and gave them no respite till he had killed Cheldric, and taken hostages for the surrender of the rest. CHAP. VI.--_Arthur grants a pardon to the Scots and Picts, besieged at the Lake Lumond._ Having therefore settled peace here, he directed his march to Alclud, which Arthur had relieved from the oppression of barbarians, and from thence conducted his army to Mureif, where the Scots and Picts were besieged; after three several battles with the king and his nephew, they had fled as far as this province, and entering upon the lake Lumond, sought for refuge in the islands that are upon it. This lake contains sixty islands, and receives sixty rivers into it which empty themselves into the sea by no more than one mouth. There is also an equal number of rocks in these islands, as also of eagles' nests in those rocks, which flocked together there every year, and, by the loud and general noise which they now made, foreboded some remarkable event that should happen to the kingdom. To these islands, therefore, had the enemy fled, thinking the lake would serve them instead of a fortification; but it proved of little advantage to them. For Arthur, having got together a fleet, sailed round the rivers, and besieged the enemy fifteen days together, by which they were so straitened with hunger, that they died by thousands. While he was harassing them in this manner Guillamurius, king of Ireland, came up in a fleet with a very great army of barbarians, in order to relieve the besieged. This obliged Arthur to raise the siege, and turn his arms against the Irish, whom he slew without mercy, and compelled the rest to return back to their country. After this victory, he proceeded in his first attempt, which was to extirpate the whole race of the Scots and Picts, and treated them with an unparalleled severity. And as he allowed quarter to none, the bishops of that miserable country, with all the inferior clergy, met together, and bearing the reliques of the saints and other consecrated things of the church before them, barefooted, came to implore the king's mercy for their people. As soon as they were admitted into his presence, they fell down upon their knees, and humbly besought him to have pity on their distressed country, since the sufferings which he had already made it undergo were sufficient; nor was there any necessity to cut off the small remainder to a man; and that he would allow them the enjoyment of a small part of the country, since they were willing to bear the yoke which he should impose upon them. The king was moved at the manner of their delivering this petition, and could not forbear expressing his clemency to them with tears; and at the request of those holy men, granted them pardon. CHAP. VII.--_Arthur relates the wonderful nature of some ponds._ This affair being concluded, Hoel had the curiosity to view the situation of the lake, and wondered to find the number of the rivers, islands, rocks, and eagles' nests, so exactly correspond: and while he was reflecting upon it as something that appeared miraculous, Arthur came to him, and told him of another pond in the same province, which was yet more wonderful. For not far from thence was one whose length and breadth were each twenty feet, and depth five feet. But whether its square figure was natural or artificial, the wonder of it was, there were four different sorts of fishes in the four several corners of it, none of which were ever found in any other part of the pond but their own. He told him likewise of another pond in Wales, near the Severn, called by the country people Linligwan, into which when the sea flows, it receives it in the manner of a gulf, but so as to swallow up the tide, and never be filled, or have its banks covered by it. But at the ebbing of the sea, it throws out the waters which it had swallowed, as high as a mountain, and at last dashes and covers the banks with them. In the meantime, if all the people of that country should stand near with their faces towards it, and happened to have their clothes sprinkled with the dashing of the waves, they would hardly, if at all, escape being swallowed up by the pond. But with their backs towards it, they need not fear being dashed, though they stood upon the very banks. CHAP. VIII.--_Arthur restores York to its ancient beauty, especially as to its churches._ The king, after his general pardon granted to the Scots, went to York to celebrate the feast of Christ's nativity, which was now at hand. On entering the city, he beheld with grief the desolation of the churches; for upon the expulsion of the holy Archbishop Sanxo, and of all the clergy there, the temples which were half burned down, had no longer divine service performed in them: so much had the impious rage of the pagans prevailed. After this, in an assembly of the clergy and people, he appointed Pyramus his chaplain metropolitan of that see. The churches that lay level with the ground, he rebuilt, and (which was their chief ornament) saw them filled with assemblies of devout persons of both sexes. Also the nobility that were driven out by the disturbances of the Saxons, he restored to their country. CHAP. IX.--_Arthur honours Augusel with the sceptre of the Scots; Urian with that of Mureif; and Lot with the consulship of Londonesia._ There were there three brothers of royal blood, viz. Lot, Urian, and Augusel, who, before the Saxons had prevailed, held the government of those parts. Being willing therefore to bestow on these, as he did on others, the rights of their ancestors, he restored to Augusel the sovereignty over the Scots; his brother Urian he honoured with the sceptre of Mureif; and Lot, who in time of Aurelius Ambrosius had married his sister, by whom he had two sons, Walgan and Modred, he re-established in the consulship of Londonesia, and the other provinces belonging to him. At length, when the whole country was reduced by him to its ancient state, he took to wife Guanhumara, descended from a noble family of Romans, who was educated under duke Cador, and in beauty surpassed all the women of the island. CHAP. X.--_Arthur adds to his government Ireland, Iceland, Gothland, and the Orkneys._ The next summer he fitted out a fleet, and made an expedition into Ireland, which he was desirous to reduce. Upon landing there, he was met by king Guillamurius before mentioned, with a vast number of men, who came with a design to fight him; but at the very beginning of the battle, those naked and unarmed people were miserably routed, and fled to such places as lay open to them for shelter. Guillamurius also in a short time was taken prisoner, and forced to submit; as were also all the other princes of the country after the king's example, being under great consternation at what had happened. After an entire conquest of Ireland, he made a voyage with his fleet to Iceland, which he also subdued. And now a rumour spreading over the rest of the islands, that no country was able to withstand him, Doldavius, king of Gothland, and Gunfasius, king of the Orkneys, came voluntarily, and made their submission, on a promise of paying tribute. Then, as soon as winter was over, he returned back to Britain, where having established the kingdom, he resided in it for twelve years together in peace. CHAP. XI.--_Arthur subdues Norway, Dacia, Aquitaine, and Gaul._ After this, having invited over to him all persons whatsoever that were famous for valour in foreign nations, he began to augment the number of his domestics, and introduced such politeness into his court, as people of the remotest countries thought worthy of their imitation. So that there was not a nobleman who thought himself of any consideration, unless his clothes and arms were made in the same fashion as those of Arthur's knights. At length the fame of his munificence and valour spreading over the whole world, he became a terror to the kings of other countries, who grievously feared the loss of their dominions, if he should make any attempt upon them. Being much perplexed with these anxious cares, they repaired their cities and towers, and built towns in convenient places, the better to fortify themselves against any enterprise of Arthur, when occasion should require. Arthur, being informed of what they were doing, was delighted to find how much they stood in awe of him, and formed a design for the conquest of all Europe. Then having prepared his fleet, he first attempted Norway, that he might procure the crown of it for Lot, his sister's husband. This Lot was the nephew of Sichelin, king of the Norwegians, who being then dead, had appointed him his successor in the kingdom. But the Norwegians, disdaining to receive him, had advanced one Riculf to the sovereignty, and having fortified their cities, thought they were able to oppose Arthur. Walgan, the son of Lot, was then a youth twelve years old, and was recommended by his uncle to the service of pope Supplicius, from whom he received arms. But to return to the history: as soon as Arthur arrived on the coast of Norway, king Riculf, attended with the whole power of that kingdom, met him, and gave him battle, in which, after a great loss of blood on both sides, the Britons at length had the advantage, and making a vigorous charge, killed Riculf and many others with him. Having thus defeated them, they set the cities on fire, dispersed the country people, and pursued the victory till they had reduced all Norway, as also Dacia, under the dominion of Arthur. After the conquest of these countries, and establishment of Lot upon the throne of Norway, Arthur made a voyage to Gaul, and dividing his army into several bodies, began to lay waste that country on all sides. The province of Gaul was then committed to Flollo, a Roman tribune, who held the government of it under the emperor Leo. Upon intelligence of Arthur's coming, he raised all the forces that were under his command, and made war against him, but without success. For Arthur was attended with the youth of all the islands that he had subdued; for which reason he was reported to have such an army as was thought invincible. And even the greater part of the Gallic army, encouraged by his bounty, came over to his service. Therefore Flollo, seeing the disadvantages he lay under, left his camp, and fled with a small number to Paris. There having recruited his army, he fortified the city, and resolved to stand another engagement with Arthur. But while he was thinking of strengthening himself with auxiliary forces in the neighbouring countries, Arthur came upon him unawares, and besieged him in the city. When a month had passed, Flollo, with grief observing his people perish with hunger, sent a message to Arthur, that they two alone should decide the conquest for the kingdom in a duel: for being a person of great stature, boldness and courage, he gave this challenge in confidence of success. Arthur was extremely pleased at Flollo's proposal, and sent him word back again, that he would give him the meeting which he desired. A treaty, therefore, being on both sides agreed to, they met together in the island without the city, where the people waited to see the event. They were both gracefully armed, and mounted on admirably swift horses; and it was hard to tell which gave greater hopes of victory. When they had presented themselves against each other with their lances aloft, they put spurs to their horses, and began a fierce encounter. But Arthur, who handled his lance more warily, struck it into the upper part of Flollo's breast, and avoiding his enemy's weapon, laid him prostrate upon the ground, and was just going to despatch him with his drawn sword, when Flollo, starting up on a sudden, met him with his lance couched, wherewith he mortally stabbed the breast of Arthur's horse, and caused both him and his rider to fall. The Britons, when they saw their king lying on the ground, fearing he was killed, could hardly be restrained from breach of covenant, and falling with one consent upon the Gauls But just as they were upon rushing into the lists, Arthur hastily got up, and guarding himself with his shield, advanced with speed against Flollo. And now they renewed the assault with great rage, eagerly bent upon one another's destruction. At length Flollo, watching his advantage, gave Arthur a blow upon the forehead, which might have proved mortal, had he not blunted the edge of his weapon against the helmet. When Arthur saw his coat of mail and shield red with blood, he was inflamed with still greater rage, and lifting up his Caliburn with his utmost strength struck it through the helmet into Flollo's head, and made a terrible gash. With this wound Flollo fell down, tearing the ground with his spurs, and expired. As soon as this news was spread through the army, the citizens ran together, and opening the gates, surrendered the city to Arthur. After the victory, he divided his army into two parts; one of which he committed to the conduct of Hoel, whom he ordered to march against Guitard, commander of the Pictavians; while he with the other part should endeavour to reduce the other provinces. Hoel upon this entered Aquitaine, possessed himself of the cities of that country, and after distressing Guitard in several battles, forced him to surrender. He also destroyed Gascony with fire and sword, and subdued the princes of it. At the end of nine years, in which time all the parts of Gaul were entirely reduced, Arthur returned back to Paris, where he kept his court, and calling an assembly of the clergy and people, established peace and the just administration of the laws in that kingdom. Then he bestowed Neustria, now called Normandy, upon Bedver, his butler; the province of Andegavia upon Caius, his sewer; and several other provinces upon his great men that attended him. Thus having settled the peace of the cities and countries there, he returned back in the beginning of spring to Britain.[217] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 217: It is wonderful that the contents of this book should ever have passed for authentic history; our ancestors of the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries must have been singularly ignorant of every thing concerning the latter ages of the Roman empire, and the formation of the modern kingdoms of France and Germany, &c., if they could believe that king Arthur ever held his court in Paris.] CHAP. XII.--_Arthur summons a great many kings, princes, archbishops, &c. to a solemn assembly at the City of Legions._ Upon the approach of the feast of Pentecost, Arthur, the better to demonstrate his joy after such triumphant success, and for the more solemn observation of that festival, and reconciling the minds of the princes that were now subject to him, resolved, during that season, to hold a magnificent court, to place the crown upon his head, and to invite all the kings and dukes under his subjection, to the solemnity. And when he had communicated his design to his familiar friends, he pitched upon the City of Legions as a proper place for his purpose. For besides its great wealth above the other cities, its situation, which was in Glamorganshire upon the river Uske, near the Severn sea, was most pleasant, and fit for so great a solemnity. For on one side it was washed by that noble river, so that the kings and princes from the countries beyond the seas might have the convenience of sailing up to it. On the other side, the beauty of the meadows and groves, and magnificence of the royal palaces with lofty gilded roofs that adorned it, made it even rival the grandeur of Rome. It was also famous for two churches; whereof one was built in honour of the martyr Julius, and adorned with a choir of virgins, who had devoted themselves wholly to the service of God; but the other, which was founded in memory of St. Aaron, his companion, and maintained a convent of canons, was the third metropolitan church of Britain. Besides, there was a college of two hundred philosophers, who, being learned in astronomy and the other arts, were diligent in observing the courses of the stars, and gave Arthur true predictions of the events that would happen at that time. In this place, therefore, which afforded such delights, were preparations made for the ensuing festival. Ambassadors were then sent into several kingdoms, to invite to court the princes both of Gaul and all the adjacent islands. Accordingly there came Augusel, king of Albania, now Scotland; Urian, king of Mureif; Cadwallo Lewirh, king of the Venedotians, now called the North Wales men; Sater, king of the Demetians, or South Wales men; Cador, king of Cornwall; also the archbishops of the three metropolitan sees, London, York, and Dubricius of the City of Legions. This prelate, who was primate of Britain, and legate of the apostolical see, was so eminent for his piety, that he could cure any sick person by his prayers. There came also the consuls of the principal cities, viz. Morvid, consul of Gloucester; Mauron, of Worcester; Anaraut, of Salisbury; Arthgal, of Cargueit or Warguit; Jugein, of Legecester; Cursalen, of Kaicester; Kinmare, duke of Dorobernia; Galluc, of Salisbury; Urgennius, of Bath; Jonathal, of Dorchester; Boso, of Ridoc, that is, Oxford. Besides the consuls, came the following worthies of no less dignity: Danaut, Map papo; Cheneus, Map coil; Peredur, Mab eridur; Guiful, Map Nogoit; Regin, Map claut; Eddelein, Map cledauc; Kincar, Mab bagan; Kimmare; Gorboroniam, Map goit; Clofaut, Rupmaneton; Kimbelim, Map trunat; Cathleus, Map catel; Kinlich, Map neton; and many others too tedious to enumerate. From the adjacent islands came Guillamurius, king of Ireland; Malvasius, king of Iceland; Doldavius, king of Gothland; Gunfasius, king of the Orkneys; Lot, king of Norway; Aschillius, king of the Dacians. From the parts beyond the seas, came Holdin, king of Ruteni; Leodegarius, consul of Bolonia; Bedver, the butler, duke of Normandy; Borellus, of Cenomania; Caius, the sewer, duke of Andegavia; Guitard, of Pictavia; also the twelve peers of Gaul, whom Guerinus Carnotensis brought along with him: Hoel, duke of the Armorican Britons, and his nobility, who came with such a train of mules, horses, and rich furniture, as it is difficult to describe. Besides these, there remained no prince of any consideration on this side of Spain, who came not upon this invitation. And no wonder, when Arthur's munificence, which was celebrated over the whole world, made him beloved by all people. CHAP. XIII.--_A description of the royal pomp at the coronation of Arthur._ When all were assembled together in the city, upon the day of the solemnity, the archbishops were conducted to the palace, in order to place the crown upon the king's head. Therefore Dubricius, inasmuch as the court was kept in his diocese, made himself ready to celebrate the office, and undertook the ordering of whatever related to it. As soon as the king was invested with his royal habiliments, he was conducted in great pomp to the metropolitan church, supported on each side by two archbishops, and having four kings, viz. of Albania, Cornwall, Demetia, and Venedotia, whose right it was, bearing four golden swords before him. He was also attended with a concert of all sorts of music, which made most excellent harmony. On another part was the queen, dressed out in her richest ornaments, conducted by the archbishops and bishops to the Temple of Virgins; the four queens also of the kings last mentioned, bearing before her four white doves according to ancient custom; and after her there followed a retinue of women, making all imaginable demonstrations of joy. When the whole procession was ended, so transporting was the harmony of the musical instruments and voices, whereof there was a vast variety in both churches, that the knights who attended were in doubt which to prefer, and therefore crowded from the one to the other by turns, and were far from being tired with the solemnity, though the whole day had been spent in it. At last, when divine service was over at both churches, the king and queen put off their crowns, and putting on their lighter ornaments, went to the banquet; he to one palace with the men, and she to another with the women. For the Britons still observed the ancient custom of Troy, by which the men and women used to celebrate their festivals apart. When they had all taken their seats according to precedence, Caius the sewer, in rich robes of ermine, with a thousand young noblemen, all in like manner clothed with ermine, served up the dishes. From another part, Bedver the butler was followed with the same number of attendants, in various habits, who waited with all kinds of cups and drinking vessels. In the queen's palace were innumerable waiters, dressed with variety of ornaments, all performing their respective offices; which if I should describe particularly, I should draw out the history to a tedious length. For at that time Britain had arrived at such a pitch of grandeur, that in abundance of riches, luxury of ornaments, and politeness of inhabitants, it far surpassed all other kingdoms. The knights in it that were famous for feats of chivalry, wore their clothes and arms all of the same colour and fashion: and the women also no less celebrated for their wit, wore all the same kind of apparel; and esteemed none worthy of their love, but such as had given a proof of their valour in three several battles. Thus was the valour of the men an encouragement for the women's chastity, and the love of the women a spur to the soldier's bravery. CHAP. XIV.--_After a variety of sports at the coronation, Arthur amply rewards his servants._ As soon as the banquets were over, they went into the fields without the city, to divert themselves with various sports. The military men composed a kind of diversion in imitation of a fight on horseback; and the ladies, placed on the top of the walls as spectators, in a sportive manner darted their amorous glances at the courtiers, the more to encourage them. Others spent the remainder of the day in other diversions, such as shooting with bows and arrows, tossing the pike, casting of heavy stones and rocks, playing at dice and the like, and all these inoffensively and without quarrelling. Whoever gained the victory in any of these sports, was rewarded with a rich prize by Arthur. In this manner were the first three days spent; and on the fourth, all who, upon account of their titles, bore any kind of office at this solemnity, were called together to receive honours and preferments in reward of their services, and to fill up the vacancies in the governments of cities and castles, archbishoprics, bishoprics, abbeys, and other posts of honour. CHAP. XV.--_A letter from Lucius Tiberius, general of the Romans, to Arthur being read, they consult about an answer to it._ But St. Dubricius, from a pious desire of leading a hermit's life, made a voluntary resignation of his archiepiscopal dignity; and in his room was consecrated David, the king's uncle, whose life was a perfect example of that goodness which by his doctrine he taught. In place of St. Samson, archbishop of Dole, was appointed, with the consent of Hoel, king of the Armorican Britons, Chelianus, [Kilian] a priest of Llandaff, a person highly recommended for his good life and character. The bishopric of Silchester was conferred upon Mauganius, that of Winchester upon Diwanius, and that of Alclud upon Eledanius. While he was disposing of these preferments upon them, it happened that twelve men of an advanced age, and venerable aspect, and bearing olive branches in their right hands, for a token that they were come upon an embassy, appeared before the king, moving towards him with a slow pace, and speaking with a soft voice; and after their compliments paid, presented him with a letter from Lucius Tiberius, in these words:-- "Lucius, procurator of the commonwealth, to Arthur, king of Britain, according to his desert. The insolence of your tyranny is what fills me with the highest admiration, and the injuries you have done to Rome still increase my wonder. But it is provoking to reflect, that you are grown so much above yourself, as wilfully to avoid seeing this: nor do you consider what it is to have offended by unjust deeds a senate, to whom you cannot be ignorant the whole world owes vassalage. For the tribute of Britain, which the senate had enjoined you to pay, and which used to be paid to the Roman emperors successively from the time of Julius Cæsar, you have had the presumption to withhold, in contempt of their imperial authority. You have seized upon the province of the Allobroges, and all the islands of the ocean, whose kings, while the Roman power prevailed in those parts, paid tribute to our ancestors. And because the senate have decreed to demand justice of you for such repeated injuries, I command you to appear at Rome before the middle of August the next year, there to make satisfaction to your masters, and undergo such sentence as they shall in justice pass upon you. Which if you refuse to do, I shall come to you, and endeavour to recover with my sword, what you in your madness have robbed us of." As soon as the letter was read in the presence of the kings and consuls, Arthur withdrew with them into the Giant's Tower, which was at the entrance of the palace, to think what answer was fit to be returned to such an insolent message. As they were going up the stairs, Cador, duke of Cornwall, who was a man of a merry disposition, said to the king in a jocose manner: "I have been till now under fear, lest the easy life which the Britons lead, by enjoying a long peace, might make them cowards, and extinguish the fame of their gallantry, by which they have raised their name above all other nations. For where the exercise of arms is wanting, and the pleasures of women, dice, and other diversions take place, no doubt, what remains of virtue, honour, courage, and thirst of praise, will be tainted with the rust of idleness. For now almost five years have passed, since we have been abandoned to these delights, and have had no exercise of war. Therefore, to deliver us from sloth, God has stirred up this spirit of the Romans, to restore our military virtues to their ancient state." In this manner did he entertain them with discourse, till they were come to their seats, on which when they were all placed, Arthur spoke to them after this manner. CHAP. XVI.--_Arthur, holding a council with the kings, desires every one of them to deliver their opinions._ "My companions both in good and bad fortune, whose abilities both in counsel and war I have hitherto experienced; the present exigence of affairs, after the message which we have received, requires your careful deliberation and prudent resolutions; for whatever is wisely concerted, is easily executed. Therefore we shall be the better able to bear the annoyance which Lucius threatens to give us, if we unanimously apply ourselves to consider how to overcome it. In my opinion we have no great reason to fear him, when we reflect upon the unjust pretence on which he demands tribute of us. He says he has a right to it, because it was paid to Julius Cæsar, and his successors, who invaded Britain with an army at the invitation of the ancient Britons, when they were quarrelling among themselves, and by force reduced the country under their power, when weakened by civil dissension. And because they gained it in this manner, they had the injustice to take tribute of it. For that can never be possessed justly, which is gained by force and violence. So that he has no reasonable grounds to pretend we are of right his tributaries. But since he has the presumption to make an unjust demand of us, we have certainly as good reason to demand of him tribute from Rome; let the longer sword therefore determine the right between us. For if Rome has decreed that tribute ought to be paid to it from Britain, on account of its having been formerly under the yoke of Julius Cæsar, and other Roman emperors; I for the same reason now decree, that Rome ought to pay tribute to me, because my predecessors formerly held the government of it. For Belinus, that glorious king of the Britons, with the assistance of his brother Brennus, duke of the Allobroges, after they had hanged up twenty noble Romans in the middle of the market-place, took their city, and kept possession of it a long time. Likewise Constantine, the son of Helena, and Maximian [Maximus], who were both my kinsmen, and both wore the crown of Britain, gained the imperial throne of Rome. Do not you, therefore, think that we ought to demand tribute of the Romans? As for Gaul and the adjacent islands of the ocean, we have no occasion to return them any answer, since they did not defend them, when we attempted to free them from their power." As soon as he had done speaking to this effect, Hoel, king of the Armorican Britons, who had the precedence of the rest, made answer in these words. CHAP. XVII.--_The opinion of Hoel, king of Armorica, concerning a war with the Romans._ "After the most profound deliberation that any of us shall be able to make, I think better advice cannot be given, than what your majesty in your great wisdom and policy now offers. Your speech, which is no less wise than eloquent, has superseded all consultation on our part; and nothing remains for us to do, but to admire and gratefully acknowledge your majesty's firmness of mind, and depth of policy, to which we owe such excellent advice. For if upon this motive you are pleased to make an expedition to Rome, I doubt not but it will be crowned with glorious success; since it will be undertaken for the defence of our liberties, and to demand justly of our enemies, what they have unjustly demanded of us. For that person who would rob another, deserves to lose his own by him against whom the attempt is made. And, therefore, since the Romans threatened us with this injury, it will undoubtedly turn to their own loss, if we can have but an opportunity of engaging with them. This is what the Britons universally desire; this is what we have promised us in the Sibylline prophecies, which expressly declare, that the Roman empire shall be obtained by three persons, natives of Britain. The oracle is fulfilled in two of them, since it is manifest (as your majesty observed) that those two celebrated princes, Belinus and Constantine, governed the Roman empire: and now you are the third to whom this supreme dignity is promised. Make haste, therefore, to receive what God makes no delay to give you; to subdue those who are ready to receive your yoke; and to advance us all, who for your advancement will spare neither limbs nor life. And that you may accomplish this, I myself will attend you in person with ten thousand men." CHAP. XVIII.--_The opinion of Augusel._ When Hoel concluded his speech, Augusel, king of Albania, declared his good affection to the cause after this manner. "I am not able to express the joy that has transported me, since my lord has declared to us his designs. For we seem to have done nothing by all our past wars with so many and potent princes, if the Romans and Germans be suffered to enjoy peace, and we do not severely revenge on them the grievous oppressions which they formerly brought upon this country. But now, since we are at liberty to encounter them, I am overwhelmed with joy and eagerness of desire, to see a battle with them, when the blood of those cruel oppressors will be no less acceptable to me than a spring of water is to one who is parched with thirst. If I shall but live to see that day, how sweet will be the wounds which I shall then either receive or give? Nay, how sweet will be even death itself, when suffered in revenging the injuries done to our ancestors, in defending our liberties, and in promoting the glory of our king! Let us then begin with these poltroons, and spoil them of all their trophies, by making an entire conquest of them. And I for my share will add to the army two thousand horse, besides foot." CHAP. XIX.--_They unanimously agree upon a war with the Romans._ To the same effect spoke all the rest, and promised each of them their full quota of forces; so that besides those promised by the duke of Armorica, the number of men from the island of Britain alone was sixty thousand, all completely armed. But the kings of the other islands, as they had not been accustomed to any cavalry, promised their quota of infantry; and, from the six provincial islands, viz. Ireland, Iceland, Gothland, the Orkneys, Norway, and Dacia, were reckoned a hundred and twenty thousand. From the duchies of Gaul, that is, of the Ruteni, the Portunians, the Estrusians, the Cenomanni, the Andegavians, and Pictavians, were eighty thousand. From the twelve consulships of those who came along with Guerinus Carnotensis, twelve hundred. All together made up a hundred and eighty-three thousand two hundred, besides foot which did not easily fall under number. CHAP. XX.--_Arthur prepares for a war, and refuses to pay tribute to the Romans._ King Arthur, seeing all unanimously ready for his service, ordered them to return back to their countries with speed, and get ready the forces which they had promised, and to hasten to the general rendezvous upon the kalends of August, at the mouth of the river Barba, that from thence they might advance with them to the borders of the Allobroges, to meet the Romans. Then he sent word to the emperors by their ambassadors; that as to paying them tribute, he would in no wise obey their commands; and that the journey he was about to make to Rome, was not to stand the award of their sentence, but to demand of them what they had judicially decreed to demand of him. With this answer the ambassadors departed; and at the same time also departed all the kings and noblemen, to perform with all expedition the orders that had been given them. BOOK X. CHAP. I.--_Lucius Tiberius calls together the eastern kings against the Britons._ Lucius Tiberius, on receiving this answer, by order of the senate published a decree, for the eastern kings to come with their forces, and assist in the conquest of Britain. In obedience to which there came in a very short time, Epistrophius, king of the Grecians; Mustensar, king of the Africans; Alifantinam, king of Spain; Hirtacius, king of the Parthians; Boccus, of the Medes; Sertorius, of Libya; Teucer, king of Phrygia; Serses, king of the Itureans; Pandrasus, king of Egypt; Micipsa, king of Babylon; Polytetes, duke of Bithynia; Teucer, duke of Phrygia; Evander, of Syria; Æthion, of Boeotia; Hippolytus, of Crete, with the generals and nobility under them. Of the senatorian order also came, Lucius Catellus, Marius Lepidus, Caius Metellus Cotta, Quintus Milvius Catulus, Quintus Carutius, and as many others as made up the number of forty thousand one hundred and sixty.[218] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 218: It is almost unnecessary to inform the reader that not one of these kings ever existed; and yet this caution may be of use, so prone are men to indulge the bias of the imagination at the expense of historic truth.] CHAP. II.--_Arthur commits to his nephew Modred the government of Britain. His dream at Hamo's Port._ After the necessary dispositions were made, upon the kalends of August, they began their march towards Britain, which when Arthur had intelligence of, he committed the government of the kingdom to his nephew Modred, and queen Guanhumara, and marched with his army to Hamo's Port, where the wind stood fair for him. But while he, surrounded with all his numerous fleet, was sailing joyfully with a brisk gale, it happened that about midnight he fell into a very sound sleep, and in a dream saw a bear flying in the air, at the noise of which all the shores trembled; also a terrible dragon flying from the west, which enlightened the country with the brightness of its eyes. When these two met, they began a dreadful fight; but the dragon with its fiery breath burned the bear which often assaulted him, and threw him down scorched to the ground. Arthur upon this awaking, related his dream to those that stood about him, who took upon them to interpret it, and told him that the dragon signified himself, but the bear, some giant that should encounter with him; and that the fight portended the duel that would be between them, and the dragon's victory the same that would happen to himself. But Arthur conjectured it portended something else, and that the vision was applicable to himself and the emperor. As soon as the morning after this night's sail appeared, they found themselves arrived at the mouth of the river Barba. And there they pitched their tents, to wait the arrival of the kings of the islands and the generals of the other provinces. CHAP. III.--_Arthur kills a Spanish giant who had stolen away Helena, the niece of Hoel._ In the meantime Arthur had news brought him, that a giant of monstrous size was come from the shores of Spain, and had forcibly taken away Helena, the niece of duke Hoel, from her guard, and fled with her to the top of that which is now called Michael's Mount;[219] and that the soldiers of the country who pursued him were able to do nothing against him. For whether they attacked him by sea or land, he either overturned their ships with vast rocks, or killed them with several sorts of darts, besides many of them that he took and devoured half alive. The next night, therefore, at the second hour, Arthur, taking along with him Caius the sewer, and Bedver the butler, went out privately from the camp, and hastened towards the mountain. For being a man of undaunted courage, he did not care to lead his army against such monsters; both because he could in this manner animate his men by his own example, and also because he was alone sufficient to deal with them. As soon as they came near the mountain, they saw a fire burning upon the top of it, and another on a lesser mountain, that was not far from it. And being in doubt upon which of them the giant dwelt, they sent away Bedver to know the certainty of the matter. So he, finding a boat, sailed over in it first to the lesser mountain, to which he could in no other way have access, because it was situated in the sea. When he had begun to climb up to the top of it, he was at first frightened with a dismal howling cry of a woman from above, and imagined the monster to be there: but quickly rousing up his courage, he drew his sword, and having reached the top, found nothing but the fire which he had before seen at a distance. He discovered also a grave newly made, and an old woman weeping and howling by it, who at the sight of him instantly cried out in words interrupted with sighs, "O, unhappy man, what misfortune brings you to this place? O the inexpressible tortures of death that you must suffer! I pity you, I pity you, because the detestable monster will this night destroy the flower of your youth. For that most wicked and odious giant, who brought the duke's niece, whom I have just now buried here, and me, her nurse, along with her into this mountain, will come and immediately murder you in a most cruel manner. O deplorable fate! This most illustrious princess, sinking under the fear her tender heart conceived, while the foul monster would have embraced her, fainted away and expired. And when he could not satiate his brutish lust upon her, who was the very soul, joy, and happiness of my life, being enraged at the disappointment of his bestial desire, he forcibly committed a rape upon me, who (let God and my old age witness) abhorred his embraces. Fly, dear sir, fly, for fear he may come, as he usually does, to lie with me, and finding you here most barbarously butcher you." Bedver, moved at what she said, as much as it is possible for human nature to be, endeavoured with kind words to assuage her grief, and to comfort her with the promise of speedy help: and then returned back to Arthur, and gave him an account of what he had met with. Arthur very much lamented the damsel's sad fate, and ordered his companions to leave him to deal with him alone; unless there was an absolute necessity, and then they were to come in boldly to his assistance. From hence they went directly to the next mountain, leaving their horses with their armour-bearers, and ascended to the top, Arthur leading the way. The deformed savage was then by the fire, with his face besmeared with the clotted blood of swine, part of which he already devoured, and was roasting the remainder upon spits by the fire. But at the sight of them, whose appearance was a surprise to him, he hastened to his club, which two strong men could hardly lift from the ground. Upon this the king drew his sword, and guarding himself with his shield, ran with all his speed to prevent his getting it. But the other, who was not ignorant of his design, had by this time snatched it up, and gave the king such a terrible blow upon his shield, that he made the shores ring with the noise, and perfectly stunned the king's ears with it. Arthur, fired with rage at this, lifted up his sword, and gave him a wound in the forehead, which was not indeed mortal, but yet such as made the blood gush out over his face and eyes, and so blinded him; for he had partly warded off the stroke from his forehead with his club, and prevented its being fatal. However, his loss of sight, by reason of the blood flowing over his eyes, made him exert himself with greater fury, and like an enraged boar against a hunting-spear, so did he rush in against Arthur's sword, and grasping him about the waist, forced him down upon his knees. But Arthur, nothing daunted, slipped out of his hands, and so exerted himself with his sword, that he gave the giant no respite till he had struck it up to the very back through his skull. At this the hideous monster raised a dreadful roar, and like an oak torn up from the roots by the winds, so did he make the ground resound with his fall. Arthur, bursting out into a fit of laughter at the sight, commanded Bedver to cut off his head, and give it to one of the armour-bearers, who was to carry it to the camp, and there expose it to public view, but with orders for the spectators of this combat to keep silence. He told them he had found none of so great strength, since he killed the giant Ritho, who had challenged him to fight, upon the mountain Aravius. This giant had made himself furs of the beards of kings he had killed, and had sent word to Arthur carefully to cut off his beard and send it to him; and then, out of respect to his pre-eminence over other kings, his beard should have the honour of the principal place. But if he refused to do it, he challenged him to a duel, with this offer, that the conqueror should have the furs, and also the beard of the vanquished for a trophy of his victory. In his conflict, therefore, Arthur proved victorious, and took the beard and spoils of the giant: and, as he said before, had met with none that could be compared to him for strength, till his last engagement. After this victory, they returned at the second watch of the night to the camp with the head; to see which there was a great concourse of people, all extolling this wonderful exploit of Arthur, by which he had freed the country from a most destructive and voracious monster. But Hoel, in great grief for the loss of his niece, commanded a mausoleum to be built over her body in the mountain where she was buried, which, taking the damsel's name, is called Helena's Tomb to this day. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 219: This most romantic and interesting rock is crowned by a singularly quaint structure, half monastic and half castellated. It must have been a place of great strength before the invention of powder, and contains some curious rooms, a dungeon and other remains of feudality.] CHAP. IV. _Arthur's ambassadors to Lucius Tiberius deliver Pelreius Cotta, whom they took prisoner to Arthur._ As soon as all the forces were arrived which Arthur expected, he marched from thence to Augustodunum, where he supposed the general was. But when he came to the river Alba, he had intelligence brought him of his having encamped not far off, and that he was come with so vast an army, that he would not be able to withstand it. However, this did not deter him from pursuing his enterprise; but he pitched his camp upon the bank of the river, to facilitate the bringing up of his forces, and to secure his retreat, if there should be occasion; and sent Boso the consul of Oxford, and Guerinus Carnotensis, with his nephew Walgan, to Lucius Tiberius, requiring him either to retire from the coasts of Gaul, or come the next day, that they might try their right to that country with their swords. The retinue of young courtiers that attended Walgan, highly rejoicing at this opportunity, were urgent with him to find some occasion for a quarrel in the commander's camp, that so they might engage the Romans. Accordingly they went to Lucius, and commanded him to retire out of Gaul, or hazard a battle the next day. But while he was answering them, that he was not come to retire, but to govern the country, there was present Caius Quintilianus, his nephew, who said, "That the Britons were better at boasting and threatening, than they were at fighting." Walgan immediately took fire at this, and ran upon him with his drawn sword, wherewith he cut off his head, and then retreated speedily with his companions to their horses. The Romans, both horse and foot, pursued to revenge the loss of their countryman upon the ambassadors, who fled with great precipitation. But Guerinus Carnotensis, just as one of them was come up to him, rallied on a sudden, and with his lance struck at once through his armour and the very middle of his body, and laid him prostrate on the ground. The sight of this noble exploit raised the emulation of Boso of Oxford, who, wheeling about his horse, struck his lance into the throat of the first man he met with, and dismounted him mortally wounded. In the meantime, Marcellus Mutius, with great eagerness to revenge Quintilian's death, was just upon the back of Walgan, and laid hold of him; which the other quickly obliged him to quit, by cleaving both his helmet and head to the breast with his sword. He also bade him, when he arrived at the infernal regions, tell the man he had killed in the camp, "That in this manner the Britons showed their boasting and threatening." Then having re-assembled his men, he encouraged them to despatch every one his pursuer in the same manner as he had done; which accordingly they did not fail to accomplish. Notwithstanding, the Romans continued their pursuit with lances and swords, wherewith they annoyed the others, though without slaughter or taking any prisoners. But as they came near a certain wood, a party of six thousand Britons, who seeing the flight of the consuls, had hid themselves, to be in readiness for their assistance, sallied forth, and putting spurs to their horses, rent the air with their loud shouts, and being well fenced with their shields, assaulted the Romans suddenly, and forced them to fly. And now it was the Britons' turn to pursue, which they did with better success, for they dismounted, killed, or took several of the enemy. Petreius, the senator, upon this news, hastened to the assistance of his countrymen with ten thousand men, and compelled the Britons to retreat to the wood from whence they had sallied forth; though not without loss of his own men. For the Britons, being well acquainted with the ground, in their flight killed a great number of their pursuers. The Britons thus giving ground, Hider, with another reinforcement of five thousand men, advanced with speed to sustain them; so that they again faced those, upon whom they had turned their backs, and renewed the assault with great vigour. The Romans also stood their ground, and continued the fight with various success. The great fault of the Britons was, that though they had been very eager to begin the fight, yet when begun they were less careful of the hazard they ran. Whereas the Romans were under better discipline, and had the advantage of a prudent commander, Petreius Cotta, to tell them where to advance, and where to give ground, and by these means did great injury to the enemy. When Boso observed this, he drew off from the rest a large party of those whom he knew to be the stoutest men, and spoke to them after this manner: "Since we have begun this fight without Arthur's knowledge, we must take care that we be not defeated in the enterprise. For, if we should, we shall both very much endanger our men, and incur the king's high displeasure. Rouse up your courage, and follow me through the Roman squadrons, that with the favour of good fortune we may either kill or take Petreius prisoner." With this they put spurs to their horses, and piercing through the enemies' thickest ranks, reached the place where Petreius was giving his commands. Boso hastily ran in upon him, and grasping him about the neck, fell with him to the ground, as he had intended. The Romans hereupon ran to his delivery, as did the Britons to Boso's assistance; which occasioned on both sides great slaughter, noise, and confusion, while one party strove to rescue their leader, and the other to keep him prisoner. So that this proved the sharpest part of the whole fight, and wherein their spears, swords, and arrows had the fullest employment. At length, the Britons, joining in a close body, and sustaining patiently the assaults of the Romans, retired to the main body of their army with Petreius: which they had no sooner done, than they again attacked them, being now deprived of their leader, very much weakened, dispirited, and just beginning to flee. They, therefore, eagerly pursued, beat down, and killed several of them, and as soon as they had plundered them, pursued the rest: but they took the greatest number of them prisoners, being desirous to present them to the king. When they had at last sufficiently harassed them, they returned with their plunder and prisoners to the camp; where they gave an account of what had happened, and presented Petreius Cotta with the other prisoners before Arthur, with great joy for the victory. Arthur congratulated them upon it, and promised them advancement to greater honours, for behaving themselves so gallantly when he was absent from them. Then he gave his command to some of his men, to conduct the prisoners the next day to Paris, and deliver them to be kept in custody there till further orders. The party that were to undertake this charge, he ordered to be conducted by Cador, Bedver, and the two consuls, Borellus and Richerius, with their servants, till they should be out of all fear of disturbance from the Romans. CHAP. V.--_The Romans attack the Britons with a very great force, but are put to flight by them._ But the Romans, happening to get intelligence of their design, at the command of their general chose out fifteen thousand men, who that night were to get before the others in their march, and rescue their fellow soldiers out of their hands. They were to be commanded by Vulteius Catellus and Quintus Carutius, senators, as also Evander, king of Syria, and Sertorius, king of Libya. Accordingly they began their march that very night, and possessed themselves of a place convenient for lying in ambuscade, through which they supposed the others would pass. In the morning the Britons set forward along the same road with their prisoners, and were now approaching the place in perfect ignorance of the cunning stratagem of the enemy. No sooner had they entered it, than the Romans, to their great surprise, sprang forth and fell furiously upon them. Notwithstanding, the Britons, at length recovering from their consternation, assembled together, and prepared for a bold opposition, by appointing a party to guard the prisoners, and drawing out the rest in order of battle against the enemy. Richerius and Bedver had the command of the party that were set over the prisoners; but Cador, duke of Cornwall, and Borellus headed the others. But all the Romans had made their sally without being placed in any order, and cared not to form themselves, that they might lose no time in the slaughter of the Britons, whom they saw busied in marshalling their troops, and preparing only for their defence. By this conduct the Britons were extremely weakened, and would have shamefully lost their prisoners, had not good fortune rendered them assistance. For Guitard, commander of the Pictavians, happened to get information of the designed stratagem, and was come up with three thousand men, by the help of which they at last got the advantage, and paid back the slaughter upon their insolent assailants. Nevertheless, the loss which they sustained at the beginning of this action was very considerable. For they lost Borellus, the famous consul of the Cenomanni, in an encounter with Evander, king of Syria, who stuck his lance into his throat; besides four noblemen, viz. Hirelgas Deperirus, Mauricius Cadorcanensis, Aliduc of Tintagel, and Hider his son, than whom braver men were hardly to be found. But yet neither did this loss dispirit the Britons, but rather made them more resolute to keep the prisoners, and kill the enemy. The Romans, now finding themselves unable to maintain the fight any longer, suddenly quitted the field, and made towards their camp; but were pursued with slaughter by the Britons, who also took many of them, and allowed them no respite till they had killed Vulteius Catellus and Evander, king of Syria, and wholly dispersed the rest. After which they sent away their former prisoners to Paris, whither they were to conduct them, and returned back with those newly taken to the king; to whom they gave great hopes of a complete conquest of their enemies, since very few of the great number that came against them had met with any success. CHAP. VI.--_Lucius Tiberius goes to Lengriæ. Arthur, designing to vanquish him, by a stratagem possesses himself of the valley of Suesia._ These repeated disasters wrought no small disturbance in the mind of Lucius Tiberius, and made him hesitate whether to bring it to a general battle with Arthur, or to retire into Augustodunum, and stay till the emperor Leo with his forces could come to his assistance. At length, giving way to his fears, he entered Lengriæ with his army, intending to reach the other city the night following. Arthur, finding this, and being desirous to get before him in his march, left the city on the left hand, and the same night entered a certain valley called Suesia, through which Lucius was to pass. There he divided his men into several bodies, commanding one legion, over which Morvid, consul of Gloucester, was appointed general, to wait close by, that he might retreat to them if there should be occasion, and from thence rally his broken forces for a second battle. The rest he divided into seven parts, in each of which he placed five thousand five hundred and fifty-five men, all completely armed. He also appointed different stations to his horse and foot, and gave command that just as the foot should advance to the attack, the horse, keeping close together in their ranks, should at the same moment march up obliquely, and endeavour to put the enemy into disorder. The companies of foot were, after the British manner, drawn out into a square, with a right and left wing, under the command of Augusel, king of Albania, and Cador, duke of Cornwall; the one presiding over the right wing, the other over the left. Over another party were placed the two famous consuls, Guerinus of Chartres and Boso of Richiden, called in the Saxon tongue Oxineford; over a third were Aschillius, king of the Dacians, and Lot, king of the Norwegians; the fourth being commanded by Hoel, duke of the Armoricans, and Walgan, the king's nephew. After these were four other parties placed in the rear; the first commanded by Caius the sewer, and Bedver the butler; the second by Holdin, duke of the Ruteni, and Guitard of the Pictavians; the third by Vigenis of Legecester, Jonathal of Dorchester, and Cursalem of Caicester; the fourth by Urbgennius of Bath. Behind all these, Arthur, for himself and the legion that was to attend near him, made choice of a place, where he set up a golden dragon for a standard, whither the wounded or fatigued might in case of necessity retreat, as into their camp. The legion that was with him consisted of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six men. CHAP. VII.--_Arthur's exhortation to his soldiers._ After he had thus placed them all in their stations, he made the following speech to his soldiers:--"My brave countrymen, who have made Britain the mistress of thirty kingdoms, I congratulate you upon your late noble exploit, which to me is a proof that your valour is so far from being impaired, that it is rather increased. Though you have been five years without exercise, wherein the softening pleasures of an easy life had a greater share of your time than the use of arms; yet all this has not made you degenerate from your natural bravery, which you have shown in forcing the Romans to flee. The pride of their leaders has animated them to attempt the invasion of your liberties. They have tried you in battle, with numbers superior to yours, and have not been able to stand before you; but have basely withdrawn themselves into that city, from which they are now ready to march out, and to pass through this valley in their way to Augustodunum; so that you may have an opportunity of falling upon them unawares like a flock of sheep. Certainly they expected to find in you the cowardice of the Eastern nations, when they thought to make your country tributary, and you their slaves. What, have they never heard of your wars, with the Dacians, Norwegians, and princes of the Gauls, whom you reduced under my power, and freed from their shameful yoke? We, then, that have had success in a greater war, need not doubt of it in a less, if we do but endeavour with the same spirit to vanquish these poltroons. You shall want no rewards of honour, if as faithful soldiers you do but strictly obey my commands. For as soon as we have routed them, we will march straight to Rome, and take it; and then all the gold, silver, palaces, towers, towns, cities, and other riches of the vanquished shall be yours." He had hardly done speaking before they all with one voice declared, that they were ready to suffer death, rather than quit the field while he had life. CHAP. VIII.--_Lucius Tiberius, discovering Arthur's design, in a speech animates his followers to fight._ But Lucius Tiberius, discovering the designs that were formed against him, would not flee, as he had at first intended, but taking new courage, resolved to march to the same valley against them; and calling together his principal commanders, spoke to them in these words:--"Venerable fathers, to whose empire both the Eastern and Western kingdoms owe obedience, remember the virtues of your ancestors, who were not afraid to shed their blood, when the vanquishing of the enemies of the commonwealth required it; but to leave an example of their courage and military virtues to their posterity, behaved themselves in all battles with that contempt of death, as if God had given them some security against it. By this conduct they often triumphed, and by triumphing escaped death. Such was the reward of their virtue from Divine Providence, which overrules all events. The increase of the commonwealth, and of their own valour was owing to this; and all those virtues that usually adorn the great, as integrity, honour, and munificence, flourishing a long time in them, raised them and their posterity to the empire of the whole world. Let their noble examples animate you: rouse up the spirit of the ancient Romans, and be not afraid to march out against our enemies that are lying in ambush before us in the valley, but boldly with your swords demand of them your just rights. Do not think that I retired into this city for fear of engaging with them; but I thought that, as their pursuit of us was rash and foolish, so we might hence on a sudden intercept them in it, and by dividing their main body make a great slaughter of them. But now, since they have altered the measures which we supposed they had taken, let us also alter ours. Let us go in quest of them and bravely fall upon them; or if they shall happen to have the advantage in the beginning of the battle, let us only stand our ground during the fury of their first assault, and the victory will undoubtedly be ours; for in many battles this manner of conduct has been attended with victory." As soon as he had made an end of speaking these and other things, they all declared their assent, promised with an oath to stand by him, and hastened to arm themselves. Which when they had done, they marched out of Lengriæ to the valley where Arthur had drawn out his forces in order of battle. Then they also began to marshal their army, which they divided into twelve companies, and according to the Roman manner of battle, drew out each company into the form of a wedge, consisting of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six men. Each company also had its respective leaders, who were to give direction when to advance, or when to be upon the defensive. One of them was headed by Lucius Catellus the senator, and Alifantinam, king of Spain; another by Hirtacius, king of the Parthians, and Marius Lepidus, a senator; a third by Boccus, king of the Medes, and Caius Metellus, a senator; a fourth by Sertorius, king of Libya, and Quintus Milvius, a senator. These four companies were placed in the front of the army. In the rear of these were four others, whereof one was commanded by Serses, king of the Itureans; another by Pandrasus, king of Egypt; a third by Polytetes, duke of Bithynia; a fourth by Teucer, duke of Phrygia. And again behind all these four others, whereof the commanders were Quintus Carucius, a senator, Lælius Ostiensis, Sulpitius Subuculus, and Mauricius Sylvanus. As for the general himself, he was sometimes in one place, sometimes another, to encourage and direct as there should be occasion. For a standard he ordered a golden eagle to be firmly set up in the centre, for his men to repair to whenever they should happen to be separated from their company. CHAP. IX.--_A battle between Arthur and Lucius Tiberius._ And now the Britons and Romans stood presenting their arms at one another; when forthwith at the sound of the trumpets, the company that was headed by the king of Spain and Lucius Catellus, boldly rushed forward against that which the king of Scotland and duke of Cornwall led, but were not able to make the least breach in their firm ranks. So that while these stood their ground, up came Guerinus and Boso with a body of horse upon their full speed, broke through the party that began the assault, and met with another which the king of the Parthians was leading up against Aschillius, king of Dacia. After this first onset, there followed a general engagement of both armies with great violence, and several breaches were made on each side. The shouts, the slaughter, the quantity of blood spilled, and the agonies of the dying, made a dreadful scene of horror. At first, the Britons sustained a great loss, by having Bedver the butler killed, and Caius the sewer mortally wounded. For, as Bedver met Boccus, king of the Medes, he fell dead by a stab of his lance amidst the enemies' troops. And Caius, in endeavouring to revenge his death, was surrounded by the Median troops, and there received a mortal wound, yet as a brave soldier he opened himself a way with the wing which he led, killed and dispersed the Medes, and would have made a safe retreat with all his men, had he not met the king of Libya with the forces under him, who put his whole company into disorder; yet not so great, but that he was still able to get off with a few, and flee with Bedver's corps to the golden dragon. The Neustrians grievously lamented at the sight of their leader's mangled body; and so did the Andegavians, when they beheld their consul wounded. But there was now no room for complaints, for the furious and bloody shocks of both armies made it necessary to provide for their own defence. Therefore Hirelgas, the nephew of Bedver, being extremely enraged at his death, called up to him three hundred men, and like a wild boar amongst a pack of dogs, broke through the enemies' ranks with his horse, making towards the place where he had seen the standard of the king of the Medes; little regarding what might befall him, if he could but revenge the loss of his uncle. At length he reached the place, killed the king, brought off his body to his companions, and laid it by that of his uncle, where he mangled it in the same manner. Then calling with a loud voice to his countrymen, he animated their troops, and vehemently pressed them to exert themselves to the utmost, now that their spirits were raised, and the enemy disheartened; and especially as they had the advantage of them in being placed in better order, and so might the more grievously annoy them. Encouraged with this exhortation, they began a general assault upon the enemy, which was attended with a terrible slaughter on both sides. For on the part of the Romans, besides many others, fell Alifantinam, king of Spain, Micipsa of Babylon, as also Quintus Milvius and Marius Lepidus, senators. On the part of the Britons, Holdin, king of the Ruteni, Leodegarius of Bolonia, and three consuls of Britain, Cursalem of Caicester, Galluc of Salisbury, and Urbgennius of Bath. So that the troops which they commanded, being extremely weakened, retreated till they came to the army of the Armorican Britons, commanded by Hoel and Walgan. But these, being inflamed at the retreat of their friends, encouraged them to stand their ground, and caused them with the help of their own forces to put their pursuers to flight. While they continued this pursuit, they beat down and killed several of them, and gave them no respite, till they came to the general's troop; who, seeing the distress of his companions, hastened to their assistance. CHAP. X.--_Hoel and Walgan signalize their valour in the fight._ And now in this latter encounter the Britons were worsted, with the loss of Kimarcoc, consul of Trigeria, and two thousand with him; besides three famous noblemen, Richomarcus, Bloccovius, and Jagivius of Bodloan, who, had they but enjoyed the dignity of princes, would have been celebrated for their valour through all succeeding ages. For, during this assault which they made in conjunction with Hoel and Walgan, there was not an enemy within their reach that could escape the fury of their sword or lance. But upon their falling in among Lucius's party, they were surrounded by them, and suffered the same fate with the consul and the other men. The loss of these men made those matchless heroes, Hoel and Walgan, much more eager to assault the general's ranks, and to try on all sides where to make the greatest impression. But Walgan, whose valour was never to be foiled, endeavoured to gain access to Lucius himself, that he might encounter him, and with this view beat down and killed all that stood in his way. And Hoel, not inferior to him, did no less service in another part, by spiriting up his men, and giving and receiving blows among the enemy with the same undaunted courage. It was hard to determine, which of them was the stoutest soldier. CHAP. XI.--_Lucius Tiberius being killed, the Britons obtain the victory._ But Walgan, by forcing his way through the enemy's troops, as we said before, found at last (what he had wished for) access to the general, and immediately encountered him. Lucius, being then in the flower of his youth, and a person of great courage and vigour, desired nothing more than to engage with such a one as might put his strength to its full trial. Putting himself, therefore, into a posture of defence, he received Walgan with joy, and was not a little proud to try his courage with one of whom he had heard such great things. The fight continued between them a long time, with great force of blows, and no less dexterity in warding them off, each being resolved upon the other's destruction. During this sharp conflict between them, the Romans, on a sudden, recovering their courage, made an assault upon the Armoricans, and having relieved their general, repulsed Hoel and Walgan, with their troops, till they found themselves unawares met by Arthur and the forces under him. For he, hearing of the slaughter that was a little before made of his men, had speedily advanced with his legion, and drawing out his Caliburn, spoke to them, with a loud voice, after this manner: "What are you doing, soldiers? Will you suffer these effeminate wretches to escape? Let not one of them get off alive. Remember the force of your arms, that have reduced thirty kingdoms under my subjection. Remember your ancestors, whom the Romans, when at the height of their power, made tributary. Remember your liberties, which these pitiful fellows, that are much your inferiors, attempt to deprive you of. Let none of them escape alive. What are you doing?" With these expostulations, he rushed upon the enemy, made terrible havoc among them, and not a man did he meet but at one blow he laid either him or his horse dead upon the ground. They, therefore, in astonishment fled from him, as a flock of sheep from a fierce lion, whom raging hunger provokes to devour whatever happens to come near him. Their arms were no manner of protection to them against the force with which this valiant prince wielded his Caliburn. Two kings, Sertorius of Libya, and Polytetes of Bithynia, unfortunately felt its fury, and had their heads cut off by it. The Britons, when they saw the king performing such wonders, took courage again. With one consent they assaulted the Romans, kept close together in their ranks, and while they assailed the foot in one part, endeavoured to beat down and pierce through the horse in another. Notwithstanding, the Romans made a brave defence, and at the instigation of Lucius laboured to pay back their slaughter upon the Britons. The eagerness and force that were now shown on both sides were as great as if it was the beginning of the battle. Arthur continued to do great execution with his own hand, and encouraged the Britons to maintain the fight; as Lucius Tiberius did the Romans, and made them perform many memorable exploits. He himself, in the meantime, was very active in going from place to place, and suffered none to escape with life that happened to come within the reach of his sword or lance. The slaughter that was now made on both sides was very dreadful, and the turns of fortune various, sometimes the Britons prevailing, sometimes the Romans. At last, while this sharp dispute continued Morvid, consul of Gloucester with his legion, which, as we said before, was placed between the hills, came up with speed upon the rear of the enemy, and to their great surprise assaulted, broke through, and dispersed them with great slaughter. This last and decisive blow proved fatal to many thousands of Romans, and even to the general Lucius himself, who was killed among the crowds with a lance by an unknown hand. But the Britons, by long maintaining the fight, at last with great difficulty gained the victory. CHAP. XII.--_Part of the Romans flee; the rest, of their own accord, surrender themselves for slaves._ The Romans, being now, therefore, dispersed, betook themselves through fear, some to the by-ways and woods, some to the cities and towns, and all other places, where they could be most safe; but were either killed or taken and plundered by the Britons who pursued: so that great part of them voluntarily and shamefully held forth their hands, to receive their chains, in order to prolong for a while a wretched life. In all which the justice of Divine Providence was very visible; considering how unjustly the ancestors of the Britons were formerly invaded and harassed by those of the Romans; and that these stood only in defence of that liberty, which the others would have deprived them of; and refused the tribute, which the others had no right to demand. CHAP. XIII.--_The bodies of the slain are decently buried, each in their respective countries._ Arthur, after he had completed his victory, gave orders for separating the bodies of his nobility from those of the enemy, and preparing a pompous funeral for them; and that, when ready, they should be carried to the abbeys of their respective countries, there to be honourably buried. But Bedver the butler was, with great lamentation of the Neustrians, carried to his own city Bajocæ, which Bedver the first, his great grandfather, had built. There he was, with great solemnity, laid close by the wall, in a burying-place on the south side of the city. But Cheudo was carried, grievously wounded to Camus, a town which he had himself built, where in a short time he died of his wounds, and was buried, as became a duke of Andegavia, in a convent of hermits, which was in a wood not far from the town. Also Holdin, duke of Ruteni, was carried to Flanders, and buried in his own city Terivana. The other consuls and noblemen were conveyed to the neighbouring abbeys, according to Arthur's orders. Out of his great clemency, also, he ordered the country people to take care of the burial of the enemy, and to carry the body of Lucius to the senate, and tell them, that was the only tribute which Britain ought to pay them. After this he stayed in those parts till the next winter was over, and employed his time in reducing the cities of the Allobroges. But at the beginning of the following summer, as he was on his march towards Rome, and was beginning to pass the Alps, he had news brought him that his nephew Modred, to whose care he had entrusted Britain, had by tyrannical and treasonable practices set the crown upon his own head; and that queen Guanhumara, in violation of her first marriage, had wickedly married him. BOOK XI. CHAP. I.--_Modred makes a great slaughter of Arthur's men, but is beaten, and flees to Winchester._ Of the matter now to be treated of, most noble consul, Geoffrey of Monmouth shall be silent; but will, nevertheless, though in a mean style, briefly relate what he found in the British book above-mentioned, and heard from that most learned historian, Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, concerning the wars which this renowned king, upon his return to Britain after this victory, waged against his nephew. As soon, therefore, as the report, of this flagrant wickedness reached him, he immediately desisted from his enterprise against Leo, king of the Romans; and having sent away Hoel, duke of the Armoricans, with the army of Gaul, to restore peace in those parts, returned back with speed to Britain, attended only by the kings of the islands, and their armies. But the wicked traitor, Modred, had sent Cheldric, the Saxon leader, into Germany, there to raise all the forces he could find, and return with all speed: and in consideration of this service, had promised him all that part of the island, which reaches from the Humber to Scotland, and whatever Hengist and Horsa had possessed of Kent in the time of Vortigern. So that he, in obedience to his commands, had arrived with eight hundred ships filled with pagan soldiers, and had entered into covenant to obey the traitor as his sovereign; who had also drawn to his assistance the Scots, Picts, Irish, and all others whom he knew to be enemies to his uncle. His whole army, taking pagans and Christians together, amounted to eighty thousand men; with the help of whom he met Arthur just after his landing at the port of Rutupi, and joining battle with him, made a very great slaughter of his men. For the same day fell Augusel, king of Albania, and Walgan, the king's nephew, with innumerable others. Augusel was succeeded in his kingdom by Eventus, his brother Urian's son, who afterwards performed many famous exploits in those wars. After they had at last, with much difficulty, got ashore, they paid back the slaughter, and put Modred and his army to flight. For, by long practice in war, they had learned an excellent way of ordering their forces; which was so managed, that while their foot were employed either in an assault or upon the defensive, the horse would come in at full speed obliquely, break through the enemy's ranks, and so force them to flee. Nevertheless, this perjured usurper got his forces together again, and the night following entered Winchester. As soon as queen Guanhumara heard this, she immediately, despairing of success, fled from York to the City of Legions, where she resolved to lead a chaste life among the nuns in the church of Julius the Martyr, and entered herself one of their order. CHAP. II.--_Modred, after being twice besieged and routed, is killed. Arthur, being wounded, gives up the kingdom to Constantine._ But Arthur, whose anger was now much more inflamed, upon the loss of so many hundreds of his fellow soldiers, after he had buried his slain, went on the third day to the city, and there besieged the traitor, who, notwithstanding, was unwilling to desist from his enterprise, but used all methods to encourage his adherents, and marching out with his troops prepared to fight his uncle. In the battle that followed hereupon, great numbers lost their lives on both sides; but at last Modred's army suffered most, so that he was forced to quit the field shamefully. From hence he made a precipitate flight, and, without taking any care for the burial of his slain, marched in haste towards Cornwall. Arthur, being inwardly grieved that he should so often escape, forthwith pursued him into that country as far as the river Cambula, where the other was expecting his coming. And Modred, as he was the boldest of men, and always the quickest at making an attack, immediately placed his troops in order, resolving either to conquer or to die, rather than continue his flight any longer. He had yet remaining with him sixty thousand men, out of whom he composed three bodies, which contained each of them six thousand six hundred and sixty-six men: but all the rest he joined in one body; and having assigned to each of the other parties their leaders, he took the command of this upon himself. After he had made this disposition of his forces, he endeavoured to animate them, and promised them the estates of their enemies if they came off with victory. Arthur, on the other side, also marshalled his army, which he divided into nine square companies, with a right and left wing; and having appointed to each of them their commanders, exhorted them to make a total rout of those robbers and perjured villains, who, being brought over into the island from foreign countries at the instance of the arch-traitor, were attempting to rob them of all their honours. He likewise told them that a mixed army composed of barbarous people of so many different countries, and who were all raw soldiers and inexperienced in war, would never be able to stand against such brave veteran troops as they were, provided they did their duty. After this encouragement given by each general to his fellow soldiers, the battle on a sudden began with great fury; wherein it would be both grievous and tedious to relate the slaughter, the cruel havoc, and the excess of fury that was to be seen on both sides. In this manner they spent a good part of the day, till Arthur at last made a push with his company, consisting of six thousand six hundred and sixty-six men, against that in which he knew Modred was; and having opened a way with their swords, they pierced quite through it, and made a grievous slaughter. For in this assault fell the wicked traitor himself, and many thousands with him. But notwithstanding the loss of him, the rest did not flee, but running together from all parts of the field maintained their ground with undaunted courage. The fight now grew more furious than ever, and proved fatal to almost all the commanders and their forces. For on Modred's side fell Cheldric, Elasius, Egbrict, and Bunignus, Saxons; Gillapatric, Gillamor, Gistafel, and Gillarius, Irish; also the Scots and Picts, with almost all their leaders: on Arthur's side, Olbrict, king of Norway; Aschillius, king of Dacia; Cador Limenic Cassibellaun, with many thousands of others, as well Britons as foreigners, that he had brought with him. And even the renowned king Arthur himself was mortally wounded; and being carried thence to the isle of Avallon to be cured of his wounds, he gave up the crown of Britain to his kinsman Constantine, the son of Cador, duke of Cornwall, in the five hundred and forty-second year of our Lord's incarnation.[220] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 220: The mention of Constantine brings Geoffrey's work into connection with that of Gildas: the reader may perhaps from this point detect some slight degree of verisimilitude in this otherwise fictitious narrative.] CHAP. III.--_Constantine meets with disturbances from the Saxons and Modred's sons._ Upon Constantine's advancement to the throne, the Saxons, with the two sons of Modred, made insurrection against him, though without success; for after many battles they fled, one to London, the other to Winchester, and possessed themselves of those places. Then died Saint Daniel, the pious prelate of the church of Bangor; and Theon, bishop of Gloucester, was elected archbishop of London. At the same time also died David, the pious archbishop of Legions, at the city of Menevia, in his own abbey; which he loved above all the other monasteries of his diocese, because Saint Patrick, who had prophetically foretold his birth, was the founder of it. For during his residence there among his friars, he was taken with a sudden illness, of which he died, and, at the command of Malgo, king of the Venedotians, was buried in that church. He was succeeded in the metropolitan see by Cynoc, bishop of the church of Llan-Patern, who was thus promoted to a higher dignity. CHAP. IV.--_Constantine, having murdered the two sons of Modred, is himself killed by Conan._ But Constantine pursued the Saxons, and reduced them under his yoke. He also took the two sons of Modred; and one of them, who had fled for sanctuary to the church of St. Amphibalus, in Winchester, he murdered before the altar. The other had hidden himself in a convent of friars at London, but at last was found out by him, brought before the altar, and there put to death. Three years after this, he himself, by the vengeance of God pursuing him, was killed by Conan, and buried close by Uther Pendragon within the structure of stones, which was set up with wonderful art not far from Salisbury, and called in the English tongue, Stonehenge. CHAP. V.--_Aurelius Conan reigns after Constantine._ After him succeeded Aurelius Conan, his nephew, a youth of wonderful valour; who, as he gained the monarchy of the whole island, would have been worthy the crown of it, had he not delighted in civil war. He raised disturbances against his uncle, who ought to have reigned after Constantine, and cast him into prison; and then killing his two sons, obtained the kingdom, but died in the second year of his reign. CHAP. VI.--_Wortiporius, being declared king, conquers the Saxons._ After Conan succeeded Wortiporius, against whom the Saxons made insurrection, and brought over their countrymen from Germany in a very great fleet. But he gave them battle and came off with victory, so that he obtained the monarchy of the whole kingdom, and governed the people carefully and peacefully four years. CHAP. VII.--_Malgo, king of Britain, and a most graceful person, addicts himself to sodomy._ After him succeeded Malgo, one of the handsomest of men in Britain, a great scourge of tyrants, and a man of great strength, extraordinary munificence, and matchless valour, but addicted very much to the detestable vice of sodomy, by which he made himself abominable to God. He also possessed the whole island, to which, after a cruel war, he added the six provincial islands, viz. Ireland, Iceland, Gothland, the Orkneys, Norway, and Dacia. CHAP. VIII.--_Britain, in the flame of a civil war under king Careticus, is miserably wasted by the Saxons and Africans._ After Malgo succeeded Careticus, a lover of civil war, and hateful to God and to the Britons. The Saxons, discovering his fickle disposition, went to Ireland for Gormund, king of the Africans, who had arrived there with a very great fleet, and had subdued that country. From thence, at their traitorous instigation, he sailed over into Britain, which the perfidious Saxons in one part, in another the Britons by their continual wars among themselves were wholly laying waste. Entering therefore into alliance with the Saxons, he made war upon king Careticus, and after several battles fought, drove him from city to city, till at length he forced him to Cirencester, and there besieged him. Here Isembard, the nephew of Lewis, king of the Franks, came and made a league of amity with him, and out of respect to him renounced the Christian faith, on condition that he would assist him to gain the kingdom of Gaul from his uncle, by whom, he said, he was forcibly and unjustly expelled out of it. At last, after taking and burning the city, he had another fight with Careticus, and made him flee beyond the Severn into Wales. He then made an utter devastation of the country, set fire to the adjacent cities, and continued these outrages until he had almost burned up the whole surface of the island from the one sea to the other; so that the tillage was everywhere destroyed, and a general destruction made of the husbandmen and clergy, with fire and sword. This terrible calamity caused the rest to flee whithersoever they had any hopes of safety. CHAP. IX.--_The author upbraids the Britons._ "Why foolish nation! oppressed with the weight of your abominable wickedness, why did you, in your insatiable thirst after civil wars, so weaken yourself by domestic confusions, that whereas formerly you brought distant kingdoms under your yoke, now, like a good vineyard degenerated and turned to bitterness, you cannot defend your country, your wives, and children, against your enemies? Go on, go on in your civil dissensions, little understanding the saying in the Gospel, 'Every kingdom divided against itself shall be brought to desolation, and a house divided against itself shall fall.' Since then your kingdom was divided against itself; since the rage of civil discord, and the fumes of envy, have darkened your minds, since your pride would not suffer you to pay obedience to one king; you see, therefore, your country made desolate by impious pagans, and your houses falling one upon another; which shall be the cause of lasting sorrow to your posterity. For the barbarous lionesses shall see their whelps enjoying the towns, cities, and other possessions of your children; from which they shall be miserably expelled, and hardly if ever recover their former flourishing state." CHAP. X.--_Loegria is again inhabited by the Saxons. The Britons, with their bishops, retire into Cornwall and Wales._ But to return to the history; when the inhuman tyrant, with many thousands of his Africans, had made a devastation almost over the whole island, he yielded up the greater part of it, called Loegria, to the Saxons, whose villainy had been the occasion of his arrival. Therefore the remainder of the Britons retired into the western parts of the kingdom, that is, Cornwall and Wales; from whence they continually made frequent and fierce irruptions upon the enemy. The three archbishops, viz. the archbishop of Legions, Theon of London, and Thadiocus of York, when they beheld all the churches in their jurisdiction lying level with the ground, fled with all the clergy that remained after so great a destruction, to the coverts of the woods in Wales, carrying with them the relics of the saints, for fear the sacred bones of so many holy men of old might be destroyed by the barbarians, if they should leave them in that imminent danger, and themselves instantly suffer martyrdom. Many more went over in a great fleet into Armorican Britain; so that the whole church of the two provinces, Loegria and Northumberland, had its convents destroyed. But these things I shall relate elsewhere, when I translate the book concerning their banishment. CHAP. XI.--_The Britons lose their kingdom._ For a long time after this the Britons were dispossessed of the crown of the kingdom, and the monarchy of the island, and made no endeavours to recover their ancient dignity; but even that part of the country which yet remained to them, being subject not to one king, but three tyrants, was often wasted by civil wars. But neither did the Saxons yet obtain the crown, but were also subject to three kings, who harassed sometimes one another, sometimes the Britons. CHAP. XII.--_Augustine, being sent by pope Gregory into Britain, preaches the gospel to the Angles._ In the meantime Augustine was sent by pope Saint Gregory into Britain, to preach the word of God to the Angles, who, being blinded with pagan superstition, had entirely extinguished Christianity in that part of the island which they possessed. But among the Britons, the Christian faith still flourished, and never failed among them from the time of pope Eleutherius, when it was first planted here. But when Augustine came, he found in their province seven bishoprics and an archbishopric, all filled with most devout prelates, and a great number of abbeys; by which the flock of Christ was still kept in good order. Among the rest, there was in the city of Bangor a most noble church, in which it is reported there was so great a number of monks, that when the monastery was divided into seven parts, having each their priors over them, not one of them had less than three hundred monks, who all lived by the labour of their own hands. The name of their abbat was Dinooth, a man admirably skilled in the liberal arts; who, when Augustine required the subjection of the British bishops, and would have persuaded them to undertake the work of the gospel with him among the Angles, answered him with several arguments, that they owed no subjection to him, neither would they preach to their enemies; since they had their own archbishop, and because the Saxon nation persisted in depriving them of their country. For this reason they esteemed them their mortal enemies, reckoned their faith and religion as nothing, and would no more communicate with the Angles than with dogs. CHAP. XIII.--_Ethelfrid kills a great number of the British monks, but is at last routed by the Britons._ Therefore Ethelbert, king of Kent, when he saw that the Britons disdained subjection to Augustine, and despised his preaching, was highly provoked, and stirred up Ethelfrid, king of the Northumbrians, and the other petty kings of the Saxons, to raise a great army, and march to the city of Bangor, to destroy the abbat Dinooth, and the rest of the clergy who held them in contempt. At his instigation, therefore, they assembled a prodigious army, and in their march to the province of the Britons, came to Legecester, where Brocmail, consul of the city, was awaiting their coming. To the same city were come innumerable monks and hermits from several provinces of the Britons, but especially from the city of Bangor, to pray for the safety of their people. Whereupon Ethelfrid, king of the Northumbrians, collecting all his forces, joined battle with Brocmail, who, having a less army to withstand him, at last quitted the city and fled, though not without having made a great slaughter of the enemy. But Ethelfrid, when he had taken the city, and understood upon what occasion the monks were come thither, commanded his men to turn their arms first against them; and so two hundred of them were honoured with the crown of martyrdom, and admitted into the kingdom of heaven that same day. From thence this Saxon tyrant proceeded on his march to Bangor; but upon the news of his outrageous madness, the leaders of the Britons, viz. Blederic, duke of Cornwall, Margadud, king of the Demetians, and Cadwan, of the Venedotians, came from all parts to meet him, and joining battle with him, wounded him, and forced him to flee; and killed of his army to the number of ten thousand and sixty-six men. On the Britons' side fell Blederic, duke of Cornwall, who was their commander in those wars. BOOK XII. CHAP. I.--_Cadwan acquires by treaty all Britain on this side of the Humber, and Ethelfrid the rest._ After this all the princes of the Britons met together at the city of Legecester, and consented to make Cadwan their king, that under his command they might pursue Ethelfrid beyond the Humber. Accordingly, as soon as he was crowned, they flocked together from all parts, and passed the Humber; of which when Ethelfrid received intelligence, he entered into a confederacy with all the Saxon kings, and went to meet Cadwan. At last, as they were forming their troops for a battle, their friends came, and made peace between them on these terms: that Cadwan should enjoy that part of Britain which lies on this side of the Humber, and Ethelfrid that which is beyond it. As soon as they had confirmed this agreement with an oath made to their hostages, there commenced such a friendship between them, that they had all things common. In the meantime it happened, that Ethelfrid banished his own wife and married another, and bore so great a hatred to her that was banished, that he would not suffer her to live in the kingdom of Northumberland. Whereupon she, being with child, went to king Cadwan, that by his mediation she might be restored to her husband. But when Ethelfrid could by no means be brought to consent to it, she continued to live with Cadwan, till she was delivered of the son which she had conceived. A short time after her delivery, Cadwan also had a son born to him by the queen, his wife. Then were the two boys brought up together in a manner suitable to their royal birth, one of which was called Cadwalla, the other Edwin. When they were nearly arrived at men's estate, their parents sent them to Salomon, king of the Armorican Britons, that in his court they might learn the discipline of war, and other princely qualifications. This prince, therefore, received them graciously, and admitted them to an intimacy with him; so that there was none of their age in the whole court, that had a free access, or more familiarly discoursed with the king than they. At last he himself was an eye-witness of their exploits against the enemy, in which they very much signalized their valour. CHAP. II.--_Cadwalla breaks the covenant he had made with Edwin._ In process of time, when their parents were dead, they returned to Britain, where they took upon them the government of the kingdom, and began to form the same friendship as their fathers. Two years after this, Edwin asked leave of Cadwalla to wear a crown, and to celebrate the same solemnities, as had been used of old in Northumberland. And when they had begun a treaty upon this subject by the river Duglas, that the matter might be adjusted according to the advice of their wise counsellors, it happened that Cadwalla was lying on the other side of the river in the lap of a certain nephew of his, whose name was Brian. While ambassadors were negotiating between them, Brian wept, and shed tears so plentifully, that the king's face and beard were wet with them. The king, imagining that it rained, lifted up his face, and seeing the young man in tears, asked him the occasion of such sudden grief. "Good reason," said he, "have I to weep continually, as well as the whole British nation, which has groaned under the oppression of barbarians ever since the time of Malgo, and has not yet got a prince, to restore it to its ancient flourishing state. And even the little honour that it had left, is lessened by your indulgence; since the Saxons, who are only strangers, and always traitors to our country, must now be permitted to wear the same crown as you do. For when once they shall attain to regal dignity, it will be a great addition to their glory in the country from whence they came; and they will the sooner invite over their countrymen, for the utter extirpation of our race. For they have been always accustomed to treachery, and never to keep faith with any; which I think should be a reason for our keeping them under, and not for exalting them. When king Vortigern first retained them in his service, they made a show of living peaceably, and fighting for our country, till they had an opportunity of practising their wickedness; and then they returned evil for good, betrayed him, and made a cruel massacre of the people of the kingdom. Afterwards they betrayed Aurelius Ambrosius, to whom, even after the most tremendous oaths of fidelity, at a banquet with him they gave a draught of poison. They also betrayed Arthur, when, setting aside the covenant by which they were bound, they joined with his nephew Modred, and fought against him. Lastly, they broke faith with king Careticus, and brought upon him Gormund, king of the Africans, by whose disturbances our people were robbed of their country, and the king disgracefully driven out." CHAP. III.--_A quarrel between Cadwalla and Edwin._ At the mention of these things, Cadwalla repented of entering into this treaty, and sent word to Edwin that he could by no means induce his counsellors to consent to his petition. For they alleged that it was contrary to law and the ancient establishment, that an island, which has always had no more than one crown, should be now under subjection to two crowned heads. This message incensed Edwin, and made him break off the conference, and retire into Northumberland, saying, he would be crowned without Cadwalla's leave. When Cadwalla was told this, he declared to him by his ambassadors that he would cut off his crowned head, if he presumed to wear a crown within the kingdom of Britain. CHAP. IV.--_Cadwalla is vanquished by Edwin, and driven out of the kingdom._ This proved the occasion of a war between them, in which, after several engagements between their men, they at last met together themselves beyond the Humber, and had a battle, wherein Cadwalla lost many thousands of his followers, and was put to flight.[221] From hence he marched with precipitation through Albania, and went over to Ireland. But Edwin, after this victory, led his army through the provinces of the Britons, and burning the cities before him, grievously afflicted the citizens and country people. During this exercise of his cruelty, Cadwalla never ceased endeavouring to return back to his country in a fleet, but without success; because to whatever port he steered, Edwin met him with his forces, and hindered his landing. For there was come to him from Spain a very skilful soothsayer, named Pellitus, who, by the flight of birds and the courses of the stars, foretold all the disasters that would happen. By these means Edwin, getting knowledge of Cadwalla's return, prepared to meet him, and shattered his ships so that he drowned his men, and beat him off from all his ports. Cadwalla, not knowing what course to take, was almost in despair of ever returning. At last it came into his head to go to Salomon, king of the Armorican Britons, and desire his assistance and advice, to enable him to return to his kingdom. And so, as he was steering towards Armorica, a strong tempest rose on a sudden, which dispersed the ships of his companions, and in a short time left no two of them together. The pilot of the king's ship was seized immediately with so great a fear, that quitting the stern, he left the vessel to the disposal of fortune; so that all that night it was tossed up and down in great danger by the raging waves. The next morning they arrived at a certain island called Garnareia, where with great difficulty they got ashore. Cadwalla was forthwith seized with such grief for the loss of his companions, that for three days and nights together he refused to eat, but lay sick upon his bed. The fourth day he was taken with a very great longing for some venison, and causing Brian to be called, made him acquainted with it. Whereupon Brian took his bow and quiver, and went through the island, that if he could light on any wild beast, he might make booty of it. And when he had walked over the whole island without finding what he was in quest of, he was extremely concerned that he could not gratify his master's desire; and was afraid his sickness would prove mortal if his longing were not satisfied. He, therefore, fell upon a new device, and cut a piece of flesh out of his own thigh, which he roasted upon a spit, and carried to the king for venison. The king, thinking it to be real venison, began to eat of it to his great refreshment, admiring the sweetness of it, which he fancied exceeded any flesh he ever had tasted before. At last, when he had fully satisfied his appetite, he became more cheerful, and in three days was perfectly well again. Then the wind standing fair, he got ready his ship, and hoisting sails they pursued their voyage, and arrived at the city Kidaleta. From thence they went to king Salomon, by whom they were received kindly and with all suitable respect; and as soon as he had learned the occasion of their coming, he made them a promise of assistance, and spoke to them as follows. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 221: See Malmesbury's Hist. of the Kings, p. 46.] CHAP. V.--_The speech of Salomon, king of Armorica, to Cadwalla._ "It is a grief to us, noble youths, that the country of your ancestors is oppressed by a barbarous nation, and that you are ignominiously driven out of it. But since other men are able to defend their kingdoms, it is a wonder your people should lose so fruitful an island, and not be able to withstand the nation of the Angles, whom our countrymen hold in contempt. While the people of this country lived together with yours in Britain, they bore sway over all the provincial kingdoms, and never could be subdued by any nation but the Romans. Neither did the Romans do this by their own power, as I have been lately informed, but by a dissension among the nobility of the island. And even the Romans, though they held it under their subjection for a time, yet upon the loss and slaughter of their rulers, were driven out with disgrace. But after the Britons came into this province under the conduct of Maximian and Conan, those that remained never had the happiness afterwards of holding an uninterrupted possession of the crown. For though many of their princes maintained the ancient dignity of their ancestors, yet their weak heirs that succeeded, though more in number, entirely lost it, upon the invasion of their enemies. Therefore I am grieved for the weakness of your people, since we are of the same race with you, and the name of Britons is common to you, and to the nation that bravely defends their country, which you see at war with all its neighbours." CHAP. VI.--_Cadwalla's answer to Salomon._ When he had concluded his speech, Cadwalla, who was a little put to the blush, answered him after this manner: "Royal sir, whose descent is from a race of kings, I give you many thanks for your promise of assisting me to recover my kingdom. But what you say is a wonder, that my people have not maintained the dignity of their ancestors, since the time that the Britons came to these provinces, I am far from thinking to be such. For the noblest men of the whole kingdom followed those leaders, and there remained only the baser sort to enjoy their honours; who being raised to a high quality, on a sudden were puffed up above their station; and growing wanton with riches gave themselves up to commit such fornication as is not so much as named among the Gentiles; and (as Gildas the historian testifies) were not only guilty of this vice, but of all the enormities that are incident to human nature. And what chiefly prevailed, to the entire overthrow of all goodness, was the hatred of truth with its assertors, the love of a lie with the inventors of it, the embracing of evil for good, the veneration of wickedness for grace, the receiving of Satan for an angel of light. Kings were anointed, not for the sake of God, but such as were more cruel than the rest; and were soon after murdered by their anointers, without examination, having chosen others yet more cruel in their room. But if any of them showed any mildness, or seemed a favourer of truth, against him, as the subverter of Britain, were all their malice and their weapons bent. In short, things pleasing to God or displeasing, with them had the same weight, even if the worse were not the weightier. Therefore were all affairs managed contrary to public safety, as if the true physician of all had left them destitute of cure. And thus was every thing done without discretion, and that not only by secular men, but by the Lord's flock and its pastors. Therefore it is not to be wondered, that such a degenerate race, so odious to God for their vices, lost a country which they had so heinously corrupted. For God was willing to execute his vengeance upon them, by suffering a foreign people to come upon them, and drive them out of their possessions. Notwithstanding it would be a worthy act, if God would permit it, to restore our subjects to their ancient dignity, to prevent the reproach that may be thrown upon our race, that we were weak rulers, who did not exert ourselves in our own defence. And I do the more freely ask your assistance, as you are of the same blood with us. For the great Malgo, who was the fourth king of Britain after Arthur, had two sons, named Enniaunus and Runo. Enniaunus begot Belin; Belin, Jago; Jago, Cadwan, who was my father. Runo, who, after his brother's death, was driven out by the Saxons, came to this province and bestowed his daughter on duke Hoel, the son of that great Hoel who shared with Arthur in his conquests. Of her was born Alan; of Alan, Hoel your father, who while he lived was a terror to all Gaul." CHAP. VII.--_Brian kills Edwin's magician._ In the meantime, while he was spending the winter with Salomon, they entered into a resolution, that Brian should pass over into Britain, and take some method to kill Edwin's magician, lest he might by his usual art inform him of Cadwalla's coming. And when with this design he had arrived at Hamo's Port, he took upon him the habit of a poor man, and made himself a staff of iron sharp at the end, with which he might kill the magician if he should happen to meet with him. From thence he went to York, where Edwin then resided; and having entered that city joined himself to the poor people that waited for alms before the king's gate. But as he was going to and fro, it happened that his sister came out of the hall, with a basin in her hand, to fetch water for the queen. She had been taken by Edwin at the city of Worcester, when after Cadwalla's flight he was acting his hostilities upon the provinces of the Britons. As she was therefore passing by Brian, he immediately knew her, and, breaking forth into tears, called to her with a low voice; at which the damsel turning her face, was in doubt at first who it could be, but upon a nearer approach discovered it to be her brother, and was near falling into a swoon, for fear that he might by some unlucky accident be known and taken by the enemy. She therefore refrained from saluting him, or entering into familiar discourse with him, but told him, as if she was talking upon some other subject, the state of the court, and showed him the magician, that he was inquiring for, who was at that very time walking among the poor people, while the alms were being distributed among them. Brian, as soon as he had taken knowledge of the man, ordered his sister to steal out privately from her apartment the night following, and come to him near an old church without the city, where he would conceal himself in expectation of her. Then dismissing her, he thrust himself in among the crowd of poor people, in that part where Pellitus was placing them. And the same moment he got access to him, he lifted up his staff, and at once gave him a stab under the breast which killed him. This done, he threw away his staff, and passed among the rest undistinguished and unsuspected by any of the by-standers, and by good providence got to the place of concealment which he had appointed. His sister, when night came on, endeavoured all she could to get out, but was not able; because Edwin, being terrified at the killing of Pellitus, had set a strict watch about the court, who, making a narrow search, refused to let her go out. When Brian found this, he retired from that place, and went to Exeter, where he called together the Britons, and told them what he had done. Afterwards having despatched away messengers to Cadwalla, he fortified that city, and sent word to all the British nobility, that they should bravely defend their cities and towns, and joyfully expect Cadwalla's coming to their relief in a short time with auxiliary forces from Salomon. Upon the spreading of this news over the whole island, Penda, king of the Mercians, with a very great army of Saxons, came to Exeter, and besieged Brian. CHAP. VIII.--_Cadwalla takes Penda, and routs his army._ In the meantime Cadwalla arrived with ten thousand men, whom king Salomon had delivered to him; and with them he marched straight to the siege against king Penda. But, as he was going, he divided his forces into four parts, and then made no delay to advance and join battle with the enemy, wherein Penda was forthwith taken, and his army routed. For, finding no other way for his own safety, he surrendered himself to Cadwalla, and gave hostages, with a promise that he would assist him against the Saxons. Cadwalla, after this success against him, summoned together his nobility, that had been a long time in a decaying state, and marched to Northumberland against Edwin, and made continual devastations in that country. When Edwin was informed of it, he assembled all the petty kings of the Angles, and meeting the Britons in a field called Heathfield,[222] presently gave them battle, but was killed, and almost all the people with him, together with Osfrid, his son, and Godbold, king of the Orkneys, who had come to their assistance. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 222: See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 106.] CHAP. IX.--_Cadwalla kills Osric and Aidan in fight._ Having thus obtained the victory, Cadwalla marched through the provinces of the Angles, and committed such outrages upon the Saxons, that he neither spared age nor sex; for his resolution being to extirpate the whole race out of Britain, all that he found he put to extreme tortures. After this he had a battle with Osric, Edwin's successor, and killed him together with his two nephews, who ought to have reigned after him. He also killed Aidan, king of the Scots, who came to their assistance. CHAP. X.--_Oswald routs Penda in fight, but is killed by Cadwalla coming in upon him._ Their deaths made room for Oswald to succeed to the kingdom of Northumberland; but Cadwalla drove him, with the rest that had given him disturbance, to the very wall which the emperor Severus had formerly built between Britain and Scotland. Afterwards he sent Penda, king of the Mercians, and the greatest part of his army, to the same place, to give him battle. But Oswald, as he was besieged one night by Penda, in the place called Heavenfield, that is, the Heavenly Field,[223] set up there our Lord's cross, and commanded his men to speak with a very loud voice these words: "Let us all kneel down, and pray the Almighty, living and true God, to defend us from the proud army of the king of Britain, and his wicked leader Penda. For he knows how justly we wage this war for the safety of our people." They all therefore did as he commanded them, and advanced at break of day against the enemy, and by their faith gained the victory. Cadwalla, upon hearing this news, being inflamed with rage, assembled his army, and went in pursuit of the holy king Oswald; and in a battle which he had with him at a place called Burne, Penda broke in upon him and killed him. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 223: See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 110.] CHAP. XI.--_Oswy submits to Cadwalla. Penda desires leave of Cadwalla to make war against him._ Oswald, with many thousands of his men, being killed, his brother Oswy succeeded him in the kingdom of Northumberland,[224] and by making large presents of gold and silver to Cadwalla, who was now possessed of the government of all Britain, made his peace and submission to him. Upon this Alfrid, his brother, and Ethelwald,[225] his brother's son, began an insurrection; but, not being able to hold out against him, they fled to Penda, king of the Mercians, desiring him to assemble his army and pass the Humber with them, that he might deprive Oswy of his kingdom. But Penda, fearing to break the peace, which Cadwalla had settled through the kingdom of Britain, deferred beginning any disturbance without his leave, till he could some way work him up, either to make war himself upon Oswy, or allow him the liberty of doing it. At a certain Pentecost therefore, when Cadwalla was celebrating that festival at London, and for the greater solemnity wore the crown of Britain, all the kings of the Angles, excepting only Oswy, being present, as also all the dukes of the Britons; Penda went to the king, and inquired of him the reason, why Oswy alone was wanting, when all the princes of the Saxons were present. Cadwalla answered, that his sickness was the cause of it; to which the other replied, that he had sent over to Germany for more Saxons, to revenge the death of his brother Oswald upon them both. He told him further, that he had broken the peace of the kingdom, as being the sole author of the war and dissension among them; since Ethelfrid, king of Northumberland, and Ethelwald, his brother's son, had been by him harassed with a war, and driven out of their own country. He also desired leave, either to kill him, or banish him the kingdom. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 224: Or Bernicia, see Bede, p. 131.] [Footnote 225: Who reigned over the Deiri.] CHAP. XII.--_Cadwalla is advised to suffer Penda to make an insurrection against Oswy._ This matter caused the king to enter upon much deliberation, and hold a private consultation with his intimate friends, what course to take. Among the rest that offered their proposals, Margadud, king of the Dimetians, spoke as follows:--"Royal sir, since you have proposed to expel the race of the Angles from the coasts of Britain, why do you alter your resolution, and suffer them to continue in peace among us? At least you should permit them to fall out among themselves, and let our country owe its deliverance to their own civil broils. No faith is to be kept with one that is treacherous, and is continually laying snares for him to whom he owes fidelity. Such have the Saxons always been to our nation, from the very first time of their coming among us. What faith ought we to keep with them? Let Penda immediately have leave to go against Oswy, that by this civil dissension and destruction of one another, our island may get rid of them." CHAP. XIII.--_Penda is killed by Oswy. Cadwalla dies._ By these and other words to the same effect, Cadwalla was prevailed upon to grant the permission desired. And Penda, having assembled a vast army, went to the Humber, and laying waste that country, began a fierce war upon the king. Oswy was at last reduced to such extremity, that he was forced to promise him innumerable royal ornaments, and other presents more than one would believe, if he would desist from ruining his country, and return home without committing any more hostilities. But when the other could by no entreaties be prevailed upon to do it, the king, in hopes of divine assistance, though he had a less army, however, gave him battle near the River Winwid, and having killed Penda and thirty other commanders, gained the victory. Penda's son Wulfred, by a grant from Cadwalla, succeeded to the kingdom, and joining with Eafa and Eadbert, two leaders of the Mercians, rebelled against Oswy; but at last, by Cadwalla's command, made peace with him. At length, after forty-eight years were expired, that most noble and potent king of the Britons, Cadwalla, being grown infirm with age and sickness, departed this life upon the fifteenth before the kalends of December. The Britons embalmed his body, and placed it with wonderful art in a brazen statue, which was cast according to the measure of his stature. This statue they set up with complete armour, on an admirable and beautiful brazen horse, over the western gate of London, for a monument of the above-mentioned victory, and for a terror to the Saxons. They also built under it a church in honour of St. Martin, in which divine ceremonies are celebrated for him and the others who departed in the faith. CHAP. XIV.--_Cadwallader succeeds Cadwalla._ He was succeeded in the kingdom by Cadwallader,[226] his son, whom Bede calls the youth Elidwalda. At first he maintained the government with peace and honour; but after twelve years' enjoyment of the crown, he fell into a fit of sickness, and a civil war broke out among the Britons. His mother was Penda's sister, by the same father but a different mother, descended from the noble race of the Gewisseans. For Cadwalla, after his reconciliation with her brother, made her the partner of his bed, and had Cadwallader by her. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 226: Probably the same as Cædwalla, king of Wessex, noticed by Bede and the Saxon Chronicle, although the British and Saxon authorities differ in their genealogical statements.] CHAP. XV.--_The Britons are compelled, by pestilence and famine, to leave Britain. Cadwallader's lamentation._ During his sickness, the Britons, (as we said before,) quarrelling among themselves, made a wicked destruction of a rich country; and this again was attended with another misfortune. For this besotted people was punished with a grievous and memorable famine; so that every province was destitute of all sustenance, except what could be taken in hunting. After the famine followed a terrible pestilence, which in a short time destroyed such multitudes of people, that the living were not sufficient to bury the dead. Those of them that remained, flying their country in whole troops together, went to the countries beyond the sea, and while they were under sail, they with a mournful howling voice sang, "Thou hast given us, O God, like sheep appointed for meat, and hast scattered us among the heathen." Also Cadwallader himself, in his voyage, with his miserable fleet to Armorica, made this addition to the lamentation, "Woe to us sinners, for our grievous impieties, wherewith we have not ceased to provoke God, while we had space for repentance. Therefore the revenge of his power lies heavy upon us, and drives us out of our native soil, which neither the Romans of old, nor the Scots or Picts afterwards, nor yet the treacherous Saxons with all their craft, were able to do. But in vain have we recovered our country so often from them; since it was not the will of God that we should perpetually hold the government of it. He who is the true Judge, when he saw we were by no means to be reclaimed from our wickedness, and that no human power could expel our race, was willing to chastise our folly himself; and has turned his anger against us, by which we are driven out in crowds from our native country. Return, therefore, ye Romans; return, Scots and Picts; return, Ambrons and Saxons: behold, Britain lies open to you, being by the wrath of God made desolate, which you were never able to do. It is not your valour that expels us; but the power of the supreme King, whom we have never ceased to provoke." CHAP. XVI.--_Cadwallader with his people goes to Alan. The Saxons seize all Britain._ With these dolorous complaints he arrived at the Armorican coast, and went with his whole company to king Alan, the nephew of Salomon by whom he was honourably received. So that Britain, being now destitute of its ancient inhabitants, excepting a few in Wales that escaped the general mortality, became a frightful place even to the Britons themselves for eleven years after. Neither was it at the same time more favourable to the Saxons, who died in it without intermission. Notwithstanding the remainder of them, after this raging plague was ceased, according to their old custom sent word over to their countrymen, that the island of Britain was now freed of its native inhabitants, and lay open to them, if they would come over and inhabit it. As soon as they had received this information, that odious people, gathering together an innumerable multitude of men and women, arrived in Northumberland, and inhabited the provinces that lay desolate from Albania to Cornwall. For there was now nobody to hinder them, excepting the poor remains of the Britons, who continued together in the thickets of the woods in Wales. From that time the power of the Britons ceased in the island, and the Angles began their reign. CHAP. XVII.--_Cadwallader is by the voice of an angel deterred from returning to Britain._ After some time, when the people had recovered strength, Cadwallader, being mindful of his kingdom, which was now free from the contagion of the pestilence, desired assistance of Alan towards the recovery of his dominions. The king granted his request; but as he was getting ready a fleet, he was commanded by the loud voice of an angel to desist from his enterprise. For God was not willing that the Britons should reign any longer in the island, before the time came of which Merlin prophetically foretold Arthur. It also commanded him to go to Rome to pope Sergius, where, after doing penance, he should be enrolled among the saints. It told him withal, that the Britons, by the merit of their faith, should again recover the island, when the time decreed for it was come. But this would not be accomplished before they should be possessed of his reliques, and transport them from Rome into Britain. At the same time also the reliques of the other saints should be found, which had been hidden on account of the invasion of pagans; and then at last would they recover their lost kingdom. When the holy prince had received the heavenly message, he went straight to king Alan, and gave him an account of what had been told him. CHAP. XVIII.--_Cadwallader goes to Rome and dies._ Then Alan had recourse to several books, as the prophecies of the eagle that prophesied at Shaftesbury, and the verses of Sibyl and Merlin; and made diligent search in them, to see whether the revelation made to Cadwallader agreed with those written oracles. And when he could find nothing contradictory to it, he admonished Cadwallader to submit to the divine dispensation, and laying aside the thoughts of Britain, perform what the angelical voice had commanded him. But he urged him to send his son Ivor and his nephew Ini over into the island, to govern the remainder of the Britons; lest a nation, descended of so ancient a race, should lose their liberty by the incursions of barbarians. Then Cadwallader, renouncing worldly cares for the sake of God and his everlasting kingdom, went to Rome, and was confirmed by pope Sergius: and being seized with a sudden illness, was, upon the twelfth before the kalends of May, in the six hundred and eighty-ninth year of our Lord's incarnation freed from the corruption of the flesh, and admitted into the glories of the heavenly kingdom. CHAP. XIX.--_The two Britons, Ivor and Ini, in vain attack the nation of the Angles. Athelstan the first king of the Angles._ As soon as Ivor and Ini had got together their ships, they with all the forces they could raise, arrived in the island, and for forty-nine years together fiercely attacked the nation of the Angles, but to little purpose. For the above-mentioned mortality and famine, together with the inveterate spirit of faction that was among them, had made this proud people so much degenerate, that they were not able to gain any advantage of the enemy. And being now also overrun with barbarism, they were no longer called Britons, but Gualenses, Welshmen; a word derived either from Gualo their leader, or Guales their queen, or from their barbarism. But the Saxons managed affairs with more prudence, maintained peace and concord among themselves, tilled their grounds, rebuilt their cities and towns, and so throwing off the dominion of the Britons, bore sway over all Loegria, under their leader Athelstan, who first wore a crown amongst them. But the Welshmen, being very much degenerated from the nobility of the Britons, never after recovered the monarchy of the island; on the contrary, by quarrels among themselves, and wars with the Saxons, their country was a perpetual scene of misery and slaughter. CHAP. XX.--_Geoffrey of Monmouth's conclusion._ But as for the kings that have succeeded among them in Wales, since that time, I leave the history of them to Caradoc of Lancarvan, my contemporary; as I do also the kings of the Saxons to William of Malmesbury, and Henry of Huntingdon. But I advise them to be silent concerning the kings of the Britons,[227] since they have not that book written in the British tongue, which Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, brought out of Brittany, and which being a true history, published in honour of those princes, I have thus taken care to translate. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 227: This advice might be thought judicious, if we could be persuaded of the authenticity of Geoffrey's cherished discovery, but there are lamentable defects, of a grave character, attending upon this British volume. 1. It was first made known six hundred years after the events which it relates. 2. No MS. copy is now in existence, nor any record of its ever having been multiplied by transcription. 3. It relates stories utterly at variance with acknowledged history. 4. It abounds in miraculous stories, which, like leaven, ferment and corrupt the whole mass. 5. It labours under great suspicion from the mendacious character of the people, whose credit it was written to support. With these remarks we leave the work to the consideration of the reader, who may compare it, if he likes, with the Chronicles of Gildas and Nennius, which form the next portions of this volume.] THE WORKS OF GILDAS, SURNAMED "SAPIENS," OR THE WISE. THE WORKS OF GILDAS, SURNAMED "SAPIENS," OR THE WISE. I. THE PREFACE. § 1. Whatever in this my epistle I may write in my humble but well-meaning manner, rather by way of lamentation than for display, let no one suppose that it springs from contempt of others, or that I foolishly esteem myself as better than they;--for, alas! the subject of my complaint is the general destruction of every thing that is good, and the general growth of evil throughout the land;--but that I would condole with my country in her distress and rejoice to see her revive therefrom: for it is my present purpose to relate the deeds of an indolent and slothful race, rather than the exploits of those who have been valiant in the field.[228] I have kept silence, I confess, with much mental anguish, compunction of feeling and contrition of heart, whilst I revolved all these things within myself; and, as God the searcher of the reins is witness, for the space of even ten years or more, [[229] my inexperience, as at present also, and my unworthiness preventing me from taking upon myself the character of a censor. But I read how the illustrious lawgiver, for one word's doubting, was not allowed to enter the desired land; that the sons of the high-priest, for placing strange fire upon God's altar, were cut off by a speedy death; that God's people, for breaking the law of God, save two only, were slain by wild beasts, by fire and sword in the deserts of Arabia, though God had so loved them that he had made a way for them through the Red Sea, had fed them with bread from heaven, and water from the rock, and by the lifting up of a hand merely had made their armies invincible; and then, when they had crossed the Jordan and entered the unknown land, and the walls of the city had fallen down flat at the sound only of a trumpet, the taking of a cloak and a little gold from the accursed things caused the deaths of many: and again the breach of their treaty with the Gibeonites, though that treaty had been obtained by fraud, brought destruction upon many; and I took warning from the sins of the people which called down upon them the reprehensions of the prophets and also of Jeremiah, with his fourfold Lamentations written in alphabetic order. I saw moreover in my own time, as that prophet also had complained, that the city had sat down lone and widowed, which before was full of people; that the queen of nations and the princess of provinces (_i.e._ the church), had been made tributary; that the gold was obscured, and the most excellent colour (which is the brightness of God's word) changed; that the sons of Sion (_i.e._ of holy mother church), once famous and clothed in the finest gold, grovelled in dung; and what added intolerably to the weight of grief of that illustrious man, and to mine, though but an abject whilst he had thus mourned them in their happy and prosperous condition, "Her Nazarites were fairer than snow, more ruddy than old ivory, more beautiful than the sapphire." These and many other passages in the ancient Scriptures I regarded as a kind of mirror of human life, and I turned also to the New, wherein I read more clearly what perhaps to me before was dark, for the darkness fled, and truth shed her steady light--I read therein that the Lord had said, "I came not but to the lost sheep of the house of Israel;" and on the other hand, "But the children of this kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth:" and again, "It is not good to take the children's meat and to give it to dogs:" also, "Woe to you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites!" I heard how "many shall come from the east and the west, and shall sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven:" and on the contrary, "I will then say to them, 'Depart from me, ye workers of iniquity!'" I read, "Blessed are the barren, and the teats which have not given suck;" and on the contrary, "Those, who were ready, entered with him to the wedding; afterwards came the other virgins also, saying 'Lord, Lord, open to us:' to whom it was answered, 'I do not know you.'" I heard, forsooth, "Whoever shall believe and be baptized, shall be saved, but whoever shall not believe shall be damned." I read in the words of the apostle that the branch of the wild olive was grafted upon the good olive, but should nevertheless be cut off from the communion of the root of its fatness, if it did not hold itself in fear, but entertained lofty thoughts. I knew the mercy of the Lord, but I also feared his judgment: I praised his grace, but I feared the rendering to every man according to his works: perceiving the sheep of the same fold to be different, I deservedly commended Peter for his entire confession of Christ, but called Judas most wretched, for his love of covetousness: I thought Stephen most glorious on account of the palm of martyrdom, but Nicholas wretched for his mark of unclean heresy: I read assuredly, "They had all things common:" but likewise also, as it is written, "Why have ye conspired to tempt the Spirit of God?" I saw, on the other hand, how much security had grown upon the men of our time, as if there were nothing to cause them fear. These things, therefore, and many more which for brevity's sake we have determined to omit, I revolved again and again in my amazed mind with compunction in my heart, and I thought to myself, "If God's peculiar people, chosen from all the people of the world, the royal seed, and holy nation, to whom he had said, 'My first-begotten Israel,' its priests, prophets, and kings, throughout so many ages, his servant and apostle, and the members of his primitive church, were not spared when they deviated from the right path, what will he do to the darkness of this our age, in which, besides all the huge and heinous sins, which it has in common with all the wicked of the world committed, is found an innate, indelible, and irremediable load of folly and inconstancy?" "What, wretched man (I say to myself) is it given to you, as if you were an illustrious and learned teacher, to oppose the force of so violent a torrent, and keep the charge committed to you against such a series of inveterate crimes which has spread far and wide, without interruption, for so many years? Hold thy peace: to do otherwise, is to tell the foot to see, and the hand to speak. Britain has rulers, and she has watchmen: why dost thou incline thyself thus uselessly to prate?" She has such, I say, not too many, perhaps, but surely not too few: but, because they are bent down and pressed beneath so heavy a burden, they have not time allowed them to take breath. My senses, therefore, as if feeling a portion of my debt and obligation, preoccupied themselves with such objections, and with others yet more strong. They struggled, as I said, no short time, in a fearful strait, whilst I read, "There is a time for speaking, and a time for keeping silence." At length, the creditor's side prevailed and bore off the victory: if (said he) thou art not bold enough to be marked with the comely mark of golden liberty among the prophetic creatures, who enjoy the rank as reasoning beings next to the angels, refuse not the inspiration of the understanding ass, to that day dumb, which would not carry forward the tiara'd magician who was going to curse God's people, but in the narrow pass of the vineyard crushed his loosened foot, and thereby felt the lash; and though he was, with his ungrateful and furious hand, against right justice, beating her innocent sides, she pointed out to him the heavenly messenger holding the naked sword, and standing in his way, though he had not seen him.] Wherefore in zeal for the house of God and for his holy law, constrained either by the reasonings of my own thoughts, or by the pious entreaties of my brethren, I now discharge the debt so long exacted of me; humble, indeed, in style, but faithful, as I think, and friendly to all Christ's youthful soldiers, but severe and insupportable to foolish apostates; the former of whom, if I am not deceived, will receive the same with tears flowing from God's love; but the others with sorrow, such as is extorted from the indignation and pusillanimity of a convicted conscience. § 2. I will, therefore, if God be willing, endeavour to say a few words about the situation of Britain, her disobedience and subjection, her rebellion, second subjection and dreadful slavery--of her religion, persecution, holy martyrs, heresies of different kinds--of her tyrants, her two hostile and ravaging nations--of her first devastation, her defence, her second devastation and second taking vengeance--of her third devastation, of her famine, and the letters to Agitius[230]--of her victory and her crimes--of the sudden rumour of enemies--of her famous pestilence--of her counsels--of her last enemy, far more cruel than the first--of the subversion of her cities, and of the remnant that escaped; and finally, of the peace which, by the will of God, has been granted her in these our times. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 228: Notwithstanding this remark of Gildas, the Britons must have shown great bravery and resolution in their battles against the Saxons, or they would not have resisted their encroachments so long. When Gildas was writing, a hundred years had elapsed, and the Britons still possessed a large portion of their native country.] [Footnote 229: All that follows, enclosed within brackets, up to page 298, is omitted in some copies.] [Footnote 230: Or Ætius, see page 307.] II. THE HISTORY. § 3. The island of Britain, situated on almost the utmost border of the earth, towards the south and west, and poised in the divine balance, as it is said, which supports the whole world, stretches out from the south-west towards the north pole, and is eight hundred miles long and two hundred broad,[231] except where the headlands of sundry promontories stretch farther into the sea. It is surrounded by the ocean, which forms winding bays, and is strongly defended by this ample, and, if I may so call it, impassable barrier, save on the south side, where the narrow sea affords a passage to Belgic Gaul. It is enriched by the mouths of two noble rivers, the Thames and the Severn, as it were two arms, by which foreign luxuries were of old imported, and by other streams of less importance. It is famous for eight and twenty cities, and is embellished by certain castles, with walls, towers, well barred gates, and houses with threatening battlements built on high, and provided with all requisite instruments of defence. Its plains are spacious, its hills are pleasantly situated, adapted for superior tillage, and its mountains are admirably calculated for the alternate pasturage of cattle, where flowers of various colours, trodden by the feet of man, give it the appearance of a lovely picture. It is decked, like a man's chosen bride, with divers jewels, with lucid fountains and abundant brooks wandering over the snow white sands; with transparent rivers, flowing in gentle murmurs, and offering a sweet pledge of slumber[232] to those who recline upon their banks, whilst it is irrigated by abundant lakes, which pour forth cool torrents of refreshing water. § 4. This island, stiff-necked and stubborn-minded, from the time of its being first inhabited, ungratefully rebels, sometimes against God, sometimes against her own citizens, and frequently, also, against foreign kings and their subjects. For what can there either be, or be committed, more disgraceful or more unrighteous in human affairs, than to refuse to show fear to God or affection to one's own countrymen, and (without detriment to one's faith) to refuse due honour to those of higher dignity, to cast off all regard to reason, human and divine, and, in contempt of heaven and earth, to be guided by one's own sensual inventions? I shall, therefore, omit those ancient errors common to all the nations of the earth, in which, before Christ came in the flesh, all mankind were bound; nor shall I enumerate those diabolical idols of my country, which almost surpassed in number those of Egypt, and of which we still see some mouldering away within or without the deserted temples, with stiff and deformed features as was customary. Nor will I call out upon the mountains, fountains, or hills, or upon the rivers, which now are subservient to the use of men, but once were an abomination and destruction to them, and to which the blind people paid divine honour. I shall also pass over the bygone times of our cruel tyrants, whose notoriety was spread over to far distant countries; so that Porphyry, that dog who in the east was always so fierce against the church, in his mad and vain style added this also, that "Britain is a land fertile in tyrants."[233] I will only endeavour to relate the evils which Britain suffered in the times of the Roman emperors, and also those which she caused to distant states; but so far as lies in my power, I shall not follow the writings and records of my own country, which (if there ever were any of them) have been consumed in the fires of the enemy, or have accompanied my exiled countrymen into distant lands, but be guided by the relations of foreign writers, which, being broken and interrupted in many places, are therefore by no means clear. § 5. For when the rulers of Rome had obtained the empire of the world, subdued all the neighbouring nations and islands towards the east, and strengthened their renown by the first peace which they made with the Parthians, who border on India, there was a general cessation from war throughout the whole world; the fierce flame which they kindled could not be extinguished or checked by the Western Ocean, but passing beyond the sea, imposed submission upon our island without resistance, and entirely reduced to obedience its unwarlike but faithless people, not so much by fire and sword and warlike engines, like other nations, but threats alone, and menaces of judgments frowning on their countenance, whilst terror penetrated to their hearts. § 6. When afterwards they returned to Rome, for want of pay, as is said, and had no suspicion of an approaching rebellion, that deceitful lioness (Boadicea) put to death the rulers who had been left among them, to unfold more fully and to confirm the enterprises of the Romans. When the report of these things reached the senate, and they with a speedy army made haste to take vengeance on the crafty foxes,[234] as they called them, there was no bold navy on the sea to fight bravely for the country; by land there was no marshalled army, no right wing of battle, nor other preparation for resistance; but their backs were their shields against their vanquishers, and they presented their necks to their swords, whilst chill terror ran through every limb, and they stretched out their hands to be bound, like women; so that it has become a proverb far and wide, that the Britons are neither brave in war nor faithful in time of peace. § 7. The Romans, therefore, having slain many of the rebels, and reserved others for slaves, that the land might not be entirely reduced to desolation, left the island, destitute as it was of wine and oil, and returned to Italy, leaving behind them taskmasters, to scourge the shoulders of the natives, to reduce their necks to the yoke, and their soil to the vassalage of a Roman province; to chastise the crafty race, not with warlike weapons, but with rods, and if necessary to gird upon their sides the naked sword, so that it was no longer thought to be Britain, but a Roman island; and all their money, whether of copper, gold, or silver, was stamped with Cæsar's image. § 8. Meanwhile these islands, stiff with cold and frost, and in a distant region of the world, remote from the visible sun, received the beams of light, that is, the holy precepts of Christ, the true Sun, showing to the whole world his splendour, not only from the temporal firmament, but from the height of heaven, which surpasses every thing temporal, at the latter part, as we know, of the reign of Tiberius Cæsar, by whom his religion was propagated without impediment, and death threatened to those who interfered with its professors. § 9. These rays of light were received with lukewarm minds by the inhabitants, but they nevertheless took root among some of them in a greater or less degree, until the nine years' persecution of the tyrant Diocletian, when the churches throughout the whole world were overthrown, all the copies of the Holy Scriptures which could be found burned in the streets, and the chosen pastors of God's flock butchered, together with their innocent sheep, in order that not a vestige, if possible, might remain in some provinces of Christ's religion. What disgraceful flights then took place--what slaughter and death inflicted by way of punishment in divers shapes,--what dreadful apostacies from religion; and on the contrary, what glorious crowns of martyrdom then were won,--what raving fury was displayed by the persecutors, and patience on the part of the suffering saints, ecclesiastical history informs us; for the whole church were crowding in a body, to leave behind them the dark things of this world, and to make the best of their way to the happy mansions of heaven, as if to their proper home. § 10. God, therefore, who wishes all men to be saved, and who calls sinners no less than those who think themselves righteous, magnified his mercy towards us, and, as we know, during the above-named persecution, that Britain might not totally be enveloped in the dark shades of night, he, of his own free gift, kindled up among us bright luminaries of holy martyrs, whose places of burial and of martyrdom, had they not for our manifold crimes been interfered with and destroyed by the barbarians, would have still kindled in the minds of the beholders no small fire of divine charity. Such were St. Alban of Verulam, Aaron and Julius, citizens of Carlisle,[235] and the rest, of both sexes, who in different places stood their ground in the Christian contest. § 11. The first of these martyrs, St. Alban, for charity's sake saved another confessor who was pursued by his persecutors, and was on the point of being seized, by hiding him in his house, and then by changing clothes with him, imitating in this the example of Christ, who laid down his life for his sheep, and exposing himself in the other's clothes to be pursued in his stead. So pleasing to God was this conduct, that between his confession and martyrdom, he was honoured with the performance of wonderful miracles in presence of the impious blasphemers who were carrying the Roman standards, and like the Israelites of old, who trod dry-foot an unfrequented path whilst the ark of the covenant stood some time on the sands in the midst of Jordan; so also the martyr, with a thousand others, opened a path across the noble river Thames, whose waters stood abrupt like precipices on either side; and seeing this, the first of his executors was stricken with awe, and from a wolf became a lamb; so that he thirsted for martyrdom, and boldly underwent that for which he thirsted. The other holy martyrs were tormented with divers sufferings, and their limbs were racked in such unheard of ways, that they, without delay, erected the trophies of their glorious martyrdom even in the gates of the city of Jerusalem. For those who survived, hid themselves in woods and deserts, and secret caves, waiting until God, who is the righteous judge of all, should reward their persecutors with judgment, and themselves with protection of their lives. § 12. In less than ten years, therefore, of the above-named persecution, and when these bloody decrees began to fail in consequence of the death of their authors, all Christ's young disciples, after so long and wintry a night, begin to behold the genial light of heaven. They rebuild the churches, which had been levelled to the ground; they found, erect, and finish churches to the holy martyrs, and everywhere show their ensigns as token of their victory; festivals are celebrated and sacraments received with clean hearts and lips, and all the church's sons rejoice as it were in the fostering bosom of a mother. For this holy union remained between Christ their head and the members of his church, until the Arian treason, fatal as a serpent, and vomiting its poison from beyond the sea, caused deadly dissension between brothers inhabiting the same house, and thus, as if a road were made across the sea, like wild beasts of all descriptions, and darting the poison of every heresy from their jaws, they inflicted dreadful wounds upon their country, which is ever desirous to hear something new, and remains constant long to nothing. § 13. At length also, new races of tyrants sprang up, in terrific numbers, and the island, still bearing its Roman name, but casting off her institutes and laws, sent forth among the Gauls that bitter scion of her own planting Maximus, with a great number of followers, and the ensigns of royalty, which he bore without decency and without lawful right, but in a tyrannical manner, and amid the disturbances of the seditious soldiery. He, by cunning arts rather than by valour, attaching to his rule, by perjury and falsehood, all the neighbouring towns and provinces, against the Roman state, extended one of his wings to Spain, the other to Italy, fixed the seat of his unholy government at Treves, and so furiously pushed his rebellion against his lawful emperors that he drove one of them out of Rome, and caused the other to terminate his most holy life. Trusting to these successful attempts, he not long after lost his accursed head before the walls of Aquileia, whereas he had before cut off the crowned heads of almost all the world. § 14. After this, Britain is left deprived of all her soldiery and armed bands, of her cruel governors, and of the flower of her youth, who went with Maximus, but never again returned; and utterly ignorant as she was of the art of war, groaned in amazement for many years under the cruelty of two foreign nations--the Scots from the north-west, and the Picts from the north. § 15. The Britons, impatient at the assaults of the Scots and Picts, their hostilities and dreadful oppressions, send ambassadors to Rome with letters, entreating in piteous terms the assistance of an armed band to protect them, and offering loyal and ready submission to the authority of Rome, if they only would expel their invading foes. A legion is immediately sent, forgetting their past rebellion, and provided sufficiently with arms. When they had crossed over the sea and landed, they came at once to close conflict with their cruel enemies, and slew great numbers of them. All of them were driven beyond the borders, and the humiliated natives rescued from the bloody slavery which awaited them. By the advice of their protectors, they now built a wall across the island from one sea to the other, which being manned with a proper force, might be a terror to the foes whom it was intended to repel, and a protection to their friends whom it covered. But this wall, being made of turf instead of stone, was of no use to that foolish people, who had no head to guide them. § 16. The Roman legion had no sooner returned home in joy and triumph, than their former foes, like hungry and ravening wolves, rushing with greedy jaws upon the fold which is left without a shepherd, and wafted both by the strength of oarsmen and the blowing wind, break through the boundaries, and spread slaughter on every side, and like mowers cutting down the ripe corn, they cut up, tread under foot, and overrun the whole country. § 17. And now again they send suppliant ambassadors, with their garments rent and their heads covered with ashes, imploring assistance from the Romans, and like timorous chickens, crowding under the protecting wings of their parents, that their wretched country might not altogether be destroyed, and that the Roman name, which now was but an empty sound to fill the ear, might not become a reproach even to distant nations. Upon this, the Romans, moved with compassion, as far as human nature can be, at the relations of such horrors, send forward, like eagles in their flight, their unexpected bands of cavalry by land and mariners by sea, and planting their terrible swords upon the shoulders of their enemies, they mow them down like leaves which fall at the destined period; and as a mountain-torrent swelled with numerous streams, and bursting its banks with roaring noise, with foaming crest and yeasty wave rising to the stars, by whose eddying currents our eyes are as it were dazzled, does with one of its billows overwhelm every obstacle in its way, so did our illustrious defenders vigorously drive our enemies' band beyond the sea, if any could so escape them; for it was beyond those same seas that they transported, year after year, the plunder which they had gained, no one daring to resist them. § 18. The Romans, therefore, left the country, giving notice that they could no longer be harassed by such laborious expeditions, nor suffer the Roman standards, with so large and brave an army, to be worn out by sea and land by fighting against these unwarlike, plundering vagabonds; but that the islanders, inuring themselves to warlike weapons, and bravely fighting, should valiantly protect their country, their property, wives and children, and, what is dearer than these, their liberty and lives; that they should not suffer their hands to be tied behind their backs by a nation which, unless they were enervated by idleness and sloth, was not more powerful than themselves, but that they should arm those hands with buckler, sword, and spear, ready for the field of battle; and, because they thought this also of advantage to the people they were about to leave, they, with the help of the miserable natives, built a wall different from the former, by public and private contributions, and of the same structure as walls generally, extending in a straight line from sea to sea, between some cities, which, from fear of their enemies, had there by chance been built. They then give energetic counsel to the timorous natives, and leave them patterns by which to manufacture arms. Moreover, on the south coast where their vessels lay, as there was some apprehension lest the barbarians might land, they erected towers at stated intervals, commanding a prospect of the sea; and then left the island never to return. § 19. No sooner were they gone, than the Picts and Scots, like worms which in the heat of mid-day come forth from their holes, hastily land again from their canoes, in which they had been carried beyond the Cichican[236] valley, differing one from another in manners, but inspired with the same avidity for blood, and all more eager to shroud their villainous faces in bushy hair than to cover with decent clothing those parts of their body which required it. Moreover, having heard of the departure of our friends, and their resolution never to return, they seized with greater boldness than before on all the country towards the extreme north as far as the wall. To oppose them there was placed on the heights a garrison equally slow to fight and ill adapted to run away, a useless and panic-struck company, who slumbered away days and nights on their unprofitable watch. Meanwhile the hooked weapons of their enemies were not idle, and our wretched countrymen were dragged from the wall and dashed against the ground. Such premature death, however, painful as it was, saved them from seeing the miserable sufferings of their brothers and children. But why should I say more? They left their cities, abandoned the protection of the wall, and dispersed themselves in flight more desperately than before. The enemy, on the other hand, pursued them with more unrelenting cruelty than before, and butchered our countrymen like sheep, so that their habitations were like those of savage beasts; for they turned their arms upon each other, and for the sake of a little sustenance, imbrued their hands in the blood of their fellow countrymen. Thus foreign calamities were augmented by domestic feuds; so that the whole country was entirely destitute of provisions, save such as could be procured in the chase. § 20. Again, therefore, the wretched remnant, sending to Ætius, a powerful Roman citizen, address him as follows:--"To Ætius,[237] now consul for the third time: the groans of the Britons." And again a little further, thus:--"The barbarians drive us to the sea: the sea throws us back on the barbarians: thus two modes of death await us, we are either slain or drowned." The Romans, however, could not assist them, and in the meantime the discomfited people, wandering in the woods, began to feel the effects of a severe famine, which compelled many of them without delay to yield themselves up to their cruel persecutors, to obtain subsistence: others of them, however, lying hid in mountains, caves, and woods, continually sallied out from thence to renew the war. And then it was, for the first time, that they overthrew their enemies, who had for so many years been living in their country; for their trust was not in man, but in God; according to the maxim of Philo, "We must have divine assistance, when that of man fails." The boldness of the enemy was for a while checked, but not the wickedness of our countrymen: the enemy left our people, but the people did not leave their sins. § 21. For it has always been a custom with our nation, as it is at present, to be impotent in repelling foreign foes, but bold and invincible in raising civil war, and bearing the burdens of their offences: they are impotent, I say, in following the standard of peace and truth, but bold in wickedness and falsehood. The audacious invaders therefore return to their winter quarters, determined before long again to return and plunder. And then, too, the Picts for the first time seated themselves at the extremity of the island, where they afterwards continued, occasionally plundering and wasting the country. During these truces, the wounds of the distressed people are healed, but another sore, still more venomous, broke out. No sooner were the ravages of the enemy checked, than the island was deluged with a most extraordinary plenty of all things, greater than was before known, and with it grew up every kind of luxury and licentiousness. It grew with so firm a root, that one might truly say of it, "Such fornication is heard of among you, as never was known the like among the Gentiles." But besides this vice, there arose also every other, to which human nature is liable, and in particular that hatred of truth, together with her supporters, which still at present destroys every thing good in the island; the love of falsehood, together with its inventors, the reception of crime in the place of virtue, the respect shown to wickedness rather than goodness, the love of darkness instead of the sun, the admission of Satan as an angel of light. Kings were anointed, not according to God's ordinance, but such as showed themselves more cruel than the rest; and soon after, they were put to death by those who had elected them, without any inquiry into their merits, but because others still more cruel were chosen to succeed them. If any one of these was of a milder nature than the rest, or in any way more regardful of the truth, he was looked upon as the ruiner of the country, every body cast a dart at him, and they valued things alike whether pleasing or displeasing to God, unless it so happened that what displeased him was pleasing to themselves. So that the words of the prophet, addressed to the people of old, might well be applied to our own countrymen: "Children without a law, have ye left God and provoked to anger the holy one of Israel?[238] Why will ye still inquire, adding iniquity? Every head is languid and every heart is sad; from the sole of the foot to the crown, there is no health in him." And thus they did all things contrary to their salvation, as if no remedy could be applied to the world by the true Physician of all men. And not only the laity did so, but our Lord's own flock and its shepherds, who ought to have been an example to the people, slumbered away their time in drunkenness, as if they had been dipped in wine; whilst the swellings of pride, the jar of strife, the griping talons of envy, and the confused estimate of right and wrong, got such entire possession of them, that there seemed to be poured out (and the same still continueth) contempt upon princes, and to be made by their vanities to wander astray and not in the way. § 22. Meanwhile, God being willing to purify his family who were infected by so deep a stain of woe, and at the hearing only of their calamities to amend them; a vague rumour suddenly as if on wings reaches the ears of all, that their inveterate foes were rapidly approaching to destroy the whole country, and to take possession of it, as of old, from one end to the other. But yet they derived no advantage from this intelligence; for, like frantic beasts, taking the bit of reason between their teeth, they abandoned the safe and narrow road, and rushed forward upon the broad downward path of vice, which leads to death. Whilst, therefore, as Solomon says, the stubborn servant is not cured by words, the fool is scourged and feels it not: a pestilential disease mortally affected the foolish people, which, without the sword, cut off so large a number of persons, that the living were not able to bury them. But even this was no warning to them, that in them also might be fulfilled the words of Isaiah the prophet, "And God hath called his people to lamentation, to baldness, and to the girdle of sackcloth; behold they begin to kill calves, and to slay rams, to eat, to drink, and to say, 'We will eat and drink, for to-morrow we shall die.'" For the time was approaching, when all their iniquities, as formerly those of the Amorrhæans, should be fulfilled. For a council was called to settle what was best and most expedient to be done, in order to repel such frequent and fatal irruptions and plunderings of the above named nations. § 23. Then all the councillors, together with that proud tyrant Gurthrigern [Vortigern], the British king, were so blinded, that, as a protection to their country, they sealed its doom by inviting in among them (like wolves into the sheepfold), the fierce and impious Saxons, a race hateful both to God and men, to repel the invasions of the northern nations. Nothing was ever so pernicious to our country, nothing was ever so unlucky. What palpable darkness must have enveloped their minds--darkness desperate and cruel! Those very people whom, when absent, they dreaded more than death itself, were invited to reside, as one may say, under the selfsame roof. Foolish are the princes, as it is said, of Thafneos, giving counsel to unwise Pharaoh. A multitude of whelps came forth from the lair of this barbaric lioness, in three cyuls, as they call them, that is, in three ships of war, with their sails wafted by the wind and with omens and prophecies favourable, for it was foretold by a certain soothsayer among them, that they should occupy the country to which they were sailing three hundred years, and half of that time, a hundred and fifty years, should plunder and despoil the same. They first landed on the eastern side of the island, by the invitation of the unlucky king, and there fixed their sharp talons, apparently to fight in favour of the island, but alas! more truly against it. Their mother-land, finding her first brood thus successful, sends forth a larger company of her wolfish offspring, which sailing over, join themselves to their bastard-born comrades. From that time the germ of iniquity and the root of contention planted their poison amongst us, as we deserved, and shot forth into leaves and branches. The barbarians being thus introduced as soldiers into the island, to encounter, as they falsely said, any dangers in defence of their hospitable entertainers, obtain an allowance of provisions, which, for some time being plentifully bestowed, stopped their doggish mouths. Yet they complain that their monthly supplies are not furnished in sufficient abundance, and they industriously aggravate each occasion of quarrel, saying that unless more liberality is shown them, they will break the treaty and plunder the whole island. In a short time, they follow up their threats with deeds. § 24. For the fire of vengeance, justly kindled by former crimes, spread from sea to sea, fed by the hands of our foes in the east, and did not cease, until, destroying the neighbouring towns and lands, it reached the other side of the island, and dipped its red and savage tongue in the western ocean. In these assaults, therefore, not unlike that of the Assyrian upon Judea, was fulfilled in our case what the prophet describes in words of lamentation: "They have burned with fire the sanctuary; they have polluted on earth the tabernacle of thy name." And again, "O God, the gentiles have come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled," &c. So that all the columns were levelled with the ground by the frequent strokes of the battering-ram, all the husbandmen routed, together with their bishops, priests, and people, whilst the sword gleamed, and the flames crackled around them on every side. Lamentable to behold, in the midst of the streets lay the tops of lofty towers, tumbled to the ground, stones of high walls, holy altars, fragments of human bodies, covered with livid clots of coagulated blood, looking as if they had been squeezed together in a press;[239] and with no chance of being buried, save in the ruins of the houses, or in the ravening bellies of wild beasts and birds; with reverence be it spoken for their blessed souls, if, indeed, there were many found who were carried, at that time, into the high heaven by the holy angels. So entirely had the vintage, once so fine, degenerated and become bitter, that, in the words of the prophet, there was hardly a grape or ear of corn to be seen where the husbandman had turned his back. § 25. Some, therefore, of the miserable remnant, being taken in the mountains, were murdered in great numbers; others, constrained by famine, came and yielded themselves to be slaves for ever to their foes, running the risk of being instantly slain, which truly was the greatest favour that could be offered them: some others passed beyond the seas with loud lamentations instead of the voice of exhortation. "Thou hast given us as sheep to be slaughtered, and among the Gentiles hast thou dispersed us." Others, committing the safeguard of their lives, which were in continual jeopardy, to the mountains, precipices, thickly wooded forests, and to the rocks of the seas (albeit with trembling hearts), remained still in their country. But in the meanwhile, an opportunity happening, when these most cruel robbers were returned home, the poor remnants of our nation (to whom flocked from divers places round about our miserable countrymen as fast as bees to their hives, for fear of an ensuing storm), being strengthened by God, calling upon him with all their hearts, as the poet says,-- "With their unnumbered vows they burden heaven," that they might not be brought to utter destruction, took arms under the conduct of Ambrosius Aurelianus, a modest man, who of all the Roman nation was then alone in the confusion of this troubled period by chance left alive. His parents, who for their merit were adorned with the purple, had been slain in these same broils, and now his progeny in these our days, although shamefully degenerated from the worthiness of their ancestors, provoke to battle their cruel conquerors, and by the goodness of our Lord obtain the victory. § 26. After this, sometimes our countrymen, sometimes the enemy, won the field, to the end that our Lord might in this land try after his accustomed manner these his Israelites, whether they loved him or not, until the year of the siege of Bath-hill, when took place also the last almost, though not the least slaughter of our cruel foes, which was (as I am sure) forty-four years and one month after the landing of the Saxons, and also the time of my own nativity. And yet neither to this day are the cities of our country inhabited as before, but being forsaken and overthrown, still lie desolate; our foreign wars having ceased, but our civil troubles still remaining. For as well the remembrance of such a terrible desolation of the island, as also of the unexpected recovery of the same, remained in the minds of those who were eye-witnesses of the wonderful events of both, and in regard thereof, kings, public magistrates, and private persons, with priests and clergymen, did all and every one of them live orderly according to their several vocations. But when these had departed out of this world, and a new race succeeded, who were ignorant of this troublesome time, and had only experience of the present prosperity, all the laws of truth and justice were so shaken and subverted, that not so much as a vestige or remembrance of these virtues remained among the above-named orders of men, except among a very few who, compared with the great multitude which were daily rushing headlong down to hell, are accounted so small a number, that our reverend mother, the church, scarcely beholds them, her only true children, reposing in her bosom; whose worthy lives, being a pattern to all men, and beloved of God, inasmuch as by their holy prayers, as by certain pillars and most profitable supporters, our infirmity is sustained up, that it may not utterly be broken down, I would have no one suppose I intended to reprove, if forced by the increasing multitude of offences, I have freely, aye, with anguish, not so much declared as bewailed the wickedness of those who are become servants, not only to their bellies, but also to the devil rather than to Christ, who is our blessed God, world without end. For why shall their countrymen conceal what foreign nations round about now not only know, but also continually are casting in their teeth? FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 231: The description of Britain is given in very nearly the same terms, by Orosius, Bede, and others, but the numbers, denoting the length and breadth and other dimensions, are different in almost every MS. copy.] [Footnote 232: "Soporem" in some MSS., "saporem" in others; it is difficult from the turgidity and superabundance of the style to determine which is the best meaning.] [Footnote 233: Gildas here confuses the modern idea of a tyrant with that of an usurper. The latter is the sense in which Britain was said to be fertile in tyrants, viz. in usurpers of the imperial dignity.] [Footnote 234: The Britons who fought under Boadicea were anything but "crafty foxes." "Bold lions" is a much more appropriate appellation; they would also have been victorious if they had had half the military advantages of the Romans.] [Footnote 235: Or Caerleon. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 15, note] [Footnote 236: The meaning of this expression is not known. O'Connor thinks it is the Irish Sea.] [Footnote 237: Or _Ayitius_, according to another reading.] [Footnote 238: Isa. i. 4, 5. In most of these quotations there is great verbal variation from the authorised version: the author probably quoted from memory, if not from the Latin version.] [Footnote 239: These are the words of the old translation; the original is obscure, and perhaps corrupt.] III. THE EPISTLE. § 27. Britain has kings, but they are tyrants; she has judges, but unrighteous ones; generally engaged in plunder and rapine, but always preying on the innocent; whenever they exert themselves to avenge or protect, it is sure to be in favour of robbers and criminals; they have an abundance of wives, yet are they addicted to fornication and adultery; they are ever ready to take oaths, and as often perjure themselves; they make a vow and almost immediately act falsely; they make war, but their wars are against their countrymen, and are unjust ones; they rigorously prosecute thieves throughout their country, but those who sit at table with them are robbers, and they not only cherish but reward them; they give alms plentifully, but in contrast to this is a whole pile of crimes which they have committed; they sit on the seat of justice, but rarely seek for the rule of right judgment; they despise the innocent and the humble, but seize every occasion of exalting to the utmost the bloody-minded; the proud, murderers, the combined and adulterers, enemies of God, who ought to be utterly destroyed and their names forgotten. They have many prisoners in their gaols, loaded with chains, but this is done in treachery rather than in just punishment for crimes; and when they have stood before the altar, swearing by the name of God, they go away and think no more of the holy altar than if it were a mere heap of dirty stones. § 28. Of this horrid abomination, Constantine,[240] the tyrannical whelp of the unclean lioness of Damnonia,[241] is not ignorant. This same year, after taking a dreadful oath (whereby he bound himself first before God, by a solemn protestation, and then called all the saints, and Mother of God, to witness, that he would not contrive any deceit against his countrymen), he nevertheless, in the habit of a holy abbat amid the sacred altars, did with sword and javelin, as if with teeth, wound and tear, even in the bosoms of their temporal mother, and of the church their spiritual mother, two royal youths, with their two attendants, whose arms, although not cased in armour, were yet boldly used, and, stretched out towards God and his altar, will hang up at the gates of thy city, O Christ, the venerable ensigns of their faith and patience; and when he had done it, the cloaks, red with coagulated blood, did touch the place of the heavenly sacrifice. And not one worthy act could he boast of previous to this cruel deed; for many years before he had stained himself with the abomination of many adulteries, having put away his wife contrary to the command of Christ, the teacher of the world, who hath said: "What God hath joined together, let not man separate," and again: "Husbands, love your wives." For he had planted in the ground of his heart (an unfruitful soil for any good seed) a bitter scion of incredulity and folly, taken from the vine of Sodom, which being watered with his vulgar and domestic impieties, like poisonous showers, and afterwards audaciously springing up to the offence of God, brought forth into the world the sin of horrible murder and sacrilege; and not yet discharged from the entangling nets of his former offences, he added new wickedness to the former. § 29. Go to now, I reprove thee as present, whom I know as yet to be in this life extant. Why standest thou astonished, O thou butcher of thine own soul? Why dost thou wilfully kindle against thyself the eternal fires of hell? Why dost thou, in place of enemies, desperately stab thyself with thine own sword, with thine own javelin? Cannot those same poisonous cups of offences yet satisfy thy stomach? Look back (I beseech thee) and come to Christ (for thou labourest, and art pressed down to the earth with this huge burden), and he himself, as he said, will give thee rest. Come to him who wisheth not the death of a sinner, but that he should be rather converted and live. Unloose (according to the prophet) the bands of thy neck O thou son of Sion. Return (I pray thee), although from the far remote regions of sins, unto the most holy Father, who, for his son that will despise the filthy food of swine, and fear a death of cruel famine, and so come back to him again, hath with great joy been accustomed to kill his fatted calf, and bring forth for the wanderer, the first robe and royal ring, and then taking as it were a taste of the heavenly hope, thou shalt perceive how sweet our Lord is. For if thou dost contemn these, be thou assured, thou shalt almost instantly be tossed and tormented in the inevitable and dark floods of endless fire. § 30. What dost thou also, thou lion's whelp (as the prophet saith), Aurelius Conanus?[242] Art not thou as the former (if not far more foul) to thy utter destruction, swallowed up in the filthiness of horrible murders, fornications, and adulteries, as by an overwhelming flood of the sea? Hast not thou by hating, as a deadly serpent, the peace of thy country, and thirsting unjustly after civil wars and frequent spoil, shut the gates of heavenly peace and repose against thine own soul? Being now left alone as a withering tree in the midst of a field, remember (I beseech thee) the vain and idle fancies of thy parents and brethren, together with the untimely death that befell them in the prime of their youth; and shalt thou, for thy religious deserts, be reserved out of all thy family to live a hundred years, or to attain to the age of a Methusalem? No, surely, but unless (as the psalmist saith) thou shalt be speedily converted unto our Lord, that King will shortly brandish his sword against thee, who hath said by his prophet, "I will kill, and I will cause to live; I will strike, and I will heal; and there is no one who can deliver out of my hand." Be thou therefore shaken out of thy filthy dust, and with all thy heart converted to Him who hath created thee, that "when his wrath shall shortly burn out, thou mayst be blessed by fixing thy hopes on him." But if otherwise, eternal pains will be heaped up for thee, where thou shalt be ever tormented and never consumed in the cruel jaws of hell. § 31. Thou also, who like to the spotted leopard, art diverse in manners and in mischief, whose head now is growing grey, who art seated on a throne full of deceits, and from the bottom even to the top art stained with murder and adulteries, thou naughty son of a good king, like Manasses sprung from Ezechiah, Vortipore, thou foolish tyrant of the Demetians,[243] why art thou so stiff? What! do not such violent gulfs of sin (which thou dost swallow up like pleasant wine, nay rather which swallow thee up), as yet satisfy thee, especially since the end of thy life is daily now approaching? Why dost thou heavily clog thy miserable soul with the sin of lust, which is fouler than any other, by putting away thy wife, and after her honourable death, by the base practices of thy shameless daughter? Waste not (I beseech thee) the residue of thy life in offending God, because as yet an acceptable time and day of salvation shines on the faces of the penitent, wherein thou mayest take care that thy flight may not be in the winter, or on the sabbath day. "Turn away (according to the psalmist) from evil, and do good, seek peace and ensue it," because the eyes of our Lord will be cast upon thee, when thou doest righteousness, and his ears will be then open unto thy prayers, and he will not destroy thy memory out of the land of the living; thou shalt cry, and he will hear thee, and out of thy tribulations deliver thee; for Christ doth never despise a heart that is contrite and humbled with fear of him. Otherwise, the worm of thy torture shall not die, and the fire of thy burning shall never be extinguished. § 32. And thou too, Cuneglasse,[244] why art thou fallen into the filth of thy former naughtiness, yea, since the very first spring of thy tender youth, thou bear, thou rider and ruler of many, and guider of the chariot which is the receptacle of the bear, thou contemner of God, and vilifier of his order, thou tawny butcher, as in the Latin tongue thy name signifies. Why dost thou raise so great a war as well against men as also against God himself, against men, yea, thy own countrymen, with thy deadly weapons, and against God with thine infinite offences? Why, besides thine other innumerable backslidings, having thrown out of doors thy wife, dost thou, in the lust, or rather stupidity of thy mind, against the apostle's express prohibition, denouncing that no adulterers can be partakers of the kingdom of heaven, esteem her detestable sister, who had vowed unto God the everlasting continency, as the very flower (in the language of the poet) of the celestial nymphs? Why dost thou provoke with thy frequent injuries the lamentations and sighs of saints, by thy means corporally afflicted, which will in time to come, like a fierce lioness, break thy bones in pieces? Desist, I beseech thee (as the prophet saith) from wrath, and leave off thy deadly fury, which thou breathest out against heaven and earth, against God and his flock, and which in time will be thy own torment; rather with altered mind obtain the prayers of those who possess a power of binding over this world, when in this world they bind the guilty, and of loosing when they loose the penitent. Be not (as the apostle saith) proudly wise, nor hope thou in the uncertainty of riches, but in God who giveth thee many things abundantly, and by the amendment of thy manners purchase unto thyself a good foundation for hereafter, and seek to enter into that real and true state of existence which will be not transitory but everlasting. Otherwise, thou shalt know and see, yea, in this very world, how bad and bitter a thing it is for thee to leave the Lord thy God, and not have his fear before thine eyes, and in the next, how thou shalt be burned in the foul encompassing flames of endless fire, nor yet by any manner of means shalt ever die. For the souls of the sinful are as eternal in perpetual fire, as the souls of the just in perpetual joy and gladness. § 33. And likewise, O thou dragon of the island, who hast deprived many tyrants, as well of their kingdoms as of their lives, and though the last-mentioned in my writing, the first in mischief, exceeding many in power, and also in malice, more liberal than others in giving, more licentious in sinning, strong in arms, but stronger in working thine own soul's destruction, Maglocune,[245] why art thou (as if soaked in the wine of the Sodomitical grape) foolishly rolling in that black pool of thine offences? Why dost thou wilfully heap like a mountain, upon thy kingly shoulders, such a load of sins? Why dost thou show thyself unto the King of kings (who hath made thee as well in kingdom as in stature of body higher than almost all the other chiefs of Britain) not better likewise in virtues than the rest; but on the contrary for thy sins much worse? Listen then awhile and hear patiently the following enumeration of thy deeds, wherein I will not touch any domestic and light offences (if yet any of them are light) but only those open ones which are spread far and wide in the knowledge of all men. Didst not thou, in the very beginning of thy youth, terribly oppress with sword, spear, and fire, the king thine uncle, together with his courageous bands of soldiers, whose countenances in battle were not unlike those of young lions? Not regarding the words of the prophet, who says, "The blood-thirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days;" and even if the sequel of thy sins were not such as ensued, yet what retribution couldst thou expect for this offence only at the hands of the just Judge, who hath said by his prophet: "Woe be to thee who spoilest, and shalt not thou thyself be spoiled? and thou who killest, shalt not thyself be killed? and when thou shalt make an end of thy spoiling, then shalt thou thyself fall." § 34. But when the imagination of thy violent rule had succeeded according to thy wishes, and thou wast urged by a desire to return into the right way, night and day the consciousness of thy crimes afflicted thee, whilst thou didst ruminate on the Lord's ritual and the ordinances of the monks, and then publish to the world and vow thyself before God a monk with no intention to be unfaithful, as thou didst say, having burst through those toils in which such great beasts as thyself were used to become entangled, whether it were love of rule, of gold, or silver, or, what is stronger still, the fancies of thy own heart. And didst thou not, as a dove which cleaves the yielding air with its pinions, and by its rapid turns escapes the furious hawk, safely return to the cells where the saints repose, as a most certain place of refuge? Oh how great a joy should it have been to our mother church, if the enemy of all mankind had not lamentably pulled thee, as it were, out of her bosom! Oh what an abundant flame of heavenly hope would have been kindled in the hearts of desperate sinners, hadst thou remained in thy blessed estate! Oh what great rewards in the kingdom of Christ would have been laid up for thy soul against the day of judgment, if that crafty wolf had not caught thee, who of a wolf wast now become a lamb (not much against thine own will) out of the fold of our Lord, and made thee of a lamb, a wolf like unto himself, again? Oh how great a joy would the preservation of thy salvation have been to God the Father of all saints, had not the devil, the father of all castaways, as an eagle of monstrous wings and claws, carried thee captive away against all right and reason, to the unhappy band of his children? And to be short, thy conversion to righteousness gave as great joy to heaven and earth, as now thy detestable return, like a dog to his vomit, breedeth grief and lamentation: which being done, "the members which should have been busily employed, as the armour of justice for the Lord, are now become the armour of iniquity for sin and the devil;" for now thou dost not listen to the praises of God sweetly sounded forth by the pleasant voices of Christ's soldiers, nor the instruments of ecclesiastical melody, but thy own praises (which are nothing) rung out after the fashion of the giddy rout of Bacchus by the mouths of thy villainous followers, accompanied with lies and malice, to the utter destruction of the neighbours; so that the vessel prepared for the service of God, is now turned to a vessel of dirt, and what was once reputed worthy of heavenly honour, is now cast as it deserves into the bottomless pit of hell. § 35. Yet neither is thy sensual mind (which is overcome by the excess of thy follies) at all checked in its course with committing so many sins, but hot and prone (like a young colt that coveteth every pleasant pasture) runneth headlong forward, with irrecoverable fury, through the intended fields of crime, continually increasing the number of its transgressions. For the former marriage of thy first wife (although after thy violated vow of religion she was not lawfully thine, but only by right of the time she was with thee), was now despised by thee, and another woman, the wife of a man then living, and he no stranger, but thy own brother's son, enjoyed thy affections. Upon which occasion that stiff neck of thine (already laden with sins) is now burdened with two monstrous murders, the one of thy aforesaid nephew, the other, of her who once was thy wedded wife: and thou art now from low to lower, and from bad to worse, bowed, bent, and sunk down into the lowest depth of sacrilege. Afterwards, also didst thou publicly marry the widow by whose deceit and suggestion such a heavy weight of offences was undergone, and take her, lawfully, as the flattering tongues of thy parasites with false words pronounced it, but as we say, most wickedly, to be thine own in wedlock. And therefore what holy man is there, who, moved with the narration of such a history, would not presently break out into weeping and lamentations? What priest (whose heart lieth open unto God) would not instantly, upon hearing this, exclaim with anguish in the language of the prophet: "Who shall give water to my head, and to my eyes a fountain of tears, and I will day and night bewail those of my people, who are slaughtered." For full little (alas!) hast thou with thine ears listened to that reprehension of the prophet speaking in this wise: "Woe be unto you, O wicked men, who have left the law of the most holy God, and if ye shall be born, your portion shall be to malediction, and if ye die, to malediction shall be your portion, all things that are from the earth, to the earth shall be converted again, so shall the wicked from malediction pass to perdition:" if they return not unto our Lord, listening to this admonition: "Son, thou hast offended; add no further offence thereunto, but rather pray for the forgiveness of the former." And again, "Be not slow to be converted unto our Lord, neither put off the same from day to day, for his wrath doth come suddenly." Because, as the Scripture saith, "When the king heareth the unjust word, all under his dominion become wicked." And, the just king (according to the prophet) raiseth up his region. But warnings truly are not wanting to thee, since thou hast had for thy instructor the most eloquent master of almost all Britain. Take heed, thereof, lest that which Solomon noteth, befall thee, which is, "Even as he who stirreth up a sleeping man out of his heavy sleep, so is that person who declareth wisdom unto a fool, for in the end of his speech will he say, What hast thou first spoken? Wash thine heart (as it is written) from malice, O Jerusalem, that thou mayest be saved." Despise not (I beseech thee) the unspeakable mercy of God, calling by his prophet the wicked in this way from their offences: "I will on a sudden speak to the nation, and to the kingdom, that I may root out, and disperse, and destroy, and overthrow." As for the sinner he doth in this wise exhort him vehemently to repent. "And if the same people shall repent from their offence, I will also repent of the evil which I have said that I would do unto them." And again, "Who will give them such an heart, that they may hear me, and keep my commandments, and that it may be well with them all the days of their lives." And also in the Canticle of Deuteronomy, "A people without counsel and prudence, I wish they would be wise, and understand, and foresee the last of all, how one pursueth a thousand and two put to flight ten thousand." And again, our Lord in the gospel, "Come unto me, all ye who do labour and are burdened, and I will make you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, because I am meek and humble of heart, and ye shall find repose for your souls." For if thou turn a deaf ear to these admonitions, contemn the prophets, and despise Christ, and make no account of us, humble though we be, so long as with sincere piety and purity of mind we bear in mind that saying of the prophet, that we may not be found, "Dumb dogs, not able to bark;" (however I for my part may not be of that singular fortitude, in the spirit and virtue of our Lord, as to declare, "To the house of Jacob their sins, and the house of Israel their offences;") and so long as we shall remember that of Solomon, "He who says that the wicked are just, shall be accursed among the people, and odious to nations, for they who reprove them shall have better hopes." And again, "Respect, not with reverence thy neighbour in his ruin, nor forbear to speak in time of salvation." And as long also as we forget not this, "Root out those who are led to death, and forbear not to redeem them who are murdered;" because, as the same prophet says, "Riches shall not profit in the day of wrath, but justice delivereth from death." And, "If the just indeed be hardly saved, where shall the wicked and sinner appear?" If, as I said, thou scorn us, who obey these texts, the dark flood of hell shall without doubt eternally drown thee in that deadly whirlpool, and those terrible streams of fire that shall ever torment and never consume thee, and then shall the confession of thy pains and sorrow for thy sins be altogether too late and unprofitable to one, who now in this accepted time and day of salvation deferreth his conversion to a more righteous way of life. § 37. And here, indeed, if not before, was this lamentable history of the miseries of our time to have been brought to a conclusion, that I might no further discourse of the deeds of men; but that I may not be thought timid or weary, whereby I might the less carefully avoid that saying of Isaiah, "Woe be to them who call good evil, and evil good, placing darkness for light, and light for darkness, bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter, who seeing see not, and hearing hear not, whose hearts are overshadowed with a thick and black cloud of vices;" I will briefly set down the threatenings which are denounced against these five aforesaid lascivious horses, the frantic followers of Pharaoh, through whom his army is wilfully urged forward to their utter destruction in the Red Sea, and also against such others, by the sacred oracles, with whose holy testimonies the frame of this our little work is, as it were, roofed in, that it may not be subject to the showers of the envious, which otherwise would be poured thereon. Let, therefore, God's holy prophets, who are to mortal men the mouth of God, and the organ of the Holy Ghost, forbidding evils, and favouring goodness, answer for us as well now as formerly, against the stubborn and proud princes of this our age, that they may not say we menace them with such threats, and such great terrors of our own invention only, and with rash and over-zealous meddling. For to no wise man is it doubtful how far more grievous the sins of this our time are than those of the primitive age, when the apostle said, "Any one transgressing the law, being convicted by two or three witnesses, shall die, how much worse punishment think ye then that he deserveth, who shall trample under his foot the Son of God?" § 38. And first of all appears before us, Samuel, by God's commandment, the establisher of a lawful kingdom, dedicated to God before his birth, undoubtedly known by marvellous signs, to be a true prophet unto all the people, from Dan even to Beersheba, out of whose mouth the Holy Ghost thundereth to all the potentates of the world, denouncing Saul the first king of the Hebrews, only because he did not accomplish some matters commanded him of our Lord, in these words which follow: "Thou hast done foolishly, neither yet hast thou kept the commandments of our Lord thy God, that he hath given thee in charge; which if thou hadst not committed, even now had our Lord prepared thy reign over Israel for ever, but thy kingdom shall no farther arise." And what did he commit, whether it were adultery or murder, like to the offences of the present time? No, truly, but broke in part one of God's commandments, for, as one of our writers says, "The question is not of the quality of the sin, but of the violating of the precept." Also when he endeavoured to answer (as he thought) the objections of Samuel, and after the fashion of men wisely to make excuses for his offence in this manner: "Yea, I have obeyed the voice of our Lord, and walked in the way through which he hath sent me;" with this rebuke was he corrected by him: "What! will our Lord have burnt offerings or oblations, and not rather that the voice of our Lord should be obeyed? Obedience is better than oblations, and to hearken unto him, better than to offer the fat of rams. For as it is the sin of soothsaying to resist, so is it the offence of idolatry not to obey; in regard, therefore, that thou hast cast away the word of our Lord, he hath also cast thee away that thou be not king." And a little after, "Our Lord hath this day rent the kingdom of Israel from thee, and delivered it up to thy neighbour, a man better than thyself. The Triumpher of Israel truly will not spare, and will not be bowed with repentance, neither yet is he a man that he should repent;" that is to say, upon the stony hearts of the wicked: wherein it is to be noted how he saith, that to be disobedient unto God is the sin of idolatry. Let not, therefore, our wicked transgressors (while they do not openly sacrifice to the gods of the Gentiles) flatter themselves that they are not idolaters, whilst they tread like swine the most precious pearls of Christ under their feet. § 39. But although this one example as an invincible affirmation might abundantly suffice to correct the wicked; yet, that by the mouths of many witnesses all the offences of Britain may be proved, let us pass to the rest. What happened to David for numbering his people, when the prophet Gad spake unto him in this sort? Thus saith our Lord: "The choice of three things is offered thee, choose which thou wilt, that I may execute it upon thee. Shall there befall thee a famine for seven years, or shalt thou flee three months before thine enemies, and they pursue thee, or shall there be three days' pestilence in thy land?" For being brought into great straits by this condition, and willing rather to fall into the hands of God who is merciful, than into those of men, he was humbled with the slaughter of seventy thousand of his subjects, and unless with the affection of an apostolic charity, he had desired to die himself for his countrymen, that the plague might not further consume them, saying, "I am he that has offended, I the shepherd have dealt unjustly: but these sheep, what have they sinned? Let thy hand, I beseech thee, be turned against me, and against the house of my father;" he would have atoned for the unadvised pride of his heart with his own death. For what does the scripture afterwards declare of his son? "And Solomon wrought that which was not pleasing before our Lord, and he did not fill up the measure of his good deeds by following the Lord like his father David. And our Lord said unto him, Because thou hast thus behaved thyself, and not observed my covenant and precepts, which I have commanded thee, breaking it asunder; I will divide thy kingdom, and give the same unto thy servant." § 40. Hear now likewise what fell upon the two sacrilegious kings of Israel (even such as ours are), Jeroboam and Baasha, unto whom the sentence and doom of our Lord is by the prophet in this way directed: "For what cause have I exalted thee a prince over Israel, in regard that they have provoked me by their vanities. Behold I will stir up after Baasha and after his house, and I will give over his house as the house of Jeroboam the son of Nebat. Whoso of his blood shall die in the city, the dogs shall eat him, and the dead carcass of him that dieth in the field shall the fowls of the air eat." What doth he also threaten unto that wicked king of Israel, a worthy companion of the former, by whose collusion and his wife's deceit, innocent Naboth was for his father's vineyard put to death, when the holy mouth of Elias, yea, the selfsame mouth that was instructed with the fiery speech of our Lord, thus spake unto him: "Hast thou killed and also taken possession, and after this wilt thou yet add more? Thus saith our Lord, in this very place, wherein the dogs have licked the blood of Naboth, they shall lick up thy blood also." Which fell out afterwards in that very sort, as we have certain proof. But lest perchance (as befell Ahab also) the lying spirit, which pronounceth vain things in the mouths of your prophets may seduce you, hearken to the words of the prophet Micaiah: "Behold God hath suffered the spirit of lying to possess the mouths of all thy prophets that do here remain, and our Lord hath pronounced evil against thee." For even now it is certain that there are some teachers inspired with a contrary spirit, preaching and affirming rather what is pleasing, however depraved, than what is true: whose words are softer than oil, and the same are darts, who say, peace, peace, and there shall be no peace to them, who persevere in their sins, as says the prophet in another place also, "It is not for the wicked to rejoice, saith our Lord." § 41. Azarias, also, the son of Obed, spoke unto Asa, who returned from the slaughter of the army of ten hundred thousand Ethiopians, saying, "Our Lord is with you while you remain with him, and if you will seek him out, he will be found by you, and if you will leave him, he will leave you also." For if Jehosaphat for only assisting a wicked king, was thus reproved by the prophet Jehu, the son of Ananias, saying, "If thou givest aid to a sinner, or lovest them whom our Lord doth hate, the wrath of God doth therefore hang over thee," what shall become of them who are fettered in the snares of their own offences? whose sin we must of necessity hate, if not their souls, if we wish to fight in the army of the Lord, according to the words of the Psalmist, "Hate ye evil, who love our Lord." What was said to Jehoram, the son of the above-named Jehosaphat, that most horrible murderer (who being himself a bastard, slew his noble brethren, that he might possess the throne in their place), by the prophet Elias, who was the chariot and charioteer of Israel? "Thus speaketh the Lord God of thy father David. Because thou hast not walked in the way of thy father Jehosaphat, and in the ways of Asa the king of Judah, but hast walked in the ways of the kings of Israel, and in adultery according to the behaviour of the house of Ahab, and hast moreover killed thy brethren, the sons of Jehosaphat, men far better than thyself, behold, our Lord shall strike thee and thy children with a mighty plague." And a little afterwards, "And thou shalt be very sick of a disease of thy belly, until thy entrails shall, together with the malady itself, from day to day, come forth out of thee." And listen also what the prophet Zachariah, the son of Jehoiades, menaced to Joash, the king of Israel, when he abandoned our Lord even as ye now do, and the prophet spoke in this manner to the people: "Thus saith our Lord, Why do ye transgress the commandments of our Lord and do not prosper? Because ye have left our Lord, he will also leave you." § 42. What shall I mention of Isaiah, the first and chief of the prophets, who beginneth his prophecy, or rather vision, in this way: "Hear, O ye heavens, and O thou earth conceive in thine ears, because our Lord hath spoken, I have nourished children, and exalted them, but they themselves have despised me. The ox hath known his owner, and the ass his master's crib, but Israel hath not known me, and my people hath not understood." And a little further with threatenings answerable to so great a folly, he saith, "The daughter of Sion shall be utterly left as a tabernacle in the vineyard, and as a hovel in the cucumber garden, and a city that is sacked." And especially, convening and accusing the princes, he saith, "Hear the word of our Lord, O ye princes of Sodom, perceive ye the law of our Lord, O ye people of Gomorrah." Wherein it is to be noted, that unjust kings are termed the princes of Sodom, for our Lord, forbidding sacrifices and gifts to be offered to him by such persons, and seeing that we greedily receive those offerings which in all nations are displeasing unto God, and to our own destruction suffer them not to be bestowed on the poor and needy, speak thus to them who, laden with riches, are likewise given to offend on this head: "Offer no more your sacrifice in vain, your incense is abomination unto me." And again he denounceth them thus: "And when ye shall stretch out your hands, I will turn away mine eyes from you, and when ye shall multiply your prayers, I will not hear." And he declareth wherefore he does this, saying, "Your hands are full of blood." And likewise showing how he may be appeased, he says, "Be ye washed, be ye clean, take away the evil of your thoughts from mine eyes: cease to do evil, learn to do well: seek for judgment, succour the oppressed, do justice to the pupil or orphan." And then assuming as it were the part of a reconciling mediator, he adds, "Though your sins shall be as scarlet, they shall be made white as snow: though they shall be as red as the little worm,[246] they shall be as white as wool. If ye shall be willing to hear me, ye shall feed on the good things of the land; but if ye will not, but provoke me unto wrath, the sword shall devour you." § 43. Receive ye the true and public avoucher, witnessing, without any falsehood or flattery, the reward of your good and evil, not like the soothing humble lips of your parasites, which whisper poisons into your ears. And also directing his sentence against ravenous judges, he saith thus: "Thy princes are unfaithful, companions of thieves, all love gifts, hunt after rewards: they do no justice to the orphan, the widow's cause entereth not unto them. For thus saith our Lord God of hosts, the strong one of Israel, Alas, I will take consolation upon my foes, and be revenged upon mine enemies; and the heinous sinners shall be broken to powder, and offenders together with them, and all who have left our Lord, shall be consumed." And afterwards, "The eyes of the lofty man shall be brought low, and the height of men hath bowed down." And again, "Woe be to the wicked, evil befall him, for he shall be rewarded according to his handy-work." And a little after, "Woe be unto you who arise early to follow drunkenness, and to drink even to the very evening, that ye may fume with wine. The harp, and the lyre, and the tabor, and the pipe, and wine are in your banquets, and the work of our Lord ye respect not, neither yet consider ye the works of his hands. Therefore is my people led captive away, because they have not had knowledge, and their nobles have perished with famine, and their multitude hath withered away with thirst. Therefore hath hell enlarged and dilated his spirit, and without measure opened his mouth, and his strong ones, and his people, and his lofty and glorious ones, shall descend down unto him." And afterwards, "Woe be unto you who are mighty for the drinking of wine, and strong men for the procuring of drunkenness, who justify the wicked for rewards, and deprive the just man of his justice. For this cause even as the tongue of the fire devoureth the stubble, and as the heat of the flame burneth up, so shall their root be as the ashes, and their branch shall rise up as the dust. For they have cast away the law of our Lord of hosts, and despised the speech of the holy one of Israel. In all these the fury of our Lord is not turned away, but as yet his hand is stretched out." § 44. And further on, speaking of the day of judgment and the unspeakable fears of sinners, he says, "Howl ye, because the day of our Lord is near at hand (if so near at that time, what shall it now be thought to be?) for destruction shall proceed from God. For this shall all hands be dissolved, and every man's heart shall wither away, and be bruised; tortures and dolours shall hold them, as a woman in labour so shall they be grieved, every man shall at his neighbour stand astonished, burned faces shall be their countenances. Behold, the day of our Lord shall come, fierce and full of indignation, and of wrath, and fury, to turn the earth into a desert, and break her sinners in small pieces from off her; because the stars of heaven and the brightness of them, shall not unfold their light, the sun in his rising shall be covered over with darkness, and the moon shall not shine in her season; and I will visit upon the evils of the world, and against the wicked, their own iniquity, and I will make the pride of the unfaithful to cease, and the arrogancy of the strong, I will bring low." And again, "Behold our Lord will disperse the earth, and he will strip her naked, and afflict her face, and scatter her inhabitants; and as the people, so shall be the priest; and as the slave, so shall be his lord; as the handmaid, so shall be her lady; as the purchaser, so shall be the seller; as the usurer, so shall be he that borroweth; as he who demandeth, so shall he be that oweth. With dispersing shall the earth be scattered, and with sacking shall she be spoiled. For our Lord hath spoken this word. The earth hath bewailed, and hath flitted away; the world hath run to nothing, she is weakened by her inhabitants, because they have transgressed laws, changed right, brought to ruin the eternal truce. For this shall malediction devour the earth." § 45. And afterwards, "They shall lament all of them who now in heart rejoice, the delight of the timbrels hath ceased, the sound of the gladsome shall be silent, the sweetness of the harp shall be hushed, they shall not with singing drink their wine, bitter shall be the potion to the drinkers thereof. The city of vanity is wasted, every house is shut up, no man entering in; an outcry shall be in the streets over the wine, all gladness is forsaken, the joy of the land is transferred, solitariness is left in the town, and calamity shall oppress the gates, because these things shall be in the midst of the land, and in the midst of the people." And a little further, "Swerving from the truth, they have wandered out of the right way, with the straggling of transgressors have they gone astray. Fear and intrapping falls, and a snare upon thee who art the inhabitant of the earth. And it shall come to pass: whoso shall flee from the voice of the fear, shall tumble down into the intrapping pit; and whoso shall deliver himself out of the downfall, shall be caught in the entangling snare: because the flood-gates from aloft shall be opened, and the foundations of the earth shall be shaken. With bruising shall the earth be broken, with commotion shall she be moved, with tossing shall she be shaken like a drunken man, and she shall be taken away as if she were a pavilion of one night's pitching, and her iniquities shall hang heavy upon her, and she shall fall down, and shall not attempt to rise again. And it shall be, that our Lord in the same day shall look on the warfare of heaven on high, and on the kings of the earth, who are upon the earth, and they shall be gathered together in the bundle of one burden into the lake, and shall there be shut up in prison, and after many days shall they be visited. And the moon shall blush, and the sun be confounded, when our Lord of hosts shall reign in Mount Sion and in Jerusalem, and be glorified in the sight of his seniors." § 46. And after a while, giving a reason why he threateneth in that sort, he says thus: "Behold the hand of our Lord is not shortened that he cannot save, neither is his ear made heavy that he may not hear. But your iniquities have divided between you and your God, and your offences have hid his face from you, that he might not hear. For your hands are defiled with blood, and your fingers with iniquity: your lips have spoken lying, and your tongue uttereth iniquity. There is none who calleth on justice, neither is there he who judgeth truly, but they trust in nothing, and speak vanities, and have conceived grief, and brought forth iniquity." And a little after, "Their works are unprofitable, and the work of iniquity is in their hands; their feet run into evil, and make haste that they may shed the innocent blood; their thoughts are unprofitable thoughts, spoil and confusion are in their ways, and the way of peace they have not known, and in their steps there is no judgment, their paths are made crooked unto them, every one who treadeth in them is ignorant of peace; in this respect in judgment removed far off from you, and justice taketh no hold on you." And after a few words, "And judgment hath been turned back, and justice hath stood afar off, because truth hath fallen down in the streets, and equity could not enter in; and truth is turned into oblivion, and whoso hath departed from evil, hath lain open to spoil. And our Lord hath seen, and it was not pleasing in his eyes, because there is not judgment." § 47. And thus far may it suffice among many, to have recited a few sentences out of the prophet Isaiah. But now with diligent ears hearken unto him, who was foreknown before he was formed in the belly, sanctified before he came out of the womb, and appointed a prophet in all nations: I mean Jeremiah, and hear what he hath pronounced of foolish people and cruel kings, beginning his prophecy in his mild and gentle manner. "And the word of God was spoken unto me, saying, Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, and thou shalt pronounce, Hear the word of our Lord, thou house of Jacob, and all ye kindred of the house of Israel: Thus saith our Lord; What iniquity have your fathers found in me, who have been far removed from me, and walked after vanity, and are become vain, and have not said, Where is he who made us go up out of the land of Egypt?" And after a few words, "From the beginning of thine age thou hast broken my yoke, violated my bands, and said, I will not serve, I have planted thee my chosen vine, all true seed. How art thou therefore converted into naughtiness? O strange vine! If thou shalt wash thee with nitre, and multiply unto thee the herb borith, thou art spotted in my sight with thine iniquity, saith our Lord." And afterwards, "Why will ye contend with me in judgment? Ye have all forsaken me, saith our Lord, in vain have I corrected your children, they have not received discipline. Hear ye the word of our Lord. Am I made a solitariness unto Israel, or a late bearing land! why therefore hath my people said, we have departed, we will come no more unto thee? Doth the virgin forget her ornament, or the spouse her gorget? my people truly hath forgotten me for innumerable days. Because my people are foolish, they have not known me, they are unwise and mad children. They are wise to do evil, but to do well they have been ignorant." § 48. Then the prophet speaketh in his own person saying, "O Lord thine eyes do respect faith, thou hast stricken them, and they have not sorrowed, thou hast broken them and they have refused to receive discipline, they have made their faces harder than the rock, and will not return." And also our Lord: "Declare ye this same to the house of Jacob, and make it to be heard in Judah, saying, Hear, ye foolish people who have no heart, who having eyes see not, and ears hear not. Will ye not therefore dread me, saith our Lord, and will ye not conceive grief from my countenance, who have placed the sand as the bound of the sea, an eternal commandment which she shall not break, and her waves shall be moved, and they cannot, and her surge shall swell, and yet not pass the same? But to this people is framed an incredulous and an exasperating heart, they have retired and gone their ways, and not in their heart said, Let us fear our Lord God." And again, "Because there are found among my people wicked ones, framing wiles to entangle as if they were fowlers, setting snares and gins to catch men: as a net that is full of birds, so are their houses filled with deceits. Therefore are they magnified and enriched, they are become gross and fat, and have neglected my speeches most vilely, the orphans' cause they have not decided, and the justice of the poor they have not adjudged. What! shall I not visit these men, saith our Lord? or shall not my soul be revenged upon such a nation?" § 49. But God forbid that ever should happen unto you, that which followeth, "Thou shalt speak all these words unto them, and they shall not hear thee; and thou shalt call them, and they shall not answer thee; and thou shalt say unto them, This is the nation that hath not heard the voice of their Lord God, nor yet received discipline, faith hath perished, and been taken away from out of their mouth." And after some few speeches, "Whoso falleth doth he not arise again, and whoso is turned away, shall he not return again? why therefore is this people in Jerusalem, with a contentious aversion alienated? they have apprehended lying, and they will not come back again. I have been attentive, and hearkened diligently, no man speaketh what is good. There is none who repenteth of his sin, saying, What have I done? All are turned unto their own course, like a horse passing with violence to battle. The kite in the sky hath known her time, the turtle, and swallow, and stork have kept the season of their coming, but my people hath not known the judgment of God." And the prophet, being smitten with fear at so wonderful a blindness, and unspeakable drunkenness of the sacrilegious, and lamenting them who did not lament themselves (even according to the present behaviour of these our unfortunate tyrants), beseecheth of our Lord, that an augmentation of tears might be granted him, speaking in this manner, "I am contrite upon the contrition of the daughter of my people, astonishment hath possessed me: is there no balm in Gilead, or is there no physician there? Why therefore is not the wound of the daughter of my people healed? Who shall give water unto my head, and to mine eyes a fountain of tears, and I will day and night bewail the slaughtered of my people? who will grant me in the wilderness the inn of passengers? and I will utterly leave my people, and depart from them; because they are all of them adulterers, a root of offenders, and they have bent their tongue as the bow of lying, and not of truth, they are comforted in the earth, because they have passed from evil to evil, and not known me, saith our Lord." And again: "And our Lord hath said, Because they have forsaken my law, which I have given them, and not heard my voice, nor walked thereafter, and have wandered away after the wickedness of their own heart, in that respect our Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, saith these words, Behold I will feed this people with wormwood, and give them to drink the water of gall." And a little after (speaking in the person of God), "See therefore thou do not pray for this people, nor assume thou for them praise and prayer, because I will not hear in the time of their outcry unto me, and of their affliction." § 50. What then shall now our miserable governors do, these few who found out the narrow way and left the large, were by God forbidden to pour out their prayers for such as persevered in their evils, and so highly provoked his wrath, against whom on the contrary side when they returned with all their hearts unto God (his divine Majesty being unwilling that the soul of man should perish, but calling back the castaway that he should not utterly be destroyed) the same prophets could not procure the heavenly revenge, because Jonas, when he desired the like most earnestly against the Ninevites, could not obtain it. But in the meanwhile omitting our own words, let us rather hear what the prophetic trumpet soundeth in our ears speaking thus: "If thou shalt say in thy heart, Why have these evils befallen? For the multitude of thine iniquities. If the Ethiopian can change his skin, or the leopard his sundry spots, ye may also do well when ye have learned evil," ever supposing that ye will not. And afterwards: "These words doth our Lord say to this people, who have loved to move their feet, and have not rested, and not pleased our Lord, Now shall he remember their iniquities, and visit their offences; and our Lord said unto me, Pray thou not for this people to work their good, when they fast, I will not hear their prayers; and if they offer burnt sacrifices and oblations, I will not receive them." And again, "And our Lord said unto me, If Moses and Samuel shall stand before me, my soul is not bent to this people, cast them out away from my face, and let them depart." And after a few words: "Who shall have pity on thee Jerusalem, or who shall be sorrowful for thee, or who shall pray for thy peace? Thou hast left me (saith our Lord) and gone away backward, and I will stretch forth my hand over thee, and kill thee." And somewhat after: "Thus saith our Lord, Behold I imagine a thought against you, let every man return from his evil course, and make straight your ways and endeavours, who said, we despair, we will go after our own thoughts, and every one of us will do the naughtiness of his evil heart. Thus therefore saith our Lord, Ask the Gentiles, who hath heard such horrible matters, which the virgin Israel hath too often committed? Shall there fail from the rock of the field, the snow of Libanus? or can the waters be drawn dry that gush out cold and flowing? because my people hath forgotten me." And somewhat also after this propounding unto them an election, he speaking saith, "Thus saith our Lord, Do ye judgment and justice, and deliver him who by power is oppressed out of the hand of the malicious accuser; and for the stranger, and orphan, and widow, do not provoke their sorrow, neither yet work ye unjustly the grief of others, nor shed ye forth the innocent blood. For if indeed ye shall accomplish this word, there shall enter in through the gates of this house, kings of the lineage of David, sitting upon his throne. But if ye will not hearken unto these words, by myself I have sworn (saith our Lord) that this house shall be turned into a desert." And again (for he spoke of a wicked king), "As I live (saith our Lord) if so be that Jechonias shall be a ring on my right hand, I will pluck him away, and give him over into the hands of them who seek his life." § 51. Moreover, holy Abraham crieth out, saying, "Woe be unto them who build a city in blood, and prepare a town in iniquities, saying, Are not these things from our almighty Lord? and many people have failed in fire, and many nations have been diminished." And thus complaining, he begins his prophecy: "How long, O Lord, shall I call, and thou wilt not hear? Shall I cry out unto thee, to what end hast thou given me labours and griefs, to behold misery and impiety?" And on the other side, "And judgment was sat upon, and the judge hath taken in regard hereof, the law is rent in pieces, and judgment is not brought fully to his conclusion, because the wicked through power treadeth the just under foot. In this respect hath passed forth perverse judgment." § 52. And mark ye also what blessed Hosea the prophet says of princes: "For that they have transgressed my covenant, and ordained against my law, and exclaimed, we have known thee, because thou art against Israel. They have persecuted good, as if it were evil. They have reigned for themselves and not by me; they have held a principality, neither yet have they acknowledged me." § 53. And hear ye likewise the holy prophet Amos, in this sort threatening: "In three heinous offences of the sons of Judah, and in four I will not convert them, for that they have cast away the law of our Lord, and not kept his commandments, but their vanities have seduced them. And I will send fire upon Judah, and it shall eat the foundations of Jerusalem. Thus saith our Lord; In three grievous sins of Israel, and in four I will not convert them, for that they have sold the just for money, and the poor man for shoes, which they tread upon the dust of the earth, and with buffets they did beat the heads of the poor, and have eschewed the way of the humble." And after a few words, "Seek our Lord and ye shall live, that the house of Joseph may not shine as fire, and the flame devour it, and he shall not be, that can extinguish it. The house of Israel hath hated him who rebuketh in the gates, and abhorred the upright word." Which Amos, being forbidden to prophesy in Israel, without any fawning flattery, saith in answer, "I was not a prophet, nor yet the son of a prophet, but a goatherd; I was plucking sycamores and our Lord took me from my herd, and our Lord said unto me, Go thy way and prophesy against my people of Israel: and now hear thou the word of our Lord (for he directed his speech unto the king), thou sayest, do not prophesy against Israel, and thou shalt not assemble troops against the house of Jacob. For which cause our Lord saith thus, thy wife in the city shall play the harlot, and thy sons and daughters shall die by the sword, and thy ground be measured by the cord, and thou in a polluted land shalt end thy life, but for Israel, she shall be led from his own country a captive." And afterwards, "Hear therefore these words, ye who do outrageously afflict the poor, and practise your mighty power against the needy of the earth, who say, when shall the month pass over that we may purchase, and the sabbaths that we may open the treasuries." And within a few words after, "Our Lord doth swear against the pride of Jacob, if he shall in contempt forget your actions, and if in these the earth shall not be disturbed, and every inhabitant thereof fall to lamentation, and the final end as a flood ascend, and I will turn your festival days into wailing, and cast haircloth on the loins of every one, and on the head of every man baldness, and make him as the mourning of one over beloved, and those who are with him as the day of his sorrow." And again, "In the sword shall die all the sinners of my people, who say, evils shall not approach, nor yet shall light upon us." § 54. And listen ye, likewise, what holy Michah the prophet hath spoken, saying, "Hearken, ye tribes. And what shall adorn the city? Shall not fire? and the house of the wicked hoarding up unjust treasures, and with injury unrighteousness? If the wrongful dealer shall be justified in the balance, and deceitful weights in the scales, by which they have heaped up their riches in ungodliness." § 55. And hear also what threats the famous prophet Zephaniah thundereth out: saith he, "The great day of our Lord is near; it is at hand, and very swiftly approacheth. The voice of the day of our Lord is appointed to be bitter and mighty, that day, a day of wrath, a day of tribulation and necessity, a day of clouds and mist, a day of the trumpet and outcry, a day of misery and extermination, a day of darkness and dimness upon the strong cities and high corners. And I will bring men to tribulation, and they shall go as if they were blind, because they have offended our Lord, and I will pour out their blood as dust, and their flesh as the dung of oxen, and their silver and gold shall not be able to deliver them in the day of the wrath of our Lord. And in the fire of his zeal shall the whole earth be consumed, when the Lord shall accomplish his absolute end, and bring solitariness upon all the inhabitants of the earth. Come together and be joined in one, thou nation without discipline, before ye be made as the fading flower, before the wrath of our Lord falleth upon ye." § 56. And give ear also unto that which the prophet Haggai speaketh: "Thus saith our Lord, I will once move the heaven, and earth, and sea, and dry land, and I will drive away the thrones of kings, and root out the power of the kings of the Gentiles, and I will chase away the chariots of those who mount upon them." § 57. Now also behold what Zacharias the son of Addo, that chosen prophet, said, beginning his prophecy in this manner: "Return to me, and I will return unto you, saith our Lord, and be not like your fathers, to whom the former prophets have imputed, saying, Thus saith our almighty Lord, Turn away from your ways, and they have not marked whereby they might obediently hear me." And afterwards, "And the angel asked me, what dost thou see? And I said, I see a flying scythe, which containeth in length twenty cubits. The malediction which hath proceeded upon the face of the whole earth; because every one of her thieves shall be punished even to the death, and I will throw him away, saith our almighty Lord, and he shall enter into the house of fury, and into the house of swearing falsehood in my name." § 58. Holy Malachy the prophet also saith, "Behold, the day of our Lord shall come, inflamed as a furnace, and all proud men, and all workers of iniquity shall be as stubble, and the approaching day of the Lord of hosts shall set them on fire, which shall not leave a root nor a bud of them." § 59. And hearken ye also what holy Job debateth of the beginning and end of the ungodly, saying, "For what purpose do the wicked live, and have grown old dishonestly, and their issue hath been according to their own desire, and their sons before their faces, and their houses are fruitful, and no fear nor yet the scourge of our Lord is upon them. Their cow hath not been abortive, their great with young hath brought forth her young ones and not missed, but remaineth as an eternal breed; and their children rejoice, and taking the psaltery and harp, have finished their days in felicity and fallen peaceably asleep down into hell." Doth God, therefore, not behold the works of the wicked? Not so, truly, "But the candle of the ungodly shall be extinguished, and destruction shall fall upon them, and pains as of one in childbirth, shall withhold them from wrath; and they shall be as chaff before the wind, and as the dust which the whirlwind hath carried away. Let all goodness fail his children; let his eyes behold his own slaughter, nor yet by our Lord let him be redeemed." And a little after, he saith of the same men, "Who have ravenously taken the flock with the shepherd, and driven away the beast of the orphans, and engaged the ox of the widow, and deceiving, have declined from the way of necessity. They have reaped other men's fields before the time; the poor have laboured in the vineyards of the mighty without hire and meat, they have made many to sleep naked without garments; of the covering of their life they have bereaved them." And somewhat afterwards, when he had thoroughly understood their works, he delivered them over to darkness. "Let, therefore, his portion be accursed from the earth; let his plantings bring forth witherings; let him for this be rewarded according to his dealings; let every wicked man like the unsound wood be broken in pieces. For arising in his wrath hath he overthrown the impotent. Wherefore truly shall he have no trust of his life; when he shall begin to grow diseased, let him not hope for health, but fall into languishing. For his pride hath been the hurt of many, and he is become decayed and rotten, as the mallows in the scorching heat, or as the ear of corn when it falleth off from its stubble." And afterwards, "If his children shall be many, they shall be turned to the slaughter, and if he gather together silver as if it were earth, and likewise purify his gold as if it were dirt, all these same shall the just obtain." § 60. Hear ye moreover what blessed Esdras, that cyclopædia of the divine law, threateneth in his discourse. "Thus saith our Lord God: My right hand shall not be sparing upon sinners, neither shall the sword cease over them who spill the innocent blood on the earth. Fire shall proceed from out of my wrath, and devour the foundations of the earth, and sinners as if they were inflamed straw. Woe be unto them who offend, and observe not my commandments, saith our Lord, I will not forbear them. Depart from me ye apostatizing children, and do not pollute my sanctuary. God doth know who offend against him, and he will therefore deliver them over to death and to slaughter. For now have many evils passed over the round compass of the earth. A sword of fire is sent out against you, and who is he that shall restrain it? shall any man repulse a lion that hungereth in the wood? or shall any one quench out the fire when the straw is burning? our Lord God will send out evils, and who is he that shall repress them? and fire will pass forth from out of his wrath, and who shall extinguish it? it shall brandishing shine, and who will not fear it? it shall thunder, and who will not shake with dread? God will threaten all, and who will not be terrified? before his face the earth doth tremble, and the foundations of the sea shake from the depths." § 61. And mark ye also what Ezechiel the renowned prophet, and admirable beholder of the four evangelical creatures, speaketh of wicked offenders, unto whom pitifully lamenting beforehand the scourge that hung over Israel, our Lord doth say, "Too far hath the iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah prevailed, because the earth is filled with iniquity and uncleanness. Behold I am, mine eyes shall not spare, nor will I take pity." And afterwards, "Because the earth is replenished with people, and the city fraughted with iniquity, I will also turn away the force of their power, and their holy things shall be polluted, prayer shall approach and sue for peace, and it shall not be obtained." And somewhat after, "The word of our Lord, quoth he, was spoken unto me, saying, Thou son of man, the land that shall so far sin against me as to commit an offence, I will stretch forth my hand upon her, and break in pieces her foundation of bread, and send upon her famine, and take away mankind and cattle from her; and if these three men, Noah, Daniel, and Job, be in the midst of her, they shall not deliver her, but they in their justice shall be saved, saith our Lord. If so be that also I shall bring in evil beasts upon the land and punish her, she likewise shall be turned to destruction, and there shall not be one who shall have free passage from the face of the beasts, and although these three men are in the midst of her, as I live, saith our Lord, their sons and daughters shall not be preserved, but they alone shall be saved, and as for the land it shall fall to confusion." And again, "The son shall not receive the unrighteousness of the father, neither the father the son's unrighteousness. The justice of the just shall be upon himself. And the unjust man, if he turneth him away from all the iniquities which he hath done, and keepeth all my commandments, and doth justice and abundance of mercy, he shall live in life and shall not die. All his sins, whatsoever he hath committed, shall have no further being; he shall live the life in his own justice which he hath performed. Do I with my will voluntarily wish the death of the unrighteous, saith our Lord, rather than that he should return from his evil way and live? But when the just shall turn himself away from his justice, and do iniquity, according to all the iniquities which the unrighteous hath committed, all the just actions (which he hath done) shall remain no further in memory. In his offence wherein he hath fallen, and in his sins in which he hath transgressed, he shall die." And, within some words afterwards: "And all nations shall understand, that the house of Israel are led captive away for their offences, because they have forsaken me. And I have turned my face from them, and yielded them over into the hands of their enemies, and all have perished by the sword; according unto their unclean sins, and after their iniquities have I dealt with them, and turned my face away from them." § 62. This which I have spoken may suffice concerning the threats of the holy prophets: only I have thought it necessary to intermingle in this little work of mine, not only these menaces, but also a few words borrowed out of the wisdom of Solomon, to declare unto kings matters of exhortation or instruction, that they may not say I am willing to load the shoulders of men with heavy and insupportable burdens of words, but not so much as once with mine own finger (that is, with speech of consolation) to move the same. Let us therefore hear what the prophet hath spoken to rule us. "Love justice," saith he, "ye that judge the earth." This testimony alone (if it were with a full and perfect heart observed) would abundantly suffice to reform the governors of our country. For if they had loved justice, they would also love God, who is in a sort the fountain and original of all justice. "Serve our Lord in goodness, and seek him in simplicity of heart." Alas! who shall live (as a certain one before us hath said) when such things are done by our countrymen, if perchance they may be any where accomplished? "Because he is found of those who do not tempt him, he appeareth truly to them who have faith in him." For these men without respect do tempt God, whose commandments with stubborn despite they contemn, neither yet do they keep to him their faith, unto whose oracles be they pleasing, or somewhat severe, they turn their backs and not their faces. "For perverse thoughts do separate from God," and this in the tyrants of our time very plainly appeareth. But why doth our meanness intermeddle in this so manifest a determination? Let therefore him who alone is true (as we have said) speak for us, I mean the Holy Ghost, of whom it is now pronounced, "The Holy Ghost verily will avoid the counterfeiting of discipline." And again, "Because the Spirit of God hath filled the globe of the earth." And afterwards (showing with an evident judgment the end of the evil and righteous) he saith, "How is the hope of the wicked as the down that is blown away with the wind, and as the smoke that with the blast is dispersed, and as the slender froth that with a storm is scattered, and as the memory of a guest who is a passenger of one day. But the just shall live for ever, and with God remaineth their reward, and their cogitation is with the Highest. Therefore shall they receive the kingdom of glory, and the crown of beauty from the hand of our Lord. Because with his right hand he will protect them, and with his holy arm defend them." For very far unlike in quality are the just and ungodly, as our Lord verily hath spoken, saying, "Them who honour me I will honour, and whoso despise me shall be of no estimation." § 63. But let us pass over to the rest: "Hearken, (saith he) all ye kings, and understand ye; learn, ye judges of the bounds of the earth, listen with your ears who keep multitudes in awe, and please yourselves in the troops of nations. Because power is given unto you from God, and puissance from the highest, who will examine your actions, and sift your thoughts. For that when ye were ministers of his kingdom, ye have not judged uprightly, nor kept the law of justice, nor yet walked according to his will. It shall dreadfully and suddenly appear unto you, that a most severe judgment shall be given on them who govern. For to the meaner is mercy granted, but the mighty shall mightily sustain torments. For he shall have no respect of persons, who is the ruler of all, nor yet shall he reverence the greatness of any one, because he himself hath made both small and great, and care alike he hath of all; but for the stronger is at hand a stronger affliction. Unto you therefore, O kings, are these my speeches, that you may learn wisdom, and not fall away from her. For whoso observeth what things are just shall be justified, and whoso learneth what things are holy, shall be sanctified." § 64. Hitherto have we discoursed no less by the oracles of the prophets, than by her own speeches with the kings of our country, being willing they should know what the prophet hath spoken, saying, "As from the face of a serpent, so fly thou from sins: if thou shalt approach unto them they will catch thee, their teeth are the teeth of a lion, such as kill the souls of men." And again, "How mighty is the mercy of our Lord, and his forgiveness to such as turn unto him." And if we have not in us such apostolical zeal, that we may say, "I did verily desire to be anathematized by Christ for my brethren," notwithstanding that we may from the bottom of our hearts speak that prophetic saying, "Alas! that the soul perisheth." And again, "Let us search out our ways, and seek and return unto our Lord: let us lift our hearts together with our hands to God in heaven." And also that of the apostle, "We covet that every one of you should be in the bowels of Christ." § 65. And how willingly, as one tossed on the waves of the sea, and now arrived in a desired haven, would I in this place make an end (shame forbidding me further to proceed), did I not behold such great masses of evil deeds done against God by bishops or other priests, or clerks, yea some of our own order, whom as witnesses myself must of necessity first of all stone (according unto the law) with the hard blows of words, lest I should be otherwise reproved for partiality towards persons, and then afterwards the people (if as yet they keep their decrees) must pursue with their whole powers the same execution upon them, not to their corporal death, but to the death of their vices and their eternal life with God. Yet, as I before said, I crave pardon of them, whose lives I not only praise, but also prefer before all earthly treasure, and of the which, if it may be, yet before my death I desire and thirst to be a partaker: and so having both my sides defended with the double shields of saints, and by those means invincibly strengthened to sustain all that arise against me, arming moreover my head in place of a helmet with the help of our Lord, and being most assuredly protected with the sundry aids of the prophets, I will boldly proceed notwithstanding the stones of worldly rioters fly never so fast about me. § 66. Britain hath priests, but they are unwise; very many that minister, but many of them impudent; clerks she hath, but certain of them are deceitful raveners; pastors (as they are called) but rather wolves prepared for the slaughter of souls (for they provide not for the good of the common people, but covet rather the gluttony of their own bellies), possessing the houses of the church, but obtaining them for filthy lucre's sake; instructing the laity, but showing withal most depraved examples, vices, and evil manners; seldom sacrificing, and seldom with clean hearts, standing at the altars; not correcting the commonality for their offences, while they commit the same sins themselves; despising the commandments of Christ, and being careful with their whole hearts to fulfil their own lustful desires, some of them usurping with unclean feet the seat of the apostle Peter; but for the demerit of their covetousness falling down into the pestilent chair of the traitor Judas; detracting often, and seldom speaking truly; hating verity as an open enemy, and favouring falsehoods, as their most beloved brethren; looking on the just, the poor, and the impotent, with stern countenances, as if they were detested serpents, and reverencing the sinful rich men without any respect of shame, as if they were heavenly angels, preaching with their outward lips that alms are to be disbursed upon the needy, but of themselves not bestowing one halfpenny; concealing the horrible sins of the people, and amplifying injuries offered unto themselves, as if they were done against our Saviour Christ; expelling out of their houses their religious mother, perhaps, or sisters, and familiarly and indecently entertaining strange women, as if it were for some more secret office, or rather, to speak truly, though fondly (and yet not fondly to me, but to such as commit these matters), debasing themselves unto such bad creatures; and after all these seeking rather ambitiously for ecclesiastical dignities, than for the kingdom of heaven; and defending after a tyrannical fashion their achieved preferments, nor even labouring with lawful manners, to adorn the same; negligent and dull to listen to the precepts of the holy saints (if ever they did so much as once hear that which full often they ought to hear), but diligent and attentive to the plays and foolish fables of secular men, as if they were the very ways to life, which indeed are but the passages to death; being hoarse, after the fashion of bulls, with the abundance of fatness, and miserably prompt to all unlawful actions; bearing their countenances arrogantly aloft, and having nevertheless their inward senses, with tormenting and gnawing consciences; depressed down to the bottom or rather to the bottomless pit; glad at the gaining of one penny, and at the loss of the like value sad; slothful and dumb in the apostolical decrees (be it for ignorance or rather the burden of their offences), and stopping also the mouths of the learned, but singularly experienced in the deceitful shifts of worldly affairs; and many of this sort and wicked conversation, violently intruding themselves into the preferments of the church; yea, rather buying the same at a high rate, than being any way drawn thereunto, and moreover as unworthy wretches, wallowing, after the fashion of swine, in their old and unhappy puddle of intolerable wickedness, after they have attained unto the seat of the priesthood or episcopal dignity (who neither have been installed, or resident on the same), for usurping only the name of priesthood, they have not received the orders or apostolical pre-eminence; but how can they who are not as yet fully instructed in faith, nor have done penance for their sins, be any way supposed meet and convenient to ascend unto any ecclesiastical degree (that I may not speak of the highest) which none but holy and perfect men, and followers of the apostles, and, to use the words of the teacher of the Gentiles, persons free from reprehension, can lawfully and without the foul offence of sacrilege undertake. § 67. For what is so wicked and so sinful as after the example of Simon Magus (even if with other faults he had not been defiled before), for any man with earthly price to purchase the office of a bishop or priest, which with holiness and righteous life alone ought lawfully to be obtained; but herein they do more wilfully and desperately err, in that they buy their deceitful and unprofitable ecclesiastical degrees, not of the apostles or their successors, but of tyrannical princes, and their father the devil; yea, rather they raise this as a certain roof and covering of all offences, over the frame of their former serious life, that being protected under the shadow thereof, no man should lightly hereafter lay to their charge their old or new wickedness; and hereupon they build their desires of covetousness and gluttony, for that being now the rulers of many they may more freely make havoc at their pleasure. For if truly any such offer of purchasing ecclesiastical promotions were made by these impudent sinners (I will not say with St. Peter), but to any holy priest, or godly king, they would no doubt receive the same answer which their father Simon Magus had from the mouth of the apostle Peter, saying: "Thy money be with thee unto thy perdition." But, alas! perhaps they who order and advance these ambitious aspirers, yea, they who rather throw them under foot, and for a blessing give them a cursing, whilst of sinners they make them not penitents (which were more consonant to reason), but sacrilegious and desperate offenders, and in a sort install Judas, that traitor to his Master, in the chair of Peter, and Nicholas, the author of that foul heresy, in the seat of St. Stephen the martyr, it may be at first obtained their own priesthood by the same means, and therefore do not greatly dislike in their children, but rather respect the course, that they their fathers did before follow. And also, if finding resistance, in obtaining their dioceses at home, and some who severely renounce this chaffering of church-livings, they cannot there attain to such a precious pearl, then it doth not so much loath as delight them (after they have carefully sent their messengers beforehand) to cross the seas, and travel over most large countries, that so, in the end, yea even with the sale of their whole substance, they may win and compass such a pomp, and such an incomparable glory, or to speak more truly, such a dirty and base deceit and illusion. And afterwards with great show and magnificent ostentation, or rather madness, returning back to their own native soil, they grow from stoutness to stateliness, and from being used to level their looks to the tops of the mountains, they now lift up their drowsy eyes into the air, even to the highest clouds, and as Novatus, that foul hog, and persecutor of our Lord's precious jewel, did once at Rome, so do these intrude themselves again into their own country, as creatures of a new mould, or rather as instruments of the devil, being even ready in this state and fashion to stretch out violently their hands (not so worthy of the holy altars as of the avenging flames of hell) upon Christ's most holy sacrifices. § 68. What do you therefore, O unhappy people! expect from such belly beasts? (as the apostle calleth them). Shall your manners be amended by these, who not only do not apply their minds to any goodness, but according to the upbraiding of the prophet, labour also to deal wickedly? Shall ye be illuminated with such eyes as are only with greediness cast on those things that lead headlong to vices (that is to say), to the gates of hell? Nay truly, if according to the saying of our Saviour, ye flee not these most ravenous wolves like those of Arabia, or avoid them as Lot, who ran most speedily from the fiery shower of Sodom up to the mountains, then, being blind and led by the blind, ye will both together tumble down into the infernal ditch. § 69. But some man perchance will objecting say, that all bishops or all priests (according to our former exception), are not so wickedly given, because they are not defiled with the infamy of schism, pride, or unclean life, which neither we ourselves will deny, but albeit we know them to be chaste, and virtuous, yet will we briefly answer. What did it profit the high-priest Hely, that he alone did not violate the commandments of our Lord, in taking flesh with forks out of the pots, before the fat was offered unto God, while he was punished with the same revenge of death wherewith his sons were? What one, I beseech you, of them, whose manners we have before sufficiently declared, hath been martyred like Abel, from malicious jealousy of his more acceptable sacrifice, which with the heavenly fire ascended up into the skies, since they fear the reproach even of an ordinary word? Which of them "hath hated the counsel of the malicious, and not sat with the ungodly," so that of him as a prophet, the same might be verified which was said of Enoch, "Enoch walked with God and was not to be found" in the vanity (forsooth) of the whole world, as then leaving our Lord, and beginning to halt after idolatry? Which of them, like Noah in the time of the deluge, hath not admitted into the ark of salvation (which is the present church) any adversary unto God, that it may be most apparent that none but innocents or singular penitents, ought to remain in the house of our Lord? Who is he that offering sacrifice like Melchisedeck, hath only blessed the conquerors, and them who with the number of three hundred (which was in the sacrament of the Trinity) delivering the just man, have overthrown the deadly armies of the five kings, together with their vanquishing troops, and not coveted the goods of others? Which of them hath like Abraham, at the commandment of God freely offered his own son on the altar to be slain, that he might accomplish a precept of Christ, agreeable to this saying, Thy right eye, if it cause thee to offend, ought to be pulled out; and another of the prophet, That he is accursed who withholdeth his sword from shedding blood? Who is he that like Joseph, hath rooted out of his heart the remembrance of an offered injury? Who is he that like Moses, speaking with our Lord in the mountain, and not there terrified with the sounding trumpets, hath in a figurative sense presented unto the incredulous people the two tables, and his horned face which they could not endure to see, but trembled to behold? Which of them, praying for the offences of the people, has from the very bottom of his heart cried out, like unto him, saying: "O Lord this people hath committed a grievous sin, which if thou wilt forgive them, forgive it; otherwise blot me guilty out of thy book?" § 70. Which of them, inflamed with the admirable zeal of God, hath courageously risen to punish fornication, curing without delay by the present medicine of penance, the affection of filthy lust, lest the fire of the wrath of God should otherwise consume the people, as Phineas the priest did, that by these means justice for ever might be reputed unto him? Which of them hath in moral understanding imitated Joshua, the son of Nun, either for the utter rooting forth, even to the slaughter of the last and least of all, the seven nations out of the land of promise, or for the establishing of spiritual Israel in their places? Which of them hath showed unto the people of God their final bounds beyond Jordan that it might be known what was suited to every tribe, in such sort as the aforenamed Phineas and Jesus have wisely divided the land? Who is he that to overthrow the innumerable thousands of Gentiles, adversaries to the chosen people of God, hath, as another Jephtha, for a votive and propitiatory sacrifice, slain his own daughter (by which is to be understood his own proper will), imitating also therein the apostle, saying, "Not seeking what is profitable to me, but to many, that they may be saved;" which daughter of his met the conquerors with drums and dances, by which are to be understood the lustful desires of the flesh? Which of them, that he might disorder, put to flight, and overthrow the camps of the proud Gentiles, by the number of three hundred, (being, as we before said, the mystery of the blessed Trinity,) and with his men holding in their hands those noble sounding trumpets, (which are prophetical and apostolical senses, according as our Lord said to the prophet, "Exalt thy voice as a trumpet;" and the psalmist of the apostles, "Their sound hath passed throughout the whole earth,") and bearing all those famous flagons shining in the night with that most glittering fiery light, (which are to be interpreted the bodies of saints joined to good works, and burning with the flame of the Holy Ghost, yea having, as the apostle writes, "This treasure in earthen vessels,") hath after hewing down the idolatrous grave (by which is morally meant dark and foul desire) marched on like Gideon, with an assured faith in the evident sign of the fleece, which to the Jews was void of the heavenly moisture, but to the Gentiles made wet with the dew of the Holy Ghost? § 71. Who is he among them that (earnestly wishing to die to this world, and live to Christ) hath, as another Sampson, utterly cut off such innumerable luxurious banqueters of the Gentile, while they praised their gods, (by which is meant, while the senses of men extolled these earthly riches, according to the apostle speaking thus: "And covetousness, which is idolatry"), shaking with the power of both his arms the two pillars (by which are to be understood the wicked pleasures of the soul and body), by which the house of all worldly wickedness is in a sort compacted and underpropped? Which of them, like Samuel, with prayers and the burnt sacrifice of a sucking lamb, hath driven away the fear of the Philistines, raised unexpected thunderclaps, and showering clouds, established without flattery a king, deposed him when he displeased God, and anointed another his better in his place and kingdom; and when he shall give to the people his last farewell, shall appear like Samuel in this sort, saying, "Behold, I am ready, speak ye before our Lord and his anointed, whether I ever took away the ox or ass of any man, if I have falsely accused any one, if I have oppressed anybody, if I have received a bribe from the hands of any?" Unto whom it was answered by the people, "Thou hast not wrongfully charged us, nor oppressed us, nor taken anything from the hands of any." Which of them, like the famous prophet Elias, who consumed with heavenly fire the hundred proud men, and preserved the fifty that humbled themselves; and afterwards denounced without flattery or dissimulation, the impending death of the unjust king (that sought not the counsel of God by his prophets, but of the idol Accaron), hath utterly overthrown all the prophets of Baal (by which are meant the worldly senses ever bent, as we have already said, to envy and avarice), with the lightning sword (which is the word of God)? And as the same Elias, moved with the zeal of God, after taking away the showers of rain from the land of the wicked, who were now shut up with famine in a strong prison, as it were of penury, for three years and six months, being himself ready to die for thirst in the desert, hath, complaining, said, "They have murdered, O Lord, thy prophets, and undermined thine altars, and I alone am left, and they seek my life?" § 72. Which of them, like Elisha, hath punished his dearly beloved disciple, if not with an everlasting leprosy, yet at least by abandoning him, if burdened too much with the weight of worldly covetousness for those very gifts which his master before (although very earnestly entreated thereto) had despised to receive? And which of these among us hath like him revealed unto his servant, (who despaired of life, and on a sudden trembled at the warlike army of the enemies that besieged the city wherein he was), through the fervency of his prayers poured out unto God, those spiritual visions, so that he might behold a mountain replenished with a heavenly assisting army, of warlike chariots and horsemen, shining with fiery countenances, and that he might also believe that he was stronger to save, than the foe to hurt? And which of them, like the above-named Elisha, with the touch of his body, being dead to the world, but living unto God, shall raise up another, whose fate had been different from his, namely, death to God, but life to his vices, so that instantly revived, he may yield humble thanks to Christ for his unexpected recovery from the hellish torments of his mortal crimes? Which of them hath his lips purified and made clean with the fiery coals earned by the tongues of the cherubim, from off the altar, (that his sins may be wiped away with the humility of confession), as it is written of Esaias, by whose effectual prayers, together with the aid of the godly king Ezechias, a hundred fourscore and five thousand of the Assyrian army, through the stroke of one angel, without the least print of any appearing wound, were overthrown and slain? Which of them, like blessed Jeremiah, for accomplishing the commandments of God,--for denouncing the threats thundered out from heaven, and for preaching the truth even to such as would not hear the same, hath suffered loathsome stinking prisons as momentary deaths? And to be brief, what one of them (as the teacher of the Gentiles said) hath endured like the holy prophets to wander in mountains, in dens, and caves of the earth, to be stoned, to be sawn in sunder, and assailed with all kinds of death, for the name of our Lord? § 73. But why do we dwell in examples of the Old Testament as if there were none in the New? Let, therefore, those, who suppose they can, without any labour at all, under the naked pretence of the name of priesthood, enter this strait and narrow passage of Christian religion, hearken unto me while I recite and gather into one a few of the chiefest flowers out of the large and pleasant meadow of the saintly soldiers of the New Testament. Which of you (who rather sleep than lawfully sit in the chair of the priesthood), being cast out of the council of the wicked, hath, after the stripes of sundry rods, like the holy apostles, from the bottom of his heart, given thanks to the blessed Trinity that he was found worthy to suffer disgrace for Christ's true deity? What one, for the undoubted testimony of God, having his brains dashed out with the fuller's club, hath, like James the first, a bishop of the New Testament, suffered corporal death? Which of you, like James the brother of John, has by the unjust prince been beheaded? Who, like the first deacon and martyr of the gospel, (having but this only accusation, that he saw God, whom the wicked could not behold), has by ungodly hands been stoned to death? What one of you, like the worthy keeper of the keys of the heavenly kingdom, has been nailed to the cross with his feet upward, in reverence for Christ, whom, no less in his death than in his life, he endeavoured to honour, and hath so breathed his last? Which of you, for the confession of the true word of Christ, hath, like the vessel of election, and chosen teacher of the Gentiles, after suffering imprisonment and shipwreck, after the terrible scourges of whips, the continual dangers of seas, of thieves, of Gentiles, of Jews, and of false apostles, after the labours of famine, fasting, and watching, after incessant care over all the churches, after his trouble for such as scandalized, after his infirmity for the weak, after his wonderful travels over almost the whole world in preaching the gospel of Christ, lost his head at last by the stroke of the descending sword? § 74. Which of you, like the holy martyr Ignatius, bishop of the city of Antioch, hath after his miraculous actions in Christ, for testimony of him been torn by the jaws of lions, as he was once at Rome? whose words, as he was led to his passion, when you shall hear (if ever your countenances were overcome with blushing), you will not only, in comparison of him, esteem yourselves no priests, but not so much even as the meanest Christians; for in the epistle which he sent to the church of Rome, he writeth thus: "From Syria even unto Rome, I fight with beasts, by land and sea, being bound and chained unto ten leopards, I mean the soldiers appointed for my custody, who for our benefit bestowed upon them become more cruel; but I am the better instructed by their wickedness, neither yet am I in this justified; oh! when shall those beasts come the workers of my salvation, which are for me prepared? when shall they be let loose at me? when shall it be lawful for my carcass to enjoy them? whom I do most earnestly wish to be eagerly enraged against me, and truly I will incite them to devour me; moreover, I will humbly pray, lest perchance they should dread to touch my body (as in some others they have before done), yea also, if they hesitate, I will offer violence, I will force myself upon them. Pardon me, I beseech you, I know what is commodious for me, even now I begin to be the disciple of Christ; let all envy, whether of human affection or spiritual wickedness cease, that I may endeavour to obtain Christ Jesus; let fires, let crosses, let cruelty of beasts, let breaking of bones, and rending of limbs, with all the pains of the whole body, and all the torments devised by the art of the devil, be together poured out on me alone, so that I may merit to attain unto Christ Jesus." Why do you behold these things with the sleepy eyes of your souls? why do you hearken unto them with the deaf ears of your senses? Shake off, I beseech you, the dark and black mist of slothfulness from your hearts, that so you may see the glorious light of truth and humility. A Christian, and he not mean, but a perfect one, and a priest not base, but one of the highest, a martyr of no ordinary sort, but one of the chiefest, saith: "Now I begin to be the disciple of Christ." And you, like the same Lucifer, who was thrown down out of heaven, are puffed up with words, and not with power, and after a sort do chew under the tooth, and make pretence in your actions, as the author of this your wickedness hath thus expressed: "I will mount up into the heavens, and be like unto the Highest." And again: "I have digged and drunk water, and dried up with the steps of my feet all the rivers of the banks." You would more rightly have imitated him and hearkened unto his words, who is without doubt the most true example of all goodness and humility, saying by his prophet, "I am verily a worm and not a man, the reproach of men, and the outcast of the people." Oh unspeakable matter! that he called himself "the reproach of men," when he washed away the reproaches of the whole world. And again in the gospel; "I am not able to do any thing of myself," when at the same time he was co-eternal with the Father, coequal with the Holy Ghost, and consubstantial with both, and created, not by the help of another, but by his own almighty power, the heaven and earth, with all their inestimable ornaments; and ye nevertheless have arrogantly lifted up your voices, notwithstanding the prophet saith, "Why do earth and ashes swell with pride?" § 75. But let us return unto our subject. Which of you, I say, like Polycarp, the famous bishop of the church of Smyrna, that witness of Christ, hath courteously entertained as guests at his table, those who violently drew him out to be burned? and when for the charity which he did bear unto Christ, he was brought to the stake, said, "He who gave me grace to endure the torment of the fire, will likewise grant me without fastening of nails to bear the flames with patience." And now passing over in this my discourse the mighty armies of saints, I will yet touch on one only, for example's sake, Basil the bishop of Cæsaria, who when he was thus by the unrighteous prince threatened that, unless he would on the next day be as the rest, defiled in the dirty dunghill of the Arian heresy, he should be put to death, answered, as it is reported, "I will be to-morrow the same as to-day, and for thee, I do not wish thee to change thy determination." And again, "Would that I had some worthy reward to bestow on him that would discharge Basil from the bands of this breathing bellows." Which one of you doth endeavour to daunt the menaces of tyrants, by inviolably keeping the rule of the apostolical speech, which in all times and ages hath been observed by all holy priests, to suppress the suggestion of men when they sought to draw them into wickedness, saying in this manner; "It behoveth us to obey God rather than men." § 76. Wherefore after our accustomed manner, taking refuge in the mercy of our Lord, and in the sentences of his holy prophets, that they on our behalf may now level the darts of their oracles at imperfect pastors (as before at tyrants), so that thereby they may receive compunction and be amended, let us see what manner of threats our Lord doth by his prophets utter against slothful and dishonest priests, and such as do not, both by examples and words, rightly instruct the people. For even Eli, the priest in Shilo, because he did not severely proceed, with a zeal worthy of God, in punishing his sons, when they contemned our Lord, but, as a man overswayed with a fatherly affection, too mildly and remissly admonished them, was sentenced with this judgment by the prophet speaking unto him: "Thus saith our Lord; I have manifestly showed myself unto the house of thy father, when they were the servants of Pharaoh in Egypt, and have chosen the house of thy father out of all the tribes of Israel, for a priesthood unto me." And a little after, "Why hast thou looked upon mine incense, and upon my sacrifice, with a dishonest eye? and hast honoured thy children more than me, that thou mightest bless them from the beginning in all sacrifices in my presence? And now so saith our Lord: Because whoever honoureth me I will honour him again; and whoso maketh no account of me shall be brought to nothing. Behold the days shall come, and I will destroy thy name, and the seed of thy father's house. And let this be to thee the sign, which shall fall upon thy two sons, Hophni and Phineas, in one day shall they both die by the sword of men." If thus therefore they shall suffer, who correct them that are under their charge, with words only and not with condign punishment, what shall become of those who by offending exhort you, and draw others unto wickedness? § 77. It is apparent also what befell unto the true prophet, who was sent from Judah to prophesy in Bethel, and forbidden to taste any meat in that place, after the sign which he foretold was fulfilled, and after he had restored to the wicked king his withered hand again, being deceived by another prophet, as he was termed, and so make to take but a little bread and water, his host speaking in this sort unto him: "Thus saith our Lord God: Because thou hast been disobedient to the mouth of our Lord, and hast not observed the precept which the Lord thy God hath commanded, and hast returned, and eaten bread, and drunk water in this place, in which I have charged thee that thou shouldest neither eat bread nor drink water, thy body shall not be buried in the sepulchre of thy forefathers. And so (saith the scripture) it came to pass, that after he had eaten bread and drunk water, he made ready his ass, and departed, and a lion found him in the way and slew him." § 78. Hear ye also the holy prophet Isaias, how he speaketh of priests on this wise. "Woe be to the ungodly, may evil befall him; for the reward of his hands shall light upon him. Her own exactors have spoiled my people, and women have borne sway over her. O my people, they who term thee blessed, themselves deceive thee, and destroy the way of thy footsteps. Our Lord standeth to judge, and standeth to judge the people. Our Lord will come unto judgment with the elders of the people and her princes. Ye have consumed my vine, the spoil of the poor is in your house. Why do ye break in pieces my people, and grind the faces of the poor? saith our Lord of hosts." And also; "Woe be unto them who compose ungodly laws, and in their writing have written injustice, that they may oppress the poor in judgment, and work violence to the cause of the lowly of my people, that widows may be their prey, and they make spoil of the orphans; what will ye do in the day of visitation and calamity approaching from afar off?" And afterwards: "But these also in regard of wine have been ignorant, and in respect of drunkenness have wandered astray; the priests have not understood, because of drunkenness, and have been swallowed up in wine, they have erred in drunkenness, they have not known him who seeth, they have been ignorant of judgment. For all tables are filled with the vomit of their uncleanness, in so much as there is not any free place to be found." § 79. "Hear therefore the word of our Lord, O ye deceivers, who bear authority over my people that is in Jerusalem. For ye have said, We have entered into a truce with death, and with hell we have made a covenant. The overflowing scourge when it shall pass forth shall not fall upon us, because we have placed falsehood for our hope, and by lying we have been defended." And somewhat after: "And hail shall overthrow the hope of lying, together with the defence. Waters shall overflow, and your truce with death shall be destroyed, and your covenant with hell shall not continue, when the overflowing scourge shall pass forth; ye shall also be trodden under foot, whensoever it shall pass along through you, it shall sweep you away withal." And again: "And our Lord hath said: Because this people approacheth with their mouth, and with their lips glorify me, but their heart is far from me; behold, therefore, I will cause this people to wonder by a great and stupendous miracle. For wisdom shall decay and fall away from her wise men, and the understanding of her sages shall be concealed. Woe be unto you that are profound in heart, to conceal counsel from our Lord, whose works are in darkness, and they say, who seeth us? And who hath known us? for this thought of yours is perverse." And afterwards: "Thus saith our Lord, Heaven is my seat, and the earth my footstool. What is this house that ye will erect unto me, and what place shall be found for my resting-place? all these things hath my hand made, and these universally have been all created, saith our Lord. On whom truly shall I cast mine eye, but on the humble poor man, and the contrite in spirit, and him that dreadeth my speeches? he that sacrificeth an ox, is as he that killeth a man; he that slaughtereth a beast for sacrifice, is like him who beateth out the brains of a dog; he that offereth an oblation, is as he that offereth the blood of a hog; he that is mindful of frankincense, is as he that honoureth an idol: of all these things have they made choice in their ways, and in their abominations hath their soul been delighted." § 80. Hear also what Jeremy, that virgin prophet, speaketh unto the unwise pastors in this sort: "Thus saith our Lord, What iniquity have your fathers found in me, because they have removed themselves far off from me, and walked after vanity, and are become vain?" And again: "And entering in, ye have defiled my land, and made mine inheritance abomination. The priests have not said, Where is our Lord? and the rulers of the law have not known me, and the pastors have dealt treacherously against me. Wherefore I will as yet contend in judgment with you, saith our Lord, and debate the matter with your children." And a little afterwards: "Astonishment and wonders have been wrought in the land. Prophets did preach lying, and priests did applaud with their hands, and my people have loved such matters. What therefore shall be done in her last and final ends? To whom shall I speak and make protestation that he may hear me? Behold their ears are uncircumcised, and they cannot hear. Behold the word of our Lord is uttered unto them for their reproach, and they receive it not: because I will stretch out my hand upon the inhabitants of the earth, saith our Lord. For why, from the lesser even unto the greater, all study avarice, and from the prophet even unto the priest, all work deceit, and they cured the contrition of the daughter of my people, with ignominy, saying, Peace, peace, and peace there shall not be. Confounded they are, who have wrought abomination: but they are not with confusion confounded, and have not understood how to be ashamed. Wherefore they shall fall among those who are falling, in the time of their visitation shall they rush headlong down together, saith our Lord." And again: "All these princes of the declining sort, walking fraudulently, being brass and iron, are universally corrupted, the blowing bellows have failed in the fire, the finer of metals in vain hath melted, their malicious acts are not consumed, call them refuse and reprobate silver, because our Lord hath thrown them away." And after a few words: "I am, I am, I have seen, saith our Lord. Go your ways to my place in Shilo, where my name hath inhabited from the beginning, and behold what I have done thereunto for the malice of my people Israel. And now because ye have wrought all these works, saith our Lord, and I have spoken unto you, arising in the morning, and talking, and yet ye have not heard me, and I have called you, and yet ye have not answered, I will so deal towards this house, wherein my name is now called upon, and wherein ye have confidence, and to this place which I have given unto you, and to your fathers, as I have done to Shilo, and I will cast you away from my countenance." § 81. And again: "My children have departed from me, and have no abiding, and there is none who any more pitcheth my tent, and advanceth my pavilion: for the pastors have dealt fondly and not sought out our Lord. Wherefore they have not understood, and their flock hath been dispersed." And a little after: "What is the matter that my beloved hath in my houses committed many offences? shall the holy flesh take away thy maliciousness from thee, wherein thou hast glorified? our Lord shall call thy name a plentiful, fair, fruitful, goodly olive; at the sound of the speech a mighty fire hath been inflamed in her, and her orchards have been quite consumed therewith." And again: "Come ye to me, and be ye gathered together, all ye beasts of the earth, make haste to devour. Many pastors have thrown down my vine, they have trampled my part under foot, they have given over my portion which was well worthy to be desired, into a desert of solitariness." And again he speaketh: "Thus saith our Lord unto this people, which have loved to move their feet, and not rested, nor yet pleased our Lord; now shall he remember their iniquities and visit their offences. Prophets say unto them, Ye shall not see the sword, and there shall be no famine among you, but our Lord shall give true peace unto you in this place. And our Lord hath said unto me, The prophets do falsely foretell in my name; I have not sent them, nor laid my commandment on them; they prophesy unto you a lying vision, and divination together with deceitfulness, and the seducement of their own hearts. And therefore thus saith our Lord: In sword and famine shall those prophets be consumed; and the people to whom they have prophesied shall by means of the famine and sword be cast out into the streets of Jerusalem, and there shall be none to bury them." § 82. And moreover: "Woe be to the pastors who destroy and rend in pieces the flock of my pasture, saith our Lord. Thus, therefore, saith our Lord God of Israel, unto the pastors who guide my people, Ye have dispersed my flock, and cast them forth, and not visited them. Behold I will visit upon you the malice of your endeavours, saith our Lord. For the prophet and the priest are both defiled, and in my house have I found their evil, saith our Lord, and therefore shall their way be as a slippery place in the dark, for they shall be thrust forward, and fall down together therein, for I will bring evils upon them, the year of their visitation, saith our Lord. And in the prophets of Samaria I have seen foolishness, and they did prophesy in Baal, and deceived my people Israel, and in the prophets of Jerusalem, have I seen the like resemblance, adultery, and the way of lying, and they have comforted the hands of the vilest offenders, that every man may not be converted from his malice: they have been all made to me as Sodom, and the inhabitants thereof as those of Gomorrah. Thus, therefore, saith our Lord to the prophets: Behold, I will give them wormwood for their food, and gall for their drink. For there hath passed from the prophet of Jerusalem pollution over the whole earth. Thus saith our Lord of hosts, Listen not to the words of prophets, who prophesy unto you, and deceive you, for they speak the vision of their own heart, and not from the mouth of our Lord. For they say unto those who blaspheme me, Our Lord hath spoken, peace shall be unto you; and to all that walk in the wickedness of their own hearts, they have said, evil shall not fall upon them. For who was present in the counsel of our Lord, and hath seen and heard his speech, who hath considered of his word, and hearkened thereunto? Behold, the whirlwind of the indignation of our Lord passeth out, and a tempest breaking forth, shall fall upon the heads of the wicked; the fury of our Lord shall not return, until the time that he worketh, and until he fulfilleth the cogitation of his heart. In the last days of all shall ye understand his counsel." § 83. And little also do ye conceive and put in execution that which the holy prophet Joel hath likewise spoken in admonishment of slothful priests, and lamentation of the people's suffering for their iniquities, saying: "Awake, ye who are drunk, from your wine, and weep and bewail ye all, who have drunk wine even to drunkenness, because joy and delight are taken away from your mouths. Mourn, ye priests, who serve the altar, because the fields have been made miserable. Let the earth mourn, because corn hath become miserable, and wine been dried up, oil diminished, and husbandmen withered away. Lament ye possessions, in regard of wheat and barley, because the vintage hath perished out of the field, the vine withered up, the figs diminished; the pomegranates, and palm, and apple, and all trees of the field are withered away, in respect that the children of men have confounded their joy." All which things are spiritually to be understood by you, that your souls may not wither away with so pestilent a famine, for want of the word of God. And again, "Weep out ye priests, who serve our Lord, saying, Spare, O Lord, thy people, and give not over thine inheritance unto reproach, and let not nations hold dominion over them, that Gentiles may not say, Where is their God?" And yet ye yield not your ears unto these sayings, but admit of all matters by which the indignation of God's fury is more vehemently inflamed. § 84. With diligence also attend ye what holy Hosea the prophet hath spoken unto priests of your behaviour. "Hear these words, O ye priests, and let the house of Israel, together with the king's house, mark them; fasten ye them in your ears, for unto you pertaineth judgment, because ye are made an entangling snare to the espying watch, and as a net stretched over the toils which the followers of hunting have framed." § 85. To you also may this kind of alienation from our Lord be meant by the prophet Amos, saying, "I have hated and rejected your festival days, and I will not receive the savour in your solemn assemblies, because albeit ye offer your burnt sacrifices and hosts, I will not accept them, and I will not cast mine eye on the vows of your declaration. Take away from me the sound of your songs, and the psalm of your organs I will not hear." For the famine of the evangelical meat consuming, in your abundance of victuals, the very bowels of your souls, rageth violently within you, according as the aforesaid prophet hath foretold, saying, "Behold, the days shall come, saith our Lord, and I will send out a famine upon the earth; not the famine of bread, nor the thirst of water, but a famine in hearing the word of God, and the waters shall be moved from sea to sea, and they shall run over from the north even unto the east, seeking the word of our Lord, and shall not find it." § 86. Let holy Micah also pierce your ears, who like a heavenly trumpet soundeth loudly forth against the deceitful princes of the people, saying, "Hearken now ye princes of the house of Jacob, Is it not for you to know judgment, who hate goodness, and seek after mischief, who pluck their skins from off men, and their flesh from their bones? Even as they have eaten the flesh of my people, and flayed their skins from them, broken their bones to pieces, and hewed them small as meat to the pot, they shall cry to God, and he will not hear them, and in that season turn his face away from them, even as they before have wickedly behaved themselves in their inventions. Thus speaketh our Lord of the prophets who seduce my people, who bite with their teeth, and preach against them peace, and if a man giveth nothing to stop their mouths, they raise and sanctify a war upon him. Night shall therefore be unto you in place of a vision, and darkness unto you in lieu of divination, and the sun shall set upon your prophets, and the day shall wax dark upon them, and seeing dreams they shall be confounded, and the diviners shall be derided, and they shall speak ill against all men, because there shall not be any one that will hear them, but that I myself shall do mine uttermost and strongest endeavour in the spirit of our Lord, in judgment and in power, that I may declare unto the house of Jacob their impieties, and to Israel their offences. Hearken, therefore, unto these words, ye captains of the house of Jacob, and ye remnants of the house of Israel, who abhor judgment, and overthrow all righteousness, who build up Sion in blood, and Jerusalem in iniquities: her rulers did judge for rewards, and her priests answered for hire, and her prophets did for money divine, and rested on our Lord, saying, And is not the Lord among us? Evils shall not fall upon us. For your cause, therefore, shall Sion be ploughed up as a field, and Jerusalem as the watch-house of a garden, and the mountain of the house as the place of a woody wilderness." And after some words ensuing: "Woe is me for that I am become as he that gathereth stubble in the harvest, and a cluster of grapes in the vintage, when the principal branch is not left to be eaten. Woe is me that a soul hath perished through earthly actions, the reverence of sinners ariseth even with reverence from the earth, and he appeareth not that shall use correction among men. All contend in judgment for blood, and every one with tribulation afflicteth his neighbour, for mischief he prepareth his hands." § 87. Listen ye likewise how the famous prophet Zephaniah debated also in times past, concerning your revellers (for he spake of Jerusalem, which is spiritually to be understood the church or the soul), saying, "O the city that was beautiful and set at liberty, the confiding dove hath not hearkened to the voice, nor yet entertained discipline, she hath not trusted in our Lord, and to her God she hath not approached." And he showeth the reason why, "Her princes have been like unto roaring lions, her judges as wolves of Arabia did not leave towards the morning, her prophets carrying the spirit of a contemptuous despising man; her priests did profane what was holy, and dealt wickedly in the law, but our Lord is upright in the midst of his people, and in the morning he will not do injustice, in the morning will he give his judgment." § 88. But hear ye also blessed Zachariah the prophet, in the word of God, admonishing you: "For thus saith our Almighty Lord, Judge ye righteous judgment, and work ye every one towards his brother mercy and pity, and hurt ye not through your power the widow, or orphan, or stranger, or poor man, and let not any man remember in his heart the malice of his brother; and they have been stubborn not to observe these, and have yielded their backs to foolishness, and made heavy their ears that they might not hearken, and framed their hearts not to be persuaded that they might not listen to my law and words, which our Almighty Lord hath sent in his Spirit, through the hands of his former prophets, and mighty wrath hath been raised by our Almighty Lord." And again; "Because they who have spoken, have spoken molestations, and diviners have uttered false visions and deceitful dreams, and given vain consolations; in respect hereof they are made as dry as sheep, and are afflicted because no health was to be found; my wrath is heaped upon the shepherds, and upon the lambs will I visit." And within a few words after: "The voice of lamenting pastors, because their greatness is become miserable. The voice of roaring lions, because the fall of Jordan is become miserable: thus saith our Almighty Lord: They who possessed have murdered, and yet hath it not repented them, and they who sold them, have said, Our Lord is blessed and we have been enriched, and their pastors have suffered nothing concerning them. For which I will now bear no sparing hand over the inhabitants of the earth, saith our Lord." § 89. Hear ye moreover what the holy prophet Malachi denounceth unto you, saying: "Ye priests who despise my name, and have said: Wherein do we despise thy name? in offering on mine altar polluted bread: and ye have said, Wherein have we polluted it? In that ye have said: The table of our Lord is as nothing, and have despised such things as have been placed thereon; because if ye bring what is blind for an offering, is it not evil? If ye set and apply what is lame or languishing, is it not evil? Offer therefore the same unto thy governor, if he will receive it, if he will accept of thy person, saith our Almighty Lord. And now do ye humbly pray before the countenance of your God, and earnestly beseech him (for in your hands have these things been committed) if happily he will accept of your persons." And again: "And out of your ravenous theft ye have brought in the lame and languishing, and brought it in as an offering. Shall I receive the same at your hands, saith our Lord? Accursed is the deceitful man who hath in his flock one of the male kind, and yet making his vow offereth the feeble unto our Lord, because I am a mighty king, saith our Lord of hosts, and my name is terrible among the Gentiles. And now unto you appertaineth this commandment, O ye priests, if ye will not hear, and resolve in your hearts to yield glory unto my name, saith our Lord of hosts, I will send upon you poverty, and accurse your blessings, because ye have not settled these things on your hearts. Behold I will stretch out my arm over ye, and disperse upon your countenances the dung of your solemnities." But that ye may in the meantime, with more zeal prepare your organs and instruments of mischief, to be converted into goodness, hearken ye (if there remain ever so little disposition to listen in your hearts) what he speaketh of a holy priest, saying "My covenant of life and peace was with him (for historically he did speak of Levi and Moses): I gave fear unto him, and he was timorous of me, he dreaded before the countenance of my name; the law of truth was in his mouth, and iniquity was not found in his lips; he walked with me in peace and equity, and turned many away from unrighteousness. For the lips of the priest shall keep knowledge, and from out of his mouth they shall require the law, because he is the Angel of our Lord of hosts." And now again he changeth his style, and ceaseth not to rebuke and reprove the unrighteous, saying: "Ye have departed from the way, and scandalized many in the law, and made void my covenant with Levi, saith our Lord of hosts. In regard whereof I have also given you over as contemptible and abject among my people, according as ye have not observed my ways, and accepted countenance of men in the law. What, is there not one Father of us all? What, hath not one God created us? Why therefore doth every one despise his brother?" And again, "Behold our Lord of hosts will come, and who can conceive the day of his coming, and who shall endure to stand to behold him? For he shall pass forth as a burning fire, and as the fuller's herb, and shall sit melting and trying silver, and ye shall purge the sons of Levi, and cleanse them as gold and as silver." And somewhat afterwards: "Your words have grown strong against me, saith our Lord, and ye have spoken thus: He is vain who serveth God, and what profit because we have kept his commandments, and walked sorrowfully before our Lord of hosts. We shall therefore now call the arrogant blessed, for because they are erected and builded up, while they work iniquity, they have tempted God, and are made safe." § 90. But hear ye also what Ezechiel the prophet hath spoken, saying, "Woe upon woe shall come, and messenger upon messenger shall be, and the vision shall be sought for of the prophet, and the law shall perish from the priests, and counsel from the elders." And again: "Thus saith our Lord: In respect that your speeches are lying, and your divinations vain. For this cause, behold, I will come unto you, saith our Lord; I will stretch out my hand on your prophets, who see lies, and them who speak vain things; in the discipline of my people they shall not be, and in the Scripture of the house of Israel, they shall not be written, and into the land of Israel they shall not enter, and ye shall know that I am the Lord, because they have seduced my people, saying, The peace of our Lord, and there is not the peace of our Lord. Here have they built the wall; and they anointed it, and it shall fall." And within some words afterwards: "Woe be unto these who fashion pillows, apt for every elbow of the hand, and make veils upon every head of all ages to the subversion of souls, and the souls of my people are subverted, and they possess their souls, and contaminated me unto my people for a handful of barley, and a piece of bread to the slaughter of the souls, whom it behoved not to die, and to the delivery of the souls, that were not fit to live, while ye talk unto my people that listeneth after vain speeches." And afterwards: "Say, thou son of man, thou art earth which is not watered with rain, neither yet hath rain fallen upon thee in the day of wrath, in which thy princes were in the midst of thee as roaring lions, ravening on their prey, devouring souls in their potent might, and receiving rewards, and thy widows were multiplied in the midst of thee, and her priests have despised my law, and defiled my holy things. Between holy and polluted, they did not distinguish, and divided not equally between the unclean and clean, and from my sabbaths they veiled their eyes, and in the midst of them they defiled." § 91. And again: "And I sought among them a man of upright conversation, and one who should altogether stand before my face, to prevent the times that might fall upon the earth, that I should not in the end utterly destroy it, and I found him not. And I poured out upon it, the whole design of my mind, in the fire of my wrath for the consuming of them: I repaid their ways on their heads, saith our Lord." And somewhat after: "And the word of our Lord was spoken unto me, saying: O son of man, speak to the children of my people, and they shalt say unto them: The land whereupon I shall bring my sword, and the people of the land shall take some one man among them, and ordain him to be a watchman over them, and he shall espy the sword coming upon the land, and sound with his trumpet, and signify unto the people, whoso truly shall then hear the sound of the trumpet, and yet hearing shall not beware: and the sword shall come and catch him, his blood shall light upon his own head, because when he heard the sound of the trumpet, he was not watchful, his blood shall be upon him, and this man, for that he hath preserved his own soul, hath delivered himself. But the watchman if he shall see the sword coming, and not give notice with his trumpet, and the people shall not be aware, and the sword coming shall take away a soul from among them, both the soul itself is caught a captive for her iniquities, and I will also require her blood at the hand of the watchman. And thou, O son of man, I have appointed thee a watchman over the house of Israel, and if thou shalt hear the word from out of my mouth, when I shall say to a sinner, Thou shalt die the death, and yet wilt not speak whereby the wicked may return from his way: both the unjust himself shall die in his iniquity, and truly I will require his blood also at thy hands. But if thou shalt forewarn the wicked of his way, that he may avoid the same, and he nevertheless will not withdraw himself from his course, this man shall die in his impiety, and thou hast preserved thine own soul." § 92. And so let these few among a multitude of prophetical testimonies suffice, by which the pride or sloth of our stubborn priests may be repelled, to the end they may not suppose that we act rather of our own invention, but by the authority of the laws, and saints, denounce such threats against them. And now let us also behold what the trumpet of the gospel, sounding to the whole world, speaketh likewise to disordered priests; for as we have often said, this our discourse tendeth not to treat of them, who obtain lawfully the apostolical seat, and such as rightly and skilfully understand how to dispose of their spiritual food (in time convenient) unto their fellow servants, if yet at this time there remain any great number of these in this our country; but we only talk of ignorant and unexpert shepherds, who leave their flock, and feed on vain matters, and have not the words of a learned pastor. And therefore it is an evident token that he is not a lawful pastor, yea not an ordinary Christian, who rejecteth and denieth these sayings, which are not so much ours (who of ourselves are very little worth), as the decrees of the Old and New Testament, even as one of ours right well doth say, "We do exceedingly desire that the enemies of the church should also, without any manner of truce be our adversaries: and that the friends and defenders thereof should not only be accounted our confederates, but also our fathers and governors." For let every one, with true examination, call his own conscience unto account, and so shall he easily find, whether according to true reason he possesseth his priestly chair or no. Let us see, I say, what the Saviour and Creator of the world hath spoken. "Ye are," saith he, "the salt of the earth; if that the salt vanisheth away, wherein shall it be salted? it prevaileth to no purpose any farther, but that it be cast out of doors, and trampled under the feet of men." § 93. This only testimony might abundantly suffice to confute all such as are impudent; but that it may be yet, by the words of Christ, more evidently proved with what intolerable bonds of crimes these false priests entangle and oppress themselves, some other sayings are also to be adjoined; for it followeth: "Ye are the light of the world. A city placed on a mountain cannot be hid: neither do they light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but upon a candlestick, that it may shine unto all who are in the house." What priest therefore of this fashion and time, who is so possessed with the blindness of ignorance, doth, as the light of a most bright candle, shine with the lamp of learning and good works, in any house, to all that sit in the darksome night? What one is so accounted a safe public and conspicuous refuge, to all the children universally of the church, that he may be to his countrymen a defensible and strong city, situated on the top of a high mountain? Moreover, which one of them can accomplish one day together, that which followeth: "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven:" since rather a certain most obscure cloud of theirs, and the black night of offences, hang over the island, in such a manner, that they all turn almost away from the righteous course, and make them to wander astray through unpassable and cumbersome paths of wickedness, and so their heavenly Father is not only by their works not magnified, but also by the same intolerably blasphemed. These testimonies of holy scripture, which are either already cited, or hereafter to be intermixed in this epistle, I would gladly wish to interpret in some historical or moral sense, as far as my meanness would allow. § 94. But for fear lest this our little work should be immeasurably tedious unto those who despise, loathe, and disdain, not so much our speeches as God's sayings, I have already alleged, and mean hereafter to affirm these sentences plainly without any circumstance. And to proceed, within a few words after: "For whoever shall break one of the least of these commandments, and so instruct men, shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven." And again: "Judge ye not that ye may not be judged; for in what judgment ye shall judge, ye shall be judged." And which one, I pray you, of your company will regard this same that followeth: "But why dost thou see," saith he, "the mote in thy brother's eye, and considerest not the beam in thine own eye? or how dost thou say to thy brother, suffer me to cast the mote out of thine eye, and behold the beam remaineth still in thine own eye?" Or this which follows: "Do not give what is holy to dogs, neither yet shall ye cast your pearls before swine, lest perchance they tread them under their feet, and turn again and rend you," which hath often befallen you. And, admonishing the people, that they should not by deceitful doctors, such as ye, be seduced, he saith: "Keep yourselves carefully from false prophets, who come unto you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves: by their fruit shall ye know them. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? So every good tree beareth good fruit, and the evil, evil fruit." And somewhat afterward: "Not every one who saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but whoso doeth the will of my Father that is in heaven, he shall enter into the kingdom of heaven." § 95. And what shall then become of you, who, as the prophet hath said, believe God only with your lips, and do not adhere to him with your hearts? And how do ye fulfil that which followeth: "Behold I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves?" Whereas you act quite contrariwise, and proceed as wolves against a flock of sheep: or the other following sentence: "Be ye wise as serpents and simple as doves?" since ye are only wise to bite others with your deadly mouths, and not, with the interposition of your whole body, to defend your head, which is Christ, whom with all the endeavours of your evil actions you tread under foot; neither yet have ye the simplicity of doves, but the resemblance rather of the black crow, which taking her flight out of the ark, that is, the church of God, and finding the carrion of earthly pleasures, did never with a pure return back thither again. But let us look on the rest. "Fear not," saith he, "them who kill the body, but are not able to slay the soul; but fear him who can overthrow both soul and body in hell." Revolve in your minds which of these ye have performed? And what one of you is not wounded in the very secrets of his heart, by this testimony following, which our Saviour uttereth unto his apostles, of evil prelates, saying, "Do ye suffer them, the blind leaders of the blind, but if the blind be a guide to the blind, both shall fall into the ditch?" But the people doubtless whom ye have governed, or rather beguiled, have just occasion to listen hereunto. § 96. Mark ye also the words of our Lord speaking unto his apostles, and to the people, which words likewise (as I hear) ye yourselves are not ashamed to pronounce often in public: "Upon the chair of Moses have the scribes and pharisees sat, observe ye therefore and accomplish all that they shall speak unto you, but do not according to their works. For they only speak, but of themselves do nothing." It is truly to priests a dangerous and superfluous doctrine, which is overclouded with sinful actions. "Woe be unto you, hypocrites, who shut up the kingdom of heaven before men, and neither yourselves enter in, nor yet suffer those that would to enter in." For ye shall with horrible pains be tormented, not only in respect of your great offences, which ye heap up for punishment in the world to come, but also in regard of those who daily perish through your bad example, whose blood in the day of judgment shall be required at your hands. Yield ye also diligent attention unto the misery, which the parable setteth before your eyes, that is spoken of the servant, who saith in his heart, "My Lord delayeth his coming," and upon this occasion, perchance, "hath begun to strike his fellow servants, eating and drinking with drunkards. The Lord of the same servant, therefore, saith he, will come on a day when he doth not expect him, and in an hour whereof he is ignorant, and will divide him, away from his holy priests, and will place his portion with the hypocrites (that is, with them who under the pretence of priesthood do conceal much iniquity), affirming that there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth;" such as they have not experienced in this present life, either for the daily ruin of the children of our holy mother church, or for the desire of the kingdom of heaven. § 97. But let us see what Paul, the true scholar of Christ, and master of the Gentiles, who is a mirror of every ecclesiastical doctor, "Even as I am the disciple of Christ," speaketh about a work of such importance in his first epistle on this wise: "Because when they have known God, they have not magnified him as God, or given thanks unto him; but vanished in their own cogitations, and their foolish heart is blinded; affirming themselves to be wise, they are made fools." Although this seemeth to be spoken unto the Gentiles, look into it notwithstanding, because it may conveniently be applied to the priests and people of this age. And after a few words, "Who have changed," saith he, "the truth of God into lying, and have reverenced and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed for ever; therefore hath God given them over unto passions of ignominy." And again, "And even as they have not approved themselves to have God in their knowledge, so God hath yielded them up to a reprobate sense, that they may do such things as are not convenient, being replenished with all iniquity, malice, uncleanness of life, fornication, covetousness, naughtiness, full of envy, murder (i.e. of the souls of the people), contention, deceit, wickedness, backbiters, detractors, hateful to God, spiteful, proud, puffed up, devisers of mischief, disobedient to their parents, senseless, disordered, without mercy, without affection, who, when they had known the justice of God, understood not that they who commit such things, are worthy of death." § 98. And now what one of the aforesaid sort hath indeed been void of all these? And if he were, yet perhaps he may be caught in the sense of the ensuing sentence, wherein he saith: "Not only those who do these things, but those also who consent unto them," for none of them truly are free from this wickedness. And afterwards, "But thou, according to thy hardness and impenitent heart, dost lay up for thyself wrath, against the day of wrath, and revelation of the just judgment of God, who will yield unto every one according unto his works." And again, "For there is no acceptation of persons with God. For whosoever have offended without the law, shall also without the law perish; whosoever have offended in the law, shall by the law be judged. For the hearers of the law shall not with God be accounted just, but the doers of the law shall be justified." How severe a sentence shall they therefore sustain, who not only leave undone what they ought to accomplish, and forbear not what they are forbidden, but also flee away from the very hearing of the word of God, as from a serpent, though lightly sounding in their ears. § 99. But let us pass over to that which followeth to this effect: "What shall we therefore say, shall we continue still in sin that grace may abound? God forbid, for we who are dead to sin, how shall we again live in the same?" And somewhat afterwards, "Who shall separate us," saith he, "from the love of Christ, tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or the sword?" What one, I pray you, of all you, shall with such an affection be possessed in the inward secret of his heart, since ye do not only labour for achieving of piety, but also endure many things for the working of impiety, and offending of Christ? Or who hath respected this that followeth? "The night hath passed, and the day approached. Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light, even as in the day: let us honestly walk, not in banqueting, and drunkenness, not in couches, and wantonness, not in contention, and emulation; but put ye on our Lord Jesus Christ, and make no care to bestow your flesh in concupiscences." § 100. And again, in the first Epistle to the Corinthians, he saith: "As a wise workmaster have I laid the foundation, another buildeth thereupon, but let every man consider how he buildeth thereon. For no other man can lay any other foundation besides that which is laid, even Christ Jesus. But if any man buildeth upon this, gold, and silver, precious stones, hay, wood, stubble, every one's work shall be manifest; for the day of our Lord shall declare the same, because it shall be revealed in fire, and the fire shall prove what every man's work is. If any man's work shall remain, all by the fire shall be adjudged. Whoso shall build thereupon, shall receive reward. If any man's work shall burn, he shall suffer detriment. Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? But if any man violate the temple of God, God will destroy him." And again, "If any man seemeth to be wise among you in this world, let him be made a fool that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God." And within a few words afterwards, "Your glorying is not good. Know ye not that a little leaven corrupteth the whole mass? Purge ye, therefore, the old leaven that ye may be a new sprinkling." How shall the old leaven, which is sin, be purged away, that from day to day with your uttermost endeavours is increased? And yet again, "I have written unto you in mine epistle, that ye be not intermingled with fornicators, not truly the fornicators of this world, or the avaricious, ravenous, or idolatrous, otherwise ye ought to depart out of this world. But now have I written unto you, that ye be not intermingled, if any one is named a brother, and be a fornicator, or avaricious, or an idolator, or a slanderer, or a drunkard, or ravenous, with such an one ye should not so much as eat." But a felon condemneth not his fellow thief for stealing, or other open robbery, whom he rather liketh, defendeth, and loveth, as a companion of his offence. § 101. Also in his second epistle unto the Corinthians; "Having therefore," saith he, "this administration, according as we have obtained mercy, let us not fail, but let us cast away the secrets of shame, not walking in subtility, nor yet corrupting the word of God," (that is, by evil example and flattery.) And in that which followeth, he thus discourseth of wicked teachers, saying: "For such false apostles are deceitful workmen, transfiguring themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no wonder: for Satan himself transfigureth himself into an angel of light. It is not much therefore if his ministers are transfigured as ministers of justice, whose end will be according unto their works." § 102. Hear likewise what he speaketh unto the Ephesians; and consider if ye find not your consciences attainted as culpable of this that followeth? where he denounceth thus: "I say and testify this in our Lord, that ye do not as now walk like the Gentiles in the vanity of their own sense, having their understanding obscured with darkness, alienated from the way of God, through ignorance, which remaineth in them in regard of the blindness of their heart, who despairing, have yielded themselves over to uncleanness of life, for the working of all filthiness and avarice." And which of ye hath willingly fulfilled that which next ensueth? "Therefore be ye not made unwise, but understanding what is the will of God, and be ye not drunk with wine, wherein there is riotousness, but be ye fulfilled with the Holy Ghost." § 103. Or that which he saith to the Thessalonians. "For neither have we been with you at any time in the speech of flattery, as yourselves do know; neither upon occasion of avarice, neither seeking to be glorified by men, neither by you, nor any others, when we might be honoured, as other apostles of Christ. But we have been made as little ones in the midst of you; or even as the nurse cherisheth her small tender children, so desiring you, we would very gladly deliver unto you, not only the gospel, but also our very lives." If in all things ye retained this affection of the apostle, then might ye be likewise assured, that ye lawfully possessed his chair. Or how have ye observed this that followeth? "Ye know," saith he, "what precepts I have delivered unto you. This is the will of our Lord, your sanctification, that ye abstain from fornication; and that every one of you know how to possess his own vessel, in honour and sanctification, not in the passion of desire, like the Gentiles who are ignorant of God; and that none of you do encroach upon or circumvent his brother in his business, because our Lord is the revenger of all these. For God hath not called us unto uncleanness, but unto sanctification. Therefore whoso despiseth these, doth not despise man, but God." What one also among you hath advisedly and warily kept this that ensueth: "Mortify therefore your members which are upon the earth, fornication, uncleanness of life, lust, and evil concupiscence, for which the wrath of God hath come upon the children of diffidence?" Ye perceive therefore upon what offences the wrath of God doth chiefly arise. § 104. In which respect hear likewise what the same holy apostle, with a prophetical spirit, foretelleth of you, and such as yourselves, writing plainly in this sort to Timothy: "For know you this, that in the last days there shall be dangerous times at hand. For men shall be self-lovers, covetous, puffed up, proud, blasphemous, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, wicked, without affection, incontinent, unmeek, without benignity, betrayers, froward, lofty, rather lovers of sensual pleasures, than of God, having a show of piety, but renouncing the virtue thereof." Avoid thou these men, even as the prophet saith: "I have hated the congregation of the malicious, and with the wicked I will not sit." And a little after, he uttereth that (which in our age we behold to increase), saying: "Ever learning, and never attaining unto the knowledge of truth; for even as Jannes and Mambres resisted Moses, so do these also withstand the truth: men corrupted in mind, reprobate against faith, but they shall prosper no further; for their folly shall be manifest unto all, as theirs likewise was." § 105. And evidently doth he also declare how priests in their office ought to behave themselves, writing thus to Titus: "Show thyself an example of good works, in learning, in integrity, in gravity, having thy word sound without offence, that he who standeth on the adverse part may be afraid, having no evil to speak of us." And moreover he saith unto Timothy, "Labour thou as a good soldier of Christ Jesus; no man fighting in God's quarrel entangleth himself in worldly business, that he may please him unto whom he hath approved himself; for whoso striveth in the lists for the mastery, receiveth not the crown, unless he hath lawfully contended." This is his exhortation to the good. Other matter also which the same epistles contain, is a threatening advertisement to the wicked (such as yourselves, in the judgment of all understanding persons, appear to be). "If any one," saith he, "teacheth otherwise, and doth not peaceably assent to the sound sayings of our Lord Jesus Christ, and that doctrine which is according to piety, he is proud, having no knowledge, but languishing about questions, and contentions of words, out of which do spring envies, debates, blasphemies, evil suspicions, conflicts of men corrupted in mind, who are deprived of truth, esteeming commodity to be piety." § 106. But why in using these testimonies, here and there dispersed, are we any longer, as it were, tossed up and down in the silly boat of our simple understanding, on the waves of sundry interpretations? We have now therefore at length thought it necessary to have recourse to those lessons,[247] which are gathered out of Holy Scriptures, to the end that they should not only be rehearsed, but also be assenting and assisting unto the benediction, wherewith the hands of priests, and others of inferior sacred orders, are first consecrated, and that thereby they may continually be warned never, by degenerating from their priestly dignity, to digress from the commandments, which are faithfully contained in the same; so as it may be plain and apparent unto all, that everlasting torments are reserved for them, and that they are not priests, or the servants of God, who do not with their utmost power follow and fulfil the instructions and precepts. Wherefore let us hear what the prince of the apostles, Saint Peter, hath signified about this so weighty a matter, saying: "Blessed be God, and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who through his mercy hath regenerated us into the hope of eternal life, by the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead, into an inheritance which can never corrupt, never wither, neither be defiled, preserved in heaven for you, who are kept in the virtue of God;" why then do ye fondly violate such an inheritance, which is not as an earthly one, transitory, but immortal and eternal? And somewhat afterwards: "For which cause be ye girded in the loins of your mind, sober, perfectly hoping in that grace which is offered to you in the revelation of Jesus Christ:" examine ye now the depths of your hearts, whether ye be sober and do perfectly preserve the grace of priesthood, which shall be duly discussed and decided in the revelation of our Lord. And again he saith: "As children of the benediction, not configuring yourselves to those former desires of your ignorance; but according unto him who hath called you holy, be ye also holy in all conversation. For which cause it is written, Be ye holy, because I am holy." Which one of you, I pray, hath with his whole mind so pursued sanctity, that he hath earnestly hastened, as much as in him lay, to fulfil the same? But let us behold what in the second lesson of the same apostle is contained: "My dearest," saith he, "sanctify your souls for the obedience of faith, through the Spirit, in charity, in brotherhood, loving one another out of a true heart perpetually, as born again not of corruptible seed, but of incorruptible, through the word of God, living and remaining for ever." § 107. These are truly the commandments of the apostle; and read in the day of your ordination, to the end ye should inviolably observe the same, but they are not fulfilled by you in discretion and judgment, nay not so much as duly considered or understood. And afterwards: "Laying therefore aside all malice, and all deceits, and dissemblings, envy, and detractions, as infants newly born, reasonable and without guile covet ye milk, that ye may thereby grow to salvation, because our Lord is sweet." Consider ye also in your minds, if these sayings which have sounded in your deaf ears have not often likewise been trodden by you under foot: and again: "Ye truly are the chosen lineage, the royal priesthood, the holy nation, the people for adoption, that ye may declare his virtues who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light." But truly by you are not only the virtues of God not declared and made more glorious, but also through your wicked examples are they (by such as have not perfect belief) despised. Ye have perchance at the same time likewise heard, what is read in the lesson of the Acts, on this wise: "Peter arising in the midst of the disciples said: Men and brethren, it is expedient that the Scripture be fulfilled, which the Holy Ghost hath by the mouth of David foretold of Judas." And a little after: "This man therefore purchased a field, of the reward of iniquity." This have ye heard with a careless or rather blockish heart, as though the reading thereof nothing at all appertained unto yourselves. What one of you (I pray you) doth not seek the field of the reward of iniquity? For Judas robbed and pillaged the purse, and ye spoil and waste the sacred gifts and treasures of the church, together with the souls of her children. He went to the Jews to make a market of God, ye pass to the tyrants, and their father the devil, that ye may despise Christ. _He_ set to sale the Saviour of the world for thirty pence, and _you_ do so even for one poor halfpenny. § 108. What need many words? The example of Matthias is apparently laid before you for your confusion, who was chosen into his place, not by his own proper will, but by the election of the holy apostles, or rather the judgment of Christ, whereat ye being blinded, do not perceive how far ye run astray from his merits, while ye fall wilfully and headlong into the manners and affection of Judas the traitor. It is therefore manifest that he who wittingly from his heart termeth you priests, is not himself a true and worthy Christian. And now I will assuredly speak what I think: this reprehension might have been framed after a milder fashion, but what availeth it to touch only with the hand, or dress with gentle ointment, that wound which with imposthumation or stinking corruption is now grown so horrible, that it requireth the searing iron, or the ordinary help of the fire, if happily by any means it may be cured, the diseased in the meanwhile not seeking a medicine, and the physician much erring from a rightful remedy? O ye enemies of God, and not priests! O ye traders of wickedness, and not bishops! O ye betrayers, and not successors of the holy apostles! O ye adversaries, and not servants of Christ! Ye have certainly heard at the least, the sound of the words, which are in the second lesson taken out of the apostle Saint Paul, although ye have no way observed the admonitions and virtue of them, but even as statues (that neither see nor hear) stood that day at the altar, while both then, and continually since he hath thundered in your ears, saying: "Brethren, it is a faithful speech, and worthy of all acceptance." He called it faithful and worthy, but ye have despised it as unfaithful and unworthy. "If any man desireth a bishopric, he desireth a good work." Ye do mightily covet a bishopric in respect of avarice, but not for spiritual convenience and for the good work which is suitable to the place, ye want it. "It behoveth therefore such a one to be free from all cause of reprehension." At this saying we have more need to shed tears than utter words; for it is as much as if the apostle had said, he ought to be of all others most free from occasion of rebuke. "The husband of one wife," which is likewise so condemned among us, as if that word had never proceeded from him; "Sober, wise;" yea, which of ye hath once desired to have these virtues engrafted in him, "using hospitality." For this, if perchance it hath been found among you, yet being nevertheless rather done to purchase the favour of the people, than to accomplish the commandment, it is of no avail, our Lord and Saviour saying thus: "Verily, I say unto you, they have received their reward." Moreover, "A man adorned, not given to wine; no fighter, but modest; not contentious, not covetous:" O lamentable change! O horrible contempt of the heavenly commandments! And do ye not continually use the force of your words and actions, for the overthrowing or rather overwhelming of these, for whose defence and confirmation, if need had required, ye ought to have suffered pains, yea, and to have lost your very lives. § 109. But let us see what followeth: "Well governing," saith he, "his house, having his children subjected with all chastity." Imperfect therefore is the chastity of the parents, if the children be not also endued with the same. But how shall it be, where neither the father, nor the son, depraved by the example of his evil parent, is found to be chaste? "But if any one knoweth not how to rule over his own house, how shall he employ his care over the church of God?" These are the words, that with apparent effects, should be made good and approved. "Deacons in like manner, that they should be chaste, not doubled tongued, not overgiven to much wine, not followers of filthy gain, having the mystery of faith in a preconscience, and let these also be first approved, and so let them administer, having no offence." And now trembling truly to make any longer stay on these matters, I can for a conclusion affirm one thing certainly, which is, that all these are changed into contrary actions, in so much that clerks (which not without grief of heart, I here confess,) are shameless and deceitful in their speeches, given to drinking, covetous of filthy lucre, having faith (or to say more truly) unfaithfulness in an impure conscience, ministering not upon probation of their good works, but upon foreknowledge of their evil actions, and being thus defiled with innumerable offences, they are notwithstanding admitted unto the holy office; ye have likewise heard on the same day (wherein ye should with far more right and reason have been drawn to prison or punishment, than preferred unto priesthood) when our Lord demanded whom his disciples supposed him to be, how Peter answered, "Thou art Christ, the Son of the living God;" and our Lord in respect of such his confession, said unto him: "Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jonas, because flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father who is in heaven." Peter therefore, instructed by God the Father, did rightly confess Christ; but ye being taught by the devil your father, do, with your lewd actions, wickedly deny our Saviour. It is said to the true priest, "Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build my church:" but ye resembled "the foolish man, who hath builded his house upon the sand." And verily it is to be noted, that God joineth not in the workmanship with the unwise, when they build their house upon the deceitful uncertainty of the sands, according unto that saying: "They have made kings unto themselves, and not by me." Similarly that (which followeth) soundeth in like sort, speaking thus: "And the gates of hell (whereby infernal sins are to be understood) shall not prevail." But of your frail and deadly frame, mark what is pronounced: "The floods came, and the winds blew, and dashed upon that house and it fell, and great was the ruin thereof." To Peter and his successors, our Lord doth say, "And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven." But unto you, "I know you not, depart from me all ye workers of iniquity," that being separated with the goats of the left hand, ye may together with them go into eternal fire. It is also promised unto every good priest, "Whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, shall be likewise loosed in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, shall be in like sort bound in heaven." But how shall ye loose any thing, that it may be loosed also in heaven, since yourselves for your sins are severed from heaven, and hampered in the bands of your own heinous offences, as Solomon saith, "With the cords of his sins, every one is tied?" And with what reason shall ye bind any thing on this earth, that above this world may be likewise bound, unless it be your only selves, who, entangled in your iniquities, are so detained on this earth, that ye cannot ascend into heaven, but without your conversion unto our Lord in this life, will fall down into the miserable prison of hell? § 110. Neither yet let any priest flatter himself upon the knowledge of the particular cleanness of his own body, since their souls (over whom he hath government) shall in the day of judgment be required at his hands as the murderer of them, if any through his ignorance, sloth, or fawning adulation, have perished, because the stroke of death is not less terrible, that is given by a good man, than that which is inflicted by an evil person; otherwise would the apostle never have said that which he left unto his successors, as a fatherly legacy, "I am clear and clean from the blood of all: for I have not forborne to declare unto you all the counsel of God." Being therefore mightily drunken with the use and custom of sins, and extremely overwhelmed with the waves (as it were) of increasing offences, seek ye now forthwith the uttermost endeavours of your minds (after this your shipwreck), that one plank of repentance which is left, whereby ye may escape and swim to the land of the living, that from you may be turned away the wrath of our Lord, who saith, "I will not the death of a sinner: but that he may be converted and live." And may the same Almighty God, of all consolation and mercy, preserve his few good pastors from all evil, and (the common enemy being overcome) make them free inhabitants of the heavenly city of Jerusalem, which is the congregation of all saints; grant this, O Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, to whom be honour and glory, world without end. Amen. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 240: Probably Cystennyn of the Bards. Constantine is a name often occurring in the British royal families. The Constantine of Gildas is supposed to have been king of Cornwall, who abdicated his throne, and afterwards preached the gospel to the Picts and Scots. Some account of him will be found in the Aberdeen Breviary, in the Acta Sanctorum, March, vol. ii. p. 64, and in Whitaker's Cathedral of Cornwall, i. 325.] [Footnote 241: The present counties of Devon and Cornwall.] [Footnote 242: King of Powisland, which for some time formed a distinct kingdom.] [Footnote 243: Inhabitants of the counties of Cardigan, Pembroke, and Carmarthen.] [Footnote 244: His dominions were north of Cambria, between the Severn and the Western Sea.] [Footnote 245: Probably Maelgwn Gwynedd, king of North Wales.] [Footnote 246: Vermilion, the English version, seems derived from _vermes_, a worm.] [Footnote 247: Gildas, in this and the following section, evidently alludes to the Ordination Ritual of the Ancient British Church.] NENNIUS'S HISTORY OF THE BRITONS. NENNIUS'S HISTORY OF THE BRITONS. I.--THE PROLOGUE. § 1. Nennius, the lowly minister and servant of the servants of God, by the grace of God, disciple of St. Elbotus,[248] to all the followers of truth sendeth health. Be it known to your charity, that being dull in intellect and rude of speech, I have presumed to deliver these things in the Latin tongue, not trusting to my own learning, which is little or none at all, but partly from traditions of our ancestors, partly from writings and monuments of the ancient inhabitants of Britain, partly from the annals of the Romans, and the chronicles of the sacred fathers, Isidore, Hieronymus, Prosper, Eusebius, and from the histories of the Scots and Saxons, although our enemies, not following my own inclinations, but, to the best of my ability, obeying the commands of my seniors; I have lispingly put together this history from various sources, and have endeavoured, from shame, to deliver down to posterity the few remaining ears of corn about past transactions, that they might not be trodden under foot, seeing that an ample crop has been snatched away already by the hostile reapers of foreign nations. For many things have been in my way, and I, to this day, have hardly been able to understand, even superficially, as was necessary, the sayings of other men; much less was I able in my own strength, but like a barbarian, have I murdered and defiled the language of others. But I bore about with me an inward wound, and I was indignant, that the name of my own people, formerly famous and distinguished, should sink into oblivion, and like smoke be dissipated. But since, however, I had rather myself be the historian of the Britons than nobody, although so many are to be found who might much more satisfactorily discharge the labour thus imposed on me; I humbly entreat my readers, whose ears I may offend by the inelegance of my words, that they will fulfil the wish of my seniors, and grant me the easy task of listening with candour to my history. For zealous efforts very often fail: but bold enthusiasm, were it in its power, would not suffer me to fail. May, therefore, candour be shown where the inelegance of my words is insufficient, and may the truth of this history, which my rustic tongue has ventured, as a kind of plough, to trace out in furrows, lose none of its influence from that cause, in the ears of my hearers. For it is better to drink a wholesome draught of truth from a humble vessel, than poison mixed with honey from a golden goblet. § 2. And do not be loath, diligent reader, to winnow my chaff, and lay up the wheat in the storehouse of your memory: for truth regards not who is the speaker, nor in what manner it is spoken, but that the thing be true; and she does not despise the jewel which she has rescued from the mud, but she adds it to her former treasures. For I yield to those who are greater and more eloquent than myself, who, kindled with generous ardour, have endeavoured by Roman eloquence to smooth the jarring elements of their tongue, if they have left unshaken any pillar of history which I wished to see remain. This history therefore has been compiled from a wish to benefit my inferiors, not from envy of those who are superior to me, in the 858th year of our Lord's incarnation, and in the 24th year of Mervin, king of the Britons, and I hope that the prayers of my betters will be offered up for me in recompence of my labour. But this is sufficient by way of preface. I shall obediently accomplish the rest to the utmost of my power. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 248: Or Elvod, bishop of Bangor, A.D. 755, who first adopted in the Cambrian church the new cycle for regulating Easter.] II.--THE APOLOGY OF NENNIUS. Here begins the apology of Nennius, the historiographer of the Britons, of the race of the Britons. § 3. I, Nennius, disciple of St. Elbotus, have endeavoured to write some extracts which the dulness of the British nation had cast away, because teachers had no knowledge, nor gave any information in their books about this island of Britain. But I have got together all that I could find as well from the annals of the Romans as from the chronicles of the sacred fathers, Hieronymus, Eusebius, Isidorus, Prosper, and from the annals of the Scots and Saxons, and from our ancient traditions. Many teachers and scribes have attempted to write this, but somehow or other have abandoned it from its difficulty, either on account of frequent deaths, or the often recurring calamities of war. I pray that every reader who shall read this book, may pardon me, for having attempted, like a chattering jay, or like some weak witness, to write these things, after they had failed. I yield to him who knows more of these things than I do. III.--THE HISTORY. § 4, 5. From Adam to the flood, are two thousand and forty-two years. From the flood to Abraham, nine hundred and forty-two. From Abraham to Moses, six hundred.[249] From Moses to Solomon, and the first building of the temple, four hundred and forty-eight. From Solomon to the rebuilding of the temple, which was under Darius, king of the Persians, six hundred and twelve years are computed. From Darius to the ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the fifteenth year of the emperor Tiberius, are five hundred and forty-eight years. So that from Adam to the ministry of Christ and the fifteenth year of the emperor Tiberius, are five thousand two hundred and twenty-eight years. From the passion of Christ are completed nine hundred and forty-six; from his incarnation, nine hundred and seventy-six: being the fifth year of Edmund, king of the Angles. § 6. The first age of the world is from Adam to Noah; the second from Noah to Abraham; the third from Abraham to David; the fourth from David to Daniel; the fifth to John the Baptist; the sixth from John to the judgment, when our Lord Jesus Christ will come to judge the living and the dead, and the world by fire. The first Julius. The second Claudius. The third Severus. The fourth Carinus. The fifth Constantius. The sixth Maximus. The seventh Maximianus. The eighth another Severus Æquantius. The ninth Constantius.[250] Here beginneth the history of the Britons, edited by Mark the anchorite, a holy bishop of that people. § 7. The island of Britain derives its name from Brutus, a Roman consul. Taken from the south-west point it inclines a little towards the west, and to its northern extremity measures eight hundred miles, and is in breadth two hundred. It contains thirty-three cities,[251] viz. 1. Cair ebrauc (_York_). 2. Cair ceint (_Canterbury_). 3. Cair gurcoc (_Anglesey?_) 4. Cair guorthegern.[252] 5. Cair custeint (_Carnarvon_). 6. Cair guoranegon (_Worcester_). 7. Cair segeint (_Silchester_). 8. Cair guin truis (_Norwich_, or _Winwick_). 9. Cair merdin (_Caermarthen_). 10. Cair peris (_Porchester_). 11. Cair lion (_Caerleon-upon-Usk_). 12. Cair mencipit (_Verulam_). 13. Cair caratauc (_Catterick_). 14. Cair ceri (_Cirencester_). 15. Cair gloui (_Gloucester_). 18. Cair luilid (_Carlisle_). 17. Cair grant (_Grantchester_, now _Cambridge_). 18. Cair daun (_Doncaster_), or Cair dauri (_Dorchester_). 19. Cair britoc (_Bristol_). 20. Cair meguaid (_Meivod_). 21. Cair mauiguid (_Manchester_). 22. Cair ligion (_Chester_). 23. Cair guent (_Winchester_, or _Caerwent_, in _Monmouthshire_). 24. Cair collon (_Colchester_, or _St. Colon, Cornwall_). 25. Cair londein (_London_). 26. Cair guorcon (_Worren_, or _Woran_, in _Pembrokeshire_). 27. Cair lerion (_Leicester_). 28. Cair draithou (_Drayton_). 29. Cair pensavelcoit (_Pevensey_, in _Sussex_). 30. Cair teim (_Teyn-Grace_, in _Devonshire_). 31. Cair Urnahc (_Wroxeter_, in _Shropshire_). 32. Cair colemion (_Oarnalet_, in _Somersetshire_). 33. Cair loit coit (_Lincoln_). These are the names of the ancient cities of the island of Britain. It has also a vast many promontories, and castles innumerable, built of brick and stone. Its inhabitants consist of four different people; the Scots, the Picts, the Saxons, and the ancient Britons. § 8. Three considerable islands belong to it; one, on the south, opposite the Armorican shore, called Wight;[253] another between Ireland and Britain, called Eubonia or Man; and another directly north, beyond the Picts, named Orkney; and hence it was anciently a proverbial expression, in reference to its kings and rulers, "He reigned over Britain and its three islands." § 9. It is fertilized by several rivers, which traverse it in all directions, to the east and west, to the south and north; but there are two pre-eminently distinguished among the rest, the Thames and the Severn, which formerly, like the two arms of Britain, bore the ships employed in the conveyance of the riches acquired by commerce. The Britons were once very populous, and exercised extensive dominion from sea to sea. § 10.[254] Respecting the period when this island became inhabited subsequently to the flood, I have seen two distinct relations. According to the annals of the Roman history, the Britons deduce their origin both from the Greeks and Romans. On the side of the mother, from Lavinia, the daughter of Latinus, king of Italy, and of the race of Silvanus, the son of Inachus, the son of Dardanus; who was the son of Saturn, king of the Greeks, and who, having possessed himself of a part of Asia, built the city of Troy. Dardanus was the father of Troius, who was the father of Priam and Anchises; Anchises was the father of Æneas, who was the father of Ascanius and Silvius; and this Silvius was the son of Æneas and Lavinia, the daughter of the king of Italy. From the sons of Æneas and Lavinia descended Romulus and Remus, who were the sons of the holy queen Rhea, and the founders of Rome. Brutus was consul when he conquered Spain, and reduced that country to a Roman province. He afterwards subdued the island of Britain, whose inhabitants were the descendants of the Romans, from Silvius Posthumus. He was called _Posthumus_ because he was born after the death of Æneas his father; and his mother Lavinia concealed herself during her pregnancy; he was called _Silvius_, because he was born in a wood. Hence the Roman kings were called Silvan, and the Britons who sprang from him; but they were called Britons from Brutus, and rose from the family of Brutus. Æneas, after the Trojan war, arrived with his son in Italy; and having vanquished Turnus, married Lavinia, the daughter of king Latinus, who was the son of Faunas, the son of Picus, the son of Saturn. After the death of Latinus, Æneas obtained the kingdom of the Romans, and Lavinia brought forth a son, who was named Silvius. Ascanius founded Alba, and afterwards married. And Lavinia bore to Æneas a son, named Silvius; but Ascanius[255] married a wife, who conceived and became pregnant. And Æneas, having been informed that his daughter-in-law was pregnant, ordered his son to send his magician to examine his wife, whether the child conceived were male or female. The magician came and examined the wife and pronounced it to be a son, who should become the most valiant among the Italians, and the most beloved of all men.[256] In consequence of this prediction, the magician was put to death by Ascanius; but it happened that the mother of the child dying at its birth, he was named Brutus; and after a certain interval, agreeably to what the magician had foretold, whilst he was playing with some others he shot his father with an arrow, not intentionally but by accident.[257] He was, for this cause, expelled from Italy, and came to the islands of the Tyrrhene sea, when he was exiled on account of the death of Turnus, slain by Æneas. He then went among the Gauls, and built the city of the Turones, called Turnis.[258] At length he came to this island, named from him Britannia, dwelt there, and filled it with his own descendants, and it has been inhabited from that time to the present period. § 11. Æneas reigned over the Latins three years; Ascanius thirty-three years; after whom Silvius reigned twelve years, and Posthumus thirty-nine[259] years: the latter, from whom the kings of Alba are called Silvan, was brother to Brutus, who governed Britain at the time Eli the high-priest judged Israel, and when the ark of the covenant was taken by a foreign people. But Posthumus his brother reigned among the Latins. § 12. After an interval of not less than eight hundred years, came the Picts, and occupied the Orkney Islands: whence they laid waste many regions, and seized those on the left hand side of Britain, where they still remain, keeping possession of a third part of Britain to this day.[260] § 13. Long after this, the Scots arrived in Ireland from Spain. The first that came was Partholomus,[261] with a thousand men and women; these increased to four thousand; but a mortality coming suddenly upon them, they all perished in one week. The second was Nimech, the son of ...,[262] who, according to report, after having been at sea a year and a half, and having his ships shattered, arrived at a port in Ireland, and continuing there several years, returned at length with his followers to Spain. After these came three sons of a Spanish soldier with thirty ships, each of which contained thirty wives; and having remained there during the space of a year, there appeared to them, in the middle of the sea, a tower of glass, the summit of which seemed covered with men, to whom they often spoke, but received no answer. At length they determined to besiege the tower; and after a year's preparation, advanced towards it, with the whole number of their ships, and all the women, one ship only excepted, which had been wrecked, and in which were thirty men, and as many women; but when all had disembarked on the shore which surrounded the tower, the sea opened and swallowed them up. Ireland, however, was peopled, to the present period, from the family remaining in the vessel which was wrecked. Afterwards, others came from Spain, and possessed themselves of various parts of Britain. § 14. Last of all came one Hoctor,[263] who continued there, and whose descendants remain there to this day. Istoreth, the son of Istorinus, with his followers, held Dalrieta; Buile had the island Eubonia, and other adjacent places. The sons of Liethali[264] obtained the country of the Dimetæ, where is a city called Menavia,[265] and the province Guiher and Cetgueli,[266] which they held till they were expelled from every part of Britain, by Cunedda and his sons. § 15. According to the most learned among the Scots, if any one desires to learn what I am now going to state, Ireland was a desert, and uninhabited, when the children of Israel crossed the Red Sea, in which, as we read in the Book of the Law, the Egyptians who followed them were drowned. At that period, there lived among this people, with a numerous family, a Scythian of noble birth, who had been banished from his country, and did not go to pursue the people of God. The Egyptians who were left, seeing the destruction of the great men of their nation, and fearing lest he should possess himself of their territory, took counsel together, and expelled him. Thus reduced, he wandered forty-two years in Africa, and arrived, with his family, at the altars of the Philistines, by the Lake of Osiers. Then passing between Rusicada and the hilly country of Syria, they travelled by the river Malva through Mauritania as far as the Pillars of Hercules; and crossing the Tyrrhene Sea, landed in Spain, where they continued many years, having greatly increased and multiplied. Thence, a thousand and two years after the Egyptians were lost in the Red Sea, they passed into Ireland, and the district of Dalrieta.[267] At that period, Brutus, who first exercised the consular office, reigned over the Romans; and the state, which before was governed by regal power, was afterwards ruled, during four hundred and forty-seven years, by consuls, tribunes of the people, and dictators. The Britons came to Britain in the third age of the world; and in the fourth, the Scots took possession of Ireland. The Britons who, suspecting no hostilities, were unprovided with the means of defence, were unanimously and incessantly attacked, both by the Scots from the west, and by the Picts from the north. A long interval after this, the Romans obtained the empire of the world. § 16. From the first arrival of the Saxons into Britain, to the fourth year of king Mermenus are computed four hundred and twenty-eight years; from the nativity of our Lord to the coming of St. Patrick among the Scots, four hundred and five years; from the death of St. Patrick to that of St. Bridget, forty years; and from the birth of Columcille[268] to the death of St. Bridget four years.[269] § 17. I have learned another account of this Brutus from the ancient books of our ancestors.[270] After the deluge, the three sons of Noah severally occupied three different parts of the earth: Shem extended his borders into Asia, Ham into Africa, and Japheth into Europe. The first man that dwelt in Europe was Alanus, with his three sons, Hisicion, Armenon, and Neugio. Hisicion had four sons, Francus, Romanus, Alamanus, and Brutus. Armenon had five sons, Gothus, Valagothus, Cibidus, Burgundus, and Longobardus. Neugio had three sons, Vandalus, Saxo, and Boganus. From Hisicion arose four nations--the Franks, the Latins, the Germans, and Britons: from Armenon, the Gothi, Valagothi, Cibidi, Burgundi, and Longobardi: from Neugio, the Bogari, Vandali, Saxones, and Tarinegi. The whole of Europe was subdivided into these tribes. Alanus is said to have been the son of Fethuir;[271] Fethuir the son of Ogomuin, who was the son of Thoi; Thoi was the son of Boibus, Boibus of Semion, Semion of Mair, Mair of Ecthactus, Ecthactus of Aurthack, Aurthack of Ethec, Ethec of Ooth, Ooth of Aber, Aber of Ra, Ra of Esraa, Esraa of Hisrau, Hisrau of Bath, Bath of Jobath, Jobath of Joham, Joham of Japheth, Japheth of Noah, Noah of Lamech, Lamech of Mathusalem, Mathusalem of Enoch, Enoch of Jared, Jared of Malalehel, Malalehel of Cainan, Cainan of Enos, Enos of Seth, Seth of Adam, and Adam was formed by the living God. We have obtained this information respecting the original inhabitants of Britain from ancient tradition. § 18. The Britons were thus called from Brutus: Brutus was the son of Hisicion, Hisicion was the son of Alanus, Alanus was the son of Rhea Silvia, Rhea Silvia was the daughter of Numa Pompilius, Numa was the son of Ascanius, Ascanius of Eneas, Eneas of Anchises, Anchises of Troius, Troius of Dardanus, Dardanus of Flisa, Flisa of Juuin, Juuin of Japheth; but Japheth had seven sons; from the first, named Gomer, descended the Galli; from the second, Magog, the Scythi and Gothi; from the third, Madian, the Medi; from the fourth, Juuan, the Greeks; from the fifth, Tubal, arose the Hebrei, Hispani, and Itali; from the sixth, Mosoch, sprung the Cappadoces; and from the seventh, named Tiras, descended the Thraces: these are the sons of Japheth, the son of Noah, the son of Lamech. § 19.[272] The Romans having obtained the dominion of the world, sent legates or deputies to the Britons to demand of them hostages and tribute, which they received from all other countries and islands; but they, fierce, disdainful, and haughty, treated the legation with contempt. Then Julius Cæsar, the first who had acquired absolute power at Rome, highly incensed against the Britons, sailed with sixty vessels to the mouth of the Thames, where they suffered shipwreck whilst he fought against Dolobellus,[273] (the proconsul of the British king, who was called Belinus,[274] and who was the son of Minocannus who governed all the islands of the Tyrrhene Sea), and thus Julius Cæsar returned home without victory, having had his soldiers slain, and his ships shattered. § 20. But after three years he again appeared with a large army, and three hundred ships, at the mouth of the Thames, where he renewed hostilities. In this attempt many of his soldiers and horses were killed; for the same consul had placed iron pikes in the shallow part of the river, and this having been effected with so much skill and secrecy as to escape the notice of the Roman soldiers, did them considerable injury; thus Cæsar was once more compelled to return without peace or victory. The Romans were, therefore, a third time sent against the Britons; and under the command of Julius, defeated them near a place called Trinovantum [London], forty-seven years before the birth of Christ, and five thousand two hundred and twelve years from the creation. Julius was the first exercising supreme power over the Romans who invaded Britain: in honour of him the Romans decreed the fifth month to be called after his name. He was assassinated in the Curia, in the ides of March, and Octavius Augustus succeeded to the empire of the world. He was the only emperor who received tribute from the Britons, according to the following verse of Virgil: "Purpurea intexti tollunt aulæa Britanni." § 21. The second after him, who came into Britain, was the emperor Claudius, who reigned forty-seven years after the birth of Christ. He carried with him war and devastation; and, though not without loss of men, he at length conquered Britain. He next sailed to the Orkneys, which he likewise conquered, and afterwards rendered tributary. No tribute was in his time received from the Britons; but it was paid to British emperors. He reigned thirteen years and eight months. His monument is to be seen at Moguntia (among the Lombards), where he died in his way to Rome. § 22. After the birth of Christ, one hundred and sixty-seven years, king Lucius, with all the chiefs of the British people, received baptism, in consequence of a legation sent by the Roman emperors and pope Evaristus.[275] § 23. Severus was the third emperor who passed the sea to Britain, where, to protect the provinces recovered from barbaric incursions, he ordered a wall and a rampart to be made between the Britons, the Scots, and the Picts, extending across the island from sea to sea, in length one hundred and thirty-three[276] miles: and it is called in the British language, Gwal.[277] Moreover, he ordered it to be made between the Britons, and the Picts and Scots; for the Scots from the west, and the Picts from the north, unanimously made war against the Britons; but were at peace among themselves. Not long after Severus dies in Britain. § 24. The fourth was the emperor and tyrant, Carausius, who, incensed at the murder of Severus, passed into Britain, and attended by the leaders of the Roman people, severely avenged upon the chiefs and rulers of the Britons, the cause of Severus.[278] § 25. The fifth was Constantius the father of Constantine the Great. He died in Britain; his sepulchre, as it appears by the inscription on his tomb, is still seen near the city named Cair segont (near Carnarvon). Upon the pavement of the above-mentioned city he sowed three seeds of gold, silver, and brass, that no poor person might ever be found in it. It is also called Minmanton.[279] § 26. Maximianus[280] was the sixth emperor that ruled in Britain. It was in his time that consuls[281] began, and that the appellation of Cæsar was discontinued: at this period also, St. Martin became celebrated for his virtues and miracles, and held a conversation with him. § 27. The seventh emperor was Maximus. He withdrew from Britain with all his military force, slew Gratian, the king of the Romans, and obtained the sovereignty of all Europe. Unwilling to send back his warlike companions to their wives, children, and possessions in Britain, he conferred upon them numerous districts from the lake on the summit of Mons Jovis, to the city called Cant Guic, and to the western Tumulus, that is, to Cruc Occident.[282] These are the Armoric Britons, and they remain there to the present day. In consequence of their absence, Britain being overcome by foreign nations, the lawful heirs were cast out, till God interposed with his assistance. We are informed by the tradition of our ancestors that _seven_ emperors went into Britain, though the Romans affirm there were _nine_. The eighth was another Severus, who lived occasionally in Britain, and sometimes at Rome, where he died. The ninth was Constantius who reigned sixteen years in Britain, and, according to report, was treacherously murdered in the seventeenth year of his reign. § 28. Thus, agreeably to the account given by the Britons, the Romans governed them four hundred and nine years. After this, the Britons despised the authority of the Romans, equally refusing to pay them tribute, or to receive their kings; nor durst the Romans any longer attempt the government of a country, the natives of which massacred their deputies. § 29. We must now return to the tyrant Maximus. Gratian, with his brother Valentinian, reigned seven years. Ambrose, bishop of Milan, was then eminent for his skill in the dogmata of the Catholics. Valentinianus and Theodosius reigned eight years. At that time a synod was held at Constantinople, attended by three hundred and fifty of the fathers, and in which all heresies were condemned. Jerome, the presbyter of Bethlehem, was then universally celebrated. Whilst Gratian exercised supreme dominion over the world, Maximus, in a sedition of the soldiers, was saluted emperor in Britain, and soon after crossed the sea to Gaul. At Paris, by the treachery of Mellobaudes, his master of the horse, Gratian was defeated, and fleeing to Lyons, was taken and put to death; Maximus afterwards associated his son Victor in the government. Martin, distinguished for his great virtues, was at this period bishop of Tours. After a considerable space of time, Maximus was divested of royal power by the consuls Valentinianus and Theodosius, and sentenced to be beheaded at the third milestone from Aquileia: in the same year also his son Victor was killed in Gaul by Arbogastes, five thousand six hundred and ninety years from the creation of the world. § 30. Thrice were the Roman deputies put to death by the Britons, and yet these, when harassed by the incursions of the barbarous nations, viz. of the Scots and Picts, earnestly solicited the aid of the Romans. To give effect to their entreaties, ambassadors were sent, who made their entrance with impressions of deep sorrow, having their heads covered with dust, and carrying rich presents to expiate the murder of the deputies. They were favourably received by the consuls, and swore submission to the Roman yoke, with whatever severity it might be imposed. The Romans, therefore, came with a powerful army to the assistance of the Britons; and having appointed over them a ruler, and settled the government, returned to Rome: and this took place alternately during the space of three hundred and forty-eight years. The Britons, however, from the oppression of the empire, again massacred the Roman deputies, and again petitioned for succour. Once more the Romans undertook the government of the Britons, and assisted them in repelling their neighbours; and, after having exhausted the country of its gold, silver, brass, honey, and costly vestments, and having besides received rich gifts, they returned in great triumph to Rome. § 31. After the above-said war between the Britons and Romans, the assassination of their rulers, and the victory of Maximus, who slew Gratian, and the termination of the Roman power in Britain, they were in alarm forty years. Vortigern then reigned in Britain. In his time, the natives had cause of dread, not only from the inroads of the Scots and Picts, but also from the Romans, and their apprehensions of Ambrosius.[283] In the meantime, three vessels, exiled from Germany, arrived in Britain. They were commanded by Horsa and Hengist, brothers, and sons of Wihtgils. Wihtgils was the son of Witta; Witta of Wecta; Wecta of Woden; Woden of Frithowald; Frithowald of Frithuwulf; Frithuwulf of Finn; Finn of Godwulf; Godwulf of Geat, who, as they say, was the son of a god, not[284] of the omnipotent God and our Lord Jesus Christ (who before the beginning of the world, was with the Father and the Holy Spirit, co-eternal and of the same substance, and who, in compassion to human nature, disdained not to assume the form of a servant), but the offspring of one of their idols, and whom, blinded by some demon, they worshipped according to the custom of the heathen. Vortigern received them as friends, and delivered up to them the island which is in their language called Thanet, and, by the Britons, Ruym.[285] Gratianus Æquantius at that time reigned in Rome. The Saxons were received by Vortigern, four hundred and forty-seven years after the passion of Christ, and,[286] according to the tradition of our ancestors, from the period of their first arrival in Britain, to the first year of the reign of king Edmund, five hundred and forty-two years; and to that in which we now write, which is the fifth of his reign, five hundred and forty-seven years. § 32. At that time St. Germanus, distinguished for his numerous virtues, came to preach in Britain: by his ministry many were saved; but many likewise died unconverted. Of the various miracles which God enabled him to perform, I shall here mention only a few: I shall first advert to that concerning an iniquitous and tyrannical king, named Benlli.[287] The holy man, informed of his wicked conduct, hastened to visit him, for the purpose of remonstrating with him. When the man of God, with his attendants, arrived at the gate of the city, they were respectfully received by the keeper of it, who came out and saluted them. Him they commissioned to communicate their intention to the king, who returned a harsh answer, declaring, with an oath, that although they remained there a year, they should not enter the city. While waiting for an answer, the evening came on, and they knew not where to go. At length, came one of the king's servants, who bowing himself before the man of God, announced the words of the tyrant, inviting them, at the same time, to his own house, to which they went, and were kindly received. It happened, however, that he had no cattle, except one cow and a calf, the latter of which, urged by generous hospitality to his guests, he killed, dressed, and set before them. But holy St. Germanus ordered his companions not to break a bone of the calf; and, the next morning, it was found alive uninjured, and standing by its mother. § 33. Early the same day, they again went to the gate of the city, to solicit audience of the wicked king; and, whilst engaged in fervent prayer they were waiting for admission, a man, covered with sweat, came out, and prostrated himself before them. Then St. Germanus, addressing him, said, "Dost thou believe in the Holy Trinity?" To which the man having replied, "I do believe," he baptized, and kissed him, saying, "Go in peace; within this hour thou shalt die: the angels of God are waiting for thee in the air; with them thou shalt ascend to that God in whom thou hast believed." He, overjoyed, entered the city, and being met by the prefect, was seized, bound, and conducted before the tyrant, who having passed sentence upon him, he was immediately put to death; for it was a law of this wicked king, that whoever was not at his labour before sun-rising should be beheaded in the citadel. In the meantime, St. Germanus, with his attendants, waited the whole day before the gate, without obtaining admission to the tyrant. § 34. The man above-mentioned, however, remained with them. "Take care," said St. Germanus to him, "that none of your friends remain this night within these walls." Upon this he hastily entered the city, brought out his nine sons, and with them retired to the house where he had exercised such generous hospitality. Here St. Germanus ordered them to continue, fasting; and when the gates were shut, "Watch," said he, "and whatever shall happen in the citadel, turn not thither your eyes; but pray without ceasing, and invoke the protection of the true God." And, behold, early in the night, fire fell from heaven, and burned the city, together with all those who were with the tyrant, so that not one escaped; and that citadel has never been rebuilt even to this day. § 35. The following day, the hospitable man who had been converted by the preaching of St. Germanus, was baptized, with his sons, and all the inhabitants of that part of the country; and St. Germanus blessed him, saying, "a king shall not be wanting of thy seed for ever." The name of this person is Catel Drunluc:[288] "from henceforward thou shalt be a king all the days of thy life." Thus was fulfilled the prophecy of the Psalmist: "He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the needy out of the dunghill." And agreeably to the prediction of St. Germanus, from a servant he became a king: all his sons were kings, and from their offspring the whole country of Powys has been governed to this day. § 36. After the Saxons had continued some time in the island of Thanet, Vortigern promised to supply them with clothing and provision, on condition they would engage to fight against the enemies of his country. But the barbarians having greatly increased in number, the Britons became incapable of fulfilling their engagement; and when the Saxons, according to the promise they had received, claimed a supply of provisions and clothing, the Britons replied, "Your number is increased; your assistance is now unnecessary; you may, therefore, return home, for we can no longer support you;" and hereupon they began to devise means of breaking the peace between them. § 37. But Hengist, in whom united craft and penetration, perceiving he had to act with an ignorant king, and a fluctuating people, incapable of opposing much resistance, replied to Vortigern, "We are, indeed, few in number; but, if you will give us leave, we will send to our country for an additional number of forces, with whom we will fight for you and your subjects." Vortigern assenting to this proposal, messengers were despatched to Scythia, where selecting a number of warlike troops, they returned with sixteen vessels, bringing with them the beautiful daughter of Hengist. And now the Saxon chief prepared an entertainment, to which he invited the king, his officers, and Ceretic, his interpreter, having previously enjoined his daughter to serve them so profusely with wine and ale, that they might soon become intoxicated. This plan succeeded; and Vortigern, at the instigation of the devil, and enamoured with the beauty of the damsel, demanded her, through the medium of his interpreter, of the father, promising to give for her whatever he should ask. Then Hengist, who had already consulted with the elders who attended him of the Oghgul[289] race, demanded for his daughter the province, called in English, Centland, in British, Ceint, (Kent.) This cession was made without the knowledge of the king, Guoyrancgonus,[290] who then reigned in Kent, and who experienced no inconsiderable share of grief, from seeing his kingdom thus clandestinely, fraudulently, and imprudently resigned to foreigners. Thus the maid was delivered up to the king, who slept with her, and loved her exceedingly. § 38. Hengist, after this, said to Vortigern, "I will be to you both a father and an adviser; despise not my counsels, and you shall have no reason to fear being conquered by any man or any nation whatever; for the people of my country are strong, warlike, and robust: if you approve, I will send for my son and his brother, both valiant men, who at my invitation will fight against the Scots, and you can give them the countries in the north, near the wall called _Gual_."[291] The incautious sovereign having assented to this, Octa and Ebusa arrived with forty ships. In these they sailed round the country of the Picts, laid waste the Orkneys, and took possession of many regions, even to the Pictish confines.[292] But Hengist continued, by degrees, sending for ships from his own country, so that some islands whence they came were left without inhabitants; and whilst his people were increasing in power and number, they came to the above-named province of Kent. § 39. In the meantime, Vortigern, as if desirous of adding to the evils he had already occasioned, married his own daughter, by whom he had a son. When this was made known to St. Germanus, he came, with all the British clergy, to reprove him: and whilst a numerous assembly of the ecclesiastics and laity were in consultation, the weak king ordered his daughter to appear before them, and in the presence of all to present her son to St. Germanus, and declare that he was the father of the child. The immodest[293] woman obeyed; and St. Germanus, taking the child, said, "I will be a father to you, my son; nor will I dismiss you till a razor, scissors, and comb, are given to me, and it is allowed you to give them to your carnal father." The child obeyed St. Germanus, and, going to his father Vortigern, said to him, "Thou art my father; shave and cut the hair of my head." The king blushed, and was silent; and, without replying to the child, arose in great anger, and fled from the presence of St. Germanus, execrated and condemned by the whole synod. § 40. But soon after, calling together his twelve wise men, to consult what was to be done, they said to him, "Retire to the remote boundaries of your kingdom; there build and fortify a city[294] to defend yourself, for the people you have received are treacherous; they are seeking to subdue you by stratagem, and, even during your life, to seize upon all the countries subject to your power, how much more will they attempt, after your death!" The king, pleased with this advice, departed with his wise men, and travelled through many parts of his territories, in search of a place convenient for the purpose of building a citadel. Having, to no purpose, travelled far and wide, they came at length to a province called Guenet;[295] and having surveyed the mountains of Heremus,[296] they discovered, on the summit of one of them, a situation, adapted to the construction of a citadel. Upon this, the wise men said to the king, "Build here a city; for, in this place, it will ever be secure against the barbarians." Then the king sent for artificers, carpenters, stone-masons, and collected all the materials requisite to building; but the whole of these disappeared in one night, so that nothing remained of what had been provided for the constructing of the citadel. Materials were, therefore, from all parts, procured a second and third time, and again vanished as before, leaving and rendering every effort ineffectual. Vortigern inquired of his wise men the cause of this opposition to his undertaking, and of so much useless expense of labour? They replied, "You must find a child born without a father, put him to death, and sprinkle with his blood the ground on which the citadel is to be built, or you will never accomplish your purpose." § 41. In consequence of this reply, the king sent messengers throughout Britain, in search of a child born without a father. After having inquired in all the provinces, they came to the field of Ælecti,[297] in the district of Glevesing,[298] where a party of boys were playing at ball. And two of them quarrelling, one said to the other, "O boy without a father, no good will ever happen to you." Upon this, the messengers diligently inquired of the mother and the other boys, whether he had had a father? Which his mother denied, saying, "In what manner he was conceived I know not, for I have never had intercourse with any man;" and then she solemnly affirmed that he had no mortal father. The boy was, therefore, led away, and conducted before Vortigern the king. § 42. A meeting took place the next day for the purpose of putting him to death. Then the boy said to the king, "Why have your servants brought me hither?" "That you may be put to death," replied the king, "and that the ground on which my citadel is to stand, may be sprinkled with your blood, without which I shall be unable to build it." "Who," said the boy, "instructed you to do this?" "My wise men," answered the king. "Order them hither," returned the boy; this being complied with, he thus questioned them: "By what means was it revealed to you that this citadel could not be built, unless the spot were previously sprinkled with my blood? Speak without disguise, and declare who discovered me to you;" then turning to the king, "I will soon," said he, "unfold to you every thing; but I desire to question your wise men, and wish them to disclose to you what is hidden under this pavement:" they acknowledging their ignorance, "there is," said he, "a pool; come and dig:" they did so, and found the pool. "Now," continued he, "tell me what is in it;" but they were ashamed, and made no reply. "I," said the boy, "can discover it to you: there are two vases in the pool;" they examined, and found it so: continuing his questions, "What is in the vases?" they were silent: "there is a tent in them," said the boy; "separate them, and you shall find it so;" this being done by the king's command, there was found in them a folded tent. The boy, going on with his questions, asked the wise men what was in it? But they not knowing what to reply, "There are," said he, "two serpents, one white and the other red; unfold the tent;" they obeyed, and two sleeping serpents were discovered; "consider attentively," said the boy, "what they are doing." The serpents began to struggle with each other; and the white one, raising himself up, threw down the other into the middle of the tent, and sometimes drove him to the edge of it; and this was repeated thrice. At length the red one, apparently the weaker of the two, recovering his strength, expelled the white one from the tent; and the latter being pursued through the pool by the red one, disappeared. Then the boy, asking the wise men what was signified by this wonderful omen, and they expressing their ignorance, he said to the king, "I will now unfold to you the meaning of this mystery. The pool is the emblem of this world, and the tent that of your kingdom: the two serpents are two dragons; the red serpent is your dragon, but the white serpent is the dragon of the people who occupy several provinces and districts of Britain, even almost from sea to sea: at length, however, our people shall rise and drive away the Saxon race from beyond the sea, whence they originally came; but do you depart from this place, where you are not permitted to erect a citadel; I, to whom fate has allotted this mansion, shall remain here; whilst to you it is incumbent to seek other provinces, where you may build a fortress." "What is your name?" asked the king; "I am called Ambrose (in British Embresguletic)," returned the boy; and in answer to the king's question, "What is your origin?" he replied, "A Roman consul was my father." Then the king assigned him that city, with all the western provinces of Britain; and departing with his wise men to the sinistral district, he arrived in the region named Gueneri, where he built a city which, according to his name, was called Cair Guorthegirn.[299] § 43. At length Vortimer, the son of Vortigern, valiantly fought against Hengist, Horsa, and his people; drove them to the isle of Thanet, and thrice enclosed them within it, and beset them on the western side. The Saxons now despatched deputies to Germany to solicit large reinforcements, and an additional number of ships: having obtained these, they fought against the kings and princes of Britain, and sometimes extended their boundaries by victory, and sometimes were conquered and driven back. § 44. Four times did Vortimer valorously encounter the enemy;[300] the first has been mentioned, the second was upon the river Darent, the third at the Ford, in their language called Epsford, though in ours Set thirgabail,[301] there Horsa fell, and Catigern, the son of Vortigern; the fourth battle he fought, was near the stone[302] on the shore of the Gallic sea, where the Saxons being defeated, fled to their ships. After a short interval Vortimer died; before his decease, anxious for the future prosperity of his country, he charged his friends to inter his body at the entrance of the Saxon port, viz. upon the rock where the Saxons first landed; "for though," said he, "they may inhabit other parts of Britain, yet if you follow my commands, they will never remain in this island." They imprudently disobeyed this last injunction, and neglected to bury him where he had appointed.[303] § 45. After this the barbarians became firmly incorporated, and were assisted by foreign pagans; for Vortigern was their friend, on account of the daughter[304] of Hengist, whom he so much loved, that no one durst fight against him--in the meantime they soothed the imprudent king, and whilst practising every appearance of fondness, were plotting with his enemies. And let him that reads understand, that the Saxons were victorious, and ruled Britain, not from their superior prowess, but on account of the great sins of the Britons: God so permitting it. For what wise man will resist the wholesome counsel of God? The Almighty is the King of kings, and the Lord of lords, ruling and judging every one, according to his own pleasure. After the death of Vortimer, Hengist being strengthened by new accessions, collected his ships, and calling his leaders together, consulted by what stratagem they might overcome Vortigern and his army; with insidious intention they sent messengers to the king, with offers of peace and perpetual friendship; unsuspicious of treachery, the monarch, after advising with his elders, accepted the proposals. § 46. Hengist, under pretence of ratifying the treaty, prepared an entertainment, to which he invited the king, the nobles, and military officers, in number about three hundred; speciously concealing his wicked intention, he ordered three hundred Saxons to conceal each a knife under his feet, and to mix with the Britons; "and when," said he, "they are sufficiently inebriated, &c. cry out, 'Nimed eure Saxes,' then let each draw his knife, and kill his man; but spare the king, on account of his marriage with my daughter, for it is better that he should be ransomed than killed."[305] The king with his company, appeared at the feast; and mixing with the Saxons, who, whilst they spoke peace with their tongues, cherished treachery in their hearts, each man was placed next his enemy. After they had eaten and drunk, and were much intoxicated, Hengist suddenly vociferated, "Nimed eure Saxes!" and instantly his adherents drew their knives, and rushing upon the Britons, each slew him that sat next to him, and there was slain three hundred of the nobles of Vortigern. The king being a captive, purchased his redemption, by delivering up the three provinces of East, South, and Middle Sex, besides other districts at the option of his betrayers. § 47. St. Germanus admonished Vortigern to turn to the true God, and abstain from all unlawful intercourse with his daughter; but the unhappy wretch fled for refuge to the province Guorthegirnaim,[306] so called from his own name, where he concealed himself with his wives: but St. Germanus followed him with all the British clergy, and upon a rock prayed for his sins during forty days and forty nights. The blessed man was unanimously chosen commander against the Saxons. And then, not by the clang of trumpets, but by praying, singing hallelujah, and by the cries of the army to God, the enemies were routed, and driven even to the sea.[307] Again Vortigern ignominiously flew from St. Germanus to the kingdom of the Dimetæ, where, on the river Towy,[308] he built a castle, which he named Cair Guorthergirn. The saint, as usual, followed him there, and with his clergy fasted and prayed to the Lord three days, and as many nights. On the third night, at the third hour, fire fell suddenly from heaven, and totally burned the castle. Vortigern, the daughter of Hengist, his other wives, and all the inhabitants, both men and women, miserably perished: such was the end of this unhappy king, as we find written in the life of St. Germanus. § 48. Others assure us, that being hated by all the people of Britain, for having received the Saxons, and being publicly charged by St. Germanus and the clergy in the sight of God, he betook himself to flight; and, that deserted and a wanderer, he sought a place of refuge, till broken hearted, he made an ignominious end. Some accounts state, that the earth opened and swallowed him up, on the night his castle was burned; as no remains were discovered the following morning, either of him, or of those who were burned with him. He had three sons: the eldest was Vortimer, who, as we have seen, fought four times against the Saxons, and put them to flight; the second Categirn, who was slain in the same battle with Horsa; the third was Pascent, who reigned in the two provinces Builth and Guorthegirnaim,[309] after the death of his father. These were granted him by Ambrosius, who was the great king among the kings of Britain. The fourth was Faustus, born of an incestuous marriage with his daughter, who was brought up and educated by St. Germanus. He built a large monastery on the banks of the river Renis, called after his name, and which remains to the present period.[310] § 49. This is the genealogy of Vortigern, which goes back to Fernvail,[311] who reigned in the kingdom of Guorthegirnaim,[312] and was the son of Teudor; Teudor was the son of Pascent; Pascent of Guoidcant; Guoidcant of Moriud; Moriud of Eltat; Eltat of Eldoc; Eldoc of Paul; Paul of Meuprit; Meuprit of Braciat; Braciat of Pascent; Pascent of Guorthegirn; Guorthegirn of Guortheneu; Guortheneu of Guitaul; Guitaul of Guitolion; Guitolion of Gloui. Bonus, Paul, Mauron, Guotelin, were four brothers, who built Gloiuda, a great city upon the banks of the river Severn, and in British is called Cair Gloui, in Saxon, Gloucester. Enough has been said of Vortigern. § 50. St. Germanus, after his death, returned into his own country. [313] At that time, the Saxons greatly increased in Britain, both in strength and numbers. And Octa, after the death of his father Hengist, came from the sinistral part of the island to the kingdom of Kent, and from him have proceeded all the kings of that province, to the present period. Then it was, that the magnanimous Arthur, with all the kings and military force of Britain, fought against the Saxons. And though there were many more noble than himself, yet he was twelve times chosen their commander, and was as often conqueror. The first battle in which he was engaged, was at the mouth of the river Gleni.[314] The second, third, fourth, and fifth, were on another river, by the Britons called Duglas,[315] in the region Linuis. The sixth, on the river Bassas.[316] The seventh in the wood Celidon, which the Britons call Cat Coit Celidon.[317] The eighth was near Gurnion castle,[318] where Arthur bore the image of the Holy Virgin,[319] mother of God, upon his shoulders, and through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the holy Mary, put the Saxons to flight, and pursued them the whole day with great slaughter.[320] The ninth was at the City of Legion,[321] which is called Cair Lion. The tenth was on the banks of the river Trat Treuroit.[322] The eleventh was on the mountain Breguoin, which we call Cat Bregion.[323] The twelfth was a most severe contest, when Arthur penetrated to the hill of Badon.[324] In this engagement, nine hundred and forty fell by his hand alone, no one but the Lord affording him assistance. In all these engagements the Britons were successful. For no strength can avail against the will of the Almighty. The more the Saxons were vanquished, the more they sought for new supplies of Saxons from Germany; so that kings, commanders, and military bands were invited over from almost every province. And this practice they continued till the reign of Ida, who was the son of Eoppa, he, of the Saxon race, was the first king in Bernicia, and in Cair Ebrauc (York). When Gratian Æquantius was consul at Rome, because then the whole world was governed by the Roman consuls, the Saxons were received by Vortigern in the year of our Lord four hundred and forty-seven, and to the year in which we now write, five hundred and forty-seven. And whosoever shall read herein may receive instruction, the Lord Jesus Christ affording assistance, who, co-eternal with the Father and the Holy Ghost, lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen. In those days Saint Patrick was a captive among the Scots. His master's name was Milcho, to whom he was a swineherd for seven years. When he had attained the age of seventeen he gave him his liberty. By the divine impulse, he applied himself to reading of the Scriptures, and afterwards went to Rome; where, replenished with the Holy Spirit, he continued a great while, studying the sacred mysteries of those writings. During his continuance there, Palladius, the first bishop, was sent by pope Celestine to convert the Scots [the Irish]. But tempests and signs from God prevented his landing, for no one can arrive in any country, except it be allowed from above; altering therefore his course from Ireland, he came to Britain and died in the land of the Picts.[325] § 51. The death of Palladius being known, the Roman patricians, Theodosius and Valentinian, then reigning, pope Celestine sent Patrick to convert the Scots to the faith of the Holy Trinity; Victor, the angel of God, accompanying, admonishing, and assisting him, and also the bishop Germanus. Germanus then sent the ancient Segerus with him as a venerable and praiseworthy bishop, to king Amatheus,[326] who lived near, and who had prescience of what was to happen; he was consecrated bishop in the reign of that king by the holy pontiff,[327] assuming the name of Patrick, having hitherto been known by that of Maun; Auxilius, Isserninus, and other brothers were ordained with him to inferior degrees. § 52. Having distributed benedictions, and perfected all in the name of the Holy Trinity, he embarked on the sea which is between the Gauls and the Britons; and after a quick passage arrived in Britain, where he preached for some time. Every necessary preparation being made, and the angel giving him warning, he came to the Irish Sea. And having filled the ship with foreign gifts and spiritual treasures, by the permission of God he arrived in Ireland, where he baptized and preached. § 53. From the beginning of the world, to the fifth year of king Logiore, when the Irish were baptized, and faith in the unity of the individual Trinity was published to them, are five thousand three hundred and thirty years. § 54. Saint Patrick taught the gospel in foreign nations for the space of forty years. Endued with apostolical powers, he gave sight to the blind, cleansed the lepers, gave hearing to the deaf, cast out devils, raised nine from the dead, redeemed many captives of both sexes at his own charge, and set them free in the name of the Holy Trinity. He taught the servants of God, and he wrote three hundred and sixty-five canonical and other books relating to the catholic faith. He founded as many churches, and consecrated the same number of bishops, strengthening them with the Holy Ghost. He ordained three thousand presbyters; and converted and baptized twelve thousand persons in the province of Connaught. And, in one day baptized seven kings, who were the seven sons of Amalgaid.[328] He continued fasting forty days and nights, on the summit of the mountain Eli, that is Cruachan-Aichle;[329] and preferred three petitions to God for the Irish, that had embraced the faith. The Scots say, the first was, that he would receive every repenting sinner, even at the latest extremity of life; the second, that they should never be exterminated by barbarians; and the third, that as Ireland[330] will be overflowed with water, seven years before the coming of our Lord to judge the quick and the dead, the crimes of the people might be washed away through his intercession, and their souls purified at the last day. He gave the people his benediction from the upper part of the mountain, and going up higher, that he might pray for them; and that if it pleased God, he might see the effects of his labours, there appeared to him an innumerable flock of birds of many colours, signifying the number of holy persons of both sexes of the Irish nation, who should come to him as their apostle at the day of judgment, to be presented before the tribunal of Christ. After a life spent in the active exertion of good to mankind, St. Patrick, in a healthy old age, passed from this world to the Lord, and changing this life for a better, with the saints and elect of God he rejoices for evermore. § 55. Saint Patrick resembled Moses in four particulars. The angel spoke to him in the burning bush. He fasted forty days and forty nights upon the mountain. He attained the period of one hundred and twenty years. No one knows his sepulchre, nor where he was buried; sixteen[331] years he was in captivity. In his twenty-fifth year, he was consecrated bishop by Saint Matheus,[332] and he was eighty-five years the apostle of the Irish. It might be profitable to treat more at large of the life of this saint, but it is now time to conclude this epitome of his labours.[333] [Here endeth the life of the holy bishop, Saint Patrick.] (_After this, the MSS. give us § 56, the legend of king Arthur, which in this edition occurs in § 50._) GENEALOGY OF THE KINGS OF BERNICIA[334] § 57. Woden begat Beldeg, who begat Beornec, who begat Gethbrond, who begat Aluson, who begat Ingwi, who begat Edibrith, who begat Esa, who begat Eoppa, who begat Ida. But Ida had twelve sons, Adda, Belric, Theodric, Ethelric, Theodhere, Osmer, and one queen, Bearnoch, Ealric. Ethelric begat Ethelfrid: the same is Ædlfred Flesaur. For he also had seven sons, Eanfrid, Oswald, Oswin, Oswy, Oswudu, Oslac, Offa. Oswy begat Alfrid, Elfwin, and Egfrid. Egfrid is he who made war against his cousin Brudei, king of the Picts, and he fell therein with all the strength of his army, and the Picts with their king gained the victory; and the Saxons never again reduced the Picts so as to exact tribute from them. Since the time of this war it is called Gueithlin Garan. But Oswy had two wives, Riemmelth, the daughter of Royth, son of Rum; and Eanfled, the daughter of Edwin, son of Alla. THE GENEALOGY OF THE KINGS OF KENT. § 58. Hengist begat Octa, who begat Ossa, who begat Eormenric, who begat Ethelbert, who begat Eadbald, who begat Ercombert, who begat Egbert. THE ORIGIN OF THE KINGS OF EAST-ANGLIA. § 59. Woden begat Casser, who begat Titinon, who begat Trigil, who begat Rodmunt, who begat Rippa, who begat Guillem Guercha,[335] who was the first king of the East Angles. Guercha begat Uffa, who begat Tytillus, who begat Eni, who begat Edric, who begat Aldwulf, who begat Elric. THE GENEALOGY OF THE MERCIANS. § 60. Woden begat Guedolgeat, who begat Gueagon, who begat Guithleg, who begat Guerdmund, who begat Ossa, who begat Ongen, who begat Eamer, who begat Pubba.[336] This Pubba had twelve sons, of whom two are better known to me than the others, that is Penda and Eawa. Eadlit is the son of Pantha, Penda, son of Pubba, Ealbald, son of Alguing, son of Eawa, son of Penda, son of Pubba. Egfert, son of Offa, son of Thingferth, son of Enwulf, son of Ossulf, son of Eawa, son of Pubba. THE KINGS OF THE DEIRI. § 61. Woden begat Beldeg, Brond begat Siggar, who begat Sibald, who begat Zegulf, who begat Soemil, who first separated[337] Deur from Berneich (_Deira from Bernicia_.) Soemil begat Sguerthing, who begat Giulglis, who begat Ulfrea, who begat Iffi, who begat Ulli, Edwin, Osfrid, and Eanfrid. There were two sons of Edwin, who fell with him in battle at Meicen,[338] and the kingdom was never renewed in his family, because not one of his race escaped from that war; but all were slain with him by the army of Catguollaunus,[339] king of the Guenedota. Oswy begat Egfrid, the same is Ailguin, who begat Oslach, who begat Alhun, who begat Adlsing, who begat Echun, who begat Oslaph. Ida begat Eadric, who begat Ecgulf, who begat Leodwald, who begat Eata, the same is Glinmaur, who begat Eadbert and Egbert, who was the first bishop of their nation. Ida, the son of Eoppa, possessed countries on the left-hand side of Britain, _i.e._ of the Humbrian sea, and reigned twelve years, and united[340] Dynguayth Guarth-Berneich. § 62. Then Dutigirn at that time fought bravely against the nation of the Angles. At that time, Talhaiarn Cataguen[341] was famed for poetry, and Neirin, and Taliesin and Bluchbard, and Cian, who is called Guenith Guaut, were all famous at the same time in British poetry. The great king, Mailcun,[342] reigned among the Britons, _i.e._ in the district of Guenedota, because his great-great-grandfather, Cunedda, with his twelve sons, had come before from the left-hand part, _i.e._ from the country which is called Manau Gustodin, one hundred and forty-six years before Mailcun reigned, and expelled the Scots with much slaughter from those countries, and they never returned again to inhabit them. § 63. Adda, son of Ida, reigned eight years; Ethelric, son of Adda, reigned four years. Theodoric, son of Ida, reigned seven years. Freothwulf reigned six years. In whose time the kingdom of Kent, by the mission of Gregory, received baptism. Hussa reigned seven years. Against him fought four kings, Urien, and Ryderthen, and Guallauc, and Morcant. Theodoric fought bravely, together with his sons, against that Urien. But at that time sometimes the enemy and sometimes our countrymen were defeated, and he shut them up three days and three nights in the island of Metcaut; and whilst he was on an expedition he was murdered, at the instance of Morcant, out of envy, because he possessed so much superiority over all the kings in military science. Eadfered Flesaurs reigned twelve years in Bernicia, and twelve others in Deira, and gave to his wife Bebba, the town of Dynguoaroy, which from her is called Bebbanburgh.[343] Edwin, son of Alla, reigned seventeen years, seized on Elmete, and expelled Cerdic, its king. Eanfled, his daughter, received baptism, on the twelfth day after Pentecost, with all her followers, both men and women. The following Easter Edwin himself received baptism, and twelve thousand of his subjects with him. If any one wishes to know who baptized them, it was Rum Map Urbgen:[344] he was engaged forty days in baptizing all classes of the Saxons, and by his preaching many believed on Christ. § 64. Oswald son of Ethelfrid, reigned nine years; the same is Oswald Llauiguin;[345] he slew Catgublaun (Cadwalla),[346] king of Guenedot,[347] in the battle of Catscaul,[348] with much loss to his own army. Oswy, son of Ethelfrid, reigned twenty-eight years and six months. During his reign, there was a dreadful mortality among his subjects, when Catgualart (Cadwallader) was king among the Britons, succeeding his father, and he himself died amongst the rest.[349] He slew Penda in the field of Gai, and now took place the slaughter of Gai Campi, and the kings of the Britons, who went out with Penda on the expedition as far as the city of Judeu, were slain. § 65. Then Oswy restored all the wealth, which was with him in the city, to Penda; who distributed it among the kings of the Britons, that is, Atbert Judeu. But Catgabail alone, king of Guenedot, rising up in the night, escaped, together with his army, wherefore he was called Catgabail Catguommed. Egfrid, son of Oswy, reigned nine years. In his time the holy bishop Cuthbert died in the island of Medcaut.[350] It was he who made war against the Picts, and was by them slain. Penda, son of Pybba, reigned ten years; he first separated the kingdom of Mercia from that of the North-men, and slew by treachery Anna, king of the East Anglians, and St. Oswald, king of the North-men. He fought the battle of Cocboy,[351] in which fell Eawa, son of Pybba, his brother, king of the Mercians, and Oswald, king of the North-men, and he gained the victory by diabolical agency. He was not baptized, and never believed in God. § 66. From the beginning of the world to Constantinus and Rufus, are found to be five thousand six hundred and fifty-eight years. Also from the two consuls, Rufus and Rubelius, to the consul Stilicho, are three hundred and seventy-three years. Also from Stilicho to Valentinian, son of Placida, and the reign of Vortigern, are twenty-eight years. And from the reign of Vortigern to the quarrel between Guitolinus and Ambrosius, are twelve years, which is Guoloppum, that is Catgwaloph.[352] Vortigern reigned in Britain when Theodosius and Valentinian were consuls, and in the fourth year of his reign the Saxons came to Britain, in the consulship of Felix and Taurus, in the four hundredth year from the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ. From the year in which the Saxons came into Britain, and were received by Vortigern, to the time of Decius and Valerian, are sixty-nine years. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 249: And forty, according to Stevenson's new edition. The rest of this chronology is much contracted in several of the manuscripts, and hardly two of them contain it exactly the same.] [Footnote 250: This list of the Roman emperors who visited Britain, is omitted in many of the MSS.] [Footnote 251: V.R. Twenty-eight, twenty-one.] [Footnote 252: Site unknown. See note at sec. 42, p. 404.] [Footnote 253: Inis-gueith, or Gueith.] [Footnote 254: The whole of this, as far as the end of the paragraph, is omitted in several MSS.] [Footnote 255: Other MSS. Silvius.] [Footnote 256: V.R. Who should slay his father and mother, and be hated by all mankind.] [Footnote 257: V.R. He displayed such superiority among his play-fellows, that they seemed to consider him as their chief.] [Footnote 258: Tours.] [Footnote 259: V.R. Thirty-seven.] [Footnote 260: See Bede's Eccles. Hist. pp. 5, 6, note.] [Footnote 261: V.R. Partholomæus, or Bartholomæus.] [Footnote 262: A blank is here in the MS. Agnomen is found in some of the others.] [Footnote 263: V.R. Damhoctor, Clamhoctor, and Elamhoctor.] [Footnote 264: V.R. Liethan, Bethan, Vethan.] [Footnote 265: St. David's.] [Footnote 266: Guiher, probably the Welsh district Gower. Cetgueli is Caer Kidwelly, in Carmarthenshire.] [Footnote 267: North-western part of Antrim in Ulster.] [Footnote 268: V.R. Columba.] [Footnote 269: Some MSS. add, the beginning of the calculation is 23 cycles of 19 years from the incarnation of our Lord to the arrival of St. Patrick in Ireland, and they make 438 years. And from the arrival of St. Patrick to the cycle of 19 years in which we live are 22 cycles, which make 421 years.] [Footnote 270: This proves the tradition of Brutus to be older than Geoffrey or Tyssilio, unless these notices of Brutus have been interpolated in the original work of Nennius.] [Footnote 271: This genealogy is different in almost all the MSS.] [Footnote 272: Some MSS. add, I will now return to the point from which I made this digression.] [Footnote 273: There is here some corruption or defect in the original. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, p. 139 of this volume.] [Footnote 274: V.R. Cassibelanus.] [Footnote 275: V.R. Eucharistus. A marginal note in the Arundel MS. adds, "He is wrong, because the first year of Evaristus was A.D. 79, whereas the first year of Eleutherius, whom he ought to have named, was A.D. 161." Usher says, that in one MS. of Nennius he found the name of Eleutherius. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 10.] [Footnote 276: V.R. Thirty-two.] [Footnote 277: Or, the Wall. One MS. here adds, "The above-mentioned Severus constructed it of rude workmanship in length 132 miles; i.e. from Penguaul, which village is called in Scottish Cenail, in English Peneltun, to the mouth of the river Cluth and Cairpentaloch, where this wall terminates; but it was of no avail. The emperor Carausius afterwards rebuilt it, and fortified it with seven castles between the two mouths: he built also a round house of polished stones on the banks of the river Carun [Carron]: he likewise erected a triumphal arch, on which he inscribed his own name in memory of his victory."] [Footnote 278: This passage is corrupt, the meaning is briefly given in the translation.] [Footnote 279: V.R. Mirmantum, Mirmantun, Minmanton, Minimantone. The _Segontium_ of Antoninus, situated on a small river named Seiont, near Carnarvon.] [Footnote 280: This is an inaccuracy of Nennius; Maximus and Maximianus were one and the same person; or rather no such person as Maximianus ever reigned in Britain.] [Footnote 281: Geoffrey of Monmouth gives the title of consul to several British generals who lived after this time. It is not unlikely that the town, name, and dignity, still lingered in the province after the Romans were gone, particularly as the cities of Britain maintained for a time a species of independence.] [Footnote 282: This district, in modern language, extended from the great St. Bernard in Piedmont to Cantavic in Picardy, and from Picardy to the western coast of France.] [Footnote 283: These words relate evidently to some cause of dispute between the Romans, Ambrosius, and Vortigern. Vortigern is said to have been sovereign of the Dimetæ, and Ambrosius son to the king of the Dumnonii. The latter was half a Roman by descent, and naturally supported the Roman interest: the former was entirely a Briton, and as naturally seconded by the original Britons. See Whitaker's Manchester, b. ii. c. 2.] [Footnote 284: V.R. not the God of gods, the Amen, the Lord of Hosts, but one of their idols which they worshipped.] [Footnote 285: Sometimes called Ruoichin, Ruith-in, or "river island," separated from the rest of Kent and the mainland of Britain by the estuary of the Wantsum, which, though now a small brook, was formerly navigable for large vessels, and in Bede's time was three stadia broad, and fordable only at two places. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 37, _note_.] [Footnote 286: The rest of this sentence is omitted in some of the MSS.] [Footnote 287: King of Powys. V.R. Benli in the district of Ial (in Derbyshire); in the district of Dalrieta; Belinus; Beluni; and Benty.] [Footnote 288: Or Cadell Deyrnllug, prince of the Vale Royal and the upper part of Powys.] [Footnote 289: V.R. Who had come with him from the island of Oghgul, Oehgul (or Tingle), Angul. According to Gunn, a small island in the duchy of Sleswick in Denmark, now called _Angel_, of which Flensburg is the metropolis. Hence the origin of the _Angles_.] [Footnote 290: V.R. Gnoiram cono, Goiranegono, Guoiracgono. Malmesbury, Gorongi; Camden, Guorong, supposed to mean governor, or viceroy.] [Footnote 291: Antoninus's wall.] [Footnote 292: Some MSS. add, "beyond the Frenesic, Fresicum (_or_ Fresic) sea," i.e. which is between us and the Scotch. The sea between Scotland and Ireland. Camden translates it "beyond the Frith;" Langhorne says, "Solway Frith."] [Footnote 293: V.R. "Immodest" is omitted in some MSS.] [Footnote 294: V.R. You shall find a fortified city in which you may defend yourself.] [Footnote 295: V.R. Guined, Guoienet, Guenez, North Wales.] [Footnote 296: V.R. Heremi, Heriri, or Eryri, signifying eagle rocks, the mountains of Snowdon, in Carnarvonshire. The spot alluded to is supposed to be Dinas Emrys, or the fortress of Ambrosius.] [Footnote 297: V.R. Elleti, Electi, Gleti. Supposed to be Bassalig in Monmouthshire.] [Footnote 298: The district between the Usk and Rumney, in Monmouthshire.] [Footnote 299: An ancient scholiast adds, "He then built Guasmoric, near Lugubalia [Carlisle], a city which in English is called Palmecaster." Some difference of opinion exists among antiquaries respecting the site of Vortigern's castle or city. Usher places it at _Gwent_, Monmouthshire, which name, he says, was taken from Caer-Went, near Chepstow. This appears to agree with Geoffrey's account, in page 208 of this volume. See Usher's Britan. Eccles. cap. v. p. 23. According to others, supposed to be the city from the ruins of which arose the castle of Gurthrenion, in Radnorshire, Camden's Britannia, p. 479. Whitaker, however, says that Cair Guorthegirn was the Maridunum of the Romans, and the present Caermarthen. (Hist. of Manchester, book ii. c. 1.) See also Nennius, sec. 47.] [Footnote 300: Some MSS. here add, "This Vortimer, the son of Vortigern, in a synod held at Guartherniaun, after the wicked king, on account of the incest committed with his daughter, fled from the face of Germanus and the British clergy, would not consent to his father's wickedness; but returning to St. Germanus, and falling down at his feet, he sued for pardon; and in atonement for the calumny brought upon Germanus by his father and sister, gave him the land, in which the forementioned bishop had endured such abuse, to be his own for ever. Whence, in memory of St. Germanus, it received the name of Guarenniaun (Guartherniaun, Gurthrenion, Gwarth Ennian) which signifies, _a calumny justly retorted_, since, when he thought to reproach the bishop, he covered himself with reproach."] [Footnote 301: According to Langhorne (p. 13), Epsford was afterwards called, in the British tongue, _Saessenaeg habail_, or 'the slaughter of the Saxons.' See also the note at page 188 of this volume.] [Footnote 302: V.R. "The stone of Titulus," thought to be Stone in Kent, or Larger-stone in Suffolk.] [Footnote 303: Rapin says he was buried at Lincoln; Geoffrey, at London, see p. 189.] [Footnote 304: V.R. Of his wife, and no one was able manfully to drive them off because they had occupied Britain not from their own valour, but by God's permission.] [Footnote 305: The VV. RR. of this section are too numerous to be inserted.] [Footnote 306: A district of Radnorshire, forming the present hundred of Rhaindr.] [Footnote 307: V.R. This paragraph is omitted in the MSS.] [Footnote 308: The Tobias of Ptolemy.] [Footnote 309: In the northern part of the present counties of Radnor and Brecknock.] [Footnote 310: V.R. The MSS. add, 'and he had one daughter, who was the mother of St. Faustus.'] [Footnote 311: Fernvail, or Farinmail, appears to have been king of Gwent or Monmouth.] [Footnote 312: V.R. 'Two provinces, Builth and Guorthegirnaim.'] [Footnote 313: V.R. All this to the word 'Amen,' in other MSS. is placed after the legend of St. Patrick.] [Footnote 314: Supposed by some to be the Glem, in Lincolnshire; but most probably the Glen, in the northern part of Northumberland.] [Footnote 315: Or Dubglas. The little river Dunglas, which formed the southern boundary of Lothian. Whitaker says, the river Duglas, in Lancashire, near Wigan.] [Footnote 316: Not a river, but an isolated rock in the Frith of Forth, near the town of North Berwick, called "The Bass." Some think it is the river Lusas, in Hampshire.] [Footnote 317: The Caledonian forest; or the forest of Englewood, extending from Penrith to Carlisle.] [Footnote 318: Variously supposed to be in Cornwall, or Binchester in Durham, but most probably the Roman station of Garionenum, near Yarmouth, in Norfolk.] [Footnote 319: V.R. The image of the cross of Christ, and of the perpetual Virgin St. Mary.] [Footnote 320: V.R. For Arthur proceeded to Jerusalem, and there made a cross to the size of the Saviour's cross, and there it was consecrated, and for three successive days he fasted, watched, and prayed, before the Lord's cross, that the Lord would give him the victory, by this sign, over the heathen; which also took place, and he took with him the image of St. Mary, the fragments of which are still preserved in great veneration at Wedale, in English Wodale, in Latin _Vallis-doloris_. Wodale is a village in the province of Lodonesia, but now of the jurisdiction of the bishop of St. Andrew's, of Scotland, six miles on the west of that heretofore noble and eminent monastery of Meilros.] [Footnote 321: Exeter.] [Footnote 322: Or Ribroit, the Brue, in Somersetshire; or the Ribble, in Lancashire.] [Footnote 323: Or Agned Cathregonion, Cadbury, in Somersetshire; or Edinburgh.] [Footnote 324: Bath.] [Footnote 325: At Fordun, in the district of Mearns, in Scotland.--_Usher._] [Footnote 326: V.R. Germanus "sent the elder Segerus with him to a wonderful man, the holy bishop Amathearex." Another MS. "Sent the elder Segerus, a bishop, with him to Amatheorex."] [Footnote 327: V.R. "Received the episcopal degree from the holy bishop Amatheorex." Another MS. "Received the episcopal degree from Matheorex and the holy bishop."] [Footnote 328: King of Connaught.] [Footnote 329: A mountain in the west of Connaught, county of Mayo, now called Croagh-Patrick.] [Footnote 330: V.R. that no Irishman may be alive on the day of judgment, because they will be destroyed seven years before in honour of St. Patrick.] [Footnote 331: V.R. Fifteen.] [Footnote 332: V.R. By the holy bishop Amatheus.] [Footnote 333: Here ends the Vatican MS. collated by Mr. Gunn.] [Footnote 334: These titles are not part of the original work, but added in the MSS. by a later hand.] [Footnote 335: Guercha is a distortion of the name of Uffa or Wuffa, arising in the first instance from the pronunciation of the British writer; and, in the next place, from the error of the transcriber.--_Palgrave._] [Footnote 336: Or Wibba.] [Footnote 337: V.R. Conquered.] [Footnote 338: Hatfield, in the West Riding of Yorkshire. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 106.] [Footnote 339: Cadwalla, king of the Western Britons.] [Footnote 340: V.R. United the castle, i.e. Dinguerin and Gurdbernech, which two countries were in one country, i.e. Deurabernech; Anglice Deira and Bernicia. Another MS. Built Dinguayth Guarth Berneich.] [Footnote 341: Talhaiarn was a descendant of Coel Godebog, and chaplain to Ambrosius.] [Footnote 342: Better known as Maelgwn.] [Footnote 343: Bambrough. See Bede, iii. 6, and Sax. Chron. A.D. 547.] [Footnote 344: See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 96. From the share which Paulinus had in the conversion of the Northumbrian king, it has been inferred that he actually baptized him; but Nennius expressly states, that the holy sacrament was administered by Rhun, the son of Urien. The Welsh name of Paulinus is Pawl Hen, or Polin Esgob.] [Footnote 345: Llauiguin, means the "fair," or the "bounteous hand."] [Footnote 346: This name has been variously written; Bede spells it _Caedualla_ (Cadwalla); Nennius, _Catgublaun_; the Saxon Chronicle, _Ceadwalla_; and the Welsh writers, _Cadwallon_ and _Katwallawn_: and though the identity of the person may be clearly proved, it is necessary to observe these particulars to distinguish him from _Cadwaladr_, and from another _Caedualla_ or _Cædwalla_, a king of the West Saxons; all of whom, as they lived within a short time of each other, have been frequently confounded together.--_Rees's Welsh Saints._] [Footnote 347: Gwynedd, North Wales.] [Footnote 348: Bede says at Denis's-brook. Eccles Hist. p. 109.] [Footnote 349: The British chronicles assert that Cadwallader died at Rome, whilst Nennius would lead us to conclude that he perished in the pestilence at home. See Geoffrey, p. 288.] [Footnote 350: The isle of Farne.] [Footnote 351: Maserfield. See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 123.] [Footnote 352: In Carmarthenshire. Perhaps the town now called Kidwelly.] THE SPURIOUS CHRONICLE OF RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER. [_An eighteenth century forgery._] [_SPURIOUS._] RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER ON THE ANCIENT STATE OF BRITAIN. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. 1. The shore of Gaul would be the boundary of the world, did not the island[353] of Britain claim from its magnitude almost the appellation of another world; for if measured to the Caledonian promontory[354] it extends more than eight hundred miles in length.[355] 2. Britain was first called by the ancients Albion,[356] from its _white_ cliffs; and afterwards in the language of the natives, Britain. Hence all the islands hereafter described were denominated British.[357] 3. Britain is situated between the north and west,[358] opposite to, though at some distance from, Germany, Gaul, and Spain, the most considerable parts of Europe, and is bounded by the Atlantic Ocean. 4. On the south of Britain lies Belgic Gaul, from which coast passengers usually sail to the Rhutupian port.[359] This place is distant from Gessoriacum,[360] a town of the Morini, the port most frequented by the Britons, fifty miles, or according to others, four hundred and fifty stadia. From thence may be seen the country of the Britons whom Virgil in his Eclogues describes as separated from the whole world,-- "--penitus toto divisos orbe Britannos." 5. By Agrippa, an ancient geographer, its breadth is estimated at three hundred miles; but with more truth by Bede at two hundred, exclusive of the promontories.[361] If their sinuosities be taken into the computation, its circuit will be three thousand six hundred miles. Marcian, a Greek author, agrees with me in stating it at MDI[OO]LXXV.[362] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 353: The early Greeks and Romans doubted whether Britain was an island, or part of the continent. This uncertainty gave rise to a controversy which was not settled till the time of the proprætor Julius Agricola.--_Tac. Vit. Agric. c._ 38. _Dio. Cass. Hist. Rom. lib._ 39.] [Footnote 354: Dunnet Head.] [Footnote 355: Richard gives too great an extent to our island, which, according to the most accurate observations, stretches only from lat. 49° 48', the most southern point, to Dunnet Head, which is in lat. 58° 40' or scarcely 540 geographical miles.] [Footnote 356: Various explanations have been given of the names of Albion and Britain, applied to our island. Some derive Albion from the white rocks which bound the coast; some from Albion, a son of Neptune, who is represented as its first discoverer and cultivator; others have likewise derived the name Britain from the Phoenician or Hebrew _Baratanac_, signifying the land of tin. It was also called by the natives, _Hyperborea_, _Atlantica_, _Cassiteris_, _Romana_, and _Thule_. According to the British Triads, "the three names given to the isle of Britain, from the beginning, were: before it was inhabited, the name of _Clas Merddyn_ (or the green spot defended by water); after it was inhabited, _Y Vêl Ynys_ (the honey island); and, after it was brought under one government by Prydain, son of Aedd, it was called _Ynys Prydain_ (or the isle of Britain)." In some old writings it is also termed, _Yr Ynys Wen_, (or the white island.)] [Footnote 357: This part is taken from Pliny, who enumerates the British isles in the following order:--Orcades, 40; Acmodæ, 7; Hæbudes, 30. Between Britain and Ireland, Mona, Menapia, Ricnea, Vectis, Silimnus, Andros; beneath, Siambis and Axuntos: on the opposite side, towards the German Sea, the Glessariæ, called Electrides by the later Greek writers, from the amber found there: and last of all, Thule. He refers to others mentioned by different authors, viz., Mictis, Scandia, Dumnia, Bergos, and Nerigos.] [Footnote 358: That is, from Rome. Richard, in copying the Roman writers, adopted their expressions in regard to the relative positions of places.] [Footnote 359: Richborough, Kent.] [Footnote 360: Boulogne.] [Footnote 361: Richard errs in supposing the estimation of Bede more accurate than that of Agrippa.] [Footnote 362: The numerals are here so incorrect that it is difficult to discover what number was meant by Richard. Marcian observes that the circuit of our island is not more than 28,604 stadia, or 3575 miles, nor less than 20,526, or 2576 miles. Hence Bertram is led to prefer the greater number.] CHAP. II. 1. Albion, called by Chrysostom Great Britain, is, according to Cæsar, of a triangular shape, resembling Sicily. One of the sides lies opposite to Celtic Gaul. One angle of this side, which is the Cantian promontory,[363] is situated to the east; the other, the Ocrinian promontory,[364] in the country of the Damnonii, faces the south and the province of Tarraconensis in Spain. This side is about five hundred miles in length. 2. Another side stretches towards Ireland and the west, the length of which, according to the opinion of the ancients, is seven hundred miles. 3. The third side is situated to the north, and is opposite to no land except a few islands;[365] but the angle of this side chiefly trends towards Germania Magna.[366] The length from the Novantian Chersonesus,[367] through the country of the Taixali, to the Cantian promontory,[368] is estimated at eight hundred miles. Thus all erroneously compute the circuit of the island to be two thousand miles; for from the Cantian promontory to Ocrinum,[369] the distance is four hundred miles; from thence to Novantum, a thousand; and from thence to the Cantian promontory, two thousand two hundred. The circumference of the whole island is therefore three thousand six hundred miles.[370] 4. Livy and Fabius Rusticus compare the form of Britain to an oblong shield or battle-axe; and as, according to Tacitus, it bears that figure on the side of Caledonia, the comparison was extended to the whole island, though the bold promontories at its further extremity give it the shape of a wedge. But Cæsar and Pomponius Mela assert that its form is triangular. 5. If credit may be given to the celebrated geographer Ptolemy and his contemporary writers, the island resembles an inverted Z,[371] but according to the maps the comparison is not exact. The triangular shape, however, seems to belong to England alone.[372] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 363: North Foreland.] [Footnote 364: Lizard Point.] [Footnote 365: The Orkney and Shetland isles.] [Footnote 366: Under this name the ancients comprised not only Germany proper but Denmark, Norway, &c.] [Footnote 367: Rens of Galloway.] [Footnote 368: North Foreland.] [Footnote 369: Lizard Point.] [Footnote 370: Bertram has endeavoured to reconcile the various and discordant calculations given by different ancient authors of the circuit of our island. On such vague principles as these estimations are made, it would be almost impossible, even now, for two persons to produce the same result.] [Footnote 371: Ptolemy's expression is obscure; but he was evidently led to this supposition by the notion that Caledonia or Scotland trended to the east, as appears from his latitudes and longitudes. This form, therefore, he not unaptly compares to the inverted Z. It would be a trespass on the patience of the reader to attempt to reconcile what is irreconcilable.] [Footnote 372: These words are chiefly taken from Tacitus. The obscurity of the expression and the absurdity of the comparison, will sufficiently show the ignorance of those ancients whose works have reached the present time, in regard to our island.--_Tacit. Vit. Agricolæ, sec. 10._] CHAP. III. 1. The original inhabitants of Britain, whether indigenous or foreign, are, like those of most other countries, unknown. The Jews alone, and by their means the contiguous nations, have the happiness of tracing their descent since the creation of the world from undoubted documents. 2. From the difference of personal appearance different conjectures have been drawn. The red hair and large limbs of the Caledonians proclaim their German origin; the painted faces and curled locks of the Silures, and their situation opposite to Spain, corroborate the assertion of Tacitus, that the ancient Iberians passed over and occupied this country and Ireland. Those who live nearest the Gauls resemble them, either from the strength of the original stock, or from the effects which the same positions of the heavens produce on the human body. 3. If I were inclined to indulge a conjecture, I might here mention that the Veneti[373] in their commercial expeditions first introduced inhabitants and religion into this country. Writers are not wanting, who assert that Hercules came hither and established a sovereignty. But it is needless to dwell on such remote antiquities and idle tales.[374] 4. On the whole, however, it is probable that the Gauls occupied the contiguous regions. According to Tacitus, their sacred rites and superstitions may be traced; nor is the language very different; and lastly, the tradition of the druids, with the names of the states which still retain the same appellations as the people sprung from the cities of Gaul, who came hither and began to cultivate the country.[375] 5. According to Cæsar, the country was extremely populous, and contained numerous buildings, not dissimilar to those of the Gauls. It was rich in cattle. 6. The inhabitants of the southern part were the most civilized, and in their customs differed little from the Gauls. Those of the more distant parts did not raise corn; but lived on fruits and flesh. They were ignorant of the use of wool and garments, although in severe weather they covered themselves with the skins of sheep or deer. They were accustomed to bathe in the rivers. 7. All the Britons formerly stained their bodies of a blue colour, which according to Cæsar gave them a more terrible appearance in battle. They wore their hair long, and shaved all parts of the body except the head and the upper lip. 8. Ten or twelve Britons had their wives in common; and this custom particularly prevailed among brethren, and between fathers and sons; but the children were considered as belonging to him who had first taken the virgin to wife. The mothers suckled their own children, and did not employ maids and nurses. 9. According to Cæsar also they used brass money, and iron rings of a certain weight instead of coin.[376] 10. The Britons deemed it unlawful to eat hares,[377] fowls, or geese; but they kept those animals for pleasure. 11. They had pearls, bits made of ivory, bracelets, vessels of amber and glass, agates, and, what surpasses all, great abundance of tin. 12. They navigated in barks, the keels and ribs of which were formed of light materials; the other parts were made of wicker and covered with the hides of oxen.[378] During their voyages, as Solinus asserts, they abstain from food.[379] 13. Britain produces people and kings of people, as Pomponius Mela writes in his third book; but they are all uncivilized, and in proportion as they are more distant from the continent, are more ignorant of riches; their wealth consisting chiefly in cattle and land. They are addicted to litigation and war, and frequently attack each other, from a desire of command, and of enlarging their possessions. It is customary indeed for the Britons to wage war under the guidance of women, and not to regard the difference of sex in the distribution of power. 14. The Britons not only fought on foot and on horseback, but in chariots drawn by two horses, and armed in the Gallic manner. Those chariots, to the axle-trees of which scythes were fixed, were called _covini_, or wains. 15. Cæsar relates that they employed cavalry in their wars, which before the coming of the Romans were almost perpetual. All were skilled in war; each in proportion to his family and wealth supported a number of retainers, and this was the only species of honour with which they were acquainted.[380] 16. The principal strength of the Britons was in their infantry, who fought with darts, large swords, and short targets. According to Tacitus, their swords were blunt at the point. 17. Cæsar in his fourth book thus describes their mode of fighting in that species of chariots called _essedæ_.[381] At first they drove through the army in all directions, hurling their darts; and by the terror of the horses, and the noise of the wheels, generally threw the ranks of the enemy into disorder. When they had penetrated between the troops of cavalry, they leaped from their chariots and waged unequal war on foot. Meanwhile the chariots were drawn up at a distance from the battle, and placed in such a position, that if pressed by the enemy, the warriors could effect a retreat to their own army. They thus displayed the rapid evolutions of cavalry, and the firmness of infantry, and were so expert by exercise, as to hold up the horses in steep descents, to check and turn them suddenly at full speed, to run along the pole, stand on the yoke, and then spring into the chariot. 18. The mode of fighting on horseback threatened equal danger to those who gave way, or those who pursued. They never engaged in close lines, but in scattered bodies, and with great intervals; they had their appointed stations, and relieved each other by turns; and fresh combatants succeeded those who were fatigued. The cavalry also used darts. 19. It is not easy to determine the form of government in Britain previous to the coming of the Romans. It is however certain that before their times there was no vestige of a monarchy, but rather of a democracy, unless perhaps it may seem to have resembled an aristocracy.[382] The authority of the Druids in affairs of the greatest moment was considerable. Some chiefs are commemorated in their ancient records, yet these appear to have possessed no permanent power; but to have been created, like the Roman dictators, in times of imminent danger. Nor are instances wanting among them, as among other brave nations, when they chose even the leader of their adversaries to conduct their armies. He, therefore, who before was their enemy, afterwards fought on their side. 20. The Britons exceeded in stature both the Gauls and the Romans. Strabo affirms that he saw at Rome some British youths, who were considerably taller than the Romans. 21. The more wealthy inhabitants of South Britain were accustomed to ornament the middle finger of the left hand with a gold ring; but a gold collar[383] round the neck was the distinguishing mark of eminence. Those of the northern regions, who were the indigenous inhabitants of the island from time immemorial, were almost wholly ignorant of the use of clothes, and surrounded their waists and necks, as Herodian reports, with iron rings, which they considered as ornaments and proofs of wealth. They carried a narrow shield, fitter for use than ornament, and a lance, with a sword pendant from their naked and painted bodies. They rejected or despised the breast-plate and helmet, because such armour impeded their passage through the marshes. 22. Among other particulars, this custom prevailed in Britain. They stopped travellers and merchants, and compelled them to relate what they had heard, or knew, worthy of notice. The common people usually surrounded foreign merchants in the towns, and obliged them to tell from whence they came, and what curious things they had observed. On such vague reports they often rashly acted, and thus were generally deceived; for many answered them agreeably to their desires with fictitious stories.[384] 23. Their interments were magnificent; and all things which they prized during life, even arms and animals, were thrown into the funeral pile. A heap of earth and turf formed the sepulchre.[385] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 373: The Veneti, a tribe seated on the coast of Armorica or Bretagne, distinguished for their maritime power, and with whom Cæsar waged war. Their territory according to his description, was part of Celtic Gaul, and the present Vannes was their capital.] [Footnote 374: To these conjectures relative to the original inhabitants, and subsequent colonists of Britain, it may not be uninteresting to add the accounts preserved in the Welsh Triads. The historical Triads record that the first colonists of Britain were _Cymry_, who originally came from _Defrobani Gwlad Yr Hav_, the summer land, or Tauric Chersonesus. There they have left many traces of their name preserved by ancient authors, among which we may instance the Cimmerian Bosphorus. Subsequent colonists arrived from the neighbouring continent at various times. The _Loegrwys_ (Loegrians) from Gascogne; the _Brython_ from _Lydaw_ (Britanny), who were descendants from the original stock of the _Cymry_. Two descents are also mentioned in Albin, or North Britain; one called the tribe of _Celyddon_, the other the primitive _Gwyddelians_. Another descent is said to have been made in the south, in _Ynys-Wyth_, or the Isle of Wight, by the men of _Galedin_ (the Belgæ), when their native country was inundated. Another colony called the _Corani_ came from the country of the _Pwyl_ (Poland), and settled on the sea coast, about the river Humber. A descent in Albin, or North Britain, of a colony of _Gwyddelian Ficti_ [Irish Picts], who are described as coming from the sea of _Loclyn_ (the Baltic); and a partial settlement of the men of _Loclyn_ (Scandinavians), who were expelled after remaining for three generations. The arrival of the Romans and Saxons is also mentioned, as well as some partial settlements of Gwyddelians from Ireland.] [Footnote 375: We discover a few cities in Gaul, bearing nearly the same appellations as those of Britain; and in both countries we find the Atrebates, the Morini, the Ædui, the Senones, the Menapii, and the Rhemi.] [Footnote 376: The natives of China and Japan follow a similar custom in regard to gold and silver, which are not coined, but pass according to weight.] [Footnote 377: It seems that they considered the appearance of a hare a fortunate omen; for the Roman historians observe that Boadicea, after haranguing her troops, let loose a hare which she had concealed in her garments.] [Footnote 378: This species of boat is still used on the Welsh rivers, and is called a coricle in English, and _cwch_ in Welsh. It is so light that a man may carry one on his back.] [Footnote 379: Richard has mistaken the sense of Solinus, who, in describing the passage from Great Britain to Ireland, observes that from its shortness they abstained from food. "Navigantes escis abstinent, pro freti latitudine." C. 25.] [Footnote 380: In all periods the Britons seem to have been divided into numerous petty communities or states, headed by chiefs, who are here dignified with the title of kings. From the jealousies and weakness attending such a state of society, the island first became a prey to the Romans, and afterwards to the Saxons; and when the Britons were confined to the mountains of Wales, the same causes hastened the annexation of their country to England.] [Footnote 381: In the early ages chariots were universally used in war. In the Scriptures they are frequently mentioned as forming the principal strength of an army; and the mode of fighting in chariots among the Greeks and Trojans, according to the description of Homer, was exactly similar to that of the Britons. The steeds of his heroes were "Practised alike to stop, to turn, to chase, To dare the shock, or urge the rapid race." His warriors sometimes drive through the ranks of the enemy, sometimes fight from their chariots, and sometimes alight and maintain the combat on foot, while their chariots retire to the rear. "This counsel pleased, the godlike Hector sprung Swift from his seat; his clanging armour rung. The chief's example follow'd by his train, Each quits his car and issues on the plain; By orders strict the charioteers enjoin'd Compel the coursers to their ranks behind." The Britons, however, appear to have devised an improvement in this mode of warfare, which was unknown to the Greeks. Their chariots seem to have been of two kinds, the _covini_ or wains, heavy and armed with scythes, to break the thickest order of the enemy; and the _essedæ_, a lighter kind, adapted probably to situations and circumstances in which the _covini_ could not act, and occasionally performing the duties of cavalry. The _essedæ_, with the cavalry, were pushed forward to oppose the first landing of Cæsar; and Cassivellaunus afterwards left 4000 _essedæ_ as a corps of observation to watch his movements.--_Cæsar. Comment. lib._ 5, sec. 15.] [Footnote 382: The government of the ancient Britons may be denominated patriarchal. Each community was governed by its elders; and every individual who could not prove his kindred to some community, through nine descents, and the same number of collateral affinities, was not considered as a freeman. Beyond this degree of kindred, they were formed into new communities. The elders of the different communities were subordinate to the elders of the tribes. But in times of public danger, as is recorded in the Triads, some chief of distinguished abilities was entrusted with the supreme authority over the tribes or communities, who united in common defence--Such were Caswallon (Cassivellaunus), Caradwg (Caractacus), and Owain, son of Macsen.] [Footnote 383: This _torques_, chain, or rather wreath, is frequently alluded to by the early British bards. "Yet in the battle of Arderydd I wore the _golden torques_" _Merddin Avellanaw._ "Four and twenty sons I have had Wearing the _golden wreath_, leaders of armies." _Llywarch Hên._ "Of all who went to Cattraeth, wearing the _golden torc or wreath_." _Aneurin._ The same bard states that in the battle of Cattraeth were three hundred and sixty who wore the _golden torques_. We give a description of one of these ornaments found near the castle of Harlech, in Merionethshire, in 1692. "It is a wreathed bar of gold, or perhaps three or four rods jointly twisted, about four feet long, but naturally bending only one way, in the form of a hatband. It is hooked at both ends. It is of a round form, about an inch in circumference, and weighs eight ounces."--_Gibson's Camden_, p. 658. Another mark of dignity was a string of amber beads worn round the head. To this Aneurin alludes-- "With wreaths of _amber_ twined round his temples." These beads have been frequently found in tumuli, particularly in those on Salisbury Plain.--See _Turner's Vindication of the Welsh Bards.--Owen's Elegies of Llywarch Hên_.] [Footnote 384: This is Cæsar's account of a Gallic custom; but it is applied, not without reason, to the Britons, and indeed is equally applicable to all uncivilized people.] [Footnote 385: As the classic authors have left us no description of the modes of interment among the Britons, Richard was induced, by the conformity of their manners and customs to those of the Gauls, to adopt the words used by Cæsar in his account of the Gallic funerals. Unfortunately the remains of the British bards afford little assistance in supplying this deficiency. It appears, however, that the Britons raised tumuli over their dead, and continued the practice till after the introduction of Christianity; and that their other modes of interment were the _carned_, or heap of stones; the _cistvaen_, or stone chest; and perhaps the _cromlec_, or hanging stone. From a curious fragment commemorating the graves of the British warriors, which is printed in the first volume of the Welch Archæology, we learn further, that they buried their dead on the top of hills and lofty cliffs, on declivities, in heaths and secluded valleys, on the banks and near the fords of rivers, and on the sea-shore "where the ninth wave breaks." Allusions are also made to corresponding stones raised on these graves; and it is said, "the _long_ graves in Gwanas, no one knows to whom they belong nor what is their history." As the modes of interment among all early nations were in many respects similar, there is perhaps no part of our national antiquities which has given scope to so much conjecture as this. The reader who is desirous of more particular information relative to this subject, may at least find amusement in consulting the works of Stukeley, Douglas's _Nenia Britannica_, the _Archæologia_, and various accounts scattered in different periodical publications.] CHAP. IV. 1. All the Britons, like the Gauls, were much addicted to superstitious ceremonies; and those who laboured under severe disorders, or were exposed to the dangers of war, either offered human victims, or made a vow to perform such a sacrifice. 2. The druids were employed in the performance of these cruel rites; and they believed that the gods could not be appeased unless the life of a man was ransomed with human blood. Hence arose the public institution of such sacrifices; and those who had been surprised in theft, robbery, or any other delinquency, were considered as the most acceptable victims. But when criminals could not be obtained, even the innocent were put to death, that the gods might be appeased. 3. The sacred ceremonies could not be performed except in the presence of the druids; and on them devolved the office of providing for the public as well as private rites. They were the guardians of religion and the interpreters of mysteries; and being skilled in medicine, were consulted for the preservation or restoration of health. 4. Among their gods, the principal object of their worship was Mercury.[386] Next to him they adored justice (under the name of Astarte), then Apollo, and Mars (who was called Vitucadrus), Jupiter, Minerva, Hercules, Victory (called Andate), Diana, Cybele, and Pluto. Of these deities they held the same opinions as other nations. 5. The Britons, like the Gauls, endeavoured to derive their origin from Dis or Pluto, boasting of this ancient tradition of the druids. For this reason they divided time, not by the number of days, but of nights, and thus distinguished the commencement of the month, and the time of their birth. This custom agrees with the ancient mode of computation adopted in Genesis, chapter i.[387] 6. The druids, being held in high veneration, were greatly followed by the young men for the sake of their instructions. They decided almost all public and private controversies, and determined disputes relative to inheritance or the boundaries of lands. They decreed rewards and punishments, and enforced their decisions by an exclusion from the sacrifices. This exclusion was deemed the severest punishment; because the interdicted, being deemed impious and wicked, were shunned as if contagious; justice was refused to their supplications, and they were allowed no marks of honour.[388] 7. Over the druids presided a chief, vested with supreme authority. At his death he was succeeded by the next in dignity; but if there were several of equal rank, the contest was decided by the suffrages of their body; and sometimes they even contended in arms for this honour.[389] 8. The druids went not to war, paid no tribute like the rest of the people, were exempted from military duties, and enjoyed immunities in all things. From these high privileges many either voluntarily entered into their order, or were placed in it by friends or parents. 9. They learned a number of verses, which were the only kind of memorials or annals in use among them.[390] Some persons accordingly remained twenty years under their instruction, which they did not deem it lawful to commit to writing, though on other subjects they employed the Greek alphabet. "This custom," to use the words of Julius Cæsar, "seems to have been adopted for two reasons: first, not to expose their doctrines to the common people; and, secondly, lest their scholars, trusting to letters, should be less anxious to remember their precepts; for such assistance commonly diminishes application, and weakens the memory." 10. In the first place they circulated the doctrine that souls do not die, but migrate into other bodies.[391] By this principle they hoped men would be more powerfully actuated to virtue, and delivered from the fear of death. They likewise instructed students in the knowledge of the heavenly bodies, in geography, the nature of things, and the power of the gods.[392] 11. Their admiration of the mistletoe must not be omitted. The druids esteemed nothing more sacred than the mistletoe, and the tree on which it grew, if an oak. They particularly delighted in groves of oaks,[393] and performed no sacred rite without branches of that tree, and hence seems to be derived their name of druids, [Greek: Druides]. Whatever grew on an oak was considered as sent from heaven, and as a sign that the tree was chosen by God himself. The mistletoe was difficult to be found, and when discovered was gathered with religious ceremonies, particularly at the sixth day of the moon (from which period they dated their months and years, and their cycle of thirty years,) because the moon was supposed to possess extraordinary powers when she had not completed her second quarter. The mistletoe was called in their language _all heal_.[394] The sacrifice and the feast being duly prepared under the tree, they led thither two white bulls, whose horns were then bound for the first time.[395] The priest, clothed in a white vestment, ascending the tree, cut off the mistletoe with a golden bill, and received it in a white cloth. They then slew the victims, invoking the favour of the Deity on their offering. They conceived that the mistletoe cured sterility in animals; and considered it as a specific against all poisons. So great was the superstition generally prevailing among nations with respect to frivolous objects. 13. At a certain time of the year the druids retired to a consecrated grove in the island of Mona, whither all persons among whom controversies had arisen, repaired for the decision of their disputes. 14. Besides the druids, there were among the Gauls and Britons poets, called bards,[396] who sang in heroic measures the deeds of the gods and heroes, accompanied with the sweet notes of the lyre. 15. Concerning the druids and bards, I shall conclude this chapter in the words of Lucan:-- "You too, ye bards! whom sacred raptures fire. To chant your heroes to your country's lyre; Who consecrate, in your immortal strain, Brave patriot souls, in righteous battle slain, Securely now the tuneful task renew, And noblest themes in deathless songs pursue. The druids now, while arms are heard no more, Old mysteries and barbarous rites restore, A tribe who singular religion love, And haunt the lonely coverts of the grove. To these, and these of all mankind alone, The gods are sure revealed or sure unknown. If dying mortals' doom they sing aright, No ghosts descend to dwell in dreadful night; No parting souls to grisly Pluto go, Nor seek the dreary silent shades below; But forth they fly immortal in their kind, And other bodies in new worlds they find; Thus life for ever runs its endless race, And like a line death but divides the space, A stop which can but for a moment last, A point between the future and the past. Thrice happy they beneath their northern skies, Who that worst fear--the fear of death--despise Hence they no cares for this frail being feel, But rush undaunted on the pointed steel; Provoke approaching fate, and bravely scorn To spare that life which must so soon return." _Rowe's Lucan_, book i. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 386: This passage has puzzled the British antiquaries, because it militates against the grand principle of the druidic theology, and because, as they assert, no traces of the Greek or Roman deities are found among the early Britons. Possibly some of the British tribes might have brought this mode of worship from Gaul; but more probably the assertion was derived from the misconception of the ancient authors themselves, who gave the names of their own deities to the objects of adoration distinguished by similar attributes in other countries. The account is borrowed from Cæsar's description of the Gauls, lib. vi. § 15.] [Footnote 387: "And the _evening_ and the morning were the first day," &c. ver. 5. We also still say a se'n_night_, a fortnight.] [Footnote 388: Like the excommunication of the catholic church.] [Footnote 389: Such a custom would contravene the principles of the druidic or bardic system, which prohibited them from using arms. The remark seems to have been extended to a general application by Richard, from a single instance recorded by Cæsar, of a druidic election in Gaul thus decided.] [Footnote 390: According to the opinion of the Welsh antiquaries, the system of druidical knowledge forms the basis of the Triads. If this be the case, it must be confessed that the bards possessed a profound knowledge of human nature, uncommon critical sagacity, and a perfect acquaintance with the harmony of language and the properties of metre. For example, the subjects of the poetical Triads are, The Welsh language. Fancy and invention. The design of poetry. Nature of just thinking. Rules of arrangement. Rules of description. Variety of matter and invention. Rules of composition; comprising the laws of verse, rhyme, stanzas, consonancy or alliteration, and accent. We quote a few of these Triads to show their nature and structure. The three qualifications of poetry;--endowment of genius, judgment from experience, and happiness of mind. The three foundations of judgment;--bold design, frequent practice, and frequent mistakes. The three foundations of learning;--seeing much, suffering much, and studying much. The three foundations of happiness;--a suffering with contentment, a hope that it will come, and a belief that it will be. The three foundations of thought;--perspicuity, amplitude, and justness. The three canons of perspicuity;--the word that is necessary, the quantity that is necessary, and the manner that is necessary. The three canons of amplitude;--appropriate thought, variety of thought, and requisite thought.] [Footnote 391: According to the Triads, the theology of the bards was pure monotheism. They taught also the transmigration of souls; believing that the soul passed by death through all the gradations of animal life, from Anoom, the bottomless abyss, or lowest degree of animation, up to the highest degree of spiritual existence next to the Supreme Being. Human nature was considered as the middle point of this scale. As this was a state of liberty, in which the soul could attach itself to either good or evil; if evil predominated, it was after death obliged to retrace its former transmigrations from a point in the animal creation equal to its turpitude, and it again and again became man till it was attached to good. Above humanity, though it might again animate the body of man, it was incapable of relapse; but continued progressively rising to a degree of goodness and happiness, inferior only to the Deity. It is remarkable that many singular points of coincidence have been discovered in comparing the religious system of the Hindoos with that of the ancient Britons; and in the languages of these two people some striking similarities occur in those proverbs and forms of expression which are derived from national customs and religious ceremonies.] [Footnote 392: This account of the druids, like some of the preceding paragraphs, is borrowed from Cæsar's description of the Gauls.] [Footnote 393: Gen. xxi. 33.] [Footnote 394: The worship and religious ceremonies of the druids have formed the subject of many and voluminous dissertations; and the mistletoe, from its connection with their sacred rites, is a plant that has always been interesting to antiquaries. In a letter recently received by the editor from the learned and scientific Professor of Botany, Dr. Daubeny, of Magdalen College, Oxford, that gentleman observes, that though the mistletoe is occasionally found on the oak in Britain, yet this occurs so rarely that it is difficult to suppose the druids could have got a supply for their purposes from such a source. "There is a plant nearly allied to the mistletoe, the Loranthus Europæus, which grows freely on the oak, when it occurs; but unfortunately the most western locality known is the garden of Schoenbrunn near Vienna, but out of the limits, I believe, within which the druidical worship existed: it is very uncommon in Hungary. "This circumstance has given rise to an hypothesis, which I may repeat without attaching to it any very great importance, namely, that the Loranthus is the mistletoe of the druids, and that when the druidical worship was exterminated, this plant, as being introduced into their rites, was extirpated from all those parts of Europe, where the druids were known." The oak among the ancient Britons was peculiarly sacred as the place of worship, and consequently branches of this tree were used to adorn the altar, and garlands of its leaves to decorate the priest or druid; and the mistletoe, being so seldom found on the oak, was considered so great and desirable an appendage, that no solemn festival was held without it. It has been observed by naturalists that the blossom of the mistletoe falls within a few days of the summer solstice, and the berry within a few days of the winter solstice. These incidents therefore marked the return of two of the usual seasons for holding the bardic conventions and festivals. When the sacrifice was over, the berries of this plant were taken by the ovate, the physician of the tribe, and converted to medical purposes. That these berries possessed medicinal virtues can hardly be doubted. The following passage respecting this sacred plant occurs in Bacon:--"Mistletoe groweth chiefly upon crab trees, apple trees, sometimes upon hazels, and rarely upon oaks; the mistletoe whereof is counted very medicinal. It is ever green, winter and summer, and beareth a white glistening berry: and it is a plant utterly differing from the plant on which it groweth." Sir John Colbach published a Dissertation on the efficacy of the mistletoe in 1720; but in medicine, as in fashion, what is deemed of high value in one age is discontinued in the next, and thought nothing of. Such is the fate of the mistletoe in the present day as to any medicinal use that is made of it.] [Footnote 395: As the plough was fastened to the horns of the beasts, this expression signifies that the animal had never been employed in labour. The doctrine of the druids is said to have been first invented in Britain, and from thence carried into Gaul; on which account Pliny says (in his thirtieth book), "But why should I commemorate these things with regard to an art which has passed over the sea, and reached the bounds of nature? Britain even at this time celebrates it with so many wonderful ceremonies, that she seems to have taught it to the Persians." Julius Cæsar affirms the same in his Commentaries: "And now those persons who wish to acquire a more extensive knowledge of such things, repair to Britain for information." It is a singular coincidence of circumstances that bulls perfectly white were sacrificed by the Egyptians to Apis. When such an animal was found unblemished, and without a single black hair, the priest tied a fillet about his horns, and sealed it with the signet of his ring; it being a capital crime to sacrifice one of these animals except it was thus marked.--_Herodotus._] [Footnote 396: According to the Welsh antiquaries, these distinctions are erroneous. The druidical, or rather bardic, system consisted of three classes: the bard proper, whose province was philosophy and poetry; the druid, or minister of religion; and the ovate, or mechanic and artist. For a curious account of the bardic system and institutions the reader is referred to the Introduction to Owen's Translations of the Elegies of Llywarch Hên.] CHAP. V. 1. This island is rich in corn and wood, is well adapted for the maintenance of flocks and cattle, and in some places produces vines. It also abounds with marine and land birds, and contains copious springs, and numerous rivers, stored with fish, and plentifully supplied with salmon and eels. 2. Sea-cows or seals,[397] and dolphins are caught, and whales, of which mention is made by the satirist: "Quanto delphinis balæna Britannica major." 3. There are besides several sorts of shell-fish, among which are muscles, containing pearls often of the best kind, and of every colour: that is, red, purple, violet, green (_prasini_), but principally white, as we find in the venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History. 4. Shells[398] are still more abundant, from which is prepared a scarlet dye of the most beautiful hue, which never fades from the effect of the sun or rain, but becomes finer as it grows older. 5. In Britain are salt and warm springs, from which are formed hot baths, suited to all ages, with distinct places for the two sexes.[399] 6. White lead is found in the midland regions, and iron in the maritime, but in small quantities gold and silver are also produced, but brass is imported. Jet of the purest quality abounds; it is of a shining black, and highly inflammable.[400] When burned, it drives away serpents, and when warmed by friction attracts bodies, like amber. 7. Britain being situated almost under the north pole, the nights are so light in summer, that it is often doubtful whether the evening or morning twilight prevails; because the sun, in returning to the east, does not long remain below the horizon. Hence, also, according to Cleomenes, the longest day in summer, and the longest night in winter, when the sun declines towards the south, is eighteen hours; and the shortest night in summer, and day in winter, is six hours. In the same manner as in Armenia, Macedon, Italy, and the regions under the same parallel, the longest day is fifteen, and the shortest nine hours. 8. But I have given a sufficient account of Britain and the Britons in general. I shall now descend to particulars; and in the succeeding pages, shall describe the state and revolutions of the different nations who inhabited this island, the cities which ennobled it, with other particulars, and their condition under the Roman dominion. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 397: We do not find that Pennant mentions, among the amphibious animals, the _Vituli Marini_, by which Richard probably meant seals.] [Footnote 398: Richard calls these shells _Cochleæ_, or snails, though he probably alludes to the species styled by naturalists _Murea_, which contained the famous Tyrian purple, so much valued by the ancients. Yet, whatever our island may have formerly produced, we discern no traces in later ages, of any testaceous animal yielding a purple or scarlet dye.] [Footnote 399: Richard here doubtless principally alludes to Bath, the Aquæ Solis of the ancients.] [Footnote 400: This substance appears to have been wrought into ornaments for the person. In the barrows, jet beads of a long elliptical form were found, together with others of amber, and a coarse blue glass.] CHAP. VI. 1. Britain, according to the most accurate and authentic accounts of the ancients, was divided into seven parts, six of which were at different times subjected to the Roman empire, and the seventh held by the uncivilized Caledonians. 2. These divisions were called Britannia Prima, Secunda, Flavia, Maxima, Valentia, and Vespasiana, which last did not long remain under the power of the Romans. Britannia Prima is separated by the river Thamesis from Flavia, and by the sea[401] from Britannia Secunda. Flavia begins from the German Ocean, is bounded by the Thamesis,[402] by the Sabrina,[403] on the side of the Silures and Ordovices, and trends towards the north and the region of the Brigantes.[404] Maxima, beginning at the extreme boundary of Flavia, reaches to the wall,[405] which traverses the whole island, and faces the north. Valentia occupies the whole space between this wall and that built by the emperor Antoninus Pius, from the estuary of the Bdora[406] to that of the Clydda.[407] Vespasiana stretches from the estuary of the Bdora to the city of Alcluith,[408] from whence a line drawn to the mouth of the Varar[409] shows the boundary. Britannia Secunda faces the Irish Sea to the north and west. But sufficient notice has now been taken of the provinces. 3. Before we proceed to a more minute description, let us touch upon the form of government. In remote times all Britain was divided among petty princes and states, some of whom are said to have existed after the country was occupied by the Romans; though, under the Roman domination, they retained scarcely the shadow of regal authority. A legate being appointed by the emperor over the conquered countries, Britain became a proconsular province. This form of government continued several ages, although in the meantime the island underwent many divisions, first into the Upper and Lower districts, and then, as we have before shown, into seven parts. It afterwards became the imperial residence of Carausius and those whom he admitted to a share of his power. Constantine the Great, the glory and defence of Christianity, is supposed to have raised Maxima and Valentia to consular provinces, and Prima, Secunda, and Flavia, to præsidials. But over the whole island was appointed a deputy-governor, under the authority of the prætorian prefect of Gaul. Besides whom, an ancient volume, written about that period, mentions a person of great dignity, by the title of _comes_, or count of the Britons, another as count of the Saxon coast, and a third as leader or duke of Britain; with many others, who, although possessed of great offices, must be passed over in silence, for want of certain information.[410] 4. I now commence my long journey, to examine minutely the whole island and its particular parts, and shall follow the footsteps of the best authors. I begin with the extreme part of the first province, whose coasts are opposite Gaul. This province contains three celebrated and powerful states, namely, Cantium, Belgium, and Damnonium, each of which in particular I shall carefully examine. First of Cantium. 5. Cantium,[411] situated at the extremity of Britannia Prima, was inhabited by the Cantii, and contains the cities of Durobrobis[412] and Cantiopolis,[413] which was the metropolis, and the burial-place of St. Augustine, the apostle of the English; Dubræ,[414] Lemanus,[415] and Regulbium[416] garrisoned by the Romans; also their primary station Rhutupis,[417] which was colonized and became the metropolis, and where a haven was formed capable of containing the Roman fleet which commanded the North Sea. This city was of such celebrity that it gave the name of Rhutupine to the neighbouring shores; which Lucan, "Aut vaga quum Thetis Rhutupinaque littora fervent." From hence oysters of a large size and superior flavour were sent to Rome, as Juvenal observes, "Circæis nata forent, an Lucrinum ad saxum, RHUTUPINOVE edita fundo Ostrea, callebat primo deprendere morsu." It was the station of the second Augustan legion, under the count of the Saxon coast, a person of high distinction. 6. The kingdom of Cantium is watered by many rivers. The principal are Madus[418], Sturius,[419] Dubris,[420] and Lemanus,[421] which last separates the Cantii from the Bibroci. 7. Among the three principal promontories of Britain, that which derives its name from Cantium[422] is most distinguished. There the ocean, being confined in an angle, according to the tradition of the ancients, gradually forced its way, and formed the strait which renders Britain an island. 8. The vast forest called by some the Anderidan, and by others the Caledonian, stretches from Cantium a hundred and fifty miles, through the countries of the Bibroci and the Segontiaci, to the confines of the Hedui. It is thus mentioned by the poet Lucan:-- "Unde Caledoniis fallit turbata Britannos." 9. The Bibroci[423] were situated next to the Cantii, and, as some imagine, were subject to them. They were also called Rhemi, and are not unknown in record. They inhabited Bibrocum,[424] Regentium,[425] and Noviomagus,[426] which was their metropolis. The Romans held Anderida.[427] 10. On their confines, and bordering on the Thames, dwelt the Atrebates,[428] whose primary city was Calleba.[429] 11. Below them, nearer the river Kunetius,[430] lived the Segontiaci,[431] whose chief city was Vindonum.[432] 12. Below, towards the ocean, and bordering on the Bibroci, lived the Belgæ,[433] whose chief cities were Clausentum,[434] now called Southampton; Portus Magnus;[435] Venta,[436] a noble city situated upon the river Antona. Sorbiodunum[437] was garrisoned by the Romans. All the Belgæ are Allobroges, or foreigners, and derived their origin from the Belgæ and Celts. The latter, not many ages before the arrival of Cæsar, quitted their native country, Gaul, which was conquered by the Romans and Germans, and passed over to this island: the former, after crossing the Rhine, and occupying the conquered country, likewise sent out colonies, of which Cæsar has spoken more at large.[438] 13. All the regions south of the Thamesis[439] were, according to ancient records, occupied by the warlike nations of the Senones. These people, under the guidance of their renowned king Brennus, penetrated through Gaul, forced a passage over the Alps, hitherto deemed impracticable, and would have razed proud Rome, had not the fates, which seemed like to carry the republic in their bosom, till it reached its destined height of glory, averted the threatened calamity. By the cackle of a goose Manlius was warned of the danger, and hurled the barbarians from the capitol, in their midnight attack. The same protecting influence afterwards sent Camillus to his assistance, who, by assailing them in the rear, quenched the conflagration which they had kindled, in Senonic blood, and preserved the city from impending destruction. In consequence of this vast expedition, the land of the Senones,[440] being left without inhabitants, and full of spoils, was occupied by the above-mentioned Belgæ. 14. Near the Sabrina and below the Thamesis lived the Hedui,[441] whose principal cities were Ischalis[442] and Avalonia.[443] The baths,[444] which were also called Aquæ Solis, were made the seat of a colony, and became the perpetual residence of the Romans who possessed this part of Britain. This was a celebrated city, situated upon the river Abona, remarkable for its hot springs, which were formed into baths at a great expense. Apollo and Minerva[445] were the tutelary deities, in whose temples the perpetual fire never fell into ashes, but as it wasted away turned into globes of stone. 15. Below the Hedui are situated the Durotriges, who are sometimes called Morini. Their metropolis was Durinum,[446] and their territory extended to the promontory Vindelia.[447] In their country the land is gradually contracted, and seems to form an immense arm which repels the waves of the ocean. 16. In this arm was the region of the Cimbri,[448] whose country was divided from that of the Hedui by the river Uxella.[449] It is not ascertained whether the Cimbri gave to Wales its modern name, or whether their origin is more remote. Their chief cities were Termolus[450] and Artavia.[451] From hence, according to the ancients, are seen the pillars of Hercules, and the island Herculea[452] not far distant. From the Uxella a chain of mountains called Ocrinum extends to the promontory known by the same name. 17. Beyond the Cimbri the Carnabii inhabited the extreme angle of the island,[453] from whom this district probably obtained its present name of Carnubia (Cornwall). Their chief cities were Musidum[454] and Halangium.[455] But as the Romans never frequented these almost desert and uncultivated parts of Britain, their cities seem to have been of little consequence, and were therefore neglected by historians; though geographers mention the promontories Bolerium and Antivestæum.[456] 18. Near the above-mentioned people on the sea-coast towards the south, and bordering on the Belgæ Allobroges, lived the Damnonii, the most powerful people of those parts; on which account Ptolemy assigns to them all the country extending into the sea like an arm.[457] Their cities were Uxella,[458] Tamara,[459] Voluba,[460] Cenia,[461] and Isca,[462] the mother of all, situated upon the Isca. Their chief rivers were the Isca,[463] Durius,[464] Tamarus,[465] and Cenius.[466] Their coasts are distinguished by three promontories, which will be hereafter mentioned. This region was much frequented by the Phoenician, Grecian, and Gallic merchants, for the metals with which it abounded, particularly for its tin. Proofs of this may be drawn from the names of the above-mentioned promontories, namely Hellenis,[467] Ocrinum,[468] and [Greek: Kriou metôpon][469] as well as the numerous appellations of cities, which show a Grecian or Phoenician derivation. 19. Beyond this arm are the isles called Sygdiles,[470] which are also denominated Oestromenides and Cassiterides. 20. It is affirmed that the emperor Vespasian fought thirty battles with the united forces of the Damnonii and Belgæ. The ten different tribes who inhabited the south banks of the Thames and Severn being gradually subdued, their country was formed into the province of Britannia Prima, so called because it was the first fruit of victory obtained by the Romans. 21. Next in order is Britannia Secunda, which is divided from Britannia Prima by the countries already mentioned, and from the Flavian province by the Sabrina[471] and the Deva;[472] and the remaining parts are bounded by the internal sea. This was the renowned region of the Silures,[473] inhabited by three powerful tribes. Among these were particularly distinguished the Silures Proper, whom the turbid estuary of the Severn divides from the country we have just described. These people, according to Solinus, still retain their ancient manners, have neither markets nor money, but barter their commodities, regarding rather utility than price. They worship the gods, and both men and women are supposed to foretell future events. 22. The chief cities of the Silures were, Sariconium,[474] Magna,[475] Gobanium,[476] and Venta[477] their capital. A Roman colony possessed the city built on the Isca,[478] and called after that name, for many years the station of the second or Augustan legion, until it was transferred to the Valentian province, and Rhutupis.[479] This was the primary station of the Romans in Britannia Secunda. 23. The country of the Silures was long powerful, particularly under Caractacus, who during nine years withstood the Roman arms, and frequently triumphed over them, until he was defeated by Ostorius, as he was preparing to attack the Romans. Caractacus, however, escaped from the battle, and in applying for assistance to the neighbouring chieftains was delivered up to the Romans, by the artifices of a Roman matron, Cartismandua, who had married Venutius, chief of Brigantia. After this defeat the Silures bravely defended their country till it was overrun by Veranius, and being finally conquered by Frontinus, it was reduced into a Roman province under the name of Britannia Secunda. 24. Two other tribes were subject to the Silures. First the Ordovices, who inhabited the north towards the isle of Mona;[480] and secondly the Dimetiæ, who occupied the west, where the promontory Octorupium[481] is situated, and from whence is a passage of thirty miles[482] to Ireland. The cities of the Dimetiæ were Menapia[483] and Maridunum[484] the metropolis. The Romans seized upon Lovantium[485] as their station. Beyond these, and the borders of the Silures, were the Ordovices, whose cities were Mediolanum[486] and Brannogenium.[487] The Sabrina, which rises in their mountains, is justly reckoned one of the three largest rivers of Britain, the Thamesis (Thames) and the Tavus (Tay) being the other two. The name of the Ordovices is first distinguished in history on account of the revenge which they took for the captivity of their renowned chief. Hence they continually harassed the Roman army, and would have succeeded in annihilating their power, had not Agricola turned hither his victorious arms, subdued the whole nation, and put the greater part to the sword. 25. The territory situated north of the Ordovices, and washed by the ocean, was formerly under their dominion. These parts were certainly inhabited by the Cangiani, whose chief city was Segontium,[488] near the Cangian promontory,[489] on the Minevian shore, opposite Mona,[490] an island long distinguished as the residence of the druids. This island contained many towns, though it was scarcely sixty miles in circuit; and, as Pliny asserts, is distant from the colony of Camalodunum two hundred miles. The rivers of the Cangiani were Tosibus,[491] called also Canovius, and the Deva,[492] which was their boundary. In this region is the stupendous mountain Eriri.[493] Ordovicia, together with the regions of the Cangiani and Carnabii, unless report deceives me, constituted a province called Genania, under the reign of the emperors subsequent to Trajan. 26. I now proceed to the Flavian province; but for want of authentic documents, am unable to ascertain whether it derived its name from Flavia Julia Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, who was born in these parts, or from the Flavian family. 27. Towards the river Deva were situated, in the first place, the Carnabii.[494] Their principal places were Benonæ,[495] Etocetum,[496] and Banchorium,[497] the last the most celebrated monastery in the whole island, which being overthrown in the dispute with Augustine was never afterwards restored; and the mother of the rest, Uriconium,[498] esteemed one of the largest cities in Britain. In the extreme angle of this country, near the Deva, was the Roman colony Deva,[499] the work of the twentieth legion, which was called Victrix, and was formerly the defence of the region. This place is supposed to be what is now termed West Chester. 28. Below these people stretched the kingdom, or rather the republic, of the Cassii, called by Ptolemy Catieuchlani, which arose from the union of two nations. Those nearest the Sabrina were called the Dobuni, or, according to the annals of Dio, the Boduni.[500] In their country the Thames rises, and, proceeding through the territories of the Hedui, Atrebates, Cassii, Bibroci, Trinobantes, and Cantii, after a long course flows into the German Ocean. The cities of the Dobuni were Salinæ,[501] Branogena,[502] on the left of the Sabrina [Severn], Alauna,[503] and the most venerable of all, Corinium,[504] a famous city supposed to have been built by Vespasian. But Glevum,[505] situated in the extreme part of the kingdom, towards the territory of the Silures, was occupied by a Roman colony, which, according to the writers of those times, was introduced by Claudius Cæsar. Adjoining to these were the Cassii, whose chief cities were Forum Dianæ[506] and Verulamium.[507] But when the last was raised by the Romans to the municipal rank, it obtained the pre-eminence over the other cities. St. Alban the martyr was here born. This city was involved in the ruin of Camalodunum[508] and Londinium,[509] in the insurrection of Bonduica, which is related by Tacitus. The Cassii were conspicuous above the other nations of the island; and Cæsar in his second invasion had the severest conflicts with their renowned chief Cassibellinus, to whom many people were tributary; and was repulsed by the Cassii in league with the Silures; to which Lucan alludes:--"_Territa quæsitis ostendit terga Britannis._" But on the coming of Claudius, they, with the neighbouring people, were subdued, and their country reduced to a Roman province, first called Cæsariensis, and afterwards Flavia. 29. Near the Cassii, where the river Thamesis approaches the ocean, was the region of the Trinobantes,[510] who not only entered into alliance with the Romans, but resigned to them Londinium their metropolis, and Camalodunum situated near the sea, for the purpose of establishing colonies. In this city was supposed to be born Flavia Julia Helena, the pious wife of Constantine Chlorus and mother of Constantine the Great, who was descended from the blood of the British kings. It was the chief colony of the Romans in Britain, and distinguished by a temple of Claudius, an image of Victory, with many ornaments.[511] But Londinium was and ever will be a city of great eminence. It was first named Trinovantum, then Londinium, afterwards Augusta, and now again Londona. According to the chronicles it is more ancient than Rome. It is situated upon the banks of the Thamesis, and is the great emporium of many nations trading by land or sea. This city was surrounded with a wall by the empress Helena, the discoverer of the Holy Cross; and, if reliance may be placed on tradition, which is not always erroneous, was called Augusta, as Britain was distinguished by the name of the Roman Island. 30. The boundary of this people towards the north was the river Surius,[512] beyond which lived the Iceni, a famous people divided into two tribes. The first of these, the Cenomanni, dwelt to the north towards the Trinobantes and Cassii, and bordered on the ocean towards the east. Their cities were Durnomagus,[513] and their metropolis Venta.[514] Camboricum[515] was a Roman colony. A tongue of land stretching into the sea towards the east was called Flavia Extrema.[516] Their most remarkable rivers are the Garion,[517] the Surius,[518] and the Aufona[519] which falls into the bay of Metaris.[520] Beyond the Aufona, bordering on the Carnabii, Brigantes, and the ocean, lived the Coitani,[521] in a tract of country overspread with woods, which, like all the woods of Britain, was called Caledonia.[522] This is mentioned by the historian Florus.[523] The chief city of the Coitani was Ragæ.[524] Besides this was Lindum,[525] a Roman colony, on the eastern extremity of the province. The river Trivona[526] divides the whole country into two parts. The nation of the Iceni, being of a warlike character, neglected husbandry as well as the civil arts; they voluntarily joined the Romans; but, revolting, and exciting others to follow their example, were first subdued by Ostorius. A few years afterwards, Præsutagus their king, at his decease, made Cæsar and his descendants his heirs. But the Romans, abusing the friendship of these people and giving themselves up to every species of debauchery, excited their resentment, and the Iceni with their allies, under the warlike Bonduica, widow of Præsutagus, destroyed their colonies, and massacred eighty thousand Roman citizens. They were afterwards reduced by the legate Suetonius, a man highly esteemed for prudence. 31. On the northern part of this region is the river Abus,[527] which falls into the ocean, and was one of the boundaries of the province Maxima, as Seteja[528] was the other. This province was also called the kingdom of Brigantia, because it comprehended the region of that name inhabited by three nations. At the eastern point,[529] where the promontories of Oxellum[530] and of the Brigantes[531] stretch into the sea, lived the Parisii, whose cities were Petuaria[532] and Portus Felix.[533] 32. Above, but on the side of the Parisii, are the proper Brigantes,[534] a numerous people who once gave law to the whole province. Their towns were Epiacum,[535] Vinovium,[536] Cambodunum,[537] Cataracton,[538] Galacum,[539] Olicana,[540] and the chief city Isurium.[541] Eboracum,[542] on the Urus,[543] was the metropolis, first a colony of the Romans, called Sexta, from being the station of the sixth legion, termed the Victorious, and afterwards distinguished by the presence of many emperors, and raised to the privileges of a municipal city. 33. This province is divided into two equal parts by a chain of mountains called the Pennine Alps, which rising on the confines of the Iceni and Carnabii, near the river Trivona,[544] extend towards the north in a continued series of fifty miles. 34. The people to the west of this chain[545] are the Voluntii and Sistuntii, who are united in a close confederacy.[546] Their cities are Rerigonium,[547] Coccium,[548] and Lugubalium.[549] The two last were occupied by Roman garrisons. 35. The northern frontier of this province was protected by a wall[550] of stupendous magnitude built by the Romans across the Isthmus, eighty miles in length, twelve feet high and (_nine_) thick, strengthened with towers. 36. We collect from history, that these people were first attacked by the emperor Claudius, then overrun by the legate Ostorius, and finally defeated by Cerealis. By their voluntary submission to Agricola they obtained peace. The actions and unheard-of perfidy of their queen have disgraced their name in history. These people were descended from those powerful nations, who in search of new habitations quitted their country, which was situated between the Danube, the Alps, and the Rhone.[551] Some of them afterwards emigrated into Ireland, as appears from authentic documents. 37. Further north were situated those powerful nations, who in former times were known under the name of Mæatæ, and from whom that fratricide Bassianus,[552] after the death of his father, basely purchased peace. They possessed Ottadinia towards the east, Gadenia, Selgovia, Novantia, and further north Damnia. 38. Nearest the wall dwelt the Gadeni,[553] whose metropolis was Curia.[554] The Ottadini[555] were situated nearer the sea. Their chief city was Bremenium,[556] and their rivers Tueda,[557] Alauna,[558] and the two Tinas,[559] which ran within the wall. 39. The Selgovæ[560] inhabited the country to the west. Their cities were Corbantorigum,[561] Uxellum,[562] and Trimontium,[563] which, according to ancient documents, was a long time occupied by a Roman garrison. The principal rivers of this region were Novius,[564] Deva,[565] and partly the Ituna.[566] 40. The Novantes[567] dwell beyond the Deva, in the extreme part of the island, near the sea, and opposite Ireland. In their country was the famous Novantum Chersonesus,[568] distant twenty-eight miles from Ireland, and esteemed by the ancients the most northern promontory of Britain,[569] though without sufficient reason. Their metropolis was Lucophibia, or Casæ Candidæ;[570] their rivers Abrasuanus,[571] Jena,[572] and Deva,[573] which was the boundary towards the east. 41. The Damnii[574] dwelt to the north of the Novantes, the Selgovæ, and the Gadeni, and were separated from them by the chain of the Uxellan mountains.[575] They were a very powerful people, but lost a considerable portion of their territory when the wall was built, being subdued and spoiled by the Caledonians. Besides which, a Roman garrison occupied Vanduarium[576] to defend the wall. 42. In this part, Britain, as if again delighted with the embraces of the sea, becomes narrower than elsewhere, in consequence of the rapid influx of the two estuaries, Bodotria and Clotta.[577] Agricola first secured this isthmus with fortifications, and the emperor Antoninus[578] erected another wall celebrated in history, which extended nearly five and thirty miles, in order to check the incursions of the barbarians. It was repaired, and strengthened with eleven towers, by the general Ætius. These regions probably constituted that province, which, being recovered by the victorious arms of the Romans under Theodosius, was supposed to have been named Valentia, in honour of the family from whom the reigning emperor was descended. 43. Beyond the wall lay the province Vespasiana. This is the Caledonian region so much coveted by the Romans, and so bravely defended by the natives, facts which the Roman historians, generally too silent in regard to such things, have amply detailed. In these districts may be seen the river Tavus,[579] which appears to separate the country into two parts. There are also found the steep and horrid Grampian hills, which divide the province. In this region was fought that famous battle between Agricola and Galgacus, which was so decisive in favour of the Romans.[580] The magnitude of the works at this day displays the power of the Romans, and the ancient mode of castrametation; for, in the place where the battle was fought, certain persons of our order, who passed that way, affirmed that they saw immense camps, and other proofs which corroborated the relation of Tacitus. 44. The nations which were subject to the Romans shall now follow in their order. Beyond the Isthmus, as far as the Tavus, lived the Horestii.[581] Their cities, which before the building of the wall belonged to the Damnii, were Alauna,[582] Lindum,[583] and Victoria,[584] the last not less glorious in reality than in name. It was built by Agricola on the Tavus, twenty miles above its mouth. 45. Above these, beyond the Tavus, which formed the boundary, lived the Vecturones or Venricones,[585] whose chief city was Orrea,[586] and their rivers Æsica[587] and Tina.[588] 46. The Taixali[589] inhabited the coast beyond the boundaries of the Vecturones. Their principal city was Devana,[590] and their rivers the Deva[591] and Ituna.[592] A part of the Grampian hills, which extends like a promontory into the sea, as it were to meet Germany, borrows its name from them.[593] 47. To the west of these, beyond the Grampian hills, lived the Vacomagi,[594] who possessed an extensive tract of country. Their cities were Tuessis,[595] Tamea,[596] and Banatia.[597] Ptoroton,[598] situated at the mouth of the Varar,[599] on the coast, was at the same time a Roman station, and the chief city of the province. The most remarkable rivers of this region, after the Varar, which formed the boundary, were the Tuessis[600] and Celnius.[601] 48. Within the Vacomagi, and the Tavus, lived the Damnii Albani,[602] a people little known, being wholly secluded among lakes and mountains. 49. Lower down, to the banks of the Clotta, inhabited the Attacotti,[603] a people once formidable to all Britain. In this part is situated the great lake formerly called Lyncalidor,[604] at the mouth of which the city of Alcluith[605] was built by the Romans, and not long afterwards received its name from Theodosius, who recovered that province from the barbarians. These people deserved high praise for having sustained the attacks of the enemy after the subjugation of the neighbouring provinces. 50. This province was named Vespasiana, in honour of the Flavian family, to which the emperor Domitian owed his origin, and under whom it was conquered. If I am not mistaken, it was called under the later emperors Thule, which Claudian mentions in these lines: "Incaluit Pictorum sanguine Thule, Scotorum cumulos flevit glacialis Hierne." But this country was so short a time under the power of the Romans, that posterity cannot ascertain its appellations or subjugation. We have now examined in a cursory manner the state of Britain under the Romans; we shall next as briefly treat of the country of the Caledonians. CONCERNING CALEDONIA. 51. Although all the parts of Britain lying beyond the Isthmus may be termed Caledonia, yet the proper Caledonians dwelt beyond the Varar, from which a line drawn accurately points out the boundary of the Roman empire in Britain. The hithermost part of the island was at different times in their possession, and the remainder, as we have related, was occupied by barbarous Britons. The ancient documents of history afford some information thus far; but beyond the Varar the light is extinct, and we are enveloped in darkness.[606] Although we know that the Romans erected altars there to mark the limits of their empire, and that Ulysses, tossed by a violent tempest, here fulfilled his vows; yet the thick woods and a continued chain of rugged mountains forbid all further research. We must therefore be satisfied with the following information, gleaned from the wandering merchants of the Britons, which we leave for the use of posterity. 52. The Caledonians,[607] properly so called, inhabited the country to the westward of the Varar, and part of their territory was covered by the extensive forest called the Caledonian wood. 53. Less considerable people dwelt near the coast. Of these the Cantæ[608] were situated beyond the Varar, and the above-mentioned altars, to the river Loxa,[609] and in their territory was the promontory Penoxullum.[610] 54. Next in order is the river Abona,[611] and the inhabitants near it, the Logi.[612] Then the river Ila,[613] near which lived the Carnabii,[614] the most remote of the Britons. These people being subdued by the proprætor Ostorius, and impatiently bearing the Roman yoke, joined the Cantæ, as tradition relates, and, crossing the sea, here fixed their residence. Britain in these parts branches out into many promontories, the chief of which, the extremity of Caledonia, was called by the ancients Vinvedrum, and afterwards Verubium.[615] 55. After these people were placed the Catini,[616] and the Mertæ[617] further inland near the Logi. In these regions was the promontory of the Orcades,[618] contiguous to which are the islands of that name. Beyond this part flowed the Nabæus,[619] which bounded the territory of the Carnabii. 56. In the lower part of this region were situated the Carnonacæ,[620] in whose territories was the promontory Ebudum,[621] beyond which the ocean forms a large bay, formerly called Volsas.[622] The lower coast of this bay was inhabited by the Cerones;[623] and beyond the Itys,[624] the territory of the Creones extended as far as the Longus.[625] The promontory stretching from thence, and washed by the ocean and the bay Lelanus,[626] is named after the inhabitants the Epidii.[627] 57. I cannot repass the Varar without expressing my wonder that the Romans, in other respects so much distinguished for judgment and investigation, should have entertained the absurd notion, that the remainder of Britain exceeded in length and breadth the regions which they had subdued and occupied. There is, however, sufficient evidence that such was their opinion; for whoever attentively considers their insatiable desire of rule, and reflects on the labour employed in the erection of those stupendous works which excite the wonder of the world, in order to exclude an enemy scarcely worthy of their notice or resentment, must in this respect, as in all others, adore the providence of the Divine Being, to whom all kingdoms are subject, and perpetual glory is due, now and for ever. Amen! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 401: Rather by the estuary of the Severn.] [Footnote 402: Thames.] [Footnote 403: Severn.] [Footnote 404: Here some word is evidently omitted in the original. We would supply it by comparing this description with that of Britannia Secunda in the second section, and read "_Sabrina et Deva_," &c., by the Severn and the Dee from the Silures and Ordovices.] [Footnote 405: The wall or vallum erected by Severus between the Solway Frith and the mouth of the Tyne.] [Footnote 406: Bodora and Bodotria, Frith of Forth.] [Footnote 407: Clotta. Clyde.] [Footnote 408: Dumbarton.] [Footnote 409: Murray Frith.] [Footnote 410: These remarks seem to have been drawn from the _Notitia Imperii_, and consequently refer to a late period of the empire.] [Footnote 411: Cantium contained the present county of Kent, as far as the Rother, except a small district in which Holwood Hill is situated, and which belonged to the Rhemi.] [Footnote 412: Rochester.] [Footnote 413: Canterbury.] [Footnote 414: Dover.] [Footnote 415: Situated on the Lymne.] [Footnote 416: Reculver.] [Footnote 417: Richborough.] [Footnote 418: The Medway.] [Footnote 419: The Stour.] [Footnote 420: A rivulet at Dover.] [Footnote 421: The Rother.] [Footnote 422: The North Foreland.] [Footnote 423: The Bibroci, Rhemi, or Regni, inhabited part of Hants, and of Berks, Sussex, Surrey, and a small portion of Kent.] [Footnote 424: Uncertain. Stukeley calls it Bibrox, Bibrax, or the Bibracte of the Itinerary.] [Footnote 425: Chichester.] [Footnote 426: Holwood Hill.] [Footnote 427: Pevensey.] [Footnote 428: Part of Hants, and Berks.] [Footnote 429: Silchester. For the proofs that this place was the site of Calleva see the Commentary on the Itinerary.] [Footnote 430: Kennet.] [Footnote 431: Part of Hants, and Berks.] [Footnote 432: Probably Egbury Camp.] [Footnote 433: The Belgæ occupied those parts of Hants and Wilts not held by the Segontiaci.] [Footnote 434: This is an error: the ancient Clausentum was at Bittern, on the Itchin, opposite Northam.] [Footnote 435: Portchester.] [Footnote 436: Winchester.] [Footnote 437: Old Sarum.] [Footnote 438: This passage as printed in the original is very obscure; but the meaning is supplied by Cæsar, from whom it is taken, and a subsequent page where Richard mentions the same fact.--_Vide the Chronology in_ b. ii. c. i. sect. 9.] [Footnote 439: Thames.] [Footnote 440: There was a tribe of Celts called Senones seated on the banks of the Seine as late as the time of Cæsar, and this was one of the tribes who marched with Brennus against Rome. But we cannot discover from whence Richard drew his information that these Senones originally emigrated from Britain, leaving their country to be occupied by the Belgæ.] [Footnote 441: Nearly all Somersetshire.] [Footnote 442: Ilchester.] [Footnote 443: Glastonbury.] [Footnote 444: Bath.] [Footnote 445: This is drawn from Solinus, who speaks of Britain in general. We know not on what authority it was applied by Richard to Bath.] [Footnote 446: Maiden Castle, near Dorchester.] [Footnote 447: Isle of Portland.] [Footnote 448: Part of Somerset and Devon.] [Footnote 449: The Parret.] [Footnote 450: Uncertain,--probably in Devonshire.] [Footnote 451: Ibid.] [Footnote 452: Lundy Island.] [Footnote 453: Part of Cornwall.] [Footnote 454: Near Stratton.] [Footnote 455: Carnbre.] [Footnote 456: Land's End, and Lizard Point.] [Footnote 457: Cornwall, Devon, Dorset, and part of Somerset.] [Footnote 458: Probably near Bridgewater.] [Footnote 459: On the Tamar.] [Footnote 460: On the Fowey.] [Footnote 461: On the Fal.] [Footnote 462: Exeter.] [Footnote 463: Ex.] [Footnote 464: The Dart.] [Footnote 465: Tamar.] [Footnote 466: The Fal.] [Footnote 467: Probably Berry Head.] [Footnote 468: Lizard Point.] [Footnote 469: Ram Head.] [Footnote 470: Scilly Isles.] [Footnote 471: Severn.] [Footnote 472: Dee.] [Footnote 473: The Silures, with their two dependent tribes, the Dimetiæ and the Ordovices, possessed all the country to the west of the Severn and the Dee, together with the island of Anglesey. "Of these territories the Dimetiæ had the counties of Pembroke, Cardigan, and Caermarthen; while the Silures possessed all the rest of South Wales, as well as such parts of England as lay to the west of the Severn and to the South of the Teme: while the Ordovices occupied all North Wales, as well as all the country to the North of the Teme, and to the West of the Severn and the Dee, except a small tract to the West of Bangor and Penmorvay, which together with the isle of Anglesey belonged to their subordinate clan the Cangani."] [Footnote 474: Rose or Berry Hill, in Weston.] [Footnote 475: Kentchester.] [Footnote 476: Abergavenny.] [Footnote 477: Caerwent.] [Footnote 478: Caerleon on Usk.] [Footnote 479: Richborough in Kent.] [Footnote 480: Anglesey.] [Footnote 481: St. David's Head.] [Footnote 482: XXX milliarium.] [Footnote 483: St. David's.] [Footnote 484: Caermarthen.] [Footnote 485: Llanio Issau on the Teivi.] [Footnote 486: On the bank of the Tanat.] [Footnote 487: Near Lentwardine.] [Footnote 488: Caer Segont.] [Footnote 489: Brach y Pwyl Point.] [Footnote 490: Anglesey.] [Footnote 491: The Conway.] [Footnote 492: Dee.] [Footnote 493: Snowdon.] [Footnote 494: The territory of the Carnabii was bounded on the north by the Mersey, west by the Severn, east by part of the Watling Street, and to the south by Staffordshire.] [Footnote 495: Benonis; High Cross.] [Footnote 496: Wall.] [Footnote 497: Banchor.] [Footnote 498: Wroxeter.] [Footnote 499: Chester.] [Footnote 500: The _Dobuni_ were bounded on the west by the Severn, on the south by the Thames, on the east by the Charwell, and on the north by the Carnabii. The _Cassii_, bounded on the south by the Thames, on the west by the Dobuni, on the east by the Trent, and on the north by the Iceni.] [Footnote 501: Droitwich.] [Footnote 502: Near Lentwardine.] [Footnote 503: Alcester.] [Footnote 504: Cirencester in Gloucestershire.] [Footnote 505: Gloucester.] [Footnote 506: Dunstable.] [Footnote 507: Old St. Albans.] [Footnote 508: Colchester.] [Footnote 509: London.] [Footnote 510: It stretched from the Thames to the Stour on the north, and on the west to the Brent and the Ouse.] [Footnote 511: This temple with its ornaments is mentioned in Tacitus.] [Footnote 512: Sturius, the Stour.] [Footnote 513: Castor near Chesterton.] [Footnote 514: Castor near Norwich.] [Footnote 515: Cambridge.] [Footnote 516: Part of the Suffolk Coast.] [Footnote 517: The Yar.] [Footnote 518: The Stour.] [Footnote 519: The Nen.] [Footnote 520: Boston Deep.] [Footnote 521: In the map given by Bertram these people are called the Coritani. They seem to have inhabited Lincoln, Leicester, and Nottingham.] [Footnote 522: Calyddon means coverts or thickets.] [Footnote 523: B. iii. ch. 10, where, speaking of Cæsar, he says, "Caledonias sequutus in sylvas."] [Footnote 524: Leicester.] [Footnote 525: Lincoln.] [Footnote 526: Trent.] [Footnote 527: The Humber.] [Footnote 528: The Mersey.] [Footnote 529: Part of the East Riding of York.] [Footnote 530: Spurn Head.] [Footnote 531: Flamborough Head.] [Footnote 532: Broughton on Humber.] [Footnote 533: Near Bridlington Bay.] [Footnote 534: Their territory stretched from the bounds of the Parisii northward to the Tine, and from the Humber and Don to the mountains of Lancashire, Westmoreland and Cumberland.] [Footnote 535: Lanchester.] [Footnote 536: Binchester.] [Footnote 537: Slack.] [Footnote 538: Catteric.] [Footnote 539: Galgacum, uncertain.] [Footnote 540: Ilkley.] [Footnote 541: Aldborough.] [Footnote 542: York.] [Footnote 543: Probably from the Ure, which receives the name of Ouse above York, on its junction with the Nid.] [Footnote 544: Trent.] [Footnote 545: To the Voluntii belonged the western part of Lancashire; and to the Sistuntii, the west of Westmoreland and Cumberland as far as the wall.] [Footnote 546: Hence, in § 31, they are called one people.] [Footnote 547: Ribchester.] [Footnote 548: Blackrode.] [Footnote 549: Carlisle.] [Footnote 550: The wall of Severus. The exact site of the barrier erected by Severus against the northern tribes, has furnished matter of dispute to many of our antiquaries. The researches of others, particularly Horsley, have, however, set this question at rest. From their information, joined to the scanty evidence of history, it has been proved that three walls or ramparts were erected by the Romans at different times, to secure the northern frontier of their dominions in Britain. The first was a rampart of earth, from the Solway Frith to the Tine, raised by Hadrian about the year 120; but its form and construction have not been satisfactorily ascertained. It was, however, evidently nothing more than a line intended to obstruct the passage of an enemy between the stations which constituted the real defences of the frontier. The second was raised by Lollius Urbicus under the reign of Antoninus Pius, about 140, between the Friths of Forth and Clyde. This was likewise of earth, though perhaps faced with stone, and, like that of Hadrian, seems to have been intended as a line connecting the chain of stations, which formed a new barrier on the advance of the Roman arms. In the course of both these was a military road communicating from station to station. The last and most important is that begun by Severus, after his expedition against the Caledonians, about 208. It runs nearly over the same ground as that of Hadrian; but is a complete and well combined system of fortification. From an examination of its remains it appears to have been built of stone, fifteen feet high and nine thick. It had parapet and ditch, a military road, and was defended by eighteen greater stations placed at intervals of three to six miles; eighty-three castles at intervals of six to eight furlongs, and, as it is imagined, a considerable number of turrets placed at shorter distances. Either from superior sagacity or superior information, Richard clearly distinguishes these three walls, which so much puzzled later writers, though it must be confessed that in other places he has suffered himself to be led into some errors in regard to their situation, and the persons by whom they were erected.--See b. ii. ch. 1, sect. 22, 27, 36, 37; ch. 2, sect. 17, 23. For a detailed account of these works the reader is referred to _Horsley's Britannia Romana_; _Warburton's Account of the Roman Wall_; _Hutchinson's Northumberland_; _Roy's Military Antiquities_; _Hutton's Account of the Roman Wall_.] [Footnote 551: These were the Helvetii, whose emigration is mentioned in _Cæs. Comm. de Bell. Gal. lib._ i. We have not discovered from what authority Richard draws his account of their emigration to Ireland.] [Footnote 552: Caracalla.] [Footnote 553: The Gadeni appear to have occupied the midland parts from the wall probably as far as the Forth.] [Footnote 554: Uncertain.] [Footnote 555: The Ottadini stretched along the eastern coast, from the wall as far as the Frith of Forth, and were bounded on the west by the Gadeni.] [Footnote 556: Ribchester.] [Footnote 557: Tweed.] [Footnote 558: The Coquet.] [Footnote 559: The North and South Tine.] [Footnote 560: The Selgovæ appear to have occupied all the shire of Dumfries, and part of Kirkudbright.] [Footnote 561: Drumlanrig, or Kirkudbright.] [Footnote 562: Uncertain.] [Footnote 563: Birrenswork Hill.] [Footnote 564: Nith.] [Footnote 565: The Dee.] [Footnote 566: The Eden.] [Footnote 567: The Novantes held the south-western district of Scotland, from the Dee to the Mull of Galloway; that is, the west of Kirkudbright and Wigtown, and part of the Carrick division of Ayr.] [Footnote 568: Rens of Galloway. It is not, however, more than eighteen miles from the nearest part of Ireland.] [Footnote 569: By an error in the geographical or astronomical observations preserved by Ptolemy, the latitudes north of this point appear to have been mistaken for the longitudes, and consequently this part of Britain is thrown to the east.] [Footnote 570: Wigtown, _Horsley_. Whithern, _Stukeley_, _Roy_.] [Footnote 571: The Luce.] [Footnote 572: Cree, _Roy_.] [Footnote 573: Dee.] [Footnote 574: The Lothers.] [Footnote 575: Paisley, or Renfrew, _Roy_.] [Footnote 576: Friths of Forth and Clyde.] [Footnote 577: These people inhabited the principal part of what are called the Lowlands. Their territories beyond the Isthmus evidently stretched as far as the Grampians, consisting of great part of Ayr, all Renfrew and Lanark, a considerable part of Stirling, and perhaps Linlithgow.] [Footnote 578: See page 448.] [Footnote 579: Tay.] [Footnote 580: It may perhaps appear superfluous to refer the antiquary to Roy's masterly Commentary on the campaigns of Agricola in this part of Britain; but it will scarcely be deemed so to observe, that we see few instances in which military and local knowledge are so well applied to the elucidation of antiquities.] [Footnote 581: The Horestii occupied Clackmannan and Kinross, and part of Perth as far as the Tay. To them belonged likewise all the country stretching from the Grampians to Loch Lomond.] [Footnote 582: Uncertain.] [Footnote 583: Ardoch.] [Footnote 584: Dealgin Ross.] [Footnote 585: The Vecturones occupied the eastern part of Perth, Forfar, Kincardin, and part of Aberdeen.] [Footnote 586: Bertha, or Old Perth.] [Footnote 587: South Esk.] [Footnote 588: Tine.] [Footnote 589: The Taixali held the eastern coast of Aberdeen, apparently as far as Kinnaird Head.] [Footnote 590: Probably Old Aberdeen.] [Footnote 591: Dee.] [Footnote 592: Ithan.] [Footnote 593: Kinnaird Head.] [Footnote 594: The Vacomagi were spread over an extensive region west of the Taixali and north of the Grampians, comprising a considerable part of Aberdeen, all Banff, Murray, Elgin, and Nairn, with the north-east of Inverness.] [Footnote 595: On the Spey.] [Footnote 596: Brae Mar Castle.] [Footnote 597: Uncertain, but near the Ness; perhaps Inverness or Bonness.] [Footnote 598: Burgh Head.] [Footnote 599: Murray Frith.] [Footnote 600: Spey.] [Footnote 601: Dovern.] [Footnote 602: The Damnii Albani may have been a remnant of the Damnii, who, after the erection of the wall, being cut off from the rest of their tribe, were gradually circumscribed by the neighbouring people, to Braidalbane, and a small part of the west of Perth and east of Argyle.] [Footnote 603: The Attacotti occupied a considerable part of Argyle, as far as Lochfyn.] [Footnote 604: Loch Lomond.] [Footnote 605: Dumbarton. It was afterwards called Theodosia.] [Footnote 606: It must be confessed that the information preserved by Richard, in regard to this remote part of our island, is extremely obscure, and that his descriptions will only assist us in guessing at the situation of the different tribes. Perhaps this can scarcely be deemed extraordinary, when we consider how imperfectly the interior of this country is known even at present.] [Footnote 607: The country of the proper Caledonians was the central part of Inverness and Ross.] [Footnote 608: The Cantæ seem to have held Cromarty and East Ross.] [Footnote 609: Frith of Cromartie, _Stukeley_. Loth R. _Roy._] [Footnote 610: Tarbet Ness, _Stukeley_. Ord Head, Caithness, _Roy_.] [Footnote 611: Frith of Dornoch, _Stukeley_.] [Footnote 612: The Logi seem to have held the south-east of Strathnavern, and north-east of Sutherland.] [Footnote 613: All, _Stukeley_. Shiel, _Roy_.] [Footnote 614: The Carnabii inhabited part of Caithness, the north of Ross, and central part of Sutherland.] [Footnote 615: Ness or Noss Head, _Stukeley_.] [Footnote 616: The Catini held part of Caithness and the east of Sutherland.] [Footnote 617: The Mertæ held the country comprised between the Catini and Carnabii.] [Footnote 618: Dunnet Head, _Stukeley_. Duncansby Head, _Roy_.] [Footnote 619: Navern.] [Footnote 620: The Carnonacæ seem to have held the detached portion of Cromarty, situated near Loch Broom, and a small part on the border of Sutherland.] [Footnote 621: Cape Wrath.] [Footnote 622: Loch Broom.] [Footnote 623: The Cerones held the north-west part of Ross;--the Creones south-west of Ross and Inverness, and a part of Argyle.] [Footnote 624: Shiel, _Roy_.] [Footnote 625: Loch Loch, _Stukeley_. Linnhe Loch, _Roy_.] [Footnote 626: Lochfyn.] [Footnote 627: The Epidii probably occupied the Western part of Argyle, as far as the Mull of Cantyr, and were bounded on one side by the sea and on the other by Lochfyn.] CHAP. VII. The different parts of Britain having been cursorily examined according to my original design, it seems necessary, before I proceed to a description of the islands, to attend to a doubt suggested by a certain person.[628] "Where," asks he, "are the vestiges of those cities and names which you commemorate? There are none." This question may be answered by another: Where are now the Assyrians, Parthians, Sarmatians, Celtiberians? None will be bold enough to deny the existence of those nations. Are there not also at this time many countries and cities bearing the same names as they did two or three thousand years ago? Judea, Italy, Gaul, Britain, are as clearly known now as in former times; Londinium is still styled in the common language, with a slight change of sound, London. The negligence and inattention of our ancestors in omitting to collect and preserve such documents as might have been serviceable in this particular, are not deserving of heavy censure, for scarcely any but those in holy orders employed themselves in writing books, and such even esteemed it inconsistent with their sacred office to engage in such profane labours. I rather think I may without danger, and without offence, transmit to posterity that information which I have drawn from a careful examination and accurate scrutiny of ancient records concerning the state of this kingdom in former periods. The good abbat, indeed, had nearly inspired me with other sentiments, by thus seeming to address me: Are you ignorant how short a time is allotted us in this world; that the greatest exertions cannot exempt us from the appellation of unprofitable servants; and that all our studies should be directed to the purpose of being useful to others? Of what service are these things, but to delude the world with unmeaning trifles? To these remarks I answer with propriety. Is then every honest gratification forbidden? Do not such narratives exhibit proofs of Divine Providence? Does it not hence appear, that an evangelical sermon concerning the death and merits of Christ enlightened and subdued a world overrun with Gentile superstitions? To the reply, that such things are properly treated of in systems of chronology, I rejoin: Nor is it too much to know that our ancestors were not, as some assert, Autochthones, sprung from the earth; but that God opened the book of nature to display his omnipotence, such as it is described in the writings of Moses. When the abbat answered, that works which were intended merely to acquire reputation for their authors from posterity, should be committed to the flames, I confess with gratitude that I repented of this undertaking. The remainder of the work is therefore only a chronological abridgment, which I present to the reader, whom I commend to the goodness and protection of God; and at the same time request, that he will pray for me to our holy Father, who is merciful and inclined to forgiveness. The following Itinerary is collected from certain fragments left by a Roman general. The order is changed in some instances, according to Ptolemy and others, and it is hoped, with improvement. * * * * * Among the Britons were formerly ninety-two cities, of which thirty-three were more celebrated and conspicuous. Two municipal,[629] Verolamium;[630] and Eboracum.[631] Nine colonial;[632] namely, Londinium[633] _Augusta_, Camalodunum[634] _Geminæ Martiæ_, Rhutupis,[635] ***** Thermæ[636] _Aquæ Solis_, Isca[637] _Secunda_, Deva[638] Getica, Glevum[639] _Claudia_, Lindum,[640] **** Camboricum[641]. **** Ten cities under the Latian law:[642] namely, Durnomagus,[643] Cataracton,[644] Cambodunum,[645] Coccium,[646] Lugubalia,[647] Ptoroton,[648] Victoria,[649] Theodosia,[650] Corinum,[651] Sorbiodunum.[652] Twelve stipendiary[653] and of lesser consequence; Venta Silurum,[654] Venta Belgarum,[655] Venta Icenorum,[656] Segontium,[657] Maridunum,[658] Ragæ,[659] Cantiopolis,[660] Durinum,[661] Isca,[662] Bremenium,[663] Vindonum,[664] and Durobrivæ.[665] But let no one lightly imagine that the Romans had not many others besides those above-mentioned. I have only commemorated the more celebrated. For who can doubt that they who, as conquerors of the world, were at liberty to choose, did not select places fitted for their purposes? They for the most part took up their abode in fortresses which they constructed for themselves. (The Itinerary, which follows here in the original Latin, being a dry list of names, is omitted. See the Appendix, No. I.) FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 628: These remarks prove how much Richard rose superior to the prejudices of his age and his profession. From the tone which he assumes, it is however, evident that he found it advisable to yield to the remonstrances of his superior.] [Footnote 629: Municipia were towns whose inhabitants possessed in general all the rights of Roman citizens, except those which could not be enjoyed without an actual residence at Rome. They followed their own laws and customs, and had the option of adopting or rejecting those of Rome.--_Rosini Antiq. Rom._ b. x. c. 23.] [Footnote 630: St. Alban's.] [Footnote 631: York.] [Footnote 632: There were different kinds of colonies, each entitled to different rights and privileges; but we have no criterion to ascertain the rank occupied by those in Britain.] [Footnote 633: London.] [Footnote 634: Colchester.] [Footnote 635: Richborough in Kent.] [Footnote 636: Bath.] [Footnote 637: Caerleon.] [Footnote 638: Chester.] [Footnote 639: Gloucester.] [Footnote 640: Lincoln.] [Footnote 641: Cambridge.] [Footnote 642: The Latian law consisted of the privileges granted to the ancient inhabitants of Latium. These are not distinctly known; but appear principally to have been the right of following their own laws, an exemption from the edicts of the Roman prætor, and the option of adopting the laws and customs of Rome.--_Rosini._] [Footnote 643: Castor on Nen.] [Footnote 644: Catteric.] [Footnote 645: Slack.] [Footnote 646: Blackrode.] [Footnote 647: Carlisle.] [Footnote 648: Burgh Head, Elgin, Scotland.] [Footnote 649: Dealgin Ross.] [Footnote 650: Dumbarton.] [Footnote 651: Cirencester, Gloc.] [Footnote 652: Old Sarum.] [Footnote 653: The stipendiary were those who paid their taxes in money, in contradistinction from those who gave a certain portion of the produce of the soil, and were called Vectigales.--_Rosini._] [Footnote 654: Caerwent, Monmouth.] [Footnote 655: Winchester.] [Footnote 656: Castor, near Norwich.] [Footnote 657: Caer Segont.] [Footnote 658: Caermarthen.] [Footnote 659: Leicester.] [Footnote 660: Canterbury.] [Footnote 661: Dorchester.] [Footnote 662: Exeter.] [Footnote 663: Riechester, Northumberland.] [Footnote 664: Possibly Egbury camp, Hants.] [Footnote 665: Rochester.] CHAP. VIII. 1. Having now finished our survey of Albion, we shall describe the neighbouring country, Hibernia or Ireland, with the same brevity. 2. Hibernia is situated more westerly than any other country except England; but as it does not extend so far north, so it stretches further than England towards the south, and the Spanish province of Tarraconensis, from which it is separated by the ocean.[666] 3. The sea which flows between Britain and Hibernia is subject to storms, and according to Solinus, is navigable only during a few days in summer. Midway between the two countries is the island called Monoeda,[667] but now Manavia. 4. According to Bede, Hibernia is preferable to Britain, on account of its situation, salubrity, and serene air, insomuch that snow seldom remains more than three days, nor is it usual to make hay for the winter, or build stalls for cattle. 5. No reptile is found there, nor does it maintain a viper or serpent; for serpents frequently carried from England have died on approaching the shore. Indeed almost all things in the island are antidotes to poison. We have seen an infusion of scraped pieces of bark brought from Hibernia, given to persons bitten by serpents, which immediately deprived the poison of its force, and abated the swelling. 6. This island, according to the venerable Bede, is rich in milk and honey; nor is it without vines. It abounds with fish and birds, and affords deer and goats for the chase. 7. The inhabitants, says Mela, are more than other nations uncivilized and without virtue, and those who have a little knowledge are wholly destitute of piety. Solinus calls them an inhospitable and warlike people. The conquerors, after drinking the blood of the slain, daub their faces with the remainder. They know no distinction between right and wrong. When a woman brings forth a son, she places its first food on the point of her husband's sword, and, introducing it into the mouth of the infant, wishes according to the custom of the country, that he may die amidst arms and in battle. Those who are fond of ornaments adorn the hilts of their swords with the teeth of marine animals, which they polish to a degree of whiteness equal to ivory; for the principal glory of a man consists in the splendour of his arms. 8. Agrippa states the length of Hibernia to be six hundred miles, and the breadth three hundred. It was formerly inhabited by twenty tribes, of whom (_fourteen_[668]) lived on the coast. 9. This is the true country of the Scots, who emigrating from hence added a third nation to the Britons and Picts in Albion. But I cannot agree with Bede, who affirms that the Scots were foreigners. For, according to the testimony of other authors, I conceive they derived their origin from Britain, situated at no considerable distance, passed over from thence, and obtained a settlement in this island. It is certain that the Damnii, Voluntii, Brigantes, Cangi, and other nations, were descended from the Britons, and passed over thither after Divitiacus, or Claudius, or Ostorius, or other victorious generals had invaded their original countries. Lastly, the ancient language which resembles the old British and Gallic tongues, affords another argument, as is well known to persons skilled in both languages.[669] 10. The Deucaledonian Ocean washes the northern side of Hibernia; the Vergivian and Internal the eastern, the Cantabric the south, as the great British or Atlantic Ocean does the western. According to this order, we shall give a description of the island and the most remarkable places. 11. The Rhobogdii occupied the coast of the island next to the Deucaledonian Sea. Their metropolis was Rhobogdium. In the eastern part of their territories was situated the promontory of the same name; in the Western the Promontorium Boreum, or Northern Promontory. Their rivers were the Banna, Darabouna, Argitta, and Vidua; and towards the south, mountains separated them from the Scotti. 12. On the coast between the northern and Venicnian Promontory, and as far as the mouth of the Rhebeus, dwelt the Venicnii. To them the contiguous islands owe their name. Their capital was Rheba. The Nagnatæ dwelt below the Rhebeus as far as the Libnius, and their celebrated metropolis was called after them. The Auterii lived in a recess of the bay of Ausoba, towards the south, and their chief city was named after them. The Concangii occupied the lower part of the same region, near the southern confines of which flowed the river Senus, a noble river, on which was situated their chief city Macobicum. Hibernia in this part being contracted, terminates in a narrow point. The Velatorii inhabited the country near the southern promontory by the river Senus; their metropolis was Regia, and their river Durius. The Lucani were situated where the river Ibernus flows into the ocean. 13. The southern side of the island stretched from the Promontorium Austriacum, or Southern Promontory, to the Sacred Promontory. Here lived the Ibernii, whose metropolis was Rhufina. Next was the river Dobona, and the people called Vodiæ, whose promontory of the same name lies opposite to the Promontorium Antivestæum in England, at about the distance of one hundred and forty-five miles. Not far from thence is the river Dabrona, the boundary of the Brigantes, who have also the river Briga for their limit, and whose chief city is called Brigantia. 14. The part of this island which reaches from the Sacred Promontory as far as Rhobogdium is called the Eastern. The Menapii, inhabiting the Sacred Promontory, had their chief city upon the river Modona called by the same name. From this part to Menapia[670] in Dimetia, the distance, according to Pliny, is thirty miles. One of these countries, but which is uncertain, gave birth to Carausius. Beyond these people the Cauci had their metropolis Dunum [Down]; and the river Oboca washed their boundaries. Both these nations were undoubtedly of Teutonic origin; but it is not known at what precise time their ancestors first passed over, though most probably a little while before Cæsar's arrival in Britain. 15. Beyond these were the Eblanæ, whose chief city was Mediolanum, upon the river Loebius. More to the north was Lebarum, the city of the Voluntii, whose rivers were Vinderus and Buvinda. The Damnii occupied the part of the island lying above these people, and contiguous to the Rhobogdii. Their chief city was Dunum [Down], where St. Patrick, St. Columba, and St. Bridget are supposed to be buried in one tomb. 16. It remains now to give some account of those people who lived in the interior parts. The Coriondii bordered upon the Cauci and Menapii, above the Brigantes; the Scotti possessed the remaining part of the island, which from them took the name of Scotia. Among many of their cities, the remembrance of two only has reached our times: the one Rheba, on the lake and river Rhebeus; the other Ibernia, situated at the east side of the river Senus. 17. I cannot omit mentioning in this place that the Damnii, Voluntii, Brigantes, and Cangiani were all nations of British origin, who being either molested by neighbouring enemies, or unable to pay the heavy tribute exacted of them, gradually passed over into this country in search of new settlements. With respect to the Menapii, Cauci, and some other people, it has been before remarked that many things occur which cannot safely be relied upon. Tacitus relates that Hibernia was more frequented by foreigners than Albion. But in that case, the ancients would undoubtedly have left us a more ample and credible account of this island. While I am writing a description of Hibernia, it seems right to add, that it was reduced under the Roman power, not by arms, but by fear: and moreover, that Ptolemy, in his second map of Europe, and other celebrated geographers, have erred in placing it at too great a distance from Britain, and from the northern part of the province Secunda, as appears from their books and maps. 18. North of Hibernia are the Hebudes, five[671] in number, the inhabitants of which know not the use of corn, but live on fish and milk. They are all, according to Solinus, subject to one chief, for they are only divided from each other by narrow straits. The chief possessed no peculiar property but was maintained by general contribution: he was bound by certain laws; and lest avarice should seduce him from equity, he learned justice from poverty, having no house nor property, and being maintained at the public expense. He had no wife; but took by turns any woman for whom he felt an inclination, and hence had neither a wish nor hope for children. Some persons have written concerning these Hebudes, that during winter darkness continues for the space of thirty days? but Cæsar upon diligent inquiry found this assertion untrue, and only discovered by certain water-measures of time that the nights were shorter here than in Gaul. 19. The Orcades, according to some accounts, are distant from the Hebudes seven days and nights' sail; but this is erroneous. They are thirty in number, and contiguous to each other. They were uninhabited, without wood, and abounded with reeds: several were formed only of sand and rocks, as may be collected from Solinus and others. 20. Thule, the last of the British isles, is placed by Mela opposite to[672] the coast of the Belgæ. It has been celebrated in Greek and Roman verse. Thus the Mantuan Homer says,-- "Et tibi serviat ultima Thule." Here are no nights during the solstice when the sun passes the sign of Cancer; and on the other hand, in the winter there are no days, as Pliny asserts. These circumstances are supposed to happen for six whole months. The inhabitants, as Solinus affirms, in the beginning of the spring live among their cattle upon herbs, then upon milk, and lay up fruits against the winter. They have their women in common without marriages. Thule, according to the same author, abounds in fruits. At the distance of a day's sail from Thule the sea is difficult to pass through, and frozen; it is by some called Cronium. From Thule to Caledonia is two days' sail. 21. The isle of Thanatos[673] is bounded by a narrow channel, and separated from the continent of Britain by a small estuary called the Wantsum.[674] It is rich in pasture and corn. According to Isiodorus, its soil is not only salubrious to itself, but to others, for no snakes live in it, and the earth being carried to a distance destroys them. It is not far distant from Rhutupis.[675] 22. The isle of Vecta,[676] conquered by Vespasian, is thirty miles in length, on the side next to the Belgæ, from east to west, and twelve from north to south. In the eastern part it is six miles, in the western three, from the above-mentioned southern shore of Britain. 23. Besides the isles just specified, there were VII Acmodæ,[677] Ricnea,[677A] Silimnus,[677B] Andros,[677C] Sigdiles,[677D] XL Vindilios,[677E] Sarna,[678] Cæsarea,[679] and Cassiterides.[680] 24. The island Sena, opposite the Ossismican[681] coast, is according to Mela famous for the oracle of the Gallic deity, of whom the priestesses, sanctified by perpetual virginity, are said to have been nine in number. The Gauls call them Senæ, and suppose them gifted with singular powers; that they raise the winds and the seas with incantations, change themselves into what animals they please, and cure disorders which in other places yield to no remedy; that they have the knowledge of future events, and prophesy. They are not favourable except to mariners, and only to such as go thither for the purpose of consulting them. 25. The rest of the isles of smaller size and consequence which lie round Albion will be better perceived and known by the inspection of the annexed map[682] than from any description. Here, therefore, we stop, and anxiously commend our labours to the favour and judgment of the benevolent reader. The first book of the geographical Commentary on the situation of Britain, and those stations which the Romans erected in that island, is happily finished, through the assistance of God, by the hand of Richard, servant of Christ and monk of Westminster. Thanks be to God! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 666: As we have neither the assistance of an Itinerary to guide us in our researches, nor a local knowledge of Ireland, we have not attempted to specify the situation of the ancient states and cities in that island.] [Footnote 667: Man.] [Footnote 668: In the original is an error in the numerals, the number afterwards specified is fourteen.] [Footnote 669: Nearly one-third of the words in the Irish tongue are the same as the modern Welsh, and many idioms and modes of speech are common to both languages.] [Footnote 670: St. David's.] [Footnote 671: The Hebudes amount to more than five. From hence it may perhaps be inferred that the Roman fleet in their voyage of discovery did not reach these seas, though they coasted the northern part of Scotland, for the Orcades are rightly numbered.] [Footnote 672: Littori apposita, Richard. From the sense in which this phrase is generally used in geography, it might be rendered _under the same meridian_.] [Footnote 673: Thanet.] [Footnote 674: See Bede's Eccles. Hist. p. 37, note.] [Footnote 675: Richborough.] [Footnote 676: Wight.] [Footnotes 677-677E: No geographer has hitherto attempted to ascertain the modern names of these islands.] [Footnote 678: Guernsey.] [Footnote 679: Jersey.] [Footnote 680: Scilly Isles.] [Footnote 681: From a tribe of the Veneti called Ossismii, who inhabited part of Bretagne.] [Footnote 682: The map being no longer of any use, has been omitted in this edition.] BOOK II. PREFACE. We have thought proper to add as a supplement to the description of ancient Britain in the same summary manner--I. An epitome of chronology from the creation to the sack of Rome by the Goths: II. A short account of the Roman emperors, and governors, who presided over this country: III. Some persons will perhaps say that this kind of work is not absolutely necessary either for divine worship or greater things. But let them know that leisure hours may be dedicated to the study of the antiquities of our country without any derogation from the sacred character. Yet if censorious people envy us such pleasures at leisure hours, hastening to the end and almost arrived at the goal, we here check our steps. CHAP. I. IV. In the beginning, the Almighty Creator made this world, inhabited by us and other creatures, out of nothing, in the space of six days. V. In the year of the world 1656, the Creator, to punish the increasing wickedness of mankind, sent a flood upon the earth, which, overwhelming the whole world, destroyed every living creature except those which had entered the ark, and whose progeny replenished the new world with colonies of living beings. VI. 3000. About this time some persons affirm that Britain was cultivated and first inhabited, when it was visited by the Greek and Phoenician merchants. Nor are those wanting who believe that London was shortly after built by a king called Bryto. VII. 3228. The brothers Romulus and Remus laid the foundation of Rome, which in time became the common terror of all nations. VIII. 3600. The Senones, having emigrated from Britain, passed through Gaul, with the intent to invade Italy and attack Rome. IX. 3650. The Belgæ entered this country, and the Celta occupied the region deserted by the Senones. Divitiacus king of the Ædui soon afterwards passed over with an army and subdued great part of this kingdom. About this time the Britons who were expelled by the Belgæ emigrated to Ireland, formed a settlement, and were thenceforward called Scoti. X. 3943. Cassibelinus waged war with the maritime states.[683] XI. 3946. Cæsar overcame the Germans, Gauls, and also the Britons, to whom, before this time, even the name of the Romans was unknown. The conqueror, having received hostages, rendered the people tributary. XII. 3947. At length coming a second time into this country, upon the invitation, as he pretended, of the Trinobantes, he waged war with Cassibelinus king of the Cassii. Suetonius, however, asserts, with greater probability, that he was allured by the costly pearls of Britain. XIII. 4044. The emperor Claudius passed over to Britain, and in the space of six months, almost without effusion of blood, reduced a great part of the island, which he ordered to be called Cæsariensis. XIV. 4045. Vespasian, at that time in a private station, being sent by the emperor Claudius with the second legion into this country, attacked the Belgæ and Damnonii, and having fought thirty-two battles and taken twenty cities, reduced them under the Roman power, together with the Isle of Wight. XV. 4047. The Romans occupied Thermæ and Glebon. XVI. 4050. Ostorius the Roman general, after a war of nine years, overcame Caractacus king of the Silures, great part of Britain was reduced into a province, and the colony of Camalodunum founded. XVII. 4052. Certain cities of the Belgæ were yielded by the Romans to Cogibundus, that he might form a kingdom. About this time the Cangi and Brigantes went over and settled in Ireland. XVIII. 4061. The emperor Nero, having no courage for military enterprises, nearly lost Britain; for under him its two greatest cities were taken and destroyed. Bonduica, in order to revenge the injury offered to her by the Romans, rose in arms, burned the Roman colonies of London, Camalodunum, and the municipal town Verulamium, and slew more than eighty thousand Roman citizens. She was at length overcome by Suetonius, who amply avenged the loss, by slaughtering an equal number of her subjects. XIX. 4073. Cerealis conquered the Brigantes. XX. 4076. Frontinus punished the Ordovices. XXI. 4080. Agricola after a severe engagement subdued Galgacus king of the Caledonians. He ordered all the island to be examined by a fleet, and having sailed round its coasts, added the Orcades to the Roman empire. XXII. 4120. The emperor Hadrian himself came into the island, and separated one part of it from the other by an immense wall. XXIII. 4140. Urbicus being sent hither by Antoninus Pius, distinguished himself by his victories. XXIV. 4150. Aurelius Antoninus also obtained victories over some of the Britons. XXV. 4160. Britain was enlightened by the introduction of Christianity, during the reign of Lucius, who first submitted himself to the cross of Christ. XXVI. 4170. The Romans were driven from the Vespasian province. About this time it is supposed that king Reuda came with his people, the Picts, from the islands into Britain. XXVII. 4207. The emperor Severus, passing over into Britain, repaired the wall built by the Romans, which had been ruined, and died not long after, by the visitation of God, at York. XXVIII. 4211. Bassianus (Caracalla) obtained a venal peace from the Mæatæ. XXIX. 4220. During these times the Roman armies confined themselves within the wall, and all the island enjoyed a profound peace. XXX. 4290. Carausius, having assumed the purple, seized upon Britain; but ten years afterwards it was recovered by Asclepiodotus. XXXI. 4304. A cruel and inveterate persecution, in which within the space of a month seventeen thousand martyrs suffered in the cause of Christ. This persecution spread over the sea, and the Britons, Alban, Aaron, and Julius, with great numbers of men and women, were condemned to a happy death. XXXII. 4306. Constantius, a man of the greatest humanity, having conquered Allectus, died at Eboracum in the sixteenth year of his reign. XXXIII. 4307. Constantine, afterwards called the Great, son of Constantius by Helena, a British woman, was created emperor in Britain; and Ireland voluntarily became tributary to him. XXXIV. 4320. The Scoti entered Britain under the conduct of the king Fergusius, and here fixed their residence. XXXV. Theodosius slew Maximus the tyrant three miles from Aquileia. Maximus having nearly drained Britain of all its warlike youth, who followed the footsteps of his tyranny over Gaul, the fierce transmarine nations of the Scots from the south, and the Picts from the north, perceiving the island without soldiers and defenceless, oppressed it and laid it waste during a long series of years. XXXVI. 4396. The Britons indignantly submitting to the attacks of the Scots and Picts, sent to Rome, made an offer of submission, and requested assistance against their enemies. A legion being accordingly despatched to their assistance, slew a great multitude of the barbarians, and drove the remainder beyond the confines of Britain. The legion, upon its departure homewards, advised its allies to construct a wall between the two estuaries, to restrain the enemy. A wall was accordingly made in an unskilful manner, with a greater proportion of turf than stone, which was of no advantage; for on the departure of the Romans the former enemies returned in ships, slew, trampled on, and devoured all things before them like a ripened harvest. XXXVII. 4400. Assistance being again entreated, the Romans came, and with the aid of the Britons drove the enemy beyond sea, and built a wall from sea to sea, not as before with earth, but with solid stone, between the fortresses erected in that part to curb the enemy. On the southern coast, where an invasion of the Saxons was apprehended, he erected watch towers. This was the work of Stilicho, as appears from Claudian. XXXVIII. 4411. Rome, the seat of the fourth and greatest of the monarchies, was seized by the Goths, as Daniel prophesied, in the year one thousand one hundred and sixty-four after its foundation. From this time ceased the Roman empire in Britain, four hundred and sixty-five years after the arrival of Julius Cæsar. XXXIX. 4446. The Roman legion retiring from Britain, and refusing to return, the Scots and Picts ravaged all the island from the north as far as the wall, the guards of which being slain, taken prisoners, or driven away, and the wall itself broken through, the predatory enemy then poured into the country. An epistle was sent filled with tears and sorrows to Fl. Ætius, thrice consul, in the twenty-third year of Theodosius, begging the assistance of the Roman power, but without effect. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 683: Probably from Cæsar, though the precise date seems to be fixed without authority.--_Cæs. de Bell. Gall. lib._ v., § 9.] CHAP. II. 1. Having followed truth as far as possible, if any thing should occur not strictly consistent with it, I request it may not be imputed to me as a fault. Confining myself closely to the rules and laws of history, I have collected all the accounts of other persons which I found most accurate and deserving of credit. The reader must not expect any thing beyond an enumeration of those emperors and Roman governors who had authority over this island. With an account of these I shall close my book. 2. Julius Cæsar the dictator was the first of the Romans who invaded Britain with an army, during the reign of Cassibelinus; but, although he defeated the inhabitants in one battle, and occupied the coast, as Tacitus observes, he rather seems to have shown the way to his successors than to have given them possession. 3. In a short time the civil wars succeeding, the arms of the chiefs were turned against the republic. Britain was also long neglected by the advice of Augustus and the command of Tiberius. It is certain that Caligula intended to enter Britain; but his quick temper and proneness to change, or the unsuccessful attempts against the Germans, prevented him. 4. Claudius, however, carried war into Britain which no Roman emperor since Julius Cæsar had reached, and, having transported his legions and allies without danger or bloodshed, in a few days reduced a part of the island. He afterwards sent over Vespasian, at that time in a private station, who fought two and thirty battles with the enemy, and added to the Roman empire two very powerful nations, with their kings, twenty cities, and the isle of Vecta, contiguous to Britain. He overcame the remainder by means of Cneas Sentius and Aulus Plautius. For these exploits he obtained a great triumph. 5. To him succeeded Ostorius Scapula, a man famous in war, who reduced the nearest part of Britain into a province, and added the colony of the veterans, Camalodunum. Certain cities were delivered up to the chief Cogibundus, who, according to Tacitus, remained faithful till the accession of Trajan to the empire. 6. Avitus Didius Gallus kept possession of what his predecessors had acquired, a few posts only being removed further into the interior, in order to obtain the credit of extending his dominion. 7. Didius Verannius, who succeeded, died within a year. 8. Suetonius Paulinus continued prosperous for two years. The tribes being reduced and garrisons established, he attacked the isle of Mona, because it gave succour to the rebellious and afforded opportunities for invasion. For the absence of the governor removing all fear, the Britons began to recover courage, and rose in arms under the conduct of Bonduica, a woman of royal descent. Having reduced the troops scattered in the garrisons, they attacked the colony[684] itself, as the seat of slavery, and in the height of rage and victory, exercised every species of savage barbarity. Had not Paulinus, on receiving the intelligence, luckily hastened to crush the revolt, Britain must have been lost. But the fortune of one battle restored it to its former submission. Many of the natives, from the consciousness of their defection, and fear of the governor, continued under arms. 9. Suetonius, in other respects an illustrious man, but arrogant to the vanquished and prompt to avenge his own injuries, being likely to exercise severity, he was replaced by Petronius Turpilianus, who was more merciful, a stranger to the offences of the enemy, and therefore more likely to be softened by their repentance. Having settled the disturbances, he gave up the province to Trebellius Maximus. 10. Trebellius, being of a slothful disposition and unused to war, retained the province by gentleness. The barbarous Britons ceasing to be ignorant of luxury, and the termination of civil wars, gave him an excuse for inactivity. But discord called forth his exertions; for the soldiery, when released from military labours, grew wanton from too much rest. Trebellius, having evaded the rage of the army by flight, was shortly allowed to resume the command, the licentiousness of the soldiery becoming as it were a composition for the safety of the general. This sedition ended without bloodshed. 11. Nor did Vectius Bolanus, although the civil wars still continued, harass Britain by restoring discipline. There was the same inactivity towards the enemy, and the same insubordination in the garrisons; but Bolanus, being a good man and not disliked, acquired affection instead of authority. 12. But when, with the rest of the world, Vespasian had recovered Britain, we see distinguished generals, famous armies, and the enemy dispirited: Petilius Cerealis immediately excited terror by attacking the state of the Brigantes, which was esteemed the most populous of the province. Many battles were fought, some of which were bloody, and a great part of the Brigantian territory was either conquered or invaded. 13. But although Cerealis had diminished the care and fame of his successor, the burden was sustained by Julius Frontinus, a man of high courage. Overcoming at once the spirit of the enemy and the difficulties of the country, he subjugated the warlike and powerful nation of the Silures. 14. To him succeeded Agricola, who not only maintained the peace of the province; but for seven years carried on war against the Caledonians and their warlike king Galgacus. He thus added to the Roman empire nations hitherto unknown. 15. But Domitian, envying the superior glory of Agricola, recalled him, and sent his lieutenant Lucullus into Britain, because he had suffered lances of a new form to be named _Luculleas_ after him. 16. His successor was Trebellius, under whom the two provinces, namely, Vespasiana and Mæata, were wrested from the Roman government; for the Romans gave themselves up to luxury. 17. About this time the emperor Hadrian visiting this island, erected a wall justly wonderful, and left Julius Severus his deputy in Britain. 18. From this time nothing worthy of attention is related, until Antoninus Pius carried on so many wars by his generals. He conquered the Britons by means of Lollius Urbicus, the proprætor, and Saturninus, prefect of the fleet, and, the barbarians being driven back, another wall was built. He recovered the province afterwards called Valentia. 19. Pius dying, Aurelius Antoninus gained many victories over the Britons and Germans. 20. On the death of Antoninus, when the Romans deemed their acquisitions insufficient, they suffered a great defeat under Marcellus. 21. To him succeeded Pertinax, who conducted himself as an able general. 22. The next was Clodius Albinus, who contended with Severus for the sceptre and purple. 23. After these, the first who enjoyed the title of lieutenant was Virius Lupus: he did not perform many splendid actions; for his glory was intercepted by the unconquerable Severus, who, having rapidly put the enemy to flight, repaired the wall of Hadrian, now become ruinous, and restored it to its former perfection. Had he lived, he intended to extirpate the very name of the barbarians; but he died by the visitation of God, among the Brigantes, in the city of Eboracum. 24. Alexander succeeded, who gained some victories in the East, and died at Edessa. 25. His successors were the lieutenants Lucilianus, M. Furius, N. Philippus *********, who, if we except the preservation of the boundaries, performed hardly any thing worthy of notice. 26. Afterwards ***** _The rest is wanting._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 684: Camalodunum.] APPENDIX.--No. I. COMMENTARY ON THE ITINERARY. No people are so barbarous as to be totally destitute of the means of internal communication; and in proportion as they become more civilized and have more intercourse with other nations, these means are augmented and facilitated. By the early accounts of the Britons it appears that they maintained a considerable foreign commerce, that they had formed towns or large communities, and used chariots for warlike, and undoubtedly for civil purposes. Hence it is evident that their internal communications must have been free and numerous. We need not therefore be surprised, if, after the lapse of so many centuries, marks of such British roads appear even at present to a careful observer, differing in many respects from the roads subsequently made by the Romans, and traversing the island in every direction. These ancient ways may be distinguished from those made by the Romans by unequivocal marks. I. They are not raised nor paved, nor always straight; but often wind along the tops or sides of the chains of hills which lie in their course. II. They do not lead to Roman towns, or notice such towns, except when placed on the sites of British fortresses. III. They are attended by tumuli like those of the Romans; but usually throw out branches, which, after running parallel for some miles, are reunited to the original stem. When the Romans obtained a footing in this island, they directed all their operations, according to their practice, by military principles. They civilized indeed as they conquered, but conquest was their principal object. Hence, as each tribe was successively subdued, they fortified such primary posts as were best adapted to support their future operations, established secondary posts to secure their communications, and connected the whole by military ways. From local circumstances, and the principles of war, their primary posts were either at or near the sites of the British towns, or on the principal rivers. If therefore the British towns and trackways were suited to their purposes, they adopted them; if not, they constructed others. But both their towns and roads differed materially from those of the original inhabitants. The Romans in their towns or fortresses followed the system of their own castrametation, in like manner as in modern warfare the construction of permanent and temporary works is guided by the same general principles. These towns are of a regular figure, bounded by lines as straight as the shape of the ground will permit, generally square or oblong, and consisting commonly in a single wall and ditch, unless in positions peculiarly dangerous, or where local circumstances rendered additional defences necessary. On the contrary the British towns, which were occupied by the Romans, although irregularly shaped, still partake of their original figure. Specimens of the first kind, or perfect Roman towns, may be seen in Colchester, Winchester, Caerleon, Caerwent, Castor near Norwich, and all the military stations bordering on the wall of Severus. Of the latter, in Bath, Silchester, Kentchester, Canterbury, and other places. Similar marks of difference between the original British trackways and the Roman roads appear in the Foss, and the Iknield Street;--the latter, during the greater part of its course, keeping along the chain of hills which lay in its way, not leading decidedly to Roman towns, throwing out parallel branches, attended always with tumuli, still bearing its British name, and appearing from its direction to have been made for commercial purposes. On the other hand the adopted roads, but more especially those made by the Romans themselves, are distinguished by peculiar marks. Posts or towns are placed on them at nearly regular distances, seldom exceeding twenty miles, the length of a single march, and also at the point where two roads intersect each other, or where several roads diverge. These roads are elevated with surprising labour to the height of ten feet, and sometimes even more, instances of which may be seen on the heath near Woodyates Inn in Dorsetshire, near Old Sarum on the side of Ford, in Chute Park, Wilts, between Ancaster and Lincoln, and still more remarkably on Bramham Moor, near Tadcaster in Yorkshire. They were formed of materials often brought from a considerable distance, such as chalk, pebbles, or gravel; and the most considerable are paved with stones, which are visible to this day. Tumuli also, which seem to have been the direction-posts of antiquity, attended their course, and occur in almost every instance where a road descends a hill, approaches a station, or throws off a branch. Another peculiarity of the Roman ways is their straight direction, from which they seldom deviate, except to avoid a rapid ascent or descent, to throw off another road, or to approach a station, which, from the circumstances before mentioned, had been fixed out of the general line. Of this there is a curious instance where the Foss, in approaching Cirencester from the north, meets the Akeman Street, bearing to the same point from the north-east, and evidently bends out of its course to join and enter the station with it. Of many of the Roman roads, not only in England, but in the greater part of the Roman empire, an account has been preserved under the name of the Itinerary of Antoninus, which specifies the towns or stations on each road, and shows the distances between them. This record was long supposed to be a public directory or guide for the march of soldiers; but if this were the case, it is extremely confused and imperfect. It often omits in one _Iter_ or journey towns which are directly in its course, and yet specifies them in another, as may be seen in the first, second, sixth, and eighth Iters. It traces the same road more than once, and passes unnoticed some of the most remarkable roads in the island, namely a great part of the Foss, and the whole of the _Via Devana_ (a road from Colchester to Chester.) Hence this Itinerary has been more justly considered as the heads of a journal formed by some traveller or officer, who visited the different parts of the empire from business or duty; and, as Mr. Reynolds conjectures with great appearance of probability, in the suite of the emperor Adrian. In this light it may be considered as copious, and the advantages which it has afforded to the antiquary will be gratefully and universally acknowledged. Still, however, from the incoherence which appears in that part relating to our island, and from the mutilated copies which have been found, there is reason to imagine that the whole of this interesting record has not escaped the ravages of time. Such an itinerary, but varying in many respects from that of Antonine, is one of the most important parts of the work now presented to the reader. In fixing the sites of the towns specified in these Itineraries, our antiquaries have assumed the most unjustifiable latitude. The mere resemblance of a name was considered as a reason sufficient to outweigh all others; even the great Camden suffered himself to be misled by this resemblance, in fixing Ariconium at Kentchester, Camalodunum at Maldon, Bennavenna at Bensford, Pons Ælii at Pont Eland, and Ad-Pontem at Paunton. The explanation of the names to suit the supposed situation has been another fruitful source of error; not only British and Latin, but Saxon, Greek, and even Hebrew, have been exhausted to discover significant appellations; and where one language was not sufficient, half a word has been borrowed from one language and half from another to support a favourite hypothesis.[685] The commentary now presented to the reader is founded on the following principles. I. The vestiges of roads actually existing are taken as much as possible for guides; and the extremes or direction of each Iter, ascertained from two or more undoubted stations, or other unequivocal proofs. II. In general, no place is regarded as the site of a Roman station, unless fixed Roman remains, such as buildings, baths, &c. are found at or near it; and unless it is situated on or near the line of a Roman road. III. An exception has, however, been sometimes unavoidably made to this rule. After the Romans had established their power, and completed their system of internal communication, they undoubtedly lessened the number of their garrisons, to avoid either too great a division of their force, or to reduce that part of it which was necessarily stationary. Hence we have sometimes considered the direction of the road, and the general distance, as sufficient data for determining a station or stations, either when they were situated between two considerable fortified points, or when covered by others on every side; because it is probable such posts were merely temporary, and were dilapidated or demolished, even before the decline of the Roman power. IV. In assigning a specific Roman name to a place, it has not been deemed sufficient that fixed antiquities or other equivalent evidence prove a town to have existed on the spot, unless the order of the names, and the distances marked in the Itinerary, justify the appellation. V. Where the line of the Roman road is tolerably perfect, no station is sought far from it, except where the excess of the Itinerary over the real distance, or accurate measurement, affords sufficient authority for the deviation. VI. The numbers which determine the distances being written in Roman numerals, which gave great latitude for error[686] and substitutions, recourse has been had to this rule. Where the road still exists, the whole intermediate space between two stations already determined, has been examined to discover what places, from their relative distance, from their site, or the antiquities found in them, have the fairest claim to be considered as Roman posts; and to such places the names have been affixed according to the evidence afforded in the Itinerary. After this development of the principles on which we have proceeded in our examination, it is necessary to add a few observations on the Roman mile, the standard of measurement used in compiling the Itineraries; because many difficulties in determining the stations arise from our uncertainty respecting its real length. It may indeed appear easy to ascertain this point, by a careful measurement of the space between two military columns, still existing on any known Roman road. But in Britain such an experiment has been hitherto impracticable; for the columns in our island have been so universally defaced or removed, that, far from two existing on the same road, only one has been found[687] whose original station is known with any degree of certainty. In France and Italy many of these columns still exist, and Danville has adduced three instances in Languedoc, in which the distances between them accurately measured amounted in one to 756, in another to 753, and in a third to 752 toises and two feet. The average 754 toises and two feet, seems to determine the length of the Roman mile with sufficient precision; and the result is confirmed by a comparison with the Roman foot, still preserved in the capitol; for the exact length of the miles between the military columns on the Appian way, in the neighbourhood of Rome, as measured by Bianchini, was 5010 of these Roman feet, which reduced to toises is 756 toises four feet and a half. From these results Danville estimates the Roman mile at 755 toises, or 1593 yards[688] English measure. Unfortunately this mensuration does not lessen the difficulties of the English antiquary; for the distance between any two of our known stations, if measured by this standard, disagrees in almost every instance with the numbers of the Itineraries. Different conjectures have been advanced to solve this difficulty. One, supported by the respectable authority of Horsley, is, that the Romans measured only the horizontal distance, without regarding the inequalities of the surface; or that the space between station and station was ascertained from maps accurately constructed. This idea receives some support from a fact acknowledged by every British antiquary, namely, that the Itinerary miles bear a regular proportion to the English miles on plains, but fall short of them in hilly grounds. Another opinion is, that the Itinerary miles were not measured by an invariable standard, but in the distant provinces were derived from the common measures of the country. In support of this conjecture a supposed coincidence between the computed and measured miles, noticed by Horsley and others, has been adduced; but if this were the case, there would not be so exact a conformity between the miles of France and Italy as appears in the instance before mentioned. To remove, however, as many causes of error as possible, considerable pains have been taken to correct the numbers, by a comparison of all the earliest and most authentic copies of the Itinerary. These are: The Itinerary of Talbot, published in Leland's works. That of Camden. Two copies by Harrison, published first in Hollingshed, and republished by Burton. That of Gale. That of Surita, who collated five copies, four of which he thus designates:--1. Bibliothecæ Regiæ ad D. Laurent. vetustisa. Codex Ovetensis Æra I[OO]CCCCXX descriptus. 2. Bibliothecæ Blandiniæ pervetustus codex a CCCC. circiter annis transcriptus. 3. Bibliothecæ Neapolitanorum Regum qui post cardinalis de Ursinis fuit anno M.CCCCXXVII. exscriptus. 4. Christophori Longolii exemplar ab H. Stephano. Parisiis editum, anno M.I[O]XII. As the Roman posts and roads were in a great degree connected with, or derived from, the British towns and trackways, we proceed to trace first the course of the British roads which still exist, and to specify the towns whose sites are known, premising that of the ninety-two capital towns of the Britons commemorated by historians, the names of only eighty-eight have been preserved. The British ways were,-- 1. The WATLING STREET, or Irish road, in two branches, northern and southern. 2. The IKNIELD STREET, or road of the Iceni, the inhabitants of the eastern coast. 3. The RYKNIELD STREET, leading through the country of the Upper Iceni or Coritani. 4. The ERMYN STREET, leading from the coast of Sussex to the south-east part of Scotland. 5. The AKEMAN STREET, or intermediate road between the Iknield and Ryknield Street. 6. The UPPER SALT-WAY, leading from the salt-mines at Droitwich to the coast of Lincolnshire. 7. The LOWER SALT-WAY, leading from the same mines to the south eastern coast. 8. A road which appears to have skirted the western coast, as the Ermyn Street did the eastern. Besides these, there is reason to conjecture from several detached pieces, that another road followed the shores round the island. WATLING STREET. The south-eastern branch of the Watling Street proceeded from Richborough on the coast of Kent, to Canterbury; and from thence, nearly in the line of the present turnpike, towards Rochester. It left that city to the right, passed the Medway by a ford, and ran almost straight, through lord Darnley's park, to Southfleet. It bent to the left to avoid the marshes near London, continued along a road now lost to Holwood Hill, the capital of the Rhemi, and then followed the course of the present road to London.--Having crossed the Thames, it ran by Edgeware to Verulam; and from thence, with the present great Irish road, through Dunstable and Towcester to Weedon. Hence, instead of bending to the left, with the present turnpike, it proceeded straight by Dovebridge, High Cross, Fazeley, Wall, and Wellington, to Wroxeter. It then passed the Severn, and continued by Rowton, Pen y Pont, and Bala, to Tommen y Mawr, where it divided into two branches. One ran by Beth Gellert to Caernarvon and Anglesea, the other by Dolwyddelan, through the mountains to the banks of the Menai, where it joined the north-eastern branch (which will be presently described), and ended at Holy Head, the great port of the Irish. In its course are the British towns _Rhutupis_, Richborough, _Durovernum_, Canterbury, _Durobrivæ_, Rochester, _Noviomagus_, Holwood Hill, _Trinobantum_, London, _Verolamium_, St. Alban's, _Durocobrivæ_, Dunstable, _Uriconium_, Wroxeter, _Mediolanum_ on the banks of the Tanad, _Segontium_, Caer Segont, and possibly a town, of which the name is lost, at Holy Head. The north-western branch of the Watling Street, coming from the interior of Scotland by Cramond and Jedburgh, enters England at Chew Green, and continues by Riechester to Corbridge. There, crossing the Tyne, it ran through Ebchester, Lanchester, and Binchester, and passed the Tees by a ford near Pierce Bridge. Hence it went by Catteric, Newton, Masham, and Kirby Malside to Ilkley, and near Halifax to Manchester. Over the moors between these two last places it is called the Devil's Causeway. From Manchester, where it passed the Mersey, it proceeded by Street, Northwich, Chester, Caerhun, and over the mountains to Aber, where it fell into the south-western branch, in its course to Holy Head. On it were the British towns, _Bremenium_, Riechester, _Epiacum_, Lanchester, _Vinovium_, Binchester, _Cutaractonis_, Catterick, _Olicana_, Ilkley, and _Deva_, Chester. THE IKNIELD STREET, Or road of the Iceni, proceeds from the coast near Great Yarmouth. Passing through Taesborough, it runs by Icklingham and Newmarket, and, skirting the chain of hills which stretches through Cambridgeshire, Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire, and Oxfordshire, continues by Bournbridge to Icoldon and Royston (where it intersects the Ermyn Street). Thence it proceeds by Baldock, over Wilbury Hill, to Dunstable (where it crosses the Watling Street), Tring, Wendover, Elsborough, near Risborough Chinor, Watlington, Woodcote, and Goring, and, passing the Thames at Streetly, throws off a collateral branch, which will be noticed under the name of the RIDGEWAY. From hence it proceeded, as Stukeley imagined, by Aldworth, Newbury Street, Ashmansworth, Tangley, and Tidworth, to Old Sarum. Thence by the two Stratfords, across Vernditch Chase, Woodyates Inn, the Gussages, Badbury, Shapwick, Shitterton, Maiden Castle, Eggardon, Bridport, Axminster, Honiton, Exeter, Totness, &c., to the Land's End. The collateral branch called the RIDGEWAY, ran from Streetly along the hills, by Cuckhamsley Hill, Whitehorse Hill, and Ashbury, towards Abury, from whence its course is unknown. Possibly it ran towards Glastonbury. From Elworthy barrows, above Taunton, it passes south-westerley into Devonshire, and from Stretton in Cornwall, it kept along the ridge of hills to Redruth and the Land's End. The British towns on this way were _Ad Taum_, Taesborough, the ancient capital of the Iceni Magni, _Durocobrivæ_, Dunstable, _Sorbiodunum_, Old Sarum, _Durinum_, probably Maiden Castle, _Isca_, Exeter, _Tamara_, a post on the Tamar, _Voluba_ on the Fowey, and _Cenia_ on the Fal. On the Ridgeway, possibly _Avalonia_, Glastonbury, _Termolus_, by some supposed to be Molland in Devon, _Artavia_, ... _Musidum_, near Stratton, and _Halangium_, Carnbre. RYKNIELD STREET, Or street of the upper Iceni, said to begin at the mouth of the Tyne, ran by Chester le Street to Binchester, where it joined the Watling Street, and continued with it to Catterick. Then, bearing more easterly, it ran with the present great northern road to within two miles of Borough Bridge, where it left the turnpike to the right, and crossed the Eure to Aldborough. From thence it went by Coptgrave, Ribston, Spofforth, through Stokeld Park, to Thorner, Medley, Foleby, Bolton, Graesborough, Holme, Great Brook near Tretown, Chesterfield, Alfreton, Little Chester, Egginton, to Burton, and Wall (where it crossed the Watling Street). Thence through Sutton Colefield, to Birmingham, King's Norton, Alchester, Bitford, Sedgebarrow, Tewkesbury, Glocester, Lidney, Chepstow, and probably by Abergavenny, Brecon, Landilo, and Caermarthen to St. David's. It passed the British towns of _Vinovium_, Binchester, _Cataracton_, Catterick, _Isurium_, Aldborough, _Etocetum_, Wall, _Alauna_, Alcester, _Glevum_, Glocester, _Maridunum_, Caermarthen, and _Menapia_, St. David's. THE ERMYN STREET Came from the eastern side of Scotland, and, crossing the Tweed west of Berwick, ran near Wooler, Hedgely, Brumpton, Brinkburn, Netherwittern, Hartburn, and Rial, to Corbridge, where it joined the North Watling Street. Passing with that Way the two great rivers the Tyne and the Tees, it continued to Catterick, where it divided into two branches. The western branch went with the Ryknield Street as far as Aldborough, and then, leaving that way to the right, proceeded by Little Ousebourn, to Helensford, over Bramham Heath, to Aberford, Castleford, Houghton, Stapleton, Adwick, Doncaster, Bawtry, and probably by Tuxford, Southwell, and over the Trent to Thorp (where it passed the Foss), Staunton, and Stainby, where it joined the Eastern branch. This branch ran from Catterick by North Allerton, Thirsk, Easingwold, Stamford Bridge, Market Weighton, and South Cave, and, crossing the Humber, continued by Wintringham, Lincoln, and Ancaster, to near Witham, when it was reunited with the western branch above-mentioned. Both continued to Brig Casterton, near Stamford, Chesterton, Stilton, Godmanchester, Royston (where it crossed the Icknield Street), Buntingford, Puckeridge, Ware Park, west of Roxbourn, Cheshunt, Enfield, Wood Green, and London. Here it again divided into two branches. The more westerly went by Dorking, Coldharbour, Stone Street, and Pulborough to Chichester; while the easterly was continued by Bromley, Holwood Hill, Tunbridge Wells, Wadhurst, Mayfield, and Eastbourn, to Pevensey. On it were the British towns _Vinovium_, Binchester, _Cataractonis_, Catterick, _Isurium_, Aldborough, _Lindum_, Lincoln, _Durnomagus_, Castor near Peterborough, _Trinovantum_, London, _Regentium_ or _Regnum_, Chichester, _Noviomagus_, Holwood Hill, and _Anderida Portus_, Pevensey. AKEMAN STREET Appears to have passed from the eastern side of the island, probably by Bedford, Newport Pagnel, Stony Stratford, and Buckingham (or as others think by Fenny Stratford and Winsborough), to Alcester. It then ran by Kirklington, Woodstock, Stonefield Astall and Coln St. Alwin's, to Cirencester, Rodmarton, Cherrington, Bagspath, and Symonds' Hall. From thence it is said to be continued by Cromehall to Aust, where, passing the Severn, it probably ran through Caerwent, Caerleon, and along the coast by Caerdiff, Neath, Lwghor, to Caermarthen, and the Irish port at St. David's. The British towns were _Corinum_, Cirencester, _Venta Silurum_, Caerwent, _Isca_, Caerleon, _Maridunum_, Caermarthen, and _Menapia_, St. David's. THE UPPER SALT-WAY, Which appears to have been the communication between the sea coast of Lincolnshire and the Salt-mines at Droitwich. It is first known as leading from the neighbourhood of Stainsfield, towards Paunton and Denton, and then running not far from Saltby and Croxton, is continued straight by Warmby and Grimston, to Sedgehill on the Foss. Here it appears to bear towards Barrow on the Soar, and crossing Charnwood Forest, is again seen at Stretton on the borders of Warwickshire, from whence it is easily traced to Birmingham and over the Lickey to Droitwich. British town _Salinæ_, Droitwich. The SECOND SALT-WAY is little known, although the parts here described have been actually traced. It came from Droitwich, crossed Worcestershire under the name of the SALT-WAY, appears to have passed the Avon, somewhere below Evesham, tended towards the chain of hills above Sudeley Castle, where it is still visible, attended by _tumuli_ as it runs by Hawling. Thence it proceeds to Northleach, where it crossed the Foss, in its way to Coln St. Aldwin's, on the Akeman Street, and led to the sea coast of Hampshire. _Venta Belgarum_, Winchester, and _Portus Magnus_, Porchester, or _Clausentum_, Bittern near Southampton--were probably situated in its course. In many places are vestiges of a continued road skirting the western side of the island, in the same manner as the Ermyn Street did the eastern, of which parts were never adopted by the Romans. There is great reason to suppose it British, because it connects many of the British towns. It appears to have commenced on the coast of Devon, perhaps not far from the mouth of the Ex, and to have gone by Exeter, Taunton, Bridgewater, Bristol, Glocester, Kidderminster, Claverley, Weston, High Offley, Betley, Middlewich, Northwich, Warrington, Preston, Lancaster. Here probably dividing into two branches, one ran by Kendal, Penrith, and Carlisle, to the extreme parts of the island, while the other passed, by Kirby Lonsdale and Orton, to Kirby Thure, from whence it continued under the name of the MAIDEN-WAY, by the Wall and Bewcastle into the interior parts of Scotland. On this Street were _Isca_, Exeter, _Uxella_, possibly near Bridgewater, _Glevum_, Gloucester, _Brannogenium_, Worcester, _Salinæ_, Droitwich, _Coccium_, Blackrode, and _Luguballium_, Carlisle. Besides these, and the separate communications between the different towns, there is reason to imagine that a general road ran round the whole coast of the island, parts of which have been observed near the southern coast of Dorsetshire, particularly from Abbotsbury to the isle of Purbeck; likewise in Hampshire, along Portsdown Hill; and from Old Winchester through Sussex, on the tops of the hills between Midhurst and Chichester, to Arundel and Brighthelmstone. Also in Essex from Maldon to Colchester, and in Suffolk by Stretford, Ipswich, Stretford, and Blythburgh, to the banks of the Yar. In Lincolnshire are two branches, one running clearly from Tattersal, by Horncastle, Ludford, Strinton, Caistor, and Somerby, and a second nearer to the coast from Lowth towards Brocklesby, and both tending to the passage of the Humber, not far from Barton. Also along the principal part of the coast through Yorkshire, Durham, and Northumberland. On the western side of the island it appears to have passed on the hills which skirt the northern coast of Devonshire and Somersetshire, and possibly might be traced through Wales and towards Scotland. * * * * * As the original text of so important a document as Richard's Itinerary is essential to the thorough comprehension of its meaning, it is here subjoined: it follows after the end of Chapter VII. DIAPHRAGMATA. ITER I. Rhutupia is prima in Britannia insula civitas versus Galliam apud Cantios sita a Gessoriago Bonnoniæ portu, unde commodissimus in supradictam insulam transitus obtingit, CCCCL. stadia, vel ut alii volunt XLVI. mille passuum remota: ab eadem civitate ducta est via Guethelinga dicta, usque in Segontium per m.p. CCCXXIIII. plus minus sic:--Cantiopoli, quæ et Duroverno, m.p. X. Durosevo XII. Duroprovis XXV. deinde m.p. XXVII. transis Thamesin intrasque provinciam Flaviam et civitatem Londinium (Augustam), Sulo Mago m.p. VIIII. Verolamio municipio XII. unde fuit Amphibalus et Albanus Martyres. Foro Dianæ XII. Magio Vinio XII. Lactorodo XII. Isanta Varia XII. Tripontio XII. Benonis VIIII. Hic bisecatur via, alterutrumque ejus brachium Lindum usque, alterum versus Viriconium protenditur, sic: Manduessuedo m.p. XII. Etoceto XIII. Pennocrucio XII. Uxaconia XII. Virioconio XI. Banchorio XXVI. Deva Colonia X. Fines Flaviæ et Secundæ, Varis m.p. XXX. Conovio XX. Seguntio XXIIII. ITER II. A Seguntio Virioconium usque, m.p. LXXIII. sic:--Heriri monte m.p. XXV. Mediolano XXV. Rutunio XII. Virioconio XI. ITER III. A Londinio Lindum coloniam usque, sic: Durosito m.p. XII. Cæsaro Mago XVI. Canonio XV. Camaloduno colonia VIIII. ibi erat templum Claudii, arx triumphalis, et imago Victoriæ deæ. Ad Sturium amnem m.p. VI. et finibus Trinobantum Cenimannos advenis, Cambretonio m.p. XV. Sito Mago XXII. Venta Cenom. XXIII.... Camborico colonia XX. Durali ponte XX. Durno Mago XX. Isinnis XX. Lindo XX. ITER IV. A Lindo ad Vallum usque, sic:--Argolico m.p. XIIII. Dano XX. Ibi intras Maximam Cæsariensem, Legotio m.p. XVI. Eboraco municip. olim colonia sexta m.p. XXI. Isurio XVI. Cattaractoni XXIIII. ad Tisam X. Vinovio XII. Epiaco XVIIII. ad Murum VIIII. trans Murum intras Valentiam. Alauna amne m.p. XXV. Tueda flumine XXX. ad Vallum.... ITER V. A limite Præturiam usque, sic:--Curia m.p.... ad Fines m.p.... Bremenio m.p.... Corstoplio XX. Vindomora VIIII. Vindovio XVIIII. Cattaractoni XXII. Eboraco XL. Derventione VII. Delgovicia XIII. Præturio XXV. ITER VI. Ab Eboraco Devam usque, sic:--Calcaria m.p. VIIII. Camboduno XXII. Mancunio XVIII. Finibus Maximæ et Flaviæ m.p. XVIII. Condate XVIII. Deva XVIII. ITER VII. A Portu Sistuntiorum Eboracum usque, sic:--Rerigonio m.p. XXIII. ad Alpes Peninos VIII. Alicana X. Isurio XVIII. Eboraco XVI. ITER VIII. Ab Eboraco Luguvalium usque, sic:--Cattaractoni m.p. XL. Lataris XVI. Vataris XVI. Brocavonacis XVIII. Vorreda XVIII. Luguballia XVIII. ITER VIIII. A Luguballio Ptorotonim usque, sic:--Trimontio m.p.... Gadanica m.p.... Corio m.p.... ad Vallum m.p.... Incipit Vespasiana. Alauna m.p. XII. Lindo VIIII. Victoria VIIII. ad Hiernam VIIII. Orrea XIIII. ad Tavum XVIIII. ad Æsicam XXIII. ad Tinam VIII. Devana XXIII. ad Itunam XXIIII. ad Montem Grampium m.p.... ad Selinam m.p.... Tuessis XVIIII. Ptorotone m.p.... ITER X. Ab ultima Ptorotone per medium insulæ Isca Damnonorum usque, sic:--Varis m.p. VIII. ad Tuessim XVIII. Tamea XXVIIII.... m.p. XXI. in Medio VIIII. Orrea VIIII. Victoria XVIII. ad Vallum XXXII. Luguballia LXXX. Brocavonacis XXII. ad Alaunam m.p.... Coccio m.p.... Mancunio XVIII. Condate XXIII. Mediolano XVIII. Etoceto m.p.... Salinis m.p.... Glebon colonia m.p.... Corino XIIII. Aquas Solis m.p.... ad Aquas XVIII. ad Uxellam amnem m.p.... Isca m.p.... ITER XI. Ab Aquis per Viam Juliam Menapiam usque, sic:--ad Abonam m.p. VI. ad Sabrinam VI. unde trajectu intras in Britanniam Secundam et stationem Trajectum m.p. III. Venta Silurum VIII. Isca colonia VIIII. unde fuit Aaron Martyr. Tibia amne m.p. VIII. Bovio XX. Nido XV. Leucaro XV. ad Vigesimum XX. ad Menapiam XVIIII. Ab hac urbe per XXX. m.p. navigas in Hyberniam. ITER XII. Ab Aquis Londinium usque, sic:--Verlucione m.p. XV. Cunetione XX. Spinis XV. Calleba Attrebatum XV. Bibracte XX. Londinio XX. ITER XIII. Ab Isca Uriconium usque, sic:--Bultro m.p. VIII. Gobannio XII. Magna XXIII. Branogenio XXIII. Urioconio XXVII. ITER XIIII. Ab Isca per Glebon Lindum usque, sic:--Ballio m.p. VIII. Blestio XII. Sariconio XI. Glebon colonia XV. ad Antonam XV. Alauna XV.... Vennonis XII. Ratiscorion XII. Venromento XII. Margiduno XII. ad Pontem XII. Croco colana Lindum XII. ITER XV. A Londinio per Clausentum in Londinium, sic:--Caleba m.p. XLIIII. Vindomi XV. Venta Belgarum XXI. ad Lapidem VI. Clausento IIII. Portu Magno X. Regno X. ad Decimum X. Anderida portu m.p.... ad Lemanum m.p. XXV. Lemaniano portu X. Dubris X. Rhutupis colonia X. Regulbio X. Contiopoli X. Durelevo XVIII. Mado XII. Vagnaca XVIII. Novio Mago XVIII. Londinio XV. ITER XVI. A Londinio Ceniam usque, sic:--Venta Belgarum m.p. XC. Brige XI. Sorbioduno VIII. Ventageladia XII. Durnovaria VIIII. Moriduno XXXIII. Isca Damnon. XV.... Durio amne m.p.... Tamara m.p.... Voluba m.p.... Cenia m.p.... ITER XVII. Ab Anderida [Eboracum] usque, sic:--Sylva Anderida m.p.... Noviomago m.p.... Londinio m.p. XV. ad Fines m.p.... Durolisponte m.p.... Durnomago m.p. XXX. Corisennis XXX. Lindo XXX. in Medio XV. ad Abum XV. unde transis in Maximam, ad Petuariam m.p. VI. dein le Eboraco, ut supra, m.p. XLVI. ITER XVIII. Ab Eboraco, per medium insulæ Clausentum usque, sic:--Legiolio m.p. XXI. ad Fines XVIII.... m.p. XVI.... m.p. XVI. ... Derventione m.p. XVI. ad Trivonam XII. Etoceto XII. Manduessuedo XVI. Benonnis XII. Tripontio XI. Isannavaria XII. Brinavis XII. Ælia castra XVI. Dorocina XV. Tamesi VI. Vindomi XV. Clausento XLVI. Plurima insuper habebant Romani in Britanniis castella, suis quæque muris, turribus, portis, et repagulis munita. _Finis Itinerariorum._ Quod hactenus auribus, in hoc capite percipitur pene oculis intuentibus: nam huic adjuncta est mappa Britanniæ artificialiter depicta, quæ omnia loca cet. evidenter exprimit, ut ex ea cunctarum regionum incolas dignoscere detur. * * * * * ANCIENT AND MODERN NAMES OF THE STATIONS IN RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER'S ITINERARY. [From the London Edition, 8vo. 1809.] ITER I. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (1) A Rhutupi ducta est | From Richborough to Caer. "_Via Guethelinga_" | dicta, usque in Segontium, per m.p. | Segont, by the Watling CCCXXIIII. plus minus, sic:-- | Street. |_Corrected_| |_numbers._ | (2) Cantiopoli quæ et | | Duroverno X | XI | Canterbury. (3) Durosevo XII | XII | Stone Chaple, in Ospringe. (4) Daroprovis XXV | XVI | Rochester. Deinde m.p. XXVII | XXVII | transis Thamesin | | intrasque provinciam | | Flaviam et civitatem | | (5) Londinium Augustam | | London. (6) Sulo Mago VIIII | XII | On the site of Mr. | | Napier's house at | | Brockley Hill. (7) Verolamio Municipio | | XII | VIIII | Verulam. Unde fuit Amphibalus | | et Albanus, martyres. | | (8) Foro Dianæ XII | XII | Dunstable. (9) Magio Vinio XII | XII | Old Fields, South of Fenny | | Stratford. (10) Lactorodo XII | XVI | Berry Mount, in Towcester. (11) Isanta Varia XII | XII | Burnt Walls near Daventry. (12) Tripontio XII | XII | Near Lilbourne. (13) Benonis VIII | VIIII | High Cross. Hic bisecatur Via; | | alterutrumque ejus | | brachium Lindum | | usque, alterum versus | | Viriconium protenditur, | | sic:-- | | (14) Manduessuedo XII | XII | Manceter. (15) Etoceto XIII | XVI | Wall. (16) Pennocrucio XII | XII | On the Penk. (17) Uxaconia XII | XII | Red Hill, near Okenyate. (18) Virioconio XI | XI | Wroxeter. (19) Banchorio XXVI | XXVI | Probably Banchor. (20) Deva Colonia X | XV | Chester. Fines Flaviæ et Secundæ | | (21) Varis XXX | XXVII | Banks of the Clwydd near | | Bodfari. (22) Conovio XX | XX | Caer Hûn. (23) Segontio XXIIII | XIIII | Caer Segont, near | | Caernarvon. The first Iter having run uniformly on the traces of the British road called Watling Street (except the small distance from Southfleet to London), and the road remaining tolerably perfect, there can be little difficulty in fixing the several stations, or indeed in correcting the sometimes corrupted numbers of the Itinerary. It begins at Richborough, and, although at present obscure from the improved cultivation of the country, may be easily traced to Canterbury, from whence it went in the direction of the present turnpike to Rochester, leaving the intermediate station at Stone Chaple, in Ospringe, a little to the left hand. At Rochester it passed the Medway, considerably above the present bridge, and instead of running to the right with the modern turnpike, it went as straight as the nature of the ground would permit, by Cobham Park, and Shinglewell, to Barkfields, in Southfleet (the station _Vagniacis_ in Antonine,) then to Swanscombe Parkwood, through which it passed, and rejoined the Dover road between the fifteenth and sixteenth milestone, near Dartford Brent. Hence it went by Shooter's Hill over the Thames to London; and then as before mentioned, by the site of Mr. Napier's house at Brockley Hill, Verulam, Dunstable, Fenny Stratford, Towcester, Burnt Walls,[689] near Lilbourne, High Cross, Manceter, Wall, Okenyate, to Wroxeter. Here, quitting the south-west branch of the Watling Street, it bore to the right by Uffington, Broughton, Overley, Hammer, and Sarn Bridge to Banchor; and from thence ran clearly by Stockach and Aldford, over the Dee to Chester. The Roman road here joining the North-east Watling Street, before mentioned, continued with it to Bodfari, and crossing Denbighshire, went over the Conway to Caer Hûn; and is supposed to have run as straight as the country would permit, to Caer Segont, about half a mile south of Caernarvon. * * * * * ITER II. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (23) A Segontio Virioconium usque, | From Caer Segont to Wroxeter. m.p. LXXIII. sic:-- | | |_Corrected_| |_numbers._ | (24) Heriri Monte XXV | XXV | Tommen y Mur, in Maentrwg. (25) Mediolano XXV | XVII | On the bank of the Tanad. (26) Rutunio XII | XVI | Rowton. (18) Virioconio XI | XI | Wroxeter. This Iter runs on a branch of the South-east Watling Street, from Caer Segont, nearly in the direction of the present road to Tommen y Mur, an undoubted station in the parish of Maentrwg, by the common name of Sarn Helen, or the "paved way of the Legion." From hence it is continued to Bala; and on the banks of the Tanad, not far from the point where it is intersected by the Roman road from Caersws to Chester, was probably the lost town of _Mediolanum_. From _Mediolanum_ the road runs under the north end of the Brythen, straight, although obscurely, to Rowton, and from thence over the Severn to Wroxeter. * * * * * ITER III. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (5) A Londinio Lindum coloniam usque, | From London to Lincoln. sic:-- | |_Corrected_| |_numbers._ | (27) Durosito XII | XII | Near Rumford. (28) Cæsaro Mago XVI | XVI | Near Chelmsford. (29) Canonio XV | XV | On the east of Kelvedon. (30) Camaloduno Colonia | | VIIII | VIIII | Colchester. Ibi erat templum | | Claudii, arx | | triumphalis, et imago| | Victoriæ deæ. | | (31) Ad Sturium amnem VI | VI | Banks of the Stour. Et finibus Trinobantum| | Cenimannos advenis | | (32) Cambretonio XV | | (33) Sito Mago XXII | | (34) Venta Cenom XXIII | | Castor, near Norwich. .....[690].......... | | (35) Camborico Colonia XX | | North side of the Cam, | | Cambridge. (36) Duraliponte[691] XX | XV | Godmanchester. (37) Durno Mago[692] XX | XX | Castor. | | Durobrivis was Chesterton | | on the Nen, near it. (38) Isinis[693] XX | XXV | Ancaster. (39) Lindo[694] XX | XXI | Lincoln. As it is fifty-one measured miles from London to Colchester, and as it is probable that the stone from whence the Roman miles were measured was at least one mile west of Whitechapel church, we cannot allow any material deviation from the course of the present road, except in the neighbourhood of the capital, where the Roman road, instead of passing through Mile End, went much straighter over the Lee at Old Ford, and fell again into the course of the present turnpike at Stratford. The Itinerary allowing only fifty-two miles between London and Colchester, and the fifth Iter of Antonine agreeing with this of Richard, by stating twenty-eight as the distance between London and _Cæsaromagus_, we may implicitly adopt the distances here given, and fix the intermediate stations near Rumford, Chelmsford, and Kelvedon. From Colchester the road ran to the Stour, where probably stood the Mansio _ad Ansam_. From hence to Castor, near Norwich, (the _Venta Icenorum_,) the stations and course of the road are unknown. Some commentators have supposed it ran westerly, by Brettenham and Thetford; others by Ipswich, Stowmarket, and Scole Inn; and others have carried it more easterly, by Ipswich and Blythburgh, or Dunwich, to the capital of the Iceni. In favour of the first, there is merely the supposed resemblance of the name of Brettenham to _Cambretonium_; of the second, traces of a Roman way, called the Pye Road; and of the third, a British track-way, and another Roman road, called the Stone Street. But the distances suit none of these sites, and no Roman remains have any where been found, between the Stour and Castor, sufficient to justify an alteration of the numerals. _Icianis_ may have been Icklingham; and _Camboricum_ was most probably at Cambridge, from whence there is a Roman road discoverable to Lincoln. To the first station, Godmanchester, this Iter goes on the great communication between Colchester and Chester, which for the sake of distinction may be called the _Via Devana_; and from Godmanchester to Lincoln, on the eastern branch of the Ermyn Street, which was adopted by the Romans. Twenty miles from Godmanchester, we find the great station of Chesterton, on one side of the Nen, and Castor on the other; which probably gave rise to the two names of _Durobrivæ_, and _Durnomagus_, the Roman and British towns severally noticed by Antonine and Richard. About twenty-five miles further, in the course of the road which cannot be mistaken, we find Ancaster, the _Isinnis_, _Corisennis_, or _Causennis_ of the Itineraries, from whence twenty-one additional miles bring us to Lincoln. ITER IV. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (39) A Lindo ad Vallum usque, sic: | From Lincoln to the Wall. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (40) Argolico XIIII | XIIII | Littleborough. (41) Dano XX | XXI | Doncaster. Ibi intras Max | | Cæsariensem | | (42) Legotio[695] m.p. XVI | XVI | Castleford. (43) Eburaco Municip. olim | | Colonia Sexta[696] XXI | XXI | York. (44) Isurio XVI | XVII | Aldborough. (45) Cattaractoni[697] XXIIII | XXIIII | Catterick. (46) Ad Tisam X | XII | Pierce Bridge. (47) Vinovio XII | X | Binchester. (48) Epiaco XVIII} | XIIII | Lanchester. (49) Ad Muram VIIII} | VIIII | Halton Chester on the Wall. trans Murum intras | | Valentiam | | (50) Alauna amne XXV | XXV | Banks of the Coquet. (51) Tueda flumine XXX | XXXV | Banks of the Tweed. (52) Ad Vallum | | The Wall. The fourth Iter left Lincoln with the Eastern Ermyn Street, which ran to the Humber; and, after continuing on it about five miles, turned suddenly to the left, pursuing its course in a straight line to the Trent, which it passed immediately opposite to the station of Littleborough. The Roman road may be traced from hence to Austerfield and Doncaster, where it fell in with the Western Ermyn Street, and is visible all the way by Castleford, Aberford, and Tadcaster, to York. In this Iter, the station of Tadcaster is passed unnoticed, as in the former the station of Brig Casterton, near Stamford. From York the Iter is continued along the left bank of the Ouse, till it crossed the river to Aldborough. From hence rejoining the Western Ermyn Street, it passed the Eure, and ran straight through Catterick to the Tees, which it crossed at Piercebridge. It continued by the Royal Oak, St. Andrew Aukland, and the Bishop's Park, to Binchester, where, after fording the Were, it went with the North Watling Street to Lanchester; and, without noticing either Ebchester or Corbridge, over the Tyne to Halton Chester on the Wall. Here separating from the North Watling Street, it ran with the Ermyn Street, now known in Northumberland by the name of the Devil's Causeway, to the bank of the Coquet and the Tweed, and entering Scotland on the East, was continued to the wall of Antonine. ITER V. | SITES OF THE STATIONS | (52) A limite Præturiam usque, sic:-- | To Flamborough Head. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (53) Curia[698] | | (54) Ad fines | | Chew Green. (55) Bremenio | VII | Riechester. (56) Corstoplio XX | XXV | Corbridge. (57) Vindomora VIIII | VIIII | Corbridge. (47) Vindovio[699] XVIIII | XVIIII | Binchester. (45) Cattaractoni XXII | XXII | Catterick. (43) Eboraco XL | XL | York. (58) Derventione VII | VII | On the Derwent, near Stamford | | Bridge. (59) Delgovicia [700]XIII | | (60) Præturio [701]XXV | XXXVIII | Near Flamborough Head. In regard to the part of the country traversed by this Iter, there appears to have been so little connection between the work of our author and the map which accompanies it, that we can rely little on the latter either to assist or correct us. This Iter is made to begin from _Curia_, a town probably on the confines of some petty kingdom, and to pass to the first certain post of _Bremenium_, or Riechester. Now, on referring to the map, _Curia_, the principal town of the Gadeni, so far from lying on the road which leads to _Bremenium_, the capital of the Ottadini, is considerably to the westward of its course. From this disagreement, commentators have suspected a mistake of the transcriber, and imagine that _Curia_ is intended for _Corium_. It is certain, at least, that this Iter, running on the east side of the island, on the track of the Northern Watling Street, enters Northumberland at Chew Green, goes from thence to Riechester (leaving unnoticed the station at Risingham), and runs with it to Corbridge, Ebchester, Binchester, Catterick, and York. From York to Flamborough Head, a Roman road may still be traced; and as the distance agrees with the Itinerary, and there must have been a Roman post on or near that headland, we should think it more probable that this was the site of _Præturium_,[D] although we have not yet discovered the remains of any post on the Derwent, or the intermediate station of _Delgovicia_. So many Roman roads from different quarters point towards Stamford bridge, that there is no doubt the station of _Derventio_ was near it. ITER VI. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (43) Ab Eboraco Devam usque, sic:-- | From York to Chester. | _Corrected_ | | _Numbers._ | (61) Calcaria m.p. VIIII | VIIII | Tadcaster. (62) Camboduno XXII | XXXII | Slack. (63) Mancunio[A] XVIII | XXIII | Manchester. (64) Finibus Maximæ et | | Flaviæ XVIII | VI | Stretford on Mersey. (65) Condate[702] XVIII | XXIII | Kinderton. (20) Deva XVIII | XVIII | Chester. Such appears to be the incorrectness of the numerals attached to this Iter, as well as to the corresponding Iter of Antonine, that, although four of the six stations are well known, and a fifth can scarcely be mistaken, yet, we can in no other way obviate the difficulty than by supposing a station omitted, or by altering the numerals, none of which, except the first, agree with the distances between the vestiges of the different stations and their supposed sites; for example, in the first part between York and Manchester, where the Itinerary gives only 49 miles, the nearest road through Heathersfield amounts to 65. As the only great and undoubted Roman station between Tadcaster and Manchester is at Slack (for the camps at Kirklees, and Castleshaw, are only temporary posts), it will perhaps be justifiable to fix this point as the site of _Cambodunum_; to suppose ten miles omitted in this stage; and in the next to conjecture that, by a common error in copying the Roman numerals, XVIII. has been substituted for XXIII. the exact distance from Slack to Manchester. As the Mersey was undoubtedly the boundary on the West between the Roman provinces of Maxima and Flavia, and as the Roman road still existing crossed it at Stretford, we fix the next point there, and change the number XVII. to VI. The two next stations of _Condate_ and _Deva_, the numerals (with a slight alteration) permit us to fix at Kinderton and Chester. It is worthy of remark, that with these alterations the sum total of the numerals remains nearly the same. ITER VII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (66) A Portu Sistuntiorum Eboracum | From Freckleton to York. usque, sic:-- | | _Corrected_ | | _Numbers._ | (67) Rerigonio XXIII | XIII | Ribchester. (68) Ad Alpes Peninos VIII | XXIII | Burrens in Broughton. (69) Alicana X | X | Ilkley. (44) Isurio[703] XVIII | XVIII | Aldborough. (43) Eboraco XVI | XVII | York. This Iter runs from Freckleton on the Ribble to Ribchester, and then over the mountains to Broughton, Ilkley, Aldborough and York. As the Roman road is tolerably perfect all the way to Aldborough, and the vestiges of the stations are undoubted, we are justified in the alteration of the first two numbers, as by this alteration they will correspond with the present distances and the situations of the posts. * * * * * ITER VIII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (43) Ab Eboraco Luguvalium usque, sic:-- | From York to Carlisle. | _Corrected_ | | _Numbers._ | (45) Cattaractoni XL | XL | Catterick. (70) Lataris [704]XVI | XVIII | Bowes. (71) Vataris [705]XVI | XIIII | Brough. (72) Brocavonacis[706]XVIII | XIII | Kirby Thur. (Brovonacis) | | (73) Vorreda XVIII | XIIII | Plumpton Wall. (74) Lugubalia [707]XVIII | XIII | Carlisle. The road from York to Catterick has been traced before, and the Roman way from thence to Carlisle ran nearly in the direction of the present turnpike. The only doubt which occurs, therefore, in this Iter, is whether, from a similarity of sound, the transcriber of Richard has not erroneously written Brocavonacis for Brovonacis, which are two neighbouring posts in this direction, the first Brougham, and the second Kirby Thur. As the conjecture is not improbable, the corrected distance is given from the latter. It is worthy of observation that in this Iter four successive V's have been added by mistake of the transcriber, as is the case in regard to the X's omitted in the third Iter. * * * * * ITER IX. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (74) A Luguballio Ptorotonim | From Carlisle to Burgh Head. usque, sic:-- | |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (75) Trimontio m.p. | | Birrenswork Hill. (76) Gadanica | | (77) Corio | | (52) Ad Vallum | | Camelon. Incipit Vespasiana | | (78) Alauna XII | XIII | Kier (79) Lindo VIIII | VIIII | Ardoch. (80) Victoria VIIII | VIIII | Dealgin Ross. (81) Ad Hiernam VIIII | VIIII | Strageth. (82) Orrea XIIII | XIIII | On the Tay above Perth. (83) Ad Tavum XVIIII | XVIIII | Near Invergowrie. (84) Ad Æsicam XXIII | XXIII | Brechin on South Esk. (85) Ad Tinam VIII | VIII | Fordun. (86) Devana XXIII | XXIII | Norman Dikes near Pete Culter. (87) Ad Itunam XXIIII | XXVI | Glenmailin on the Ithan. (88) Ad Montem Grampium | XIII | Near Knock Hill. (89) Ad Selinam | X | On the Cullen near Deskford. (90) Tuessis XVIIII | XVII | On the Spey near Bellie. (91) Ptorotone | XVII | Burgh Head. Innumerable difficulties occur on every side in endeavouring to explain this Iter. There is great reason to believe that the _Trimontium_ of this Iter was Birrenswork Hill, and that the road ran from thence along the western side of the island as it is traced in the map of Richard. Camelon is allowed by all antiquaries to be the _Ad Vallum_: but it is impossible to draw the line between these two points; for although General Roy has mentioned a road from Carlisle on the eastern side of the Eildon Hills, and another on the western beyond Cleghorn to Castle Cary, there is little authority for the existence of either. Lynekirk has every appearance of a station, lay within the territories of the Gadeni, and would suit the situation assigned to _Gadanica_, but no road has hitherto been discovered leading to or from it. If the western trended at Biggar as much to the east, as that part which remains in the direction of Glasgow does to the west, it would have passed Borthwich Castle or the Gore, which Roy supposes was the _Corium_. Admitting the identity of this station would clear up the whole of this Iter to the Wall. There is no doubt that the sites of _Lindum_, _Victoria_, and _Ad Hiernam_ were at Ardoch, Dealgin Ross, and Strageth. Notwithstanding the difficulties which occur in tracing this Iter from Carlisle to the Wall, yet from thence to the Tay the direction of the road, and the situation of the stations as fixed by General Roy agree so perfectly with the Itinerary, as to leave no doubt that he has ascertained their real position. But although he discovered a road north of the Tay, yet, as he found no vestiges of stations, Mr. Chalmers seems to have been more successful in fixing the posts between that river and _Ptoroton_. It does not appear that the road was ever completed: however, from _Orrea_ on the Tay, a little above Perth, he observes, that the communication ran through the passage of the Sidlaw Hills, and along the Carse of Gowrie to the north end of the estuary of the Tay near Dundee; two miles west of which place, and half a mile north of Invergowrie, are the remains of a Roman camp about two hundred yards square, fortified with a high rampart and spacious ditch. Here he places _Ad Tavum_. Proceeding hence north-easterly through the natural opening of the country, and passing in the way the camp at Harefaulds, at the distance of twenty-three miles is Brechin on the South Esk, the station _Ad Æsicam_, exactly in the line laid down in Richard's map, and at the distance given in the Itinerary. Continuing from the South Esk in a north-north-easterly direction, at the distance of five miles and a half, we reach the North Esk, the supposed _Ad Tinam_. We pass that river at King's Ford, and proceeding up the valley of Lutherwater, at the distance of eight miles and a half find Fordun, where there are the remains of two Roman camps. From thence proceeding seventeen miles, to the well known camp at Raedikes, and continuing in a northerly direction six miles beyond, is the rectangular camp on the Dee at Peter Culter, called Norman Dikes, the _Devana_ of the Iter. This point is exactly thirty-one miles from Brechin on the South Esk, agrees with the aggregate distances in the Itinerary _Ad Tinam_ VIII, and _Ad Devanam_ XXIII, and corresponds with the track delineated on Richard's map. The obvious openings through this rugged country point out the way by which the Romans must have penetrated northerly by the right of Achlea Fiddy and Kinmundy, to Kintore on the Don. They followed the Strath to the ford where the high road has always passed to Inverurie, and proceeded north-north-west through the moorlands, to the sources of the Ithan, and the camp at Glenmailin, the _Ituna_ of Richard, a distance of twenty-six miles. From thence proceeding northward, across the Doverna at Achengoul, where are still considerable remains of military works; and at the distance of thirteen miles, we reach the high ground north of Foggy lone, at the east side of Knock Hill, the _Mons Grampius_ of the Iter. Hence the road runs to _Ad Selinam_, which is supposed to be on the Cullen, near the old Tower of Deskford, at the distance of ten miles. Following the course of the river, and the coast of the Murray Frith, seventeen miles, we arrive at the Roman post of _Tuessis_, on the high bank of the Spey, below the church of Bellie. Seventeen miles further is Burgh Head, the _Ptorotone_ of Richard. * * * * * ITER X. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (91) Ab ultima Ptorotone per mediam | From Burgh Head through insulæ Isca Damnonorum usque, sic:-- | the middle of the island | to Exeter. | _Corrected_ | | _Numbers._ | (92) Varis[708] m.p. VIII | | Fores VIIII (93) Ad Tuessim XVIII | Names and | Cromdall on Spey XX (94) Tamea XXVIIII | Numerals from | Braemar Castle XXX (95) --------- XXI | General Roy. | Barra Castle on Ila XXX (96) In Medio VIIII | | Inchstuthill XII (82) Orrea VIIII | | Bertha on Tay VIIII (80) Victoria XVIII | | Dealgin Ross XXIIII (52) Ad Vallum[709] XXXII | | Camelon XXXII (74) Luguballia LXXX | | Carlisle CXVIIII (97) Brocavonacis XXII | XXII | Brougham. (98) Ad Alaunam ... | XXXXVII | Lancaster. (99) Coccio ... | XXXVI | Blackrode. (63) Mancunio XVIII | XVIII | Manchester. (65) Condate XXIII | XXIII | Kinderton. (100) Mediolano XVIII | XVI | Chesterton. (15) Etoceto ... | XXXV | Wall. --------- | | ----------- (101) Salinis m.p. ... | XXII | Droitwich. --------- | | ----------- (102) Glebon Colon. m.p. | XXXIIII | Gloucester. (103) Corino XIIII | XVIII | Cirencester. (104) Aquas Solis m.p. ... | XXX | Bath. (105) Ad Aquas XVIII | XX | Probably Wells. (106) Ad Uxellam amnem m.p.| XXI | Probably Bridgewater. (107) Isca m.p. ... | XXXXV | Exeter. The first part of this Iter is taken from General Roy; and as we have none of the intermediate stations between Carlisle and the Wall, every commentator may choose what route he pleases, although none will coincide with the distances of the Itinerary. From Carlisle, if we place any reliance on the numbers, the next station, _Brocavonavis_, can only be fixed at Brougham. Thence the road to the banks of the Lune, as well as the station on it, is uncertain; for, whether we choose Overborough or Lancaster, we know of no road to direct us; and the only reason for preferring the latter is the supposed site of the next station, _Coccium_, at Blackrode, and the course of the road through Lancaster, tending more immediately to that point, than the road through Overborough. The two next stations, _Mancunium_ and _Condate_, as well as the connecting line of road, are well known. From Kinderton, although there is a Roman way pointing to Chesterton in Staffordshire, the _Mediolanum_ of this Iter, and the site of _Etocetum_ is undoubtedly Wall, yet we speak with hesitation of the line of communication betwixt them; though we presume it ran through Newcastle, Stone, and Ridgeley. From Wall, which is on the Watling Street, the Iter continues along the Ryknield Street, through Sutton Colfield Park, to Birmingham. There falling in with the first Salt-Way, it proceeds to Droitwich, and is continued by the Western Road, through Worcester to Gloucester. Here, turning nearly at a right angle, it passes by the well known Roman road over Birdlip Hill to Cirencester; and trending to the right, proceeds by the Foss to _Aquæ Solis_ or Bath. Quitting the Foss, and still bearing to the right, it continues along the lower road to Wells, and from thence to _Uxella_, which was probably at Bridgewater. From the banks of the Parret it ran in the track of the British Way, and the present turnpike by Taunton, Wellington, and Collumpton, to Exeter. * * * * * ITER XI. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (104) Ab Aquis, per Viam Juliam, | From Bath by the Julian Menapiam usque, sic:-- | Way to St. David's. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (108) Ad Abonam m.p. VI | VI}| Bitton (109) Ad Sabrinam VI | VIIII}| Unde Trajectu[710] intras | | Sea Mills. in Britanniam Secundam | | (110) Et Stationem | | Trajectum[711] III | III | Severn Side. (111) Venta Silurum[712] VIII | VIIII | Caerwent. (112) Isca Colonia VIIII | VIIII | Caerleon. Unde fuit Aaron Martyr. | | (113) Tibia Amne[713] VIII | XV | Banks of the Tanf, | | possibly Caireu or | | Caerdiff. (114) Bovio XX | XX | In Evenny Park. (115) Nido XV | XX | Near Neath. (116) Leucaro XV | X | Perhaps Lwghor. (Muridunum omit. XX) | XX | Caermarthen. (117) Ad Vigesimum XX | XX | Castel Flemish.[714] (118) Ad Menapiam XVIIII | XVIII | Near St. David's. Ab hac urbe per m.p. | | XXX | | Navigas in Hyberniam. | | As the course of the Roman road connecting the stations of this Iter is still discernible, we do not hesitate in correcting the imperfections of Richard by the corresponding Iter of Antonine. At Bitton, six miles from Bath, we find marks of a post attended with _tumuli_, which whether called _Abone_ or _Trajectus_[715] is of little importance, because, like the next, Sea Mills, it will suit either appellation, from its position on the Avon, and commanding a passage over that river. From Bitton the Roman way ran nearly in the direction of the present turnpike, north of the river as far as St. George's church; thence it proceeded straight near St. Paul's; ascended the Downs behind Mr. Daubeney's house to the direction-post, from whence it crossed Durdham Down, and skirted Mrs. Jackson's park wall to Sea Mills, a great maritime post at the confluence of the Trim and the Avon. It continued by Lord De Clifford's house straight to the Severn, crossed that river, and passed by Caldecot Castle through Caerwent and Caerleon to the bank of the Taaf and Evenny Park, which last place Roman remains lead us to conjecture was the site of _Bovium_. At Neath we have also little hesitation in fixing the site of _Nidus_, because a road from the _Gaer_ near _Brecon_ evidently leads to the same spot. The remainder of this Iter is obscure. _Leucaro_ has been fixed at Lwghor, principally from the resemblance of the name. From thence the road may have run to Caermarthen (_Maridunum_), which appears to have been omitted; and was probably continued as straight as the country would permit to Castel Flemish and St. David's, where we would place the stations _Vigesimum_ and _Menapia_.[716] * * * * * ITER XII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. (104) Ab Aquis Londinium usque, | sic:-- | |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (119) Verlucione m.p. XV | XV | Highfield, near Sandy Lane. (120) Cunetione XX | XV | Folly farm, E. of Marlborough. (121) Spinis XV | XX | Spene. (122) Calleva Atrebatum | | XV | | Silchester. (123) Bibracte XX}| XXXXIIII | London. (5) Londinio XX}| | As the traces of a Roman road from Bath towards Marlborough are still visible, we have only to examine in what points of its course remains have been found sufficient to justify us in determining the sites of the different stations. Accordingly, at fifteen miles from Bath we have Highfield, in Sandy Lane, near Heddington; and at fifteen more Folly Farm, near Marlborough. From hence twenty miles bring us to Spene; and although at this place few remains have been discovered, yet the direction of another Roman road, from Cirencester to the same point, sufficiently proves the existence of a station. Of the site of _Calleva_ at Silchester[717] there can be little doubt; although the course of the road from Spene is uncertain. The road from Silchester, still known by the name of the Devil's Causeway, as it runs over Bagshot Heath, as well as evident traces of it between Staines and London, still exist; but the intermediate station of _Bibracte_ is doubtful. If the numbers in this Iter be correct, we cannot deviate from the straight line, and this post must be placed near the hill at Egham, or the head of the Virginia Water. * * * * * ITER XIII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (112) Ab Isca Uriconium usque, sic:-- | From Caerleon to Wroxeter. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (124) Bultro m.p. VIII | VIII | Usk. (125) Gobannio XII | XII | Abergavenny. (126) Magna XXIII | XXIII | Kentchester. (127) Branogeni XXIII | XXIII | Lentwardine. (18) Urioconio XXVII | XXVII | Wroxeter. The beginning of this Iter cannot be traced, notwithstanding two out of the three stations are well known; and we have little doubt that _Baltrum_ or _Burrium_ was at Usk (though no Roman remains have been found there), because the distance given from Caerleon to _Gobannium_ or Abergavenny will not admit of any deviation from the straight line. From Abergavenny, after passing the Munnow, the Roman road still exists, particularly near Madley, pointing to Kentchester, and from thence may be traced by the next post of Lentwardine on the Teme, to Wroxeter. * * * * * ITER XIV. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (112) Ab Isca, per Glebon, Lindum, usque,| From Caerleon, by sic:-- | Gloucester, to Lincoln. | _Corrected_| | _Numbers._ | (124) Ballio[718] m.p. VIII | | Usk. (128) Blestio XII | XIII | Monmouth. (129) Sariconio XI | XII | Rose or Berry Hill in | | Weston. (102) Glebon Colonia XV | XV | Gloucester. (130) Ad Antonam XV | XX | On the Avon. (131) Alauna XV | XV | Alcester on the Aln. (121) ------ ... | XVIIII | Camp at Chesterton on the | | Foss, near Harwood's | | house. (13) Vennonis XII | XXI | High Cross. (133) Ratiscorion XII | XII | Leicester. (134) Venromento XII | XII | Willoughby. (135) Margiduno XII | XII | East Bridgeford. (136) Ad Pontem XII | VII | Near Thorpe turnpike. (137) Crococolana | VII | Brough. (39) Lindum XII | XII | Lincoln. This Iter ran, like the former, from Caerleon to Usk, where bending to the right it traversed the country to Monmouth. From hence, although we cannot trace the exact line of the road, yet we have no doubt that it crossed the Wye to the next station at Berry Hill, in Weston, under Penyard; and continued nearly in a direct line to Gloucester. As the author has only left the name of a river for the next station, it must be placed in such a situation on the Avon as to admit the distance of fifteen miles from the next station of Alcester, which was the site of _Alauna_. This would carry it to the westward of Evesham. From Alcester, likewise, till we reach the Foss, we have neither a road nor distance, nor even the name of a station. For this reason we deem ourselves justified in considering the undoubted Roman camp at Chesterton on the Foss, as the post omitted by our author, and from thence we proceed on that known military way to the certain stations of High Cross, Leicester, Willoughby, Bridgeford, Brough, and Lincoln. * * * * * ITER XV. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (5) A Londinio, per Clausentum, in | From London through Bittern, Londinium usque, sic:-- | again to London. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (122) Caleba m.p. XLIIII | XLIIII | Silchester. (138) Vindomi XV | XV | Near St. Mary Bourne. (139) Venta Belgarum XXI | XXI | Winchester. (140) Ad Lapidem VI | VI | Stoneham. (141) Clausento IIII | IIII | Bittern, near Southampton. (142) Portu Magno X | XV | Portchester. (143) Regno X | XV | Chichester. (144) Ad Decimum X | X | On the Arun. (145) Anderida Portu ... | [719]XLV | Pevensey. (146) Ad Lemanum XXV | XXV | On the Rother. (147) Lemaniano Portu X | XX | Lymne. (148) Dubris X | X | Dover. (1) Rhutupis Colonia X | XV | Richborough. (149) Regulbio X | VIIII | Reculver. (2) Contiopoli X | X | Canterbury. (3) Durelevo XVIII | XII | Stone Chaple in Ospringe. (150) Mado XII | XVIII | On the bank of the Medway. (151) Vagnaca XVIII | VIIII | Barkfields in Southfleet. (152) Novio Mago XVIII | XV | Holwood Hill. (5) Londinio XV | XV | London. This Iter leads from London to the south-west part of Hampshire, and from thence, skirting the Sussex and Kentish coasts, back to the capital. At the first step the author gives forty-four miles as the distance between London and Silchester, instead of forty, as in the twelfth Iter; hence we may deviate a little in settling the site of _Bibracte_ or _Ad Pontes_. Of the next station we can merely offer a conjecture. As the country of the Atrebates and their capital, _Calleva_ or Silchester, is by our author described as lying near the Thames, in distinction from that of the Segontiaci,[720] whose capital, _Vindomis_, was further distant from that river, and nearer the Kennet, one point only appears to suit the distances, which bears the proper relation to the neighbouring stations, and at the same time falls at the intersection of two known Roman roads. This is in the neighbourhood of St. Mary Bourne, and affords reason for considering Egbury Camp, or some spot near it, as the capital of the Segontiaci. For by following the Roman road called the Portway from Silchester, at the distance of fifteen miles is the rivulet near St. Mary Bourne, and not far from it, the point where the Portway is intersected by the Roman road from Winchester to Cirencester; and proceeding along this last we have another distance of twenty-one miles to Winchester. The road from Winchester by Otterbourne to Stoneham, and thence by the Green Lane to Bittern, is well known, and the distance sufficiently exact. But from thence, although traces of the road are occasionally discoverable on Ridgway, and to the north of Bursledon Hill, pointing towards Fareham and Portchester, yet the latter part is almost totally unknown or lost. From Portchester it ran in the track of the present turnpike to Chichester; and over the Arun not far from Arundel; and then along the coast to Pevensey, the banks of the Rother, Lymne, Dover, Richborough, Reculver, and Canterbury. There falling into the track of the first Iter, it went along the Watling Street to the bank of the Medway, and passing that river, proceeded by Barkfields in Southfleet, a station omitted before, across the country with the ancient Watling Street, (by a road now unknown[721]), to Holwood Hill, the capital of the Regni, and from thence to London. * * * * * ITER XVI. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (5) A Londinio Ceniam usque, sic:-- | From London to the Fal. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (139) Venta Belgarum | | m.p. XC | LXXX | Winchester. (153) Brige XI | XI | Near Broughton. (154) Sorbioduno VIII | VIIII | Old Sarum. (155) Ventageladia XII | XV | Gussage Cow Down. ----------- | | (156) Durnovaria VIIII | XXX | Dorchester. (157) Moriduno XXXIII | XXX | Seaton. ----------- | | (107) Isca Damnon XV | XXVIII | Exeter. ----------- | | (158) Durio Amno ... | XXIII | On the Dart. (159) Tamara ... | XXVI | On the Tamar. ----------- | | (160) Voluba ... | XXVIII | On the Fowey. ----------- | | (161) Ceni ... | XX | On the Fal. The exact route from London to Winchester not being defined, we may suppose that it ran, as before, through Silchester, and from thence by St. Mary Bourne, as in the 15th Iter. From Winchester, as the road still exists leading to Old Sarum, the distance of eleven miles will probably give the site of _Brige_, although the station itself is not known; and the nine following will lead us to Old Sarum. Pursuing the course of the road, which may be still traced quite to Dorchester, remains found on Gussage Cow Down point out the site of _Ventageladia_; and the disagreement between the Itinerary and real distance from thence to Dorchester justifies us in supposing that some intermediate post has been omitted. The site of _Moridunum_ is doubtful; some thinking it to be Eggerdon, or the Hill of the Morini, with which the distance of nine miles would not disagree; while others, with more reason, prefer Seaton, the great port of the West, because the Foss leads from Ilchester directly to it. Intermediate stations have evidently been lost between this place and Exeter, as has also been the case between that place and the Dart, the Tamar, the Fowey and the Fal. From Honiton the road is visible pointing to Exeter, as well as from Exeter to Totness, and according to the ingenious Borlase, even to Lostwithiel. * * * * * ITER XVII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | Ab Anderida [Eboracum] usque, sic:-- | From East bourne to York. |_Corrected_| |_Numbers._ | (162) Sylva Anderida | | m.p. ... | | East Bourne. (152) Novio Mago | XXXX | Holwood Hill. (5) Londinio XV | XV | London. (163) Ad Fines[722] | XXVIII | Brougham. (36) Durolisponte[723] | XXX | Godmanchester. (37) Durnomago XXX | XX | Castor, on the left bank | | of the Nen. (38) Corisennis XXX | XXV | Ancaster. (39) Lindo XXX | XXI | Lincoln. (164) In Medio XV | XV | (165) Ad Abum XV | XV | Winterton. Unde transis in Maximam | | (166) Ad Petuariam VI | VI | Brough. (43) Deinde Eboraco, ut | | supra (It. 5) | | m.p. XLVI | XXX | York. This Iter ran in the track of the British Ermyn Street, from Pevensey and East Bourne, which were perhaps the _Anderida Portus_ and _Anderida_ of the 15th Iter, along the ridge of hills to Holwood Hill (already mentioned as the capital of the Rhemi), and from thence to London, but its traces are now so obscure as to be almost forgotten. Some think that from London it proceeded along the British Street, by the Green Lanes, Cheshunt, and to the west of Broxbourne to Ware; while others suppose that this Roman road went much straighter, and nearly in the course of the present turnpike through Ware to Broughing, a post at the confluence of the Rib and the Quin, where was probably the station _Ad Fines_, the boundary between the countries of the Iceni, the Cassii, and the Trinobantes. From hence the Roman road is so perfect by Caxton quite to Lincoln, that we fix the station of _Durnomagus_ at the great camp near Castor, and the three others at Godmanchester, Ancaster, and Lincoln. From Lincoln the Roman road proceeds directly to the banks of the Humber, having, at the distance assigned in the Iter, the _Mansio in Medio_, and the post at Winterton; from whence six miles carry us across the river to Brough, or _Petuaria_, a post often confounded with the _Prætorium_ of the 6th Iter. As there is a Roman road still existing from Brough towards Weighton, and then over Barmby Moor to York, there can be little doubt in considering it as the course of this Iter. Should, however, the forty-six miles given in the Itinerary (which appears to have been an error arising from the mistake of the transcriber in confounding _Petuaria_ and _Prætorium_) be considered as correct, the course of the Iter may be supposed to have run from Brough by Londesborough and Millington, to the great road from Flamborough, and then to have turned with it to York, making exactly the forty-six miles of the Itinerary. * * * * * ITER XVIII. | SITES OF THE STATIONS. | (43) Ab Eboraco per medium insulæ | From York through the middle Clausentum usque, sic:-- | of the island to Bittern. |_Corrected_| |_numbers._ | (42) Legiolio m.p. XXI | XXI | Castleford. (167) Ad Fines XVIII | XXIII | Temple Brough, on the bank | | of the Don. (168) ..... XVI | XVI | Tapton Hill near Chesterfield. (169) ..... XVI | XII | Camp near Penkridge. (170) Derventione[724] XVI | XII | Little Chester. (171) Ad Trivonam XII | XII | Berry Farm, in Branston. (15) Etoceto[725] XII | XII | Wall. (14) Manduessuedo XVI | XVI | Manceter. (13) Benonnis XII | XII | High Cross. (12) Tripontio XI | XI | Near Dove Bridge. (11) Isannavaria XII | X | Burnt Walls. (172) Brinavis XII | XII | Black Ground, near Chipping | | Norton. (173) Ælia Castra XVI | XVI | Alcester, near Bicester. (174) Dorocina XV | XVI | Dorchester. (175) Tamesi VI | VI | On the Thames. Vindomi } | | (122) _Calleva_ } XV | XX | Silchester. (141) Clausento XXXXVI | XXXXV | Bittern, near Southampton. This Iter proceeds from York in the same direction as the fourth to Castleford, where, bearing to the right to join the Ryknield Street, it continues with it through the several stations of Temple Brough on the Don, Chesterfield, Penkridge, Little Chester, and Branston, to Wall. Here diverging to the left with the Watling Street, it passed through Manceter, High Cross, and Dove Bridge, to Burnt Walls. It there quitted the known road, and bore across the country, by an unknown route, to Alcester, on the Akeman street; but the considerable remains found at Black Ground, near Chippington Norton, would lead us to place the station of _Brinavis_ there, if the Roman road did not make any material deviation between Burnt Walls and Alcester. From Alcester the road runs plainly over Ottmoor, and indeed almost all the way to Dorchester. But from thence as we can discover no traces of a road, and as our next post appears to have been only six miles distant and on the Thames, if any reliance can be placed on the number, it may be the point where the Roman road from Wantage apparently passes that river opposite Mongewell. The next distance of fifteen miles, being insufficient to lead us by any road to _Vindomis_, if it were placed either at Silchester or near St. Mary Bourne, it is more than probable that there is some error in the name of the station; and as the following number of forty-six miles agrees with the distance in the 15th Iter of the road from Silchester passing near Egbury to Bittern, we cannot help supposing that the name of _Vindomis_ has been inserted by mistake for that of _Calleva_. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 685: On this subject it may not be improper to observe, that the name of Castor, Cester, or Chester, generally points out a Roman station; and Sarn, Street, Stane and Stone, (Strat, and Stan, when compounded) as generally show the course of a British or Roman way.] [Footnote 686: For example these marks [Illustration], being the mutilated parts of numerals, might have been easily transformed by the copyist into IIIII. XIII. VIII. XVI. XIX. or XXI. and single numerals might have been omitted, as XX. and XXIII. for XIX. and XXXIII.] [Footnote 687: Near Leicester.] [Footnote 688: Hist. de l'Académie, t. 88, p. 661.] [Footnote 689: Burnt Walls was the Roman post of _Isannavaria_; Borough Hill, on the hill above it, was the great British fortification, _Bennavenna_.] [Footnote 690: Icianis XXVIII. _Stukeley_.] [Footnote 691: Durolisponte, Iter 17.] [Footnote 692: Iter 17, XXX.] [Footnote 693: Corisennis XXX. Iter 17.] [Footnote 694: Iter 17, XXX.] [Footnote 695: Legiolio, Iter 18.] [Footnote 696: Iter 5 and 8, Eburaco.] [Footnote 697: Cataractone XI.] [Footnote 698: Probably Corium, _Stukeley_.] [Footnote 699: Vinovio, Iter 4.] [Footnote 700: XXXVIII.] [Footnote 701: This _Præturium_ and the _Prætonum_ of Antonine must be carefully distinguished from the _Petuaria_, mentioned by our author in the 17th Iter, for _Petuaria_ was certainly at Brough on the Humber.] [Footnote 702: Iter 10, Mancunio--Condate XXIII.] [Footnote 703: _Stukeley_, XVIIII] [Footnote 704: Lataris, XVII. _Stuk._] [Footnote 705: XVI. _Stuk._] [Footnote 706: XX. _Stuk._] [Footnote 707: Iter 10 inverted, Brocavonacis--Luguvallia, XXII.] [Footnote 708: VIIII. _Stukeley._] [Footnote 709: XXX Iter 9.] [Footnote 710: Statio Trajectus. _Comm._] [Footnote 711: Ad Sabrinam. _Comm._] [Footnote 712: VIIII. _Stukeley._] [Footnote 713: Tibia VII. _Stukeley._] [Footnote 714: This station was discovered by Mr. Fenton during his researches for his History of Pembrokeshire. It lies in the parish of Ambleston.] [Footnote 715: We prefer the name of _Abone_ for Sea Mills, because it bears that name in old deeds; on the other hand, there appears to be no instance in which the name of _Trajectus_ is applied to a town unless at the passage of a river.] [Footnote 716: The bishops of St. David's being called in Latin _Menapienses_ by the earliest of our ecclesiatical writers, is an argument that the station is near the present town. The site of the station itself was probably at a short distance from the modern city, at a place called the Burrows, and just above a fine harbour called the Porth Mawr.] [Footnote 717: Few of the Roman stations have been fixed at so many different pieces as that of _Calleva Atrebatum_. It has been placed at Silchester, Henley, Wallingford, and Reading, by different antiquaries; yet in no doubtful case do more testimonies concur to ascertain the site. It was evidently a station of importance, because it appears as a central point, to which the roads traversed by three different Iters of Antonine (the 13th, 14th, and 15th,) converge. It was the capital of the Atrebates; situated at known distances from London, Winchester, Bath, Spene, and Caerleon; and at a doubtful one, though easily supplied, from Cirencester and Old Sarum. These circumstances cannot by any expedient be brought to coincide, either with Henley, Wallingford, or Reading; but all agree in regard to Silchester. Its distance nearly accords with the Itinerary distance of _Calleva_ from London, Bath, Spene, Winchester, and Caerleon, and, if a station (which is evidently lost) in the Iter of Antonine be supplied, with that from Cirencester. The present remains are those of a great Roman town; it is situated in the district formerly inhabited by the Atrebates; and in every direction traces of Roman roads converging to this point still plainly exist, from London, Spene, Winchester, Old Sarum, Bath, and Cirencester.] [Footnote 718: Bultro, Iter 13] [Footnote 719: _Stukeley_, X.] [Footnote 720: Richard, b. 1, c. 6, sect. 28, describing the several nations whose territories were watered by the Thames in its course to the German Ocean, places the Atrebates between the Hedui and the Cassii, without even mentioning the Segontiaci, a proof that their territories did not approach the river.] [Footnote 721: In Hasted's History of Kent is a passage which countenances the idea of an ancient road having traversed the country in this line.] [Footnote 722: _Stuk._ XXX.] [Footnote 723: It. 3. Duraliponte--Durnomago XX.--Issinis XX.--Lindo XX.] [Footnote 724: XVI.] [Footnote 725: It. 2, inv. Etoceto.--Manduessuedo XIII.--Benonais XII.--Tripontio Isantia Varia XII.] APPENDIX.--No. II. HANES TALIESIN, OR THE HISTORY OF TALIESIN The primary domestic bard Am I to Elphin, And my original country Is the region of Cherubims. Joannes the divine Called me Merddin, At length every king Will call me Taliesin. I was full nine months In the womb of mother Cyridwen;[726] I was little Gwion heretofore, Taliesin am I now. I was with my Lord In the superior state, When Lucifer did fall To the infernal deep. I have borne a banner Before Alexander: I know the names of the stars From the north to Auster. I have been in the circle of Gwdion Tetragammaton;[727] I conducted Hean[728] To the depth of Ebron vale, I was in Canaan When Absalom was slain, I was in the Court of Don[729] Before Gwdion was born, I was an attendant On Eli and Enoc; I was on the cross-devoting sentence Of the Son of the merciful God. I have been chief keeper Of the work of Nimrod's tower; I have been three revolutions In the circle of Arianrod.[730] I was in the Ark With Noah and Alpha; I beheld the destruction Of Sodoma and Gomorra; I was in Africa Before Rome was built: I am come here To the remnants of Troia. I was with my Lord In the manger of the she-ass; I strengthened Moses Through the Jordan water. I have been in the firmament With Mary Magdalen; I have been gifted with genius From the Cauldron of Cyridwen. I have been bard of the harp To the Teon of Lochlyn;[731] I have endured hunger For the son of the Virgin. I have been in the White Hill[732] In the court of Cynvelyn, In stocks and fetters, For a year and a day. I have had my abode In the kingdom of the Trinity; It is not known what is my body, Whether flesh or fish. I have been an instructor To the whole universe; I shall remain till the day of doom On the face of the earth, I have been in an agitated seat Above the circle of Sidin,[733] And that continues revolving Between three elements: Is it not a wonder to the world, That it reflects not a splendour? [_From Meyrick's History of Cardiganshire_, p. 65, 2 vols. London, 1806.] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 726: Venus.] [Footnote 727: The Galaxy.] [Footnote 728: The Divine Spirit.] [Footnote 729: Or Llys Don, i.e. Cassiopeia.] [Footnote 730: The Northern Crown.] [Footnote 731: Denmark.] [Footnote 732: Tower of London.] [Footnote 733: Perhaps Caer Sidin, or the Zodiac.] GENERAL INDEX. Aaron, a British martyr, 161, 242, 303, 466. Ælla, king of the South Saxons, 1. Ælla, usurper of Northumbria, 52. Æneas, the Trojan, marries Lavinia, 91, 387. Æsc, king of Kent, 7. Ætius, a Roman general, 307, 450. Aganippus, king of the Franks, 116. Agricola, Roman governor, 443, 448, 450, 466, 470. Aidan, king of the Scots, 285. Alan, king of Armorica, 290. Alban, St. his martyrdom, 161, 303, 445, 466. Albanact, a son of Brutus, killed, 109. Aldhelm, bishop, 14. Aldroen, king of Armorica, 177. ALFRED, ASSER'S LIFE OF, 43-48, some further notices of, 1, 2, 27-37, 132; his children, 2, 68. Alfrid, king of Northumbria, 14, 286. Alifantinam, king of Spain, slain, 264. Alla [Ella], king of Northumbria, 8. Allectus, emperor in Britain, 159, 160. Alleluiatic victory, 406. Allobroges, in Switzerland, 126. Amalgaid, king of Connaught, 410. Amatheus consecrates St. Patrick, 410. Ambrius, founder of a monastery, 190. Ambrosius [Emrys Wledig], 182, 207-219, 396, 403, 407, 416. Amphibalus, St. 161. Anacletus taken prisoner by Brutus, 94-96. Andragius, a king of Britain, 136. Androgeus, duke of Trinovantum, 137. Anglia, East, genealogy of the kings, 412. Antenor, Trojan, 102. Antigonus taken prisoner by Brutus, 94. Antoninus's wall, 450. Anwiund, a Danish king, 30, 58. Archflamens made archbishops, 155. Arianism spreads in Britain, 304. Arthgallo deposed, 134, 135. Arthmail, a king of Britain, 136. Arthur, king, not noticed by Gildas or Bede, 89; his exploits, 225-271, 408; coronation, 243-245; death, 271. Arviragus, a king of Britain, 149-153. Ascanius, son of Æneas, 91, 387, 388. Ascnillius, king of Dacia, slain, 271. Asclepiodotus frees Britain from the Romans, 160-162, 466. Assa (Cissa), king of the South Saxons, 7. Assaracus joins Brutus against the Grecians, 82. Assaracus, king of Germany, 113 Asser, archbishop of St. David's, Life of Alfred, vi, 43-86; visits king Alfred, 70. Athelred, archbishop of Canterbury, 34. Athelstan, king of Kent, &c. 22, 23, 45. Athelstan, king of Mercia, 39, 40. Angusil, king of Albania, 238, 249, 269. Augustine, archbishop of Canterbury, 9-11, 275, 438, 444. Aulus Plautius visits Britain, 469. Aurelius Antoninus' victories in Britain, 466. Auxilius, a bishop of Ireland, 410. Bagsac, a Danish king, slain, 56. Baldulph, a Saxon chief, 230-234. Bards, the British poets, 434. Bassianus kills his brother Geta, 157-159, 449, 466. Battles between the Romans and the Britons at the invasion, 138-153; on the Grampian hills, 451. Battles between the Britons and Saxons at Anderida, 7; Badon-hill, 313, 409; the river Bassas, 498; Beandune, 12; Bedanford, 8; Berin-byrig, 8; Breguoin, 409; Cat Coit Celidon, 408; Cerdic's-ore, 7; Cirencester, 12; the river Darent, 404; Deorhamme, 9; the river Duglas, 230, 270, 408; Fethanleage, 9; the river Gleni, 408; Gurnion castle, 408; Hengeston, 22; Mearcrædsburn, 7; Scarburh, 8; Stone, 404; Trat Treuroit, 409; Verulam, 228. Battles between the English and the Danes at Ac-lea, 45; Æscendune, 27, 54; Basing, 27, 56; Brumby, 39; Cambridge, 38; Canterbury, 44; Charmouth, 21, 22; Devonshire, 30, 44, 61; East Anglia, 22, 26, 33, 50; Edington, 62; Ethandune, 31; Exeter, 59; Hampshire, 25, 50; Holme, 38; Kent, 22, 25, 45, 50, 61; Mercia, 26; Merton, 27; Nottingham, 53; Port, 22; Reading, 29, 54; Southampton, 22; the Stour, 65; Surrey, 23, 44; Swanwich, 59; Wareham, 58; Wessex, 26; Wilton, 56; York, 52. Beaduherd, reve of the shire, 19. Bede noticed, 15, 89. Bedver, governor of Neustria, 241, 244, 252-264. Belinus, king of Britain, 122-135, 392. Belinus, general of Cassibelaun's army, 130. Benlli, king of Powys, 397. Bernhelm, abbat, 34. Bernicia, genealogy of the kings, 412. Bernulf, king of Mercia, 21. Berthwulf, king of Mercia, 23, 44. Bertric, king of Wessex, 18, 19, 48. Birinus, bishop, 12 Bladud, king of Britain, 114. Blederic, killed by Ethelfrid, 276. Bleduno, a king of Britain, 136. Blegabred, a king of Britain, 136. Boadicea, or Bonduica, queen of the Iceni, 301, 445, 447, 465, 469. Boccus, king of the Medes, 263. Borellus, consul of the Cenomanni, 259. Boso's gallantry against the Romans, 255. Brennius quarrels with Belinus, 122-130. Brian, nephew to Cadwalla, 278-284. Bridget, an Irish saint, 390, 460. Britael, king of Demetia, 139. Britain, described, 3, 90, 106, 133, 244, 289, 299, 386, 419-422, 435; its original inhabitants, 90, 386, 422-428, 464; invaded by Julius Cæsar, 3, 301, 445, 468; Christianity introduced into, 302, 466; divided into provinces, 436; boundary of the Roman empire in Britain, 453; finally quitted by the Romans, 2, 305, 396, 467, 468; occupied by Saxons, 3; invaded by the Danes, 19-39, 50-66. British cities, ancient. 90, 155. Brocmail defeated by Ethelfrid, 276. Brutus, xiv; his history, 91-109, 386-388, 391. Brutus, surnamed Greenshield, 113. Bryto supposed to have built London, 464. Budes, king of Armorica, 182. Buile settles in Eubonia, 389. Burhred, king of Mercia, 23, 26, 45, 53, 57. Cador, duke of Cornwall, 231, 235, 246. Cadwan, makes a treaty with Ethelfrid, 277. Cadwalla, a British king, 277-288, 415. Cadwallader, a British king, 199, 288-290, 415. Cædwalla, king of Wessex, 14. Cæsar, Julius, invasion, 138-150, 392, 393, 465, 468. Caius, governor of Andegavia, 241-244. Caliburn, the sword of Arthur, 234, 241. Cap, one of the kings of Britain, 136. Capoir, one of the kings of Britain, 136. Caracalla. See _Bassianus_ Caractacus (Caradog), 442, 443, 465. Caradoc, duke of Cornwall, 165-168. Carausius, governor of Britain, 158-160, 394, 437, 466. Careticus (_Ceredig_), a British king, 273. Cartismandua, queen of Brigantia, 443. Cassibellaun (Caswallon) 136-148, 445, 465, 468. Catellus, a British king, 136. Catel Drunluc, or Cadell Deyrnllug, prince of Powys, 399. Catigern, son of Vortigern, 188. Ceawlin, king of Wessex, 8, 9. Celestine, pope, 409, 410. Cenric, king of the West Saxons, 7, 8, 44. Ceolnoth, abp. of Canterbury, 26, 54. Ceolred, king of Mercia, 14. Ceolwulf, king of Wessex, 11. Ceolwulf, king of Northumbria, 15. Ceolwulf, king of Mercia, 20, 30. Cerdic, king of Wessex, 7, 8, 44. Cerealis, Roman governor of Britain, 448, 466, 470. Cheldric arrives from Germany, 231, 235; assists Modred against Arthur, 268, 271. Chelianus, appointed archbishop of Dole, 245. Cherdich, a Saxon chief, 187. Cherin, an ancient British king, 136. Cheulphus repulsed by Brennius, 123. Chrism-loosing, what, 63 Claudius invades Britain, 149-152, 393, 445, 448, 465, 468. Cledaucus, an ancient British king, 136. Cletonus, an ancient British king, 136. Cligueillus, a king of Britain, 136. Clodius Albinus, Roman governor of Britain, 471. Cloten, king of Cornwall, 121. Coel rebels against Asclepiodotus, 162. Cogibundus, a British regulus, 465, 469. Coillus, a British king, 136. Coillus, a British king, 154. Colgrin, a Saxon chief, 230-234. Columba, St. 8, 460. Comet appeared, 13, 15, 35, 220. Conan kills Constantine, 199, 272. Conan Meriadoc, 166-171. Conanus (Aurelius), 316. Constans, a monk, king of Britain, 179-182, 208. Constantine the Great, 163, 248, 394, 437, 467. Constantine the Armorican, made king, 178, 208. Constantine, Arthur's successor, 271, 272, 314. Constantius, governor of Britain, 162, 394, 395, 466. Councils, ecclesiastical, at Heathfield, 13; Cloveshoo, 20; Constantinople, 395; Caer Guorthegirn, 401. Conwenna's speech to Brennius, 127. Cordeilla, daughter of Leir, 114-119. Corineus, duke of Cornwall, 102-110 Cridious, king of Albania, 139. Crocea mors, the name of Cæsar's sword, 141. Cuichelm, king of Wessex, 12. Cunedagius kills his brother, 119. Cuneglasse, a British prince, 317. Cutha, 8. Cuthbert, bishop of Lindisfarne, 415. Cuthred, king, 12. Cuthred, king of Wessex, 15. Cuthred, king of Kent, 20. Cynegils, king of Wessex, 12. Cynewulf, king of Wessex, 16-18. Dabutius reproaches Merlin, 192. Danes arrive in England, 19-36, 50-66. Danius, an ancient British king, 132. David. St. archbp. of Menevia, 245, 271. Diana's answer to Brutus, 100. Dianotus, king of Cornwall, 171. Dinooth, abbat of Bangor, 275, 276. Diocletian persecution, 161, 302, 466. Divitiacus subdues part of Britain, 464. Diwanius, bishop of Winchester, 246. Doldavius, king of Gothland, 238. Dolobellus, a British proconsul, 392. Dress of the ancient Britons, 427. Druidism, 429-434. Dubricius, abp. of Caerleon, 217, 230, 233, 242-245. Dunwallo Molmutius (_Dynval Moelmud_) 121. Duvanus, bishop, sent from Rome, 155. Eadbert, king of Northumbria, 15. Eadburga, Bertric's queen, account of, 47, 48. Eadfered Flesaurs, king of Northumbria, 412, 414. Eagle, said to have spoken, 114. Ealstan, bishop, 21, 22, 26, 46, 53. Ebissa, or Eosa, the Saxon chief, 187, 212, 223, 227, 228, 400. Ebraucus, king of Britain, 112, 113. Eclipses, 8, 13, 15, 21, 32, 63. Ecwils, a Danish king, killed, 39. Edgar, king, 40. Edmund, (St.) king of East Anglia, 26, 46, 50, 54. Edmund, king, 40. Edred, king, 40. Edward (the elder,) king, 37-39. Edwin, king of Northumbria, 277, 279, 284, 414. Edwy, king, 40. Egbert, king of Wessex, 20-22. Egbert, bishop, 15. Egfert, king of Mercia, 19. Egfrid, king of Northumbria, 13, 415. Eisc, king of Kent, 11. Elbotus, or Elvod, bp. of Bangor, 383, 384. Eldad, bishop of Gloucester, 191, 212-214. Eldadus, an ancient British king, 136. Eldol, duke of Gloucester, 191, 210-213. Eldol, an ancient British king, 136. Eledanius, bishop of Alclud, 246. Eleutherius, pope, 155, 393. Elfgiva, king Edmund's queen, 40. Elidure, surnamed the pious, 134, 135. Eliud, an ancient British king, 136. Elsingius, king of Norway, 123. Enniaunus, king of Britain, 136. Eohric, a Danish king, 38. Escwin, king of Wessex, 13. Estrildis, concubine of Locrin, 110, 111. Ethelard, king of Wessex, 15. Ethelbald, king of Mercia, 15, 17. Ethelbald, king of Wessex, 25, 45-47, 49, 50. Ethelbald, archbishop of York, 38. Ethelbert, king of Kent, 8, 10, 276. Ethelbert II. king of Kent, &c. 25, 50. Ethelfrid, king of Northumbria, 9, 276, 277. Ethelgiva, abbess of Shaftesbury, 68, 82. Ethelred, king of Mercia, 14. Ethelred, king of England, 1. Ethelred, king of Northumbria, 19. Ethered, [Ethered] king of Wessex. 25, 27, 50-56. Ethelwald rebels against Oswy, 286. Ethelswitha, daughter of Alfred, 2. Ethered, earl of Mercia, 34-39, 74. ETHELWERD'S CHRONICLE, 1-40; account of the author, v, vi. Ethelwulf, king of Wessex, 22-25, 44-49. Evander, king of Syria, killed, 258. Evelinus, nephew of Androgeus, 143, 144. Eventus, king of Albania, 269. Faganus sent to convert the Britons, 155. Famine in Britain, 53. Fergusius emigrates from Ireland, 467. Ferrex killed by his brother Porrex, 120. Flamens made bishops, 155. Flollo, a Roman tribune, 240, 241. Friday, so called from the goddess Frea, 184. Frontinus, a Roman gov. 443, 466, 470. Fulgenius, a British king, 136. Fulgenius wars against Severus, 157. Funeral rites of the ancient Britons, 428. Gabius, a Roman consul, 130. Galgacus, king of the Caledonians, 466, 470. Gallus, Livius, besieged in London, 160, 469. Genuissa, daughter of Claudius, 151, 152. GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH'S BRITISH HISTORY; 89-292. Some account of the author, viii, 89. Gerion, the augur, 100. Germanus, St. bishop of Auxerre, 75, 187, 397-407. Geruntius, an ancient British king, 136. Geta, son of Severus, killed, 157, 158. Giant, killed by Arthur, 252. Giant's Dance, its removal, 215-219, 229. GILDAS' WORKS, 293-380; notices of its author, vii, 89, 108, 121, 126. Gillomanius, king of Ireland, 216-221. Godbold, king of the Orkneys, killed, 285. Goëmagot, a giant killed, 107. Goffarius, king of Aquitaine, 102-105. Gombert, king of Norway, 164. Gonorilla, one of Leir's daughters, 114-116. Gorbogudo, a British king, 120. Gorbonian, a British king, 133. Gorlois, duke of Cornwall, 222, 226. Gormund, king of the Africans, 273. Gothrun, a Danish king, 30, 34, 58, 63. Gratian, emp. slain by Maximus, 394-396. Gratian Municeps, a British king, 172, 173. Gregory I, pope, 10, 11. Grimbald, abbat of Hyde Abbey, 70, 74, 75. Guanhumara, wife of Arthur, 238, 268, 269. Guanius, king of the Huns, 172, 175. Guendoloena, wife of Locrin, 111. Guerthaeth, king of Venedotia, 139. Guethelin, archbp. of London, 174, 177. Guichthlac, king of Dacia, 123, 125. Guiderius, a British king, 149. Guillamurius, king of Ireland, 236, 238. Guitard defeated by Hoel, 241, 258. Guithelin, a British king, 132. Guitolinus quarrels with Ambrosius, 415. Gunfasius, king of the Orkneys, 238. Guoyrancgonus, a king of Kent, 400. Gurgintius, a British king, 136. Gurgiunt Brabtruc, king of Britain, 131. Gurgustius, a British king, 120. Guthfrid, king of Northumbria, 37. Hadrian's wall, 466, 471. Halfdene, a Danish chieftain, 30, 31, 39, 58, 61, 62. Hamo, Leuis, a Roman general, 149. Hasten, invades England, 35, 36. Heahmund, bishop, 27. Helena, mother of Constantine, 162, 444-446, 467. Helena, niece of Hoel, 252. Heli, king of Britain, 136. Hengist and Horsa, 4-7, 183-191, 209-212, 396-400, 405, 406. Henry I. king of England, 90. Henuinus, duke of Cornwall, 116. Hider, a British general, 256. Hilda, abbess, 13. Hirelgas, Bedver's nephew, 264. Hirelglas, Cassibellaun's nephew, 143. Hingwar, Danish chief, 25, 26, 39, 61, 62. Hoctor settles in Ireland, 389. Hoel, king of Armorica, 231, 241, 248, 264. Holdin, king of the Ruteni, 264. Horsus, brother of Hengist, 4, 6, 183, 188. Hudibras, king of Britain, 114. Humber, king of the Huns, 109, 110. Humbert, bishop of the East Angles, 50. Ida, king of Northumbria, 8, 409. Idwallo, a just king of Britain, 136. Igerna, wife of Gorlois, 223-226. Ignoge, daughter of Pandrasus, 98. Imbertus, ambassador, 102. Ina, king of Wessex, 13, 14, 43. Inbaltus, commander of the Gauls, 169. Ireland, its first inhabitants, 389, 390, 464; description of, 457-462. Isembard renounces Christianity, 273. Isserninus, a bishop of Ireland, 410. Istereth settles in Dalrieta, 389. Ivor and Ini, British chiefs, 290, 291. Jago, an ancient British king, 120. John, abbat of Athelney, 70, 79-81. Judith, Alfred's queen, 46-51, 65. Julius, a British martyr, 161, 242, 466. Kamber, son of Brutus, 109. Kent, genealogy of the kings, 412. Kentwin, king of Wessex, 13. Kenulf, king of Mercia, 19, 20. Kenwalk, king of Wessex, 12, 13. Kimarus, a British king, 132. Kinmarcus, a British king, 120. Kinocus, (_Cynog_), archbp. of Menevia, 271. Kymbelinus, king of Britain, 148. Lambienus, a Roman tribune, 140. Lantern made by king Alfred, 84. Latian law, what, 457. Lavinia, the wife Æneas, 91, 387, 388. Leil, a good king of Britain, 113. Leir, king of Britain, 114-119. Leo III. pope, 19, 20. Leo IV. pope, anoints king Alfred, 45. Lepidus, Marius, a Roman senator, 264. Liethali settles in South Wales, 389. Locrin, son of Brutus, 109-111. Logiore, an Irish king, 410. Lot, a British chief, 226, 238, 239. Lucius, the first Christian king of Britain, 154-156, 393. Lucius Tiberius, 245, 250, 259-266. Lucullus, Roman governor of Britain, 470. Lud, beautifier of London, 136. Lumond, a wonderful lake, 235. Lupus, bishop of Troyes, 187. Maddan advanced to the throne, 111. Magicians, 91, 192-194, 388. Maglaunus, duke of Albania, 116. Malgo, or Malgocune, a British king, 272, 318. Malim murdered by Mempricius, 112. Marcellus, Roman gov. of Britain, 471. Marcellus Mutius killed, 256. Margadud, king of Demetia, 286. Margan, duke, 119. Margan, king of Britain, 136. Marinus, pope, died, 33, 65. Marius, king of Britain, 153. Mark, editor of Nennius's History, viii, 386. Martia, qn., author of the Martian law, 132. Martin, bishop of Tours, 395. Matilda, daughter of Otho the Great, v, 1. Mauganius, bishop of Silchester, 246. Maugantius, a philosopher, 193. Mauricius, son of Caradoc, 165-167. Maxentius, Roman emperor, 163. Maximian invited to Britain, 164-173. Maximianus Herculius, 161. Maximus (Macsen Wledig), usurper, 304, 394-396, 467. Mellobaudes, Gratian's general, slain, 395. Mempricius's advice to the Trojans, 98. Mempricius, a British king, 112. Merianus, a British king, 136. Merlin's history and prophecies, 192-224. Mermenus, a king of Britain, 390. Mervin, a British king, 384. Milcho, St. Patrick's master, 409. Micipsa, king of Babylon, 264. Milvius, Quintus, Roman senator, 264. Mistletoe, a sacred plant, 432, 433. Modred, Arthur's nephew, 238, 268-272. Molmutine laws, 121, 125. Monasteries, Amesbury, 73, 190, 229; Athelney, 79; Banwell, 73; Hyde Abbey, 75; Menevia, 271; Salisbury, 214; Shaftesbury, 82; Wareham, 58; Wembury, 44. Morvid, consul of Gloucester, 266. Morvidus, a tyrant of Britain, 133. Natan-Leod, king of the Britons, 7. NENNIUS'S HISTORY OF THE BRITONS, vii, 383-416. Nennius, brother of Cassibellaun, 136, 140, 141. Neot, St., vi, 60, 61, 66. Nimech settles in Ireland, 389. Novia, abp. of St. David's, 72. Oak, peculiarly sacred to the Druids, 432. Octa, son of Hengist, 187, 212, 213, 221-228, 400. Octavius (_Eudav_), rebels against the Romans, 164-168. Offa, king of Mercia, 17-19, 47. Ordinal of the British Church quoted, 375. Osbert, king of Northumbria, 25, 52. Osburga, king Alfred's mother, 44. Oskytel, a Danish king, 30, 58. Osric, king of Northumbria, 15, 285. Ostorius, Roman governor, 443, 446, 448, 453, 469. Oswald, king of Northumbria, 15, 285, 415. Oswy, king of Northumbria, 13, 285-287. Oxford university, 74. Palladius, bishop, sent to the Scots, 6, 409. Pandrasus, king of Greece, 92-99. Parthlud, Ludgate, in London, 137. Partholoim settles in Ireland, 131, 389. Pascentius, son of Vortigern, 218-221. Patrick, St., 271, 390, 407, 410, 411, 460. Pelagian heresy, 187. Penda, king of Mercia, 12, 284-288, 415. Peredure deposes Elidure, 135. Pertinax, Roman gov. of Britain, 471. Pestilence among the birds, 13. Petreius, Cotta, a Roman general, 256. Petronius Turpilianus, a Roman governor of Britain, 469. Philænian altars in Africa, 101. Pictavians, inhabitants of Poictou, 104. Picts and Scots, 3, 39, 153, 159, 182-184, 305-308, 390, 394, 396, 467, 468. Pir, an ancient British king, 136. Plegmund, abp. of Canterbury, 38, 70. Polycarp, bishop of Smyrna, 353. Polytetes, king of Bithynia, 266. Porrex, king of Britain, 120. Porrex, another king of Britain, 136. Porsena, a Roman consul, killed, 130. Port arrives in Britain, 7. Posthumus, brother to Brutus, 387, 388. Præsutagus, a British king, 446, 447. Priwen, the name of Arthur's shield, 234. Pyramus, abp. of York, 237. Quintilianus killed by Walgan, 255. Raven, the Danish standard, 62. Rederchius, an ancient king of Britain, 136. Redion, an ancient king of Britain, 136. Regan, daughter of king Leir, 116. Reuda, king of the Picts, 466. RICHARD OF CIRENCESTER'S HISTORY OF BRITAIN, 419; account of the author, xviii, 455, 456; discovery of his work, xx. Riculf, king of Norway, defeated, 239. Ritho, the giant, 252. Rivallo, king of Britain, 120. Robert, earl of Gloucester, 89, 90. Rodric, king of the Picts, 153. Rollo, duke of Normandy. 58, 59. Roman governors of Britain, 465-471. Rome taken by Belinus, 129. Ron, the name of Arthur's lance, 234. Rowena, daughter of Hengist, 186-190. Roy's Commentary on the campaigns of Agricola, 450. Rudaucus, king of Cambria, 121. Runno, an ancient king of Britain, 136. Sabre, daughter of Estrildis, 111. Salomon, king of Armorica, 281. Samuilpenissel, king of Britain, 136. Samson, abp. of Dole, 245. Sanxo, abp. of York, 217. Saturninus, prefect of the Roman fleet, 471. Saxons settle in Britain, 3-9, 183-191, 232-235, 272-274, 285-290, 396. Scæva, son of Androgeus, 145. Scots, their origin, 389, 459, 461. Scots and Picts. See _Picts_. Segerus consecrated with St. Patrick, 410. Seginus, duke of the Allobroges, 126. Sertorius, king of Libya, 266. Severus, gov. of Britain, 156, 393-395, 471. Severus's wall, 393, 448, 466. Sexburga, queen of Wessex, 13. Sigebert, king of the East Saxons, 11. Sigebert, king of Wessex, 15. Sisilius, name of three British kings, 120, 132, 136. Staterius, king of Albania, 121. Stilicho builds a wall, 467. Stipendiary cities, 457. Stuf, lord of the Isle of Wight, 7, 44. Suard, king of the Franks, 120. Suetonius, Roman British consul, 447, 465, 469. Sylvius, father of Brutus, 91, 387. Tennantius, duke of Cornwall, 137. Thadiocus, abp. of York, 274. Theodore, abp. of Canterbury, 14. Theodosius, emperor, 395, 450, 452, 467. Theon, abp of London, 274. Thompson (Aaron), defends Geoffrey's History, ix. Torques, a gold collar worn by the Britons, 427. Tower of glass, 389. Tower of London, 135, 200. Trahern, uncle of Helena, 163. Trebellius, Roman gov. of Britain, 470. Trebellius Maximus, Roman gov. of Britain, 469. Tremounus, abp. of Caerleon, 215. Triads, the Welsh, 430, 431. Trojans settle in Britain, 106, 387. Turonus, nephew of Brutus, 106. Tyrants of Britain, 304, 314. Ulfin of Ricaradoch, 224. Urbicus, a Roman general, 466, 471. Urian honoured by Arthur, 238. Urianus, a British king, 136. Ursula and the Virgins, 171. Uther Pendragon, his history, 220-230. Valentinian, emperor, 395, 416. Vectius Bolanus, Roman gov. of Britain, 470. Veranius, Roman governor, 443, 469. Vespasian sent to Britain, 152, 442, 465, 468, 470. Victor, son of Maximus, 395. Victrix, the name of the sixth legion, 447. Vigenius imprisons his brother, 135. Virius Lupus, Roman lieutenant of Britain, 471. Vortigern (_Gwrtheyrn_), king, 4, 6, 179-193, 206-208, 310, 396-407, 416. Vortimer (_Gwrthefyr_), 188, 189, 404-407. Vortipore, a British prince, 317. Vulteius Catellus, a Roman chief, 258. Walgan, Arthur's nephew, 255, 264-269. Wall between Deira and Albania, 174; Severus's, 393, 448, 466; Antoninus's 450; Hadrian's, 466, 471; Stilicho's, 467. Walter, archdeacon of Oxford, xii, 89, 268, 291. Wednesday, so called from Woden, 184. Werefrith, bishop of Worcester, 70. Whitgar, lord of the Isle of Wight, 7, 44. Widen slays her son Porrex, 120. Withlaf, king of Mercia, 21. Wortiporius, king of Britain, 272 Wulfhere, king of Mercia, 13. Wulfred, king of Mercia, 287. Wulfstan, abp. of York, 40. York made an archiepiscopal see, 155. TOPOGRAPHICAL INDEX. Abona, river, 440, 453. Abrasuanus, river, 450. Abus, river, 447. Ac-lea, Ockley, 45. Acmodæ, islands, 463. Ad Abum, station, 499. Ad Abonam, station, 493. Ad Æsicam, station, 490. Ad Alaunam Amnem, station, 492. Ad Alpes Penninos, sta., 488. Ad Antonam, station, 496. Ad Aquas, station, 492. Ædui, 464. Ælecti, 402. Ælia Castra, station, 500. Æscendune, 27. Æsica, river, 451. Afene, river, 12. Agned, Edinburgh, 113. Akalon, river in Greece, 93. Akeman Street, 478. Alauna, city, 445, 451, 478, 489, 496. ---- river, 449, 486. Alba, now Albano in Italy, 91. Albania, now Scotland, 109. Albion, notices of, 106, 419, 421. Alcluith, city, 112, 134, 212, 235, 437, 452. Alicana, 488. Allobroges, in Switzerland, 126. Alps, Pennine, 447. Ambrius, mt., 214, 217, 221. Ambrons, 212, 229. Anderida, port, 478, 497. ---- wood, 438, 499. ---- town, 439, 499. Andros, isles, 463. Angles, their origin, 400. Anglia, 5. Andredes-leage, Anderida, 7. Antivestæum, prom., 441, 460. Antona, river, 439. Antoninus's Itinerary, 473. Apoldre, Appledore, 35. Aquæ Solis, 440, 456, 492-494. Aquitaine, in France, 102. Aravius, mountain, 254. Argitta, river, 459. Argolicum, station, 486. Armorica, 169, 177. Artavia, 441, 477. Ashdune, Aston, 54. Athelingay, Athelney, 31. Atlantic Ocean, 459. Attacotti, 452. Atrebates, 439, 497. Aufona, river, 446. Augusta, London, 445. Ausoba, bay, 459. Austrinum, 460. Auterii, 459. Auterum, town, 460. Avalonia, city, 271, 440, 477. Avene, river, 7. Axanminster, 17. Azara, mountains, 101. Badon-hill, 200, 313, 409. Ballium, station, 496. Banatia, town, 452. Banchorium, station and monastery, 275, 444, 483. Banna, river, 459. Barba, river, 250, 252. Bassas, river, 408. Bath. Vide _Aquæ Solis and Thermæ_. Bdora, estuary, 437. Beadanhead, Bedwin, 13. Beandune, 12. Bebbanburgh, Bambrough, 39, 414. Bedanford, Bedford, 8. Belgæ, 439. Bennavenna, 483. Benonæ, 444. Benonnis, 483, 500. Bensingtun, Benson, 8. Beodoricsworthe, Bury St. Edmunds, 26. Beorgforda, Burford, 15. Berin-byrig, Banbury? 8. Berneich, province, 413, 414. Bibracte, 494, 495, 497. Bibrocum, town, 439. Billingsgate, 131. Blestium, station, 496. Bodotria, estuary, 450. Boduni, 444. Bolerium, promontory, 441. Bovium, station, 493. Brannogenium, town, 443, 479, 495. Branogena, town, 445. Breguoin, mountain, 409. Bremenium, stip., 449, 457, 477, 487. Brigæ, station, 498. Brigantes, 447, 465. Brigantia, kingdom, 447. ---- city, 460. Brigantum, Extrema, 447. Briga, river, 460. Brinavæ, station, 500. Britannia Inferior, pro., 437. ---- Prima, pro., 436. ---- Secunda, pro., 437, 443. ---- Superior, pro., 437, 443. British provinces, 436. Brocavonacæ, sta., 491, 492. Brunandune, Brumby, 39. Builth, province, 407. Bubinda, Buvinda, river, 460. Bultrum, station, 495. Burne, 285. Burva, or Barva, 50. Cægineshamme, Keynsham, 27. Caer-badus, 114, 200. Caer-britoc, 386. Caer-caradauc, 191, 214. Caer-caratauc, 386. Caer-ceint, 386. Caer-celemion, 386. Caer-ceri, or cori, 63, 386. Caer-collon, or colvin, 162, 386. Caer-conan, 211, 212. Caer-corrie, 186. Caer-custeint, 386. Caer-dubalem, 204. Caer-daun, 386. Caer-dauri, 386. Caer-draithou, 386. Caer-ebrauc, 386, 409. Caer-gloul, 152, 153, 386, 407. Caer-grant, 386. Caer-guent, 386. Caer-guintruis, 386. Caer-guoranegon, 386. Caer-guorcon, 386. Caer-guorthegern, 386, 404, 406. Caer-gurcoc, 386. Caer-lem, 114. Caer-liel, or luilid, 113, 386. Caer-leir, or lerion, 114, 135, 386. Caer-ligion, 386. Caer-lion, or Caer-osc, 130, 380, 408. Caer-loit-coit, 232, 386. Caer-lud, or londein, 108, 137, 386. Caer-maniguid, 386. Caer-meguaid, 386. Caer-mencipit, 386. Caer-merdin, 192, 386. Caer-penhuelgoit, 152. Caer-pensavelcoit, 386. Caer-peris, 130, 149, 150, 164, 386. Caer-segeint, 386. Caer-segont, 394, 443. Caer-teim, 386. Caer-urnahc, 386. Caerwent, 404. Caer-wisc, 58. Cæsarea, island, 463. Cæsariensis, province, 445. Cæsaromagus, sta., 484, 485. Cair. For words with this prefix, see _Caer_. Calcaria, station, 488. Caledonia, 450, 452. Caledonian wood, 232, 438, 446, 453. Caledonian promontory, 454. Caledoniæ extrema, 454. Caledonii, 453. Caleterium, a wood, 124, 134, 201, 202. Calleba, city, 439, 494, 496, 497, 500. Camalodunum, called Geminæ Martiæ, 444, 445, 456, 465, 469, 484. Cambodunum, town, Latian, 447, 457, 488. Camboricum, colony, 416, 457, 485. Cambretonium, sta., 484, 485. Cambria, 109. Cambula, river, 270. Cangani, 442. Canganum, promontory, 443. Cangi, 459, 465. Cangian promontory, 443. Cangiani, 443, 444, 461. Cangiorum, station, 444. Canonium, station, 484. Canovius, river, 444. Cantabric, ocean, 459. Cantabridge, Cambridge, 38. Cantæ, 453. Cant Guic, 394. Cantian state, 6, 438. ---- promontory, 421. Cantiopolis, stipendiary, 438, 457, 482. Cantium, promont., 422, 438. ---- region of, 438. Carnabii, region of, 441, 444, 453. Carnonacæ, 454. Carnubia, region of, 107, 441. Carrum, Charmouth, 21. Carun, river, 393. Casæ Candidæ, town, 450. Cassii, kingd. of, 444, 445, 497. Cassiterides, Isles, 441, 463. Cataracton, Caturacton, town under the Latian law, 447, 457, 477, 478, 486, 487, 489. Cat Bregion, mountain, 409. Catgwaloph, 416. Catini, 454. Catscaul, 415. Cauci, 461. Celidon, wood, 201, 232, 408. Celnius, river, 452. Celtæ, 439. Cenail, 393. Cenia, city, 441, 477, 498. Cenius, river, 441. Cenomanni, 446. Cerdic's-ore, 7. Cerdic's-ford, 7. Cerones, 454. Cetgueli, 389. Chippenham, a royal villa, 60, 63. Cichican, valley, 307. Cimbri, region of, 423, 440. Cittanford (Ottanford?) 18. Clas Merddyn, island, 419. Clausentum, 439, 479, 497, 500. Clotta, Clydda, est. 437, 450. Cloveshoo, in Kent, 20. Cocboy, 416. Coccium, city, 448, 457, 479, 492. Coitani, Coitanni, 446. Coit-mawr, Selwood, 62. Concangii, 460. Condate, station, 488, 492. Conovio, 483. Conovium, station, 483. Consular provinces in Britain, 438. Contiopoli, 497. Corbantorigum, 449. Corinium, Corinum, town, Latian, 445, 457, 479, 492. Coriondii, 461. Corisennæ, station, 485, 499. Corium, 489, 490. Cornish people, so called from Corineus, 102. Corstopitum, Corstoplio, station, 487. Creones, 454. Crococolana, station, 496. Cruachan-Aichle, mt. 411. Cruc Occident, 394. Cunetio, station, 494. Cunetium, river, 439. Curia, town, 449, 487. Cymry, see _Cimbri_. Cynemæresford, Kempsford, 20. Cynuit, Kynwith, 61. Dabrona, river, 460. Dacia, 123, 131. Dalrieta, 389. Damnia, region of, 449. Damnii, 314, 450, 460, 461. ---- Albani, 452. Damnonii, state of, 421, 438, 441, 465. Daneian, wood, 201. Danum, station, 486. Darabona, Darabouna, riv. 459. Decimum (Ad), station, 497. Defna, Devonshire, 20. Delgovicia, station, 487. Demetians, 242, 317. Dene, a royal villa, 71. Derbentio, town, 481. Dereuent, the river Darent, 188, 404. Derventione, sta., 487, 500. Deva, colony, called Getica, 444, 457, 477, 483, 488. ---- river, 444, 451. Devana, city, 451. ---- sta., 473, 485, 490, 491. Deucaledonian, ocean, 459. Deorhamme, 9. Deur, province, 413. Dianæ Forum, 445, 482. Dimetiæ, 317, 389, 406, 443. Dinas Emrys, 401. Dobona, river, 460. Dobuni, 444. Dolobellum, or Dorobellum, 139, 392. Dorobernia, Canterbury, 44, 145, 183. Dorocina, station, 500. Dubræ, city and port, 438. Dubris, river, 438, 497. Duglas, river, 230, 270, 408. Dunum, city, 460. Duralipons, station, 485. Durinum, stip. 440, 457, 477. Durius, river, 441, 460, 498. Durngueis, 58. Durnomagus, Latian, 446, 457, 478, 485, 499. Durnovaria, station, 498. Durocobrivæ, 477. Durolevum, Durosevum, station, 482, 497. Durolispons, station, 499. Durobris, Durobrobis, Duroprovæ, Durobrivæ, sti. 438, 457, 477, 482, 485. Durositum, station, 484. Durotriges, 440. Durovernum, 477. Dynguayth, province, 413. Dynguoaroy, town, 414. Eblanæ, Eblani, 460. Eboracum, Eburacum, municipal and metropolis, 112, 447, 456, 486-489, 499. Ebudium, Ebudum, promontory, 454. Egbert's-stone, Brixton Deverill, 62. Eglesburh, Aylesbury, 8. Ellandune, Allington, 29. Elmete, 414. Epiacum, town, 447, 477, 486. Epidii, 454. Epidium, promontory, 454. Ermyn Street, 478. Eriri, mount, 444. Esc's-dune, 12, 13. Ethandune, 31, 62. Etocetum, town, 444, 478, 483, 492, 500. Eubonia, 386, 389. Evoric, or Eoferwic, York, 25. Exanceaster, Exeter, 58. Extremitas Caledoniæ, 454. Fethanleage, 9. Fines (Ad), 487, 499, 500. Fines Flaviæ et Secundæ, 483. ---- Maximæ et Flaviæ, 488. ---- Trinobantum, 484. Flavia Extrema, 446. ---- province, 436, 444. Forum Dianæ, town, 445. Foss, the, 473. Fraun, river, 58. Fresicum, or Fresic sea, 400. Fretum Meneviacum, 443. ---- Sabrinæ, 442. Gadanica, station, 489, 490. Gadeni, 449. Gadenia, region, 449. ---- town, 449. Gai Campi, battle, 415. Gaini, inhabitants of Gainsborough, 53. Galabes, fountain, 215. Galacium, Galgacum, town, 447. Gallembourne, 161. Gania, river, 208. Garion, Garionis, river, 446. Garionenum, station, 408. Garnareia, 280. Genania, region, 444. Genoreu, 208. Gessoriacum, port, 420. Gewissæ, 43, 203, 215. Glebon, Glevum, colony called Claudia, 445, 457, 465, 478, 479, 492, 496. Gleni, river, 408. Glevesing, 402. Gloui, Gloucester, 252, 407. Gobanium, Gobannium, town, 442, 495. Goëmagot's leap, 108. Grampius, mount, 450. Grantabridge, or Grantchester, Cambridge, 30, 58. Guasmoric, 404. Guenet, or Guined, 401, 414. Gather, province, 389. Guoloppum, 416. Guorthegirnaim, province, 406, 407. Gurnion Castle, 408. Gurthrenion, 404. Gwent, 404, 407. Gwyddelians, 423. Gwynedd, province, 415. Halangium, Holongum, town, 441, 477. Hamo's Port, Southampton, 125, 150, 166, 232. Hamptonshire, Hampshire, 16. Hamptun, Southampton, 22. Heathfield, 284. Heavenfield, 285. Hebudes, isles, 461, 462. Hedui, 440, 497. Helenis, Helenum, pro. 441. Hengeston, in Cornwall, 22. Herculea, isle, 441. Hercules, pillars of, 441. Herculis, promontory. Hereri, mount, sta., 401, 404. Hethlege, Hatfield, 13. Hibernia, 457, 464, 465, 467. Hiernam (Ad), station, 490. Horestii, 451. Ibernia, town, 461. Ibernii, 460. Ibernus, river, 460. Iceni, 447, 478. Iglea, Okeley, 62. Ignesham, Eynsham, 8. Iknield Street, 473, 477. Ila, river, 453. Inis-gueith, or Gueith, 386. Internal sea, 459. Ireland, vide _Hibernia_. Isannavaria, Isanta Varia, station, 483, 500. Isca, colony, metropolis, named Secunda, 442, 456. Isca, (Caerleon) 456, 493, 495, 496. ---- river, 441, 442. ---- stipendiary, Exeter, 441, 477, 479, 492, 498. Ischalis, 440. Isinnæ, station, 485. Isurium, city, 447, 478, 486, 488. Itineraries, various, 476. Itunæ, river, 449, 451. Itunam (Ad), sta., 490, 491. Itys, river, 454. Jena, river, 450. Kaer, for words with this prefix, see _Caer_. Karitia, 118. Kidaleta, 280. Killaraus, mountain, 215, 217. Kriou metôpon, pron. 441. Kunetius, river, 439. Lactorodum, station, 482. Lapidem (Ad), station, 497. Latian law, cities or towns, governed by, 457. Lataræ, station, 489. Lebarum, 460. Legecester, 276, 277. Legiolium, Legotium, station, 480, 500. Legions, city, 131, 132, 155, 161, 217, 242, 269, 271, 408. Leircestre, Leicester, 111, 114. Lelanus, bay 454. Lemanianus, Portus, 497. Lemanum, station, 497. Lemanus, river, 438. ---- town, 438. Leonaford, a royal villa, 73. Letavia, 177. Leucarum, station, 493. Libnius, river, 459. Liganburh, Lenbury, 8. Limite, station, 487. Lindesia, or Lindsey, 184, 232. Lindocolinum, 232. Linligwan, 237. Lindum, 451, 490. ---- colony, 446, 457, 478, 484-486, 496, 499. Linuis, province, 408. Llan-Patern, bishopric, 271. Loebius, river, 460. Loegria, 109, 423. Logi. 453. Londinum Augusta, col. and met. Londinium, 108, 227, 238, 445, 456, 465, 482, 484, 494, 496-499. London, rebuilt by Alfred, 74. Longus, river, 454. Lovantium, town, 443. Loxa, river, 453. Lucani, 460. Lucophibia, town, 450. Ludgate, London, 137. Lugubalia, Luguballium, Luguballie, Luguvalium, town, Latian, 404, 448, 457, 479, 489, 491. Lumond, lake, 235. Lyncalidor, lake of, 452. Mæatæ, 449, 466. Macobicum, Macolicum, 460. Madus, river, 438. ---- station, 497. Magiovinium, station, 482. Magna, 442, 495. Maiden Way, 479. Maisbeli, Maybury, 210. Maisuriam, 164. Malua, river, 102. Manau Gustodin, prov. 414. Manavia, 458. Mancunium sta., 488, 492, 500. Manduesanedum, 483. Mansio in Medio, 499. Mare Internum, 459. ---- Vergivum, 459. ---- Thule, 459. Margan, 119, 120. Margidunum, station, 496. Maridunum, 404, 443, 457, 478, 479, 494. Maxima, province, 436, 447. Maxima Cæsariensis, 486. Mearcrædsburn, 7. Medio (In), station, 491, 499. Mediolanum, 443. ---- station, 477, 484, 492. ---- Hib. 460. Meicen, town, 413. Menapia, ct. 443, 460, 478, 479. Menapiam, (Ad) st. 493, 494. Menapii, 461. Menavia, 389. Meranton, Merton, 16. Meresige, Mersey, 36. Merscwari, 19, 22. Mertæ, 454. Metaris, estuary, 446. Michael's Mount, 252. Middleton, Milton, 36. Mile, the Roman, 475. Minmanton, 394. Modona, river, 460. Mona, isle, 434, 443, 469. Monoeda, island, 458. Mons Jovis, 394. Montem Grampium (Ad), station, 490, 491. Moridunum, 498. Morini, 133, 440. Mount Paladur, Shaftesbury, 114. Muridunum, stip. 443, 457. Murum (Ad), station, 486. Musidum, town. 441, 477. Nabæus, river, 454. Nagnata, town, 459. Nautgallim, 161. Nidum, station, 493. Northworthig, Derby, 27. Novantæ, 449. Novantia, region, 449. Novantum Chersonesus, 421, 449. Noviomagus, town, 439, 477, 478, 497, 499. Novius, river, 449. Oboca, river, 460. Oceanus Athlanticus, or Britannicus, 459. ---- Cantabricus, 459. ---- Deucalidonius, 459. ---- Internus, 459. ---- Vergivus, 459. Ocrinum, mount, 441. ---- prom. 421, 441. Octorupium, promont. 443. Oestromenides, isles, 441. Oghgul race, 400. Olicana, Alicana, town, 447, 477. Orcades, isles, 462, 466. Orcadum, promontory, 454. Ordovicia, region of, 444. Ordovices, 442, 443. Orrea, town, 451, 490, 491. Ossismii, 463. Ottadini, 449. Ottadinia, 449. Oxellum, promontory, 447. Paladur, 114. Palmecaster, 404. Parisii, 447. Pederydan, Petherton, 12. Peneltun, 393. Penguaul, 393. Pennocrucium, 483. Penoxullum, promont., 453. Petuaria, 447, 487, 499. Picti, 466, 467. Pontem (Ad), sta., 496, 497. Pontesbury, 13. Portcester, Porchester, 149. Præturium, station, 487. Præsutagus, 447. Prima, province, 436, 442. Portus, Anderida, 478, 497. ---- Felix, 447. ---- Leminianus, 497. ---- Magnus, 439, 479, 497. ---- Rhutupis, 420. ---- Sistuntiorum, 488. Pryffetesflodan, Privett, 16. Ptoroton, metropolis, Latian, 452, 457, 490, 491. Quintanwic, Canterbury, 22. Ragæ, stip., 446, 457. Ratiscorion, 496. Redonum, 170. Regia, 460. Regnum, Regentium, 439, 478, 497. Regulbium, 438, 497. Renis, river, 407. Reopandune, Repton, 17. Rerigonium, 448, 488. Rheba, metropolis, 459, 461. Rhebeus, 459. ---- river, 461. Rhebeus, lake, 461. Rhemi, 439. Rhobogdii, 459. Rhobogdium, 459. Rhufina, 460. Rhutupis, colony and metropolis, 438, 456, 482, 497. ---- portus, 145, 152, 420. Richard's Itinerary, original text, 480. Ricnea, isle, 463. Roman roads in Britain, 125, 472-500. Romana Insula, 446. Ruim, isle of Thanet, 45, 397. Ruteni, 138. Rutunium, station, 484. Ryknield Street, 478. Sabrina, estuary, river, 111, 440, 442, 443, 445. ---- strait of, 441. Sabrinam (Ad), station, 493. Sacrum, promontory, 460. Saessenaeg habail, 404. Salinæ, 445, 479, 492. Salt Way, the Upper, 479. Sariconium, 442, 496. Sarna, isle, 463. Scarburh, Old Sarum, 8. Sceapige, the Isle of Sheppey, 21. Scotti, 459, 461, 464, 468. Seccandune, Seckington, 17. Secunda, prov., 436, 437, 442. Segontiaci, 438, 439, 497. Segontium, Seguntium, stip., 440, 443, 457, 477, 483, 484. Selgovæ, 449. Selgovia, region of, 449. Selinam (Ad), sta., 490, 491. Selwoodshire, Sherborne, 14. Senæ, isles, 463. Senones, 429, 443, 464. Senus, river, 460. Seteja, river, 447. Set thirgabail, 404. Sexta Colonia, see _Eboracum_. Sigdiles, isles, 463. Silimnus, isles, 463. Silures, 422, 442, 443, 470. Sistuntii, 447. Sistuntiorum Portus, 488. Sitomagus, station, 484. Snotingaham, Nottingh., 26. Sorbiodunum, town, Latian, 439, 457, 477, 498. Sore, river, 114, 119. Southampton, 439 Spinæ, station, 494. Stæningham, Steyning, 49. Stemrugam, Stonehenge? 49. Stipendiary towns, 457. Stonehenge, 272. Streaneshalch, Whitby, 13. Sture, river, 111. Sturium Amnem (Ad), station, 484. Sturius, river, 438. Suanewic, Swanwich, 59. Sulomagus, station, 482. Surius, river, 446. Sygdiles, isles, 441. Taixali, 451. Taixalorum, promont., 451. Tamara, river, 498. ---- town, 441, 477. Tamarus, river 441. Tamea, 452, 491. Tamesis, station, 500. Tavum (Ad), station, 490. Taum, 477. Tavus, river, 443, 451. Tenet, Isle of Thanet, 45. Termolus, 441, 477. Thamesis, river, 436, 439, 443, 444. Thanatos, isle, 463. Thancastre, 186. Theodosia, town, Latian, 452, 457. Thermæ, colony, named Aquæ Solis, 456, 465. Thornsæta, 58. Thule, isle, 419, 462. ---- province, 452. Tibia, river, 493. Tiggocobauc, Nottingham, 53. Tina, river, 449, 451. Tinam (Ad), sta., 490, 491. Tintagel, 224. Tisam (Ad), 486. Tosibus, river, 444. Totness, 106, 207, 233. Towy, river, 406. Trajectus, station, 493. Trat Treuroit, river, 409. Trimontium, 449, 489, 490. Trinobantes, 444. Trinobantia, region of, 444. Trinobantum, 108, 114, 122, 131, 137, 142, 145, 392, 445, 477, 478. Tripontium, sta., 483, 500. Trivona, river, 446. Trivonam (Ad), 500. Troy, New, 108. Tueda, river, 449, 486. Tuessis, river, 452. ---- town, 452. Tuessim (Ad), sta., 490, 491. Turnis, city, 388. Uriconium, Urioconium, 444, 477, 483, 495. Urus, river, 447. Uxaconia, station, 483. Uxella, river, 440. Uxella, mount, 450. ---- town, 441, 479. Uxellam Amnem (Ad), station, 492. Uxellum, town, 449. Vacomagi, 451. Vagnaca, station, 483, 497. Valentia, province, 436, 450, 471. Vallis-doloris, 408. Vallum of Hadrian, 466. ---- Antoninus, 450. ---- Severus, 436, 448, 406. ---- (Ad), station, 486, 489-491. Vanduaria, 450. Varar, estuary, 437, 452. ---- river, 437, 452. Varis, station, 483, 491. Vataræ, station, 489. Vecta, Vectis, isle, 5, 7, 8, 462, 469. Vecturones, 451. Velatorii, 460. Veneti, 422, 463. Venicnii, islands, 459. Venicnium, head or promontory, 459. Venisnia, island, 459. Vennicuii, 459. Vennonis, 496. Venricones, 451. Venromentum, station, 496. Venta, Belgarum, stip., 439, 446, 457, 479, 496, 498. ---- Cenom, or Icenor, stip., 446, 457, 484, 485. ---- Silurum, stip., 442, 457, 479, 493. Ventageladia, station, 498. Verlucione, 494. Verolamium, Verulamium, municipal, 445, 456, 465, 417, 482. Verubium, or Viuvedrum, promontory, 454. Vespasiana, province, 436, 450, 452. Via Julia, 493. Victoria, town under the Latian law, 451, 457, 490, 491. Vidua, river, 459. Vegesimum,(Ad), st., 493, 494. Vindelia, Vindilios, island, 440, 463. Vinderus, river, 460. Vindomora, station, 487. Vindomis, 496, 497, 500. Vindonum, stip., 439, 457. Vinovium, Vindovium, 447, 477, 478, 486, 487. Vinvedrum, Virvedrum, promontory, 454. Virioconium, Viriconium, 483, 484. Vodiæ, 460. Vodium, promontory, 460. Volsas Sinus, 454. Voluba, 441, 477, 498. Voluntii, 459, 460, 461. Vorreda, station, 489. Walls, Roman, 444. Wanating, Wantage, 43. Wautsum, estuary, 397, 462. Wales, 441. Watling Street, 476. Wedale, or Wodale, 408. West Chester, 442. Wiccii, 63. Wicgambeorg, Wembury, 44. Wight, island, see _Vecta_. Weolod, Welland, river, 37. Westmaria, 153. Wilsætum, Wiltshire, 20. Wisseans, 164. Wodnesbyrg, 9. Wothnesbeorghge, Wanborough, 14 Wubbandune, 8. Y Vêl Ynys, island, 419. ROMAN PROVINCES AND ENGLISH COUNTIES. 1. CORNABIL AND DANMONIA People of Cornwall and Devonshire. 2. DUROTRIGES Dorsetshire. 3. BELGÆ Somerset, Wilts, and the greater part of Hants, including the Isle of Wight. 4. ATREBATIE Berkshire. 5. REGNI Surrey, Sussex and the south-eastern part of Hants. 6. CANTII Kent. 7. TRINOBANTES Middlesex and Essex. 8. ICENI Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridge, and Huntingdonshire. 9. CATIEUCHLANI Bucks, Bedford and Hertfordshire. 10. DOBUNI Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire. 11. SILURES Hereford, Monmouth, Radnor, Brecon, and Glamorganshire. 12. DIMETÆ Carmarthen, Pembroke, and Cardiganshire. 13. ORDOVICES Flint, Denbigh, Merioneth, Montgomery, Carnarvonshire, and Anglesey. 14. CORNAVII Cheshire, Shropshire, Stafford, Warwick, and Worcestershire. 15. CORITANI Lincoln, Nottingham, Derby, Leicester, Rutland, and Northamptonshire. 16. BRIGANTES Yorkshire, Lancashire, Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Durham. 17. ATTADINI, or OTTADUNI Northumberland. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED. DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E. AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W. AN ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BOOKS CONTAINED IN BOHN'S LIBRARIES. _Detailed Catalogue, arranged according to the various Libraries, will be sent on application._ ADDISON'S Works. With the Notes of Bishop Hurd, Portrait, and 8 Plates of Medals and Coins. Edited by H.G. Bohn. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ÆSCHYLUS, The Dramas of. Translated into English Verse by Anna Swanwick. 4th Edition, revised. 5_s._ ---- The Tragedies of. Translated into Prose by T.A. Buckley, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ AGASSIZ and GOULD'S Outline of Comparative Physiology. Enlarged by Dr. Wright. With 390 Woodcuts. 5_s._ ALFIERI'S Tragedies. Translated into English Verse by Edgar A. Bowring, C.B. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ALLEN'S (Joseph, R.N.) Battles of the British Navy. Revised Edition, with 57 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS. History of Rome during the Reigns of Constantius, Julian, Jovianus, Valentinian, and Valens. Translated by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 7_s._ 6_d._ ANDERSEN'S Danish Legends and Fairy Tales. Translated by Caroline Peachey. With 120 Wood Engravings. 5s. ANTONINUS (M. Aurelius). The Thoughts of. Trans. literally, with Notes and Introduction by George Long, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. 'The Argonautica.' Translated by E.P. Coleridge, B.A. APPIAN'S Roman History. Translated by Horace White, M.A., LL.D. With Maps and Illustrations. 2 vols. 6_s._ each. APULEIUS, The Works of. Comprising the Golden Ass, God of Socrates, Florida, and Discourse of Magic. 5_s._ ARIOSTO'S Orlando Furioso. Translated into English Verse by W.S. Rose. With Portrait, and 21 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ARISTOPHANES' Comedies. Translated by W.J. Hickie. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ARISTOTLE'S Nicomachean Ethics. Translated, with Introduction and Notes, by the Venerable Archdeacon Browne. 5_s._ ---- Politics and Economics. Translated by E. Walford, M.A., with Introduction by Dr. Gillies. 5_s._ ---- Metaphysics. Translated by the Rev. John H. M'Mahon, M.A. 5_s._ ---- History of Animals. Trans. by Richard Cresswell, M.A. 5_s._ ---- Organon; or, Logical Treatises, and the Introduction of Porphyry. Translated by the Rev. O.F. Owen, M.A. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Rhetoric and Poetics. Trans. by T. Buckley, B.A. 5_s._ ARRIAN'S Anabasis of Alexander, together with the Indica. Translated by E.J. Chinnock, M.A., LL.D. With Maps and Plans. 5_s._ ATHENÆUS. The Deipnosophists; or, the Banquet of the Learned. Trans. by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. BACON'S Moral and Historical Works, including the Essays, Apophthegms, Wisdom of the Ancients, New Atlantis, Henry VII., Henry VIII., Elizabeth, Henry Prince of Wales, History of Great Britain, Julius Cæsar, and Augustus Cæsar. Edited by J. Devey, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Novum Organum and Advancement of Learning. Edited by J. Devey, M.A. 5_s._ BASS'S Lexicon to the Greek Testament, 2_s._ BAX'S Manual of the History of Philosophy, for the use of Students. By E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, their finest Scenes, Lyrics, and other Beauties, selected from the whole of their works, and edited by Leigh Hunt. 3_s._ 6_d._ BECHSTEIN'S Cage and Chamber Birds, their Natural History, Habits, Food, Diseases, and Modes of Capture. Translated, with considerable additions on Structure, Migration, and Economy, by H.G. Adams. Together with SWEET BRITISH WARBLERS. With 43 coloured Plates and Woodcut Illustrations. 5_s._ BEDE'S (Venerable) Ecclesiastical History of England. Together with the ANGLO-SAXON CHRONICLE. Edited by J.A. Giles, D.C.L. With Map. 5_s._ BELL (Sir Charles). The Anatomy and Philosophy of Expression, as connected with the Fine Arts. By Sir Charles Bell, K.H. 7th edition, revised. 5_s._ BERKELEY (George), Bishop of Cloyne, The Works of. Edited by George Sampson. With Biographical Introduction by the Right Hon. A.J. Balfour, M.P. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. BION. _See_ THEOCRITUS. BJÖRNSON'S Arne and the Fisher Lassie. Translated by W.H. Low, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ BLAIR'S Chronological Tables Revised and Enlarged. Comprehending the Chronology and History of the World, from the Earliest Times to the Russian Treaty of Peace, April 1856. By J. Willoughby Rosse. Double vol. 10_s._ BLAIR'S Index of Dates. Comprehending the principal Facts in the Chronology and History of the World, alphabetically arranged; being a complete Index to Blair's Chronological Tables. By J.W. Rosse. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. BLEEK, Introduction to the Old Testament. By Friedrich Bleek. Edited by Johann Bleek and Adolf Kamphausen. Translated by G.H. Venables, under the supervision of the Rev. Canon Venables. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. BOETHIUS'S Consolation of Philosophy. King Alfred's Anglo-Saxon Version of. With a literal English Translation on opposite pages, Notes, Introduction, and Glossary, by Rev. S. Fox, M.A. 5_s._ BOHN'S Dictionary of Poetical Quotations. 4th edition. 6_s._ ---- Handbooks of Athletic Sports. In 8 vols., each containing numerous Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Cricket, Lawn Tennis, Tennis, Rackets, Fives, Golf. II.--Rowing and Sculling, Sailing, Swimming. III.--Boxing, Broadsword, Single Stick, &c., Wrestling, Fencing. IV.--Rugby Football, Association Football, Baseball, Rounders, Fieldball, Quoits, Skittles, Bowls, Curling. V.--Cycling, Athletics, Skating. VI.--Practical Horsemanship, including Riding for Ladies. VII.--Camping Out, Canoeing. VIII.--Gymnastics, Indian Clubs. BOHN'S Handbooks of Games. New edition. In 2 vols., with numerous Illustrations 3_s._ 6_d._ each. Vol. I.--TABLE GAMES:--Billiards, Chess, Draughts, Backgammon, Dominoes, Solitaire, Reversi, Go-Bang, Rouge et Noir, Roulette, E.O., Hazard, Faro. Vol. II.--CARD GAMES:--Whist, Solo Whist, Poker, Piquet, Écarté, Euchre, Bézique, Cribbage, Loo, Vingt-et-un, Napoleon, Newmarket, Pope Joan, Speculation, &c., &c. BOND'S A Handy Book of Rules and Tables for verifying Dates with the Christian Era, &c. Giving an account of the Chief Eras and Systems used by various Nations; with the easy Methods for determining the Corresponding Dates. By J.J. Bond. 5_s._ BONOMI'S Nineveh and its Palaces. 7 Plates and 294 Woodcut Illustrations. 5_s._ BOSWELL'S Life of Johnson, with the TOUR IN THE HEBRIDES and JOHNSONIANA. Edited by the Rev. A. Napier, M.A. With Frontispiece to each vol. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. BRAND'S Popular Antiquities of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Arranged, revised, and greatly enlarged, by Sir Henry Ellis, K.H., F.R.S., &c., &c. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. BREMER'S (Frederika) Works. Translated by Mary Howitt. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. BRIDGWATER TREATISES. Bell (Sir Charles) on the Hand. With numerous Woodcuts. 5_s._ Kirby on the History, Habits, and Instincts of Animals. Edited by T. Rymer Jones. With upwards of 100 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. Kidd on the Adaptation of External Nature to the Physical Condition of Man. 3_s._ 6_d._ Chalmers on the Adaptation of External Nature to the Moral and Intellectual Constitution of Man. 5_s._ BRINK (B. ten) Early English Literature. By Bernhard ten Brink. Vol. I. To Wyclif. Translated by Horace M. Kennedy. 3_s._ 6_d._ Vol. II. Wyclif, Chaucer, Earliest Drama Renaissance. Translated by W. Clarke Robinson, Ph.D. 3_s._ 6_d._ Vol. III. From the Fourteenth Century to the Death of Surrey. Edited by Dr. Alois Brandl. Trans. by L. Dora Schmitz. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Five Lectures on Shakespeare. Trans. by Julia Franklin. 3_s._ 6_d._ BROWNE'S (Sir Thomas) Works Edited by Simon Wilkin. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. BURKE'S Works. 8 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Vindication of Natural Society--Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, and various Political Miscellanies. II.--Reflections on the French Revolution--Letters relating to the Bristol Election--Speech on Fox's East India Bill, &c. III.--Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs--On the Nabob of Arcot's Debts--The Catholic Claims, &c. IV.--Report on the Affairs of India, and Articles of Charge against Warren Hastings. V.--Conclusion of the Articles of Charge against Warren Hastings--Political Letters on the American War, on a Regicide Peace, to the Empress of Russia. VI. Miscellaneous Speeches--Letters and Fragments--Abridgments of English History, &c. With a General Index. VII. & VIII.--Speeches on the Impeachment of Warren Hastings; and Letters. With Index. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Life. By Sir J. Prior. 3_s._ 6_d._ BURNEY'S Evelina. By Frances Burney (Mme. D'Arblay). With an Introduction and Notes by A.R. Ellis. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Cecilia. With an Introduction and Notes by A.R. Ellis. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. BURN (R.) Ancient Rome and its Neighbourhood. An Illustrated Handbook to the Ruins in the City and the Campagna, for the use of Travellers. By Robert Burn, M.A. With numerous Illustrations, Maps, and Plans. 7_s._ 6_d._ BURNS (Robert), Life of. By J.G. Lockhart, D.C.L. A new and enlarged Edition. Revised by William Scott Douglas. 3_s._ 6_d._ BURTON'S (Robert) Anatomy of Melancholy. Edited by the Rev. A.R. Shilleto, M.A. With Introduction by A.H. Bullen, and full Index. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. BURTON (Sir R.F.) Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to Al-Madinah and Meccah. By Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, K.C.M.G. With an Introduction by Stanley Lane-Poole, and all the original Illustrations. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. [asterism] This is the copyright edition, containing the author's latest notes. BUTLER'S (Bishop) Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature; together with two Dissertations on Personal Identity and on the Nature of Virtue, and Fifteen Sermons. 3_s._ 6_d._ BUTLER'S (Samuel) Hudibras. With Variorum Notes, a Biography, Portrait, and 28 Illustrations. 5_s._ ---- or, further Illustrated with 60 Outline Portraits. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. CÆSAR. Commentaries on the Gallic and Civil Wars, Translated by W.A. McDevitte, B.A. 5_s._ CAMOENS' Lusiad; or, the Discovery of India. An Epic Poem. Translated by W.J. Mickle. 5th Edition, revised by E.R. Hodges, M.C.P. 3_s._ 6_d._ CARAFAS (The) of Maddaloni. Naples under Spanish Dominion. Translated from the German of Alfred de Reumont. 3_s._ 6_d._ CARLYLE'S French Revolution. Edited by J. Holland Rose, Litt.D. Illus. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Sartor Resartus. With 75 Illustrations by Edmund J. Sullivan. 5_s._ CARPENTER'S (Dr. W.B.) Zoology. Revised Edition, by W.S. Dallas, F.L.S. With very numerous Woodcuts. Vol. I. 6_s._ [_Vol. II. out of print._ CARPENTER'S Mechanical Philosophy, Astronomy, and Horology. 181 Woodcuts. 5_s._ ---- Vegetable Physiology and Systematic Botany. Revised Edition, by E. Lankester, M.D., &c. With very numerous Woodcuts. 6_s._ ---- Animal Physiology. Revised Edition. With upwards of 300 Woodcuts. 6_s._ CASTLE (E.) Schools and Masters of Fence, from the Middle Ages to the End of the Eighteenth Century. By Egerton Castle, M.A., F.S.A. With a Complete Bibliography. Illustrated with 140 Reproductions of Old Engravings and 6 Plates of Swords, showing 114 Examples. 6_s._ CATTERMOLE'S Evenings at Haddon Hall. With 24 Engravings on Steel from designs by Cattermole, the Letterpress by the Baroness de Carabella. 5_s._ CATULLUS, Tibullus, and the Vigil of Venus. A Literal Prose Translation. 5_s._ CELLINI (Benvenuto). Memoirs of, written by Himself. Translated by Thomas Roscoe. 3_s._ 6_d._ CERVANTES' Don Quixote de la Mancha. Motteaux's Translation revised. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Galatea. A Pastoral Romance. Translated by G.W.J. Gyll. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Exemplary Novels. Translated by Walter K. Kelly. 3_s._ 6_d._ CHAUCER'S Poetical Works. Edited by Robert Bell. Revised Edition, with a Preliminary Essay by Prof. W.W. Skeat, M.A. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. CHESS CONGRESS of 1862. A Collection of the Games played. Edited by J. Löwenthal. 5_s._ CHEVREUL on Colour. Translated from the French by Charles Martel. Third Edition, with Plates, 5_s._; or with an additional series of 16 Plates in Colours, 7_s._ 6_d._ CHILLINGWORTH'S Religion of Protestants. A Safe Way to Salvation. 3_s._ 6_d._ CHINA, Pictorial, Descriptive, and Historical. With Map and nearly 100 Illustrations. 5_s._ CHRONICLES OF THE CRUSADES. Contemporary Narratives of the Crusade of Richard Coeur de Lion, by Richard of Devizes and Geoffrey de Vinsauf; and of the Crusade at St. Louis, by Lord John de Joinville. 5_s._ CICERO'S Orations. Translated by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. --Letters. Translated by Evelyn S. Shuckburgh. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. --On Oratory and Orators. With Letters to Quintus and Brutus. Translated by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ --On the Nature of the Gods, Divination, Fate, Laws, a Republic, Consulship. Translated by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A., and Francis Barham. 5_s._ --Academics, De Finibus, and Tusculan Questions. By Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 5_s._ CICERO'S Offices; or, Moral Duties. Cato Major, an Essay on Old Age; Lælius, an Essay on Friendship; Scipio's Dream; Paradoxes; Letter to Quintus on Magistrates. Translated by C.R. Edmonds. 3_s._ 6_d._ CORNELIUS NEPOS. See JUSTIN. CLARK'S (Hugh) Introduction to Heraldry. 18th Edition, Revised and Enlarged by J.R. Planché, Rouge Croix. With nearly 1000 Illustrations. 5s. Or with the Illustrations Coloured, 15_s._ CLASSIC TALES, containing Rasselas, Vicar of Wakefield, Gulliver's Travels, and The Sentimental Journey. 3_s._ 6_d._ COLERIDGE'S (S.T.) Friend. A Series of Essays on Morals, Politics, and Religion. 3_s._ 6_d._ --Aids to Reflection, and the CONFESSIONS OF AN INQUIRING SPIRIT, to which are added the ESSAYS ON FAITH and the BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. 3_s._ 6_d._ --Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other English Poets. Edited by T. Ashe 3_s._6_d._ --Biographia Literaria; together with Two Lay Sermons. 3_s._ 6_d._ --Table-Talk and Omniana. Edited by T. Ashe, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ --Miscellanies, Æsthetic and Literary; to which is added, THE THEORY OF LIFE. Collected and arranged by T. Ashe, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ COMTE'S Positive Philosophy. Translated and condensed by Harriet Martineau. With Introduction by Frederic Harrison. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. COMTE'S Philosophy of the Sciences, being an Exposition of the Principles of the _Cours de Philosophie Positive_. By G.H. Lewes. 5_s._ CONDÉ'S History of the Dominion of the Arabs in Spain. Translated by Mrs. Foster. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. COOPER'S Biographical Dictionary. Containing Concise Notices (upwards of 15,000) of Eminent Persons of all Ages and Countries. By Thompson Cooper, F.S.A. With a Supplement, bringing the work down to 1883. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. COXE'S Memoirs of the Duke of Marlborough. With his original Correspondence. By W. Coxe, M.A., F.R.S. Revised edition by John Wade. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. [asterism] An Atlas of the plans of Marlborough's campaigns, 4to. 10_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of the House of Austria (1218-1792). With a Continuation from the Accession of Francis I. to the Revolution of 1848. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. CRAIK'S (G.L.) Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties. Illustrated by Anecdotes and Memoirs. Revised edition, with numerous Woodcut Portraits and Plates. 5_s._ CRUIKSHANK'S Punch and Judy. The Dialogue of the Puppet Show; an Account of its Origin, &c. With 24 Illustrations, and Coloured Plates, designed and engraved by G. Cruikshank. 5_s._ CUNNINGHAM'S Lives of the Most Eminent British Painters. A New Edition, with Notes and Sixteen fresh Lives. By Mrs. Heaton. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. DANTE. Divine Comedy. Translated by the Rev. H.F. Cary, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Translated into English Verse by I.C. Wright, M.A. 3rd Edition, revised. With Portrait, and 34 Illustrations on Steel, after Flaxman. DANTE. The Inferno. A Literal Prose Translation, with the Text of the Original printed on the same page. By John A. Carlyle, M.D. 5_s._ ---- The Purgatorio. A Literal Prose Translation, with the Text printed on the same page. By W.S. Dugdale. 5_s._ DE COMMINES (Philip), Memoirs of. Containing the Histories of Louis XI. and Charles VIII., Kings of France, and Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy. Together with the Scandalous Chronicle, or Secret History of Louis XI., by Jean de Troyes. Translated by Andrew R. Scoble. With Portraits. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. DEFOE'S Novels and Miscellaneous Works. With Prefaces and Notes, including those attributed to Sir W. Scott. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Captain Singleton, and Colonel Jack. II.--Memoirs of a Cavalier, Captain Carleton, Dickory Cronke, &c. III.--Moll Flanders, and the History of the Devil. IV.--Roxana, and Life of Mrs. Christian Davies. V.--History of the Great Plague of London, 1665; The Storm (1703); and the True-born Englishman. VI.--Duncan Campbell, New Voyage round the World, and Political Tracts. VII.--Robinson Crusoe. DE LOLME on the Constitution of England. Edited by John Macgregor. 3_s._ 6_d._ DEMMIN'S History of Arms and Armour from the Earliest Period. By Auguste Demmin. Translated by C.C. Black, M.A. With nearly 2000 Illustrations. 7_s._ 6_d._ DEMOSTHENES' Orations. Translated by C. Rann Kennedy. 5 vols. Vol. I., 3_s._ 6_d._; Vols. II.-V., 5_s._ each. DE STAËL'S Corinne or Italy. By Madame de Staël. Translated by Emily Baldwin and Paulina Driver. 3_s._ 6_d._ DEVEY'S Logic, or the Science of Inference. A Popular Manual. By J. Devey. 5_s._ DICTIONARY of Latin and Greek Quotations; including Proverbs, Maxims, Mottoes, Law Terms and Phrases. With all the Quantities marked, and English Translations. With Index Verborum (622 pages). 5_s._ DICTIONARY of Obsolete and Provincial English. Compiled by Thomas Wright, M.A., F.S.A., &c. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. DIDRON'S Christian Iconography: a History of Christian Art in the Middle Ages. Translated by E.J. Millington and completed by Margaret Stokes. With 240 Illustrations. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. DIOGENES LAERTIUS. Lives and Opinions of the Ancient Philosophers. Translated by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 5_s._ DOBREE'S Adversaria. Edited by the late Prof. Wagner. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. DODD'S Epigrammatists. A Selection from the Epigrammatic Literature of Ancient, Mediæval, and Modern Times. By the Rev. Henry Philip Dodd, M.A. Oxford. 2nd Edition, revised and enlarged. 6_s._ DONALDSON'S The Theatre of the Greeks. A Treatise on the History and Exhibition of the Greek Drama. With numerous Illustrations and 3 Plans. By John William Donaldson, D.D. 5_s._ DRAPER'S History of the Intellectual Development of Europe. By John William Draper, M.D., LL.D. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. DUNLOP'S History of Fiction. A new Edition. Revised by Henry Wilson. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. DYER (Dr T.H.). Pompeii: its Buildings and Antiquities. By T.H. Dyer, LL.D. With nearly 300 Wood Engravings, a large Map, and a Plan of the Forum. 7_s._ 6_d._ ---- The City of Rome: its History and Monuments. With Illustrations. 5_s._ DYER (T.F.T.) British Popular Customs, Present and Past. An Account of the various Games and Customs associated with Different Days of the Year in the British Isles, arranged according to the Calendar. By the Rev. T.F. Thiselton Dyer, M.A. 5_s._ EBERS' Egyptian Princess. An Historical Novel. By George Ebers. Translated by E.S. Buchheim. 3_s._ 6_d._ EDGEWORTH'S Stories for Children. With 8 Illustrations by L. Speed. 3_s._ 6_d._ ELZE'S William Shakespeare. --_See_ SHAKESPEARE. EMERSON'S Works. 3 vols 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Essays, Lectures and Poems. II.--English Traits, Nature, and Conduct of Life. III.--Society and Solitude--Letters and Social aims--Miscellaneous Papers (hitherto uncollected)--May Day, and other Poems. ELLIS (G.) Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances. With an Historical Introduction on the Rise and Progress of Romantic Composition in France and England. Revised Edition. By J.O. Halliwell, F.R.S. 5_s._ ENNEMOSER'S History of Magic. Translated by William Howitt. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. EPICTETUS, The Discourses of. With the ENCHEIRIDION and Fragments. Translated by George Long, M.A. 5_s._ EURIPIDES. A New Literal Translation in Prose. By E P. Coleridge, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. EUTROPIUS. _See_ JUSTIN. EUSEBIUS PAMPHILUS, Ecclesiastical History of. Translated by Rev. C.F. Cruse, M.A. 5_s._ EVELYN'S Diary and Correspondence. Edited from the Original MSS. by W. Bray, F.A.S. With 45 engravings. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. FAIRHOLT'S Costume in England. A History of Dress to the end of the Eighteenth Century. 3rd Edition, revised, by Viscount Dillon, V.P.S.A. Illustrated with above 700 Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. FIELDING'S Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend Mr. Abraham Adams. With Cruikshank's Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. With Cruikshank's Illustrations. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Amelia. With Cruikshank's Illustrations. 5_s._ FLAXMAN'S Lectures on Sculpture. By John Flaxman, R.A. With Portrait and 53 Plates. 6_s._ FLORENCE of WORCESTER'S Chronicle, with the Two Continuations: comprising Annals of English History, from the Departure of the Romans to the Reign of Edward I. Translated by Thomas Forester, M.A. 5_s._ FOSTER'S (John) Life and Correspondence. Edited by J.E. Ryland. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Critical Essays. Edited by J.E. Ryland. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Essays: on Decision of Character; on a Man's writing Memoirs of Himself; on the epithet Romantic; on the aversion of Men of Taste to Evangelical Religion. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Essays on the Evils of Popular Ignorance; to which is added, a Discourse on the Propagation of Christianity in India. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Essays on the Improvement of Time. With NOTES OF SERMONS and other Pieces. 3_s._ 6_d._ GASPARY'S History of Italian Literature. Translated by Herman Oelsner, M.A., Ph.D. Vol. I. 3_s._ 6_d._ GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, Chronicle of.--_See Old English Chronicles._ GESTA ROMANORUM, or Entertaining Moral Stories invented by the Monks. Translated by the Rev. Charles Swan. Revised Edition, by Wynnard Hooper, B.A. 5_s._ GILDAS, Chronicles of.--_See Old English Chronicles._ GIBBON'S Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Complete and Unabridged, with Variorum Notes. Edited by an English Churchman. With 2 Maps and Portrait. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. GILBART'S History, Principles, and Practice of Banking. By the late J.W. Gilbart, F.R.S. New Edition, revised by A.S. Michie. 2 vols. 10_s._ GIL BLAS, The Adventures of. Translated from the French of Lesage by Smollett. With 24 Engravings on Steel, after Smirke, and 10 Etchings by George Cruikshank. 6_s._ GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS' Historical Works. Translated by Th. Forester, M.A., and Sir R. Colt Hoare. Revised Edition, Edited by Thomas Wright, M.A., F.S.A. 5_s._ GOETHE'S Faust. Part I. German Text with Hayward's Prose Translation and Notes. Revised by C.A. Buchheim, Ph.D. 5_s._ GOETHE'S Works. Translated into English by various hands. 14 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I. and II.--Autobiography and Annals. III.--Faust. Two Parts, complete. (Swanwick.) IV.--Novels and Tales. V.--Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. VI.--Conversations with Eckermann and Soret. VIII.--Dramatic Works. IX.--Wilhelm Meister's Travels. X.--Tour in Italy, and Second Residence in Rome. XI.--Miscellaneous Travels. XII.--Early and Miscellaneous Letters. XIII.--Correspondence with Zelter. XIV.--Reineke Fox, West-Eastern Divan and Achilleid. GOLDSMITH'S Works. A new Edition, by J.W.M. Gibbs. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. GRAMMONT'S Memoirs of the Court of Charles II. Edited by Sir Walter Scott. Together with the BOSCOBEL TRACTS, including two not before published, &c. New Edition. 5_s._ GRAY'S Letters. Including the Correspondence of Gray and Mason. Edited by the Rev. D.C. Tovey, M.A. Vols. I. and II. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. GREEK ANTHOLOGY. Translated by George Burges, M.A. 5_s._ GREEK ROMANCES of Heliodorus, Longus, and Achilles Tatius--viz., The Adventures of Theagenes & Chariclea; Amours of Daphnis and Chloe; and Loves of Clitopho and Leucippe. Translated by Rev. R. Smith, M.A. 5_s._ GREGORY'S Letters on the Evidences, Doctrines, & Duties of the Christian Religion. By Dr. Olinthus Gregory. 3_s._ 6_d._ GREENE, MARLOWE, and BEN JONSON. Poems of. Edited by Robert Bell. 3_s._ 6_d._ GRIMM'S TALES. With the Notes of the Original. Translated by Mrs. A. Hunt. With Introduction by Andrew Lang, M.A. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Gammer Grethel; or, German Fairy Tales and Popular Stories. Containing 42 Fairy Tales. Trans. by Edgar Taylor. With numerous Woodcuts after George Cruikshank and Ludwig Grimm. 3_s._ 6_d._ GROSSI'S Marco Visconti. Translated by A.F.D. The Ballads rendered into English Verse by C.M.P. 3_s._ 6_d._ GUIZOT'S History of the English Revolution of 1640. From the Accession of Charles I. to his Death. Translated by William Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of Civilisation, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. Translated by William Hazlitt. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. HALL'S (Rev. Robert) Miscellaneous Works and Remains. 3_s._ 6_d._ HAMPTON COURT: A Short History of the Manor and Palace. By Ernest Law, B.A. With numerous Illustrations. 5_s._ HARDWICK'S History of the Articles of Religion. By the late C. Hardwick. Revised by the Rev. Francis Procter, M.A. 5_s._ HAUFF'S Tales. The Caravan--The Sheik of Alexandria--The Inn in the Spessart. Trans. from the German by S. Mendel. 3_s._ 6_d._ HAWTHORNE'S Tales. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Twice-told Tales, and the Snow Image. II.--Scarlet Letter, and the House with the Seven Gables. III.--Transformation [The Marble Faun], and Blithedale Romance. IV.--Mosses from an Old Manse. HAZLITT'S Table-talk. Essays on Men and Manners. By W. Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Lectures on the Literature of the Age of Elizabeth and on Characters of Shakespeare's Plays. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Lectures on the English Poets, and on the English Comic Writers. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- The Plain Speaker. Opinions on Books, Men, and Things. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Round Table. 3_s._ 6_d._ HAZLITT'S Sketches and Essays. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- The Spirit of the Age; or, Contemporary Portraits. Edited by W. Carew Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- View of the English Stage. Edited by W. Spencer Jackson. 3_s._ 6_d._ HEATON'S Concise History of Painting. New Edition, revised by Cosmo Monkhouse. 5_s._ HEGEL'S Lectures on the Philosophy of History. Translated by J. Sibree, M.A. HEINE'S Poems, Complete. Translated by Edgar A. Bowring, C.B. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Travel-Pictures, including the Tour in the Harz, Norderney, and Book of Ideas, together with the Romantic School. Translated by Francis Storr. A New Edition, revised throughout. With Appendices and Maps. 3_s._ 6_d._ HELP'S Life of Christopher Columbus, the Discoverer of America. By Sir Arthur Helps, K.C.B. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Life of Hernando Cortes, and the Conquest of Mexico. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Life of Pizarro. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Life of Las Casas the Apostle of the Indies. 3_s._ 6_d._ HENDERSON (E.) Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages, including the most famous Charters relating to England, the Empire, the Church, &c., from the 6th to the 14th Centuries. Translated from the Latin and edited by Ernest F. Henderson, A.B., A.M., Ph.D. 5_s._ HENFREY'S Guide to English Coins, from the Conquest to the present time. New and revised Edition by C.F. Keary, M.A., F.S.A. 6_s._ HENRY OF HUNTINGDON'S History of the English. Translated by T. Forester, M.A. 5_s._ HENRY'S (Matthew) Exposition of the Book of the Psalms. 5_s._ HELIODORUS. Theagenes and Chariclea. _See_ GREEK ROMANCES. HERODOTUS. Translated by the Rev. Henry Cary, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Notes on. Original and Selected from the best Commentators. By D.W. Turner, M.A. With Coloured Map. 5_s._ ---- Analysis and Summary of. By J.T. Wheeler. 5_s._ HESIOD, CALLIMACHUS, and THEOGNIS. Translated by the Rev. J. Banks, M.A. 5_s._ HOFFMANN'S (E.T.W.) The Serapion Brethren. Translated from the German by Lt.-Col. Alex. Ewing. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. HOLBEIN'S Dance of Death and Bible Cuts. Upwards of 150 Subjects, engraved in facsimile, with Introduction and Descriptions by Francis Douce and Dr. Thomas Frognall Dibden. 5_s._ HOMER'S Iliad. Translated into English Prose by T.A. Buckley, B.A. 5_s._ ---- Odyssey. Hymns, Epigrams, and Battle of the Frogs and Mice. Translated into English Prose by T.A. Buckley, B.A. 5_s._ ---- _See also_ POPE. HOOPER'S (G.) Waterloo: The Downfall of the First Napoleon: a History of the Campaign of 1815. By George Hooper. With Maps and Plans. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- The Campaign of Sedan: The Downfall of the Second Empire, August-September, 1870. With General Map and Six Plans of Battle. 3_s._ 6_d._ HORACE. A new literal Prose translation, by A. Hamilton Bryce, LL.D. 3_s._ 6_d._ HUGO'S (Victor) Dramatic Works. Hernani--Ruy Blas--The King's Diversion. Translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland and F.L. Slous. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Poems, chiefly Lyrical. Translated by various Writers, now first collected by J.H.L. Williams. 3_s._ 6_d._ HUMBOLDT'S Cosmos. Translated by E.C. Otté, B.H. Paul, and W.S. Dallas, F.L.S. 5 vols. 3s. 6d. each, excepting Vol. V. 5_s._ ---- Personal Narrative of his Travels to the Equinoctial Regions of America during the years 1799-1804. Translated by T. Ross. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Views of Nature. Translated by E.C. Otté and H.G. Bohn. 5_s._ HUMPHREYS' Coin Collector's Manual. By H.N. Humphreys, with upwards of 140 Illustrations on Wood and Steel. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. HUNGARY: its History and Revolution, together with a copious Memoir of Kossuth. 3_s._ 6_d._ HUTCHINSON (Colonel). Memoirs of the Life of. By his Widow, Lucy: together with her Autobiography, and an Account of the Siege of Lathom House. 3_s._ 6_d._ HUNT'S Poetry of Science. By Richard Hunt. 3rd Edition, revised and enlarged. 5_s._ INDIA BEFORE THE SEPOY MUTINY. A Pictorial, Descriptive, and Historical Account, from the Earliest Times to the Annexation of the Punjab, with upwards of 100 Engravings on Wood, and a Map. 5_s._ INGULPH'H Chronicles of the Abbey of Croyland, with the CONTINUATION by Peter of Blois and other Writers. Translated by H.T. Riley, M.A. 5_s._ IRVING'S (Washington) Complete Works. 15 vols. With Portraits, &c. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. I.--Salmagundi, Knickerbocker's History of New York. II.--The Sketch-Book, and the Life of Oliver Goldsmith. III.--Bracebridge Hall, Abbotsford and Newstead Abbey. IV.--The Alhambra, Tales of a Traveller. V.--Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, Legends of the Conquest of Spain. VI. & VII.--Life and Voyages of Columbus, together with the Voyages of his Companions. VIII.--Astoria, A Tour on the Prairies. XI.--Life of Mahomet, Lives of the Successors of Mahomet. X.--Adventures of Captain Bonneville, U.S.A., Wolfert's Roost. XI.--Biographies and Miscellaneous Papers. XII.-XV.--Life of George Washington. 4 vols. ---- Life and Letters. By his Nephew, Pierre E. Irving. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ISOCRATES, The Orations of. Translated by J.H. Freese, M.A. Vol. I. 5_s._ JAMES'S (G.P.R.) Life of Richard Coeur de Lion. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- The Life and Times of Louis XIV. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. JAMESON'S (Mrs.) Shakespeare's Heroines. Characteristics of Women: Moral, Poetical, and Historical. By Mrs. Jameson. 3_s._ 6_d._ JESSE'S (E.) Anecdotes of Dogs. With 40 Woodcuts and 34 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ JESSE'S (J.H.) Memoirs of the Court of England during the Reign of the Stuarts, including the Protectorate. 3 vols. With 42 Portraits. 5_s._ each. ---- Memoirs of the Pretenders and their Adherents. With 6 Portraits. 5_s._ JOHNSON'S Lives of the Poets. Edited by Mrs. Alexander Napier, with Introduction by Professor Hales. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. JOSEPHUS (Flavius), The Works of. Whiston's Translation, revised by Rev. A.R. Shilleto, M.A. With Topographical and Geographical Notes by Colonel Sir C.W. Wilson, K.C.B. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. JOYCE'S Scientific Dialogues. With numerous Woodcuts. 5_s._ JUKES-BROWNE (A.J.), The Building of the British Isles: a Study in Geographical Evolution. Illustrated by numerous Maps and Woodcuts. 2nd Edition, revised, 7_s._ 6_d._ ---- Student's Handbook of Physical Geology. With numerous Diagrams and Illustrations. 2nd Edition, much enlarged, 7_s._ 6_d._ JULIAN, the Emperor. Containing Gregory Nazianzen's Two Invectives and Libanus' Monody, with Julian's extant Theosophical Works. Translated by C.W. King, M.A. 5_s._ JUSTIN CORNELIUS NEPOS, and EUTROPIUS. Translated by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ JUVENAL, PERSIUS, SULPICIA and LUCILIUS. Translated by L. Evans, M.A. 5_s._ JUNIUS'S Letters. With all the Notes of Woodfall's Edition, and important Additions. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. KANT'S Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by J.M.D. Meiklejohn. 5_s._ ---- Prolegomena and Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science. Translated by E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ KEIGHTLEY'S (Thomas) Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy. 4th Edition, revised by Leonard Schmitz, Ph.D., LL.D. With 12 Plates from the Antique. 5_s._ ---- Fairy Mythology, illustrative of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countries. Revised Edition, with Frontispiece by Cruikshank. 5_s._ LA FONTAINE'S Fables. Translated into English Verse by Elizur Wright. New Edition, with Notes by J.W.M. Gibbs. 3_s._ 6_d._ LAMARTINE'S History of the Girondists. Translated by H.T. Ryde. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- History of the Restoration of Monarchy in France (a Sequel to the History of the Girondists). 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- History of the French Revolution of 1848. 3_s._ 6_d._ LAMB'S (Charles) Essays of Elia and Eliana. Complete Edition. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Specimens of English Dramatic Poets of the Time of Elizabeth. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Memorials and Letters of Charles Lamb. By Serjeant Talfourd. New Edition, revised, by W. Carew Hazlitt. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Tales from Shakespeare. With Illustrations by Byam Shaw. 3_s._ 6_d._ LANZI'S History of Painting In Italy, from the Period of the Revival of the Fine Arts to the End of the Eighteenth Century. Translated by Thomas Roscoe. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. LAPPENBERG'S History of England under the Anglo-Saxon Kings. Translated by B. Thorpe, F.S.A. New edition, revised by E.C. Otté. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. LECTURES ON PAINTING, by Barry, Opie, Fuseli. Edited by R. Wornum. 5_s._ LEONARDO DA VINCI'S Treatise on Painting. Translated by J.F. Rigaud, R.A., With a Life of Leonardo by John William Brown. With numerous Plates. 5_s._ LEPSIUS'S Letters from Egypt, Ethiopia, and the Peninsula of Sinai. Translated by L. and J.B. Horner. With Maps. 5_s._ LESSING'S Dramatic Works, Complete. Edited by Ernest Bell, M.A. With Memoir of Lessing by Helen Zimmern. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Laokoon, Dramatic Notes, and the Representation of Death by the Ancients. Translated by E.C. Beasley and Helen Zimmern. Edited by Edward Bell, M.A. With a Frontispiece of the Laokoon group. 3_s._ 6_d._ LILLY'S Introduction to Astrology. With a GRAMMAR OF ASTROLOGY and Tables for Calculating Nativities, by Zadkiel. 5_s._ LIVY'S History of Rome. Translated by Dr. Spillan, C. Edmonds, and others. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. LOCKE'S Philosophical Works. Edited by J.A. St. John. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Life and Letters: by Lord King. 3_s._ 6_d._ LOCKHART (J.G.)--_See_ BURNS. LODGE'S Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain, with Biographical and Historical Memoirs. 240 Portraits engraved on Steel, with the respective Biographies unabridged. 8 vols. 5_s._ each. LONGFELLOW'S Prose Works. With 16 full-page Wood Engravings. 5_s._ LOUDON'S (Mrs.) Natural History. Revised edition, by W.S. Dallas, F.L.S. With numerous Woodcut Illus. 5_s._ LOWNDES' Bibliographer's Manual of English Literature. Enlarged Edition. By H.G. Bohn. 6 vols. cloth, 5s. each. Or 4 vols. half morocco, 2_l._ 2_s._ LONGUS. Daphnis and Chloe.--_See_ GREEK ROMANCES. LUCAN'S Pharsalia. Translated by H.T. Riley, M.A. 5_s._ LUCIAN'S Dialogues of the Gods, of the Sea Gods, and of the Dead. Translated by Howard Williams, M.A. 5_s._ LUCRETIUS. Translated by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ LUTHER'S Table-Talk. Translated and Edited by William Hazlitt. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Autobiography.--_See_ MICHELET. MACHIAVELLI'S History of Florence, together with the Prince, Savonarola, various Historical Tracts, and a Memoir of Machiavelli. 3_s._ 6_d._ MALLET'S Northern Antiquities, or an Historical Account of the Manners, Customs, Religions and Laws, Maritime Expeditions and Discoveries, Language and Literature, of the Ancient Scandinavians. Translated by Bishop Percy. Revised and Enlarged Edition, with a Translation of the PROSE EDDA, by J.A. Blackwell. 5_s._ MANTELL'S (Dr.) Petrifactions and their Teachings. With numerous illustrative Woodcuts. 6_s._ ---- Wonders of Geology. 8th Edition, revised by T. Rupert Jones, F.G.S. With a coloured Geological Map of England, Plates, and upwards of 200 Woodcuts. 2 vols. 7_s._ 6_d._ each. MANZONI. The Betrothed: being a Translation of 'I Promessi Sposi.' By Alessandro Manzoni. With numerous Woodcuts. 5_s._ MARCO POLO'S Travels; the Translation of Marsden revised by T. Wright, M.A., F.S.A. 5_s._ MARRYAT'S (Capt. R.N.) Masterman Ready. With 93 Woodcuts. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Mission; or, Scenes in Africa. Illustrated by Gilbert and Dalziel. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Pirate and Three Cutters. With 8 Steel Engravings, from Drawings by Clarkson Stanfield, R.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Privateersman. 8 Engravings on Steel. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Settlers in Canada. 10 Engravings by Gilbert and Dalziel. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Poor Jack. With 16 Illustrations after Clarkson Stansfield, R.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Peter Simple. With 8 full-page Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Midshipman Easy. With 8 full-page Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ MARTIAL'S Epigrams, complete. Translated into Prose, each accompanied by one or more Verse Translations selected from the Works of English Poets, and other sources. 7_s._ 6_d._ MARTINEAU'S (Harriet) History of England, from 1800-1815. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of the Thirty Years' Peace, A.D. 1815-46. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- _See Compte's Positive Philosophy._ MATTHEW PARIS'S English History, from the Year 1235 to 1273. Translated by Rev. J.A. Giles, D.C.L. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. MATTHEW OF WESTMINSTER'S Flowers of History, from the beginning of the World to A.D. 1307. Translated by C.D. Yonge, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. MAXWELL'S Victories of Wellington and the British Armies. Frontispiece and 5 Portraits. 5_s._ MENZEL'S History of Germany, from the Earliest Period to 1842. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MICHAEL ANGELO AND RAPHAEL, their Lives and Works. By Duppa and Quatremere de Quincy. With Portraits, and Engravings on Steel. 5_s._ MICHELET'S Luther's Autobiography. Trans. by William Hazlitt. With an Appendix (110 pages) of Notes. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of the French Revolution from its earliest indications to the flight of the King in 1791. 3_s._ 6_d._ MIGNET'S History of the French Revolution, from 1789 to 1814. 3_s._ 6_d._ MILL (J.S.). Early Essays by John Stuart Mill. Collected from various sources by J.W.M. Gibbs. 3_s._ 6_d._ MILLER (Professor). History Philosophically Illustrated, from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the French Revolution. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MILTON'S Prose Works. Edited by J.A. St. John. 5 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Poetical Works, with a Memoir and Critical Remarks by James Montgomery, an Index to Paradise Lost, Todd's Verbal Index to all the Poems, and a Selection of Explanatory Notes by Henry G. Bohn. Illustrated with 120 Wood Engravings from Drawings by W. Harvey. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MITFORD'S (Miss) Our Village Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery. With 2 Engravings on Steel. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MOLIERE'S Dramatic Works. A new Translation in English Prose, by C.H. Wall. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MONTAGU. The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Edited by her great-grandson, Lord Wharncliffe's Edition, and revised by W. Moy Thomas. New Edition, revised, with 5 Portraits. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. MONTAIGNE'S Essays. Cotton's Translation, revised by W.C. Hazlitt. New Edition. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MONTESQUIEU'S Spirit of Laws. New Edition, revised and corrected. By J.V. Pritchard, A.M. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MOTLEY (J.L.). The Rise of the Dutch Republic. A History. By John Lothrop Motley. New Edition, with Biographical Introduction by Moncure D. Conway. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. MORPHY'S Games of Chess. Being the Matches and best Games played by the American Champion, with Explanatory and Analytical Notes by J. Löwenthal. 5_s._ MUDIE'S British Birds; or, History of the Feathered Tribes of the British Islands. Revised by W. C.L. Martin. With 52 Figures of Birds and 7 Coloured Plates of Eggs. 2 vols. NEANDER (Dr. A.). History of the Christian Religion and Church. Trans. from the German by J. Torrey. 10 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Life of Jesus Christ. Translated by J. McClintock and C. Blumenthal. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- History of the Planting and Training of the Christian Church by the Apostles. Translated by J.E. Ryland. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Memorials of Christian Life in the Early and Middle Ages; including Light in Dark Places. Trans. by J.E. Ryland. 3_s._ 6_d._ NIBELUNGEN LIED. The Lay of the Nibelungs, metrically translated from the old German text by Alice Horton, and edited by Edward Bell, M.A. To which is prefixed the Essay on the Nibelungen Lied by Thomas Carlyle. 5_s._ NEW TESTAMENT (The) in Greek. Griesbach's Text, with various Readings at the foot of the page, and Parallel References in the margin; also a Critical Introduction and Chronological Tables. By an eminent Scholar, with a Greek and English Lexicon. 3rd Edition, revised and corrected. Two Facsimiles of Greek Manuscripts. 900 pages. 5_s._ The Lexicon may be had separately, price 2_s._ NICOLINI'S History of the Jesuits: their Origin, Progress, Doctrines, and Designs. With 8 Portraits. 5_s._ NORTH (R.) Lives of the Right Hon. Francis North, Baron Guildford, the Hon. Sir Dudley North, and the Hon. and Rev. Dr. John North. By the Hon. Roger North. Together with the Autobiography of the Author. Edited by Augustus Jessopp, D.D. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. NUGENT'S (Lord) Memorials of Hampden, his Party and Times. With a Memoir of the Author, an Autograph Letter, and Portrait. 5_s._ OCKLEY (S.) History of the Saracens and their Conquests in Syria, Persia, and Egypt. By Simon Ockley, B.D., Professor of Arabic in the University of Cambridge. 3_s._ 6_d._ OLD ENGLISH CHRONICLES, including Ethelwerd's Chronicle, Asser's Life of Alfred, Geoffrey of Monmouth's British History, Gildas, Nennius, and the spurious chronicle of Richard of Cirencester. Edited by J.A. Giles, D.C.L. 5_s._ OMAN (J.C.) The Great Indian Epics: the Stories of the RAMAYANA and the MAHABHARATA. By John Campbell Oman, Principal of Khalsa College, Amritsar. With Notes, Appendices, and Illustrations, 3_s._ 6_d._ ORDERICUS VITALIS' Ecclesiastical History of England and Normandy. Translated by T. Forester, M.A. To which is added the CHRONICLE OF ST. EVROULT. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. OVID'S Works, complete. Literally translated into Prose. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. PASCAL'S Thoughts. Translated from the Text of M. Auguste Molinier by C. Kegan Paul. 3rd Edition. 3_s._ 6_d._ PAULI'S (Dr. R.) Life of Alfred the Great. Translated from the German. To which is appended Alfred's ANGLO-SAXON VERSION OF OROSIUS. With a literal Translation interpaged, Notes, and an ANGLO-SAXON GRAMMAR and GLOSSARY, by B. Thorpe. 5_s._ PAUSANIAS' Description of Greece. Newly translated by A.R. Shilleto, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. PEARSON'S Exposition of the Creed. Edited by E. Walford, M.A. 5_s._ PEPYS' Diary and Correspondence. Deciphered by the Rev. J. Smith, M.A., from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library. Edited by Lord Braybrooke. 4 vols. With 31 Engravings. 5_s._ each. PERCY'S Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. With an Essay on Ancient Minstrels and a Glossary. Edited by J.V. Pritchard, A.M. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. PERSIUS.--_See_ JUVENAL. PETRARCH'S Sonnets, Triumphs, and other Poems. Translated into English Verse by various Hands. With a Life of the Poet by Thomas Campbell. With Portrait and 15 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ PHILO-JUDÆUS, Works of. Translated by Prof. C.D. Yonge, M.A. 4 vols. 5_s._ each. PICKERING'S History of the Races of Man, and their Geographical Distribution. With AN ANALYTICAL SYNOPSIS OF THE NATURAL HISTORY OF MAN by Dr. Hall. With a Map of the World and 12 coloured Plates. 5_s._ PINDAR. Translated into Prose by Dawson W. Turner. To which is added the Metrical Version by Abraham Moore. 5_s._ PLANCHE. History of British Costume, from the Earliest Time to the Close of the Eighteenth Century. By J.R. Planché, Somerset Herald. With upwards of 400 Illustrations. 5_s._ PLATO'S Works. Literally translated, with Introduction and Notes. 6 vols. 5_s._ each. I.--The Apology of Socrates, Crito, Phædo, Gorgias, Protagoras, Phædrus, Theætetus, Euthyphron, Lysis. Translated by the Rev. H. Carey. II.--The Republic, Timæus, and Critias. Translated by Henry Davis. III.--Meno, Euthydemus, The Sophist, Statesman, Cratylus, Parmenides, and the Banquet. Translated by G. Burges. IV.--Philebus, Charmides, Laches, Menexenus, Hippias, Ion, The Two Alcibiades, Theages, Rivals, Hipparchus, Minos, Clitopho, Epistles. Translated by G. Burges. V.--The Laws. Translated by G. Burges. VI.--The Doubtful Works. Translated by G. Burges. ---- Summary and Analysis of the Dialogues. With Analytical Index. By A. Day, LL.D. 5_s._ PLAUTUS'S Comedies. Translated by H.T. Riley, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. PLINY'S Natural History. Translated by the late John Bostock, M.D., F.R.S., and H.T. Riley, M.A. 6 vols. 5_s._ each. PLINY. The Letters of Pliny the Younger. Melmoth's translation, revised by the Rev. F.C. T. Bosanquet, M.A. 5_s._ PLOTINUS, Select Works of. Translated by Thomas Taylor. With an Introduction containing the substance of Porphyry's Plotinus. Edited by G.R.S. Mead, B.A., M.R.A.S. 5_s._ PLUTARCH'S Lives. Translated by A. Stewart, M.A., and George Long, M.A. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Morals. Theosophical Essays. Translated by C.W. King, M.A. 5_s._ ---- Morals. Ethical Essays. Translated by the Rev. A.R. Shilleto, M.A. 5_s._ POETRY OF AMERICA. Selections from One Hundred American Poets, from 1776 to 1876. By W.J. Linton. 3_s._ 6_d._ POLITICAL CYCLOPÆDIA. A Dictionary of Political, Constitutional, Statistical, and Forensic Knowledge; forming a Work of Reference on subjects of Civil Administration, Political Economy, Finance, Commerce, Laws, and Social Relations. 4 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. POPE'S Poetical Works. Edited, with copious Notes, by Robert Carruthers. With numerous Illustrations. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Homer's Iliad. Edited by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. Illustrated by the entire Series of Flaxman's Designs. 5_s._ ---- Homer's Odyssey, with the Battle of Frogs and Mice, Hymns, &c., by other translators. Edited by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. With the entire Series of Flaxman's Designs. 5_s._ ---- Life, including many of his Letters. By Robert Carruthers. With numerous Illustrations. 5_s._ POUSHKIN'S Prose Tales: The Captain's Daughter--Doubrovsky--The Queen of Spades--An Amateur Peasant Girl--The Shot--The Snow Storm--The Postmaster--The Coffin Maker--Kirdjali--The Egyptian Nights--Peter the Great's Negro. Translated by T. Keane. 3_s._ 6_d._ PRESCOTT'S Conquest of Mexico. Copyright edition, with the notes by John Foster Kirk, and an introduction by G.P. Winship. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Conquest of Peru. Copyright edition, with the notes of John Foster Kirk. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. Copyright edition, with the notes of John Foster Kirk. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. PROPERTIUS. Translated by Rev. P.J.F. Gantillon, M.A., and accompanied by Poetical Versions, from various sources. 3_s._ 6_d._ PROVERBS, Handbook of. Containing an entire Republication of Ray's Collection of English Proverbs, with his additions from Foreign Languages and a complete Alphabetical Index; in which are introduced large additions as well of Proverbs as of Sayings, Sentences, Maxims, and Phrases, collected by H.G. Bohn. 5_s._ PROVERBS, A Polyglot of Foreign. Comprising French, Italian, German, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese, and Danish. With English Translations & a General Index by H.G. Bohn. 5_s._ POTTERY AND PORCELAIN, and other Objects of Vertu. Comprising an Illustrated Catalogue of the Bernal Collection of Works of Art, with the prices at which they were sold by auction, and names of the possessors. To which are added, an Introductory Lecture on Pottery and Porcelain, and an Engraved List of all the known Marks and Monograms. By Henry G. Bohn. With numerous Wood Engravings, 5_s._; or with Coloured Illustrations, 10_s._ 6_d._ PROUT'S (Father) Reliques. Collected and arranged by Rev. F. Mahony. New issue, with 21 Etchings by D. Maclise, R.A. Nearly 600 pages. 5_s._ QUINTILIAN'S Institutes of Oratory, or Education of an Orator. Translated by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. RACINE'S (Jean) Dramatic Works. A metrical English version. By R. Bruce Boswell, M.A. Oxon. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. RANKE'S History of the Popes, their Church and State, and especially of their Conflicts with Protestantism in the 16th and 17th centuries. Translated by E. Foster. 3 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- History of Servia and the Servian Revolution. With an Account of the Insurrection in Bosnia. Translated by Mrs. Kerr. 3_s._ 6_d._ RECREATIONS in SHOOTING. By 'Craven.' With 62 Engravings on Wood after Harvey, and 9 Engravings on Steel, chiefly after A. Cooper, R.A. 5_s._ RENNIE'S Insect Architecture. Revised and enlarged by Rev. J.G. Wood, M.A. With 186 Woodcut Illustrations. 5_s._ REYNOLD'S (Sir J.) Literary Works. Edited by H.W. Beechy. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. RICARDO on the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation. Edited by E.C.K. Gonner, M.A. 5_s._ RICHTER (Jean Paul Friedrich). Levana, a Treatise on Education: together with the Autobiography (a Fragment), and a short Prefatory Memoir. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Flower, Fruit, and Thorn Pieces, or the Wedded Life, Death, and Marriage of Firmian Stanislaus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate in the Parish of Kuhschnapptel. Newly translated by Lt.-Col. Alex. Ewing. 3_s._ 6_d._ ROGER DE HOVEDEN'S Annals of English History, comprising the History of England and of other Countries of Europe from A.D. 732 to A.D. 1201. Translated by H.T. Riley, M.A. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ROGER OF WENDOVER'S Flowers of History, comprising the History of England from the Descent of the Saxons to A.D. 1235, formerly ascribed to Matthew Paris. Translated by J.A. Giles, D.C.L. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ROME in the NINETEENTH CENTURY. Containing a complete Account of the Ruins of the Ancient City, the Remains of the Middle Ages, and the Monuments of Modern Times. By C.A. Eaton. With 34 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- _See_ BURN and DYER. ROSCOE'S (W.) Life and Pontificate of Leo X. Final edition, revised by Thomas Roscoe. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, called 'the Magnificent.' With his poems, letters, &c. 10th Edition, revised, with Memoir of Roscoe by his Son. 3_s._ 6_d._ RUSSIA. History of, from the earliest Period, compiled from the most authentic sources by Walter K. Kelly. With Portraits. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SALLUST, FLORUS, and VELLEIUS PATERCULUS. Translated by J.S. Watson, M.A. 5_s._ SCHILLER'S Works. Translated by various hands. 7 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each:-- I.--History of the Thirty Years' War. II.--History of the Revolt in the Netherlands, the Trials of Counts Egmont and Horn, the Siege of Antwerp, and the Disturbances in France preceding the Reign of Henry IV. III.--Don Carlos, Mary Stuart, Maid of Orleans, Bride of Messina, together with the Use of the Chorus in Tragedy (a short Essay). These Dramas are all translated in metre. IV.--Robbers (with Schiller's original Preface), Fiesco, Love and Intrigue, Demetrius, Ghost Seer, Sport of Divinity. The Dramas in this volume are translated into Prose. V.--Poems. VI.--Essays, Æsthetical and Philosophical VII.--Wallenstein's Camp, Piccolomini and Death of Wallenstein, William Tell. SCHILLER and GOETHE. Correspondence between, from A.D. 1794-1805. Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SCHLEGEL'S (F.) Lectures on the Philosophy of Life and the Philosophy of Language. Translated by the Rev. A.J.W. Morrison, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Lectures on the History of Literature, Ancient and Modern. Translated from the German. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Lectures on the Philosophy of History. Translated by J.B. Robertson. 3_s._ 6_d._ SCHLEGEL'S Lectures on Modern History, together with the Lectures entitled Cæsar and Alexander, and The Beginning of our History. Translated by L. Purcell and R.H. Whitetock. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Æsthetic and Miscellaneous Works. Translated by E.J. Millington. 3_s._ 6_d._ SCHLEGEL (A.W.) Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature. Translated by J. Black. Revised Edition, by the Rev. A.J.W. Morrison, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ SCHOPENHAUER on the Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason, and On the Will in Nature. Translated by Madame Hillebrand. 5_s._ ---- Essays. Selected and Translated. With a Biographical Introduction and Sketch of his Philosophy, by E. Belfort Bax. 5_s._ SCHOUW'S Earth, Plants, and Man. Translated by A. Henfrey. With coloured Map of the Geography of Plants. 5_s._ SCHUMANN (Robert). His Life and Works, by August Reissmann. Translated by A.L. Alger. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Early Letters. Originally published by his Wife. Translated by May Herbert. With a Preface by Sir George Grove, D.C.L. 3_s._ 6_d._ SENECA on Benefits. Newly translated by A. Stewart, M.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Minor Essays and On Clemency. Translated by A. Stewart, M.A. 5_s._ SHAKESPEARE DOCUMENTS. Arranged by D.H. Lambert, B.A. 3_s._ 6_d._ SHAKESPEARE'S Dramatic Art. The History and Character of Shakespeare's Plays. By Dr. Hermann Ulrici. Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SHAKESPEARE (William). A Literary Biography by Karl Elze, Ph.D., LL.D. Translated by L. Dora Schmitz. 5_s._ SHARPE (S.) The History of Egypt, from the Earliest Times till the Conquest by the Arabs, A.D. 640. By Samuel Sharpe. 2 Maps and upwards of 400 Illustrative Woodcuts. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. SHERIDAN'S Dramatic Works, Complete. With Life by G.G.S. 3_s._ 6_d._ SISMONDI'S History of the Literature of the South of Europe. Translated by Thomas Roscoe. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SMITH'S Synonyms and Antonyms, or Kindred Words and their Opposites. Revised Edition. 5_s._ ---- Synonyms Discriminated. A Dictionary of Synonymous Words in the English Language, showing the Accurate signification of words of similar meaning. Edited by the Rev. H. Percy Smith, M.A. 6_s._ SMITH'S (Adam) The Wealth of Nations. Edited by E. Belfort Bax. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- Theory of Moral Sentiments. With a Memoir of the Author by Dugald Stewart. 3_s._ 6_d._ SMYTH'S (Professor) Lectures on Modern History. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SMYTH'S (Professor) Lectures on the French Revolution. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. SMITH'S (Pye) Geology and Scripture. 2nd Edition. 5_s._ SMOLLETT'S Adventures of Roderick Random. With short Memoir and Bibliography, and Cruikshank's Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ SMOLLETT'S Adventures of Peregrine Pickle. With Bibliography and Cruikshank's Illustrations. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- The Expedition of Humphry Clinker. With Bibliography and Cruikshank's Illustrations. 3_s._ 6_d._ SOCRATES (surnamed 'Scholasticus'). The Ecclesiastical History of (A.D. 305-445). Translated from the Greek. 5_s._ SOPHOCLES, The Tragedies of. A New Prose Translation, with Memoir, Notes, &c., by E.P. Coleridge, M.A. 5_s._ SOUTHEY'S Life of Nelson. With Portraits, Plans, and upwards of 50 Engravings on Steel and Wood. 5_s._ ---- Life of Wesley, and the Rise and Progress of Methodism. 5_s._ ---- Robert Southey. The Story of his Life written in his Letters. Edited by John Dennis. 3_s._ 6_d._ SOZOMEN'S Ecclesiastical History. Translated from the Greek. Together with the ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF PHILOSTORGIUS, as epitomised by Photius. Translated by Rev. E. Walford, M.A. 5_s._ SPINOZA'S Chief Works. Translated, with Introduction, by R.H.M. Elwes. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. STANLEY'S Classified Synopsis of the Principal Painters of the Dutch and Flemish Schools. By George Stanley. 5_s._ STARLING'S (Miss) Noble Deeds of Women. With 14 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ STAUNTON'S Chess-Player's Handbook. 5_s._ ---- Chess Praxis. A Supplement to the Chess-player's Handbook. 5_s._ STAUNTON'S Chess-player's Companion. Comprising a Treatise on Odds, Collection of Match Games, and a Selection of Original Problems. 5_s._ ---- Chess Tournament of 1851. With Introduction and Notes. 5_s._ STOCKHARDT'S Experimental Chemistry. Edited by C.W. Heaton, F.C.S. 5_s._ STRABO'S Geography. Translated by W. Falconer, M.A., and H.C. Hamilton. 3 vols. 5_s._ each. STRICKLAND'S (Agnes) Lives of the Queens of England, from the Norman Conquest. Revised Edition. With 6 Portraits. 6 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Life of Mary Queen of Scots. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Lives of the Tudor and Stuart Princesses. With Portraits. 5_s._ STUART and REVETT'S Antiquities of Athens, and other Monuments of Greece. With 71 Plates engraved on Steel, and numerous Woodcut Capitals. 5_s._ SUETONIUS' Lives of the Twelve Cæsars and Lives of the Grammarians. Thomson's translation, revised by T. Forester. 5_s._ SWIFT'S Prose Works. Edited by Temple Scott. With a Biographical Introduction by the Right Hon. W.E.H. Lecky, M.P. With Portraits and Facsimiles. 12 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. [_Vols. I.-X. ready._ I.--A Tale of a Tub, The Battle of the Books, and other early works. Edited by Temple Scott. With a Biographical Introduction by W.E.H. Lecky. II.--The Journal to Stella. Edited by Frederick Ryland, M.A. With 2 Portraits and Facsimile. III. & IV.--Writings on Religion and the Church. V.--Historical and Political Tracts (English). VI.--The Drapier's Letters. With facsimiles of Wood's Coinage, &c. VII.--Historical and Political Tracts (Irish). VIII.--Gulliver's Travels. Edited by G.R. Dennis. With Portrait and Maps. IX.--Contributions to Periodicals. X.--Historical Writings. XI.--Literary Essays. [_In preparation._ XII.--Index and Bibliography. [_In preparation._ STOWE (Mrs. H.B.) Uncle Tom's Cabin. Illustrated. 3_s._ 6_d._ TACITUS. The Works of. Literally translated. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. TALES OF THE GENII. Translated from the Persian by Sir Charles Morell. Numerous Woodcuts and 12 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ TASSO'S Jerusalem Delivered. Translated into English Spenserian Verse by J.H. Wiffen. With 8 Engravings on Steel and 24 Woodcuts by Thurston. 5_s._ TAYLOR'S (Bishop Jeremy) Holy Living and Dying. 3_s._ 6_d._ TEN BRINK.--_See_ BRINK. TERENCE and PHÆDRUS. Literally translated by H.T. Riley, M.A. To which is added, Smart's Metrical Version of Phædrus. 5_s._ THEOCRITUS, BION, MOSCHUS, and TYRTÆUS. Literally translated by the Rev. J. Banks, M.A. To which are appended the Metrical Versions of Chapman. 5_s._ THEODORET and EVAGRIUS. Histories of the Church from A.D. 332 to A.D. 427; and from A.D. 431 to A.D. 544. Translated. 5_s._ THIERRY'S History of the Conquest of England by the Normans. Translated by William Hazlitt. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. THUCYDIDES. The Peloponnesian War. Literally translated by the Rev. H. Dale. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. ---- An Analysis and Summary of. By J.T. Wheeler. 5_s._ THUDICHUM (J.L.W.) A Treatise on Wines. Illustrated. 5_s._ URE'S (Dr. A.) Cotton Manufacture of Great Britain. Edited by P.L. Simmonds. 2 vols. 5_s._ each. ---- Philosophy of Manufactures. Edited by P.L. Simmonds. 7_s._ 6_d._ VASARI'S Lives of the most Eminent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. Translated by Mrs. J. Foster, with a Commentary by J.P. Richter, Ph.D. 6 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. VIRGIL. A Literal Prose Translation by A. Hamilton Bryce, LL.D. With Portrait. 3_s._ 6_d._ VOLTAIRE'S Tales. Translated by R.B. Boswell. Containing Bebouc, Memnon, Candide, L'Ingénu, and other Tales. 3_s._ 6_d._ WALTON'S Complete Angler. Edited by Edward Jesse. With Portrait and 203 Engravings on Wood and 26 Engravings on Steel. 5_s._ ---- Lives of Donne, Hooker, &c. New Edition revised by A.H. Bullen, with a Memoir of Izaak Walton by Wm. Dowling. With numerous Illustrations. 5_s._ WELLINGTON, Life of. By 'An Old Soldier.' From the materials of Maxwell. With Index and 18 Steel Engravings. 5_s._ WELLINGTON, Victories of. _See_ MAXWELL. WERNER'S Templars in Cyprus. Translated by E.A.M. Lewis. 3_s._ 6_d._ WESTROPP (H.M.) A Handbook of Archæology, Egyptian, Greek, Etruscan, Roman. Illustrated. 5s_._ WHITE'S Natural History of Selborne. With Notes by Sir William Jardine. Edited by Edward Jesse. With 40 Portraits and coloured Plates. 5_s._ WHEATLEY'S A Rational Illustration of the Book of Common Prayer. 3_s._ 6_d._ WHEELER'S Noted Names of Fiction, Dictionary of. 5_s._ WIESELER'S Chronological Synopsis of the Four Gospels. Translated by the Rev. Canon Venables. 3_s._ 6_d._ WILLIAM of MALMESBURY'S Chronicle of the Kings of England. Translated by the Rev. J. Sharpe. Edited by J.A. Giles, D.C.L. 5_s._ XENOPHON'S Works. Translated by the Rev. J.S. Watson, M.A., and the Rev. H. Dale. In 3 vols. 5_s._ each. YOUNG (Arthur). Travels in France during the years 1787, 1788, and 1789. Edited by M. Betham Edwards. 3_s._ 6_d._ ---- Tour in Ireland, with General Observations on the state of the country during the years 1776-79. Edited by A.W. Hutton. With Complete Bibliography by J.P. Anderson, and Map. 2 vols. 3_s._ 6_d._ each. YULE-TIDE STORIES. A Collection of Scandinavian and North-German Popular Tales and Traditions. Edited by B. Thorpe. 5_s._ THE YORK LIBRARY A NEW SERIES OF REPRINTS ON THIN PAPER. The volumes are printed in a handy size (6-1/2 × 4-1/4 in.), on thin but opaque paper, and are simply and attractively bound. Price, in cloth, 2s. net; in leather, 3s. net. 'The York Library is noticeable by reason of the wisdom and intelligence displayed in the choice of unhackneyed classics.... A most attractive series of reprints.... The size and style of the volumes are exactly what they should be.'--_Bookman._ 'Charmingly tasteful.'--_Westminster Gazette._ 'Among favourite "thin paper" books none are better done than the admirable York Library. For a simple and attractive binding these volumes stand quite among the first of their kind. The price is two shillings net, and they are exceedingly good value for the money.' _St. James's Gazette._ 'These books should find their way to every home that owns any cultivation.'--_Notes and Queries._ 'A series of books which for attractiveness and handiness would take a lot of beating.'--_Pall Mall Gazette._ 'One of the most beautiful series of books ever issued to the public, andmarvellously cheap.'--_Manchester Courier._ _The following volumes are now ready_: BURNEY'S EVELINA. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by ANNIE RAINE ELLIS. BURNEY'S CECILIA. Edited by ANNIE RAINE ELLIS. 2 vols. BURTON'S ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. Edited by the Rev. A.R. SHILLETO, M.A., with Introduction by A.H. BULLEN. 3 vols. 'Admirers of "Burton's Anatomy" can hardly hope for a better edition.' _Morning Post._ CERVANTES' DON QUIXOTE. MOTTEUX's Translation, revised. With LOCKHART'S Life and Notes. 2 vols. COLERIDGE'S AIDS TO REFLECTION, and the Confessions of an Inquiring Spirit. COLERIDGE'S FRIEND. A series of Essays on Morals, Politics, and Religion. COLERIDGE'S TABLE TALK AND OMNIANA. Arranged and Edited by T. ASHE, B.A. DRAPER'S HISTORY OF THE INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT OF EUROPE. 2 vols. EMERSON'S WORKS. A new edition in 5 volumes, with the Text edited and collated by GEORGE SAMPSON. [asterism] _The contents of the volumes are as follows: Vol. I.--Essays: Representative Men. Vol. II.--English Traits: Conduct of Life: Nature. Vol. III.--Society and Solitude: Letters and Social Aims: Addresses. Vol. IV.--Miscellaneous Pieces. Vol. V.--Poetical Works._ FIELDING'S TOM JONES. 2 vols. GESTA ROMANORUM, or Entertaining Moral Stories invented by the Monks. Translated from the Latin by the Rev. CHARLES SWAN. Revised edition, by WYNNARD HOOPER, M.A. 'To those whom things ancient delight, the book is a mine of enjoyment. Its appearance in so commodious a shape is a subject for congratulation.... The "York Library" reprint is ideal.'--_Notes and Queries._ GOETHE'S FAUST. Translated by ANNA SWANWICK, LL.D. Revised edition, with an Introduction and Bibliography by KARL BREUL, Litt.D., Ph.D. 'Will, we hope, be widely patronised, for the book has the great advantage of an admirable introduction and bibliography by Dr. Karl Breul. No one speaks with more authority on the subject.'--_Athenæum._ HAWTHORNE'S TRANSFORMATION (THE MARBLE FAUN). IRVING'S SKETCH BOOK. JAMESON'S SHAKESPEARE'S HEROINES. Characteristics of Women: Moral, Poetical, and Historical. LAMB'S ESSAYS. Including the Essays of Elia, Last Essays of Elia, and Eliana. MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS, THE THOUGHTS OF. Translated by GEORGE LONG, M.A. With an Essay on Marcus Aurelius by MATTHEW ARNOLD. MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS. Cotton's translation. Revised by W.C. HAZLITT. 3 vols. MORE'S UTOPIA. With the Life of Sir Thomas More, by William Roper, and his Letters to Margaret Roper and others. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by GEORGE SAMPSON. [_In the Press._ MOTLEY'S RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. With a Biographical Introduction by MONCURE D. CONWAY. 3 vols. PASCAL'S THOUGHTS. Translated from the Text of M. AUGUSTE MOLINIER by C. KEGAN PAUL. Third edition. PLUTARCH'S LIVES. Translated, with Notes and a Life by AUBREY STEWART, M.A., and GEORGE LONG, M.A. 4 vols. SWIFT'S GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by G.R. DENNIS, with facsimiles of the original illustrations. SWIFT'S JOURNAL TO STELLA. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by F. RYLAND, M.A. ARTHUR YOUNG'S TRAVELS IN FRANCE, during the years 1787, 1788, and 1789. Edited with Introduction and Notes, by M. BETHAM EDWARDS. _Other Volumes are in Preparation._ BELL'S HANDBOOKS OF THE GREAT MASTERS IN PAINTING AND SCULPTURE. EDITED BY G.C. WILLIAMSON, LITT.D. Post 8vo. With 40 Illustrations and Photogravure Frontispiece. 5_s._ net each. _The following Volumes have been issued_: BOTTICELLI. By A. STREETER. 2nd Edition. BRUNELLESCHI. By LEADER SCOTT. CORREGGIO. By SELWYN BRINTON, M.A. 2nd Edition. CARLO CRIVELLI. By G. MCNEIL RUSHFORTH, M.A. DELLA ROBBIA. By the MARCHESA BURLAMACCHI. 2nd Edition. ANDREA DEL SARTO. By H. GUINNESS. 2nd Edition. DONATELLO. By HOPE REA. 2nd Edition. GERARD DOU. By Dr. W. MARTIN. Translated by Clara Bell. GAUDENZIO FERRARI. By ETHEL HALSEY. FRANCIA. By GEORGE C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. GIORGIONE. By HERBERT COOK, M.A. GIOTTO. By F. MASON PERKINS. FRANS HALS. By GERALD S. DAVIES, M.A. BERNARDINO LUINI. By GEORGE C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. 3rd Edition. LEONARDO DA VINCI. By EDWARD McCURDY, M.A. MANTEGNA. By MAUD CRUTTWELL. MEMLINC. By W.H. JAMES WEALE. MICHEL ANGELO. By Lord RONALD SUTHERLAND GOWER, M.A., F.S.A. PERUGINO. By G.C. WILLIAMSON, Litt.D. 2nd Edition. PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA. By W.G. WATERS, M.A. PINTORICCHIO. By EVELYN MARCH PHILLIPPS. RAPHAEL. By H. STRACHEY. 2nd Edition. REMBRANDT. By MALCOLM BELL. 2nd Edition. RUBENS. By HOPE REA. LUCA SIGNORELLI. By MAUD CRUTTWELL. 2nd Edition. SODOMA. By the CONTESSA LORENZO PRIULI-BON. TINTORETTO. By J.B. STOUGHTON HOLBORN, M.A. VELASQUEZ. By R.A.M. STEVENSON. 3rd Edition. WATTEAU. By EDGCUMBE STALEY, B.A. WILKIE. By Lord RONALD SUTHERLAND GOWER, M.A., F.S.A. _Others to follow._ THE CHISWICK SHAKESPEARE. _Illustrated by BYAM SHAW_ WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND GLOSSARIES BY JOHN DENNIS. Printed at the Chiswick Press, post 8vo., price 1_s._ 6_d._ net per volume; also a cheaper edition, 1_s._ net per volume; or 2_s._ net in limp leather; also a few copies, on Japanese vellum, to be sold only in sets, price 5_s._ net per volume. _Now Complete in 39 Volumes._ ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. AS YOU LIKE IT. COMEDY OF ERRORS. CORIOLANUS. CYMBELINE. HAMLET. JULIUS CÆSAR. KING HENRY IV. Part I. KING HENRY IV. Part II. KING HENRY V. KING HENRY VI. Part I. KING HENRY VI. Part II. KING HENRY VI. Part III. KING HENRY VIII. KING JOHN. KING LEAR. KING RICHARD II. KING RICHARD III. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. MACBETH. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. MERCHANT OF VENICE. MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. OTHELLO. PERICLES. ROMEO AND JULIET. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. THE TEMPEST. TIMON OF ATHENS. TITUS ANDRONICUS. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. TWELFTH NIGHT. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. WINTER'S TALE. POEMS. SONNETS. 'A fascinating little edition.'--_Notes and Queries._ 'A cheap, very comely, and altogether desirable edition.'--_Westminster Gazette._ But a few years ago such volumes would have been deemed worthy to be considered _éditions de luxe_. To-day, the low price at which they are offered to the public alone prevents them being so regarded.'--_Studio._ 'Handy in shape and size, wonderfully cheap, beautifully printed from the Cambridge text, and illustrated quaintly yet admirably by Mr. Byam Shaw, we have nothing but praise for it. No one who wants a good and convenient Shakespeare--without excursuses, discursuses, or even too many notes--can do better, in our opinion, than subscribe to this issue: which is saying a good deal in these days of cheap reprints.'--_Vanity Fair._ 'What we like about these elegant booklets is the attention that has been paid to the paper, as well as to the print and decoration; such stout laid paper will last for ages. On this account alone, the 'Chiswick' _should easily be first_ among pocket Shakespeares.'--_Pall Mall Gazette._ [asterism] _The Chiswick Shakespeare may also be had bound in 12 volumes, full gilt back, price 36s. net._ New Editions, fcap. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ each net. THE ALDINE EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS. 'This excellent edition of the English classics, with their complete texts and scholarly introductions, are something very different from the cheap volumes of extracts which are just now so much too common.'--_St. James's Gazette._ 'An excellent series. Small, handy, and complete.'--_Saturday Review._ Akenside. Edited by Rev. A. Dyce. Beattie. Edited by Rev. A. Dyce. *Blake. Edited by W.M. Rossetti. *Burns. Edited by G.A. Aitken. 3 vols. Butler. Edited by R.B. Johnson. 2 vols. Campbell. Edited by His Son-in-law, the Rev. A.W. Hill. With Memoir by W. Allingham. Chatterton. Edited by the Rev. W.W. Skeat, M.A. 2 vols. Chaucer. Edited by Dr. R. Morris, with Memoir by Sir H. Nicolas. 6 vols. Churchill. Edited by Jas. Hannay. 2 vols. *Coleridge. Edited by T. Ashe, B.A. 2 vols. Collins. Edited by W. Moy Thomas. Cowper. Edited by John Bruce, F.S.A. 3 vols. Dryden. Edited by the Rev. R. Hooper, M.A. 5 vols. Goldsmith. Revised Edition by Austin Dobson. With Portrait. *Gray. Edited by J. Bradshaw, LL.D. Herbert. Edited by the Rev. A.B. Grosart. *Herrick. Edited by George Saintsbury. 2 vols. *Keats. Edited by the late Lord Houghton. Kirke White. Edited, with a Memoir, by Sir H. Nicolas. Milton. Edited by Dr. Bradshaw. 2 vols. Parnell. Edited by G.A. Aitken. Pope. Edited by G.R. Dennis. With Memoir by John Dennis. 3 vols. Prior. Edited by R.B. Johnson. 2 vols. Raleigh and Wotton. With Selections from the Writings of other COURTLY POETS from 1540 to 1650. Edited by Ven. Archdeacon Hannah, D.C.L. Rogers. Edited by Edward Bell, M.A. Scott. Edited by John Dennis. 5 vols. Shakespeare's Poems. Edited by Rev. A. Dyce. Shelley. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. 5 vols. Spenser. Edited by J. Payne Collier. 5 vols. Surrey. Edited by J. Yeowell. Swift. Edited by the Rev. J. Mitford. 3 vols. Thomson. Edited by the Rev. D.C. Tovey. 2 vols. Vaughan. Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations. Edited by the Rev. H. Lyte. Wordsworth. Edited by Prof. Dowden. 7 vols. Wyatt. Edited by J. Yeowell. Young. 2 vols. Edited by the Rev. J. Mitford. These volumes may also be had bound in Irish linen, with design in gold on side and back by Gleeson White, and gilt top, 3_s._ 6_d._ each net. THE ALL-ENGLAND SERIES. HANDBOOKS OF ATHLETIC GAMES. The only Series issued at a moderate price, by Writers who are in the first rank in their respective departments. 'The best instruction on games and sports by the best authorities, at the lowest prices.'--_Oxford Magazine._ Small 8vo. cloth, Illustrated. Price 1_s._ each. Cricket. By FRED C. HOLLAND. Cricket. By the Hon. and Rev. E. LITTELTON. Croquet. By Lieut.-Col. the Hon. H.C. NEEDHAM. Lawn Tennis. By H.W.W. WILBERFORCE. With a Chapter for Ladies, by Mrs. HILLYARD. Squash Tennis. By EUSTACE H. MILES. Double vol. 2_s._ Tennis and Rackets and Fives. By JULIAN MARSHALL, Major J. SPENS, and Rev. J.A. ARNAN TAIT. Golf. By H.S.C. EVERARD. Double vol. 2_s._ Rowing and Sculling. By GUY RIXON. Rowing and Sculling. By W.B. WOODGATE. Sailing. By E.F. KNIGHT, dbl. vol. 2_s._ Swimming. By MARTIN and J. RACSTER COBBETT. Camping out. By A.A. MACDONELL. Double vol. 2_s._ Canoeing. By Dr. J.D. HAYWARD. Double vol. 2_s._ Mountaineering. By Dr. CLAUDE WILSON. Double vol. 2_s._ Athletics. By H.H. GRIFFIN. Riding. By W.A. KERR, V.C. Double vol. 2_s._ Ladies' Riding. By W.A. KERR, V.C. Boxing. By R.G. ALLANSON-WINN. With Prefatory Note by Bat Mullins. Fencing. By H.A. COLMORE DUNN. Cycling. By H.H. GRIFFIN, L.A.C., N.C.U., C.T.C. With a Chapter for Ladies, by Miss AGNES WOOD. Double vol. 2_s._ Wrestling. By WALTER ARMSTRONG. New Edition. Broadsword and Singlestick. By R.G. ALLANSON-WINN and C. PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY. Gymnastics. By A.F. JENKIN. Double vol. 2_s._ Gymnastic Competition and Display Exercises. Compiled by F. GRAF. Indian Clubs. By G.T.B. CORBETT and A.F. JENKIN. Dumb-bells. By F. GRAF. Football--Rugby Game. By HARRY VASSALL. Football--Association Game. By C.W. ALCOCK. Revised Edition. Hockey. By F.S. CRESWELL. New Edition. Skating. By DOUGLAS ADAMS. With a Chapter for Ladies, by Miss L. CHEETHAM, and a Chapter on Speed Skating, by a Fen Skater. Dbl. vol. 2_s._ Baseball. By NEWTON CRANE. Rounders, Fieldball, Bowls, Quoits, Curling, Skittles, &c. By J.M. WALKER and C.C. MOTT. Dancing. By EDWARD SCOTT. Double vol. 2_s._ THE CLUB SERIES OF CARD AND TABLE GAMES. 'No well-regulated club or country house should be without this useful series of books. Small 8vo. cloth, Illustrated. Price 1_s._ each. _Globe._ Bridge. By 'TEMPLAR.' Whist. By Dr. WM. POLE, F.R.S. Solo Whist. By ROBERT F. GREEN. Billiards. By Major-Gen. A.W. DRAYSON, F.R.A.S. With a Preface by W.J. Peall. Hints on Billiards. By J.P. BUCHANAN. Double vol. 2_s._ Chess. By ROBERT F. GREEN. The Two-Move Chess Problem. By B.G. LAWS. Chess Openings. By I. GUNSBERG. Draughts and Backgammon. By 'BERKELEY.' Reversi and Go Bang. By 'BERKELEY.' Dominoes and Solitaire. By 'BERKELEY.' Bézique and Cribbage. By 'BERKELEY.' Écarté and Euchre. By 'BERKELEY.' Piquet and Rubicon Piquet. By 'BERKELEY.' Skat By LOUIS DIEHL. [asterism] A Skat Scoring-book. 1_s._ Round Games, including Poker, Napoleon, Loo, Vingt-et-un, &c. By BAXTER-WRAY. Parlour and Playground Games. By Mrs. LAURENCE GOMME. BELL'S CATHEDRAL SERIES. _Profusely Illustrated, cloth, crown 8vo. 1s. 6d. net each._ ENGLISH CATHEDRALS. An Itinerary and Description. Compiled by JAMES G. GILCHRIST, A.M., M.D. Revised and edited with an Introduction on Cathedral Architecture by the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A., F.R.A.S. BRISTOL. By H.J.L.J. MASSÉ, M.A. CANTERBURY. By HARTLEY WITHERS. 5th Edition. CARLISLE. By C. KING ELEY. CHESTER. By CHARLES HIATT. 3rd Edition. CHICHESTER. By H.C. CORLETTE, A.R.I.B.A. 2nd Edition. DURHAM. By J.E. BYGATE, A.R.C.A. 3rd Edition. ELY. By Rev. W.D. SWEETING, M.A. 2nd Edition. EXETER. By PERCY ADDLESHAW, B.A. 2nd Edition, revised. GLOUCESTER. By H.J. L J. MASSÉ, M.A. 3rd Edition. HEREFORD. By A. HUGH FISHER, A.R.E. 2nd Edition, revised. LICHFIELD. By A.B. CLIFTON. 2nd Edition. LINCOLN. By A.F. KENDRICK, B.A. 3rd Edition. MANCHESTER. By Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. NORWICH. By C.H.B. QUENNELL. 2nd Edition. OXFORD. By Rev. PERCY DEARMER, M.A. 2nd Edition, revised. PETERBOROUGH. By Rev. W.D. SWEETING, 2nd Edition, revised. RIPON. By CECIL HALLETT, B.A. ROCHESTER. By G.H. PALMER, B.A. 2nd Edition, revised. ST. ALBANS. By Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. ST. ASAPH. By P.B. IRONSIDE BAX. ST. DAVID'S. By PHILIP ROBSON, A.R.I.B.A. ST. PATRICK'S, DUBLIN. By Rev. J.H. BERNARD, M.A., D.D. 2nd Edition. ST. PAUL'S. By Rev. ARTHUR DIMOCK, M.A. 3rd Edition, revised. ST. SAVIOUR'S, SOUTHWARK. By GEORGE WORLEY. SALISBURY. By GLEESON WHITE. 3rd Edition, revised. SOUTHWELL. By Rev. ARTHUR DIMOCK, M.A. 2nd Edition, revised. WELLS. By Rev. PERCY DEARMER, M.A. 3rd Edition. WINCHESTER. By P.W. SERGEANT. 3rd Edition. WORCESTER. By E.F. STRANGE, 2nd Edition. YORK. By A. CLUTTON-BROCK, M.A. 3rd Edition. _Uniform with above Series. Now ready. 1s. 6d. net each._ ST. MARTIN'S CHURCH, CANTERBURY. By the Rev. CANON ROUTLEDGE, M.A., F.S.A. BEVERLEY MINSTER. By CHARLES HIATT. WIMBORNE MINSTER and CHRISTCHURCH PRIORY. By the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. TEWKESBURY ABBEY AND DEERHURST PRIORY. By H.J.L.J. MASSÉ, M.A. BATH ABBEY, MALMESBURY ABBEY, and BRADFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH. By Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. By CHARLES HIATT. STRATFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH. By HAROLD BAKER. BELL'S HANDBOOKS TO CONTINENTAL CHURCHES. _Profusely Illustrated. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net each._ AMIENS By the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. BAYEUX. By the Rev. R.S. MYLNE. CHARTRES: The Cathedral and Other Churches. By H.J.L.J. MASSÉ, M.A. MONT ST. MICHEL. By H.J.L.J. MASSÉ, M.A. PARIS (NOTRE-DAME). By CHARLES HIATT. ROUEN: The Cathedral and Other Churches. By the Rev. T. PERKINS, M.A. The Best Practical Working Dictionary of the English Language. WEBSTER'S INTERNATIONAL DICTIONARY. 2348 PAGES. 5000 ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW EDITION, REVISED THROUGHOUT WITH A NEW SUPPLEMENT OF 25,000 ADDITIONAL WORDS AND PHRASES. The Appendices comprise a Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World, Vocabularies of Scripture, Greek, Latin, and English Proper Names, a Dictionary of the Noted Names of Fiction, a Brief History of the English Language, a Dictionary of Foreign Quotations, Words, Phrases, Proverbs, &c., a Biographical Dictionary with 10,000 names, &c., &c. * * * * * Dr. MURRAY, _Editor of the 'Oxford English Dictionary_,' says:--'In this its latest form, and with its large Supplement and numerous appendices, it is a wonderful volume, which well maintains its ground against all rivals on its own lines. The 'definitions,' or more properly, 'explanations of meaning' in 'Webster' have always struck me as particularly terse and well-put; and it is hard to see how anything better could be done within the limits.' Professor JOSEPH WRIGHT, M.A., Ph.D., D.C.L., LL.D., _Editor of the 'English Dialect Dictionary_,' says:--'The new edition of "Webster's International Dictionary" is undoubtedly the most useful and reliable work of its kind in any country. No one who has not examined the work carefully would believe that such a vast amount of lexicographical information could possibly be found within so small a compass.' Professor A.H. SAYCE, LL.D., D.D., says:--'It is indeed a marvellous work; it is difficult to conceive of a Dictionary more exhaustive and complete. Everything is in it--not only what we might expect to find in such a work, but also what few of us would ever have thought of looking for.' Rev. JOSEPH WOOD, D.D., _Head Master of Harrow_, says:--'I have always thought very highly of its merits. Indeed, I consider it to be far the most accurate English Dictionary in existence, and much more reliable than the "Century." For daily and hourly reference, "Webster" seems to me unrivalled.' _Prospectuses, with Prices and Specimen Pages, on Application._ LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK HOUSE, PORTUGAL STREET, W.C. 
33540	----	VIEW OF THE STATE OF EUROPE DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. BY HENRY HALLAM, LL.D., F.R.A.S., FOREIGN ASSOCIATE OF THE INSTITUTE OF FRANCE. IN THREE VOLUMES.--VOL. III. _NEW EDITION._ LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1860. _The right of Translation is reserved._ PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME. CHAPTER VIII. PART III. THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION. Reign of Edward I.--Confirmatio Chartarum--Constitution of Parliament --the Prelates--the temporal Peers--Tenure by Barony--its Changes-- Difficulty of the Subject--Origin of Representation of the Commons-- Knights of Shires--their Existence doubtfully traced through the Reign of Henry III.--Question whether Representation was confined to Tenants in capite discussed--State of English Towns at the Conquest and afterwards--their Progress--Representatives from them summoned to Parliament by Earl of Leicester--Improbability of an earlier Origin --Cases of St. Albans and Barnstaple considered--Parliaments under Edward I.--Separation of Knights and Burgesses from the Peers--Edward II.--Gradual Progress of the Authority of Parliament traced through the reigns of Edward III. and his Successors down to Henry IV.--Privilege of Parliament--the early Instances of it noticed--Nature of Borough Representation--Rights of Election--other Particulars relative to Election--House of Lords--Baronies by Tenure--by Writ--Nature of the latter discussed--Creation of Peers by Act of Parliament and by Patent --Summons of Clergy to Parliament--King's Ordinary Council--its Judicial and other Power--Character of the Plantagenet Government-- Prerogative--its Excesses--erroneous Views corrected--Testimony of Sir John Fortescue to the Freedom of the Constitution--Causes of the superior Liberty of England considered--State of Society in England-- Want of Police--Villenage--its gradual Extinction--Latter Years of Henry VI.--Regencies--Instances of them enumerated--Pretensions of the House of York, and War of the Roses--Edward IV.--Conclusion. Page 1 NOTES TO CHAPTER VIII., PART III. 204 CHAPTER IX. ON THE STATE OF SOCIETY IN EUROPE DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. PART I. Introduction--Decline of Literature in the latter Period of the Roman Empire--Its Causes--Corruption of the Latin Language--Means by which it was effected--Formation of new Languages--General Ignorance of the Dark Ages--Scarcity of Books--Causes that prevented the total Extinction of Learning--Prevalence of Superstition and Fanaticism--General Corruption of Religion--Monasteries--their Effects--Pilgrimages--Love of Field Sports--State of Agriculture--of Internal and Foreign Trade down to the end of the Eleventh Century--Improvement of Europe dated from that Age. 268 PART II. Progress of Commercial Improvement in Germany, Flanders, and England-- in the North of Europe--in the Countries upon the Mediterranean Sea-- Maritime Laws--Usury--Banking Companies--Progress of Refinement in Manners--Domestic Architecture--Ecclesiastical Architecture--State of Agriculture in England--Value of Money--Improvement of the Moral Character of Society--its Causes--Police--Changes in Religious Opinion --Various Sects--Chivalry--its Progress, Character, and Influence-- Causes of the Intellectual Improvement of European Society--1. The Study of Civil Law--2. Institution of Universities--their Celebrity-- Scholastic Philosophy--3. Cultivation of Modern Languages--Provençal Poets--Norman Poets--French Prose Writers--Italian--early Poets in that Language--Dante--Petrarch--English Language--its Progress--Chaucer--4. Revival of Classical Learning--Latin Writers of the Twelfth Century-- Literature of the Fourteenth Century--Greek Literature--its Restoration in Italy--Invention of Printing. 318 NOTES TO CHAPTER IX. 474 INDEX. 487 VIEW OF THE STATE OF EUROPE DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. CHAPTER VIII. PART III. THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION Reign of Edward I.--Confirmatio Chartarum--Constitution of Parliament --the Prelates--the Temporal Peers--Tenure by Barony--its Changes-- Difficulty of the Subject--Origin of Representation of the Commons-- Knights of Shires--their Existence doubtfully traced through the Reign of Henry III.--Question whether Representation was confined to Tenants in capite discussed--State of English Towns at the Conquest and afterwards--their Progress--Representatives from them summoned to Parliament by Earl of Leicester--Improbability of an earlier Origin-- Cases of St. Albans and Barnstaple considered--Parliaments under Edward I.--Separation of Knights and Burgesses from the Peers--Edward II.--gradual Progress of the Authority of Parliament traced through the Reigns of Edward III. and his Successors down to Henry IV.-- Privilege of Parliament--the early Instances of it noticed--Nature of Borough Representation--Rights of Election--other Particulars relative to Election--House of Lords--Baronies by Tenure--by Writ--Nature of the latter discussed--Creation of Peers by Act of Parliament and by Patent--Summons of Clergy to Parliament--King's Ordinary Council--its Judicial and other Power--Character of the Plantagenet Government-- Prerogative--its Excesses--erroneous Views corrected--Testimony of Sir John Fortescue to the Freedom of the Constitution--Causes of the superior Liberty of England considered--State of Society in England-- Want of Police--Villenage--its gradual Extinction--latter Years of Henry VI.--Regencies--Instances of them enumerated--Pretensions of the House of York, and War of the Roses--Edward IV.--Conclusion. [Sidenote: Accession of Edward I.] Though the undisputed accession of a prince like Edward I. to the throne of his father does not seem so convenient a resting-place in history as one of those revolutions which interrupt the natural chain of events, yet the changes wrought during his reign make it properly an epoch in the progress of these inquiries. And, indeed, as ours is emphatically styled a government by king, lords, and commons, we cannot, perhaps, in strictness carry it further back than the admission of the latter into parliament; so that if the constant representation of the commons is to be referred to the age of Edward I., it will be nearer the truth to date the English constitution from that than from any earlier era. [Sidenote: Confirmation of the Charters.] The various statutes affecting the law of property and administration of justice which have caused Edward I. to be named, rather hyperbolically, the English Justinian, bear no immediate relation to our present inquiries. In a constitutional point of view the principal object is that statute entitled the Confirmation of the Charters, which was very reluctantly conceded by the king in the 25th year of his reign. I do not know that England has ever produced any patriots to whose memory she owes more gratitude than Humphrey Bohun, earl of Hereford and Essex, and Roger Bigod, earl of Norfolk. In the Great Charter the base spirit and deserted condition of John take off something from the glory of the triumph, though they enhance the moderation of those who pressed no further upon an abject tyrant. But to withstand the measures of Edward, a prince unequalled by any who had reigned in England since the Conqueror, for prudence, valour, and success, required a far more intrepid patriotism. Their provocations, if less outrageous than those received from John, were such as evidently manifested a disposition in Edward to reign without any control; a constant refusal to confirm the charters, which in that age were hardly deemed to bind the king without his actual consent; heavy impositions, especially one on the export of wool, and other unwarrantable demands. He had acted with such unmeasured violence towards the clergy, on account of their refusal of further subsidies, that, although the ill-judged policy of that class kept their interests too distinct from those of the people, it was natural for all to be alarmed at the precedent of despotism.[1] These encroachments made resistance justifiable, and the circumstances of Edward made it prudent. His ambition, luckily for the people, had involved him in foreign warfare, from which he could not recede without disappointment and dishonour. Thus was wrested from him that famous statute, inadequately denominated the Confirmation of the Charters, because it added another pillar to our constitution, not less important than the Great Charter itself.[2] It was enacted by the 25 Edw. I. that the charter of liberties, and that of the forest, besides being explicitly confirmed,[3] should be sent to all sheriffs, justices in eyre, and other magistrates throughout the realm, in order to their publication before the people; that copies of them should be kept in cathedral churches, and publicly read twice in the year, accompanied by a solemn sentence of excommunication against all who should infringe them; that any judgment given contrary to these charters should be invalid, and holden for nought. This authentic promulgation, those awful sanctions of the Great Charter, would alone render the statute of which we are speaking illustrious. But it went a great deal further. Hitherto the king's prerogative of levying money by name of tallage or prise from his towns and tenants in demesne had passed unquestioned. Some impositions, that especially on the export of wool, affected all his subjects. It was now the moment to enfranchise the people, and give that security to private property which Magna Charta had given to personal liberty. By the 5th and 6th sections of this statute "the aids, tasks, and prises," before taken are renounced as precedents; and the king "grants for him and his heirs, as well to archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, and other folk of holy church, as also to earls, barons, and to all commonalty of the land, that for no business from henceforth we shall take such manner of aids, tasks, nor prises, but by the common assent of the realm, and for the common profit thereof, saving the ancient aids and prises due and accustomed." The toll upon wool, so far as levied by the king's mere prerogative, is expressly released by the seventh section.[4] [Sidenote: Constitution of parliament.] We come now to a part of our subject exceedingly important, but more intricate and controverted than any other, the constitution of parliament. I have taken no notice of this in the last section, in order to present uninterruptedly to the reader the gradual progress of our legislature down to its complete establishment under the Edwards. No excuse need be made for the dry and critical disquisition of the following pages; but among such obscure inquiries I cannot feel myself as secure from error as I certainly do from partiality. [Sidenote: The spiritual peers.] One constituent branch of the great councils held by William the Conqueror and all his successors was composed of the bishops and the heads of religious houses holding their temporalities immediately of the crown. It has been frequently maintained that these spiritual lords sat in parliament only by virtue of their baronial tenure. And certainly they did all hold baronies, which, according to the analogy of lay peerages, were sufficient to give them such a share in the legislature. Nevertheless, I think that this is rather too contracted a view of the rights of the English hierarchy, and, indeed, by implication, of the peerage. For a great council of advice and assent in matters of legislation or national importance was essential to all the northern governments. And all of them, except, perhaps, the Lombards, invited the superior ecclesiastics to their councils; not upon any feudal notions, which at that time had hardly begun to prevail, but chiefly as representatives of the church and of religion itself; next, as more learned and enlightened counsellors than the lay nobility; and in some degree, no doubt, as rich proprietors of land. It will be remembered also that ecclesiastical and temporal affairs were originally decided in the same assemblies, both upon the continent and in England. The Norman Conquest, which destroyed the Anglo-Saxon nobility, and substituted a new race in their stead, could not affect the immortality of church possessions. The bishops of William's age were entitled to sit in his councils by the general custom of Europe, and by the common law of England, which the Conquest did not overturn.[5] Some smaller arguments might be urged against the supposition that their legislative rights are merely baronial; such as that the guardian of the spiritualities was commonly summoned to parliament during the vacancy of a bishopric, and that the five sees created by Henry VIII. have no baronies annexed to them;[6] but the former reasoning appears less technical and confined.[7] Next to these spiritual lords are the earls and barons, or lay peerage of England. The former dignity was, perhaps, not so merely official as in the Saxon times, although the earl was entitled to the third penny of all emoluments arising from the administration of justice in the county-courts, and might, perhaps, command the militia of his county, when it was called forth.[8] Every earl was also a baron, and held an honour or barony of the crown, for which he paid a higher relief than an ordinary baron, probably on account of the profits of his earldom. I will not pretend to say whether titular earldoms, absolutely distinct from the lieutenancy of a county, were as ancient as the Conquest, which Madox seems to think, or were considered as irregular so late as Henry II., according to Lord Lyttelton. In Dugdale's Baronage I find none of this description in the first Norman reigns; for even that of Clare was connected with the local earldom of Hertford. [Sidenote: Question as to the nature of baronies.] It is universally agreed that the only baronies known for two centuries after the Conquest were incident to the tenure of land held immediately from the crown. There are, however, material difficulties in the way of rightly understanding their nature which ought not to be passed over, because the consideration of baronial tenures will best develop the formation of our parliamentary system. Two of our most eminent legal antiquaries, Selden and Madox, have entertained different opinions as to the characteristics and attributes of this tenure. [Sidenote: Theory of Selden;] According to the first, every tenant in chief by knight-service was an honorary or parliamentary baron by reason of his tenure. All these were summoned to the king's councils, and were peers of his court. Their baronies, or honours, as they were frequently called, consisted of a number of knight's fees; that is, of estates, from each of which the feudal service of a knight was due; not fixed to thirteen fees and a third, as has been erroneously conceived, but varying according to the extent of the barony and the reservation of service at the time of its creation. Were they more or fewer, however, their owner was equally a baron, and summoned to serve the king in parliament with his advice and judgment, as appears by many records and passages in history. But about the latter end of John's reign, some only of the most eminent tenants in chief were summoned by particular writs; the rest by one general summons through the sheriffs of their several counties. This is declared in the Great Charter of that prince, wherein he promises that, whenever an aid or scutage shall be required, faciemus summoneri archiepiscopos, episcopos, abbates, comites et majores barones regni sigillatim per literas nostras. Et præterea faciemus summoneri in generali per vicecomites et ballivos nostros omnes alios qui in capite tenent de nobis. Thus the barons are distinguished from other tenants in chief, as if the former name were only applicable to a particular number of the king's immediate vassals. But it is reasonable to think that, before this charter was made, it had been settled by the law of some other parliament, how these greater barons should be distinguished from the lesser tenants in chief; else what certainty could there be in an expression so general and indefinite? And this is likely to have proceeded from the pride with which the ancient and wealthy barons of the realm would regard those newly created by grants of escheated honours, or those decayed in estate, who yet were by their tenures on an equality with themselves. They procured therefore two innovations in their condition; first that these inferior barons should be summoned generally by the sheriff, instead of receiving their particular writs, which made an honorary distinction; and next, that they should pay relief, not, as for an entire barony, one hundred marks; but at the rate of five pounds for each knight's fee which they held of the crown. This changed their tenure to one by mere knight-service, and their denomination to tenants in chief. It was not difficult, afterwards, for the greater barons to exclude any from coming to parliament as such without particular writs directed to them, for which purpose some law was probably enacted in the reign of Henry III. If indeed we could place reliance on a nameless author whom Camden has quoted, this limitation of the peerage to such as were expressly summoned depended upon a statute made soon after the battle of Evesham. But no one has ever been able to discover Camden's authority, and the change was, probably, of a much earlier date.[9] [Sidenote: of Madox,] [Sidenote: and observations on both.] Such is the theory of Selden, which, if it rested less upon conjectural alterations in the law, would undoubtedly solve some material difficulties that occur in the opposite view of the subject. According to Madox, tenure by knight-service in chief was always distinct from that by barony. It is not easy, however, to point out the characteristic differences of the two; nor has that eminent antiquary, in his large work, the Baronia Anglica, laid down any definition, or attempted to explain the real nature of a barony. The distinction could not consist in the number of knight's fees; for the barony of Hwayton consisted of only three; while John de Baliol held thirty fees by mere knight-service.[10] Nor does it seem to have consisted in the privilege or service of attending parliament, since all tenants in chief were usually summoned. But whatever may have been the line between these modes of tenure, there seems complete proof of their separation long before the reign of John. Tenants in chief are enumerated distinctly from earls and barons in the charter of Henry I. Knights, as well as barons, are named as present in the parliament of Northampton in 1165, in that held at the same town in 1176, and upon other occasions.[11] Several persons appear in the Liber Niger Scaccarii, a roll of military tenants made in the age of Henry II., who held single knight's fees of the crown. It is, however, highly probable, that, in a lax sense of the word, these knights may sometimes have been termed barons. The author of the Dialogus de Scaccario speaks of those holding greater or lesser baronies, including, as appears by the context, all tenants in chief.[12] The former of these seem to be the majores barones of King John's Charter. And the secundæ dignitatis barones, said by a contemporary historian to have been present in the parliament of Northampton, were in all probability no other than the knightly tenants of the crown.[13] For the word baro, originally meaning only a man, was of very large significance, and is not unfrequently applied to common freeholders, as in the phrase of court-baron. It was used too for the magistrates or chief men of cities, as it is still for the judges of the exchequer, and the representatives of the Cinque Ports.[14] The passage however before cited from the Great Charter of John affords one spot of firm footing in the course of our progress. Then, at least, it is evident that all tenants in chief were entitled to their summons; the greater barons by particular writs, the rest through one directed to their sheriff. The epoch when all, who, though tenants in chief, had not been actually summoned, were deprived of their right of attendance in parliament, is again involved in uncertainty and conjecture. The unknown writer quoted by Camden seems not sufficient authority to establish his assertion, that they were excluded by a statute made after the battle of Evesham. The principle was most likely acknowledged at an earlier time. Simon de Montfort summoned only twenty-three temporal peers to his famous parliament. In the year 1255 the barons complained that many of their number had not received their writs according to the tenor of the charter, and refused to grant an aid to the king till they were issued.[15] But it would have been easy to disappoint this mode of packing a parliament, if an unsummoned baron could have sat by mere right of his tenure. The opinion of Selden, that a law of exclusion was enacted towards the beginning of Henry's reign is not liable to so much objection. But perhaps it is unnecessary to frame an hypothesis of this nature. Writs of summons seem to have been older than the time of John;[16] and when this had become the customary and regular preliminary of a baron's coming to parliament, it was a natural transition to look upon it as an indispensable condition; in times when the prerogative was high, the law unsettled, and the service in parliament deemed by many still more burthensome than honourable. Some omissions in summoning the king's tenants to former parliaments may perhaps have produced the above-mentioned provision of the Great Charter, which had a relation to the imposition of taxes wherein it was deemed essential to obtain a more universal consent than was required in councils held for state, or even for advice.[17] [Sidenote: Whether mere tenants in chief attended parliament under Henry III.] It is not easy to determine how long the inferior tenants in chief continued to sit personally in parliament. In the charters of Henry III., the clause which we have been considering is omitted: and I think there is no express proof remaining that the sheriff was ever directed to summon the king's military tenants within his county, in the manner which the charter of John required. It appears however that they were in fact members of parliament on many occasions during Henry's reign, which shows that they were summoned either by particular writs or through the sheriff; and the latter is the more plausible conjecture. There is indeed great obscurity as to the constitution of parliament in this reign; and the passages which I am about to produce may lead some to conceive that the freeholders were _represented_ even from its beginning. I rather incline to a different opinion. In the Magna Charta of 1 Henry III. it is said: Pro hâc donatione et concessione ... archiepiscopi, episcopi, comites, barones, milites, et liberè tenentes, et omnes de regno nostro, dederunt nobis quintam decimam partem omnium bonorum suorum mobilium.[18] So in a record of 19 Henry III.: Comites, et barones, et omnes alii de toto regno nostro Angliæ, spontaneâ voluntate suâ, concesserunt nobis efficax auxilium.[19] The largeness of these words is, however, controlled by a subsequent passage, which declares the tax to be imposed ad mandatum omnium comitum et baronum et omnium aliorum _qui de nobis tenent in capite_. And it seems to have been a general practice to assume the common consent of all ranks to that which had actually been agreed by the higher. In a similar writ, 21 Henry III., the rants of men are enumerated specifically; archiepiscopi, episcopi, abbates, priores, et clerici terras habentes quæ ad ecclesias suas non pertinent, comites, barones, milites, et liberi homines, pro se et suis villanis, nobis concesserunt in auxilium tricesimam partem omnium mobilium.[20] In the close roll of the same year, we have a writ directed to the archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, earls, barons, knights, and freeholders (liberi homines) of Ireland, in which an aid is desired of them, and it is urged that one had been granted by his fideles Angliæ.[21] But this attendance in parliament of inferior tenants in chief, some of them too poor to have received knighthood, grew insupportably vexatious to themselves, and was not well liked by the king. He knew them to be dependent upon the barons, and dreaded the confluence of a multitude, who assumed the privilege of coming in arms to the appointed place. So inconvenient and mischievous a scheme could not long subsist among an advancing people, and fortunately the true remedy was discovered with little difficulty. [Sidenote: Origin and progress of parliamentary representation.] The principle of representation, in its widest sense, can hardly be unknown to any government not purely democratical. In almost every country the sense of the whole is understood to be spoken by a part, and the decisions of a part are binding upon the whole. Among our ancestors the lord stood in the place of his vassals, and, still more unquestionably, the abbot in that of his monks. The system indeed of ecclesiastical councils, considered as organs of the church, rested upon the principle of a virtual or an express representation, and had a tendency to render its application to national assemblies more familiar. The first instance of actual representation which occurs in our history is only four years after the Conquest; when William, if we may rely on Hoveden, caused twelve persons skilled in the customs of England to be chosen from each county, who were sworn to inform him rightly of their laws; and these, so ascertained, were ratified by the consent of the great council. This, Sir Matthew Hale asserts to be "as sufficient and effectual a parliament as ever was held in England."[22] But there is no appearance that these twelve deputies of each county were invested with any higher authority than that of declaring their ancient usages. No stress can be laid at least on this insulated and anomalous assembly, the existence of which is only learned from an historian of a century later.[23] We find nothing that can arrest our attention, in searching out the origin of county representation, till we come to a writ in the fifteenth year of John, directed to all the sheriffs in the following terms: Rex Vicecomiti N., salutem. Præcipimus tibi quod omnes milites ballivæ tuæ qui summoniti fuerunt esse apud Oxoniam ad Nos a die Omnium Sanctorum in quindecim dies venire facias cum armis suis: corpora vero baronum sine armis singulariter, et _quatuor discretos milites_ de comitatu tuo, illuc venire facias ad eundem terminum, ad loquendum nobiscum de negotiis regni nostri. For the explanation of this obscure writ I must refer to what Prynne has said;[24] but it remains problematical whether these four knights (the only clause which concerns our purpose) were to be elected by the county or returned in the nature of a jury, at the discretion of the sheriff. Since there is no sufficient proof whereon to decide, we can only say with hesitation, that there _may_ have been an instance of county representation in the fifteenth year of John. We may next advert to a practice, of which there is very clear proof in the reign of Henry III. Subsidies granted in parliament were assessed, not as in former times by the justices upon their circuits, but by knights freely chosen in the county court. This appears by two writs, one of the fourth and one of the ninth year of Henry III.[25] At a subsequent period, by a provision of the Oxford parliament in 1258, every county elected four knights to inquire into grievances, and deliver their inquisition into parliament.[26] The next writ now extant, that wears the appearance of parliamentary representation, is in the thirty-eighth of Henry III. This, after reciting that the earls, barons, and other great men (cæteri magnates) were to meet at London three weeks after Easter, with horses and arms, for the purpose of sailing into Gascony, requires the sheriff to compel all within his jurisdiction, who hold twenty pounds a year of the king in chief, or of those in ward of the king, to appear at the same time and place. And that besides those mentioned he shall cause to come before the king's council at Westminster, on the fifteenth day after Easter, two good and discreet knights of his county, whom the men of the county shall have chosen for this purpose, in the stead of all and each of them, to consider, along with the knights of other counties, what aid they will grant the king in such an emergency.[27] In the principle of election, and in the object of the assembly, which was to grant money, this certainly resembles a summons to parliament. There are indeed anomalies sufficiently remarkable upon the face of the writ which distinguish this meeting from a regular parliament. But when the scheme of obtaining money from the commons of shires through the consent of their representatives had once been entertained, it was easily applicable to more formal councils of the nation.[28] A few years later there appears another writ analogous to a summons. During the contest between Henry III. and the confederate barons in 1261, they presumed to call a sort of parliament, summoning three knights out of every county, secum tractaturos super communibus negotiis regni. This we learn only by an opposite writ issued by the king, directing the sheriff to enjoin these knights who had been convened by the earls of Leicester and Gloucester to their meeting at St. Alban's, that they should repair instead to the king at Windsor, and to no other place, nobiscum super præmissis colloquium habituros.[29] It is not absolutely certain that these knights were elected by their respective counties. But even if they were so, this assembly has much less the appearance of a parliament, than that in the thirty-eighth of Henry III. At length, in the year 1265, the forty-ninth of Henry III., while he was a captive in the hands of Simon de Montfort, writs were issued in his name to all the sheriffs, directing them to return two knights for the body of their county, with two citizens or burgesses for every city and borough contained within it. This therefore is the epoch at which the representation of the commons becomes indisputably manifest; even should we reject altogether the more equivocal instances of it which have just been enumerated. [Sidenote: Whether the knights were elected by freeholders in general.] If indeed the knights were still elected by none but the king's military tenants, if the mode of representation was merely adopted to spare them the inconvenience of personal attendance, the immediate innovation in our polity was not very extensive. This is an interesting, but very obscure, topic of inquiry. Spelman and Brady, with other writers, have restrained the original right of election to tenants in chief, among whom, in process of time, those holding under mesne lords, not being readily distinguishable in the hurry of an election, contrived to slide in, till at length their encroachments were rendered legitimate by the statute 7 Hen. IV. c. 15, which put all suitors to the county court on an equal footing as to the elective franchise. The argument on this side might be plausibly urged with the following reasoning. The spirit of a feudal monarchy, which compelled every lord to act by the advice and assent of his immediate vassals, established no relation between him and those who held nothing at his hands. They were included, so far as he was concerned, in their superiors; and the feudal incidents were due to him from the whole of his vassal's fief, whatever tenants might possess it by subinfeudation. In England the tenants in chief alone were called to the great councils before representation was thought of, as is evident both by the charter of John, and by the language of many records; nor were any others concerned in levying aids or escuages, which were only due by virtue of their tenure. These military tenants were become, in the reign of Henry III., far more numerous than they had been under the Conqueror. If we include those who held of the king ut de honore, that is, the tenants of baronies escheated or in ward, who may probably have enjoyed the same privileges, being subject in general to the same burdens, their number will be greatly augmented, and form no inconsiderable portion of the freeholders of the kingdom. After the statute commonly called Quia emptores in the eighteenth of Edward I. they were likely to increase much more, as every licensed alienation of any portion of a fief by a tenant in chief would create a new freehold immediately depending upon the crown. Many of these tenants in capite held very small fractions of knight's fees, and were consequently not called upon to receive knighthood. They were plain freeholders holding in chief, and the liberi homines or libere tenentes of those writs which have been already quoted. The common form indeed of writs to the sheriff directs the knights to be chosen de communitate comitatûs. But the word communitas, as in boroughs, denotes only the superior part: it is not unusual to find mention in records of communitas populi or omnes de regno, where none are intended but the barons, or at most the tenants in chief. If we look attentively at the earliest instance of summoning knights of shires to parliament, that in 38 Henry III., which has been noticed above, it will appear that they could only have been chosen by military tenants in chief. The object of calling this parliament, if parliament it were, was to obtain an aid from the military tenants, who, holding less than a knight's fee, were not required to do personal service. None then, surely, but the tenants in chief could be electors upon this occasion, which merely respected their feudal duties. Again, to come much lower down, we find a series of petitions in the reigns of Edward III. and Richard II., which seem to lead us to a conclusion that only tenants in chief were represented by the knights of shires. The writ for wages directed the sheriff to levy them on the commons of the county, both within franchises and without (tam intra libertates quam extra). But the tenants of lords holding by barony endeavoured to exempt themselves from this burthen, in which they seem to have been countenanced by the king. This led to frequent remonstrances from the commons, who finally procured a statute, that all lands which had been accustomed to contribute towards the wages of members should continue to do so, even though they should be purchased by a lord.[30] But, if these mesne tenants had possessed equal rights of voting with tenants in chief, it is impossible to conceive that they would have thought of claiming so unreasonable an exemption. Yet, as it would appear harsh to make any distinction between the rights of those who sustained an equal burthen, we may perceive how the freeholders holding of mesne lords might on that account obtain after the statute a participation in the privilege of tenants in chief. And without supposing any partiality or connivance, it is easy to comprehend that, while the nature of tenures and services was so obscure as to give rise to continual disputes, of which the ancient records of the King's Bench are full, no sheriff could be very accurate in rejecting the votes of common freeholders repairing to the county court, and undistinguishable, as must be allowed, from tenants in capite upon other occasions, such as serving on juries, or voting on the election of coroners. To all this it yields some corroboration, that a neighbouring though long hostile kingdom, who borrowed much of her law from our own, has never admitted any freeholders, except tenants in chief of the crown, to a suffrage in county elections. These attended the parliament of Scotland in person till 1428, when a law of James I. permitted them to send representatives.[31] Such is, I think, a fair statement of the arguments that might be alleged by those who would restrain the right of election to tenants of the crown. It may be urged on the other side that the genius of the feudal system was never completely displayed in England; much less can we make use of that policy to explain institutions that prevailed under Edward I. Instead of aids and scutages levied upon the king's military tenants, the crown found ample resources in subsidies upon moveables, from which no class of men was exempted. But the statute that abolished all unparliamentary taxation led, at least in theoretical principle, to extend the elective franchise to as large a mass of the people as could conveniently exercise it. It was even in the mouth of our kings that what concerned all should be approved by all. Nor is the language of all extant writs less adverse to the supposition that the right of suffrage in county elections was limited to tenants in chief. It seems extraordinary that such a restriction, if it existed, should never be deducible from these instruments; that their terms should invariably be large enough to comprise all freeholders. Yet no more is ever required of the sheriff than to return two knights chosen by the body of the county. For they are not only said to be returned pro communitate, but "per communitatem," and "de assensu totius communitatis." Nor is it satisfactory to allege, without any proof, that this word should be restricted to the tenants in chief, contrary to what must appear to be its obvious meaning.[32] Certainly, if these tenants of the crown had found inferior freeholds usurping a right of suffrage, we might expect to find it the subject of some legislative provision, or at least of some petition and complaint. And, on the other hand, it would have been considered as unreasonable to levy the wages due to knights of the shire for their service in parliament on those who had no share in their election. But it appears by writs at the very beginning of Edward II.'s reign, that wages were levied "de communitate comitatus."[33] It will scarcely be contended that no one was to contribute under this writ but tenants in chief; and yet the word communitas can hardly be applied to different persons, when it occurs in the same instrument and upon the same matter. The series of petitions above mentioned relative to the payment of wages rather tends to support a conclusion that all mesne tenants had the right of suffrage, if they thought fit to exercise it, since it was earnestly contended that they were liable to contribute towards that expense. Nor does there appear any reason to doubt that all freeholders, except those within particular franchises, were suitors to the county court--an institution of no feudal nature, and in which elections were to be made by those present. As to the meeting to which knights of shires were summoned in 38 Henry III., it ought not to be reckoned a parliament, but rather one of those anomalous conventions which sometimes occurred in the unfixed state of government. It is at least the earliest known instance of representation, and leads us to no conclusion in respect of later times, when the commons had become an essential part of the legislature, and their consent was required to all public burthens. This question, upon the whole, is certainly not free from considerable difficulty. The legal antiquaries are divided. Prynne does not seem to have doubted but that the knights were "elected in the full county, by and for the whole county," without respect to the tenure of the freeholders.[34] But Brady and Carte are of a different opinion.[35] Yet their disposition to narrow the basis of the constitution is so strong, that it creates a sort of prejudice against their authority. And if I might offer an opinion on so obscure a subject, I should be much inclined to believe that, even from the reign of Henry III., the election of knights by all freeholders in the county-court, without regard to tenure, was little, if at all, different from what it is at present.[36] [Sidenote: Progress of towns.] The progress of towns in several continental countries, from a condition bordering upon servitude to wealth and liberty, has more than once attracted our attention in other parts of the present work. Their growth in England, both from general causes and imitative policy, was very similar and nearly coincident. Under the Anglo-Saxon line of sovereigns we scarcely can discover in our scanty records the condition of their inhabitants, except retrospectively from the great survey of Domesday Book, which displays the state of England under Edward the Confessor. Some attention to commerce had been shown by Alfred and Athelstan; and a merchant who had made three voyages beyond sea was raised by law of the latter monarch to the dignity of a Thane.[37] This privilege was not perhaps often claimed; but the burgesses of towns were already a distinct class from the ceorls or rustics, and, though hardly free according to our estimation, seem to have laid the foundation of more extensive immunities. It is probable, at least, that the English towns had made full as great advances towards emancipation as those of France. At the Conquest we find the burgesses or inhabitants of towns living under the superiority or protection of the king, or of some other lord, to whom they paid annual rents, and determinate dues or customs. Sometimes they belonged to different lords, and sometimes the same burgess paid customs to one master, while he was under the jurisdiction of another. They frequently enjoyed special privileges as to inheritance; and in two or three instances they seem to have possessed common property, belonging to a sort of guild or corporation, and in some instances, perhaps, had a municipal administration by magistrates of their own choice.[38] Besides the regular payments, which were in general not heavy, they were liable to tallages at the discretion of their lords. This burthen continued for two centuries, with no limitation, except that the barons were latterly forced to ask permission of the king before they set a tallage on their tenants, which was commonly done when he imposed one upon his own.[39] Still the towns became considerably richer; for the profits of their traffic were undiminished by competition, and the consciousness that they could not be individually despoiled of their possessions, like the villeins of the country around, inspired an industry and perseverance which all the rapacity of Norman kings and barons was unable to daunt or overcome. [Sidenote: Towns let in fee-farm.] One of the earliest and most important changes in the condition of the burgesses was the conversion of their individual tributes into a perpetual rent from the whole borough. The town was then said to be affirmed, or let in fee-farm, to the burgesses and their successors for ever.[40] Previously to such a grant the lord held the town in his demesne, and was the legal proprietor of the soil and tenements; though I by no means apprehend that the burgesses were destitute of a certain estate in their possessions. But of a town in fee-farm he only kept the superiority and the inheritance of the annual rent, which he might recover by distress.[41] The burgesses held their lands by burgage-tenure, nearly analogous to, or rather a species of, free socage.[42] Perhaps before the grant they might correspond to modern copyholders. It is of some importance to observe that the lord, by such a grant of the town in fee-farm, whatever we may think of its previous condition, divested himself of his property, or lucrative dominion over the soil, in return for the perpetual rent; so that tallages subsequently set at his own discretion upon the inhabitants, however common, can hardly be considered as a just exercise of the rights of proprietorship. [Sidenote: Charters of incorporation.] Under such a system of arbitrary taxation, however, it was evident to the most selfish tyrant that the wealth of his burgesses was his wealth, and their prosperity his interest; much more were liberal and sagacious monarchs, like Henry II., inclined to encourage them by privileges. From the time of William Rufus there was no reign in which charters were not granted to different towns of exemption from tolls on rivers and at markets, those lighter manacles of feudal tyranny; or of commercial franchises; or of immunity from the ordinary jurisdictions; or, lastly, of internal self-regulation. Thus the original charter of Henry I. to the city of London[43] concedes to the citizens, in addition to valuable commercial and fiscal immunities, the right of choosing their own sheriff and justice, to the exclusion of every foreign jurisdiction.[44] These grants, however, were not in general so extensive till the reign of John.[45] Before that time the interior arrangement of towns had received a new organization. In the Saxon period we find voluntary associations, sometimes religious, sometimes secular; in some cases for mutual defence against injury, in others for mutual relief in poverty. These were called guilds, from the Saxon verb _gildan_, to pay or contribute, and exhibited the natural, if not the legal, character of corporations.[46] At the time of the Conquest, as has been mentioned above, such voluntary incorporations of the burgesses possessed in some towns either landed property of their own, or rights of superiority over that of others. An internal elective government seems to have been required for the administration of a common revenue, and of other business incident to their association.[47] They became more numerous and more peculiarly commercial after that era, as well from the increase of trade as through imitation of similar fraternities existing in many towns of France. The spirit of monopoly gave strength to those institutions, each class of traders forming itself into a body, in order to exclude competition. Thus were established the companies in corporate towns, that of the Weavers in London being perhaps the earliest;[48] and these were successively consolidated and sanctioned by charters from the crown. In towns not large enough to admit of distinct companies, one merchant guild comprehended the traders in general, or the chief of them; and this, from the reign of Henry II. downwards, became the subject of incorporating charters. The management of their internal concerns, previously to any incorporation, fell naturally enough into a sort of oligarchy, which the tenor of the charter generally preserved. Though the immunities might be very extensive, the powers were more or less restrained to a small number. Except in a few places, the right of choosing magistrates was first given by king John; and certainly must rather be ascribed to his poverty than to any enlarged policy, of which he was utterly incapable.[49] [Sidenote: Prosperity of English towns.] [Sidenote: London.] From the middle of the twelfth century to that of the thirteenth the traders of England became more and more prosperous. The towns on the southern coast exported tin and other metals in exchange for the wines of France; those on the eastern sent corn to Norway--the Cinque Ports bartered wool against the stuffs of Flanders.[50] Though bearing no comparison with the cities of Italy or the Empire, they increased sufficiently to acquire importance at home. That vigorous prerogative of the Norman monarchs, which kept down the feudal aristocracy, compensated for whatever inferiority there might be in the population and defensible strength of the English towns, compared with those on the continent. They had to fear no petty oppressors, no local hostility; and if they could satisfy the rapacity of the crown, were secure from all other grievances. London, far above the rest, our ancient and noble capital, might, even in those early times, be justly termed a member of the political system. This great city, so admirably situated, was rich and populous long before the Conquest. Bede, at the beginning of the eighth century, speaks of London as a great market, which traders frequented by land and sea.[51] It paid 15,000_l._ out of 82,000_l._, raised by Canute upon the kingdom.[52] If we believe Roger Hoveden, the citizens of London, on the death of Ethelred II., joined with part of the nobility in raising Edmund Ironside to the throne.[53] Harold I., according to better authority, the Saxon Chronicle and William of Malmsbury, was elected by their concurrence.[54] Descending to later history, we find them active in the civil war of Stephen and Matilda. The famous bishop of Winchester tells the Londoners that they are almost accounted as noblemen on account of the greatness of their city; into the community of which it appears that some barons had been received.[55] Indeed, the citizens themselves, or at least the principal of them, were called barons. It was certainly by far the greatest city in England. There have been different estimates of its population, some of which are extravagant; but I think it could hardly have contained less than thirty or forty thousand souls within its walls; and the suburbs were very populous.[56] These numbers, the enjoyment of privileges, and the consciousness of strength, infused a free and even a mutinous spirit into their conduct.[57] The Londoners were always on the barons' side in their contests with the crown. They bore a part in deposing William Longchamp, the chancellor and justiciary of Richard I.[58] They were distinguished in the great struggle for Magna Charta; the privileges of their city are expressly confirmed in it; and the mayor of London was one of the twenty-five barons to whom the maintenance of its provisions was delegated. In the subsequent reign the citizens of London were regarded with much dislike and jealousy by the court, and sometimes suffered pretty severely at its hands, especially after the battle of Evesham.[59] Notwithstanding the influence of London in these seasons of disturbance, we do not perceive that it was distinguished from the most insignificant town by greater participation in national councils. Rich, powerful, honourable, and high-spirited as its citizens had become, it was very long before they found a regular place in parliament. The prerogative of imposing tallages at pleasure, unsparingly exercised by Henry III. even over London,[60] left the crown no inducement to summon the inhabitants of cities and boroughs. As these indeed were daily growing more considerable, they were certain, in a monarchy so limited as that of England became in the thirteenth century, of attaining, sooner or later, this eminent privilege. Although therefore the object of Simon de Montfort in calling them to his parliament after the battle of Lewes was merely to strengthen his own faction, which prevailed among the commonalty, yet, their permanent admission into the legislature may be ascribed to a more general cause. For otherwise it is not easy to see why the innovation of an usurper should have been drawn into precedent, though it might perhaps accelerate what the course of affairs was gradually preparing. [Sidenote: First summoning of towns to parliament, in 49 H. III.] It is well known that the earliest writs of summons to cities and boroughs, of which we can prove the existence, are those of Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester, bearing date 12th of December, 1264, in the forty-ninth year of Henry III.[61] After a long controversy almost all judicious inquirers seem to have acquiesced in admitting this origin of popular representation.[62] The argument may be very concisely stated. We find from innumerable records that the king imposed tallages upon his demesne towns at discretion.[63] No public instrument previous to the forty-ninth of Henry III. names the citizens and burgesses as constituent parts of parliament; though prelates, barons, knights, and sometimes freeholders, are enumerated;[64] while, since the undoubted admission of the commons, they are almost invariably mentioned. No historian speaks of representatives appearing for the people, or uses the word citizen or burgess in describing those present in parliament. Such convincing, though negative, evidence is not to be invalidated by some general and ambiguous phrases, whether in writs and records or in historians.[65] Those monkish annalists are poor authorities upon any point where their language is to be delicately measured. But it is hardly possible that, writing circumstantially, as Roger de Hoveden and Matthew Paris sometimes did, concerning proceedings in parliament, they could have failed to mention the commons in unequivocal expressions, if any representatives from that order had actually formed a part of the assembly. [Sidenote: Authorities in favour of an earlier date. St. Albans.] Two authorities, however, which had been supposed to prove a greater antiquity than we have assigned to the representation of the commons, are deserving of particular consideration; the cases of St. Albans and Barnstaple. The burgesses of St. Albans complained to the council in the eighth year of Edward II., that, although they held of the king in capite, and ought to attend his parliaments whenever they are summoned, by two of their number, instead of all other services, as had been their custom in all past times, which services the said burgesses and their predecessors had performed as well in the time of the late king Edward and his ancestors as in that of the present king until the parliament now sitting, the names of their deputies having been constantly enrolled in chancery, yet the sheriff of Hertfordshire, at the instigation of the abbot of St. Albans, had neglected to cause an election and return to be made; and prayed remedy. To this petition it was answered, "Let the rolls of chancery be examined, that it may appear whether the said burgesses were accustomed to come to parliament, or not, in the time of the king's ancestors; and let right be done to them, vocatis evocandis, si necesse fuerit." I do not translate these words, concerning the sense of which there has been some dispute, though not, apparently, very material to the principal subject.[66] This is, in my opinion, by far the most plausible testimony for the early representation of boroughs. The burgesses of St. Albans claim a prescriptive right from the usage of all past times, and more especially those of the late Edward and his ancestors. Could this be alleged, it has been said, of a privilege at the utmost of fifty years' standing, once granted by an usurper, in the days of the late king's father, and afterwards discontinued till about twenty years before the date of their petition, according to those who refer the regular appearance of the commons in parliament to the twenty-third of Edward I.? Brady, who obviously felt the strength of this authority, has shown little of his usual ardour and acuteness in repelling it. It was observed, however, by Madox, that the petition of St. Albans contains two very singular allegations: it asserts that the town was part of the king's demesne, whereas it had invariably belonged to the adjoining abbey; and that its burgesses held by the tenure of attending parliament, instead of all other services, contrary to all analogy, and without parallel in the condition of any tenant in capite throughout the kingdom. "It is no wonder, therefore," says Hume, "that a petition which advances two falsehoods should contain one historical mistake, which indeed amounts only to an inaccurate expression." But it must be confessed that we cannot so easily set aside the whole authority of this record. For whatever assurance the people of St. Albans might show in asserting what was untrue, the king's council must have been aware how recently the deputies of any towns had been admitted into parliament. If the lawful birth of the House of Commons were in 1295, as is maintained by Brady and his disciples, is it conceivable that, in 1315, the council would have received a petition, claiming the elective franchise by prescription, and have referred to the rolls of chancery to inquire whether this had been used in the days of the king's progenitors? I confess that I see no answer which can easily be given to this objection by such as adopt the _latest_ epoch of borough representation, namely, the parliament of 23 E. I. But they are by no means equally conclusive against the supposition that the communities of cities and towns, having been first introduced into the legislature during Leicester's usurpation, in the forty-ninth year of Henry III., were summoned, not perhaps uniformly, but without any long intermission, to succeeding parliaments. There is a strong presumption, from the language of a contemporary historian, that they sat in the parliament of 1269, four years after that convened by Leicester.[67] It is more unequivocally stated by another annalist that they were present in the first parliament of Edward I. held in 1271.[68] Nor does a similar inference want some degree of support from the preambles of the statute of Marlebridge in 51 H. III., of Westminster I. in the third, and of Gloucester in the sixth, year of Edward I.[69] And the writs are extant which summon every city, borough, and market town to send two deputies to a council in the eleventh year of his reign. I call this a council, for it undoubtedly was not a parliament. The sheriffs were directed to summon personally all who held more than twenty pounds a year of the crown, as well as four knights for each county invested with full powers to act for the commons thereof. The knights and burgesses thus chosen, as well as the clergy within the province of Canterbury, met at Northampton; those within the province of York, at that city. And neither assembly was opened by the king.[70] This anomalous convention was nevertheless one means of establishing the representative system, and, to an inquirer free from technical prejudice, is little less important than a regular parliament. Nor have we long to look even for this. In the same year, about eight months after the councils at Northampton and York, writs were issued summoning to a parliament at Shrewsbury two citizens from London, and as many from each of twenty other considerable towns.[71] It is a slight cavil to object that these were not directed as usual to the sheriff of each county, but to the magistrates of each place. Though a very imperfect, this was a regular and unequivocal representation of the commons in parliament. But their attendance seems to have intermitted from this time to the twenty-third year of Edward's reign.[72] [Sidenote: Barnstaple.] Those to whom the petition of St. Albans is not satisfactory will hardly yield their conviction to that of Barnstaple. This town set forth in the eighteenth of Edward III. that, among other franchises granted to them by a charter of Athelstan, they had ever since exercised the right of sending two burgesses to parliament. The said charter, indeed, was unfortunately mislaid; and the prayer of their petition was to obtain one of the like import in its stead. Barnstaple, it must be observed, was a town belonging to Lord Audley, and had actually returned members ever since the twenty-third of Edward I. Upon an inquisition directed by the king to be made into the truth of these allegations, it was found that "the burgesses of the said town were wont to send two burgesses to parliament for the commonalty of the borough;" but nothing appeared as to the pretended charter of Athelstan, or the liberties which it was alleged to contain. The burgesses, dissatisfied with this inquest, prevailed that another should be taken, which certainly answered better their wishes. The second jury found that Barnstaple was a free borough from time immemorial; that the burgesses had enjoyed under a charter of Athelstan, which had been casually lost, certain franchises by them enumerated, and particularly that they should send two burgesses to parliament; and that it would not be to the king's prejudice if he should grant them a fresh charter in terms equally ample with that of his predecessor Athelstan. But the following year we have another writ and another inquest; the former reciting that the second return had been unduly and fraudulently made; and the latter expressly contradicting the previous inquest in many points, and especially finding no proof of Athelstan's supposed charter. Comparing the various parts of this business, we shall probably be induced to agree with Willis, that it was but an attempt of the inhabitants of Barnstaple to withdraw themselves from the jurisdiction of their lord. For the right of returning burgesses, though it is the main point of our inquiries, was by no means the most prominent part of their petition, which rather went to establish some civil privileges of devising their tenements and electing their own mayor. The first and fairest return finds only that they were accustomed to send members to parliament, which an usage of fifty years (from 23 E. I. to 18 E. III.) was fully sufficient to establish, without searching into more remote antiquity.[73] It has, however, probably occurred to the reader of these two cases, St. Albans and Barnstaple, that the representation of the commons in parliament was not treated as a novelty, even in times little posterior to those in which we have been supposing it to have originated. In this consists, I think, the sole strength of the opposite argument. An act in the fifth year of Richard II. declares that, if any sheriff shall leave out of his returns any cities or boroughs which be bound and of old times were wont to come to the parliament, he shall be punished as was accustomed to be done in the like case in time past.[74] In the memorable assertion of legislative right by the commons in the second of Henry V. (which will be quoted hereafter) they affirm that "the commune of the land is, _and ever has been_, a member of parliament."[75] And the consenting suffrage of our older law-books must be placed in the same scale. The first gainsayers, I think, were Camden and Sir Henry Spelman, who, upon probing the antiquities of our constitution somewhat more exactly than their predecessors, declared that they could find no signs of the commons in parliament till the forty-ninth of Henry III. Prynne, some years afterwards, with much vigour and learning, maintained the same argument, and Brady completed the victory. But the current doctrine of Westminster Hall, and still more of the two chambers of parliament, was certainly much against these antiquaries; and it passed at one time for a surrender of popular principles, and almost a breach of privilege, to dispute the lineal descent of the House of Commons from the witenagemot.[76] The true ground of these pretensions to antiquity was a very well-founded persuasion that no other argument would be so conclusive to ordinary minds, or cut short so effectually all encroachments of the prerogative. The populace of every country, but none so much as the English, easily grasp the notion of right, meaning thereby something positive and definite; while the maxims of expediency or theoretical reasoning pass slightly over their minds. Happy indeed for England that it is so! But we have here to do with the fact alone. And it may be observed that several pious frauds were practised to exalt the antiquity of our constitutional liberties. These began, perhaps, very early, when the imaginary laws of Edward the Confessor were so earnestly demanded. They were carried further under Edward I. and his successor, when the fable of privileges granted by the Conqueror to the men of Kent was devised; when Andrew Horn filled his Mirrour of Justices with fictitious tales of Alfred; and, above all, when the "Method of holding parliaments in the time of Ethelred" was fabricated, about the end of Richard II.'s reign; an imposture which was not too gross to deceive Sir Edward Coke.[77] [Sidenote: Causes of summoning deputies from boroughs.] There is no great difficulty in answering the question why the deputies of boroughs were finally and permanently ingrafted upon parliament by Edward I.[78] The government was becoming constantly more attentive to the wealth that commerce brought into the kingdom, and the towns were becoming more flourishing and more independent. But chiefly there was a much stronger spirit of general liberty and a greater discontent at violent acts of prerogative from the era of Magna Charta; after which authentic recognition of free principles many acts which had seemed before but the regular exercise of authority were looked upon as infringements of the subject's right. Among these the custom of setting tallages at discretion would naturally appear the most intolerable; and men were unwilling to remember that the burgesses who paid them were indebted for the rest of their possessions to the bounty of the crown. In Edward I.'s reign, even before the great act of Confirmation of the Charters had rendered arbitrary impositions absolutely unconstitutional, they might perhaps excite louder murmurs than a discreet administration would risk. Though the necessities of the king, therefore, and his imperious temper often led him to this course,[79] it was a more prudent counsel to try the willingness of his people before he forced their reluctance. And the success of his innovation rendered it worth repetition. Whether it were from the complacency of the commons at being thus admitted among the peers of the realm, or from a persuasion that the king would take their money if they refused it, or from inability to withstand the plausible reasons of his ministers, or from the private influence to which the leaders of every popular assembly have been accessible, much more was granted in subsidies after the representation of the towns commenced than had ever been extorted in tallages. To grant money was, therefore, the main object of their meeting; and if the exigencies of the administration could have been relieved without subsidies, the citizens and burgesses might still have sat at home and obeyed the laws which a council of prelates and barons enacted for their government. But it is a difficult question whether the king and the peers designed to make room for them, as it were, in legislation; and whether the power of the purse drew after it immediately, of only by degrees, those indispensable rights of consenting to laws which they now possess. There are no sufficient means of solving this doubt during the reign of Edward I. The writ in 22 E. I. directs two knights to be chosen cum plenâ potestate pro se et totâ communitate comitatûs prædicti ad consulendum et consentiendum pro se et communitate illâ, his quæ comites, barones, et proceres prædicti concorditer ordinaverint in præmissis. That of the next year runs, ad faciendum tunc quod de communi consilio ordinabitur in præmissis. The same words are inserted in the writ of 26 E. I. In that of 28 E. I. the knights are directed to be sent cum plenâ potestate audiendi et faciendi quæ ibidem ordinari contigerint pro communi commodo. Several others of the same reign have the words ad faciendum. The difficulty is to pronounce whether this term is to be interpreted in the sense of _performing_ or of _enacting_; whether the representatives of the commons were merely to learn from the lords what was to be done, or to bear their part in advising upon it. The earliest writ, that of 22 E. I., certainly implies the latter; and I do not know that any of the rest are conclusive to the contrary. In the reign of Edward II. the words ad consentiendum alone, or ad faciendum et consentiendum, begin; and from that of Edward III. this form has been constantly used.[80] It must still, however, be highly questionable whether the commons, who had so recently taken their place in parliament, gave anything more than a constructive assent to the laws enacted during this reign. They are not even named in the preamble of any statute till the last year of Edward I. Upon more than one occasion the sheriffs were directed to return the same members who had sat in the last parliament, unless prevented by death or infirmity.[81] [Sidenote: At what time parliament was divided into two houses.] It has been a very prevailing opinion that parliament was not divided into two houses at the first admission of the commons. If by this is only meant that the commons did not occupy a separate chamber till some time in the reign of Edward III., the proposition, true or false, will be of little importance. They may have sat at the bottom of Westminster Hall, while the lords occupied the upper end. But that they were ever intermingled in voting appears inconsistent with likelihood and authority. The usual object of calling a parliament was to impose taxes; and these for many years after the introduction of the commons were laid in different proportions upon the three estates of the realm. Thus in the 23 E. I. the earls, barons, and knights gave the king an eleventh, the clergy a tenth; while he obtained a seventh from the citizens and burgesses; in the twenty-fourth of the same king the two former of these orders gave a twelfth, the last an eighth; in the thirty-third year a thirtieth was the grant of the barons and knights and of the clergy, a twentieth of the cities and towns; in the first of Edward II. the counties paid a twentieth, the towns a fifteenth; in the sixth of Edward III. the rates were a fifteenth and a tenth.[82] These distinct grants imply distinct grantors; for it is not to be imagined that the commons intermeddled in those affecting the lords, or the lords in those of the commons. In fact, however, there is abundant proof of their separate existence long before the seventeenth of Edward III., which is the epoch assigned by Carte,[83] or even the sixth of that king, which has been chosen by some other writers. Thus the commons sat at Acton Burnell in the eleventh of Edward I., while the upper house was at Shrewsbury. In the eighth of Edward II. "the commons of England complain to the king and his council, &c."[84] These must surely have been the commons assembled in parliament, for who else could thus have entitled themselves? In the nineteenth of the same king we find several petitions, evidently proceeding from the body of the commons in parliament, and complaining of public grievances.[85] The roll of 1 E. III., though mutilated, is conclusive to show that separate petitions were then presented by the commons, according to the regular usage of subsequent times.[86] And indeed the preamble of 1 E. III., stat. 2, is apparently capable of no other inference. As the knights of shires correspond to the lower nobility of other feudal countries, we have less cause to be surprised that they belonged originally to the same branch of parliament as the barons, than at their subsequent intermixture with men so inferior in station as the citizens and burgesses. It is by no means easy to define the point of time when this distribution was settled; but I think it may be inferred from the rolls of parliament that the houses were divided as they are at present in the eighth, ninth, and nineteenth years of Edward II.[87] This appears, however, beyond doubt in the first of Edward III.[88] Yet in the sixth of the same prince, though the knights and burgesses are expressly mentioned to have consulted together, the former taxed themselves in a smaller rate of subsidy than the latter.[89] The proper business of the House of Commons was to petition for redress of grievances, as much as to provide for the necessities of the crown. In the prudent fiction of English law no wrong is supposed to proceed from the source of right. The throne is fixed upon a pinnacle, which perpetual beams of truth and justice irradiate, though corruption and partiality may occupy the middle region and cast their chill shade upon all below. In his high court of parliament a king of England was to learn where injustice had been unpunished and where right had been delayed. The common courts of law, if they were sufficiently honest, were not sufficiently strong, to redress the subject's injuries where the officers of the crown or the nobles interfered. To parliament he looked as the great remedial court for relief of private as well as public grievances. For this cause it was ordained in the fifth of Edward II. that the king should hold a parliament once, or if necessary, twice every year; "that the pleas which have been thus delayed, and those where the justices have differed, may be brought to a close."[90] And a short act of 4 Edward III., which was not very strictly regarded, provides that a parliament shall be held "every year, or oftener, if need be."[91] By what persons, and under what limitations, this jurisdiction in parliament was exercised will come under our future consideration. [Sidenote: Edward II. Petitions of parliament during his reign.] The efficacy of a king's personal character in so imperfect a state of government was never more strongly exemplified than in the two first Edwards. The father, a little before his death, had humbled his boldest opponents among the nobility; and as for the commons, so far from claiming a right of remonstrating, we have seen cause to doubt whether they were accounted effectual members of the legislature for any purposes but taxation. But in the very second year of the son's reign they granted the twenty-fifth penny of their goods, "upon this condition, that the king should take advice and grant redress upon certain articles wherein they are aggrieved." These were answered at the ensuing parliament, and are entered with the king's respective promises of redress upon the roll. It will be worth while to extract part of this record, that we may see what were the complaints of the commons of England, and their notions of right, in 1309. I have chosen on this as on other occasions to translate very literally, at the expense of some stiffness, and perhaps obscurity, in language. "The good people of the kingdom who are come hither to parliament pray our lord the king that he will, if it please him, have regard to his poor subjects, who are much aggrieved by reason that they are not governed as they should be, especially as to the articles of the Great Charter; and for this, if it please him, they pray remedy. Besides which, they pray their lord the king to hear what has long aggrieved his people, and still does so from day to day, on the part of those who call themselves his officers, and to amend it, if he pleases." The articles, eleven in number, are to the following purport:--1. That the king's purveyors seize great quantities of victuals without payment; 2. That new customs are set on wine, cloth, and other imports; 3. That the current coin is not so good as formerly;[92] 4, 5. That the steward and marshal enlarge their jurisdiction beyond measure, to the oppression of the people; 6. That the commons find none to receive petitions addressed to the council; 7. That the collectors of the king's dues (pernours des prises) in towns and at fairs take more than is lawful; 8. That men are delayed in their civil suits by writs of protection; 9. That felons escape punishment by procuring charters of pardon; 10. That the constables of the king's castles take cognizance of common pleas; 11. That the king's escheators oust men of lands held by good title, under pretence of an inquest of office.[93] These articles display in a short compass the nature of those grievances which existed under almost all the princes of the Plantagenet dynasty, and are spread over the rolls of parliament for more than a century after this time. Edward gave the amplest assurances of putting an end to them all, except in one instance, the augmented customs on imports, to which he answered, rather evasively, that he would take them off till he should perceive whether himself and his people derived advantage from so doing, and act thereupon as he should be advised. Accordingly, the next year, he issued writs to collect these new customs again. But the Lords Ordainers superseded the writs, having entirely abrogated all illegal impositions.[94] It does not appear, however, that, regard had to the times, there was anything very tyrannical in Edward's government. He set tallages sometimes, like his father, on his demesne towns, without assent of parliament.[95] In the nineteenth year of his reign the commons show that, "whereas we and our ancestors have given many tallages to the king's ancestors to obtain the charter of the forest, which charter we have had confirmed by the present king, paying him largely on our part; yet the king's officers of the forest seize on lands, and destroy ditches, and oppress the people, for which they pray remedy, for the sake of God and his father's soul." They complain at the same time of arbitrary imprisonment, against the law of the land.[96] To both these petitions the king returned a promise of redress; and they complete the catalogue of customary grievances in this period of our constitution. During the reign of Edward II. the rolls of parliament are imperfect, and we have not much assistance from other sources. The assent of the commons, which frequently is not specified in the statutes of this age,[97] appears in a remarkable and revolutionary proceeding, the appointment of the Lords Ordainers in 1312.[98] In this case it indicates that the aristocratic party then combined against the crown were desirous of conciliating popularity. An historian relates that some of the commons were consulted upon the ordinances to be made for the reformation of government.[99] [Sidenote: Edward III. The commons establish several rights.] During the long and prosperous reign of Edward III. the efforts of parliament in behalf of their country were rewarded with success in establishing upon a firm footing three essential principles of our government--the illegality of raising money without consent; the necessity that the two houses should concur for any alterations in the law; and, lastly, the right of the commons to inquire into public abuses, and to impeach public counsellors. By exhibiting proofs of each of these from parliamentary records I shall be able to substantiate the progressive improvement of our free constitution, which was principally consolidated during the reigns of Edward III. and his two next successors. Brady, indeed, Carte, and the authors of the Parliamentary History, have trod already over this ground; but none of the three can be considered as familiar to the generality of readers, and I may at least take credit for a sincerer love of liberty than any of their writings display. [Sidenote: Remonstrances against levying money without consent.] In the sixth year of Edward III. a parliament was called to provide for the emergency of an Irish rebellion, wherein, "because the king could not send troops and money to Ireland without the aid of his people, the prelates, earls, barons, and other great men, and the knights of shires, and all the commons, of their free will, for the said purpose, and also in order that the king might live of his own, and not vex his people by excessive prises, nor in other manner, grant to him the fifteenth penny, to levy of the commons,[100] and the tenth from the cities, towns, and royal demesnes. And the king, at the request of the same, in ease of his people, grants that the commissions lately made to certain persons assigned to set tallages on cities, towns, and demesnes throughout England shall be immediately repealed; and that in time to come he will not set such tallage, except as it has been done in the time of his ancestors, and as he may reasonably do."[101] These concluding words are of dangerous implication; and certainly it was not the intention of Edward, inferior to none of his predecessors in the love of power, to divest himself of that eminent prerogative, which, however illegally since the Confirmatio Chartarum, had been exercised by them all. But the parliament took no notice of this reservation, and continued with unshaken perseverance to insist on this incontestable and fundamental right, which he was prone enough to violate. In the thirteenth year of this reign the lords gave their answer to commissioners sent to open the parliament, and to treat with them on the king's part, in a sealed roll. This contained a grant of the tenth sheaf, fleece, and lamb. But before they gave it they took care to have letters patent showed them, by which the commissioners had power "to grant some graces to the great and small of the kingdom." "And the said lords," the roll proceeds to say, "will that the imposition (maletoste) which now again has been levied upon wool be entirely abolished, that the old customary duty be kept, and that they may have it by charter, and by enrolment in parliament, that such custom be never more levied, and that this grant now made to the king, or any other made in time past, shall not turn hereafter to their charge, nor be drawn into precedent." The commons, who gave their answer in a separate roll, declared that they could grant no subsidy without consulting their constituents; and therefore begged that another parliament might be summoned, and in the mean time they would endeavour, by using persuasion with the people of their respective counties, to procure the grant of a reasonable aid in the next parliament.[102] They demanded also that the imposition on wool and lead should be taken as it used to be in former times, "inasmuch as it is enhanced without assent of the commons, or of the lords, as we understand; and if it be otherwise demanded, that any one of the commons may refuse it (le puisse arester), without being troubled on that account (saunz estre chalangé.)"[103] Wool, however, the staple export of that age, was too easy and tempting a prey to be relinquished by a prince engaged in an impoverishing war. Seven years afterwards, in 20 E. III., we find the commons praying that the great subsidy of forty shillings upon the sack of wool be taken off; and the old custom paid as heretofore was assented to and granted. The government spoke this time in a more authoritative tone. "As to this point," the answer runs, "the prelates and others, seeing in what need the king stood of an aid before his passage beyond sea, to recover his rights and defend his kingdom of England, consented, with the concurrence of the merchants, that he should have in aid of his said war, and in defence of his said kingdom, forty shillings of subsidy for each sack of wool that should be exported beyond sea for two years to come. And upon this grant divers merchants have made many advances to our lord the king in aid of his war; for which cause this subsidy cannot be repealed without assent of the king and his lords."[104] It is probable that Edward's counsellors wished to establish a distinction, long afterwards revived by those of James I., between customs levied on merchandise at the ports and internal taxes. The statute entitled Confirmatio Chartarum had manifestly taken away the prerogative of imposing the latter, which, indeed, had never extended beyond the tenants of the royal demesne. But its language was not quite so explicit as to the former, although no reasonable doubt could be entertained that the intention of the legislature was to abrogate every species of imposition unauthorized by parliament. The thirtieth section of Magna Charta had provided that foreign merchants should be free from all tributes, except the ancient customs; and it was strange to suppose that natives were excluded from the benefit of that enactment. Yet, owing to the ambiguous and elliptical style so frequent in our older laws, this was open to dispute, and could, perhaps, only be explained by usage. Edward I., in despite of both these statutes, had set a duty of threepence in the pound upon goods imported by merchant strangers. This imposition was noticed as a grievance in the third year of his successor, and repealed by the Lords Ordainers. It was revived, however, by Edward III., and continued to be levied ever afterwards.[105] Edward was led by the necessities of his unjust and expensive war into another arbitrary encroachment, of which we find as many complaints as of his pecuniary extortions. The commons pray, in the same parliament of 20 E. III., that commissions should not issue for the future out of chancery to charge the people with providing men-at-arms, hobelers (or light cavalry), archers, victuals, or in any other manner, without consent of parliament. It is replied to this petition, that "it is notorious how in many parliaments the lords and commons had promised to aid the king in his quarrel with their bodies and goods as far as was in their power; wherefore the said lords, seeing the necessity in which the king stood of having aid of men-at-arms, hobelers, and archers, before his passage to recover his rights beyond sea, and to defend his realm of England, ordained that such as had five pounds a year, or more, in land on this side of Trent should furnish men-at-arms, hobelers, and archers, according to the proportion of the land they held, to attend the king at his cost; and some who would neither go themselves nor find others in their stead were willing to give the king wherewithal he might provide himself with some in their place. And thus the thing has been done, and no otherwise. And the king wills that henceforth what has been thus done in this necessity be not drawn into consequence or example."[106] The commons were not abashed by these arbitrary pretensions; they knew that by incessant remonstrances they should gain at least one essential point, that of preventing the crown from claiming these usurpations as uncontested prerogatives. The roll of parliament in the next two years, the 21st and 22nd of Edw. III., is full of the same complaints on one side, and the same allegations of necessity on the other.[107] In the latter year the commons grant a subsidy, on condition that no illegal levying of money should take place, with several other remedial provisions; "and that these conditions should be entered on the roll of parliament, as a matter of record, by which they may have remedy, if anything should be attempted to the contrary in time to come." From this year the complaints of extortion become rather less frequent; and soon afterwards a statute was passed, "That no man shall be constrained to find men-at-arms, hobelers, nor archers, other than those which hold by such services, if it be not by common assent and grant made in parliament."[108] Yet, even in the last year of Edward's reign, when the boundaries of prerogative and the rights of parliament were better ascertained, the king lays a sort of claim to impose charges upon his subjects in cases of great necessity, and for the defence of his kingdom.[109] But this more humble language indicates a change in the spirit of government, which, after long fretting impatiently at the curb, began at length to acknowledge the controlling hand of law. These are the chief instances of a struggle between the crown and commons as to arbitrary taxation; but there are two remarkable proceedings in the 45th and 46th of Edward, which, though they would not have been endured in later times, are rather anomalies arising out of the unsettled state of the constitution and the recency of parliamentary rights than mere encroachments of the prerogative. In the former year parliament had granted a subsidy of fifty thousand pounds, to be collected by an assessment of twenty-two shillings and threepence upon every parish, on a presumption that the parishes in England amounted to forty-five thousand, whereas they were hardly a fifth of that number. This amazing mistake was not discovered till the parliament had been dissolved. Upon its detection the king summoned a great council, consisting of one knight, citizen, and burgess, named by himself out of two that had been returned to the last parliament.[110] To this assembly the chancellor set forth the deficiency of the last subsidy, and proved by the certificates of all the bishops in England how strangely the parliament had miscalculated the number of parishes; whereupon they increased the parochial assessment, by their own authority, to one hundred and sixteen shillings.[111] It is obvious that the main intention of parliament was carried into effect by this irregularity, which seems to have been the subject of no complaint. In the next parliament a still more objectionable measure was resorted to; after the petitions of the commons had been answered, and the knights dismissed, the citizens and burgesses were convened before the prince of Wales and the lords in a room near the white chamber, and solicited to renew their subsidy of forty shillings upon the tun of wine, and sixpence in the pound upon other imports, for safe convoy of shipping, during one year more, to which they assented, "and so departed."[112] [Sidenote: The concurrence of both houses in legislation necessary.] The second constitutional principle established in the reign of Edward III. was that the king and two houses of parliament, in conjunction, possessed exclusively the right of legislation. Laws were now declared to be made by the king at the request of the commons, and by the assent of the lords and prelates. Such at least was the general form, though for many subsequent ages there was no invariable regularity in this respect. The commons, who till this reign were rarely mentioned, were now as rarely omitted in the enacting clause. In fact, it is evident from the rolls of parliament that statutes were almost always founded upon their petition.[113] These petitions, with the respective answers made to them in the king's name, were drawn up after the end of the session in the form of laws, and entered upon the statute-roll. But here it must be remarked that the petitions were often extremely qualified and altered by the answer, insomuch that many statutes of this and some later reigns by no means express the true sense of the commons. Sometimes they contented themselves with showing their grievance, and praying remedy from the king and his council. Of this one eminent instance is the great statute of treasons. In the petition whereon this act is founded it is merely prayed that, "whereas the king's justices in different counties adjudge persons indicted before them to be traitors for sundry matters not known by the commons to be treason, it would please the king by his council, and by the great and wise men of the land, to declare what are treasons in this present parliament." The answer to this petition contains the existing statute, as a declaration on the king's part.[114] But there is no appearance that it received the direct assent of the lower house. In the next reigns we shall find more remarkable instances of assuming a consent which was never positively given. [Sidenote: Statutes distinguished from ordinances.] The statute of treasons, however, was supposed to be declaratory of the ancient law: in permanent and material innovations a more direct concurrence of all the estates was probably required. A new statute, to be perpetually incorporated with the law of England, was regarded as no light matter. It was a very common answer to a petition of the commons, in the early part of this reign, that it could not be granted without making a new law. After the parliament of 14 E. III. a certain number of prelates, barons, and counsellors, with twelve knights and six burgesses, were appointed to sit from day to day in order to turn such petitions and answers as were fit to be perpetual into a statute; but for such as were of a temporary nature the king issued his letters patent.[115] This reluctance to innovate without necessity, and to swell the number of laws which all were bound to know and obey with an accumulation of transitory enactments, led apparently to the distinction between statutes and ordinances. The latter are indeed defined by some lawyers to be regulations proceeding from the king and lords without concurrence of the commons. But if this be applicable to some ordinances, it is certain that the word, even when opposed to statute, with which it is often synonymous, sometimes denotes an act of the whole legislature. In the 37th of Edward III., when divers sumptuary regulations against excess of apparel were made in full parliament, "it was demanded of the lords and commons, inasmuch as the matter of their petitions was novel and unheard of before, whether they would have them granted by way of ordinance or of statute. They answered that it would be best to have them by way of ordinance and not of statute, in order that anything which should need amendment might be amended at the next parliament."[116] So much scruple did they entertain about tampering with the statute law of the land. Ordinances which, if it were not for their partial or temporary operation, could not well be distinguished from laws,[117] were often established in great councils. These assemblies, which frequently occurred in Edward's reign, were hardly distinguishable, except in name, from parliaments; being constituted not only of those who were regularly summoned to the house of lords, but of deputies from counties, cities, and boroughs. Several places that never returned burgesses to parliament have sent deputies to some of these councils.[118] The most remarkable of these was that held in the 27th of Edward III., consisting of one knight for each county, and of two citizens or burgesses from every city or borough wherein the ordinances of the staple were established.[119] These were previously agreed upon by the king and lords, and copies given, one to the knights, another to the burgesses. The roll tells us that they gave their opinion in writing to the council, after much deliberation, and that this was read and discussed by the great men. These ordinances fix the staple of wool in particular places within England, prohibit English merchants from exporting that article under pain of death, inflict sundry other penalties, create jurisdictions, and in short have the effect of a new and important law. After they were passed the deputies of the commons granted a subsidy for three years, complained of grievances, and received answers, as if in a regular parliament. But they were aware that these proceedings partook of some irregularity, and endeavoured, as was their constant method, to keep up the legal forms of the constitution. In the last petition of this council the commons pray, "because many articles touching the state of the king and common profit of his kingdom have been agreed by him, the prelates, lords, and commons of his land, at this council, that the said articles may be recited at the next parliament, and entered upon the roll; for this cause, that ordinances and agreements made in council are not of record, as if they had been made in a general parliament." This accordingly was done at the ensuing parliament, when these ordinances were expressly confirmed, and directed to be "holden for a statute to endure always."[120] It must be confessed that the distinction between ordinances and statutes is very obscure, and perhaps no precise and uniform principle can be laid down about it. But it sufficiently appears that whatever provisions altered the common law or any former statute, and were entered upon the statute-roll, transmitted to the sheriffs, and promulgated to the people as general obligatory enactments, were holden to require the positive assent of both houses of parliament, duly and formally summoned. Before we leave this subject it will be proper to take notice of a remarkable stretch of prerogative, which, if drawn into precedent, would have effectually subverted this principle of parliamentary consent in legislation. In the 15th of Edward III. petitions were presented of a bolder and more innovating cast than was acceptable to the court:--That no peer should be put to answer for any trespass except before his peers; that commissioners should be assigned to examine the accounts of such as had received public moneys; that the judges and ministers should be sworn to observe the Great Charter and other laws; and that they should be appointed in parliament. The last of these was probably the most obnoxious; but the king, unwilling to defer a supply which was granted merely upon condition that these petitions should prevail, suffered them to pass into a statute with an alteration which did not take off much from their efficacy--namely, that these officers should indeed be appointed by the king with the advice of his council, but should surrender their charges at the next parliament, and be there responsible to any who should have cause of complaint against them. The chancellor, treasurer, and judges entered their protestation that they had not assented to the said statutes, nor could they observe them, in case they should prove contrary to the laws and customs of the kingdom, which they were sworn to maintain.[121] This is the first instance of a protest on the roll of parliament against the passing of an act. Nevertheless they were compelled to swear on the cross of Canterbury to its observance.[122] This excellent statute was attempted too early for complete success. Edward's ministers plainly saw that it left them at the mercy of future parliaments, who would readily learn the wholesome and constitutional principle of sparing the sovereign while they punished his advisers. They had recourse therefore to a violent measure, but which was likely in those times to be endured. By a proclamation addressed to all the sheriffs the king revokes and annuls the statute, as contrary to the laws and customs of England and to his own just rights and prerogatives, which he had sworn to preserve; declaring that he had never consented to its passing, but, having previously protested that he would revoke it, lest the parliament should have been separated in wrath, had dissembled, as was his duty, and permitted the great seal to be affixed; and that it appeared to the earls, barons, and other learned persons of his kingdom with whom he had consulted, that, as the said statute had not proceeded from his own good will, it was null, and could not have the name or force of law.[123] This revocation of a statute, as the price of which a subsidy had been granted, was a gross infringement of law, and undoubtedly passed for such at that time; for the right was already clear, though the remedy was not always attainable. Two years afterwards Edward met his parliament, when that obnoxious statute was formally repealed.[124] [Sidenote: Advice of parliament required on matters of war and peace.] Notwithstanding the king's unwillingness to permit this control of parliament over his administration, he suffered, or rather solicited, their interference in matters which have since been reckoned the exclusive province of the crown. This was an unfair trick of his policy. He was desirous, in order to prevent any murmuring about subsidies, to throw the war upon parliament as their own act, though none could have been commenced more selfishly for his own benefit, or less for the advantage of the people of England. It is called "the war which our lord the king has undertaken against his adversary of France by common assent of all the lords and commons of his realm in divers parliaments."[125] And he several times referred it to them to advise upon the subject of peace. But the commons showed their humility or discretion by treating this as an invitation which it would show good manners to decline, though in the eighteenth of the king's reign they had joined with the lords in imploring the king to make an end of the war by a battle or by a suitable peace.[126] "Most dreaded lord," they say upon one occasion, "as to your war, and the equipment necessary for it, we are so ignorant and simple that we know not how, nor have the power, to devise; wherefore we pray your grace to excuse us in this matter, and that it please you, with advice of the great and wise persons of your council, to ordain what seems best to you for the honour and profit of yourself and your kingdom; and whatever shall be thus ordained by assent and agreement for you and your lords we readily assent to, and will hold it firmly established."[127] At another time, after their petitions had been answered, "it was shewed to the lords and commons by Bartholomew de Burghersh, the king's chamberlain, how a treaty had been set on foot between the king and his adversary of France; and how he had good hope of a final and agreeable issue with God's help; to which he would not come without assent of the lords and commons. Wherefore the said chamberlain inquired on the king's part of the said lords and commons whether they would assent and agree to the peace, in case it might be had by treaty between the parties. To which the said commons with one voice replied, that whatever end it should please the king and lords to make of the treaty would be agreeable to them. On which answer the chamberlain said to the commons, Then you will assent to a perpetual treaty of peace if it can be had. And the said commons answered at once and unanimously, Yes, yes."[128] The lords were not so diffident. Their great station as hereditary councillors gave them weight in all deliberations of government; and they seem to have pretended to a negative voice in the question of peace. At least they answer, upon the proposals made by David king of Scots in 1368, which were submitted to them in parliament, that, "saving to the said David and his heirs the articles contained therein, they saw no way of making a treaty which would not openly turn to the disherison of the king and his heirs, to which they would on no account assent; and so departed for that day."[129] A few years before they had made a similar answer to some other propositions from Scotland.[130] It is not improbable that, in both these cases, they acted with the concurrence and at the instigation of the king; but the precedents, might have been remembered in other circumstances. [Sidenote: Right of the commons to inquire into public abuses.] A third important acquisition of the house of commons during this reign was the establishment of their right to investigate and chastise the abuses of administration. In the fourteenth of Edward III. a committee of the lords' house had been appointed to examine the accounts of persons responsible for the receipt of the last subsidy; but it does not appear that the commons were concerned in this.[131] The unfortunate statute of the next year contained a similar provision, which was annulled with the rest. Many years elapsed before the commons tried the force of their vindictive arm. We must pass onward an entire generation of man, and look at the parliament assembled in the fiftieth of Edward III. Nothing memorable as to the interference of the commons in government occurs before, unless it be their request, in the forty-fifth of the king, that no clergyman should be made chancellor, treasurer, or other great officer; to which the king answered that he would do what best pleased his council.[132] [Sidenote: Parliament of 50 E. III.] It will be remembered by every one who has read our history that in the latter years of Edward's life his fame was tarnished by the ascendancy of the duke of Lancaster and Alice Perrers. The former, a man of more ambition than his capacity seems to have warranted, even incurred the suspicion of meditating to set aside the heir of the crown when the Black Prince should have sunk into the grave. Whether he were wronged or not by these conjectures, they certainly appear to have operated on those most concerned to take alarm at them. A parliament met in April, 1376, wherein the general unpopularity of the king's administration, or the influence of the prince of Wales, led to very remarkable consequences.[133] After granting a subsidy, the commons, "considering the evils of the country, through so many wars and other causes, and that the officers now in the king's service are insufficient without further assistance for so great a charge, pray that the council be strengthened by the addition of ten or twelve bishops, lords, and others, to be constantly at hand, so that no business of weight should be despatched without the consent of all; nor smaller matters without that of four or six."[134] The king pretended to come with alacrity into this measure, which was followed by a strict restraint on them and all other officers from taking presents in the course of their duty. After this, "the said commons appeared in parliament, protesting that they had the same good will as ever to assist the king with their lives and fortunes; but that it seemed to them, if their said liege lord had always possessed about him faithful counsellors and good officers, he would have been so rich that he would have had no need of charging his commons with subsidy or tallage, considering the great ransoms of the French and Scotch kings, and of so many other prisoners; and that it appeared to be for the private advantage of some near the king, and of others by their collusion, that the king and kingdom are so impoverished, and the commons so ruined. And they promised the king that, if he would do speedy justice on such as should be found guilty, and take from them what law and reason permit, with what had been already granted in parliament, they will engage that he should be rich enough to maintain his wars for a long time, without much charging his people in any manner." They next proceeded to allege three particular grievances; the removal of the staple from Calais, where it had been fixed by parliament, through the procurement and advice of the said private counsellors about the king; the participation of the same persons in lending money to the king at exorbitant usury; and their purchasing at a low rate, for their own benefit, old debts from the crown, the whole of which they had afterwards induced the king to repay to themselves. For these and for many more misdemeanours the commons accused and impeached the lords Latimer and Nevil, with four merchants, Lyons, Ellis, Peachey, and Bury.[135] Latimer had been chamberlain, and Nevil held another office. The former was the friend and creature of the duke of Lancaster. Nor was this parliament at all nice in touching a point where kings least endure their interference. An ordinance was made, that, "whereas many women prosecute the suits of others in courts of justice by way of maintenance, and to get profit thereby, which is displeasing to the king, he forbids any woman henceforward, and especially Alice Perrers, to do so, on pain of the said Alice forfeiting all her goods, and suffering banishment from the kingdom."[136] The part which the prince of Wales, who had ever been distinguished for his respectful demeanour towards Edward, bore in this unprecedented opposition, is strong evidence of the jealousy with which he regarded the duke of Lancaster; and it was led in the house of commons by Peter de la Mare, a servant of the earl of March, who, by his marriage with Philippa, heiress of Lionel duke of Clarence, stood next after the young prince Richard in lineal succession to the crown. The proceedings of this session were indeed highly popular. But no house of commons would have gone such lengths on the mere support of popular opinion, unless instigated and encouraged by higher authority. Without this their petitions might perhaps have obtained, for the sake of subsidy, an immediate consent; but those who took the lead in preparing them must have remained unsheltered after a dissolution, to abide the vengeance of the crown, with no assurance that another parliament would espouse their cause as its own. Such, indeed, was their fate in the present instance. Soon after the dissolution of parliament, the prince of Wales, who, long sinking by fatal decay, had rallied his expiring energies for this domestic combat, left his inheritance to a child ten years old, Richard of Bordeaux. Immediately after this event Lancaster recovered his influence; and the former favourites returned to court. Peter de la Mare was confined at Nottingham, where he remained two years. The citizens indeed attempted an insurrection, and threatened to burn the Savoy, Lancaster's residence, if de la Mare was not released; but the bishop of London succeeded in appeasing them.[137] A parliament met next year which overthrew the work of its predecessor, restored those who had been impeached, and repealed the ordinance against Alice Perrers.[138] So little security will popular assemblies ever afford against arbitrary power, when deprived of regular leaders and the consciousness of mutual fidelity. The policy adopted by the prince of Wales and earl of March, in employing the house of commons as an engine of attack against an obnoxious ministry, was perfectly novel, and indicates a sensible change in the character of our constitution. In the reign of Edward II. parliament had little share in resisting the government; much more was effected by the barons through risings of their feudal tenantry. Fifty years of authority better respected, of law better enforced, had rendered these more perilous, and of a more violent appearance than formerly. A surer resource presented itself in the increased weight of the lower house in parliament. And this indirect aristocratical influence gave a surprising impulse to that assembly, and particularly tended to establish beyond question its control over public abuses. It is no less just to remark that it also tended to preserve the relation and harmony between each part and the other, and to prevent that jarring of emulation and jealousy which, though generally found in the division of power between a noble and a popular estate, has scarcely ever caused a dissension, except in cases of little moment, between our two houses of parliament. [Sidenote: Richard II. Great increase of the power of the commons.] The commons had sustained with equal firmness and discretion a defensive war against arbitrary power under Edward III.: they advanced with very different steps towards his successor. Upon the king's death, though Richard's coronation took place without delay, and no proper regency was constituted, yet a council of twelve, whom the great officers of state were to obey, supplied its place to every effectual intent. Among these the duke of Lancaster was not numbered; and he retired from court in some disgust. In the first parliament of the young king a large proportion of the knights who had sat in that which impeached the Lancastrian party were returned.[139] Peter de la Mare, now released from prison, was elected speaker; a dignity which, according to some, he had filled in the Good Parliament, as that of the fiftieth of Edward III. was popularly styled; though the rolls do not mention either him or any other as bearing that honourable name before Sir Thomas Hungerford in the parliament of the following year.[140] The prosecution against Alice Perrers was now revived; not, as far as appears, by direct impeachment of the commons; but articles were exhibited against her in the house of lords on the king's part, for breaking the ordinance made against her intermeddling at court: upon which she received judgment of banishment and forfeiture.[141] At the request of the lower house, the lords, in the king's name, appointed nine persons of different ranks--three bishops, two earls, two bannerets, and two bachelors--to be a permanent council about the king, so that no business of importance should be transacted without their unanimous consent. The king was even compelled to consent that, during his minority, the chancellor, treasurer, judges, and other chief officers, should be made in parliament; by which provision, combined with that of the parliamentary council, the whole executive government was transferred to the two houses. A petition that none might be employed in the king's service, nor belong to his council, who had been formerly accused upon good grounds, struck at lord Latimer, who had retained some degree of power in the new establishment. Another, suggesting that Gascony, Ireland, Artois, and the Scottish marches were in danger of being lost for want of good officers, though it was so generally worded as to leave the means of remedy to the king's pleasure, yet shows a growing energy and self-confidence in that assembly which not many years before had thought the question of peace or war too high for their deliberation. Their subsidy was sufficiently liberal; but they took care to pray the king that fit persons might be assigned for its receipt and disbursement, lest it should any way be diverted from the purposes of the war. Accordingly Walworth and Philpot, two eminent citizens of London, were appointed to this office, and sworn in parliament to its execution.[142] But whether through the wastefulness of government, or rather because Edward's legacy, the French war, like a ruinous and interminable lawsuit, exhausted all public contributions, there was an equally craving demand for subsidy at the next meeting of parliament. The commons now made a more serious stand. The speaker, Sir James Pickering, after the protestation against giving offence which has since become more matter of form than, perhaps, it was then considered, reminded the lords of the council of a promise made to the last parliament, that, if they would help the king for once with a large subsidy, so as to enable him to undertake an expedition against the enemy, he trusted not to call on them again, but to support the war from his own revenues; in faith of which promise there had been granted the largest sum that any king of England had ever been suffered to levy within so short a time, to the utmost loss and inconvenience of the commons, part of which ought still to remain in the treasury, and render it unnecessary to burthen anew the exhausted people. To this Scrope, lord steward of the household, protesting that he knew not of any such promise, made answer by order of the king, that, "saving the honour and reverence of our lord the king, and the lords there present, the commons did not speak truth in asserting that part of the last subsidy should be still in the treasury; it being notorious that every penny had gone into the hands of Walworth and Philpot, appointed and sworn treasurers in the last parliament, to receive and expend it upon the purposes of the war, for which they had in effect disbursed the whole." Not satisfied with this general justification, the commons pressed for an account of the expenditure. Scrope was again commissioned to answer, that, "though it had never been seen that of a subsidy or other grant made to the king in parliament or out of parliament by the commons any account had afterwards been rendered to the commons, or to any other except the king and his officers, yet the king, to gratify them, of his own accord, without doing it by way of right, would have Walworth along with certain persons of the council exhibit to them in writing a clear account of the receipt and expenditure, upon condition that this should never be used as a precedent, nor inferred to be done otherwise than by the king's spontaneous command." The commons were again urged to provide for the public defence, being their own concern as much as that of the king. But they merely shifted their ground and had recourse to other pretences. They requested that five or six peers might come to them, in order to discuss this question of subsidy. The lords entirely rejected this proposal, and affirmed that such a proceeding had never been known except in the three last parliaments; but allowed that it had been the course to elect a committee of eight or ten from each house, to confer easily and without noise together. The commons acceded to this, and a committee of conference was appointed, though no result of their discussion appears upon the roll. Upon examining the accounts submitted to them, these sturdy commoners raised a new objection. It appeared that large sums had been expended upon garrisons in France and Ireland and other places beyond the kingdom, of which they protested themselves not liable to bear the charge. It was answered that Gascony and the king's other dominions beyond sea were the outworks of England, nor could the people ever be secure from war at their thresholds, unless these were maintained. They lastly insisted that the king ought to be rich through the wealth that had devolved on him from his grandfather. But this was affirmed, in reply, to be merely sufficient for the payment of Edward's creditors. Thus driven from all their arguments, the commons finally consented to a moderate additional imposition upon the export of wool and leather, which were already subject to considerable duties, apologizing on account of their poverty for the slenderness of their grant.[143] The necessities of government, however, let their cause be what it might, were by no means feigned; and a new parliament was assembled about seven months after the last, wherein the king, without waiting for a petition, informed the commons that the treasurers were ready to exhibit their accounts before them. This was a signal victory after the reluctant and ungracious concession made to the last parliament. Nine persons of different ranks were appointed at the request of the commons to investigate the state of the revenue and the disposition which had been made of the late king's personal estate. They ended by granting a poll-tax, which they pretended to think adequate to the supply required.[144] But in those times no one possessed any statistical knowledge, and every calculation which required it was subject to enormous error, of which we have already seen an eminent example.[145] In the next parliament (3 Ric. II.) it was set forth that only 22,000_l._ had been collected by the poll-tax, while the pay of the king's troops hired for the expedition to Britany, the pretext of the grant, had amounted for but half a year to 50,000_l._ The king, in short, was more straitened than ever. His distresses gave no small advantage to the commons. Their speaker was instructed to declare that, as it appeared to them, if the affairs of their liege lord had been properly conducted at home and abroad, he could not have wanted aid of his commons, who now are poorer than before. They pray that, as the king was so much advanced in age and discretion, his perpetual council (appointed in his first parliament) might be discharged of their labours, and that, instead of them, the five chief officers of state, to wit, the chancellor, treasurer, keeper of the privy seal, chamberlain, and steward of the household, might be named in parliament, and declared to the commons, as the king's sole counsellors, not removable before the next parliament. They required also a general commission to be made out, similar to that in the last session, giving powers to a certain number of peers and other distinguished persons to inquire into the state of the household, as well as into all receipts and expenses since the king's accession. The former petition seems to have been passed over;[146] but a commission as requested was made out to three prelates, three earls, three bannerets, three knights, and three citizens.[147] After guarding thus, as they conceived, against malversation, but in effect rather protecting their posterity than themselves, the commons prolonged the last imposition on wool and leather for another year. It would be but repetition to make extracts from the rolls of the two next years; we have still the same tale--demand of subsidy on one side, remonstrance and endeavours at reformation on the other. After the tremendous insurrection of the villeins in 1382 a parliament was convened to advise about repealing the charters of general manumission, extorted from the king by the pressure of circumstances. In this measure all concurred; but the commons were not afraid to say that the late risings had been provoked by the burthens which a prodigal court had called for in the preceding session. Their language is unusually bold. "It seemed to them, after full deliberation," they said, "that, unless the administration of the kingdom were speedily reformed, the kingdom itself would be utterly lost and ruined for ever, and therein their lord the king, with all the peers and commons, which God forbid. For true it is that there are such defects in the said administration, as well about the king's person and his household as in his courts of justice; and by grievous oppressions in the country through maintainers of suits, who are, as it were, kings in the country, that right and law are come to nothing, and the poor commons are from time to time so pillaged and ruined; partly by the king's purveyors of the household, and others who pay nothing for what they take, partly by the subsidies and tallages raised upon them, and besides by the oppressive behaviour of the servants of the king and other lords, and especially of the aforesaid maintainers of suits, that they are reduced to greater poverty and discomfort than ever they were before. And moreover, though great sums have been continually granted by and levied upon them, for the defence of the kingdom, yet they are not the better defended against their enemies, but every year are plundered and wasted by sea and land, without any relief. Which calamities the said poor commons, who lately used to live in honour and prosperity, can no longer endure. And to speak the real truth, these injuries lately done to the poorer commons, more than they ever suffered before, caused them to rise and to commit the mischief done in their late riot; and there is still cause to fear greater evils, if sufficient remedy be not timely provided against the outrages and oppressions aforesaid. Wherefore may it please our lord the king, and the noble peers of the realm now assembled in this parliament, to provide such remedy and amendment as to the said administration, that the state and dignity of the king in the first place, and of the lords, may be preserved, as the commons have always desired, and the commons may be put in peace; removing, as soon as they can be detected, evil ministers and counsellors, and putting in their stead the best and most sufficient, and taking away all the bad practices which have led to the last rising, or else none can imagine that this kingdom can longer subsist without greater misfortunes than it ever endured. And for God's sake let it not be forgotten that there be put about the king, and of his council, the best lords and knights that can be found in the kingdom. "And be it known (the entry proceeds) that, after the king our lord with the peers of the realm and his council had taken advice upon these requests made to him for his good and his kingdom's as it really appeared to him, willed and granted that certain bishops, lords, and others should be appointed to survey and examine in privy council both the government of the king's person and of his household, and to suggest proper remedies wherever necessary, and report them to the king. And it was said by the peers in parliament, that, as it seemed to them, if reform of government were to take place throughout the kingdom, it should begin by the chief member, which is the king himself, and so from person to person, as well churchmen as others, and place to place, from higher to lower, without sparing any degree."[148] A considerable number of commissioners were accordingly appointed, whether by the king alone, or in parliament, does not appear; the latter, however, is more probable. They seem to have made some progress in the work of reformation, for we find that the officers of the household were sworn to observe their regulations. But in all likelihood these were soon neglected. It is not wonderful that, with such feelings of resentment towards the crown, the commons were backward in granting subsidies. Perhaps the king would not have obtained one at all if he had not withheld his charter of pardon for all offences committed during the insurrection. This was absolutely necessary to restore quiet among the people; and though the members of the commons had certainly not been insurgents, yet inevitable irregularities had occurred in quelling the tumults, which would have put them too much in the power of those unworthy men who filled the benches of justice under Richard. The king declared that it was unusual to grant a pardon without a subsidy; the commons still answered that they would consider about that matter; and the king instantly rejoined that he would consider about his pardon (s'aviseroit de sa dite grace) till they had done what they ought. They renewed, at length the usual tax on wool and leather.[149] This extraordinary assumption of power by the commons was not merely owing to the king's poverty. It was encouraged by the natural feebleness of a disunited government. The high rank and ambitious spirit of Lancaster gave him no little influence, though contending with many enemies at court as well as the ill-will of the people. Thomas of Woodstock, the king's youngest uncle, more able and turbulent than Lancaster, became, as he grew older, an eager competitor for power, which he sought through the channel of popularity. The earls of March, Arundel, and Warwick bore a considerable part, and were the favourites of parliament. Even Lancaster, after a few years, seems to have fallen into popular courses, and recovered some share of public esteem. He was at the head of the reforming commission in the fifth of Richard II., though he had been studiously excluded from those preceding. We cannot hope to disentangle the intrigues of this remote age, as to which our records are of no service, and the chroniclers are very slightly informed. So far as we may conjecture, Lancaster, finding his station insecure at court, began to solicit the favour of the commons, whose hatred of the administration abated their former hostility towards him.[150] [Sidenote: Character of Richard.] The character of Richard II. was now developing itself, and the hopes excited by his remarkable presence of mind in confronting the rioters on Blackheath were rapidly destroyed. Not that he was wanting in capacity, as has been sometimes imagined. For if we measure intellectual power by the greatest exertion it ever displays, rather than by its average results, Richard II. was a man of considerable talents. He possessed, along with much dissimulation, a decisive promptitude in seizing the critical moment for action. Of this quality, besides his celebrated behaviour towards the insurgents, he gave striking evidence in several circumstances which we shall have shortly to notice. But his ordinary conduct belied the abilities which on these rare occasions shone forth, and rendered them ineffectual for his security. Extreme pride and violence, with an inordinate partiality for the most worthless favourites, were his predominant characteristics. In the latter quality, and in the events of his reign, he forms a pretty exact parallel to Edward II. Scrope, lord chancellor, who had been appointed in parliament, and was understood to be irremovable without its concurrence, lost the great seal for refusing to set it to some prodigal grants. Upon a slight quarrel with archbishop Courtney the king ordered his temporalities to be seized, the execution of which, Michael de la Pole, his new chancellor, and a favourite of his own, could hardly prevent. This was accompanied with indecent and outrageous expressions of anger, unworthy of his station and of those whom he insulted.[151] [Sidenote: He acquires more power on his majority.] Though no king could be less respectable than Richard, yet the constitution invested a sovereign with such ample prerogative, that it was far less easy to resist his personal exercise of power than the unsettled councils of a minority. In the parliament 6 R. II., sess. 2, the commons pray certain lords, whom they name, to be assigned as their advisers. This had been permitted in the two last sessions without exception.[152] But the king, in granting their request, reserved his right of naming any others.[153] Though the commons did not relax in their importunities for the redress of general grievances, they did not venture to intermeddle as before with the conduct of administration. They did not even object to the grant of the marquisate of Dublin, with almost a princely dominion over Ireland; which enormous donation was confirmed by act of parliament to Vere, a favourite of the king.[154] A petition that the officers of state should annually visit and inquire into his household was answered that the king would do what he pleased.[155] Yet this was little in comparison of their former proceedings. [Sidenote: Proceedings of parliament in the tenth of Richard.] There is nothing, however, more deceitful to a monarch, unsupported by an armed force, and destitute of wary advisers, than this submission of his people. A single effort was enough to overturn his government. Parliament met in the tenth year of his reign, steadily determined to reform the administration, and especially to punish its chief leader, Michael de la Pole, earl of Suffolk and lord chancellor. According to the remarkable narration of a contemporary historian,[156] too circumstantial to be rejected, but rendered somewhat doubtful by the silence of all other writers and of the parliamentary roll, the king was loitering at his palace at Eltham when he received a message from the two houses, requesting the dismissal of Suffolk, since they had matter to allege against him that they could not move while he kept the office of chancellor. Richard, with his usual intemperance, answered that he would not for their request remove the meanest scullion from his kitchen. They returned a positive refusal to proceed on any public business until the king should appear personally in parliament and displace the chancellor. The king required forty knights to be deputed from the rest to inform him clearly of their wishes. But the commons declined a proposal in which they feared, or affected to fear, some treachery. At length the duke of Gloucester and Arundel bishop of Ely were commissioned to speak the sense of parliament; and they delivered it, if we may still believe what we read, in very extraordinary language, asserting that there was an ancient statute, according to which, if the king absented himself from parliament without just cause during forty days, which he had now exceeded, every man might return without permission to his own country; and, moreover, there was another statute, and (as they might more truly say) a precedent of no remote date, that if a king, by bad counsel, or his own folly and obstinacy, alienated himself from his people, and would not govern according to the laws of the land and the advice of the peers, but madly and wantonly followed his own single will, it should be lawful for them, with the common assent of the people, to expel him from his throne, and elevate to it some near kinsman of the royal blood. By this discourse the king was induced to meet his parliament, where Suffolk was removed from his office, and the impeachment against him commenced.[157] [Sidenote: Impeachment of Suffolk.] The charges against this minister, without being wholly frivolous, were not so weighty as the clamour of the commons might have led us to expect. Besides forfeiting all his grants from the crown, he was committed to prison, there to remain till he should have paid such fine as the king might impose; a sentence that would have been outrageously severe in many cases, though little more than nugatory in the present.[158] [Sidenote: Commission of reform.] This was the second precedent of that grand constitutional resource, parliamentary impeachment: and more remarkable from the eminence of the person attacked than that of lord Latimer in the fiftieth year of Edward III.[159] The commons were content to waive the prosecution of any other ministers; but they rather chose a scheme of reforming the administration, which should avert both the necessity of punishment and the malversations that provoked it. They petitioned the king to ordain in parliament certain chief officers of his household and other lords of his council, with power to reform those abuses, by which his crown was so much blemished that the laws were not kept and his revenues were dilapidated, confirming by a statute a commission for a year, and forbidding, under heavy penalties, any one from opposing, in private or openly, what they should advise.[160] With this the king complied, and a commission founded upon the prayer of parliament was established by statute. It comprehended fourteen persons of the highest eminence for rank and general estimation; princes of the blood and ancient servants of the crown, by whom its prerogatives were not likely to be unnecessarily impaired. In fact the principle of this commission, without looking back at the precedents in the reign of John, Henry III., and Edward II., which yet were not without their weight as constitutional analogies, was merely that which the commons had repeatedly maintained during the minority of the present king, and which had produced the former commissions of reform in the third and fifth years of his reign. These were upon the whole nearly the same in their operation. It must be owned there was a more extensive sway virtually given to the lords now appointed, by the penalties imposed on any who should endeavour to obstruct what they might advise; the design as well as tendency of which was no doubt to throw the whole administration into their hands during the period of this commission. Those who have written our history with more or less of a Tory bias exclaim against this parliamentary commission as an unwarrantable violation of the king's sovereignty, and even impartial men are struck at first sight by a measure that seems to overset the natural balance of our constitution. But it would be unfair to blame either those concerned in this commission, some of whose names at least have been handed down with unquestioned respect, or those high-spirited representatives of the people whose patriot firmness has been hitherto commanding all our sympathy and gratitude, unless we could distinctly pronounce by what gentler means they could restrain the excesses of government. Thirteen parliaments had already met since the accession of Richard; in all the same remonstrances had been repeated, and the same promises renewed. Subsidies, more frequent than in any former reign, had been granted for the supposed exigencies of the war; but this was no longer illuminated by those dazzling victories which give to fortune the mien of wisdom; the coasts of England were perpetually ravaged, and her trade destroyed; while the administration incurred the suspicion of diverting to private uses that treasure which they so feebly and unsuccessfully applied to the public service. No voice of his people, until it spoke in thunder, would stop an intoxicated boy in the wasteful career of dissipation. He loved festivals and pageants, the prevailing folly of his time, with unusual frivolity; and his ordinary living is represented as beyond comparison more showy and sumptuous than even that of his magnificent and chivalrous predecessor. Acts of parliament were no adequate barriers to his misgovernment. "Of what avail are statutes," says Walsingham, "since the king with his privy council is wont to abolish what parliament has just enacted?"[161] The constant prayer of the commons in every session, that former statutes might be kept in force, is no slight presumption that they were not secure of being regarded. It may be true that Edward III.'s government had been full as arbitrary, though not so unwise, as his grandson's; but this is the strongest argument that nothing less than an extraordinary remedy could preserve the still unstable liberties of England. The best plea that could be made for Richard was his inexperience, and the misguided suggestions of favourites. This, however, made it more necessary to remove those false advisers, and to supply that inexperience. Unquestionably the choice of ministers is reposed in the sovereign; a trust, like every other attribute of legitimate power, for the public good; not, what no legitimate power can ever be, the instrument of selfishness or caprice. There is something more sacred than the prerogative, or even than the constitution; the public weal, for which all powers are granted, and to which they must all be referred. For this public weal it is confessed to be sometimes necessary to shake the possessor of the throne out of his seat; could it never be permitted to suspend, though but indirectly and for a time, the positive exercise of misapplied prerogatives? He has learned in a very different school from myself, who denies to parliament at the present day a preventive as well as vindictive control over the administration of affairs; a right of resisting, by those means which lie within its sphere, the appointment of unfit ministers. These means are now indirect; they need not to be the less effectual, and they are certainly more salutary on that account. But we must not make our notions of the constitution in its perfect symmetry of manhood the measure of its infantine proportions, nor expect from a parliament just struggling into life, and "pawing to get free its hinder parts," the regularity of definite and habitual power. It is assumed rather too lightly by some of those historians to whom I have alluded that these commissioners, though but appointed for a twelvemonth, designed to retain longer, or would not in fact have surrendered, their authority. There is certainly a danger in these delegations of pre-eminent trust; but I think it more formidable in a republican form than under such a government as our own. The spirit of the people, the letter of the law, were both so decidedly monarchical, that no glaring attempt of the commissioners to keep the helm continually in their hands, though it had been in the king's name, would have had a fair probability of success. And an oligarchy of fourteen persons, different in rank and profession, even if we should impute criminal designs to all of them, was ill calculated for permanent union. Indeed the facility with which Richard re-assumed his full powers two years afterwards, when misconduct had rendered his circumstances far more unfavourable, gives the corroboration of experience to this reasoning. By yielding to the will of his parliament and to a temporary suspension of prerogative, this unfortunate prince might probably have reigned long and peacefully; the contrary course of acting led eventually to his deposition and miserable death. [Sidenote: Answers of the judges to Richard's questions.] Before the dissolution of parliament Richard made a verbal protestation that nothing done therein should be in prejudice of his rights; a reservation not unusual when any remarkable concession was made, but which could not decently be interpreted, whatever he might mean, as a dissent from the statute, just passed. Some months had intervened when the king, who had already released Suffolk from prison and restored him to his favour, procured from the judges, whom he had summoned to Nottingham, a most convenient set of answers to questions concerning the late proceedings in parliament. Tresilian and Belknap, chief justices of the King's Bench and Common Pleas, with several other judges, gave it under their seals that the late statute and commission were derogatory to the prerogative; that all who procured it to be passed, or persuaded or compelled the king to consent to it, were guilty of treason; that the king's business must be proceeded upon before any other in parliament; that he may put an end to the session at his pleasure; that his ministers cannot be impeached without his consent; that any members of parliament contravening the three last articles incur the penalties of treason, and especially he who moved for the sentence of deposition against Edward II. to be read; and that the judgment against the earl of Suffolk might be revoked as altogether erroneous. [Sidenote: Subsequent revolution.] These answers, perhaps extorted by menaces, as all the judges, except Tresilian, protested before the next parliament, were for the most part servile and unconstitutional. The indignation which they excited, and the measures successfully taken to withstand the king's designs, belong to general history; but I shall pass slightly over that season of turbulence, which afforded no legitimate precedent, to our constitutional annals. Of the five lords appellants, as they were called, Gloucester, Derby, Nottingham, Warwick, and Arundel, the three former, at least, have little claim to our esteem; but in every age it is the sophism of malignant and peevish men to traduce the cause of freedom itself, on account of the interested motives by which its ostensible advocates have frequently been actuated. The parliament, who had the country thoroughly with them, acted no doubt honestly, but with an inattention to the rules of law, culpable indeed, yet from which the most civilized of their successors, in the heat of passion and triumph, have scarcely been exempt. Whether all with whom they dealt severely, some of them apparently of good previous reputation, merited such punishment, is more than, upon uncertain evidence, a modern writer can profess to decide.[162] Notwithstanding the death or exile of all Richard's favourites, and the oath taken not only by parliament, but by every class of the people, to stand by the lords appellants, we find him, after about a year, suddenly annihilating their pretensions, and snatching the reins again without obstruction. The secret cause of this event is among the many obscurities that attend the history of his reign. It was conducted with a spirit and activity which broke out two or three times in the course of his imprudent life; but we may conjecture that he had the advantage of disunion among his enemies. For some years after this the king's administration was prudent. The great seal, which he took away from archbishop Arundel, he gave to Wykeham bishop of Winchester, another member of the reforming commission, but a man of great moderation and political experience. Some time after he restored the seal to Arundel, and reinstated the duke of Gloucester in the council. The duke of Lancaster, who had been absent during the transactions of the tenth and eleventh years of the king, in prosecution of his Castilian war, formed a link between the parties, and seems to have maintained some share of public favour. [Sidenote: Greater harmony between the king and parliament.] There was now a more apparent harmony between the court and the parliament. It seems to have been tacitly agreed that they should not interfere with the king's household expenses; and they gratified him in a point where his honour had been most wounded, declaring his prerogative to be as high and unimpaired as that of his predecessors, and repealing the pretended statute by virtue of which Edward II. was said to have been deposed.[163]. They were provident enough, however, to grant conditional subsidies, to be levied only in case of a royal expedition against the enemy; and several were accordingly remitted by proclamation, this condition not being fulfilled. Richard never ventured to recall his favourites, though he testified his unabated affection for Vere by a pompous funeral. Few complaints, unequivocally affecting the ministry, were presented by the commons. In one parliament the chancellor, treasurer, and counsel resigned their offices, submitting themselves to its judgment in case any matter of accusation should be alleged against them. The commons, after a day's deliberation, probably to make their approbation appear more solemn, declared in full parliament that nothing amiss had been found in the conduct of these ministers, and that they held them to have faithfully discharged their duties. The king reinstated them accordingly, with a protestation that this should not be made a precedent, and that it was his right to change his servants at pleasure.[164] [Sidenote: Disunion among some leading peers.] But this summer season was not to last for ever. Richard had but dissembled with those concerned in the transactions of 1388, none of whom he could ever forgive. These lords in lapse of time were divided among each other. The earls of Derby and Nottingham were brought into the king's interest. The earl of Arundel came to an open breach with the duke of Lancaster, whose pardon he was compelled to ask for an unfounded accusation in parliament.[165] Gloucester's ungoverned ambition, elated by popularity, could not brook the ascendency of his brother Lancaster, who was much less odious to the king. He had constantly urged and defended the concession of Guienne to this prince to be held for life, reserving only his liege homage to Richard as king of France;[166] a grant as unpopular among the natives of that country as it was derogatory to the crown; but Lancaster was not much indebted to his brother for assistance which was only given in order to diminish his influence in England. The truce with France, and the king's French marriage, which Lancaster supported, were passionately opposed by Gloucester. And the latter had given keener provocation by speaking contemptuously of that misalliance with Katherine Swineford which contaminated the blood of Plantagenet. To the parliament summoned in the 20th of Richard, one object of which was to legitimate the duke of Lancaster's antenuptial children by this lady, neither Gloucester nor Arundel would repair. There passed in this assembly something remarkable, as it exhibits not only the arbitrary temper of the king, a point by no means doubtful, but the inefficiency of the commons to resist it without support from political confederacies of the nobility. The circumstances are thus related in the record. [Sidenote: Richard's prosecution of Haxey.] During the session the king sent for the lords into parliament one afternoon, and told them how he had heard of certain articles of complaint made by the commons in conference with them a few days before, some of which appeared to the king against his royalty, estate, and liberty, and commanded the chancellor to inform him fully as to this. The chancellor accordingly related the whole matter, which consisted of four alleged grievances; namely, that sheriffs and escheators, notwithstanding a statute, are continued in their offices beyond a year;[167] that the Scottish marches were not well kept; that the statute against wearing great men's liveries was disregarded; and, lastly, that the excessive charges of the king's household ought to be diminished, arising from the multitude of bishops and of ladies who are there maintained at his cost. Upon this information the king declared to the lords that through God's gift he is by lineal right of inheritance king of England, and will have the royalty and freedom of his crown, from which some of these articles derogate. The first petition, that sheriffs should never remain in office beyond a year, he rejected; but, passing lightly over the rest, took most offence that the commons, who are his lieges, should take on themselves to make any ordinance respecting his royal person or household, or those whom he might please to have about him. He enjoined therefore the lords to declare plainly to the commons his pleasure in this matter; and especially directed the duke of Lancaster to make the speaker give up the name of the person who presented a bill for this last article in the lower house. The commons were in no state to resist this unexpected promptitude of action in the king. They surrendered the obnoxious bill, with its proposer, one Thomas Haxey, and with great humility made excuse that they never designed to give offence to his majesty, nor to interfere with his household or attendants, knowing well that such things do not belong to them, but to the king alone; but merely to draw his attention, that he might act therein as should please him best. The king forgave these pitiful suppliants; but Haxey was adjudged in parliament to suffer death as a traitor. As, however, he was a clerk,[168] the archbishop of Canterbury, at the head of the prelates, obtained of the king that his life might be spared, and that they might have the custody of his person; protesting that this was not claimed by way of right, but merely of the king's grace.[169] [Sidenote: Arbitrary measures of the king.] This was an open defiance of parliament, and a declaration of arbitrary power. For it would be impossible to contend that, after the repeated instances of control over public expenditure by the commons since the 50th of Edward III., this principle was novel and unauthorized by the constitution, or that the right of free speech demanded by them in every parliament was not a real and indisputable privilege. The king, however, was completely successful, and, having proved the feebleness of the commons, fell next upon those he more dreaded. By a skilful piece of treachery he seized the duke of Gloucester, and spread consternation among all his party. A parliament was summoned, in which the only struggle was to outdo the king's wishes, and thus to efface their former transgressions.[170] Gloucester, who had been murdered at Calais, was attainted after his death; Arundel was beheaded, his brother the archbishop of Canterbury deposed and banished, Warwick and Cobham sent beyond sea. The commission of the tenth, the proceedings in parliament of the eleventh year of the king, were annulled. The answers of the judges to the questions put at Nottingham, which had been punished with death and exile, were pronounced by parliament to be just and legal. It was declared high treason to procure the repeal of any judgment against persons therein impeached. Their issue male were disabled from ever sitting in parliament or holding place in council. These violent ordinances, as if the precedent they were then overturning had not shielded itself with the same sanction, were sworn to by parliament upon the cross of Canterbury, and confirmed by a national oath, with the penalty of excommunication denounced against its infringers. Of those recorded to have bound themselves by this adjuration to Richard, far the greater part had touched the same relics for Gloucester and Arundel ten years before, and two years afterwards swore allegiance to Henry of Lancaster.[171] In the fervour of prosecution this parliament could hardly go beyond that whose acts they were annulling; and each is alike unworthy to be remembered in the way of precedent. But the leaders of the former, though vindictive and turbulent, had a concern for the public interest; and, after punishing their enemies, left the government upon its right foundation. In this all regard for liberty was extinct; and the commons set the dangerous precedent of granting the king a subsidy upon wool during his life. Their remarkable act of severity was accompanied by another, less unexampled, but, as it proved, of more ruinous tendency. The petitions of the commons not having been answered during the session, which they were always anxious to conclude, a commission was granted for twelve peers and six commoners to sit after the dissolution, and "examine, answer, and fully determine, as well all the said petitions, and the matters therein comprised, as all other matters and things moved in the king's presence, and all things incident thereto not yet determined, as shall seem best to them."[172] The "other matters" mentioned above were, I suppose, private petitions to the king's council in parliament, which had been frequently despatched after a dissolution. For in the statute which establishes this commission, 21 R. II. c. 16, no powers are committed but those of examining petitions: which, if it does not confirm the charge afterwards alleged against Richard, of falsifying the parliament roll, must at least be considered as limiting and explaining the terms of the latter. Such a trust had been committed to some lords of the council eight years before, in very peaceful times; and it was even requested that the same might be done in future parliaments.[173] But it is obvious what a latitude this gave to a prevailing faction. These eighteen commissioners, or some of them (for there were who disliked the turn of affairs), usurped the full rights of the legislature, which undoubtedly were only delegated in respect of business already commenced.[174] They imposed a perpetual oath on prelates and lords for all time to come, to be taken before obtaining livery of their lands, that they would maintain the statutes and ordinances made by this parliament, or "afterwards by the lords and knights having power committed to them by the same." They declared it high treason to disobey their ordinances. They annulled the patents of the dukes of Hereford and Norfolk, and adjudged Henry Bowet, the former's chaplain, who had advised him to petition for his inheritance, to the penalties of treason.[175] And thus, having obtained a revenue for life, and the power of parliament being notoriously usurped by a knot of his creatures, the king was little likely to meet his people again, and became as truly absolute as his ambition could require. [Sidenote: Quarrel of the dukes of Hereford and Norfolk.] [Sidenote: Necessity for deposing Richard II.] It had been necessary for this purpose to subjugate the ancient nobility. For the English constitution gave them such paramount rights that it was impossible either to make them surrender their country's freedom, or to destroy it without their consent. But several of the chief men had fallen or were involved with the party of Gloucester. Two who, having once belonged to it, had lately plunged into the depths of infamy to ruin their former friends; were still perfectly obnoxious to the king, who never forgave their original sin. These two, Henry of Bolingbroke, earl of Derby, and Mowbray, earl of Nottingham, now dukes of Hereford and Norfolk, the most powerful of the remaining nobility, were, by a singular conjuncture, thrown, as it were, at the king's feet. Of the political mysteries which this reign affords, none is more inexplicable than the quarrel of these peers. In the parliament at Shrewsbury, in 1398, Hereford was called upon by the king to relate what had passed between the duke of Norfolk and himself in slander of his majesty. He detailed a pretty long and not improbable conversation, in which Norfolk had asserted the king's intention of destroying them both for their old offence in impeaching his ministers. Norfolk had only to deny the charge and throw his gauntlet at the accuser. It was referred to the eighteen commissioners who sat after the dissolution, and a trial by combat was awarded. But when this, after many delays, was about to take place at Coventry, Richard interfered and settled the dispute by condemning Hereford to banishment for ten years and Norfolk for life. This strange determination, which treated both as guilty where only one could be so, seems to admit no other solution than the king's desire to rid himself of two peers whom he feared and hated at a blow. But it is difficult to understand by what means he drew the crafty Bolingbroke into his snare.[176] However this might have been, he now threw away all appearance of moderate government. The indignities he had suffered in the eleventh year of his reign were still at his heart, a desire to revenge which seems to have been the mainspring of his conduct. Though a general pardon of those proceedings had been granted, not only at the time, but in his own last parliament, he made use of them as a pretence to extort money from seventeen counties, to whom he imputed a share in the rebellion. He compelled men to confess under their seals that they had been guilty of treason, and to give blank obligations, which his officers filled up with large sums.[177] Upon the death of the duke of Lancaster, who had passively complied throughout all these transactions, Richard refused livery of his inheritance to Hereford, whose exile implied no crime, and who had letters patent enabling him to make his attorney for that purpose during its continuance. In short, his government for nearly two years was altogether tyrannical; and, upon the same principles that cost James II. his throne, it was unquestionably far more necessary, unless our fathers would have abandoned all thought of liberty, to expel Richard II. Far be it from us to extenuate the treachery of the Percies towards this unhappy prince, or the cruel circumstances of his death, or in any way to extol either his successor or the chief men of that time, most of whom were ambitious and faithless; but after such long experience of the king's arbitrary, dissembling, and revengeful temper, I see no other safe course, in the actual state of the constitution, than what the nation concurred in pursuing. The reign of Richard II. is, in a constitutional light, the most interesting part of our earlier history; and it has been the most imperfectly written. Some have misrepresented the truth through prejudice, and others through carelessness. It is only to be understood, and, indeed, there are great difficulties in the way of understanding it at all, by a perusal of the rolls of parliament, with some assistance from the contemporary historians, Walsingham, Knyghton, the anonymous biographer published by Hearne, and Froissart. These, I must remark, except occasionally the last, are extremely hostile to Richard; and although we are far from being bound to acquiesce in their opinions, it is at least unwarrantable in modern writers to sprinkle their margins with references to such authority in support of positions decidedly opposite.[178] [Sidenote: Circumstances attending Henry IV.'s accession.] The revolution which elevated Henry IV. to the throne was certainly so far accomplished by force, that the king was in captivity, and those who might still adhere to him in no condition to support his authority. But the sincere concurrence which most of the prelates and nobility, with the mass of the people, gave to changes that could not have been otherwise effected by one so unprovided with foreign support as Henry, proves this revolution to have been, if not an indispensable, yet a national act, and should prevent our considering the Lancastrian kings as usurpers of the throne. Nothing indeed looks so much like usurpation in the whole transaction as Henry's remarkable challenge of the crown, insinuating, though not avowing, as Hume has justly animadverted upon it, a false and ridiculous title by right line of descent, and one equally unwarrantable by conquest. The course of proceedings is worthy of notice. As the renunciation of Richard might well pass for the effect of compulsion, there was a strong reason for propping up its instability by a solemn deposition from the throne, founded upon specific charges of misgovernment. Again, as the right of dethroning a monarch was nowhere found in the law, it was equally requisite to support this assumption of power by an actual abdication. But as neither one nor the other filled up the duke of Lancaster's wishes, who was not contented with owing a crown to election, nor seemed altogether to account for the exclusion of the house of March, he devised this claim, which was preferred in the vacancy of the throne, Richard's cession, having been read and approved in parliament, and the sentence of deposition, "out of abundant caution, and to remove all scruple," solemnly passed by seven commissioners appointed out of the several estates. "After which challenge and claim," says the record, "the lords spiritual and temporal, and all the estates there present, being asked, separately and together, what they thought of the said challenge and claim, the said estates, with the whole people, without any difficulty or delay, consented that the said duke should reign over them."[179] The claim of Henry, as opposed to that of the earl of March, was indeed ridiculous; but it is by no means evident that, in such cases of extreme urgency as leave no security for the common weal but the deposition of a reigning prince, there rests any positive obligation upon the estates of the realm to fill his place with the nearest heir. A revolution of this kind seems rather to defeat and confound all prior titles; though in the new settlement it will commonly be prudent, as well as equitable, to treat them with some regard. Were this otherwise it would be hard to say why William III. reigned to the exclusion of Anne, or even of the Pretender, who had surely committed no offence at that time; or why (if such indeed be the true construction of the Act of Settlement) the more distant branches of the royal stock, descendants of Henry VII. and earlier kings, have been cut off from their hope of succession by the restriction to the heirs of the princess Sophia. In this revolution of 1399 there was as remarkable an attention shown to the formalities of the constitution, allowance made for the men and the times, as in that of 1688. The parliament was not opened by commission; no one took the office of president; the commons did not adjourn to their own chamber; they chose no speaker; the name of parliament was not taken, but that only of estates of the realm. But as it would have been a violation of constitutional principles to assume a parliamentary character without the king's commission, though summoned by his writ, so it was still more essential to limit their exercise of power to the necessity of circumstances. Upon the cession of the king, as upon his death, the parliament was no more; its existence, as the council of the sovereign, being dependent upon his will. The actual convention summoned by the writs of Richard could not legally become the parliament of Henry; and the validity of a statute declaring it to be such would probably have been questionable in that age, when the power of statutes to alter the original principles of the common law was by no means so thoroughly recognised as at the Restoration and Revolution. Yet Henry was too well pleased with his friends to part with them so readily; and he had much to effect before the fervour of their spirits should abate. Hence an expedient was devised of issuing writs for a new parliament, returnable in six days. These neither were nor could be complied with; but the same members as had deposed Richard sat in the new parliament, which was regularly opened by Henry's commissioner as if they had been duly elected.[180] In this contrivance, more than in all the rest, we may trace the hand of lawyers. [Sidenote: Retrospect of the progress of the constitution under Richard II.] [Sidenote: Its advances under the house of Lancaster.] If we look back from the accession of Henry IV. to that of his predecessor, the constitutional authority of the house of commons will be perceived to have made surprising progress during the course of twenty-two years. Of the three capital points in contest while Edward reigned, that money could not be levied, or laws enacted, without the commons' consent, and that the administration of government was subject to their inspection and control, the first was absolutely decided in their favour, the second was at least perfectly admitted in principle, and the last was confirmed by frequent exercise. The commons had acquired two additional engines of immense efficiency; one, the right of directing the application of subsidies, and calling accountants before them; the other, that of impeaching the king's ministers for misconduct. All these vigorous shoots of liberty throve more and more under the three kings of the house of Lancaster, and drew such strength and nourishment from the generous heart of England, that in after-times, and in a less prosperous season, though checked and obstructed in their growth, neither the blasts of arbitrary power could break them off, nor the mildew of servile opinion cause them to wither. I shall trace the progress of parliament till the civil wars of York and Lancaster: 1. in maintaining the exclusive right of taxation; 2. in directing and checking the public expenditure; 3. in making supplies depend on the redress of grievances; 4. in securing the people against illegal ordinances and interpolations of the statutes; 5. in controlling the royal administration; 6. in punishing bad ministers; and lastly, in establishing their own immunities and privileges. 1. The pretence of levying money without consent of parliament expired with Edward III., who had asserted it, as we have seen, in the very last year of his reign. A great council of lords and prelates, summoned in the second year of his successor, declared that they could advise no remedy for the king's necessities without laying taxes on the people, which could only be granted in parliament.[181] Nor was Richard ever accused of illegal tallages, the frequent theme of remonstrance under Edward, unless we may conjecture that this charge is implied in an act (11 R. II. c. 9) which annuls all impositions on wool and leather, without consent of parliament, _if any there be_.[182] Doubtless his innocence in this respect was the effect of weakness; and if the revolution of 1399 had not put an end to his newly acquired despotism, this, like every other right of his people, would have been swept away. A less palpable means of evading the consent of the commons was by the extortion of loans, and harassing those who refused to pay by summonses before the council. These loans, the frequent resource of arbitrary sovereigns in later times, are first complained of in an early parliament of Richard II.: and a petition is granted that no man shall be compelled to lend the king money.[183] But how little this was regarded we may infer from a writ directed, in 1386, to some persons in Boston, enjoining them to assess every person who had goods and chattels to the amount of twenty pounds, in his proportion of two hundred pounds, which the town had promised to lend the king; and giving an assurance that this shall be deducted from the next subsidy to be granted by parliament. Among other extraordinary parts of this letter is a menace of forfeiting life, limbs, and property, held out against such as should not obey these commissioners.[184] After his triumph over the popular party towards the end of his reign, he obtained large sums in this way. Under the Lancastrian kings there is much less appearance of raising money in an unparliamentary course. Henry IV. obtained an aid from a great council in the year 1400; but they did not pretend to charge any besides themselves; though it seems that some towns afterwards gave the king a contribution.[185] A few years afterwards he directs the sheriffs to call on the richest men in their counties to advance the money voted by parliament. This, if any compulsion was threatened, is an instance of overstrained prerogative, though consonant to the practice of the late reign.[186] There is, however, an instance of very arbitrary conduct with respect to a grant of money in the minority of Henry VI. A subsidy had been granted by parliament upon goods imported under certain restrictions in favour of the merchants, with a provision that, if these conditions be not observed on the king's part, then the grant should be void and of no effect.[187] But an entry is made on the roll of the next parliament, that, "whereas some disputes have arisen about the grant of the last subsidy, it is declared by the duke of Bedford and other lords in parliament, with advice of the judges and others learned in the law, that the said subsidy was at all events to be collected and levied for the king's use; notwithstanding any conditions in the grant of the said subsidy contained."[188] The commons, however, in making the grant of a fresh subsidy in this parliament, renewed their former conditions, with the addition of another, that "it ne no part thereof be beset ne dispensed to no other use, but only in and for the defense of the said roialme."[189] [Sidenote: Appropriation of supplies.] 2. The right of granting supplies would have been very incomplete, had it not been accompanied with that of directing their application. The principle of appropriating public moneys began, as we have seen, in the minority of Richard; and was among the best fruits of that period. It was steadily maintained under the new dynasty. The parliament of 6 H. IV. granted two fifteenths and two tenths, with a tax on skins and wool, on condition that it should be expended in the defence of the kingdom, and not otherwise, as Thomas lord Furnival and Sir John Pelham, ordained treasurers of war for this parliament, to receive the said subsidies, shall account and answer to the commons at the next parliament. These treasurers were sworn in parliament to execute their trusts.[190] A similar precaution was adopted in the next session.[191] [Sidenote: Attempt to make supply depend on redress of grievances.] 3. The commons made a bold attempt in the second year of Henry IV. to give the strongest security to their claims of redress, by inverting the usual course of parliamentary proceedings. It was usual to answer their petitions on the last day of the session, which put an end to all further discussion upon them, and prevented their making the redress of grievances a necessary condition of supply. They now requested that an answer might be given before they made their grant of subsidy. This was one of the articles which Richard II.'s judges had declared it high treason to attempt. Henry was not inclined to make a concession which would virtually have removed the chief impediment to the ascendency of parliament. He first said that he would consult with the lords, and answer according to their advice. On the last day of the session the commons were informed that "it had never been known in the time of his ancestors that they should have their petitions answered before they had done all their business in parliament, whether of granting money or any other concern; wherefore the king will not alter the good customs and usages of ancient times."[192] Notwithstanding the just views these parliaments appear generally to have entertained of their power over the public purse, that of the third of Henry V. followed a precedent from the worst times of Richard II., by granting the king a subsidy on wool and leather during his life.[193] This, an historian tells us, Henry IV. had vainly laboured to obtain;[194] but the taking of Harfleur intoxicated the English with new dreams of conquest in France, which their good sense and constitutional jealousy were not firm enough to resist. The continued expenses of the war, however, prevented this grant from becoming so dangerous as it might have been in a season of tranquillity. Henry V., like his father, convoked parliament almost in every year of his reign. [Sidenote: Legislative rights of the commons established.] 4. It had long been out of all question that the legislature consisted of the king, lords, and commons; or, in stricter language, that the king could not make or repeal statutes without the consent of parliament. But this fundamental maxim was still frequently defeated by various acts of evasion or violence; which, though protested against as illegal, it was a difficult task to prevent. The king sometimes exerted a power of suspending the observance of statutes, as in the ninth of Richard II., when a petition that all statutes might be confirmed is granted, with an exception as to one passed in the last parliament, forbidding the judges to take fees, or give counsel in cases where the king was a party; which, "because it was too severe and needs declaration, the king would have of no effect till it should be declared in parliament."[195] The apprehension of the dispensing prerogative and sense of its illegality are manifested by the wary terms wherein the commons, in one of Richard's parliaments, "assent that the king make such sufferance respecting the statute of provisors as shall seem reasonable to him, so that the said statute be not repealed; and, moreover, that the commons may disagree thereto at the next parliament, and resort to the statute;" with a protestation that this assent, which is a novelty and never done before, shall not be drawn into precedent; praying the king that this protestation may be entered on the roll of parliament.[196] A petition, in one of Henry IV.'s parliaments, to limit the number of attorneys, and forbid filazers and prothonotaries from practising, having been answered favourably as to the first point, we find a marginal entry in the roll that the prince and council had respited the execution of this act.[197] [Sidenote: Dispensing power of the crown.] The dispensing power, as exercised in favour of individuals, is quite of a different character from this general suspension of statutes, but indirectly weakens the sovereignty of the legislature. This power was exerted, and even recognised, throughout all the reigns of the Plantagenets. In the first of Henry V. the commons pray that the statute for driving aliens out of the kingdom be executed. The king assents, saving his prerogative and his right of dispensing with it when he pleased. To which the commons replied that their intention was never otherwise, nor, by God's help, ever should be. At the same time one Rees ap Thomas petitions the king to modify or dispense with the statute prohibiting Welchmen from purchasing lands in England, or the English towns in Wales; which the king grants. In the same parliament the commons pray that no grant or protection be made to any one in contravention of the statute of provisors, saving the king's prerogative. He merely answers, "Let the statutes be observed:" evading any allusion to his dispensing power.[198] It has been observed, under the reign of Edward III., that the practice of leaving statutes to be drawn up by the judges, from the petition and answer jointly, after a dissolution of parliament, presented an opportunity of falsifying the intention of the legislature, whereof advantage was often taken. Some very remarkable instances of this fraud occurred in the succeeding reigns. An ordinance was put upon the roll of parliament, in the fifth of Richard II., empowering sheriffs of counties to arrest preachers of heresy and their abettors, and detain them in prison till they should justify themselves before the church. This was introduced into the statutes of the year; but the assent of lords and commons is not expressed. In the next parliament the commons, reciting this ordinance, declare that it was never assented to or granted by them, but what had been proposed in this matter was without their concurrence (that is, as I conceive, had been rejected by them), and pray that this statute be annulled; for it was never their intent to bind themselves or their descendants to the bishops more than their ancestors had been bound in times past. The king returned an answer, agreeing to this petition. Nevertheless the pretended statute was untouched, and remains still among our laws;[199] unrepealed, except by desuetude, and by inference from the acts of much later times. This commendable reluctance of the commons to let the clergy forge chains for them produced, as there is much appearance, a similar violation of their legislative rights in the next reign. The statute against heresy in the second of Henry IV. is not grounded upon any petition of the commons, but only upon one of the clergy. It is said to be enacted by consent of the lords, but no notice is taken of the lower house in the parliament roll, though the statute reciting the petition asserts the commons to have joined in it.[200] The petition and the statute are both in Latin, which is unusual in the laws of this time. In a subsequent petition of the commons this act is styled "the statute made in the second year of your majesty's reign at the request of the prelates and clergy of your kingdom;" which affords a presumption that it had no regular assent of parliament.[201] And the spirit of the commons during this whole reign being remarkably hostile to the church, it would have been hardly possible to obtain their consent to so penal a law against heresy. Several of their petitions seem designed indirectly to weaken its efficacy.[202] These infringements of their most essential right were resisted by the commons in various ways, according to the measure of their power. In the fifth of Richard II. they request the lords to let them see a certain ordinance before it is engrossed.[203] At another time they procured some of their own members, as well as peers, to be present at engrossing the roll. At length they spoke out unequivocally in a memorable petition, which, besides its intrinsic importance, is deserving of notice as the earliest instance in which the house of commons adopted the English language. I shall present its venerable orthography without change. "Oure soverain lord, youre humble and trewe lieges that ben come for the comune of youre lond bysechyn onto youre rizt riztwesnesse, That so as hit hath ever be thair libte and fredom, that thar sholde no statut no lawe be made offlasse than they yaf therto their assent; consideringe that the comune of youre lond, the whiche that is, and ever hath be, a membre of youre parlemente, ben as well assenters as petitioners, that fro this tyme foreward, by compleynte of the comune of any myschief axknyge remedie by mouthe of their speker for the comune, other ellys by petition writen, that ther never be no lawe made theruppon, and engrossed as statut and lawe, nother by addicions, nother by diminucions, by no manner of terme ne termes, the whiche that sholde chaunge the sentence, and the entente axked by the speker mouthe, or the petitions beforesaid yeven up yn writyng by the manere forsaid, withoute assent of the forsaid comune. Consideringe, oure soverain lord, that it is not in no wyse the entente of youre comunes, zif yet be so that they axke you by spekyng, or by writyng, two thynges or three, or as manye as theym lust: But that ever it stande in the fredom of youre hie regalie, to graunte whiche of thoo that you lust, and to werune the remanent. "The kyng of his grace especial graunteth that fro hensforth nothyng be enacted to the peticions of his comune that be contrarie of hir askyng, wharby they shuld be bounde withoute their assent. Savyng alwey to our liege lord his real prerogatif, to graunte and denye what him lust of their petitions and askynges aforesaid."[204] Notwithstanding the fulness of this assent to so important a petition we find no vestige of either among the statutes, and the whole transaction is unnoticed by those historians who have not looked into our original records. If the compilers of the statute-roll were able to keep out of it the very provision that was intended to check their fraudulent machinations, it was in vain to hope for redress without altering the established practice in this respect; and indeed, where there was no design to falsify the roll it was impossible to draw up statutes which should be in truth the acts of the whole legislature, so long as the king continued to grant petitions in part, and to engraft new matter upon them. Such was still the case till the commons hit upon an effectual expedient for screening themselves against these encroachments, which has lasted without alteration to the present day. This was the introduction of complete statutes under the name of bills, instead of the old petitions; and these containing the royal assent and the whole form of a law, it became, though not quite immediately,[205] a constant principle that the king must admit or reject them without qualification. This alteration, which wrought an extraordinary effect on the character of our constitution, was gradually introduced in Henry VI.'s reign.[206] From the first years of Henry V., though not, I think, earlier, the commons began to concern themselves with the petitions of individuals to the lords or council. The nature of the jurisdiction exercised by the latter will be treated more fully hereafter; it is only necessary to mention in this place that many of the requests preferred to them were such as could not be granted without transcending the boundaries of law. A just inquietude as to the encroachments of the king's council had long been manifested by the commons; and finding remonstrances ineffectual, they took measures for preventing such usurpations of legislative power by introducing their own consent to private petitions. These were now presented by the hands of the commons, and in very many instances passed in the form of statutes with the express assent of all parts of the legislature. Such was the origin of private bills, which occupy the greater part of the rolls in Henry V. and VI.'s parliament. The commons once made an ineffectual endeavour to have their consent to all petitions presented to the council in parliament rendered necessary by law; if I rightly apprehend the meaning of the roll in this place, which seems obscure or corrupt.[207] [Sidenote: Interference of parliament with the royal expenditure.] 5. If the strength of the commons had lain merely in the weakness of the crown, it might be inferred that such harassing interference with the administration of affairs as the youthful and frivolous Richard was compelled to endure would have been sternly repelled by his experienced successor. But, on the contrary, the spirit of Richard might have rejoiced to see that his mortal enemy suffered as hard usage at the hands of parliament as himself. After a few years the government of Henry became extremely unpopular. Perhaps his dissension with the great family of Percy, which had placed him on the throne, and was regarded with partiality by the people,[208] chiefly contributed to this alienation of their attachment. The commons requested, in the fifth of his reign, that certain persons might be removed from the court; the lords concurred in displacing four of these, one being the king's confessor. Henry came down to parliament and excused these four persons, as knowing no special cause why they should be removed; yet, well understanding that what the lords and commons should ordain would be for his and his kingdom's interest, and therefore anxious to conform himself to their wishes, consented to the said ordinance, and charged the persons in question to leave his palace; adding, that he would do as much by any other about his person whom he should find to have incurred the ill affection of his people.[209] It was in the same session that the archbishop of Canterbury was commanded to declare before the lords the king's intention respecting his administration; allowing that some things had been done amiss in his court and household; and therefore, wishing to conform to the will of God and laws of the land, protested that he would let in future no letters of signet or privy seal go in disturbance of law, beseeched the lords to put his household in order, so that every one might be paid, and declared that the money granted by the commons for the war should be received by treasurers appointed in parliament, and disbursed by them for no other purpose, unless in case of rebellion. At the request of the commons he named the members of his privy council; and did the same, with some variation of persons, two years afterwards. These, though not nominated with the express consent, seem to have had the approbation of the commons, for a subsidy is granted in 7 H. IV., among other causes, for "the great trust that the commons have in the lords lately chosen and ordained to be of the king's continual council, that there shall be better management than heretofore."[210] In the sixth year of Henry the parliament, which Sir E. Coke derides as unlearned because lawyers were excluded from it, proceeded to a resumption of grants and a prohibition of alienating the ancient inheritance of the crown without consent of parliament, in order to ease the commons of taxes, and that the king might live on his own.[211] This was a favourite though rather chimerical project. In a later parliament it was requested that the king would take his council's advice how to keep within his own revenue; he answered that he would willingly comply as soon as it should be in his power.[212] But no parliament came near, in the number and boldness of its demands, to that held in the eighth year of Henry IV. The commons presented thirty-one articles, none of which the king ventured to refuse, though pressing very severely upon his prerogative. He was to name sixteen counsellors, by whose advice he was solely to be guided, none of them to be dismissed without conviction of misdemeanor. The chancellor and privy seal to pass no grants or other matter contrary to law. Any persons about the court stirring up the king or queen's minds against their subjects, and duly convicted thereof, to lose their offices and be fined. The king's ordinary revenue was wholly appropriated to his household and the payment of his debts; no grant of wardship or other profit to be made thereout, nor any forfeiture to be pardoned. The king, "considering the wise government of other Christian princes, and conforming himself thereto," was to assign two days in the week for petitions, "it being an honourable and necessary thing that his lieges, who desired to petition him, should be heard." No judicial officer, nor any in the revenue or household, to enjoy his place for life or term of years. No petition to be presented to the king, by any of his household, at times when the council were not sitting. The council to determine nothing cognizable at common law, unless for a reasonable cause and with consent of the judges. The statutes regulating purveyance were affirmed--abuses of various kinds in the council and in courts of justice enumerated and forbidden--elections of knights for counties put under regulation. The council and officers of state were sworn to observe the common law and all statutes, those especially just enacted.[213] It must strike every reader that these provisions were of themselves a noble fabric of constitutional liberty, and hardly perhaps inferior to the petition of right under Charles I. We cannot account for the submission of Henry to conditions far more derogatory than ever were imposed on Richard, because the secret politics of his reign are very imperfectly understood. Towards its close he manifested more vigour. The speaker, Sir Thomas Chaucer, having made the usual petition for liberty of speech, the king answered that he might speak as others had done in the time of his (Henry's) ancestors, and his own, but not otherwise; for he would by no means have any innovation, but be as much at his liberty as any of his ancestors had ever been. Some time after he sent a message to the commons, complaining of a law passed at the last parliament infringing his liberty and prerogative, which he requested their consent to repeal. To this the commons agreed, and received the king's thanks, who declared at the same time that he would keep as much freedom and prerogative as any of his ancestors. It does not appear what was the particular subject of complaint; but there had been much of the same remonstrating spirit in the last parliament that was manifested on preceding occasions. The commons, however, for reasons we cannot explain, were rather dismayed. Before their dissolution, they petition the king, that, whereas he was reported to be offended at some of his subjects in this and in the preceding parliament, he would openly declare that he held them all for loyal subjects. Henry granted this "of his special grace;" and thus concluded his reign more triumphantly with respect to his domestic battles than he had gone through it.[214] [Sidenote: Henry V. His popularity.] Power deemed to be ill gotten is naturally precarious; and the instance of Henry IV. has been well quoted to prove that public liberty flourishes with a bad title in the sovereign. None of our kings seem to have been less beloved; and indeed he had little claim to affection. But what men denied to the reigning king they poured in full measure upon the heir of his throne. The virtues of the prince of Wales are almost invidiously eulogized by those parliaments who treat harshly his father;[215] and these records afford a strong presumption that some early petulance or riot has been much exaggerated by the vulgar minds of our chroniclers. One can scarcely understand at least that a prince who was three years engaged in quelling the dangerous insurrection of Glendower, and who in the latter time of his father's reign presided at the council, was so lost in a cloud of low debauchery as common fame represents.[216] Loved he certainly was throughout his life, as so intrepid, affable, and generous a temper well deserved; and this sentiment was heightened to admiration by successes still more rapid and dazzling than those of Edward III. During his reign there scarcely appears any vestige of dissatisfaction in parliament--a circumstance very honourable, whether we ascribe it to the justice of his administration or to the affection of his people. Perhaps two exceptions, though they are rather one in spirit, might be made: the first, a petition to the duke of Gloucester, then holding parliament as guardian of England, that he would move the king and queen to return, as speedily as might please them, in relief and comfort of the commons;[217] the second, a request that their petitions might not be sent to the king beyond sea, but altogether determined "within this kingdom of England, during this parliament," and that this ordinance might be of force in all future parliaments to be held in England.[218] This prayer, to which the guardian declined to accede, evidently sprang from the apprehensions, excited in their minds by the treaty of Troyes, that England might become a province of the French crown, which led them to obtain a renewal of the statute of Edward III., declaring the independence of this kingdom.[219] [Sidenote: Parliament consulted on all public affairs.] It has been seen already that even Edward III. consulted his parliament upon the expediency of negociations for peace, though at that time the commons had not acquired boldness enough to tender their advice. In Richard II.'s reign they answered to a similar proposition with a little more confidence, that the dangers each way were so considerable they dared not decide, though an honourable peace would be the greatest comfort they could have, and concluded by hoping that the king would not engage to do homage for Calais or the conquered country.[220] The parliament of the tenth of his reign was expressly summoned in order to advise concerning the king's intended expedition beyond sea--a great council, which had previously been assembled at Oxford, having declared their incompetence to consent to this measure without the advice of parliament.[221] Yet a few years afterwards, on a similar reference, the commons rather declined to give any opinion.[222] They confirmed the league of Henry V. with the emperor Sigismund;[223] and the treaty of Troyes, which was so fundamentally to change the situation of Henry and his successors, obtained, as it evidently required, the sanction of both houses of parliament.[224] These precedents conspiring with the weakness of the executive government, in the minority of Henry VI., to fling an increase of influence into the scale of the commons, they made their concurrence necessary to all important business both of a foreign and domestic nature. Thus commissioners were appointed to treat of the deliverance of the king of Scots, the duchesses of Bedford and Gloucester were made denizens, and mediators were appointed to reconcile the dukes of Gloucester and Burgundy, by authority of the three estates assembled in parliament.[225] Leave was given to the dukes of Bedford and Gloucester, and others in the king's behalf, to treat of peace with France, by both houses of parliament, in pursuance of an article in the treaty of Troyes, that no treaty should be set on foot with the dauphin without consent of the three estates of both realms.[226] This article was afterwards repealed.[227] Some complaints are made by the commons, even during the first years of Henry's minority, that the king's subjects underwent arbitrary imprisonment, and were vexed by summonses before the council and by the newly-invented writ of subpoena out of chancery.[228] But these are not so common as formerly; and so far as the rolls lead us to any inference, there was less injustice committed by the government under Henry VI. and his father than at any former period. Wastefulness indeed might justly be imputed to the regency, who had scandalously lavished the king's revenue.[229] This ultimately led to an act for resuming all grants since his accession, founded upon a public declaration of the great officers of the crown that his debts amounted to 372,000_l._, and the annual expense of the household to 24,000_l._, while the ordinary revenue was not more than 5000_l._[230] [Sidenote: Impeachments of ministers.] 6. But before this time the sky had begun to darken, and discontent with the actual administration pervaded every rank. The causes of this are familiar--the unpopularity of the king's marriage with Margaret of Anjou, and her impolitic violence in the conduct of affairs, particularly the imputed murder of the people's favourite, the duke of Gloucester. This provoked an attack upon her own creature, the duke of Suffolk. Impeachment had lain still, like a sword in the scabbard, since the accession of Henry IV., when the commons, though not preferring formal articles of accusation, had petitioned the king that Justice Rickhill, who had been employed to take the former duke of Gloucester's confession at Calais, and the lords appellants of Richard II.'s last parliament, should be put on their defence before the lords.[231] In Suffolk's case the commons seem to have proceeded by bill of attainder, or at least to have designed the judgment against that minister to be the act of the whole legislature; for they delivered a bill containing articles against him to the lords, with a request that they would pray the king's majesty to enact that bill in parliament, and that the said duke might be proceeded against upon the said articles in parliament according to the law and custom of England. These articles contained charges of high treason, chiefly relating to his conduct in France, which, whether treasonable or not, seems to have been grossly against the honour and advantage of the crown. At a later day the commons presented many other articles of misdemeanor. To the former he made a defence, in presence of the king as well as the lords both spiritual and temporal; and indeed the articles of impeachment were directly addressed to the king, which gave him a reasonable pretext to interfere in the judgment. But from apprehension, as it is said, that Suffolk could not escape conviction upon at least some part of these charges, Henry anticipated with no slight irregularity the course of legal trial, and, summoning the peers into a private chamber, informed the duke of Suffolk, by mouth of his chancellor, that, inasmuch as he had not put himself upon his peerage, but submitted wholly to the royal pleasure, the king, acquitting him of the first articles containing matter of treason, by his own advice and not that of the lords, nor by way of judgment, not being in a place where judgment could be delivered, banished him for five years from his dominions. The lords then present besought the king to let their protest appear on record, that neither they nor their posterity might lose their rights of peerage by this precedent. It was justly considered as an arbitrary stretch of prerogative, in order to defeat the privileges of parliament and screen a favourite minister from punishment. But the course of proceeding by bill of attainder, instead of regular impeachment, was not judiciously chosen by the commons.[232] [Sidenote: Privilege of parliament.] 7. Privilege of parliament, an extensive and singular branch of our constitutional law, begins to attract attention under the Lancastrian princes. It is true indeed that we can trace long before by records, and may infer with probability as to times whose records have not survived, one considerable immunity--a freedom from arrest for persons transacting the king's business in his national council.[233] Several authorities may be found in Mr. Hatsell's Precedents; of which one, in the 9th of Edward II., is conclusive.[234] But in those rude times members of parliament were not always respected by the officers executing legal process, and still less by the violators of law. After several remonstrances, which the crown had evaded,[235] the commons obtained the statute 11 Henry VI. c. 11, for the punishment of such as assault any on their way to the parliament, giving double damages to the party.[236] They had more difficulty in establishing, notwithstanding the old precedents in their favour, an immunity from all criminal process except in charges of treason, felony, and breach of the peace, which is their present measure of privilege. The truth was, that, with a right pretty clearly recognised, as is admitted by the judges in Thorp's case, the house of commons had no regular compulsory process at their command. In the cases of Lark, servant of a member, in the 8th of Henry VI.,[237] and of Clerke, himself a burgess, in the 39th of the same king,[238] it was thought necessary to effect their release from a civil execution by special acts of parliament. The commons, in a former instance, endeavoured to make the law general that no members nor their servants might be taken except for treason, felony, and breach of peace; but the king put a negative upon this part of their petition. The most celebrated, however, of these early cases of privilege is that of Thomas Thorp, speaker of the commons in 31 Henry VI. This person, who was moreover a baron of the exchequer, had been imprisoned on an execution at suit of the duke of York. The commons sent some of their members to complain of a violation of privilege to the king and lords in parliament, and to demand Thorp's release. It was alleged by the duke of York's counsel that the trespass done by Thorp was since the beginning of the parliament, and the judgment thereon given in time of vacation, and not during the sitting. The lords referred the question to the judges, who said, after deliberation, that "they ought not to answer to that question, for it hath not be used aforetyme that the judges should in any wise determine the privilege of this high court of parliament; for it is so high and so mighty in his nature that it may make law, and that that is law it may make no law; and the determination and knowledge of that privilege belongeth to the lords of the parliament, and not to the justices." They went on, however, after observing that a general writ of supersedeas of all processes upon ground of privilege had not been known, to say that, "if any person that is a member of this high court of parliament be arrested in such cases as be not for treason, or felony, or surety of the peace, or for a condemnation had before the parliament, it is used that all such persons should be released of such arrests and make an attorney, so that they may have their freedom and liberty freely to intend upon the parliament." Notwithstanding this answer of the judges, it was concluded by the lords that Thorp should remain in prison, without regarding the alleged privilege; and the commons were directed in the king's name to proceed "with all goodly haste and speed" to the election of a new speaker. It is curious to observe that the commons, forgetting their grievances, or content to drop them, made such haste and speed according to this command, that they presented a new speaker for approbation the next day.[239] This case, as has been strongly said, was begotten by the iniquity of the times. The state was verging fast towards civil war; and Thorp, who afterwards distinguished himself for the Lancastrian cause, was an inveterate enemy of the duke of York. That prince seems to have been swayed a little from his usual temper in procuring so unwarrantable a determination. In the reign of Edward IV. the commons claimed privilege against any civil suit during the time of their session; but they had recourse, as before, to a particular act of parliament to obtain a writ of supersedeas in favour of one Atwell, a member, who had been sued. The present law of privilege seems not to have been fully established, or at least effectually maintained, before the reign of Henry VIII.[240] No privilege of the commons can be so fundamental as liberty of speech. This is claimed at the opening of every parliament by their speaker, and could never be infringed without shaking the ramparts of the constitution. Richard II.'s attack upon Haxey has been already mentioned as a flagrant evidence of his despotic intentions. No other case occurs until the 33rd year of Henry VI., when Thomas Young, member for Bristol, complained to the commons, that, "for matters by him showed in the house accustomed for the commons in the said parliaments, he was therefore taken, arrested, and rigorously in open wise led to the Tower of London, and there grievously in great duress long time imprisoned against the said freedom and liberty;" with much more to the like effect. The commons transmitted this petition to the lords, and the king "willed that the lords of his council do and provide for the said suppliant as in their discretions shall be thought convenient and reasonable." This imprisonment of Young, however, had happened six years before, in consequence of a motion made by him that, the king then having no issue, the duke of York might be declared heir-apparent to the crown. In the present session, when the duke was protector, he thought it well-timed to prefer his claim to remuneration.[241] There is a remarkable precedent in the 9th of Henry IV., and perhaps the earliest authority for two eminent maxims of parliamentary law--that the commons possess an exclusive right of originating money bills, and that the king ought not to take notice of matters pending in parliament. A quarrel broke out between the two houses upon this ground; and as we have not before seen the commons venture to clash openly with their superiors, the circumstance is for this additional reason worthy of attention. As it has been little noticed, I shall translate the whole record. "Friday the second day of December, which was the last day of the parliament, the commons came before the king and the lords in parliament, and there, by command of the king, a schedule of indemnity touching a certain altercation moved between the lords and commons was read; and on this it was commanded by our said lord the king that the said schedule should be entered of record in the roll of parliament; of which schedule the tenor is as follows: Be it remembered, that on Monday the 21st day of November, the king our sovereign lord being in the council-chamber in the abbey of Gloucester,[242] the lords spiritual and temporal for this present parliament assembled being then in his presence, a debate took place among them about the state of the kingdom, and its defence to resist the malice of the enemies who on every side prepare to molest the said kingdom and its faithful subjects, and how no man can resist this malice, unless, for the safeguard and defence of his said kingdom, our sovereign lord the king has some notable aid and subsidy granted to him in his present parliament. And therefore it was demanded of the said lords by way of question what aid would be sufficient and requisite in these circumstances? To which question it was answered by the said lords severally, that, considering the necessity of the king on one side, and the poverty of his people on the other, no less aid could be sufficient than one tenth and a half from cities and towns, and one fifteenth and a half from all other lay persons; and, besides, to grant a continuance of the subsidy on wool, woolfells, and leather, and of three shillings on the tun (of wine), and twelve pence on the pound (of other merchandise), from Michaelmas next ensuing for two years thenceforth. Whereupon, by command of our said lord the king, a message was sent to the commons of this parliament to cause a certain number of their body to come before our said lord the king and the lords, in order to hear and report to their companions what they should be commanded by our said lord the king. And upon this the said commons sent into the presence of our said lord the king and the said lords twelve of their companions; to whom, by command of our said lord the king, the said question was declared, with the answer by the said lords severally given to it. Which answer it was the pleasure of our said lord the king that they should report to the rest of their fellows, to the end that they might take the shortest course to comply with the intention of the said lords. Which report being thus made to the said commons, they were greatly disturbed at it, saying and asserting it to be much to the prejudice and derogation of their liberties. And after that our said lord the king had heard this, not willing that anything should be done at present, or in time to come, that might anywise turn against the liberty of the estate for which they are come to parliament, nor against the liberties of the said lords, wills and grants and declares, by the advice and consent of the said lords, as follows: to wit, that it shall be lawful for the lords to debate together in this present parliament, and in every other for time to come, in the king's absence, concerning the condition of the kingdom, and the remedies necessary for it. And in like manner it shall be lawful for the commons, on their part, to debate together concerning the said condition and remedies. Provided always that neither the lords on their part, nor the commons on theirs, do make any report to our said lord the king of any grant granted by the commons, and agreed to by the lords, nor of the communications of the said grant, before that the said lords and commons are of one accord and agreement in this matter, and then in manner and form accustomed--that is to say, by the mouth of the speaker of the said commons for the time being--to the end that the said lords and commons may have what they desire (avoir puissent leur gree) of our said lord the king. Our said lord the king willing moreover, by the consent of the said lords, that the communication had in this present parliament as above be not drawn into precedent in time to come, nor be turned to the prejudice or derogation of the liberty of the estate for which the said commons are now come, neither in this present parliament nor in any other time to come. But wills that himself and all the other estates should be as free as they were before. Also, the said last day of parliament, the said speaker prayed our said lord the king, on the part of the said commons, that he would grant the said commons that they should depart in as great liberty as other commons had done before. To which the king answered that this pleased him well, and that at all times it had been his desire."[243] Every attentive reader will discover this remarkable passage to illustrate several points of constitutional law. For hence it may be perceived--first, that the king was used in those times to be present at debates of the lords, personally advising with them upon the public business; which also appears by many other passages on record; and this practice, I conceive, is not abolished by the king's present declaration, save as to grants of money, which ought to be of the free will of parliament, and without that fear or influence which the presence of so high a person might create: secondly, that it was already the established law of parliament that the lords should consent to the commons' grant, and not the commons to the lords'; since it is the inversion of this order whereof the commons complain, and it is said expressly that grants are made by the commons, and agreed to by the lords: thirdly, that the lower house of parliament is not, in proper language, an estate of the realm, but rather the image and representative of the commons of England; who, being the third estate, with the nobility and clergy make up and constitute the people of this kingdom and liege subjects of the crown.[244] At the next meeting of parliament, in allusion probably to this disagreement between the houses, the king told them that the states of parliament were come together for the common profit of the king and kingdom, and for unanimity's sake and general consent; and therefore he was sure the commons would not attempt nor say anything but what should be fitting and conducive to unanimity; commanding them to meet together and communicate for the public service.[245] It was not only in money bills that the originating power was supposed to reside in the commons. The course of proceedings in parliament, as has been seen, from the commencement at least of Edward III.'s reign, was that the commons presented petitions, which the lords, by themselves, or with the assistance of the council, having duly considered, the sanction of the king was notified or withheld. This was so much according to usage, that, on one occasion, when the commons requested the advice of the other house on a matter before them, it was answered that the ancient custom and form of parliament had ever been for the commons to report their own opinion to the king and lords, and not to the contrary; and the king would have the ancient and laudable usages of parliament maintained.[246] It is singular that in the terror of innovation the lords did not discover how materially this usage of parliament took off from their own legislative influence. The rule, however, was not observed in succeeding times; bills originated indiscriminately in either house; and indeed some acts of Henry V., which do not appear to be grounded on any petition, may be suspected, from the manner of their insertion in the rolls of parliament, to have been proposed on the king's part to the commons.[247] But there is one manifest instance in the 18th of Henry VI., where the king requested the commons to give their authority to such regulations[248] as his council might provide for redressing the abuse of purveyance; to which they assented. If we are to choose constitutional precedents from seasons of tranquillity rather than disturbance, which surely is the only means of preserving justice or consistency, but little intrinsic authority can be given to the following declaration of parliamentary law in the 11th of Richard II.: "In this parliament (the roll says) all the lords as well spiritual and temporal there present claimed as their liberty and privilege, that the great matters moved in this parliament, and to be moved in other parliaments for time to come, touching the peers of the land, should be treated, adjudged, and debated according to the course of parliament, and not by the civil law nor the common law of the land, used in the other lower courts of the kingdom; which claim, liberty, and privileges, the king graciously allowed and granted them in full parliament."[249] It should be remembered that this assertion of paramount privilege was made in very irregular times, when the king was at the mercy of the duke of Gloucester and his associates, and that it had a view to the immediate object of justifying their violent proceedings against the opposite party, and taking away the restraint of the common law. It stands as a dangerous rock to be avoided, not a lighthouse to guide us along the channel. The law of parliament, as determined by regular custom, is incorporated into our constitution; but not so as to warrant an indefinite, uncontrollable assumption of power in any case, least of all in judicial procedure, where the form and the essence of justice are inseparable from each other. And, in fact, this claim of the lords, whatever gloss Sir E. Coke may put upon it, was never intended to bear any relation to the privileges of the lower house. I should not, perhaps, have noticed this passage so strongly if it had not been made the basis of extravagant assertions as to the privileges of parliament;[250] the spirit of which exaggerations might not be ill adapted to the times wherein Sir E. Coke lived, though I think they produced at several later periods no slight mischief, some consequences of which we may still have to experience. [Sidenote: Contested elections how determined.] The want of all judicial authority, either to issue process or to examine witnesses, together with the usual shortness of sessions, deprived the house of commons of what is now considered one of its most fundamental privileges, the cognizance of disputed elections. Upon a false return by the sheriff, there was no remedy but through the king or his council. Six instances only, I believe, occur, during the reigns of the Plantagenet family, wherein the misconduct or mistake of the sheriff is recorded to have called for a specific animadversion, though it was frequently the ground of general complaint, and even of some statutes. The first is in the 12th of Edward II., when a petition was presented to the council against a false return for the county of Devon, the petitioner having been duly elected. It was referred to the court of exchequer to summon the sheriff before them.[251] The next occurs in the 36th of Edward III., when a writ was directed to the sheriff of Lancashire, after the dissolution of parliament, to inquire at the county-court into the validity of the election; and upon his neglect a second writ issued to the justices of the peace to satisfy themselves about this in the best manner they could, and report the truth into chancery. This inquiry after the dissolution was on account of the wages for attendance, to which the knights unduly returned could have no pretence.[252] We find a third case in the 7th of Richard II., when the king took notice that Thomas de Camoys, who was summoned by writ to the house of peers, had been elected knight for Surrey, and directed the sheriff to return another.[253] In the same year the town of Shaftesbury petitioned the king, lords, and commons against a false return of the sheriff of Dorset, and prayed them to order remedy. Nothing further appears respecting this petition.[254] This is the first instance of the commons being noticed in matters of election. But the next case is more material; in the 5th of Henry IV. the commons prayed the king and lords in parliament, that, because the writ of summons to parliament was not sufficiently returned by the sheriff of Rutland, this matter might be examined in parliament, and in case of default found therein an exemplary punishment might be inflicted; whereupon the lords sent for the sheriff and Oneby, the knight returned, as well as for Thorp, who had been duly elected, and, having examined into the facts of the case, directed the return to be amended, by the insertion of Thorp's name, and committed the sheriff to the Fleet till he should pay a fine at the king's pleasure.[255] The last passage that I can produce is from the roll of 18 H. VI., where "it is considered by the king, with the advice and assent of the lords spiritual and temporal," that, whereas no knights have been returned for Cambridgeshire, the sheriff shall be directed, by another writ, to hold a court and to proceed to an election, proclaiming that no person shall come armed, nor any tumultuous proceeding take place; something of which sort appears to have obstructed the execution of the first writ. It is to be noticed that the commons are not so much as named in this entry.[256] But several provisions were made by statute under the Lancastrian kings, when seats in parliament became much more an object of competition than before, to check the partiality of the sheriffs in making undue returns. One act (11 H. IV. c. 1) gives the justices of assise power to inquire into this matter, and inflicts a penalty of one hundred pounds on the sheriff. Another (6 H. VI. c. 4) mitigates the rigour of the former, so far as to permit the sheriff or the knights returned by him to traverse the inquests before the justices; that is, to be heard in their own defence, which, it seems, had not been permitted to them. Another (23 H. VI. c. 14) gives an additional penalty upon false returns to the party aggrieved. These statutes conspire with many other testimonies to manifest the rising importance of the house of commons, and the eagerness with which gentlemen of landed estates (whatever might be the case in petty boroughs) sought for a share in the national representation. [Sidenote: In whom the right of voting for knights resided.] Whoever may have been the original voters for county representatives, the first statute that regulates their election, so far from limiting the privilege to tenants in capite, appears to place it upon a very large and democratical foundation. For (as I rather conceive, though not without much hesitation), not only all freeholders, but all persons whatever present at the county-court, were declared, or rendered, capable of voting for the knight of their shire. Such at least seems to be the inference from the expressions of 7 H. IV. c. 15, "all who are there present, as well suitors duly summoned for that cause as others."[257] And this acquires some degree of confirmation from the later statute, 8 H. VI. c. 7, which, reciting that "elections of knights of shires have now of late been made by very great, outrageous, and excessive number of people dwelling within the same counties, of the which most part was people of small substance and of no value," confines the elective franchise to freeholders of lands or tenements to the value of forty shillings. [Sidenote: Elections of burgesses.] The representation of towns in parliament was founded upon two principles--of consent to public burthens, and of advice in public measures, especially such as related to trade and shipping. Upon both these accounts it was natural for the kings who first summoned them to parliament, little foreseeing that such half-emancipated burghers would ever clip the loftiest plumes of their prerogative, to make these assemblies numerous, and summon members from every town of consideration in the kingdom. Thus the writ of 23 E. I. directs the sheriffs to cause deputies to be elected to a general council from every city, borough, and trading town. And although the last words are omitted in subsequent writs, yet their spirit was preserved; many towns having constantly returned members to parliament by regular summonses, from the sheriffs, which were no chartered boroughs, nor had apparently any other claim than their populousness or commerce. These are now called boroughs by prescription.[258] Besides these respectable towns, there were some of a less eminent figure which had writs directed to them as ancient demesnes of the crown. During times of arbitrary taxation the crown had set tallages alike upon its chartered boroughs and upon its tenants in demesne. When parliamentary consent became indispensable, the free tenants in ancient demesne, or rather such of them as inhabited some particular vills, were called to parliament among the other representatives of the commons. They are usually specified distinctly from the other classes of representatives in grants of subsidies throughout the parliaments of the first and second Edwards, till, about the beginning of the third's reign, they were confounded with ordinary burgesses.[259] This is the foundation of that particular species of elective franchise incident to what we denominate burgage tenure; which, however, is not confined to the ancient demesne of the crown.[260] [Sidenote: Power of the sheriff to omit boroughs.] The proper constituents therefore of the citizens and burgesses in parliament appear to have been--1. All chartered boroughs, whether they derived their privileges from the crown, or from a mesne lord, as several in Cornwall did from Richard king of the Romans;[261] 2. All towns which were the ancient or the actual demesne of the crown; 3. All considerable places, though unincorporated, which could afford to defray the expenses of their representatives, and had a notable interest in the public welfare. But no parliament ever perfectly corresponded with this theory. The writ was addressed in general terms to the sheriff, requiring him to cause two knights to be elected out of the body of the county, two citizens from every city, and two burgesses from every borough. It rested altogether upon him to determine what towns should exercise this franchise; and it is really incredible, with all the carelessness and ignorance of those times, what frauds the sheriffs ventured to commit in executing this trust. Though parliaments met almost every year, and there could be no mistake in so notorious a fact, it was the continual practice of sheriffs to omit boroughs that had been in recent habit of electing members, and to return upon the writ that there were no more within their county. Thus in the 12th of Edward III. the sheriff of Wiltshire, after returning two citizens for Salisbury, and burgesses for two boroughs, concludes with these words:--"There are no other cities or boroughs within my bailiwick." Yet in fact eight other towns had sent members to preceding parliaments. So in the 6th of Edward II. the sheriff of Bucks declared that he had no borough within his county except Wycomb; though Wendover, Agmondesham, and Marlow had twice made returns since that king's accession.[262] And from this cause alone it has happened that many towns called boroughs, and having a charter and constitution as such, have never returned members to parliament; some of which are now among the most considerable in England, as Leeds, Birmingham, and Macclesfield.[263] It has been suggested, indeed, by Brady,[264] that these returns may not appear so false and collusive if we suppose the sheriff to mean only that there were no resident burgesses within these boroughs fit to be returned, or that the expense of their wages would be too heavy for the place to support. And no doubt the latter plea, whether implied or not in the return, was very frequently an inducement to the sheriffs to spare the smaller boroughs. The wages of knights were four shillings a day, levied on all freeholders, or at least on all holding by knight-service, within the county.[265] Those of burgesses were half that sum;[266] but even this pittance was raised with reluctance and difficulty from miserable burghers, little solicitous about political franchises. Poverty, indeed, seems to have been accepted as a legal excuse. In the 6th of E. II. the sheriff of Northumberland returns to the writ of summons that all his knights are not sufficient to protect the county; and in the 1st of E. III. that they were too much ravaged by their enemies to send any members to parliament.[267] The sheriffs of Lancashire, after several returns that they had no boroughs within their county, though Wigan, Liverpool, and Preston were such, alleged at length that none ought to be called upon on account of their poverty. This return was constantly made, from 36 E. III. to the reign of Henry VI.[268] [Sidenote: Reluctance of boroughs to send members.] The elective franchise was deemed by the boroughs no privilege or blessing, but rather, during the chief part of this period, an intolerable grievance. Where they could not persuade the sheriff to omit sending his writ to them, they set it at defiance by sending no return. And this seldom failed to succeed, so that, after one or two refusals to comply, which brought no punishment upon them, they were left in quiet enjoyment of their insignificance. The town of Torrington, in Devonshire, went further, and obtained a charter of exemption from sending burgesses, grounded upon what the charter asserts to appear on the rolls of chancery, that it had never been represented before the 21st of E. III. This is absolutely false, and is a proof how little we can rely upon the veracity of records, Torrington having made not less than twenty-two returns before that time. It is curious that in spite of this charter the town sent members to the two ensuing parliaments, and then ceased for ever.[269] Richard II. gave the inhabitants of Colchester a dispensation from returning burgesses for five years, in consideration of the expenses they had incurred in fortifying the town.[270] But this immunity, from whatever reason, was not regarded, Colchester having continued to make returns as before. The partiality of sheriffs in leaving out boroughs, which were accustomed in old time to come to the parliament, was repressed, as far as law could repress it, by a statute of Richard II., which imposed a fine on them for such neglect, and upon any member of parliament who should absent himself from his duty.[271] But it is, I think, highly probable that a great part of those who were elected from the boroughs did not trouble themselves with attendance in parliament. The sheriff even found it necessary to take sureties for their execution of so burthensome a duty, whose names it was usual, down to the end of the fifteenth century, to endorse upon the writ along with those of the elected.[272] This expedient is not likely to have been very successful; and the small number, comparatively speaking, of writs for expenses of members for boroughs, which have been published by Prynne, while those for the knights of shires are almost complete, leads to a strong presumption that their attendance was very defective. This statute of Richard II. produced no sensible effect. [Sidenote: Who the electors in boroughs were.] By what persons the election of burgesses was usually made is a question of great obscurity, which is still occasionally debated before committees of parliament. It appears to have been the common practice for a very few of the principal members of the corporation to make the election in the county-court, and their names, as actual electors, are generally returned upon the writ by the sheriff.[273] But we cannot surely be warranted by this to infer that they acted in any other capacity than as deputies of the whole body, and indeed it is frequently expressed that they chose such and such persons by the assent of the community;[274] by which word, in an ancient corporate borough, it seems natural to understand the freemen participating in its general franchises, rather than the ruling body, which, in many instances at present, and always perhaps in the earliest age of corporations, derived its authority by delegation from the rest. The consent, however, of the inferior freemen we may easily believe to have been merely nominal; and, from being nominal, it would in many places come by degrees not to be required at all; the corporation, specially so denominated, or municipal government, acquiring by length of usage an exclusive privilege in election of members of parliament, as they did in local administration. This, at least, appears to me a more probable hypothesis than that of Dr. Brady, who limits the original right of election in all corporate boroughs to the aldermen or other capital burgesses.[275] [Sidenote: Members of the house of commons.] The members of the house of commons, from this occasional disuse of ancient boroughs as well as from the creation of new ones, underwent some fluctuation during the period subject to our review. Two hundred citizens and burgesses sat in the parliament held by Edward I. in his twenty-third year, the earliest epoch of acknowledged representation. But in the reigns of Edward III. and his three successors about ninety places, on an average, returned members, so that we may reckon this part of the commons at one hundred and eighty.[276] These, if regular in their duties, might appear an over-balance for the seventy-four knights who sat with them. But the dignity of ancient lineage, territorial wealth, and military character, in times when the feudal spirit was hardly extinct and that of chivalry at its height, made these burghers vail their heads to the landed aristocracy. It is pretty manifest that the knights, though doubtless with some support from the representatives of towns, sustained the chief brunt of battle against the crown. The rule and intention of our old constitution was, that each county, city, or borough, should elect deputies out of its own body, resident among themselves, and consequently acquainted with their necessities and grievances.[277] It would be very interesting to discover at what time, and by what degrees, the practice of election swerved from this strictness. But I have not been able to trace many steps of the transition. The number of practising lawyers who sat in parliament, of which there are several complaints, seems to afford an inference that it had begun in the reign of Edward III. Besides several petitions of the commons that none but knights or reputable squires should be returned for shires, an ordinance was made in the forty-sixth of his reign that no lawyer practising in the king's court, nor sheriff during his shrievalty, be returned knight for a county; because these lawyers put forward many petitions in the name of the commons which only concerned their clients.[278] This probably was truly alleged, as we may guess from the vast number of proposals for changing the course of legal process which fill the rolls during this reign. It is not to be doubted, however, that many practising lawyers were men of landed estate in their respective counties. An act in the first year of Henry V. directs that none be chosen knights, citizens, or burgesses, who are not resident within the place for which they are returned on the day of the date of the writ.[279] This statute apparently indicates a point of time when the deviation from the line of law was frequent enough to attract notice, and yet not so established as to pass for an unavoidable irregularity. It proceeded, however, from great and general causes, which new laws, in this instance very fortunately, are utterly incompetent to withstand. There cannot be a more apposite proof of the inefficacy of human institutions to struggle against the steady course of events than this unlucky statute of Henry V., which is almost a solitary instance in the law of England wherein the principle of desuetude has been avowedly set up against an unrepealed enactment. I am not aware, at least, of any other, which not only the house of commons, but the court of king's bench, has deemed itself at liberty to declare unfit to be observed.[280] Even at the time when it was enacted, the law had probably, as such, very little effect. But still the plurality of elections were made according to ancient usage, as well as statute, out of the constituent body. The contrary instances were exceptions to the rule; but exceptions increasing continually, till they subverted the rule itself. Prynne has remarked that we chiefly find Cornish surnames among the representatives of Cornwall, and those of northern families among the returns from the North. Nor do the members for shires and towns seem to have been much interchanged; the names of the former belonging to the most ancient families, while those of the latter have a more plebeian cast.[281] In the reign of Edward IV., and not before, a very few of the burgesses bear the addition of esquire in the returns, which became universal in the middle of the succeeding century.[282] [Sidenote: Irregularity of elections.] [Sidenote: Influence of the crown upon them.] Even county elections seem in general, at least in the fourteenth century, to have been ill-attended and left to the influence of a few powerful and active persons. A petitioner against an undue return in the 12th of Edward II. complains that, whereas he had been chosen knight for Devon by Sir William Martin, bishop of Exeter, with the consent of the county, yet the sheriff had returned another.[283] In several indentures of a much later date a few persons only seem to have been concerned in the election, though the assent of the community be expressed.[284] These irregularities, which it would be exceedingly erroneous to convert, with Hume, into lawful customs, resulted from the abuses of the sheriff's power, which, when parliament sat only for a few weeks with its hands full of business, were almost sure to escape with impunity. They were sometimes also countenanced, or rather instigated, by the crown, which, having recovered in Edward II.'s reign the prerogative of naming the sheriffs, surrendered by an act of his father,[285] filled that office with its creatures, and constantly disregarded the statute forbidding their continuance beyond a year. Without searching for every passage that might illustrate the interference of the crown in elections, I will mention two or three leading instances. When Richard II. was meditating to overturn the famous commission of reform, he sent for some of the sheriffs, and required them to permit no knight or burgess to be elected to the next parliament without the approbation of the king and his council. The sheriffs replied that the commons would maintain their ancient privilege of electing their own representatives.[286] The parliament of 1397, which attainted his enemies and left the constitution at his mercy, was chosen, as we are told, by dint of intimidation and influence.[287] Thus also that of Henry VI., held at Coventry in 1460, wherein the duke of York and his party were attainted, is said to have been unduly returned by the like means. This is rendered probable by a petition presented to it by the sheriffs, praying indemnity for all which they had done in relation thereto contrary to law.[288] An act passed according to their prayer, and in confirmation of elections. A few years before, in 1455, a singular letter under the king's signet is addressed to the sheriffs, reciting that "we be enfourmed there is busy labour made in sondry wises by certaine persons for the chesyng of the said knights, ... of which labour we marvaille greatly, insomuche as it is nothing to the honour of the laborers, but ayenst their worship; it is also ayenst the lawes of the lande," with more to that effect; and enjoining the sheriff to let elections be free and the peace kept.[289] There was certainly no reason to wonder that a parliament, which was to shift the virtual sovereignty of the kingdom into the hands of one whose claims were known to extend much further, should be the object of tolerably warm contests. Thus in the Paston letters we find several proofs of the importance attached to parliamentary elections by the highest nobility.[290] [Sidenote: Constitution of the house of lords.] The house of lords, as we left it in the reign of Henry III., was entirely composed of such persons holding lands by barony as were summoned by particular writ of parliament.[291] Tenure and summons were both essential at this time in order to render any one a lord of parliament--the first by the ancient constitution of our feudal monarchy from the Conquest, the second by some regulation or usage of doubtful origin, which was thoroughly established before the conclusion of Henry III.'s reign. This produced, of course, a very marked difference between the greater and the lesser or unparliamentary barons. The tenure of the latter, however, still subsisted, and, though too inconsiderable to be members of the legislature, they paid relief as barons, they might be challenged on juries, and, as I presume, by parity of reasoning, were entitled to trial by their peerage. These lower barons, or more commonly tenants by parcels of baronies,[292] may be dimly traced to the latter years of Edward III.[293] But many of them were successively summoned to parliament, and thus recovered the former lustre of their rank, while the rest fell gradually into the station of commoners, as tenants by simple knight-service. [Sidenote: Baronial tenure required for lords spiritual.] As tenure without summons did not entitle any one to the privileges of a lord of parliament, so no spiritual person at least ought to have been summoned without baronial tenure. The prior of St. James at Northampton, having been summoned in the twelfth of Edward II., was discharged upon his petition, because he held nothing of the king by barony, but only in frankalmoign. The prior of Bridlington, after frequent summonses, was finally left out, with an entry made in the roll that he held nothing of the king. The abbot of Leicester had been called to fifty parliaments; yet, in the 25th of Edward III., he obtained a charter of perpetual exemption, reciting that he held no lands or tenements of the crown by barony or any such service as bound him to attend parliaments or councils.[294] But great irregularities prevailed in the rolls of chancery, from which the writs to spiritual and temporal peers were taken--arising in part, perhaps, from negligence, in part from wilful perversion; so that many abbots and priors, who like these had no baronial tenure, were summoned at times and subsequently omitted, of whose actual exemption we have no record. Out of one hundred and twenty-two abbots and forty-one priors who at some time or other sat in parliament, but twenty-five of the former and two of the latter were constantly summoned: the names of forty occur only once, and those of thirty-six others not, more than five times.[295] Their want of baronial tenure, in all probability, prevented the repetition of writs which accident or occasion had caused to issue.[296] [Sidenote: Barons called by writ.] The ancient temporal peers are supposed to have been intermingled with persons who held nothing of the crown by barony, but attended in parliament solely by virtue of the king's prerogative exercised in the writ of summons.[297] These have been called barons by writ; and it seems to be denied by no one that, at least under the first three Edwards, there were some of this description in parliament. But after all the labours of Dugdale and others in tracing the genealogies of our ancient aristocracy, it is a problem of much difficulty to distinguish these from the territorial barons. As the latter honours descended to female heirs, they passed into new families and new names, so that we can hardly decide of one summoned for the first time to parliament that he did not inherit the possession of a feudal barony. Husbands of baronial heiresses were frequently summoned in their wives' right, but by their own names. They even sat after the death of their wives, as tenants by the courtesy.[298] Again, as lands, though not the subject of frequent transfer, were, especially before the statute de donis, not inalienable, we cannot positively assume that all the right heirs of original barons had preserved those estates upon which their barony had depended.[299] If we judge, however, by the lists of those summoned, according to the best means in our power, it will appear, according at least to one of our most learned investigators of this subject, that the regular barons by tenure were all along very far more numerous than those called by writ; and that from the end of Edward III.'s reign no spiritual persons, and few if any laymen, except peers created by patent, were summoned to parliament who did not hold territorial baronies.[300] With respect to those who were indebted for their seats among the lords to the king's writ, there are two material questions: whether they acquired an hereditary nobility by virtue of the writ; and, if this be determined against them, whether they had a decisive or merely a deliberative voice in the house. Now, for the first question, it seems that, if the writ of summons conferred an estate of inheritance, it must have done so either by virtue of its terms or by established construction and precedent. But the writ contains no words by which such an estate can in law be limited; it summons the person addressed to attend in parliament in order to give his advice on the public business, but by no means implies that his advice will be required of his heirs, or even of himself on any other occasion. The strongest expression is "vobiscum et _cæteris_ prælatis, magnatibus et proceribus," which appears to place the party on a sort of level with the peers. But the words magnates and proceres are used very largely in ancient language, and, down to the time of Edward III., comprehend the king's ordinary council, as well as his barons. Nor can these, at any rate, be construed to pass an inheritance, which in the grant of a private person, much more of a king, would require express words of limitation. In a single instance, the writ of summons to Sir Henry de Bromflete (27 H. VI.), we find these remarkable words: Volumus enim vos et hæredes vestros masculos de corpore vestro legitimè exeuntes barones de Vescy existere. But this Sir Henry de Bromflete was the lineal heir of the ancient barony de Vesci.[301] And if it were true that the writ of summons conveyed a barony of itself, there seems no occasion to have introduced these extraordinary words of creation or revival. Indeed there is less necessity to urge these arguments from the nature of the writ, because the modern doctrine, which is entirely opposite to what has here been suggested, asserts that no one is ennobled by the mere summons unless he has rendered it operative by taking his seat in parliament; distinguishing it in this from a patent of peerage, which requires no act of the party for its completion.[302] But this distinction could be supported by nothing except long usage. If, however, we recur to the practice of former times, we shall find that no less than ninety-eight laymen were summoned once only to parliament, none of their names occurring afterwards; and fifty others two, three, or four times. Some were constantly summoned during their lives, none of whose posterity ever attained that honour.[303] The course of proceeding, therefore, previous to the accession of Henry VII., by no means warrants the doctrine which was held in the latter end of Elizabeth's reign,[304] and has since been too fully established by repeated precedents to be shaken by any reasoning. The foregoing observations relate to the more ancient history of our constitution, and to the plain matter of fact as to those times, without considering what political cause there might be to prevent the crown from introducing occasional counsellors into the house of lords.[305] [Sidenote: Bannerets summoned to house of lords.] It is manifest by many passages in these records that bannerets were frequently summoned to the upper house of parliament, constituting a distinct class inferior to barons, though generally named together, and ultimately confounded, with them.[306] Barons are distinguished by the appellation of Sire, bannerets have only that of Monsieur, as le Sire de Berkeley, le Sire de Fitzwalter, Monsieur Richard Scrop, Monsieur Richard Stafford. In the 7th of Richard II. Thomas Camoys having been elected knight of the shire for Surrey, the king addresses a writ to the sheriff, directing him to proceed to a new election, cum hujusmodi banneretti ante hæc tempora in milites comitatus ratione alicujus parliamenti eligi minime consueverunt. Camoys was summoned by writ to the same parliament. It has been inferred from hence by Selden that he was a baron, and that the word banneret is merely synonymous.[307] But this is contradicted by too many passages. Bannerets had so far been considered as commoners some years before that they could not be challenged on juries.[308] But they seem to have been more highly estimated at the date of this writ. The distinction, however, between barons and bannerets died away by degrees. In the 2nd of Henry VI.[309] Scrop of Bolton is called le Sire de Scrop; a proof that he was then reckoned among the barons. The bannerets do not often appear afterwards by that appellation as members of the upper house. Bannerets, or, as they are called, banrents, are enumerated among the orders of Scottish nobility in the year 1428, when the statute directing the common lairds or tenants in capite to send representatives was enacted; and a modern historian justly calls them an intermediate order between the peers and lairds.[310] Perhaps a consideration of these facts, which have frequently been overlooked, may tend in some measure to explain the occasional discontinuance, or sometimes the entire cessation, of writs of summons to an individual or his descendants; since we may conceive that bannerets, being of a dignity much inferior to that of barons, had no such inheritable nobility in their blood as rendered their parliamentary privileges a matter of right. But whether all those who without any baronial tenure received their writs of summons to parliament belonged to the order of bannerets I cannot pretend to affirm; though some passages in the rolls might rather lead to such a supposition.[311] The second question relates to the right of suffrage possessed by these temporary members of the upper house. It might seem plausible certainly to conceive that the real and ancient aristocracy would not permit their powers to be impaired by numbering the votes of such as the king might please to send among them, however they might allow them to assist in their debates. But I am much more inclined to suppose that they were in all respects on an equality with other peers during their actual attendance in parliament. For,--1. They are summoned by the same writ as the rest, and their names are confused among them in the lists; whereas the judges and ordinary counsellors are called by a separate writ, vobiscum et cæteris de consilio nostro, and their names are entered after those of the peers.[312] 2. Some, who do not appear to have held land-baronies, were constantly summoned from father to son, and thus became hereditary lords of parliament through a sort of prescriptive right, which probably was the foundation of extending the same privilege afterwards to the descendants of all who had once been summoned. There is no evidence that the family of Scrope, for example, which was eminent under Edward III. and subsequent kings, and gave rise to two branches, the lords of Bolton and Masham, inherited any territorial honour.[313] 3. It is very difficult to obtain any direct proof as to the right of voting, because the rolls of parliament do not take notice of any debates; but there happens to exist one remarkable passage in which the suffrages of the lords are individually specified. In the first parliament of Henry IV. they were requested by the earl of Northumberland to declare what should be done with the late king Richard. The lords then present agreed that he should be detained in safe custody; and on account of the importance of this matter it seems to have been thought necessary to enter their names upon the roll in these words:--The names of the lords concurring in their answer to the said question here follow; to wit, the archbishop of Canterbury and fourteen other bishops; seven abbots; the prince of Wales, the duke of York, and six earls; nineteen barons, styled thus--le Sire de Roos, or le Sire de Grey de Ruthyn. Thus far the entry has nothing singular; but then follow these nine names: Monsieur Henry Percy, Monsieur Richard Scrop, le Sire Fitz-hugh, le Sire de Bergeveny, le Sire de Lomley, le Baron de Greystock, le Baron de Hilton, Monsieur Thomas Erpyngham, chamberlayn, Monsieur Mayhewe Gournay. Of these nine five were undoubtedly barons, from whatever cause misplaced in order. Scrop was summoned by writ; but his title of Monsieur, by which he is invariably denominated, would of itself create a strong suspicion that he was no baron, and in another place we find him reckoned among the bannerets. The other three do not appear to have been summoned, their writs probably being lost. One of them, Sir Thomas Erpyngham, a statesman well known in the history of those times, is said to have been a banneret;[314] certainly he was not a baron. It is not unlikely that the two others, Henry Percy (Hotspur) and Gournay, an officer of the household, were also bannerets; they cannot at least be supposed to be barons, neither were they ever summoned to any subsequent parliament. Yet in the only record we possess of votes actually given in the house of lords they appear to have been reckoned among the rest.[315] [Sidenote: Creation of peers by statute.] The next method of conferring an honour of peerage was by creation in parliament. This was adopted by Edward III. in several instances, though always, I believe, for the higher titles of duke or earl. It is laid down by lawyers that whatever the king is said in an ancient record to have done in full parliament must be taken to have proceeded from the whole legislature. As a question of fact, indeed, it might be doubted whether, in many proceedings where this expression is used, and especially in the creation of peers, the assent of the commons was specifically and deliberately given. It seems hardly consonant to the circumstances of their order under Edward III. to suppose their sanction necessary in what seemed so little to concern their interest. Yet there is an instance in the fortieth year of that prince where the lords individually, and the commons with one voice, are declared to have consented, at the king's request, that the lord de Coucy, who had married his daughter, and was already possessed of estates in England, might be raised to the dignity of an earl, whenever the king should determine what earldom he would confer upon him.[316] Under Richard II. the marquisate of Dublin is granted to Vere by full consent of all the estates. But this instrument, besides the unusual name of dignity, contained an extensive jurisdiction and authority over Ireland.[317] In the same reign Lancaster was made duke of Guienne, and the duke of York's son created earl of Rutland, to hold during his father's life. The consent of the lords and commons is expressed in their patents, and they are entered upon the roll of parliament.[318] Henry V. created his brothers dukes of Bedford and Gloucester by request of the lords and commons.[319] But the patent of Sir John Cornwall, in the tenth of Henry VI., declares him to be made lord Fanhope, "by consent of the lords, in the presence of the three estates of parliament;" as if it were designed to show that the commons had not a legislative voice in the creation of peers.[320] [Sidenote: And by patent.] The mention I have made of creating peers by act of parliament has partly anticipated the modern form of letters patent, with which the other was nearly allied. The first instance of a barony conferred by patent was in the tenth year of Richard II., when Sir John Holt, a judge of the Common Pleas, was created lord Beauchamp of Kidderminster. Holt's patent, however, passed while Richard was endeavouring to act in an arbitrary manner; and in fact he never sat in parliament, having been attainted in that of the next year by the name of Sir John Holt. In a number of subsequent patents down to the reign of Henry VII. the assent of parliament is expressed, though it frequently happens that no mention of it occurs in the parliamentary roll. And in some instances the roll speaks to the consent of parliament where the patent itself is silent.[321] [Sidenote: Clergy summoned to attend parliament.] It is now perhaps scarcely known by many persons not unversed in the constitution of their country, that, besides the bishops and baronial abbots, the inferior clergy were regularly summoned at every parliament. In the writ of summons to a bishop he is still directed to cause the dean of his cathedral church, the archdeacon of his diocese, with one proctor from the chapter of the former, and two from the body of his clergy, to attend with him at the place of meeting. This might, by an inobservant reader, be confounded with the summons to the convocation, which is composed of the same constituent parts, and, by modern usage, is made to assemble on the same day. But it may easily be distinguished by this difference--that the convocation is provincial, and summoned by the metropolitans of Canterbury and York; whereas the clause commonly denominated præmunientes (from its first word) in the writ to each bishop proceeds from the crown, and enjoins the attendance of the clergy at the national council of parliament.[322] The first unequivocal instance of representatives appearing for the lower clergy is in the year 1255, when they are expressly named by the author of the Annals of Burton.[323] They preceded, therefore, by a few years the house of commons; but the introduction of each was founded upon the same principle. The king required the clergy's money, but dared not take it without their consent.[324] In the double parliament, if so we may call it, summoned in the eleventh of Edward I. to meet at Northampton and York, and divided according to the two ecclesiastical provinces, the proctors of chapters for each province, but not those of the diocesan clergy, were summoned through a royal writ addressed to the archbishops. Upon account of the absence of any deputies from the lower clergy these assemblies refused to grant a subsidy. The proctors of both descriptions appear to have been summoned by the præmunientes clause in the 22nd, 23rd, 24th, 28th, and 35th years of the same king; but in some other parliaments of his reign the præmunientes clause is omitted.[325] The same irregularity continued under his successor; and the constant usage of inserting this clause in the bishop's writ is dated from the twenty-eighth of Edward III.[326] It is highly probable that Edward I., whose legislative mind was engaged in modelling the constitution on a comprehensive scheme, designed to render the clergy an effective branch of parliament, however their continual resistance may have defeated the accomplishment of this intention.[327] We find an entry upon the roll of his parliament at Carlisle, containing a list of all the proctors deputed to it by the several dioceses of the kingdom. This may be reckoned a clear proof of their parliamentary attendance during his reign under the præmunientes clause; since the province of Canterbury could not have been present in convocation at a city beyond its limits.[328] And indeed, if we were to found our judgment merely on the language used in these writs, it would be hard to resist a very strange paradox, that the clergy were not only one of the three estates of the realm, but as essential a member of the legislature by their representatives as the commons.[329] They are summoned in the earliest year extant (23 E. I.) ad tractandum, ordinandum et faciendum nobiscum, et cum cæteris prælatis, proceribus, ac aliis incolis regni nostri; in that of the next year, ad ordinandum de quantitate et modo subsidii; in that of the twenty-eighth, ad faciendum et consentiendum his, quæ tunc de communi consilio ordinari contigerit. In later times it ran sometimes ad faciendum et consentiendum, sometimes only ad consentiendum; which, from the fifth of Richard II., has been the term invariably adopted.[330] Now, as it is usual to infer from the same words, when introduced into the writs for election of the commons, that they possessed an enacting power, implied in the words ad faciendum, or at least to deduce the necessity of their assent from the words ad consentiendum, it should seem to follow that the clergy were invested, as a branch of the parliament, with rights no less extensive. It is to be considered how we can reconcile these apparent attributes of political power with the unquestionable facts that almost all laws, even while they continued to attend, were passed without their concurrence, and that, after some time, they ceased altogether to comply with the writ.[331] The solution of this difficulty can only be found in that estrangement from the common law and the temporal courts which the clergy throughout Europe were disposed to effect. In this country their ambition defeated its own ends; and while they endeavoured by privileges and immunities to separate themselves from the people, they did not perceive that the line of demarcation thus strongly traced would cut them off from the sympathy of common interests. Everything which they could call of ecclesiastical cognizance was drawn into their own courts; while the administration of what they contemned as a barbarous system, the temporal law of the land, fell into the hands of lay judges. But these were men not less subtle, not less ambitious, not less attached to their profession than themselves; and wielding, as they did in the courts of Westminster, the delegated sceptre of judicial sovereignty, they soon began to control the spiritual jurisdiction, and to establish the inherent supremacy of the common law. From this time an inveterate animosity subsisted between the two courts, the vestiges of which have only been effaced by the liberal wisdom of modern ages. The general love of the common law, however, with the great weight of its professors in the king's council and in parliament, kept the clergy in surprising subjection. None of our kings after Henry III. were bigots; and the constant tone of the commons serves to show that the English nation was thoroughly averse to ecclesiastical influence, whether of their own church or the see of Rome. It was natural, therefore, to withstand the interference of the clergy summoned to parliament in legislation, as much as that of the spiritual court in temporal jurisdiction. With the ordinary subjects, indeed, of legislation they had little concern. The oppressions of the king's purveyors, or escheators, or officers of the forests, the abuses or defects of the common law, the regulations necessary for trading towns and seaports, were matters that touched them not, and to which their consent was never required. And, as they well knew there was no design in summoning their attendance but to obtain money, it was with great reluctance that they obeyed the royal writ, which was generally obliged to be enforced by an archiepiscopal mandate.[332] Thus, instead of an assembly of deputies from an estate of the realm, they became a synod or convocation. And it seems probable that in most, if not all, instances where the clergy are said in the roll of parliament to have presented their petitions, or are otherwise mentioned as a deliberative body, we should suppose the convocation alone of the province of Canterbury to be intended.[333] For that of York seems to have been always considered as inferior, and even ancillary, to the greater province, voting subsidies, and even assenting to canons, without deliberation, in compliance with the example of Canterbury;[334] the convocation of which province consequently assumed the importance of a national council. But in either point of view the proceedings of this ecclesiastical assembly, collateral in a certain sense to parliament, yet very intimately connected with it, whether sitting by virtue of the præmunientes clause or otherwise, deserve some notice in a constitutional history. In the sixth year of Edward III. the proctors of the clergy are specially mentioned as present at the speech pronounced by the king's commissioner, and retired, along with the prelates, to consult together upon the business submitted to their deliberation. They proposed accordingly a sentence of excommunication against disturbers of the peace, which was assented to by the lords and commons. The clergy are said afterwards to have had leave, as well as the knights, citizens, and burgesses, to return to their homes; the prelates and peers continuing with the king.[335] This appearance of the clergy in full parliament is not, perhaps, so decisively proved by any later record. But in the eighteenth of the same reign several petitions of the clergy are granted by the king and his council, entered on the roll of parliament, and even the statute roll, and in some respects are still part of our law.[336] To these it seems highly probable that the commons gave no assent; and they may be reckoned among the other infringements of their legislative rights. It is remarkable that in the same parliament the commons, as if apprehensive of what was in preparation, besought the king that no petition of the clergy might be granted till he and his council should have considered whether it would turn to the prejudice of the lords or commons.[337] A series of petitions from the clergy, in the twenty-fifth of Edward. III., had not probably any real assent of the commons, though it is once mentioned in the enacting words, when they were drawn into a statute.[338] Indeed the petitions correspond so little with the general sentiment of hostility towards ecclesiastical privileges manifested by the lower house of parliament, that they would not easily have obtained its acquiescence. The convocation of the province of Canterbury presented several petitions in the fiftieth year of the same king, to which they received an assenting answer; but they are not found in the statute-book. This, however, produced the following remonstrance from the commons at the next parliament: "Also the commons beseech their lord the king, that no statute nor ordinance be made at the petition of the clergy, unless by assent of your commons; and that your commons be not bound by any constitutions which they make for their own profit without the commons' assent. For they will not be bound by any of your statutes or ordinances made without their assent."[339] The king evaded a direct answer to this petition. But the province of Canterbury did not the less present their own grievances to the king in that parliament, and two among the statutes of the year seem to be founded upon no other authority.[340] In the first session of Richard II. the prelates and clergy of both provinces are said to have presented their schedule of petitions which appear upon the roll, and three of which are the foundation of statutes unassented to in all probability by the commons.[341] If the clergy of both provinces were actually present, as is here asserted, it must of course have been as a house of parliament, and not of convocation. It rather seems, so far as we can trust to the phraseology of records, that the clergy sat also in a national assembly under the king's writ in the second year of the same king.[342] Upon other occasions during the same reign, where the representatives of the clergy are alluded to as a deliberative body, sitting at the same time with the parliament, it is impossible to ascertain its constitution; and, indeed, even from those already cited we cannot draw any positive inference.[343] But whether in convocation or in parliament, they certainly formed a legislative council in ecclesiastical matters by the advice and consent of which alone, without that of the commons (I can say nothing as to the lords), Edward III. and even Richard II. enacted laws to bind the laity. I have mentioned in a different place a still more conspicuous instance of this assumed prerogative; namely, the memorable statute against heresy in the second of Henry IV.; which can hardly be deemed anything else than an infringement of the rights of parliament, more clearly established at that time than at the accession of Richard II. Petitions of the commons relative to spiritual matters, however frequently proposed, in few or no instances obtained the king's assent so as to pass into statutes, unless approved by the convocation.[344] But, on the other hand, scarcely any temporal laws appear to have passed by the concurrence of the clergy. Two instances only, so far as I know, are on record: the parliament held in the eleventh of Richard II. is annulled by that in the twenty-first of his reign, "with the assent of the lords spiritual and temporal, _and the proctors of the clergy_, and the commons;"[345] and the statute entailing the crown on the children of Henry IV. is said to be enacted on the petition of the prelates, nobles, clergy, and commons.[346] Both these were stronger exertions of legislative authority than ordinary acts of parliament, and were very likely to be questioned in succeeding times. [Sidenote: Jurisdiction of the king's council.] The supreme judicature, which had been exercised by the king's court, was diverted, about the reign of John, into three channels; the tribunals of King's Bench, Common Pleas, and the Exchequer.[347] These became the regular fountains of justice, which soon almost absorbed the provincial jurisdictions of the sheriff and lord of manor. But the original institution, having been designed for ends of state, police, and revenue, full as much as for the determination of private suits, still preserved the most eminent parts of its authority. For the king's ordinary or privy council, which is the usual style from the reign of Edward I., seems to have been no other than the king's court (curia regis) of older times, being composed of the same persons, and having, in a principal degree, the same subjects of deliberation. It consisted of the chief ministers; as the chancellor, treasurer, lord steward, lord admiral, lord marshal, the keeper of the privy seal, the chamberlain, treasurer, and comptroller of the household, the chancellor of the exchequer, the master of the wardrobe; and of the judges, king's serjeant, and attorney-general, the master of the rolls, and justices in eyre, who at that time were not the same as the judges at Westminster. When all these were called together, it was a full council; but where the business was of a more contracted nature, those only who were fittest to advise were summoned; the chancellor and judges for matters of law; the officers of state for what concerned the revenue or household.[348] The business of this council, out of parliament, may be reduced to two heads; its deliberative office as a council of advice, and its decisive power of jurisdiction. With respect to the first, it obviously comprehended all subjects of political deliberation, which were usually referred to it by the king: this being in fact the administration or governing council of state, the distinction of a cabinet being introduced in comparatively modern times. But there were likewise a vast number of petitions continually presented to the council, upon which they proceeded no further than to sort, as it were, and forward them by endorsement to the proper courts, or advise the suitor what remedy he had to seek. Thus some petitions are answered, "this cannot be done without a new law;" some were turned over to the regular court, as the chancery or king's bench; some of greater moment were endorsed to be heard "before the great council;" some, concerning the king's interest, were referred to the chancery, or select persons of the council. The coercive authority exercised by this standing council of the king was far more important. It may be divided into acts, legislative and judicial. As for the first, many ordinances were made in council; sometimes upon request of the commons in parliament, who felt themselves better qualified to state a grievance than a remedy; sometimes without any pretence, unless the usage of government, in the infancy of our constitution, may be thought to afford one. These were always of a temporary or partial nature, and were considered as regulations not sufficiently important to demand a new statute. Thus, in the second year of Richard II., the council, after hearing read the statute-roll of an act recently passed, confirming a criminal jurisdiction in certain cases upon justices of the peace, declared that the intention of parliament, though not clearly expressed therein, had been to extend that jurisdiction to certain other cases omitted, which accordingly they cause to be inserted in the commissions made to these justices under the great seal.[349] But they frequently so much exceeded what the growing spirit of public liberty would permit, that it gave rise to complaint in parliament. The commons petition in 13 R. II. that "neither the chancellor nor the king's council, after the close of parliament, may make any ordinance against the common law, or the ancient customs of the land, or the statutes made heretofore or to be made in this parliament; but that the common law have its course for all the people, and no judgment be rendered without due legal process." The king answers, "Let it be done as has been usual heretofore, saving the prerogative; and if any one is aggrieved, let him show it specially, and right shall be done him."[350] This unsatisfactory answer proves the arbitrary spirit in which Richard was determined to govern. The judicial power of the council was in some instances founded upon particular acts of parliament, giving it power to hear and determine certain causes. Many petitions likewise were referred to it from parliament, especially where they were left unanswered by reason of a dissolution. But, independently of this delegated authority, it is certain that the king's council did anciently exercise, as well out of parliament as in it, a very great jurisdiction, both in causes criminal and civil. Some, however, have contended, that whatever they did in this respect was illegal, and an encroachment upon the common law and Magna Charta. And be the common law what it may, it seems an indisputable violation of the charter in its most admirable and essential article, to drag men in questions of their freehold or liberty before a tribunal which neither granted them a trial by their peers nor always respected the law of the land. Against this usurpation the patriots of those times never ceased to lift their voices. A statute of the fifth year of Edward III. provides that no man shall be attached, nor his property seized into the king's hands, against the form of the great charter and the law of the land. In the twenty-fifth of the same king it was enacted, that "none shall be taken by petition or suggestion to the king or his council, unless it be by indictment or presentment, or by writ original at the common law, nor shall be put out of his franchise or freehold, unless he be duly put to answer, and forejudged of the same by due course of law."[351] This was repeated in a short act of the twenty-eighth of his reign;[352] but both, in all probability, were treated with neglect; for another was passed some years afterwards, providing that no man shall be put to answer without presentment before justices, or matter of record, or by due process and writ original according to the old law of the land. The answer to the petition whereon this statute is grounded, in the parliament-roll, expressly declares this to be an article of the great charter.[353] Nothing, however, would prevail on the council to surrender so eminent a power, and, though usurped, yet of so long a continuance. Cases of arbitrary imprisonment frequently occurred, and were remonstrated against by the commons. The right of every freeman in that cardinal point was as undubitable, legally speaking, as at this day; but the courts of law were afraid to exercise their remedial functions in defiance of so powerful a tribunal. After the accession of the Lancastrian family, these, like other grievances, became rather less frequent but the commons remonstrate several times, even in the minority of Henry VI., against the council's interference in matters cognizable at common law.[354] In these later times the civil jurisdiction of the council was principally exercised in conjunction with the chancery, and accordingly they are generally named together in the complaint. The chancellor having the great seal in his custody, the council usually borrowed its process from his court. This was returnable into chancery even where the business was depending before the council. Nor were the two jurisdictions less intimately allied in their character, each being of an equitable nature; and equity, as then practised, being little else than innovation and encroachment on the course of law. This part, long since the most important of the chancellor's judicial function, cannot be traced beyond the time of Richard II., when, the practice of feoffments to uses having been introduced, without any legal remedy to secure the cestui que use, or usufructuary, against his feoffees, the court of chancery undertook to enforce this species of contract by process of its own.[355] Such was the nature of the king's ordinary council in itself, as the organ of his executive sovereignty, and such the jurisdiction which it habitually exercised. But it is also to be considered in its relation to the parliament, during whose session, either singly or in conjunction with the lords' house, it was particularly conspicuous. The great officers of state, whether peers or not, the judges, the king's serjeant, and attorney-general, were, from the earliest times, as the latter still continue to be, summoned by special writs to the upper house. But while the writ of a peer runs ad tractandum nobiscum et cum cæteris prælatis, magnatibus et proceribus, that directed to one of the judges is only ad tractandum nobiscum et cum cæteris de consilio nostro; and the seats of the latter are upon the woolsacks at one extremity of the house. In the reigns of Edward I. and II. the council appear to have been the regular advisers of the king in passing laws to which the houses of parliament had assented. The preambles of most statutes during this period express their concurrence. Thus the statute Westm. I. is said to be the act of the king by his council, and by the assent of archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, earls, barons, and all the commonalty of the realm being hither summoned. The statute of escheators, 29 E. I., is said to be agreed by the council, enumerating their names, all whom appear to be judges or public officers. Still more striking conclusions are to be drawn from the petitions addressed to the council by both houses of parliament. In the eighth of Edward II. there are four petitions from the commons to the king and his council, one from the lords alone, and one in which both appear to have joined. Later parliaments of the same reign present us with several more instances of the like nature. Thus in 18 E. II. a petition begins, "To our lord the king, and to his council, the archbishops, bishops, prelates, earls, barons, and others of the commonalty of England, show," &c.[356] But from the beginning of Edward III.'s reign it seems that the council and the lords' house in parliament were often blended together into one assembly. This was denominated the great council, being the lords spiritual and temporal, with the king's ordinary council annexed to them, as a council within a council. And even in much earlier times the lords, as hereditary counsellors, were, either whenever they thought fit to attend, or on special summonses by the king (it is hard to say which), assistant members of this council, both for advice and for jurisdiction. This double capacity of the peerage, as members of the parliament or legislative assembly and of the deliberative and judicial council, throws a very great obscurity over the subject. However, we find that private petitions for redress were, even under Edward I., presented to the lords in parliament as much as to the ordinary council. The parliament was considered a high court of justice, where relief was to be given in cases where the course of law was obstructed, as well as where it was defective. Hence the intermission of parliaments was looked upon as a delay of justice, and their annual meeting is demanded upon that ground. "The king," says Fleta, "has his court in his council, in his parliaments, in the presence of bishops, earls, barons, lords, and other wise men, where the doubtful cases of judgments are resolved, and new remedies are provided against new injuries, and justice is rendered to every man according to his desert."[357] In the third year of Edward II. receivers of petitions began to be appointed at the opening of every parliament, who usually transmitted them to the ordinary, but in some instances to the great council. These receivers were commonly three for England, and three for Ireland, Wales, Gascony, and other foreign dominions. There were likewise two corresponding classes of auditors or triers of petitions. These consisted partly of bishops or peers, partly of judges and other members of the council; and they seem to have been instituted in order to disburthen the council by giving answers to some petitions. But about the middle of Edward III.'s time they ceased to act juridically in this respect, and confined themselves to transmitting petitions to the lords of the council. The great council, according to the definition we have given, consisting of the lords spiritual and temporal, in conjunction with the ordinary council, or, in other words, of all who were severally summoned to parliament, exercised a considerable jurisdiction, as well civil as criminal. In this jurisdiction it is the opinion of Sir M. Hale that the council, though not peers, had right of suffrage; an opinion very probable, when we recollect that the council by themselves, both in and out of parliament, possessed in fact a judicial authority little inferior; and that the king's delegated sovereignty in the administration of justice, rather than any intrinsic right of the peerage, is the foundation on which the judicature of the lords must be supported. But in the time of Edward III. or Richard II. the lords, by their ascendency, threw the judges and rest of the council into shade, and took the decisive jurisdiction entirely to themselves, making use of their former colleagues but as assistants and advisers, as they still continue to be held in all the judicial proceedings of that house.[358] Those statutes which restrain the king's ordinary council from disturbing men in their freehold rights, or questioning them for misdemeanours, have an equal application to the lords' house in parliament, though we do not frequently meet with complaints of the encroachments made by that assembly. There was, however, one class of cases tacitly excluded from the operation of those acts, in which the coercive jurisdiction of this high tribunal had great convenience; namely, where the ordinary course of justice was so much obstructed by the defending party, through riots, combinations of maintenance, or overawing influence, that no inferior court would find its process obeyed. Those ages, disfigured in their quietest season by rapine and oppression, afforded no small number of cases that called for this interposition of a paramount authority.[359] Another indubitable branch of this jurisdiction was in writs of error; but it may be observed that their determination was very frequently left to a select committee of peers and councillors. These, too, cease almost entirely with Henry IV.; and were scarcely revived till the accession of James I. Some instances occur in the reign of Edward III. where records have been brought into parliament, and annulled with assent of the commons as well as the rest of the legislature.[360] But these were attainders of treason, which it seemed gracious and solemn to reverse in the most authentic manner. Certainly the commons had neither by the nature of our constitution nor the practice of parliament any right of intermeddling in judicature, save where something was required beyond the existing law, or where, as in the statute of treasons, an authority of that kind was particularly reserved to both houses. This is fully acknowledged by themselves in the first year of Henry IV.[361] But their influence upon the balance of government became so commanding in a few years afterwards, that they contrived, as has been mentioned already, to have petitions directed to them, rather than to the lords or council, and to transmit them, either with a tacit approbation or in the form of acts, to the upper house. Perhaps this encroachment of the commons may have contributed to the disuse of the lords' jurisdiction, who would rather relinquish their ancient and honourable but laborious function than share it with such bold usurpers. [Sidenote: General character of the government in these ages.] Although the restraining hand of parliament was continually growing more effectual, and the notions of legal right acquiring more precision, from the time of Magna Charta to the civil wars under Henry VI., we may justly say that the general tone of administration was not a little arbitrary. The whole fabric of English liberty rose step by step, through much toil and many sacrifices, each generation adding some new security to the work, and trusting that posterity would perfect the labour as well as enjoy the reward. A time, perhaps, was even then foreseen in the visions of generous hope, by the brave knights of parliament and by the sober sages of justice, when the proudest ministers of the crown should recoil from those barriers which were then daily pushed aside with impunity. There is a material distinction to be taken between the exercise of the king's undeniable prerogative, however repugnant to our improved principles of freedom, and the abuse or extension of it to oppressive purposes. For we cannot fairly consider as part of our ancient constitution what the parliament was perpetually remonstrating against, and the statute-book is full of enactments to repress. Doubtless the continual acquiescence of a nation in arbitrary government may ultimately destroy all privileges of positive institution, and leave them to recover, by such means as opportunity shall offer, the natural and imprescriptible rights for which human societies were established. And this may perhaps be the case at present with many European kingdoms. But it would be necessary to shut our eyes with deliberate prejudice against the whole tenor of the most unquestionable authorities, against the petitions of the commons, the acts of the legislature, the testimony of historians and lawyers, before we could assert that England acquiesced in those abuses and oppressions which it must be confessed she was unable fully to prevent. The word prerogative is of a peculiar import, and scarcely understood by those who come from the studies of political philosophy. We cannot define it by any theory of executive functions. All these may be comprehended in it; but also a great deal more. It is best, perhaps, to be understood by its derivation, and has been said to be that law in case of the king which is law in no case of the subject.[362] Of the higher and more sovereign prerogatives I shall here say nothing; they result from the nature of a monarchy, and have nothing very peculiar in their character. But the smaller rights of the crown show better the original lineaments of our constitution. It is said commonly enough that all prerogatives are given for the subject's good. I must confess that no part of this assertion corresponds with my view of the subject. It neither appears to me that these prerogatives were ever given nor that they necessarily redound to the subject's good. Prerogative, in its old sense, might be defined an advantage obtained by the crown over the subject, in cases where their interests came into competition, by reason of its greater strength. This sprang from the nature of the Norman government, which rather resembled a scramble of wild beasts, where the strongest takes the best share, than a system founded upon principles of common utility. And, modified as the exercise of most prerogatives has been by the more liberal tone which now pervades our course of government, whoever attends to the common practice of courts of justice, and, still more, whoever consults the law-books, will not only be astonished at their extent and multiplicity, but very frequently at their injustice and severity. [Sidenote: Purveyance.] The real prerogatives that might formerly be exerted were sometimes of so injurious a nature, that we can hardly separate them from their abuse: a striking instance is that of purveyance, which will at once illustrate the definition above given of a prerogative, the limits within which it was to be exercised, and its tendency to transgress them. This was a right of purchasing whatever was necessary for the king's household, at a fair price, in preference to every competitor, and without the consent of the owner. By the same prerogative, carriages and horses were impressed for the king's journeys, and lodgings provided for his attendants. This was defended on a pretext of necessity, or at least of great convenience to the sovereign, and was both of high antiquity and universal practice throughout Europe. But the royal purveyors had the utmost temptation, and doubtless no small store of precedents, to stretch this power beyond its legal boundary; and not only to fix their own price too low, but to seize what they wanted without any payment at all, or with tallies which were carried in vain to an empty exchequer.[363] This gave rise to a number of petitions from the commons, upon which statutes were often framed; but the evil was almost incurable in its nature, and never ceased till that prerogative was itself abolished. Purveyance, as I have already said, may serve to distinguish the defects from the abuses of our constitution. It was a reproach to the law that men should be compelled to send their goods without their consent; it was a reproach to the administration that they were deprived of them without payment. The right of purchasing men's goods for the use of the king was extended by a sort of analogy to their labour. Thus Edward III. announces to all sheriffs that William of Walsingham had a commission to collect as many painters as might suffice for "our works in St. Stephen's chapel, Westminster, to be at our wages as long as shall be necessary," and to arrest and keep in prison all who should refuse or be refractory; and enjoins them to lend their assistance.[364] Windsor Castle owes its massive magnificence to labourers impressed from every part of the kingdom. There is even a commission from Edward IV. to take as many workmen in gold as were wanting, and employ them at the king's cost upon the trappings of himself and his household.[365] [Sidenote: Abuses of feudal rights.] Another class of abuses intimately connected with unquestionable though oppressive rights of the crown originated in the feudal tenure which bound all the lands of the kingdom. The king had indisputably a right to the wardship of his tenants in chivalry, and to the escheats or forfeitures of persons dying without heirs or attainted for treason. But his officers, under pretence of wardship, took possession of lands not held immediately of the crown, claimed escheats where a right heir existed, and seized estates as forfeited which were protected by the statute of entails. The real owner had no remedy against this disposition but to prefer his petition of right in chancery, or, which was probably more effectual, to procure a remonstrance of the house of commons in his favour. Even where justice was finally rendered to him he had no recompense for his damages; and the escheators were not less likely to repeat an iniquity by which they could not personally suffer. [Sidenote: Forest laws.] The charter of the forests, granted by Henry III. along with Magna Charta,[366] had been designed to crush the flagitious system of oppression which prevailed in those favourite haunts of the Norman kings. They had still, however, their peculiar jurisdiction, though, from the time at least of Edward III., subject in some measure to the control of the King's Bench.[367] The foresters, I suppose, might find a compensation for their want of the common law in that easy and licentious way of life which they affected; but the neighbouring cultivators frequently suffered from the king's officers who attempted to recover those adjacent lands, or, as they were called, purlieus, which had been disafforested by the charter and protected by frequent perambulations. Many petitions of the commons relate to this grievance. [Sidenote: Jurisdiction of constable and marshal.] The constable and marshal of England possessed a jurisdiction, the proper limits whereof were sufficiently narrow, as it seems, to have extended only to appeals of treason committed beyond sea, which were determined by combat, and to military offences within the realm. But these high officers frequently took upon them to inquire of treasons and felonies cognizable at common law, and even of civil contracts and trespasses. This is no bad illustration of the state in which our constitution stood under the Plantagenets. No colour of right or of supreme prerogative was set up to justify a procedure so manifestly repugnant to the great charter. For all remonstrances against these encroachments the king gave promises in return; and a statute was enacted, in the thirteenth of Richard II., declaring the bounds of the constable and marshal's jurisdiction.[368] It could not be denied, therefore, that all infringements of these acknowledged limits were illegal, even if they had a hundred fold more actual precedents in their favour than can be supposed. But the abuse by no means ceased after the passing of this statute, as several subsequent petitions that it might be better regarded will evince. One, as it contains a special instance, I shall insert. It is of the fifth year of Henry IV.: "On several supplications and petitions made by the commons in parliament to our lord the king for Bennet Wilman, who is accused by certain of his ill-wishers and detained in prison, and put to answer before the constable and marshal, against the statutes and the common law of England, our said lord the king, by the advice and assent of the lords in parliament, granted that the said Bennet should be treated according to the statutes and common law of England, notwithstanding any commission to the contrary, or accusation against him made before the constable and marshal." And a writ was sent to the justices of the King's Bench with a copy of this article from the roll of parliament, directing them to proceed as they shall see fit according to the laws and customs of England.[369] It must appear remarkable that, in a case so manifestly within their competence, the court of King's Bench should not have issued a writ of habeas corpus, without waiting for what may be considered as a particular act of parliament. But it is a natural effect of an arbitrary administration of government to intimidate courts of justice.[370] A negative argument, founded upon the want of legal precedent, is certainly not conclusive when it relates to a distant period, of which all the precedents have not been noted; yet it must strike us that in the learned and zealous arguments of Sir Robert Cotton, Mr. Selden, and others, against arbitrary imprisonment, in the great case of the habeas corpus, though the statute law is full of authorities in their favour, we find no instance adduced earlier than the reign of Henry VII., where the King's Bench has released, or even bailed, persons committed by the council or the constable, though it is unquestionable that such committals were both frequent and illegal.[371] If I have faithfully represented thus far the history of our constitution, its essential character will appear to be a monarchy greatly limited by law, though retaining much power that was ill calculated to promote the public good, and swerving continually into an irregular course, which there was no restraint adequate to correct. But of all the notions that have been advanced as to the theory of this constitution, the least consonant to law and history is that which represents the king as merely an hereditary executive magistrate, the first officer of the state. What advantages might result from such a form of government this is not the place to discuss. But it certainly was not the ancient constitution of England. There was nothing in this, absolutely nothing, of a republican appearance. All seemed to grow out of the monarchy, and was referred to its advantage and honour. The voice of supplication, even in the stoutest disposition of the commons, was always humble; the prerogative was always named in large and pompous expressions. Still more naturally may we expect to find in the law-books even an obsequious deference to power, from judges who scarcely ventured to consider it as their duty to defend the subject's freedom, and who beheld the gigantic image of prerogative, in the full play of its hundred arms, constantly before their eyes. Through this monarchical tone, which certainly pervades all our legal authorities, a writer like Hume, accustomed to philosophical liberality as to the principles of government, and to the democratical language which the modern aspect of the constitution and the liberty of printing have produced, fell hastily into the error of believing that all limitations of royal power during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were as much unsettled in law and in public opinion as they were liable to be violated by force. Though a contrary position has been sufficiently demonstrated, I conceive, by the series of parliamentary proceedings which I have already produced, yet there is a passage in Sir John Fortescue's treatise De Laudibus Legum Angliæ, so explicit and weighty, that no writer on the English constitution can be excused from inserting it. This eminent person, having been chief justice of the King's Bench under Henry VI., was governor to the young prince of Wales during his retreat in France, and received at his hands the office of chancellor. It must never be forgotten that, in a treatise purposely composed for the instruction of one who hoped to reign over England, the limitations of government are enforced as strenuously by Fortescue, as some succeeding lawyers have inculcated the doctrines of arbitrary prerogative. [Sidenote: Sir John Fortescue's doctrine as to the English constitution.] "A king of England cannot at his pleasure make any alterations in the laws of the land, for the nature of his government is not only regal, but political. Had it been merely regal, he would have a power to make what innovations and alterations he pleased in the laws of the kingdom, impose tallages and other hardships upon the people whether they would or no, without their consent, which sort of government the civil laws point out when they declare Quod principi placuit, legis habet vigorem. But it is much otherwise with a king whose government is political, because he can neither make any alteration or change in the laws of the realm without the consent of the subjects, nor burthen them against their wills with strange impositions, so that a people governed by such laws as are made by their own consent and approbation enjoy their properties securely, and without the hazard of being deprived of them, either by the king or any other. The same things may be effected under an absolute prince, provided he do not degenerate into the tyrant. Of such a prince, Aristotle, in the third of his Politics, says, 'It is better for a city to be governed by a good man than by good laws.' But because it does not always happen that the person presiding over a people is so qualified, St. Thomas, in the book which he writ to the king of Cyprus, De Regimine Principum, wishes that a kingdom could be so instituted as that the king might not be at liberty to tyrannize over his people; which only comes to pass in the present case; that is, when the sovereign power is restrained by political laws. Rejoice, therefore, my good prince, that such is the law of the kingdom which you are to inherit, because it will afford, both to yourself and subjects, the greatest security and satisfaction."[372] The two great divisions of civil rule, the absolute, or regal as he calls it, and the political, Fortescue proceeds to deduce from the several originals of conquest and compact. Concerning the latter he declares emphatically a truth not always palatable to princes, that such governments were instituted by the people, and for the people's good; quoting St. Augustin for a similar definition of a political society. "As the head of a body natural cannot change its nerves and sinews, cannot deny to the several parts their proper energy, their due proportion and aliment of blood; neither can a king, who is the head of a body politic, change the laws thereof, nor take from the people what is theirs by right against their consent. Thus you have, sir, the formal institution of every political kingdom, from whence you may guess at the power which a king may exercise with respect to the laws and the subject. For he is appointed to protect his subjects in their lives, properties, and laws; for this very end and purpose he has the delegation of power from the people, and he has no just claim to any other power but this. Wherefore, to give a brief answer to that question of yours, concerning the different powers which kings claim over their subjects, I am firmly of opinion that it arises solely from the different natures of their original institution, as you may easily collect from what has been said. So the kingdom of England had its original from Brute, and the Trojans, who attended him from Italy and Greece, and became a mixed kind of government, compounded of the regal and political."[373] [Sidenote: Erroneous views taken by Hume.] It would occupy too much space to quote every other passage of the same nature in this treatise of Fortescue, and in that entitled, Of the Difference between an Absolute and Limited Monarchy, which, so far as these points are concerned, is nearly a translation from the former.[374] But these, corroborated as they are by the statute-book and by the rolls of parliament, are surely conclusive against the notions which pervade Mr. Hume's History. I have already remarked that a sense of the glaring prejudice by which some Whig writers had been actuated, in representing the English constitution from the earliest times as nearly arrived at its present perfection, conspired with certain prepossessions of his own to lead this eminent historian into an equally erroneous system on the opposite side. And as he traced the stream backwards, and came last to the times of the Plantagenet dynasty, with opinions already biassed and even pledged to the world in his volumes of earlier publication, he was prone to seize hold of, and even exaggerate, every circumstance that indicated immature civilization, and law perverted or infringed.[375] To this his ignorance of English jurisprudence which certainly in some measure disqualified him from writing our history, did not a little contribute; misrepresentations frequently occurring in his work, which a moderate acquaintance with the law of the land would have prevented.[376] [Sidenote: Instances of illegal condemnation rare.] It is an honourable circumstance to England that the history of no other country presents so few instances of illegal condemnations upon political charges. The judicial torture was hardly known and never recognised by law.[377] The sentence in capital crimes, fixed unalterably by custom, allowed nothing to vindictiveness and indignation. There hardly occurs an example of any one being notoriously put to death without form of trial, except in moments of flagrant civil war. If the rights of juries were sometimes evaded by irregular jurisdictions, they were at least held sacred by the courts of law: and through all the vicissitudes of civil liberty, no one ever questioned the primary right of every freeman, handed down from his Saxon forefathers, to the trial by his peers. A just regard for public safety prescribes the necessity of severe penalties against rebellion and conspiracy; but the interpretation of these offences, when intrusted to sovereigns and their counsellors, has been the most tremendous instrument of despotic power. In rude ages, even though a general spirit of political liberty may prevail, the legal character of treason will commonly be undefined; nor is it the disposition of lawyers to give greater accuracy to this part of criminal jurisprudence. The nature of treason appears to have been subject to much uncertainty in England before the statute of Edward III. If that memorable law did not give all possible precision to the offence, which we must certainly allow, it prevented at least those stretches of vindictive tyranny which disgrace the annals of other countries. The praise, however, must be understood as comparative. Some cases of harsh if not illegal convictions could hardly fail to occur in times of violence and during changes of the reigning family. Perhaps the circumstances have now and then been aggravated by historians. Nothing could be more illegal than the conviction of the earl of Cambridge and lord Scrope in 1415, if it be true, according to Carte and Hume, that they were not heard in their defence. But whether this is to be absolutely inferred from the record[378] is perhaps open to question. There seems at least to have been no sufficient motive for such an irregularity; their participation in a treasonable conspiracy being manifest from their own confession. The proceedings against Sir John Mortimer in the 2nd of Henry VI.[379] are called by Hume highly irregular and illegal. They were, however, by act of attainder, which cannot well be styled illegal. Nor are they to be considered as severe. Mortimer had broken out of the Tower, where he was confined on a charge of treason. This was a capital felony at common law; and the chief irregularity seems to have consisted in having recourse to parliament in order to attaint him of treason, when he had already forfeited his life by another crime. I would not willingly attribute to the prevalence of Tory dispositions what may be explained otherwise, the progress which Mr. Hume's historical theory as to our constitution has been gradually making since its publication. The tide of opinion, which since the Revolution, and indeed since the reign of James I., had been flowing so strongly in favour of the antiquity of our liberties, now seems, among the higher and more literary classes, to set pretty decidedly the other way. Though we may still sometimes hear a demagogue chattering about the witenagemot, it is far more usual to find sensible and liberal men who look on Magna Charta itself as the result of an uninteresting squabble between the king and his barons. Acts of force and injustice, which strike the cursory inquirer, especially if he derives his knowledge from modern compilations, more than the average tenor of events, are selected and displayed as fair samples of the law and of its administration. We are deceived by the comparatively perfect state of our present liberties, and forget that our superior security is far less owing to positive law than to the control which is exercised over government by public opinion through the general use of printing, and to the diffusion of liberal principles in policy through the same means. Thus disgusted at a contrast which it was hardly candid to institute, we turn away from the records that attest the real, though imperfect, freedom of our ancestors; and are willing to be persuaded that the whole scheme of English polity, till the commons took on themselves to assert their natural rights against James I., was at best but a mockery of popular privileges, hardly recognised in theory, and never regarded in effect.[380] This system, when stripped of those slavish inferences that Brady and Carte attempted to build upon it, admits perhaps of no essential objection but its want of historical truth. God forbid that our rights to just and free government should be tried by a jury of antiquaries! Yet it is a generous pride that intertwines the consciousness of hereditary freedom with the memory of our ancestors; and no trifling argument against those who seem indifferent in its cause, that the character of the bravest and most virtuous among nations has not depended upon the accidents of race or climate, but been gradually wrought by the plastic influence of civil rights, transmitted as a prescriptive inheritance through a long course of generations. [Sidenote: Causes tending to form the constitution.] By what means the English acquired and preserved this political liberty, which, even in the fifteenth century, was the admiration of judicious foreigners,[381] is a very rational and interesting inquiry. Their own serious and steady attachment to the laws must always be reckoned among the principal causes of this blessing. The civil equality of all freemen below the rank of peerage, and the subjection of peers themselves to the impartial arm of justice, and to a due share in contribution to public burthens, advantages unknown to other countries, tended to identify the interests and to assimilate the feelings of the aristocracy with those of the people; classes whose dissension and jealousy has been in many instances the surest hope of sovereigns aiming at arbitrary power. This freedom from the oppressive superiority of a privileged order was peculiar to England. In many kingdoms the royal prerogative was at least equally limited. The statutes of Aragon are more full of remedial provisions. The right of opposing a tyrannical government by arms was more frequently asserted in Castile. But nowhere else did the people possess by law, and I think, upon the whole, in effect, so much security for their personal freedom and property. Accordingly, the middling ranks flourished remarkably, not only in commercial towns, but among the cultivators of the soil. "There is scarce a small village," says Sir J. Fortescue, "in which you may not find a knight, an esquire, or some substantial householder (paterfamilias), commonly called a frankleyn,[382] possessed of considerable estate; besides others who are called freeholders, and many yeomen of estates sufficient to make a substantial jury." I would, however, point out more particularly two causes which had a very leading efficacy in the gradual development of our constitution; first, the schemes of continental ambition in which our government was long engaged; secondly, the manner in which feudal principles of insubordination and resistance were modified by the prerogatives of the early Norman kings. 1. At the epoch when William the Conqueror ascended the throne, hardly any other power was possessed by the king of France than what he inherited from the great fiefs of the Capetian family. War with such a potentate was not exceedingly to be dreaded, and William, besides his immense revenue, could employ the feudal services of his vassals, which were extended by him to continental expeditions. These circumstances were not essentially changed till after the loss of Normandy; for the acquisitions of Henry II. kept him fully on an equality with the French crown, and the dilapidation which had taken place in the royal demesnes was compensated by several arbitrary resources that filled the exchequer of these monarchs. But in the reigns of John and Henry III., the position of England, or rather of its sovereign, with respect to France, underwent a very disadvantageous change. The loss of Normandy severed the connexion between the English nobility and the continent; they had no longer estates to defend, and took not sufficient interest in the concerns of Guienne to fight for that province at their own cost. Their feudal service was now commuted for an escuage, which fell very short of the expenses incurred in a protracted campaign. Tallages of royal towns and demesne lands, extortion of money from the Jews, every feudal abuse and oppression, were tried in vain to replenish the treasury, which the defence of Eleanor's inheritance against the increased energy of France was constantly exhausting. Even in the most arbitrary reigns, a general tax upon landholders, in any cases but those prescribed by the feudal law, had not been ventured; and the standing bulwark of Magna Charta, as well as the feebleness and unpopularity of Henry III., made it more dangerous to violate an established principle. Subsidies were therefore constantly required; but for these it was necessary for the king to meet parliament, to hear their complaints, and, if he could not elude, to acquiesce in their petitions. These necessities came still more urgently upon Edward I., whose ambitious spirit could not patiently endure the encroachments of Philip the Fair, a rival not less ambitious, but certainly less distinguished by personal prowess, than himself. What advantage the friends of liberty reaped from this ardour for continental warfare is strongly seen in the circumstances attending the Confirmation of the Charters. But after this statute had rendered all tallages without consent of parliament illegal, though it did not for some time prevent their being occasionally imposed, it was still more difficult to carry on a war with France or Scotland, to keep on foot naval armaments, or even to preserve the courtly magnificence which that age of chivalry affected, without perpetual recurrence to the house of commons. Edward III. very little consulted the interests of his prerogative when he stretched forth his hand to seize the phantom of a crown in France. It compelled him to assemble parliament almost annually, and often to hold more than one session within the year. Here the representatives of England learned the habit of remonstrance and conditional supply; and though, in the meridian of Edward's age and vigour, they often failed of immediate redress, yet they gradually swelled the statute-roll with provisions to secure their country's freedom; and acquiring self-confidence by mutual intercourse, and sense of the public opinion, they became able, before the end of Edward's reign, and still more in that of his grandson, to control, prevent, and punish the abuses of administration. Of all these proud and sovereign privileges, the right of refusing supply was the keystone. But for the long wars in which our kings were involved, at first by their possession of Guienne, and afterwards by their pretensions upon the crown of France, it would have been easy to suppress remonstrances by avoiding to assemble parliament. For it must be confessed that an authority was given to the king's proclamations, and to ordinances of the council, which differed but little from legislative power, and would very soon have been interpreted by complaisant courts of justice to give them the full extent of statutes. It is common indeed to assert that the liberties of England were bought with the blood of our forefathers. This is a very magnanimous boast, and in some degree is consonant enough to the truth. But it is far more generally accurate to say that they were purchased by money. A great proportion of our best laws, including Magna Charta itself, as it now stands confirmed by Henry III., were, in the most literal sense, obtained by a pecuniary bargain with the crown. In many parliaments of Edward III. and Richard II. this sale of redress is chaffered for as distinctly, and with as little apparent sense of disgrace, as the most legitimate business between two merchants would be transacted. So little was there of voluntary benevolence in what the loyal courtesy of our constitution styles concessions from the throne; and so little title have these sovereigns, though we cannot refuse our admiration to the generous virtues of Edward III. and Henry V., to claim the gratitude of posterity as the benefactors of their people! 2. The relation established between a lord and his vassal by the feudal tenure, far from containing principles of any servile and implicit obedience, permitted the compact to be dissolved in case of its violation by either party. This extended as much to the sovereign as to inferior lords; the authority of the former in France, where the system most flourished, being for several ages rather feudal than political. If a vassal was aggrieved, and if justice was denied him, he sent a defiance, that is, a renunciation of fealty to the king, and was entitled to enforce redress at the point of his sword. It then became a contest of strength as between two independent potentates, and was terminated by treaty, advantageous or otherwise, according to the fortune of war. This privilege, suited enough to the situation of France, the great peers of which did not originally intend to admit more than a nominal supremacy in the house of Capet, was evidently less compatible with the regular monarchy of England. The stern natures of William the Conqueror and his successors kept in control the mutinous spirit of their nobles, and reaped the profit of feudal tenures without submitting to their reciprocal obligations. They counteracted, if I may so say, the centrifugal force of that system by the application of a stronger power; by preserving order, administering justice, checking the growth of baronial influence and riches, with habitual activity, vigilance, and severity. Still, however, there remained the original principle, that allegiance depended conditionally upon good treatment, and that an appeal might be lawfully made to arms against an oppressive government. Nor was this, we may be sure, left for extreme necessity, or thought to require a long enduring forbearance. In modern times a king compelled by his subjects' swords to abandon any pretension would be supposed to have ceased to reign; and the express recognition of such a right as that of insurrection has been justly deemed inconsistent with the majesty of law. But ruder ages had ruder sentiments. Force was necessary to repel force; and men accustomed to see the king's authority defied by private riot were not much shocked when it was resisted in defence of public freedom. The Great Charter of John was secured by the election of twenty-five barons as conservators of the compact. If the king, of the justiciary in his absence, should transgress any article, any four might demand reparation, and on denial carry their complaint to the rest of their body. "And those barons, with all the commons of the land, shall distrain and annoy us by every means in their power; that is, by seizing our castles, lands, and possessions, and every other mode, till the wrong shall be repaired to their satisfaction; saving our person, and our queen and children. And when it shall be repaired they shall obey us as before."[383] It is amusing to see the common law of distress introduced upon this gigantic scale; and the capture of the king's castles treated as analogous to impounding a neighbour's horse for breaking fences. A very curious illustration of this feudal principle is found in the conduct of William earl of Pembroke, one of the greatest names in our ancient history, towards Henry III. The king had defied him, which was tantamount to a declaration of war; alleging that he had made an inroad upon the royal domains. Pembroke maintained that he was not the aggressor, that the king had denied him justice, and been the first to invade his territory; on which account he had thought himself absolved from his homage, and at liberty to use force against the malignity of the royal advisers. "Nor would it be for the king's honour," the earl adds, "that I should submit to his will against reason, whereby I should rather do wrong to him and to that justice which he is bound to administer towards his people; and I should give an ill example to all men in deserting justice and right in compliance with his mistaken will. For this would show that I loved my worldly wealth better than justice." These words, with whatever dignity expressed, it may be objected, prove only the disposition of an angry and revolted earl. But even Henry fully admitted the right of taking arms against himself if he had meditated his vassal's destruction, and disputed only the application of this maxim to the earl of Pembroke.[384] These feudal notions, which placed the moral obligation of allegiance very low, acting under a weighty pressure from the real strength of the crown, were favourable to constitutional liberty. The great vassals of France and Germany aimed at living independently on their fiefs, with no further concern for the rest than as useful allies having a common interest against the crown. But in England, as there was no prospect of throwing off subjection, the barons endeavoured only to lighten its burthen, fixing limits to prerogative by law, and securing their observation by parliamentary remonstrances or by dint of arms. Hence, as all rebellions in England were directed only to coerce the government, or at the utmost to change the succession of the crown, without the smallest tendency to separation, they did not impair the national strength nor destroy the character of the constitution. In all these contentions it is remarkable that the people and clergy sided with the nobles against the throne. No individuals are so popular with the monkish annalists, who speak the language of the populace, as Simon earl of Leicester, Thomas earl of Lancaster, and Thomas duke of Gloucester, all turbulent opposers of the royal authority, and probably little deserving of their panegyrics. Very few English historians of the middle ages are advocates of prerogative. This may be ascribed both to the equality of our laws and to the interest which the aristocracy found in courting popular favour, when committed against so formidable an adversary as the king. And even now, when the stream that once was hurried along gullies and dashed down precipices hardly betrays upon its broad and tranquil bosom the motion that actuates it, it must still be accounted a singular happiness of our constitution that, all ranks graduating harmoniously into one another, the interests of peers and commoners are radically interwoven; each in a certain sense distinguishable, but not balanced like opposite weights, not separated like discordant fluids, not to be secured by insolence or jealousy, but by mutual adherence and reciprocal influences. [Sidenote: Influence which the state of manners gave the nobility.] From the time of Edward I. the feudal system and all the feelings connected with it declined very rapidly. But what the nobility lost in the number of their military tenants was in some degree compensated by the state of manners. The higher class of them, who took the chief share in public affairs, were exceedingly opulent; and their mode of life gave wealth an incredibly greater efficacy than it possesses at present. Gentlemen of large estates and good families who had attached themselves to these great peers, who bore offices which we should call menial in their households, and sent their children thither for education, were of course ready to follow their banner in rising, without much inquiry into the cause. Still less would the vast body of tenants and their retainers, who were fed at the castle in time of peace, refuse to carry their pikes and staves into the field of battle. Many devices were used to preserve this aristocratic influence, which riches and ancestry of themselves rendered so formidable. Such was the maintenance of suits, or confederacies for the purpose of supporting each other's claims in litigation, which was the subject of frequent complaints in parliament, and gave rise to several prohibitory statutes. By help of such confederacies parties were enabled to make violent entries upon the lands they claimed, which the law itself could hardly be said to discourage.[385] Even proceedings in courts of justice were often liable to intimidation and influence.[386] A practice much allied to confederacies of maintenance, though ostensibly more harmless, was that of giving liveries to all retainers of a noble family; but it had an obvious tendency to preserve that spirit of factious attachments and animosities which it is the general policy of a wise government to dissipate. From the first year of Richard II. we find continual mention of this custom, with many legal provisions against it, but it was never abolished till the reign of Henry VII.[387] [Sidenote: Prevalent habits of rapine.] These associations under powerful chiefs were only incidentally beneficial as they tended to withstand the abuses of prerogative. In their more usual course they were designed to thwart the legitimate exercise of the king's government in the administration of the laws. All Europe was a scene of intestine anarchy during the middle ages; and though England was far less exposed to the scourge of private war than most nations on the continent, we should find, could we recover the local annals of every country, such an accumulation of petty rapine and tumult as would almost alienate us from the liberty which served to engender it. This was the common tenor of manners, sometimes so much aggravated as to find a place in general history,[388] more often attested by records during the three centuries that the house of Plantagenet sat on the throne. Disseisin, or forcible dispossession of freeholds, makes one of the most considerable articles in our law-books.[389] Highway robbery was from the earliest times a sort of national crime. Capital punishments, though very frequent, made little impression on a bold and a licentious crew, who had at least the sympathy of those who had nothing to lose on their side, and flattering prospects of impunity. We know how long the outlaws of Sherwood lived in tradition--men who, like some of their betters, have been permitted to redeem by a few acts of generosity the just ignominy of extensive crimes. These, indeed, were the heroes of vulgar applause; but when such a judge as Sir John Fortescue could exult that more Englishmen were hanged for robbery in one year than French in seven, and that, "if an Englishman be poor, and see another having riches which may be taken from him by might, he will not spare to do so,"[390] it may be perceived how thoroughly these sentiments had pervaded the public mind. Such robbers, I have said, had flattering prospects of impunity. Besides the general want of communication, which made one who had fled from his own neighbourhood tolerably secure, they had the advantage of extensive forests to facilitate their depredations and prevent detection. When outlawed or brought to trial, the worst offenders could frequently purchase charters of pardon, which defeated justice in the moment of her blow.[391] Nor were the nobility ashamed to patronise men guilty of every crime. Several proofs of this occur in the rolls. Thus, for example, in the 22nd of Edward III., the commons pray that, "whereas it is notorious how robbers and malefactors infest the country, the king would charge the great men of the land that none such be maintained by them, privily or openly, but that they lend assistance to arrest and take such ill-doers."[392] It is perhaps the most meritorious part of Edward I.'s government that he bent all his power to restrain these breaches of tranquillity. One of his salutary provisions is still in constant use, the statute of coroners. Another, more extensive, and, though partly obsolete, the foundation of modern laws, is the statute of Winton, which, reciting that "from day to day robberies, murders, burnings, and theft be more often used than they have been heretofore, and felons cannot be attainted by the oath of jurors which had rather suffer robberies on strangers to pass without punishment than indite the offenders, of whom great part be people of the same country, or at least, if the offenders be of another country, the receivers be of places near," enacts that hue and cry shall be made upon the commission of a robbery, and that the hundred shall remain answerable for the damage unless the felons be brought to justice. It may be inferred from this provision that the ancient law of frank-pledge, though retained longer in form, had lost its efficiency. By the same act, no stranger or suspicious person was to lodge even in the suburbs of towns; the gates were to be kept locked from sunset to sunrising; every host to be answerable for his guest; the highways to be cleared of trees and underwood for two hundred feet on each side; and every man to keep arms according to his substance in readiness to follow the sheriff on hue and cry raised ofter felons.[393] The last provision indicates that the robbers plundered the country in formidable bands. One of these, in a subsequent part of Edward's reign, burned the town of Boston during a fair, and obtained a vast booty, though their leader had the ill fortune not to escape the gallows. The preservation of order throughout the country was originally intrusted not only to the sheriff, coroner, and constables, but to certain magistrates called conservators of the peace. These, in conformity to the democratic character of our Saxon government, were elected by the freeholders in their county court.[394] But Edward I. issued commissions to carry into effect the statute of Winton; and from the beginning of Edward III.'s reign the appointment of conservators was vested in the crown, their authority gradually enlarged by a series of statutes, and their titles changed to that of justices. They were empowered to imprison and punish all rioters and other offenders, and such as they should find by indictment or suspicion to be reputed thieves or vagabonds, and to take sureties for good behaviour from persons of evil fame.[395] Such a jurisdiction was hardly more arbitrary than, in a free and civilized age, it has been thought fit to vest in magistrates; but it was ill endured by a people who placed their notions of liberty in personal exemption from restraint rather than any political theory. An act having been passed (2 R. II. stat. 2, c. 6), in consequence of unusual riots and outrages, enabling magistrates to commit the ringleaders of tumultuary assemblies without waiting for legal process till the next arrival of justices of gaol delivery, the commons petitioned next year against this "horrible grievous ordinance," by which "every freeman in the kingdom would be in bondage to these justices," contrary to the great charter, and to many statutes, which forbid any man to be taken without due course of law.[396] So sensitive was their jealousy of arbitrary imprisonment, that they preferred enduring riot and robbery to chastising them by any means that might afford a precedent to oppression, or weaken men's reverence for Magna Charta. There are two subjects remaining to which this retrospect of the state of manners naturally leads us, and which I would not pass unnoticed, though not perhaps absolutely essential to a constitutional history; because they tend in a very material degree to illustrate the progress of society, with which civil liberty and regular government are closely connected. These are, first, the servitude or villenage of the peasantry, and their gradual emancipation from that condition; and, secondly, the continual increase of commercial intercourse with foreign countries. But as the latter topic will fall more conveniently into the next part of this work, I shall postpone its consideration for the present. [Sidenote: Villenage of the peasantry. Its nature and gradual extinction.] In a former passage I have remarked of the Anglo-Saxon ceorls that neither their situation nor that of their descendants for the earlier reigns after the Conquest appears to have been mere servitude. But from the time of Henry II., as we learn from Glanvil, the villein, so called, was absolutely dependent upon his lord's will, compelled to unlimited services, and destitute of property, not only in the land he held for his maintenance, but in his own acquisitions.[397] If a villein purchased or inherited land, the lord might seize it; if he accumulated stock, its possession was equally precarious. Against his lord he had no right of action; because his indemnity in damages, if he could have recovered any, might have been immediately taken away. If he fled from his lord's service, or from the land which he held, a writ issued de nativitate probandâ, and the master recovered his fugitive by law. His children were born to the same state of servitude; and, contrary to the rule of the civil law, where one parent was free and the other in villenage, the offspring followed their father's condition.[398] This was certainly a severe lot; yet there are circumstances which materially distinguish it from slavery. The condition of villenage, at least in later times, was perfectly relative; it formed no distinct order in the political economy. No man was a villein in the eye of law, unless his master claimed him: to all others he was a freeman, and might acquire, dispose of, or sue for property without impediment. Hence Sir E. Coke argues that villeins are included in the 29th article of Magna Charta: "No freeman shall be disseised nor imprisoned."[399] For murder, rape, or mutilation of his villein, the lord was indictable at the king's suit; though not for assault or imprisonment, which were within the sphere of his seignorial authority.[400] This class was distinguished into villeins regardant, who had been attached from time immemorial to a certain manor, and villeins in gross, where such territorial prescription had never existed, or had been broken. In the condition of these, whatever has been said by some writers, I can find no manner of difference; the distinction was merely technical, and affected only the mode of pleading.[401] The term in gross is appropriated in our legal language to property held absolutely and without reference to any other. Thus it is applied to rights of advowson or of common, when possessed simply and not as incident to any particular lands. And there can be no doubt that it was used in the same sense for the possession of a villein.[402] But there was a class of persons, sometimes inaccurately confounded with villeins, whom it is more important to separate. Villenage had a double sense, as it related to persons or to lands. As all men were free or villeins, so all lands were held by a free or villein tenure. As a villein might be enfeoffed of freeholds, though they lay at the mercy of his lord, so a freeman might hold tenements in villenage. In this case his personal liberty subsisted along with the burthens of territorial servitude. He was bound to arbitrary service at the will of the lord, and he might by the same will be at any moment dispossessed; for such was the condition of his tenure. But his chattels were secure from seizure, his person from injury, and he might leave the land whenever he pleased.[403] From so disadvantageous a condition as this of villenage it may cause some surprise that the peasantry of England should have ever emerged. The law incapacitating a villein from acquiring property, placed, one would imagine, an insurmountable barrier in the way of his enfranchisement. It followed from thence, and is positively said by Glanvil, that a villein could not buy his freedom, because the price he tendered would already belong to his lord.[404] And even in the case of free tenants in villenage it is not easy to comprehend how their uncertain and unbounded services could ever pass into slight pecuniary commutations; much less how they could come to maintain themselves in their lands, and mock the lord with a nominal tenure according to the custom of the manor. This, like many others relating to the progress of society, is a very obscure inquiry. We can trace the pedigree of princes, fill up the catalogue of towns besieged and provinces desolated, describe even the whole pageantry of coronations and festivals, but we cannot recover the genuine history of mankind. It has passed away with slight and partial notice by contemporary writers; and our most patient industry can hardly at present put together enough of the fragments to suggest a tolerably clear representation of ancient manners and social life. I cannot profess to undertake what would require a command of books as well as leisure beyond my reach; but the following observations may tend a little to illustrate our immediate subject, the gradual extinction of villenage. If we take what may be considered as the simplest case, that of a manor divided into demesne lands of the lord's occupation and those in the tenure of his villeins, performing all the services of agriculture for him, it is obvious that his interest was to maintain just so many of these as his estate required for its cultivation. Land, the cheapest of articles, was the price of their labour; and though the law did not compel him to pay this or any other price, yet necessity, repairing in some degree the law's injustice, made those pretty secure of food and dwellings who were to give the strength of their arms for his advantage. But in course of time, as alienations of small parcels of manors to free tenants came to prevail, the proprietors of land were placed in a new situation relatively to its cultivators. The tenements in villenage, whether by law or usage, were never separated from the lordship, while its domain was reduced to a smaller extent through subinfeudations, sales, or demises for valuable rent. The purchasers under these alienations had occasion for labourers; and these would be free servants in respect of such employers, though in villenage to their original lord. As he demanded less of their labour, through the diminution of his domain, they had more to spare for other masters; and retaining the character of villeins and the lands they held by that tenure, became hired labourers in husbandry for the greater part of the year. It is true that all their earnings were at the lord's disposal, and that he might have made a profit of their labour when he ceased to require it for his own land. But this, which the rapacity of more commercial times would have instantly suggested, might escape a feudal superior, who, wealthy beyond his wants, and guarded by the haughtiness of ancestry against the desire of such pitiful gains, was better pleased to win the affection of his dependants than to improve his fortune at their expense. The services of villenage were gradually rendered less onerous and uncertain. Those of husbandry, indeed, are naturally uniform, and might be anticipated with no small exactness. Lords of generous tempers granted indulgences which were either intended to be or readily became perpetual. And thus, in the time of Edward I., we find the tenants in some manors bound only to stated services, as recorded in the lord's book.[405] Some of these, perhaps, might be villeins by blood; but free tenants in villenage were still more likely to obtain this precision in their services; and from claiming a customary right to be entered in the court-roll upon the same terms as their predecessors, prevailed at length to get copies of it for their security.[406] Proofs of this remarkable transformation from tenants in villenage to copyholders are found in the reign of Henry III. I do not know, however, that they were protected, at so early an epoch, in the possession of their estates. But it is said in the Year-book of the 42nd of Edward III. to be "admitted for clear law, that, if the customary tenant or copyholder does not perform his services, the lord may seize his land as forfeited."[407] It seems implied herein, that, so long as the copyholder did continue to perform the regular stipulations of his tenure, the lord was not at liberty to divest him of his estate; and this is said to be confirmed by a passage in Britton, which has escaped my search; though Littleton intimates that copyholders could have no remedy against their lord.[408] However, in the reign of Edward IV. this was put out of doubt by the judges, who permitted the copyholder to bring his action of trespass against the lord for dispossession. While some of the more fortunate villeins crept up into property as well as freedom under the name of copyholders, the greater part enfranchised themselves in a different manner. The law, which treated them so harshly, did not take away the means of escape; nor was this a matter of difficulty in such a country as England. To this, indeed, the unequal progression of agriculture and population in different counties would have naturally contributed. Men emigrated, as they always must, in search of cheapness or employment, according to the tide of human necessities. But the villein, who had no additional motive to urge his steps away from his native place, might well hope to be forgotten or undiscovered when he breathed a freer air, and engaged his voluntary labour to a distant master. The lord had indeed an action against him; but there was so little communication between remote parts of the country, that it might be deemed his fault or singular ill-fortune if he were compelled to defend himself. Even in that case the law inclined to favour him; and so many obstacles were thrown in the way of these suits to reclaim fugitive villeins, that they could not have operated materially to retard their general enfranchisement.[409] In one case, indeed, that of unmolested residence for a year and a day within a walled city or borough, the villein became free, and the lord was absolutely barred of his remedy. This provision is contained even in the laws of William the Conqueror, as contained in Hoveden, and, if it be not an interpolation, may be supposed to have had a view to strengthen the population of those places which were designed for garrisons. This law, whether of William or not, is unequivocally mentioned by Glanvil.[410] Nor was it a mere letter. According to a record in the sixth of Edward II., Sir John Clavering sued eighteen villeins of his manor of Cossey, for withdrawing themselves therefrom with their chattels; whereupon a writ was directed to them; but six of the number claimed to be freemen, alleging the Conqueror's charter, and offering to prove that they had lived in Norwich, paying scot and lot, about thirty years; which claim was admitted.[411] By such means a large proportion of the peasantry before the middle of the fourteenth century had become hired labourers instead of villeins. We first hear of them on a grand scale in an ordinance made by Edward III. in the twenty-third year of his reign. This was just after the dreadful pestilence of 1348, and it recites that, the number of workmen and servants having been greatly reduced by that calamity, the remainder demanded excessive wages from their employers. Such an enhancement in the price of labour, though founded exactly on the same principles as regulate the value of any other commodity, is too frequently treated as a sort of crime by lawgivers, who seem to grudge the poor that transient melioration of their lot which the progress of population, or other analogous circumstances, will, without any interference, very rapidly take away. This ordinance therefore enacts that every man in England, of whatever condition, bond or free, of able body, and within sixty years of age, not living of his own, nor by any trade, shall be obliged, when required, to serve any master who is willing to hire him at such wages as were usually paid three years since, or for some time preceding; provided that the lords of villeins or tenants in villenage shall have the preference of their labour, so that they retain no more than shall be necessary for them. More than these old wages is strictly forbidden to be offered, as well as demanded. No one is permitted, under colour of charity, to give alms to a beggar. And, to make some compensation to the inferior classes for these severities, a clause is inserted, as wise, just, and practicable as the rest, for the sale of provisions at reasonable prices.[412] This ordinance met with so little regard that a statute was made in parliament two years after, fixing the wages of all artificers and husbandmen, with regard to the nature and season of their labour. From this time it became a frequent complaint of the commons that the statute of labourers was not kept. The king had in this case, probably, no other reason for leaving their grievance unredressed than his inability to change the order of Providence. A silent alteration had been wrought in the condition and character of the lower classes during the reign of Edward III. This was the effect of increased knowledge and refinement, which had been making a considerable progress for full half a century, though they did not readily permeate the cold region of poverty and ignorance. It was natural that the country people, or uplandish folk, as they were called, should repine at the exclusion from that enjoyment of competence, and security for the fruits of their labour, which the inhabitants of towns so fully possessed. The fourteenth century was, in many parts of Europe, the age when a sense of political servitude was most keenly felt. Thus the insurrection of the Jacquerie in France about the year 1358 had the same character, and resulted in a great measure from the same causes, as that of the English peasants in 1382. And we may account in a similar manner for the democratical tone of the French and Flemish cities, and for the prevalence of a spirit of liberty in Germany and Switzerland.[413] I do not know whether we should attribute part of this revolutionary concussion to the preaching of Wicliffe's disciples, or look upon both one and the other as phenomena belonging to that particular epoch in the progress of society. New principles, both as to civil rule and religion, broke suddenly upon the uneducated mind, to render it bold, presumptuous, and turbulent. But at least I make little doubt that the dislike of ecclesiastical power, which spread so rapidly among the people at this season, connected itself with a spirit of insubordination and an intolerance of political subjection. Both were nourished by the same teachers, the lower secular clergy; and however distinct we may think a religious reformation from a civil anarchy, there was a good deal common in the language by which the populace were inflamed to either one or the other. Even the scriptural moralities which were then exhibited, and which became the foundation of our theatre, afforded fuel to the spirit of sedition. The common original and common destination of mankind, with every other lesson of equality which religion supplies to humble or to console, were displayed with coarse and glaring features in these representations. The familiarity of such ideas has deadened their effects upon our minds; but when a rude peasant, surprisingly destitute of religious instruction during that corrupt age of the church, was led at once to these impressive truths, we cannot be astonished at the intoxication of mind they produced.[414] Though I believe that, compared at least with the aristocracy of other countries, the English lords were guilty of very little cruelty or injustice, yet there were circumstances belonging to that period which might tempt them to deal more hardly than before with their peasantry. The fourteenth century was an age of greater magnificence than those which had preceded, in dress, in ceremonies, in buildings; foreign luxuries were known enough to excite an eager demand among the higher ranks, and yet so scarce as to yield inordinate prices; while the landholders were, on the other hand, impoverished by heavy and unceasing taxation. Hence it is probable that avarice, as commonly happens, had given birth to oppression; and if the gentry, as I am inclined to believe, had become more attentive to agricultural improvements, it is reasonable to conjecture that those whose tenure obliged them to unlimited services of husbandry were more harassed than under their wealthy and indolent masters in preceding times. The storm that almost swept away all bulwarks of civilized and regular society seems to have been long in collecting itself. Perhaps a more sagacious legislature might have contrived to disperse it: but the commons only presented complaints of the refractoriness with which villeins and tenants in villenage rendered their due services;[415] and the exigencies of government led to the fatal poll-tax of a groat, which was the proximate cause of the insurrection. By the demands of these rioters we perceive that territorial servitude was far from extinct; but it should not be hastily concluded that they were all personal villeins, for a large proportion were Kentish-men, to whom that condition could not have applied; it being a good bar to a writ de nativitate probandâ that the party's father was born in the county of Kent.[416] After this tremendous rebellion it might be expected that the legislature would use little indulgence towards the lower commons. Such unhappy tumults are doubly mischievous, not more from the immediate calamities that attend them than from the fear and hatred of the people which they generate in the elevated classes. The general charter of manumission extorted from the king by the rioters of Blackheath was annulled by proclamation to the sheriffs,[417] and this revocation approved by the lords and commons in parliament; who added, as was very true, that such enfranchisement could not be made without their consent; "which they would never give to save themselves from perishing all together in one day."[418] Riots were turned into treason by a law of the same parliament.[419] By a very harsh statute in the 12th of Richard II. no servant or labourer could depart, even at the expiration of his service, from the hundred in which he lived without permission under the king's seal; nor might any who had been bred to husbandry till twelve years old exercise any other calling.[420] A few years afterwards the commons petitioned that villeins might not put their children to school in order to advance them by the church; "and this for the honour of all the freemen of the kingdom." In the same parliament they complained that villeins fly to cities and boroughs, whence their masters cannot recover them; and, if they attempt it, are hindered by the people; and prayed that the lords might seize their villeins in such places without regard to the franchises thereof. But on both these petitions the king put in a negative.[421] From henceforward we find little notice taken of villenage in parliamentary records, and there seems to have been a rapid tendency to its entire abolition. But the fifteenth century is barren of materials; and we can only infer that, as the same causes which in Edward III.'s time had converted a large portion of the peasantry into free labourers still continued to operate, they must silently have extinguished the whole system of personal and territorial servitude. The latter, indeed, was essentially changed by the establishment of the law of copyhold. I cannot presume to conjecture in what degree voluntary manumission is to be reckoned among the means that contributed to the abolition of villenage. Charters of enfranchisement were very common upon the continent. They may perhaps have been less so in England. Indeed the statute de donis must have operated very injuriously to prevent the enfranchisement of villeins regardant, who were entailed along with the land. Instances, however, occur from time to time, and we cannot expect to discover many. One appears as early as the fifteenth year of Henry III., who grants to all persons born or to be born within his village of Contishall, that they shall be free from all villenage in body and blood, paying an aid of twenty shillings to knight the king's eldest son, and six shillings a year as a quit-rent.[422] So in the twelfth of Edward III. certain of the king's villeins are enfranchised on payment of a fine.[423] In strictness of law, a fine from the villein for the sake of enfranchisement was nugatory, since all he could possess was already at his lord's disposal. But custom and equity might easily introduce different maxims; and it was plainly for the lord's interest to encourage his tenants in the acquisition of money to redeem themselves, rather than to quench the exertions of their industry by availing himself of an extreme right. Deeds of enfranchisement occur in the reigns of Mary and Elizabeth;[424] and perhaps a commission of the latter princess in 1574, directing the enfranchisement of her bondmen and bondwomen on certain manors upon payment of a fine, is the last unequivocal testimony to the existence of villenage;[425] though it is highly probable that it existed in remote parts of the country some time longer.[426] [Sidenote: Reign of Henry VI.] From this general view of the English constitution, as it stood about the time of Henry VI., we must turn our eyes to the political revolutions which clouded the latter years of his reign. The minority of this prince, notwithstanding the vices and dissensions of his court and the inglorious discomfiture of our arms in France, was not perhaps a calamitous period. The country grew more wealthy; the law was, on the whole, better observed; the power of parliament more complete and effectual than in preceding times. But Henry's weakness of understanding, becoming evident as he reached manhood, rendered his reign a perpetual minority. His marriage with a princess of strong mind, but ambitious and vindictive, rather tended to weaken the government and to accelerate his downfall; a certain reverence that had been paid to the gentleness of the king's disposition being overcome by her unpopularity. By degrees Henry's natural feebleness degenerated almost into fatuity; and this unhappy condition seems to have overtaken him nearly about the time when it became an arduous task to withstand the assault in preparation against his government. This may properly introduce a great constitutional subject, to which some peculiar circumstances of our own age have imperiously directed the consideration of parliament. Though the proceedings of 1788 and 1810 are undoubtedly precedents of far more authority than any that can be derived from our ancient history, yet, as the seal of the legislature has not yet been set upon this controversy, it is not perhaps altogether beyond the possibility of future discussion; and at least it cannot be uninteresting to look back on those parallel or analogous cases by which the deliberations of parliament upon the question of regency were guided. [Sidenote: Historical instances of regencies:] [Sidenote: during the absence of our kings in France;] While the kings of England retained their continental dominions, and were engaged in the wars to which those gave birth, they were of course frequently absent from this country. Upon such occasions the administration seems at first to have devolved officially on the justiciary, as chief servant of the crown. But Henry III. began the practice of appointing lieutenants, or guardians of the realm (custodes regni), as they were more usually termed, by way of temporary substitutes. They were usually nominated by the king without consent of parliament; and their office carried with it the right of exercising all the prerogatives of the crown. It was of course determined by the king's return; and a distinct statute was necessary in the reign of Henry V. to provide that a parliament called by the guardian of the realm during the king's absence should not be dissolved by that event.[427] The most remarkable circumstance attending those lieutenancies was that they were sometimes conferred on the heir apparent during his infancy. The Black Prince, then duke of Cornwall, was left guardian of the realm in 1339, when he was but ten years old;[428] and Richard his son, when still younger, in 1372, during Edward III.'s last expedition into France.[429] [Sidenote: at the accession of Henry III.;] [Sidenote: of Edward I.;] [Sidenote: of Edward III.;] [Sidenote: of Richard II.;] These do not however bear a very close analogy to regencies in the stricter sense, or substitutions during the natural incapacity of the sovereign. Of such there had been several instances before it became necessary to supply the deficiency arising from Henry's derangement. 1. At the death of John, William earl of Pembroke assumed the title of rector regis et regni, with the consent of the loyal barons who had just proclaimed the young king, and probably conducted the government in a great measure by their advice.[430] But the circumstances were too critical, and the time is too remote, to give this precedent any material weight. 2. Edward I. being in Sicily at his father's death, the nobility met at the Temple church, as we are informed by a contemporary writer, and, after making a new great seal, appointed the archbishop of York, Edward earl of Cornwall, and the earl of Gloucester, to be ministers and guardians of the realm; who accordingly conducted the administration in the king's name until his return.[431] It is here observable that the earl of Cornwall, though nearest prince of the blood, was not supposed to enjoy any superior title to the regency, wherein he was associated with two other persons. But while the crown itself was hardly acknowledged to be unquestionably hereditary, it would be strange if any notion of such a right to the regency had been entertained. 3. At the accession of Edward III., then fourteen years old, the parliament, which was immediately summoned, nominated four bishops, four earls, and six barons as a standing council, at the head of which the earl of Lancaster seems to have been placed, to advise the king in all business of government. It was an article in the charge of treason, or, as it was then styled, of accroaching royal power, against Mortimer, that he intermeddled in the king's household without the assent of this council.[432] They may be deemed therefore a sort of parliamentary regency, though the duration of their functions does not seem to be defined. 4. The proceedings at the commencement of the next reign are more worthy of attention. Edward III. dying June 21, 1377, the keepers of the great seal next day, in absence of the chancellor beyond sea, gave it into the young king's hands before his council. He immediately delivered it to the duke of Lancaster, and the duke to Sir Nicholas Bode for safe custody. Four days afterwards the king in council delivered the seal to the bishop of St. David's, who affixed it the same day to divers letters patent.[433] Richard was at this time ten years and six months old; an age certainly very unfit for the personal execution of sovereign authority. Yet he was supposed capable of reigning without the aid of a regency. This might be in virtue of a sort of magic ascribed by lawyers to the great seal, the possession of which bars all further inquiry, and renders any government legal. The practice of modern times requiring the constant exercise of the sign manual has made a public confession of incapacity necessary in many cases where it might have been concealed or overlooked in earlier periods of the constitution. But though no one was invested with the office of regent, a council of twelve was named by the prelates and peers at the king's coronation, July 16, 1377, without whose concurrence no public measure was to be carried into effect. I have mentioned in another place the modifications introduced from time to time by parliament, which might itself be deemed a great council of regency during the first years of Richard. [Sidenote: of Henry VI.] 5. The next instance is at the accession of Henry VI. This prince was but nine months old at his father's death; and whether from a more evident incapacity for the conduct of government in his case than in that of Richard II., or from the progress of constitutional principles in the forty years elapsed since the latter's accession, far more regularity and deliberation were shown in supplying the defect in the executive authority. Upon the news arriving that Henry V. was dead, several lords spiritual and temporal assembled, on account of the imminent necessity, in order to preserve peace, and provide for the exercise of officers appertaining to the king. These peers accordingly issued commissions to judges, sheriffs, escheators, and others, for various purposes, and writs for a new parliament. This was opened by commission under the great seal directed to the duke of Gloucester, in the usual form, and with the king's teste.[434] Some ordinances were made in this parliament by the duke of Gloucester as commissioner, and some in the king's name. The acts of the peers who had taken on themselves the administration, and summoned parliament, were confirmed. On the twenty-seventh day of its session, it is entered upon the roll that the king, "considering his tender age, and inability to direct in person the concerns of his realm, by assent of lords and commons, appoints the duke of Bedford, or, in his absence beyond sea, the duke of Gloucester, to be protector and defender of the kingdom and English church, and the king's chief counsellor." Letters patent were made out to this effect, the appointment being however expressly during the king's pleasure. Sixteen councillors were named in parliament to assist the protector in his administration; and their concurrence was made necessary to the removal and appointment of officers, except some inferior patronage specifically reserved to the protector. In all important business that should pass by order of council, the whole, or major part, were to be present; "but if it were such matter that the king hath been accustomed to be counselled of, that then the said lords proceed not therein without the advice of my lords of Bedford or Gloucester."[435] A few more councillors were added by the next parliament, and divers regulations established for their observance.[436] This arrangement was in contravention of the late king's testament, which had conferred the regency on the duke of Gloucester, in exclusion of his elder brother. But the nature and spirit of these proceedings will be better understood by a remarkable passage in a roll of a later parliament; where the house of lords, in answer to a request of Gloucester that he might know what authority he possessed as protector, remind him that in the first parliament of the king[437] "ye desired to have had ye governaunce of yis land; affermyng yat hit belonged unto you of rygzt, as well by ye mene of your birth as by ye laste wylle of ye kyng yat was your broyer, whome God assoile; alleggyng for you such groundes and motyves as it was yought to your discretion made for your intent; whereupon, the lords spiritual and temporal assembled there in parliament, among which were there my lordes your uncles, the bishop of Winchester that now liveth, and the duke of Exeter, and your cousin the earl of March that be gone to God, and of Warwick, and other in great number that now live, had great and long deliberation and advice, searched precedents of the governail of the land in time and case semblable, when kings of this land have been tender of age, took also information of the laws of the land, of such persons as be notably learned therein, and finally found your said desire not caused nor grounded in precedent, nor in the law of the land; the which the king that dead is, in his life nor might by his last will nor otherwise altre, change, nor abroge, without the assent of the three estates, nor commit or grant to any person governance or rule of this land longer than he lived; but on that other behalf, the said lords found your said desire not according with the laws of this land, and against the right and fredome of the estates of the same land. Howe were it that it be not thought that any such thing wittingly proceeded of your intent; and nevertheless to keep peace and tranquillity, and to the intent to ease and appease you, it was advised and appointed by authority of the king, assenting the three estates of this land, that ye, in absence of my lord your brother of Bedford, should be chief of the king's council, and devised unto you a name different from other counsellors, not the name of tutor, lieutenant, governor, nor of regent, nor no name that should import authority of governance of the land, but the name of protector and defensor, which importeth a personal duty of attendance to the actual defence of the land, as well against enemies outward, if case required, as against rebels inward, if any were, that God forbid; granting you therewith certain power, the which is specified and contained in an act of the said parliament, to endure as long as it liked the king. In the which, if the intent of the said estates had been that ye more power and authority should have had, more should have been expressed therein; to the which appointment, ordinance, and act, ye then agreed you as for your person, making nevertheless protestation that it was not your intent in any wise to deroge or do prejudice unto my lord your brother of Bedford by your said agreement, as toward any right that he would pretend or claim in the governance of this land; and as toward any pre-eminence that you might have or belong unto you as chief of council, it is plainly declared in the said act and articles, subscribed by my said lord of Bedford, by yourself, and the other lords of the council. But as in parliament to which ye be called upon your faith and ligeance as duke of Glocester, as other lords be, and not otherwise, we know no power nor authority that ye have, other than ye as duke of Glocester should have, the king being in parliament, at years of mest discretion: We marvailing with all our hearts that, considering the open declaration of the authority and power belonging to my lord of Bedford and to you in his absence, and also to the king's council subscribed purely and simply by my said lord of Bedford and by you, that you should in any wise be stirred or moved not to content you therewith or to pretend you any other: Namely, considering that the king, blessed be our Lord, is, sith the time of the said power granted unto you, far gone and grown in person, in wit, and understanding, and like with the grace of God to occupy his own royal power within few years: and forasmuch considering the things and causes abovesaid, and other many that long were to write, We lords aforesaid pray, exhort, and require you to content you with the power abovesaid and declared, of the which my lord your brother of Bedford, the king's eldest uncle, contented him: and that ye none larger power desire, will, nor use; giving you this that is aboven written for our answer to your foresaid demand, the which we will dwell and abide with, withouten variance or changing. Over this beseeching and praying you in our most humble and lowly wise, and also requiring you in the king's name, that ye, according to the king's commandment, contained in his writ sent unto you in that behalf, come to this his present parliament, and intend to the good effect and speed of matters to be demesned and treted in the same, like as of right ye owe to do."[438] It is evident that this plain, or rather rude address to the duke of Gloucester, was dictated by the prevalence of cardinal Beaufort's party in council and parliament. But the transactions in the former parliament are not unfairly represented; and, comparing them with the passage extracted above, we may perhaps be entitled to infer: 1. That the king does not possess any constitutional prerogative of appointing a regent during the minority of his successor; and 2. That neither the heir presumptive, nor any other person, is entitled to exercise the royal prerogative during the king's infancy (or, by parity of reasoning, his infirmity), nor to any title that conveys them; the sole right of determining the persons by whom, and fixing the limitations under which, the executive government shall be conducted in the king's name and behalf, devolving upon the great council of parliament. The expression used in the lords' address to the duke of Gloucester, relative to the young king, that he was far gone and grown in person, wit, and understanding, was not thrown out in mere flattery. In two years the party hostile to Gloucester's influence had gained ground enough to abrogate his office of protector, leaving only the honorary title of chief counsellor.[439] For this the king's coronation, at eight years of age, was thought a fair pretence; and undoubtedly the loss of that exceedingly limited authority which had been delegated to the protector could not have impaired the strength of government. This was conducted as before by a selfish and disunited council; but the king's name was sufficient to legalize their measures, nor does any objection appear to have been made in parliament to such a mockery of the name of monarchy. [Sidenote: Henry's mental derangement.] [Sidenote: Duke of York made protector.] In the year 1454, the thirty-second of Henry's reign, his unhappy malady, transmitted perhaps from his maternal grandfather, assumed so decided a character of derangement or imbecility, that parliament could no longer conceal from itself the necessity of a more efficient ruler. This assembly, which had been continued by successive prorogations for nearly a year, met at Westminster on the 14th of February, when the session was opened, by the duke of York, as king's commissioner. Kemp, archbishop of Canterbury and chancellor of England, dying soon afterwards, it was judged proper to acquaint the king at Windsor by a deputation of twelve lords with this and other subjects concerning his government. In fact, perhaps, this was a pretext chosen in order to ascertain his real condition. These peers reported to the lords' house, two days afterwards, that they had opened to his majesty the several articles of their message, but "could get no answer ne sign for no prayer ne desire," though they repeated their endeavours at three different interviews. This report, with the instruction on which it was founded, was, at their prayer, entered of record in parliament. Upon so authentic a testimony of their sovereign's infirmity, the peers, adjourning two days for solemnity or deliberation, "elected and nominated Richard duke of York to be protector and defender of the realm of England during the king's pleasure." The duke, protesting his insufficiency, requested "that in this present parliament, and by authority thereof, it be enacted that, of yourself and of your ful and mere disposition, ye desire, name, and call me to the said name and charge, and that of any presumption of myself I take them not upon me, but only of the due and humble obeisance that I owe to do unto the king our most dread and sovereign lord, and to you the peerage of this land, in whom by the occasion of the infirmity of our said sovereign lord resteth the exercise of his authority, whose noble commandments I am as ready to perform and obey as any of his liegemen alive, and that, at such time as it shall please our blessed Creator to restore his most noble person to healthful disposition, it shall like you so to declare and notify to his good grace." To this protestation the lords answered that, for his and their discharge, an act of parliament should be made conformably to that enacted in the king's infancy, since they were compelled by an equal necessity again to choose and name a protector and defender. And to the duke of York's request to be informed how far the power and authority of his charge should extend, they replied that he should be chief of the king's council, and "devised therefore to the said duke a name different from other counsellors, not the name of tutor, lieutenant, governor, nor of regent, nor no name that shall import authority of governance of the land; but the said name of protector and defensor;" and so forth, according to the language of their former address to the duke of Gloucester. An act was passed accordingly, constituting the duke of York protector of the church and kingdom, and chief counsellor of the king, during the latter's pleasure; or until the prince of Wales should attain years of discretion on whom the said dignity was immediately to devolve. The patronage of certain spiritual benefices was reserved to the protector according to the precedent of the king's minority, which parliament was resolved to follow in every particular.[440] It may be conjectured, by the provision made in favour of the prince of Wales, then only two years old, that the king's condition was supposed to be beyond hope of restoration. But in about nine months he recovered sufficient speech and recollection to supersede the duke of York's protectorate.[441] The succeeding transactions are matter of familiar, though not, perhaps, very perspicuous history. The king was a prisoner in his enemies' hands after the affair at St. Albans,[442] when parliament met in July, 1455. In this session little was done, except renewing the strongest oaths of allegiance to Henry and his family. But the two houses meeting again after a prorogation to November 12, during which time the duke of York had strengthened his party, and was appointed by commission the king's lieutenant to open the parliament, a proposition was made by the commons that, "whereas the king had deputed the duke of York as his commissioner to proceed in this parliament, it was thought by the commons that, if the king hereafter could not attend to the protection of the country, an able person should be appointed protector, to whom they might have recourse for redress of injuries; especially as great disturbances had lately arisen in the west through the feuds of the earl of Devonshire and Lord Bonvile."[443] The archbishop of Canterbury answered for the lords that they would take into consideration what the commons had suggested. Two days afterwards the latter appeared again with a request conveyed nearly in the same terms. Upon their leaving the chamber, the archbishop, who was also chancellor, moved the peers to answer what should be done in respect of the request of the commons; adding that "it is understood that they will not further proceed in matters of parliament, to the time that they have answer to their desire and request." This naturally ended in the reappointment of the duke of York to his charge of protector. The commons indeed were determined to bear no delay. As if ignorant of what had been resolved in consequence of their second request, they urged it a third time, on the next day of meeting; and received for answer that "the king our said sovereign lord, by the advice and assent of his lords spiritual and temporal being in this present parliament, had named and desired the duke of York to be protector and defensor of this land." It is worthy of notice that in these words, and indeed in effect, as appears by the whole transaction, the house of peers assumed an exclusive right of choosing the protector, though, in the act passed to ratify their election, the commons' assent, as a matter of course, is introduced. The last year's precedent was followed in the present instance, excepting a remarkable deviation; instead of the words "during the king's pleasure," the duke was to hold his office "until he should be discharged of it by the lords in parliament."[444] This extraordinary clause, and the slight allegations on which it was thought fit to substitute a vicegerent for the reigning monarch, are sufficient to prove, even if the common historians were silent, that whatever passed as to this second protectorate of the duke of York was altogether of a revolutionary complexion. In the actual circumstances of civil blood already spilled and the king in captivity, we may justly wonder that so much regard was shown to the regular forms and precedents of the constitution. But the duke's natural moderation will account for part of this, and the temper of the lords for much more. That assembly appears for the most part to have been faithfully attached to the house of Lancaster. The partisans of Richard were found in the commons and among the populace. Several months elapsed after the victory of St. Albans before an attempt was thus made to set aside a sovereign, not labouring, so far as we know, under any more notorious infirmity than before. It then originated in the commons, and seems to have received but an unwilling consent from the upper house. Even in constituting the duke of York protector over the head of Henry, whom all men despaired of ever seeing in a state to face the dangers of such a season, the lords did not forget the rights of his son. By this latter instrument, as well as by that of the preceding year, the duke's office was to cease upon the prince of Wales arriving at the age of discretion. [Sidenote: Duke of York's claim to the crown.] But what had long been propagated in secret, soon became familiar to the public ear; that the duke of York laid claim to the throne. He was unquestionably heir general of the royal line, through his mother, Anne, daughter of Roger Mortimer earl of March, son of Philippa, daughter of Lionel duke of Clarence, third son of Edward III. Roger Mortimer's eldest son, Edmund, had been declared heir presumptive by Richard II.; but his infancy during the revolution that placed Henry IV. on the throne had caused his pretensions to be passed over in silence. The new king however was induced by a jealousy natural to his situation to detain the earl of March in custody. Henry V. restored his liberty; and, though he had certainly connived for a while at the conspiracy planned by his brother-in-law the earl of Cambridge and Lord Scrope of Masham to place the crown on his head, that magnanimous prince gave him a free pardon, and never testified any displeasure. The present duke of York was honoured by Henry VI. with the highest trusts in France and Ireland; such as Beaufort and Gloucester could never have dreamed of conferring on him if his title to the crown had not been reckoned obsolete. It has been very pertinently remarked that the crime perpetrated by Margaret and her counsellors in the death of the duke of Gloucester was the destruction of the house of Lancaster.[445] From this time the duke of York, next heir in presumption while the king was childless, might innocently contemplate the prospect of royalty; and when such ideas had long been passing through his mind, we may judge how reluctantly the birth of prince Edward, nine years after Henry's marriage, would be admitted to disturb them. The queen's administration unpopular, careless of national interests, and partial to his inveterate enemy the duke of Somerset;[446] the king incapable of exciting fear or respect; himself conscious of powerful alliances and universal favour; all these circumstances combined could hardly fail to nourish those opinions of hereditary right which he must have imbibed from his infancy. The duke of York preserved through the critical season of rebellion such moderation and humanity that we may pardon him that bias in favour of his own pretensions to which he became himself a victim. Margaret perhaps, by her sanguinary violence in the Coventry parliament of 1460, where the duke and all his adherents were attainted, left him not the choice of remaining a subject with impunity. But with us, who are to weigh these ancient factions in the balance of wisdom and justice, there should be no hesitation in deciding that the house of Lancaster were lawful sovereigns of England. I am, indeed, astonished that not only such historians as Carte, who wrote undisguisedly upon a Jacobite system, but even men of juster principles, have been inadvertent enough to mention the right of the house of York. If the original consent of the nation, if three descents of the crown, if repeated acts of parliament, if oaths of allegiance from the whole kingdom, and more particularly from those who now advanced a contrary pretension, if undisturbed, unquestioned possession during sixty years, could not secure the reigning family against a mere defect in their genealogy, when were the people to expect tranquillity? Sceptres were committed, and governments were instituted, for public protection and public happiness, not certainly for the benefit of rulers, or for the security of particular dynasties. No prejudice has less in its favour, and none has been more fatal to the peace of mankind, than that which regards a nation of subjects as a family's private inheritance. For, as this opinion induces reigning princes and their courtiers to look on the people as made only to obey them, so, when the tide of events has swept them from their thrones, it begets a fond hope of restoration, a sense of injury and of imprescriptible rights, which give the show of justice to fresh disturbances of public order, and rebellions against established authority. Even in cases of unjust conquest, which are far stronger than any domestic revolution, time heals the injury of wounded independence, the forced submission to a victorious enemy is changed into spontaneous allegiance to a sovereign, and the laws of God and nature enjoin the obedience that is challenged by reciprocal benefits. But far more does every national government, however violent in its origin, become legitimate, when universally obeyed and justly exercised, the possession drawing after it the right; not certainly that success can alter the moral character of actions, or privilege usurpation before the tribunal of human opinion, or in the pages of history, but that the recognition of a government by the people is the binding pledge of their allegiance so long as its corresponding duties are fulfilled.[447] And thus the law of England has been held to annex the subject's fidelity to the reigning monarch, by whatever title he may have ascended the throne, and whoever else may be its claimant.[448] But the statute of 11th of Henry VII. c. 1, has furnished an unequivocal commentary upon this principle, when, alluding to the condemnations and forfeitures by which those alternate successes of the white and red roses had almost exhausted the noble blood of England, it enacts that "no man for doing true and faithful service to the king for the time being be convict or attaint of high treason, nor of other offences, by act of parliament or otherwise." [Sidenote: War of the Lancastrians and Yorkists.] Though all classes of men and all parts of England were divided into factions by this unhappy contest, yet the strength of the Yorkists lay in London and the neighbouring counties, and generally among the middling and lower people. And this is what might naturally be expected. For notions of hereditary right take easy hold of the populace, who feel an honest sympathy for those whom they consider as injured; while men of noble birth and high station have a keener sense of personal duty to their sovereign, and of the baseness of deserting their allegiance. Notwithstanding the wide-spreading influence of the Nevils, most of the nobility were well affected to the reigning dynasty. We have seen how reluctantly they acquiesced in the second protectorate of the duke of York after the battle of St. Albans. Thirty-two temporal peers took an oath of fealty to Henry and his issue in the Coventry parliament of 1460, which attainted the duke of York and the earls of Warwick and Salisbury.[449] And in the memorable circumstances of the duke's claim personally made in parliament, it seems manifest that the lords complied not only with hesitation but unwillingness, and in fact testified their respect and duty for Henry by confirming the crown to him during his life.[450] The rose of Lancaster blushed upon the banners of the Staffords, the Percies, the Veres, the Hollands, and the Courtneys. All these illustrious families lay crushed for a time under the ruins of their party. But the course of fortune, which has too great a mastery over crowns and sceptres to be controlled by men's affection, invested Edward IV. with a possession which the general consent of the nation both sanctioned and secured. This was effected in no slight degree by the furious spirit of Margaret, who began a system of extermination by acts of attainder and execution of prisoners that created abhorrence, though it did not prevent imitation. And the barbarities of her northern army, whom she led towards London after the battle of Wakefield, lost the Lancastrian cause its former friends,[451] and might justly convince reflecting men that it were better to risk the chances of a new dynasty than trust the kingdom to an exasperated faction. [Sidenote: Edward IV.] A period of obscurity and confusion ensues, during which we have as little insight into constitutional as general history. There are no contemporary chroniclers of any value, and the rolls of parliament, by whose light we have hitherto steered, become mere registers of private bills, or of petitions relating to commerce. The reign of Edward IV. is the first during which no statute was passed for the redress of grievances or maintenance of the subject's liberty. Nor is there, if I am correct, a single petition of this nature upon the roll. Whether it were that the commons had lost too much of their ancient courage to present any remonstrances, or that a wilful omission has vitiated the record, is hard to determine; but we certainly must not imagine that a government cemented with blood poured on the scaffold, as well as in the field, under a passionate and unprincipled sovereign, would afford no scope for the just animadversion of parliament.[452] The reign of Edward IV. was a reign of terror. One half of the noble families had been thinned by proscription; and though generally restored in blood by the reversal of their attainders--a measure certainly deserving of much approbation--were still under the eyes of vigilant and inveterate enemies. The opposite faction would be cautious how they resisted a king of their own creation, while the hopes of their adversaries were only dormant. And indeed, without relying on this supposition, it is commonly seen that, when temporary circumstances have given a king the means of acting in disregard of his subjects' privileges, it is a very difficult undertaking for them to recover a liberty which has no security so effectual as habitual possession. Besides the severe proceedings against the Lancastrian party, which might be extenuated by the common pretences, retaliation of similar proscriptions, security for the actual government, or just punishment of rebellion against a legitimate heir, there are several reputed instances of violence and barbarity in the reign of Edward IV. which have not such plausible excuses. Every one knows the common stories of the citizen who was attainted of treason for an idle speech that he would make his son heir to the crown, the house where he dwelt; and of Thomas Burdett, who wished the horns of his stag in the belly of him who had advised the king to shoot it. Of the former I can assert nothing, though I do not believe it to be accurately reported. But certainly the accusation against Burdett, however iniquitous, was not confined to these frivolous words; which indeed do not appear in his indictment,[453] or in a passage relative to his conviction in the roll of parliament. Burdett was a servant and friend of the duke of Clarence, and sacrificed as a preliminary victim. It was an article of charge against Clarence that he had attempted to persuade the people that "Thomas Burdett his servant, which was lawfully and truly attainted of treason, was wrongfully put to death."[454] There could indeed be no more oppressive usage inflicted upon meaner persons than this attainder of the duke of Clarence--an act for which a brother could not be pardoned had he been guilty, and which deepens the shadow of a tyrannical age, if, as it seems, his offence toward Edward was but levity and rashness. But whatever acts of injustice we may attribute, from authority or conjecture, to Edward's government, it was very far from being unpopular. His love of pleasure, his affability, his courage and beauty, gave him a credit with his subjects which he had no real virtue to challenge. This restored him to the throne, even against the prodigious influence of Warwick, and compelled Henry VII. to treat his memory with respect, and acknowledge him as a lawful king.[455] The latter years of his reign were passed in repose at home after scenes of unparalleled convulsions, and in peace abroad after more than a century of expensive warfare. His demands of subsidy were therefore moderate, and easily defrayed by a nation which was making rapid advances towards opulence. According to Sir John Fortescue, nearly one fifth of the whole kingdom had come to the king's hand by forfeiture at some time or other since the commencement of his reign.[456] Many indeed of these lands had been restored, and others lavished away in grants, but the surplus revenue must still have been considerable. Edward IV. was the first who practised a new method of taking his subjects' money without consent of parliament, under the plausible name of benevolences. These came in place of the still more plausible loans of former monarchs, and were principally levied on the wealthy traders. Though no complaint appears in the parliamentary records of his reign, which, as has been observed, complain of nothing, the illegality was undoubtedly felt and resented. In the remarkable address to Richard by that tumultuary meeting which invited him to assume the crown, we find, among general assertions of the state's decay through misgovernment, the following strong passage:--"For certainly we be determined rather to aventure and committe us to the perill of owre lyfs and jopardie of deth, than to lyve in such thraldome and bondage as we have lyved long tyme heretofore, oppressed and injured by extortions and newe impositions ayenst the lawes of God and man, and the libertie, old policie, and lawes of this realme, whereyn every Englishman is inherited."[457] Accordingly, in Richard III.'s only parliament an act was passed which, after reciting in the strongest terms the grievances lately endured, abrogates and annuls for ever all exactions under the name of benevolence.[458] The liberties of this country were at least not directly impaired by the usurpation of Richard. But from an act so deeply tainted with moral guilt, as well as so violent in all its circumstances, no substantial benefit was likely to spring. Whatever difficulty there may be in deciding upon the fate of Richard's nephews after they were immured in the Tower, the more public parts of the transaction bear unequivocal testimony to his ambitious usurpation.[459] It would therefore be foreign to the purpose of this chapter to dwell upon his assumption of the regency, or upon the sort of election, however curious and remarkable, which gave a pretended authority to his usurpation of the throne. Neither of these has ever been alleged by any party in the way of constitutional precedent. [Sidenote: Conclusion.] At this epoch I terminate these inquiries into the English constitution; a sketch very imperfect, I fear, and unsatisfactory, but which may at least answer the purpose of fixing the reader's attention on the principal objects, and of guiding him to the purest fountains of constitutional knowledge. From the accession of the house of Tudor a new period is to be dated in our history, far more prosperous in the diffusion of opulence and the preservation of general order than the preceding, but less distinguished by the spirit of freedom and jealousy of tyrannical power. We have seen, through the twilight of our Anglo-Saxon records, a form of civil policy established by our ancestors, marked, like the kindred governments of the continent, with aboriginal Teutonic features; barbarous indeed, and insufficient for the great ends of society, but capable and worthy of the improvement it has received, because actuated by a sound and vital spirit, the love of freedom and of justice. From these principles arose that venerable institution, which none but a free and simple people could have conceived, trial by peers--an institution common in some degree to other nations, but which, more widely extended, more strictly retained, and better modified among ourselves, has become perhaps the first, certainly among the first, of our securities against arbitrary government. We have seen a foreign conqueror and his descendants trample almost alike upon the prostrate nation and upon those who had been companions of their victory, introduce the servitudes of feudal law with more than their usual rigour, and establish a large revenue by continual precedents upon a system of universal and prescriptive extortion. But the Norman and English races, each unfit to endure oppression, forgetting their animosities in a common interest, enforce by arms the concession of a great charter of liberties. Privileges wrested from one faithless monarch are preserved with continual vigilance against the machinations of another; the rights of the people become more precise, and their spirit more magnanimous, during the long reign of Henry III. With greater ambition and greater abilities than his father, Edward I. attempts in vain to govern in an arbitrary manner, and has the mortification of seeing his prerogative fettered by still more important limitations. The great council of the nation is opened to the representatives of the commons. They proceed by slow and cautious steps to remonstrate against public grievances, to check the abuses of administration, and sometimes to chastise public delinquency in the officers of the crown. A number of remedial provisions are added to the statutes; every Englishman learns to remember that he is the citizen of a free state, and to claim the common law as his birthright, even though the violence of power should interrupt its enjoyment. It were a strange misrepresentation of history to assert that the constitution had attained anything like a perfect state in the fifteenth century; but I know not whether there are any essential privileges of our countrymen, any fundamental securities against arbitrary power, so far as they depend upon positive institution, which may not be traced to the time when the house of Plantagenet filled the English throne. FOOTNOTES: [1] The fullest account we possess of these domestic transactions from 1294 to 1298 is in Walter Hemingford, one of the historians edited by Hearne, p. 52-168. They have been vilely perverted by Carte, but extremely well told by Hume, the first writer who had the merit of exposing the character of Edward I. See too Knyghton in Twysden's Decem Scriptores, col. 2492. [2] Walsingham, in Camden's Scriptores Rer. Anglicarum, p. 71-73. [3] Edward would not confirm the charters, notwithstanding his promise, without the words, salvo jure coronæ nostræ; on which the two earls retired from court. When the confirmation was read to the people at St. Paul's, says Hemingford, they blessed the king on seeing the charters with the great seal affixed; but when they heard the captious conclusion, they cursed him instead. At the next meeting of parliament, the king agreed to omit these insidious words, p. 168. [4] The supposed statute, De Tallagio non concedendo, is considered by Blackstone (Introduction to Charters, p. 67) as merely an abstract of the Confirmatio Chartarum. By that entitled Articuli super Chartas, 28 Edw. I., a court was erected in every county, of three knights or others, to be elected by the commons of the shire, whose sole province was to determine offences against the two charters, with the power of punishing by fine and imprisonment; but not to extend to any case wherein a remedy by writ was already provided. The Confirmatio Chartarum is properly denominated a statute, and always printed as such; but in form, like Magna Charta, it is a charter, or letters patent, proceeding from the crown, without even reciting the consent of the realm. And its "teste" is at Ghent, 2 Nov. 1297; Edward having engaged, conjointly with the count of Flanders, in a war with Philip the Fair. But a parliament had been held at London, when the barons insisted on these concessions. The circumstances are not wholly unlike those of Magna Charta. The Lords' Committee do not seem to reject the statute "de tallagio non concedendo" altogether, but say that, "if the manuscript containing it (in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge) is a true copy of a statute, it is undoubtedly a copy of a statute of the 25th, and not of a statute of the 34th of Edward I." p. 230. It seems to me on comparing the two, that the supposed statute de tallagio is but an imperfect transcript of the king's charter at Ghent. But at least, as one exists in an authentic form, and the other is only found in an unauthorized copy, there can be no question which ought to be quoted. [5] Hody (Treatise on Convocations, p. 126) states the matter thus: in the Saxon times all bishops and abbots sat and voted in the state councils, or parliament, as such, and not on account of their tenures. After the Conquest the abbots sat there not as such, but by virtue of their tenures, as barons; and the bishops sat in a double capacity, as bishops, and as barons. [6] Hody, p. 128. [7] [Note I.] [8] Madox, Baronia Anglica, p. 138. Dialogus de Scaccario, 1. i. c. 17. Lyttelton's Henry II. vol. ii. p. 217. The last of these writers supposes, contrary to Selden, that the earls continued to be governors of their counties under Henry II. Stephen created a few titular earls, with grants of crown lands to support them; but his successor resumed the grants, and deprived them of their earldoms. In Rymer's Foedera, vol. i. p. 3, we find a grant of Matilda, creating Milo of Gloucester earl of Hereford, with the moat and castle of that city in fee to him and his heirs, the third penny of the rent of the city, and of the pleas in the county, three manors and a forest, and the service of three tenants in chief, with all their fiefs; to be held with all privileges and liberties as fully as ever any earl in England had possessed them. [9] Selden's Works, vol. iii. p. 713-743. [10] Lyttelton's Henry II. vol. ii. p. 212. [11] Hody on Convocations, p. 222, 234. [12] Lib. ii. c. 9. [13] Hody and Lord Lyttelton maintain these "barons of the second rank" to have been the sub-vassals of the crown; tenants of the great barons to whom the name was sometimes improperly applied. This was very consistent with their opinion, that the commons were a part of parliament at that time. But Hume, assuming at once the truth of their interpretation in this instance, and the falsehood of their system, treats it as a deviation from the established rule, and a proof of the unsettled state of the constitution. [14] [Note II.] [15] M. Paris, p. 785. The barons even tell the king that this was contrary to _his_ charter, in which nevertheless the clause to that effect, contained in his father's charter, had been omitted. [16] Henry II., in 1175, forbad any of those who had been concerned in the late rebellion to come to his court without a particular summons. Carte, vol. ii. p. 249. [17] Upon the subject of tenure by barony, besides the writers already quoted, see West's Inquiry into the Method of creating Peers, and Carte's History of England, vol. ii. p. 247. [18] Hody on Convocations, p. 293. [19] Brady, Introduction to History of England. Appendix, p. 43. [20] Brady's History of England, vol. i. Appendix, p. 182. [21] Brady's Introduction, p. 94. [22] Hist. of Common Law, vol, i. p. 202. [23] This assembly is mentioned in the preamble, and afterwards, of the spurious laws of Edward the Confessor; and I have been accused of passing it over too slightly. The fact certainly does not rest on the authority of Hoveden, who transcribes these laws _verbatim_; and they are in substance an ancient document. There seems to me somewhat rather suspicious in this assembly of delegates; it looks like a pious fraud to maintain the old Saxon jurisprudence, which was giving way. But even if we admit the fact as here told, I still adhere to the assertion that there is no appearance that these twelve deputies of each county were invested with any higher authority than that of declaring their ancient usages. Any supposition of a real legislative parliament would be inconsistent with all that we know of the state of England under the Conqueror. And what an anomaly, upon every constitutional principle, Anglo-Saxon or Norman, would be a parliament of twelve from each county! Nor is it perfectly manifest that they were chosen by the people; the word summoneri fecit is first used; and afterwards, electis de (not _in_) singulis totius patriæ comitatibus. This might be construed of the king's selection; but perhaps the common interpretation is rather the better. William, the compiler informs us, having heard some of the Danish laws, was disposed to confirm them in preference to those of England; but yielded to the supplication of the delegates, omnes compatriotæ, qui leges narraverant, that he would permit them to retain the customs of their ancestors, imploring him by the soul of King Edward, cujus erant leges, nec aliorum exterorum. The king at length gave way, by the advice and request of his barons, consilio et precatu baronum. These of course were Normans; but what inference can be drawn in favour of parliamentary representation in England from the behaviour of the rest? They were supplicants, not legislators. [24] 2 Prynne's Register, p. 16. [25] Brady's Introduction, Appendix, pp. 41 and 44. "The language of these writs implies a distinction between such as were styled barons, apparently including the earls and the four knights who were to come from the several counties ad loquendum, and who were also distinguished from the knights summoned to attend with arms, in performance, it should seem, of the military service due by their respective tenures; and the writs, therefore, apparently distinguished certain tenants in chief by knight-service from barons, if the knights so summoned to attend with arms were required to attend by reason of their respective tenures in chief of the king. How the four knights of each county who were thus summoned to confer with the king were to be chosen, whether by the county, or according to the mere will of the sheriff, does not appear; but it seems most probable that they were intended by the king as representatives of the freeholders of each county, and to balance the power of the hostile nobles, who were then leagued against him; and the measure might lead to conciliate the minds of those who would otherwise have had no voice in the legislative assembly." Report of Lords' Committee, p. 61. This would be a remarkable fact, and the motive is by no means improbable, being perhaps that which led to the large provisions for summoning tenants in chief, contained in the charter of John, and afterwards passed over. But this parley of the four knights from each county, for they are only summoned ad loquendum, may not amount to bestowing on them any legislative power. It is nevertheless to be remembered that the word parliament meant, by its etymology, nothing more; and the words, ad loquendum, may have been used in reference to that. It is probable that these writs were not obeyed; we have no evidence that they were, and it was a season of great confusion very little before the granting of the charter of Henry III. [26] Brady's Hist. of England, vol. i. Appendix, p. 227. [27] 2 Prynne, p. 23. [28] "This writ tends strongly to show that there then existed no law by which a representation either of the king's tenants in capite or of others, for the purpose of constituting a legislative assembly, or for granting an aid, was specially provided; and it seems to have been the first instance appearing on any record now extant, of an attempt to substitute representatives elected by bodies of men for the attendance of the individual so to be represented, personally or by their several procurators, in an assembly convened for the purpose of obtaining an aid." Report, p. 95. [29] 2 Prynne, p. 27. [30] 12 Ric. II. c. 12. Prynne's 4th Register. [31] Pinkerton's Hist. of Scotland, vol. i. p. 120, 357. But this law was not regularly acted upon till 1587. p. 368. [32] What can one who adopts this opinion of Dr. Brady say to the following record? Rex militibus, liberis hominibus, et _toti communitati_ comitatus Wygorniæ tam intra libertates quam extra, salutem. Cum comites, barones, milites, liberi homines, et communitates comitatuum regni nostri vicesimam omnium bonorum suorum mobilium, civesque et burgenses et communitates omnium civitatum et burgorum ejusdem regni, necnon tenentes de antiquis dominicis coronæ nostræ quindecimam bonorum suorum mobilium nobis concesserunt. Pat. Rot. 1 E. II. in Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 442. See also p. 241 and p. 269. If the word communitas is here used in any precise sense, which, when possible, we are to suppose in construing a legal instrument, it must designate, not the tenants in chief, but the inferior class, who, though neither freeholders nor free burgesses, were yet contributable to the subsidy on their goods. [33] Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 99 and p. 102 note Z. [34] Prynne's 2nd Register, p. 50. [35] Carte's Hist. of England, ii. 250. [36] The present question has been discussed with much ability in the Edinburgh Review, vol. xxvi. p. 341. [Note III.] [37] Wilkins, p. 71. [38] Burgensis Exoniæ urbis habent extra civitatem terram duodecim carucatarum: quæ nullam consuetudinem reddunt nisi ad ipsam civitatem. Domesday, p. 100. At Canterbury the burgesses had forty-five houses without the city, de quibus ipsi habebant gablum et consuetudinem, rex autem socam et sacam; ipsi quoque burgenses habebant de rege triginta tres acras prati in gildam, suam. p. 2. In Lincoln and Stamford some resident proprietors, called Lagemanni, had jurisdiction (socam et sacam) over their tenants. But nowhere have I been able to discover any trace of municipal self-government; unless Chester may be deemed an exception, where we read of twelve judices civitatis; but by whom constituted does not appear. The word lageman seems equivalent to judex. The guild mentioned above at Canterbury was, in all probability, a voluntary association: so at Dover we find the burgesses' guildhall, gihalla burgensium. p. 1. Many of the passages in Domesday relative to the state of burgesses are collected in Brady's History of Boroughs; a work which, if read with due suspicion of the author's honesty, will convey a great deal of knowledge. Since the former part of this note was written, I have met with a charter granted by Henry II. to Lincoln, which seems to refer, more explicitly than any similar instrument, to municipal privileges of jurisdiction enjoyed by the citizens under Edward the Confessor. These charters, it is well known, do not always recite what is true; yet it is possible that the citizens of Lincoln, which had been one of the five Danish towns, sometimes mentioned with a sort of distinction by writers before the Conquest, might be in a more advantageous situation than the generality of burgesses. Sciatis me concessisse civibus meis Lincoln, omnes libertates et consuetudines et leges suas, quas habuerunt tempore Edwardi et Will. et Henr. regum Angliæ, et gildam suam mercatoriam de hominibus civitatis et de aliis mercatoribus comitatus, sicut illam habuerunt tempore predictorum, antecessorum nostrorum, regum Angliæ, melius et liberius. Et omnes homines qui infra quatuor divisas civitates manent et mercatum deducunt, sint ad gildas, et consuetudines et assisas civitatis, sicut melius fuerunt temp. Edw. et Will. et Hen. regum Angliæ. Rymer, t. i. p. 40 (edit. 1816). I am indebted to the friendly remarks of the periodical critic whom I have before mentioned for reminding me of other charters of the same age, expressed in a similar manner, which in my haste I had overlooked, though printed in common books. But whether these general words ought to outweigh the silence of Domesday Book I am not prepared to decide. I have admitted below that the possession of corporate property implies an elective government for its administration, and I think it perfectly clear that the guilds made by-laws for the regulation of their members. Yet this is something different from municipal jurisdiction over all the inhabitants of a town. [Note IV.] [39] Madox, Hist. of Exchequer, c. 17. [40] Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 1. There is one instance, I know not if any more could be found, of a firma burgi before the Conquest. It was at Huntingdon. Domesday, p. 203. [41] Madox, p. 12, 13. [42] Id. p. 21. [43] I have read somewhere that this charter was granted in 1101. But the instrument itself, which is only preserved by an Inspeximus of Edward IV., does not contain any date. Rymer, t. i. p. 11 (edit. 1816). Could it be traced so high, the circumstance would be remarkable, as the earliest charters granted by Louis VI., supposed to be the father of these institutions, are several years later. It is said by Mr. Thorpe (Ancient Laws of England, p. 267), that, though there are ten witnesses, he only finds one who throws any light on the date: namely, Hugh Bigod, who succeeded his brother William in 1120. But Mr. Thorpe does not mention in what respect he succeeded. It was as _dapifer regis_; but he is not so named in the charter. Dugdale's Baronage, p. 132. The date, therefore, still seems problematical. [44] This did not, however, save the citizens from paying one hundred marks to the king for this privilege. Mag. Rot. 5 Steph. apud Madox, Hist. Exchequer, t. xi. I do not know that the charter of Henry I. can be suspected; but Brady, in his treatise of Boroughs (p. 38, edit. 1777), does not think proper once to mention it; and indeed uses many expressions incompatible with its existence. [45] Blomefield, Hist of Norfolk, vol. ii. p. 16, says that Henry I. granted the same privileges by charter to Norwich in 1122 which London possessed. Yet it appears that the king named the port reeve or provost; but Blomefield suggests that he was probably recommended by the citizens, the office being annual. [46] Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 23. Hickes has given us a bond of fellowship among the thanes of Cambridgeshire, containing several curious particulars. A composition of eight pounds, exclusive, I conceive, of the usual weregild, was to be enforced from the slayer of any fellow. If a fellow (gilda) killed a man of 1200 shillings weregild, each of the society was to contribute half a marc; for a ceorl, two oræ (perhaps ten shillings); for a Welshman, one. If however this act was committed wantonly, the fellow had no right to call on the society for contribution. If one fellow killed another, he was to pay the legal weregild to his kindred, and also eight pounds to the society. Harsh words used by one fellow towards another, or even towards a stranger, incurred a fine. No one was to eat or drink in the company of one who had killed his brother fellow, unless in the presence of the king, bishop, or alderman. Dissertatio Epistolaris, p. 21. We find in Wilkins's Anglo-Saxon Laws, p. 65, a number of ordinances sworn to by persons both of noble and ignoble rank (ge eorlisce ge ceorlisce), and confirmed by king Athelstan. These are in the nature of by-laws for the regulation of certain societies that had been formed for the preservation of public order. Their remedy was rather violent: to kill and seize the effects of all who should rob any member of the association. This property, after deducting the value of the things stolen, was to be divided into two parts; one given to the criminal's wife if not an accomplice, the other shared between the king and the society. In another fraternity among the clergy and laity of Exeter every fellow was entitled to a contribution in case of taking a journey, or if his house was burned. Thus they resembled, in some degree, our friendly societies; and display an interesting picture of manners, which has induced me to insert this note, though not greatly to the present purpose. See more of the Anglo-Saxon guilds in Turner's History, vol. ii. p. 102. Societies of the same kind, for purposes of religion, charity, or mutual assistance, rather than trade, may be found long afterwards. Blomefield's Hist. of Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 494. [47] See a grant from Turstin, archbishop of York, in the reign of Henry I., to the burgesses of Beverley, that they may have their _hanshus_ (i.e. guildhall) like those of York, et ibi sua statuta pertractent ad honorem Dei, &c. Rymer, t. i. p. 10, edit. 1816. [48] Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 189. [49] Idem, passim. A few of an earlier date may be found in the new edition of Rymer. [50] Lyttelton's History of Henry II., vol. ii. p. 170. Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 331. [51] Macpherson, p. 245. [52] Id. p. 282. [53] Cives Lundinenses, et pars nobilium qui eo tempore consistebant Lundoniæ, Clitonem Eadmundum unanimi consensu in regem levavere. p. 249. [54] Chron. Saxon. p. 154. Malmsbury, p. 76. He says the people of London were become almost barbarians through their intercourse with the Danes; propter frequentem convictum. [55] Londinenses, qui sunt quasi optimates pro magnitudine civitatis in Angliâ. Malmsb. p. 189. Thus too Matthew Paris: cives Londinenses, quos propter civitatis dignitatem et civium antiquam libertatem Barones consuevimus appellare. p. 744. And in another place: totius civitatis cives, quos barones vocant. p. 835. Spelman says that the magistrates of several other towns were called barons. Glossary, Barones de London. A singular proof of the estimation in which the citizens of London held themselves in the reign of Richard I. occurs in the Chronicle of Jocelyn de Brakelonde (p. 56--Camden Society, 1840). They claimed to be free from toll in every part of England, and in every jurisdiction, resting their immunity on the antiquity of London (which was coeval, they said, with Rome), and on its rank as metropolis of the kingdom. Et dicebant cives Lundonienses fuisse quietos de theloneo in omni foro, et semper et ubique, per totam Angliam, à tempore quo Roma primo fundata fuit, et civitatem Lundoniæ, eodem tempore fundatam, talem debere habere libertatem per totam Angliam, et ratione civitatis privilegiatæ quæ olim metropolis fuit et caput regni, et ratione antiquitatis. Palgrave inclines to think that London never formed part of any kingdom of the Heptarchy. Introduction to Rot. Cur. Regis. p. 95. But this seems to imply a republican city in the midst of so many royal states, which seems hardly probable. Certainly it seems strange, though I cannot explain it away, that the capital of England should have fallen, as we generally suppose, to the small and obscure kingdom of Essex. Winchester, indeed, may be considered as having become afterwards the capital during the Anglo-Saxon monarchy, so far as that it was for the most part the residence of our kings. But London was always more populous. [56] Drake, the historian of York, maintains that London was less populous, about the time of the Conquest, than that city; and quotes Hardynge, a writer of Henry V.'s age, to prove that the interior part of the former was not closely built. Eboracum, p. 91. York however does not appear to have contained more than 10,000 inhabitants at the accession of the Conqueror; and the very exaggerations as to the populousness of London prove that it must have far exceeded that number. Fitz-Stephen, the contemporary biographer of Thomas à Becket, tells us of 80,000 men capable of bearing arms within its precincts; where however his translator, Pegge, suspects a mistake of the MS. in the numerals. And this, with similar hyperboles, so imposed on the judicious mind of Lord Lyttelton, that, finding in Peter of Blois the inhabitants of London reckoned at quadraginta millia, he has actually proposed to read quadringenta. Hist. Henry II., vol. iv. ad finem. It is hardly necessary to observe that the condition of agriculture and internal communication would not have allowed half that number to subsist. The subsidy-roll of 1377, published in the Archæologia, vol. vii., would lead to a conclusion that all the inhabitants of London did not even then exceed 35,000. If this be true, they could not have amounted, probably, to so great a number two or three centuries earlier. But the numbers given in that document have been questioned as to Norwich upon very plausible grounds, and seem rather suspicious in the present instance. [Note V.] [57] This seditious, or at least refractory character of the Londoners, was displayed in the tumult headed by William Longbeard in the time of Richard I., and that under Constantine in 1222, the patriarchs of a long line of city demagogues. Hoveden, p. 765. M. Paris, p. 154. [58] Hoveden's expressions are very precise, and show that the share taken by the citizens of London (probably the mayor and aldermen) in this measure was no tumultuary acclamation, but a deliberate concurrence with the nobility. Comes Johannes, et fere omnes episcopi, et comites Angliæ eâdem die intraverunt Londonias; et in crastino prædictus Johannes frater regis, et archiepiscopus Rothomagensis, et omnes episcopi, et comites et barones, et cives Londonienses cum illis convenerunt in atrio ecclesiæ S. Pauli.... Placuit ergo Johanni fratri regis, et omnibus episcopis, et comitibus et baronibus regni, et civibus Londoniarum, quod cancellarius ille deponeretur, et deposuerunt eum, &c. p. 701. [59] The reader may consult, for a more full account of the English towns before the middle of the thirteenth century, Lyttelton's History of Henry II. vol. ii. p. 174; and Macpherson's Annals of Commerce. [60] Frequent proofs of this may be found in Madox, Hist. of Exchequer, c. 17, as well as in Matt. Paris, who laments it with indignation. Cives Londinenses, contra consuetudinem et libertatem civitatis, quasi servi ultimæ conditionis, non sub nomine aut titulo liberi adjutorii, sed tallagii, quod multum eos angebat, regi, licet inviti et renitentes, numerare sunt coacti. p. 492. Heu ubi est Londinensis, toties empta, toties concessa, toties scripta, toties jurata libertas! &c. p. 627. The king sometimes suspended their market, that is, I suppose, their right of toll, till his demands were paid. [61] These writs are not extant, having perhaps never been returned; and consequently we cannot tell to what particular places they were addressed. It appears however that the assembly was intended to be numerous; for the entry runs: scribitur civibus Ebor, civibus Lincoln, et cæteris burgis Angliæ. It is singular that no mention is made of London, which must have had some special summons. Rymer, t. i. p. 803. Dugdale, Summonitiones ad Parliamentum, p. 1. [62] It would ill repay any reader's diligence to wade through the vapid and diluted pages of Tyrrell; but whoever would know what can be best pleaded for a higher antiquity of our present parliamentary constitution may have recourse to Hody on Convocations, and Lord Lyttelton's History of Henry II. vol. ii. p. 276, and vol. iv. p. 79-106. I do not conceive it possible to argue the question more ingeniously than has been done by the noble writer last quoted. Whitelocke, in his commentary on the parliamentary writ, has treated it very much at length, but with no critical discrimination. [Note VII.] [63] Madox, Hist. of Exchequer, c. 17. [64] The only apparent exception to this is in the letter addressed to the pope by the parliament of 1246; the salutation of which runs thus: Barones, proceres, et magnates, _ac nobiles portuum maris habitatores_, necnon et clerus et populus universus, salutem. Matt. Paris, p. 696. It is plain, I think, from these words, that some of the chief inhabitants of the Cinque Ports, at that time very flourishing towns, were present in this parliament. But whether they sat as representatives, or by a peculiar writ of summons, is not so evident; and the latter may be the more probable hypothesis of the two. [65] Thus Matthew Paris tells us that in 1237 the whole kingdom, regni totius universitas, repaired to a parliament of Henry III. p. 367. [66] Brady's Introduction to Hist. of England, p. 38. [67] Convocatis universis Angliæ prelatis et magnatibus, necnon cunctatum regni sui civitatum et burgorum potentioribus. Wykes, in Gale, XV Scriptores, t. ii. p. 88. I am indebted to Hody on Convocations for this reference, which seems to have escaped most of our constitutional writers. [68] Hoc anno ... convenerunt archiepiscopi, episcopi, comites et barones, abbates et priores, et de quolibet comitatu quatuor milites, et de quâlibet civitate quatuor. Annales Waverleienses in Gale, t. ii. p. 227. I was led to this passage by Atterbury, Rights of Convocations, p. 310, where some other authorities less unquestionable are adduced for the same purpose. Both this assembly and that mentioned by Wykes in 1269 were certainly parliaments, and acted as such, particularly the former, though summoned for purposes not strictly parliamentary. [69] The statute of Marlebridge is said to be made convocatis discretioribus, tam majoribus quàm minoribus; that of Westminster primer, par son conseil, et par l'assentements des archievesques, evesques, abbes, priors, countes, barons, et tout le comminality de la terre illonques summones. The statute of Gloucester runs, appelles les plus discretes de son royaume, auxibien des grandes come des meinders. These preambles seem to have satisfied Mr. Prynne that the commons were then represented, though the writs are wanting; and certainly no one could be less disposed to exaggerate their antiquity. 2nd Register, p. 30. [70] Brady's Hist. of England, vol. ii. Appendix; Carte, vol. ii. p. 257. [71] This is commonly denominated the parliament of Acton Burnell; the clergy and commons having sat in that town, while the barons passed judgment upon David prince of Wales at Shrewsbury. The towns which were honoured with the privilege of representation, and may consequently be supposed to have been at that time the most considerable in England, were York, Carlisle, Scarborough, Nottingham, Grimsby, Lincoln, Northampton, Lynn, Yarmouth, Colchester, Norwich, Chester, Shrewsbury, Worcester, Hereford, Bristol, Canterbury, Winchester, and Exeter. Rymer, t. ii. p. 247. "This [the trial and judgment of Llewellin] seems to have been the only business transacted at Shrewsbury; for the bishops and abbots, and four knights of each shire, and two representatives of London and nineteen other trading towns, summoned to meet the same day in parliament, are said to have sat at Acton Burnell; and thence the law made for the more easy recovery of the debts of merchants is called the Statute of Acton Burnell. It was probably made at the request of the representatives of the cities and boroughs present in that parliament, authentic copies in the king's name being sent to seven of those trading towns; but it runs only in the name of the king and his council." Carte, ii. 195, referring to Rot. Wall. 11 Edw. I. m. 2nd. As the parliament was summoned to meet at Shrewsbury, it may be presumed that the Commons adjourned to Acton Burnell. The word "statute" implies that some consent was given, though the enactment came from the king and council. It is entitled in the Book of the Exchequer--des Estatus de Slopbury ke sunt appele Actone Burnel. Ces sunt les Estatus fez at Salopsebur, al parlement prochein apres la fete Seint Michel, l'an del reigne le Rey Edward, Fitz le Rey Henry, unzime. Report of Lords' Committee, p. 191. The enactment by the king and council founded on the consent of the estates was at Acton Burnell. And the Statute of Merchants, 13 Edw. I., refers to that of the 11th, as made by the king, a son parlement que il tint à Acton Burnell, and again mentions l'avant dit statut fait à Acton Burnell. This seems to afford a voucher for what is said in my text, which has been controverted by a learned antiquary.[*] It is certain that the lords were at Shrewsbury in their judicial character condemning Llewellin; but whether they proceeded afterwards to Acton Burnell, and joined in the statute, is not quite so clear. * Archæological Journal, vol. ii. p. 337, by the Rev. W. Hartshorne. [72] [Note VI.] [73] Willis, Notitia Parliamentaria, vol. ii. p. 312; Lyttelton's Hist. of Hen. II. vol. iv. p. 89. [74] 6 Ric. II. stat. 2, c. iv. [75] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 22. [76] Though such an argument would not be conclusive, it might afford some ground for hesitation, if the royal burghs of Scotland were actually represented in their parliament more than half a century before the date assigned to the first representation of English towns. Lord Hailes concludes from a passage in Fordun "that as early as 1211 burgesses gave suit and presence in the great council of the king's vassals; though the contrary has been asserted with much confidence by various authors." Annals of Scotland, vol. i. p. 139. Fordun's words, however, so far from importing that they formed a member of the legislature, which perhaps Lord Hailes did not mean by the quaint expression "gave suit and presence," do not appear to me conclusive to prove that they were actually present. Hoc anno Rex Scotiæ Willelmus magnum tenuit consilium. Ubi, petito ab optimatibus auxilio, promiserunt se daturos decem mille marcas: præter burgenses regni, qui sex millia promiserunt. Those who know the brief and incorrect style of chronicles will not think it unlikely that the offer of 6000 marks by the burgesses was not made in parliament, but in consequence of separate requisitions from the crown. Pinkerton is of opinion that the magistrates of royal burghs might upon this, and perhaps other occasions, have attended at the bar of parliament with their offers of money. But the deputies of towns do not appear as a part of parliament till 1326. Hist. of Scotland, vol. i. p. 352, 371. [77] [Note VII.] [78] These expressions cannot appear too strong. But it is very remarkable that to the parliament of 18 Edward III. the writs appear to have summoned none of the towns, but only the counties. Willis, Notit. Parliament. vol. i. Preface, p. 13. Prynne's Register, 3rd part, p. 144. Yet the citizens and burgesses are once, but only once, named as present in the parliamentary roll; and there is, in general, a chasm in place of their names, where the different ranks present are enumerated. Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 146. A subsidy was granted at this parliament; so that, if the citizens and burgesses were really not summoned, it is by far the most violent stretch of power during the reign of Edward III. But I know of no collateral evidence to illustrate or disprove it. [79] Tallages were imposed without consent of parliament in 17 E. I. Wykes, p. 117; and in 32 E. I. Brady's Hist. of Eng. vol. ii. In the latter instance the king also gave leave to the lay and spiritual nobility to set a tallage on their own tenants. This was subsequent to the Confirmatio Chartarum, and unquestionably illegal. [80] Prynne's 2nd Register. It may be remarked that writs of summons to great councils never ran ad faciendum, but ad tractandum, consulendum et consentiendum; from which some would infer that faciendum had the sense of enacting; since statutes could not be passed in such assemblies. Id. p. 92. [81] 28 E. I., in Prynne's 4th Register, p. 12; 9 E. II. (a great council), p. 48. [82] Brady's Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 40; Parliamentary History, vol. i. p. 206; Rot. Parl. t. ii. p. 66. [83] Carte, vol. ii. p. 451; Parliamentary History, vol. i. p. 234. [84] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 289. [85] Id. p. 430. [86] Id. vol. ii. p. 7. [87] Id. p. 289, 351, 430. [88] Id. p. 5. [89] Id. p. 86. [90] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 285. [91] 4 E. III. c. 14. Annual sessions of parliament seem fully to satisfy the words, and still more the spirit, of this act, and of 36 E. III. c. 10; which however are repealed by implication from the provisions of 6 Will. III. c. 2. But it was very rare under the Plantagenet dynasty for a parliament to continue more than a year. It has been observed that this provision "had probably in view the administration of justice by the king's court in parliament." Report of L. C. p. 301. And in another place:--"It is clear that the word parliament in the reign of Edward I. was not used only to describe a legislative assembly, but was the common appellation of the ordinary assembly of the king's great court or council; and that the legislative assembly of the realm, composed generally, in and after the 23rd of Edward I., of lords spiritual and temporal, and representatives of the commons, was usually convened to meet the king's council in one of these parliaments." p. 171. Certainly the commons could not desire to have an annual parliament in order to make new statutes, much less to grant subsidies. It was, however, important to present their petitions, and to set forth their grievances to this high court. We may easily reconcile the anxiety so often expressed by the commons to have frequent sessions of parliament, with the individual reluctance of members to attend. A few active men procured these petitions, which the majority could not with decency oppose, since the public benefit was generally admitted. But when the writs came down, every pretext was commonly made use of to avoid a troublesome and ill-remunerated journey to Westminster. For the subject of annual parliaments see a valuable article by Allen in the 28th volume of the Edinburgh Review. [92] This article is so expressed as to make it appear that the grievance was the high price of commodities. But as this was the natural effect of a degraded currency, and the whole tenor of these articles relates to abuses of government, I think it must have meant what I have said in the text. [93] Prynne's 2nd Register, p. 68. [94] Id. p. 75. [95] Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 6; Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 449. [96] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 430. [97] It is however distinctly specified in stat. 7 Edw. II. and in 12 Edw. II., and equivalent words are found in other statutes. Though often wanting, the testimony to the constitution of parliament is sufficient and conclusive. [98] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 281. [99] Walsingham, p. 97. The Lords' committee "have found no evidence of any writ issued for election of knights, citizens, and burgesses to attend the same meetings; from the subsequent documents it seems probable that none were issued, and that the parliament which assembled at Westminster consisted only of prelates, earls, and barons." p. 259. We have no record of this parliament; but in that of 5 Edw. II. it is recited--Come le seizieme jour de Marz l'an de notre regne tierce, a l'honeur de Dieu et pour le bien de nous et de nostre roiaume, eussions granté de notre franche volonté, par nos lettres ouvertes aux prelatz, countes, et barons, _et communes de dit roiaume_, qu'ils puissent eslire certain persones des prelatz, comtes, et barons, &c. Rot. Parl. i. 281. The inference therefore of the committee seems erroneous. [Note VIII.] [100] "La commonaltée" seems in this place to mean the tenants of land, or commons of the counties, in contradistinction to citizens and burgesses. [101] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 66. The Lords' committee observe on this passage in the roll of parliament, that "the king's right to tallage his cities, boroughs, and demesnes seems not to have been questioned by the parliament, though the commissions for setting the tallage were objected to." p. 305. But how can we believe that after the representatives of these cities and boroughs had sat, at least at times, for two reigns, and after the explicit renunciation of all right of tallage by Edward I. (for it was never pretended that the king could lay a tallage on any towns which did not hold of himself), there could have been a parliament which "did not question" the legality of a tallage set without their consent? The silence of the rolls of parliament would furnish but a poor argument. But in fact their language is expressive enough. The several ranks of lords and commons grant the fifteenth penny from the commonalty, and the tenth from the cities, boroughs, and demesnes of the king, "that our lord the king may live of his own, and pay for his expenses, and not aggrieve his people by excessive (outraiouses) prises, or otherwise." And upon this the king revokes the commission in the words of the text. Can anything be clearer than that the parliament, though in a much gentler tone than they came afterwards to assume, intimate the illegality of the late tallage? As to any other objection to the commissions, which the committee suppose to have been taken, nothing appears on the roll. [102] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 104. [103] Id. [104] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 161. [105] Case of impositions in Howell's State Trials, vol. ii. p. 371-519; particularly the argument of Mr. Hakewill. Hale's Treatise on the Customs, in Hargrave's Tracts, vol. i. Edward III. imposed another duty on cloth exported, on the pretence that, as the wool must have paid a tax, he had a right to place the wrought and unwrought article on an equality. The commons remonstrated against this; but it was not repealed. This took place about 22 E. III. Hale's Treatise, p. 175. [106] Rot. Parl. p. 160. [107] p. 161, 166, 201. [108] 25 E. III. stat. v. c. 8. [109] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 366. [110] Prynne's 4th Register, p. 289. [111] Rot. Parl. p. 304. [112] Rot. Parl. p. 310. In the mode of levying subsidies a remarkable improvement took place early in the reign of Edward III. Originally two chief taxors were appointed by the king for each county, who named twelve persons in every hundred to assess the moveable estate of all inhabitants according to its real value. But in 8 E. III., on complaint of parliament that these taxors were partial, commissioners were sent round to compound with every town and parish for a gross sum, which was from thenceforth the fixed quota of subsidy, and raised by the inhabitants themselves. Brady on Boroughs, p. 81. [113] Laws appear to have been drawn up, and proposed to the two houses by the king, down to the time of Edward I. Hale's Hist. of Common Law, p. 16. Sometimes the representatives of particular places address separate petitions to the king and council; as the citizens of London, the commons of Devonshire, &c. These are intermingled with the general petitions, and both together are for the most part very numerous. In the roll of 50 Edw. III. they amount to 140. [114] Rot. Parl. p. 239. [115] Rot. Parl. p. 113. [116] p. 280. [117] "If there be any difference between an ordinance and a statute, as some have collected, it is but only this, that an ordinance is but temporary till confirmed and made perpetual, but a statute is perpetual at first, and so have some ordinances also been." Whitelocke on Parliamentary Writ, vol. ii. p. 297. See Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 17; vol. iv. p. 35. [118] These may be found in Willis's Notitia Parliamentaria. In 28 E. I. the universities were summoned to send members to a great council in order to defend the king's right to the kingdom of Scotland. 1 Prynne. [119] Rot. Parl. ii. 206. [120] Rot. Parl. ii 253, 257. [121] Id. p. 131. [122] Rot. Parl. ii. p. 128. [123] Rymer, t. v. p. 282. This instrument betrays in its language Edward's consciousness of the violent step he was taking; and his wish to excuse it as much as possible. [124] The commons in the 17th of Edw. III. petition that the statutes made two years before be maintained in their force, having granted for them the subsidies which they enumerate, "which was a great spoiling (rançon) and grievous charge for them." But the king answered that, "perceiving the said statute to be against his oath, and to the blemish of his crown and royalty, and against the law of the land in many points, he had repealed it. But he would have the articles of the said statute examined, and what should be found honourable and profitable to the king and his people put into a new statute, and observed in future." Rot. Parl. ii. 139. But though this is inserted among the petitions, it appears from the roll a little before (p. 139, n. 23), that the statute was actually repealed by common consent; such consent at least being recited, whether truly or not. [125] Rymer, t. v. p. 165. [126] p. 148. [127] 21 E. III. p. 165. [128] 28 E. III. p. 261. [129] 28 E. III. p. 295. Carte says, "the lords and commons, giving this advice separately, declared," &c. Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 518. I can find no mention of the commons doing this in the roll of parliament. [130] Rymer, p. 269. [131] p. 114. [132] p. 304. [133] Most of our general historians have slurred over this important session. The best view, perhaps, of its secret history will be found in Lowth's Life of Wykeham; an instructive and elegant work, only to be blamed for marks of that academical point of honour which makes a fellow of a college too indiscriminate an encomiast of its founder. Another modern book may be named with some commendation, though very inferior in its execution, Godwin's Life of Chaucer of which the duke of Lancaster is the political hero. [134] Rymer, p. 322. [135] Rymer, p. 322. [136] p. 329. [137] Anonym. Hist. Edw. III. ad calcem Hemingford, p. 444, 448. Walsingham gives a different reason, p. 192. [138] Rot. Parl. p. 374. Not more than six or seven of the knights who had sat in the last parliament were returned to this, as appears by the writs in Prynne's 4th Register, p. 302, 311. [139] Walsingham, p. 200, says pene omnes; but the list published in Prynne's 4th Register induces me to qualify this loose expression. Alice Perrers had bribed, he tells us, many of the lords and all the lawyers of England; yet by the perseverance of these knights she was convicted. [140] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 374. [141] vol. iii. p. 12. [142] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 12 [143] Rot. Parl. p. 35-38. [144] Id. p. 57. [145] See p. 47 of this volume. [146] Nevertheless, the commons repeated it in their schedule of petitions; and received an evasive answer, referring to an ordinance made in the first parliament of the king, the application of which is indefinite. Rot. Parl. p. 82. [147] p. 73. In Rymer, t. viii. p. 250, the archbishop of York's name appears among these commissioners, which makes their number sixteen. But it is plain by the instrument that only fifteen were meant to be appointed. [148] Rot. Parl. 5 R. II. p. 100. [149] Rot. Parl. 5 R. II. p. 104. [150] The commons granted a subsidy, 7 R. II., to support Lancaster's war in Castile. R. P. p. 284. Whether the populace changed their opinion of him I know not. He was still disliked by them two years before. The insurgents of 1382 are said to have compelled men to swear that they would obey king Richard and the commons, and that they would accept no king named John. Walsingham, p. 248. [151] Walsing. p. 290, 315, 317. [152] Rot. Parl. 5 R. II. p. 100; 6 R. II. sess. 1, p. 134. [153] p. 145. [154] Rot. Parl. 9 R. II. p. 209. [155] Ib. p. 213. It is however asserted in the articles of impeachment against Suffolk, and admitted by his defence, that nine lords had been appointed in the last parliament, viz. 9 R. II., to inquire into the state of the household, and reform whatever was amiss. But nothing of this appears in the roll. [156] Knyghton, in Twysden x. Script. col. 2680. [157] Upon full consideration, I am much inclined to give credit to this passage of Knyghton, as to the main facts; and perhaps even the speech of Gloucester and the bishop of Ely is more likely to have been made public by them than invented by so jejune an historian. Walsingham indeed says nothing of the matter; but he is so unequally informed and so frequently defective, that we can draw no strong inference from his silence. What most weighs with me is that parliament met on Oct. 1, 1387, and was not dissolved till Nov. 28; a longer period than the business done in it seems to have required; and also that Suffolk, who opened the session as chancellor, is styled "darrein chancellor" in the articles of impeachment against him; so that he must have been removed in the interval, which tallies with Knyghton's story. Besides, it is plain, from the famous questions subsequently put by the king to his judges at Nottingham, that both the right of retiring without a regular dissolution, and the precedent of Edward II., had been discussed in parliament, which does not appear anywhere else than in Knyghton. [158] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 219. [159] Articles had been exhibited by the chancellor before the peers, in the seventh of the king, against Spencer, bishop of Norwich, who had led a considerable army in a disastrous expedition against the Flemings, adherents to the anti-pope Clement in the schism. This crusade had been exceedingly popular, but its ill success had the usual effect. The commons were not parties in this proceeding. Rot. Parl. p 153. [160] Rot. Parl. p. 221. [161] Rot. Parl. p. 281. [162] The judgment against Simon de Burley, one of those who were executed on this occasion, upon impeachment of the commons, was reversed under Henry IV.; a fair presumption of its injustice. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 464. [163] Rot. Parl. 14 R II. p. 279; 15 R. II. p. 286. [164] Rot. Parl. 13 R. II. p. 258. [165] 17 R. II. p. 313. [166] Rymer, t. vii. p. 583, 659. [167] Hume has represented this as if the commons had petitioned for the continuance of sheriffs beyond a year, and grounds upon this mistake part of his defence of Richard II. (Note to vol. ii. p. 270, 4to. edit.) For this he refers to Cotton's Abridgment; whether rightly or not I cannot say, being little acquainted with that inaccurate book, upon which it is unfortunate that Hume relied so much. The passage from Walsingham in the same note is also wholly perverted; as the reader will discover without further observation. An historian must be strangely warped who quotes a passage explicitly complaining of illegal acts in order to infer that those very acts were legal. [168] The church would perhaps have interfered in behalf of Haxey if he had only received the tonsure. But it seems that he was actually in orders; for the record calls him Sir Thomas Haxey, a title at that time regularly given to the parson of a parish. If this be so, it is a remarkable authority for the clergy's capacity of sitting in parliament. [169] Rot. Parl. 20 R. II. p. 339. In Henry IV.'s first parliament the commons petitioned for Haxey's restoration, and truly say that his sentence was en aneantissement des custumes de la commune, p. 434. His judgment was reversed by both houses, as having passed de volonté du roy Richard en contre droit et la course quel avoit este devant en parlement. p. 480. There can be no doubt with any man who looks attentively at the passages relative to Haxey that he was a member of parliament; though this was questioned a few years ago by the committee of the house of commons, who made a report on the right of the clergy to be elected; a right which, I am inclined to believe, did exist down to the Reformation, as the grounds alleged for Nowell's expulsion in the first, of Mary, besides this instance of Haxey conspire to prove, though it has since been lost by disuse. [170] This assembly, if we may trust the anonymous author of the Life of Richard II., published by Hearne, was surrounded by the king's troops. p. 133. [171] Rot. Parl, 21 R. II. p. 347. [172] 21 R. II. p. 369. [173] 13 R. II. p. 256. [174] This proceeding was made one of the articles of charge against Richard in the following terms: Item, in parliamento ultimo celebrato apud Salopiam, idem rex proponens opprimere populum suum procuravit subtiliter et fecit concedi, quod potestas parliamenti de consensu omnium statuum regni sui remaneret apud quasdam certas personas ad terminandum, dissoluto parliamento, certas petitiones in eodem parliamento porrectas protunc minimè expeditas. Cujus concessionis colore personæ sic deputatæ processerunt ad alia generaliter parliamentum illud tangentia; et hoc de voluntate regis; in derogationem statûs parliamenti, et in magnum incommodum totius regni et perniciosum exemplum. Et ut super factis eorum hujusmodi aliquem colorem et auctoritatem viderentur habere, rex fecit rotulos parliamenti pro voto suo mutari et deleri, contra effectum consensionis prædictæ. Rot. Parl. 1 H. IV. vol. iii. p. 418. Whether the last accusation, of altering the parliamentary roll, be true or not, there is enough left in it to prove everything I have asserted in the text. From this it is sufficiently manifest how unfairly Carte and Hume have drawn a parallel between this self-deputed legislative commission and that appointed by parliament to reform the administration eleven years before. [175] Rot. Parl. p. 372, 385. [176] Besides the contemporary historians, we may read a full narrative of these proceedings in the Rolls of Parliament, vol. iii. p. 382. It appears that Mowbray was the most offending party, since, independently of Hereford's accusation, he is charged with openly maintaining the appeals made in the false parliament of the eleventh of the king. But the banishment of his accuser was wholly unjustifiable by any motives that we can discover. It is strange that Carte should express surprise at the sentence upon the duke of Norfolk, while he seems to consider that upon Hereford as very equitable. But he viewed the whole of this reign, and of those that ensued, with the jaundiced eye of Jacobitism. [177] Rot. Parl. 1 H. IV. p. 420, 426; Walsingham, p. 353, 357; Otterburn, p. 199; Vita Ric. II. p. 147. [178] It is fair to observe that Froissart's testimony makes most in favour of the king, or rather against his enemies, where it is most valuable; that is, in his account of what he heard in the English court in 1395, 1. iv. c. 62, where he gives a very indifferent character of the duke of Gloucester. In general this writer is ill-informed of English affairs, and undeserving to be quoted as an authority. [179] Rot. Parl. p. 423. [180] If proof could be required of anything so self-evident as that these assemblies consisted of exactly the same persons, it may be found in their writs of expenses, as published by Prynne, 4th Register, p. 450. [181] 2 R. II. p. 56. [182] It is positively laid down by the asserters of civil liberty, in the great case of impositions (Howell's State Trials, vol. ii. p. 443, 507), that no precedents for arbitrary taxation of exports or imports occur from the accession of Richard II. to the reign of Mary. [183] 2 R. II. p. 62. This did not find its way to the statute-book. [184] Rymer, t. vii. p. 544. [185] Carte, vol. ii. p. 640. Sir M. Hale observes that he finds no complaints of illegal impositions under the kings of the house of Lancaster. Hargrave's Tracts, vol. i. p. 184. [186] Rymer, t. viii. p. 412, 488. [187] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 216. [188] Id. p. 301. [189] Id. p. 302. [190] Id. vol. iii. p. 546. [191] Id. p. 568. [192] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 453. [193] Id. vol. iv. p. 63. [194] Walsingham, p. 379. [195] Walsingham, p. 210. Ruffhead observes in the margin upon this statute, 8 R. II. c. 3, that it is repealed, but does not take notice what sort of repeal it had. [196] 15 R. II. p. 285. See, too, 16 R. II. p. 301, where the same power is renewed in H. IV.'s parliaments. [197] 13 H. IV. p. 643. [198] Rot. Parl. v. 4 H. V. p. 6, 9. [199] 5 R. II. stat. 2, c. 5; Rot. Parl. 6 R. II. p. 141. Some other instances of the commons attempting to prevent these unfair practices are adduced by Ruffhead, in his preface to the Statutes, and in Prynne's preface to Cotton's Abridgment of the Records. The act 13 R. II. stat. 1, c. 15, that the king's castles and gaols which had been separated from the body of the adjoining counties should be reunited to them, is not founded upon any petition that appears on the roll; and probably, by making search, other instances equally flagrant might be discovered. [200] There had been, however, a petition of the commons on the same subject, expressed in very general terms, on which this terrible superstructure might artfully be raised. p. 474. [201] p. 626. [202] We find a remarkable petition in 8 H. IV., professedly aimed against the Lollards, but intended, as I strongly suspect, in their favour. It condemns persons preaching against the catholic faith or sacraments to imprisonment till the next parliament, where they were to abide such judgment as should be rendered _by the king and peers of the realm_. This seems to supersede the burning statute of 2 H. IV., and the spiritual cognizance of heresy. Rot. Parl. p. 583. See, too, p. 626. The petition was expressly granted; but the clergy, I suppose, prevented its appearing on the statute roll. [203] Rot. Parl. vol iii. p. 102. [204] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 22. It is curious that the authors of the Parliamentary History say that the roll of this parliament is lost, and consequently suppress altogether this important petition. Instead of which they give, as their fashion is, impertinent speeches out of Holingshed, which are certainly not genuine, and would be of no value if they were so. [205] Henry VI. and Edward IV. in some cases passed bills with sundry provisions annexed by themselves. Thus the act for resumption of grants, 4 E. IV., was encumbered with 289 clauses in favour of so many persons whom the king meant to exempt from its operation; and the same was done in other acts of the same description. Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 517. [206] The variations of each statute, as now printed, from the parliamentary roll, whether in form or substance, are noticed in Cotton's Abridgment. It may be worth while to consult the preface to Ruffhead's edition of the Statutes, where this subject is treated at some length. Perhaps the triple division of our legislature may be dated from this innovation. For as it is impossible to deny that, while the king promulgated a statute founded upon a mere petition, he was himself the real legislator, so I think it is equally fair to assert, notwithstanding the formal preamble of our statutes, that laws brought into either house of parliament in a perfect shape, and receiving first the assent of lords and commons, and finally that of the king, who has no power to modify them, must be deemed to proceed, and derive their efficacy, from the joint concurrence of all the three. It is said, indeed, at a much earlier time, that le ley de la terre est fait en parlement par le roi, et les seigneurs espirituels et temporels, et tout la communauté du royaume. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 293. But this, I must allow, was in the violent session of 11 Ric. II., the constitutional authority of which is not to be highly prized. [207] 8 H. V. vol. iv. p. 127. [208] The house of commons thanked the king for pardoning Northumberland, whom, as it proved, he had just cause to suspect. 5 H. IV. p. 525. [209] 5 H. IV. p. 505. [210] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 529, 568, 573. [211] p. 547. [212] 13 H. IV. p 624. [213] Rot. Parl. 8 H. IV. p. 585. [214] 13 H. IV. p. 648, 658. [215] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 549, 568, 574, 611. [216] This passage was written before I was aware that the same opinion had been elaborately maintained by Mr. Luders, in one of his valuable essays upon points of constitutional history. [217] Rot. Parl. 8 H. V. vol. iv. p. 125. [218] p. 128. [219] p. 130. [220] 7 R. II. vol. iii. p. 170. [221] p. 215. [222] 7 R. II. p. 315. [223] 4 H. V. vol. iv. p. 98. [224] p. 135. [225] Rot. Parl. 4 H. V. vol. iv. p. 211, 242, 277. [226] p. 371. [227] 23 H. VI. vol. v. p. 102. There is rather a curious instance in 3 H. VI. of the jealousy with which the commons regarded any proceedings in parliament where they were not concerned. A controversy arose between the earls marshal and of Warwick respecting their precedence; founded upon the royal blood of the first, and long possession of the second. In this the commons could not affect to interfere judicially; but they found a singular way of meddling, by petitioning the king to confer the dukedom of Norfolk on the earl marshal. vol. iv. p. 273. [228] Rot. Parl. 1 H. VI. p. 189; 3 K. VI. p. 292; 8 H. VI. p. 343. [229] vol. v. 18 H. VI. p. 17. [230] 28 H. VI. p. 185. [231] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 430, 449. [232] Rot. Parl. 28 H. VI. vol. v. p. 176. [233] If this were to rest upon antiquity of precedent, one might be produced that would challenge all competition. In the laws of Ethelbert, the first Christian king of Kent, at the end of the sixth century, we find this provision: "If the king call his people to him (i.e. in the witenagemot), and any one does an injury to one of them, let him pay a fine." Wilkins, Leges Anglo-Saxon. p. 2. [234] Hatsell, vol. i. p. 12. [235] Rot. Parl. 5 H. IV. p. 541. [236] The clergy had got a little precedence in this. An act passed 8 H. VI. c. 1, granting privilege from arrest for themselves and servants on their way to convocation. [237] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 357. [238] vol. v. p. 374. [239] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 239; Hatsell's Precedents, p. 29. [240] Upon this subject the reader should have recourse to Hatsell's Precedents, vol. i. chap. 1. [241] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 337; W. Worcester, p. 415. Mr. Hatsell seems to have overlooked this case, for he mentions that of Strickland, in 1571, as the earliest instance of the crown's interference with freedom of speech in parliament. vol. i. p. 85. [242] This parliament sat at Gloucester. [243] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 611. [244] A notion is entertained by many people, and not without the authority of some very respectable names, that the king is one of the three estates of the realm, the lords spiritual and temporal forming together the second, as the commons in parliament do the third. This is contradicted by the general tenor of our ancient records and law-books; and indeed the analogy of other governments ought to have the greatest weight, even if more reason for doubt appeared upon the face of our own authorities. But the instances where the three estates are declared or implied to be the nobility, clergy, and commons, or at least their representatives in parliament, are too numerous for insertion. This land standeth, says the Chancellor Stillington, in 7th Edward IV., by three states, and above that one principal, that is to wit, lords spiritual, lords temporal, and commons, and over that, state royal, as our sovereign lord the king. Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 622. Thus, too, it is declared that the treaty of Staples in 1492 was to be confirmed per tres status regni Angliæ ritè et debitè convocatos, videlicet per prelatos et clerum, nobiles et communitates ejusdem regni. Rymer, t. xii. p. 508. I will not, however, suppress one passage, and the only instance that has occurred in my reading, where the king does appear to have been reckoned among the three estates. The commons say, in the 2nd of Henry IV., that the states of the realm may be compared to a trinity, that is, the king, the lords spiritual and temporal, and the commons. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 459. In this expression, however, the sense shows that by estates of the realm they meant members, or necessary parts, of the parliament. Whitelocke, on the Parliamentary Writ, vol. ii. p. 43, argues at length, that the three estates are king, lords, and commons, which seems to have been a current doctrine among the popular lawyers of the seventeenth century. His reasoning is chiefly grounded on the baronial tenure of bishops, the validity of acts passed against their consent, and other arguments of the same kind; which might go to prove that there are only at present two estates, but can never turn the king into one. The source of this error is an inattention to the primary sense of the word estate (status), which means an order or condition into which men are classed by the institutions of society. It is only in a secondary, or rather an elliptical application, that it can be referred to their representatives in parliament or national councils. The lords temporal, indeed, of England are identical with the estate of the nobility; but the house of commons is not, strictly speaking, the estate of commonalty, to which its members belong, and from which they are deputed. So the whole body of the clergy are properly speaking one of the estates, and are described as such in the older authorities, 21 Ric. II. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 348, though latterly the lords spiritual in parliament acquired, with less correctness, that appellation. Hody on Convocations, p. 426. The bishops, indeed, may be said, constructively, to represent the whole of the clergy, with whose grievances they are supposed to be best acquainted, and whose rights it is their peculiar duty to defend. And I do not find that the inferior clergy had any other representation in the cortes of Castile and Aragon, where the ecclesiastical order was always counted among the estates of the realm. [245] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 623. [246] Rot. Parl. 5 R. II. p. 100. [247] Stat. 2 H. V. c. 6, 7, 8, 9; 4 H. VI. c. 7. [248] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 7. It appears by a case in the Year Book of the 33rd of Henry VI., that, where the lords made only some minor alterations in a bill sent up to them from the commons, even if it related to a grant of money, the custom was not to remand it for their assent to the amendment. Brooke's Abridgment: Parliament. 4. The passage is worth extracting, in order to illustrate the course of proceeding in parliament at that time. Case fuit que Sir J. P. fuit attaint de certeyn trespas par acte de parliament dont les commons furent assentus, que sil ne vient eins per tiel jour que il forfeytera tiel summe, et les seigneurs done plus longe jour, et le bil nient rebaile al commons arrere; et per Kirby, clerk des roles del parliament, l'use del parliament est, que si bil vient primes a les commons, et ils passent ceo, il est use d'endorser ceo en tiel forme, Soit bayle as seigniors; et si les seigniors _ne le roy_ ne alteront le bil, donques est use a liverer ceo al clerke del parliamente destre enrol saunz endorser ceo.... Et si les seigniors volent alter un bil in ceo que poet estoyer ore le bil, ils poyent saunz remandre ceo al commons, come si les commons graunte poundage, pur quatuor ans, et les grantent nisi par deux ans, ceo ne serra rebayle al commons; mes si les commons grauntent nisi pur deux ans, et les seigneurs pur quatre ans, la ceo serra reliver al commons, et en cest case les seigniors doyent faire un sedule de lour intent, ou d'endorser le bil en ceste forme, Les seigneurs ceo assentent pur durer par quatuor ans; et quant les commons ount le bil arrere, et ne volent assenter a ceo, ceo ne poet estre un actre; mes si les commons volent assenter, donques ils indorse leur respons sur le mergent ne basse deins le bil en tiel forme, Les commons sont assentans al sedul des seigniors, a mesme cesty bil annexe, et donques sera bayle ad clerke del parliament, ut supra. Et si un bil soit primes liver al seigniors, et le bil passe eux, ils ne usont de fayre ascun endorsement, mess de mitter le bil as commons; et donques, si le bil passe les commons, il est use destre issint endorce, Les commons sont assentants; et ceo prove que il ad passe les seigniors devant, et lour assent est a cest passer del seigniors; et ideo cest acte supra nest bon, pur ceo que ne fuit rebaile as commons. A singular assertion is made in the Year Book 21 E. IV. p. 48 (Maynard's edit.), that a subsidy granted by the commons without assent of the peers is good enough. This cannot surely have been law at that time. [249] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 244. [250] Coke's 4th Institute, p. 15. [251] Glanvil's Reports of Elections, edit. 1774; Introduction, p. 12. [252] 4 Prynne, p. 261. [253] Glanvil's Reports, ibid. from Prynne. [254] Glanvil's Reports, ibid. from Prynne. [255] Id. ibid. and Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 530. [256] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 7. [257] 3 Prynne's Register, p. 187. This hypothesis, though embraced by Prynne, is, I confess, much opposed to general opinion; and a very respectable living writer treats such an interpretation of the statute 7 H. IV. as chimerical. The words cited in the text, "as others," mean only, according to him, suitors not duly summoned. Heywood on Elections, vol. i. p. 20. But, as I presume, the summons to freeholders was by general proclamation; so that it is not easy to perceive what difference there could be between summoned and unsummoned suitors. And if the words are supposed to glance at the private summonses to a few friends, by means of which the sheriffs were accustomed to procure a clandestine election, one can hardly imagine that such persons would be styled "duly summoned." It is not unlikely, however, that these large expressions were inadvertently used, and that they led to that inundation of voters without property which rendered the subsequent act of Henry VI. necessary. That of Henry IV. had itself been occasioned by an opposite evil, the close election of knights by a few persons in the name of the county. Yet the consequence of the statute of Henry IV. was not to let in too many voters, or to render elections tumultuous, in the largest of English counties, whatever it might be in others. Prynne has published some singular sheriff's indentures for the county of York, all during the interval between the acts of Henry IV. and Henry VI., which are sealed by a few persons calling themselves the attorneys of some peers and ladies, who, as far as appears, had solely returned the knights of that shire. 3 Prynne, p. 152. What degree of weight these anomalous returns ought to possess I leave to the reader. [258] The majority of prescriptive boroughs have prescriptive corporations, which carry the legal, which is not always the moral, presumption of an original charter. But "many boroughs and towns in England have burgesses by prescription, that never were incorporated." Ch. J. Hobart in Dungannon Case, Hobart's Reports, p. 15. And Mr. Luders thinks, I know not how justly, that in the age of Edward I., which is most to our immediate purpose, "there were not perhaps thirty corporations in the kingdom." Reports of Elections, vol. i. p. 98. But I must allow that, in the opinion of many sound lawyers, the representation of unchartered, or at least, unincorporated boroughs was rather a _real_ privilege, and founded upon tenure, than one arising out of their share in public contributions. Ch. J. Holt in Ashby v. White, 2 Ld. Raymond, 951. Heywood on Borough Elections, p. 11. This inquiry is very obscure; and perhaps the more so, because the learning directed towards it has more frequently been that of advocates pleading for their clients than of unbiassed antiquaries. If this be kept in view, the lover of constitutional history will find much information in several of the reported cases on controverted elections; particularly those of Tewksbury and Liskeard, in Peckwell's Reports, vol. i. [259] Brady on Boroughs, p. 75, 80, and 163. Case of Tewksbury, in Peckwell's Reports, vol. i. p. 178. [260] Littleton, s. 162, 163. [261] Brady, p. 97. [262] Brady on Boroughs, p. 110. 3 Prynne, p. 231. The latter even argues that this power of omitting ancient boroughs was legally vested in the sheriff before the 5th of Richard II.; and though the language of that act implies the contrary of this position, yet it is more than probable that most of our parliamentary boroughs by prescription, especially such as were then unincorporated, are indebted for their privileges to the exercise of the sheriff's discretion; not founded on partiality, which would rather have led him to omit them, but on the broad principle that they were sufficiently opulent and important to send representatives to parliament. [263] Willis, Notitia Parliamentaria, vol. i. preface, p. 35. [264] p. 117. [265] It is a perplexing question whether freeholders in socage were liable to contribute towards the wages of knights; and authorities might be produced on both sides. The more probable supposition is, that they were not exempted. See the various petitions relating to the payment of wages in Prynne's fourth Register. This is not unconnected with the question as to their right of suffrage. See p. 115 of this volume. Freeholders within franchises made repeated endeavours to exempt themselves from payment of wages. Thus in 9 H. IV. it was settled by parliament that, to put an end to the disputes on this subject between the people of Cambridgeshire and those of the Isle of Ely, the latter should pay 200_l._ and be quit in future of all charges on that account. Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 383. By this means the inhabitants of that franchise seem to have purchased the right of suffrage, which they still enjoy, though not, I suppose, suitors to the county-court. In most other franchises, and in many cities erected into distinct counties, the same privilege of voting for knights of the shire is practically exercised; but whether this has not proceeded as much from the tendency of returning officers and of parliament to favour the right of election in doubtful cases, as from the merits of their pretensions, may be a question. [266] The wages of knights and burgesses were first reduced to this certain sum by the writs De levandis expensis, 16 E. II. Prynne's fourth Register, p. 53. These were issued at the request of those who had served, after the dissolution of parliament, and included a certain number of days, according to the distance of the county whence they came, for going and returning. It appears by these that thirty-five or forty miles were reckoned a day's journey; which may correct the exaggerated notions of bad roads and tardy locomotion that are sometimes entertained. See Prynne's fourth Register, and Willis's Notitia Parliamentaria, passim. The latest entries of writs for expenses in the close rolls are of 2 H. V.; but they may be proved to have issued much longer; and Prynne traces them to the end of Henry VIII.'s reign, p. 495. Without the formality of this writ a very few instances of towns remunerating their burgesses for attendance in parliament are known to have occurred in later times. Andrew Marvel is commonly said to have been the last who received this honourable salary. A modern book asserts that wages were paid in some Cornish boroughs as late as the eighteenth century. Lysons's Cornwall, preface, p. xxxii; but the passage quoted in proof of this is not precise enough to support so unlikely a fact. [267] 3 Prynne, p. 165. [268] 4 Prynne, p. 317. [269] 4 Prynne, p. 320. [270] 3 Prynne, p. 241. [271] 5 R. II. stat. ii. c. 4. [272] Luders's Reports, vol. i. p. 15. Sometimes an elected burgess absolutely refused to go to parliament, and drove his constituents to a fresh choice. 3 Prynne, p. 277. [273] 3 Prynne, p. 252. [274] 3 Prynne, p. 257, de assensu totius communitatis prædictæ elegerunt R. W.; so in several other instances quoted in the ensuing pages. [275] Brady on Boroughs, p. 132, &c. Mr. Allen, than whom no one of equal learning was ever less inclined to depreciate popular rights, inclines more than we should expect to the school of Brady in this point. "There is reason to believe that originally the right of election in boroughs was vested in the governing part of these communities, or in a select portion of the burgesses; and that, in the progress of the house of commons to power and importance, the tendency has been in general to render the elections more popular. It is certain that for many years burgesses were elected in the county courts, and apparently by delegates from the boroughs, who were authorised by their fellow-burgesses to elect representatives for them in parliament. In the reigns of James I. and Charles I., when popular principles were in their greatest vigour, there was a strong disposition in the house of commons to extend the right of suffrage in boroughs, and in many instances these efforts were crowned with success." Edin. Rev. xxviii. 145. But an election by delegates chosen for that purpose by the burgesses at large is very different from one by the governing part of the community. Even in the latter case, however, this part had generally been chosen, at a greater or less interval of time, by the entire body. Sometimes, indeed, corporations fell into self-election and became close. [276] Willis, Notitia Parliamentaria, vol. iii. p. 96, &c.; 3 Prynne, p. 224, &c. [277] In 4 Edw. II. the sheriff of Rutland made this return: Eligi feci in pleno comitatu, loco duorum militum, eo quod milites non sunt in hoc comitatu commorantes, duos homines de comitatu Rutland, de discretioribus et ad laborandum potentioribus, &c. 3 Prynne, p. 170. But this deficiency of actual knights soon became very common. In 19 E. II. there were twenty-eight members returned from shires who were not knights, and but twenty-seven who were such. The former had at this time only two shillings or three shillings a day for their wages, while the real knights had four shillings. 4 Prynne, p. 53. 74. But in the next reign their wages were put on a level. [278] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 310. [279] Rot. Parl. 1 H. V. c. 1. [280] See the case of Dublin university in the first volume of Peckwell's Reports of contested elections. Note D, p. 53. The statute itself was repealed by 14 G. III. c. 58. [281] By 23 H. VI. c. 15, none but gentlemen born, generosi a nativitate, are capable of sitting in parliament as knights of counties; an election was set aside 39 H. VI. because the person returned was not of gentle birth. Prynne's third Register. p. 161. [282] Willis, Notitia Parliamentaria, Prynne's fourth Register, p. 1184. A letter in that authentic and interesting accession to our knowledge of ancient times, the Paston collection, shows that eager canvass was sometimes made by country gentlemen in Edward IV.'s reign to represent boroughs. This letter throws light at the same time on the creation or revival of boroughs. The writer tells Sir John Paston, "If ye miss to be burgess of Malden, and my lord chamberlain will, ye may be in another place; there be a dozen towns in England that choose no burgess, which ought to do it: ye may be set in for one of those towns an' ye be friended." This was in 1472. vol. ii. p. 107. [283] Glanvil's Reports of Elections, edit. 1774, Introduction, p. xii. [284] Prynne's third Register, p. 171. [285] 28 E. I. c. 8; 9 E. II. It is said that the sheriff was elected by the people of his county in the Anglo-Saxon period; no instance of this however, according to lord Lyttelton, occurs after the Conquest. Shrievalties were commonly sold by the Norman kings. Hist. of Henry II. vol. ii. p. 921. [286] Vita Ricardi II. p. 85. [287] Otterbourne, p. 191. He says of the knights returned on this occasion, that they were not elected per communitatem, ut mos exigit, sed per regiam voluntatem. [288] Prynne's second Reg. p. 141; Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 367. [289] Prynne's second Reg. p. 450. [290] vol. i. p. 96, 98; vol. ii. p. 99, 105; vol. ii. p. 243. [291] Upon this dry and obscure subject of inquiry, the nature and constitution of the house of lords during this period, I have been much indebted to the first part of Prynne's Register, and to West's Inquiry into the Manner of creating Peers; which, though written with a party motive, to serve the ministry of 1719 in the peerage bill, deserves, for the perspicuity of the method and style, to be reckoned among the best of our constitutional dissertations. [292] Baronies were often divided by descent among females into many parts, each retaining its character as a fractional member of a barony. The tenants in such case were said to hold of the king by the third, fourth, or twentieth part of a barony, and did service or paid relief in such proportion. [293] Madox, Baronia Anglica, p. 42 and 58; West's Inquiry, p. 28, 33. That a baron could only be tried by his fellow barons was probably a rule as old as the trial per pais of a commoner. In 4 E. III. Sir Simon Bereford having been accused before the lords in parliament of aiding and advising Mortimer in his treasons, they declared with one voice that he was not their peer; wherefore they were not bound to judge him as a peer of the land; but inasmuch as it was notorious that he had been concerned in usurpation of royal powers and murder of the liege lord (as they styled Edward II.), the lords, as judges of parliament, by assent of the king in parliament, awarded and adjudged him to be hanged. A like sentence with a like protestation was passed on Mautravers and Gournay. There is a very remarkable anomaly in the case of Lord Berkley, who, though undoubtedly a baron, his ancestors having been summoned from the earliest date of writs, put himself on his trial in parliament, by twelve knights of the county of Gloucester. Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 53; Rymer, t. iv. p. 734. [294] Prynne, p. 142, &c.; West's Inquiry. [295] Prynne, p. 141. [296] It is worthy of observation that the spiritual peers summoned to parliament were in general considerably more numerous than the temporal. Prynne, p. 114. This appears, among other causes, to have saved the church from that sweeping reformation of its wealth, and perhaps of its doctrines, which the commons were thoroughly inclined to make under Richard II. and Henry IV. Thus the reduction of the spiritual lords by the dissolution of monasteries was indispensably required to bring the ecclesiastical order into due subjection to the state. [297] Perhaps it can hardly be said that the king's prerogative compelled the party summoned, not being a tenant by barony, to take his seat. But though several spiritual persons appear to have been discharged from attendance on account of their holding nothing by barony, as has been justly observed, yet there is, I believe, no instance of any layman's making such an application. The terms of the ancient writ of summons, however, in fide et _homagio_ quibus nobis tenemini, afford a presumption that a feudal tenure was, in construction of law, the basis of every lord's attendance in parliament. This form was not finally changed to the present, in fide et _ligeantiâ_, till the 46th of Edw. III. Prynne's first Register, p. 206. [298] Collins's Proceedings on Claims of Baronies, p. 24 and 73. [299] Prynne speaks of "the alienation of baronies by sale, gift, or marriage, after which the new purchasers were summoned instead," as if it frequently happened. First Register, p. 239. And several instances are mentioned in the Bergavenny case (Collins's Proceedings, p. 113) where, land-baronies having been entailed by the owners on their heirs male, the heirs general have been excluded from inheriting the dignity. [300] Prynne's first Register, p. 237. This must be understood to mean that no new families were summoned; for the descendants of some who are not supposed to have held land-baronies may constantly be found in later lists. [Note IX.] [301] West's Inquiry. Prynne, who takes rather lower ground than West, and was not aware of Sir Henry de Bromflete's descent, admits that a writ of summons to any one, naming him baron, or dominus, as Baroni de Greystoke, domino de Furnival, did give an inheritable peerage; not so a writ generally worded, naming the party knight or esquire, unless he held by barony. [302] Lord Abergavenny's case, 12 Coke's Reports; and Collins's Proceedings on Claims of Baronies by Writ, p. 61. [303] Prynne's first Register, p. 232. Elsynge, who strenuously contends against the writ of summons conferring an hereditary nobility, is of opinion that the party summoned was never omitted in subsequent parliaments, and consequently was a peer for life. p. 43. But more regard is due to Prynne's later inquiries. [304] Case of Willoughby, Collins, p. 8; of Dacres, p. 41; of Abergavenny, p. 119. But see the case of Grey de Ruthin, p. 222 and 230, where the contrary position is stated by Selden upon better grounds. [305] It seems to have been admitted by Lord Redesdale, in the case of the barony of L'Isle, that a writ of summons, with sufficient proof of having sat by virtue of it in the house of lords, did in fact create an hereditary peerage from the fifth year of Richard II., though he resisted this with respect to claimants who could only deduce their pedigree from an ancestor summoned by one of the three Edwards. Nicolas's Case of Barony of L'Isle, p. 200. The theory, therefore, of West, which denies peerage by writ even to those summoned in several later reigns, must be taken with limitation. "I am informed," it is said by Mr. Hart, _arguendo_, "that every person whose name appears in the writ of summons of 5 Ric. II. was again summoned to the following parliament, and their posterity have sat in parliament as peers." p. 233. [306] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 147, 309; vol. iii. p. 100, 386, 424; vol. iv. p. 374. Rymer, t. vii. p. 161. [307] Selden's Works, vol. iii. p. 764. Selden's opinion that bannerets in the lords' house were the same as barons may seem to call on me for some contrary authorities, in order to support my own assertion, besides the passages above quoted from the rolls, of which he would naturally be supposed a more competent judge. I refer therefore to Spelman's Glossary, p. 74; Whitelocke on Parliamentary Writ, vol. i. p. 313; and Elsynge's Method of holding Parliaments, p. 65. [308] Puis un fut chalengé purce qu'il fut a banniere, et non allocatur; car s'il soit a banniere, et ne tient pas par baronie, il sera en l'assise. Year-book 22 Edw. III. fol. 18 a. apud West's Inquiry, p. 22. [309] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 201. [310] Pinkerton's Hist. of Scotland, vol. i. p. 357 and 365. [311] The lords' committee do not like, apparently, to admit that bannerets were summoned to the house of lords as a distinct class of peers. "It is observable," they say, "that this statute (5 Ric. II. c. 4) speaks of bannerets as well as of dukes, earls, and barons, as persons bound to attend the parliament; but it does not follow that banneret was then considered as a name of dignity distinct from that honourable knighthood under the king's banner in the field of battle, to which precedence of all other knights was attributed." p. 342. But did the committee really believe that all the bannerets of whom we read in the reigns of Richard II. and afterwards had been knighted at Crecy and Poictiers? The name is only found in parliamentary proceedings during comparatively pacific times. [312] West, whose business it was to represent the barons by writ as mere assistants without suffrage, cites the writ to them rather disingenuously, as if it ran vobiscum et cum prelatis, magnatibus ac proceribus, omitting the important word cæteris. p. 35. Prynne, however, from whom West has borrowed a great part of his arguments, does not seem to go the length of denying the right of suffrage to persons so summoned. First Register, p. 237. [313] These descended from two persons, each named Geoffrey le Scrope, chief justices of K.B. and C.B. at the beginning of Edward III.'s reign. The name of one of them is once found among the barons, but I presume this to have been an accident, or mistake in the roll; as he is frequently mentioned afterwards among the judges. Scrope, chief justice of K.B., was made a _banneret_ in 14 E. III. He was the father of Henry Scrope of Masham, a considerable person in Edward III. and Richard II.'s government, whose grandson, Lord Scrope of Masham, was beheaded for a conspiracy against Henry V. There was a family of Scrupe as old as the reign of Henry II.; but it is not clear, notwithstanding Dugdale's assertion, that the Scropes descended from them, or at least that they held the same lands: nor were the Scrupes barons, as appears by their paying a relief of only sixty marks for three knights' fees. Dugdale's Baronage, p. 654. The want of consistency in old records throws much additional difficulty over this intricate subject. Thus Scrope of Masham, though certainly a baron, and tried next year by the peers, is called chevalier in an instrument of 1 H. V. Rymer, t. ix. p. 13. So in the indictment against Sir John Oldcastle he is constantly styled knight, though he had been summoned several times as lord Cobham, in right of his wife, who inherited that barony. Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 107. [314] Blomefield's Hist, of Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 645 (folio edit). [315] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 427. [316] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 290. [317] vol. iii. p. 209. [318] Id. p. 263, 264. [319] vol. iv. p. 17. [320] Id. p. 401. [321] West's Inquiry, p. 65. This writer does not allow that the king possessed the prerogative of creating new peers without consent of parliament. But Prynne (1st Register, p. 225), who generally adopts the same theory of peerage as West, strongly asserts the contrary; and the party views of the latter's treatise, which I mentioned above, should be kept in sight. It was his object to prove that the pending bill to limit the numbers of the peerage was conformable to the original constitution. [322] Hody's History of Convocations, p. 12. Dissertatio de antiquâ et modernâ Synodi Anglicani Constitutione, prefixed to Wilkins's Concilia, t. 1. [323] 2 Gale, Scriptores Rer. Anglic, t. ii. p. 355; Hody, p. 345. Atterbury (Rights of Convocations, p. 295, 315) endeavours to show that the clergy had been represented in parliament from the Conquest as well as before it. Many of the passages he quotes are very inconclusive; but possibly there may be some weight in one from Matthew Paris, ad ann. 1247 and two or three writs of the reign of Henry III. [324] Hody, p. 381; Atterbury's Rights of Convocations, p. 221. [325] Hody, p. 386; Atterbury, p. 222. [326] Hody, p. 391. [327] Gilbert's Hist. of Exchequer, p. 47. [328] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 189; Atterbury, p. 229. [329] The lower house of convocation, in 1547, terrified at the progress of reformation, petitioned that, "according to the tenor of the king's writ, and the ancient customs of the realm, they might have room and place and be associated with the commons in the nether house of this present parliament, as members of the commonwealth and the king's most humble subjects." Burnet's Hist. of Reformation, vol. ii.; Appendix, No. 17. This assertion that the clergy had ever been associated as one body with the commons is not borne out by anything that appears on our records, and is contradicted by many passages. But it is said that the clergy were actually so united with the commons in the Irish parliament till the Reformation. Gilbert's Hist. of the Exchequer, p. 57. [330] Hody, p. 392. [331] The præmunientes clause in a bishop's writ of summons was so far regarded down to the Reformation, that proctors were elected, and their names returned upon the writ; though the clergy never attended from the beginning of the fifteenth century, and gave their money only in convocation. Since the Reformation the clause has been preserved for form merely in the writ. Wilkins, Dissertatio, ubi supra. [332] Hody, p. 396. 403, &c. In 1314 the clergy protest even against the recital of the king's writ to the archbishop directing him to summon the clergy of his province in his letters mandatory, declaring that the English clergy had not been accustomed, nor ought by right, to be convoked by the king's authority. Atterbury, p. 230. [333] Hody, p. 425. Atterbury, p. 42, 233. The latter seems to think that the clergy of both provinces never actually met in a national council or house of parliament, under the præmunientes writ, after the reign of Edward II., though the proctors were duly returned. But Hody does not go quite so far, and Atterbury had a particular motive to enhance the influence of the convocation of Canterbury. [334] Atterbury, p. 46. [335] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 64, 65. [336] 18 E. III. stat. 3. Rot. Parl. vol. ii p. 151. This is the parliament in which it is very doubtful whether any deputies from cities and boroughs had a place. The pretended statutes were therefore every way null; being falsely imputed to an incomplete parliament. [337] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 151. [338] 25 E. III. stat. 3. [339] p. 368. The word _they_ is ambiguous; Whitelocke (on Parliamentary Writ, vol. ii. p. 346) interprets it of the commons: I should rather suppose it to mean the clergy. [340] 50 E. III. c. 4 & 5. [341] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 25. A nostre tres excellent seigneur le roy supplient humblement ses devotes oratours, les prelats et la clergie de la province de Canterbirs et d'Everwyk. Stat. 1 Richard II. c. 13, 14, 15. But see Hody, p. 425; Atterbury, p. 329. [342] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 37. [343] It might be argued, from a passage in the parliament-roll of 21 R. II., that the clergy of both provinces were not only present, but that they were accounted an essential part of parliament in temporal matters, which is contrary to the whole tenor of our laws. The commons are there said to have prayed that, "whereas many judgments and ordinances formerly made in parliament had been annulled _because the estate of clergy had not been present thereat_, the prelates and clergy might make a proxy with sufficient power to consent in their name to all things done in this parliament." Whereupon the spiritual lords agreed to intrust their powers to Sir Thomas Percy, and gave him a procuration commencing in the following words: "Nos Thomas Cantuar' et Robertus Ebor' archiepiscopi, ac prælati _et clerus utriusque provinciæ Cantuar' et Ebor' jure ecclesiarum nostrarum et temporalium earundem habentes jus interessendi in singulis parliamentis_ domini nostri regis et regni Angliæ pro tempore celebrandis, necnon tractandi et expediendi in eisdem quantum ad singula in instanti parliamento pro statu et honore domini nostri regis, necnon regaliæ suæ, ac quiete, pace, et tranquillitate regni judicialiter justificandis, venerabili viro domino Thomæ de Percy militi, nostram plenarie committimus potestatem." It may be perceived by these expressions, and more unequivocally by the nature of the case, that it was the judicial power of parliament which the spiritual lords delegated to their proxy. Many impeachments for capital offences were coming on, at which, by their canons, the bishops could not assist. But it can never be conceived that the inferior clergy had any share in this high judicature. And, upon looking attentively at the words above printed in italics, it will be evident that the spiritual lords holding by barony are the only persons designated; whatever may have been meant by the singular phrase, as applied to them, clerus utriusque provinciæ. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 348. [344] Atterbury. p. 346. [345] 21 R. II. c. 12 Burnet's Hist. of Reformation (vol. ii. p. 47) led me to this act, which I had overlooked. [346] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 582. Atterbury, p. 61. [347] The ensuing sketch of the jurisdiction exercised by the king's council has been chiefly derived from Sir Matthew Hale's Treatise of the Jurisdiction of the Lords' House in Parliament, published by Mr. Hargrave. [348] The words "privy council" are said not to be used till after the reign of Henry VI.; the former style was "ordinary" or "continual council." But a distinction had always been made, according to the nature of the business: the great officers of state, or, as we might now say, the ministers, had no occasion for the presence of judges or any lawyers in the secret councils of the crown. They become, therefore, a council of government, though always members of the _consilium ordinarium_; and, in the former capacity, began to keep formal records of their proceedings. The acts of this council though, as I have just said, it bore as yet no distinguishing name, are extant from the year 1386, and for seventy years afterwards are known through the valuable publication of Sir Harris Nicolas. [349] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 84. [350] Ibid. p. 266. [351] 25 E. III. stat. 5, c. 4. Probably this fifth statute of the 25th of Edward III. is the most extensively beneficial act in the whole body of our laws. It established certainty in treasons, regulated purveyance, prohibited arbitrary imprisonment and the determination of pleas of freehold before the council, took away the compulsory finding of men-at-arms and other troops, confirmed the reasonable aid of the king's tenants fixed by 3 E. I., and provided that the king's protection should not hinder civil process or execution. [352] 28 E. III. c. 3. [353] 42 E. III. c. 3, and Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 295. It is not surprising that the king's council should have persisted in these transgressions of their lawful authority, when we find a similar jurisdiction usurped by the officers of inferior persons. Complaint is made in the 18th of Richard II. that men were compelled to answer before _the council of divers lords and ladies_, for their freeholds and other matters cognizable at common law, and a remedy for this abuse is given by petition in chancery, stat. 15 R. II. c. 12. This act is confirmed with a penalty on its contraveners the next year, 16 R. II. c. 2. The private gaols which some lords were permitted by law to possess, and for which there was always a provision in their castles, enabled them to render this oppressive jurisdiction effectual. [354] Rot. Parl. 17 R. II. vol. iii. p. 319; 4 H. IV. p. 507; 1 H. VI. vol. iv. p. 189; 3 H. VI. p. 292; 8 H. VI. p. 343; 10 H. VI. p. 403; 15 H. VI. p. 501. To one of these (10 H. VI.), "that none should be put to answer for his freehold in parliament, nor before any court or council where such things are not cognizable by the law of the land," the king gave a denial. As it was less usual to refuse promises of this kind than to forget them afterwards, I do not understand the motive of this. [355] Hale's Jurisdiction of Lords' House, p. 46. Coke, 2 Inst. p. 553. The last author places this a little later. There is a petition of the commons, in the roll of the 4th of Henry IV. p. 511, that, whereas many grantees and feoffees in trust for their grantors and feoffers alienate or charge the tenements granted, _in which case there is no remedy unless one is ordered by parliament_, that the king and lords would provide a remedy. This petition is referred to the king's council to advise of a remedy against the ensuing parliament. It may perhaps be inferred from hence that the writ of subpoena out of chancery had not yet been applied to protect the cestui que use. But it is equally possible that the commons, being disinclined to what they would deem an illegal innovation, were endeavouring to reduce these fiduciary estates within the pale of the common law, as was afterwards done by the statute of uses. [Note X.] [356] Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 416. [357] L. ii. c. 2. [358] [Note XI.] [359] This is remarkably expressed in one of the articles agreed in parliament 8 H. VI. for the regulation of the council. "Item, that alle the billes that comprehend matters terminable atte the common lawe shall be remitted ther to be determined; but if so be that the discresion of the counseill fele to grete myght on that õ syde, and unmyght on that other, or elles other cause resonable yat shal move him." Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 343. Mr. Bruce has well observed of the articles agreed upon in 8 Hen. VI., or rather of "those in 5 Hen. VI., which were nearly the same, that in theory nothing could be more excellent. In turbulent times, it is scarcely necessary to remark, great men were too apt to weigh out justice for themselves, and with no great nicety; a court, therefore, to which the people might fly for relief against powerful oppressors, was most especially needful. Law charges also were considerable; and this, 'the poor man's court, in which he might have right without paying any money' (Sir T. Smith's Commonwealth, book iii. ch. 7), was an institution apparently calculated to be of unquestionable utility. It was the comprehensiveness of the last clause--the 'other cause resonable'--which was its ruin." Archæologia, vol. xxv. p. 348. The statute 31 Hen. VI. c. 2, which is not printed in Ruffhead's edition, is very important, as giving a legal authority to the council, by writs under the great seal, and by writs of proclamation to the sheriffs, on parties making default, to compel the attendance of any persons complained of for "great riots, extortions, oppressions, and grievous offences," under heavy penalties; in case of a peer, "the loss of his estate, and name of lord, and his place in parliament," and all his lands for the term of his life; and fine at discretion in the case of other persons. A proviso is added that no matter determinable by the law of the realm should be determined in other form than after the course of law in the king's courts. Sir Francis Palgrave (Essay on the King's Council, p. 84) observes that this proviso "would in no way interfere with the effective jurisdiction of the council, inasmuch as it could always be alleged in the bills which were preferred before it that the oppressive and grievous offences of which they complained were not determinable by the ordinary course of the common law" p. 86. But this takes the word "determinable" to mean _in fact_; whereas I apprehend that the proviso must be understood to mean cases legally determinable; the words, I think, will bear no other construction. But as all the offences enumerated were indictable, we must either hold the proviso to be utterly inconsistent with the rest of the statute, or suppose that the words "other form" were intended to prohibit the irregular process usual with the council; secret examination of witnesses, torture, neglect of technical formality in specifying charges, punishments not according to the course of law, and other violations of fair and free trial, which constituted the greatest grievance in the proceedings of the council. [360] The judgment against Mortimer was reversed at the suit of his son, 28 E. III., because he had not been put on his trial. The peers had adjudged him to death in his absence, upon common notoriety of his guilt. 4 E. III. p. 53. In the same session of 28 E. III. the earl of Arundel's attainder was also reversed, which had passed in 1 E. III., when Mortimer was at the height of his power. These precedents taken together seem to have resulted from no partiality, but a true sense of justice in respect of treasons, animated by the recent statute. Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 256. [361] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 427. [362] Blackstone's Comment. from Finch, vol. i. c. 7. [363] Letters are directed to all the sheriffs, 2 E. I., enjoining them to send up a certain number of beeves, sheep, capons, &c., for the king's coronation. Rymer, vol. ii. p. 21. By the statute 21 E. III. c. 12, goods taken by the purveyors were to be paid for on the spot if under twenty shillings' value, or within three months' time if above that value. But it is not to be imagined that this law was or could be observed. Edward III., impelled by the exigencies of his French war, went still greater lengths, and seized larger quantities of wool, which he sold beyond sea, as well as provisions for the supply of his army. In both cases the proprietors had tallies, or other securities; but their despair of obtaining payment gave rise, in 1338, to an insurrection. There is a singular apologetical letter of Edward to the archbishops on this occasion. Rymer, t. v. p. 10; see also p. 73, and Knyghton, col. 2570. [364] Rymer, t. vi. p. 417. [365] Idem, t. xi. p. 852. [366] Matthew Paris asserts that John granted a separate forest-charter, and supports his position by asserting that of Henry III. at full length. In fact, the clauses relating to the forest were incorporated with the great charter of John. Such an error as this shows the precariousness of historical testimony, even where it seems to be best grounded. [367] Coke, fourth Inst. p. 294. The forest domain of the king, says the author of the Dialogue on the Exchequer under Henry II., is governed by its own laws, not founded on the common law of the land, but the voluntary enactment of princes: so that whatever is done by that law is reckoned not legal in itself, but legal according to forest law, p. 29, non justum absolutè, sed justum secundum legem forestæ dicatur. I believe my translation of _justum_ is right; for he is not writing satirically. [368] 13 R. II. c. 2. [369] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 530. [370] The apprehension of this compliant spirit in the ministers of justice led to an excellent act in 2 E. III. c. 8, that the judges shall not omit to do right for any command under the great or privy seal. And the conduct of Richard II., who sought absolute power by corrupting or intimidating them, produced another statute in the eleventh year of his reign (c. 10), providing that neither letters of the king's signet nor of the privy seal should from thenceforth be sent in disturbance of the law. An ordinance of Charles V., king of France, in 1369, directs the parliament of Paris to pay no regard to any letters under his seal suspending the course of legal procedure, but to consider them as surreptitiously obtained. Villaret, t. x. p. 175. This ordinance, which was sedulously observed, tended very much to confirm the independence and integrity of that tribunal. [371] Cotton's Posthuma, p. 221. Howell's State Trials, vol. iii. p. 1. Hume quotes a grant of the office of constable to the earl of Rivers in 7 E. IV., and infers, unwarrantably enough, that "its authority was in direct contradiction to Magna Charta; and it is evident that no regular liberty could subsist with it. It involved a full dictatorial power, continually subsisting in the state." Hist. of England, c. 22. But by the very words of this patent the jurisdiction given was only over such causes quæ in curiâ constabularii Angliæ ab antiquo, viz. tempore dicti Gulielmi conquæstoris, seu aliquo tempore citra, tractari, audiri, examinari, aut decidi consueverunt aut _jure debuerant aut debent_. These are expressed, though not very perspicuously, in the statute 13 R. II. c. 2, that declares the constable's jurisdiction. And the chief criminal matter reserved by law to the court of this officer was treason committed out of the kingdom. In violent and revolutionary seasons, such as the commencement of Edward IV.'s reign, some persons were tried by martial law before the constable. But, in general, the exercise of criminal justice by this tribunal, though one of the abuses of the times, cannot be said to warrant the strong language adopted by Hume. [372] Fortescue, De Laudibus Legum Angliæ, c. 9. [373] Id. c. 13. [374] The latter treatise having been written under Edward IV., whom Fortescue, as a restored Lancastrian, would be anxious not to offend, and whom in fact he took some pains to conciliate both in this and other writings, it is evident that the principles of limited monarchy were as fully recognised in his reign whatever particular acts of violence might occur, as they had been under the Lancastrian princes. [375] The following is one example of these prejudices: In the 9th of Richard II. a tax on wool granted till the ensuing feast of St. John Baptist was to be intermitted from thence to that of St. Peter, and then to recommence; that it might not be claimed as a right. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 214. Mr. Hume has noticed this provision, as "showing an accuracy beyond what was to be expected in those _rude_ times." In this epithet we see the foundation of his mistakes. The age of Richard II. might perhaps be called rude in some respects. But assuredly in prudent and circumspect perception of consequences, and an accurate use of language, there could be no reason why it should be deemed inferior to our own. If Mr. Hume had ever deigned to glance at the legal decisions reported in the Year-books of those times, he would have been surprised, not only at the utmost _accuracy_, but at a subtle refinement in verbal logic, which none of his own metaphysical treatises could surpass. [376] [Note XII.] [377] During the famous process against the knights templars in the reign of Edward II., the archbishop of York, having taken the examination of certain templars in his province, felt some doubts which he propounded to several monasteries and divines. Most of these relate to the main subject. But one question, fitter indeed for lawyers than theologians, was, whereas many would not confess without torture, whether he might make use of this means, _licet hoc in regno Angliæ nunquam visum fuerit vel auditum_? Et si torquendi sunt, utrum per clericos vel laicos? Et dato, quòd _nullus omnino tortor inveniri valeat_ in Angliâ, utrum pro tortoribus mittendum sit ad partes transmarinas? Walt. Hemingford, p. 256. Instances, however, of its use are said to have occurred in the 15th century. See a learned 'Reading on the Use of Torture in the Criminal Law of England, by David Jardine, Esq., 1837.' [378] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 65. [379] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 202. [380] This was written in 1811 or 1812; and is among many passages which the progress of time has somewhat falsified. [381] Philip de Comines takes several opportunities of testifying his esteem for the English government. See particularly 1. iv. c. i. and 1. v. c. xix. [382] By a frankleyn in this place we are to understand what we call a country squire, like the frankleyn of Chaucer; for the word esquire in Fortescue's time was only used in its limited sense, for the sons of peers and knights, or such as had obtained the title by creation or some other legal means. The mention of Chaucer leads me to add that the prologue to his Canterbury Tales is of itself a continual testimony to the plenteous and comfortable situation of the middle ranks in England, as well as to that fearless independence and frequent originality of character amongst them, which liberty and competence have conspired to produce. [383] Brady's Hist. vol. i.; Appendix, p. 148. [384] Matt. Paris, p. 330; Lyttelton's Hist. of Henry II. vol. iv. p. 41. [385] If a man was disseised of his land, he might enter upon the disseisor and reinstate himself without course of law. In what case this right of entry was taken away, or _tolled_, as it was expressed, by the death or alienation of the disseisor, is a subject extensive enough to occupy two chapters of Littleton. What pertains to our inquiry is, that by an entry in the old law-books we must understand an actual repossession of the disseisee, not a suit in ejectment, as it is now interpreted, but which is a comparatively modern proceeding. The first remedy, says Britton, of the disseisee is to collect a body of his friends (recoiller amys et force), and without delay to cast out the disseisors, or at least to maintain himself in possession along with them. c. 44. This entry ought indeed, by 5 R. II. stat. i. c. 8, to be made peaceably; and the justices might assemble the posse comitatus to imprison persons entering on lands by violence (15 R. II. c. 2), but these laws imply the facts that made them necessary. [386] No lord, or other person, by 20 R. II. c. 3, was permitted to sit on the bench with the justices of assise. Trials were sometimes overawed by armed parties, who endeavoured to prevent their adversaries from appearing. Paston Letters, vol. iii. p. 119. [387] From a passage in the Paston Letters (vol. ii. p. 23) it appears that, far from these acts being regarded, it was considered as a mark of respect to the king, when he came into a county, for the noblemen and gentry to meet him with as many attendants in livery as they could muster. Sir John Paston was to provide twenty men in their livery-gowns, and the duke of Norfolk two hundred. This illustrates the well-known story of Henry VII. and the earl of Oxford, and shows the mean and oppressive conduct of the king in that affair, which Hume has pretended to justify. In the first of Edward IV. it is said in the roll of parliament (vol. v. p. 407), that, "by yeving of liveries and signets, contrary to the statutes and ordinances made aforetyme maintenaunce of quarrels, extortions, robberies, murders been multiplied and continued within this reame, to the grete disturbaunce and inquietation of the same." [388] Thus to select one passage out of many: Eodem anno (1332) quidam maligni, fulti quorundam magnatum præsidio, regis adolescentiam spernentes, et regnum perturbare intendentes, in tantam turbam creverunt, nemora et saltus occupaverunt, ita quod toti regno terrori essent. Walsingham, p. 132. [389] I am aware that in many, probably a great majority of reported cases, this word was technically used, where some unwarranted conveyance, such as a feoffment by the tenant for life, was held to have wrought a disseisin; or where the plaintiff was allowed, for the purpose of a more convenient remedy, to feign himself disseised, which was called disseisin by election. But several proofs might be brought from the parliamentary petitions, and I doubt not, if nearly looked at, from the Year-books, that in other cases there was an actual and violent expulsion. And the definition of disseisin in all the old writers, such as Britton and Littleton, is obviously framed upon its primary meaning of violent dispossession, which the word had probably acquired long before the more peaceable disseisins, if I may use the expression, became the subject of the remedy by assise. I would speak with deference of Lord Mansfield's elaborate judgment in Taylor dem. Atkins v. Horde, 1 Burrow, 107, &c.; but some positions in it appear to me rather too strongly stated; and particularly that the acceptance of the disseisor as tenant by the lord was necessary to render the disseisin complete; a condition which I have not found hinted in any law-book. See Butler's note on Co. Litt. p. 330; where that eminent lawyer expresses similar doubts as to Lord Mansfield's reasoning. It may however be remarked, that constructive or elective disseisins, being of a technical nature, were more likely to produce cases in the Year-books than those accompanied with actual violence, which would commonly turn only on matters of fact, and be determined by a jury. A remarkable instance of violent disseisin, amounting in effect to a private war, may be found in the Paston Letters occupying most of the fourth volume. One of the Paston family, claiming a right to Caistor Castle, kept possession against the duke of Norfolk, who brought a large force, and laid a regular siege to the place, till it surrendered for want of provisions. Two of the besiegers were killed. It does not appear that any legal measures were taken to prevent or punish this outrage. [390] Difference between an Absolute and Limited Monarchy, p. 99. [391] The manner in which these were obtained, in spite of law, may be noticed among the violent courses of prerogative. By statute 2 E. III. c. 2, confirmed by 10 E. III. c. 2, the king's power of granting pardons was taken away, except in cases of homicide per infortunium. Another act, 14 E. III. c. 15, reciting that the former laws in this respect have not been kept, declares that all pardons contrary to them shall be holden as null. This however was disregarded like the rest; and the commons began tacitly to recede from them, and endeavoured to compromise the question with the crown. By 27 E. III. stat. I, c. 2, without adverting to the existing provisions, which may therefore seem to be repealed by implication, it is enacted that in every charter of pardon, granted at any one's suggestion, the suggestor's name and the grounds of his suggestion shall be expressed, that if the same be found untrue it may be disallowed. And in 13 R. II. stat. 2, c. 1, we are surprised to find the commons requesting that pardons might not be granted, as if the subject were wholly, unknown to the law; the king protesting in reply that he will save his liberty and regality, as his progenitors had done before, but conceding some regulations, far less remedial than what were provided already by the 27th of Edward II. Pardons make a pretty large head in Brooke's Abridgment, and were undoubtedly granted without scruple by every one of our kings. A pardon obtained in a case of peculiar atrocity is the subject of a specific remonstrance in 23 H. VI. Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 111. [392] Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 201. A strange policy, for which no rational cause can be alleged, kept Wales and even Cheshire distinct from the rest of the kingdom. Nothing could be more injurious to the adjacent counties. Upon the credit of their immunity from the jurisdiction of the king's courts, the people of Cheshire broke with armed bands into the neighbouring counties, and perpetrated all the crimes in their power. Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 81, 201, 440; Stat. 1 H. IV. c. 18. As to the Welsh frontier, it was constantly almost in a state of war, which a very little good sense and benevolence in any one of our shepherds would have easily prevented, by admitting the conquered people to partake in equal privileges with their fellow-subjects. Instead of this, they satisfied themselves with aggravating the mischief by granting legal reprisals upon Welshmen. Stat. 2 H. IV. c. 16. Welshmen were absolutely excluded from bearing offices in Wales. The English living in the English towns of Wales earnestly petition, 23 H. VI. Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 104, 154, that this exclusion may be kept in force. Complaints of the disorderly state of the Welsh frontier are repeated as late as 12 E. IV. vol. vi. p. 8. It is curious that, so early as 15 E. II., a writ was addressed to the earl of Arundel, justiciary of Wales, directing him to cause twenty-four discreet persons to be chosen from the north, and as many from the south of that principality, to serve in parliament. Rot. Parl. vol. i. p. 456. And we find a similar writ in the 20th of the same king. Prynne's Register, 4th part, p. 60. Willis says that he has seen a return to one of these precepts, much obliterated, but from which it appears that Conway, Beaumaris, and Carnarvon returned members. Notitia Parliamentaria, vol. i. preface, p. 15. [393] The statute of Winton was confirmed, and proclaimed afresh by the sheriffs, 7 R. II. c. 6, after an era of great disorder. [394] Blackstone, vol. i. c. 9; Carte, vol. ii. p. 203. [395] 1 E. III. stat. 2, c. 16; 4 E. III. c. 2; 34 E. III. c. 1; 7 R. II. c. 5. The institution excited a good deal of ill-will, even before these strong acts were passed. Many petitions of the commons in the 28th E. III., and other years, complain of it. Rot. Parl. vol. ii. [396] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 65. It may be observed that this act, 2 E. II. c. 16, was not founded on a petition, but on the king's answer; so that the commons were not real parties to it, and accordingly call it an ordinance in their present petition. This naturally increased their animosity in treating it as an infringement of the subject's right. [397] Glanvil, 1. v. c. 5. [398] According to Bracton, the bastard of a nief, or female villein, was born in servitude; and where the parents lived on a villein tenement, the children of a nief, even though married to a freeman, were villeins, 1. iv. c. 21; and see Beames's translation of Glanvil, p. 109. But Littleton lays down an opposite doctrine, that a bastard was necessarily free; because, being the child of no father in the contemplation of law, he could not be presumed to inherit servitude from any one; and makes no distinction as to the parent's residence. Sect 188. I merely take notice of this change in the law between the reigns of Henry III. and Edward IV. as an instance of the bias which the judges showed in favour of personal freedom. Another, if we can rely upon it, is more important. In the reign of Henry II. a freeman marrying a nief, and settling on a villein tenement, lost the privileges of freedom during the time of his occupation; legem terræ quasi nativus amittit. Glanvil, 1. v. c. 6. This was consonant to the customs of some other countries, some of which went further, and treated such a person for ever as a villein. But, on the contrary, we find in Britton, a century later, that the nief herself by such a marriage became free during the coverture, c. 31. [Note XIII.] [399] I must confess that I have some doubts how far this was law at the epoch of Magna Charta. Glanvil and Bracton both speak of the _status villenagii_, as opposed to that of liberty, and seem to consider it as a civil condition, not a merely personal relation. The civil law and the French treatise of Beaumanoir hold the same language. And Sir Robert Cotton maintains without hesitation that villeins are not within the 29th section of Magna Charta, "being excluded by the word liber." Cotton's Posthuma, p. 223. Britton, however, a little after Bracton, says that in an action the villein is answerable to all men, and all men to him. p. 79. And later judges, in favorem libertatis, gave this construction to the villein's situation, which must therefore be considered as the clear law of England in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. [400] Littleton, sect. 189, 190, speaks only of an appeal in the two former cases; but an indictment is à fortiori; and he says, sect. 194, that an indictment, though not an appeal, lies against the lord for maiming his villein. [401] Gurdon, on Courts Baron, p. 592, supposes the villein in gross to have been the Lazzus or Servus of early times, a domestic serf, and of an inferior species to the cultivator, or villein regardant. Unluckily Bracton and Littleton do not confirm this notion, which would be convenient enough; for in Domesday Book there is a marked distinction between the Servi and Villani. Blackstone expresses himself inaccurately when he says the villein in gross was annexed to the person of the lord, and transferable by deed from one owner to another. By this means indeed a villein regardant would become a villein in gross, but all villeins were alike liable to be sold by their owners. Littleton, sect. 181. Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 860. Mr. Hargrave supposes that villeins in gross were never numerous (Case of Somerset, Howell's State Trials, vol. xx. p. 42): drawing this inference from the few cases relative to them that occur in the Year-books. And certainly the form of a writ de nativitate probandâ, and the peculiar evidence it required, which may be found in Fitzherbert's Natura Brevium, or in Mr. H.'s argument, are only applicable to the other species. It is a doubtful point whether a freeman could, in contemplation of law, become a villein in gross; though his confession in a court of record, upon a suit already commenced (for this was requisite), would estop him from claiming his liberty; and hence Bracton speaks of this proceeding as a mode by which a freeman might fall into servitude. [402] [Note XIV.] [403] Bracton, 1. ii. c. 8; 1. iv. c. 28; Littleton, sect. 172. [404] Glanvil, 1. iv. c. 5. [405] Dugdale's Warwickshire, apud Eden's State of the Poor, vol. i. p. 13. A passage in another local history rather seems to indicate that some kind of delinquency was usually alleged, and some ceremony employed, before the lord entered on the villein's land. In Gissing manor, 39 E. III., the jury present, that W. G., a villein by blood, was a rebel and ungrateful toward his lord, for which all his tenements were seized. His offence was the having said that the lord kept four stolen sheep in his field. Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. i. p. 114. [406] Gurdon on Courts Baron, p. 574. [407] Brooke's Abridgm. Tenant par copie, 1. By the extent-roll of the manor of Brisingham in Norfolk, in 1254, it appears that there were then ninety-four copyholders and six cottagers in villenage; the former performing many, but determinate services of labour for the lord. Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. i. p. 34. [408] Littl. sect. 77. A copyholder without legal remedy may seem little better than a tenant in mere villenage, except in name. But though, from the relation between the lord and copyholder the latter might not be permitted to sue his superior, yet it does not follow that he might not bring his action against any person acting under the lord's direction, in which the defendant could not set up an illegal authority; just as, although no writ runs against the king, his ministers or officers are not justified in acting under his command contrary to law. I wish this note to be considered as correcting one in my first volume, p. 200, where I have said that a similar law in France rendered the distinction between a serf and a homme de poote little more than theoretical. [409] See the rules of pleading and evidence in questions of villenage fully stated in Mr. Hargrave's argument in the case of Somerset. Howell's State Trials, vol. xx. p. 38. [410] 1. v. c. v. [411] Blomefleld's Norfolk, vol. i. p. 657. I know not how far this privilege was supposed to be impaired by the statute 34 E. III. c. 11; which however might, I should conceive, very well stand along with it. [412] Stat. 23 E. III. [413] [Note XV.] [414] I have been more influenced by natural probabilities than testimony in ascribing this effect to Wicliffe's innovations, because the historians are prejudiced witnesses against him. Several of them depose to the connexion between his opinions and the rebellion of 1382; especially Walsingham, p. 288. This implies no reflection upon Wicliffe, any more than the crimes of the anabaptists in Munster do upon Luther. Every one knows the distich of John Ball, which comprehends the essence of religious democracy: "When Adam delved and Eve span, Where was then the gentleman?" The sermon of this priest, as related by Walsingham, p. 275, derives its argument for equality from the common origin of the species. He is said to have been a disciple of Wicliffe. Turner's Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 420. [415] Stat. 1 R. II. c. 6; Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 21. [416] 30 E. I., in Fitzherbert. Villenage, apud Lambard's Perambulation of Kent, p. 632. Somner on Gavelkind, p. 72. [417] Rymer, t. vii. p. 316, &c. The king holds this bitter language to the villeins of Essex, after the death of Tyler and execution of the other leaders had disconcerted them: Rustici quidem fuistis et estis, in bondagio permanebitis, non ut hactenus, sed incomparabiliter viliori, &c. Walsingham, p. 269. [418] Rot. Parl. vol. iii. p. 100. [419] 5 R II. c. 7. The words are, riot et rumour _n'autres semblables_; rather a general way of creating a new treason; but panic puts an end to jealousy. [420] 12 R. II. c. 3. [421] Rot. Parl. 15 R. II. vol. iii. p. 294, 296. The statute 7 H. IV. c. 17, enacts that no one shall put his son or daughter apprentice to any trade in a borough, unless he have land or rent to the value of twenty shillings a year, but that any one may put his children to school. The reason assigned is the scarcity of labourers in husbandry, in consequence of people living in _Upland_ apprenticing their children. [422] Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 571. [423] Rymer, t. v. p. 44. [424] Gurdon on Courts Baron, p. 596; Madox, Formulare Anglicanum, p. 420; Barrington on Ancient Statutes, p. 278. It is said in a modern book that villenage was very rare in Scotland, and even that no instance exists in records of an estate sold with the labourers and their families attached to the soil. Pinkerton's Hist. of Scotland, vol. i. p. 147. But Mr. Chalmers, in his Caledonia, has brought several proofs that this assertion is too general. [425] Barrington, ubi supra, from Rymer. [426] There are several later cases reported wherein villenage was pleaded, and one of them as late as the 15th of James I. (Noy, p. 27.) See Hargrave's argument, State Trials, vol. xx. p 41. But these are so briefly stated, that it is difficult in general to understand them. It is obvious, however, that judgment was in no case given in favour of the plea; so that we can infer nothing as to the actual continuance of villenage. It is remarkable, and may be deemed by some persons a proof of legal pedantry, that Sir E. Coke, while he dilates on the law of villenage, never intimates that it was become antiquated. [427] 8 H. V. c. 1. [428] This prince having been sent to Antwerp, six commissioners were appointed to open parliament. Rot. Parl. 13 E. III. vol. ii. p. 107. [429] Rymer, t. vi. p. 748. [430] Matt. Paris, p. 243. [431] Matt Westmonast. ap. Brady's History of England, vol. ii. p. 1. [432] Rot. Parl vol. ii. p. 52. [433] Rymer, t. vii. p. 171. [434] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 169. [435] Rot. Parl. vol. iv. p. 174, 176. [436] Ibid. p. 201. [437] I follow the orthography of the roll, which I hope will not be inconvenient to the reader. Why this orthography, from obsolete and difficult, so frequently becomes almost modern, as will appear in the course of these extracts, I cannot conjecture. The usual irregularity of ancient spelling is hardly sufficient to account for such variations; but if there be any error, it belongs to the superintendents of that publication, and is not mine. [438] Rot. Parl. 6 H. VI. vol. iv. p. 326. [439] Rot. Parl. 8 H. VI. vol. iv. p. 336. [440] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 241. [441] Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 81. The proofs of sound mind given in this letter are not very decisive, but the wits of sovereigns are never weighed in golden scales. [442] This may seem an improper appellation for what is usually termed a battle, wherein 5000 men are said to have fallen. But I rely here upon my faithful guide, the Paston Letters, p. 100, one of which, written immediately after the engagement, says that only sixscore were killed. Surely this testimony outweighs a thousand ordinary chroniclers. And the nature of the action, which was a sudden attack on the town of St. Albans, without any pitched combat, renders the larger number improbable. Whethamstede, himself abbot of St. Albans at the time, makes the duke of York's army but 3000 fighting men. p. 352. This account of the trifling loss of life in the battle of St. Albans is confirmed by a contemporary letter, published in the Archæologia (xx. 519). The whole number of the slain was but forty-eight, including, however, several lords. [443] See some account of these in Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 114. [444] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 284-290. [445] Hall, p. 210. [446] The ill-will of York and the queen began as early as 1449, as we learn from an unequivocal testimony, a letter of that date in the Paston collection, vol. i. p. 26. [447] Upon this great question the fourth discourse in Sir Michael Foster's Reports ought particularly to be read. [448] Hale's Pleas of the Crown, vol. i. p. 61, 101 (edit. 1736). [449] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 351. [450] Id. p. 375. This entry in the roll is highly interesting and important. It ought to be read in preference to any of our historians. Hume, who drew from inferior sources, is not altogether accurate. Yet one remarkable circumstance, told by Hall and other chroniclers, that the duke of York stood by the throne, as if to claim it, though omitted entirely in the roll, is confirmed by Whethamstede, abbot of St. Albans, who was probably then present. (p. 484, edit. Hearne.) This shows that we should only doubt, and not reject, unless upon real grounds of suspicion, the assertions of secondary writers. [451] The abbey of St. Albans was stripped by the queen and her army after the second battle fought at that place, Feb. 17, 1461; which changed Whethamstede the abbot and historiographer from a violent Lancastrian into a Yorkist. His change of party is quite sudden, and amusing enough. See too the Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 206. Yet the Paston family were originally Lancastrian, and returned to that side in 1470. [452] There are several instances of violence and oppression apparent on the rolls during this reign, but not proceeding from the crown. One of a remarkable nature (vol. v. p. 173) was brought forward to throw an odium on the duke of Clarence, who had been concerned in it. Several passages indicate the character of the duke of Gloucester. [453] See in Cro. Car. 120, the indictment against Burdett for compassing the king's death, and for that purpose conspiring with Stacie and Blake to calculate his nativity and his son's, ad sciendum quando iidem rex et Edwardus ejus filius morientur: Also for the same end dispersing divers rhymes and ballads de murmurationibus, seditionibus et proditoriis excitationibus, factas et fabricatas apud Holbourn, to the intent that the people might withdraw their love from the king and desert him, ac erga ipsum regem insurgerent, et guerram erga ipsum regem levarent, ad finalem destructionem ipsorum regis ac domini principis, &c. [454] Rot. Parl. vol. vi. p. 193. [455] The rolls of Henry VII.'s first parliament are full of an absurd confusion in thought and language, which is rendered odious by the purposes to which it is applied. Both Henry VI. and Edward IV. are considered as lawful kings; except in one instance, where Alan Cotterell, petitioning for the reversal of his attainder, speaks of Edward, "late called Edward IV." (vol. iv. p. 290.) But this is only the language of a private Lancastrian. And Henry VI. passes for having been king during his short restoration in 1470, when Edward had been nine years upon the throne. For the earl of Oxford is said to have been attainted "for the true allegiance and service he owed and did to Henry VI. at Barnet field and otherwise." (p. 281.) This might be reasonable enough on the true principle that allegiance is due to a king _de facto_; if indeed we could determine who was the king de facto on the morning of the battle of Barnet. But this principle was not fairly recognised. Richard III. is always called, "in deed and not in right king of England." Nor was this merely founded on his usurpation as against his nephew. For that unfortunate boy is little better treated, and in the act of resumption, 1 H. VII., while Edward IV. is styled "late king," appears only with the denomination of "Edward his son, late called Edward V." (p. 336.) Who then was king after the death of Edward IV.? And was his son really illegitimate, as an usurping uncle pretended? Or did the crime of Richard, though punished in him, enure to the benefit of Henry? These were points which, like the fate of the young princes in the Tower, he chose to wrap in discreet silence. But the first question he seems to have answered in his own favour. For Richard himself, Howard duke of Norfolk, Lord Lovel, and some others, are attainted (p. 276) for "traiterously intending, compassing, and imagining" the death of Henry; of course before or at the battle of Bosworth; and while his right, unsupported by possession, could have rested only on an hereditary title which it was an insult to the nation to prefer. These monstrous proceedings explain the necessity of that conservative statute to which I have already alluded, which passed in the eleventh year of his reign, and afforded as much security for men following the plain line of rallying round the standard of their country as mere law can offer. There is some extraordinary reasoning upon this act in Carte's History (vol. ii. p. 844), for the purpose of proving that the adherents of George II. would not be protected by it on the restoration of the true blood. [456] Difference of Absolute and Limited Monarchy, p. 83. [457] Rot. Parl. vol. vi. p. 241. [458] 1 R. III. c. 2. [459] The long-debated question as to the murder of Edward and his brother seems to me more probably solved on the common supposition that it was really perpetrated by the orders of Richard, than on that of Walpole, Carte, Henry, and Laing, who maintain that the duke of York, at least, was in some way released from the Tower, and reappeared as Perkin Warbeck. But a very strong conviction either way is not readily attainable. NOTES TO CHAPTER VIII. (PART III.) NOTE I. Page 5. It is rather a curious speculative question, and such only, we may presume, it will long continue, whether bishops are entitled, on charges of treason or felony, to a trial by the peers. If this question be considered either theoretically or according to ancient authority, I think the affirmative proposition is beyond dispute. Bishops were at all times members of the great national council, and fully equal to lay lords in temporal power as well as dignity. Since the Conquest they have held their temporalities of the crown by a baronial tenure, which, if there be any consistency in law, must unequivocally distinguish them from commoners--since any one holding by barony might be challenged on a jury, as not being the peer of the party whom he was to try. It is true that they take no share in the judicial power of the house of lords in cases of treason or felony; but this is merely in conformity to those ecclesiastical canons which prohibited the clergy from partaking in capital judgment, and they have always withdrawn from the house on such occasions under a protestation of their right to remain. Had it not been for this particularity, arising wholly out of their own discipline, the question of their peerage could never have come into dispute. As for the common argument that they are not tried as peers because they have no inheritable nobility, I consider it as very frivolous, since it takes for granted the precise matter in controversy, that an inheritable nobility is necessary to the definition of peerage, or to its incidental privileges. If we come to constitutional precedents, by which, when sufficiently numerous and unexceptionable, all questions of this kind are ultimately to be determined, the weight of ancient authority seems to be in favour of the prelates. In the fifteenth year of Edward III. (1340), the king brought several charges against archbishop Stratford. He came to parliament with a declared intention of defending himself before his peers. The king insisted upon his answering in the court of exchequer. Stratford however persevered, and the house of lords, by the king's consent, appointed twelve of their number, bishops, earls, and barons, to report whether peers ought to answer criminal charges in parliament, and not elsewhere. This committee reported to the king in full parliament that the peers of the land ought not to be arraigned, nor put on trial, except in parliament and by their peers. The archbishop upon this prayed the king, that, inasmuch as he had been notoriously defamed, he might be arraigned in full parliament before the peers, and there make answer; which request the king granted. (Rot. Parl. vol. ii. p. 127. Collier's Eccles. Hist. vol. i. p. 543.) The proceedings against Stratford went no further; but I think it impossible not to admit that his right to trial as a peer was fully recognised both by the king and lords. This is, however, the latest, and perhaps the only instance of a prelate's obtaining so high a privilege. In the preceding reign of Edward II., if we can rely on the account of Walsingham (p. 119), Adam Orleton, the factious bishop of Hereford, had first been arraigned before the house of lords, and subsequently convicted by a common jury; but the transaction was of a singular nature, and the king might probably be influenced by the difficulty of obtaining a conviction from the temporal peers, of whom many were disaffected to him, in a case where privilege of clergy was vehemently claimed. But about 1357 a bishop of Ely, being accused of harbouring one guilty of murder, though he demanded a trial by the peers, was compelled to abide the verdict of a jury. (Collier, p. 557.) In the 31st of Edw. III. (1358) the abbot of Missenden was hanged for coining. (2 Inst. p. 635.) The abbot of this monastery appears from Dugdale to have been summoned by writ in the 49th of Henry III. If he actually held by barony, I do not perceive any strong distinction between his case and that of a bishop. The leading precedent, however, and that upon which lawyers principally found their denial of this privilege to the bishops, is the case of Fisher, who was certainly tried before an ordinary jury; nor am I aware that any remonstrance was made by himself, or complaint by his friends, upon this ground. Cranmer was treated in the same manner; and from these two, being the most recent precedents, though neither of them in the best of times, the great plurality of law-books have drawn a conclusion that bishops are not entitled to trial by the temporal peers. Nor can there be much doubt that, whenever the occasion shall occur, this will be the decision of the house of lords. There are two peculiarities, as it may naturally appear, in the above-mentioned resolution of the lords in Stratford's case. The first is, that they claim to be tried, not only before their peers, but in parliament. And in the case of the bishop of Ely it is said to have been objected to his claim of trial by his peers, that parliament was not then sitting. (Collier, ubi sup.) It is most probable, therefore, that the court of the lord high steward, for the special purpose of trying a peer, was of more recent institution--as appears also from Sir E. Coke's expressions. (4 Inst. p. 58.) The second circumstance that may strike a reader is, that the lords assert their privilege in all criminal cases, not distinguishing misdemeanors from treasons and felonies. But in this they were undoubtedly warranted by the clear language of Magna Charta, which makes no distinction of the kind. The practice of trying a peer for misdemeanors by a jury of commoners, concerning the origin of which I can say nothing, is one of those anomalies which too often render our laws capricious and unreasonable in the eyes of impartial men. Since writing the above note I have read Stillingfleet's treatise on the judicial power of the bishops in capital cases--a right which, though now, I think, abrogated by non-claim and a course of contrary precedents, he proves beyond dispute to have existed by the common law and constitutions of Clarendon, to have been occasionally exercised, and to have been only suspended by their voluntary act. In the course of this argument he treats of the peerage of the bishops, and produces abundant evidence from the records of parliament that they were styled peers, for which, though convinced from general recollection, I had not leisure or disposition to search. But if any doubt should remain, the statute 25 E. III. c. 6, contains a legislative declaration of the peerage of bishops. The whole subject is discussed with much perspicuity and force by Stillingfleet, who seems however not to press very greatly the right of trial by peers, aware no doubt of the weight of opposite precedents. (Stillingfleet's Works, vol. iii. p. 820.) In one distinction, that the bishops vote in their judicial functions as barons, but in legislation as magnates, which Warburton has brought forward as his own in the Alliance of Church and State, Stillingfleet has perhaps not taken the strongest ground, nor sufficiently accounted for their right of sitting in judgment on the impeachment of a commoner. Parliamentary impeachment, upon charges of high public crimes, seems to be the exercise of a right inherent in the great council of the nation, some traces of which appear even before the Conquest (Chron. Sax. p. 164, 169), independent of and superseding that of trial by peers, which, if the 29th section of Magna Charta be strictly construed, is only required upon indictments at the king's suit. And this consideration is of great weight in the question, still unsettled, whether a commoner can be tried by the lords upon an impeachment for treason. The treatise of Stillingfleet was written on occasion of the objection raised by the commons to the bishops voting on the question of Lord Danby's pardon, which he pleaded in bar of his impeachment. Burnet seems to suppose that their right to final judgment had never been defended, and confounds judgment with sentence. Mr. Hargrave, strange to say, has made a much greater blunder, and imagined that the question related to their right of voting on a bill of attainder, which no one, I believe, ever disputed. (Notes on Co. Litt. 134 b.) NOTE II. Page 9. The constitution of parliament in this period, antecedent to the Great Charter, has been minutely and scrupulously investigated by the Lords' Committee on the Dignity of a Peer in 1819. Two questions may be raised as to the lay portion of the great council of the nation from the Conquest to the reign of John:--first, Did it comprise any members, whether from the counties or boroughs, not holding themselves, nor deputed by others holding in chief of the crown by knight-service or grand serjeanty? secondly, Were all such tenants _in capite_ personally, or in contemplation of law, assisting, by advice and suffrage, in councils held for the purpose of laying on burthens, or for permanent and important legislation? The former of these questions they readily determine. The committee have discovered no proof, nor any likelihood from analogy, that the great council, in these Norman reigns, was composed of any who did not hold in chief of the crown by a military tenure, or one in grand serjeanty; and they exclude, not only tenants in petty serjeanty and socage, but such as held of an escheated barony, or, as it was called, _de honore_. They found more difficulty in the second question. It has generally been concluded, and I may have taken it for granted in my text, that all military tenants _in capite_ were summoned, or ought to have been summoned, to any great council of the realm, whether for the purpose of levying a new tax, or any other affecting the public weal. The committee, however, laudably cautious in drawing any positive inference, have moved step by step through this obscure path with a circumspection as honourable to themselves as it renders their ultimate judgment worthy of respect. "The council of the kingdom, however composed (they are adverting to the reign of Henry I.), must have been assembled by the king's command; and the king, therefore, may have assumed the power of selecting the persons to whom he addressed the command, especially if the object of assembling such a council was not to impose any burthen on any of the subjects of the realm exempted from such burthens except by their own free grants. Whether the king was at this time considered as bound by any constitutional law to address such command to any particular persons, designated by law as essential parts of such an assembly for all purposes, the committee have been unable to ascertain. It has generally been considered as the law of the land that the king had a right to require the advice of any of his subjects, and their personal services, for the general benefit of the kingdom; but as, by the terms of the charters of Henry and of his father, no aid could be required of the immediate tenants of the crown by military service, beyond the obligation of their respective tenures, if the crown had occasion for any extraordinary aid from those tenants, it must have been necessary, according to law, to assemble all persons so holding, to give their consent to the imposition. Though the numbers of such tenants of the crown were not originally very great, as far as appears from Domesday, yet, if it was necessary to convene all to form a constitutional legislative assembly, the distances of their respective residences, and the inconvenience of assembling at one time, in one spot, all those who thus held of the crown, and upon whom the maintenance of the Conquest itself must for a considerable time have importantly depended, must have produced difficulties, even in the reign of the Conqueror; and the increase of their numbers by subdivision of tenures must have greatly increased the difficulty in the reign of his son Henry: and at length, in the reigns of his successors, it must have been almost impossible to have convened such an assembly, except by general summons of the greater part of the persons who were to form it; and unless those who obeyed the summons could bind those who did not, the powers of the assembly when convened must have been very defective." (p. 40.) Though I do not perceive why we should assume any great subdivision of tenures before the statute of _Quia Emptores_, in 18 Edw. I., which prohibited subinfeudation, it is obvious that the committee have pointed out the inconvenience of a scheme which gave all tenants _in capite_ (more numerous in Domesday than they perhaps were aware) a right to assist at great councils. Still, as it is manifest from the early charters, and explicitly admitted by the committee, that the king could raise no extraordinary contribution from his immediate vassals by his own authority, and as there was no feudal subordination between one of these and another, however differing in wealth, it is clear that they were legally entitled to a voice, be it through general or special summons, in the imposition of taxes which they were to pay. It will not follow that they were summoned, or had an acknowledged right to be summoned, on the few other occasions when legislative measures were in contemplation, or in the determinations taken by the king's great council. This can only be inferred by presumptive proof or constitutional analogy. The eleventh article of the Constitutions of Clarendon in 1164 declares that archbishops, bishops, and all persons of the realm who hold of the king _in capite_, possess their lands as a barony, and are bound to attend in the judgments of the king's court like other barons. It is plain, from the general tenor of these constitutions, that "universæ personæ regni" must be restrained to ecclesiastics; and the only words which can be important in the present discussion are "sicut barones cæteri." "It seems," says the committee, "to follow that all those termed the king's barons were tenants in chief of the king; but it does not follow that all tenants in chief of the king were the king's barons, and as such bound to attend his court. They might not be bound to attend unless they held their lands of the king in chief 'sicut baroniam,' as expressed in this article with respect to the archbishops and other clergy." (p. 44.) They conclude, however, that "upon the whole the Constitutions of Clarendon, if the existing copies be correct, afford strong ground for presuming that owing suit to the king's great court rendered the tenant one of the king's barons or members of that court, though probably in general none attended who were not specially summoned. It has been already observed that this would not include all the king's tenants in chief, and particularly those who did not hold of him as of his crown, or even to all who did hold of him as of his crown, but not by knight-service or grand serjeanty, which were alone deemed military and honourable tenures; though, whether all who held of the king as of his crown, by knight-service or grand serjeanty, did originally owe suit to the king's court, or whether that obligation was confined to persons holding by a particular tenure, called _tenure per baroniam_, as has been asserted, the Constitutions of Clarendon do not assist to ascertain." (p. 45.) But this, as they point out, involves the question whether the _Curia Regis_, mentioned in these constitutions, was not only a judicial but a legislative assembly, or one competent to levy a tax on military tenants, since by the terms of the charter of Henry I., confirmed by that of Henry II., all such tenants were clearly exempted from taxation, except by their own consents. They touch slightly on the reign of Richard I. with the remark that "the result of all which they have found with respect to the constitution of the legislative assemblies of the realm still leaves the subject in great obscurity." (p. 49.) But it is remarkable that they have never alluded to the presence of tenants in chief, knights as well as barons, at the parliament of Northampton under Henry II. They come, however, rather suddenly to the conclusion that "the records of the reign of John seem to give strong ground for supposing that all the king's tenants in chief by military tenure, if not all the tenants in chief,[460] were at one time deemed necessary members of the common councils of the realm, when summoned for extraordinary purposes, and especially for the purpose of obtaining a grant of any extraordinary aid to the king; and this opinion accords with what has generally been deemed originally the law in France, of other countries where what is called the feudal system of tenures has been established." (p. 54.) It cannot surely admit of a doubt, and has been already affirmed more than once by the committee, that for an extraordinary grant of money the consent of military tenants in chief was required long before the reign of John. Nor was that a reign, till the enactment of the Great Charter, when any fresh extension of political liberty was likely to have become established. But the difficulty may still remain with respect to "extraordinary purposes" of another description. They observe afterwards that "they have found no document before the Great Charter of John in which the term 'majores barones' has been used, though in some subsequent documents words of apparently similar import have been used. From the instrument itself it might be presumed that the term 'majores barones' was then a term in some degree understood; and that the distinction had, therefore, an earlier origin, though the committee have not found the term in any earlier instrument." (p. 67.) But though the Dialogue on the Exchequer, generally referred to the reign of Henry II., is not an instrument, it is a law-book of sufficient reputation, and in this we read--"Quidam de rege tenent in capite quæ ad coronam pertinent; baronias scilicet majores seu minores." (Lib. ii. cap. 10.) It would be trifling to dispute that the tenant of a _baronia major_ might be called a _baro major_. And what could the _secundæ dignitatis barones_ at Northampton have been but tenants _in capite_ holding fiefs by some line or other distinguishable from a superior class?[461] It appears, therefore, on the whole, that in the judgment of the committee, by no means indulgent in their requisition of evidence, or disposed to take the more popular side, all the military tenants _in capite_ were constitutionally members of the _commune concilium_ of the realm during the Norman constitution. This _commune concilium_ the committee distinguish from a _magnum concilium_, though it seems doubtful whether there were any very definite line between the two. But that the consent of these tenants was required for taxation they repeatedly acknowledge. And there appears sufficient evidence that they were occasionally present for other important purposes. It is, however, very probable that writs of summons were actually addressed only to those of distinguished name, to those resident near the place of meeting, or to the servants and favourites of the crown. This seems to be deducible from the words in the Great Charter, which limit the king's engagement to summon all tenants in chief, through the sheriff, to the case of his requiring an aid or scutage, and still more from the withdrawing of this promise in the first year of Henry III. The privilege of attending on such occasions, though legally general, may never have been generally exercised. The committee seem to have been perplexed about the word _magnates_ employed in several records to express part of those present in great councils. In general they interpret it, as well as the word _proceres_, to include persons not distinguished by the name "_barones_;" a word which in the reign of Henry III. seems to have been chiefly used in the restricted sense it has latterly acquired. Yet in one instance, a letter addressed to the justiciar of Ireland, 1 Hen. III., they suppose the word _magnates_ to "exclude those termed therein 'alii quamplurimi;' and consequently to be confined to prelates, earls, and barons. This may be deemed important in the consideration of many other instruments in which the word _magnates_ has been used to express persons constituting the 'commune concilium regni.'" But this strikes me as an erroneous construction of the letter. The words are as follows:--"Convenerunt apud Glocestriam plures regni nostri magnates, episcopi, abbates, comites, et barones, qui patri nostro viventi semper astiterunt fideliter et devotè, et alii quamplurimi; applaudentibus clero et populo, &c., publicè fuimus in regem Angliæ inuncti et coronati." (p. 77.) I think that _magnates_ is a collective word, including the "alii quamplurimi." It appears to me that _magnates_, and perhaps some other Latin words, correspond to the witan of the Anglo-Saxons, expressing the legislature in general, under which were comprised those who held peculiar dignities, whether lay or spiritual. And upon the whole we may be led to believe that the Norman great council was essentially of the same composition as the witenagemot which had preceded it; the king's thanes being replaced by the barons of the first or second degree, who, whatever may have been the distinction between them, shared one common character, one source of their legislative rights--the derivation of their lands as immediate fiefs from the crown. The result of the whole inquiry into the constitution of parliament down to the reign of John seems to be--1. That the Norman kings explicitly renounced all prerogative of levying money on the immediate military tenants of the crown, without their consent given in a great council of the realm; this immunity extending also to their sub-tenants and dependants. 2. That all these tenants in chief had a constitutional right to attend, and ought to be summoned; but whether they could attend without a summons is not manifest. 3. That the summons was usually directed to the higher barons, and to such of a second class as the king pleased, many being omitted for different reasons, though all had a right to it. 4. That on occasions when money was not to be demanded, but alterations made in the law, some of these second barons, or tenants in chief, were at least occasionally summoned, but whether by strict right or usage does not fully appear. 5. That the irregularity of passing many of them over when councils were held for the purpose of levying money, led to the provision in the Great Charter of John by which the king promises that they shall all be summoned through the sheriff on such occasions; but the promise does not extend to any other subject of parliamentary deliberation. 6. That even this concession, though but the recognition of a known right, appeared so dangerous to some in the government that it was withdrawn in the first charter of Henry III. The charter of John, as has just been observed, while it removes all doubt, if any could have been entertained, as to the right of every military tenant _in capite_ to be summoned through the sheriff, when an aid or scutage was to be demanded, will not of itself establish their right of attending parliament on other occasions. We cannot absolutely assume any to have been, in a general sense, members of the legislature except the prelates and the _majores barones_. But who were these, and how distinguished? For distinguished they must now have become, and that by no new provision, since none is made. The right of personal summons did not constitute them, for it is on _majores barones_, as already a determinate rank, that the right is conferred. The extent of property afforded no definite criterion; at least some baronies, which appear to have been of the first class, comprehended very few knights' fees: yet it seems probable that this was the original ground of distinction.[462] The charter, as renewed in the first year of Henry III., does not only omit the clause prohibiting the imposition of aids and scutages without consent, and providing for the summons of all tenants _in capite_ before either could be levied, but gives the following reason for suspending this and other articles of king John's charter:--"Quia vero quædam capitula in priori cartâ continebantur, quæ gravia et dubitabilia videbantur, _sicut de scutagiis et auxiliis assidendis_ ... placuit supra-dictis prælatis et magnatibus ea esse in respectu, quousque plenius consilium habuerimus, et tunc faciemus plurissimè, tam de his quam de aliis quæ occurrerint emendanda, quæ ad communem omnium utilitatem pertinuerint, et pacem et statum nostrum et regni nostri." This charter was made but twenty-four days after the death of John; and we may agree with the committee (p. 77) in thinking it extraordinary that these deviations from the charter of Runnymede, in such important particulars, have been so little noticed. It is worthy of consideration in what respects the provisions respecting the levying of money could have appeared grave and doubtful. We cannot believe that the earl of Pembroke, and the other barons who were with the young king, himself a child of nine years old and incapable of taking a part, meant to abandon the constitutional privilege of not being taxed in aids without their consent. But this they might deem sufficiently provided for by the charters of former kings and by general usage. It is not, however, impossible that the government demurred to the prohibition of levying scutage, which stood on a different footing from extraordinary aids; for scutage appears to have been formerly taken without consent of the tenants; and in the second charter of Henry III. there is a clause that it should be taken as it had been in the time of Henry II. This was a certain payment for every knight's fee; but if the original provision of the Runnymede charter had been maintained, none could have been levied without consent of parliament. It seems also highly probable that, before the principle of representation had been established, the greater barons looked with jealousy on the equality of suffrage claimed by the inferior tenants _in capite_. That these were constitutionally members of the great council, at least in respect of taxation, has been sufficiently shown; but they had hitherto come in small numbers, likely to act always in subordination to the more potent aristocracy. It became another question whether they should all be summoned, in their own counties, by a writ selecting no one through favour, and in its terms compelling all to obey. And this question was less for the crown, which might possibly find its advantage in the disunion of its tenants, than for the barons themselves. They would naturally be jealous of a second order, whom in their haughtiness they held much beneath them, yet by whom they might be outnumbered in those councils where they had bearded the king. No effectual or permanent compromise could be made but by representation, and the hour for representation was not come. NOTE III. Page 19. The Lords' committee, though not very confidently, take the view of Brady and Blackstone, confining the electors of knights to tenants _in capite_. They admit that "the subsequent usage, and the subsequent statutes founded on that usage, afford ground for supposing that in the 49th of Henry III. and in the reign of Edward I. the knights of the shires returned to parliament were elected at the county courts and by the suitors of those courts. If the knights of the shires were so elected in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., it seems important to discover, if possible, who were the suitors of the county courts in these reigns" (p. 149). The subject, they are compelled to confess, after a discussion of some length, remains involved in great obscurity, which their industry has been unable to disperse. They had, however, in an earlier part of their report (p. 30), thought it highly probable that the knights of the shires in the reign of Edward III. represented a description of persons who might in the reign of the Conqueror have been termed barons. And the general spirit of their subsequent investigation seems to favour this result, though they finally somewhat recede from it, and admit at least that, before the close of Edward III.'s reign, the elective franchise extended to freeholders. The question, as the committee have stated it, will turn on the character of those who were suitors to the county court. And, if this may be granted, I must own that to my apprehension there is no room for the hypothesis that the county court was differently constituted in the reign of Edward I. or of Edward III. from what it was very lately, and what it was long before those princes sat on the throne. In the Anglo-Saxon period we find this court composed of thanes, but not exclusively of royal thanes, who were comparatively few. In the laws of Henry I. we still find sufficient evidence that the suitors of the court were all who held freehold lands, _terrarum domini_; or, even if we please to limit this to lords of manors, which is not at all probable, still without distinction of a mesne or immediate tenure. Vavassors, that is, mesne tenants, are particularly mentioned in one enumeration of barons attending the court. In some counties a limitation to tenants _in capite_ would have left this important tribunal very deficient in numbers. And as in all our law-books we find the county court composed of freeholders, we may reasonably demand evidence of two changes in its constitution, which the adherents to the theory of restrained representation must combine--one which excluded all freeholders except those who held immediately of the crown; another which restored them. The notion that the county court was the king's court baron (Report, p. 150), and thus bore an analogy to that of the lord in every manor, whether it rests on any modern legal authority or not, seems delusive. The court baron was essentially a feudal institution; the county court was from a different source; it was old Teutonic, and subsisted in this and other countries before the feudal jurisdictions had taken root. It is a serious error to conceive that, because many great alterations were introduced by the Normans, there was nothing left of the old system of society.[463] It may, however, be naturally inquired why, if the king's tenants in chief were exclusively members of the national council before the era of county representation, they did not retain that privilege; especially if we conceive, as seems on the whole probable, that the knights chosen in 38 Henry III. were actually representatives of the military tenants of the crown. The answer might be that these knights do not appear to have been elected in the county court; and when that mode of choosing knights of the shire was adopted, it was but consonant to the increasing spirit of liberty, and to the weight also of the barons, whose tenants crowded the court, that no freeholder should be debarred of his equal suffrage. But this became the more important, and we might almost add necessary, when the feudal aids were replaced by subsidies on movables; so that, unless the mesne freeholders could vote at county elections, they would have been taxed without their consent and placed in a worse condition than ordinary burgesses. This of itself seems almost a decisive argument to prove that they must have joined in the election of knights of the shire after the _Confirmatio Chartarum_. If we were to go down so late as Richard II., and some pretend that the mesne freeholders did not vote before the reign of Henry IV., we find Chaucer's franklin, a vavassor, capable even of sitting in parliament for his shire. For I do not think Chaucer ignorant of the proper meaning of that word. And Allen says (Edinb. Rev. xxviii. 145)--"In the earliest records of the house of commons we have found many instances of sub-vassals who have represented their counties in parliament." If, however, it should be suggested that the practice of admitting the votes of mesne tenants at county elections may have crept in by degrees, partly by the constitutional principle of common consent, partly on account of the broad demarcation of tenants _in capite_ by knight-service from barons, which the separation of the houses of parliament produced, thus tending, by diminishing the importance of the former, to bring them down to the level of other freeholders; partly, also, through the operation of the statute _Quia Emptores_ (18 Edward I.), which, by putting an end to subinfeudation, created a new tenant of the crown upon every alienation of land, however partial, by one who was such already, and thus both multiplied their numbers and lowered their dignity; this supposition, though incompatible with the argument built on the nature of the county court, would be sufficient to explain the facts, provided we do not date the establishment of the new usage too low. The Lords' committee themselves, after much wavering, come to the conclusion that "at length, if not always, two persons were elected by all the freeholders of the county, whether holding in chief of the crown or of others" (p. 331). This they infer from the petitions of the commons that the mesne tenants should be charged with the wages of knights of the shire; since it would not be reasonable to levy such wages from those who had no voice in the election. They ultimately incline to the hypothesis that the change came in silently, favoured by the growing tendency to enlarge the basis of the constitution, and by the operation of the statute _Quia Emptores_, which may not have been of inconsiderable influence. It appears by a petition in 51 Edward III. that much confusion had arisen with respect to tenures; and it was frequently disputed whether lands were held of the king or of other lords. This question would often turn on the date of alienation; and, in the hurry of an election, the bias being always in favour of an extended suffrage, it is to be supposed that the sheriff would not reject a claim to vote which he had not leisure to investigate. NOTE IV. Page 21. It now appears more probable to me than it did that some of the greater towns, but almost unquestionably London, did enjoy the right of electing magistrates with a certain jurisdiction before the Conquest. The notion which I found prevailing among the writers of the last century, that the municipal privileges of towns on the continent were merely derived from charters of the twelfth century, though I was aware of some degree of limitation which it required, swayed me too much in estimating the condition of our own burgesses. And I must fairly admit that I have laid too much stress on the silence of Domesday Book; which, as has been justly pointed out, does not relate to matters of internal government, unless when they involve some rights of property. I do not conceive, nevertheless, that the municipal government of Anglo-Saxon boroughs was analogous to that generally established in our corporations from the reign of Henry II. and his successors. The real presumption has been acutely indicated by Sir F. Palgrave, arising from the universal institution of the court-leet, which gave to an alderman, or otherwise denominated officer, chosen by the suitors, a jurisdiction, in conjunction with themselves as a jury, over the greater part of civil disputes and criminal accusations, as well as general police, that might arise within the hundred. Wherever the town or borough was too large to be included within a hundred, this would imply a distinct jurisdiction, which may of course be called municipal. It would be similar to that which, till lately, existed in some towns--an elective high bailiff or principal magistrate, without a representative body of aldermen and councillors. But this is more distinctly proved with respect to London, which, as is well known, does not appear in Domesday, than as to any other town. It was divided into wards, answering to hundreds in the county; each having its own wardmote, or leet, under its elected alderman. "The city of London, as well within the walls, as its liberties without the walls, has been divided from time immemorial into wards, bearing nearly the same relation to the city that the hundred anciently did to the shire. Each ward is, for certain purposes, a distinct jurisdiction. The organisation of the existing municipal constitution of the city is, and always has been, as far as can be traced, entirely founded upon the ward system." (Introduction to the French Chronicle of London.--Camden Society, 1844.) Sir F. Palgrave extends this much further:--"There were certain districts locally included within the hundreds, which nevertheless constituted independent bodies politic. The burgesses, the tenants, the resiants of the king's burghs and manors in ancient demesne, owed neither suit nor service to the hundred leet. They attended at their own leet, which differed in no essential respect from the leet of the hundred. The principle of frank-pledge required that each friborg should appear by its head as its representative; and consequently, the jurymen of the leet of the burgh or manor are usually described under the style of the twelve chief pledges. The legislative and remedial assembly of the burgh or manor was constituted by the meeting of the heads of its component parts. The portreeve, constable, headborough, bailiff, or other the chief executive magistrate, was elected or presented by the leet jury. Offences against the law were repressed by their summary presentments. They who were answerable to the community for the breach of the peace punished the crime. Responsibility and authority were conjoined. In their legislative capacity they bound their fellow-townsmen by making by-laws." (Edin. Rev. xxxvi. 309.) "Domesday Book," he says afterwards, "does not notice the hundred court, or the county-court; because it was unnecessary to inform the king or his justiciaries of the existence of the tribunals which were in constant action throughout all the land. It was equally unnecessary to make a return of the leets which they knew to be inherent in every burgh. Where any special municipal jurisdiction existed, as in Chester, Stamford, and Lincoln, then it became necessary that the franchise should be recorded. The twelve lagemen in the two latter burghs were probably hereditary aldermen. In London and in Canterbury aldermen occasionally held their sokes by inheritance.[464] The negative evidence extorted out of Domesday has, therefore, little weight." (p. 313.) It seems, however, not unquestionable whether this representation of an Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman municipality is not urged rather beyond the truth. The portreeve of London, their principal magistrate, appears to have been appointed by the crown. It was not till 1188 that Henry Fitzalwyn, ancestor of the present Lord Beaumont,[465] became the first mayor of London. But he also was nominated by the crown, and remained twenty-four years in office. In the same year the first sheriffs are said to have been made (_facti_). But John, immediately after his accession in 1199, granted the citizens leave to choose their own sheriffs. And his charter of 1215 permits them to elect annually their mayor. (Maitland's Hist. of London, p. 74, 76.) We read, however, under the year 1200, in the ancient chronicle lately published, that twenty-five of the most discreet men of the city were chosen and sworn to advise for the city, together with the mayor. These were evidently different from the aldermen, and are the original common council of the city. They were perhaps meant in a later entry (1229):--"Omnes aldermanni et magnates civitatis per assensum universorum civium," who are said to have agreed never to permit a sheriff to remain in office during two consecutive years. The city and liberties of London were not wholly under the jurisdiction of the several wardmotes and their aldermen. Landholders, secular and ecclesiastical, possessed their exclusive sokes, or jurisdictions, in parts of both. One of these has left its name to the ward of Portsoken. The prior of the Holy Trinity, in right of this district, ranked as an alderman, and held a regular wardmote. The wards of Farringdon are denominated from a family of that name, who held a part of them by hereditary right as their territorial franchise. These sokes gave way so gradually before the power of the citizens, with whom, as may be supposed, a perpetual conflict was maintained, that there were nearly thirty of them in the early part of the reign of Henry III., and upwards of twenty in that of Edward I. With the exception of Portsoken, they were not commensurate with the city wards, and we find the juries of the wards, in the third of Edward I., presenting the sokes as liberties enjoyed by private persons or ecclesiastical corporations, to the detriment of the crown. But, though the lords of these sokes trenched materially on the exclusive privileges of the city, it is remarkable that, no condition but inhabitancy being required in the thirteenth century for civic franchises, both they and their tenants were citizens, having individually a voice in municipal affairs, though exempt from municipal jurisdiction. I have taken most of this paragraph from a valuable though short notice of the state of London in the thirteenth century, published in the fourth volume of the Archæological Journal (p. 273). The inference which suggests itself from these facts is that London, for more than two centuries after the Conquest, was not so exclusively a city of traders, a democratic municipality, as we have been wont to conceive. And as this evidently extends back to the Anglo-Saxon period, it both lessens the improbability that the citizens bore at times a part in political affairs, and exhibits them in a new light, as lords and tenants of lords, as well as what of course they were in part, engaged in foreign and domestic commerce. It will strike every one, in running over the list of mayors and sheriffs in the thirteenth century, that a large proportion of the names are French; indicating, perhaps, that the territorial proprietors whose sokes were intermingled with the city had influence enough, through birth and wealth, to obtain an election. The general polity, Saxon and Norman, was aristocratic; whatever infusion there might be of a more popular scheme of government, and much certainly there was, could not resist, even if resistance had been always the people's desire, the joint predominance of rank, riches, military habits, and common alliance, which the great baronage of the realm enjoyed. London, nevertheless, from its populousness, and the usual character of cities, was the centre of a democratic power, which, bursting at times into precipitate and needless tumult easily repressed by force, kept on its silent course till, near the end of the thirteenth century, the rights of the citizens and burgesses in the legislature were constitutionally established. [1848.] NOTE V. Page 26. If Fitz-Stephen rightly informs us that in London there were 126 parish churches, besides 13 conventual ones, we may naturally think the population much underrated at 40,000. But the fashion of building churches in cities was so general, that we cannot apply a standard from modern times. Norwich contained sixty parishes. Even under Henry II., as we find by Fitz-Stephen, the prelates and nobles had town houses. "Ad hæc omnes fere episcopi, abbates, et magnates Angliæ, quasi cives et municipes sunt urbis Lundoniæ; sua ibi habentes ædificia præclara; ubi se recipiunt, ubi divites impensas faciunt, ad concilia, ad conventus celebres in urbem evocati, à domino rege vel metropolitano suo, seu propriis tracti negotiis." The eulogy of London by this writer is very curious; its citizens were thus early distinguished by their good eating, to which they added amusements less congenial to later liverymen, hawking, cock-fighting, and much more. The word _cockney_ is not improbably derived from _cocayne_, the name of an imaginary land of ease and jollity. The city of London within the walls was not wholly built, many gardens and open spaces remaining. And the houses were never more than a single story above the ground-floor, according to the uniform type of English dwellings in the twelfth and following centuries. On the other hand, the liberties contained many inhabitants; the streets were narrower than since the fire of 1666; and the vast spaces now occupied by warehouses might have been covered by dwelling-houses. Forty thousand, on the whole, seems rather a low estimate for these two centuries; but it is impossible to go beyond the vaguest conjecture. The population of Paris in the middle ages has been estimated with as much diversity as that of London. M. Dulaure, on the basis of the _taille_ in 1313, reckons the inhabitants at 49,110.[466] But he seems to have made unwarrantable assumptions where his data were deficient. M. Guérard, on the other hand (Documens Inédits, 1841), after long calculations, brings the population of the city in 1292 to 215,861. This is certainly very much more than we could assign to London, or probably any European city; and, in fact, his estimate goes on two arbitrary postulates. The extent of Paris in that age, which is tolerably known, must be decisive against so high a population.[467] The Winton Domesday, in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries of London, furnishes some important information as to that city, which, as well as London, does not appear in the great Domesday Book. This record is of the reign of Henry I. Winchester had been, as is well known, the capital of the Anglo-Saxon kings. It has been observed that "the opulence of the inhabitants may possibly be gathered from the frequent recurrence of the trade of goldsmith in it, and the populousness of the town from the enumeration of the streets." (Cooper's Public Records, i. 226.) Of these we find sixteen. "In the petition from the city of Winchester to king Henry VI. in 1450, no less than nine of these streets are mentioned as having been ruined." As York appears to have contained about 10,000 inhabitants under the Confessor, we may probably compute the population of Winchester at nearly twice that number. NOTE VI. Page 32. The Lords' committee extenuate the presumption that either knights or burgesses sat in any of these parliaments. The "cunctarum regni civitatum pariter et burgorum potentiores," mentioned by Wikes in 1269 or 1270, they suppose to have been invited in order to witness the ceremony of translating the body of Edward the Confessor to his tomb newly prepared in Westminster Abbey (p. 161). It is evident, indeed, that this assembly acted afterwards as a parliament in levying money. But the burgesses are not mentioned in this. It cannot, nevertheless, be presumed from the silence of the historian, who had previously informed us of their presence at Westminster, that they took no part. It may be perhaps, more doubtful whether they were chosen by their constituents or merely summoned as "potentiores." The words of the statute of Marlbridge (51 Hen. III.), which are repeated in French by that of Gloucester (6 Edw. I.), do not satisfy the committee that there was any representation either of counties or boroughs. "They rather import a selection by the king of the most discreet men of every degree" (p. 183). And the statutes of 13 Edw. I., referring to this of Gloucester, assert it to have been made by the king, "with prelates, earls, barons, and his council," thus seeming to exclude what would afterwards have been called the lower house. The assembly of 1271, described in the Annals of Waverley, "seems to have been an extraordinary convention, warranted rather by the particular circumstances under which the country was placed than by any constitutional law" (p. 173). It was, however, a case of representation; and following several of the like nature, at least as far as counties were concerned, would render the principle familiar. The committee are even unwilling to admit that "la communauté de la terre illocques summons" in the statute of Westminster I., though expressly distinguished from the prelates, earls, and barons, appeared in consequence of election (p. 173). But, if not elected, we cannot suppose less than that all the tenants in chief, or a large number of them, were summoned; which, after the experience of representation, was hardly a probable course. The Lords' committee, I must still incline to think, have gone too far when they come to the conclusion that, on the whole view of the evidence collected on the subject, from the 49th of Hen. III. to the 18th of Edw. I., there seems strong ground for presuming that, after the 49th of Hen. III., the constitution of the legislative assembly returned generally to its old course; that the writs issued in the 49th of Henry III., being a novelty, were not afterwards precisely followed, as far as appears, in any instance; and that the writs issued in the 11th of Edw. I., "for assembling two conventions, at York and Northampton, of knights, citizens, burgesses, and representatives of towns, without prelates, earls, and barons, were an extraordinary measure, probably adopted for the occasion, and never afterwards followed; and that the writs issued in the 18th of Edw. I., for electing two or three knights for each shire without corresponding writs for election of citizens or burgesses, and not directly founded on or conformable to the writs issued in the 49th of Henry III., were probably adopted for a particular purpose, possibly to sanction one important law [the statute _Quia Emptores_], and because the smaller tenants in chief of the crown rarely attended the ordinary legislative assemblies when summoned, or attended in such small numbers that a representation of them by knights chosen for the whole shire was deemed advisable, to give sanction to a law materially affecting all the tenants in chief, and those holding under them" (p. 204). The election of two or three knights for the parliament of 18th Edw. I., which I have overlooked in my text, appears by an entry on the close roll of that year, directed to the sheriff of Northumberland; and it is proved from the same roll that similar writs were directed to all the sheriffs in England. We do not find that the citizens and burgesses were present in this parliament; and it is reasonably conjectured that, the object of summoning it being to procure a legislative consent to the statute _Quia Emptores_, which put an end to the subinfeudation of lands, the towns were thought to have little interest in the measure. It is, however, another early precedent for county representation; and that of 22nd of Edw. I. (see the writ in Report of Committee, p. 209) is more regular. We do not find that the citizens and burgesses were summoned to either parliament. But, after the 23rd of Edward I., the legislative constitution seems not to have been unquestionably settled, even in the essential point of taxation. The Confirmation of the Charters, in the 25th year of that reign, while it contained a positive declaration that no "aids, tasks, or prises should be levied in future, without assent of the realm," was made in consideration of a grant made by an assembly in which representatives of cities and boroughs do not appear to have been present. Yet, though the words of the charter or statute are prospective, it seems to have long before been reckoned a clear right of the subject, at least by himself, not to be taxed without his consent. A tallage on royal towns and demesnes, nevertheless, was set without authority of parliament four years afterwards. This "seems to show, either that the king's right to tax his demesnes at his pleasure was not intended to be included in the word tallage in that statute [meaning the supposed statute _de tallagio non concedendo_], or that the king acted in contravention of it. But if the king's cities and boroughs were still liable to tallage at the will of the crown, it may not have been deemed inconsistent that they should be required to send representatives for the purpose of granting a general aid to be assessed on the same cities and boroughs, together with the rest of the kingdom, when such general aid was granted, and yet should be liable to be tallaged at the will of the crown when no such general aid was granted" (p. 244). If in these later years of Edward's reign the king could venture on so strong a measure as the imposition of a tallage without consent of those on whom it was levied, it is less surprising that no representatives of the commons appear to have been summoned to one parliament, or perhaps two, in his twenty-seventh year, when some statutes were enacted. But, as this is merely inferred from the want of any extant writ, which is also the case in some parliaments where, from other sources, we can trace the commons to have been present, little stress should be laid upon it. In the remarks which I have offered in these notes on the Report of the Lords' Committee, I have generally abstained from repeating any which Mr. Allen brought forward. But the reader should have recourse to his learned criticism in the Edinburgh Review. It will appear that the committee overlooked not a few important records, both in the reign of Edward I. and that of his son. NOTE VII. Page 35. Two considerable authorities have, since the first publication of this work, placed themselves, one very confidently, one much less so, on the side of our older lawyers and in favour of the antiquity of borough representation. Mr. Allen, who, in his review of my volumes (Edinb. Rev. xxx. 169), observes, as to this point,--"We are inclined, in the main, to agree with Mr. Hallam," lets us know, two or three years afterwards, that the scale was tending the other way, when, in his review of the Report of the Lords' Committee, who give a decided opinion that cities and boroughs were on no occasion called upon to assist at legislative meetings before the forty-ninth of Henry III., and are much disposed to believe that none were originally summoned to parliament, except cities and boroughs of ancient demesne, or in the hands of the king at the time when they received the summons, he says,--"We are inclined to doubt the first of these propositions, and convinced that the latter is entirely erroneous." (Edinb. Rev. xxxv. 30.) He allows, however, that our kings had no motive to summon their cities and boroughs to the legislature, for the purpose of obtaining money, "this being procured through the justices in eyre, or special commissioners; and therefore, if summoned at all, it is probable that the citizens and burgesses were assembled on particular occasions only, when their assistance or authority was wanted to confirm or establish the measures in contemplation by the government." But as he alleges no proof that this was ever done, and merely descants on the importance of London and other cities both before and after the Conquest, and as such an occasional summons to a great council, for the purpose of advice, would by no means involve the necessity of legislative consent, we can hardly reckon this very acute writer among the positive advocates of a high antiquity for the commons in parliament. Sir Francis Palgrave has taken much higher ground, and his theory, in part at least, would have been hailed with applause by the parliaments of Charles I. According to this, we are not to look to feudal principles for our great councils of advice and consent. They were the aggregate of representatives from the courts-leet of each shire and each borough, and elected by the juries to present the grievances of the people and to suggest their remedies. The assembly summoned by William the Conqueror appears to him not only, as it did to lord Hale, "a sufficient parliament," but a regular one; "proposing the law and giving the initiation to the bill which required the king's consent." (Ed. Rev. xxxvi. 327.) "We cannot," he proceeds, "discover any essential difference between the powers of these juries and the share of the legislative authority which was enjoyed by the commons at a period when the constitution assumed a more tangible shape and form." This is supported with that copiousness and variety of illustration which distinguish his theories, even when there hangs over them something not quite satisfactory to a rigorous inquirer, and when their absolute originality on a subject so beaten is of itself reasonably suspicious. Thus we come in a few pages to the conclusion--"Certainly there is no theory so improbable, so irreconcilable to general history or to the peculiar spirit of our constitution, as the opinions which are held by those who deny the substantial antiquity of the house of commons. No paradox is so startling as the assumption that the knights and burgesses who stole into the great council between the close of the reign of John and the beginning of the reign of Edward should convert themselves at once into the third estate of the realm, and stand before the king and his peers in possession of powers and privileges which the original branches of the legislature could neither dispute nor withstand" (p. 332). "It must not be forgotten that the researches of all previous writers have been directed wholly in furtherance of the opinions which have been held respecting the feudal origin of parliament. No one has considered it as a common-law court." I do not know that it is necessary to believe in a properly feudal _origin_ of parliament, or that this hypothesis is generally received. The great council of the Norman kings was, as in common with Sir F. Palgrave and many others I believe, little else than a continuation of the witenagemot, the immemorial organ of the Anglo-Saxon aristocracy in their relation to the king. It might be composed, perhaps, more strictly according to feudal principles; but the royal thanes had always been consenting parties. Of the representation of courts-leet we may require better evidence: aldermen of London, or persons bearing that name, perhaps as landowners rather than citizens (see a former note), may possibly have been occasionally present; but it is remarkable that neither in historians nor records do we find this mentioned; that aldermen, in the municipal sense, are never enumerated among the constituents of a witenagemot or a council, though they must, on the representative theory, have composed a large portion of both. But, waiving this hypothesis, which the author seems not here to insist upon, though he returns to it in the Rise and Progress of the English Commonwealth, why is it "a startling paradox to deny the substantial antiquity of the house of commons"? By this I understand him to mean that representatives from counties and boroughs came regularly, or at least frequently, to the great councils of Saxon and Norman kings. Their indispensable consent in legislation I do not apprehend him to affirm, but rather the reverse:--"The supposition that in any early period the burgesses had a voice in the solemn acts of the legislature is untenable." (Rise and Progress, &c., i. 314.) But they certainly did, at one time or other, obtain this right, "or convert themselves," as he expresses it, "into the third estate of the realm;" so that upon any hypothesis a great constitutional change was wrought in the powers of the commons. The revolutionary character of Montfort's parliament in the 49th of Hen. III. would sufficiently account both for the appearance of representatives from a democracy so favourable to that bold reformer and for the equality of power with which it was probably designed to invest them. But whether in the more peaceable times of Edward I. the citizens or burgesses were recognised as essential parties to every legislative measure, may, as I have shown, be open to much doubt. I cannot upon the whole overcome the argument from the silence of all historians, from the deficiency of all proof as to any presence of citizens and burgesses, in a representative character as a house of commons, before the 49th year of Henry III.; because after this time historians and chroniclers exactly of the same character as the former, or even less copious and valuable, do not omit to mention it. We are accustomed in the sister kingdoms, so to speak, of the continent, founded on the same Teutonic original, to argue against the existence of representative councils, or other institutions, from the same absence of positive testimony. No one believes that the three estates of France were called together before the time of Philip the Fair. No one strains the representation of cities in the cortes of Castile beyond the date at which we discover its existence by testimony. It is true that unreasonable inferences may be made from what is usually called negative evidence; but how readily and how often are we deceived by a reliance on testimony! In many instances the negative conclusion carries with it a conviction equal to a great mass of affirmative proof. And such I reckon the inference from the language of Roger Hoveden, of Matthew Paris, and so many more who speak of councils and parliaments full of prelates and nobles, without a syllable of the burgesses. Either they were absent, or they were too insignificant to be named; and in that case it is hard to perceive any motive for requiring their attendance. NOTE VIII. Page 42. A record, which may be read in Brady's History of England (vol. ii. Append. p. 66) and in Rymer (t. iv. p. 1237), relative to the proceedings on Edward II.'s flight into Wales and subsequent detention, recites that, "the king having left his kingdom without government, and gone away with notorious enemies of the queen, prince, and realm, divers prelates, earls, barons, and knights, then being at Bristol in the presence of the said queen and duke (prince Edward, duke of Cornwall), _by the assent of the whole commonalty of the realm there being_, unanimously elected the said duke to be guardian of the said kingdom; so that the said duke and guardian should rule and govern the said realm in the name and by the authority of the king his father, he being thus absent." But the king being taken and brought back into England, the power thus delegated to the guardian ceased of course; whereupon the bishop of Hereford was sent to press the king to permit that the great seal, which he had with him, the prince having only used his private seal, should be used in all things that required it. Accordingly the king sent the great seal to the queen and prince. The bishop is said to have been thus commissioned to fetch the seal by the prince and queen, and by the said prelates and peers, _with the assent of the said commonalty then being at Hereford_. It is plain that these were mere words of course; for no parliament had been convoked, and no proper representatives could have been either at Bristol or Hereford. However, this is a very curious record, inasmuch as it proves the importance attached to the forms of the constitution at this period. The Lords' committee dwell much on an enactment in the parliament held at York in 15 Edw. II. (1322), which they conceived to be the first express recognition of the constitutional powers of the lower house. It was there enacted that "for ever thereafter all manner of ordinances or provisions made by the subjects of the king or his heirs, by any power or authority whatsoever, concerning the royal power of the king or his heirs, or against the estate of the crown, should be void and of no avail or force whatsoever; but the matters to be established for the estate of the king and of his heirs, and for the estate of the realm and of the people, should be treated, accorded, and established in parliament by the king, and by the assent of the prelates, earls, and barons, and the commonalty of the realm, according as had been before accustomed. This proceeding, therefore, declared the legislative authority to reside only in the king, with the assent of the prelates, earls, and barons, and commons assembled in parliament; and that every legislative act not done by that authority should be deemed void and of no effect. By whatever violence this statute may have been obtained, it declared the constitutional law of the realm on this important subject." (p. 282.) The violence, if resistance to the usurpation of a subject is to be called such, was on the part of the king, who had just sent the earl of Lancaster to the scaffold, and the present enactment was levelled at the ordinances which had been forced upon the crown by his faction. The lords ordainers, nevertheless, had been appointed with consent of the commons, as has been mentioned in the text; so that this provision in 15 Edward II. seems rather to limit than to enhance the supreme power of parliament, if it were meant to prohibit any future enactment of the same kind by its sole authority. But the statute is declaratory in its nature; nor can we any more doubt that the legislative authority was reposed in the king, lords, and commons before this era than that it was so ever afterwards. Unsteady as the constitutional usage had been through the reign of Edward I., and willing as both he and his son may have been to prevent its complete establishment, the necessity of parliamentary consent both for levying money and enacting laws must have become an article of the public creed before his death. If it be true that even after this declaratory statute laws were made without the assent or presence of the commons, as the Lords' committee incline to hold (p. 285, 286, 287), it was undeniably an irregular and unconstitutional proceeding; but this can only show that we ought to be very slow in presuming earlier proceedings of the same nature to have been more conformable to the spirit of the existing constitution. The Lords' committee too often reason from the fact to the right, as well as from the words to the fact; both are fallacious, and betray them into some vacillation and perplexity. They do not, however, question, on the whole, but that a new constitution of the legislative assemblies of the realm had been introduced before the 15th year of Edward II., and that "the practice had prevailed so long before as to give it, in the opinion of the parliament then assembled, the force and effect of a custom, which the parliament declared should thereafter be considered as established law." (p. 293.) This appears to me rather an inadequate exposition of the public spirit, of the tendency towards enlarging the basis of the constitution, to which the "practice and custom" owed its origin; but the positive facts are truly stated. NOTE IX. Page 124. Writs are addressed in 11th of Edw. II. "comitibus, majoribus baronibus, et prælatis," whence the Lords' committee infer that the style used in John's charter was still preserved (Report, p. 277). And though in those times there might be much irregularity in issuing writs of summons, the term "majores barones" must have had an application to definite persons. Of the irregularity we may judge by the fact that under Edward I. about eighty were generally summoned; under his son never so many as fifty, sometimes less than forty, as may be seen in Dugdale's Summonitiones ad Parliamentum. The committee endeavour to draw an inference from this against a subsisting right of tenure. But if it is meant that the king had an acknowledged prerogative of omitting any baron at his discretion, the higher English nobility must have lost its notorious privileges, sanctioned by long usage, by the analogy of all feudal governments, and by the charter of John, which, though not renewed in terms, nor intended to be retained in favour of the lesser barons, or tenants _in capite_, could not, relatively to the rights of the superior order, have been designedly relinquished. The committee wish to get rid of tenure as conferring a right to summons; they also strongly doubt whether the summons conferred an hereditary nobility; but they assert that, in the 15th of Edward III., "those who may have been deemed to have been in the reign of John distinguished as _majores barones_ by the honour of a personal writ of summons, or by the extent and influence of their property, from the other tenants in chief of the crown, were now clearly become, with the earls and the newly created dignity of duke, a distinct body of men denominated peers of the land, and having distinct personal rights; while the other tenants in chief, whatsoever their rights may have been in the reign of John, sunk into the general mass." (p. 314.) The appellation "peers of the land" is said to occur for the first time in 14 Edw. II. (p. 281), and we find them very distinctly in the proceedings against Bereford and others at the beginning of the next reign. They were, of course, entitled to trial by their own order. But whether all laymen summoned by particular writs to parliament were at that time considered as peers, and triable by the rest as such, must be questionable; unless we could assume that the writ of summons already ennobled the blood, which is at least not the opinion of the committee. If, therefore, the writ did not constitute an hereditary peer, nor tenure in chief by barony give a right to sit in parliament, we should have a difficulty in finding any determinate estate of nobility at all, exclusive of earls, who were, at all times and without exception, indisputably noble; an hypothesis manifestly paradoxical, and contradicted by history and law. If it be said that prescription was the only title, this may be so far granted that the _majores barones_ had by prescription, antecedent to any statute or charter, been summoned to parliament: but this prescription would not be broken by the omission, through negligence or policy, of an individual tenant by barony in a few parliaments. The prescription was properly in favour of the class, the _majores barones_ generally, and as to them it was perfect, extending itself in right, if not always in fact, to every one who came within its scope. In the Third Report of the Lords' Committee, apparently drawn by the same hand as the Second, they "conjecture that after the establishment of the commons' house of parliament as a body by election, separate and distinct from the lords, all idea of a right to a writ of summons to parliament by reason of tenure had ceased, and that the dignity of baron, if not conferred by patent, was considered as derived only from the king's writ of summons." (Third Report, p. 226.) Yet they have not only found many cases of persons summoned by writ several times whose descendants have not been summoned, and hesitate even to approve the decision of the house on the Clifton barony in 1673, when it was determined that the claimant's ancestor, by writ of summons and sitting in parliament, was a peer, but doubt whether "even at this day the doctrine of that case ought to be considered as generally applicable, or may be limited by time and circumstances."[468] (p. 33.) It seems, with much deference to more learned investigators, rather improbable that, either before or after the regular admission of the knights and burgesses by representation, and consequently the constitution of a distinct lords' house of parliament, a writ of summons could have been lawfully withheld at the king's pleasure from any one holding such lands by barony as rendered him notoriously one of the _majores barones_. Nor will this be much affected by arguments from the inexpediency or supposed anomaly of permitting the right of sitting as a peer of parliament to be transferred by alienation. The Lords' committee dwell at length upon them. And it is true that, in our original feudal constitution, the fiefs of the crown could not be alienated without its consent. But when this was obtained, when a barony had passed by purchase, it would naturally draw with it, as an incident of tenure, the privilege of being summoned to parliament, or, in language more accustomed in those times, the obligation of doing suit and service to the king in his high court. Nor was the alienee, doubtless, to be taxed without his own consent, any more than another tenant _in capite_. What incongruity, therefore, is there in the supposition that, after tenants in fee simple acquired by statute the power of alienation without previous consent of the crown, the new purchaser stood on the same footing in all other respects as before the statute? It is also much to be observed that the claim to a summons might be gained by some methods of purchase, using that word, of course, in the legal sense. Thus the husbands of heiresses of baronies were frequently summoned, and sat as tenants by courtesy after the wife's death; though it must be owned that the committee doubt, in their Third Report (p. 47), whether tenancy by courtesy of a dignity was ever allowed as a right. Thus, too, every estate created in tail male was a diversion of the inheritance by the owner's sole will from its course according to law. Yet in the case of the barony of Abergavenny, even so late as the reign of James I., the heir male, being in seisin of the lands, was called by writ as baron, to the exclusion of the heir general. Surely this was an authentic recognition, not only of baronial tenure as the foundation of a right to sit in parliament, but of its alienability by the tenant.[469] If it be asked whether the posterity of a baron aliening the lands which gave him a right to be summoned to the king's court would be entitled to the privileges of peerage by nobility of blood, it is true that, according to Collins, whose opinion the committee incline to follow, there are instances of persons in such circumstances being summoned. But this seems not to prove anything to the purpose. The king, no one doubts, from the time of Edward I., used to summon by writ many who had no baronial tenure; and the circumstance of having alienated a barony could not render any one incapable of attending parliament by a different title. It is very hard to determine any question as to times of much irregularity; but it seems that the posterity of one who had parted with his baronial lands would not, in those early times, as a matter of course, remain noble. A right by tenure seems to exclude a right by blood; not necessarily, because two collateral titles may coexist, but in the principle of the constitution. A feudal principle was surely the more ancient; and what could be more alien to this than a baron, a peer, an hereditary counsellor, without a fief? Nobility, that is, gentility of birth, might be testified by a pedigree or a bearing; but a peer was to be in arms for the crown, to grant his own money as well as that of others, to lead his vassals, to advise, to exhort, to restrain the sovereign. The new theory came in by degrees, but in the decay of every feudal idea; it was the substitution of a different pride of aristocracy for that of baronial wealth and power; a pride nourished by heralds, more peaceable, more indolent, more accommodated to the rules of fixed law and vigorous monarchy. It is difficult to trace the progress of this theory, which rested on nobility of blood, but yet so remarkably modified by the original principle of tenure, that the privileges of this nobility were ever confined to the actual possessor, and did not take his kindred out of the class of commoners. This sufficiently demonstrates that the phrase is, so to say, catachrestic, not used in a proper sense; inasmuch as the actual seisin of the peerage as an hereditament, whether by writ or by patent, is as much requisite at present for nobility, as the seisin of an estate by barony was in the reign of Henry III. Tenure by barony appears to have been recognised by the house of lords in the reign of Henry VI., when the earldom of Arundel was claimed as annexed to the "castle, honour, and lordship aforesaid." The Lords' committee have elaborately disproved the allegations of descent and tenure, on which this claim was allowed. (Second Report, p. 406-426.) But all with which we are concerned is the decision of the crown and of the house in the 11th year of Henry VI., whether it were right or wrong as to the particular facts of the case. And here we find that the king, by the advice and assent of the lords, "considering that Richard Fitzalan, &c., was seised of the castle, honour, and lordship in fee, and by reason of his possession thereof, without any other reason or creation, was earl of Arundel, and held the name, style, and honour of earl of Arundel, and the place and seat of earl of Arundel in parliament and councils of the king," &c., admits him to the same seat and place as his ancestors, earls of Arundel, had held. This was long afterwards confirmed by act of parliament (3 Car. I.), reciting the dignity of earl of Arundel to be real and local, &c., and settling the title on certain persons in tail, with provisions against alienation of the castle and honour. This appears to establish a tenure by barony in Arundel, as a recent determination had done in Abergavenny. Arundel was a very peculiar instance of an earldom by tenure. For we cannot doubt that all earls were peers of parliament by virtue of that rank, though, in fact, all held extensive lands of the crown. But in 1669 a new doctrine, which probably had long been floating among lawyers and in the house of lords, was laid down by the king in council on a claim to the title of Fitzwalter. The nature of a barony by tenure having been discussed, it was found "to have been discontinued for many ages, and not in being" (a proposition not very tenable, if we look at the Abergavenny case, even setting aside that of Arundel as peculiar in its character, and as settled by statute); "and so not fit to be received, or to admit any pretence of right to succession thereto." It is fair to observe that some eminent judges were present on this occasion. The committee justly say that "this decision" (which, after all, was not in the house of lords) "may perhaps be considered as amounting to a solemn opinion that, although in early times the right to a writ of summons to parliament as a baron may have been founded on tenure, a contrary practice had prevailed for ages, and that, therefore, it was not to be taken as then forming part of the constitutional law of the land." (p. 446.) Thus ended barony by tenure. The final decision, for such it has been considered, and recent attempts to revive the ancient doctrine have been defeated, has prevented many tedious investigations of claims to baronial descent, and of alienations in times long past. For it could not be pretended that every fraction of a barony gave a right to summons; and, on the other hand, alienations of parcels, and descents to coparceners, must have been common, and sometimes difficult to disprove. It was held, indeed, by some, that the _caput baroniæ_, or principal lordship, contained, as it were, the vital principle of the peerage, and that its owner was the true baron; but this assumption seems uncertain. It is not very easy to reconcile this peremptory denial of peerage by tenure with the proviso in the recent statute taking away tenure by knight-service, and, inasmuch as it converts all tenure into socage, that also by barony, "that this act shall not infringe or hurt any title of honour, feudal or other, by which any person hath or may have right to sit in the lords' house of parliament, as to his or their title of honour, or sitting in parliament, and the privilege belonging to them as peers." (Stat. 12 Car. II. c. 24, s. 11.) Surely this clause was designed to preserve the incident to baronial tenure, the privilege of being summoned to parliament, while it destroyed its original root, the tenure itself. The privy council, in their decision on the Fitzwalter claim, did not allude to this statute, probably on account of the above proviso, and seem to argue that, if tenure by barony was no longer in being, the privilege attached to it must have been extinguished also. It is, however, observable that tenure by barony is not taken away by the statute, except by implication. No act indeed can be more loosely drawn than this, which was to change essentially the condition of landed property throughout the kingdom. It literally abolishes all tenure _in capite_; though this is the basis of the crown's right to escheat, and though lands in common socage, which the act with a strange confusion opposes to socage _in capite_, were as much holden of the king or other lord as those by knight-service. Whether it was intended by the silence about tenure by barony to pass it over as obsolete, or this arose from negligence alone, it cannot be doubted that the proviso preserving the right of sitting in parliament by a feudal honour was introduced in order to save that privilege, as well for Arundel and Abergavenny as for any other that might be entitled to it.[470] NOTE X. Page 142. The equitable jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery has been lately traced, in some respects, though not for the special purpose mentioned in the text, higher than the reign of Richard II. This great minister of the crown, as he was at least from the time of the Conquest,[471] always till the reign of Edward III. an ecclesiastic of high dignity, and honourably distinguished as the keeper of the king's conscience, was peculiarly intrusted with the duty of redressing the grievances of the subject, both when they sprung from misconduct of the government, through its subordinate officers, and when the injury had been inflicted by powerful oppressors. He seems generally to have been the chief or president of the council, when it exerted that jurisdiction which we have been sketching in the text, and which will be the subject of another note. But he is more prominent when presiding in a separate tribunal as a single judge. The Court of Chancery is not distinctly to be traced under Henry III. For a passage in Matthew Paris, who says of Radulfus de Nevil--"Erat regis fidelissimus cancellarius, et inconcussa columna veritatis, singulis sua jura, præcipue pauperibus, justè reddens et indilatè," may be construed of his judicial conduct in the council. This province naturally, however, led to a separation of the two powers. And in the reign of Edward I. we find the king sending certain of the petitions addressed to him, praying extraordinary remedies, to the chancellor and master of the rolls, or to either separately, by writ under the privy seal, which was the usual mode by which the king delegated the exercise of his prerogative to his council, directing them to give such remedy as should appear to be consonant to honesty (or equity, _honestati_). "There is reason to believe," says Mr. Spence (Equitable Jurisdiction, p. 335), "that this was not a novelty." But I do not know upon what grounds this is believed. Writs, both those of course and others, issued from Chancery in the same reign. (Palgrave's Essay on King's Council, p. 15.) Lord Campbell has given a few specimens of petitions to the council, and answers endorsed upon them, in the reign of Edward I., communicated to him by Mr. Hardy from the records of the Tower. In all these the petitions are referred to the chancellor for justice. The entry, at least as given by lord Campbell, is commonly so short that we cannot always determine whether the petition was on account of wrongs by the crown or others. The following is rather more clear than the rest:--"18 Edw. I. The king's tenants of Aulton complain that Adam Gordon ejected them from their pasture, contrary to the tenor of the king's writ. Resp. Veniant partes coram cancellario, et ostendat ei Adam quare ipsos ejecit, et fiat iis justitia." Another is a petition concerning concealment of dower, for which, perhaps, there was no legal remedy. In the reign of Edward II. the peculiar jurisdiction of the chancellor was still more distinctly marked. "From petitions and answers lately discovered, it appears that during this reign the jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery was considerably extended, as the 'consuetudo cancellariæ' is often familiarly mentioned. We find petitions referred to the chancellor in his court, either separately, or in conjunction with the king's justices, or the king's serjeants; on disputes respecting the wardship of infants, partition, dower, rent-charges, tithes, and goods of felons. The chancellor was in full possession of his jurisdiction over charities, and he superintended the conduct of coroners. Mere wrongs, such as malicious prosecutions and trespasses to personal property, are sometimes the subject of proceedings before him; but I apprehend that those were cases where, from powerful combinations and confederacies, redress could not be obtained in the courts of common law." (Lives of Chanc. vol. i. p. 204.) Lord Campbell, still with materials furnished by Mr. Hardy, has given not less than thirty-eight entries during the reign of Edward II., where the petition, though sometimes directed to the council, is referred to the chancellor for determination. One only of these, so far as we can judge from their very brief expression, implies anything of an equitable jurisdiction. It is again a case of dower, and the claimant is remitted to the Chancery; "et fiat sibi ibidem justitia, quia non potest juvari per communem legem per breve de dote." This case is in the Rolls of Parliament (i. 340), and had been previously mentioned by Mr. Bruce in a learned memoir on the Court of Star-Chamber. (Archæologia, xxv. 345.) It is difficult to say whether this fell within the modern rules of equity, but the general principle is evidently the same. Another petition is from the commonalty of Suffolk to the council, complaining of false indictments and presentments in courts-leet. It is answered--"Si quis sequi voluerit adversus falsos indicatores et procuratores de falsis indictamentis, sequatur in Cancell. et habebit remedium consequens." Several other entries in this list are illustrative of the jurisdiction appertaining, in fact at least, to the council and the chancellor; and being of so early a reign form a valuable accession to those which later records have furnished to Sir Matthew Hale and others. The Court of Chancery began to decide causes as a court of equity, according to Mr. Hardy, in the reign of Edward III., probably about 22 Edw. III. (Introduction to Close Rolls, p. 28.) Lord Campbell would carry this jurisdiction higher, and the instances already mentioned may be sufficient just to prove that it had begun to exist. It certainly seems no unnatural supposition that the great principle of doing justice, by which the council and the chancellor professed to guide their exercise of judicature, may have led them to grant relief in some of those numerous instances where the common law was defective or its rules too technical and unbending. But, as has been observed, the actual entries, as far as quoted, do not afford many precedents of equity. Mr. Hardy, indeed, suggests (p. 25) that the _Curia Regis_ in the Norman period proceeded on equitable principles; and that this led to the removal of plaints into it from the county-court. This is, perhaps, not what we should naturally presume. The subtle and technical spirit of the Norman lawyers is precisely that which leads, in legal procedure, to definite and unbending rules; while in the lower courts, where Anglo-Saxon thanes had ever judged by the broad rules of justice, according to the circumstances of the case, rather than a strict line of law which did not yet exist, we might expect to find all the uncertainty and inconsistency which belongs to a system of equity, until, as in England, it has acquired by length of time the uniformity of law, but none at least of the technicality so characteristic of our Norman common law, and by which the great object of judicial proceedings was so continually defeated. This, therefore, does not seem to me a probable cause of the removal of suits from the county-court or court-baron to those of Westminster. The true reason, as I have observed in another place, was the partiality of these local tribunals. And the expense of trying a suit before the justices in eyre might not be very much greater than in the county-court. I conceive, therefore, that the three supreme courts at Westminster proceeded upon those rules of strict law which they had chiefly themselves established; and this from the date of their separation from the original _Curia Regis_. But whether the king's council may have given more extensive remedies than the common law afforded, as early at least as the reign of Henry III., is what we are not competent, apparently, to affirm or deny. We are at present only concerned with the Court of Chancery. And it will be interesting to quote the deliberate opinion of a late distinguished writer, who has taken a different view of the subject from any of his predecessors. "After much deliberation," says Lord Campbell, "I must express my clear conviction that the chancellor's equitable jurisdiction is as indubitable and as ancient as his common-law jurisdiction, and that it may be traced in a manner equally satisfactory. The silence of Bracton, Glanvil, Fleta, and other early juridical writers, has been strongly relied upon to disprove the equitable jurisdiction of the chancellor; but they as little notice his common-law jurisdiction, most of them writing during the subsistence of the _Aula Regia_; and they all speak of the Chancery, not as a court, but merely as an office for the making and sealing of writs. There are no very early decisions of the chancellors on points of law any more than of equity, to be found in the Year-books or old abridgments.... By 'equitable jurisdiction' must be understood the extraordinary interference of the chancellor, without common-law process or regard to the common-law rules of proceeding, upon the petition of a party grieved who was without adequate remedy in a court of common law; whereupon the opposite party was compelled to appear and to be examined, either personally or upon written interrogatories: and evidence being heard on both sides, without the interposition of a jury, an order was made _secundum æquum et bonum_, which was enforced by imprisonment. Such a jurisdiction had belonged to the Aula Regia, and was long exercised by parliament; and, when parliament was not sitting, by the king's ordinary council. Upon the dissolution of the _Aula Regia_ many petitions, which parliament or the council could not conveniently dispose of, were referred to the chancellor, sometimes with and sometimes without assessors. To avoid the circuity of applying to parliament or the council, the petition was very soon, in many instances, addressed originally to the chancellor himself." (Lives of Chancellors, i. 7.) In the latter part of Edward III.'s long reign this equitable jurisdiction had become, it is likely, of such frequent exercise, that we may consider the following brief summary by Lord Campbell as probable by analogy and substantially true, if not sustained in all respects by the evidence that has yet been brought to light:--"The jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery was now established in all matters where its own officers were concerned, in petitions of right where an injury was alleged to be done to a subject by the king or his officers in relieving against judgments in courts of law (lord C. gives two instances), and generally in cases of fraud, accident, and trust." (p. 291.) In the reign of Richard II. the writ of _subpoena_ was invented by John de Waltham, master of the rolls; and to this a great importance seems to have been attached at the time, as we may perceive by the frequent complaints of the commons in parliament, and by the traditionary abhorrence in which the name of the inventor was held. "In reality," says lord Campbell, "he first framed it in its present form when a clerk in Chancery in the latter end of the reign of Edward III.; but the invention consisted in merely adding to the old clause, _Quibusdam certis de causis, the words 'Et hoc sub poena centum librarum nullatenus omittas_;' and I am at a loss to conceive how such importance was attached to it, or how it was supposed to have brought about so complete a revolution in equitable proceedings, for the penalty was never enforced; and if the party failed to appear, his default was treated, according to the practice prevailing in our own time, as a contempt of court, and made the foundation of compulsory process." (p. 296.) The commons in parliament, whose sensitiveness to public grievances was by no means accompanied by an equal sagacity in devising remedies, had, probably without intention, vastly enhanced the power of the chancellor by a clause in a remedial act passed in the thirty-sixth year of Edward III., that, "If any man that feeleth himself aggrieved contrary to any of the articles above written, or others contained in divers statutes, will come into the Chancery, or any for him, and thereof make his complaint, he shall presently there have remedy by force of the said articles or statutes, without elsewhere pursuing to have remedy." Yet nothing could be more obvious than that the breach of any statute was cognizable before the courts of law. And the mischief of permitting men to be sued vexatiously before the chancellor becoming felt, a statute was enacted, thirty years indeed after this time (17 Ric. II. c. 6), analogous altogether to those in the late reign respecting the jurisdiction of the council, which, reciting that "people be compelled to come before the king's council, or in the Chancery, by writs grounded on untrue suggestions," provides that "the chancellor for the time being, presently after that such suggestions be duly found and proved untrue, shall have power to ordain and award damages, according to his discretion, to him which is so troubled unduly as aforesaid." "This remedy," lord Campbell justly remarks, "which was referred to the discretion of the chancellor himself, whose jurisdiction was to be controlled, proved, as might be expected, wholly ineffectual; but it was used as a parliamentary recognition of his jurisdiction, and a pretence for refusing to establish any other check on it." (p. 247.) A few years before this statute the commons had petitioned (13 Ric. II., Rot. Parl. iii. 269) that the chancellor might make no order against the common law, and that no one should appear before the chancellor where remedy was given by the common law. "This carries with it an admission," as lord C. observes, "that a power of jurisdiction did reside in the chancellor, so long as he did not determine against the common law, nor interfere where the common law furnished a remedy. The king's answer, 'that it should continue as the usage had been heretofore,' clearly demonstrates that such an authority, restrained within due bounds, was recognised by the constitution of the country." (p. 305.) The act of 17 Ric. II. seems to have produced a greater regularity in the proceedings of the court, and put an end to such hasty interference, on perhaps verbal suggestions, as had given rise to this remedial provision. From the very year in which the statute was enacted we find bills in Chancery, and the answers to them, regularly filed; the grounds of demanding relief appear, and the chancellor renders himself in every instance responsible for the orders he has issued, by thus showing that they came within his jurisdiction. There are certainly many among the earlier bills in Chancery, which, according to the statute law and the great principle that they were determinable in other courts, could not have been heard; but we are unable to pronounce how far the allegation usually contained or implied, that justice could not be had elsewhere, was founded on the real circumstances. A calendar of these early proceedings (in abstract) is printed in the Introduction to the first volume of the Calendar of Chancery Proceedings in the Reign of Elizabeth, and may also be found in Cooper's Public Records, i. 356. The struggle, however, in behalf of the common law was not at an end. It is more than probable that the petitions against encroachments of Chancery, which fill the rolls under Henry IV., Henry V., and in the minority of Henry VI., emanated from that numerous and jealous body whose interests as well as prejudices were so deeply affected. Certain it is that the commons, though now acknowledging an equitable jurisdiction, or rather one more extensive than is understood by the word "equitable," in the greatest judicial officer of the crown, did not cease to remonstrate against his transgression of these boundaries. They succeeded so far, in 1436, as to obtain a statute (15 Hen. VI. c. 4) in these words:--"For that divers persons have before this time been greatly vexed and grieved by writs of _subpoena_, purchased for matters determinable by the common law of this land, to the great damage of such persons so vexed, in suspension and impediment of the common law as aforesaid; Our lord the king doth command that the statutes thereof made shall be duly observed, according to the form and effect of the same, and that no writ of _subpoena_ be granted from henceforth until surety be found to satisfy the party so grieved and vexed for his damages and expenses, if so be that the matter cannot be made good which is contained in the bill." It was the intention of the commons, as appears by the preamble of this statute, and more fully by their petition in Rot. Parl. (iv. 101), that the matters contained in the bill on which the _subpoena_ was issued should be not only true in themselves, but such as could not be determined at common law. But the king's answer appears rather equivocal. The principle seems nevertheless to have been generally established, about the reign of Henry VI., that the Court of Chancery exercises merely a remedial jurisdiction, not indeed controllable by courts of law, unless possibly in such circumstances as cannot be expected, but bound by its general responsibility to preserve the limits which ancient usage and innumerable precedents have imposed. It was at the end of this reign, and not in that of Richard II., according to the writer so often quoted, that the great enhancement of the chancellor's authority, by bringing feoffments to uses within it, opened a new era in the history of our law. And this the judges brought on themselves by their narrow adherence to technical notions. They now began to discover this; and those of Edward IV., as lord Campbell well says, were "very bold men," having repealed the statute _de donis_ by their own authority in Taltarum's case--a stretch of judicial power beyond any that the Court of Chancery had ventured upon. They were also exceedingly jealous of that court; and in one case, reported in the Year-books (22 Edw. IV. 37), advised a party to disobey an injunction from the Court of Chancery, telling him that, if the chancellor committed him to the Fleet, they would discharge the prisoner by _habeas corpus_. (Lord Campbell, p. 394.) The case seems to have been one where, in modern times, no injunction would have been granted, the courts of law being competent to apply a remedy. NOTE XI. Page 145. This intricate subject has been illustrated, since the first publication of these volumes, in an Essay upon the original Authority of the King's Council, by Sir Francis Palgrave (1834), written with remarkable perspicuity and freedom from diffusiveness. But I do not yet assent to the judgment of the author as to the legality of proceedings before the council, which I have represented as unconstitutional, and which certainly it was the object of parliament to restrain. "It seems," he says, "that in the reign of Henry III. the council was considered as a court of peers within the terms of Magna Charta; and before which, as a court of original jurisdiction, the rights of tenants holding _in capite_ or by barony were to be discussed and decided, and it unquestionably exercised a direct jurisdiction over all the king's subjects" (p. 34). The first volume of Close Rolls, published by Mr. Hardy since Sir F. Palgrave's Essay, contains no instances of jurisdiction exercised by the council in the reign of John. But they begin immediately afterwards, in the minority of Henry III.; so that we have not only the fullest evidence that the council took on itself a coercive jurisdiction in matters of law at that time, but that it had not done so before: for the Close Rolls of John are so full as to render the negative argument satisfactory. It will, of course, be understood that I take the facts on the authority of Mr. Hardy (Introduction to Close Rolls, vol. ii.), whose diligence and accuracy are indisputable. Thus this exercise of judicial power began immediately after the Great Charter. And yet, if it is to be reconciled with the twenty-ninth section, it is difficult to perceive in what manner that celebrated provision for personal liberty against the crown, which has always been accounted the most precious jewel in the whole coronet, the most valuable stipulation made at Runnymede, and the most enduring to later times, could merit the fondness with which it has been regarded. "Non super eum ibimus, nec super eum mittemus, nisi per legale judicium parium suorum, vel per legem terræ." If it is alleged that the jurisdiction of the king's council was the law of the land, the whole security falls to the ground and leaves the grievance as it stood, unredressed. Could the judgment of the council have been reckoned, as Sir P. Palgrave supposes, a "judicium parium suorum," except perhaps in the case of tenants in chief? The word is commonly understood of that trial _per pais_ which, in one form or another, is of immemorial antiquity in our social institutions. "Though this jurisdiction," he proceeds, "was more frequently called into action when parliament was sitting, still it was no less inherent in the council at all other times; and until the middle of the reign of Edward III. no exception had ever been taken to the form of its proceedings." He subjoins indeed in a note, "Unless the statute of 5 Edw. III. c. 9, may be considered as an earlier testimony against the authority of the council. This, however, is by no means clear, and there is no corresponding petition in the parliament roll from which any further information could be obtained" (p. 34). The irresistible conclusion from this passage is, that we have been wholly mistaken in supposing the commons under Edward III. and his successors to have resisted an illegal encroachment of power in the king's ordinary council, while it had in truth been exercising an ancient jurisdiction, never restrained by law and never complained of by the subject. This would reverse our constitutional theory to no small degree, and affect so much the spirit of my own pages, that I cannot suffer it to pass, coming on an authority so respectable, without some comment. But why is it asserted that this jurisdiction was inherent in the council? Why are we to interpret Magna Charta otherwise than according to the natural meaning of the words and the concurrent voice of parliament? The silence of the commons in parliament under Edward II. as to this grievance will hardly prove that it was not felt, when we consider how few petitions of a public nature, during that reign, are on the rolls. But it may be admitted that they were not so strenuous in demanding redress, because they were of comparatively recent origin as an estate of parliament, as they became in the next long reign, the most important, perhaps, in our early constitutional history. It is doubted by Sir F. Palgrave whether the statute of 5 Edw. III. c. 9, can be considered as a testimony against the authority of the council. It is, however, very natural so to interpret it, when we look at the subsequent statutes and petitions of the commons, directed for more than a century to the same object. "No man shall be taken," says lord Coke (2 Inst. 46), "that is, restrained of liberty, by petition or suggestion to the king or to his council, unless it be by indictment or presentment of good and lawful men, where such deeds be done. This branch and divers other parts of this act have been wholly explained by divers acts of parliament, &c., quoted in the margent." He then gives the titles of six statutes, the first being this of 5 Edw. III. c. 9. But let us suppose that the petition of the commons in 25 Edw. III. demanded an innovation in law, as it certainly did in long-established usage. And let us admit what is justly pointed out by Sir F. Palgrave, that the king's first answer to their petition is not commensurate to its request, and reserves, though it is not quite easy to see what, some part of its extraordinary jurisdiction.[472] Still the statute itself, enacted on a similar petition in a subsequent parliament, is explicit that "none shall be taken by petition or suggestion to the king or his council, unless it be by indictment or presentment" (in a criminal charge), "or by writ original at the common law" (in a civil suit), "nor shall be put out of his franchise of freehold, unless he have been duly put to answer, and forejudged of the same by due course of law." Lord Hale has quoted a remarkable passage from a Year-book, not long after these statutes of 25 Edw. III. and 28 Edw. III., which, if Sir F. Palgrave had not overlooked, he would have found not very favourable to his high notions of the king's prerogative in council. "In after ages," says Hale, "the constant opinion and practice was to disallow any reversals of judgment by the council, which appears by the notable case in Year-book, 39 Edw. III. 14." (Jurisdiction of Lords' House, p. 41.) It is indeed a notable case, wherein the chancellor before the council reverses a judgment of a court of law. "Mes les justices ne pristoient nul regard al reverser devant le council, par ceo que ce ne fust place ou jugement purroit estre reverse." If the council could not exercise this jurisdiction on appeal, which is not perhaps expressly taken away by any statute, much less against the language of so many statutes could they lawfully entertain any original suit. Such, however, were the vacillations of a motley assembly, so steady the perseverance of government in retaining its power, so indefinite the limits of ancient usage, so loose the phrases of remedial statutes, passing sometimes by their generality the intentions of those who enacted them, so useful, we may add, and almost indispensable, was a portion of those prerogatives which the crown exercised through the council and chancery, that we find soon afterwards a statute (37 Edw. III. c. 18), which recognises in some measure those irregular proceedings before the council, by providing only that those who make suggestions to the chancellor and great council, by which men are put in danger against the form of the charter, shall give security for proving them. This is rendered more remedial by another act next year (38 Edw. III. c. 9), which, however, leaves the liberty of making such suggestions untouched. The truth is, that the act of 25 Edw. III. went to annihilate the legal and equitable jurisdiction of the Court of Chancery--the former of which had been long exercised, and the latter was beginning to spring up. But the 42 Edw. III. c. 3, which seems to go as far as the former in the enacting words, will be found, according to the preamble, to regard only criminal charges. Sir Francis Palgrave maintains that the council never intermitted its authority, but on the contrary "it continually assumed more consistency and order. It is probable that the long absences of Henry V. from England invested this body with a greater degree of importance. After every minority and after every appointment of a select or extraordinary council by authority of the legislature, we find that the ordinary council acquired a fresh impulse and further powers. Hence the next reign constitutes a new era" (p. 80). He proceeds to give the same passage which I have quoted from Rot. Parl. 8 Hen. VI., vol. v. p. 343, as well as one in an earlier parliament (2 Hen. VI. p. 28). But I had neglected to state the whole case where I mention the articles settled in parliament for the regulation of the council. In the first place, this was not the king's ordinary council, but one specially appointed by the lords in parliament for the government of the realm during his minority. They consisted of certain lords spiritual and temporal, the chancellor, the treasurer, and a few commoners. These commissioners delivered a schedule of provisions "for the good and the governance of the land, which the lords that be of the king's council desireth" (p. 28). It does not explicitly appear that the commons assented to these provisions; but it may be presumed, at least in a legal sense, by their being present and by the schedule being delivered into parliament, "baillez en meme le parlement." But in the 8 Hen. VI., where the same provision as to the jurisdiction of this extraordinary council is repeated, the articles are said, after being approved by the lords spiritual and temporal, to have been read "coram domino rege in eodem parliamento, in presentia trium regni statuum" (p. 343). It is always held that what is expressly declared to be done in presence of all the estates is an act of parliament. We find, therefore, a recognition of the principle which had always been alleged in defence of the ordinary council in this parliamentary confirmation--the principle that breaches of the law, which the law could not, through the weakness of its ministers, or corruption, or partiality, sufficiently repress, must be reserved for the strong arm of royal authority. "Thus," says Sir Francis Palgrave, "did the council settle and define its principles and practice. A new tribunal was erected, and one which obtained a virtual supremacy over the common law. The exception reserved to their 'discretion' of interfering wherever their lordships felt too much might on one side, and too much unmight on the other, was of itself sufficient to embrace almost every dispute or trial" (p. 81). But, in the first place, this latitude of construction was not by any means what the parliament meant to allow, nor could it be taken, except by wilfully usurping powers never imparted; and, secondly, it was not the ordinary council which was thus constituted during the king's minority; nor did the jurisdiction intrusted to persons so specially named in parliament extend to the regular officers of the crown. The restraining statutes were suspended for a time in favour of a new tribunal. But I have already observed that there was always a class of cases precisely of the same kind as those mentioned in the act creating this tribunal, tacitly excluded from the operation of those statutes, wherein the coercive jurisdiction of the king's ordinary council had great convenience, namely, where the course of justice was obstructed by riots, combinations of maintenance, or overawing influence. And there is no doubt that, down to the final abolition of the Court of Star Chamber (which was no other than the _consilium ordinarium_ under a different name), these offences were cognizable in it, without the regular forms of the common law.[473] "From the reign of Edward IV. we do not trace any further opposition to the authority either of the chancery or of the council. These courts had become engrafted on the constitution; and if they excited fear or jealousy, there was no one who dared to complain. Yet additional parliamentary sanction was not considered as unnecessary by Henry VII., and in the third year of his reign an act was passed for giving the Court of Star Chamber, which had now acquired its determinate name, further authority to punish divers misdemeanours." (Palgrave, p. 97.) It is really more than we can grant that the jurisdiction of the _consilium ordinarium_ had been engrafted on the constitution, when the statute-book was full of laws to restrain, if not to abrogate it. The acts already mentioned, in the reign of Henry VI., by granting a temporary and limited jurisdiction to the council, demonstrate that its general exercise was not acknowledged by parliament. We can only say that it may have continued without remonstrance in the reign of Edward IV. I have observed in the text that the Rolls of Parliament under Edward IV. contain no complaints of grievances. But it is not quite manifest that the council did exercise in that reign as much jurisdiction as it had once done. Lord Hale tells us that "this jurisdiction was gradually brought into great disuse, though there remain some straggling footsteps of their proceedings till near 3 Hen. VII." (Hist. of Lords' Jurisdiction, p. 38.) And the famous statute in that year, which erected a new court, sometimes improperly called the Court of Star Chamber, seems to have been prompted by a desire to restore, in a new and more legal form, a jurisdiction which was become almost obsolete, and, being in contradiction to acts of parliament, could not well be rendered effective without one.[474] We cannot but discover, throughout the learned and luminous Essay on the Authority of the King's Council, a strong tendency to represent its exercise as both constitutional and salutary. The former epithet cannot, I think, be possibly applicable in the face of statute law; for what else determines our constitution? But it is a problem with some, whether the powers actually exerted by this anomalous court, admitting them to have been, at least latterly, in contravention of many statutes, may not have been rendered necessary by the disorderly condition of society and the comparative impotence of the common law. This cannot easily be solved with the defective knowledge that we possess. Sometimes, no doubt, the "might on one side, and unmight on the other," as the answer to a petition forcibly expresses it, afforded a justification which, practically at least, the commons themselves were content to allow. But were these exceptional instances so frequent as not to leave a much greater number wherein the legal remedy by suit before the king's justices of assise might have been perfectly effectual? For we are not concerned with the old county-courts, which were perhaps tumultuary and partial enough, but with the regular administration, civil and criminal, before the king's justices of oyer and terminer and of gaol delivery. Had not they, generally speaking, in the reign of Edward III. and his successors, such means of enforcing the execution of law as left no sufficient pretext for recurring to an arbitrary tribunal? Liberty, we should remember, may require the sacrifice of some degree of security against private wrong, which a despotic government, with an unlimited power of restraint, can alone supply. If no one were permitted to travel on the high road without a licence, or, as now so usual, without a passport, if no one could keep arms without a registry, if every one might be indefinitely detained on suspicion, the evil doers of society would be materially impeded, but at the expense, to a certain degree, of every man's freedom and enjoyment. Freedom being but a means to the greatest good, times might arise when it must yield to the security of still higher blessings; but the immediate question is, whether such were the state of society in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Now, that it was lawless and insecure, comparatively with our own times or the times of our fathers, is hardly to be disputed. But if it required that arbitrary government which the king's council were anxious to maintain, the representatives of the commons in parliament, knights and burgesses, not above the law, and much interested in the conservation of property, must have complained very unreasonably for more than a hundred years. They were apparently as well able to judge as our writers can be; and if they reckoned a trial by jury at _nisi prius_ more likely, on the whole, to insure a just adjudication of a civil suit, than one before the great officers of state and other constituent members of the ordinary council, it does not seem clear to me that we have a right to assert the contrary. This mode of trial by jury, as has been seen in another place, had acquired, by the beginning of the fifteenth century, its present form; and considering the great authority of the judges of assise, it may not, probably, have given very frequent occasion for complaint of partiality or corrupt influence. NOTE XII. Page 156. The learned author of the Inquiry into the Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative in England has founded his historical theory on the confusion which he supposes to have grown up between the ideal king of the constitution and the personal king on the throne. By the former he means the personification of abstract principles, sovereign power, and absolute justice, which the law attributes to the _genus_ king, but which flattery or other motives have transferred to the possessor of the crown for the time being, and have thus changed the Teutonic _cyning_, the first man of the commonwealth, the man of the highest weregild, the man who was so much responsible that he might be sued for damages in his own courts or deposed for misgovernment, into the sole irresponsible person of indefeasible prerogatives, of attributes almost divine, whom Bracton and a long series of subsequent lawyers raised up to a height far beyond the theory of our early constitution. This is supported with great acuteness and learning; nor is it possible to deny that the king of England, as the law-books represent him, is considerably different from what we generally conceive an ancient German chieftain to have been. Yet I doubt whether Mr. Allen has not laid too much stress on this, and given to the fictions of law a greater influence than they possessed in those times to which his inquiry relates; and whether, also, what he calls the monarchical theory was so much derived from foreign sources as he apprehends. We have no occasion to seek, in the systems of civilians or the dogmas of churchmen, what arose from a deep-seated principle of human nature. A king is a person; to persons alone we attach the attributes of power and wisdom; on persons we bestow our affection or our ill-will. An abstraction, a politic idea of royalty, is convenient for lawyers; it suits the speculative reasoner, but it never can become so familiar to a people, especially one too rude to have listened to such reasoners, as the simple image of the king, the one man whom we are to love and to fear. The other idea is a sort of monarchical pantheism, of which the vanishing point is a republic. And to this the prevalent theory, that kings are to reign but not to govern, cannot but lead. It is a plausible, and in the main, perhaps, for the times we have reached, a necessary theory; but it renders monarchy ultimately scarcely possible. And it was neither the sentiment of the Anglo-Saxons, nor of the Norman baronage; the feudal relation was essentially and exclusively personal; and if we had not enough, in a more universal feeling of human nature, to account for loyalty, we could not mistake its inevitable connexion with the fealty and homage of the vassal. The influence of Roman notions was not inconsiderable upon the continent; but they never prevailed very much here; and though, after the close alliance between the church and state established by the Reformation, the whole weight of the former was thrown into the scale of the crown, the mediæval clergy, as I have observed in the text, were anything rather than upholders of despotic power. It may be very true that, by considering the monarchy as a merely political institution, the scheme of prudent men to avoid confusion, and confer the _minimum_ of personal authority on the reigning prince, the principle of his irresponsibility seems to be better maintained. But the question to which we are turning our eyes is not a political one; it relates to the positive law and positive sentiments of the English nation in the mediæval period. And here I cannot put a few necessary fictions grown up in the courts, such as, the king never dies, the king can do no wrong, the king is everywhere, against the tenor of our constitutional language, which implies an actual and active personality. Mr. Allen acknowledges that the act against the Despensers under Edward II., and re-confirmed after its repeal, for promulgating the doctrine that allegiance had more regard to the crown than to the person of the king, "seems to establish, as the deliberate opinion of the legislature, that allegiance is due to the person of the king generally, and not merely to his crown or politic capacity, so as to be released and destroyed by his misgovernment of the kingdom" (p. 14); which, he adds, is not easily reconcilable with the deposition of Richard II. But that was accomplished by force, with whatever formalities it may have been thought expedient to surround it. We cannot, however, infer from the declaration of the legislature, that allegiance is due to the king's person and not to his politic capacity, any such consequence as that it is not, in any possible case, to be released by his misgovernment. This was surely not in the spirit of any parliament under Edward II. or Edward III.; and it is precisely because allegiance is due to the person, that, upon either feudal or natural principles, it might be cancelled by personal misconduct. A contrary language was undoubtedly held under the Stuarts; but it was not that of the mediæval period. The tenet of our law, that all the soil belongs theoretically to the king, is undoubtedly an enormous fiction, and very repugnant to the barbaric theory preserved by the Saxons, that all unappropriated land belonged to the folk, and was unalienable without its consent.[475] It was, however, but an extension of the feudal tenure to the whole kingdom, and rested on the personality of feudal homage. William established it more by his power than by any theory of lawyers; though doubtless his successors often found lawyers as ready to shape the acts of power into a theory as if they had originally projected them. And thus grew up the high schemes of prerogative, which, for many centuries, were in conflict with those of liberty. We are not able, nevertheless, to define the constitutional authority of the Saxon kings; it was not legislative, nor was that of William and his successors ever such; it was not exclusive of redress for private wrong, nor was this ever the theory of English law, though the method of remedy might not be sufficiently effective; yet it had certainly grown before the Conquest, with no help from Roman notions, to something very unlike that of the German kings in Tacitus. NOTE XIII. Page 172. The reduction of the free ceorls into villenage, especially if as general as is usually assumed, is one of the most remarkable innovations during the Anglo-Norman period; and one which, as far as our published records extend, we cannot wholly explain. Observations have been made on it by Mr. Wright, in the Archæologia (vol. xxx. p. 225). After adverting to the oppression of the peasants in Normandy, which produced several rebellions, he proceeds thus:--"These feelings of hatred and contempt for the peasantry were brought into our island by the Norman barons in the latter half of the eleventh century. The Saxon laws and customs continued; but the Normans acted as the Franks had done towards the Roman coloni; they enforced with harshness the laws which were in their own favour, and gradually threw aside, or broke through, those which were in favour of the miserable serf." In the Laws of Henry I. we find the weregild of the twyhinder, or villein, set at 200 shillings in Wessex, "quæ caput regni est et legum" (c. 70). But this expression argues an Anglo-Saxon source; and, in fact, so much in that treatise seems to be copied, without regard to the change of times, from old authorities, mixed up with provisions of a feudal or Norman character, that we hardly know how to distinguish what belongs to each period. It is far from improbable that villenage, in the sense the word afterwards bore, that is, an absolutely servile tenure of lands, not only without legal rights over them, but with an incapacity of acquiring either immovable or movable property against the lord, may have made considerable strides before the reign of Henry II.[476] But unless light should be thrown on its history by the publication of more records, it seems almost impossible to determine the introduction of predial villenage more precisely than to say it does not appear in the laws of England at the Conquest, and it does so in the time of Glanvil. Mr. Wright's Memoir in the Archæologia, above quoted, contains some interesting matter; but he has too much confounded the _theow_, or Anglo-Saxon slave, with the _ceorl_; not even mentioning the latter, though it is indisputable that _villanus_ is the equivalent of _ceorl_, and _servus_ of _theow_. But I suspect that we go a great deal too far in setting down the descendants of these ceorls, that is, the whole Anglo-Saxon population except thanes and burgesses, as almost universally to be counted such villeins as we read of in our law-books, or in concluding that the cultivators of the land, even in the thirteenth century, were wholly, or at least generally, servile. It is not only evident that small freeholders were always numerous, but we are, perhaps, greatly deceived in fancying that the occupiers of villein tenements were usually villeins. _Terre-tenants en villenage_ and tenants _par copie_, who were undoubtedly free, appear in the early Year-books, and we know not why they may not always have existed.[477] This, however, is a subject which I am not sufficiently conversant with records to explore; it deserves the attention of those well-informed and diligent antiquaries whom we possess. Meantime it is to be observed that the lands occupied by _villani_ or _bordarii_, according to the Domesday survey, were much more extensive than the copyholds of the present day; and making every allowance for enfranchisements, we can hardly believe that all these lands, being, in fact, by far the greater part of the soil, were the _villenagia_ of Glanvil's and Bracton's age. It would be interesting to ascertain at what time the latter were distinguished from _libera tenementa_; at what time, that is, the distinction of territorial servitude, independent as it was of the personal state of the occupant, was established in England. NOTE XIV. Page 173. This identity of condition between the villein regardant and in gross appears to have been, even lately, called in question, and some adhere to the theory which supposes an inferiority in the latter. The following considerations will prove that I have not been mistaken in rejecting it:-- I. It will not be contended that the words "regardant" and "in gross" indicate of themselves any specific difference between the two, or can mean anything but the title by which the villein was held; prescriptive and territorial in one case, absolute in the other. For the proof, therefore, of any such difference we require some ancient authority, which has not been given. II. The villein regardant might be severed from the manor, with or without land, and would then become a villein in gross. If he was sold as a domestic serf, he might, perhaps, be practically in a lower condition than before, but his legal state was the same. If he was aliened with lands, parcel of the manor, as in the case of its descent to coparceners who made partition, he would no longer be regardant, because that implied a prescriptive dependence on the lord, but would occupy the same tenements and be in exactly the same position as before. "Villein in gross," says Littleton, "is where a man is seised of a manor whereunto a villein is regardant, and granteth the same villein by deed to another; then he is a villein in gross, and not regardant." (Sect. 181.) III. The servitude of all villeins was so complete that we cannot conceive degrees in it. No one could purchase lands or possess goods of his own; we do not find that any one, being strictly a villein, held by certain services; "he must have regard," says Coke, "to that which is commanded unto him; or, in the words of Bracton, 'a quo præstandum servitium incertum et indeterminatum, ubi scire non poterit vespere quod servitium fieri debet mane.'" (Co. Lit. 120, b.) How could a villein in gross be lower than this? It is true that the villein had one inestimable advantage over the American negro, that he was a freeman, except relatively to his lord; possibly he might be better protected against personal injury; but in his incapacity of acquiring secure property, or of refusing labour, he was just on the same footing. It may be conjectured that some villeins in gross were descended from the _servi_, of whom we find 25,000 enumerated in Domesday. Littleton says, "If a man and his ancestors, whose heir he is, have been seised of a villein and of his ancestors, as of villeins in gross, time out of memory of man, these are villeins in gross." (Sect. 182.) It has been often asserted that villeins in gross seem not to have been a numerous class, and it might not be easy to adduce distinct instances of them in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, though we should scarcely infer, from the pains Littleton takes to describe them, that none were left in his time. But some may be found in an earlier age. In the ninth of John, William sued Ralph the priest for granting away lands which he held to Canford priory. Ralph pleaded that they were his freehold. William replied that he held them in villenage, and that he (the plaintiff) had sold one of Ralph's sisters for four shillings. (Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 860, 4to. edition.) And Mr. Wright has found in Madox's Formulare Anglicanum not less than five instances of villeins sold with their family and chattels, but without land. (Archæologia, xxx. 228.) Even where they were sold along with land, unless it were a manor, they would, as has been observed before, have been villeins in gross. I have, however, been informed that in valuations under escheats in the old records a separate value is never put upon villeins; their alienation without the land was apparently not contemplated. Few cases concerning villeins in gross, it has been said, occur in the Year-books; but villenage of any kind does not furnish a great many; and in several I do not perceive, in consulting the report, that the party can be shown to have been regardant. One reason why villeins in gross should have become less and less numerous was that they could, for the most part, only be claimed by showing a written grant, or by prescription through descent; so that, if the title-deed were lost, or the descent unproved, the villein became free. Manumissions were often, no doubt, gratuitous; in some cases the villein seems to have purchased his freedom. For though in strictness, as Glanvil tells us, he could not "libertatem suam suis denariis quærere," inasmuch as all he possessed already belonged to the lord, it would have been thought a meanness to insist on so extreme a right. In order, however, to make the deed more secure, it was usual to insert the name of a third person as paying the consideration-money for the enfranchisement. (Archæologia, xxx. 228.) It appears not by any means improbable that regular money payments, or other fixed liabilities, were often substituted instead of uncertain services for the benefit of the lord as well as the tenant. And when these had lasted a considerable time in any manor, the villenage of the latter, without any manumission, would have expired by desuetude. But, perhaps, an entry of his tenure on the court-roll, with a copy given to himself, would operate of itself, in construction of law, as a manumission. This I do not pretend to determine. NOTE XV. Page 179. The public history of Europe in the middle ages inadequately represents the popular sentiment, or only when it is expressed too loudly to escape the regard of writers intent sometimes on less important subjects. But when we descend below the surface, a sullen murmur of discontent meets the ear, and we perceive that mankind was not more insensible to wrongs and sufferings than at present. Besides the various outbreakings of the people in several counties, and their complaints in parliament, after the commons obtained a representation, we gain a conclusive insight into the spirit of the times by their popular poetry. Two very interesting collections of this kind have been lately published by the Camden Society, through the diligence of Mr. Thomas Wright; one, the Poems attributed to Walter Mapes; the other, the Political Songs of England, from John to Edward II. Mapes lived under Henry II., and has long been known as the reputed author of humorous Latin verses; but it seems much more probable, that the far greater part of the collection lately printed is not from his hand. They may pass, not for the production of a single person, but rather of a class, during many years, or, in general words, a century, ending with the death of Henry III. in 1272. Many of them are professedly written by an imaginary Golias. "They are not the expressions of hostility of one man against an order of monks, but of the indignant patriotism of a considerable portion of the English nation against the encroachments of civil and ecclesiastical tyranny." (Introduction to Poems ascribed to Walter Mapes, p. 21.) The poems in this collection reflect almost entirely on the pope and the higher clergy. They are all in rhyming Latin, and chiefly, though with exceptions, in the loose trochaic metre called Leonine. The authors, therefore, must have been clerks, actuated by the spirit which, in a church of great inequality in its endowments, and with a very numerous body of poor clergy, is apt to gain strength, but certainly, as ecclesiastical history bears witness, not one of mere envious malignity towards the prelates and the court of Rome. These deserved nothing better, in the thirteenth century, than biting satire and indignant reproof, and the poets were willing enough to bestow both. But this popular poetry of the middle ages did not confine itself to the church. In the collection entitled 'Political Songs' we have some reflecting on Henry III., some on the general administration. The famous song on the battle of Lewes in 1264 is the earliest in English; but in the reign of Edward I. several occur in that language. Others are in French or in Latin; one complaining of the taxes is in an odd mixture of these two languages; which, indeed, is not without other examples in mediæval poetry. These Latin songs could not, of course, have been generally understood. But what the priests sung in Latin, they said in English; the lower clergy fanned the flame, and gave utterance to what others felt. It may, perhaps, be remarked, as a proof of general sympathy with the democratic spirit which was then fermenting, that we have a song of exultation on the great defeat which Philip IV. had just sustained at Courtrai, in 1302, by the burgesses of the Flemish cities, on whose liberties he had attempted to trample (p. 187). It is true that Edward I. was on ill terms with France, but the political interests of the king would not, perhaps, have dictated the popular ballad. It was an idle exaggeration in him who said that, if he could make the ballads of a people, any one might make their laws. Ballads, like the press, and especially that portion of the press which bears most analogy to them, generally speaking, give vent to a spirit which has been at work before. But they had, no doubt, an influence in rendering more determinate, as well as more active, that resentment of wrong, that indignation at triumphant oppression, that belief in the vices of the great, which, too often for social peace and their own happiness, are cherished by the poor. In comparison, indeed, with the efficacy of the modern press, the power, of ballads is trifling. Their lively sprightliness, the humorous tone of their satire, even their metrical form, sheathe the sting; and it is only in times when political bitterness is at its height that any considerable influence can be attached to them, and then it becomes undistinguishable from more energetic motives. Those which we read in the collection above mentioned appear to me rather the signs of popular discontent than greatly calculated to enhance it. In that sense they are very interesting, and we cannot but desire to see the promised continuation to the end of Richard II.'s reign.[478] They are said to have become afterwards less frequent, though the wars of the Roses were likely to bring them, forward. Some of the political songs are written in France, though relating to our kings John and Henry III. Deducting these, we have two in Latin for the former reign; seven in Latin, three in French (or what the editor calls Anglo-Norman, which is really the same thing), one in a mixture of the two, and one in English, for the reign of Henry III. In the reigns of Edward I. and Edward II. we have eight in Latin, three in French, nine in English, and four in mixed languages; a style employed probably for amusement. It must be observed that a large proportion of these songs contain panegyric and exultation on victory rather than satire; and that of the satire much is general, and much falls on the church; so that the animadversions on the king and the nobility are not very frequent, though with considerable boldness; but this is more shown in the Latin than the English poems. FOOTNOTES: [460] This hypothetical clause is somewhat remarkable. Grand serjeanty is of course included by parity under military service. But did any hold of the king in socage, except on his demesne lands? There might be some by petty serjeanty. Yet the committee, as we have just seen, absolutely exclude these from any share in the great councils of the Conqueror and his immediate descendants. [461] Mr. Spence has ingeniously conjectured, observing that in some passages of Domesday (he quotes two, but I only find one) the barons who held more than six manors paid their relief directly to the king, while those who had six or less paid theirs to the sheriff (Yorkshire, 298, b), that "this may tend to solve the disputed question as to what constituted one of the greater barons mentioned in the Magna Charta of John and other early Norman documents; for, by analogy to the mode in which the relief was paid, the greater barons were summoned by particular writs, the rest by one general summons through the sheriff." History of Equitable Jurisdiction, p. 40. [462] See quotation from Spence's Equitable Jurisdiction, a little above. The barony of Berkeley was granted in 1 Ric. I., to be holden by the service of five knights, which was afterwards reduced to three. Nicolas's Report of Claim to Barony of L'Isle, Appendix, p. 318. [463] A charter of Henry I., published in the new edition of Rymer (i. p. 12), fully confirms what is here said. Sciatis quod concedo et præcipio, ut à modo comitatus mei et hundreda in illis locis et iisdem terminis sedeant, sicut sederunt in tempore regis Edwardi, et non aliter. Ego enim, quando voluero, faciam ea satis summoneri propter mea dominica necessaria ad voluntatem meam. Et si modo exurgat placitum de divisione terrarum, si est inter barones meos dominicos, tractetur placitum in curea mea. Et si est inter vavassores duorum dominorum, tractetur in comitatu. Et hoc duello fiat, nisi in eis remanserit. Et volo et præcipio, ut omnes de comitatu eant ad comitatus et hundreda, sicut fecerunt in tempore regis Edwardi. But it is also easily proved from the Leges Henrici Primi. [464] See the ensuing part of this note. [465] This pedigree is elaborately, and with pious care, traced by Mr. Stapleton, in his excellent introduction to the old chronicle of London, already quoted. The name Alwyn appears rather Saxon than Norman, so that we may presume the first mayor to have been of English descent; but whether he were a merchant, or a landholder living in the city, must be undecided. [466] Hist. de Paris, vol. iii. p. 231. [467] John of Troyes says, in 1467, that from sixty to eighty thousand men appeared in arms. Dulaure (Hist. de Paris, vol. iii. p. 505) says this gives 120,000 for the whole population; but it gives double, which is incredible. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the houses were still cottages: only four streets were paved; they were very narrow and dirty, and often inundated by the Seine. Ib. p. 198. [468] This doubt was soon afterwards changed into a proposition, strenuously maintained by the supposed compiler of these Reports, lord Redesdale, on the claim to the barony of L'Isle in 1829. The ancestor had been called by writ to several parliaments of Edw. III.; and having only a daughter, the negative argument from the omission of his posterity is of little value; for though the husbands of heiresses were frequently summoned, this does not seem to have been an universal practice. It was held by lord Redesdale, that, at least until the statute of 5 Richard II. c. 4, no hereditary or even personal right to the peerage was created by the writ of summons. The house of lords rejected the claim, though the language of their resolution is not conclusive as to the principle. The opinion of lord R. has been ably impugned by Sir Harris Nicolas, in his Report of the L'Isle Peerage, 1829. [469] The Lords' committee (Second Report, p. 436) endeavour to elude the force of this authority; but it manifestly appears that the Nevilles were preferred to the Fanes for the particular barony in question; though some satisfaction was made to the claimant of the latter family by calling her to a different peerage. [470] The continuance of barony by tenure has been controverted by Sir Harris Nicolas, in some remarks on such a claim preferred by the present earl Fitzharding while yet a commoner, in virtue of the possession of Berkeley castle, published as an Appendix to his Report of the L'Isle Peerage. In the particular case there seem to have been several difficulties, independently of the great one, that, in the reign of Charles II., barony by tenure had been finally condemned. But there is surely a great general difficulty on the opposite side, in the hypothesis that, while it is acknowledged that there were, in the reigns of Edward I. and Edward II., certain known persons holding by barony and called peers of the realm, it could have been agreeable to the feudal or to the English constitution that the king, by refusing to the posterity of such barons a writ of summons to parliament, might deprive them of their nobility, and reduce them for ever to the rank of commoners. [471] It has been doubted, notwithstanding the authority of Spelman, and some earlier but rather precarious testimony, whether the chancellor before the Conquest was any more than a scribe or secretary. Palgrave, in the Quarterly Review, xxxiv. 291. The Anglo-Saxon charters, as far as I have observed, never mention him as a witness; which seems a very strong circumstance. Ingulfus, indeed, has given a pompous account of chancellor Turketul; and, if the history ascribed to Ingulfus be genuine, the office must have been of high dignity. Lord Campbell assumes this in his Lives of the Chancellors. [472] The words of the petition and answer are the following:-- "Item, que nul franc homme ne soit mys a respondre de son franc tenement, ne de riens qui touche vie et membre, fyns ou redemptions, par apposailles devant le conseil notre seigneur le roi, ne devant ses ministres queconques, sinoun par proces de ley de ces en arere use." "Il plest a notre seigneur le roi que les leies de son roialme soient tenuz et gardez en lour force, et que nul homme soit tenu a respondre de son fraunk tenement, sinoun par processe de ley: mes de chose que touche vie ou membre, contemptz ou excesse, soit fait come ad este use ces en arere." Rot. Par. ii. 228. It is not easy to perceive what was reserved by the words "chose que touche vie ou membre;" for the council never determined these. Possibly it regarded accusations of treason or felony, which they might entertain as an inquest, though they would ultimately be tried by a jury. Contempts are easily understood; and by excesses were meant riots and seditions. These political offences, which could not be always safely tried in a lower court, it was the constant intention of the government to reserve for the council. [473] See Note in p. 145, for the statute 31 H. VI. c. 2. [474] See Constitutional History of England, vol. i. p. 49. (1842.) [475] It has been mentioned in a former note, on Mr. Allen's authority, that the folcland had acquired the appellation _terra regis_ before the Conquest. [476] A presumptive proof of this may be drawn from a chapter in the Laws of Henry I. c. 81, where the penalty payable by a villein for certain petty offences is set at thirty pence; that of a _cotset_ at fifteen; and of a theow at six. The passage is extremely obscure; and this proportion of the three classes of men is almost the only part that appears evident. The cotset, who is often mentioned in Domesday, may thus have been an inferior villein, nearly similar to what Glanvil and later law-books call such. [477] The following passage in the Chronicle of Brakelond does not mention any manumission of the ceorl on whom abbot Samson conferred a manor:--Unum solum manerium carta sua confirmavit cuidam Anglico natione, _glebæ adscripto_, de cujus fidelitate plenius confidebat quia bonus agricola erat, et quia nesciebat loqui Gallicè. p. 24. [478] Mr. Wright has given a few specimens in Essays on the Literature and Popular Superstitions of England in the Middle Ages, vol. i. p. 257. In fact we may reckon Piers Plowman an instance of popular satire, though far superior to the rest. CHAPTER IX.[479] ON THE STATE OF SOCIETY IN EUROPE DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. PART I. Introduction--Decline of Literature in the latter Period of the Roman Empire--Its Causes--Corruption of the Latin Language--Means by which it was effected--Formation of new Languages--General Ignorance of the Dark Ages--Scarcity of Books--Causes that prevented the total Extinction of Learning--Prevalence of Superstition and Fanaticism-- General Corruption of Religion--Monasteries--their Effects-- Pilgrimages--Love of Field Sports--State of Agriculture--of Internal and Foreign Trade down to the End of the Eleventh Century--Improvement of Europe dated from that Age. It has been the object of every preceding chapter of this work, either to trace the civil revolutions of states during the period of the middle ages, or to investigate, with rather more minute attention, their political institutions. There remains a large tract to be explored, if we would complete the circle of historical information, and give to our knowledge that copiousness and clear perception which arise from comprehending a subject under numerous relations. The philosophy of history embraces far more than the wars and treaties, the factions and cabals of common political narration; it extends to whatever illustrates the character of the human species in a particular period, to their reasonings and sentiments, their arts and industry. Nor is this comprehensive survey merely interesting to the speculative philosopher; without it the statesman would form very erroneous estimates of events, and find himself constantly misled in any analogical application of them to present circumstances. Nor is it an uncommon source of error to neglect the general signs of the times, and to deduce a prognostic from some partial coincidence with past events, where a more enlarged comparison of all the facts that ought to enter into the combination would destroy the whole parallel. The philosophical student, however, will not follow the antiquary into his minute details; and though it is hard to say what may not supply matter for a reflecting mind, there is always some danger of losing sight of grand objects in historical disquisition, by too laborious a research into trifles. I may possibly be thought to furnish, in some instances, an example of the error I condemn. But in the choice and disposition of topics to which the present chapter relates, some have been omitted oh account of their comparative insignificance, and others on account of their want of connexion with the leading subject. Even of those treated I can only undertake to give a transient view; and must bespeak the reader's candour to remember that passages which, separately taken, may often appear superficial, are but parts of the context of a single chapter, as the chapter itself is of an entire work. The Middle Ages, according to the division I have adopted, comprise about one thousand years, from the invasion of France by Clovis to that of Naples by Charles VIII. This period, considered as to the state of society, has been esteemed dark through ignorance, and barbarous through poverty and want of refinement. And although this character is much less applicable to the last two centuries of the period than to those which preceded its commencement, yet we cannot expect to feel, in respect of ages at best imperfectly civilized and slowly progressive, that interest which attends a more perfect development of human capacities, and more brilliant advances in improvement. The first moiety indeed of these ten ages is almost absolutely barren, and presents little but a catalogue of evils. The subversion of the Roman empire, and devastation of its provinces, by barbarous nations, either immediately preceded, or were coincident with the commencement of the middle period. We begin in darkness and calamity; and though the shadows grow fainter as we advance, yet we are to break off our pursuit as the morning breathes upon us, and the twilight reddens into the lustre of day. [Sidenote: Decline of learning in Roman empire.] No circumstance is so prominent on the first survey of society during the earlier centuries of this period as the depth of ignorance in which it was immersed; and as from this, more than any single cause, the moral and social evils which those ages experienced appear to have been derived and perpetuated, it deserves to occupy the first place in the arrangement of our present subject. We must not altogether ascribe the ruin of literature to the barbarian destroyers of the Roman empire. So gradual, and, apparently, so irretrievable a decay had long before spread over all liberal studies, that it is impossible to pronounce whether they would not have been almost equally extinguished if the august throne of the Cæsars had been left to moulder by its intrinsic weakness. Under the paternal sovereignty of Marcus Aurelius the approaching declension of learning might be scarcely perceptible to an incurious observer. There was much indeed to distinguish his times from those of Augustus; much lost in originality of genius, in correctness of taste, in the masterly conception and consummate finish of art, in purity of the Latin, and even of the Greek language. But there were men who made the age famous, grave lawyers, judicious historians, wise philosophers; the name of learning was honourable, its professors were encouraged; and along the vast surface of the Roman empire there was perhaps a greater number whose minds were cultivated by intellectual discipline than under the more brilliant reign of the first emperor. [Sidenote: Its causes.] It is not, I think, very easy to give a perfectly satisfactory solution of the rapid downfall of literature between the ages of Antonine and of Diocletian. Perhaps the prosperous condition of the empire from Trajan to Marcus Aurelius, and the patron age which those good princes bestowed on letters, gave an artificial health to them for a moment, and suspended the operation of a disease which had already begun to undermine their vigour. Perhaps the intellectual energies of mankind can never remain stationary; and a nation that ceases to produce original and inventive minds, born to advance the landmarks of knowledge or skill, will recede from step to step, till it loses even the secondary merits of imitation and industry. During the third century, not only there were no great writers, but even few names of indifferent writers have been recovered by the diligence of modern inquiry.[480] Law neglected, philosophy perverted till it became contemptible, history nearly silent, the Latin tongue growing rapidly barbarous, poetry rarely and feebly attempted, art more and more vitiated; such were the symptoms by which the age previous to Constantine announced the decline of human intellect. If we cannot fully account for this unhappy change, as I have observed, we must, however, assign much weight to the degradation of Rome and Italy in the system of Severus and his successors, to the admission of barbarians into the military and even civil dignities of the empire, to the discouraging influence of provincial and illiterate sovereigns, and to the calamities which followed for half a century the first invasion of the Goths and the defeat of Decius. To this sickly condition of literature the fourth century supplied no permanent remedy. If under the house of Constantine the Roman world suffered rather less from civil warfare or barbarous invasions than in the preceding age, yet every other cause of decline just enumerated prevailed with aggravated force; and the fourth century set in storms, sufficiently destructive in themselves, and ominous of those calamities which humbled the majesty of Rome at the commencement of the ensuing period, and overwhelmed the Western Empire in absolute and final ruin before its termination. The diffusion of literature is perfectly distinguishable from its advancement; and whatever obscurity we may find in explaining the variations of the one, there are a few simple causes which seem to account for the other. Knowledge will be spread over the surface of a nation in proportion to the facilities of education; to the free circulation of books; to the emoluments and distinctions which literary attainments are found to produce; and still more to the reward which they meet in the general respect and applause of society. This cheering incitement, the genial sunshine of approbation, has at all times promoted the cultivation of literature in small republics rather than large empires, and in cities compared with the country. If these are the sources which nourish literature, we should naturally expect that they must have become scanty or dry when learning languishes or expires. Accordingly, in the later ages of the Roman empire a general indifference towards the cultivation of letters became the characteristic of its inhabitants. Laws were indeed enacted by Constantine, Julian, Theodosius, and other emperors, for the encouragement of learned men and the promotion of liberal education. But these laws, which would not perhaps have been thought necessary in better times, were unavailing to counteract the lethargy of ignorance in which even the native citizens of the empire were contented to repose. This alienation of men from their national literature may doubtless be imputed in some measure to its own demerits. A jargon of mystical philosophy, half fanaticism and half imposture, a barren and inflated eloquence, a frivolous philology, were not among those charms of wisdom by which man is to be diverted from pleasure or aroused from indolence. In this temper of the public mind there was little probability that new compositions of excellence would be produced, and much doubt whether the old would be preserved. Since the invention of printing, the absolute extinction of any considerable work seems a danger too improbable for apprehension. The press pours forth in a few days a thousand volumes, which, scattered like seeds in the air over the republic of Europe, could hardly be destroyed without the extirpation of its inhabitants. But in the times of antiquity manuscripts were copied with cost, labour, and delay; and if the diffusion of knowledge be measured by the multiplication of books, no unfair standard, the most golden ages of ancient learning could never bear the least comparison with the three last centuries. The destruction of a few libraries by accidental fire, the desolation of a few provinces by unsparing and illiterate barbarians, might annihilate every vestige of an author, or leave a few scattered copies, which, from the public indifference, there was no inducement to multiply, exposed to similar casualties in succeeding times. We are warranted by good authorities to assign, as a collateral cause of this irretrievable revolution the neglect of heathen literature by the Christian church. I am not versed enough in ecclesiastical writers to estimate the degree of this neglect; nor am I disposed to deny that the mischief was beyond recovery before the accession of Constantine. From the primitive ages, however, it seems that a dislike of pagan learning was pretty general among Christians. Many of the fathers undoubtedly were accomplished in liberal studies, and we are indebted to them for valuable fragments of authors whom we have lost. But the literary character of the church is not to be measured by that of its more illustrious leaders. Proscribed and persecuted, the early Christians had not perhaps access to the public schools, nor inclination to studies which seemed, very excusably, uncongenial to the character of their profession. Their prejudices, however, survived the establishment of Christianity. The fourth council of Carthage in 398 prohibited the reading of secular books by bishops. Jerome plainly condemns the study of them except for pious ends. All physical science especially was held in avowed contempt, as inconsistent with revealed truths. Nor do there appear to have been any canons made in favour of learning, or any restriction on the ordination of persons absolutely illiterate.[481] There was indeed abundance of what is called theological learning displayed in the controversies of the fourth and fifth centuries; and those who admire such disputations may consider the principal champions in them as contributing to the glory, or at least retarding the decline, of literature. But I believe rather that polemical disputes will be found not only to corrupt the genuine spirit of religion, but to degrade and contract the faculties. What keenness and subtlety these may sometimes acquire by such exercise is more like that worldly shrewdness we see in men whose trade it is to outwit their neighbours than the clear and calm discrimination of philosophy. However this may be, it cannot be doubted that the controversies agitated in the church during these two centuries must have diverted studious minds from profane literature, and narrowed more and more the circle of that knowledge which they were desirous to attain. The torrent of irrational superstitions which carried all before it in the fifth century, and the progress of ascetic enthusiasm, had an influence still more decidedly inimical to learning. I cannot indeed conceive any state of society more adverse to the intellectual improvement of mankind than one which admitted of no middle line between gross dissoluteness and fanatical mortification. An equable tone of public morals, social and humane, verging neither to voluptuousness nor austerity, seems the most adapted to genius, or at least to letters, as it is to individual comfort and national prosperity. After the introduction of monkery and its unsocial theory of duties, the serious and reflecting part of mankind, on whom science most relies, were turned to habits which, in the most favourable view, could not quicken the intellectual energies; and it might be a difficult question whether the cultivators and admirers of useful literature were less likely to be found among the profligate citizens of Rome and their barbarian conquerors or the melancholy recluses of the wilderness. Such therefore was the state of learning before the subversion of the Western Empire. And we may form some notion how little probability there was of its producing any excellent fruits, even if that revolution had never occurred, by considering what took place in Greece during the subsequent ages; where, although there was some attention shown to preserve the best monuments of antiquity, and diligence in compiling from them, yet no one original writer of any superior merit arose, and learning, though plunged but for a short period into mere darkness, may be said to have languished in a middle region of twilight for the greater part of a thousand years. But not to delay ourselves in this speculation, the final settlement of barbarous nations in Gaul, Spain, and Italy consummated the ruin of literature. Their first irruptions were uniformly attended with devastation; and if some of the Gothic kings, after their establishment, proved humane and civilized sovereigns, yet the nation gloried in its original rudeness, and viewed with no unreasonable disdain arts which had neither preserved their cultivators from corruption nor raised them from servitude. Theodoric, the most famous of the Ostrogoth kings in Italy, could not write his name, and is said to have restrained his countrymen from attending those schools of learning by which he, or rather perhaps his minister Cassiodorus, endeavoured to revive the studies of his Italian subjects. Scarcely one of the barbarians, so long as they continued unconfused with the native inhabitants, acquired the slightest tincture of letters; and the praise of equal ignorance was soon aspired to and attained by the entire mass of the Roman laity. They, however, could hardly have divested themselves so completely of all acquaintance with even the elements of learning, if the language in which books were written had not ceased to be their natural dialect. This remarkable change in the speech of France, Spain, and Italy is most intimately connected with the extinction of learning; and there is enough of obscurity as well as of interest in the subject to deserve some discussion. [Sidenote: Corruption of the Latin language.] It is obvious, on the most cursory view of the French and Spanish languages, that they, as well as the Italian, are derived from one common source, the Latin. That must therefore have been at some period, and certainly not since the establishment of the barbarous nations in Spain and Gaul, substituted in ordinary use for the original dialects of those countries which are generally supposed to have been Celtic, not essentially differing from those which are spoken in Wales and Ireland. Rome, says Augustin, imposed not only her yoke, but her language, upon conquered nations. The success of such an attempt is indeed very remarkable. Though it is the natural effect of conquest, or even of commercial intercourse, to ingraft fresh words and foreign idioms on the stock of the original language, yet the entire disuse of the latter, and adoption of one radically different, scarcely takes place in the lapse of a far longer period than that of the Roman dominion in Gaul. Thus, in part of Britany the people speak a language which has perhaps sustained no essential alteration from the revolution of two thousand years; and we know how steadily another Celtic dialect has kept its ground in Wales, notwithstanding English, laws and government, and the long line of contiguous frontier which brings the natives of that principality into contact with Englishmen. Nor did the Romans ever establish their language (I know not whether they wished to do so) in this island, as we perceive by that stubborn British tongue which has survived two conquests.[482] In Gaul and in Spain, however, they did succeed, as the present state of the French and peninsular languages renders undeniable, though by gradual changes, and not, as the Benedictine authors of the Histoire Littéraire de la France seem to imagine, by a sudden and arbitrary innovation.[483] This is neither possible in itself, nor agreeable to the testimony of Irenæus, bishop of Lyons at the end of the second century, who laments the necessity of learning Celtic.[484] But although the inhabitants of these provinces came at length to make use of Latin so completely as their mother tongue that few vestiges of their original Celtic could perhaps be discovered in their common speech, it does not follow that they spoke with the pure pronunciation of Italians, far less with that conformity to the written sounds which we assume to be essential to the expression of Latin words. [Sidenote: Ancient Latin pronunciation.] It appears to be taken for granted that the Romans pronounced their language as we do at present, so far at least as the enunciation of all the consonants, however we may admit our deviations from the classical standard in propriety of sounds and in measure of time. Yet the example of our own language, and of French, might show us that orthography may become a very inadequate representative of pronunciation. It is indeed capable of proof that in the purest ages of Latinity some variation existed between these two. Those numerous changes in spelling which distinguish the same words in the poetry of Ennius and of Virgil are best explained by the supposition of their being accommodated, to the current pronunciation. Harsh combinations of letters, softened down through delicacy of ear or rapidity of utterance, gradually lost their place in the written language. Thus _exfregit_ and _adrogavit_ assumed a form representing their more liquid sound; and _auctor_ was latterly spelled _autor_, which has been followed in French and Italian. _Autor_ was probably so pronounced at all times; and the orthography was afterwards corrected or corrupted, whichever we please to say, according to the sound. We have the best authority to assert that the final _m_ was very faintly pronounced, rather it seems as a rest and short interval between two syllables than an articulate letter; nor indeed can we conceive upon what other ground it was subject to elision before a vowel in verse, since we cannot suppose that the nice ears of Rome would have submitted to a capricious rule of poetry for which Greece presented no analogy.[485] A decisive proof, in my opinion, of the deviation which took place, through the rapidity of ordinary elocution, from the strict laws of enunciation, may be found in the metre of Terence. His verses, which are absolutely refractory to the common laws of prosody, may be readily scanned by the application of this principle. Thus, in the first act of the Heautontimorumenos, a part selected at random, I have found, I. Vowels contracted or dropped so as to shorten the word by a syllable; in _rei_, _viâ_, _diutius_, _ei_, _solius_, _eam_, _unius_, _suam_, _divitias_, _senex_, _voluptatem_, _illius_, _semel_; II. The proceleusmatic foot, or four short syllables, instead of the dactyl; scen. i. v. 59, 73, 76, 88, 109; scen. ii. v. 36; III. The elision of _s_ in words ending with _us_ or _is_ short, and sometimes even of the whole syllable, before the next word beginning with a vowel; in scen. i. v. 30, 81, 98, 101, 116, 119; scen. ii. v. 28. IV. The first syllable of _ille_ is repeatedly shortened, and indeed nothing is more usual in Terence than this licence; whence we may collect how ready this word was for abbreviation into the French and Italian articles. V. The last letter of _apud_ is cut off, scen. i. v. 120; and scen. ii. v. 8. VI. _Hodie_ is used as a pyrrhichius, in scen. ii. v. 11. VII. Lastly, there is a clear instance of a short syllable, the antepenultimate of _impulerim_, lengthened on account of the accent at the 113th verse of the first scene. [Sidenote: Its corruption by the populace,] [Sidenote: and the provincials.] These licences are in all probability chiefly colloquial, and would not have been adopted in public harangues, to which the precepts of rhetorical writers commonly relate. But if the more elegant language of the Romans, since such we must suppose to have been copied by Terence for his higher characters, differed so much in ordinary discourse from their orthography, it is probable that the vulgar went into much greater deviations. The popular pronunciation errs generally, we might say perhaps invariably, by abbreviation of words, and by liquefying consonants, as is natural to the rapidity of colloquial speech.[486] It is by their knowledge of orthography and etymology that the more educated part of the community is preserved from these corrupt modes of pronunciation. There is always therefore a standard by which common speech may be rectified; and in proportion to the diffusion of knowledge and politeness the deviations from it will be more slight and gradual. But in distant provinces, and especially where the language itself is but of recent introduction, many more changes may be expected to occur. Even in France and England there are provincial dialects, which, if written with all their anomalies of pronunciation as well as idiom, would seem strangely out of unison with the regular language; and in Italy, as is well known, the varieties of dialect are still more striking. Now, in an advancing state of society, and especially with such a vigorous political circulation as we experience in England, language will constantly approximate to uniformity, as provincial expressions are more and more rejected for incorrectness or inelegance. But, where literature is on the decline, and public misfortunes contract the circle of those who are solicitous about refinement, as in the last ages of the Roman empire, there will be no longer any definite standard of living speech, nor any general desire to conform to it if one could be found; and thus the vicious corruptions of the vulgar will entirely predominate. The niceties of ancient idiom will be totally lost, while new idioms will be formed out of violations of grammar sanctioned by usage, which, among a civilized people, would have been proscribed at their appearance. Such appears to have been the progress of corruption in the Latin language. The adoption of words from the Teutonic dialects of the barbarians, which took place very freely, would not of itself have destroyed the character of that language, though it sullied its purity. The worst law Latin of the middle ages is still Latin, if its barbarous terms have been bent to the regular inflections. It is possible, on the other hand, to write whole pages of Italian, wherein every word shall be of unequivocal Latin derivation, though the character and personality, if I may so say, of the language be entirely dissimilar. But, as I conceive, the loss of literature took away the only check upon arbitrary pronunciation and upon erroneous grammar. Each people innovated through caprice, imitation of their neighbours, or some of those indescribable causes which dispose the organs of different nations to different sounds. The French melted down the middle consonants; the Italians omitted the final. Corruptions arising out of ignorance were mingled with those of pronunciation. It would have been marvellous if illiterate and semi-barbarous provincials had preserved that delicate precision in using the inflections of tenses which our best scholars do not clearly attain. The common speech of any people whose language is highly complicated will be full of solecisms. The French inflections are not comparable in number or delicacy to the Latin, and yet the vulgar confuse their most ordinary forms. But, in all probability, the variation of these derivative languages from popular Latin has been considerably less than it appears. In the purest ages of Latinity the citizens of Rome itself made use of many terms which we deem barbarous, and of many idioms which we should reject as modern. That highly complicated grammar, which the best writers employed, was too elliptical and obscure, too deficient in the connecting parts of speech, for general use. We cannot indeed ascertain in what degree the vulgar Latin differed from that of Cicero or Seneca. It would be highly absurd to imagine, as some are said to have done, that modern Italian was spoken at Rome under Augustus.[487] But I believe it may be asserted not only that much the greater part of those words in the present language of Italy which strike us as incapable of a Latin etymology are in fact derived from those current in the Augustan age, but that very many phrases which offended nicer ears prevailed in the same vernacular speech, and have passed from thence into the modern French and Italian. Such, for example, was the frequent use of prepositions to indicate a relation between two parts of a sentence which a classical writer would have made to depend on mere inflection.[488] From the difficulty of retaining a right discrimination of tense seems to have proceeded the active auxiliary verb. It is possible that this was borrowed from the Teutonic languages of the barbarians, and accommodated both by them and by the natives to words of Latin origin. The passive auxiliary is obtained by a very ready resolution of any tense in that mood, and has not been altogether dispensed with even in Greek, while in Latin it is used much more frequently. It is not quite so easy to perceive the propriety of the active habeo or teneo, one or both of which all modern languages have adopted as their auxiliaries in conjugating the verb. But in some instances this analysis is not improper; and it may be supposed that nations, careless of etymology or correctness, applied the same verb by a rude analogy to cases where it ought not strictly to have been employed.[489] Next to the changes founded on pronunciation and to the substitution of auxiliary verbs for inflections, the usage of the definite and indefinite articles in nouns appears the most considerable step in the transmutation of Latin into its derivative languages. None but Latin, I believe, has ever wanted this part of speech; and the defect to which custom reconciled the Romans would be an insuperable stumbling-block to nations who were to translate their original idiom into that language. A coarse expedient of applying _unus_, _ipse_, or _ille_ to the purposes of an article might perhaps be no unfrequent vulgarism of the provincials; and after the Teutonic tribes brought in their own grammar, it was natural that a corruption should become universal, which in fact supplied a real and essential deficiency. [Sidenote: Pronunciation no longer regulated by quantity.] That the quantity of Latin syllables is neglected, or rather lost, in modern pronunciation, seems to be generally admitted. Whether, indeed, the ancient Romans, in their ordinary speaking, distinguished the measure of syllables with such uniform musical accuracy as we imagine, giving a certain time to those termed long, and exactly half that duration to the short, might very reasonably be questioned; though this was probably done, or attempted to be done, by every reader of poetry. Certainly, however, the laws of quantity were forgotten, and an accentual pronunciation came to predominate, before Latin had ceased to be a living language. A Christian writer named Commodianus, who lived before the end of the third century according to some, or, as others think, in the reign of Constantine, has left us a philological curiosity, in a series of attacks on the pagan superstitions, composed in what are meant to be verses, regulated by accent instead of quantity, exactly as we read Virgil at present.[490] It is not improbable that Commodianus may have written in Africa, the province in which more than any the purity of Latin was debased. At the end of the fourth century St. Augustin assailed his old enemies, the Donatists, with nearly the same arms that Commodianus had wielded against heathenism. But as the refined and various music of hexameters was unlikely to be relished by the vulgar, he prudently adopted a different measure.[491] All the nations of Europe seem to love the trochaic verse; it was frequent on the Greek and Roman stage; it is more common than any other in the popular poetry of modern languages. This proceeds from its simplicity, its liveliness, and its ready accommodation to dancing and music. In St. Austin's poem he united to a trochaic measure the novel attraction of rhyme. As Africa must have lost all regard to the rules of measure in the fourth century, so it appears that Gaul was not more correct in the next two ages. A poem addressed by Auspicius bishop of Toul to count Arbogastes, of earlier date probably than the invasion of Clovis, is written with no regard to quantity.[492] The bishop by whom this was composed is mentioned by his contemporaries as a man of learning. Probably he did not choose to perplex the barbarian to whom he was writing (for Arbogastes is plainly a barbarous name) by legitimate Roman metre. In the next century Gregory of Tours informs us that Chilperic attempted to write Latin verses; but the lines could not be reconciled to any division of feet; his ignorance having confounded long and short syllables together.[493] Now Chilperic must have learned to speak Latin like other kings of the Franks, and was a smatterer in several kinds of literature. If Chilperic therefore was not master of these distinctions, we may conclude that the bishops and other Romans with whom he conversed did not observe them; and that his blunders in versification arose from ignorance of rules, which, however fit to be preserved in poetry, were entirely obsolete in the living Latin of his age. Indeed the frequency of false quantities in the poets even of the fifth, but much more of the sixth century, is palpable. Fortunatus is quite full of them. This seems a decisive proof that the ancient pronunciation was lost. Avitus tells us that few preserved the proper measure of syllables in singing. Yet he was bishop of Vienne, where a purer pronunciation might be expected than in the remoter parts of Gaul.[494] [Sidenote: Change of Latin into Romance.] Defective, however, as it had become in respect of pronunciation, Latin was still spoken in France during the sixth and seventh centuries. We have compositions of that time, intended for the people, in grammatical language. A song is still extant in rhyme and loose accentual measure, written upon a victory of Clotaire II. over the Saxons in 622, and obviously intended for circulation among the people.[495] Fortunatus says, in his Life of St. Aubin of Angers, that he should take care not to use any expression unintelligible to the people.[496] Baudemind, in the middle of the seventh century, declares, in his Life of St. Amand, that he writes in a rustic and vulgar style, that the reader may be excited to imitation.[497] Not that these legends were actually perused by the populace, for the very art of reading was confined to a few. But they were read publicly in the churches, and probably with a pronunciation accommodated to the corruptions of ordinary language. Still the Latin syntax must have been tolerably understood; and we may therefore say that Latin had not ceased to be a living language, in Gaul at least, before the latter part of the seventh century. Faults indeed against the rules of grammar, as well as unusual idioms, perpetually occur in the best writers of the Merovingian period, such as Gregory of Tours; while charters drawn up by less expert scholars deviate much further from purity.[498] The corrupt provincial idiom became gradually more and more dissimilar to grammatical Latin; and the lingua Romana rustica, as the vulgar _patois_ (to borrow a word that I cannot well translate) had been called, acquired a distinct character as a new language in the eighth century.[499] Latin orthography, which had been hitherto pretty well maintained in books, though not always in charters, gave way to a new spelling, conformably to the current pronunciation. Thus we find lui, for illius, in the Formularies of Marculfus; and Tu lo juva in a liturgy of Charlemagne's age, for Tu illum juva. When this barrier was once broken down, such a deluge of innovation poured in that all the characteristics of Latin were effaced in writing as well as speaking, and the existence of a new language became undeniable. In a council held at Tours in 813 the bishops are ordered to have certain homilies of the fathers translated into the rustic Roman, as well as the German tongue.[500] After this it is unnecessary to multiply proofs of the change which Latin had undergone. [Sidenote: Its corruption in Italy.] In Italy the progressive corruptions of the Latin language were analogous to those which occurred in France, though we do not find in writings any unequivocal specimens of a new formation at so early a period. But the old inscriptions, even of the fourth and fifth centuries, are full of solecisms and corrupt orthography. In legal instruments under the Lombard kings the Latin inflections are indeed used, but with so little regard to propriety that it is obvious the writers had not the slightest tincture of grammatical knowledge. This observation extends to a very large proportion of such documents down to the twelfth century, and is as applicable to France and Spain as it is to Italy. In these charters the peculiar characteristics of Italian orthography and grammar frequently appear. Thus we find, in the eighth century, diveatis for debeatis, da for de in the ablative, avendi for habendi, dava for dabat, cedo a deo, and ad ecclesia, among many similar corruptions.[501] Latin was so changed, it is said by a writer of Charlemagne's age, that scarcely any part of it was popularly known. Italy indeed had suffered more than France itself by invasion, and was reduced to a lower state of barbarism, though probably, from the greater distinctness of pronunciation habitual to the Italians, they lost less of their original language than the French. I do not find, however, in the writers who have treated this subject, any express evidence of a vulgar language distinct from Latin earlier than the close of the tenth century, when it is said in the epitaph of Pope Gregory V., who died in 999, that he instructed the people in three dialects--the Frankish or German, the vulgar, and the Latin.[502] [Sidenote: Ignorance consequent on the disuse of Latin.] When Latin had thus ceased to be a living language, the whole treasury of knowledge was locked up from the eyes of the people. The few who might have imbibed a taste for literature, if books had been accessible to them, were reduced to abandon pursuits that could only be cultivated through a kind of education not easily within their reach. Schools, confined to cathedrals and monasteries, and exclusively designed for the purposes of religion, afforded no encouragement or opportunities to the laity.[503] The worst effect was, that, as the newly-formed languages were hardly made use of in writing, Latin being still preserved in all legal instruments and public correspondence, the very use of letters, as well as of books, was forgotten. For many centuries, to sum up the account of ignorance in a word, it was rare for a layman, of whatever rank, to know how to sign his name.[504] Their charters, till the use of seals became general, were subscribed with the mark of the cross. Still more extraordinary it was to find one who had any tincture of learning. Even admitting every indistinct commendation of a monkish biographer (with whom a knowledge of church-music would pass for literature[505]), we could make out a very short list of scholars. None certainly were more distinguished as such than Charlemagne and Alfred. But the former, unless we reject a very plain testimony, was incapable of writing;[506] and Alfred found difficulty in making a translation from the pastoral instruction of St. Gregory, on account of his imperfect knowledge of Latin.[507] Whatever mention, therefore, we find of learning and the learned during these dark ages, must be understood to relate only to such as were within the pale of clergy, which indeed was pretty extensive, and comprehended many who did not exercise the offices of religious ministry. But even the clergy were, for a long period, not very materially superior, as a body, to the uninstructed laity. A cloud of ignorance overspread the whole face of the church, hardly broken by a few glimmering lights, who owe much of their distinction to the surrounding darkness. In the sixth century the best writers in Latin were scarcely read;[508] and perhaps from the middle of this age to the eleventh there was, in a general view of literature, little difference to be discerned. If we look more accurately, there will appear certain gradual shades of twilight on each side of the greatest obscurity. France reached her lowest point about the beginning of the eighth century; but England was at that time more respectable, and did not fall into complete degradation till the middle of the ninth. There could be nothing more deplorable than the state of letters in Italy and in England during the succeeding century; but France cannot be denied to have been uniformly, though very slowly, progressive from the time of Charlemagne.[509] Of this prevailing ignorance it is easy to produce abundant testimony. Contracts were made verbally, for want of notaries capable of drawing up charters; and these, when written, were frequently barbarous and ungrammatical to an incredible degree. For some considerable intervals scarcely any monument of literature has been preserved, except a few jejune chronicles, the vilest legends of saints, or verses equally destitute of spirit and metre. In almost every council the ignorance of the clergy forms a subject for reproach. It is asserted by one held in 992 that scarcely a single person was to be found in Rome itself who knew the first elements of letters.[510] Not one priest of a thousand in Spain, about the age of Charlemagne, could address a common letter of salutation to another.[511] In England, Alfred declares that he could not recollect a single priest south of the Thames (the most civilized part of England), at the time of his accession, who understood the ordinary prayers, or could translate Latin into his mother tongue.[512] Nor was this better in the time of Dunstan, when, it is said, none of the clergy knew how to write or translate a Latin letter.[513] The homilies which they preached were compiled for their use by some bishops, from former works of the same kind, or the writings of the fathers. [Sidenote: Scarcity of books.] This universal ignorance was rendered unavoidable, among other causes, by the scarcity of books, which could only be procured at an immense price. From the conquest of Alexandria by the Saracens at the beginning of the seventh century, when the Egyptian papyrus almost ceased to be imported into Europe, to the close of the eleventh, about which time the art of making paper from cotton rags seems to have been introduced, there were no materials for writing except parchment, a substance too expensive to be readily spared for mere purposes of literature.[514] Hence an unfortunate practice gained ground, of erasing a manuscript in order to substitute another on the same skin. This occasioned the loss of many ancient authors, who have made way for the legends of saints, or other ecclesiastical rubbish. [Sidenote: Want of eminent men in literature.] If we would listen to some literary historians, we should believe that the darkest ages contained many individuals, not only distinguished among their contemporaries, but positively eminent for abilities and knowledge. A proneness to extol every monk of whose production a few letters or a devotional treatise survives, every bishop of whom it is related that he composed homilies, runs through the laborious work of the Benedictines of St. Maur, the Literary History of France, and, in a less degree, is observable even in Tiraboschi, and in most books of this class. Bede, Alcuin, Hincmar, Raban, and a number of inferior names, become real giants of learning in their uncritical panegyrics. But one might justly say that ignorance is the smallest defect of the writers of these dark ages. Several of them were tolerably acquainted with books; but that wherein they are uniformly deficient is original argument or expression. Almost every one is a compiler of scraps from the fathers, or from such semi-classical authors as Boethius, Cassiodorus, or Martianus Capella.[515] Indeed I am not aware that there appeared more than two really considerable men in the republic of letters from the sixth to the middle of the eleventh century--John, surnamed Scotus or Erigena, a native of Ireland; and Gerbert, who became pope by the name of Silvester II.: the first endowed with a bold and acute metaphysical genius; the second excellent, for the time when he lived, in mathematical science and mechanical inventions.[516] [Sidenote: Causes of the preservation of learning--religion.] If it be demanded by what cause it happened that a few sparks of ancient learning survived throughout this long winter, we can only ascribe their preservation to the establishment of Christianity. Religion alone made a bridge, as it were, across the chaos, and has linked the two periods of ancient and modern civilization. Without this connecting principle, Europe might indeed have awakened to intellectual pursuits, and the genius of recent times needed not to be invigorated by the imitation of antiquity. But the memory of Greece and Rome would have been feebly preserved by tradition, and the monuments of those nations might have excited, on the return of civilization, that vague sentiment of speculation and wonder with which men now contemplate Persepolis or the Pyramids. It is not, however, from religion simply that we have derived this advantage, but from religion as it was modified in the dark ages. Such is the complex reciprocation of good and evil in the dispensations of Providence, that we may assert, with only an apparent paradox, that, had religion been more pure, it would have been less permanent, and that Christianity has been preserved by means of its corruptions. The sole hope for literature depended on the Latin language; and I do not see why that should not have been lost, if three circumstances in the prevailing religious system, all of which we are justly accustomed to disapprove, had not conspired to maintain it--the papal supremacy, the monastic institutions, and the use of a Latin liturgy. 1. A continual intercourse was kept up, in consequence of the first, between Rome and the several nations of Europe; her laws were received by the bishops, her legates presided in councils; so that a common language was as necessary in the church as it is at present in the diplomatic relations of kingdoms. 2. Throughout the whole course of the middle ages there was no learning, and very little regularity of manners, among the parochial clergy. Almost every distinguished man was either the member of a chapter or of a convent. The monasteries were subjected to strict rules of discipline, and held out, at the worst, more opportunities for study than the secular clergy possessed, and fewer for worldly dissipations. But their most important service was as secure repositories for books. All our manuscripts have been preserved in this manner, and could hardly have descended to us by any other channel; at least there were intervals when I do not conceive that any royal or private libraries existed.[517] 3. Monasteries, however, would probably have contributed very little towards the preservation of learning, if the Scriptures and the liturgy had been translated out of Latin when that language ceased to be intelligible. Every rational principle of religious worship called for such a change; but it would have been made at the expense of posterity. One might presume, if such refined conjectures were consistent with historical caution, that the more learned and sagacious ecclesiastics of those times, deploring the gradual corruption of the Latin tongue, and the danger of its absolute extinction, were induced to maintain it as a sacred language, and the depository, as it were, of that truth and that science which would be lost in the barbarous dialects of the vulgar. But a simpler explanation is found in the radical dislike of innovation which is natural to an established clergy. Nor did they want as good pretexts, on the ground of convenience, as are commonly alleged by the opponents of reform. They were habituated to the Latin words of the church-service, which had become, by this association, the readiest instruments of devotion, and with the majesty of which the Romance jargon could bear no comparison. Their musical chants were adapted to these sounds, and their hymns depended, for metrical effect, on the marked accents and powerful rhymes which the Latin language affords. The vulgate Latin of the Bible was still more venerable. It was like a copy of a lost original; and a copy attested by one of the most eminent fathers, and by the general consent of the church. These are certainly no adequate excuses for keeping the people in ignorance; and the gross corruption of the middle ages is in a great degree assignable to this policy. But learning, and consequently religion, have eventually derived from it the utmost advantage. [Sidenote: Superstitions.] In the shadows of this universal ignorance a thousand superstitions, like foul animals of night, were propagated and nourished. It would be very unsatisfactory to exhibit a few specimens of this odious brood, when the real character of those times is only to be judged by their accumulated multitude. In every age it would be easy to select proofs of irrational superstition, which, separately considered, seem to degrade mankind from its level in the creation; and perhaps the contemporaries of Swedenborg and Southcote have no right to look very contemptuously upon the fanaticism of their ancestors. There are many books from which a sufficient number of instances may be collected to show the absurdity and ignorance of the middle ages in this respect. I shall only mention two, as affording more general evidence than any local or obscure superstition. In the tenth century an opinion prevailed everywhere that the end of the world was approaching. Many charters begin with these words, "As the world is now drawing to its close." An army marching under the emperor Otho I. was so terrified by an eclipse of the sun, which it conceived to announce this consummation, as to disperse hastily on all sides. As this notion seems to have been founded on some confused theory of the millennium, it naturally died away when the seasons proceeded in the eleventh century with their usual regularity.[518] A far more remarkable and permanent superstition was the appeal to Heaven in judicial controversies, whether through the means of combat or of ordeal. The principle of these was the same; but in the former it was mingled with feelings independent of religion--the natural dictates of resentment in a brave man unjustly accused, and the sympathy of a warlike people with the display of skill and intrepidity. These, in course of time, almost obliterated the primary character of judicial combat, and ultimately changed it into the modern duel, in which assuredly there is no mixture of superstition.[519] But, in the various tests of innocence which were called ordeals, this stood undisguised and unqualified. It is not necessary to describe what is so well known--the ceremonies of trial by handling hot iron, by plunging the arm into boiling fluids, by floating or sinking in cold water, or by swallowing a piece of consecrated bread. It is observable that, as the interference of Heaven was relied upon as a matter of course, it seems to have been reckoned nearly indifferent whether such a test was adopted as must, humanly considered, absolve all the guilty, or one that must convict all the innocent. The ordeals of hot iron or water were, however, more commonly used; and it has been a perplexing question by what dexterity these tremendous proofs were eluded. They seem at least to have placed the decision of all judicial controversies in the hands of the clergy, who must have known the secret, whatever that might be, of satisfying the spectators that an accused person had held a mass of burning iron with impunity. For several centuries this mode of investigation was in great repute, though not without opposition from some eminent bishops. It does discredit to the memory of Charlemagne that he was one of its warmest advocates.[520] But the judicial combat, which indeed might be reckoned one species of ordeal, gradually put an end to the rest; and as the church acquired better notions of law, and a code of her own, she strenuously exerted herself against all these barbarous superstitions.[521] [Sidenote: Enthusiastic risings.] But the religious ignorance of the middle ages sometimes burst out in ebullitions of epidemical enthusiasm, more remarkable than these superstitious usages, though proceeding in fact from similar causes. For enthusiasm is little else than superstition put in motion, and is equally founded on a strong conviction of supernatural agency without any just conceptions of its nature. Nor has any denomination of Christians produced, or even sanctioned, more fanaticism than the church of Rome. These epidemical frenzies, however, to which I am alluding, were merely tumultuous, though certainly fostered by the creed of perpetual miracles which the clergy inculcated, and drawing a legitimate precedent for religious insurrection from the crusades. For these, among other evil consequences, seem to have principally excited a wild fanaticism that did not sleep for several centuries.[522] The first conspicuous appearance of it was in the reign of Philip Augustus, when the mercenary troops, dismissed from the pay of that prince and of Henry II., committed the greatest outrages in the south of France. One Durand, a carpenter, deluded it is said by a contrived appearance of the Virgin, put himself at the head of an army of the populace, in order to destroy these marauders. His followers were styled Brethren of the White Caps, from the linen coverings of their heads. They bound themselves not to play at dice nor frequent taverns, to wear no affected clothing, to avoid perjury and vain swearing. After some successes over the plunderers, they went so far as to forbid the lords to take any dues from their vassals, on pain of incurring the indignation of the brotherhood. It may easily be imagined that they were soon entirely discomfited, so that no one dared to own that he had belonged to them.[523] During the captivity of St. Louis in Egypt, a more extensive and terrible ferment broke out in Flanders, and spread from thence over great part of France. An impostor declared himself commissioned by the Virgin to preach a crusade, not to the rich and noble, who for their pride had been rejected of God, but the poor. His disciples were called Pastoureaux, the simplicity of shepherds having exposed them more readily to this delusion. In a short time they were swelled by the confluence of abundant streams to a moving mass of a hundred thousand men, divided into companies, with banners bearing a cross and a lamb, and commanded by the impostor's lieutenants. He assumed a priestly character, preaching, absolving, annulling marriages. At Amiens, Bourges, Orleans, and Paris itself, he was received as a divine prophet. Even the regent Blanche, for a time, was led away by the popular tide. His main topic was reproach of the clergy for their idleness and corruption--a theme well adapted to the ears of the people, who had long been uttering similar strains of complaint. In some towns his followers massacred the priests and plundered the monasteries. The government at length began to exert itself; and the public sentiment turning against the authors of so much confusion, this rabble was put to the sword or dissipated.[524] Seventy years afterwards an insurrection, almost exactly parallel to this, burst out under the same pretence of a crusade. These insurgents, too, bore the name of Pastoureaux, and their short career was distinguished by a general massacre of the Jews.[525] But though the contagion of fanaticism spreads much more rapidly among the populace, and in modern times is almost entirely confined to it, there were examples, in the middle ages, of an epidemical religious lunacy, from which no class was exempt. One of these occurred about the year 1260, when a multitude of every rank, age, and sex, marching two by two in procession along the streets and public roads, mingled groans and dolorous hymns with the sound of leathern scourges which they exercised upon their naked backs. From this mark of penitence, which, as it bears at least all the appearance of sincerity, is not uncommon in the church of Rome, they acquired the name of Flagellants. Their career began, it is said, at Perugia, whence they spread over the rest of Italy, and into Germany and Poland. As this spontaneous fanaticism met with no encouragement from the church, and was prudently discountenanced by the civil magistrate, it died away in a very short time.[526] But it is more surprising that, after almost a century and a half of continual improvement and illumination, another irruption of popular extravagance burst out under circumstances exceedingly similar.[527] "In the month of August 1399," says a contemporary historian, "there appeared all over Italy a description of persons, called Bianchi, from the white linen vestment that they wore. They passed from province to province, and from city to city, crying out Misericordia! with their faces covered and bent towards the ground, and bearing before them a great crucifix. Their constant song was Stabat Mater dolorosa. This lasted three months; and whoever did not attend their procession was reputed a heretic."[528] Almost every Italian writer of the time takes notice of these Bianchi; and Muratori ascribes a remarkable reformation of manners (though certainly a very transient one) to their influence.[529] Nor were they confined to Italy, though no such meritorious exertions are imputed to them in other countries. In France their practice of covering the face gave such opportunity to crimes as to be prohibited by the government;[530] and we have an act on the rolls of the first parliament of Henry IV., forbidding any one, "under pain of forfeiting all his worth, to receive the new sect in white clothes, pretending to great sanctity," which had recently appeared in foreign parts.[531] [Sidenote: Pretended miracles.] The devotion of the multitude was wrought to this feverish height by the prevailing system of the clergy. In that singular polytheism, which had been grafted on Christianity, nothing was so conspicuous as the belief of perpetual miracles--if indeed those could properly be termed miracles which, by their constant recurrence, even upon trifling occasions, might seem within the ordinary dispensations of Providence. These superstitions arose in what are called primitive times, and are certainly no part of popery, if in that word we include any especial reference to the Roman see. But successive ages of ignorance swelled the delusion to such an enormous pitch, that it was as difficult to trace, we may say without exaggeration, the real religion of the Gospel in the popular belief of the laity, as the real history of Charlemagne in the romance of Turpin. It must not be supposed that these absurdities were produced, as well as nourished, by ignorance. In most cases they were the work of deliberate imposture. Every cathedral or monastery had its tutelar saint, and every saint his legend, fabricated in order to enrich the churches under his protection, by exaggerating his virtues, his miracles, and consequently his power of serving those who paid liberally for his patronage.[532] Many of those saints were imaginary persons; sometimes a blundered inscription added a name to the calendar, and sometimes, it is said, a heathen god was surprised at the company to which he was introduced, and the rites with which he was honoured.[533] [Sidenote: Mischiefs arising from this superstition.] It would not be consonant to the nature of the present work to dwell upon the erroneousness of this religion; but its effect upon the moral and intellectual character of mankind was so prominent, that no one can take a philosophical view of the middle ages without attending more than is at present fashionable to their ecclesiastical history. That the exclusive worship of saints, under the guidance of an artful though illiterate priesthood, degraded the understanding and begot a stupid credulity and fanaticism, is sufficiently evident. But it was also so managed as to loosen the bonds of religion and pervert the standard of morality. If these inhabitants of heaven had been represented as stern avengers, accepting no slight atonement for heavy offences, and prompt to interpose their control over natural events for the detection and punishment of guilt, the creed, however impossible to be reconciled with experience, might have proved a salutary check upon a rude people, and would at least have had the only palliation that can be offered for a religious imposture, its political expediency. In the legends of those times, on the contrary, they appeared only as perpetual intercessors, so good-natured and so powerful, that a sinner was more emphatically foolish than he is usually represented if he failed to secure himself against any bad consequences. For a little attention to the saints, and especially to the Virgin, with due liberality to their servants, had saved, he would be told, so many of the most atrocious delinquents, that he might equitably presume upon similar luck in his own case. This monstrous superstition grew to its height in the twelfth century. For the advance that learning then made was by no means sufficient to counteract the vast increase of monasteries, and the opportunities which the greater cultivation of modern languages afforded for the diffusion of legendary tales. It was now, too, that the veneration paid to the Virgin, in early times very great, rose to an almost exclusive idolatry. It is difficult to conceive the stupid absurdity and the disgusting profaneness of those stories which were invented by the monks to do her honour. A few examples have been thrown into a note.[534] [Sidenote: Not altogether unmixed with good.] Whether the superstition of these dark ages had actually passed that point when it becomes more injurious to public morals and the welfare of society than the entire absence of all religious notions is a very complex question, upon which I would by no means pronounce an affirmative decision.[535] A salutary influence, breathed from the spirit of a more genuine religion, often displayed itself among the corruptions of a degenerate superstition. In the original principles of monastic orders, and the rules by which they ought at least to have been governed, there was a character of meekness, self-denial, and charity that could not wholly be effaced. These virtues, rather than justice and veracity, were inculcated by the religious ethics of the middle ages; and in the relief of indigence it may, upon the whole, be asserted that the monks did not fall short of their profession.[536] This eleemosynary spirit indeed remarkably distinguishes both Christianity and Mohammedism from the moral systems of Greece and Rome, which were very deficient in general humanity and sympathy with suffering. Nor do we find in any single instance during ancient times, if I mistake not, those public institutions for the alleviation of human miseries which have long been scattered over every part of Europe. The virtues of the monks assumed a still higher character when they stood forward as protectors of the oppressed. By an established law, founded on very ancient superstition, the precincts of a church afforded sanctuary to accused persons. Under a due administration of justice this privilege would have been simply and constantly mischievous, as we properly consider it to be in those countries where it still subsists. But in the rapine and tumult of the middle ages the right of sanctuary might as often be a shield to innocence as an immunity to crime. We can hardly regret, in reflecting on the desolating violence which prevailed, that there should have been some green spots in the wilderness where the feeble and the persecuted could find refuge. How must this right have enhanced the veneration for religious institutions! How gladly must the victims of internal warfare have turned their eyes from the baronial castle, the dread and scourge of the neighbourhood, to those venerable walls within which not even the clamour of arms could be heard to disturb the chant of holy men and the sacred service of the altar! The protection of the sanctuary was never withheld. A son of Chilperic king of France having fled to that of Tours, his father threatened to ravage all the lands of the church unless they gave him up. Gregory the historian, bishop of the city, replied in the name of his clergy that Christians could not be guilty of an act unheard of among pagans. The king was as good as his word, and did not spare the estate of the church, but dared not infringe its privileges. He had indeed previously addressed a letter to St. Martin, which was laid on his tomb in the church, requesting permission to take away his son by force; but the honest saint returned no answer.[537] [Sidenote: Vices of the monks and clergy.] The virtues indeed, or supposed virtues, which had induced a credulous generation to enrich so many of the monastic orders, were not long preserved. We must reject, in the excess of our candour, all testimonies that the middle ages present, from the solemn declaration of councils and reports of judicial inquiry to the casual evidence of common fame in the ballad or romance, if we would extenuate the general corruption of those institutions. In vain new rules of discipline were devised, or the old corrected by reforms. Many of their worst vices grew so naturally out of their mode of life, that a stricter discipline could have no tendency to extirpate them. Such were the frauds I have already noticed, and the whole scheme of hypocritical austerities. Their extreme licentiousness was sometimes hardly concealed by the cowl of sanctity. I know not by what right we should disbelieve the reports of the visitation under Henry VIII., entering as they do into a multitude of specific charges both probable in their nature and consonant to the unanimous opinion of the world.[538] Doubtless there were many communities, as well as individuals, to whom none of these reproaches would apply. In the very best view, however, that can be taken of monasteries, their existence is deeply injurious to the general morals of a nation. They withdraw men of pure conduct and conscientious principles from the exercise of social duties, and leave the common mass of human vice more unmixed. Such men are always inclined to form schemes of ascetic perfection, which can only be fulfilled in retirement; but in the strict rules of monastic life, and under the influence of a grovelling superstition, their virtue lost all its usefulness. They fell implicitly into the snares of crafty priests, who made submission to the church not only the condition but the measure of all praise. "He is a good Christian," says Eligius, a saint of the seventh century, "who comes frequently to church; who presents an oblation that it may be offered to God on the altar; who does not taste the fruits of his land till he has consecrated a part of them to God; who can repeat the Creed or the Lord's Prayer. Redeem your souls from punishment while it is in your power; offer presents and tithes to churches, light candles in holy places, as much as you can afford, come more frequently to church, implore the protection of the saints; for, if you observe these things, you may come with security at the day of judgment to say, Give unto us, Lord, for we have given unto thee."[539] With such a definition of the Christian character, it is not surprising that any fraud and injustice became honourable when it contributed to the riches of the clergy and glory of their order. Their frauds, however, were less atrocious than the savage bigotry with which they maintained their own system and infected the laity. In Saxony, Poland, Lithuania, and the countries on the Baltic Sea, a sanguinary persecution extirpated the original idolatry. The Jews were everywhere the objects of popular insult and oppression, frequently of a general massacre, though protected, it must be confessed, by the laws of the church, as well as in general by temporal princes.[540] Of the crusades it is only necessary to repeat that they began in a tremendous eruption of fanaticism, and ceased only because that spirit could not be constantly kept alive. A similar influence produced the devastation of Languedoc, the stakes and scaffolds of the Inquisition, and rooted in the religious theory of Europe those maxims of intolerance which it has so slowly, and still perhaps so imperfectly, renounced. From no other cause are the dictates of sound reason and the moral sense of mankind more confused than by this narrow theological bigotry. For as it must often happen that men to whom the arrogance of a prevailing faction imputes religious error are exemplary for their performance of moral duties, these virtues gradually cease to make their proper impression, and are depreciated by the rigidly orthodox as of little value in comparison with just opinions in speculative points. On the other hand, vices are forgiven to those who are zealous in the faith. I speak too gently, and with a view to later times; in treating of the dark ages it would be more correct to say that crimes were commended. Thus Gregory of Tours, a saint of the church, after relating a most atrocious story of Clovis--the murder of a prince whom he had previously instigated to parricide--continues the sentence: "For God daily subdued his enemies to his hand, and increased his kingdom; because he walked before him in uprightness, and did what was pleasing in his eyes."[541] [Sidenote: Commutation of penances.] It is a frequent complaint of ecclesiastical writers that the rigorous penances imposed by the primitive canons upon delinquents were commuted in a laxer state of discipline for less severe atonements, and ultimately indeed for money.[542] We must not, however, regret that the clergy should have lost the power of compelling men to abstain fifteen years from eating meat, or to stand exposed to public derision at the gates of a church. Such implicit submissiveness could only have produced superstition and hypocrisy among the laity, and prepared the road for a tyranny not less oppressive than that of India or ancient Egypt. Indeed the two earliest instances of ecclesiastical interference with the rights of sovereigns--namely, the deposition of Wamba in Spain and that of Louis the Debonair--were founded upon this austere system of penitence. But it is true that a repentance redeemed by money or performed by a substitute could have no salutary effect on the sinner; and some of the modes of atonement which the church most approved were particularly hostile to public morals. None was so usual as pilgrimage, whether to Jerusalem or Rome, which were the great objects of devotion; or to the shrine of some national saint--a James of Compostella, a David, or a Thomas à Becket. This licensed vagrancy was naturally productive of dissoluteness, especially among the women. Our English ladies, in their zeal to obtain the spiritual treasures of Rome, are said to have relaxed the necessary caution about one that was in their own custody.[543] There is a capitulary of Charlemagne directed against itinerant penitents, who probably considered the iron chain around their necks an expiation of future as well as past offences.[544] The crusades may be considered as martial pilgrimages on an enormous scale, and their influence upon general morality seems to have been altogether pernicious. Those who served under the cross would not indeed have lived very virtuously at home; but the confidence in their own merits, which the principle of such expeditions inspired, must have aggravated the ferocity and dissoluteness of their ancient habits. Several historians attest the depravation of morals which existed both among the crusaders and in the states formed out of their conquests.[545] [Sidenote: Want of law.] While religion had thus lost almost every quality that renders it conducive to the good order of society, the control of human law was still less efficacious. But this part of my subject has been anticipated in other passages of the present work; and I shall only glance at the want of regular subordination, which rendered legislative and judicial edicts a dead letter, and at the incessant private warfare, rendered legitimate by the usages of most continental nations. Such hostilities, conducted as they must usually have been with injustice and cruelty, could not fail to produce a degree of rapacious ferocity in the general disposition of a people. And this certainly was among the characteristics of every nation for many centuries. [Sidenote: Degradation of morals.] It is easy to infer the degradation of society during the dark ages from the state of religion and police. Certainly there are a few great landmarks of moral distinctions so deeply fixed in human nature, that no degree of rudeness can destroy, nor even any superstition remove them. Wherever an extreme corruption has in any particular society defaced these sacred archetypes that are given to guide and correct the sentiments of mankind, it is in the course of Providence that the society itself should perish by internal discord or the sword of a conqueror. In the worst ages of Europe there must have existed the seeds of social virtues, of fidelity, gratitude, and disinterestedness, sufficient at least to preserve the public approbation of more elevated principles than the public conduct displayed. Without these imperishable elements there could have been no restoration of the moral energies; nothing upon which reformed faith, revived knowledge, renewed law, could exercise their nourishing influences. But history, which reflects only the more prominent features of society, cannot exhibit the virtues that were scarcely able to struggle through the general depravation. I am aware that a tone of exaggerated declamation is at all times usual with those who lament the vices of their own time; and writers of the middle ages are in abundant need of allowance on this score. Nor is it reasonable to found any inferences as to the general condition of society on single instances of crimes, however atrocious, especially when committed under the influence of violent passion. Such enormities are the fruit of every age, and none is to be measured by them. They make, however, a strong impression at the moment, and thus find a place in contemporary annals, from which modern writers are commonly glad to extract whatever may seem to throw light upon manners. I shall, therefore, abstain from producing any particular cases of dissoluteness or cruelty from the records of the middle ages, lest I should weaken a general proposition by offering an imperfect induction to support it, and shall content myself with observing that times to which men sometimes appeal, as to a golden period, were far inferior in every moral comparison to those in which we are thrown.[546] One crime, as more universal and characteristic than others, may be particularly noticed. All writers agree in the prevalence of judicial perjury. It seems to have almost invariably escaped human punishment; and the barriers of superstition were in this, as in every other instance, too feeble to prevent the commission of crimes. Many of the proofs by ordeal were applied to witnesses as well as those whom they accused; and undoubtedly trial by combat was preserved in a considerable degree on account of the difficulty experienced in securing a just cause against the perjury of witnesses. Robert king of France, perceiving how frequently men forswore themselves upon the relics of saints, and less shocked apparently at the crime than at the sacrilege, caused an empty reliquary of crystal to be used, that those who touched it might incur less guilt in fact, though not in intention. Such an anecdote characterizes both the man and the times.[547] [Sidenote: Love of field sports.] The favourite diversions of the middle ages, in the intervals of war, were those of hunting and hawking. The former must in all countries be a source of pleasure; but it seems to have been enjoyed in moderation by the Greeks and the Romans. With the northern invaders, however, it was rather a predominant appetite than an amusement; it was their pride and their ornament, the theme of their songs, the object of their laws, and the business of their lives. Falconry, unknown as a diversion to the ancients, became from the fourth century an equally delightful occupation.[548] From the Salic and other barbarous codes of the fifth century to the close of the period under our review, every age would furnish testimony to the ruling passion for these two species of chace, or, as they were sometimes called, the mysteries of woods and rivers. A knight seldom stirred from his house without a falcon on his wrist or a greyhound that followed him. Thus are Harold and his attendants represented, in the famous tapestry of Bayeux. And in the monuments of those who died anywhere but on the field of battle, it is usual to find the greyhound lying at their feet, or the bird upon their wrists. Nor are the tombs of ladies without their falcon; for this diversion, being of less danger and fatigue than the chace, was shared by the delicate sex.[549] It was impossible to repress the eagerness with which the clergy, especially after the barbarians were tempted by rich bishoprics to take upon them the sacred functions, rushed into these secular amusements. Prohibitions of councils, however frequently repeated, produced little effect. In some instances a particular monastery obtained a dispensation. Thus that of St. Denis, in 774, represented to Charlemagne that the flesh of hunted animals was salutary for sick monks, and that their skins would serve to bind the books in the library.[550] Reasons equally cogent, we may presume, could not be wanting in every other case. As the bishops and abbots were perfectly feudal lords, and often did not scruple to lead their vassals into the field, it was not to be expected that they should debar themselves of an innocent pastime. It was hardly such indeed, when practised at the expense of others. Alexander III., by a letter to the clergy of Berkshire, dispenses with their keeping the archdeacon in dogs and hawks during his visitation.[551] This season gave jovial ecclesiastics an opportunity of trying different countries. An archbishop of York, in 1321, seems to have carried a train of two hundred persons, who were maintained at the expense of the abbeys on his road, and to have hunted with a pack of hounds from parish to parish.[552] The third council of Lateran, in 1180, had prohibited this amusement on such journeys, and restricted bishops to a train of forty or fifty horses.[553] Though hunting had ceased to be a necessary means of procuring food, it was a very convenient resource, on which the wholesomeness and comfort, as well as the luxury, of the table depended. Before the natural pastures were improved, and new kinds of fodder for cattle discovered, it was impossible to maintain the summer stock during the cold season. Hence a portion of it was regularly slaughtered and salted for winter provision. We may suppose that, when no alternative was offered but these salted meats, even the leanest venison was devoured with relish. There was somewhat more excuse therefore for the severity with which the lords of forests and manors preserved the beasts of chace than if they had been considered as merely objects of sport. The laws relating to preservation of game were in every country uncommonly rigorous. They formed in England that odious system of forest laws which distinguished the tyranny of our Norman kings. Capital punishment for killing a stag or wild boar was frequent, and perhaps warranted by law, until the charter of John.[554] The French code was less severe, but even Henry IV. enacted the pain of death against the repeated offence of chasing deer in the royal forests. The privilege of hunting was reserved to the nobility till the reign of Louis IX., who extended it in some degree to persons of lower birth.[555] This excessive passion for the sports of the field produced those evils which are apt to result from it--a strenuous idleness which disdained all useful occupations, and an oppressive spirit towards the peasantry. The devastation committed under the pretence of destroying wild animals, which had been already protected in their depredations, is noticed in serious authors, and has also been the topic of popular ballads.[556] What effect this must have had on agriculture it is easy to conjecture. The levelling of forests, the draining of morasses, and the extirpation of mischievous animals which inhabit them, are the first objects of man's labour in reclaiming the earth to his use; and these were forbidden by a landed aristocracy, whose control over the progress of agricultural improvement was unlimited, and who had not yet learned to sacrifice their pleasures to their avarice. [Sidenote: Bad state of agriculture;] These habits of the rich, and the miserable servitude of those who cultivated the land, rendered its fertility unavailing. Predial servitude indeed, in some of its modifications, has always been the great bar to improvement. In the agricultural economy of Rome the labouring husbandman, a menial slave of some wealthy senator, had not even that qualified interest in the soil which the tenure of villenage afforded to the peasant of feudal ages. Italy, therefore, a country presenting many natural impediments, was but imperfectly reduced into cultivation before the irruption of the barbarians.[557] That revolution destroyed agriculture with every other art, and succeeding calamities during five or six centuries left the finest regions of Europe unfruitful and desolate. There are but two possible modes in which the produce of the earth can be increased; one by rendering fresh land serviceable, the other by improving the fertility of that which is already cultivated. The last is only attainable by the application of capital and of skill to agriculture, neither of which could be expected in the ruder ages of society. The former is, to a certain extent, always practicable while waste lands remain; but it was checked by laws hostile to improvement, such as the manerial and commonable rights in England, and by the general tone of manners. Till the reign of Charlemagne there were no towns in Germany, except a few that had been erected on the Rhine and Danube by the Romans. A house with its stables and farm-buildings, surrounded by a hedge or enclosure, was called a court, or, as we find it in our law-books, a curtilage; the toft or homestead of a more genuine English dialect. One of these, with the adjacent domain of arable fields and woods, had the name of a villa or manse. Several manses composed a march; and several marches formed a pagus or district.[558] From these elements in the progress of population arose villages and towns. In France undoubtedly there were always cities of some importance. Country parishes contained several manses or farms of arable land, around a common pasture, where every one was bound by custom to feed his cattle.[559] [Sidenote: of internal trade;] The condition even of internal trade was hardly preferable to that of agriculture. There is not a vestige perhaps to be discovered for several centuries of any considerable manufacture; I mean, of working up articles of common utility to an extent beyond what the necessities of an adjacent district required.[560] Rich men kept domestic artisans among their servants; even kings, in the ninth century, had their clothes made by the women upon their farms;[561] but the peasantry must have been supplied with garments and implements of labour by purchase; and every town, it cannot be doubted, had its weaver, its smith, and its currier. But there were almost insuperable impediments to any extended traffic--the insecurity of moveable wealth, and difficulty of accumulating it; the ignorance of mutual wants; the peril of robbery in conveying merchandise, and the certainty of extortion. In the domains of every lord a toll was to be paid in passing his bridge, or along his highway, or at his market.[562] These customs, equitable and necessary in their principle, became in practice oppressive, because they were arbitrary, and renewed in every petty territory which the road might intersect. Several of Charlemagne's capitularies repeat complaints of these exactions, and endeavour to abolish such tolls as were not founded on prescription.[563] One of them rather amusingly illustrates the modesty and moderation of the landholders. It is enacted that no one shall be compelled to go out of his way in order to pay toll at a particular bridge, when he can cross the river more conveniently at another place.[564] These provisions, like most others of that age, were unlikely to produce much amendment. It was only the milder species, however, of feudal lords who were content with the tribute of merchants. The more ravenous descended from their fortresses to pillage the wealthy traveller, or shared in the spoil of inferior plunderers, whom they both protected and instigated. Proofs occur, even in the later periods of the middle ages, when government had regained its energy, and civilization had made considerable progress, of public robberies systematically perpetrated by men of noble rank. In the more savage times, before the twelfth century, they were probably too frequent to excite much attention. It was a custom in some places to waylay travellers, and not only to plunder, but to sell them as slaves, or compel them to pay a ransom. Harold son of Godwin, having been wrecked on the coast of Ponthieu, was imprisoned by the lord, says an historian, according to the custom of that territory.[565] Germany appears to have been, upon the whole, the country where downright robbery was most unscrupulously practised by the great. Their castles, erected on almost inaccessible heights among the woods, became the secure receptacles of predatory bands, who spread terror over the country. From these barbarian lords of the dark ages, as from a living model, the romances are said to have drawn their giants and other disloyal enemies of true chivalry. Robbery, indeed, is the constant theme both of the Capitularies and of the Anglo-Saxon laws; one has more reason to wonder at the intrepid thirst of lucre, which induced a very few merchants to exchange the products of different regions, than to ask why no general spirit of commercial activity prevailed. [Sidenote: and of foreign commerce.] Under all these circumstances it is obvious that very little oriental commerce could have existed in these western countries of Europe. Destitute as they have been created, speaking comparatively, of natural productions fit for exportation, their invention and industry are the great resources from which they can supply the demands of the East. Before any manufactures were established in Europe, her commercial intercourse with Egypt and Asia must of necessity have been very trifling; because, whatever inclination she might feel to enjoy the luxuries of those genial regions, she wanted the means of obtaining them. It is not therefore necessary to rest the miserable condition of oriental commerce upon the Saracen conquests, because the poverty of Europe is an adequate cause; and, in fact, what little traffic remained was carried on with no material inconvenience through the channel of Constantinople. Venice took the lead in trading with Greece and more eastern countries.[566] Amalfi had the second place in the commerce of those dark ages. These cities imported, besides natural productions, the fine clothes of Constantinople; yet as this traffic seems to have been illicit, it was not probably extensive.[567] Their exports were gold and silver, by which, as none was likely to return, the circulating money of Europe was probably less in the eleventh century than at the subversion of the Roman empire; furs, which were obtained from the Sclavonian countries; and arms, the sale of which to pagans or Saracens was vainly prohibited by Charlemagne and by the Holy See.[568] A more scandalous traffic, and one that still more fitly called for prohibitory laws, was carried on in slaves. It is an humiliating proof of the degradation of Christendom, that the Venetians were reduced to purchase the luxuries of Asia by supplying the slave-market of the Saracens.[569] Their apology would perhaps have been, that these were purchased from their heathen neighbours; but a slave-dealer was probably not very inquisitive as to the faith or origin of his victim. This trade was not peculiar to Venice. In England it was very common, even after the Conquest, to export slaves to Ireland, till, in the reign of Henry II., the Irish came to a non-importation agreement, which put a stop to the practice.[570] From this state of degradation and poverty all the countries of Europe have recovered, with a progression in some respects tolerably uniform, in others more unequal; and the course of their improvement, more gradual and less dependent upon conspicuous civil revolutions than their decline, affords one of the most interesting subjects into which a philosophical mind can inquire. The commencement of this restoration has usually been dated from about the close of the eleventh century; though it is unnecessary to observe that the subject does not admit of anything approximating to chronological accuracy. It may, therefore, be sometimes not improper to distinguish the first six of the ten centuries which the present work embraces under the appellation of the _dark_ ages; an epithet which I do not extend to the twelfth and three following. In tracing the decline of society from the subversion of the Roman empire, we have been led, not without connexion, from ignorance to superstition, from superstition to vice and lawlessness, and from thence to general rudeness and poverty. I shall pursue an inverted order in passing along the ascending scale, and class the various improvements which took place between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries under three principal heads, as they relate to the wealth, the manners, or the taste and learning of Europe. Different arrangements might probably be suggested, equally natural and convenient; but in the disposition of topics that have not always an unbroken connexion with each other, no method can be prescribed as absolutely more scientific than the rest. That which I have adopted appears to me as philosophical and as little liable to transitions as any other. FOOTNOTES: [479] The subject of the present chapter, so far as it relates to the condition of literature in the middle ages, has been again treated by me in the first and second chapters of a work, published in 1836, the Introduction to the History of Literature in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries. Some things will be found in it more exactly stated, others newly supplied from recent sources. [480] The authors of Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. i., can only find three writers of Gaul, no inconsiderable part of the Roman Empire, mentioned upon any authority; two of whom are now lost. In the preceding century the number was considerably greater. [481] Mosheim, Cent. 4. Tiraboschi endeavours to elevate higher the learning of the early Christians, t. ii. p. 328. Jortin, however, asserts that many of the bishops in the general councils of Ephesus and Chalcedon could not write their names. Remarks on Ecclesiast. Hist. vol. ii. p. 417. [482] Gibbon roundly asserts that "the language of Virgil and Cicero, though with some inevitable mixture of corruption, was so universally adopted in Africa, Spain, Gaul, Great Britain, and Pannonia, that the faint traces of the Punic or Celtic idioms were preserved only in the mountains or among the peasants." Decline and Fall, vol. i. p. 60 (8vo. edit.). For Britain he quotes Tacitus's Life of Agricola as his voucher. But the only passage in this work that gives the least colour to Gibbon's assertion is one in which Agricola is said to have encouraged the children of British chieftains to acquire a taste for liberal studies, and to have succeeded so much by judicious commendation of their abilities, ut qui modo linguam Romanam abnuebant, eloquentiam concupiscerent. (c. 21.) This, it is sufficiently obvious, is very different from the national adoption of Latin as a mother tongue. [483] t. vii. preface. [484] It appears, by a passage quoted from the digest by M. Bonamy, Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscriptions, t. xxiv. p. 589, that Celtic was spoken in Gaul, or at least parts of it, as well as Punic in Africa. [485] Atque eadem illa litera, quoties ultima est, et vocalem verbi sequentis ita contingit, ut in eam transire possit, etiam si scribitur, tamen parum exprimitur, ut _Multum ille_, et _Quantum erat_: adeo ut pene cujusdam novæ literæ sonum reddat. Neque enim eximitur, sed obscuratur, et tantùm aliqua inter duos vocales velut nota est, ne ipsæ coeant. Quintilian, Institut. 1. ix. c. 4, p. 585, edit. Capperonier. [486] The following passage of Quintilian is an evidence both of the omission of harsh or superfluous letters by the best speakers, and of the corrupt abbreviations usual with the worst. Dilucida vero erit pronunciatio primum, si verba tota exegerit, quorum pars devorari, pars destitui solet, plerisque extremas syllabas non proferentibus, dum priorum sono indulgent. Ut est autem necessaria verborum explanatio, ita omnes computare et velut adnumerare literas, molestum et odiosum.--Nam et vocales frequentissimè coeunt, et consonantium quædam insequente vocali dissimulantur; utriusque exemplum posuimus; Multum ille et terris. Vitatur etiam duriorum inter se congressus, unde _pellexit_ et _collegit_, et quæ alio loco dicta sunt. 1. ii. c. 3, p. 696. [487] Tiraboschi (Storia dell. Lett. Ital. t. iii. preface, p. v.) imputes this paradox to Bembo and Quadrio; but I can hardly believe that either of them could maintain it in a literal sense. [488] M. Bonamy, in an essay printed in Mém. de l'Académie des Inscriptions, t. xxiv., has produced several proofs of this from the classical writers on agriculture and other arts, though some of his instances are not in point, as any schoolboy would have told him. This essay, which by some accident had escaped my notice till I had nearly finished the observations in my text, contains, I think, the best view that I have seen of the process of transition by which Latin was changed into French and Italian. Add however, the preface to Tiraboschi's third volume and the thirty-second dissertation of Muratori. [489] See Lanzi, Saggio della Lingua Etrusca, t. i. c. 431; Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscrip. t. xxiv. p. 632. [490] No description can give so adequate a notion of this extraordinary performance as a short specimen. Take the introductory lines; which really, prejudices of education apart, are by no means inharmonious:-- Præfatio nostra viam erranti demonstrat, Respectumque bonum, cum venerit sæculi meta, Æternum fieri, quod discredunt inscia corda. Ego similiter erravi tempore multo, Fana prosequendo, parentibus insciis ipsis. Abstuli me tandem inde, legendo de lege. Testificor Dominum, doleo, proh! civica turba Inscia quod perdit, pergens deos quærere vanos. Ob ea perdoctus ignoros instruo verum. Commodianus however did not keep up this excellence in every part. Some of his lines are not reducible to any pronunciation, without the summary rules of Procrustes; as for instance:-- Paratus ad epulas, et refugiscere præcepta; or, Capillos inficitis, oculos fuligine relinitis. It must be owned that this text is exceedingly corrupt, and I should not despair of seeing a truly critical editor, unscrupulous as his fraternity are apt to be, improve his lines into unblemished hexameters. Till this time arrives, however, we must consider him either as utterly ignorant of metrical distinctions, or at least as aware that the populace whom he addressed did not observe them in speaking. Commodianus is published by Dawes at the end of his edition of Minucius Felix. Some specimens are quoted in Harris's Philological Inquiries. [491] Archæologia, vol. xiv. p. 188. The following are the first lines:-- Abundantia peccatorum solet fratres conturbare; Propter hoc Dominus noster voluit nos præmonere, Comparans regnum coelorum reticulo misso in mare, Congreganti multos pisces, omne genus hinc et inde, Quos cum traxissent ad littus, tunc coeperunt separare, Bonos in vasa miserunt, reliquos malos in mare. This trash is much below the level of Augustin; but it could not have been later than his age. [492] Recueil des Historiens, t. i. p. 814; it begins in the following manner:-- Præcelso expectabili bis Arbogasto comiti Auspicius, qui diligo, salutem dico plurimam. Magnas coelesti Domino rependo corde gratias Quod te Tullensi proxime magnum in urbe vidimus. Multis me tuis artibus lætificabas antea, Sed nunc fecisti maximo me exultare gaudio. [493] Chilpericus rex ... confecit duos libros, quorum versiculi debiles nullis pedibus subsistere possunt: in quibus, dum non intelligebat, pro longis syllabas breves posuit, et pro brevibus longas statuebat. 1. vi. c. 46. [494] Mém. de l'Académie des Inscriptions, t. xvii. Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. ii. p. 28. It seems rather probable that the poetry of Avitus belongs to the fifth century, though not very far from its termination. He was the correspondent of Sidonius Apollinaris, who died in 489, and we may presume his poetry to have been written rather early in life. [495] One stanza of this song will suffice to show that the Latin language was yet unchanged:-- De Clotario est canere rege Francorum, Qui ivi pugnare cum gente Saxonum, Quam graviter provenisset missis Saxonum, Si non fuisset inclitus Faro de gente Burgundionum. [496] Præcavendum est, ne ad aures populi minus aliquid intelligibile proferatur. Mém. de l'Acad. t. xvii. p. 712. [497] Rustico et plebeio sermone propter exemplum et imitationem. Id. ibid. [498] Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. iii. p. 5. Mém. de l'Académie, t. xxiv. p. 617. Nouveau Traité de Diplomatique, t. iv. p. 485. [499] Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. vii. p. 12. The editors say that it is mentioned by name even in the seventh century, which is very natural, as the corruption of Latin had then become striking. It is familiarly known that illiterate persons _understand_ a more correct language than they use themselves; so that the corruption of Latin might have gone to a considerable length among the people, while sermons were preached, and tolerably comprehended, in a purer grammar. [500] Mém. de l'Acad. des Insc. t. xvii. See two memoirs in this volume by du Clos and le Boeuf, especially the latter, as well as that already mentioned in t. xxiv. p. 582, by M. Bonamy. [501] Muratori, Dissert. i. and xliii. [502] Usus Franciscâ, vulgari, et voce Latinâ. Instituit populos eloquio tripici. Fontanini dell'Eloquenza Italiana, p. 15. Muratori, Dissert. xxxii. [503] Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. vi. p. 20. Muratori, Dissert. xliii. [504] Nouveau Traité de Diplomatique, t. ii. p. 419. This became, the editors say, much less unusual about the end of the thirteenth century; a pretty late period! A few signatures to deeds appear in the fourteenth century; in the next they are more frequent. Ibid. The emperor Frederic Barbarossa could not read (Struvius, Corpus Hist. German. t. i. p. 377), nor John king of Bohemia in the middle of the fourteenth century (Sismondi, t. v. p. 205), nor Philip the Hardy, king of France, although the son of St. Louis. (Velly, t. vi. p. 426.) [505] Louis IV., king of France, laughing at Fulk count of Anjou, who sang anthems among the choristers of Tours, received the following pithy epistle from his learned vassal: Noveritis, domines quod rex illiteratus est asinus coronatus. Gesta Comitum Andegavensium. In the same book, Geoffrey, father of our Henry II., is said to be optime literatus; which perhaps imports little more learning than his ancestor Fulk possessed. [506] The passage in Eginhard, which has occasioned so much dispute, speaks for itself: Tentabat et scribere, tabulasque et codicillos ad hoc in lecticula sub cervicalibus circumferre solebat, ut, cum vacuum tempus esset, manum effigiandis literis assuefaceret; sed parum prosperè successit labor præposterus ac serò inchoatus. Many are still unwilling to believe that Charlemagne could not write. M. Ampère observes that the emperor asserts himself to have been the author of the Libri Carolini, and is said by some to have composed verses. Hist. Litt. de la France, iii. 37. But did not Henry VIII. claim a book against Luther, which was not written by himself? _Qui facit per alium, facit per se_, is in all cases a royal prerogative. Even if the book were Charlemagne's own, might he not have dictated it? I have been informed that there is a manuscript at Vienna with autograph notes of Charlemagne in the margin. But is there sufficient evidence of their genuineness? The great difficulty is to get over the words which I have quoted from Eginhard. M. Ampère ingeniously conjectures that the passage does not relate to simple common writing, but to calligraphy; the art of delineating characters in a beautiful manner, practised by the copyists, and of which a contemporaneous specimen may be seen in the well-known Bible of the British Museum. Yet it must be remembered that Charlemagne's early life passed in the depths of ignorance; and Eginhard gives a fair reason why he failed in acquiring the art of writing, that he began too late. Fingers of fifty are not made for a new skill. It is not, of course, implied by the words, that he could not write his own name; but that he did not acquire such a facility as he desired. [1848.] [507] Spelman, Vit. Alfred. Append. [508] Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. iii. p. 5. [509] These four dark centuries, the eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh, occupy five large quarto volumes of the Literary History of France, by the fathers of St. Maur. But the most useful part will be found in the general view at the commencement of each volume; the remainder is taken up with biographies, into which a reader may dive at random, and sometimes bring up a curious fact. I may refer also to the 14th volume of Leber, Collections Relatives à l'Histoire de France, where some learned dissertations by the Abbés Lebeuf and Goujet, a little before the middle of the last century, are reprinted. [Note I.] Tiraboschi, Storia della Letteratura, t. iii., and Muratori's forty-third Dissertation, are good authorities for the condition of letters in Italy; but I cannot easily give references to all the books which I have consulted. [510] Tiraboschi, t. iii. p. 198. [511] Mabillon, De Re Diplomaticâ, p. 55. The reason alleged, indeed, is that they were wholly occupied with studying Arabic, in order to carry on a controversy with the Saracens. But, as this is not very credible, we may rest with the main fact that they could write no Latin. [512] Spelman, Vit. Alfred. Append. The whole drift of Alfred's preface to this translation is to defend the expediency of rendering books into English, on account of the general ignorance of Latin. The zeal which this excellent prince shows for literature is delightful. Let us endeavour, he says, that all the English youth, especially the children of those who are free-born, and can educate them, may learn to read English before they take to any employment. Afterwards such as please may be instructed in Latin. Before the Danish invasion indeed, he tells us, churches were well furnished with books; but the priests got little good from them, being written in a foreign language which they could not understand. [513] Mabillon, De Re Diplomaticâ, p. 55. Ordericus Vitalis, a more candid judge of our unfortunate ancestors than other contemporary annalists, says that the English were, at the Conquest, rude and almost illiterate, which he ascribes to the Danish invasion. Du Chesne, Hist. Norm. Script. p. 518. However, Ingulfus tells us that the library of Croyland contained above three hundred volumes, till the unfortunate fire that destroyed that abbey in 1091. Gale, XV Scriptores, t. i. 93. Such a library was very extraordinary in the eleventh century, and could not have been equalled for some ages afterwards. Ingulfus mentions at the same time a nadir, as he calls it, or planetarium, executed in various metals. This had been presented to abbot Turketul in the tenth century by a king of France, and was, I make no doubt, of Arabian or Greek manufacture. [514] Parchment was so scarce that none could be procured about 1120 for an illuminated copy of the Bible. Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, Dissert. II. I suppose the deficiency was of skins beautiful enough for this purpose; it cannot be meant that there was no parchment for legal instruments. Manuscripts written on papyrus, as may be supposed from the fragility of the material, as well as the difficulty of procuring it, are of extreme rarity. That in the British Museum, being a charter to a church at Ravenna in 572, is in every respect the most curious: and indeed both Mabillon and Muratori seem never to have seen anything written on papyrus, though they trace its occasional use down to the eleventh or twelfth centuries. Mabillon, De Re Diplomaticâ, 1. ii.; Muratori, Antichità Italiane, Dissert. xliii. p. 602. But the authors of the Nouveau Traité de Diplomatique speak of several manuscripts on this material as extant in France and Italy. t. i. p. 493. As to the general scarcity and high price of books in the middle ages, Robertson (Introduction to Hist. Charles V. note x.), and Warton in the above-cited dissertation, not to quote authors less accessible, have collected some of the leading facts; to whom I refer the reader. [515] Lest I should seem to have spoken too peremptorily, I wish it to be understood that I pretend to hardly any direct acquaintance with these writers, and found my censure on the authority of others, chiefly indeed on the admissions of those who are too disposed to fall into a strain of panegyric. See Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. iv. p. 281 et alibi. [516] John Scotus, who, it is almost needless to say, must not be confounded with the still more famous metaphysician Duns Scotus, lived under Charles the Bald, in the middle of the ninth century. It admits of no doubt that John Scotus was, in a literary and philosophical sense, the most remarkable man of the dark ages; no one else had his boldness, his subtlety in threading the labyrinths of metaphysical speculations which, in the west of Europe, had been utterly disregarded. But it is another question whether he can be reckoned an original writer; those who have attended most to his treatise De Divisione Naturæ, the most abstruse of his works, consider it as the development of an oriental philosophy, acquired during his residence in Greece, and nearly coinciding with some of the later Platonism of the Alexandrian school, but with a more unequivocal tendency to pantheism. This manifests itself in some extracts which have latterly been made from the treatise De Divisione Naturæ; but though Scotus had not the reputation of unblemished orthodoxy, the drift of his philosophy was not understood in that barbarous period. He might, indeed, have excited censure by his intrepid preference of reason to authority. "Authority," he says, "springs from reason, not reason from authority--true reason needs not be confirmed by any authority." La véritable importance historique, says Ampère, de Scot Erigène n'est donc pas dans ses opinions; celles-ci n'ont d'autre intérêt que leur date et le lieu où elles apparaissent. Sans doute, il est piquant et bizarre de voir ces opinions orientales et alexandrines surgir au IXe siècle, à Paris, à la cour de Charles le Chauve; mais ce qui n'est pas seulement piquant et bizarre, ce qui intéresse le développement de l'esprit humain, c'est que la question ait été posée, dès lors, si nettement entre l'autorité et la raison, et si énergiquement résolue en faveur de la seconde. En un mot, par ses idées, Scot Erigène est encore un philosophe de l'antiquité Grecque; et par l'indépendance hautement accusée de son point de vue philosophique, il est déjà un dévancier de la philosophie moderne. Hist. Litt. iii. 146. Silvester II. died in 1003. Whether he first brought the Arabic numeration into Europe, as has been commonly said, seems uncertain; it was at least not much practised for some centuries after his death. [517] Charlemagne had a library at Aix-la-Chapelle, which he directed to be sold at his death for the benefit of the poor. His son Louis is said to have collected some books. But this rather confirms, on the whole, my supposition that, in some periods, no royal or private libraries existed, since there were not always princes or nobles with the spirit of Charlemagne, or even Louis the Debonair. "We possess a catalogue," says M. Ampère (quoting d'Achery's Spicilegium, ii. 310), "of the library in the abbey of St. Riquier, written in 831; it consists of 256 volumes, some containing several works. Christian writers are in great majority; but we find also the Eclogues of Virgil, the Rhetoric of Cicero, the History of Homer, that is, the works ascribed to Dictys and Dares." Ampère, iii. 236. Can anything be lower than this, if nothing is omitted more valuable than what is mentioned? The Rhetoric of Cicero was probably the spurious books Ad Herennium. But other libraries must have been somewhat better furnished than this; else the Latin authors would have been still less known in the ninth century than they actually were. In the gradual progress of learning, a very small number of princes thought it honourable to collect books. Perhaps no earlier instance can be mentioned than that of a most respectable man, William III., duke of Guienne, in the first part of the eleventh century. Fuit dux iste, says a contemporary writer, a pueritia doctus literis, et satis notitiam Scripturarum habuit; librorum copiam in palatio suo servavit; et si forte a frequentia causarum et tumultu vacaret, lectioni per seipsum operam dabat longioribus noctibus elucubrans in libris, donec somno vinceretur. Rec. des Hist. x. 155. [518] Robertson, Introduction to Hist. Charles V. note 13; Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. ii. p. 380; Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. vi. [519] Duelling, in the modern sense of the word, exclusive of casual frays and single combat during war, was unknown before the sixteenth century. But we find one anecdote which seems to illustrate its derivation from the judicial combat. The dukes of Lancaster and Brunswick, having some differences, agreed to decide them by duel before John king of France. The lists were prepared with the solemnity of a real trial by battle; but the king interfered to prevent the engagement. Villaret, t. ix. p. 71. The barbarous practice of wearing swords as a part of domestic dress, which tended very much to the frequency of duelling, was not introduced till the latter part of the 15th century. I can only find one print in Montfaucon's Monuments of the French monarchy where a sword is worn without armour before the reign of Charles VIII.: though a few, as early as the reign of Charles VI., have short daggers in their girdles. The exception is a figure of Charles VII. t. iii. pl. 47. [520] Baluzii Capitularia, p. 444. It was prohibited by Louis the Debonair; a man, as I have noticed in another place, not inferior, as a legislator, to his father. Ibid. p. 668. "The spirit of party," says a late writer, "has often accused the church of having devised these barbarous methods of discovering truth--the duel and the ordeal; nothing can be more unjust. Neither one nor the other is derived from Christianity; they existed long before in the Germanic usages." Ampère, Hist. Litt. de la France, iii. 180. Any one must have been very ignorant who attributed the invention of ordeals to the church. But during the dark ages they were always sanctioned. Agobard, from whom M. Ampère gives a quotation, in the reign of Louis the Debonair wrote strongly against them; but this was the remonstrance of a superior man in an age that was ill-inclined to hear him. [521] Ordeals were not actually abolished in France, notwithstanding the law of Louis above-mentioned, so late as the eleventh century (Bouquet, t. xi. p. 430), nor in England till the reign of Henry III. Some of the stories we read, wherein accused persons have passed triumphantly through these severe proofs, are perplexing enough: and perhaps it is safer, as well as easier, to deny than to explain them. For example, a writer in the Archæologia (vol. xv. p. 172) has shown that Emma, queen of Edward the Confessor, did not perform her trial by stepping _between_, as Blackstone imagines, but _upon_ nine red-hot ploughshares. But he seems not aware that the whole story is unsupported by any contemporary or even respectable testimony. A similar anecdote is related of Cunegunda, wife of the emperor Henry II., which probably gave rise to that of Emma. There are, however, medicaments, as is well known, that protect the skin to a certain degree against the effect of fire. This phenomenon would pass for miraculous, and form the basis of those exaggerated stories in monkish books. [522] The most singular effect of this crusading spirit was witnessed in 1211, when a multitude, amounting, as some say, to 90,000, chiefly composed of children, and commanded by a child, set out for the purpose of recovering the Holy Land. They came for the most part from Germany, and reached Genoa without harm. But, finding there an obstacle which their imperfect knowledge of geography had not anticipated, they soon dispersed in various directions. Thirty thousand arrived at Marseilles, where part were murdered, part probably starved, and the rest sold to the Saracens. Annali di Muratori, A.D. 1211; Velly, Hist. de France, t. iv. p. 206. [523] Velly, t. iii. p. 295; Du Cange, v. Capuciati. [524] Velly, Hist. de France, t. v. p. 7; Du Cange, v. Pastorelli. [525] Velly, Hist. de France, t. viii. p. 99. The continuator of Nangis says, sicut fumus subitò evanuit tota illa commotio. Spicilegium, t. iii. p. 77. [526] Velly, t. v. p. 279; Du Cange, v. Verberatio. [527] Something of a similar kind is mentioned by G. Villani, under the year 1310. 1. viii. c. 122. [528] Annal. Mediolan. in Murat. Script. Rer. Ital. t. xvi. p. 832; G. Stella. Ann. Genuens. t. xvii. p. 1072; Chron. Foroliviense, t. xix. p. 874; Ann. Bonincontri, t. xxi. p. 79. [529] Dissert. 75. Sudden transitions from profligate to austere manners were so common among individuals, that we cannot be surprised at their sometimes becoming in a manner national. Azarius, a chronicler of Milan, after describing the almost incredible dissoluteness of Pavia, gives an account of an instantaneous reformation wrought by the preaching of a certain friar. This was about 1350. Script. Rer. Ital. t. xvi. p. 375. [530] Villaret, t. xii. p. 327. [531] Rot. Parl. v. iii. p. 428. [532] This is confessed by the authors of Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. ii. p. 4, and indeed by many catholic writers. I need not quote Mosheim, who more than confirms every word of my text. [533] Middleton's Letter from Rome. If some of our eloquent countryman's positions should be disputed, there are still abundant catholic testimonies that imaginary saints have been canonized. [534] Le Grand d'Aussy has given us, in the fifth volume of his Fabliaux, several of the religious tales by which the monks endeavoured to withdraw the people from romances of chivalry. The following specimens will abundantly confirm my assertions, which may perhaps appear harsh and extravagant to the reader. There was a man whose occupation was highway robbery; but whenever he set out on any such expedition, he was careful to address a prayer to the Virgin. Taken at last, he was sentenced to be hanged. While the cord was round his neck he made his usual prayer, nor was it ineffectual. The Virgin supported his feet "with her white hands," and thus kept him alive two days, to the no small surprise of the executioner, who attempted to complete his work with strokes of a sword. But the same invisible hand turned aside the weapon, and the executioner was compelled to release his victim, acknowledging the miracle. The thief retired into a monastery, which is always the termination of these deliverances. At the monastery of St. Peter, near Cologne, lived a monk perfectly dissolute and irreligious, but very devout towards the Apostle. Unluckily he died suddenly without confession. The fiends came as usual to seize his soul. St. Peter, vexed at losing so faithful a votary, besought God to admit the monk into Paradise. His prayer was refused; and though the whole body of saints, apostles, angels, and martyrs joined at his request to make interest, it was of no avail. In this extremity he had recourse to the Mother of God. "Fair lady," he said, "my monk is lost if you do not interfere for him; but what is impossible for us will be but sport to you, if you please to assist us. Your Son, if you but speak a word, must yield, since it is in your power to command him." The Queen Mother assented, and, followed by all the virgins, moved towards her Son. He who had himself given the precept, Honour thy father and thy mother, no sooner saw his own parent approach than he rose to receive her; and taking her by the hand inquired her wishes. The rest may be easily conjectured. Compare the gross stupidity, or rather the atrocious impiety of this tale, with the pure theism of the Arabian Nights, and judge whether the Deity was better worshipped at Cologne or at Bagdad. It is unnecessary to multiply instances of this kind. In one tale the Virgin takes the shape of a nun, who had eloped from the convent, and performs her duties ten years, till, tired of a libertine life, she returns unsuspected. This was in consideration of her having never omitted to say an Ave as she passed the Virgin's image. In another, a gentleman, in love with a handsome widow, consents, at the instigation of a sorcerer, to renounce God and the saints, but cannot be persuaded to give up the Virgin, well knowing that if he kept her his friend he should obtain pardon through her means. Accordingly she inspired his mistress with so much passion that he married her within a few days. These tales, it may be said, were the production of ignorant men, and circulated among the populace. Certainly they would have excited contempt and indignation in the more enlightened clergy. But I am concerned with the general character of religious notions among the people: and for this it is better to take such popular compositions, adapted to what the laity already believed, than the writings of comparatively learned and reflecting men. However, stories of the same cast are frequent in the monkish historians. Matthew Paris, one of the most respectable of that class, and no friend to the covetousness or relaxed lives of the priesthood, tells us of a knight who was on the point of being damned for frequenting tournaments, but saved by a donation he had formerly made to the Virgin. p. 290. [535] This hesitation about so important a question is what I would by no means repeat. Beyond every doubt, the evils of superstition in the middle ages, though separately considered very serious, are not to be weighed against the benefits of the religion with which they were so mingled. The fashion of the eighteenth century, among protestants especially, was to exaggerate the crimes and follies of mediæval ages--perhaps I have fallen into it a little too much; in the present we seem more in danger of extenuating them. We still want an inflexible impartiality in all that borders on ecclesiastical history, which, I believe, has never been displayed on an extensive scale. A more captivating book can hardly be named than the Mores Catholici of Mr. Digby; and it contains certainly a great deal of truth; but the general effect is that of a _mirage_, which confuses and deludes the sight. If those "ages of faith" were as noble, as pure, as full of human kindness, as he has delineated them, we have had a bad exchange in the centuries since the Reformation. And those who gaze at Mr. Digby's enchantments will do well to consider how they can better escape this consequence than he has done. Dr. Maitland's Letters on the Dark Ages, and a great deal more that comes from the pseudo-Anglican or Anglo-catholic press, converge to the same end; a strong sympathy with the mediæval church, a great indulgence to its errors, and indeed a reluctance to admit them, with a corresponding estrangement from all that has passed in the last three centuries. [1848.] [536] I am inclined to acquiesce in this general opinion; yet an account of expenses at Bolton Abbey, about the reign of Edward II., published in Whitaker's History of Craven, p. 51, makes a very scanty show of almsgiving in this opulent monastery. Much, however, was no doubt given in victuals. But it is a strange error to conceive that English monasteries before the dissolution fed the indigent part of the nation, and gave that general relief which the poor-laws are intended to afford. Piers Plowman is indeed a satirist; but he plainly charges the monks with want of charity. Little had lordes to do to give landes from their heires To religious that have no ruthe though it raine on their aultres; In many places there the parsons be themself at ease, Of the poor they have no pitie and that is their poor charitie. [537] Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. i. p. 374. [538] See Fosbrooke's British Monachism (vol. i. p. 127, and vol. ii. p. 8) for a farrago of evidence against the monks. Clemangis, a French theologian of considerable eminence at the beginning of the fifteenth century, speaks of nunneries in the following terms:--Quid aliud sunt hoc tempore puellarum monasteria, nisi quædam non dico Dei sanctuaria, sed Veneris execranda prostibula, sed lascivorum et impudicorum juvenum ad libidines explendas receptacula? ut idem sit hodie puellam velare, quod et publicè ad scortandum exponere. William Prynne, from whose records (vol. ii. p. 229) I have taken this passage, quotes it on occasion of a charter of king John, banishing thirty nuns of Ambresbury into different convents, propter vitæ suæ turpitudinem. [539] Mosheim, cent. vii. c. 3. Robertson has quoted this passage, to whom perhaps I am immediately indebted for it. Hist. Charles V., vol. i. note 11. I leave this passage as it stood in former editions. But it is due to justice that this extract from Eligius should never be quoted in future, as the translator of Mosheim has induced Robertson and many others, as well as myself, to do. Dr. Lingard has pointed out that it is a very imperfect representation of what Eligius has written; for though he has dwelled on these devotional practices as parts of the definition of a good Christian, he certainly adds a great deal more to which no one could object. Yet no one is, in fact, to blame for this misrepresentation, which, being contained in popular books, has gone forth so widely. Mosheim, as will appear on referring to him, did not quote the passage as containing a complete definition of the Christian character. His translator, Maclaine, mistook this, and wrote, in consequence, the severe note which Robertson has copied. I have seen the whole passage in d'Achery's Spicilegium (vol. v. p. 213, 4to. edit.), and can testify that Dr. Lingard is perfectly correct. Upon the whole, this is a striking proof how dangerous it is to take any authorities at second-hand.--_Note to Fourth Edition._ Much clamour has been made about the mistake of Maclaine, which was innocent and not unnatural. It has been commented upon, particularly by Dr. Arnold, as a proof of the risk we run of misrepresenting authors by quoting them at second-hand. And this is perfectly true, and ought to be constantly remembered. But, so long as we acknowledge the immediate source of our quotation, no censure is due, since in works of considerable extent this use of secondary authorities is absolutely indispensable, not to mention the frequent difficulty of procuring access to original authors [1848.] [540] Mr. Turner has collected many curious facts relative to the condition of the Jews, especially in England. Hist. of England, vol. ii. p. 95. Others may be found dispersed in Velly's History of France; and many in the Spanish writers, Mariana and Zurita. The following are from Vaissette's History of Languedoc. It was the custom at Toulouse to give a blow on the face to a Jew every Easter; this was commuted in the twelfth century for a tribute. t. ii. p. 151. At Beziers another usage prevailed, that of attacking the Jews' houses with stones from Palm Sunday to Easter. No other weapon was to be used; but it generally produced bloodshed. The populace were regularly instigated to the assault by a sermon from the bishop. At length a prelate wiser than the rest abolished this ancient practice, but not without receiving a good sum from the Jews. p. 485. [541] Greg. Tur. 1. ii. c. 40. Of Theodebert, grandson of Clovis, the same historian says, Magnum se et in omni bonitate præcipuum reddidit. In the next paragraph we find a story of his having two wives, and looking so tenderly on the daughter of one of them, that her mother tossed her over a bridge into the river. 1. iii. c. 25. This indeed is a trifle to the passage in the text. There are continual proofs of immorality in the monkish historians. In the history of Ramsey Abbey, one of our best documents for Anglo-Saxon times, we have an anecdote of a bishop who made a Danish nobleman drunk, that he might cheat him of an estate, which is told with much approbation. Gale, Script. Anglic. t. i. p. 441. Walter de Hemingford recounts with excessive delight the well-known story of the Jews who were persuaded by the captain of their vessel to walk on the sands at low water, till the rising tide drowned them; and adds that the captain was both pardoned and rewarded for it by the king, gratiam promeruit et præmium. This is a mistake, inasmuch as he was hanged; but it exhibits the character of the historian, Hemingford, p. 21. [542] Fleury, Troisième Discours sur l'Histoire Ecclésiastique. [543] Henry, Hist. of England, vol. ii. c. 7. [544] Du Cange, v. Peregrinatio. Non sinantur vagari isti nudi cum ferro, qui dicunt se datâ poenitentiâ ire vagantes. Melius videtur, ut si aliquod inconsuetum et capitale crimen commiserint, in uno loco permaneant laborantes et servientes et poenitentiam agentes, secundum quod canonicè iis impositum sit. [545] I. de Vitriaco, in Gesta Dei per Francos, t. i.; Villani, 1. vii. c. 144. [546] Henry has taken pains in drawing a picture, not very favourable, of Anglo-Saxon manners. Book II. chap. 7. This perhaps is the best chapter, as the volume is the best volume, of his unequal work. His account of the Anglo-Saxons is derived in a great degree from William of Malmsbury, who does not spare them. Their civil history, indeed, and their laws, speak sufficiently against the character of that people. But the Normans had little more to boast of in respect of moral correctness. Their luxurious and dissolute habits are as much noticed as their insolence. Vid. Ordericus Vitalis, p. 602; Johann. Sarisburiensis Policraticus, p. 194; Velly, Hist. de France, t. iii. p. 59. The state of manners in France under the first two races of kings, and in Italy both under the Lombards and the subsequent dynasties, may be collected from their histories, their laws, and those miscellaneous facts which books of every description contain. Neither Velly, nor Muratori, Dissert. 23, are so satisfactory as we might desire. [547] Velly, Hist. de France, t. ii. p. 335. It has been observed, that Quid mores sine legibus? is as just a question as that of Horace; and that bad laws must produce bad morals. The strange practice of requiring numerous compurgators to prove the innocence of an accused person had a most obvious tendency to increase perjury. [548] Muratori, Dissert. 23, t. i. p. 306 (Italian); Beckman's Hist. of Inventions, vol. i. p. 319; Vie privée des Français, t. ii. p. 1. [549] Vie privée des Français, t. i. p. 320; t. ii. p. 11. [550] Ibid. t. i. p. 324. [551] Rymer, t. i. p. 61. [552] Whitaker's Hist. of Craven, p. 340, and of Whalley, p. 171. [553] Velly, Hist. de France, t. iii. p. 236. [554] John of Salisbury inveighs against the game-laws of his age, with an odd transition from the Gospel to the Pandects. Nec veriti sunt hominem pro unâ bestiolâ perdere, quem unigentius Dei Filius sanguine redemit suo. Quæ feræ naturæ sunt, et de jure occupantium fiunt, sibi audet humana temeritas vindicare, &c. Polycraticon, p. 18. [555] Le Grand, Vie privée des Français, t. i. p. 325. [556] For the injuries which this people sustained from the seigniorial rights of the chace, in the eleventh century, see the Recueil des Historiens, in the valuable preface to the eleventh volume, p. 181. This continued to be felt in France down to the revolution, to which it did not perhaps a little contribute. (See Young's Travels in France.) The monstrous privilege of free-warren (monstrous, I mean, when not originally founded upon the property of the soil) is recognised by our own laws; though, in this age, it is not often that a court and jury will sustain its exercise. Sir Walter Scott's ballad of the Wild Huntsman, from a German original, is well known; and, I believe, there are several others in that country not dissimilar in subject. [557] Muratori, Dissert. 21. This dissertation contains ample evidence of the wretched state of culture in Italy, at least in the northern parts, both before the irruption of the barbarians, and, in a much greater degree, under the Lombard kings. [558] Schmidt, Hist. des Allem. t. i. p. 408. The following passage seems to illustrate Schmidt's account of German villages in the ninth century, though relating to a different age and country. "A toft," says Dr. Whitaker, "is a homestead in a village, so called from the small tufts of maple, elm, ash, and other wood, with which dwelling-houses were anciently overhung. Even now it is impossible to enter Craven without being struck with the insulated homesteads, surrounded by their little garths, and overhung with tufts of trees. These are the genuine tofts and crofts of our ancestors, with the substitution only of stone for the wooden crocks and thatched roofs of antiquity." Hist. of Craven, p. 380. [559] It is laid down in the Speculum Saxonicum, a collection of feudal customs which prevailed over most of Germany, that no one might have a separate pasture for his cattle unless he possessed three mansi. Du Cange, v. Mansus. There seems to have been a price paid, I suppose to the lord, for agistment in the common pasture. [560] The only mention of a manufacture, as early as the ninth or tenth centuries, that I remember to have met with, is in Schmidt, t. ii. p. 146, who says that cloths were exported from Friesland to England and other parts. He quotes no authority, but I am satisfied that he has not advanced the fact gratuitously. [561] Schmidt, t. i. p. 411; t. ii. p. 146. [562] Du Cange, Pedagium, Pontaticum, Teloneum, Mercatum, Stallagium, Lastagium, &c. [563] Baluz. Capit. p. 621 et alibi. [564] Ut nullus cogatur ad pontem ire ad fluvium transeundum propter telonei causas quando ille in alio loco compendiosius illud flumen transire potest. p. 764 et alibi. [565] Eadmer apud Recueil des Historiens des Gaules, t. xi. preface, p. 192. Pro ritu illius loci, a domino terræ captivitati addicitur. [566] Heeren has frequently referred to a work published in 1789, by Marini, intitled, Storia civile e politica del Commerzio de' Veneziani, which casts a new light upon the early relations of Venice with the East. Of this book I know nothing; but a memoir by de Guignes, in the thirty-seventh volume of the Academy of Inscriptions, on the commerce of France with the East before the crusades, is singularly unproductive; the fault of the subject, not of the author. [567] There is an odd passage in Luitprand's relation of his embassy from the Emperor Otho to Nicephorus Phocas. The Greeks making a display of their dress, he told them that in Lombardy the common people wore as good clothes as they. How, they said, can you procure them? Through the Venetian and Amalfitan dealers, he replied, who gain their subsistence by selling them to us. The foolish Greeks were very angry, and declared that any dealer presuming to export their fine clothes should be flogged, Luitprandi Opera, p. 155, edit. Antwerp. 1640. [568] Baluz. Capitul. p. 775. One of the main advantages which the Christian nations possessed over the Saracens was the coat of mail, and other defensive armour; so that this prohibition was founded upon very good political reasons. [569] Schmidt, Hist. des Allem, t. ii. p. 146; Heeren, sur l'Influence des Croisades, p. 316. In Baluze we find a law of Carloman, brother to Charlemagne: Ut mancipia Christiana paganis non vendantur. Capitularia, t. i. p. 150, vide quoque, p. 361. [570] William of Malmsbury accuses the Anglo-Saxon nobility of selling their female servants, even when pregnant by them, as slaves to foreigners, p. 102. I hope there were not many of these Yaricoes; and should not perhaps have given credit to an historian rather prejudiced against the English, if I had not found too much authority for the general practice. In the canons of a council at London in 1102 we read, Let no one from henceforth presume to carry on that wicked traffic by which men of England have hitherto been sold like brute animals. Wilkins's Concilia, t. i. p. 383. And Giraldus Cambrensis says that the English before the Conquest were generally in the habit of selling their children and other relations to be slaves in Ireland, without having even the pretext of distress or famine, till the Irish, in a national synod, agreed to emancipate all the English slaves in the kingdom. Id. p. 471. This seems to have been designed to take away all pretext for the threatened invasion of Henry II. Lyttelton, vol. iii. p. 70. PART II. Progress of Commercial Improvement in Germany, Flanders, and England --in the North of Europe--in the Countries upon the Mediterranean Sea --Maritime Laws--Usury--Banking Companies--Progress of Refinement in Manners--Domestic Architecture--Ecclesiastical Architecture--State of Agriculture in England--Value of Money--Improvement of the Moral Character of Society--its Causes--Police--Changes in Religious Opinion --Various Sects--Chivalry--its Progress, Character, and Influence-- Causes of the Intellectual Improvement of European Society--1. The Study of Civil Law--2. Institution of Universities--their Celebrity-- Scholastic Philosophy--3. Cultivation of Modern Languages--Provençal Poets--Norman Poets--French Prose Writers--Italian--early Poets in that Language--Dante--Petrarch--English Language--its Progress-- Chaucer--4. Revival of Classical Learning--Latin Writers of the Twelfth Century--Literature of the Fourteenth Century--Greek Literature--its Restoration in Italy--Invention of Printing. [Sidenote: European commerce.] The geographical position of Europe naturally divides its maritime commerce into two principal regions--one comprehending those countries which border on the Baltic, the German and the Atlantic oceans; another, those situated around the Mediterranean Sea. During the four centuries which preceded the discovery of America, and especially the two former of them, this separation was more remarkable than at present, inasmuch as their intercourse, either by land or sea, was extremely limited. To the first region belonged the Netherlands, the coasts of France, Germany, and Scandinavia, and the maritime districts of England. In the second we may class the provinces of Valencia and Catalonia, those of Provence and Languedoc, and the whole of Italy. [Sidenote: Woollen manufacture of Flanders.] 1. The former, or northern division, was first animated by the woollen manufacture of Flanders. It is not easy either to discover the early beginnings of this, or to account for its rapid advancement. The fertility of that province and its facilities of interior navigation were doubtless necessary causes; but there must have been some temporary encouragement from the personal character of its sovereigns, or other accidental circumstances. Several testimonies to the flourishing condition of Flemish manufactures occur in the twelfth century, and some might perhaps be found even earlier.[571] A writer of the thirteenth asserts that all the world was clothed from English wool wrought in Flanders.[572] This, indeed, is an exaggerated vaunt; but the Flemish stuffs were probably sold wherever the sea or a navigable river permitted them to be carried. Cologne was the chief trading city upon the Rhine; and its merchants, who had been considerable even under the emperor Henry IV., established a factory at London in 1220. The woollen manufacture, notwithstanding frequent wars and the impolitic regulations of magistrates,[573] continued to flourish in the Netherlands (for Brabant and Hainault shared it in some degree with Flanders), until England became not only capable of supplying her own demand, but a rival in all the marts of Europe. "All Christian kingdoms, and even the Turks themselves," says an historian of the sixteenth century, "lamented the desperate war between the Flemish cities and their count Louis, that broke out in 1380. For at that time Flanders was a market for the traders of all the world. Merchants from seventeen kingdoms had their settled domiciles at Bruges, besides strangers from almost unknown countries who repaired thither."[574] During this war, and on all other occasions, the weavers both of Ghent and Bruges distinguished themselves by a democratical spirit, the consequence, no doubt, of their numbers and prosperity.[575] Ghent was one of the largest cities in Europe, and, in the opinion of many, the best situated.[576] But Bruges, though in circuit but half the former, was more splendid in its buildings, and the seat of far more trade; being the great staple both for Mediterranean and northern merchandise.[577] Antwerp, which early in the sixteenth century drew away a large part of this commerce from Bruges, was not considerable in the preceding ages; nor were the towns of Zealand and Holland much noted except for their fisheries, though those provinces acquired in the fifteenth century some share of the woollen manufacture. [Sidenote: Export of wool from England.] For the first two centuries after the Conquest our English towns, as has been observed in a different place, made some forward steps towards improvement, though still very inferior to those of the continent. Their commerce was almost confined to the exportation of wool, the great staple commodity of England, upon which, more than any other, in its raw or manufactured state, our wealth has been founded. A woollen manufacture, however, indisputably existed under Henry II.;[578] it is noticed in regulations of Richard I.; and by the importation of woad under John it may be inferred to have still flourished. The disturbances of the next reign, perhaps, or the rapid elevation of the Flemish towns, retarded its growth, though a remarkable law was passed by the Oxford parliament in 1261, prohibiting the export of wool and the importation of cloth. This, while it shows the deference paid by the discontented barons, who predominated in that parliament, to their confederates the burghers, was evidently too premature to be enforced. We may infer from it, however, that cloths were made at home, though not sufficiently for the people's consumption.[579] Prohibitions of the same nature, though with a different object, were frequently imposed on the trade between England and Flanders by Edward I. and his son. As their political connexions fluctuated, these princes gave full liberty and settlement to the Flemish merchants, or banished them at once from the country.[580] Nothing could be more injurious to England than this arbitrary vacillation. The Flemings were in every respect our natural allies; but besides those connexions with France, the constant enemy of Flanders, into which both the Edwards occasionally fell, a mutual alienation had been produced by the trade of the former people with Scotland, a trade too lucrative to be resigned at the king of England's request.[581] An early instance of that conflicting selfishness of belligerents and neutrals, which was destined to aggravate the animosities and misfortunes of our own time.[582] [Sidenote: English woollen manufacture.] A more prosperous era began with Edward III., the father, as he may almost be called, of English commerce, a title not indeed more glorious, but by which he may perhaps claim more of our gratitude than as the hero of Crecy. In 1331 he took advantage of discontents among the manufacturers of Flanders to invite them as settlers into his dominions.[583] They brought the finer manufacture of woollen cloths, which had been unknown in England. The discontents alluded to resulted from the monopolizing spirit of their corporations, who oppressed all artisans without the pale of their community. The history of corporations brings home to our minds one cardinal truth, that political institutions have very frequently but a relative and temporary usefulness, and that what forwarded improvement during one part of its course may prove to it in time a most pernicious obstacle. Corporations in England, we may be sure, wanted nothing of their usual character; and it cost Edward no little trouble to protect his colonists from the selfishness and from the blind nationality of the vulgar.[584] The emigration of Flemish weavers into England continued during this reign, and we find it mentioned, at intervals, for more than a century. [Sidenote: Increase of English commerce.] Commerce now became, next to liberty, the leading object of parliament. For the greater part of our statutes from the accession of Edward III. bear relation to this subject; not always well devised, or liberal, or consistent, but by no means worse in those respects than such as have been enacted in subsequent ages. The occupation of a merchant became honourable; and, notwithstanding the natural jealousy of the two classes, he was placed, in some measure, on a footing with landed proprietors. By the statute of apparel, in 37 Edw. III., merchants and artificers who had five hundred pounds value in goods and chattels might use the same dress as squires of one hundred pounds a year. And those who were worth more than this might dress like men of double that estate. Wool was still the principal article of export and source of revenue. Subsidies granted by every parliament upon this article were, on account of the scarcity of money, commonly taken in kind. To prevent evasion of this duty seems to have been the principle of those multifarious regulations which fix the staple, or market for wool, in certain towns, either in England, or, more commonly, on the continent. To these all wool was to be carried, and the tax was there collected. It is not easy, however, to comprehend the drift of all the provisions relating to the staple, many of which tend to benefit foreign at the expense of English merchants. By degrees the exportation of woollen cloths increased so as to diminish that of the raw material, but the latter was not absolutely prohibited during the period under review;[585] although some restrictions were imposed upon it by Edward IV. For a much earlier statute, in the 11th of Edward III., making the exportation of wool a capital felony, was in its terms provisional, until it should be otherwise ordered by the council; and the king almost immediately set it aside.[586] [Sidenote: Manufactures of France and Germany.] A manufacturing district, as we see in our own country, sends out, as it were, suckers into all its neighbourhood. Accordingly, the woollen manufacture spread from Flanders along the banks of the Rhine and into the northern provinces of France.[587] I am not, however, prepared to trace its history in these regions. In Germany the privileges conceded by Henry V. to the free cities, and especially to their artisans, gave a soul to industry; though the central parts of the empire were, for many reasons, very ill-calculated for commercial enterprise during the middle ages.[588] But the French towns were never so much emancipated from arbitrary power as those of Germany or Flanders; and the evils of exorbitant taxation, with those produced by the English wars, conspired to retard the advance of manufactures in France. That of linen made some little progress; but this work was still, perhaps, chiefly confined to the labour of female servants.[589] [Sidenote: Baltic trade.] The manufactures of Flanders and England found a market, not only in these adjacent countries, but in a part of Europe which for many ages had only been known enough to be dreaded. In the middle of the eleventh century a native of Bremen, and a writer much superior to most others of his time, was almost entirely ignorant of the geography of the Baltic; doubting whether any one had reached Russia by that sea, and reckoning Esthonia and Courland among its islands.[590] But in one hundred years more the maritime regions of Mecklenburg and Pomerania, inhabited by a tribe of heathen Sclavonians, were subdued by some German princes; and the Teutonic order some time afterwards, having conquered Prussia, extended a line of at least comparative civilization as far as the gulf of Finland. The first town erected on the coasts of the Baltic was Lubec, which owes its foundation to Adolphus count of Holstein, in 1140. After several vicissitudes it became independent of any sovereign but the emperor in the thirteenth century. Hamburgh and Bremen, upon the other side of the Cimbric peninsula, emulated the prosperity of Lubec; the former city purchased independence of its bishop in 1225. A colony from Bremen founded Riga in Livonia about 1162. The city of Dantzic grew into importance about the end of the following century. Konigsberg was founded by Ottocar king of Bohemia in the same age. But the real importance of these cities is to be dated from their famous union into the Hanseatic confederacy. The origin of this is rather obscure, but it may certainly be nearly referred in point of time to the middle of the thirteenth century,[591] and accounted for by the necessity of mutual defence, which piracy by sea and pillage by land had taught the merchants of Germany. The nobles endeavoured to obstruct the formation of this league, which indeed was in great measure designed to withstand their exactions. It powerfully maintained the influence which the free imperial cities were at this time acquiring. Eighty of the most considerable places constituted the Hanseatic confederacy, divided into four colleges, whereof Lubec, Cologne, Brunswic, and Dantzic were the leading towns. Lubec held the chief rank, and became, as it were, the patriarchal see of the league; whose province it was to preside in all general discussions for mercantile, political, or military purposes, and to carry them into execution. The league had four principal factories in foreign parts, at London, Bruges, Bergen, and Novogorod; endowed by the sovereigns of those cities with considerable privileges, to which every merchant belonging to a Hanseatic town was entitled.[592] In England the German guildhall or factory was established by concession of Henry III.; and in later periods the Hanse traders were favoured above many others in the capricious vacillations of our mercantile policy.[593] The English had also their factories on the Baltic coast as far as Prussia and in the dominions of Denmark.[594] [Sidenote: Rapid progress of English trade.] This opening of a northern market powerfully accelerated the growth of our own commercial opulence, especially after the woollen manufacture had begun to thrive. From about the middle of the fourteenth century we find continual evidences of a rapid increase in wealth. Thus, in 1363, Picard, who had been lord mayor some years before, entertained Edward III. and the Black Prince, the kings of France, Scotland, and Cyprus, with many of the nobility, at his own house in the Vintry, and presented them with handsome gifts.[595] Philpot, another eminent citizen in Richard II.'s time, when the trade of England was considerably annoyed by privateers, hired 1000 armed men, and despatched them to sea, where they took fifteen Spanish vessels with their prizes.[596] We find Richard obtaining a great deal from private merchants and trading towns. In 1379 he got 5000_l._ from London, 1000 marks from Bristol, and in proportion from smaller places. In 1386 London gave 4000_l._ more, and 10,000 marks in 1397.[597] The latter sum was obtained also for the coronation of Henry VI.[598] Nor were the contributions of individuals contemptible, considering the high value of money. Hinde, a citizen of London, lent to Henry IV. 2000_l._ in 1407, and Whittington one half of that sum. The merchants of the staple advanced 4000_l._ at the same time.[599] Our commerce continued to be regularly and rapidly progressive during the fifteenth century. The famous Canynges of Bristol, under Henry VI. and Edward IV., had ships of 900 tons burthen.[600] The trade and even the internal wealth of England reached so much higher a pitch in the reign of the last-mentioned king than at any former period, that we may perceive the wars of York and Lancaster to have produced no very serious effect on national prosperity. Some battles were doubtless sanguinary; but the loss of lives in battle is soon repaired by a flourishing nation; and the devastation occasioned by armies was both partial and transitory. [Sidenote: Intercourse with the south of Europe.] A commercial intercourse between these northern and southern regions of Europe began about the early part of the fourteenth century, or, at most, a little sooner. Until, indeed, the use of the magnet was thoroughly understood, and a competent skill in marine architecture, as well as navigation, acquired, the Italian merchants were scarce likely to attempt a voyage perilous in itself and rendered more formidable by the imaginary difficulties which had been supposed to attend an expedition beyond the straits of Hercules. But the English, accustomed to their own rough seas, were always more intrepid, and probably more skilful navigators. Though it was extremely rare, even in the fifteenth century, for an English trading vessel to appear in the Mediterranean,[601] yet a famous military armament, that destined for the crusade of Richard I., displayed at a very early time the seamanship of our countrymen. In the reign of Edward II. we find mention in Rymer's collection of Genoese ships trading to Flanders and England. His son was very solicitous to preserve the friendship of that opulent republic; and it is by his letters to his senate, or by royal orders restoring ships unjustly seized, that we come by a knowledge of those facts which historians neglect to relate. Pisa shared a little in this traffic, and Venice more considerably; but Genoa was beyond all competition at the head of Italian commerce in these seas during the fourteenth century. In the next her general decline left it more open to her rival; but I doubt whether Venice ever maintained so strong a connexion with England. Through London and Bruges, their chief station in Flanders, the merchants of Italy and of Spain transported oriental produce to the farthest parts of the north. The inhabitants of the Baltic coast were stimulated by the desire of precious luxuries which they had never known; and these wants, though selfish and frivolous, are the means by which nations acquire civilization, and the earth is rendered fruitful of its produce. As the carriers of this trade the Hanseatic merchants resident in England and Flanders derived profits through which eventually of course those countries were enriched. It seems that the Italian vessels unloaded at the marts of London or Bruges, and that such part of their cargoes as were intended for a more northern trade came there into the hands of the German merchants. In the reign of Henry VI. England carried on a pretty extensive traffic with the countries around the Mediterranean, for whose commodities her wool and woollen cloths enabled her to pay. [Sidenote: Commerce of the Mediterranean countries.] [Sidenote: Amalfi.] The commerce of the southern division, though it did not, I think, produce more extensively beneficial effects upon the progress of society, was both earlier and more splendid than that of England and the neighbouring countries. Besides Venice, which has been mentioned already, Amalfi kept up the commercial intercourse of Christendom with the Saracen countries before the first crusade.[602] It was the singular fate of this city to have filled up the interval between two periods of civilization, in neither of which she was destined to be distinguished. Scarcely known before the end of the sixth century, Amalfi ran a brilliant career, as a free and trading republic, which was checked by the arms of a conqueror in the middle of the twelfth. Since her subjugation by Roger king of Sicily, the name of a people who for a while connected Europe with Asia has hardly been repeated, except for two discoveries falsely imputed to them, those of the Pandects and of the compass. [Sidenote: Pisa, Genoa, Venice.] But the decline of Amalfi was amply compensated to the rest of Italy by the constant elevation of Pisa, Genoa, and Venice in the twelfth and ensuing ages. The crusades led immediately to this growing prosperity of the commercial cities. Besides the profit accruing from so many naval armaments which they supplied, and the continual passage of private adventurers in their vessels, they were enabled to open a more extensive channel of oriental traffic than had hitherto been known. These three Italian republics enjoyed immunities in the Christian principalities of Syria; possessing separate quarters in Acre, Tripoli, and other cities, where they were governed by their own laws and magistrates. Though the progress of commerce must, from the condition of European industry, have been slow, it was uninterrupted; and the settlements in Palestine were becoming important as factories, an use of which Godfrey and Urban little dreamed, when they were lost through the guilt and imprudence of their inhabitants.[603] Villani laments the injury sustained by commerce in consequence of the capture of Acre, "situated, as it was, on the coast of the Mediterranean, in the centre of Syria, and, as we might say, of the habitable world, a haven for all merchandize, both from the East and the West, which all the nations of the earth frequented for this trade."[604] But the loss was soon retrieved, not perhaps by Pisa and Genoa, but by Venice, who formed connexions with the Saracen governments, and maintained her commercial intercourse with Syria and Egypt by their licence, though subject probably to heavy exactions. Sanuto, a Venetian author at the beginning of the fourteenth century, has left a curious account of the Levant trade which his countrymen carried on at that time. Their imports it is easy to guess, and it appears that timber, brass, tin, and lead, as well as the precious metals, were exported to Alexandria, besides oil, saffron, and some of the productions of Italy, and even wool and woollen cloths.[605] The European side of the account had therefore become respectable. The commercial cities enjoyed as great privileges at Constantinople as in Syria, and they bore an eminent part in the vicissitudes of the Eastern empire. After the capture of Constantinople by the Latin crusaders, the Venetians, having been concerned in that conquest, became, of course, the favoured traders under the new dynasty; possessing their own district in the city, with their magistrate or podestà, appointed at Venice, and subject to the parent republic. When the Greeks recovered the seat of their empire, the Genoese, who, from jealousy of their rivals, had contributed to that revolution, obtained similar immunities. This powerful and enterprising state, in the fourteenth century, sometimes the ally, sometimes the enemy, of the Byzantine court, maintained its independent settlement at Pera. From thence she spread her sails into the Euxine, and, planting a colony at Caffa in the Crimea, extended a line of commerce with the interior regions of Asia, which even the skill and spirit of our own times has not yet been able to revive.[606] The French provinces which border on the Mediterranean Sea partook in the advantages which it offered. Not only Marseilles, whose trade had continued in a certain degree throughout the worst ages, but Narbonne, Nismes, and especially Montpelier, were distinguished for commercial prosperity.[607] A still greater activity prevailed in Catalonia. From the middle of the thirteenth century (for we need not trace the rudiments of its history) Barcelona began to emulate the Italian cities in both the branches of naval energy, war and commerce. Engaged in frequent and severe hostilities with Genoa, and sometimes with Constantinople, while their vessels traded to every part of the Mediterranean, and even of the English Channel, the Catalans might justly be reckoned among the first of maritime nations. The commerce of Barcelona has never since attained so great a height as in the fifteenth century.[608] [Sidenote: Their manufactures.] The introduction of a silk manufacture at Palermo, by Roger Guiscard in 1148, gave perhaps the earliest impulse to the industry of Italy. Nearly about the same time the Genoese plundered two Moorish cities of Spain, from which they derived the same art. In the next age this became a staple manufacture of the Lombard and Tuscan republics, and the cultivation of mulberries was enforced by their laws.[609] Woollen stuffs, though the trade was perhaps less conspicuous than that of Flanders, and though many of the coarser kinds were imported from thence, employed a multitude of workmen in Italy, Catalonia, and the south of France.[610] Among the trading companies into which the middling ranks were distributed, those concerned in silk and woollens were most numerous and honourable.[611] [Sidenote: Invention of the mariner's compass.] A property of a natural substance, long overlooked even though it attracted observation by a different peculiarity, has influenced by its accidental discovery the fortunes of mankind more than all the deductions of philosophy. It is, perhaps, impossible to ascertain the epoch when the polarity of the magnet was first known in Europe. The common opinion, which ascribes its discovery to a citizen of Amalfi in the fourteenth century, is undoubtedly erroneous. Guiot de Provins, a French poet, who lived about the year 1200, or, at the latest, under St. Louis, describes it in the most unequivocal language. James de Vitry, a bishop in Palestine, before the middle of the thirteenth century, and Guido Guinizzelli, an Italian poet of the same time, are equally explicit. The French, as well as Italians, claim the discovery as their own; but whether it were due to either of these nations, or rather learned from their intercourse with the Saracens, is not easily to be ascertained.[612] For some time, perhaps, even this wonderful improvement in the art of navigation might not be universally adopted by vessels sailing within the Mediterranean, and accustomed to their old system of observations. But when it became more established, it naturally inspired a more fearless spirit of adventure. It was not, as has been mentioned, till the beginning of the fourteenth century that the Genoese and other nations around that inland sea steered into the Atlantic Ocean towards England and Flanders. This intercourse with the northern countries enlivened their trade with the Levant by the exchange of productions which Spain and Italy do not supply, and enriched the merchants by means of whose capital the exports of London and of Alexandria were conveyed into each other's harbours. [Sidenote: Maritime laws.] The usual risks of navigation, and those incident to commercial adventure, produce a variety of questions in every system of jurisprudence, which, though always to be determined, as far as possible, by principles of natural justice, must in many cases depend upon established customs. These customs of maritime law were anciently reduced into a code by the Rhodians, and the Roman emperors preserved or reformed the constitutions of that republic. It would be hard to say how far the tradition of this early jurisprudence survived the decline of commerce in the darker ages; but after it began to recover itself, necessity suggested, or recollection prompted, a scheme of regulations resembling in some degree, but much more enlarged than those of antiquity. This was formed into a written code, Il Consolato del Mare, not much earlier, probably, than the middle of the thirteenth century; and its promulgation seems rather to have proceeded from the citizens of Barcelona than from those of Pisa or Venice, who have also claimed to be the first legislators of the sea.[613] Besides regulations simply mercantile, this system has defined the mutual rights of neutral and belligerent vessels, and thus laid the basis of the positive law of nations in its most important and disputed cases. The king of France and count of Provence solemnly acceded to this maritime code, which hence acquired a binding force within the Mediterranean Sea; and in most respects the law merchant of Europe is at present conformable to its provisions. A set of regulations, chiefly borrowed from the Consolato, was compiled in France under the reign of Louis IX., and prevailed in their own country. These have been denominated the laws of Oleron, from an idle story that they were enacted by Richard I., while his expedition to the Holy Land lay at anchor in that island.[614] Nor was the north without its peculiar code of maritime jurisprudence; namely, the Ordinances of Wisbuy, a town in the isle of Gothland, principally compiled from those of Oleron, before the year 1400, by which the Baltic traders were governed.[615] [Sidenote: Frequency of piracy.] [Sidenote: Law of reprisals.] There was abundant reason for establishing among maritime nations some theory of mutual rights, and for securing the redress of injuries, as far as possible, by means of acknowledged tribunals. In that state of barbarous anarchy which so long resisted the coercive authority of civil magistrates, the sea held out even more temptation and more impunity than the land; and when the laws had regained their sovereignty, and neither robbery nor private warfare was any longer tolerated, there remained that great common of mankind, unclaimed by any king, and the liberty of the sea was another name for the security of plunderers. A pirate, in a well-armed quick-sailing vessel, must feel, I suppose, the enjoyments of his exemption from control more exquisitely than any other freebooter; and darting along the bosom of the ocean, under the impartial radiance of the heavens, may deride the dark concealments and hurried flights of the forest robber. His occupation is, indeed, extinguished by the civilization of later ages, or confined to distant climates. But in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, a rich vessel was never secure from attack; and neither restitution nor punishment of the criminals was to be obtained from governments who sometimes feared the plunderer and sometimes connived at the offence.[616] Mere piracy, however, was not the only danger. The maritime towns of Flanders, France, and England, like the free republics of Italy, prosecuted their own quarrels by arms, without asking the leave of their respective sovereigns. This practice, exactly analogous to that of private war in the feudal system, more than once involved the kings of France and England in hostility.[617] But where the quarrel did not proceed to such a length as absolutely to engage two opposite towns, a modification of this ancient right of revenge formed part of the regular law of nations, under the name of reprisals. Whoever was plundered or injured by the inhabitant of another town obtained authority from his own magistrates to seize the property of any other person belonging to it, until his loss should be compensated. This law of reprisal was not confined to maritime places; it prevailed in Lombardy, and probably in the German cities. Thus, if a citizen of Modena was robbed by a Bolognese, he complained to the magistrates of the former city, who represented the case to those of Bologna, demanding redress. If this were not immediately granted, letters of reprisals were issued to plunder the territory of Bologna till the injured party should be reimbursed by sale of the spoil.[618] In the laws of Marseilles it is declared, "If a foreigner take anything from a citizen of Marseilles, and he who has jurisdiction over the said debtor or unjust taker does not cause right to be done in the same, the rector or consuls, at the petition of the said citizen, shall grant him reprisals upon all the goods of the said debtor or unjust taker, and also upon the goods of others who are under the jurisdiction of him who ought to do justice, and would not, to the said citizen of Marseilles."[619] Edward III. remonstrates, in an instrument published by Rymer, against letters of marque granted by the king of Aragon to one Berenger de la Tone, who had been robbed by an English pirate of 2000_l._, alleging that, inasmuch as he had always been ready to give redress to the party, it seemed to his counsellors that there was no just cause for reprisals upon the king's or his subjects' property.[620] This passage is so far curious as it asserts the existence of a customary law of nations, the knowledge of which was already a sort of learning. Sir E. Coke speaks of this right of private reprisals as if it still existed;[621] and, in fact, there are instances of granting such letters as late as the reign of Charles I. [Sidenote: Liability of aliens for each other's debts.] A practice, founded on the same principles as reprisal, though rather less violent, was that of attaching the goods or persons of resident foreigners for the debts of their countrymen. This indeed, in England, was not confined to foreigners until the statute of Westminster I. c. 23, which enacts that "no stranger who is of this realm shall be distrained in any town or market for a debt wherein he is neither principal nor surety." Henry III. had previously granted a charter to the burgesses of Lubec, that they should "not be arrested for the debt of any of their countrymen, unless the magistrates of Lubec neglected to compel payment."[622] But by a variety of grants from Edward II. the privileges of English subjects under the statute of Westminster were extended to most foreign nations.[623] This unjust responsibility had not been confined to civil cases. One of a company of Italian merchants, the Spini, having killed a man, the officers of justice seized the bodies and effects of all the rest.[624] [Sidenote: Great profits of trade,] [Sidenote: and high rate of interest.] [Sidenote: Money dealings of the Jews.] If under all these obstacles, whether created by barbarous manners, by national prejudice, or by the fraudulent and arbitrary measures of princes, the merchants of different countries became so opulent as almost to rival the ancient nobility, it must be ascribed to the greatness of their commercial profits. The trading companies possessed either a positive or a virtual monopoly, and held the keys of those eastern regions, for the luxuries of which the progressive refinement of manners produced an increasing demand. It is not easy to determine the average rate of profit;[625] but we know that the interest of money was exceedingly high throughout the middle ages. At Verona, in 1228, it was fixed by law at twelve and a half per cent.; at Modena, in 1270, it seems to have been as high as twenty.[626] The republic of Genoa, towards the end of the fourteenth century, when Italy had grown wealthy, paid only from seven to ten per cent. to her creditors.[627] But in France and England the rate was far more oppressive. An ordinance of Philip the Fair, in 1311, allows twenty per cent. after the first year of the loan.[628] Under Henry III., according to Matthew Paris, the debtor paid ten per cent. every two months;[629] but this is absolutely incredible as a general practice. This was not merely owing to scarcity of money, but to the discouragement which a strange prejudice opposed, to one of the most useful and legitimate branches of commerce. Usury, or lending money for profit, was treated as a crime by the theologians of the middle ages; and though the superstition has been eradicated, some part of the prejudice remains in our legislation. This trade in money, and indeed a great part of inland trade in general, had originally fallen to the Jews, who were noted for their usury so early as the sixth century.[630] For several subsequent ages they continued to employ their capital and industry to the same advantage, with little molestation from the clergy, who always tolerated their avowed and national infidelity, and often with some encouragement from princes. In the twelfth century we find them not only possessed of landed property in Languedoc, and cultivating the studies of medicine and Rabbinical literature in their own academy at Montpelier, under the protection of the count of Toulouse, but invested with civil offices.[631] Raymond Roger, viscount of Carcasonne, directs a writ "to his bailiffs, Christian and Jewish."[632] It was one of the conditions imposed by the church on the count of Toulouse, that he should allow no Jews to possess magistracy in his dominions.[633] But in Spain they were placed by some of the municipal laws on the footing of Christians, with respect to the composition for their lives, and seem in no other European country to have been so numerous or considerable.[634] The diligence and expertness of this people in all pecuniary dealings recommended them to princes who were solicitous about the improvement of their revenue. We find an article in the general charter of privileges granted by Peter III. of Aragon, in 1283, that no Jew should hold the office of a bayle or judge. And two kings of Castile, Alonzo XI. and Peter the Cruel, incurred much odium by employing Jewish ministers in their treasury. But, in other parts of Europe, their condition had, before that time, begun to change for the worse--partly from the fanatical spirit of the crusades, which prompted the populace to massacre, and partly from the jealousy which their opulence excited. Kings, in order to gain money and popularity at once, abolished the debts due to the children of Israel, except a part which they retained as the price of their bounty. One is at a loss to conceive the process of reasoning in an ordinance of St. Louis, where, "for the salvation of his own soul and those of his ancestors, he releases to all Christians a third part of what was owing by them to Jews."[635] Not content with such edicts, the kings of France sometimes banished the whole nation from their dominions, seizing their effects at the same time; and a season of alternative severity and toleration continued till, under Charles VI., they were finally expelled from the kingdom, where they never afterwards possessed any legal settlement.[636] They were expelled from England under Edward I., and never obtained any legal permission to reside till the time of Cromwell. This decline of the Jews was owing to the transference of their trade in money to other hands. In the early part of the thirteenth century the merchants of Lombardy and of the south of France[637] took up the business of remitting money by bills of exchange,[638] and of making profit upon loans. The utility of this was found so great, especially by the Italian clergy, who thus in an easy manner drew the income of their transalpine benefices, that in spite of much obloquy, the Lombard usurers established themselves in every country, and the general progress of commerce wore off the bigotry that had obstructed their reception. A distinction was made between moderate and exorbitant interest; and though the casuists did not acquiesce in this legal regulation, yet it satisfied, even in superstitious times, the consciences of provident traders.[639] The Italian bankers were frequently allowed to farm the customs in England, as a security perhaps for loans which, were not very punctually repaid.[640] In 1345 the Bardi at Florence, the greatest company in Italy, became bankrupt, Edward III. owing them, in principal and interest, 900,000 gold florins. Another, the Peruzzi, failed at the same time, being creditors to Edward for 600,000 florins. The king of Sicily owed 100,000 florins to each of these bankers. Their failure involved, of course, a multitude of Florentine citizens, and was a heavy misfortune to the state.[641] [Sidenote: Banks of Genoa and others.] The earliest bank of deposit, instituted for the accommodation of private merchants, is said to have been that of Barcelona, in 1401.[642] The banks of Venice and Genoa were of a different description. Although the former of these two has the advantage of greater antiquity, having been formed, as we are told, in the twelfth century, yet its early history is not so clear as that of Genoa, nor its political importance so remarkable, however similar might be its origin.[643] During the wars of Genoa in the fourteenth century, she had borrowed large sums of private citizens, to whom the revenues were pledged for repayment. The republic of Florence had set a recent, though not a very encouraging example of a public loan, to defray the expense of her war against Mastino della Scala, in 1336. The chief mercantile firms, as well as individual citizens, furnished money on an assignment of the taxes, receiving fifteen per cent. interest, which appears to have been above the rate of private usury.[644] The state was not unreasonably considered a worse debtor than some of her citizens, for in a few years these loans were consolidated into a general fund, or _monte_, with some deduction from the capital and a great diminution of interest; so that an original debt of one hundred florins sold only for twenty-five.[645] But I have not found that these creditors formed at Florence a corporate body, or took any part, as such, in the affairs of the republic. The case was different at Genoa. As a security, at least, for their interest, the subscribers to public loans were permitted to receive the produce of the taxes by their own collectors, paying the excess into the treasury. The number and distinct classes of these subscribers becoming at length inconvenient, they were formed, about the year 1407, into a single corporation, called the bank of St. George, which was from that time the sole national creditor and mortgagee. The government of this was intrusted to eight protectors. It soon became almost independent of the state. Every senator, on his admission, swore to maintain the privileges of the bank, which were confirmed by the pope, and even by the emperor. The bank interposed its advice in every measure of government, and generally, as is admitted, to the public advantage. It equipped armaments at its own expense, one of which subdued the island of Corsica; and this acquisition, like those of our great Indian corporation, was long subject to a company of merchants, without any interference of the mother country.[646] [Sidenote: Increase of domestic expenditure.] The increasing wealth of Europe, whether derived from internal improvement or foreign commerce, displayed itself in more expensive consumption, and greater refinements of domestic life. But these effects were for a long time very gradual, each generation making a few steps in the progress, which are hardly discernible except by an attentive inquirer. It is not till the latter half of the thirteenth century that an accelerated impulse appears to be given to society. The just government and suppression of disorder under St. Louis, and the peaceful temper of his brother Alfonso, count of Toulouse and Poitou, gave France leisure to avail herself of her admirable fertility. England, that to a soil not greatly inferior to that of France united the inestimable advantage of an insular position, and was invigorated, above all, by her free constitution and the steady industriousness of her people, rose with a pretty uniform motion from the time of Edward I. Italy, though the better days of freedom had passed away in most of her republics, made a rapid transition from simplicity to refinement. "In those times," says a writer about the year 1300, speaking of the age of Frederic II., "the manners of the Italians were rude. A man and his wife ate off the same plate. There was no wooden-handled knives, nor more than one or two drinking cups in a house. Candles of wax or tallow were unknown; a servant held a torch during supper. The clothes of men were of leather unlined: scarcely any gold or silver was seen on their dress. The common people ate flesh but three times a week, and kept their cold meat for supper. Many did not drink wine in summer. A small stock of corn seemed riches. The portions of women were small; their dress, even after marriage, was simple. The pride of men was to be well provided with arms and horses; that of the nobility to have lofty towers, of which all the cities in Italy were full. But now frugality has been changed for sumptuousness; every thing exquisite is sought after in dress; gold, silver, pearls, silks, and rich furs. Foreign wines and rich meats are required. Hence usury, rapine, fraud, tyranny," &c.[647] This passage is supported by other testimonies nearly of the same time. The conquest of Naples by Charles of Anjou in 1266 seems to have been the epoch of increasing luxury throughout Italy. His Provençal knights with their plumed helmets and golden collars, the chariot of his queen covered with blue velvet and sprinkled with lilies of gold, astonished the citizens of Naples.[648] Provence had enjoyed a long tranquillity, the natural source of luxurious magnificence; and Italy, now liberated from the yoke of the empire, soon reaped the same fruit of a condition more easy and peaceful than had been her lot for several ages. Dante speaks of the change of manners at Florence from simplicity and virtue to refinement and dissoluteness, in terms very nearly similar to those quoted above.[649] Throughout the fourteenth century there continued to be a rapid but steady progression in England of what we may denominate elegance, improvement, or luxury; and if this was for a time suspended in France, it must be ascribed to the unusual calamities which befell that country under Philip of Valois and his son. Just before the breaking out of the English wars an excessive fondness for dress is said to have distinguished not only the higher ranks, but the burghers, whose foolish emulation at least indicates their easy circumstances.[650] Modes of dress hardly perhaps deserve our notice on their own account; yet so far as their universal prevalence was a symptom of diffused wealth, we should not overlook either the invectives bestowed by the clergy on the fantastic extravagances of fashion, or the sumptuary laws by which it was endeavoured to restrain them. [Sidenote: Sumptuary laws.] The principle of sumptuary laws was partly derived from the small republics of antiquity, which might perhaps require that security for public spirit and equal rights--partly from the austere and injudicious theory of religion disseminated by the clergy. These prejudices united to render all increase of general comforts odious under the name of luxury; and a third motive more powerful than either, the jealousy with which the great regard anything like imitation in those beneath them, co-operated to produce a sort of restrictive code in the laws of Europe. Some of these regulations are more ancient; but the chief part were enacted, both in France and England, during the fourteenth century, extending to expenses of the table as well as apparel. The first statute of this description in our own country was, however, repealed the next year;[651] and subsequent provisions were entirely disregarded by a nation which valued liberty and commerce too much to obey laws conceived in a spirit hostile to both. Laws indeed designed by those governments to restrain the extravagance of their subjects may well justify the severe indignation which Adam Smith has poured upon all such interference with private expenditure. The kings of France and England were undoubtedly more egregious spendthrifts than any others in their dominions; and contributed far more by their love of pageantry to excite a taste for dissipation in their people than by their ordinances to repress it. [Sidenote: Domestic manners of Italy.] Mussus, an historian of Placentia, has left a pretty copious account of the prevailing manners among his countrymen about 1388, and expressly contrasts their more luxurious living with the style of their ancestors seventy years before, when, as we have seen, they had already made considerable steps towards refinement. This passage is highly interesting, because it shows the regular tenor of domestic economy in an Italian city rather than a mere display of individual magnificence, as in most of the facts collected by our own and the French antiquaries. But it is much too long for insertion in this place.[652] No other country, perhaps, could exhibit so fair a picture of middle life: in France the burghers, and even the inferior gentry, were for the most part in a state of poverty at this period, which they concealed by an affectation of ornament; while our English yeomanry and tradesmen were more anxious to invigorate their bodies by a generous diet than to dwell in well furnished houses, or to find comfort in cleanliness and elegance.[653] The German cities, however, had acquired with liberty the spirit of improvement and industry. From the time that Henry V. admitted their artisans to the privileges of free burghers they became more and more prosperous;[654] while the steadiness and frugality of the German character compensated for some disadvantages arising out of their inland situation. Spire, Nuremberg, Ratisbon, and Augsburg were not indeed like the rich markets of London and Bruges, nor could their burghers rival the princely merchants of Italy; but they enjoyed the blessings of competence diffused over a large class of industrious freemen, and in the fifteenth century one of the politest Italians could extol their splendid and well furnished dwellings, their rich apparel, their easy and affluent mode of living, the security of their rights and just equality of their laws.[655] [Sidenote: Civil architecture.] No chapter in the history of national manners would illustrate so well, if duly executed, the progress of social life as that dedicated to domestic architecture. The fashions of dress and of amusements are generally capricious and irreducible to rule; but every change in the dwellings of mankind, from the rudest wooden cabin to the stately mansion, has been dictated by some principle of convenience, neatness, comfort, or magnificence. Yet this most interesting field of research has been less beaten by our antiquaries than others comparatively barren. I do not pretend to a complete knowledge of what has been written by these learned inquirers; but I can only name one book in which the civil architecture of our ancestors has been sketched, loosely indeed, but with a superior hand, and another in which it is partially noticed. I mean by the first a chapter in the Appendix to Dr. Whitaker's History of Whalley; and by the second Mr. King's Essays on Ancient Castles in the Archæologia.[656] Of these I shall make free use in the following paragraphs. The most ancient buildings which we can trace in this island, after the departure of the Romans, were circular towers of no great size, whereof many remain in Scotland, erected either on a natural eminence or on an artificial mound of earth. Such are Conisborough Castle in Yorkshire and Castleton in Derbyshire, built perhaps, according to Mr. King, before the Conquest.[657] To the lower chambers of those gloomy keeps there was no admission of light or air except through long narrow loop-holes and an aperture in the roof. Regular windows were made in the upper apartments. Were it not for the vast thickness of the walls, and some marks of attention both to convenience and decoration in these structures, we might be induced to consider them as rather intended for security during the transient inroad of an enemy than for a chieftain's usual residence. They bear a close resemblance, except by their circular form and more insulated situation, to the peels, or square towers of three or four stories, which are still found contiguous to ancient mansion-houses, themselves far more ancient, in the northern counties,[658] and seem to have been designed for places of refuge. In course of time, the barons who owned these castles began to covet a more comfortable dwelling. The keep was either much enlarged, or altogether relinquished as a place of residence except in time of siege; while more convenient apartments were sometimes erected in the tower of entrance, over the great gateway, which led to the inner ballium or court-yard. Thus at Tunbridge Castle, this part of which is referred by Mr. King to the beginning of the thirteenth century, there was a room, twenty-eight feet by sixteen, on each side of the gateway; another above of the same dimensions, with an intermediate room over the entrance; and one large apartment on the second floor occupying the whole space, and intended for state. The windows in this class of castles were still little better than loop-holes on the basement story, but in the upper rooms often large and beautifully ornamented, though always looking inwards to the court. Edward I. introduced a more splendid and convenient style of castles, containing many habitable towers, with communicating apartments. Conway and Carnarvon will be familiar examples. The next innovation was the castle-palace--of which Windsor, if not quite the earliest, is the most magnificent instance. Alnwick, Naworth, Harewood, Spofforth, Kenilworth, and Warwick, were all built upon this scheme during the fourteenth century, but subsequent enlargements have rendered caution necessary to distinguish their original remains. "The odd mixture," says Mr. King, "of convenience and magnificence with cautious designs for protection and defence, and with the inconveniences of the former confined plan of a close fortress, is very striking." The provisions for defence became now, however, little more than nugatory; large arched windows, like those of cathedrals, were introduced into halls, and this change in architecture manifestly bears witness to the cessation of baronial wars and the increasing love of splendour in the reign of Edward III. To these succeeded the castellated houses of the fifteenth century, such as Herstmonceux in Sussex, Haddon Hall in Derbyshire, and the older part of Knowle in Kent.[659] They resembled fortified castles in their strong gateways, their turrets and battlements, to erect which a royal licence was necessary; but their defensive strength could only have availed against a sudden affray or attempt at forcible dispossession. They were always built round one or two court-yards, the circumference of the first, when they were two, being occupied by the offices and servants' rooms, that of the second by the state-apartments. Regular quadrangular houses, not castellated, were sometimes built during the same age, and under Henry VII. became universal in the superior style of domestic architecture.[660] The quadrangular form, as well from security and convenience as from imitation of conventual houses, which were always constructed upon that model, was generally preferred--even where the dwelling-house, as indeed was usual, only took up one side of the enclosure, and the remaining three contained the offices, stables, and farm-buildings, with walls of communication. Several very old parsonages appear to have been built in this manner.[661] It is, however, not very easy to discover any large fragments of houses inhabited by the gentry before the reign, at soonest, of Edward III., or even to trace them by engravings in the older topographical works, not only from the dilapidations of time, but because very few considerable mansions had been erected by that class. A great part of England affords no stone fit for building, and the vast though unfortunately not inexhaustible resources of her oak forests were easily applied to less durable and magnificent structures. A frame of massive timber, independent of walls and resembling the inverted hull of a large ship, formed the skeleton, as it were, of an ancient hall--the principal beams springing from the ground naturally curved, and forming a Gothic arch overhead. The intervals of these were filled up with horizontal planks; but in the earlier buildings, at least in some districts, no part of the walls was of stone.[662] Stone houses are, however, mentioned as belonging to citizens of London, even in the reign of Henry II.;[663] and, though not often perhaps regularly hewn stones, yet those scattered over the soil or dug from flint quarries, bound together with a very strong and durable cement, were employed in the construction of manerial houses, especially in the western counties and other parts where that material is easily procured.[664] Gradually even in timber buildings the intervals of the main beams, which now became perpendicular, not throwing off their curved springers till they reached a considerable height, were occupied by stone walls, or where stone was expensive, by mortar or plaster, intersected by horizontal or diagonal beams, grooved into the principal piers.[665] This mode of building continued for a long time, and is still familiar to our eyes in the older streets of the metropolis and other towns, and in many parts of the country.[666] Early in the fourteenth century the art of building with brick, which had been lost since the Roman dominion, was introduced probably from Flanders. Though several edifices of that age are constructed with this material, it did not come into general use till the reign of Henry VI.[667] Many considerable houses as well as public buildings were erected with bricks during his reign and that of Edward IV., chiefly in the eastern counties, where the deficiency of stone was most experienced. Few, if any, brick mansion-houses of the fifteenth century exist, except in a dilapidated state; but Queen's College and Clare Hall at Cambridge, and part of Eton College, are subsisting witnesses to the durability of the material as it was then employed. [Sidenote: Meanness of ordinary mansion-houses.] It is an error to suppose that the English gentry were lodged in stately or even in well-sized houses. Generally speaking, their dwellings were almost as inferior to those of their descendants in capacity as they were in convenience. The usual arrangement consisted of an entrance-passage running through the house, with a hall on one side, a parlour beyond, and one or two chambers above, and on the opposite side, a kitchen, pantry, and other offices.[668] Such was the ordinary manor-house of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, as appears not only from the documents and engravings, but as to the latter period, from the buildings themselves, sometimes, though not very frequently, occupied by families of consideration, more often converted into farm-houses or distinct tenements. Larger structures were erected by men of great estates during the reigns of Henry IV. and Edward IV.; but very few can be traced higher; and such has been the effect of time, still more through the advance or decline of families and the progress of architectural improvement, than the natural decay of these buildings, that I should conceive it difficult to name a house in England, still inhabited by a gentleman and not belonging to the order of castles, the principal apartments of which are older than the reign of Henry VII. The instances at least must be extremely few.[669] France by no means appears to have made a greater progress than our own country in domestic architecture. Except fortified castles, I do not find in the work of a very miscellaneous but apparently diligent writer,[670] any considerable dwellings mentioned before the reign of Charles VII., and very few of so early a date.[671] Jacques Coeur, a famous merchant unjustly persecuted by that prince, had a handsome house at Paris, as well as another at Bourges.[672] It is obvious that the long calamities which France endured before the expulsion of the English must have retarded this eminent branch of national improvement. Even in Italy, where from the size of her cities and social refinements of her inhabitants, greater elegance and splendour in building were justly to be expected, the domestic architecture of the middle ages did not attain any perfection. In several towns the houses were covered with thatch, and suffered consequently from destructive fires. Costanzo, a Neapolitan historian near the end of the sixteenth century, remarks the change of manners that had occurred since the reign of Joanna II. one hundred and fifty years before. The great families under the queen expended all their wealth on their retainers, and placed their chief pride in bringing them into the field. They were ill lodged, not sumptuously clothed, nor luxurious in their tables. The house of Caracciolo, high steward of that princess, one of the most powerful subjects that ever existed, having fallen into the hands of persons incomparably below his station, had been enlarged by them, as insufficient for their accommodation.[673] If such were the case in the city of Naples so late as the beginning of the fifteenth century, we may guess how mean were the habitations in less polished parts of Europe. [Sidenote: Invention of chimneys and glass windows.] The two most essential improvements in architecture during this period, one of which had been missed by the sagacity of Greece and Rome, were chimneys and glass windows. Nothing apparently can be more simple than the former; yet the wisdom of ancient times had been content to let the smoke escape by an aperture in the centre of the roof; and a discovery, of which Vitruvius had not a glimpse, was made, perhaps in this country, by some forgotten semi-barbarian. About the middle of the fourteenth century the use of chimneys is distinctly mentioned in England and in Italy; but they are found in several of our castles which bear a much older date.[674] This country seems to have lost very early the art of making glass, which was preserved in France, whence artificers were brought into England to furnish the windows in some new churches in the seventh century.[675] It is said that in the reign of Henry III. a few ecclesiastical buildings had glazed windows.[676] Suger, however, a century before, had adorned his great work, the abbey of St. Denis, with windows, not only glazed but painted;[677] and I presume that other churches of the same class, both in France and England, especially after the lancet-shaped window had yielded to one of ampler dimensions, were generally decorated in a similar manner. Yet glass is said not to have been employed in the domestic architecture of France before the fourteenth century;[678] and its introduction into England was probably by no means earlier. Nor indeed did it come into general use during the period of the middle ages. Glazed windows were considered as moveable furniture, and probably bore a high price. When the earls of Northumberland, as late as the reign of Elizabeth, left Alnwick Castle, the windows were taken out of their frames, and carefully laid by.[679] [Sidenote: Furniture of houses.] But if the domestic buildings of the fifteenth century would not seem very spacious or convenient at present, far less would this luxurious generation be content with their internal accommodations. A gentleman's house containing three or four beds was extraordinarily well provided; few probably had more than two. The walls were commonly bare, without wainscot or even plaster; except that some great houses were furnished with hangings, and that perhaps hardly so soon as the reign of Edward IV. It is unnecessary to add, that neither libraries of books nor pictures could have found a place among furniture. Silver plate was very rare, and hardly used for the table. A few inventories of furniture that still remain exhibit a miserable deficiency.[680] And this was incomparably greater in private gentlemen's houses than among citizens, and especially foreign merchants. We have an inventory of the goods belonging to Contarini, a rich Venetian trader, at his house in St. Botolph's Lane, A.D. 1481. There appear to have been no less than ten beds, and glass windows are especially noticed as moveable furniture. No mention however is made of chairs or looking-glasses.[681] If we compare this account, however trifling in our estimation, with a similar inventory of furniture in Skipton Castle, the great honour of the earls of Cumberland, and among the most splendid mansions of the north, not at the same period, for I have not found any inventory of a nobleman's furniture so ancient, but in 1572, after almost a century of continual improvement, we shall be astonished at the inferior provision of the baronial residence. There were not more than seven or eight beds in this great castle; nor had any of the chambers either chairs, glasses, or carpets.[682] It is in this sense, probably, that we must understand Æneas Sylvius, if he meant any thing more than to express a traveller's discontent, when he declares that the kings of Scotland would rejoice to be as well lodged as the second class of citizens at Nuremberg.[683] Few burghers of that town had mansions, I presume, equal to the palaces of Dumferlin or Stirling, but it is not unlikely that they were better furnished. [Sidenote: Farm-houses and cottages.] In the construction of farm-houses and cottages, especially the latter, there have probably been fewer changes; and those it would be more difficult to follow. No building of this class can be supposed to exist of the antiquity to which the present work is confined; and I do not know that we have any document as to the inferior architecture of England, so valuable as one which M. de Paulmy has quoted for that of France, though perhaps more strictly applicable to Italy, an illuminated manuscript of the fourteenth century, being a translation of Crescentio's work on agriculture, illustrating the customs, and, among other things, the habitations of the agricultural class. According to Paulmy, there is no other difference between an ancient and a modern farm-house than arises from the introduction of tiled roofs.[684] In the original work of Crescentio, a native of Bologna, who composed this treatise on rural affairs about the year 1300, an Italian farm-house, when built at least according to his plan, appears to have been commodious both in size and arrangement.[685] Cottages in England seem to have generally consisted of a single room without division of stories. Chimneys were unknown in such dwellings till the early part of Elizabeth's reign, when a very rapid and sensible improvement took place in the comforts of our yeomanry and cottagers.[686] [Sidenote: Ecclesiastical architecture.] It must be remembered that I have introduced this disadvantageous representation of civil architecture, as a proof of general poverty and backwardness in the refinements of life. Considered in its higher departments, that art is the principal boast of the middle ages. The common buildings, especially those of a public kind, were constructed with skill and attention to durability. The castellated style displays these qualities in great perfection; the means are well adapted to their objects, and its imposing grandeur, though chiefly resulting no doubt from massiveness and historical association, sometimes indicates a degree of architectural genius in the conception. But the most remarkable works of this art are the religious edifices erected in the twelfth and three following centuries. These structures, uniting sublimity in general composition with the beauties of variety and form, intricacy of parts, skilful or at least fortunate effects of shadow and light, and in some instances with extraordinary mechanical science, are naturally apt to lead those antiquaries who are most conversant with them into too partial estimates of the times wherein they were founded. They certainly are accustomed to behold the fairest side of the picture. It was the favourite and most honourable employment of ecclesiastical wealth, to erect, to enlarge, to repair, to decorate cathedral and conventual churches. An immense capital must have been expended upon these buildings in England between the Conquest and the Reformation. And it is pleasing to observe how the seeds of genius, hidden as it were under the frost of that dreary winter, began to bud in the first sunshine of encouragement. In the darkest period of the middle ages, especially after the Scandinavian incursions into France and England, ecclesiastical architecture, though always far more advanced than any other art, bespoke the rudeness and poverty of the times. It began towards the latter part of the eleventh century, when tranquillity, at least as to former enemies, was restored, and some degree of learning reappeared, to assume a more noble appearance. The Anglo-Norman cathedrals were perhaps as much distinguished above other works of man in their own age, as the more splendid edifices of a later period. The science manifested in them is not, however, very great; and their style, though by no means destitute of lesser beauties, is upon the whole an awkward imitation of Roman architecture, or perhaps more immediately of the Saracenic buildings in Spain and those of the lower Greek empire.[687] But about the middle of the twelfth century, this manner began to give place to what is improperly denominated the Gothic architecture;[688] of which the pointed arch, formed by the segments of two intersecting semicircles of equal radius and described about a common diameter, has generally been deemed the essential characteristic. We are not concerned at present to inquire whether this style originated in France or Germany, Italy or England, since it was certainly almost simultaneous in all these countries;[689] nor from what source it was derived--a question of no small difficulty. I would only venture to remark, that whatever may be thought of the origin of the pointed arch, for which there is more than one mode of accounting, we must perceive a very oriental character in the vast profusion of ornament, especially on the exterior surface, which is as distinguishing a mark of Gothic buildings as their arches, and contributes in an eminent degree both to their beauties and to their defects. This indeed is rather applicable to the later than the earlier stage of architecture, and rather to continental than English churches. Amiens is in a far more florid style than Salisbury, though a contemporary structure. The Gothic species of architecture is thought by most to have reached its perfection, considered as an object of taste, by the middle or perhaps the close of the fourteenth century, or at least to have lost something of its excellence by the corresponding part of the next age; an effect of its early and rapid cultivation, since arts appear to have, like individuals, their natural progress and decay. The mechanical execution, however, continued to improve, and is so far beyond the apparent intellectual powers of those times, that some have ascribed the principal ecclesiastical structures to the fraternity of freemasons, depositaries of a concealed and traditionary science. There is probably some ground for this opinion; and the earlier archives of that mysterious association, if they existed, might illustrate the progress of Gothic architecture, and perhaps reveal its origin. The remarkable change into this new style, that was almost contemporaneous in every part of Europe, cannot be explained by any local circumstances, or the capricious taste of a single nation.[690] [Sidenote: Agriculture in some degree progressive.] It would be a pleasing task to trace with satisfactory exactness the slow, and almost perhaps insensible progress of agriculture and internal improvement during the latter period of the middle ages. But no diligence could recover the unrecorded history of a single village; though considerable attention has of late been paid to this interesting subject by those antiquaries, who, though sometimes affecting to despise the lights of modern philosophy, are unconsciously guided by their effulgence. I have already adverted to the wretched condition of agriculture during the prevalence of feudal tenures, as well as before their general establishment.[691] Yet even in the least civilized ages, there were not wanting partial encouragements to cultivation, and the ameliorating principle of human industry struggled against destructive revolutions and barbarous disorder. The devastation of war from the fifth to the eleventh century rendered land the least costly of all gifts, though it must ever be the most truly valuable and permanent. Many of the grants to monasteries, which strike us as enormous, were of districts absolutely wasted, which would probably have been reclaimed by no other means. We owe the agricultural restoration of a great part of Europe to the monks. They chose, for the sake of retirement, secluded regions which they cultivated with the labour of their hands.[692] Several charters are extant, granted to convents, and sometimes to laymen, of lands which they had recovered from a desert condition, after the ravages of the Saracens.[693] Some districts were allotted to a body of Spanish colonists, who emigrated, in the reign of Louis the Debonair, to live under a Christian sovereign.[694] Nor is this the only instance of agricultural colonies. Charlemagne transplanted part of his conquered Saxons into Flanders, a country at that time almost unpeopled; and at a much later period, there was a remarkable reflux from the same country, or rather from Holland to the coasts of the Baltic Sea. In the twelfth century, great numbers of Dutch colonists settled along the whole line between the Ems and the Vistula. They obtained grants of uncultivated land on condition of fixed rents, and were governed by their own laws under magistrates of their own election.[695] There cannot be a more striking proof of the low condition of English agriculture in the eleventh century, than is exhibited by Domesday Book. Though almost all England had been partially cultivated, and we find nearly the same manors, except in the north, which exist at present, yet the value and extent of cultivated ground are inconceivably small. With every allowance for the inaccuracies and partialities of those by whom that famous survey was completed,[696] we are lost in amazement at the constant recurrence of two or three carucates in demesne, with other lands occupied by ten or a dozen villeins, valued altogether at forty shillings, as the return of a manor, which now would yield a competent income to a gentleman. If Domesday Book can he considered as even approaching to accuracy in respect of these estimates, agriculture must certainly have made a very material progress in the four succeeding centuries. This however is rendered probable by other documents. Ingulfus, abbot of Croyland under the Conqueror, supplies an early and interesting evidence of improvement.[697] Richard de Rules, lord of Deeping, he tells us, being fond of agriculture, obtained permission from the abbey to inclose a large portion of marsh for the purpose of separate pasture, excluding the Welland by a strong dike, upon which he erected a town, and rendering those stagnant fens a garden of Eden.[698] In imitation of this spirited cultivator, the inhabitants of Spalding and some neighbouring villages by a common resolution divided their marshes amongst them; when some converting them to tillage, some reserving them for meadow, others leaving them in pasture, they found a rich soil for every purpose. The abbey of Croyland and villages in that neighbourhood followed this example.[699] This early instance of parochial inclosure is not to be overlooked in the history of social progress. By the statute of Merton, in the 20th of Henry III., the lord is permitted to approve, that is, to inclose the waste lands of his manor, provided he leave sufficient common of pasture for the freeholders. Higden, a writer who lived about the time of Richard II., says, in reference to the number of hydes and vills of England at the Conquest, that by clearing of woods, and ploughing up wastes, there were many more of each in his age than formerly.[700] And it might be easily presumed, independently of proof, that woods were cleared, marshes drained, and wastes brought into tillage, during the long period that the house of Plantagenet sat on the throne. From manerial surveys indeed and similar instruments, it appears that in some places there was nearly as much ground cultivated in the reign of Edward III. as at the present day. The condition of different counties however was very far from being alike, and in general the northern and western parts of England were the most backward.[701] The culture of arable land was very imperfect. Fleta remarks, in the reign of Edward I. or II., that unless an acre yielded more than six bushels of corn, the farmer would be a loser, and the land yield no rent.[702] And Sir John Cullum, from very minute accounts, has calculated that nine or ten bushels were a full average crop on an acre of wheat. An amazing excess of tillage accompanied, and partly, I suppose, produced this imperfect cultivation. In Hawsted, for example, under Edward I., there were thirteen or fourteen hundred acres of arable, and only forty-five of meadow ground. A similar disproportion occurs almost invariably in every account we possess.[703] This seems inconsistent with the low price of cattle. But we must recollect, that the common pasture, often the most extensive part of a manor, is not included, at least by any specific measurement, in these surveys. The rent of land differed of course materially; sixpence an acre seems to have been about the average for arable land in the thirteenth century,[704] though meadow was at double or treble that sum. But the landlords were naturally solicitous to augment a revenue that became more and more inadequate to their luxuries. They grew attentive to agricultural concerns, and perceived that a high rate of produce, against which their less enlightened ancestors had been used to clamour, would bring much more into their coffers than it took away. The exportation of corn had been absolutely prohibited. But the statute of the 15th Henry VI. c. 2, reciting that "on this account, farmers and others who use husbandry, cannot sell their corn but at a low price, to the great damage of the realm," permits it to be sent any where but to the king's enemies, so long as the quarter of wheat shall not exceed 6_s._ 8_d._ in value, or that of barley 3_s._ The price of wool was fixed in the thirty-second year of the same reign at a minimum, below which no person was suffered to buy it, though he might give more;[705] a provision neither wise nor equitable, but obviously suggested by the same motive. Whether the rents of land were augmented in any degree through these measures, I have not perceived; their great rise took place in the reign of Henry VIII., or rather afterwards.[706] The usual price of land under Edward IV. seems to have been ten years' purchase.[707] [Sidenote: Its condition in France and Italy.] It may easily be presumed that an English writer can furnish very little information as to the state of agriculture in foreign countries. In such works relating to France as have fallen within my reach, I have found nothing satisfactory, and cannot pretend to determine, whether the natural tendency of mankind to ameliorate their condition had a greater influence in promoting agriculture, or the vices inherent in the actual order of society, and those public misfortunes to which that kingdom was exposed, in retarding it.[708] The state of Italy was far different; the rich Lombard plains, still more fertilized by irrigation, became a garden, and agriculture seems to have reached the excellence which it still retains. The constant warfare indeed of neighbouring cities is not very favourable to industry; and upon this account we might incline to place the greatest territorial improvement of Lombardy at an era rather posterior to that of her republican government; but from this it primarily sprung; and without the subjugation of the feudal aristocracy, and that perpetual demand upon the fertility of the earth which an increasing population of citizens produced, the valley of the Po would not have yielded more to human labour than it had done for several preceding centuries.[709] Though Lombardy was extremely populous in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, she exported large quantities of corn.[710] The very curious treatise of Crescentius exhibits the full details of Italian husbandry about 1300, and might afford an interesting comparison to those who are acquainted with its present state. That state indeed in many parts of Italy displays no symptoms of decline. But whatever mysterious influence of soil or climate has scattered the seeds of death on the western regions of Tuscany, had not manifested itself in the middle ages. Among uninhabitable plains, the traveller is struck by the ruins of innumerable castles and villages, monuments of a time when pestilence was either unfelt, or had at least not forbad the residence of mankind. Volterra, whose deserted walls look down upon that tainted solitude, was once a small but free republic; Siena, round whom, though less depopulated, the malignant influence hovers, was once almost the rival of Florence. So melancholy and apparently irresistible a decline of culture and population through physical causes, as seems to have gradually overspread that portion of Italy, has not perhaps been experienced in any other part of Europe, unless we except Iceland. [Sidenote: Gardening.] The Italians of the fourteenth century seem to have paid some attention to an art, of which, both as related to cultivation and to architecture, our own forefathers were almost entirely ignorant. Crescentius dilates upon horticulture, and gives a pretty long list of herbs both esculent and medicinal.[711] His notions about the ornamental department are rather beyond what we should expect, and I do not know that his scheme of a flower-garden could be much amended. His general arrangements, which are minutely detailed with evident fondness for the subject, would of course appear too formal at present; yet less so than those of subsequent times; and though acquainted with what is called the topiary art, that of training or cutting trees into regular figures, he does not seem to run into its extravagance. Regular gardens, according to Paulmy, were not made in France till the sixteenth or even seventeenth century;[712] yet one is said to have existed at the Louvre, of much older construction.[713] England, I believe, had nothing of the ornamental kind, unless it were some trees regularly disposed in the orchard of a monastery. Even the common horticultural art for culinary purposes, though not entirely neglected, since the produce of gardens is sometimes mentioned in ancient deeds, had not been cultivated with much attention.[714] The esculent vegetables now most in use were introduced in the reign of Elizabeth, and some sorts a great deal later. [Sidenote: Changes in value of money.] I should leave this slight survey of economical history still more imperfect, were I to make no observation on the relative values of money. Without something like precision in our notions upon this subject, every statistical inquiry becomes a source of confusion and error. But considerable difficulties attend the discussion. These arise principally from two causes; the inaccuracy or partial representations of historical writers, on whom we are accustomed too implicitly to rely, and the change of manners, which renders a certain command over articles of purchase less adequate to our wants than it was in former ages. The first of these difficulties is capable of being removed by a circumspect use of authorities. When this part of statistical history began to excite attention, which was hardly perhaps before the publication of Bishop Fleetwood's Chronicon Preciosum, so few authentic documents had been published with respect to prices, that inquirers were glad to have recourse to historians, even when not contemporary, for such facts as they had thought fit to record. But these historians were sometimes too distant from the times concerning which they wrote, and too careless in their general character, to merit much regard; and even when contemporary, were often credulous, remote from the concerns of the world, and, at the best, more apt to register some extraordinary phenomenon of scarcity or cheapness, than the average rate of pecuniary dealings. The one ought, in my opinion, to be absolutely rejected as testimonies, the other to be sparingly and diffidently admitted.[715] For it is no longer necessary to lean upon such uncertain witnesses. During the last century a very laudable industry has been shown by antiquaries in the publication of account-books belonging to private persons, registers of expenses in convents, returns of markets, valuations of goods, tavern-bills, and in short every document, however trifling in itself, by which this important subject can be illustrated. A sufficient number of such authorities, proving the ordinary tenor of prices rather than any remarkable deviations from it, are the true basis of a table, by which all changes in the value of money should be measured. I have little doubt but that such a table might be constructed from the data we possess with tolerable exactness, sufficient at least to supersede one often quoted by political economists, but which appears to be founded upon very superficial and erroneous inquiries.[716] It is by no means required that I should here offer such a table of values, which, as to every country except England, I have no means of constructing, and which, even as to England, would be subject to many difficulties.[717] But a reader unaccustomed to these investigations ought to have some assistance in comparing the prices of ancient times with those of his own. I will therefore, without attempting to ascend very high, for we have really no sufficient data as to the period immediately subsequent to the Conquest, much less that which preceded, endeavour at a sort of approximation for the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. In the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., previously to the first debasement of the coin by the latter in 1301, the ordinary price of a quarter of wheat appears to have been about four shillings, and that of barley and oats in proportion. A sheep was rather sold high at a shilling, and an ox might be reckoned at ten or twelve.[718] The value of cattle is, of course, dependent upon their breed and condition, and we have unluckily no early account of butcher's meat; but we can hardly take a less multiple than about thirty for animal food and eighteen or twenty for corn, in order to bring the prices of the thirteenth century to a level with those of the present day.[719] Combining the two, and setting the comparative dearness of cloth against the cheapness of fuel and many other articles, we may perhaps consider any given sum under Henry III. and Edward I. as equivalent in general command over commodities to about twenty-four or twenty-five times their nominal value at present. Under Henry VI. the coin had lost one-third of its weight in silver, which caused a proportional increase of money prices;[720] but, so far as I can perceive, there had been no diminution in the value of that metal. We have not much information as to the fertility of the mines which supplied Europe during the middle ages; but it is probable that the drain of silver towards the East, joined to the ostentatious splendour of courts, might fully absorb the usual produce. By the statute 15 H. VI., c. 2, the price up to which wheat might be exported is fixed at 6_s._ 8_d._, a point no doubt above the average; and the private documents of that period, which are sufficiently numerous, lead to a similar result.[721] Sixteen will be a proper multiple when we would bring the general value of money in this reign to our present standard.[722] [1816.] But after ascertaining the proportional values of money at different periods by a comparison of the prices in several of the chief articles of expenditure, which is the only fair process, we shall sometimes be surprised at incidental facts of this class which seem irreducible to any rule. These difficulties arise not so much from the relative scarcity of particular commodities, which it is for the most part easy to explain, as from the change in manners and in the usual mode of living. We have reached in this age so high a pitch of luxury that we can hardly believe or comprehend the frugality of ancient times; and have in general formed mistaken notions as to the habits of expenditure which then prevailed. Accustomed to judge of feudal and chivalrous ages by works of fiction, or by historians who embellished their writings with accounts of occasional festivals and tournaments, and sometimes inattentive enough to transfer the manners of the seventeenth to the fourteenth century, we are not at all aware of the usual simplicity with which the gentry lived under Edward I. or even Henry VI. They drank little wine; they had no foreign luxuries; they rarely or never kept male servants except for husbandry; their horses, as we may guess by the price, were indifferent; they seldom travelled beyond their county. And even their hospitality must have been greatly limited, if the value of manors were really no greater than we find it in many surveys. Twenty-four seems a sufficient multiple when we would raise a sum mentioned by a writer under Edward I. to the same real value expressed in our present money, but an income of 10_l._ or 20_l._ was reckoned a competent estate for a gentleman; at least the lord of a single manor would seldom have enjoyed more. A knight who possessed 150_l._ per annum passed for extremely rich.[723] Yet this was not equal in command over commodities to 4000_l._ at present. But this income was comparatively free from taxation, and its expenditure lightened by the services of his villeins. Such a person, however, must have been among the most opulent of country gentlemen. Sir John Fortescue speaks of five pounds a year as "a fair living for a yeoman," a class of whom he is not at all inclined to diminish the importance.[724] So, when Sir William Drury, one of the richest men in Suffolk, bequeaths in 1493 fifty marks to each of his daughters, we must not imagine that this was of greater value than four or five hundred pounds at this day, but remark the family pride and want of ready money which induced country gentlemen to leave their younger children in poverty.[725] Or, if we read that the expense of a scholar at the university in 1514 was but five pounds annually, we should err in supposing that he had the liberal accommodation which the present age deems indispensable, but consider how much could be afforded for about sixty pounds, which will be not far from the proportion. And what would a modern lawyer say to the following entry in the churchwarden's accounts of St. Margaret, Westminster, for 1476: "Also paid to Roger Fylpott, learned in the law, for his counsel giving, 3_s._ 8_d._, _with four-pence for his dinner_"?[726] Though fifteen times the fee might not seem altogether inadequate at present, five shillings would hardly furnish the table of a barrister, even if the fastidiousness of our manners would admit of his accepting such a dole. But this fastidiousness, which considers certain kinds of remuneration degrading to a man of liberal condition, did not prevail in those simple ages. It would seem rather strange that a young lady should learn needlework and good breeding in a family of superior rank, paying for her board; yet such was the laudable custom of the fifteenth and even sixteenth centuries, as we perceive by the Paston Letters, and even later authorities.[727] [Sidenote: Labourers better paid than at present.] There is one very unpleasing remark which every one who attends to the subject of prices will be induced to make, that the labouring classes, especially those engaged in agriculture, were better provided with the means of subsistence in the reign of Edward III. or of Henry VI. than they are at present. In the fourteenth century Sir John Cullum observes a harvest man had fourpence a day, which enabled him in a week to buy a comb of wheat; but to buy a comb of wheat a man must now (1784) work ten or twelve days.[728] So, under Henry VI., if meat was at a farthing and a half the pound, which I suppose was about the truth, a labourer earning threepence a day, or eighteen pence in the week, could buy a bushel of wheat at six shillings the quarter, and twenty-four pounds of meat for his family. A labourer at present, earning twelve shillings a week, can only buy half a bushel of wheat at eighty shillings the quarter, and twelve pounds of meat at seven-pence.[729] Several acts of parliament regulate the wages that might be paid to labourers of different kinds. Thus the statute of labourers in 1350 fixed the wages of reapers during harvest at threepence a-day without diet, equal to five shillings at present; that of 23 H. VI., c. 12, in 1444, fixed the reapers' wages at five-pence and those of common workmen in building at 3-1/2_d._, equal to 6_s._ 8_d._ and 4_s._ 8_d._; that of 11 H. VII., c. 22, in 1496, leaves the wages of labourers in harvest as before, but rather increases those of ordinary workmen. The yearly wages of a chief hind or shepherd by the act of 1444 were 1_l._ 4_s._, equivalent to about 20_l._, those of a common servant in husbandry 18_s._ 4_d._, with meat and drink; they were somewhat augmented by the statute of 1496.[730] Yet, although these wages are regulated as a maximum by acts of parliament, which may naturally be supposed to have had a view rather towards diminishing than enhancing the current rate, I am not fully convinced that they were not rather beyond it; private accounts at least do not always correspond with these statutable prices.[731] And it is necessary to remember that the uncertainty of employment, natural to so imperfect a state of husbandry, must have diminished the labourers' means of subsistence. Extreme dearth, not more owing to adverse seasons than to improvident consumption, was frequently endured.[732] But after every allowance of this kind I should find it difficult to resist the conclusion that, however the labourer has derived benefit from the cheapness of manufactured commodities and from many inventions of common utility, he is much inferior in ability to support a family to his ancestors three or four centuries ago. I know not why some have supposed that meat was a luxury seldom obtained by the labourer. Doubtless he could not have procured as much as he pleased. But, from the greater cheapness of cattle, as compared with corn, it seems to follow that a more considerable portion of his ordinary diet consisted of animal food than at present. It was remarked by Sir John Fortescue that the English lived far more upon animal diet than their rivals the French; and it was natural to ascribe their superior strength and courage to this cause.[733] I should feel much satisfaction in being convinced that no deterioration in the state of the labouring classes has really taken place; yet it cannot, I think, appear extraordinary to those who reflect, that the whole population of England in the year 1377 did not much exceed 2,300,000 souls, about one-fifth of the results upon the last enumeration, an increase with which that of the fruits of the earth cannot be supposed to have kept an even pace.[734] [Sidenote: Improvement in the moral character of Europe.] The second head to which I referred, the improvements of European society in the latter period of the middle ages, comprehends several changes, not always connected, with each other, which contributed to inspire a more elevated tone of moral sentiment, or at least to restrain the commission of crimes. But the general effect of these upon the human character is neither so distinctly to be traced, nor can it be arranged with so much attention to chronology, as the progress of commercial wealth or of the arts that depend upon it. We cannot from any past experience indulge the pleasing vision of a constant and parallel relation between the moral and intellectual energies, the virtues and the civilization of mankind. Nor is any problem connected with philosophical history more difficult than to compare the relative characters of different generations, especially if we include a large geographical surface in our estimate. Refinement has its evils as well as barbarism; the virtues that elevate a nation in one century pass in the next to a different region; vice changes its form without losing its essence; the marked features of individual character stand out in relief from the surface of history, and mislead our judgment as to the general course of manners; while political revolutions and a bad constitution of government may always undermine or subvert the improvements to which more favourable circumstances have contributed. In comparing, therefore, the fifteenth with the twelfth century, no one would deny the vast increase of navigation and manufactures, the superior refinement of manners, the greater diffusion of literature. But should I assert that man had raised himself in the latter period above the moral degradation of a more barbarous age, I might be met by the question whether history bears witness to any greater excesses of rapine and inhumanity than in the wars of France and England under Charles VII., or whether the rough patriotism and fervid passions of the Lombards in the twelfth century were not better than the systematic treachery of their servile descendants three hundred years afterwards. The proposition must therefore be greatly limited; yet we can scarcely hesitate to admit, upon a comprehensive view, that there were several changes during the last four of the middle ages, which must naturally have tended to produce, and some of which did unequivocally produce, a meliorating effect, within the sphere of their operation, upon the moral character of society. [Sidenote: Elevation of the lower ranks.] The first and perhaps the most important of these, was the gradual elevation of those whom unjust systems of polity had long depressed; of the people itself, as opposed to the small number of rich and noble, by the abolition or desuetude of domestic and predial servitude, and by the privileges extended to corporate towns. The condition of slavery is indeed perfectly consistent with the observance of moral obligations; yet reason and experience will justify the sentence of Homer, that he who loses his liberty loses half his virtue. Those who have acquired, or may hope to acquire, property of their own, are most likely to respect that of others; those whom law protects as a parent are most willing to yield her a filial obedience; those who have much to gain by the good-will of their fellow citizens are most interested in the preservation of an honourable character. I have been led, in different parts of the present work, to consider these great revolutions in the order of society under other relations than that of their moral efficacy; and it will therefore be unnecessary to dwell upon them; especially as this efficacy is indeterminate, though I think unquestionable, and rather to be inferred from general reflections than capable of much illustration by specific facts. [Sidenote: Police.] We may reckon in the next place among the causes of moral improvement, a more regular administration of justice according to fixed laws, and a more effectual police. Whether the courts of judicature were guided by the feudal customs or the Roman law, it was necessary for them to resolve litigated questions with precision and uniformity. Hence a more distinct theory of justice and good faith was gradually apprehended; and the moral sentiments of mankind were corrected, as on such subjects they often require to be, by clearer and better grounded inferences of reasoning. Again, though it cannot be said that lawless rapine was perfectly restrained even at the end of the fifteenth century, a sensible amendment had been every where experienced. Private warfare, the licensed robbery of feudal manners, had been subjected to so many mortifications by the kings of France, and especially by St. Louis, that it can hardly be traced beyond the fourteenth century. In Germany and Spain it lasted longer; but the various associations for maintaining tranquillity in the former country had considerably diminished its violence before the great national measure of public peace adopted under Maximilian.[735] Acts of outrage committed by powerful men became less frequent as the executive government acquired more strength to chastise them. We read that St. Louis, the best of French kings, imposed a fine upon the lord of Vernon for permitting a merchant to be robbed in his territory between sunrise and sunset. For by the customary law, though in general ill observed, the lord was bound to keep the roads free from depredators in the day-time, in consideration of the toll he received from passengers.[736] The same prince was with difficulty prevented from passing a capital sentence on Enguerrand de Coucy, a baron of France, for a murder.[737] Charles the Fair actually put to death a nobleman of Languedoc for a series of robberies, notwithstanding the intercession of the provincial nobility.[738] The towns established a police of their own for internal security, and rendered themselves formidable to neighbouring plunderers. Finally, though not before the reign of Louis XI., an armed force was established for the preservation of police.[739] Various means were adopted in England to prevent robberies, which indeed were not so frequently perpetrated as they were on the continent, by men of high condition. None of these perhaps had so much efficacy as the frequent sessions of judges under commissions of gaol delivery. But the spirit of this country has never brooked that coercive police which cannot exist without breaking in upon personal liberty by irksome regulations, and discretionary exercise of power; the sure instrument of tyranny, which renders civil privileges at once nugatory and insecure, and by which we should dearly purchase some real benefits connected with its slavish discipline. [Sidenote: Religious sects.] I have some difficulty in adverting to another source of moral improvement during this period, the growth of religious opinions adverse to those of the established church, both on account of its great obscurity, and because many of these heresies were mixed up with an excessive fanaticism. But they fixed themselves so deeply in the hearts of the inferior and more numerous classes, they bore, generally speaking, so immediate a relation to the state of manners, and they illustrate so much that more visible and eminent revolution which ultimately rose out of them in the sixteenth century, that I must reckon these among the most interesting phenomena in the progress of European society. Many ages elapsed, during which no remarkable instance occurs of a popular deviation from the prescribed line of belief; and pious Catholics console themselves by reflecting that their forefathers, in those times of ignorance, slept at least the sleep of orthodoxy, and that their darkness was interrupted by no false lights of human reasoning.[740] But from the twelfth century this can no longer be their boast. An inundation of heresy broke in that age upon the church, which no persecution was able thoroughly to repress, till it finally overspread half the surface of Europe. Of this religious innovation we must seek the commencement in a different part of the globe. The Manicheans afford an eminent example of that durable attachment to a traditional creed, which so many ancient sects, especially in the East, have cherished through the vicissitudes of ages, in spite of persecution and contempt. Their plausible and widely extended system had been in early times connected with the name of Christianity, however incompatible with its doctrines and its history. After a pretty long obscurity, the Manichean theory revived with some modification in the western parts of Armenia, and was propagated in the eighth and ninth centuries by a sect denominated Paulicians. Their tenets are not to be collected with absolute certainty from the mouths of their adversaries, and no apology of their own survives. There seems however to be sufficient evidence that the Paulicians, though professing to acknowledge and even to study the apostolical writings, ascribed the creation of the world to an evil deity, whom they supposed also to be the author of the Jewish law, and consequently rejected all the Old Testament. Believing, with the ancient Gnostics, that our Saviour was clothed on earth with an impassive celestial body, they denied the reality of his death and resurrection.[741] These errors exposed them to a long and cruel persecution, during which a colony of exiles was planted by one of the Greek emperors in Bulgaria.[742] From this settlement they silently promulgated their Manichean creed over the western regions of Christendom. A large part of the commerce of those countries with Constantinople was carried on for several centuries by the channel of the Danube. This opened an immediate intercourse with the Paulicians, who may be traced up that river through Hungary and Bavaria, or sometimes taking the route of Lombardy into Switzerland and France.[743] In the last country, and especially in its southern and eastern provinces, they became conspicuous under a variety of names; such as Catharists, Picards, Paterins, but above all, Albigenses. It is beyond a doubt that many of these sectaries owed their origin to the Paulicians; the appellation of Bulgarians was distinctively bestowed upon them; and, according to some writers, they acknowledged a primate or patriarch resident in that country.[744] The tenets ascribed to them by all contemporary authorities coincide so remarkably with those held by the Paulicians, and in earlier times by the Manicheans, that I do not see how we can reasonably deny what is confirmed by separate and uncontradicted testimonies, and contains no intrinsic want of probability.[745] [Sidenote: Waldenses.] But though, the derivation of these heretics called Albigenses from Bulgaria is sufficiently proved, it is by no means to be concluded that all who incurred the same imputation either derived their faith from the same country, or had adopted the Manichean theory of the Paulicians. From the very invectives of their enemies, and the acts of the Inquisition, it is manifest that almost every shade of heterodoxy was found among these dissidents, till it vanished in a simple protestation against the wealth and tyranny of the clergy. Those who were absolutely free from any taint of Manicheism are properly called Waldenses; a name perpetually confounded in later times with that of Albigenses, but distinguishing a sect probably of separate origin, and at least of different tenets. These, according to the majority of writers, took their appellation from Peter Waldo, a merchant of Lyons, the parent, about the year 1160, of a congregation of seceders from the church, who spread very rapidly over France and Germany.[746] According to others, the original Waldenses were a race of uncorrupted shepherds, who in the valleys of the Alps had shaken off, or perhaps never learned, the system of superstition on which the Catholic church depended for its ascendency. I am not certain whether their existence can be distinctly traced beyond the preaching of Waldo, but it is well known that the proper seat of the Waldenses or Vaudois has long continued to be in certain valleys of Piedmont. These pious and innocent sectaries, of whom the very monkish historians speak well, appear to have nearly resembled the modern Moravians. They had ministers of their own appointment, and denied the lawfulness of oaths and of capital punishment. In other respects their opinions probably were not far removed from those usually called Protestant. A simplicity of dress, and especially the use of wooden sandals, was affected by this people.[747] I have already had occasion to relate the severe persecution which nearly exterminated the Albigenses of Languedoc at the close of the twelfth century, and involved the counts of Toulouse in their ruin. The Catharists, a fraternity of the same Paulician origin, more dispersed than the Albigenses, had previously sustained a similar trial. Their belief was certainly a compound of strange errors with truth; but it was attended by qualities of a far superior lustre to orthodoxy, by a sincerity, a piety, and a self-devotion that almost purified the age in which they lived.[748] It is always important to perceive that these high moral excellences have no necessary connexion with speculative truths; and upon this account I have been more disposed to state explicitly the real Manicheism of the Albigenses; especially as Protestant writers, considering all the enemies of Rome as their friends, have been apt to place the opinions of these sectaries in a very false light. In the course of time, undoubtedly, the system of their Paulician teachers would have yielded, if the inquisitors had admitted the experiment, to a more accurate study of the Scriptures, and to the knowledge which they would have imbibed from the church itself. And, in fact, we find that the peculiar tenets of Manicheism died away after the middle of the thirteenth century, although a spirit of dissent from the established creed broke out in abundant instances during the two subsequent ages. We are in general deprived of explicit testimonies in tracing the revolutions of popular opinion. Much must therefore be left to conjecture; but I am inclined to attribute a very extensive effect to the preaching of these heretics. They appear in various countries nearly during the same period, in Spain, Lombardy, Germany, Flanders, and England, as well as France. Thirty unhappy persons, convicted of denying the sacraments, are said to have perished at Oxford by cold and famine in the reign of Henry II. In every country the new sects appear to have spread chiefly among the lower people, which, while it accounts for the imperfect notice of historians, indicates a more substantial influence upon the moral condition of society than the conversion of a few nobles or ecclesiastics.[749] But even where men did not absolutely enlist under the banners of any new sect, they were stimulated by the temper of their age to a more zealous and independent discussion of their religious system. A curious illustration of this is furnished by one of the letters of Innocent III. He had been informed by the bishop of Metz, as he states to the clergy of the diocese, that no small multitude of laymen and women, having procured a translation of the gospels, epistles of St. Paul, the psalter, Job, and other books of Scripture, to be made for them into French, meet in secret conventicles to hear them read, and preach to each other, avoiding the company of those who do not join in their devotion, and having been reprimanded for this by some of their parish priests, have withstood them, alleging reasons from the Scriptures, why they should not be so forbidden. Some of them too deride the ignorance of their ministers, and maintain that their own books teach them more than they can learn from the pulpit, and that they can express it better. Although the desire of reading the Scriptures, Innocent proceeds, is rather praiseworthy than reprehensible, yet they are to be blamed for frequenting secret assemblies, for usurping the office of preaching, deriding their own ministers, and scorning the company of such as do not concur in their novelties. He presses the bishop and chapter to discover the author of this translation, which could not have been made without a knowledge of letters, and what were his intentions, and what degree of orthodoxy and respect for the Holy See those who used it possessed. This letter of Innocent III., however, considering the nature of the man, is sufficiently temperate and conciliatory. It seems not to have answered its end; for in another letter he complains that some members of this little association continued refractory and refused to obey either the bishop or the pope.[750] In the eighth and ninth centuries, when the Vulgate had ceased to be generally intelligible, there is no reason to suspect any intention in the church to deprive the laity of the Scriptures. Translations were freely made into the vernacular languages, and perhaps read in churches, although the acts of saints were generally deemed more instructive. Louis the Debonair is said to have caused a German version of the New Testament to be made. Otfrid, in the same century, rendered the gospels, or rather abridged them, into German verse. This work is still extant, and is in several respects an object of curiosity.[751] In the eleventh or twelfth century we find translations of the Psalms, Job, Kings, and the Maccabees into French.[752] But after the diffusion of heretical opinions, or, what was much the same thing, of free inquiry, it became expedient to secure the orthodox faith from lawless interpretation. Accordingly, the council of Toulouse in 1229 prohibited the laity from possessing the Scriptures; and this precaution was frequently repeated upon subsequent occasions.[753] The ecclesiastical history of the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries teems with new sectaries and schismatics, various in their aberrations of opinion, but all concurring in detestation of the established church.[754] They endured severe persecutions with a sincerity and firmness which in any cause ought to command respect. But in general we find an extravagant fanaticism among them; and I do not know how to look for any amelioration of society from the Franciscan seceders, who quibbled about the property of things consumed by use, or from the mystical visionaries of different appellations, whose moral practice was sometimes more than equivocal. Those who feel any curiosity about such subjects, which are by no means unimportant, as they illustrate the history of the human mind, will find them treated very fully by Mosheim. But the original sources of information are not always accessible in this country, and the research would perhaps be more fatiguing than profitable. [Sidenote: Lollards of England.] I shall, for an opposite reason, pass lightly over the great revolution in religious opinion wrought in England by Wicliffe, which will generally be familiar to the reader from our common historians. Nor am I concerned to treat of theological inquiries, or to write a history of the church. Considered in its effects upon manners, the sole point which these pages have in view, the preaching of this new sect certainly produced an extensive reformation. But their virtues were by no means free from some unsocial qualities, in which, as well as in their superior attributes, the Lollards bear a very close resemblance to the Puritans of Elizabeth's reign; a moroseness that proscribed all cheerful amusements, an uncharitable malignity that made no distinction in condemning the established clergy, and a narrow prejudice that applied the rules of the Jewish law to modern institutions.[755] Some of their principles were far more dangerous to the good order of society, and cannot justly be ascribed to the Puritans, though they grew afterwards out of the same soil. Such was the notion, which is imputed also to the Albigenses, that civil magistrates lose their right to govern by committing sin, or, as it was quaintly expressed in the seventeenth century, that dominion is founded in grace. These extravagances, however, do not belong to the learned and politic Wicliffe, however they might be adopted by some of his enthusiastic disciples.[756] Fostered by the general ill-will towards the church, his principles made vast progress in England, and, unlike those of earlier sectaries, were embraced by men of rank and civil influence. Notwithstanding the check they sustained by the sanguinary law of Henry IV., it is highly probable that multitudes secretly cherished them down to the era of the Reformation. [Sidenote: Hussites of Bohemia.] From England the spirit of religious innovation was propagated into Bohemia; for though John Huss was very far from embracing all the doctrinal system of Wicliffe, it is manifest that his zeal had been quickened by the writings of that reformer.[757] Inferior to the Englishman in ability, but exciting greater attention by his constancy and sufferings, as well as by the memorable war which his ashes kindled, the Bohemian martyr was even more eminently the precursor of the Reformation. But still regarding these dissensions merely in a temporal light, I cannot assign any beneficial effect to the schism of the Hussites, at least in its immediate results, and in the country where it appeared. Though some degree of sympathy with their cause is inspired by resentment at the ill faith of their adversaries, and by the associations of civil and religious liberty, we cannot estimate the Taborites and other sectaries of that description but as ferocious and desperate fanatics.[758] Perhaps beyond the confines of Bohemia more substantial good may have been produced by the influence of its reformation, and a better tone of morals inspired into Germany. But I must again repeat that upon this obscure and ambiguous subject I assert nothing definitely, and little with confidence. The tendencies of religious dissent in the four ages before the Reformation appear to have generally conduced towards the moral improvement of mankind; and facts of this nature occupy a far greater space in a philosophical view of society during that period, than we might at first imagine; but every one who is disposed to prosecute this inquiry will assign their character according to the result of his own investigations. [Sidenote: Institution of chivalry.] But the best school of moral discipline which the middle ages afforded was the institution of chivalry. There is something perhaps to allow for the partiality of modern writers upon this interesting subject; yet our most sceptical criticism must assign a decisive influence to this great source of human improvement. The more deeply it is considered, the more we shall become sensible of its importance. There are, if I may so say, three powerful spirits which have from time to time moved over the face of the waters, and given a predominant impulse to the moral sentiments and energies of mankind. These are the spirits of liberty, of religion, and of honour. It was the principal business of chivalry to animate and cherish the last of these three. And whatever high magnanimous energy the love of liberty or religious zeal has ever imparted was equalled by the exquisite sense of honour which this institution preserved. [Sidenote: Its origin.] It appears probable that the custom of receiving arms at the age of manhood with some solemnity was of immemorial antiquity among the nations that overthrew the Roman empire. For it is mentioned by Tacitus to have prevailed among their German ancestors; and his expressions might have been used with no great variation to describe the actual ceremonies of knighthood.[759] There was even in that remote age a sort of public trial as to the fitness of the candidate, which, though perhaps confined to his bodily strength and activity, might be the germ of that refined investigation which was thought necessary in the perfect stage of chivalry. Proofs, though rare and incidental, might be adduced to show that in the time of Charlemagne, and even earlier, the sons of monarchs at least did not assume manly arms without a regular investiture. And in the eleventh century it is evident that this was a general practice.[760] This ceremony, however, would perhaps of itself have done little towards forming that intrinsic principle which characterized the genuine chivalry. But in the reign of Charlemagne we find a military distinction that appears, in fact as well as in name, to have given birth to that institution. Certain feudal tenants, and I suppose also alodial proprietors, were bound to serve on horseback, equipped with the coat of mail. These were called Caballarii, from which the word chevaliers is an obvious corruption.[761] But he who fought on horseback, and had been invested with peculiar arms in a solemn manner, wanted nothing more to render him a knight. Chivalry therefore may, in a general sense, be referred to the age of Charlemagne. We may, however, go further, and observe that these distinctive advantages above ordinary combatants were probably the sources of that remarkable valour and that keen thirst for glory, which became the essential attributes of a knightly character. For confidence in our skill and strength is the usual foundation of courage; it is by feeling ourselves able to surmount common dangers, that we become adventurous enough to encounter those of a more extraordinary nature, and to which more glory is attached. The reputation of superior personal prowess, so difficult to be attained in the course of modern warfare, and so liable to erroneous representations, was always within the reach of the stoutest knight, and was founded on claims which could be measured with much accuracy. Such is the subordination and mutual dependence in a modern army, that every man must be content to divide his glory with his comrades, his general, or his soldiers. But the soul of chivalry was individual honour, coveted in so entire and absolute a perfection that it must not be shared with an army or a nation. Most of the virtues it inspired were what we may call independent, as opposed to those which are founded upon social relations. The knights-errant of romance perform their best exploits from the love of renown, or from a sort of abstract sense of justice, rather than from any solicitude to promote the happiness of mankind. If these springs of action are less generally beneficial, they are, however, more connected with elevation of character than the systematical prudence of men accustomed to social life. This solitary and independent spirit of chivalry, dwelling, as it were, upon a rock, and disdaining injustice or falsehood from a consciousness of internal dignity, without any calculation of their consequences, is not unlike what we sometimes read of Arabian chiefs or the North American Indians.[762] These nations, so widely remote from each other, seem to partake of that moral energy, which, among European nations far remote from both of them, was excited by the spirit of chivalry. But the most beautiful picture that was ever portrayed of this character is the Achilles of Homer, the representative of chivalry in its most general form, with all its sincerity and unyielding rectitude, all its courtesies and munificence. Calmly indifferent to the cause in which he is engaged, and contemplating with a serious and unshaken look the premature death that awaits him, his heart only beats for glory and friendship. To this sublime character, bating that imaginary completion by which the creations of the poet, like those of the sculptor, transcend all single works of nature, there were probably many parallels in the ages of chivalry; especially before a set education and the refinements of society had altered a little the natural unadulterated warrior of a ruder period. One illustrious example from this earlier age is the Cid Ruy Diaz, whose history has fortunately been preserved much at length in several chronicles of ancient date and in one valuable poem; and though I will not say that the Spanish hero is altogether a counterpart of Achilles in gracefulness and urbanity, yet was he inferior to none that ever lived in frankness, honour, and magnanimity.[763] [Sidenote: Its connexion with feudal service.] [Sidenote: This connexion broken.] In the first state of chivalry, it was closely connected with the military service of fiefs. The Caballarii in the Capitularies, the Milites of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, were landholders who followed their lord or sovereign into the field. A certain value of land was termed in England a knight's fee, or in Normandy feudum loricæ, fief de haubert, from the coat of mail which it entitled and required the tenant to wear; a military tenure was said to be by service in chivalry. To serve as knights, mounted and equipped, was the common duty of vassals; it implied no personal merit, it gave of itself a claim to no civil privileges. But this knight-service founded upon a feudal obligation is to be carefully distinguished from that superior chivalry, in which all was independent and voluntary. The latter, in fact, could hardly flourish in its full perfection till the military service of feudal tenure began to decline; namely, in the thirteenth century. The origin of this personal chivalry I should incline to refer to the ancient usage of voluntary commendation, which I have mentioned in a former chapter. Men commended themselves, that is, did homage and professed attachment to a prince or lord; generally indeed for protection or the hope of reward, but sometimes probably for the sake of distinguishing themselves in his quarrels. When they received pay, which must have been the usual case, they were literally his soldiers, or stipendiary troops. Those who could afford to exert their valour without recompense were like the knights of whom we read in romance, who served a foreign master through love, or thirst of glory, or gratitude. The extreme poverty of the lower nobility, arising from the subdivision of fiefs, and the politic generosity of rich lords, made this connexion as strong as that of territorial dependence. A younger brother, leaving the paternal estate, in which he took a slender share, might look to wealth and dignity in the service of a powerful count. Knighthood, which he could not claim as his legal right, became the object of his chief ambition. It raised him in the scale of society, equalling him in dress, in arms, and in title, to the rich landholders. As it was due to his merit, it did much more than equal him to those who had no pretensions but from wealth; and the territorial knights became by degrees ashamed of assuming the title till they could challenge it by real desert. [Sidenote: Effect of the crusades on chivalry.] This class of noble and gallant cavaliers serving commonly for pay, but on the most honourable footing, became far more numerous through the crusades; a great epoch in the history of European society. In these wars, as all feudal service was out of the question, it was necessary for the richer barons to take into their pay as many knights as they could afford to maintain; speculating, so far as such motives operated, on an influence with the leaders of the expedition, and on a share of plunder, proportioned to the number of their followers. During the period of the crusades, we find the institution of chivalry acquire its full vigour as an order of personal nobility; and its original connexion with feudal tenure, if not altogether effaced, became in a great measure forgotten in the splendour and dignity of the new form which it wore. [Sidenote: Chivalry connected with religion.] The crusaders, however, changed in more than one respect the character of chivalry. Before that epoch it appears to have had no particular reference to religion. Ingulfus indeed tells us that the Anglo-Saxons preceded the ceremony of investiture by a confession of their sins, and other pious rites, and they received the order at the hands of a priest, instead of a knight. But this was derided by the Normans as effeminacy, and seems to have proceeded from the extreme devotion of the English before the Conquest.[764] We can hardly perceive indeed why the assumption of arms to be used in butchering mankind should be treated as a religious ceremony. The clergy, to do them justice, constantly opposed the private wars in which the courage of those ages wasted itself; and all bloodshed was subject in strictness to a canonical penance. But the purposes for which men bore arms in a crusade so sanctified their use, that chivalry acquired the character as much of a religious as a military institution. For many centuries, the recovery of the Holy Land was constantly at the heart of a brave and superstitious nobility; and every knight was supposed at his creation to pledge himself, as occasion should arise, to that cause. Meanwhile, the defence of God's law against infidels was his primary and standing duty. A knight, whenever present at mass, held the point of his sword before him while the gospel was read, to signify his readiness to support it. Writers of the middle ages compare the knightly to the priestly character in an elaborate parallel, and the investiture of the one was supposed analogous to the ordination of the other. The ceremonies upon this occasion were almost wholly religious. The candidate passed nights in prayer among priests in a church; he received the sacraments; he entered into a bath, and was clad with a white robe, in allusion to the presumed purification of his life; his sword was solemnly blessed; every thing, in short, was contrived to identify his new condition with the defence of religion, or at least of the church.[765] [Sidenote: And with gallantry.] To this strong tincture of religion which entered into the composition of chivalry from the twelfth century, was added another ingredient equally distinguishing. A great respect for the female sex had always been a remarkable characteristic of the Northern nations. The German women were high-spirited and virtuous; qualities which might be causes or consequences of the veneration with which they were regarded. I am not sure that we could trace very minutely the condition of women for the period between the subversion of the Roman empire and the first crusade; but apparently man did not grossly abuse his superiority; and in point of civil rights, and even as to the inheritance of property, the two sexes were placed perhaps as nearly on a level as the nature of such warlike societies would admit. There seems, however, to have been more roughness in the social intercourse between the sexes than we find in later periods. The spirit of gallantry which became so animating a principle of chivalry, must be ascribed to the progressive refinement of society during the twelfth and two succeeding centuries. In a rude state of manners, as among the lower people in all ages, woman has not full scope to display those fascinating graces, by which nature has designed to counterbalance the strength and energy of mankind. Even where those jealous customs that degrade alike the two sexes have not prevailed, her lot is domestic seclusion; nor is she fit to share in the boisterous pastimes of drunken merriment to which the intercourse of an unpolished people is confined. But as a taste for the more elegant enjoyments of wealth arises, a taste which it is always her policy and her delight to nourish, she obtains an ascendency at first in the lighter hour, and from thence in the serious occupations of life. She chases, or brings into subjection, the god of wine, a victory which might seem more ignoble were it less difficult, and calls in the aid of divinities more propitious to her ambition. The love of becoming ornament is not perhaps to be regarded in the light of vanity; it is rather an instinct which woman has received from nature to give effect to those charms that are her defence; and when commerce began to minister more effectually to the wants of luxury, the rich furs of the North, the gay silks of Asia, the wrought gold of domestic manufacture, illumined the halls of chivalry, and cast, as if by the spell of enchantment, that ineffable grace over beauty which the choice and arrangement of dress is calculated to bestow. Courtesy had always been the proper attribute of knighthood; protection of the weak its legitimate duty; but these were heightened to a pitch of enthusiasm when woman became their object. There was little jealousy shown in the treatment of that sex, at least in France, the fountain of chivalry; they were present at festivals, at tournaments, and sat promiscuously in the halls of their castle. The romance of Perceforest (and romances have always been deemed good witnesses as to manners) tells of a feast where eight hundred knights had each of them a lady eating off his plate.[766] For to eat off the same plate was an usual mark of gallantry or friendship. Next therefore, or even equal to devotion, stood gallantry among the principles of knighthood. But all comparison between the two was saved by blending them together. The love of God and the ladies was enjoined as a single duty. He who was faithful and true to his mistress was held sure of salvation in the theology of castles though not of cloisters.[767] Froissart announces that he had undertaken a collection of amorous poetry with the help of God and of love; and Boccace returns thanks to each for their assistance in the Decameron. The laws sometimes united in this general homage to the fair. "We will," says James II. of Aragon, "that every man, whether knight or no, who shall be in company with a lady, pass safe and unmolested, unless he be guilty of murder."[768] Louis II., duke of Bourbon, instituting the order of the Golden Shield, enjoins his knights to honour above all the ladies, and not to permit any one to slander them, "because from them after God comes all the honour that men can acquire."[769] The gallantry of those ages, which was very often adulterous, had certainly no right to profane the name of religion; but its union with valour was at least more natural, and became so intimate, that the same word has served to express both qualities. In the French and English wars especially, the knights of each country brought to that serious conflict the spirit of romantic attachment which had been cherished in the hours of peace. They fought at Poitiers or Verneuil as they had fought at tournaments, bearing over their armour scarves and devices as the livery of their mistresses, and asserting the paramount beauty of her they served in vaunting challenges towards the enemy. Thus in the middle of a keen skirmish at Cherbourg, the squadrons remained motionless, while one knight challenged to a single combat the most amorous of the adversaries. Such a defiance was soon accepted, and the battle only recommenced when one of the champions had lost his life for his love.[770] In the first campaign of Edward's war some young English knights wore a covering over one eye, vowing, for the sake of their ladies, never to see with both till they should have signalized their prowess in the field.[771] These extravagances of chivalry are so common that they form part of its general character, and prove how far a course of action which depends upon the impulses of sentiment may come to deviate from common sense. It cannot be presumed that this enthusiastic veneration, this devotedness in life and death, were wasted upon ungrateful natures. The goddesses of that idolatry knew too well the value of their worshippers. There has seldom been such adamant about the female heart, as can resist the highest renown for valour and courtesy, united with the steadiest fidelity. "He loved," says Froissart of Eustace d'Auberthicourt, "and afterwards married lady Isabel, daughter of the count of Juliers. This lady too loved lord Eustace for the great exploits in arms which she heard told of him, and she sent him horses and loving letters, which made the said lord Eustace more bold than before, and he wrought such feats of chivalry, that all in his company were gainers."[772] It were to be wished that the sympathy of love and valour had always been as honourable. But the morals of chivalry, we cannot deny, were not pure. In the amusing fictions which seem to have been the only popular reading of the middle ages, there reigns a licentious spirit, not of that slighter kind which is usual in such compositions, but indicating a general dissoluteness in the intercourse of the sexes. This has often been noticed of Boccaccio and the early Italian novelists; but it equally characterized the tales and romances of France, whether metrical or in prose, and all the poetry of the Troubadours.[773] The violation of marriage vows passes in them for an incontestable privilege of the brave and the fair; and an accomplished knight seems to have enjoyed as undoubted prerogatives, by general consent of opinion, as were claimed by the brilliant courtiers of Louis XV. [Sidenote: Virtues deemed essential to chivalry.] But neither that emulous valour which chivalry excited, nor the religion and gallantry which were its animating principles, alloyed as the latter were by the corruption of those ages, could have rendered its institution materially conducive to the moral improvement of society. There were, however, excellences of a very high class which it equally encouraged. In the books professedly written to lay down the duties of knighthood, they appear to spread over the whole compass of human obligations. But these, like other books of morality, strain their schemes of perfection far beyond the actual practice of mankind. A juster estimate of chivalrous manners is to be deduced from romances. Yet in these, as in all similar fictions, there must be a few ideal touches beyond the simple truth of character; and the picture can only be interesting when it ceases to present images of mediocrity or striking imperfection. But they referred their models of fictitious heroism to the existing standard of moral approbation; a rule, which, if it generally falls short of what reason and religion prescribe, is always beyond the average tenor of human conduct. From these and from history itself we may infer the tendency of chivalry to elevate and purify the moral feelings. Three virtues may particularly be noticed as essential in the estimation of mankind to the character of a knight; loyalty, courtesy, and munificence. [Sidenote: Loyalty.] The first of these in its original sense may be defined, fidelity to engagements; whether actual promises, or such tacit obligations as bound a vassal to his lord and a subject to his prince. It was applied also, and in the utmost strictness, to the fidelity of a lover towards the lady he served. Breach of faith, and especially of an express promise, was held a disgrace that no valour could redeem. False, perjured, disloyal, recreant, were the epithets which he must be compelled to endure who had swerved from a plighted engagement even towards an enemy. This is one of the most striking changes produced by chivalry. Treachery, the usual vice of savage as well as corrupt nations, became infamous during the vigour of that discipline. As personal rather than national feelings actuated its heroes, they never felt that hatred, much less that fear of their enemies, which blind men to the heinousness of ill faith. In the wars of Edward III., originating in no real animosity, the spirit of honourable as well as courteous behaviour towards the foe seems to have arrived at its highest point. Though avarice may have been the primary motive of ransoming prisoners instead of putting them to death, their permission to return home on the word of honour in order to procure the stipulated sum--an indulgence never refused--could only be founded on experienced confidence in the principles of chivalry.[774] [Sidenote: Courtesy.] [Sidenote: Liberality.] A knight was unfit to remain a member of the order if he violated his faith; he was ill acquainted with its duties if he proved wanting in courtesy. This word expressed the most highly refined good breeding, founded less upon a knowledge of ceremonious politeness, though this was not to be omitted, than on the spontaneous modesty, self-denial, and respect for others, which ought to spring from his heart. Besides the grace which this beautiful virtue threw over the habits of social life, it softened down the natural roughness of war, and gradually introduced that indulgent treatment of prisoners which was almost unknown to antiquity. Instances of this kind are continual in the later period of the middle ages. An Italian writer blames the soldier who wounded Eccelin, the famous tyrant of Padua, after he was taken. "He deserved," says he, "no praise, but rather the greatest infamy for his baseness; since it is as vile an act to wound a prisoner, whether noble or otherwise, as to strike a dead body."[775] Considering the crimes of Eccelin, this sentiment is a remarkable proof of generosity. The behaviour of Edward III. to Eustace de Ribaumont, after the capture of Calais, and that, still more exquisitely beautiful, of the Black Prince to his royal prisoner at Poitiers, are such eminent instances of chivalrous virtue, that I omit to repeat them only because they are so well known. Those great princes too might be imagined to have soared far above the ordinary track of mankind. But in truth, the knights who surrounded them and imitated their excellences, were only inferior in opportunities of displaying the same virtue. After the battle of Poitiers, "the English and Gascon knights," says Froissart, "having entertained their prisoners, went home each of them with the knights or squires he had taken, whom he then questioned upon their honour what ransom they could pay without inconvenience, and easily gave them credit; and it was common for men to say, that they would not straiten any knight or squire so that he should not live well and keep up his honour."[776] Liberality, indeed, and disdain of money, might be reckoned, as I have said, among the essential virtues of chivalry. All the romances inculcate the duty of scattering their wealth with profusion, especially towards minstrels, pilgrims, and the poorer members of their own order. The last, who were pretty numerous, had a constant right to succour from the opulent; the castle of every lord, who respected the ties of knighthood, was open with more than usual hospitality to the traveller whose armour announced his dignity, though it might also conceal his poverty.[777] [Sidenote: Justice.] Valour, loyalty, courtesy, munificence, formed collectively the character of an accomplished knight, so far as was displayed in the ordinary tenor of his life, reflecting these virtues as an unsullied mirror. Yet something more was required for the perfect idea of chivalry, and enjoined by its principles; an active sense of justice, an ardent indignation against wrong, a determination of courage to its best end, the prevention or redress of injury. It grew up as a salutary antidote in the midst of poisons, while scarce any law but that of the strongest obtained regard, and the rights of territorial property, which are only rights as they conduce to general good, became the means of general oppression. The real condition of society, it has sometimes been thought, might suggest stories of knight-errantry, which were wrought up into the popular romances of the middle ages. A baron, abusing the advantage of an inaccessible castle in the fastnesses of the Black Forest or the Alps, to pillage the neighbourhood and confine travellers in his dungeon, though neither a giant nor a Saracen, was a monster not less formidable, and could perhaps as little be destroyed without the aid of disinterested bravery. Knight-errantry, indeed, as a profession, cannot rationally be conceived to have had any existence beyond the precincts of romance. Yet there seems no improbability in supposing that a knight, journeying through uncivilized regions in his way to the Holy Land, or to the court of a foreign sovereign, might find himself engaged in adventures not very dissimilar to those which are the theme of romance. We cannot indeed expect to find any historical evidence of such incidents. [Sidenote: Resemblance of chivalrous to eastern manners.] The characteristic virtues of chivalry bear so much resemblance to those which eastern writers of the same period extol, that I am a little disposed to suspect Europe of having derived some improvement from imitation of Asia. Though the crusades began in abhorrence of infidels, this sentiment wore off in some degree before their cessation; and the regular intercourse of commerce, sometimes of alliance, between the Christians of Palestine and the Saracens, must have removed part of the prejudice, while experience of their enemy's courage and generosity in war would with those gallant knights serve to lighten the remainder. The romancers expatiate with pleasure on the merits of Saladin, who actually received the honour of knighthood from Hugh of Tabaria, his prisoner. An ancient poem, entitled the Order of Chivalry, is founded upon this story, and contains a circumstantial account of the ceremonies, as well as duties, which the institution required.[778] One or two other instances of a similar kind bear witness to the veneration in which the name of knight was held among the eastern nations. And certainly the Mohammedan chieftains were for the most part abundantly qualified to fulfil the duties of European chivalry. Their manners had been polished and courteous, while the western kingdoms were comparatively barbarous. [Sidenote: Evils produced by the spirit of chivalry.] The principles of chivalry were not, I think, naturally productive of many evils. For it is unjust to class those acts of oppression or disorder among the abuses of knighthood, which were committed in spite of its regulations, and were only prevented by them from becoming more extensive. The licence of times so imperfectly civilized could not be expected to yield to institutions, which, like those of religion, fell prodigiously short in their practical result of the reformation which they were designed to work. Man's guilt and frailty have never admitted more than a partial corrective. But some bad consequences may be more fairly ascribed to the very nature of chivalry. I have already mentioned the dissoluteness which almost unavoidably resulted from the prevailing tone of gallantry. And yet we sometimes find in the writings of those times a spirit of pure but exaggerated sentiment; and the most fanciful refinements of passion are mingled by the same poets with the coarsest immorality. An undue thirst for military renown was another fault that chivalry must have nourished; and the love of war, sufficiently pernicious in any shape, was more founded, as I have observed, on personal feelings of honour, and less on public spirit, than in the citizens of free states. A third reproach may be made to the character of knighthood, that it widened the separation between the different classes of society, and confirmed that aristocratical spirit of high birth, by which the large mass of mankind were kept in unjust degradation. Compare the generosity of Edward III. towards Eustace de Ribaumont at the siege of Calais with the harshness of his conduct towards the citizens. This may be illustrated by a story from Joinville, who was himself imbued with the full spirit of chivalry, and felt like the best and bravest of his age. He is speaking of Henry count of Champagne, who acquired, says he, very deservedly, the surname of Liberal, and adduces the following proof of it. A poor knight implored of him on his knees one day as much money as would serve to marry his two daughters. One Arthault de Nogent, a rich burgess, willing to rid the count of this importunity, but rather awkward, we must own, in the turn of his argument, said to the petitioner; My lord has already given away so much that he has nothing left. Sir Villain, replied Henry, turning round to him, you do not speak truth in saying that I have nothing left to give, when I have got yourself. Here, Sir Knight, I give you this man and warrant your possession of him. Then, says Joinville, the poor knight was not at all confounded, but seized hold of the burgess fast by the collar, and told him he should not go till he had ransomed himself. And in the end he was forced to pay a ransom of five hundred pounds. The simple-minded writer who brings this evidence of the count of Champagne's liberality is not at all struck with the facility of a virtue that is exercised at the cost of others.[779] [Sidenote: Circumstances tending to promote it.] There is perhaps enough in the nature of this institution and its congeniality to the habits of a warlike generation to account for the respect in which it was held throughout Europe. But several collateral circumstances served to invigorate its spirit. Besides the powerful efficacy with which the poetry and romance of the middle ages stimulated those susceptible minds which were alive to no other literature, we may enumerate four distinct causes tending to the promotion of chivalry. [Sidenote: Regular education for knighthood.] The first of these was the regular scheme of education, according to which the sons of gentlemen from the age of seven years, were brought up in the castles of superior lords, where they at once learned the whole discipline of their future profession, and imbibed its emulous and enthusiastic spirit. This was an inestimable advantage to the poorer nobility, who could hardly otherwise have given their children the accomplishments of their station. From seven to fourteen these boys were called pages or varlets; at fourteen they bore the name of esquire. They were instructed in the management of arms, in the art of horsemanship, in exercises of strength and activity. They became accustomed to obedience and courteous demeanour, serving their lord or lady in offices which had not yet become derogatory to honourable birth, and striving to please visitors, and especially ladies, at the ball or banquet. Thus placed in the centre of all that could awaken their imaginations, the creed of chivalrous gallantry, superstition, or honour must have made indelible impressions. Panting for the glory which neither their strength nor the established rules permitted them to anticipate, the young scions of chivalry attended their masters to the tournament, and even to the battle, and riveted with a sigh the armour they were forbidden to wear.[780] [Sidenote: Encouragement of princes. Tournaments.] It was the constant policy of sovereigns to encourage this institution, which furnished them with faithful supports, and counteracted the independent spirit of feudal tenure. Hence they displayed a lavish magnificence in festivals and tournaments, which may be reckoned a second means of keeping up the tone of chivalrous feeling. The kings of France and England held solemn or plenary courts at the great festivals, or at other times, where the name of knight was always a title to admittance; and the masque of chivalry, if I may use the expression, was acted in pageants and ceremonies fantastical enough in our apprehension, but well calculated for those heated understandings. Here the peacock and the pheasant, birds of high fame in romance, received the homage of all true knights.[781] The most singular festival of this kind was that celebrated by Philip duke of Burgundy, in 1453. In the midst of the banquet a pageant was introduced, representing the calamitous state of religion in consequence of the recent capture of Constantinople. This was followed by the appearance of a pheasant, which was laid before the duke, and to which the knights present addressed their vows to undertake a crusade, in the following very characteristic preamble: I swear before God my Creator in the first place, and the glorious Virgin his mother, and next before the ladies and the pheasant.[782] Tournaments were a still more powerful incentive to emulation. These may be considered to have arisen about the middle of the eleventh century; for though every martial people have found diversion in representing the image of war, yet the name of tournaments, and the laws that regulated them, cannot be traced any higher.[783] Every scenic performance of modern times must be tame in comparison of these animating combats. At a tournament, the space enclosed within the lists was surrounded by sovereign princes and their noblest barons, by knights of established renown, and all that rank and beauty had most distinguished among the fair. Covered with steel, and known only by their emblazoned shield or by the favours of their mistresses, a still prouder bearing, the combatants rushed forward to a strife without enmity, but not without danger. Though their weapons were pointless, and sometimes only of wood, though they were bound by the laws of tournaments to strike only upon the strong armour of the trunk, or, as it was called, between the four limbs, those impetuous conflicts often terminated in wounds and death. The church uttered her excommunications in vain against so wanton an exposure to peril; but it was more easy for her to excite than to restrain that martial enthusiasm. Victory in a tournament was little less glorious, and perhaps at the moment more exquisitely felt, than in the field; since no battle could assemble such witnesses of valour. "Honour to the sons of the brave," resounded amidst the din of martial music from the lips of the minstrels, as the conqueror advanced to receive the prize from his queen or his mistress; while the surrounding multitude acknowledged in his prowess of that day an augury of triumphs that might in more serious contests be blended with those of his country.[784] [Sidenote: Privileges of knighthood.] Both honorary and substantial privileges belonged to the condition of knighthood, and had of course a material tendency to preserve its credit. A knight was distinguished abroad by his crested helmet, his weighty armour, whether of mail or plate, bearing his heraldic coat, by his gilded spurs, his horse barded with iron, or clothed in housing of gold; at home, by richer silks and more costly furs than were permitted to squires, and by the appropriated colour of scarlet. He was addressed by titles of more respect.[785] Many civil offices, by rule or usage, were confined to his order. But perhaps its chief privilege was to form one distinct class of nobility extending itself throughout great part of Europe, and almost independent, as to its rights and dignities, of any particular sovereign. Whoever had been legitimately dubbed a knight in one country became, as it were, a citizen of universal chivalry, and might assume most of its privileges in any other. Nor did he require the act of a sovereign to be thus distinguished. It was a fundamental principle that any knight might confer the order; responsible only in his own reputation if he used lightly so high a prerogative. But as all the distinctions of rank might have been confounded, if this right had been without limit, it was an equally fundamental rule, that it could only be exercised in favour of gentlemen.[786] The privileges annexed to chivalry were of peculiar advantage to the vavassors, or inferior gentry, as they tended to counterbalance the influence which territorial wealth threw into the scale of their feudal suzerains. Knighthood brought these two classes nearly to a level; and it is owing perhaps in no small degree to this institution that the lower nobility saved themselves, notwithstanding their poverty, from being confounded with the common people. [Sidenote: Connexion of chivalry with military service.] [Sidenote: Knights-bannerets and bachelors.] Lastly, the customs of chivalry were maintained by their connexion with military service. After armies, which we may call comparatively regular, had superseded in a great degree the feudal militia, princes were anxious to bid high for the service of knights, the best-equipped and bravest warriors of the time, on whose prowess the fate of battles was for a long period justly supposed to depend. War brought into relief the generous virtues of chivalry, and gave lustre to its distinctive privileges. The rank was sought with enthusiastic emulation through heroic achievements, to which, rather than to mere wealth and station, it was considered to belong. In the wars of France and England, by far the most splendid period of this institution, a promotion of knights followed every success, besides the innumerable cases where the same honour rewarded individual bravery.[787] It may here be mentioned that an honorary distinction was made between knights-bannerets and bachelors.[788] The former were the richest and best accompanied. No man could properly be a banneret unless he possessed a certain estate, and could bring a certain number of lances into the field.[789] His distinguishing mark was the square banner, carried by a squire at the point of his lance; while the knight-bachelor had only the coronet or pointed pendant. When a banneret was created, the general cut off this pendant to render the banner square.[790] But this distinction, however it elevated the banneret, gave him no claim to military command, except over his own dependents or men at arms. Chandos was still a knight-bachelor when he led part of the prince of Wales's army into Spain. He first raised his banner at the battle of Navarette; and the narration that Froissart gives of the ceremony will illustrate the manners of chivalry and the character of that admirable hero, the conqueror of Du Guesclin and pride of English chivalry, whose fame with posterity has been a little overshadowed by his master's laurels.[791] What seems more extraordinary is, that mere squires had frequently the command over knights. Proofs of this are almost continual in Froissart. But the vast estimation in which men held the dignity of knighthood led them sometimes to defer it for great part of their lives, in hope of signalizing their investiture by some eminent exploit. [Sidenote: Decline of chivalry.] These appear to have been the chief means of nourishing the principles of chivalry among the nobility of Europe. But notwithstanding all encouragement, it underwent the usual destiny of human institutions. St. Palaye, to whom we are indebted for so vivid a picture of ancient manners, ascribes the decline of chivalry in France to the profusion with which the order was lavished under Charles VI., to the establishment of the companies of ordonnance by Charles VII., and to the extension of knightly honours to lawyers, and other men of civil occupation, by Francis I.[792] But the real principle of decay was something different from these three subordinate circumstances, unless so far as it may bear some relation to the second. It was the invention of gunpowder that eventually overthrew chivalry. From the time when the use of fire-arms became tolerably perfect the weapons of former warfare lost their efficacy, and physical force was reduced to a very subordinate place in the accomplishments of a soldier. The advantages of a disciplined infantry became more sensible; and the lancers, who continued till almost the end of the sixteenth century to charge in a long line, felt the punishment of their presumption and indiscipline. Even in the wars of Edward III., the disadvantageous tactics of chivalry must have been perceptible; but the military art had not been sufficiently studied to overcome the prejudices of men eager for individual distinction. Tournaments became less frequent; and, after the fatal accident of Henry II., were entirely discontinued in France. Notwithstanding the convulsions of the religious wars, the sixteenth century was more tranquil than any that had preceded; and thus a large part of the nobility passed their lives in pacific habits, and if they assumed the honours of chivalry, forgot their natural connexion with military prowess. This is far more applicable to England, where, except from the reign of Edward III. to that of Henry VI., chivalry, as a military institution, seems not to have found a very congenial soil.[793] To these circumstances, immediately affecting the military condition of nations, we must add the progress of reason and literature, which made ignorance discreditable even in a soldier, and exposed the follies of romance to a ridicule which they were very ill calculated to endure. The spirit of chivalry left behind it a more valuable successor. The character of knight gradually subsided in that of gentleman; and the one distinguishes European society in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, as much as the other did in the preceding ages. A jealous sense of honour, less romantic, but equally elevated, a ceremonious gallantry and politeness, a strictness in devotional observances, a high pride of birth and feeling of independence upon any sovereign for the dignity it gave, a sympathy for martial honour, though more subdued by civil habits, are the lineaments which prove an indisputable descent. The cavaliers of Charles I. were genuine successors of Edward's knights; and the resemblance is much more striking, if we ascend to the civil wars of the League. Time has effaced much also of this gentlemanly, as it did before of the chivalrous character. From the latter part of the seventeenth century its vigour and purity have undergone a tacit decay, and yielded, perhaps in every country, to increasing commercial wealth, more diffused instruction, the spirit of general liberty in some, and of servile obsequiousness in others, the modes of life in great cities, and the levelling customs of social intercourse.[794] [Sidenote: Literature.] It is now time to pass to a very different subject. The third head under which I classed the improvements of society during the four last centuries of the middle ages was that of literature. But I must apprise the reader not to expect any general view of literary history, even in the most abbreviated manner. Such an epitome would not only be necessarily superficial, but foreign in many of its details to the purposes of this chapter, which, attempting to develop the circumstances that gave a new complexion to society, considers literature only so far as it exercised a general and powerful influence. The private researches, therefore, of a single scholar, unproductive of any material effect in his generation, ought not to arrest us, nor indeed would a series of biographical notices, into which literary history is apt to fall, be very instructive to a philosophical inquirer. But I have still a more decisive reason against taking a large range of literary history into the compass of this work, founded on the many contributions which have been made within the last forty years in that department, some of them even since the commencement of my own labour.[795] These have diffused so general an acquaintance with the literature of the middle ages, that I must, in treating the subject, either compile secondary information from well-known books, or enter upon a vast field of reading, with little hope of improving upon what has been already said, or even acquiring credit for original research. I shall, therefore, confine myself to four points: the study of civil law; the institution of universities; the application of modern languages to literature, and especially to poetry; and the revival of ancient learning. [Sidenote: Civil law.] The Roman law had been nominally preserved ever since the destruction of the empire; and a great portion of the inhabitants of France and Spain, as well as Italy, were governed by its provisions. But this was a mere compilation from the Theodosian code; which itself contained only the more recent laws promulgated after the establishment of Christianity, with some fragments from earlier collections. It was made by order of Alaric king of the Visigoths about the year 500, and it is frequently confounded, with the Theodosian code by writers of the dark ages.[796] The code of Justinian, reduced into system after the separation of the two former countries from the Greek empire, never obtained any authority in them; nor was it received in the part of Italy subject to the Lombards. But that this body of laws was absolutely unknown in the West during any period seems to have been too hastily supposed. Some of the more eminent ecclesiastics, as Hincmar and Ivon of Chartres, occasionally refer to it, and bear witness to the regard which the Roman church had uniformly paid to its decisions.[797] The revival of the study of jurisprudence, as derived from the laws of Justinian, has generally been ascribed to the discovery made of a copy of the Pandects at Amalfi, in 1135, when that city was taken by the Pisans. This fact, though not improbable, seems not to rest upon sufficient evidence.[798] But its truth is the less material, as it appears to be unequivocally proved that the study of Justinian's system had recommenced before that era. Early in the twelfth century a professor named Irnerius[799] opened a school of civil law at Bologna, where he commented, if not on the Pandects, yet on the other books, the Institutes and Code, which were sufficient to teach the principles and inspire the love of that comprehensive jurisprudence. The study of law, having thus revived, made a surprising progress; within fifty years Lombardy was full of lawyers, on whom Frederic Barbarossa and Alexander III., so hostile in every other respect, conspired to shower honours and privileges. The schools of Bologna were pre-eminent throughout this century for legal learning. There seem also to have been seminaries at Modena and Mantua; nor was any considerable city without distinguished civilians. In the next age they became still more numerous, and their professors more conspicuous, and universities arose at Naples, Padua, and other places, where the Roman law was the object of peculiar regard.[800] There is apparently great justice in the opinion of Tiraboschi, that by acquiring internal freedom and the right of determining controversies by magistrates of their own election, the Italian cities were led to require a more extensive and accurate code of written laws than they had hitherto possessed. These municipal judges were chosen from among the citizens, and the succession to offices was usually so rapid, that almost every freeman might expect in his turn to partake in the public government, and consequently in the administration of justice. The latter had always indeed been exercised in the sight of the people by the count and his assessors under the Lombard and Carlovingian sovereigns; but the laws were rude, the proceedings tumultuary, and the decisions perverted by violence. The spirit of liberty begot a stronger sense of right; and right, it was soon perceived, could only be secured by a common standard. Magistrates holding temporary offices, and little elevated in those simple times above the citizens among whom they were to return, could only satisfy the suitors, and those who surrounded their tribunal, by proving the conformity of their sentences to acknowledged authorities. And the practice of alleging reasons in giving judgment would of itself introduce some uniformity of decision and some adherence to great rules of justice in the most arbitrary tribunals; while, on the other hand, those of a free country lose part of their title to respect, and of their tendency to maintain right, whenever, either in civil or criminal questions, the mere sentence of a judge is pronounced without explanation of its motives. The fame of this renovated jurisprudence spread very rapidly from Italy over other parts of Europe. Students flocked from all parts of Bologna; and some eminent masters of that school repeated its lessons in distant countries. One of these, Placentinus, explained the Digest at Montpelier before the end of the twelfth century; and the collection of Justinian soon came to supersede the Theodosian code in the dominions of Toulouse.[801] Its study continued to flourish in the universities of both these cities; and hence the Roman law, as it is exhibited in the system of Justinian, became the rule of all tribunals in the southern provinces of France. Its authority in Spain is equally great, or at least is only disputed by that of the canonists;[802] and it forms the acknowledged basis of decision in all the Germanic tribunals, sparingly modified by the ancient feudal customaries, which the jurists of the empire reduce within narrow bounds.[803] In the northern parts of France, where the legal standard was sought in local customs, the civil law met naturally with less regard. But the code of St. Louis borrows from that treasury many of its provisions, and it was constantly cited in pleadings before the parliament of Paris, either as obligatory by way of authority, or at least as written wisdom, to which great deference was shown.[804] Yet its study was long prohibited in the university of Paris, front a disposition of the popes to establish exclusively their decretals, though the prohibition was silently disregarded.[805] [Sidenote: Its introduction into England.] As early as the reign of Stephen, Vacarius, a lawyer of Bologna, taught at Oxford with great success; but the students of scholastic theology opposed themselves, from some unexplained reason, to this new jurisprudence, and his lectures were interdicted.[806] About the time of Henry III. and Edward I. the civil law acquired some credit in England; but a system entirely incompatible with it had established itself in our courts of justice; and the Roman jurisprudence was not only soon rejected, but became obnoxious.[807] Every where, however, the clergy combined its study with that of their own canons; it was a maxim that every canonist must be a civilian, and that no one could be a good civilian unless he were also a canonist. In all universities, degrees are granted in both laws conjointly; and in all courts of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, the authority of Justinian is cited, when that of Gregory or Clement is wanting.[808] [Sidenote: The elder civilians little regarded.] I should earn little gratitude for my obscure diligence, were I to dwell on the forgotten teachers of a science that attracts so few. These elder professors of Roman jurisprudence are infected, as we are told, with the faults and ignorance of their time; failing in the exposition of ancient law through incorrectness of manuscripts and want of subsidiary learning, or perverting their sense through the verbal subtleties of scholastic philosophy. It appears that, even a hundred years since, neither Azzo and Accursius, the principal civilians of the thirteenth century, nor Bartolus and Baldus, the more conspicuous luminaries of the next age, nor the later writings of Accolti, Fulgosius, and Panormitanus, were greatly regarded as authorities; unless it were in Spain, where improvement is always odious, and the name of Bartolus inspired absolute deference.[809] In the sixteenth century, Alciatus and the greater Cujacius became, as it were, the founders of a new and more enlightened academy of civil law, from which the latter jurists derived their lessons. The laws of Justinian, stripped of their impurer alloy, and of the tedious glosses of their commentators, will form the basis of other systems, and mingling, as we may hope, with the new institutions of philosophical legislators, continue to influence the social relations of mankind, long after their direct authority shall have been abrogated. The ruins of ancient Rome supplied the materials of a new city; and the fragments of her law, which have already been wrought into the recent codes of France and Prussia, will probably, under other names, guide far distant generations by the sagacity of Modestinus and Ulpian.[810] [Sidenote: Public schools established by Charlemagne.] The establishment of public schools in France is owing to Charlemagne. At his accession, we are assured that no means of obtaining a learned education existed in his dominions;[811] and in order to restore in some degree the spirit of letters, he was compelled to invite strangers from countries where learning was not so thoroughly extinguished. Alcuin of England, Clement of Ireland, Theodulf of Germany, were the true Paladins who repaired to his court. With the help of these he revived a few sparks of diligence, and established schools in different cities of his empire; nor was he ashamed to be the disciple of that in his own palace under the care of Alcuin.[812] His two next successors, Louis the Debonair and Charles the Bald, were also encouragers of letters; and the schools of Lyons, Fulda, Corvey, Rheims, and some other cities, might be said to flourish in the ninth century.[813] In these were taught the trivium and quadrivium, a long-established division of sciences: the first comprehending grammar, or what we now call philology, logic, and rhetoric; the second, music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy.[814] But in those ages scarcely anybody mastered the latter four; and to be perfect in the three former was exceedingly rare. All those studies, however, were referred to theology, and that in the narrowest manner; music, for example, being reduced to church chanting, and astronomy to the calculation of Easter.[815] Alcuin was, in his old age, against reading the poets;[816] and this discouragement of secular learning was very general; though some, as for instance Raban, permitted a slight tincture of it, as subsidiary to religious instruction.[817] [Sidenote: University of Paris.] [Sidenote: Abelard.] About the latter part of the eleventh century a greater ardour for intellectual pursuits began to show itself in Europe, which in the twelfth broke out into a flame. This was manifested in the numbers who repaired to the public academies or schools of philosophy. None of these grew so early into reputation as that of Paris. This cannot indeed, as has been vainly pretended, trace its pedigree to Charlemagne. The first who is said to have read lectures at Paris was Remigius of Auxerre, about the year 900.[818] For the two next centuries the history of this school is very obscure; and it would be hard to prove an unbroken continuity, or at least a dependence and connexion of its professors. In the year 1100 we find William of Champeaux teaching logic, and apparently some higher parts of philosophy, with much credit. But this preceptor was eclipsed by his disciple, afterwards his rival and adversary, Peter Abelard, to whose brilliant and hardy genius the university of Paris appears to be indebted for its rapid advancement. Abelard was almost the first who awakened mankind in the ages of darkness to a sympathy with intellectual excellence. His bold theories, not the less attractive perhaps for treading upon the bounds of heresy, his imprudent vanity, that scorned the regularly acquired reputation of older men, allured a multitude of disciples, who would never have listened to an ordinary teacher. It is said that twenty cardinals and fifty bishops had been among his hearers.[819] Even in the wilderness, where he had erected the monastery of Paraclete, he was surrounded by enthusiastic admirers, relinquishing the luxuries, if so they might be called, of Paris, for the coarse living and imperfect accommodation which that retirement could afford.[820] But the whole of Abelard's life was the shipwreck of genius; and of genius, both the source of his own calamities and unserviceable to posterity. There are few lives of literary men more interesting or more diversified by success and adversity, by glory and humiliation, by the admiration of mankind and the persecution of enemies; nor from which, I may add, more impressive lessons of moral prudence may be derived.[821] One of Abelard's pupils was Peter Lombard, afterwards archbishop of Paris, and author of a work called the Book of Sentences, which obtained the highest authority among the scholastic disputants. The resort of students to Paris became continually greater; they appear, before the year 1169, to have been divided into nations;[822] and probably they had an elected rector and voluntary rules of discipline about the same time. This, however, is not decisively proved; but in the last year of the twelfth century they obtained their earliest charter from Philip Augustus.[823] [Sidenote: University of Oxford.] The opinion which ascribes the foundation of the university of Oxford to Alfred, if it cannot be maintained as a truth, contains no intrinsic marks of error. Ingulfus, abbot of Croyland, in the earliest authentic passage that can be adduced to this point,[824] declares that he was sent from Westminster to the school at Oxford, where he learned Aristotle, with the first and second books of Tully's Rhetoric.[825] Since a school for dialectics and rhetoric subsisted at Oxford, a town of but middling size and not the seat of a bishop, we are naturally led to refer its foundation to one of our kings, and none who had reigned after Alfred appears likely to have manifested such zeal for learning. However, it is evident that the school of Oxford was frequented under Edward the Confessor. There follows an interval of above a century, during which we have, I believe, no contemporary evidence of its continuance. But in the reign of Stephen, Vacarius read lectures there upon civil law; and it is reasonable to suppose that a foreigner would not have chosen that city, if he had not found a seminary of learning already established. It was probably inconsiderable, and might have been interrupted during some part of the preceding century.[826] In the reign of Henry II., or at least of Richard I., Oxford became a very flourishing university, and in 1201, according to Wood, contained 3000 scholars.[827] The earliest charters were granted by John. [Sidenote: University of Bologna.] [Sidenote: Encouragement given to universities.] If it were necessary to construe the word university in the strict sense of a legal incorporation, Bologna might lay claim to a higher antiquity than either Paris or Oxford. There are a few vestiges of studies pursued in that city even in the eleventh century;[828] but early in the next the revival of the Roman jurisprudence, as has been already noticed, brought a throng of scholars round the chairs of its professors. Frederic Barbarossa in 1158, by his authentic, or rescript, entitled Habita, took these under his protection, and permitted them to be tried in civil suits by their own judges. This exemption from the ordinary tribunals, and even from those of the church, was naturally coveted by other academies; it was granted to the university of Paris by its earliest charter from Philip Augustus, and to Oxford by John. From this time the golden age of universities commenced; and it is hard to say whether they were favoured more by their sovereigns or by the see of Rome. Their history indeed is full of struggles with the municipal authorities, and with the bishops of their several cities, wherein they were sometimes the aggressors, and generally the conquerors. From all parts of Europe students resorted to these renowned seats of learning with an eagerness for instruction which may astonish those who reflect how little of what we now deem useful could be imparted. At Oxford, under Henry III., it is said that there were 30,000 scholars; an exaggeration which seems to imply that the real number was very great.[829] A respectable contemporary writer asserts that there were full 10,000 at Bologna about the same time.[830] I have not observed any numerical statement as to Paris during this age; but there can be no doubt that it was more frequented than any other. At the death of Charles VII. in 1453, it is said to have contained 25,000 students.[831] In the thirteenth century other universities sprang up in different countries; Padua and Naples under the patronage of Frederic II., a zealous and useful friend to letters,[832] Toulouse and Montpelier, Cambridge and Salamanca.[833] Orleans, which had long been distinguished as a school of civil law, received the privileges of incorporation early in the fourteenth century, and Angers before the expiration of the same age.[834] Prague, the earliest and most eminent of German universities, was founded in 1350; a secession from thence of Saxon students, in consequence of the nationality of the Bohemians and the Hussite schism, gave rise to that of Leipsic.[835] The fifteenth century produced several new academical foundations in France and Spain. A large proportion of scholars in most of those institutions were drawn by the love of science from foreign countries. The chief universities had their own particular departments of excellence. Paris was unrivalled for scholastic theology; Bologna and Orleans, and afterwards Bourges, for jurisprudence; Montpelier for medicine. Though national prejudices, as in the case of Prague, sometimes interfered with this free resort of foreigners to places of education, it was in general a wise policy of government, as well as of the universities themselves, to encourage it. The thirty-fifth article of the peace of Bretigni provides for the restoration of former privileges to students respectively in the French and English universities.[836] Various letters patent will be found in Rymer's collection, securing to Scottish as well as French natives a safe passage to their place of education. The English nation, including however the Flemings and Germans,[837] had a separate vote in the faculty of arts at Paris. But foreign students were not, I believe, so numerous in the English academies. If endowments and privileges are the means of quickening a zeal for letters, they were liberally bestowed in the last three of the middle ages. Crevier enumerates fifteen colleges founded in the university of Paris during the thirteenth century, besides one or two of a still earlier date. Two only, or at most three, existed in that age at Oxford, and but one at Cambridge. In the next two centuries these universities could boast, as every one knows, of many splendid foundations, though much exceeded in number by those of Paris. Considered as ecclesiastical institutions it is not surprising that the universities obtained, according to the spirit of their age, an exclusive cognizance of civil or criminal suits affecting their members. This jurisdiction was, however, local as well as personal, and in reality encroached on the regular police of their cities. At Paris the privilege turned to a flagrant abuse, and gave rise to many scandalous contentions.[838] Still more valuable advantages were those relating to ecclesiastical preferments, of which a large proportion was reserved in France to academical graduates. Something of the same sort, though less extensive, may still be traced in the rules respecting plurality of benefices in our English church. [Sidenote: Causes of their celebrity.] [Sidenote: Scholastic philosophy.] This remarkable and almost sudden transition from a total indifference to all intellectual pursuits cannot be ascribed perhaps to any general causes. The restoration of the civil, and the formation of the canon law, were indeed eminently conducive to it, and a large proportion of scholars in most universities confined themselves to jurisprudence. But the chief attraction to the studious was the new scholastic philosophy. The love of contention, especially with such arms as the art of dialectics supplies to an acute understanding, is natural enough to mankind. That of speculating upon the mysterious questions of metaphysics and theology is not less so. These disputes and speculations, however, appear to have excited little interest till, after the middle of the eleventh century, Roscelin, a professor of logic, revived the old question of the Grecian schools respecting universal ideas, the reality of which he denied. This kindled a spirit of metaphysical discussion, which Lanfranc and Anselm, successively archbishops of Canterbury, kept alive; and in the next century Abelard and Peter Lombard, especially the latter, completed the scholastic system of philosophizing. The logic of Aristotle seems to have been partly known in the eleventh century, although that of Augustin was perhaps in higher estimation;[839] in the twelfth it obtained more decisive influence. His metaphysics, to which the logic might be considered as preparatory, were introduced through translations from the Arabic, and perhaps also from the Greek, early in the ensuing century.[840] This work, condemned at first by the decrees of popes and councils on account of its supposed tendency to atheism, acquired by degrees an influence, to which even popes and councils were obliged to yield. The Mendicant Friars, established throughout Europe in the thirteenth century, greatly contributed to promote the Aristotelian philosophy; and its final reception into the orthodox system of the church may chiefly be ascribed to Thomas Aquinas, the boast of the Dominican order, and certainly the most distinguished metaphysician of the middle ages. His authority silenced all scruple's as to that of Aristotle, and the two philosophers were treated with equally implicit deference by the later schoolmen.[841] This scholastic philosophy, so famous for several ages, has since passed away and been forgotten. The history of literature, like that of empire, is full of revolutions. Our public libraries are cemeteries of departed reputation, and the dust accumulating upon their untouched volumes speaks as forcibly as the grass that waves over the ruins of Babylon. Few, very few, for a hundred years past, have broken the repose of the immense works of the schoolmen. None perhaps in our own country have acquainted themselves particularly with their contents. Leibnitz, however, expressed a wish that some one conversant with modern philosophy would undertake to extract the scattered particles of gold which may be hidden in their abandoned mines. This wish has been at length partially fulfilled by three or four of those industrious students and keen metaphysicians, who do honour to modern Germany. But most of their works are unknown to me except by repute, and as they all appear to be formed on a very extensive plan, I doubt whether even those laborious men could afford adequate time for this ungrateful research. Yet we cannot pretend to deny that Roscelin, Anselm, Abelard, Peter Lombard, Albertus Magnus, Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus, and Ockham, were men of acute and even profound understandings, the giants of their own generation. Even with the slight knowledge we possess of their tenets, there appear through the cloud of repulsive technical barbarisms rays of metaphysical genius which this age ought not to despise. Thus in the works of Anselm is found the celebrated argument of Des Cartes for the existence of a Deity, deduced from the idea of an infinitely perfect being. One great object that most of the schoolmen had in view was, to establish the principles of natural theology by abstract reasoning. This reasoning was doubtless liable to great difficulties. But a modern writer, who seems tolerably acquainted with the subject, assures us that it would be difficult to mention any theoretical argument to prove the divine attributes, or any objection capable of being raised against the proof, which we do not find in some of the scholastic philosophers.[842] The most celebrated subjects of discussion, and those on which this class of reasoners were most divided, were the reality of universal ideas, considered as extrinsic to the human mind and the freedom of will. These have not ceased to occupy the thoughts of metaphysicians.[843] But all discovery of truth by means of these controversies was rendered hopeless by two insurmountable obstacles, the authority of Aristotle and that of the church. Wherever obsequious reverence is substituted for bold inquiry, truth, if she is not already at hand, will never be attained. The scholastics did not understand Aristotle, whose original writings they could not read;[844] but his name was received with implicit faith. They learned his peculiar nomenclature, and fancied that he had given them realities. The authority of the church did them still more harm. It has been said, and probably with much truth, that their metaphysics were injurious to their theology. But I must observe in return that their theology was equally injurious to their metaphysics. Their disputes continually turned upon questions either involving absurdity and contradiction, or at best inscrutable by human comprehension. Those who assert the greatest antiquity of the Roman Catholic doctrine as to the real presence, allow that both the word and the definition of transubstantiation are owing to the scholastic writers. Their subtleties were not always so well received. They reasoned at imminent peril of being charged with heresy, which Roscelin, Abelard, Lombard, and Ockham did not escape. In the virulent factions that arose out of their metaphysical quarrels, either party was eager to expose its adversary to detraction and persecution. The Nominalists were accused, one hardly sees why, with reducing, like Sabellius, the persons of the Trinity to modal distinctions. The Realists, with more pretence, incurred the imputation of holding a language that savoured of atheism.[845] In the controversy which the Dominicans and Franciscans, disciples respectively of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus, maintained about grace and freewill, it was of course still more easy to deal in mutual reproaches of heterodoxy. But the schoolmen were in general prudent enough not to defy the censures of the church; and the popes, in return for the support they gave to all exorbitant pretensions of the Holy See, connived at this factious wrangling, which threatened no serious mischief, as it did not proceed from any independent spirit of research. Yet with all their apparent conformity to the received creed, there was, as might be expected from the circumstances, a great deal of real deviation from orthodoxy, and even of infidelity. The scholastic mode of dispute, admitting of no termination and producing no conviction, was the sure cause of scepticism; and the system of Aristotle, especially with the commentaries of Averroes, bore an aspect very unfavourable to natural religion.[846] The Aristotelian philosophy, even in the hands of the Master, was like a barren tree that conceals its want of fruit by profusion of leaves. But the scholastic ontology was much worse. What could be more trifling than disquisitions about the nature of angels, their modes of operation, their means of conversing, or (for these were distinguished) the morning and evening state of their understandings?[847] Into such follies the schoolmen appear to have launched, partly because there was less danger of running against a heresy in a matter where the church had defined so little--partly from their presumption, which disdained all inquiries into the human mind, as merely a part of physics--and in no small degree through a spirit of mystical fanaticism, derived from the oriental philosophy and the later Platonists, which blended itself with the cold-blooded technicalities of the Aristotelian school.[848] But this unproductive waste of the faculties could not last for ever. Men discovered that they had given their time for the promise of wisdom, and been cheated in the bargain. What John of Salisbury observes of the Parisian dialecticians in his own time, that, after several years' absence, he found them not a step advanced and still employed in urging and parrying the same arguments, was equally applicable to the period of centuries. After three or four hundred years, the scholastics had not untied a single knot, nor added one unequivocal truth to the domain of philosophy. As this became more evident, the enthusiasm for that kind of learning declined; after the middle of the fourteenth century few distinguished teachers arose among the schoolmen, and at the revival of letters their pretended science had no advocates left, but among the prejudiced or ignorant adherents of established systems. How different is the state of genuine philosophy, the zeal for which will never wear out by length of time or change of fashion, because the inquirer, unrestrained by authority, is perpetually cheered by the discovery of truth in researches, which the boundless riches of nature seem to render indefinitely progressive![849] Yet, upon a general consideration, the attention paid in the universities to scholastic philosophy, may be deemed a source of improvement in the intellectual character, when we compare it with the perfect ignorance of some preceding ages. Whether the same industry would not have been more profitably directed if the love of metaphysics had not intervened, is another question. Philology, or the principles of good taste, degenerated through the prevalence of school-logic. The Latin compositions of the twelfth century are better than those of the three that followed--at least on the northern side of the Alps. I do not, however, conceive that any real correctness of taste or general elegance of style was likely to subsist in so imperfect a condition of society. These qualities seem to require a certain harmonious correspondence in the tone of manners before they can establish a prevalent influence over literature. A more real evil was the diverting of studious men from mathematical science. Early in the twelfth century several persons, chiefly English, had brought into Europe some of the Arabian writings on geometry and physics. In the thirteenth the works of Euclid were commented upon by Campano,[850] and Roger Bacon was fully acquainted with them.[851] Algebra, as far as the Arabians knew it, extending to quadratic equations, was actually in the hands of some Italians at the commencement of the same age, and preserved for almost three hundred years as a secret, though without any conception of its importance. As abstract mathematics require no collateral aid, they may reach the highest perfection in ages of general barbarism; and there seems to be no reason why, if the course of study had been directed that way, there should not have arisen a Newton or a La Place, instead of an Aquinas or an Ockham. The knowledge displayed by Roger Bacon and by Albertus Magnus, even in the mixed mathematics, under every disadvantage from the imperfection of instruments and the want of recorded experience, is sufficient to inspire us with regret that their contemporaries were more inclined to astonishment than to emulation. These inquiries indeed were subject to the ordeal of fire, the great purifier of books and men; for if the metaphysician stood a chance of being burned as a heretic, the natural philosopher was in not less jeopardy as a magician.[852] [Sidenote: Cultivation of the new languages.] [Sidenote: Division of the Romance tongue into two dialects.] [Sidenote: Troubadours of Provence.] A far more substantial cause of intellectual improvement was the development of those new languages that sprang out of the corruption of Latin. For three or four centuries after what was called the Romance tongue was spoken in France, there remain but few vestiges of its employment in writing; though we cannot draw an absolute inference from our want of proof, and a critic of much authority supposes translations to have been made into it for religious purposes from the time of Charlemagne.[853] During this period the language was split into two very separate dialects, the regions of which may be considered, though by no means strictly, as divided by the Loire. These were called the Langue d'Oil and the Langue d'Oc; or in more modern terms, the French and Provençal dialects. In the latter of these I know of nothing which can even by name be traced beyond the year 1100. About that time Gregory de Bechada, a gentleman of Limousin, recorded the memorable events of the first crusade, then recent, in a metrical history of great length.[854] This poem has altogether perished; which, considering the popularity of its subject, as M. Sismondi justly remarks, would probably not have been the case if it had possessed any merit. But very soon afterwards a multitude of poets, like a swarm of summer insects, appeared in the southern provinces of France. These were the celebrated Troubadours, whose fame depends far less on their positive excellence than on the darkness of preceding ages, on the temporary sensation they excited, and their permanent influence on the state of European poetry. From William count of Poitou, the earliest troubadour on record, who died in 1126, to their extinction, about the end of the next century, there were probably several hundred of these versifiers in the language of Provence, though not always natives of France. Millot has published the lives of one hundred and forty-two, besides the names of many more whose history is unknown; and a still greater number, it cannot be doubted, are unknown by name. Among those poets are reckoned a king of England (Richard I.), two of Aragon, one of Sicily, a dauphin of Auvergne, a count of Foix, a prince of Orange, many noblemen and several ladies. One can hardly pretend to account for this sudden and transitory love of verse; but it is manifestly one symptom of the rapid impulse which the human mind received in the twelfth century, and contemporaneous with the severer studies that began to flourish in the universities. It was encouraged by the prosperity of Languedoc and Provence, undisturbed, comparatively with other countries, by internal warfare, and disposed by the temper of their inhabitants to feel with voluptuous sensibility the charm of music and amorous poetry. But the tremendous storm that fell upon Languedoc in the crusade against the Albigeois shook off the flowers of Provençal verse; and the final extinction of the fief of Toulouse, with the removal of the counts of Provence to Naples, deprived the troubadours of their most eminent patrons. An attempt was made in the next century to revive them, by distributing prizes for the best composition in the Floral Games of Toulouse, which have sometimes been erroneously referred to a higher antiquity.[855] This institution perhaps still remains; but even in its earliest period it did not establish the name of any Provençal poet. Nor can we deem these fantastical solemnities, styled Courts of Love, where ridiculous questions of metaphysical gallantry were debated by poetical advocates, under the presidency and arbitration of certain ladies, much calculated to bring forward any genuine excellence. They illustrate, however, what is more immediately my own object, the general ardour for poetry and the manners of those chivalrous ages.[856] [Sidenote: Their poetical character.] The great reputation acquired by the troubadours, and panegyrics lavished on some of them by Dante and Petrarch, excited a curiosity among literary men, which has been a good deal disappointed by further acquaintance. An excellent French antiquary of the last age, La Curne de St. Palaye, spent great part of his life in accumulating manuscripts of Provençal poetry, very little of which had ever been printed. Translations from part of this collection, with memorials of the writers, were published by Millot; and we certainly do not often meet with passages in his three volumes which give us any poetical pleasure.[857] Some of the original poems have since been published, and the extracts made from them by the recent historians of southern literature are rather superior. The troubadours chiefly confined themselves to subjects of love, or rather gallantry, and to satires (sirventes), which are sometimes keen and spirited. No romances of chivalry, and hardly any tales, are found among their works. There seems a general deficiency of imagination, and especially of that vivid description which distinguishes works of genius in the rudest period of society. In the poetry of sentiment, their favourite province, they seldom attain any natural expression, and consequently produce no interest. I speak, of course, on the presumption that the best specimens have been exhibited by those who have undertaken the task. It must be allowed, however, that we cannot judge of the troubadours at a greater disadvantage than through the prose translations of Millot. Their poetry was entirely of that class which is allied to music, and excites the fancy or feelings rather by the power of sound than any stimulancy of imagery and passion. Possessing a flexible and harmonious language, they invented a variety of metrical arrangements, perfectly new to the nations of Europe. The Latin hymns were striking, but monotonous, the metre of the northern French unvaried; but in Provençal poetry, almost every length of verse, from two syllables to twelve, and the most intricate disposition of rhymes, were at the choice of the troubadour. The canzoni, the sestine, all the lyric metres of Italy and Spain were borrowed from his treasury. With such a command of poetical sounds, it was natural that he should inspire delight into ears not yet rendered familiar to the artifices of verse; and even now the fragments of these ancient lays, quoted by M. Sismondi and M. Ginguené, seem to possess a sort of charm that has evaporated in translation. Upon this harmony, and upon the facility with which mankind are apt to be deluded into an admiration of exaggerated sentiment in poetry, they depended for their influence. And however vapid the songs of Provence may seem to our apprehensions, they were undoubtedly the source from which poetry for many centuries derived a great portion of its habitual language.[858] [Sidenote: Northern French poetry and prose.] It has been maintained by some antiquaries, that the northern Romance, or what we properly call French, was not formed until the tenth century, the common dialect of all France having previously resembled that of Languedoc. This hypothesis may not be indisputable; but the question is not likely to be settled, as scarcely any written specimens of Romance, even of that age, have survived.[859] In the eleventh century, among other more obscure productions, both in prose and metre, there appears what, if unquestioned as to authenticity, would be a valuable monument of this language; the laws of William the Conqueror. These are preserved in a manuscript of Ingulfus's History of Croyland, a blank being left in other copies where they should be inserted.[860] They are written in an idiom so far removed from the Provençal, that one would be disposed to think the separation between these two species of Romance of older standing than is commonly allowed. But it has been thought probable that these laws, which in fact were nearly a repetition of those of Edward the Confessor, were originally published in Anglo-Saxon, the only language intelligible to the people, and translated, at a subsequent period, by some Norman monk into French.[861] The use of a popular language became more common after the year 1100. Translations of some books of Scripture and acts of saints were made about that time, or even earlier, and there are French sermons of St. Bernard, from which extracts have been published, in the royal library at Paris.[862] In 1126, a charter was granted by Louis VI. to the city of Beauvais in French.[863] Metrical compositions are in general the first literature of a nation, and even if no distinct proof could be adduced, we might assume their existence before the twelfth century. There is however evidence, not to mention the fragments printed by Le Boeuf, of certain lives of saints translated into French verse by Thibault de Vernon, a canon of Rouen, before the middle of the preceding age. And we are told that Taillefer, a Norman minstrel, recited a song or romance on the deeds of Roland, before the army of his countrymen, at the battle of Hastings in 1066. Philip de Than, a Norman subject of Henry I., seems to be the earliest poet whose works as well as name have reached us, unless we admit a French, translation of the work of one Marbode upon precious stones to be more ancient.[864] This De Than wrote a set of rules for computation of time and an account of different calendars. A happy theme for inspiration without doubt! Another performance of the same author is a treatise on birds and beasts, dedicated to Adelaide, queen of Henry I.[865] But a more famous votary of the muses was Wace, a native of Jersey, who about the beginning of Henry II.'s reign turned Geoffrey of Monmouth's history into French metre. Besides this poem, called le Brut d'Angleterre, he composed a series of metrical histories, containing the transactions of the dukes of Normandy, from Rollo, their great progenitor, who gave name to the Roman de Rou, down to his own age. Other productions are ascribed to Wace, who was at least a prolific versifier, and, if he seem to deserve no higher title at present, has a claim to indulgence, and even to esteem, as having far excelled his contemporaries, without any superior advantages of knowledge. In emulation, however, of his fame, several Norman writers addicted themselves to composing chronicles, or devotional treatises in metre. The court of our Norman kings was to the early poets in the Langue d'Oil, what those of Arles and Toulouse were to the troubadours. Henry I. was fond enough of literature to obtain the surname of Beauclerc; Henry II. was more indisputably an encourager of poetry; and Richard I. has left compositions of his own in one or other (for the point is doubtful) of the two dialects spoken in France.[866] [Sidenote: Norman romances and tales.] If the poets of Normandy had never gone beyond historical and religious subjects, they would probably have had less claim to our attention than their brethren of Provence. But a different and far more interesting species of composition began to be cultivated in the latter part of the twelfth century. Without entering upon the controverted question as to the origin of romantic fictions, referred by one party to the Scandinavians, by a second to the Arabs, by others to the natives of Britany, it is manifest that the actual stories upon which one early and numerous class of romances was founded are related to the traditions of the last people. These are such as turn upon the fable of Arthur; for though we are not entitled to deny the existence of such a personage, his story seems chiefly the creation of Celtic vanity. Traditions current in Britany, though probably derived from this island, became the basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Latin prose, which, as has been seen, was transfused into French metre by Wace.[867] The vicinity of Normandy enabled its poets to enrich their narratives with other Armorican fictions, all relating to the heroes who had surrounded the table of the son of Uther.[868] An equally imaginary history of Charlemagne gave rise to a new family of romances. The authors of these fictions were called Trouveurs, a name obviously identical with that of Troubadours. But except in name there was no resemblance between the minstrels of the northern and southern dialects. The invention of one class was turned to description, that of the other to sentiment; the first were epic in their form and style, the latter almost always lyric. We cannot perhaps give a better notion of their dissimilitude, than by saying that one school produced Chaucer, and the other Petrarch. Besides these romances of chivalry, the trouveurs displayed their powers of lively narration in comic tales or fabliaux, (a name sometimes extended to the higher romance,) which have aided the imagination of Boccace and La Fontaine. These compositions are certainly more entertaining than those of the troubadours; but, contrary to what I have said of the latter, they often gain by appearing in a modern dress. Their versification, which doubtless had its charm when listened to around the hearth of an ancient castle, is very languid and prosaic, and suitable enough to the tedious prolixity into which the narrative is apt to fall; and though we find many sallies of that arch and sprightly simplicity which characterizes the old language of France as well as England, it requires, upon the whole, a factitious taste to relish these Norman tales, considered as poetry in the higher sense of the word, distinguished from metrical fiction. [Sidenote: Roman de la Rose.] A manner very different from that of the fabliaux was adopted, in the Roman de la Rose, begun by William de Loris about 1250, and completed by John de Meun half a century later. This poem, which contains about 16,000 lines in the usual octo-syllable verse, from which the early French writers seldom deviated, is an allegorical vision, wherein, love and the other passions or qualities connected with it pass over the stage, without the intervention, I believe, of any less abstract personages. Though similar allegories were not unknown to the ancients, and, which is more to the purpose, maybe found in other productions of the thirteenth century, none had been constructed so elaborately as that of the Roman de la Rose. Cold and tedious as we now consider this species of poetry, it originated in the creative power of imagination, and appealed to more refined feeling than the common metrical narratives could excite. This poem was highly popular in the middle ages, and became the source of those numerous allegories which had not ceased in the seventeenth century. [Sidenote: Works in French prose.] The French language was employed in prose as well as in metre. Indeed it seems to have had almost an exclusive privilege in this respect. "The language of Oil," says Dante, in his treatise on vulgar speech, "prefers its claim to be ranked above those of Oc and Si (Provençal and Italian), on the ground that all translations or compositions in prose have been written therein, from its greater facility and grace, such as the books compiled from the Trojan and Roman stories, the delightful fables about Arthur, and many other works of history and science."[869] I have mentioned already the sermons of St. Bernard and translations from Scripture. The laws of the kingdom of Jerusalem purport to have been drawn up immediately after the first crusade, and though their language has been materially altered, there seems no doubt that they were originally compiled in French.[870] Besides some charters, there are said to have been prose romances before the year 1200.[871] Early in the next age Ville Hardouin, seneschal of Campagne, recorded the capture of Constantinople in the fourth crusade, an expedition, the glory and reward of which he had personally shared, and, as every original work of prior date has either perished or is of small importance, may be deemed the father of French prose. The Establishments of St. Louis, and the law treatise of Beaumanoir, fill up the interval of the thirteenth century, and before its conclusion we must suppose the excellent memoirs of Joinville to have been composed, since they are dedicated to Louis X. in 1315, when the author could hardly be less than ninety years of age. Without prosecuting any further the history of French literature, I will only mention the translations of Livy and Sallust, made in the reign and by the order of John, with those of Cæsar, Suetonius, Ovid, and parts of Cicero, which are, due to his successor Charles V.[872] [Sidenote: Spanish language.] I confess myself wholly uninformed as to the original formation of the Spanish language, and as to the epoch of its separation into the two principal dialects of Castile and Portugal, or Gallicia;[873] nor should I perhaps have alluded to the literature of that peninsula, were it not for a remarkable poem which shines out among the minor lights of those times. This is a metrical life of the Cid Ruy Diaz, written in a barbarous style and with the rudest inequality of measure, but with a truly Homeric warmth and vivacity of delineation. It is much to be regretted that the author's name has perished; but its date has been referred by some to the middle of the twelfth century, while the hero's actions were yet recent, and before the taste of Spain had been corrupted by the Provençal troubadours, whose extremely different manner would, if it did not pervert the poet's genius, at least have impeded his popularity. A very competent judge has pronounced the poem of the Cid to be "decidedly and beyond comparison the finest in the Spanish language." It is at least superior to any that was written in Europe before the appearance of Dante.[874] [Sidenote: Early writers in the Italian.] A strange obscurity envelops the infancy of the Italian language. Though it is certain that grammatical Latin had ceased to be employed in ordinary discourse, at least from the time of Charlemagne, we have not a single passage of undisputed authenticity, in the current idiom, for nearly four centuries afterwards. Though Italian phrases are mixed up in the barbarous jargon of some charters, not an instrument is extant in that language before the year 1200, unless we may reckon one in the Sardinian dialect (which I believe was rather Provençal than Italian), noticed by Muratori.[875] Nor is there a vestige of Italian poetry older than a few fragments of Ciullo d'Alcamo, a Sicilian, who must have written before 1193, since he mentions Saladin as then living.[876] This may strike us as the more remarkable, when we consider the political circumstances of Italy in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. From the struggles of her spirited republics against the emperors and their internal factions, we might, upon all general reasoning, anticipate the early use and vigorous cultivation of their native language. Even if it were not yet ripe for historians and philosophers, it is strange that no poet should have been inspired with songs of triumph or invective by the various fortunes of his country. But, on the contrary, the poets of Lombardy became troubadours, and wasted their genius in Provençal love strains at the courts of princes. The Milanese and other Lombard dialects were, indeed, exceedingly rude; but this rudeness separated them more decidedly from Latin: nor is it possible that the Lombards could have employed that language intelligibly for any public or domestic purpose. And indeed in the earliest Italian compositions that have been published, the new language is so thoroughly formed, that it is natural to infer a very long disuse of that from which it was derived. The Sicilians claim the glory of having first adapted their own harmonious dialect to poetry. Frederic II. both encouraged their art and cultivated it; among the very first essays of Italian verse we find his productions and those of his chancellor Piero delle Vigne. Thus Italy was destined to owe the beginnings of her national literature to a foreigner and an enemy. These poems are very short and few; those ascribed to St. Francis about the same time are hardly distinguishable from prose; but after the middle of the thirteenth century the Tuscan poets awoke to a sense of the beauties which their native language, refined from the impurities of vulgar speech,[877] could display, and the genius of Italian literature was rocked upon the restless waves of the Florentine democracy. Ricordano Malespini, the first historian, and nearly the first prose writer in Italian, left memorials of the republic down to the year 1281, which was that of his death, and it was continued by Giacchetto Malespini to 1286. These are little inferior in purity of style to the best Tuscan authors; for it is the singular fate of that language to have spared itself all intermediate stages of refinement, and, starting the last in the race, to have arrived almost instantaneously at the goal. There is an interval of not much more than half a century between the short fragment of Ciullo d'Alcamo, mentioned above, and the poems of Guido Guinizzelli, Guitone d'Arezzo, and Guido Cavalcante, which, in their diction and turn of thought, are sometimes not unworthy of Petrarch.[878] [Sidenote: Dante.] But at the beginning of the next age arose a much greater genius, the true father of Italian poetry, and the first name in the literature of the middle ages. This was Dante, or Durante Alighieri, born in 1265, of a respectable family at Florence. Attached to the Guelf party, which had then obtained a final ascendency over its rival, he might justly promise himself the natural reward of talents under a free government, public trust and the esteem of his compatriots. But the Guelfs unhappily were split into two factions, the Bianchi and the Neri, with the former of whom, and, as it proved, the unsuccessful side, Dante was connected. In 1300 he filled the office of one of the Priori, or chief magistrates at Florence; and having manifested in this, as was alleged, some partiality towards the Bianchi, a sentence of proscription passed against him about two years afterwards, when it became the turn of the opposite faction to triumph. Banished from his country, and baffled in several efforts of his friends to restore their fortunes, he had no resource but at the courts of the Scalas at Verona, and other Italian princes, attaching himself in adversity to the Imperial interests, and tasting, in his own language, the bitterness of another's bread.[879] In this state of exile he finished, if he did not commence, his great poem, the Divine Comedy; a representation of the three kingdoms of futurity, Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, divided into one hundred cantos, and containing about 14,000 lines. He died at Ravenna in 1321. Dante is among the very few who have created the national poetry of their country. For notwithstanding the polished elegance of some earlier Italian verse, it had been confined to amorous sentiment; and it was yet to be seen that the language could sustain, for a greater length than any existing poem except the Iliad, the varied style of narration, reasoning, and ornament. Of all writers he is the most unquestionably original. Virgil was indeed his inspiring genius, as he declares himself, and as may sometimes be perceived in his diction; but his tone is so peculiar and characteristic, that few readers would be willing at first to acknowledge any resemblance. He possessed, in an extraordinary degree, a command of language, the abuse of which led to his obscurity and licentious innovations. No poet ever excelled him in conciseness, and in the rare talent of finishing his pictures by a few bold touches; the merit of Pindar in his better hours. How prolix would the stories of Francesca or of Ugolino have become in the hands of Ariosto, or of Tasso, or of Ovid, or of Spenser! This excellence indeed is most striking in the first part of his poem. Having formed his plan so as to give an equal length to the three regions of his spiritual world, he found himself unable to vary the images of hope or beatitude, and the Paradise is a continual accumulation of descriptions, separately beautiful, but uniform and tedious. Though images derived from light and music are the most pleasing, and can be borne longer in poetry than any others, their sweetness palls upon the sense by frequent repetition, and we require the intermixture of sharper flavours. Yet there are detached passages of great excellence in this third part of Dante's poem; and even in the long theological discussions which occupy the greater proportion of its thirty-three cantos, it is impossible not to admire the enunciation of abstract positions with remarkable energy, conciseness, and sometimes perspicuity. The first twelve cantos of the Purgatory are an almost continual flow of soft and brilliant poetry. The last seven are also very splendid; but there is some heaviness in the intermediate parts. Fame has justly given the preference to the Inferno, which displays throughout a more vigorous and masterly conception; but the mind of Dante cannot be thoroughly appreciated without a perusal of his entire poem. The most forced and unnatural turns, the most barbarous licences of idiom, are found in this poet, whose power of expression is at other times so peculiarly happy. His style is indeed generally free from those conceits of thought which discredited the other poets of his country; but no sense is too remote for a word which he finds convenient for his measure or his rhyme. It seems indeed as if he never altered a line on account of the necessity of rhyme, but forced another, or perhaps a third, into company with it. For many of his faults no sufficient excuse can be made. But it is candid to remember, that Dante, writing almost in the infancy of a language which he contributed to create, was not to anticipate that words which he borrowed from the Latin, and from the provincial dialects, would by accident, or through the timidity of later writers, lose their place in the classical idiom of Italy. If Petrarch, Bembo, and a few more, had not aimed rather at purity than copiousness, the phrases which now appear barbarous, and are at least obsolete, might have been fixed by use in poetical language. The great characteristic excellence of Dante is elevation of sentiment, to which his compressed diction and the emphatic cadences of his measure admirably correspond. We read him, not as an amusing poet, but as a master of moral wisdom, with reverence and awe. Fresh from the deep and serious, though somewhat barren studies of philosophy, and schooled in the severer discipline of experience, he has made of his poem a mirror of his mind and life, the register of his solicitudes and sorrows, and of the speculations in which he sought to escape their recollection. The banished magistrate of Florence, the disciple of Brunetto Latini, the statesman accustomed to trace the varying fluctuations of Italian faction, is for ever before our eyes. For this reason, even the prodigal display of erudition, which in an epic poem would be entirely misplaced, increases the respect we feel for the poet, though it does not tend to the reader's gratification. Except Milton, he is much the most learned of all the great poets, and, relatively to his age, far more learned than Milton. In one so highly endowed by nature, and so consummate by instruction, we may well sympathise with a resentment which exile and poverty rendered perpetually fresh. The heart of Dante was naturally sensible, and even tender; his poetry is full of simple comparisons from rural life; and the sincerity of his early passion for Beatrice pierces through the veil of allegory which surrounds her. But the memory of his injuries pursues him into the immensity of eternal light; and, in the company of saints and angels, his unforgiving spirit darkens at the name of Florence.[880] This great poem was received in Italy with that enthusiastic admiration which attaches itself to works of genius only in ages too rude to listen to the envy of competitors, or the fastidiousness of critics. Almost every library in that country contains manuscript copies of the Divine Comedy, and an account of those who have abridged or commented upon it would swell to a volume. It was thrice printed in the year 1472, and at least nine times within the fifteenth century. The city of Florence in 1373, with a magnanimity which almost redeems her original injustice, appointed a public professor to read lectures upon Dante; and it was hardly less honourable to the poet's memory that the first person selected for this office was Boccaccio. The universities of Pisa and Piacenza imitated this example; but it is probable that Dante's abstruse philosophy was often more regarded in their chairs than his higher excellences.[881] Italy indeed, and all Europe, had reason to be proud of such a master. Since Claudian, there had been seen for nine hundred years no considerable body of poetry, except the Spanish poem of the Cid, of which no one had heard beyond the peninsula, that could be said to pass mediocrity; and we must go much further back than Claudian to find any one capable of being compared with Dante. His appearance made an epoch in the intellectual history of modern nations, and banished the discouraging suspicion which long ages of lethargy tended to excite, that nature had exhausted her fertility in the great poets of Greece and Rome. It was as if, at some of the ancient games, a stranger had appeared upon the plain, and thrown his quoit among the marks of former casts which tradition had ascribed to the demigods. But the admiration of Dante, though it gave a general impulse to the human mind, did not produce imitators. I am unaware at least of any writer, in whatever language, who can be said to have followed the steps of Dante: I mean not so much in his subject as in the character of his genius and style. His orbit is still all his own, and the track of his wheels can never be confounded with that of a rival.[882] [Sidenote: Petrarch.] In the same year that Dante was expelled from Florence, a notary, by name Petracco, was involved in a similar banishment. Retired to Arezzo, he there became the father of Francis Petrarch. This great man shared of course, during his early years, in the adverse fortune of his family, which he was invincibly reluctant to restore, according to his father's wish, by the profession of jurisprudence. The strong bias of nature determined him to polite letters and poetry. These are seldom the fountains of wealth; yet they would perhaps have been such to Petrarch, if his temper could have borne the sacrifice of liberty for any worldly acquisitions. At the city of Avignon, where his parents had latterly resided, his graceful appearance and the reputation of his talents attracted one of the Colonna family, then bishop of Lombes in Gascony. In him, and in other members of that great house, never so illustrious as in the fourteenth century, he experienced the union of patronage and friendship. This, however, was not confined to the Colonnas. Unlike Dante, no poet was ever so liberally and sincerely encouraged by the great; nor did any perhaps ever carry to that perilous intercourse a spirit more irritably independent, or more free from interested adulation. He praised his friends lavishly because he loved them ardently; but his temper was easily susceptible of offence, and there must have been much to tolerate in that restlessness and jealousy of reputation which is perhaps the inevitable failing of a poet.[883] But every thing was forgiven to a man who was the acknowledged boast of his age and country. Clement VI. conferred one or two sinecure benefices upon Petrarch, and would probably have raised him to a bishopric if he had chosen to adopt the ecclesiastical profession. But he never took orders, the clerical tonsure being a sufficient qualification for holding canonries. The same pope even afforded him the post of apostolical secretary, and this was repeated by Innocent VI. I know not whether we should ascribe to magnanimity or to a politic motive the behaviour of Clement VI. towards Petrarch, who had pursued a course as vexatious as possible to the Holy See. For not only he made the residence of the supreme pontiffs at Avignon, and the vices of their court, the topic of invectives, too well founded to be despised, but he had ostentatiously put himself forward as the supporter of Nicola di Rienzi in a project which could evidently have no other aim than to wrest the city of Rome from the temporal sovereignty of its bishop. Nor was the friendship and society of Petrarch less courted by the most respectable Italian princes; by Robert king of Naples, by the Visconti, the Correggi of Parma, the famous doge of Venice, Andrew Dandolo, and the Carrara family of Padua, under whose protection he spent the latter years of his life. Stories are related of the respect shown to him by men in humbler stations which are perhaps still more satisfactory.[884] But the most conspicuous testimony of public esteem was bestowed by the city of Rome, in his solemn coronation as laureat poet in the Capitol. This ceremony took place in 1341; and it is remarkable that Petrarch had at that time composed no works which could, in our estimation, give him pretensions to so singular an honour. The moral character of Petrarch was formed of dispositions peculiarly calculated for a poet. An enthusiast in the emotions of love and friendship, of glory, of patriotism, of religion, he gave the rein to all their impulses; and there is not perhaps a page in his Italian writing which does not bear the trace of one or other of these affections. By far the most predominant, and that which has given the greatest celebrity to his name, is his passion for Laura. Twenty years of unrequited and almost unaspiring love were lightened by song; and the attachment, which, having long survived the beauty of its object,[885] seems to have at one time nearly passed from the heart to the fancy, was changed to an intenser feeling, and to a sort of celestial adoration, by her death. Laura, before the time of Petrarch's first accidental meeting with her, was united in marriage with another; a fact which, besides some more particular evidence, appears to me deducible from the whole tenor of his poetry.[886] Such a passion is undoubtedly not capable of a moral defence; nor would I seek its palliation so much in the prevalent manners of his age, by which however the conduct of even good men is generally not a little influenced, as in the infirmity of Petrarch's character, which induced him both to obey and to justify the emotions of his heart. The lady too, whose virtue and prudence we are not to question, seems to have tempered the light and shadow of her countenance so as to preserve her admirer from despair, and consequently to prolong his sufferings and servitude. The general excellences of Petrarch, are his command over the music of his native language, his correctness of style, scarcely two or three words that he has used having been rejected by later writers, his exquisite elegance of diction, improved by the perpetual study of Virgil; but, far above all, that tone of pure and melancholy sentiment which has something in it unearthly, and forms a strong contrast to the amatory poems of antiquity. Most of these are either licentious or uninteresting; and those of Catullus, a man endowed by nature with deep and serious sensibility, and a poet, in my opinion, of greater and more varied genius than Petrarch, are contaminated above all the rest with the most degrading grossness. Of this there is not a single instance in the poet of Vaucluse; and his strains, diffused and admired as they have been, may have conferred a benefit that criticism cannot estimate, in giving elevation and refinement to the imaginations of youth. The great defect of Petrarch was his want of strong original conception, which prevented him from throwing off the affected and overstrained manner of the Provençal troubadours, and of the earlier Italian poets. Among his poems the Triumphs are perhaps superior to the Odes, as the latter are to the Sonnets; and of the latter, those written subsequently to the death of Laura are in general the best. But that constrained and laborious measure cannot equal the graceful flow of the canzone, or the vigorous compression of the terza rima. The Triumphs have also a claim to superiority, as the only poetical composition of Petrarch that extends to any considerable length. They are in some degree perhaps an imitation of the dramatic Mysteries, and form at least the earliest specimens of a kind of poetry not uncommon in later times, wherein real and allegorical personages are intermingled in a masque or scenic representation.[887] [Sidenote: English language.] None of the principal modern languages was so late in its formation, or in its application to the purposes of literature, as the English. This arose, as is well known, out of the Saxon branch of the Great Teutonic stock spoken in England till after the Conquest. From this mother dialect our English differs less in respect of etymology, than of syntax, idiom, and flexion. In so gradual a transition as probably took place, and one so sparingly marked by any existing evidence, we cannot well assign a definite origin to our present language. The question of identity is almost as perplexing in languages as in individuals. But, in the reign of Henry II., a version of Wace's poem of Brut, by one Layamon, a priest of Ernly-upon-Severn, exhibits as it were the chrysalis of the English language, in a very corrupt modification of the Anglo-Saxon.[888] Very soon afterwards the new formation was better developed; and some metrical pieces, referred by critics to the earlier part of the thirteenth century, differ but little from our legitimate grammar.[889] About the beginning of Edward I.'s reign, Robert, a monk of Gloucester, composed a metrical chronicle from the history of Geoffrey of Monmouth, which he continued to his own time. This work, with a similar chronicle of Robert Manning, a monk of Brunne (Bourne) in Lincolnshire, nearly thirty years later, stand at the head of our English poetry. The romance of Sir Tristrem, ascribed to Thomas of Erceldoune, surnamed the Rhymer, a Scottish minstrel, has recently laid claim to somewhat higher antiquity.[890] In the fourteenth century a great number of metrical romances were translated from the French. It requires no small portion of indulgence to speak favourably of any of these early English productions. A poetical line may no doubt occasionally be found; but in general the narration is as heavy and prolix as the versification is unmusical.[891] The first English writer who can be read with approbation is William Langland, the author of Piers Plowman's Vision, a severe satire upon the clergy. Though his measure is more uncouth than that of his predecessors, there is real energy in his conceptions, which he caught not from the chimeras of knight-errantry, but the actual manners and opinions of his time. [Sidenote: Cause of its slow progress.] The very slow progress of the English language, as an instrument of literature, is chiefly to be ascribed to the effects of the Norman conquest, in degrading the native inhabitants and transferring all power and riches to foreigners. The barons, without perhaps one exception, and a large proportion of the gentry, were of French descent, and preserved among themselves the speech of their fathers. This continued much longer than we should naturally have expected; even after the loss of Normandy had snapped the thread of French connexions, and they began to pride themselves in the name of Englishmen, and in the inheritance of traditionary English privileges. Robert of Gloucester has a remarkable passage, which proves that in his time, somewhere about 1290, the superior ranks continued to use the French language.[892] Ralph Higden, about the early part of Edward III.'s reign, though his expressions do not go the same length, asserts, that "gentlemen's children are taught to speak French, from the time they are rocked in their cradle; and uplandish (country) or inferior men will liken themselves to gentlemen, and learn with great business for to speak French, for to be the more told of." Notwithstanding, however, this predominance of French among the higher class, I do not think that some modern critics are warranted in concluding that they were in general ignorant of the English tongue. Men living upon their estates among their tenantry, whom they welcomed in their halls, and whose assistance they were perpetually needing in war and civil frays, would hardly have permitted such a barrier to obstruct their intercourse. For we cannot, at the utmost, presume that French was so well known to the English commonalty in the thirteenth century as English is at present to the same class in Wales and the Scottish Highlands. It may be remarked also, that the institution of trial by jury must have rendered a knowledge of English almost indispensable to those who administered justice. There is a proclamation of Edward I. in Rymer, where he endeavours to excite his subjects against the king of France by imputing to him the intention of conquering the country and abolishing the English language (linguam delere Anglicanam), and this is frequently repeated in the proclamations of Edward III.[893] In his time, or perhaps a little before, the native language had become more familiar than French in common use, even with the court and nobility. Hence the numerous translations of metrical romances, which are chiefly referred to his reign. An important change was effected in 1362 by a statute, which enacts that all pleas in courts of justice shall be pleaded, debated, and judged in English. But Latin was by this act to be employed in drawing the record; for there seems to have still continued a sort of prejudice against the use of English as a written language. The earliest English instrument known to exist is said to bear the date of 1343.[894] And there are but few entries in our own tongue upon the rolls of parliament before the reign of Henry VI., after whose accession its use becomes very common.[895] Sir John Mandevile, about 1356, may pass for the father of English prose, no original work being so ancient as his Travels. But the translation of the Bible and other writings by Wicliffe, nearly thirty years afterwards, taught us the copiousness and energy of which our native dialect was capable; and it was employed in the fifteenth century by two writers of distinguished merit, Bishop Pecock and Sir John Fortescue. [Sidenote: Chaucer.] But the principal ornament of our English literature was Geoffrey Chaucer, who, with Dante and Petrarch, fills up the triumvirate of great poets in the middle ages. Chaucer was born in 1328, and his life extended to the last year of the fourteenth century. That rude and ignorant generation was not likely to feel the admiration of native genius as warmly as the compatriots of Petrarch; but he enjoyed the favour of Edward III., and still more conspicuously of John duke of Lancaster; his fortunes were far more prosperous than have usually been the lot of poets; and a reputation was established beyond competition in his lifetime, from which no succeeding generation has withheld its sanction. I cannot, in my own taste, go completely along with the eulogies that some have bestowed upon Chaucer, who seems to me to have wanted grandeur, where he is original, both in conception and in language. But in vivacity of imagination and ease of expression, he is above all poets of the middle time, and comparable perhaps to the greatest of those who have followed. He invented, or rather introduced from France, and employed with facility the regular iambic couplet; and though it was not to be expected that he should perceive the capacities latent in that measure, his versification, to which he accommodated a very licentious and arbitrary pronunciation, is uniform and harmonious.[896] It is chiefly, indeed, as a comic poet, and a minute observer of manners and circumstances, that Chaucer excels. In serious and moral poetry he is frequently languid and diffuse; but he springs like Antæus from the earth, when his subject changes to coarse satire, or merry narrative. Among his more elevated compositions, the Knight's Tale is abundantly sufficient to immortalize Chaucer, since it would be difficult to find any where a story better conducted, or told with more animation and strength of fancy. The second place may be given to his Troilus and Creseide, a beautiful and interesting poem, though enfeebled by expansion. But perhaps the most eminent, or at any rate the most characteristic testimony to his genius will be found in the prologue to his Canterbury Tales; a work entirely and exclusively his own, which can seldom be said of his poetry, and the vivid delineations of which perhaps very few writers but Shakspeare could have equalled. As the first original English poet, if we except Langland, as the inventor of our most approved measure, as an improver, though with too much innovation, of our language, and as a faithful witness to the manners of his age, Chaucer would deserve our reverence, if he had not also intrinsic claims for excellences, which do not depend upon any collateral considerations. [Sidenote: Revival of ancient learning.] [Sidenote: In the twelfth century;] The last circumstance which I shall mention, as having contributed to restore society from the intellectual degradation into which it had fallen during the dark ages, is the revival of classical learning. The Latin language indeed, in which all legal instruments were drawn up, and of which all ecclesiastics availed themselves in their epistolary intercourse, as well as in their more solemn proceedings, had never ceased to be familiar. Though many solecisms and barbarous words occur in the writings of what were called learned men, they possessed a fluency of expression in Latin which does not often occur at present. During the dark ages, however, properly so called, or the period from the sixth to the eleventh century, we chiefly meet with quotations from the Vulgate or from theological writers. Nevertheless, quotations from the Latin poets are hardly to be called unusual. Virgil, Ovid, Statius, and Horace, are brought forward by those who aspired to some literary reputation, especially during the better periods of that long twilight, the reigns of Charlemagne and his son in France, part of the tenth century in Germany, and the eleventh in both. The prose writers of Rome are not so familiar, but in quotations we are apt to find the poets preferred; and it is certain that a few could be named who were not ignorant of Cicero, Sallust, and Livy. A considerable change took place in the course of the twelfth century. The polite literature, as well as the abstruser science of antiquity, became the subject of cultivation. Several writers of that age, in different parts of Europe, are distinguished more or less for elegance, though not absolute purity of Latin style; and for their acquaintance with those ancients, who are its principal models. Such were John of Salisbury, the acute and learned author of the Polycraticon, William of Malmsbury, Giraldus Cambrensis, Roger Hoveden, in England; and in foreign countries, Otho of Frisingen, Saxo Grammaticus, and the best perhaps of all I have named as to style, Falcandus, the historian of Sicily. In these we meet with frequent quotations from Livy, Cicero, Pliny, and other considerable writers of antiquity. The poets were now admired and even imitated. All metrical Latin before the latter part of the twelfth century, so far as I have seen, is of little value; but at this time, and early in the succeeding age, there appeared several versifiers who aspired to the renown of following the steps of Virgil and Statius in epic poetry. Joseph Iscanus, an Englishman, seems to have been the earliest of these; his poem on the Trojan war containing an address to Henry II. He wrote another, entitled Antiocheis, on the third crusade, most of which has perished. The wars of Frederic Barbarossa were celebrated by Gunther in his Ligurinus; and not long afterwards, Guillelmus Brito wrote the Philippis, in honour of Philip Augustus, and Walter de Chatillon the Alexandreis, taken from the popular romance of Alexander. None of these poems, I believe, have much intrinsic merit; but their existence is a proof of taste that could relish, though not of genius that could emulate antiquity.[897] [Sidenote: much more the fourteenth.] [Sidenote: Invention of linen paper.] [Sidenote: Libraries.] In the thirteenth century there seems to have been some decline of classical literature, in consequence probably of the scholastic philosophy, which was then in its greatest vigour; at least we do not find so many good writers as in the preceding age. But about the middle of the fourteenth, or perhaps a little sooner, an ardent zeal for the restoration of ancient learning began to display itself. The copying of books, for some ages slowly and sparingly performed in monasteries, had already become a branch of trade;[898] and their price was consequently reduced. Tiraboschi denies that the invention of making paper from linen rags is older than the middle of that century; and although doubts may be justly entertained as to the accuracy of this position, yet the confidence with which so eminent a scholar advances it is at least a proof that paper manuscripts of an earlier date are very rare.[899] Princes became far more attentive to literature when it was no longer confined to metaphysical theology and canon law. I have already mentioned the translations from classical authors, made by command of John and Charles V. of France. These French translations diffused some acquaintance with ancient history and learning among our own countrymen.[900] The public libraries assumed a more respectable appearance. Louis IX. had formed one at Paris, in which it does not appear that any work of elegant literature was found.[901] At the beginning of the fourteenth century, only four classical manuscripts existed in this collection; of Cicero, Ovid, Lucan, and Boethius.[902] The academical library of Oxford, in 1300, consisted of a few tracts kept in chests under St Mary's church. That of Glastonbury Abbey, in 1240, contained four hundred volumes, among which were Livy, Sallust, Lucan, Virgil, Claudian, and other ancient writers.[903] But no other, probably, of that age was so numerous or so valuable. Richard of Bury, chancellor of England, and Edward III., spared no expense in collecting a library, the first perhaps that any private man had formed. But the scarcity of valuable books was still so great, that he gave the abbot of St. Albans fifty pounds weight of silver for between thirty and forty volumes.[904] Charles V. increased the royal library at Paris to nine hundred volumes, which the duke of Bedford purchased and transported to London.[905] His brother Humphrey duke of Gloucester presented the university of Oxford with six hundred books, which seem to have been of extraordinary value, one hundred and twenty of them having been estimated at one thousand pounds. This indeed was in 1440, at which time such a library would not have been thought remarkably numerous beyond the Alps,[906] but England had made comparatively little progress in learning. Germany, however, was probably still less advanced. Louis, Elector Palatine, bequeathed in 1421 his library to the university of Heidelberg, consisting of one hundred and fifty-two volumes. Eighty-nine of these related to theology, twelve to canon and civil law, forty-five to medicine, and six to philosophy.[907] [Sidenote: Transcription of manuscripts.] Those who first undertook to lay open the stores of ancient learning found incredible difficulties from the scarcity of manuscripts. So gross and supine was the ignorance of the monks, within whose walls these treasures were concealed, that it was impossible to ascertain, except by indefatigable researches, the extent of what had been saved out of the great shipwreck of antiquity. To this inquiry Petrarch devoted continual attention. He spared no means to preserve the remains of authors, who were perishing from neglect and time. This danger was by no means passed in the fourteenth century. A treatise of Cicero upon Glory, which had been in his possession, was afterwards irretrievably lost.[908] He declares that he had seen in his youth the works of Varro; but all his endeavours to recover these and the second Decad of Livy were fruitless. He found, however, Quintilian, in 1350, of which there was no copy in Italy.[909] Boccaccio, and a man of less general fame, Colluccio Salutato, were distinguished in the same honourable task. The diligence of these scholars was not confined to searching for manuscripts. Transcribed by slovenly monks, or by ignorant persons who made copies for sale, they required the continual emendation of accurate critics.[910] Though much certainly was left for the more enlightened sagacity of later times, we owe the first intelligible text of the Latin classics to Petrarch, Poggio, and their contemporary labourers in this vineyard for a hundred years before the invention of printing. [Sidenote: Industry of the fifteenth century.] [Sidenote: Poggio.] What Petrarch began in the fourteenth century was carried on by a new generation with unabating industry. The whole lives of Italian scholars in the fifteenth century were devoted to the recovery of manuscripts and the revival of philology. For this they sacrificed their native language, which had made such surprising shoots in the preceding age, and were content to trace, in humble reverence, the footsteps of antiquity. For this too they lost the hope of permanent glory, which can never remain with imitators, or such as trim the lamp of ancient sepulchres. No writer perhaps of the fifteenth century, except Politian, can aspire at present even to the second class, in a just marshalling of literary reputation. But we owe them our respect and gratitude for their taste and diligence. The discovery of an unknown manuscript, says Tiraboschi, was regarded almost as the conquest of a kingdom. The classical writers, he adds, were chiefly either found in Italy, or at least by Italians; they were first amended and first printed in Italy, and in Italy they were first collected in public libraries.[911] This is subject to some exception, when fairly considered; several ancient authors were never lost, and therefore cannot be said to have been discovered; and we know that Italy did not always anticipate other countries in classical printing. But her superior merit is incontestable. Poggio Bracciolini, who stands perhaps at the head of the restorers of learning, in the earlier part of the fifteenth century, discovered in the monastery of St. Gall, among dirt and rubbish in a dungeon scarcely fit for condemned criminals, as he describes it, an entire copy of Quintilian, and part of Valerius Flaccus. This was in 1414; and soon afterwards, he rescued the poem of Silius Italicus, and twelve comedies of Plautus, in addition to eight that were previously known: besides Lucretius, Columella, Tertullian, Ammianus Marcellinus, and other writers of inferior note.[912] A bishop of Lodi brought to light the rhetorical treatises of Cicero. Not that we must suppose these books to have been universally unknown before; Quintilian, at least, is quoted by English writers much earlier. But so little intercourse prevailed among different countries, and the monks had so little acquaintance with the riches of their conventual libraries, that an author might pass for lost in Italy, who was familiar to a few learned men in other parts of Europe. To the name of Poggio we may add a number of others, distinguished in this memorable resurrection of ancient literature, and united, not always indeed by friendship, for their bitter animosities disgrace their profession, but by a sort of common sympathy in the cause of learning; Filelfo, Laurentius Valla, Niccolo Niccoli, Ambrogio Traversari, more commonly called Il Camaldolense, and Leonardo Aretino. [Sidenote: Greek language unknown in the West.] From the subversion of the Western Empire, or at least from the time when Rome ceased to pay obedience to the exarchs of Ravenna, the Greek language and literature had been almost entirely forgotten within the pale of the Latin church. A very few exceptions might be found, especially in the earlier period of the middle ages, while the eastern emperors retained their dominion over part of Italy.[913] Thus Charlemagne is said to have established a school for Greek at Osnaburg.[914] John Scotus seems to have been well acquainted with the language. And Greek characters may occasionally, though very seldom, be found in the writings of learned men; such as Lanfranc or William of Malmsbury.[915] It is said that Roger Bacon understood Greek; and that his eminent contemporary, Robert Grostete, bishop of Lincoln, had a sufficient intimacy with it to translate a part of Suidas. Since Greek was spoken with considerable purity by the noble and well educated natives of Constantinople, we may wonder that, even as a living language, it was not better known by the western nations, and especially in so neighbouring a nation as Italy. Yet here the ignorance was perhaps even more complete than in France or England. In some parts indeed of Calabria, which had been subject to the eastern empire till near the year 1100, the liturgy was still performed in Greek; and a considerable acquaintance with the language was of course preserved. But for the scholars of Italy, Boccaccio positively asserts, that no one understood so much as the Greek characters.[916] Nor is there probably a single line quoted from any poet in that language from the sixth to the fourteenth century. [Sidenote: Its study revives in the fourteenth century.] The first to lead the way in restoring Grecian learning in Europe were the same men who had revived the kindred muses of Latium, Petrarch and Boccaccio. Barlaam, a Calabrian by birth, during an embassy from the court of Constantinople in 1335, was persuaded to become the preceptor of the former, with whom he read the works of Plato.[917] Leontius Pilatus, a native of Thessalonica, was encouraged some years afterwards by Boccaccio to give public lectures upon Homer at Florence.[918] Whatever might be the share of general attention that he excited, he had the honour of instructing both these great Italians in his native language. Neither of them perhaps reached an advanced degree of proficiency; but they bathed their lips in the fountain, and enjoyed the pride of being the first who paid the homage of a new posterity to the father of poetry. For some time little fruit apparently resulted from their example; but Italy had imbibed the desire of acquisitions in a new sphere of knowledge, which, after some interval, she was abundantly able to realize. A few years before the termination of the fourteenth century, Emanuel Chrysoloras, whom the emperor John Palæologus had previously sent into Italy, and even as far as England, upon one of those unavailing embassies, by which the Byzantine court strove to obtain sympathy and succour from Europe, returned to Florence as a public teacher of Grecian literature.[919] His school was afterwards removed successively to Pavia, Venice, and Rome; and during nearly twenty years that he taught in Italy, most of those eminent scholars whom I have already named, and who distinguish the first half of that century, derived from his instruction their knowledge of the Greek tongue. Some, not content with being the disciples of Chrysoloras, betook themselves to the source of that literature at Constantinople; and returned to Italy, not only with a more accurate insight into the Greek idiom than they could have attained at home, but with copious treasures of manuscripts, few, if any, of which probably existed previously in Italy, where none had ability to read or value them; so that the principal authors of Grecian antiquity may be considered as brought to light by these inquirers, the most celebrated of whom are Guarino of Verona, Aurispa, and Filelfo. The second of these brought home to Venice in 1423 not less than two hundred and thirty-eight volumes.[920] [Sidenote: State of learning in Greece.] The fall of that eastern empire, which had so long outlived all other pretensions to respect that it scarcely retained that founded upon its antiquity, seems to have been providentially delayed till Italy was ripe to nourish the scattered seeds of literature that would have perished a few ages earlier in the common catastrophe. From the commencement of the fifteenth century even the national pride of Greece could not blind her to the signs of approaching ruin. It was no longer possible to inspire the European republic, distracted by wars and restrained by calculating policy, with the generous fanaticism of the crusades; and at the council of Florence, in 1439, the court and church of Constantinople had the mortification of sacrificing their long-cherished faith, without experiencing any sensible return of protection or security. The learned Greeks were perhaps the first to anticipate, and certainly not the last to avoid, their country's destruction. The council of Florence brought many of them into Italian connexions, and held out at least a temporary accommodation of their conflicting opinions. Though the Roman pontiffs did nothing, and probably could have done nothing effectual, for the empire of Constantinople, they were very ready to protect and reward the learning of individuals. To Eugenius IV., to Nicolas V., to Pius II., and some other popes of this age, the Greek exiles were indebted for a patronage which they repaid by splendid services in the restoration of their native literature throughout Italy. Bessarion, a disputant on the Greek side in the council of Florence, was well content to renounce the doctrine of single procession for a cardinal's hat--a dignity which he deserved for his learning, if not for his pliancy. Theodore Gaza, George of Trebizond, and Gemistus Pletho, might equal Bessarion in merit, though not in honours. They all, however, experienced the patronage of those admirable protectors of letters, Nicolas V., Cosmo de' Medici, or Alfonso king of Naples. These men emigrated before the final destruction of the Greek empire; Lascaris and Musurus, whose arrival in Italy was posterior to that event, may be deemed perhaps still more conspicuous; but as the study of the Greek language was already restored, it is unnecessary to pursue the subject any further. The Greeks had preserved, through the course of the middle ages, their share of ancient learning with more fidelity and attention than was shown in the west of Europe. Genius indeed, or any original excellence, could not well exist along with their cowardly despotism, and their contemptible theology, more corrupted by frivolous subtleties than that of the Latin church. The spirit of persecution, naturally allied to despotism and bigotry, had nearly, during one period, extinguished the lamp, or at least reduced the Greeks to a level with the most ignorant nations of the West. In the age of Justinian, who expelled the last Platonic philosophers, learning began rapidly to decline; in that of Heraclius it had reached a much lower point of degradation; and for two centuries, especially while the worshippers of images were persecuted with unrelenting intolerance, there is almost a blank in the annals of Grecian literature.[921] But about the middle of the ninth century it revived pretty suddenly, and with considerable success.[922] Though, as I have observed, we find in very few instances any original talent, yet it was hardly less important to have had compilers of such erudition as Photius, Suidas, Eustathius, and Tzetzes. With these certainly the Latins of the middle ages could not place any names in comparison. They possessed, to an extent which we cannot precisely appreciate, many of those poets, historians, and orators of ancient Greece, whose loss we have long regretted and must continue to deem irretrievable. Great havoc, however, was made in the libraries of Constantinople at its capture by the Latins--an epoch from which a rapid decline is to be traced in the literature of the eastern empire. Solecisms and barbarous terms, which sometimes occur in the old Byzantine writers, are said to deform the style of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.[923] The Turkish ravages and destruction of monasteries ensued; and in the cheerless intervals of immediate terror there was no longer any encouragement to preserve the monuments of an expiring language, and of a name that was to lose its place among nations.[924] [Sidenote: Literature not much improved beyond Italy.] That ardour for the restoration of classical literature which animated Italy in the first part of the fifteenth century, was by no means common to the rest of Europe. Neither England, nor France, nor Germany, seemed aware of the approaching change. We are told that learning, by which I believe is only meant the scholastic ontology, had begun to decline at Oxford from the time of Edward III.[925] And the fifteenth century, from whatever cause, is particularly barren of writers in the Latin language. The study of Greek was only introduced by Grocyn and Linacer under Henry VII., and met with violent opposition in the university of Oxford, where the unlearned party styled themselves Trojans, as a pretext for abusing and insulting the scholars.[926] Nor did any classical work proceed from the respectable press of Caxton. France, at the beginning of the fifteenth age, had several eminent theologians; but the reigns of Charles VII. and Louis XI. contributed far more to her political than her literary renown. A Greek professor was first appointed at Paris in 1458, before which time the language had not been publicly taught, and was little understood.[927] Much less had Germany thrown off her ancient rudeness. Æneas Sylvius, indeed, a deliberate flatterer, extols every circumstance in the social state of that country; but Campano, the papal legate at Ratisbon in 1471, exclaims against the barbarism of a nation, where very few possessed any learning, none any elegance.[928] Yet the progress of intellectual cultivation, at least in the two former countries, was uniform, though silent; libraries became more numerous, and books, after the happy invention of paper, though still very scarce, might be copied at less expense. Many colleges were founded in the English as well as foreign universities during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Nor can I pass over institutions that have so eminently contributed to the literary reputation of this country, and that still continue to exercise so conspicuous an influence over her taste and knowledge, as the two great schools of grammatical learning, Winchester and Eton--the one founded by William of Wykeham, bishop of Winchester, in 1373; the other in 1432, by King Henry the Sixth.[929] [Sidenote: Invention of printing.] But while the learned of Italy were eagerly exploring their recent acquisitions of manuscripts, decyphered with difficulty and slowly circulated from hand to hand, a few obscure Germans had gradually perfected the most important discovery recorded in the annals of mankind. The invention of printing, so far from being the result of philosophical sagacity, does not appear to have been suggested by any regard to the higher branches of literature, or to bear any other relation than that of coincidence to their revival in Italy. The question why it was struck out at that particular time must be referred to that disposition of unknown causes which we call accident. Two or three centuries earlier, we cannot but acknowledge the discovery would have been almost equally acceptable. But the invention of paper seems to have naturally preceded those of engraving and printing. It is generally agreed that playing cards, which have been traced far back in the fourteenth century, gave the first notion of taking off impressions from engraved figures upon wood. The second stage, or rather second application of this art, was the representation of saints and other religious devices, several instances of which are still extant. Some of these are accompanied with an entire page of illustrative text, cut into the same wooden block. This process is indeed far removed from the invention that has given immortality to the names of Fust, Schoeffer, and Gutenburg, yet it probably led to the consideration of means whereby it might be rendered less operose and inconvenient. Whether moveable wooden characters were ever employed in any entire work is very questionable--the opinion that referred their use to Laurence Coster, of Haarlem, not having stood the test of more accurate investigation. They appear, however, in the capital letters of some early printed books. But no expedient of this kind could have fulfilled the great purposes of this invention, until it was perfected by founding metal types in a matrix or mould, the essential characteristic of printing, as distinguished from other arts that bear some analogy to it. The first book that issued from the presses of Fust and his associates at Mentz was an edition of the Vulgate, commonly called the Mazarine Bible, a copy having been discovered in the library that owes its name to Cardinal Mazarin at Paris. This is supposed to have been printed between the years 1450 and 1455.[930] In 1457 an edition of the Psalter appeared, and in this the invention was announced to the world in a boasting colophon, though certainly not unreasonably bold.[931] Another edition of the Psalter, one of an ecclesiastical book, Durand's account of liturgical offices, one of the Constitutions of Pope Clement V., and one of a popular treatise on general science, called the Catholicon, filled up the interval till 1462, when the second Mentz Bible proceeded from the same printers.[932] This, in the opinion of some, is the earliest book in which cast types were employed--those of the Mazarine Bible having been cut with the hand. But this is a controverted point. In 1465 Fust and Schoeffer published an edition of Cicero's Offices, the first tribute of the new art to polite literature. Two pupils of their school, Sweynheim and Pannartz, migrated the same year into Italy, and printed Donatus's grammar and the works of Lactantius at the monastery of Subiaco, in the neighbourhood of Rome.[933] Venice had the honour of extending her patronage to John of Spira, the first who applied the art on an extensive scale to the publication of classical writers.[934] Several Latin authors came forth from his press in 1470; and during the next ten years a multitude of editions were published in various parts of Italy. Though, as we may judge from their present scarcity, these editions were by no means numerous in respect of impressions, yet, contrasted with the dilatory process of copying manuscripts, they were like a new mechanical power in machinery, and gave a wonderfully accelerated impulse to the intellectual cultivation of mankind. From the era of these first editions proceeding from the Spiras, Zarot, Janson, or Sweynheim and Pannartz, literature must be deemed to have altogether revived in Italy. The sun was now fully above the horizon, though countries less fortunately circumstanced did not immediately catch his beams; and the restoration of ancient learning in France and England cannot be considered as by any means effectual even at the expiration of the fifteenth century. At this point, however, I close the present chapter. The last twenty years of the middle ages, according to the date which I have fixed for their termination in treating of political history, might well invite me by their brilliancy to dwell upon that golden morning of Italian literature. But, in the history of letters, they rather appertain to the modern than the middle period; nor would it become me to trespass upon the exhausted patience of my readers by repeating what has been so often and so recently told, the story of art and learning, that has employed the comprehensive research of a Tiraboschi, a Ginguené, and a Roscoe. FOOTNOTES: [571] Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 270. Meyer ascribes the origin of Flemish trade to Baldwin count of Flanders in 958, who established markets at Bruges and other cities. Exchanges were in that age, he says, chiefly effected by barter, little money circulating in Flanders. Annales Flandrici, fol. 18 (edit. 1561). [572] Matthew Westmonast, apud Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 415. [573] Such regulations scared away those Flemish weavers who brought their art into England under Edward III. Macpherson, p. 467, 494, 546. Several years later the magistrates of Ghent are said by Meyer (Annales Flandrici, fol. 156) to have imposed a tax on every loom. Though the seditious spirit of the Weavers' Company had perhaps justly provoked them, such a tax on their staple manufacture was a piece of madness, when English goods were just coming into competition. [574] Terrâ marique mercatura, rerumque commercia et quæstus peribant. Non solum totius Europæ mercatores, verum etiam ipsi Turcæ aliæque sepositæ nationes ob bellum istud Flandriæ magno afficiebantur dolore. Erat nempe Flandria totius prope orbis stabile mercatoribus emporium. Septemdecim regnorum negotiatores tum Brugis sua certa habuere domicilia ac sedes, præter complures incognitas pæne gentes quæ undique confluebant. Meyer, fol. 205, ad ann. 1385. [575] Meyer; Froissart; Comines. [576] It contained, according to Ludovico Guicciardini, 35,000 houses, and the circuit of its walls was 45,640 Roman feet. Description des Pais Bas, p. 350, &c. (edit. 1609). Part of this enclosure was not built upon. The population of Ghent is reckoned by Guicciardini at 70,000, but in his time it had greatly declined. It is certainly, however, much exaggerated by earlier historians. And I entertain some doubts as to Guicciardini's estimate of the number of houses. If at least he was accurate, more than half of the city must since have been demolished or become uninhabited, which its present appearance does not indicate; for Ghent, though not very flourishing, by no means presents the decay and dilapidation of several Italian towns. [577] Guicciardini, p. 362; Mém. de Comines, 1. v. c. 17; Meyer, fol. 354; Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 647, 651. [578] Blomefield, the historian of Norfolk, thinks that a colony of Flemings settled as early as this reign at Worsted, a village in that county, and immortalized its name by their manufacture. It soon reached Norwich, though not conspicuous till the reign of Edward I. Hist. of Norfolk, vol. ii. Macpherson speaks of it for the first time in 1327. There were several guilds of weavers in the time of Henry II. Lyttelton, vol. ii. p. 174. [579] Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 412, from Walter Hemingford. I am considerably indebted to this laborious and useful publication, which has superseded that of Anderson. [580] Rymer, t. ii. p. 32, 50, 737, 949, 965; t. iii. p. 533, 1106, et alibi. [581] Rymer, t. iii. p. 759. A Flemish factory was established at Berwick about 1286. Macpherson. [582] In 1295 Edward I. made masters of neutral ships in English ports find security not to trade with France. Rymer, t. ii. p. 679. [583] Rymer, t. iv. p. 491, &c. Fuller draws a notable picture of the inducements held out to the Flemings. "Here they should feed on fat beef and mutton, till nothing but their fulness should stint their stomachs; their beds should be good, and their bedfellows better, seeing the richest yeomen in England would not disdain to marry their daughters unto them, and such the English beauties that the most envious foreigners could not but commend them." Fuller's Church History, quoted in Blomefield's Hist. of Norfolk. [584] Rymer, t. v. p. 137, 430, 540. [585] In 1409 woollen cloths formed great part of our exports, and were extensively used over Spain and Italy. And in 1449, English cloths having been prohibited by the duke of Burgundy, it was enacted that, until he should repeal this ordinance, no merchandise of his dominions should be admitted into England. 27 H. VI. c. 1. The system of prohibiting the import of foreign wrought goods was acted upon very extensively in Edward IV.'s reign. [586] Stat. 11 E. III. c. 1. Blackstone says that transporting wool out of the kingdom, to the detriment of our staple manufacture, was forbidden at common law (vol. iv. c. 19), not recollecting that we had no staple manufactures in the ages when the common law was formed, and that the export of wool was almost the only means by which this country procured silver, or any other article of which it stood in need, from the continent. In fact, the landholders were so far from neglecting this source of their wealth, that a minimum was fixed upon it, by a statute of 1343 (repealed indeed the next year, 18 E. III. c. 3), below which price it was not to be sold; from a laudable apprehension, as it seems, that foreigners were getting it too cheap. And this was revived in the 32nd of H. VI., though the act is not printed among the statutes. Rot. Parl. t. v. p. 275. The exportation of sheep was prohibited in 1338--Rymer, t. v. p. 36; and by act of Parliament in 1425--3 H. VI. c. 2. But this did not prevent our importing the wool of a foreign country, to our own loss. It is worthy of notice that English wool was superior to any other for fineness during these ages. Henry II., in his patent to the Weavers' Company, directs that, if any weaver mingled Spanish wool with English, it should be burned by the lord mayor. Macpherson, p. 382. An English flock transported into Spain about 1348 is said to have been the source of the fine Spanish wool. Ibid. p. 539. But the superiority of English wool, even as late as 1438, is proved by the laws of Barcelona forbidding its adulteration. p. 654. Another exportation of English sheep to Spain took place about 1465, in consequence of a commercial treaty. Rymer, t. xi. p. 534 et alibi. In return, Spain supplied England with horses, her breed of which was reckoned the best in Europe; so that the exchange was tolerably fair. Macpherson, p. 596. The best horses had been very dear in England, being imported from Spain and Italy. Ibid. [587] Schmidt, t. iv. p. 18. [588] Considerable woollen manufactures appear to have existed in Picardy about 1315. Macpherson ad annum. Capmany, t. iii. part 2, p. 151. [589] The sheriffs of Wiltshire and Sussex are directed in 1253 to purchase for the king 1000 ells of fine linen, lineæ telæ pulchræ et delicate. This Macpherson supposes to be of domestic manufacture, which, however, is not demonstrable. Linen was made at that time in Flanders; and as late as 1417 the fine linen used in England was imported from France and the Low Countries. Macpherson, from Rymer, t. ix. p. 334. Velly's history is defective in giving no account of the French commerce and manufactures, or at least none that is at all satisfactory. [590] Adam Bremensis, de Situ Daniæ, p. 13. (Elzevir edit.) [591] Schmidt, t. iv. p. 8. Macpherson, p. 392. The latter writer thinks they were not known by the name of Hanse so early. [592] Pfeffel, t. i. p. 443; Schmidt, t. iv. p. 18; t. v. p. 512; Macpherson's Annals, vol. i. p. 693. [593] Macpherson, vol. i. passim. [594] Rymer, t. viii. p. 360. [595] Macpherson (who quotes Stow), p. 415. [596] Walsingham, p. 211. [597] Rymer, t. vii. p. 210, 341; t. viii. p. 9. [598] Rymer, t. x. p. 461. [599] Rymer, t. viii. p. 488. [600] Macpherson, p. 667. [601] Richard III., in 1485, appointed a Florentine merchant to be English consul at Pisa, on the ground that some of his subjects intended to trade to Italy. Macpherson, p. 705, from Rymer. Perhaps we cannot positively prove the existence of a Mediterranean trade at an earlier time; and even this instrument is not conclusive. But a considerable presumption arises from two documents in Rymer, of the year 1412, which inform us of a great shipment of wool and other goods made by some merchants of London for the Mediterranean, under supercargoes, whom, it being a new undertaking, the king expressly recommended to the Genoese republic. But that people, impelled probably by commercial jealousy, seized the vessels and their cargoes; which induced the king to grant the owners letters of reprisal against all Genoese property. Rymer, t. viii. p. 717, 773. Though it is not perhaps evident that the vessels were English, the circumstances render it highly probable. The bad success, however, of this attempt, might prevent its imitation. A Greek author about the beginning of the fifteenth century reckons the Inglênoi among the nations who traded to a port in the Archipelago. Gibbon, vol. xii. p. 52. But these enumerations are generally swelled by vanity or the love of exaggeration; and a few English sailors on board a foreign vessel would justify the assertion. Benjamin of Tudela, a Jewish traveller, pretends that the port of Alexandria, about 1160, contained vessels not only from England, but from Russia, and even _Cracow_. Harris's Voyages, vol. i. p. 554. [602] The Amalfitans are thus described by William of Apulia, apud Muratori, Dissert. 30. Urbs hæc dives opum, populoque referta videtur, Nulla magis locuples argento, vestibus, auro. Partibus innumeris ac plurimus urbe moratur Nauta, maris coelique vias aperire peritus. Huc et Alexandri diversa feruntur ab urbe, Regis et Antiochi. Hæc [etiam?] freta plurima transit. Hic Arabes, Indi, Siculi noscuntur, et Afri. Hæc gens est totum prope nobilitata per orbem, Et mercanda ferens et amans mercata referre. [There must be, I suspect, some exaggeration about the commerce and opulence of Amalfi, in the only age when she possessed any at all. The city could never have been considerable, as we may judge from its position immediately under a steep mountain; and what is still more material, has a very small port. According to our notions of trade, she could never have enjoyed much; the lines quoted from William of Apulia are to be taken as a poet's panegyric. It is of course a question of degree; Amalfi was no doubt a commercial republic to the extent of her capacity; but those who have ever been on the coast must be aware how limited that was. At present she has, I believe, no foreign trade at all. 1848.] [603] The inhabitants of Acre were noted, in an age not very pure, for the excess of their vices. In 1291 they plundered some of the subjects of a neighbouring Mohammedan prince, and, refusing reparation, the city was besieged and taken by storm. Muratori, ad ann. Gibbon, c. 59. [604] Villani, 1. vii. c. 144. [605] Macpherson, p. 490. [606] Capmany, Memorias Historicas, t. iii. preface, p. 11; and part 2, p. 131. His authority is Balducci Pegalotti, a Florentine writer upon commerce about 1340, whose work I have never seen. It appears from Balducci that the route to China was from Asoph to Astrakan, and thence, by a variety of places which cannot be found in modern maps, to Cambalu, probably Pekin, the capital city of China, which he describes as being one hundred miles in circumference. The journey was of rather more than eight months, going and returning; and he assures us it was perfectly secure, not only for caravans, but for a single traveller with a couple of interpreters and a servant. The Venetians had also a settlement in the Crimea, and appear, by a passage in Petrarch's letters, to have possessed some of the trade through Tartary. In a letter written from Venice, after extolling in too rhetorical a manner the commerce of that republic, he mentions a particular ship that had just sailed for the Black Sea. Et ipsa quidem Tanaim it visura, nostri enim maris navigatio non ultra tenditur; eorum vero aliqui, quos hæc fert, illic iter [instituent] eam egressuri, nec antea substituri, quàm Gange et Caucaso superato, ad Indos atque extremos Seres et Orientalem perveniatur Oceanum. En quo ardens et inexplebilis habendi sitis hominum mentes rapit! Petrarcæ Opera, Senil. 1. ii. ep. 3, p. 760 edit. 1581. [607] Hist. de Languedoc, t. iii. p. 531; t. iv. p. 517. Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscriptions, t. xxxvii. [608] Capmany, Memorias Historicas de Barcelona, t. i. part 2. See particularly p. 36. [609] Muratori, Dissert. 30. Denina, Rivoluzione d'Italia, 1. xiv. c. 11. The latter writer is of opinion that mulberries were not cultivated as an important object till after 1300, nor even to any great extent till after 1500; the Italian manufacturers buying most of their silk from Spain or the Levant. [610] The history of Italian states, and especially Florence, will speak for the first country; Capmany attests the woollen manufacture of the second--Mem. Hist. de Barcel. t. i. part 3, p. 7, &c.; and Vaissette that of Carcassonne and its vicinity--Hist. de Lang. t. iv. p. 517. [611] None were admitted to the rank of burgesses in the town of Aragon who used any manual trade, with the exception of dealers in fine cloths. The woollen manufacture of Spain did not at any time become a considerable article of export, nor even supply the internal consumption, as Capmany has well shown. Memorias Historicas, t. iii. p. 325 et seqq., and Edinburgh Review, vol. x. [612] Boucher, the French translator of Il Consolato del Mare, says that Edrissi, a Saracen geographer who lived about 1100, gives an account, though in a confused manner, of the polarity of the magnet. t. ii. p. 280. However, the lines of Guiot de Provins are decisive. These are quoted in Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. ix. p. 199; Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscript. t. xxi. p. 192; and several other works. Guinizzelli has the following passage, in a canzone quoted by Ginguené, Hist. Littéraire de l'Italie, t. i. p. 413:-- In quelle parti sotto tramontana, Sono li monti della calamita, Che dan virtute all'aere Di trarre il ferro; ma perchè lontana, Vole di simil pietra aver aita, A far la adoperare, _E dirizzar lo ago in ver la stella._ We cannot be diverted, by the nonsensical theory these lines contain, from perceiving the positive testimony of the last verse to the poet's knowledge of the polarity of the magnet. But if any doubt could remain, Tiraboschi (t. iv. p. 171) has fully established, from a series of passages, that this phenomenon was well known in the thirteenth century; and puts an end altogether to the pretensions of Flavio Gioja, if such a person, ever existed. See also Macpherson's Annals, p. 364 and 418. It is provoking to find an historian like Robertson asserting, without hesitation, that this citizen of Amalfi was the inventor of the compass, and thus accrediting an error which had already been detected. It is a singular circumstance, and only to be explained by the obstinacy with which men are apt to reject improvement, that the magnetic needle was not generally adopted in navigation till very long after the discovery of its properties, and even after their peculiar importance had been perceived. The writers of the thirteenth century, who mention the polarity of the needle, mention also its use in navigation; yet Capmany has found no distinct proof of its employment till 1403, and does not believe that it was frequently on board Mediterranean ships at the latter part of the preceding age. Memorias Historicas, t. iii. p. 70. Perhaps however he has inferred too much from his negative proof; and this subject seems open to further inquiry. [613] Boucher supposes it to have been compiled at Barcelona about 900; but his reasonings are inconclusive, t. i. p. 72; and indeed Barcelona at that time was little, if at all, better than a fishing-town. Some arguments might be drawn in favour of Pisa from the expressions of Henry IV.'s charter granted to that city in 1081. Consuetudines, quas habent de mari, sic iis observabimus sicut illorum est consuetudo. Muratori Dissert. 45. Giannone seems to think the collection was compiled about the reign of Louis IX. 1. xi. c. 6. Capmany, the last Spanish editor, whose authority ought perhaps to outweigh every other, asserts and seems to prove them to have been enacted by the mercantile magistrates of Barcelona, under the reign of James the Conqueror which is much the same period. Codigo de las Costumbres Maritimas de Barcelona, Madrid, 1791. But, by whatever nation they were reduced into their present form, these laws were certainly the ancient and established usages of the Mediterranean states: and Pisa may very probably have taken a great share in first practising what a century or two afterwards was rendered more precise at Barcelona. [614] Macpherson, p. 358. Boucher supposes them to be registers of actual decisions. [615] I have only the authority of Boucher for referring the Ordinances of Wisbuy to the year 1400. Beckman imagines them to be older than those of Oleron. But Wisbuy was not enclosed by a wall till 1288, a proof that it could not have been previously a town of much importance. It flourished chiefly in the first part of the fourteenth century, and was at that time an independent republic, but fell under the yoke of Denmark before the end of the same age. [616] Hugh Despenser seized a Genoese vessel valued at 14,300 marks, for which no restitution was ever made. Rym. t. iv. p. 701. Macpherson, A.D. 1336. [617] The Cinque Ports and other trading towns of England were in a constant state of hostility with their opposite neighbours during the reigns of Edward I. and II. One might quote almost half the instruments in Rymer in proof of these conflicts, and of those with the mariners of Norway and Denmark. Sometimes mutual envy produced frays between different English towns. Thus, in 1254 the Winchelsea mariners attacked a Yarmouth galley, and killed some of her men. Matt. Paris, apud Macpherson. [618] Muratori, Dissert. 53. [619] Du Cange, voc. Laudum. [620] Rymer, t. iv. p. 576. Videtur sapientibus et peritis, quod causa, de jure, non subfuit marcham seu reprisaliam in nostris, seu subditorum nostrorum, bonis concedendi. See too a case of neutral goods on board an enemy's vessel claimed by the owners, and a legal distinction taken in favour of the captors. t. vi. p. 14. [621] 27 E. III. stat. ii. c. 17, 2 Inst. p. 205. [622] Rymer, t. i. p. 839. [623] Idem, t. iii. p. 458, 647, 678, et infra. See too the ordinances of the staple, in 27 Edw. III., which confirm this among other privileges, and contain manifold evidence of the regard paid to commerce in that reign. [624] Rymer, t. ii. p. 891. Madox, Hist. Exchequer, c. xxii. s. 7. [625] In the remarkable speech of the Doge Mocenigo, quoted in another place, vol. i. p. 465, the annual profit made by Venice on her mercantile capital is reckoned at forty per cent. [626] Muratori, Dissert. 16. [627] Bizarri, Hist. Genuens. p. 797. The rate of discount on bills, which may not have exactly corresponded to the average annual interest of money, was ten per cent. at Barcelona in 1435. Capmany t. i. p. 209. [628] Du Cange, v. Usura. [629] Muratori, Diss. 16. [630] Greg. Turon. I. iv. [631] Hist. de Languedoc, t. ii. p. 517; t. iii. p. 531. [632] Id. t. iii. p. 121. [633] Id. p. 163. [634] Marina, Ensayo Historico-Critico, p. 143. [635] Martenne Thesaurus Anecdotorum, t. i. p. 984. [636] Velly, t. iv. p. 136. [637] The city of Cahors, in Quercy, the modern department of the Lot, produced a tribe of money-dealers. The Caursini are almost as often noticed as the Lombards. See the article in Du Cange. In Lombardy, Asti, a city of no great note in other respects, was famous for the same department of commerce. [638] There were three species of paper credit in the dealings of merchants: 1. General letters of credit, not directed to any one, which are not uncommon in the Levant: 2. Orders to pay money to a particular person: 3. Bills of exchange regularly negotiable. Boucher, t. ii. p. 621. Instances of the first are mentioned by Macpherson about 1200, p. 367. The second species was introduced by the Jews, about 1183 (Capmany, t. i. p. 297); but it may be doubtful whether the last stage of the progress was reached nearly so soon. An instrument in Rymer, however, of the year 1364 (t. vi. p. 495), mentions literæ cambitoriæ, which seem to have been negotiable bills; and by 1400 they were drawn in sets, and worded exactly as at present. Macpherson, p. 614, and Beckman, History of Inventions, vol. iii. p. 430, give from Capmany an actual precedent of a bill dated in 1404. [639] Usury was looked upon with horror by our English divines long after the Reformation. Fleury, in his Institutions au Droit Ecclésiastique, t. ii. p. 129, has shown the subterfuges to which men had recourse in order to evade this prohibition. It is an unhappy truth, that great part of the attention devoted to the best of sciences, ethics and jurisprudence, has been employed to weaken principles that ought never to have been acknowledged. One species of usury, and that of the highest importance to commerce, was always permitted, on account of the risk that attended it This was marine insurance, which could not have existed, until money was considered, in itself, as a source of profit. The earliest regulations on the subject of insurance are those of Barcelona in 1433; but the practice was, of course, earlier than these, though not of great antiquity. It is not mentioned in the Consolato del Mare, nor in any of the Hanseatic laws of the fourteenth century. Beckman, vol. i. p. 388. This author, not being aware of the Barcelonese laws on this subject published by Capmany, supposes, the first provisions regulating marine assurance to have been made at Florence in 1523. [640] Macpherson, p. 487, et alibi. They had probably excellent bargains; in 1329 the Bardi farmed all the customs in England for 20_l._ a day. But in 1282 the customs had produced 8411_l._, and half a century of great improvement had elapsed. [641] Villani, 1. xii. c. 55, 87. He calls these two banking-houses the pillars which sustained great part of the commerce of Christendom. [642] Capmany, t. i. p. 213. [643] Macpherson, p. 341, from Sanuto. The bank of Venice is referred to 1171. [644] G. Villani, 1. xi. c. 49. [645] Matt. Villani, p. 227 (in Muratori, Script. Rer. Ital. t. xiv.). [646] Bizarri, Hist. Genuens. p. 797 (Antwerp, 1579); Machiavelli, Storia Fiorentina, 1. viii. [647] Ricobaldus Ferrarensis, apud Murat. Dissert. 23; Francisc. Pippinus, ibidem. Muratori endeavours to extenuate the authority of this passage, on account of some more ancient writers who complain of the luxury of their times, and of some particular instances of magnificence and expense. But Ricobaldi alludes, as Muratori himself admits, to the mode of living in the middle ranks, and not to that of courts, which in all ages might occasionally display considerable splendour. I see nothing to weaken so explicit a testimony of a contemporary, which in fact is confirmed by many writers of the next age, who, according to the practice of Italian chroniclers, have copied it as their own. [648] Murat. Dissert. 23. [649] Bellincion Berti vid' io andar cinto Di cuojo e d'osso, e venir dallo specchio La donna sua senza 'l viso dipinto, E vidi quel di Nerli, e quel del Vecchio Esser contenti alla pelle scoverta, E sue donne al fuso ed al pennechio. Paradis. canto xv. See too the rest of this canto. But this is put in the mouth of Cacciaguida, the poet's ancestor, who lived in the former half of the twelfth century. The change, however, was probably subsequent to 1250, when the times of wealth and turbulence began at Florence. [650] Velly, t. xiii. p. 352. The second continuator of Nangis vehemently inveighs against the long beards and short breeches of his age; after the introduction of which novelties, he judiciously observes, the French were much more disposed to run away from their enemies than before. Spicilegium, t. iii. p. 105. [651] 37 E. III. Rep. 38 E. III. Several other statutes of a similar nature were passed in this and the ensuing reign. In France, there were sumptuary laws as old as Charlemagne, prohibiting or taxing the use of furs; but the first extensive regulation was under Philip the Fair. Velly, t. vii. p. 64; t. xi. p. 190. These attempts to restrain what cannot be restrained continued even down to 1700. De la Mare, Traité de la Police, t. i. 1. iii. [652] Muratori, Antichità Italiane, Dissert. 23, t. i. p. 325. [653] "These English," said the Spaniards who came over with Philip II., "have their houses made of sticks and dirt, but they fare commonly so well as the king." Harrison's Description of Britain, prefixed to Holingshed, vol. i. p. 315 (edit. 1807). [654] Pfeffel, t. i. p. 293. [655] Æneas Sylvius, de Moribus Germanorum. This treatise is an amplified panegyric upon Germany, and contains several curious passages: they must be taken perhaps with some allowance; for the drift of the whole is to persuade the Germans, that so rich and noble a country could afford a little money for the poor pope. Civitates quas vocant liberas, cum Imperatori solùm subjiciuntur, cujus jugum est instar libertatis; nec profectò usquam gentium tanta libertas est, quantâ fruuntur hujuscemodi civitates. Nam populi quos Itali vocant liberos, hi potissimùm serviunt, sive Venetias inspectes, sive Florentiam aut Cænas, in quibus cives, præter paucos qui reliquos ducunt, loco mancipiorum habentur. Cum nec rebus suis uti, ut libet, vel fari quæ velint, et gravissimis opprimuntur pecuniarum exactionibus. Apud Germanos omnia læta sunt, omnia jucunda; nemo suis privatur bonis. Salvo cuique sua hæreditas est, nulli nisi nocenti magistratus nocent. Nec apud eos factiones sicut apud Italas urbes grassantur. Sunt autem supra centum civitates hâc libertate fruentes. p. 1058. In another part of his work (p. 719) he gives a specious account of Vienna. The houses, he says, had glass windows and iron doors. Fenestræ undique vitreæ perlucent, et ostia plerumque ferrea. In domibus multa et munda supellex. Altæ domus magnificæque visuntur. Unum id dedecori est, quod tecta plerumque tigno contegunt, pauca latere. Cætera ædificia muro lapideo consistunt. Pictæ domus et exterius et interius splendent. Civitatis populus 50,000 _communicantium_ creditur. I suppose this gives at least double for the total population. He proceeds to represent the manners of the city in a less favourable point of view, charging the citizens with gluttony and libertinism, the nobility with oppression, the judges with corruption, &c. Vienna probably had the vices of a flourishing city; but the love of amplification in so rhetorical a writer as Æneas Sylvius weakens the value of his testimony, on whichever side it is given. [656] Vols. iv. and vi. [657] Mr. Lysons refers Castleton to the age of William the Conqueror, but without giving any reasons. Lysons's Derbyshire, p. ccxxxvi. Mr. King had satisfied himself that it was built during the Heptarchy, and even before the conversion of the Saxons to Christianity; but in this he gave the reins, as usual, to his imagination, which as much exceeded his learning, as the latter did his judgment. Conisborough should seem, by the name, to have been a royal residence, which it certainly never was after the Conquest. But if the engravings of the decorative parts in the Archæologia, vol. vi. p. 244, are not remarkably inaccurate, the architecture is too elegant for the Danes, much more for the unconverted Saxons. Both these castles are enclosed by a court or ballium, with a fortified entrance, like those erected by the Normans. [No doubt is now entertained but that Conisborough was built late in the Norman period. Mr. King's authority, which I followed for want of a better, is by no means to be depended upon. 1848.] [658] Whitaker's Hist. of Whalley; Lysons's Cumberland, p. ccvi. [659] The ruins of Herstmonceux are, I believe, tolerably authentic remains of Henry VI.'s age, but only a part of Haddon Hall is of the fifteenth century. [660] Archæologia, vol. vi. [661] Blomefield's Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 242. [662] Whitaker's Hist. of Whalley. [663] Lyttelton, t. iv. p. 130. [664] Harrison says, that few of the houses of the commonalty, except here and there in the west country towns, were made of stone. p. 314. This was about 1570. [665] Hist. of Whalley. [666] "The ancient manors and houses of our gentlemen," says Harrison, "are yet and for the most part, of strong timber, in framing whereof our carpenters have been and are worthily preferred before those of like science among all other nations. Howbeit such as are lately builded are either of brick or hard stone, or both." p. 316. [667] Archæologia, vol. i. p. 143; vol. iv. p. 91. [668] Hist. of Whalley. In Strutt's View of Manners we have an inventory of furniture in the house of Mr. Richard Fermor, ancestor of the earl of Pomfret, at Easton in Northamptonshire, and another in that of Sir Adrian Foskewe. Both these houses appear to have been of the dimensions and arrangement mentioned. [669] Single rooms, windows, doorways, &c., of an earlier date may perhaps not unfrequently be found; but such instances are always to be verified by their intrinsic evidence, not by the tradition of the place. [Note II.] [670] Mélanges tirés d'une grande bibliothèque, par M. de Paulmy, t. iii. et xxxi. It is to be regretted that Le Grand d'Aussy never completed that part of his Vie privée des Français which was to have comprehended the history of civil architecture. Villaret has slightly noticed its state about 1380. t. ii. p. 141. [671] Chenonceaux in Touraine was built by a nephew of Chancellor Duprat; Gaillon in the department of Eure by Cardinal Amboise; both at the beginning of the sixteenth century. These are now considered, in their ruins, as among the most ancient houses in France. A work by Ducerceau (Les plus excellens Batimens de France, 1607) gives accurate engravings of thirty houses; but with one or two exceptions, they seem all to have been built in the sixteenth century. Even in that age, defence was naturally an object in constructing a French mansion-house; and where defence is to be regarded, splendour and convenience must give way. The name of _château_ was not retained without meaning. [672] Mélanges tirés, &c. t. iii. For the prosperity and downfall of Jacques Coeur, see Villaret, t. xvi. p. 11; but more especially Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscript. t. xx. p. 509. His mansion at Bourges still exists, and is well known to the curious in architectural antiquity. In former editions I have mentioned a house of Jacques Coeur at Beaumont-sur-Oise; but this was probably by mistake, as I do not recollect, nor can find, any authority for it. [673] Giannone, Ist. di Napoli, t. iii. p. 280. [674] Muratori, Antich. Ital. Dissert. 25, p. 390. Beckman, in his History of Inventions, vol. i., a work of very great research, cannot trace any explicit mention of chimneys beyond the writings of John Villani, wherein however they are not noticed as a new invention. Piers Plowman, a few years later than Villani, speaks of a "chambre with a chimney" in which rich men usually dined. But in the account-book of Bolton Abbey, under the year 1311, there is a charge pro faciendo camino in the rectory-house of Gargrave. Whitaker's Hist. of Craven, p. 331. This may, I think, have been only an iron stove or fire-pan; though Dr. W. without hesitation translates it a chimney. However, Mr. King, in his observations on ancient castles, Archæol. vol. vi., and Mr. Strutt, in his View of Manners, vol. i., describe chimneys in castles of a very old construction. That at Conisborough in Yorkshire is peculiarly worthy of attention, and carries back this important invention to a remote antiquity. In a recent work of some reputation, it is said:--"There does not appear to be any evidence of the use of chimney-shafts in England prior to the twelfth century. In Rochester Castle, which is in all probability the work of William Corbyl, about 1130, there are complete fireplaces with semicircular backs, and a shaft in each jamb, supporting a semicircular arch over the opening, and that is enriched with the zigzag moulding; some of these project slightly from the wall; the flues, however, go only a few feet up in the thickness of the wall, and are then turned out at the back, the apertures being small oblong holes. At the castle, Hedingham, Essex, which is of about the same date, there are fireplaces and chimneys of a similar kind. A few years later, the improvement of carrying the flue up the whole height of the wall appears; as at Christ Church, Hants; the keep at Newcastle; Sherborne Castle, &c. The early chimney-shafts are of considerable height, and similar; afterwards they assumed a great variety of forms, and during the fourteenth century they are frequently very short." Glossary of Ancient Architecture, p. 100, edit. 1845. It is said, too, here that chimneys were seldom used in halls till near the end of the fifteenth century; the smoke took its course, if it pleased, through a hole in the roof. Chimneys are still more modern in France; and seem, according to Paulmy, to have come into common use since the middle of the seventeenth century. Jadis nos pères n'avoient qu'un unique chauffoir, qui étoit commun à toute une famille, et quelquefois à plusieurs. t. iii. p. 133. In another place, however, he says: Il parait que les tuyaux de cheminées étaient déjà très en usage en France, t. xxxi. p. 232. [675] Du Cange, v. Vitreæ; Bentham's History of Ely, p. 22. [676] Matt Paris; Vitæ Abbatum St. Alb. 122. [677] Recueil des Hist. t. xii. p. 101. [678] Paulmy, t. iii. p. 132. Villaret, t. xi. p. 141. Macpherson, p. 679. [679] Northumberland Household Book, preface, p. 16. Bishop Percy says, on the authority of Harrison, that glass was not commonly used in the reign of Henry VIII. [680] See some curious valuations of furniture and stock in trade at Colchester in 1296 and 1301. Eden's Introduct. to State of the Poor, p. 20 and 25, from the Rolls of Parliament. A carpenter's stock was valued at a shilling, and consisted of five tools. Other tradesmen were almost as poor; but a tanner's stock, if there is no mistake, was worth 9_l._ 7_s._ 10_d._, more than ten times any other. Tanners were principal tradesmen, the chief part of dress being made of leather. A few silver cups and spoons are the only articles of plate; and as the former are valued but at one or two shillings, they had, I suppose, but a little silver on the rim. [681] Nicholl's Illustrations, p. 119. In this work, among several interesting facts of the same class, we have another inventory of the goods of "John Port, late the king's servant," who died about 1524: he seems to have been a man of some consideration and probably a merchant. The house consisted of a hall, parlour, buttery, and kitchen, with two chambers, and one smaller, on the floor above; a napery, or linen room, and three garrets, besides a shop, which was probably detached. There were five bedsteads in the house, and on the whole a great deal of furniture for those times; much more than I have seen in any other inventory. His plate is valued at 94_l._; his jewels at 23_l._; his funeral expenses come to 73_l._ 6_s._ 8_d._ p. 119. [682] Whitaker's Hist. of Craven, p. 289. A better notion of the accommodations usual in the rank immediately below may be collected from two inventories published by Strutt, one of Mr. Fermor's house at Easton, the other Sir Adrian Foskewe's. I have mentioned the size of these gentlemen's houses already. In the former, the parlour had wainscot, a table and a few chairs; the chambers above had two best beds, and there was one servant's bed; but the inferior servants had only mattresses on the floor. The best chambers had window shutters and curtains. Mr. Fermor, being a merchant, was probably better supplied than the neighbouring gentry. His plate however consisted only of sixteen spoons, and a few goblets and ale pots. Sir Adrian Foskewe's opulence appears to have been greater; he had a service of silver plate, and his parlour was furnished with hangings. This was in 1539; it is not to be imagined that a knight of the shire a hundred years before would have rivalled even this scanty provision of moveables. Strutt's View of Manners, vol. iii. p. 63. These details, trifling as they may appear, are absolutely necessary in order to give an idea with some precision of a state of national wealth so totally different from the present. [683] Cuperent tam egregiè Scotorum reges quàm mediocres Nurembergæ cives habitare. Æn. Sylv. apud Schmidt, Hist. des Allem. t. v. p. 510. [684] t. iii. p. 127. [685] Crescentius in Commodum Ruralium. (Lovaniæ, absque anno.) This old edition contains many coarse wooden cuts, possibly taken from the illuminations which Paulmy found in his manuscript. [686] Harrison's account of England, prefixed to Hollingshed's Chronicles. Chimneys were not used in the farm-houses of Cheshire till within forty years of the publication of King's Vale-royal (1656); the fire was in the midst of the house, against a hob of clay, and the oxen lived under the same roof. Whitaker's Craven, p. 334. [687] The Saracenic architecture was once conceived to have been the parent of the Gothic. But the pointed arch does not occur, I believe, in any Moorish buildings; while the great mosque of Cordova, built in the eighth century, resembles, except by its superior beauty and magnificence, one of our oldest cathedrals; the nave of Gloucester, for example, or Durham. Even the vaulting is similar, and seems to indicate some imitation, though perhaps of a common model. Compare Archæologia, vol. xvii. plate 1 and 2, with Murphy's Arabian Antiquities, plate 5. The pillars indeed at Cordova are of the Corinthian order, perfectly executed, if we may trust the engraving, and the work, I presume, of Christian architects; while those of our Anglo-Norman cathedrals are generally an imitation of the Tuscan shaft, the builders not venturing to trust their roofs to a more slender support, though Corinthian foliage is common in the capitals, especially those of smaller ornamental columns. In fact, the Roman architecture is universally acknowledged to have produced what we call the Saxon or Norman; but it is remarkable that it should have been adopted, with no variation but that of the singular horse-shoe arch, by the Moors of Spain. The Gothic, or pointed arch, though very uncommon in the genuine Saracenic of Spain and the Levant, may be found in some prints from Eastern buildings; and is particularly striking in the façade of the great mosque at Lucknow, in Salt's designs for Lord Valentia's Travels. The pointed arch buildings in the Holy Land have all been traced to the age of the Crusades. Some arches, if they deserve the name, that have been referred to this class, are not pointed by their construction, but rendered such by cutting off and hollowing the projections of horizontal stones. [688] Gibbon has asserted, what might justify this appellation, that "the image of Theodoric's palace at Verona, still extant on a coin, represents the oldest and most authentic model of Gothic architecture." vol. vii. p. 33. For this he refers to Maffei, Verona Illustrata, p. 31, where we find an engraving, not indeed of a coin, but of a seal; the building represented on which is in a totally dissimilar style. The following passages in Cassiodorus, for which I am indebted to M. Ginguené, Hist. Littér. de l'Italie, t. i. p. 55, would be more to the purpose: Quid dicamus columnarum junceam proceritatem? moles illas sublimissimas fabricarum quasi quibusdam erectis hastilibus contineri. These columns of reedy slenderness, so well described by juncea proceritas, are said to be found in the cathedral of Montreal in Sicily, built in the eighth century. Knight's Principles of Taste, p. 162. They are not however sufficient to justify the denomination of Gothic, which is usually confined to the pointed arch style. [689] The famous abbot Suger, minister of Louis VI., rebuilt St. Denis about 1140. The cathedral of Laon is said to have been dedicated in 1114. Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. ix. p. 220. I do not know in what style the latter of these churches is built, but the former is, or rather was, Gothic. Notre Dame at Paris was begun soon after the middle of the twelfth century, and completed under St. Louis. Mélanges tirés d'une grande bibliothèque, t. xxxi. p. 108. In England, the earliest specimen I have seen of pointed arches is in a print of St. Botolphe's Priory at Colchester, said by Strutt to have been built in 1110. View of Manners, vol. i. plate 30. These are apertures formed by excavating the space contained by the intersection of semicircular, or Saxon arches; which are perpetually disposed, by way of ornament, on the outer as well as inner surface of old churches, so as to cut each other, and consequently to produce the figure of a Gothic arch; and if there is no mistake in the date, they are probably among the most ancient of that style in Europe. Those of the church of St. Cross near Winchester are of the reign of Stephen; and generally speaking, the pointed style, especially in vaulting, the most important object in the construction of a building, is not considered as older than Henry II. The nave of Canterbury cathedral, of the erection of which by a French architect about 1176 we have a full account in Gervase (Twysden, Decem Scriptores, col. 1289), and the Temple church, dedicated in 1183, are the most ancient English buildings altogether in the Gothic manner. The subject of ecclesiastical architecture in the middle ages has been so fully discussed by intelligent and observant writers since these pages were first published, that they require some correction. The oriental theory for the origin of the pointed architecture, though not given up, has not generally stood its ground; there seems more reason to believe that it was first adopted in Germany, as Mr. Hope has shown; but at first in single arches, not in the construction of the entire building. The circular and pointed forms, instead of one having at once supplanted the other, were concurrent in the same building, through Germany, Italy, and Switzerland, for some centuries. I will just add to the instances mentioned by Mr. Hope and others, and which every traveller may corroborate, one not very well known, perhaps as early as any,--the crypt of the cathedral at Basle, built under the reign of the emperor Henry II., near the commencement of the eleventh century, where two pointed with three circular arches stand together, evidently from want of space enough to preserve the same breadth with the necessary height. The same circumstance will be found, I think, in the crypt of St. Denis, near Paris, which, however, is not so old. The writings of Hope, Rickman, Whewell, and Willis are prominent among many that have thrown light on this subject. The beauty and magnificence of the pointed style is acknowledged on all sides; perhaps the imitation of it has been too servile, and with too much forgetfulness of some very important changes in our religious aspect rendering that simply ornamental which was once directed to a great object. [1848.] [690] The curious subject of freemasonry has unfortunately been treated only by panegyrists or calumniators, both equally mendacious. I do not wish to pry into the mysteries of the craft; but it would be interesting to know more of their history during the period when they were literally architects. They are charged by an act of parliament, 3 H. VI. c. i., with fixing the price of their labour in their annual chapters, contrary to the statute of labourers, and such chapters are consequently prohibited. This is their first persecution; they have since undergone others, and are perhaps reserved for still more. It is remarkable, that masons were never legally incorporated, like other traders; their bond of union being stronger than any charter. The article Masonry in the Encyclopædia Britannica is worth reading. [691] I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing a lively and eloquent passage from Dr. Whitaker. "Could a curious observer of the present day carry himself nine or ten centuries back, and ranging the summit of Pendle survey the forked vale of Calder on one side, and the bolder margins of Ribble and Hadder on the other, instead of populous towns and villages, the castle, the old tower-built house, the elegant modern mansion, the artificial plantation, the inclosed park and pleasure ground: instead of uninterrupted inclosures which have driven sterility almost to the summit of the fells, how great must then have been the contrast, when ranging either at a distance, or immediately beneath, his eye must have caught vast tracts of forest ground stagnating with bog or darkened by native woods, where the wild ox, the roe, the stag, and the wolf, had scarcely learned the supremacy of man, when, directing his view to the intermediate spaces, to the windings of the valleys, or the expanse of plains beneath, he could only have distinguished a few insulated patches of culture, each encircling a village of wretched cabins, among which would still be remarked one rude mansion of wood, scarcely equal in comfort to a modern cottage, yet then rising proudly eminent above the rest, where the Saxon lord, surrounded by his faithful cotarii, enjoyed a rude and solitary independence, owning no superior but his sovereign." Hist. of Whalley, p. 133. About a fourteenth part of this parish of Whalley was cultivated at the time of Domesday. This proportion, however, would by no means hold in the counties south of Trent. [692] "Of the Anglo-Saxon husbandry we may remark," says Mr. Turner, "that Domesday Survey gives us some indication that the cultivation of the church lands was much superior to that of any other order of society. They have much less wood upon them, and less common of pasture; and what they had appears often in smaller and more irregular pieces; while their meadow was more abundant, and in more numerous distributions." Hist. of Anglo-Saxons, vol. ii. p. 167. It was the glory of St. Benedict's reform, to have substituted bodily labour for the supine indolence of oriental asceticism. In the East it was more difficult to succeed in such an endeavour, though it had been made. "The Benedictins have been," says Guizot, "the great clearers of land in Europe. A colony, a little swarm of monks, settled in places nearly uncultivated, often in the midst of a pagan population, in Germany, for example, or in Britany; there, at once missionaries and labourers, they accomplished their double service through peril and fatigue." Civilis. en France, Leçon 14. The north-eastern parts of France, as far as the Lower Seine, were reduced into cultivation by the disciples of St. Columban, in the sixth and seventh centuries. The proofs of this are in Mabillon's Acta Sanctorum Ord. Bened. See Mém. de l'Acad. des Sciences Morales et Politiques, iii. 708. Guizot has appreciated the rule of St. Benedict with that candid and favourable spirit which he always has brought to the history of the church: anxious, as it seems, not only to escape the imputation of Protestant prejudices by others, but to combat them in his own mind; and aware, also, that the partial misrepresentations of Voltaire had sunk into the minds of many who were listening to his lectures. Compared with the writers of the eighteenth century, who were too much alienated by the faults of the clergy to acknowledge any redeeming virtues, or even with Sismondi, who, coming in a moment of reaction, feared the returning influence of mediæval prejudices, Guizot stands forward as an equitable and indulgent arbitrator. In this spirit he says of the rule of St. Benedict--La pensée morale et la discipline générale en sont sévères; mais dans le détail de la vie elle est humaine et modérée; plus humaine, plus modérée que les lois barbares, que les moeurs générales du temps; et je ne doute pas que les frères, renfermés dans l'intérieur d'un monastère, n'y fussent gouvernés par une autorité, à tout prendre, et plus raisonnable, et d'une manière moins dure qu'ils ne l'eussent été dans la société civile. [693] Thus, in Marca Hispanica, Appendix, p. 770, we have a grant from Lothaire I. in 834, to a person and his brother, of lands which their father, ab eremo in Septimaniâ trahens, had possessed by a charter of Charlemagne. See too p. 773, and other places. Du Cange, v. Eremus, gives also a few instances. [694] Du Cange, v. Aprisio. Baluze, Capitularia, t. i. p. 549. They were permitted to decide petty suits among themselves, but for more important matters were to repair to the county-court. A liberal policy runs through the whole charter. See more on the same subject, id. p. 569. [695] I owe this fact to M. Heeren, Essai sur l'Influence des Croisades, p. 226. An inundation in their own country is supposed to have immediately produced this emigration; but it was probably successive, and connected with political as well as physical causes of greater permanence. The first instrument in which they are mentioned is a grant from the bishop of Hamburgh in 1106. This colony has affected the local usages, as well as the denominations of things and places along the northern coast of Germany. It must be presumed that a large proportion of the emigrants were diverted from agriculture to people the commercial cities which grew up in the twelfth century upon that coast. [696] Ingulfus tells us that the commissioners were pious enough to favour Croyland, returning its possessions inaccurately, both as to measurement and value; non ad verum pretium, nec ad verum spatium nostrum monasterium librabant misericorditer, præcaventes in futurum regis exactionibus. p. 79. I may just observe by the way, that Ingulfus gives the plain meaning of the word Domesday, which has been disputed. The book was so called, he says, pro suâ generalitate omnia tenementa totius terræ integrè continente; that is, it was as general and conclusive as the last judgment will be. [697] This of course is subject to the doubt as to the authenticity of Ingulfus. [698] 1 Gale, XV Script. p. 77. [699] Communi plebiscito viritim inter se diviserunt, et quidam suas portiones agricolantes, quidam ad foenum conservantes, quidam ut prius ad pasturam suorum animalium, separaliter jacere permittentes, terram pinguem et uberem repererunt. p. 94. [700] 1 Gale, XV Script. p. 201. [701] A good deal of information upon the former state of agriculture will be found in Cullum's History of Hawsted. Blomefield's Norfolk is in this respect among the most valuable of our local histories. Sir Frederic Eden, in the first part of his excellent work on the poor, has collected several interesting facts. [702] 1. ii. c. 8. [703] Cullum, p. 100, 220. Eden's State of Poor, &c. p. 48. Whitaker's Craven, p. 45, 336. [704] I infer this from a number of passages in Blomefield, Cullum, and other writers. Hearne says, that an acre was often called Solidata terræ; because the yearly rent of one _on the best land_ was a shilling. Lib. Nig. Scacc. p. 31. [705] Rot. Parl. vol. v. p. 275. [706] A passage in Bishop Latimer's sermons, too often quoted to require repetition, shows that land was much underlet about the end of the fifteenth century. His father, he says, kept half a dozen husbandmen, and milked thirty cows, on a farm of three or four pounds a year. It is not surprising that he lived as plentifully as his son describes. [707] Rymer, t. xii. p. 204. [708] Velly and Villaret scarcely mention this subject; and Le Grand merely tells us that it was entirely neglected; but the details of such an art, even in its state of neglect, might be interesting. [709] Muratori, Dissert. 21. [710] Denina, 1. xi. c. 7. [711] Denina, 1. vi. [712] t. iii. p. 145; t. xxxi. p. 258. [713] De la Mare, Traité de la Police, t. iii. p. 380. [714] Eden's State of Poor, vol. i. p. 51. [715] Sir F. Eden, whose table of prices, though capable of some improvement, is perhaps the best that has appeared, would, I think, have acted better, by omitting all references to mere historians, and relying entirely on regular documents. I do not however include local histories, such as the Annals of Dunstaple, when they record the market-prices of their neighbourhood, in respect of which the book last mentioned is almost in the nature of a register. Dr. Whitaker remarks the inexactness of Stowe, who says that wheat sold in London, A.D. 1514, at 20_s._ a quarter: whereas it appears to have been at 9_s._ in Lancashire, where it was always dearer than in the metropolis. Hist. of Whalley, p. 97. It is an odd mistake, into which Sir F. Eden has fallen, when he asserts and argues on the supposition, that the price of wheat fluctuated in the thirteenth century, from 1_s._ to 6_l._ 8_s._ a quarter, vol. i. p. 18. Certainly, if any chronicler had mentioned such a price as the latter, equivalent to 150_l._ at present, we should either suppose that his text was corrupt, or reject it as an absurd exaggeration. But, in fact, the author has, through haste, mistaken 6_s._ 8_d._ for 6_l._ 8_s._, as will appear by referring to his own table of prices, where it is set down rightly. It is observed by Mr. Macpherson, a very competent judge, that the arithmetical statements of the best historians of the middle ages are seldom correct, owing partly to their neglect of examination, and partly to blunders of transcribers. Annals of Commerce, vol. i, p. 423. [716] The table of comparative values by Sir George Shuckburgh (Philosoph. Transact. for 1798, p. 196) is strangely incompatible with every result to which my own reading has led me. It is the hasty attempt of a man accustomed to different studies; and one can neither pardon the presumption of obtruding such a slovenly performance on a subject where the utmost diligence was required, nor the affectation with which he apologizes for "descending from the dignity of philosophy." [717] M. Guérard, editor of "Paris sous Philippe le Bel," in the Documens Inédits (1841, p. 365), after a comparison of the prices of corn, concludes that the value of silver has declined since that reign, in the ratio of five to one. This is much less than we allow in England. M. Leber (Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscript. Nouvelle Série, xiv. 230) calculates the power of silver under Charlemagne, compared with the present day, to have been as nearly eleven to one. It fell afterwards to eight, and continued to sink during the middle ages; the average of prices during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, taking corn as the standard, was six to one; the comparison is of course only for France. This is an interesting paper, and contains tables worthy of being consulted. [718] Blomefield's History of Norfolk, and Sir J. Cullum's of Hawsted, furnish several pieces even at this early period. Most of them are collected by Sir F. Eden. Fleta reckons 4_s._ the average price of a quarter of wheat in his time. 1. ii. c. 84. This writer has a digression on agriculture, whence however less is to be collected than we should expect. [719] The fluctuations of price have unfortunately been so great of late years, that it is almost as difficult to determine one side of our equation as the other. Any reader, however, has it in his power to correct my proportions, and adopt a greater or less multiple, according to his own estimate of current prices, or the changes that may take place from the time when this is written [1816]. [720] I have sometimes been surprised at the facility with which prices adjusted themselves to the quantity of silver contained in the current coin, in ages which appear too ignorant and too little commercial for the application of this mercantile principle. But the extensive dealings of the Jewish and Lombard usurers, who had many debtors in almost all parts of the country, would of itself introduce a knowledge, that silver, not its stamp, was the measure, of value. I have mentioned in another place (vol. i. p. 211) the heavy discontents excited by this debasement of the coin in France; but the more gradual enhancement of nominal prices in England seems to have prevented any strong manifestations of a similar spirit at the successive reductions in value which the coin experienced from the year 1300. The connexion however between commodities and silver was well understood. Wykes, an annalist of Edward I.'s age, tells us, that the Jews clipped our coin, till it retained hardly half its due weight, the effect of which was a general enhancement of prices, and decline of foreign trade: Mercatores transmarini cum mercimoniis suis regnum Angliæ minus solito frequentabant; necnon quod omnimoda venalium genera incomparabiliter solito fuerunt cariora. 2 Gale, XV Script. p. 107. Another chronicler of the same age complains of bad foreign money, alloyed with copper; nec erat in quatuor aut quinque ex iis pondus unius denarii argentii.... Eratque pessimum sæculum pro tali monetâ, et fiebant commutationes plurimæ in emptione et venditione rerum. Edward, as the historian informs us, bought in this bad money at a rate below its value, in order to make a profit; and fined some persons who interfered with his traffic. W. Hemingford, ad ann. 1299. [721] These will chiefly be found in Sir F. Eden's table of prices; the following may be added from the account-book of a convent between 1415 and 1425. Wheat varied from 4_s._ to 6_s._--barley from 3_s._ 2_d._ to 4_s._ 10_d._--oats from 1_s._ 8_d._ to 2_s._ 4_d._--oxen from 12_s._ to 16_s._--sheep from 1_s._ 2_d._ to 1_s._ 4_d._--butter 3/4_d._ per lb.--eggs twenty-five for 1_d._--cheese 1/2_d._ per lb. Lansdowne MSS., vol. i. No. 28 and 29. These prices do not always agree with those given in other documents of equal authority in the same period; but the value of provisions varied in different counties, and still more so in different seasons of the year. [722] I insert the following comparative table of English money from Sir Frederick Eden. The unit, or present value, refers of course to that of the shilling before the last coinage, which reduced it. ------------------+----------------+------------- | Value of | | pound | | sterling, | | present money. | Proportion. +----------------+------------- | £. s. d. | Conquest, 1066 | 2 18 1-1/2 | 2·906 28 E. I. 1300 | 2 17 5 | 2·871 18 E. III. 1344 | 2 12 5-1/4 | 2·622 20 E. III. 1346 | 2 11 8 | 2·583 27 E. III. 1353 | 2 6 6 | 2·325 13 H. IV. 1412 | 1 18 9 | 1·937 4 E. IV. 1464 | 1 11 0 | 1·55 18 H. VIII. 1527 | 1 7 6-3/4 | 1·378 34 H. VIII. 1543 | 1 3 3-1/4 | 1·163 36 H. VIII. 1545 | 0 13 11-1/2 | 0·698 37 H. VIII. 1546 | 0 9 3-3/4 | 0·466 5 E. VI. 1551 | 0 4 7-3/4 | 0·232 6 E. VI. 1552 | 1 0 6-3/4 | 1·028 1 Mary 1553 | 1 0 5-3/4 | 1·024 2 Eliz. 1560 | 1 0 8 | 1·033 43 Eliz. 1601 | 1 0 0 | 1·000 ------------------+----------------+------------- [723] Macpherson's Annals, p. 424, from Matt. Paris. [724] Difference of Limited and Absolute Monarchy, p. 133. [725] Hist. of Hawsted, p. 141. [726] Nicholls's Illustrations, p. 2. One fact of this class did, I own, stagger me. The great earl of Warwick writes to a private gentleman, Sir Thomas Tudenham, begging the loan of ten or twenty pounds to make up a sum he had to pay. Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 84. What way shall we make this commensurate to the present value of money? But an ingenious friend suggested, what I do not question is the case, that this was one of many letters addressed to the adherents of Warwick, in order to raise by their contributions a considerable sum. It is curious, in this light, as an illustration of manners. [727] Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 224; Cullum's Hawsted, p. 182. [728] Hist. of Hawsted, p. 228. [729] Mr Malthus observes on this that I "have overlooked the distinction between the reigns of Edw. III. and Henry VIII. (perhaps a misprint for VI.), with regard to the state of the labouring classes. The two periods appear to have been essentially different in this respect." Principles of Political Economy, p. 293, 1st edit. He conceives that the earnings of the labourer in corn were unusually low in the latter years of Edward III., which appears to have been effected by the statute of labourers (25 E. III.), immediately after the great pestilence of 1350, though that mortality ought, in the natural course of things, to have considerably raised the real wages of labour. The result of his researches is that, in the reign of Edward III., the labourer could not purchase half a peck of wheat with a day's labour; from that of Richard II. to the middle of that of Henry VI., he could purchase nearly a peck; and from thence to the end of the century, nearly two pecks. At the time when the passage in the text was written [1816], the labourer could rarely have purchased more than a peck with a day's labour, and frequently a good deal less. In some parts of England this is the case at present [1846]; but in many counties the real wages of agricultural labourers are considerably higher than at that time, though not by any means so high as, according to Malthus himself, they were in the latter half of the fifteenth century. The excessive fluctuations in the price of corn, even taking averages of a long term of years, which we find through the middle ages, and indeed much later, account more than any other assignable cause for those in real wages of labour, which do not regulate themselves very promptly by that standard, especially when coercive measures are adopted to restrain them. [730] See these rates more at length in Eden's State of the Poor, vol. i. p. 32, &c. [731] In the Archæologia, vol. xviii. p. 281, we have a bailiffs account of expenses in 1387, where it appears that a ploughman had sixpence a week, and five shillings a year, with an allowance of diet; which seems to have been only pottage. These wages are certainly not more than fifteen shillings a week in present value [1816]; which, though materially above the average rate of agricultural labour, is less so than some of the statutes would lead us to expect. Other facts may be found of a similar nature. [732] See that singular book, Piers Plowman's Vision, p. 145 (Whitaker's edition), for the different modes of living before and after harvest. The passage may be found in Ellis's Specimens, vol. i. p. 151. [733] Fortescue's Difference between Abs. and Lim. Monarchy, p. 19. The passages in Fortescue, which bear on his favourite theme, the liberty and consequent happiness of the English, are very important, and triumphantly refute those superficial writers who would make us believe that they were a set of beggarly slaves. [734] Besides the books to which I have occasionally referred, Mr. Ellis's Specimens of English Poetry, vol. i. chap. 13, contain a short digression, but from well-selected materials, on the private life of the English in the middling and lower ranks about the fifteenth century. [I leave the foregoing pages with little alteration, but they may probably contain expressions which I would not now adopt. 1850.] [735] Besides the German historians, see Du Cange, v. Ganerbium, for the confederacies in the empire, and Hermandatum for those in Castile. These appear to have been merely voluntary associations, and perhaps directed as much towards the prevention of robbery, as of what is strictly called private war. But no man can easily distinguish offensive war from robbery except by its scale; and where this was so considerably reduced, the two modes of injury almost coincide. In Aragon, there was a distinct institution for the maintenance of peace, the kingdom being divided into unions or juntas, with a chief officer, called Suprajunctarius, at their head. Du Cange, v. Juncta. [736] Henault, Abrégé Chronol. à l'an. 1255. The institutions of Louis IX. and his successors relating to police form a part, though rather a smaller part than we should expect from the title, of an immense work, replete with miscellaneous information, by Delamare, Traité de la Police, 4 vols. in folio. A sketch of them may be found in Velly, t. v. p. 349, t. xviii. p. 437. [737] Velly, t. v. p. 162, where this incident is told in an interesting manner from William de Nangis. Boulainvilliers has taken an extraordinary view of the king's behaviour. Hist. de l'Ancien Gouvernement, t. ii. p. 26. In his eyes princes and plebeians were made to be the slaves of a feudal aristocracy. [738] Velly, t. viii. p. 132. [739] Id. xviii. p. 437. [740] Fleury, 3me Discours sur l'Hist. Ecclés. [741] The most authentic account of the Paulicians is found in a little treatise of Petrus Siculus, who lived about 870, under Basil the Macedonian. He had been employed on an embassy to Tephrica, the principal town of these heretics, so that he might easily be well informed; and, though he is sufficiently bigoted, I do not see any reason to question the general truth of his testimony, especially as it tallies so well with what we learn of the predecessors and successors of the Paulicians. They had rejected several of the Manichean doctrines, those, I believe, which were borrowed from the Oriental, Gnostic, and Cabbalistic philosophy of emanation; and therefore readily condemned Manes, prothumôs anathematizousi Manêta. But they retained his capital errors, so far as regarded the principle of dualism, which he had taken from Zerdusht's religion, and the consequences he had derived from it. Petrus Siculus enumerates six Paulician heresies. 1. They maintained the existence of two deities, the one evil, and the creator of this world; the other good, called patêr epouranios, the author of that which is to come. 2. They refused to worship the Virgin, and asserted that Christ brought his body from heaven. 3. They rejected the Lord's Supper. 4. And the adoration of the cross. 5. They denied the authority of the Old Testament, but admitted the New, except the epistles of St. Peter, and, perhaps, the Apocalypse. 6. They did not acknowledge the order of priests. There seems every reason to suppose that the Paulicians, notwithstanding their mistakes, were endowed with sincere and zealous piety, and studious of the Scriptures. A Paulician woman asked a young man if he had read the Gospels: he replied that laymen were not permitted to do so, but only the clergy: ouk exestin hêmin tois kosmikois ousi tauta anaginôskein, ei mê tois hiereusi monois. p. 57. A curious proof that the Scriptures were already forbidden in the Greek church, which I am inclined to believe, notwithstanding the leniency with which Protestant writers have treated it, was always more corrupt and more intolerant than the Latin. [742] Gibbon, c. 54. This chapter of the historian of the Decline and Fall upon the Paulicians appears to be accurate, as well as luminous, and is at least far superior to any modern work on the subject. [743] It is generally agreed, that the Manicheans from Bulgaria did not penetrate into the west of Europe before the year 1000; and they seem to have been in small numbers till about 1140. We find them, however, early in the eleventh century. Under the reign of Robert in 1007 several heretics were burned at Orleans for tenets which are represented as Manichean. Velly, t. ii. p. 307. These are said to have been imported from Italy; and the heresy began to strike root in that country about the same time. Muratori, Dissert. 60 (Antichità Italiane, t. iii. p. 304). The Italian Manicheans were generally called Paterini, the meaning of which word has never been explained. We find few traces of them in France at this time; but about the beginning of the twelfth century, Guibert, bishop of Soissons, describes the heretics of that city, who denied the reality of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, and rejected the sacraments. Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. x. p. 451. Before the middle of that age, the Cathari, Henricians, Petrobussians, and others appear, and the new opinions attracted universal notice. Some of these sectaries, however, were not Manicheans. Mosheim, vol. iii. p. 116. The acts of the inquisition of Toulouse, published by Limborch, from an ancient manuscript, contain many additional proofs that the Albigenses held the Manichean doctrine. Limborch himself will guide the reader to the principal passages, p. 30. In fact, the proof of Manicheism among the heretics of the twelfth century is so strong (for I have confined myself to those of Languedoc, and could easily have brought other testimony as to the Cathari), that I should never have thought of arguing the point, but for the confidence of some modern ecclesiastical writers.--What can we think of one who says, "It was not unusual to stigmatize new sects with the odious name of Manichees, though I _know no evidence_ that there were any real remains of that ancient sect in the twelfth century"? Milner's History of the Church, vol. iii. p. 380. Though this writer was by no means learned enough for the task he undertook, he could not be ignorant of facts related by Mosheim and other common historians. I will only add, in order to obviate cavilling, that I use the word Albigenses for the Manichean sects, without pretending to assert that their doctrines prevailed more in the neighbourhood of Albi than elsewhere. The main position is, that a large part of the Languedocian heretics against whom the crusade was directed had imbibed the Paulician opinions. If any one chooses rather to call them Catharists, it will not be material. [744] M. Paris, p. 267. (A.D. 1223.) Circa dies istos, hæretici Albigenses constituerunt sibi Antipapam in finibus Bulgarorum, Croatiæ et Dalmatiæ, nomine Bartholomæum, &c. We are assured by good authorities that Bosnia was full of Manicheans and Arians as late as the middle of the fifteenth century. Æneas Sylvius, p. 407; Spondanus, ad an. 1460; Mosheim. [745] There has been so prevalent a disposition among English divines to vindicate not only the morals and sincerity, but the orthodoxy of these Albigenses, that I deem it necessary to confirm what I have said in the text by some authorities, especially as few readers have it in their power to examine this very obscure subject. Petrus Monachus, a Cistercian monk, who wrote a history of the crusades against the Albigenses, gives an account of the tenets maintained by the different heretical sects. Many of them asserted two principles or creative beings: a good one for things invisible, an evil one for things visible; the former author of the New Testament, the latter of the Old. Novum Testamentum benigno deo, vetus vero maligno attribuebant; et illud omninò repudiabant, præter quasdam auctoritates, quæ de Veteri Testamento Novo sunt insertæ, quas ob Novi reverentiam Testamenti recipere dignum æstimabant. A vast number of strange errors are imputed to them, most of which are not mentioned by Alanus, a more dispassionate writer. Du Chesne, Scriptores Francorum, t. v. p. 556. This Alanus de Insulis, whose treatise against heretics, written about 1200, was published by Masson at Lyons, in 1612, has left, I think, conclusive evidence of the Manicheism of the Albigenses. He states their argument upon every disputed point as fairly as possible, though his refutation is of course more at length. It appears that great discrepancies of opinion existed among these heretics, but the general tenor of their doctrines is evidently Manichean. Aiunt hæretici temporis nostri quod duo sunt principia rerum, principium lucis et principium tenebrarum, &c. This opinion, strange as we may think it, was supported by Scriptural texts; so insufficient is a mere acquaintance with the sacred writings to secure unlearned and prejudiced minds from the wildest perversions of their meaning! Some denied the reality of Christ's body; others his being the Son of God; many the resurrection of the body; some even of a future state. They asserted in general the Mosaic law to have proceeded from the devil, proving this by the crimes committed during its dispensation, and by the words of St. Paul, "the law entered that sin might abound." They rejected infant baptism, but were divided as to the reason; some saying that infants could not sin, and did not need baptism; others, that they could not be saved without faith, and consequently that it was useless. They held sin after baptism to be irremissible. It does not appear that they rejected either of the sacraments. They laid great stress upon the imposition of hands, which seems to have been their distinctive rite. One circumstance, which both Alanus and Robertus Monachus mention, and which other authorities confirm, is their division into two classes; the Perfect, and the Credentes, or Consolati, both of which appellations are used. The former abstained from animal food, and from marriage, and led in every respect an austere life. The latter were a kind of lay brethren, living in a secular manner. This distinction is thoroughly Manichean, and leaves no doubt as to the origin of the Albigenses. See Beausobre, Hist. du Manichéisme, t. ii. p. 762 and 777. This candid writer represents the early Manicheans as a harmless and austere set of enthusiasts, exactly what the Paulicians and Albigenses appear to have been in succeeding ages. As many calumnies were vented against one as the other. The long battle as to the Manicheism of the Albigensian sectaries has been renewed since the publication of this work, by Dr. Maitland on one side, and Mr. Faber and Dr. Gilly on the other; and it is not likely to reach a termination; being conducted by one party with far less regard to the weight of evidence than to the bearing it may have on the theological hypotheses of the writers. I have seen no reason for altering what is said in the text. The chief strength of the argument seems to me to lie in the independent testimonies as to the Manicheism of the Paulicians, in Petrus Siculus and Photius, on the one hand, and as to that of the Languedocian heretics in the Latin writers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries on the other; the connexion of the two sects through Bulgaria being established by history, but the latter class of writers being unacquainted with the former. It is certain that the probability of general truth in these concurrent testimonies is greatly enhanced by their independence. And it will be found that those who deny any tinge of Manicheism in the Albigenses, are equally confident as to the orthodoxy of the Paulicians. [1848.] [746] The contemporary writers seem uniformly to represent Waldo as the founder of the Waldenses; and I am not aware that they refer the locality of that sect to the valleys of Piedmont, between Exiles and Pignerol (see Leger's map), which have so long been distinguished as the native country of the Vaudois. In the acts of the Inquisition, we find Waldenses, sive pauperes de Lugduno, used as equivalent terms; and it can hardly be doubted that the poor men of Lyons were the disciples of Waldo. Alanus, the second book of whose treatise against heretics is an attack upon the Waldenses, expressly derives them from Waldo. Petrus Monachus does the same. These seem strong authorities, as it is not easy to perceive what advantage they could derive from misrepresentation. It has been however a position zealously maintained by some modern writers of respectable name, that the people of the valleys had preserved a pure faith for several ages before the appearance of Waldo. I have read what is advanced on this head by Leger (Histoire des Eglises Vaudoises) and by Allix (Remarks on the Ecclesiastical History of the Churches of Piedmont), but without finding any sufficient proof for this supposition, which nevertheless is not to be rejected as absolutely improbable. Their best argument is deduced from an ancient poem called La Noble Loiçon, an original manuscript of which is in the public library of Cambridge, and another in that of Geneva. This poem is alleged to bear date in 1100, more than half a century before the appearance of Waldo. But the lines that contain the date are loosely expressed, and may very well suit with any epoch before the termination of the twelfth century. Ben ha mil et cent ans compli entierament, Che fu scritta loro que sen al derier temp. Eleven hundred years are now gone and past, Since thus it was written; These times are the last. See Literature of Europe in 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries, chap. 1, § 33. I have found however a passage in a late work, which remarkably illustrates the antiquity of Alpine protestantism, if we may depend on the date it assigns to the quotation. Mr. Planta's History of Switzerland, p. 93, 4to. edit., contains the following note:--"A curious passage, singularly descriptive of the character of the Swiss, has lately been discovered in a MS. chronicle of the Abbey of Corvey, which appears to have been written about the beginning of the twelfth century. Religionem nostram, et omnium Latinæ ecclesiæ Christianorum fidem, laici ex Suaviâ, Suiciâ, et Bavariâ humiliare voluerunt; homines seducti ab antiquâ progenie simplicium hominum, qui Alpes et viciniam habitant, et semper amant antiqua. In Suaviam, Bavariam et Italiam borealem sæpe intrant illorum (ex Suiciâ) mercatores, qui biblia ediscunt memoriter, et ritus ecclesiæ aversantur, quos credunt esse novos. Nolunt imagines venerari, reliquias sanctorum aversantur, olera comedunt, rarò masticantes carnem, alii nunquam. Appellamus eos idcircò Manichæos. Horum quidam ab Hungariâ ad eos convenerunt, &c." It is a pity that the quotation has been broken off, as it might have illustrated the connexion of the Bulgarians with these sectaries. [747] The Waldenses were always considered as much less erroneous in their tenets than the Albigenses, or Manicheans. Erant præterea alii hæretici, says Robert Monachus in the passage above quoted, qui Waldenses dicebantur, a quodam Waldio nomine Lugdunensi. Hi quidem mali erant, sed comparatione aliorum hæreticorum longè minus perversi; in multis enim nobiscum conveniebant, in quibusdam dissentiebant. The only faults he seems to impute to them are the denial of the lawfulness of oaths and capital punishment, and the wearing wooden shoes. By this peculiarity of wooden sandals (sabots) they got the name of Sabbatati or Insabbatati. (Du Cange.) William du Puy, another historian of the same time, makes a similar distinction. Erant quidam Ariani, quidam Manichæi, quidam etiam Waldenses sive Lugdunenses, qui licet inter se dissidentes, omnes tamen in animarum perniciem contra fidem Catholicam conspirabant; et illi quidem Waldenses contra alios acutissimè disputant. Du Chesne, t. v. p. 666. Alanus, in his second book, where he treats of the Waldenses, charges them principally with disregarding the authority of the church and preaching without a regular mission. It is evident however from the acts of the Inquisition, that they denied the existence of purgatory; and I should suppose that, even at that time, they had thrown off most of the popish system of doctrine, which is so nearly connected with clerical wealth and power. The difference made in these records between the Waldenses and the Manichean sects shows that the imputations cast upon the latter were not indiscriminate calumnies. See Limborch, p. 201 and 228. The History of Languedoc, by Vaissette and Vich, contains a very good account of the sectaries in that country; but I have not immediate access to the book. I believe that proof will be found of the distinction between the Waldenses and Albigenses in t. iii. p. 446. But I am satisfied that no one who has looked at the original authorities will dispute the proposition. These Benedictine historians represent the Henricians, an early set of reformers, condemned by the council of Lombez, in 1165, as Manichees. Mosheim considers them as of the Vaudois school. They appeared some time before Waldo. [748] The general testimony of their enemies to the purity of morals among the Languedocian and Lyonese sectaries is abundantly sufficient. One Regnier, who had lived among them, and became afterwards an inquisitor, does them justice in this respect. See Turner's History of England for several other proofs of this. It must be confessed that the Catharists are not free from the imputation of promiscuous licentiousness. But whether this was a mere calumny, or partly founded upon truth, I cannot determine. Their prototypes, the ancient Gnostics, are said to have been divided into two parties, the austere and the relaxed; both condemning marriage for opposite reasons. Alanus, in the book above quoted, seems to have taken up several vulgar prejudices against the Cathari. He gives an etymology of their name à catto; quia osculantur posteriora catti; in cujus specie, ut aiunt, appareret iis Lucifer, p. 146. This notable charge was brought afterwards against the Templars. As to the Waldenses, their innocence is out of all doubt. No book can be written in a more edifying manner than La Noble Loiçon, of which large extracts are given by Leger, in his Histoire des Eglises Vaudoises. Four lines are quoted by Voltaire (Hist. Universelle, c. 69), as a specimen of the Provençal language, though they belong rather to the patois of the valleys. But as he has not copied them rightly, and as they illustrate the subject of this note, I shall repeat them here from Leger, p. 28. Que sel se troba alcun bon que vollia amar Dio e temer Jeshu Xrist, Que non vollia maudire, ni jura, ni mentir, Ni avoutrar, ni aucire, ni penre de l'autruy, Ni venjar se de li sio ennemie, Illi dison quel es Vaudes e degne de murir. [749] It would be difficult to specify all the dispersed authorities which attest the existence of the sects derived from the Waldenses and Paulicians in the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries. Besides Mosheim, who has paid considerable attention to the subject, I would mention some articles in Du Cange which supply gleanings; namely, Beghardi, Bulgari, Lollardi, Paterini, Picardi, Pifli, Populicani. Upon the subject of the Waldenses and Albigenses generally, I have borrowed some light from Mr. Turner's History of England, vol. ii. p. 377, 393. This learned writer has seen some books that have not fallen into my way; and I am indebted to him for a knowledge of Alanus's treatise, which I have since read. At the same time I must observe, that Mr. Turner has not perceived the essential distinction between the two leading sects. The name of Albigenses does not frequently occur after the middle of the thirteenth century; but the Waldenses, or sects bearing that denomination, were dispersed over Europe. As a term of different reproach was derived from the word Bulgarian, so _vauderie_, or the profession of the Vaudois, was sometimes applied to witchcraft. Thus in the proceedings of the Chambre Brulante at Arras, in 1459, against persons accused of sorcery, their crime is denominated _vauderie_. The fullest account of this remarkable story is found in the Memoirs of Du Clercq, first published in the general collection of Historical Memoirs, t. ix. p. 430, 471. It exhibits a complete parallel to the events that happened in 1682 at Salem in New England. A few obscure persons were accused of _vauderie_, or witchcraft. After their condemnation, which was founded on confessions obtained by torture, and afterwards retracted, an epidemical contagion of superstitious dread was diffused all around. Numbers were arrested, burned alive by order of a tribunal instituted for the detection of this offence, or detained in prison; so that no person in Arras thought himself safe. It was believed that many were accused for the sake of their possessions, which were confiscated to the use of the church. At length the duke of Burgundy interfered, and put a stop to the persecutions. The whole narrative in Du Clercq is interesting, as a curious document of the tyranny of bigots, and of the facility with which it is turned to private ends. To return to the Waldenses: the principal course of their emigration is said to have been into Bohemia, where, in the fifteenth century, the name was borne by one of the seceding sects. By their profession of faith, presented to Ladislaus Posthumus, it appears that they acknowledged the corporal presence in the eucharist, but rejected purgatory and other Romish doctrines. See it in the Fasciculus Rerum expetendarum et fugiendarum, a collection of treatises illustrating the origin of the Reformation, originally published at Cologne in 1535, and reprinted at London in 1690. [750] Opera Innocent III. p. 468, 537. A translation of the Bible had been made by direction of Peter Waldo; but whether this used in Lorrain was the same, does not appear. Metz was full of the Vaudois, as we find by other authorities. [751] Schilteri Thesaurus Antiq. Teutonicorum. [752] Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscript. t. xvii. p. 720. [753] The Anglo-Saxon versions are deserving of particular remark. It has been said that our church maintained the privilege of having part of the daily service in the mother tongue. "Even the mass itself," says Lappenberg, "was not read entirely in Latin." Hist. of England, vol. i. p. 202. This, however, is denied by Lingard, whose authority is probably superior. Hist. of Ang.-Sax. Church, i. 307. But he allows that the Epistle and Gospel were read in English, which implies an authorized translation. And we may adopt in a great measure Lappenberg's proposition, which follows the above passage: "The numerous versions and paraphrases of the Old and New Testament made those books known to the laity and more familiar to the clergy." We have seen a little above, that the laity were not permitted by the Greek Church of the ninth century, and probably before, to read the Scriptures, even in the original. This shows how much more honest and pious the Western Church was before she became corrupted by ambition and by the captivating hope of keeping the laity in servitude by means of ignorance. The translation of the four Books of Kings into French has been published in the Collection de Documens Inédits, 1841. It is in a northern dialect, but the age seems not satisfactorily ascertained; the close of the eleventh century is the earliest date that can be assigned. Translations into the Provençal by the Waldensian or other heretics were made in the twelfth; several manuscripts of them are in existence, and one has been published by Dr. Gilly. [1848.] [754] The application of the visions of the Apocalypse to the corruptions of Rome has commonly been said to have been first made by the Franciscan seceders. But it may be traced higher, and is remarkably pointed out by Dante. Di voi pastor s' accorse 'l Vangelista, Quando colei, chi siede sovra l'acque, Puttaneggiar co' regi a lui fu vista. Inferno, cant. xix. [755] Walsingham, p. 238; Lewis's Life of Pecock, p. 65. Bishop Pecock's answer to the Lollards of his time contains passages well worthy of Hooker, both for weight of matter and dignity of style, setting forth the necessity and importance of "the moral law of kinde, or moral philosophie," in opposition to those who derive all morality from revelation. This great man fell afterwards under the displeasure of the church for propositions, not indeed heretical, but repugnant to her scheme of spiritual power. He asserted, indirectly, the right of private judgment, and wrote on theological subjects in English, which gave much offence. In fact, Pecock seems to have hoped that his acute reasoning would convince the people, without requiring an implicit faith. But he greatly misunderstood the principle of an infallible church. Lewis's Life of Pecock does justice to his character, which, I need not say, is unfairly represented by such historians as Collier, and such antiquaries as Thomas Hearne. [756] Lewis's Life of Wicliffe, p. 115; Lenfant, Hist. du Concile de Constance, t. i. p. 213. [757] Huss does not appear to have rejected any of the peculiar tenets of popery. Lenfant, p. 414. He embraced, like Wicliffe, the predestinarian system of Augustin, without pausing at any of those inferences, apparently deducible from it, which, in the heads of enthusiasts, may produce such extensive mischief. These were maintained by Huss (id. p. 328), though not perhaps so crudely as by Luther. Everything relative to the history and doctrine of Huss and his followers will be found in Lenfant's three works on the councils of Pisa, Constance, and Basle. [758] Lenfant, Hist. de la Guerre des Hussites et du Concile de Basle; Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. v. [759] Nihil neque publicæ neque privatæ rei nisi armati agunt. Sed arma sumere non ante cuiquam moris, quàm civitas suffecturum probaverit. Tum in ipso concilio, vel principum aliquis, vel pater, vel propinquus, scuto frameâque juvenem ornant; hæc apud eos toga, hic primus juventæ honos; ante hoc domûs pars videntur, mox reipublicæ. De Moribus German. c. 13. [760] William of Malmsbury says that Alfred conferred knighthood on Athelstan, donatum chlamyde coccineâ, gemmato balteo, ense Saxonico cum vaginâ aureâ. 1. ii. c. 6. St. Palaye (Mémoires sur la Chevalerie, p. 2) mentions other instances; which may also be found in Du Cange's Glossary, v. Arma, and in his 22nd dissertation on Joinville. [761] Comites et vassalli nostri qui beneficia habere noscuntur, et _caballarii_ omnes ad placitum nostrum veniant bene preparati. Capitularia, A.D. 807, in Baluze, t. i. p. 460. [762] We must take for this the more favourable representations of the Indian nations. A deteriorating intercourse with Europeans, or a race of European extraction, has tended to efface those virtues which possibly were rather exaggerated by earlier writers. [763] Since this passage was written, I have found a parallel drawn by Mr. Sharon Turner, in his valuable History of England, between Achilles and Richard Coeur de Lion; the superior justness of which I readily acknowledge. The real hero does not indeed excite so much interest in me as the poetical; but the marks of resemblance are very striking, whether we consider their passions, their talents, their virtues, their vices, or the waste of their heroism. The two principal persons in the Iliad, if I may digress into the observation, appear to me representatives of the heroic character in its two leading varieties; of the energy which has its sole principle, of action within itself, and of that which borrows its impulse from external relations; of the spirit of honour, in short, and of patriotism. As every sentiment of Achilles is independent and self-supported, so those of Hector all bear reference to his kindred and his country. The ardour of the one might have been extinguished for want of nourishment in Thessaly; but that of the other might, we fancy, have never been kindled but for the dangers of Troy. Peace could have brought no delight to the one but from the memory of war; war had no alleviation to the other but from the images of peace. Compare, for example, the two speeches, beginning Il. Z. 441, and Il. II. 49; or rather compare the two characters throughout the Iliad. So wonderfully were those two great springs of human sympathy, variously interesting according to the diversity of our tempers, first touched by that ancient patriarch, à quo, ceu fonte perenni, Vatum Pieriis ora rigantur aquis. [764] Ingulfus, in Gale, XV Scriptores, t. i. p. 70. William Rufus, however, was knighted by Archbishop Lanfranc, which looks as if the ceremony was not absolutely repugnant to the Norman practice. [765] Du Cange, v. Miles, and 22nd Dissertation on Joinville, St. Palaye, Mém. sur la Chevalerie, part ii. A curious original illustration of this, as well as of other chivalrous principles, will be found in l'Ordene de Chevalerie, a long metrical romance published in Barbazan's Fabliaux, t. i. p. 59 (edit. 1808). [766] Y eut huit cens chevaliers séant à table; et si n'y eust celui qui n'eust une dame on une pucelle à son ecuelle. In Launcelot du Lac, a lady, who was troubled with a jealous husband, complains that it was a long time since a knight had eaten off her plate. Le Grand, t. i. p. 24. [767] Le Grand, Fabliaux, t. iii. p. 438; St. Palaye, t. i. p. 41. I quote St. Palaye's Mémoires from the first edition in 1759, which is not the best. [768] Statuimus, quod omnis homo, sive miles sive alius, qui iverit cum dominâ generosâ, salvus sit atque securus, nisi fuerit homicida. De Marca, Marca Hispanica, p. 1428. [769] Le Grand, t. i. p. 120; St. Palaye, t. i. p. 13, 134, 221; Fabliaux, Romances, &c., passim. [770] St. Palaye, p. 222. [771] Froissart, p. 33. [772] St. Palaye, p. 268. [773] The romances will speak for themselves; and the character of the Provençal morality may be collected from Millot, Hist. des Troubadours, passim; and from Sismondi, Littérature du Midi, t. i. p. 179, &c. See too St. Palaye, t. ii. p. 62 and 68. [774] St. Palaye, part ii. [775] Non laudem meruit, sed summæ potius opprobrium vilitatis; nam idem facinus est putandum captum nobilem vel ignobilem offendere, vel ferire, quàm gladio cædere cadaver. Rolandinus, in Script Rer. Ital. t. viii. p. 351. [776] Froissart, 1. i. c. 161. He remarks in another place that all English and French gentlemen treat their prisoners well; not so the Germans, who put them in fetters, in order to extort more money, c. 136. [777] St Palaye, part iv. p. 312, 367, &c. Le Grand, Fabliaux, t. i. p. 115, 167. It was the custom in Great Britain, (says the romance of Perceforest, speaking of course in an imaginary history,) that noblemen and ladies placed a helmet on the highest point of their castles, as a sign that all persons of such rank travelling that road might boldly enter their houses like their own. St. Palaye, p. 367. [778] Fabliaux de Barbasan, t. i. [779] Joinville in Collection des Mémoires, t. i. p. 43. [780] St. Palaye, part i. [781] Du Cange, 5me Dissertation sur Joinville. St. Palaye, t. i. p. 87, 118. Le Grand, t. i. p. 14. [782] St. Palaye, t. i. p. 191. [783] Godfrey de Preuilly, a French knight, is said by several contemporary writers to have invented tournaments; which must of course be understood in a limited sense. The Germans ascribe them to Henry the Fowler; but this, according to Du Cange, is on no authority. 6me Dissertation sur Joinville. [784] St. Palaye, part ii. and part iii. au commencement. Du Cange, Dissert. 6 and 7: and Glossary, v. Torneamentum. Le Grand, Fabliaux, t. i. p. 184. [785] St. Palaye, part iv. Selden's Titles of Honour, p. 806. There was not, however, so much distinction in England as in France. [786] St. Palaye, vol. i. p. 70, has forgotten to make this distinction. It is, however, capable of abundant proof. Gunther, in his poem called Ligurinus, observes of the Milanese republic: Quoslibet ex humili vulgo, quod Gallia foedum Judicat, accingi gladio concedit equestri. Otho of Frisingen expresses the same in prose. It is said, in the Establishments of St. Louis, that if any one not being a gentleman on the father's side was knighted, the king or baron in whose territory he resides, may hack off his spurs on a dunghill, c. 130. The count de Nevers, having knighted a person who was not noble exparte paternâ, was fined in the king's court. The king, however, (Philip III.) confirmed the knighthood. Daniel, Hist. de la Milice Françoise, p. 98. Fuit propositum (says a passage quoted by Daniel) contra comitem Flandriensem, quod non poterat, nec debebat facere de villano militem, sine auctoritate regis. ibid. Statuimus, says James I. of Aragon, in 1234, ut nullus faciat militem nisi filium militis. Marca Hispanica, p. 1428. Selden, Titles of Honour, p. 592, produces other evidence to the same effect. And the emperor Sigismund having conferred knighthood, during his stay in Paris in 1415, on a person incompetent to receive it for want of nobility, the French were indignant at his conduct, as an assumption of sovereignty. Villaret, t. xiii. p. 397. We are told, however, by Giannone, 1. xx. c. 3, that nobility was not in fact required for receiving chivalry at Naples, though it was in France. The privilege of every knight to associate qualified persons to the order at his pleasure, lasted very long in France; certainly down to the English wars of Charles VII. (Monstrelet, part ii. folio 50), and, if I am not mistaken, down to the time of Francis I. But in England, where the spirit of independence did not prevail so much among the nobility, it soon ceased. Selden mentions one remarkable instance in a writ of the 29th year of Henry III. summoning tenants in capite to come and receive knighthood from the king, ad recipiendum a nobis arma militaria; and tenants of mesne lords to be knighted by whomsoever they pleased, ad recipiendum arma de quibuscunque voluerint. Titles of Honour, p. 792. But soon after this time, it became an established principle of our law that no subject can confer knighthood except by the king's authority. Thus Edward III. grants to a burgess of _Lyndia_ in Guienne (I know not what place this is) the privilege of receiving that rank at the hands of any knight, his want of noble birth notwithstanding. Rymer, t. v. p. 623. It seems, however, that a different law obtained in some places. Twenty-three of the chief inhabitants of Beaucaire, partly knights, partly burgesses, certified in 1298, that the immemorial usage of Beaucaire and of Provence had been, for burgesses to receive knighthood at the hands of noblemen, without the prince's permission. Vaissette, Hist. de Languedoc, t. iii. p. 530. Burgesses, in the great commercial towns, were considered as of a superior class to the roturiers, and possessed a kind of demi-nobility. Charles V. appears to have conceded a similar indulgence to the citizens of Paris. Villaret, t. x. p. 248. [787] St. Palaye, part iii. passim. [788] The word bachelor has been sometimes derived from bas chevalier; in opposition to banneret. But this cannot be right. We do not find any authority for the expression bas chevalier, nor any equivalent in Latin, baccalaureus certainly not suggesting that sense; and it is strange that the corruption should obliterate every trace of the original term. Bachelor is a very old word, and is used in early French poetry for a young man, as bachelette is for a girl. So also in Chaucer: "A yonge Squire, A lover, and a lusty _bachelor_." [789] Du Cange, Dissertation 9me sur Joinville. The number of men at arms, whom a banneret ought to command, was properly fifty. But Olivier de la Marche speaks of twenty-five as sufficient; and it appears that, in fact, knights-banneret often did not bring so many. [790] Ibid. Olivier de la Marche (Collection des Mémoires, t. viii. p. 337) gives a particular example of this; and makes a distinction between the bachelor, created a banneret on account of his estate, and the hereditary banneret, who took a public opportunity of requesting the sovereign to unfold his family banner which he had before borne wound round his lance. The first was said relever banniere; the second, entrer en banniere. This difference is more fully explained by Daniel, Hist. de la Milice Françoise, p. 116. Chandos's banner was unfolded, not cut, at Navarette. We read sometimes of esquire-bannerets, that is, of bannerets by descent, not yet knighted. [791] Froissart, part i. c. 241. [792] Mém. sur la Chevalerie, part v. [793] The prerogative exercised by the kings of England of compelling men sufficiently qualified in point of estate to take on them the honour of knighthood was inconsistent with the true spirit of chivalry. This began, according to Lord Lyttelton, under Henry III. Hist. of Henry II. vol. ii. p. 238. Independently of this, several causes tended to render England less under the influence of chivalrous principles than France or Germany; such as, her comparatively peaceful state, the smaller share she took in the crusades, her inferiority in romances of knight-errantry, but above all, the democratical character of her laws and government. Still this is only to be understood relatively to the two other countries above named; for chivalry was always in high repute among us, nor did any nation produce more admirable specimens of its excellences. I am not minutely acquainted with the state of chivalry in Spain, where it seems to have flourished considerably. Italy, except in Naples, and perhaps Piedmont, displayed little of its spirit; which neither suited the free republics of the twelfth and thirteenth, nor the jealous tyrannies of the following centuries. Yet even here we find enough to furnish Muratori with materials for his 53rd Dissertation. [794] The well-known Memoirs of St. Palaye are the best repository of interesting and illustrative facts respecting chivalry. Possibly he may have relied a little too much on romances, whose pictures will naturally be overcharged. Froissart himself has somewhat of this partial tendency, and the manners of chivalrous times do not make so fair an appearance in Monstrelet. In the Memoirs of la Tremouille (Collect. des Mém. t. xiv. p. 169), we have perhaps the earliest delineation from the life of those severe and stately virtues in high-born ladies, of which our own country furnished so many examples in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and which were derived from the influence of chivalrous principles. And those of Bayard in the same collection (t. xiv. and xv.) are a beautiful exhibition of the best effects of that discipline. It appears to me that M. Guizot, to whose judgment I owe all deference, has dwelt rather too much on the feudal character of chivalry. Hist. de la Civilisation en France, Leçon 36. Hence he treats the institution as in its decline during the fourteenth century, when, if we can trust either Froissart or the romancers, it was at its height. Certainly, if mere knighthood was of right both in England and the north of France, a territorial dignity, which bore with it no actual presumption of merit, it was sometimes also conferred on a more honourable principle. It was not every knight who possessed a fief, nor in practice did every possessor of a fief receive knighthood. Guizot justly remarks, as Sismondi has done, the disparity between the lives of most knights and the theory of chivalrous rectitude. But the same has been seen in religion, and can be no reproach to either principle. Partout la pensée morale des hommes s'élève et aspire fort au dessus de leur vie. Et gardez vous de croire que parce qu'elle ne gouvernait pas immédiatement les actions, parceque la pratique démontait sans cesse et étrangement la théorie, l'influence de la théorie fut nulle et sans valeur. C'est beaucoup que le jugement des hommes sur les actions humaines; tot ou tard il devient efficace. It may be thought by many severe judges, that I have over-valued the efficacy of chivalrous sentiments in elevating the moral character of the middle ages. But I do not see ground for withdrawing or modifying any sentence. The comparison is never to be made with an ideal standard, or even with one which a purer religion and a more liberal organization of society may have rendered effectual, but with the condition of a country where neither the sentiments of honour nor those of right prevail. And it seems to me that I have not veiled the deficiencies and the vices of chivalry any more than its beneficial tendencies. A very fascinating picture of chivalrous manners has been drawn by a writer of considerable reading, and still more considerable ability, Mr. Kenelm Digby, in his Broad Stone of Honour. The bravery, the courteousness, the munificence, above all, the deeply religious character of knighthood and its reverence for the church, naturally took hold of a heart so susceptible of these emotions, and a fancy so quick to embody them. St. Palaye himself is a less enthusiastic eulogist of chivalry, because he has seen it more on the side of mere romance, and been less penetrated with the conviction of its moral excellence. But the progress of still deeper impression seems to have moderated the ardour of Mr. Digby's admiration for the historical character of knighthood; he has discovered enough of human alloy to render unqualified praise hardly fitting, in his judgment, for a Christian writer; and in the Mores Catholici, the second work of this amiable and gifted man, the colours in which chivalry appears are by no means so brilliant [1848.] [795] Four very recent publications (not to mention that of Buhle on modern philosophy) enter much at large into the middle literature; those of M. Ginguené and M. Sismondi, the history of England by Mr. Sharon Turner, and the Literary History of the Middle Ages by Mr. Berington. All of these contain more or less useful information and judicious remarks; but that of Ginguené is among the most learned and important works of this century. I have no hesitation to prefer it, as far as its subjects extend, to Tiraboschi. [A subsequent work of my own, Introduction to the History of Literature in the 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries, contains, in the first and second chapters, some additional illustrations of the antecedent period, to which the reader may be referred, as complementary to these pages. 1848.] [796] Heineccius, Hist. Juris German. c. 1. p. 15. [797] Giannone, 1. iv. c. 6. Selden, ad Fletam, p. 1071. [798] Tiraboschi, t. iii. p. 359. Ginguené, Hist. Litt. de l'Italie, t. i. p. 155. [799] Irnerius is sometimes called Guarnerius, sometimes Warnerius: the German W is changed into Gu by the Italians, and occasionally omitted, especially in latinizing, for the sake of euphony or purity. [800] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 38; t. v. p. 55. [801] Tiraboschi, t. v. Vaissette, Hist. de Languedoc, t. ii. p. 517; t. iii. p. 527; t. iv. p. 504. [802] Duck, de Usu Juris Civilis, 1. ii. c. 6. [803] Idem, 1. ii. 2. [804] Duck, 1. ii. c. 5, s. 30, 31. Fleury, Hist. du Droit François, p. 74 (prefixed to Argou, Institutions au Droit François, edit. 1787), says that it was a great question among lawyers, and still undecided (i.e. in 1674), whether the Roman law was the common law in the pays coutumiers, as to those points wherein their local customs were silent. And, if I understand Denisart, (Dictionnaire des Décisions, art. Droit-écrit,) the affirmative prevailed. It is plain at least by the Causes Célèbres, that appeal was continually made to the principles of the civil law in the argument of Parisian advocates. [805] Crevier, Hist. de l'Université de Paris, t. i. p. 316; t. ii. p. 275. [806] Johan. Salisburiensis, apud Selden ad Fletam, p. 1082. [807] Selden, ubi supra, p. 1095-1104. This passage is worthy of attention. Yet, notwithstanding Selden's authority, I am not satisfied that he has not extenuated the effect of Bracton's predilection for the maxims of Roman jurisprudence. No early lawyer has contributed so much to form our own system as Bracton; and if his definitions and rules are sometimes borrowed from the civilians, as all admit, our common law may have indirectly received greater modification from that influence, than its professors were ready to acknowledge, or even than they knew. A full view of this subject is still, I think, a desideratum in the history of English law, which it would illustrate in a very interesting manner. [808] Duck, De Usu Juris Civilis, 1. i. c. 87. [809] Gravina, Origines Juris Civilis, p. 196. [810] Those who feel some curiosity about the civilians of the middle ages will find a concise and elegant account in Gravina, De Origine Juris Civilis, p. 166-206. (Lips. 1708.) Tiraboschi contains perhaps more information; but his prolixity is very wearisome. Besides this fault, it is evident that Tiraboschi knew very little of law, and had not read the civilians of whom he treats; whereas Gravina discusses their merits not only with legal knowledge, but with an acuteness of criticism which, to say the truth, Tiraboschi never shows except on a date or a name. [The civil lawyers of the mediæval period are not at all forgotten on the continent, as the great work of Savigny, History of Roman Law in the Middle Ages, sufficiently proves. It is certain that the civil law must always be studied in Europe, nor ought the new codes to supersede it, seeing they are in great measure derived from its fountain; though I have heard that it is less regarded in France than formerly. In my earlier editions I depreciated the study of the civil law too much, and with too exclusive an attention to English notions.] [811] Ante ipsum dominum Carolum regem in Galliâ nullum fuit studium liberalium artium. Monachus Engolismensis, apud Launoy, De Scholis per occidentem instauratis, p. 5. See too Histoire Littéraire de la France, t. iv. p. 1. "Studia liberalium artium" in this passage, must be understood to exclude literature, commonly so called, but not a certain measure of very ordinary instruction. For there were episcopal and conventual schools in the seventh and eighth centuries, even in France, especially Aquitaine; we need hardly repeat that in England, the former of these ages produced Bede and Theodore, and the men trained under them; the Lives of the Saints also lead us to take with some limitation the absolute denial of liberal studies before Charlemagne. See Guizot, Hist. de la Civilis. en France, Leçon 16; and Ampère, Hist. Litt. de la France, iii. p. 4. But, perhaps, philology, logic, philosophy, and even theology were not taught, as sciences, in any of the French schools for these two centuries; and consequently those established by Charlemagne justly make an epoch. [812] Id. Ibid. There was a sort of literary club among them, where the members assumed ancient names. Charlemagne was called David; Alcuin, Horace; another, Dametas, &c. [813] Hist. Littéraire, p. 217, &c. [814] This division of the sciences is ascribed to St. Augustin; and we certainly find it established early in the sixth century. Brucker, Historia Critica Philosophiæ, t. iii. p. 597. [815] Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. ii. p. 126. [816] Crevier, Hist. de l'Université de Paris, t. i. p. 28. [817] Brucker, t. iii. p. 612. Raban Maurus was chief of the cathedral school at Fulda, in the ninth century. [818] Crevier, p. 66. [819] Crevier, p. 171; Brucker, p. 677; Tiraboschi, t. iii. p. 275. [820] Brucker, p. 750. [821] A great interest has been revived in France for the philosophy, as well as the personal history of Abelard, by the publication of his philosophical writings, in 1836, under so eminent an editor as M. Cousin, and by the excellent work of M. de Rémusat, in 1845, with the title Abélard, containing a copious account both of the life and writings of that most remarkable man, the father, perhaps, of the theory as to the nature of universal ideas, now so generally known by the name of _conceptualism_. [822] The faculty of arts in the university of Paris was divided into four nations; those of France, Picardy, Normandy, and England. These had distinct suffrages in the affairs of the university, and consequently, when united, outnumbered the three higher faculties of theology, law, and medicine. In 1169, Henry II. of England offers to refer his dispute with Becket to the provinces of the school of Paris. [823] Crevier, t. i. p. 279. The first statute regulating the discipline of the university was given by Robert de Courçon, legate of Honorius III., in 1215, id. p. 296. [824] No one probably would choose to rely on a passage found in one manuscript of Asserius, which has all appearance of an interpolation. It is evident from an anecdote in Wood's History of Oxford, vol. i. p. 23 (Gutch's edition), that Camden did not believe in the authenticity of this passage, though he thought proper to insert it in the Britannia. [825] 1 Gale, p. 75. The mention of Aristotle at so early a period might seem to throw some suspicion on this passage. But it is impossible to detach it from the context; and the works of Aristotle intended by Ingulfus were translations of parts of his Logic by Boethius and Victorin. Brucker, p. 678. A passage indeed in Peter of Blois's continuation of Ingulfus, where the study of Averroes is said to have taken place at _Cambridge_ some years before he was born, is of a different complexion, and must of course be rejected as spurious. In the Gesta Comitum Andegavensium, Fulk, count of Anjou, who lived about 920, is said to have been skilled Aristotelicis et Ciceronianis ratiocinationibus. [The authenticity of Ingulfus has been called in question, not only by Sir Francis Palgrave, but by Mr. Wright. Biogr. Liter., Anglo-Norman Period, p. 29. And this implies, apparently, the spuriousness of the continuation ascribed to Peter of Blois, in which the passage about Averroes throws doubt upon the whole. I have, in the Introduction to the History of Literature, retracted the degree of credence here given to the foundation of the university of Oxford by Alfred. If Ingulfus is not genuine, we have no proof of its existence as a school of learning before the middle of the twelfth century.] [826] It may be remarked, that John of Salisbury, who wrote in the first years of Henry II.'s reign, since his Polycraticon is dedicated to Becket, before he became archbishop, makes no mention of Oxford, which he would probably have done if it had been an eminent seat of learning at that time. [827] Wood's Hist. and Antiquities of Oxford, p. 177. The Benedictines of St. Maur say, that there was an eminent school of canon law at Oxford about the end of the twelfth century, to which many students repaired from Paris. Hist. Litt. de la France, t. ix. p. 216. [828] Tiraboschi, t. iii. p. 259, et alibi; Muratori, Dissert. 43. [829] "But among these," says Anthony Wood, "a company of varlets, who pretended to be scholars, shuffled themselves in, and did act much villany in the university by thieving, whoring, quarrelling, &c. They lived under no discipline, neither had they tutors; but only for fashion's sake would sometimes thrust themselves into the schools at ordinary lectures, and when they went to perform any mischief, then would they be accounted scholars, that so they might free themselves from the jurisdiction of the burghers." p. 206. If we allow three varlets to one scholar, the university will still have been very fully frequented by the latter. [830] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 47. Azarius, about the middle of the fourteenth century, says the number was about 13,000 in his time. Muratori, Script. Rer. Ital. t. xvi. p. 325. [831] Villaret, Hist. de France, t. xvi. p. 341. This may perhaps require to be taken with allowance. But Paris owes a great part of its buildings on the southern bank of the Seine to the university. The students are said to have been about 12,000 before 1480. Crevier, t. iv. p. 410. [832] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 43 and 46. [833] The earliest authentic mention of Cambridge as a place of learning, if I mistake not, is in Matthew Paris, who informs us, that in 1209, John having caused three clerks of Oxford to be hanged on suspicion of murder, the whole body of scholars left that city, and emigrated, some to Cambridge, some to Reading, in order to carry on their studies (p. 191, edit. 1684). But it may be conjectured with some probability, that they were led to a town so distant as Cambridge by the previous establishment of academical instruction in that place. The incorporation of Cambridge is in 1231 (15 Hen. III.), so that there is no great difference in the legal antiquity of our two universities. [834] Crevier, Hist. de l'Université de Paris, t. ii. p. 216; t. iii. p. 140. [835] Pfeffel, Abrégé Chronologique de l'Hist. de l'Allemagne, p. 550, 607. [836] Rymer, t. vi. p. 292. [837] Crevier, t. ii. p. 398. [838] Crevier and Villaret, passim. [839] Brucker, Hist. Crit. Philosophiæ, t. iii. p. 678. [840] Id. Ibid. Tiraboschi conceives that the translations of Aristotle made by command of Frederic II. were directly from the Greek, t. iv. p. 145; and censures Brucker for the contrary opinion. Buhle, however (Hist. de la Philosophie Moderne, t. i. p. 696), appears to agree with Brucker. It is almost certain that versions were made from the Arabic Aristotle: which itself was not immediately taken from the Greek, but from a Syriac medium. Ginguené, Hist. Litt. de l'Italie, t. i. p. 212 (on the authority of M. Langlés). It was not only a knowledge of Aristotle that the scholastics of Europe derived from the Arabic language. His writings had produced in the flourishing Mohammedan kingdoms a vast number of commentators, and of metaphysicians trained in the same school. Of these Averroes, a native of Cordova, who died early in the thirteenth century, was the most eminent. It would be curious to examine more minutely than has hitherto been done the original writings of these famous men, which no doubt have suffered in translation. A passage from Al Gazel, which Mr. Turner has rendered from the Latin, with all the disadvantage of a double remove from the author's words, appears to state the argument in favour of that class of Nominalists, called Conceptualists, with more clearness and precision than any thing I have seen from the schoolmen. Al Gazel died in 1126, and consequently might have suggested this theory to Abelard, which however is not probable. Turner's Hist. of Engl. vol. i. p. 513. [841] Brucker, Hist. Crit Philosophiæ, t. iii. I have found no better guide than Brucker. But he confesses himself not to have read the original writings of the scholastics; an admission which every reader will perceive to be quite necessary. Consequently, he gives us rather a verbose declamation against their philosophy than any clear view of its character. Of the valuable works lately published in Germany on the history of philosophy, I have only seen that of Buhle, which did not fall into my hands till I had nearly written these pages. Tiedemann and Tennemann are I believe, still untranslated. [842] Buhle, Hist. de la Philos. Moderne, t. i. p. 723. This author raises upon the whole a favourable notion of Anselm and Aquinas; but he hardly notices any other. [843] Mr. Turner has with his characteristic spirit of enterprise examined some of the writings of our chief English schoolmen, Duns Scotus and Ockham (Hist of Eng. vol. i.), and even given us some extracts from them. They seem to me very frivolous, so far as I can collect their meaning. Ockham in particular falls very short of what I had expected; and his nominalism is strangely different from that of Berkeley. We can hardly reckon a man in the right, who is so by accident, and through sophistical reasoning. However, a well-known article in the Edinburgh Review, No. liii. p. 204, gives, from Tennemann, a more favourable account of Ockham. Perhaps I may have imagined the scholastics to be more forgotten than they really are. Within a short time I have met with four living English writers who have read parts of Thomas Aquinas; Mr. Turner, Mr. Berington, Mr. Coleridge, and the Edinburgh Reviewer. Still I cannot bring myself to think that there are four more in this country who can say the same. Certain portions, however, of his writings are still read in the course of instruction of some Catholic universities. [I leave this passage as it was written about 1814. But it must be owned with regard to the schoolmen, as well as the jurists, that I at that time underrated, or at least did not anticipate, the attention which their works have attracted in modern Europe, and that the passage in the text is more applicable to the philosophy of the eighteenth century than of the present. For several years past the metaphysicians of Germany and France have brushed the dust from the scholastic volumes; Tennemann and Buhle, Degerando, but more than all Cousin and Rémusat, in their excellent labours on Abelard, have restored the mediæval philosophy to a place in transcendental metaphysics, which, during the prevalence of the Cartesian school, and those derived from it, had been refused. 1848.] [844] Roger Bacon, by far the truest philosopher of the middle ages, complains of the ignorance of Aristotle's translators. Every translator, he observes, ought to understand his author's subject, and the two languages from which and into which he is to render the work. But none hitherto, except Boethius, have sufficiently known the languages; nor has one, except Robert Grostete (the famous bishop of Lincoln), had a competent acquaintance with science. The rest make egregious errors in both respects. And there is so much misapprehension and obscurity in the Aristotelian writings as thus translated, that no one understands them. Opus Majus, p. 45. [845] Brucker, p. 733, 912. Mr. Turner has fallen into some confusion as to this point, and supposes the nominalist system to have had a pantheistical tendency, not clearly apprehending its characteristics, p. 512. [846] Petrarch gives a curious account of the irreligion that prevailed among the learned at Venice and Padua, in consequence of their unbounded admiration for Aristotle and Averroes. One of this school, conversing with him, after expressing much contempt for the Apostles and Fathers, exclaimed: Utinam tu Averroim pati posses, ut videres quanto ille tuis his nugatoribus major sit! Mém. de Pétrarque, t. iii. p. 759. Tiraboschi, t. v. p. 162. [847] Brucker, p. 898. [848] This mystical philosophy appears to have been introduced into Europe by John Scotus, whom Buhle treats as the founder of the scholastic philosophy; though, as it made no sensible progress for two centuries after his time, it seems more natural to give that credit to Roscelin and Anselm. Scotus, or Erigena, as he is perhaps more frequently called, took up, through the medium of a spurious work, ascribed to Dionysius the Areopagite, that remarkable system, which has from time immemorial prevailed in some schools of the East, wherein all external phenomena, as well as all subordinate intellects, are considered as _emanating_ from the Supreme Being, into whose essence they are hereafter to be absorbed. This system, reproduced under various modifications, and combined with various theories of philosophy and religion, is perhaps the most congenial to the spirit of solitary speculation, and consequently the most extensively diffused of any which those high themes have engendered. It originated no doubt in sublime conceptions of divine omnipotence and ubiquity. But clearness of expression, or indeed of ideas, being not easily connected with mysticism, the language of philosophers adopting the theory of emanation is often hardly distinguishable from that of the pantheists. Brucker, very unjustly, as I imagine from the passages he quotes, accuses John Erigena of pantheism. Hist. Crit. Philos. p. 620. The charge would, however, be better grounded against some whose style might deceive an unaccustomed reader. In fact, the philosophy of emanation leads very nearly to the doctrine of an universal substance, which, begot the atheistic system of Spinoza, and which appears to have revived with similar consequences among the metaphysicians of Germany. How very closely the language of this oriental philosophy, or even that which regards the Deity as the soul of the world, may verge upon pantheism, will be perceived (without the trouble of reading the first book of Cudworth) from two famous passages of Virgil and Lucan. Georg. I. iv. v. 219; and Pharsalia, I. viii. v. 578. [849] This subject, as well as some others in this part of the present chapter, has been touched in my Introduction to the Literature of the 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries. [850] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 150. [851] There is a very copious and sensible account of Roger Bacon in Wood's History of Oxford, vol. i. p. 332 (Gutch's edition). I am a little surprised that Antony should have found out Bacon's merit. The resemblance between Roger Bacon and his greater namesake is very remarkable. Whether Lord Bacon ever read the Opus Majus, I know not; but it is singular, that his favourite quaint expression, _prærogativæ_ scientiarum, should be found in that work, though not used with the same allusion to the Roman comitia. And whoever reads the sixth part of the Opus Majus, upon experimental science, must be struck by it as the prototype, in spirit, of the Novum Organum. The same sanguine and sometimes rash confidence in the effect of physical discoveries, the same fondness for experiment, the same preference of inductive to abstract reasoning, pervade both works. Roger Bacon's philosophical spirit may be illustrated by the following passage: Duo sunt modi cognoscendi; scilicet per argumentum et experimentum. Argumentum concludit et facit nos concludere quæstionem; sed non certificat neque removet dubitationem, ut quiescat animus in intuitu veritatis, nisi eam inveniat viâ experientiæ; quia multi habent argumenta ad scibilia, sed quia non habent experientiam, negligunt ea, neque vitant nociva nec persequuntur bona. Si enim aliquis homo, qui nunquam vidit ignem, probavit per argumenta sufficientia quod ignis comburit et lædit res et destruit, nunquam propter hoc quiesceret animus audientis, nec ignem vitaret antequam poneret manum vel rem combustibilem ad ignem, ut per experientiam probaret quod argumentum edocebat; sed assumtâ experientiâ combustionis certificatur animus et quiescit in fulgore veritatis, quo argumentum non sufficit, sed experientia. p. 446. [852] See the fate of Cecco d'Ascoli in Tiraboschi, t. v. p. 174. [853] Le Boeuf, Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscript. t. xvii. p. 711. [854] Gregorius, cognomento Bechada, de Castro de Turribus, professione miles, subtilissimi ingenii vir, aliquantulum imbutus literis, horum gesta præliorum maternâ linguâ rhythmo vulgari, ut populus pleniter intelligeret, ingens volumen decenter composuit, et ut vera et faceta verba proferret, duodecim annorum spatium super hoc opus operam dedit. Ne verò vilesceret propter verbum vulgare, non sine præcepto episcopi Eustorgii, et consilio Gauberti Normanni, hoc opus aggressus est. I transcribe this from Heeren's Essai sur les Croisades, p. 447; whose reference is to Labbé, Bibliotheca nova MSS. t. ii. p. 296. [855] De Sade, Vie de Pétrarque, t. i. p. 155. Sismondi, Litt. du Midi, t. i. p. 228. [856] For the Courts of Love, see De Sade, Vie de Pétrarque, t. ii. note 19. Le Grand. Fabliaux, t. i. p. 270. Roquefort, Etat de la Poésie Françoise. p. 94. I have never had patience to look at the older writers who have treated this tiresome subject. [857] Histoire Littéraire des Troubadours Paris, 1774. [858] Two very modern French writers, M. Ginguené (Histoire Littéraire d'Italie, Paris, 1811) and M. Sismondi (Littérature du Midi de l'Europe, Paris, 1813), have revived the poetical history of the troubadours. To them, still more than to Millot and Tiraboschi, I would acknowledge my obligations for the little I have learned in respect of this forgotten school of poetry. Notwithstanding, however, the heaviness of Millot's work, a fault not imputable to himself, though Ritson as I remember, calls him, in his own polite style, "a blockhead," it will always be useful to the inquirer into the manners and opinions of the middle ages, from the numerous illustrations it contains of two general facts; the extreme dissoluteness of morals among the higher ranks, and the prevailing animosity of all classes against the clergy. [859] Hist. Litt. de la France, t. vii. p. 58. Le Boeuf, according to these Benedictines, has published some poetical fragments of the tenth century; and they quote part of a charter as old as 940 in Romance. p. 59. But that antiquary, in a memoir printed in the seventeenth volume of the Academy of Inscriptions, which throws more light on the infancy of the French language than anything within my knowledge, says only that the earliest specimens of verse in the royal library are of the eleventh century _au plus tard_. p. 717. M. de la Rue is said to have found some poems of the eleventh century in the British Museum. Roquefort, Etat de la Poésie Françoise, p. 206. Le Boeuf's fragment may be found in this work, p. 379; it seems nearer to the Provençal than the French dialect. [860] Gale, XV Script. t. i. p. 88. [861] Ritson's Dissertation on Romance, p. 66. [The laws of William the Conqueror, published in Ingulfus, are translated from a Latin original; the French is of the thirteenth century. It is now doubted whether any French, except a fragment of a translation of Boethius, in verse, is extant of an earlier age than the twelfth. Introduction to Hist. of Literat. 3rd edit. p. 28.] [862] Hist. Litt. t. ix. p. 149; Fabliaux par Barbasan, vol. i. p. 9, edit. 1808; Mém. de l'Académie des Inscr. t. xv. and xvii, p. 714, &c. [863] Mabillon speaks of this as the oldest French instrument he had seen. But the Benedictines quote some of the eleventh century. Hist. Litt. t. vii. p. 59. This charter is supposed by the authors of Nouveau Traité de Diplomatique to be translated from the Latin, t. iv. p. 519. French charters, they say, are not common before the age of Louis IX.; and this is confirmed by those published in Martenne's Thesaurus Anecdotorum, which are very commonly in French from his reign, but hardly ever before. [864] Ravalière, Révol. de la Langue Françoise, p. 116, doubts the age of this translation. [865] Archæologia, vols. xii. and xiii. [866] Millot says that Richard's sirventes (satirical songs) have appeared in French as well as Provençal, but that the former is probably a translation. Hist. des Troubadours, vol. i. p. 54. Yet I have met with no writer who quotes them in the latter language, and M. Ginguené, as well as Le Grand d'Aussy, considers Richard as a trouveur. [Raynouard has since published, in Provençal, the song of Richard on his captivity, which had several times appeared in French. It is not improbable that he wrote it in both dialects. Leroux de Lincy, Chants Historiques Français, vol. i. p. 55. Richard also composed verses in the Poitevin dialect, spoken at that time in Maine and Anjou, which resembles the Langue d'Oc more than that of northern France, though, especially in the latter countries, it gave way not long afterwards. Id. p. 77.] [867] This derivation of the romantic stories of Arthur, which Le Grand d'Aussy ridiculously attributes to the jealousy entertained by the English of the renown of Charlemagne, is stated in a very perspicuous and satisfactory manner by Mr. Ellis, in his Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances. [868] [Though the stories of Arthur were not invented by the English out of jealousy of Charlemagne, it has been ingeniously conjectured and rendered highly probable by Mr. Sharon Turner, that the history by Geoffrey of Monmouth was composed with a political view to display the independence and dignity of the British crown, and was intended, consequently, as a counterpoise to that of Turpin, which never became popular in England. It is doubtful, in my judgment, whether Geoffrey borrowed so much from Armorican traditions as he pretended.] [869] Prose e Rime di Dante, Venez. 1758, t. iv. p. 261. Dante's words, biblia cum Trojanorum Romanorumque gestibus compilata, seem to bear no other meaning than what I have given. But there may be a doubt whether _biblia_ is ever used except for the Scriptures; and the Italian translator renders it, cioè la bibbia, i fatti de i Trojani, e de i Romani. In this case something is wrong in the original Latin, and Dante will have alluded to the translations of parts of Scripture made into French, as mentioned in the text. [870] The Assises de Jérusalem have undergone two revisions; one, in 1250, by order of John d'Ibelin, count of Jaffa, and a second in 1369, by sixteen commissioners chosen by the states of the kingdom of Cyprus. Their language seems to be such as might be expected from the time of the former revision. [871] Several prose romances were written or translated from the Latin about 1170, and afterwards. Mr. Ellis seems inclined to dispute their antiquity. But, besides the authorities of La Ravalière and Tressan, the latter of which is not worth much, a late very extensively informed writer seems to have put this matter out of doubt. Roquefort Flamericourt, Etat de la Poésie Française dans les 12me et 13me siècles, Paris, 1815 p. 147. [872] Villaret, Hist. de France, t. xi. p. 121; De Sade, Vie de Pétrarque, t. iii. p. 548. Charles V. had more learning than most princes of his time. Christine de Pisan, a lady who has written memoirs, or rather an eulogy of him, says that his father le fist introdire en lettres moult suffisamment, et tant que competemment entendoit son Latin, et souffisamment scavoit les regles de grammaire; la quelle chose pleust a dieu qu'ainsi fust accoutumée entre les princes. Collect. de Mém. t. v. p. 103, 190, &c. [873] The earliest Spanish that I remember to have seen is an instrument in Martenne, Thesaurus Anecdotorum, t. i. p. 263; the date of which is 1095. Persons more conversant with the antiquities of that country may possibly go further back. Another of 1101 is published in Marina's Teoria de las Cortes, t. iii. p. 1. It is in a Vidimus by Peter the Cruel, and cannot, I presume, have been a translation from the Latin. Yet the editors of Nouveau Tr. de Diplom. mention a charter of 1243, as the earliest they are acquainted with in the Spanish language. t. iv. p. 525. Charters in the German language, according to the same work, first appear in the time of the emperor Rodolph, after 1272, and became usual in the next century. p. 523. But Struvius mentions an instrument of 1235, as the earliest in German. Corp. Hist. Germ. p. 457. [874] An extract from this poem was published in 1808 by Mr. Southey, at the end of his "Chronicle of the Cid," the materials of which it partly supplied, accompanied by an excellent version by a gentleman, who is distinguished, among many other talents, for an unrivalled felicity in expressing the peculiar manner of authors whom he translates or imitates. M. Sismondi has given other passages in the third volume of his History of Southern Literature. This popular and elegant work contains some interesting and not very common information as to the early Spanish poets in the Provençal dialect, as well as those who wrote in Castilian. [875] Dissert. 32. [876] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 340. [877] Dante, in his treatise De vulgari Eloquentiâ, reckons fourteen or fifteen dialects, spoken in different parts of Italy, all of which were debased by impure modes of expression. But the "noble, principal, and courtly Italian idiom," was that which belonged to every city, and seemed to belong to none, and which, if Italy had a court, would be the language of that court. p. 274, 277. Allowing for the metaphysical obscurity in which Dante chooses to envelop the subject, this might perhaps be said at present. The Florentine dialect has its peculiarities, which distinguish it from the general Italian language, though these are seldom discerned by foreigners, nor always by natives, with whom Tuscan is the proper denomination of their national tongue. [878] Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 309-377. Ginguené, vol. i. c. 6. The style of the Vita Nuova of Dante, written soon after the death of his Beatrice, which happened in 1290, is hardly distinguishable, by a foreigner, from that of Machiavel or Castiglione. Yet so recent was the adoption of this language, that the celebrated master of Dante, Brunetto Latini, had written his _Tesoro_ in French; and gives as a reason for it, that it was a more agreeable and useful language than his own. Et se aucuns demandoit pourquoi chis livre est ecris en Romans, selon la raison de France, pour chose que nous sommes Ytalien, je diroie que ch'est pour chose que nous sommes en France; l'autre pour chose _que la parleure en est plus delitable et plus commune a toutes gens_. There is said to be a manuscript history of Venice down to 1275, in the Florentine library, written in French by Martin de Canale, who says that he has chosen that language, parceque la langue franceise cort parmi le monde, et est la plus delitable a lire et a oir que nulle autre. Ginguené, vol. i. p. 384. [879] Tu proverai si (says Cacciaguida to him) come sà di sale Il pane altrui, e come è duro calle Il scendere e 'l salir per altrui scale. Paradis. cant. 16. [880] Paradiso, cant. 16. [881] Velli, Vita di Dante. Tiraboschi. [882] The source from which Dante derived the scheme and general idea of his poem has been a subject of inquiry in Italy. To his original mind one might have thought the sixth Æneid would have sufficed. But besides several legendary visions of the 12th and 13th centuries, it seems probable that he derived hints from the Tesoretto of his master in philosophical studies, Brunetto Latini. Ginguené, t. ii. p. 8. [883] There is an unpleasing proof of this quality in a letter to Boccaccio on Dante, whose merit he rather disingenuously extenuates; and whose popularity evidently stung him to the quick. De Sade, t. iii. p. 512. Yet we judge so ill of ourselves, that Petrarch chose envy as the vice from which of all others he was most free. In his dialogue with St. Augustin, he says: Quicquid libuerit, dicito; modo me non accuses invidiæ. AUG. Utinam non tibi magis superbia quam invidia nocuisset: nam hoc crimine, me judice, liber es. De Contemptu Mundi, edit. 1581, p. 342. I have read in some modern book, but know not where to seek the passage, that Petrarch did not intend to allude to Dante in the letter to Boccaccio mentioned above, but rather to Zanobi Strata, a contemporary Florentine poet, whom, however forgotten at present, the bad taste of a party in criticism preferred to himself.--Matteo Villani mentions them together as the two great ornaments of his age. This conjecture seems probable, for some expressions are not in the least applicable to Dante. But whichever was intended, the letter equally shows the irritable humour of Petrarch. [884] A goldsmith of Bergamo, by name Henry Capra, smitten with an enthusiastic love of letters, and of Petrarch, earnestly requested the honour of a visit from the poet. The house of this good tradesman was full of representations of his person, and of inscriptions with his name and arms. No expense had been spared in copying all his works as they appeared. He was received by Capra with a princely magnificence; lodged in a chamber hung with purple, and a splendid bed on which no one before or after him was permitted to sleep. Goldsmiths, as we may judge by this instance, were opulent persons; yet the friends of Petrarch dissuaded him from the visit, as derogatory to his own elevated station. De Sade, t. iii. p. 496. [885] See the beautiful sonnet, Erano i capei d'oro all'aura sparsi. In a famous passage of his Confessions, he says: Corpus illud egregium morbis et crebris partubus exhaustum, multum pristini vigoris amisit. Those who maintain the virginity of Laura are forced to read _perturbationibus_, instead of _partubus_. Two manuscripts in the royal library at Paris have the contraction _ptbus_, which leaves the matter open to controversy. De Sade contends that "crebris" is less applicable to "perturbationibus" than to "partubus." I do not know that there is much in this; but I am clear that corpus exhaustum partubus is much the more elegant Latin expression of the two. [886] [Note III.] [887] [I leave this as it stood. But my own taste has changed. I retract altogether the preference here given to the Triumphs above the Canzoni, and doubt whether the latter are superior to the Sonnets. This at least is not the opinion of Italian critics, who ought to be the most competent. 1848.] [888] A sufficient extract from this work of Layamon has been published by Mr. Ellis, in his Specimens of Early English Poetry, vol. i. p. 61. This extract contains, he observes, no word which we are under the necessity of ascribing to a French origin. [Layamon, as is now supposed, wrote in the reign of John. See Sir Frederick Madden's edition, and Mr. Wright's Biographia Literaria. The best reason seems to be that he speaks of Eleanor, queen of Henry, as then dead, which took place in 1204. But it requires a vast knowledge of the language to find a date by the use or disuse of particular forms; the idiom of one part of England not being similar to that of another in grammatical flexions. See Quarterly Review for April 1848. The entire work of Layamon contains a small number of words taken from the French; about fifty in the original text, and about forty more in that of a manuscript, perhaps half a century later, and very considerably altered in consequence of the progress of our language. Many of these words derived from the French express new ideas, as admiral, astronomy, baron, mantel, &c. "The language of Layamon," says Sir Frederick Madden, "belongs to that transition period in which the groundwork of Anglo-Saxon phraseology and grammar still existed, although gradually yielding to the influence of the popular forms of speech. We find in it, as in the later portion of the Saxon Chronicle, marked indications of a tendency to adopt those terminations and sounds which characterize a language in a state of change, and which are apparent also in some other branches of the Teutonic tongue. The use of _a_ as an article--the change of the Anglo-Saxon terminations _a_ and _an_ into _e_ and _en_, as well as the disregard of inflections and genders--the masculine forms given to neuter nouns in the plural--the neglect of the feminine terminations of adjectives and pronouns, and confusion between the definite and indefinite declensions--the introduction of the preposition _to_ before infinitives, and occasional use of weak preterites of verbs and participles instead of strong--the constant recurrence of _er_ for _or_ in the plurals of verbs--together with the uncertainty of the rule for the government of prepositions--all these variations, more or less visible in the two texts of Layamon, combined with the vowel-changes, which are numerous, though not altogether arbitrary, will show at once the progress made in two centuries, in departing from the ancient and purer grammatical forms, as found in Anglo-Saxon manuscripts." Preface, p. xxviii.] [889] Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, Ellis's Specimens. [890] This conjecture of Scott has not been favourably received by later critics. [891] Warton printed copious extracts from some of these. Ritson gave several of them entire to the press. And Mr. Ellis has adopted the only plan which could render them palatable, by intermingling short passages, where the original is rather above its usual mediocrity, with his own lively analysis. [892] The evidences of this general employment and gradual disuse of French in conversation and writing are collected by Tyrwhitt, in a dissertation on the ancient English language, prefixed to the fourth volume of his edition of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales; and by Ritson, in the preface to his Metrical Romances, vol. i. p. 70. [893] Rymer, t. v. p. 490; t. vi. p. 642, et alibi. [894] Ritson, p. 80. There is one in Rymer of the year 1385. [895] [Note IV.] [896] See Tyrwhitt's essay on the language and versification of Chaucer, in the fourth volume of his edition of the Canterbury Tales. The opinion of this eminent critic has lately been controverted by Dr. Nott, who maintains the versification of Chaucer to have been wholly founded on accentual and not syllabic regularity. I adhere, however, to Tyrwhitt's doctrine. [897] Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, vol. i. Dissertation II. Roquefort, Etat de la Poésie Française du douzième Siècle p. 18. The following lines from the beginning of the eighth book of the Philippis seem a fair, or rather a favourable specimen of these epics. But I am very superficially acquainted with any of them. Solverat interea zephyris melioribus annum Frigore depulso veris tepor, et renovari Coeperat et viridi gremio juvenescere tellus; Cum Rea læta Jovis rideret ad oscula mater, Cum jam post tergum Phryxi vectore relicto Solis Agenorei premeret rota terga juvenci. The tragedy of Eccerinus (Eccelin da Romano), by Albertinus Mussatus, a Paduan, and author of a respectable history, deserves some attention, as the first attempt to revive the regular tragedy. It was written soon after 1300. The language by no means wants animation, notwithstanding an unskilful conduct of the fable. The Eccerinus is printed in the tenth volume of Muratori's collection. [898] Booksellers appear in the latter part of the twelfth century. Peter of Blois mentions a law book which he had procured a quodam publico mangone librorum. Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. ix. p. 84. In the thirteenth century there were many copyists by occupation in the Italian universities. Tiraboschi, t. iv. p. 72. The number of these at Milan before the end of that age is said to have been fifty. Ibid. But a very small proportion of their labour could have been devoted to purposes merely literary. By a variety of ordinances, the first of which bears date in 1275, the booksellers of Paris were subjected to the control of the university. Crevier, t. ii. p. 67, 286. The pretext of this was, lest erroneous copies should obtain circulation. And this appears to have been the original of those restraints upon the freedom of publication, which since the invention of printing have so much retarded the diffusion of truth by means of that great instrument. [899] Tiraboschi, t. v. p. 85. On the contrary side are Montfaucon, Mabillon, and Muratori; the latter of whom carries up the invention of our ordinary paper to the year 1000. But Tiraboschi contends that the paper used in manuscripts of so early an age was made from cotton rags, and, apparently from the inferior durability of that material, not frequently employed. The editors of Nouveau Traité de Diplomatique are of the same opinion, and doubt the use of linen paper before the year 1300. t. i. p. 517, 521. Meerman, well known as a writer upon the antiquities of printing, offered a reward for the earliest manuscript upon linen paper, and, in a treatise upon the subject, fixed the date of its invention between 1270 and 1300. But M. Schwandner of Vienna is said to have found in the imperial library a small charter bearing the date of 1243 on such paper. Macpherson's Annals of Commerce, vol. i. p. 394. Tiraboschi, if he had known this, would probably have maintained the paper to be made of cotton, which he says it is difficult to distinguish. He assigns the invention of linen paper to Pace da Fabiano of Treviso. But more than one Arabian writer asserts the manufacture of linen paper to have been carried on at Samarcand early in the eighth century, having been brought thither from China. And what is more conclusive, Casiri positively declares many manuscripts in the Escurial of the eleventh and twelfth centuries to be written on that substance. Bibliotheca Arabico-Hispanica, t. ii. p. 9. This authority appears much to outweigh the opinion of Tiraboschi in favour of Pace da Fabiano, who must perhaps take his place at the table of fabulous heroes with Bartholomew Schwartz and Flavio Gioja. But the material point, that paper was very little known in Europe till the latter part of the fourteenth century, remains as before. See Introduction to History of Literature, c. i. § 58. [900] Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 122. [901] Velly, t. v. p. 202; Crevier, t. ii. p. 36. [902] Warton, vol. i; Dissert. II. [903] Ibid. [904] Warton, vol. i. Dissert. II. Fifty-eight books were transcribed in this abbey under one abbot, about the year 1300. Every considerable monastery had a room, called Scriptorium, where this work was performed. More than eighty were transcribed at St. Albans under Whethamstede, in the time of Henry VI. ibid. See also Du Cange, V Scriptores. Nevertheless we must remember, first, that the far greater part of these books were mere monastic trash, or at least useless in our modern apprehension; secondly, that it depended upon the character of the abbot, whether the scriptorium should be occupied or not. Every head of a monastery was not a Whethamstede. Ignorance and jollity, such as we find in Bolton Abbey, were their more usual characteristics. By the account books of this rich monastery, about the beginning of the fourteenth century, three books only appear to have been purchased in forty years. One of those was the Liber Sententiarum of Peter Lombard, which cost thirty shillings, equivalent to near forty pounds at present. Whitaker's Hist. of Craven, p. 330. [905] Ibid.; Villaret, t. xi. p. 117. [906] Niccolo Niccoli, a private scholar, who contributed essentially to the restoration of ancient learning, bequeathed a library of eight hundred volumes to the republic of Florence. This Niccoli hardly published any thing of his own; but earned a well-merited reputation by copying and correcting manuscripts. Tiraboschi, t. vi. p. 114; Shepherd's Poggio, p. 319. In the preceding century Colluccio Salutato had procured as many as eight hundred volumes. Ibid. p. 23. Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici, p. 55. [907] Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. v. p. 520. [908] He had lent it to a needy man of letters, who pawned the book, which was never recovered. De Sade, t. i. p. 57. [909] Tiraboschi, p. 89. [910] Idem, t. v. p. 83; De Sade, t. i p. 88. [911] Tiraboschi, p. 101. [912] Tiraboschi, t. vi. p. 104; and Shepherd's Life of Poggio, p. 106, 110; Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici, p. 38. [913] Schmidt, Hist. des Allemands, t. ii. p. 374; Tiraboschi, t. iii. p. 124, et alibi. Bede extols Theodore primate of Canterbury and Tobias bishop of Rochester for their knowledge of Greek. Hist. Eccles. c. 9 and 24. But the former of these prelates, if not the latter, was a native of Greece. [914] Hist. Littéraire de la France, t. iv. p. 12 [915] Greek characters are found in a charter of 943, published in Martenne, Thesaurus Anecdot. t. i. p. 74. The title of a treatise peri phuseôn merismou, and the word theotokos, occur in William of Malmsbury, and one or two others in Lanfranc's Constitutions. It is said that a Greek psalter was written in an abbey at Tournay about 1105. Hist. Litt. de la France, t. ix. p. 102. This was, I should think, a very rare instance of a Greek manuscript, sacred or profane, copied in the western parts of Europe before the fifteenth century. But a Greek psalter written in Latin characters at Milan in the 9th century was sold some years ago in London. John of Salisbury is said by Crevier to have known a little Greek, and he several times uses technical words in that language. Yet he could not have been much more learned than his neighbours; since, having found the word ousia in St. Ambrose, he was forced to ask the meaning of one John Sarasin, an Englishman, because, says he, none of our masters here (at Paris) understand Greek. Paris, indeed, Crevier thinks, could not furnish any Greek scholar in that age except Abelard and Heloise, and probably neither of them knew much. Hist. de l'Univers. de Paris, t. i. p. 259. The ecclesiastical language, it may be observed, was full of Greek words Latinized. But this process had taken place before the fifth century; and most of them will be found in the Latin dictionaries. A Greek word was now and then borrowed, as more imposing than the correspondent Latin. Thus the English and other kings sometimes called themselves Basileus, instead of Rex. It will not be supposed that I have professed to enumerate all the persons of whose acquaintance with the Greek tongue some evidence may be found; nor have I ever directed my attention to the subject with that view. Doubtless the list might be more than doubled. But, if ten times the number could be found, we should still be entitled to say, that the language was almost unknown, and that it could have had no influence on the condition of literature. [See Introduction to Hist. of Literature, chap. 2, § 7.] [916] Nemo est qui Græcas literas nôrit; at ego in hoc Latinitati compatior, quæ sic omnino Græca abjecit studia, ut etiam non noscamus characteres literarum. Genealogiæ Deorum, apud Hodium de Græcis Illustribus, p. 3. [917] Mém. de Pétrarque, t. i. p. 407. [918] Mém. de Pétrarque, t. i. p. 447; t. iii. p. 634. Hody de Græcis Illust. p. 2. Boccace speaks modestly of his own attainments in Greek: etsi non satis plené perceperim, percepi tamen quantum potui; nee dubium, si permansisset homo ille vagus diutius penes nos, quin plenius percepissem. id. p. 4. [919] Hody places the commencement of Chrysoloras's teaching as early as 1391. p. 3. But Tiraboschi, whose research was more precise, fixes it at the end of 1396 or beginning of 1397, t. vii. p. 126. [920] Tiraboschi, t. vi. p. 102; Roscoe's Lorenzo de' Medici, vol. i. p. 43. [921] The authors most conversant with Byzantine learning agree in this. Nevertheless, there is one manifest difference between the Greek writers of the worst period, such as the eighth century, and those who correspond to them in the West. Syncellus, for example, is of great use in chronology, because he was acquainted with many ancient histories now no more. But Bede possessed nothing which we have lost; and his compilations are consequently altogether unprofitable. The eighth century, the Sæculum Iconoclasticum of Cave, low as it was in all polite literature, produced one man, John Damascenus, who has been deemed the founder of scholastic theology, and who at least set the example of that style of reasoning in the East. This person, and Michael Psellus, a philosopher of the eleventh century, are the only considerable men, as original writers, in the annals of Byzantine literature. [922] The honour of restoring ancient or heathen literature is due to the Cæsar Bardas, uncle and minister of Michael II. Cedrenus speaks of it in the following terms: epemelêthê de kai tês exô sophias, (ên gar ek pollou chronou pararrhueisa, kai pros tê mêden holôs chôrêsasa tê tôn kratountôn argia kai amathia) diatribas hekastê tôn epistêmôn aphorisas, tôn men allôn hopê per etuche, tês d' epi pasôn epochou philosophias kat' auta ta basileia en tê Magnaura; kai houtô ex ekeinou anêbaskein hai epistêmai êrxanto. k. t. l. Hist. Byzant. Script. (Lutet.) t. x. p. 547. Bardas found out and promoted Photius, afterwards patriarch of Constantinople, and equally famous in the annals of the church and of learning. Gibbon passes perhaps too rapidly over the Byzantine literature, chap. 53. In this, as in many other places, the masterly boldness and precision of his outline, which astonish those who have trodden parts of the same field, are apt to escape an uninformed reader. [923] Du Cange, Præfatio ad Glossar. Græcitatis Medii Evi. Anna Comnena quotes some popular lines, which seem to be the earliest specimen extant of the Romaic dialect, or something approaching it, as they observe no grammatical inflexion, and bear about the same resemblance to ancient Greek that the worst law-charters of the ninth and tenth centuries do to pure Latin. In fact, the Greek language seems to have declined much in the same manner as the Latin did, and almost at as early a period. In the sixth century, Damascius, a Platonic philosopher, mentions the old language as distinct from that which was vernacular, tên archaian glôttan huper tên idiôtên meletousi. Du Cange, ibid. p. 11. It is well known that the popular, or _political_ verses of Tzetzes, a writer of the twelfth century, are accentual; that is, are to be read, as the modern Greeks do, by treating every acute or circumflex syllable as long, without regard to its original quantity. This innovation, which must have produced still greater confusion of metrical rules than it did in Latin, is much older than the age of Tzetzes; if, at least, the editor of some notes subjoined to Meursius's edition of the Themata of Constantine Porphyrogenitus (Lugduni, 1617) is right in ascribing certain political verses to that emperor, who died in 959. These verses are regular accentual trochaics. But I believe they have since been given to Constantine Manasses, a writer of the eleventh century. According to the opinion of a modern traveller (Hobhouse's Travels in Albania, letter 33) the chief corruptions which distinguish the Romaic from its parent stock, especially the auxiliary verbs, are not older than the capture of Constantinople by Mahomet II. But it seems difficult to obtain any satisfactory proof of this; and the auxiliary verb is so natural and convenient, that the ancient Greeks may probably, in some of their local idioms, have fallen into the use of it; as Mr. H. admits they did with respect to the future auxiliary thelô. See some instances of this in Lesbonax, peri schêmatôn, ad finem Ammonii, curâ Valckenaër. [924] Photius (I write on the authority of M. Heeren) quotes Theopompus, Arrian's History of Alexander's Successors, and of Parthia, Ctesias, Agatharcides, the whole of Diodorus Siculus, Polybius, and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, twenty lost orations of Demosthenes, almost two hundred of Lycias, sixty-four of Isæus, about fifty of Hyperides. Heeren ascribes the loss of these works altogether to the Latin capture of Constantinople, no writer subsequent to that time having quoted them. Essai sur les Croisades, p. 413. It is difficult however not to suppose that some part, of the destruction was left for the Ottomans to perform. Æneas Sylvius bemoans, in his speech before the diet of Frankfort, the vast losses of literature by the recent subversion of the Greek empire. Quid de libris dicam, qui illic erant innumerabiles, nondum Latinis cogniti!... Nunc ergo, et Homero et Pindaro et _Menandro_ et omnibus illustrioribus poetis, secunda mors erit. But nothing can be inferred from this declamation, except, perhaps, that he did not know whether Menander still existed or not. Æn. Sylv. Opera, p. 715; also p. 881. Harris's Philological Inquiries, part iii. c. 4. It is a remarkable proof, however, of the turn which Europe, and especially Italy, was taking, that a pope's legate should, on a solemn occasion, descant so seriously on the injury sustained by profane literature. An useful summary of the lower Greek literature, taken chiefly from the Bibliotheca Græca of Fabricius, will be found in Berington's Literary History of the Middle Ages, Appendix I.; and one rather more copious in Schoëll, Abrégé de la Littérature Grècque. (Paris, 1812.) [925] Wood's Antiquities of Oxford, vol. i p. 537. [926] Roper's Vita Mori, ed. Hearne, p. 75. [927] Crevier, t. iv. p. 243; see too p. 46. [928] Incredibilis ingeniorum barbaries est; rarissimi literas nôrunt, nulli elegantiam. Papiensis Epistolæ, p. 377. Campano's notion of elegance was ridiculous enough. Nobody ever carried further the pedantic affectation of avoiding modern terms in his Latinity. Thus, in the life of Braccio da Montone, he renders his meaning almost unintelligible by excess of classical purity. Braccio boasts se numquam deorum immortalium templa violâsse. Troops committing outrages in a city are accused virgines vestales incestâsse. In the terms of treaties he employs the old Roman forms; exercitum trajicito--oppida pontificis sunto, &c. And with a most absurd pedantry, the ecclesiastical state is called Romanum imperium. Campani Vita Braccii, in Muratori Script. Rer. Ital. t. xix. [929] A letter from Master William Paston at Eton (Paston Letters, vol. i. p. 299) proves that Latin versification was taught there as early as the beginning of Edward IV.'s reign. It is true that the specimen he rather proudly exhibits does not much differ from what we denominate nonsense verses. But a more material observation is, that the sons of country gentlemen living at a considerable distance were already sent to public schools for grammatical education. [930] De Bure, t. i. p. 30. Several copies of this book have come to light since its discovery. [931] Id., p. 71. [932] Mém. de l'Acad. des Inscriptions, t. xiv. p. 265. Another edition of the Bible is supposed to have been printed by Pfister at Bamberg in 1459. [933] Tiraboschi, t. vi. p. 140. [934] Sanuto mentions an order of the senate in 1469, that John of Spira should print the epistles of Tully and Pliny for five years, and that no one else should do so. Script. Rerum Italic. t. xxii. p. 1189. NOTES TO CHAPTER IX. NOTE I. Page 288. A rapid decline of learning began in the sixth century, of which Gregory of Tours is both a witness and an example. It is, therefore, properly one of the dark ages, more so by much than the eleventh, which concludes them; since very few were left in the church who possessed any acquaintance with classical authors, or who wrote with any command of the Latin language. Their studies, whenever they studied at all, were almost exclusively theological; and this must be understood as to the subsequent centuries. By theological is meant the vulgate Scriptures and some of the Latin fathers; not, however, by reasoning upon them, or doing much more than introducing them as authority in their own words. In the seventh century, and still more at the beginning of the eighth, very little even of this remained in France, where we find hardly a name deserving of remembrance in a literary sense; but Isidore, and our own Bede, do honour to Spain and Britain. It may certainly be said for France and Germany, notwithstanding a partial interruption in the latter part of the ninth and beginning of the tenth century, that they were gradually progressive from the time of Charlemagne. But then this progress was so very slow, and the men in front of it so little capable of bearing comparison with those of later times, considering their writings positively and without indulgence, that it is by no means unjust to call the centuries dark which elapsed between Charlemagne and the manifest revival of literary pursuits towards the end of the eleventh century. Alcuin, for example, has left us a good deal of poetry. This is superior to what we find in some other writers of the obscure period, and indicates both a correct ear and a familiarity with the Latin poets, especially Ovid. Still his verses are not as good as those which schoolboys of fourteen now produce, either in poetical power or in accuracy of language and metre. The errors indeed are innumerable. Aldhelm, an earlier Anglo-Saxon poet, with more imaginative spirit, is further removed from classical poetry. Lupus, abbot of Ferrières, early in the ninth century, in some of his epistles writes tolerable Latin, though this is far from being always the case; he is smitten with a love of classical literature, quotes several poets and prose writers, and is almost as curious about little points of philology as an Italian scholar of the fifteenth century. He was continually borrowing books in order to transcribe them--a proof, however, of their scarcity and of the low condition of general learning, which is the chief point we have to regard.[935] But his more celebrated correspondent, Eginhard, went beyond him. Both his Annals and the Life of Charlemagne are very well written, in a classical spirit, unlike the church Latin; though a few words and phrases may not be of the best age, I should place Eginhard above Alcuin and Lupus, or, as far as I know, any other of the Caroline period. The tenth century has in all times borne the worst name. Baronius calls it, in one page, _plumbeum_, _obscurum_, _infelix_ (Annales, A.D. 900). And Cave, who dubs all his centuries by some epithet, assigns _ferreum_ to the tenth. Nevertheless, there was considerably less ignorance in France and Germany during the latter part of this age than before the reign of Charlemagne, or even in it; more glimmerings of acquaintance with the Latin classics appear; and the schools, cathedral and conventual, had acquired a more regular and uninterrupted scheme of instruction. The degraded condition of papal Rome has led many to treat this century rather worse than it deserves; and indeed Italy was sunk very low in ignorance. As to the eleventh century, the upward progress was extremely perceptible. It is commonly reckoned among the dark ages till near its close; but these phrases are of course used comparatively, and because the difference between that and the twelfth was more sensible than we find in any two that are consecutive since the sixth. The state of literature in England was by no means parallel to what we find on the continent. Our best age was precisely the worst in France; it was the age of the Heptarchy--that of Theodore, Bede, Aldhelm, Cædmon, and Alcuin; to whom, if Ireland will permit us, we may desire to add Scotus, who came a little afterwards, but whose residence in this island at any time appears an unauthenticated tale. But we know how Alfred speaks of the ignorance of the clergy in his own age. Nor was this much better afterwards. Even the eleventh century, especially before the Conquest, is a very blank period in the literary annals of England. No one can have a conception how wretchedly scanty is the list of literary names from Alfred to the Conquest, who does not look to Mr. Turner's History of the Anglo-Saxons, or to Mr. Wright's Biographia Literaria. There could be no general truth respecting the past, as it appeared to me, more notorious, or more incapable of being denied with any plausibility, than the characteristic ignorance of Europe during those centuries which we commonly style the Dark Ages. A powerful stream, however, of what, as to the majority at least, I must call prejudice, has been directed of late years in an opposite direction. The mediæval period, in manners, in arts, in literature, and especially in religion, has been regarded with unwonted partiality; and this favourable temper has been extended to those ages which had lain most frequently under the ban of historical and literary censure. A considerable impression has been made on the predisposed by the Letters on the Dark Ages, which we owe to Dr. Maitland. Nor is this by any means surprising; both because the predisposed are soon convinced, and because the Letters are written with great ability, accurate learning, a spirited and lively pen, and consequently with a success in skirmishing warfare which many readily mistake for the gain of a pitched battle. Dr. Maitland is endowed with another quality, far more rare in historical controversy, especially of the ecclesiastical kind: I believe him to be of scrupulous integrity, minutely exact in all that he asserts; and indeed the wrath and asperity, which sometimes appear rather more than enough, are only called out by what he conceives to be wilful or slovenly misrepresentation. Had I, therefore, the leisure and means of following Dr. Maitland through his quotations, I should probably abstain from doing so from the reliance I should place on his testimony, both in regard to his power of discerning truth and his desire to express it. But I have no call for any examination, could I institute it; since the result of my own reflections is that every thing which Dr. M. asserts as matter of fact--I do not say suggests in all his language--may be perfectly true, without affecting the great proposition that the dark ages, those from the sixth to the eleventh, were ages of ignorance. Nor does he, as far as I collect, attempt to deny this evident truth; it is merely his object to prove that they were less ignorant, less dark, and in all points of view less worthy of condemnation than many suppose. I do not gainsay this position; being aware, as I have observed both in this and in another work, that the mere ignorance of these ages, striking as it is in comparison with earlier and later times, has been sometimes exaggerated; and that Europeans, and especially Christians, could not fall back into the absolute barbarism of the Esquimaux. But what a man of profound and accurate learning puts forward with limitations, sometimes expressed, and always present to his own mind, a heady and shallow retailer takes up, and exaggerates in conformity with his own prejudices. The Letters on the Dark Ages relate principally to the theological attainments of the clergy during that period, which the author assumes, rather singularly, to extend from A.D. 800 to 1200; thus excluding midnight from his definition of darkness, and replacing it by the break of day. And in many respects, especially as to the knowledge of the vulgate Scriptures possessed by the better-informed clergy, he obtains no very difficult victory over those who have imbibed extravagant notions, both as to the ignorance of the Sacred Writings in those times and the desire to keep them away from the people. This latter prejudice is obviously derived from a confusion of the subsequent period, the centuries preceding the Reformation, with those which we have immediately before us. But as the word _dark_ is commonly used, either in reference to the body of the laity or to the general extent of liberal studies in the church, and as it involves a comparison with prior or subsequent ages, it cannot be improper in such a sense, even if the manuscripts of the Bible should have been as common in monasteries as Dr. Maitland supposes; and yet his proofs seem much too doubtful to sustain that hypothesis. There is a tendency to set aside the verdict of the most approved writers, which gives too much of a polemical character, too much of the tone of an advocate who fights every point, rather than of a calm arbitrator, to the Letters on the Dark Ages. For it is not Henry, or Jortin, or Robertson, who are our usual testimonies, but their immediate masters, Muratori, and Fleury, and Tiraboschi, and Brucker and the Benedictine authors of the Literary History of France, and many others in France, Italy, and Germany. The latest who has gone over this rather barren ground, and not inferior to any in well-applied learning, in candour or good sense, is M. Ampère, in his Histoire Littéraire de la France avant le douzième siècle (3 vols. Paris, 1840). No one will accuse this intelligent writer of unduly depreciating the ages which he thus brings before us; and by the perusal of his volumes, to which Heeren and Eichhorn may be added for Germany, we may obtain a clear and correct outline, which, considering the shortness of life compared with the importance of exact knowledge on such a subject, will suffice for the great majority of readers. I by no means, however, would exclude the Letters on the Dark Ages, as a spirited pleading for those who have often been condemned unheard. I shall conclude by remarking that one is a little tempted to inquire why so much anxiety is felt by the advocates of the mediæval church to rescue her from the charge of ignorance. For this ignorance she was not, generally speaking, to be blamed. It was no crime of the clergy that the Huns burned their churches, or the Normans pillaged their monasteries. It was not by their means that the Saracens shut up the supply of papyrus, and that sheep-skins bore a great price. Europe was altogether decayed in intellectual character, partly in consequence of the barbarian incursions, partly of other sinister influences acting long before. We certainly owe to the church every spark of learning which then glimmered, and which she preserved through that darkness to re-kindle the light of a happier age--Sperma puros sôzousa. Meantime, what better apology than this ignorance can be made by Protestants, and I presume Dr. Maitland is not among those who abjure the name, for the corruption, the superstition, the tendency to usurpation, which they at least must impute to the church of the dark ages? Not that in these respects it was worse than in a less obscure period; for the reverse is true; but the fabric of popery was raised upon its foundations before the eleventh century, though not displayed in its full proportions till afterwards. And there was so much of lying legend, so much of fraud in the acquisition of property, that ecclesiastical historians have not been loth to acknowledge the general ignorance as a sort of excuse. [1848.] NOTE II. Page 350. The account of domestic architecture given in the text is very superficial; but the subject still remains, comparatively with other portions of mediæval antiquity, but imperfectly treated. The best sketch that has hitherto been given is in an article with this title in the Glossary of Ancient Architecture (which should be read in an edition not earlier than that of 1845), from the pen of Mr. Twopeny, whose attention has long been directed to the subject. "There is ample evidence yet remaining of the domestic architecture in this country during the twelfth century. The ordinary manor-houses, and even houses of greater consideration, appear to have been generally built in the form of a parallelogram, two stories high,[936] the lower story vaulted, with no internal communication between the two, the upper story approached by a flight of steps on the outside; and in that story was sometimes the only fireplace in the whole building. It is more than probable that this was the usual style of houses in the preceding century." Instances of houses partly remaining are then given. We may add to those mentioned by Mr. Twopeny one, perhaps older than any, and better preserved than some, in his list. At Southampton is a Norman house, perhaps built in the first part of the twelfth century. It is nearly a square, the outer walls tolerably perfect; the principal rooms appear to have been on the first (or upper) floor; it has in this also a fireplace and chimney, and four windows placed so as to indicate a division into two apartments; but there are no lights below, nor any appearance of an interior staircase. The sides are about forty feet in length. Another house of the same age is near to it, but much worse preserved.[937] The parallelogram house, seldom containing more than four rooms, with no access frequently to the upper which the family occupied, except on the outside, was gradually replaced by one on a different type:--the entrance was on the ground, the staircase within; a kitchen and other offices, originally detached, were usually connected with the hall by a passage running through the house; one or more apartments on the lower floor extended beyond the hall; there was seldom or never a third floor over the entire house, but detached turrets for sleeping-rooms rose at some of the angles. This was the typical form which lasted, as we know, to the age of Elizabeth, or even later. The superior houses of this class were sometimes quadrangular, that is, including a court-yard, but seldom, perhaps, with more than one side allotted to the main dwelling; offices, stables, or mere walls filled the other three. Many dwellings erected in the fourteenth century may be found in England; but neither of that nor the next age are there more than a very few, which are still, in their chief rooms, inhabited by gentry. But houses, which by their marks of decoration, or by external proof, are ascertained to have been formerly occupied by good families, though now in the occupation of small farmers, and built apparently from the reign of the second to that of the fourth Edward, are common in many counties. They generally bear the name of court, hall, or grange; sometimes only the surname of some ancient occupant, and very frequently have been the residence of the lord of the manor. The most striking circumstance in the oldest houses is not so much their precautions for defence in the outside staircase, and when that was disused, the better safeguard against robbery in the moat which frequently environed the walls, the strong gateway, the small window broken by mullions, which are no more than we should expect in the times, as the paucity of apartments, so that both sexes, and that even in high rank, must have occupied the same room. The progress of a regard to decency in domestic architecture has been gradual, and in some respects has been increasing up to our own age. But the mediæval period shows little of it; though in the advance of wealth, a greater division of apartments distinguishes the houses of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries from those of an earlier period. The French houses of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were probably much of the same arrangement as the English; the middle and lower classes had but one hall and one chamber; those superior to them had the solarium or upper floor, as with us. See Archæological Journal (vol. i. p. 212), where proofs are adduced from the fabliaux of Barbasan. [1848.] NOTE III. Page 451. The Abbé de Sade, in those copious memoirs of the life of Petrarch, which illustrate in an agreeable though rather prolix manner the civil and literary history of Provence and Italy in the fourteenth century, endeavoured to establish his own descent from Laura, as the wife of Hughes de Sade, and born in the family de Noves. This hypothesis has since been received with general acquiescence by literary men; and Tiraboschi in particular, whose talent lay in these petty biographical researches, and who had a prejudice against every thing that came from France, seems to consider it as decisively proved. But it has been called in question in a modern publication by the late Lord Woodhouselee. (Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch, 1810.) I shall not offer any opinion as to the identity of Petrarch's mistress with Laura de Sade; but the main position of Lord W.'s essay, that Laura was an unmarried woman, and the object of an honourable attachment in her lover, seems irreconcileable with the evidence that his writings supply. 1. There is no passage in Petrarch, whether of poetry or prose, that alludes to the virgin character of Laura, or gives her the usual appellations of unmarried women, puella in Latin, or donzella in Italian; even in the Trionfo della Castità, where so obvious an opportunity occurred. Yet this was naturally to be expected from so ethereal an imagination as that of Petrarch, always inclined to invest her with the halo of celestial purity. We know how Milton took hold of the mystical notions of virginity; notions more congenial to the religion of Petrarch than his own: Quod tibi perpetuus pudor, et sine labe juventas Pura fuit, quod nulla tori libata voluptas, En etiam tibi virginei servantur honores. Epitaphium Damonis. 2. The coldness of Laura towards so passionate and deserving a lover, if no insurmountable obstacle intervened during his twenty years of devotion, would be at least a mark that his attachment was misplaced, and show him in rather a ridiculous light. It is not surprising, that persons believing Laura to be unmarried, as seems to have been the case with the Italian commentators, should have thought his passion affected, and little more than poetical. But upon the contrary supposition, a thread runs through the whole of his poetry, and gives it consistency. A love on the one side, instantaneously conceived, and retained by the susceptibility of a tender heart and ardent fancy; nourished by slight encouragement, and seldom presuming to hope for more; a mixture of prudence and coquetry on the other, kept within bounds either by virtue or by the want of mutual attachment, yet not dissatisfied with fame more brilliant and flattery more refined than had ever before been the lot of woman--these are surely pretty natural circumstances, and such as do not render the story less intelligible. Unquestionably such a passion is not innocent. But Lord Woodhouselee, who is so much scandalized at it, knew little, one would think, of the fourteenth century. His standard is taken not from Avignon, but from Edinburgh, a much better place, no doubt, and where the moral barometer stands at a very different altitude. In one passage (p. 188) he carries his strictness to an excess of prudery. From all we know of the age of Petrarch, the only matter of astonishment is the persevering virtue of Laura. The troubadours boast of much better success with Provençal ladies. 3. But the following passage from Petrarch's dialogues with St. Augustin, the work, as is well known, where he most unbosoms himself, will leave no doubt, I think, that his passion could not have been gratified consistently with honour. At mulier ista celebris, quam tibi certissimam ducem fingis, ad superos cur non hæsitantem trepidumque direxerit, et quod cæcis fieri solet, manu apprehensum non tenuit, quò et gradiendum foret admonuit? PETR. Fecit hoc illa quantum potuit. Quid enim aliud egit, cum nullis mota precibus, nullis victa blanditiis, muliebrem tenuit decorem, et adversus suam semel et meam ætatem, adversus multa et varia quæ flectere adamantium spiritum debuissent, inexpugnabilis et firma permansit? Profectò animus iste foemineus quid virum decuit admonebat, præstabatque ne in sectando pudicitiæ studio, ut verbis utar Senecæ, aut exemplum aut convitium deesset; postremò cum lorifragum ac præcipitem videret, deserere maluit potius quàm sequi. AUGUST. Turpe igitur aliquid interdum voluisti, quod supra negaveras. At iste vulgatus amantium, vel, ut dicam verius, amantium furor est, ut omnibus meritò dici possit: volo nolo, nolo volo. Vobis ipsis quid velitis, aut nolitis, ignotum est. PET. Invitus in laqueum offendi. Si quid tamen olim aliter forte voluissem, amor ætasque coëgerunt; nunc quid velim et cupiam scio, firmavique jam tandem animum labentem; contra autem illa propositi tenax et semper una permansit, quare constantiam foemineam quò magis intelligo, magis admiror: idque sibi consilium fuisse, si unquam debuit, gaudeo nunc et gratias ago. AUG. Semel fallenti, non facile rursus fides habenda est: tu prius mores atque habitum, vitamque mutavisti, quàm animum mutâsse persuadeas; mitigatur forte si tuus leniturque ignis, extinctus non est. Tu verò qui tantum dilectioni tribuis, non animadvertis, illam absolvendo, quantum te ipse condemnas; illam fateri libet fuisse sanctissimam dum te insanum scelestumque fateare.--De Contemptu Mundi, Dialog. 3, p. 367, edit. 1581. NOTE IV. Page 456. The progress of our language in proceedings of the legislature is so well described in the preface to the authentic edition of Statutes of the Realm, published by the Record Commission, that I shall transcribe the passage, which I copy from Mr. Cooper's useful account of the Public Records (vol. i. p. 189):-- The earliest instance recorded of the use of the English language in any parliamentary proceeding is in 36 Edw. III. The style of the roll of that year is in French as usual, but it is expressly stated that the causes of summoning the parliament were declared _en Englois_; and the like circumstance is noted in 37 and 38 Edw. III.[938] In the 5th year of Richard II., the chancellor is stated to have made _un bone collacion en Engleys_ (introductory, as was then sometimes the usage, to the commencement of business), though he made use of the common French form for opening the parliament. A petition from the 'Folk of the Mercerye of London,' in the 10th year of the same reign, is in English; and it appears also that in the 17th year the Earl of Arundel asked pardon of the Duke of Lancaster by the award of the King and Lords, in their presence in parliament, in a form of English words. The cession and renunciation of the crown by Richard II. is stated to have been read before the estates of the realm and the people in Westminster Hall, first in Latin and afterwards in English, but it is entered on the parliament roll only in Latin. And the challenge of the crown by Henry IV., with his thanks after the allowance of his title, in the same assembly, are recorded in English, which is termed his maternal tongue. So also is the speech of Lord William Thyrning, the Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, to the late King Richard, announcing to him the sentence of his deposition, and the yielding up, on the part of the people, of their fealty and allegiance. In the 6th year of the reign of Henry IV. an English answer is given to a petition of the Commons, touching a proposed resumption of certain grants of the crown to the intent the king might live of his own. The English language afterwards appears occasionally, through the reigns of Henry IV. and Henry V. In the first and second and subsequent years of Henry VI., the petitions or bills, and in many cases the answers also, on which the statutes were afterwards framed, are found frequently in English; but the statutes are entered on the roll in French or Latin. From the 23rd year of Henry VI. these petitions or bills are almost universally in English, as is also sometimes the form of the royal assent; but the statutes continued to be enrolled in French or Latin. Sometimes Latin and French are used in the same statute,[939] as in 8 Hen. VI., 27 Hen. VI., and 39 Hen. VI. The last statute wholly in Latin on record is 33 Hen. VI. c. 2. The statutes of Edward IV. are entirely in French. The statutes of Richard III. are in many manuscripts in French in a complete statute form; and they were so printed in his reign and that of his successor. In the earlier English editions a translation was inserted in the same form; but in several editions, since 1618, they have been printed in English, in a different form, agreeing, so far as relates to the acts printed, with the inrolment in Chancery at the Chapel of the Rolls. The petitions and bills in parliament, during these two reigns, are all in English. The statutes of Henry VII. have always, it is believed, been published in English; but there are manuscripts containing the statutes of the first two parliaments, in his first and third year, in French. From the fourth year to the end of his reign, and from thence to the present time, they are universally in English. FOOTNOTES: [935] The writings of Lupus Servatus, abbot of Ferrières, were published by Baluze; and a good account of them will be found in Ampère's Hist. Litt. (vol. iii. p. 237), as well as in older works. He is a much better writer than Gregory of Tours, but quite as much inferior to Sidonius Apollinaris. I have observed in Lupus quotations from Horace, Virgil, Martial, Cicero, Aulus Gellius, and Trogus Pompeius (meaning probably Justin). [936] This is rather equivocal, but it is certainly not meant that there were ever two _floors_ above that on the ground. In the review of the "Chronicles of the Mayors and Sheriffs," published in the Archæological Journal (vol. iv. p. 273), we read--"The houses in London, of whatever material, seem never to have exceeded one story in height." (p. 282.) But, soon afterwards--"The ground floor of the London houses at this period was aptly enough called a cellar, the upper story a solar." It thus appears that the reviewer does not mean the same thing as Mr. Twopeny by the word _story_, which the former confines to the floor above that on the ground, while the latter includes both. The use of language, as we know, supports, in some measure, either meaning; but perhaps it is more correct, and more common, to call the first story that which is reached by a staircase from the ground-floor. The solar, or sleeping-room, raised above the cellar, was often of wood. [937] See a full description in the Archæological Journal, vol. iv. p. 11. Those who visit Southampton may seek this house near a gate in the west wall. We may add to the contribution of Mr. Twopeny one published in the Proceedings of the Archæological Institute, by Mr. Hudson Turner, Nov. 1847. This is chiefly founded on documents, as that of Mr. Twopeny is on existing remains. These give more light where they can be found; but the number is very small. Upon the whole, it may be here observed, that we are frequently misled by works of fiction as to the domestic condition of our forefathers. The house of Cedric the Saxon in Ivanhoe, with its distinct and numerous apartments, is very unlike any that remain or can be traced. This is by no means to be censured in the romancer, whose aim is to delight by images more splendid than truth; but, especially when presented by one who possessed in some respects a considerable knowledge of antiquity, and was rather fond of displaying it, there is some danger lest the reader should believe that he has a faithful picture before him. [938] References are given to the Rolls of Parliament throughout this extract. [939] All the acts passed in the same session are legally one statute; the difference of language was in separate chapters or acts. INDEX. *** _The Roman Numerals refer to the Volumes--the Arabic Figures to the Pages of each Volume._ Abbassides, encouragement of science and art by the, ii. 121; progress of their dynasty, 122; its decadence, 123. Abdalrahman proclaimed khalif of Cordova, ii. 122. Abelard (Peter), enthusiasm excited by the teachings of, iii. 420; his erratic career, 421. Acre, consequences to commerce by the capture of, iii. 329; vices of its inhabitants, _ib. note_ m. Adorni and Fregosi factions, disruption of Genoa by the, i. 496. Adolphus of Nassau elected emperor of Germany, ii. 82. Adrian II. (pope), attempts to overawe Charles the Bald, ii. 173. Adrian IV. (the only English pope), insolence of, towards Frederic Barbarossa, ii. 195; his system of mandats, 212. Adventurers (military). See Military Systems. Æneas Sylvius (afterwards Pius II.), instance of the political foresight of, i. 504; he abets the war against the Turks, ii. 137; specimen of his oratory, 138 _note_; his singular suggestion to Mahomet II., _ib. note_; he plays into the hands of the pope, 253; he obtains the repeal of the Pragmatic Sanction, 255; his sketch of Vienna, iii. 345 _note_ u. Agriculture, cause of the low state of, iii. 312, 359 and _note_ m; superior cultivation of church lands, 360; exemplary labours of the Benedictines, _ib. note_ n; agricultural colonies, 361 and _notes_ p and q; early enclosures and clearances, 362; exportation of corn, how limited, 364; usual prices of land, _ib._; high state of Italian agriculture, _ib._; effects of pestilence, 365; excellence of the Italian gardens, _ib._; neglect of horticulture in England, 366. Alaric, tolerance of, towards his catholic subjects, i. 3 _note_ f; defeated by Clovis, 4; laws compiled by his order, iii. 414. Albert I. of Germany, ii. 82; his rule in Switzerland, 108; his expulsion and assassination, 109; the French crown offered to him, 231. Albert II. succeeds Sigismund as emperor of Germany, ii. 88. Albigensian heresy, spread of the, i. 28; massacre of the Albigeois, _ib._, 29 _notes_; See Religious Sects. Albizi, ascendency in Florence regained by the, i. 496; Cosmo de' Medici banished at their instigation, 499; their overthrow, _ib._; exclusion of their family from the magistracy, 499. Alcuin teaches Charlemagne, iii. 419; he discourages secular learning, 420; character of his poetry, 474. Alexander II. (pope), election of, ii. 184; he deposes the English prelates, 305 _note_ h. Alexander III. (pope), supports Thomas à Becket, ii. 195; adopts the system of mandats, 212. Alexander V. elected pope, ii. 243; his successor, _ib._ Alexander III. king of Scotland, opposition to papal domination by, ii. 217. Alexius Comnenus attacks the Turks, ii. 128; he recovers the Greek territories, _ib._ and _note_. Alfonso I. of Aragon bequeaths his kingdom to the Knights Templars, ii. 8. Alfonso III. of Aragon compelled to apologise to his people, ii. 45. Alfonso V. of Aragon (the Magnanimous), i. 490; adopted by Joanna II. of Naples, _ib._; she revokes the adoption, 491; his accession, _ib._; his imprisonment by the Genoese, 492; his alliance with Milan, _ib._, 493; his virtues and patronage of the arts, 493; his literary medicine, 494 _note_; his love of Naples, ii. 42. Alfonso V. and VI. of Castile, towns incorporated by, ii. 6. Alfonso VII. of Castile, unwise division of his dominions by, ii. 9. Alfonso X. of Castile, scientific acquirements and governmental deficiencies of, ii. 12; law promulgated by him, 37; his election as emperor of Germany, 76; tithes established in his reign, 146 _note_ a; clerical encroachments favoured by him, 220 _note_ r; he exempts the clergy from civil jurisdiction, 226. Alfonso XI. of Castile assassinates his cousin, ii. 14; his disregard of law, 36. Alfred the Great, rescue of the Anglo-Saxon monarchy by, ii. 271; his alleged division of the kingdom into counties, &c., 280; ascription of trial by jury to him, 285; his high claim to veneration, 289; extent of his acquaintance with Latin, iii. 286; his declaration of the ignorance of the clergy, 288; his zeal for learning, _ib. note_ n. Aliens held liable for each other's debts, iii. 336. Almamùn and Almansor, khalifs of Bagdad, patronage of letters by, ii. 121. Alodial tenure, characteristics of, i. 147, 148 and _notes_; converted into feudal tenure, 163; except in certain localities, 164 and _note_; causes of the conversion, 317, 318; alodial proprietors evidently freemen, 324. Alvaro de Luna. See Luna. Amadeus (duke of Savoy), elected pope, ii. 248. Amalfi, early commercial eminence of, iii. 328 and _note_; its decline, _ib._; alleged invention of the mariner's compass there, 332 and _note_; discovery of the Pandects, 415. Amurath I., progresses of the Turkish arms under, ii. 132. Amurath II., rout of the Hungarians by, ii. 105; reunion of the Ottoman monarchy under him, 135; he perfects the institution of the Janizaries, 137. Anastasius confers the dignity of consulship on Clovis, i. 107; elucidatory observations thereon, 107-111. Andalusia, conquest of, by Ferdinand III., ii. 9. Andrew of Hungary married to Joanna of Naples, i. 486; his murder imputed to Joanna, _ib._ Anglo-Normans. See England. Anglo-Saxons, divisions of England under the, ii. 270; their Danish assailants, 271; Alfred and his successors, 272, 273; descent of the crown, 273; influence of provincial governors, 274; thanes and ceorls, 275; condition of the ceorls, _ib._; privileges annexed to their possession of land, 276; position of the socage tenants, 277; condition of the British natives, _ib._; absence of British roots in the English language, 278 and _note_ g; constitution of the Witenagemot, 279, 374-379; administration of justice, and divisions of the land for the purpose, 280; hundreds and their probable origin, 280, 281, 379-381; the tything-man and alderman, 282, and 283 _note_ u; the county court and its jurisdiction, 282; contemporary report of a suit adjudicated in the reign of Canute, 283, 284 and _note_ y; trial by jury and its antecedents, 285-288; introduction of the law of frank-pledge, 289, 290; turbulence of the Anglo-Saxons, 290; progress of the system of frank-pledges, 291; responsibilities and uses of the tythings, 292, 293 and _notes_; probable existence of feudal tenures before the Conquest, 293-301, 408-410; observations on the change of the heptarchy into a monarchy, 352-356; consolidation of the monarchy, 356-358; condition, of the eorls and ceorls further elucidated, 358-371; proportion of British natives under the Anglo-Saxon rule, 371-374; judicial functions of the Anglo-Saxon kings, 381; analogy between the French and Anglo-Saxon monarchies, 383; peculiar jurisdiction of the king's court, 384-386. Anjou (Louis, duke of), seizure of Charles V.'s treasures by, i. 65, 66; his claim as regent, 68 and _note_; his attempt on the crown of Naples, and death, 69. See Charles of Anjou. Anselm (archbishop), cause of his quarrel with William II. and Henry I., ii. 194; Descartes's argument on the Deity anticipated by him, iii. 428. Appanages, effect of the system of, i. 88. Aquinas (Thomas), metaphysical eminence of, iii. 427; comparative obsoleteness of his writings, 428 _note_ i. Aquitaine, extent of the dominions so called, i. 116; character of its people 116, 117; effect of the wars of the Merovingian kings, 282. Arabia and the Arabs. See Mohammed. Aragon, bequest of to the Templars by Alfonso I., and reversal thereof, ii. 8; rise of the kingdom in political importance, 39; struggle for the succession to its crown, 39-41; points of interest in its form of government, 43; privileges of its nobles and people, 43, 44; its natural defects and political advantages, 45; statistics of its wealth, population, &c., _ib. note_ r; grant of the "privilege of union," 46; supersession thereof, 48; the office of justiciary, _ib._; instances of that officer's integrity and courage, 49; and of the submission of kings to his decrees, 53, 54; duration and responsibilities of the office, 54; the Cortes of Aragon, 56; social condition of the kingdom, 58; its union with Castile, _ib._; its burgesses, iii. 331 _note_ u. Archers (English), invincibility of the, at Crecy and Poitiers, i. 54. See Military Systems. Architecture, as illustrative of domestic progress, iii. 346; early castles in England, _ib._; improvements thereon, 347; early houses, 348; revival of the use of bricks, 349; arrangement of ordinary mansion-houses, 350; dwellings in France and Italy, 350, 351; introduction of chimneys and glass windows, 351-353 and _notes_; house furniture and domestic conveniences, 353, 354 and _notes_; farm-houses and cottages, 355; ecclesiastical architecture, its grandeur and varieties, 355-359 and _notes_; domestic architecture of the 12th and 14th centuries, 479-482. Arian sovereigns, tolerance of the, i. 3 and _note_ f. Aribert declared king of Aquitaine, i. 115. Aristocracy. See Nobility. Aristotle, writings of, how first known in Europe, iii. 426 and _note_ f; ignorance of his translators, 429 and _note_ k; character of the Aristotelian philosophy, 430; its influence on religion, _ib. notes_. Armagnac (count of), opposes the duke of Burgundy, i. 71; massacre of himself and partizans, 72; assassination of a later count of Armagnac, 89. Armagnacs, rise of the faction of the, i. 71; tactics of the dauphin towards them, 72; their league with Henry IV. of England, 74; their defeat by the Swiss, ii. 112. Armorial bearings, general introduction of, i. 190; instances of their earliest use, 191 _note_. Armorican republic, questionable existence of the, i. 2; hypothesis of Dubos relative thereto, _ib. note_; further elucidation thereof, 103; supposed extent of its territories, 103, 104. Armour. See Military Systems. Artois. See Robert of Artois. Arundel (bishop and archbishop), remonstrates with Richard II., iii. 67; deprived of, and reinvested with, the great seal, 73; his subsequent deprivation and banishment, 77. Arundel (earl of, _temp._ Richard II.), favoured by the parliament, iii. 65; his conduct as a lord appellant, 72; his breach with the duke of Lancaster, 74; refuses to aid in legitimating Lancaster's children, 75; his decapitation, 77. Aschaffenburg, concordats of, ii. 253. Athens (duke of). See Brienne. Augustin (St.), specimen of the verses of, iii. 282 _note_ o. Aulic council, powers and jurisdiction of the, ii. 99. Auspicius (bishop of Toul), character of the poetry of, iii. 282; specimen thereof, _ib. note_ p. Austrasia, characteristics of the people of, i. 118. Auxiliary verb active, probable cause of the, iii. 280. Averroes, error relative to, iii. 422 _note_ o; his eminence as a philosopher, 426 _note_ f; tendency of his commentaries, 430. Avignon, removal of the papal court to, ii. 233; rapacity of its popes, 237, 238; its abandonment by the popes, 240. Azincourt (battle of), i. 74 and _note_. Bacon (Roger), a true philosopher, iii. 429 _note_ k; his acquaintance with mathematics, 432; parallel between him and Lord Bacon, _ib. note_ s; his knowledge of Greek, 464. Bagdad, celebrity of the early khalifs of, ii. 121; character of its later khalifs, 122; frequency of their assassination, 123; defection of its provinces, 124. Bajazet, military successes of, ii. 132; defeated and captured by the Tartars, 134. Baltic trade. See Trade. Banks and bankers of Italy, iii. 340, 341. Barbiano (Alberic di), military eminence of, i. 474; his pupils, 481. Barcelona, feudal submission to France of the counts of, i. 10, _note_; its early commercial eminence, iii. 331; its code of maritime laws, 333 and _note_; and of marine insurance, 339 _note_ c; its bank of deposit, 340. Bardas, revival of Greek literature by, iii. 468 _note_ z. Bardi, Florentine bankers, English customs farmed by the, iii. 340 _note_ d. Barons (in France), occasional assemblages of the, i. 219; consequences of their non-attendance at the royal council, 222; they become subject to the monarch, 223; their privileges curtailed by Philip IV., 226. See Nobility. Barristers' fees in the 15th century, iii. 371. Basle, council of. See Council. Beaumanoir, definition of the three conditions of men by, i. 197, 200. Bedford (duke of), regent for Henry VI., i. 76; his character, 77; his successes in France, _ib._; overthrow of his forces by Joan of Arc, 79. Belgrade, siege and relief of, ii. 106. Benedict XI. reconciles Philip the Fair to the holy see, ii. 232; he rescinds the bulls of Boniface VIII., 233. Benedict XII., purport of his letter to Edward III., i. 51 _note_; his rapacity, ii. 237. Benedict XIII. elected pope by the Avignon cardinals, ii. 242; deposed by the council of Pisa, 243; Spain supports him, _ib._ Benedictines, exemplary agricultural labours of the, iii. 360 _note_ n. Benefices, grants of land so called, i. 159; conditions annexed to them, _ib._; their extent, 160 and _note_; their character under Charlemagne and Louis the Debonair, 313; views of various writers concerning their nature, 313-315; character of hereditary benefices, 320; their regenerative effects upon the French people, _ib._ Benevolences, by whom first levied in England, iii. 200. Berenger I. and II. See Italy. Bermudo III. (king of Leon), killed in battle, ii. 4. Bernard (grandson of Charlemagne), deprived of sight by judicial sentence, i. 14. Berry (duke of), appointed guardian of Charles VI., i. 65; his character, 69. Bianchi. See Superstitions. Bianchi and Neri, factions of, i. 402; iii. 445. Bigod (Roger, earl of Norfolk), patriotism of, iii. 2. Bills. See Parliament. Birth, privileges of. See Nobility. Bishops. See Church, Clergy. Blanchard (Alain), unjustifiable execution of, i. 84. Blanche of Castile, acts as regent during the minority of Louis IX., i. 30; quells the rebellion of the barons, _ib._; instance of her undue influence over Louis, 32. Boccaccio, occasion of the Decamerone of, i. 57; appointed to lecture on Dante, iii. 448. Boccanegra (Simon), first doge of Genoa, story of the election of, i. 451. Bocland, nature of, ii. 294, 408. Bohemia, nature of its connection with Germany, ii. 100; its polity, 101; the Hussite controversy and its results, 102, 103. Bohun (Humphrey, earl of Hereford), patriotism of, iii. 2. Bolingbroke (earl of Derby and duke of Hereford), made lord appellant, iii. 72; he sides with the king, 74; his quarrel with the duke of Norfolk, 79; advantage taken of it by Richard II., 80 and _note_ z; his accession to the throne, 81. See Henry IV. Bolognese law-schools, iii. 415. Boniface (St.). See Winfrid. Boniface VIII. suspected of fraud towards Celestine V., ii. 228; his extravagant pretensions, _ib._ and _note_; disregard of his bulls by Edward I., 229; his disputes with Philip the Fair, 230-232; success of Philip's stratagem against him, 232; his death, _ib._; rescindment of his bulls, 233; Ockham's dialogue against him, 236 _note_ n; rejection of his supremacy by the English barons, 239. Boniface IX., elected pope, ii. 242; his traffic in benefices, 245, 246; his rapacity in England checked, 250, 251. Books and booksellers. See Learning. Boroughs. See Municipal Institutions, Parliament, Towns. Braccio di Montone, rivalry of, with Sforza, i. 481. Brienne (Walter de, duke of Athens), invested with extreme powers in Florence, i. 427; his tyranny and excesses, 428; his overthrow, 429. Britany, origin of the people of, i. 98 and _note_; grant of the duchy to Montfort, 99; its annexation to the crown, 100; alleged existence of a king of Britany, 103; right of its dukes to coin money, 206. Brunehaut, queen of Austrasia, i. 5; her character and conduct, 6 _note_; her mayor, Protadius, 114; her scheme of government, 117; she falls into the hands of Clotaire II., and is sentenced to death, 119; cause of her overthrow, _note_ 157, 293, 309; pope Gregory I.'s adulation towards her, ii. 162 _note_ q. Buchan (earl of), made constable of France, i. 78. Burdett (Thomas), cause of the execution of, iii. 199 and _note_ o. Burgesses. See Parliament. Burgesses of the palisades, origin of the, ii. 92. Burgundians, Roman provinces occupied by the, i. 1; their tolerance, 3 _note_ f; their mode of dividing conquered provinces, 146; elucidatory observations thereon, 275-278. Burgundy (_Eudes_, duke of), undertakes the protection of his niece Jane, i. 45; he betrays her cause, 46. Burgundy (duke of), named guardian of Charles VI., i. 65; loses his ascendency over the king, 69; regains it, _ib._; his death, 70. Burgundy (_John_, duke of, "Sans-peur"), assassinates the duke of Orleans, i. 70; his supposed provocation, _ib. note_; obtains pardon for the crime, 71; consequence of his reconciliation with the court, 71, 72; is assassinated, 73 and _note_; his defeat at Nicopolis, ii. 133 _note_. Burgundy (_Philip_, duke of), allies himself with Henry V., i. 76; his French predilections, 82; and treaty with Charles VII., _ib._ 90 _note_ r, 91 _note_ s; splendour of his court, 91; jealousy of his subjects concerning taxation, 93 _note_ x. Burgundy (_Charles_, duke of), character and ambitious designs of, i. 91 and _note_, 92; his contumacious subjects, 92; his rash enterprises and failures, 93; is defeated and killed, 94; adventures of his diamond, _ib. note_. Burgundy (Mary, duchess of), defends her rights against Louis XI., i. 94 and _notes_; marries Maximilian of Austria, 95; her death, 96. Caballeros of Spain, privileges enjoyed by the, ii. 8. Calais, abject condition of the citizens of, i. 58 _note_ k; terms of instruments signed there, 60. Calixtins, tenets of the, ii. 103. Calixtus II. (pope), compromise effected by, ii. 188; he abolishes feudal services by bishops, 189. Calverley (Sir Hugh), characteristic anecdote of, i. 65. Cambridge university, first mention of, iii. 424 _note_ y. Canon law, promulgation of the, ii. 203; its study made imperative, 204. Capet (Hugh), usurpation of the French throne by, i. 18; antiquity of his family, _ib. note_ r; state of France at his accession, 22; opposition to, and ultimate recognition of his authority, 23 and _note_ g; period of his assumption of regal power, 128; degree of authority exercised by his immediate descendants, 24, 136; his sources of revenue, 208. Capitularies, what they were, i. 215; their latest date, 218 and _note_. Caraccioli, favourite of Joanna II. of Naples, i. 489; his assassination, 491 _note_. Carloman, inheritance of the children of, usurped by Charlemagne, i. 9 _note_ y. Carlovingian dynasty, extinction of the, i. 17. Carrara (Francesco da), Verona seized by, i. 464; killed in prison, 465. Carroccio, the, i. 467 and _note_ d. Castile and Leon united into one kingdom, ii. 4; their subsequent re-division and reunion, 9; composition and character of the cortes of Castile [see Cortes]; the council and its functions, 33, 34; administration of justice, 35; violations of law by the kings, 36; confederacies of the nobility, 37; similarity of its polity to that of England, 38; establishment of tithes in Castile, 146 _note_ a. Castle, graphic description of a, i. 322. Castruccio Castrucani, success of, i. 410. Catalonia, character of the people of, ii. 57; severity of the state of villenage there, _ib. note_ c. Catharists, religious tenets held by the, iii. 384. Catholics, treatment of the, by their Gothic conquerors, i. 3 _note_ f. Cava (count Julian's daughter), legend of the seduction of, ii. 62. Celestine V., fraud of Boniface VIII. towards, ii. 228. Champ de Mars. See Field of March. Charlemagne, reunion of the Frankish empire under, i. 9 and _note_ y; his victories in Italy and Spain, 9, 10; obstinate resistance and ultimate submission of the Saxons to his rule, 10; his Sclavonian conquests, 11; extent of his dominions, _ib._; his coronation as emperor, _ib._ and _note_ c; its consequences, 12; his intellectual acquirements and domestic improvements, _ib._ and _note_ e; his vices, cruelties, religious edicts, 13; his sons and successors, 14; his control over the clergy, 16; degeneracy of his descendants, 17; state of the people under his rule, 18; his dread of the Normans, 21; his alleged election by the Romans as emperor discussed, 122-124; question of succession involved in his elevation to the imperial title, 124-126; his wise provisions relative to fugitive serfs, 198 _note_ q; his revenue, how raised, 208; peculiarities of his legislative assemblies, 215, 216; French ignorance of his character in the 14th century, 228; his capitulary relative to tithes, ii. 145, 146 and _note_ z; his authority over the popes, 182; state of his education, iii., 286 and _note_ f; his library, 292 _note_; his encouragement of ordeals, 295; his agricultural colonies, 361; public schools in France due to him, 419; becomes a disciple of Alcuin, _ib._ Charles the Bad. See Charles of Navarre. Charles the Bald, share of empire allotted to, i. 16, and _note_ on p. 17; ravages of the Normans during his reign, 21; his imbecile government and its consequences, 135; his slavish submission to the church, ii. 156, 157; he disobeys pope Adrian II., 173, 174. Charles the Fat, accession and deposition of, i. 17; position of Germany at his death, ii. 66; arrogance of pope John VIII. towards him, 174. Charles the Simple, policy of, towards the Normans, i. 22. Charles IV. (the Fair) ascends the throne pursuant to the Salic law, i. 48; conduct of Edward III. of England after his death, _ib._ Charles V. (the Wise) submits to the peace of Bretigni, i. 59; his summons to Edward the Black Prince, 63; his treaty with Henry of Castile, _ib. note_ t; his successes against the English, 64; his premature death and character, 65; seizure of his treasures by the duke of Anjou, 65, 66; expenses of his household, 68 _note_ z; his conflicts with the States-General, 230, 231; he imposes taxes without their consent, 232. Charles VI., accession of, i. 65; state of France during his reign, 66; defeats the citizens of Ghent, 67; misapplication of taxes during his minority, 68 and _note_ z; his seizure with insanity, 69; disgraceful conduct of his queen, _ib._ and _note_; his death, 76; his submission to the remonstrances of the States-General, 232. Charles VII., state of France at the accession of, i. 77; his impoverished exchequer, 78; his Scotch auxiliaries, _ib._; his character, and choice of favourites, 79; change wrought in his fortunes by Joan of Arc, 79, 80; his connection with Agnes Sorel, 80 _note_ z; restores Richemont to power, 80; is reconciled with the duke of Burgundy, 82; reconquers the provinces ceded to the English crown, 83; his cruelty to English captives, 84; consolidation of his power, 85; insurrection of Guienne against taxation, 86 and _note_; his conduct relative to the States-General, 234; he levies taxes of his own will, 235; he enacts the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, ii. 255. Charles VIII., accession of, i. 98; contest for the regency during his minority, _ib._ 236; marries Anne of Britany, 100; consolidation of the French monarchy under his sway, 100, 101 and _notes_; proceedings of the States-General during his minority, 236, 237. Charles of Anjou (I. of Naples), seizure of the crown of Naples by, i. 406; he puts Conradin, the heir, to death, 407; he defeats the Ghibelins and governs Tuscany, _ib._ and _note_; revolt of his subjects, 410. Charles II. of Naples, war of the Sicilians against, i. 485; his death, _ib._ Charles of Durazzo (III. of Naples), implicated in the murder of Andrew, i. 486 _note_ q; puts queen Joanna to death, 487; his assassination, 488. Charles IV. of Germany, singular character of, ii. 85; his Golden Bull, 86 and _note_ e; he alienates the imperial domains, 94; advancement of Bohemia under his rule, 102. Charles Martel, conquest of the Saracens by, i. 7; site and importance of the battle, _ib. note_ q; its object, 12; his spoliation of the church, ii. 146. Charles of Navarre (the Bad), tumults in France excited by, i. 56; his crimes, 57; allies himself with Edward III., _ib._ Chartered towns. See Municipal Institutions, Towns. Chaucer (Geoffrey), testimony borne by his writings, iii. 160 _note_; character of his works, 456, 457. Chaucer (Sir Thomas), rebuked by Henry IV., iii. 95. Childebert (son of Clovis), dominions allotted to, i. 4 and _note_ i; his proposal relative to Clodomir's children, 311 _note_. Childeric III., deposition of, i. 8. Children, crusade undertaken by, iii. 296 _note_ z. Chilperic, guilty conduct of Fredegonde, the queen of, i. 5, 119; oppressive taxes levied by him, 306; tumult which ensued, _ib._; what followed after his death, _ib._; his attempts at poetry, iii. 283; his attack on the sanctuary, 303. Chimneys. See Architecture. Chivalry, as a school of moral discipline, ii. 390; remoteness of its origin, 391; individual honour its keystone, 392; types of chivalry, 392 and _note_ s; its original connection with feudal service, 394; effect of the crusades, 395; its connection with religion, 395, 396; enthusiasm inspired by gallantry, 396-398; licentiousness incident to chivalry, 399; virtues inculcated by it, 400; practice of courtesy, liberality, and justice, 401-403; obligations of chivalry to the East, 403; its attendant evils, 404; education preparatory to knighthood, 405; chivalric festivals, 406; tournaments and their dangers, 407; privileges of knighthood, 408; who were admissible thereto, _ib._ and _note_; military service: knights and bachelors, 409, 410 and _notes_; causes of the decline of chivalry, 411; influences by which it was superseded, 412 and _note_ d. Christianity, impetus given to the formation of civic institutions by, i. 121; its beneficial effect upon the Normans, 136. Church, wealth of the, under the empire, ii. 140; its position after the irruption of the barbarians, 141; source of its legitimate wealth, 142; its religious extortions, 143; privileges attached to its property, 144; institution of tithes, 144-146 and _notes_; liability of church property to spoliation, 146; origin of _precariæ_, 147 _note_ d; extent of the church's landed possessions, 148 and _note_ i; its participation in the administration of justice, 149; limitations interposed by Justinian, 150, 151; its political influence, 152; source thereof, 153; its subjection to the state, _ib._; Charlemagne's edicts relative to its affairs, 154, 155, and _notes_; its assumption of authority over the French kings, 156, 157; obsequiousness of England to its pretensions, 158; investiture of its bishops with their temporalities, 181; their simoniacal practices, _ib._ and _note_ q; canons and chapters, 191; liberties of the Gallican church, 256; high church principles always dangerous, 257 _note_ x; privileges of sanctuary, iii. 302, 303. See Clergy, Monasteries, Papal Power. Clan service not based on feudality, i. 187. Clarence (duke of), put to death by Edward IV., iii. 199. Clarendon, constitutions of, ii. 221; their influence on Thomas à Becket's quarrel with Henry II., 223. Cistertian monk, blasphemous saying attributed to a, i. 29 _note_ t. Cities. See Municipal Institutions and Towns. Civil Law. See Laws. Clement IV., effect of a bull promulgated by, ii. 215; opposition of the Scotch king to his edict, 217. Clement V. ratifies Robert's claim to the crown of Naples, i. 485; his maxim relative to benefices, ii. 215; he removes the papal court to Avignon, 233; his contests with the emperor Louis, 234; England remonstrates with him, 238, 239 _notes_; his outrageous edict against Venice, 260. Clement VI. acquits Joanna of Naples of murder, i. 487; his licentiousness, ii. 238. Clement VII., circumstances relative to his election as pope, ii. 240; division of the papacy thereupon, 242; proceedings after his death, 242, 243. Clergy, ascendency of the (_temp._ Charles the Bald), i. 135; their privileges under the feudal system, 195, 196; fighting prelates, 195 _note_ f; their participation in legislative proceedings, 213, 215; privileges of their tenants, 319; bishops in Lombardy and their temporalities, 364, 366 and _note_ x; share of the citizens in their election, 366 and _note_ y; a robber archbishop, ii. 95; immense territorial possessions of the clergy, 148 and _notes_; their acquisition of political power, 152, 153; their neglect of the rule of celibacy, 176, 177; sufferings of the married clergy, 177 and _note_ d; lax morality of the English clergy, 178, 179 _notes_; practice of simony, 179; consent of the laity required in the election of bishops, _ib._; interference of the sovereigns therein, 180 and _note_ n; character of the clergy of Milan, 187 _note_ g; taxation of the clergy by the kings, 216; tribute levied on them by the popes, 216, 217; their disaffection towards Rome, 218; their exemption from temporal jurisdiction, 219-221; extortions of Edward I., 229; effects of Wicliff's principles, 252; priests executed for coining, _ib. note_ e; spiritual peers in the English parliament, iii. 4, 5; their qualifications, 122; clergy summoned to send representatives, 131; cause of their being summoned, 132; result of their segregating themselves from the commons, 133; instances of their parliamentary existence, 135-138; right of bishops to be tried by the peers, 204-207; mediæval clergy not supporters of despotism, 258; their ignorance of letters, 287-289; their monastic vices, 303; why a bishop made a Danish nobleman drunk, 306 _note_ u. See Church, Monasteries, Papal Power, Superstition. Clisson (constable de), immense wealth amassed by, i. 69. Clodomir (son of Clovis), dominions allotted to, i. 4; proposed alternative relative to his children, 311 _note_. Clotaire, portion of dominions allotted to, i. 4; union of the whole under him, 5; re-division amongst his sons, _ib._; criminality of his character, 119. Clotaire II., reunion of the French dominions under, i. 5; nature of the authority exercised by him, 117. Clotilda converts her husband to Christianity, i. 3; her sons, 4. Clovis invades Gaul and defeats Syagrius, i. 2; accepts the title of consul, _ib._ and _note_ d; defeats the Alemanni, 3; his conversion to Christianity, _ib._; defeats Alaric, 4; his last exploits and sanguinary policy, _ib._ and _note_ g; division of his dominions amongst his sons, 4, 5 and _notes_; the last of his race, 8; his alleged subjection to the emperors discussed, _Note_ III. 106-111; his limited authority: story of the vase of Soissons, 155; theory built on the story, 301, 302; crimes of himself and his grandson, iii. 306 and _note_ u. Clovis II., accession of, i. 120. Cobham, lord (_temp._ Richard II.). banished, iii. 77. Coining, extensive practice of, amongst the French nobles, i. 205; debased money issued by them, 206; systematic adulteration of coin by the kings, 210, 228, 231; measures adopted for remedying these frauds, 211 _note_ h; grant of taxes made conditional on restoration of the coin, 230; priests executed for coining, ii. 252 _note_ e; an abbot hanged for the same offence, iii. 205; clipping of coins by the Jews, 369 _note_ t. Cologne, antiquity of the municipal institutions of, i. 350. Coloni, characteristics and privileges of the, i. 325. Combat. See Trial. Comines (Philip de), characteristic note on taxation by, i. 236. Commodianus, literary remains of, iii. 281; specimen thereof, _ib. note_ n. Comnenus. See Alexius. Conrad (duke of Franconia), elected emperor of Germany, ii. 67. Conrad II. (the Salic), important edict of, relative to feuds, i. 166, 167 and _notes_; elected emperor of Germany, ii. 68; his ancestry, _ib. note_ f. Conrad III. joins in the second crusade i. 38; elected emperor of Germany, ii. 72. Conrad IV., accession of, i. 392; his struggles for dominion in Italy, and death, _ib._; his difficulties in Germany, ii. 76. Conradin (son of Conrad IV.) attempts to regain his inheritance, i. 407; put to death by Charles of Anjou, _ib._ Constance, council of. See Council. Constance, treaty of, i, 376. Constantine V. dethroned by his mother, i. 122. Constantinople, advantageous position of, ii. 125; its resistance to the Moslem assaults, 126; its capture by the Latins, 128; its magnificence and populousness, 129, 130; Vandalism of its conquerors, 130; its recapture by the Greeks, 131; besieged by Bajazet, 132, and by Amurath, 135; attacked by Mahomet II., 136; its fall, 136, 137; unrealised schemes for its recovery, 137, 138. Constitution of England. See English Constitution. Cordova taken from the Moors, ii. 9; its extent and wealth, _ib. note_ m. Corn. See Agriculture, Trade. Cortes of Castile, original composition of the, ii. 20; dwindling down of their numbers, 21; their remonstrance against corruption, 22; spiritual and temporal nobility, 22, 23 and _notes_; control of the Cortes over the taxes, 24, 25; their resolute defence of their right, 26; their control over expenditure, 27; its active exercise, 28; their forms of procedure, 29; their legislative rights, and attempted limitations thereon by the kings, 29-32; their right to a voice in the disposal of the crown, 33, 34; position of the clergy therein, iii. 106 _note_. Corvinus (Matthias) elected king of Hungary, ii. 106; his patronage of literature, 107 and _note_ d. Council of Basle, enmity of the, towards the papal court, ii. 247; reforms effected by it, 248 and _note_; its indiscretions, _ib._ and 250 _note_. Council of Constance condemns John Huss and Jerome of Prague to be burned, ii. 102; deposes John XXIII., 243; preponderance of Italian interests therein, 244; French opposition to the English deputies, _ib. note_; tactics of the cardinals, 246; national divisions in the council, _ib._; its breach of faith relative to Huss and Jerome canvassed, 250 and _note_. Council of Frankfort convoked by Saint Boniface, ii. 165; its importance in papal history, _ib._ Council of Lyons, i. 391, ii. 75. Council of Pavia, ii. 247. Council of Pisa, proceedings at the, ii. 243. Cours plénières, character of the, i. 220. Courtney (archbishop), despoiled of his temporalities, iii. 66. Crecy, battle of, i. 55. Crescentius put to death by Otho III., i. 359 and _note_. Crusades, origin of the, i. 33; energetic appeals of Peter the Hermit, 34; inducements offered to those who joined in them, 35; crimes and miseries attendant on them, 36; results of the first crusade, 37; second crusade, 38; its failure, _ib._ and _notes_; origin of the third crusade, 40; its famous commanders and inconclusive results, _ib._; crusades of St. Louis and their miserable ending, 41 and _note_; cause of the cessation of crusades, iii. 305; their demoralizing influence, 307. Cyprian's views relative to church government, ii. 159 _note_ h; further observations thereon, 267, 268. Dagobert I., insignificance of the successors of, i. 6; nature of the authority exercised by him, 117; progress of the arts in his reign, 119. Dagobert II., name of, how restored to history, i. 112. Damascus, degeneracy of the khalifs of, ii. 120, 121. Danes, England first infested by the, i. 21. Dante Alighieri expelled from Florence, i. 402; his birth, iii. 445; style of his Vita Nuova, _ib. note_; characteristics of his great poem, 446-448; enthusiasm which attended its publication, 448. Dauphiné annexed to the French crown, i. 100; its origin, 101, _note_ k. Defiance, institution of the right of, ii. 95; its abolition, 96. De la Mare (Peter), opposes the duke of Lancaster, iii. 56; conduct of the citizens on his imprisonment, 57; elected speaker of the commons, 58. Della Bella (Giano), improves the Florentine constitution, i. 424; driven into exile, 425. Derby (earl of). See Bolingbroke. Diet. See Council. Diet of Worms, important changes effected by the, ii. 94; abolishes the right of defiance, 96; establishes the imperial chamber, 97-99. Domesday Book, origin of the term, iii. 362 _note_ r. Domestic life in the middle ages, iii. 341-345; income and style of living, 370. Douglas (earl of) aids Charles VII., i. 78. Duelling, introduction of the practice of, iii. 294 and _note_ u. Du Guesclin (Bertrand), proceeds to Castile, i. 58; his character 64; he serves against Peter the Cruel, ii. 15; is taken prisoner, _ib._ Dunstan and Odo, and their treatment of Edwy and Elgiva, ii. 158; elucidatory remarks relative thereto, 264-267. Earl, origin of the title of, ii. 274 _note_ p. Ebroin, exercise of supreme power by, i. 6, 115, 120. Eccelin da Romano, tyrannic exercise of power by, i. 389; pretexts to which his infamous cruelty gave birth, _ib. note_ f; his fall, 406. Ecclesiastical jurisdiction. See Church, Clergy, Papal Power. Edessa, extent of the principality of, i. 37 and _note_ f. Edward the Confessor, popularity of the laws of, ii. 324, 351. Edward I. offends Philip IV. of France, i. 43 and _note_; his brother Edmund outwitted by Philip, 44; he curbs the power of the clergy, ii. 224; his tyranny towards them, 228; his reign a constitutional epoch, iii. 1; his despotic tendencies, 2; he confirms the charters, 3 and _note_ c. Edward II. marries Isabel of France, i. 45; he yields to the pope, ii. 239. Edward III. lays claim to the French throne, i. 48; its injustice shown, _ib._ and _note_ 49; his policy prior to resorting to arms, 49; his chances of success, 51; attempt of the pope to dissuade him from the attempt, _ib. note_; principal features in his character, 52; extent of his resources, 53, 54, and _notes_; excellence of his armies, 55 and _note_; his acquisition after the battles of Crecy and Poitiers, 56; his alliance with Charles the Bad, 57; conditions of the peace of Bretigni, 59; his stipulation relative to Aquitaine, 61 and _note_ p; his reverses and their causes, 62, 63 and _notes_; his opposition to the pope, ii. 239; progress of parliament under him, iii. 42; his attempts at encroachment, 44-47; ascendency of Lancaster and Alice Perrers over him, 55; ordinance against Alice, 56; repeal thereof, 57; revival of the prosecution against her, 58 and _note_ g; his debts to Italian bankers, 340. Edward the Black Prince, character of, i. 52; his victory at Poitiers, 55; created prince of Aquitaine, 61; his impolitic conduct in Guienne, 63; summoned before the peers of France, _ib._ and _note_ t; machinations relative to his heir, iii. 55 and _note_ a; his jealousy of the duke of Lancaster, 56; his death, 57. Edward IV. accepts a pension from Louis XI., i. 89; his military force, _ib. note_ p; Louis's reasons for declining a visit from him, 90; his accession to the throne, iii. 198; his inexcusable barbarities, 199; popularity of his government, _ib._; his system of benevolences, 200. Edwy and Elgiva. See Dunstan. England, first infested by the Danes, i. 21; its resources under Edward III., 53, 54; causes of the success of its armies, 55, 77; high payment to its men-at-arms, 77 _note_ t; discomfiture of its troops by Joan of Arc, 79; impolicy touching its relations with France, 82; deprived of its French possessions by Charles VII., 83; its obsequiousness to the hierarchy, ii. 158; its opposition to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, 222-225; its protest against the exactions of the church, 238, 239 and _notes_; its share in the council of Constance, 244 and _note_; enactment of the statute of præmunire, 251; effect of Wicliff's principles, 252; progress of the country under the Anglo-Saxons [see Anglo-Saxons]; its state at the period of the Norman conquest, 302, 303; fruitless resistance of its people to Norman rule, 304 and _notes_; expulsion of its prelates and maltreatment of its nobles, 305 and _note_; attempted suppression of its language, 306 and _note_; wholesale spoliation of property, 308; abject condition of English occupiers, 309, 310; vastness of the Norman estates explained, 310; conquered England compared with conquered Gaul, 311; forest devastations and forest laws, 311, 312 and _notes_; depopulation of the towns, 312; establishment of feudal customs, 314; preservation of the public peace, 315; difference between feudalism in England and in France, 316, 317; hatred by the English of the Normans, 318; oppressions and exactions of the Norman government, 318, 320; nature of the taxes then levied, 321, 322; laws and charters of the Norman kings, 323, 324; banishment of Longchamp by the barons, 325; establishment of Magna Charta, 326; difficulty of overrating its value, 327; outline of its provisions, 321, 328; confirmation thereof by Henry III., 329; constitutional struggles between him and his barons, 331, 334; limitations on the royal prerogative, 334, 335 and _notes_; institution of the various courts of law, 336-338; origin of the common law, 339-341; character and defects of the English law, 341-343; hereditary right of the crown established, 343-346; legal position of the gentry, 346-348; causes of civil equality, 348-351; character of its government, iii. 147; prerogatives of its kings, 147-150; mitigation of the forest laws, 150 and _note_ p; jurisdiction of its constable and marshal, 151, 152 and _notes_; spirit of independence exhibited in mediæval ballads, 265-267; its customs farmed by Italian bankers, 339, 340 _note_ d. English constitution, character of the, iii. 152; Sir John Fortescue's doctrine, 153-155; Hume's erroneous views regarding it, 155, 158; causes tending to its formation, 159; effect of the loss of Normandy, 160; real source of English freedom, 162; principle involved in the relationship between lords and their vassals, _ib._; right of distress on the king's property, 163; feudal sources of constitutional liberty, 164; influence of the nobility, 165; salutary provisions of Edward I., 169; nature and gradual extinction of villenage, 171-183; instances of regencies and principles whereon they are founded, 184-190; doctrine of prerogative, 257-260. See Anglo-Saxons, England, Feudal System, Parliament. Erigena. See Scotus (John). Ethelwolf, grant of, relative to tithes, ii. 146 _note_ a, 263. Eudes elected king by the Franks, i. 127; his qualifications for the dignity, _ib._ Eudes (duke of Burgundy). See Burgundy. Eudon signally defeats the Saracens, i. 116; receives aid from Charles Martel, _ib._ Eugenius IV. (cardinal Julian) advises Uladislaus to break faith with Amurath, ii. 105; its fatal consequences, 106; other instances of his perfidy, 210 _note_ e; his contests with the councils, 247; his deposition by the council of Basle, 247 and _note_ q. Euric, harsh treatment of his catholic subjects by, i. 3 _note_ f. False Decretals. See Isidore. Famines in the middle ages, frequency and extreme severity of, i. 328. Felix V. (pope), election and supersession of, ii. 248. Ferdinand confirmed in his succession to the crown of Naples, i. 494; attempt of John of Calabria to oust him, _ib._; his odious rule, 503 and _note_. Ferdinand I. of Aragon, independence of the Catalans towards, ii. 57. Ferdinand II. of Aragon marries Isabella of Castile, ii. 18; they succeed to the Castilian throne, _ib._; Ferdinand invested with the crown of Aragon, 42; arrangement of the united governments, 58, 59; conquest of Granada, 59, 60. Ferdinand III. of Castile, capture of Cordova by, ii. 9. Ferdinand IV. of Castile, prevalence of civil dissensions in the reign of, ii. 12, 13; his gross violation of justice and remarkable death, 36. Feudal system, rise of the, i. 145; nature of alodial and salic lands, 147-149 and _notes_; distinction of laws, 151; origin of nobility, 157-159, 189; fiscal lands or benefices, their nature, condition, and, extent, 159, 160; introduction of subinfeudation, 161; origin of feudal tenures, 163; custom of personal commendation, 164; its character, _ib._, 165; edict of Conrad II., 166, 167, and _notes_; principle of a feudal relation, 167; rights and duties of vassals, _ib._; ceremonies of homage, fealty, and investiture, 169; obligations of the vassal to his lord, 170; military service, its conditions and extent, 171 and _notes_; feudal incidents: origin of reliefs, 172, 173; of fines on alienation, 174; the custom of _frérage_ in France, 176; escheats and forfeitures, 177; objects for which aids were levied, _ib._; limitations thereof by Magna Charta, 178; institution of wardships, _ib._; their vexatious character in later times, 179; extortionate and oppressive practices relative to marriages, 179, 180; introduction of improper feuds, 181; fiefs of office, their nature and variety, 181, 182 and _notes_; feudal law-books, 182; the Milanese collection, 183; difference between that and the French and English systems, 183, 184; the feudal system not of Roman origin, 185, 186; localities over which it extended, 187, 188; privileges of nobility, 191-194; difference between a French _roturier_ and an English _commoner_, 191 _note_ p; condition of the clergy, 195, 196; of the classes below the gentry, 196; assemblies of the barons, 219; the cours plénières, 220, 248; legislative and judicial assemblies [see Legislation, States-General, Justice]; decline of the feudal system, 249; its causes: increase of the domains of the crown, 253, 254; rise of the chartered towns, 255-261 [see Towns]; commutation of military service, 261 [see Military Systems]; decay of feudal principles, 268; influence of feudalism upon the institutions of England and France, 269; civil freedom promoted by it, 270; its tendency to exalt warlike habits, 271; its value as an element of discipline, _ib._; and as producing sentiments of loyalty, 272; the _mundium_, 318 _note_; essentials of the feudal system, 319; its principles aristocratic and exclusive, 321; Guizot's description of a feudal castle, 322; laxity of feudal tenures in Italy, 365; question of their existence in England prior to the Conquest, ii. 293-301; feudalism under the Normans, 314; innovation introduced by William I., 315; difference between the feudal policy of England and France, 316, 318; tenure of folcland and bocland, 406-410; abuses of feudal rights, iii. 150. Feuds, nature of, and derivation of the word, i. 316. Fiefs. See Benefices, Feudal System. Field of March (or Champ de Mars), origin of the assemblies so termed, i. 212, 213; their character, 213, 214; not attended by the Roman inhabitants of Gaul, 282; how often held, 308. Field Sports. See Sports. Fines, extent and singularity of, under the Anglo-Norman kings, ii. 320. Fire-arms. See Military Systems. Fiscal lands. See Benefices. Flanders, fraudulent conduct of Philip IV. towards the count of, i. 44; successful resistance of its people, _ib._; large capture of gilt spurs by them, _ib. note_ a; their commerce with England, 54; their rebellion against count Louis, 66, 67 and _notes_; their insubordination, 92; their resistance to taxation, 93 and _note_; their woollen manufacture, iii. 318, 319; their settlement in England, 320 _note_ h; its policy relative thereto, 321 and _note_ o. See Trade. Florence, curtailment of the power of, by Frederic Barbarossa, i. 420; exclusion of the Ghibelins from offices of trust, _ib._; Dante's simile relative to its unsettled state, _ib._; corporations of the citizens, 421; its magistracy, _ib._; curious mode of election, 422; the consiglio di popolo, 423; defiance of law by the nobility, 424; Giano della Bella reduces them to obedience, 424, 425; rise of the plebeian aristocracy, 426; Walter de Brienne invested with extraordinary powers, 427; his tyranny and excesses, 428; his overthrow, 429; singular ordinances relative to the nobles, 430; machinations of the Guelfs and persecutions of the Ghibelins, 431-433 and _note_ c; prostration of the Guelfs, 434; insurrection of the Ciompi and elevation of Lando, 435; his judicious administration, 436; restoration of the Guelfs, 437; comparative security of the Florentines, 438; their territorial acquisitions, revenue, population, &c., 439, 440 and _notes_; Pisa bought by them, 443; further disquietudes in their government, 496; rise of the Medici [see Medici]; first Florentine voyage to Alexandria, 499 and _note_; Florentine bankers and their transactions, iii. 340 and _notes_. Folcland, nature of, ii. 406. Foreigners invested with power in Italian states, i. 397, 416, 421, 427, 449. Forest laws of the Anglo-Norman kings, ii. 312; mitigation of their severity, iii. 150; punishments inflicted, 311. Fortescue (Sir John), on the English constitution, iii. 154. France, policy observed in the territorial division of, i. 4 _note_ i; insignificance of its early monarchs, 6 and _note_ m; loss of the English possessions in, 27; increase of the French domains, 42-45; its state at the commencement of hostilities by Edward III., 51; its condition after the battle of Poitiers, 56; assembly of the States-General, _ib._; desolation of the kingdom by famine, 57 and _note_; ravaged by banditti, 58; the Jacquerie insurrection, _ib._ and _note_ k; state of the country under Charles V. and VI., 65, 66; under Charles VII., 77, 84; consolidation of its dominions, 100; its historians, 101 _note_ m; its deplorable state under Charles the Bald, 135; its provincial government under the Merovingian kings, 152; succession to its monarchy, 154 and 217 _note_; its progress from weakness to strength, 204; revenue of its kings, how raised, 208; its coinage, 210, 211; taxation, 211, 212; its constitution never a _free_ one, 229 _note_ b; designs of its kings upon Naples, 503 _et seq._ Franconia, rise of the House of, ii. 68; its extinction, 71. Frankfort, council of. See Council. Franks, territories occupied by the, i. 2 and _note_ c; their probable origin, _Note_ II. 104, 105; their position under Pepin, 117, 118; their promise to Pepin, 127, 154; character of their church dignitaries, 150 _note_ q; increase of the power of their kings, 155; serfdom and villenage amongst them, 198-200; extent to which they participated in legislation, 213 and _note_; origin of the Ripuarian Franks and Salian Franks, 279; their numbers during the reign of Clovis, 291, 292; presumed infrequency of marriages between them and the Romans, 296; extent of power possessed by their kings, 301-309. Fredegonde, queen. See Chilperic. Frederic I. (Frederic Barbarossa), third crusade undertaken by, i. 40; title conferred by him on the archbishop of Lyons, 45; commencement of his career in Italy, 371; he besieges Milan, 372; subjugation and second rise of its citizens, _ib._; destruction of their city, 373; league of Lombardy against him, 374; his defeat and flight, 375; peace of Constance, 376; his policy relative to Sicily, 378; his response to Roman oratory, 415 and _note_; his accession to the German throne, ii. 73; Henry the Lion's ingratitude towards him, 74 and _note_ y; he institutes the law of defiance, 95; his forced submission to pope Adrian IV., 195; his limitation on the acquisition of property by the clergy, 227; his intellectual acquirements, iii. 286 _note_ d; his patronage of learning, 422. Frederic II., position of, at his accession, i. 385; cause of his excommunication by Gregory IX., 386; rancour of papal writers against him, _ib. note_ c; result of his crusade, 387; his wars with the Lombards, _ib._; his successes and defeats, 390; animosity of the popes towards him, 390, 391; sentence of the council of Lyons against him, 391; his accession to the German throne, ii. 75; his deposition, 76; he restrains the right of defiance, 96; his imperial tribunal, 97; his poetry, iii. 442. Frederic III. of Germany, character of the reign of, ii. 88 and _note_; his significant motto, 89 _note_ i; objects of his diets, 96, 97; he betrays the empire to the pope, 253. Freemasonry, and its connection with architecture, iii. 359 _note_ k. Freemen, existence of, prior to the tenth century, i. 323; alodial proprietors evidently of this class, 324; other freemen, 325; consequence of their marriage with serfs, 333. Fregosi and Adorni factions, i. 496. Froissart, value of the Chronicles of, i. 67 _note_ x. Fulk's saucy reproof of Louis IV., iii. 286 _note_ e. Gandia (duke of), claims the throne of Aragon, ii. 41; his death and failure of his son, _ib. note_ e. Gaul invaded by Clovis, i. 2; condition of its Roman natives, 149; privileges of the "conviva regis," 150 _note_ r, 281 and _note_ e; retention of their own laws by the Romans, 282; their cities, 286; their subjection to taxation, 287; their accession to high offices, 293; their right to adopt the laws of the Franks, 293, 294; presumed infrequency of marriage between the two races, 296. Genoa, early history of, i. 444; her wars with Pisa and Venice, _ib._; victory of her fleet over Pisani, 445; insolence of her admiral towards the Venetian ambassadors, 446; her subsequent reverses, 447; surrender of her forces to Venice, 448; decline of her power, 449; her government and its various changes, _ib._; dissensions of the Guelfs and Ghibelins, 450; her first doge, 451; frequent revolutions of her citizens, _ib._; the Adorni and Fregosi factions, 496; commercial dealings of the Genoese, iii. 329; their position in Constantinople, 330; their manufactures, 331; their money transactions, 337, 340; state security taken by their bankers, 341. Germany conquered by Charlemagne, i. 9, 10; held by Louis his grandson, 16; passes away from his family, 17; its Hungarian assailants, 19; its first apostles, 121; political state of ancient Germany, 145; mode in which kings were chosen, _ib._; lands in conquered provinces, how-divided, 146; customs respecting alodial and salic lands, 147-149 and _notes_; superior position of its rulers as compared with those of France, 204; causes of the reversal of this state of things, _ib._; degree of reliance due to Tacitus's accounts of German institutions, 273-275; character of its governments, 302; limited power of its kings, 302-304; its position at the death of Charles the Fat, ii. 66; election of its emperors, in whom vested, 77-80; partitions of territory amongst its princes, 83, 84; importance of its free cities, 90; privileges conferred on them, _ib._; their warfare with the nobles, 91; the sanctuary of the palisades, 92; league of the cities, _ib._; polity of the principalities, 93; extent of the imperial domains, _ib._; their gradual alienation by the emperors, _ib._; the diet of Worms and its results, 94-98; limits of the German empire at various periods, 100; absence of towns, iii. 312; pre-eminence of its robber chiefs, 314. See Diet, Justice. Ghent, populousness and impregnability of, i. 92, 93; policy of its people relative to taxation, 93 _note_; its trading eminence, iii. 319; its houses and population, 320 _note_ f. Ghibelins, origin of the word, ii. 73. See Guelfs. Giovanni di Vicenza, singular success of the exhortations of, i. 403; result of his attempts at sovereignty, 404. Gloucester, duke of (_temp._ Richard II.), speaks for the parliament, iii. 67, 68 _note_ c; made lord appellant, 72; reinstated in the council, 73; his animosity towards the duke of Lancaster, 74, 75; his seizure by the king, 76; his murder and posthumous attainder, _ib._ Godfrey of Boulogne, eastern domains assigned to, i. 38; his reasons for refusing the title of king, _ib. note_ g; his feats of strength, _ib. note_ h. Granada, fertility and importance of, ii. 60; its unavailing resistance to Ferdinand, _ib._ Gratian, character of the Decretum compiled by, ii. 203. Greek church, marriage of priests permitted by the, ii. 176. Greek empire, degeneracy of the, ii. 120; its theological dissensions, _ib._; revival of its power, 124; tactics of its emperors, 125 and _note_ n; exploits of celebrated usurpers, 126; results of the first crusade, 127; expeditions of Alexius Comnenus, 128; sacking of the capital, 128-130; partition of the empire, 130; its declining state, 132; lukewarmness of the western Christians, 135; fall of the empire, 136; the last of the Cæsars, _ib._; Greek anti-exportation anecdote, iii. 315 _note_ a. See Constantinople. Gregory I., character of, ii. 161; he establishes the appellant jurisdiction, 162, _note_ r. Gregory II., design of, for placing Rome under Charles Martel's protection, i. 122. Gregory IV. and V., submission of, to imperial authority, ii. 182. Gregory VII., projection of the crusades by, i. 34; his obligations to the countess Matilda, 380; his ascendency over the clergy, ii. 183, 184; elected pope, 184; his differences with, and excommunication of, Henry IV. of Germany, 184, 185 and _note_; rigorous humiliation imposed by him on Henry, 186; his exile and death, 187; his declaration against investitures, 189; his illimitable ambition and arrogance, 192; his despotism towards ecclesiastics, 193; his arrogance eclipsed by Innocent III., 228. Gregory IX., excommunications of Frederic II. by, i. 387, 391; his further designs against Frederic, _ib._; Decretals published by his order, ii. 203; his encroachments on the English church, 212; his pretext for levying contributions, 216; immense sum extorted by him from England, 217. Gregory X., tax levied on the church by, ii. 218. Gregory XI. reinstates the papal court at Rome, ii. 240. Gregory XII. elected and deposed, ii. 242. Grimoald, usurpation of supreme power by, i. 6. Grostete (Robert, bishop of Lincoln), notices of, ii. 217 _note_ f; iii. 429 _note_ k, 464. Guarnieri (duke), systematic levy of contributions by, i. 471; success of his operations, _ib._ Guelfs and Ghibelins, origin of the rival factions of, i. 382; their German antecedents, 383 and _note_; characteristics of the two parties, 384; irrationality of the distinctions, 406; temporary union of the factions, _ib._; expulsion of the Ghibelins from Florence, 407; revival of their party, 410; origin of the name Guelfs, ii. 73; See Florence, Genoa. Gui de Lusignan, cause of his flight from France, i. 36. Guienne, seized by Philip IV., i. 43; restored to England, 44; insurrection of its people against Charles VII., 86 and _note_; suspicious death of Charles duke of, 89 and _note_. Guiscard (Robert), territorial conquests of, i. 363; he takes Leo IX. prisoner, _ib._; his English opponents at Constantinople, ii. 307. Guiscard (Roger), conquers Sicily, i. 363; declared king by Innocent II., 364; he shelters Gregory VII., ii. 187; he subjugates Amalfi, iii. 328; he introduces silk manufactures at Palermo, 331. Gunpowder. See Military Systems. Hair, length of, a mark of nobility, i. 310; Childebert's proposal relative to Clodomir's children, 311 _note_. Hanse towns, confederacy of the, iii. 325. Haroun Alraschid, magnificence of the rule of, ii. 121; African principalities in his reign, 122. Hastings, lord (_temp._ Edward IV.), receives bribes from Louis XI., i. 90; his reason for refusing to give receipts for the same, _ib. note_ q. Hawkwood (Sir John), military renown acquired by, i. 472; gratitude of the Florentines towards him, _ib._; his skill as a general, 473. Haxey (Thomas), surrendered by the commons to the vengeance of Richard II., iii. 76, 102; important principles involved in his case, 76 _notes_. Henry II. of Castile rebels against Peter the Cruel, ii. 14; his defeat and subsequent victory, 15; his vow to preserve justice, 36. Henry III. of Castile marries John of Gaunt's daughter, ii. 15. Henry IV. of Castile, despicable character of, ii. 17; deposed by a conspiracy of nobles, _ib._; futile efforts of his daughter to succeed him, 18; contests after his death, _ib._; his reproof by the Cortes of Ocana, 33. Henry I. of England, extortions on the church by, ii. 216. Henry II. marries the repudiated wife of Louis VII., i. 25; opposes the tyranny of the church of Rome, ii. 222; cause of his dispute with Thomas à Becket, 223. Henry III. allows Italian priests in English benefices, ii. 213; abets papal taxation on the clergy, 217; his submissiveness, 226; provisions contained in his charter, 327, 328; worthlessness of his character, 329; his perjuries, 330; his pecuniary difficulties and extortions, 331; his expensive foreign projects, 332; demands of the pope and resolute conduct of the barons, 333; his quarrel with, the earl of Pembroke, iii. 164. Henry IV., policy and views of, towards France, i. 65, 74; circumstances attending his succession, iii. 81; invalidity of his hereditary title, 82; his tactics towards the parliament, 83; aid granted to him in 1400, 85; policy of the commons towards him, 86, 87; limitations imposed on him, 93, 94; he comes to terms with them, 94. See Bolingbroke. Henry V., his exorbitant demands on proposing to marry Catherine of France, i. 74 and _note_ n; invasion of France by, _ib._ and _note_ o; his negotiations with the duke of Burgundy, 75; his marriage and death, 76; life subsidies granted to him, iii. 87; improbability of his alleged dissoluteness, 96; his claims on popular affection, _ib._; his clemency to the earl of March, 194. Henry VI., parliamentary policy during the minority of, iii. 97, 98; unpopularity of his marriage, 98; his conduct on Suffolk's impeachment, 99; state of the kingdom during his minority, 183; his imbecility, _ib._; solemnities observed in nominating a regency during his infancy, 186-190; provisions in consequence of his mental infirmities, 190-194. Henry VII., conduct of, towards the memory of his predecessors, iii. 200 and _note_ q. Henry I. of France, alleged large army levied by, i. 24 _note_ h; extent of authority exercised by him, 137. Henry I. the Fowler, elected emperor of Germany, ii. 67; his scheme for improving his territories, _ib. note_ d. Henry II. of Bavaria, elected emperor of Germany, ii. 68. Henry III. of Germany, imperial influence extended by, ii. 68; instances of his exercise of absolute power, 69, 95; his judicious nomination of popes, 183. Henry IV. of Germany, primary cause of the misfortunes of, ii. 69; conspiracy against him during his infancy, 70 _note_ k; his abduction by Hanno, _ib._; his excommunication and its consequences, _ib._ and _note_ n; his remains insulted by Rome, 71; zeal of the cities in his cause, 90; his contests with Gregory VII., 184, 185; his humiliation by Gregory, 186; the tables turned, 187; animosity of Gregory's successors towards him, 187, 188. Henry V. of Germany, accession and death of, ii. 71; privilege granted by him to the cities, 90; his compromise with the popes, 188. Henry VI. of Germany, repudiates arrangements between his predecessor and the popes, i. 381; production of his alleged will, _ib._; his ambitious project, ii. 74; his death, 75. Henry VII. of Germany, acquires Bohemia for his son, ii. 85; his opposition to the papal power, 234. Henry the Proud, ancestry and possessions of, ii. 72; consequences of his disobedience to the emperor's summons, 72, 73. Henry the lion restored to his birthright, ii. 73; fatal results of his ingratitude, 74. Hereditary succession, how far observed among the Franks, i. 154 _note_ f, 299; disregarded by the Anglo-Saxons, ii. 273; establishment of the principle in England, 343-346; elucidatory note upon the subject, 425-428. Hereford (earl and duke of). See Bohun, Bolingbroke. Hereward, brave resistance of, to William the Conqueror, ii. 304 _note_ f. Hilary deposed by Leo the Great, ii. 161 _note_ p. Hildebrand. See Gregory VII. Honorius III., establishment of mendicant orders by, ii. 206; refusal of his requests by France and England, 213. Hugh the Great of France, procures the election of Louis IV., i. 128. Hugh Capet. See Capet. Hungarians, ravages in Europe by the, i. 20; their ferocity towards the clergy, _ib. note_ z; their conversion to Christianity, ii. 104; their wars with the Turks, 105-107. Hungary, kings and chiefs of. See Andrew, Corvinus, Hunniades, Ladislaus, Louis of Hungary, Sigismund, Uladislaus. Hungerford (Sir Thomas), elected speaker, iii. 58. Hunniades (John), heroic career of, ii. 105, 106; his death, 106. Huss (John), burned to death, ii. 102; characteristics of his schism and his followers, iii. 389 and _note_ m, 390. Innocent III., persecution of the Albigeois by, i. 28; his ambitious policy, 379; his significant production of the will of Henry VI. of Germany, 381; position of the Italian cities towards him, _ib._; use made by him of his guardianship of Frederic II., 385; increase of temporal authority under him, 416; his accession to the papal chair, ii. 195; extravagance of his pretensions, 196; his scheme of universal arbitration, 197; his decrees and interdicts, 199; his interference with the German emperors, 200; his claim, to nominate bishops, 212; cause of his anger with the chapter of Poitiers, 213; he levies taxes on the clergy, 216; his pretext for exercising jurisdiction, 220; he exempts the clergy from criminal process, 221; his arrogance eclipsed by Boniface VIII., 228. Innocent IV., outrageous proceedings of, against Frederic II., i. 391; his conduct towards Frederic's successors, 392; he quarters Italian priests on England, ii. 213; height of papal tyranny during his pontificate, 217; his disposal of the crown of Portugal, 231 _note_ g; anecdote of him, 238 _note_ r. Innocent VI. elected pope, ii. 242. Interdicts, ii. 172, 260 _note_ g, and 261. See Papal Power. Ireland a mediæval slave depôt, iii. 316 and _note_ d. Irene, dethronement of Constantine V. by, i. 122; Leo III.'s project of marriage between her and Charlemagne, _ib._ Isabel of Bavaria (queen of Charles VI.), infamous conduct of, towards her husband, i. 69; her hatred of Armagnac, and its consequences, 72; joins in the treaty with Henry V., 76. Isabel of France, marries Edward II. of England, i. 45. Isabella of Castile. See Ferdinand II. Isidore, publication of the False Decretals of, ii. 166; their character and object, 166, 167 and _notes_; authority accorded to them by Gratian, 203. Italy, occupied by the Ostrogoths, i. 1; its subjection by the Lombards, 8; conquests of Pepin and Charlemagne, 9; its king Bernard, 14; its state at the end of the ninth century, 355; authorities referred to for its history, _ib. note_; its monarchs Berenger I. and II., 357 and _note_ c; assumption of power by Otho the Great, _ib._; execution of Crescentius by Otho III., 359; election and subsequent troubles of Ardoin, _ib._; condition of its people under Henry II., 360; cause of its subjection to German princes, _ib._; accession of Conrad II., and consolidation of Germanic influences, 360, 361; its Greek provinces, 361, 362; incursions and successes of the Normans, 362-364; progress of the Lombard cities [see Lombards]; accession of Frederic Barbarossa, 370 [see Frederic I.]; cause of the decadence of Italy, 377, 378; its domestic manners, iii. 342, 344. Jacquerie, insurrection of the, i. 58, and _note_ k. James II. of Aragon, renounces the Sicilian crown, i 485; invested with the Sardinian crown, ii. 231 _note_ g. Jane of Navarre, treaty entered into on behalf of, i. 45; betrayal of her cause by the duke of Burgundy, 47; she recovers Navarre, _ib. note_ g. Janizaries, institution of the, ii. 137. Jerome of Prague, burned to death, ii. 102. Jerusalem, foundation of the kingdom of, i. 38; its conquest by Saladin, 40; restored to the Christians by the Saracens, 41; oppressive system of marriages there, under the feudal system, 180; title of the kings of Naples to sovereignty over it, 386 _note_ d. Jews, wealth amassed and persecutions endured by the, i. 209; their early celebrity as usurers, _ib. note_ b; their final expulsion from France, 210 and _note_ d; ordinances against them, 222; exorbitant rates paid by them in England, ii. 320; their massacre by the Pastoureaux, iii. 297; their liability to maltreatment, 305; barbarous customs regarding them, _ib. note_; the Jew-drowning story, 306 _note_ u; their early money dealings, 338; toleration vouchsafed to them, _ib._; decline of their trade, 339; their addiction to coin-clipping, 369 _note_ t. Joan of Arc, character, successes, and fate of, i. 79, 80; her betrayer, 84 _note_ f; her name and birthplace, 143; great merit of Southey's poem, _ib._ Joanna of Naples, married to Andrew of Hungary, i 486; her husband's murder imputed to her, _ib._ and _note_ q; she dies by violence, 487. Joanna II. of Naples, and her favourites, i, 489; her vacillation relative to her successors, 490; puts Caraccioli to death, 491 _note_. John I. of Castile, accession of, ii. 15; his merited defeat by the Portuguese, 16. John II. of Castile, wise government by the guardians of, during his infancy, ii. 15, 16; he disgraces and destroys his favourite Alvaro de Luna, 16, 17; his death, 17; its results, 58. John (king of England), cited before Philip Augustus, i. 26; results of his contumacy, 27; singular fines levied by him, ii. 320; his rapacity, 326 and _note_ q; Magna Charta, 326, 329; curious instance of the unpopularity of his name, iii. 65 _note_ t. John I. of France, birth and death of, i. 46 and _note_ e. John II. of France, character of, i. 53; taken prisoner at Poitiers, 58; bestows his daughter on Charles of Navarre, 57; submits to the peace of Bretigni, 59; his response to the citizens of Rochelle, 63. John of Procida, designs of, on Sicily, i. 483; result of his intrigues, 484. John VIII. (pope), insolence of, towards Charles the Fat, ii. 174; asserts a right to nominate the emperor, _ib._ John XXII. (pope), claims supremacy over the empire, ii. 235; his dispute with Louis of Bavaria, _ib._; he persecutes the Franciscans, 237; his immense treasures, 238; his imposts on the clergy, 238 _note_ x. John XXIII. (pope), convokes and is deposed by the council of Constance, ii. 243. Joinville (the chronicler), refuses to accompany St. Louis in his last crusade, i. 42 _note_. Judith of Bavaria, marries Louis the Debonair, i. 16. Julian's betrayal of Spain to the Moors: credibility of the legend, ii. 62-65. Jury. See Trial by Jury. Justice, administration of, under Charlemagne, i. 238; various kinds of feudal jurisdiction, 239; judicial privileges assigned to the owners of fiefs, 240; cruel custom in Aragon, 241 _note_ q; trial by combat, 242, 243 and _notes_; the Establishments of St. Louis, 244; limitations on trial by combat, 245, 246, 247 _note_ p; royal tribunals and their jurisdiction, 246; the court of peers, 247; the parliament of Paris and its lawyers, 248; jurisdiction of the court of the palace, 336, 337; its constitution, 337; imperial chamber of the empire, ii. 97; its functions and jurisdiction, 98; the six circles and the Aulic council, 99; character of the king's court, in England, 336, 420-425; importance of the office of chief justiciary, 336 _note_ r; functions of the court of exchequer, 336 and _note_ s, 425; institution of justices of assize, 337; establishment of the court of common pleas, 338; origin of the common law, 339; difference between the Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Norman systems of jurisprudence, 339, 340; complicated character of English laws, 341; necessity for a reformation of the statute-book, 342 and _note_; jurisdiction of the king's council, iii. 138-147, 249-257; safeguard for the independence of judges, 152 _note_ t; rarity of instances of illegal condemnation, 156-158; origin and jurisdiction of the court of chancery, 241-249. King's council (England), Jurisdiction of the, iii. 138; its composition, _ib._; its encroachments, 140; limitations on its power, 141; remonstrances of the commons, _ib._; its legislative status, 143; its frequent junction with the lords' house, 144-146 and _notes_; views of Sir F. Palgrave on the subject, 249-257. Knighthood. See Chivalry. Knights Templars, institution of the order of, i. 40; their large possessions and rapacity, _ib._ and _note_ s; question of their guilt or innocence, 138, 139; Count Purgstall's charges against them, 139-142; Raynouard's attempted refutation, 142; their estates and remarkable influence in Spain, ii. 8. Koran, characteristics of the, ii. 114-117. Labourers, amount of wages paid to, iii. 372, 373; degree of comfort thereby indicated, 373, 374 and _notes_. Ladislaus of Naples, accession of, i. 488; energy displayed by him, 489; his death, _ib._ Ladislaus of Hungary, defeat of the partisans of, ii. 105; his accession to the throne, _ib._; his death, _ib._; suspicions relative thereto, 106 _note_. Lambertazzi (Imilda de), pathetic story of, i. 402. Lancaster (duke of), ascendency of, over Edw. III. iii. 55; his ambitious projects, _ib._; cause of his retirement from court, 58; he curries favour with the commons, 65 and _note_ t; his quarrel with Arundel and Gloucester, 74; his marriage with Katherine Swineford, _ib._; his antenuptial children by her, 75; conduct of Richard II. on his death, 80. Lancastrians and Yorkists, wars of the, iii. 197. Lando (Michel di), cause of the elevation of, i. 435; his just exercise of power, 436; sent into exile, 438. Landwehr, antiquity of the, i. 263 _note_ e. Lanfranc (archbishop), arrogant conduct of, ii. 305 _note_ h. Languages, difficulty of accounting for the change of, i. 284, 285; principles deducible from difference of language, 290, 291. Languedoc, spread of the Albigensian heresy in, i. 28 and _note_; devastation of the country by the papal forces, 28, 29 and _notes_; its cession to the crown of France, 29; its provincial assembly, 234. Latimer (lord), impeached by the commons, iii. 56; their further tactics regarding him, 59. Latin tongue, corruption of the, iii. 275. See Learning. Laura (Petrarch's mistress). See Petrarch. Laws, characteristics of, at certain periods i. 297; study of the civil law, iii. 414; fame of the Bolognese school, 415; necessity for legal knowledge in mediæval magistrates, 416; unpopularity of the Roman law in England, 417; neglect of the elder civilians, 418, 419 and _note_ x. See Justice. Learning, causes of the decline of, iii. 270; neglect of pagan literature by the early Christians, 273; blighting influence of superstition and asceticism, 274; corruption of the Latin tongue, 275; rules observed in its pronunciation, 276-278; errors of the populace, 278; changes wrought by the Italians and French, 279, 280; neglect of quantity, 281; specimens of verses by St. Augustin and others, 282-284 _notes_; change of Latin into Romance, 283; Italian corruptions of the Latin, 285; effect of the disuse of Latin, 286; ignorance of various sovereigns, _ib. notes_; extent of Charlemagne's and Alfred's learning, 286 and _note_ f; ignorance of the clergy, 287, 288, and _notes_; scarcity of books, 289 and _note_ p; erasure of manuscripts, 289; lack of eminent learned men, _ib._; John Scotus and Silvester II., 290 and _note_ r; preservative effects of religion on the Latin tongue, 291-293; non-existence of libraries, 292 _note_; prevalence of superstitions, 293-295; revival of literature, 413; study of civil law, 414-419; establishment of public schools, 419; Abelard and the university of Paris, 420, 421; Oxford university and its founders, 422, 423, and _notes_; rapid increase of universities, 423-425; causes of their celebrity, 425; spread of the scholastic philosophy, 426; its eminent disputants, 427; influence of Aristotle and of the church, 429, 430; unprofitableness of the scholastic discussions, 430, 431; labours of Roger Bacon and Albertus Magnus, 432 and _note_ s, 433; cultivation of the new languages, 433; the troubadours and their productions, 434-436; origin of the French language, 436; early French compositions, 437, 438; Norman tales and romances, 439; the Roman de la Rose, 440; French prose writings, 441, 442 and _notes_; formation of the Spanish language: the Cid, 442, 443, and _notes_; rapid growth of the Italian language, 443, 444; excuses of Italians for writing in French, 445 _note_ z; Dante and his Divine Comedy, 445-449; Petrarch and his writings, 449-452; dawn of the English tongue, 452; Layamon's Brut, 453 and _note_ k; Robert of Gloucester and other metrical writers, 453; merit of Piers Plowman's Vision, 454; cause of the slow progress of the English language, _ib._; earliest compositions in English, 455; pre-eminence of Chaucer, 456; revival of classical learning, 457; eminent cultivators thereof, 458; invention of paper, 459; transcribers and booksellers, _ib. note_ x; rarity and dearness of books, 460; recovery of classical manuscripts, 461; eminent labourers in this field, 462, 463; revival of the study of Greek, 465, 466; state of learning in Greece, 466; services rendered by the mediæval Greeks, 467-469 and _notes_; opposition to the study of Greek at Oxford, 470; fame due to Eton and Winchester schools, _ib._; invention of printing, 471; first books issued from the press, _ib._; first printing presses in Italy, 472; elucidatory note on the state of learning in the dark ages, 474-476; Dr. Maitland's views thereon, 476-479; earliest use of the English language in public documents, 484-486. Legislation under the early French kings, i. 212; the "Champ de Mars" or Field of March, 213, 214; participation of the people in legislative proceedings, 214, 333-336; Charlemagne's legislative assemblies, 215; cessation of national assemblies, 218; assemblies of the barons, 219; the cours plénières, 220; limitation of the king's power, 221; substitutes for legislative authority, _ib._; ecclesiastical councils and their encroachments, 222; general legislation, when first practised, _ib._; increase of the legislative power of the crown, and its causes, 223, 224; convocation of the States-General, 224; constitution of the Saxon witenagemot, ii. 279; Anglo-Norman legislation, 322, 323 and _note_; prerogatives of the crown, 410; custom of the Anglo-Saxon kings, 412. See Justice, Parliament, States-General. Leo the Great deposes Hilary, ii. 161 _note_ p. Leo III. invests Charlemagne with the imperial insignia, i. 11; his design of marrying Charlemagne to Irene, 122; Charlemagne's authority over him, ii. 182. Leo VIII. confers on the emperor the right of nominating popes, ii. 182 and _note_ x. Leo IX. leads his army in person, i. 363; devotion of his conquerors towards him, 363, 364. See Papal Power. Leon, foundation of the kingdom of, ii. 3; its king killed in battle, 4; its union with Castile, 9. Leopold of Austria defeated by the Swiss, ii. 109. Libraries in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, iii. 460, 461, and _notes_. Literature. See Learning. Lollards, rise of the, iii. 388; their resemblance to the Puritans, 389. Lombards, original settlement of the, i. 8 and _note_ t; extension of their dominions, _ib._; defeated by Pepin and Charlemagne, 9; their mode of legislating, 212; position of their Roman subjects, 295; progress of their cities, 365; frequency of wars between them, _ib._; acquisition of territories by them, 368; democratic tyranny of the larger cities, 369; destruction of Lodi by the Milanese, _ib._ and _note_ i; courage of the citizens of Como, 370; exclusion of royal palaces from Lombard cities, _ib._; siege and subjugation of Milan by Frederic Barbarossa, 371, 372; efforts of the Milanese to regain their freedom, 372; destruction of Milan, 373; league of the Lombard cities, 374; defeat and flight of Barbarossa, 375; peace of Constance, 376; their successful resistance a lesson to tyrants, 376, 377; their wars with Frederic II., 387; party nature of these struggles, 388; arrangement of the Lombard cities, 388, 389; chequered results of their conflicts with Frederic, 390; their papal supporters, _ib._; causes of their success, 392; their means of defence, 394, 395; internal government of their cities, 395; revival of the office of podestà, 396; position of aristocratic offenders amongst them, 397; duties and disabilities of the podestà, 397, 398; their internal dissensions, 398, 399; artisan clubs and aristocratic fortifications, 400; vindictiveness of conquerors of all classes, 401; inflammatory nature of private quarrels, and their disastrous results, 402; effect of Giovanni di Vicenza's exhortations, 403, 404; moral deducible from the fall of the Lombard republics, 408, 409; the Visconti in Lombardy, 464. See Visconti. Longchamp (William, bishop of Ely), constitutional precedent established by the banishment of, ii. 325. London, early election of the magistrates of, iii. 219; its municipal divisions, 220; its first lord mayor, 221; not exclusively a city of traders, 223; its extent and population, _ib._; comparison with Paris, 224. Loria (Roger di), naval successes of, i. 484. Lothaire (son of Louis the Debonair), associated in power with his father, i. 15; his jealousy of his half-brother, 16; territories allotted to him, 16, 17, and _notes_ o, p; cause of his excommunication, ii. 169, 170. Lothaire (duke of Saxony), elected emperor of Germany, ii. 71 and _note_ p; failure of his scheme of succession, 72; the picture and couplet relative to his coronation, 195 _note_ g. Louis of Bavaria, emperor of Germany, ii. 85; his contest with the popes, 234; he aids the Visconti, 235; he dies unabsolved, 236. Louis I. (the Debonair) succeeds Charlemagne, i. 14; his cruelty to his nephew, _ib._; his character, 15; associates his sons in power with him, _ib._; his second marriage and its consequences, 16; enmity of the clergy against him, _ib._; his practice relative to the hearing of causes, 239, _note_ h; his attempted deposition by the bishops, ii. 155, 156; he prohibits trial by ordeal, iii. 295 _note_ x. Louis of Germany (son of the above) made king of Bavaria by his father, i. 15; share of empire allotted to him on his father's death, 16. Louis II. (the Stammerer), conditions exacted by the French nobles from, i. 126. Louis IV. ("Outremer") elected king, i. 128; Fulk's saucy retort, iii. 286 _note_ e. Louis V., i. 18, 128. Louis VI., state of France at the accession of, i. 24; his contests with the Norman princes, 25; his participation in judicial matters, 244 _note_ c. Louis VII., untoward marriage of, and its consequences, i. 25; confirms the rights of the clergy, 27; joins in the second crusade, 38; his submissiveness to Rome, ii. 223. Louis VIII. opposes Raymond of Toulouse, i. 29; issues an ordinance against the Jews, 222. Louis IX. (Saint Louis), accession of, i. 30; revolt of the barons against him, _ib._; excellences of his character, his rare probity, &c., 31, 32; undue influence exercised over him by his mother, 32; his superstition, 33 and _note_; he embarks in the crusades, 33; calamitous results of his first crusade, 41; his second expedition and death, _ib._; his Establishments, 222, 224, 244; his open-air administrations of justice, 244; the Pragmatic Sanction and its provisions, ii. 214 and _note_; his submissiveness to the church, 226; his restraint on the church holding land, 227 and _note_. Louis X. (Louis Hutin), accession and death of, i. 45; treatment of his queen and family by Philip the Long, 46; his edict for the abolition of serfdom, 202; he renounces certain taxes, 227. Louis XI., accession of, i. 86; his character and policy, 86, 87; bestows Normandy on his brother as an appanage, 88; and then deprives him of it, 89; grants pensions to the English king and his nobles, 89, 90; his contests with Charles of Burgundy, 90, 91, and _notes_; and with Mary of Burgundy, 94, 95, and _notes_; his last sickness and its terrors, 96; his belief in relics, 97 and _note_; court boast relative to his encroachments, 235; civic liberty encouraged by him, 352; he repeals the Pragmatic Sanction, ii. 255; his people oppose the repeal, _ib._; his treatment of cardinal Balue, 258, _note_ c. Louis XII. See Orleans. Louis of Hungary invades Naples, i. 486. Louis of Anjou adopted by Joanna of Naples, i. 487; his death, 488. Louis II. of Anjou and Naples, accession of, i. 488; subdued by Ladislaus, _ib._ Louis III. of Anjou and Naples called in by Joanna II., i. 489; his doubtful prospects, and death, 491. Lucius II. (pope), cause of the death of, i. 416. Luna (Alvaro de), influence exercised by, ii. 16; disgraced and beheaded, 17; law on which his opponents relied, 38. Luna (Antonio de) assassinates the archbishop of Saragossa, ii. 41. Luna (Frederic count of) claims the throne of Aragon, ii. 41; care taken of his interests by the court, _ib._ Luna (Peter de). See Benedict XIII. Lupus Servatus, literary performances of, iii. 475 _note_ a. Luxemburg (John of), execution of prisoners of war by, i. 84; betrays Joan of Arc to the English, _ib. note_ f. Magna Charta. See England. Mahomet the prophet. See Mohammed. Mahomet II. attacks the Venetians, i. 493; his success, 495; failure of his assault upon Belgrade, ii. 106; he captures Constantinople, 136; unrealised schemes for his expulsion, 136, 137; his European successes and reverses, 138; Æneas Sylvius's odd proposal, _ib. note_. Mandats and their abuses, ii. 212. Manfred, brave retention of the imperial throne by, i. 392; killed, 406. Manicheans. See Religious Sects. Manners. See Chivalry, Domestic Life, Learning, Superstition. Manufactures. See Trade. Manuscripts. See Learning. Marcel (magistrate of Paris), why assassinated, i. 232. March (Roger, earl of) opposes the duke of Lancaster, iii. 56; his significant policy, 57; his popularity with the parliament, 65; his exclusion from the throne, 82, 194; clemency of Henry V. towards him, 194. Margaret of Anjou married to Henry VI., iii. 98; consequences of her impolicy, 194, 197. See Henry VI. Mariner's compass, tradition of the invention of the, iii. 332, 333. Maritime laws of early times, iii. 333; prevalence of piracy, 334; law of reprisals, 335. Marriages, capricious decrees of the popes concerning, ii. 208; dispensations and their abuses, _ib._ Martin (prince of Aragon) marries the queen of Sicily, i. 490; his death, _ib._ Martin (king of Aragon) succeeds to his son's Sicilian dominions, i. 490; contests for the Aragonese throne at his death, ii. 39. Martin V. elected pope, ii. 246; he convokes the council of Pavia, 247; his anger at the English statute of præmunire, 251, _note_ y; his concordat with England, 251; powers reserved to him by the German concordats, 252, 253; rejection of his concordat by France, 254. Mary of Burgundy. See Burgundy. Matilda (countess) bequeaths her dominions to Rome, i. 380. Matthias Corvinus. See Corvinus. Maximilian of Austria marries Mary of Burgundy, i. 96; becomes king of the Romans, ii. 89 and _notes_; ascends the German throne, 94; he extinguishes the robber-nobles, 96; institutes the Aulic council, 99; extent of the empire at his accession, 100. Mayor of the palace, importance of the office of, i. 6, 113-115, 157. See Charles Martel, Pepin Heristal, Ebroin. Medici (Salvestro de') proposes to mitigate the severity of the law in Florence, i. 434; rise of his family, 498; character of Giovanni, _ib._ and _note_; banishment and recall of Cosmo, 499; his death: his son Piero, 500; death of Julian: popularity and princely career of Lorenzo, 501; his bankruptcy repaired at the cost of the state, 502 and _note_ q; his title to esteem, 503. Mendicant friars, first appearance of the, ii. 205; success of their preachings, 206; their extensive privileges, 206, 207, and _notes_. Mercenary troops. See Military Systems. Merovingian dynasty, character of the times during which it ruled, i. 5; chronological sketch of its career, 118-120. Middle ages, period comprised under the term, iii. 269. Milan, resolute conduct of the people of in the choice of a bishop, i. 366 and _note_ y; its siege by Frederic I., 372; destruction of the city, 373; its statistics in the 13th century, 393; its public works, 394; creation of the duchy of Milan, 412; lax conduct of the Milanese clergy, ii. 187, _note_ g. See Lombards. Military systems of the middle ages. character of the English troops at Crecy, Poitiers, and Azincourt, i. 55, 77; disadvantages of feudal obligations in long campaigns, 262; substitution of mercenaries, 264; Canute's soldiers, and his institutes respecting them, 264 and _note_ g; the mercenaries of the Anglo-Norman kings, 265; advantages of mercenary troops, _ib._; high rate of pay to English soldiers, 77 and _note_ t, 266; establishment of a regular force by Charles VII., 267; military resources of the Italian cities, 467; importance of their carroccio, 467 and _note_ d; their foreign auxiliaries, 468; arms and armour, 469 and _note_ k; citizens excused from service, 469; companies of adventurers: Guarnieri's systematic levies, 471; spirited refusal of tribute by Florence, 472; Sir John Hawkwood's career [see Hawkwood]; eminent Italian generals and their services, 474, 475; probable first instance of half-pay, 475 and _note_ u; small loss of life in mediæval warfare, 476, 477, and _notes_; long bows and cross bows, 477, 478; advantages and disadvantages of armour, 478; introduction of gunpowder, 479; clumsiness of early artillery and fire-arms, 480; increased efficiency of infantry, 481. Mocenigo (doge), dying prophecy of, i. 465, 466, and _note_. Moguls, ravages of the, ii. 131; their exploits under Timur, 133. Mohammed, advent of, ii. 114; state of Arabia at the time, 115; dearth of materials for his history, _ib. note_; characteristics of his writings, 115, 116; his knowledge of Christianity whence derived, 116, _note_ c; martial spirit of his system, 117, 118; career of his followers. See Abbassides, Moors, Ottomans, Saracens, Turks. Monarchy in France, character of the, i. 217 _note_; means by which it became absolute, 223; its power of enacting laws unlimited, 229 _note_ h. Monasteries, cultivation of waste lands by, ii. 142; less pure sources of income, 144; their exemption from episcopal control, 168 and _note_ f; preservation of books by them, iii. 292; extent of their charities, 302 and _note_; vices of their inmates, 303; their anti-social influence, 304; their agricultural exertions, 360 and _note_. Money, high interest paid for, iii. 337; establishment of paper credit, 339 and _note_ b; banks of Italy, 340; securities for public loans, 341; changes in the value of money, 366-369; comparative table of value, 370 _note_ x; See Coining. Montagu (minister of Charles VI.), arrest of, i. 68 _note_ z. Montfort (Simon de), heads the crusade against the Albigeois, i. 29. Montfort (Simon de, earl of Leicester), his writs of summons to the towns of England, iii. 27. Montfort (ally of Edward III.) obtains the duchy of Britany, i. 99. Moors, successes of the Spaniards against the, ii. 3; victories of Alfonso VI., 5; Cordova taken from them, 9; its fabulous extent and wealth, _ib._ _note_ m; cause of their non-expulsion from Spain, 10, 11. Mosheim, error of, relative to Louis IX., i. 33 _note_ z. Mowbray (earl of Nottingham and duke of Norfolk), made lord appellant, iii. 72; he espouses the king's interest, 74; his quarrel with Bolingbroke and its results, 79, 80 and _note_ z. Municipal institutions of the Roman provincial cities, i. 338; importance of the office of defensor civitatis, 340; duties appertaining to it, 340; responsibilities of the decurions, 341; the senatorial orders, 342-344; civic position of the Frank bishops, 345; municipal government of the Frank cities, 345-347; corporate towns of Spain, 347; of France, 348; their struggles for freedom, 348, 349; early independence of the Flemish and Dutch cities, 349; origin of the French communes, 350, 351; growth of the burgages, 352; policy of Louis XI. relative to civic liberty, _ib._; Italian municipalities, 353, 354 [see Lombards]; free cities of Germany [see Germany]. See Parliament, Towns. Murder, gradation of fines levied as punishment for, amongst the Franks, i. 150, 151 and _notes_, 198 and _note_ q, 281; rates of compensation amongst the Anglo-Saxons, ii. 275. Naples subjugated by Roger Guiscard, i. 363, 364; contest for its crown between Manfred and Charles of Anjou, 406; murder of the rightful heir by Charles, 407; schemes relative to the severance of Sicily, 483 [see Sicily]; accession of Robert, 485; queen Joanna and her murdered husband, 486 and _note_ q; Louis of Anjou and Charles III., 488; reign of Louis II., _ib._; ambition of the young king Ladislaus, 489; his death, _ib._; Joanna II., her vices and her favourites, 489, 490, and 491 _note_; career of Alfonso, 492 [see Alfonso V.]; invasion of the kingdom by John of Calabria, 494; his failure, _ib._; Ferdinand secured on the throne, 495; his odious rule, 503. Navarre, origin of the kingdom of, ii. 3, 4. Neustria, extent of the dominions so termed, i. 6 _note_ o; its peculiar features as distinguished from Austrasia, 118; when first erected into a kingdom, 119 and _note_; destruction of its independence, 120. Nevil (lord) impeached by the commons, iii. 56. Nicolas II. (pope), innovations introduced by, ii. 183. Nobility, origin of, in France, i. 157, 158 and _note_, 189; privileges conferred on the class, 191; consequences of marriage with plebeians, 192; letters of nobility when first granted, 193; different orders, and rights belonging to each, 194; their gallows distinctions, _ib._ _note_ c; their right to coin money, 205, 206; to levy private war, 207; characteristics of the early Frank nobility 309-312; excesses of the Florentine nobility, 423, 424; turbulence of the Spanish nobles, ii. 13; contests of the German nobles with the cities, 91, 92; rural nobility, how supported, 94, 95; their career, how checked, 95; source of the influence of the English nobility, iii. 165; their patronage of robbers, 169; German robber lords, 314; legislative province of the English nobility [see Parliament]. Norfolk (earl and duke of). See Bigod, Mowbray. Normans, piratical pursuits of the, i. 20; their plan of warfare, 21; sufferings of the clergy at their hands, 22; their conversion and settlement in France, _ib._; terror excited by their audacity, 134, 135; beneficial effects of their conversion, 135; their incursions into Italy, 363 and _note_ m; successes of their leaders, 363, 364; their invasion of England [see England]. Nottingham (earl of). See Mowbray. Oaths, papal dispensations from, ii. 210; notable instances thereof, _ib._ _note_ c. Odo (archbishop). See Dunstan. Oleron, laws of, iii. 334. Ordeals, nature of, iii. 294, 295; stories of queens Emma and Cunegunda, 295 _note_ y; instance of a failure of the water ordeal and its consequences, ii. 339 _note_ b. Orleans (Louis, duke of), alleged amours of, with queen Isabel, i. 69 _note_ c; loses his popularity, 70; his assassination and its probable causes, _ib._ and _notes_; commotions which ensued, 71, 72. Orleans (Louis, duke of, afterwards Louis XII.) claims the regency during the minority of Charles VIII., i. 98; instigates the convocation of the States-General, 236. Ostrogoths, occupation of Italy by the, i. 1; annihilation of their dominion, 8; Roman jurisprudence adopted by them, 151. Othman. See Ottomans. Otho I. (the Great), benefits conferred upon Germany by, ii. 67. Otho II. and III. chosen emperors of Germany, ii. 67. Otho IV. aided by the Milanese, i. 382; enmity of the pope towards him, 384; its consequences, ii. 75; obtains a dispensation from Innocent III., 209; rights surrendered by him to Innocent, 211, 212 and _note_ f. Ottoman dynasty, founded by Othman, ii. 132; their European conquests, _ib._; their reverses and revival under Amurath, 134, 135; they capture Constantinople, 136; European alarm excited thereby, _ib._; institution of the Janizaries, 137; suspension of Ottoman conquests, 138. Oxford university. See Learning. Pagan superstitions, cause of the limited influence of, i. 136. Palaces (royal), why excluded from Lombard cities, i. 370. Palermo, foundation of silk manufacture in, iii. 331. Palestine, commercial value of the settlements in, iii. 329. See Crusades. Pandects, discovery of the, iii. 415. Papal power, first germ of the, ii. 158, 159; preceded by the patriarchate, 160; character of Gregory I., 161; his wary proceedings, 162 and _notes_; convocation of the synod of Frankfort by Boniface, 165, 166 and _notes_; effect produced by the False Decretals, 166, 167 and _notes_, 221; papal encroachments on the hierarchy, 167; exemption of monasteries from episcopal control, 168 and _note_ f; kings compelled to succumb to papal supremacy, 169; origin of excommunications, 170; helpless position of excommunicated persons, 171; interdicts and their disastrous consequences, 172; further interference with regal rights by the popes, _ib._; scandalous state of the papacy in the tenth century, 174; Leo IX.'s reformatory efforts, 177; prerogatives of the emperors relative to papal elections, 182; innovations of pope Nicolas II., 183; election and death of Alexander II., 184; career of Gregory VII. [see Gregory VII.]; contests of his successors with Henry IV. and V. of Germany, 188; Calixtus II. and the concordat of Worms, _ib._; papal opposition to investitures, 181, 188, 189 and _notes_; abrogation of ecclesiastical independence, 193; papal legates and their functions, 194; Alexander III. and Thomas à Becket, 195; career of Innocent III. [see Innocent III.]; height of the papal power in the 13th century, 202; promulgation of the canon law, 203; its analogy to the Justinian code, 204 and _notes_; establishment of the mendicant friars, 205; dispensations of marriage, 208 and _notes_; dispensations from oaths, 210; encroachments on episcopal elections, 211; and on rights of patronage, 212; mandats and their abuse, _ib._; the Pragmatic Sanction, 214 and _note_; pretexts for taxing the clergy, 215, 216; clerical disaffection towards the popes, 218; progress of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, 219-221; opposition thereto by England, 223 and _notes_; faint opposition of France, 225; career of Boniface VIII. [see Boniface VIII.]; decline of the papacy, 232; removal of the papal court to Avignon, 233; its contests with Louis of Bavaria, 234; growing resistance to the popes, 236; rapacity of the Avignon popes, 237; participation of the French kings in the plunder, 238; independent conduct of England, _ib._ and _notes_; return of the popes to Rome, 240; contest between Urban VI. and Clement VII., _ib._; the two papal courts, 242; three contemporary popes, _ib._; proceedings at the councils of Pisa, Constance, and Basle, 243 [see Councils]; reflections pertinent thereto, 248-251; effects of the concordat of Aschaffenburg, 253; papal encroachments in Castile, 254; restraints thereon in France, 254-256; further limits on ecclesiastical jurisdiction, 257-259 and _notes_; decline of papal influence in Italy, and its causes, 259; despicable nature of later Interdicts, 260 _note_. See Church, Clergy, Monasteries. Paper from linen, when invented, iii. 459 and _note_ y. Paris, seditions at, i. 66; defeat and harsh treatment of its citizens, 67 and _notes_; their fear of the Normans, 134; population of the city in early times, iii. 224; See Parliament of Paris. Parishes, origin, of, ii. 144 and _note_ r; their slow growth, 145. Parliament of England, constituent elements of the, iii. 4; right by which the spiritual peers sit, 4, 5, 122; earls and barons, 5, 6; theories of Selden and Madox, 6-9; tenants in chief in parliament, 10, 11; first germ of representation, 11, 12 and _note_ a; county representation, 12; parliaments of Henry III., 13, 14 and _notes_; knights of the shire, how elected, 15-19; first summoning of towns to parliament, 27 and _note_ s; question of an earlier date discussed, 28-30 and _notes_; the parliament of Acton Burnell, 31 _note_ e; the Barnstaple petition, 32; cause of summoning deputies from boroughs, 35-37; division of parliament into two houses, 37; proper business of the house of commons, 38; complaint of the commons in 1309, 40; rights established by them, 42; their struggle with the king relative to taxation, 42-47; concurrence of both houses in legislation made necessary, 48; distinction between statutes and ordinances, 49-52; interference of parliament in matters of war and peace, 53, 54; right to inquire into public abuses, 54; increase of the power of the commons under Richard II., 58; their protests against lavish expenditure, 59-61; success of their demands for accounts, 61; boldness of their remonstrances, 62-64; they aid the duke of Lancaster, 65 _note_ t; their charges against the earl of Suffolk, 67, 68; submission of Richard to their demands, 69-71; they come to an understanding with him, 73, 74; they fall under his displeasure, 75; servility of their submission, 76-78; necessity for deposing Richard, 80; cautious proceedings of parliament thereupon, 82, 83; rights acquired by the commons during his reign, 83; their constitutional advances under the house of Lancaster, 84; their exclusive right of taxation, 84-86; their right of granting and controlling supplies, 86; and to make same depend in redress of grievances, 86, 87; establishment of their legislative rights, 87-88; falsification of their intentions how accomplished, 88-90; their first petition in English, 90; introduction of bills, public and private, 91, 92; legislative divisions of king, lords, and commons, 92 _note_ h; parliamentary interference with royal expenditure, 93; limitations laid on Henry IV., 93, 94; re-establishment of a good understanding with him, 95; harmony between Henry V. and the parliament, 96; parliamentary advice sought on public affairs, 97; their right to impeach ministers, 98; Henry VI.'s mode of evading Suffolk's impeachment, 99; assertion of the privilege of parliament, 100; cases of Lark and Clerke _ib._; principles involved in Thorp's case, 101; infringements on liberty of speech, 102; privilege of originating money-bills, 103-106; the three estates of the realm, 105 _note_ b; course of proceeding on other bills, 106, 107; instance of excess of privilege, 108; contested elections and proceedings thereon, 109, 110; county franchise, in whom vested, 111 and _note_; representation of towns, 111, 112; partial omission of boroughs, 113, 114 and _notes_; reluctance of boroughs to send members, 115; in whom the right to vote was vested, 116, 117 and _note_ m; status of the members, 117; exclusion of lawyers from the commons' house, 118; members originally compelled to be residents, 118, 119; election irregularities and crown interference, 120, 121; constitution of the house of lords, 121; qualification of spiritual barons, 122; barons by writ, 123-126 and _notes_; distinction between barons and bannerets, 126-129; creation of peers by statute and by patent, 129, 130; clergy summoned to send representatives, 131-138; remonstrances of the commons against the encroachments of the council, 140-142. Parliament of Paris, constitution and sittings of the, i. 248; progress of its jurisdiction, 250; enregistration of royal decrees confided to it, 251; its spirited conduct in reference thereto, _ib._; interference of the kings with its privileges, 251; establishment of its independence by Louis XI., 252; its claims on the respect of posterity, _ib._; important ordinance of Charles V., iii. 152 _note_ t. Paschal II. (pope), opposition to investitures by, ii. 187 _note_ i, and 189 _note_ o; his animosity against Henry IV. of Germany, 188. Pastoureaux. See Superstitions. Paulicians. See Religious Sects. Pauperism, slavery chosen as a refuge from the miseries of, i. 328. Pecock (bishop), character of, iii. 389 _note_ i. Peers of England. See Nobility, Parliament. Peers of France, original constitution of the, i. 249. Pelagius II. and the bishop of Arles, ii. 164. Pembroke (William, earl of), resolute defiance of Henry III. by, iii. 164. People, state of the, _temp._ Charlemagne and his successors, i. 18, 19, _et seq._; their lawlessness, iii. 307; their general immorality, _ib._ Pepin Heristal, usurpation of supremacy by, i. 7; his influence over the destinies of France, 117; he restores the national council, 215. Pepin (son of Charles Martel) deposes Childeric III., i. 8; ascends the throne, _ib._; subdues the Lombards, 9; his legislative assemblies, 215. Perjury, prevalence of, in the middle ages, iii. 309. Perrers (Alice). See Edward III. Peter the Great compared with Charlemagne, i. 13. Peter the Cruel, succession of crimes perpetrated by, ii. 14; his apologists, _ib._ and _note_; his discomfiture and death, 15. Peter the Hermit. See Crusades. Peter II. of Aragon surrenders his kingdom to the pope, ii, 200, 231. Peter III of Aragon assists John of Procida, i. 483; he accepts the crown of Sicily, 484. Peter IV. of Aragon, character and reign of, ii. 39; consequences of his attempts to settle the crown on his daughter, _ib._ Petrarch on the state of France in 1360, i. 59, _note_; his extravagant views relative to Rome, 418, _note_; his personal characteristics, iii. 449 and _note_ e; his great popularity, 450; his goldsmith host, _ib._ _note_ f; his passion for Laura, 451; character of his poetry, 452 and _note_; his efforts for the preservation of manuscripts, 461; was Laura married or single? 482-484. Philip Augustus, accession of, i. 26; he cites John king of England before him, _ib._; deprives the English crown of its French possessions, 27; joins in the third crusade, 40; his request to an abbot relative to coinage, 206; pope Gregory's menaces towards him, ii. 192; his fear of Innocent III., 197; takes back his repudiated wife, 199. Philip III. (the Bold), accession of, i. 42; his conduct towards the archbishop of Lyons, 45; he taxes the clergy, ii. 219 _note_ h. Philip IV. (the Fair), accession of, i. 43; policy adopted by him, _ib._; his resentment against the English king, _ib. note_; his fraudulent conduct towards him, 44; successful resistance of the Flemings against his attacks, 44 and _note_ a; his further acquisitions, 44; and siege of Lyons, 45; claims a right to debase the coin, 206 _note_ q; his character according to Guizot, 224 _note_; he convokes the States-General, 225 and _note_; his motives in embodying the deputies of towns, 226; he taxes the clergy, ii. 228; he arrests the pope's legate, 230; he burns the pope's bulls, _ib._; retaliation of the pope, 231; his stratagem against the pope, 232; its consequences, _ib._ Philip V. (the Long), assumption of the regency of France by, i. 45; violates his treaty with his brother's widow, 46; Salic law confirmed in his reign, 48 decrees the abolition of serfdom, 202; result of his attempt at an excise on salt, 228. Philip VI. (of Valois) regency and coronation of, i. 48; sketch of his character, 53; his debasements of the coin, 228. Philip of Suabia elected emperor of Germany, ii. 75; his assassination, _ib._ Phocas, supposed concession to the popes by, ii. 162 _note_ s. Pickering (Sir James), tenor of a speech made by, iii. 59. Piedmont, comparative obscurity of the history of, i. 390 _note_. Piracy, temptations to the practice of, iii. 334; difficulty of repressing it, 335. Pisa, early naval and commercial importance of, i. 441; her wars with Genoa, 442; her reverses and sale to Florence, 443; effect of the crusades on her prosperity, iii. 329. Pisani (Vittor) defeated by the Genoese, and imprisoned by the Venetians, i. 445; his triumphant recall from prison, 446. Pius II. See Æneas Sylvius. Podestà, peculiarities of the office of, i. 397, 398. Podiebrad (George), vigorous rule of Bohemia by, ii. 104; suspected of poisoning Ladislaus, 106 _note_ c. Poggio Bracciolini, services of, in the revival of learning, iii. 463. Poitiers, battle of. See Edward III. Poland, polity of, not based on feudality, i. 187. Pole (Michael de la, earl of Suffolk), succeeds Scrope as chancellor, iii. 66; refusal of Richard II. to dismiss him, 67; his impeachment and sentence, 68; subsequent proceedings relative to him, 72. Porcaro, revolt and death of, i. 419. Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, ii. 255; repealed by Louis XI., _ib._; its popularity with the people, _ib._; liberties secured by it, 256. Pragmatic Sanction of S. Louis, enactment of the, ii. 214 and _note_. Prague university, opposition of the nobles to the institution of, ii. 102 _note_ t; fate of its rector, _ib._ Precarious, origin of the adjective, ii. 147 _note_ d. Prerogative of the kings of England, observations on the, iii. 147, 257-260. See English Constitution. Prices of commodities, iii. 368-370. Printing, invention of, iii. 471; first books printed, _ib._; Italian presses, 472. See Learning. Protadius, oppressive conduct of, i. 114. Provence annexed to the French dominions, i. 100; _note_ upon its history, 101. Public weal, origin of the war of the, i. 85; object of its chiefs, 87, 88 and _note_ n; their fate, 89. Punishments amongst the Franks for murder, i. 150, 151 and _notes_, 198 and _note_ q, 281; amongst the Burgundians, 151 and _note_ s. Purveyance, oppressive operation of the prerogative of, iii. 148, and 149 _note_. Races, turbulence of the Carlovingian period ascribed to the antipathy between, i. 128-134. Rachimburgii, the, i. 214; difference between them and the Scabini, 216 _note_ z. Ravenna, conquest and reconquest of. i. 8, 9. Raymond VI. (count of Toulouse) excommunicated by Innocent III., i. 28; reverses of his son Raymond, 29. Regencies, rule in France relative to, i. 68 and _note_ a; instances of regencies in England, and principles deducible therefrom, iii. 184-190. Religious sects, moral improvement accelerated by the growth of, iii. 378; tenets of the Manicheans and Paulicians, 378, 379 and _notes_; the Albigenses, and controversies respecting them, 380, 381 and _note_; origin of the Waldenses, 382, 383 and _notes_; morality of their life, 384 _note_ b; Manicheism of the Albigenses, 385; persecutions at Oxford, _ib._ and _note_; secret readings of the scriptures, 386; persecutions for witchcraft, _ib._ _note_; permissions and prohibitions concerning the sacred writings, 387; continued spread of heresies, 388; strictnesses of Lollardism, 389; schism of the Hussites, 389, 390 and _note_ m. Representation of the towns. See Parliament, States-General. Representative legislation, first germ of, i. 216. See Parliament. Revenues of the kings of France, how derived, i. 208-212. See Taxation. Richard I., non-success of, against Philip Augustus, i. 26; joins with Philip in the crusades, 40; his prowess; terror excited by his name, _ib._ and _note_ t; his refusal relative to the right of private war, 207 _note_ t; his submission to the pope, ii. 197; deposition of his chancellor, 325; enactment of the laws of Oleron imputed to him, iii. 334; his character as a troubadour, 439 and _note_ k. Richard II. loses ground in France, i. 64, 65; his coronation, iii. 58; his council during his minority, _ib._; his struggles with parliament, 62-64; sketch of his character, 65; his dependence on favourites, 66; his refusal to dismiss de la Pole, duke of Suffolk, 67; determined conduct of the commons towards him, 67, 68; he yields to their demands, 69; his further attempts at independent rule, 73; his complaint against the commons, 75; their submission, 76; his seizure of the duke of Gloucester and other arbitrary acts, 77-79; necessity for his deposition, 80; progress of the constitution during his reign, 83; extent of his malpractices relative to the raising of money, 84, 85; his attack upon Haxey, 76, 102. Richard (earl of Cornwall), chosen emperor of Germany, ii. 76; absurdity of the choice, 77. Richard (duke of York). See York. Richer (a mediæval historian), degree of value due to the testimony of, i. 130. "Riding the city," meaning of the phrase, i. 429. Rienzi (Nicola di), sudden accession to power of, i. 417; his exile, recall, and death, 418; Petrarch's enthusiasm towards him, _ib. note_. Robert of Artois, impolitic act of forgery committed by, i. 47 _note_ k. Robert of Gloucester, and other metrical writers, iii. 453. Robert of Naples, wise rule of, i. 485; singular provision made by him, ii. 226 _note_ x. Robert (count palatine) supersedes Wenceslaus as emperor of Germany, ii. 87. Robertson (the historian), value of his treatise on private warfare, i. 207 _note_ t. Rochelle, patriotism of the citizens of, i. 63. Roderick the last of the Goths, credibility of the legend relative to, ii. 62-65. Rodolph of Hapsburg elected emperor of Germany, ii. 81; Austria conferred upon his son, _ib._; his ascendency in Switzerland, 107. Rollo of Normandy, conversion of, i. 22. Romance language, ascendency in the Frank dominions of the, i. 131. See Learning. Romano (Eccelin da). See Eccelin. Rome, subversion of the empire of, i. 1; its division by barbarous races, _ib._; portion which remained subject to it, 2; partition of its provinces amongst their conquerors, 146, 275-278; its municipal institutions, 339, 340; its internal state in the tenth century, 358; infamous conduct of candidates for the papal chair, 359; execution of the consul Crescentius, 359 and _note_; schemes of Innocent III. for aggrandizing the holy see, 381, 382; increase of the temporal authority of the popes, 414; the Roman orator and Frederic Barbarossa, 415 and _note_; expulsion of popes by the citizens, 416; the senators and their jurisdiction, _ib._; mutual animosities of the nobles, 417; rise and fall of Rienzi, _ib._, 418; transient revival of the republican spirit, 418; miscarriage of Porcaro's revolutionary projects, 419. See Papal Power. Romeo and Juliet, parallel to the story of, i. 402 and _note_. Saint Bathilda, character of, i. 112. Saint Boniface. See Winfrid. Saint Denis, sum paid for redeeming the abbot of, i. 22. Saint John of Jerusalem, knights of, i. 40; their saint, who he was, _ib. note_ r; their enormous possessions, _ib._ and _note_ s. Saint Louis. See Louis IX. Saint Medard, parentage of, i. 296. Saint Pol (count of), anecdote of, i. 84 _note_ f; executed on the scaffold, 89; anecdote of his distrust of Louis XI, 97 _note_. Saint Wilfrid, historical service rendered by, i. 112. Saints, great addition to the calendar of, in the time of Clovis and his sons, i. 111; historical value of their lives, _ib._; extent of their title to canonization, 112, 113. Saladin, conquest of Jerusalem by, i. 40. Salic lands, characteristics of, i. 147-149 and _notes_. Salic law, circumstances which led to the confirmation of the, i. 47, 48; date of its enactment, 278, 279; its incompleteness as a code, 280. Sancho the Great bestows Castile on his second son, ii. 4; he incorporates Naxara, 6. Sancho IV. assassinates Don Lope, ii. 13; clerical encroachments encouraged by, 220 _note_ r. Sanctuary, institution of the privilege of, iii. 302. Saracens, expulsion of the, from France, i. 7 and _note_ q; their inroads upon Italy, 19 and _note_ u; Eudon's great victory over them, 116; their conflicts with the Christians [see Crusades]; they conquer Spain, ii, 2; encroachments of the Christians on their territories, 3; mainspring of their heroism, 117; their eastern conquests, 119; their triumphs in the west, _ib._; effect of their successes, _ib._; their internal dissensions, 121. See Crusades, Moors. Saragosa taken from the Moors, ii. 5. Sardinia conquered by the Pisans, i. 441; its cession to the king of Aragon, 443. Saxons, obstinate resistance to Charlemagne by the, i. 10; enormous number beheaded by him, 13; true cause of their wars with the Franks, 120; their early kings, 303. See Anglo-Saxons. Scabini, representative character of the, i. 216; difference between them and the Rachimburgii, _ib. note_ z; their functions, 238 and _note_ g. Scanderbeg, protracted opposition to the Turks by, ii. 138. Scandinavia and her Sea Kings, ii. 271. Sclavonians, territories occupied by the, i. 19. Scotus (Duns), notices of, iii. 427, 428 _note_ i, 429. Scotus (John), an exception to the ignorance of his times, iii. 290 and _note_ r; character of the philosophy introduced by him, 430 _note_ p. Scrope (lord steward), answers to the commons by, iii. 60; cause of his dismissal from office, 66. Serfdom and villenage, distinctive features of, i. 197-200. See Villeins. Servitude enforced upon the cultivators of the soil in the middle ages, i. 328, 329; contrary hypothesis of M. Guérard, 329-331. Sforza Attendolo, rise to distinction of, i. 481; his tactics relative to the crown of Naples, 489, 490. Sforza (Francesco), powerful position achieved by, i. 483; becomes duke of Milan, _ib._; joins in the quadruple league, 493; his policy towards Naples, 504; accession and assassination of his son Galeazzo, 496; policy of Ludovico Sforza, _ib._; he directs the French king's attention towards Naples, 505; short-sightedness of his views, _ib._ Sheriffs, partiality of, in elections, iii. 113; how originally appointed, 120 and _note_ y. Sicily, conquest of, by Roger Guiscard, i. 363; its subsequent fortunes, 378; its rebellion against Charles of Anjou, 483; the Sicilian Vespers, 484 and _note_; opposition of the Sicilians to Charles II. of Naples, 484; settlement of the crown on Frederic, 485; Sicilian possessions of the Chiaramonti, 490; union of Sicily with Aragon, _ib._ Sigismund elected emperor of Germany, ii. 87 and _note_ g; his safe-conduct violated, 102; acquires the crown of Hungary, 104; his conduct at the council of Constance, 249. Silk manufacture established in Palermo, iii. 331. Silvester II. (pope), scientific acquirements of, iii. 290, 291 _note_. Simony. See Church, Clergy. Slavery, existence of, in ancient times, i, 197; its features amongst the Franks, 198 and _note_ q; voluntarily submitted to from superstitious motives, 199; edicts for its abolition, 202; submitted to by the poor for subsistence sake, 328; Venetian and English slave-trading, iii. 316 and _note_ d. Society, state of. See Architecture, Chivalry, Clergy, Feudal System, Learning, Superstition, Trade, Villenage. Sorel (Agnes), examination of the story of, i. 80 _note_ z. Southey's Joan of Arc, eulogium of a French writer upon, i. 143. Spain, character of the Visigothic kingdoms in, ii. 1; its conquest by the Saracens, 2; kingdoms of Leon, Navarre, Aragon, and Castile, 3, 4; reverses of the Saracens, 5; chartered towns, 6, 7, 8; establishment of military orders, 8; non-expulsion of the Moors, 10; its probable cause, 11; Alfonso X. and his shortcomings, 12; frequent defection of the nobles, 13; Peter the Cruel, 14; accession of the Trastamare line, 15; disgrace and execution of Alvaro de Luna, 16, 17; contests after Henry IV.'s death, 18; constitution of the national councils, 19; composition of the Cortes, 21; its trade relations with England, iii. 327. See Aragon, Castile, Cortes. Spelman (Sir Henry), remarkable mistake of, i. 166 _note_ n. Sports of the field, popularity of, iii. 309; addiction of the clergy thereto, 310; evils attendant thereon, 311. States-General of France, memorable resistance to taxation by the, i. 66; convoked by Philip IV., 225, 226; probability of their earlier convocation canvassed, _ib. note_; Philip's politic reasons for summoning them, 226; extent of their rights as to taxation, 227, 228 and _notes_; their resolute proceedings in 1355 and 1356, 228; their protest against the debasement of the coin, 230 and _notes_; disappointment occasioned by their proceedings in 1357, 231; they compel Charles VI. to revoke all illegal taxes, 232; effect of their limited functions, 233; theoretical respect attached to their sanction, 234; provincial estates and their jurisdiction, _ib._; encroachments of Louis XI., 235; the States-General of Tours, 236; means by which their deliberations were jeopardized, _ib._; unpalatable nature of their remonstrances, 237. Stephen (king), cruel treatment of the people in his reign, ii. 319 _note_. Stratford (archbishop), circumstances attending the trial of, iii. 205. Succession to kingly and other dignities. See Hereditary Succession. Suevi, part of the Roman empire held by the, i. 1. Suffolk (duke of), impeachment of, iii. 99. Suffolk (earl of). See Pole. Sumptuary laws, enactment and disregard of, iii. 343, 344 and _notes_. Superstition, learning discouraged by, iii. 274; its universal prevalence, 293; instances of its results, 294; ordeals, 294, 295 and _notes_; fanatical gatherings: the White Caps, 296; the Pastoureaux, _ib._; the Flagellants, 297; the Bianchi, 298; pretended miracles, and their attendant evils, 298, 299; miracles ascribed to the Virgin, 300 and _note_; redeeming features of the system, 301; penances and pilgrimages, 306, 307. See Religious Sects. Surnames, introduction of, i. 190. Sweden, semi-feudal custom in, relative to military service, 188 _note_ g. Swineford (Katherine), proceedings relative to the marriage of, iii. 74, 75. Switzerland, early history of, ii. 107; ascendency of Rodolph, _ib._; expulsion and defeat of Albert and Leopold, 108, 109; formation of the Swiss confederation, 109; indomitable heroism of the Swiss, 111; their military excellence, _ib._; failure of Maximilian's attempt to subjugate them, 112. Syagrius, Roman provinces governed by, i. 2; defeated by Clovis, _ib._ and 106. Taborites, fanaticism and courage of the, ii. 103; iii. 390. Tacitus, general accuracy of the descriptions of, i. 273; qualifications necessary to be observed touching his account of the Germans, 274. Tartars. See Moguls. Taxation, remarks on the philosophy of, i. 68; clumsy substitutes for taxes in the middle ages, 208; arbitrary course adopted by Philip Augustus, 212; conditions annexed by the States-General to a grant of taxes, 230; Philip de Comines on taxation, 236; taxes under the Anglo-Norman kings, ii. 321, 322 and _notes_. See States-General. Temple, knights of the. See Knights Templars. Tenure of land under the Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-Normans, ii. 293-301, 406-410. See Feudal System. Teutonic knights, establishment of the order of, i. 40. Theodebert, story of the wife of, iii. 306 _note_ u. Theodoric, disregard of learning by, iii. 275. Thierry (son of Clovis), territories possessed by, i. 4, and 5 _note_. Timur, conquering career of, ii. 133. Tithes, establishment of, ii. 144; Charlemagne's capitulary relative thereto, 145 and _notes_; origin of lay impropriators, 148; _note_ relative to the subject, 263. Toledo taken from the Moors, ii. 5. Torriani. See Visconti. Toulouse, non-submission of the counts of, to the kings of France, i. 27 and _note_ r; their fall, 29. See Raymond VI. Towns and cities, earliest charters granted to, i. 256; considerations on the causes of such grants, _ib._ 257; privileges of incorporated towns, 258; their relationship towards the crown, 259-261; independence of maritime towns, 261; chartered towns of Spain, ii. 6; their privileges and duties, 7, 8; cause of their importance, 20; cities of Germany [see Germany]; cities of Italy [see Florence, Genoa, Milan, Pisa, Venice]. Towns of England, progress of the, iii. 19; Canterbury, Lincoln, and Stamford, 20 _note_ r; conversion of individual tributes into borough rents, 21; incorporation of towns by charter, 22 and _notes_; curious bond relative to Cambridgeshire, 23 _note_ b; prosperity of the towns, 24; early importance and populousness of London, 24, 25 and _notes_; participation of its citizens in constitutional struggles, 26; first summoning of towns to parliament, 27. See Municipal Institutions. Trade and commerce, mediæval non-existence of, iii. 313; barriers to their progress, _ib._ 314; extent of foreign commerce, 315; home traffic in slaves 316 and _note_ d; woollen manufactures and vacillating policy of the English kings relative thereto, 318-323 and _notes_; opening of the Baltic trade, 324; growth of English commerce, 325; opulence of English merchants, _ib._ 326; increase of maritime traffic, 326-328; commercial eminence of the Italian states, 328-330 and _notes_; invention of the mariners' compass, 332, 333; compilation of maritime laws, 333; frequency and irrepressibility of piracy, 334; practice of reprisals, 335, 336 and _notes_; liability of aliens for each other's debts, 336; trade profits and rates of interest, 337; price of corn and cattle, 368. Trial by combat, ceremonials attending, i. 242, 243 and _notes_; abolished by St. Louis, 244. Trial by jury and its antecedents, ii. 285-288; early modes of trial, 386-388; abolition of trial by ordeal, 390; difference between ancient and modern trial by jury, 392; original functions of juries, _ib._; origin of the modern system, 402-404; character of the early system, 405. Troubadours (the), and their productions, iii. 434-436. Troyes, conditions of the treaty of, i. 76 and _note_. Turks, Italian fears of the, i. 495; triumphant progress of their arms, ii. 127; their defeat by the crusaders and Alexius, 128; their settlement under Othman, 132; war declared against them at Frankfort, 136; the Janizaries, 137. See Ottomans. Tuscany (Boniface, marquis of), flogged for simony, ii. 181 _note_ q. Tuscany, league of the cities of, i. 382; espousal of the papal cause, _ib._ 389; progress of its cities. See Florence. Uladislaus crowned king of Hungary, ii. 105; violates his treaty with the Turks, _ib._; its fatal results, _ib._ Urban II., encouragement of the crusades by, i. 34; he succeeds Gregory VII., ii. 187; his concession to the kings of Castile, 190. Urban V. retransfers the papal court to Avignon, ii. 240. Urban VI. aids Charles of Durazzo in his designs on Joanna of Naples, i. 487; sanctions perjury towards heretics, ii. 210 _note_ c; his contest with Clement VII., 240; validity of his election, 241. Urgel (count of), lays claim to the crown of Aragon, ii. 40, 41; rejection of his pretensions, 42; consequences of his unwise resort to arms, _ib._ Usury treated as a crime, iii. 337, 339 _note_ c. Valencia, constitution of the kingdom of, ii. 57. Valentinian III., authority of the holy see extended by, ii. 161. Vandals, portions of the Roman empire possessed by the, i. 1. Vase of Soissons, story of the, i. 155; principle involved in the anecdote, 301, 302 and _note_ p. Vassals and Vassalage. See Feudal System. Vavassors, privileges attaching to the rank of, i. 194 and _note_ b; their manorial courts, 219. Venice, conflicts of, with Genoa, i. 444; defeat of her admiral by the Genoese, 445; insolence of the latter towards her ambassadors, 446; successful tactics of her doge, 447; triumph of her fleet, 448; her alleged early independence, 452; her subjection to the emperors, 453 and _note_ n; her Dalmatian and Levantine acquisitions, 454; her government: powers of the doge, 455; the great council, 456; criminal jurisdiction, how exercised, 457; checks to undue influence on the part of the doge, 458; singular complication in ballots for the dogeship, 459; Marin Falieri's treason, 460; the council of ten and its secret proceedings, 460, 461; exclusion of the nobles from trade, 461 _note_ y; Venetian form of government not entitled to high admiration, 462, 463 and _note_; territorial acquisitions of Venice, 464; prophecy of the doge Mocenigo, 465, 466 and _note_; Venetian conquests under Carmagnola, 466; wars of the republic with Mahomet II., 493, 495. Verdun, treaty of, i. 16; its results, 17 and _notes_. Vere, favouritism of Richard II. towards, iii. 66; his funeral, 74. Verona, seized by Francesco da Carrara, i. 464. Vienna, Æneas Sylvius's florid description of, iii. 345 _note_ u. Villani (John) falls a victim to the plague, i. 57 _note_. Villeins and villenage: conditions of villeins, i. 199; consequences of their marriage with free persons, 200, and 201 _note_ b; privileges acquired by them, 201, 202 and _notes_; their obligations, 331; their legal position in England, 333; villenage never established in Leon and Castile, ii. 6; question of its existence among the Anglo-Saxons, 276; dependence of the villein on his lord, iii. 171; condition of his property and children, 172 and _note_ b; legal distinctions, 172 and _notes_; difficulties besetting the abolition of villenage, 173; gradual softening of its features, 174-176; merger of villeins into hired labourers, 177; effects of the anti-poll-tax insurrection, 181; disappearance of villenage, 181, 182; elucidatory _notes_ on the subject, 260-264. Virgin, absurd miracles ascribed to the, iii. 300 _note_. Visconti and Torriani families, rivalry of the, i. 409, 410; triumph of the Visconti, 410; their power and unpopularity, 411; their marriages with royalty, 412 and _note_ e; tyranny of Bernabo Visconti, 439; Giovanni Visconti's brutality, _ib._; his assassination, 466; Filippo Visconti's accession, _ib._; his ingratitude to Carmagnola, _ib._; his mistrust of Sforza, 482; his alliance with Alfonso, 492; quarrels of the family with the popes, ii. 235. Visigoths, portions of the Roman provinces possessed by the, i. 1; conduct of their earlier rulers towards the catholics, 3 _note_ f; their mode of dividing conquered provinces, 146; their laws, how compiled, 151, 152 _note_ z; difference between the Frank monarchy and theirs, ii. 1, 2. Voltaire, limited knowledge of early French history by, i. 213 _note_ p. Wages, futility of laws for the regulation of, iii. 178. See Labourers. Waldenses. See Religious Sects. Wales, causes of the turbulent state of, iii. 169 _note_. Walworth, and Philpot made stewards of a subsidy (temp. Richard II.), iii. 59; allegations relative to their stewardship, 60. Wamba (king of the Visigoths), question of his deposition discussed, ii. 156. War, private, exercise of the right of, i. 207; by whom checked and suppressed, _ib._ and _note_ t; its prevalence amongst the German nobles, ii. 95, 96. Warna, circumstances which led to the battle of, ii. 105. Warwick (earl of), popularity of the, iii. 65; made a lord appellant, 72; banished by Richard II., 77. Water-Ordeal. See Ordeals. Wenceslaus, confirmed in the imperial succession, ii. 87; his deposition, _ib._; he abets the league of the Rhine, 93. Weregild, or compensation for murder. See Murder. Wicliff (John), influence of the tenets of, ii. 252; iii. 179 and _note_ t, 388, 389. Widows in Burgundy, reason for the speedy remarriage of, i. 93 _note_ x. Wilfrid (bishop of Hexham), question involved in his appeal to the pope, ii. 164 _note_ t. William of Holland elected emperor of Germany, ii. 76. William the Conqueror, separation of the ecclesiastical and civil tribunals by, ii. 222 and _note_ a; position of England at its conquest by him, 302; his considerate treatment of Edgar, _ib._ _note_ b; alleged inadequacy of the military forces of the Saxons, 303 _note_; their fruitless rebellions against him, 304 and _notes_; instances of his oppressive conduct, 305; his devastating clearances for forests, 311; and inhuman forest laws, 312 and _note_; his enormous revenues, 313; his feudal innovations, 314; his preservation of public peace and efforts to learn English, 315 and _note_; policy of his manorial grants, 317; tyranny of his government, 318. Winchester, early opulence and populousness of, iii. 225. Windsor castle, labourers for the erection of, how procured, iii. 150. Winfrid (St. Boniface), importance of the ecclesiastical changes effected by, ii. 164. Winkelried, the Swiss patriot, heroic death of, ii. 111. Wisbuy, ordinances of, iii. 334 and _note_ a. Witchcraft, cruel treatment of persons charged with, iii. 385 _note_ c. Witikind, acknowledgment of Charlemagne's authority by, i. 10. Witenagemot, bishops appointed by the, ii. 180; its characteristics, 279; how often assembled, 411, 412. See Anglo-Saxons. Women, legal position of, in Italy during coverture, i. 152 _note_ z; perils attending their marriage with slaves, 200 _note_ a. Woollen manufacture established in Flanders, iii. 318; impolitic regulations respecting it, 319 and _note_ c; export of wool from England, 320; English woollen manufacture, 321; policy adopted towards the Flemings, _ib._ and _note_ o; laws relative to the trade, 322; relations of England and Spain regarding it, 323 _notes_. Worms, diet of. See Diet. Wykeham (bishop of Winchester) invested with the great seal, iii. 73. York (Richard, duke of) appointed protector to Henry VI., iii. 191; his claim to the throne, 194; his cautious policy 195. Yorkists and Lancastrians, wars of the, iii. 197. Zimisces (John), military exploits of, ii. 126. Zisca (John), the blind hero, victories of the Bohemians under, i. 481; his exploits; enthusiasm of his followers, ii. 103. THE END. LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET, AND CHARING CROSS. ------------ Transcribers note: In the original work the footnotes were alphabetical. This has been preserved in the html version but for ease of searching they have been converted to numerics in the text version. ------------ 
42707	----	file was produced from images of public domain material generously made available by The Online Library of Liberty.) A SOURCE BOOK FOR MEDIÆVAL HISTORY SELECTED DOCUMENTS ILLUSTRATING THE HISTORY OF EUROPE IN THE MIDDLE AGE BY OLIVER J. THATCHER, Ph.D. AND EDGAR HOLMES McNEAL, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF EUROPEAN HISTORY IN THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON _Copyright, 1905, by_ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Printed In the United States of America PREFACE The use of original sources in the teaching of mediæval history is still hampered by the scarcity of material adapted to the needs of the student. This situation is sufficient excuse for the publication of a new book of translations of important mediæval documents, if such a book does more than reedit old material--if it presents, along with the usual and familiar sources, documents not elsewhere translated or brings together documents not otherwise easily accessible. We believe the present work does that, and that it also makes the use of this material more practicable by giving fuller notes and explanations than has usually been attempted. Our purpose in general has been to present material touching only what may be called the most important matters (persons, events, movements, institutions, and conditions) of the whole mediæval period. We have not tried to make a complete source-book for the period, but only to offer in usable form illustrative material which may be of service to both teacher and student in general or information courses. Each document is meant to illustrate or illumine one particular thing. While it may throw light on many other things, the teacher should be warned not to attempt to deduce from these few documents the whole history and life of the Middle Age. We are fully aware that in the choice of documents we shall not please all. Many of the documents here given are clearly essential and must be found in such a book as we have tried to make. Concerning all such there can be no question. As to the others, there are hundreds of documents which would serve our purpose quite as well as those we have used, perhaps even better. In making our selections we have been guided by a great variety of considerations which it would be useless to enumerate. While another would have made a different selection, we believe that the documents which we present really illustrate the matter in question, and therefore will be found satisfactory. With this we shall be quite content. The necessity of selection has also led us to omit the political history of France and England. We felt that we could properly leave out English documents, because there are already several excellent collections of English sources, such as those of Lee, Colby, Adams, and Stephens, etc. In regard to France we were in doubt for some time, but the desire to keep the size of the book within certain limits at length prevailed. We hope, however, to atone for this omission by publishing soon a small collection of documents relating exclusively to France. It will be observed that we have made use chiefly of documents, quoting from chronicles only when it seemed absolutely necessary. An exception to this general principle is found in section I, where a larger use of chronicles was rendered necessary by the lack of documentary sources for much of the period covered; but it is perhaps unnecessary to apologize for presenting selections from the important histories of Tacitus, Gregory, Einhard, and Widukind. In the matter of form (translation, omissions, arrangements, notes, etc.), we were guided by considerations of the purpose of the book. The style of most of the documents in the original is involved, obscure, bombastic, and repetitious. A faithful rendition into English would often be quite unintelligible. We have endeavored to make a clear and readable translation, but always to give the correct meaning. If we have failed in the latter it is not for want of constant effort. We have not hesitated to omit phrases and clauses, often of a parenthetical nature, the presence of which in the translation would only render the passage obscure and obstruct the thought. As a rule we have given the full text of the body of the document, but we have generally omitted the first and last paragraphs, the former containing usually titles and pious generalities, and the latter being composed of lists of witnesses, etc. We have given a sufficient number of the documents in full to illustrate these features of mediæval diplomatics. All but the most trivial omissions in the text (which are matters rather of form of translation) are indicated thus: ... Insertions in the text to explain the meaning of phrases are inclosed in brackets [ ]. Quotations from the Bible are regularly given in the words of the Authorized Version, but where the Latin (taken from the Vulgate) differs in any essential manner, we have sometimes translated the passage literally. Within each section the documents are arranged in chronological order, except in a few cases where the topical arrangement seemed necessary. We believe that the explanatory notes in the form of introductions and foot-notes will be found of service; they are by no means exhaustive, but are intended to explain the setting and importance of the document and the difficult or obscure passages it may contain. The reference to the work or the collection in which the original is found is given after the title of practically every document; the meaning of the references will be plain from the accompanying bibliography. The original of nearly all the documents is in Latin; some few are in Greek, Old French, or German, and in such cases the language of the original is indicated. It is impossible, of course, to give explicit directions as to the use of the book, other than the very obvious methods of requiring the student to read and analyze the documents assigned in connection with the lesson in the text-book, and of making clear to him the relation of the document to the event. It may be possible also for the teacher to give the student some notion of the meaning of "historical method"; _e.g._, the necessity of making allowance for the ignorance or the bias of the author in chronicles, or the way in which a knowledge of institutions is deduced from incidental references in documents. Suggestions of both sorts will be found in the introduction and notes. The teacher should insist on the use of such helps as are found in the book: notes, cross-references, glossary, etc. Groups of documents can be used to advantage in topical work: assigned topics worked up from authorities can be illustrated by documents selected from the book; _e.g._, imperial elections, papal elections, the Normans in Sicily, history of the Austrian dominions, Germans and Slavs on the eastern frontier, relations of the emperors and the popes before the investiture strife, etc. TABLE OF CONTENTS page Section I. The Germans and the Empire to 1073 1-81 1. Selections from the Germania of Tacitus, _ca._ 100 2 2. Procopius, Vandal war 11 3. Procopius, Gothic war 12 4. The Salic law, _ca._ 500 14 5. Selections from Gregory of Tours 26 6. The coronation of Pippin, 751 37 7. Einhard's Life of Karl the Great 38 8. The imperial coronation of Karl the Great, 800 48 9. General capitulary about the _missi_, 802 48 10. Selections from the Monk of St. Gall 51 11. Letter of Karl the Great to Baugulf, 787 55 12. Letter of Karl about the sermons of Paul the Deacon 56 13. Recognition of Karl by the emperors at Constantinople, 812 57 14. Letter of Karl to emperor Michael I, 813 58 15. Letter to Ludwig the Pious about a comet, 837 59 16. The Strassburg oaths, 842 60 17. The treaty of Verdun, 843. Annales Bertiniani 62 18. The treaty of Verdun. Regino 63 19. The treaty of Meersen, 870 64 20. Invasion of the Northmen, end of the ninth century 65 21. Invasion of the Hungarians, _ca._ 950 65 22. Dissolution of the empire. Regino 66 23. The coronation of Arnulf, 896. Regino 69 24. Rise of the tribal duchies in Germany, _ca._ 900. Saxony 69 25. Rise of the tribal duchies. Suabia 70 26. Henry I and the Saxon cities 71 27. The election of Otto I, 936 72 28. Otto I and the Hungarians, 955 75 29. The imperial coronation of Otto I, 962 78 30. The acquisition of Burgundy by the empire, 1018-32. Thietmar of Merseburg 79 31. The acquisition of Burgundy. Wipo, Life of Conrad II 79 32. Henry III and the eastern frontier, 1040-43 80 Section II. The Papacy to the Accession of Gregory VII, 1073 82-131 33. Legislation concerning the election of bishops, fourth to ninth centuries 83 34. Pope to be chosen from the cardinal clergy 84 35. The Petrine theory as stated by Leo I, 440-461 85 36. The emperor gives the pope secular authority, 554 86 37. Letter from the church at Rome to the emperor at Constantinople, _ca._ 650 87 38. Letter from the church at Rome to the exarch of Ravenna, _ca._ 600 89 39. Gregory I sends missionaries to the English, 596. Bede 92 40. The oath of Boniface to Gregory II, 723 93 41. Letter of Gregory II to emperor Leo III, 726 or 727 95 42. Gregory III excommunicates iconoclasts, 731 101 43. Letter of Gregory III to Karl Martel, 739 101 44. Promise of Pippin to Stephen II, 753, 754 102 45. Donation of Pippin, 756 104 46. Promise of Karl to Adrian I, 774 105 47. Letter of Karl to Leo III, 796 107 48. Karl exercises authority in Rome, 800 108 49. Oath of Leo III before Karl, 800 108 50. Oath of the Romans to Ludwig the Pious and Lothar, 824 109 51. Letter of Ludwig II to Basil, emperor at Constantinople, 871 110 52. Papal elections to be held in the presence of the emperor's representatives, 898 113 53. Oath of Otto I to John XII, 961 114 54. Otto I confirms the pope in the possession of his lands, 962 115 55. Leo VIII grants the emperor the right to choose popes, 963 118 56. Letter of Sylvester II to Stephen of Hungary, 1000 119 57. Henry III deposes and creates popes, 1048 121 58. Oath of Robert Guiscard to Nicholas II, 1059 124 59. Papal election decree of Nicholas II, 1059 126 Section III. The Struggle between the Empire and the Papacy, 1073-1250 132-259 60. Prohibition of simony and marriage of the clergy, 1074 134 61. Simony and celibacy; Roman council, 1074 134 62. Celibacy, 1074 135 63. Celibacy, ninth general council in the Lateran, 1123 135 64. Prohibition of lay investiture, 1078 136 65. Dictatus papæ, _ca._ 1090 136 66. Letter of Gregory VII commending his legates, 1074 139 67. Oath of the patriarch of Aquileia to Gregory VII, 1079 140 68. Oath of Richard of Capua to Gregory VII, 1073 140 69. Letter of Gregory VII to the princes wishing to reconquer Spain, 1073 142 70. Letter of Gregory VII to Wratislav, duke of Bohemia, 1073 143 71. Letter of Gregory VII to Sancho, king of Aragon, 1074 143 72. Letter of Gregory VII to Solomon, king of Hungary, 1074 144 73. Letter of Gregory VII to Demetrius, king of Russia, 1075 145 74. Letter of Gregory VII to Henry IV, 1075 146 75. Deposition of Gregory VII by Henry IV, 1076 151 76. Letter of the bishops of Germany to Gregory VII, 1076 153 77. First deposition and excommunication of Henry IV by Gregory VII, 1076 155 78. Agreement at Oppenheim, 1076 156 79. Edict annulling the decrees against Gregory VII, 1076 157 80. Letter of Gregory VII concerning the penance of Henry IV at Canossa, 1077 157 81. Oath of Henry IV 160 82. Countess Matilda gives her lands to the church, 1102 160 83. First privilege of Paschal II to Henry V, 1111 161 84. Second privilege of Paschal II to Henry V, 1111 163 85. Concordat of Worms, 1122. Promise of Calixtus II 164 86. Concordat of Worms. Promise of Henry V 165 87. Election notice, 1125 166 88. Anaclete II gives title of king to Roger of Sicily, 1130 168 89. Coronation oath of Lothar II, 1133 169 90. Innocent II grants the lands of Countess Matilda to Lothar II, 1133 170 91. Letter of Bernard of Clairvaux to Lothar II, 1134 171 92. Letter of Bernard of Clairvaux to Conrad III, 1140 172 93. Letter of Conrad III to John Comnenus, 1142 173 94. Letter of Wibald, abbot of Stablo, to Eugene III, 1150 174 95. Letter of Frederick I to Eugene III, 1152 176 96. Answer of Eugene III, 1152 178 97. Treaty of Constance, 1153 178 98. Stirrup episode, 1155 180 99. Treaty of Adrian IV and William of Sicily, 1156 181 100. Letter of Adrian IV to Frederick I, 1157 183 101. Manifesto of Frederick I, 1157 186 102. Letter of Adrian IV to Frederick I, 1158 187 103. Definition of regalia, 1158 188 104. Letter of Eberhard, bishop of Bamberg, 1159 190 105. Letter of Alexander III in regard to disputed papal election of 1159 192 106. Letter of Victor IV, 1159 194 107. Account given by Gerhoh of Reichersberg, _ca._ 1160 196 108. Preliminary treaty of Anagni, 1176 196 109. Peace of Constance, 1183 199 110. Formation of the duchy of Austria, 1156 202 111. The bishop of Würzburg becomes a duke, 1168 203 112. Decree of Gelnhausen, 1180 205 113. Papal election decree of Alexander III, 1179 207 114. Innocent III to Acerbius, 1198 208 115. Innocent III grants the pallium to the archbishop of Trnova, 1201 208 116. Innocent III to the archbishop of Auch, 1198 209 117. Innocent III commands all in authority to aid his legates, 1198 210 118. Innocent III to the king of Aragon, 1206 211 119. Innocent III to the French bishops, 1198 211 120. Innocent III forbids violence to the Jews, 1199 212 121. Innocent III to the archbishop of Rouen, 1198 213 122. Innocent III forbids laymen to demand tithes from the clergy, 1198 213 123. Oath of the prefect of Rome to Innocent III, 1198 214 124. Oath of John of Ceccano to Innocent III, 1201 215 125. Innocent III to the archbishop of Messina, 1203 216 126. Innocent III to the English barons, 1206 217 127. Innocent III to Peter of Aragon, 1211 218 128. Innocent III grants the title of king to the duke of Bohemia, 1204 218 129. Innocent III to the English barons, 1216 219 130. Innocent III decides the disputed election of Frederick, Philip of Suabia, and Otto, 1201 220 131. Treaty between Philip of Suabia and Philip II of France, 1198 227 132. Alliance between Otto IV and John of England, 1202 228 133. Concessions of Philip of Suabia to Innocent III, 1203 228 134. Promise of Frederick II to Innocent III, 1213 230 135. Promise of Frederick II to resign Sicily, 1216 232 136. Concessions of Frederick II to the ecclesiastical princes, 1220 233 137. Decision of the diet concerning new tolls and mints, 1220 236 138. Frederick II gives a charter to the patriarch of Aquileia, 1220 237 139. Statute of Frederick II in favor of the princes, 1231-32 238 140. Treaty of San Germano, 1230. Preliminary agreement 240 141. Papal stipulations in treaty of San Germano 242 142. Letter of Gregory IX about the emperor's visit, 1230 244 143. Papal charges and imperial defence, 1238 245 144. Excommunication of Frederick II, 1239 254 145. Current stories about Frederick II. Matthew of Paris 256 Section IV. The Empire, 1250-1500 260-308 146. Diet of Nürnberg, 1274 260 147. The German princes confirm Rudolf's surrender of Italy, 1278-79 263 148. Revocation of grants of imperial lands, 1281 265 149. Electoral "letter of consent," 1282 265 150. Letter of Rudolf to Edward I of England, 1283 266 151. Decree against counterfeiters, 1285 267 152. The beginning of the Swiss confederation, 1290 267 152 a. Edict of Rudolf, in regard to Schwyz, 1291 269 153. Concessions of Adolf of Nassau to the archbishop of Cologne, 1292 270 154. The archbishop of Mainz confirmed as archchancellor of Germany, 1298 276 155. Declaration of the election of Henry VII, 1308 277 156. Supplying of the office of archchancellor of Italy, 1310 278 157. The law "Licet juris," 1338 279 158. The diet of Coblenz, 1338. Chronicle of Flanders 281 159. The diet of Coblenz. Chronicle of Henry Knyghton 282 160. The Golden Bull of Charles IV, 1356 283 160 a. Complaint of the cities of Brandenburg to Sigismund, 1411 306 160 b. Sigismund orders the people to receive Frederick of Hohenzollern as governor, 1412 307 Section V. The Church, 1250-1500 309-340 161. Bull of Nicholas III condemning heretics, 1280 309 162. Bull "Clericis laicos" of Boniface VIII, 1298 311 163. Boniface VIII announces the jubilee year, 1300 313 164. The bull "Unam sanctam" of Boniface VIII, 1302 314 165. The conclusions of Marsilius of Padua, 1324 317 166. Condemnation of Marsilius of Padua, 1327 324 167. Beginning of the schism; manifesto of the revolting cardinals, 1378 325 168. The University of Paris and the schism, 1393 326 169. Council of Pisa declares itself competent to try popes, 1409 327 170. Oath of the cardinals, council of Pisa, 1409 328 171. Council of Constance claims supreme authority, 1415 328 172. Reforms demanded by the council of Constance, 1417 329 173. Concerning general councils, council of Constance, 1417 331 174. Bull "Execrabilis" of Pius II, 1459 332 175. William III of Saxony forbids appeals to foreign courts, 1446 333 176. Establishment of the university of Avignon, 1303 334 177. Popular dissatisfaction with the wealth of the church, _ca._ 1480 336 178. Complaints of the Germans against the pope, 1510 336 179. Abuses in the sale of indulgences, 1512 338 Section VI. Feudalism 341-387 180. Form for the creation of an "antrustio" by the king 342 181. Form for suspending lawsuits 343 182. Form for commendation 343 183. Form for undertaking lawsuits 344 184. Form for gift of land to a church 345 185. Form for precarial letter 346 186. Form for precarial letter 347 187. Form for precarial letter 347 188. Form for gift of land to be received back and held in perpetuity for a fixed rent 348 189. Treaty of Andelot, 587 348 190. Precept of Chlothar II, 584-628 350 191. Grant of immunity to a monastery, 673 351 192. Form for grant of immunity to a monastery 352 193. Form for grant of immunity to a secular person 352 194. Grant of immunity to a secular person, 815 353 195. Edict of Chlothar II, 614 355 196. Capitulary of Kiersy, 877 355 197. Capitulary of Lestinnes, 743 357 198. Capitulary of Aquitaine, 768 357 199. Capitulary of Heristal, 779 358 200. General capitulary to the missi, 802 358 201. Capitulary to the missi, 806 358 202. Capitulary of 807 359 203. General capitulary to the missi, 805 359 204. Capitulary of 811 359 205. Capitulary of Worms, 829 360 206. Capitulary of Aachen, 801-813 360 207. Agreement of Lothar, Ludwig, and Charles, 847 360 208. Capitulary of Bologna, 811 361 209. Homage 363 210. Homage 364 211. Homage 364 212. Homage 364 213. Homage 364 214. Homage of Edward III to Philip VI, 1329 365 215. Feudal aids 367 216. Feudal aids 367 217. Feudal aids, etc 367 218. Homage of the count of Champagne to the duke of Burgundy, 1143 368 219. Homage of the count of Champagne to Philip II, 1198 369 220. Homage of the count of Champagne to the duke of Burgundy, 1200 371 221. Letter of Blanche of Champagne to Philip II, 1201 371 222. Letter of Philip II to Blanche 372 223. Homage of the count of Champagne to the bishop of Langres, 1214 372 224. Homage of the count of Champagne to the bishop of Châlons, 1214. 373 225. Homage of the count of Champagne to the abbot of St. Denis, 1226 373 226. List of the fiefs of the count of Champagne, _ca._ 1172 374 227. Sum of the knights of the count of Champagne 375 228. Extent of the domain lands of the count of Champagne, _ca._ 1215 377 229. Feudal law of Conrad II, 1037 383 230. Feudal law of Frederick I for Italy, 1158 385 Section VII. Courts, Judicial Processes, and the Peace 388-431 231. Sachsenspiegel 391 232. Frederick II appoints a justiciar and a court secretary, 1235 398 233. Peace of Eger, 1389 399 234. Ordeal by hot water 401 235. Ordeal by hot iron 404 236. Ordeal by cold water 406 237. Ordeal by cold water 408 238. Ordeal by the barley bread 409 239. Ordeal by bread and cheese 410 240. Peace of God, 989 412 241. Peace of God, 990 412 242. Truce of God, 1035-41 414 243. Truce of God, _ca._ 1041 416 244. Truce of God, 1063 417 245. Peace of the land, Henry IV, 1103 419 246. Peace of the land for Elsass, 1085-1103 419 247. Decree of Frederick I concerning the peace, 1156 422 248. Peace of the land for Italy, Frederick I, 1158 425 249. Perpetual peace of the land, Maximilian I, 1495 427 250. Establishment of a supreme court, 1495 430 Section VIII. Monasticism 432-509 251. The rule of St. Benedict, _ca._ 530 432 252. Oath of the Benedictines 485 253. Monk's vow 485 254. Monk's vow 485 255. Monk's vow 486 256. Monk's vow 486 257. Written profession of a monk 486 258. Ceremony of receiving a monk into the monastery 488 259. Offering of a child to the monastery 489 260. Offering of a child to the monastery 489 261. Commendatory letter 489 262. Commendatory letter 490 263. General letter 490 264. Letter of dismissal 490 265. Rule of St. Chrodegang, _ca._ 744 491 265 a. Origin of the Templars, 1119 492 266. Anastasius IV grants privileges to the Knights of St. John, 1154 494 267. Innocent III to the bishops of France; simony in the monasteries, 1211 496 268. Innocent III grants the use of the mitre to the abbot of Marseilles, 1204 497 269. Rule of St. Francis, 1223 498 270. Testament of St. Francis, 1220 504 271. Innocent IV grants friars permission to ride on horseback, 1250 508 272. Alexander IV condemns attacks on the friars, 1256 508 273. John XXII condemns the theses of John of Poilly, 1320 509 Section IX. The Crusades 510-544 274. Origen, Exhortation to martyrdom, 235 510 275. Origen, Commentary on Numbers 511 276. Leo IV (847-855); indulgences for fighting the heathen 511 277. John II; indulgences for fighting the heathen, 878 512 278. Gregory VII calls for a crusade, 1074 512 279. Speech of Urban II at the council of Clermont, 1095. Fulcher of Chartres 513 280. Speech of Urban II. Robert the Monk 518 281. Truce of God and indulgences proclaimed at the council of Clermont 521 282. Ekkehard of Aura, Hierosolimita; the first crusade 522 283. Anonymi Gesta Francorum, 1097-99 523 284. Eugene III announces a crusade, 1145 526 285. Otto of St. Blasien; the third crusade, 1189-90 529 286. Innocent III forbids the Venetians to traffic with the Mohammedans, 1198 535 287. Innocent III takes the king of the Danes under his protection, 1210 537 288. Innocent III announces a crusade, 1215 537 Section X. Social Classes and Cities in Germany 545-612 289. Otto III forbids the unfree classes to attempt to free themselves, _ca._ 1000 545 290. Henry I frees a serf, 926 546 291. Henry III frees a female serf, 1050 547 292. Recovery of fugitive serfs, 1224 548 293. Rank of children born of mixed marriages, 1282 549 294. Frederick II confers nobility, _ca._ 1240 549 295. Charles IV confers nobility on a "doctor of both laws," 1360 550 296. Law of the family of the bishop of Worms, 1023 551 297. Charter of the ministerials of the archbishop of Cologne, 1154 563 298. The bishop of Hamburg grants a charter to colonists, 1106 572 299. Privilege of Frederick I for the Jews, 1157 573 300. The bishop of Speyer grants a charter to the Jews, 1084 577 301. Lothar II grants a market to the monastery of Prüm, 861 579 302. Otto I grants a market to the archbishop of Hamburg, 965 580 303. Otto III grants a market to count Berthold, 999 581 304. Merchants cannot be compelled to come to a market, 1236 581 305. Market courts to be independent of local courts, 1218 582 306. Otto I grants jurisdiction over a town to the abbots of New Corvey, 940 582 307. The ban-mile, 1237 583 308. Citizens of Cologne expel their archbishop, 1074 584 309. People of Cologne rebel against their archbishop, 1074 585 310. Confirmation of the "immediateness" of the citizens of Speyer, 1267 586 311. Summons to an imperial city to attend a diet, 1338 587 312. Grant of municipal freedom to a town, 1201 587 313. Extension of the corporate limits of the city of Brunswick, 1269 588 314. Decision of the diet about city councils in cathedral towns, 1218 589 315. Frederick II forbids municipal freedom, 1231-32 590 316. Breslau adopts the charter of Magdeburg, 1261 592 317. The Schoeffen of Magdeburg give decisions for Culm, 1338 602 318. Establishment of the Rhine league, 1254 604 319. Peace established by the Rhine league, 1254 606 320. Agreement between Hamburg and Lübeck, _ca._ 1230 609 321. Agreement between Hamburg and Lübeck, 1241 610 322. Lübeck, Rostock, and Wismar proscribe pirates, 1259 610 323. Decrees of the Hanseatic league, 1260-64 611 324. Decrees of the Hanseatic league, 1265 612 325. Henry II grants Cologne merchants privileges in London, 1157 612 Bibliography 613 Glossary 615 A SOURCE BOOK FOR MEDIÆVAL HISTORY I. THE GERMANS AND THE EMPIRE TO 1073 The documents in this section are intended to illustrate the history of the Germans from the period before the migrations to the beginning of the struggle between the empire and the papacy, 1073. The historical development of this period resulted in the formation of the Holy Roman Empire, as the form of government for western Europe. The civilization of the Middle Age was in the main the result of the union of Roman and German elements. This union was brought about by the invasion of the Roman empire by the tribes of German blood that lay along and back of the frontier of the empire. It is important, therefore, to understand the character of the German race and institutions, which are illustrated by nos. 1 to 4. The leaders and organizers of the Germans after the settlement were the Franks, who under the Merovingian and Carolingian lines of rulers united the German tribes and bound them together in one great state. This movement is shown in nos. 5 to 14. In this development the life of Karl the Great (nos. 7 to 14) is of especial importance, because of the permanent result of much of his work, particularly his organization of the government (nos. 7 to 9), and his founding of the empire by the union of Italy and Germany (nos. 8, 13, and 14). The dissolution of his vast empire, resulting in the formation of France as a separate state, and in the appearance of the feudal states, is shown in nos. 15 to 22. In the rest of the documents the history of Germany and Italy, the real members of the empire, is followed. Of this the important features are: the continued connection of Germany with Italy (nos. 23 and 29), resulting in the restoration of the empire by Otto I; the feudal organization of Germany (nos. 24, 25, and 27); and the increase of the German territory toward the east (nos. 26, 28, 32). This brings the history down to the accession of Henry IV, with whom begins the long conflict between the empire and papacy which is treated in section III. 1. Selections from the Germania of Tacitus, _ca._ 100 A.D. The _Germania_ of the Roman historian Tacitus (54-119 A.D.) is a treatise on the manners, customs, and institutions of the Germans of his time. It is one of the most valuable sources of knowledge of the condition of the Germans before the migrations. These sources are mainly of two kinds: the accounts of contemporary writers, chiefly Roman authors; and the documentary sources of the period of the tribal kingdoms, particularly the tribal laws, such as the laws of the Salic Franks (see no. 4), Burgundians, Anglo-Saxons, etc. It will be evident to the student that the sources of both kinds fall short of realizing the needs of historical trustworthiness: the first kind, because the Roman authors were describing institutions and customs which they knew only superficially or from a prejudiced point of view; the second, because the laws and documents of the tribal period reflect a stage of development which had changed considerably from the primitive stage. Conclusions in regard to the conditions of the Germans in the early period are based on the careful criticism of each single document and on a comparison of each with all the others. Some indication of this method is suggested in the notes to nos. 1 and 4. Even at best the results are subject to uncertainty. The _Germania_ of Tacitus is the clearest and most complete of the sources of the first type, but it is not free from obscurity. Since there are numerous editions of it, we have not thought it necessary to refer to any particular one. 5. The land [inhabited by the Germans] varies somewhat in character from one part to another, but in general it is covered with forests and swamps, and is more rainy on the side toward Gaul and bleaker toward Noricum and Pannonia. It is moderately fertile, but not suited to the growing of fruit trees; it supports great numbers of cattle, of small size, however. 6. Iron is not abundant, as appears from the character of the weapons of the inhabitants; for they rarely use swords or the larger spears; instead they carry darts with small, narrow heads, which they call _frameæ_. But these are so sharp and so easily handled that they are used in fighting equally well at a distance and at close quarters.... The number of warriors is definitely fixed, one hundred coming from each district, and the warriors are known by that name [_i.e._, hundred]; so that what was originally a number has come to be a name and a title.{1} 7. Kings are chosen for their noble birth;{2} military leaders for their valor. But the authority of the king is not absolute, and the war-leaders command rather by example than by orders, winning the respect and the obedience of their troops by being always in the front of the battle.... These troops are not made up of bodies of men chosen indiscriminately, but are arranged by families and kindreds, which is an added incentive for bravery in battle. So, also, the cries of the women and the wailing of children, who are taken along to battle, encourage the men to resistance. 8. It is said that on more than one occasion broken and fleeing ranks have been turned back to the fight by the prayers of the women, who fear captivity above everything else.... They believe that women are specially gifted by the gods, and do not disdain to take council with them and heed their advice. 11. [In the assemblies of the tribe,] minor affairs are discussed by the chiefs, but the whole tribe decides questions of general importance. These things, however, are generally first discussed by the chiefs before being referred to the tribe. They meet, except in the case of a sudden emergency, at certain fixed times, at the new or the full moon, for they regard these as auspicious days for undertakings. They reckon the time by nights, instead of by days, as we do.... One evil result arising from their liberty is the fact that they never all come together at the time set, but consume two or three days in assembling. When the assembly is ready, they sit down, all under arms. Silence is proclaimed by the priest, who has here the authority to enforce it. The king or the leader speaks first, and then others in order, as age, or rank, or reputation in war, or eloquence may give them the right. The speakers depend rather upon persuasion than upon commands. If the speech is displeasing to the multitude, they reject it with murmurs; if it is pleasing, they applaud by clashing their weapons together, which is the kind of applause most highly esteemed.{3} 12. Criminals are also tried at these assemblies, and the sentence of death may be decreed. They have different kinds of punishments for different crimes; traitors and deserters are hanged on trees, cowards and base criminals are sunk in the swamps or bogs, under wicker hurdles.... There are penalties also for the lighter crimes, for which the offenders are fined in horses or cattle. Part of the fine goes to the king or the state, and part to the person injured or to his relatives. In this assembly they also choose leaders to administer the law in the districts and villages of the tribe, each of them being assigned a hundred companions from the tribe to act as counsellors and supporters.{4} 13. They go armed all the time, but no one is permitted to wear arms until he has satisfied the tribe of his fitness to do so. Then, at the general assembly, the youth is given a shield and a sword by his chief or his father or one of his relatives. This is the token of manhood, as the receiving of the toga is with us. Youths are sometimes given the position of chiefs because of their noble rank or the merits of their ancestors; they are attached to more mature and experienced chiefs, and think it no shame to be ranked as companions. The companions have different ranks in the company, according to the opinion of the chief; there is a great rivalry among the companions for first place with the chief, as there is among the chiefs for the possession of the largest and bravest band of followers. It is a source of dignity and of power to be surrounded by a large body of young warriors, who sustain the rank of the chief in peace and defend him in war. The fame of such a chief and his band is not confined to their own tribe, but is known among foreign peoples; they are sought out and honored with gifts in order to secure their alliance, for the reputation of such a band may decide a whole war. 14. In battle it is shameful for the chief to allow any one of his followers to excel him in courage, and for the followers not to equal their chief in deeds of valor. But the greatest shame of all, and one that renders a man forever infamous, is to return alive from the fight in which his chief has fallen. It is a sacred obligation of the followers to defend and protect their chief and add to his fame by their bravery, for the chief fights for victory and the companions for the chief. If their own tribe is at peace, young noble chiefs take part in the wars of other tribes, because they despise the peaceful life. Moreover, glory is to be gained only among perils, and a chief can maintain a band only by war, for the companions expect to receive their war-horse and arms from the leader, ... and the means of liberality are best obtained from the booty of war.{5} 16. The Germans do not dwell in cities, and do not build their houses close together. They dwell apart and separate, where a spring or patch of level ground or a grove may attract them. Their villages are not built compactly, as ours are, but each house is surrounded by a clear space. 21. It is a matter of duty with them to take up the enmities of their parents or kinsmen, as well as the friendships, but these feuds are not irreconcilable; the slaying of a man may be atoned for by the payment of a fixed number of cattle, and the kindred of the slain man all share in the price of atonement. This practice of compounding manslaughter is of advantage to the public weal, for such feuds may become very dangerous among a free people.{6} 26. The arable lands, according to the number of cultivators, are occupied in turn by all the members of the community, and are divided among them according to the quality [of the lands].{7} The extent of the land gives ample opportunity for division; the arable fields are changed every year, and there is plenty of land left over.{8} The following section is condensed from chapters 27 to 46. 27-46.{9} Such is the account I have received of the origin and the customs of the Germans as a whole; we must now undertake a discussion of the separate tribes. The divine Julius [Cæsar] says in his book that the Gauls had once been a more powerful and prosperous people than the Germans. So it is not impossible that they may have at some time even invaded Germany. For the Helvetians once dwelt in Germany between the Hercynian forest and the Rhine and Main rivers, while the Boii inhabited lands still farther within Germany, as is shown by the name Boihaem [Bohemia] which still clings to their former place, now inhabited by another people. The Treveri and the Nervii lay claim to German origin, as if to repudiate connection with the indolent Gauls. The inhabitants of the Rhine bank, the Vangiones, Treboci, and Nemetes, are undoubtedly of German blood; and the Ubii also, although they have become a Roman colony and have taken the name of Agrippenses from their founder. Of all the tribes along the lower Rhine the chief are the Batavi, who dwell mainly on an island in the mouth of the Rhine. They were a portion of the Chatti, but left their homes as the result of a domestic quarrel and entered the Roman empire. They still retain, however, their old honor and dignity as allies, not being subject to taxation or to any public duties except that of war. Beyond the Agri Decumates are the Chatti, whose territory borders on the Hercynian forest. Next to the Chatti, descending the Rhine, are the Usipii and Tencteri; their neighbors, it is said, were formerly the Bructeri, who have been driven out and their place taken by the Angrivarii and Chamavi. Back of the Angrivarii and the Chamavi [to the south] are the Dulgubnii and Chasuarii; in front [to the north] are the Frisii, who are divided into two parts, the greater and lesser Frisii. They dwell along the shores of the ocean north of the Rhine. Next are the Chauci, and on the boundaries of the Chauci and the Chatti [to the east], the Cherusci. The Cimbri dwell in the same region, on the shores of the ocean. We come next to the Suebi. They are not a single tribe, as the Chauci or Tencteri, for example; they include a great many tribes, each one with its own name, but all called in common Suebi. The Semnones claim to be the most ancient and the noblest of the Suebi. They inhabit a hundred districts and consider themselves, because of their number, the most important tribe of the Suebi. On the other hand, the Lombards are known for the small number of their members, but they are secure from conquest by their more powerful neighbors by reason of their courage and their experience in war. Then come the Reudigni, Aviones, Angli, Warini, Eudoses, Suardones, and Nuitones. Then, following along the Danube, the Hermunduri; then the Naristi, Marcomanni, and Quadi. The Marcomanni drove the Boii out of their land, which they now inhabit. Back of these tribes lie the Marsigni, Cotini, Osi, and Buri. The Marsigni and the Buri have the same language and worship as the Suebi; but the fact that the Cotini speak a Gallic language and the Osi a Pannonian would indicate that they are not German tribes. A continuous mountain range divides Suebia in this region; beyond it lie many races, of whom the greatest is that of the Lugii, a name applied to several tribes, the Harii, Helveconæ, Manimi, Elisii, Nahanarvali. Beyond the Lugii are the Gutones. The tribes of the Suiones inhabit a land situated in the midst of the ocean [Scandinavia], and are famous for their fleets. Beyond the Suiones is that dreary ocean which is believed to encircle the whole world. On the right [east] shore of the Suebian Sea [the Baltic] dwell the Aestii, a people that have the same customs and manners as the Suebi, but speak a language more like that of the inhabitants of Britain. The land of the Suiones is continued by that of the Sithones. This is the end of Suebia. I am uncertain whether to assign the Peucini, Veneti, and Fenni to the German or Sarmatian race, although the Peucini, called by some Bastarnæ, have the same language, worship, and sort of houses as the Germans. {1} In the tribal laws and other documents of the tribal period a district called the "hundred" actually appears as the division of the county (see no. 4, introductory note). Tacitus uses the term here as a division of the tribe, but the original tribe in several instances appears as a county of the larger tribal kingdom, among the Franks and Anglo-Saxons, at least. The origin of the hundred as a territorial district suggested in this passage by Tacitus is probably the correct one: the whole tribe was divided for military purposes into companies of about one hundred men; then when the tribe settled on the land which had been conquered, the lands were distributed to the hundreds, and the districts thus formed came to bear that name. {2} The existence of a noble class, _i.e._, a number of families having higher social rank and special consideration and privileges, is vouched for by all the sources. The origin of the class and the extent of the privileges which they enjoyed in this primitive time are uncertain. The king was chosen usually from one noble family, but not by strict heredity. {3} The general assembly was composed of all the freemen of the tribe. All public business, that is, affairs in which the whole tribe was concerned, was conducted here, including the making of war and peace, the election of the king and chief officials, etc. It would appear from what Tacitus says that the assembly had jurisdiction in the graver offenses and in cases of appeal from the hundred-court. {4} These leaders were probably the officials who presided over the hundred-court, the assembly of the freemen of the hundred, which was the regular court of justice. We find such an official mentioned in several of the tribal laws; in the Salic and the Alamannian law he is called the "centenarius," and in the Anglo-Saxon laws the "hundredes-ealdor." The hundred companions of the official mentioned by Tacitus were probably the whole body of the freemen of the hundred. They attended the hundred-court and had a share in rendering the decision. {5} The chief with his band of followers is found in many primitive warlike societies. The various traditions of the German tribes are full of references to this institution. Famous warriors would gather about them a band of young men eager for reputation and experience. These bands would form the élite of the army when the whole tribe went to war, but would also conduct warlike enterprises on their own account. The viking raids of the Northmen were instances of this practice. It not infrequently happened that the success of private bands would lead the whole tribe to follow and settle on the land which they had begun to conquer, as in the traditional account of the conquest of Britain by the Angles and Saxons. {6} The obligation of following up the blood-feud is a common feature of primitive society. It forms the basis of many of the popular tales and traditions of the German people. The law attempted to make the kindred of the slain man give up the feud in return for the payment of a fixed sum by the slayer of his kin, but the attempt was not always successful. The sum paid is known as the _wergeld_ and is mentioned in all the tribal laws (see no. 4, title XLI and note). {7} The form of land-holding among the early Germans has been the subject of much study and investigation. Chapters 16 and 26 of Tacitus have been discussed and commented on at great length by many scholars and no absolute agreement has been reached in regard to the interpretation of them. The above translation is as literal and untechnical as we could make it, but it is not free from objection. It would seem to mean that the land of the tribe was held by small groups or communities dwelling in little farming villages and cultivating the land assigned them. The land in the time of Tacitus was probably owned in common by the community and apportioned equally among the householders for the purpose of cultivation, and then redistributed at regular periods, once a year according to Tacitus. {8} In order to understand the conditions of German life as described by Tacitus, the student would do well to pick out, bring together, and classify all that he says in different places about the important features of their life: (1) the king, his election, powers, etc.; (2) the assemblies, their composition, procedure, authority; (3) the officials; (4) manners and customs. {9} The chapters devoted to the enumeration and description of the separate tribes have been summarized, the purpose being to show the location and the names of the tribes in the time of Tacitus; the student should compare these with the situation as shown by a map of Europe at the time of the migrations. Note that very few of these names appear at the time of the migrations; this is because most of the tribes had lost their identity before that time, being united into larger groups, or absorbed by other peoples, as by the Huns, Romans, etc. Of the tribes mentioned before the Suebi, most were later united into the confederations of the Franks, Alamanni, and Saxons; thus the Chatti, Chamavi, Chasuarii, etc., are found among the Franks; the Tencteri, Usipii among the Alamanni; the Chauci, Cherusci, Angrivarii among the Saxons. The Frisii remained in the same region and were finally added to the Frankish kingdom by Karl Martel; their name still exists in the Friesland of modern Holland. The Ubii were settled by M. Agrippa on land near Cologne, the Roman town Colonia Agrippina. The Agri Decumates or "tithe lands" were the territory contained within the triangle formed by the upper Rhine, the upper Danube, and a line of fortifications, called the _Limes_. This advanced frontier was established by Trajan (98-117). The territory received its name from the fact that the colonists who settled there paid a tithe or tenth of the produce to the state as rent. Under the name Suebi, Tacitus classes a great many tribes, some of whom are not even of German race. The real nature of the Suevic Confederation is a matter of great uncertainty. Some of the tribes mentioned by Tacitus under this head appear later; the Semnones are conjectured to be the tribe later known as the Suevi, who joined the Vandals in their raid and remained in northern Spain until conquered by the West Goths; the Lombards remained a separate tribe and moved south into Pannonia and then into Italy; a portion of the Angli joined the Saxons in their invasion of England; the rest were apparently united with the Warini in the Thuringian kingdom, the principal tribe of which was the Hermunduri; the Marcomanni and the Quadi, perhaps with some other tribes, composed the later Bavarians; the Lugii, or Lygians, are mentioned by later Roman writers as among the Germans who threatened the Danube frontier, but the name disappeared after that; the Gutones are the Goths; the Suiones and Sithones are Scandinavian Germans; the Peucini are the same as the Bastarnae, who were given lands on the Danube by Emperor Probus (276-282); the Veneti are the Wends, a Slavic tribe; the Fenni, the modern Finns. 2. Procopius, Vandal War. (Greek.) Procopius, in Corpus Scriptorum Historiæ Byzantinæ. This and the following number are taken from the writings of Procopius, a Roman official and historian who lived about 500 to 560 A.D., and had a personal share in the wars of Justinian against the East Goths and Vandals. The earlier parts of his histories are drawn largely from tradition. I, 2. During the reign of Honorius [395-423] in the west the barbarians began to overrun the empire.... The invaders were mainly of the Gothic race, the greatest and most important tribes being the East Goths, the Vandals, the West Goths, and the Gepidæ.... These tribes have different names, but in all other respects they resemble one another very closely; they all have light complexions, yellow hair, large bodies, and handsome faces; they obey the same laws and have the same religion, the Arian; and they all speak the same language, Gothic. I am of the opinion, therefore, that they were originally one people and have separated into tribes under different leaders. They formerly dwelt beyond the Danube; then the Gepidæ occupied the land about Sirmium on both sides of that river, where they still dwell. The first to move were the West Goths. This tribe entered into an alliance with the Romans, but later, since such an alliance could not be permanent, they revolted under Alaric. Starting from Thrace, they made a raid through all of Europe, attacking both emperors. [Alaric sacks Rome.] Soon after, Alaric died, and the West Goths, under Athaulf, passed on into Gaul. 3. Under the pressure of famine, the Vandals, who formerly dwelt on the shores of the Mæotic Gulf [Sea of Azof], moved on toward the Rhine, attacking the Franks. With them went the Alani.... [Crossing the Rhine into Gaul] they proceeded down into Spain, the most western province of the Roman empire, and settled there under their king, Godegisel, Honorius having made an agreement with him by which the Vandals were to be allowed to settle in Spain on condition that they should not plunder the land. At that time the greatest Roman generals were Boniface and Aëtius, who were political rivals.... Boniface sent secretly to Spain and made an agreement with Gunderich and Geiserich, the sons and successors of Godegisel, whereby they were to bring the Vandals into Africa, and the three were to divide the rule of Africa among themselves, mutually supporting one another in case of attacks from outside. Accordingly the Vandals crossed the strait at Gades and entered Africa, while the West Goths moved forward from Gaul into Spain after them. [Gunderich dies, leaving Geiserich sole ruler of the Vandals; Geiserich quarrels with Boniface and drives him out of Africa, ruling the whole territory with his Vandals.] 5. Geiserich now got together a large fleet and attacked Italy, capturing Rome and the palace of the emperor. The usurper Maximus was slain by the populace and his body torn to pieces. Geiserich took back to Carthage Eudoxia, the empress, and her two daughters, Eudocia and Placidia, carrying off also an immense booty in gold and silver. The imperial palace was plundered of all its treasures, as was also the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, including a large part of the roof, which was made of bronze, heavily plated with gold.... 3. Procopius, Gothic War. (Greek.) Procopius, in Corpus Script. Hist. Byz.; Muratori, Scriptores, I, i, 247 f. I, 1. While Zeno [474-491] was emperor in Byzantium, the west was ruled by Augustus, whom the Romans called Augustulus, because of his youth. The actual government was in the hands of his father Orestes, a most able man. Some time before this, as a result of the reverses which they had suffered at the hands of Attila and Alaric, the Romans had taken the Sciri, Alani, and other German tribes into the empire as allies. The renown of Roman arms had long since vanished, and the barbarians were coming into Italy in ever-increasing numbers, where they were actual masters under the false name of allies (_federati_). They continually seized more and more power, until finally they demanded a third of all the lands of Italy. When Orestes refused to grant this they slew him. Then one of the imperial officers, Odovaker, also a barbarian, promised to secure this for them if they would recognize him as ruler. In spite of the power which he thus acquired, Odovaker did not attack the emperor [Romulus Augustulus], but only forced him to retire to private life. He then gave the barbarians the third of the lands which they had demanded, thus binding them more closely to him, and ruled over Italy unopposed for ten years. About this time the East Goths, who had been allowed to settle in Thrace, rose against the emperor under their king, Theoderich. He had been brought up at Byzantium, where he had been given the rank of a patrician, and had even held the title of consul. The emperor Zeno, a master in diplomacy, persuaded Theoderich to invade Italy and attack Odovaker, with the chance of winning the whole west for himself and the East Goths.... Theoderich seized on this opportunity eagerly, and the whole tribe set out for Italy, taking along with them in wagons their women and children and all their movables.... Odovaker hastened with an army to oppose this invasion, but was defeated in several battles, and finally shut up in Ravenna.... After the siege had lasted for about three years both parties were willing to come to terms, the Goths being weary of the long siege and the soldiers of Odovaker being on the verge of starvation. So, through the efforts of the bishop of Ravenna, a treaty was made according to which Theoderich and Odovaker were to rule the city jointly. This treaty was kept for a short time, but finally Theoderich treacherously seized Odovaker at a banquet to which he had invited him, and had him put to death. He then won over to him all his enemies, and from that time on ruled over Goths and Italians unopposed. Theoderich never assumed the name or dignity of emperor, being content to be known as king, as the barbarians call their rulers. In fact, however, the subjects bore the same relation to him as to an emperor. He dispensed justice with a strong hand, and rigidly enforced the law and kept peace. In his time the land was protected from the attacks of neighboring barbarians, and his might and his wisdom were famous far and wide. He allowed his subjects neither to suffer nor to commit wrongs; his own followers were given only the lands which Odovaker had taken for his supporters. Thus Theoderich, although he bore the title of a tyrant, was in fact a righteous emperor.... He loved the Goths and the Italians equally, recognizing no difference between them, contrary as this may seem to human nature.... After a reign of thirty-seven years, he died lamented by all his people. 4. The Salic Law. In the period before the migrations, each of the German tribes had its primitive code of laws. This law was not put in writing, but was held in memory; it was not based on abstract reasons of right and justice, but grew up out of practice and custom. The migrations and the development of tribal kingdoms on Roman soil brought about important changes in the public and private life of the Germans, partly the result of changed conditions, partly the direct influence of Roman manners and institutions. One result was that the old unwritten customary laws were codified and published in written form. These codes, called the _Leges Barbarorum_, or laws of the barbarians, form an important historical source, for of course they reflect the new conditions in which the Germans found themselves after their settlement. Some of them show the influence of Roman law and institutions in a marked degree; others are more purely Germanic. They were in most cases written in Latin, although the Angles and Saxons in England published their early codes in Old English or Anglo-Saxon. One of the oldest and at the same time one of the most purely German in character is the law of the Salic Franks, called in Latin, _Lex Salica_; it was probably written about the year 500, in the reign of Chlodovech (481-511). In the most authentic form it contains sixty-five chapters, or "titles," most of which are composed of several sections. The title usually has a heading, as: XVII. _De vulneribus_ (Concerning wounds). The parts translated are intended to illustrate: (1) the character of the tribal laws in general, and (2) certain important institutions and customs of the Franks. Certain features of the Salic law are common to nearly all of the German laws; these are suggested here for the convenience of the reader. 1. The code contains mainly private law. Most of the law is taken up with a scale of fines and compensations for injury, damage, and theft, as in the case of injuries, titles XVII and XXII. This is characteristic of most of the German codes; they are concerned with private and not with public or administrative law. 2. The law makes minute specification of injuries. Note that the different injuries are carefully described and particular fines given for each, as in titles XVII and XXIX. This feature is found in most of the codes and is characteristic of a primitive stage of legal conception and a barbarous state of society. The important function of primitive law is the settlement of differences between individuals to prevent personal reprisals, so the various injuries that are apt to occur are specified and provided with special fines. 3. A large part of the procedure takes place out of court, and is conducted by the individuals concerned. So in title I, 3, the plaintiff summons the defendant in person; in title L, 2, the creditor tries to collect the amount fixed by the court; in title XLVII the whole process of tracing and recovering stolen property, except the last stage, is conducted out of court. This also is a common feature of Germanic law; the objection, common among uncivilized peoples, to the state's interference with private affairs of the individual operates here to restrict the function of the law to the simple decision of the case. 4. All the German laws provide for the payment of the _wergeld_. The origin of this is doubtless to be found in the underlying conception of primitive law referred to in paragraph 2. The purpose being to put an end to private revenge, which would mean continual private war, the law prescribes the amount to be paid to the kindred of the slain man, and they must on receipt of that give up the blood-feud. (See no. 1, ch. 21, and note.) In many of the codes different values are assigned to different classes of people, as here in title XLI. The public institutions of the Franks are referred to in the law only incidentally, the law being concerned, as has been said, mainly with private matters, and taking for granted a knowledge of public law. Following is a brief statement of the form of government, administration of justice, etc. The state ruled by the king of the Salic Franks was composed of several small tribes, originally independent (see no. 1, notes 1 and 9), but now incorporated into a single state. The kingdom was divided into counties, some of which correspond to the former independent tribes, and some to old Roman political divisions. The county was governed by a representative of the king, an official who is called in the Salic law by the German title _grafio_ (modern German "Graf"), and in later documents by the Latin title _comes_ (count). The judicial system was based on the division of the county known as the hundred (see no. 1, note 1), the assembly of the freemen of the hundred being the regular public court. It was presided over by the "hundred-man," in the Salic law called either _centenarius_, which means simply hundred-man, or _thunginus_, a word of uncertain meaning. The function of the _grafio_, the representative of the king in the county, was mainly executive; he was appealed to only when every other means of forcing the delinquent to obey the law or the decision of the court had failed, but he has no part in the trial of cases. See title L, 3, for an instance of the function of the _grafio_. I. _Legal Summons._{10} 1. If anyone is summoned to the court and does not come, he shall pay 600 denarii, which make 15 solidi.{11} 3. When anyone summons another to court, he shall go with witnesses to the house of that person, and if he is not present the summoner shall serve notice on his wife or his family that he is legally summoned. {10} This title illustrates what is said in the introduction about the process out of court. The person who has a cause for legal action against another, goes himself to the house of his antagonist and summons him before witnesses. The law steps in, however, and forces the one who is summoned to come to court under penalty. See also title LVI. {11} The monetary system of the Salic law was taken from the Romans. The basis was the gold solidus of Constantine, 1/72 of a pound of gold. The small coin was the silver denarius, forty of which made a solidus. This system was adopted as a monetary reform by Chlodovech, and the statement of the sum in terms of both coins is probably due to the newness of the system at the time of the appearance of the law. XVII. _Wounds._ 1. If anyone is convicted of trying to kill another, even though he fails, he shall pay 2,500 denarii, which make 63 (62-1/2) solidi. 2. If anyone is convicted of shooting a poisoned arrow at another, even though he misses him, he shall pay 2,500 denarii, which make 63 solidi. 3. If anyone wounds another in the head, so that the brain appears and the three bones which lie above the brain are uncovered, he shall pay 1,200 denarii, which make 30 solidi. 4. If anyone wounds another between the ribs or in the abdomen, so that the wound can be seen and extends to the vitals, he shall pay 1,200 denarii, which make 30 solidi, besides 5 solidi for the healing. 5. If anyone wounds another so that the blood falls to the ground, he shall pay 600 denarii, which make 15 solidi. 6. If a freeman strikes another freeman with a club, so that the blood does not flow, he shall pay 120 denarii, which make 3 solidi, for each blow, up to three. 7. If the blood does flow, he shall pay as much for each blow as if he had wounded him with a sword. 8. If anyone strikes another with the closed fist, he shall pay 360 denarii, which make 9 solidi; that is, 3 solidi for each blow up to three. 9. If anyone is convicted of trying to rob another on the highroad, even though he fails, he shall pay 2,500 denarii, which make 63 solidi. XXIX. _Injuries._ 1. If anyone destroys the hand or the foot of another, or cuts out his eye, or cuts off his nose, he shall pay 4,000 denarii, which make 100 solidi. 2. If the injured hand hangs loose and useless, he shall pay 2,500 denarii, which make 63 (62-1/2) solidi. 3. If anyone cuts off the thumb or the great toe of another, he shall pay 2,000 denarii, which make 50 solidi. 4. If the thumb or the toe hangs useless, he shall pay 1,200 denarii, which make 30 solidi. 5. If he cuts off the second finger, by which the bowstring is drawn, he shall pay 1,400 denarii, which make 35 solidi. 6. If he cuts off the rest of the fingers (that is, the other three) at one blow, he shall pay 50 solidi. 7. If he cuts off two of them, he shall pay 35 solidi. 8. If he cuts off one of them, he shall pay 30 solidi. XLI. _Manslaughter._{12} 1. If anyone is convicted of killing a free Frank or a barbarian living by the Salic law, he shall pay 8,000 denarii, which make 200 solidi. 2. If he has put the body in a well, or under water, or has covered it with branches or other things for the purpose of hiding it, he shall pay 24,000 denarii, which make 600 solidi.{13} 3. If anyone kills a man in the king's trust, or a free woman, he shall pay 24,000 denarii, which make 600 solidi. 4. If he kills a Roman who was a table-companion of the king, he shall pay 12,000 denarii, which make 300 solidi. 6. If the slain man was a Roman landowner, and not a table-companion of the king, he who slew him shall pay 4,000 denarii, which make 100 solidi. 7. If anyone kills a Roman _tributarius_, he shall pay 63 solidi. {12} The fine for slaying a man is the _wergeld_ referred to in the introduction. It was paid to the kin of the slain man by the slayer or his kin. The _wergeld_ has different values for different classes; note the classes in the Salic law, particularly the position of the persons in the royal service, the importance of which must have been of comparatively recent origin, and the position of the Roman population. The freeman of the Frankish tribe has a _wergeld_ of 200 solidi, the free woman three times that, 600 solidi; the Roman _possessor_, or free landowner, 100 solidi; the Roman _tributarius_, who cultivated the land of another at a fixed rent, and was regarded as less than a freeman, 62-1/2 solidi. If the freeman was in the king's trust, that is, in the service of the king and probably bound to him by a special oath (these men are also called _antrustiones_; see nos. 180 and 189), his _wergeld_ was three times that of the ordinary freeman, 600 solidi; that of the Roman who was a table-companion of the king, a relation similar to that of the man in the king's trust, was also tripled, 300 solidi. {13} The fact of concealment is the distinguishing mark between murder and manslaughter. XLV. _The Man who Removes from One Village to Another._{14} 1. If anyone desires to enter a village, with the consent of one or more of the inhabitants of that village, and a single one objects, he shall not be allowed to settle there. 3. But if anyone settles in another village and remains there twelve months without any one of the inhabitants objecting, he shall be allowed to remain in peace like his neighbors. {14} This title throws some light on the original character of the village community. The village was in origin probably a group of kindred, and new-comers were admitted only by the consent of all the householders. Moreover, as much of the land was still held in common by the village--the wood, pasture, and meadow--the admission of a new member concerned all the householders. XLVII. _The Tracing of Stolen Goods._ If one has recognized a slave, or a horse, or an ox, or anything of his own in the possession of another, he is to "send him to the third hand."{15} And he in whose hands the thing was recognized is to swear [to his own innocence]; and if both parties [_i.e._, the rightful owner and the man in whose possession it was found] dwell on this side of the Loire and the Carbonaria,{16} a term of forty days shall be set within which all are to be summoned who have had any part in the affair, who have sold or exchanged or perhaps given in payment the article. That is, each one is to summon the man from whom he got it. And if anyone of these has been summoned and legal hindrance has not kept him away, and he does not come within the appointed term, then the one who had dealings with this delinquent is to bring three witnesses to the fact that he had summoned him and three more to the fact that he had obtained the property from him legally and in good faith; if he does this he is clear of suspicion of theft. But he who would not come and against whom the witnesses have borne testimony, shall be held to be the thief of the man who recognized his own, and he [the thief] shall return the price to the man who dealt with him and shall pay the lawful compensation to the man who recognized his own.{17} All these things are to be done in that court to which he is answerable in whose hands the stolen thing was first recognized and with whom the process started. But if he in whose hands it was recognized dwells beyond the Loire or the Carbonaria the time allowed shall be eighty days. {15} The expression _mittat eum in tertia manu_ has been interpreted in various ways; it means apparently either that the possessor is to place the article in question in the hands of a third disinterested party who is to hold it until the case has been tried, or that he is to refer the claimant to the "third party"; that is, the man from whom he obtained it. {16} A much-discussed phrase, which has been used to show that the Salic law belongs to a period after the Frankish control had extended beyond the Loire. The word in the text (_ligere_) has also been taken to mean the river Leye, but this is not generally accepted. The Carbonaria (German, _Kohlenwald_) was a large forest in what is now Belgium. {17} The form of statement is rather confusing, but the process is fairly clear. The burden of proof lies on the man in whose possession the stolen article is found, and he must clear himself by producing the man from whom he got it. This shifts the responsibility to the latter, who in turn must produce the man from whom he obtained it, and so on back until the person is reached who obtained the article illegally, and so is not likely to obey the summons to appear in court. Then the last man in the chain before the thief proves his innocence of bad faith by showing that he bought the article publicly and so obtained it in good faith, and that he had served notice on the delinquent in the present process. Inasmuch as legal sales were held publicly before witnesses, it is fairly certain in this way that the guilt will be located. The man in whose possession it was found then restores the article to its owner, and receives back the price he paid for it from the man from whom he got it; and this repayment is repeated in each case until the thief is reached; the man who dealt with him has a legal action for recovery of the price against the thief, while the owner has also an action for the recovery of damages. L. _The Given Pledge._ 1. If a free man or a letus{18} has given pledge [that is, made a solemn promise at the court] to another, then he to whom the pledge was given shall go to the house of the other within forty nights,{19} or whatever period was set, with witnesses or with such as can estimate the price.{20} And if the delinquent will not redeem the pledge given, he shall be held liable for 15 solidi above the amount for which he had given pledge. 2. If still he will not pay, the complainant shall summon him to the _mallus_, and thus he shall proceed to have him constrained by law: "I ask thee, _thunginus_, to constrain by law this my debtor who has given me a pledge and is in my debt." And he shall state how much the debt is. Then the _thunginus_ shall say: "I constrain this man by law, in accordance with the Salic law." Then he to whom the pledge was given shall give notice that the delinquent can neither pay nor give pledge of payment to any other until he has fulfilled what he promised him [the creditor]. And straightway on that day before the sun sets he shall go with witnesses to the house of the debtor and ask him to pay the debt. If he will not, let the sun set upon him.{21} Then when the sun has set, 120 denarii, which make 3 solidi, are added to the amount owed. And this thing is to be done three times in three weeks, and if on the third summons he will not pay all this, then 360 denarii, which make 9 solidi, are to be added to the debt, that is, 3 solidi for every summons and setting of the sun. The next two sections are now generally regarded as a later addition--_i.e._, the first two are supposed to belong to an early period, while the last two belong to the period when the _grafio_, the royal representative, had acquired executive functions within the county. If this is so, then sections 3 and 4 have replaced certain older sections which must have completed the process described in sections 1 and 2; there must have been a further stage in which the delinquent was finally forced to pay, perhaps the process described in title LVI, by which a delinquent can be outlawed if he is still contumacious. 3. If anyone refuses to redeem his promise within the lawful term, then he to whom he gave the pledge shall go to the _grafio_ of the county within which the debtor lives, and shall lay hold on the staff and say: "_Grafio_, this man has given pledge to me and I have given lawful notice of his indebtedness and have sued him before the _mallus_ in accordance with the Salic law. I pledge myself and my fortune that you may safely and lawfully lay hands on his property." And he declares for what cause and to what amount the pledge had been given. Then the _grafio_ shall take with him seven suitable _rachinburgii_{22} and go to the house of him who gave the pledge and say: "You, who are here present, pay this man of your own free will that for which you gave him pledge. Choose two men, whomsoever you will, who together with these _rachinburgii_ shall assess from your goods the amount you ought to pay. And so shall you make good what you owe according to legal value." But if he, being present, will not heed, or if he is absent, then the _rachinburgii_ shall take from his goods a value equal to the amount which he owes, and of that amount two parts shall go to him who brought suit, and the third part the _grafio_ shall take for himself as _fredus_,{23} if the _fredus_ for this case has not already been paid. 4. If the _grafio_ has been appealed to and legal hindrance or his master's [the king's] business has not detained him, and he neither goes himself nor sends a representative, he shall be punished with death or he may redeem himself with his possessions. {18} The term _letus_ is used of a class of population whose position was between that of the free man and that of the slave; a similar class is found among nearly all the Germanic tribes. They were perhaps descendants of conquered peoples that had been incorporated into the tribe; they did not own land, but cultivated the land of others on terms of a fixed rental in produce and services. Thus while not free, their position was above that of the slaves, since they might acquire possessions and profits above the rent paid, while the earnings of the slave belonged in theory entirely to the master. {19} The regular interval between the meetings of the hundred-court or _mallus_. {20} The use of appraisers, referred to here and elsewhere, indicates that fines and debts were paid regularly in kind, and that money was still an unfamiliar convenience. {21} That is, the delinquent is to be given the full legal day, and when that has passed with the setting of the sun, the penalty is incurred. It is interesting to notice the same feature in the law of the XII Tables, which was apparently merely the primitive tribal law of the early Romans reduced to written form. There, in the first table, the description of a public court process ends with the sentence: "Sol occasus suprema tempestas esto"--sunset is to be the latest hour [of the legal day]. {22} _Rachinburgii_ is the name generally used in the law for the board of judges, seven in number, who are chosen at every hundred-court to render the judgment (see title LVI). Here, however, the term is used for appraisers who apparently are not connected with the _rachinburgii_ of the hundred-court. {23} The _fredus_ is that portion of the fine which goes to the state, apparently as compensation for executing the sentence. It furnished a part at once of the royal revenues and of the salary of the _grafio_, since half went to him and half to the royal treasury. LII. _Property that has been Loaned._ If one has loaned anything of his goods to another, and that person will not restore it to him, he shall sue for it in this way: He shall go with witnesses to the house of him to whom he loaned his property and serve this notice on him: "Since you will not restore to me my goods which I have loaned to you, you may keep them until the following night, in accordance with the Salic law."{24} And if still he will not restore them, let the sun set on him.{25} If he still will not restore them, the owner is to give him a space of seven nights, and at the end of these seven nights he shall serve notice as before that he may keep them till the following night, in accordance with the Salic law. If then he will not restore them, at the end of another seven nights he is to go with witnesses again and ask him to pay what he owes. If he will not pay, let the sun set on him. But when the sun has set on him three times, for each time 120 denarii (which make 3 solidi) are to be added to the original amount of the debt. And if still he will neither pay nor give pledge of payment, he is to be held liable to him who loaned him the goods for 600 denarii (which make 15 solidi) above the original debt and above the 9 solidi which accrued through the three summons. {24} This is to give the man legal and public notice and to allow him a full day's time in which to obey. The guilt is incurred, therefore, at sunset of the following day. {25} See title L, note 21. LIV. _The Slain Grafio._ 1. If anyone kills a _grafio_{26} he shall pay 24,000 denarii, which make 600 solidi. 2. If anyone kills a _sacebaro_,{27} or an _obgrafio_ who is a king's slave, he shall pay 12,000 denarii, which make 300 solidi. {26} For the position of the _grafio_, see introduction. His _wergeld_ is seen to be the same as that of the freeman in the king's service, and may indeed be regarded as a special instance of the general case of a man employed in the royal service. {27} The _sacebaro_ and the _obgrafio_ are apparently subordinate officials of the _grafio_. They were probably not infrequently unfree persons, as they are here. LVI. _He who refuses to come to Court._ If anyone refuses to come to court or to do what the _rachinburgii_ have commanded, that is, to give pledge for payment, or for the ordeal, or for anything which the law requires, then the complainant is to summon him to the presence of the king. And twelve witnesses, being sworn in turn by threes, shall say: [the first three] that they were present when the _rachinburgius_ condemned him to undergo ordeal or to give pledge for payment, and that he had not obeyed. The second three are to swear that they were present on the day when the _rachinburgii_ [again] condemned him to clear himself by ordeal or by paying the fine; that is, that, forty nights from the first day, the sun set on him in the _mallberg_{28} again, and that he would in no way obey the law. Then the complainant is to summon him before the king, in fourteen nights [after the last _mallus_], and three witnesses are to swear that they were present when he summoned him and the sun set on him. If he will not come, then these nine witnesses, having sworn, are to say what we have said above. Likewise, if he will not come [to the king's court] on that day, let the sun set on him, and there shall be three witnesses who were present when the sun set.{29} If the complainant has done all these things, and he who was summoned refuses to come to any court, the king shall put him outside of his protection [_i.e._, outlaw him]. Then the criminal and all his goods are liable. And whoever shall feed him or give him hospitality, even if it be his own wife, shall be held liable for 600 denarii, which make 15 solidi, until he shall have paid all that has been imposed on him. {28} _Mallberg_ or _malloberg_ is the place where the _mallus_ or public court is held, and is here used as equivalent to the court. {29} The process described from the end of the first sentence to this point is supposed to have taken place before the summons to the king's court mentioned in that first sentence; this is shown by the statement that there are to be twelve witnesses at the king's court, these twelve witnesses appearing in the passage as follows: three each for the two public trials in the _mallus_, three for the summons to the king's court fourteen days after the second trial, and three for the first session of the king's court; these delays having been granted and the delinquent not appearing at the second session of the royal court, he is there finally outlawed. 5. Selections from the History of the Franks, by Gregory of Tours. M. G. S. S. 4to, rerum mer., I. By the end of the fifth century, the Roman government in the west had practically come to an end and most of the territory was occupied by German tribes. The confederated tribes living along the middle and lower Rhine began to be called Franks about 200 A.D. For the next two centuries, the Roman garrisons had great difficulty in keeping them out of northern Gaul. With the weakening and final withdrawal of these garrisons in the beginning of the fifth century, the Franks spread over northern Gaul and by about 450 had occupied the land as far south as the river Somme. Under Chlodovech the confederated tribes, which still had their own kings, were united under his single rule, and the other inhabitants of Gaul--Romans, Alamanni, West Goths, and Burgundians--were absorbed or reduced to dependence. The work of Chlodovech was carried on by his sons and grandsons with the conquest of the Burgundians, Thuringians, Bavarians, etc. Then came the civil wars among the descendants of Chlodovech which prevented further advance until the rise of the house of Karl the Great. There are few documents or chronicles for the history of the Franks during the fifth to the seventh centuries. The only connected account is that of Gregory, bishop of Tours from 573 to 594. His position made him one of the most influential men of his time and he was well acquainted with the contemporary events which he narrates. The earlier part of his work is, of course, less reliable, because he depended upon tradition. II, 9. It is not known who was the first king of the Franks.... We read in the lists of consuls that Theodomer, king of the Franks, son of a certain Richemer, and his mother Ascyla were slain by the sword. They say also that afterward Chlogio, a brave and illustrious man of that race, was king of the Franks and had his seat at Dispargum, on the boundary of the Thuringians. In the region [about Tours], as far south as the Loire, dwelt the Romans; beyond the Loire the Goths held sway, while the Burgundians, who followed the heresy of Arius, dwelt across the Rhône, on which is situated the city of Lyon. Chlogio sent spies to the city of Cambrai{30} to spy out the situation and report to him. Then he seized the city and dwelt there a short time, occupying the land as far as the Somme. Some assert that king Merovech, whose son was Childerich,{31} belonged to the line of Chlogio.... 27. After the death of Childerich his son Chlodovech ruled in his stead [481]. In the fifth year of his reign, Syagrius, son of Ægidius, was ruling in Soissons as king of the Romans,{32} where the said Ægidius had held sway. Now Chlodovech and his relative Ragnachar advanced against Syagrius and challenged him to battle; and the latter eagerly accepted the challenge. But in the course of the conflict Syagrius, seeing that his army was defeated, turned and fled from the field, seeking safety with king Alaric at Toulouse.{33} Then Chlodovech sent to Alaric, ordering him to surrender Syagrius, on pain of being himself attacked; and Alaric, fearing to incur the wrath of the Franks, as is the habit of the Goths, gave over Syagrius bound to the messengers of Chlodovech. Then Chlodovech had him thrown into prison, and, after seizing his kingdom, had him secretly slain.... 28. Now Gundevech, of the line of the persecuting king, Athanaric, was king of the Burgundians.{34} He had four sons, Gundobad, Godegisel, Chilperic, and Godomar. Gundobad slew his brother Chilperic, and drowned Chilperic's wife by tying a stone about her neck and throwing her into the water. He also condemned Chilperic's two daughters to exile; of these the older was Chrona, who became a nun, and the younger was Chlothilde.... Chlodovech sent an embassy to Gundobad demanding the hand of Chlothilde in marriage, and Gundobad, fearing to refuse him, surrendered her to the messengers of Chlodovech, who bore her straightway to the king.... 30. The queen [Chlothilde] continually urged Chlodovech to abandon his idols and accept the true God. She was not successful, however, until finally, when he was waging war on the Alamanni,{35} he was compelled by necessity to accept that which he had formerly refused. For in the course of the battle, when the two armies were engaged in fierce struggle, it happened that the army of Chlodovech was on the verge of utter rout, and seeing this the king raised his eyes to heaven, and cried: "Jesus Christ, thou whom Chlothilde doth call the son of the living God, who dost comfort those in travail and give victory to those that believe in thee, I now devoutly beseech thy aid, and I promise if thou dost give me victory over these mine enemies and if I find thou hast the power which thy believers say thou hast shown, that I will believe in thee and be baptized in thy name. For I have called on my own gods and they have failed to help me; therefore I believe they have no power, since they do not come to the aid of their worshippers. I call now upon thee; I desire to believe in thee, that I be not destroyed by mine enemies." And as soon as he had cried thus, the Alamanni turned and fled. And when they saw that their king was slain they surrendered to Chlodovech, saying: "Let not thy people perish further, we beseech thee, for we are thine." 31. ... Then the king demanded that he should be the first to be baptized by the bishop. So the new Constantine advanced to the font, to be cleansed from the old leprosy of his sin, and from the sordid stains of his past life, in the water of baptism. As he approached the font, the saint of God addressed him in these fitting words: "Bow thy head, Sigambrian;{36} adore what thou hast burned, burn what thou hast adored." ... Then the king having professed his belief in omnipotent God the Trinity, was baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and was anointed with the holy oil with the sign of the cross of Christ. And more than 3,000 of his army were baptized also.... 32. The brothers Gundobad and Godegisel were at this time ruling the land about the Rhône and the Saône and the province of Marseilles. They, as well as their people, were Arian. And when war was on the point of breaking out between them, Godegisel, who had heard of the conquests of Chlodovech, sent to him secretly, saying: "If you will give me aid in overthrowing my brother, so that I may kill him in battle or drive him from the kingdom, I will pay you such yearly tribute as you shall demand." Chlodovech accepted the conditions gladly and promised to send aid to Godegisel whenever he should require it. At the time appointed, Chlodovech advanced with his army against Gundobad. When Gundobad, ignorant of the treachery of Godegisel, learned of the approach of Chlodovech, he sent to his brother, saying: "Come to my aid, for the Franks are coming against me to seize my kingdom. Let us unite to withstand this enemy, lest if we remain divided, each of us should suffer the fate of the other nations." And Godegisel replied that he would bring his army to the aid of his brother. Thus the three armies advancing at the same time, came together at Dijon, and Godegisel and Chlodovech joined forces and defeated Gundobad. Gundobad, seeing the treachery of his brother, which he had not before suspected, turned and fled along the bank of the Rhône until he came to Avignon.... 35. Now when Alaric, king of the Goths, saw that Chlodovech was conquering many nations, he sent to him and said: "If it please my brother, let us unite our interests under the protection of God." And Chlodovech, agreeing, came to him, and they met on an island in the Loire, near the town of Amboise in the vicinity of Tours. There they held a conference, and ate and drank together, and separated in peace, having exchanged vows of friendship. But already many of the Gauls [under Alaric] were greatly desirous of being under Frankish rule. 37. Then Chlodovech said to his followers: "It causes me great grief that these Arians{37} should hold a part of Gaul. Let us go with the aid of God and reduce them to subjection." And since this was pleasing to all his followers, he advanced with his army toward Poitiers.... And Chlodovech came up with Alaric, king of the Goths, at Vouillé, about ten miles from Poitiers.... There the Goths fled, according to their custom, and Chlodovech gained a great victory with the aid of God. And Chloderic, the son of Sigibert the Lame, aided him in this battle. 40. Now while Chlodovech was staying at Paris, he sent secretly to the son of Sigibert, saying: "Behold now your father is old and lame. If he should die his kingdom would come to you and my friendship with it." So the son of Sigibert, impelled by his cupidity, planned to slay his father. And when Sigibert set out from Cologne and crossed the Rhine to go through the Buchonian forest [in Hesse, near Fulda], his son had him slain by assassins while he was sleeping in his tent, in order that he might gain the kingdom for himself. But by the judgment of God he fell into the pit which he had digged for his father. He sent messengers to Chlodovech to announce the death of his father and to say: "My father is dead, and I have his treasures, and the kingdom as well. Now send messengers to me, that I may send to you whatever you would like from his hoard." Chlodovech replied: "I thank you for your kindness, and beg you merely to show my messengers all your possessions, after which you may keep them yourself." And when the messengers of Chlodovech came, the son of Sigibert showed them the treasures which his father had collected. And while they were looking at the various things, he said: "My father used to keep his gold coins in this little chest." And they said: "Put your hand down to the bottom, that you may show us everything." But when he stooped to do this, one of the messengers struck him on the head with his battle-axe, and thus he met the fate which he had visited upon his father. Now when Chlodovech heard that both Sigibert and his son were slain, he came to that place and called the people together and said to them: "Hear what has happened. While I was sailing on the Scheldt river, Chloderic, son of Sigibert, my relative, attacked his father, pretending that I had wished him to slay him. And so when his father fled through the Buchonian forest, the assassins of Chloderic set upon him and slew him. But while Chloderic was opening his father's treasure chest, some man unknown to me struck him down. I am in no way guilty of these things, for I could not shed the blood of my relatives, which is very wrong. But since these things have happened, if it seems best to you, I advise you to unite with me and come under my protection." And those who heard him applauded his speech, and, raising him on a shield, made him king over them. Thus Chlodovech gained the kingdom of Sigibert and his treasures and won over his subjects to his own rule. For God daily overwhelmed his enemies and increased his kingdom because he walked uprightly before him and did that which was pleasing in his sight. 41. Then Chlodovech turned against Chararic. For when he was waging war against Syagrius, this Chararic, although Chlodovech had asked him for aid, had kept out of the struggle and had given him no help, waiting to see the issue, that he might then make friends with the victor. On this account, Chlodovech was angry with him and attacked him. When he had succeeded in seizing Chararic and his son by treachery, he caused their heads to be shaved and ordered Chararic to be ordained a priest and his son a deacon. It is said that when Chararic was lamenting his humiliation, his son replied: "These twigs were cut from a green tree, which is not all dead; they will come out again rapidly when they begin to grow. Would that he who did this thing might as quickly perish." But when it was reported to Chlodovech that they planned to let their hair grow again and slay him, he ordered their heads to be cut off, and thus by their death acquired their realm and treasures and subjects. 42. ... Then Chlodovech made war upon his relative, Ragnachar [king of the region about Cambrai]. And when Ragnachar saw that his army was defeated, he attempted to flee, but his own men seized him and his brother Richar and brought them bound before Chlodovech. Then Chlodovech said: "Why have you disgraced our family, by allowing yourself to be taken? It would have been better for you to have been slain." And raising his battle-axe he slew him. Then turning to the brother of Ragnachar, he said: "If you had aided your brother he would not have been taken;" and he slew him with the axe also.... Thus by their death Chlodovech took the kingdom and treasures. And many other kings and relatives of his, who he feared might take his kingdom from him, were slain, and his kingdom was extended over all Gaul.{38} ... 43. And after this he died at Paris and was buried in the basilica of the holy saints which he and his queen, Chlothilde, had built. He passed away in the fifth year after the battle of Vouillé, and all the days of his reign were thirty years. III, 1. Now Chlodovech being dead, his four sons, Theodoric, Chlodomer, Childebert, and Chlothar, received his kingdom and divided it equally.{39} ... [Chlodomer was slain in an attack on the Burgundians, and his mother, Chlothilde, took his sons, Theodoald, Gunther, and Chlodoald, under her protection.] 18. But while Chlothar was staying at Paris, Childebert, perceiving that his mother Chlothilde loved the sons of Chlodomer greatly, was stirred with envy and with the fear that they might be restored to the kingdom of their dead father by aid of the queen-mother. So he sent secretly to his brother, king Chlothar, saying: "Our mother is keeping the sons of our dead brother Chlodomer, and intends to restore them to his kingdom; come now to Paris and advise with me as to what shall be done; whether their hair shall be cut off and they shall thus be made like the common people, or whether we shall slay them and divide the kingdom of our brother between us." Chlothar was delighted with these words and hastened to Paris. Now Childebert had caused the rumor to be spread among the people that the two kings were coming together to consider the establishing of the children on the throne of their father. And after they had met they sent word to the queen, who was dwelling in the same city, saying: "Send the children to us that we may place them on the throne." And she, rejoicing and thinking no evil, sent them the children.... But when the children had left her they were immediately seized and separated from their servants and imprisoned by themselves. Then Childebert and Chlothar sent a certain Arcadius, their messenger, to the queen with a pair of shears and a naked sword. And when he came he showed both to the queen and said: "Your sons wish to know your will in regard to the boys; whether they should be shorn of their locks and live, or be slain." The queen, terrified and distracted at the message and especially at the sight of the shears and the sword, said in the bitterness of her heart and not knowing what she was saying: "If they are not to reign, I would rather see them dead than shorn of their locks." ... And when the messenger brought back this reply, Chlothar immediately seized the oldest boy by the arm and throwing him on the floor slew him with his dagger. But when he shrieked, his young brother threw himself at the feet of Childebert and clinging to his knees cried: "Save me, dearest uncle, that I be not slain like my brother." And Childebert, the tears raining down his face, said to his brother: "Brother, I pray you grant me the life of the boy; I will give you anything you ask in exchange for his life, only do not slay him." But Chlothar, reviling him, said: "Cast him from you, or you shall die for him. You are the instigator of this business, and do you so soon repent?" At this Childebert cast the boy from him, and Chlothar thrust the dagger into his side and slew him as he had slain his brother. ... Of the boys one was ten and the other seven years old. But the third boy, Chlodoald, escaped by the aid of certain powerful persons; rejecting a worldly kingdom, he turned to God, and became a priest, cutting off his hair with his own hands. And Childebert and Chlothar divided the kingdom of Chlodomer between them. [After the death of his brothers, Chlothar united the whole Frankish kingdom under his single rule (558-61). He left four sons, Charibert, Gunthram, Chilperic, and Sigbert, who divided the kingdom among themselves.] IV, 27. Now when Sigbert saw that his brothers had taken wives of lowly rank, he sent an embassy to Spain and sought the hand of Brunhilda, daughter of king Athanagild [king of the West Goths].... 28. When Chilperic heard of this, although he already had several wives, he sought the hand of Galeswintha, sister of Brunhilda, promising that he would leave his other wives, if he should be given a wife of royal rank. Athanagild, believing the promise of Chilperic, sent him his daughter Galeswintha with rich gifts, as he had already sent Brunhilda. And when she came to king Chilperic, he received her with great honor and was married to her; and he loved her greatly, for she brought rich treasures with her. But great strife was caused by the love of Chilperic for Fredegonda, with whom he had formerly lived. Galeswintha complained to the king of the indignity offered to her and said that she had no honor in his house, and she begged him to keep the treasures which she had brought with her and let her depart alone to her own land. But the king attempted to placate her with soft and deceitful words. Finally he ordered her to be slain by a servant, and she was found dead in her bed.... And Chilperic, having mourned her death, after a few days married Fredegonda.{40} {30} Chlogio died in 457. The advance of the Franks to the Somme was made easy by the depopulation of the land through two centuries of border raids and by the withdrawal of the garrisons. {31} The tomb of Childerich, father of Chlodovech, was discovered at Tournai in 1653. In it were found along with the body, coins, a seal, remnants of a purple mantle, covered with the famous golden bees which Napoleon appropriated and wore, etc. {32} Ægidius and Syagrius, whom Gregory calls kings of the Romans, were probably Roman military commanders who still held out in Gaul in the name of the emperor. Syagrius held the territory between the Somme and the Loire. {33} Alaric II, king of the West Goths, 485-507. At this time the strength of the West Gothic kingdom was apparently in southern Gaul with the capital at Toulouse. After the defeat of Alaric and the acquisition by the Franks of most of the land north of the Pyrenees, the kingdom of the West Goths was practically confined to Spain. {34} The Burgundians were an East German people related to the Goths. They had moved south and west from near the Vistula and had settled on the Main and Rhine about Worms somewhere about 400. At the time of the invasion of Attila they fought with the Romans against him and suffered severely. They were then allowed by the Romans to settle just within the boundaries of the empire in modern Savoy. From here they later overran and occupied the valleys of the Rhône and Saône. Like all the German tribes except the Franks, the Burgundians had been converted to the Arian form of Christianity, which was regarded by the west as a heresy. Owing to the efforts of the popes and the catholic clergy some of the Burgundians had been converted to the orthodox faith, among them the princess Chlothilde, the wife of Chlodovech. Chlodovech's conversion to Catholic Christianity was of great assistance to him in his conquest of the heretical German kingdoms, since the sympathies of the Roman population were with him. {35} The Alamanni were a confederation of tribes who had occupied the Agri Decumates (see no. 1, Tacitus, note 9) during the century 300-400, and had then spread over the Rhine into the territory of modern Elsass. {36} Sigambrian--the Sigambri or Sycambri were one of the early tribes that made up the Frankish confederation. It is used here as synonymous with Frank. {37} The hostility between the West Goths and the conquered Roman provincials, among whom they settled, was kept alive by religious differences. The dissatisfaction of the Roman population and their leaning to the Franks after the conversion of this tribe were of great aid to Chlodovech in his wars with the West Goths and Burgundians. The same religious differences explain also to some extent the failure of the East Goths and the Vandals to build permanent states in the territory which they occupied. On the other hand, the West Goths in Spain did later become Roman Catholics and enjoyed a longer existence. {38} Chlodovech was originally king of only one of the numerous tribes of the Frankish confederation, but was the natural leader in war of the whole body. We have three kings mentioned by name by Gregory, Sigebert, Chararic, and Ragnachar, but he speaks also of "many other kings and relatives of Chlodovech." The result of these assassinations was the union of all the Franks under the rule of the house of Chlodovech. {39} The division of the kingdom of Chlodovech among his sons was fatal to the peace of the land and to the development of a permanent government. The strife broke out almost immediately, as appears from the account in ch. 18, and was continued in the later generations, among the sons and grandsons of Chlothar. {40} The murder of Galeswintha was the immediate occasion for the outbreak of the long civil war between the two queens, Fredegonda and Brunhilda, and their husbands and descendants. The incidents need not be followed; the war involved numerous murders and assassinations and resulted in the weakening of the monarchy, the rise of the mayors of the palace, and the independence of the outlying portions of the empire, such as Aquitaine, Bavaria, Alamannia, etc., under native rulers. 6. The Coronation of Pippin, 751. Einhard's Annals, M. G. SS. folio, I, pp. 137 f. One of the most important results of the civil wars and weakening of the monarchy in the later Merovingian period was the rise to power of the mayor of the palace. The mayor of the palace was originally the chief servant of the king's household. As the king used his private servants in the administration of public affairs the chief servant became eventually the chief public official. In the eastern Frankish kingdom (Austrasia) this office, like many other offices in this period, had become hereditary in the hands of one of the great families. The last stage of the civil war (see no. 5, note 40) was fought out really between the mayors of the palaces of Austrasia and Neustria, and resulted in the permanent triumph of the Austrasian house. The actual power and the wise administration of the mayors of this house were in striking contrast to the weakness and the inefficiency of the last Merovingian kings, and this was the chief reason for the change in succession related in this passage. The appeal to the pope and his favorable report on the contemplated change, and the later attack upon the Lombards by Pippin at the pope's instance, are the first steps in the formation of a connection between the kings of the Franks and the popes. Anno 749. Burchard, bishop of Würzburg, and Fulrad, priest and chaplain, were sent [by Pippin] to pope Zacharias to ask his advice in regard to the kings who were then ruling in France, who had the title of king but no real royal authority. The pope replied by these ambassadors that it would be better that he who actually had the power should be called king. 750 [751]. In this year Pippin was named king of the Franks with the sanction of the pope, and in the city of Soissons he was anointed with the holy oil by the hands of Boniface, archbishop and martyr of blessed memory, and was raised to the throne after the custom of the Franks. But Childerich, who had the name of king, was shorn of his locks and sent into a monastery. 753.... In this year pope Stephen came to Pippin at Kiersy, to urge him to defend the Roman church from the attacks of the Lombards.{41} 754. And after pope Stephen had received a promise from king Pippin that he would defend the Roman church, he anointed the king and his two sons, Karl and Karlmann, with the holy oil. And the pope remained that winter in France. {41} For the papal account of this, see no. 44. 7. Einhard's Life of Karl the Great. Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni; M. G. SS. folio, II, pp. 443 ff. Einhard, who lived about 770 to 840, was a scholar, and a member of the court and the circle of Karl the Great. His biography of Karl is the most reliable and intimate account of the life and the character of the emperor that we possess. 3. After ruling as king of the Franks for fifteen years, Pippin died at Paris, leaving two sons to succeed him, Karl and Karlmann.... Karlmann, however, died after two years of joint rule, and Karl became king of all the Franks. 5. The first of his wars was that against the duke of Aquitaine,{42} which was begun but not completed by his father. Karl had asked his brother to aid him in this undertaking, but Karlmann had failed to send the help which he had promised. Karl, however, undertook the war alone and carried it through successfully. Hunold, who had tried to recover the duchy of Aquitaine after the death of Waifer, was driven out of the province and forced to take refuge in Gascony. But Karl advanced across the Garonne, threatening Lupus, the duke of Gascony, with war unless he should surrender the fugitive. Thereupon Lupus not only gave up Hunold, but acknowledged the authority of Karl over his own duchy as well. 6. After the pacification of Aquitaine and the death of his brother, Karl made war on the Lombards in response to the prayer of Adrian, bishop of Rome. His father Pippin had also attacked the Lombards in the time of king Aistulf, at the request of pope Stephen, ... but had been content with besieging Aistulf in Ticino and securing pledges that he would restore the places which he had taken and would never renew his attack upon Rome. Karl went further: he overthrew Desiderius, king of the Lombards, and drove his son Adalgisus out of Italy; restored to the Romans their possessions; defeated a new rising under Radegaisus, duke of Friuli; and subjugated all of Italy, making his son Pippin king.{43} 7. Then Karl returned to the attack which he had been making upon the Saxons{44} and which had been interrupted by the Lombard invasion. This was the longest and most severe of all his wars, for the Saxons, being barbarians and pagans like most of the tribes in Germany, were bound by the laws neither of humanity nor of religion. For a long time there had been continual disturbances along the border, since there was no natural barrier marking the boundary between the two races, except in a few places where there were heavier forests or mountains. So the Franks and the Saxons were accustomed to make almost daily raids on the territory of each other, burning, devastating, and slaying. Finally the Franks determined to put an end to this condition of affairs by conquering the Saxons. In this way that war was begun which was waged continually for thirty-three years, and which was characterized by the most violent animosity on both sides, although the Saxons suffered the greater damage. The final conquest of the Saxons would have been accomplished sooner but for their treachery. It is hard to tell how often they broke faith; surrendering to the king and accepting his terms, giving hostages and promising to accept the Christian faith and abandon their idols, and then breaking out into revolt again. This happened in almost every year of that war, but the determination of the king could not be overcome by the difficulties of the undertaking nor by the treachery of the Saxons. He never allowed a revolt to go unpunished, but immediately led or sent an army into their territory to avenge it. Finally after all the warriors had been overthrown or forced to surrender to the king, he transplanted some ten thousand men with their wives and children, from their home on the Elbe, to Gaul and Germany, distributing them through these provinces. Thus they were brought to accept the terms of the king, agreeing to abandon their pagan faith and accept Christianity, and to be united to the Franks; and this war which had dragged on through so many years was brought to an end. 9. While this long war was going on, the king also made an expedition into Spain, leaving garrisons behind to hold the Saxons in check. Crossing the Pyrenees with a large army he conquered all the cities and fortresses in the region and returned safely with his whole army, except for those that were slain by the treachery of the Basques. For when the army was coming back through the passes of the Pyrenees, strung out in a long line of march because of the narrowness of the defiles, the Basques made a sudden attack upon the rear-guard, which was protecting the wagons and baggage of the army. The place was well suited to an ambuscade, being thickly wooded and very steep; the Basques suddenly rushed down from the heights where they had been hiding and fell upon the rear-guard and destroyed it to the last man, seizing the baggage and escaping under cover of the approaching night.... In this attack were slain Eggihard, the king's seneschal, Anselm, count of the palace, and Hrotland, the warden of the marches of Brittany, along with many others. Up to the present time this attack has not been avenged, for the enemy dispersed so quickly that it was impossible to find them or to discover who were guilty.{45} 10. Karl also conquered the Bretons, a people dwelling in the remote western part of Gaul, along the shores of the ocean.... Then he again invaded Italy, this time marching through Rome to Capua, a city of Campania, and forcing the submission of Aragaisus, duke of Beneventum. 11. His next expedition was against Bavaria, which was soon reduced to subjection. This war was caused by the insubordination of duke Tassilo, whose wife, a daughter of Desiderius, urged him on to avenge the overthrow of her father. Tassilo made an alliance with the Huns, his neighbors, and prepared to attack the king. Karl, incensed at such presumption, immediately led an army in person to Bavaria, encamping on the river Lech, which separates Alamannia and Bavaria. Before invading the province he sent an embassy to the duke, who, seeing the hopelessness of attempting to oppose the king, immediately made his submission, offering hostages (among them his son Theodo) and swearing never again to revolt. Thus this war, which in the beginning threatened to be a serious affair, was brought to a rapid and successful conclusion.{46} But the king later summoned Tassilo to his presence and kept him a prisoner, not permitting him to return to his duchy; and from that time on the province was not ruled by a duke, but was divided into counties over which Karl placed counts of his own choosing. 12. This rebellion having been put down, the king next made an attack upon a tribe of the Slavs, whom we call the Wiltzi, in their own tongue, Welatabi.... The cause of this war was the attacks which the Welatabi were making upon the Abodriti, who were formerly allies of the Franks, and their refusal to desist from these attacks at the command of the king. There is a great gulf [Baltic Sea] extending east from the western ocean [Atlantic], whose length is unknown, but whose width nowhere exceeds one hundred miles, and is in many places narrower. Many tribes dwell along its shores: on the northern shore and in the islands, the Danes and the Swedes, whom we call Northmen; on the southern shore, the Slavs and the Aisti, and other tribes, among whom are these Welatabi. These latter were defeated in a single campaign and have never dared to revolt again. 13. The greatest of all the wars of Karl except the Saxon war, was that against the Avars and the Huns.... The king himself led one expedition against them into Pannonia, where they dwelt, but intrusted the later ones to his son Pippin and to the dukes and counts of the neighboring regions. The war lasted for eight years, and the bloody character of it is shown by the fact that to-day Pannonia is uninhabited and the site of the Khan's palace is a desert, containing no trace of former human habitation. The whole nobility of the Huns was destroyed in the course of this war, and all the treasure of the Avars carried away by the Franks.{47} ... 14. ... His last war was waged against the Danes or Northmen. Beginning with small piratical raids, they had grown so bold that they attacked the shores of Gaul and Germany with large fleets, and their king, Godfrid, planned the conquest of Germany itself. He already claimed the Frisians and Saxons as his subjects, and had subjected the Abodriti and made them tributary. He even boasted that he would shortly proceed to Aachen and attack Karl himself. And indeed there was real danger that he might undertake this, but he was slain by one of his own followers and the danger passed. 15. These are the wars waged by this mighty king during the forty-seven years of his reign. Through his conquests the kingdom of the Franks as he had received it from his father Pippin was almost doubled in area. When he came to the throne it included only a part of Gaul and of Germany; in Gaul, that part bounded by the ocean [Atlantic], the Rhine, the Loire, and the Balearic Sea [Mediterranean]; in Germany, that part bounded by the Rhine, the Danube, the land of the Saxons, and the Saale, ... with the overlordship of Bavaria and Alamannia. Karl added by his wars Aquitaine and Gascony; the Pyrenees and the land south to the Ebro; ... all of Italy as far south as lower Calabria; ... Saxony, which forms a considerable part of Germany; ... Pannonia and Dacia; Istria, Liburnia, and Dalmatia, except the maritime cities which were allied with the emperor of Constantinople; and, finally, all the barbarous tribes inhabiting Germany, between the Rhine, the Danube, the Vistula, and the ocean [Baltic], ... of whom the most important are the Welatabi, the Sorabi, the Abodriti, and the Bohemians. 16. The glory of his reign was also greatly enhanced by his alliances and friendships with foreign kings and peoples. Thus Aldefonso, king of Gallicia and Asturia,{48} was his ally, and spoke of himself by letters and ambassadors as the man of Karl. The kings of the Scots also were wont to address him as master, calling themselves his subjects and servants, of which expressions there are evidences in letters still existing which they have written to him. He was also in close relations with Aaron [Haroun-al-Raschid],{49} king of the Persians, who ruled almost all of the east outside of India, and who always expressed the greatest friendship and admiration for Karl. On one occasion, when Karl sent an embassy with gifts for the holy sepulchre of our Lord and Saviour, he not only permitted them to fulfil their mission, but even made a present of that holy spot to Karl, to rule as his own. And when the embassy of Karl returned, it was accompanied by ambassadors from Aaron, bearing presents of fine robes, spices, and other eastern treasures. A few years before he sent to Karl at his request an elephant which was the only one he at that time possessed. The emperors of Constantinople, Nicephorus, Michael, and Leo, were his friends and allies and sent many embassies to him. Even when they suspected him of desiring to seize their empire, because he took the title of emperor, they nevertheless entered into alliance with him, to avoid a rupture. 25. He was very eloquent and could express himself clearly on any subject. He spoke foreign languages besides his own tongue, and was so proficient in Latin that he used it as easily as his own language. Greek he could understand better than he could speak.... He was devoted to the study of the liberal arts and was a munificent patron of learned men. Grammar he learned from Peter, an aged deacon of Pisa; in the other studies his chief instructor was Alcuin, a Saxon from England, also a deacon, and the most learned man of his time. With him he studied rhetoric, dialectic, and especially astronomy.... He tried also to learn to write, keeping tablets under the pillow of his couch to practise on in his leisure hours. But he never succeeded very well, because he began too late in life.{50} 28. His last visit to Rome was made because the Romans had attacked and injured pope Leo, tearing out his eyes and tongue, and had thus forced the pope to call on the king for aid. And having come to Rome to restore the church which had greatly suffered during the strife, he remained there all winter. It was during this time that he received the title of emperor and Augustus, to which he was at first so averse, that he was wont to say that he would never have entered the church on that day, although it was a great feast day [Christmas], if he had foreseen the plan of the pope. But his great patience and magnanimity finally overcame the envy and hatred of the Roman emperors [of the east], who were indignant at his receiving the title. This he did by sending them frequent embassies and addressing them in his letters as brothers.{51} 29. After he became emperor he undertook a revision of the laws of his empire, which were very defective, for the Franks had two laws [Salic and Ripuarian] differing in many points from one another. But he was never able to do more than to complete the various laws with a few additional sections and cause all the unwritten laws to be put into writing. He also wrote down for preservation the ancient German songs, in which the wars and adventures of old heroes are celebrated. He began also to make a grammar of his native tongue.... 30. ... While he was spending the winter in Aachen, he was taken with a severe fever, which the Greeks call pleurisy, and died there on Tuesday, the fifth of the Kalends of February [January 28], in the seventy-second year of his age and the forty-seventh of his reign. 31. On the same day his body was prepared for burial and borne to the church of the Virgin Mary, which he had founded, in the midst of the lamentation of all his people, and there laid to rest. Over his tomb was erected an arch, covered with gold, and having his image and this inscription on it: "Under this tomb lies the body of Karl, the great and orthodox emperor, who greatly increased the kingdom of the Franks and ruled gloriously for forty-seven years. He died when over seventy years of age, in the year of our Lord 814, the 7th indiction, on the fifth of the Kalends of February." {42} In the late Merovingian period the outlying parts of the kingdom had become practically independent under native rulers, called dukes. One of the first things undertaken by the rulers of the new line was the reduction of these great provinces to subjection as a necessary step in the restoration of the central authority. Much was accomplished in this direction by the mayors, Pippin the Younger (688-714) and Karl Martel (714-741), who attacked the Frisians, the dukes of Aquitaine, Bavaria, and Alamannia. But the work had to be done over and over, and indeed was never permanently accomplished. In Aquitaine Pippin the Short, king from 751 to 768, had several conflicts with the dukes of Aquitaine, Hunold and his son Waifer. This is the struggle which Karl brought to an end as here related. {43} Pippin had begun his war upon the Lombards for the purpose of freeing the papal domains from their attacks. The Lombards had conceived the ambitious plan of possessing all Italy, and under their kings Liutprand, Aistulf, and Desiderius had begun to carry it out by attacking the exarchate of Ravenna and the lands held by the pope. Pippin had forced Aistulf to give up his conquests (chiefly the exarchate) and had given that territory to the pope (see no. 45). Karl was called into Italy to defend the pope against a new attack by Desiderius, and put a definite end to this danger by conquering the Lombard kingdom and adding it to his own rule. This is a further stage in the connection between the popes and the emperor, between Germany and Italy. {44} The war against the Saxons and their conquest practically completed the unification of the German tribes on the continent, there remaining outside of the empire of Karl only the Scandinavian peoples in the north and the Angles and Saxons in England. By the conquest of the Saxons a vigorous race of pure German blood was added to the empire; their addition tended to increase the differences between the German and the Gallic portions of the empire, which was the natural basis of the division between France and Germany. The Saxons in the tenth and eleventh centuries were perhaps the chief race of the German kingdom, furnishing the rulers from the accession of Henry I in 919 to the death of Henry II in 1024. Karl's insistence upon the conversion of the Saxons to Christianity is in line with the policy of his predecessors to Christianize all the Germans. {45} The chief interest of this passage lies in the fact that it is the historical basis of the great French epic, the _Chanson de Roland_. Einhard mentions the death of three men in this attack as of special note; one of them was Hrotland, count of the mark of Brittany, the Roland of the poem. {46} The overthrow of Tassilo, duke of Bavaria, is a part of the policy of Karl to reduce the great duchies to control. In order to keep these outlying provinces in subjection and to govern them efficiently Karl divided them into counties over which he placed officials dependent directly upon himself and not upon a duke. This policy was carried out in Alamannia, Aquitaine, and Saxony as well, the purpose being to prevent the formation of independent power in the large divisions of the empire. It was successful under Karl, but later the civil wars among his descendants gave opportunity for the rise of similar great rulers in the same provinces (see nos. 24 and 25). {47} The Avars had come into Europe in the middle of the sixth century, along the Danube. After the Lombards moved into Italy the Avars occupied the whole Danube valley from Vienna to the mouth of the river. The kingdom of the Khan of the Avars probably included the remnants of the Hunnish empire and of the German tribes that had been subject to the Huns. {48} The kingdom of Gallicia and Asturia was one of the small Christian states in Spain composed of the former inhabitants that had retreated in large numbers to the mountains in the north and west at the time of the Mohammedan invasion (711-720). From these regions they later slowly won back the land from the Mohammedans. {49} Haroun-al-Raschid was Caliph of the Mohammedan world from 786-809, with his capital at Bagdad. His caliphate is the golden age of the Mohammedans reflected in the "Arabian Nights." The connection of Karl with Haroun and especially the negotiations mentioned here in regard to Jerusalem gave rise to the later legends concerning the crusades of Karl. {50} The reign of Karl is sometimes spoken of as the Carolingian Renaissance, because of the revived interest in letters and learning that took its impulse from the court of Karl. Here was the famous "palace school" that included such persons as Alcuin, Angilbert, Einhard, Peter of Pisa, Paul the Lombard, etc. The results of the movement were seen in the writings of the time: Einhard's Annals and Vita; the History of the Lombards, by Paul; the poems and letters of Angilbert, etc.; in the formation of the monastery and cathedral schools, and the better learning of the monks and clergy; in the attempts of Karl to revise the texts of the Scriptures and to make new text-books; and in the theological discussions of the ninth century. Evidences of this movement are seen also in some of the letters of Karl that are translated below. {51} See the note on the coronation of Karl, no. 8. The statement of Einhard that Karl was displeased at this action of the pope has caused considerable discussion; the reason probably was that he was unwilling to arouse the ill-will of the eastern emperors, who would undoubtedly regard the assumption of the imperial crown by Karl as an infringement of their authority and position. See also nos. 13 and 14. 8. The Imperial Coronation of Karl the Great, 800. Duchesne, Liber Pontificalis, II, 7. Since 476 there had been no emperor in the west, and the emperor at Constantinople had lost control of that part of the Roman empire. The west, however, still regarded itself as a part of the one great empire. The coronation of Karl the Great in 800 is the famous _translatio imperii_, the transfer of the empire, by which according to the papal theory the crown of the Roman empire was taken by the pope from the emperors at Constantinople, and conferred upon the king of the Franks. From this point of view it was the final act in the rebellion of the popes from the control of the emperors of the east. From the point of view of Frankish history, it was the culmination of the connection between the popes and the king of the Franks begun with the coronation of Pippin (see no. 6 and note). After this, on Christmas day, all gathered together in the aforesaid church of St. Peter and the venerable pope crowned Karl with his own hands with a magnificent crown. Then all the Romans, inspired by God and by St. Peter, keeper of the keys of heaven, and recognizing the value of Karl's protection and the love which he bore the holy Roman church and the pope, shouted in a loud voice: "Long life and victory to Karl, the pious Augustus crowned of God, the great and peace-bringing emperor." The people, calling on the names of all the saints, shouted this three times, before the holy confession of St. Peter, and thus he was made emperor of the Romans by all. Then the pope anointed Karl and his son with the holy oil. 9. General Capitulary about the Missi, 802. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 33; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 2. The attempts of Karl to create a permanent central government are reflected in the great amount of legislation which has come down to us from his reign. This legislation is mainly in the form of capitularies, _i.e._, edicts or instructions, covering a wide range of subjects and interests. The general capitulary of the year 802, a portion of which is translated here, was issued by Karl after his imperial coronation and his return from Italy. It embodied a great number of instructions to his officials and subjects in regard to their relation to him in his new capacity as emperor. The publication and the enforcement of these instructions were intrusted to the _missi_, who appear now for the first time as regular officials of the empire. These officials were chosen from the counsellors, officials, and great men of the court, both ecclesiastic and secular, and were assigned to definite districts, two _missi_ to each district. The districts were large administrative divisions of the empire including many counties (the regular divisions), and the two _missi_ were to travel through the district assigned to them, looking into the general condition of the people, the administration of local officials, the condition of the royal lands, etc. They held four public courts a year in their district, at which they heard complaints, tried cases, etc. They had authority to control the regular officials and to depose them if necessary. They were supposed to report to the emperor the condition of the empire and to refer to him such cases as they were not able to decide. By means of these officials Karl kept in closer touch with, and maintained a firmer hold upon, the various parts of his empire than was possible merely by his own oversight over the counts, and at the same time avoided the other danger of creating independent rulers in the large districts, by changing the _missi_ every year. 1. Concerning the representatives sent out by the emperor. The most serene and Christian emperor, Karl, chose certain of the ablest and wisest men among his nobles, archbishops, bishops, abbots, and pious laymen, and sent them out through his realm, and through these, his representatives, he gave his people rules to guide them in living justly. He ordered these men to investigate and to report to him any inequality or injustice that might appear in the law as then constituted, that he might undertake its correction. He ordered that no one should dare to change the prescribed law by any trickery or fraud, or to pervert the course of justice for his own ends, as many were wont to do, or to deal unjustly with the churches of God, with the poor or the widows and orphans, or with any Christian man. But he commanded all men to live righteously according to the precepts of God, and to remain each in his own station and calling; the regular clergy to observe the rules of monastic life without thought of gain, nuns to keep diligent watch over their lives, laymen to keep the law justly without fraud, and all, finally, to live together in perfect peace and charity. And he ordered his _missi_, as they desired to win the favor of Almighty God and keep the faith which they had promised him, to inquire diligently into every case where any man complained that he had been dealt with unjustly by anyone, and in the fear of God to render justice to all, to the holy churches of God, to the poor, to widows and orphans, and to the whole people. And if any case arises which they can not correct and bring to justice with the aid of the local counts, they are to make a clear report of it to the emperor. They are not to be hindered in the doing of justice by the flattery or bribery of anyone, by their partiality for their own friends, or by the fear of powerful men. 2. The oath of fidelity to the emperor. He has also commanded that every man in his kingdom, clergyman or layman, who has already taken the oath of fidelity to him as king, shall now renew it to him as emperor; and that all persons over twelve years of age who have not yet taken the oath shall do so now. The nature and extent of the promise should be made known to all, for it includes not only, as some think, a promise of fidelity to the emperor for this life, and an engagement not to bring any enemy into the kingdom nor to take part in or conceal any infidelity to him, but includes all the following: 3. First, that each one shall strive with all his mind and strength on his own account to serve God according to the commandments and according to his own promise, for the emperor is not able to give the necessary care and oversight to all his people. 4. Second, that no one shall ever wrongfully claim, take, or conceal anything that belongs to the emperor, such as lands or slaves, by perjury or fraud, or through partiality or bribery; and that no one shall take or conceal fugitive serfs from the royal lands, by perjury or fraud.... 5. That no one shall do any violence or harm to the holy churches of God, to widows and orphans, or to strangers; for the emperor, after God and his saints, is constituted their special protector.... 10. Selections from the Monk of St. Gall. Monachus Sangallensis, M. G. SS. folio, II, pp. 731 ff. The following documents, nos. 10-12, are intended to illustrate the interest and activity of Karl in the revival of learning in his realm. See also no. 7, Einhard's Life of Karl, ch. 25. The disappearance of classical culture in the west through the disorders incident upon the decline of the Roman empire, the migrations, and the civil wars of the Merovingian period, was shown not only in the general ignorance among the common people, but also in the decline of learning and culture in the church. The selection from the Monk of St. Gall throws light upon the palace school of Karl and his court, the other numbers illustrate the interest of Karl in the education of the clergy and the reformation of the church services. The Monk of St. Gall is the unknown author of a chronicle account of the life and times of Karl, written in the latter part of the ninth century. It contains many tales and stories which are popular and in part legendary, showing how the figure of Karl was being magnified in the imagination of posterity. I, 2. When Albinus (Alcuin), who was an Englishman, learned of the great favor with which Karl received wise men, he took ship and came over to him. This man was the most learned of all men of recent times in the holy writ, being the pupil of the learned priest Beda, who was the greatest commentator on the scriptures since St. Gregory [I]. Karl kept him at his side continually until his death, save for occasions when the emperor was at war. The emperor was always desirous of being known as the pupil of Alcuin. He also gave him the monastery of Tours to serve as a source of revenue during his own absence and as a place where Alcuin might live and instruct the scholars who sought him. His teaching bore such fruit among the Gauls and Franks that they approached the ancient Romans and Athenians in learning. 3. Now when the most victorious Karl after a long absence returned to Gaul he ordered the boys whom he had intrusted to Clement to come to him and show him their letters and verses. And the youths of lowly birth showed him writings adorned with all the graces of learning, beyond what had been expected, but the youths of noble rank presented trivial and worthless specimens. Then the wise Karl, imitating the justice of the eternal judge, separated the youths into two divisions and placed those who had done well on his right hand and addressed them thus: "Receive my thanks, children, for you have been zealous in obeying my orders and in improving yourselves. Strive now to perfect yourselves, and I will give you the best bishoprics and monasteries, and will ever hold you in my favor." Then turning a severe countenance upon those on his left hand, and striking terror into their hearts with his piercing eye, he hurled these ironical words at them in a voice of thunder: "You nobles, you sons of prominent men, you delicate and handsome youths! Relying on your birth and wealth, and caring nothing for our commands or for your own improvement, you have neglected the study of letters, and have indulged yourselves in pleasures and idleness and empty games." Then, lifting up his august head and raising his unconquered right hand to heaven, he thundered forth at them with his usual oath: "By the King of heaven, I care little for your noble birth and your beauty, though others may admire you for them; know this, that unless you straightway make up for your former negligence by earnest study, you need never expect any favor from the hand of Karl." 28. Such peace as the mighty emperor Karl was able to secure, he was not content to spend in idleness, but devoted it to the service of God. Thus he undertook to build, in Germany, a church after his own plan, which should surpass the ancient buildings of the Romans.... The oversight he intrusted to a certain abbot, not knowing his cunning. But whenever the emperor was absent, the abbot would allow some of the laborers to purchase their release for money, but those who were unable to pay for this, or who were not permitted to leave by their masters, he oppressed with continual tasks, as the Egyptians once oppressed the people of God, so that they had scarcely any rest. By this means he gathered together an immense treasure of gold and silver and silken hangings.... Suddenly he was informed that his house was on fire. Hastening home he broke through the flames into the chamber where he kept the chests of gold. Seizing two of these, one on each shoulder (for he was not satisfied with saving just one), he tried to escape by the door. But a great beam, burned in two by the fire, fell upon him and killed him, his body being destroyed by terrestrial flames, but his soul despatched to that fire which was not kindled by mortal hands [the flames of hell]. Thus the judgment of God watched over the interests of Karl, whenever the cares of the empire prevented him from looking after them himself. II, 1. Adalbert told me about the defenses of the Huns [Avars]. "The land of the Huns," he said, "was surrounded with nine rings.... The distance from the first to the second ring was as far as from Zürich to Constance; the outer ring was composed of oak, beech, and pine trees, and was twenty feet across and twenty feet high, the space in between the trees being filled with stones and clay, and the outer surface covered with thick sod.... Within these [the first and second] rings the villages were so arranged that the voice of a man could be heard from one to another.... The distance from the second to the third ring was ten German miles, which equal forty Italian miles, and so on to the ninth, although, of course, each succeeding ring was narrower [contained less land] than the one preceding it. The fortifications and dwellings within each ring were so situated that a signal from a horn could be heard from any one of them. In this defense the riches of the west had been gathered together for more than two hundred years.... but the victorious Karl was able in eight years so completely to conquer the Huns, that not a trace of them is left." 9. Aaron [Haroun] recognized by this incident the might of Karl, and spoke [to Karl's ambassadors] these words of praise: "Now I understand, how true are the things which I have heard about my brother Karl; how he is accustomed by his ceaseless efforts and unwearied striving to make everything under the sun serve as a means of discipline for his body and his mind. What can I send back that will be worthy of him who has so honored me? If I should give him the land of Abraham which was given to Joshua, he would not be able to defend it, because of its distance from him; or if he determined in his magnanimity to defend it, I fear that the neighboring provinces would revolt in his absence from the Frankish rule. Nevertheless I will try to equal him in generosity by this means: I will give him authority over that land, and I will act as his representative in it; he may send ambassadors to me when it pleases him or is convenient for him, and he will find that I am the most faithful defender of the incomes of that land."{52} {52} Notice the popular or legendary character of these stories. They are just such tales as would grow up among the people around a figure like that of Karl. Compare the stories of the conquest of the Avars and the embassy to Haroun in Einhard (no. 7, chs. 13 and 16), with the same stories here. The circumstantial details are in all probability added by popular tradition. 11. Letter of Karl the Great to Baugulf, Abbot of Fulda, 787. Jaffé, IV, pp. 343 ff. Karl, by the grace of God king of the Franks and the Lombards and patricius of the Romans, sends loving greeting in the name of omnipotent God to abbot Baugulf, and to the household of monks committed to his charge. Know that we, with the advice of our faithful subjects, have regarded it as important that in the bishoprics and monasteries of our realm those who show themselves apt in learning should devote themselves to study, in addition to their regular duties as monks. For as the observance of monastic rules promotes good morals and character, so also the practice of teaching and learning develops a pure and agreeable style. Let those who seek to please God by living uprightly, seek to please Him also by speaking correctly. For it is written: "By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned" [Matt. 12:37]. For although well-doing is more important than knowledge, nevertheless knowledge must precede action.... We have been led to write of this, because we have frequently received letters from monks in which they make known to us what they are praying for, and in these letters we have recognized correct sentiments, but an uncouth style and language. The sentiments inspired in them by their devotion to us they could not express correctly, because they had neglected the study of language. Therefore we have begun to fear lest, just as the monks appear to have lost the art of writing, so also they may have lost the ability to understand the Holy Scriptures; and we all know that, though mistakes in words are dangerous, mistakes in understanding are still more so. Therefore we urge you to be diligent in the pursuit of learning, and to strive with humble and devout minds to understand more fully the mysteries of the Holy Scriptures. For it is well known that the sacred writings contain many rhetorical figures, the spiritual meaning of which will be readily apprehended only by those who have been instructed in the study of letters. And let those men be chosen for this work who are able and willing to learn and who have the desire to teach others. And let this be done in the spirit in which we have recommended it. For we desire that you, as becomes your station, shall be both devout and learned, both chaste in life and correct in speech. Thus when anyone shall be moved by your reputation for devotion and holiness, and shall desire to see you, he may be both edified by your appearance and instructed by your learning, which shall appear in your reading and singing; and so he may go away rejoicing and giving thanks to God. Do not fail to send copies of this letter to all your suffragans and fellow-bishops and all the monasteries, if you desire our favor. 12. Letter of Karl the Great in Regard to the two Books of Sermons Prepared by Paul the Deacon, _ca._ 790. Jaffé, IV, pp. 372 f. Karl, by the aid of God king of the Franks and Lombards and patricius of the Romans, to the clergy of his realm.... Now since we are very desirous that the condition of our churches should constantly improve, we are endeavoring by diligent study to restore the knowledge of letters which has been almost lost through the negligence of our ancestors, and by our example we are encouraging those who are able to do so to engage in the study of the liberal arts. In this undertaking we have already, with the aid of God, corrected all the books of the Old and New Testament, whose texts had been corrupted through the ignorance of copyists. Moreover, inspired by the example of our father, Pippin, of blessed memory, who introduced the Roman chants into the churches of his realm, we are now trying to supply the churches with good reading lessons. Finally, since we have found that many of the lessons to be read in the nightly service have been badly compiled and that the texts of these readings are full of mistakes, and the names of their authors omitted, and since we could not bear to listen to such gross errors in the sacred lessons, we have diligently studied how the character of these readings might be improved. Accordingly we have commanded Paul the Deacon,{53} our beloved subject, to undertake this work; that is, to go through the writings of the fathers carefully, and to make selections of the most helpful things from them and put them together into a book, as one gathers occasional flowers from a broad meadow to make a bouquet. And he, wishing to obey us, has read through the treatises and sermons of the various catholic fathers and has picked out the best things. These selections he has copied clearly without mistakes and has arranged in two volumes, providing readings suitable for every feast day throughout the whole year. We have tested the texts of all these readings by our own knowledge, and now authorize these volumes and commend them to all of you to be read in the churches of Christ. {53} Paul the Deacon was a Lombard scholar and clergyman who after the fall of the Lombard kingdom was invited to the court of Karl and became one of his circle. Paul is the author of the only detailed history of the Lombards. 13. Recognition of Karl by the Emperors at Constantinople, 812. Annales Laurissenses et Einhardi, M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 199. The following passages throw light upon the statement of Einhard (no. 7, ch. 28) in regard to the relation of Karl with the eastern emperors after his imperial coronation. We know from other sources that Karl wished to acquire the title of emperor and that he had already entered into negotiations with the empress Irene looking to a peaceful acquisition of it, before the pope gave him the crown. He was apparently not satisfied with his position until he obtained recognition from the emperors in the east, whom he still regarded as the legal successors of the Roman emperors. The emperor, Nicephorus, after winning many notable victories in Moesia, fell in battle against the Bulgarians, and his son-in-law Michael was made emperor. He received the ambassadors in Constantinople whom Karl had sent to Nicephorus and dismissed them, sending back to Karl with them his own ambassadors, Michael, a bishop, and Arsaphius and Theognostus, commanders of the imperial body-guard, to confirm the treaty which had been proposed in the time of Nicephorus. They came to the emperor at Aachen and received a copy of the treaty from him in the church of Aachen. In their address to him on this occasion, which they delivered in Greek, they called him emperor and _basileus_. They then proceeded to Rome on their way back, and received a copy of the treaty from the pope in the church of St. Peter, the apostle. 14. Letter of Karl to Emperor Michael I, 813. Jaffé, IV, pp. 415 f. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Karl, by the grace of God emperor and Augustus, king of the Franks and the Lombards, to his dear and honorable brother, Michael, glorious emperor and Augustus, eternal greeting in our Lord Jesus Christ. We bless and praise our Lord Jesus Christ with all our heart and strength for the ineffable gift of his kindness, with which he has enriched us. For he has deigned in our day to establish that peace between the east and the west, which we have long sought for and have always desired, and, in answer to the daily prayers which we have offered to him, has unified the holy immaculate catholic church throughout the whole world and given it peace. We speak of this peace as if it had been already brought about, for we have done our part, and we are sure you are willing to do yours. We put our trust in God who has ordained that this matter, the making of peace between us, should be carried out; for he is faithful and true, giving his aid to all who are engaged in good works, and he will bring to perfection this work which we have begun. Desiring now to bring about this consummation, we have sent you our legates, Amalhar, venerable bishop of Trier, and Peter, abbot of the monastery of Nonantula, to receive from the holy altar by your hands a copy of the treaty of peace, bearing the signatures of your priests, patriarchs, and nobles, just as your legates, Michael, venerable metropolitan, and Arsaphius and Theognostus, commanders of the royal body-guard, received the copy from us, with our signature and the signatures of our priests and nobles.... 15. Letter to Ludwig the Pious Concerning the Appearance of a Comet, 837. Jaffé, IV, pp. 459 f. The dissolution of the empire of Karl the Great began in the reign of his son and successor, Ludwig, with the disintegration of the public service and the attacks of Northmen and Slavs on the frontier. The invasions of the Northmen are mentioned by Einhard as occurring in the last days of Karl (no. 7, chapter 14). In the reigns of Ludwig and his successors the invaders continually ravaged the shores of Gaul and northern Germany and added materially to the distress of the period. This letter refers in its last part to one of these raids, but it is interesting chiefly as an illustration of the mental attitude of the men of its age. It is believed by almost all the ancient authorities that the appearance of new and unknown heavenly bodies portends to wretched mortals direful and disastrous events, rather than pleasant and propitious ones. The sacred scriptures alone tell of the propitious appearance of a new star; that is, that star which the wise men of the Chaldæans are said to have seen when, conjecturing from its most brilliant light the recent birth of the eternal king, they brought with veneration gifts worthy the acceptance of so great a lord. But the appearance of this star which has lately arisen is reported by all who have seen it to be terrible and malignant. And indeed I believe it presages evils which we have deserved, and foretells a coming destruction of which we are worthy. For what difference does it make whether this coming danger is foretold to the human race by man or angel or star? The important thing is to understand that this appearance of a new body in the heavens is not without significance, but that it is meant to forewarn mortals that they may avert the future evil by repentance and prayers. Thus by the preaching of the prophet Jonah the destruction of the city, which had been threatened by him, was deferred because the inhabitants turned from their iniquities and evil lives.... So we trust that merciful God will turn this threatened evil from us also, if we like them repent with our whole hearts. Would that the destruction which the fleet of the Northmen is said to have inflicted upon this realm recently might be regarded as the sufficient occasion for the appearance of this comet, but I fear that it is rather some new distress still to come that is foretold by this terrible omen. 16. The Strassburg Oaths, 842. Nithard, III, 5; M. G. SS. folio, II. pp. 665 ff. The occasion of these oaths was the alliance between the two brothers, Ludwig the German and Charles the Bald, against their brother Lothar. Lothar had been defeated at the battle of Fontenay, 841, by his brothers, who then made this league. The oaths are given in this form by Nithard, the historian of the later Carolingians, who was the son of Angilbert and Bertha, the daughter of Karl the Great. The _lingua romana_ and the _lingua teudisca_ are the vulgar languages respectively of the followers of Charles the Bald and Ludwig the German, that is, of the inhabitants of France and of Germany. The appearance of a Latin dialect as the language of the inhabitants of the western kingdom indicates that the Roman elements had after all survived in Gaul and were absorbing the German elements; the formation of two languages mutually exclusive in the two portions of the empire suggests a fairly advanced stage of differentiation between the German and the French parts. But the chief interest of this document is in the field of language study. The _lingua romana_ shows an early stage in the development of French from Latin, while the _lingua teudisca_ is one of the earliest forms of Old High German. The _lingua romana_ shows the process by which the French language grew out of Latin; note that inflectional endings have largely disappeared, and case is shown by the use of prepositions, and that phonetic changes (changes of vowels and consonants) have also taken place. Some of the words are good Latin, others are very nearly modern French, and still others stand midway between Latin and French. Most of the words in the _lingua teudisca_ can be identified with modern German words. Note that each leader took the oath in the language of the followers of the other, in order that his brother's followers might understand him. So Ludwig the German speaks in the _lingua romana_ and Charles the Bald in the _lingua teudisca_. So Ludwig and Charles came together at Argentaria, which is called Strassburg in the common tongue, and there took the oaths which are given below, Ludwig speaking in the _lingua romana_ and Charles in the _lingua teudisca_.... Ludwig, being the elder, took the oath first, as follows: Pro deo amur et pro christian poblo et nostro commun salvament, d'ist di in avant, in quant deus savir et podir me dunat, si salvaraeio cist meon fradre Karlo et in aiudha et in cadhuna cosa, si cum om per dreit son fradra salvar dist, in o quid il mi altresi fazet, et ab Ludher nul plaid numquam prindrai, qui meon vol cist meon fradre Karle in damno sit. When Ludwig had finished, Charles took the oath in the _lingua teudisca_: In godes minna ind in thes christânes folches ind unsêr bêdhero gehaltnissî, fon thesemo dage frammordes, sô fram sô mir got geuuiczi indi mahd furgibit, sô haldih thesan minan bruodher, sôso man mit rehtu sînan bruodher scal, in thiu thaz er mig sô sama duo, indi mit Ludheren in nohheiniu thing ne gegango, the mînan uuilon imo ce scadhen uuerdhên. Literal translation of the _lingua romana_, the _lingua teudisca_ being the same with the names changed: "By God's love and by this Christian people and our common salvation, from this day forth, as far as God gives me to know and to have power, I will so aid this my brother Charles in each and every thing as a man ought to aid his brother, in so far as he shall do the same for me; and I will never have any dealings with Lothar that may by my wish injure this my brother Charles." And this is the oath which the followers of each took in their own tongues: _Lingua romana_: Si Lodhuuigs sagrament, que son fradre Karlo iurat, conservat, et Karlus meos sendra de suo part non los tanit, si io returnar non l'int pois: ne io ne neuls, cui eo returnar int pois, in nulla aiudha contra Lodhuuuig nun li iv er. _Lingua teudisca_: Oba Karl then eid, then er sînemo bruodher Ludhuuuîge gesuor, geleistit, indi Ludhuuuîg mîn hêrro then er imo gesuor forbrihchit, ob ih inan es iruuenden ne mag: noh ih noh thero nohhein, then ih es iruuenden mag, uuidhar Karle imo ce follusti ne uuirdhit. Literal translation of the _lingua romana_, the same as the other with names changed: "If Ludwig keeps the oath which he swore to his brother Charles, and Charles, my lord, on his part does not keep it, if I cannot prevent it, then neither I nor anyone whom I can prevent shall ever defend him against Ludwig." 17-18. The Treaty of Verdun, 843. 17. Annales Bertiniani. M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 440. The treaty of Verdun is the division of the empire among the three sons of Ludwig the Pious, Lothar, Ludwig the German, and Charles the Bald. It recognized the failure of the attempt of Karl to weld western Europe and the German tribes into one state and marks the beginning of the states of Germany and France. The student should follow on a map the line described in the treaty. The long narrow strip which composed the northern portion of the kingdom of Lothar had no elements of cohesion, geographically, racially, or politically. So it became the debatable land over which the two neighboring states of Germany and France have ever since fought. The fate of this middle territory may be glanced at in anticipation: The extreme northern portion came to the empire in 870 and formed the duchy of Lotharingia, but it fell apart into little feudal territories practically independent of the empire and finally became separate as the Netherlands; the central portion also broke up into small territories, part of which remained in the empire, as the Palatinate of the Rhine, and the great Rhine bishoprics; part, like Elsass and Lorraine, vacillated between France and Germany; the southern portion became the kingdoms of upper and lower Burgundy, then the united kingdom of Burgundy or Arles, and then after the acquisition of that kingdom by the empire, broke up into small territories, part going to Germany, part to France, and part becoming independent. Charles met his brothers at Verdun and there the portions of the empire were assigned. Ludwig received all beyond the Rhine, including also Speier, Worms, and Mainz on this side of the Rhine; Lothar received the land bounded [by that of Ludwig on the west, and] by a line following along the lower Rhine, the Scheldt, and the Meuse, then through Cambrai, Hainault, Lomme, including the counties east of the Meuse, to where the Saône flows into the Rhône, then along the Rhône to the sea, including the counties on both sides of the Rhône; the rest as far as Spain, went to Charles. 18. Regino. M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 568. Anno 842 (843). The three brothers divided the kingdom of the Franks among themselves; to Charles fell the western portion from the British ocean to the Meuse; to Ludwig, the eastern portion, that is, Germany as far west as the Rhine, including certain cities and their counties east of the Rhine to furnish him with wine; to Lothar, who, as the oldest, bore the title of emperor, the part in between, which still bears the name of Lotharingia, and all of Provence and the land of Italy with the city of Rome. 19. The Treaty of Meersen, 870. M. G. LL. folio, I, p. 516; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 4. The northern portion of the kingdom of Lothar was divided on his death (855) between two of his sons, Lothar and Charles, the other, Louis, taking Italy. Charles died in 863 and Lothar in 869; thereupon their uncles, Charles the Bald and Ludwig the German, divided that territory between them by the treaty of Meersen, the preliminaries of which are given here. See a map for the line of the division. In the year of the incarnation of our Lord 870, the third indiction, the day before the nones of March [March 6], in the 32d year of the reign of the glorious king Charles [the Bald], in the palace of the king at Aachen, this agreement was made between him and his brother Ludwig. Count Ingelram, for king Charles. I promise for my lord that my lord, king Charles, will permit his brother, king Ludwig, to have such portion of the kingdom of Lothar as they two or their representatives may decide upon as just and equitable. Charles will never molest him in his possession of that portion or of the kingdom which he held before, if Ludwig on his side will keep the same faith and fidelity toward him, which I have promised for my lord. Count Leutfrid, for king Ludwig. I promise for my lord that my lord, king Ludwig, will permit his brother, king Charles, to have such portion of the kingdom of Lothar as they two or their representatives may decide upon as just and equitable. Ludwig will never molest him in his possession of that portion or of the kingdom which he held before, if Charles on his side will keep the same faith and fidelity toward him, which I have promised for my lord. 20. Invasions of Northmen at the End of the Ninth Century. Annals of Fulda, M. G. SS. folio, I, pp. 398 ff. See introductory note to no. 15 for the nature of these invasions. The chronicle accounts in this and the next document illustrate very well the necessity which lay upon the local officials of defending the country against invaders. The particular feature of the events narrated here is the participation of the ecclesiastical lords, archbishops and bishops, in these warlike enterprises. This was due to the fact that the ecclesiastical lords were great landholders and exercised all the functions of secular officials. Ad annum 883. The Northmen, ascending the Rhine, plundered and burnt many villages. Liutbert, archbishop of Mainz, with a small band of troops, attacked them and, after killing many of them, recovered much of the booty which they had taken. Cologne [which had been burnt by the Northmen, 881] was rebuilt, except its churches and monasteries, and its walls with their gates and towers were restored. Ad annum 885. The Northmen entered the territory about Liège, collected all kinds of provisions, and prepared to spend the winter there. But Liutbert, archbishop of Mainz, and count Heimrih, with others, fell upon them suddenly, killed many of them, and drove the others into a small stronghold. They then seized the provisions which the Northmen had collected. The Northmen, after enduring a long siege, during which they suffered from hunger, finally fled from the stronghold by night. 21. Invasion of the Hungarians, _ca._ 950. Thietmar of Merseburg, II, 27; M. G. SS. folio, III, pp. 752 f. Michael, bishop of Regensburg, after governing his diocese well for some years, gathered his troops and joined the other Bavarian nobles in resisting an invasion of the Hungarians. In the battle which followed, our troops were defeated. One of the bishop's ears was cut off, and after receiving many other wounds he was left for dead on the field. One of his personal enemies had fallen at his side, and, by feigning death when the Hungarians searched the battle-field, he escaped with his life. When he saw that he was alone with the bishop whom he hated, he seized a lance and tried to kill him. But the bishop, having recovered consciousness, was able to defend himself, and, after a fierce struggle with his enemy, succeeded in striking him down. After a long and perilous journey the bishop found his way back to Regensburg, greatly to the joy of his flock. All his clergy welcomed him as a bold warrior, his flock honored and cherished him as an excellent pastor, and his wounds and maiming redounded to his honor. 22. Dissolution of the Empire. Regino, M. G. SS. folio, I, pp. 590 ff. The empire divided in 843 was for a brief period reunited under Karl the Fat from 884-887. But the failure of Karl either to enforce his authority in the empire or to protect its boundaries led to his deposition and to the definite division of the empire into small kingdoms under local rulers. Arnulf, an illegitimate son of Karlmann, the brother of Karl the Fat, became king of Germany; in France, as early as 879, Provence or lower Burgundy had elected a local count, Boso, as king; in 888, after the deposition of Karl the Fat, most of the French nobles elected Odo, duke of Francia, who belonged to the family of the counts of Paris, as their king, while upper Burgundy chose its own ruler in count Rudolf, and Aquitaine still held out under its duke for the young Charles the Simple, grandson of Charles the Bald. In Italy Charles the Bald, Ludwig, and Karl the Fat had attempted in vain to assert the authority of the emperor there, and Italy went its own way and became the field of battle between rival claimants for the crown, both of them local Italian nobles. Thus by 888 there were, including Aquitaine, six separate kingdoms, Germany, Italy, France, Aquitaine, Provence, and Burgundy. Anno 879. Boso, on hearing of the death of Louis [the Stammerer], set out from Provence and undertook to seize the whole of Burgundy. And after he had won over several bishops to his cause by threats and persuasion, he proceeded to Lyon and there was anointed king over the Burgundian realm by Aurelian, the metropolitan of Lyon, and the other bishops. He ignored the young sons of Louis, treating them as illegitimate because their mother had been disgraced and put away at the order of Charles [the Bald]. But these youths, Louis and Carlman, were raised to the throne by abbot Hugo and the other nobles, and warred against Boso all their lives. Not only they but also the other kings of the Franks hated him for his usurpation, and made their dukes and vassals promise that they would try to overthrow and slay him. Anno 887. In this year there died at Orleans abbot Hugo, who had held and ruled manfully the duchy [of Robert the Strong, _i.e._, Francia], and the duchy was given by the emperor to Robert's son, Odo, who had been up to that time count of Paris, and who, together with Gozlinus, bishop of Paris, had protected that city with all his might against the terrible onslaughts of the Northmen.... In the month of November on St. Martin's day [November 11, 887], Karl [the Fat] came to Tribur and held a general diet. Now when the nobles of the kingdom saw that the emperor was failing not only in bodily strength, but in mind also, they joined in a conspiracy with Arnulf, son of Karlmann, to raise him to the throne, and they fell away from the emperor to Arnulf in such numbers that after three days scarcely anyone was left to do the emperor even the services demanded by common humanity.... King Arnulf, however, gave Karl certain imperial lands in Alamannia for his sustenance, and then, after he had settled affairs in Franconia, he himself returned to Bavaria. Anno 888. After the death of Karl the kingdoms which had obeyed his rule fell apart and obeyed no longer their natural lord [_i.e._, Arnulf], but each elected a king from among its own inhabitants. This was the cause of many wars, not because there were no longer any princes among the Franks fitted by birth, courage, and wisdom to rule, but because of the equality of those very traits among so many princes, since no one of them so excelled the others that they would be willing to obey him. For there were still many princes able to hold together the Frankish empire, if they had not been fated to oppose one another instead of uniting. In Italy one portion of the people made Berengar, son of Everhard, markgraf of Friuli, king, while another portion chose as king Guido, son of Lambert, duke of Spoleto. Out of this division came so great a strife and so much bloodshed that, as our Lord said, the kingdom, divided against itself, was almost brought to desolation [Matt. 12:25]. Finally Guido was victorious and Berengar was driven from the kingdom.... Then the people of Gaul came together, and with the consent of Arnulf, chose duke Odo, son of Robert, a mighty man, to be their king.... He ruled manfully and defended the kingdom against the continual attacks of the Northmen. About the same time, Rudolf, son of Conrad, the nephew of abbot Hugo, seized that part of Provence between the Jura and the Pennine Alps [Upper Burgundy], and in the presence of the nobles and bishops, crowned himself king. ... But when Arnulf heard of this he advanced against Rudolf, who betook himself to the most inaccessible heights and held out there. All his life Arnulf, with his son Zwentibold, made war on Rudolf, but could not overcome him, because he held out in places where only the chamois could go and where the troops of the invaders could not reach him. 23. The Coronation of Arnulf, 896. Regino, M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 607. Arnulf regarded himself as the successor to Karl the Great and attempted to exercise some real authority over the whole empire. This appears in his relations to Odo of France, to the kings of the Burgundies, and to the claimants in Italy. The expedition which he undertook to Italy in order to end the disorders there resulted in his receiving the imperial crown. Anno 896. A second time Arnulf went down into Italy and came to Rome, and with the consent of the pope stormed the city. This was an unheard-of thing, not having happened since Brenno and the Gauls captured Rome many years before the birth of Christ.{54} The mother of Lambert, whom he had left to defend the city, fled with her troops. Arnulf was received into the city with the greatest reverence by pope Formosus and was crowned emperor by him before the altar of St. Peter. But as he returned from Rome he was seized with an illness that troubled him for a long time. {54} Not true; see no. 2, for the sack of Rome by Alaric, 410, and by Geiseric, 455. 24, 25. Rise of the Tribal Duchies in Germany, _ca._ 900. 24. Saxony. Widukind, History of the Saxons, I, c. 16; M. G. SS. folio. III, p. 425. In the beginning of the tenth century we find Germany divided into five great duchies, Lotharingia, Franconia, Saxony, Bavaria, and Suabia. The boundaries of the last four corresponded pretty closely to the boundaries of old German tribes: Franks, Saxons, Bavarians, and Alamanni. The attempt of Karl to weld the various German tribes into one state was successful during his reign, but that period was too brief to extinguish the tribal feeling, and his weak successors, occupied with schemes of selfish aggrandizement, abandoned his larger policy. During the later Carolingian period the impotence of the central government put the burden of ruling upon the local officials, who under the weak rule of Ludwig the Child usurped the title of duke in each of the large divisions. This usurpation was successful largely because the people in each duchy regarded their new duke as the representative of tribal unity. In Saxony and Bavaria the counts of the marks took the position of leaders of the nobles and people of the whole provinces against the invasions of Slavs and Hungarians, and were rewarded by the fidelity and allegiance of the duchy. In Franconia and Suabia the same position was won by local officials, but in these cases it was as the result of struggles between rival families for supreme position in the duchy. The references in documents to these events are very meager, but it will be observed that dukes of Saxony, Bavaria, Franconia, Suabia are mentioned in these passages. The last of the Carolingian emperors of the East Franks was Ludwig [the Child], son of Arnulf.... This Ludwig married Liudgard, sister of Bruno and the great duke Otto, and soon after died. These men, Bruno and Otto, were the sons of Liudolf.... Bruno ruled the duchy of all Saxony, but perished with his army in resisting an incursion of the Danes, thus leaving the duchy to his younger and far abler brother Otto. Ludwig the Child left no son, and all the people of Franconia and Saxony tried to give Otto the crown. But he refused to undertake the burden of ruling, on the ground that he was too old, and by his advice Conrad, duke of Franconia, was anointed king. 25. Suabia. Annales Alamannici, M. G. SS. folio, I, pp. 55 f. Anno 911. Burchart, count and prince of the Alamanni, was unjustly slain by the judgment of Anselm, and his sons Burchart and Udalrich were driven out and his possessions and fiefs divided among his enemies.... Anno 913. In this year Conrad the king attacked the king of Lotharingia. A conflict arose between Conrad and Erchanger [a count palatine in Suabia]. The Hungarians break into Alamannia; on their return Arnulf [duke of Bavaria] and Erchanger, with Berthold and Udalrich, attack and defeat the Hungarians. In this year peace is made between the king and Erchanger, and the king marries the sister of Erchanger. Anno 914. Conrad again comes into Alamannia. Erchanger attacks bishop Salomon and captures him. In the same year Erchanger is captured by the king and exiled. Immediately the young Burchart [son of Burchart] rebels against the king and devastates his own fatherland. Anno 915.... Erchanger returns from exile and attacks Burchart and Berthold and conquers them at Wallwis, and is made duke of the Alamanni [duke of Suabia]. 26. Henry I and the Saxon Cities, 919-36. Widukind, I, 35; M. G. SS. folio, III, p.432. Henry, duke of Saxony, king of the Germans, 919-936, was the first king of the Saxon house. He was also the first king of the Germans to accept the feudal state and to attempt to build up a government on that basis. He did not revive the imperial claims on Italy, but devoted himself to strengthening his own authority in Saxony, to defending the frontiers of the kingdom, and to creating a German state. This selection is from the history of the Saxons written by Widukind, a monk in the monastery of New Corvey, who wrote in the latter part of the tenth century. The passage illustrates the relations of the Germans to the Slavs on the east and the origin of the Saxon cities. The Slavs had moved as far west as the Elbe, occupying the lands left vacant by the Germans after the migrations. Much of this territory was gradually recovered by the Germans from the time of Henry. Here we see the capture of the city of Brandenburg and the reduction of Bohemia. Following the conquest came the establishment of the marks and the colonization and Germanizing of the land. It lies beyond my power to relate in detail how king Henry, after he had made a nine years' truce with the Hungarians, undertook to develop the defenses of his own land [Saxony] and to subdue the barbarians; and yet this must not be passed over in silence. From the free peasants subject to military service he chose one out of every nine, and ordered these selected persons to move into the fortified places and build dwellings for the others. One-third of all the produce was to be stored up in these fortified places, and the other peasants were to sow and reap and gather the crops and take them there. The king also commanded all courts and meetings and celebrations to be held in these places, that during a time of peace the inhabitants might accustom themselves to meeting together in them, as he wished them to do in case of an invasion. The work on these strongholds was pushed night and day. Outside of these fortified places there were no walled towns. While the inhabitants of his new cities were being trained in this way, the king suddenly fell upon the Heveldi [the Slavs who dwell on the Havel], defeated them in several engagements, and finally captured the city of Brandenburg. This was in the dead of winter, the besieging army encamping on the ice and storming the city after the garrison had been exhausted by hunger and cold. Having thus won with the capture of Brandenburg the whole territory of the Heveldi, he proceeded against Dalamantia, which his father had attacked on a former occasion, and then besieged Jahna and took it after twenty days.... Then he made an attack in force upon Prague, the fortress of the Bohemians, and reduced the king of Bohemia to subjection. 27. The Election of Otto I, 936. Widukind, II, 1, 2; M. G. SS. folio, III, pp. 437 ff. This passage is also taken from Widukind. It shows the ceremony of election and coronation in the tenth century. Note the steps in the process: (1) designation by his father, at which time the son was probably accepted by an assembly of the nobles; (2) election by the general assembly after the death of the father; the general assembly at this period probably consisted only of nobles and high ecclesiastics; (3) elevation to the throne by the feudal nobles, a survival of the ancient ceremony of raising the king on the shield by the warriors of the tribe; (4) presentation to the people by the bishops, and acceptance; (5) solemn coronation and anointing by the archbishops. 1. After Henry, the father of his country and the greatest and best of kings, had died, all the people of the Franks and the Saxons chose for their king his son Otto, whom Henry had already designated as his successor, and they sent out notices of the coronation, which was to take place at Aachen. ... And when all were assembled there, the dukes and the commanders of the soldiers and other military leaders raised Otto upon the throne, which was erected in the portico adjoining the church of Karl the Great, and giving him their hands and promising him their fidelity and aid against all his enemies, they made him king according to their custom. Meanwhile the archbishop of Mainz and the clergy and people awaited him within the church. And when he approached the archbishop met him, ... and went with him to the centre of the church; ... then turning to the people ... he said: "I bring you Otto, chosen by God, designated by our lord Henry, and now made king by all the princes; if this choice pleases you, raise your right hands." At this, the whole people raised their right hands to heaven and hailed the new ruler with a mighty shout. Then the archbishop advanced with the king, who was clothed with a short tunic after the Frankish custom, to the altar, on which lay the royal insignia, the sword and belt, the cloak and armlets, the staff with the sceptre and diadem. The primate at this time was Hildibert, a Frank by birth and a monk by training. He had been brought up and educated at the monastery of Fulda, and finally was made archbishop of Mainz.... Now when there had arisen a dispute as to who should consecrate the king (for the honor was claimed by the archbishops both of Trier and of Cologne, the former because his see was the oldest and had been founded, as it were, by St. Peter, and the latter because Aachen was in his diocese),{55} the difficulty was settled by both of them yielding with all good will to Hildibert. The archbishop, going up to the altar, took up the sword and belt and, turning to the king, said: "Receive this sword with which you shall cast out all the enemies of Christ, both pagans and wicked Christians, and receive with it the authority and power given to you by God to rule over all the Franks for the security of all Christian people." Then taking up the cloak and armlets he put them on the king and said: "The borders of this cloak trailing on the ground shall remind you that you are to be zealous in the faith and to keep peace." Finally, taking up the sceptre and staff, he said: "By these symbols you shall correct your subjects with fatherly discipline and foster the servants of God and the widows and orphans. May the oil of mercy never be lacking to your head, that you may be crowned here and in the future life with an eternal reward." Then the archbishops Hildibert of Mainz and Wicfrid of Cologne anointed him with the sacred oil and crowned him with the golden crown, and now that the whole coronation ceremony was completed they led him to the throne, which he ascended. The throne was built between two marble columns of great beauty and was so placed that he could see all and be seen by all. 2. Then after the Te Deum and the mass, the king descended from his throne and proceeded to the palace, where he sat down with his bishops and people at a marble table which was adorned with royal lavishness; and the dukes served him. Gilbert, duke of Lotharingia, who held the office by right, superintended the preparations [_i.e._, acted as chamberlain], Eberhard, duke of Franconia, presided over the arrangements for the king's table [acted as seneschal], Herman, duke of Suabia, acted as cupbearer, Arnulf, duke of Bavaria, commanded the knights and chose the place of encampment [acted as marshal].{56} Siegfrid, chief of the Saxons, second only to the king, and son-in-law of the former king, ruled Saxony for Otto, providing against attacks of the enemy and caring for the young Henry, Otto's brother. {55} In the time of Leo IX (1048-1054) this quarrel was settled in favor of the archbishop of Cologne because Aachen was in his diocese. {56} The famous banquet of Otto has been made much of by many authors to show the power of Otto over the great dukes. It is doubtful, however, if much importance should be attached to this. The great offices of the court in Germany were ceremonial and titular, and since they did not become important departments of the public service, as they did in France and England, they were allowed to remain in the hands of the great dukes. The serving of the dukes at the banquet cannot be made to prove their subservience to Otto; Otto's method of controlling the dukes was to put his own relatives in those positions. The four offices of the seneschal, cupbearer, chamberlain, and marshal are the court positions of the later secular electoral princes (see no. 160), the count palatine of the Rhine, the king of Bohemia, the elector of Saxony, and the margrave of Brandenburg. These princes on the breaking up of the tribal duchies succeeded to the position of first rank among the nobles, which had been held by the tribal dukes. 28. Otto I and the Hungarians. Widukind, III, chs. 44 ff; M. G. SS. folio, III, pp. 457 f. The Hungarians appear on the borders of the empire about the end of the ninth century. From that time they are a continual source of trouble to the kings of Germany. Arnulf had made an alliance with them against the Slavs; the reigns of Ludwig the Child and Conrad I had suffered from their attacks, and Henry I had succeeded in forcing them to make a truce. Otto then defeated them in the battle of the Lechfeld (955), which is narrated here, after which they settled in the region where they are found to-day. 44. While Otto was in Saxony, ambassadors of the Hungarians came to him, under the pretext of the old alliance and friendship, but in reality, it was supposed, in order to discover the outcome of the civil war in which Otto had been engaged. After he had entertained them and sent them away with gifts, he received a message from his brother, the duke of Bavaria, saying: "Lo, the Hungarians are overrunning your land, and are preparing to make war upon you." As soon as the king heard this, he immediately marched against this enemy, taking with him only a few Saxons, since the rest were occupied at that time with a conflict against the Slavs. He pitched his camp in the territory of the city of Augsburg and was joined there by the army of the Franconians and Bavarians and by duke Conrad with a large following of knights. Conrad's arrival so encouraged the warriors that they wished to attack the enemy immediately. Conrad was by nature very bold, and at the same time very wise in council, two things which are not usually found in the same man. He was irresistible in war, whether on foot or on horseback; and was dear to his friends in peace as well as in war. It now became apparent through the skirmishes of the advance posts that the two armies were not far apart. A fast was proclaimed in the camp, and all were commanded to be ready for battle on the next morning. At the first gleam of dawn they all arose, made peace with one another, and promised to aid first their own leaders and then each other. Then they marched out of the camp with standards raised, some eight legions in all. The army was led by a steep and difficult way in order to avoid the darts of the enemy, which they use with great effect if they can find any bushes to hide behind. The first, second, and third lines were composed of Bavarians led by the officers of duke Henry, who himself was lying sick some distance from the field of battle--a sickness from which he died not long after. The fourth legion was composed of Franconians, under the command of duke Conrad. The king commanded the fifth line. This was called the royal legion and was made up of selected warriors, brave youths, who guarded the standard of the angel, the emblem of victory. The sixth and seventh lines were composed of Suabians, commanded by duke Burchard, who had married the daughter of the brother of Otto [Hedwig, daughter of Henry]. The eighth was made up of a thousand chosen warriors of the Bohemians, whose equipment was better than their fortune; here was the baggage and the impedimenta, because the rear was thought to be the safest place. But it did not prove to be so in the outcome, for the Hungarians crossed the Lech unexpectedly, and turned the flank of the army and fell upon the rear line, first with darts and then at close quarters. Many were slain or captured, the whole of the baggage seized, and the line put to rout. In like manner the Hungarians fell upon the seventh and sixth lines, slew a great many and put the rest to flight. But when the king perceived that there was a conflict going on in front and that the lines behind him were also being attacked, he sent duke Conrad with the fourth line against those in the rear. Conrad freed the captives, recovered the booty, and drove off the enemy. Then he returned to the king, victorious, having defeated with youthful and untried warriors an enemy that had put to flight experienced and renowned soldiers. 46. ... When the king saw that the whole brunt of the attack was now in front ... he seized his shield and lance, and rode out against the enemy at the head of his followers. The braver warriors among the enemy withstood the attack at first, but when they saw that their companions had fled, they were overcome with dismay and were slain. Some of the enemy sought refuge in near-by villages, their horses being worn out; these were surrounded and burnt to death within the walls. Others swam the river, but were drowned by the caving in of the bank as they attempted to climb out on the other side. The strongholds were taken and the captives released on the day of the battle; during the next two days the remnants of the enemy were captured in the neighboring towns, so that scarcely any escaped. Never was so bloody a victory gained over so savage a people. 29. The Imperial Coronation of Otto I, 962. Continuation of Regino; M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 625. The coronation of Otto is regarded as the restoration of the Holy Roman Empire. From the time of the coronation of Arnulf (896) (see no. 23) to Otto's first expedition, 951, the German kings had been too much occupied at home to interfere in Italy. During these years Italy had been the scene of a long struggle for the crown, in which the papacy had taken part as a secular power. The result was feudal anarchy in Italy and the degradation of the papacy. The desire to restore order in Italy, to revive the old imperial claims, and to reform the papacy, led Otto to accept the invitation of the pope and to make a second expedition which ended in the coronation. Otto thus revived the Carolingian policy which had been handed on by Arnulf. The union of Germany and Italy to form the mediæval empire was made certain by this coronation. The kings of Germany were pledged to the maintenance of their authority in Italy, a policy which caused them to waste in Italy the strength and the opportunity which they should have used to build up a German state. Anno 962. King Otto celebrated Christmas at Pavia in this year [961], and went thence to Rome, where he was made emperor by pope John XII with the acclamation of all the Roman people and clergy. The pope entertained him with great cordiality and promised never to be untrue to him all the days of his life. But this promise had a very different outcome from what was anticipated by them. (Otto leaves Rome to attack Berengar, who claimed to be king of Italy, and his sons Adalbert and Guido.) 963.... In the meantime pope John, forgetting his promise, fell away from the emperor and joined the party of Berengar, and allowed Adalbert to enter Rome. When Otto heard of this he abandoned the siege [of San Leo] and hastened with his army to Rome. But pope John and Adalbert, fearing to await his arrival, seized most of the treasures of St. Peter and sought safety in flight. Now the Romans were divided in sympathy, part favoring the emperor because of the oppressions of the pope, and part favoring the papal cause; nevertheless, they received him in the city with the proper respect, and gave hostages for their complete obedience to his commands. The emperor having entered Rome, called together there a large number of bishops and held a synod; it was decided at this synod that he should send an embassy after the pope to recall him to the apostolic seat. But when John refused to come, the Roman people unanimously elected the papal secretary Leo [VIII] to fill his place. 30-31. The Acquisition of Burgundy by the Empire, 1018-1032. 30. Thietmar of Merseburg. M. G. SS. folio, III, p. 863. The kingdom of Burgundy or Arles was formed by the union of the two small kingdoms of Provence and Upper Burgundy, the beginning of which is told in Regino (see no. 22). The result of the acquisition of Burgundy was not to increase the territory of Germany, but to add another kingdom to the empire, which now included Germany, Italy, and Burgundy. VIII, 5. Now I shall break off the relation of these negotiations in order to tell of the good fortune which lately befell our emperor, Henry [II]. For his mother's brother, Rudolf, king of Burgundy, had promised him his crown and sceptre in the presence and with the consent of his wife and his step-sons and all his nobles, and now this promise was repeated with an oath. This happened at Mainz in the same year [February, 1018]. 31. Wipo, Life of Conrad II. M. G. SS. folio, XI, pp. 263 ff. 8. Rudolf, king of Burgundy, in his old age ruled his realm in a careless fashion and thereby aroused great dissatisfaction among his nobles. So he invited his sister's son, the emperor Henry II, to come to him, and he designated him as his successor and caused all the nobles of his realm to swear fealty to him.... Now after the death of Henry [1024], king Rudolf wished to withdraw his promise, but Conrad [II], desiring to increase rather than to diminish the empire and to reap the fruits of his predecessor's efforts, seized Basel in order to force Rudolf to keep his promise. But queen Gisela, the daughter of Rudolf's sister, brought about reconciliation between them. 29. In the year of our Lord 1032, Rudolf, king of Burgundy, died, and count Odo of Champagne, his sister's son, invaded the kingdom and had already seized many castles and towns, partly by treachery and partly by force. ... In this way he gained a large part of Burgundy, although the kingdom had been promised under oath a long time before by Rudolf to Conrad and his son, king Henry. But while Odo was doing this in Burgundy, emperor Conrad was engaged in a campaign against the Slavs.... 30. In the year of our Lord 1033, emperor Conrad, with his son, king Henry, celebrated Christmas at Strassburg. From there he invaded Burgundy by way of Solothurn, and at the monastery of Peterlingen on the day of the purification of the Virgin Mary [February 2] he was elected king of Burgundy by the higher and lower nobility, and was crowned on the same day. 32. Henry III and the Eastern Frontier, 1040 to 1043. Lambert of Hersfeld, Annals, M. G. SS. folio, V, pp. 152 f. The expansion of Germany to the east was slow and unstable. Poles, Bohemians, and Hungarians refused to remain tributary, but took every opportunity to rebel against the Germans. We give a few passages from Lambert's Annals to show that Henry III was aware of the policy bequeathed him by his predecessors, although he was not very successful in his efforts to carry it into effect. Anno 1040. King Henry [III] led an army into Bohemia, but suffered heavy losses. Among others, count Werner and the standard bearer of the monastery of Fulda were slain. Peter, king of Hungary, was expelled by his people. He fled to Henry and asked his aid. 1041. King Henry entered Bohemia a second time and compelled their duke, Bretislaw, to surrender. He made his territory tributary to Henry. Ouban, who had usurped the crown of Hungary, invaded Bavaria and Carinthia (Kaernthen) and took much booty. But the Bavarians united all their forces, followed them, retook the booty, killed a great many of them, and put the rest to flight. 1042. King Henry made his first campaign against Hungary, and put Ouban to flight. He went into Hungary as far as the Raab river, took three great fortresses, and received the oath of fidelity from the inhabitants of the land. 1043. The king celebrated Christmas at Goslar, where the duke of Bohemia came to see him. He was kindly received by the king, honorably entertained for some time, and at length sent away in peace. Ambassadors came to him there from many peoples, and among them those of the Rusci, who went away sad because Henry refused to marry the daughter of their king. Ambassadors also came from the king of Hungary and humbly sued for peace. But they did not obtain it, because king Peter, who had been deposed and driven out by Ouban, was there and was begging for the help of Henry against Ouban. II. THE PAPACY TO THE ACCESSION OF GREGORY VII, 1073 The chief purpose of the documents offered in this section is to illustrate the growth of the papal power and the development of the conflicting claims of the empire and the papacy. The organization of the church was a matter of slow growth, and at first the bishop of Rome actually exercised ecclesiastical authority in a decisive way only in his own diocese. But by 1073 the organization of the church was so developed that the supremacy of the pope over the church and ecclesiastical affairs in the west was in a fair way of becoming an accomplished fact. He had secured the sole right to be called pope, universal, and apostolic. The growth of his temporal power is even more clearly marked. At the time of Constantine the bishop of Rome had no temporal authority. But gradually he acquired power over temporal matters and exercised various secular and even imperial prerogatives, until Gregory VII found it easy to formulate and put forth the claim that the pope was master of the emperor and the real ruler of the world even in temporal things. Before 1073 there was occasional friction between the empire and the papacy, but this did not develop into a real and definite struggle for world supremacy until Gregory VII became pope. Selections are here given to illustrate (1) the election of bishops, and especially the early election of the bishop of Rome, nos. 33, 34, 37, 38; (2) the chief means by which the pope acquired recognition of his ecclesiastical headship in the west, that is, his missionary work, nos. 35, 39, 40; (3) the rebellion of the pope against the rule of the Greek emperors, nos. 41, 42; (4) the acquisition of land and of temporal authority by the pope, nos. 36, 43-46, 54; (5) the development of specific conflicting claims of pope and emperor regarding the election and consecration of the pope, the creation and coronation of the emperor, and the exercise of functions which had been regarded as imperial, nos. 47-53, 55-59. 33. Legislation Concerning the Election of Bishops, Fourth to the Ninth Century. Corpus Juris Canonici. Dist. LXIII, c. vi, vii, and i. In the election of the clergy, especially of the bishops, it was some centuries before the theory and the practice of the church entirely agreed. In theory the laity should have nothing to do with the election of the clergy, but in fact, they have, at various times and in different degrees, exercised authority over such matters. Thus, for instance, the people of Rome had a part in the election of their bishop; the emperors at Constantinople, at first in person, later through the exarch at Ravenna, confirmed his election; Karl the Great and his successors named the bishops of Germany; Otto I and Henry III made and unmade bishops of Rome. This state of affairs lasted well into the eleventh century. The church strove more and more to free itself from all outside influence, while the emperors struggled to retain their control of it. The Corpus Juris Canonici (Body of Canon Law), which consists chiefly of decisions of church councils and of papal decrees and bulls, is the code of laws by which the church is governed. Frequent additions were made to it until Gregory XIII (1572-85) prepared a standard edition of it. It has been republished a great many times. For the sake of brevity we have made use of a few of its chapters here instead of the longer originals from which they are taken. C. vi. Laymen have not the right to choose those who are to be made bishops. (From the Council of Laodicæa, fourth century.) C. vii. Every election of a bishop, priest, or deacon, which is made by the nobility [that is, emperor, or others in authority], is void, according to the rule which says: "If a bishop makes use of the secular powers to obtain a diocese, he shall be deposed and those who supported him shall be cast out of the church." (From the third canon of the second council at Nicæa, 787, quoting the 30th canon of the Apostolic Constitutions; Mansi, XVI, 748.) C. i. No layman, whether emperor or noble, shall interfere with the election or promotion of a patriarch, metropolitan, or bishop, lest there should arise some unseemly disturbance or contention; especially since it is not fitting that any layman or person in secular authority should have any authority in such matters.... If any emperor or nobleman, or layman of any other rank, opposes the canonical election of any member of the clergy, let him be anathema until he yields and accepts the clear will of the church in the election and ordination of the bishop. (From the twenty-second canon of the eighth synod of Constantinople, 869; Mansi, XVI, 174 f.) 34. The Pope must be Chosen from the Cardinal Clergy of Rome, 769. Enactment of a Latin council held by Stephen III, 769, Cor. Jur. Can., Dist. LXXIX. (See also Mansi, XII, 719.) C. iii. It is necessary that our mistress the holy Roman Catholic church be governed properly, and in accordance with the precedents established by St. Peter and his successors, and that the pope be chosen from the cardinal priests or cardinal deacons. C. iv. No one, whether layman or clergyman, shall presume to be made pope unless he has risen through the regular grades{57} at least to the rank of cardinal deacon or has been made a cardinal priest. {57} The grades are given as follows in the Cor. Jur. Can., Dist. LXXVII, c. i. The candidate for the office of bishop must first have been doorkeeper (_ostiarius_), then reader (_lector_), then exorcist (_exorcista_), then consecrated as an acolyte (_acolythus_), then subdeacon (_subdiaconus_), then deacon (_diaconus_), then priest (_presbyter_), and then if he is elected he may be ordained bishop. The law expressed in chap. iii, so thoroughly in the interests of the ambitious clergy of Rome, was not long observed, for it frequently happened that the bishop of some other city was chosen pope. But it was in accord with previous legislation. The church had early declared against the removal of a clergyman from one congregation to another. Thus the council of Nicæa, 325, in its fifteenth canon (cf. Hefele, Conciliengeschichte, I, pp. 418 f), "forbids bishops, priests, and deacons to move from one town (congregation) to another, because such a practice is against the rule of the church and has often caused disturbances and divisions between congregations. If any bishop, priest, or deacon disobeys this command and removes to another congregation, his action shall be illegal, and he shall be sent back to the congregation which he was serving." 35. The Petrine Theory as Stated by Leo I, 440-61. Migne, 64. Leo I (440-61) made frequent use of the Petrine theory. In brief this theory is that to Peter as the prince of the apostles was committed the supreme power over the church. To him the keys were intrusted in a special manner. In this consisted his primacy, his superiority over the other apostles. This primacy or first rank he communicated to his successors, the bishops of Rome, who, by virtue of being his successors, held the same primacy over the church and over all other bishops as Peter held over the other apostles. The passage on which this theory is based is found in Matt. 16:18 f: "And I say unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." We offer the following detached passages from the works of Leo I to illustrate his conception of the theory. Col. 628. Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, caused his truth to be promulgated through the apostles. And while this duty was placed on all the apostles, the Lord made St. Peter the head of them all, that from him as from their head his gifts should flow out into all the body. So that if anyone separates himself from St. Peter he should know that he has no share in the divine blessing. Col. 656. If any dissensions in regard to church matters and the clergy should arise among you, we wish you to settle them and report to us all the terms of the settlement, so that we may confirm all your just and reasonable decisions. Col. 995. Constantinople has its own glory and by the mercy of God has become the seat of the empire. But secular matters are based on one thing, ecclesiastical matters on another. For nothing will stand which is not built on the rock [Peter] which the Lord laid in the foundation [Matt. 16:18].... Your city is royal, but you cannot make it apostolic [as Rome is, because its church was founded by St. Peter]. Col. 1031. You will learn with what reverence the bishop of Rome treats the rules and canons of the church if you read my letters by which I resisted the ambition of the patriarch of Constantinople, and you will see also that I am the guardian of the catholic faith and of the decrees of the church fathers. Col. 991. On this account the holy and most blessed pope, Leo, the head of the universal church, with the consent of the holy synod, endowed with the dignity of St. Peter, who is the foundation of the church, the rock of the faith, and the door-keeper of heaven, through us, his vicars, deprived him of his rank as bishop, etc. [From a letter of his legates.] Col. 615. And because we have the care of all the churches, and the Lord, who made Peter the prince of the apostles, holds us responsible for it, etc. Col. 881. Believing that it is reasonable and just that as the holy Roman church, through St. Peter, the prince of the apostles, is the head of all the churches of the whole world, etc. Col. 147. This festival should be so celebrated that in my humble person he [Peter] should be seen and honored who has the care over all the shepherds and the sheep committed to him, and whose dignity is not lacking in me, his heir, although I am unworthy. 36. The Emperor Gives the Pope Authority in certain Secular Matters. The Pragmatic Sanction of Justinian, 554; M. G. LL. folio, V, p. 175. One of the chief effects of the invasions of the barbarians was an increased lawlessness and disorder throughout the territory in which they settled. The administration of justice was seriously disturbed by their presence in the country, and the machinery of government was, to a certain extent, destroyed by them. Under these circumstances the clergy, by virtue of their office and character, were looked on as representatives of law, order, and justice, and they were quite naturally given a voice in the administration of justice and in the general management of affairs. The selections from the pragmatic sanction, which Justinian issued in 554, show in part the use which he made of the bishop of Rome to restore and secure order and good government in Italy after the long, destructive, and demoralizing wars which he waged with the East Goths. § 12. The bishops and chief men shall elect officials for each province who shall be qualified and able to administer its government, etc. § 19. That there may be no opportunity for fraud or loss to the provinces, we order that, in the purchase and sale of all kinds of produce [grain, wine, oil, etc.] and in the payment and receipt of money, only those weights and measures shall be used which we have established and put under the control of the pope and of the senate. 37. The Emperor has the Right to Confirm the Election of the Bishop of Rome, _ca._ 650. A Letter from the Church at Rome to the Emperor at Constantinople, Asking him to Confirm the Election of their Bishop. Liber Diurnus, no. 58, Rozière's edition, pp. 103 ff; Von Sickel's edition. pp. 47 ff. For a long time the emperor at Constantinople had exercised the right of confirming the election of the bishop of Rome. No one could be ordained and consecrated pope until his election had been confirmed by the emperor. The _Liber Diurnus_ is a collection of letters or formulas which were used by the papal secretaries as models in drawing up the pope's letters. This particular collection was in use at the papal court from about 600 to 900 A.D. When it became necessary to write to the emperor at Constantinople to secure his confirmation of the election of a bishop of Rome, a secretary would copy this letter, inserting the proper names in the appropriate places and making such other changes in its wording as might be necessary to fit the particular case. Although God himself has brought about such harmony and unity in the election of a successor to the pope who has just died that there is scarcely one that opposes it, it is necessary that we humbly pour out the prayers of our petition to our most serene and pious lord who is known to rejoice in the harmony of his subjects and graciously to grant what they unite in asking. Now, when our pope (name), of blessed memory, died, we all agreed in the election of (name), venerable archdeacon of the apostolic see, because from his early youth he had served in this church and had shown himself so able in all things that on the score of his merits he deserved to be put at the head of the government of the church; especially since he was of such a character that with the help of Christ and by constant association with the aforesaid most blessed pope (name), he has attained to the same high merits with which his predecessor (name), of blessed memory, was graced; with his eloquence, he stirred within us a desire for the holy joys of heaven; so we confidently believe that what we have lost in his predecessor we have found again in him. Therefore, with tears, all your servants beg that you, our lord, may deign to grant our petition and accede to our wishes concerning the ordination of him whom we have elected, and, to the glory of the realm, authorize his ordination; that thus, after you have established him over us as our pastor, we may constantly pray for the life and government of our lord the emperor to the omnipotent Lord and to St. Peter, over whose church, with your permission, a worthy governor is now to be ordained. Signatures of the clergy: I, (name), by the mercy of God, priest of the holy Roman Church, have signed this our action regarding (name), venerable archdeacon of the holy apostolic see, our pope elect. Signatures of the laity: I, (name), your servant, have with full consent signed this our action regarding (name), venerable archdeacon of the holy apostolic see, our pope elect. 38. A Letter from the Church at Rome to the Exarch at Ravenna, Asking him to Confirm the Election of their Bishop, _ca._ 600. Liber Diurnus, no. 60, Rozière's edition, pp. 110 ff; Von Sickel, pp. 50 ff. As is clear from the preceding number, the confirmation of the election of the bishop of Rome was in the hands of the emperor. His residence was at Constantinople, but he was, of course, not always to be found there. Because of his distance from Rome it might take several months to secure his confirmation. Such delays interfered with the administration of the office and were very burdensome to the Romans because the pope had a large share in the government of the city. Until their new bishop was confirmed the government of the city was almost at a standstill. So, in the seventh century, the emperor, at the request of the Romans, commissioned his exarch at Ravenna to act for him in this matter. To the most excellent and exalted lord (may God graciously preserve him to us for a long life in his high office), (name), exarch of Italy, the priests, deacons, and all the clergy of Rome, the magistrates, the army, and the people of Rome, as suppliants, send greeting. Providence is able to give aid and to change the weeping and groaning of the sorrowing into rejoicing, that those who were recently smitten down with affliction may afterward be fully consoled. For the poet king, from whose prophetic heart the Holy Spirit spoke, has said: "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning" [Ps. 30:5]. And again, giving thanks to God, he sings of the greatness of his mercies, and says: "Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness: to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent" [Ps. 30: 11-12]. For he careth for us [1 Peter, 5:7] as that chosen vessel [Peter] and our confession of faith declare. For the things which were causing sadness He has changed to rejoicing and has mercifully given aid to us, unworthy sinners. Now, our pope (name) having been called from present cares to eternal rest, as is the lot of mortals, a great load of sorrow oppressed us, deprived, as we were, of our guardian. But because we hoped in God, He did not permit us long to remain in this affliction. For after we had spent three days in prayer that He would deign to make known to all who was worthy and should be elected pope, with the aid of his grace which inspired our minds, we all came together in the accustomed manner; that is, the clergy and the people of Rome, the nobility and the army, as we say, from the least to the greatest; and the election, with the help of God and the aid of the holy apostles, fell upon the person of (name), most holy archdeacon of this holy apostolic see of the church of Rome. The holy and chaste life of this good man, beloved of God, was so pleasing to all that no one opposed his election, and no one dissented from it. Why should not men unanimously agree upon him whom the incomparable and never failing providence of God had foreordained to this office? For without doubt this had been determined on in the presence of God. So, solemnly fulfilling God's decrees and confirming the desires of our hearts with our signatures, we have sent you our fellow-servants as the bearers of this writing, (name), most holy bishop, (name), venerable priest, (name), regionary notary, (name), regionary subdeacon, (names), honorable citizens, and from the most flourishing and successful army of Rome, (name), most eminent consul, and (names), chief men, tribunes of the army, together most earnestly begging and praying that you may approve our choice. For he who has been unanimously elected by us, is, so far as man can discern, above reproach. And therefore we beg and beseech you to grant our petition quickly, because there are many matters arising daily which require the solicitous care and attention of a pope. And the affairs of the province and all things connected therewith also need and are awaiting some one to control them. Besides we need some one to keep the neighboring enemy in check, a thing which can be done only by the power of God and of the prince of the apostles, through his vicar, the bishop of Rome. For it is well known that at various times the bishop of Rome has driven off our enemies by his warnings, and at others he has turned them aside and restrained them with his prayers; so that by his words alone, on account of their reverence for the prince of the apostles, they have offered voluntary obedience; and thus they whom the force of arms had not overcome have yielded to papal threats and prayers. Since these things are so, again and again we beseech you, our exalted lord, with the aid and inspiration of God, to perform the duty of your imperial office by granting our request. And we, your humble servants, on seeing our desires fulfilled, may then give unceasing thanks to God and to you, and with our spiritual pastor, our bishop, enthroned on the apostolic seat, we may pour out prayers for the life, health, and complete victories of our most exalted and Christian lords, (names), the great and victorious emperors, that the merciful God may grant manifold victories to their royal courage, and cause them to triumph over all peoples; and that God may give them joy of heart because the ancient rule of Rome has been restored. For we know that he whom we have elected pope can, with his prayers, influence the divine Omnipotence; and he has prepared a joyful increase for the Roman empire, and he will aid you in the government of this province of Italy which is subject to you, and he will aid and protect all of us, your servants, through many years. Signatures of the clergy: I, (name), humble archpriest of the holy Roman church, have with full consent subscribed to this document which we have made concerning (name), most holy archdeacon, our bishop elect. And the signatures of the laity: I, (name), in the name of God, consul, have with full consent subscribed to this document which we have made concerning (name), most holy archdeacon, our bishop elect. 39. Gregory I Sends Missionaries to the English, 596. Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English, Bk. I, chs. 23 and 25. The pope secured recognition of his supremacy largely because much of the west was Christianized through his efforts. The mission established by Augustine in England was one of the most important missionary undertakings of the pope because it succeeded in making England Roman Catholic. And not only that, but after the conversion of England, Englishmen were largely instrumental in Christianizing many parts of Europe and in subjecting them to the bishop of Rome. Thus it was an Englishman, Boniface, who organized the church in Germany and put it under papal control. By English and German missionaries the barbarians to the north and east of Germany, that is, the Danes, Norwegians, Swedes, Poles, Bohemians, and Hungarians, were Christianized and made tributary to the pope. 23. ... Gregory was divinely led to send Augustine, the servant of God, and with him several other pious monks to preach the word of God to the English.... 25. ... So Augustine and the servants of Christ who were with him came into Britain. At that time Ethelbert was king in Kent. He was a powerful king and had extended the boundaries of his realm to the Humber river, which separates the English of the north from those of the south. On the east shore of Kent there is a small island called Thanet, about large enough for 600 families, according to the English way of reckoning.... Here Augustine, the servant of the Lord, landed with his companions, who, it is said, numbered about forty. At the suggestion of the pope, they brought with them some Franks as interpreters. They sent word to Ethelbert that they had come from Rome, bearing good tidings which would surely bring to all who obeyed them eternal joy in heaven and a kingdom without end with the true and living God. The king ordered them to remain where they were and to be supplied with food until he should make up his mind what to do with regard to them. For he already knew about Christianity. Indeed his wife, Bertha, of the royal family of the Franks, was a Christian. Her family had consented to her marriage with Ethelbert only on the condition that she should be permitted to remain faithful to her religion, and, to aid her in this, they had sent with her a bishop named Liudhard. After some days the king came to Thanet and ordered Augustine and his companions to come to him.... At the command of the king they sat down, and after they had preached the word of God to the king and his companions, he responded as follows: "Beautiful indeed are your words and the promises which you make. But because they are new and untried I cannot accept them and desert those things which I and all the English have held for so long. However, since you are strangers and have come so far, and since I see that you desire to share with us those things which you think are true and best, we do not wish to offend you. On the contrary, we extend to you our gracious hospitality and will supply you with the necessities of life. And you may also preach, and convert to your faith as many as you can." And he gave them a dwelling-place in Canterbury, which is the chief city of his kingdom. 40. The Oath of Boniface to Pope Gregory II, 723. Migne, 89, cols. 803 ff. Although the Franks accepted Christianity in 496, they had made little progress in ecclesiastical discipline and in the knowledge of Christian doctrine. Heathen beliefs and practices were mixed with their Christianity, and the clergy were ignorant and undisciplined. The influence and authority of the pope did not extend to them. Boniface was an Englishman, a monk, and a devoted supporter of the doctrine of papal supremacy. He spent his life as a missionary among the Germans and gained the title of the "apostle of Germany." From 715 to his death in 754 he labored with untiring zeal to convert them and to attach them to Rome. He visited Rome several times to secure the pope's consent and blessing on his work, and bound himself by an oath to labor for the advancement of papal interests. He established bishoprics which became famous, such as Würzburg, Eichstädt, and Erfurt, and monasteries, such as Fritzlar, and Fulda. By his efforts the German church was bound firmly to Rome and the pope's authority established over the church in Germany. The pope required the newly elected bishops of his diocese to take an oath to be obedient and true to him. The unity of the church was to be secured by the obedience of all to one head, that is, the pope. So when the Lombards were converted to the orthodox faith the pope required their bishops to take the same oath to him as did the bishops of his diocese. Their oath is, with the exception of a few phrases, identical with this oath of Boniface. That is, the pope regarded Lombardy and Germany as having the same relation to him as did his own diocese about Rome. I, Boniface, by the grace of God bishop, promise thee, St. Peter, prince of the apostles, and thy vicar, blessed pope Gregory, and his successors, through the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the inseparable Trinity, and on this thy most holy body, that I will hold the holy Catholic faith in all its purity, and by the help of God I will remain in unity with it, without which there is no salvation. I will in no way consent to anyone who acts against the unity of the church, but, as I have said, I will preserve the purity of my faith and give my support to thee [St. Peter] and to thy church, to which God has given the power of binding and loosing, and to thy vicar, and to his successors. And if I find out that any bishops are acting contrary to the ancient rules of the holy fathers, I will have no communion or association with them, but I will restrain them as far as I can. But if I cannot restrain them I will report it at once to my lord the pope. And if I shall ever in any way, by any deceit, or under any pretext, act contrary to this my promise, I shall be found guilty in the day of judgment, and shall suffer the punishment of Ananias and Sapphira, who presumed to try to deceive thee about their possessions and to lie to thee. This text of my oath, I, Boniface, unworthy bishop, have written with my own hand, and have placed it over the most holy body of St. Peter; before God as my witness and judge, I have taken this oath, which also I promise to keep. 41-42. The Rebellion of the Popes against the Emperor. 41. Letter of Pope Gregory II to the Emperor, Leo III, 726 or 727. Migne, 89, cols. 521 ff. From the days of Constantine the Great the emperors assumed and actually exercised extensive authority over the church, presuming even to dictate in matters which concerned the doctrine and practice of the church. Since the emperor often supported doctrines which the bishop of Rome held to be heretical, the relations between him and the pope became more and more strained. The harsh way in which the emperors treated the popes who resisted them angered the papal adherents. There were other reasons also why the rule of the emperor was disliked in Rome, and so it soon came about that the people of Rome, and even of central Italy, looked upon the pope as the head of the opposition to the emperor and heartily supported him when he rebelled against the Greek rule. The emperors met with increasing resistance when they interfered with the bishop of Rome. Pope Vigilius (547-554) was humiliated and deposed by Justinian and died in exile. Because Martin I (649-655) resisted the emperor in a doctrinal matter, Constans II (642-668) had him brought as a prisoner to Constantinople (653) and afterward exiled him to the Crimea. But Sergius I (687-701) successfully resisted the emperor and escaped arrest and deposition because the people of central Italy supported him and threatened to revolt if the emperor should seize and carry away their pope. The struggle about the use of images gave the popes an opportunity to rebel and assert their complete independence of the emperor. In 726 the emperor, Leo III, began to condemn the presence and use of images in the churches. He met with great resistance, especially in the west, where pope Gregory II vigorously defended the images. There followed a heated controversy, in the course of which the pope laid down the principle that the emperor has no authority in ecclesiastical matters. In the letter here given Gregory II asserts his independence and practically excommunicates the emperor. And Gregory III published a general excommunication of all iconoclasts, as those who destroyed images were called. The emperor was of course included in this excommunication. Peace was never again established between the pope and emperor, and the rebellion of the west was consummated in 800 when pope Leo III crowned Karl the Great emperor. We have received the letter which you sent us by your ambassador Rufinus. We are deeply grieved that you should persist in your error, that you should refuse to recognize the things which are Christ's, and to accept the teaching and follow the example of the holy fathers, the saintly miracle-workers and learned doctors. I refer not only to foreign doctors, but also to those of your own country. For what men are more learned than Gregory the worker of miracles, Gregory of Nyssa, Gregory the theologian, Basil of Cappadocia, or John Chrysostom--not to mention thousands of others of our holy fathers and doctors, who, like these, were filled with the spirit of God? But you have followed the guidance of your own wayward spirit and have allowed the exigencies of the political situation at your own court to lead you astray. You say: "I am both emperor and bishop." But the emperors who were before you, Constantine the Great, Theodosius the Great, Valentinian the Great, and Constantine the father of Justinian, who attended the sixth synod, proved themselves to be both emperors and bishops by following the true faith, by founding and fostering churches, and by displaying the same zeal for the faith as the popes. These emperors ruled righteously; they held synods in harmony with the popes, they tried to establish true doctrines, they founded and adorned churches. Those who claim to be both emperors and priests should demonstrate it by their works; you, since the beginning of your rule, have constantly failed to observe the decrees of the fathers. Wherever you found churches adorned and enriched with hangings you despoiled them. For what are our churches? Are they not made by hand of stones, timbers, straw, plaster, and lime? But they are also adorned with pictures and representations of the miracles of the saints, of the sufferings of Christ, of the holy mother herself, and of the saints and apostles; and men expend their wealth on such images. Moreover, men and women make use of these pictures to instruct in the faith their little children and young men and maidens in the bloom of youth and those from heathen nations; by means of these pictures the hearts and minds of men are directed to God. But you have ordered the people to abstain from the pictures, and have attempted to satisfy them with idle sermons, trivialities, music of pipe and zither, rattles and toys, turning them from the giving of thanks to the hearing of idle tales. You shall have your part with them, and with those who invent useless fables and babble of their ignorance. Hearken to us, emperor: abandon your present course and accept the holy church as you found her, for matters of faith and practice concern not the emperor, but the pope,{58} since we have the mind of Christ [1 Cor. 2:16]. The making of laws for the church is one thing and the governing of the empire another; the ordinary intelligence which is used in administering worldly affairs is not adequate to the settlement of spiritual matters. Behold, I will show you now the difference between the palace and the church, between the emperor and the pope; learn this and be saved; be no longer contentious. If anyone should take from you the adornments of royalty, your purple robes, diadem, sceptre, and your ranks of servants, you would be regarded by men as base, hateful, and abject; but to this condition you have reduced the churches, for you have deprived them of their ornaments and made them unsightly. Just as the pope has not the right to interfere in the palace or to infringe upon the royal prerogatives, so the emperor has not the right to interfere in the churches, or to conduct elections among the clergy, or to consecrate, or to administer the sacraments, or even to participate in the sacraments without the aid of a priest; let each one of us abide in the same calling wherein he is called of God [1 Cor. 7:20]. Do you see, emperor, the difference between popes and emperors? If anyone has offended you, you confiscate his house and take everything from him but his life, or you hang him or cut off his head, or you banish him, sending him far from his children and from all his relatives and friends. But popes do not so; when anyone has sinned and has confessed, in place of hanging him or cutting off his head, they put the gospel and the cross about his neck, and imprison him, as it were, in the sacristy or the treasure chamber of the sacred vessels; they put him into the part of the church reserved for the deacons and the catechumens; they prescribe for him fasting, vigils, and praise. And after they have chastened and punished him with fasting, then they give him of the precious body of the Lord and of the holy blood. And when they have restored him as a chosen vessel, free from sin, they hand him over to the Lord pure and unspotted. Do you see now, emperor, the difference between the church and the empire? Those emperors who have lived piously in Christ have obeyed the popes, and not vexed them. But you, emperor, since you have transgressed and gone astray, and since you have written with your own hand and confessed that he who attacks the fathers is to be execrated, have thereby condemned yourself by your own sentence and have driven from you the Holy Spirit. You persecute us and vex us tyrannically with violent and carnal hand. We, unarmed and defenseless, possessing no earthly armies, call now upon the prince of all the armies of creation, Christ seated in the heavens, commanding all the hosts of celestial beings, to send a demon upon you;{59} as the apostle says: "To deliver such an one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved" [1 Cor. 5:5]. Do you see now, emperor, to what a pitch of impudence and inhumanity you have gone? You have driven your soul headlong into the abyss, because you would not humble yourself and bend your stubborn neck. When a pope is able by his teaching and admonition to bring the emperor of his time before God, guiltless and cleansed from all sin, he gains great glory from Him on the holy day of resurrection, when all our secrets and all our works are brought to light to our confusion in the presence of his angels. But we shall blush for shame, because you will have lost your soul by your disobedience, while the popes that preceded us have won over to God the emperors of their times. How ashamed we will be on that day, that the emperor of our time is false and ignominious, instead of great and glorious. Now, therefore, we exhort you to do penance; be converted and turn to the truth; obey the truth as you found and received it. Honor and glorify our holy and glorious fathers and doctors who dispelled the blindness from our eyes and restored us to sight. You ask: "How was it that nothing was said about images in six councils?"{60} What then? Nothing was said about bread or water, whether that should be eaten or not; whether this should be drunk or not; yet these things have been accepted from the beginning for the preservation of human life. So also images have been accepted; the popes themselves brought them to councils, and no Christian would set out on a journey without images, because they were possessed of virtue and approved of God. We exhort you to be both emperor and bishop, as you have called yourself in your letter. But if you are ashamed to take this upon yourself as emperor, then write to all the regions to which you have given offence, that Gregory the pope and Germanus the patriarch of Constantinople are at fault in the matter of the images [that is, are responsible for the destruction of the images],{61} and we will take upon ourselves the responsibility for the sin, as we have authority from God to loose and to bind all things, earthly and celestial; and we will free you from responsibility in this matter. But no, you will not do this! Knowing that we would have to render account to Christ the Lord for our office, we have done our best to convert you from your error, by admonition and warning, but you have drawn back, you have refused to obey us or Germanus or our fathers, the holy and glorious miracle-workers and doctors, and you have followed the teaching of perverse and wicked men who wander from the truth. You shall have your lot with them. As we have already informed you, we shall proceed on our way to the extreme western regions, where those who are earnestly seeking to be baptized are awaiting us. For although we have sent them bishops and clergymen from our church, their princes have not yet been induced to bow their heads and be baptized, because they hope to be received into the church by us in person. Therefore we gird ourselves for the journey in the goodness of God, lest perchance we should have to render account for their condemnation and for our faithlessness. May God give you prudence and patience, that you may be turned to the truth from which you have departed; may he again restore the people to their one shepherd, Christ, and to the one fold of the orthodox churches and prelates, and may the Lord our God give peace to all the earth now and forever to all generations. Amen. {58} Note the plain statement that the emperor has no authority in ecclesiastical matters. Observe also the general tone of the whole letter. {59} This is equivalent to the excommunication of the emperor. But as Gregory's authority was not recognized in Constantinople, his excommunication of the emperor would not be observed. {60} The first six general councils of the church here referred to were (1) Nicæa, 325; (2) Constantinople, 381; (3) Ephesus, 431; (4) Chalcedon, 451; (5) Constantinople, 553; (6) Constantinople, 681. {61} The text of this passage, as Migne has it, is perhaps corrupt; its meaning, at any rate, is obscure. We have given the only reasonable interpretation that seemed possible. Apparently the pope agrees to assume the responsibility for the destruction of images in the past, if only the emperor will accept the papal view and cease from his opposition to images in the future. 42. Gregory III Excommunicates all Iconoclasts, 731 A.D. Mansi, XII, cols. 272 f; Duchesne, Liber Pontificalis, I, p. 416. See introductory note to no. 41. The pope [Gregory III] made a decree in the council that if anyone, in the future, should condemn those who hold to the old custom of the apostolic church and should oppose the veneration of the holy images, and should remove, destroy, profane, or blaspheme against the holy images of God, or of our Lord Jesus Christ, or of his mother, the immaculate and glorious Virgin Mary, or of the apostles, or of any of the saints, he should be cut off from the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. And all the clergy present solemnly signed this decree. 43. The Pope, Gregory III, Asks Aid of the Franks against the Lombards, 739. A Letter of Gregory III to Karl Martel. Jaffé, IV, p. 14. When the pope was attacked by the Lombards he found himself without protection. Aside from the fact that the Greek emperor was wholly occupied in the east, the pope was in rebellion against him and so could not expect aid from him. Under these circumstances there was nothing to do but seek help from the Franks. But Karl Martel was a friend of the Lombards and so, although the pope appealed to him more than once, Karl declined to give him aid and to interfere in the affairs of Italy. Pope Gregory to his most excellent son, Karl, sub-king. In our great affliction we have thought it necessary to write to you a second time, believing that you are a loving son of St. Peter, the prince of apostles, and of ourselves, and that out of reverence for him you would obey our commands to defend the church of God and his chosen people. We can now no longer endure the persecution of the Lombards, for they have taken from St. Peter all his possessions, even those which were given him by you and your fathers. These Lombards hate and oppress us because we sought protection from you; for the same reason also the church of St. Peter is despoiled and desolated by them. But we have intrusted a more complete account of all our woes to your faithful subject, our present messenger, and he will relate them to you. You, oh son, will receive favor from the same prince of apostles here and in the future life in the presence of God, according as you render speedy aid to his church and to us, that all peoples may recognize the faith and love and singleness of purpose which you display in defending St. Peter and us and his chosen people. For by doing this you will attain lasting fame on earth and eternal life in heaven. 44-46. The Acquisition of Land by the Pope. 44. Promise of Pippin to Pope Stephen II, 753-54. Duchesne, Liber Pontificalis, I, pp. 447 ff. The Lombards entered Italy in 568 and soon established themselves in the valley of the Po. For some years the boundary line between them and the Byzantine possessions, that is, the lands still held by the emperor, ran, roughly speaking, from Monselice (near Padua) west to Mantua, then southwest to Reggio, then northwest to Parma, then southwest to Berceto in the Apennines. But after Authari (583-90) became king of the Lombards he renewed the war of conquest which had been interrupted for a few years. He and his successors conquered the Byzantine possessions bit by bit and added them to the Lombard kingdom. In this way Lombardy was slowly enlarged and the Byzantine land, which was called the "province Italy" (Italia provincia), was correspondingly reduced in size. Success made the Lombard kings more ambitious and led them to plan the conquest of all Italy. A great step forward was taken in 749 when Aistulf took Ravenna, drove out the exarch, and put an end to the Byzantine rule in central Italy. Tuscany, which was separated from Liguria by a line from Luna to Berceto, was already in their hands, and Corsica, after suffering several invasions, had finally been occupied by them in the eighth century. Venice, Istria, and the duchies of Rome, Spoleto, and Benevento were next attacked, but they united to resist their common enemy, and put themselves under the protection of the pope. Under these circumstances Stephen II (752-757) saw an opportunity to unite all these provinces and to make himself their political head. He determined to try to succeed to the power of the emperor in Italy. He accordingly went to France and secured the promise from Pippin to give him all the above-named territories and to force the Lombards to withdraw from them into the territory which they had first occupied. See no. 6. It was an ambitious plan which Stephen II formed, but he could not carry it into effect. Pippin fulfilled his promise only in part, and the pope was content with a few cities and the promise of Aistulf that he would never again attack any of the territories named in Pippin's promise. Desiderius (756-774), however, did not keep the promise which Aistulf, his predecessor, had given, but made war on the duchy of Rome. Adrian I (772-795) called on Karl the Great to come to his aid. Karl came, and, while spending Easter (774) at Rome, at the earnest request of Adrian, renewed the promise of his father. But Karl did not keep this promise which had been so solemnly made. Contrary to the wishes of the pope he made himself king of the Lombards and thereby inherited the ambitions, pretensions, policy, and interests of the Lombard kings. The situation was changed. To Karl, as well as to the dukes of Benevento and Spoleto, and to the people of Istria, an increase in the power of the pope was no longer a desirable thing. So Karl refused to keep his promise. Adrian angrily protested. But Karl was deaf to protests and threats. Their relations were consequently strained for some time, but eventually they made a compromise. Karl gave him certain Tuscan cities and some taxes from the rest of Tuscany and from Spoleto. For nearly 200 years the promise of Pippin lost all importance, until it was renewed in 962 by Otto I, who incorporated it in his famous gift to John XII. See no. 54. When the king learned of the approach of the blessed pope, he hastened to meet him, accompanied by his wife and sons and nobles, and sent his son Charles and certain of the nobles nearly one hundred miles in advance to meet the pope. He himself, however, received the pope about three miles from his palace of Pontico, dismounting and prostrating himself with his wife and sons and nobles, and accompanying the pope a little distance on foot by his saddle as if he were his esquire. Thus the pope proceeded to the palace with the king, giving glory and praise to God in a loud voice, with hymns and spiritual songs. This was on the sixth day of the month of January, on the most holy festival of the Epiphany of our Lord Jesus Christ. And when they were seated in the palace the pope began to beseech the king with tears to make a treaty with St. Peter and the Roman state{62} and to assume the protection of their interests. And the king assured the pope on his oath that he would strive with all his powers to obey his prayers and admonitions and to restore the exarchate of Ravenna and the rights and territories of the Roman state, as the pope wished.... The aforesaid king Pippin, after receiving the admonitions and the prayers of the pope, took leave of him and proceeded to the place called Kiersy,{63} and called together there all the lords of his kingdom, and by repeating to them the holy admonitions of the pope he persuaded them to agree to fulfil his promise to the pope. {62} Rome is evidently regarded as the possession of St. Peter. In that case the administration of its government is in the hands of the pope, who is the vicar of St. Peter on earth. {63} The meeting at Kiersy took place April 14, 754. 45. Donation of Pippin, 756. Duchesne, Liber Pont., I, p. 454. See introductory note to no. 44. The most Christian king of the Franks [Pippin] despatched his counsellor Fulrad, venerable abbot and priest, to receive these cities, and then he himself straightway returned to France with his army. The aforesaid Fulrad met the representatives of King Aistulf at Ravenna, and went with them through the various cities of the Pentapolis and of Emilia, receiving their submission and taking hostages from each and bearing away with him their chief men and the keys of their gates. Then he went to Rome, and placed the keys of Ravenna and of the other cities of the exarchate along with the grant of them which the king had made, in the confession of St. Peter,{64} thus handing them over to the apostle of God [Peter] and to his vicar the holy pope and to all his successors to be held and controlled forever. These are the cities: Ravenna, Rimini, Pesaro, Conca, Fano, Cesena, Sinigaglia, Forlimpopoli, Forli with the fortress of Sussubium, Montefeltre, Acerreagium, Monte Lucati, Serra, San Marino, Bobbio, Urbino, Cagli, Lucioli, Gubbio, Comacle; and also the city of Narni, which in former years had been taken from the duchy of Spoleto by the Romans. {64} The grave of St. Peter is under the high altar of St. Peter's in Rome. In front of the grave and on the same level with it is a large open space to which one descends by a flight of steps. This open space in front of the tomb is called the "confession of St. Peter." 46. Promise of Charles to Adrian I, 774. Duchesne, Liber Pont., I p. 498. See introductory note to no. 44. Now on Wednesday the aforesaid pope [Adrian] came to the church of St. Peter the apostle, with all his officials, both ecclesiastical and military, and held a conference with the king and earnestly besought, admonished, and exhorted him by his paternal love to fulfil the promise which his father, Pippin, the former king, and he himself [that is, Karl], along with his brother Karlmann and all the officials of the Franks, had made to St. Peter and to his vicar the holy pope, Stephen II, of blessed memory, when he went to France; that is, to give to St. Peter and to all his vicars certain cities and their territories in the province of Italy to be held forever. And when the king had caused them to read to him that promise which had been made at Kiersy in France, he and his officials ratified all its provisions. And of his own will and gladly the aforesaid Karl, the most excellent and truly Christian king of the Franks, ordered another promise of the gift, an exact copy of the former, to be drawn up by Etherius, his chaplain and notary, in which he granted to St. Peter the same cities and their territories, and promised that they would be handed over to the pope according to the designated boundaries as they were contained in that gift; that is, Corsica, and from Luna to Suriano, thence over the Apennines to Berceto, thence to Parma, thence to Reggio, and thence to Mantua and Monselice; and besides the whole exarchate of Ravenna as it was of old, and the provinces of Venetia and Istria, as well as the duchies of Spoleto and Benevento. And when the grant had been drawn up and signed with his own hand, Karl caused all the bishops, abbots, dukes, and counts to sign it also. And placing it first on the altar of St. Peter, and then within his holy confession, the king of the Franks and his officials gave it thus to St. Peter and to his vicar the holy pope Adrian, promising with a solemn oath that they would observe everything contained in that grant. And this most Christian king of the Franks caused Etherius to draw up a copy of this grant and placed it himself upon the body of St. Peter, under the gospels which are kissed there, that it might be a perpetual testimonial of the gift and an eternal memorial of his name and of the Frankish kingdom. And the king took with him other copies of the same grant that were made by the notary of the holy Roman church. 47. Karl the Great Declares the Pope Has Only Spiritual Duties, 796. Letter of Karl to Leo III. Jaffé, IV. pp. 354 [ff]. Karl the Great had a keen sense of his authority and position, and resented any action which seemed to him an infringement of his prerogatives. Adrian I had offended him by presuming to approve and publish the acts of the council of Nicæa, 787, without waiting for Karl's authorization. By this letter to the pope, Leo III, Karl made it plain to him that his duties were only spiritual. Karl, by the grace of God king, of the Franks and Lombards, and patricius of the Romans, to his holiness, pope Leo, greeting.... Just as I entered into an agreement with the most holy father, your predecessor, so also I desire to make with you an inviolable treaty of mutual fidelity and love; that, on the one hand, you shall pray for me and give me the apostolic benediction, and that, on the other, with the aid of God I will ever defend the most holy seat of the holy Roman church. For it is our part to defend the holy church of Christ from the attacks of pagans and infidels from without, and within to enforce the acceptance of the catholic faith. It is your part, most holy father, to aid us in the good fight by raising your hands to God as Moses did [Ex. 17:11], so that by your intercession the Christian people under the leadership of God may always and everywhere have the victory over the enemies of His holy name, and the name of our Lord Jesus Christ may be glorified throughout the world. Abide by the canonical law in all things and obey the precepts of the holy fathers always, that your life may be an example of sanctity to all, and your holy admonitions be observed by the whole world, and that your light may so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your father which is in heaven [Matt. 5:16]. May omnipotent God preserve your holiness unharmed through many years for the exalting of his holy church. 48. Karl the Great Exercises Authority in Rome, 800. Einhard's Annals, M. G. SS. folio, I, p. 188. The title of patricius of Rome was somewhat vague and it is impossible to say exactly how much actual authority attached to it. But it is evident from Karl's conduct that he regarded himself as responsible for the government of Rome. The passage from Einhard's Annals shows that Karl was the supreme authority in legal matters there. He acted as judge even in the case of the pope. There was no one willing to make a formal charge against Leo, and hence he might have been declared innocent. But he was not willing to receive that sort of acquittal. So of his own accord he took an oath to his innocence. Anno 800. The day before Karl reached Rome pope Leo came to Nomentum to meet him. Karl received him with great honor and they dined together. The pope preceded Karl to Rome, and the next morning took his stand, with the bishops and all the clergy of the city, on the steps of St. Peter's to receive Karl when he should come. ... Seven days later Karl called a public meeting, in which he made known the reasons why he had come to Rome. He then devoted himself every day to the accomplishment of the things which had called him to the city. Of these he began with the most important as well as the most difficult, namely, the investigation of the crimes with which the pope was charged. As there was no one who was willing to prove the truth of those charges, Leo took the gospels in his hand, and, in the presence of all the people, mounted the pulpit in St. Peter's, and took an oath that he was innocent of the crimes laid to his charge. 49. The Oath of Pope Leo III before Karl the Great, 800. Jaffé, IV, pp. 378 [ff]. See introductory note to no. 48. Most beloved brethren, it is well known that evil men rose up against me and wished to do me harm and accused me of grave crimes. And now the most clement and serene king, Karl, has come with his priests and nobles to this city to try the case. Therefore, I, Leo, bishop of the holy Roman church, neither judged nor coerced by anyone, do clear and purge myself from these charges before you in the sight of God, who knows my secret thoughts, and of his holy angels, and of St. Peter, in whose church we now stand. I swear that I neither did these wicked and criminal things of which my enemies accuse me, nor ordered them to be done, and of this God is my witness, in whose presence we now stand and into whose judgment we shall come. And I do this in order to clear myself of these suspicions, and not because it is commanded in the canons, or because I desire to impose this practice as a precedent upon my successors or brothers and fellow-bishops. 50. The Oath of the Romans to Ludwig the Pious and Lothar, 824. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 35. The emperor, Ludwig the Pious, intrusted the government of Italy to his oldest son, Lothar. In order to keep control of the papal elections, Lothar compelled the Romans to take the following oath: I, (name), promise in the name of the omnipotent God and on the four holy gospels and on this cross of our Lord Jesus Christ and on the body of most blessed Peter, prince of the apostles, that from this day I will be faithful to our lords, the emperors, Ludwig [the Pious] and Lothar, all my life, according to my strength and understanding, without any fraud or deceit, in so far as this shall not violate the oath of fidelity which I have sworn to the pope. And I promise that according to my strength and understanding I will not permit a papal election to take place in any way except canonically and legally, and that he who may be elected pope shall not with my consent be consecrated until, in the presence of the emperor's ambassadors and of the people, he takes such an oath as pope Eugene{65} did that he will rule without any change. {65} Eugene II (824-827) was then pope. The text of the oath which he had sworn to Lothar is not preserved. But we may infer its contents from the expression "that he will rule without any change." 51. The Emperor Admits the Right of the Pope to Confer the Imperial Title. Passages from a Letter of Ludwig II, Emperor, to Basil, Emperor at Constantinople, 871. Bouquet, VII, pp. 572 [ff]. Although the Greek emperor, Michael, recognized Karl the Great as emperor in the west (see nos. 13-14), some of his successors took a different view of the matter and declared the emperors in the west usurpers. Basil had written to Ludwig II saying that the latter was not emperor and therefore should not assume the title. Ludwig replied with some vigor, advancing various arguments in his own favor. The student should examine this letter to discover (1) the objections which Basil had made, and (2) the arguments by which Ludwig II refuted them. Among other things, Ludwig said he had a right to the title of emperor: Because all the patriarchs and all men of every rank, except you alone, have, of their own accord, addressed us as such whenever they have written to us. And besides, our uncles [Charles the Bald and Ludwig the German], glorious kings, willingly call us emperor. And they do so, not out of regard for our age, for they are older than we, but because of the anointing and consecration by which, with God's will, we were advanced to this high office through the laying on of the hands of the pope, and because, at God's command, we have the government of the Roman empire.... We are much surprised that you should say we are laying claim to a title which is new to our family. For that cannot be a new title which was held by our grandfather. And he did not usurp it, as you say he did, but he received it at the command of God, by the decision of the church, and through the anointing and laying on of the hands of the pope.... It is absurd that you should say I have not inherited the imperial name, and that my race is not worthy to have such a dignity. Even my grandfather inherited it from his father. Why is not my race worthy of producing an emperor, since emperors have been chosen from among the Spaniards and Isaurians and Khazars? For surely you cannot say that those nations are more renowned than the Franks either in religion or in courage.... To your statement that we do not rule over even all of France, here is a brief answer: We surely do rule over all France, since we certainly have what they have, with whom we are one in flesh and blood and one spirit through the Lord. You wonder that we are called emperor of the Romans instead of emperor of the Franks. But you ought to know that if we were not emperor of the Romans we could not be emperor of the Franks. For we have received this name and dignity from the Romans, whose people and city, the mother of all the churches of God, we have received, in accordance with God's will, to govern, to defend, and to exalt, and from her our family received the authority, first, to rule as kings, and, afterward, as emperors. For the rulers of the Franks were first called kings and afterward those who were anointed with holy oil by the popes to this office were called emperors. Karl the Great, our grand-grandfather, having been anointed in this way, because of his great piety, was the first of our race and family to be called emperor and to be the anointed of the Lord. How much greater right have we to the imperial title, therefore, than the many who have been made emperor without any religious ceremony or holy rite being performed by a pope, being elected only by the senate and people of Rome, who had no regard for such holy rites? And some have been made emperor by even less authority, being proclaimed by the army, and others by women, and others in still other ways. Now, if you blame the Roman bishop for what he did [in crowning Karl the Great], you must also blame Samuel, because, after anointing Saul, he rejected him and anointed David to be king. But it will be easy to answer anyone who shall make even one complaint against the pope [for having anointed Karl the Great as emperor]. If you will search the pages of the Greek annals and see what the bishops of Rome had to endure from their enemies, and yet received no protection from you, and even what they had to endure from you and your people, you will find many things which will prevent you from blaming them. But these external matters were of little importance compared with the efforts of the Greeks to destroy the church by their many heresies. So, very properly, the bishops of Rome deserted the apostate Greeks--for what concord hath Christ with Belial? [2 Cor. 6:15]--and joined a people which clung to God and brought forth the fruits of his kingdom. For "God is no respecter of persons," as the great apostle said, "but in every nation he that feareth him is accepted with him" [Acts 10:34, 35]. Therefore, since this is so, why do you make it a reproach to us who have the imperial crown that we are born of the Franks, when in every nation he that feareth God is accepted with him? Theodosius the elder [379-395] and his sons, Arcadius and Honorius, and Theodosius the younger, son of Arcadius, were Spaniards, and yet we do not find that anyone blamed Theodosius or objected to him because he was a Spaniard, and not a Roman, or tried to prevent his sons from succeeding to the position and honor of their father, as you now try to do, as if the race of the Franks did not belong to that inheritance concerning which the Father speaks to the Son, saying: "Ask of me and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession" [Ps. 2:8]. And in another place: "For them that honor me I will honor" [1 Sam. 2:30]. And there are many other such sayings. Therefore, my dearest brother, cease to be contentious in this matter and to listen to flatterers. For the race of the Franks has brought forth the most abundant fruits to the Lord, not only in believing quickly, but also in converting others to the faith. But the Lord spoke of you when he said: "The kingdom shall be taken from you and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof" [Matt. 21:43]. For as God was able of stones to raise up children unto Abraham [Matt. 3:9], so from the hardness of the Franks he was able to raise up successors to the Roman emperors. ... And as Christians, through faith in Christ, are the seed of Abraham, and the Jews, through lack of faith, ceased to be sons of Abraham, so also we, through our correct belief, that is, through our orthodoxy, received the government of the Roman empire, and the Greeks, because of their heresy, ceased to be emperors. They deserted not only the city which was the seat of the empire, but even the Roman people, and moved to other parts [that is, Constantinople], and have even lost the Latin tongue. 52. The Pope Enacts that Papal Elections must Take Place in the Presence of the Emperor's Representatives. Enactment of a Roman Synod Held by John IX, 898. Cor. Jur. Can., Dist. LXIII, c xxviii; M. G. LL. folio, II, parte sec., p. 158. The election of a pope was often attended with violence on the part of Roman factions, which, under the leadership of various noble families, sought to elect one of their own party. John IX recognized that the emperor was the only one who could prevent these abuses and so enacted that all papal elections should take place in the presence of the emperor's representatives. Since the holy Roman church, over which in accordance with God's will we preside, on the death of a pope often suffers violence from many persons, because the pope is elected without the knowledge of the emperor, and hence the emperor does not send messengers, as canonical custom and practice require that he should, who may be present and prevent all disturbances during the election, we decree that when a pope is to be elected, the bishops{66} and all the clergy shall come together and the election shall take place in the presence of the senate and people. And the one thus chosen shall be consecrated in the presence of the emperor's messengers. {66} More than thirty bishops took part in the election of Stephen VI, 896, although there were but seven cardinal bishops. Hence this probably means all the bishops of the whole diocese of Rome, not simply the seven cardinal bishops. It is apparent therefore that in the ninth century the cardinal clergy had not yet secured any special prerogative in the election of a pope. Many think that this enactment was made in 816 instead of 898. 53. The Oath of Otto I to John XII, 961. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, no. 10. Although the pope needed the help of the king of the Germans, and was willing to confer upon him the title of emperor, yet he was afraid that Otto might assume too much authority and deprive the papal office of much of its power. He accordingly attempted to secure his position by demanding the following oath of Otto. It will be observed that Otto did not take the oath in person but sent his representative to take it for him. It was, nevertheless, binding on Otto. However, it did not prevent him from afterward deposing John and putting another pope in his place. I, Otto, king, cause my representative to promise and swear to you, pope John, in my name, by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and by this piece of the life-giving cross and by these relics of the saints, that, if I shall come to Rome with the consent of God, I will exalt the holy Roman church and you, her ruler, to the best of my ability. And you shall never by my wish, advice, consent, or instigation, suffer any loss in life or in limb, or in the honor which you now have or which you shall have obtained from me. I will never make laws or rules in regard to the things which are under your jurisdiction or the jurisdiction of the Romans without your consent. I will restore to you all of the lands of St. Peter that shall have come into my hands; and I will cause the one to whom I shall have committed Italy to rule in my absence{67} to swear to you that he will always aid you according to his ability in defending the lands of St. Peter. {67} In accordance with imperial theory, Otto, as emperor, would rule over Italy. He agrees to protect the pope "in the things which are under his jurisdiction," but that does not mean that the pope had jurisdiction in all things. The supreme authority is the emperor, to whom the pope, as well as all other bishops and princes of Italy, are subject. 54. Otto I Confirms the Pope in the Possession of his Lands, 962. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, no. 12; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 36. In order to secure his possessions, John XII persuaded Otto I to confirm his rights to them. In section 15 Otto reserves his imperial rights, thus furnishing another proof that he was sovereign over the lands which the pope held. By comparing this document with the donations of Pippin and of Karl the Great (nos. 45 and 46), the growth of the papal land claims will be apparent. In the name of omnipotent God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. We, Otto, by the grace of God emperor and Augustus, together with our glorious son, king Otto, promise and pledge to thee, St. Peter, prince of apostles and keeper of the keys of heaven, and through thee to thy vicar, pope John XII, the following possessions, as his predecessors have held and possessed them up to the present time; namely, (1) the city of Rome with its duchy, and its neighboring villages and territories, highland and lowland, shores and ports; (2) all the cities, towns, fortresses, and villages of Tuscany; that is, Porto, Civita Vecchia, Ceri, Bieda, Marturianum, Sutri, Nepi, Gallese, Orte, Polimartium, Ameria, Todi, Perugia, with its three islands, the larger and the smaller, and Pulvensis, Narni, and Otricoli, with all the territories belonging to the aforesaid cities; (3) the whole exarchate of Ravenna with all the cities, towns, and fortresses which our predecessors the most excellent emperors, Pippin and Karl, conferred on St. Peter and your predecessors by a deed of gift; namely, the city of Ravenna and the district of Emilia, including the following towns: Bobbio, Cesena, Forlimpopoli, Forli, Faenza, Imola, Bologna, Ferrara, Comacle, Adria, and Gabello, with all the territories and islands by land and sea which belong to the aforesaid cities; (4) likewise also the Pentapolis; that is, Rimini, Pesaro, Fano, Sinigaglia, Ancona, Osimo, Humana, Iesi, Forum Sempronii, Montefeltre, Urbino, and the territory of Balneum, Cagli, Lucioli, and Gubbio, with all the territories belonging to the aforesaid cities; (5) likewise the whole Sabine territory as it was granted to St. Peter by our predecessor, emperor Karl, by a deed of gift; (6) likewise in Lombard Tuscany the fortress of Felicitas, and the towns of Orvieto, Bagnorea, Ferento, Viterbo, Orcle, Marca, Toscanella, Soana, Populonia, and Roselle, with all their suburbs and villages and all their territories, towns, and boundaries; (7) and likewise from Luna, with the island of Corsica, to Suriano, thence over the Apennines to Berceto, thence to Parma, thence to Reggio, thence to Mantua and Monselice, together with the provinces of Venetia and Istria and all the duchies of Spoleto and Benevento, and the church of St. Christina which is situated on the Po about four miles from Pavia; (8) and likewise in Campania, Sora, Arce, Aquino, Arpino, Teano, Capua; (9) likewise the patrimonies under your power and sway, such as the patrimonies of Benevento, Naples, and upper and lower Calabria, and also of the island of Sicily, if God shall give it unto our hand; (10) likewise the cities of Gaeta and Fondi with all their belongings; (11) moreover we offer to thee, St. Peter, the apostle, and to thy vicar, pope John and his successors, for the salvation of our own soul and the souls of our son and our parents, the following cities and towns from our own lands; namely, Rieti, San Vittorino [on the Aterno], Furco, Norcia, Balua, Marsi, and besides the city of Teramne. (12) All the aforesaid provinces, cities, towns, fortresses, villages, territories, and patrimonies, we now grant to thee, St. Peter, and through thee to thy vicar, our spiritual father, pope John, and his successors to the end of the world, for the salvation of our own soul and the souls of our son, our parents, and our successors, and for the preservation of the whole Frankish people; and we grant them in such a way that the popes shall possess them in their own right and government and control. (13) Likewise, by this agreement we confirm all the gifts which king Pippin and emperor Karl voluntarily gave to St. Peter, the apostle, and also the rents and payments and taxes which were paid annually to the king of the Lombards from Tuscany and the duchy of Spoleto, as is contained in the aforesaid donation and as was agreed upon between pope Adrian of blessed memory and the emperor Karl, when the same pope surrendered to the emperor his claims on the provinces of Tuscany and Spoleto on condition that the aforesaid taxes should be paid each year to the church of St. Peter, the apostle. But in all this our authority over these provinces and their subjection to us and to our son are not in any way diminished. (14) We therefore confirm your possession of all the things mentioned above in this document; they shall remain in your right and ownership and control, and no one of our successors shall on any pretext take from you any part of the aforesaid provinces, cities, towns, fortresses, villages, dependencies, territories, patrimonies, or taxes, or lessen your authority over them. We will never do so, nor allow others to do so, but we will always defend the church of St. Peter and the popes who rule over that church in their possession of all these things, as far as in us lies, that the popes may be able to keep these things in their control to use, enjoy, and dispose of. (15) In all this there shall be no derogation of our power or of the power of our son and our successors. 55. Leo VIII Grants the Emperor the Right to Choose the Pope and Invest all Bishops, 963. Cor. Jur. Can., Dist. LXIII, c. xxiii; Migne, 134, cols. 992 ff. Otto I, after the rebellion of John XII, deposed him and caused a layman to be made pope, who took the title Leo VIII. The new pope then issued a decree, the essence of which is contained in the following document. It shows how determined Otto was to assert his imperial authority and is important as a statement of the imperial theory. Leo VIII is regarded as an anti-pope by the Roman church, because, according to the papal theory, Otto had no power to depose a pope. John XII was the legal pope and there could be no other until he died. In the synod held at Rome in the Church of the Holy Saviour. Following the example of blessed pope Adrian, who granted to Karl, victorious king of the Franks and Lombards, the dignity of the patriciate and the right to ordain the pope and to invest bishops, we, Leo, bishop, servant of the servants of God, with all the clergy and people of Rome, by our apostolic authority bestow upon lord Otto I, king of the Germans, and upon his successors in the kingdom of Italy forever, the right of choosing the successor of the pope, and of ordaining the pope and the archbishops and bishops, so that they shall receive their investiture and consecration from him, with the exception of those prelates whose investiture and consecration the emperor has conceded to the pope or the archbishops. No one, no matter what his dignity or ecclesiastical rank, shall have the authority to choose the patricius or to ordain the pope or any bishop without the consent of the emperor, and that without bribery; and the emperor shall be by right both king [of Italy] and patricius [of Rome]. But if anyone has been chosen bishop by the clergy and people, he shall not be consecrated unless he has been approved by the aforesaid king and has received his investiture from him.... 56. The Pope Confers the Royal Title. A Letter of Pope Sylvester II to Stephen of Hungary, 1000. Migne, 139, cols. 274 ff. Previous to this time, it was considered the emperor's right to confer the royal title and to elevate a person to the rank of king. Here, for the first time in the history of the papacy, a pope confers the royal title, thereby intrenching on the imperial prerogative. Otto III, who was then emperor, did not resist this papal infringement of his rights. Later popes were not slow to see the value of this act as a precedent (see nos. 69, 72, 128), and exercised the right to confer titles and dignities as they pleased. This act of Sylvester II is, therefore, an important milestone in the history of the development of the papal prerogatives. Sylvester, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Stephen, king of the Hungarians, greeting and apostolic benediction. Your ambassadors, especially our dear brother, Astricus, bishop of Colocza, were received by us with the greater joy and accomplished their mission with the greater ease, because we had been divinely forewarned to expect an embassy from a nation still unknown to us.... Surely, according to the apostle: "It is not of him that willeth nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy" [Rom. 9:16]; and according to the testimony of Daniel: "He changeth the times and the seasons; he removeth kings and setteth up kings; he revealeth the deep and secret things; he knoweth what is in the darkness" [Dan. 2:21, 22]; for in him is that light which, as John teaches, "lighteth every man that cometh into the world" [John 1:9]. Therefore we first give thanks to God the Father, and to our Lord Jesus Christ, because he has found in our time another David, and has again raised up a man after his own heart to feed his people Israel, that is, the chosen race of the Hungarians. Secondly, we praise you for your piety toward God and for your reverence for this apostolic see, over which, not by our own merits, but by the mercy of God, we now preside. Finally, we commend the liberality you have shown in offering to St. Peter yourself and your people and your kingdom and possessions by the same ambassadors and letters. For by this deed you have clearly demonstrated that you already are what you have asked us to declare you [_i.e._, a king]. But enough of this; it is not necessary to commend him whom God himself has commended and whose deeds openly proclaim to be worthy of all commendation. Now therefore, glorious son, by the authority of omnipotent God and of St. Peter, the prince of apostles, we freely grant, concede, and bestow with our apostolic benediction all that you have sought from us and from the apostolic see; namely, the royal crown and name, the creation of the metropolitanate of Gran, and of the other bishoprics. Moreover, we receive under the protection of the holy church the kingdom which you have surrendered to St. Peter, together with yourself and your people, the Hungarian nation; and we now give it back to you and to your heirs and successors to be held, possessed, ruled, and governed. And your heirs and successors, who shall have been legally elected by the nobles, shall duly offer obedience and reverence to us and to our successors in their own persons or by ambassadors, and shall confess themselves the subjects of the Roman church, who does not hold her subjects as slaves, but receives them all as children. They shall persevere in the catholic faith and the religion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and strive always to promote it. And because you have fulfilled the office of the apostles in preaching Christ and propagating his faith, and have tried to do in your realm the work of us and of our clergy, and because you have honored the same prince of apostles above all others, therefore by this privilege we grant you and your successors, who shall have been legally elected and approved by the apostolic see, the right to have the cross borne before you as a sign of apostleship,{68} after you have been crowned with the crown which we send and according to the ceremony which we have committed to your ambassadors. And we likewise give you full power by our apostolic authority to control and manage all the churches of your realm, both present and future, as divine grace may guide you, as representing us and our successors. All these things are contained more fully and explicitly in that general letter which we have sent by our messenger to you and to your nobles and faithful subjects. And we pray that omnipotent God, who called you even from your mother's womb to the kingdom and crown, and who has commanded us to give you the crown which we had prepared for the duke of Poland, may increase continually the fruits of your good works, and sprinkle with the dew of his benediction this young plant of your kingdom, and preserve you and your realm and protect you from all enemies, visible and invisible, and, after the trials of the earthly kingship are past, crown you with an eternal crown in the kingdom of heaven. Given at Rome, March 27, in the thirteenth indiction [the year 1000]. {68} The title "apostolic king of Hungary" is still used by the emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. 57. The Emperor, Henry III, Deposes and Creates Popes, 1048. Annales Romani; in Watterich, Pontificum Romanorum Vitae, I, pp. 73 ff. The papacy having again fallen under the control of Roman factions, there were three men claiming to be pope. The emperor regarded it as his duty as well as his right to decide who was the true pope, and came to Italy for that purpose. He not only deposed the three contesting popes and named another, but so long as he lived he controlled the papal elections. Now when the report of this incredible controversy had reached the ears of Henry, by the grace of God most invincible emperor, he set out for Italy with a great force and an immense army. And when he came to the city called Sutri, he called to him pope Gregory and the clergy of Rome and decreed that a great synod should be held in the holy church of Sutri. And after he had tried the case canonically and justly and had made the rights of the matter plain to the holy and religious bishops according to the canons, he condemned with perpetual anathema John, bishop of Sabina, to whom they had given the name Silvester, John the archpresbyter, whom they called Gregory, and the aforesaid pope Benedict. Then he proceeded to Rome with so great a following that the city could not hold it. Henry, by the grace of God pious and benign king, called together the multitude of the Roman people and the bishops and abbots and the whole Roman clergy in the basilica of St. Peter, and held there a holy and glorious synod; and on the day before Christmas he appointed an excellent, holy, and benign pope, who took the name of Clement. And on Christmas day the aforesaid king was crowned by the holy and benign pope, and the whole city of Rome rejoiced and the holy Roman church was exalted and glorified because so dangerous a schism had at length by the mercy of God been ended. And then the most serene emperor, perceiving the desire of the whole Roman people, as they had expressed it to him, placed on his own head the band with which the Romans from of old had been wont to crown their _patricii_. And the pope and the clergy and the Romans granted him the right to create popes and such bishops as have regalian rights; and it was further agreed that no bishop should be consecrated until he had received his investiture from the hand of the king. And just as pope Adrian had confirmed these things by a charter, so also they, by a charter, gave, confirmed, and put in the power of Henry and his successors the patriciate and the other rights as stated above.{69} Now after the king had returned to his own realm, pope Clement sat upon the apostolic throne nine months and sixteen days, and then left the terrestrial for the celestial kingdom. Then the Roman people, assembled together, sent messengers to king Henry with a letter beseeching him, as servants beseech their lord, or children their father, to appoint for them a chaste and benign man of godly life as shepherd of the holy Roman church and of the whole world. Now when Benedict, the former pope, learned of the death of Clement (for he was staying at Tusculum), he succeeded in winning over a part of the Roman people by bribery and again usurped the pontificate. But when the ambassadors of the Romans came to the king, he received them in his palace with great honor and gave them many gifts; then, calling together a great assembly of bishops, abbots, counts, margraves, and other princes, according to the decrees of the holy fathers, he chose a pope who should be pleasing to God and the whole people. The ambassadors of the Romans returned to Rome, preceding the new pope, Damasus. But the good pope himself changed his route and betook himself to Italy. Now when he had come to the margrave Boniface, who had assisted the aforesaid pope Benedict to seize the papal throne, the margrave addressed him in these cunning words: "I cannot go on to Rome with you, because the Romans have restored the former pope, and he has regained the power which he had formerly, and has made peace with them. Therefore I cannot go to Rome, especially as I am now an old man." When the holy pope heard this, he returned and told all these things to the emperor. When the king heard it, he recognized the shrewdness and cunning of the margrave, and addressed him by letter, as follows: "Since you have restored to the pontificate a pope who was canonically deposed, and have been led by your love of gain to hold our empire in contempt, understand now that, unless you mend your ways, I will come quickly and make you mend against your will, and I will give the Roman people a pope worthy in the sight of God." Then Boniface, seeing that his rebellion would profit him nothing, drove Benedict from the papal throne by his ambassador and went to Rome with pope Damasus. ... And Damasus held the pontificate twenty-three days and then died, and Leo was enthroned in the Roman see by the emperor and his nobles. {69} Apparently this was a reënactment of the grant of Leo VIII to Otto I, 963. See no. 55. 58. The Pope Becomes the Feudal Lord of Southern Italy and Sicily, 1059. The Oaths of Robert Guiscard to Pope Nicholas II, 1059. Baronius, Annales, anno 1059, §§ 70 and 71. Southern Italy and Sicily had been allowed to take care of themselves. The Greek emperor had not been able to retain his hold on them, and the German emperor, while claiming them, had never succeeded in extending his power over them. A handful of adventurous Normans had established themselves on the mainland and had assumed the title of counts. Their ambition grew with their fortune; they desired a higher title than count and wished to increase their possessions. So they turned to the pope and asked him to confer upon them the title of duke, and to give them his blessing in their proposed conquest of Sicily, which was in the hands of the Mohammedans. In granting the request of these Normans, the pope assumed the lordship over southern Italy and Sicily, to which he had no right, and thereby put forth claims which conflicted with those of both emperors. For more than two centuries the possession of southern Italy and Sicily was the ground for a bitter struggle between the popes and the German emperors. The importance of this event is seen when we consider that the long struggle between the papacy and the empire was about to begin. The pope had little besides his spiritual weapons (excommunication, interdict) with which to oppose the emperor. But in Robert Guiscard he secured a powerful vassal who was to render him great military aid against the emperor. § 70. I, Robert, by the grace of God and of St. Peter duke of Apulia and Calabria, and with their aid to be duke of Sicily [that is, when I shall have conquered it], in confirmation of the gift and in recognition of my oath of fidelity, promise that from all the lands which I hold under my own sway, and which I have never conceded that anyone from beyond the mountains{70} [Alps, that is, Germany] holds, I will pay annually for each yoke of oxen 12 denarii of the mint of Pavia to you, my lord, Nicholas, pope, and to all your successors, or to your or their legates. And this payment shall be made at the end of the year on easter day. I bind myself and my heirs and my successors to pay this sum to my lord, Nicholas, pope, and to your successors. So help me God and these holy gospels. § 71. I, Robert, by the grace of God and St. Peter duke of Apulia and Calabria, and by the aid of both to be duke of Sicily, from this hour forth will be faithful to the holy Roman church and to you, my lord, Nicholas, pope. I will have no share in any counsel or act intended to deprive you of life or limb, or to capture you by any fraud. Any secret plan which you may reveal to me with the command not to tell it I will not wittingly publish to your hurt. I will always aid with all my might the holy Roman church to acquire the regalia and possessions of St. Peter, and to hold them against all men. I will aid you to hold in security and honor the papal office, the land of St. Peter, and the government. I will not try either to usurp or to seize it, nor will I devastate it without your permission or that of your successors, except only that land which you or your successors may give me. I will earnestly strive to pay at the appointed time the sum agreed on from the land of St. Peter which I may hold. I put all the churches, with their possessions, which are in my lands, under your authority, and I will defend them according to my oath of fidelity to the holy Roman church. And if you or your successors shall die before I do, according as I shall have been advised by the better cardinals, the clergy of Rome, and the laity, I will do all that I can that a pope may be elected and ordained to the honor of St. Peter. All the above written things I will observe with true faithfulness to the holy Roman church and to you. And this oath of fidelity I will observe to those of your successors who may confirm to me the investiture which you have granted me. So help me God and these holy gospels. {70} Robert here denies that the German emperor has any right to Sicily and southern Italy. He had never held them, and hence they were not a part of his empire. 59. The Papal Election Decree of Nicholas II, 1059. Scheffer-Boichorst, Die Neuordnung der Papstwahl durch Nicholas II, pp. 14 ff; Docberl, III, no. 4 a. Henry III (1039-56) deposed and appointed popes as he pleased (see no. 57). But with the spread of Cluniac ideas, there grew up a party in the church which strove with increasing energy and clearness of purpose to make the church self-governing and independent of all lay influence. Its aim was to unify and organize the government of the church by putting all ecclesiastical power in the hands of the pope, who should rule the church through a hierarchy of archbishops and bishops. Of this party, which was called hierarchical, the archdeacon, Hildebrand, was the head. It took advantage of the opportunity offered by the youth of Henry IV and the weak rule of the regent, his mother Agnes, to establish a way by which the pope might be elected by the clergy instead of being appointed by the emperor. The document by which this was done is know as the election decree of Nicholas II (1059-61) and was enacted in a council at Rome in 1059. Since 1048 Hildebrand had been the power behind the papal throne, and with rare skill he had directed the policy of each successive pope. He had been able to do much toward accomplishing the purpose of this party. But at the death of Stephen IX in 1058 a faction of the Roman nobility, known as the Tusculan party, threatened to overturn all that the hierarchical party had accomplished. While Hildebrand was absent from Rome on a mission to Germany, Stephen IX died and the Tusculan party set up one of its own members as pope, who called himself Benedict X. The cardinals who attempted to resist this election were persecuted and compelled to flee. When Hildebrand heard of this he hastened to call a council at Siena. This council, which was composed chiefly of five cardinal bishops, deposed Benedict X and elected Gerhard, bishop of Florence, pope, who assumed the name of Nicholas II. According to this decree the election of a pope consisted of the five following parts: (1) The seven cardinal bishops chose the pope. Although their choice was supposed to be final it must (2) be confirmed by the other cardinal clergy. (3) Then the rest of the clergy and the people of Rome must express their consent. (4) The election was then reported to the emperor, who was expected to confirm it, and then (5) the pope elect was consecrated as pope and enthroned in the chair of St. Peter by the cardinal bishops. This latter part of the ceremony must, of course, take place at Rome. The decree does not say what shall be done if the other clergy or the emperor should refuse to confirm the choice of the cardinal bishops. There were those who demanded that the emperor be permitted to approve or reject the candidate before the election took place. As precedents in favor of this they referred to the long list of popes who had been either nominated or appointed by various emperors. The part which the emperor was to have in the election of a pope is not stated in the decree, but section 4 shows plainly that Nicholas and Henry had come to an agreement on that subject, and from other sources we know what its terms were. This agreement was limited to Henry alone, for each of his successors must secure his share in the papal election by demanding it of the pope. This decree seems to justify certain irregularities or peculiarities in the election of Nicholas himself and hence may be said to have an apologetic character. (1) His election took place not in Rome, but in Siena. (2) He was not a member of the church in Rome, but was bishop of Florence. (3) It was chiefly the cardinal bishops who elected him. (4) Since the Tusculan party held Rome it was some time before he could be consecrated and enthroned, but in the meanwhile he exercised papal authority. The cardinal bishops had already acquired certain prerogatives over the other cardinal clergy. They alone, besides the pope, could say mass at the high altar in St. John's in Lateran; they represented the pope during his absence from Rome; they consecrated and enthroned the pope; they assisted the pope in anointing and crowning the emperor; and without their consent the pope could not bestow the pallium upon an archbishop. By this decree they now acquire the new and important right of nominating the pope. But this high prerogative they were not able to retain permanently. From 1050 to 1100 they succeeded in depriving the other cardinal clergy of much of their power and influence. They were the chief advisers of the popes. In accordance with the terms of this decree they elected Alexander II (1061-73) (the election of Gregory VII (1073-85) was somewhat irregular), Victor III (1086-87), and Urban II (1087-99). But the other cardinal clergy were not content to be thus thrust down; they struggled successfully against the growing power of the cardinal bishops and finally regained the right which had once been theirs. The election of Paschal II (1099-1118) was made by all the cardinal clergy, not by the cardinal bishops alone, and afterward the election of a pope was the concern of all the cardinal clergy. The original of this decree is lost and the copy which has come down to us is slightly imperfect, as there are omissions in it. Some one representing the imperial party, not satisfied with the share which it gave the emperor in the papal election, changed it to suit the demands of his party. It is now known that this imperial form of the decree is a forgery. In section 2 the quotation from Leo I (440-461) is meant in a general way to justify the prerogative here attributed to the cardinal bishops, and especially their right to consecrate and enthrone the pope. In the name of the Lord God, our Saviour Jesus Christ, in the 1059th year from his incarnation, in the month of April, in the 12th indiction, in the presence of the holy gospels, the most reverend and blessed apostolic pope Nicholas presiding in the Lateran patriarchal basilica which is called the church of Constantine, the most reverend archbishops, bishops, and abbots, and the venerable presbyters and deacons also being present, the same venerable pontiff by his apostolic authority decreed thus concerning the election of the pope: "Most beloved brothers and fellow-bishops, you know, since it is not hidden even from the humbler members, how after the death of our predecessor, Stephen of blessed memory, this apostolic seat, which by the will of God I now serve, suffered many evils, how indeed it was subjected to many serious attacks from the simoniacal money-changers, so that the column of the living God seemed about to topple, and the skiff of the supreme fisherman [Peter] was nearly wrecked by the tumultuous storms. Therefore, if it pleases you, we ought now, with the aid of God, prudently to take measures to prevent future misfortunes, and to provide for the state of the church in the future, lest those evils, again appearing, which God forbid, should prevail against it. Therefore, fortified by the authority of our predecessors and the other holy fathers, we decide and declare: "1. On the death of a pontiff of the universal Roman church, first, the cardinal bishops,{71} with the most diligent consideration, shall elect a successor; then they shall call in the other cardinal clergy [to ratify their choice], and finally the rest of the clergy and the people shall express their consent to the new election. "2. In order that the disease of venality may not have any opportunity to spread, the devout clergy shall be the leaders in electing the pontiff, and the others shall acquiesce. And surely this order of election is right and lawful, if we consider either the rules or the practice of various fathers, or if we recall that decree of our predecessor, St. Leo, for he says: 'By no means can it be allowed that those should be ranked as bishops who have not been elected by the clergy, and demanded by the people, and consecrated by their fellow-bishops of the province with the consent of the metropolitan.' But since the apostolic seat is above all the churches in the earth, and therefore can have no metropolitan over it, without doubt the cardinal bishops perform in it the office of the metropolitan, in that they advance the elected prelate to the apostolic dignity [that is, choose, consecrate, and enthrone him]. "3. The pope shall be elected from the church in Rome, if a suitable person can be found in it, but if not, he is to be taken from another church. "4. In the papal election--in accordance with the right which we have already conceded to Henry and to those of his successors who may obtain the same right from the apostolic see--due honor and reverence shall be shown our beloved son, Henry, king and emperor elect [that is, the rights of Henry shall be respected]. "5. But if the wickedness of depraved and iniquitous men shall so prevail that a pure, genuine, and free election cannot be held in this city, the cardinal bishops with the clergy and a few laymen shall have the right to elect the pontiff wherever they shall deem most fitting. "6. But if after an election any disturbance of war or any malicious attempt of men shall prevail so that he who is elected cannot be enthroned according to custom in the papal chair, the pope elect shall nevertheless exercise the right of ruling the holy Roman church, and of disposing of all its revenues, as we know St. Gregory did before his consecration. "But if anyone, actuated by rebellion or presumption or any other motive, shall be elected or ordained or enthroned in a manner contrary to this our decree, promulgated by the authority of the synod, he with his counsellors, supporters, and followers shall be expelled from the holy church of God by the authority of God and the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and shall be subjected to perpetual anathema as Antichrist and the enemy and destroyer of all Christianity; nor shall he ever be granted a further hearing in the case, but he shall be deposed without appeal from every ecclesiastical rank which he may have held formerly. Whoever shall adhere to him or shall show him any reverence as if he were pope, or shall aid him in any way, shall be subject to like sentence. Moreover, if any rash person shall oppose this our decree and shall try to confound and disturb the Roman church by his presumption contrary to this decree, let him be cursed with perpetual anathema and excommunication, and let him be numbered with the wicked who shall not arise on the day of judgment. Let him feel upon him the weight of the wrath of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and let him experience in this life and the next the anger of the holy apostles, Peter and Paul, whose church he has presumed to confound. Let his habitation be desolate and let none dwell in his tents [Ps. 69:25]. Let his children be orphans and his wife a widow. Let him be driven forth and let his sons beg and be cast out from their habitations. Let the usurer take all his substance and let others reap the fruit of his labors. Let the whole earth fight against him and let all the elements be hostile to him, and let the powers of all the saints in heaven confound him and show upon him in this life their evident vengeance. But may the grace of omnipotent God protect those who observe this decree and free them from the bonds of all their sins by the authority of the holy apostles Peter and Paul." I, Nicholas, bishop of the holy Catholic and apostolic church, have subscribed this decree which has been promulgated by us, as said above. I, Boniface, by the grace of God bishop of Albano, have subscribed. I, Humbert, bishop of the holy church of Silva Candida, have subscribed. I, Peter, bishop of the church of Ostia, have subscribed. And other bishops to the number of seventy-six, with priests and deacons. {71} The seven cardinal bishops were those of Palæstrina, Porto, Ostia, Tusculum, Silva Candida, Albano, and Sabina. III. THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE EMPIRE AND THE PAPACY, 1073-1250 60-64. Prohibition of Simony, Marriage of the Clergy, and Lay Investiture, 1074-1123. According to Roman ideas religion and its ministers were a part of the state and hence under the control of the government. When Constantine made Christianity a legal religion the state took the same attitude toward the new religion that it had toward the old. The emperor assumed control over the Christian clergy, and the view soon prevailed that they were officials of the state. Their duties, which were at first purely spiritual, were soon extended to secular matters. For obvious reasons the bishops were given an oversight over the administration of justice. During the invasions of the barbarians the secular functions of the bishops were greatly increased. Karl the Great made constant use of the bishops in the administration of his realm. By the tenth century many bishops were intrusted to a large extent with the secular government of their dioceses and so were full-fledged officials of the state. Attendance on diets was required of all officials, and eventually it was required only of officials. So it came about that the bishops especially formed an important part of the diet. Because of their learning they were indispensable to the emperor in conducting the affairs of his court and government; they naturally became his chief advisers. The bishops, then, have two sets of functions, the one spiritual, the other secular. Through bequests and gifts from various sources the clergy, and especially the bishops and chief abbots, became great landholders. Many gave to the clergy for religious reasons, such as the salvation of their souls. But the emperors had still other motives: because of their office as emperor they were bound to build up the church; they felt it to be their duty to reward and to strengthen the clergy who were their faithful officials; and, furthermore, since they frequently met with opposition from the lay nobility, they thought it advisable to build up a strong ecclesiastical nobility to serve as a check upon the former. As all other offices and relations became feudalized, so all the clergy underwent the same process. The bishops became the vassals of the emperor, and sustained the same feudal relations to him as did the lay nobility. Since the bishops were both the officials and vassals of the emperor, it is certain that he would insist on having a voice in their election. Although the laws of the church did not permit this, nevertheless we find that from Karl the Great to Henry III all the emperors exercised the right of naming or appointing the bishops. Although at the time no objection was made to this action of the emperors, a new party had now arisen in the church which condemned it as simoniacal. This new party had its origin in the monastery of Cluny, from which it took its name. It was famous for the great reforms which it was trying to bring about. Now it was a part of the Cluniac programme that the church should be freed from all lay influence and that all ecclesiastical offices should be filled not by lay appointment but by election by the clergy (canonical election). Thus they gave simony a new meaning by declaring that every election which was not canonical was simoniacal. For simony was originally only the purchase or sale of any ecclesiastical office, but as the church, under the influence of this Cluniac party, developed her laws regarding canonical election and investiture, it came to be applied to every form of election and investiture other than canonical. The emperors had not only appointed the bishops, but they had also inducted them into their office. The induction into office was called investiture. Without it no one could fill the office to which he had been elected. To symbolize the power of the office the emperor presented the bishop with certain objects, such as a ring and a staff, which represented his spiritual authority over his diocese, and with a sceptre, which represented his temporal authority. The Cluniac party opposed all lay investiture and insisted that all the clergy should receive the symbols of their power from the church. But since the emperor's temporal interests were so largely involved, he could not yield to the Cluniac demands without great loss of power. He could not tamely surrender to the pope the control of the bishops and their broad lands. Nor was it probable that the nobility would give up their rights (as patrons, etc.) to appoint the local clergy and to invest them with their office. So the struggle over investiture was long and bitter. Lay investiture had already been prohibited by Nicholas II in the Lateran synod of 1059 but no steps had been taken to enforce the prohibition. Gregory VII renewed the prohibition and made it one of the prominent parts of his programme. Although the opinion had long prevailed in the church that the celibate life, or chastity, was more holy than the married life, and therefore more becoming in the clergy, yet it was not uncommon for clergymen to marry. The Cluniac party regarded this state of affairs as especially blameworthy, and demanded that all the clergy be required to take the vow of perpetual chastity. In this, as in other respects, Gregory VII endeavored to carry out the Cluniac programme and so exerted himself to suppress clerical marriage, or, as the Cluniac party called it, clerical concubinage. The following documents, nos. 60-64, illustrate the legislation of the church in regard to simony, celibacy, and investiture. 60. Prohibition of Simony and of the Marriage of the Clergy, 1074 A.D. Sigebert of Gembloux, ad annum 1074; M. G. SS. folio, VI, p. 362. Pope Gregory [VII] held a synod in which he anathematized all who were guilty of simony. He also forbade all clergy who were married to say mass, and all laymen were forbidden to be present when such a married priest should officiate. In this he seemed to many to act contrary to the decisions of the holy fathers who have declared that the sacraments of the church are neither made more effective by the good qualities, nor less effective by the sins, of the officiating priest, because it is the Holy Spirit who makes them effective. 61. Simony and Celibacy. The Roman Council, 1074. Mansi, XX, p. 404. Those who have been advanced to any grade of holy orders, or to any office, through simony, that is, by the payment of money, shall hereafter have no right to officiate in the holy church. Those also who have secured churches by giving money shall certainly be deprived of them. And in the future it shall be illegal for anyone to buy or to sell [any ecclesiastical office, position, etc.]. Nor shall clergymen who are married say mass or serve the altar in any way. We decree also that if they refuse to obey our orders, or rather those of the holy fathers, the people shall refuse to receive their ministrations, in order that those who disregard the love of God and the dignity of their office may be brought to their senses through feeling the shame of the world and the reproof of the people. 62. Celibacy of the Clergy. Gregory VII, 1074. Mansi, XX, p. 433; Corpus Juris Can., Diet. LXXXI, e. xv. If there are any priests, deacons, or subdeacons who are married, by the power of omnipotent God and the authority of St. Peter we forbid them to enter a church until they repent and mend their ways. But if any remain with their wives, no one shall dare hear them [when they officiate in the church], because their benediction is turned into a curse, and their prayer into a sin. For the Lord says through the prophet, "I will curse your blessings" [Mal. 2:2]. Whoever shall refuse to obey this most salutary command shall be guilty of the sin of idolatry. For Samuel says: "For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry" [1 Sam. 15:23]. Whoever therefore asserts that he is a Christian but refuses to obey the apostolic see, is guilty of paganism. 63. Action of the Ninth General Council in the Lateran Against the Marriage of the Clergy, 1123 A.D. Densinger, p. 106; Hefele, V, p. 194. We forbid priests, deacons, and subdeacons to live with wives or concubines, and no woman shall live with a clergyman except those who are permitted by the council of Nicæa, viz.: mother, sister, aunt, or others of such sort that no suspicion may justly arise concerning them. 64. Prohibition of Lay Investiture, November 19, 1078. Jaffé, II, p. 332; Doeberl, III, no. 5 a. Since we know that investitures have been made by laymen in many places, contrary to the decrees of the holy fathers, and that very many disturbances injurious to the Christian religion have thereby arisen in the church, we therefore decree: that no clergyman shall receive investiture of a bishopric, monastery, or church from the hand of the emperor, or the king, or any lay person, man or woman. And if anyone has ventured to receive such investiture, let him know that it is annulled by apostolic authority, and that he is subject to excommunication until he has made due reparation. 65. Dictatus Papæ, _ca._ 1090. Jaffé, II, p. 174; Doeberl, III, no 6. Until recently the _Dictatus Papæ_ was supposed to have been written by Gregory VII, but it is now known to have had a different origin. In 1087 cardinal Deusdedit published a collection of the laws of the church, which he drew from many sources, such as the actions of councils and the writings of the popes. The _Dictatus_ agrees so clearly and closely with this collection, that it must have been based on it; and so must be later than the date of its compilation, 1087. It seems evident that some one, while reading the collection of Deusdedit, wishing to formulate the papal rights and prerogatives, expressed them in these twenty-seven theses. Although they were not formulated by Gregory himself, there is no doubt that they express his chief principles. 1. That the Roman church was established by God alone. 2. That the Roman pontiff alone is rightly called universal. 3. That he alone has the power to depose and reinstate bishops. 4. That his legate, even if he be of lower, ecclesiastical rank, presides over bishops in council, and has the power to give sentence of deposition against them. 5. That the pope has the power to depose those who are absent [_i.e._, without giving them a hearing]. 6. That, among other things, we ought not to remain in the same house with those whom he has excommunicated. 7. That he alone has the right, according to the necessity of the occasion, to make new laws, to create new bishoprics, to make a monastery of a chapter of canons, and _vice versa_, and either to divide a rich bishopric or to unite several poor ones. 8. That he alone may use the imperial insignia. 9. That all princes shall kiss the foot of the pope alone. 10. That his name alone is to be recited in the churches. 11. That the name applied to him belongs to him alone. 12. That he has the power to depose emperors. 13. That he has the right to transfer bishops from one see to another when it becomes necessary. 14. That he has the right to ordain as a cleric anyone from any part of the church whatsoever. 15. That anyone ordained by him may rule [as bishop] over another church, but cannot serve [as priest] in it, and that such a cleric may not receive a higher rank from any other bishop. 16. That no general synod may be called without his order. 17. That no action of a synod and no book shall be regarded as canonical without his authority. 18. That his decree can be annulled by no one, and that he can annul the decrees of anyone. 19. That he can be judged by no one. 20. That no one shall dare to condemn a person who has appealed to the apostolic seat. 21. That the important cases of any church whatsoever shall be referred to the Roman church [that is, to the pope]. 22. That the Roman church has never erred and will never err to all eternity, according to the testimony of the holy scriptures. 23. That the Roman pontiff who has been canonically ordained is made holy by the merits of St. Peter, according to the testimony of St. Ennodius, bishop of Pavia, which is confirmed by many of the holy fathers, as is shown by the decrees of the blessed pope Symmachus. 24. That by his command or permission subjects may accuse their rulers. 25. That he can depose and reinstate bishops without the calling of a synod. 26. That no one can be regarded as catholic who does not agree with the Roman church. 27. That he has the power to absolve subjects from their oath of fidelity to wicked rulers. Section 1 means that the Roman church received the primacy over the whole church directly from Christ. Section 8 is based on the forged Donation of Constantine, according to which the emperor gave the pope the right to use the imperial insignia. In section 11 it is not clear what name is meant. It may be "universal" as in section 2. The bishop of Rome claimed the exclusive right to call himself pope, apostolic, and universal. Papa or pope was at first the common title of all priests, and is still so in the Greek church. But in the course of time it was limited in the west to the bishop of Rome. "Apostolic" was at first applied to all bishops, but eventually the bishop of Rome claimed the exclusive right to it and forbade all other bishops to use it. Since the bishop of Rome was the head of the whole church he was the only one who could call himself "universal." The right of ordaining, section 14, that is, of raising to the clerical rank, belonged to each bishop, but he could exercise it only in his own diocese. But the bishop of Rome had the whole world for his diocese, and hence he could ordain any one, no matter to what bishopric he belonged. In explanation of section 23 the following passage from pope Symmachus (498-514) is offered (Hinschius, "Decretales," p. 666). "We do not judge that St. Peter received from the Lord with the prerogative of his chair [that is, with his primacy] the right to sin. But he passed on to his successors the perennial dower of his merits with his heritage of innocence. Who can doubt that he who is exalted to the height of apostolic dignity is holy?" 66. Letter of Gregory VII to all the Faithful, Commending his Legates, 1074. Migne, 148, col. 392. It had not been uncommon for the popes to send their legates on missions to various parts of the world, but Gregory VII made a far more frequent use of them than any of his predecessors. He practically ruled the church through them and demanded that they be received and obeyed by all. This letter shows his general attitude on the matter, the authority he gave them, and the reception which he expected them to have. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to all the faithful subjects of St. Peter, to whom these presents come, greeting and apostolic benediction. You see that wickedness is increasing and that the wiles of the devil are prevailing in the earth, that Christian charity has grown cold and religious zeal has almost disappeared within the church. But since we cannot be everywhere present in person to attend to all these matters, we have sent to you two beloved sons of the holy Roman church, Geizo, abbot of St. Boniface, and Maurus, abbot of St. Sabba, who shall represent us to you and have authority to do in our name whatever may be to the advantage of the church. Remember therefore that saying of the gospel: "He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me" [Luke 10:16]. As you care for the friendship and for the favor of St. Peter, whose messengers they are, receive them with the proper reverence and kindness, and obey them in all matters which may arise as part of their mission or through the exigencies of the situation among you. If it becomes necessary or expedient for the legates to separate and go to different regions, each one of them shall be received and obeyed as our representative. 67. Oath of the Patriarch of Aquileia to Gregory VII, 1079 A.D. Mansi, XX, p 525. Gregory VII required an oath of fidelity from all bishops. By comparing the oath of Boniface to Gregory II (no. 40) and the oath of Richard of Capua (no. 68) with this oath of the patriarch of Aquileia, interesting light will be thrown on the theory and practice of Gregory VII. From now henceforth I will be faithful to St. Peter and to pope Gregory [VII] and to his successors who shall be elected by the better cardinals. Neither in counsel nor in deed will I do anything to cause them to lose their life, or limb, or the papacy, or that they be taken prisoner through any treacherous trick. To whatsoever synod they, either in person or by messenger or by letter, may call me, I will come and I will obey them according to the law; or if I shall not be able to come, I will send my representative. I will aid and defend them in holding and defending the papacy and the regalia of St. Peter, saving the duties of my position. If they, either in person or by messenger or by letter, shall intrust me with a secret, I will not knowingly reveal it to anyone to their harm. I will treat with honor a papal legate, whether coming [from Rome] or going [back to Rome], and I will give him my aid whenever he needs it. I will not wittingly associate with any whom the pope has excommunicated. Whenever I shall have been called on I will aid the Roman church with my military forces. All these duties I will perform unless I shall have been excused from them. 68-73. Gregory VII Exercises Secular Authority. 68. The Oath of Fidelity which Richard, Prince of Capua, Swore to Gregory VII, 1073. Migne, 148, col. 304. Gregory VII, in accordance with his political pretensions, endeavored to compel all rulers of the Christian world to acknowledge his supremacy over them. He made the broadest claims to the proprietorship of all kingdoms, duchies, counties, etc., and tried to compel all rulers of every rank to take an oath of vassalage to him and to receive their lands from him as fiefs. Nos. 68-73 illustrate this feature of his policy. I, Richard, by the grace of God and St. Peter prince of Capua, from this time forth will be faithful to the holy Roman church, to the apostolic see, and to you, pope Gregory. I will have no share in any plan or any deed to injure you in life or limb or to make you captive. Any plan which you may confide to me, wishing it to be kept secret, I will never divulge consciously to your injury. I will faithfully aid you and the holy Roman church to keep, acquire, and defend the regalia and the possessions of St. Peter against all men and I will assist you to hold the papacy and the lands of St. Peter in peace and honor. I will never attempt to attack, seize, or devastate any lands without the express permission of you or your successors, except such lands as you or your successors may have given to me. I promise to pay to the Roman church the legal tribute from the lands of St. Peter, which I hold or shall hold. I will surrender to your authority all the churches which are in my lands, with all their goods, and I will defend them in their fidelity to the holy Roman church. I will swear fidelity to king Henry whenever I shall be commanded to do so by you or your successors, always saving my fidelity to the holy Roman church. If you or any of your successors shall die before I do, I will support the better part of the cardinals and the clergy and the people of Rome in the election and establishment of a new pope to the honor of St. Peter. I will keep all the above promises to you and to the holy Roman church in good faith, and I will keep my oath of fidelity to your successors who shall be ordained popes, if they are willing to confirm the investiture which you have conferred upon me. 69. Letter of Gregory VII to the Princes Wishing to Reconquer Spain, 1073. Migne, 148, cols. 289 f. See introductory note to no. 68. Gregory, pope elect, to all the princes desiring to go into Spain, perpetual greeting in the Lord Jesus Christ. We suppose you know that the kingdom of Spain belonged of old to St. Peter, and that this right has never been lost, although the land has long been occupied by pagans. Therefore the ownership of this land inheres in the apostolic see alone, for whatever has come into the possession of the churches by the will of God, while it may be alienated from their use, may not by any lapse of time be separated from their ownership except by lawful grant. Count Evolus of Roceio, whose fame you must know, wishes to attack that land and rescue it from the heathen. Therefore we have granted him the possession of such territory as he may win from the pagans by his own efforts or with the aid of allies, on conditions agreed upon by us as the representative of St. Peter. You who join him in this undertaking should do so to the honor of St. Peter, that St. Peter may protect you from danger and reward your fidelity to him. But if any of you plan to attack that land independently with your own forces, you should do so in a spirit of devotion and with righteous motives. Beware lest after you have conquered the land you wrong St. Peter in the same way as the infidels do who now hold it. Unless you are prepared to recognize the rights of St. Peter by making an equitable agreement with us, we will forbid you by our apostolic authority to go thither, that your holy and universal mother, the church, may not suffer from her sons the same injuries which she now suffers from her enemies, to the loss not only of her property, but also of the devotion of her children. To this end we have sent to Spain our beloved son, Hugo, cardinal priest of the holy Roman church, and he will inform you more fully of our terms and conditions. 70. Letter of Gregory VII to Wratislav, Duke of Bohemia, 1073. Migne, 148, cols. 299 f. See introductory note to no. 68. Gregory, etc., to Wratislav, etc. We give thanks to omnipotent God that you have been led by your devotion and reverence for the apostles Peter and Paul, princes of the apostles, to receive our legates with kindness and treat them with the graciousness which is becoming to your majesty. Receive the assurance of our good-will in return for this evidence of your fidelity. It has not been usual for papal legates to visit your land; this, however, is partly the fault of your forefathers, as well as of our predecessors, for the dukes of Bohemia should have requested the pope to send them legates. But some of your subjects have regarded our sending of legates as an innovation, and have treated them with contempt, forgetting the word of God: "He that receiveth you receiveth me" [Matt. 10:40]; "and he that despiseth you despiseth me" [Luke 10:16]. So in failing to show due reverence to our legates, they have not so much despised them, as they have despised the word of truth.... 71. Letter of Gregory VII to Sancho, King of Aragon, 1074. Migne, 148 col. 339. See introductory note to no. 68. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Sancho, king of Aragon, greeting and apostolic benediction. We received your gracious letter with great joy, because of the evidence which it contained of your fidelity to the princes of the apostles, Peter and Paul, and to the holy Roman church. But indeed even if we had not received your letter we should have been well aware of your fidelity through the report of our legates. By enforcing the observances of the Roman form of service in the churches of your kingdom you have shown that you are a true son of the Roman church and that you bear the same friendship to us that former kings of Spain have borne to the Roman pope. Be firm and constant in the faith and complete the good work which you have begun; then the blessed St. Peter, whom our Lord Jesus Christ has made ruler over the kingdoms of this world, will bring to pass the desires of your heart and will make you victorious over your enemies, because of the trust which you have placed in him.... 72. Letter of Gregory VII to Solomon, King of Hungary, 1074. Migne, 148, col. 373. See introductory note to no. 68. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Solomon, king of Hungary, greeting and apostolic benediction. Your letter was late in reaching us because of the delay of the messenger, but when it did come we were displeased with it because its terms were offensive to St. Peter. For the kingdom of Hungary, as you can learn from your own princes, belongs of right to the holy Roman church, having been offered and surrendered to St. Peter with all its rights and powers by the former king Stephen. And when the emperor Henry [II] of blessed memory, attacked the kingdom in the defense of the honor of St. Peter and captured the king, he forwarded to the grave of St. Peter the lance and crown, the insignia of kingship. But we hear that you have accepted the kingdom as a fief from the king of the Germans, thereby infringing the rights and the honor of St. Peter and acting in a manner incompatible with the virtue and character of a king. If you wish to have the favor of St. Peter and our good will, you must correct your faults; you know yourself that you cannot hope for justice, that, indeed, you cannot reign any length of time, unless you admit that you hold the sceptre of your kingdom from the pope and not from the king. As far as God shall give us strength, we will never through fear or affection or any personal consideration consent to the diminishing of the honor of him whom we serve. But if you are willing to mend your ways and act as a king should, you may easily win the love of your mother, the holy Roman church, and our friendship in Christ. 73. Letter of Gregory VII to Demetrius, King of the Russians, 1075. Migne, 148, col. 425. See introductory note to no. 68. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Demetrius, king of the Russians, and to his wife, the queen, greeting and apostolic benediction. Your son has visited us at Rome, and has asked that we invest him with the kingdom of the Russians in the name of St. Peter. He has given sufficient evidence of his fidelity to St. Peter, and has assured us that he is acting with your consent in making the petition. We have felt justified in granting his petition because of your consent and of the devotion which he has evidenced; therefore we have conferred upon him in the name of St. Peter the government of your kingdom. We pray that St. Peter may protect you and your kingdom and all your possessions by his intercession with God, that he may cause you to hold your kingdom in peace, glory, and honor, all your days, and that at the end of this life he may obtain for you an eternal glory with the King of Heaven. We shall always be ready to grant your request whenever you call upon us in any righteous cause. In regard to this matter of the investiture and other affairs not mentioned in this letter, we have sent you these legates, one of whom is a well-known and faithful friend of yours. Treat them kindly out of reverence for St. Peter, whose legates they are; listen to them and believe without hesitation whatever they may say on our behalf. Do not allow them to be hindered in the discharge of any of the duties with which we have intrusted them, but give them your faithful assistance. May omnipotent God illumine your soul and lead you through this temporal life to his eternal glory. 74-81. Conflict between Henry IV and Gregory VII. 74. Letter of Gregory VII to Henry IV, December, 1075. Jaffé, II, pp. 218 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 7. Gregory VII met with vigorous opposition from the German clergy as well as from the king when he attempted to enforce his laws against simony and the marriage of the clergy. In a synod at Rome, 1075, Feb. 24-28, Gregory excommunicated five of Henry's intimate advisers for the sin of simony. Henry refused to recognize the validity of this excommunication, and, regardless of papal protests, persisted in his policy of disposing of bishoprics (Milan, Fermo, Spoleto, for example) as he chose. Gregory determined to proceed to extreme measures. He sent messengers to Henry, bearing this letter (no. 74) in which he defended his decrees against simony and the marriage of the clergy, and announced his determination to hold fast to them and to compel the whole world to accept them. He also intrusted an oral message to the bearers of the letter to the effect that if Henry did not mend his evil life, and drive his excommunicated counsellors from his court, Gregory would not only excommunicate him but also depose him. Henry's answer to this message and letter was given at a national synod at Worms, Jan. 24, 1076. This synod deposed Gregory and informed him of their action by two letters, one by Henry (no. 75), and the other by the German bishops (no. 76). Gregory replied by excommunicating and deposing the king (no. 77). Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Henry, the king, greeting and apostolic benediction--that is, if he shall prove obedient to the apostolic see as a Christian king should. We have sent you our apostolic benediction with some hesitation, knowing that we must render account to God, the severe judge, for all our acts as pope. Now it is reported that you have knowingly associated with men who have been excommunicated by the pope and the synod. If this is true, you know that you cannot receive the blessing either of God or of the pope until you have driven them from you and have compelled them to do penance, and have yourself sought absolution and forgiveness for your transgressions with due penance and reparation. Therefore, if you realize your guilt in this matter, we counsel you to confess straightway to some pious bishop, who shall absolve you with our permission, enjoining upon you suitable penance for this fault, and who shall faithfully report to us by letter, with your permission, the character of the penance prescribed. We wonder, moreover, that you should continue to assure us by letter and messengers of your devotion and humility; that you should call yourself our son and the son of the holy mother church, obedient in the faith, sincere in love, diligent in devotion, and that you should commend yourself to us with all zeal of love and reverence--whereas in fact you are constantly disobeying the canonical and apostolic decrees in important matters of the faith. For, to say nothing of the rest, in the case of Milan, concerning which you gave us your promise through your mother and through our fellow-bishops whom we sent to you, the event has shown how far you intended to carry out your promise [that is, not at all] and with what purpose you made it. And now, to inflict wound upon wound, contrary to the apostolic decrees you have bestowed the churches of Fermo and Spoleto--if indeed a church can be bestowed by a layman--upon certain persons quite unknown to us; for it is not lawful to ordain men before they have been known and proved. Since you confess yourself a son of the church, you should treat with more honor the head of the church, that is, St. Peter, the prince of the apostles. If you are one of the sheep of the Lord, you have been intrusted to him by divine authority, for Christ said to him: "Peter, feed my sheep" [John 21:16]; and again: "And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of Heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" [Matt. 16:19]. And since we, although an unworthy sinner, exercise his authority by divine will, the words which you address to us are in reality addressed directly to him. And although we only read or hear the words, he sees the heart from which the words proceed. Therefore your highness should be very careful that no insincerity be found in your words and messages to us; and that you show due reverence, not to us indeed, but to omnipotent God, in those things which especially make for the advance of the Christian faith and the well-being of the church. For our Lord said to the apostles and to their successors: "He that heareth you heareth me; and he that despiseth you despiseth me" [Luke 10:16]. For no one will disregard our admonitions if he believes that the decrees of the pope have the same authority as the words of the apostle himself. For if our Lord commanded the apostles out of reverence for the seat of Moses to observe the sayings of the scribes and Pharisees who occupied that seat, then surely the faithful ought to receive with all reverence the apostolic and evangelical doctrine through those who are chosen to the ministry of preaching. Now in the synod held at the apostolic seat to which the divine will has called us (at which some of your subjects also were present) we, seeing that the Christian religion had been weakened by many attacks and that the chief and proper motive, that of saving souls, had for a long time been neglected and slighted, were alarmed at the evident danger of the destruction of the flock of the Lord, and had recourse to the decrees and the doctrine of the holy fathers; we decreed nothing new, nothing of our invention [that is, against simony and the marriage of the clergy]; but we decided that the error should be abandoned and the single primitive rule of ecclesiastical discipline and the familiar way of the saints should be again sought out and followed. For we know that no other door to salvation and eternal life lies open to the sheep of Christ than that which was pointed out by him who said: "I am the door, by me if any man enter in he shall be saved, and find pasture" [John 10:9]; and this, we learn from the gospels and from the sacred writings, was preached by the apostles and observed by the holy fathers. And we have decided that this decree--which some, placing human above divine honor, have called an unendurable weight and an immense burden, but which we call by its proper name, that is, the truth and light necessary to salvation--is to be received and observed not only by you and your subjects, but also by all princes and peoples of the earth who confess and worship Christ; for it is greatly desired by us, and would be most fitting for you, that, as you are greater than others in glory, in honor, and in virtue, so you should be more distinguished in devotion to Christ. Nevertheless, that this decree may not seem to you beyond measure grievous and unjust, we have commanded you by your faithful ambassadors to send to us the wisest and most pious men whom you can find in your kingdom, so that if they can show or instruct us in any way how we can temper the sentence promulgated by the holy fathers without offence to the eternal King or danger to our souls, we may consider their advice. But, even if we had not warned you in so friendly a manner, it would have been only right on your part, before you violated the apostolic decrees, to have asked justice of us in a reasonable manner in any matter in which we had injured or affected your honor. But it is evident in what you have since done and decreed how little you care for our warnings or for the observance of justice. But since we hope that, while the long-suffering patience of God still invites you to repent, you may become wiser and your heart may be turned to obey the commands of God, we warn you with fatherly love that, knowing the rule of Christ to be over you, you should consider how dangerous it is to place your honor above his, and that you should not interfere with the liberty of the church which he has deigned to join to himself by heavenly union, but rather with faithful devotion you should offer your assistance to the increasing of this liberty to omnipotent God and St. Peter, through whom also your glory may be amplified. You ought to recognize what you undoubtedly owe to them for giving you victory over your enemies, that as they have gladdened you with great prosperity, so they should see that you are thereby rendered more devout. And in order that the fear of God, in whose hands is all power and all rule, may affect your heart more than these our warnings, you should recall what happened to Saul when, after winning the victory which he gained by the will of the prophet, he glorified himself in his triumph and did not obey the warnings of the prophet, and how God reproved him; and, on the other hand, what grace king David acquired by reason of his humility, as well as his other virtues. Finally, in regard to those matters in your letter which we have not yet touched upon, we will not give a definite answer until your ambassadors, Rapoto, Adelbert, and Wodescalc, and those whom we have sent with them, shall return to us and shall make known more fully your intention in regard to the matters which we committed to them to be discussed with you. Given at Rome, the 6th of the Ides of January, the 14th indiction. 75. The Deposition of Gregory VII by Henry IV, January 24, 1076. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 47 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 8 b. See introductory note to no. 74. Henry, king not by usurpation, but by the holy ordination of God, to Hildebrand, not pope, but false monk. This is the salutation which you deserve, for you have never held any office in the church without making it a source of confusion and a curse to Christian men instead of an honor and a blessing. To mention only the most obvious cases out of many, you have not only dared to touch the Lord's anointed, the archbishops, bishops, and priests; but you have scorned them and abused them, as if they were ignorant servants not fit to know what their master was doing. This you have done to gain favor with the vulgar crowd. You have declared that the bishops know nothing and that you know everything; but if you have such great wisdom you have used it not to build but to destroy. Therefore we believe that St. Gregory, whose name you have presumed to take, had you in mind when he said: "The heart of the prelate is puffed up by the abundance of subjects, and he thinks himself more powerful than all others." All this we have endured because of our respect for the papal office, but you have mistaken our humility for fear, and have dared to make an attack upon the royal and imperial authority which we received from God. You have even threatened to take it away, as if we had received it from you, and as if the empire and kingdom were in your disposal and not in the disposal of God. Our Lord Jesus Christ has called us to the government of the empire, but he never called you to the rule of the church. This is the way you have gained advancement in the church: through craft you have obtained wealth; through wealth you have obtained favor; through favor, the power of the sword; and through the power of the sword, the papal seat, which is the seat of peace; and then from the seat of peace you have expelled peace. For you have incited subjects to rebel against their prelates by teaching them to despise the bishops, their rightful rulers. You have given to laymen the authority over priests, whereby they condemn and depose those whom the bishops have put over them to teach them. You have attacked me, who, unworthy as I am, have yet been anointed to rule among the anointed of God, and who, according to the teaching of the fathers, can be judged by no one save God alone, and can be deposed for no crime except infidelity. For the holy fathers in the time of the apostate Julian did not presume to pronounce sentence of deposition against him, but left him to be judged and condemned by God. St. Peter himself said: "Fear God, honor the king" [1 Pet. 2:17]. But you, who fear not God, have dishonored me, whom He hath established. St. Paul, who said that even an angel from heaven should be accursed who taught any other than the true doctrine, did not make an exception in your favor, to permit you to teach false doctrines. For he says: "But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed" [Gal. 1:8]. Come down, then, from that apostolic seat which you have obtained by violence; for you have been declared accursed by St. Paul for your false doctrines and have been condemned by us and our bishops for your evil rule. Let another ascend the throne of St. Peter, one who will not use religion as a cloak of violence, but will teach the life-giving doctrine of that prince of the apostles. I, Henry, king by the grace of God, with all my bishops, say unto you: "Come down, come down, and be accursed through all the ages." 76. Letter of the Bishops to Gregory VII, January 24, 1076. Codex Udalrici, no. 162; M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 44 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 8 a. See introductory note to no. 74. Siegfried, archbishop of Mainz, Udo, bishop of Trier, William, bishop of Utrecht, etc. [a list of names of bishops, twenty-six in all], to brother Hildebrand. At first when you made yourself pope we thought it better to ignore the illegality of your action and to submit to your rule, in the hope that you would redeem your bad beginning by a just and righteous government of the church, although we realized even then the enormity of the sin which you had committed. But now the lamentable condition of the whole church shows us only too well how we were deceived in you; your violent entrance into office was but the first in a series of wicked deeds and unjust decrees. Our Lord and Redeemer has said, in more places than we can well enumerate here, that love and gentleness are the marks of his disciples, but you are known for your pride, your ambition, and your love of strife. You have introduced worldliness into the church; you have desired a great name rather than a reputation for holiness; you have made a schism in the church and offended its members, who before your time were living together in peace and charity. Your mad acts have kindled the flame of discord which now rages in the churches of Italy, Germany, France, and Spain. The bishops have been deprived of their divine authority, which rests upon the grace of the Holy Spirit received through ordination, and the whole administration of ecclesiastical matters you have given to rash and ignorant laymen. There is nowhere in the church to-day a bishop or a priest who does not hold his office through abject acquiescence in your ambitious schemes. The order of bishops, to whom the government of the church was intrusted by the Lord, you have thrown into confusion, and you have disturbed that excellent coördination of the members of Christ which Paul in so many places commends and inculcates, while the name of Christ has almost disappeared from the earth; and all this through those decrees in which you glory. Who among men is not filled with astonishment and indignation at your claims to sole authority, by which you would deprive your fellow-bishops of their coördinate rights and powers? For you assert that you have the authority to try any one of our parishioners for any sin which may have reached your ears even by chance report, and that no one of us has the power to loose or to bind such a sinner, but that it belongs to you alone or to your legate. Who that knows the scriptures does not perceive the madness of this claim? Since, therefore, it is now apparent that the church of God is in danger of destruction through your presumption, we have come to the conclusion that this state of things can no longer be endured, and we have determined to break our silence and to make public the reasons why you are unfit and have always been unfit to rule the church as pope. These are the reasons: In the first place, in the reign of emperor Henry [III] of blessed memory, you bound yourself by oath never to accept the papacy or to permit anyone else to accept it during the life of that emperor or of his son without the consent of the emperor. There are many bishops still living who can bear witness to that oath. On another occasion, when certain cardinals were aiming to secure the office, you took an oath never to accept the papacy, on condition that they should all take the same oath. You know yourself how faithfully you have kept these oaths! In the second place, it was agreed in a synod held in the time of pope Nicholas [II] and attended by 125 bishops, that no one, under penalty of excommunication, should ever accept the papacy who had not received the election of the cardinals, the approbation of the people, and the consent of the emperor. You yourself proposed and promoted that decree and signed it with your own hand. In the third place, you have filled the whole church with the stench of scandal, by associating on too intimate terms with a woman who was not a member of your family [the countess Matilda]. We do not wish to base any serious charge on this last accusation; we refer to it because it outrages our sense of propriety. And yet the complaint is very generally made that all the judgments and acts of the papacy are passed on by the women about the pope, and that the whole church is governed by this new female conclave. And finally, no amount of complaint is adequate to express the insults and outrages you have heaped upon the bishops, calling them sons of harlots and other vile names. Therefore, since your pontificate was begun in perjury and crime, since your innovations have placed the church of God in the gravest peril, since your life and conduct are stained with infamy; we now renounce our obedience, which indeed was never legally promised to you. You have declared publicly that you do not consider us to be bishops; we reply that no one of us shall ever hold you to be the pope. 77. The First Deposition and Excommunication of Henry IV by Gregory VII, 1076. Greg VII. Reg., III, no. 10 a; Jaffé, II, pp. 223 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 9. See introductory note to no. 74. St. Peter, prince of the apostles, incline thine ear unto me, I beseech thee, and hear me, thy servant, whom thou hast nourished from mine infancy and hast delivered from mine enemies that hate me for my fidelity to thee. Thou art my witness, as are also my mistress, the mother of God, and St. Paul thy brother, and all the other saints, that thy holy Roman church called me to its government against my own will, and that I did not gain thy throne by violence; that I would rather have ended my days in exile than have obtained thy place by fraud or for worldly ambition. It is not by my efforts, but by thy grace, that I am set to rule over the Christian world which was specially intrusted to thee by Christ. It is by thy grace and as thy representative that God has given to me the power to bind and to loose in heaven and in earth. Confident of my integrity and authority, I now declare in the name of omnipotent God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, that Henry, son of the emperor Henry, is deprived of his kingdom of Germany and Italy; I do this by thy authority and in defence of the honor of thy church, because he has rebelled against it. He who attempts to destroy the honor of the church should be deprived of such honor as he may have held. He has refused to obey as a Christian should, he has not returned to God from whom he had wandered, he has had dealings with excommunicated persons, he has done many iniquities, he has despised the warnings which, as thou art witness, I sent to him for his salvation, he has cut himself off from thy church, and has attempted to rend it asunder; therefore, by thy authority, I place him under the curse. It is in thy name that I curse him, that all people may know that thou art Peter, and upon thy rock the Son of the living God has built his church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. 78. The Agreement at Oppenheim, October, 1076. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, I, nos. 64, 65; Codex Udalrici, nos. 145,155; Doeberl, III, no. 12. Various parts of Germany were already in revolt against Henry IV, and the immediate effect of the papal excommunication was to strengthen the rebellious party. Being almost deserted, Henry found himself unable to refuse the demands of the rebels. He agreed to submit to Gregory in all things, and rescinded the edicts by which he had deposed him. He also called on all his subjects to submit to the pope (no. 79). Promise of king Henry to pope Hildebrand, also called Gregory. In accordance with the advice of my subjects, I hereby promise to show henceforth fitting reverence and obedience to the apostolic office and to you, pope Gregory. I further promise to make suitable reparation for any loss of honor which you or your office may have suffered through me. And since I have been accused of certain grave crimes, I will either clear myself by presenting proof of my innocence or by undergoing the ordeal, or else I will do such penance as you may decide to be adequate for my fault. 79. Edict Annulling the Decrees Against Pope Gregory. Cf. reference to no. 78. Henry, by the grace of God king, to the archbishops, bishops, margraves, counts, and to his subjects of every rank and dignity, greeting and good will. Our faithful subjects have convinced us that in our recent controversy with pope Gregory we were led astray by certain evil counsellors. Therefore we now make known to all, that we have repented of our former actions and have determined henceforth to obey him in everything, as our predecessors were wont to do before us, and to make full reparation for any injury which we may have inflicted upon him or his office. We command all of you to follow our example and to offer satisfaction to St. Peter and to his vicar, pope Gregory, for any fault you may have committed, and to seek absolution from him, if any of you are under his ban. 80. Letter of Gregory VII to the German Princes Concerning the Penance of Henry IV at Canossa, _ca._ January 28, 1077. Greg. VII. Reg., IV, nos 12, 12 a; Jaffé, II, pp. 256 ff: Doeberl, III, no. 13. At Oppenheim Henry IV had been temporarily deposed. He sent away his counsellors who had been excommunicated, gave up all participation in the affairs of government, laid aside all the royal insignia, and withdrew to the city of Speier, which he was not to leave until the matter was adjusted by the pope, who was to come to Germany and hold a diet in February, 1077. But Henry did not keep his word. Fearing that he would be permanently deposed if the pope should come to Germany and sit with his rebellious subjects in judgment on him, he determined to forestall matters by going to see the pope in Italy. So he fled from Speier and hastened as rapidly as possible into Italy. He came to Canossa, where he humbled himself before Gregory and received absolution. It was at least a diplomatic triumph for Henry, because he had kept the pope from coming to Germany and uniting with his rebellious nobles, who would have labored hard to secure the permanent deposition of Henry. The final decision of the matter was indeed left to the pope and the diet which was to be held in Germany, but the pope did not go to Germany, and Henry was able to point to the fact that he had received papal absolution. The oath which Gregory VII required of Henry is given in no. 81. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to all the archbishops, bishops, dukes, counts, and other princes of the German kingdom, defenders of the Christian faith, greeting and apostelic benediction. Since you have made common cause with us and shared our perils in the recent controversy, we have thought it only right that you should be informed of the recent course of events, how king Henry came to Italy to do penance, and how we were led to grant him absolution. According to the agreement made with your representatives we had come to Lombardy and were there awaiting those whom you were to send to escort us into your land. But after the time set was already passed, we received word that it was at that time impossible to send an escort, because of many obstacles that stood in the way, and we were greatly exercised at this and in grave doubt as to what we ought to do. In the meantime we learned that the king was approaching. Now before he entered Italy he had sent to us and had offered to make complete satisfaction for his fault, promising to reform and henceforth to obey us in all things, provided we would give him our absolution and blessing. We hesitated for some time, taking occasion in the course of the negotiations to reprove him sharply for his former sins. Finally he came in person to Canossa, where we were staying, bringing with him only a small retinue and manifesting no hostile intentions. Once arrived, he presented himself at the gate of the castle, barefoot and clad only in wretched woollen garments, beseeching us with tears to grant him absolution and forgiveness. This he continued to do for three days, until all those about us were moved to compassion at his plight and interceded for him with tears and prayers. Indeed, they marvelled at our hardness of heart, some even complaining that our action savored rather of heartless tyranny than of chastening severity. At length his persistent declarations of repentance and the supplications of all who were there with us overcame our reluctance, and we removed the excommunication from him and received him again into the bosom of the holy mother church. But first he took the oath which we have subjoined to this letter, the abbot of Cluny, the countess Matilda, the countess Adelaide, and many other ecclesiastic and secular princes going surety for him. Now that this arrangement has been reached to the common advantage of the church and the empire, we purpose coming to visit you in your own land as soon as possible. For, as you will perceive from the conditions stated in the oath, the matter is not to be regarded as settled until we have held consultation with you. Therefore we urge you to maintain that fidelity and love of justice which first prompted your action. We have not bound ourself to anything, except that we assured the king that he might depend upon us to aid him in everything that looked to his salvation and honor. 81. The Oath of King Henry. Cf. reference to no. 80. See introductory note to no. 80. I, Henry, king, promise to satisfy the grievances which my archbishops, bishops, dukes, counts, and other princes of Germany or their followers may have against me, within the time set by pope Gregory and in accordance with his conditions. If I am prevented by any sufficient cause from doing this within that time, I will do it as soon after that as I may. Further, if pope Gregory shall desire to visit Germany or any other land, on his journey thither, his sojourn there, and his return thence, he shall not be molested or placed in danger of captivity by me or by anyone whom I can control. This shall apply to his escort and retinue and to all who come and go in his service. Moreover, I will never enter into any plan for hindering or molesting him, but will aid him in good faith and to the best of my ability if anyone else opposes him. 82. Countess Matilda Gives All her Lands to the Church, 1102. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, p. 654, no. 444. The countess Matilda supported the papacy in its claims of temporal sovereignty, and, when she died, left it all her lands. The emperors did not recognize the validity of the legacy, and declared that she had no right to give away what belonged to the empire. The quarrel about these lands was often renewed. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity.... In the time of Gregory VII, in the Lateran palace, in the chapel of the holy cross, in the presence of [witnesses],... I, Matilda, by the grace of God countess, for the salvation of my soul and the souls of my parents, gave to the church of St. Peter and to Gregory VII all my possessions, present and future, by whatever title I may hold them. I gave all my lands in Italy and Germany, and I had a document drawn up to that effect. But now the document has disappeared, and I fear that my gift may be questioned. Therefore, I, countess Matilda, again give to the church of Rome, through Bernard, cardinal and legate of the same holy church of Rome, just as I did in the time of Gregory VII, all my possessions, present and future, in both Italy and Germany, by whatever right I hold them, for the salvation of my soul and the souls of my parents. All these possessions, which belong to me, with all that pertains to them, in all their entirety, I give to the said church of Rome, and by this deed of gift I confirm the church in the possession of them. As symbols and evidences that I have surrendered these lands I have given a knife, a knotted straw, a glove, a piece of sod, and a twig from a tree.... 83. The First Privilege which Paschal II Granted to Henry V, February 12, 1111. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 68 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 20 a. In the struggle about the election and investiture of bishops, which was begun by Gregory VII, Henry V pursued the same policy as his father, Henry IV. He was so vigorous in pushing his claims that Paschal II (1099-1118) yielded and in 1111 decreed that the high clergy should give up all their fiefs and temporal offices, and exercise only spiritual functions. But this action met with a storm of opposition. The bishops refused to give up their temporal possessions, and resisted with such determination that Paschal was compelled to cancel his agreement with Henry V. But the king would not be denied. He brought such pressure to bear on the pope that he made a complete surrender and granted Henry the control of the elections of bishops and the unconditional right to invest them with their office (no. 84). Paschal, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his beloved son Henry, and to his successors forever. Priests are forbidden by the scriptures and by the canons of the church to occupy themselves with secular affairs or to attend the public courts, except in the exercise of their office, such as the saving of the souls of the condemned or the assisting of the injured. In regard to this St. Paul says: "If then ye have judgments of things pertaining to this life, set them to judge who are least esteemed in the church" [1 Cor. 6:4]. But in your kingdom bishops and abbots regularly attend the courts and perform military service, which duties necessarily bring them into contact with rapine, sacrilege, and violence. The ministers of the altar are made ministers of the royal court, and are given cities, duchies, marks, mints, and other offices to hold and to rule. As a result an unbearable custom has arisen that bishops elect cannot be consecrated until they have been invested with office by the king. Simony and worldly ambition have thereby become so prevalent that men are sometimes placed in control of the episcopal properties who have not been elected bishops; and are sometimes invested with them while the true bishops are still alive. Our predecessors, pope Gregory VII and pope Urban II, of blessed memory, were impelled by the many evils resulting from this practice to condemn lay investiture in several councils, decreeing that those who obtained ecclesiastical offices by these means should be forced to surrender them and that those who conferred the investiture should be excommunicated. This was based on the chapter of the apostolic canons which reads: "If a bishop makes use of the secular powers to obtain a diocese, he shall be deposed and those who supported him shall be cast out of the church." [See no. 33.] Following their example, we have confirmed the present decree, which has been passed by a council of bishops. All the royal offices and benefices which belonged to the empire in the time of the emperors Karl, Ludwig, and your other predecessors, and which are now held by the church, we order to be restored to you. We forbid any bishop or abbot, under pain of anathema, to hold any of these regalia; that is, cities, duchies, marks, counties; rights of minting, markets, or tolls; offices of advocate or hundred-man; estates which belong to the empire, with any of their appurtenances, the right to hold castles or to do military service. They shall not henceforth have anything to do with these regalia, except at the request of the king. And our successors are forbidden to disturb this arrangement or to molest you or any of your kingdom in the peaceful possession of the regalia. On the other hand, we decree that the churches shall have absolute control of their free-will offerings and their private possessions, which is in keeping with the promise which you made in your coronation oath. For it is necessary that the bishops be free from secular duties that they may give their time to the care of their flocks, and not be too long absent from their churches; as St. Paul says of the bishops: "They watch for your souls, as they that must give account" [Heb. 13:17]. 84. The Second Privilege which Paschal II Granted to Henry V, April 12, 1111. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 72 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 20 b. See introductory note to no. 83. Paschal, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his beloved son, Henry, by the grace of God king of the Germans and emperor of the Romans, Augustus, greeting and apostolic benediction. It is the will of God that your kingdom should be closely bound to the holy Roman church. Your predecessors obtained the crown and empire of the Roman world because of their wisdom and virtue; you also have been exalted to that dignity by the will of God working through us. And so we confer upon you the prerogatives which our predecessors granted to former emperors. By this document we concede to you the right of investing the bishops and abbots of your kingdom with the ring and the staff, if their election has been conducted canonically and without simony or other illegality. After their investiture they are to be consecrated in due canonical form by their bishops. If the clergy and people elect a bishop or an abbot without first gaining your consent, he shall not be consecrated until you have invested him with his office. The right of consecrating such bishops and abbots as have received investiture from you shall belong to the archbishops and bishops of your kingdom. For your predecessors endowed the churches of their realm with so many benefices from their own lands and offices that it became necessary for them to control the elections of bishops and abbots, and to put down the popular disturbances that frequently arose in these elections. As a result of this concession you ought to be the more zealous in the defence and in the enrichment of the church of Rome and the other churches of God. If any person, ecclesiastic or layman, shall knowingly violate this decree, he shall be accursed and deprived of his office and rank. But may God reward those who keep it, and grant that you may rule happily to his honor and glory. Amen. 85-86. Concordat of Worms, 1122. 85. The Promise of Calixtus II. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 75 ff; Doeberl, III, no. 21 a. The victory won by Henry V over Paschal II (no. 84) was of short duration because the Cluniac party refused to submit. They renewed the struggle with great bitterness. The contest lasted to 1122, when a compromise was agreed upon. In general it may be said that the compromise was a sensible one, in that the king was recognized as having the right to invest the bishops with their fiefs and secular authority, while the pope was to invest them with their spiritual office and authority. This settlement of the principle did not entirely end the struggle, because, in the first place, neither party observed it perfectly, and, besides, it occasionally happened that there was some doubt as to how the principle was to be applied. Calixtus, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his beloved son, Henry, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus. We hereby grant that in Germany the elections of the bishops and abbots who hold directly from the crown shall be held in your presence, such elections to be conducted canonically and without simony or other illegality. In the case of disputed elections you shall have the right to decide between the parties, after consulting with the archbishop of the province and his fellow-bishops. You shall confer the regalia of the office upon the bishop or abbot elect by giving him the sceptre, and this shall be done freely without exacting any payment from him; the bishop or abbot elect on his part shall perform all the duties that go with the holding of the regalia. In other parts of the empire the bishops shall receive the regalia from you in the same manner within six months of their consecration, and shall in like manner perform all the duties that go with them. The undoubted rights of the Roman church, however, are not to be regarded as prejudiced by this concession. If at any time you shall have occasion to complain of the carrying out of these provisions, I will undertake to satisfy your grievances as far as shall be consistent with my office. Finally, I hereby make a true and lasting peace with you and with all of your followers, including those who supported you in the recent controversy. 86. The Promise of Henry V. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 76; Doeberl, III, no. 21 b. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. For the love of God and his holy church and of pope Calixtus, and for the salvation of my soul, I, Henry, by the grace of God, emperor of the Romans, Augustus, hereby surrender to God and his apostles, Sts. Peter and Paul, and to the holy Catholic church, all investiture by ring and staff. I agree that elections and consecrations shall be conducted canonically and shall be free from all interference. I surrender also the possessions and regalia of St. Peter which have been seized by me during this quarrel, or by my father in his lifetime, and which are now in my possession, and I promise to aid the church to recover such as are held by any other persons. I restore also the possessions of all other churches and princes, clerical or secular, which have been taken away during the course of this quarrel, which I have, and promise to aid them to recover such as are held by any other persons. Finally, I make true and lasting peace with pope Calixtus and with the holy Roman church and with all who are or have ever been of his party. I will aid the Roman church whenever my help is asked, and will do justice in all matters in regard to which the church may have occasion to make complaint. All these things have been done with the consent and advice of the princes whose names are written below: Adelbert, archbishop of Mainz; Frederick, archbishop of Cologne, etc. 87. Election Notice, 1125. Jaffé, V, pp. 396 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 1. On the death of a king of Germany, it was the duty of the archbishop of Mainz, as archchancellor of Germany, to call a diet for the purpose of electing his successor. He did this by writing a letter in practically the same terms to each of the important men of the kingdom who were members of the diet. These letters were then delivered by special messengers. The diet which met in response to this call in 1125 elected Lothar of Saxony. The tone of the letter reveals the fact that Adelbert of Mainz was inclined rather to the side of the pope. The "yoke of servitude" which was oppressing the church was the imperial control which Henry V had exercised over the ecclesiastical elections. Adelbert, archbishop of Mainz; Frederick, archbishop of Cologne; Udalric, bishop of Constance; Buco, bishop of Worms; Arnold, bishop of Speier; Udalric, abbot of Fulda; Henry, duke of Bavaria; Frederick, duke of Suabia; Godfrey, count palatine; Berengar, count of Sulzbach, along with the other princes, ecclesiastical and secular, who were present at the funeral of the late emperor, send their greeting and most faithful services to their venerable brother, Otto, bishop of Bamberg. After the burial of our late lord and emperor, we who were there present thought it expedient to counsel together in regard to the condition of the state. We were unwilling to make any definite plans, however, without your presence and advice, and so we determined to call a diet to meet at Mainz on St. Bartholomew's Day [August 25], hoping that this decision would meet your approval. It is our thought that the princes should meet then and take the necessary action in regard to the serious problems that confront us: the general state of the kingdom, the question of a successor, and other matters. In thus calling a diet without first gaining your approval, we have not meant to infringe in any way upon your rights or to arrogate to ourselves any peculiar authority in this matter. We ask you to bear in mind the oppression of the church in these days and to pray earnestly that in the providence of God this election may result in the freeing of the church from its yoke of servitude and in the establishing of peace for us and for our people. You are instructed to declare a special peace for your lands, to be kept during the time of the diet and four weeks thereafter, so that all may come and return in perfect security; and to come to the diet yourself in the customary manner, that is, at your own expense and without inflicting any burden upon the poor of the realm. 88. Anaclete II Gives Roger the Title of King of Sicily, 1130. Watterich, Pont. Rom. Vitæ, II, pp. 193 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 4. The Norman adventurers in southern Italy were successful beyond all expectation. In 1059 Nicholas II made a duke of Roger Guiscard (see no. 58). He and his successors labored hard to advance the interests of their family, and in 1130 Roger, duke of Sicily, had the satisfaction of receiving the royal title from Anaclete II. There had been a disputed papal election that year, and Anaclete II, one of the rival claimants, needed all the help he could get. So he bought the support of Roger, giving him in return the title of king. It is fitting that the pope should generously reward those that love the Roman church. And so, because of the labors and services of your father and mother, and because of your own efforts in behalf of the church, we have given and granted to you, Robert, by the grace of God duke of Sicily, and to your son Robert and your other children and heirs, the crown of Sicily, Apulia, and Calabria, and of all the lands given by us or our predecessors to your ancestors, Robert Guiscard and Robert his son, dukes of Apulia. You shall have and hold this kingdom, which shall take its name from the island of Sicily, with all the royal authority and dignity forever. We also grant that you and your heirs may be anointed and crowned by the archbishops of your lands whom you choose for that purpose, assisted by such bishops as you may desire. We hereby renew all gifts, concessions, and authority conferred upon you and upon your predecessors, Robert Guiscard, Robert his son, and William, dukes of Apulia, to be held and possessed by you forever. We give and grant to you and to your heirs the principality of Capua in its full extent as held now or in the past by the prince of Capua; we confer upon you the lordship over Naples and its dependencies, and the right to demand aid from the inhabitants of Benevento against your enemies. At your request we also grant to the archbishop of Palermo and to his successors the right to consecrate the three bishops of Syracuse, Girgenti, and Catania, on the condition that the authority and possessions of these churches shall not be in any way diminished by the archbishop and the church of Palermo. We reserve our decision as to the consecration of the other two bishops of Sicily for more mature deliberation. We have granted all the above concessions on the condition that you and your heirs take the oath of fidelity to us and to our successors at a place agreed upon by both parties, and that you and your heirs shall pay a tax of 600 "schifates" [a gold coin] a year to the Roman church upon demand.... 89. The Coronation Oath of Lothar II, June 4, 1133. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 82 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 6 a. Every king, on his coronation as emperor, was required to take an oath to the pope, the character of which may be seen from the oath of Lothar. This is the oath which king Lothar swore to pope Innocent in the time of the schism of the son of Pierreleone. The oath was taken by Lothar on the day of his imperial coronation before he received the crown, and was administered by Cencio Frangipani in the presence of the Roman nobles, before the basilica of the Holy Saviour, which is also called the basilica of Constantine. I, king Lothar, promise and swear to you, pope Innocent, that I will never injure you or your successors in any way or place you in danger of captivity. I further promise to defend the honor of the papacy, and to restore the regalia of St. Peter which I may have in my possession, and to aid you in recovering such as may be held by any other persons. 90. Innocent II Grants the Lands of the Countess Matilda as a Fief to Lothar II, 1133. Theiner, Cod. Dom. Temp., I, 12; Doeberl, IV, no. 6 c. Matilda, countess of Tuscany, espoused the cause of the pope, and, on her death, willed all her lands to him. The emperor refused to acknowledge the validity of this will, declaring that her holdings were feudal, and hence must revert to the crown, because they could not be disposed of without imperial consent. [See no. 82.] Lothar here gives up the imperial claim to them and yields them to the pope, but receives them back as a fief. The question was not thereby settled forever, because later emperors refused to be bound by the action of Lothar, and renewed the imperial pretensions. These lands were a fruitful source of contention between the popes and the emperors. This document, as here given, is probably an abstract of two documents, (1) the one by which the lands were conferred on Lothar, and (2) that by which they were later transferred to Lothar's son-in-law, Henry, duke of Bavaria. (The document begins with a general exordium, setting forth the common interests of papacy and empire, recalling the services of Lothar in behalf of the church, and stating the obligation of the pope to reward such services.) It is on these considerations, therefore, that we now grant you by our apostolic authority the allodial lands which the countess Matilda formerly gave to St. Peter. In the presence of our brothers, the archbishops, bishops, and abbots, and princes and barons, we now confer them upon you by the investiture of the ring, on the following conditions: you shall pay 100 pounds of silver annually to us and to our successors; after your death the property shall revert unimpaired and without hindrance to the possession of the holy Roman church; we and our brothers shall always have safe-conduct and suitable entertainment whenever we pass through or visit the land; and, finally, your representative in the government of the land shall take an oath of fidelity to St. Peter and to the pope. Because of our love for you we graciously concede this land on the same conditions to your son-in-law, Henry, duke of Bavaria, and his wife, your daughter. It is further stipulated that the duke shall do homage to us and take an oath of fidelity to St. Peter and to the pope; and that after their death the land shall revert to the possession of the Roman church, as said above. In all this there shall be no derogation of the rights and ultimate ownership of the holy Roman church. 91. Letter of Bernard of Clairvaux to Lothar II, 1134. Migne, 182, cols. 293 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 7. In 1130 there was a disputed papal election. Innocent II, on being driven from Rome by his rival, Anaclete II, went to France, where he enlisted Bernard of Clairvaux in his favor. Through the efforts of Bernard the kings of France and Germany were persuaded to support him. Lothar led an army into Italy, established Innocent in Rome, and received the imperial crown. He failed, however, to conquer Roger, who had been made king of Sicily by the antipope, Anaclete II (see no. 88). Bernard wrote this letter to congratulate Lothar on his success in Italy, to urge him to renew the war on Roger because he was still supporting the antipope, and to rebuke Lothar for opposing some decision of the pope in regard to a trouble that had arisen in the church at Toul. To Lothar, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, Bernard, called abbot of Clairvaux, sends his blessing, if the prayer of a sinner is of any avail. Blessed be God, who has chosen you and exalted you for a horn of salvation unto us, to the glory of his name, the restoration of the empire, the preservation of his church in this evil time, and the working of his salvation in the midst of the earth. For it is by his will that you are daily growing in strength, in honor, and in glory. And when you recently undertook the hazardous expedition to Rome to secure the peace of the empire and the liberty of the church, it was by his aid that you were able to carry it through successfully, obtaining the crown of the empire without the aid of a large army. But if the earth trembled and was silent before that little band, think what great terror will strike the hearts of the enemy when the king shall proceed against him in the greatness of his power. Moreover, the justice of your cause, nay, more, a double necessity, will inspire you. It is not my duty to incite princes to war; but it is the duty of the defender of the church to ward off all danger of schism; it is the duty of the emperor to recover his crown from the Sicilian usurper. Just as that Jew [that is, Anaclete II] rebelled against Christ when he seized the papal chair, so anyone who would make himself king in Sicily rebels against Cæsar. But if we are commanded to render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's and unto God the things which are God's, why is it that you have permitted the church of God in Toul to be robbed, especially as Cæsar profits not thereby? ... For it is said that you have interfered with the pope in his efforts to bring the oppressors of that church to justice. I beseech you to act more circumspectly and to recall your intercession and let justice take its course, before that church be destroyed to its foundations. I am a poor person, but a faithful subject, and if I seem importunate it is because of my fidelity. Greet my lady the empress for me in the love of Christ. 92. Letter of Bernard to Conrad III, 1140. Migne, 182, no. 183; Doeberl, IV, no. 11. Because Roger of Sicily had supported the antipope, Bernard had urged Lothar to make war on him. [See no. 91.] But Innocent had, in the meantime, without consulting the emperor, made a treaty with Roger and won his support by also granting him the royal title (1139). Conrad III was offended by this and protested against it. Conrad declared that the kingdom which Roger held, that is, Sicily and southern Italy, was a part of the empire, and therefore the pope had no right to recognize Roger as king there. Conrad regarded Roger as a usurper. He wrote a letter to Bernard complaining of the action of the pope. But Bernard had changed his sentiments since Roger had espoused the cause of Innocent and had received papal confirmation. In a somewhat curt manner he tells Conrad to obey the pope. I, unworthy person that I am, have received your letter and greeting with gratitude and devotion. The complaints of the king are ours also, especially in regard to the usurpation of the Sicilian. I have never desired the disgrace of the king nor the diminution of his realm; my soul hates such as do desire these things. But I read: "Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers; whosoever resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God" [Rom. 13:1, 2]. Hearken to this admonition, I pray you, and show such reverence to St. Peter and to his vicar as you wish to be shown to you by the whole empire. There are certain other matters which I have thought better not to put in writing; perhaps it would be better to speak of them to you personally when I see you. 93. Letter of Conrad III to the Greek Emperor, John Comnenus, 1142. Otto Fris. Gesta Frid., I, c. 25; M. G. SS. folio, XX; Doeberl, IV, no. 12. Although the German and Greek emperors had not adjusted their conflicting claims to southern Italy and Sicily (see no. 58, introductory note), they were agreed in regarding the Normans as usurpers and a common enemy. In order to destroy them the emperors determined to make common cause against them, as is apparent from the following letter. John Comnenus, wishing to strengthen the alliance with Conrad, asked him to choose some German princess for his son, Manuel. Conrad chose his sister-in-law, Bertha von Sulzbach, who, at the time of her marriage with Manuel, assumed the name Irene. Conrad, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, to John, by the same grace emperor of Constantinople, greeting and fraternal love. As our predecessors, the Roman emperors, made friendship with your predecessors and established the honor and glory of the kingdom of the Greeks, we desire to do the same; and as they defended it, so we will defend it. It is known of all men that your new Rome [Constantinople] is the daughter of our Rome, the root from which have come your branches and fruits. Therefore we are determined to maintain toward you the attitude of a kind mother to her daughter, all the more that we perceive in you a desire to act as a dutiful daughter. We two should have the same interests, the same friends, and the same enemies, on land and sea. Anyone who fails to honor the daughter shall have occasion to know and fear the strength of the mother, be he Norman or Sicilian, or any other. For we have not forgotten the attacks which our enemy has made upon our own empire. With the help of God, we shall repay to every one according to the measure of his guilt. Then the whole world shall see how easily those who have dared to rebel against us both are overwhelmed and cast down; for if we cut his wings, we shall, as it were, take the enemy flying, and cut out of his heart that arrogance which has caused him to revolt against us. It is our firm purpose to maintain friendly relations toward you, and we are sure you hold the same purpose toward us, all the more now that we are bound together by the approaching marriage of your son and the sister of our wife, the empress.... 94. Letter of Wibald, Abbot of Stablo, to Eugene III, 1159. Jaffé, I, p. 372; Doeberl, IV, no. 24 a. The following letter shows (1) the mismanagement of the affairs of a great monastery, (2) the troubles which might arise in connection with the election of an abbot, (3) the influence which Conrad III exercised on such elections, and (4) the method of procedure in elections. It will be remembered that the concordat of Worms was now in force. To his reverend father and lord, pope Eugene, Wibald [abbot of Stablo], sends his reverence and respect. Our beloved brother Henry, abbot of Hersfeld, who had also been placed in charge of the abbey of Fulda, was called from this earth by God soon after our lord Conrad returned from his expedition to Jerusalem. The king was prevented from immediately settling the affairs of the monastery of Fulda by the evil state into which its affairs had fallen and by the violence of party strife within it. This delay was unfortunate, because the king was not able either to recover its possessions which had been squandered or to provide for the performance of the spiritual functions of the church, that is, the care of souls. Therefore we and our brothers, the abbot of Eberach and other clergymen, urged upon him the necessity of settling its affairs as soon as possible. Finally he came to Fulda on the 5th of April and held a diet there, which was attended by your venerable sons, the archbishop of Bremen, and the bishops of Würzburg and Halberstadt, and many secular princes and nobles. Among other things, the king sought their advice in regard to the affairs of Fulda, seeking to reach a settlement by which he might render unto God the things which are God's and unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's. After a long and fruitless debate ... the king said that a certain man had been suggested to him as being of good character and holy reputation. This man, it was said, had been successful in the administration of a small monastery, which had prospered under his rule both spiritually and materially, and there was no reason for doubting that he was well fitted by his zeal and ability to govern the monastery of Fulda. If they voted to elect this man, he was sure that the monastery would recover its former honor and dignity under his wise and mild administration. All those present were delighted with this speech, as showing the interest of the king in the welfare of the church, and the matter was reported by some of us to those who had the authority to elect the abbot. They in turn were rejoiced at this turn of the affair and begged to be told the name of the man. And when it was told to them they proceeded to elect him as their abbot. This man is Mainward, abbot of Deggingen, ... who has ruled that monastery for eight years and has been very successful in his administration. We beseech you to confirm his election, for he is recommended by those who know him best, and his election took place without his knowledge, and indeed against his will. We believe that by confirming his election and giving him your benediction you will do much to heal the wounds of the distressed congregation of Fulda. We ourselves bear witness that all the brothers of the congregation have promised obedience and devotion to their abbot elect. May God keep you safe and unharmed to rule his holy church. 95. Letter of Frederick I to Eugene III, Announcing his Election, 1152. Jaffé, I, Wibaldi Epp., no. 372; Doeberl, IV, no. 25 a. During the Middle Age there were many constitutional questions which had not been decided. On many points no theory had been formulated, and the practice varied. Thus it had not been clearly determined how far the pope might control the election of the German king. In 1125 Lothar had asked the pope to confirm his election; Frederick I merely informs the pope of his election and tells him the policy which he intends to pursue. Eugene III "approves" his election, but does not use the more technical word, "confirm." To his most beloved father in Christ, Eugene, pope of the holy Roman church, Frederick, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, [sends] filial love and reverence. ... Following the custom of the Roman emperors, we have sent to you as ambassadors, Eberhard, venerable bishop of Bamberg, Hillo, bishop elect of Trier, and Adam, abbot of Eberach, to notify you of our election and of the condition of the church and the realm. After the death of Conrad, king of the Romans, all the princes of the kingdom came together at Frankfurt, and on the day of their assembling elected us king. The princes displayed complete harmony in this election and the people received it with the greatest approval and delight. Five days later, just after the middle of Lent, we were anointed at Aachen by your beloved sons, the archbishop of Cologne, and other venerable bishops, and were raised to the throne with their solemn benediction. And now that we have been invested with the royal authority and dignity by the homage of the secular princes and the benediction of the bishops, we intend to assume the royal character, as set forth in our coronation oath; namely, to love and honor the pope, to defend the holy Roman church and all ecclesiastical persons, to maintain peace and order, and to protect the widows and the fatherless and all the people committed to our care. God has established two powers by which this world should be ruled, the papacy and the empire; therefore we are prepared to obey the priests of Christ, in order that, through our zeal, the word of God may prevail during our time, and that no one may disobey with impunity the laws of the holy fathers or the decrees of the councils, and that the church may enjoy her ancient honor and dignity and the empire be restored to its former strength. We know that you were greatly distressed at the death of our uncle and predecessor Conrad, but we assure you, beloved father, that we have succeeded him not only in the kingdom, but also in the love which he bore you. We undertake his work of defending the holy Roman church, and we intend to carry on the plans which he made for the honor and liberty of the apostolic see. Your enemies shall be our enemies, and those that hate you shall suffer our displeasure. 96. Answer of Eugene III, May 17, 1152. Jaffé, I, Wibaldi Epp., no. 382; Doeberl, IV, no. 25 e. See introductory note to no. 95. Eugene, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his beloved son in Christ, Frederick, illustrious king of the Romans, greeting and apostolic benediction. We have received the messengers and the letter which you sent to inform us of your election by the unanimous vote of the princes.... We give thanks unto God, from whom cometh every good and perfect gift, for this good news, and we heartily approve your election. We are confident that you intend to take upon yourself the fulfilment of the promise which your uncle and predecessor, Conrad, gave to us and to the holy Roman church. We, on our part, shall labor for your advancement and exaltation, as is the duty of our office. We have sent you an ambassador, who will disclose to you our purpose and intention. In the meantime, we admonish you to bear in mind your oath to defend the church and the clergy of God, to keep peace and order, and to protect the widows and the fatherless, and all your people, that those who obey you and trust in you may rejoice, and that you may win glory with men and eternal life with the king of kings. 97. Treaty of Constance, 1153. Jaffé, I, Wibaldi Epp., no. 417; Doeberl, IV, no. 27 a. The situation of the pope was precarious. In the first place, the Romans had rebelled against him and his rule, and had set up a government of their own. Since 1143 he had been compelled to spend most of his time outside of the city. In the second place, Roger of Sicily was in rebellion against him and threatened the papal lands with invasion from the south. And lastly, the Greek emperor was now following a vigorous policy to secure land in Italy. The pope was in sore need of help, especially against the Romans and Normans. Hence he insisted that Frederick should promise to aid him, as well as not to make peace with his enemies without papal consent. Frederick wished the imperial crown, and the papal blessing and support. He was planning the conquest of the Normans, whose territory he regarded as a part of the empire. But in this agreement it will be observed that nothing is said about who owns Sicily and southern Italy, nor is it stipulated that the pope shall not make terms with the Normans without the emperor's consent. Frederick feared that the pope, who wished to gain control of the Greek church, might make terms with the Greek emperor and help him in his efforts to regain a foothold in Italy. In the name of the Lord, amen. This is a copy of the agreement and convention made between the pope, Eugene III, and Frederick, king of the Romans, by their representatives; on the part of the pope: cardinals Gregory of Santa Maria in Trastevere, Ubald of San Prassede, Bernard of San Clemente, Octavian of Santa Cecilia, Roland of San Marco, Gregory of Sant Angelo, Guido of Santa Maria in porticu, and Bruno, abbot of Chiaravalle; on the part of the king: Anselm, bishop of Havelberg; Hermann, bishop of Constance; Udalrich, count of Lenzburg; Guido, count of Guerra, and Guido, count of Bianderati. The king will have one of his ministerials to swear for him that he will not make a peace or a truce either with the Romans or with Roger of Sicily without the consent of the pope. The king will use all the power of his realm to reduce the Romans to subjection to the pope and the Roman church. He will protect the honor of the papacy and the regalia of St. Peter against all men to the best of his ability, and he will aid the church in recovering what she has lost. He will never grant any land in Italy to the king of the Greeks, and will use all his power in keeping him out. All these things the king promises to observe and to do in good faith. The pope, on his part, promises on his apostolic faith, with the consent of the cardinals, that he will ever honor the king as the most dearly beloved son of St. Peter, and that he will give him the imperial crown whenever he shall come to Italy for it. He will aid the king in maintaining and increasing the honor of his realm, as his office demands. If anyone attacks the honor or the authority of the king, the pope at the request of the king will warn him to make satisfaction, and will excommunicate him if he refuses to heed the warning. The pope will not grant any land in Italy to the king of the Greeks, and will use all the resources of St. Peter to drive him out if he invades that land. All these things shall be observed in good faith by both parties, unless they are changed by mutual consent. 98. The Stirrup Episode, 1155. Watterich, Pont. Rom. Vitæ, II, pp. 327 ff. This account of the stirrup episode illustrates the growing pretensions of the papacy, the temper of both Frederick I and the new pope, Adrian IV, and the importance which the Middle Age attached to matters of ceremony. The king [Frederick] advanced with his army to the neighborhood of Sutri and encamped in Campo Grasso. The pope, however, came to Nepi, and on the day after his arrival was met there by many of the German princes and a great concourse of clergy and laymen, and conducted with his bishops and cardinals to the tent of the king. But when the cardinals who came with the pope saw that the king did not come forward to act as the esquire of the pope [_i.e._, to hold his stirrup while he dismounted], they were greatly disturbed and terrified, and retreated to Civita Castellana, leaving the pope before the tent of the king. And the pope, distressed and uncertain what he should do, sadly dismounted and sat down on the seat which had been prepared for him. Then the king prostrated himself before the pope, kissing his feet and presenting himself for the kiss of peace. But the pope said: "You have refused to pay me the due and accustomed honor which your predecessors, the orthodox emperors, have always paid to my predecessors, the Roman popes, out of reverence for the apostles, Peter and Paul; therefore I will not give you the kiss of peace until you have made satisfaction." The king, however, replied that he was not under obligations to perform the service. The whole of the following day was spent in the discussion of this point, the army in the meantime remaining there. And after the testimony of the older princes had been taken, especially of those who had been present at the meeting of king Lothar and pope Innocent (II), and the ancient practice had been determined, the princes and the royal court decided that the king ought to act as the esquire of the pope and hold his stirrup, out of reverence for the apostles, Peter and Paul. On the next day the camp of the king was moved to the territory of Nepi, on the shores of lake Janula, and there king Frederick, in accordance with the decision of the princes, advanced to meet the pope, who was approaching by another way. And when the pope came within about a stone's throw from the emperor, the emperor dismounted and proceeded on foot to meet the pope, and there in the sight of his army he acted as the pope's esquire, holding his stirrup for him to dismount. Then the pope gave him the kiss of peace. 99. Treaty between Adrian IV and William of Sicily, 1156. Watterich, Pont. Rom. Vitæ, II, pp. 352 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 34. By this document the long struggle between the popes and the kings of Sicily was brought to an end. The terms of the treaty were very favorable to the pope, but William retained as privileges certain things which were in other countries generally regarded as belonging to the pope. For the effects of this treaty on the relations between Adrian IV and Frederick I, see no. 100, introductory note. In the name of the Lord, the eternal God, and of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, amen. To Adrian, by the grace of God, pope of the holy Roman church, his most beloved lord and father, and to his successors, William, by the same grace king of Sicily, duke of Apulia, and prince of Capua. (Introduction reviewing the differences between the pope and the king of Sicily, and relating the course of the negotiations.) We agree, therefore, to this treaty of peace as drawn up by the representatives of both of us. 1. Concerning appeals to the pope. In Apulia and its dependencies and in Calabria, appeals in ecclesiastical matters which cannot be settled by the regular ecclesiastics of those lands may be made freely to Rome. If it seems advantageous or necessary to transfer priests from one church to another, this may be done with the consent of the pope. The Roman church shall have the right to consecrate and to make visitations throughout our whole realm. The Roman church shall have the right to hold councils in any of the cities of Apulia or its dependencies or Calabria, except that a council may not be held in any city in which the king is staying, without his consent. The Roman church shall have the right to send its legates into Apulia and its dependencies and into Calabria, but those legates shall not waste the possessions of the churches to which they are sent. The Roman church shall have the same right of consecration and visitation in the island of Sicily.... The Roman church shall have in Sicily all the rights which it has in other parts of our kingdom, except the right of hearing appeals and sending legates, which shall be exercised only at the request of the king. 2. Concerning those churches and monasteries which have been in dispute between us. You and your successors shall have in them the rights which you exercise in other churches of our lands, which are accustomed to receive their consecration and benediction from the Roman church, and these churches shall pay the legal taxes to the Roman see. 3. Concerning elections. The clergy shall elect a suitable person, keeping his name secret until they have notified you. The name shall then be reported to us, and we will give our consent to the election, unless the person is one of our enemies or a traitor, or for some other good reason is displeasing to us. 4. You shall confer upon us and upon our son Roger, and our heirs, the kingdom of Sicily, the duchy of Apulia, and the principality of Capua, with all the lands which belong to them as follows: Naples, Salerno, and Amalfi, with their dependencies; Marsia and all that we hold beyond Marsia; and all the other possessions which we now hold, or which have been held by our predecessors. You promise, moreover, to aid us in good faith to hold them against all men. 5. In consideration of these concessions, we have taken the oath of fidelity to you and to your successors and to the Roman church, and the oath of liege homage to you. Two copies of this oath have been made, one of which has been signed and sealed by us and given into your keeping, and the other sealed by you and given to us. We agree also to pay an annual tribute of 600 "schifates" for Apulia and Calabria, and 500 from Marsia.... You agree to grant all these things also to our heirs and successors, on condition that they do homage to you and your successors, and keep the promises which we have made to you.... 100-102. The Besançon Episode, 1157. 100. Letter of Adrian IV To Frederick, September 20, 1157. Ragewin, Gesta Friderici, III, ch. 9; M. G. SS. folio, XX; Doeberl, IV, no. 35a. Frederick I had been deeply offended by the treaty which Adrian IV made with William of Sicily (no. 99), because it had been made without his consent, and without in any way considering the claims which the emperor laid to Sicily. In making the treaty of Constance (no. 97) Frederick had undoubtedly been outwitted by the papal diplomacy. He had been led to promise not to make peace with the Normans without the consent of the pope. He apparently took it for granted that the pope was bound in the same way not to make peace with the Normans without the imperial consent, although it was not stipulated in the agreement. While Frederick had promised certain definite things, the pope's promise was couched in general terms. He had promised to "aid the king in maintaining and increasing the honor of his realm as his office demands. If anyone attacks the honor or the authority of the king, the pope will warn him to make satisfaction," etc. The pope denied that William of Sicily was "attacking the honor or authority of the king" because the lands which William held did not belong to Frederick; they were the property of the pope himself, and therefore he might make terms with William without consulting Frederick. Frederick complained that the pope had acted in bad faith in making peace with William, and that he had broken the treaty of Constance. The pope, however, maintained that he had in no way infringed the treaty, and that Frederick had no grounds for complaint. This is the general background for the Besançon episode, the chief features of which will be clear from the following documents. Adrian, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his beloved son Frederick, illustrious emperor of the Romans, greeting and apostolic benediction. We wrote to you a few days ago recalling to your mind that execrable crime which was recently committed in Germany and expressing our grief that you had allowed it to go unpunished. For our venerable brother, Eskil, archbishop of Lund, on his return from the apostolic seat, was seized and made captive in your land by certain impious and wicked persons, who even threatened him and his companions with drawn swords and subjected them to dishonor and indignity. Not only are these facts well known to you, but the report of them has spread to the most distant regions. It was your duty to avenge this wicked deed and to draw against its perpetrators the sword intrusted to you by God for the punishing of evil-doers and the protection of good men. But it is reported that you have palliated this offence and allowed it to go unpunished, so that those who committed the sacrilege are unrepentant and believe that they have done this with impunity. We are entirely at a loss to understand this negligence of yours, for our conscience does not accuse us of having offended you in any way. Indeed we have always regarded you as our most beloved son and as a Christian prince established by the grace of God upon the rock of the apostolic confession. We have loved you with sincere affection and have always treated you with the greatest kindness. You should remember, most glorious son, how graciously your mother, the holy Roman church, received you last year, how kindly she treated you, and how gladly she conferred upon you the imperial crown, the highest mark of dignity and honor; how she has always fostered you on her kindly bosom, and has always striven to do only what would be pleasing and advantageous to you. We do not regret having granted the desires of your heart; nay, we would be glad to confer even greater benefits (_beneficia_) upon you, if that were possible, because of the advantage and profit that you would be able to confer upon the church of God and upon us. But the fact that you have allowed this terrible deed, which is an offence against the church and the empire, to go unpunished has made us fear that you have been led by evil counsellors to imagine that you have some grievance against your mother, the holy Roman church, and against us. In regard to this matter and other important affairs, we have sent you these legates, two of the best and dearest of those about us, namely, our beloved sons, Bernard, cardinal priest of Santa Clara, and Roland, chancellor and cardinal priest of San Marco, men conspicuous for their piety, wisdom, and honesty. We beseech you to receive them honorably and kindly, to treat them justly, and to give full credence to the proposals which they make, as if we were speaking in person. 101. Manifesto of the Emperor, October, 1157. Ragewin, Gesta Friderici, III, ch. 11; M. G. SS. folio, xx; Doeberl, IV, no. 35 b. God, from whom proceeds all authority in heaven and in earth, has intrusted the kingdom and the empire to us, his anointed, and has ordained that the peace of the church be preserved by the imperial arms. Therefore it is with great sorrow that we are forced to complain to you of the head of the church which Christ intended should reflect his character of charity and love of peace. For the actions of the pope threaten to produce such evils and dissensions as will corrupt the whole church and destroy its unity, and bring about strife between the empire and the papacy, unless God should intervene. These are the circumstances: We held a diet at Besançon for the purpose of considering certain matters which concerned the honor of the empire and the security of the church. At that diet legates of the pope arrived, saying that they came on a mission that would redound greatly to the honor and advantage of the empire. We gave them an honorable reception on the first day of their arrival, and on the second day, as is the custom, we called together all the princes to listen to their message.... Then they delivered their message in the form of a letter from the pope, of which the general tenor was as follows: the pope had conferred the imperial crown upon us and was willing to grant us even greater fiefs (_beneficia_). This was the message of fraternal love which was to further the union of the church and the empire, and bind them together in the bonds of peace, and to inspire the hearts of its hearers with love and fidelity for both rulers! Not only were we, as emperor, incensed by this false and lying statement, but all the princes who were present were so enraged that they would undoubtedly have condemned the two priests to death off-hand had they not been restrained by our presence. Moreover, we found in their possession many copies of that letter, and blank forms sealed by the pope to be filled out at their discretion, with which they were intending to spread this venom throughout the churches of Germany, as is their custom from of old, and to denude the altars, rob the houses of God, and despoil the crosses. Therefore, in order to prevent their further progress, we compelled them to return to Rome by the way they had come. We hold this kingdom and empire through the election of the princes from God alone, who by the passion of his Son placed this world under the rule of two swords; moreover, the apostle Peter says: "Fear God, honor the king" [1 Pet. 2:17]. Therefore, whoever says that we hold the imperial crown as a benefice from the pope resists the divine institution, contradicts the teaching of Peter, and is a liar.... 102. Letter of Adrian IV to the Emperor, February, 1158. Ragewin, Gesta Friderici, III, chs. 22, 23; M. G. SS. folio, xx; Doeberl, IV, no. 35 e. Ever since we were called by the will of God to the government of the universal church, we have tried to honor you in every way, in order that your love and reverence for the apostolic seat might daily increase. Therefore we were greatly astonished to learn that you were incensed at us and that you had treated with such scant respect the legates ... whom we had sent to you for the purpose of learning your wishes. We are informed that you were enraged because we used the word _beneficium_, at which surely the mind of so great a person as yourself should not have been disturbed. For although with some that word has come to have a meaning different from its original sense, yet it ought to be taken in the sense in which we have used it and which it has had from the beginning. For _beneficium_ comes from _bonum_ and _factum_, and we used it to mean not a _feudum_ (fief), but a "good deed," in which sense it is used throughout the holy Scriptures; as when we are said to be guided and nourished by the _beneficium_ of God, which means not the "fief," but the kindness of God. You surely admit that in placing the imperial crown upon your head we performed an act that would be regarded by all men as a "good deed." Moreover, if you misunderstood the phrase "we conferred the imperial crown upon you," and distorted it from its ordinary meaning, it could only be because you wished to misunderstand it or because you accepted the interpretation of persons who wished to disturb the peace existing between the church and the empire. For we meant by the words "we conferred" no more than "we placed," as we said above. In ordering the recall of the ecclesiastics whom we sent to make a visitation of the churches in Germany according to the right of the Roman church, you must surely recognize that you acted unwisely, for if you had any grievance you should have informed us, and we would have undertaken to satisfy your honor. Now by the advice of our beloved son Henry, duke of Bavaria and Saxony, we have sent you two legates, our brothers Henry, cardinal priest of San Nereo and Sant Achilleo, and Hyacinth, cardinal deacon of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, both wise and honorable men, and we urge you to receive them honorably and kindly, and to accept the message which they deliver as coming from the sincerity of our heart; so agreeing with them through the mediation of our son the duke, that no discord may remain between you and your holy mother, the Roman church. 103. Definition of Regalia or Crown Rights, Given at the Diet Held on the Roncalian Plain, 1158. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 111 f; Doeberl, IV, no. 37 a. The rights of the crown were called "regalia." When Frederick I went into Italy (1158) he found that the royal rights had been usurped by the cities and nobles. At the diet which he held on the Roncalian plain he consulted lawyers who had been trained in the law of Justinian, and asked them what the imperial rights in Italy were. Their decision, which is here given, was largely influenced by their study of the Roman law. The account which Ragewin (IV, 7) gives of this diet is as follows: "Frederick then examined into the matter of the royal jurisdiction and the regalia, which for a long time had been lost to the empire because they had been usurped and the kings had neglected to recover them. The bishops, the nobles, and the cities, since they could find no excuse for retaining these rights, resigned them to the emperor. Milan was the first to surrender them. When the emperor asked what these rights were, the decision was given that they were the right to appoint dukes, marquises, counts, and consuls [in the cities]; to coin money; to levy tolls; to collect the _fodrum_ [a tax in provisions for the support of the emperor and his army when passing through the territory]; to collect customs and harbor dues; to furnish safe-conducts; to control mills, fish-ponds, bridges, and all the water-ways, and to demand an annual tax not only from the land, but also from each person." These are the regalian rights or rights of the crown: Arimanniæ,{72} public roads, navigable rivers and those which unite to form navigable rivers, harbors, and the banks of rivers; tolls, coinage, profits from fines and penalties; ownerless and confiscated lands, and the property of those who have contracted incestuous marriages or have been outlawed for crimes mentioned in the Novellæ of Justinian; rights of conveyance on direct routes and cross-roads{73} (angariæ and parangariæ), and the prestation of ships;{74} the special taxes for the royal expedition; the appointment of officials for the administration of justice; mines; royal palaces in the customary cities; the profits of fisheries and salt-works; the property of those who are guilty of offence against the majesty of the emperor; half the treasure discovered in places belonging to the emperor or dedicated to religious purposes, and all of it if the finder was aided by the emperor. {72} Arimanniæ: Taxes paid by those who held certain lands or estates which had once been held by the _arimanni_, or free Lombards. {73} When the emperor travelled he had the right to demand conveyances of various kinds from the people of the territory through which he was passing. Angariæ were conveyances for the "direct roads"; parangariæ, conveyances for the "cross-roads." By "direct roads" are meant the chief roads; in Italy, those which led directly to Rome, and along which the emperor must pass when going to Rome. The "cross-roads" were the less important roads, which ran at right angles to the direct roads. {74} In the same way the emperor had the right to demand ships for the transport of himself and his men. 104. Grounds for the Quarrel between Adrian IV and Frederick I. Letter of Eberhard, Bishop of Bamberg, to Eberhard, Archbishop of Salzburg, 1159. Ragewin, Gesta Frid., IV, c. 34; M. G. SS. folio, XX; Doeberl, IV, no. 38. Although the stirrup episode and the Besançon episode were ended without a rupture between Frederick and Adrian, the fundamental question between them was not yet settled. Frederick continued to act in accordance with his ideas of what his office demanded, thus giving deep offence to the pope. The various matters in which the pope felt that Frederick had offended are set forth in this letter. They involve the deeper question of supremacy. The relations between the pope and emperor were becoming more and more strained. Although Frederick had previously refused to consider the propositions of the commune of Rome, he now received their ambassadors courteously. The people of the city wished to obtain his recognition of their government. Since the pope was obdurate Frederick threatened to make common cause with the rebellious city, hoping, no doubt, that Adrian would thereby be compelled to sue to him for terms. To his reverend father and lord, Eberhard, archbishop of Salzburg, Eberhard, by the grace of God bishop of Bamberg. ... That perilous time seems near at hand when strife shall arise between the king and the pope. The cardinals Octavianus and William, former archdeacon of Pavia, were sent by pope Adrian to the emperor with a message which began with a conciliatory introduction but which contained most vexatious matter. For instance, they said: the emperor must not send ambassadors to the city of Rome without the consent of the pope, as all the magisterial power in Rome and all the regalian rights there belong to St. Peter; the _fodrum_ must not be collected from the papal estates except at the time of the imperial coronation; Italian bishops should take only the oath of fidelity to the emperor and not the oath of homage [see no. 214]; bishops shall not be required to entertain the ambassadors of the emperor in their palaces; the following possessions, belonging of right to the Roman church, must be restored: Tivoli, Ferrara, Massa, Fiscaglia, all the lands of the countess Matilda, all the land from Aquapendente to Rome, the duchy of Spoleto, and the islands of Sardinia and Corsica. The emperor was willing to do justice in these matters if the pope would give him justice in return [that is, the emperor was willing to submit each matter to trial and abide by the decision, if the pope would do the same], but the cardinals were only empowered to receive justice and not to give it, for they said that they could not bind the pope. The emperor on his part then made the following complaints: that the treaty of Constance had not been kept by the pope in the matter of his promise not to make peace with the Greeks, the Sicilians, or the Roman people without the consent of both parties [see no. 97]; that cardinals were sent through Germany without the emperor's consent, and that they entered the palaces of bishops who possessed regalian rights from the emperor; that the pope heard unjust appeals; and many similar matters. The emperor agreed that the pope should be notified of these demands by the aforesaid cardinals, but the pope refused to send other cardinals empowered to treat of these things, as the emperor had requested. In the meantime ambassadors came from the Roman people to make a treaty of peace with the emperor, and were favorably received and dismissed with honor. The emperor is about to send ambassadors both to the pope and to the city of Rome; if possible, he will make a treaty of peace with the pope, but if this fails, he will ally himself with the Romans.... 105-107. The Disputed Papal Election of 1159. 105. Letter of Alexander III about his Election, 1159. M. G. SS. folio, XVIII, pp, 28 f; Doeberl, IV, no. 39 a. When Adrian IV died, 1159, the quarrel between him and the emperor had reached such a pitch of bitterness that he was about to excommunicate Frederick. But there was a party in the college of cardinals which was heartily supporting the emperor against the pope. The members of this German party, as it was called, had opposed the treaty which Adrian had made with William of Sicily (see no. 99) and had sympathized with Frederick in the Besançon episode and in his later contentions with the pope (see nos. 100-102). They believed that the pope was transcending his powers, and usurping authority which belonged to the emperor alone. But this German party, of which Octavian was the head, was hopelessly in the minority. When the cardinals met to elect a successor to Adrian IV, it was not able to secure the unanimous election of its candidate. Two popes were elected, and a schism ensued which lasted for seventeen years. Alexander III was very clever and succeeded in uniting all of Frederick's enemies against him. Under the pope's leadership and by his diplomacy, the Lombard league was formed. It completely defeated the emperor at Legnano, 1176 (see nos. 108-109). We give first a letter of Alexander III, which contains an account of his election. Then Victor's letter follows (no. 106). And finally a brief account of the election by Gerhoh of Reichersberg is given (no. 107). Alexander, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his venerable brothers, Syrus, archbishop of Genoa, and his suffragans, greeting and apostolic benediction. The eternal and unchangeable will of the Creator provided that his holy and immaculate church from its very foundation should be ruled by one pastor and governor, to whom all prelates should be obedient. As members are united to one head, so they should be joined to him in perfect unity and never separate themselves from him. And Christ, who confirmed the faith of his disciples by saying: "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world" [Matt. 28:20], will without doubt keep his promise to his church which he put under the control of his apostle [Peter]. And although his church, like the little boat of St. Peter, may sometimes be tossed about by the waves, he will preserve it in safety. Three false brothers have gone out from us, but they were not of us, and, transforming themselves into angels of light, although they are servants of Satan, they are trying to rend and tear the church, the seamless robe of Christ, which he, in the person of the Psalmist, prayed might be delivered from the lion's mouth, and from the sword and from the power of the dog [Ps. 22:20]. Nevertheless Christ, the founder and head of the church, is carefully guarding her, his only spouse, and he will not permit the little boat of St. Peter to suffer shipwreck, although it may often be tossed about by the waves. Our predecessor, Adrian IV, of blessed memory, died September 1, while we were at Anagni, and his body was brought to Rome and honorably buried in the customary manner in St. Peter's Church, on September 4. Nearly all the cardinals were present, and after the burial they began to take steps to elect his successor. After three days of discussion all the cardinals except three elected us, although we are not sufficient for this burden and not worthy of so high an office. The three who opposed our election were Octavian, John of St. Martin's, and Guido of Crema. God is our witness that we are telling the exact truth when we say that all the others unanimously elected us, and the other clergy and the people of Rome assented to it. But two, John and Guido, voted for Octavian and stubbornly insisted on his election. The prior of the cardinal deacons was putting the papal mantle on us in the customary manner, although we were reluctant to receive it because we saw our insufficiency for the high office. When Octavian saw this he was almost beside himself with rage, and with his own hands snatched the mantle from our neck and took it away. This caused a great tumultuous outbreak. Some of the senators were present and saw it, and one of them, inspired by the spirit of God, snatched the mantle from the hands of Octavian, who was now raging. Then Octavian, with angry face and fierce eye, turned to one of his chaplains who had come prepared for this, upbraided him, and ordered him hastily to fetch him the mantle which he had brought with him. The mantle was brought without delay, and while all the cardinals were trying to get out of the room, Octavian removed his hat, bowed his head, and received the mantle from his chaplain and another clergyman. And because there was no one else there, he had to assist them himself to put it on him. But the condemnation of God was seen in the fact that he put the mantle on with the wrong side in front. Those who were present saw it and laughed. And as he was of a crooked mind and intention, so the mantle was put on crooked as an evidence of his condemnation. When this was done, the doors of the church, which had been closed, were opened and bands of armed men with drawn swords entered and made a great noise. But they had been hired by Octavian to do this. And because that pestilential Octavian had no cardinals and bishops he surrounded himself with a band of armed knights.... 106. Letter of Victor IV to the German Princes, 1159. Ragewin, Gesta Frid., IV, ch. 60; M. G. SS. folio, XX; Doeberl, IV, no. 39 b. See introductory note to no. 105. Victor, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his venerable brothers, the patriarchs, archbishops, bishops, and his dear sons, the abbots, dukes, marquises, counts, and other princes, and the imperial family who are connected with the most holy court of Frederick, the most serene and unconquered emperor of the Romans, greeting and apostolic benediction. We believe that you cannot have forgotten how sincerely we have loved the empire and how we have labored in support of its honor and dignity. And now that we have been elevated to a higher dignity we wish to do even more for you and the empire. We therefore confidently beseech you, for the reverence which you have for St. Peter and for your love to us, to ask the emperor to take immediate steps to come to the aid and protection of the empire, which God has committed to him, and of the church of God, the bride of Christ, of which God has made him advocate and defender. If he does not, there is danger that his malicious enemies may prevail in this great struggle, and the little boat of St. Peter be overwhelmed by winds and storms, and the imperial dignity be humiliated. We wish to inform you that under the Lord's guidance we have been elected pope. After our predecessor, Adrian IV, of blessed memory, had gone the way of all flesh and been buried in the church of St. Peter, we all came together to elect his successor. After long discussion and mature deliberation, God graciously inspired our brothers, the cardinal bishops, priests, and deacons of the holy Roman church, and the other clergy of Rome, to elect us. The people of Rome asked for our election and the senators and other nobles assented to it. We were canonically elected and then elevated to the throne of St. Peter. And on the first Sunday in October we were consecrated and received the full power of our office. We humbly beseech you to aid us with your prayers to Him from whom come all power and dignities. Now the former chancellor, Roland, who was bound by oath in a conspiracy against the church of God and the empire in support of William of Sicily, had himself thrust into the papal office twelve days after we were elected. Such a thing had never been heard of before. If he should send you letters, you should refuse to receive them, because they are full of lies and he is a schismatic and a heretic. Pay no attention whatever to his letters. 107. The Account of the Election as Given by Gerhoh of Reichersberg, _ca_. 1160. Doeberl, IV, no. 39 d. See introductory note to no. 105. When Adrian IV died, all the cardinal clergy of the holy Roman church met to elect his successor. A secret ballot was taken and the result announced. It was found that a majority of the cardinals had voted for Roland, the chancellor of Adrian IV. A few had voted for Octavian, and some also for _Magister_ Bernard. Since there could not be three popes, the majority tried to persuade the minority to give up their candidates and make the election of Roland unanimous. Those who had voted for Bernard then deserted him and some of them joined the party of Roland. The others said that they had no preference but would support either Octavian or Roland, provided the election of either were unanimous, and the church should not be divided on account of it. The number of cardinals who supported Octavian, or were willing to support him if elected, was seven. But a much larger number supported Roland. The majority then tried hard to persuade these seven to unite in electing Roland, and won over all but three of them. Two of these, John of Pisa, and Guido of Crema, were very contentious and declared that they would never desert Octavian. So they with the bishop of Tusculum made Octavian pope. 108. The Preliminary Treaty of Anagni between Alexander III and Frederick I, 1176. Kehr, Vertrag von Anagni. in Neues Archiv, XIII, pp. 109 ff; Doeberl, IV no. 46 a. The quarrel between the pope and emperor increased in bitterness. At the same time the Italian cities rebelled against Frederick and joined the pope. The Lombard league was formed and at Legnano, 1176, the emperor was utterly defeated. He then sent ambassadors to the pope at Anagni to discuss the terms of a treaty of peace. They agreed on the following articles which were afterward incorporated in the peace of Venice, 1177. The final treaty was made in 1183 and is called the treaty of Constance (see no. 109). 1. The emperor and the empress, and their son, king Henry, and all the princes promise to accept pope Alexander III as the catholic and universal pope, and to show him such reverence as their predecessors were wont to show to his predecessors. 2. The emperor promises to keep peace faithfully with pope Alexander and his successors and with the whole Roman church. 3. All the regalia and other possessions of St. Peter as held by the Roman church in the time of pope Innocent II, which have been seized by the emperor or his allies, shall be restored to pope Alexander and to the Roman church, and the emperor engages to aid the church in retaining possession of them. 4. The emperor restores to the pope and to the Roman church the control of the office of prefect of the city of Rome; the pope shall see to it that justice shall be done the emperor when he has occasion to seek his rights in the city. 5. All vassals of the church won over by the emperor to his side during the late quarrel, shall be released from their allegiance to him and restored to the pope and to the Roman church. 6. The emperor will restore to the pope and to the church the lands of the countess Matilda as they were held by the church in the time of the emperor Lothar and king Conrad and the present emperor Frederick. 7. The pope and the emperor will mutually aid one another in maintaining the honor and the rights of the empire and the church. 8. Everything unjustly taken from the churches by the emperor or his followers during the schism shall be restored to them. 9. The emperor will make peace with the Lombards on the terms to be agreed upon by representatives appointed for this purpose by the emperor and the pope and the Lombards. In case any difficulty arises in the course of these negotiations which the representatives cannot settle, it shall be decided by the majority of the special commissioners to be appointed for this purpose by the emperor and the pope in equal numbers. 10. The emperor will make peace with the king of Sicily and with the emperor of Constantinople and with all the allies of the pope, and he will not take revenge for any wrongs which they may have committed in assisting the Roman church. 11-22. Articles referring to individuals and lesser details. 23. Pope Alexander and the cardinals on their part make peace with the emperor and the empress and their son, king Henry, and all their party. This, however, shall not prejudice those rights of controlling and judging ecclesiastical persons which are herein surrendered to the pope and to the Roman church, nor the rights of the Roman church over the lands of St. Peter now withheld by other persons, nor the special exceptions made in this document in favor of the pope and the Roman church, on one side, and the emperor and the empire, on the other. 24. The pope and the cardinals will take their oath to keep this peace, the oath to be drawn up in writing and signed by the cardinals. 25. The pope shall immediately call together as large a council as possible, and with the cardinal bishops and other clergy who may be present, shall excommunicate all who break this peace. Afterward he shall do the same in a general council. 26. Many of the nobles of Rome and the great vassals of Campania shall also take oath to keep this peace. 27. The emperor and the princes of the empire will also take their oaths to keep this peace, the oath to be drawn up in writing and signed by the emperor and the princes. 28. If the pope should die first, the emperor and his son, king Henry, and the princes shall observe these terms of peace with his successors and all the cardinals and the whole Roman church, and with the Lombards and the king of Sicily and all the allies of the church. If the emperor should die first, the pope and the cardinals and the Roman church shall observe these terms with the empress Beatrice, and her son, king Henry, and with all the German people and their allies, as written above. 29. In the meantime the emperor shall not attack the land of St. Peter, whether held by the pope in person or by the king of Sicily or other vassals of the pope. 30. If the negotiations for peace are broken off by either side before they are completed, which God forbid, truce shall be kept for three months after the notification of withdrawal. 109. The Peace of Constance, January 25, 1183. Muratori, IV, pp. 307 ff; M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 175 ff; Doeberl, IV, no. 51 c. See introductory note to no. 108. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by divine mercy emperor of the Romans, Augustus, and Henry VI, his son, king of the Romans, Augustus.... 1. We, Frederick, emperor of the Romans, and our son Henry, king of the Romans, hereby grant to you, the cities, territories, and persons of the league, the regalia and other rights within and without the cities, as you have been accustomed to hold them; that is each member of the league shall have the same rights as the city of Verona has had in the past or has now. 2. The members of the league shall exercise freely and without interference from us all the rights which they have exercised of old. 3. These are the rights which are guaranteed to you: the _fodrum_, forests, pastures, bridges, streams, mills, fortifications of the cities, criminal and civil jurisdiction, and all other rights which concern the welfare of the city. 4. The regalia which are not to be granted to the members of the league shall be determined in the following manner: in the case of each city, certain men shall be chosen for this purpose from both the bishopric and the city; these men shall be of good repute, capable of deciding these questions, and such as are not prejudiced against either party. Acting with the bishop of the diocese, they shall swear to inquire into the questions of the regalia and to set aside those that by right belong to us. If, however, the cities do not wish to submit to this inquisition, they shall pay to us an annual tribute of 2000 marks in silver as compensation for our regalia. If this sum seems excessive, it may be reduced. 5. If anyone appeals to us in regard to matters which are by this treaty admitted to be under your jurisdiction, we agree not to hear such an appeal. 6. The bishops, churches, cities, and other persons, clerical and lay, shall retain possession of the property or rights which have been granted to them before this war by us or by our predecessors, the above concessions excepted. The accustomed dues for such holdings shall be paid to us, but not the tax. 7. Such possessions as we have granted to members of the league, inside or outside of cities, shall not be included among those regalia for which taxes are to be paid to us. 8. All privileges, gifts, and concessions made in the time of the war by us or our representatives to the prejudice or injury of the cities, territories, or members of the league are to be null and void. 9. Consuls of cities where the bishop holds the position of count from the king or emperor shall receive their office from the bishop, if this has been the custom before. In all other cities the consuls shall receive their office from us, in the following manner: after they have been elected by the city they shall be invested with office by our representative in the city or bishopric, unless we are ourselves in Lombardy, in which case they shall be invested by us. At the end of every five years each city shall send its representative to us to receive the investiture. 10. This arrangement shall be observed by our successor, and all such investitures shall be free. 11. After our death, the cities shall receive investiture in the same way from our son and from his successors. 12. The emperor shall have the right of hearing appeals in cases involving more than 25 pounds, saving the right of the church of Brescia to hear appeals. The appellant shall not, however, be compelled to come to Germany, but he shall appeal to the representative of the emperor in the city or bishopric. This representative shall examine the case fairly and shall give judgment according to the laws and customs of that city. The decision shall be given within two months from the time of appeal, unless the case has been deferred by reason of some legal hindrance or by the consent of both parties. 13. The consuls of cities shall take the oath of allegiance to the emperor before they are invested with office. 14. Our vassals shall receive investiture from us and shall take the vassal's oath of fidelity. All other persons between the ages of 15 and 70 shall take the ordinary oath of fidelity to the emperor unless there be some good reason why this oath should be remitted. 15. Vassals who have failed to receive investiture from us or to render the services due for their fiefs, during the war or the truce, shall not on this account lose their fiefs. 16. Lands held by _libelli_ and _precariæ_ shall be held according to the customs of each city, the feudal law of Frederick I to the contrary notwithstanding. 17. All injuries, losses, and damages which we or our followers have sustained from the league or any of its members or allies are hereby pardoned, and all such transgressors are hereby received back into our favor. 18. We will not remain longer than is necessary in any city or bishopric. 19. It shall be permitted to the cities to erect fortifications within or without their boundaries. 20. It shall be permitted to the league to maintain its organization as it now is or to renew it as often as it desires. 110. The Formation of the Duchy of Austria, 1156. Wattenbach, Die ost. Freiheitsbriefe; Doeberl, IV, no. 31 a. The nobles of Germany early showed the desire to free themselves from the control of the emperor and to acquire independence at the expense of the crown. The document by which Frederick I created the duchy of Austria out of the Bavarian east mark and gave it to his uncle, Henry, contains some concessions which tended to weaken the crown. Instead of binding the new duke closely to the crown and compelling him to render services commensurate with his high position, the emperor excused him from attending diets which were not held near his lands, and from military service except in the lands which adjoined his. He also gave the duke the complete administration of justice in his territory. Other princes were not slow to demand similar privileges, and the crown was gradually stripped of its powers and prerogatives. See nos. 136, 139, 153, 160. The duchy of Austria, created by this grant, came into the possession of the Hapsburg family, and formed the centre of the Hapsburg lands, the present Austro-Hungarian empire. See no. 150. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by divine mercy emperor of the Romans, Augustus. ... Know all our faithful subjects, present and future, that with the aid of him who sent peace on earth, we have been able to settle the long quarrel between our beloved uncle Henry, duke of Austria, and our beloved nephew, Henry, duke of Saxony, over the possession of the duchy of Bavaria. This was accomplished at the diet of Regensburg on the day of the Nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary in the presence of many pious catholic princes. This is the way in which the settlement was reached: The duke of Austria resigned the duchy of Bavaria into our hands, and we immediately granted it in fief to the duke of Saxony. Then the duke of Bavaria [Henry of Saxony] surrendered to us the mark of Austria with all its rights and all the fiefs which the former margrave Luitpold held of the duchy of Bavaria, and we have made the mark of Austria a duchy with the consent of the princes, Wadislaus, duke of Bohemia, putting the motion and the other princes agreeing to it. This was done in order that our beloved uncle should not lose in rank by the transfer. We have now granted the duchy of Austria in fief to our uncle Henry and to his wife Theodora, decreeing by this perpetual edict that (1) they and their children after them, whether sons or daughters, shall hold and possess it by hereditary right. If our uncle and his wife should die without children, they may leave the duchy by will to whomsoever they desire. (2) We decree also that no person, great or small, shall presume to exercise any of the rights of justice within the duchy, without the consent and permission of the duke. (3) The duke of Austria does not owe any services to the empire, except to attend, when summoned, such diets as may be held in Bavaria. (4) He is not bound to join the emperor on any campaign except such as may be directed against parts of the kingdom neighboring to Austria. 111. The Bishop of Würzburg is made a Duke, 1168. Bresslau, Diplomata Centum, no. 72; Doeberl, IV, no. 44. The old duchy of Franconia disappeared with Conrad II (1024-39). The Staufer, who inherited the family lands of Conrad II, called themselves dukes of Rothenburg, and not of Franconia. A large part of the original duchy went to make up the bishoprics of Mainz, Bamberg, and Würzburg. In time the bishops of Würzburg put forth the claim that they had received the ducal office in Franconia. In a diet at Würzburg, 1168, Herold, the ambitious bishop of Würzburg, presented some forged documents to Frederick I to prove that the bishops of Würzburg were also dukes and had ducal authority in the duchy of Würzburg, which was identical with the bishopric. Frederick was deceived by these forgeries and confirmed the bishop in his usurped title and authority. The bishops of Würzburg now received the highest jurisdiction over their territory. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by the mercy of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus.... Be it known to all the faithful subjects of God and of our empire, both present and future, that we held a diet at Würzburg recently, where with the aid of God we were able to reconcile the differences which had arisen among the princes of Saxony. At that diet also Herold, venerable bishop of Würzburg, attended by his whole chapter and by a large following of freemen and ministerials, besought us to confirm by our imperial authority the jurisdiction over the church and duchy of Würzburg, which has belonged to his predecessors since the time of Karl the Great. We always delight to grant the reasonable requests of suppliants, and we have no wish to disturb the arrangements made by former emperors, unless there is some need of correction. In this case it is apparent that the settlement made by the former emperors is just, and that the lands have been held unquestioned for a long time by the church and the duchy of Würzburg. Therefore, influenced by the fidelity and devotion of the bishop and by the intercessions of the chapter of his church, whose devotion to him has touched our heart, we give and grant to the venerable bishop Herold and to his successors forever the jurisdiction and right of administering justice in the whole bishopric and duchy and all its counties; that is, the right to punish cases of rapine and incendiarism, to exercise authority over freeholds, fiefs, and vassals, and to inflict capital punishment. By our imperial authority expressed in this perpetual decree, we forbid any person, ecclesiastical or secular, to exercise any jurisdiction in these matters within the bishopric and duchy of Würzburg and its counties; except that the counts should have jurisdiction within their counties over those freemen who are known as _bargaldi_. If anyone acts contrary to this he is guilty of violating the decrees of former emperors, the rights of the church of Würzburg, and this our decree. We also forbid anyone to create hundred-courts or appoint _centgrafs_ (hundred-courts) within this bishopric and duchy and its counties, except by the grant of the bishop-duke of Würzburg. Further, we have destroyed the castle of Bamberg, which has been the cause of so much trouble to the church and the whole province, and have given the hill upon which it stood to the church of Würzburg, forbidding the erection of a castle or fortification again upon it. We have destroyed also the castle of Frankenberg, which menaced the neighboring monastery of Amerbach and imperilled the peace of the church of Würzburg, and have given it under similar conditions to that church. 112. Decree of Gelnhausen, 1180. Heinemann, Cod. Anhalt., no. 1 c; Doeberl, IV. no. 5O. As early as 953 Bruno, archbishop of Cologne, received the ducal authority over Lothringen. This gave him the power to hold local diets and to summon both the bishops and secular nobles to attend them. The Gelnhausen decree, so named because it was published in a diet held at Gelnhausen, is important because it contains an official account (1) of the trial of Henry the Lion, and (2) of the partition of the duchy of Saxony. The archbishop of Cologne now receives the ducal authority over a part of the duchy of Saxony. There is here a good illustration of the policy which Frederick I followed of weakening the great duchies by dividing them. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by divine mercy emperor of the Romans, Augustus.... Know all faithful subjects of the empire, both present and future, that Henry, former duke of Bavaria and Westphalia, has oppressed the churches of God and the nobles of the empire by seizing their lands and violating their rights, has refused to obey our summons to present himself before us and has therefore incurred the ban, and even after that has continued to injure the churches and nobles. Now therefore on account of the injuries which he has inflicted upon these persons, and on account of the contempt which he has so often shown to us, and especially on account of his violation of feudal law, in that he refused to obey the three summonses to present himself before us, he has been judged contumacious and by the unanimous sentence of the princes in the diet held at Würzburg has been deprived of the duchies of Bavaria, Westphalia, and Engria [that is, Bavaria and Saxony] and of all the fiefs which he held of the empire, and these territories have been restored to our control. Now by the advice of the princes we have divided the duchy of Westphalia and Engria [Saxony] into two parts and have conferred that part which is included in the dioceses of Cologne and Paderborn upon our beloved prince, Philip, archbishop of Cologne, because of his conspicuous merits, and of his labors and expenditures for the crown. We have given and granted this territory to the church of Cologne with the counties, advocates, rights of safe-conduct, domains, farms, fiefs, ministerials, serfs, and all other things which belong to that duchy; and we have solemnly invested the aforesaid Philip by the banner [flag] of the empire with that portion of the duchy which is given to his church. This was done by the decision of all the princes of the diet, and with the public consent of our relative, duke Bernard, to whom we have given the other part of the duchy of Westphalia and Engria.... 113. Papal Election Decree of Alexander III, 1179. Watterich, Pont. Rom. Vitæ, II, pp. 644 f; Doeberl, IV, no. 49. Disputed elections might easily take place, because there was no clear law governing them. It was not the majority of the cardinals who could elect, but those of the "better and wiser counsel." No matter how small the number of cardinals who might vote for a particular candidate, he could easily claim to be elected because he could say that his supporters were of the "better and wiser counsel." To prevent such occurrences, Alexander III decreed that the votes of two-thirds of the cardinals were necessary to elect. Concerning the election of the pope. Although our predecessors have issued decrees intended to prevent disputed elections in the papacy, nevertheless, the unity of the church has frequently been imperilled by the wicked ambition of men. We have decided with the advice of our brothers and the approval of the council that something further must be done to prevent this evil. Therefore we have decreed that when the cardinals cannot come to a unanimous vote on any candidate, that person shall be regarded as pope who receives two-thirds of the votes, even if the other one-third refuse to accept him and elect a pope of their own. If anyone who has been elected by only a third of the cardinals shall presume to act as pope he and his followers shall be excommunicated and deprived of all ecclesiastical rank; they shall not be allowed to take communion, unless it be extreme unction, and unless they repent they shall have their part with Dathan and Abiram [Num. 16], whom the earth swallowed alive. No one who has been elected by less than two-thirds, shall presume to act as pope, and if he does he shall suffer the same penalty. This decree shall not be to the prejudice of the canon law or of the practice in other churches where the voice of the majority is declared to be decisive in elections, because any dispute arising in these churches can be settled by appeal to higher authority. The Roman church requires a special law, because there is in her case no higher authority to appeal to. 114-115. Supremacy of the Papal Power. 114. Innocent III to Acerbius, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 377. Innocent III here gives an interesting statement of the theory of papal supremacy and of the relations existing between papacy and empire. Innocent III to Acerbius, prior, and to the other clergy in Tuscany. As God, the creator of the universe, set two great lights in the firmament of heaven, the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night [Gen. 1:15,16], so He set two great dignities in the firmament of the universal church, ... the greater to rule the day, that is, souls, and the lesser to rule the night, that is, bodies. These dignities are the papal authority and the royal power. And just as the moon gets her light from the sun, and is inferior to the sun in quality, quantity, position, and effect, so the royal power gets the splendor of its dignity from the papal authority.... 115. The Use of the Pallium. Innocent III to the Archbishop of Trnova (in Bulgaria), 1201. Migne, 215, col. 294. To the honor of omnipotent God, and of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and of the blessed apostles, Peter and Paul, and of pope Innocent and of the Roman church, as well as of the church committed to you, we give you the pallium. It was first placed on the tomb of St. Peter, from which place we have taken it to send it to you. It is the symbol of the full power of the bishop's office. You shall wear the pallium only when you celebrate mass in the churches of your own diocese on the following days: Christmas, St. Stephen's, Circumcision, Epiphany, Purification of the Virgin Mary, Palm Sunday, Thursday and Saturday of Passion week, Easter Sunday, Monday after Easter, Ascension of our Lord, Pentecost, the three feasts of St. Mary, the birthday of John the Baptist, the feast days of all the apostles, All Saints' day, and when a church is to be dedicated, or bishop consecrated, or clergy ordained, on the principal feast days of your own church, and on the anniversary of your consecration. The bishop of Rome alone always wears the pallium when celebrating mass because he has the plentitude (fullness) of ecclesiastical power, which is symbolized by the pallium. Others wear it only on certain days, and in that diocese over which they have received ecclesiastical authority, because they are called to have authority over only a part of the church, and not over all of it [as the pope is]. 116-118. The Punishment of Heretics. 116. Innocent III to the Archbishop of Auch in Gascony, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 71. Many heresies were appearing in various parts of Europe, and Innocent III made special efforts to suppress them. The three following documents illustrate the means by which he hoped to destroy them. These letters are directed to Spain and to Gascony, where the Albigensian heresy was flourishing. The little boat of St. Peter is beaten by many storms and tossed about upon the sea, but it grieves us most of all that, against the orthodox faith, there are now arising more unrestrainedly and with more injurious results than ever before, ministers of diabolical error who are ensnaring the souls of the simple and ruining them. With their superstitions and false inventions they are perverting the meaning of the Holy Scriptures and trying to destroy the unity of the catholic church. Since we have learned from you and others that this pestilential error is growing in Gascony and in the neighboring territories, we wish you and your fellow bishops to resist it with all your might, because it is to be feared that it will spread and that by its contagion the minds of the faithful will be corrupted. And therefore by this present apostolical writing we give you a strict command that, by whatever means you can, you destroy all these heresies and expel from your diocese all who are polluted with them. You shall exercise the rigor of the ecclesiastical power against them and all those who have made themselves suspected by associating with them. They may not appeal from your judgments, and if necessary, you may cause the princes and people to suppress them with the sword. 117. Innocent III Commands all in Authority to aid his Legates in Destroying Heresy, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 142. See introductory note to no. 116. In order to catch the little foxes which are destroying the vineyard of the Lord [Song of Sol. 2:15], and to separate heretics from the society of the faithful, we have sent to you our beloved son and brother, Rainerius, who, by the divine aid, is powerful in both word and deed, and with him our beloved son and brother, Guido, who fears God and is devoted to works of love. We ask, warn, exhort, and for the forgiveness of your sins command you to receive them kindly and render them assistance against the heretics by giving them advice and aid. We have ordered Rainerius to go on into Spain on certain important ecclesiastical matters, and so we order all archbishops and bishops to use, at the command of Guido, the spiritual sword against all heretics whom he shall name to you. And we order the laymen to confiscate their goods and drive them out of your territories, and thus separate the chaff from the wheat. Moreover to all who faithfully and devoutly aid the church in preserving the faith in this time of great danger which is threatening her, we grant the same indulgence of sins as to those who make a pilgrimage to the churches of St. Peter or of St. James. 118. Confiscation of the Property of Heretics. Innocent III to the King of Aragon, 1206. Migne, 215, col. 915 f. See introductory note to no. 116. Since according to the gospel, the "laborer is worthy of his hire" [Luke 10:7], and in another place it is said, "Thou shalt not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn" [1 Cor. 9:1], it is certainly even more fitting that a proper reward should be given those who, zealous for the divine law, labor to destroy the little foxes which are ruining the vineyard of the Lord [Song of Sol. 2:15]; we mean those who are endeavoring to pervert the Christian faith. Their reward should be all the greater, because if these foxes are killed the vineyard will be able to bear much greater fruit in works of piety. Led by such considerations, we concede to you, by this present writing, the right to reserve for your own use all the movable as well as immovable goods of heretics and of their supporters, of which you are able to get possession. 119. Innocent III Commands the French Bishops to Punish Usury, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 376. The code of Justinian permitted the taking of interest, but the Biblical view of the matter prevailed and in the Middle Age to accept interest in any form on loans was usury. The church often renewed her prohibitions of the custom, but was unable to abolish it. Finally in the sixteenth century the distinction was made between a reasonable and just rate of interest, which was permissible, and an excessive rate, which was declared to be usury, and therefore prohibited. We believe that you know how pernicious the vice of usury is, since, in addition to the ecclesiastical laws which have been issued against it, the prophet says that those who put their money out at interest are to be excluded from the tabernacle of the Lord [Ps. 15:5]. And the New Testament, as well as the Old, forbids the taking of interest, since the Truth [Christ] himself says: "Lend, hoping for nothing again" [Luke 6:35]. And the prophet says: "Thou shalt not receive usury or increase" [Ezek. 18:17]. We command you all by this apostolical writing not to permit those who are known as usurers to clear themselves by any subterfuge or trick when they are charged with the crime. 120. Innocent III Forbids Violence to the Jews, 1199. Migne, 214, col. 864. During the Middle Age the Jew received no protection from the law. It took no account of him. He was compelled to pay for the permission to live in a Christian state or in a Christian town. Such a permission was often revoked at the will of the government (emperor, duke, bishop, city council, etc.), and the Jews were then plundered by the government or the mob, and made to pay well to have the permission renewed. Although the government often robbed them, they had more to fear from the fanaticism and covetousness of the mob, against which the government was generally helpless to protect them. The more enlightened of the clergy tried to shield them, but generally without success. This document gives an idea of the ways in which they were commonly molested, as well as of the enlightened humanity of Innocent III. See also nos. 299, 300. ... We decree that no Christian shall use violence to compel the Jews to accept baptism. But if a Jew, of his own accord, because of a change in his faith, shall have taken refuge with Christians, after his wish has been made known, he may be made a Christian without any opposition. For anyone who has not of his own will sought Christian baptism cannot have the true Christian faith. No Christian shall do the Jews any personal injury, except in executing the judgments of a judge, or deprive them of their possessions, or change the rights and privileges which they have been accustomed to have. During the celebration of their festivals, no one shall disturb them by beating them with clubs or by throwing stones at them. No one shall compel them to render any services except those which they have been accustomed to render. And to prevent the baseness and avarice of wicked men we forbid anyone to deface or damage their cemeteries or to extort money from them by threatening to exhume the bodies of their dead.... 121. Innocent III to the Archbishop of Rouen, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 93. It was not uncommon for clergymen to hold livings or benefices (receive an income) from different churches at the same time. In such cases, they of course found it impossible to live in all the parishes from which they received money or support. And some clergymen, although supported by some church, cared little for their clerical duties and evaded them by living in some other parish. This letter to the archbishop of Rouen represents a part of the reforming work of Innocent III. He endeavored to correct these abuses, as is apparent from this letter. Since it is written that whoever does not work shall not eat [2 Thess. 3:10], we believe it wrong that clergymen do not serve those churches from which they have their livings. You have informed us that certain canons of the church of Rouen receive incomes and livings from the church, but do not live there, as they should, and that the church of Rouen is thereby unjustly deprived of the services of the clergy whom she supports. Therefore we grant your petition, venerable brother in Christ, and by our apostolic authority give you full power to use ecclesiastical discipline to compel them to live in their churches, as the law and custom of the church require..... 122. Innocent III to a Bishop, Forbidding Laymen to Demand Tithes of the Clergy, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 433 f. This letter does not differ materially from the bull "Clericis laicos," no. 162. See the introductory note to it. Since it is improper and contrary to reason that laymen, who are bound to pay tithes to the clergy, should presume to extort tithes from them, to the utter confusion of the established order of things, we grant your petition, and give all the monasteries, churches, and clergy of your diocese the permission to refuse to pay any tithes which may be demanded of them by laymen, no matter under what pretext such a demand may be made. And if laymen, contrary to this writing, shall attempt to collect such tithes by violence, you shall put them under ecclesiastical interdict and deprive them of the right to appeal. 123-125. The Secular Power of Innocent III. 123. The Prefect of Rome Takes the Oath of Fidelity to the Pope, 1198. Migne, 214, cols. 18 and 529. Innocent III attempted to build up a system of papal government in all the lands which he claimed. This document shows how his authority in Rome was recognized. No. 124 is an illustration of the oath which he required of the local princes in Italy who held lands from him. No. 125 is offered as an evidence of his government in Sicily. The next day after the coronation of Innocent III, Peter, prefect of the city of Rome, in the consistory of the Lateran palace, publicly took the oath of fidelity to Innocent and his successors, against all men, and received from the pope a robe as the symbol of his investiture, with the prefecture. And then he did Innocent liege homage and the pope gave him a silver cup as the sign of his favor. The oath. In the name of Christ. I, Peter, prefect of the city, swear that the land which the pope has given me to govern, I will govern to the honor and profit of the church. I will neither sell, nor hire out, nor enfeoff, nor pawn, nor alienate in any other way, any part of it. I will carefully find out and maintain all the rights of the Roman church, and I will endeavor to recover those rights which she has lost; and when I have recovered them, I will preserve and defend them as long as I shall hold this office. I will guard the roads and administer justice. I will give diligent zeal and attention to the guarding of the defences in order that they may be guarded well and to the honor of the church and in accordance with her wishes. I will neither change nor cause to be changed those who have charge of the fortresses, nor will I introduce, or cause to be introduced, others into the fortresses, contrary to the command of the pope. The faithful subjects and vassals of the pope, who live on the patrimony of the church, I will not permit to take the oath of fidelity and homage to me without the special command of the pope. Nor shall any of them be required to be faithful to me except during my governorship. In the territory committed to me I will not cause any strongholds to be built without the command of the pope. I will give a faithful account of my governorship whenever the pope may demand it. And I will freely resign my office whenever the pope or the holy Roman church may command me to do so. All these things I swear that I will faithfully observe without fraud, to the best of my ability, the command of the pope being supreme in all things. So help me God and these holy gospels of God. 124. John of Ceccano's Oath of Fidelity to Innocent III, 1201. Migne, 217, col. 286. See introductory note to no. 123. In the fourth year of the pontificate of Innocent III, in the papal palace at Anagni, a nobleman, John of Ceccano, took an oath of fidelity to pope Innocent for Ceccano and for all the land which he holds. The oath was taken in the presence of cardinal bishops, priests, and deacons; there were present also many other clergy and nobles of Anagni and of other places, as well as the knights of John of Ceccano. And he admitted that he held Ceccano and all the rest of his land from the Roman church. And this was his oath: I, John of Ceccano, swear that from this hour on I will be faithful to St. Peter, the Roman church, and my lord pope Innocent and his successors. I will have no share in any counsel or deed, either by word or act, to deprive them of life or limb or to capture them by fraud. Any plan which they may reveal to me either in person or by messenger or by letter I will not wittingly make known to their hurt. If I learn of an impending injury to them I will prevent it if possible; if I cannot prevent it I will inform them of it either in person or by letter or by messenger, or I will tell it to some person who, I believe, will tell them of it. I will aid them in defending Ceccano and all the land which I hold, and the other regalia of St. Peter which they hold. If they have lost any regalia, I will aid them in recovering, keeping, and defending it against all men. These things I will keep in good faith, without fraud or deceit. So help me God and these holy gospels. After these things he put his hands into the hands of the pope and did him liege homage. And the pope graciously gave him a silver cup overlaid with gold. And afterward, in the same year, the same pope, because of his faithfulness and services of John of Ceccano and his ancestors, gave him the castle of Sitense as a fief. 125. Innocent III Commands the Archbishop of Messina to Receive the Oaths of Bailiffs in Sicily, 1203. Migne, 215, col. 55. See introductory note to no. 123. This document is an evidence that the government of Sicily was administered by the pope. According to the Constitutions of Sicily, 1231, the bailiffs had jurisdiction over thefts, the use of false weights and measures, and the less important civil cases. Knowing your orthodoxy and your faithfulness we do not hesitate to commit to your charge those things which will advance the honor of the apostolic see. Accordingly, by this apostolic writing, we command you to demand and receive, in our name, the bailiff's oath from all counts, barons, citizens, and others who have not yet taken it. 126. Innocent III Commands the English Barons to pay their Accustomed Scutage to King John, 1206. Migne, 217, col. 248. Innocent III presumed to dictate to the whole Christian world in all matters, temporal as well as spiritual. The following documents, nos. 126-129, are offered merely to illustrate by a few specific cases the authority which he assumed. They explain themselves. Innocent .... to his beloved sons, the great nobles, barons, and knights in England, greeting and apostolic benediction. Our most dear son, John, the illustrious king of England, has informed us that, although your ancestors were accustomed from ancient times to pay the king scutage for the baronies which they held from him, and although you yourselves have paid this scutage up to very recent times, you have now arbitrarily refused to pay scutage for the army which he led last year into Poitou. In order that your king's plans may not be interfered with by such action, we earnestly admonish and exhort you, and by this letter we command you to pay promptly and without further resistance or objection the said scutage in accordance with your obligation. For without judicial procedure he cannot be despoiled of this scutage because his ancestors and he have been accustomed to receive it, and besides, provided his right to it is admitted, he is ready to hear any just complaints that may be made to him about it. 127. Innocent III to Peter of Aragon, 1211. Migne, 216, col. 404 f. See introductory note to no. 126. Since you say that while you were still a minor you did yourself great damage by making grants which now involve a large part of your income, and that, although you are very poor, you incur heavy expenses in fighting the enemies of Christianity [that is, the Mohammedans in Spain], I hereby give you the authority to revoke all the grants you made during your minority; but with this proviso, that if you wish to revoke any grants which you made to churches or to other places which are put to a religious use, such revocations shall be passed on by an ecclesiastical judge. 128. Innocent III Grants the Title of King to the Duke of Bohemia, 1204. Migne, 215, col. 333 f. See introductory note to no. 126 and to no. 56. Although there have been many in Bohemia who have worn a royal crown, yet they never received the papal permission to call themselves king in their documents. Nor have we hitherto been willing to call you king, because you were crowned king by Philip, duke of Suabia, who himself had not been legally crowned, and therefore could not legally crown either you or anyone else. But since you have obeyed us, and, deserting the duke of Suabia, have gone over to the illustrious king, Otto, emperor elect, and he regards you as king, we, at his request and out of consideration of your obedience, are willing hereafter to call you king. Now that you know why this favor has been granted you, strive to shun the vice of ingratitude. And show that you have deserved our favor which we have so graciously shown you, and try also to retain it. See to it that you are solemnly crowned by Otto as soon as possible. 129. Innocent III Rebukes the English Barons for Resisting King John of England, 1216. Migne, 217, col. 245 f. See introductory note to no. 126. Innocent, etc., to his beloved sons, the magnates and barons of England, greeting and apostolic benediction. We are gravely troubled to learn that a quarrel has arisen between our most beloved son, John, king of England, and some of you, about certain questions that have recently been raised. Unless wise counsel prevails and diligent measures are taken to end this quarrel, it will cause injury. It is currently reported that you have rashly made conspiracies and confederacies against him, and that you have insolently, rebelliously, presumptuously, and with arms in your hands, said things to him, which, if they had to be said, should have been said humbly and submissively. We utterly condemn your conduct in these matters. You must no longer try, by such means, to hinder the king in his good plans. By our apostolic authority we hereby dissolve all conspiracies and confederacies that have been made since the quarrel between the crown and the church began, and forbid them under threat of excommunication. We order you to endeavor by clear proofs of humility and devotion to placate your king and to win his favor by rendering him those customary services which you and your ancestors have paid him and his predecessors. And in the future, if you wish to make a request of him, you shall do it, not insolently, but humbly and reverently, without offending his royal honor; and thus you will more readily obtain what you wish. We ask and beseech the king in the Lord and command him, in order to obtain forgiveness of his sins, to treat you leniently, and graciously to grant your just petitions. And thus you yourselves may rejoice to know that he has changed for the better, and on this account you and your heirs may serve him and his successors more promptly and devotedly. We ask, and, by this apostolic writing, command you to bear yourselves in such a way that England may obtain the peace she so earnestly longs for, and that you may deserve our aid and support in your times of trouble. 130. Decision of Innocent III in Regard to the Disputed Election of Frederick II, Philip of Suabia, and Otto of Brunswick, 1201. Reg. d. Innoc. III. p. super neg. Rom. imp., no. 29; Huillard-Bréholles, I, 70-76; Böhmer-Ficker-Winkelmann, no. 5724 a; Doeberl, V, no. 8. At the death of Henry VI, 1197, his brother, Philip of Suabia, tried to persuade the princes to elect the infant son of Henry, Frederick, as king. While some were in favor of this, others refused on the ground that it would be ruinous to elect a child king. They offered the crown to Philip, but he refused it because he was unwilling to appear to be false to his little nephew. In spite of Philip's persistent refusal a party of the princes elected him. The Guelf party elected Otto, son of Henry the Lion. Under these circumstances Innocent III declared that it was his right as pope to decide the disputed election. His reasons for deciding in favor of Otto are given in the following document. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is the business of the pope to look after the interests of the Roman empire, since the empire derives its origin and its final authority from the papacy; its origin, because it was originally transferred from Greece by and for the sake of the papacy, the popes making the transfer in order that the church might be better protected; its final authority, because the emperor is raised to his position by the pope who blesses him, crowns him, and invests him with the empire. Henry [VI] recognized this truth in respect to our predecessor, pope Celestine of blessed memory, for although for a little while after he had received the crown from the pope, he refused to admit this, later he came to his senses and besought the pope to invest him with the golden mantle of the empire. Therefore, since three persons have lately been elected king by different parties, namely, the youth [Frederick II], Philip, and Otto, so also three things must be taken into account in regard to each one, namely: the legality, the suitability, and the expediency of his election. In respect to the youth, the son of emperor Henry, at first glance it does not seem lawful to oppose his election, because it was supported by the oaths which his father received from the princes before his death. For although that oath may have been extorted from them by force, nevertheless it is not thereby rendered void; in the case of the oath which the children of Israel swore to Gibeon, they decided that, although it had been secured by fraud, it ought still to be kept. Moreover, if the oath of the princes was originally extorted from them, the emperor later recognized his sin, and released them from their oath, sending back the letters in which they promised to elect his son; then the princes, in the emperor's absence, of their own accord elected his son, and almost all of them promised him fidelity and some did him homage. Therefore it does not appear that they may lawfully break that oath. It does not seem proper for us to deprive him of his kingdom, because he has been intrusted to our guardianship and protection, and moreover it is written: "Defend the fatherless" [Ps. 82:3]. It does not seem expedient to oppose him, because, when the youth shall arrive at years of discretion and shall learn that he was deprived of his kingdom by the pope, not only will he not show us reverence, but even as far as he is able he will attack the church, and withhold from her the allegiance and dues which she should receive from the kingdom of Sicily. On the other hand, there are good reasons why it should be lawful, fitting, and expedient to oppose his election. It is lawful because the oaths of the princes were illegal, and the election was unwise. For they elected as emperor a person unsuited not only to that, but to any other office, for he was then scarcely two years old and was not yet baptized. It appears then that such illegal and unwise oaths should not be kept. The case of the oath sworn to Gibeon does not apply, for that oath could be kept without working injury to the people of Israel, while the observance of these oaths will not only injure one race, but will cause great loss and damage to the church and the whole Christian people. Nor can it be said that these oaths are legal if interpreted according to the intention of the princes who swore them. They meant that if they elected him emperor, he was not to rule immediately, but later when he came of age. But how then could they judge of his fitness to rule? Might he not turn out to be so foolish and simple as to be utterly unworthy even less honor? Suppose that they meant he should rule only when he was fitted to, and that in the meantime his father should govern the state. But later an event occurred which the princes had not thought of, and which made it neither right nor possible for the princes to keep their oaths; that is, the sudden death of the father. Now since the empire cannot be governed by a deputy, and an emperor cannot be elected for a temporary term, and since the church neither wishes nor is able to do without an emperor, it is lawful to elect some one else. It is not fitting that he should rule. For how can he rule who is himself under the rule of others? How can he protect the Christian people who is himself under the tutelage of others? It is no sufficient answer to this to say that it was to our guardianship that he was intrusted, because this was done not that we might give him the empire, but that we might hold the kingdom of Sicily for him. The Scripture says: "Woe to thee, oh land, when thy king is a child, and thy princes eat in the morning" [Eccles. 10:16]. It is not expedient that he should become emperor, because thereby the kingdom of Sicily would be united with the empire to the danger of the church; for, to say nothing of other dangers, he would, like his father before him, be unwilling to prejudice the dignity of the empire by taking the oaths of fidelity and homage to the pope for the kingdom of Sicily. And it is no answer to this to say that he would later oppose the church if we deprived him of the empire, for it is not we who are depriving him of his empire, but his uncle [Philip] who has attempted to seize not only the empire, but his maternal possessions as well, while we have been defending them for him at great expense and with great labor. As to Philip, it does not seem lawful to oppose his election. In deciding the legality of elections, account has to be taken of the zeal, the rank, and the number of the electors. It is not easy to determine the zeal, but, in respect to the other considerations, it is clear that Philip was elected by many princes of high rank, and that many others have since given him their support. Therefore his election seems to be legal, and not to be opposed. It would seem also that it is not proper for us to oppose his election, for we would appear thereby to be taking revenge for our injuries, if, because his father [Frederick I] and his brother [Henry VI] persecuted the church, we should persecute him and visit upon him the punishment incurred by the sins of others; whereas our Lord has said: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you" [Matt. 5:44]. It would seem also not to be expedient to oppose his election. To oppose a man so strong in wealth and supporters is like battling with the torrent with the bare arms. We would only make an enemy of him and create even greater strife in the church. We ought rather to seek peace and pursue it, which we could do by supporting him. But on the other hand it seems lawful to oppose his election, for he was excommunicated lawfully and in solemn form by our predecessor. Lawfully, because he had seized the lands of St. Peter [Tuscany], and ravaged and burned them, refusing to make satisfaction after being warned to do so once and again by our brothers; in solemn form, for it was done at mass in the church of St. Peter on a great feast-day, and he himself recognized the validity of the excommunication by sending a messenger to us to beseech absolution, and by having himself absolved later after his election, by our legate, although contrary to our commands. So it is evident that he was elected while under sentence of excommunication, and some believe that he is not yet released from it. For in giving him absolution, the former bishop of Sutri did not observe the conditions laid down by us; namely, that Philip should first release the archbishop of Salerno from captivity, and should then be freed from the necessity of coming to Rome for absolution if he would take oath publicly to obey us in respect to the deeds for which he had been excommunicated, and then only should be given absolution. But the bishop of Sutri attempted to absolve him secretly while the said archbishop was still a prisoner, and without requiring any oath at all; for which disobedience he was deprived of his bishopric by us and ended his days in a monastery. Moreover, since we have frequently excommunicated Markwald and all other German and Italian supporters of Philip, Philip himself, the author of their sins, is surely subject to the same sentence. Moreover, it is notorious that he swore fidelity to the youth [Frederick], and yet has seized his kingdom and tried to seize the empire; therefore he is guilty of perjury. It is objected that we have already declared such oath to be illegal, and that he is not guilty of perjury in not keeping it, because we have said it ought not to be kept. But even if the oath was unlawful, he should not have broken it on his own authority, but should first have consulted us, after the example of the children of Israel, in the case of the oath which they swore to Gibeon; for although the oath had been won from them by fraud they did not break it of their own accord, but decided to consult the Lord. Moreover since whatever is done against the conscience leads to hell (according to the words of the apostle: "Whatsoever is not of faith is sin" [Rom. 14:23]), and since Philip excuses himself in this matter by saying that he would not have taken the kingdom if he had not known that otherwise some other persons would have seized it, it is clear that he believed he ought to have kept the oath, and that in violating it he went against his own conscience. So it seems that we ought to oppose him and resist his attempt to hold the empire, since he is legally under excommunication and is guilty of perjury. It appears also that we may properly oppose his election, for by his succession, brother will be succeeding brother, just as formerly son succeeded father when Frederick handed on the crown to his son [Henry VI] and Henry tried to do the same for his son [Frederick II]; and thus the empire tends to become hereditary, the abuse becoming law by long custom. Also it appears expedient to oppose him, for he is a persecutor, and of a race of persecutors, and if we do not oppose him now we shall be arming our enemy against ourselves. As for Otto, at first it does not seem lawful to favor him, because he was elected by only a few electors; it does not seem fitting, because we should have the appearance of supporting him out of hate to another; it does not seem expedient, because in comparison to the other his party is small and weak. But there are better reasons on the other side. In the first place, the rank of the electors and the fitness of the candidate must be considered, as well as the number of electors; and Otto was elected by as many or more of those princes that have the best right to elect the emperor, and is himself much better fitted to rule than is Philip. Then again the Lord visits the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate him; that is, upon those that continue in the evil way of their fathers, and Philip has certainly persisted in the wicked persecution of the church which his father began. Finally, although we ought not to return evil for evil, but ought rather to bless them that curse us, yet we should not return good for injury to those who persist in their wickedness or put weapons in the hands of those who rage against us, for God himself exalted the lowly to overthrow the mighty. Therefore it is lawful, proper, and expedient for the pope to favor the election of Otto. Far be it from us that we should defer to man rather than to God, or that we should fear the countenance of the powerful, since, according to the apostle, we should abstain not only from evil, but also from all appearance of evil [1 Thess. 5:22]. For it is written: "Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm" [Jer. 17:5]. On the foregoing grounds, then, we decide that the youth should not at present be given the empire; we utterly reject Philip for his manifest unfitness, and we order his usurpation to be resisted by all. As to the rest, we have commanded our legate to persuade the princes either to choose some suitable person or to refer the matter to us for final decision. If they cannot come to a decision, since we have waited long, have frequently urged them to agree, have instructed them as to our desires by letters and legates [we shall take the matter into our own hands], that we may not seem to foster discord, and that we may say with Hezekiah: "There shall be peace and truth in my days" [Is. 39:8], and that we may not be forced, like Peter, to deny the truth, which is Christ, by following afar off, to see the end [Matt. 26:58]. But since the affair will not brook delay, and since Otto is not only himself devoted to the church, but comes from devout ancestors on both sides (on his mother's side from the kings of England, and on his father's from the dukes of Saxony, all of whom were faithful servants of the holy see, especially his great-grandfather the emperor Lothar, who twice came down to Apulia on behalf of the papacy and died in the service of the Roman church), therefore we decree that he [Otto] ought to be accepted and supported as king, and ought to be given the crown of the empire, after the rights of the Roman church have been secured. 131. Treaty between Philip, King of Germany, and Philip II, King of France, 1198. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 2, no. 1. About 1200 Europe was divided into two hostile camps, as is apparent from this and the following number. They also show the parties to this struggle which culminated in the battle of Bouvines, 1214. Philip, by the grace of God, king of the Romans, Augustus. Let all men know that because of the love which existed between our father, Frederick [I] and our brother, Henry [VI], emperors of the Romans, and Philip, king of France, and for the sake of peace, and for the public good, we have made the following peace with the said Philip, king of France. (1) We will aid him especially against Richard, king of England, and his nephew, Otto [IV], and Baldwin of Flanders, and Adolf, archbishop of Cologne, and against all his other enemies. We will aid him in good faith and without treachery, whenever the opportunity is offered, if it is not against our honor. (2) If any of our subjects wrongs him, or his kingdom, we will warn him to make reparation within forty days after we hear of it. If we are in Italy, the bishop of Metz shall warn him. If he does not make good the damage which he has inflicted on the king or his realm within the forty days, the said king may take vengeance on him and we will aid him to do so. (3) We will not keep in our realm any vassal, whether lay or cleric, of the king of France, contrary to the will of the said king. (4) The said king, whenever he wishes, may take vengeance on the count of Flanders, by attacking the lands of the said count which he holds in the empire, whether they are fiefs or allodial lands. (5) We promise in good faith that, if we learn that anyone is trying to injure the king of France or his realm, we will try to prevent him from doing so. If we cannot, we will inform the king of France about it.... 132. Alliance between Otto IV and John of England, 1202. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 2, no. 25. See introductory note to no. 131. John, by the grace of God king of England, lord of Ireland, duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, count of Anjou, etc. ... We wish all to know that, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we have made a league with our beloved nephew, Otto, by the grace of God illustrious king of the Romans, Augustus, for the purpose of guarding and defending his empire and his rights, and of giving him faithful counsel and aid in maintaining his rights. By this league all quarrels and differences which existed between us have been settled and we have mutually pardoned each other.... 133. Concessions of Philip of Suabia to Innocent III, 1203. Migne, 217, col. 295 ff; M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 208. In the beginning of the war between Philip of Suabia and Otto IV, it seemed that Philip would easily be the victor. But things began to go against him and toward the end of 1202, he secretly sent messengers to the pope to see what terms he could secure. Innocent was at least willing to negotiate and sent Martin to him to discuss the situation. In the presence of Martin, Philip drew up the concessions which he was willing to make. These concessions were not sufficient for Innocent, and, besides, Otto IV began to have greater success in the field against Philip. So Innocent repudiated what Martin had done and gave his support to Otto again. But the success of Otto was brief. In 1204-5, Philip began to prevail over Otto, who soon found himself without support. Then Innocent, deserting Otto for his more successful rival, renewed the negotiations with Philip. In 1208 they agreed to a treaty, but its terms were not made public, and the negotiations were not entirely completed when Philip was murdered. I, Philip, king of the Romans, Augustus, etc. Before Martin, Camaldolensian prior, and brother Otto, monk of Salem, came to me to negotiate about making peace with the church, I had already vowed to God and to his saints to go across the sea to liberate the land of promise from the cruelty of the Gentiles [Turks]; and again after they came and told me of the peace negotiations and of the concessions which the pope was willing to make, I vowed and promised to God and to his saints and to the said prior and brother, representatives of the pope, that, at a suitable time, in good faith and without fraud, I would go on a crusade, to the support of the church and of the empire, and do all I could to liberate the said land. The following persons were witnesses of my vow: Diethelm, bishop of Constance, etc. Besides, I promised that I would do all the following things: I will restore to all churches all the possessions which my predecessors, or I, have unjustly seized or held, and I will no longer disturb them in their possessions. I will cease from all the abuses which my predecessors have practised toward the church, as for example, when a bishop or abbot dies, I will not seize his possessions [_spolia_]. I will permit the elections of bishops and other prelates to take place in a canonical way, and I surrender control in spiritual matters to the pope. With the help of the pope I will endeavor, as far as my imperial office will permit, to subject all independent monasteries to some one of the regular orders, such as the Cistercian, Camaldolensian, or Premonstratensian. And I will try to compel the clergy as well as the monks to lead a decorous life, such as is becoming to their profession. As far as I can, I will compel advocates and patrons of churches to cease from oppressing the churches with exactions, such as _angariæ_ and _parangariæ_.{75} If God shall subject the empire of the Greeks to me or to my brother-in-law, I will subject the Greek church to the Roman church. I will always be a faithful and devoted son and defender of the Roman church. I will make a general law and cause it to be observed always and everywhere in my empire that whoever shall be excommunicated by the pope shall be under the ban of the empire. Furthermore, in order that this league of peace and friendship between the pope and me may be observed forever, and that all grounds for suspicion may be removed, and that he may always be to me a most gracious father and I a most faithful son to him, I will give my daughter to his nephew in marriage, and any other members of my family, male or female, I will cause to be joined in marriage to members of his family, as the pope may desire. I will make full satisfaction to God and to the church for all my offences, as the pope may command. These things were done in the presence of the bishop of Constance, etc. {75} See no. 103, note 73. 134. Promise of Frederick II to Innocent III, 1213. Migne, 217, cols. 301 ff. The powerful personality of Innocent III impressed itself deeply on the young king, Frederick II. The boy was truly devoted to Innocent, who was his guardian, and was willing to do whatever the pope required of him. In 1213 he wrote the following letter to Innocent in which he concedes practically everything for which the popes had been struggling. If the emperor had kept these promises, there would have been no further contest between the papacy and the empire. But as he grew older, and became conscious of his position, and learned what the imperial claims were, he gradually reasserted them and so renewed the conflict which ended in the destruction of his family. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick II, etc.... To you, most holy father, and to all your successors, and to the holy Roman church, who has been a true mother to us, with a humble heart and devout spirit we will always show all obedience, honor, and reverence, such as our ancestors, catholic kings and emperors, have shown your predecessors. And in order that our devotion to you may be shown to be greater than theirs we will pay you greater obedience, honor, and reverence than they did. Wishing therefore to abolish that abuse which some of our predecessors are said to have practised, we grant that the election of bishops may be free and canonical, so that he whom the whole chapter, or the majority of it, may elect may be established over the vacant church, provided there is nothing in the canon law against his election. Appeals in all ecclesiastical matters may freely be made to Rome, and no one shall attempt to interfere with them. We also will cease from that abuse which our predecessors practised, and will no longer seize the property [_spolia_] of deceased bishops or of vacant churches. Jurisdiction in all spiritual matters we yield to you and the other bishops, that those things which are Cæsar's may be rendered to Cæsar, and those which are God's to God. Moreover we will give our best help and aid in the destruction of heresy. We grant to the Roman church the free and undisturbed possession of all those lands which she has recovered from our predecessors who had despoiled her of them. If there are any such lands which she has not yet succeeded in recovering, we will, with all our strength, aid her to recover them; and if any of them shall fall into our hands we will freely restore them to her. In this we understand that the following lands are included: All the land from Radicofano to Ceperano, the march of Ancona, the duchy of Spoleto, the land of the countess Matilda, the county of Bertinoro, the exarchate of Ravenna, the Pentapolis, with the other lands lying adjacent to them, as described in many documents given by kings and emperors from the time of Ludwig, in which it is said that these lands shall belong forever to the jurisdiction and control of the Roman church. And whenever we shall be called by the pope to come and receive the imperial crown or to render any service to the church, we will receive from them _fodrum_ and other entertainment only as the pope shall give his consent. As a devoted son and catholic prince we will aid the Roman Catholic church to keep and defend the kingdom of Sicily and all other rights which she possesses.... 135. Promise of Frederick II to Resign Sicily After his Coronation as Emperor, 1216. Migne, 217, cols. 305 f; M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 228 f; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 866; Doeberl, V, no. 13 b. The pope had with difficulty succeeded in maintaining his ownership of Sicily. Now a new danger was threatening. He feared that, if Sicily should be held by the emperor, it would lead to the revival of the imperial claims to Sicily. In order to prevent this he persuaded Frederick II to promise that as soon as he should be crowned emperor he would resign Sicily to his little son, Henry. To his most holy father in Christ, Innocent, bishop of the holy Roman church, Frederick, by the grace of God and of Innocent king of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Sicily, offers due obedience in all things, and reverence with filial subjection. Desiring to provide for the welfare of both the Roman church and the kingdom of Sicily, we firmly promise that as soon as we shall be crowned emperor we will release from our paternal authority our son Henry, whom we, at your command, have had crowned king [of Sicily], and we will entirely relinquish all the kingdom of Sicily on both sides of the strait [of Messina] to be held by him from the Roman church alone, just as we have held it from her. From that time we will neither regard nor call ourselves king of Sicily, but until our son becomes of age we will have the kingdom ruled by some suitable person who shall in all respects be subject to the Roman church, because the government of that kingdom is known to belong to her. We promise to do this because, if we should become emperor and at the same time be king of Sicily, it might be inferred that the kingdom of Sicily belonged to the empire. And such an inference would do injury to the Roman church as well as to our heirs. In order that this our promise may be carried into effect we have caused a golden seal to be affixed to this document. 136. Concessions of Frederick II to the Ecclesiastical Princes of Germany, 1220. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 236 f; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 114; Doeberl, V, no. 14. Frederick II had agreed that Sicily and Germany should never be held by the same person, but in 1220 he was scheming to have his son Henry [VII] elected and crowned king of Germany. Now Henry [VII] was already king of Sicily. If he were to be elected king of Germany, he would, in accordance with his father's oath, be compelled to resign the crown of Sicily. But this Frederick did not intend that he should do. Frederick's pretext for having his son made king of Germany was that he could not go on a crusade without leaving his son as king to care for the government of Germany in his absence. His real purpose was to evade his oath to the pope and secure both crowns in the possession of his family. In spite of the protests of the pope, Frederick secured the election and coronation of his son. He bought the aid of the German clergy by granting them large regalian rights. These concessions which he made to the clergy bought their support for the moment and made it impossible for the pope to proceed to extreme measures against him for having his son crowned king of Germany, contrary to his oath. The policy which Frederick followed here was ruinous to the German crown. He made of each ecclesiastical prince a little king in fact, though not in name, thus stripping the crown of its rights and powers. For the logical and ruinous effects of this policy on the royal power, see the Golden Bull, no. 160. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick II, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Sicily. We bear in grateful remembrance the fidelity of the ecclesiastical princes to us, and their help in raising us to the empire, and supporting us in that station, and in electing our son Henry as king, and we propose to promote their interests as they have promoted ours, and to support them as they have supported us. Therefore since certain injurious customs, or rather abuses, have grown up during the long conflicts of the empire (which now by the favor of God have ceased), in the way of new tolls, the minting of coins which led to confusion by their similarity to existing coins, private wars of advocates, and other evils without number, we now remove these abuses by the following decrees: 1. We promise that we will never henceforth lay claim to the personal property of a prelate at his death [the right to the _spolia_], but that, if a prelate dies intestate, his possessions shall go to his successors, and that no layman shall lay claim to them on any pretext whatsoever. If the prelate made a will it shall be valid in the law. 2. We will never grant any new tolls or new mints within the territory or jurisdiction of any one of the princes except by his consent and desire. We will preserve and defend the ancient tolls and mints which have been granted to their churches, neither infringing these rights ourselves nor permitting anyone else to do so. We forbid anyone to cheapen or confuse the coinage of the princes by making coins of similar appearance. 3. We will never admit to citizenship in our cities the subjects of any of the ecclesiastical princes, who have left the services of their lord for any cause. We desire that the same consideration be shown by the ecclesiastical princes to one another, and by the lay princes to the ecclesiastics. 4. We forbid advocates to injure the property of churches committed to their care. If they do so they shall restore the damage twofold, and pay 100 marks of silver to the royal treasury as a fine. 5. If the vassal of any of the ecclesiastical princes has been convicted of offence against his lord by feudal law and has been ejected from his fief, we will protect the lord in his retention of the fief, and if he wishes to give the fief to us we will accept it without regard to the love or hate of anyone. If the fief of an ecclesiastical lord has become vacant by the above process or by the death of the holder, we will never lay claim to it unless it is given to us by the will and desire of the lord, and we will defend him in his possession of it. 6. If any of the ecclesiastical princes has excommunicated anyone and has notified us of this by word of mouth or letter or by reliable messengers, we will refuse to have any dealings with the excommunicated person. Such a person shall be deprived of his rights before the law, this deprivation not freeing him from the obligation of answering the accusations against him, but destroying his right to bear testimony or give judgment, or to bring suit against others. 7. And since the secular sword is intended to support the spiritual sword, we declare that our ban shall follow upon the excommunication pronounced by an ecclesiastical prince, if the excommunicated person is not absolved within six weeks; the ban of the empire shall not be revoked until the excommunication is withdrawn. 8. We have promised also to support and defend the princes by our authority in all cases, and they have promised on their faith to aid us to the best of their ability against any man who resists our authority. 9. We decree also that no buildings, castles, or cities shall be erected upon ecclesiastical lands through the interests of the advocate or through any other pretext. If such are erected without the consent of those to whom the lands belong they shall be destroyed by the royal authority. 10. Following the example of our ancestor, the emperor Frederick of blessed memory, we forbid any of our officials to claim jurisdiction in the matter of tolls, mints, or other rights, in any of the cities of the ecclesiastical princes, except during the time of the public diet and eight days before and eight days after. During that time the officials of the emperor shall exercise jurisdiction in accordance with the customs of the city and the laws established by its prince. If we come into any of their cities at any other time, we will not exercise any rights in it, but the authority of the prince or the lord of the city shall continue unimpaired. 11. Finally, since the acts of men are wont to sink into oblivion through the lapse of time, we hereby decree that these benefits and privileges shall be perpetually granted to the churches, and that our successors shall preserve them and enforce them on behalf of the church.... 137. Decision of the Diet Concerning the Granting of new Tolls and Mints, 1220. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 237; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 1118; Doeberl, V, p. 150. The ecclesiastical princes promptly demanded that the emperor's concessions to them (no. 136) be put into force. To illustrate the effect of his grant, we give two documents, one in response to complaints about some new tolls established by the count of Gelder, the other to the patriarch of Aquileia who had presented a long list of grievances for redress. Frederick revoked the charter which he had given the count of Gelder and gave the patriarch a charter confirming him in the possession of many regalian rights (no. 138). This latter document shows that the patriarch was in the possession of a high degree of sovereignty. It also throws light on the movement in the cities, which were throwing off the rule of their lords and establishing local self-government (see section X). Frederick, etc. We wish all to know that while we were holding a diet at Frankfort the following decision was rendered with the consent of the princes, namely: That we have not the right to empower anyone to establish new tolls or mints to the damage or disadvantage of another. Since we have heard many complaints about the tolls and mint which the count of Gelder has established, as he says, with our permission, we inform you all that we do not grant him the permission for these tolls and this mint. We forbid him to interfere in any way with the tolls at Arnheim, or Oesterbeke, or Lobith, or in any other place on the Rhine, or with any mint. We do this regardless of the fact that he says he has our permission, and regardless of any letters, from us or any of our predecessors, which he may have. 138. Frederick II Gives a Charter to the Patriarch of Aquileia, 1220. Böhmer-Ficker, no. 1252; Doeberl, V, pp. 150 ff. See introduction to no. 137. Frederick II, etc.... We wish all to know that in a full diet a decision was rendered by our princes that (1) the patriarch of Aquileia has the authority to take whatever action he wishes in regard to establishing a market in any of the cities, towns, villages, and in all other places, where he has jurisdiction. (2) He may put under the ban any of his subjects, and also release them from it. (3) The cities, towns, and villages, which are under his jurisdiction, have no right to elect their rulers, or consuls, or rectors, contrary to the will of the patriarch. (4) No city, commune, or organization of any kind, whether lay or cleric, over which the said patriarch has jurisdiction, has the right to interfere with the bishopric after the death of the bishop, or with any of the things which belong to the bishopric. (5) No one has the right to establish new tolls, mints, or markets, in the lands over which the patriarch has jurisdiction, without his consent. (6) No one shall build mills on any of the streams without his consent. (7) No official shall confer freedom on anyone, or sell or alienate any vineyards, fields, meadows, roads, or anything else which belongs to the regalia, without the patriarch's consent. (8) The Venetians have no right to levy a tax on the lands or anything else belonging to the patriarch, or to compel his vassals to take an oath of fidelity to them. (9) No one under the jurisdiction of the patriarch, whether free, vassal, or ministerial, has the right to make a league or alliance without the consent of the patriarch. If any such league is made, it is invalid and the parties to it shall be proscribed. (10) No one has the right to establish new cities, towns, or markets, on land which is under the jurisdiction of the patriarch, without his consent. 139. Statute of Frederick II in Favor of the Princes, 1231-2. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 291 ff; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 1965; Doeberl, V, no. 17. Henry [VII], being a mere child when he was crowned, was under the control of regents until 1229, when he began to rule in his own name. But he fell under the influence of princes who persuaded him to grant them many regalian rights. When Frederick II came into Germany, 1231, the princes asked him to confirm the grants which his son had made them. He consented to do so and the following document was given them. Like the grant to the ecclesiastical princes in 1220, it diminished the rights of the crown and increased the independence of the princes. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick II, by divine mercy emperor of the Romans, Augustus, king of Jerusalem, king of Sicily. (Introduction stating the occasion for the statute, which confirms the grants of his son Henry.) 1. No new castles or cities shall be erected by us or by anyone else to the prejudice of the princes. 2. New markets shall not be allowed to interfere with the interests of former ones. 3. No one shall be compelled to attend any market against his will. 4. Travellers shall not be compelled to leave the old highways, unless they desire to do so. 5. We will not exercise jurisdiction within the ban-mile of our cities. 6. Each prince shall possess and exercise in peace according to the customs of the land the liberties, jurisdiction, and authority over counties and hundreds which are in his own possession or are held as fiefs from him. 7. Centgrafs shall receive their office from the prince or from the person who holds the land as a fief. 8. The location of the hundred court shall not be changed without the consent of the lord. 9. No nobleman shall be amenable to the hundred court. 10. The citizens who are known as _phalburgii_ [_i.e._, persons or corporations existing outside the city, but possessing political rights within it] shall be expelled from the cities. 11. Payments of wine, money, grain, and other rents, which free peasants have formerly agreed to pay [to the emperor], are hereby remitted, and shall not be collected henceforth. 12. The serfs of princes, nobles, ministerials, and churches shall not be admitted to our cities. 13. Lands and fiefs of princes, nobles, ministerials, and churches, which have been seized by our cities, shall be restored and shall never again be taken. 14. The right of the princes to furnish safe-conduct within the lands which they hold as fiefs from us shall not be infringed by us or by anyone else. 15. Inhabitants of our cities shall not be compelled by our judges to restore any possessions which they may have received from others before they moved there. 16. Notorious, condemned, and proscribed persons shall not be admitted to our cities; if they have been, they shall be driven out. 17. We will never cause any money to be coined in the land of any of the princes which shall be injurious to his coinage. 18. The jurisdiction of our cities shall not extend beyond their boundaries, unless we possess special jurisdiction in the region. 19. In our cities the plaintiff shall bring suit in the court of the accused. 20. Lands or property which are held as fiefs shall not be pawned without the consent of the lord from whom they are held. 21. No one shall be compelled to aid in the fortifying of cities unless he is legally bound to render that service. 22. Inhabitants of our cities who hold lands outside shall pay to their lords or advocates the regular dues and services, and they shall not be burdened with unjust exactions. 23. If serfs, freemen subject to advocates, or vassals of any lord, shall dwell within any of our cities, they shall not be prevented by our officials from going to their lords. 140-142. Treaty of San Germano, 1230. 140. The Preliminary Agreement. Huillard-Bréholles, Hist. Dipl. Fred. II, III, pp. 210 f; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 1799; Doeberl, V, no. 16 d. The chief cause of the first quarrel between Frederick and the pope was Frederick's refusal to keep his vow to go on a crusade. In 1215, on the day he was crowned king, he vowed to make a crusade, and again in 1220, when crowned emperor, he renewed the vow. For various reasons he several times put off going. Each time the pope was deeply disappointed, but eventually accepted the emperor's excuses. Again in 1225 he renewed his vow and set the time of his departure in August, 1227. But the pope had lost confidence in Frederick, as well as his patience. He stipulated that if the emperor did not keep his word, he should be excommunicated. Frederick sailed Aug. 8, 1227, but returned to land two days later. On this account Gregory IX excommunicated him, Sept. 29, 1227. Frederick published an apology for his conduct and called a crusade to take place the following May. Without seeking to have the excommunication removed, he sailed in June, 1228. For this the pope renewed the excommunication. While Frederick was absent in Palestine, his imperial vicar in Italy came into actual conflict with the papal officials about matters of government. When Frederick returned from Palestine in 1230, the pope was hardly prepared to carry on the war. So through the intercession of various princes the peace of San Germano was brought about. The preliminary agreement is found in no. 140. The papal stipulations are contained in no. 141. In order to convince the pope of his good intentions and to renew friendly relations with him, Frederick made him a visit soon after the peace was established. The pope wrote a friend an account of this visit, which is found in no. 142. In the name of the Lord, amen. Bertold, patriarch of Aquileia; Eberhard, archbishop of Salzburg; Siegfied, bishop of Regensburg; Leopold, duke of Austria and Styria; Bernard, duke of Carinthia; Otto, duke of Meran; by the grace of God princes of the empire. Know all people by this writing that our mother the holy Roman church, and our lord, Frederick, emperor of the Romans, Augustus, king of Jerusalem and Sicily, have agreed to enter into negotiations for the purpose of discovering some means by which the cities of Gaeta and Sant' Agatha and other cities of Sicily which have gone over to the church may be restored to the empire without detracting from the honor of the church. The time within which these negotiations shall be completed is limited to one year, and the church promises to do all in her power to discover the means of arranging the transfer within that time. If, however, no agreement is reached within the year, the church and the empire are to appoint each two representatives who shall try to reach a settlement. If they are unable to agree, they shall choose a fifth person, and the majority shall decide. The emperor has caused Thomas, count of Acerra, to swear for him that he, the emperor, will not molest the said lands and persons nor permit them to be molested during the course of the negotiations, and that he will accept the terms agreed upon by the holy Roman church and the emperor or by their respective representatives. Know also that the emperor has pardoned the Germans, Lombards, Tuscans, Sicilians, French, and all others who adhered to the church party against him, and has caused the count of Acerra to swear for him that he will never molest them nor allow them to be molested on account of the assistance which they gave the Roman church against him, but that he will keep true peace with them and with the church. The emperor also remits all sentences, decrees, and bans issued by him or by anyone else because of this quarrel. He promises also that he will not invade or waste the lands of the church in the duchy [of Rome] or the march [of Ancona], as set forth in other documents under the imperial seal. We have pledged ourselves on the holy gospels to see to it that the emperor does not violate these conditions. If he does, after allowing him a certain time to make satisfaction (namely: three months in Sicily, four months in Italy, and five months outside of Italy), we will assist the church at her request against him until he shall make satisfaction. If the emperor fails to appoint representatives or prevents them from going to the conference, we will hold ourselves bound to assist the church, as said above. But if the church refuses to appoint representatives or prevents them from attending the conference we shall not be bound by this oath. 141. Papal Stipulations in the Peace of San Germano, 1230. Huillard-Bréholles, III, pp. 218 f; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 1817; Doeberl, pp. 66 f. See introductory note to no. 140. We, John, by the grace of God Sabine bishop, and Thomas, cardinal priest of the title of Santa Sabina, legates of the apostolic see, by the authority of the pope, make the following demands of the emperor. 1. He shall not prevent free elections and confirmations in the churches and monasteries of the kingdom. 2. He shall make satisfaction to the counts of Celano and to the sons of Rainald of Aversa, according to the terms of the agreement, in those things for which the church became security. 3. Likewise he shall make satisfaction to the Templars and Hospitallers and other ecclesiastical persons, for the property which he has taken from them, and the injuries and losses which he has inflicted upon them, and the terms of this satisfaction shall be fixed later by the church. 4. Likewise for eight months from the day of his absolution he shall furnish suitable persons under oath as security to the church. The church will name these persons from among the princes, counts, and barons of Germany, and the communes of Lombardy, Tuscany, the mark, and Romagnola, and the marquises, counts, and barons of those territories, and they shall stand as security to the church for the conduct of the emperor. If he does not obey the commands of the church, or breaks the peace, or seizes or devastates the land of the church or of her vassals, they shall aid the church against him. The church will not proceed against him at once if he commits a wrong. But if he is in the kingdom of Sicily, he may have three months; if he is in Italy, he may have four months; if he is outside of Italy, he may have five months, in which to make good any wrong he may do. Those who are security for the emperor shall give the church sealed documents containing their promise to aid her. The emperor shall, within fifteen days, send a messenger to the papal court to receive the names of those whom the church wishes as security. All the above things are stipulated. But we leave it to his honor to fulfill all that he has promised about the crusade, and to obey the church in this matter. If through preoccupation or inattention we have omitted anything which we should have included in the above stipulations, the pope shall have the right to add it. They also declared that the pope wished to be reimbursed for all the expenses to which the church had been put outside of the kingdom in preserving her liberties and the patrimony of St. Peter. The legates also pronounced a sentence of excommunication on the emperor which should go into effect at once if the emperor should fail to observe any of the above stipulations.... 142. Letter of Gregory IX about the Emperor's Visit to him after the Peace of San Germano, 1230. Huillard-Bréholles, III, p. 228; Böhmer-Ficker-Winkelmann, no. 6818; Doeberl, V, no. 16 f. See introductory note to no. 140. Gregory, etc. Since we know that you, as an especially dear son, are pleased to hear good news about us, we have determined to inform you by letter of the good fortune which has befallen us in the last few days. The other day [Sept. 1] our most dear son in Christ, the illustrious emperor of the Romans [Frederick II], came with great pomp and a magnificent retinue to visit us. He manifested a devotion which was truly filial. His humility before us and his reverence for us as the vicar of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles, were as great as any of his predecessors have shown to any of ours. As an evidence of his favor and of his attitude toward us, the next day after his arrival he came to see us in our own home, not with imperial ceremony, but, as it were, in the simplicity of a private person. He took dinner with us and we were surprised and delighted with his kindness and devotion. The day was rendered joyful and memorable by the pleasure which we both received from taking dinner together. After dinner we talked and laughed about all sorts of matters, and we discovered that he was quite ready to obey our wishes in all respects, in regard both to religious matters and to the patrimony of St. Peter. By this we were greatly comforted in the Lord, and we thought that we ought to let you, first of all, share in our comfort and joy. We hope you will make this known to all those about you. We command you to make it known to our subjects in Campania and to encourage them to remain faithful to St. Peter and to us. Strengthen them as much as you can, and urge them to be constant and courageous. As we have told you of the promises of Frederick, we shall keep you informed of the way in which he fulfils them. 143-144. The Final Struggle between Gregory IX and Frederick II. 143. Papal Charges and Imperial Defence, 1238. Huillard-Bréholles, V, p. 249; Böhmer-Ficker, no. 2401; Doeberl, V, no. 22 e. The peace of San Germano was not kept long. The fundamental principles of pope and emperor conflicted with each other. No peace between them could be lasting so long as the primary question of supremacy was not settled. Frederick soon began to put forth imperial claims in various matters, and the pope resisted them. The struggle grew more and more bitter and they both came into such a state of mutual exasperation and irritation that any trifle brought forth long complaints and sharp reproofs. Of the many vigorous documents which concern their final break we give only two. Gregory wrote to certain bishops ordering them to take the emperor to task on a long list of charges. They did so, and the emperor refuted them, charge by charge. These papal charges and imperial denials are given first. Gregory was not convinced by the emperor's answers. The document by which he excommunicated Frederick is given in no. 144. To the most holy father in Christ, Gregory [IX] by the grace of God pope, his devoted bishops of Würzburg, Worms, Vercelli, and Parma, humbly commend themselves and offer due and sincere reverence. We reverently received your letter in which you ordered us to remonstrate with our lord the Roman emperor [Frederick II] about certain matters, a list of which was enclosed in your letter. Although we hesitated to do so because we are his subjects and were not sure that he would patiently receive our remonstrances, nevertheless we reverently went to him and set forth all the things which were contained in your letter to us and also in the large number of letters which you had written to him. God who rules and directs the hearts of kings as he will brought it about that he granted us an audience and listened to our words with great readiness and humility. He also called together the venerable archbishops of Palermo and Messina, the bishops of Cremona, Lodi, Novara, and Modena, and the abbot of San Vincenzo, and a great number of friars, both Dominicans and Franciscans, and in the presence of us all he responded to each one of the charges in their order as is set forth below. And in accordance with your command, we send you a faithful statement of his answers. 1. _The papal charge._ The churches of Monreale, Cefalu, Catania, and Squillace, and the monasteries of Mileto, Santa Eufemia, Terra Maggiore, and San Giovanni in Lamæ, have been robbed of almost all of their possessions. Likewise nearly all bishoprics, churches, and monasteries have been unjustly deprived of their liberties and prerogatives. _The emperor's answer._ In regard to the complaints of the churches, which are stated in a general way, orders have been given that certain things, done in ignorance, should be corrected at once; and others have already been corrected by our faithful messenger and notary, William de Tocco. He was sent especially for this purpose and he was ordered to go first to the papal court, and, after consultation with the archbishop of Messina, to follow his counsel in revoking all the things which he found were done unjustly. He had scarcely entered the kingdom when he found certain lands in the possession of members of the imperial family [ministerials]. He dispossessed them and restored the lands to their former owners. If he should find any lands were held illegally by the emperor, he was ordered to restore them to their owners. And when the pope learned of what he had done he approved the emperor's action in sending him and the diligence of the messenger. Since the kingdom is divided into several provinces, the messenger has not yet been able to go through them all. Hence his work is not yet done, and there are still some things to be corrected. In regard to the church of Monreale, the emperor declared that it had not suffered anything through him, unless it wished to hold him responsible for the devastations committed by the Saracens who had ravaged its lands. But they recognize neither the emperor nor the church. Nor had they spared anyone or anything. They had devastated the land clear up to the walls of the church, and they had spared no Sicilian. In fact, they had left scarcely a Christian alive in all that territory. The emperor declares that with great difficulty and expense he has exterminated them from Sicily. If he has done the churches a wrong in this, it is at least his only one. Nor has he tried to injure them. In regard to the church at Cefalu, the emperor said that he had done no wrong, because the kings of Sicily have always held the castle of Cefalu, which is a strong citadel in the mark of the Saracens, and commands the sea. In the days of Innocent III the bishop of Cefalu had got possession of it, not legally but through an uprising. But Innocent ordered his legate who was then in Sicily caring for the interests of Frederick, who was still a child, to take the castle from the bishop and have it kept for Frederick until he should come of age. It has not been restored to the bishop nor should it be, because he has no right to it. Even if he had a right to it, it should not be restored to him, because, according to common report, he is a forger, a homicide, a traitor, and a schismatic. Therefore even if he had a right to it, it should not be restored to him. In the same way he said he was innocent of the charges about the church of Catania, unless he were held responsible for the conduct of some of the men from the imperial domain, who, in time of war, had gone to Catania to find a place that was secure and fertile. The emperor said that he had recalled them to his domains by a general edict of the realm, by which the counts, barons, and other men of the realm recalled the men belonging to their domains, no matter where they should find them, whether on the lands of the church or in the imperial cities. Besides, in regard to these things, the statute was passed and the time set at the request of the pope, as is clear from the letters of the patriarch of Antioch and the archbishops of Palermo and Messina. Likewise the emperor said that an equitable trade had been made with the churches of Mileto and Santa Eufemia, and with the abbot and monks of Terra Maggiore. This trade had been made with the permission of their clergy and their convents, according to the legal form, and they to-day hold and possess the things which they received in exchange. But the village of San Severo was not wholly the property of the abbot of Terra Maggiore, for another had certain rights there which he held as a fief from the empire. It was justly condemned and destroyed, because the men of that place in the time of an uprising had killed Paul de Logotheta, the bailiff of the emperor, and seized the cattle of the emperor. And yet the abbot and his monastery had received some land in exchange for their share of this village which had been destroyed. In accordance with a legal decision the place called Lamæ has been fortified by the abbot of San Giovanni Rotundo, and according to both the civil and canon law, suit about it must be brought against him in the imperial court. 2. _The papal charge._ The possessions, both movable and immovable, which had been taken from the Templars and Hospitallers, have not been restored to them in accordance with the terms of the agreement which was made. _The emperor's answer._ It is true that by a legal process and in accordance with an ancient law of the kingdom of Sicily, fiefs and "burgher lands" have been taken from the said orders. But they had received those lands from those who were invading the kingdom and waging war on the emperor. Besides they furnished the king's enemies with horses, arms, food, and wine, and all kinds of provisions, while refusing to aid the emperor who was still a minor. But other fiefs and burgher lands have been restored to them which they had acquired before the death of William II [king of Sicily], or for which they had a grant from some one of our predecessors. And some burgher lands which they had bought have been taken from them in accordance with an ancient law of Sicily, that without the king's consent no burgher lands shall be given to the said orders or left to them as a legacy; but if such lands are given them, they are bound to sell them within a year, a month, a week, and a day, to some of the citizens. This law was passed long ago, because if they were permitted to buy and accept burgher lands they would in a short time possess the whole kingdom of Sicily, which they like better than any other part of the world. And this law is valid beyond the sea. 3. _The papal charge._ He does not permit vacant bishoprics and other churches to be filled, and on this account the liberty of the church is in danger and the true faith is perishing, because there is no one to preach the word of God and care for souls. _The emperor's answer._ The emperor wishes and desires that vacant bishoprics and other churches be filled, but without infringement on the privileges and rights which his predecessors have held. He has insisted less than his predecessors on his privileges, and he has never opposed the filling of the vacant churches. 4. _The papal charge._ In regard to taxes and exactions which are extorted from churches and monasteries contrary to agreement. _The emperor's answer._ Taxes and dues are assessed on the clergy and ecclesiastical persons, not because of their ecclesiastical property, but because of their fiefs and other possessions. And this is in accordance with the common law and is practised everywhere all over the world. 5. _The papal charge._ That prelates do not dare proceed against usurers, because of an imperial edict. _The emperor's answer._ The emperor has published a new general law against usurers, in accordance with which they are condemned, and action may be brought against all their possessions. And this law is read before all prelates, and they are not prevented by it from proceeding against usurers. 6. _The papal charge._ That clergymen are seized, imprisoned, proscribed, and killed. _The emperor's answer._ He knows nothing about any clergymen who have been seized and imprisoned, except that some have been condemned by the decision of prelates, according to their crimes. These have been surrendered to the imperial officials who have seized them. He knows nothing about clergymen who have been proscribed except that some have been charged with the crime of _lèse majesté_ and have been proscribed from the kingdom. He knows nothing about any clergymen who have been slain except those who were slain by other clergymen. The church of Venusa is mourning the death of its prelate who was killed by one of his monks. In the church of San Vincenzo one monk killed another. But the monks and the clergy commit such crimes with impunity, and it is the fault of the church that they escape all canonical punishment. 7. _The papal charge._ Churches which are consecrated to the Lord are profaned and destroyed. _The emperor's answer._ He knows nothing of such churches, unless the pope means the church of Luceria; but it is said to have fallen down of itself because of its great age. And the emperor will not only permit it to be rebuilt, but he will give a good sum to the bishop for its reconstruction. 8. _The papal charge._ That he does not permit the church of Sorana to be rebuilt. _The emperor's answer._ He will permit the church of Sorana to be rebuilt, but not the town. It shall not be rebuilt as long as he lives, because it was destroyed in accordance with a legal decision. 9. _The papal charge._ That contrary to the agreement those who had supported the church in the time of struggle between the pope and emperor have been robbed of their goods and driven out of the country. _The emperor's answer._ Those who adhered to the church in the time of the struggle against the emperor are living in security in the kingdom, except those who held some office and are afraid that they will be compelled to give an account of it, and some others who have left the kingdom to escape civil and criminal charges. The emperor will permit them to come back in safety if they will give an account of their conduct in office and respond to those who have entered suit against them. But he will do nothing against them for having adhered to the church. If the pope complains that the treaty of peace has not been kept, let him remember that contrary to its terms and to the judgment of nearly all the friars, he is holding the city of Castella. For keeping this city to the detriment of the empire he is receiving money, although the emperor has expended more than 100,000 silver marks in aiding him against the Romans. From this the church has received great advantages, for land has been taken from the Romans and restored to the church and her liberties have been recovered and reformed in Rome through the help of the emperor. 10. _The papal charge._ That he has seized and now holds imprisoned the nephew of the king of Tunis who wished to come to the pope to receive baptism. _The emperor's answer._ That the nephew of the king of Tunis was fleeing from Barbary to Sicily, not to receive baptism, but to escape his uncle who was threatening him with death. He is not held captive but is going about freely in Apulia, and although he is often urged to be baptized, he steadfastly refuses. If however he wishes to be baptized, the emperor will receive him with rejoicing. He has already expressed himself in regard to this to the archbishops of Palermo and Messina. 11. _The papal charge._ That the church is humiliated and insulted by the fact that Peter Saraceno, her faithful subject, and friar Jordan are held captive. _The emperor's answer._ Peter Saraceno has been seized because he is an enemy and detractor of the emperor. He has attacked the emperor in Rome as well as elsewhere. He did not come on the business of the king of England, but he carried a letter of the king in order that if he were arrested we might be led to spare him. But we did not heed this letter because the king did not know what snares this man had prepared for us. In regard to the friar Jordan, although he had defamed the emperor in his sermons, the emperor neither seized him nor ordered him to be seized. But because some of the emperor's faithful subjects knew the friar's character and his trickery, and so were sure that if he stayed in the mark of Treviso and in Lombardy, he would injure the cause of the emperor, the emperor caused him to be set free and would have given him over to the archbishop of Messina, if he had been willing to submit to the said archbishop. 12. _The papal charge._ The emperor had stirred up sedition in Rome against the church with the purpose of driving out the pope and his cardinals, and, contrary to the privileges and rights of the pope, to destroy the ecclesiastical liberties. _The emperor's answer._ The emperor denies that he stirred up the sedition in Rome. But he has his faithful subjects in Rome just as his predecessors, the Roman emperors and kings of Sicily, had had. And sometimes at the election of senators, the attempt was made to injure his subjects. Under these circumstances he had assisted his subjects in their defence, and he would do so as often as it should be necessary under similar circumstances. But when the election of a senator took place harmoniously, there was no rioting, as can be proved by the testimony of the archbishops of Palermo and Messina. 13. _The papal charge._ That the emperor had ordered his subjects not to permit the papal legate, the bishop of Preneste, to pass through their territory. _The emperor's answer._ The emperor had never even dreamed of giving such an order, although he might justly have done so, because the bishop was his enemy. Although he had been sent by the pope as a religious man on a religious errand, he had nevertheless at the command of the pope, as he said, in a treacherous and wicked manner led a large part of Lombardy to revolt against the emperor and had done all he could to incite the Lombards to rebellion. 14. _The papal charge._ The cause of the crusade is delayed by him through the quarrel which he has with certain Lombards, although the church is ready to use all her powers to secure proper satisfaction from the Lombards for what they have done against the emperor, and the Lombards themselves are ready to make satisfaction. _The emperor's answer._ He had often referred that matter to the church, but he had never received any satisfaction. For the first time, the Lombards were condemned to furnish 400 knights. But instead of sending them to aid the emperor, as they should, the pope used them to make war on the emperor. The second time, they were condemned to furnish 500 knights, but the pope declared that they should not be sent to the aid of the emperor, but that they should be sent on the crusade under the control and protection of the pope and the church. But not even this was done. The third time, at the request of the cardinals, the Sabine bishop and _Magister_ Peter of Capua, the affair was again referred to the pope exactly as the pope desired. But afterward the matter was never mentioned again until the pope learned that the emperor, having been deceived so many times about it, was preparing to lead an army from Germany into Italy. And then the pope at once begged that the matter be referred to him again. And although the emperor had so often been deceived in submitting it to the pope, he nevertheless was willing to submit it to him once more, but a time limit was set and it was stipulated that it should be decided to the honor of the emperor and to the advantage of the empire. But the pope was not willing to accept these conditions, as may be proved by his letter, although he now says that he was ready to decide the case in accordance with the rights and honor of the empire. From this it is apparent that the pope's letters are contradictory to each other. And let the pope not pretend that the emperor, in trying to restore the rights of the empire in Italy, injured the prospects of the crusade, for the letters which the emperor wrote in answer to the kings of the world and to the crusaders in France, who had chosen him as their leader, will show that he took charge of the crusade and did not neglect it. He also wrote that he wished to conduct the whole matter in accordance with the advice of the church.... Finally, the emperor declared that since he had been absent from the kingdom and did not know the exact condition of things, if anything had been done injurious to the church, and had not yet been corrected, he would order it to be set entirely right, and also because of the great general good which would come if there were harmony between him and the church, he would give the church any reasonable security that he would act in harmony with her, and use all his powers and means for the honor and advancement of the Christian church and for the preservation of her liberties. 144. The Excommunication of Frederick II, 1239. Huillard-Bréholles, Hist. Dipl., I, pp. 286 ff; Böhmer-Ficker-Winkelmann, no. 7226 a; Doeberl, V, no. 22 f. See introductory note to no. 143. 1. By the authority of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and of the blessed apostles Peter and Paul, and by our own authority, we excommunicate and anathematize Frederick, the so-called emperor, because he has incited rebellion in Rome against the Roman church, for the purpose of driving the pope and his brothers [the cardinals] from the apostolic seat, thus violating the dignity and honor of the apostolic seat, the liberty of the church, and the oath which he swore to the church. 2. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he ordered his followers to prevent our brother, the venerable bishop of Preneste, the legal legate, from proceeding on his mission to the Albigenses, upon which we had sent him for the preservation of the Catholic faith. 3. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has not allowed the vacancies in certain bishoprics and churches to be filled, thereby imperilling the liberty of the church, and destroying the true faith, because in the absence of the pastor there is no one to declare unto the people the word of God or to care for their souls.... 4. We excommunicate and anathematize him because the clergy of his kingdom are imprisoned, proscribed, and slain, and because the churches of God are despoiled and profaned. 5. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has not permitted the church of Sorana to be rebuilt. 6. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has seized the nephew of the king of Tunis and kept him from coming to the Roman church to be baptized. 7. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has imprisoned Peter Saraceno, a Roman noble, who was sent as a messenger to us by the king of England. 8. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has seized the lands of the churches of Ferrara, Pigogna, and Bondenum, and the dioceses of Ferrara, Bondenum, and Lucca, and the land of Sardinia, contrary to the oath which he swore to the church. 9. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has occupied and wasted the lands of some of the nobles of his kingdom which were held by the church. 10. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has robbed the churches of Monreale, Cefalu, Catania, Squillace, and the monasteries of Mileto, Santa Eufemia, Terra Maggiore, and San Giovanni in Lamæ. 11. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has robbed many bishoprics, churches, and monasteries of his kingdom of almost all their goods through his unjust trials. 12. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has not entirely restored to the Templars and Hospitallers the property of which he had despoiled them, as he agreed to do in the treaty of peace. 13. Because he has extorted taxes and other payments from the churches and monasteries of his kingdom contrary to the treaty of peace. 14. We excommunicate him and anathematize him because he has compelled the prelates of churches and abbots of the Cistercian and of other orders to make monthly contributions for the erection of new castles. 15. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has treated the adherents of the papal party as if they were under the ban, confiscating their property, exiling them, and imprisoning their wives and children, contrary to the treaty of peace. 16. We excommunicate and anathematize him because he has hindered the recovery of the Holy Land and the restoration of the Roman empire. We absolve all his subjects from their oaths of fidelity to him, forbidding them to show him fidelity as long as he is under excommunication. We shall admonish him again to give up oppressing and injuring the nobles, the poor, the widows and orphans, and others of his land, and then we shall proceed to act ourselves in the matter. For all and each of these causes, in regard to which we have frequently admonished him to no purpose, we excommunicate and anathematize him. In regard to the accusation of heresy which is made against Frederick, we shall consider and act upon this in the proper place and time. 145. Current Stories about Frederick II. Selections from Matthew of Paris, Chronica Majora; Rolls Series, III, pp. 520 f, p. 527; IV, pp. 474, 634 f; V, pp. 99 f. A few passages from the chronicle of Matthew of Paris are offered to illustrate the character of Frederick and to throw a little light on the great struggle between him and the pope. The last paragraph is particularly interesting because it indicates that the pope was becoming conscious that he was meeting with national opposition. But he evidently misjudged the strength of it. For after overcoming the empire, the papacy was to succumb to the French king and be subservient to him for seventy years. And the national opposition was to grow until it culminated in the great rebellion which has had many stages but has finally ended in the complete destruction of the temporal power of the pope. It was about this time [1238] that evil reports became current, which blackened the reputation of the emperor Frederick. It was said that he questioned the catholic faith and that he had made statements that showed not only that he was weak in the faith, but that he was indeed a heretic and a blasphemer. It is not right even to repeat such things, but it is reported that he said there were three impostors who had deceived the people of their time for the purpose of gaining control of the world, Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed, and that he made certain absurd remarks about the eucharist. It is incredible that any sane man should have uttered such terrible blasphemy. His enemies also said that he believed more in the religion of Mohammed than in that of Jesus Christ, and that he kept certain Saracen women as his concubines. There was a common complaint among the people that the emperor had for a long time been allied with the Saracens, and that he was more friendly with them than with Christians. His enemies, who were always trying to blacken his character, attempted to prove these statements by many evidences; whether or not they have sinned in doing this, He alone knows who knows all things.... In this year [1239], while the emperor was spending the winter in Italy, he recovered certain important islands in the Mediterranean just off the shore of Pisa, the most important acquisition being the greater and more valuable part of the island of Sardinia, which belonged to the patrimony of St. Peter. The emperor, however, asserted that it belonged of old to the empire, that it had been taken from the empire illegally by occupation and other wrongful measures and that he now restored it to the empire. He said: "I have sworn, as is known to all the world, to recover the dispersed parts of my empire; and I shall give my best efforts to carrying out my oath." So he sent his son [Enzio], in spite of the prohibition of the pope, to receive in his name that portion of the island that had surrendered to him ... [1245]. When Frederick heard that the pope had deposed him, he was terribly enraged, and could scarcely contain himself for his wrath. Looking fiercely on those who sat around him, he thundered forth: "That pope has deposed me in his synod and has taken away my crown. Was there ever such audacity; was there ever such presumption? Where are the chests that contain my treasure?" And when these were brought and opened before him at his command, he said: "See now whether my crowns are lost." Then taking one of them and putting it on his head, he stood up, with a threatening look, and spoke out in a terrible voice from the bitterness of his heart: "I have not yet lost my crown, nor shall the pope and all his synod take it from me without a bloody struggle. And has his presumption been so boundless that he has dared to depose me from the empire, me, a great prince, who have no superior, indeed no equal? So much the better for my cause; for before this I was bound to obey him, and to do him reverence, but now I am absolved from any obligation to love or reverence him or even to keep peace with him." ... [1247]. When Frederick heard of the acts of the papal legate in Germany, he was bitterly enraged and sought everywhere for a means of wreaking vengeance upon the pope. It was feared by some wise and thoughtful men that Frederick in his wrath might turn apostate, or call in to his aid the Tartars from Russia, or give the Sultan of Babylon, with whom he was on the most friendly terms, the chance to overrun the empire with his pagan hosts, to the destruction of all Christendom.... [1250]. Frederick attempted to make peace with the pope, ... but the pope replied that he would not restore the emperor to his former position on any such easy terms, since he had been deposed and condemned by the general council of Lyon. And some asserted that the pope desired above all else utterly to crush Frederick, whom he called the great dragon, in order that he might then destroy the kings of England and of France and the other Christian kings (whom he spoke of as kinglets and little serpents), after he had overawed them by making an example of Frederick, and thus be able to rob them and their prelates at his pleasure. IV. THE EMPIRE FROM 1250 TO 1500 146. Diet of Nürnberg, 1274. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 399 ff; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 12. When Rudolf was elected king in 1273, he found that he had a crown but no income. For during the interregnum (1254-73) the German princes, both lay and clerical, had seized all the crown lands and revenues. Rudolf was glad to be king, but his private income was not sufficient to support his new dignity. Besides, he was of a miserly disposition, and was bent on getting all out of the office that he could, or at least on making the office pay for itself. So he demanded the surrender of the lands and revenues which had been seized. But no one was willing to give them up. Since Rudolf was compelled to enter suit against each one, it was necessary to have some disinterested person to act as judge in all such cases. The diet decided that this office of judge belonged to the count palatine. As soon as the judge was decided on, Rudolf asked what he should do in regard to these lands, and he was told that he must recover them. Ottokar, king of Bohemia, had himself been a candidate for the crown, and now refused to acknowledge the election of Rudolf. The diet decided what should be done in the matter, and instructed Rudolf how he should proceed against him. Paragraphs 5-9 reveal to a certain extent the troubled condition into which Germany had been brought by the interregnum. 1. During the meeting of the diet at Nürnberg, the princes came together as a public court of justice, in the presence of the most serene lord, Rudolf, king of the Romans, and attended by a large following of counts and barons and a great multitude of nobles and common people. And first the king asked them for a decision on the following question: who should be judge in cases which involve imperial or fiscal property, and other offences against the king or the realm, and in which the king of the Romans makes accusation against a prince of the empire. It was decided by all the princes and barons who were present that the count palatine of the Rhine has, and has had from of old, the right to act as judge in cases where the emperor or king accuses a prince of the empire. 2. The aforesaid count palatine then took his place as judge and the king asked for a decision on this question: what might and should the king do in regard to the property, now held by others, which the former emperor Frederick [II] had held and possessed in peace and quiet before he was deposed by the princes, and in regard to other imperial property wrongfully withheld from the empire. It was decided that the king ought to lay claim to such property and recover it; and that if anyone should resist the king in his attempt to recover his own, he should use his royal power to overcome this illegal resistance to authority and to preserve the rights of the empire. 3. The king asked, in the second place, what the law was in the case of the king of Bohemia, who had wilfully allowed more than a year and a day to elapse from the day of the coronation [of Rudolf] at Aachen without seeking to be invested with his fiefs by the king of the Romans. It was decided by all the princes and barons that whenever anyone, by his own neglect or contumacy and without just excuse, failed to seek investiture of his fiefs within a year and a day, all his fiefs were forfeited by the mere lapse of time. 4. In the third place, the king asked them how he should proceed to punish the contumacy of the king of Bohemia. It was decided that the count palatine of the Rhine should send a freeman to summon the king of Bohemia to appear before the count palatine at a certain place and on a certain day, which should be six weeks and three days from the day when the decision was rendered, and to answer the accusation of contumacy brought against him by the king. If the freeman who was chosen to carry the summons swore that he did not dare appear before the king of Bohemia or enter his lands because he had good grounds to fear personal injury, it would then be sufficient for the diet to pass an edict summoning the king of Bohemia and for the count palatine to proclaim this summons publicly in the city or town of his that was nearest to the kingdom of Bohemia. To allow this matter to be settled in an orderly way, however, eighteen days in addition to the original six weeks and three days were to be allowed for the answer to the summons, so that the king of Bohemia should appear before the count palatine at Würzburg nine weeks from the 19th of November, that is, on the 20th of January; otherwise he should be proceeded against according to the law. 5. It was decided also that the king of the Romans ought to take cognizance of all civil and criminal cases arising on and after the day of his coronation, and of all civil cases (_i.e._, those involving inheritances, fiefs, possessions, and property) arising even before his coronation, if they had not been settled by decision of the court, by compromise, or by some amicable agreement. 6. In regard to wrongs which date from the quarrel between the empire and the papacy in the days of the emperor Frederick (seizure of property, injuries, and damages committed by one party against the other), the king proposes to confer with the pope and to try to reach some agreement with him that shall be just to both parties. 7. The king urges and requests all those who have seized or burned or destroyed the property of others during the time from the death of emperor Frederick to the coronation of the king [_i.e._, Rudolf], to make compensation and come to some amicable agreement with those whom they have injured; and he also requests the injured not to refuse to accept such arrangement. If the parties cannot agree, the king will himself decide the cases. This does not refer, however, to public plunderers of churches and holy places, or to those who have made open war, all of whom are to be brought to justice immediately. Likewise all cases pending before the king or his officials ought to be settled within a reasonable time. 8. It was decided also that summonses and decrees issuing from the court or from royal officials should be written and sealed with the seal of the judges, and that such documents should be in themselves sufficient evidence of the fact of the summons without further proof, and that not more than six coins of Halle or their equivalent should be exacted for the serving of the summons. 9. The king also notified all advocates who had used their office as a pretext for oppression to come to some agreement with those whom they had injured, and not to exact or demand in the future more than is due from those for whom they act as advocates. Otherwise they will be brought to trial for their injustice. 10. He also decreed that _phalburgii_{76} should not be allowed to live in any imperial city. {76} For the meaning of this term see no. 139, paragraph 10. 147. The German Princes Confirm Rudolf's Surrender of all Imperial Claims in Italy, 1278-79. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 421 f. Rudolf saw clearly that the policy which the German kings had followed with regard to Italy had led to their ruin. He determined to give up this fatal policy, and to devote himself to the acquisition of lands and power in Germany. Accordingly he acknowledged all the papal claims in Italy, thus surrendering all for which the emperors had fought for the last 200 years. Contenting himself with what seemed obtainable, he gracefully acknowledged the defeat and failure of his predecessors, and struck out a new policy for himself (see no. 150). The princes confirmed his agreement with the pope by this document. Notice that the princes use the figures of the two luminaries and the two swords, accepting the papal interpretation (see no. 114). We, the princes of the empire, to all to whom these presents come. The holy Roman church has always borne a special love for Germany, and has given her a name which in secular affairs is above the name of every other power on earth [_i.e._, the name of the empire]; she has established the princes in Germany, like rare and beautiful trees in a garden, watering them with her special favor, and they [the princes], supported by the church, have brought forth wonderful fruit; namely, the ruler of the empire who is produced by the election of the princes. He [the emperor] is that lesser luminary in the firmament of this world which shines by the reflected light of the great luminary, the vicar of Christ. He it is who draws the material sword at the command of the pope, to support the spiritual sword which the shepherd of shepherds uses to guard his sheep, and he wields it to restrain and correct evil-doers and to aid the good and the faithful. Now we desire that all occasion of dissension and strife should be avoided, that the two swords should work together for the reformation of the whole world, and that we, the princes, who are bound to support both the church and the empire, should be recognized as lovers of peace. Therefore we approve and ratify all concessions, renewals, and new grants made by our lord Rudolf, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, to our most holy father and lord, pope Nicholas III, and to his successors, and to the Roman church; in particular, the fidelity, obedience, honor, and reverence to be paid to the popes and to the Roman church by the emperors and kings of the Romans; the possessions, honors, and dignities of the Roman church; including all the land from Radicofano to Ceperano, the march of Ancona, the duchy of Spoleto, the lands of the countess Matilda, the city of Ravenna, the Emilia, with the cities of Bobbio, Cesena, Forlimpopoli, Forli, Faenza, Imola, Bologna, Ferrara, Comacle, Adria, Gabello, Rimini, Urbino, Montefeltre, the territory of Balneum, the county of Bertinoro, the exarchate of Ravenna, the Pentapolis, Massa Trabaria, and the adjacent lands of the church, with all the boundaries, territories, islands, land, and water, belonging to the aforesaid provinces, cities, territories, and places; also the city of Rome and the kingdom of Sicily, including its possessions on the mainland and on the island of Sicily; also Corsica and Sardinia, and all other lands and rights belonging to the church.... 148. Revocation of Grants of Lands Belonging to the Imperial Domain, 1281. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 435; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 14. Rudolf's efforts to secure the crown lands which had been seized during the interregnum (see introductory note, no. 146) were not successful. The princes often voted that he should recover them, but each one refused to give up those which he himself held. In spite of his continued efforts, Rudolf was unable to regain any large part of them. We, Rudolf, by the grace of God, etc., by this document, declare and publicly proclaim that while we were holding court in a regular diet at Nürnberg, a decision was rendered and all our princes, nobles, and other faithful subjects who were present agreed to it. This decision was that all gifts of imperial lands and possessions confirmed or made in any way by Richard the king, or his predecessors in the Roman empire since the sentence of deposition was passed on Frederick II shall be invalid, and are hereby revoked, except those that shall be approved by a majority of the electoral princes. 149. An Electoral "Letter of Consent," 1282. Stillfried und Maerker, Monumenta Zollerana, II, p. 138; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 15. The power of the electors as well as the weakness of the crown after 1273 are shown by the fact that the electors compelled the king to secure their express and written consent before taking any important action. By this means the electors hoped to control the policy of the king and to make their own positions secure. If what the king proposed to do was not to their interest, they made him pay well for their consent. We give here an interesting example of these "letters of consent." Werner, by the grace of God archbishop of Mainz, etc. Desiring always to comply promptly with the wishes of our most serene lord, Rudolf, king, etc., we entirely and freely give him our permission to grant as a fief the villages of Lenkersheim, Erlebach, and Brucke, with all their belongings, to Frederick, the burggrave of Nürnberg, whenever he wishes. 150. Letter of Rudolf to Edward I, King of England, Announcing his Intention of Investing his Sons with Austria, etc., 1283. Rymer, Foedera, II, p. 259. Rudolf's chief policy was the aggrandizement of his family. By all possible means he endeavored to acquire lands in such a way that they would remain in the possession of his family, no matter who should be elected as his successor. This document is interesting as throwing light on his ambitious foreign relations, but it is still more important because it speaks of a great event in the good fortunes of the Hapsburg house, namely: the acquisition of the duchies of Austria, Styria, and Carinthia, the territorial basis for its future greatness. See no. 110, for the origin of the duchy of Austria. To the magnificent prince, Edward, by the grace of God king of England and our dearest friend, Rudolf, by the same grace king of the Romans, Augustus, a perpetual increase of love and friendship. Although the Emperor of the eternal empire, the creator of all things, has stricken our heart with an incurable wound in the death of our beloved son Hartmann, by whose marriage our two houses were to be bound together in an eternal bond of friendship, yet, for our part, his death has not put an end to our friendship for you, as we are eager to demonstrate in every way. Therefore we have thought it right to inform you that we are prospering in all things, and have been successful in securing the consent of the electors to our plans for raising our sons to the rank of princes and investing them with the duchies of Austria, Styria, and Carinthia. 151. Decree against Counterfeiters, 1285. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 446. Since so many individuals, cities, and monasteries had the right to coin money, it was impossible to keep effective control of the coinage. It was inevitable that it would in the course of time be debased. During the interregnum this abuse seems to have grown rapidly. Rudolf, etc., to all the faithful subjects of the holy Roman empire to whom these presents come, grace and every good thing. In the court over which we presided, held at Mainz on the day of the blessed Virgin Margaret, we asked the princes, counts, nobles, ministerials, and other faithful subjects of our empire who were present, what should be the penalty for coiners of false money, for those who pass false money or knowingly have it in their possession, and for the lords who protect such persons in their castles. It was decided that the coiner of false money should be decapitated; that he who passed false money or knowingly had it in his possession should lose his hand, and that the lord who protected a coiner of false money should suffer the same penalty as the coiner. 152. The Beginning of the Swiss Confederation, 1290. Kopp, Urkunden zur Geschichte der eidgenössischen Bünde, no. 19. The Swiss confederation had its beginning in the following league which the three forest cantons, Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden, made in 1290. It is in itself, however, a renewal of a still older league, the history of which is unknown to us. This document reveals the fact that these cantons were not entirely independent, but were subject to some external power. For instance, they did not choose or create their own judges, but received them from some one whom they recognized as their lord. The next document, no. 152 a, shows that unfree men, probably ministerials, had been put over them as judges. In the name of the Lord, amen. It is a good thing for the public utility if communities agree to preserve order and peace. Therefore let all know that the men of the valley of Uri, and the community of the valley of Schwyz, and the commune of those who live within the mountains of the lower valley [Unterwalden], considering the dangers that threaten them, and in order to be better able to defend themselves and their possessions, have, in good faith, promised mutually to assist each other with aid, counsel, and support, and with their persons as well as their possessions, with all their power and with their best effort, within the valley and without, against each and all who may try to molest, harm, or injure any of us in our persons or in our possessions. Each commune promised to aid the others whenever it should be necessary, and at its own expense to assist the others in repelling the attacks of their enemies and in avenging their injuries. The three cantons took oath that they would do these things without treachery. We hereby renew the ancient agreement which has existed among us. (1) Each man, according to his condition, shall be bound to obey his lord and to serve him in the proper manner. (2) We unanimously promise, decree, and ordain that in the aforesaid valleys we will not receive any judge who has bought his office in any way, or who is not an inhabitant of the valley. (3) If a dispute arises among us, the more prudent among us shall meet and settle it as seems best to them. If anyone refuses to accept their decision we will all assist in enforcing it. (4) Above all, we decree that whoever treacherously and without good reason kills another shall be taken and put to death, unless he can prove his own innocence and a grave offence of the other. If the murderer runs away, he shall never be permitted to return to the valley. All who receive or protect such a malefactor shall be driven out of the valley until the people agree to permit them to return. (5) If anyone, by day or night, secretly and maliciously burns the house of another, he shall never again be regarded as a citizen of the valley. And if anyone protects or defends such a malefactor within the valley, he shall make proper satisfaction to him whose house was burned. (6) If anyone seizes the property of another, his own possessions, if they are in the valley, shall be seized for the purpose of rendering just satisfaction to him whose property was taken. (7) No one shall take the property of another as a pledge [security], unless he is bondsman for him, or the latter is clearly his debtor, and then only with the special permission of the judge. (8) Each one must obey his judge, and, if necessary, must tell the name of the judge before whom he must answer. (9) If anyone resists the decision of the judge and thereby causes damage to another, we are all bound to assist in compelling him to make proper satisfaction to him whom he has injured. (10) If war [feud] or a quarrel arises between any of us, and one of the parties refuses or neglects to secure its justice or to render satisfaction, we are all bound to defend the other party. As an evidence that these statutes shall be binding forever this present document was made at the request of the aforesaid inhabitants and sealed with the seals of the three communities. Done in the year of our Lord 1290, at the beginning of August. 152 a. Edict of Rudolf, Forbidding Judges of Servile Rank to Exercise Authority in Schwyz, 1291. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 457. The free peasants of the Swiss cantons had a serious ground of complaint in the fact that feudal lords made use of their ministerials in the administration of justice. Being themselves freemen, the peasants of Schwyz objected to being tried and judged by men of unfree rank, as the ministerials were. See nos. 296 and 297. Rudolf, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, to all the freemen of Schwyz, his beloved subjects, grace and every good thing. We regard it as unfitting that any person of servile condition should be made a judge over you. Therefore, by our royal authority expressed in this letter, we decree that no one of servile condition shall ever in the future exercise the authority of a judge over you. 153. Concessions of Adolf, Count of Nassau, to the Archbishop of Cologne in Return for his Vote, 1292. Ennen, Wahl des Königs Adolf von Nassau, pp. 56 ff; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 16. Candidates for the royal crown in Germany were compelled to practise bribery in the most open and shameless manner. Each elector was determined to get as much as he could for his vote, in one way or another, and so demanded a great variety of things from the candidate. We give the agreement which Adolf, count of Nassau, was compelled to make with the archbishop of Cologne in 1292. Of course he had to pay, or at least promise to pay, something to each of the other electors. An analysis of each paragraph will make clear the advantages which the archbishop sought to obtain from Adolf in return for his vote. The archbishop of Cologne had followed a policy of territorial expansion. The great commercial interests of his city made it desirable that it should control the water-way to the sea and, if possible, a part of the coast-line. So Siegfried attempted to get possession of the lands which lay to the north and northwest, between Cologne and the sea. This brought him into conflict with the dukes of Brabant, and led to a war. In the battle of Worringen, June 6, 1228, the archbishop was defeated, taken prisoner, and held as a captive for eleven months. During his captivity his enemies took many of his possessions from him. In addition to these misfortunes the people of Cologne rebelled against him, and seized his castles, lands, and revenues. When he was finally released from captivity, he found himself in a bad plight. He was without troops, his castles were either destroyed or in the hands of his enemies, and the gates of his city were closed against him. This explains many of the things which he demanded of Adolf. Otto "with the arrow," the margrave of Brandenburg (d. 1309), received his title in a curious way. He made war on the archbishop of Magdeburg, and in a battle was struck on the head with an arrow. The point of the arrow could not be removed, but remained in his head for more than a year. On this account he was afterward called Otto "with the arrow." We, Adolf, by the grace of God count of Nassau, etc. Long before the empire was made vacant by the death of Rudolf, king of the Romans, we had vowed to God to go on a crusade, if it were possible, and to render a pleasing service to God for the remission of our sins. Now we could do much more for the honor of God and the recovery of the holy land, if we, although unworthy, were elected king of the Romans. Since our reverend father, Siegfried, archbishop of Cologne, is laboring for our election and will vote for us, of our own free will and accord we promise and bind ourselves by our word of honor and by our oath to do the following things: (1) If we are elected king of the Romans, we will protect and defend the church and all ecclesiastical persons in all their rights and liberties, and if damage is done them, we will endeavor to make it good. And we promise this especially of the church of Cologne, which has now for a long time been suffering from her heavy losses and misfortunes. (2) Even if the other electors do not vote for us, we will accept the election at the hands of the archbishop of Cologne, and we will never give up the right to the crown which his vote gives us. (3) And because the empire cannot prosper if the holy church of Cologne, which has suffered so many losses and misfortunes, is not first restored by the aid of the empire, we promise and of our own free will and accord bind ourselves by our word of honor and by our oath that if the archbishop votes for us, we will surrender to him and to his successors and to the church of Cologne the fortresses and strongholds, Cochem, Wied, Landskrone, Sinzig, Duisburg, and Dortmund, in order that he may better defend and preserve the right of the realm and of the empire in those parts, and also the rights of the church of Cologne, against their enemies and opponents. We will free these places from the claims of those who now hold them, and we will give them, with all their rights, income, jurisdiction, tolls, and belongings, to be held and possessed by the said archbishop and his successors and the church of Cologne as long as we live. And we will never demand them, or any part of their income, of the archbishop as long as we live. We grant all their income, tolls, and profits during our reign to the archbishop in return for his services in holding them against our enemies and those of the empire. We reserve for ourselves only the free right to enter the said places whenever it may be necessary. (4) The said archbishop and the church of Cologne had pawned their castles, Leggenich, Wied, Waldenburg, Rodenburg, and Aspel, to count Adolf de Monte for a certain sum of money in order to liberate the archbishop from captivity; but the Roman church had ordered the said count under threat of excommunication and interdict to restore freely and entirely the said castles to the archbishop and his church and had commissioned Rudolf, the late king of the Romans, to see that he did so. We promise therefore that we will compel count Adolf and his heirs to surrender the said castles and the village of Deutz to the archbishop and his church without any loss and without the payment of any money. (5) We also promise to restore to the said archbishop the advocacy and jurisdiction in Essen, and the manors of Westhoven, Brakel, and Elnenhorst, and we guarantee to him the peaceable possession of them. (6) We also promise to maintain the archbishop and his successors in the possession of the castles Wassenberg and Leidberg, and we will aid them against the duke of Brabant and the count of Flanders and all others who may attempt to invade and seize these possessions. (7) If the archbishop or his successors and the church of Cologne wish at their own expense to rebuild the castles, Worringen, Ysenburg, Werl, Minden, Ravensberg, Volmarstein, Hallenberg, and the other castles of the church of Cologne which were destroyed during the captivity of the archbishop, we promise to resist all violence offered them while doing so, and we will use our royal power against those who try to prevent them from rebuilding them. (8) We also promise to confirm the archbishop in the possession of the tolls at Andernach and Rheinberg, and we will renew all the grants which have been made by emperors and kings to the said church. (9) We also promise to restore to the archbishop and the church of Cologne the castle and possessions at Zelten, of which the archbishop was deprived during his captivity by the count of Veldenz. (10) We also promise to compel the citizens of Cologne to make the proper satisfaction to the archbishop and the church of Cologne for their offences against the archbishop. They have now been excommunicated a year and a day and their offence is notorious, and if they do not make the proper satisfaction to the archbishop, we will, at the request of the archbishop and the church of Cologne, proscribe the citizens and confiscate their property. And we will labor with all our might and at our own expense to aid the archbishop and his successors and the church of Cologne against the citizens and all who aid them. We will not cease to make war on them nor will we make a peace, truce, or agreement with them without the consent of the archbishop, and in such matters we will follow his wishes. (11) We also promise that if the citizens submit to the archbishop, or are subjected by him, we will not in any way interfere in the affairs of the city, nor will we require an oath of fidelity and homage from the citizens, because the city belongs completely to the archbishop and he has jurisdiction over it in all matters both spiritual and temporal. (12) We also promise to renew and confirm to the archbishop and the church of Cologne their protection of the monastery of Corvey, which was granted them by Rudolf, king of the Romans, and we will recover for the church of Corvey all the castles and strongholds which have been violently taken from her. (13) We promise to give the archbishop and the church of Cologne 25,000 silver marks toward defraying the necessary expenses which he and the church of Cologne are bound to have in performing the services which they owe to the empire. (14) In order to secure the observance of these promises, we agree to get the castles, Nassau, Dillenburg, Ginsberg, and Segen, with the full consent of count Henry, his wife, and his brother, Emicho, and also Braubach, Rheinfels, Limburg, and the castle and town of Velmar, with the consent of their lords and their heirs, and we will put all these places into the hands of the archbishop, his successors, and the church of Cologne, to be held at our expense. We will name fifty nobles and knights as good and legal security, and if the archbishop wishes, we will go into Bonn with these fifty nobles within fifteen days, and we will not leave Bonn until each and all of these promises have been fulfilled, or security given that they will be fulfilled to the satisfaction of the archbishop. (15) We also agree that if we act contrary to these our promises, or fail to give the archbishop security, we shall thereby be deposed and we shall lose the kingdom to which we have been elected, and in that case we will renounce all claims upon the realm which we acquired by the election. And the electors shall proceed to elect another king, if the archbishop thinks it best. (16) We will not demand the coronation, or consecration, or installation, in Aachen from the archbishop, nor in any way trouble him about it until we have given him full security that we will do all that we have promised. (17) We likewise cancel the debt which the archbishop owes us on account of the tolls at Andernach, which he had pawned to us. (18) We further promise to call before our court the trial which is pending between the archbishop and the count of Nassau for the recovery of losses and damages, and we will decide it according to the desire of the archbishop. (19) We also promise to seek the favor and friendship of Otto "with the arrow," the margrave of Brandenburg, for the archbishop and the church of Cologne, as well as the favor of count Otto of Everstein. (20) If the children of the late William, brother of Walram, who is now count of Jülich, bring suit or make war on the present count, Walram, for the possession of the county and other possessions, we will assist count Walram. And we will aid him against the duke of Brabant, the count of Flanders, and others who may make war on him. (21) We will give the said count Walram the town of Düren as long as we live. (22) The office of _Schultheiss_ of Aachen, with all the rights of that office, we will give to whomsoever the archbishop may choose. (23) Rudolf, king of the Romans, was in debt to the father of the said count, Walram, and had given him his note. In regard to this debt we will consult our friends and the archbishop, and we will do what is right and in some way satisfy the count. (24) We also promise that so long as we live we will be favorable and friendly to the archbishop and the church of Cologne, and we will aid them against their enemies, and, without the consent of the archbishop and his successors, we will never take the counts of Monte and Marka, or the duke of Brabant, or other enemies of the church of Cologne into our counsel and confidence. (25) In testimony of this we have affixed our seal to this writing. (26) We, John, lord of Limburg; Ulric, lord of Hagenau; Godfrey of Merenberg, and John of Rheinberg, at the command of count Adolf, have sworn and promised that we will compel the said count Adolf to fulfil each and all of these promises without treachery and fraud. And we have affixed our seals to this document. (27) Besides we, Adolf, promise under threat of the aforesaid punishments, that we will not enfeoff anyone with the duchies of Austria and Limburg, which have reverted to the crown, nor will we make any disposition of them without the express and written consent and permission of the archbishop. 154. The Archbishop of Mainz is Confirmed as Archchancellor of Germany, 1298. De Guden, Codex Diplom., I, pp. 904 f; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 18. The archbishop of Mainz had long been the archchancellor of Germany, but nearly all the duties of the office were performed by others. Although his office had become a sinecure, he wished to retain it, because of the dignity which the title gave him, as well as the income of it. The archbishop of Mainz had been a determined opponent of the Hapsburg party in 1292, and again in 1298, when Adolf was deposed, he was not at first favorable to the candidacy of Albert. He may have feared that Albert, in a spirit of revenge, would attempt to deprive him of his office, or at least of some of its perquisites. Albert, by the grace of God, king, etc. We remember with gratitude how ably and faithfully Gerhard, the venerable archbishop of Mainz, labored to elect us king and supported us after we were elected. For this we surely ought not only to protect him and his church in their liberties, rights, and prerogatives, but also to show him still greater kindness and favors. We therefore declare that the aforesaid archbishop and all his successors in the archbishopric are and ought to be archchancellors of the holy empire in Germany. And we faithfully promise and bind ourselves by this document to maintain, defend, and protect the said archbishop and his successors in the rights, honors, dignities, and liberties which belong to them because of their office as archchancellor. That is, they shall always receive a tenth of all the money which we collect from the Jews, and they shall always appoint the chancellor to take their place [and do the work of their office], and they shall have all the profits accruing from this office, whether the said archbishops are actually present at our court or not. 155. Declaration of the Election of Henry VII, 1308. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 491; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 19. This document shows the last step in the election of a German king. After all the electors had discussed the candidates and expressed their choice, the count palatine of the Rhine may be said to have cast the vote of the whole body of electors for the candidate upon whom they had agreed. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, amen. The kingdom and the empire of the Romans having become vacant by the death of Albert, king of the Romans, of blessed memory, notices were sent to all who have the right to vote in the election of a new king of the Romans, and on the day set all those who have any part in it were present and agreed to proceed to the election. And after each of the electors had declared his choice it appeared that all had given their votes for Henry, count of Luxemburg, agreeing upon him and naming him as king-elect, because they were confident from what they knew of his merits and his fidelity that he would defend and foster the holy Roman and universal church in her spiritual and temporal interests and would govern wisely the empire with the aid of God. Now, therefore, I, Rudolf, count palatine of the Rhine, for myself and my coelectors, by the authority which they have specially conceded to me do elect this Henry, count of Luxemburg, king of the Romans, advocate of the holy Roman and universal church, and defender of widows and orphans, and I invoke upon him the grace of the Holy Spirit. 156. The Supplying of the Office of the Archchancellor of Italy, 1310. Lacomblet, Urkundenbuch für die Geschichte des Niederrheins, III, p. 70; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 20. The archbishop of Cologne as archchancellor of Italy wished to enjoy the honors and revenues of his office, but the work connected with it was done by some one else. For some reason he did not wish to go into Italy with the king. So Henry VII confirmed him in his rights, and excused him from accompanying him. Henry, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, to all present and future subjects of the holy Roman empire, grace and every good thing.... Henry, venerable archbishop of Cologne, archchancellor of the empire for Italy and our very dear prince, has excused himself from accompanying us across the Alps, whither, God willing, we are shortly going, because he is so occupied with our affairs here and with the interests of the empire and of his own church. Therefore, at his request, we have appointed a suitable person to accompany us in his place, and to exercise the office of chancellor in Italy for him, guarding the seals and performing such other duties as the office may require. We have also granted to the archbishop as a special grace, because of his conspicuous merits, that the honor, authority, and profits of the office shall belong entirely to him and to his church of Cologne. He whom we have put in charge of the office shall perform the duties of the chancellor in Italy in the place of the archbishop, and all persons shall obey him in all matters regarding the rights and revenues belonging to the archbishop of Cologne and shall appear before him at the accustomed place and time. 157. The Law "Licet Juris" of the Diet of Frankfort, August 8, 1338. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 27. John XXII had declared, in his struggle with Ludwig the Bavarian, that he had the right to confer the imperial crown, and to administer the empire during a vacancy. His broad claims offended the German people and led to a spirited but brief exhibition of national sentiment. The electors met at Rense, 1338, and emphatically declared that the imperial crown was not in any way dependent on the will of the pope, but that he whom they elected king of Germany was thereby made emperor without any action on the part of the pope. A few days later a diet was held at Frankfort, and the decision of the electors at Rense was enacted as a law. But it must be said that the electors themselves nullified it by appealing to the pope for aid when they deposed Ludwig and elected Charles IV (1346-7). Both the canon and the civil law declare plainly that the dignity and authority of the emperor came of old directly from the Son of God, that God has appointed the emperors and kings of the world to give laws to the human race, and that the emperor obtains his office solely through his election by those who have the right to vote in imperial elections [the electors], without the confirmation and approval of anyone else. For in secular affairs he has no superior on earth, but rather is the ruler of all nations and peoples. Moreover, our Lord Jesus Christ has said: "Render unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar's, and unto God the things which are God's." Nevertheless, certain persons, blinded by avarice and ambition, and totally ignorant of the Scriptures, have distorted the meaning of certain passages by false and wicked interpretations, and on this basis have attacked the imperial authority and the rights of the emperors, electors, and other princes and subjects of the empire. For they wrongfully assert that the emperor derives his position and authority from the pope, and that the emperor elect is not the real emperor until his election is confirmed and approved, and he is crowned by the pope. These false and dangerous assertions are clearly the work of the ancient enemy of mankind, attempting to stir up strife and discord, and to bring about confusion and dissensions among men. In order to prevent this we now declare by the advice and with the consent of the electors and other princes of the empire, that the emperor holds his authority and position from God alone, and that it is the ancient law and custom of the empire that he who is elected emperor or king by the electors of the empire, thereby becomes true king and emperor of the Romans, and should be obeyed by all the subjects of the empire, and has full power to administer the laws of the empire and to perform all the functions of the emperor, without the approval, confirmation, authorization, or consent of the pope or any other person. Therefore, we decree by this perpetual edict that the emperor elected by the electors or a majority of them is to be regarded and considered by all to be the true and lawful emperor, by reason of the election alone; that he is to be obeyed by all subjects of the empire; and that he has, and all must hold and assert that he has, the complete imperial power of administration and jurisdiction. If anyone contradicts these decrees and decisions or any one of them, or agrees with those who contradict them, or yields obedience to the commands, letters, or instructions of opponents of these decrees, we hereby deprive him and declare him to be deprived, by virtue of his act and of this law, of all fiefs which he holds of the empire, and of all favors, jurisdiction, privileges, and immunities which have been granted to him by us or by our predecessors. Moreover, we declare that he is guilty of offence against the majesty of the emperor, and subject to the penalties incurred by this offence. 158-159. The Diet of Coblenz, 1338. 158. Chronicle of Flanders. (French.) Böhmer, Fontes rerum Germanicarum, I. pp. 190 f. The name of the empire was still something to conjure with, although it was little more than a name. Not only had the emperors long since ceased to exercise any authority over the nations of Europe, but they had also become mere figure-heads in Germany and Italy. Ludwig of Bavaria was not only cowardly and ineffectual, but he was also without the means necessary to secure a vigorous forcible government in Germany. Even the thought of his disposing of the French crown, or interfering effectively in the affairs of France, was absurd. These two documents show that the idea of the worldwide empire lived on, and illustrate the way in which otherwise sensible men could make use of it when it suited their purpose. Edward III, who was just beginning the Hundred Years' War, was seeking allies against France. In securing an alliance with the emperor and the appointment as imperial vicar in the Netherlands, his purpose was to acquire the right to call on the nobles of that territory to aid him in his war. How the emperor, wearing the imperial insignia, held a diet. The Saturday before the Nativity of our Lady, in September of the year of grace 1338, the electoral princes of Germany came together at Coblenz, and there they held a diet, placing the emperor, Ludwig of Bavaria, upon a throne twelve feet high. The emperor wore a robe of changeable silk, and over it a mantle, and broad fanons on his arms. He wore a stole, crossed on his breast like that of a priest and richly embroidered with his arms; and on his feet he wore shoes made of the same cloth as his robe. On his head he wore a round mitre surmounted by a heavy golden crown; the crown was covered with flowers worked in gold, and in the front was a cross of gold which overtopped the flowers. He wore white silk gloves on his hands and precious rings on his fingers. In his right hand he held a golden globe surmounted by a cross, and in his left a sceptre. At the right of the emperor sat the margrave of the East Mark and of Meissen, to whom the emperor gave the globe to hold. The king of England sat beside the emperor on a lower throne, clad in a scarlet robe, on the breast of which a castle was embroidered. At the left of the emperor sat the margrave of Jülich, to whom the emperor gave the sceptre to hold. Two steps below the emperor sat the electoral princes of the empire. Sire de Kuck, representing the duke of Brabant, stood behind the emperor, about two feet above him, holding a naked sword. And the emperor, seated on the throne and holding a diet, proclaimed to all by the words of his own mouth that he had created the king of England his vicar and lieutenant. 159. Chronicle of Henry Knyghton. Böhmer, Fontes rerum Germanicarum, I, pp. 191 f. See introductory note to no. 158. When the emperor learned of the approach of king Edward, he set out from his place to meet him, and after travelling four days he met him near Coblenz, receiving him there with great honor. Two richly decorated thrones were set up in the market-place, and on these the emperor and the king sat. There were present in attendance four dukes, three archbishops, six bishops, and thirty-seven counts, besides a great number, estimated by the heralds at 17,000, of barons, baronets, knights, and others. The emperor held in his right hand the imperial sceptre, and in his left the golden globe as a symbol of world-wide authority. A certain knight held a drawn sword above his head. And the emperor in the presence of the people gathered there proclaimed to all the crimes, disobedience, and wickedness of the king of France. And after he had declared that the king of France had broken his faith to the emperor, he published a decree of forfeiture against him and his followers. Then the emperor made king Edward his vicar and gave him authority over the land from Cologne to the sea, presenting him with a charter of this in the sight of all the people. On the next day the emperor and the king of England and their nobles assembled in the cathedral, and the archbishop of Cologne said mass. And after mass the emperor and all his nobles swore to aid the king of England and to maintain his quarrel against the king of France with their lives for seven years, if the war between the said kings should last so long. They also swore that all the nobles in the territory from Cologne to the sea would come at the summons of the king of England to join him in an attack upon the king of France at any place and at any time set by him. If any one of them should fail to obey the king of England in these matters, all the other nobles of northern Germany would attack and destroy him. These affairs having been arranged and settled, the king of England received the grant of authority and returned to Brabant. 160. The Golden Bull of Charles IV, 1356. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 29. Various things had led the emperors to follow the policy of conferring crown rights upon their princes. In order to carry out their Italian policy the Hohenstaufen had sacrificed the power of the crown in Germany (see nos. 110-112, 136, 138, 139), and after the interregnum the electors pillaged the crown at every opportunity (see nos. 149, 153). The result was that the crown was stripped of authority, while the princes had developed almost complete sovereignty in their lands. Charles IV, in the Golden Bull, attempted to fix as in a constitution the actual rights and status of the princes. He saw that Germany was no longer a monarchy, but a federation of princes. Although from 1273 the number of electors was fixed at seven, it was not always clear who these seven were. Thus in 1313 two men claimed to possess the electoral vote of Saxony, and two others, that of Bohemia. Charles IV made provisions to prevent the recurrence of such a situation by attaching the electoral vote to the possession of certain lands (see chaps. VII, XX, and XXV). Charles IV was himself king of Bohemia, and, knowing that it was hopeless to attempt to restore the German kingship, he exerted himself in the Golden Bull to secure for Bohemia all the advantages possible. PART I. (Published at Nürnberg, January 10, 1356.) CHAPTER I. ESCORT AND SAFE-CONDUCT FOR THE ELECTORS. 1. We decree and determine by this imperial edict that, whenever the electoral princes are summoned according to the ancient and praiseworthy custom to meet and elect a king of the Romans and future emperor, each one of them shall be bound to furnish on demand an escort and safe-conduct to his fellow electors or their representatives, within his own lands and as much farther as he can, for the journey to and from the city where the election is to be held. Any electoral prince who refuses to furnish escort and safe-conduct shall be liable to the penalties for perjury and to the loss of his electoral vote for that occasion. 2. We decree and command also that all other princes who hold fiefs from the empire by whatever title, and all counts, barons, knights, clients, nobles, commoners, citizens, and all corporations of towns, cities, and territories of the empire, shall furnish escort and safe-conduct for this occasion to every electoral prince or his representatives, on demand, within their own lands and as much farther as they can. Violators of this decree shall be punished as follows: Princes, counts, barons, knights, clients, and all others of noble rank, shall suffer the penalties of perjury, and shall lose the fiefs which they hold of the emperor or any other lord, and all their other possessions; citizens and corporations shall also suffer the penalty for perjury, shall be deprived of all the rights, liberties, privileges, and graces which they have received from the empire, and shall incur the ban of the empire against their persons and property. Those whom we deprive of their rights for this offence may be attacked by any man without appealing to a magistrate, and without danger of reprisal, for they are rebels against the state and the empire, and have attacked the honor and security of the prince, and are convicted of faithlessness and perfidy. 3. We also command that the citizens and corporations of cities shall furnish supplies to the electoral princes and their representatives on demand at the regular price and without fraud, whenever they arrive at, or depart from, the city on their way to or from the election; those who violate this decree shall suffer the penalties described in the preceding paragraph for citizens and corporations. If any prince, count, baron, knight, client, noble, commoner, citizen, or city shall attack or molest in person or goods any of the electoral princes or their representatives, on their way to or from an election, whether they have safe-conduct or not, he and his accomplices shall incur the penalties above described, according to his position and rank. 4. If there should arise any enmity or hostility between two electoral princes, it shall not be allowed to interfere with the safe-conduct which each is bound to furnish to the other on the occasion of the election, under penalty of being declared guilty of perjury, and being deprived of his vote for that occasion, as described above. 5. If any other princes, counts, barons, knights, clients, nobles, commoners, citizens, or cities are at war with any electoral prince or princes, they shall nonetheless be bound to furnish to them and their representatives escort and safe-conduct for the journey to and from the election, under the same penalties. In order to render the observance of the above demands more certain, we desire and instruct all electoral and other princes, and all counts, barons, nobles, cities, and corporations to bind themselves by oaths and written promises to observe them. If anyone refuses to do this, he shall incur the penalties above described, according to his rank and station. 6. If any electoral prince violates any of the above or following laws of the empire, he shall be excluded by his fellow-electors from their body, and shall be deprived of his vote and his electoral dignity, and of his right to hold fiefs of the empire. If any other prince of any rank or station, or any count, baron, or noble who holds fiefs of the empire, or any of their successors to their fiefs, is guilty of a similar crime, he shall not be invested with the fiefs which he holds of the empire, nor be able to receive a fief from any other lord, and he shall incur the above penalties, according to his rank. 7. The above rules apply to escorts and safe-conduct in general, but we have thought it well to indicate also the neighboring lands which should furnish escort and safe-conduct in each separate case to each elector. 8. To the king of Bohemia, the chief cup-bearer of the empire, the following should furnish escort and safe-conduct: the archbishop of Mainz, the bishops of Bamberg and Würzburg, the burggrave of Nürnberg, etc. 9. To the archbishop of Cologne, archchancellor of the empire for Italy, the archbishops of Mainz and Trier, the count palatine of the Rhine, the landgrave of Hesse, etc. 10. To the archbishop of Trier, archchancellor of the empire for Gaul and the kingdom of Arles, the archbishop of Mainz, the count palatine of the Rhine, etc. 11. To the count palatine of the Rhine, the archbishop of Mainz. 12. To the duke of Saxony, archmarshall of the empire, the king of Bohemia, the archbishops of Mainz and Magdeburg, the bishops of Bamberg and Würzburg, the margrave of Meissen, the landgrave of Hesse, the abbots of Fulda and Hersfeld, the burggrave of Nürnberg, etc. These shall also furnish escort and safe-conduct to the margrave of Brandenburg, the archchamberlain of the empire. 13. We wish and command that each electoral prince should give due notice to those from whom he intends to require safe-conduct, of his journey and of the route by which he intends to go; and he should make a formal demand upon such persons for safe-conduct, in order that they may be able to make fitting preparations. 14. The above decrees concerning safe-conduct are to be understood to mean that any person, whether expressly named or not, from whom safe-conduct is demanded on the occasion of the election, must furnish it in good faith within his own lands, and as much farther as he can, under the penalties described above. 15. It shall be the duty of the archbishop of Mainz to send notice of the approaching election to each of the electoral princes by his messenger bearing letters patent, containing the following: first, the date on which the letter should reach the prince to whom it is directed; then the command to the electoral prince to come or send his representatives to Frankfort on the Main, three months from that date, such representatives being duly accredited by letters bearing the great seal of the prince, and giving them full power to vote for the king of the Romans and future emperor. The form of the letter of notification and of the credentials of the representatives are appended to this document, and we hereby command that these forms be used without change. 16. When the news of the death of the king of the Romans has been received at Mainz, within one month from the date of receiving it the archbishop of Mainz shall send notices of the death and of the approaching election to all the electoral princes. But if the archbishop neglects or refuses to send such notices, the electoral princes are commanded on their fidelity to assemble on their own motion and without summons at the city of Frankfort within three months from the death of the emperor, for the purpose of electing a king of the Romans and future emperor. 17. Each electoral prince or his representatives may bring with him to Frankfort at the time of the election a retinue of 200 horsemen, of whom not more than 50 shall be armed. 18. If any electoral prince, duly summoned to the election, fails to come or to send representatives with credentials containing full authority, or if he or his representatives withdraws from the place of the election before the election has been completed, without leaving behind substitutes fully accredited and empowered, he shall lose his vote in that election.... CHAPTER II. THE ELECTION OF THE KING OF THE ROMANS. 1. (Mass shall be celebrated on the day after the arrival of the electors. The archbishop of Mainz administers this oath, which the other electors repeat:) 2. "I, archbishop of Mainz, archchancellor of the empire for Germany, electoral prince, swear on the holy gospels here before me, and by the faith which I owe to God and to the holy Roman empire, that with the aid of God, and according to my best judgment and knowledge, I will cast my vote, in this election of the king of the Romans and future emperor, for a person fitted to rule the Christian people. I will give my voice and vote freely, uninfluenced by any agreement, price, bribe, promise, or anything of the sort, by whatever name it may be called. So help me God and all the saints." 3. After the electors have taken this oath, they shall proceed to the election, and shall not depart from Frankfort until the majority have elected a king of the Romans and future emperor, to be ruler of the world and of the Christian people. If they have not come to a decision within thirty days from the day on which they took the above oath, after that they shall live upon bread and water and shall not leave the city until the election has been decided. 4. Such an election shall be as valid as if all the princes had agreed unanimously and without difference upon a candidate. If any one of the princes or his representatives has been hindered or delayed for a time, but arrives before the election is over, he shall be admitted and shall take part in the election at the stage which had been reached at the time of his arrival. According to the ancient and approved custom, the king of the Romans elect, immediately after his election and before he takes up any other business of the empire, shall confirm and approve by sealed letters for each and all of the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, the privileges, charters, rights, liberties, concessions, ancient customs, and dignities, and whatever else the princes held and possessed from the empire at the time of the election; and he shall renew the confirmation and approval when he becomes emperor. The original confirmation shall be made by him as king, and the renewal as emperor. It is his duty to do this graciously and in good faith, and not to hinder the princes in the exercise of their rights. 5. In the case where three of the electors vote for a fourth electoral prince, his vote shall have the same value as that of the others to make a majority and decide the election. CHAPTER III. THE LOCATION OF THE SEATS OF THE ARCHBISHOPS OF TRIER, COLOGNE, AND MAINZ. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity, amen. Charles by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Bohemia.... To prevent any dispute arising between the archbishops of Trier, Mainz, and Cologne, electoral princes of the empire, as to their priority and rank in the diet, it has been decided and is hereby decreed with the advice and consent of all the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, that the archbishop of Trier shall have the seat directly opposite and facing the emperor; that the archbishop of Mainz shall have the seat at the right of the emperor when the diet is held in the diocese or province of Mainz, or anywhere in Germany except in the diocese of Cologne; that the archbishop of Cologne shall have the seat at the right of the emperor when the diet is held in the diocese or province of Cologne, or anywhere in Gaul or Italy. This applies to all public ceremonies: court sessions, conferring of fiefs, banquets, councils, and all occasions on which the princes meet with the emperor for the transaction of imperial business. This order of seating shall be observed by the successors of the present archbishops of Cologne, Trier, and Mainz, and shall never be questioned. CHAPTER IV. THE LOCATION OF THE SEATS OF THE ELECTORAL PRINCES. 1. In the imperial diet, at the council-board, table, and all other places where the emperor or king of the Romans meets with the electoral princes, the seats shall be arranged as follows: On the right of the emperor, first, the archbishop of Mainz, or of Cologne, according to the province in which the meeting is held, as arranged above; second, the king of Bohemia, because he is a crowned and anointed prince; third, the count palatine of the Rhine; on the left of the emperor, first, the archbishop of Cologne, or of Mainz; second, the duke of Saxony; third, the margrave of Brandenburg. 2. When the imperial throne becomes vacant, the archbishop of Mainz shall have the authority, which he has had from of old, to call the other electors together for the election. It shall be his peculiar right also, when the electors have convened for the election, to collect the votes, asking each of the electors separately in the following order: first, the archbishop of Trier, who shall have the right to the first vote, as he has had from of old; then the archbishop of Cologne, who has the office of first placing the crown upon the head of the king of the Romans; then the king of Bohemia, who has the priority among the secular princes, because of his royal title; fourth, the count palatine of the Rhine; fifth, the duke of Saxony; sixth, the margrave of Brandenburg. Then the princes shall ask the archbishop of Mainz in turn to declare his choice and vote. At the diet, the margrave of Brandenburg shall offer water to the emperor or king, to wash his hands; the king of Bohemia shall have the right to offer him the cup first, although, by reason of his royal dignity, he shall not be bound to do this unless he desires; the count palatine of the Rhine shall offer him food; and the duke of Saxony shall act as his marshal in the accustomed manner. CHAPTER V. THE RIGHTS OF THE COUNT PALATINE AND OF THE DUKE OF SAXONY. 1. During the vacancy of the empire, the count palatine of the Rhine, archseneschal of the empire, by reason of his principality and office, shall exercise the authority of the future king of the Romans in the Rhine lands, in Suabia, and in the region of the Frankish law; this includes the right to present to ecclesiastical benefices, to collect revenues and incomes, to invest with fiefs, and to receive the oath of fidelity in the name of the emperor. All of these acts, however, must be confirmed and renewed by the king of the Romans after he is elected. The count palatine shall not have the right to invest the princes of the empire with fiefs which are called _Fahnlehen_,{77} the investiture and conferring of which is reserved to the king of the Romans in person. The count palatine is expressly forbidden to alienate or mortgage the imperial lands during the period of his administration. The duke of Saxony, archmarshal of the holy empire, shall exercise the same authority during the vacancy of the empire for the region of the Saxon law, under the same conditions as expressed above. 2. The emperor or king of the Romans must appear before the count palatine of the Rhine, when he is cited by anyone, but the count palatine shall try such cases only at the imperial diet when the emperor or king is present. {77} In the investiture of a vassal with a fief certain symbols were used. Among other articles that were used in this way when investing the secular tenants-in-chief was the spear, to which it became customary to affix a small standard or flag, as a symbol of the regalia which were conferred with the fief. Eventually this was the only symbol used in such cases, and hence the secular fiefs which were held directly from the king came to be called "Fahnlehen," or "flag fiefs." CHAPTER VI. (Repeats the statements about the priority of the king of Bohemia among the secular princes.) CHAPTER VII. THE SUCCESSION OF THE ELECTORAL PRINCES. 1. ... It is known and recognized throughout the world, that the king of Bohemia, the count palatine of the Rhine, the duke of Saxony, and the margrave of Brandenburg, by virtue of the principalities which they possess, have the right to vote in the election of the king of the Romans along with their coelectors, the ecclesiastical princes, and that they with the ecclesiastical princes are the true and legal electoral princes of the holy empire. In order to prevent disputes arising among the sons of these secular electoral princes in regard to the electoral authority and vote, which would be productive of delays dangerous to the state and other evils, we have fixed the succession by the present law which shall be valid forever. On the death of one of the secular electoral princes his right, voice, and vote in the election shall descend to his first-born son who is a layman; if the son has died before this, to the son's first-born son who is a layman. If the first-born lay son of the elector has died without legitimate lay sons, by virtue of the present law the succession shall go to the elector's next oldest lay son and then to his heirs, and so on according to the law of primogeniture. In case the heir is under age the paternal uncle of the heir shall act as guardian and administrator until the heir comes of age, which shall be, in the case of electoral princes, at eighteen years. Then the guardian shall immediately surrender to him the electoral vote and authority and all the possessions of the electorate. 2. When any electorate falls vacant for lack of heirs, the emperor or king of the Romans shall have the power to dispose of it, as if it reverted to the empire, saving the rights, privileges, and customs of the kingdom of Bohemia, according to which the inhabitants of that kingdom have the right to elect their king in case of a vacancy. CHAPTER VIII. THE IMMUNITY OF THE KINGDOM OF BOHEMIA AND ITS INHABITANTS. Our predecessors, the emperors and kings of the Romans, have conceded to our ancestors, the kings of Bohemia, and to the kingdom and crown ... that no prince, baron, noble, knight, client, citizen, or other person of the kingdom, of any station, dignity, rank, or condition, should be cited, haled, or summoned before any tribunal outside of the kingdom, or before any judge except the king of Bohemia and the judges of his court. We hereby renew and confirm this privilege, custom, and concession by our royal authority and power, and decree that no one of the aforesaid, prince, baron, noble, knight, client, citizen, or peasant, or any other person, shall be required to appear or answer before any tribunal outside of the kingdom of Bohemia, in any case, civil, criminal, or mixed.... CHAPTER IX. MINES OF GOLD, SILVER, AND OTHER METALS. We decree, by this present law, that our successors, the kings of Bohemia, and all the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, shall hold and possess with full rights, all mines of gold, silver, tin, copper, iron, lead, or other metals, and all salt works, both those already discovered and those which shall be discovered in the future, situated within their lands, domains, and dependencies. They shall also have authority to tax Jews, the right to collect tolls already in force, and all other rights which they or their predecessors have possessed to the present day. CHAPTER X. COINAGE. 1. We also decree that our successors, the future kings of Bohemia, shall possess and exercise in peace the rights of coinage of gold and silver, in all parts of their dominions and of the lands belonging to their subjects, in such form and manner as they may determine: a right which is known to have belonged to our predecessors, the former kings of Bohemia. 2. We also grant to the future kings of Bohemia forever the right to buy, purchase, or receive as gift or in payment, any lands, castles, possessions, or goods from any princes, magnates, counts, or other persons; such lands and property to remain, however, in their former legal status, and to pay the customary dues and services to the empire. 3. We extend this right by the present law to all the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, and to their legal heirs, under the same conditions and form. CHAPTER XI. THE IMMUNITIES OF THE PRINCES. 1. We decree also that no count, baron, noble, vassal, burggrave, knight, client, citizen, burgher, or other subject of the churches of Cologne, Mainz, or Trier, of whatever status, condition or rank, shall be cited, haled, or summoned to any authority before any tribunal outside of the territories, boundaries, and limits of these churches and their dependencies, or before any judge, except the archbishops and their judges.... We refuse to hear appeals based upon the authority of others over the subjects of these princes; if these princes are accused by their subjects of injustice, appeal shall lie to the imperial diet, and shall be heard there and nowhere else.... 2. We extend this right by the present law to the secular electoral princes, the count palatine of the Rhine, the duke of Saxony, and the margrave of Brandenburg, and to their heirs, successors, and subjects forever. CHAPTER XII. ASSEMBLIES OF THE PRINCES. ... It has been decided in the general diet held at Nürnburg with the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, and other princes and magnates, by their advice and with their consent, that in the future, the electoral princes shall meet every year in some city of the empire four weeks after Easter; this year they are to meet at that date in the imperial city of Metz; on that occasion, and on every meeting thereafter, the place of assembling for the following year shall be fixed by us with the advice and consent of the princes. This ordinance shall remain in force as long as it shall be pleasing to us and to the princes; and as long as it is in effect, we shall furnish the princes with safe-conduct for that assembly, going, staying, and returning.... CHAPTER XIII. THE REVOCATION OF PRIVILEGES. We hereby decree and determine that the liberties, jurisdiction, rights, honors, and authority of the electoral princes, ecclesiastical or secular, or of any one of them, ought not to be and shall not be in any way diminished by any privileges or charters of rights, graces, immunities, customs, etc., granted or to be granted by us or our predecessors to any person of whatsoever rank, station, or dignity, or to any city, town or territory, even if it is expressly stated in such privileges and charters that they are not revocable. In so far as any such privileges do diminish the liberties, jurisdiction, rights, honors, or authority of the said electoral princes, we hereby revoke them and decree by our imperial authority that they are to be regarded as revoked and void. CHAPTER XIV. THE FORFEITING OF FIEFS. In many regions it is becoming the practice for vassals and feudatories to renounce and resign verbally and without due notice the fiefs and benefices which they hold of their lords, and then to declare themselves free from their allegiance and to seize the fiefs under pretext of war. Therefore we decree hereby that such renunciation shall not be valid unless it is genuine and made with the condition that the fiefs and benefices shall revert immediately to the lords from whom they are held; those who have renounced their allegiance shall never disturb or molest their lords in the possession of these fiefs. Any subject violating this decree shall lose his fiefs and benefices, shall be branded with infamy, and placed under the imperial ban; no one shall ever give him a fief or a benefice, and any grant or investiture made to him shall be void. CHAPTER XV. CONSPIRACIES. We reprobate, condemn, and declare void all detestable and illegal conspiracies, confederations, and societies, which are or shall be made by cities or by persons of any rank or station, under color of any pretext whatever, inside or outside of cities, between city and city, person and person, or city and person, without the consent of the lords of the persons or territories; for it is well known that such conspiracies are declared illegal and void by the laws of our predecessors, the august emperors. We except from this condemnation such confederations and leagues as are entered into by princes, cities, and others for the preservation of the peace of their lands; these shall remain in force until we have decreed otherwise. If any person shall violate this decree and the ancient laws against conspiracies, besides incurring the regular penalties he shall be branded with infamy and shall be fined ten pounds of gold; cities and corporations guilty of a similar crime shall be fined 100 pounds of gold, half of which shall go to the imperial treasury, and half to the lord of the district, and they shall be deprived of the liberties and privileges which they have received from the empire. CHAPTER XVI. PFAHLBURGHERS. The complaint has frequently been made of late that certain citizens and subjects of princes, barons, and other lords, in order to escape from their proper subjection, have had themselves received as citizens in other cities, and thus, while dwelling in the lands, cities, towns, or regions of the lords whom they have deserted, they claim to enjoy the liberty and immunity of the other cities, and to be freed from the lord's authority, because of that citizenship; these are the persons who are called in the vulgar tongue in Germany "pfahlburghers." Now since fraud and deceit cannot constitute a legal defense for any one, we hereby decree by our imperial authority and by the advice of the electoral princes, ecclesiastical and secular, that from this day forth within all the lands of the empire such citizens shall not enjoy the rights and liberties of the cities, unless they have actually moved into them and established their homes there, making their real residence and domicile in the cities and bearing their share of the debts, burdens, and municipal taxes. If any such persons are or shall be admitted into cities contrary to this edict, the admission shall be void of effect, and the persons shall not profit by the laws and liberties of those cities, in spite of any laws, privileges, and customs to the contrary, all of which, as far as they contradict this decree, we declare to be void; and the lords shall retain their rights over the persons and goods of their subjects who have deserted them in this manner. Those who receive the subjects of other lords on these terms contrary to our law, and who do not drive them away within one month after receiving notice of their presence, shall be fined for each such violation, 100 pounds of gold, half of which shall go to the imperial treasury and half to the lords of the deserters. CHAPTER XVII. RENUNCIATION OF ALLEGIANCE. If any person renounces his allegiance or alliance without due notice and in a place where he does not have his residence, even if he thinks he has just grounds, we declare that he shall not have the right to inflict injury or violence upon those from whom he has in this manner withdrawn. And since fraud and deceit cannot constitute legal defence, we hereby declare that renunciation of this sort from the society or association of any lord or person shall not be valid, and may not be used as pretext for making war, unless the renunciation has been announced to those who are concerned personally or publicly in the place where they have their regular residence, three full days before, and the notification can be proved by good witnesses. Whoever shall make war on another without making renunciation in this form, shall be branded with infamy, just as if he had never made any renunciation, and he shall be punished as a traitor by all judges. We forbid and condemn also all unjust wars and strife, all unjust burning, wasting, and rapine, all unusual and unjust tolls and exactions for safe-conduct, under penalties fixed by the laws of the empire. CHAPTER XVIII. FORM OF THE LETTER OF NOTIFICATION. "To you, the illustrious and magnificent margrave of Brandenburg, archchamberlain of the holy empire, our fellow-elector and dear friend, we give notice by these presents of the approaching election of the king of the Romans, and we summon you according to the duty of your office to come to that election at the regular place within three months from ---- ---- (date), or to send one or more representatives or agents with sufficient authority, in order to consider with your fellow-electors and agree upon the choice of a king of the Romans and future emperor; to remain there until the election is completed; and to do such other things as are required by the laws of the empire in this matter. Otherwise, in spite of your absence, we shall proceed with our fellow-electors to carry out the aforesaid business, as the authority of the imperial laws empowers us." CHAPTER XIX. FORM OF THE CREDENTIALS FOR REPRESENTATIVES OR AGENTS OF THE ELECTORAL PRINCES, SENT IN THEIR BEHALF TO THE ELECTION. We (name), by the grace of God (title), (office) of the holy empire. Be it known to all by these presents ... that we have constituted our faithful subjects (names) our true, legal, and special representatives and agents, to treat with our fellow-princes and electors, ecclesiastical and secular, and to agree and decide with them concerning a suitable person to be elected king of the Romans; to be present, deliberate, name, consent to, and elect the king of the Romans and future emperor in our name and for us; and to take the necessary, due, and accustomed oaths upon our soul, in regard to the aforesaid things; to appoint substitutes to do any and all things which may be necessary, useful, or convenient to the aforesaid consideration, nomination, deliberation, and election, and to do anything which we would be able to do if we were present in person at the election, even if these things be special and peculiar things not mentioned specifically in the above. We will accept and ratify everything done by the aforesaid representatives or their substitutes. CHAPTER XX. THE UNITY OF THE ELECTORAL PRINCIPALITIES. It is known that the right of voting for the king of the Romans and future emperor inheres in certain principalities, the possessors of which have also the other offices, rights, and dignities belonging to these principalities. We decree, therefore, by the present law that the electoral vote and other offices, dignities, and appurtenances shall always be so united and conjoined that the possessor of one of these principalities shall possess and enjoy the electoral vote and all the offices, dignities, and appurtenances belonging to it, that he shall be regarded as electoral prince, that he and no other shall be accepted by the other electoral princes and admitted to participation in the election and all other acts which regard the honor and advantage of the holy empire, and that no one of these rights, which are and ought to be inseparable, shall ever be taken from him. And if through error or by any other means any decision or sentence is issued by any judge against the present law, it shall be void. CHAPTER XXI. THE PRECEDENCE AMONG THE ARCHBISHOPS. We have defined above the location of the seats of the ecclesiastical electors in the council, at the table, and on other occasions, when the emperor meets with the electoral princes, but we have thought it well to indicate also the order of precedence in procession and march. Therefore we decree by the present imperial edict that whenever the emperor or king of the Romans meets with the electoral princes, and the insignia are borne before him in procession, the archbishop of Trier shall march directly before the emperor or king, no one being between them except the bearers of the insignia; and when the emperor or king marches without the insignia the archbishop shall immediately precede him. The other two archbishops [of Mainz and Cologne] shall march on either side of the archbishop of Trier, their position on the right or the left being determined by the region in which the ceremony is held, as described above. CHAPTER XXII. THE ORDER OF PRECEDENCE AMONG THE SECULAR ELECTORAL PRINCES, AND THE BEARERS OF THE INSIGNIA. We also determine by the present decree the precedence among the secular electoral princes as follows: When the electoral princes march in procession with the emperor or king of the Romans in any of the ceremonies of the imperial diet and the insignia are borne before him, the duke of Saxony shall precede the emperor or king, marching between him and the archbishop of Trier, and bearing the imperial or royal sword; the count palatine of the Rhine shall march at the right of the duke of Saxony with the imperial globe, and the margrave of Brandenburg at the left with the sceptre; the king of Bohemia shall follow immediately behind the emperor or king. CHAPTER XXIII. BENEDICTIONS OF THE ARCHBISHOPS IN THE PRESENCE OF THE EMPEROR. When the mass is celebrated in the presence of the emperor or king, the archbishops of Mainz, Trier, and Cologne, or any two of them, being present, the archbishops shall perform the services on the different days in turn in the order of their consecration, each one on his day officiating in the confession which is said before the mass, in the presenting of the gospel to be kissed, in the giving of peace after the _Agnus Dei_, in the benedictions after the mass and before meals, and in returning thanks after meals. Each archbishop on his day should invite the other archbishops to participate in the services, to set a good example to men by honoring one another. PART II. (Published at Metz. December 25, 1356.) CHAPTER XXIV. 1. If any person shall have joined in a conspiracy or taken oath to join in a conspiracy with any other persons, princes, knights, or private persons, to slay one of the electoral princes of the holy empire, he shall be judged guilty of offence against the majesty of the emperor, and shall be executed, and all his goods shall be forfeited to the royal treasury; for we regard the electoral princes as members of our own body, and visit offences against them with the same severity as against ourself. [The rest of the chapter is devoted to the effects of the confiscation and attainder upon children and heirs of criminals, etc.] CHAPTER XXV. If it is proper that the integrity of the ordinary principalities should be preserved, for the better securing of justice and peace for the subjects, it is even more important that the great principalities of the electoral princes should be kept intact in their domains, honors, and rights. Therefore we determine and decree by this imperial edict that the lands, districts, fiefs, and other possessions of the great principalities, namely, the kingdom of Bohemia, the palatinate of the Rhine, the duchy of Saxony, and the mark of Brandenburg, should never under any circumstances be separated, divided, or dismembered. In order that they may be preserved in their integrity, the first-born son in each case shall succeed to them, and shall exercise ownership and dominion in them, unless he be incapacitated for ruling by reason of imbecility, or other notorious defect. In that case, he shall not be allowed to inherit, but the succession shall go to the nearest male lay heir on the paternal side. CHAPTER XXVI. 1. On the day of the imperial diet, all the electoral princes shall proceed to the imperial palace about the first hour, and shall assist the emperor or king in donning the insignia; then they shall proceed on horseback to the place of the diet with the emperor or king, preserving the order of precedence indicated above. The archchancellor of the kingdom in which the diet is held shall bear the seals of the empire or kingdom upon a silver staff; the secular princes shall bear the sceptre, globe, and sword, as indicated above; the German and Lombard crowns shall be borne, in this order, by princes of inferior rank named for this office by the emperor, immediately before the archbishop of Trier, who precedes the emperor, now wearing the imperial crown. 2. The empress or queen, clad in her insignia, shall also proceed to the place of the diet with her officials and ladies, taking her place behind the emperor or king and behind the king of Bohemia, who follows immediately after the emperor or king. CHAPTER XXVII. THE OFFICES OF THE ELECTORAL PRINCES AT THE DIET. 1. After the emperor or king is seated on his throne, the duke of Saxony shall appear before the place of the diet on horseback with a silver staff and a silver measure, each of the value of twelve marks in silver, and shall fill his measure with oats from a heap that has been placed before the building in which the diet is held. This heap of oats shall be as high as the breast of the horse on which he rides. He shall then give this measure of oats to the first servant that approaches. Then he shall thrust his staff into the heap of oats and go away, and the vice-marshal, the count of Pappenheim, or in his absence the marshal of the court, shall distribute the oats. After the emperor or king has taken his place at the table the ecclesiastical electors, supported by other prelates, shall stand before the table and one of them shall pronounce the blessing, according to the order of precedence established above; after the benediction the chancellor of the court shall present the seals to the archbishops, and they shall bear them to the emperor, all three touching with their hands the staff on which they are suspended, the archchancellor of the kingdom in which the diet is held marching in the middle and the other two on either side of him. They shall lay the seals reverently before the emperor or king, who shall immediately return them to the archbishops. The archchancellor of the kingdom in which the diet is held shall wear the great seal of the empire about his neck during the dinner and until he returns to his abode. The staff, which shall be of silver of the value of twelve marks, and the seals, shall be handed over to the chancellor of the court. The archbishop who bears the great seal shall return this also to the chancellor of the court by one of his own servants, mounted on a horse which shall be presented to the chancellor of the court as a perquisite of his office and as a token of the love of the archchancellor. 2. The margrave of Brandenburg, the archchamberlain of the empire, shall approach on horseback, bearing water in silver basins of the value of twelve marks, and a beautifully embroidered napkin, and shall dismount and offer the emperor or king water to wash his hands. 3. The count palatine of the Rhine shall approach on horseback, bearing four silver dishes, each of the value of three marks, filled with food, and shall dismount and carry them in and place them on the table before the emperor or king. 4. Then the king of Bohemia, the archcupbearer of the empire, shall ride up, bearing a silver cup or goblet, of the value of twelve marks, filled with wine and water mixed, and shall dismount and offer the goblet to the emperor or king to drink. 5. When the offices have been performed by the secular electoral princes, the vice-marshal, the count of Falkenstein, shall receive the horse and the silver basins of the margrave of Brandenburg; the master of the kitchen, the count of Nortemberg, shall receive the horse and the dishes of the count palatine of the Rhine; the vice-cupbearer, the count of Limburg, shall receive the horse and the goblet of the king of Bohemia; the vice-marshal, the count of Pappenheim, shall receive the horse, the staff, and the measure of the duke of Saxony. If these officials are not present, the ordinary officials of the court shall receive these gifts in their places. CHAPTER XXVIII. (Description of the banqueting table, etc.) CHAPTER XXIX. 1. We have learned from records and traditions, that it has been the custom in the past to hold the election of the king of the Romans in Frankfort, the coronation in Aachen, and the first diet in Nürnberg; therefore we decree that in the future these ceremonies shall be held in these places, unless there shall be some legitimate obstacle.... CHAPTER XXX. THE RIGHTS OF THE OFFICIALS OF THE COURT WHEN THE PRINCES OF THE EMPIRE RECEIVE THEIR FIEFS. (Special fees paid by the princes to these officials.) CHAPTER XXXI. (Requiring the secular electors to learn the Italian and Slavic languages.) 160 a and 160 b. The Acquisition of the Mark of Brandenburg by the Hohenzollern Family, 1411. 160 a. The Cities of the Mark Make Complaints to Sigismund, 1411. (German.) Magdeburger Schöppenchronik, edited by Janicke, in Chroniken der deutschen Städte, VII, pp. 331 f. The importance of the acquisition of the mark of Brandenburg by a member of the Hohenzollern family could not at that time have been foreseen. The mark, being a great sandy marsh, did not seem a valuable possession, and the nobles, especially the great von Quitzow family, were devastating it with their feuds. The cities, here as everywhere else in Germany, were for order and peace. It seems to have been due in part to their complaints and appeals to Sigismund that he chose the able and vigorous Frederick of Hohenzollern, burggrave of Nürnberg, as governor of the mark. This was an important event in the fortunes of the Hohenzollern family. Frederick and his successors managed their affairs so well that Brandenburg became the basis on which the power of the family was built up. In the same year that Jost, the margrave, died, the king of Hungary, Sigismund, who had been elected king of the Romans, sent messengers to the cities of the old and new marks to Magdeburg and ordered them to come to Berlin on the Sunday of Midlent to hear his will concerning them. The king's representatives, John Waldaw, _præpositus_ of the church at Berlin, and Wend von Eylenburg, met the aldermen of the cities at Berlin at the appointed time and asked them: "Since Jost, the margrave, is dead and the king is the hereditary lord of the land, are you willing to recognize his lordship over you and to support him?" And the aldermen answered him that they were. The cities and the nobles of the land were then ordered to come to Hungary and do homage to the king on the next St. Walpurgis day (May 1). The cities sent representatives from among their aldermen, but none of the nobles of the land came except Jaspar Gans von Putlitz. They did homage to the king and remained with him so long that they did not reach home until St. James's day (July 25). They complained to the king about the wretched condition of the land and its troubles, and especially about the von Quitzows and certain other nobles and their supporters who controlled the land by means of the castles of which they had got possession, and who were doing great damage to the land and were carrying on war with the neighboring lords and their lands. They besought the king to take measures to prevent such war, violence, and damage. The king then said to the aldermen that he himself could not come into the mark because he had been chosen king of the Romans, and he must therefore endeavor to rule the realm and to restore unity to the church [_i.e._, end the schism]; but he would send them a governor who would be able to help them. He then named the noble prince, Frederick, burggrave of Nürnberg, as the governor of the mark. This rejoiced the aldermen very much and restored their confidence. They were well pleased, and left the king and joyfully returned home. 160 b. Sigismund Orders the People of the Mark to Receive Frederick of Hohenzollern as their Governor, 1412. (German.) Riedel, Codex Diplomaticus Brandenburgensis, III, p. 178. We, Sigismund, etc. Dear and faithful subjects: We hereby inform you again that we have made the noble Frederick, burggrave of Nürnberg, our dear uncle, counsellor, and prince, the head and governor of the whole mark of Brandenburg. We have given him letters to that effect. And when your representatives came to Ofen and did homage to us on behalf of the nobles and cities of the mark we orally commanded them to receive the said Frederick. Therefore we again strictly command you to receive him without any delay or opposition and to render him the homage which you owe us as your hereditary margrave, and pay homage to him according to the instructions which are contained in the letters which we have given him. He will confirm and renew all your liberties, rights, good customs, and charters, and preserve their validity just as I have done. Given at Ofen, 1412, etc. V. THE CHURCH FROM 1250 TO 1500 161. Bull of Nicholas III Condemning all Heretics, 1280. Bullarium Romanum, III, ii, pp. 26 f. In spite of the vigorous efforts of the popes to destroy heresy (see nos. 116-118) and all that the inquisitors could do, heresies increased. This bull of Nicholas III shows that more vigorous measures were being used. Nicholas, etc. We hereby excommunicate and anathematize all heretics, the Cathari, Patareni, the Poor Men of Lyon, Passageni, Josepheni, the Arnoldists, Speronists, and all others by whatever name they may be called. (1) When condemned by the church, they shall be given over to the secular judge to be punished. Clergymen shall be degraded before being punished. (2) If any, after being seized, repent and wish to do proper penance, they shall be imprisoned for life. (3) We condemn as heretics all who believe the errors of heretics. (4) We decree that all who receive, defend, or aid heretics, shall be excommunicated. If anyone remains under excommunication a year and a day, he shall be proscribed. (5) He shall not be eligible to hold a public office, or to vote in the election of officials. (6) His word shall not be accepted. (7) He can not serve as a witness nor can he make a will. (8) He shall not succeed to an inheritance. (9) He cannot bring suit against anyone, but suit may be brought against him. (10) If he is a judge, his sentences shall be invalid, and he shall not be permitted to hear cases. (11) If he is an advocate, he shall not be permitted to perform the duties of his office. (12) If he is a notary, the documents which he draws up shall be invalid and condemned with him. (13) If he is a clergyman, he shall be deposed from his office and deprived of every benefice. (14) Those who associate with the excommunicated shall themselves be excommunicated and properly punished. (15) If those who are suspected of heresy can not prove their innocence, they shall be excommunicated. If they remain under the ban of excommunication a year, they shall be condemned as heretics. (16) They shall have no right of appeal. (17) If judges, advocates, or notaries serve them in an official way, they shall be deprived of their office. (18) The clergy shall not administer to them the sacraments, nor give them a part of the alms. If they do, they shall be deprived of their office and they can never be restored to it without the special permission of the pope. Whoever grants them Christian burial shall be excommunicated until he makes proper satisfaction. He shall not be absolved until he has with his own hands publicly dug up their bodies and cast them forth, and no one shall ever be buried in the same place. (19) We prohibit all laymen to discuss matters of the catholic faith. If anyone does so, he shall be excommunicated. (20) Whoever knows of heretics, or those who are holding secret meetings, or those who do not conform in all respects to the orthodox faith, shall make it known to his confessor, or to someone else who will bring it to the knowledge of the bishop or the inquisitor. If he does not do so, he shall be excommunicated. (21) Heretics and all who receive, support, or aid them, and all their children to the second generation, shall not be admitted to an ecclesiastical office or benefice. If any such have been admitted, their admission is illegal and invalid. For we now deprive all such of their benefices forever, and they shall never be admitted to others. If parents with their children have been freed [from excommunication], and their parents afterwards return to the heresy, their children are, by their parents' act, again brought under excommunication. 162. The Bull "Clericis Laicos" of Boniface VIII, 1298. Tosti, Histoire de Boniface VIII, I, pp. 395 ff. In theory all ecclesiastical persons and possessions were immune from secular taxation, but the pope frequently permitted temporal rulers to levy a tax on them for the aid of the state in times of public necessity. At the command of the pope such taxes had been assessed (1) to carry on the crusades (the Saladin tithe), (2) to make war on Frederick II, (3) to put down the heresy of the Albigenses, (4) to resist Peter of Aragon when he attacked Sicily, etc. It frequently happened that the large sums raised for the crusades went into the king's treasury, and were spent for other things. The kings, especially of England and France, found this a very convenient way of raising money. The immediate cause of the publication of this bull was the heavy assessments which the kings of England and France had just made on their clergy. Boniface recognized that the immunities and liberties of the church were thereby being destroyed. In spite of the protests of both pope and clergy, neither king restored the money or ceased to levy taxes. New names for them were so skilfully invented, and such arguments were used, that the clergy could not refuse to pay without seeming to be disloyal and unpatriotic. Boniface VIII issued this bull to put a stop to the taxation which he regarded as the pillaging of the churches. It must be observed that the pope does not prohibit such taxes altogether. He preserves his authority and the immunities of the church by retaining the right to sanction whatever taxes may be assessed on the clergy and the possessions of the church. The kings of both England and France were engaged in policies which necessitated large expenditures, and hence they were in need of money. Besides, they were trying to centralize all authority in their hands and consequently found these ecclesiastical immunities a great obstacle in their way. We have here an evidence that the national governments had begun their long struggle against the temporal authority of the pope, for the question as to whether the king may tax the church and clergy was one phase of this struggle. It is said that in times past laymen practiced great violence against the clergy, and our experience clearly shows that they are doing so at present, since they are not content to keep within the limits prescribed for them, but strive to do that which is prohibited and illegal. And they pay no attention to the fact that they are forbidden to exercise authority over the clergy and ecclesiastical persons and their possessions. But they are laying heavy burdens on bishops, churches, and clergy, both regular and secular, by taxing them, levying contributions on them, and extorting the half, or the tenth, or the twentieth, or some other part of their income and possessions. They are striving in many ways to reduce the clergy to servitude and to subject them to their own sway. And we grieve to say it, but some bishops and clergy, fearing where they should not, and seeking a temporary peace, and fearing more to offend man than God, submit, improvidently rather than rashly, to these abuses [and pay the sums demanded], without receiving the papal permission. Wishing to prevent these evils, with the counsel of our brethren, and by our apostolic authority, we decree that if any bishops or clergy, regular or secular, of any grade, condition, or rank, shall pay, or promise, or consent to pay to laymen any contributions, or taxes, or the tenth, or the twentieth, or the hundredth, or any other part of their income or of their possessions, or of their value, real or estimated, under the name of aid, or loan, or subvention, or subsidy, or gift, or under any other name or pretext, without the permission of the pope, they shall, by the very act, incur the sentence of excommunication. And we also decree that emperors, kings, princes, dukes, counts, barons, _podestà_, _capitanei_, and governors of cities, fortresses, and of all other places everywhere, by whatever names such governors may be called, and all other persons of whatever power, condition, or rank, who shall impose, demand, or receive such taxes, or shall seize, or cause to be seized, the property of churches or of the clergy, which has been deposited in sacred buildings, or shall receive such property after it has been seized, or shall give aid, counsel, or support in such things either openly or secretly, shall by that very act incur the sentence of excommunication. We also put under the interdict all communities which shall be culpable in such matters. And under the threat of deposition we strictly command all bishops and clergy, in accordance with their oath of obedience, not to submit to such taxes without the express permission of the pope. They shall not pay anything under the pretext that they had already promised or agreed to do so before the prohibition came to their knowledge. They shall not pay, nor shall the above-named laymen receive anything in any way. And if the ones shall pay, or the others receive anything, they shall by that very act fall under the sentence of excommunication. From this sentence of excommunication and interdict no one can be absolved except in the moment of death, without the authority and special permission of the pope.... 163. Boniface VIII Announces the Jubilee Year, 1300. Tosti, Histoire de Boniface VIII, II, pp. 467 f. Boniface, bishop, etc. We know that in times past generous indulgences and remissions of sins have been granted those who should come to the illustrious churches of the prince of the apostles [St. Peter's in Rome]. Our office requires us to desire and most gladly to procure the salvation of all, and so, regarding all such remissions and indulgences as valid, by our apostolic authority we confirm, approve, and renew them, and reinforce them with this present writing. In order therefore that the most blessed apostles, Peter and Paul, may be more highly honored in that the faithful devoutly visit their churches, and that those who do so may feel that they are filled with spiritual gifts, we, through the mercy of omnipotent God and trusting in the merits and authority of his apostles [Peter and Paul], at the advice of our brethren and in the fulness of our apostolic power, grant the fullest and broadest forgiveness of all their sins to all who, during the whole of this 1300th year, and to all who, in every hundredth year to come, shall reverently come to these churches and truly repent and confess. We decree that those Romans who wish to participate in this indulgence shall visit these churches at least once a day for thirty days, either consecutively or at intervals, and all who are not Romans shall visit them in the same way for fifteen days. But the more devoutly and frequently anyone visits them, the more surely will he deserve and obtain the indulgence. 164. The Bull "Unam Sanctam" of Boniface VIII, 1302. Raynaldus, anno 1302, sec. 13; Revue des Questions Historiques, vol. 46, pp. 255 f. Boniface VIII had become involved in a bitter struggle with Philip IV of France over the question of sovereignty. Boniface went so far as to summon the French clergy to a council at Rome for the purpose of dictating a settlement of all the disorders in France. In reply to this, Philip IV assembled his states-general and assured himself of the almost unanimous support of his people against the pope, and sent him an embassy with a refusal and a warning. The pope was not disconcerted by this, but plied the ambassadors with the most extravagant statements of his secular power. On the heels of this he published this famous bull, _Unam sanctam_, which is the classic mediæval expression of the papal claims to universal temporal sovereignty. It is an excellent example of mediæval reasoning. The true faith compels us to believe that there is one holy catholic apostolic church, and this we firmly believe and plainly confess. And outside of her there is no salvation or remission of sins, as the Bridegroom says in the Song of Solomon: "My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her" [Song of Sol. 6:9]; which represents the one mystical body, whose head is Christ, but the head of Christ is God [1 Cor. 11.3]. In this church there is "one Lord, one faith, one baptism" [Eph. 4:5]. For in the time of the flood there was only one ark, that of Noah, prefiguring the one church, and it was "finished above in one cubit" [Gen. 6:16], and had but one helmsman and master, namely, Noah. And we read that all things on the earth outside of this ark were destroyed. This church we venerate as the only one, since the Lord said by the prophet: "Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog" [Ps. 22:20]. He prayed for his soul, that is, for himself, the head; and at the same time for the body; and he named his body, that is, the one church, because there is but one Bridegroom [cf. John 3:29], and because of the unity of the faith, of the sacraments, and of his love for the church. This is the seamless robe of the Lord which was not rent but parted by lot [John 19:23]. Therefore there is one body of the one and only church, and one head, not two heads, as if the church were a monster. And this head is Christ and his vicar, Peter and his successor; for the Lord himself said to Peter: "Feed my sheep" [John 21:16]. And he said "my sheep," in general, not these or those sheep in particular; from which it is clear that all were committed to him. If therefore Greeks or anyone else say that they are not subject to Peter and his successors, they thereby necessarily confess that they are not of the sheep of Christ. For the Lord says in the Gospel of John, that there is one fold and only one shepherd [John 10:16]. By the words of the gospel we are taught that the two swords, namely, the spiritual authority and the temporal are in the power of the church. For when the apostles said "Here are two swords" [Luke 22:38]--that is, in the church, since it was the apostles who were speaking--the Lord did not answer, "It is too much," but "It is enough." Whoever denies that the temporal sword is in the power of Peter does not properly understand the word of the Lord when he said: "Put up thy sword into the sheath" [John 18:11]. Both swords, therefore, the spiritual and the temporal, are in the power of the church. The former is to be used by the church, the latter for the church; the one by the hand of the priest, the other by the hand of kings and knights, but at the command and permission of the priest. Moreover, it is necessary for one sword to be under the other, and the temporal authority to be subjected to the spiritual; for the apostle says, "For there is no power but of God: and the powers that are ordained of God" [Rom. 13:1]; but they would not be ordained [i.e., arranged or set in order; note the play on the words] unless one were subjected to the other, and, as it were, the lower made the higher by the other. For, according to St. Dionysius, it is a law of divinity that the lowest is made the highest through the intermediate. According to the law of the universe all things are not equally and directly reduced to order, but the lowest are fitted into their order through the intermediate, and the lower through the higher.{78} And we must necessarily admit that the spiritual power surpasses any earthly power in dignity and honor, because spiritual things surpass temporal things. We clearly see that this is true from the paying of tithes, from the benediction, from the sanctification, from the receiving of the power, and from the governing of these things. For the truth itself declares that the spiritual power must establish the temporal power and pass judgment on it if it is not good. Thus the prophecy of Jeremiah concerning the church and the ecclesiastical power is fulfilled: "See, I have this day set thee over the nations and over the kingdoms, to root out, and to pull down, and to destroy, and to throw down, to build, and to plant" [Jer. 1:10]. Therefore if the temporal power errs, it will be judged by the spiritual power, and if the lower spiritual power errs, it will be judged by its superior. But if the highest spiritual power errs, it can not be judged by men, but by God alone. For the apostle says: "But he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man" [1 Cor. 2:15]. Now this authority, although it is given to man and exercised through man, is not human, but divine. For it was given by the word of the Lord to Peter, and the rock was made firm to him and his successors, in Christ himself, whom he had confessed. For the Lord said to Peter: "Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" [Matt. 16:19]. Therefore whosoever resisteth this power thus ordained of God, resisteth the ordinance of God [Rom. 13:2], unless there are two principles (beginnings), as Manichæus pretends there are. But this we judge to be false and heretical. For Moses says that, not in the beginnings, but in the beginning [note the play on words], God created the heaven and the earth [Gen. 1:1]. We therefore declare, say, and affirm that submission on the part of every man to the bishop of Rome is altogether necessary for his salvation. {78} This is an example of scholastic reasoning. While obscure, it seems to be a general argument for, or explanation of, the existence of order in the universe. 165. Conclusions Drawn by Marsilius of Padua from his "Defensor Pacis." Marsilius of Padua, Defensor Pacis, Part III, ch. ii; Goldast, Monarchia Sancti Romani Imperii, II, pp. 309 ff. The _Defensor Pacis_ is a treatise on politics written by Marsilius, or Marsiglio, a canon of the church of Padua, in 1324. His authority is the _Politics_ of Aristotle, which Marsilius knew from a Latin summary current in the Middle Age. From this as a basis he constructs a political theory and tests the existing institutions by it. The work is divided into three parts; the first two form a diffuse essay, and the last is a summary of his arguments in the form of forty-two _conclusiones_, which are translated here, because they give in a concise form the essential points of his theory. As regards the political situation of his own time, the general tendency of the treatise is imperial and anti-papal; it was used by Ludwig IV [the Bavarian] in his conflict with the Avignon popes. Hence it was regarded by the papal party as unorthodox and heretical. In the bull of John XXII, 1327, five statements were selected and condemned as heresies (see no. 166). His views on the origin and nature of the state are Aristotelian: the state is a perfected community existing for the good of the people; the supreme power resides in the body of the citizens, who make the laws, and choose the form of government, etc. The prince rules by the authority of the whole body of citizens. To this body Marsilius gives the name _legislator_. The elective monarchy is the form of government preferred by Marsilius, whose ideal state thus corresponds in theory with the holy Roman empire. His views on the relation of the state and the church are very different from the views common in the Middle Age. The supreme institution is the state which has established the priesthood or the church to look after the spiritual welfare of its citizens. Hence the state has the right to control the church, but the church has not the corresponding right to control the state. The treatment of the church in itself is also interesting. Marsilius attacks the Petrine theory and the whole papal structure. All bishops are equal in religious authority, deriving their power immediately from Christ. If one priest or bishop is placed over another it is for the purpose of organization, and the authority of the superior is derived from the state. He also asserts that within the church the supreme authority is not the pope, but the general council of Christians. Conclusion 1. The one divine canonical Scripture, the conclusions that necessarily follow from it, and the interpretation placed upon it by the common consent of Christians, are true, and belief in them is necessary to the salvation of those to whom they are made known. 2. The general council of Christians or its majority alone has the authority to define doubtful passages of the divine law, and to determine those that are to be regarded as articles of the Christian faith, belief in which is essential to salvation; and no partial council or single person of any position has the authority to decide these questions. 3. The gospels teach that no temporal punishment or penalty should be used to compel observance of divine commandments. 4. It is necessary to salvation to obey the commandments of the new divine law [the New Testament] and the conclusions that follow necessarily from it and the precepts of reason; but it is not necessary to salvation to obey all the commandments of the ancient law [the Old Testament]. 5. No mortal has the right to dispense with the commands or prohibitions of the new divine law; but the general council and the Christian "legislator"{79} alone have the right to prohibit things which are permitted by the new law, under penalties in this world or the next, and no partial council or single person of any position has that right. 6. The whole body of citizens or its majority alone is the human "legislator." 7. Decretals and decrees of the bishop of Rome, or of any other bishops or body of bishops, have no power to coerce anyone by secular penalties or punishments, except by the authorization of the human "legislator." 8. The "legislator" alone or the one who rules by its authority has the power to dispense with human laws. 9. The elective principality or other office derives its authority from the election of the body having the right to elect, and not from the confirmation or approval of any other power. 10. The election of any prince or other official, especially one who has the coercive power,{80} is determined solely by the expressed will of the "legislator." 11. There can be only one supreme ruling power in a state or kingdom. 12. The number and the qualifications of persons who hold state offices and all civil matters are to be determined solely by the Christian ruler according to the law or approved custom [of the state]. 13. No prince, still more, no partial council or single person of any position, has full authority and control over other persons, laymen or clergy, without the authorization of the "legislator." 14. No bishop or priest has coercive authority or jurisdiction over any layman or clergyman, even if he is a heretic. 15. The prince who rules by the authority of the "legislator" has jurisdiction over the persons and possessions of every single mortal of every station, whether lay or clerical, and over every body of laymen or clergy. 16. No bishop or priest or body of bishops or priests has the authority to excommunicate anyone or to interdict the performance of divine services, without the authorization of the "legislator." 17. All bishops derive their authority in equal measure immediately from Christ, and it cannot be proved from the divine law that one bishop should be over or under another, in temporal or spiritual matters. 18. The other bishops, singly or in a body, have the same right by divine authority to excommunicate or otherwise exercise authority over the bishop of Rome, having obtained the consent of the "legislator," as the bishop of Rome has to excommunicate or control them. 19. No mortal has the authority to permit marriages that are prohibited by the divine law, especially by the New Testament. The right to permit marriages which are prohibited by human law belongs solely to the "legislator" or to the one who rules by its authority. 20. The right to legitimatize children born of illegitimate union so that they may receive inheritances, or other civil or ecclesiastical offices or benefits, belongs solely to the "legislator." 21. The "legislator" alone has the right to promote to ecclesiastical orders, and to judge of the qualifications of persons for these offices, by a coercive decision, and no priest or bishop has the right to promote anyone without its authority. 22. The prince who rules by the authority of the laws of Christians, has the right to determine the number of churches and temples, and the number of priests, deacons, and other clergy who shall serve in them. 23. "Separable"{81} ecclesiastical offices may be conferred or taken away only by the authority of the "legislator"; the same is true of ecclesiastical benefices and other property devoted to pious purposes. 24. No bishop or body of bishops has the right to establish notaries or other civil officials. 25. No bishop or body of bishops may give permission to teach or practice in any profession or occupation, but this right belongs to the Christian "legislator" or to the one who rules by its authority. 26. In ecclesiastical offices and benefices those who have received consecration as deacons or priests, or have been otherwise irrevocably dedicated to God, should be preferred to those who have not been thus consecrated. 27. The human "legislator" has the right to use ecclesiastical temporalities for the common public good and defence, after the needs of the priests and clergy, the expenses of divine worship, and the necessities of the poor have been satisfied. 28. All properties established for pious purposes or for works of mercy, such as those that are left by will for the making of a crusade, the redeeming of captives, or the support of the poor, and similar purposes, may be disposed of by the prince alone according to the decision of the "legislator" and the purpose of the testator or giver. 29. The Christian "legislator" alone has the right to forbid or permit the establishment of religious orders or houses. 30. The prince alone, acting in accordance with the laws of the "legislator," has the authority to condemn heretics, delinquents, and all others who should endure temporal punishment, to inflict bodily punishment upon them, and to exact fines from them. 31. No subject who is bound to another by a legal oath may be released from his obligation by any bishop or priest, unless the "legislator" has decided by a coercive decision that there is just cause for it. 32. The general council of all Christians alone has the authority to create a metropolitan bishop or church, and to reduce him or it from that position. 33. The Christian "legislator" or the one who rules by its authority over Christian states, alone has the right to convoke either a general or local council of priests, bishops, and other Christians, by coercive power; and no man may be compelled by threats of temporal or spiritual punishment to obey the decrees of a council convoked in any other way. 34. The general council of Christians or the Christian "legislator" alone has the authority to ordain fasts and other prohibitions of the use of food; the council or "legislator" alone may prohibit the practice of mechanical arts or teaching which divine law permits to be practiced on any day, and the "legislator" or the one who rules by its authority alone may constrain men to obey the prohibition by temporal penalties. 35. The general council of Christians alone has the authority to canonize anyone or to order anyone to be adored as a saint. 36. The general council of Christians alone has the authority to forbid the marriage of priests, bishops, and other clergy, and to make other laws concerning ecclesiastical discipline, and that council or the one to whom it delegates its authority alone may dispense with these laws. 37. It is always permitted to appeal to the "legislator" from a coercive decision rendered by a bishop or priest with the authorization of the "legislator." 38. Those who are pledged to observe complete poverty may not have in their possession any immovable property, unless it be with the fixed intention of selling it as soon as possible and giving the money to the poor; they may not have such rights in either movable or immovable property as would enable them, for example, to recover them by a coercive decision from any person who should take or try to take them away. 39. The people as a community and as individuals, according to their several means, are required by divine law to support the bishops and other clergy authorized by the gospel, so that they may have food and clothing and the other necessaries of life; but the people are not required to pay tithes or other taxes beyond the amount necessary for such support. 40. The Christian "legislator" or the one who rules by its authority has the right to compel bishops and other clergy who live in the province under its control and whom it supplies with the necessities of life, to perform divine services and administer the sacrament. 41. The bishop of Rome and any other ecclesiastical or spiritual minister may be advanced to a "separable" ecclesiastical office only by the Christian "legislator" or the one who rules by its authority, or by the general council of Christians; and they may be suspended from or deprived of office by the same authority. {79} In regard to the "legislator," Marsilius cites Aristotle as follows: "The legislator or the effective cause of the law is the people, the whole body of the citizens, or the majority of that body, expressing its will and choice in a general meeting of the citizens, and commanding or deciding that certain things shall be done or left undone, under threat of temporal penalty or punishment." {80} "Coercive" or "coactive" power is the power, residing in the ruler or the officials of the state and derived from the "legislator," to compel observance of the laws or decrees of the state by force or threat of penalty. A coercive judgment is a judgment given by an official who has the power to enforce his decisions. Marsilius maintains that coercive power and coercive judgments are the prerogatives of the state and cannot be exercised by the church. {81} "Separable" offices of the clergy, according to Marsilius, are those functions commonly exercised by the clergy, which are not essentially bound up with their spiritual character. The terms essential and non-essential are used as synonymous respectively with inseparable and separable. The essential or inseparable powers of the clergy are "the power to bless the bread and wine, and turn them into the blessed body and blood of Christ, to administer the other sacraments of the church, and to bind and to loose men from their sins." Non-essential or separable functions are the government or control of one priest over others (_i.e._, the offices of bishop, archbishop, etc.), the administration of the sacraments, etc., in a certain place and to a certain people, and the administration of temporal possessions of the church. In respect to their separable functions the clergy are under the control of the state. 166. Condemnation of Marsilius of Padua. 1327. Densinger, p. 141. The following sentences taken from Marsilius of Padua and John of Jandun were condemned by John XXII, 1327. See introductory note to no. 165. (1) When Christ ordered the coin which was taken from the fish's mouth to be paid to the tax collector, he paid tribute to Cæsar; and he did this not out of condescension or kindness, but because he had to pay it. From this it is clear that all temporal powers and possessions of the church are subject to the emperor, and he may take them as his own. (2) That St. Peter had no more authority than the other apostles, and was not the head over the other apostles; and that Christ left behind no head of the church, and did not appoint anyone as his vicar. (3) That the emperor has the right to make and depose popes and to punish them. (4) That all priests, whether pope or archbishop or simple priest, are, in accordance with the appointment of Christ, of equal authority and jurisdiction. (6) That the whole church together can not punish any man with coactive punishment, without the permission of the emperor. The above articles are contrary to the holy scriptures and hostile to the catholic faith and we [John XXII] declare them to be heretical and erroneous, and the aforesaid Marsilius and John [of Jandun] to be open and notorious heretics, or rather heresiarchs. 167. The Beginning of the Schism. The Manifesto of the Revolting Cardinals. Aug. 5, 1378. Baluzius, Vitæ Paparum Avenioneosium, I, pp. 468 ff. At the death of Gregory XI in 1378, the cardinals elected Bartholomew, archbishop of Bari, who took the title Urban VI. He soon announced that he would not remove his court to Avignon, as many of the cardinals wished him to do, but would remain in Rome. For various reasons the cardinals of the French party became more and more displeased with Urban and soon rebelled against him and deposed him. After publishing a manifesto, in which they defended their action, they elected Robert of Geneva, who called himself Clement VII. The manifesto is long and full of invective and generalities, but contains very little argument and few facts. We give only the essential part of it. ... After the apostolic seat was made vacant by the death of our lord, pope Gregory XI, who died in March, we assembled in conclave for the election of a pope, as is the law and custom, in the papal palace, in which Gregory had died.... Officials of the city with a great multitude of the people, for the most part armed and called together for this purpose by the ringing of bells, surrounded the palace in a threatening manner and even entered it and almost filled it. To the terror caused by their presence they added threats that unless we should at once elect a Roman or an Italian they would kill us. They gave us no time to deliberate but compelled us unwillingly, through violence and fear, to elect an Italian without delay. In order to escape the danger which threatened us from such a mob, we elected Bartholomew, archbishop of Bari, thinking that he would have enough conscience not to accept the election, since every one knew that it was made under such wicked threats. But he was unmindful of his own salvation and burning with ambition, and so, to the great scandal of the clergy and of the Christian people, and contrary to the laws of the church, he accepted this election which was offered him, although not all the cardinals were present at the election, and it was extorted from us by the threats and demands of the officials and people of the city. And although such an election is null and void, and the danger from the people still threatened us, he was enthroned and crowned, and called himself pope and apostolic. But according to the holy fathers and to the law of the church, he should be called apostate, anathema, Antichrist, and the mocker and destroyer of Christianity.... 168. The University of Paris and the Schism, 1393. D'Achery, Spicilegium, I, pp. 777 f. In 1393 the king of France asked the University of Paris to devise a way of ending the schism. In response to this request, each member of the faculty was asked to propose in writing the way which seemed best to him, and to advance all the possible arguments in its favor. A commission of fifty-four professors, masters, and doctors was then appointed to examine all the proposed ways and means. After mature deliberation this commission proposed three possible ways of ending the schism and drew them up in writing and forwarded them to the king. They discussed at some length the relative advantages and disadvantages of each way. Their letter to the king is a long one. We give only three brief extracts from it, to show the three ways which they proposed. The first way. Now the first way to end the schism is that both parties should entirely renounce and resign all rights which they may have or claim to have to the papal office.... The second way. But if both cling tenaciously to their rights and refuse to resign, as they have done up to now, we would propose the way of arbitration. That is, that they should together choose worthy and suitable men, or permit such to be chosen in a regular and canonical way, and these shall have the full power and authority to discuss the case and decide it, and if necessary and expedient, and approved by those who according to the canon law have the authority [that is, the cardinals], they may also have the right to proceed to the election of a pope. The third way. If the rival popes, after being urged in a brotherly and friendly manner, will not accept either of the above ways, there is a third way which we propose as an excellent remedy for this sacrilegious schism. We mean that the matter shall be left to a general council. This general council might be composed, according to canon law, only of prelates, or, since many of them are very illiterate, and many of them are bitter partisans of one or the other pope, there might be joined with the prelates an equal number of masters and doctors of theology and law from the faculties of approved universities. Or if this does not seem sufficient to anyone, there might be added besides one or more representatives from cathedral chapters and the chief monastic orders, in order that all decisions might be rendered only after most careful examination and mature deliberation. 169. The Council of Pisa Declares it is Competent to Try the Popes. 1409. Raynaldus, anno 1409, sec. 71. There was no recognized legal machinery in the church by which the schism could be ended, and there was no emperor, as in the days of Innocent II, who was willing to end it by force. It was decided to leave the matter to a general council, but there was some doubt as to (1) whether a council could be legally called by anyone except a pope, and (2) whether the council was legally empowered to cite the two papal claimants before it and decide the case between them. Finally a council was called by the cardinals; it met at Pisa and proceeded first to assert its legality and authority. The conciliar movement, begun by this council, was foreshadowed in earlier documents. See nos. 165 and 168. This holy and general council, representing the universal church, decrees and declares that the united college of cardinals was empowered to call the council, and that the power to call such a council belongs of right to the aforesaid holy college of cardinals, especially now when there is a detestable schism. The council further declared that this holy council, representing the universal church, caused both claimants of the papal throne to be cited in the gates and doors of the churches of Pisa to come and hear the final decision [in the matter of the schism] pronounced, or to give a good and sufficient reason why such sentence should not be rendered. 170. An Oath of the Cardinals to Reform the Church. Council of Pisa, 1409. Raynaldus, anno 1409, sec. 71. In the great councils of Pisa and Constance there were two parties, the one in favor of reforming the church at once and ending the schism afterwards (that is, by electing another pope), and the other in favor of first electing the pope and then carrying out the reform under his direction. The latter party was victorious, but before proceeding to the election, each cardinal was compelled to take an oath that, if elected, he would not dissolve the council until a thorough reform of the church was brought about. We, each and all, bishops, priests, and deacons of the holy Roman church, congregated in the city of Pisa for the purpose of ending the schism and of restoring the unity of the church, on our word of honor promise God, the holy Roman church, and this holy council now collected here for the aforesaid purpose, that, if any one of us is elected pope, he shall continue the present council and not dissolve it, nor, so far as is in his power, permit it to be dissolved until, through it and with its advice, a proper, reasonable, and sufficient reformation of the universal church in its head and in its members shall have been accomplished. 171. The Council of Constance Claims Supreme Authority, 1415. V. d. Hardt, II, p. 98. See introductory note to nos. 168, 169. This holy synod of Constance, being a general council, and legally assembled in the Holy Spirit for the praise of God and for ending the present schism, and for the union and reformation of the church of God in its head and in its members, in order more easily, more securely, more completely, and more fully to bring about the union and reformation of the church of God, ordains, declares, and decrees as follows: And first it declares that this synod, legally assembled, is a general council, and represents the catholic church militant and has its authority directly from Christ; and everybody, of whatever rank or dignity, including also the pope, is bound to obey this council in those things which pertain to the faith, to the ending of this schism, and to a general reformation of the church in its head and members. Likewise it declares that if anyone, of whatever rank, condition, or dignity, including also the pope, shall refuse to obey the commands, statutes, ordinances, or orders of this holy council, or of any other holy council properly assembled, in regard to the ending of the schism and to the reformation of the church, he shall be subject to the proper punishment; and unless he repents, he shall be duly punished; and if necessary, recourse shall be had to other aids of justice. 172. Reforms Demanded by the Council of Constance, 1417. V. d. Hardt, IV, p. 1452. The reforming party in the council of Constance had been defeated in its attempt to fix the order of business which the council should follow. As in the council at Pisa, it had been determined that the pope should be elected first and then the reform be worked out. The leaders of the reform party were fearful that no reform would be accomplished, and so as a kind of compromise and as a last desperate effort they succeeded in having the council enact that reforms should be made in the following eighteen points. The holy council at Constance determined and decreed that before this holy council shall be dissolved, the future pope, by the grace of God soon to be elected, with the aid of this holy council, or of men appointed by each nation, shall reform the church in its head and in the Roman curia, in conformity to the right standard and good government of the church. And reforms shall be made in the following matters: 1. In the number, character, and nationality of the cardinals. 2. In papal reservations. 3. In annates, and in common services and little services. 4. In the granting of benefices and expectancies. 5. In determining what cases may be tried in the papal court. 6. In appeals to the papal court. 7. In the offices of the _cancellaria_, and of the penitentiary. 8. In the exemptions and incorporations made during the schism. 9. In the matter of commends. 10. In the confirmation of elections. 11. In the disposition of the income of churches, monasteries, and benefices during the time when they are vacant. 12. That no ecclesiastical property be alienated. 13. It shall be determined for what causes and how a pope may be disciplined and deposed. 14. A plan shall be devised for putting an end to simony. 15. In the matter of dispensations. 16. In the provision for the pope and cardinals. 17. In indulgences. 18. In assessing tithes. The following notes explain the various points of the reform program: 1. Various cardinals were frequently charged with luxurious living and even with grave immorality. For some time French cardinals had been in the majority. The demand was now made that all nations should have an equal representation in the college of cardinals. 2. The popes arbitrarily reserved the right to appoint to the richest livings, and their appointees had to pay well for their appointments. 3. Annates were (1) the income for a year, collected from every living or benefice when it became vacant by the death of the holder; (2) the income of a bishopric for a year, paid by the newly elected bishop. Under "common services and little services" were included various other payments, in addition to the annates, which every newly elected bishop was expected to pay the pope. 4. The pope strove to increase the number of benefices and livings to which he might appoint. It was not uncommon to sell the "expectation" to a benefice; that is, while the holder of a benefice was still alive the right or expectation of succeeding him in his benefice at his death was sold to some one. 5. The popes wished to increase the number of cases or trials that could be tried only in the papal court. There was no clear principle to determine which cases must be tried in the papal court, and which not. There were certain costs connected with every trial, and hence such trials were a source of income to the papal court. 6. So many appeals were made to Rome by those who had lost their cases at home or who feared they would lose them, that the papal court was overwhelmed with work and could not try them promptly. Appeals to Rome were often made to gain time and to defeat justice. 7. The "cancellaria" was the office in which the papal secretaries wrote the bulls, letters, etc., of the pope. The penitentiary was the office "in which are examined and delivered out the secret bulls, graces, and dispensations relating to cases of conscience, confession, and the like." 8. By exemptions is meant the freeing of a monastery from the jurisdiction of the bishop in whose diocese the monastery is situated. "Incorporation" is the depriving a parish church of its income and giving it to another church. 9. A "commend" is the granting of a benefice temporarily on the condition that a certain sum be paid for it annually. 10. The pope must confirm the election of all bishops, abbots, etc. 11. At the death of a bishop the pope claimed the income of his bishopric until his successor was elected. The same is true of monasteries and many ecclesiastical benefices. 173. Concerning General Councils. The Council of Constance, 39th Session, October 9, 1417. V. d. Hardt, IV, p. 1435. The conciliar idea was that a general council, since it represented the whole church, was the highest authority in the church, to which even the pope must submit. The promoters of this idea planned to have a general council meet at regular intervals. A good way to till the field of the Lord is to hold general councils frequently, because by them the briers, thorns, and thistles of heresies, errors, and schisms are rooted out, abuses reformed, and the way of the Lord made more fruitful. But if general councils are not held, all these evils spread and flourish. We therefore decree by this perpetual edict that general councils shall be held as follows: The first one shall be held five years after the close of this council, the second one seven years after the close of the first, and forever thereafter one shall be held every ten years. One month before the close of each council the pope, with the approval and consent of the council, shall fix the place for holding the next council. If the pope fails to name the place the council must do so. 174. Pius II, by the Bull "Execrabilis," Condemns Appeals to a General Council, 1459. Densinger, p. 172. In the great struggle with the councils the pope had come out victorious. He had successfully resisted all attempts to make any important changes in the administration of the church, or to introduce the reforms which were so loudly called for. Although the council at Basel had brought the conciliar idea into disrepute, there were many who still called for a general council as the only means of securing the reforms which were demanded. Pius II condemned and prohibited all such appeals. The execrable and hitherto unknown abuse has grown up in our day, that certain persons, imbued with the spirit of rebellion, and not from a desire to secure a better judgment, but to escape the punishment of some offence which they have committed, presume to appeal from the pope to a future council, in spite of the fact that the pope is the vicar of Jesus Christ and to him, in the person of St. Peter, the following was said: "Feed my sheep" [John 21:16] and "Whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven" [Matt. 16:18]. Wishing therefore to expel this pestiferous poison from the church of Christ and to care for the salvation of the flock entrusted to us, and to remove every cause of offence from the fold of our Saviour, with the advice and consent of our brothers, the cardinals of the holy Roman church, and of all the prelates, and of those who have been trained in the canon and civil law, who are at our court, and with our own sure knowledge, we condemn all such appeals and prohibit them as erroneous and detestable. 175. William III of Saxony Forbids Appeals to Foreign Courts, 1446. Schilter, De libertate ecclesiarum Germaniæ, pp. 808 ff. At this time secular rulers were everywhere growing in power, and centralizing the authority in their own hands, which led them to try to diminish the power of the clergy. This document shows the legal confusion which then existed, caused in part by the usurpations which the ecclesiastical courts practiced. Following the examples of the kings of England and France, William III, duke of Saxony, limited ecclesiastical courts to their proper jurisdiction and forbade the clergy to try secular cases. As a sovereign power he also forbade all appeals to foreign courts, which of course included the pope. My country suffers dishonor, and great loss and injury, in that many of its inhabitants resort to foreign courts. Be it known that we have decreed that hereafter no inhabitant of our country shall summon or sue another before any foreign court, ecclesiastical or secular, for any matter whatsoever. If the case is ecclesiastical and legally comes under the jurisdiction of an ecclesiastical court, the plaintiff shall bring it before some ecclesiastical court in our country, and be content with the decision rendered there. There shall be no appeal to a foreign court. If the case is secular, it shall be brought and pleaded before the secular court where the defendant belongs. It shall be tried before that court under whose jurisdiction the case falls, and the plaintiff shall be content with the decision rendered. If any inhabitant of our land is not content with the decision, but appeals to a foreign court in any way, he shall be held to be an outlaw. He shall be banished for life and never be permitted to return to this country; and anyone may attack him and his property without any hindrance, because he is an outlaw.... We and our subjects have for a long time been annoyed and troubled beyond measure by the ecclesiastical judges who hear cases which do not belong under their jurisdiction. For although they are only ecclesiastical judges, they hear ecclesiastical and secular cases. And very often they render unjust decisions. The effect of this is the spread of unbelief among the people, who neglect and dishonor God and the holy church. The glory of God and the honor of the church demand that this abuse be stopped. We will therefore do all we can to have the princes and prelates who have jurisdiction in our land reform their ecclesiastical courts. For these ecclesiastical courts shall refuse to hear secular cases and try only ecclesiastical cases. We forbid all persons in our land to summon, sue, or denounce another on a secular charge before an ecclesiastical court.... 176. Papal Charter for the Establishment of the University of Avignon, 1303. Bullarium Romanum, III, ii, pp. 101 f. It was regarded as the exclusive right of the pope to establish a university, or _studium generale_, as it was called. We give the document by which he established the University of Avignon as a sample of these numerous papal establishments. It contains a clear and interesting account of the examinations and the conferring of the Master's degree. The city of Avignon for many reasons is eminently suited and fitted to become the seat of a university. Believing that it would be for the public good if those who cultivate wisdom were introduced into the city, and that they would in time bear rich fruit, by this document we grant that a university may be established there, in which Masters [_magistri_] may teach, and scholars freely study and hear lectures, in all faculties. And when those who study in the university attain a high degree of knowledge, and ask for the permission to teach others, we grant that they may be examined in the canon and civil law, and in medicine, and in the liberal arts, and that they may be decorated with the title of Master in those faculties. All who are to be promoted to this honor shall be presented to the bishop of Avignon. He shall call together all the Masters in the faculty concerned, and without any charge he shall examine the candidates to discover their learning, eloquence, manner of reading [lecturing], and the other things which are required in those who are to be made Doctors or Masters. He shall then consult the Masters about the examination and they shall vote on the question of granting the degree [that is, decide whether the candidate passed the examination or not]. But their vote shall be kept secret, and the bishop shall never tell how they voted on the question. Those whom he finds fit, he shall approve, and grant them the permission to teach others. But those whom he finds are not fit, he shall refuse without fear or favor. If the bishopric of Avignon is vacant, the candidates shall present themselves to the _præpositus_ of the church, who shall examine them and approve them in the way prescribed for the bishop. Those who are examined and approved in Avignon and receive the license to teach, shall thereafter have the full and free right to read and teach everywhere, in that faculty in which they have been approved, without further examination or approval by anyone else. In order that such examinations may be properly held, we command that all Masters who wish to read in the University of Avignon shall, before beginning their work there as teachers, take a public oath that they will come in person to all the examinations whenever called, and that they will, _gratis_ and without fear or favor, faithfully give the bishop their judgment about the examination, in order that those who are worthy may be approved, and those who are unworthy may be rejected. Those who refuse to take this oath shall not be permitted to read in the university, or to be present at the examinations, or to share in any of the advantages or benefits of the university. In order that the Doctors [teachers] and scholars of the university may be able to devote themselves freely to their studies, and to make good progress in them, we grant that all who are in the university, whether teachers or scholars, shall have all the privileges, liberties, and immunities which are generally granted to teachers and scholars of other universities. 177. Popular Dissatisfaction that the Church had so much Wealth, _ca._ 1480. Goldast's Reichssatzung, p. 280. We give a brief passage from an unknown author to illustrate the growing dissatisfaction of the common people that the church had so much wealth. It betrays a dangerous temper of mind. In the light of this the suppression of monasteries and the seizure of ecclesiastical property which was carried out on so large a scale in the sixteenth century does not seem strange. It is as clear as day that by means of smooth and crafty words the clergy have deprived us of our rightful possessions. For they blinded the eyes of our forefathers, and persuaded them to buy the kingdom of heaven with their lands and possessions. If you priests give the poor and the chosen children of God their paternal inheritance, which before God you owe them, God will perhaps grant you such grace that you will know yourselves. But so long as you spend your money on your dear harlots and profligates, instead of upon the children of God, you may be sure that God will reward you according to your merits. For you have angered and overburdened all the people of the empire. The time is coming when your possessions will be seized and divided as if they were the possessions of an enemy. As you have oppressed the people, they will rise up against you so that you will not know where to find a place to stay. 178. Complaints of the Germans against the Pope, 1510. Gebhardt, Gravamina gegen den Römischen Hof, pp. 83 f. This is a brief list of the complaints made by the Germans in 1510 and presented to Julius II. Most of them, it will be observed, are concerned with the financial burdens with which the Germans felt that they were overwhelmed. (1) That popes do not feel bound to observe the bulls, agreements, privileges, and letters which have been issued by their predecessors, but often dispense with, suspend, and revoke them at the request of people even of low birth. (2) That the pope sometimes refuses to confirm the canonical election of bishops. (3) That the pope sometimes rejects the election of _præpositi_ [provosts], although made by chapters which have paid a high price for the right to elect. ... (4) That the better benefices and higher offices are reserved for the cardinals and the chief officials of the papal court. (5) That an unlimited number of expectancies are granted, and many are given for the same office to different persons. And many expectancies are sold to one and the same person. From this practice, lawsuits arise daily, which cause all concerned to incur heavy expenses. For if a man buys an expectancy, he will probably never get the office, but he will surely become involved in a lawsuit about it which will cost him a great deal of money. On this account the proverbial saying has arisen: "If anyone obtains an expectancy from Rome, let him lay aside one or two hundred gold coins, for he will need them in his lawsuit about it." (6) Even when a bishopric is several times within a few years made vacant by death, the pope without any mercy demands the prompt and full payment of the annates. And sometimes when the pope creates new offices and enlarges his court, more is demanded as annates than is just.... (7) Churches are given to members of the papal court, some of whom are better fitted to be mule drivers than pastors. (8) Old indulgences are revoked and new ones sold, merely to raise money, although the laymen are thereby made to murmur against their clergy. (9) Tithes are collected under the pretext that a war is to be made against the Turks, but nothing of the kind is ever done. (10) Cases which could easily be settled in Germany, since there are good and just judges there, are indiscriminately called before the papal court at Rome. St. Bernard, in writing to Eugene III, severely criticised this practice. 179. Abuses in the Sale of Indulgences, 1512. Fr. Myconius, Geschichte der Reformation. Several references have been made to the need of a reform in the matter of indulgences. Cardinal Raymond, papal legate in 1503, complained that the agents who sold indulgences were actuated only by the basest motives of gain and were thoroughly dishonest. Myconius (his German name was Mecum) was a Franciscan monk who became a Protestant. We have thought it best to give first a statement of the doctrine of indulgences in order that the abuses in their sale may be more clearly apparent. "It is the catholic doctrine that when a sin is forgiven its punishment is not necessarily at the same time remitted. Through the power of the keys the eternal punishment is remitted, but generally there remain temporal punishments which must be satisfied either in this world by means of good works, or in the next by enduring punishment in purgatory. The Bible, by examples as well as by statements, teaches that with the removal of the eternal guilt and punishment, the temporal punishment is not always remitted. Adam and Eve, after committing sin, repented and were justified by God, but they were driven out of Paradise and compelled to endure infinite misfortunes, and even death itself, as a punishment of their sin. We are taught the same by the example of the Israelites who were pardoned for their sin of murmuring through the prayers of Moses, but, as a punishment for their sin, were excluded from the promised land and perished in the wilderness.... From this it is seen that the Bible demands not only the conversion of the heart, but also that we render satisfaction by enduring temporal punishment for the sin.... "This satisfaction which we must render [_i.e._, this temporal punishment which we must endure] is a part of the sacrament of penance, and must be imposed on us by the minister of penance [_i.e._, the priest]. The doctrine of indulgences is inseparably connected with that of satisfaction. By indulgence is meant a remission of the temporal punishment made by a priest by means of the application of the treasure of the church. The treasure of the church is the whole sum of the merits of Jesus Christ ... in addition to all the good works or merits of all the saints.... In the church, as St. Thomas Aquinas well says, some have done greater penance than the measure of their sins demanded. Others have suffered with patience many unjust tribulations, with which they would have expiated the temporal punishments of many more sins than they have committed. [All such good works in excess of what they needed to make satisfaction for their own sins are called works of supererogation, and being meritorious, their merit is added to the treasure of the church and may, at the discretion of the church, be applied to the benefit of others who are lacking in such good works.] One of the ways in which the church distributes this common possession (treasure of merits) is by means of indulgences."--From the _Theologia Dommatica_ of Prof. Dati, vol. iii, Chap. XXIX, Florence, 1893. Anno 1512. Tetzel gained by his preaching in Germany an immense sum of money which he sent to Rome. A very large sum was collected at the new mining works at St. Annaberg, where I heard him for two years. It is incredible what this ignorant and impudent monk used to say.... He declared that if they contributed readily and bought grace and indulgence, all the hills of St. Annaberg would become pure massive silver. Also, that, as soon as the coin clinked in the chest, the soul for whom the money was paid would go straight to heaven.... The indulgence was so highly prized that when the agent came to a city the bull was carried on a satin or gold cloth, and all the priests and monks, the town council, schoolmaster, scholars, men, women, girls, and children went out in procession to meet it with banners, candles, and songs. All the bells were rung and organs played. He was conducted into the church, a red cross was erected in the centre of the church, and the pope's banner displayed.... Anno 1517. It is incredible what this ignorant monk said and preached. He gave sealed letters stating that even the sins which a man was intending to commit would be forgiven. He said the pope had more power than all the apostles, all the angels and saints, even than the Virgin Mary herself. For these were all subject to Christ, but the pope was equal to Christ. After his ascension into heaven Christ had nothing more to do with the management of the church until the judgment day, but had committed all that to the pope as his vicar and vicegerent. VI. FEUDALISM Feudalism, as the prevailing order of society, socially, economically, and politically, makes its appearance toward the end of the tenth century. During the disorders consequent upon the disintegration of the empire of the Carolingians (see nos. 15-25) the government failed to supply protection and security, and ceased to act as a bond to hold men together. As a result, certain local, private elements of society, which were very generally diffused throughout that empire, were raised to the rank of public political institutions. It is our purpose to illustrate the origins and growth of feudalism, and the characteristic features of the feudal state. The elements which lay at the basis of the feudal system may be classified under three heads: (1) The personal dependence of one man upon another; (2) dependent tenure of land, in which the holder and user of the land was not the owner, but held it of or from another; (3) the possession by private persons or corporations of extensive sovereign rights over their lands and tenants. These elements were present in various degrees and forms in the German tribes before the migrations and in the later Roman empire, but it will be sufficient for our purpose to show the existence and the character of these elements in the tribal kingdoms and the Frankish kingdom under the Merovingians, for in these states the German and Roman people and institutions were united to form the society of the Middle Age. Then we shall attempt to illustrate the growth and development of these elements in the late Merovingian and in the Carolingian periods, and finally the characteristic features of society in the feudal age. The difficulty in illustrating the situation from public documents will be readily understood; it is due to the fact that these institutions were only partly legal or public, and to the fact that the makers of the laws took for granted a knowledge of the institutions and did not think it necessary to describe or explain them. It is hoped, however, that the notes to the passages translated will make clear their meaning and importance. 180-197. Origins. 180-183. Personal Dependence. In the documents of the tribal kingdoms and Merovingian kingdom (_ca._ 500-700) there are many evidences of the importance for society of the dependence of one man upon another, and of the fact that this relation was superseding in importance the relation of the private man to the state. On the one hand, men became dependents and retainers of the king and the great officials and lords for mutual advantages, the superior gaining the prestige that came with the possession of a large following, and the dependents gaining employment under and connection with the great persons of the state. On the other hand, poor land-owners, or persons without lands of their own, commended themselves to landlords for the purpose of receiving protection and support. In both cases the personal dependence was connected with the holding of land, for the king or great lord frequently gave land to his followers, while the poor man who commended himself to another usually did it for the purpose of acquiring land to cultivate; this side of the relation, however, will be seen more clearly under the next section. 180. Form for the Creation of an Antrustio by the King. Marculf's Formulæ, I, no. 18; M. G. LL. 4to, V, p. 55. Most of the following documents are taken from books of formulæ; that is, collections of forms of documents made by various persons to serve as examples for the drawing up of charters, etc. They were probably made from actual documents by leaving out the names and inserting _ille_ (such an one) or similar expressions. The formulæ of Marculf were written at the end of the seventh century. We quote them from the edition in the _Monumenta Germaniæ_, Leges, vol. v, giving only the pages in that volume after the first reference. It is right that those who have promised us unbroken faith should be rewarded by our aid and protection. Now since our faithful subject (name) with the will of God has come to our palace with his arms and has there sworn in our hands to keep his trust and fidelity to us, therefore we decree and command by the present writing that henceforth the said (name) is to be numbered among our _antrustiones_.{82} If anyone shall presume to slay him, let him know that he shall have to pay 600 solidi as a wergeld for him. {82} The position of the _antrustio_ is explained in the note to the Salic law, XLI, no. 4. See also the reference to the _leudes_ in no. 189. 181. Form for the Suspending of Lawsuits. Marculf, I, no. 23; p. 57. One great advantage that the dependent possessed was the support and influence of his lord in judicial trials and other matters of the sort. Know that we have ordered the apostolic man (name) [a bishop] or the illustrious man (name) [a secular official or lord] to go to a certain place, and we now command that as long as he is away all his lawsuits, and those of his clients and dependents and people that live within his jurisdiction, are to be suspended. Therefore we decree and order by the present writing that until he returns all his cases and those of his clients, both those who go with him and those who stay on his lands, and of his people who live within his jurisdiction, shall be suspended, and afterwards he shall do justice to everyone and receive justice from everyone. 182. Form for Commendation. Middle of Eighth Century. Formulæ Turonenses, no. 43; p. 158. Notice the reason given by the person who commends himself, the effects of commendation on both parties, and the binding nature of the agreement. The reason alleged (extreme poverty) is probably a mere form of speech, and was not present in each actual instance of commendation. To my great lord, (name), I, (name). Since, as was well known, I had not wherewith to feed and clothe myself, I came to you and told you my wish, to commend myself to you and to put myself under your protection. I have now done so, on the condition that you shall supply me with food and clothing as far as I shall merit by my services, and that as long as I live I shall perform such services for you as are becoming to a freeman, and shall never have the right to withdraw from your power and protection, but shall remain under them all the days of my life. It is agreed that if either of us shall try to break this compact he shall pay -- solidi, and the compact shall still hold. It is also agreed that two copies of this letter shall be made and signed by us, which also has been done. 183. Form by which the King Allows a Powerful Person to Undertake the Cases of a Poor Person. Marculf, i, no. 21; pp. 56 f. Our faithful subject, (name), with the will of God has come to us and told us that he is not able on account of his weakness to defend or to prosecute his cases before the court. Therefore he has besought us to allow the illustrious man (name) to take up his cases for him, both in the local court and in the royal court, whether he prosecutes or is prosecuted, and he has commended his affairs to him in our presence by the staff. Therefore we command, in accordance with the desire of both parties, that the aforesaid man (name) may undertake the cases of the other (name), and that he shall do justice for him and for all his possessions, and get justice for him from others; this shall be so, as long as both desire it. 184-188. Dependent Tenure of Land. Absolute ownership of land was giving place to possession of land owned by others than the holder. The greater landlords (the king, the church, and the great officials and lords) sought to acquire cultivators for their lands, while the poorer land-owners and the persons without lands of their own sought a means of livelihood or protection. The usual form was the benefice or the precarium. The benefice was the name applied generally in this time to land the use of which was granted by the owner to others for a term of years, for life, or in perpetuity. The _precarium_ was a form of the benefice, the name being technically applied to lands thus granted in response to a letter of request or prayer (_litteræ precariæ_). It will be seen from the documents that the lands were usually those that had been given originally by the poor land-holder to the greater landlord and then received back as benefice or _precarium_. The reason was undoubtedly in many cases the desire of the owner to come under the protection of the greater landlord. The king also gave land to his followers and officials, either to bind them to him or to reward them for services; it is probable, although not certain, that these lands, in part at least, were held only for life or a term of years, on condition of services or faithfulness, and so were in a sense benefices. 184. Form for the Gift of Land to a Church to be Received back by the Giver as a Benefice. Marculf, II, no. 3; pp. 74 ff. ... I, (name), and my wife, (name), in the name of the Lord, give by this letter of gift, and transfer from our ownership to the ownership and authority of the monastery of (name), over which the venerable abbot (name) presides, and which was founded in the honor of (name) by (name) in the county of (name), the following villas{83} (name), situated in the county of (name), with all the lands, houses, buildings, tenants, slaves, vineyards, woods, fields, pastures, meadows, streams, and all other belongings and dependencies, and all things movable and immovable which are found in the said villas now or may be added later; in order that under the protection of Christ they may be used for the support and maintenance of the monks who dwell in the aforesaid monastery. We do this on the condition that as long as either of us shall live we may possess the aforesaid villas, without prejudice to the ownership of the monastery and without diminution of the value of them, except that we shall be allowed to emancipate any of the slaves that dwell on the lands for the salvation of our souls. After the death of both of us, the aforesaid villas with any additions or improvements which may have been made, shall return immediately to the possession of the said monastery and the said abbot and his successors, without undertaking any judicial process or obtaining the consent of the heirs. {83} The term _villa_, as used in these documents, means a domain or estate with a group or village of dependent cultivators. 185. Form for a Precarial Letter. Marculf, II, no. 5; pp. 77 f. To our lord and father in Christ, the holy and apostolic bishop (name), I (name), and my wife (name). It is well known that we have given in the name of the Lord our villa of (name), situated in the county of (name), in its entirety and with all that we possessed there, by a letter of gift to the church of (name), founded in the honor of (name), and that you have received it on behalf of the said church. And in response to our petition you have granted that as long as we or either of us shall live we shall hold the said villa as a benefice with the right of usufruct,{84} with the understanding that we shall not diminish its value in any way or alienate anything that belongs to it, but shall hold it without prejudice to the ownership of the said church or bishop. Therefore we have written this precarial letter in witness that our possession shall not work any prejudice to your ownership or any injury to the said villa; but that we only have the use of it during our lives, and that after we are dead you shall immediately recover it with all the additions and improvements which we may have made, by virtue of this precarial letter, which shall be renewed every five years, and without requiring any judicial process or obtaining the consent of the heirs; and that thereafter you shall hold it forever, or do with it whatever may seem to you to be to the best interests of the said church. {84} To hold land with the right of usufruct or to have the usufruct of land, means to hold, use, and enjoy the products of land the ownership of which belongs to another. Thus a benefice is a form of usufruct. It corresponds practically to modern long lease, which is sometimes expressed in our legal usage as lease for 99 years, etc. 186. Form of Precarial Letter. Marculf, II, no. 39; pp. 98 f. To our lord and father in Christ, the holy and apostolic bishop (name), I (name), and my wife (name). Since you have permitted us, as long as we or either of us shall live, to hold the land (name) belonging to your church (name), which (name) gave to the said church for the salvation of his soul, therefore for this permission and for the salvation of our souls we have given this other place (name), to belong to the said church and to you and your successors after we are both dead. This we have done on the condition that as long as we live we may possess the said places, both that which you have permitted us to use and the one which we have given you for the salvation of our souls, with the right of usufruct, without diminishing its value or prejudicing the rights of your church; and that after we are dead the said places shall immediately revert to your ownership by virtue of this precarial letter, without requiring any renewal of the letter, and in spite of any opposition from our heirs or from anyone else. 187. Form of Precarial Letter. Formulæ Bituricenses, no. 2; p. 169. To the lords (names), we (name), and (name). It is well known that our father lived on your lands and made a precarial letter to you for them, which we now renew and sign, humbly beseeching you to allow us to remain on the same lands.{85} In order that our possession of the lands may not prejudice the rights of you and your successors in them, we have deposited with you this precarial letter, agreeing that if we ever forget its terms, or ever refuse to obey you or your agents in anything which you command, or ever assert that this is not your land, we may be punished according to the severity of the law as wicked violators of your rights, and may be driven from the lands without judicial sentence. {85} This and the following document are instances of a very common practice; the heirs of the holder of a precarium took it over on the same terms. The result was that the relation tended to become permanent, and a regular class of dependent land-holders grew up. Notice also the subjection of the holders of the precarium to the grantors, in this case secular lords. 188. Gift of Land to be Received back and Held in Perpetuity for a Fixed Rent. Formulæ Augienses, B, no. 8; pp. 352 f. The first part of the form, including the original gift of the land, is omitted in the original, but may be supplied from a preceding number. I do this on the condition that as long as I live I may hold the said lands for the said rent, and that my children and their posterity may do the same forever. 189. Treaty of Andelot, 587. M. G. LL. 4to, II, I, no. 6; Gregory of Tours, IX, ch. 20. This is a treaty between two of the Merovingian kings, Gunthram of Burgundy and Childebert II of Austrasia. It forms an incident in the civil war begun between Sigebert and Chilperic; see no. 5, Gregory of Tours, IV, ch. 28, and note. It illustrates the practice of the kings of giving land to their followers and officials. This was very important in the creation of a landed aristocracy. See the remarks above in regard to the nature of these gifts (introductory note to nos. 184-188). In accordance with the treaties made between Gunthram and Sigebert of blessed memory, it is likewise agreed that those _leudes_,{86} who after the death of Chlothar I first gave their oaths to Gunthram and then later removed to other parts, are to be made to return from the places where they are now dwelling. It is also agreed that those who, after the death of Chlothar I, gave their oaths to Sigebert and then removed to other parts are in a similar manner to be made to return. Likewise whatever the aforesaid kings bestowed or with the consent of God wished to bestow upon churches or upon their faithful subjects, shall remain in the possession of the churches or subjects. And whatever shall be restored in this way to the subject of either king, legally and justly, shall be held by that person as his own.... And let each one possess in security whatever he has received through the munificence of preceding kings, to the time of the death of Chlothar I of blessed memory, and if anything has been taken from the faithful subjects since that time, it shall be restored to them from this moment.... Likewise it is agreed that neither of the kings shall entice away the _leudes_ of the other or receive them; but if some of the _leudes_ believe they are justified in leaving their king by reason of injuries done to them, they are to be compensated for their injuries, and made to return.... {86} The _leudes_ are evidently the personal dependents of the king, that is, _antrustiones_. They were probably given land by the king. Notice the other references in the treaty to persons holding land from the "munificence" of the king. The same thing is referred to in nos. 190, 193, 194. 190-194. Grants of Immunity. In the feudal age practically every landlord exercised over his lands and tenants rights and authority which are now regarded as sovereign rights belonging to the state. This was due in the main to the practice of the Merovingian and Carolingian kings of granting immunity to the churches and the great landlords, a practice which naturally grew with the increasing weakness of the monarchy and the growth of the power of the nobles. A grant of immunity operated to exclude the public officials from lands, which were then in theory under the immediate control of the king. In the late Merovingian period the weakness of the kings and the disorganization of the public administration left the control of immunity domains really in the hands of the landlords. The holder of land covered by a grant of immunity thus came to represent the state to the people on his lands. He established courts for the trial of cases arising among his tenants or represented them before the public courts; he was also frequently given the right to collect the taxes, revenues, tolls, etc., from the lands of people, which would otherwise go to the royal treasury. Most of the grants of immunity which have come down to us are in favor of church lands, but they were also granted to secular lords. The churches preserved their documents better than secular persons did. 190. Precept of Chlothar II, 584-628. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 8. Notice the references to immunity, to grants of land to "churches and powerful persons" (lords and officials), and the implied right of such landlords to appoint judges for trial of cases among their tenants (private jurisdiction). 11. We grant to the churches the taxes from the fields and pastures and the tithes of swine, so that no collector or titheman shall enter the lands of a church to gather such dues for the royal treasury. Public officials shall not demand any services from the churches of clergymen who have acquired immunity from our father or grandfather. 12. Whatever has been given to churches or to clergymen or to any person through the munificence of our aforesaid predecessors of blessed memory is to belong to them in all security. 14. The property of churches, priests, and of the poor who cannot protect themselves, shall be under the protection of public officials until their cases can be brought to the king and justice be done; only in so far, however, as it shall not infringe on the rights of immunity which have been granted by former kings to any church or powerful person or to anyone else, for the keeping of peace and the preservation of discipline. 19. Bishops and powerful persons who have possessions in various regions shall not appoint travelling judges or any judges except such as belong to the county in which they serve. 191. Grant of Immunity to a Monastery, 673. M. G. DD. folio, I, pp. 30 f; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 112. Childeric, king of the Franks, illustrious man.... We have commanded it to be made known to all that the venerable and pious abbot Berchar came to us and asked us to grant him a certain place in the forest of Vervo in Gascony, in which he might build a monastery, and to give him material and resources by which he might construct a monastery there and establish a congregation of monks. Now the request of this great man pleased us and we granted him what he asked. Then having built his monastery ... in the honor of Sts. Peter and Paul and the other saints, he besought us, in order to make secure the whole undertaking, to bestow complete immunity upon the monastery. Therefore, we, moved to this by the kindness which Heaven has shown to us, have hearkened to the prayer of this man ... and with the consent of our bishops and nobles do now concede entire immunity over the whole possessions of this monastery ... for the peace of our kingdom and for the reverence which we have for this religious place. We command that no public official of any authority shall presume to enter the lands of this monastery ... for the purpose of hearing cases, of seizing securities, of collecting taxes, of demanding entertainment, or of extorting tolls from cities or markets; nor shall he presume to exact any taxes or payments whatever, but the monks shall rule and possess, both in our time and in the future, all the property of this monastery in all places and lands, where they have possessions, as aforesaid, without being subject to the entrance of officials or to exactions on the part of the royal treasury.... 192. Form of a Grant of Immunity to a Monastery. Marculf, I, no. 3; pp. 43 f. We believe that our reign will best be rendered memorable, if we bestow suitable benefits on churches (or whatever you wish to insert here), with pious purpose, and if we secure these benefits under the protection of God by putting them in writing. Therefore, be it known to you that we have granted the request of that apostolic man, the bishop of (name), for the salvation of our souls; namely, that no public official may enter the lands which his church holds now, by our gift or by the gift of anyone else, or which his church may receive in the future, for the purpose of trying cases, or collecting taxes; but that the said bishop and his successors shall hold the said lands in the name of the Lord with full immunity. We decree therefore that neither you nor any of your subordinates or successors, nor any other public official shall presume to enter the lands of the said church for the purpose of trying cases, of collecting taxes or revenues, or receiving entertainment or seizing supplies or securities. All the taxes and other revenues which the royal treasury has a right to demand from the people on the lands of the said church, whether they be freemen or slaves, Romans or barbarians, we now bestow on the said church for our future salvation, to be used by the officials of the church forever for the best interests of the church. 193. Form by which the King Granted Lands with Immunity to Secular Persons. Marculf, I, no. 14; pp. 52 f; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 113. Those who from their early youth have served us or our parents faithfully are justly rewarded by the gifts of our munificence. Know therefore that we have granted to that illustrious man (name), with greatest good will, the villa called (name), situated in the county of (name), with all its possessions and extent, in full as it was formerly held by him _or_ by our treasury. Therefore by the present charter which we command to be observed forever, we decree that the said (name) shall possess the villa of (name), as has been said, in its entirety, with lands, houses, buildings, inhabitants, slaves, woods, pastures, meadows, streams, mills, and all its appurtenances and belongings, and with all the subjects of the royal treasury who dwell on the lands, and he shall hold it forever with full immunity from the entrance of any public official for the purpose of exacting the royal portion of the fines from cases arising there; to the extent finally that he shall have, hold, and possess it in full ownership, no one having the right to expect its transfer, and with the right of leaving it to his successors or to anyone whom he desires, and to do with it whatever else he wishes. 194. Grant of Immunity to a Secular Person, 815. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 114. In the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Ludwig, by divine providence emperor, Augustus. Be it known to all our subjects, present and future, that our faithful subject, John, has come to us and commended himself to us, and has besought us to confirm to him the possession of lands [described] which he and his sons and their men have cleared and occupied. He has shown us the charter which he received from our father Karl the Great. We have consented to do this and have done even more; we have given him certain villas [named] with their extent and dependencies ... granting that he and his sons and his posterity may hold them in peace and security. No count, _vicarius_, or their subordinates, or any other public official shall presume to judge or constrain any persons living on those lands, but John and his sons and their posterity shall judge and constrain them.... 195-208. Growth of the Feudal Elements During the Late Merovingian and the Carolingian Period. The elements which we have just described and illustrated were essentially private in their nature. They assumed, however, political importance in the threatened dissolution of society, due to the failure of the public government. In a period when the state was unable to give adequate protection to the common individual, that person naturally regarded his allegiance to his real protector, his lord or landlord, as of more importance to him than his relation to the state. The natural tendency of powerful persons to increase their power over their dependents and their independence of higher authority was given its opportunity by the weakness of the monarchy and the central government. The four centuries from 550-950 were in the main a period of disorder, interrupted, of course, by the period of Carolingian strength, including the reigns of Karl Martel, Pippin, and Karl the Great. During these four centuries the existing feudal elements developed and hardened into a system of society, and two new features were added: the feudalizing of offices, and the connection of land-holding with military service. These are so characteristic of the feudal age that their origin is illustrated here. 195-196. The Feudalizing of Public Offices. By this is meant the practice of inheritance of office and the union in one person of the characteristics of an official and a great landlord. Thereby the local officials of the king, such as the counts, tended to form an hereditary landed nobility, the office being held usually by the great landed family of the county. It is obvious that this tendency would grow in a period when the monarchy and the central government was weak, the king either being unable to restrain the powerful local officials or else granting them these privileges in order to retain their support. It is obvious also that the local officials would strive to increase their private advantages--possession of land, and personal authority over the inhabitants of their lands or districts--at the expense of their public position as representatives of the king. So in the feudal period in France, Italy, and Germany (in the last named the development was much slower), the titles duke, margrave (marquis), count, etc., ceased to have an official significance and became the titles of a landed aristocracy. 195. Edict of Chlothar II, 614. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 9. 12. No one from another province or region shall be made judge [count] in any county; so that if a count has done injury to anyone he may be forced to make good the injury from his own possessions. The count, like the _grafio_ of the Salic law, was originally a servant of the king sent into the county to look after the king's interests there. It appears from this document that the counts were now appointed from among the land-owners of the county. 196. Capitulary of Kiersy, 877. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 2, no. 282. The capitulary of Kiersy was published by Charles the Bald, just before he left France for Italy, and was intended to regulate the affairs of the kingdom, which was entrusted to his son during his absence. It shows how completely the practice of inheritance of land and office had developed during the Carolingian period. The office, position, and lands of counts, vassals of the king, and vassals of ecclesiastical and secular lords were regarded as hereditary by this time. 3. If a count whose son accompanies us shall die during our absence, our son with the advice of our faithful subjects shall appoint one of the near relatives of the deceased count to govern the county with the aid of the officials of the county and the bishop in whose diocese it is, until we are notified of the case and have an opportunity to give the son of the count his father's honors. But if the deceased count shall leave a minor son, that son shall govern the county with the aid of the officials and the bishop in whose diocese it is, until the death of the said count has been brought to our notice and we endow the son with his father's honors. But if the count shall not leave a son, our son with the advice of our faithful subjects shall appoint someone to govern the county with the aid of the officials of the county and the bishop, until our commands in respect to it are made known. And no one shall feel aggrieved, if we give the county to another than the one who governed it up to the time of our appointment. The same procedure shall be observed in regard to our vassals; and the bishops, abbots, and counts of our kingdom, and our other faithful subjects, shall do the same toward their men. 197-202. The Military Obligation of the Holder of Land. The connection of military service with the holding of land and with noble character is one of the characteristic features of the feudal system. The feudal noble was regularly the holder of a fief on terms of allegiance and military service to his superior. In the Germanic tribes military service was obligatory on every freeman, but there was also a fighting élite, or aristocracy, composed of the chiefs and their followers (see no. 1, Tacitus, chapters 13 and 14). The military obligation of the freeman remained in theory during the Merovingian and Carolingian periods, but in practice it was connected rather with the possession of land and was performed largely by the lords and their followers. Towards the end of the Merovingian period, much of the land was in the possession of the church and was escaping from public burdens because of immunity. Karl Martel found it necessary to increase the military strength of the kingdom; the particular occasion is supposed to have been the need of horsemen to meet the Arab invasion. He accordingly forced the churches to give portions of their lands to secular persons who could perform military service, and the holders of these lands were required to bring a troop of mounted warriors to the army. Such lands were held on terms of military service to the state and as _precaria_ from the church. The same conditions were then attached to lands held from the king, and the term benefice--used in the earlier period of lands held from another in general--now came to be applied technically to lands held from the king or superior on condition of performing military service, usually on horseback. The number of mounted soldiers the holder of a benefice had to furnish of course varied with the size of his holding. The great lords raised the necessary troops by giving portions of their lands to their retainers on condition that the retainers should accompany them to war. So the obligation to perform military service was attached also to the small estates held not directly from the king, but from a great lord. We give here references to the appropriation of church lands, to the relation of the holder of the lands to the church and to the king, and to the extension of the name and practice to other than church lands. 197. Capitulary of Lestinnes, 743. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 11. This is a capitulary of Carlmann, the brother of Pippin. It is the earliest case which has come down to us of appropriation of church lands for the purpose referred to. 2. Because of the threats of war and the attacks of certain tribes on our borders, we have determined, with the consent of God and by the advice of our clergy and people, to appropriate for a time part of the ecclesiastical property for the support of our army. The lands are to be held as _precaria_ for a fixed rent; one solidus, or twelve denarii, shall be paid annually to the church or monastery for each _casata_ [farm]. When the holder dies the whole possession shall return to the church. If, however, the exigency of the time makes it necessary, the prince may require the _precarium_ to be renewed and given out again. Care shall be taken, however, that the churches and monasteries do not incur suffering or poverty through the granting of _precaria_. If the poverty of the church makes it necessary, the whole possession shall be restored to the church. The whole capitulary, of which paragraph 2 is translated, is concerned with ecclesiastical matters; accordingly only the interests of the church in the military benefice is explained here. The relation of the holder to the state comes out in other documents. Notice the express reason given for the appropriation, and the relation of the holder to the church from which the land was held. 198. Capitulary of Aquitaine, Pippin, 768. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 18. 5. Whoever holds a benefice from us shall be careful and diligent in its management; otherwise he shall lose the benefice, but retain his own property. 11. All secular persons who hold church lands shall hold them as _precaria_. Paragraph 5 refers to lands held from the king. Notice the distinction made between such land and land held in full ownership. Paragraph 11 repeats the provision made in the preceding number, that lands held from the church as benefices are to be regarded as _precaria_; this is found in a number of capitularies of this period, suggesting that the holders were apt to forget their obligation to the church and to treat the land as their own property. 199. Capitulary of Heristal, 779. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 20. 14. (Lombard form.) Laymen who hold lands from churches as benefices by the command of the king, are to continue to hold them unless the king orders them restored to the churches. 200. General Capitulary to the Missi, 802. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 33. Part of this capitulary is also translated as no. 9. This and the following document illustrate the holding of royal benefices, and the difficulty in making the holders perform their duties. It was part of the duty of the _missi_ to look after the royal benefices. 6. No man shall lay waste a benefice in order to improve his own property. 201. Capitulary to the Missi, 806. M. G. LL. 4to II, 1, no. 46. 6. We have heard that counts and other men who hold benefices from us have improved their own property at the expense of the benefices, and have made the serfs on the benefices labor on their own land, so that our benefices are waste and those dwelling on them in many places suffer great evils. 7. We have heard that some sell the benefices which they hold from us to other men in full ownership, and then, having received the price in the public court, they buy back the lands as allodial lands. This must not be done, for those who do this break the faith which they promised us. 202. Capitulary Concerning Various Matters, 807. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 49. 3. Concerning the Frisians, we command that our counts and vassals who hold benefices, and all horsemen in general, shall come to our assembly prepared for war. 203-208. Effect of the Carolingian Organization on the Growth of Feudalism. Karl the Great succeeded in reducing the great dukes to subjection (see no. 7, Einhard, ch. 5 and 11, and notes), and enforcing obedience to law in general throughout his empire, but he did not interfere with the immunity rights of churches and lords over the inhabitants of their lands or with dependence of vassals and tenants on the great land-owners. Indeed, his attempt to reduce everything to law and system resulted in completing and fixing these relations. The following passages illustrate the increased dependence of the lower orders and the greater and more complete authority of the powerful persons in the state. 203. General Capitulary to the Missi, 805. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 44. 16. Concerning the oppression of poor freemen: that they are not to be unjustly oppressed by more powerful persons on any pretext, and forced to sell or give up their property. 204. Capitulary of 811. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 73. This and the preceding document illustrate the attempts of the great lords to round out their domains and increase the number of their dependent tenants by forcing poor free land-owners to give up their lands and become tenants. 2. Poor men complain that they are despoiled of their property, and they make this complaint equally against bishops and abbots and their agents, and against counts and their subordinates. 205. Capitulary of Worms, 829. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 2, no. 193. 6. Freemen who have no lands of their own, but live on the land of a lord, are not to be received as witnesses, because they hold land of another; but they are to be accepted as compurgators, because they are free. Those who have land of their own, and yet live on the land of a lord, are not to be rejected as witnesses because they live on the land of a lord, but their testimony shall be accepted, because they have land of their own. Notice the effect that dependent tenure of land is having on the legal status of freemen. 206. Capitulary of Aachen, 801-813. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 77. 16. No one shall leave his senior, after he has received from him the value of a solidus, unless his senior attempts to kill him, to beat him with a club, to violate his wife or his daughter, or to take his hereditary possession from him. 207. Agreement of Lothar, Ludwig, and Charles, 847. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 2, no. 204. 2. We decree that every freeman shall accept whatever senior he wishes in our kingdom, from among us and our faithful subjects. 3. We command that no man shall leave his senior without good cause, and that no lord shall receive a man who has left his senior, unless it be in accordance with the customs of our predecessors. 4. Every subject of each one of us shall go to war or other necessary expedition with his senior, unless the kingdom is invaded and all the subjects are called out in mass to repel it, which is called _landwehr_. 208. Capitulary of Bologna, 811. M. G. LL. 4to, II, 1, no. 74. 5. If any man who holds a benefice of the king shall release his subject from going to war with him or shall refuse to allow him to go and fight with him, he shall lose his benefice. 7. Concerning the vassals of the emperor who serve him in the palace, and have benefices. It is decreed that those who remain at home with the emperor shall not keep their tenants with them, but shall let them go to war with the count of the county. The name senior is used in Carolingian documents for the lord who has authority over dependent tenants and vassals. Notice in the two documents preceding that the subjects of a lord are bound to him by law, and that they go to war, not with the general levy under command of public officials, but with their fellows of the same lands under command of the senior. 209-228. The Feudal System in its Definite Form. The elements already described became the system of society and government in the states which in the ninth and tenth centuries developed from the empire on its dissolution. The system gradually became settled and organized, the feudal kingship developed to give it a head, and it took the form recognized as the feudal system. The features to be noticed are the relation of the vassal to his lord, the position of the king, and the economic organization of the land and the obligations of the cultivators to the landlords. The origin and growth of these features in the earlier age have been shown in nos. 180-208; it only remains to show how they were organized in the feudal age. The vassal was bound to the lord of whom he held a benefice or fief by the oath of fidelity and homage. He also owed his lord certain services of noble character, the chief of which was military service. This was not perpetual service, but was limited by law or custom, usually consisting of 40 days' active service, and a certain amount of guard in the castle of the lord or in the castle which the vassal held as a fief of the lord. Aids or money payments were also paid by vassals on certain occasions, such as the marriage of the lord's oldest daughter, the knighting of the lord's oldest son, and the captivity of the lord. The lord had also certain rights over his vassals, which were frequently commuted for money: wardship, the right of guardianship of minor heirs, and the management and use of the fiefs during the minority; marriage, the right to choose or be consulted in the choice of a husband for female holders of fiefs; relief, the right to exact a certain payment from the heir when he succeeded to a fief; escheat, the right of taking back the fief into his own possession upon the failure of heirs, etc. These rights and payments have their origin in the personal dependence of the vassal upon the lord. They were occasional and did not form a part of the regular income of the lord, although they might be worth considerable at times. The regular income of the lord came from his domain lands, the lands which were not let out in fief, but which were cultivated by tenants or serfs, and which supplied the lord with money, resources, and services. The authority of the king in the feudal state was very limited. This was due chiefly to the fact that each lord exercised practically sovereign rights over his lands and dependents. The feudal king was in origin one of the great feudal lords (cf. in France, Hugh Capet, duke of Francia; and in Germany, Henry I, duke of Saxony), who was chosen by the great lords and became their overlord. He had the same rights on his own domains as any feudal lord, but had only the authority of an overlord over his great vassals. He had no direct control over the vassal of his vassal, but could reach such an one only indirectly through that person's immediate superior. The holders of great domains exercised not only jurisdiction over the tenants on their lands, but possessed also other sovereign rights, such as the right of coinage, of collecting tolls and taxes, etc. The basis of the economic life of the feudal age was the cultivation of land. Commerce, trade, and organized industry did of course exist during the Middle Age, but they were non-feudal in spirit and grew up outside of and in spite of feudalism. Land was organized in domains or estates, containing each a group of cultivators forming a community or little village. These cultivators held their land from the landlord on very complex terms of rent and services. Rents were paid in money or in a portion of the produce of the land. In each village the lord had a house, and a farm (manor-farm or head farm) which was worked by personal serfs and by the services owed by tenants. Aside from rents and services the lord possessed certain rights over his tenants, which were a source of revenue. The chief of these were: justice, the right to hold courts on his lands for the trial of cases arising among the tenants, and to levy and collect the fines; banalities (banvin, etc.); the right to sell his own wine, grain, etc., a certain number of days before the tenants could sell theirs (this he frequently released for a certain tax); the rights of market, mill, bake-oven, etc., which were owned by the lord, and from which he received tolls (these were frequently let out to other persons for an annual rent). A great lord, as a count or duke, would own a great many such domains, and would have a house or castle and farm in each one, and an agent or representative to care for his interests in the domain. Nobles of the lowest rank, as the knight or chatelain, might own only two or three, or even a single domain. 209-217. Homage, Investiture, Aids, etc. 209. Homage. Boutillier, Somme rurale, I, 18. These documents illustrate the form of feudal practices after the system had become fairly well fixed. Most of the passages are from _Coutumiers_, codes or digests of feudal law and practice, of which there were a great many in the Middle Age. Some of the famous ones are: in England, those of Bracton and Littleton; in France, the _Établissements de St. Louis_, _Coutumes de Beauvaisis_, by Beaumanoir, and several provincial customs, as the _Coutumes_ of Normandy, of Anjou, etc. Most of the references were taken from Du Cange, Glossarium, _Hominium_. See no. 180, for an early form of homage. The man should put his hands together as a sign of humility, and place them between the two hands of his lord as a token that he vows everything to him and promises faith to him; and the lord should receive him and promise to keep faith with him. Then the man should say: "Sir, I enter your homage and faith and become your man by mouth and hands [_i.e._, by taking the oath and placing his hands between those of the lord], and I swear and promise to keep faith and loyalty to you against all others, and to guard your rights with all my strength." 210. Homage. Coutume de la Marche, art. 189. The manner of doing homage to another is as follows: The man who wishes to enter the homage and fealty of a lord should humbly request the lord to receive him into his faith; his head should be uncovered, and the lord may be seated if he wishes; the vassal should take off his belt and sword, and should kneel and say the words of homage, etc. 211. Homage. Ancienne coutume de Normandie, art. 107. The form of homage is as follows: The vassal who holds by noble tenure reaches out his hands and places them between the hands of his lord and says, etc. 212. Homage. Bracton, De legibus et consuetudinibus Angliæ, II, 35. The tenant [vassal] should place his clasped hands between the hands of the lord; by this is signified, on the part of the lord, protection, defense, and guarantee; on the part of the vassal, reverence and subjection. 213. Homage. Tabularium Campaniæ, cited by Du Cange, Glossarium, _Ligius_. I, John of Toul, make known that I am the liege man of the lady Beatrice, countess of Troyes, and of her son, Theobald, count of Champagne, against every creature, living or dead, saving my allegiance to lord Enjorand of Coucy, lord John of Arcis, and the count of Grandpré. If it should happen that the count of Grandpré should be at war with the countess and count of Champagne on his own quarrel, I will aid the count of Grandpré in my own person, and will send to the count and the countess of Champagne the knights whose service I owe to them for the fief which I hold of them. But if the count of Grandpré shall make war on the countess and the count of Champagne on behalf of his friends and not in his own quarrel, I will aid in my own person the countess and count of Champagne, and will send one knight to the count of Grandpré for the service which I owe him for the fief which I hold of him, but I will not go myself into the territory of the count of Grandpré to make war on him.{87} {87} This is a good illustration of the confusion of the feudal relation in practice. The vassal held land in this case from four lords, to all of whom he did homage and owed allegiance and military service. It was the usual practice for the vassal to do _liege_ homage to one of the lords, who was his chief or liege lord, and to whom he owed service first of all. Notice the compromise arrived at in this case. For distinction between liege homage and simple homage see also no. 214, and no. 218, introductory note. 214. Homage of Edward III of England to Philip V of France, 1329. Froissart, Chronicle, I, ch. 24. (Lettenhove's edition, II, pp. 227 ff.) The king of England was received by the king of France with great honor, and he and his company remained there at Amiens fifteen days, during which many conferences were held and many ordinances drawn up. It seems to me that on that occasion king Edward did homage in words, but did not place his hands in the hands of the king of France, nor did any of his princes, prelates or representatives do so for him. By the advice of his council king Edward refused to proceed further until he had returned to England and had examined the ancient charters in order to determine the manner in which the kings of England had done homage to the kings of France.... At last the king of England wrote letters patent, sealed with his great seal, in which he acknowledged the sort of homage that he ought to pay to the king of France. This is the form of that letter: Edward, by the grace of God king of England, lord of Ireland, and duke of Aquitaine, etc. Know that when we did homage to our beloved lord and cousin, Philip, king of France, at Amiens, he insisted that we should acknowledge that our homage was liege homage, and that in it we should expressly promise to be faithful and true to him. We would not agree to this at the time, because we did not know whether we owed him liege homage or not. Accordingly we did homage in general terms, saying that we entered into his homage in the same manner as our predecessors, the dukes of Guienne, had formerly entered into the homage of the kings of France. But now having found what that manner was, we acknowledge by the present letter that the homage which we paid to the king of France at Amiens was, is, and ought to be held to be liege homage; and that we owe him loyalty and fidelity as duke of Aquitaine, peer of France, count of Ponthieu, and count of Montreuil; and we hereby promise him such loyalty and fidelity. In order that similar disputes may not occur in the future, we promise for ourselves and for future dukes of Aquitaine that homage shall be performed in the following manner: The king of England as duke of Aquitaine shall put his hands within the hands of the king of France, and the person who speaks for the king of France shall say to the king of England as duke of Aquitaine: "You become the liege man of my lord the king of France as duke of Aquitaine, and peer of France, and you promise to keep faith and loyalty to him? Say yea." And the king of England, or the duke of Guienne, or their successor, shall say "Yea." Then the king of France shall receive the king of England, as duke of Guienne, by mouth and hands [see no. 209], saving their other rights. Moreover, when the said king of England does homage to the king of France for the counties of Ponthieu and Montreuil, he shall put his hands in the hands of the king of France for those counties, and the person who speaks for the king of France shall say, etc.... 215. Feudal Aids. Ancienne coutume de Normandie, I, 3, ch. 25. The chief aids of Normandy are so called because they are rendered to chief lords [_i.e._, to lords who receive liege homage]. It is the custom in Normandy to pay three aids ... first, for the knighting of the lord's oldest son; second, for the marriage of the lord's oldest daughter; third, for the ransom of the lord. 216. Feudal Aids. MS. of the Chamber of Accounts, Paris; cited from Du Cange, Glossarium, _Hominium_. In the chatelainerie [territory dependent on a castle] of Poitou and that region, according to the custom of the land, those who hold fiefs pay five aids to the lord: for the knighting of the lord's son, for the marriage of the lord's oldest daughter, for the rachat{88} of the lord's fief, for the crusade, and for the ransom of the lord from the hands of the Saracens. {88} Rachat, see no. 228, Troyes, note 2. 217. Feudal Aids, etc. From Magna Charta, 1215. In the first part of Magna Charta, John promises to give up the abuses of feudal law which he had practiced. Thus he had exacted exorbitant payments from heirs for inheritance of fiefs (reliefs); he had forced widows and female heirs under his wardship to marry his favorites and supporters, or had exacted heavy fines if they refused; he had levied unjust aids and services, and a heavy scutage, or payment for exemption from military service. 2. If one of our knights or barons or other tenants-in-chief [_i.e._, direct vassals] who hold by military service shall die and shall leave an heir who is of age, the heir shall receive his father's fiefs by paying only the ancient relief; namely, the heir or heirs of an earl shall pay 100 pounds for the whole earldom; the heir or heirs of a knight shall pay 100 solidi for the whole fief of the knight; and those who inherit smaller holdings shall pay smaller reliefs according to the ancient custom. 3. But if the heir of any of our tenants-in-chief is under age and is under our ward, he shall have his fiefs when he comes of age without relief or fine. 8. No widow shall be forced to marry unless she wishes to; but she must give security that she will not marry without our consent, if she holds of us, or without the consent of her lord, if she holds of another. 12. No scutage or aid shall be exacted in our kingdom, unless by the common consent of the realm, except for the ransom of our body, the knighting of our oldest son, and the marriage of our oldest daughter; and these shall be levied at reasonable rates. 218-228. The Feudal System in Practice, Illustrated by the County of Champagne. Actual conditions under the feudal system will, it is thought, be best illustrated by showing in some detail the workings of the system in a single important case. The following documents are taken from the great French collection of documents called "Documents inédits sur l'histoire de France"; two volumes are devoted to the county of Champagne and contain all the important documents relating to the growth and formation of the feudal territory of Champagne, the relation of the counts to their overlords on the one hand, and to their vassals on the other, and the organization of the lands retained by the counts as domain lands, _i.e._, cultivated by tenants for the count and not let out in fief. The county of Champagne is chosen because it is one of the best examples of the formation of a great feudal territory, and because the two volumes referred to form the most complete as well as most accessible collection of illustrative material for the feudal _régime_ in its practical working. 218-225. Homages Paid by the Count of Champagne. 218. Homage to the Duke of Burgundy, 1143. Documents inédits. Champagne, I, p. 466. The count of Champagne held his lands from several overlords; the ones mentioned in the following documents are: the king of France, the duke of Burgundy, the bishops of Langres and Châlons, and the abbot of St. Denis; he also held parts of his lands from the emperor, the archbishops of Sens and Rheims, and the bishops of Auxerre and Autun. This plurality of superiors is characteristic of most of the great domains. The great fiefs came under the control of one lord by various means, inheritance, marriage, purchase, subinfeudation, etc. The great lord endeavored to complete his control of a whole region by becoming the feudal holder of all the land in the region. Since holding by feudal tenure, including homage, etc., was the regular method of acquiring land in the feudal system, it was used as a form of contract, and the personal subjection and dependence was in many cases a mere form. In cases like that of the count of Champagne the holder did homage to all the lords from whom he held lands, but could not of course observe complete allegiance to each one. So one of the superiors was recognized as his chief and liege lord, and to him the holder did _liege homage_ (see no. 213, note). Notice that the count of Champagne pays _liege_ homage to the king of France, who is his chief lord. Be it known to all men, present and future, that count Theobald of Blois{89} did homage to Odo, duke of Burgundy, at Augustines, and acknowledged that he held the abbey of St. Germain at Auxerre, Chaourse, the castle of Maligny with all its dependencies, the castle of Ervy with all its dependencies, the county of Troyes, the city of Troyes, and Château-Villain, as fiefs from the duke. {89} The territory of the count of Champagne included the counties of Blois, Troyes, Champagne, and Brie, and the holder was called by these different titles at various times. 219. Homage to Philip II of France, 1198. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, pp. 467 f. Philip, by the grace of God king of France. Be it known to all men, present and future, that we have received our beloved nephew, Theobald, count of Troyes, as our liege man, against every creature, living or dead, for all the lands which his father, count Henry, our uncle, held from our father, and which count Henry, the brother of Theobald, held from us. Count Theobald has sworn to us on the most holy body of the Lord and on the holy gospel that he will aid us in good faith, as his liege lord, against every creature, living or dead; at his command the following persons have sworn to us that they approve of this and will support and aid him in keeping this oath: Guy of Dampierre, Gualcher of Châtillon, Geoffroy, marshal of Champagne, etc. [vassals of the count of Champagne]. If count Theobald fails in his duty to us and does not make amends within a month from the time when they learn of it, they will surrender themselves to us at Paris, to be held as prisoners until he makes amends; and this shall be done every time that he fails in his duty to us. We have sworn with our own hand that we will aid count Theobald against every creature, living or dead; at our command the following men have sworn that they approve of this and will support and aid us in keeping this oath: Pierre, count of Nevers, Drogo of Mello, William of Galande, etc. [vassals of the king]. If we fail in our duty to count Theobald, and do not make amends within a month from the time when they learn of it, they will surrender themselves to him at Troyes to be held as prisoners there until we make amends; and they shall do this every time that we fail in our duty to him.... We have also agreed that our beloved uncle, William, archbishop of Rheims, and the bishops of Châlons and Meaux, may place those of our lands that are in their dioceses under interdict, as often as we fail in our duty to count Theobald, unless we make amends within a month from the time when they learn of it; and count Theobald has agreed that the same archbishop and bishops may place his lands under an interdict as often as he fails in his duty to us, unless he makes amends within a month from the time when they learn of it.{90} {90} Notice the securities given by each party; a suggestion that the oath alone was not always sufficiently binding. 220. Homage to the Duke of Burgundy, 1200. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, p. 468. We, Odo, duke of Burgundy, make known to all men, present and future, that we have received our relative and faithful subject, Theobald, count of Troyes, as our man for the land which his father, count Henry, held of our father, Hugo, duke of Burgundy, just as his father, count Henry, was the man of our father. We have promised count Theobald that we and our heirs will guarantee that land to him and his heirs against every creature, living or dead, and will aid him and them in good faith with all our power to hold that land in peace and quiet. 221, 222. Agreement between Blanche of Champagne and Philip II, 1201. 221. Letter of Blanche. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, p. 469. Notice the rights of wardship and marriage exercised by the lord in this case. The counts of Champagne claimed to be hereditary counts palatine of France (see nos. 223 and 225); notice, however, that the king of France does not use the title in speaking of the countess. I, Blanche, countess palatine of Troyes. Be it known to all, present and future, that I have voluntarily sworn to my lord, Philip, king of France, to keep the agreements contained in this charter.... I have voluntarily sworn that I will never take a husband without the advice, consent, and wish of my lord, Philip, king of France, and that I will place under his guardianship my daughter and any child of whom I may be pregnant from my late husband, count Theobald. In addition, I will turn over to him the fortresses of Bray and Montereau, and give him control of all the men who dwell there and all the knights who hold fiefs of the castles, so that if I break my promise to keep these agreements, all the aforesaid men shall hold directly of my lord, Philip, king of France; and they shall all swear to aid him even against men and against every other man or woman. The lord of Marolles shall put himself and his castle also under the control of the king, and similarly all the knights who hold fiefs of Provins, and all the men of Provins, and all the men of Lagny and Meaux, and all the knights who hold fiefs of these places.... I will do liege homage to my lord, Philip, king of France, and I will keep faith with him against all creatures, living or dead. 222. Letter of the King. Documents inédits. Champagne, I, p. 470. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity, amen. Philip, by the grace of God king of France. Be it known to all, present and future, that we have received Blanche, countess of Troyes, as our liege woman, for the fief which our beloved nephew and faithful subject, Theobald, former count of Troyes, held from us.... We have sworn to her that we will keep the agreements written in this charter in good faith, as to our liege woman; namely, that we will protect and nourish her daughter whom she has placed in our ward, in good faith and without deceit, and that we will not give her in marriage until she reaches the age of twelve years. After she has reached that age, we will provide her with a husband in accordance with the desires and advice of ourself, our mother, the lady Blanche, and the barons whose names are written here, or of the persons who hold their fiefs, if they have died. These are the barons: William, archbishop of Rheims; Odo, duke of Burgundy; Guy of Dampierre; Gualcher of Châtillon, etc. 223. Homage to the Bishop of Langres, 1214. Documents inédits. Champagne, I, p. 472. I, Blanche, countess palatine of Troyes, make known to all who see these presents that while my beloved lord, William, bishop of Langres, was at Troyes on certain business, I besought him, if he was willing, to receive there the homage of my beloved son, count Theobald. He replied that the homage ought to be made only at Langres, but that, as a favor to me and out of love to my son, he would receive it at Troyes, in order that I might be spared the journey, saving his rights and the rights of the church of Langres, and the rights of my son. Accordingly he received the homage of my son at Troyes, and I conceded and concede that this shall work no prejudice to the rights of the church of Langres, or the bishop, but that the rights of the bishop and of my son shall remain unimpaired. 224. Homage to the Bishop of Châlons, 1214. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, p. 474. Gerard, by the grace of God bishop of Châlons, to all who see these presents, greeting and sincere love in the Lord. Know that when our beloved son and faithful subject, Theobald, count of Champagne, came to us at Cherville, we were ill, and so he did homage at St. Memmie. Now in order that this may not work prejudice to future counts of Champagne, we acknowledge and bear witness that homage ought to be done at Cherville or elsewhere in the march [_i.e._, frontier], where the bishops of Châlons and the counts of Champagne are wont to come together for conference and the transaction of business. 225. Homage to the Abbot of St. Denis, 1226. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, p. 476. Peter, by the grace of God abbot of St. Denis, to all who see these presents, greeting in the Lord. Know that the noble man, Theobald, count palatine of Champagne and Blois, did homage to us for the castle of Nogent-sur-Seine and its dependencies, in the same manner as Milo of Châlons, former lord of that castle, who held it as a fief from the church of St. Denis. With the advice and consent of our chapter we have granted that the said count shall be bound to appear only in our court in matters pertaining to that fief. 226. List of the Fiefs of Champagne, about 1172. Documents inédits. Champagne, I, pp. 22 ff. These documents illustrate the relation of his vassals to the count of Champagne. They are taken from a register of the fiefs and vassals of the count of Champagne, drawn up about 1172. There are many instances of such registers or inventories in the feudal age; the relations of lord and vassals were apt to become confused and subject to dispute. The particular purpose of the register in this case was to determine the number of knights owing military service to the count of Champagne, and the amount of service owed by each one. OF CHÂTILLON AND FISMES. Count of Rethel, liege homage. Count of Grandpré, liege homage. Count of Roucy, liege homage. Count of Chiny. Roger of Rozoy, for the fief of Chaourse. Roger of Rozoy, his son [did homage].{91} Lord of Montmort, liege homage. Guy of Montmort [did homage]. He holds in fief the rights of the forest of Vassy and many other fiefs. Hugo of Oisy, a year's guard. Gaulcher of Châtillon, guard and liege homage. The sons of Guy of Châtillon, a year's guard and liege homage, etc., etc. OF CHÂTEAU-THIERRY. Count of Soisson. His fief is thirty pounds of the tolls and taxes of Château-Thierry.{92} Lord of Pierrefonds. Lord of Nesles, Fresnes, and Roiglise. Lord of Braisne. Lord of Bazoches is liege man of the count after the bishop of Soissons,{93} and owes three months' guard. For Coulonges and the forest as far as Ste. Gemme [his fief]. André de Ferté, liege homage and a year's guard. Bartholomé de Thury, liege homage and a year's guard. His fief is at Thury, Coulombs, and Chacrise, etc., etc. OF MEAUX. Count of Vermandois. Count of Beaumont. Bishop of Beauvais, for the fief of Savignies. Bochard of Montmorency. His fief is at Marly and Ferrières. Lord of Crécy-en-Brie. For Crécy and many other fiefs. Lord of Montjay. Viscount of La Ferté, liege homage and guard. For his holdings at Gandelus, Fresnes, La Ferté-Gaucher, La Ferté-sous-Jouarre, and Lizy, and their dependencies, except the fief which he holds of the bishop of Meaux and the abbot of St. Faron. Theobald of Crespy. For Bouillancy, etc., etc. {91} This expression means apparently that the person named did the homage and performed the services for the holder of the fief, as his representative. {92} Here is a case where the fief of a vassal is a portion of the revenues of the lord. As already noted, holding by feudal tenure was the regular form of contract in the feudal age; it was used not only in regard to the holding of land, but also for the acquisition of other possessions, as a sum of money, etc. {93} The bishop of Soissons is the liege lord of the lord of Bazoches. 227. Sum of the Knights [who owe Service to the Count of Champagne]. Documents inédits, Champagne, I, pp. 73 f. This table occurs at the end of the register of the fiefs of the count of Champagne of which the preceding number is a part. It is the sum of the knights who owe regular military service to the count, and is also therefore the number of knights whom the count should bring in answer to royal summons to war. From La Ferté 58 Bar-sur-Aube 117 Rosnay 79 Saint-Florentin 42 Ervy 39 Villemaur 27 Vitry and dependencies 159 Bussy-le-Château 25 Mareuil-en-Brie 84 Montfélix 24 Épernay 40 Châtillon and Fismes 160 Oulchy 62 Château-Thierry 86 Meaux 149 Coulommiers 68 Montereau 29 Chantemerle 34 Bray-sur-Seine 83 Provins 265 Payns 42 Pont-sur-Seine 42 Sézanne and Lachy 85 Vertus 61 Troyes and Isle-Aumont 135 Méry-sur-Seine 21 The great fiefs 20 ------ Whole sum of the knights 2,030 ------ [Correct total 2,036] 228. Extent of the Lands of the County of Champagne and Brie, about 1215. Documents inédits, Champagne, II, pp. 9 ff. This is an inventory of the domain lands of the count of Champagne, made to determine the revenues, possessions, and rights of the count, and the obligations and dues of the tenants and serfs. They were determined by the examination of certain trustworthy inhabitants of each domain or village. The result was arranged according to bailiwicks (large administrative districts), and domains or villages. Thus the cases given here are taken from the four villages of Troyes, Nogent, Pont, and Séant, in the bailiwick of Troyes. The student should notice the rights of the lord (justice, banvin, rachat, mainmort, markets, tolls, etc.); the revenues from the lands; the position of the prévôt (the lord's agent in the village), whose services are paid by allowing him to collect and keep part of the revenues. Note also that in this age many of the rights of the lord are commuted for money or let out to others for an annual rent; this was a common tendency of the later feudal age, when the lord came more and more to appreciate the advantages of ready money over services and rents in produce. BAILIWICK OF TROYES. 1. Troyes. The count has at Troyes pure and mixed justice in Troyes and all jurisdiction over all persons,{94} except the men who have charters of privilege and the men who live on the lands of churches which have jurisdiction over their men by charter or long usage. Fines in cases coming under the high justice are levied at the will of the count according to the character of the crimes and the custom of the city. They are not estimated here. Escheat and confiscation of goods for the great crimes, such as killing, theft, rapine, heresy, etc., belong to the high justice. The prévôt has 20 solidi of the fines which are levied, and 60 solidi of the escheats. Besides these the prévôt has no share in these fines, but they go to the count. Fines for cases coming under the low justice are levied according to the custom of Troyes.... The count also has the right of mainmort by which he takes all the goods of men who die without children or heirs who should succeed, and all the goods of low-born men who die without children.... The count also has within the district of Troyes the right of rachat,{95} which the widows of noble holders of fiefs must pay if they wish to marry again. The rate of the rachat has been decided to be equal to the income of the fief for a year. The prévôt has no share in the rachat. The count also has the markets of St. John, which begin on the first Tuesday two weeks after the day of St. John the Baptist and end about the day of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin. They are now estimated to be worth 1,000 pounds,{96} besides the fiefs of the holders of the markets which are worth 13 pounds. This market is called the "hot-weather fair" (_la foire chaude_). He also has the markets of St. Rémy, called the "cold-weather fair" (_la foire froide_). They begin on the day after All Saints' day and last until a week before Christmas. They are estimated to be worth now about 700 pounds.... The count also has the house of the German merchants where cloth is sold.... It is sold or rented out at the fairs of St. John and St. Rémy, and is estimated to be worth 400 pounds a year, deducting the expenses. The count also has the stalls of the butchers ... which are held from the count for an annual rental, paid half on the day of St. Rémy, and half on the day of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin. The count also has jurisdiction in cases arising in regard to the stalls of the butchers. He also has the hall of the cordwainers [shoemakers], where shoes are sold on Saturday; it is situated next to the stalls of the butchers. It is held from the count for an annual rental, paid at the above-mentioned times. The count and Nicholas of Bar-le-Duc have undivided shares in a house back of the dwelling of the prévôt, which contains 18 rooms, large and small. The rooms are rented for an undivided rent of 125 solidi, of which half goes to the said Nicholas.... The count and the said Nicholas have undivided shares in seventeen stalls for the sale of bread and fishes. They are now rented for 18 pounds and 18 solidi.... {94} Justice was divided into high and low, or into high, middle, and low justice. These distinctions were not everywhere the same, but in general high justice meant jurisdiction over cases the penalty for which was death or mutilation, and low justice, or middle and low justice, the jurisdiction over less serious crimes. The same general difference was understood by pure and mixed justice. When the lord is said to have "all the justice, high and low," or "pure and mixed justice," it is meant that he has complete jurisdiction over his subjects in all cases. {95} Rachat is the sum paid by the new holder of a fief at the time of his entrance into the fief; it is about the same as the relief (see no. 217, § 2, and introductory note to nos. 209-228). Here it refers to the sum which the widow of a vassal of the count must pay when she remarries, not for the privilege of remarrying, but for the right to take the fief with her to her new husband. {96} Note the great value of the markets to the count. Troyes was not a small village, but a city of some importance, and the market rights were worth a good deal. This is a good illustration of the seignorial or feudal control of cities, against which the citizens continually struggled. (See nos. 308, 309.) 4. Nogent-sur-Seine. The count has a house there and the orchard that goes with it, which the count retains for himself [_i.e._, has not let out in fief]. According to the statement under oath of Pierre of Pampeluna [etc.], the count has also all the justice, except that which is held by others by charter or long usage.... Escheat and confiscation of goods come under the high justice, and the prévôt has the same rights in fines and escheats as in the case of Troyes [see above]. The smaller fines from cases belonging to the high justice are estimated as belonging to the office of the prévôt. The count also has the market hall and the toll from the markets and the village, every day in the week. They are estimated at 80 pounds. He also has the banvin, which lasts a whole month, beginning on the day after Easter. It is valued at 30 pounds. The count also has the right over the streams of Noe and Vileure.... 5. Extent of the domain of Pont-sur-Seine, determined by the statements of Pierre Molventre, Th. Coichard, and Robert of Besançon, who were sworn to speak the truth. The count has a house there, and has all the justice in the village and the chatelainerie, except that which is held by others by charter or long usage. The high and low justice is exercised as described in the chapter on Troyes. The jurisdiction exercised by the prévôt is estimated to be worth 100 pounds a year, the jurisdiction over the fiefs at 14 pounds, 10 solidi, and the jurisdiction over the clergy at 26 solidi, 8 denarii. These are the dues collected by the prévôt: Taxes and toll from the market, and 18 solidi of the ancient small tax. Also the _lods et ventes_,{97} which are now estimated at 42 pounds. The banvin, which lasts for 15 days, beginning about the day of St. Mary of Magdala, when the count wishes to exercise it; it is worth about 60 solidi when the count wishes to sell it. The monks of St. Étienne have the same banvin, but they are not allowed to sell it unless the count sells his. The rents from the inhabitants of Villeneuve, now worth 60 solidi. The prévôt takes half, and the other half goes to the canons of the church of Provins. Each farm also pays 12 denarii and a measure of oats, half to the count (the prévôt does not take this) and half to the said canons.... The count also has the following rents and _lods et ventes_: _Lods et ventes_ from the house of Robert of Besançon, and 12 solidi rent; the same from the house of Claude and 10 solidi rent; the same from the house of Ordinetus the serf, and 25 solidi rent.... He also has from Saint-Martin-de-Bossenay 5 solidi of the small tax, _lods et ventes_, three hens a year, and 15 measures of oats.... The count also has from Le Châtelot, near Villeneuve, seven hens a year, and five measures of oats to be paid on Christmas, and they belong to the office of the prévôt.... Hugo of Villeneuve, clergyman, Renerius, his brother, the prévôt of the village, Pierre Florie, Pierre Fromerit, former prévôt, and Hugo Florion, say on their oath that the count has the right of escheat from all who die in the village without heirs.... {97} _Lods et ventes_ were payments made to the lord when the farm changed hands. The holder in these cases had the right to sell or rent his holding subject to the payment of _lods et ventes_. It may be compared to rachat or relief in the case of fiefs. 6. Extent of Séant, determined by the statements of Theobald the bailly, Ithari le Paalier, Felicité Huilliet, Guillot le Convert, and Milauti Veitu, sworn to speak the truth. They said on their oaths that Henry, king of Navarre of blessed memory, bought the village of Séant, with its men, lands, woods, domains, and appurtenances, from the lord of Montmorency, with the dowry of lady Blanche his wife, now the wife of lord Edmund, son of the king of England, paying for it 6,500 pounds Tours.{98} The said lady Blanche has a house there and all the justice, high and low, within the boundaries of Séant.... The lord of Montmorency had and the lady Blanche has 20 _journata_{99} of land in the place known as the clearing of Forni, 10 _journata_ in the clearing of John of Pont, 10 _journata_ in the clearing of Pierre Courbe, and 5 _journata_ in the clearing of Val de Laroi. In all, 45 journata, which are equal to about 42 arpents. The lady also has the land tax from all the clearings; these are in meadows and contain about 250 arpents. The lady also has the land taxes from the great field of Séant; this tax is divided into twelve parts, of which the abbeys of Valle Lucenti, Pontigny, and Dillo have five parts, and the lady the other seven.... The lady also has rents, customs, and taxes from the following men: Theobald the bailly is the man of the lady Blanche and holds of her in fief five of the eight parts of the bake-oven of Séant;{100} the other three parts are held by Adelicia and her children. The said Theobald also has a farm from the countess, for which he pays 5 solidi, 1 denarius rent, and a measure of wine, a hen, a loaf of bread, and three measures of oats. The children of Bertelon are men of the countess and hold land of her at a rent of 11 measures of oats and the taille.{101} The children of Baudonnet are men of the countess and hold land of her at a rent of 12 denarii and a measure of oats, and the taille.... {98} An illustration of the acquisition of a fief by purchase. All the rights of the former holder went with the land to the new holder. {99} _Journatum_ is a measure of land, literally the amount which could be cultivated in a day. Probably in this case the lord had allowed some of his tenants to clear and reduce to cultivation part of his waste lands, on condition that he be given a portion of the cleared land from each tenant as payment for the permission. {100} Note that the village bake-oven, which the lord originally erected and from which he collected tolls, has been let out as a fief and is now in the possession of two families of tenants. {101} The _taille_, poll tax. 229, 230. The Attempt of the King to Control the Feudal Nobles. 229. The Feudal Law of Conrad II, 1037. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, no. 45; Doeberl, III, no. 1. The feudal king naturally was not content with his restricted authority under the feudal régime and attempted to assert his right as head of the state to enforce general laws for the whole realm. When the king was strong and able, he could do this to some extent, but when he was weak, his commands received little attention. In the reigns of Conrad II and Frederick I, in Germany, the monarch was able to control his great vassals and enforce obedience to his laws. But the triumph of the papacy, allied with the great nobles of Germany, over the emperor was fatal to the development of a strong monarchy, and after the death of Frederick II the feudal lords became independent princes. See the progressive concessions to princes, nos. 136, 139, 153, 160. In France the monarchy became absolute by acquiring, in accordance with feudal law, actual possession of all the great fiefs. In England, the conflict between the king and the feudal lords gave opportunity for the rise of a representative system of government, which was used sometimes by the king to control the lords (as in the cases of Henry I and Henry II), sometimes by the great lords to control the king (John and Henry III). Thus the feudal system, under different conditions, resulted in France in an absolute monarchy, in England in a constitutional monarchy, and in Germany in a weak central government and a kingdom composed of many practically independent principalities. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Conrad, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus. (1) Know ... that we have ordained and established that no knight of a bishop, abbot, margrave, count, or of anyone else, who holds a benefice from the royal or from church lands, shall be deprived of his benefice unless he has been convicted of a crime by his peers, according to the laws of our ancestors. This applies to both our great vassals and their knights. (2) If a conflict shall have arisen between a great vassal and his knight, and the peers shall have judged that the knight should lose his benefice, and if the knight alleges that he was condemned unjustly, he shall keep his benefice until both parties have come into our presence, where the case shall be settled justly. But if the great vassal is not able to get the peers of the accused to give judgment, the accused shall hold his benefice until he and his overlord and the peers shall have come before us. In such cases, the party who appeals shall notify the other party to the suit, six weeks before he sets out to the royal court. This applies to our great vassals as well.{102} (3) But cases between lower vassals shall be tried before their lords or before our missi. (4) We ordain also that when any knight, either of a great vassal or of a rear-vassal, dies, his son shall have his benefice. If he does not leave a son, but a son of his son survives, this grandson shall receive his benefice, observing the custom of great vassals by giving horses and arms to his lord.{103} But if the knight leaves neither son nor grandson, but a brother or a half-brother on the father's side, that one shall have the benefice, if he is willing to become the knight of the lord of that benefice. (5) Moreover, we forbid that any lord should trade the benefice which his knight holds, or dispose of it in any way without the knight's consent. And no one shall dare to take from his knight the lands which he holds by proprietary right or as a libellum or precarium.{104} (6) The _fodrum_ from the castles which was paid to our ancestors shall be paid to us, but we will not require any which was not paid to them. {102} Note the right of the vassal to be tried by a court of his peers, _i.e._, a court composed of the other vassals of the same lord; and also the right of appeal claimed for the court of the king. {103} This is an old form of relief. {104} Feudal tenure of land was not the only form known in the Middle Age. Other more ancient forms still existed in exceptional cases; as here: land held by proprietary right, that is, allodial possessions that had never been feudalized; land held as libellum or precarium, which are about the same. A libellum was a piece of land held by one person from another for a term of years, for life, or with the right of inheritance, for a fixed rent, the _libellus_ being the charter or grant. _Libellum_, _precarium_, usufruct, and _emphyteusis_, are forms of land-holding known to the later Roman law, and differing one from the other only very slightly. 230. The Feudal Law of Frederick I for Italy, 1158. Ragewin, Gesta, IV, ch. 10; M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 113 f; Doeberl, IV, no. 37 c. Frederick, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, to all the faithful subjects of our empire.... At the diet of Roncaglia, where we held a court of justice, as was the custom of our ancestors, the princes of Italy, the rulers of the church, and other faithful subjects made complaint that their vassals were in the habit of pawning or selling the fiefs and benefices which they held of them without their consent. Thereby the princes were deprived of the services due them from these fiefs and the dignity and the revenues of the empire were diminished. Having taken counsel with the bishops, dukes, margraves, counts, palatines, and other nobles, we therefore decree by this edict that no one henceforth shall sell or pawn or devise by will or in any way dispose of his fief or any part of it without the consent of the lord from whom he holds it. The emperor Lothar commanded under similar circumstances that such things should not be done in the future; we, however, hereby declare void not only future alienations of this sort, but also all illegal alienations that have already been made; the purchaser of the fief in such cases shall have an action at law against the seller for the recovery of the price, without regard to the length of time that has elapsed since the transaction. And as some resort to fraudulent sales and transfers under the form of free investiture after receiving the purchase price, we declare that such fictitious sales are void and condemn both seller and purchaser to the loss of the fief, which shall revert to the lord. Any lawyer who draws up such a contract knowingly shall be deprived of his office and lose his hand and be stigmatized with infamy. If any person over fourteen years of age, who has inherited a fief, fails through his own negligence to seek investiture for it from his lord within a year and a day, he shall lose the fief and it shall revert to the lord. If any vassal refuses to obey the summons of his lord to accompany him on an imperial expedition, or fails to come at the time set, or to send a suitable person in his place or to give half the revenue of the fief [as compensation for his service], he shall lose the fief and it shall revert to the lord.{105} Duchies, marks, and counties may not be divided.{106} Any other fief may be divided if the co-heirs desire, but on the following conditions: Everyone who holds a part of the fief shall swear fidelity to the overlord; no vassal shall have more than one lord for one fief; and the lord shall not transfer the fief to another lord without the consent of the vassal. Vassals shall be responsible to the lord for the conduct of their sons; if the son of a vassal offends the lord, the father, on pain of losing his fief, shall compel him either to make satisfaction to the lord for his fault or to leave his household. If the son refuses to obey, he shall not be allowed to inherit the fief on his father's death unless he has made satisfaction. Vassals shall in a similar manner be responsible to their lord for the conduct of their vassals, and all their dependents. In case of a controversy between two vassals of the same lord in regard to a fief, the matter shall be tried and decided by the lord. In case of a controversy between a vassal and his lord, it shall be decided by a court of peers of the vassal, sworn on their oath of fidelity to do justice in the case. We also decree that in every oath of fidelity the fidelity to the emperor shall be excepted by name. {105} Notice the attempt of the king to enforce his authority in military matters over the vassals of his vassals. In strict feudal law the rear-vassal was responsible only to his immediate lord for the fulfillment of his duties, but the king generally claimed authority over them in matters in which the welfare of the state was concerned, as in the matter of military service in public wars. {106} In Germany the great lords retained for a long time in theory their character of public officials and their fiefs were regarded as administrative districts of the state. Hence the idea that they were indivisible, a character which still adhered to the lands of the electoral princes in later times (see no. 160, Golden Bull, ch. XX). VII. COURTS, JUDICIAL PROCESSES, AND THE PEACE It is not our purpose to give a complete account of all the mediæval courts, nor to show fully their mutual connection. Because of the great difficulties of the subject and the lack of suitable documents we name only the most important courts and offer a few passages to illustrate them. It is not that such documents are scarce that we have presented so few of them; but they contain so much that would require long explanations that they would demand far more space than we felt could properly be given to this subject. The materials which we offer illustrate the courts for the most part after 1100, but they throw light on those of the earlier period. In many other documents contained in this book there are references to courts and judicial processes which the student should carefully observe. I. The royal court. According to mediæval theory the king was the judge in the whole realm. He had jurisdiction over all things. But because he could not be present everywhere and hear all cases, he appointed men (dukes, counts, etc.) to act as judges in his place. But they merely represented him. So whenever the king in his travels comes to a place, he at once replaces the local judge and all the machinery for the administration of justice. Since he was present in person, he needed no one to represent him. Eventually the great princes refused to receive him into their palaces because of the heavy expense in entertaining him and his numerous retinue, so his journeys as judge into their territories gradually ceased. In 1220 Frederick II agreed that he would exercise his rights as judge in the cities of the bishops only during the diets which he should hold in them and a week before and a week after. (See no. 136, par. 10.) He soon ceased to travel as judge, and after 1250 acted as judge only in and during the diets which he held. Since in theory all judges and courts merely represented the king, he had the right to call before himself any case, no matter where it was pending. This was called the _jus evocandi_, the "right of calling." Rudolph of Hapsburg and his successors granted both princes and cities exemption from this. In the Golden Bull (no. 160, chs. VIII and XI) Charles IV renounced all right to call any of the subjects of the electoral princes before his court. These exemptions were gradually extended to all the princes, imperial cities, bishops, and other territorial lords, until in 1487 the crown completely lost its _jus evocandi_. In the same way everyone had the right to appeal to the king, against the decision of any court. But in time the king surrendered this also in the same way to the electoral princes and agreed never to receive appeals from any of their subjects. See no. 160. Frederick II found it impossible to attend to all the business of the royal court, and so in 1235 appointed a justiciar to represent him in all minor cases. See no. 232, par. 28. He also made provision for keeping complete records of the imperial court, and appointed a court secretary and put him under the control of the justiciar. See no. 232, par. 29. II. The county courts. The county was composed of several districts called hundreds. Each hundred had its court, which was always held in the same place. The count received his authority as judge from the king, and with it the right to inflict the king's ban or fine of sixty shillings. The count went about from one court place to another, holding three courts a year in each place. This regular court was in session three days. If the business of the court could not be attended to in these three days, the count announced another court to be held a few weeks later. All the freemen of the hundred in which the court was held were bound to be present at it. The courts of the count were called the greater courts (_judicia majora_) and had jurisdiction over property, criminal actions of a serious character, and suits to recover serfs. The lower or hundred courts (_judicia minora_, see nos. 139, §7; no. 231, I, 58) had jurisdiction over cases involving debts, chattels, and trespass. These lower courts were presided over by judges of inferior rank called _Schultheissen_, _Gografen_, or hundred-counts, who were either appointed by the count or elected by the people. They merely represented the count, and could not inflict the king's ban. The counts were at first regarded as officials of the king, but under the influence of feudalism they became vassals and received their judgeships as fiefs. III. Courts on the royal domain. All who lived on the crown lands, or royal domain, as they were called, were exempt from the county courts. The king appointed an official to administer justice to them. He was called an advocate and his office an advocacy. His position was similar to that of the count in the county courts. He presided over the _judicia majora_, and appointed _Schultheissen_ to preside over the _judicia minora_. IV. Courts on the lands of bishops and abbots. All those who lived on the lands of bishops and abbots who held directly from the king, were also exempt from the county courts. They were under the jurisdiction of the bishop or abbot, who appointed an advocate to preside over the higher courts, and _Schultheissen_ to preside over the lower. These courts were quite like those on the royal domain. V. The sovereign courts of the princes. The dukes received their jurisdiction with their fiefs, and in theory their courts did not differ from those of the counts. But they had a different development. For the dukes steadily developed toward sovereignty in their territories, and in 1231 many of them got complete exemption from the royal jurisdiction (see no. 139). The duke of Austria was the first one to secure such complete exemption (1156); see no. 110. The Golden Bull (chaps. VIII and XI) shows that all the electors had acquired complete exemption and were sovereigns in their territories in the administration of justice. VI. The courts of great landholders. Every great landholder, having a large number of vassals, held a court for the trial of all questions which arose between him and his vassals, or among his vassals. Since he also had jurisdiction over all the tenants and serfs on his lands, he of course held courts for them, which were similar to those described in III and IV. They are very similar also to the manorial courts in England. VII. For the courts of the ministerials see nos. 297, 231, III, 42. VIII. Ecclesiastical courts. There were also ecclesiastical courts which were presided over by clergymen, such as bishops, abbots, cathedral provosts, archbishops, etc. They tried all cases which involved offenses against the laws of the church. IX. As the cities secured the right to govern themselves, they also in many cases got jurisdiction over themselves. In the documents in section X there are many references to courts and judicial processes in the cities. From the explanations given here the student will be able to understand at least their chief features. X. Arbitration. Since the courts and the machinery for administering justice proved to be inefficient, it became common, especially among the cities, to create a commission of arbitration to settle all quarrels in a peaceable manner. See no. 319. In German courts the judge was really only the presiding officer. The decision was rendered by the people who were present or by the _Schoeffen_. Generally some particular person had the right to propose the verdict (cf. no. 297, §5). At the proper time the judge asked him what decision he wished to propose. Then the others present might agree with the proposed verdict or offer another in its stead. In cases where there were no witnesses the accused was compelled to bring one or more of his relatives, friends, or neighbors, who swore that they believed that he was telling the truth. They were called his compurgators. _Schoeffe_, pl. _Schoeffen_, were the permanent judges of the hundred court. They were instituted by Karl the Great to take the place of the temporary _rachinburgii_ of the Salic law (see note 22). There were generally twelve of them in each county, and seven must be present before a court could be legally opened. They gave the decision in certain courts, and in so far they may be compared to our modern jury. They held their office for life. In the German cities the board of _Schoeffen_ played a very important part in the administration of justice. _Schoeffen_ free, or _Schoeffenbar_ free, were all the free-born. They were eligible for the office of _Schoeffe_. The _Pfleghaften_ were the free peasants who owned lands but because they did not render military service were compelled to pay an army tax. The payment of this tax was regarded as an evidence that they were not completely free, and hence their position was lower than that of the freemen who rendered military service for their lands. The _Landsassen_ were, like the _leti_ (see note 18), essentially serfs, attached to the soil, and paying fixed rent and services. The _Bauermeister_ was at the head of the peasants of a village or district and acted as judge in certain cases when no other judge was at hand. 231. Sachsenspiegel. Following the revival in the study of the Roman law and the connection of Germany with Italy under the Staufer, Roman law was being introduced into Germany, where it naturally tended to replace the customary law, which was for the most part unwritten. The desire of the Saxons to preserve their own law and to prevent the uncertainty that would necessarily soon arise in it led them to attempt to codify it. Eike von Repkau, a nobleman, undertook the task of reducing their customs to writing. He called his book or code, which was written between 1215 and 1276, the _Sachsenspiegel_, that is, the mirror in which the Saxon law is seen. I, 2. Every Christian man who has attained his majority is bound to attend the ecclesiastical court in the bishopric in which he lives three times a year. Three classes of people are exempt from this: The _Schoeffenbar_ free shall attend the court of the bishop; the _Pfleghaften_ shall attend the court of the _præpositus_ of the cathedral, and the _Landsassen_ shall attend the court of the archpriests. They shall also all attend the civil courts. The _Schoeffenbar_ free shall attend the burggrave's court [also called the advocate's court] every eighteen weeks. In it judgment is given under the king's ban. If a court is called to meet after the close of the regular court, all the _Pfleghaften_ shall attend it to try all cases involving misdeeds. This attendance is all that the judge may require from them. The _Pfleghaften_ shall attend the court of the _Schultheiss_ which is held every six weeks, to try cases concerning their possessions. The _Landsassen_ who have no property shall attend the court of the _Gograf_ which is held every six weeks. In the courts of the _Gograf_ and of the burggrave the _Bauermeister_ shall make complaint of all whose duty it is to attend the court but do not do so. And he shall ask an investigation about all cases which involve bloody wounds, abusive speech, the drawing of swords in a threatening manner, and all kinds of misdeeds, provided no suit has been entered about them. I, 53. If anyone does not attend court when it is called, or fails to prove his case when he has brought suit, or challenges a man and is defeated, or does not come promptly to court, or disturbs the court by word or deed, or fails to pay a debt when the court has given judgment against him, he shall pay the judge his fine. In every case in which one party secures "damages" from another, the convicted party must also pay the judge his fine. And even in many cases in which no damage is involved, the judge may assess his fine.... No one is fined twice for the same offence, unless he breaks the peace on a holy day. In that case he pays two fines, one to the ecclesiastical court and one to the civil court, and he pays damages besides to him whom he has injured. I, 58. If the people choose a _Gograf_ for a long period, the count or the margrave shall invest him with his office.... When the count comes into the district of the _Gograf_, the latter loses all his authority and cannot hold court [because his superior, whom he merely represents, is present]. In the same way when the king comes into the territory which is under the jurisdiction of the count, the count loses all his authority and cannot hold court. And this is true of all courts. In the presence of the king all other judges lose their authority and the king must try all cases. A count is the same as a judge, according to old German ideas. II, 3. If a man is challenged to a duel who was not warned of it before he came to court, he shall have time, according to his rank, to prepare himself for it. The _Schoeffenbar_ free shall have six weeks, other freemen and ministerials fifteen days. But for all other things that are laid to a man's charge he shall answer at once, and either admit or deny his guilt. II, 12. No man may render a decision in a case to which his lord, his vassal, or his friend is a party, if it involves their life or honor. _Schoeffenbar_ free men may render decisions in all cases, but no one may render decisions in their cases unless he is of the same rank as they.... If a man objects to a decision after it is rendered, he may appeal to the higher judge and then to the king. In case an appeal is made, the judge shall send his messengers who understand the case to the king. The messengers shall be freemen, and the judge shall pay all their expenses while on the journey. They shall have enough bread and beer, and three dishes for dinner and a cup of wine. Their servants shall have two dishes. He shall give five sheaves for each horse every day, and shoes for their forefeet. As soon as they learn that the king is in Saxony they shall go to him and bring back his decision within six weeks. If the man who made the appeal loses it, he shall pay the judge his fine, and all the expenses of his messengers to the king, and damages to the man against whose decision he appealed.... If a judge asks a man to render a decision, and the man is in doubt and cannot make up his mind about it, he may refuse to give a decision, and the judge shall ask someone else for a decision.... If a man proposes a decision and someone who is present objects to it and proposes another, the judge shall accept that decision which receives a majority of the votes of those present. II, 13. A thief shall be hung. If a theft takes place by day in a villa [village] and the object stolen is worth less than three shillings, the _Bauermeister_ may pass judgment on the thief the same day. He may punish him in his hair and skin,{107} or fine him three shillings. This is the highest sum for which the _Bauermeister_ may try [_i.e._, not more than three shillings]. But he cannot try the case the next day. But in cases involving money, or movable goods, or false weights and measures, and cheating in the sale of victuals, he may assess higher fines. Murderers, and all who steal horses from the plow, or grain from the mill, or rob churches or cemeteries, and all who are guilty of treason, or arson, or who make gain out of information entrusted to them by their lord, shall be broken on the wheel. If anyone beats, seizes, or robs another, or burns his house, or does violence to a woman, or breaks the peace, or is taken in adultery, he shall have his head cut off. Whoever conceals a thief or stolen property or aids a thief in any way, shall be punished as a thief. Heretics, witches, and poisoners shall be burnt. If a judge refuses to punish a crime, he shall be punished as if guilty of it himself. No one is bound to attend his court or submit to his judgment if he has refused to grant him justice. II, 27. If a man refuses to pay bridge or ferry toll, he shall be made to pay it fourfold. If he refuses to pay toll on the frontier, he shall be fined thirty shillings. This is the toll for ferries: For coming and going, four foot-passengers shall pay a penny; a man on horseback, a half-penny; a loaded wagon, four pence. The toll for bridges is half this. No toll shall be collected from anyone except at bridges and ferries.... An empty wagon pays half as much as a loaded one.... If anyone leaves the road and drives over cultivated land he shall pay a penny for each one of his wheels and make good the damage he has done. If on horseback, he shall pay half a penny besides the damage. II, 28. If anyone cuts another's wood, or mows his grass, or fishes in his streams, he shall pay a fine of three shillings and make good the damage besides. If he fishes in another's fish-pond, or cuts down trees which have been planted, or fruit-trees, or if he takes the fruit from a tree, or cuts down trees which mark boundaries, or removes stones which have been set up to mark boundaries, he shall pay a fine of thirty shillings.... Whoever by night steals wood that has been cut, or grass that has been mown, shall be hung. If he steals them by day, he shall be punished in his "hair and skin." A fisherman may use the bank as far as he can step from his boat. III, 26. The king is the common judge everywhere. The _Schoeffenbar_ free man cannot be called before a foreign court to fight a duel. But he must answer in the court in whose jurisdiction he is. III, 33. Every man has the right to be tried before the king. And every man must respond if suit is brought against him before the king.... III, 42. Do not be surprised that I have said nothing about the law of the ministerials. It is so varied that no one could ever come to the end of it. For under every bishop, abbot, and abbess, there are ministerials who have their special code of laws, and so I cannot set them all down here.... III, 52. The king is elected as judge in all cases concerning property, fiefs, and life. But he cannot be everywhere, nor judge all cases, and so he gives _Fahnlehen_ [flag-fiefs] to the princes [_i.e._, with jurisdiction over them], and counties to counts with the power to appoint _Schultheissen_, so that they can act as judges in the king's stead. III, 53. For every case a judge receives a fine but not damages. For no one receives damages but the man who brings the suit. And the judge cannot be both judge and a party to the suit. III, 55. No one but the king can act as judge over the princes. III, 60. The emperor enfeoffs all ecclesiastical princes with their fiefs using the sceptre as a symbol, and all secular princes with their _Fahnlehen_ using a flag as a symbol. A _Fahnlehen_ must not be vacant a year and a day. Wherever the king is, the mint and tolls of that place are surrendered to him during his stay there. And the local court is closed because he is the judge [and the local judge merely represents him]. While he is present all cases must be tried before him. The first time the king comes into the land [_i.e._, after his election], all prisoners must be brought before him, and he shall decide whether they shall be set free or tried.... III, 63. Constantine the Great gave pope Silvester the secular fine of fifty shillings in addition to his ecclesiastical authority, in order that he might use both secular and ecclesiastical means to compel people to obey and do right. So the two courts, the ecclesiastical and the secular, should aid each other, and each should punish all who resist the other.... III, 64. If the king summons the princes to render military service to the empire, or to come to a diet, and informs them of it by means of letters bearing his seal six weeks before the time set, they must obey and go to the king if he is in Germany. If they do not go, they shall pay a fine. The princes who have _Fahnlehen_ pay 100 pounds. All others pay twelve pounds. A nobleman who does not come pays his duke ten pounds.... Those who are under a count or imperial advocate pay him sixty shillings, if he has the king's ban. No one but the king can grant the king's ban. III, 69. In courts where the judge may inflict the king's ban, neither the judge nor the _Schoeffen_ shall wear caps or hats or any covering on the head, or gloves. But they may wear mantles on their shoulders. They shall not carry weapons [in court]. They shall fast until they pass judgment on every man, whether he is a German or Wend. No one except them shall pass judgment. They shall sit while passing judgment. III, 70. In courts where the judge has no authority to inflict the king's ban, any man may give the decision, or be a witness.... {107} Punishment in the "hair and skin" was especially cruel. The guilty one was flogged and his hair was wound about a stick which was then turned around and around until the hair was all pulled out. For some offences the hair was closely cut instead of being pulled out, which was, of course, much more humane. Long hair was worn by freemen as a mark of their rank. 232. Frederic II Appoints a Justiciar and a Court Secretary, 1235. From the Peace of the Land which was Proclaimed at Mainz, 1235. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 103. (28).... We wish that all cases over which we cannot preside in person shall be tried by a man of approved character and good reputation, who shall be placed over the courts in our stead. And except in those cases which we reserve for our decision his judgment shall be final. We decree therefore that our court shall have as justiciar a free man, and he shall hold the office at least a year if he judges justly. He shall preside over the court every day except on Sundays and other holy days, and he shall administer justice to all litigants except to the princes and to other high persons in cases which touch their persons, rights, honor, fiefs, possessions, and inheritances, and the most important cases. All such cases we reserve for our judgment. This justiciar shall not fix the time for the more important cases which come before him without our special command. He shall not proscribe the guilty nor release from proscription. This we reserve for ourselves. He shall take oath that he will not receive anything for his decision, and that he will not be influenced by love, or hatred, or beseechings, or money, or fear, or favor, but according to his conscience, in good faith, without fraud or treachery, he will judge according to what he knows or believes to be right. We grant him all the fees which come from the absolution of those who have been proscribed, provided their cases were tried before him. We do this that he may be free to judge as he wishes, and may not find it necessary to receive gifts from anyone. He shall not remit the fine of anyone, in order that men may fear proscription. (29) He shall have a special notary who shall keep the names of those who are proscribed, and of those who brought suit against them, an account of the case itself, and the day on which the proscription took place; also the names of those who are absolved from proscription, and of those who brought suit against them, and the day they were freed from proscription; also the names of those who stand as security for them, and where they live, and also an account of any other security which the man to be absolved is required to furnish for the satisfaction of the one who brought suit against him. All letters and documents concerning suits shall be sent to him. He shall devote all his time to this, and shall have no other work to do at the imperial court. He shall keep a list of those who are denounced as dangerous, and when anyone is freed from suspicion, he shall take his name from the list.... He shall be a layman, because a clergyman is not permitted to write judgments which involve the shedding of blood, and also in order that if he does wrong in his office he may be punished properly. He shall take an oath to conduct himself faithfully and legally in his office.... 233. Wenzel Creates a Commission to Arbitrate all Differences, 1389. From the Peace of Eger, 1389. (German.) Altmann und Bernheim, no. 107. (2) We, king Wenzel, have made an agreement with the electors, princes, counts, lords, and the cities, and all who are parties to this league of peace, in regard to robbery, murder, arson, illegal seizure of persons, and quarrels which may arise between those who are party to this peace, that a commission shall be appointed to judge all cases of infraction of the peace, and the decision of this commission, or of a majority of it, shall be binding on all concerned. The electors, princes, counts, and lords shall name four of these commissioners, and the cities shall name four. And we will appoint a man to be president of this commission. If any member of this peace is injured by anyone, the case shall be brought before the president of the commission. Within fourteen days he shall call the commission to meet in one of the four cities, Würzburg, Neustadt, Bamberg, or Nürnberg, as seems best to him. And the decision of this commission, or a majority of it, shall be binding, and they may call on the nearest lords, cities, officials, and judges, to aid them against the one who has broken the peace and inflicted the damage. And they shall be bound to aid them until the damage has, in the judgment of the commission, been made good. (5) These nine men who form the commission shall swear on the holy relics that they will faithfully act as judges for rich and poor alike. (10) If a war or quarrel arises between the lords and the cities who are in this peace, it shall be reported to the president and members of the commission. And both parties shall submit to the decision which the commission, or a majority of it, shall render in the case. If anyone refuses to submit to their decision, all the members of this league of peace shall aid the commission in enforcing it. 234-239. Ordeals or Judgments of God. M. G. LL. 4to, V, pp. 599 ff. Ordines judiciorum Dei. The appeal to the judgment of God in legal cases was an old Germanic practice. There is evidence that the settlement of cases by lot, and by judicial combat or duel, was common in the earliest times. In the Salic and other laws there are references to the ordeal by hot water, etc. After the introduction of Christianity and the growth of the influence of the priest, the various ordeals were conducted by the church. The casting of lots and the judicial combat were opposed by the church, the one because it was inseparably connected with heathen rites, and the other because of its violence. Accordingly the church introduced other forms, some of which are illustrated here. The ordeal was ordinarily resorted to when the regular rules of evidence were not satisfied, as when one party could not furnish the required number of compurgators, or was accused of perjury, etc. The ordeal might be used either to determine which of two persons was in the wrong, or to test the guilt or innocence of a single accused person. The commonest forms were: (1) The ordeal of the sacrament, in which the accused took the sacrament, the expectation being that if he were guilty the consequences would be fatal; (2) the ordeal of the cross, in which the two persons stood with arms outstretched in the form of a cross, and the one whose arms fell first was regarded as guilty; (3) the ordeal by hot water; (4) the ordeal by hot iron, in which the accused either carried a piece of hot iron in his hand a certain distance or walked barefoot over pieces of hot iron; (5) the ordeal by cold water; (6) the ordeal by the bread and cheese; (7) the ordeal by the suspended bread, or psalter, in which the object suspended was expected to turn around if the accused person was guilty; (8) the judicial combat, which was not favored by the church, but which was very commonly used among the noble class. 234. Ordeal by Hot Water. Pp. 612 ff. (1) When men are to be tried by the ordeal of hot water, they shall first be made to come to church in all humility, and prostrate themselves, while the priest says these prayers: First prayer. Aid, O God, those who seek thy mercy, and pardon those who confess their sins.... (2) After these prayers, the priest shall rise and say the mass before all the men who are to be tried, and they shall take part in the mass. But before they take the communion, the priest shall adjure them in these words: I adjure you, by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by your Christianity, by the only begotten Son of God, whom you believe to be the Redeemer of the world, by the holy Trinity, by the holy gospel, and by the relics of the saints which are kept in this church, that you do not come to the holy communion and take of it, if you have done this offence, or consented to it, or if you know who committed it, or anything else about it. (3) If they all keep silence and no one makes any confession, the priest shall go to the altar and take communion, and then give it to the men; but before they take it he shall say: Let this body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be today a trial of your guilt or innocence. (4) After the mass the priest shall go to the place where the ordeal is to be held, bearing with him the book of the gospels and a cross, and he shall say a short litany. After the litany he shall exorcise the water before it becomes hot, as follows: (5) I exorcise thee, water, in the name of omnipotent God, and in the name of Jesus Christ, his Son, our Lord, that you may become exorcised and freed from the power of the enemy and the wiles of the devil; so that, if this man who is about to put his hand in you is innocent of the crime of which he is accused, he may escape all injury through the grace of omnipotent God. If he is guilty either in deed or knowledge of the offence of which he is accused, may the power of omnipotent God prove this upon him, so that all men may fear and tremble at the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with God. (6) Prayer. Lord Jesus Christ, who art a just judge, strong and patient, plenteous in mercy, by whom all things are made, God of gods, Lord of lords, who didst come down from the bosom of the Father for us and our salvation, and wast born of the Virgin Mary; who by thy passion on the cross didst redeem the world; who didst descend into hell and there didst bind the devil in the outer darkness, and free by thy great power the souls of all the just who suffered there for the original sin; we beseech thee, O Lord, to send down from heaven thy Holy Spirit upon this water, which is now hot and steaming from the fire, that through it we may have a just judgment upon this man. O Lord, who didst turn the water into wine in Cana of Galilee as a sign of thy power, who didst lead the three children Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego, through the fiery furnace without harm, who didst free Susanna from the false accusation, who didst open the eyes of the man born blind, who didst raise Lazarus after four days from the tomb, who didst reach out thy hand to Peter as he was sinking in the sea, we, thy suppliants, beseech thee not to have regard for the errors in our prayer, but to make known to us before all men thy true and righteous judgment; so that if this man who is accused of fornication, _or_ theft, _or_ homicide, _or_ adultery, _or_ any other crime, and who is about to put his hand into the hot water, is not guilty of that crime, thou wilt so guard him that no harm or injury shall happen to that hand. (7) Omnipotent God, we, thy unworthy and sinful servants, again beseech thee to make manifest to us thy true and righteous judgment, so that this man, who is accused and is about to undergo the ordeal, is guilty of that crime, by act or consent, because of the instigation of the devil or through his own cupidity or pride, and expects to escape or to circumvent the ordeal by some trick, his guilt may be made known upon him by thy power, and may be shown upon his hand, in order that he himself may be brought to confession and repentance, and that thy holy and righteous judgment may be made manifest to all people. (8) [Another exorcism of the water.] (9) Then the priest takes off the garments of each of the men and clothes them in the clean robes of an exorcist or deacon, makes them each kiss the gospel and cross of Christ, and sprinkles them with holy water. Then he makes them each take a drink of the holy water, saying to each one: I give you this water as a trial of your guilt or innocence. Then the wood is placed under the caldron and lighted, and when the water begins to get hot the priest says these prayers: (10) In the name of the holy Trinity. God the just Judge, etc. [Similar to §6 above.] (11) Let us pray. God, who didst free St. Susanna from the false accusation; God, who didst rescue St. Thecla from the arena; God, who didst free St. Daniel from the lions' den, and the three children from the fiery furnace: free now the innocent, and make known the guilty. (12) The man who is to undergo the ordeal shall say the Lord's prayer and make the sign of the cross; then the caldron shall be taken from the fire, and the judge shall suspend a stone in the water at the prescribed depth in the regular manner, and the man shall take the stone out of the water in the name of the Lord. Then his hand shall be immediately bound up and sealed with the seal of the judge, and shall remain wrapped up for three days, when it shall be unbound and examined by suitable persons. 235. Ordeal by Hot Iron. Pp. 615 f. (1) First the priest says the prescribed mass; then he has the fire lighted, and blesses the water and sprinkles it over the fire, over the spectators, and over the place where the ordeal is to be held; then he says this prayer: (2) O Lord, our God, the omnipotent Father, the unfailing Light, hear us, for thou art the maker of all lights. Bless, O God, the fire which we have sanctified and blessed in thy name, thou who hast illumined the whole world, that we may receive from it the light of thy glory. As thou didst illumine Moses with the fire, so illumine our hearts and minds that we may win eternal life. (3) Then he shall say the litany.... (4) The prayers.... (5) Then the priest approaches the fire and blesses the pieces of iron, saying: O God, the just judge, who art the author of peace and judgest with equity, we humbly beseech thee so to bless this iron, which is to be used for the trial of this case, that if this man is innocent of the charge he may take the iron in his hand, _or_ walk upon it, without receiving harm or injury; and if he is guilty this may be made manifest upon him by thy righteous power; that iniquity may not prevail over justice, nor falsehood over truth. (6) O Lord, the holy Father, we beseech thee by the invocation of thy most holy name, by the advent of thy Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the gift of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, to bless these pieces of iron to the manifestation of thy righteous judgment, that they may be so sanctified and dedicated that thy truth may be made known to thy faithful subjects in this trial. In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, etc. (7) Omnipotent God, we humbly beseech thee that in the trial which we are about to make, iniquity may not prevail over justice, nor falsehood over truth. And if anyone shall attempt to circumvent this trial by witchcraft or dealing with herbs, may it be prevented by thy power. (8) May the blessing of God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit descend upon these pieces of iron, that the judgment of God may be manifest in them. (9) Then this psalm shall be said on behalf of the accused: Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear unto my cry.... (10) Prayer: Hear, we beseech thee, O Lord, the prayer of thy suppliants, and pardon those that confess their sins, and give us pardon and peace. (11) Then those who are to be tried shall be adjured as follows: I adjure you (name), by omnipotent God who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, by Jesus Christ his Son, who was born and suffered for us, by the Holy Spirit, by the holy Mary, the Mother of God, and by all the holy angels, apostles, martyrs, confessors, and virgins, that you do not yield to the persuasions of the devil and presume to take the iron in your hand, if you are guilty of the crime of which you are accused, or if you know the guilty person. If you are guilty and are rash enough to take the test, may you be put to confusion and condemned, by the virtue of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the sign of his holy cross. But if you are innocent of the crime, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ and by the sign of his holy cross, may you have faith to take this iron in your hand; and may God, the just Judge, keep you from harm, even as he saved the three children from the fiery furnace and freed Susanna from the false accusation; may you go through the ordeal safe and secure, and may the power of our Lord be made manifest in you this day. (12) Then he who is about to be tried shall say: In this ordeal which I am about to undergo, I put my trust rather in the power of God the omnipotent Father to show his justice and truth in this trial, than in the power of the devil or of witchcraft to circumvent the justice and the truth of God. (13) Then the man who is accused takes the sacrament and carries the iron to the designated place. After that the deacon shall bind up his hand and place the seal upon it. And until the hand is unwrapped [_i.e._, at the end of three days] the man should put salt and holy water in all his food and drink. 236. Ordeal by Cold Water. Pp. 618 f. (1) When men are to be put to the ordeal [of cold water], the process should be as follows: They shall be brought to the church, and the priest shall say the mass and the men shall take part in it. Before they take the communion, the priest shall adjure them thus: (2) I adjure you, men, by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by your Christianity, by the only begotten Son of God, by the holy Trinity, by the holy gospel, and by the relics that are kept in this church, that you do not presume to take communion, or to come to the altar if you have committed this crime, or have consented to it, or if you know the guilty person. (3) If they all keep silence and no one confesses, the priest shall go to the altar and give them the communion. Then he shall say to them: May this body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be today a trial of your guilt or innocence. (4) After the mass, the priest shall take water that has been blessed and shall go to the place of the ordeal. When they come there the priest shall give the men this water to drink, and shall say: May this water be a trial of your guilt or innocence. Then he shall adjure the water in which they are to be cast, and then shall take off the clothes of the men and make each one of them kiss the holy gospel and the cross of Christ. Then he shall sprinkle each of them with holy water and shall cast them one by one into the water. The priest and those who are to be tried should have fasted before the trial. (5) Adjuration of the man who is to undergo the ordeal: I adjure you (name), by the invocation of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the ordeal of cold water. I adjure you by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, by the inseparable Trinity, by our Lord Jesus Christ, by all the angels and archangels, by the dreadful day of judgment, by the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, by the twelve apostles, by the twelve prophets, by all the saints of God, by the principalities and powers, by the dominions and virtues, by the thrones of the cherubim and seraphim, by the three children, Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego, by the 144,000 who suffered for the name of Christ, by the baptism in which the priest gave you the new birth, that if you have seen or known anything about this theft, if you have had anything to do with it, if you have received it in your house, or consented to it, or if your heart is hardened, your heart may be melted, and the water may not receive you; may witchcraft not prevail, but may the truth be made manifest. We beseech thee, our Lord Jesus Christ, give us a sign, so that if this man is guilty, the water may not receive him; do this to thine honor and glory, by the invocation of thy name, that all may know that thou art our Lord, who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen. (6) Prayer over the water. We humbly beseech thee, O Lord Jesus Christ, to give us a sign, that if this man is guilty in any way of the crime of which he is accused the water may not receive him, but he may float, and not sink in the water. Do this, O Lord Jesus Christ, to thine honor and glory by the invocation of thy holy name, that all may know that thou art the true God, and that there is no other God beside thee, who livest and reignest with God the Father in unity with the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen. (7) Omnipotent God has established this ordeal, and it is righteous. Pope Eugene has ordained that it should be used throughout the whole world by all bishops, abbots, counts, and all Christians, for it is proved by many to be just and righteous. Therefore it has been decreed by them that no one may clear himself by placing his hand on the altar or on the relics, or by swearing on the bodies of the saints. 237. Ordeal by Cold Water. P. 689. The following paragraph is taken from another ordeal by cold water which is otherwise similar to the one just given; it illustrates more minutely the way in which the accused was immersed. (6) On the staff which is placed between the arms of the man shall be written: Behold the cross of God, let his adversaries flee. The lion of the tribe of Judah, the root of David, hath prevailed to make a righteous judgment + [sign of the cross]. May St. John the Baptist bless this water. On it shall also be written the gospel: In the beginning; and the benediction: Lord God.{108} {108} An illustration, from an old manuscript of one of the collections of forms for ordeal, shows how the person was bound in this case. The illustration represents the ordeal as taking place from a boat. The man's knees are shown drawn up to his chin; a staff is under the bend of the knees and his arms are passed under the staff. His hands are bound at the wrist with a rope which is held by other persons in the boat. He was probably drawn out by the rope if he sank in the water. 238. Ordeal by the Barley Bread. P. 691. (1) First the priest prepares himself with the deacon, and then blesses the water; and the deacon prepares the barley flour which he mixes with the holy water and bakes, both of them saying during the process the seven penitential psalms, the litany, and the following prayers [certain prayers follow]. (2) Prayer over the bread. O God, who didst reveal the wood of the true cross on Mount Calvary, where Christ was betrayed by Judas (for God gave over his Son to be betrayed by Judas), reveal to us by the judgment of the barley bread whatever we ask in thy name. (3) After the bread is baked the priest shall take it and place it behind the altar and shall say the mass for that day. After the mass he shall mark the bread with the sign of the cross, and shall place an iron rod in the centre of the cross, with a hook at the top to suspend it by. The priest shall keep this bread by him and use it until it spoils. When anyone is accused of theft, or fornication, or homicide, and is brought before the priest, the priest shall take the bread and give it to two Christian men, and they shall hang it by the hook between them, and the priest shall say the following adjuration. And if the man is guilty, the bread will revolve around; if he is not guilty, the bread will not move at all. (4) Adjuration over the barley bread. I adjure thee, barley bread, by God the omnipotent Father, etc., that if this man or woman has committed, consented to, or had any part in this crime, thou shalt turn around in a circle; if he is not guilty, thou shalt not move at all. I adjure thee, barley bread, by the Mother of God, by the prophet Hosea, and the prophet Jonah, who prophesied unto Nineveh, by Lazarus, whom God raised from the dead, by the blind man, to whom the Lord restored his sight, by all the monks and canons and all laymen, by all women, and by all the inhabitants of heaven and earth, forever and ever, amen. 239. Ordeal by Bread and Cheese. P. 630 f. (1) Lord God omnipotent, holy, holy, holy. Holy Father, the invisible and eternal God, maker of all things; holy God, ruler of mortals and immortals, who dost see and know all things, who triest the hearts and the reins; O God, I beseech thee, hear the words of my prayer, that this bread and cheese may not pass the jaws and the throat of him who has committed the theft. (2) Before the mass is begun and before the cheese is cut with the knife, while it is still whole, these words should be written round about it: "His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon his own pate" [Ps. 7:16]. (3) Then bread and cheese to the weight of nine denarii shall be given to each man. The bread shall be of barley and unleavened; the cheese shall be cheese made in the month of May of the milk of ewes. While the mass is being said, those who are accused of the theft shall be in front of the altar, and one or more persons shall be appointed to watch them that they do not contrive any trick. When the communion is reached the priest shall first take the communion of the body of Christ, and then shall bless the bread and cheese, which has been carefully weighed out as above, and shall immediately give it to the men. The priest and the inspectors shall watch them carefully and see that they all swallow it. After they have swallowed it, the corners of the mouth of each shall be pressed to see that none of the bread and cheese has been kept in the mouth. Then the rest of the mass shall be said. 240-250. Documents on the Peace of God, the Truce of God, and the Peace of the Land. One of the worst features of the feudal age was the prevalence of private warfare. This was due to the warlike character of the feudal institutions, to the jealous insistence of the feudal nobles on their right to fight out their own quarrels without appeal to law, and to the weakness of the king in the feudal state. Continuous private war not only meant violence, oppression, and outrage for the weaker members of society; it also hindered or prevented any advance in civilization for the whole society. The first steps to overcome this condition were taken by the church, which was usually to be found in that age on the side of peace and order. The earliest form was the peace of God, proclaimed by provincial synods. Several of these appeared at the end of the tenth century. These forbade all violence and oppression under ecclesiastical penalty, on the ground that they were contrary to the spirit of Christianity. The peace of God did not attain any lasting success, for the turbulent nobles could not be made to give up fighting entirely. Then the church attempted to mitigate at least these evils, by means of the truce of God. In the truce of God, violence was forbidden on certain days and during certain periods. In origin the truce of God was proclaimed by the clergy of a certain diocese or archdiocese for the people of their district, but later it was sometimes adopted by the emperor or king for the whole land. The truce was to last from vespers or sunset on Wednesday to sunrise on the following Monday of every week, and also for certain whole periods. It will be seen from the documents that these days and periods had a religious significance, which is further evidence that the church regarded the keeping of the peace as a religious rather than a political duty. The means of enforcing the truce were ecclesiastical penalties, penance, anathema, excommunication, etc. The peace of the land has a different origin and character. In the empire of Karl the Great, the right to enforce the keeping of the peace belonged to the emperor, and in theory this had never been given up by the later kings and emperors. It was on this right that the emperors based their authority to proclaim the peace of the land. In appearance the great peaces of Frederick I and Frederick II were imperial edicts, but in fact they depended very largely for their authority upon the acceptance and agreement of the nobles (see nos. 245, 246). In some cases the peace of the land was proclaimed for a province (see no. 246), in others it was for the whole empire. The peace was usually proclaimed for a certain length of time. In some cases the form of the truce of God was preserved in the peace of the land, as in no. 246. The documents on the peace of the land belong in a way under section III, but it was thought better to bring them together here, because they interrupt the general historical movement of the quarrel, and because they form a subject by themselves. 240. Peace of God, Proclaimed in the Synod of Charroux, 989. Huberti, Gottesfrieden und Landfrieden, I, p. 35. Following the example of my predecessors, I, Gunbald, archbishop of Bordeaux, called together the bishops of my diocese in a synod at Charroux, ... and we, assembled there in the name of God, made the following decrees: 1. Anathema against those who break into churches. If anyone breaks into or robs a church, he shall be anathema unless he makes satisfaction. 2. Anathema against those who rob the poor. If anyone robs a peasant or any other poor person of a sheep, ox, ass, cow, goat, or pig, he shall be anathema unless he makes satisfaction. 3. Anathema against those who injure clergymen. If anyone attacks, seizes, or beats a priest, deacon, or any other clergyman, who is not bearing arms (shield, sword, coat of mail, or helmet), but is going along peacefully or staying in the house, the sacrilegious person shall be excommunicated and cut off from the church, unless he makes satisfaction, or unless the bishop discovers that the clergyman brought it upon himself by his own fault. 241. Peace of God, Proclaimed by Guy of Anjou, Bishop of Puy, 990. Huberti, Gottesfrieden, I, pp. 123 f. In the name of the divine, supreme, and undivided Trinity. Guy of Anjou, by the grace of God bishop [of Puy], greeting and peace to all who desire the mercy of God. Be it known to all the faithful subjects of God, that because of the wickedness that daily increases among the people, we have called together certain bishops [names], and many other bishops, princes, and nobles. And since we know that only the peace-loving shall see the Lord, we urge all men, in the name of the Lord, to be sons of peace. 1. From this hour forth, no man in the bishoprics over which these bishops rule, and in these counties, shall break into a church, ... except that the bishop may enter a church to recover the taxes that are due him from it.{109} 2. No man in the counties or bishoprics shall seize a horse, colt, ox, cow, ass, or the burdens which it carries, or a sheep, goat, or pig, or kill any of them, unless he requires it for a lawful expedition.{110} On an expedition a man may take what he needs to eat, but shall carry nothing home with him; and no one shall take material for fortifying or besieging a castle except from his own lands or subjects. 3. Clergymen shall not bear arms; no one shall injure monks or any unarmed persons who accompany them; except that the bishop or the archdeacon may use such means as are necessary to compel them to pay the taxes which they owe them. 4. No one shall seize a peasant, man or woman, for the purpose of making him purchase his freedom, unless the peasant has forfeited his freedom. This is not meant to restrict the rights of a lord over the peasants living on his own lands or on lands which he claims. 5. From this hour forth no one shall seize ecclesiastical lands, whether those of a bishop, chapter, or monastery, and no one shall levy any unjust tax or toll from them; unless he holds them as _precaria_ from the bishop or the brothers. 6. No one shall seize or rob merchants. 7. No layman shall exercise any authority in the matter of burials or ecclesiastical offerings; no priest shall take money for baptism, for it is the gift of the Holy Spirit. 8. If anyone breaks the peace and refuses to keep it, he shall be excommunicated and anathematized and cut off from the holy mother church, until he makes satisfaction; if he refuses to make satisfaction, no priest shall say mass or perform divine services for him, no priest shall bury him or permit him to be buried in consecrated ground; no priest shall knowingly give him communion; if any priest knowingly violates this decree he shall be deposed. {109} The meaning of this exception is not clear in the original. Apparently it is put in to preserve the right of the bishop over the churches and the clergy of his diocese, and to prevent any of the lower clergy from citing the decree in restraint of episcopal control; so also the exception in paragraph 3. {110} This exception is intended to preserve the rights of the emperor and others on lawful expeditions to take what they need for the journey. 242. Truce of God, made for the Archbishopric of Arles, 1035-41. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, no. 419. This is the earliest truce of God extant (except for the doubtful case of the council of Elne, 1027), and it is preserved only in the form of a communication recommending it to the clergy of Italy. In the name of God, the omnipotent Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Reginbald, archbishop of Arles, with Benedict, bishop of Avignon, Nithard, bishop of Nice, the venerable abbot Odilo [of Cluny], and all the bishops, abbots, and other clergy of Gaul, to all the archbishops, bishops, and clergy of Italy, grace and peace from God, the omnipotent Father, who is, was, and shall be. 1. For the salvation of your souls, we beseech all you who fear God and believe in him and have been redeemed by his blood, to follow the footsteps of God, and to keep peace one with another, that you may obtain eternal peace and quiet with Him. 2. This is the peace or truce of God which we have received from heaven through the inspiration of God, and we beseech you to accept it and observe it even as we have done; namely, that all Christians, friends and enemies, neighbors and strangers, should keep true and lasting peace one with another from vespers on Wednesday to sunrise on Monday, so that during these four days and five nights, all persons may have peace, and, trusting in this peace, may go about their business without fear of their enemies. 3. All who keep the peace and truce of God shall be absolved of their sins by God, the omnipotent Father, and His Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, and by St. Mary with the choir of virgins, and St. Michael with the choir of angels, and St. Peter with all the saints and all the faithful, now and forever. 4. Those who have promised to observe the truce and have wilfully violated it, shall be excommunicated by God the omnipotent Father, and His Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, from the communion of all the saints of God, shall be accursed and despised here and in the future world, shall be damned with Dathan and Abiram and with Judas who betrayed his Lord, and shall be overwhelmed in the depths of hell, as was Pharaoh in the midst of the sea, unless they make such satisfaction as is described in the following: 5. If anyone has killed another on the days of the truce of God, he shall be exiled and driven from the land and shall make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, spending his exile there. If anyone has violated the truce of God in any other way, he shall suffer the penalty prescribed by the secular laws and shall do double the penance prescribed by the canons. 6. We believe it is just that we should suffer both secular and spiritual punishment if we break the promise which we have made to keep the peace. For we believe that this peace was given to us from heaven by God; for before God gave it to his people, there was nothing good done among us. The Lord's Day was not kept, but all kinds of labor were performed on it. 7. We have vowed and dedicated these four days to God: Thursday, because it is the day of his ascension; Friday, because it is the day of his passion; Saturday, because it is the day in which he was in the tomb; and Sunday, because it is the day of his resurrection; on that day no labor shall be done and no one shall be in fear of his enemy. 8. By the power given to us by God through the apostles, we bless and absolve all who keep the peace and truce of God; we excommunicate, curse, anathematize, and exclude from the holy mother church all who violate it. 9. If anyone shall punish violators of this decree and of the truce of God, he shall not be held guilty of a crime, but shall go and come freely with the blessing of all Christians, as a defender of the cause of God. But if anything has been stolen on other days, and the owner finds it on one of the days of the truce, he shall not be restrained from recovering it, lest thereby an advantage should be given to the thief. 10. In addition, brothers, we request that you observe the day on which the peace and truce was established by us, keeping it in the name of the holy Trinity. Drive all thieves out of your country, and curse and excommunicate them in the name of all the saints. 11. Offer your tithes and the first fruits of your labors to God, and bring offerings from your goods to the churches for the souls of the living and the dead, that God may free you from all evils in this world, and after this life bring you to the kingdom of heaven, through Him who lives and reigns with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen. 243. Truce of God for the Archbishoprics of Besancon and Vienne, _ca._, 1041. M. G. LL. 4to. IV, 1, no. 421. 1. We command all to keep the truce from sunset on Wednesday to sunrise on Monday, and from Christmas to the octave of [_i.e._, week after] Epiphany [Jan. 6], and from Septuagesima Sunday [third Sunday before Lent] to the octave of Easter [the Sunday after Easter]. 2. If anyone violates the truce and refuses to make satisfaction, after he has been admonished three times, the bishop shall excommunicate him and shall notify the neighboring bishops of his action by letter. No bishop shall receive the excommunicated person, but shall confirm the sentence of excommunication against him in writing. If any bishop violates this decree he shall be in danger of losing his rank. 3. And since a threefold cord is stronger and harder to break than a single one, we command bishops mutually to aid one another in maintaining this peace, having regard only to God and the salvation of their people, and not to neglect this through love or fear of anyone. If any bishop is negligent in this regard, he shall be in danger of losing his rank. 244. Truce for the Bishopric of Terouanne, 1063. M. G. LL. 4to. IV, 1, no. 422. Drogo, bishop of Terouanne, and count Baldwin [of Hainault] have established this peace with the cooperation of the clergy and people of the land. Dearest brothers in the Lord, these are the conditions which you must observe during the time of the peace which is commonly called the truce of God, and which begins with sunset on Wednesday and lasts until sunrise on Monday. 1. During those four days and five nights no man or woman shall assault, wound, or slay another, or attack, seize, or destroy a castle, burg, or villa, by craft or by violence. 2. If anyone violates this peace and disobeys these commands of ours, he shall be exiled for thirty years as a penance, and before he leaves the bishopric he shall make compensation for the injury which he committed. Otherwise he shall be excommunicated by the Lord God and excluded from all Christian fellowship. 3. All who associate with him in any way, who give him advice or aid, or hold converse with him, unless it be to advise him to do penance and to leave the bishopric, shall be under excommunication until they have made satisfaction. 4. If any violator of the peace shall fall sick and die before he completes his penance, no Christian shall visit him or move his body from the place where it lay, or receive any of his possessions. 5. In addition, brethren, you should observe the peace in regard to lands and animals and all things that can be possessed. If anyone takes from another an animal, a coin, or a garment, during the days of the truce, he shall be excommunicated unless he makes satisfaction. If he desires to make satisfaction for his crime he shall first restore the thing which he stole or its value in money, and shall do penance for seven years within the bishopric. If he should die before he makes satisfaction and completes his penance, his body shall not be buried or removed from the place where it lay, unless his family shall make satisfaction for him to the person whom he injured. 6. During the days of the peace, no one shall make a hostile expedition on horseback, except when summoned by the count; and all who go with the count shall take for their support only as much as is necessary for themselves and their horses. 7. All merchants and other men who pass through your territory from other lands shall have peace from you. 8. You shall also keep this peace every day of the week from the beginning of Advent to the octave of Epiphany and from the beginning of Lent to the octave of Easter, and from the feast of Rogations [the Monday before Ascension Day] to the octave of Pentecost. 9. We command all priests on feast days and Sundays to pray for all who keep the peace, and to curse all who violate it or support its violators. 10. If anyone has been accused of violating the peace and denies the charge, he shall take the communion and undergo the ordeal of hot iron. If he is found guilty, he shall do penance within the bishopric for seven years. 245. Peace of the Land Established by Henry IV, 1103. M. G. LL. folio, II, p. 60; Doeberl, III, no. 18. In the year of the incarnation of our Lord 1103, the emperor Henry established this peace at Mainz, and he and the archbishops and bishops signed it with their own signatures. The son of the king and the nobles of the whole kingdom, dukes, margraves, counts, and many others, swore to observe it. Duke Welf, duke Bertholf, and duke Frederick swore to keep the peace from that day to four years from the next Pentecost. They swore to keep peace with churches, clergy, monks, merchants, women, and Jews. This is the form of the oath which they swore: No one shall attack the house of another or waste it with fire, or seize another for ransom, or strike, wound, or slay another. If anyone does any of these things he shall lose his eyes or his hand, and the one who defends him shall suffer the same penalty. If the violator flees into a castle, the castle shall be besieged for three days by those who have sworn to keep the peace, and if the violator is not given up it shall be destroyed. If the offender flees from justice out of the country, his lord shall take away his fief, if he has one, and his relatives shall take his patrimony. If anyone steals anything worth five solidi or more, he shall lose his eyes or his hand. If anyone steals anything worth less than five solidi, he shall be made to restore the theft, and shall lose his hair and be beaten with rods; if he has committed this smaller theft three times, he shall lose his eyes or his hand. If thou shalt meet thine enemy on the road and canst injure him, do so; but if he escapes to the house or castle of anyone, thou shalt let him remain there unharmed. 246. Peace of the Land for Elsass, 1085-1103. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 1, no. 429; Doeberl, III, no. 22 b. Be it known to all lovers of peace that the people of Elsass with their leaders have mutually sworn to maintain perpetual peace on the following terms: 1. All churches shall have peace always and everywhere. All clergy and women, merchants, hunters, pilgrims, and farmers while they work in the fields and on their way to and from their labor, shall have peace. 2. They have sworn to keep the peace especially on certain days and during certain seasons; namely, from vespers on Wednesday to sunrise on Monday of every week, on the vigils{111} and feast days of the saints, on the four times of fast,{112} from Advent to the octave of Epiphany, and from Septuagesima Sunday to the octave of Pentecost. In these times no one shall bear arms except those on journey. All public enemies of the royal majesty shall be excluded from the benefits of this peace. 3. If anyone of those who have sworn to maintain this peace shall commit any crime against one of the others, on one of these days, such as robbing, burning, seizing, or committing any other violence on his lands or in his house, or beating him so as to bring blood, he shall suffer capital punishment, if he is a freeman, and shall lose his hand, if he is a serf. 4. If anyone conceals a violator of the peace or aids him to escape, he shall suffer the penalty of the guilty person. 5. If anyone unjustly accuses one of those who have sworn to keep the peace of having violated it, or calls out the forces of the peace against him, through malice or anger, he shall suffer the penalty described above. 6. If anyone who dwells in the province has been accused of violating the peace, he shall clear himself inside of seven days by the testimony of seven of his peers, if he is a freeman or a ministerial; but if he belongs to a lower rank in the city or country, he shall clear himself by the ordeal of cold water. 7. If anyone steals anything of the value of a siclum [a coin of unknown value] or two, he shall lose his hair and his skin; if he commits the theft a second time, or steals anything worth five sicla or more, he shall lose his hand; if he commits a theft a third time, he shall be hanged. 8. Those who are called to attend the expedition of the emperor or one made to maintain the peace, shall go at their own expense for three days. If the expedition takes longer than that, they may levy fodder for their horses and food for themselves, but may take only grass, vegetables, apples, wood, and the implements of the hunt. 9. Draught horses, vineyards, and crops shall always be under the peace, except that a traveler may take enough from the public road to feed his horse. 10. Whatever anyone held by any right of ownership or possession before the peace was decreed, he shall still hold by the same right. 11. If anyone has withdrawn from this sworn agreement to keep the peace, or confesses that he swore to it falsely, and wishes still to remain in the territory, he shall promise with seven sureties that he will keep the peace. If he refuses to promise or if he in any way opposes the peace, he shall either be subject to the penalties of this decree, or shall leave the land. 12. All the authors of the peace should be on their guard to prevent rash or unwise action in enforcing it. 13. The younger men should be persuaded or even forced to swear to keep the peace, for they are especially apt to neglect its provisions. 14. Priests should watch diligently that this useful and holy peace be not disregarded by the members of their congregations, and should admonish their people every Sunday to keep it, as is decreed by pope Leo; and the beginning of the peace of God should be announced at vespers of every Wednesday with the ringing of bells. {111} The vigil is the day before the saint's day. {112} Certain days of fast in the four seasons, observed in the first week of March, the second week of June, the third week of September, and the fourth week of December. 247. Decree of Frederick I Concerning the Keeping of Peace, 1156. M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 101 ff.; Doeberl, IV, no. 32. Frederick, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, to the bishops, dukes, counts, margraves, and all others to whom these presents come, his grace, peace, and love.... We desire that every person shall have his rights, and we command by our royal authority that peace, so long desired and so necessary to the whole land, be kept throughout all parts of our realm. The following sections show how the peace is to be kept and preserved: 1. If anyone kills a man within the territory covered by this peace, he shall suffer capital punishment, unless he can prove by judicial combat that he did it in self-defence. But if it is well known that he did it with malice and not in self-defence, he shall not be allowed to escape death, by appealing to the judicial combat, or by any other means. If a violator of the peace flees from justice, his movable property shall be confiscated by the judge and his heirs shall succeed to his patrimony, if they swear that the violator of the peace shall never with their consent receive anything from it. But if the heirs do not take this oath, they shall lose the inheritance and the count shall give it to the royal treasury and receive it back as a fief. 2. If anyone wounds another within the territory covered by the peace, he shall lose his hand and forfeit his property as above, unless he can prove by judicial combat that he did it in self-defence. The judge shall apply the law strictly against him and his property. 3. If anyone seizes another and beats him without drawing blood or pulls out his hair or beard, he shall pay ten pounds as compensation to the one whom he injured, and twenty pounds to the judge as fine. If anyone reviles another without cause, he shall pay ten pounds for the injury and ten pounds to the judge as a fine. If anyone has to give pledge to a judge for more than twenty pounds, he shall put his property in pawn with the judge, and shall redeem it by paying the amount within four weeks; if he fails to redeem it within that time, his heirs may receive it by paying twenty pounds to the count within six weeks; otherwise the count shall give the property over to the royal treasury, and shall receive it back as a fief from the king, after paying those who have claims against it for damages. 4. If one of the clergy has been accused of violating the peace and has been convicted and proscribed, or if he has sheltered a violator of the peace, and has been convicted of these things before his bishop on sufficient testimony, he shall pay twenty pounds to the count, and make satisfaction to the bishop according to the canons. But if the clergyman refuses to obey, he shall lose his rank and his ecclesiastical benefice, and shall be placed under the ban of the empire. 5. If a judge has followed a violator of the peace with the "hue and cry" to the castle of any lord, the lord of the castle shall turn him over to justice. If the man lives in the castle and is conscious of his guilt and fears to appear before the judge, the lord of the castle shall hand over the man's movables to the judge under oath, and shall never receive the man again in his castle. If the man does not live in the castle, the lord shall send him out of his castle in security [that is, the lord is not bound to deliver him to the judge, but shall give him a chance to escape], and the judge and the people shall continue to pursue him. 6. If two men contend for the possession of a fief, and one of them presents as a witness the man who invested him with it, the count shall accept his testimony, for the giver of the fief ought to be able to recognize his own gift; and if the man can prove by trustworthy witnesses that he held the fief legally and not by violence, he shall hold it without further controversy. If it is proved that he got it by violence, he shall pay double the fine for violence and shall be deprived of the fief. 7. If three or more men contend for the possession of the same fief and each one offers as a witness the man who he asserts invested him with the fief, the judge who tries the case shall choose two men of good repute who dwell in the same province, and shall make them tell under oath which man has held the fief legally and without violence, and that man shall hold the fief in peace and security without further controversy, unless some other person can claim it justly from him. 8. If a peasant accuses a knight of violating the peace, the knight shall swear that he did it not of his own will, but in self-defence, and shall clear himself with three compurgators. 9. If a knight accuses a peasant of violating the peace, the peasant shall swear that he did it not of his own will, but in self-defence, and he shall choose whether he will clear himself by judgment either of court trial or ordeal, or by the testimony of six witnesses chosen by the judge. 10. If a knight has been accused by another knight of violating the peace, and wishes to put it to the trial by judicial combat, he shall not be allowed to fight his accuser unless he can prove that he and his ancestors were lawful knights by birth. 11. Immediately after the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, each count shall choose seven men of good repute, and shall determine with their advice and according to the character of the season the price at which grain shall be sold in each province; if any person during that year sells a measure of grain at a price higher than the one they have fixed, he shall be considered a violator of the peace, and shall pay thirty pounds for every measure that he sold above the price. 12. If a peasant bears arms, such as a spear or a sword, the judge of the district shall either confiscate the arms or fine him twenty solidi for carrying them. 13. A merchant who is travelling through the country on business may carry a sword bound to his saddle or on his wagon, but he shall use it only to defend himself from thieves, and not against innocent persons. 14. No one shall spread nets, snares, or other traps for any animals except bears, wolves, and boars. 15. No knight shall bear arms to the count's court, unless requested to do so by the count. Public thieves when convicted shall suffer the established penalty. 16. If anyone has made illegal use of his office of advocate or any other benefice, and has been warned by his lord to desist, but has not done so, he shall be deprived of his advocacy or benefice by regular judicial procedure. If he attempts to recover his advocacy or benefice by violence he shall be regarded as a violator of the peace. 17. If anyone steals anything of the value of five solidi or more, he shall be hanged; if less than five solidi, he shall be beaten with rods and have his hair cut off with scissors. 18. If the ministerials of any lord are at war with one another, the count or the judge of the district shall enforce the law against them. 19. If a traveller wishes to feed his horse, he may take with impunity whatever he can reach by standing on the road and feed it to his horse. Anyone may take grass or green twigs for his use, if he does it without unnecessary destruction. 248. Peace of the Land Declared by Frederick I in Italy, 1158. Ragewin, Gesta, IV, ch. 10; M. G. LL. folio, II, pp. 112 f.; Doeberl, IV, no. 37 b. Frederick, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus, to all his subjects. We hereby command all our subjects to keep the peace, as it is decreed in this edict. The dukes, margraves, counts, and all vassals and public officials, together with the common people between the ages of 18 and 70, shall take an oath to keep the peace and to aid the officials in enforcing it. These oaths shall be renewed at the end of every five years. 1. If anyone has a grievance against another on any ground, he shall seek justice from his lawful judge. 2. Fines for the breach of peace shall be as follows: for a city, 100 pounds of gold; for a town, 20 pounds of gold; for dukes, margraves, and counts, 50 pounds of gold; for the immediate vassals of the emperor and the greater rear-vassals, 20 pounds of gold; for the other vassals and all other violators of the peace, 6 pounds of gold, and these shall also be forced to make good the injury according to the law. 3. Violence and theft shall be punished according to the law; homicide and bodily injury and all crimes shall also be punished according to law. 4. If judges and magistrates appointed by the emperor or his representative neglect to do justice or to punish violations of the peace, they shall be compelled to make good the damage and to pay the legal fine for breach of peace, and in addition they shall pay special fines to the royal treasury: the higher officials, 10 pounds of gold, and the lower officials, 3 pounds of gold. Those who are too poor to pay these fines shall be punished with blows, and shall be prohibited from dwelling within fifty miles of their former homes during a period of five years. 5. We hereby prohibit all associations and sworn leagues in city or country, whether between city and city, or between person and person, or between city and person. All such associations that now exist are hereby declared void, and every member is liable to a fine of 1 pound of gold. 6. Bishops are commanded to visit all violators of this decree in their dioceses with ecclesiastical censure, until they make satisfaction. 7. Protectors of malefactors and receivers of stolen goods shall be punished with the same fine as the criminals. 8. If anyone refuses to take the oath to keep the peace, or disobeys this decree, his goods shall be confiscated and his house destroyed. 9. We condemn and forbid all illegal exactions, especially against the church, an abuse which is of long standing. All such exactions levied in the future shall be repaid in double. 10. Contracts voluntarily made by minors on oath, which do not affect their own property, shall be valid; but all promises extorted by force or fear shall be void, especially promises not to complain of wrong or injury. 11. If anyone sells his allodial lands, he shall not sell the authority and jurisdiction of the emperor over them; sales made with these provisions are void. 249. The Perpetual Peace of the Land Proclaimed by Maximilian I, 1495. (German.) Altmann und Bernheim, no. 110. For various reasons the government had found it impossible to secure the peace of the land. One reason was that there was no effective and satisfactory machinery for punishing offenders, administering justice, and settling disputes. Maximilian not only forbade all private warfare, but also created a supreme court to try all offenders and to make it unnecessary for a man to take the law into his own hands. We, Maximilian, etc. (1) From the time of the publication of this peace, no one, no matter of what rank or position, shall carry on a feud against another, or make war on him, or rob, seize, attack, or besiege him, or aid anyone else to do so. And no one shall attack, seize, burn, or in any other way damage any castle, city, market town, fortress, village, farmhouse, or group of houses, or in any way aid others to do such things. No one shall receive those who do such things into his house, or protect them, or give them to eat or drink. But if anyone has a ground for complaint against another, he shall summon him before the court. For the command is now given that all such matters must hereafter be tried before the supreme court. (2) We hereby forbid all feuds and private wars throughout the whole empire. (3) All, of whatever rank or position, who disobey this command, shall, in addition to other punishments, be put under the imperial ban, and anyone may attack their person or their property without thereby breaking the peace. All their charters and rights shall be revoked, and their fiefs shall be forfeited to their lord. And so long as the guilty one lives, the said lord shall not be bound to restore it to him or to his heirs. (4) In case this peace is broken and violence is done to anyone, whether elector, prince, prelate, count, lord, knight, city, or anyone else, no matter of what rank or position, secular or ecclesiastical, and the guilty ones are not known, but suspicion rests on anyone, those who were injured may make complaint against the suspected ones, and summon them, and compel them to clear themselves by oath of the crimes of which they are suspected. If any of the suspected ones refuse to clear themselves in this way, or refuse to come at the appointed time, they shall be considered guilty of having broken the peace, and they shall be proceeded against in accordance with the terms of this document. But the one who summons them shall give them a safe-conduct to come and to return to their homes. If it is impossible to deliver the summons to them in person, it shall be posted in a few places which they are known to frequent. If, contrary to this peace, anyone is attacked or robbed, all those who are present and see it, or learn of it in any way, shall take action against the offender with as much earnestness and promptness as if it concerned them alone. (5) No one shall in any way aid or protect such peace-breakers, or permit them to remain in his territory or lands, but he shall seize them and begin proceedings against them and give aid to anyone who makes complaint against them.... (6) If such peace-breakers have such protection or are so strong that the state must interfere and make a campaign against them, or if anyone who is not a member of the peace breaks the peace or aids those who have broken it, charges shall be made by the injured, or by the presiding judge of the supreme court, to us or to our representatives and to the annual diet, and aid shall be sent at once to those who have been attacked. If through war or anything else it is impossible to hold the diet, we give the presiding judge of the supreme court the authority to call us and the members of the diet together in any place where we, or our representatives, can meet and take whatever measures are necessary. But nevertheless the presiding judge and the whole court shall not cease to prosecute all such peace-breakers with all the legal means possible. (7) There are many mercenaries in the land who are not in the service of anyone, or who do not long remain in the service of those who hire them, or their masters do not control them as they should, but they go riding about the country seeking to take advantage of people and to rob. We therefore decree that such men shall no longer be tolerated in the empire, and wherever they are found they shall be seized and examined and severely punished for their evil deeds, and all that they have shall be taken from them, and they shall give security for their good conduct by oath and bondsmen. (8) If any clergyman breaks this peace, the bishop who has jurisdiction over him shall compel him to make good the damage which he has done, and his property shall be taken for this purpose. If the bishops are negligent in this matter, we put them as well as the peace-breakers under the ban, and deprive them of the protection of the empire, and we will in no way defend them or protect them in their evil-doing. But they may clear themselves of suspicion in the same way as laymen. (9) During this peace no one shall make an agreement or treaty with another which shall in any way conflict with this peace. We hereby annul all the articles of such agreements or treaties which are contrary to this peace, but the rest of such agreements or treaties shall remain in force. This peace is not intended to interfere in any way with existing treaties. Without the consent of those who have been injured we will not free from the ban anyone who has through an offence against the peace been proscribed, unless he clears himself in a legal way. (10) We command you ... to observe this peace in all points, and to compel all your officials and subjects to observe it, if you wish to avoid the punishments of the imperial law and our heavy disfavor. (11) We hereby annul all grants, privileges, etc., which have been granted by us or our predecessors, which in any way conflict with this peace. (12) This peace is not intended to annul any of the laws of the empire or commands which have already been issued, but rather to strengthen them and to command that all men shall hereafter observe them. 250. The Establishment of a Supreme Court to Try Peace-breakers, 1495. (German.) Datt, Volumen rerum Germanicarum novum, sive de pace imperii publica, p. 876. We, Maximilian, etc., have, for good and sufficient reasons, established a general peace of the land throughout the Roman empire and Germany, and have ordered it to be observed. But it cannot be enforced without the proper support and protection. Therefore at the advice of the electors, princes, and the general diet held here at Worms, for the common good, and for the honor of us and of the supreme court of the holy Roman empire, we have issued the following laws and regulations in regard to it. We will appoint a presiding judge of this court. He may be either a layman or a clergyman, a count or a nobleman. And we will elect sixteen assistant judges [who shall give the decision]. They shall all be elected at this diet. They shall all be Germans of good character and of good degree of knowledge and experience, and at least half of them shall be trained in the law and the other half shall be noblemen of the rank of knight at least. The decision of the sixteen shall be final. In case of a tie the presiding judge shall have the deciding vote. Nothing shall prevent them from giving a just and legal decision. The presiding judge and the sixteen shall have no other business, but they shall devote themselves wholly to the work of this court. They shall not be absent from the sessions of the court without special permission. The sixteen shall get such permission from the presiding judge, and he from the sixteen. But never more than four of them shall be absent from the court at the same time. Neither the presiding judge nor the sixteen shall leave the city in which the court is in session except for the most weighty reasons. If the presiding judge is for a long time prevented by illness or other weighty reason from holding court, he shall, with the consent of the sixteen, give one of the sixteen, preferably a count or nobleman, the authority to represent him. And even if four or less of the sixteen are absent, the others shall have the power to try cases and render decisions as if they were all present. But in cases in which electors, princes, or those of princely rank are concerned, the presiding judge must preside in person. But if he cannot do so, he may, with the consent of the others, name a person to preside in his stead.... We will, with the advice of the princes and of the diet which shall meet that year, fill all vacancies which may occur in this court. If the presiding judge dies without appointing some one to preside in his stead, the sixteen shall elect some one to take his place, so that the court may not be idle until the next diet assembles. They shall elect a count or nobleman to this office; and he shall fill this office until the next diet meets, at which time we will appoint a new presiding judge. VIII. MONASTICISM 251. The Rule of St. Benedict. About 530. Edited by E. Woelfflin. Monasticism arose in Egypt and western Asia, where the climate was such that those who lived out-of-doors suffered very little from the inclemency of the weather. The first monks were true hermits, each one living quite alone. Very little shelter was necessary; a tree, an overhanging rock, a small cave, would offer quite enough protection against the weather. But as the movement spread to countries where there was more rain and the winters were colder their manner of life was necessarily modified. They began to live together in houses, but at the same time attempted to preserve as much of the hermit life as possible. Although under the same roof, the monks avoided life in common. Each one had his own room or cell, prepared his own food, and was as far as possible separated from his fellow monks. But the mere fact that they lived under one roof made certain rules necessary, and they had to have regulations to protect themselves against impostors. And if they had rules, there must be some one to enforce them. So in a natural way every monastery came to have an organization and certain officials. Since each monastery had its own regulations or rule, there was the widest divergence among them. By making a rule which was eventually adopted in all Greek monasteries, Basil the Great (d. 379) brought about uniformity without introducing any important changes. Monasticism was introduced into the west toward the middle of the fourth century and spread rapidly. Here, too, each monastery made its own rule. Some of these rules achieved a local reputation and were adopted by several monasteries. But they were all eventually superseded by the rule of St. Benedict, which by fortunate circumstances came to be regarded in the west as the only proper monastic rule. The loose organization of the monasteries had permitted many abuses to creep in (cf. ch. 1). The rule of St. Benedict was intended to correct these. Probably the worst of these abuses was the instability of the monks. This was due to the fact that they were not compelled to take a vow to remain in the monastery. Neither were their vows regarded as perpetually binding, or at least there was no means of compelling them to keep their vows, or of punishing them if they broke them. If any monk grew tired of the monastic life or found it irksome, he might leave the monastery and either enter another, or lead a vagabond sort of existence by wandering from one place to another (cf. ch. 1). In this way he could escape all the rigors of the rule and free himself from all discipline. It was not uncommon for monks to leave the monastery and go back to a life in the world. St. Benedict put an end to these abuses by requiring each monk to take a vow to remain forever in the same monastery, and by making all the vows of a monk perpetually binding: "Once a monk always a monk." An important change was made in monasticism in the west by introducing the common life. In consequence of this all traces of the hermit life disappeared. The monks slept in a common room and ate in a common refectory. The monk spent all his time in the company of his fellow monks. Privacy was entirely unknown to him. The rule of St. Benedict owes its popularity chiefly to the fact that Gregory I (590-604) was a Benedictine monk and gave the rule his support. St. Augustine, whom he sent as a missionary to England, was also a Benedictine, and carried the rule with him. So it was quite natural that it should have been the rule of all monasteries in England. St. Boniface, an Englishman, considered it a part of his reform to introduce the Benedictine rule into all the monasteries of Germany. Its fame and success soon led to its adoption in all the monasteries of the west. The rule is worthy of careful study because for several centuries it governed the lives of thousands of monks who, by their piety, their works of charity in caring for the sick and giving shelter to travellers, their learning, their industry, their practice of agriculture, architecture, and other industrial and fine arts, influenced the lives of millions of laymen and advanced them in civilization. The student should note: (1) The extensive acquaintance of the monks with the Bible as shown in the large number of quotations from it and the amount of it which must be read by them in their services; (2) the character of an ideal abbot; (3) an ideal monk and the good works and virtues which he was required to practise (cf. chaps. 4, 5, and 6); (4) the administration of the monastery, which was characterized by a judicious mixture of democratic and monarchical principles, and a high degree of flexibility, so many things being left to the judgment of the abbot; (5) the amount of time devoted to work, reading, and meditation; and (6) the fact that the majority of monks were laymen and not priests. The first edition of the rule was written probably about 530. But it received some additions and changes were made in it by Benedict himself before his death, which took place in 543, or soon after. The exact date of his death is unknown. The rule was the basis for all the reforms in monasticism for several centuries. The new orders which were founded for the most part merely increased its ascetic features and made additions which were calculated to keep the monks up to the high standard of asceticism set for them. The great influence of the rule of St. Benedict seemed to justify us in offering the whole of it. No other document presents so well as it the ideals of the monkish life. The documents which follow it illustrate some of the forms and ceremonies spoken of in the rule, the rise of the military-monkish orders and their extensive privileges, the founding of one of the great orders of friars, and the opposition to them on the part of the parish or secular clergy. A few documents are also given which throw a certain side-light on the history of the orders. Ch. 1. _The kinds of monks._--There are four kinds of monks. The first kind is that of the cenobites [that is, those living in common], those who live in a monastery according to a rule, and under the government of an abbot. The second is that of the anchorites, or hermits, who have learned how to conduct the war against the devil by their long service in the monastery and their association with many brothers, and so, being well trained, have separated themselves from the troop, in order to wage single combat, being able with the aid of God to carry on the fight alone against the sins of the flesh. The third kind (and a most abominable kind it is) is that of the sarabites, who have not been tested and proved by obedience to the rule and by the teaching of experience, as gold is tried in the furnace, and so are soft and pliable like a base metal; who in assuming the tonsure are false to God, because they still serve the world in their lives. They do not congregate in the Master's fold, but dwell apart without a shepherd, by twos and threes, or even alone. Their law is their own desires, since they call that holy which they like, and that unlawful which they do not like. The fourth kind is composed of those who are called _gyrovagi_ (wanderers), who spend their whole lives wandering about through different regions and living three or four days at a time in the cells of different monks. They are always wandering about and never remain long in one place, and they are governed by their own appetites and desires. They are in every way worse even than the sarabites. But it is better to pass over in silence than to mention their manner of life. Let us, therefore, leaving these aside, proceed, with the aid of God, to the consideration of the cenobites, the highest type of monks. Ch. 2. _The qualities necessary for an abbot._--The abbot who is worthy to rule over a monastery ought always to bear in mind by what name he is called and to justify by his life his title of superior. For he represents Christ in the monastery, receiving his name from the saying of the apostle: "Ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father" [Rom. 8:15]. Therefore the abbot should not teach or command anything contrary to the precepts of the Lord, but his commands and his teaching should be in accord with divine justice. He should always bear in mind that both his teaching and the obedience of his disciples will be inquired into on the dread day of judgment. For the abbot should know that the shepherd will have to bear the blame if the Master finds anything wrong with the flock. Only in case the shepherd has displayed all diligence and care in correcting the fault of a restive and disobedient flock will he be freed from blame at the judgment of God, and be able to say to the Lord in the words of the prophet: "I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation" [Ps. 40:10]; but "they despising have scorned me" [Ezek. 20:27]. Then shall the punishment fall upon the flock who scorned his care and it shall be the punishment of death. The abbot ought to follow two methods in governing his disciples: teaching the commandments of the Lord to the apt disciples by his words, and to the obdurate and the simple by his deeds. And when he teaches his disciples that certain things are wrong, he should demonstrate it in his own life by not doing those things, lest when he has preached to others he himself should be a castaway [1 Cor. 9:27], and lest God should sometime say to him, a sinner: "What hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that thou shouldest take my covenant in thy mouth? Seeing that thou hatest instruction, and castest my words behind thee" [Ps. 50:16, 17], or "Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?" [Matt. 7:3]. Let there be no respect of persons in the monastery. Let the abbot not love one more than another, unless it be one who excels in good works and in obedience. The freeman is not to be preferred to the one who comes into the monastery out of servitude, unless there be some other good reason. But if it seems right and fitting to the abbot, let him show preference to anyone of any rank whatsoever; otherwise let them keep their own places. For whether slave or free, we are all one in Christ [Gal. 3:28] and bear the same yoke of servitude to the one Lord, for there is no respect of persons with God [Rom. 2:11]. For we have special favor in His sight only in so far as we excel others in all good works and in humility. Therefore, the abbot should have the same love toward all and should subject all to the same discipline according to their respective merits. In his discipline the abbot should follow the rule of the apostle who says: "Reprove, rebuke, exhort" [2 Tim. 4:2]. That is, he should suit his methods to the occasion, using either threats or compliments, showing himself either a hard master or a loving father, according to the needs of the case. Thus he should reprove harshly the obdurate and the disobedient, but the obedient, the meek, and the gentle he should exhort to grow in grace. We advise also that he rebuke and punish those who neglect and scorn his teaching. He should not disregard the transgressions of sinners, but should strive to root them out as soon as they appear, remembering the peril of Eli, the priest of Siloam [1 Sam. chaps. 1-4]. Let him correct the more worthy and intelligent with words for the first or second time, but the wicked and hardened and scornful and disobedient he should punish with blows in the very beginning of their fault, as it is written: "A fool is not bettered by words" [cf. Prov. 17:10]; and again "Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and shalt deliver his soul from hell" [Prov. 23:14]. The abbot should always remember his office and his title, and should realize that as much is intrusted to him, so also much will be required from him. Let him realize how difficult and arduous a task he has undertaken, to rule the hearts and care for the morals of many persons, who require, one encouragements, another threats, and another persuasion. Let him so adapt his methods to the disposition and intelligence of each one that he may not only preserve the flock committed to him entire and free from harm, but may even rejoice in its increase. Above all, the abbot should not be too zealous in the acquisition of earthly, transitory, mortal goods, forgetting and neglecting the care of the souls committed to his charge, but he should always remember that he has undertaken the government of souls of whose welfare he must render account. Let him not be troubled about the poverty of his monastery, since it is written: "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you" [Matt. 6:33]; and again, "For there is no want to them that fear him" [Ps. 34:9]. Let him know that those who undertake the care of souls must be ready to render an account of them. So he must make a reckoning to God on the day of judgment for all the souls according to the number of the brothers under his charge, and of his own soul as well. Therefore, while he keeps in mind the account which he must render of the sheep committed to him, and guards the interests of others, he is also solicitous for his own welfare; and while he administers correction to others by his preaching, he also frees himself from sin. Ch. 3. _Taking counsel with the brethren._--Whenever important matters come up in the monastery, the abbot should call together the whole congregation [that is, all the monks], and tell them what is under consideration. After hearing the advice of the brothers, he should reflect upon it and then do what seems best to him. We advise the calling of the whole congregation, because the Lord often reveals what is best to one of the younger brothers. But let the brethren give their advice with all humility, and not defend their opinions too boldly; rather let them leave it to the decision of the abbot, and all obey him. But while the disciples ought to obey the master, he on his part ought to manage all things justly and wisely. Let everyone in the monastery obey the rule in all things, and let no one depart from it to follow the desires of his own heart. Let no one of the brethren presume to dispute the authority of the abbot, either within or without the monastery; if anyone does so, let him be subjected to the discipline prescribed in the rule. But the abbot should do all things in the fear of the Lord, knowing that he must surely render account to God, the righteous judge, for all his decisions. If matters of minor importance are to be considered, concerning the welfare of the monastery, let the abbot take counsel with the older brethren, as it is written: "Do all things with counsel, and after it is done thou wilt not repent" [Ecclesiasticus 32:24]. Ch. 4. _The instruments of good works._--First, to love the Lord God with all the heart, and with all the soul, and with all the strength, and then his neighbor as himself. Then not to kill, not to commit adultery, not to steal, not to covet, not to bear false witness, to honor all men, and not to do to another what he would not have another do to him. To deny himself that he may follow Christ, to chasten the body, to renounce luxuries, to love fasting. To feed the poor, to clothe the naked, to visit the sick, to bury the dead, to offer help in trouble, to comfort the sorrowing. To separate himself from the things of the world, to prefer nothing above the love of Christ, not to give way to anger, not to bear any grudge, not to harbor deceit in the heart, not to give false peace, not to be wanting in charity. Not to swear, lest he perjure himself; to speak the truth from the heart. Not to return evil for evil. Not to injure others, but to suffer injuries patiently. To love his enemies. Not to return curse for curse, but rather to bless; to suffer persecution for righteousness' sake. Not to be proud, nor drunken, nor a glutton, nor given to much sleeping, nor slothful, nor complaining, nor slanderous. To put his hope in God; when he sees anything good in himself to ascribe it to God, and when he does any evil, to ascribe it to himself. To fear the day of judgment, to be in terror of hell, to yearn with all spiritual longing for eternal life, and to keep ever before his eyes the thought of approaching death. To guard his acts in every hour of his life, to remember that God seeth him in every place, to crush down with the aid of Christ the evil thoughts arising in his heart and to confess them to his spiritual superior. To keep his mouth from evil and vain talk, not to love much speaking, not to speak vain and frivolous words, not to love much and loud laughter. To listen gladly to holy reading, to pray frequently, to confess daily in prayers to God his past sins with tears and groaning, and to keep himself free from those sins afterward. Not to yield to the desire of the flesh, to hate his own will, to obey the commands of the abbot in all things, even if the abbot (which God forbid) should himself do otherwise than he preaches, remembering the word of the Lord: "What they say, do; but what they do, do ye not." Not to wish to be called holy before he is so, but rather to strive to be holy that he may be truly so called; to obey the commandments of God in his daily life, to love chastity, to hate no one, not to be jealous or envious, not to be fond of strife, to avoid pride, to reverence his elders and cherish those younger than himself, to pray for his enemies through the love of Christ, to agree with his adversary before the going down of the sun, and never to despair of the mercy of God. Lo, these are the implements of the spiritual profession. If they have been constantly employed by us night and day, and are reckoned up and placed to our credit at the last judgment, we shall receive that reward which the Lord himself has promised: "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him" [1 Cor. 2:9]. But these graces must be exercised in the cloister of the monastery by strict adherence to the vows and obedience to the rule. Ch. 5. _Obedience._--The first grade of humility is obedience without delay, which is becoming to those who hold nothing dearer than Christ. So, when one of the monks receives a command from a superior, he should obey it immediately, as if it came from God himself, being impelled thereto by the holy service he has professed and by the fear of hell and the desire of eternal life. Of such the Lord says: "As soon as he heard of me, he obeyed me" [Ps. 17:44]; and again to the apostles, "He that heareth you, heareth me" [Luke 10:16]. Such disciples, when they are commanded, immediately abandon their own business and their own plans, leaving undone what they were at work upon. With ready hands and willing feet they hasten to obey the commands of their superior, their act following on the heels of his command, and both the order and the fulfilment occurring, as it were, in the same moment of time--such promptness does the fear of the Lord inspire. Good disciples who are inspired by the desire for eternal life gladly take up that narrow way of which the Lord said: "Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life" [Matt. 7:14]. They have no wish to control their own lives or to obey their own will and desires, but prefer to be ruled by an abbot, and to live in a monastery, accepting the guidance and control of another. Surely such disciples follow the example of the Lord who said: "I came not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me" [John 6:38]. But this obedience will be acceptable to God and pleasing to men only if it be not given fearfully, or half-heartedly, or slowly, or with grumbling and protests. For the obedience which is given to a superior is given to God, as he himself has said: "Who heareth you, heareth me" [Luke 10:16]. Disciples ought to obey with glad hearts, "for the Lord loveth a cheerful giver" [2 Cor. 9:7]. If the disciple obeys grudgingly and complains even within his own heart, his obedience will not be accepted by God, who sees his unwilling heart; he will gain no favor for works done in that spirit, but, unless he does penance and mends his ways, he will rather receive the punishment of those that murmur against the Lord's commands. Ch. 6. _Silence._--Let us do as the prophet says: "I said, I will take heed to my ways that I sin not with my tongue; I will keep my tongue with a bridle. I was dumb with silence, I held my peace even from good" [Ps. 39:1, 2]. This is the meaning of the prophet: if it is right to keep silence even from good, how much more ought we to refrain from speaking evil, because of the punishment for sin. Therefore, although it may be permitted to the tried disciples to indulge in holy and edifying discourse, even this should be done rarely, as it is written: "In a multitude of words there wanteth not sin" [Prov. 10:19], and again: "Death and life are in the power of the tongue" [Prov. 18:21]. For it is the business of the master to speak and instruct, and that of the disciples to hearken and be silent. And if the disciple must ask anything of his superior, let him ask it reverently and humbly, lest he seem to speak more than is becoming. Filthy and foolish talking and jesting we condemn utterly, and forbid the disciple ever to open his mouth to utter such words. Ch. 7. _Humility._--Brethren, the holy Scripture saith: "And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted" [Matt. 23:12]. Here we are shown that all exaltation is of a piece with pride, which the prophet tells us he avoids, saying: "Lord, my heart is not haughty nor mine eyes lofty, neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of its mother; my soul is as a weaned child" [Ps. 131:1,2]. Therefore, brethren, if we wish to attain to the highest measure of humility and to that exaltation in heaven which is only to be gained by lowliness on earth, we must raise to heaven by our deeds such a ladder as appeared to Jacob in his dream, whereon he saw angels ascending and descending. For the meaning of that figure is that we ascend by humility of heart and descend by haughtiness. And the ladder is our life here below which God raises to heaven for the lowly of heart. Our body and soul are the two sides of the ladder, in which by deeds consistent with our holy calling we insert steps whereby we may ascend to heaven. Now the first step of humility is this, to escape destruction by keeping ever before one's eyes the fear of the Lord, to remember always the commands of the Lord, for they who scorn him are in danger of hell-fire, and to think of the eternal life that is prepared for them that fear him. So a man should keep himself in every hour from the sins of the heart, of the tongue, of the eyes, of the hands, and of the feet. He should cast aside his own will and the desires of the flesh; he should think that God is looking down on him from heaven all the time, and that his acts are seen by God and reported to him hourly by his angels. For the prophet shows that the Lord is ever present in the midst of our thoughts, when he says: "God trieth the hearts and the reins" [Ps. 7:9], and again, "The Lord knoweth the thoughts of men" [Ps. 94:11], and again he says: "Thou hast known my thoughts from afar" [Ps. 139:2], and "The thoughts of a man are known to thee" [Ps. 76:11]. So a zealous brother will strive to keep himself from perverse thoughts by saying to himself: "Then only shall I be guiltless in his sight, if I have kept me from mine iniquity" [Ps. 18:23]. And the holy Scriptures teach us in divers places that we should not do our own will; as where it says: "Turn from thine own will" [Ecclesiasticus 18:30]; and where we ask in the Lord's Prayer that his will be done in us; and where it warns us: "There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death" [Prov. 14:12]; and again, concerning the disobedient: "They are corrupt and abominable in their desires" [Ps. 14:1]. And we should always remember that God is aware of our fleshly desires; as the prophet says, speaking to the Lord: "All my desire is before thee" [Ps. 38:9]. Therefore, we should shun evil desires, for death lieth in the way of the lusts; as the Scripture shows, saying: "Go not after thy lusts" [Ecclesiasticus 18:30]. Therefore since the eyes of the Lord are upon the good and the wicked, and since "the Lord looked down from heaven upon the children of men to see if there were any that did understand and seek God" [Ps. 14:2], and since our deeds are daily reported to him by the angels whom he assigns to each one of us; then, surely, brethren, we should be on our guard every hour, lest at any time, as the prophet says in the Psalms, the Lord should look down upon us as we are falling into sin, and should spare us for a space, because he is merciful and desires our conversion, but should say at the last: "These things hast thou done and I kept silence" [Ps. 50:21]. The second step of humility is this, that a man should not delight in doing his own will and desires, but should imitate the Lord who said: "I came not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me" [John 6:38]. And again the Scripture saith: "Lust hath its punishment, but hardship winneth a crown." The third step of humility is this, that a man be subject to his superior in all obedience for the love of God, imitating the Lord, of whom the apostle says: "He became obedient unto death" [Phil. 2:8]. The fourth step of humility is this, that a man endure all the hard and unpleasant things and even undeserved injuries that come in the course of his service, without wearying or withdrawing his neck from the yoke, for the Scripture saith: "He that endureth to the end shall be saved" [Matt. 10:22], and again: "Comfort thy heart and endure the Lord" [Ps. 27:14]. And yet again the Scripture, showing that the faithful should endure all unpleasant things for the Lord, saith, speaking in the person of those that suffer: "Yea, for thy sake are we killed all the day long; we are counted as sheep for the slaughter" [Ps. 44:22]; and again, rejoicing in the sure hope of divine reward: "In all things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us" [Rom. 8:37]; and again in another place: "For thou, O God, hast proved us; thou hast tried us as silver is tried; thou broughtest us into the net, thou laidst affliction upon our loins" [Ps. 66:10 f]; and again to show that we should be subject to a superior: "Thou hast placed men over our heads" [Ps. 66:12]. Moreover, the Lord bids us suffer injuries patiently, saying: "Whosoever shall smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain" [Matt. 5:39-41]. And with the apostle Paul we should suffer with false brethren, and endure persecution, and bless them that curse us. The fifth step of humility is this, that a man should not hide the evil thoughts that arise in his heart or the sins which he has committed in secret, but should humbly confess them to his abbot; as the Scripture exhorteth us, saying: "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him" [Ps. 37:5]; and again: "O, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endureth forever" [Ps. 106:1]; and yet again the prophet saith: "I have acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin" [Ps. 32:5]. The sixth step of humility is this, that the monk should be contented with any lowly or hard condition in which he may be placed, and should always look upon himself as an unworthy laborer, not fitted to do what is intrusted to him; saying to himself in the words of the prophet: "I was reduced to nothing and was ignorant; I was as a beast before thee and I am always with thee" [Ps. 73:22 f]. The seventh step of humility is this, that he should not only say, but should really believe in his heart that he is the lowest and most worthless of all men, humbling himself and saying with the prophet: "I am a worm and no man; a reproach of men, and despised of all people" [Ps. 22:6]; and "I that was exhalted am humbled and confounded" [Ps. 88:15]; and again: "It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn thy statutes" [Ps. 119:71]. The eighth step of humility is this, that the monk should follow in everything the common rule of the monastery and the examples of his superiors. The ninth step of humility is this, that the monk should restrain his tongue from speaking, and should keep silent even from questioning, as the Scripture saith: "In a multitude of words there wanteth not sin" [Prov. 10:19], and "Let not an evil speaker be established in the earth" [Ps. 140:11]. The tenth step of humility is this, that the monk should be not easily provoked to laughter, as it is written: "The fool raiseth his voice in laughter" [Ecclesiasticus 21:23]. The eleventh step of humility is this, that the monk, when he speaks, should do so slowly and without laughter, softly and gravely, using few words and reasonable, and that he should not be loud of voice; as it is written: "A wise man is known for his few words." The twelfth step of humility is this, that the monk should always be humble and lowly, not only in his heart, but in his bearing as well. Wherever he may be, in divine service, in the oratory, in the garden, on the road, in the fields, whether sitting, walking, or standing, he should always keep his head bowed and his eyes upon the ground. He should always be meditating upon his sins and thinking of the dread day of judgment, saying to himself as did that publican of whom the gospel speaks: "Lord, I am not worthy, I a sinner, so much as to lift mine eyes up to heaven" [Luke 18:13]; and again with the prophet: "I am bowed down and humbled everywhere" [Ps. 119:107]. Now when the monk has ascended all these steps of humility, he will arrive at that perfect love of God which casteth out all fear [1 John 4:18]. By that love all those commandments which he could not formerly observe without grievous effort and struggle, he will now obey naturally and easily, as if by habit; not in the fear of hell, but in the love of Christ and by his very delight in virtue. And thus the Lord will show the working of his holy Spirit in this his servant, freed from vices and sins. Ch. 8. _Divine worship at night_ [vigils].--During the winter; that is, from the first of November to Easter, the monks should rise at the eighth hour of the night; a reasonable arrangement, since by that time the monks will have rested a little more than half the night and will have digested their food. Those brothers who failed in the psalms or the readings shall spend the rest of the time after vigils (before the beginning of matins) in pious meditation. From Easter to the first of November matins shall begin immediately after daybreak, allowing the brothers a little time for attending to the necessities of nature. Ch. 9. _The psalms to be said at night._{113}--During the winter time, the order of service shall be as follows: first shall be recited the verse ["Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O God," Ps. 70:1]; then this verse three times: "O Lord, open thou my lips and my mouth shall show forth thy praise" [Ps. 51:15]; then the third psalm and the Gloria, the 94th Psalm responsively or in unison, a hymn, and six psalms responsively. After this the abbot shall give the benediction with the aforesaid verse, and the brothers shall sit down. Three lessons from the gospels with three responses shall then be read from the lecturn by the brothers in turn. The first two responses shall be sung without the Gloria, but in the third response which follows the last reading the cantor shall sing the Gloria, the monks rising from their seats at the beginning of it to show honor and reverence to the holy Trinity. Passages are to be read from the Old and New Testaments in the vigils, and also the expositions of these passages left by the accepted orthodox Catholic fathers. After the three readings and the responses, six psalms with the Halleluia shall follow, then a reading from the epistles recited from memory, and the usual verses, the vigils concluding with the supplication of the litany, "Kyrie eleison." {113} The numbering of the psalms in the authorized version differs from their numbering in the Vulgate. We have followed the numberings of the latter in those passages of the Rule in which the psalms for the services are given. But in quotations from the psalms we have followed the translation as well as the numbering of the authorized version, except occasionally when the translation in the authorized version does not give the sense required by the context of the Rule. In these cases we have translated the Latin of the Vulgate. The following table gives the corresponding numbers in each version: Authorized Version. Vulgate. 1- 10 1- 10 11-113 10-112 114-115 113 116 114-115 117-146 116-145 147 146-147 148-150 148-150 In the Vulgate there are two psalms having the same number 10. Ch. 10. _The order of vigils in summer._--From Easter to the first of November the above order of worship shall be observed, except that the reading shall be shortened because of the shorter nights; that is, in place of the three lessons, one lesson from the Old Testament shall be recited from memory, with the short response. The rest of the service shall be observed as described above, so that the number of psalms read shall never be less than twelve, not counting the 3d and the 94th. Ch. 11. _The order of vigils on Sunday._--On Sunday the brothers shall rise earlier than on other days. The order of service in the vigils of Sunday shall be as follows: first, six psalms and the verse are to be said as described above; then the brothers, sitting down, shall read in order from their seats four lessons from the gospels, with responses, and in the fourth response the cantor shall sing the Gloria, at the beginning of which all shall rise to show reverence. After the lessons six other psalms shall be said responsively and the verse; then four more lessons shall be read with the responses as before; then three canticles chosen from the prophets by the abbot shall be sung with the Halleluia; then after the verse and the benediction of the abbot, four other lessons shall be read from the New Testament in the same order as above, and after the fourth response the abbot shall begin the hymn "We praise thee, O Lord" (Te Deum laudamus), following it with a lesson from the Gospel, during which all rise to show reverence and honor to God. After the reading all shall respond "Amen," and the abbot shall begin the hymn: "It is a good thing to praise the Lord"; then the abbot shall give the benediction, and the matins shall be begun. This order of service is to be observed on all Sundays, winter and summer, unless it should happen, which God forbid, that the brethren are late in rising, in which case the readings and responses may be shortened. But care should be taken that this does not happen, and if it does, he whose negligence caused the delay should make satisfaction to God for his fault by doing penance in the oratory. Ch. 12. _The order of matins on Sunday._--In the matins on the Lord's day the order of service shall be as follows: first, the 66th Psalm in unison, then the 50th Psalm with the Halleluia, then the 117th and the 62d Psalms, the _Benedictiones_ [that is, Dan. 3:52-90], and the _Laudes_ [that is, Pss. 148, 149, 150], a lesson from Revelation recited from memory, a response, a hymn, the usual verse, and a song from the Gospel, concluding with the litany, and the benediction. Ch. 13. _The order of matins on week days._--On week days the order of service in the matins shall be as follows: first, the 66th Psalm recited somewhat slowly as on Sunday, in order that all may be in their places in time to join in the 50th Psalm, which is to be recited responsively; then two psalms for the day according to this schedule: on Monday, the 5th and the 35th; on Tuesday, the 42d and the 56th; on Wednesday, the 63d and the 64th; on Thursday, the 87th and the 89th; on Friday the 75th and the 91st; and on Saturday, the 142d and the song from Deuteronomy [33:1-43], the last being divided by two Glorias. On other days, the songs from the prophets are to be sung, each on its proper day, according to the custom of the Roman church. Then shall follow the lauds, a lesson from the epistles recited from memory, the response, a hymn, the verse, and a song from the Gospel, concluding with the litany and the benediction. At the close of matins and vespers every day, the superior shall recite the Lord's prayer in the hearing of all, because of the quarrels which are apt to occur among the monks; so that the brethren, in their hearts uniting in the petition, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us," may cleanse their hearts from sins of this sort. In other services, the last part of the prayer, "Deliver us from evil," shall be said responsively by all. Ch. 14. _The order of vigils on Saints' days._--On Saints' days and on all feast days, the order of service shall be the same as that for Sunday as described above, except that the psalms and responses and readings belonging to the particular day shall be used. Ch. 15. _The occasions on which the Halleluia shall be said._--From Easter to Pentecost the Halleluia shall be said with the psalms and responses. From Pentecost to the beginning of Lent in the vigils of the night the Halleluia shall be said only with the last six psalms; on Sundays, except in Lent, the Halleluia shall be said also with the songs at matins, prime, terce, sext, and nones, but at vespers the songs shall be said responsively. The responses shall not be said with the Halleluia except during the season from Easter to Pentecost. Ch. 16. _The order of divine worship during the day._--The prophet says: "Seven times a day do I praise thee" [Ps. 119:164]; and we observe this sacred number in the seven services of the day; that is, matins, prime, terce, sext, nones, vespers, and completorium; for the hours of the daytime are plainly intended here, since the same prophet provides for the nocturnal vigils, when he says in another place: "At midnight I will rise to give thanks unto thee" [Ps. 119:62]. We should therefore praise the Creator for his righteous judgments at the aforesaid times: matins, prime, terce, sext, nones, vespers, and completorium; and at night we should rise to give thanks unto Him.{114} {114} There were eight services to be held every day. The night service was called vigils and was held some time between midnight and early dawn, perhaps as early as 2 A.M. in summer, and as late as 4 or 5 in winter. The first service of the day was called matins. It followed vigils after a short interval. It was supposed to begin about daybreak, which is also an indefinite expression and not a clearly fixed moment. The service of prime began with the first period of the day, terce with the third, sext with the sixth, and nones with the ninth. Vespers, as its name indicates, began toward evening. Completorium, or compline, was the last service of the day and took place just before the monks went to bed. These designations of time are necessarily very inaccurate and indefinite. Beginning with sunrise the day was divided into twelve equal periods which were numbered from one to twelve. Beginning with sunset the night was divided in the same way. The day periods would, of course, be much longer in summer than in winter. As their methods of measuring time were primitive and inaccurate we must not suppose that the services took place exactly and regularly at the same hour every day. Ch. 17. _The number of psalms to be said at these times._--We have already described the order of psalms for the nocturnal vigils and for matins; let us now turn to the other services. At prime, three psalms shall be said separately, that is, each with a Gloria, the verse, "Make haste, O God, to deliver me," and the hymn for the hour being said before the psalms; then one lesson from the Epistles shall be read, then the verse, the "Kyrie eleison," and the benediction. At terce, sext, and nones the same order shall be observed: first the prayer (that is, the verse, "Make haste, O God," etc.), the hymn for the hour, the three psalms, the lesson, the verse, the "Kyrie eleison," and the benediction. If the congregation is large, the psalms shall be said responsively; if small, they shall be said in unison. At vespers four psalms shall be said responsively, then shall follow the lesson, the response, the hymn for the hour, the Ambrosian hymn, the verse, the song from the Gospel, the Litany, the Lord's prayer, and the benediction. At completorium, three psalms shall be said in unison, then the hymn for the hour, the lesson, the verse, the "Kyrie eleison," the benediction, and the dismissal. Ch. 18. _The order in which these psalms shall be said._--All the services of the daytime shall begin with the verse "Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O God," followed by the Gloria and the hymn for the hour. The order in which the psalms are to be read in these services is as follows: at prime on Sunday, four sections of the 118th Psalm, and at the other services on Sunday, terce, sext, nones, three sections each of the same psalm; at prime on Monday, three psalms, the 1st, 2d, and 6th; so on through the week to Sunday again, three psalms being said at each prime in the order of arrangement to the 19th, the 9th and the 17th being divided into two readings. In this way vigils on Sunday will always begin with the 20th psalm. At terce, sext, and nones on Monday, the nine sections of the 118th psalm which remain shall be said three at each service, thus reading the whole 118th Psalm on the two days, Sunday and Monday. On Tuesday the nine psalms from the 119th to the 127th shall be read three at each of the services of terce, sext, and nones. This order of psalms, and the regular order of hymns, lessons, and verses is to be observed throughout the week, and on Sunday the reading shall begin again with the 118th psalm. At vespers four psalms are to be read daily, from the 109th to the 147th, leaving out those that are prescribed for the other services (from the 117th to the 127th, the 133d, and the 142d). As this does not make the required number of psalms, three for each day, the longer ones shall be divided, namely, the 138th, the 143d, and the 144th; and the 116th, being very short, shall be read with the 115th. The rest of the service of vespers, the lesson, the response, the hymn, the verse, and the song, shall be observed as already described. At completorium, the same psalms shall be read each day, namely, the 4th, the 90th, and the 133d. All the rest of the psalms, not thus arranged for, shall be divided equally among the seven nocturnal vigils, the longer ones being divided, making twelve readings for each night. If this particular order of the psalms is not satisfactory, it may be changed; but in any case, the whole psalter with its full number of 150 psalms should be completed every week, and should be begun again from the first at the vigils on Sunday. Monks who read less than the whole psalter with the customary songs during the course of the week are assuredly lax in their devotion, since we are told that the holy fathers were accustomed in their zeal to read in a single day what we in our indolence can scarcely accomplish in a whole week. Ch. 19. _The behavior of the monks in the services._--We know of course that the divine presence is everywhere, and that "the eyes of the Lord look down everywhere upon the good and the evil," but we should realize this in its fulness, especially when we take part in divine worship. Remember the words of the prophet: "Serve the Lord in all fear" [Ps. 2:11], and again "Sing wisely" [Ps. 47:7], and yet again, "In the sight of the angels I will sing unto thee" [Ps. 138:1]. Let us then consider how we should behave in the sight of God and his angels, and let us so comport ourselves in the service of praise that our hearts may be in harmony with our voices. Ch. 20. _The reverence to be shown in prayer._--When we have any request to make of powerful persons, we proffer it humbly and reverently; with how much greater humility and devotion, then, should we offer our supplications unto God, the Lord of all. We should realize, too, that we are not heard for our much speaking, but for the purity and the contrition of our hearts. So when we pray, our prayer should be simple and brief, unless we are moved to speak by the inspiration of the spirit. The prayer offered before the congregation also should be brief, and all the brothers should rise at the signal of the superior. Ch. 21. _The deans of the monastery._--In large congregations certain ones from among the brothers of good standing and holy lives should be chosen to act as deans and should be set to rule over certain parts under the direction of the abbot. Only persons to whom the abbot may safely intrust a share of his burdens should be selected for this office and they should be chosen not according to rank, but according to their merits and wisdom. But if any one of the deans shall be found in fault, being perhaps puffed up by his position, he should be reprimanded for his fault the second or third time, and then if he does not mend his ways he should be deposed and his place given to a worthier brother. The same treatment should be accorded the _præpositi_. Ch. 22. _How the monks should sleep._--The monks shall sleep separately in individual beds, and the abbot shall assign them their beds according to their conduct. If possible all the monks shall sleep in the same dormitory, but if their number is too large to admit of this, they are to be divided into tens or twenties and placed under the control of some of the older monks. A candle shall be kept burning in the dormitory all night until daybreak. The monks shall go to bed clothed and girt with girdles and cords, but shall not have their knives at their sides, lest in their dreams they injure one of the sleepers. They should be always in readiness, rising immediately upon the signal and hastening to the service, but appearing there gravely and modestly. The beds of the younger brothers should not be placed together, but should be scattered among those of the older monks. When the brothers arise they should gently exhort one another to hasten to the service, so that the sleepy ones may have no excuse for coming late. Ch. 23. _The excommunication for lighter sins._--If any brother shows himself stubborn, disobedient, proud, or complaining, or refuses to obey the rule or to hearken to his elders, let him be admonished in private once or twice by his elders, as God commands. If he does not mend his ways let him be reprimanded publicly before all. But, if, knowing the penalty to which he is liable, he still refuses to conform, let him be excommunicated [that is, cut off from the society of the other monks], and if he remains incorrigible let him suffer bodily punishment. Ch. 24. _The forms of excommunication._--The nature of the excommunication and discipline should be suited to the extent of the guilt, which is to be determined by the abbot. If the brother is guilty of one of the lighter sins, let him be deprived of participation in the common meal. The one who has been thus deprived shall not lead in the psalms and responses in the oratory or read the lessons; he shall eat alone after the common meal; so that, for example, if the brothers eat at the sixth hour, he shall eat at the ninth, and if the brothers eat at the ninth hour, he shall eat at vespers. This shall be continued until he has made suitable satisfaction for his fault. Ch. 25. _The excommunication for the graver sins._--For graver sins the brother shall be deprived of participation both in the common meal and in the divine services. No brother shall speak to him or have anything to do with him, but he shall labor alone at the work assigned to him as a penance, meditating on the meaning of that saying of the apostle: "To deliver such an one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ" [1 Cor. 5:5]. And he shall eat alone, receiving his food in such measure and at such time as the abbot shall determine. No one meeting him shall bless him, and the food which is given him shall be unblessed. Ch. 26. _Those who consort with the excommunicated without the order of the abbot._--If any brother shall presume to speak to one who has been excommunicated, or shall give a command to him, or have anything whatever to do with him, except by the order of the abbot, he shall be placed under the same sort of excommunication. Ch. 27. _The abbot should be zealous for the correction of those who have been excommunicated._--The abbot should exercise the greatest care over erring brothers; as it is written: "They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick" [Matt. 9:12]. So the abbot should use all the means that a wise physician uses: he should send secret comforters, wiser and older brothers, who will comfort the erring one, and urge him humbly to make amends, as the apostle says: "Comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with too much sorrow" [2 Cor. 2:7], and again "Charity shall be confirmed in him" [2 Cor. 2:8]. Let him also be prayed for by all. It should be the greatest care of the abbot that not one of his flock should perish, using to this end all his wisdom and ability, for he is set to care for sick souls, not to rule harshly over well ones. Let him be warned in this matter by the words of God spoken to the evil shepherds of Israel through the prophet: "Ye did take that which ye saw to be strong, and that which was weak ye did cast out" [cf. Ezek. 34:3 f]. Let him rather follow the example of the good shepherd, who, leaving his ninety and nine, went out into the mountains and sought the one sheep which had gone astray; who, when he found it, had compassion on its weakness, and laid it on his own sacred shoulders and brought it back to the flock. Ch. 28. _Those who do not mend their ways after frequent correction._--If any brother has been frequently corrected and excommunicated, and still does not mend his ways, let the punishment be increased to the laying on of blows. But if he will not be corrected or if he attempts to defend his acts, then the abbot shall proceed to extreme measures as a wise physician will do; that is, when the poultices and ointments, as it were, of prayer, the medicines of Scripture, and the violent remedies of excommunication and blows have all failed, he has recourse to the last means, prayer to God, the all-powerful, that He should work the salvation of the erring brother. But if he still cannot be cured, then the abbot shall proceed to the use of the knife, cutting out that evil member from the congregation; as the apostle says: "Put away from among yourselves that wicked person" [1 Cor. 5:13]; "If the unbelieving depart, let him depart" [1 Cor. 7:15]; that the whole flock be not contaminated by one diseased sheep. Ch. 29. _Shall brothers who have left the monastery be received back?_--If a brother has left the monastery or has been cast out for his own fault, and shall wish to be taken back, he shall first of all promise complete reformation of that fault, and then shall be received into the lowest grade in the monastery to prove the sincerity of his humility. If he again departs, he shall be received back the third time, knowing, however, that after that he shall never again be taken back. Ch. 30. _The manner of correction for the young._--The forms of punishment should be adapted to every age and to every order of intelligence. So if children or youths, or those who are unable to appreciate the meaning of excommunication, are found guilty, they should be given heavy fasts and sharp blows for their correction. Ch. 31. _The cellarer._--The cellarer of the monastery, chosen from among the congregation, should be wise, sedate, and sober; he should not be gluttonous, proud, quarrelsome, spiteful, indolent, nor wasteful; he should fear God, since he acts in a way as the father of the monastery. He should be careful of everything, doing nothing except by the order of the abbot, and observing all the commands laid upon him. He should not rebuke the brothers roughly; if any brother is unreasonable in his demands, he should yet treat him reasonably, mildly refusing his request as being improper. He should make his service minister to his own salvation, remembering the words of the apostle: "They that have used the office well, purchase to themselves a good degree" [1 Tim. 3:13]. He should have special care for the sick, for children, for guests, and for the poor, seeing that he will certainly have to give a reckoning of his treatment of all these on the day of judgment. He should look after all the utensils of the monastery as carefully as if they were the sacred vessels of the altar, and he should be careful of the substance of the monastery, wasting nothing. He should be neither avaricious nor prodigal, conducting his office in moderation under the commands of the abbot. Above all he should conduct himself humbly; if he is not able to furnish what is asked for, he should at least return a pleasant answer, as it is written: "A good word is above the best gift" [Ecclesiasticus 18:16]. He should take charge of everything intrusted to him by the abbot, and should not interfere in what is prohibited to him. He should see to it that the brothers always have the regular amount of food, and he should serve it without haughtiness or unnecessary delay, remembering the punishment which the Scripture says is meted out to those who offend one of these little ones. In large congregations, the cellarer should have assistants, with whose aid he may be able to fulfil the duties committed to him without unnecessary worry. He should, moreover, so arrange the work in his department that the distribution of food and the other details may come at convenient hours, and may not disturb or inconvenience anyone. Ch. 32. _The utensils and other property of the monastery._--The possessions of the monastery in the way of utensils, clothes, and other things should be intrusted by the abbot to the charge of certain brothers whom he can safely trust, and the various duties of caring for or collecting these things should be divided among them. The abbot should keep a list of these things, so that he may know what is given out or taken back when the offices change hands. If any one of these brothers is careless or wasteful of the goods of the monastery which are intrusted to him, he should be reproved and if he does not reform he should be subjected to discipline according to the rule. Ch. 33. _Monks should not have personal property._--The sin of owning private property should be entirely eradicated from the monastery. No one shall presume to give or receive anything except by the order of the abbot; no one shall possess anything of his own, books, paper, pens, or anything else; for monks are not to own even their own bodies and wills to be used at their own desire, but are to look to the father [abbot] of the monastery for everything. So they shall have nothing that has not been given or allowed to them by the abbot; all things are to be had in common according to the command of the Scriptures, and no one shall consider anything as his own property. If anyone has been found guilty of this most grievous sin, he shall be admonished for the first and second offence, and then if he does not mend his ways he shall be punished. Ch. 34. _All the brothers are to be treated equally._--It is written: "Distribution was made unto every man as he had need" [Acts 4:35]. This does not mean that there should be respect of persons, but rather consideration for infirmities. The one who has less need should give thanks to God and not be envious; the one who has greater need should be humbled because of his infirmity, and not puffed up by the greater consideration shown him. Thus all the members of the congregation shall dwell together in peace. Above all let there be no complaint about anything, either in word or manner, and if anyone is guilty of this let him be strictly disciplined. Ch. 35. _The weekly service in the kitchen._--The brothers shall serve in their turn in the kitchen, no one being excused, except for illness or because occupied in work of greater importance; thus all shall learn charity and acquire the greater reward which is the recompense for service. Assistants shall be allowed to the weak, that they be not too greatly burdened in the service, and shall also be provided for all, if the size of the congregation or the conditions of the place make it necessary. In large congregations, the cellarer shall be excused from service in the kitchen, as also those who, as we have already indicated, are engaged in more important labors; but all the others shall serve in their turn. The one who goes out of office at the end of the week, should do all the cleaning on Saturday, and should wash the towels on which the monks dry their hands and their feet, and both he and the one who succeeds him shall wash the feet of all the brothers. The one who is leaving shall turn over the utensils of the service properly cleaned to the cellarer, who shall then consign them to the one who succeeds, keeping account of what he gives out and what he receives back. Those who are engaged in this service shall be allowed a piece of bread and a cup of wine an hour before the time of the common meal, so that they may serve the brethren during the meal without inconvenience or cause for complaint; but on holy days they shall fast until after the mass. On Sunday, immediately after matins, the outgoing and the incoming cooks shall kneel in the oratory and ask for the prayers of all the brothers. The one who has finished his service for the week shall say this verse three times: "Blessed art thou, O Lord God, who hast aided and consoled me," and then shall receive the benediction; the one who is entering on the service shall say: "Make haste, O God, to deliver me; make haste to help me, O God": this shall be repeated three times by all, and then he shall receive the benediction and enter upon his duties. Ch. 36. _The care for brothers who are ill._--Above all, care should be taken of the sick, as if they were Christ himself, as he has said: "I was sick, and ye visited me" [Matt. 25:36]; and again, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" [Matt. 25:40]. But the sick should consider that the service performed for them is done to the honor of God, and should not make it a burden for the brothers who attend them. Those who labor in this service, on their part, should endure it patiently, because it redounds to their greater reward. The abbot should make it his especial care that no one suffers neglect. A special room shall be assigned to the sick, and they shall be given pious, diligent, and careful attendants. The sick should also be allowed the use of baths as often as seems expedient, a thing which is to be accorded to the young and strong more rarely. Those who are sick or weak are, moreover, to be permitted to eat meat to strengthen them, but when they have recovered they shall abstain from it in the usual manner as the others. The abbot should see to it also that the sick are not neglected by the cellarer or the other servants, for their negligence will be placed to his account, if he is not diligent in correcting them. Ch. 37. _The aged and children._--Special regard and consideration is due to human nature in the extremes of life, old age and childhood, and yet this must be regulated by the rule. Their weakness shall always be taken into consideration, and the strict requirements of the rule in regard to food may be relaxed for them, so that they may anticipate the regular hours of eating. Ch. 38. _The weekly reader._--There should always be reading during the common meal, but it shall not be left to chance, so that anyone may take up the book and read. On Sunday one of the brothers shall be appointed to read during the following week. He shall enter on his office after the mass and communion, and shall ask for the prayers of all, that God may keep him from the spirit of pride; then he shall say this verse three times, all the brethren uniting with him: "O Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise;" then after receiving the benediction he enters upon his office. At the common meal, the strictest silence shall be kept, that no whispering or speaking may be heard except the voice of the reader. The brethren shall mutually wait upon one another by passing the articles of food and drink, so that no one shall have to ask for anything; but if this is necessary, it shall be done by a sign rather than by words, if possible. In order to avoid too much talking no one shall interrupt the reader with a question about the reading or in any other way, unless perchance the prior may wish to say something in the way of explanation. The brother who is appointed to read shall be given the bread and wine before he begins, on account of the holy communion which he has received, and lest so long a fast should be injurious; he shall have his regular meal later with the cooks and other weekly servants. The brothers shall not be chosen to read or chant by order of rotation, but according to their ability to edify their hearers. Ch. 39. _The amount of food._--Two cooked dishes, served either at the sixth or the ninth hour, should be sufficient for the daily sustenance. We allow two because of differences in taste, so that those who do not eat one may satisfy their hunger with the other, but two shall suffice for all the brothers, unless it is possible to obtain fruit or fresh vegetables, which may be served as a third. One pound of bread shall suffice for the day, whether there be one meal or two. If the monks are to have supper as well as dinner, the cellarer shall cut off a third of the loaf of bread which is served at dinner and keep it for the later meal. In the case of those who engage in heavy labor, the abbot may at his discretion increase the allowance of food, but he should not allow the monks to indulge their appetites by eating or drinking too much. For no vice is more inconsistent with the Christian character; as the Master saith: "Take heed to yourselves lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting" [Luke 21:34]. A smaller amount of food shall be given to the youths than to their elders, and in general the rule should be to eat sparingly. All shall abstain from the flesh of four-footed beasts, except the weak and the sick. Ch. 40. _The amount of drink._--"Each one has his own gift from God, the one in this way, the other in that" [1 Cor. 7:7], so we hesitate to determine what others shall eat or drink. But we believe that a half-measure of wine a day is enough for anyone, making due allowance, of course, for the needs of the sick. If God has given to some the strength to endure abstinence, let them use that gift, knowing that they shall have their reward. And if the climate, the nature of the labor, or the heat of summer, or other conditions make it advisable to increase this amount, the superior may do so at his own discretion, always guarding, however, against indulgence and drunkenness. Some hold, indeed, that monks should not drink wine at all. We have not been able in our day to persuade monks to agree to this; but all will admit that drink should be used sparingly, for "wine maketh even the wise to go astray" [Ecclesiasticus 19:2]. Where wine is scarce or is not found at all because of the nature of the locality, let those who live there bless God and murmur not. In any case, let there be no murmuring because of the scarcity or the lack of wine. Ch. 41. _The time of meals._--From Easter to Pentecost, the brethren shall dine at the sixth hour and have supper in the evening. From Pentecost on through the summer, they shall fast on Wednesday and Friday{115} until the ninth hour, unless they are laboring in the fields or find the heat of the summer too oppressive; on the other days of the week they shall dine at the sixth hour. But if the monks are working out of doors, or are oppressed with the heat, the abbot may at his discretion have dinner served every day at the sixth hour. In this, as in all matters, the abbot shall have regard for the souls of the brethren, that they be not given cause for grumbling. From the middle of September to the beginning of Lent, they shall dine at the ninth hour, and during Lent, toward evening. The time for the evening meal shall be so fixed that the brethren may eat without the aid of lamps; and indeed all the meals are to be eaten by daylight. {115} In the early church Wednesdays and Fridays were fast-days, because Christ was believed to have been born on a Wednesday and he died on a Friday. Ch. 42. _Silence is to be kept after completorium._--The monks should observe the rule of silence at all times, but especially during the hours of the night. This rule shall be observed both on fast-days and on other days, as follows: on other than fast-days, as soon as the brothers rise from the table they shall sit down together, while one of them reads from the Collations or the lives of the fathers or other holy works. But the reading at this time shall not be from the Heptateuch or from the books of the Kings, which are not suitable for weak intellects to hear at this hour and may be read at other times. On fast-days the brethren shall assemble a little while after vespers, and listen to readings from the Collations. All shall be present at this reading except those who have been given other duties to be done at this time, and after the reading of four or five pages, or as much as shall occupy an hour's time, the whole congregation shall meet for completorium. After completorium no one shall be allowed to speak to another, unless some unforeseen occasion arises, as that of caring for guests, or unless the abbot has to give a command to some one; and in these cases such speaking as is necessary shall be done quietly and gravely. If anyone breaks this rule of silence he shall be severely disciplined. Ch. 43. _Those who are late in coming to services or to meals._--When the signal is given for the hour of worship, all should hasten to the oratory; but they shall enter gravely, so as not to give occasion for jesting. The service of God is to be placed above every other duty. At vigils, those who do not come in until after the Gloria of the 94th Psalm ("O come, let us sing unto the Lord"), which, as we have indicated above, is to be said slowly and solemnly, shall be held to be tardy. Such a one shall not be allowed to take his accustomed place in the choir, but shall be made to stand last or in a place apart such as the abbot may have indicated for the tardy. There he may be seen by the abbot and all the brothers, and after the service he shall do public penance for his fault. The purpose of placing him last or in a place apart from the others is to make his tardiness conspicuous, so that he may be led through very shame to correct this fault. For if those who come late are made to stay outside of the oratory, some of them will go back and go to bed again, or at least sit down outside and spend the time of service in idle talk, thus giving a chance to the evil one. Let them come inside that they may not lose all the service, and in the future not be tardy. At the services in the daytime, he who does not come in until after the verse and the Gloria of the first psalm, shall stand in the last place as already described, and shall not be allowed to take his own place in the choir until he has made amends, unless the abbot shall give him permission, reserving his penance for a later time. At the common meal all shall stand and say a verse and a prayer, and then sit down together. He who comes in after the verse shall be admonished for the first and second offense, and if he is again tardy after that he shall not be allowed to share the common meal, but shall be made to eat alone, and his portion of wine shall be taken away until he makes satisfaction. Those who are not present at the verse which is said at the end of the meal shall be punished in the same way. And no one shall eat or drink anything except at the appointed hours. If any one refuses to eat when food is offered to him by the superior, he shall not be allowed to do so later when he wishes it, unless he has made satisfaction for his fault. Ch. 44. _The penance of the excommunicated._--The one who has been excommunicated for grievous sins from both the divine services and the common meal shall do penance as follows: During the hour of worship, he shall lie prostrate at the door of the oratory, with his head on the ground at the feet of all as they come out. He shall continue to do this until the abbot has decided that he has made reparation for his sin. Then after he has been admitted again into the oratory, he shall fall at the feet, first of the abbot and then of all the other brothers, and shall beg them all to pray for him; then he may be permitted to take his own place in the choir or such other position as the abbot shall designate. But he shall not be allowed to lead in the psalms or the reading or any other part of the service until the abbot gives him permission. At the end of the service each day he shall prostrate himself upon the ground in the place where he was standing, until the abbot decides that his penance has been accomplished. Those who for lesser faults have been excommunicated from the table only, shall continue to do penance in the oratory until the abbot gives them his blessing and says: "It is enough." Ch. 45. _The punishment of those who make mistakes in the service._--If anyone makes a mistake in the psalm or the response or the antiphony or the reading, he shall make satisfaction as described. But if he is not humbled by this and by the rebukes of his elders, and refuses to admit that he has erred, he shall be subjected to heavier punishment for his obstinacy. Children shall be whipped for such offences. Ch. 46. _The punishment for other sins._--When a brother has committed any fault in any of his work, in doors or out, such as losing or breaking anything, or making a mistake of some sort, he shall go immediately to the abbot and make satisfaction, confessing his fault before the whole congregation. If he fails to do this and leaves the mistake to be found out and reported by another, he shall be severely punished. But if it be a secret sin, he may confess it privately to the abbot alone or to such spiritual superiors as may be able to cure such errors without making them public. Ch. 47. _The manner of announcing the hour of service._--The signal for the hour of worship both in the daytime and at night, shall be given by the abbot or by some diligent brother to whom he has intrusted that duty, so that everything may be in readiness for the service at the proper time. The abbot shall appoint certain ones to lead in the psalms and the antiphonies after him; only those, however, shall be allowed to read or chant who are able to edify the hearers. These shall be appointed by the abbot, and shall perform their part gravely and humbly in the fear of the Lord. Ch. 48. _The daily labor of the monks._--Idleness is the great enemy of the soul, therefore the monks should always be occupied, either in manual labor or in holy reading. The hours for these occupations should be arranged according to the seasons, as follows: From Easter to the first of October, the monks shall go to work at the first hour and labor until the fourth hour, and the time from the fourth to the sixth hour shall be spent in reading. After dinner, which comes at the sixth hour, they shall lie down and rest in silence; but anyone who wishes may read, if he does it so as not to disturb anyone else. Nones shall be observed a little earlier, about the middle of the eighth hour, and the monks shall go back to work, laboring until vespers. But if the conditions of the locality or the needs of the monastery, such as may occur at harvest time, should make it necessary to labor longer hours, they shall not feel themselves ill-used, for true monks should live by the labor of their own hands, as did the apostles and the holy fathers. But the weakness of human nature must be taken into account in making these arrangements. From the first of October to the beginning of Lent, the monks shall have until the full second hour for reading, at which hour the service of terce shall be held. After terce, they shall work at their respective tasks until the ninth hour. When the ninth hour sounds they shall cease from labor and be ready for the service at the second bell. After dinner they shall spend the time in reading the lessons and the psalms. During Lent the time from daybreak to the third hour shall be devoted to reading, and then they shall work at their appointed tasks until the tenth hour. At the beginning of Lent each of the monks shall be given a book from the library of the monastery which he shall read entirely through. One or two of the older monks shall be appointed to go about through the monastery during the hours set apart for reading, to see that none of the monks are idling away the time, instead of reading, and so not only wasting their own time but perhaps disturbing others as well. Anyone found doing this shall be rebuked for the first or second offence, and after that he shall be severely punished, that he may serve as a warning and an example to others. Moreover, the brothers are not to meet together at unseasonable hours. Sunday is to be spent by all the brothers in holy reading, except by such as have regular duties assigned to them for that day. And if any brother is negligent or lazy, refusing or being unable profitably to read or meditate at the time assigned for that, let him be made to work, so that he shall at any rate not be idle. The abbot shall have consideration for the weak and the sick, giving them tasks suited to their strength, so that they may neither be idle nor yet be distressed by too heavy labor. Ch. 49. _The observance of Lent._--Monks ought really to keep Lent all the year, but as few are able to do this, they should at least keep themselves perfectly pure during that season, and to make up for the negligence of the rest of the year by the strictest observance then. The right way to keep Lent is this: to keep oneself free from all vices and to spend the time in holy reading, in repentance, and in abstinence. During this season, therefore, we should add in some way to the weight of our regular service, by saying additional prayers or giving up some part of our food or drink, so that each one of us of his own will may offer some gift to God in addition to his usual service, to the rejoicing of the Holy Spirit. Let each one then make some sacrifice of his bodily pleasures in the way of food or drink, or the amount of sleep, or talking and jesting, thus awaiting the holy Easter with the joy of spiritual desire. But the abbot should always be consulted in regard to the sacrifice to be made, and it should be done with his consent and wish; for whatever anyone does contrary to the wish of the spiritual father will not be imputed to him for righteousness, but for presumption and vainglory. So let everything be done in accordance with the wish of the abbot. Ch. 50. _The observance of the hours of worship by brothers who work at a distance from the monastery or are on a journey._--Those who are at work so far from the monastery that they cannot return for service (the question of fact shall be decided by the abbot) shall nevertheless observe the regular hours, kneeling down and worshipping God in the place where they are working. So also those who are on the road shall not neglect the hour of worship, but shall keep it as best they can. Ch. 51. _Those who are sent on short errands._--If a brother has been sent on an errand with instructions to return the same day with an answer, he shall not presume to eat outside of the monastery unless he has been told to do so by the abbot; and if he does, he shall be excommunicated. Ch. 52. _The oratory of the monastery._--The oratory should be used as its name implies: that is, as a place of prayer; and for no other purpose. When the service is over, let all go out silently and reverently, so that if any brother wishes to pray there in private he may not be disturbed by others. And when anyone wishes to pray there privately let him go in quietly and pray, not noisily, but with silent tears and earnestness of heart. No one else shall be allowed to remain in the oratory after the service, lest, as we have said, they disturb those who desire to pray there. Ch. 53. _The reception of guests._--All guests who come to the monastery are to be received in the name of Christ, who said: "I was a stranger and ye took me in" [Matt. 25:35]. Honor and respect shall be shown to all, but especially to Christians and strangers. When a guest is announced the superior and the brothers shall hasten to meet him and shall give him the kindest welcome. At meeting, both shall say a short prayer and then they shall exchange the kiss of peace, the prayer being said first to frustrate the wiles of the devil. The manner of salutation shall be humble and devout; he who offers it to a guest shall bow his head or even prostrate his body on the ground in adoration of Christ, in whose name guests are received. The way to receive a guest is as follows: immediately on his arrival he shall be conducted to the oratory for prayer, and then the superior or some brother at his order shall sit down and read from the holy Scriptures with him for his edification. After he has been thus received, every attention shall be shown to his comfort and entertainment. The abbot may break his fast to dine with a guest, unless the day be an especially solemn fast; but the brothers shall keep the regular fasts. The abbot shall offer the guests water for their hands, and together with all the brothers shall wash their feet, all repeating this verse at the end of the ceremony: "We have thought of thy loving kindness, O Lord, in the midst of thy temple" [Ps. 48:9]. Peculiar honor shall be shown to the poor and to strangers, since it is in them that Christ is especially received; for the power of the rich in itself compels honor. The abbot shall have a special cook for himself and the guests of the monastery, so that the brothers may not be disturbed by the arrival of guests at unusual hours, a thing always liable to occur in a monastery. Two well-qualified brothers shall be appointed to this office for the year, and shall be given such help as they may need, that they may not have occasion to complain of the service. But when they have nothing to do in this service, they shall be assigned to other tasks. It shall be the rule of the monastery that those who have charge of certain offices shall have assistants when they need them, and shall themselves be assigned to other tasks when they have nothing to do in their own offices. The guest chamber, which shall contain beds with plenty of bedding, shall be placed under the charge of a God-fearing brother. No one shall venture to talk to a guest or to associate with him; and when a brother meets one, he shall greet him humbly, and ask his blessing, but shall pass on, explaining that it is not permitted to the brothers to talk with guests. Ch. 54. _Monks are not to receive letters or anything._--No monk shall receive letters or gifts or anything from his family or from any persons on the outside, nor shall he send anything, except by the command of the abbot. And if anything has been sent to the monastery for him he shall not receive it unless he has first shown it to the abbot and received his permission. And if the abbot orders such a thing to be received, he may yet bestow it upon anyone whom he chooses, and the brother to whom it was sent shall acquiesce without ill-will, lest he give occasion to the evil one by his discontent. If anyone breaks this rule, he shall be severely disciplined. Ch. 55. _The vestiarius [one who has charge of the clothing] and the calciarius [one who has charge of the footwear]._--The brothers are to be provided with clothes suited to the locality and the temperature, for those in colder regions require warmer clothing than those in warmer climates. The abbot shall decide such matters. The following garments should be enough for those who live in moderate climates: A cowl and a robe apiece (the cowl to be of wool in winter and in summer light or old); a rough garment for work; and shoes and boots for the feet. The monks shall not be fastidious about the color and texture of these clothes, which are to be made of the stuff commonly used in the region where they dwell, or of the cheapest material. The abbot shall also see that the garments are of suitable length and not too short. When new garments are given out the old ones should be returned, to be kept in the wardrobe for the poor. Each monk may have two cowls and two robes to allow for change at night and for washing; anything more than this is superfluous and should be dispensed with as being a form of luxury. The old boots and shoes are also to be returned when new ones are given out. Those who are sent out on the road shall be provided with trousers, which shall be washed and restored to the vestiary when they return. There shall also be cowls and robes of slightly better material for the use of those who are sent on journeys, which also shall be given back when they return. A mattress, a blanket, a sheet, and a pillow shall be sufficient bedding. The beds are to be inspected by the abbot frequently, to see that no monk has hidden away anything of his own in them, and if anything is found there which has not been granted to that monk by the abbot, he shall be punished very severely. To avoid giving occasion to this vice, the abbot shall see that the monks are provided with everything that is necessary: cowl, robe, shoes, boots, girdle, knife, pen, needle, handkerchief, tablets, etc. For he should remember how the fathers did in this matter, as it is related in the Acts of the Apostles: "There was given unto each man according to his need" [Acts 2:45]. He should be guided in this by the requirements of the needy, rather than by the complaints of the discontented, remembering always that he shall have to give an account of all his decisions to God on the day of judgment. Ch. 56. _The table of the abbot._--The table of the abbot shall always be for the use of guests and pilgrims, and when there are no guests the abbot may invite some of the brothers to eat with him. But in that case, he should see that one or two of the older brothers are always left at the common table to preserve the discipline of the meal. Ch. 57. _Artisans of the monastery._--If there are any skilled artisans in the monastery, the abbot may permit them to work at their chosen trade, if they will do so humbly. But if any one of them is made proud by his skill in his particular trade or by his value to the monastery, he shall be made to give up that work and shall not go back to it until he has convinced the abbot of his humility. And if the products of any of these trades are sold, those who conduct the sales shall see that no fraud is perpetrated upon the monastery. For those who have any part in defrauding the monastery are in danger of spiritual destruction, just as Ananias and Sapphira for this sin suffered physical death. Above all, avarice is to be avoided in these transactions; rather the prices asked should be a little lower than those current in the neighborhood, that God may be glorified in all things. Ch. 58. _The way in which new members are to be received._--Entrance into the monastery should not be made too easy, for the apostle says: "Try the spirits, whether they are of God" [1 John 4:1]. So when anyone applies at the monastery, asking to be accepted as a monk, he should first be proved by every test. He shall be made to wait outside four or five days, continually knocking at the door and begging to be admitted; and then he shall be taken in as a guest and allowed to stay in the guest chamber a few days. If he satisfies these preliminary tests, he shall then be made to serve a novitiate of at least one year, during which he shall be placed under the charge of one of the older and wiser brothers, who shall examine him and prove, by every possible means, his sincerity, his zeal, his obedience, and his ability to endure shame. And he shall be told in the plainest manner all the hardships and difficulties of the life which he has chosen. If he promises never to leave the monastery [_stabilitas [pg 474] loci_] the rule shall be read to him after the first two months of his novitiate, and again at the end of six more months, and finally, four months later, at the end of his year. Each time he shall be told that this is the guide which he must follow as a monk, the reader saying to him at the end of the reading: "This is the law under which you have expressed a desire to live; if you are able to obey it, enter; if not, depart in peace." Thus he shall have been given every chance for mature deliberation and every opportunity to refuse the yoke of service. But if he still persists in asserting his eagerness to enter and his willingness to obey the rule and the commands of his superiors, he shall then be received into the congregation, with the understanding that from that day forth he shall never be permitted to draw back from the service or to leave the monastery. The ceremony of receiving a new brother into the monastery shall be as follows: first he shall give a solemn pledge, in the name of God and his holy saints, of constancy, conversion of life, and obedience (_stabilitas loci_, _conversio morum_, _obedientia_);{116} this promise shall be in writing drawn up by his own hand (or, if he cannot write, it may be drawn up by another at his request, and signed with his own mark), and shall be placed by him upon the altar in the presence of the abbot, in the name of the saints whose relics are in the monastery. Then he shall say: "Receive me, O Lord, according to thy word, and I shall live; let me not be cast down from mine expectation" [Ps. 119:116]; which shall be repeated by the whole congregation three times, ending with the "Gloria Patri." Then he shall prostrate himself at the feet of all the brothers in turn, begging them to pray for him, and therewith he becomes a member of the congregation. If he has any property he shall either sell it all and give to the poor before he enters the monastery, or else he shall turn it over to the monastery in due form, reserving nothing at all for himself; for from that day forth he owns nothing, not even his own body and will. Then he shall take off his own garments there in the oratory, and put on the garments provided by the monastery. And those garments which he put off shall be stored away in the vestiary, so that if he should ever yield to the promptings of the devil and leave the monastery, he shall be made to put off the garments of a monk, and to put on his own worldly clothes, in which he shall be cast forth. But the written promise which the abbot took from the altar where he placed it shall not be given back to him, but shall be preserved in the monastery. {116} The vows which a monk had to take are found in chap. 58 and in nos. 252-257. They are differently stated but may be summed up as follows: (1) _stabilitas loci_, stability of place, steadfastness; that is, he took a vow never to leave the monastery and give up the monastic life; (2) _conversio morum_, conversion of life; that is, to give up all secular and worldly practices and to conform to the ideals and standards of the monastic life; (3) observance of the rule; (4) obedience, that is, to the abbot and to all his superiors; (5) chastity; and (6) poverty. The last three are generally meant when "monastic vows" are spoken of. Ch. 59. _The presentation of children._--If persons of noble rank wish to dedicate their son to the service of God in the monastery, they shall make the promise for him, according to the following form: they shall bind his hand and the written promise along with the consecrated host in the altar-cloth and thus offer him to God. And in that document they shall promise under oath that their son shall never receive any of the family property, from them or any other person in any way whatsoever. If they are unwilling to do this, and desire to make some offering to the monastery for charity and the salvation of their souls, they may make a donation from that property, reserving to themselves the usufruct during their lives, if they wish. This shall all be done so clearly that the boy shall never have any expectations that might lead him astray, as we know to have happened. Poor people shall do the same when they offer their sons; and if they have no property at all they shall simply make the promise for their son and present him to the monastery with the host before witnesses.{117} {117} See nos. 259, 260. Ch. 60. _Priests who wish to live in the monastery._--If a priest asks to be admitted into the monastery, he shall not be immediately accepted. But if he persists in his request, let it be made clear to him that he shall have to obey the whole rule, and that the regular discipline will not be relaxed in his favor; as it is written "Friend, wherefore art thou come?" [Matt. 26:50]. The abbot may assign him the place nearest himself, and may give him authority to pronounce the benediction or officiate at the mass, but the priest shall not presume to do any of these things, except by the authority of the abbot, for he is subject to the rule as all the others, and should indeed set an example to them by his humility. And when an ordination or other ceremony is held in the monastery, the priest shall occupy in the service the place which he holds as a monk, and not that which he would have as a priest. Members of other clerical grades [deacons, etc.] may also be received into the monastery as ordinary monks, if they wish to enter; but they shall be made to promise obedience to the rule and never to leave the monastery. Ch. 61. _The reception of strange monks._--If a monk from a distant region comes to the monastery and asks to be received, accepting the conditions and the customs of the place without fault-finding, he shall be welcomed and entertained as long as he wishes to stay. And if he humbly suggests certain faults and possible improvements in the conduct of the monastery, the abbot shall consider his suggestions carefully, for he may have been sent there by God for that very purpose. If he expresses a wish to remain permanently in that monastery, he may be admitted to membership immediately, ample opportunity having been given to discover his real character while he was a guest. The one who has been discovered during this time, however, to be wicked or unreasonable, shall not only be refused admission to the monastery as a member, but shall be plainly told to depart, that the congregation may not be contaminated by his evil example. Those who are worthy, on the other hand, shall not only be received at their request, but may be urged to stay as a good example for the rest, since we all serve the same Lord and Master wherever we may be. The abbot may even advance such a one to a higher grade if he thinks best, for it is in his power to promote not only monks, but priests and other members of the clergy, if their character and manner of life make it expedient. But the abbot should be careful that he does not receive into his congregation monks from other monasteries who have left without the consent of their abbot, or the usual commendatory letters;{118} as it is written: "Do not unto others what ye would not that they should do unto you" [Luke 6:31]. {118} See nos. 261-264. Ch. 62. _The ordaining of priests in the monastery._--When the abbot wishes to ordain a priest or a deacon for the service of the monastery, he shall choose one of his own congregation who is worthy to exercise such an office. And that brother shall not be elated because of his ordination, nor presume to exercise his office except by the command of the abbot; he should rather obey the rule the more carefully because of his calling, that he may grow in grace. Except for his right to officiate at the altar, he shall occupy the same position as before his ordination, unless he is promoted to a higher grade for his merits. He shall be subject to the authority of the deans and _præpositi_ of the monastery as the rest, for his priestly office ought to incline him to greater obedience, rather than to resistance to authority. But if he is rebellious and refuses to submit even after frequent admonitions from the abbot, he may be handed over to the bishop of the diocese for correction. If after that he persists in his flagrant sin, refusing utterly to obey the rule, he shall be cast out of the monastery. Ch. 63. _Ranks among the monks._--There shall be different ranks among the monks, the rank of each being determined by the length of his service, by the character of his life, or by the decision of the abbot. But in this matter the abbot shall be careful not to give offence to any of his congregation, nor to use his power unjustly, for God will surely demand a reckoning of all his acts and decisions. These differences in rank are to be observed by the brothers in their daily life, each one having his own position in the choir, and his own turn at the confession and communion and in leading the psalms. But these differences shall not be based solely upon age, for we are told that Samuel and Daniel while still youths were made judges over priests; but rank shall ordinarily be determined by the time of entrance upon the monastic life, except in the case of promotions and degradations which the abbot may have made for cause. Thus, for example, one who was admitted as a monk at the second hour of the day shall be the inferior of the one admitted at the first hour. But in the case of children the discipline necessary to their welfare shall not be disturbed for this consideration. The proper attributes of inferiors are honor and reverence for those above them; and of superiors, love and affectionate care for those below them. This distinction shall be observed in addressing one another; thus an inferior shall be addressed as brother, and a superior as "nonnus" [that is, tutor or elder], as a sign of paternal reverence. But the abbot, since he is the representative of Christ, shall be addressed as "lord" and "abbot" [that is, father], not for his own exaltation, but for the honor and reverence which are due to Christ; and on his part, he shall always so conduct himself as to merit the honor which is shown to him. When two brothers meet, the inferior shall ask the other for his blessing. The inferior shall always rise and offer his superior his seat, and shall remain standing until the other bids him be seated; as it is written: "In honor preferring one another" [Rom. 12:10]. The children and youths are to be given their own places at the table and in the oratory, for the sake of preserving discipline, and indeed they shall be under strict discipline in all circumstances, until they have arrived at an age of discretion. Ch. 64. _The ordination of the abbot._--The election of the abbot shall be decided by the whole congregation or by that part of it, however small, which is of "the wiser and better counsel."{119} And he shall be chosen for his meritorious life and sound doctrine, even if he be the lowliest in the congregation. But if the whole congregation should agree to choose one simply because they know that he will wink at their vices, and the character of this abbot is discovered by the bishop of the diocese or by the abbots and Christian men of the neighborhood, they shall refuse their consent to the choice and shall interfere to set a better ruler over the house of God. If they do this with pure motives in zeal for the service of God they shall have their reward; just as, in neglecting to do so, they shall surely be guilty of sin. The one who is ordained should realize that he has assumed a heavy burden and also that he will have to render an account of his office to God. He should understand that he is set to rule for the profit of others and not for his own exaltation. He must be learned in the divine law, that he may know how and be able to bring forth things new and old [Matt. 13:52]. He shall be chaste, sober, and merciful, and always prefer mercy to justice, as he hopes to receive the same treatment from God. He should love the brothers, but hate their sins. He should exercise his authority to correct with the greatest prudence, lest, as it were, he should break the vase in his efforts to remove the stains. Let him remember in this regard that he himself is frail, and that "A bruised reed is not to be broken" [Is. 42:3]. We do not mean that he is to allow vices to flourish, but that he should exercise charity and care in his attempts to root them out, adapting his treatment to each case, as we said above. Let him strive to make himself loved rather than feared. He should not be violent nor easily worried, nor too obstinate in his opinions; he shall not be too jealous or suspicious of those about him, else he shall never have any peace of mind. His commands shall be given with foresight and deliberation, and he shall always examine his decisions to see whether they are made with regard for this world, or for the service of God. He shall profit by the warning of St. Jacob, where he says: "If I overdrive my flocks, they shall die all in one day" [cf. Gen. 33:13]. He should rule wisely, using discretion in all things; so that his administration may be such that the strong shall delight in it, while the weak are not offended by it. Above all, he should obey the rule in everything. Then, at the end of a good ministry, he shall receive that reward which the Lord has promised in the parable of the good servant: "Verily, I say unto you, that he shall make him ruler over all his goods" [Matt. 24:47]. {119} See introductory note to no. 113. Ch. 65. _The præpositus of the monastery._--The ordination of _præpositi_ has been a frequent source of trouble in the monastery, for some of them have acted as if they were second abbots, and by their presumption have aroused ill-feeling and dissensions in the congregation. This occurs especially where the _præpositus_ is ordained by the bishops and abbots from whom his own abbot has received his ordination. Herein is found the cause of the whole trouble, for the _præpositus_ is led to believe himself freed from the control of the abbot because of his equal ordination. Thence arise envying, quarrels, dissensions, and disturbances; for, the abbot and the _præpositus_ being opposed to one another, the congregation is divided into factions, to the peril of their souls. They who ordain them in this way are responsible for these evils. Accordingly we believe it better, for the sake of the peace of the monastery, that the abbot rule his congregation without a _præpositus_, intrusting the management to deans, as we have already suggested; because where several are employed with equal authority, no one can become unduly exalted. But sometimes the circumstances seem to require the services of a _præpositus_, or else the whole congregation humbly petitions the abbot to appoint one. Then, if he wishes, he may, with the advice of the brothers, choose one and ordain him himself. The _præpositus_ shall have charge only of such affairs as the abbot may intrust to him, doing nothing without his consent; for his position calls for greater obedience because of the greater trust committed to him. But the wicked _præpositus_ who acts presumptuously or refuses obedience to the rule shall be admonished for his fault at least four times; after that, if he persists in his evil ways, he shall be subjected to the discipline provided in the rule; and finally he shall be deposed from his office, and a worthier brother put in his place. And if he refuses to submit quietly and to take his old place in the congregation, he shall be cast out of the monastery. But the abbot should examine his own motives to see that he is not actuated by envy or jealousy, for he must render account to God for all his acts. Ch. 66. _The doorkeeper of the monastery._--The door of the monastery shall be kept by an aged monk, one who is able to perform the duties of that position wisely and whose age will prevent him from being tempted to wander outside. He shall have his cell near the door to be always at hand to answer to those who knock. Everyone who knocks shall receive a ready response, the doorkeeper welcoming him with thanks to God for his coming and giving him his blessing. If he needs an assistant he shall be given the services of one of the younger brothers. If possible, the monastery should contain within its walls everything necessary to the life and the labors of the monks, such as wells, a mill, bake-oven, gardens, etc., so that they shall have no excuse for going outside. This rule shall be read often before the whole congregation, that no brother may be able to plead ignorance as an excuse for his sin.{120} {120} From this last sentence it is thought that this was at one time the end of the rule, and that all the chapters which follow were added at a later date. Ch. 67. _Brothers who are sent on errands._--Those who are about to leave the monastery on errands, shall ask for the prayers of the abbot and the whole congregation while they are away; and this petition shall be added to the last prayer at every service during their absence. Likewise, at the end of every service on the day when they return, they shall prostrate themselves on the floor of the oratory and ask all the brothers to pray for them, because of the sins which they may have committed while out on the road, sins of seeing or of hearing or of speech. And no one of them shall venture to relate to the others anything that he saw or heard while out in the world, for herein lies the greatest danger of worldly contamination. If anyone shall do this he shall be disciplined according to the rule. Those who wander outside of the monastery without the permission of the abbot or go anywhere or do anything at all contrary to his commands shall also be punished. Ch. 68. _Impossible commands._--If a brother is commanded by his superior to do difficult or impossible things, he shall receive the command humbly and do his best to obey it; and if he finds it beyond human strength, he shall explain to the one in authority why it cannot be done, but he shall do this humbly and at an opportune time, not boldly as if resisting or contradicting his authority. But if after this explanation the superior still persists in his demands, he shall do his best to carry them out, believing that they are meant for his own good, and relying upon the aid of God, to whom all things are possible. Ch. 69. _No one shall defend another in the monastery._--No monk shall presume to come to the defence of another who has been reprimanded by his superior, even if the two are bound by the closest ties of relationship, for such actions give rise to the evils of insubordination and breach of discipline. If anyone violates this rule, he shall be severely punished. Ch. 70. _Monks shall not strike one another._--Monks should avoid especially the sin of presumption. Therefore, we forbid anyone to excommunicate or to strike his brother, unless by the authority directly given him by the abbot. When sinners are to be punished it shall be done before the whole congregation, for the example to the rest. Children and youths under fifteen years shall be subject to the discipline and control of all the brothers, but this, too, shall be exercised in reason and moderation. Any brother who of his own authority shall venture to strike one over that age, or who shall abuse the children unreasonably, shall be punished according to the rule; for it is written: "Do not unto others as ye would not that they should do unto you." Ch. 71. _Monks are mutually to obey one another._--Not only should the monks obey the abbot; they should also obey one another, for obedience is one of the chief means of grace. The commands of the abbot and of the other officials shall always have precedence over those of any persons not in authority, but next to them the younger brothers should give loving and zealous obedience to the commands of their elders. If anyone refuses to do this, resisting the commands of a superior, he shall be corrected for his fault. Whenever a brother has been reprimanded by his abbot or by any superior for a fault of any sort, or knows that he has offended such a one, he shall immediately make amends, falling at the feet of the offended, and remaining there until he has received his forgiveness and blessing. And the one who refuses to humble himself in this way shall be punished with blows, being even cast out of the monastery if he persists in his stubbornness. Ch. 72. _The good zeal which monks should have._--There are two kinds of zeal: one that leads away from God to destruction, and one that leads to God and eternal life. Now these are the features of that good zeal which monks should cultivate: to honor one another; to bear with one another's infirmities, whether of body or mind; to vie with one another in showing mutual obedience; to seek the good of another rather than of oneself; to show brotherly love one to another; to fear God; to love the abbot devotedly; and to prefer the love of Christ above everything else. This is the zeal that leads us to eternal life. Ch. 73. _This rule does not contain all the measures necessary for righteousness._--The purpose of this rule is to furnish a guide to the monastic life. Those who observe it will have at least entered on the way of salvation and will attain at least some degree of holiness. But he who aims at the perfect life must study and observe the teachings of all the holy fathers, who have pointed out in their writings the way of perfection. For every page and every word of the Bible, both the New and the Old Testament, is a perfect rule for this earthly life; and every work of the holy catholic fathers teaches us how we may direct our steps to God. The Collations, the Institutes, the Lives of the Saints, and the rule of our father, St. Basil, all serve as valuable instructions for monks who desire to live rightly and to obey the will of God. Their examples and their teachings should make us ashamed of our sloth, our evil lives, and our negligence. Thou who art striving to reach the heavenly land, first perfect thyself with the aid of Christ in this little rule, which is but the beginning of holiness, and then thou mayst under the favor of God advance to higher grades of virtue and knowledge through the teaching of these greater works. AMEN. 252. Oath of the Benedictines. Jaffé, IV, p. 365. The following documents, nos. 252-264, are examples of the various vows, letters, and other documents mentioned in the rule. As the titles explain their character, no further word of introduction seems necessary. The promise of the monks to obey the rule of St. Benedict. I, (name), in the holy monastery of the blessed martyr and confessor, (name), in the presence of God and his holy angels, and of our abbot, (name), promise in the name of God that I will live all the days of my life from now henceforth in this holy monastery in accordance with the rule of St. Benedict and that I will obey whatever is commanded of me. I, (name), have made this promise and written it with my own hand and signed it in the presence of witnesses. 253. Monk's Vow. Migne, 66, col. 820. I, brother Gerald, in the presence of abbot Gerald and the other brothers, promise steadfastness in this monastery according to the rule of St. Benedict and the precepts of Sts. Peter and Paul; and I hereby surrender all my possessions to this monastery, built in the honor of St. Peter and governed by the abbot Gerald. 254. Monk's Vow. Migne, 66, col. 820. I, brother (name), a humble monk of the monastery of St. Denis in France, in the diocese of Paris, in the name of God, the Virgin Mary, St. Denis, St. Benedict, and all the saints, and of the abbot of this monastery, do promise to keep the vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty. I also promise, in the presence of witnesses, steadfastness and conversion of life, according to the rules of this monastery and the traditions of the holy fathers. 255. Monk's Vow. Migne, 66, col. 820. I, brother (name), in the presence of the abbot of this Cistercian monastery built in the honor of the ever blessed Virgin Mary, mother of God, and in the name of God and all his saints whose relics are kept here, do hereby promise steadfastness, conversion of life, and obedience, according to the rule of St. Benedict. 256. Monk's Vow. Migne, 66, col. 821. I hereby renounce my parents, my brothers and relatives, my friends, my possessions and my property, and the vain and empty glory and pleasure of this world. I also renounce my own will, for the will of God. I accept all the hardships of the monastic life, and take the vows of purity, chastity, and poverty, in the hope of heaven; and I promise to remain a monk in this monastery all the days of my life. 257. The Written Profession of a Monk. Migne, 66. col. 825. It was my earnest desire to become a monk, but when I applied for admission to this monastery, I was told it would not be granted until I had been tried and proved. So I was at first received only as a guest; after remaining in that position for several days, I was accepted as a novice to serve a period of probation. During this period I was under the charge of one of the older monks. He first explained to me all the hardships and difficulties of the life of a monk, and after I had promised steadfastness in these conditions, he said: "If you ever draw back after giving your solemn promise to obey the rule, you are not fit for the kingdom of God. You will be driven from the doors of the monastery in the old garments in which you were first admitted; for as you put off the world and your worldly garments when you became a monk, so you shall be made to put them on again to be cast out, remaining thenceforth a slave of the world to the contempt of all the righteous." But I took courage, saying with David: "By the words of thy lips, I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer" [Ps. 17:4], for I knew that if I shared the sufferings of Christ I should also share his glorious resurrection. Comforting myself with these thoughts, I promised that I would keep all these commandments, as I hoped for eternal life. Having thus convinced the father of my determination, I was accepted as a novice and made to serve a novitiate of a year, during which time the rule was read to me three times, each time with the admonition: "This is the law under which you have expressed your desire to live; if you are able to obey it, enter; if not, depart a free man." My year of novitiate being completed and my mind fully made up after this long and careful deliberation, I now earnestly pray you with tears to receive me into your congregation. Therefore I promise, as I hope for salvation, with the aid of God to observe the rule in all things, and to obey the abbot and my superiors; I become a bondsman to the rule, that I may gain eternal liberty. From this day forth I will never leave the monastery nor withdraw my neck from the yoke of this service, which I have accepted freely and of my own will after a year of deliberation. I solemnly promise steadfastness (_stabilitas loci_), conversion of life, and perfect obedience. In witness thereof I have made this promise in writing, in the name of the saints whose relics are preserved here, and in the name of the abbot, and I now present it. This document, signed with my own hand, I now place upon the altar, whence it shall be taken and kept forever in the archives of the monastery. 258. The Ceremony of Receiving a Monk into the Monastery. Migne, 66, cols. 829 ff. After the novice has made his oral profession, the abbot puts on the robe in which mass is to be said. Then, after the offertory, the abbot examines the novice as follows: The abbot asks: "Brother (name), do you renounce the world and all its vain and empty shows?" The novice replies: "I do." The abbot: "Do you promise conversion of life?" The novice: "I do." The abbot: "Do you promise perfect obedience to the rule of St. Benedict?" The novice: "I do." The abbot: "And may God give you his aid." Then the novice, or someone for him, reads his written promise, and places it first upon his head and then upon the altar. Then he prostrates himself upon the ground with his arms spread out in the form of a cross, saying the verse: "Receive me, O Lord," etc. During the "Gloria patri," the "Kyrie, eleison," the "Pater noster," and the litany, the novice remains prostrate before the altar, until the end of the service. And the brothers in the choir shall kneel while the litany is being said. Then shall be said the prayers for the occasion as commanded by the fathers. Immediately after the communion and before these prayers, the new garments, which had been folded and placed before the altar, shall be blessed, being touched with holy oil and sprinkled with water which has been blessed by the abbot. After the mass is finished, the novice, rising from the ground, puts off his old garments and puts on the robes which have just been blessed, while the abbot recites: "Exuat te Dominus," etc. Then the abbot and after him all the brothers in turn give the new member the kiss of peace. He shall keep perfect silence for three days after this, going about with his head covered and receiving the communion every day. 259. Offering of a Child to the Monastery. Migne, 66, col. 842. I dedicate this boy, in the name of God and his holy saints, to serve our Lord Jesus Christ as a monk, and to remain in this holy life all his days until his final breath. 260. Offering of a Child to the Monastery. Migne, 66, col. 842. The dedication of children to the service of God is sanctioned by the example of Abraham and of many other holy men, as related in the New and Old Testaments. Therefore, I, (name), now offer in the presence of abbot (name), this my son, (name), to omnipotent God and to the Virgin Mary, mother of God, for the salvation of my soul and of the souls of my parents. I promise for him that he shall follow the monastic life in this monastery of (name), according to the rule of St. Benedict, and that from this day forth he shall not withdraw his neck from the yoke of this service. I promise also that he shall never be tempted to leave by me or by anyone with my consent. 261. Commendatory Letter. Migne, 66, col. 859. To the venerable abbot (name), of the monastery of (name), abbot (name), of the monastery of (name), sends greeting and the holy kiss of peace. We present herewith our brother (name), whom we have sent to you with letters of dismissal and recommendation. We commend him to you and beseech you to take him into your monastery, because our monastery has become impoverished through various reverses. (Or this) We dismiss him from his service in this monastery and free him from his vow of obedience to us, in order that he may serve the Lord under your rule. 262. Commendatory Letter. Migne, 66, col. 859. To the reverend father in Christ; or: To the pious and illustrious (name); or: To the abbot (name), abbot (name) sends greeting in the Lord. Know that our pious brother (name), has earnestly besought us to write a commendatory letter, recommending him to your care so that he may serve the Lord under you in your monastery. We have granted his prayer and given him this letter, by which we free him from his vow of obedience to us and commend him to you, giving you the right to receive him into your monastery, if he applies within one month from this date, after which time this letter shall not be valid. This is to show that he has not been expelled from our monastery for evil conduct, but has been permitted to leave us and go to you, on account of his great desire to serve the Lord under your rule. 263. General Letter. Migne, 66, col. 859. To all bishops and other ecclesiastics and to all Christian men: Know ye that I have given permission to this our brother (name), to live according to the rule wherever he shall desire, believing it to be for the advantage of the monastery and the good of his soul. 264. Letter of Dismissal. Migne, 66, col. 859. This our brother (name), has desired to dwell in another monastery where it seems to him he can best serve the Lord and save his own soul. Know ye, therefore, that we have given him permission by this letter of dismissal to betake himself thither. 265. The Regular Clergy. Prologue of the Rule of St. Chrodegang, Bishop of Metz, for His Clergy, _ca._ 744. Holstenius Codex Regularum, etc., II, p. 96. We give here only a part of the rule of St. Chrodegang, bishop of Metz, because it makes clear the purpose for which the rule was composed. It was for the clergy and not for the monks. The rule itself consists of a number of paragraphs prescribing in detail the life of the clergy who were to live together with their bishop. This action of St. Chrodegang was not altogether new. St. Augustine, bishop of Hippo in Africa, it is said, had all the clergy of his city live with him in a common house very much after the fashion of monks in a monastery. His example may have had some influence, but it was not generally imitated. The immediate purpose of St. Chrodegang in compelling the clergy of his diocese to live with him was to reform them. They differed little in life and morals from the laymen and were no doubt sadly in need of a reform. They were now deprived of much of their independence. They ate at a common table, slept in a common dormitory, observed common hours of prayer and work, and in general lived a "common life." They were clergymen, not monks, although they lived in nearly all respects as monks, and their house, or canonry, was conducted quite like a monastery. They were called by various names, such as regular clergy, canons regular, regular canons, etc. Other bishops imitated St. Chrodegang and in time it came to be regarded as the only proper way for the clergy to live. The Cluniac reforming party supported the idea with all its power and the regular clergy was soon organized into orders, chief of which was that of the Premonstratensians, which was established about 1120. There were of course many priests whose parishes and churches were so far from the cathedral that they could not live with their bishop and continue to perform their parish duties. They lived in the world and hence were called the "secular clergy." The orders of regular canons despised them and heaped abuse on them, chiefly because they did not live according to a rule. The orders of regular canons soon became rich, and tended to indolence and luxury. They were beset by the same temptations as the monks, and their history does not differ materially from that of the monkish orders. If the authority of the 318 holy fathers [the council of Nicæa, 325] and of the canons were observed, and the bishops and their clergy were living in the proper way, it would be quite unnecessary for anyone so humble and unimportant as we to attempt to say anything about this matter [that is, the way in which the clergy should live], which has been so well treated by the holy fathers, or to add anything new to what they have said. But since the negligence of the bishops as well as of their clergy is rapidly increasing, a further duty seems incumbent on us. And we are certainly in great danger unless we do, if not all we should, at least all we can, to bring our clergy back to the proper way of living. After I had been made bishop of Metz [743] and had begun to attend to the duties of my pastoral office, I discovered that my clergy as well as the people were living in a most negligent manner. In great sorrow I began to ask what I ought to do. Relying on divine aid and encouraged by my spiritually minded brethren, I thought it necessary to make a little rule for my clergy, by observing which they would be able to refrain from forbidden things, to put off their vices, and to cease from the evil practices which they have so long followed. For I thought that if their minds were once cleared of their vices, it would be easy to teach them the best and holiest precepts. 265 a. Military-monkish Orders. The Origin of the Templars, 1119. William of Tyre, bk. xii, chap. 7. Bongars, Gesta Dei per Francos, p. 819 f. The Middle Age had two ideals, the monk and the soldier. The monk was the spiritual, the soldier the military hero. The military-monkish orders, whose members were both monks and soldiers, represent a fusion of these two ideals. Several other orders were formed in imitation of the Templars, such as the Hospitallers, soon after 1119; the German order, 1190; the Sword Brothers, 1202; the order of Bethlehem; the order of Calatrava, 1158; the order of Alcantara, 1156; and the Cavalleria de St. Iago de la Spada, 1161. The fact that all these orders arose on the borderland between Christians and Mohammedans, that is, in Palestine and in Spain, would indicate their close connection with the spirit of the crusades. In the same year [1118-19] certain nobles of knightly rank, devout, religious, and God-fearing, devoting themselves to the service of Christ, made their vows to the patriarch [of Jerusalem] and declared that they wished to live forever in chastity, obedience, and poverty, according to the rule of regular canons. Chief of these were Hugo de Payens and Geoffrey of St. Omer. Since they had neither a church nor a house, the king of Jerusalem gave them a temporary residence in the palace which stands on the west side of the temple. The canons of the temple granted them, on certain conditions, the open space around the aforesaid palace for the erection of their necessary buildings, and the king, the nobles, the patriarch, and the bishops, each from his own possessions, gave them lands for their support. The patriarch and bishops ordered that for the forgiveness of their sins their first vow should be to protect the roads and especially the pilgrims against robbers and marauders. For the first nine years after their order was founded they wore the ordinary dress of a layman, making use of such clothing as the people, for the salvation of their souls, gave them. But in their ninth year a council was held at Troyes [1128] in France at which were present the archbishops of Rheims and Sens with their suffragans, the cardinal bishop of Albano, papal legate, and the abbots of Citeaux, Clairvaux, and Pontigny, and many others. At this council a rule was established for them, and, at the direction of the pope, Honorius III, and of the patriarch of Jerusalem, Stephen, white robes were appointed for their dress. Up to their ninth year they had only nine members, but then their number began to increase and their possessions to multiply. Afterward, in the time of Eugene III, in order that their appearance might be more striking, they all, knights as well as the other members of a lower grade, who were called serving men, began to sew crosses of red cloth on their robes. Their order grew with great rapidity, and now [about 1180] they have 300 knights in their house, clothed in white mantles, besides the serving men, whose number is almost infinite. They are said to have immense possessions both here [in Palestine] and beyond the sea [in Europe]. There is not a province in the whole Christian world which has not given property to this order, so that they may be said to have possessions equal to those of kings. Since they dwelt in a palace at the side of the temple they were called "Brothers of the army of the temple." For a long time they were steadfast in their purpose and were true to their vows, but then they forgot their humility, which is the guardian of all virtues, and rebelled against the patriarch of Jerusalem who had assisted in the establishment of their order and had given them their first lands, and refused him the obedience which their predecessors had shown him. They also made themselves very obnoxious to the churches by seizing their tithes and first-fruits and plundering their possessions. 266. Anastasius IV Grants Privileges to the Knights of St. John (Hospitallers), 1154. Migne, 188, cols. 1078 ff. ... In accordance with your request, and following the example of our predecessors of blessed memory, Innocent [II, 1130-43], Celestine [II, 1143-44], Lucius [II, 1144-45], and Eugene [III, 1145-53], we take under the protection of St. Peter and of the apostolic see your hospital and house in Jerusalem, and all the persons and possessions belonging thereto. And we decree and command that all your goods and possessions, present and future, which are used for supplying the needs of the pilgrims and of the poor, whether in Jerusalem or in other churches or cities, from whatever source they may be acquired, shall remain unmolested in the hands of you and of your successors. You shall have the right to build houses and churches and lay out cemeteries on whatever lands may be given to your house in Jerusalem, provided that no damage is thereby done to neighboring monasteries and religious houses which already exist. And you may build chapels and lay out cemeteries for the use of pilgrims on whatever lands you may acquire. We further decree that your tax collectors shall be under the protection of St. Peter and of us, and wherever they may be no one shall dare attack them. We decree that if any member of your fraternity dies in a territory which is under the interdict, he shall not be denied a Christian burial unless he has been excommunicated by name. If any of your members, when sent out as tax collectors, come to a city, fortress, or village, which is under the interdict, they may, once a year, open the churches in such a place and hold divine services in them. Since all your possessions should be used only to supply the needs of the pilgrims and of the poor, we decree that no one, either lay or cleric, shall presume to levy tithes on the income which you receive from lands cultivated at your own expense. No bishop shall have the right to pronounce the sentence of interdict, suspension, or excommunication in your churches. If a general interdict is put on those lands in which you are living, you shall have the right to hold divine services in your churches, provided that all those who are excommunicated by name be excluded, the doors of the churches closed, and no bells rung. In order that nothing may be lacking for the care and salvation of your souls and that you may have the advantages and blessings of the sacraments and divine services, we grant you the privilege of receiving into your mother house [at Jerusalem], as well as into all your dependent houses, all the clergy and priests who may ask for admission, provided that you first inquire into their character and ordination, and, secondly, that they are not already members of some other order. Even though their bishops do not give their consent, you have, nevertheless, our consent to receive all such clergy, and they shall not be subject to anyone outside of your order except the bishop of Rome. You may receive laymen, provided that they are freemen, into your order to assist in caring for the poor. No man who has been received into your order, having taken its vows and assumed its dress, shall ever be permitted to desert and go back to the world. Nor shall any member be permitted to lay aside the dress of the order and go into another order or to any other place without the permission of the brothers and of the master of the order. No person, whether lay or cleric, shall have the right to receive and harbor any such deserters. You shall have your altars and churches consecrated, your clergy ordained, and your other ecclesiastical matters attended to by the bishop of the diocese [in which you may happen to be], provided that he is in the favor and communion of the Roman church, and he shall not wish to charge you anything for these services. Otherwise, you may secure the services of any catholic bishop. When you, who are now the master of the order, die, the brothers shall have the right to elect your successor. We confirm all the possessions which the order has, or may acquire, on both sides of the sea [that is, in Asia and in Europe].... In 1162, Alexander III granted the same privileges to the Templars. 267. Innocent III Orders the Bishops of France to Guard against Simony in the Monasteries, 1211. Migne, 217, col. 198. In spite of numerous reforms the character of the monks had declined. The hard and strenuous life of the early monks had given way to one of luxury and comfort. Men were no longer impelled to seek admission to the monasteries by the same irresistible religious impulse which in the earlier centuries had filled the monasteries to overflowing and made the monks models of piety. The monasteries had become rich and offered a life of ease to all who should enter them. The monks became aristocratic and mercenary, refusing to receive applicants who could not pay a considerable sum of money. In spite of the fact that monasteries were generally exempt from the control of the local bishop, and directly under the pope, Innocent III empowers the French bishops to interfere in the monasteries to correct this abuse. Innocent ... to his venerable brothers, the archbishops and bishops in France, greeting and apostolic benediction. We have often heard from many persons that the damnable custom, or rather abuse, which has already been condemned, has grown to such a degree in the monasteries, nunneries, and other religious houses in France that no new member is received into them except on the payment of money, so that all become guilty of simony. Lest we should seem to favor this sin by paying no heed to these complaints which have so often been made, we command you by this writing each one to visit all the monasteries in his diocese once a year and to forbid them to receive anyone on the payment of money, and we order you to repeat this prohibition in your synods. In regard to those who may disobey this prohibition, you may inflict on them whatever punishment you may think best, granting them no right of appeal. 268. Innocent III Grants the Use of the Mitre to the Abbot of Marseilles, 1204. Migne, 217, col. 132. The mitre was the headdress which bishops wore on important occasions. Like the pallium it was conferred on them by the pope and symbolized their high spiritual authority. Occasionally the pope granted its use to some abbot whom he wished especially to honor. Hence we have the expression, "a mitred abbot." Innocent etc. ... to the abbot of Marseilles.... Because your monastery has always kept the true faith and been ardently devoted to the Roman church we have thought that we ought to honor you personally in every way possible. In order therefore that you may be more zealously devoted to your divine duties, we have determined to grant you the use of the mitre. 269. The Friars. The Rule of St. Francis, 1223. Bullarium Romanum, III, i, 229 ff. The monk deserted the world and went into a monastery to save his own soul. The world was left to look after its own salvation. St. Francis intended that the friars should save their souls by devoting themselves to the service of others. They were to spend their time in good works, caring for the sick and miserable, acting as missionaries to the heathen, preaching, comforting, and inciting to holy living. They were to be "brothers" to everybody, rendering to each one whatever service they might see to be necessary or helpful. Like Christ, they were to go about doing good (Acts 10: 38). St. Francis was possessed with the idea of imitating Christ in all things, but especially in his service to others and in his poverty. He took literally the saying of Christ: "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head" (Matt. 8:20); and so he wished that his order should not have monasteries or houses of any kind. Poverty is holy. The brothers should spend all their time on the road, stopping only where they might find some service to be rendered. They were to be dependent on charity for everything, even for a place to sleep. The practice of poverty was in itself meritorious, and the greater the poverty of his brothers, the greater their merit. But this degree of poverty was soon found to be unattainable. Before the death of St. Francis (1226) the order had begun to amass property. The first rule of St. Francis was written about 1210. It was probably composed chiefly of quotations from the gospels. The second rule was written perhaps about 1217, the third in 1221, and the fourth in 1223. The first two are lost. The third is preserved in three accounts, which differ slightly from each other. The fourth, which is given here, was confirmed by Honorius III in 1223. The testament of St. Francis is in many respects more important than the rule itself, because it reveals more clearly his character and ideas. From the rule it is easy to determine the organization of the order. The general minister was the head of the whole order. The provincial ministers were each at the head of a province. In each province there were guardians who, for the most part, were at the head of a house or monastery. About the same time, St. Dominic, a Spaniard, established the order of Preaching Friars, or Dominicans, to combat the rising heresies of the day. These two orders mutually influenced each other in many ways. They were also rivals in most things, especially in preaching and learning. The Dominicans were intrusted with the suppression of heresy. The Friars completely overshadowed all other orders during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. 1. This is the rule and life of the Minor Brothers, namely, to observe the holy gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ by living in obedience, in poverty, and in chastity. Brother Francis promises obedience and reverence to pope Honorius and to his successors who shall be canonically elected, and to the Roman Church. The other brothers are bound to obey brother Francis, and his successors. 2. If any, wishing to adopt this life, come to our brothers [to ask admission], they shall be sent to the provincial ministers, who alone have the right to receive others into the order. The provincial ministers shall carefully examine them in the catholic faith and the sacraments of the church. And if they believe all these and faithfully confess them and promise to observe them to the end of life, and if they have no wives, or if they have wives, and the wives have either already entered a monastery, or have received permission to do so, and they have already taken the vow of chastity with the permission of the bishop of the diocese [in which they live], and their wives are of such an age that no suspicion can rise against them, let the provincial ministers repeat to them the word of the holy gospel, to go and sell all their goods and give to the poor [Matt. 19:21]. But if they are not able to do so, their good will is sufficient for them. And the brothers and provincial ministers shall not be solicitous about the temporal possessions of those who wish to enter the order; but let them do with their possessions whatever the Lord may put into their minds to do. Nevertheless, if they ask the advice of the brothers, the provincial ministers may send them to God-fearing men, at whose advice they may give their possessions to the poor. Then the ministers shall give them the dress of a novice, namely: two robes without a hood, a girdle, trousers, a hood with a cape reaching to the girdle. But the ministers may add to these if they think it necessary. After the year of probation is ended they shall be received into obedience [that is, into the order], by promising to observe this rule and life forever. And according to the command of the pope they shall never be permitted to leave the order and give up this life and form of religion. For according to the holy gospel no one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God [Luke 9:62]. And after they have promised obedience, those who wish may have one robe with a hood and one without a hood. Those who must may wear shoes, and all the brothers shall wear common clothes, and they shall have God's blessing if they patch them with coarse cloth and pieces of other kinds of cloth. But I warn and exhort them not to despise nor judge other men who wear fine and gay clothing, and have delicious foods and drinks. But rather let each one judge and despise himself. 3. The clerical brothers shall perform the divine office according to the rite of the holy Roman church, except the psalter, from which they may have breviaries. The lay brothers shall say 24 Paternosters at matins, 5 at lauds, 7 each at primes, terces, sexts, and nones, 12 at vespers, 7 at completorium, and prayers for the dead. And they shall fast from All Saints' day [November 1] to Christmas. They may observe or not, as they choose, the holy Lent which begins at epiphany [January 6] and lasts for 40 days, and which our Lord consecrated by his holy fasts. Those who keep it shall be blessed of the Lord, but those who do not wish to keep it are not bound to do so. But they shall all observe the other Lent [that is, from Ash-Wednesday to Easter]. The rest of the time the brothers are bound to fast only on Fridays. But in times of manifest necessity they shall not fast. But I counsel, warn, and exhort my brothers in the Lord Jesus Christ that when they go out into the world they shall not be quarrelsome or contentious, nor judge others. But they shall be gentle, peaceable, and kind, mild and humble, and virtuous in speech, as is becoming to all. They shall not ride on horseback unless compelled by manifest necessity or infirmity to do so. When they enter a house they shall say, "Peace be to this house." According to the holy gospel, they may eat of whatever food is set before them. 4. I strictly forbid all the brothers to accept money or property either in person or through another. Nevertheless, for the needs of the sick, and for clothing the other brothers, the ministers and guardians may, as they see that necessity requires, provide through spiritual friends, according to the locality, season, and the degree of cold which may be expected in the region where they live. But, as has been said, they shall never receive money or property. 5. Those brothers to whom the Lord has given the ability to work shall work faithfully and devotedly, so that idleness, which is the enemy of the soul, may be excluded and not extinguish the spirit of prayer and devotion to which all temporal things should be subservient. As the price of their labors they may receive things that are necessary for themselves and the brothers, but not money or property. And they shall humbly receive what is given them, as is becoming to the servants of God and to those who practise the most holy poverty. 6. The brothers shall have nothing of their own, neither house, nor land, nor anything, but as pilgrims and strangers in this world, serving the Lord in poverty and humility, let them confidently go asking alms. Nor let them be ashamed of this, for the Lord made himself poor for us in this world. This is that highest pitch of poverty which has made you, my dearest brothers, heirs and kings of the kingdom of heaven, which has made you poor in goods, and exalted you in virtues. Let this be your portion, which leads into the land of the living. Cling wholly to this, my most beloved brothers, and you shall wish to have in this world nothing else than the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. And wherever they are, if they find brothers, let them show themselves to be of the same household, and each one may securely make known to the other his need. For if a mother loves and nourishes her child, how much more diligently should one nourish and love one's spiritual brother? And if any of them fall ill, the other brothers should serve them as they would wish to be served. 7. If any brother is tempted by the devil and commits a mortal sin, he should go as quickly as possible to the provincial minister, as the brothers have determined that recourse shall be had to the provincial ministers for such sins. If the provincial minister is a priest, he shall mercifully prescribe the penance for him. If he is not a priest, he shall, as may seem best to him, have some priest of the order prescribe the penance. And they shall guard against being angry or irritated about it, because anger and irritation hinder love in themselves and in others. 8. All the brothers must have one of their number as their general minister and servant of the whole brotherhood, and they must obey him. At his death the provincial ministers and guardians shall elect his successor at the chapter held at Pentecost, at which time all the provincial ministers must always come together at whatever place the general minister may order. And this chapter must be held once every three years, or more or less frequently, as the general minister may think best. And if at any time it shall be clear to the provincial ministers and guardians that the general minister is not able to perform the duties of his office and does not serve the best interests of the brothers, the aforesaid brothers, to whom the right of election is given, must, in the name of the Lord, elect another as general minister. After the chapter at Pentecost, the provincial ministers and guardians may, each in his own province, if it seems best to them, once in the same year, convoke the brothers to a provincial chapter. 9. If a bishop forbids the brothers to preach in his diocese, they shall obey him. And no brother shall preach to the people unless the general minister of the brotherhood has examined and approved him and given him the right to preach. I also warn the brothers that in their sermons their words shall be chaste and well chosen for the profit and edification of the people. They shall speak to them of vices and virtues, punishment and glory, with brevity of speech, because the Lord made the word shortened over the earth [Rom. 9:28]. 10. The ministers and servants shall visit and admonish their brothers and humbly and lovingly correct them. They shall not put any command upon them that would be against their soul and this rule. And the brothers who are subject must remember that for God's sake they have given up their own wills. Wherefore I command them to obey their ministers in all the things which they have promised the Lord to observe and which shall not be contrary to their souls and this rule. And whenever brothers know and recognize that they cannot observe this rule, let them go to their ministers, and the ministers shall lovingly and kindly receive them and treat them in such a way that the brothers may speak to them freely and treat them as lords speak to, and treat, their servants. For the ministers ought to be the servants of all the brothers. I warn and exhort the brothers in the Lord Jesus Christ to guard against all arrogance, pride, envy, avarice, care, and solicitude for this world, detraction, and murmuring. And those who cannot read need not be anxious to learn. But above all things let them desire to have the spirit of the Lord and his holy works, to pray always to God with a pure heart, and to have humility, and patience in persecution and in infirmity, and to love those who persecute us and reproach us and blame us. For the Lord says, "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute and speak evil of you" [cf. Matt. 5:44]. "Blessed are they who suffer persecution for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven" [Matt. 5:10]. He that endureth to the end shall be saved [Matt. 10:22]. 11. I strictly forbid all the brothers to have any association or conversation with women that may cause suspicion. And let them not enter nunneries, except those which the pope has given them special permission to enter. Let them not be intimate friends of men or women, lest on this account scandal arise among the brothers or about brothers. 12. If any of the brothers shall be divinely inspired to go among Saracens and other infidels they must get the permission to go from their provincial minister, who shall give his consent only to those who he sees are suitable to be sent. In addition, I command the ministers to ask the pope to assign them a cardinal of the holy Roman church, who shall be the guide, protector, and corrector of the brotherhood, in order that, being always in subjection and at the feet of the holy church, and steadfast in the catholic faith, they may observe poverty, humility, and the holy gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, as we have firmly promised to do. Let no man dare act contrary to this confirmation. If anyone should, etc. 270. The Testament of St. Francis, 1220. Bullarium Romanum, III, i, pp. 231 ff 1. While I was still in my sins, the Lord enabled me to begin to do penance in the following manner: It seemed to me bitterly unpleasant to see lepers, but the Lord led me among them and gave me pity for them. And when I left them, that which had been bitter to me was turned into sweetness of soul and body. And a short time afterward I left the world [that is, began the religious life]. 2. And the Lord gave me such faith in churches that I knelt in simplicity and said, "We adore thee, most holy Lord Jesus Christ, and all thy churches which are in the world, and we bless thee because thou hast redeemed the world through thy holy cross." 3. Afterward the Lord gave, and still gives me, such faith in priests who live according to the form of the holy Roman church, because of their clerical character, that if they should persecute me I would still have recourse to them. And if I were as wise as Solomon and should find a poor priest in this world, I would not preach against his will in his church. And I wish to fear, love, and honor all priests as my lords. I am unwilling to think of sins in them, because I discern in them the Son of God, and they are my lords. And on this account, I wish to perceive in this world nothing of the most high Son of God except his most holy body and his most holy blood which they [the priests] receive in the sacraments, and they alone administer to others. 4. And these most holy mysteries I wish to honor and venerate above all things, and to put them up in honorable places. 5. And his most holy names and words, wherever I shall find them, in improper places, I wish to collect, and I ask that they be collected and put up in honorable places. 6. We ought to honor and venerate all theologians, who minister to us the divine word, as those who minister to us the spirit of life. 7. And afterward the Lord gave me brothers [that is, followers], and no one showed me what I ought to do, but the Lord himself revealed to me that I ought to live according to the form of the holy gospel, and I caused it to be written in a few simple words. 8. And the pope confirmed the rule. And those who came to adopt this life gave all they had to the poor. And we were content with one robe, mended within and without, and those who wished had a girdle and trousers. 9. We said the office as other clergymen, the laymen said Paternosters, and we gladly remained in the churches and we were simple and obedient. 10. And I labored with my hands, and I wish to labor. And I wish all my brothers to engage in some honest work. And those who do not know how, shall learn; not because of the desire to receive wages for their labor, but to set a good example and to escape idleness. 11. And when the wages for our labors are not given us, let us go to the table of the Lord and ask alms from door to door. 12. The Lord revealed to me this salutation that we should use it: "May the Lord give thee peace." 13. The brothers shall guard against receiving the churches and dwellings which are built for us, unless, as becomes the holy poverty which we have promised to observe in our rule, they always live there as pilgrims and strangers. 14. By their oath of obedience I firmly forbid the brothers, wherever they are, to ask for a letter from the papal court, either themselves or through another, in order to secure a church or any position, either in the hope of securing a place to preach, or because of persecution which they may suffer. But wherever they shall not be received, they shall flee to another place to do penance with the blessing of the Lord. 15. And I earnestly wish to obey the general minister of this brotherhood, and that guardian whom he may put over me. And I wish to be so entirely in his hands and so subject to his control that I cannot go, or do anything, contrary to his will, because he is my lord. 16. And although I am simple and infirm, I wish always to have a clergyman who may perform the office for me as is contained in the rule. And all other brothers are bound by their oaths to obey the guardians, and perform the office according to the rule. 17. And if any do not perform the office according to the rule, but wish to change it in some way, or if there are any who are not catholic, all the brothers are bound by their oath of obedience to report all such, wherever they may find them, to the nearest guardian. And the guardian must watch them night and day, as a man in chains, so that they cannot escape, until he delivers them into the hands of the general minister. And the general minister shall send them with brothers who shall guard them night and day, as a man in chains, until they deliver them to the cardinal bishop of Ostia, who is the protector and corrector of this brotherhood. 18. And the brothers shall not say that this is another rule, because it is only a reminder, an admonition, an exhortation, and my testament, which I, your poor brother, Franciscus, make for you, my dear brothers, that we wholly observe the rule which we have promised to the Lord. 19. And the general minister and all the other ministers and guardians are bound by their oath of obedience not to add to, or take from, these words. But they shall always have this writing in addition to the rule, and in all the chapters when they read the rule they shall also read this. I strictly forbid all the brothers, clerical and lay, to put glosses [explanations] into the rule or this testament in order to change the simple meaning of their words. But as the Lord enabled me to say and to write the rule and these words simply and plainly, so you shall understand them simply and plainly and without gloss. And with holy works you shall observe them to the end. 20. And whoever shall observe them shall be filled in heaven with the blessing of the most high heavenly Father, and in the earth he shall be filled with the benedictions of His Son, with the most holy Spirit, the Paraclete, and with all the virtues of heaven and of all the saints. And I, your poor brother and servant, Franciscus, as far as I can, confirm to you, within and without, that most holy benediction. Amen. 271. Innocent IV Grants the Friars Permission to Ride on Horseback when Travelling in the Service of the King of England, 1250. Migne, 217, col. 109. Innocent [IV], servant of the servants of God, to his most beloved son in Christ [Henry III], king of England, sends greeting and apostolic benediction. Although all Dominicans and Franciscans are forbidden to ride on horseback we gladly give assent to your prayers and grant those friars, both Dominican and Franciscan, whom you may wish to take with you on your journey over sea, our full and free permission to ride on horseback whenever, on account of the exigencies of the journey, you may wish them to do so. 272. Alexander IV Condemns the Attacks made on the Friars because of Their Idleness and Begging, 1256. Denzinger, p. 131. The Friars soon became the favorites of the popes, who gave them almost unlimited concessions and privileges. By these privileges the authority of the Friars was made far greater than that of the parish priest. Before long the parish clergy complained that their authority was weakened and undermined by the Friars. The Friars despised the parish clergy, who in turn hated the Friars and resented their interference in the local affairs of the parish. The Friars generally were more lenient confessors and had more liberal indulgences, and hence the parish priest soon saw his parishioners deserting him and flocking to the Friars. This meant not only a diminution of his authority and influence in his own parish, but also a reduction in his income. He complained also that he could not maintain strict discipline and holy living in his parish because his people found it easy to secure light penance and large indulgences from the Friars. A long and bitter struggle ensued between them. The two following documents illustrate the criticisms which the secular clergy made on the Friars. It will be observed that in both cases the pope condemns these criticisms. In 1256 Alexander IV condemned the following sentiments as errors: That the Friars, both Dominicans and Franciscans, are not in the way to be saved. Their begging and poverty are neither meritorious nor able to secure their salvation, because, if they are strong, they ought to work with their hands and not remain idle in the hope of securing aid from others. And that they should not have the permission of the pope or bishops to preach and to hear confession, because by this great harm is done to the parish clergy. 273. John XXII Condemns the Theses of John of Poilly in which He Attacked the Friars, 1320. Denzinger, p. 140. John of Poilly, a professor of Theology, attacked the Friars and set forth the following theses, which were condemned as erroneous by John XXII, 1320: 1. That all those who confess their sins to Friars who have only a general licence to hear confession are bound to confess the same sins again to their own priest. 2. That so long as the edict "Omnis utriusque sexus" stands, which was enacted in a general council, the pope himself is not able to release parishioners from the duty of confessing their sins once a year to their own priest, that is, their parish priest. Nay, more, not even God himself can do this, because it involves a contradiction. 3. That the pope has no authority to grant a general licence to hear confession.{121} {121} The parish priest received a licence to hear confession only in his own parish, while the Friars received a general licence to hear confession everywhere. The decree "Omnis utriusque sexus" (All persons of both sexes) is the twenty-first chapter of the decrees of the Lateran council of 1215, and concerns the duty of making confession. According to its terms every Christian must confess at least once a year to his own parish priest. If he wished to confess to some other priest, he had first to secure the permission of his parish priest to do so. IX. THE CRUSADES The following selections are meant to illustrate briefly (1) the religious value attaching to crusading, nos. 274-277; (2) the immediate origin of the crusading movement, nos. 278-280; (3) the disorders and excesses attending the first crusade, nos. 282, 283; (4) the crusade of Frederic Barbarossa, no. 285; (5) the activity of the popes in fostering the crusades, the special inducements offered by them to crusaders, etc., nos. 284, 287, 288; (6) the commercial interests of the Italian cities, nos. 286, 288. 274. The Meritorious Character of Martyrdom. Origen, Exhortation to Martyrdom, 235 A.D., Chaps. 30 and 50. (Greek.) Edited by Paul Koetschau, I, pp. 26 f and 46. The chief inducement which the church at first offered crusaders was the remission of their sins. To lose one's life in fighting against pagans and infidels, or even to wage war on them, was regarded as closely akin to martyrdom, and therefore as possessing the power to atone for sins. Cf. nos. 274-277. As the interest in the crusades declined, the church found it necessary to offer still other inducements, chiefly of a secular character. The student should compare the later documents with the earlier in order to see what new inducements were offered. Ch. 30. But we must remember that we have sinned and that there is no forgiveness of sins without baptism, and that the gospel does not permit us to be baptized a second time with water and the spirit for the forgiveness of sins, and that therefore the baptism of martyrdom is given us. For thus it has been called, as may clearly be implied from the passage, "Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of? and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" [Mark 10:38]. And in another place it is said, "But I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished!" [Luke 12:50]. For be sure that just as the sacrifice of the Saviour was for the whole world, so the baptism by martyrdom is for the service of many who are thereby cleansed [of their sins]. For as those sitting near the altar according to the law of Moses minister forgiveness of sins to others through the blood of bulls and goats [Heb. 9:13], so the souls of those who have suffered martyrdom are now near the altar [in heaven] for a particular purpose and grant forgiveness of sins to those who pray. And at the same time we know that just as the high priest, Jesus Christ, offered himself as a sacrifice, so the priests [that is, the martyrs], of whom he is the high priest, offer themselves as a sacrifice, and on account of this sacrifice [which they make], they have a right to be at the altar [in heaven]. Ch. 50. Just as we were redeemed with the precious blood of Christ [1 Peter 1:19], who received the name which is above every name [Phil. 2:9], so by the precious blood of the martyrs will others be redeemed. 275. Origen, Commentary on Numbers, Homily X, 2. (Greek.) I fear therefore that now since there are no more martyrs and the saints are not offered up as sacrifices [that is, as martyrs], we are not securing the remission of our sins, and that the devil, knowing that sins are forgiven by the suffering of martyrs, does not wish to stir up the heathen to persecute us. 276. Forgiveness of Sins for Those who Die in Battle with the Heathen. Leo IV (847-55) to the Army of the Franks. Migne, 115, cols. 656, 657; and 161, col. 720. Now we hope that none of you will be slain, but we wish you to know that the kingdom of heaven will be given as a reward to those who shall be killed in this war. For the Omnipotent knows that they lost their lives fighting for the truth of the faith, for the preservation of their country, and the defence of Christians. And therefore God will give them the reward which we have named. 277. Indulgence for Fighting Heathen, 878. Migne, 126, col. 816. John II to the bishops in the realm of Louis II [the Stammerer]. You have modestly expressed a desire to know whether those who have recently died in war, fighting in defence of the church of God and for the preservation of the Christian religion and of the state, or those who may in the future fall in the same cause, may obtain indulgence for their sins. We confidently reply that those who, out of love to the Christian religion, shall die in battle fighting bravely against pagans or unbelievers, shall receive eternal life. For the Lord has said through his prophet: "In whatever hour a sinner shall be converted, I will remember his sins no longer." By the intercession of St. Peter, who has the power of binding and loosing in heaven and on the earth, we absolve, as far as is permissible, all such and commend them by our prayers to the Lord. 278. Gregory VII Calls for a Crusade, 1074. Migne, 148, col. 329. Gregory VII barely missed the honor of having begun the crusading movement. His plan is clear from the following letter. The situation in 1095 was not materially different from that in 1074, and it is probable that Urban II, when he called for a crusade, had nothing more in mind than Gregory VII had when he wrote this letter. Gregory was unable to carry out his plans because he became involved in the struggle with Henry IV. Gregory, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to all who are willing to defend the Christian faith, greeting and apostolic benediction. We hereby inform you that the bearer of this letter, on his recent return from across the sea [from Palestine], came to Rome to visit us. He repeated what we had heard from many others, that a pagan race had overcome the Christians and with horrible cruelty had devastated everything almost to the walls of Constantinople, and were now governing the conquered lands with tyrannical violence, and that they had slain many thousands of Christians as if they were but sheep. If we love God and wish to be recognized as Christians, we should be filled with grief at the misfortune of this great empire [the Greek] and the murder of so many Christians. But simply to grieve is not our whole duty. The example of our Redeemer and the bond of fraternal love demand that we should lay down our lives to liberate them. "Because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren" [1 John 3:16]. Know, therefore, that we are trusting in the mercy of God and in the power of his might and that we are striving in all possible ways and making preparations to render aid to the Christian empire [the Greek] as quickly as possible. Therefore we beseech you by the faith in which you are united through Christ in the adoption of the sons of God, and by the authority of St. Peter, prince of apostles, we admonish you that you be moved to proper compassion by the wounds and blood of your brethren and the danger of the aforesaid empire and that, for the sake of Christ, you undertake the difficult task of bearing aid to your brethren [the Greeks]. Send messengers to us at once to inform us of what God may inspire you to do in this matter. 279. The Speech of Urban II at the Council of Clermont, 1095. Fulcher of Chartres. Bongars, Gesta Dei per Francos, I, pp. 382 f. In 1094 or 1095, Alexius, the Greek emperor, sent to the pope, Urban II, and asked for aid from the west against the Turks, who had taken nearly all of Asia Minor from him. At the council of Clermont Urban addressed a great crowd and urged all to go to the aid of the Greeks and to recover Palestine from the rule of the Mohammedans. The acts of the council have not been preserved, but we have four accounts of the speech of Urban which were written by men who were present and heard him. We give the two most important of these accounts. The interest of the speech lies in the fact that it gave the impulse which started the crusading movement. "Most beloved brethren: Urged by necessity, I, Urban, by the permission of God chief bishop and prelate over the whole world, have come into these parts as an ambassador with a divine admonition to you, the servants of God. I hoped to find you as faithful and as zealous in the service of God as I had supposed you to be. But if there is in you any deformity or crookedness contrary to God's law, with divine help I will do my best to remove it. For God has put you as stewards over his family to minister to it. Happy indeed will you be if he finds you faithful in your stewardship. You are called shepherds; see that you do not act as hirelings. But be true shepherds, with your crooks always in your hands. Do not go to sleep, but guard on all sides the flock committed to you. For if through your carelessness or negligence a wolf carries away one of your sheep, you will surely lose the reward laid up for you with God. And after you have been bitterly scourged with remorse for your faults, you will be fiercely overwhelmed in hell, the abode of death. For according to the gospel you are the salt of the earth [Matt. 5:13]. But if you fall short in your duty, how, it may be asked, can it be salted? O how great the need of salting! It is indeed necessary for you to correct with the salt of wisdom this foolish people which is so devoted to the pleasures of this world, lest the Lord, when He may wish to speak to them, find them putrefied by their sins, unsalted and stinking. For if He shall find worms, that is, sins, in them, because you have been negligent in your duty, He will command them as worthless to be thrown into the abyss of unclean things. And because you cannot restore to Him His great loss, He will surely condemn you and drive you from His loving presence. But the man who applies this salt should be prudent, provident, modest, learned, peaceable, watchful, pious, just, equitable, and pure. For how can the ignorant teach others? How can the licentious make others modest? And how can the impure make others pure? If anyone hates peace, how can he make others peaceable? Or if anyone has soiled his hands with baseness, how can he cleanse the impurities of another? We read also that if the blind lead the blind, both will fall into the ditch [Matt. 15:14]. But first correct yourselves, in order that, free from blame, you may be able to correct those who are subject to you. If you wish to be the friends of God, gladly do the things which you know will please Him. You must especially let all matters that pertain to the church be controlled by the law of the church. And be careful that simony does not take root among you, lest both those who buy and those who sell [church offices] be beaten with the scourges of the Lord through narrow streets and driven into the place of destruction and confusion. Keep the church and the clergy in all its grades entirely free from the secular power. See that the tithes that belong to God are faithfully paid from all the produce of the land; let them not be sold or withheld. If anyone seizes a bishop let him be treated as an outlaw. If anyone seizes or robs monks, or clergymen, or nuns, or their servants, or pilgrims, or merchants, let him be anathema [that is, cursed]. Let robbers and incendiaries and all their accomplices be expelled from the church and anathematized. If a man who does not give a part of his goods as alms is punished with the damnation of hell, how should he be punished who robs another of his goods? For thus it happened to the rich man in the gospel [Luke 16:19]; for he was not punished because he had stolen the goods of another, but because he had not used well the things which were his. "You have seen for a long time the great disorder in the world caused by these crimes. It is so bad in some of your provinces, I am told, and you are so weak in the administration of justice, that one can hardly go along the road by day or night without being attacked by robbers; and whether at home or abroad, one is in danger of being despoiled either by force or fraud. Therefore it is necessary to reenact the truce, as it is commonly called, which was proclaimed a long time ago by our holy fathers. I exhort and demand that you, each, try hard to have the truce kept in your diocese. And if anyone shall be led by his cupidity or arrogance to break this truce, by the authority of God and with the sanction of this council he shall be anathematized." After these and various other matters had been attended to, all who were present, clergy and people, gave thanks to God and agreed to the pope's proposition. They all faithfully promised to keep the decrees. Then the pope said that in another part of the world Christianity was suffering from a state of affairs that was worse than the one just mentioned. He continued: "Although, O sons of God, you have promised more firmly than ever to keep the peace among yourselves and to preserve the rights of the church, there remains still an important work for you to do. Freshly quickened by the divine correction, you must apply the strength of your righteousness to another matter which concerns you as well as God. For your brethren who live in the east are in urgent need of your help, and you must hasten to give them the aid which has often been promised them. For, as the most of you have heard, the Turks and Arabs have attacked them and have conquered the territory of Romania [the Greek empire] as far west as the shore of the Mediterranean and the Hellespont, which is called the Arm of St. George. They have occupied more and more of the lands of those Christians, and have overcome them in seven battles. They have killed and captured many, and have destroyed the churches and devastated the empire. If you permit them to continue thus for awhile with impunity, the faithful of God will be much more widely attacked by them. On this account I, or rather the Lord, beseech you as Christ's heralds to publish this everywhere and to persuade all people of whatever rank, foot-soldiers and knights, poor and rich, to carry aid promptly to those Christians and to destroy that vile race from the lands of our friends. I say this to those who are present, it is meant also for those who are absent. Moreover, Christ commands it. "All who die by the way, whether by land or by sea, or in battle against the pagans, shall have immediate remission of sins. This I grant them through the power of God with which I am invested. O what a disgrace if such a despised and base race, which worships demons, should conquer a people which has the faith of omnipotent God and is made glorious with the name of Christ! With what reproaches will the Lord overwhelm us if you do not aid those who, with us, profess the Christian religion! Let those who have been accustomed unjustly to wage private warfare against the faithful now go against the infidels and end with victory this war which should have been begun long ago. Let those who, for a long time, have been robbers, now become knights. Let those who have been fighting against their brothers and relatives now fight in a proper way against the barbarians. Let those who have been serving as mercenaries for small pay now obtain the eternal reward. Let those who have been wearing themselves out in both body and soul now work for a double honor. Behold! on this side will be the sorrowful and poor, on that, the rich; on this side, the enemies of the Lord, on that, his friends. Let those who go not put off the journey, but rent their lands and collect money for their expenses; and as soon as winter is over and spring comes, let them eagerly set out on the way with God as their guide." 280. The Council of Clermont, 1095. Robert the Monk. Bongars, I, pp. 31 f. In 1095 a great council was held in Auvergne, in the city of Clermont. Pope Urban II, accompanied by cardinals and bishops, presided over it. It was made famous by the presence of many bishops and princes from France and Germany. After the council had attended to ecclesiastical matters, the pope went out into a public square, because no house was able to hold the people, and addressed them in a very persuasive speech, as follows: "O race of the Franks, O people who live beyond the mountains [that is, reckoned from Rome], O people loved and chosen of God, as is clear from your many deeds, distinguished over all other nations by the situation of your land, your catholic faith, and your regard for the holy church, we have a special message and exhortation for you. For we wish you to know what a grave matter has brought us to your country. The sad news has come from Jerusalem and Constantinople that the people of Persia, an accursed and foreign race, enemies of God, 'a generation that set not their heart aright, and whose spirit was not steadfast with God' [Ps. 78:8], have invaded the lands of those Christians and devastated them with the sword, rapine, and fire. Some of the Christians they have carried away as slaves, others they have put to death. The churches they have either destroyed or turned into mosques. They desecrate and overthrow the altars. They circumcise the Christians and pour the blood from the circumcision on the altars or in the baptismal fonts. Some they kill in a horrible way by cutting open the abdomen, taking out a part of the entrails and tying them to a stake; they then beat them and compel them to walk until all their entrails are drawn out and they fall to the ground. Some they use as targets for their arrows. They compel some to stretch out their necks and then they try to see whether they can cut off their heads with one stroke of the sword. It is better to say nothing of their horrible treatment of the women. They have taken from the Greek empire a tract of land so large that it takes more than two months to walk through it. Whose duty is it to avenge this and recover that land, if not yours? For to you more than to other nations the Lord has given the military spirit, courage, agile bodies, and the bravery to strike down those who resist you. Let your minds be stirred to bravery by the deeds of your forefathers, and by the efficiency and greatness of Karl the Great, and of Ludwig his son, and of the other kings who have destroyed Turkish kingdoms, and established Christianity in their lands. You should be moved especially by the holy grave of our Lord and Saviour which is now held by unclean peoples, and by the holy places which are treated with dishonor and irreverently befouled with their uncleanness. "O bravest of knights, descendants of unconquered ancestors, do not be weaker than they, but remember their courage. If you are kept back by your love for your children, relatives, and wives, remember what the Lord says in the Gospel: 'He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me' [Matt. 10:37]; 'and everyone that hath forsaken houses, or brothers, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands for my name's sake, shall receive a hundredfold and shall inherit everlasting life' [Matt. 19:29]. Let no possessions keep you back, no solicitude for your property. Your land is shut in on all sides by the sea and mountains, and is too thickly populated. There is not much wealth here, and the soil scarcely yields enough to support you. On this account you kill and devour each other, and carry on war and mutually destroy each other. Let your hatred and quarrels cease, your civil wars come to an end, and all your dissensions stop. Set out on the road to the holy sepulchre, take the land from that wicked people, and make it your own. That land which, as the Scripture says, is flowing with milk and honey, God gave to the children of Israel. Jerusalem is the best of all lands, more fruitful than all others, as it were a second Paradise of delights. This land our Saviour made illustrious by his birth, beautiful with his life, and sacred with his suffering; he redeemed it with his death and glorified it with his tomb. This royal city is now held captive by her enemies, and made pagan by those who know not God. She asks and longs to be liberated and does not cease to beg you to come to her aid. She asks aid especially from you because, as I have said, God has given more of the military spirit to you than to other nations. Set out on this journey and you will obtain the remission of your sins and be sure of the incorruptible glory of the kingdom of heaven." When Pope Urban had said this and much more of the same sort, all who were present were moved to cry out with one accord, "It is the will of God, it is the will of God." When the pope heard this he raised his eyes to heaven and gave thanks to God, and, commanding silence with a gesture of his hand, he said: "My dear brethren, today there is fulfilled in you that which the Lord says in the Gospel, 'Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst' [Matt. 18:20]. For unless the Lord God had been in your minds you would not all have said the same thing. For although you spoke with many voices, nevertheless it was one and the same thing that made you speak. So I say unto you, God, who put those words into your hearts, has caused you to utter them. Therefore let these words be your battle cry, because God caused you to speak them. Whenever you meet the enemy in battle, you shall all cry out, 'It is the will of God, it is the will of God.' And we do not command the old or weak to go, or those who cannot bear arms. No women shall go without their husbands, or brothers, or proper companions, for such would be a hindrance rather than a help, a burden rather than an advantage. Let the rich aid the poor and equip them for fighting and take them with them. Clergymen shall not go without the consent of their bishop, for otherwise the journey would be of no value to them. Nor will this pilgrimage be of any benefit to a layman if he goes without the blessing of his priest. Whoever therefore shall determine to make this journey and shall make a vow to God and shall offer himself as a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God [Rom. 12:1], shall wear a cross on his brow or on his breast. And when he returns after having fulfilled his vow he shall wear the cross on his back. In this way he will obey the command of the Lord, 'Whosoever doth not bear his cross and come after me is not worthy of me'" [Luke 14:27]. When these things had been done, while all prostrated themselves on the earth and beat their breasts, one of the cardinals, named Gregory, made confession for them, and they were given absolution for all their sins. After the absolution, they received the benediction and the permission to go home. 281. The Truce of God and Indulgence for Crusaders. The Council of Clermont, 1095. Mansi, XX, 816. The canons of this council in their original form have not been preserved. We have translated the first two canons as Mansi has formulated them. See also nos. 240 ff. for truce of God. 1. It was decreed that monks, clergymen, women, and whatever they may have with them, shall be under the protection of the peace all the time [that is, shall never be attacked]. On three days of the week, that is, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, an act of violence committed by one person against another shall not be regarded as a violation of the peace [truce]. But on the remaining four days of the week if anyone does an injury to another, he shall be held to be a violator of the holy peace [truce], and he shall be punished as has been decreed. 2. If anyone out of devotion alone and not for honor or gain sets out for Jerusalem to free the church of God, the journey shall be regarded as the equivalent of all penance. 282. Rabble Bands of Crusaders. Ekkehard of Aura, Hierosolimita. Edited by Hagenmeyer, pp. 122 ff. The lack of unity and organization in the first crusade gave many persons an opportunity to plunder and rob and commit all kinds of violence under the cloak of religion. Because they had taken the cross they pretended that they were privileged and might do as they pleased. They attempted to live at the expense of others. This and the following selection will give an idea of the violence and excesses committed by them. Their villainous conduct led many devout persons to criticise the crusading movement very sharply. The events described by Ekkehard occurred in 1096. He wrote the account between 1103 and 1106. Folkmar [a priest] led his following [about 12,000] through Bohemia. When they came to Neitra, a town of Hungary, the people rose against them, took some of them prisoners and killed others. Only a very few of them escaped and they still tell how the sign of the cross appeared in the sky over them and saved them from imminent death. Gotschalk, not a true but a false servant of God, suffered some losses while passing with his army through Austria. After entering Hungary, as a remarkable proof of their hypocrisy, they fortified a certain town on a hill and, after establishing a garrison there, the rest of them began to plunder the country round about. But the town was soon taken by the natives and many of the crusaders were killed. Gotschalk, the hireling and not a pastor, and those who were with him were driven off. There arose also in those days a certain knight, named Emicho, a count from the Rhine region, who for a long time had been infamous because of his manner of living. Like a second Saul [1 Sam. 10:9-13], he said that he had been called by divine revelation to engage in this sort of religious undertaking. He gathered about 12,000 crusaders, and while passing through the cities along the Rhine, Main, and Danube, led by their zeal for Christianity, they persecuted the hated race of the Jews wherever they found them, and strove either to destroy them completely or to compel them to become Christians. They were joined on the way by many men and women. When they came to the frontier of Hungary, which is protected by swamps and forests, they were prevented from entering it by guards who were stationed there for that purpose; for king Coloman had heard that the Germans made no distinction between pagans and Hungarians. The crusaders besieged Wieselburg [at the junction of the Danube and the Leitha] for six weeks, during which time they suffered a good many hardships. A foolish quarrel arose among them over the question who of them should rule as king over Hungary after they had taken it. They were about to take the city, the walls were broken down and the inhabitants were fleeing and setting fire to their own houses, when, in a miraculous manner, the victorious army of crusaders began to flee, leaving all their provisions and supplies. They escaped with nothing but their lives. 283. Peter the Hermit. Anonymi Gesta Francorum, 1097-99. Edited by Hagenmeyer, pp. 106 ff. The anonymous author of the Gesta Francorum was a knight from southern Italy who went with Boemund on the crusade. He wrote his account of the crusade at various times while on the march to Jerusalem. After the capture of the city and the battle with the Mohammedans before Ascalon, he added a chapter in which he described those events. From the passage here given it will be seen that Peter the Hermit played a very inglorious part in the first crusade. His army did not differ either in its character or in its fate from those of Folkmar, Gotschalk, and Emicho. One of the divisions of the Franks passed through Hungary. The leaders of these were Peter the Hermit, Godfrey, his brother Baldwin, and Baldwin, count of Mt. Henno. These most powerful knights and many others, whose names I do not know, went by the road which Karl the Great, the famous king of France, had caused to be made to Constantinople. But Peter, with a large number of Germans, preceded all the others to Constantinople, which he reached August 1 [1096]. There he found some Lombards, [other] Italians, and many others assembled. The emperor had given them a market and had told them not to cross the strait until the great body of crusaders should come, because they were not numerous enough to meet the Turks in battle. But these crusaders were conducting themselves badly. They were destroying and burning palaces [in the suburbs of Constantinople], and they stole the lead with which the churches were covered, and sold it to the Greeks. At this the emperor became angry and ordered them to cross the strait. But after they crossed they continued to do all the damage possible, burning and plundering houses and churches. At length they came to Nicomedia where, because of the haughtiness of the French, the Lombards, Italians, and Germans separated from them and chose a leader named Raynald. They then marched four days into the interior. Beyond Nicæa they found a castle, named Xerigordon, which had no garrison. They took it and found in it a good deal of grain, wine, and meat, and an abundance of all kinds of provisions. The Turks, hearing that the Christians were in this castle, came to besiege it. Before the gate of the castle was a well and at the foot of the castle a spring of water. Near this spring Raynald laid an ambush to catch the Turks. But they came on St. Michael's day [September 29], and discovered the ambuscade and fell upon Raynald and those who were with him, and killed many of them. Those who escaped fled into the castle. The Turks laid close siege to the castle and cut off its supply of water. And the crusaders suffered so from thirst that they bled the horses and donkeys and drank their blood. And some let down girdles and pieces of rags into the cistern and squeezed the water out of them into their mouths. Some even drank urine, and others, to relieve their thirst, dug holes in the ground and, lying on their backs, covered their breasts with the moist earth. The bishops and priests comforted them and urged them not to give up, saying, "Be strong in the faith of Christ, and fear not those who persecute you, as the Lord said, 'Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul'" [Matt. 10:28]. This continued for eight days. Finally the leader of the Germans agreed with the Turks to betray his companions to them. So, pretending to go out to fight, he fled to the Turks and many went with him. But those who would not deny their Lord were killed. The Turks took some prisoners and divided them like sheep among themselves. Some of these they put up as targets and shot arrows at them. Others they sold or gave away as if they were animals. Some took their prisoners home with them as slaves. In this way some of the Christians were taken to Chorasan, some to Antioch, some to Aleppo, and still others to other places. These were the first to suffer a glorious martyrdom for the name of the Lord Jesus. Now the Turks, learning that Peter the Hermit and Walter the Penniless were at Civitot, which is above Nicæa, came thither with great rejoicing to kill them and those who were with them. Walter was leading his men out toward Xerigordon when the Turks met them and killed them. But Peter the Hermit had a short time before gone back to Constantinople because he could not control his people, who refused to obey him. The Turks then attacked those who were encamped near Civitot, some of whom they found asleep, others lying down, and others naked, and killed them. Among them they found a priest saying mass and killed him at the altar. Those who were able to escape fled into Civitot. Some sprang into the sea, and others hid in the woods and mountains. The Turks followed those who went into the castle, and gathered wood to burn them with the castle. But the Christians in the castle threw fire into the piles of wood, and the fire, turned against the Turks, burned some of them. But God delivered ours from the fire. But at length the Turks took them alive, divided them among themselves, as they had done before, and scattered them through all those regions. Some were sent to Chorasan and others into Persia. All this was done in the month of October [1096]. 284. Eugene III Announces a Crusade, December 1, 1145. Migne, 180, cols. 1064 f. Edessa was taken by Zenki, the emir of Mosul, in December, 1144. The news of this disaster was carried to the west and at the same time an appeal for help was made. For some time no response was made to this appeal, but finally Eugene III issued this call, and appointed Bernard of Clairvaux to preach the crusade. The student will observe that the pope exercises high authority in secular matters, such as the payment of interest, the pawning of fiefs, etc. Since the days of Gregory VII (1073-85), the pope acts as the supreme law-giver in all matters, both spiritual and secular. Eugene, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his most beloved son, Louis, the illustrious and glorious king of the Franks, and to his beloved sons, the princes, and to all the faithful in God in Gaul, greeting and apostolic benediction. From the history of our predecessors we learn how much they labored for the deliverance of the oriental church. For, in order to deliver it, our predecessor, Urban II, of blessed memory, sounded, as it were, a trumpet, and called together the sons of the holy Roman church from all parts of the world. At his voice, people from beyond the mountains, and especially the bravest and strongest warriors of the Franks and of Italy were inflamed with the ardor of love and came together. So a great army was collected which, with the aid of God, and not without great loss of life, freed from the filth of the pagans that city in which our Saviour died for us and left his glorious tomb as a memorial of his suffering for us. And they took many other cities which, for the sake of brevity, we omit. By the grace of God and the zeal of your fathers in defending them, these cities have, up to this time, remained in the hands of the Christians, and Christianity has been spread in those parts, and other cities have been valiantly taken from the infidels. But now, because of our sins and the sins of the people in the east (we cannot say it without great sorrow and weeping), the city of Edessa, or Rohais, as we call it, which was the only Christian city in those parts when the pagans held that country, has been taken by the enemies of the cross of Christ, and many Christian fortresses have been seized by them. The archbishop of Edessa and his clergy and many other Christians have been killed there. The relics of the saints have been trampled under foot by the infidels and scattered. You know as well as we how great a danger is threatening the church and the whole Christian world. If you bravely defend those things which the courage of your fathers acquired, it will be the greatest proof of your nobility and worth. But if not, it will be shown that you have less bravery than your fathers. Therefore we exhort, ask, command, and for the remission of your sins, we order all of you, and especially the nobles and the more powerful, to arm yourselves manfully to defend the oriental church, and to attack the infidels and to liberate the thousands of your brethren who are now their captives, that the dignity of the Christian name may be increased, and your reputation for courage, which is praised throughout the world, may remain unimpaired. Take for your example that Mattathias, who, to preserve the laws of his country, did not hesitate to expose himself, his children, and his relatives to death, and to leave all that he possessed in this world. And finally, by the divine aid, after many labors, he and his family triumphed over his enemies [1 Maccabees 2:1 ff.]. Wishing, therefore, to provide for your welfare as well as to relieve the church in the east, we grant to those who, in a spirit of devotion, shall determine to accomplish this holy and necessary work, by the authority of God conferred on us, the same remission of sins as our predecessor, Pope Urban, granted. And we decree that their wives and children, their goods and possessions, shall be under the protection of the holy church, of ourselves, and of the archbishops, bishops, and other prelates of the church of God. And until they return, or their death is known, we forbid by our apostolic authority any lawsuit to be brought against them about any of the property of which they were in peaceful possession when they took the cross. Moreover, since those who fight for the Lord should not have their minds set on fine clothing, or personal decoration, or [hunting] dogs, or falcons, or other things which savor of worldliness, we urge you to take care that those who undertake so holy a journey shall not deck themselves out with gay clothing and furs, or with gold and silver weapons, but that they shall try to supply themselves with such arms, horses, and other things as will aid them to defeat the infidels. If any are in debt but with a pure intention set out on this holy journey, they shall not pay the interest already due; and if they or others are pledged to pay the interest, by our apostolic authority we absolve them from their oath or pledge. If their relatives or the lords on whose fiefs they live cannot or will not lend them the money [necessary for the journey], they may pawn their lands and other possessions to churches, to clergymen, or to others, without the consent of the lords of their fiefs. In accordance with the grant of our predecessor and by the authority of omnipotent God, and of St. Peter, prince of the apostles, which authority is vested in us, we grant such remission of sins and absolution that whoever shall devoutly undertake and complete so holy a journey, or shall have died while on the way, shall have absolution for all his sins which he shall have confessed with a humble and contrite heart, and he shall receive the reward of eternal life from God the rewarder of all. 285. The Third Crusade, 1189-90. From the Chronicle of Otto of St. Blasien. M. G. SS. folio, XX, pp. 318 ff The Greek emperor, Isaac Angelus, and Saladin had made an alliance against the sultan of Iconium, who was their common enemy. Isaac's hostility to Frederick is explained in part by the fact that he had promised Saladin to try to prevent the crusaders from reaching Palestine. It was only natural that the sultan of Iconium should try to make an alliance with Frederick, since the latter was going to attack Saladin. But before Frederick reached Iconium, the sultan had divided his government among his sons, one of whom, Kutbeddin, was governor of Iconium. Kutbeddin had made an alliance with Saladin and married one of his daughters. This explains why the treaty with Frederick was broken. In order not to confuse the student we have corrected a few errors in Otto's account. In the year 1187, Saladin, king of the Saracens, seeing the very base conduct of the Christians, and knowing that they were afflicted with discord, hatred, and avarice, thought the time was favorable and so planned to conquer all Syria with Palestine. He collected a very large army of Saracens from all the orient and made war on the Christians. Attacking them everywhere in Palestine with fire and sword, he took many fortresses and cities and killed or took prisoner all their Christian inhabitants, and put Saracen colonists in their place. The king of Jerusalem and the noble prince, Reinaldus [of Chatillon, governor of Kerak], and other nobles collected a large army and went out to meet Saladin. The true cross was carried at the head of the army. But they were defeated [at the battle of the Horns of Hattin, July 5, 1187] and many thousands of Christians were slain. The true cross, alas! was captured by the Saracens, and the Christians were put to flight. The king and Reinaldus and many others were taken prisoner, and carried off to Damascus, where ... Reinaldus was beheaded, confessing the true faith. The pagans were made bold by this victory and took all the cities of the Christians except Tyre, Sidon, Tripolis, and Antioch, and a few other cities and fortresses which were the best fortified and most difficult to take. After taking Acco, where there is a port which had been the sole refuge of the Christians, they besieged Jerusalem. They destroyed all the churches about the city, among them those in Bethlehem and on the Mount of Olives. Finally the Christians surrendered, Jerusalem was taken, and the holy places were profaned and inhabited by pagans [Oct. 2, 1187]. I think that I should relate that while Jerusalem was besieged by the pagans, one of the towers of the city was taken, many of the Christians defending it were slain, and the standard of Saladin was raised over it. This caused the people to despair and they gave up the defence of the walls. And on that day the city came very nearly being taken and destroyed. But a certain German knight, seeing this, and made bold by the desperate situation, urged some of his companions to join him in making a bold attack on the enemy. They retook the tower, killed the pagans in it, tore down the standard of Saladin and threw it to the ground. By this act, he restored courage to the Christians and persuaded them to return to the defence of the walls. After the city had surrendered, as has been said, the sepulchre of the Lord was held in veneration for the sake of gain.... Frederick the emperor, after ending the wars all over Germany and establishing peace, held a general diet in Mainz at mid-lent [March 27, 1188], and discussed the affairs of state. Papal delegates came to this diet and told the emperor about the destruction of the church beyond the sea [in Palestine], and, making complaint in the name of the pope and of the whole church, begged for his aid. A meeting having been held to consider the matter, Frederick offered to go to the aid of Jerusalem, and, for the remission of their sins, he and his son, Frederick, duke of Suabia, took the cross. Frederick publicly declared that he would avenge the insult which had been offered the cross, and by his example he aroused many nobles and a great multitude of various ranks and ages to take the cross. After these things were done, the cardinals preached the crusade in various parts of the country and persuaded many to leave father and mother, wife and children, and lands, for the name of Christ and to take the cross and follow him across the sea. They raised a large army. The emperor set the time of departure in May of the following year. He ordered the poor to provide themselves with at least three marks [about thirty dollars] for their expenses, and the rich to take as much money as they could. Under threat of excommunication he forbade anyone to go who did not have three marks, because he did not wish the army to be burdened with a useless crowd. After these things were done in Germany the pope sent cardinals to Philip [II], king of the Franks, and to Richard, king of the English, and persuaded them to take the cross. In England and in France he also raised a large army for the crusade. At this time messengers of the sultan of Iconium came to Frederick and, with the intention to deceive, renewed the treaty with him. They promised him a free passage through all Cilicia if he would go peaceably. For Frederick was going to pass with his army through Cilicia, the land of the sultan, and the pagans, fearing for their land, preferred to have peace rather than war. But the outcome was not what they had expected. At Pentecost, 1189, Frederick held a general diet at [Regensburg] ... and had his army gather there. He gave the royal insignia to his son, king Henry. He appointed a certain income to each of his other sons, conferred titles on them, and after making all necessary arrangements, said farewell to all. His son, Frederick, duke of Suabia, the marquis of Meissen, with the Saxons, and many other princes and bishops, went with him. And so with a very large army, well equipped and organized, he set out for the orient to attack Saladin and all the enemies of the cross. While passing through Hungary its king honored him with many gifts and gave the army large supplies of flour, wine, and meat. When he entered Bulgaria the inhabitants tried to block the road. But he forced his way through, killed many of those who opposed him, took some of them prisoner, and hung them on the trees along the road. By this he showed that he was visiting the grave of the Lord not with a pilgrim's wallet, but with the sword and lance of a warrior. Thus he passed through Bulgaria and entered Greece. But the Greeks were worse than the Bulgarians. At the command of the Greek emperor they showed the army no kindness and even refused to sell them anything to eat. They shut themselves up in their fortresses, into which they had taken all their possessions. It made Frederick angry to receive such treatment from Christians, and so he permitted his army to plunder the country. He determined to treat the Greeks as pagans because, by their acts, they showed that they were aiding his enemy, Saladin. His whole army besieged Philipopolis, a very rich city, and took and plundered it. He likewise captured a very strong fortress called Demotica. By this he so frightened the Greeks that he got possession of several fortresses and cities. After devastating the country and taking much booty, he compelled the rest of the Greeks to furnish the army with provisions. These things were done about the end of August [1189]. After consulting the princes, the emperor determined to pass the winter in Greece. So he took possession of the country round about, fortified a strong mountain as a camp for his soldiers and called it Kingsmountain. Having thus taken up a strong position against Constantinople, he had supplies for the army brought from the neighboring territory, and thus overcame Greek treachery with Roman strength and German bravery. He remained there all winter to the next Easter [March 25, 1190]. The Greeks were unable to resist his army and always fled before it. Now the Greek emperor, not being able to withstand the power of Frederick, made amends for what he had done, and entered into a treaty with him. He appeased the army by supplying them with provisions. Thus, having been reconciled with Frederick, he set him and his army across the Propontis [March 22-28, 1190, from Gallipolis]. Frederick now entered Asia with his army. He marched for some time, meeting everywhere with success, and all the people in Romania [western Asia Minor] submitted to him. As the emperor approached Iconium, the sultan broke his treaty, caused all the provisions to be carried into the fortresses, and, like a barbarian and Scythian, refused to sell the army provisions. The army suffered from hunger and were compelled to eat the flesh of mules, donkeys, and horses. Besides, the pagans attacked the rear and those who went out foraging, and killed some of them. In this way they hindered the army. Our troops wished to meet the Saracens in open battle and often drew themselves up in battle array, but the Saracens always withdrew and refused to join in a general engagement. Now although the army was annoyed in this way and was suffering from hunger and want, the emperor, out of regard for the treaty with the sultan, kept his army from devastating and plundering the country, because he thought the people were attacking him without the permission of the sultan. But when he learned from couriers that the sultan had perfidiously ordered the people to attack him, he was angry, and, declaring the sultan an enemy, he permitted the army to take vengeance. They devastated Cilicia, Pamphilia, and Phrygia with slaughter, rapine, fire, and sword, while the pagan army constantly withdrew before them. The army now turned toward Iconium, which is the capital of Cilicia, and the chief residence of the sultan, and quickly took it [May 18, 1190]. It was a very populous city, well fortified with strong walls and high towers, and had in its midst an impregnable citadel. It was well supplied with victuals against a siege, while all the surrounding country was stripped of provisions, in order that when the emperor came he would not long be able to support an army there. But God overruled their efforts so that the outcome was just the opposite of what they sought. For the emperor suddenly attacked the city with great violence before the third hour of the day [9 o'clock], killed a great many of the inhabitants and took the city by storm before the ninth hour [3 o'clock P.M.]. Many people, of both sexes and of all ages, were put to the sword. The sultan with many of his nobles fled into the citadel, which the emperor began to besiege the same day. Now the sultan saw that nothing could resist the force of the Germans and that, supported by some divine power, they despised death and without hesitation attacked everything that resisted them. So, taught by dangerous experience, and thinking it necessary to demand peace from the emperor, he asked to speak with him. The emperor granted his request. The sultan then marched out of the citadel and surrendered at the discretion of the emperor, and gave hostages. After peace was made the city of Iconium and his kingdom were restored to him. The army was thus made rich with spoil and the emperor left Iconium in triumph. The Armenian princes from all sides began to come to him, among them Leo, the noblest Christian prince of all that country. They all welcomed Frederick with joy and thanked him heartily for coming and attacking the Saracens. They were all well disposed toward him, so he set out for Tarsus, famous as the birthplace of St. Paul. But God who is terrible in his doing toward the children of men [Ps. 66:5], showing that the time had not yet come for showing mercy on Zion [Ps. 102:13], cut the anchor of the little boat of St. Peter and permitted it to be tossed about and beaten by the storms of this world. For the great emperor, Frederick, while on the road to Tarsus, after a part of the army had crossed a certain river, went into the water to refresh himself. For it was very hot and he was a good swimmer. But the cold water overcame him and he sank. So the emperor, powerful by land and sea, met with an unfortunate death. Some say that this happened in the Cydnus river, in which Alexander the Great almost met the same fate. For the Cydnus is near Tarsus. He died in the 38th year of his reign, the 35th of his rule as emperor [June 10, 1190]. If he had lived he would have been a terror to all the orient, but by his death the army lost all its courage, and was overwhelmed with grief. His intestines and flesh were buried in Tarsus, but his bones were carried to Antioch and buried with royal ceremony. 286. Innocent III Forbids the Venetians to Traffic with the Mohammedans, 1198. Migne, 214, col. 493. The maritime cities of Italy took quite a part in the crusades, but their interests were largely commercial. In all the cities of the eastern Mediterranean and the Black Sea they tried to get harbor privileges, freedom from tolls or at least a reduction in them, and quarters, consisting of a few city blocks, in which their agents or colonists could reside. They carried on an extensive commerce with the Mohammedans and cleverly and selfishly made use of the crusades to increase it. While the church was glad to have their aid in the wars with the Mohammedans, it found them a disturbing element, because they were content and wished to end hostilities as soon as they had secured good commercial advantages. The popes took the position that there should be no peaceable intercourse between Christians and Mohammedans, and so tried to prevent all commerce between them. This letter of Innocent III to the people of Venice illustrates the attitude of the pope in this matter, informs us what some of the chief articles of commerce were, and shows how the pope was compelled to make concessions to the commercial spirit. In support of the eastern province [that is, the crusading states], in addition to the forgiveness of sins which we promise those who, at their own expense, set out thither, and besides the papal protection which we give those who aid that land, we have renewed that decree of the Lateran council [held under Alexander III, 1179], which excommunicated those Christians who shall furnish the Saracens with weapons, iron, or timbers for their galleys, and those who serve the Saracens as helmsmen or in any other way on their galleys and other piratical craft, and which furthermore ordered that their property be confiscated by the secular princes and the consuls of the cities, and that, if any such persons should be taken prisoner, they should be the slaves of those who captured them. We furthermore excommunicated all those Christians who shall hereafter have anything to do with the Saracens either directly or indirectly, or shall attempt to give them aid in any way so long as the war between them and us shall last. But recently our beloved sons, Andreas Donatus and Benedict Grilion, your messengers, came and explained to us that your city was suffering great loss by this our decree, because Venice does not engage in agriculture, but in shipping and commerce. Nevertheless, we are led by the paternal love which we have for you to forbid you to aid the Saracens by selling them, giving them, or exchanging with them, iron, flax (oakum), pitch, sharp instruments, rope, weapons, galleys, ships, and timbers, whether hewn or in the rough. But for the present and until we order to the contrary, we permit those who are going to Egypt to carry other kinds of merchandise whenever it shall be necessary. In return for this favor you should be willing to go to the aid of the province of Jerusalem and you should not attempt to evade our apostolic command. For there is no doubt that he who, against his own conscience, shall fraudulently try to evade this prohibition, shall be under divine condemnation. 287. Papal Protection of Crusaders. Innocent III Takes the King of the Danes under his Protection, 1210. Migne, 216, col. 258. We commend you because, fired with zeal for the orthodox faith and for the praise of God and for the honor of the Christian religion, you have taken the cross and have drawn your royal sword to repress the cruelty of an infidel people [the Turks]. And we also give you our apostolic favor, and take under the protection of St. Peter as well as under our own your person and your kingdom with all your possessions, decreeing that so long as you are engaged in this work all your possessions shall remain intact and free from all molestation. Nevertheless we urge upon you to take all possible precautions to protect you and yours, in order that you may not suffer any loss.{122} {122} From this sentence it may be inferred that the papal protection was not always respected. It sometimes failed to protect the possessions of a crusader from violence and seizure. 288. Innocent III and the Lateran Council Announce a Crusade, 1215. Bullarium Romanum (Rome, 1740), Vol. III, para. i, pp. 173 ff. It was the greatest ambition of Innocent III to recover Palestine from the Mohammedans. During his pontificate he never lost sight of this object. One of the chief purposes of the Lateran council which he called together in 1215, was to arrange for a universal crusade. This decree shows his earnestness in the matter, but at the same time betrays the difficulties which were in the way. (1) The character of the clergy was not such as to insure the best results, and their conduct was not above reproach. They were jealous of each other, and intrigued to secure places to which much honor and rich livings were attached (par. 2). (2) Many who took the cross afterwards refused to go. Some had no doubt made the vow in a moment of enthusiasm; others, in a calculating spirit, hoping to gain some reputation, or secure some advantage, such as an extension of time in the payment of their debts, the cancellation of interest, the freedom from local taxation, or feudal dues, the right to raise money by pawning their fiefs, etc. (pars. 4, 10, and 11). (3) There was a general unwillingness on the part of the rich to go in person on a crusade. Nor were they all willing to equip someone to go in their place (pars. 5 and 6). (4) The commercial interests and spirit of the Italian cities were stronger than their religious sentiment, and led them to sell arms and ships to the Mohammedans, and even to serve in important positions on their boats (pars. 12, 13, and 14). (5) The warlike spirit of the west had found a new outlet in the bloody tournaments which were now much in fashion, and the feuds and private warfare offered the ambitious and adventurous knight a convenient field for the constant exercise of arms (pars. 15 and 16). In spite of his great efforts, many things made the execution of Innocent's plan impossible. The popular days of the crusades were over. Innocent escaped a bitter disappointment only by his death, which occurred the following year, 1216. Since we earnestly desire to liberate the holy land from the hands of the wicked, we have consulted wise men who fully understand the present situation. And at the advice of the holy council we decree that all crusaders who shall determine to go by sea shall assemble in the kingdom of Sicily a year from the first of next June. They may gather at their convenience either at Brindisi, Messina, or in any other place on either side of the strait. If the Lord permits, we shall also be there in order that the Christian army may, with our advice and aid, be well organized, and set out with the divine benediction and papal blessing. 1. Those who determine to go by land shall be ready at the same date, and they shall keep us informed of their plans in order that we may send them a suitable legate to counsel and aid them. 2. All clergymen of whatever rank, who go on the crusade, shall diligently devote themselves to prayer and exhortation, by word and example teaching the crusaders always to have the fear and the love of God before their eyes and not to say or do anything to offend the divine majesty. Even if they sometimes fall into sin, they shall rise again by true penitence. They shall show humility of heart and of body, and observe moderation in their way of living and in their dress. They shall altogether avoid dissensions and rivalries, and shun hatred and envy. Thus, equipped with spiritual and material arms, they shall fight more securely against the enemies of the faith, not resting on their own power but hoping in the divine strength. 3. These clergymen shall receive all the income of their benefices for three years, just as if they were residing in them, and, if it is necessary, they may pawn their benefices for the same length of time. 4. In order that this holy undertaking may not be prevented or delayed, we earnestly command all prelates, each in his own locality, to urge and insist that all who have taken the cross fulfil their vows to the Lord. And, if necessary, they may compel them to do so, in spite of all their subterfuges, by putting their persons under excommunication and their lands under the interdict. We except, however, those who may find some real hindrance in the way, on account of which we may decide that their vow may be commuted or put off. 5. In addition to these things, that nothing relating to Christ's business may be neglected, we command patriarchs, archbishops, bishops, abbots, and all others who have the care of souls, zealously to preach the crusade to those who are under their charge, by the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one only true eternal God, beseeching kings, dukes, princes, marquises, counts, barons, and other magnates, as well as the communes of cities, villages, and towns, that those who do not go in person to aid the holy land may, in proportion to their wealth, furnish a suitable number of fighting men and provide for their necessary expenses for three years. This they shall do for the remission of their sins according to the terms published in our general letter, and, for the sake of greater clearness, repeated below. Not only those who give their own ships, but also those who shall try to build ships for this purpose, shall have a share in this remission of sins. 6. If any shall be found so ungrateful to the Lord as to refuse, we warn them that they must answer for it to us before the terrible judge on the last day. Let all such consider with what conscience and what security they will be able to make their confession before the only begotten Son of God, Jesus Christ, into whose hands the Father has given all things, if, in this matter which so peculiarly concerns them, they refuse to obey him who was crucified for sinners, by whose favor and goodness they live and are sustained, nay, more, by whose blood they are redeemed. 7. Lest we should seem to put on other men's shoulders burdens so heavy that we would not so much as put a finger to them, like those who say, but do not, we give 30,000 pounds out of our savings for this work, and besides the passage-money which we give all crusaders from Rome and the surrounding country, we also give 3,000 silver marks which are left in our hands from the gifts of certain Christians, the rest having been spent for the benefit of the holy land by the patriarchs of Jerusalem and the masters of the Templars and the Hospitallers. 8. Since we wish all other prelates and clergy to have a share in this meritorious work and its reward, we, with the approval of the council, decree that all the clergy of whatever rank shall, for three years, give the twentieth of the income of their churches to the aid of the holy land, and for the collection of it we shall appoint certain persons. We except from this tax certain monks and also those who shall take the cross and go in person on the crusade. 9. Moreover, we and our brethren, the cardinals of the holy Roman church, will pay a tenth of our incomes; and let all know that they must faithfully do this. For any cardinal who shall knowingly commit any fraud in this matter shall incur the sentence of excommunication. 10. Now, because it is only just that those who devote themselves to the service of the heavenly ruler should enjoy some special prerogative, and since it is a little more than a year until the time set for going, we decree that all who have taken the cross shall be free from all collections, taxes, and other burdens. As soon as they take the cross we receive them and their possessions under the protection of St. Peter and of ourselves, so that archbishops, bishops, and other prelates are entrusted with their defence, and besides, other protectors shall be specially appointed to defend them. And until they return or their death shall be certainly known, their possessions shall not be molested. And if anyone shall act contrary to this he shall be restrained by ecclesiastical censure. 11. If any of those who go on the crusade are bound by oath to pay interest, their creditors, under threat of ecclesiastical censure, shall be compelled to free them from their oath and from the payment of the interest. If anyone compels them to pay the interest, he shall be forced to pay it back to them. We order the secular authorities to compel the Jews to remit the interest to all crusaders, and until they do remit it they shall have no intercourse with Christians. If any are not able for the present to pay their debts to Jews, the secular authorities shall secure an extension of time for them, so that after they have set out on the journey until their return or their death is certainly known, they shall not be disturbed about the interest. The Jews shall be compelled, after deducting the necessary expenses, to apply the income which they receive in the meantime from the property which they hold in pawn, toward the payment of the debt; since a favor of this kind, which defers the payment but does not cancel the debt, does not seem to cause much loss. Moreover, all prelates must know that they will be severely punished if they are lax in securing justice for crusaders or their families. 12. Since corsairs and pirates greatly impede the work by taking and robbing those who are going to, or returning from, the holy land, we excommunicate all who aid and protect them. Under the threat of anathema we forbid anyone knowingly to have anything to do with them in buying or selling, and we command all rulers of cities and other places to prevent them from practising this iniquity. Otherwise, since not to interfere with the wicked is the same as to aid them, and since he who does not prevent a manifest crime is suspected of having a secret share in it, we command all prelates to exercise ecclesiastical severity against their persons and lands. 13. Besides, we excommunicate and anathematize those false and impious Christians who, against Christ and the Christian people, furnish the Saracens with arms, irons, and timbers for their galleys. If any who sell galleys or ships to the Saracens, or accept positions on their piratical craft, or give them aid, counsel, or support with regard to their [war] machines to the disadvantages of the holy land, we decree that they shall be punished with the loss of all their goods, and they shall be the slaves of those who capture them. We command that this decree be published anew every Sunday and Christian feast day in all the maritime cities, and the bosom of the church shall not be opened to offenders against it unless, for the support of the holy land, they give all that they have gained from such a damnable business, and as much more from their possessions, so that they shall be justly punished for their crimes. But if they cannot pay, they shall be punished in some other way, in order that by their punishment others may be prevented from impudently attempting things of the same sort. 14. We forbid all Christians for the next four years to send their ships, or permit them to be sent, to lands inhabited by Saracens, in order that a larger supply of vessels may be on hand for those who wish to go to the aid of the holy land, and also that the Saracens may be deprived of that aid which they have been accustomed to get from this. 15. Although tournaments have been prohibited by many councils under the general threat of punishment, we forbid them for three years under the threat of excommunication, because the crusade is hindered by them. 16. Since, for the accomplishment of this work, it is necessary that Christian princes and peoples live in peace, and in order that the clergy may be able to make peace between all who are quarreling, or persuade them to make an inviolable truce, with the approval of the holy universal council we decree that a general peace shall be observed in the whole world for at least four years. And those who shall refuse to observe this peace shall be compelled to do so by excommunication of their persons and interdict on their lands, unless they have been so malicious in inflicting injuries on others that they themselves do not deserve the protection of such a peace. If they disregard the censure of the church, the ecclesiastical authorities shall invoke the secular power against them as disturbers of the business of Christ. 17. Trusting, therefore, in the mercy of omnipotent God and the authority of Saints Peter and Paul, and by the authority to bind and loose, which God has given us, to all who shall personally and at their own expense go on this crusade we grant full pardon of their sins, which they shall repent and confess, and, besides, when the just shall receive their reward we promise them eternal salvation. And to those who shall not go in person, but nevertheless at their own expense and in proportion to their wealth and rank shall send suitable men, and likewise to those who go in person but at the expense of others, we grant the full pardon of their sins. All who shall give a fitting part of their wealth to the aid of the holy land shall, in proportion to their gifts and according to the degree of their devotion, have a share in this forgiveness. This universal council wishes to aid in the salvation of all who piously set out on this work, and therefore grants them in common the benefit of all its merits. Amen. Given at the Lateran, 19 kal. Jan., year 18 of our pontificate. X. SOCIAL CLASSES AND CITIES IN GERMANY 289. Otto III Forbids the Unfree Classes to Attempt to Free Themselves, _ca._ 1000. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 61. In the tenth century a large part of the peasant population of Germany was unfree. But from this decree of Otto III it is apparent that they were trying to escape from this condition. From various causes they had been able to avoid rendering their servile dues, and had, on that account, asserted their freedom. While the number of unfree was great, they were not all equally unfree. The lowest grade were slaves in the real sense of the word; that is, they were chattels. But this class was not numerous and was tending to disappear. The highest grade was composed of those who were personally free, and who could amass property; but they were unfree in that they had no legal status. That is, they could not appear in court as a party to a suit, nor could they testify as witnesses. In all legal matters they had to have some one to represent them in the court. These are the two extremes, between which there were a great many unfree classes or groups, each differing from the other in the degree of personal or property rights which they possessed. An idea of some of these classes will be gained from the following documents. There is need of careful legislation because the princes of the empire, both lay and clerical, rich and poor, the higher as well as the lower, make frequent complaints that they are not able to obtain from their unfree subjects those services to which they have a right. For some falsely declare that they are free because their lords, in many cases, cannot prove the servitude which they [their unfree subjects] are trying in a dishonest way to escape. Others are trying to rise to the honor of freedom because their lords have, for a long time, been hindered from knowing anything about their unfree subjects, and hence the latter have not been kept in their accustomed state of servitude, nor are they forced to pay a tax as a proof of their unfree state. So on this account they declare that they are free and boast that they have lived in freedom, because for a short time they have not fulfilled their servile duties. Therefore we have issued this imperial law: (1) If a serf, led by his desire for liberty, says that he is free, his lord may settle the case by a duel with him, fighting either in person or by his champion [representative], as he may wish. The lord is given this privilege because of the great difficulty there is in proving such things in the regular way. The unfree man may secure a champion for himself if, because of age or disease, he is unable to fight.(2) In order that the unfree may not hide his real condition by avoiding his duties for a time, we decree by this our edict, which, with the help of God, shall be valid forever, that hereafter each one shall show his servile condition by paying a denar of the ordinary currency every year on the first of December to his lord or to the agent whom he shall appoint for this purpose. (3) The children of the free shall begin to pay this tax as a proof of their servile condition in their twenty-fifth year and at the appointed time. And no matter how long they may avoid paying this tax, they shall not thereby become free. (4) If any unfree man belonging to the church shall disobey this edict, he shall be fined one-half of all his goods and he shall be reduced to his former unfree condition. For an unfree man of the church may never become free. We strictly forbid the unfree of the churches to be set free, and we order all those who have, by any device, been freed to be reduced to servitude again. 290. Henry I Frees a Serf, 926. Bresslau, Centum Diplomata, pp. 3 f. There were many ways in which a serf could be set free, but after 850 the form used in this document was not uncommon. A freeman was to a great extent dependent on his relatives as witnesses. He could not prove his freedom without their testimony. When a serf was set free he was without a family, because his relatives, being serfs, could not testify in court. The charter which the king gave him was the only evidence of freedom which he possessed. It took the place of the testimony of his relatives. When a serf was freed he became a "freedman." But generally he was not entirely free, for there was still a personal bond between him and his lord, to whom he must pay a poll-tax. The coin which was knocked out of his hand symbolized this poll-tax. That is, his offer to pay the poll-tax is rejected, the coin is knocked out of his hand as a symbol that he is now entirely free, and is no longer bound to pay the poll-tax. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Henry, by the divine clemency king. Let all our faithful subjects, both present and future, know that at the request of Arnulf, our faithful and beloved duke, and also to increase our eternal reward, we have freed a certain priest, named Baldmunt, who is our serf, born on the land of the monastery of Campido. We freed him by striking a penny out of his hand in the presence of witnesses, according to the Salic law, and we have thereby released him entirely from the yoke of servitude. And by this writing we have given a sure proof of his freedom and we desire that he shall remain free forever. We ordain that the said Baldmunt, the reverend priest, shall enjoy such freedom and have such rights [that is, have the same legal status] as all those have who up to this time have been set free in this way by the kings or emperors of the Franks. 291. Henry III Frees a Female Serf, 1050. Bresslau, Centum Diplomata, p. 49. See introductory note to no. 290. Henry, etc. Let all our faithful Christian subjects, both present and future, know that we, at the request of a certain nobleman, named Richolf, have freed a certain one of his female serfs, named Sigena, by striking a penny out of her hand. We have freed her from the yoke of servitude, and have decreed that the said Sigena shall in the future have the same liberty and legal status as all other female serfs have who have been freed in the same way by kings or emperors.... 292. The Recovery of Fugitive Serfs, 1224. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 2, no. 287. The condition of the serfs was a hard one. They had heavy work, poor shelter, and bad food. It is not strange that they sought freedom by running away. The cities offered them a good asylum, for they regarded it as a part of their law that a serf remaining in a free city a year and a day without being reclaimed by his lord became free. The lords objected to this, but without effect. Since the cities refused to deliver serfs to their lord on demand, it was necessary for the lords to enter the city and search for them. But in doing so they ran great risk of being stoned from the house-tops. Henry [VII] prescribed that they should have protection from the king as well as from the officials of the city which they wished to search. Henry [VII], etc.... When a quarrel arose between our cities of Elsass and the nobles and ministerials of the same province in regard to the serfs who had run away and gone to the cities, or might hereafter do so, ... it was settled by the following decision: If a serf belonging to a noble or ministerial runs away and goes to one of our cities and stays there, his lord may recover him if he can bring seven persons who are of the family of the serf's mother, who will swear that he is a serf, and belongs to the said lord. If the lord cannot secure seven such witnesses, he may bring two suitable witnesses from among his neighbors, who will swear that before the serf ran away the said lord had been in peaceable possession of him, ... and he may then recover his serf. We also decree and command that all nobles and ministerials who wish to recover their serfs may enter a city for this purpose with our permission and protection, and no one shall dare injure them. At their request a safe-conduct shall be furnished them by the _Schultheissen_ and council of the city. 293. The Rank of Children Born of Mixed Marriages is Fixed, 1282. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 76. We, Rudolf, by the grace of God king, Augustus, wish by this writing to inform all that while we were holding court at Germersheim on Ash-Wednesday our faithful and beloved subject, Adolf, count of Monte, presented the following question for an official decision: If free peasants contract marriage with unfree, or with others whether of a higher or lower social status, what shall be the status of the children born of such mixed marriages? And all who were present declared that children should always have the rank of that one of its parents who has the lower social status. And by this writing we confirm this decision as a reasonable one. 294. Frederick II Confers Nobility, about 1240. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 74. There was a noble class among the ancient Germans. As they established themselves on Roman soil, the nobility itself underwent a change and it was added to in various ways. Through great possessions in land, and through appointment to office, which generally led to the acquisition of lands, an aristocratic class was formed which came to be regarded as noble. From the tenth century the man who fought on horseback was a knight, and hence of the noble class. As the class became conscious of itself and its privileges, it tended to put up barriers and exclude from its ranks all except those who were born into it. Thus in the days of Barbarossa if a knight were challenged by another, he could refuse to fight him unless the challenger could prove that his grandfather was a knight. Frederick, etc. We wish all to know that A---- of N---- has told us that although his father was not a knight yet he wishes to become one. He therefore besought us to make him a knight. In order to reward the faithfulness of him and of his family we grant his petition and, out of the fulness of our power, we grant that, although his father was not a knight, and although our laws forbid anyone to be a knight who is not born of a noble family, he may nevertheless with our permission put on the military girdle, and we forbid all people to hinder or prevent him from doing this. 295. Charles IV Confers Nobility on a Doctor of Both Laws, 1360. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 78. The king by virtue of his royal power could confer nobility on all whom he wished. The document of Charles IV is especially interesting as showing the degree of honor attaching to learning. The learned man was, because of his learning, the equal of the noble. He who had taken the Master's degree in both laws was thereby raised to the same social plane as the knight, but, of course, was not thereby knighted. Charles IV recognized this principle and conferred knighthood on his friend, the professor, who had received this degree. Charles IV, by divine clemency emperor of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Bohemia, sends his favor and wishes all good to the honorable Wycker, _scholasticus_{123} of the church of St. Stephen of Mainz, his [that is, the emperor's] chaplain, intimate table companion, and devoted and beloved member of his household. Beloved and devoted: Although, according to your birth and to the standards of the world, you were not born of a noble family and are not reckoned as a knight, nevertheless, because you are adorned with so great and remarkable knowledge of both the civil and canon law, that it supplies what you lack by birth [that is, nobility], in imitation of our predecessors, the emperors of great and renowned memory, we regard your knowledge and ability as the equivalent of nobility, and out of the fulness of our imperial power we decree that you are noble and knightly, and of the same rank, honor, and condition as any other noble and knight. Therefore we strictly command all princes, ecclesiastical and secular, counts, chiefs, nobles, and all our other faithful subjects, to whom this letter may come, under threat of the loss of imperial favor, to regard, hold, and treat you as such [that is, as a knight], in all places; and out of reverence for the holy empire to admit you to all the rights, privileges, etc., which noblemen are accustomed to enjoy.... {123} That is, he was a professor in the school connected with that church. 296. The Law of the Family of the Bishop of Worms, 1023. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 62; M. G. LL. 4to, I. pp. 640 ff. The bishop of Worms was a large landholder, possessing a great deal of the land in the city as well as in the country. This land may be divided into two groups according to the way in which it was held and tilled. Some of it was let out as fiefs, and from this the bishop received only the regular feudal dues according to the terms on which he let it out. The rest of his land was called the domain, and was tilled by serfs who lived on it and were attached to it. There was great variety in the condition of the serfs. Some of them had little or no right to the products of their labors, except to what they needed to eat and wear. It would of course be impossible for such to acquire property. Others had a right to a greater or less share of the products of their labors, and hence they could amass property. Through their wealth all such could, in the course of time, improve their condition and rise in the social scale. All those of this servile group were unfree; they were bondmen of the church. All of them taken together were called the family of St. Peter. They were attached to the soil which they tilled, paid a tax in money or in kind, or rendered services, and were under the protection of the church and the jurisdiction of the bishop. From paragraphs 9, 13, 16, etc., we learn that there were two classes of these serfs, the _fisgilini_, and the _dagewardi_. Of these the _fisgilini_ were the higher in the social scale. According to paragraphs 9 and 29 they had a share in the _wergeld_ of members of their family and they were not compelled to render services except of a certain kind or in certain departments of the bishop's household. The services which they were bound to render were considered less servile, less ignoble, than those required of the _dagewardi_. From these facts it is inferred that their ancestors had at one time been free, but had surrendered their lands and their freedom and become bondmen of the church for the sake of securing protection. Bishops and abbots were generally regarded as lenient lords in comparison with secular princes, and many preferred to become bondmen of the church rather than of secular lords. The lands which they held they passed on from father to son (par. 2 and 3), and they could amass property and dispose of it (par. 1 and 4). From paragraphs 26, 27, and 28 there seems to have been some difference between the _fisgilini_ who lived in the city and those who lived in the country. The former were no doubt artisans, the latter, peasants. But it is not clear what other differences existed between them. Besides these bondmen, mention is made in the introduction and par. 14 of knights and freemen. These were the vassals of the bishop, holding the lands of the church as fiefs. They were not included in the "family of St. Peter." Three officials are mentioned. (1) The advocate was a layman who represented the bishop and the church in all secular matters, held the three regular courts of the year, collected the fines which fell to the bishop, etc. In theory he was the protector of the church against all violence and oppression, but not infrequently he took advantage of his position, and by threats and other unjust measures oppressed the church and extorted money from it. (2) The _vidame_ was the aid or representative of the advocate and assisted him in the administration of his office. (3) The "official" of the introduction is the same as the "local official" in paragraphs 2, 12, and 24. As the people on these lands lived in villages, he was probably the official whom the bishop entrusted with the government of the village. He held the local or village court. (See note to par. 13.) There were _scabini_ or _Schoeffen_ who assisted all these officials in administering justice (see Glossary). In par. 29 we have the origin of a new class which came to be called ministerials. Since no. 297 treats of them especially, the student is referred to it for a discussion of this class. Although not logically arranged, this document is in fact a little code of laws for the government of the bondmen of the church. A careful analysis of each paragraph is recommended and the student will find it profitable to attempt a classification of its provisions. The laws concerning the different classes should at least be grouped together. This family of St. Peter may be regarded as a partial cross section of the society in and about Worms, showing many of the layers of which that society was composed. The bishop's lands were no doubt scattered about, and not in one mass. So there were other serfs, probably of different grades, as were the _fisgilini_ and _dagewardi_, and other freemen, knights, etc., living as neighbors to the serfs and vassals of the bishop. Because of the frequent lamentations of my unfortunate subjects and the great injustice done them by many who have habitually wronged the family of St. Peter, imposing different laws upon them and oppressing all the weaker ones by their unjust judgments and decisions, I, Burchard, bishop of Worms, with the advice of my clergy, knights, and of all my family, have ordered these laws to be written, in order that hereafter no advocate, nor vidame, nor official, nor any other malicious person may be able to add any new law to the detriment of the afore-mentioned family, but that the whole family, rich and poor alike, may have the same law. 1. If anyone of the family of St. Peter legally marries a woman who is also a member of the family, and gives her a dower and she has peaceable possession of it for a year and a day, then if the man dies, the wife shall hold the whole of the dower until she dies. When the woman dies, if they had no children, the dower goes to the nearest heirs of the man. If the woman dies first, the same disposition shall be made of it [that is, it reverts to the husband and his heirs]. If after marriage they acquire property, when one of them dies, the other shall have it and do what he will with it. If the wife brought any property to her husband at the time of marriage, at the death of both, their children, if they have any, shall inherit it. If they have no children, it shall return to her relatives unless she gives it away before her death. If the children die after inheriting it, it shall return to the nearest relatives of their mother. 2. If anyone has inherited a piece of land with serfs, and becomes poor and is forced to sell it, he must first, in the presence of witnesses, offer to sell it to his nearest heirs. If they will not buy it, he may sell it to any member of the family of St. Peter. If a piece of land has, by judicial process, been declared forfeited to the bishop [because the holder has not paid the proper dues or rendered the due services], and any one of the heirs of the one who held it wishes to pay the back dues, he may do so and receive the land. But if no heir wishes to pay the back dues, the local official may let the land to any member of the family he may wish, and the one thus receiving it shall hold it. If after a few years someone comes and says: "I am the heir. I was poor, I was an orphan, I had no means of support, so I left home and have been supporting myself in another place by work," and if he tries by his own testimony alone to dispossess him who, with the consent of the bishop, received the land, and who has cultivated it well and improved it, he shall not be able to do so. For since there was no heir at the time who was willing to pay the back dues, let him to whom the local official gave it keep it. For [it may be said to the new claimant]: "If you were the heir, why did you go away? Why did you not stay at home and look after your inheritance?" No hearing shall be granted him unless he has a good and reasonable excuse [for his absence]. If anyone who has a piece of land by hereditary right dies leaving a child as heir, and this child is not able to render the service due, and there is a near relative who is willing to render the due service for this land until the heir becomes of age, he may do so. But let the heir not be disinherited because of his youth. We beg that he may be treated mercifully in this matter [that is, that he may receive his inheritance when he comes of age]. 3. If anyone on our domain land dies leaving an inheritance, his heir shall receive it without being bound to give us a present, and thereafter he shall render the due service for it. 4. If any member of the family dies leaving free property, unless he has given it away, his nearest heirs shall inherit it. 5. If anyone in the presence of witnesses and with the consent of his wife parts with [alienates] any piece of property, no matter what it is, the bargain shall stand unless there is some other good reason for breaking it. 6. If anyone sells his land or his inheritance to another member of the family in the presence of one of his heirs, and that heir does not object at the time, he shall never afterwards have the right to object. If an heir were not present, but, after learning of the sale, did not object within that year, he shall afterwards not have the right to object to it. 7. If anyone is, by the judgment of his fellows, put "into the bishop's hand," he and all his possessions are in the bishop's power. 8. If anyone takes some of his fellows and does some injustice to a member of the family, he shall pay a fine for himself and for his accomplices and each one of them shall pay his own fine. 9. Five pounds of the _wergeld_ of a _fisgilinus_ go to the bishop's treasury and two and one-half pounds go to his friends [kin]. 10. If a man and his wife die leaving a son and a daughter, the son shall receive the inheritance of the servile land [_i.e._, the land which the father held], and the daughter shall receive the clothing of her mother and all the cash on hand. Whatever other property there is shall be divided equally between them. 11. If anyone has received a piece of land and serfs by inheritance, and takes his bed because of illness so that he cannot ride on horseback or walk alone, he shall not alienate [dispose of in any way] the land and serfs to the disadvantage of his heirs, unless he wishes to give something for the salvation of his soul. All his other property [that is, all that he has gained in addition to what he inherited] he may give to whomever he wishes. 12. In order that there may not be so many perjuries, if any member of the family has done some wrong to a fellow-member in the matter of land, or vineyards, or any other less important thing, and the case has been brought before the local official, we desire that the local official shall, with the aid of his fellows, decide the case without having anyone take an oath. 13. If any _fisgilinus_ does an injustice, either great or small, he shall, like the _dagewardus_, pledge five solidi to the treasury of the bishop and pay five solidi as composition to him to whom he did the wrong, if he is of the same society. If he is outside his society he shall pledge one ounce and no oath shall be taken. 14. If anyone from the bishop's domain lands marries someone who belongs to a fief which is held from the bishop, he shall continue to be under the bishop's jurisdiction. If anyone from such a fief marries someone from the bishop's domain land, he shall continue under the jurisdiction of the lord of the fief on which he lives. 15. If anyone marries a foreign woman [that is, one who does not live on the bishop's territory], when he dies two-thirds of their possessions shall go to the bishop. 16. If a _fisgilinus_ marries a _dagewarda_, their children shall be of the lower rank; and likewise if a _dagewardus_ marries a _fisgilina_. 17. If anyone makes an unjust outcry in court, or becomes angry and leaves the court, or does not come in time to the court, and those sitting in the court with him do not convict him of this, he shall not take an oath about it, but the _Schoeffen_ shall decide it. 18. If anyone has a suit against his fellow, he alone shall take an oath about it. But if it concerns a feud, or is against the bishop, he shall have six men [compurgators] to take an oath with him. 19. It has frequently happened that if one lent his money to another, the borrower would repay as much as he wished and then swear that he owed no more. In order to prevent perjury we have decreed that the lender need not accept the oath of the borrower but may, if he wishes, challenge him to a duel, and so [by defeating him] prove his indebtedness. If the lender is so important a person that he does not wish to fight the borrower on such an account, he may appoint someone to fight for him. 20. If anyone in the city of Worms is convicted by losing a duel, he shall pledge sixty solidi. If he is defeated by a member of the family who lives outside of the city, he shall pay the victor three times the amount of the fine, because he challenged him unjustly, and he shall pay the bishop's ban, and twenty solidi to the advocate, or he shall lose his skin and hair [that is, he shall be beaten and his head shaved]. 21. If anyone of the family of St. Peter buys a piece of land and serfs from a free man [that is, one who is not a member of the family], or has acquired it in any other way, he shall not dispose of it to anyone outside of the family, unless he exchanges it [for other land and serfs]. 22. If anyone attempts to reduce a _fisgilinus_ to the rank of a _dagewardus_ and subject him to an unjust poll tax [as a symbol of his servile rank], the _fisgilinus_ shall prove his rank by the testimony of seven of his nearest relatives, but he shall not hire them for this purpose. If the charge is made that his father was not a _fisgilinus_, two female witnesses shall be taken from his father's family and one from his mother's. If it is said that his mother was not of that rank, two shall be taken from her family and one from his father's family, unless he can prove his rank by the testimony of the _Schoeffen_ or of his relatives. 23. If any member of the family enters the house of another with an armed force and violates his daughter, he shall pay to her father, or to her guardian, three times the value of every piece of clothing which she had on when she was seized, and to the bishop his ban for each piece of clothing. And he shall also pay to her father a triple fine and the bishop's ban. And because the law of the church does not permit him to marry her, he shall appease her family by giving to twelve members of it twelve shields and as many lances and one pound of money. 24. If anyone confesses a debt in the presence of the local official but the said official has not the time to render a decision that day, and he who confessed the debt denies it the next day, the said official, if he had a witness to the confession, shall render the decision in accordance with the confession. 25. But if the said official had no witness to the confession, he shall render the decision according to what the man says in court and not according to his former confession. 26. If anyone in the city has inherited a building site, it cannot be declared forfeited to the bishop unless he has refused to pay the tax and all other dues for three years. After he has failed to pay these dues for three years, he shall be summoned to court three times, and if he wishes to pay all the back dues he may do so and retain the building site. If he sells the house, he forfeits the building site. 27. If anyone in the city strikes another so hard that he knocks him down, he shall pay sixty solidi to the bishop. If he strikes another with his fist or a light stick without knocking him down, he shall pay only five solidi. 28. If anyone in the city draws his sword to kill another or stretches his bow and puts an arrow on the bow-string, or tries to strike him with his lance, he shall pay sixty solidi. 29. If the bishop wishes to take a _fisgilinus_ into his service, he may put him to work under the chamberlain, or the cup-bearer, or the steward [dish-bearer], or the master of the horse, or under the official who has charge of the bishop's lands and collects the dues from them [_i.e._, the advocate]. But if he does not wish to serve the bishop in any of these departments of the bishop's household, he may pay four denars every time the bishop is summoned by the king to call out his men for the purpose of fighting, and six when the bishop is summoned to accompany the emperor to Rome, and he must attend the three regular sessions of court which are held every year, and then he may serve whomsoever he wishes. 30. Homicides take place almost daily among the family of St. Peter, as if they were wild beasts. The members of the family rage against each other as if they were insane and kill each other for nothing. Sometimes drunkenness, sometimes wanton malice is the cause of a murder. In the course of one year thirty-five serfs of St. Peter belonging to the church of Worms have been murdered without provocation. And the murderers, instead of showing penitence, rather boast and are proud of it. Because of the great loss thus inflicted on our church, with the advice of our faithful subjects, we have made the following laws in order to put an end to such murders. If any member of the family of St. Peter kills a fellow member except in self-defence, that is, while defending either himself or his property [against the attacks of the man whom he kills], we decree that he shall be beaten and his head shaved, and he shall be branded on both jaws with a red-hot iron, made for this purpose, and he shall pay the _wergeld_ and make peace in the customary way with the relatives of the man whom he killed. And those relatives shall be compelled to accept this. If the relatives of the slain man refuse to accept it and make war on the relatives of the murderer, anyone of the latter may secure himself against their violence by taking an oath that he knew nothing of the murder and had nothing to do with it. If the relatives of the slain man disregard such an oath and try to injure the one who took it, even though they do not succeed in doing so, they shall be beaten and have their heads shaved, but they shall not be branded on the jaws. But if they kill him or wound him, they shall be beaten and their heads shaved, and they shall be branded on the jaws. If a murderer escapes, all his property shall be confiscated, but his relatives, if they are innocent, shall not be punished for him. If the murderer does not flee, but, in order to prove his innocence [that is, that he acted in self-defence], wishes to fight a duel with some relative of the slain man, and if he wins [in the duel], he shall pay the _wergeld_ and satisfy the relatives of the slain man. If no relative of the slain man wishes to fight a duel with the murderer, the murderer shall clear himself before the bishop with the ordeal of boiling water, and pay the _wergeld_, and make peace with the relatives of the slain man, and they shall be compelled to accept it. If through fear of this law the relatives of the slain man go to another family [that is, to people who do not belong to the family of St. Peter], and incite them to violence against the relatives of the murderer, if they will not clear themselves by a duel [that is, prove that they did not incite them, etc.], they shall clear themselves before the bishop by the ordeal of boiling water, and whoever is proven guilty by the ordeal shall be beaten, his head shaved, and he shall be branded on the jaws. If any member of the family who lives in the city kills a fellow member except in self-defence, he shall be punished in the same way, and besides he shall pay the bishop's ban, and the _wergeld_, and make peace with the relatives of the slain man, and they shall be compelled to accept it. If any foreigner [that is, one who does not belong to the family of St. Peter] who cultivates a piece of St. Peter's land [that is, holds it as a fief from the bishop], kills a member of the family of St. Peter except in self-defence, he shall either be punished in the same way [that is, by beating, etc.], or he shall lose his fief and he shall be at the mercy of the advocate and the family of St. Peter [that is, they may carry on a feud against him, and slay him]. If anyone who is serving us [that is, anyone who is serving the bishop in one of the five departments named in paragraph 29] or one of our officials commits such a crime [that is, kills someone], it shall be left to us to punish him as we, with the advice of our subjects, may see fit. 31. If one member of the family has a dispute with another about anything, such as fields, vineyards, serfs, or money, if possible, let it be decided by witnesses without oaths. If it cannot be decided in that way, let both parties to the case produce their witnesses in court. After the witnesses have testified, each for his side [that is, each one says that he believes the man whom he is supporting is telling the truth], two men shall be chosen, one from each side, to decide the suit by a duel. He whose champion is defeated in the duel shall lose his suit, and his witnesses shall be punished for bearing false witness, just as if they had taken an oath to it. 32. If any member of the family commits a theft not because of hunger, but from avarice and covetousness, or habit, and the stolen object is worth five solidi or more, and it can be proved that the thief, either in a public market or in a meeting of his fellow members, has restored the stolen object, or given a pledge to do so, we decree for the prevention of such crimes that as a punishment of his theft the thief shall lose his legal status--that is, if anyone accuses him of a crime, he cannot clear himself by an oath, but must prove his innocence by a duel or by the ordeal of boiling water or red-hot iron. The same punishment shall be inflicted on one who is guilty of perjury, or of bearing false witness, and also on one who is convicted by duel of theft, and of those who plot with the bishop's enemies against the honor and safety of his lord, the bishop. Par. 2. As a reasonable excuse, the claimant might prove that he had been serving the bishop in war, or that he had been held as a prisoner. In such cases he must have a hearing. Par. 3. It was customary for an heir on entering into his inheritance to give his lord as a present either his best piece of furniture or clothing, or his best animal (horse, etc.). The bishop here surrenders his right to all such presents. Par. 4. "Free property" is such as he has acquired and has the right to dispose of as he wishes. Par. 7. "Into the bishop's hand," see especially no. 297, par. 7. Par. 13. It is not clear what is meant by being of the same society. Probably those who lived in the same neighborhood or village were regarded as forming a society or group for administrative purposes. They were probably under the local official who has already been spoken of in the introduction. Par. 14. Here the land which was held by the unfree or servile classes is clearly distinguished from that which was held as fiefs by freemen, knights, etc., who were the bishop's vassals. Par. 20. The bishop's ban was sixty solidi. That is, this was a fixed sum which all who were convicted of certain offenses had to pay as a fine to the bishop. Par. 26. In recognition of the fact that the ground or building-site originally belonged to the bishop, and that he still had a certain legal claim on it, the one who held it paid an annual tax on it. He passed it on to his heirs, but could not sell it or transfer it to anyone. For certain crimes it reverted to the bishop. It is characteristic of German mediæval law that it distinguished sharply between the building-site and the buildings on it, attaching much more importance to the building-site than to the buildings. Thus no one in the cities was entitled to citizenship who did not possess such a building-site in the city. Par. 30. From the last three paragraphs one may gain a good idea of the amount of violence, and especially of the feuds, which raged among the serfs. The serfs of the bishop of Worms were probably no worse than those of other lords. These paragraphs also contain several indications of legal procedure which are worthy of note (see section VII). 297. The Charter of the Ministerials of the Archbishop of Cologne, 1154. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 70. It required a large number of servants to conduct the household of a great landed proprietor and prince, such as the king, a duke, count, archbishop, bishop, or abbot, was. For the household included the management of his lands, the administration of justice, etc., as well as the care of his palace, or, more likely, palaces. The household was divided into five departments, each under a head. The head of the first was the chamberlain, of the second, the cup-bearer, of the third, the steward, of the fourth, the marshal (master of the horses), and of the fifth, the advocate. The law of the bishop of Worms shows that he obtained a sufficient number of servants to man his household by calling in _fisgilini_ to serve in relays. All the other great lords did the same thing. It was natural that those who had obtained some experience in this work should be called in again and again, and so it came about that those who served in this way were regarded as a class quite separate from their fellow serfs who remained in the country and did not serve in the lord's household. The position and honor became hereditary and differentiated them from all others. They gradually rose in the social scale. Every great lord, from the king down, developed such a class of servants, who were called without distinction ministerials. The kings of Germany made use of their ministerials in the administration of the government. As soon as they became conscious of themselves as a class they began to haggle with their lords for more rights and privileges. They gradually obtained a body of rights and established a set of customs which, when written, formed a little code of laws for them. Their history shows a constant improvement in their condition and an enlargement of their rights. Every such lord needed soldiers, so he early began to arm his ministerials, to put them on horseback, and to train them to fight for him. It was soon understood that every ministerial was bound to fight for his lord. But as soon as a man began to fight on horseback, he was a knight, and the title of knight carried with it the conception of nobility. We have the strange circumstance that serfs, by fighting on horseback, partake to a certain extent of the knightly character and rank. The outcome of it was that those ministerials who fought on horseback forgot their servile origin and succeeded in attaching themselves to the nobility. They formed the lower nobility in Germany. The ministerial knights who were developed on the lands of the Staufer served their lords in their wars and were used in the administration of the imperial government. When the Staufer family disappeared, their knights called themselves imperial knights and declared that they were attached to the crown, and owed allegiance directly to the emperor, whoever he might be. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. These are the rights of the ministerials of St. Peter in Cologne, which have been decreed, fixed, and observed for a long time, and are still to be observed. 1. The ministerials of St. Peter shall take an oath of fidelity to their lord, the archbishop, without any reservation or exception, and they shall be faithful to him against every man [that is, the archbishop is their supreme lord. Their oath to him takes precedence over their oath to anyone else, even to the emperor]. 2. If anyone invades the territory of Cologne and the lands of the bishopric, all the ministerials of St. Peter, both those who hold fiefs [from the archbishop] and those who do not, shall assist their lord, the archbishop, in defending his lands, and shall follow him with arms to the frontier of the bishopric. If the archbishop wishes to go beyond the limits of his bishopric, the ministerials are not bound to follow him. But they may go with him if they do so of their own accord, or if their lord can persuade them to do so [that is, by gifts, concessions, etc.]. If the lands of the archbishop, which lie outside of his bishopric, are violently invaded by anyone, the ministerials are bound to follow their lord thither for the purpose of repelling this violence. 3. If the archbishop becomes so offended by one of his ministerials that he denies him his grace and confiscates his property, that ministerial shall beg the nobles of the land, and especially those who are the highest officials of the archbishop's court, to intercede for him with the archbishop. But if he is not able to regain the archbishop's grace within a year, he may, at the end of the year, attach himself to some other lord and serve him, but he shall never assist his new lord in plundering the lands or burning the houses on the lands of his lord, the archbishop. If the archbishop does not confiscate his property but merely denies him his grace, after a year he may refuse to serve the archbishop further until the archbishop again grants him his grace. 4. The ministerials of St. Peter are bound to go with their lord, the archbishop, in his expedition across the Alps for the coronation of the emperor, especially those who hold fiefs of him which have the value of five marks or more. An exception is made in favor of the advocate and treasurer. These two shall remain at home, because the advocate must collect and take care of the income from the archbishop's lands [that is, those that are not let out, but tilled by his serfs], and the treasurer must collect the money from tolls and from the mint. But all the others who hold fiefs of the archbishop, worth five marks or more, shall go if the archbishop wishes them to do so. To fit him for the journey and to clothe his servants the archbishop shall give each one of them ten marks and forty yards of cloth which is called "scarlet," and to every two knights he shall give a pack-horse and a saddle with all that belongs to it, and two bags with a cover for them (which is called a "dekhut"), and four horseshoes and twenty-four nails. After they reach the Alps the archbishop shall give each knight a mark a month for his expenses. If the archbishop refuses to give this mark to any knight at the proper time and place, the said knight shall inform the officials of the archbishop's court, and, if possible, by their help get his money. But if even with their aid he cannot obtain the mark, he shall, toward evening, and in the presence of a witness, place a rod which has been stripped of its bark, on the bed of the archbishop. Nor shall anyone remove this rod until the archbishop finds it on going to bed. If the archbishop asks, "Who did this?" and, on being told, gives the knight the mark due, the knight shall proceed with him. But if the knight does not receive the mark, he shall come early the next morning to the archbishop and fall on his knees before him; and in the presence of two of his fellow ministerials he shall kiss the hem of the pallium of the archbishop. He then has the right to go back home without suffering either in his rights or honor or possessions. But if the archbishop is angry and refuses to let him kiss his pallium, the knight shall call his two fellow ministerials to witness and then he may go back home. Those who hold fiefs from the archbishop of less than five marks in value need not go on the expedition unless they wish to do so. But each one of them shall pay an army tax, that is, the half of the income of his fief. The archbishop shall announce the expedition to all his ministerials a year and a day before the time of departure. 5. Of all the ministerials of St. Peter no one shall propose a verdict [that is, render a decision in a case in court], except the advocate alone, if he is present. If he is not present, the archbishop may ask some other ministerial to propose the verdict. 6. The advocate of Cologne has the control and management [and income] of the following twelve farms: Elberfeld, Helden, Zunz, Nyle, Duze, Merreche, Pinnistorp, Lunreche, Dekstein, Blatsheim, Merzenich and Rudisheim. He may appoint and remove the overseers in them as he sees the interests of his lord the archbishop demand. Because Merzenich and Rudisheim have been given as a fief to others, Burche and Bardenbach are given the advocate in their stead. The archbishop shall have the control of all his other farms and shall appoint and remove the overseers as he pleases. 7. No ministerial of St. Peter shall fight a duel with another ministerial, no matter what the one has done to the other. If one ministerial kills another wilfully and without a good reason, the relatives of the slain man shall make charges against the slayer before the archbishop. If the slayer confesses the deed, he shall be delivered into the power of his lord [that is, the archbishop]. If he denies the deed, the archbishop shall convict him on the testimony of seven of his ministerials who are related neither to the slayer nor to the slain. If convicted in this way he shall be delivered into the power of his lord. After he is delivered into the power of his lord he shall always follow him wherever he goes. He shall have with him three horses and two servants. But he shall never willingly let the archbishop see him, unless it happens that the archbishop unexpectedly turns and comes back by a road along which he has just passed. The archbishop shall supply him and his two servants with food and provender [for their horses]. He shall constantly follow his lord thus, and labor earnestly with the officials of the city and the lords of the land [that is, the vassals of the archbishop] and with all whom he can that they may aid him in recovering the grace of the archbishop and that he may be reconciled with the family of the man whom he has slain. If he cannot do this within a year and a day, the advocate and the treasurer shall shut him up in the room which is nearest to the chapel of St. Thomas under the palace of the archbishop. This room is so near the chapel that through its window he can daily hear the divine services. He shall be shut in the room in the following manner: A woollen thread shall be stretched from one doorpost to the other and each end fastened with a wax seal. Every day at sunrise the door of the room shall be opened and it shall remain open until sunset. He shall be under the protection of the archbishop and secure from his enemies [the family of the man whom he slew]. After sunset the door shall be closed from the inside so that he will be protected from his enemies. While he is shut up in this room he shall be at his own expense, and the archbishop shall give him nothing toward his support. Never as long as he lives shall he leave this room until he has recovered the grace of his archbishop and the friendship of the family of the man whom he has slain. The archbishop shall not grant him his grace until he has compounded with the friends of the man whom he has slain. But he may leave the room at certain times in the year, namely, at Christmas, at Easter, and on St. Peter's day [Aug. 1]. At each one of these times he may go out for three days to urge and beseech all the officials of the church, and the nobles of the land and all his friends and fellow ministerials, to intercede for him. If he fails to recover the grace of the archbishop within the three days, he shall at once return to the room and remain there as before. If he leaves the room in any other way he shall thereby lose all his rights, ecclesiastical and secular, and he shall be deprived of his honor and his Christianity [that is, he shall be excommunicated]. And if afterwards he is chased and captured and killed in the church or in sanctuary, in the city or out of it, in peace or in war, in any place and at any time, he shall not be buried in holy ground and no punishment shall be inflicted on those who have killed him. As long as he remains in the room, his friends and relatives and acquaintances may freely come to see him and stay with him, provided that in coming in or going out they do not break the thread or the seals. His wife may visit him also, but if she bears a child while he is thus imprisoned, it shall be illegitimate and shall have no secular rights [that is, it cannot inherit]. 8. If a ministerial of St. Peter challenges a ministerial of the empire to a duel [to settle some suit] in the court of the archbishop, fifteen days before the duel the archbishop shall send both of them to the emperor that they may fight in his presence and the ministerial shall obtain his justice there [in the court of the emperor]. If a ministerial of the emperor challenges a ministerial of St. Peter to a duel, the emperor shall send them both to the archbishop that he may decide the case. And if the emperor does not judge the ministerials of St. Peter but sends them to their lord the archbishop, it is evident that the nobles of the territory of Cologne who have jurisdiction on their lands, have no right to sit in judgment on the ministerials of St. Peter in matters concerning their allodial holdings and in capital charges. But if the nobles have anything against the ministerials, which concerns their persons or their allodial holdings, they shall enter suit in the archbishop's court and obtain justice there. 9. No archdeacon, no deacon, and no parish priest shall exercise ecclesiastical authority over the ministerials of St. Peter or excommunicate them for anything that they may do, unless they seize the tithes or property of the church. If they do this they must answer for it in the court of the priest in whose parish they have committed the offence. If they do anything else worthy of punishment, the chaplain of the archbishop shall punish them for it. The day after the feast of St. Peter the chaplain shall hold a synod [an ecclesiastical court] in the old house of the archbishop before the chapel of St. John, and he shall sit in the stone chair which is there. And all the ministerials of St. Peter shall be present to answer to the chaplain as to their spiritual father for all the faults which they have committed in person. 10. Every ministerial is born and appointed to service in a certain department at the court of the archbishop. There are five of these departments. In them only the ministerials of St. Peter may serve, and especially the oldest sons. They shall serve in the following manner: Each one shall serve for six weeks in that department of the household to which he was born. After one has served six weeks he shall go home and another shall take his place. If anyone wishes to go home he shall come into the presence of the archbishop and tell him that his six weeks are ended and shall ask him for permission to go home. If the archbishop refuses his permission, the ministerial shall nevertheless kiss the border of the archbishop's robe and go home without offending the archbishop. But if the archbishop is not willing to be without him and can persuade him to stay [that is, by paying him in some way], the archbishop may use him in whatever honorable service he pleases, but he may not use him in any of the five departments until his turn of six weeks comes around again. 11. Every year at the three great festivals, Christmas, Easter, and St. Peter's day, the archbishop shall give new clothing to thirty of his knights. At Christmas, because it is cold, he shall give each one of the thirty a variegated fur overcoat with a collar made of marten skins and with a broad border of deerskin, and a fur coat with a broad red collar and wide sleeves. At Easter and on St. Peter's day, because it is then hot, he shall give each one a light fur mantle and a light fur coat. If he does not wish to give these clothes he shall give each one of them six marks to purchase clothing. The five officials at the head of the five departments who are then serving their six weeks at the archbishop's court shall receive clothes, and the archbishop shall distribute the others to any twenty-five knights that he may choose. 12. If a ministerial dies leaving children, his oldest son shall receive the fief which his father held [that is, if he held a fief] and the right of serving in that department to which he was born [that is, in which his father served]. If there is a second son who is a knight, but so poor that he must serve, he shall come with his war-horse, shield, and lance, to the court of the archbishop before the door of St. Peter's church, and if he has no servant, he shall dismount at the perforated stone which lies there, and run his lance through the hole in the stone, and fix his reins around the lance, and lean his shield against the stone. And all these things shall be secure and safe there under the protection of the archbishop until he returns. Then he shall enter the church of St. Peter to pray. After his prayer he shall go into the house of the archbishop, and standing in his presence he shall declare that he is a knight and ministerial of St. Peter, and he shall offer an oath of fidelity and his services to the archbishop. If the archbishop accepts him into his court and family, he shall serve him faithfully for a whole year. Then the archbishop is bound to give him a fief and he shall serve the archbishop thereafter. But if the archbishop does not wish him and will not take him into his family, he shall kneel before those who are present and kiss the hem of the archbishop's pallium. Then he shall go back and mount his horse, and he may go wherever he wishes and serve whom he will. If his new lord makes war on the archbishop, he need not on that account refuse to serve him. If the archbishop should besiege a castle in which he [the knight] is, he [the knight] shall not desert or leave the castle, but he shall aid his new lord in defending his castle as well as he can. But he shall never ravage the territory of the archbishop or burn the houses on his lands. Par. 3. It is characteristic of the codes for ministerials that the lord punishes them by "withdrawing his favor from them." The serious character of this punishment is seen from par. 4. Par. 4. A white rod, _i.e._, one stripped of its bark, had a symbolic meaning which is preserved in the German expression, "mit einem weissen Stock gehen," that is, to walk with a white cane or stick. It means that the one who carries it is helpless and without means. Thus when the Hannoverians were defeated in the battle of Langensalza in 1866, and had to surrender their arms, they cut sticks from the woods, stripped them of their bark, and went home with "white canes." Par. 5. The archbishop presided over the court in which cases of the ministerials were tried. All the ministerials were the judges, but the advocate had the right to express his judgment first. After the advocate had said what he thought the decision or verdict should be, the others had the right to express their judgments (see section VII, introductory note). 298. The Bishop of Hamburg Grants a Charter to Colonists, 1106. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 68. In the time of Karl the Great the Slavs held all the territory east of the Elbe. Karl began to extend the frontiers of Germany to the east by making war on these Slavs, a policy which was continued at intervals by his successors. In this way the Slavs were slowly conquered, Christianized, and Germanized. Some of them were slain or driven out, while others remained on their lands, submitted to the Germans, and were eventually absorbed by them. The waste lands as well as those made vacant by their removal were occupied by German colonists. This charter which the bishop of Hamburg gave his colonists illustrates the terms on which such colonies were established. Since the lord of the land received many solid advantages from such colonies, it is not strange that they made great efforts to induce people to settle on their lands. 1. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by the grace of God bishop of Hamburg, to all the faithful in Christ, gives a perpetual benediction. We wish to make known to all the agreement which certain people living this side of the Rhine, who are called Hollanders, have made with us. 2. These men came to us and earnestly begged us to grant them certain lands in our bishopric, which are uncultivated, swampy, and useless to our people. We have consulted our subjects about this and, considering that this would be profitable to us and to our successors, have granted their request. 3. The agreement was made that they should pay us every year one denarius for every hide of land. We have thought it necessary to determine the dimensions of the hide, in order that no quarrel may hereafter arise about it. The hide shall be 720 royal rods long and thirty royal rods wide. We also grant them the streams which flow through this land. 4. They agreed to give the tithe according to our decree, that is, every eleventh sheaf of grain, every tenth lamb, every tenth pig, every tenth goat, every tenth goose, and a tenth of the honey and of the flax. For every colt they shall pay a denarius on St. Martin's day [Nov. 11], and for every calf an obol [penny]. 5. They promised to obey me in all ecclesiastical matters according to the decrees of the holy fathers, the canonical law, and the practice in the diocese of Utrecht. 6. They agreed to pay every year two marks for every 100 hides for the privilege of holding their own courts for the settlement of all their differences about secular matters. They did this because they feared they would suffer from the injustice of foreign judges. If they cannot settle the more important cases they shall refer them to the bishop. And if they take the bishop with them [that is, from Hamburg to the colony] for the purpose of deciding one of their trials, they shall provide for his support as long as he remains there by granting him one-third of all the fees arising from the trial; and they shall keep the other two-thirds. 7. We have given them permission to found churches wherever they may wish on these lands. For the support of the priests who shall serve God in these churches we grant a tithe of our tithes from these parish churches. They promised that the congregation of each of these churches should endow their church with a hide for the support of their priest. The names of the men who made this agreement with us are: Henry, the priest, to whom we have granted the aforesaid churches for life; and the others are laymen, Helikin, Arnold, Hiko, Fordolt, and Referic. To them and to their heirs after them we have granted the aforesaid land according to the secular laws and to the terms of this agreement. 299. The Privilege of Frederick I for the Jews, 1157. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, I, pp. 227 ff; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 71. The position of the Jew in the Middle Age was a peculiar one. The law of the state did not in any way recognize him as a citizen. But he was classed along with the right to coin money, levy tolls, appoint officials, administer justice, etc., as a _regale_, or a crown right; that is, his existence in Germany depended on the will of the king. As no mint could be established without the king's consent, so no Jews could live anywhere in the realm without the king's permission. The city which wished to permit Jews to live within its walls had first to secure the permission of the king. The Jews were made to pay well for the bare right to exist. They were subject to the king's taxation and hence were said to belong to the king's treasury. In theory they were under the king's protection, but that did not preserve them from mob violence. This document shows that while their position was anomalous, they nevertheless received liberal charters from the king. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, by the grace of God emperor of the Romans, Augustus. Be it known to all bishops, abbots, dukes, counts, and all others subject to our laws, that we have confirmed by our royal authority, expressed in the present law, the statutes in favor of the Jews of Worms and their fellow-religionists which were granted to them by our predecessor emperor Henry, in the time of Solomon, rabbi of the Jews. 1. In order that they may always look to us for justice, we command by our royal authority that no bishop or his official, and no count, _Schultheiss_, or other official except those whom they choose from among their own number, shall exercise any authority over them. The only official who may exercise such authority is the man whom the emperor puts over them in accordance with their choice, because they are entirely under the control of our treasury. 2. No one shall take from them any property which they hold by hereditary right, such as building sites, gardens, vineyards, fields, slaves, or any other movable or immovable property. No one shall interfere with their right to erect buildings against the walls of the city, on the inside or outside. If anyone molests them contrary to our edict he shall forfeit our grace and shall restore twofold whatever he took from them. 3. They shall have free right to change money with all men anywhere in the city except at the mint or where the officials of the mint have established places for changing money. 4. They shall travel in peace and security throughout the whole kingdom for the purpose of buying and selling and carrying on trade and business. No one shall exact any toll from them or require them to pay any other public or private tax. 5. Guests may not quarter themselves on the Jews against their will. No one shall seize one of their horses for the journey of the king or the bishop, or for the royal expedition. 6. If any stolen property is found in the possession of a Jew, and he says that he bought it, he shall say under oath according to Jewish law how much he paid for it, and he shall restore it to its owner on receipt of that amount. 7. No one shall baptize the children of Jews against their will. If anyone captures or seizes a Jew and baptizes him by force, he shall pay twelve pounds of gold to the royal treasury. If a Jew expresses a wish to be baptized, he shall be made to wait three days, in order to discover whether he abandons his own law because of his belief in Christianity, or because of illegal pressure; and if he thus relinquishes his law, he shall also relinquish his right to inheritance. 8. No one shall entice away from them any of their pagan slaves under pretext of baptizing them into the Christian faith. If anyone does this, he shall pay the ban, that is, three pounds of gold, and shall restore the slave to his owner; the slave shall obey all the commands of his owner, except those that are contrary to his Christian faith. 9. Jews may have Christian maid-servants and nurses, and may employ Christian men to work for them, except on feast days and Sundays; no bishop or other clergyman shall forbid this. 10. No Jew may own a Christian slave. 11. If a Jew brings suit against a Christian or a Christian against a Jew, each party shall follow the process of his own law as far as possible. The Jew has the same right as the Christian to prove his case and to release his sureties by his oath and the oath of another person of either law [_i.e._, Christian or Jew]. 12. No one may force a Jew to undergo the ordeal of hot iron, hot water, or cold water, or have him beaten with rods or thrown into prison, but he shall be tried according to his own law after forty days. In a case between a Christian and a Jew, the defendant cannot be convicted except by the testimony of both Christians and Jews. If a Jew appeals to the royal court in any case, he must be given time to present his case there. If anyone molests a Jew contrary to this edict, he shall pay the imperial ban of three pounds to the emperor. 13. If anyone takes part in a plan or plot to kill a Jew, both the slayer and his accomplice shall pay twelve pounds of gold to the royal treasury. If he wounds him without killing him, he shall pay one pound. If it is a serf who has wounded or slain the Jew, the lord of the serf shall either pay the fine or surrender the serf to punishment. If the serf is too poor to pay the fine, he shall suffer the penalty which was visited upon the serf who in the time of our predecessor, emperor Henry, slew the Jew named Vivus; namely, his eyes shall be torn out and his right hand cut off. 14. If the Jews have any suit or any matter to be settled among themselves, it shall be tried by their peers and by no others. If any Jew refuses to tell the truth in any case which arises among the Jews, he shall be forced to confess the truth by his own rabbi. But if a Jew has been accused of a serious crime, he shall be allowed to appeal to the emperor, if he wishes to. 15. Besides their wine, they shall have the right to sell spices and medicines to the Christians. As we have commanded, no one may force them to furnish horses for the expedition of the emperor, or to pay any other public or private tax. 300. The Bishop of Speyer Gives the Jews of His City a Charter, 1084. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 66. As the king granted the princes the right to coin money and other regalian rights, so he also gave them the permission to establish Jews in their territories or cities. This charter which the bishop of Speyer gave the Jews of his city, presents some interesting details concerning their quarter in the city, their way of living, occupations, etc. 1. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. I, Rudeger, by cognomen Huozman, humble bishop of Speyer, when I wished to make a city of my village of Speyer, thought that it would greatly add to its honor if I should establish some Jews in it. I have therefore collected some Jews and located them in a place apart from the dwellings and association of the other inhabitants of the city; and that they may be protected from the attacks and violence of the mob, I have surrounded their quarter with a wall. The land for their dwellings I had acquired in a legal way; for the hill [on which they are to live] I secured partly by purchase and partly by trade, and the valley [which I have given them] I received as a gift from the heirs who possessed it. I have given them this hill and valley on condition that they pay every year three and one-half pounds of money coined in the mint of Speyer, for the use of the brothers [monks of some monastery which is not named here]. 2. I have given them the free right of changing gold and silver coins and of buying and selling everything they wish within their own walls and outside the gate clear up to the boat-landing [on the Rhine] and also on the wharf itself. And they have the same right throughout the whole city. 3. Besides, I have given them a piece of the land of the church as a burial-ground. This land they shall hold forever. 4. I have also granted that, if a Jew comes to them from some other place and is their guest for a time, he shall pay no tolls [to the city]. 5. The chief priest of their synagogue shall have the same position and authority among them as the mayor of the city has among the citizens. He shall judge all the cases which arise among them or against them. If he is not able to decide any case it shall be taken before the bishop or his chamberlain. 6. They are bound to watch, guard, and defend only their own walls, in which work their servants may assist them. 7. They may hire Christian nurses and Christian servants. 8. The meats which their law forbids them to eat they may sell to Christians, and the Christians may buy them. 9. To add to my kindness to them I grant them the most favorable laws and conditions that the Jews have in any city of the German kingdom.... 301-325. The Cities of Germany. In the days of Karl the Great each city with the surrounding territory formed a county which was under the jurisdiction of a count. As feudalism developed, the count became the lord of the city, and governed it in a more or less autocratic way. Besides these cities there were many villages in the time of Karl which in the course of time grew into cities. Later, still other cities, arose, some growing up around markets, or monasteries, or churches, and others developing from settlements of colonists, etc. They grew under favorable circumstances into cities, over which, however, the lord still retained his control. But in the course of time the cities freed themselves from the jurisdiction of their lord and separated themselves from the surrounding territory. They acquired a set of laws for their government, and jurisdiction over themselves. The citizens of each city became a commune possessing a number of rights, among them the right to have a market, freedom from tolls, the election of their own officials, judges, etc., the right to levy their own taxes, to coin money, to fortify their city, etc. In a word, each city freed itself from the government of its lord and got the right to govern itself. The city charter was, in many cases at least, developed from the market charter. On this account we give a few market charters. Then a few documents are given to illustrate the rebellion of the cities against their lords, and their acquisition of municipal rights. We offer the important charter of Magdeburg, and some documents concerning the origin of the Rhine league and the early history of the Hanseatic league. The development in the German cities was so varied that it is quite impossible in the space at our disposal to illustrate it adequately. Nearly every city offers something peculiar, interesting, and worthy of note. 301. Lothar II (855-69) Grants a Market to the Monastery of Prüm, 861. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 150. Markets were a part of the _regalia_; that is, no one had a right to set up a market without the king's permission. Small coins were necessary for the convenience of those who came to the market, and hence the lord of the market always received the right to establish a mint in connection with his market. In order to insure justice and fair treatment to the merchants who might bring their wares to the market, it was separated from the local jurisdiction, and the lord of the market was given jurisdiction over all crimes committed during the market and on the ground occupied by it. A further interest attaches to the charters of markets because in some cases the towns which grew up about the market-places became cities, and the market charter was developed into the city charter. Lothar II, etc.... Therefore, let all our faithful subjects, both present and future, know that Ansbald, abbot of the monastery of Prüm, has told us that that place suffers great disadvantage because it is so far distant from a market and mint. On this account, he begged us to grant his monastery our permission for the establishment of a market and mint in a place which is called Romarivilla, which is not far from his monastery. Out of reverence for the Lord Jesus Christ, and for the salvation of our soul, we gladly grant his petition, and have ordered this document to be written, by which we decree and command that hereafter that monastery may have an ordinary market in the above-named place and a mint for coining denarii of the proper weight and quality. And no public official shall levy a tax of any sort on the monastery for this market and mint, but they shall be wholly for the profit of the monastery and its inmates. And that this concession may never be violated, we have ordered it to be sealed with our ring and we have signed it with our own hand.... 302. Otto I Grants a Market to an Archbishop, 965. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 154. See introductory note to no. 301. In the name of the undivided Trinity. Otto by the favor of God emperor, Augustus. If we grant the requests of clergymen and liberally endow the places which are dedicated to the worship of God, we believe that it will undoubtedly assist in securing for us the eternal reward. Therefore, let all know that for the love of God we have granted the petition of Adaldagus, the reverend archbishop of Hamburg, and have given him permission to establish a market in the place called Bremen. In connection with the market we grant him jurisdiction, tolls, a mint, and all other things connected therewith to which our royal treasury would have a right. We also take under our special protection all the merchants who live in that place, and grant them the same protection and rights as those merchants have who live in other royal cities. And no one shall have any jurisdiction there except the aforesaid archbishop and those to whom he may delegate it. Signed with our hand and sealed with our ring. 303. Otto III Grants a Market to Count Bertold, 999. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 155. See introductory note to no. 301. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Otto by the clemency of God emperor, Augustus. If we grant the petitions of our faithful subjects we shall no doubt make them more faithful to us. Therefore, we wish all our subjects, present and future, to know that, at the request of the noble duke, Hermann, we have given our count, Bertold, full authority to establish a market, with a mint, tolls, and public jurisdiction, in a certain place called Vilungen, in the county of Bara, over which count Hildibald has jurisdiction. And by royal decree we make this a legal [and regular] market, with all the functions of a market. And no one shall be permitted to interfere with it. All who wish to come to this market may come and go away in security and peace. No unjust charges shall be levied on them, but they may buy and sell and do everything else that belongs to the business of a merchant. And if anyone tries to violate or break this concession, he shall pay the same fine as one who should violate the market at Constance, or Zürich. He shall pay this fine to count Bertold, or to his representative. The aforesaid count shall have the right of holding, changing, granting, and making any arrangement in regard to this market, as he pleases.... 304. No One shall Compel Merchants to Come to His Market, 1236. M. G. LL. 4to. IV, 2, no. 203. See introductory note to no. 301. Frederick [II], etc.... The venerable archbishop of Salzburg asked: When merchants are going along the public highway to a market, may anyone force them to leave the highway and go by private roads to his market? The decision of the princes was, that no one has a right to compel merchants to leave the highway, but that they may go to whatever market they wish.... 305. A Market-court is Independent of the Local Court, 1218. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 164. See introductory note to no. 301. Frederick II, by the grace of God king of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Sicily, etc. We wish to inform you that the following decision has been rendered in our presence by the princes and magnates of our empire. If we have granted the establishment of a market, either annual or weekly, and have given them [that is, the people to whom the market has been granted] our glove [as a symbol that they have jurisdiction over all offences committed during the market], no count nor any other judge of the province [in which the market is situated] shall exercise any jurisdiction there [that is, over crimes committed during the market], or have any power to punish crimes committed there. But if a thief, or robber, or any other criminal shall have been condemned to death there [that is, by the judge who holds the market-court] he must be handed over to the count or to the judge of the province to have the sentence executed upon him. 306. Otto I Grants Jurisdiction over a Town to the Abbots of New Corvey, 940. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 152. For about 300 years after the time of Karl the Great the cities of Germany did not have self-government. Under Karl they were governed by an imperial or royal official. With the appearance and growth of feudalism, the towns came into the hands of the bishops, dukes, counts, etc., and were governed by them. Frequently new towns grew up about monasteries or the churches, especially cathedral churches. As the land on which the town was built belonged to the abbot or bishop, as the case might be, he was naturally regarded as its lord, and of course he had jurisdiction over all its inhabitants. It is apparent that such a new town had sprung up around the monastery of New Corvey, and by this document Otto I recognized that its abbot had jurisdiction over all the people who lived on the lands of the monastery. Otto I, etc.... Therefore, let all our subjects, both present and future, know that, for the love of God, the salvation of our souls, and the forgiveness of our sins, at the request of our beloved wife, we have granted that all the abbots of the monastery of New Corvey,{124} beginning with Folkmar, who is now its abbot, shall have jurisdiction over all the men who live in the territory of the monastery and in the city which has been built up about it, that is, in, etc. [Here follow the names of the places over which the monastery shall have jurisdiction.] And no man and no official shall have the right of exercising over the aforesaid men that jurisdiction which is commonly called "Burgbann" [that is, the jurisdiction that goes with a town], except the abbot of the monastery and those to whom he may delegate it. {124} New Corvey, near Paderborn, was founded in 816, for the purpose of Christianizing the newly conquered Saxons. It was named after its mother monastery, Corbie, in France. It was for a long time the most famous monastery in north Germany. 307. The Ban-mile, or the Limits of the Bishop's Authority, 1237. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 2, no. 205. There was often a question as to the geographical limits of the jurisdiction of the lord of a town. In some cases his authority was bounded by the city walls. In others it extended into the country to a certain distance called a ban-league, or ban-mile. Frederick II, etc. The archbishop of Cologne asked whether his jurisdiction extended beyond the city walls or not. The decision was that his jurisdiction extends beyond the city walls to the distance which is generally called a "ban-mile," and within that he may legally sit in judgment on all the men who are under his jurisdiction. 308. The Citizens of Cologne Expel Their Archbishop, 1074. Sudendorf, Registrum, I, no. 3. The chief interest in this and the following number lies in the fact that they introduce us to the beginnings of the movement in the cities toward the acquisition of self-government. As the inhabitants of the towns increased in numbers and wealth, they began to resent the manner in which they were treated by their lords. As their own interests increased in importance it became more and more annoying and exasperating when their lord interfered with their business and demanded their services or the use of articles which they were using (see the following number). A rebellion was inevitable. It began generally, if not always, with the merchant class of the population. The lords of the towns vigorously resisted, but were unable to maintain their prerogatives. The cities generally succeeded in acquiring the right to govern themselves and obtained a charter to that effect. The citizens of Worms had been offended by their bishop, not only because of his government of them, but also because he was supporting the pope against their king, to whom they were devotedly attached. To his beloved brother and fellow bishop, Udo, archbishop [of Trier], Anno, archbishop of Cologne, sends his love, etc.... You have no doubt heard about the violence and insults which I have suffered from my citizens, although I have said nothing about the matter in my letters to you. And you have also probably heard how I was restored to my place in the city by the help of others. According to the canon law, I should immediately have punished their abominable insolence with excommunication and interdict, but I restrained myself from doing so, because it might have seemed that I did it not out of zeal for the Lord, but for personal reasons. But some of the insolent ones disregarded and despised my gentle treatment of them, and at night secretly collected and threatened me with worse things than they had done before. On this account, with the advice of the bishops whom the pope sent me, I anathematized them a week after Pentecost. I beg you to publish this anathema in your diocese. Do not permit your people to be infected with the leprosy of these excommunicated persons, but keep them out of your territory, lest by their speech they excite your people to do the same things against you. I beg you to inform your bishops of this, in order that my contaminated flock may not infect theirs also. 309. The People of Cologne Rebel against Their Archbishop, 1074. Lambert of Hersfeld, Annals, M. G. SS. folio, V, 211 ff. See introductory note to no. 308. The archbishop spent Easter in Cologne with his friend, the bishop of Münster, whom he had invited to celebrate this festival with him. When the bishop was ready to go home, the archbishop ordered his servants to get a suitable boat ready for him. They looked all about, and finally found a good boat which belonged to a rich merchant of the city, and demanded it for the archbishop's use. They ordered it to be got ready at once and threw out all the merchandise with which it was loaded. The merchant's servants, who had charge of the boat, resisted, but the archbishop's men threatened them with violence unless they immediately obeyed. The merchant's servants hastily ran to their lord and told him what had happened to the boat, and asked him what they should do. The merchant had a son who was both bold and strong. He was related to the great families of the city, and, because of his character, very popular. He hastily collected his servants and as many of the young men of the city as he could, rushed to the boat, ordered the servants of the archbishop to get out of it, and violently ejected them from it. The advocate of the city was called in, but his arrival only increased the tumult, and the merchant's son drove him off and put him to flight. The friends of both parties seized their arms and came to their aid, and it looked as if there were going to be a great battle fought in the city. The news of the struggle was carried to the archbishop, who immediately sent men to quell the riot, and being very angry, he threatened the rebellious young men with dire punishment in the next session of court. Now the archbishop was endowed with all virtues, and his uprightness in all matters, both of the state and of the church, had often been proved. But he had one vice. When he became angry, he could not control his tongue, but overwhelmed everybody, without distinction, with bitter upbraidings and violent vituperation. When his anger had passed, he regretted his fault and reproached himself for it. The riot in the city was finally quieted a little, but the young man, who was very angry as well as elated over his first success, kept on making all the disturbance he could. He went about the city making speeches to the people about the harsh government of the archbishop, and accused him of laying unjust burdens on the people, of depriving innocent persons of their property, and of insulting honorable citizens with his violent and offensive words.... It was not difficult for him to raise a mob.... Besides, they all regarded it as a great and glorious deed on the part of the people of Worms that they had driven out their bishop because he was governing them too rigidly. And since they were more numerous and wealthy than the people of Worms, and had arms, they disliked to have it thought that they were not equal to the people of Worms in courage, and it seemed to them a disgrace to submit like women to the rule of the archbishop, who was governing them in a tyrannical manner.... 310. Confirmation of the Immediateness of the Citizens of Speyer, 1267. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 168. Cities which were immediately subject to the king were called "imperial cities" (Reichsstädte), while those which were subject to the lord of the land in which they were situated were called "territorial cities" (Landesstädte). Many such cities rebelled against their lord, and put themselves under the king and secured his recognition of their character as imperial cities. Philip, lord of Falkenstein, treasurer of the imperial court. By this present writing we wish to make known and publicly to declare that the citizens of the city of Speyer are joined directly to the empire so that they are in no way answerable to the bishop of Speyer [in secular matters]. This is manifest and well known to all.... 311. Summons Sent to an Imperial City to Attend a Diet, 1338. Urkundenbuch der Stadt Lübeck, II, 2, p. 629; Altmann und Bernheim, no. 23. An imperial city was in fact a tenant-in-chief since it held directly from the king. It therefore had a right to send its representatives to the diet. Ludwig, etc. Because of certain important affairs of the empire, especially the controversy which has arisen between us and the pope, we have decided to summon the ecclesiastical and secular princes, the counts, barons, cities, and communities of the empire; therefore, we notify and command you, in whose fidelity, wisdom, and advice we place special confidence, to send two representatives with full credentials to Frankfort on the Tuesday before St. Laurence's day [Aug. 10], there to meet with us, and the princes, counts, and other cities. Do not seek to evade this summons, but obey it readily and willingly, if you expect to receive our grace and favor. 312. Municipal Freedom is Given to the Town Called Ebenbuchholtz, 1201. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 163. This is a good example of the charters by which the lord of the town surrendered his authority and granted municipal freedom to the people of the town. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Hermann, by the grace of God bishop of Münster. Because temporal things imitate time and pass away with it, we have thought it best to commit to writing those things which concern our honor and advantage. Let all people know, therefore, that we have granted to our village, Ebenbuchholtz, that municipal freedom which is commonly called "_Weichbild_." But because that could not be done without the consent of Sueder of Dingden, to whose county the aforesaid village belonged, we made this agreement with him, that he should give up his right to the "_Weichbild_" [that is, to the government of the town, the appointment of the officials, etc.] and he should receive in return for it civil jurisdiction over the town, such as he has over our cities, Münster, Coesfeld, and others. And that these agreements and arrangements may remain unbroken forever, we have caused this document to be written and sealed with our ring.... 313. The Extension of the Corporate Limits of the City of Brunswick, 1269. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 169. After a town had got its municipal freedom new quarters of suburbs might easily spring up about it. These might at first have no share in the government of the town, but would manage their own affairs. But in the course of time these new quarters might be incorporated with the old town. That is, the corporate limits of the old town would be extended to include the new suburbs. All the aldermen of the city of Brunswick, etc.... We wish it to be made known that after having taken counsel with the older and wiser men for the best interests of the city, we have, under oath, issued the following decree which shall be observed forever, to the effect that hereafter we [the aldermen from the three different parts of the city which up to this time have had a separate organization] shall meet in one house to take counsel together about the affairs of the whole city. All the income of the city, from whatever source, shall be kept in a common fund and spent for the common good of the whole city. In the old town wine may be sold all the time. In that quarter of the city called Indago [that is, the Park], however, when one vat of wine has been sold no more shall be sold there until a vat has been sold in the new town, and vice versa. New aldermen shall be elected every year as follows: Seven new aldermen shall be elected in the old town, and three of the former aldermen from the same quarter shall be chosen to remain in office another year. In Indago [the quarter called the Park] four new aldermen shall be elected and two of the former aldermen shall remain in office. In the new town three shall be elected and one of the former shall remain in office. Thus there shall always be twenty aldermen. They shall take a special oath, among other things, to preserve this union [of the three towns in one]. And that no doubt may arise about this, we have caused this document to be written and the seal of the city to be attached to it. Witnesses.... 314. The Decision of a Diet about the Establishment of City Councils in Cathedral Towns, 1218. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 165. The lords of the towns were generally unwilling to surrender their authority without a struggle. They appealed to the king and to the diet against their rebellious subjects. The decisions were almost always in their favor, but they found it difficult to enforce them. Neither the king nor the diet assisted them. In the struggle which ensued between the lord and the rebellious town, the town was generally successful. It may be said that the kings seldom followed a wise policy in this matter, but permitted themselves to be influenced by the complaints of the lords. The German kings generally did not understand the movement or see its importance. They did not perceive that a new order of things was arising in the cities which was rapidly replacing the feudal system. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick II, by the favor of God king of the Romans, Augustus, and king of Sicily.... Our beloved prince, Henry, bishop of Basel, came into the presence of us and of many princes, barons, and nobles of the empire and demanded a decision about the following matter, namely: Whether we or anyone else had the right to establish a council in a city [that is, to give a city municipal freedom] which was subject to a bishop, without the bishop's consent and permission. We first asked our beloved prince, Theodoric, the venerable archbishop of Trier, about this, and he, after some deliberation, declared that we neither could nor should grant or establish a council in the city of the aforesaid bishop of Basel without the consent of him or of his successors. The question was then asked in due form of all who were present, both princes, nobles, and barons, and they confirmed the decision of the archbishop of Trier. We also, as a just judge, approve this decision, and declare it to be right. We therefore remove and depose the council which is now in Basel, and we annul the charter which we granted the people of Basel authorizing the establishment of this council, and they shall never make any further use of it. As a greater evidence of our favor and love for the aforesaid bishop of Basel, we forbid, under the threat of the loss of our favor, the people of Basel to make or set up a council or any constitution, by whatever name it may be called, without the consent and permission of their bishop.... 315. Frederick II Forbids the Municipal Freedom of the Towns and Annuls all City Charters, 1231-2. Altmann und Bernheim, no. 166. See introductory note to no. 314. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. Frederick, etc.... (2) In various parts of Germany, through the failure to enforce the law and through neglect, certain detestable customs have become established which hide their bad character under a good appearance. By them the rights and honor of the princes of the empire are diminished and the imperial authority is weakened. It is our duty to see that these bad customs, or rather these corrupt practices, shall no longer be in force. (3) Wishing, therefore, that all the grants and concessions of liberties and privileges which we have made to the princes of the empire shall have the broadest interpretation and that the said princes may have full and undisturbed possession of them, we hereby remove and depose in every town and city of Germany all the city councils, burgomasters, mayors, aldermen, and all other officials, by whatever name they may be called, who have been established by the people of the said cities without the permission of their archbishop or bishop. (4) We also dissolve all fraternities or societies, by whatever name they may be called. (5) We also decree that, in every city or town where there is a mint, no kind of money except that which is coined in that place shall be used in the sale and purchase of all kinds of goods and provisions. (6) In times past the archbishops and bishops governed the cities and all the lands which were given them by the emperor, and we wish them to continue to do so forever, either in person or through the officials whom they may appoint for this purpose, in spite of the fact that certain abuses have crept in, and in some cities there are those who resist them. But this resistance to their lord is illegal. (7) In order that these wicked abuses may be stopped and may not have even a pretence of authority, we revoke and declare invalid and worthless all the privileges, open letters, and sealed letters, which we or our predecessors or the archbishops or bishops have given to any person, either public or private, or to any city, in favor of these societies, communes, or councils, to the disadvantage of the princes and of the empire. This document has the form of a judicial decision, being published by a decree of the princes with our full knowledge.... 316. Breslau Adopts the Charter of Magdeburg, 1261. (German.) Altmann und Bernheim, no. 167. Magdeburg was on the frontier between the Germans and the Slavs (Wends and Poles) of the interior. It owed its importance and growth in large part to the fact that it was the centre of the extensive trade between the two peoples. For a long time practically all the commerce between them passed through it. It had the same commercial importance for the Slavs of the interior as Lübeck did for the people along the shores of the Baltic. Because of its position it was raised to be the seat of an archbishop, and given the work of Christianizing the Slavs. Another effect of her position and commerce was seen in the organization of the Slavic cities, all of which adopted her government and laws. These so-called Slavic towns to the east of Magdeburg were established generally by German colonists who made it a condition of their going as colonists that they should have the charter of Magdeburg. And when towns were raised to the rank of cities they asked to have the charter of Magdeburg. So in 1261 when Breslau was made a city, duke Henry and his citizens of Breslau applied to Magdeburg for a copy of its charter. In response to this request the _Schoeffen_ of the city drew up the following statement of the city's government. Although prolix, unsystematic, and obscure in some points, the student will be able to understand the essential features of it. Compare the legal procedure, delays, etc., with no. 4, the Salic Law. In a city which had the charter of Magdeburg it might easily happen that a new case would arise which was not provided for in the charter. If the governing body was in doubt as to what to do, a deputation was sent to Magdeburg to ask for instructions from her board of _Schoeffen_. So in 1338 the citizens of Culm asked for instructions on several points, and the _Schoeffen_ told them what the law on these matters in Magdeburg was. We give these two documents as typical, and as illustrating the government of the cities in Wendish-Polish territory. (1) When Magdeburg was founded the inhabitants were given a charter such as they wished. They determined that they would choose aldermen every year, who, on their election, should swear that they would guard the law, honor, and interests of the city to the best of their ability and with the advice of the wisest people of the city. (2) The aldermen have under their jurisdiction false measures, false scales, false weights, offences in the sale of all sorts of provisions, and all kinds of deception in buying and selling. If they find anyone guilty of such things, he shall pay a fine of three Wendish marks, that is, thirty-six shillings. (3) The aldermen shall take counsel with the wisest people and then appoint their courts at whatever time they wish. Their decisions rendered in court are binding and must be obeyed. If anyone resists their decisions, they shall punish him. (4) If the bells are rung [to call the inhabitants to court], and anyone does not come, he shall pay a fine of six pence. If he is summoned to the court and does not come, he shall be fined five shillings. (5) If the people who are called hucksters are convicted of cheating, they shall either be beaten and have their heads shaved, or they shall be fined three shillings, according to the choice of the aldermen. (6) If anyone is convicted of using false weights or measures, the aldermen shall punish him according to the custom of the city, or fine him thirty-six shillings. (7) The burggrave is the highest judge. He must hold three courts every year: the first one at St. Agatha's day [February 5], the second one at St. John's day [June 24], and the third one a week after St. Martin's day [November 11]. If these days fall on holy days or on "bound times" [that is, holidays on which, for some reason not here stated, no courts may be held], the court must be put off. If plaintiffs do not appear, the case must be put off. If the _Schultheiss_ does not come, the case must be put off. But the _Schultheiss_ who fails to come must pay the burggrave ten pounds, unless it was impossible for him to come. (8) All crimes committed 14 days before the burggrave's court meets belong solely to the jurisdiction of the burggrave. But if the burggrave is not there, the citizens shall choose someone else to judge in his place, if anyone has been taken in the very act of committing a crime. The fee of the burggrave is three pounds. When the burggrave rises from the judge's chair, his court is dissolved, and he then appoints the court of the _Schultheiss_ to be held 14 days from the next day. (9) The _Schultheiss_ holds three regular courts every year: the first one, twelve days after Christmas, the second, on the first Tuesday after Easter week, and the third, at the end of the week of Pentecost. At the close of each of these courts he shall appoint another court [if necessary], to be held fourteen days later. If these courts fall on a holy day, he may put off his court for a day or two. (10) The fee of the _Schultheiss_ is eight shillings. No one shall be summoned to his court except by the _Schultheiss_ himself or by his beadle. His servant shall not summon anyone. If the _Schultheiss_ is not at home when a crime is committed, the people shall choose someone to judge in his place, in case they have taken some offender in the act. The _Schultheiss_ shall receive his authority as a fief from the lord of the land, and he shall have a fief [besides], and he must be of legitimate birth, and born a citizen of the town. (11) If a man is wounded and cries for help, and seizes his assailant and brings him into court, and has six witnesses, the defendant is to be shown to the witnesses, so that he cannot escape. If a man inflicts a wound as deep as a nail and as long as a finger, his hand shall be cut off; for killing anyone his head shall be cut off. (12) Neither the burggrave nor the _Schultheiss_ shall compel citizens to render decisions [that is, assist in holding court] at any other time than the regular sessions of the court, except when a criminal has been taken in the act. But the burggrave and the _Schultheiss_ must, every day, try the cases which are brought before them. (13) If a man is wounded but puts off making complaint [to the proper official] until the next day, the accused may clear himself if he produces six witnesses. If the accused fails to appear at the next three sessions of the court, he shall, at the fourth session, be put under the ban [outlawed, proscribed]. (14) If a man dies leaving a wife, she shall have no share in his property except what he has given her in court, or has appointed for her dower. She must have six witnesses, male or female, to prove her dower. If the man made no provision for her, her children must support her as long as she does not remarry. If her husband had sheep, the widow shall take them. (15) If a man and woman have children, some of whom are married and have received their marriage portion, and the man dies, the children who are still at home [that is, unmarried], shall receive the inheritance. Those who have received their marriage portion shall have no part of it [that is, the inheritance]. Children who have received an inheritance shall not sell it without the consent of their heirs. (16) If a man surrenders anything to another in court, and the other holds it in peaceable possession for a year and a day, he shall call the judge and the _Schoeffen_ as witnesses to the fact [that he has held it for a year and a day], and thereafter no one shall bring a suit against him to recover it. (17) If a judge or _Schoeffe_ dies, he shall be declared deposed [that is, his office shall be declared vacant] by a session of court in which at least two _Schoeffen_ and four free citizens are present. Then his wife shall receive her share of his property [that is, not until his office is declared vacant may his widow claim her share of his property]. (18) No one, whether man or woman, shall, on his sick-bed, give away more than three shillings' worth of his property without the consent of his heirs, and the woman must have the consent of her husband. (19) If the fee or _wergeld_ of the burggrave has been adjudged to him in court, it must be paid to him within six weeks. (20) If there are no immediate heirs [that is, children] to an inheritance, the nearest of kin shall share it equally. (21) If a man is wounded and cries for help [but does not seize his assailant] and comes into court and accuses someone who was present [when he received the wound], the accused must answer in court and defend himself. If a man accuses more persons than he has wounds, only as many persons as he has wounds shall be prosecuted, but the defendants may clear themselves of the charges with six witnesses. (22) If an inheritance is left to a boy [that is, if his father dies], and he wishes to become a priest, he shall nevertheless receive the inheritance. But if he has an unmarried sister at home, the two shall divide it between them. (23) If a man transfers a piece of property to another in the presence of the judge and of the _Schoeffen_, the _Schoeffen_ shall receive a fee of one shilling. (24) If a man brings a suit against another for a debt and gets a writ of execution against him, the defendant must, on the same day, pay the debt and also the judge's fee. (25) If a man is sued for a debt and he confesses to the debt, he must pay it within fourteen days. If he does not pay it within fourteen days, he shall pay the judge's fee, and the judge shall order him to pay it within eight days. If he does not pay it within eight days, the judge shall order him to pay it the next day. If he does not pay it, he shall pay the judge his fee for every time the judge ordered him to pay. If he does not have the money to pay, his house shall be taken in pawn for the debt. If he has no house, he shall be seized for debt wherever he may be found. Whoever gives him aid, shall pay a fine to the judge. (26) If a man's clothes are taken from him by a writ of execution, he has seventeen days in which to call a court session. (27) If a man of good reputation is accused of having caused a disturbance by day or night, he shall clear himself with six witnesses, provided he was not seen near the place where the disturbance was. (28) No widow shall use the capital of her dower or sell it. If she dies it shall go to the heirs of her husband. (29) If an inheritance is left to children, and one of them dies, the others share it equally. (30) If a man's house is taken from him as a pawn for a debt, so long as the pawn is unredeemed he shall pay the judge a fine every time he enters the house. (31) If a man is going out of the country as a pilgrim or as a merchant, no one shall hinder him from going because of a debt, unless he brings suit against him for the debt before the judge. (32) If anyone reviles a _Schoeffe_ while he is on the bench [that is, while he is performing the duties of his office], he shall pay the _Schoeffe_ the regular fine [for an offence against a _Schoeffe_], that is, thirty shillings, and he shall also pay the judge his fee. (33) If a man reviles the _Schoeffen_ after they have given a decision, he shall pay each of them the regular fine, that is, thirty shillings, and also pay the judge his regular fine. He shall pay the judge's fine as many times as there are _Schoeffen_ whom he reviled. (34) If a man needs evidence that a quarrel or feud was legally settled in court, he shall appeal to the judge and _Schoeffen_ in whose presence the feud was settled. If they have died, he shall take the testimony of the free citizens who were in court at the time. (35) The judge shall not reverse a decision of the _Schoeffen_. (36) If a feud is settled out of court and one of the parties afterward renews it, the other party shall prove that it was settled by bringing six witnesses who saw and heard the settlement. (37) If a feud is settled in court and a pledge given [that the feud shall not be renewed] and some of them [that is, one of the parties to it] renew it and they are convicted of it before the judge and the _Schoeffen_, they shall lose a hand for inflicting a wound on any of the other party, and their head if they have killed anyone. If a man who did not agree to the settlement of the feud renews it, he shall pay the _wergeld_, that is, nine pounds for a wound and eighteen for killing anyone. (38) If a man attacks another with intent to wound, and does wound him, he shall lose a hand for a wound, and his head if he kills him. (39) If a man is beaten with rods on his back and abdomen so as to make black and blue spots and to cause swellings, he shall show himself to the judge and to the free citizens in court that they may see the effects of the blows, and then he has grounds for suit against those who beat him. But if he is beaten on his head and arms and he has no other proof, the accused shall clear themselves in the regular way. If they confess [that they beat him], each one shall pay his fine and the judge's fee besides. If the man whom they beat dies, they must all answer in court for his death. If he does not die, only one of them shall answer in court, the others shall go free. (40) The burggrave and not the _Schultheiss_ shall have jurisdiction over the three crimes of attacking from an ambush, violating women, and attacking with intent to kill. If the one attacked has wounds and shows them to the judge and has witnesses who heard him cry for help, the accused shall answer in court to the charges. (41) If anyone dies leaving an inheritance and no heirs appear within a year and a day to claim it, it shall go to the king. (42) If a man who has three or more children is killed, and someone is accused by one of the children of having killed his father, but is not convicted, and the court gives him a certificate that he did not commit the crime, the other children shall not renew the charge against him. (43) If a man enters suit against another, he shall make a deposit with the judge [to cover expenses?]. He shall not give this deposit to the judge, but he shall receive it back [after the suit is ended]. (44) If a man seizes a horse and declares that it was stolen or taken by force from him, he shall prove it in court. He in whose possession the horse was found, shall appeal to witnesses and name them and swear by the saints that he is not practising any deception in appealing to witnesses. After he has named his witnesses, the man who is called as a witness shall go with him a reasonable distance [that is, to meet the witnesses who have been named]. If he cannot produce the witnesses whom he boasted of having, he shall give security to the judge for the fine and the expenses to which the man who claimed the horse has been put, and he shall set a day when he shall appear in court. If he says that he bought the horse in the public market, he shall restore the horse to its owner and he shall lose the money which he paid for it. But he shall not pay a fine. The judge shall not assess a fine for the non-payment of his fine. (45) If a man claims a piece of property or an inheritance, he shall not bribe the judge in order to secure a favorable decision. If a man enters a suit against another [but in the meantime the matter is settled out of court], he shall pay nothing except the fee of the judge. (46) If a man who has been wounded does not wish to make charges against anyone, the judge cannot compel him to do so. (47) If a man is outlawed or condemned, no one but his heirs shall take his property. (48) If a man dies without having disposed of his property, it shall go to his children, if they are his equals in birth. If one of the children dies, its share goes to its mother, but she cannot dispose of it without the consent of her heirs. (49) When a child is twelve years old it may choose whom it will as guardian. The guardian must render an account to the mother and to the children of his management of the inheritance. (50) If one man says to another, "You are my property," but the man thus claimed can prove his freedom, no similar claim shall ever be made against him again. A man can prove his freedom by the testimony of three of his mother's relatives and three of his father's relatives. These witnesses may be either male or female. (51) Playing at dice is not a crime. (52) If a man is security for anything and dies, his children are not responsible for the security. If a man is security for a debt, he must pay it and make everything good. (53) If a man wounds another in the street within the corporate limits of the city [that is, on ground which is under the jurisdiction of the city] not in self-defence, wrongfully, and without provocation, and the wounded man turns and wounds him and cries for help, but because of his wounds is not able to reach the court first and make charges against his assailant, and his assailant, although he was the first to make the attack, maliciously and insolently comes into court and makes charges, the one who was first attacked shall come into court on the same day and prove by those who heard his cry for help that the other was the first to make the attack. If he can prove this he shall win his case. But he must appear the same day. (54) If two men who are from Wendish territory, even though they are not both Wends, wound each other within the corporate limits of the city, and one of them comes into court and makes charges against the other according to Wendish law, the other must answer him according to the same law. (55) When a man dies his wife shall give his sword, his horse and saddle, and his best coat of mail. She shall also give a bed, a pillow, a sheet, a table-cloth, two dishes and a towel. Some say that she should give other things also, but that is not necessary. If she does not have these things, she shall not give them, but she shall give proof for each article that she does not have it. (56) If two or more children inherit these things [named in § 55], the oldest shall take the sword and they shall share the other things equally. (57) If the children are minors, the oldest male relative on the father's side, if he is of the same rank by birth, shall receive all these things [named in § 55] and preserve them for the children. When they become of age, he shall give them to them, and in addition, all their property, unless he can prove that he has used it to their profit, or that it has been stolen or destroyed by some accident without any fault of his. He shall also be the guardian of the widow until she remarries, if he is of the same rank as she is. (58) After giving the above articles the widow shall take her dower and all that belongs to her; that is, all the sheep, geese, chests, yarn, beds, pillows, cushions, table linen, bed linen, towels, cups, candlesticks, linen, woman's clothing, finger rings, bracelets, headdress, psalters, and all prayer-books, chairs, drawers, bureaus, carpets, curtains, etc., and there are many other trinkets which belong to her, such as brushes, scissors, and mirrors, but I do not mention them. But uncut cloth, and unworked gold and silver do not belong to her. (59) All the possessions of the man except those named in § 55 belong to his inheritance. If he has given anything in pledge, he who has the right to shall redeem it if he wishes to do so. (60) If one of the children becomes a priest he shall share in the inheritance equally with his brothers, but not if he becomes a monk. (61) If a boy is put into a monastery but leaves it before he becomes of age, he retains his legal status; that is, he may inherit fiefs from his father and has all the protection of the law of the land. But if a man becomes a monk, he loses all his rights and fiefs, because he has denied his military duties. The monks of the monastery which he has entered shall be witnesses of this. (62) Cases shall be tried in the order in which they are entered. The plaintiff and the defendant have each the right to speak three times during the trial. Each one may speak until the beadle orders him to stop. (63) In all cities it is the law that the judge shall give decisions. A man who has a representative shall not speak in court. If the judge asks him whether he agrees to what his representative says, he must answer Yes or No, or he may ask for permission to speak. (64) If anyone wishes to challenge a fellow citizen to an ordeal by duel, he must ask the judge to permit him to challenge the peace-breaker in a legal manner. If this request is granted, the accuser may ask how he should challenge so as to have the support of the law. The answer is, by pulling the defendant at his collar. After the challenge, he shall tell the defendant why he challenged him. He must accuse him of having broken the peace either on the king's road, or in a village. He shall declare in which way the peace was broken. But he must accuse the defendant of having wounded him and done him violence. And this he may prove by showing his wounds or scars. Further, he shall accuse the defendant of having robbed him of his property and of having taken enough to make an ordeal necessary. He shall accuse him of all these three crimes at once. If he omits one of these he is deprived of the privilege of the ordeal. The honorable _Schoeffen_ and the aldermen of Magdeburg drew up this law of Magdeburg for the noble duke, Henry, and his citizens of Breslau, and, if necessary, will aid them in keeping it. They gave it at the request of Henry the duke and of his citizens of Breslau. In the year 1261.... 317. The Schoeffen of Magdeburg give Decisions for Culm, 1338. (German.) Altmann und Bernheim, no. 172. See introductory note to no. 316. 1. May aldermen be deposed? To the honorable aldermen of Culm, we the _Schoeffen_ of Magdeburg, your obedient servants [send greeting]. You have asked us in your letter whether aldermen may choose other aldermen, and whether they may choose from among themselves burgomasters and _Schoeffen_ without the consent of the burggrave. And also whether the burggrave may depose some of the aldermen and appoint others in their place. We answer, that the aldermen may choose other aldermen for a year, and one or two burgomasters from their own number also for a year. But the burggrave has no right to depose aldermen and put others in their place. 2. Who shall choose other _Schoeffen_? The _Schoeffen_ shall elect other _Schoeffen_, and those elected shall remain _Schoeffen_ as long as they live. The aldermen have no right to elect _Schoeffen_. The burggrave shall confirm the _Schoeffen_ who are elected. 3. May the aldermen make laws? You have also asked us whether the aldermen with the consent of their citizens may make laws among themselves and fix the penalties for offences against them, without the consent of the burggrave, and whether the aldermen have the right to collect such penalties and retain them, or shall the burggrave and the _Schultheiss_ have a share in them. And you have also asked if a man breaks the laws and refuses to pay the fine, how it is to be collected from him. We answer, that the aldermen may make laws and fix their penalties provided these laws do not conflict with the laws of the city. And they may do this without the consent of the burggrave. And they have the right to demand the payment of fines, and they may keep them for the benefit of the city; the burggrave and the _Schultheiss_ shall have no part in them. 4. What if a man refuses to pay a fine? If a man refuses to pay a fine but admits that he owes it, the aldermen may seize and imprison him until he pays it. If he says he does not owe the fine, he shall prove it by taking an oath by the saints. 5. About false measures. You have further asked whether the aldermen have jurisdiction over weights and measures, false measures, and the sale of provisions, and if a man refuses to pay a fine how it shall be collected. We answer, that aldermen have jurisdiction over the said things, and that if a man refuses to pay his fine, they may seize and imprison him until he pays it, as is written above. 6. About damage done to a forest. You asked us if a man cuts wood in a forest, how he shall pay the damage. We answer, if a man cuts down trees in another's forest, or cuts his grass, or fishes in his streams, he shall pay for the damage and a fine besides. 7. How far shall a guest live from the city? You also asked us how far a man must live from the court if he wishes to have the right of a guest. We answer, if a guest is accused before the court, if he swears by the saints that he lives more than twelve miles from the court, he shall have his trial at once. If a guest enters suit against a citizen in the same court, the citizen shall answer in court that same day if the guest demands it. 8. About attaching the property of a guest. You further asked us how you should proceed, if a man attaches the property of a guest from a far country, so that justice may be done to both. We answer, if a man attaches the property of a guest who lives so far away that you cannot get hold of him, the attachment is not to be put into execution until the guest is informed of it. If the guest does not then appear to defend his property, the attached property may be taken. 9. About taxes. You further asked us, if the citizens have property outside of the territory of the city which they hold from some lord and from which they receive an income, are they bound to pay the tax which may be assessed on property outside the city, just the same as they do on their ordinary property? We answer that, according to the law and practice of our city, every man must pay taxes on his property outside as well as inside the city, no matter where it is, and he must take an oath to its value and pay a tax accordingly. 318. The Establishment of the Rhine League, 1254. M. G. LL. 4to, IV, 2, no. 428. Commerce, the chief interest of the cities, could flourish only under peaceful conditions. But peace was a stranger to Germany toward the middle of the thirteenth century. In order to prosecute his Italian-Sicilian policy, Frederick II had left Germany to her fate. The princes were engaged in private warfare, and a large number of robber barons plied their trade and made the roads unsafe. Conrad IV was fighting for the possession of the crown and so was unable to establish peace. William of Holland was recognized in only a small territory and was practically helpless to restore order. Under these circumstances the cities of the Rhine valley determined to take matters into their own hands, and so made a league for the purpose of protecting their commerce against the robber barons and other highwaymen who infested all the roads and streams. We give the document by which the league was formed, and the one in which is embodied its first legislation. In the name of the holy and undivided Trinity. The judges, consuls [aldermen], and all the citizens of Mainz, Cologne, Worms, Speyer, Strassburg, Basel, and other cities which are bound together in the league of holy peace, to all the faithful of Christ, greeting in him who is the author of peace and the ground of salvation. 1. Since now for a long time many of our citizens have been completely ruined by the violence and wrongs which have been inflicted on them in the country and along the roads, and through their ruin others have also been ruined, so that innocent people, through no fault of their own, have suffered great loss, it is high time that some way be found for preventing such violence, and for restoring peace in all our lands in an equitable manner. 2. Therefore we wish to inform all that, with the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ, the author and lover of peace, and for the purpose of fostering peace and rendering justice, we have all unanimously agreed on the following terms of peace: We have mutually bound ourselves by oath to observe a general peace for ten years from St. Margaret's day [July 13, 1254]. The venerable archbishops, Gerhard of Mainz, Conrad of Cologne, Arnold of Trier, and the bishops, Richard of Worms, Henry of Strassburg, Jacob of Metz, Bertold of Basel, and many counts and nobles of the land have joined us in this oath, and they as well as we have all surrendered the unjust tolls which we have been collecting both by land and water, and we will collect them no longer. 3. This promise shall be kept in such a way that not only the greater ones among us shall have the advantage of this common protection, but all, the small with the great, the secular clergy, monks of every order, laymen, and Jews, shall enjoy this protection and live in the tranquillity of holy peace. If anyone breaks this peace, we will all go against him with all our forces, and compel him to make proper satisfaction. 4. In regard to the quarrels or differences which now exist between members of this peace, or which may hereafter arise, they shall be settled in the following way: Each city and each lord, who are members of this league, shall choose four reliable men and give them full authority to settle all quarrels in an amicable way, or in some legal manner.... 319. Peace Established by the Rhine League, 1254. M. G. LL. folio, II, 369 f. See introductory note to no. 318. In the name of the Lord, amen. In the year of our Lord 1254, on the octave of St. Michael's day [that is, a week after Sept. 29] we, the cities of the upper and lower Rhine, leagued together for the preservation of peace, met in the city of Worms. We held a meeting there and carefully discussed everything pertaining to a general peace. To the honor of God, and of the holy mother church, and of the holy empire, which is now governed by our lord, William [of Holland], king of the Romans, and to the common advantage of all, both rich and poor alike, we made the following laws. They are for the benefit of all, both poor and great, the secular clergy, monks, laymen, and Jews. To secure these things which are for the public good we will spare neither ourselves nor our possessions. The princes and lords who take the oath are joined with us. 1. We decree that we will make no warlike expeditions except those that are absolutely necessary and determined on by the wise counsel of the cities and communes. We will mutually aid each other with all our strength in securing redress for our grievances. 2. We decree that no member of the league, whether city or lord, Christian or Jew, shall furnish food, arms, or aid of any kind, to anyone who opposes us or the peace. 3. And no one in our cities shall give credit, or make a loan to them. 4. No citizen of any of the cities in the league shall associate with such, or give them counsel, aid, or support. If anyone is convicted of doing so, he shall be ejected from the city and punished so severely in his property that he will be a warning to others not to do such things. 5. If any knight, in trying to aid his lord who is at war with us, attacks or molests us anywhere outside of the walled towns of his lord, he is breaking the peace, and we will in some way inflict due punishment on him and his possessions, no matter who he is. If he is caught in any of the cities, he shall be held as a prisoner until he makes proper satisfaction. We wish to be protectors of the peasants, and we will protect them against all violence if they will observe the peace with us. But if they make war on us, we will punish them, and if we catch them in any of the cities, we will punish them as malefactors. 6. We wish all the cities to destroy all the ferries except those in their immediate neighborhood, so that there shall be no ferries except those near the cities which are in the league. This is to be done in order that the enemies of the peace may be deprived of all means of crossing the Rhine. 7. We decree that if any lord or knight aids us in promoting the peace, we will do all we can to protect him. Whoever does not swear to keep the peace with us, shall be excluded from the general peace. 8. We decree that whoever is in our cities as a pledge [that is, as security that some contract will be kept] shall have peace from all who are in the league. We will not permit him to be molested by anyone so long as he is in one of our cities; but we will defend him, and he may enter and leave the city as he pleases. 9. But if any such man breaks his oath and flees, he shall be warned three times by the city, and if he does not return, the creditor, or the one to whom he had been security, may bring suit against him before the judges and they shall compel him to continue as security. 10. Above all we wish to affirm that we desire to live in mutual peace with the lords and all the people of the province, and we wish that each should preserve all his rights. 11. Under threat of punishment we forbid any citizen to revile the lords although they may be our enemies. For although we wish to punish them for the violence they have done us, yet before making war on them we will first warn them to cease from injuring us. 12. We decree that all correspondence about this matter with the cities of the lower Rhine shall be conducted from Mainz, and from Worms with the cities of the upper Rhine. From these two cities all our correspondence shall be carried on and all who have done us injury shall be warned. Those who have suffered injury shall send their messengers at their own expense. 13. We also promise, both lords and cities, to send four official representatives to whatever place a conference is to be held, and they shall have full authority from their cities to decide on all matters. They shall report to their cities all the decisions of the meeting. All who come with the representatives of the cities or who come to them [while in session], shall have peace, and no judgment shall be enforced against them. 14. No city shall receive non-residents, who are commonly called "pfahlburgers," as citizens. 15. We firmly promise that if any member of the league breaks the peace, we will proceed against him at once as if he were not a member, and compel him to make proper satisfaction. 16. We promise that we will faithfully keep each other informed by letter about our enemies and all others who may be able to do us damage, in order that we may take timely counsel to protect ourselves against them. 17. We decree that no one shall violently enter the house of monks or nuns, of whatever order they may be, or quarter themselves upon them, or demand or extort food, or any kind of service, from them contrary to their will. If anyone does this he shall be held as a violator of the peace. 18. We decree that each city shall try to persuade each of its neighboring cities to swear to keep the peace. If they do not do so, they shall be entirely cut off from the peace, so that if anyone does them an injury, either in their persons or their property, he shall not thereby break the peace. 19. We wish all members of the league, cities, lords, and all others, to arm themselves properly and prepare for war, so that whenever we call upon them we shall find them ready. 20. We decree that the cities between the Mosel and Basel shall prepare 100 war boats, and the cities below the Mosel shall prepare 500, well equipped with bowmen, and each city shall prepare herself as well as she can and supply herself with arms for knights and foot-soldiers. 320. Agreement between Hamburg and Lübeck, _ca._ 1230. Keutgen, Urkunden zur Städtischen Verfassungsgeschichte, no. 427. With the deposition of Henry the Lion, duke of Saxony, in 1180, and the consequent dismemberment of his duchy (see no. 112), north Germany was left without a great prince, and there was no hope that anyone would be able to unite the numerous principalities which were enjoying more or less sovereignty. The absence of any strong power gave greater opportunity for the development of the cities and made the Hanseatic league possible. This league had its origin in the league between Hamburg and Lübeck for mutual protection against robbers in 1241. But these cities had already for a long time been friendly, and had made a mutual agreement for the protection of the merchants of the one city when they went to the other. Other cities joined them in the league of 1241. The power and influence of the league grew until it was able to carry on war and to dictate in political matters to the whole north. The earliest stages of the development of the league are illustrated by nos. 320-322. To their honorable and beloved friends, the advocate, aldermen, and other citizens of Lübeck, the advocate, aldermen, and the commune of Hamburg, greeting, etc.... We wish you to know that we desire by all means to preserve the mutual love and friendship which have hitherto existed between you and us. We desire that we shall have the same law, so that whenever your citizens come into our city, bringing goods that are unencumbered [that is, about which there is no dispute or suit pending], they may possess and enjoy them in peace and security, in the same way as our citizens.... 321. Agreement for Mutual Protection between Lübeck and Hamburg, 1241. Keutgen, no. 428. The advocate, council and commune of Lübeck.... We have made the following agreement with our dear friends, the citizens of Hamburg. 1. If robbers or other depredators attack citizens of either city anywhere from the mouth of the Trave river to Hamburg, or anywhere on the Elbe river, the two cities shall bear the expenses equally in destroying and extirpating them. 2. If anyone who lives outside the city, kills, wounds, beats, or mishandles, without cause, a citizen of either city, the two cities shall bear the expenses equally in punishing the offender. We furthermore agree to share the expenses equally in punishing those who injure their citizens in the neighborhood of their city and those who injure our citizens in the neighborhood of our city. 3. If any of their citizens are injured near our city [Lübeck], they shall ask our officials to punish the offender, and if any of our citizens are injured near their city [Hamburg], they shall ask their officials to punish the offender. 322. Lübeck, Rostock, and Wismar Proscribe Pirates, 1259. Keutgen, no. 429. To all the faithful subjects of Christ.... The communes of Lübeck, Rostock, and Wismar.... Since most merchants are not protected on the sea from pirates and robbers, we have, in a common council, decreed, and by this writing declare, that all who rob merchants in churches, in cemeteries, or on the water or on the land, shall be outlawed and proscribed by all cities and merchants. No matter where these robbers go with their booty, whatever city or land receives them shall be held equally guilty with them, and proscribed by all the cities and merchants.... 323. Decrees of the Hanseatic League, 1260-64. Keutgen, no. 430 a. We wish to inform you of the action taken in support of all merchants who are governed by the law of Lübeck. (1) Each city shall, to the best of her ability, keep the sea clear of pirates, so that merchants may freely carry on their business by sea. (2) Whoever is expelled from one city because of a crime shall not be received in another. (3) If a citizen is seized [by pirates, robbers, or bandits] he shall not be ransomed, but his sword-belt and knife shall be sent to him [as a threat to his captors]. (4) Any merchant ransoming him shall lose all his possessions in all the cities which have the law of Lübeck. (5) Whoever is proscribed in one city for robbery or theft shall be proscribed in all. (6) If a lord besieges a city, no one shall aid him in any way to the detriment of the besieged city, unless the besieger is his lord. (7) If there is a war in the country, no city shall on that account injure a citizen from the other cities, either in his person or goods, but shall give him protection. (8) If any man marries a woman in one city, and another woman from some other city comes and proves that he is her lawful husband, he shall be beheaded. (9) If a citizen gives his daughter or niece in marriage to a man [from another city], and another man comes and says that she is his lawful wife, but cannot prove it, he shall be beheaded. This law shall be binding for a year, and after that the cities shall inform each other by letter of what decisions they make. 324. Decrees of the Hanseatic League, 1265. Keutgen, no. 430 b. We ought to hold a meeting once a year to legislate about the affairs of the cities. (5) If pirates appear on the sea, all the cities must contribute their share to the work of destroying them. 325. Cologne Merchants have a Gildhall in London, 1157. Keutgen, no. 431. The merchants of Cologne early had commercial dealings with London. Her commercial relations with England were more important to her than her relations with Germany, and as a result of this she generally preferred her English alliance to her less lucrative relations with other German principalities on the mainland. In international complications Cologne was apt to be found on the side of England. This document is interesting as showing the early existence of the gildhall of the merchants of Cologne, which was the starting-point of the Hanse in London. Henry [II], by the grace of God, etc., ... to his justiciars, sheriffs, and all his officials in England, greeting. I command you to guard, maintain, and protect all the men and citizens of Cologne as if they were my own subjects and friends, and all their goods, merchandise, and possessions. You shall not permit them to suffer any loss or damage in their house in London, which is called their gildhall, or in their goods, or merchandise, or anything else that belongs to them, because they are faithful to me, and they are in my ward and protection. They shall have complete protection, and they shall pay only their customary tolls, and you shall not exact new tolls from them.... BIBLIOGRAPHY The following list is intended to serve both as a brief bibliography of important collections of mediæval documents and as an explanation of the references. In the case of the more important collections and works a brief comment is added. Many titles are omitted where the reference in the text is clear and the work is not of general importance. 1. LARGE COLLECTIONS; NATIONAL M. G. Monumenta Germaniæ Historica; SS., LL., DD., refer to the divisions Scriptores, Leges, Diplomata, according to which the work is arranged; folio, 4to, refer to the two forms of the collection. Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum; chronicles reprinted in 8vo from M. G. SS. Jaffé, Bibliotheca rerum Germanicarum; 6 vols. Böhmer, Fontes rerum Germanicarum; 4 vols. Böhmer-Ficker-Winkelmann, Regesta. Summaries of imperial documents with indications of the places where they are to be found. Bouquet Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France. French collection of mediæval sources, in 23 vols. Documents inédits sur l'histoire de France. Muratori, Rerum Italicarum Scriptores; collection of chronicles relating chiefly to the history of Italy in the Middle Age, in 28 vols. Rolls series, Rerum Britannicarum medii aevi scriptores, or chronicles and memorials of Great Britain and Ireland during the Middle Ages. Published under the direction of the Master of the Rolls. Rymer, Foedera; English public documents, 20 vols. 2. LARGE COLLECTIONS; ECCLESIASTICAL AND PAPAL Migne, Patrologia; Cursus completus patrologiæ.... Series Latina; acts and writings of the fathers and popes, 221 vols. Mansi, Conciliorum amplissima collectio. Hefele, Conciliengeschichte; quotes or cites in translation many decrees of councils; 9 vols. Baronius, Annales ecclesiastici; collection of chronicles relating to the history of the Roman Catholic church, published in 1598. Raynaldus, Annales; continuation of Baronius. Watterich, Pontificum Romanorum vitæ; lives of the popes, 9th to 13th centuries. Bullarium Romanum; collection of papal bulls, 450-1550 A.D. Corpus juris canonici; collection of decrees of councils and popes, forming the body of the canon or church law. Liber diurnus; collection of forms of papal documents, letters, grants, bulls, etc., to serve as models for the papal secretaries. Duchesne, Liber pontificalis. 3. SPECIAL TOPICS, SELECTED DOCUMENTS, ETC. Die Chroniken der deutschen Städte vom 14. bis ins 16. Jahrh.; 22 vols. Huilliard-Bréholles, Historica diplomatica Friderici secundi; 12 vols. Doeberl, Monumenta Germaniæ Selecta; selected documents referring to the history of Germany, vols. 3-5, 1037-1250 A.D. Altmann und Bernheim, Ausgewählte Urkunden; selected documents referring to the history of Germany in the Middle Age. Breslau, Diplomata Centum; a collection of one hundred documents illustrating mediæval diplomatics. GLOSSARY This list is meant to include only technical terms which occur frequently in the text. Terms which are familiar, and those which are used only once or twice and explained in the text, are therefore not included. abbot, head of a monastery; see no. 251, chs. 2, 64. advocate, _advocatus_, representative of church or prelate in secular affairs; in feudal system regularly a vassal of the church, holding office and church lands as fief; see no. 296 introduction. aids, obligations of vassal to his lord; see introductory note to nos. 209-228, and nos. 215-217. alderman, originally head of a gild; later, regularly member of ruling council of a city. allodial land, alod, small freehold, as distinct from tenant-farm; later in feudal system also applied to family possessions of a noble as distinct from lands held by title of duke, count, etc.; an instance of this latter use in no. 90. anathema, curse, regularly associated with papal excommunication. apostolic seat, apostolic see, the bishopric of Rome, used as a figure of speech for pope or papal office. Augustus, from time of Otto III the title regularly assumed by emperors after imperial coronation; indicates the theory that mediæval emperors were successors to Roman emperors. bailly, bailiff, representative of lord in the villa. ban, (1) proscription, or outlawry, regularly that pronounced by emperor against a subject; (2) particular fine paid to emperor or king in addition to ordinary penalty, usually 60 solidi. basilica, church, especially early church modelled on Roman public building called basilica. _Bauermeister_, see introductory note to section vii. benefice, _beneficium_, (1) a form of land-holding, practically a fief; see nos. 197-202 and introduction; (2) lands and income attached to the office of a canon. bull, a decree or edict of the pope. burggrave, the official representative of overlord or king in a city; later a feudal noble. canon, (1) a decree of a council or synod; (2) one of the chapter of a bishop's church. canon law, ecclesiastical law, the law of the church, based on the decrees of popes and councils; see no. 33, introduction, and Bibliography, Corpus juris canonici. canonical election, election of a church official in accordance with canon law. capitulary, decree or edict of Carolingian king or emperor, drawn up with advice of Frankish assembly. cardinal, a member of the Sacred College, the advisory body of the pope, standing next to him in Catholic hierarchy, and intrusted with duty of electing pope. Members of college have titular offices in the bishopric of Rome, as cardinal bishops (now 6 in number), cardinal presbyters (now 50), and cardinal deacons (now 14). chamberlain, see court officials. chancellor, official at the head of the department intrusted with drawing up and preserving documents; an important office in every royal court, frequently held by an ecclesiastic. chaplain, priest of private church or chapel of great lord or ruler; in royal courts becomes important member of council and central administration of king. chapter, regularly the corporation of the clergy attached to the bishop's church, including dean, præpositus, cantor, scholasticus, penitentiarius, treasurer, etc. confession of St. Peter; see no. 45, note 64. council, the general assembly of the church, composed of chief clergy and representatives of lower clergy, and summoned occasionally by pope or cardinals; see no. 41, note 60, and nos. 169-174. count, _comes_, the chief official in a county, originally as representative of the king, later, in feudal system, as feudal lord of lesser nobles in county. count palatine, _comes palatinus_, one of chief officials of royal court; in feudal system, hereditary title attached to certain possessions, as palatine county of the Rhine in Germany, and of Champagne in France. court officials, officers of the royal courts charged with important departments of central administration: seneschal, steward, chief official in charge of royal household and domains; chamberlain, originally officer in charge of royal chamber, later practically treasurer; cup-bearer, cellarer, or butler, officer in charge of vineyards; marshal or constable, officer in charge of royal stables, later of the royal army. These offices in the beginning were of private nature, were later extended to include important public functions and became hereditary in hands of great nobles, and then became merely titular and ceremonial, the real duties being performed by royal officials and servants. See no. 160, ch. 27, for this last stage, in Germany. cupbearer, see court officials. dean, head of a chapter of canons. denarius, a small coin, penny, originally silver; see no. 4, I, note 2. diet, general assembly of the empire, including in final form the great ecclesiastics and nobles, and representatives of imperial cities; see nos. 146, 158, 159, 160 for instances. diocese, ecclesiastical district ruled over by a bishop, made up of parishes; archdiocese, ecclesiastical district of an archbishop, comprising several bishoprics. duke, ruler of a duchy, a great feudal lord, in Germany retaining character also of a public official to time of Frederick I. electors, electoral princes, princes of Germany who exercised the right of electing the emperor; see no. 160 for names of the electors, their prerogatives, etc. excommunication, exclusion from the communion of the Catholic church, entailing loss of rank and privileges on part of church officials, and of allegiance of subjects on part of secular ruler; ecclesiastical outlawry. feudal terms, see introductory note to nos. 209-228. fief, regularly an estate or territory held from a superior on terms of personal allegiance and honorable service, usually military support. _fodrum_, fodder; as an obligation, the duty of supplying provisions for the royal army. gild, society or association of merchants of a town, or of artisans of single trade in a town. Gild of the merchants in many cases represented the town in the struggle for a charter, and government of many towns was based on the organization of the gild. hide, portion of a family in the lands of the village community. hierarchy of the Catholic church, chief ecclesiastical officials; in order of authority: pope, cardinals, archbishops, bishops. For lower grades, see no. 34, note 57. homage, ceremony of entering into personal dependence on a lord, preliminary to receiving a fief from him; see nos. 209-214, 218-225. hundred, division of the county, mainly for judicial purposes; see no. 1, note 1, and no. 4 introduction. hundred-court, local public court of the hundred; the regular public court in Germany; see introductory note to section vii. hundred-man, _centenarius_, _centgraf_, presiding official of the hundred-court, usually elected by freemen of the hundred; see no. 1, note 4, and no. 4 introduction. immunity, freedom from control of public officials; a right attached to gifts of land from king; see nos. 190-194, and introduction. indiction, number of a year in a period of 15 years, used as a means of dating mediæval documents; established by Constantine and beginning with the year 313 A.D. To find the indiction of a year, add 3 to the number of the year and divide by 15; the remainder is the indiction of the year; if there is no remainder, the indiction is 15. indulgence, see no. 179 introduction. insignia, symbols of office, commonly referring to royal or imperial symbols; see nos. 158, 159, and 160, ch. 22, for insignia of emperor. interdict, prohibition of performance of church services and sacraments, pronounced by ecclesiastical authority against a district or a country, frequently for the sins of its ruler. investiture, the ceremony of induction into office, whether ecclesiastical or secular. justice, in feudal system technically right of lord to try cases of inhabitants of his fief in his feudal court; see no. 228, 1, note 94; as a revenue, income from fines in feudal justice. king of the Romans, title used by German kings from the time of Henry III before the imperial coronation; later also used by son of the emperor associated in the rule with his father. landgrave, a feudal noble, practically the same as feudal count. legate, special representative of the pope; see no. 66 introduction. liege homage, see no. 218 introduction. margrave, the official in control of a mark or frontier county; later a feudal noble. marshal, see court officials. metropolitan, as a noun, archbishop; as an adjective, archiepiscopal. ministerial, servant of the king or great lord in Germany; being endowed with land and used as mounted followers in war, they become a lower nobility; see no. 297 introduction. missi, in general, representatives of central government sent into local districts; in particular, the officials sent out annually by Karl the Great and his successors to oversee the administration of local officials, etc.; see no. 9 introduction. notary, lower official in the department of the chancellor. patriarch, in the west, honorary title attached to certain bishoprics, as patriarch of Aquileia; in East, bishop of highest rank, as patriarch of Constantinople. _patricius_, see no. 48 introduction. patrimony, estate or territory belonging to the pope as possession of office; Patrimony of St. Peter, land about Rome which was the basis of the states of the church. Petrine theory, see no. 35. pfahlburgers, _phalburgii_; see no. 139, sec. 10. pontificate, papacy, period of rule of a pope. pope, bishop of Rome and head of the church; titles: vicar of Christ, vicar of St. Peter, apostolic, universal, servant of the servants of God, etc. _præpositus_, prévôt, provost, (1) member of chapter of canons, in charge of lands of the chapter; (2) a layman in charge of domain lands of a bishop; (3) the representative of great lord or king in local regions; (4) the chief of a gild, or the mayor of a city. precarium, see introductory note to nos. 184-188. prior, chief official under the abbot in a monastery; also ruler of a priory or small congregation of monks dependent on a monastery. regalia, sovereign rights, or rights of the crown; see no. 83, no. 103 and introduction. _Schoeffen_, _scabini_, originally board of judges for each hundred-court, established as a judicial reform by Karl the Great; from these develop _Schoeffen_ of feudal domains and cities, as judges in the courts there. _Schultheiss_, originally subordinate official of the count, who becomes presiding officer of lower public courts in Germany; name used also for presiding officer of court on territory of feudal lord, and in cities under jurisdiction of lord; see introductory note to section vii. seneschal, see court officials. senior, see no. 208, note. serf, unfree tenant on a feudal estate, paying rent and services to the lord, bound to the soil, and subject to the jurisdiction of the lord's officials. simony, use of money or secular influence to secure an ecclesiastical office; generally, securing of such an office by any means other than canonical election. solidus, a gold or silver coin, shilling, containing 12 denarii; see no. 4, I, note 11. suffragan bishop, one who has the right of voting for his archbishop. synod, local council of bishopric or archbishopric summoned by the prelate. vassal, one who has promised allegiance and fidelity to a superior, from whom he holds a fief. villa, village or community of tenants and serfs on feudal domain, corresponding to English manor; the unit of organization of feudal estates. wergeld, compensation for manslaughter, paid to the kindred of the slain man by slayer or his kindred; see no. 1, ch. 21, note 6, and no. 4, XLI, note 12.